Date: Mon, 13 Dec 1999 13:59:07 EST Subject: REV: No Time to Waste (1/1) Source: revision Disclaimer: The Lone Gunmen are the creative property of 1013 Productions and FOX Broadcasting. Category: S Rating: PG Spoilers: None Keywords: Lone Gunmen Summary: Everybody knows that holiday decorations and some hot chocolate help to make the season bright - but not necessarily for one of the Gunmen. A sequel to "A Day Through Time". Author's Note: The character of Rebecca "Becca" Foster and her background are the creative property of giz. I am told that I may borrow her from time to time, just as long as I don't kill her. She may be found in giz's The Messenger series on Gossamer. No Time to Waste by Martha marthalgm@yahoo.com "Come on, Byers. Get that skinny ass of yours in gear, or we'll be too late." Becca was standing in the doorway of the main office of the Gunmen headquarters, pulling on her gloves. Their cream color matched her scarf and the beret perched on her head, marking a deep contrast to the blackened curls that cascaded down her back. Byers was trying to put away the paperwork that he had collected over the last few days in anticipation of taking some time off for the upcoming holidays. But she was not making it easy by standing over him and tapping her foot with impatience. "So, where is the fun couple going tonight?" Langly asked, with a slight hint of sarcasm. "Moonlight skating? Caroling in the park?" "Leave them alone," Frohike whispered from the back of the office. "Actually, we're going to drive by some neighborhoods and see the decorations," Becca explained. "Can't let all that electricity go to waste." Langly's expression changed to one of sudden interest. He started staring at Byers with wide eyes and making small throaty sounds, like that of a small puppy trying to get someone's attention. Byers closed his eyes and sighed, knowing that he would probably give in to Langly's begging and stole a glance over at Becca. He would rather be alone with her but left that decision up to her. She caved in. "Well, if we're all going, we go NOW." Langly let out a hoot and grabbed his jacket. "Aren't you coming?" he asked Frohike. "No, I've got some things to work on." Becca started to walk towards the back of the office. "Come on, Moe and Larry would never go anywhere without Curly. Get your stuff, and let's go." Frohike looked up at Becca and noticed a twinge of pity in her expression. He then shifted his view towards Byers, who turned to avoid his stare. Obviously, Byers' pillow talk had included some of Frohike's more recent personal problems. "OK, I'm in." <> Frohike turned off all the lights and locked up while everyone piled into Becca's car. They were waiting for him just outside the front door, and Becca gunned the accelerator before Frohike could get settled in the back seat. He sat himself back up and started fidgeting with the seatbelt. "Where's the fire?" Becca shifted gears as she approached the freeway. "The best times to view the houses are right after sunset. That way you get to see all the lights and still have the full effect of the house and all the other decorations in the background." "Don't some neighborhoods discourage the drive-by traffic?" Langly asked. "Discourage, I don't know," Becca replied. "As long as we don't cause a traffic backup and are somewhat discrete about it, there usually isn't a problem. Besides, if they didn't want people to come and see the decorations, they wouldn't have gone to so much trouble to put them up in the first place." "Can't argue with that logic," Langly said, looking back out at the surrounding traffic. "Can't argue with *her*," Byers echoed. And immediately regretted it. Becca stole a glance at her companion in the front seat and roughly shifted gears. "OOPS," whispered Langly and Frohike, from the backseat in unison. Roughly forty minutes passed - forty quiet minutes - while Becca weaved through the late afternoon traffic on her way into some of Virginia's better subdivisions. She had done this every year, driven for miles out of her way to see the large houses decorated for Christmas and taken all the tours of those historic mansions. It was the fulfillment of a dream, kind of like her version of "The Miracle on 34th Street" where you go to see a beautiful house and all of a sudden realize that it is yours. She had hoped that Byers would be as fascinated with this fantasy as she was. She would get him there yet. The first subdivision that they drove through had some pretty, but not quite remarkable, offerings. Becca fiddled with the radio dial while pulling into the next area and settled on some non-stop Christmas music. "This should get you guys in the mood." Frohike tried to suppress a smirk. <> This neighborhood had gone all out with its ornaments. Becca shifted down into a slow crawl so that they all could view the houses. "Damn," Becca muttered under her breath, "look at that one." It had evergreens circling down along the columns of the front porch with golden bows secured every few feet. Red and yellow poinsettia plants lined up between the columns, and there were candles - real candles - lit in each window on the first floor. Becca spoke first. "Understated, but elegant." "Less is more," agreed Byers. The next several houses of Federal and French Neoclassical styles had varying degrees of lighting - from the small twinkling kind snaking through the trees to a cool ice blue that framed the windows. All had the traditional wreaths with red bows hung on the doors and on many of the windows. Special kudos went to the house whose sidewalk lighting was made to resemble miniature Christmas trees. The conversation in the car was carried by Becca and Byers; very little was forthcoming from the occupants of the back seat. Until the house at the end. Becca nearly hit the brakes in horror. It was garishly lit with red and green bulbs, and there were inflatable snowmen in the yard. On the roof were plastic reindeer and a fake chimney, with a fake motorized