Scully tried to pretend the weird, shambling man in the over-large overcoat and thick lens glasses, whispering furtively into his wrist was no one that she knew. Unfortunately, he kept staring right at her. She sighed, sipping her latte in patience as she watched Frohicke finally whip around the corner where he had been standing for the last two minutes, his balding head peeking around to glance at her table.
"Frohicke, it's just a Starbucks," she murmured wearily as he sat down across from her in one of the aluminum chairs, his coat pooling over the sides, and dragging down to the cement, making him look like an absurd Buddha in flowing robes. He held a hand up to quiet her, as he murmured once again into his sleeve, "The eagle has landed, engaging the chick right now."
"Chick," Scully nearly snorted her coffee, reaching for one of the paper napkins in front of her.
"Dude, she's going to tell you this is all stupid," Langley's voice crackled from the depths of Frohicke's coat. He sounded irritable, and at eight AM on a Saturday morning for a computer hacker who rarely ever made it to bed at a decent hour, Scully was sure Langley was not a happy camper.
"Eagle out," Frohicke growled, glaring down at his sleeve, before fumbling for something in his coat pocket and clearing his voice nervously.
"Chick," Scully finally voiced her indignation as she pierced the one Lone Gunman who had come out to meet her with one of her icy glares. He looked discomfited for a minute.
"Well, it goes along with the code," he shrugged, pretending to be very engrossed in the shiny, beveled aluminum top to the table. "Eagle, chick...don't they teach you these things in the FBI?"
"I must have been sick for that class," she tried not to laugh at him, she liked Frohicke too well to hurt his feelings.
"Why are you playing super spy, Frohicke," she gestured to his sleeve, as he glanced over his shoulder in obvious paranoia.
"Standard operating procedure when we are out on our own," he murmured, his dark, beady eyes scanning the area they sat in, a patio attached to the red brick and wood finished standard, pre-packaged, corporate conglomerate coffee shop. This early on a weekend morning, the only people crazy enough to be there were herself, Frohicke, and a woman wearing running gear and carrying a portable CD player with headphones on, oblivious to either one of them as she flipped through a copy of that day's Washington Post.
"I bet that makes grocery shopping rather difficult," Scully breathed.
"That's why we order out so much," Frohicke nodded solemnly, before he reached back inside his coat, and pulled out of his lapel pocket a brown envelope, non-descript, and passed it over to her. She took it without opening it.
"That's for Mulder, tell him he owes me three Playstation games and a brand new subscription."
"Dare I ask for what," Scully knew the answer, but was still privately amused to see the look of embarrassment and dignity that mingled on Frohicke's round, pug-like face.
"There are things that only men understand, Dana," he intoned, looking shocked she would have asked.
"Yeah, I keep finding those things all over Mulder's apartment."
"Speaking of your partner, where is he, why didn't he come do this himself," Scully knew Frohicke was simply looking for ways to change the subject. the truth of why she was here and not Mulder, as it should have been, was a sore subject for her, and now she was the one feeling discomforted.
"He…he's a bit busy back at the office," she didn't say why. "This whole thing with the X-files being given over to Spender and Fowley is driving him crazy. You know Mulder, he can't work on a straight case to save his life," though if she were to admit it to herself, one more week of chasing manure piles in the Midwest on the behest of AD Kersh, and she might be planning to work behind their new boss' back as well. "Anyway, you know how he is, trying to work outside of the normal chain of command," she waved the brown envelope lightly, before tucking it into her purse.
"So, how pissed is he over that Fowley bitch stabbing him in the back," Frohicke asked conversationally.
"He hasn't discussed it much, to be honest," not that he needed to. Scully could see the anger, hurt, and what looked to be a familiar betrayal every time she looked at her partner hunched over his desk, pouring over yet another boring case in yet another boring corner of the country.
"He wouldn't," Frohicke sighed sadly, shaking his head. "That woman had the knack of ripping his guts out through a well aimed stiletto heel to the gut. Never liked her much after what happened last time."
Ever since Diana Fowley had arrived back in the life of her partner, Scully had both been intrigued and disturbed by her effect on her Mulder. It had wounded her deeply to see Mulder so quickly drop Scully to hearken to Diana's call. Worse had been the other woman's not so subtle hints that Mulder might prefer someone who agreed with him and understood him as a partner for once. It had taken a great deal for Scully not to haul off and punch Fowley that day, to remind the woman that it was she, Dana Scully, who had pulled Mulder out of harms way, both mentally and physically, while Diana Fowley had….had…
"Frohicke, what exactly is the story behind Mulder and Agent Fowley," Scully tried not to sound too curious, but there was something about it all she had to know.
