From: amstone@ix.netcom.com(Alaina M. Stone) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: Tiki Tale--Would You? Could You? (1/3) Date: 30 May 1996 04:30:49 GMT WARNING!!! For all those who really like the idea of Skinner and Tiki in a romance, this will bum you out. This has them breaking up. It's amicable, and they seem to behave themselves, but if you were expecting a marria ge, it ain't gonna happen. I'm sorry. I just couldn't see the two of them in a long-lasting monogamous relationship. If you are curious as to why, then write me at amstone@ix.netcom.com. I'd be happy to explain. Just don't shoot, ok? If you have not read, in this order, "An Inauspicious Beginning," "Playing with Matches," and "Normal People," you will probably be lost. There are two more, called "They Also Serve" and "Best-Laid Plans" after this one, that have my favorite AD and Tiki meeting inadvertantly and getting together for a brief fling, but it too is temporary. If you like this, then let me thank Sally Bradstreet for her invaluable input. If you don't, I made it all up myself. Sally doesn't know anything about it. ; ) Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and Walter Skinner belong to Chris Carter, 10-13 Productions and Fox. I am using them without permission, but if you don't tell, I won't. "The Cat in the Hat" and "Green Eggs and Ham" are the pr operty of the late, lamented genius Dr. Seuss. "Time in a Bottle" belongs to Jim Croce. Sorry sir for what I did to it. Bonnie Drew and the Gilbert family are my own and not to be blamed for anything. Rated PG for som e implied sexual content. Y'all know me better than to expect anything more graphic. Would You? Could You? (1/3) By Bonnie Drew Part 1 Cheryl Gilbert snuck another glance at the tiny little woman who was curled cozily at her brother's side. She was pretty, in a porcelain doll way. She hadn't said much through dinner, but seemed quite at ease as Cheryl and her husband, Alan, had told story after embarrassing story. Terry's ears were brilliant scarlet, but Bonnie hadn't joined in the teasing. As a matter of fact, Cheryl thought to herself, she had gently steered the c onversation toward the escapades of Cheryl's own children, James, 6, and Amber, 4. "Can I help you with the dishes, Cheryl? I'm an old hand at scrubbing off counters." Bonnie was asking. How nice! Cheryl thought and only replied, "No, thanks Bonnie. You're a guest. Why don't you keep my brother company?" "With pleasure." Bonnie answered, but only loud enough for her date to hear. He nudged her ribs and she sighed. "I know, I know." She breathed resignedly. "On my best behavior." She recited the phrase with the air of a particularly dull nursery rhyme. Assistant Director Walter Steven Skinner nodded. "As promised." He alluded to a brief conversation in the car outside his sister's house. "Bonnie," he had warned, "These are my family." "Yes, I know. I'm so looking forward to meeting them." Her lilac-colored eyes danced at the thought of possible mischief. "I'm not kidding. No funny stuff." Dr. Bonnie "Tiki" Drew had sat up in her seat. "Steve," she purred, "This is your kid sister and her family. What could I possibly do?" He hadn't bothered to reply and she couldn't resist the opening. "I mean, it's not like I'm going to talk about hemoglobin over the soup, or aneurysms over dessert, right?" "Bonnie, please." He took off his glasses and turned to face her, broad shoulders completely blocking her view of the house. "No corpse jokes, no references to freezers, morgues," he ticked them off on his fingers, "pa thogens, tissues or organs of any sort." "Can I make a crack about examining tables?" She asked him, all innocence. He had flushed a deep red. "No!" He took a breath as she chuckled. "Just be good, Bonnie." "I'm always good." She answered indignantly, then her voice lowered. "In fact, sometimes, I'm even great." Skinner shook his head and looked entreatingly at her with the dark brown eyes that had attracted her so strongly to begin with. "For me. Please. Just for tonight, be on your best behavior?" Bonnie had managed to hide her hurt under a look of reluctant acceptance. "Cross my heart. Hope to die." She made an elaborate show of drawing a line with her fingers over her heart, her voice the drawl of a bored six -year old at a family reunion. Then, she grinned. "Stick a needle in my eye. Whoops! Sorry. No shop talk." He had groaned and she had kissed him reassuringly, got out of the car and rang the doorbell. Now, he thought to himself, he had to admit, she'd been a delightful guest. As a matter of fact, he would almost call her behavior during dinner demure. Cheryl had taken him aside while Alan had mixed some drinks and w hispered, "Terry, she's adorable! Wherever did you find her?" To his own surprise, he had flashed a smile and said, "Under a sheet. In the morgue." The look of confusion on Cheryl's face had been priceless, and he smiled now at the memory. It had been a comment that Bonnie hersel f would have made. Huh. Must be rubbing off on me. "You have a lovely home, Cheryl." Bonnie called from her position by Skinner. "Thank you. Remind me to give you the grand tour sometime." Cheryl's voice trailed out from the kitchen, then she appeared at the doorway balancing a tray on which were placed four pieces of cherry cheesecake. "Desser t?" "Yes. Thank you." Bonnie bounced up to help with the tray, and Cheryl heard the sound of cotton sliding over silk. As Bonnie presented Cheryl's brother with his cheesecake and fork, Cheryl frowned, trying to remember s omething. Terry's date claimed her own cheesecake and her former position on the couch. As she bent over to pick up the plate, Cheryl caught a quick glimpse of the inside of the neck of the white shirt. It said, "17 an d a half." The sleeves were rolled, and the collar turned up. The shirt was much too big for her little body, and was worn casually over a black silk tank and short black and white skirt. Cheryl tried to convince herse lf that Bonnie shouldn't wear something so large for her, that she looked like a little girl playing dress-up. But she didn't. On her, the outfit was perfect. It was sexy, chic. But something didn't fit. Then Cheryl realized what was odd and smiled, chuckling a little to herself. Alan cocked an eyebrow in a slight, questioning motion. She shook her head in an, "I'll tell you later" reply. The shirt buttoned on the left. It was a 17 and a half. A man's shirt. A man's size. Terry's size. Terry's shirt. She peered at Bonnie with new respect. Her brother hadn't brought anyone over to meet his kid sister in ten years. To her complete surprise, Bonnie caught her eye and gave her a slow wink. That's when Cheryl realized that the little woman knew exactly what she had been thinking. She decided to like her, for her brother's sake. "So, Cheryl" Her brother began, oblivious to the byplay between the two women. "Where are my niece and nephew?" "In bed. But they said they loved you and miss you." Alan answered for his wife. "We don't see nearly enough of you." "Well," Skinner said non-commitally, "Work keeps me pretty busy." He took off his glasses and cleaned them on his sweater. It had been a gift from Bonnie a couple of months ago. She had told him that "All guys look go od in sweaters." The hunter green did seem to suit him, and the sweater fit well over the strong lines of his torso. It was rapidly becoming his favorite. "Your son is six?" Bonnie was asking, "I guess he's into dinosaurs now?" "Yes." Cheryl laughed, her brown eyes warm twins of her brothers'. "We can't get him away from the books about ‘em. I even know the call number by heart. It's 591." "They must be a handful. I could never be a mom." "Yes. But they're good kids." "Y'know, maybe you could convince Walt to settle down. Start having some kids." Alan winked at Bonnie. "All that FBI stuff can't be as much fun." "As fun as raising them, or making them?" Skinner asked serenely. Bonnie looked up at him, the corners of her lips twitching with the threat of a giggle. Who said that? Skinner asked himself sternly as his sister and brother-in-law just laughed. That was the second time tonight Bonnie's personality had emerged from his own. Geez. He was beginning to like it. Bonnie's voice was back in her own mouth as she said, "Well, before I convince other people to have kids, I'd better grow out of my own childhood." "I bet you were a cute kid."Alan complimented Bonnie sincerely. "She still is." Skinner replied, earning him a kiss on the cheek. "Now, Bonnie. I know you work for the FBI, but what do you do exactly?" Alan asked. Skinner looked alarmed, and Bonnie looked amused. She opened her mouth to reply, when she caught sight of something over Alan's left shoulder. "Hello." Alan and Cheryl turned to see their two children in their pajamas blinking in the light. "Uncle Terry!" They shouted in unison and hurled themselves into his midsection like miniature cannonballs. Skinner made a soft, "oofing" sound as they connected with his stomach. "Hi, Amber. Hi, James." He hugged them both quickly, the movement bouncing light off the silver sprinkled in his dark fringe of hair. "What are you two doing up?" "We heard you talking." Amber was a small copy of her mother, with the same honey-gold hair and Hershey bar eyes. Cheryl's tall willowy beauty had made her a heartthrob in high school. It looked like Amber was destine d for the same success. "We couldn't sleep." James told his uncle solemnly. The little boy rubbed his grey eyes, his father's eyes, with one fist. "Oh, really?" Skinner asked with mock gruffness. The children giggled. They knew