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Title: Ungifted - Valentine's Day Summary: Reyes, Doggett, Scully, Mulder, Frohike, Byers, Langly and Will share a Valentine's Day full of angst. *I try to keep an open mind* Dedicated to Scifinerdgrl- Inspired by The X-Files Oasis Valentine's Day Challenge 1. Be Mine Valentine's Day 2002 Reyes balled up her terry socks and stuffed them into her running shoes. After checking in at the basement office, she would hurl her body toward the horizon and release this frustration. The card she could not resist slapping down on the counter at the pharmacy had jinxed her chances at happiness, she mused in superstitious angst. "Your prescription will take a few moments. We have some new Valentine's Day cards in stock," Janie had teased, winking at Reyes. Politeness had propelled Reyes to the slanting shelf of self-deprecation, as she pretended to select the perfect card for her nonexistent sweetheart. Against an envelope that was a little too red, she had discovered a greeting from her favorite animal charity, featuring a cow-eyed mutt and his demure kitten companion. With a defeated sigh, she had shuffled the card into the envelope and presented it to Janie. After all, good causes defined Reyes' life. "Aw!" The humiliated agent had heard Janie's predictable guttural praise before it left her lips. Just precious, Reyes had grumbled inwardly, I will add it to my stockpile of ungifted baubles in my underwear drawer. Reyes wished she lived with a cat that she could give the private spoils, which included a weighty amethyst heartstone acquired on sale at the Barley Bin for "just $19.49". She would happily unload the sappy kitten and puppy Valentine recently tucked among a rainbow of Victoria's Secret camisoles, as well. Three days after returning from Cairo and two nights after her second dinner with Frohike--six months before the current fated holiday--she had doomed her chances of receiving an encore box of Godiva chocolates from her favorite Gnome Gunman. Her spurning of A.D. Follmer's amorous advances and his subsequent retaliation through an investigation of the warehouse had shaken the budding relationship between G-woman and Gunman. Without Reyes' knowledge, Follmer had orchestrated a raid that landed The Boys in a local station house answering questions the interrogating officers only marginally comprehended. Once officially detained on various charges, Frohike had not dialed Reyes' cell phone, which he had lovingly hacked only days before; he had called Scully. At Scully's request, Doggett had posted bail, then further eroded Frohike's confidence in Reyes by threatening in typical fatherly fashion that it would "look pretty bad for Agent Reyes to get caught up in any of this hacker crap." However, Reyes alone had inflicted the worst damage. 2. Look Good 7:42AM With little concern for her appearance, Reyes panted along a bike trail near the Hoover Building. Dark fingers of her hair whipped about her face as a frigid breeze reddened her nose. The jarring rhythm of her feet against the unyielding asphalt pounded away muddled thoughts of loneliness and relational failure. In the discomfort of her exertion, she lapsed into memories of physical pleasure. The harsh wind fell away as his warm breath brushed her face, joined by candent whispers grinding like gravel underfoot. The tendrils of her hair tamed at his smoothing touch, her face flushed at his sensual motion. What death had sought to claim exploded in revelation. After suffering a paranormal split that wrenched the partners from each other, Doggett and Reyes had thundered together again to form an unstoppable coagency. In exigency, they had abandoned the restraint previously practiced and engaged in clandestine nuzzling beyond the basement office door. Still regretting lost days and nights with Mulder misused earnestly chasing spooks, Scully had detected the new agents' shifting partnership and encouraged Reyes to pursue her heart. If only Reyes, again confused by the needs of others, could have read her own heart, she would have gladly granted it lead. Late Summer 2001 "Man, Frohike, I knew this was going to happen." Langly planted a consoling hand on the short Gunman's shoulder. "It's those Spock ears of his. Women dig them." Frohike, the creases in his forehead deepening, felt too despondent to bother telling Langly to shut up. 8:10AM After half an hour of mobile meditation, Reyes gripped her bottle of Clari-Tea and rinsed the phantom taste of Doggett from her mind. She shed the damp socks and substantial cross-trainers and hurled them into the back seat of her sedan. She would see Melvin Frohike. Tonight. 3. Call Me 8:13AM On her way back to the office, she placed the call, leaving a message with Byers, who could not have sounded more depressed. Reyes regretted the way Valentine's Day served to re-injure the broken-hearted. She resolved to mend the hearts she could tonight. And leave the rest to cupid's arrow. 