Title: Drinking Buddies 1/

Title: Drinking Buddies 1/?

Author: Amber (Ambino1111@prodigy.net)

Spoilers: TWW - Let's say everything just to be safe, but there really isn't anything specific. XF - Ditto, except specific stuff from last season.

Archive: Anywhere, just let me know

Rating: PG (alcohol)

Disclaimer: Let's look at the word itself - (dis-kla'-mer) noun. A repudiation or denial of responsibility, connection, or claim. I think that pretty much sums it up.

Feedback: Yes, please at Ambino1111@prodigy.net

Summary: A crossover between The West Wing and The X-Files - Josh meets up with Mulder in a bar and they strike up a friendship

Author's Notes: This is just a little ditty I started Sunday morning. Part two is on the way - it has much more Josh/Donna. I apologize in advance for any mistakes I didn't catch.

Josh Lyman needed a drink.

He could have used one after the disastrous nine o'clock meeting with Senator Carlisle. By the time his ten-thirty conference call with Representatives Padula and Masters rolled around, he was dying for one. He had been very tempted to order a beer (or four) during lunch with CREEP, but restrained himself. Now it was nine-thirteen Saturday night, all his work was done for the moment, and Josh Lyman was finally going to get his drink.

He dragged his tired and weary bones to the nearest bar and settled into a barstool.

"Here for the long haul?" The white-haired bartender asked by way of greeting. Josh merely nodded. "What can I get ya?"

"I'll have a beer, please."

The bartender nodded and hurried off. Josh rubbed his forehead, trying to rid himself of the headache that dwelled there. Moments later a bottle was slid in front of him, and he licked his lips, thirsty.

After three gulps, Josh took a break and began to take notice of his surroundings. The restaurant part of the establishment was bustling with customers - he couldn't spot an open booth. There was only one other man sitting at the bar, a fact that surprised the slightly-soused Deputy Chief of Staff.

The man three barstools down looked like he had gotten a two hour head start on the drinking game. His tall frame, cloaked by a black trench coat, bent over the drink in front of him as he stared into space.

Definitely a government employee, Josh noted to himself, grabbing a handful of peanuts. Too well-dressed for the police, not well enough for Congress or the CIA. Must be FBI.

Josh was pleased at his conclusion. He had always been a person people... or was that a people person? He shrugged and downed another swig.

The man stood slowly and swayed for a moment before staggering towards the bathroom.

"How long has that guy been here?" Josh nodded to the retreating form of the man.

"'Bout twice as long as you. He's been mighty quiet, but I picked up that he lost his job again."

"Again?"

"That's what he said," The old man affirmed, replacing Josh's beer. "Excuse me for a minute."

Josh nodded absently, tracing the rim of the bottle and frowning slightly. He was trying to imagine how drunk he'd get if he ever lost his job. The words alcohol poisoning came to mind.

The FBI man weaved his way back to his stool, or what he thought was his stool. He ended up sitting next to a guy with frizzy brownish-red hair, but was unsure if it was he who had moved or the guy.

He turned his head and made eye contact. The guy looked familiar.

"Excuse me - do I know you?" he slurred.

The guy shook his head, winced at the action, and offered a hand.

"Josh Lyman, White House Deputy Chief of Staff," Josh tried desperately to sound lucid, but failed as the words came out in a sing-song fashion. Damn his 'delicate system'!

The man's eyes widened in recognition and his voice rose slightly in volume.

"That's right. You're the guy that got shot in Rossalyn."

"Rosslyn," Josh replied without a conscious thought.

"Rossalyn... Ross-el... Ross... Virginia," The man nodded, satisfied.

"And who might you be?"

"I might be Fox Mulder, FBI... without the FBI."

Josh grinned at the confirmation of his earlier assessment.

"It's not funny," Mulder defended, tugging on the wrapper of his beer bottle. "This time it's for good."

"You've lost your job before?" Josh's interest was apparent in his voice.

Mulder grinned, seemingly from pride. "I've lost count."

"Then how do you know this time is the last one?"

"Oh, I know," he said, snatching a pretzel from the bowl next to him. "They replaced me with a guy who looks like the Terminator."

"The good one or the bad one?"

"The bad one," he sighed. "I told that to Scully and she laughed at me. 'Give him a chance, Mulder,' she said, so I did. But he still took my job."