better. "What kind of agents are you two going to make if you don't listen to your superiors?' "The best kind." Bonnie volunteered pertly and brushed her hand over his thigh behind Amber. "Hi. I'm Bonnie." She offered them her hand, and they each shook it. "You must be James and Amber. I've heard a lot about you." She reached over to tousle James' black hair. "Like what?" James asked. "Oh," Bonnie answered with a shrug. "Good stuff. I hear you read a lot of dinosaur books. And Amber, I hear you are a really big helper to your mom and dad. And that you even remember to feed the cat." "Do you have a cat?" Amber asked, pleased but polite. "Nope.' "A dog?" James asked. "Nope." "Bird?" "Goldfish?" "Turtle?" "Hamster?" "Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope." Bonnie replied with a shake of her black curls. "That's sad." James decided, and patted her arm consolingly. "Did you ever have a pet?" Skinner felt Bonnie shift beside him. "No. We . . ." She considered. "We moved around a lot." End Part 1 ===================================================================== ====== From: amstone@ix.netcom.com(Alaina M. Stone) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: Tiki Tale--Would You? Could You? (2/3) Date: 31 May 1996 04:49:40 GMT Would You? Could You? (2/3) by Bonnie Drew Part 2 "My cat sleeps in the bed with me." Amber announced. "She keeps me company when I have bad dreams. Do you have bad dreams?" Bonnie nodded. "Sometimes." Skinner looked at her askance. She blushed under his thoughtful gaze. "Who keeps you company in bed?" James wanted to know. Bonnie laughed her silver bell laugh as Skinner coughed suddenly. "C'mon you two. Agents need to know when to go to bed." Alan rescued his brother-in-law. "Bonnie, could you read us a story?" James asked. "James!" His mother scolded. "Bonnie is a friend of Uncle Terry's. She is here for him." "It's ok, Cheryl. I'd be honored." She stood and held out her hand. "C'mon guys. Back to bed with you. Ste-, er, Walt, you take one and I'll grab the other." She was true to her word as she snatched Amber up with a growl. The child squealed with delight, and Skinner boosted his nephew onto his back and followed her up the stairs. Cheryl and Alan exchanged a significant glance. Skinner carried them into their room and tumbled the boy onto his top bunk. He wiggled happily on the mattress. Amber was rolled onto the bottom one. "Pick a story." Commanded James, indicating the row of books along the shelves that formed the headboard to his bunkbed. Bonnie stood on tiptoe and craned her neck. Skinner, standing back against the door, hid a smile. "You're short." James observed. Bonnie drew herself up to her full five feet, (five feet one and three quarter inches with heels) and looked balefully at the child. "I most certainly am not short. I'm . . . vertically challenged." Amber furrowed her brow in concentration. "What does that mean?" "It means she's short." Her uncle informed her from the shadows and ignored Bonnie's glare. "When you have a minute, Benedict?" She said sweetly, and indicated the bookshelf. Still chuckling, Skinner picked out one at random. Bonnie pounced on it. "Neat! I love this one!" She crowed. "Can you do the voices?" "I can try." Bonnie sat on a low chair near the two beds and began to read. "The Cat in the Hat. By Dr. Seuss." Skinner watched the yellow light wash over her blue-black head as it bent over the book. Her mobile, heart-shaped face altered from moment to moment from the wide eyes to the narrator, to the sly grin of the Cat in the Hat, to the indignant open-mouthed protestations of the Fish. Bonnie's voice was pitched low naturally. Her soft voice and deceptively doll-like appearance had caused many people, including himself, to underestimate her. She just smiled that charming, irresistible smile, head-cocked, violet-eyes sparking, hands clasped behind her back. It was that smile, although he did not know this, that Dana Scully referred to as " The Tiki Deluxe." She had lured many a he-man into her examining room with that smile, and they had all come out, to a man, feet first and pale, having fainted. She would always be solicitous, cooing apologetically over the fallen one, and then grin as soon as the stretcher carried them out of sight. "He should not be here when your mother is out!" Bonnie's Fish scolded. The children giggled. Something bumped against Skinner's mind. Something about the voice Bonnie was using for the Fish. Again, the Fish warned Sally and her brother about the Cat in the Hat. All at once, he knew why the Fish's voice was so familiar. It was his. Bonnie caught his eye and let her own twinkle at him. He nodded. Touche. The Cat in the Hat. What a perfect choice. A better description of Bonnie Drew could not be imagined. She was someone who thrived on surprises, on stirring things up. She kept things fresh. His eyes wandered from her face to her lips, her jaw, her neck. He knew exactly what spot to breathe on to get her to relax into his arms with a purr that resonated from her chest to his. It was that purr that drove him wild. Thing One and Thing Two began flying kites. Skinner swallowed. She looked so good there talking to the kids. She answered their inventive questions with equally inventive answers. "Why does the Cat wear a hat?" "‘Cause when it's raining cats and dogs, he needs to keep his fur dry." "Why doesn't he carry an umbrella?" "Because he loaned it to Thing One, who let Thing Two borrow it. Thing Two lost it." "Oh." He was staring at her legs. She had crossed them, draping one knee over the other, dangling her black pump from her toes. For some reason, this nonchalant action struck him as the sexiest thing he'd ever seen. Skinner swallowed. I'm an Assistant Director in the FBI. I'm 42 years old. I'm getting turned on by seeing a woman read Dr. Seuss to my niece and nephew. Even Mulder would think that odd. Bonnie asked the last question of the book and closed the cover. "Good night, sweet kids." She said softly, and stood. "Sleep tight." "Aunt Bonnie?" James called. She stopped and turned quickly. "Good night." He snuggled sleepily into his covers. "Good night." She said again and bit her lip. She followed Skinner out the door, closing it gently behind her. Skinner took a couple of steps down the hall, then yanked open the door of the right of the hallway. He grabbed her hand, pulled her through after him and closed them both inside. He picked her up and pinned her at the waist to the closed door. Her body was trapped between it and his. "Steve, what are you-?" She never finished the sentence as his mouth came down over hers. "Mmm." She recognized the kiss. It was that, I-have-a-meeting-in-ten-minutes, my-filing-cabinet-or-yours?, warming-cold-metal- of-her-examining-table type of kiss. Her pulse throbbed in his head, and he could almost taste it. He brushed his lips against the spot on her neck. She gave her little purr and his arms tightened around her. "Closets? Closets turn you on?" She whispered shaking with suppressed laughter. She saw him grin back at her in the dark. "Nope. Dr. Seuss." He murmured. Their eyes met and danced together. "Would you, Could you, in the dark?" Came her throaty challenge. He answered without words. She tilted back her head to grant him access to the sensitive skin of her throat and ears. "You are sick." "Yup. Wanna take a crack at curing me?" "I'm not that kind of doctor." "No problem." He joined in her soundless laughter. "We can play doctor in here." "In your sister's closet? A. D. Skinner, I'm shocked!" She kissed his mouth, arms squeezing his neck. "And impressed. But I'm claustrophobic. And the kids are right next door." He kissed her again, more gently this time and allowed his hands to stroke down to her hips. "True. I'll get the coats." "Won't Cheryl think it's rude?" "No. She's been hoping for this for years." "I definitely like her." "I thought you would. By the way, is this my shirt?" She wriggled out of his grasp and opened the door. "Go get the coats, sir." "Yes, ma'am." * * * * * He watched her sleep, fascinated by the gentle motion of her back, by the rhythmic sigh of her breath. He felt each one against his bare skin. She had fallen asleep on top of him, and her weigh was warm and familiar. Her curls spilled over his chest and neck, allowing him to comfortably rest his chin on her head. Her legs stretched along his, but the tops of her little feet lay on his shins, her toes just barely reaching his ankles. She looked so . . . cute. She would probably not take offense at this description of her, but it didn't suit her somehow. One did not call a wolverine "cute" ; one did not call a bobcat "cute." Bonnie was many things. By turns, she was infuriating and sensual, refreshing and exhausting. But in sleep only was she "cute." No. He amended himself, absently running his hand along her bare thigh beneath his shirt. She had been cute tonight with Cheryl's kids. She'd been wonderful. So wonderful that Skinner began to question her doubts abo ut motherhood. "Mmm." She murmured drowsily into his chest. "Sorry, Steve. I didn't mean to fall asleep on you." She looked up, chin on his breastbone. "Literally." "I don't mind. I think it's kind of nice." He clasped his arms at her waist. Catlike, she rubbed her cheek on him. "If I had known my shirt would look that good only you, I would have given it to you months ago." She yawned and stretched, blinking sleep out of her eyes. "You did. You just didn't know it. I . . .requisitioned this shirt from your closet." Bonnie boosted herself up to straddle his waist, just above the waistban d of his boxers. (The