8:42AM When Frohike returned the call at the basement office, Doggett answered. Frohike attempted to veil his obvious ecstasy with professional detachment. Doggett clenched his jaw. As Reyes received the phone sheepishly and twisted the cord around her finger, bemoaning the lack of privacy, Doggett knew what he had suspected was true: Reyes was still toying with the notion of dating the shortest, thickest and oldest Lone Gunman. Poppa Smurf, for crying out loud. Doggett buried his head in a file, mentally rehearsing ways to begin his inquisition. 8:51AM "So you're indicting me for having a personal life?" Reyes roared at Doggett. Unlike the spiritual poseurs, Reyes never feigned enlightenment when anger swelled in her belly. She favored honesty, even if it meant wielding a righteous temper once and again. "Nah, you know that--come on, Mon," Doggett pleaded, looking down. Reyes knew they weren't arguing about whom she was seeing, but whom she was not. Her voice became lower and quieter, as she honed her emotion. "The X-Files is for loners, right? I get that. A few sad souls beating their bodies against the bureau, getting slapped back for approaching the truth, losing their chances at family, at intimacy. I would rather beat myself against a human being, someone I can touch, who allows himself to feel the truth, not just seek it." "I can't argue with that." Doggett sighed deeply and shrugged. "Monica," Doggett's voice caught on her name, as if suffering its release. "I gave myself to a family once. I could do it again, maybe. I'm good at compartmentalizing my life--I'm a good cop. But this--all of this," he waved his hand at the file cabinets looming in the corner of the cramped basement office. "It's not something I know how to leave when I punch out." "Right, you know how to go to the pub, go to bed, forget." Reyes' brow creased with compassion. "But I can live and love and work in the same place." "I don't want just a fragment of someone," Reyes explained, "I want a whole person. I want a lover who understands my day was so terrifying that I need his hands pressing into my skin to remind me that life can be safe. And who will kiss the sweat of a tedious night in this dingy little cave from my brow and love me for it." Doggett's heartbeat quickened with anxiety as Reyes elucidated his deepest desires. Reyes studied Doggett's luminous eyes, drenched in conflict. Finally, Doggett nodded, "We could have been partners beyond these doors. We have been. But somebody had to die first." "Welcome to The X-Files, home of crisis bonding." She murmured morbidly, hoping Doggett had meant their respective deaths, and his son's. Doggett frowned, "We can get it right. I can try." "Until I died, until you died, we enjoyed the illusion of that possibility. But our unexplained experiences shattered those illusions. What we are in each other's arms is lost, John. I can't save you. And I don't want you to save me." "Why can't you let go of the tough gal act, Mon?" "Because I am tough. I'm not the whimpering wife-y type. I can take care of myself. Even so, I do need people. People to share my life, not rescue me. As you know, I don't have a long blond braid, Sir John," Reyes paused. "And it really hurt to watch you gallop from my tower to Dana's--" "Wait a minute," Doggett uncrossed his arms and held up his hands. "Let's just leave Agent Scully outta this." Reyes glanced away, resigned to his undying protective gestures toward the first point of the triangle. "Mon, I'll admit I'm a sucker for a damsel in distress. Hell, I've changed more fair maidens' flats in the Texas heat... 'Used to drive Linda crazy with my chivalry. But that's all it is. Mulder's left that poor woman alone. I couldn't do that. I guess I'd wind up dead protecting her and William, if I was... Anyway, I like that you're a tough cookie. And I know you have a vulnerable side." "I'll show you mine if you'll show me yours," Reyes snapped. "Hey, you've seen me vulnerable plenty of times-" "Only when you couldn't help it. When you weren't coping well enough to hide behind that weathered cowboy smile. When you had no one else to trust. You said it yourself, 'when somebody died.' It seems that when you're in trouble, you call me. But when everything's good, you're too good to be true." Reyes bit her lip. She'd kept firing, as Mulder would say, and finally hit something. Doggett stood stunned, absorbing the accusation. "I've hurt you," Doggett touched Reyes' arm at the realization. She bristled, but allowed his fingers to stroke her. "Yes, John, but I don't want your comfort," she whispered, grieving that her words would hurt him. "I'm sorry--" "--I have a place to lay my troubles." She lifted her eyes to his, fixing him in an unintentional bedroom gaze. "Which brings us back to the reason we're discussing this at all." Frohike. Doggett knew Reyes' preferences included strange leanings, but he still could not fathom it. "Let's just leave it at watching each other's backs, OK?" Reyes coaxed understanding from her partner. Your turn first, she thought, as she pivoted away from him to complete a field report. 