Date: Mon, 13 Dec 1999 14:27:42 EST Subject: REV: Champagne Toasts and Jam (1/1) Source: revision Classific: S Rating: PG-13 a couple of swear words, nothing more Keywords: none Spoilers: a vague reference to Triangle (US6) and to Unruhe (US4) Summary: It's the Gunmen's turn to host New Year's Eve. Champagne Toasts and Jam by Martha marthalgm@yahoo.com (with apologies to the Atlanta Rhythm Section) Don't need reason, don't need rhyme Ain't nothing I would rather do Going down, party time My friends are gonna be there, too. - 'Highway to Hell', Young/Young/Scott Tuesday, December 29, 1998 Hoover Building 11:05 am "Scully." "Good morning, Special Agent Dana Scully." Scully stopped typing up her report. "Frohike? Is that you?" "Yes, ma'am. I hope that I'm not interrupting some official business." "No, just finishing up some paperwork while it's relatively quiet in the office." She began rearranging files on her desk. "And you?" "Oh, the usual," Frohike began in all seriousness, "Eavesdropping, downloading unauthorized files, making general mischief on websites who are without proper security protections. You know, just gathering information for our next issue." Scully quickly looked around the corners of the office and debated about checking underneath her desk. She would not have put it past them to have bugged her area, and they *did* show up here a while ago. "And you were so bored that you had to call to talk with me." She looked over towards Mulder's empty desk and suddenly had some panicked thoughts. "Please tell me that you're not calling about Mulder gone missing again." "No, no, nothing of the sort. We know exactly where he is this morning, and he's behaving himself." Frohike began to clear his throat. "Which is why I'm calling actually. Mulder happened to mention that you had no plans for New Year's Eve, so I figure if he is so stupid as to leave your dancecard unfilled, then I might as well invite you to the Gunmen Bash. If you've not made other plans in the meantime." "You have a Bash?" Scully questioned, hoping that it did not come across as a doubtful retort. If Frohike heard any skepticism in her voice, he did not acknowledge it. "Our contacts and associates in the area take turns over the years hosting. This year, it's ours. We had some warehouse space free up over the last couple of months - you'd be amazed at what some third-world countries will pay for five-year-old technology. Byers is supervising Mulder and Langly with the setting up of the furniture and a sound system. If you're interested, you're more than welcome to drop by." "Well, thank you, Frohike, I . . ." Scully added hesitantly. "Um, listen, Agent Scully, this isn't like a date or anything - now don't get me wrong, I'd love to have your company. But Mulder will be here and the guys . . . and some others that you probably know. We do keep some strange acquaintances, but I'm sure that between us, we can guarantee your safety, should you have any concerns in that area." Safety was not the first issue on her mind, but she did not know just who would need protection from whom. "Is this your way of saying that there probably won't be that many women there and that you fear that my time will be monopolized?" "Contrary to popular opinion, we do happen to be on friendly terms with a number of women. We just don't get too many ladies in our crowd, if you get my drift." I'll bet, Scully thought to herself. "I am qualified on a variety of firearms, Frohike. It's not like I can't take care of myself." "Oh, we don't allow weapons anymore," Frohike interjected. "Not after the incident with the Hell's Angels." "Hell's Angels?" Her interest was newly peaked. "You invite Hell's Angels to these gatherings?" "You never know exactly when you're going to need a Hog on short notice." Scully thought that she heard some muffled laughter in the background, but Frohike continued. "We had a slight misunderstanding a few years back. Some ATF contacts showed up at the party, still in full gear, which understandably made some of the guests quite nervous. It sorted itself out within minutes, but we have all weapons checked at the door now." "A wise move." "You don't have to let us know right now. Mulder can probably fill you in on the details and such. He wanted us to send you an email with the invitation and stuff but, even with our equipment, I'm not comfortable sending anything in to the FBI. And besides, I wouldn't want you to get into any trouble with the personal traffic on company time." Now it was Scully's turn to stifle a laugh. "But you'll take the chance in calling me?" "Agent Scully, I'm crushed. What makes you think that this particular call could possibly be traced? See you later." x x x x x x x Thursday, December 31, 1998 Lone Gunmen Headquarters 8:35 pm Scully had been directed to the entrance near the loading docks. Mulder had explained that while tabs would be kept on the monitors at the usual entry point to the Gunmen's offices, they did not exactly trust all of their guests to leave their equipment untouched and so admittance to the party would be made in the rear of the building. She had brought a bottle of Moet & Chandon with her. Uncertain as to what exactly constituted 'beverages' to these people, Scully decided to play it safe. Champagne, while it usually left her with a headache the following morning, rarely made her drunk enough to let down her guard too far. As she approached the door, she noticed a larger figure already awaiting admittance. It was not until she was within a few feet when the person turned around and startled her. AD Walter Skinner. With several