Santa halfway stuffed in it with its legs shifting back and forth as if signifying being stuck. It was something that Becca might have found funny as a child, but as an adult and a serious grader of seasonal decorations, she was slightly repulsed and embarrassed for the neighbors. "Whoa, cool," exclaimed Langly. "I bet kids live here." Becca could only reply, "I wouldn't be surprised," and looked to Byers. "That's our boy," Byers muttered under his breath. They toured one more subdivision in the area before deciding that some hot chocolate would really be appropriate to top off the evening. Becca drove them back towards DC and stopped off at a roadside diner just before hitting the beltway. Hot chocolates were ordered all around, and small talk about the upcoming holidays followed. Byers had spied a Christmas tree vendor across the street and made a mention about getting Becca to pick out one for her place. "Why don't you go ahead and narrow down the choices for me?" Becca suggested. "Me, too," added Langly as he gulped down the last of his drink. "I haven't done this in a long time." He raced Byers out the door and into the tree lot. Becca ordered another round of hot chocolates, two to go and two for herself and Frohike. She noticed that he had been very quiet during the evening and barely said three words since arriving at the diner. Something was on his mind, and she thought she knew what it was. "So," she began, "are you one of those people who really hate the holidays?" Frohike shrugged. "It's not *hate*. I just don't get as worked up over it as others do." Becca went fishing. "Unpleasant childhood?" "No. Ordinary childhood; real quiet." <> "So, you don't like being alone over the holidays?" Frohike emptied his mug and placed it somewhat noisily on the table. "Perhaps we should join the others to help pick out your tree." "In a few," Becca replied. "I figure Byers has about another seven minutes of narrowing down the candidates before we have to go out in the cold. So, how about answering the question." Frohike eyed Rebecca Foster for a minute. <> "I'm used to spending my free time alone. Holidays aren't that much different for me." "Perhaps they should start to have some meaning for you." Becca was not sure if she should go forward with this, with someone she did not know as well as she knew Byers. But since she had already stepped in it this far . . . "Pick up the phone and call her." Frohike looked back down at the table. <> He just closed his eyes and shook his head for a moment. "There's more to this than can be fixed with a simple phone call. It's just not going to happen." Becca halfway leaned over the table, trying to make her point. "Picking up the phone is the first step. Talking to her is the second. How many years have you wasted by not picking up that phone?" She settled back in the booth, almost expecting him to berate her for not minding her own business. She did not have to wait long. "You don't know anything about me, Rebecca. And calling her would not even begin to resolve anything." He began to pull on his jacket. "We should go join the others." "Not yet." Becca fought the urge to grab his arm to keep him in his seat. "Just stay for a minute, and hear me out. And then I'll shut up, and we can go, all right?" Becca shuddered and let out a small sigh. Reliving parts of her past, especially that time five years ago when she did not know if she would ever see another Christmas, were not easy for her. She had made some smartass remark to Frohike around Labor Day about the mysterious women in his past, not realizing that on that day that kind of comment sent him into a slight depression. Byers would later explain to her the sketchy details that he knew about one woman in particular and begged her not to pursue the subject. But over the last several months, watching Frohike when she visited the Gunmen offices and hearing his voice on the phone when she called to talk to Byers, she could not keep silent. She wanted to grab both arms and shake him and yell at him, anything to make him understand that wasted time was an enemy. It was something to be dealt with harshly and cut out - like the cancer that had been removed from her breast. For wasted time would just as surely kill him, was killing him, as the cancer would have killed her if left alone. And she had vowed from the moment of her recovery and counseling that she would never let another moment just simply pass by. And so she told him. About the circle of her friends from high school with whom she had lost touch. About her mother who made some phone calls to gather those friends for her hospitalized daughter. And how they had arranged their schedules to visit with her, accompany her home, look after her while she recovered and got her to physical therapy. The friends who made sure that she got back to work and went with her to the support group. And without whom she knew, just knew, that she would have never found the strength to continue. All because her mother had picked up the phone when she herself was too full of self pity to care. "You don't see how it hurts him," Becca continued, "to watch you day in and day out and not be able to do or say anything because he doesn't know what to say. Fortunately, keeping my mouth shut is not something that I do well." Frohike let out a small laugh, and Becca joined him. Maybe she had gotten through to him. Maybe she would try a little reinforcement later. But she had gotten him to relax a bit, and she would accept that for now. "Come on," Becca said as she started to slide her way out of the booth, "we should go and rescue Byers. I can see Langly running like a maniac up and down the aisles of the trees like a five year old. And seriously, I know that you guys have your sources, but if you need some help in tracking down a personal phone number, I have some contacts who can get it for you." Frohike followed her out the door and into the parking lot. Too late, he thought; I've had it memorized for months. end