8:59AM Doggett's head throbbed as he watched his partner's back. Fingering the tiny box in his pocket, he cursed his sentimentality. Happy Friggin' Valentine's Day. 5:20PM "Angst junkies!" Reyes called after Scully and Doggett from behind the wheel of her government issue sedan, which seemed to be idling high. Those two will comfort each other more than they will comfort poor, fatherless William. "I'm worried about William," Scully had intimated to Doggett as they prepared to leave the office. Although Valentine's Day drives human beings to seek comfort wherever they can, projecting loneliness onto her son was unbalanced even for "physically shaking" Scully. How could William miss a father he did not know? He probably thought of "Uncle John" as his daddy, anyway. Reyes pushed aside the creeping guilt and continued to focus on purging her vile thoughts. She prepared to scream again, this time to the croonings of The Style Council's "Betrayal" on CD, "To hell with you beautiful people and your twisted realities!" To save time, she emitted a sepulchral "Uuurrrrh!" which she abbreviated as Scully turned toward Reyes' car. Reyes pretended to sneeze, convulsing in an exaggerated pantomime before stealing a glance in the rearview mirror to catch Scully slip into the passenger's side of Doggett's vehicle. The solitary agent winced. Although she had abandoned her own interlude with Doggett, Reyes shuddered at the pain of ending the game. "Follow your heart," Reyes mocked Scully's advice, feeling betrayed. "Kung Fu," Reyes instructed her Nokia, while pressing the keypad just in case the imaginary voice activation chip did not work. "Mel? Can we make our soiree about an hour earlier than planned, and at the warehouse?" "Affirmative!" Reyes would arrive within minutes, severely decreasing his nervous tinkering time; he had showered and shaved directly following their earlier conversation, and now flushed with the lifeblood of romantic hope. "I'll just throw a dishtowel over the Miss Pittsburgh Piston calendar, order some spicy take-out, and we're good to go." "If Miss Pittsburgh's brought her heart-shaped bikini and fiery red piston, I say let her join the party." Reyes punched off her cell phone, threw the car into reverse, and lurched out of her parking slot with force. She had plans for her height-challenged associate that would leave Miss Pittsburgh begging for that dishtowel. 4. Tres Chic 7:08PM Reyes paused before the eerie light of the dusky warehouse to organize her bounty. Her ungifted baubles would come in handy tonight. She had packaged herself in new lingerie, just as her mother had taught her. "Part of being a woman is remembering to feel lacy and delicate, even beneath your dusty work clothes," she had chortled, while peeling away a sweaty tank top with bedraggled bows from her young daughter's darklytanned back. The advice had annoyed Monica, who favored mudpuppies over frills. Now she bore her mother's wisdom with pride, understanding that secreting what is finest characterizes the power of womanhood. Her string bag blooming with recycled, beet-dyed tissue paper, Reyes sauntered to the door. Full of sexual prowess, and intoxicated by her signature citrus scent, she pressed her lips together to refresh her vanilla lip balm and waited. As she kicked one boot against a misplaced clod of concrete, and swung her bag behind her, Byers opened the door. His eyes sparkled, as he bowed aside, glancing at her admiringly. "Hey, gorgeous," Reyes slipped a hand behind his back in a sideways hug. "Um, I believe that's my line," Byers blushed. "You look amazing, if you don't mind my saying so." "Thank you," Reyes purred, handing him a card. The puppy and kitten pair had found a home after all. "You didn't have to--" Byers sighed, as Reyes touched his arm tenderly. "Happy Valentine's Day," she cooed with compassion. "And to you," Byers nodded graciously, fingering the red envelope. Reyes turned to find Frohike agape. He almost uttered "Maitleya" aloud. The svelt agent's proportions may be slightly more realistic, but the impression was pure fantasy. Each time he saw Reyes, he could not imagine why he did not flop to the floor to drool at her feet, and stalk her like a maniac when they were apart. Somehow, he managed a greeting, which evoked affection from Reyes. She grasped his hands and held his familiar gaze in her own for a moment. "Hey, I've missed you, Mel." Frohike's eyes wandered to her shoulders, where her glossy hair drifted against her shiny black jacket. "May I take your coat?" He caressed each vowel carefully in an attempt to seem relaxed. "I don't know, what do you intend to do with it?" Reyes teased. Frohike blinked, still mesmerized. What are we going to do with you, thought Reyes, charmed by his adoration. It's what I am going to do to you that you need to worry about, Frohike thought with a smirk, then recovered, shaking his head at his dark inner commentary. As Reyes slipped out of her jacket, Frohike caught it on the way down and draped it over his arm. Reyes strutted to the workstation, as both Byers and Frohike wished the distance were farther. They followed her, tracing her painfully exquisite and lithe motion, and exchanging incredulous glances, as Frohike mouthed, "hot!" 5. Sweet Talk 7:13PM Looking at women worked for some men. They could watch a woman--or listen to her sultry voice--and receive deep satisfaction. Frohike craved touching, experiencing the moist breath of hard-won secrets against his sensitive ear, luxuriating in the velvet of delicate