white ones with the red hearts that she teased him for wearing.) She settled herself there with her hands on her knees. Skinner rested his own big hands on her hips. "You were great tonight." He told her. "Thank you." She leaned down to kiss him briefly. "You weren't so bad yourself, Brown Eyes." "I meant with the kids." He amended, blushing. She could always do that to him. "Oh." "Ever thought of having any of your own?" She gave a snort of laughter. "Oh, come on Steve! Me? No." She shook her head, the curls wild from sleep and his fingers. "I have elected to remove my genes from the DNA pool." "Bonnie, I'm serious." He squeezed her waist. "So am I." She arched her back and stretched her arms and shoulders in one fluid motion that sent a sudden rush of heat to the pit of his stomach. "Can you imagine what my kids would be like? A bunch of little ghouls who would dissect Barbie dolls and Mr. Potato Heads? They would constantly be telling me, ‘Mom, put your toys away. It's time to come in.'" She waggled a finger at him. "That, and I've yet to find a man who found eau de formaldehyde to be alluring." "I do." "Yes," She explained patiently, "But we've already established that you're a bit of a pervert, now haven't we? Dr. Seuss as an aphrodisiac indeed. . ." He ignored her not-so-subtle attempt to change the subject. "You're kidding, right? You'd make a great mom. I saw you with Amber and James." "Aw, they just liked me ‘cause I'm a novelty. And I'm only two sizes bigger than they are." Bonnie paused. "No. I refuse to let my shortness be passed down to another generation." "Maybe they'll have their father's height." Skinner suggested quietly. "Of course," he added, running a hand over his smooth scalp, "There are other losses to consider." Bonnie sat up and stared at him as the full implications of his remarks struck home. "What are you saying, Steve? That you want me to have your children?" "Well, first I'd like to marry you. If that's ok with you." End Part 2 ===================================================================== ====== From: amstone@ix.netcom.com(Alaina M. Stone) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: Tiki Tale--Would You? Could You? (3/3) Date: 31 May 1996 04:55:36 GMT Would You? Could You? (3/3) by Bonnie Drew Part 3 She rolled off of him onto the bed. She swung her legs off of the side of the bed and her back was rigid beneath the tent-like folds of the too-large shirt. "Where did that come from?" She asked, still not looking at him. He watched her carefully, but didn't touch her. "I've had it in mind for a long time. We're good together." "Yes." She responded in a faraway voice. "We are good together." "Then marry me." She turned back to him, and her violet eyes were shiny. It alarmed him. Women crying were not something that Walter Skinner dealt with well. He folded her against his chest. "Hey, hey." He kissed the top of her head. "Little One, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm sorry." He felt her arms circle his waist. "I'm not hurt, Steve." She looked up at him. The tears hadn't fallen yet, just brimmed in her eyes like dew on forget-me-nots. "I'm just . . . sad." "Why?" He bent his head down at her, to see her face. "Steve, I'm not the woman for you. I'm not the woman for anyone." "Bonnie, it's not like I'm asking you to leave your work and go around barefoot and pregnant. I promise. I will never call you ‘The Little Woman.'" This earned him a small smile. "I know. I wish you had asked me to go all domestic on you. That way I wouldn't feel bad about saying no. . ." She whispered. "Why?" She put a palm on each side of his face, holding it still while she kissed him again and again with an almost desperate passion. He caught her wrists, held her away from him and repeated, "Why?" Bonnie slumped into his arms, burrowing into the hollow of his shoulder. "Did I ever tell you about my family?" "No. I didn't think you had anyone around." "I don't. At least, I don't think I do." She was still, now. "Daddy left early. Mom was an odd, Gypsy sort of woman. I had a kind of Bohemian upbringing. If Mom got tired of one place, we moved. If she didn't like who she was, she would pretend to be someone else. I grew up all over the world. I can swear, order a salad, and ask where the bathroom is in 14 languages." He listened, saying nothing, just stroking her spine with reassuring presses of his hands. "When I was 15, she left. Just left. I lived with my Uncle Jake for awhile, then went to college. Med school. Ended up in the FBI." "Why are you telling me this?" "Because," she blurted out, "I'm exactly like her. What kind of a mother would I be? What kind of wife? If I can't be good at something, I don't waste my time with it. This is the longest I've ever been with a man. Dana is the only friend I have who I knew two years ago. I haven't seen or heard from any of my family since Mom left." "Bonnie, shh." He held her tighter, rocking her. "I'm a Bohemian. I can't stay in any one place for very long, before I have to wander. A cat would make a better wife and mother than I would." "But," He rubbed his chin over the top of her head, "You aren't your mother." "No, and if it's any consolation to you, Steve, you're the only man I've ever known who made me think that maybe I could settle down. Raise a family. Be a mom like normal people." She shrugged and wistfully traced the line of his jaw with her index finger. "You'd have to be crazy to want me. I'm going to end up disappearing in the Bermuda Triangle or something." "Then I'll send Mulder and Scully after you." He growled. "They've gotten really good at that sort of thing. I wish you'd reconsider, Bonnie." She stared at him, seeing the hurt in his face, knowing that she had put it there. "I'm not the woman for you, Steve. I'd misplace the children. I'd bring a cadaver to Show and Tell. I'd get kicked out of the PTA. I'm . . . I'm more like the Cat in the Hat. I'm a lot of fun. I'm never boring. But I'm not in it for the long haul. You and I both know that having someone like me at your side would be a serious detriment to someone on the FBI fast-track." "Now you're just being ridiculous." "Am I?" She leveled her eyes to his. "Who else would you have to remind not to embarrass you in public? I have to work really hard at being elegant. I keep wanting to start a food fight at those dinners you have to go to. One of these days, I won't be able to resist the urge. No. It gets too exhausting for me to be on my best behavior all the time. I do not have it in me to be good." The devastating part about it was, he knew she was right. He thought for awhile, trying to scheme. "Tell you what." He said at last. "Spend tonight with me. Let me try to convince you it's worth staying around for." He eased her shoulders back down onto the mattress. "I know it's worth staying around for." She protested. "Sex has never been the problem. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. But it won't work, Steve." "Maybe so." He laid his body down over hers and kissed her with all the tenderness and urgent persuasion he could muster. That was considerable. She shivered beneath him and sighed in anticipation. "But at least let me try." "Steve," she began and he stopped her mouth with his. "At least let me get my shirt back." Bonnie Drew draped her arms around his neck. "Now, that I'll stay around for." There was no more discussion. * * * * * Special agent Fox Mulder approached the door of "The Tiki Room" with trepidation. His partner, Agent Dana Scully, looked up, observed the carefully-checked wariness in his eyes and smiled. Mulder caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, Scully. I'm just never sure about what Tiki is going to do when I open this door." "What could she do, you big coward." "You're kidding, right? Her songs, for openers." He alluded to one of Tiki's favorite games. She invented new lyrics to familiar songs. Tiki's lyrics were uniquely suited to her profession of Medical Examiner. "Take heart, Mulder. Open the door." "Unh-unh. Ladies first." He gallantly held the door open for her and she swept through. The room was empty. The examining table was bare. Silver cabinets and steel instruments gleamed coldly. How could she work in a place like this? Mulder asked himself. Tiki was such a vibrant individual, and this place was as cold as . . . well, a morgue. "She's not here." Mulder shook his head. "No. I don't swallow that. She's always here. That little ghoul is hiding in a drawer someplace." He eyed the metal surfaces of the body drawers with distaste, then with curiosity. "Scully," He said, his voice dropping to a whisper, "do you think maybe she and Skinner are . . .?" He jerked his chin toward the drawers and arched his eyebrows suggestively. "Mulder," His partner responded in her normal voice, "The man is 6'2" and built. How could he and Tiki ever fit? He would have to be a contortionist." Mulder studied the drawers still. "I don't know. If anyone could get him to do it, Tiki could. The woman has some, shall we say, special skills?" "How would you know?" Dana asked mildly. "Fantasizing again?" "‘6'2" and built', Scully?" Mulder countered. "I didn't know you cared." "Agent Scully? Agent Mulder?" They turned to see one of the battalion of messengers and interns the FBI had on staff at Tiki's door. "Is Dr. Drew here?" She asked. "I have a package from AD Skinner. I can't find her anywhere." Mulder and Scully exchanged glances. Curiouser and curiouser. A passing ME caught sight of the flustered intern standing in the open door. He paused. "Are you looking for Tiki?" The three nodded in