"What, he's never told you," Frohicke looked surprised. "Not that it's anything new, he and she were together right after he left Violent Crimes, she's the one who got him out of it, and into the X-files."
"But why," Scully persisted.
"Who knows with women, why do you get any of us to do the crazy things we do," Frohicke responded with an air of philosophical frustration. "I don't know much of how it all got started, I just know that the two of them were hitched up when we met him."
Scully felt something akin to a mild pistol butt to the head, as it cracked into her consciousness. "Hitched…Mulder was married?"
"Well…" Frohicke looked evasive. "I can't be sure. We didn't know him that well at the time. See, he was still convinced we were a bit…out there."
"Then why would you think…"
"He had a band on his left hand at the time," Frohicke held up his own left hand and tapped his ring finger. "We all assumed he was a nice, family man for the longest time. None of us knew each other well then; it was before we even formed the magazine. By the time I finally let Langely and Byers in on the operation, Mulder had already gotten rid of Fowley. And he never spoke of it, except on the rare occasions he'd get piss drunk and show up to bitch about how she was evil and manipulative, and why the hell did he seem to attract those type of women. Hell, that's how we started hanging out with him, we felt sorry for the poor bastard."
"I see," in truth Scully didn't see any of it, and felt just as confused now about Mulder's past with this woman as she had before. "If their relationship, marriage, whatever it was didn't work out, why is it that he even dared to let her back into his life at all when she came waltzing back to the X-files?"
Frohicke pondered this for several minutes, rubbing his unshaven chin before answering. "Not to pry, but have you ever been attracted to someone so much, that you lost all reason and sense whenever this person walked into a room?"
Her mouth went dry then as she regarded Frohicke, and her heart skipped several beats, but Scully kept her face neutral as she nodded affirmatively.
"I've only seen Diana Fowley twice, both in pictures. Not my type, mind you, too slim for me, not busty enough, but still attractive. But you see, that's not Mulder's kink," Frohicke seemed to ignore the strangled choke that Scully coughed out. "No, Mulder's always a sucker for the intellectual types. He likes it when a woman attracts his brain and…other things." He gestured suggestively. "Anyway, everything I've heard about Fowley tells me that was what she was for him, that woman who didn't automatically hear his sob story about his lost sister and turn for the hills screaming."
"But then, neither did I," Scully countered, still lost.
"Good point, Agent Scully, it should tell you something," Frohicke eyed her over his thick lenses then. "Mulder once though Fowley was an angel, the only woman who could have understood him. Instead she turned out to be a witch with a razor that shanked him and left him to bleed. You…if I had to think of a woman I've ever met that epitomized 'angelic', you'd be the first person I would think of." Much to Scully's pleased surprise, Frohicke looked bashful, and turned his face down to his lap. "I mean, Mulder's just damn lucky to have someone like you in his life. Not a lot of guys like us get a chance like that. You're the woman that no matter how stupid he is, you still go to catch him when he falls. That's why in the end Fowley never had a chance of winning Mulder back, if she ever thought she had a real chance at all.
"Frohicke, I don't know what to say," Scully had always known that of the entire Gunman, Frohicke had been the most vocal on the fact he had a crush on her. She smiled shyly at him. "I think that is the nicest, kindest, sweetest thing I have heard in years from anyone."
"Really," Frohicke's face beamed, "If that's so, hell Agent Scully, you need to get out more." He cleared his throat gruffly, and then made to stand.
"Look, I don't know if Fowley is up to something with Spender, it's hard to tell, but keep an eye on those two, and don't let Mulder get confused by her tits and ass." Frohicke sounded less than impressed with either of those two attributes on Fowley. "And remind him every so often he's got a damn good friend watching his back at the moment, he should remember that when he's moping at the office and sending you out to get his stuff."
"Thank you," Scully whispered, feeling a surprising sting in her eyes as he nodded his head, and then standing, made to move to the corner of the building again. Before he did, he carefully scoped the area they sat in once again, before nodding his head in a chivalrous fashion.
"Take care, Scully, you know you are always welcome over for pizza night," he offered a friendly, hopeful grin.
"I'll think about it," she grinned back, as he once again scurried over to the corner of the patio. Before he disappeared she could hear him whisper in his low, husky voice, "Eagle has flown, eagle has flow, the egg is dropped. Yes, you dumb ass, I saw her, I'm heading back. Jesus."