AN: I recently watched the entire Lone Gunmen series and then I watched the two X-Files episodes featuring the Lone Gunmen, and then I wrote this. Title comes from "Song to the Siren" by Tim Buckley.
"So, you wanna hit the slots?"
Not really, Byers thinks, but there's no point in arguing because, well, what else is there to do? Their work at the convention is over and their return flight to D.C. isn't scheduled until the next morning. Now that their plans have succeeded, they have every right to celebrate and live it up. But Byers can't bring himself to feel jovial.
I lost her. Again. Just like in his dream. Everything he's ever wanted, gone in the blink of an eye.
They head back to the hotel, Langly and Frohike making cracks about how he's stuck with them now, how they'd better watch out or they'll drive him to suicide. Byers vaguely appreciates that they're trying to make him feel better, but right now he wishes they'd knock it off. However, his mind is so disengaged from reality that he can't say a word. Susanne's ring seems to weigh a million pounds in his pocket. He knows she meant well- an engagement ring is just as good as a spoken vow, a promise that they will find each other. But the gift only complicates things… I can't possibly wear it. Not yet, anyway. Not where everyone can see, and make assumptions about the perfectly normal life that he may or may not lead.
Maybe I'll get a chain for it. A chain to wear around his neck, close to his heart. Byers doesn't have time to pursue the thought before the warm lights of the hotel rise before him, and Langly's off griping about how he was cheated out of a good D&D session and playing the slot machines better make up for it.
Byers has to admit, the alluring glow of neon makes it hard to think of little else while he's there. And they have a good time together, one of those rare chances to enjoy each other's company without conspiracies to unravel and no publication deadlines looming over their heads. Frohike finally wins big and gloats about it for the rest of the night. "This almost makes up for all that poker money you lost us!" Then there's a brief, heart-stopping moment when Langly spies a flash of red hair in the crowd and hastens the other two away- "Oh god, Scully's still here! Run for it!" Hiding behind his co-conspirators, Byers waits until the coast is clear and Scully has checked out, wondering how long they'll have to lie low before the threat of her wrath has passed.
When they retire at last to their hotel room, the past few hours have almost been enough to wash away the events of the last couple days. Almost. Langly hits the sack immediately, but Byers opens up his laptop and sits staring at the bright screen. His fingers hover across the keyboard, poised to type, already envisioning the headline for the next Lone Gunman issue: MIND-CONTROL PLOT DEFEATED AT VEGAS CONVENTION. But he can't move a muscle to actually begin the damn thing. The screen before Byers fades, to be replaced with an image of Susanne, her hand stretched towards Byers as the taxi speeds away. Her soft voice murmurs in his head: Someday.
A hand at Byers' shoulder almost makes him jump. "You're not turning in? Our flight leaves early tomorrow."
Byers sighs and reluctantly drags his eyes from the blank screen to Frohike, as the latter sits down on the nearby bed. "I have to get it all down. Susanne's counting on us to tell her story."
He waits for Frohike to make some unsavory comment about Susanne, or to tell him that he's wasting his time, but all Frohike says is, "Give it a rest, Byers. You'll work better when you're not down in the dumps." He reaches up to untie his ponytail, and Byers glances back at his laptop before closing it. Frohike is right- not that Byers wants to let him know that. As important as it is to recall every detail with a fresh mind, he's still too close to the story. Better to wait until he's back in the comforts of his D.C. office, with Langly and Frohike ready to advise him if he forgets to be objective.
Still, Byers can't stop thinking about it- or more accurately, can't stop thinking about her. He hasn't been able to for ten years- why stop now? For a moment the thought almost makes Byers want to laugh. Maybe I am a sadsack after all. Still hung up on the same woman after so long, after so little time to get to know each other. It's true, he doesn't know Susanne as intimately as he should- as intimately as Grant Ellis presumably did. He doesn't know how early she wakes up in the morning, if she cries over sad movies, if she prefers sweet or sour foods, if she ever wanted children. Little things that, over time, would reveal themselves to him. And some might say it's impossible to love another person without knowing such things, that the idealized version of Susanne that Byers has built up inside his head can't possibly withstand her actual presence.
But they don't understand. Frohike and Langly might be content to spend the rest of their lives alone, Langly because he's never cared much to begin with and Frohike because he's had enough experience to last a lifetime (or so he claims). Their work on the Lone Gunman is what fuels their lives, and that's all fine and good, but it's different for Byers. As he inches slowly towards age forty, he can't help but review the years he's spent as an amateur journalist, struggling to expose the government's various injustices. He shouldn't be here- shouldn't have to be here, and he senses Frohike and Langly know it, though they'd never discuss it. Maybe it's naïve to still believe in the American Dream, to still long for the requisite home and garden, loving wife and 2.5 kids. But Byers has at heart always been an idealist, and he knows his country is still capable of providing him with what he wants. It just has to overcome its obstacles, and for that, it needs people like himself, Langly, and Frohike, who are dedicated to bringing the truth to light.
