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Title: A Pocket Full Of Posies Summary: Mulder goes digging for more information on the cause of his son's accident. The Office of the Lone Gunmen "Geesh, Mulder. You really need to stop by more often. He's practically a teenager now," Langly says to me as he watches Christopher play with some electronic device he nabbed off one of the tables. I realize that none of the guys have seen Chris in close to four months, and he has grown considerably in that small amount of time, but this isn't usually the place one wants to bring their infant to for just a visit. Frohike comes out of one of the back rooms and also looks Christopher over while trying to retrieve the piece of equipment from Chris' drooly fingers. He finally gets a few little wet fingers pried off, but Chris just grabs for something else as fast as Frohike can work. "Jesus, Mulder. What did you do, clone yourself?" Frohike asks, "All that beauty on his mother's side and he looks more like you every time that I see him. By the way, where is the lovely Agent Scully?" "She's resting, Frohike," I say, "Besides, some people actually find me somewhat attractive." "Not around here, buddy," he says with a grin, "But Agent Scully..." "Hey, Frohike, why don't you lay off," Langly tells him, "She's practically married now." "Not until the day she says 'I do.' Then there will be no more hope..." "Come on, stop mooning over the kid's mother in front of him," I say to him. "Who would have ever thought the day would come when Special Agent Fox Mulder would be pushing around a Peg Perego stroller and enjoying it," Byers says, as he joins his cohorts. "Byers, how do you know what a Peg Perego stroller is? You're scaring me," I tell him. "We did a little research into strollers on the net," Byers says, "That is what we had intended to buy for you and Agent Scully as a baby shower gift." "So, you got us the baby room monitor with electronic counter measures, instead," I say, remembering the gift well. "Hey, those things are hard to come by. You can't just walk into your local Toys R Us and pick one up off the shelf," Frohike says. "Besides, you wouldn't believe the conversations you can pick up on the regular ones," Langly says, handing me some literature on baby monitor espionage. "Has Christopher said anything yet?" Byers asks, interrupting the other two's chatter on the art of placing baby monitors for surveillance purposes. "Yeah. Simple things like dada, mama and trust no one," I answer in a dead-pan voice. All three of them look at me with matching serious expressions on their faces. "I'm kidding, guys," I say to them, ending their silence. They all break into nervous laughs. "Thank God! Because if he did say that first, then Langly would have won the bet," Frohike says. I don't even want to know. "So, do you really change diapers, Mulder?" Langly asks. The three of them look at me as if this is some kind of assessment of my manliness. "Never thought I'd see the day..." Byers mumbles under his breath. "Okay...enough baby talk. So, did you dig up anything on that person I asked you about?" I ask them. "I can't believe that you don't know about Senator Erickson? What have you been doing for the last year, Mulder?" Langly asks me. I point to my son, who now has a smattering of high tech equipment surrounding him in his stroller. Frohike was too disgusted by the slobber to continue his futile attempts to pull any of it out of Christopher's hands. "I've been having a baby. Not much time is left for politics," I say. "Senator Erickson is a member of the class of 2K," Byers tells me, "It was quite a shock to everyone that he was elected at all. He is a little bit of a... free thinker. He just doesn't fit in with the new conservative governing factors here in Washington." "Yeah, they call him Senator Skywalker," Frohike says, "Mulder, if you think your ideas are, well, original, you should hear some of the things he's been reported as saying. At least you aren't running the country." "What state does he represent?" I ask. "The great state of New Mexico," Frohike tells me. I must make a face, knowing exactly where this is going. "Yes, Mulder, he believes," Langly says. "Of course, he didn't let a lot of his beliefs be known until he was elected. By now, though, I'm sure most of the Hill has heard about his mother," Byers says. "What about his mother?" I ask. "Lost in Space. She's been gone since Erickson was a teenager and he claims she was abducted by aliens on a camping trip to the desert," Langly says. "What really did happen to his mother?" I ask. "Popular sentiment says she was picked up by some drifter named Ronald Mulch, who was found guilty of two other murders in the area. Senator Erickson won't accept that after all these years," Frohike says. "Yeah. He even has a secret Geocities web site documenting UFO sightings," Langly says. "You must be kidding? If it is a secret, how do you know it is his?" I ask. "We hacked into the registration for it and traced it back to an alias we believe he uses. It's not a place you'd want to keep state secrets or anything," Frohike says. Langly types in the site address on his computer to show me what is supposedly Senator Paul Erickson's web page. It looks more like the work of some teen aged kid. "Why are you interested in him, Mulder, besides the obvious?" Byers asks. "I have reason to believe he's trying to reopen the X-Files and wants me assigned to them again." "Well, he'd be the one. He doesn't have much power in the Senate, yet. I can't imagine him having the power to sway the FBI," Frohike says. "I think he has friends somewhere," I say, as I start to pull all the stuff out of my son's stroller so we can leave, "Can you guys get as much information together as possible on the guy and e-mail it over to me on a secured line?" "Sure, Mulder. What ever you want. And next time you visit, bring Agent Scully," Frohike says as he holds the door open for me to wheel Christopher out. I hear someone comment on how Christopher is going to grow up to be one strange kid before the door latches all the way and the dead bolts are put into place. The Mulder/Scully household I am enjoying my morning alone by sitting out