Josh finished swallowing and motioned the bartender for another round. "Who's Scully?"

"Who's Scully?" Mulder repeated. He scratched his head, deep in thought. "I don't know, exactly. She started out as the enemy, then my partner, then became my friend, best friend, and now... now, she's at home with what is apparently our child."

Josh spit out his drink in surprise. "You have a child together?!?"

"Yeah, well... it's a long story."

"But you said 'apparently'," Josh pointed out, oblivious to Mulder's comment. "Why don't you know for sure?"

Mulder sighed and took a deep breath.

"Last May, Scully asked me if I wanted to, you know, be the father of her test-tube baby. I've loved Scully for a long time, but we have an odd relationship, and she actually doubted whether or not I'd agree. So, you know, I said yes and she smiled one of those knee-weakening smiles, and I thought I'd finally be able to replace some of the pain I'd given her over the years with a little bundle of joy... but it didn't work," Mulder paused, feeling frighteningly sober. "I came over to celebrate and she told me. She looked so... crushed, and I couldn't stand to see her crying; I'd already caused her so much pain. So that night we slept together," he blushed, tracing a pattern on the counter top. "And a few weeks later I was gone."

"You left her?" Josh asked, incredulous.

"It wasn't like that," he assured, shifting in his seat to face Josh. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you, but trust me when I say it wasn't voluntary."

"I believe you," Josh said, surprised to find that he truly did. "What happened?"

"Well, we had a case that brought us back to the site of our first investigation together. Scully was feeling sick and the case was going nowhere so we went back to DC. She stayed in the hospital and I went back to Oregon with my boss. And I disappeared. When Skinner, my boss, told her the news, she had news, too - she was pregnant," he scrunched up his face. "I still can't figure that one out - she wasn't supposed to get pregnant."

"What, was she on the pill? Those things aren't one hundred percent-"

Mulder shook his head, a guilty look on his face. "No, it wasn't that at all. She was... barren."

Josh was momentarily stunned into silence. "Maybe the doctors were wrong. I mean, they'd have to be if -"

"No, it must have been something else, but it doesn't matter. Anyway, flash-forward about eight months: Scully's about to pop and I return from the dead."

Josh chuckled, rolling his eyes. "Hey, I'm drunk. No need to impress me."

Mulder started feeling the alcohol again. "It's the honest-to-goodness truth. After eight months of more memories I get to suppress, I was stuck in a coffin underground, then later exhumed."

"Poor you."

"Poor me."

"Poor Scully."

"Poor Scully," Mulder agreed, sipping his drink. "After not knowing where I was, or if I was even alive, for eight months, then going to my funeral and all... to later discover I wasn't dead? And to be pregnant and working the entire time? I don't know how she did it."

"Women are amazing," Josh declared, thinking of Donna.

"They truly are," Mulder said. "So, anyway, I come back to life- first surprise, find out I'm about to become a father - second, but no less shocking surprise, and then discover I've lost my life's work."

"Suddenly I don't feel very sorry for myself," Josh muttered. Mulder shrugged.

"I'm used to it. My life has been traumatic since childhood."

"Me, too," Josh said quietly, cracking open a peanut shell. "When I was little my sister was babysitting me, and there was a fire," He paused. "I made it out, but she didn't."

Mulder nodded, a feeling of complete empathy overwhelming him.

"When I was twelve I was babysitting my little sister and she was abduct - kidnapped. I spent my whole life searching for her, and when I did track her down she was dead."

Josh ordered another drink. He felt more depressed than before.

"When I was campaigning for Bartlet, my father died - cancer."

"Mine was murdered - I was supposed to be framed for it... Scully named our son William after my father, even though her father was also named William, and was incredibly more honorable than mine."

Both men stared at each other in the ensuing silence, wondering why they were compelled to share so much with someone they'd just met.

"Another round, bartender," Mulder called. He turned to Josh. "It's your turn to share. Why are you in here getting wasted?"

"It's gonna sound like small potatoes compared to you," Josh hiccupped, missing the odd look that passed over his new friend's eyes. "I'm was diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder from the shooting, the House is considering impeaching the President, my colleagues and I have no idea if we'll be able to get him reelected, to say nothing of saving him from impeachment, I'm in love with my assistant but I can't tell her, a good friend and co-worker of mine just died in a car accident, and the entire senior staff has to testify in front of a Grand Jury starting Monday."