wrists brushing his lips. He had yearned to explore this achingly beautiful woman again, to animate her laughter with his eccentric wit, to spill his own secrets as she warmed the taught skin over his heart with her supple cheek. Patience had overpowered any vain notion of a substitute. Mulder's jokes about bequeathing Frohike his video collection had once served as a nod to Frohike's need for a real woman. Lately, the Gunman's desire for the new agent had trumped any fantasy. So, he had waited. After a few moments in the presence of her dark elegance, he always would begin to get why he felt so at home with her. Reyes was real: open about her flaws, attentive, empathetic, and skilled at connecting. Tonight, in her impassioned way, she was taking care of business before pleasure. Petitioning him from her maelstrom of grace, Reyes was apologizing to Frohike. 6. Be True -dedicated to Sita- 7:26PM The workstation hummed with energy, stripping electrons from the nearby humans in the dry winter air of the cavernous warehouse. Reyes perched at Frohike's desk, her back to his monitor, as he reclined in a captain's chair, his legs crossed under his belly. My own personal Buddha, Reyes mused to herself, smiling. She thought of the libidinous guru on the mountain in Robbin's _Even Cowgirls Get the Blues_. The relaxed agent had paused in her speech and allowed herself to become completely distracted. "I'm sorry, where was I?" she lilted with a sensual grin. "About right here," Frohike indicated his gut and smirked. Reyes burst into hearty laughter. "A wonderful place for meditation." "I'm--I need to eat with you more often," Frohike confessed, patting his paunch. "Which reminds me, Dada Delivery should be arriving about--" He glanced at Langly's monitor to check the time. "--now." "I appreciate you listening to me so patiently, Mel. I have tried to be forthright." Reyes shifted toward Frohike, consciously delaying her natural habit of touching him as she spoke. She did not wish to influence his decision, even with innocent fondling. "I trust you, Monica. I get how disorienting this past few months must have been for you. Doggett calls you in, then Follmer shows up--lots of unfinished business. And the thing with Agent Doggett, your ties to him revolve around life and death experiences. That's heavy stuff." "You forgive my impetus, then?" Reyes extended her hand, which Frohike took in his own, palm open to hers in generous vulnerability. "Even if you rip my heart out, the pleasure's all mine." Frohike assured her, raising her hand to his lips without losing her gaze. After a moment, he released her hand, uncrossed his legs, and slipped his feet into his thongs on the cold floor in front of him. "You're a groovy guy, Mel." Reyes exhaled an endearing sigh and shook her head. She was relieved to discover even more compassion and character than she expected in this unlikely sweetheart. Finally, someone to challenge her to be herself. She sensed ambient safety in the electronic vibrations around them. Frohike answered her appraisal by rising with a selfconscious grimace. "Keep up that groaning and I'll take you running with me," Reyes warned with a wink. "'Good to know," the aging Gunman knit his brow warily. As Reyes swiveled toward the monitor and sprang from her chair, her elbow bumped Frohike's keyboard. The screensaver disappeared, exposing a live cam feed. Her jaw dropped as she recognized Doggett and Scully. She gasped, "What the--?" 7. What's Up? 7:32PM Byers re-appeared from his ambiguous *downtime* to investigate what he had already surmised: Reyes had discovered the covert monitoring of Scully's apartment. "What *is* this?" Reyes demanded, her pulse racing at the sight of Doggett and Scully hovering over William's bassinet. "Does Scully know--?" "Oh, yes, of course--she asked us to set it up in Will's room. 24/7 monitoring, except when she has guests. Well, certain guests," Byers gushed. "I guess this is a good idea, after that nasty episode with the NSA and the suspicious couple who tried to abduct Will." Reyes peered at the screen. She felt as if she had sustained a blow to her stomach. She staved off the adrenaline threatening to race through her body and throw her brain waves into fight or flight mode. Nothing had prepared her to see the two of them together in Scully's apartment, looking so... parental. Frohike considered Reyes, who was riveted on each silent movement of the monitored agents, as a cat coiled to pounce. Was her break from Doggett's magnetism too fresh to sustain this revelation? "'Got sound?" Reyes asked flatly. "Um, yeah, but we don't normally listen when Scully has, well, when Doggett's, um," Byers stammered. "What Byers is trying to say is that we feel more than a little strange about this arrangement, and we try to diminish the intrinsic invasiveness of it by allowing privacy when a trusted visitor--" "Turn it up, Frohike." Reyes ordered bluntly, attempting to cover the plaintive note in her tone that he detected easily. "I don't think this one will make the cut--" Byers murmured to Frohike. "The cut?" Reyes barked, offended by his aside. Frohike's face fell as Reyes began searching for the volume control. He tapped a