"Three Gunmen and a Baby"
Chapter One
Scully's Apartment, Georgetown, Washington, D.C.
June 3rd, 2001, 3:39 a.m.
For the fourth time that night, Will's horrible screams woke up both Frohike and Langly. Frohike immediately rushed into Scully's bedroom for the child, and Langly followed him reluctantly. The older man picked up the infant and tried to rock him back to sleep, but Will cried even more. Langly growled and waived his hand dismissively at the baby. "I can't take it anymore!" he yelled and grabbed his blonde hair.
"Shut up and take it like a man, Langly," Frohike snapped.
"I have been...for the last three times, Rumpelstiltskin. I'm supposed to go out with Sabrina for breakfast!"
"Oh, you need your beauty sleep, is that it, Fabio?" Frohike threw the walk-in closet door open and stepped inside to search for a toy.
"Knock it off. I'm outta here," Langly roared and slammed Scully's front door on his way out. Unfortunately, that woke Byers up, and the stuffed animal that Frohike found had no effect upon the boy.
Byers yawned and meandered into Scully's bedroom. "Was that Langly? Wassamatter? We run out of baby formula?" he asked.
"No. The ken doll wimped out on us."
"You mean he left?"
"I never thought I'd say this, but, yes. He left us...for a woman," Frohike mumbled and tapped Will on the back. "He doesn't need to be burped. Nor does the room smell like manure, so the diaper's safe."
"Bottle?"
"You can try, but this just sounds like a bad dream cry, not one for food."
Byers shuffled out and headed for the refrigerator as Frohike gently put Will back down in his crib. Will still was wailing his head off, and he was running out of ideas. One suddenly came to him. "You don't happen to like stand up comedians, do you, Will?" he inquired. When he received no encouragement, he shrugged. "Well, it couldn't hurt. I bet you probably wouldn't get the light bulb jokes yet, but how about some blonde ones?"
Will rolled back and forth angrily with more sobs.
"Okay, here we go. Did you hear the one about the blonde who drowned herself in the pool?" He paused for a dramatic effect. "Yeah. She saw a 'scratch n' sniff' sticker on the bottom and dived in."
The child continued to cry.
"Yeah, I know, not my best one, either. Um, here's another. I was setting up one of my displays at a college science fair once, and I happened to meet a blonde girl whose very own display was a thousand piece puzzle in a glass frame...I think it was of the Empire State Building or something. Anyway, her big claim to fame was that she finished it in two years instead of four as the box suggested."
William stopped as if the story had clicked, but unfortunately, more shrill cries came forth from his mouth. "Boy, you're not an easy audience to please," Frohike muttered and scratched the back of his head. "I've got one more that I can think of. Ah. I was on a very full flight once on the way to San Francisco, and there was this blonde model that got on the airplane in the first class section. That was all fine except for the fact that her ticket said coach. So when the real ticket owner came to be seated, the female flight attendant asked her to go back to her issued seat. The model said 'I'm blonde, I'm beautiful, and I'm not going anywhere'. They had just closed the door then, and so, the flight crew tried to send in a handsome steward this time. However, the woman gave the same answer, 'I'm blonde, I'm beautiful, and I'm not going anywhere'. So the crew members talked amongst themselves and decided to ask the co-captain for his advice since they needed to start the safety speech. The co-captain agreed, left the cockpit, and spoke to the woman for a few moments quietly. Ten seconds later, she immediately shot out of the seat and headed right into the coach section. Well, the flight was on its way, and when we were in the air for about twenty minutes, they switched off the 'seat belt' sign. The flight attendants cornered the co-captain and asked him what he said to the woman that finally made her move. He told them that 'Oh, I said that first class isn't going to San Francisco'. 'They'll be going to Sacramento.'"
William's cries did fade away, but when Frohike finished, they started right back up once more. "Ah, you're just like your mother...no sense of humor. Byers!"
"I'm coming!" Byers returned with the warm bottle and tried to offer it to William, who would not accept it. "Boy, I thought we'd have gotten it right by now."
"I'm convinced that women are the only ones who can unravel the mysteries of the wailing child," Frohike lamented. "What now?"
"I've got an idea," Byers stated and set the bottle down on Scully's windowsill. "But keep quiet until I'm done."
Frohike nodded and moved out of his way so that Will could only see Byers. He then whirled around and powered a boom box upon Scully's chiffonier. Byers fiddled around with the radio tuner until he got to the local country station. "Love Sick Blues" by Patsy Cline had just commenced to play, and Byers spun back around to focus his attention on Will as he started to lip-synch to the song.
The boy's whimpering ceased suddenly as he watched Byers' lips, and Byers even began to dance along with the track. As Byers got to the chorus, William giggled and smiled. Frohike could not believe his eyes. He was totally shocked; not only was he astonished that Byers knew all the words...he didn't know that Byers could dance, either.