unison. "She's down in the research facility. Three doors down and on your left." "Research?" Scully echoed. "Tiki?" Mulder repeated. The ME shrugged. "Yeah. She came in this morning and told everyone she'd be spending the day cataloguing samples. It's such a lousy job that everyone gladly gave her theirs. But Tiki never does that. She--" He paused and blushed, realizing that he had probably said too much. But then, seeing the concern in Mulder and Scully's faces, he continued. "She seemed . . . quiet. Subdued. I think maybe something happened over the weekend." The ME ducked his head and bobbed quickly back down the hall like the White Rabbit. Mulder saw the look of confusion on the intern's face and took pity on her. "Here. Hand that over. We'll see that she gets it." This the intern gratefully did and beat a hasty retreat. "Well, well. People are acting strangely today." Mulder mused. "Cosmic G-spot?" He flushed. "Maybe later. C'mon Agent Scully. Let's go investigate." One research room was very like another . It was warmer, and lined floor to ceiling with drawers and computers. Several powerful microscopes stood on a central table surrounded by chemicals of all descriptions, plus Bu nsen burners, a centrifugal machine and a number of other pieces of equipment Mulder did not bother to identify. He chalked it up mentally as dressing for the set of a mad scientist movie, anyway. A petite, dark-haired woman sat in a corner at an anonymous desk, carefully entering numbers into a computer. Scully realized that the numbers were from a tray of test tubes, and smiled as the words to Tiki's latest hit drifted over to her. If I could save you in a test tube The first thing that I'd like to do Is to check you for pathogens, and virus and bugs. Then set you out to enjoy the view. Mulder grimaced. He liked Jim Croce. Another perfectly good song shot to hell. "Hey, Tiki." He called "Putting square pegs into round holes again?" She whirled around, startled. "Oh. Hi, guys. I'm sorry, I forgot our lunch date today. I'm afraid I'm going to have to skip it." Mulder and Scully traded another look. Scully walked over to the desk and perched on the edge. "You never miss lunch. You have the metabolism of a mosquito." "Or a hummingbird." "Or a mongoose." Tiki laughed a little. Dana frowned. It was the same silvery laugh she always heard, but he chime sounded off somehow. Mulder noticed it as well. "Wanna tell us what's wrong?" "Nothing's wrong, Mulder. I'm a professional, remember? Sometimes things get too busy and intense. I just need a break." Scully wondered if Tiki was talking about work anymore. She doubted it. "Tiki--" Mulder began. She stood and stalked over, standing toe to toe with him. "I really, really don't want to talk about it. OK?" Her voice was low, a cross between a snarl and a hiss. Her arms were crossed over her chest. She stood rigidly upright. Her body language screamed, "Go away!" Mulder was not a man who was easily intimidated, and he had never really understood Tiki's ability to get exactly what she wanted all the time. Until now. With her navy-blue eyes cold, the sweet heart-shaped face hard, she frightened him. "Ok." He retreated. "Ok." She nodded sharply and went back to her desk. There was a beat while Mulder frantically tried to think of something to say. "Oh, uh. Skinner sent this down for you." He handed her the small, flat package. "Skinner?" She breathed the name, her eyes dark. Then she snatched the package from him and ripped it open. Scully elbowed her partner and tilted her head toward the door. Reluctantly, he left, with her trailing behind. She paused at the door and turned to see her friend slump against the desk, her hand shielding her eyes. On her lap was book with a deep aqua cover. It was a book Scully recognized from her childhood. The Cat in the Hat. Dr. Seuss. Tiki opened it and Dana could see writing on the flyleaf. She watched as Bonnie Drew read the words written in a strong, masculine hand, and sagged. Then she knew. "Tiki." Dana said softly. She jerked up, her head bobbing like a puppet. "Yes?" "How do you feel about pizza at my place tonight? A&W Root Beer. Half-gallon of Cookies and Cream and Buffy the Vampire Slayer?" Violet eyes met blue ones. Dana saw a myriad of emotions shining there. Resentment. Hurt. Loss. Regret. "Thanks, Dana." Bonnie said. "I'll see you tonight." Dana Scully walked quickly away. She and her partner had a meeting with Skinner that afternoon. She would convince Mulder to stay in the office. Somehow, she doubted AD Skinner would want to deal with Mulder today. THE END ----------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------- Well, that's that. In the words of Joel, "What do you think, sirs?" Next story "They Also Serve" coming soon. Comments to Bonnie Drew c/o amstone@ix.netcom.com Fallest thou not in love. It stickest to thy face. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------- From: amstone@ix.netcom.com(Alaina M. Stone) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: Tiki Tale--"They Also Serve" (1/1 I hope) Date: 3 Jun 1996 04:28:33 GMT There are times when I wished I had never come up with the character of Bonnie Drew. In addition to her charm, she is also one of the most persistent nags the world has ever seen. I had finished up the whole "Tiki tale" cycle, when she showed up and insisted that I write one more, this time with Mulder. As Sally says, "Anyone who knows Tiki knows that it's easier in the long run to go along with what she says." Her creator is no exception. So, here it is, a short Tiki tale that spotlights her relationship with Mulder. It takes place after "Would You? Could You?" and before "Best Laid Plans." No sex, some UST and enough angst for an episode of "My So-Called Life." Thanks to all who have the fortitude to keep reading this, and thanks to Sally for her tirelessness. The characters of Dana Scully, Fox Mulder and Walter Skinner belong to Chris Carter, 10-13 Productions and FOX. I am using them without permission, but no disrespect is intended. Insert clever disclaimer here. Comments to Bonnie Drew (really, Sally and I are two different people) amstone@ix.netcom.com They Also Serve "You're punchy." Fox Mulder observed. "I am not." His companion poked an air-filled balloon up through the basketball hoop hung over her door. "Oh." Mulder said, eyeing the balloon that had once been a latex examining glove. "My mistake." "Thanks." Tiki nodded her acceptance of his apology and held her hands above her head. "Two points." "Then why are you giving the signal for touchdown?" She stuck out her tongue at him. "Everybody's a critic." "Tiki?" "Yes?" "I hate to interrupt your little game, but we did have an agreement, remember?" She frowned. He continued doggedly. "You took Scully's lab duties while she's visiting her brother. I brief you and take the results of these autopsies to try to solve the Blanch case? Tiki?" The little woman was batting her "ball" from hand to hand like a kitten with a chewtoy. "Tiki!" He confiscated the ball. "Any of this ringing a bell?" She studied him through bleary violet eyes. "I have no recollection of that, Senator." Mulder ran his hands over his face, raking the skin with his fingers. "How long have you been down here?" Tiki straightened her blue scrubs and asked, "Is Roosevelt still in office?" He blew out his breath, "That long, huh?" She was serious. "Look, Mulder. I've done six or seven of these autopsies already." "I sent you 9. You're on the home stretch." He spoke encouragingly. She did not appear encouraged. In fact, her shoulders slumped a little. "Tiki, would some food help? Maybe a change of scenery?" "You mean a break?" She asked eagerly. "Up in the higher floors where they have sunlight and green plants and people talk and wear clothing made out of fabric, not paper?" "All that," He intoned solemnly, "And more." She clasped her hands together in a dramatic gesture. "Oh, Rapture! Oh, Frabjous Day! I shall be yours eternally!" Then, in a fairly decent Groucho, "Or until I find someone I really like." He grinned, some of her natural exuberance washing into him. "Well, my lady. Come with me." He crooked his elbow to offer it to her. Charmed, she tucked her hand against his bicep, then drew back. "Wait, like this?" She indicated her scrubs like Cinderella talking to her fairy godmother. Mulder, however, refused to carry a wand. He shrugged. "Why not? We're gate-crashing." He could swear he saw her ears prick up. "Do tell?" "Some of this year's class at Quantico are celebrating graduation. The best and brightest are gathering in the floors above." ‘Will there be cake?" "Enough for Marie Antoinette." "And little turkey rolls with toothpicks stickin' in ‘em?" "Doubtless." Her violet eyes danced. "Oh, goody, Mulder! Let's go scare hell out of some kids." He chuckled, but a strange expression clouded her pretty face. "What is it?" She turned away from him. "It's ok. I think I'll just keep working." "Tiki, you're exhausted. Take a break. Breathe some air." "No. I just need to get it done." She reached for another set of latex gloves, but he caught her hand. "What's the story, Tiki? Why the 180?" "No reason." She lied. He shook his head, confused. "Who's up there? Just a bunch of kids, maybe a couple of instructors and -" She whirled around as he bit off his comments. When she saw that he understood, she ducked her head. The silence spun out between them until he asked finally, "How long has it been?" "Couple of months." "And you haven't seen him?" "No. It's terrifyingly easy, really, to avoid someone you don't want to see." Her voice trailed off, and he watched