few keys and white noise hissed from the speakers. "We burn DVD's for Mulder, the best of--William's a real ham." "You edit them yourself?" Reyes' eyes darkened, as she remained immersed in intense study of the silent onscreen couple. Frohike nodded, affirming reluctantly, "I edit the films, at Scully's request." At last, Reyes remembered to breathe. What a riddle. She felt jealous of Doggett's interaction with Scully, and now she was questioning the apparent hours Frohike spent as voyeur, working with intimate footage of the red-haired agent. And all the time Scully was desperately attempting to reach out to Mulder, her only remaining interest, aside from William. Reyes decided to renew her loyalty to her estranged friend. They had shared many private talks in the beginning, before Mulder left and Scully withdrew from everyone. Reyes had allowed her misplaced possessiveness to overshadow her empathy for the bereaved woman. She had avoided being there for Scully, who had turned to Doggett for comfort. Reyes realized how she had unwittingly contributed to Doggett considering a relationship that had no hope of consummation. "Huhn, are those empty bags of sunflower seeds in her wastebasket?" Reyes' heart sank. "Yeah, Agent Scully eats them because she's breastfeeding. Good for the baby. Mulder would approve," Byers declared. "The sunflower seeds pass through her milk, that's true. But I think the reason she's eating them has more to do with arranging Will's preferences. She's ensuring Mulder's habit is passed on to his son." Reyes sensed sadly. "That's just an impression, of course." Reyes' eyes left the monitor to search Frohike's face. His worried countenance moved her. Now it was so clear to Reyes, as it had been to the others for months, that Scully was ripe for a breakdown. Doggett's rugged whisper broke the silence, "We can fix all this right now, you know. You just look into that camera and tell Mulder to come home." "No, John, don't," Reyes gasped at his 13-inch image on the screen. The warehouse trio watched as Scully's shoulders began to shake. 8. Diva 7:37PM The final moment portrayed an enraged Scully, her eyes brimming with angry tears, ripping apart the camera hidden in a mother goose kinetic mobile in the corner of the nursery. The "goose cam", as they called it, oscillated wildly before disintegrating to static. "Blast!" Byers exclaimed, rubbing his face with his hands in frustration. Frohike and Reyes stared at the hissing monitor. With one finger, Frohike shut off the feed. Scully's tortured expression continued to play in their minds, as they turned to one another. A rapid knock at the door interrupted their helpless contemplation. The short Gunman inhaled and flip-flopped in his thongs to the door. "Passcode," he yelled through the steel panels. "Speedy friggin' delivery, man," Langly bellowed back, "Forgot my--just let me in!" 7:42PM The group congregated in a solemn circle and briefed Langly on Scully's tirade. "Poor Scully," Langly's shoulders sagged. "Maybe this'll help. From locker 1013." The Boys exchanged glances, as he produced a palm-sized box marked "Queequeg" in familiar handwriting. 8:31PM At Scully's apartment, a weary and troubled Doggett greeted Reyes and Frohike, admitting them wordlessly. They found Scully reclining on the sofa beneath a quilt, which concealed nursing Will. "Sit down, please," Scully invited the couple near with a hoarse whisper. From Scully's calm and contrite demeanor, Reyes intuited that the new mother had followed through with her breakdown after disconnecting the camera. Judging from her voice, it had included primal shrieking. Although disturbing to witness, such an outburst probably purged crippling poisons from Scully's body and spirit. Reyes was grateful Doggett had been available to offer a strong shoulder. Jagged particles hung in the air, diffuse energies released in the 'shouting ceremony', as Reyes' therapist once named it. She would offer a smudging to neutralize those energies, Reyes decided. "How are you feeling?" She deliberately placed her hand on Scully's arm, sending loving warmth through her fingertips. "I'm fi--not so great, actually." Now this is progress! Reyes brightened. Scully would be "fine" someday. She was sure of that now. Reyes tucked a stray strand of copper hair behind Scully's ear and whispered in a singsong fashion, "It's OK to act mad when we need something, isn't it, Will?" Without releasing his mother's breast, Will turned his wide eyes to the first human he had seen at birth, his dark-haired "Aunt" Monica. Frohike and Doggett shuffled their feet, conscious of the maternal beauty before them. They smiled at one another briefly, agreeing with a nod that women were amazing. "We have something for you," Reyes' voice registered excitement. "For Will?" Scully's eyes crinkled at the corners. "A gift from afar." As Scully's hand appeared from beneath the quilt and received the package, she shifted Will to one side, and sat upright. "Oh my G_d!" Nervously, she turned the brown paper-wrapped box over and over. "I'd-- I'd like to open this--" Scully's eyes begged understanding from the assembly. "We'll see ourselves out." Reyes smiled, ushering the bewildered