The song came to the instrumental breakdown, and Byers jammed on an air piano in time with the solo. William was still happy; he even rolled back and forth in time to the music. As Patsy Cline's last notes with the song died down, he settled down, and closed his eyes. Byers shut the stereo off, collected the bottle, and closed the door with Frohike trailing him on the way out. "Byers, I-"
"No. Not a word."
"But I was just going to congratulate you for getting him to sleep," Frohike complained.
"Sure you were." Byers opened the refrigerator and put the bottle back inside.
"Okay, fine, I wasn't," Frohike soughed. "But you totally...surprised me."
"That's why I told you to be quiet until I was done."
"But...country music? Byers, you never listen to music...not since you've been hanging around with us," Frohike continued and pursued Byers back into the living room where they'd been sleeping.
"I had a life before I met you two, you know. My folks liked to listen to a lot of John Denver, Reba McIntyre, and Dolly Parton, too." Byers plopped down on Scully's sofa and covered himself with a green duvet.
"Well I knew you were a softie, Byers, but, man...country music? That stuff is for patsies and wimps that trust our government."
"If you tell anyone about this," Byers wagged his index finger at his friend, "I'm gonna give Mulder back his porn collection and tell him about that photo of Scully you had doctored."
"I don't know what you're talking about, and Mulder doesn't need his porn collection back now," Frohike crossed his arms defiantly.
"That may be true, but I can describe a certain photograph that you happen to own with a backdrop of Lahaina, Maui in the background and a certain red head we both know wearing less clothing than she'd ever show to any of us...-"
Frohike's smirk dropped and so did his arms. He was now concerned that Byers was actually stating the truth. "You wouldn't..."
"Like I said, quid pro quo. Just keep silent about what happened a few minutes ago, and we're square." Byers leaned against one arm of the sofa and laid his head on a pillow. "I'll go back to being ignorant."
"It's a deal. How'd you know about that?"
"You're not as good as hiding your files as you think you are, Frohike. Labeling a virtual folder 'private' could hardly be more conspicuous."
"It had an encrypted sixty-four bit password on it." Frohike laid down in his sleeping bag.
Byers shrugged and closed his eyes. "One question, though."
"Name it."
"How'd you get a photograph of Scully smiling?"
"Took it after Mulder woke up from being dead."
Steak n' Shake # 1040, Wauchula, FL
June 3rd, 2001, 6:35 a.m.
"Would you like some breakfast since you're here?" Clampett inquired of Scully as they headed for the kitchen. "I can ask Clarie to whip somethin' up. It'll be on me, of course, since I woke you up so early."
"Just a cup of coffee..." Scully said gruffly and pointed to one of the refrigerators with a post-it note reading 'don't touch the red stuff'. "Is this it?"
"Yeah, that'd be it." He turned and politely ordered two coffees out the swinging door to Clarie at the counter. Scully removed yet another pair of hidden prophylactics, slipped them on, and opened the Frigidaire. "Sheriff..." she called; her eyes did not leave the crimson potion.
"What's goin' on?"
"You specifically told everyone on staff not to touch this chemical, right?" Scully asked.
"Well, I told Clarie to tell everyone. The note was there," Clampett shrugged. "Why?"
"Come here and look at this," she demanded in a stern tone.
He scratched the back of his head and joined her. "Oh shit."
"I can only hope that no one used this on the food..." She finally tore her eyes away from the half empty flask minus one rubber stopper and gave him a grimace.
"This ain't good," he muttered and pivoted on his heel one step away. "Clarie!"
Five seconds later, the server shuffled through the door wiping her hands with a towel. "Your coffee's brewin', Sheriff. Sorry for the hold up."
"That's not why we called you," Scully answered her quietly and opened the refrigerator door wider for Clarie to look at the incriminating evidence. "Where's the missing portion?"
"Uh-oh. Um, I dunno, maybe Carl used some of it. I did have an order for some waffles this morning..."
"Think a little bit harder," Scully urged her on.
"And well...maybe he thought it was raspberry syrup. It does look similar," Clarie offered, much to Scully's disappointment.
"Well git out there and make sure of it! This could be lethal stuff! I didn't ask you to put it in there 'cause I was savin' it for a rainy day!" Clampett barked. She whirled round and disappeared from sight quickly. "Do you think I should call in the paramedics? Or maybe poison controls?"
"Let's not be too hasty. On the other hand," she leaned her head to one side and closed the Frigidaire, "it might be a good idea to have them on speed dial just in case."
"Which one?"
"Both. As you know, I am a doctor, but I don't have anything at my disposal for any catastrophic occurrences." Scully marched out of the kitchen with Clampett directly at her heels and scanned the restaurant as Clarie made her rounds with a pot of coffee. Thankfully, there were only four customers at the moment. One of them had the telltale waffles with the "raspberry syrup". And the unshaven trucker sitting in front of them was just about to take his first bite. "Stop!" Scully yelled at him.
The trucker dropped his fork immediately and gave her a disgusted frown. "What the hell's the matter with you, lady?"