her, seeing the shyness where none had been before. "I never pegged you for a coward, Tiki." He began. "You are going to have to face him sometime." "Oh, who died and made you my conscience?" she snapped back. His hazel eyes widened. "You have a conscience?" "Not anymore. I killed it, like Mark Twain. His was a little green man, Mulder." "Mine are grey. I'm red-green colorblind, remember?" This time, it was her turn to tease. "That would explain those hideous ties. At least, in part." "What part?" She bounced her black curls back and forth. "It still doesn't explain the patterns. Do Greg Brady and Keith Partridge know you've been snipping up their wardrobe?" He laughed. "Very funny, Tiki. But did you answer my question?" "I can't recall." He gave her that Look, that little puppy dog look, holding out his hands to her. Scully found it almost irresistible. He wondered if her best friend would find it equally so. She heaved a long, martyred sigh. "Cut that out, Mulder. I'll go. You got the bug eyes." Well, he thought as she brushed out of the room ahead of him. It did work on her too. Sort of. * * * * * They arrived at the party and slipped in inconspicuously. That is, as inconspicuously as an Agent and an ME in scrubs can look at a Bureau affair. She craned her neck and brought his ear to her lips. "I'll score some cake. You grab a couple of sandwiches. Let's move!" They headed in different directions, scattering like street kids before a cop. Tiki darted over to the table, dodging nimbly between groups of talking graduates. Too tired, too hungry or too Tiki to care, she was muttering, "Excuse me, Comin' through. Make a hole. One side. Pardon me. Hey, move it! I've got cake to eat. Step aside, plebes." A pair of eyes were fastened on her, observing her progress with wonder. She squeezed through the knot in a wall of younger agent. Ha! She crowed to herself, I should play for the Redskins. Her hands crept toward a couple of pieces of chocolate cake, richly frosted in white and blue whorls and swirls. Two hands with long, square-tipped fingers snatched the treats away. "Hey!" She cried indignantly. A deep, familiar rumble said, "Dr. Drew, all you had to do was ask." She closed her eyes. No. He couldn't possibly . . . There was no way . . . She opened them again to meet the amused brown ones of A.D. Skinner. There was a beat while they stared at one another, before she exploded in a low voice, "Isn't there a way of embarrassing myself in front of you that I've missed?" He considered this. "No. No, I don't think so. I believe you've been quite thorough." She gave a rueful little laugh in spite of herself, bowing to the absurdity of the situation. "Gee. Thanks." He offered her the plates he had taken, a little timidly. "Cake?" "Don't you mean peace offering?" she countered, but accepted. The chatter and the noise of the party didn't seem to puncture the little bubble of awkwardness surrounding the two. "So, how've you been?" His warm brown eyes were solemn. "I've missed you, Bonnie." She bit her lip. "I've missed you too, Steve." She told him in a small voice, but then it grew stronger. "But we did the right thing." "Did we?" She was surprised a the raw pain in his gruff voice. "Yes." She stepped back. "I have to go." He nodded, releasing her from the pull of him. She turned to walk quickly, purposefully toward the door. His powerful baritone arrested her. "Bonnie?" "Yes?" "I know we did the right thing." Dropping all pretense of calm beneath his dark-eyed scrutiny, she fled, running blindly. Somewhere, she dropped the cake. It didn't matter where she ran. She just wanted to be Away. Away from Steve. Away from Mulder. Away from her own beating heart that filled the rest of her body as it swelled. She was certain it would burst, medical training be damned. So she slowed, and looked around. A dark conference room, with a door leading out to a small balcony. Instinctively, she went toward the solace of the night. She would have to go back, to the morgue, to Mulder, to the corpses who waited with grave courtesy. She knew, but didn't wish to go right now. Couldn't leave this place. The air was crisp and cold for the D.C. night. It flowed over her, and she gulped it in, feeling it a balm for her fractured spirit. She closed her eyes, breathing it in slowly and deeply. As soon as she felt the wry smile tug at the corners of her mouth, she bared her mental back for the self-flagellation. She had done the right thing. The right thing for her, just as she had always done. His proposal had terrified her, so she had tucked tail and bolted. He memory of that night was as sharp and clear as a diamond. The hurt in his eyes, the tenderness of his words, the delicacy of his touch . . . She shivered and remembered. He had lain so peacefully in her arms, protecting her, keeping her safe, shielding her with his big body. Her lids drooped over her eyes as she lazily traced patterns over the smooth skin of his back. Seeing him like that had almost made her reconsider. No. She told herself firmly. Be honest. You had reconsidered. You were going to wake him up, to tell him yes. Then, he'd whimpered. It was a horrible sound from such a strong man. It's incongruity had frightened her. this was not the only time he'd dreamed. . . A sound like autumn leaves rattling in a winter wind startled her. She realized that the sound had come from her own violent shaking of the paper scrubs. they rustled with her shivering. Two hands with long, clever fingers draped her shoulders with a suit coat. she inhaled the musky, masculine scent. "You tracked me down." She said without turning. His tenor was gentle against the nape of her neck. "I'm FBI. It's what I do." "It's almost," she hunted through her vocabulary for the right word. He supplied it. "Spooky?" "Yeah. That would be it." She pivoted on her heel to face him. "Mulder, I'm sorry." "For what?" "For fleeing a crime scene." She shuddered again and he instinctively stepped forward to chafe her arms. she shook her head wearily. "I'm so tired." This was too much for Mulder. Bonnie Drew was not Scully, but they shared many of the same traits. he knew how much that small admission had cost her, and he wrapped her in his embrace. "Why don't you go home?" His chin rested on the top of her head. "You can do this tomorrow." "Don't be kind, Mulder. I can't stand it." She scowled against the front of his shirt. "They really have no idea what they're in for, do they?" "What do you mean?" "Those kids from Quantico." She stepped away, out of his arms, and went to the balcony. "What about them?" When she spoke, her voice was as bitter as Mulder had ever heard it. "You must wonder, Mulder. I mean, how many of Quantico's finest will end up on the side of the angels? How many of them will end up serving a demon smelling of brimstone?" She gazed down at the city, still teeming with activity, even at this time of night. "Or, in your case, perhaps smelling of Morley cigarettes?" He blinked. "Did Scully -?" "No." She watched the path of a yellow cab intently. It stopped, started, pushed on a few inches from her perspective high above, and stalled again. "Steve talks in his sleep." Mulder blurted out a fervent oath. "Tiki, how much do you know?" "Not much. Just enough to make me want to run away and rejoin the circus." Rejoin? He decided not to pursue that line of thought. Instead, he closed the distance between them again, and she leaned back against his body. She felt the sinews and bones beneath his shirt against her spine. He, at least, was real. He was solid. She pressed her back against his lean frame, and was rewarded by his arms crossing over her chest. Mulder took a deep breath, considering this imp who was nestled so trustingly in his arms. He and Scully had talked about telling her about the dark battles against the Shadow Government. They had both agreed that it wouldn't be a good idea. Not that Tiki couldn't take care of herself, but that people who knew what they knew had an awful habit of turning up dead. A shudder ran through his body at the thought of the vibrant Bonnie Drew as one of her own customers. No. It couldn't be. He couldn't take her innocence. But, a corner of his mind whispered, Skinner already did. She knows. She could be an ally, like the Lone Gunmen had been. That was an unholy alliance, to be sure. The LGM and Tiki Drew. It was enough to make Cancerman switch to the Patch. "Tiki," He began. "How much do you want to know?" She jumped away from him as if he had scalded her skin. It unbalanced her and he reached out a steadying hand, which she shook off. What he saw in her face amazed him. Like Scully, Bonnie Drew seemed to have no fear. She uncovered the secrets that the corpses kept with clinical detachment. She held the opinions of co-workers and superiors with the same snap of her fingers. He had seen her willing to kill to protect a friend. And now. . . Now, what glinted out from behind those glorious amethyst eyes was naked terror. He breathed out a prayer. "Oh, Tiki." Was all he could say. Her lower lip quivered dangerously. "You called me a coward earlier, Mulder. You were right. I knew some of what you and Dana did. Steve. . .Steve offered me more, but I didn't want it. I can't be part of that world. I just can't!" "You don't have to." He told her consolingly. "What kind of a friend am I?" Her voice was rough and he could scarcely hear her. "I leave you and Steve and Dana to do the dirty work alone. I knew, Mulder, I knew what you did, and I couldn't protect you. I couldn't protect him or Dana. It's like I'm deserting a friend. No." She shook her head violently and her face was tortured. "It is deserting a friend." Her body drooped like a sparrow ravaged by wind. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard her say, "I've broken faith with you." Then, she walked away from him. He caught her arm and forced her eyes to his. "Stop it, Tiki." He told her sternly. "Just stop it. You haven't broken anyone's faith. It's our faith in people like you that keep Scully and I going." Her eyebrows beetled together. "People like me? What are you talking about? Cowards like me?" He gave her shoulders a little shake. "No, you little moron! Friends like you! Friends who believe in us, who trust us to do right, and who absolutely depend on us to do our jobs. You don't have to go with us every step of the way. It's not your burden. It's not supposed to be." "But-" "No buts! Tiki, friends don't owe absolute loyalty and blind faith. They don't owe anything. You give what you can, when you can. Asking for more is just greedy." He released his hold on her and stared out over her shoulder, trying to decide whether or not to share one of his most cherished memories. "Did Scully ever tell you about Samantha?" "Your sister? No." Mulder silently thanked his partner yet again. "She was taken when she was nine." He continued to forestall the inevitable expressions of sympathy. "When Samantha was six, some of the older boys told her about the Great Pumpkin." Tiki frowned. "The Great Pumpkin? The pumpkin that Linus waits for in the Snoopy cartoons?" "That's right. See, every Halloween the Great Pumpkin would fly around to all the pumpkin patches in the world and deliver candy and presents to the pumpkin patches that were the most sincere." Mulder shook his head. "On Halloween, we went Trick or Treating, and on the way home, she stopped in the pumpkin patch near our house. She told me to go home and get a blanket and tell Mom and Dad not to worry." ‘I asked her why, and she told me that she wanted to wait for the Great Pumpkin. I tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn't. She was the most stubborn little kid I've ever known. Finally, I went home and told Mom and Dad that we were spending the night at the neighbors'. I went back to the pumpkin patch with a blanket, and we watched for the Great Pumpkin together." Tiki smiled up at him. "I bet you were a great big brother." He snorted. "Maybe." He sighed. "I ended up falling asleep about 2 in the morning. I woke up a couple of hours later and she was standing over me, grinning from ear to ear." Fascinated, Tiki asked, "Why?" "She claimed the Great Pumpkin had come while I was sleeping, and left me candy. I looked down. . ." His speech slowed and raised his hands, curving them around an invisible mound of something. "There was this big pile of candy. At first, I thought she'd just given me her Trick or Treat candy, but we both had, the same amount. I tried to get her to tell me where she'd gotten it. But she wouldn't. She kept insisting that the Great Pumpkin had brought it, and that's all she would say." "Did you ever find out how it had gotten there?" "Yes," Mulder looked her straight in the eye. "I believed my sister. I waited with her again the next couple of years. The same thing always happened. Samantha gave me my first experience with Faith, Tiki. And there are some times when you need to just trust and believe." "Even if it's a lie?" Tiki's face was troubled. "Even if it's an aesthetically pleasing lie?" He took his face in his hands. "Tiki, there are some truths that even I don't want to know. It's alright to shield yourself sometimes. It's what keeps us sane." She slipped her arms around his waist and snuggled into his chest. "Maybe that's what Steve needs, and what I couldn't give him. Someone who has seen the ugliness of the truth, and didn't flinch." He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "Maybe. But you're no coward, Tiki. Believe in that." He squeezed her a little tighter. "Believe it or not, you little ghoul, there are some things that are bigger than you." She chuckled, a rough hiccuping sound. He smiled and wiped away a stray tear with the mound of his thumb, then kissed her mouth lightly, as he had wanted to do with Scully that day at Pfaster's house. It was an affecti onate, sweet gesture between friends. He was attracted to Bonnie Drew, definitely. She was feminine and fun and sexy. She was a remarkable woman, but to presume on that was to break another faith, one he held even more dear. She sensed it, too, and stepped back. She reached up, and with a regretful little smile, traced his full lower lip with her finger. Then she dropped her hand and yawned as if the last several minutes had never happened. * * * * * She arched her back and stretched. "Go home, Mulder. I'll finish up the autopsies and fax you my report." "But-" "Do as you're told." She ordered. He snapped off a crisp salute. "Ma'am, yes, Ma'am." She stayed on the balcony watching him go, then called, "Fox?" He turned, surprised by her use of his hated first name. "Yes?" "How long did you wait in that pumpkin patch every year?" He thought for a moment. "About four hours. Why?" She smiled ruefully. "I waited six. He never came." Mulder smiled back. "Maybe he only comes in Massachusetts." She grinned suddenly. "‘Cause he can see Boston Harbor glowing in the dark?" He raised his palm and made an exaggerated threat to backhand her. "See you tomorrow Tiki." "G'night, Mulder." She turned back to stare at the stars. * * * * * Mulder peered down over the rims of his glasses as his partner opened the door to their basement office before him. "I have some results I want you to check on, Scully. And could you read through that Blanch case file?" She growled over her shoulder. "Sure. I'm fine, Mulder. How are you? Did you enjoy your vacation, Scully? Yes, I did, thank you for asking." He accepted the rebuke meekly and squeezed her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Scully. You were missed. Did you have a pleasant vacation?" She looked up into his earnest, puppy dog eyes and melted. Again. Damn his black soul! She answered in a more inviting tone. "Yes, Mulder. I did." Then, she pushed open the door and stopped dead, frowning. He pushed past her into the office, and turned on the lights. What he saw made him laugh out loud. "Mulder?" "Yes, Scully?" "Why is there a big pumpkin on your desk?" "It's not a big pumpkin, Scully. It's the Great Pumpkin." A pause. "Of course it is." THE END ---------------------------------------------------------------- "Did I say ‘if'? I meant WHEN he comes!" Linus, It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown Next story-- "Best Laid Plans" Comments to Bonnie Drew c/o amstone@ix.netcom.com ----------------------------------------------------------------- From: amstone@ix.netcom.com(Alaina M. Stone) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: Tiki Tale--"Best Laid Plans" (1/2) Date: 4 Jun 1996 04:42:22 GMT Well, for you brave or foolhardy readers, (IS anyone reading these?) this is the final Tiki tale. At least, I think it is. I like her too much to kill her off, and she will still play a role in many of the stories that Sally and I are writing, but this is the last one featuring her and Skinner in starring roles. Sally asked me if they would ever get together for a fling under dire circumstances. I told her the circumstances would have to be pretty damn dire. She issued me the challenge, so here it is. If you have not read, in the following order, "Inauspicious Beginning," "Normal People", "Would You? Could You?", and "They Also Serve," you will probably be in the fetal position by the end of this. "By Any Other Name" takes place after "Normal People" but it's a good read. Really. Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and Walter Skinner all belong to 10-13 Productions, Chris Carter and FOX. I am using them without permission, because I'm still grumpy about what they did to them in "Avatar." Bonnie "Tiki" Drew is my own, and has nothing to do with the characters we saw in the aforementioned episode. Gripe. Gripe. Much thanks to all who asked for these. (You must be bored.) And, of course, thanks to Sally Bradstreet, who may yet change my long-held opinion that all editors, in the words of Lady Peter Wimsey, are "ghouls and cannibals." Rated PG for implied sexual content, although it's pretty racy for me. Comments to Bonnie c/o amstone@ix.netcom.com Best Laid Plans (1/2) by Bonnie Drew Part 1 Friday, 8:20 p.m. Beltway, Washington, D.C. AD Skinner gave a mental curse. It was his personal opinion that once a week, the state mental hospital opened wide its doors and allowed the patients to spill out like schoolchildren for the summer holiday. Somehow, all of the psychopaths would find a motorized vehicle and head for the Beltway. There, they would cruise around, leaving blinkers on for ten miles, alternating speeds of 90 and 40 mph, flip the bird at random cars and generally make nuisances of themselves. To top it off, it was raining. "Put a fence around it and call it Congress." He grumbled to himself. He'd been doing a lot of grumbling lately, he mused. His assistant, Kimberly, a woman with far too much insight into his character, had not reacted when he displayed little storms of temper. This morning, for example. He'd spent it in a meeting, clenching his fists to avoid shoving one of them down the throat of the man who so calmly blew cigarette smoke into the already-hazy air. Kimberly had not blinked when he had shouted at her for some file that had had the nerve to be where he had put it instead of where he wanted it to be. He apologized, and she smiled