men toward the door. 9. I Love You 8:42PM Scully knew overt symbolism turned Mulder's stomach. His tangible gifts had proven sparse and simple: a "cool" trinket, a beloved doll... imbued with meaning by the moment of their arrival, and their sentiment. So Scully did not expect to find a heart for Valentine's Day when she tore away the brown paper--saving a frayed square that read "Queequeg"--and opened the silver box. But there it lay, in a golden sheen to match her cross, a tiny heart inscribed with William's birth date. As Scully slipped her thumbnail along the side of the Victorian charm, it opened to reveal a black and white image of the three of them, taken the day before Mulder's departure. With shaking hands, she slipped her chain from around her neck and added the locket to the cross. After working the clasp her hands knew well, she pressed her fingers against the heart at her throat, feeling its solid promise. She kissed sleeping Will's moist fingers, as he sighed with a tiny snort. He would have another "pretty" to explore upon waking. His earliest memories now would include a photo of his father and mother holding him, fitted inside a heart dangling above his mother's own. One could make a solid case for this gift as classic symbolism, she mused. Cynicism and zest for originality fall away in desperate times. In turn, the past will disclose its secrets for survival if we listen. 10. Two Hearts 9:13PM Doggett hunkered amidst his familiar den trappings thinking of Scully and her Valentine from Mulder. He grunted his displeasure, then reached deep into his Dockers, beyond his cell phone and breath spray, to retrieve a small box. Flipping it onto his leg, then fingering it slowly, and finally opening it, he imagined the woman who might have accepted his gift. Her eyes would glisten appreciatively, full of surprise and gratitude. If he had planned the perfect present for Reyes, it would include a donation to her favorite charity. Most of her jewelry, save a mysterious snake ring she had probably acquired in Cairo, he knew she had paid for herself. "I do not choose men who gift me with expensive diamonds," she had confessed to him over drinks one night, "and that's not what I really want, anyway." While Monica did not need anything to validate her beauty, her wisdom, her ability as an agent, lover, woman... Dana Scully needed much more than Mulder could ever give her. Holding the trembling new mother tonight had awakened him to the true motivation for his jewelry purchase. Doggett realized that he had bought the fiery, heartshaped ruby earrings--which the sales clerk had called "red hots, you know, those cinnamon candies"--for Dana, as back up, in case Mulder failed to come through for her. But Mulder's gift had found Scully, and at this moment, balmy winds of the past were buffeting her tormented soul. Whatever was in Mulder's box was not enough, but it was rare and precious to Scully, as the keeper of her partner's ever-lengthening heartstrings. If they snapped, she would be adrift. Meanwhile, Doggett remained watchful, helping to protect Scully and her child, a task that had defaulted to him. Without expectations of gratitude, Doggett had accepted the position. Monica was right, he was not free from his post at Dana's tower. Into the top drawer of the mahogany glove cabinet beside his recliner, he tucked the scarlet box, ungifted. 11. That Smile 9:33PM 69* Reyes explained the features of the Atomic Projection Clock and Barometer she had given Langly. "You have some gadgets to work with here: a tilting projector, crescendo alarm, you know, stuff you can parley into something else. Happy MacGuyvering!" "Frohike, I am in love with your girlfriend," Langly exclaimed. "This must have set you back a hundred bucks, Agent Reyes. I'm not worthy!" Reyes leaned over to kiss Langly's cheek, causing his scarlet curse to climb his face. She grinned with Langly, pleased to see his spirits lifted. He seemed especially sensitive to others, and the events of the evening had lined his face with worry. Frohike winked at Reyes. She paired a shrug with an enticing sidelong glance. All goddess metaphors apply, thought Frohike. From innocent to provocative in less than 10 seconds. He could recall a few flower children who habitually left men swooning in their patchouli wakes, but he had not experienced Reyes' level of sincerity. Her caring never felt transient. Or falsely altruistic. Reyes moved to peck Byers on the left temple, watching him slowly blink and inhale her scent. She glimpsed dewdrenched strawberries in an obsidian bowl in her mind's eye as she brushed his brow with her lips. She hoped her impression meant that soon he would encounter some extraordinary return on his affection. "Third time's a charm," she announced, leading Frohike to his sleeping quarters with her fingertips. Within her magnetism, Frohike's own fingers pulsed with sensitivity. 