Mulder paused, trying to be optimistic. "At least you still have your job."

"For the time being," Josh added. They returned to a companionable silence.

"I can help you with one thing," Mulder took a swig of beer before pointing it at Josh. "You have to tell her."

Josh's brain was cloudy from the three beers. He knew from experience he wouldn't last much longer than four. He glanced at Mulder.

"Huh?"

"You have to tell her," he repeated, momentarily lost in time. "Even if she thinks it's a joke, she has to know."

"She knows," Josh whispered, basking in the remembrance of her smile after he gave her the book for Christmas.

"Doesn't matter. If she knows, and you know, it doesn't hurt to say it outloud."

"Oh, it could. It would."

"You don't know that for sure. It might not even significantly change anything."

Josh shrugged. "I guess." He paused. "Can I ask you something?"

"I don't see why not. Although you probably won't like the answers, you certainly have the right to ask for 'em."

"How long did you wait to tell her?"

A beat. "Too long."

"Seriously-"

"Seriously, way too long. We'd been working together for, I don't know, over six years. I woke up in a hospital, yet again, and she was there, as always... and I told her."

"What'd she say?"

"She laughed," Mulder chuckled at the memory. "I poured my heart out, and she laughed! She thought it was the drugs."

"I wanted to tell Donna, I did. But when I woke up she was next to me, and her smile, the look in her eyes... it was too much, you know. I didn't expect to live. I didn't expect her love. I certainly didn't expect them both. She took care of me after the shooting, and we grew closer. And I wanted to tell her, I came so close to saying it - but for a man of phenomenal verbal aptitude I couldn't find the words. So I decided to put it off until after our time in the White House. I tried convincing myself it was to save everyone from a scandal, but I couldn't hide from the truth - I'm a chicken." He leaned forward until his forehead rested on the cool counter top. He turned his head slightly, suppressing a grin. "It sounds more honorable the first way, right?"

Mulder laughed. "Yeah, well, it's easy to be brave from a distance. You have to face your fear, take a risk, carpe diem and all that crap."

Josh nodded thoughtfully. He held up his half-empty bottle of beer.

"Here's to accepting love."

"Hear, hear." They clinked bottles. Josh unsteadily got to his feet, pulled out his wallet, and slapped some money on the counter.

"C'mon, Mulderrr," he slurred. The former G-man stared at him in confusion.

"What?"

"Let's share a cab."

This seemed reasonable to Mulder's drunken senses, so he, too, pulled out some bills from his wallet.

"Can you call us a cab, Bartender?" Josh asked loudly. The barkeep good-naturedly rolled his eyes at them.

"One, or two?"

Josh held up one index finger and the bartender nodded. When Josh turned around he found Mulder staring at something in his wallet.

"What is it?"

Mulder smiled ruefully, sinking back into his stool. "It's just a picture of Scully and me."

"Can I see?"

The slightly-older man thrust the wallet in his direction.

"She's pretty."

Mulder sighed. "To say the least."

"She's shorter than I expected."

"She doesn't seem that short in person."

"Ah." Josh flipped to the next picture. "Is this William?"

"Yeah."

"He looks like you two."

Mulder grinned. "He has my sleeping habits - or lack thereof."

Josh mirrored his smile. "You should go be with them."

"I know," he said softly. "You should go be with Donna."

"I know."

A car honked outside and shook the men out of their moments. They waved to the bartender before stumbling out of the bar in silence.

The cab ride to Donna's (it was closer to the bar than Scully's) was filled with their off-key rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody. When the cab pulled to the curb they stopped singing.

"It was a pleasure meeting you tonight, Mulder," Josh said sincerely, shaking his hand. "Here's my card - give me a call sometime and let me know how you and your family are."

Mulder nodded, accepting his card and handing him one of his own.

"Same here, Josh. I want to hear what Donna says."

Josh opened the door and stepped out into the chilly evening air. He glanced up at the stars before turning back to Mulder.

"You're a lucky man."

"You, too."

Josh nodded and slammed the door shut. He waved as the car squealed away from the sidewalk. A few moments later he remembered that Donna lived in a bad neighborhood and hurried to her door. After a minute of hesitation he raised his hand to knock.

The End