graciously and offered him a glass of water and two extra-strength Tylenol. "You always have a headache coming out of those meetings, Boss." She had told him, smiling sympathetically. "You don't need to put up with this, Kim. My bad temper, lousy pay, rotten hours . . ." "I know that, Boss. Your temper isn't so bad. At least, not usually." He had looked at her sharply. "What do you mean?" "Nothing. You've just been grumpy over the past few weeks." "More so than usual?" He had ventured to ask. She had just smiled gently at him, and left the office. "If you need anything, Boss." She closed the door behind her with a soft click. He knew exactly what he needed. He also knew exactly why he wouldn't get it. A couple of teenagers screamed obscenities at him from he car on the right, breaking into his thoughts. His eyes never leaving the complicated weft of traffic, he reached into his trenchcoat, pulled out his ID wallet and pressed it against the driver's window. Then, and only then, did he turn to get a good look at the punks. "FBI." He mouthed at their now-pale green faces. "Blow." They blew, slowing down and maneuvering into the far right lane. Skinner smiled grimly to himself. There were some perks to his job after all. He frowned as he saw the lights up ahead. Another accident? Usually, the paramedics and police were there. It must have just happened. He lifted his chin to see and took out his cellphone to dial for the police. Then, he saw the license plate on one of the cars. A bright, maraschino cherry red Geo. Oh, no. I always kidded her about driving something so small. And the color. Why didn't she ever get a ticket? It was twisted against a blue BMW, wrapping around the larger car like a scarlet ribbon. We never could take her car. I couldn't fit. The red was still shiny, gleaming like a rub on velvet, or a drop of blood, where the BMW hadn't touched it. She always laughed. Said it was no big deal. She had the Force as her ally. He could read the license plate. Four letters: JEDI. Oh, no. Not Bonnie. He didn't remember turning off to the shoulder and stopping the car. Later, he realized he must have gone across a lane to get to her. He was out of the car in a trice, badge in pocket, phone in his palm as he dialed 9-1-1. "Bonnie!" He shouted desperately. It was difficult to see. Both cars were off the road. He could see movement on his right, away from the asphalt. But the movement was in shadows, and he couldn't be sure of it. "9-1-1 Emergency." "My name is Walter Skinner. There is an accident on the Beltway, about three quarters of a mile south of the Mormon temple. I require medical aid." "Are you involved in the accident, sir?" "No. I'm a bystander. I think a friend of mine is in it. I'm with the FBI. I'll stay until someone else gets her, but I need to find her." He hung up the phone by shoving it into the pocket of his trenchcoat again. "Bonnie!" He ran toward the two cars, where they formed a T, Bonnie's little Geo crossing it. The BMW had crumpled the passenger side in like cardboard. He shouted her name again, and tried to listen for a response. The noise from the passing cars was too great. He couldn't hear anything except the pelt of rain. After an eternity, he came around the Metro. "Bonnie!" "What!" She shouted back, her purple eyes black with the shadows. "Steve, help me!" She was administering First Aid to a pile of clothing. He drew closer and saw that the muddy little heap was a girl, about six. "Paramedics are on their way." He yelled to her, too grateful to see her very much alive to say anything else. "Great. Her mother's in shock. Put your coat over her, Steve. Keep her warm until I can get to her." She bent back over the little girl. "Damn! What a mess. Steve, the First Aid kit!" He looked down at his hands and realized that he had picked up the kit from his car and carried it to the scene. He tossed at her and she caught it. In the lights of the passing cars, he caught a crimson stain covering her hands. His stomach twisted and he turned to the woman. She was tall, fair-haired and glassy-eyed. "Take it easy. Your little girl is going to be fine. Bonnie's a doctor; she's taking care of her. Just lie back down and lift your feet up." He spoke quietly, calmly, stripping off his coat to cover the woman with it. "It's going to be alright. I called the paramedics. They're on their way." "But, Heather-!" The woman protested faintly. "She's going to be alright." Skinner reassured her, hoping he wasn't lying. "Heather's going to be just fine." He heard the siren and thought that no sweeter music could exist. A minute later, a kind male voice beside him asked suddenly, "You her husband, sir?" "No. I just stopped to help. She was going into shock." The paramedic nodded. "She's going to be alright, sir. Just step back and let us do our job." "What about the little girl? Her name is Heather." This time, Bonnie answered, her face glowing alternately red, blue and white. "She's going to be fine. She's lost a lot of blood, though. Some nasty cuts." She wiped her eyes with her shoulder, keeping her hands away from her face. "Miss, were you involved in this?" A police officer began to ask. Bonnie slumped. "Yeah. She plowed into me out of nowhere." "Can you answer a few questions?" "Officer, she's hurt." "I am?" She sounded surprised. Tentatively, she reached up to touch her own face. There was a small, deep gash along her jawline that was bleeding profusely. Her right shoulder and arm were also scraped and scored. "I am." She repeated numbly. Skinner saw the warning signs. "We need to get them to a hospital." "The little girl and her mother are on their way already." The officer replied. "We'll take her in the black and white." He was loathe to part from her. "Alright. But let me come with you. She's a friend." The officer took in his pale face, rain streaming over the stern features, and privately thought that there was more here than a friendship. He kept the thought to himself however. "Alright sir. Follow us." Bonnie didn't resist when Skinner picked her up and tenderly carried her to the police car. "Steve." She murmured fuzzily, drowsing against his chest. He swallowed. "It's ok, Bonnie. Don't fall asleep." "Steve." She said again, and he placed her into the backseat, tucking in a blanket someone had handed him around her. He followed, lips tight, to the hospital. * * * * * He was forced to stay at the reception area filling out Bonnie's forms while they whisked her into a back room. He couldn't keep his eyes on the paper, staring toward the door where they had taken her. "Sir, are those through, yet?" The nurse asked, gentle reproach in his tone. "No." Properly chastened, he returned to his task. Please let her be ok, he prayed silently. Save them all, but please let Bonnie be ok. Skinner was not a religious man, but . . . After sixty or seventy years, the forms were finished. "Now," He began, "May I please see-?" "Ow! Dammit!" He heard an angry voice exclaim from behind the door. "What the hell are you using? A knitting needle and baling wire?" Skinner laughed, feeling the worry drain out of him, seeping through his pores and evaporating all in a rush. "Never mind. That will be her." He ran into the room and caught a little more of the conversation. "Shut up, Bonnie." The doctor advised her placidly, carefully making a closing stitch in the gash. "Serves you right if there's a scar." Bonnie glared mutinously at him. "You have a helluva bedside manner, you know that?" "I've heard doctors are the worst patients." Skinner observed, grinning foolishly. Bonnie stuck out her tongue at him. "You're a doctor, that's right." Bonnie's physician nodded. "What kind of medicine do you practice?" "Wait `til I get you on my examining table." Bonnie muttered. "She's a medical examiner. Forensics." Skinner answered for her. Unconcerned, Dr. Biggs, (Skinner read a nametag) began to cut away her blouse. She scooted away, back to the wall, arms crossed. "Bonnie. What are you doing?" "Saving my hide. He's using me as a cross-stitch kit!" "I just want to clean up those scratches on your side." "Let me do it." She pleaded. "It hurts when you do it." "You can't reach." Biggs told her frankly. "No!" "Bonnie!" Skinner scolded. "Let the doctor take care of you." "Steve, he's going to cut my shirt off!" "So?" "It's my favorite!" She wailed. Skinner and the Doctor exchanged glances. He took a closer look at her. She was crouched against the wall, eyes huge against the pale little face. He finally saw the blouse. It was a cream-colored shell, silk and feminine. "I gave you that blouse." Skinner said quietly. Bonnie swallowed and looked at her hands. "I'll get you another." He told her in a low voice. "C'mon, Bonnie. Let the Doc fix you up." He stepped closer to her, and she allowed him to lead her back to the center of the bed. She was very still as Biggs cut away the fabric. He winced in sympathy as the Doctor slowly peeled away the ruined shirt. The blood had dried, gluing it to her skin and Bonnie hissed sharply. He watched as her shoulders and back were laid bare, the thin satin of her bra dividing up the flesh of her back into rectangles. Skinner dropped his eyes, but not before he saw the scraped and shredded patch on her shoulder. She's always had such lovely skin, soft and firm and perfect. It had to wound her pride to ooze blood like this. Especially in front of him. Her former lover. Her boss. What was he doing here? "I'll be outside." He mumbled and turned to go. "Steve. Please stay." Her voice was even, calm. He caught her eye and realized that she had been staring at him, clinging to her presence