12. Kiss Me 9:21PM As her boot heels struck the concrete slab, slight quivers shimmered along her body, accentuating her curves. Once in his room, she pressed her hands along the back of her neck, releasing the day's tension with her kneading fingers, then let it her hair fall in a curtain of silken strands. Frohike was close enough to hear her dark tresses slap the back of her satin blouse, and feel the perfumed air around her stir as she moved. He traced each motion, battling an urge to pounce. "Mmm," he whined with desire, as she perched on the edge of his bed and closed her eyes in anticipation of his touch. She should be painted--or devoured, he thought. He removed his glasses, crouched behind her on his knees, and slipped his hands under her collar. His earthy hands stroked her neck, then her shoulders and along her upper arms, where he squeezed with a delicious pressure that prompted a pleasured sigh from deep within her. Frohike leaned his forehead into her hair and inhaled. "Monica," he insinuated into the fragrant locks drifting in his breath. Reyes answered his barely audible plea by leaning her head to one side, exposing the tender flesh of her neck. His fingers found her ear and stroked it gently, before tracing the velvet skin behind it to her collarbone. He slipped her blouse from her shoulder and drank in the beauty of her smoothness, luminous in the moonbeam seeping through the skylight. Reyes leaned into him, resting against his chest. His mouth hovered an inch from her neck, and his warm breath caused her to shiver. He bit his lip, and returned to stroking her shoulders rhythmically. He wanted to confess how confused he felt about her renewed interest in him, considering her reunion with Doggett upon returning from Cairo, and again in early winter; but surely, she felt his doubts. And she had apologized for her past indecisiveness, asserting her desire to know him. For now, he would accept her tenderness without true understanding. He was acquainted with the unexplained, after all. His wet mouth found her neck, and Reyes held her breath to relish the ticklish nuzzling of his tongue and lips. His teeth nibbled the skin at the base of her neck, sending waves of awakening through her body. Vulnerable, with the tiger on her throat, tamed and panting, Reyes felt the ache of hot liquor pooling in her sacred spot. 13. Ama Me 9:42PM She crossed her arms at her waist and shed her shirt, revealing a blood red stretch lace chemise. He caressed the complex texture, detecting her feminine curves beneath. The neckline plunged to reveal the hollow between her breasts and her gorgeous natural shape, embraced by the sheer fabric. "Hey, Valentine," Reyes cooed in Frohike's ear, turning to press her lips into his. The permanent crease between his brow deepened as he gently sucked her top lip before entering her soft mouth. She hummed in warm aspiration. Frohike blinked, pulling back to focus on her incredible brown eyes, wide with passion, and cradle her jaw in his hot hands. "Soulful eyes," she murmured, stroking his eyebrows with her thumbs. She kissed the tip of his upturned nose, as her hands found his belly. Slipping them beneath his vest, she peeled it away from his shoulders, then held his gaze as she unbuttoned his shirt with one hand, and lovingly explored him with the other. Frohike's chest tightened with anxiety as he displayed his soft underbelly for the first time in many seasons. Despite his shape and years, Reyes offered warmth that encouraged his natural confidence, and he quickly set aside petty fears. The dark-haired agent continued to gaze up at him, as she curled against his bare chest. She stroked his back gently as his tiny hairs lifted to meet her fingertips. Her older partner wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, wanting to feel her heartbeat. He stroked the toned muscles between her shoulder blades in deep circles, as his chest grew warm. The energies passing through their hearts brought deep acceptance and trust, as their breathing synchronized. A tear rolled down Reyes' left cheek. Frohike traced it with kisses to its conclusion at her elegant jaw line, then continued down her neck to her heart. In awe of her attentive lover, she arched her back slightly, susurrating his name. She sensed a powerful synergy forming in their midst, and lifted Frohike's face to hers, imploringly. He confirmed the euphoric tremor. "I feel it, too." 14. Mi Amor 10:13 As Reyes and Frohike rejoined the other Gunmen, who were grazing the Dada leftovers, they noticed furtive looks from Langly, and Byers' approving smiles. "OK, guys," Reyes grinned slyly, "go ahead and gawk." "What?" Langly assumed a defensive posture. "It's just that," Byers began, "there's this amazing vibe coming off of you." "Amazing vibe?" Reyes repeated, bemused, then stole a glance at Frohike. "Yeah, Frohike's all... chilled out." Langly mumbled around a mouth full of rice. "I almost forgot--" Frohike, still focused on Reyes, wandered off to his quarters again. "Any broccoli conchiglie left?" Reyes inquired. Byers lowered his eyes, still smiling, and began spooning out the pasta. "Here, let me fix you a plate." Frohike returned with an envelope and handed it to Reyes, who smiled graciously as she pulled out a certificate. "How wonderful! You made a donation to the animal shelter in my name." "Actually, it's a receipt of sorts. Agents don't usually have pets because of their unpredictable schedules, I realize. But if you do choose to adopt a little Fluffy or Fido, there will always be someone here to care for him when you're away. Otherwise, yeah, it's a donation." He explained. "Wow, thank you. I'll have to think about this. I have been wanting a kitten. My building is petfriendly. I guess the only thing keeping me from adopting is my job. You'd really cat-sit for me?" "Of course we would, anytime," Frohike assured her. Byers and Langly agreed, in stereo. "You want to visit the shelter with me Saturday?" Reyes raised her brow. "It's a date." Frohike beamed. "Score," Langly congratulated Frohike, who bowed gallantly. "Now," Reyes began, "while you tank up, I'm going to retrieve *your* gift." Frohike reached for her hand. "What can you give the guy who has everything?" "Blech," spat Langly, "Try a cornball meter." 