But in the end, what is the truth…
So sue him if his vision of paradise happens to include Susanne. If only she hadn't kissed me, maybe I wouldn't be… But Byers can't even tell himself that, because it was a perfect setup right from the start. She couldn't have ensnared him any faster if it had been her intention all along.
"Frohike?" Byers says, because his idle thoughts have reminded him of something.
"Yeah?" Frohike is peeling off his fingerless gloves, the ones he wears every day. It's always strange to see him without them, as if he's in disguise or become another person entirely.
Byers hesitates, trying to organize his words properly, before thinking to hell with it and lunging ahead, his words escaping in a halting, almost defensive manner. "I know you think Susanne Modeski is bad news. I know you think my judgement is impaired when she's around. That I can't be trusted to use my head when it comes to her."
Frohike's dark eyes are unreadable, like the eyes of skillful players 'round the poker table when they have an exceptionally good hand. If Byers has hit the nail on the head, Frohike doesn't show it.
"And?" he says.
"And you'd be absolutely right." Byers hopes he doesn't sound as miserable about the matter as he feels. It's something of which he probably should have been aware beforehand, after dragging his associates through a never-ending parade of conferences and conventions, after jumping at every glimpse of blonde hair and shielded eyes. But it wasn't until he'd actually seen Susanne Modeski again that Byers had realized just how easy it was to get to him through her. No matter what Susanne does or who she ends up working for, she remains in Byers' eyes the damsel in distress who'd been carted off by suspicious government men and left for dead in whereabouts unknown. And Byers will still try to save her every time. Just this once, he hates himself for it. He'd never wanted to become so attached, but he has all the same.
Mata Hari, Frohike had called Susanne- the seductress who hid criminal acts behind her exotic beauty. But Byers hadn't seen her as such, partly because the comparison was unflattering, and partly because she instead reminds Byers of a siren, singing from atop jagged rocks. Yes, like a siren Susanne had enchanted Byers, drawn him willingly towards her, though he knew it was best to stay away. Though she's gone, her song still echoes softly in his ears, begging him to return to her… someday.
Frohike's eyes shine sympathetically as he gives up his hand. "Actually, all I'm thinking is that I don't want to see a friend and colleague get hurt for no reason."
Byers knows he shouldn't react, it's not worth it, but he bristles at the statement. "It's not without reason to me."
Frohike chuckles lightly, getting up from the bed. "Don't get me wrong, Byers. If you think she's worth it, I'm all for it." He makes his way over to the bathroom, stopping in the doorway to offer a parting word. "Just take it from me. You don't want to lose yourself to her."
What Byers suspects Frohike means is WE don't want to lose YOU to her. Somehow he can't fault him for the thought. As unbelievable it is to think, it's also undeniable that Frohike and Langly need him. Not just to balance out their bickering, but to keep the group moving forward and to remind them of their mission statement- disseminating the truth and opening the public's eyes. Following his first run-in with Susanne, it's all Byers has ever tried to do. And to lose himself to the fantasy he's created of a happy life, far away from the constant paranoia and cynicism and ebbing faith in the world around him…
Byers knows how selfish it is to turn his back on his work, but god, what he'd do for his dream to become a reality. Not just because of Susanne, but for the promise of what his life and his country can become. And that, he realizes, is the siren's song, the hypnotizing vision that would cause him to abandon his senses and give up all that he knows.
"What makes you think I do?" Byers mutters.
Frohike shrugs, the bathroom's harsh fluorescent light pouring around him. "Well, if you ever need someone to reel you back in, Langly and I 'll be here."
Roused by the sound of his name, Langly mumbles, "I what," his face half-buried in his pillow.
"Nothing." Frohike gives Byers one last look before shutting the bathroom door, leaving Byers to his thoughts.
Maybe it won't be so bad to grow old with his associates, as Langly had joked earlier. Byers has done practically everything else with them, after all. Someone needs to be around to tie him to the mast when the siren sings, and in the end, who else does he have to trust?
All the same, Byers' hand drifts to his pocket. He pulls out the ring and examines it under the desk's lamplight. A simple gold band, with no inscription and no center stone. Slipping it on, he discovers it fits perfectly. As if Susanne had known. Of course… She'd been waiting for him for so long. Waiting to hold him. In private moments, had she ever looked back on the kiss they had shared, or wished for his touch when she was all alone?
For the first night in a while, Byers dreams of nothing. He isn't sure if it's an improvement.