on our deck for the very first time. It is a beautiful early spring day, and I am quite comfortable sitting on the porch swing, sipping my herbal tea and watching the birds return from their winter retreats. They are picking through the feeders I had Mulder put up last weekend. He complains that we were just feeding the squirrels, but I don't care. I also sprinkled some of the seed on the lawn near the house, hoping the birds would come closer, but I am probably just sowing wild flowers. This is the first time I've been alone in the house in a long time. I have not let Christopher leave the house with anyone since he returned home from the hospital. Mulder finally said he was taking him out today, and he told me Christopher would probably be safer at the Gunmen's place than he was even in his own house. Unless he got mixed up in something electrical, that is. I just have to trust him. I have to have faith. I have forgiven Mulder for leaving us at that hospital. Without forgiveness, there would be no point in going on. I am hoping the boys have some information that will help put an end to this fiasco. So far, Mulder's attempts to reach this Senator Erickson have been futile. He seems to be quite a busy man. The French doors leading to the deck swing open with a loud creak of unused hinges and the birds nearest the house scatter to the trees. "Hey, you. Did you and daddy have a nice time?" I ask my son, as Mulder places him down on my lap. He joins me on the big porch swing. This was the one thing I have always wanted, and Mulder had it installed as a birthday present. Not that we could use it in February, but it was a nice idea, especially now that it is spring. "Did you find out anything?" I ask Mulder. "It seems that Senator Erickson is off on some personal quest to prove that his mother was abducted by aliens over two decades ago. I guess he figured that being a senator would help him in some way," Mulder tells me. "I wonder if he ever considered becoming an FBI agent," I say to him, hoping he catches the casual joke in there somewhere. "Maybe I should just become a senator, Scully..." he says, smiling. "So, did the boys have anything for you?" I ask. "They are sending me everything they've got. Oh, yeah, Frohike asked for me to send his regards." "I'm sure he did!" I say, laughing. My son has done remarkably well since being released from the hospital, and he's back to getting into everything again. Nothing seems to slow him down, whether it be a head trauma or a broken leg. He is trying to squirm off of my lap and onto the deck so he can stand up and hold onto the swing. "I don't think so, buddy," Mulder says, picking him up, "Let's go get some lunch." "I'll be there in just a minute," I say, as they go back through the noisy French doors. I throw another handful of seed out onto the lawn and pick up my teacup before heading in to the kitchen for the usual Mulder versus Christopher feeding disaster. "That's a lovely shade of green, Mulder," I say, as I wipe some of the thrown strained peas off of his shirt with a dishrag, "It complements your eyes so well." "When is he ever going to eat something real?" Mulder asks. "You mean like pizza?" "Yeah." "He doesn't have enough teeth to tackle the crust, so I'd say give him a year. It will go by faster than you..." *plop* "....think." "And how do I look in orange?" Mulder asks, scooping up the carrots off of himself. "Not bad," I say, as I turn to leave the room. This is a battle between father and son that I don't want to take any part in. The Mulder/Scully Household "I won't do it, Scully," I tell her. We are in bed and I have a pillow over my head. I know she is propped up on one elbow watching me. This little argument has gone on for a half an hour now. "Why not? I doesn't bother me," she says to me. "I can't. Please don't ask me to." "Come on, Mulder. Tell me why not? Give me a better answer than 'I can't,' okay?" she tells me. "Mulder, that's crazy. Millions of people just like us do it," she says. "I'm not old enough." "Don't be ridiculous. You are forty. How much older until you think you are 'old enough?' "People will laugh," I say. "I'm the only one that matters. Since when do you care what other people think? Please, will you consider it?" she asks. "No. I have to draw the line somewhere and this is it." She drops onto her back and is no longer looking at me. Or at least I think she is no longer looking at me. I'm still hiding under my pillow, still trying to avoid this whole topic. "Mulder," Scully says, "You have driven some of the crappiest cars on earth for most of your life. Why won't you even thing about driving a minivan?" "Because it screams that I have succumbed to what society expects of me. It tells the world that I am just like the mindless masses. First, the baby. Second, the house. Third, the minivan. What next? Bermuda shorts and a funny hat?" I ask, taking the pillow off of my head finally. "First of all, Mulder, if we had succumbed to what society expected of us, we would be married..." "That's not my fault..." "Second of all, what does driving around in a dark blue Ford Taurus scream? That you are some reckless kid out joyriding with his friends on a Friday night without a care in the world, or does it scream, oh, I don't know, *Fed*," she says to me, emphasizing her last word with a slight punch to my arm. "Scully, I just don't think I'm ready for it." "Well, I'm tired of trying to cram all of Christopher's stuff into your two door car," she says, "Plus, now that my car was totaled, I need to start looking for something that is more ... comfortable. I need to reprioritize." "How about a sport utility vehicle?" I ask her, "I could live with that. That doesn't seem to be so, I don't know, domesticated. We can get one of those that is all ready to go camping. Not that we ever go camping intentionally, but it would be much nicer than driving around in a minivan." "Fine, I can live with that. I'm sorry I offended your manhood," she says. "You didn't offend my manhood." "Should I check and see if I offended it?" she asks, moving her hands deftly under the sheets. "Be my guest," I tell her, as I flip off the light. The end
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