bottles in brown paper bags. If he was embarrassed or surprised to be found here, he did not let on. Skinner nodded to her, and she returned the gesture. x x x x x x x 9:00 pm "May I have everyone's attention, please?" The music had stopped, and Scully's attention turned to the small stage where the DJ resided. Byers, attired in dinner jacket and bow tie with microphone in one hand and champagne flute in the other, had taken the unfamiliar stance of center stage. "Ladies and Gentlemen, to Rio de Janeiro." Byers lifted the glass and drained it quickly. "Welcome to 1999." He left the podium amid a smattering of applause, and the music started up again. Scully turned to Mulder to ask, "What was that all about?" Mulder leaned in towards her shoulder to be heard over the music. "Byers was toasting the New Year in Rio time. He does this every year, welcoming in all the time zones to the new year." "How long has he been at it tonight?" "Since Moscow." Mulder looked at his watch. "They hit the New Year at four o'clock. And you've missed Jerusalem, Berlin, London, and the Azores." He turned to Frohike. "He doesn't speak Portuguese, does he?" "One of the few Romance Languages that he doesn't. His Russian and German are, of course, quite good. He still stumbles with Hebrew, but he's getting there." Frohike noticed the look on Scully's face, like she wasn't following the current conversation and explained, "Byers will usually welcome in a country's New Year in its native language. But don't fret - Buenos Aires and San Juan are coming up, so he'll get to use his Spanish." Scully appeared to be somewhat impressed. "He's been drinking since four o'clock? Is he going to make it to midnight?" "He only has one drink an hour; every hour on the hour." Frohike patted her arm and turned to leave. "Don't worry. He'll be fine." x x x x x x x 9:45 pm "Our party. We get to pick the music." Langly was explaining to Skinner and Scully the nuances of party music. Currently, the B52s 'Love Shack' was blaring from across the room. "See, right now, a lot of people are just getting here, and they don't know a lot of the others. A snappy tune will induce them to the dance floor and mingling begins. We'll slow it down a little after eleven o'clock - just to get everyone in a nostalgic mood, and then crank it up again after midnight. And I have the perfect first tune for 1999." Scully could see this one coming. "Oh, no, not that Prince one, please . . ." Langly shook his head. "I'm not giving it away. You guys will love it. You'll see." Scully regarded the retreating form of the youngest Gunmen as he slid back out on the floor to join the dancing mob. Black tux jacket with tails, black bow tie, black cutoffs, black hi-tops, and nothing else. And she forgot to ask him how, in the middle of winter, he managed to sport the tan that completed his look. The two looked over the crowd and then back at each other. Scully spoke first, "See anyone you know?" Skinner shrugged his shoulders. "My first time here." "Me, too." "Really? I'd of thought . . ." Scully finished her second flute of the evening. "No. Mulder's mentioned it before, but I've never gotten the nerve to actually show up." Skinner observed the three Gunmen as they ran into each other on the floor. "They kind of grow on you, don't they?" x x x x x x x 10:19 pm Scully heard a familiar but unwelcome snapping behind her as she was listening to a discussion of the merits of Stephen Hawking's latest theories. Someone was walking around with a Polaroid Instant camera, taking pictures of various groups. Ever since that one case a couple of years ago, she could never get comfortable with anyone taking her picture with that kind of camera. "Anything wrong, Scully?" Langly had noticed a worried look on her face. "No, not really." She turned to him and asked, "Why one of those cameras? Why not video?" "Ah, IBPO." He smiled. "Instant Blackmail Photo Opportunity. Comes in really handy when you want something done. We've gotten some real good favors over the years with some of those photos. They'll promise anything while they've been drinking." x x x x x x x 10:54 pm "Who is that?" Scully had spotted someone who had come in full Father Time regalia. Byers just shook his head. "We don't know. Honest. He comes every year, stays for a few hours, and then slips away. But he usually hangs around until the Baby New Year makes an appearance." "Baby New Year? Someone actually dresses up like that?" "Well, usually not voluntarily. What happens is that the first person to either pass out or get so totally smashed that they don't care anymore gets dragged off, stripped, wrapped up in bedsheets, and then gets hauled to the middle of the floor right at midnight." Byers vainly tried to suppress a huge grin. "It's been a weird fantasy of mine that Frohike will someday do the honors. I've enlisted Mulder's help to 'grease' that path this year, as it were. Are you game?" Several years ago, the idea of a half-naked Frohike would have gagged her sensibilities, but now that she knew him a bit better (and with the presence of champagne in her blood system), the visual was beginning to set off a wave of the giggles. "I'll come find you in a bit. It's off to welcome Puerto Rico." Byers began to make his way through the crowd toward the podium. Scully called out after him, not really caring who heard her, "I'm not stripping him." x x x x x x x 11:23 pm "How's the plan going?" Scully and Byers were out on the floor, dancing to 'Moonlight Serenade'. She had earlier noticed that Mulder and Frohike were huddled in a corner with a bottle of something, and she wanted