Fortunately, Clarie understood without further explanation that he was the one with the unknown substance, and rushed over to him. "I'm sorry. I uh...um...just remembered that I saw the cook accidentally put some grenadine on your waffles while he was in back."
"Well, then, how'd she know?" the trucker rudely questioned her and jerked his thumb towards Scully. "You don't look like no cook to me." He sized her up as she crossed her arms rebelliously.
"I'll get you another plate," Clarie replied, stole the food before he could say another word, and exited back to the kitchen with both law enforcement officers right behind her. "I am so sorry," she whispered, set the waffles down on a counter, and hurried back to the irate trucker.
"At least we know that it's not an airborne toxin," Scully sighed as they both gazed at the waffles expectantly. "Nor does it appear to have interacted with its environment adversely. How long ago was that order filled?"
"I'll ask," Clampett nodded and pushed the door open. "Hey Clarie, how long ago did them waffles get made?"
"'Bout twenty minutes, I think. You still want your coffee?" she inquired noncommittally.
Clampett wiped a hand over his lips as he watched Scully carefully set the waffles back into the refrigerator. "Yeah," he responded and walked back to Scully. "Looks like it wasn't no bomb, neither."
"That's a premature conclusion. It's possible that the terrorist prepared this liquid to catalyze in the stomach, intestines, kidneys, or perhaps even the mouth." She sealed the Frigidaire shut with another post-it note. This time it read 'do not open!' "I hold you personally responsible for any consequences. This was an irresponsible action on your behalf, and if I were here on an official basis, I would've reported you to the CDC for negligence or possibly the NSA for aiding or abetting a known terrorist. What you did was about as ingenious as releasing a hungry wolf on a village of unarmed women and children."
"Hey, I left a note on it," he motioned to the previous post-it note, which was now lying on the floor.
"The statement on it was about as clear as the opacity of the Mississippi."
"Don't get your panties in a wad, Dana. I ain't happy 'bout it, either...-"
"Then act like it. And it's Scully from now on," she snapped, stormed out, and grabbed the mug full of coffee on her way out of the restaurant.
"Hey, hang on a minute." Clampett left a five dollar bill on the counter, also seized his coffee, and trailed her outside. "Do you think...ow..." he spilled some of the brown liquid onto his pants, "...that Mr. Mulder's right about this guy? This man bein' the son of Loki?"
"There are more important matters than that as of this second." Scully set her coffee on top of her rental's roof and removed her cell phone from its charger.
"Such as?"
"Finding out what that...stuff...is." She thumbed over her phone's contact list and drank some of her beverage.
"But don't you believe him?" Clampett invaded her personal space.
"Look, you wanted me to find out about that liquid, didn't you?"
"Oh yeah, I did, and I appreciate it, but I gotta know 'bout your trustin' this paranormal nut. I'm thinkin' 'bout callin' in some extra help."
"I trust him implicitly. And don't call him a nut." Scully's eyebrows furrowed as her search was beginning to prove fruitless.
"That's not what I'm asking ya."
"Then please clarify."
"Do ya think he's right?"
"Sheriff, I don't have to be here. I can leave when I'd like, but I'm doing Mulder a favor, and at this point, you as well, so I would choose my words more carefully if I were you," she told him politely but candidly.
"I'm just askin' 'cause the mayor who happens to own the garbage collection bidness and the liquor store is askin' me. He wants to know if he should offer a two for one sale in his shop if the end of the world is truly comin' in three days."
"This is no time for levity." After she still did not find the number she wanted, she sighed in frustration, took a sip from her coffee, and dialed information.
"I was bein' dead serious," Clampett informed her and received an eye roll for his response.
"Yes, hello, I need the number for a local Food and Drug Administration Branch near Bradenton, Florida, please," Scully stated over the phone. "Or in Bradenton, if there is one."
"You still ain't answered my question."
She held up an index finger silently as she listened to the operator. "Yes. Mmhmm. Thank you. That's most helpful. You, too." Scully hung up and drank some more from her mug. "Now, Sheriff, what is it?"
"Do you believe your partner or not?!"
"His accuracy rating is above the ninety-fifth percentile," she shrugged.
"Have you ever dealt with a god before?"
"Personally, no, I have not. But I'm not sure about Mulder. He did start the X-Files Division, and no, he has not told me about all of his cases. I joined him about two years after he founded it."
"Why ain't he workin' there any more?"
"He was tired of the red tape." She paused and thought for a few silent moments. "Sheriff, if you need a negotiator to try and talk to this man, Mulder is the right person to do it. He rarely conjures up logic and rationale when he's hypothesizing, but however, when he's trying to calm a hostile or a suspect, it somehow switches right on. If I believed in magic, I'd probably give that as his ignition."
"Anything else you wanna add to that ramblin'?"
She scowled and opened the driver's door. "Yes, actually. I'll meet you at the delivery entrance where you can give me that flask. And this time, take a few more precautions when you're handling it, Sheriff."