15. Solo Tu 10:42PM As Reyes poured candy hearts into a substantial DEF CON V ashtray from the since-raised Aladdin Hotel and Casino, Langly and Byers lingered to keep her company. They reminisced about the good old days with Mulder--the handle "Spooky" suited him especially now, as his palpable presence continued to personally haunt each member of the diverse force that comprised the X-Files. Frohike contemplated Reyes' recently penned poem in solitude, before the phosphorescent glow of the workstation: Dream In Season -for Mel- I leap through fissures of Fantasy The clouded mirror splinters -Monica Reyes, Valentine 2002 10:59PM Frohike approached Reyes, with his glasses and her poem in one hand. With the thumb and forefinger of his other, he rubbed his moist eyes. Byers and Langly scattered. "Thank you," he rasped, then cleared his voice, lifting the deckle edged paper. "Far out poem. I'm absolutely electrified that you wrote this for me." Frohike placed his glasses on the table and tucked the poem inside his vest, next to his heart. Reyes smiled at the gesture. This time, Frohike led Reyes toward the soft effulgence of his corner of the cave. 11:07PM While the broken-hearted slept alone that night, Melvin and Monica stayed awake sharing their dreams, and candy hearts. As of Valentine's Day, they no longer counted themselves among the ungifted. [The Currandera's Neice] A friend once said that we all draw our own lines. For me, no depth seems deathly enough, no loss too great, if the prize is the life of a friend. But where does my responsibility for the drowning person end? As I look back to find a shoreline of friends and the victim pulls me under again, I gasp for serenity. When I was young, my cousin and best friend taught me that as a hue'rfana, an adopted child devoid of her blood, I was to give my life to any whim of hers. For years, I did this, hoping fervently for her validation in return for my selflessness. Although unable to swim, she would plunge into deep waters to force me to save her, flail and scream until I rescued her. Her parents would rush to coddle their "half-drowned" daughter, leaving me to shiver on the dock. Sometimes blaming me for her folly. Through this, I became a strong woman and good swimmer, but with an attraction to needy people. Fortunately, my parents' support buffered these endless inner struggles, while an aunt who considered me her natural progeny taught me the healing arts. I am learning to draw my line a little closer to the shore, and to love those on the shoreline who are also good swimmers. Blogged 2.14.02 23:42 by Mon >>Cyberplasm-SFTM 14.02.02 23:42 Perception is reality: I grew up on 007, and spent many adolescent afternoons sketching blueprints for those cool gadgets. I dreamed of the day I could languish at the bar, intoning, "Shaken, not stirred." Meanwhile, I learned to Tango. Unfortunately in my case, the man inside is reflected poorly by the package. Lacking stature, good hair, and a strong chin, I eventually rebelled against my own hero and began dressing the part of the underground villain. I could not pull off elegantly dangerous, so I settled for just dangerous. I also began restoring classic cars, which serendipitously made me a chick magnet. That served my testosterone-riddled adolescence, but never satisfied my fundamental need for a companion who could, well, think like an international double agent while running in stilettos. All the good agents were taken. Actually, the one I knew had fallen for her partner, who was--you guessed it--the epitome of the elegantly dangerous spy. Sort of. Then, as if straight from the big screen, She stepped into my life, the svelte special agent. I hacked her gadgets. I traveled to the ends of the earth to save her (by satellite, anyway). Tonight I made her mine. And I didn't have to sell out to do itshe actually likes my signature collection of Haz-Mat cum Bono Vox duds. It seems her X-ray goggles allow her to see the man inside. Basically, she gets me. So I raise my tumbler of Jim Beam to my fellow undercover James Bonds. May you find your special agent, without having to buy a toupee first. adios Acknowledgments: Conversation Heart Candies, a classic from Necco--now available, Hispanic Hearts! http://www.necco.com/ Send your X-Files Conversation Heart suggestions to me! nexxo@auburnished.com I'll be posting them...and remember:
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