to know if the plan that he had alluded to was still in effect. "Frohike knows what is going on, that's why I'm staying out of the way. He knows that Mulder doesn't drink well, and I think that he suspects that the bottle has been watered down. But even with all the drinking, Frohike's nowhere near pliable." Byers was not really good at maintaining a straight face. "So we've enlisted AD Skinner to the task, and he's *good*. Could be the first year that we have New Year's *Babies*." Scully finished her dance with Byers in a haze. Why did that movie 'Twins' all of a sudden come to mind? x x x x x x x 11:48 pm "Guys, we're running out of time." Langly's statement only made Frohike struggle harder. Langly had him by the left arm and Byers the right, with Mulder trying in vain to remove some of his clothing without ripping them. That Frohike got in some good kicks to Mulder's shins (although he was aiming elsewhere) only made the FBI agent more determined that this particular Gunman be out in the middle of the dance floor wearing a wrapped up bedsheet and little else. The door to the closet opened slightly, with Scully peaking in. "What's going . . . haven't you gotten him ready yet? The guests are getting nervous that the New Year won't start properly without the Baby." Mulder again made a play for Frohike's shirt. "Why don't you come in here and help us?" "NO!" For all of his bravado and probably for the first time in quite a while, Frohike was scared shitless at the prospect of her actually partaking in this event. "No, not in front of Agent Scully." "Wait a minute." Langly was so stunned at the revelation that he nearly let go of his partner. "Isn't this like one of your top all-time fantasies?" Frohike looked at the others and settled in on Mulder, as if he were the most rational and understanding of his captors at that moment. "Look, I'll behave IF, and ONLY if, Agent Scully plays no part in this." He glanced back sheepishly at her, with a look of complete humility and embarrassment. "OK?" Scully was transported back to Frohike's phone call a couple of days prior and the comment that he had made about there being few ladies in their social circle. She walked over towards Frohike and picked up the white bedsheet that had been designated for use that evening. "You do this for me, and the dance of your choice is yours." 'Did I just say that?' "OK?" The agent and the Gunman stared at each other for a few seconds before a silent understanding had been reached. Frohike relaxed, gently shook off his partners' holds on him, and started unbuttoning his shirt. Scully turned to leave, but Mulder caught up with her before she got to the door. "I can't believe that you did that." Scully loudly sighed and added, "I can't either, but it was the only way to get him out there before midnight." She stole a glance around Mulder to catch a glimpse of Byers unraveling the bedsheet. "And now, I've got to go see a man about a camera." x x x x x x x 12:06 am The customary midnight toast by Byers and the presentation of Baby!Frohike to the gathering went over well. While the crowd was starting to get its party bearings back, Langly took over the microphone to announce the first song of the new year. "Here it is, people. We'll see you at the end of the road." Scully listened to the intro and couldn't quite place it. Late 70's. Definitely something that she had heard blaring from car radios while in high school. It wasn't until the refrain came around that she appreciated the humor of it all. It was ACDC's 'Highway to Hell'. x x x x x x x 12:35 am Scully collapsed on one of the couches that lined one side of the warehouse. It hadn't been a bad New Year's, she thought to herself. I had a few drinks, a few laughs. Mainly at the sight of Frohike parading around with Father Time. There was more bedsheet than there was Frohike, so what could have started out as a diaper was transformed into a toga. And he was gentlemanly decent during the dance to Ray Charles' 'Georgia On My Mind'. After the dance, Frohike had hiked up and rearranged the sheet so that it wouldn't drag on the floor and escorted Scully to the sidelines for a breather. He took up the opposite corner of the couch and watched some of the others come over to join them. After a highly spirited debate amongst Byers, Mulder, and some of the other guests as to whether the new millennium begins in 2000 or 2001, Skinner reappeared on the scene with what was quite possibly the last two unopened champagne bottles in the building. Empty glasses were filled, and Skinner stood for a toast. He thought for a moment and then looked around at everyone waiting for him to spout something noteworthy. All he could come up with was, "Ah, fuck it. Drink up, everyone, and we can start calling the cabs." For some reason, this bit of fresh air from her former supervisor struck Scully as downright hilarious. This time, the giggles won. It was now Byers' turn to lead a toast. "OK, people. Resolutions. Who's got one?" He looked around at the group. "Mulder, you start." Mulder waved him off. "Don't do them. Can't keep them. This way, I don't feel guilty next year for not being able to follow through." Mulder looked over towards Scully, who was struggling regain control of her usual staid composure. "But I will offer another toast." He stood and raised his glass. "That we're all here, together, this time next year." The others raised their glasses also, amid the repeatings of 'To next year'. We drank a toast to innocence We drank a toast to time Reliving in our eloquence Another 'auld lang syne'. - 'Same Old Lang Syne', Dan Fogelberg end