as a support. The pull of the violet eyes were strong, and he obeyed it, coming toward her to take her left hand in his. It was swallowed up, but seemed content to be so. "OK." He told her, brushing her hair away from her face. She was so pretty. So fragile-looking. It must kill her to be seen like this, so he tried to watch her face. "Steve, how are they?" "I don't know." He looked to Biggs expectantly. "The little girl and the woman? They're fine. Both of them." The doctor reassured them both and continued to clean the dried blood from Bonnie's side. It flaked off like paint chips. "You know, you probably saved her life." Bonnie's chin lifted a little. "Really?" "Really." The doctor patted the abused skin dry and began to smear antiseptic over her. "You two are a couple of heroes." Bonnie smiled. "He's already a hero." Skinner bit his lip to keep it from doing something stupid, like kissing her. "OK, Bonnie, you're all set." The doctor announced, and grabbed a paper gown. "Here. This will do until your husband can get you home." "He's not-" "C'mon, dear." Skinner said quickly. "Thanks, doctor." He was, for some inexplicable reason, reluctant to hear her say the truth. He skinned out of his suitcoat and draped it carefully over her shoulder. "I'll take you home." End Part 1 ===================================================================== ====== From: amstone@ix.netcom.com(Alaina M. Stone) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: Tiki Tale--"Best Laid Plans" (2/2) Date: 4 Jun 1996 04:50:22 GMT Best Laid Plans (2/2) by Bonnie Drew Disclaimer in Part 1 Part 2 Bonnie followed, and did not object when he took her hand to lead her out to the car. He ensconced her safely into the seat, fastened her safety belt for her and then opened the trunk. She watched him curiously as he r etrieved a blanket from the car and tucked it around her. He caught her eye and gave a slight shrug. "You look a little cold." She realized that she was, in fact, cold. Her body shivered through the paper gown, making it rustle. "I'll take you home." He offered, "and make sure you're alright. Tomorrow, I'll pick you up and we'll deal with the insurance." "We?" She repeated. "I can manage, Steve. I'm not some bimbo." He didn't bristle. "I know you can, Bonnie. Humor me, OK? I'd really like to know that you're safe. I'll only stay long enough to make you some tea, tuck you into bed with a story and a teddy bear and see you off to dreamless slumber." "A teddy bear!" She mouthed at him with mock outrage. "I haven't needed to sleep with a teddy bear in four or five months!" "My apologies. Big girl, huh?" She snorted at his dry comment. "You are a conceited, condescending jerk, you know that, Steve? Quit treating me like a baby." "I'm not treating you like a baby. I'm treating you like the brat you are." "I'm not a brat!" This time the outrage was real. "You're a bully!" "Bonnie, I know you're independent. I know you're brilliant. I know you're funnier and tougher than I am. But right now, you could use some help. Let me help." She curled up in the seat beside him and stared out the window. He saw her grimace as her muscles protested the position, but said nothing. They drove without another word to her apartment. Her chin jutted out at the stubborn angle that he was very familiar with. Skinner's own jaw set. Whether he admitted it or not, she had been affected by the accident. He was going to make sure she was alright. Bonnie had the singularly infuriating habit of refusing any overtures of help. He deftly parked the car and walked around the hood to open her door. She was too quick for him and was halfway up the steps to her apartment. He followed, and tried very hard not to grind his teeth. She had reached the door and was standing there, hopping mad. "Trouble?" He inquired mildly. "My key," she spat back. "Is in your car." She stomped back past him, but he whistled. "Bonnie. I've got it." He unlocked the door and allowed her to enter before him. Once inside, he offered her her purse, which she snatched away from him and stormed toward the bedroom. He heard the door slam and a shout. "I'm going to shower. If you're as smart as you think you are, you'll be gone when I come out!" "Where do you keep your tea?" Was his only reply. He waited for the explosion. She did not disappoint. "You're so damn smart, you figure it out!" Her snarl was filtered through the door. Laughing to himself, he began to search the cupboards. Canned soups, canned fruit and tomato paste. He opened the next one and arched an eyebrow. Flour, sugar, salt, baking powder, oil, all well-used. He wondered if Bonnie could cook. The next held plates, bowls and glasses. They actually matched, a uniform teal. The fourth cupboard was the motherlode, tea and spices. Skinner filled the teakettle, listening to the splash of water in the bedroom. He stripped off shoes and socks, then his tie, and unfastened the collar of his white dress shirt. It had been soaked by the rain, and dried rumpled. He recalled that he had left a pair of jeans, boxers, and a T-shirt here when he and Bonnie had - . Maybe she still had them. He hated the feel of wet clothing on skin. The teakettle sang and he removed it from the heat. "Hey, Bonnie?" He called. There was no answer, but he hadn't really expected one. Just the rhythmic drumming of water on the shower stall. He walked over to the door on bare feet and tapped it lightly with a knuckle, "Bonnie?" Then, he listened. The gentle thrumming of water was not coming from her bathroom, but from the roof above. There was no sound at all from the bedroom. "Bonnie?" His tone deepened with concern. "Hey, Sweetheart. Are you ok?" He peeled off his glasses and set them on a lampstand by the door. The door unlocked and he opened cautiously. The lights were off, and his shadow, framed by the doorway, was ten feet long. "Bonnie?" He whispered again, hoping that she was asleep, that she had curled up in the center of the down comforter that Margaret Scully had made her. She always slept in the middle of the bed, her little body forming a knot that he would coil himself around. He opened the door a little wider, and he could see a slice of the room. Part of the wall of books that formed the right side of the room. Her cherrywood bureau with it's oval vanity mirror. (He had teased her about that. Mirror, mirror, on the wall. It had earned him a pillow in the kisser.) Her queen-sized bed, the comforter in sea-shades still smooth and virginal. Bonnie sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, damp curls spilling wildly over the top of a large stuffed teddy bear. Her chin was buried in the bear's forehead and she clutched it as if it were a life preserver. She was perfectly still, perfectly silent, but as she watched her, all he could think of was screaming. Shrill, hysterical screaming that came from that collapsed and contorted body. He didn't speak again, but crossed the room in two quick strides to her side. He lifted her effortlessly onto his lap, and carefully, so not to scrape against her tender right side, wrapped his arms around her, pressing her left side against his chest. "I don't need your help." "I know that, Bonnie." "I can handle this alone." "I know that too." "Bully." Came her voice, muffled by his neck. He lifted her pointed chin with one finger, forcing her eyes to his. "Brat." He told her in the same caressing voice he used when they had made love. The word flicked the first block, which teetered, tottered, then fell, knocking over it's companion, and then the next one until they all collapsed. She began to shake, soundlessly, uncontrollably and he whispered soothing nonsense into her hair. Then the tears came, without noise, squeezing from corners of her eyes and rushing down over her cheeks and neck. He kissed the nape of her neck, and shifted to kiss away each of her other tears as they fell. When she spoke, her voice was raw. "I'm not crying for me." "What?" "I'm not crying for me. I'm crying for that little girl, Heather. She was so young . . . I had her blood all over me." He could feel her shudder. "I don't get `em live." "Bonnie," He began, rather sternly, "You are alright. She is alright. No one was killed. Stop this at once." "I know, but-" "Bonnie." She stopped shivering long enough to believe him. When she finally did, she cuddled against him, still not quite calm, but calmer still. "Steve?" "Mm?" She looked up. "Thanks." "Anytime." He wiped the last vestiges of her tears away with the mound of his thumb. "Better?" She nodded, and he kissed her without passion, just offering affection and comfort if she chose to take it. "You shouldn't call me a brat when you spoil me." He chuckled. "You deserve to be spoiled." She sniffed and smiled. A salty drop quivered at the corner of her lashes. "Missed one," he murmured and bent to press his lips against it. She closed her eyes and he felt the feather touch of her lashes against his mouth. She sighed, and raised her head to brush his lips over her skin to her cheek. He had loosened his hold on her, and now rested his right hand on her T-shirt covered thigh. He was suddenly glaringly aware that his last two fingers were spread over bare skin. He drew away a little, but didn't move his hand. "I should go." Her lips parted, but she didn't reply. She rested her forehead on his. He was staring at her mouth, that soft, warm, rosebud mouth. Did she still taste of peaches? "I really need to go." Again, there was no reply. She didn't ask, but she didn't rebuff him either. "Bonnie." He told her desperately, his voice husky, "If I don't leave now, I never will." Her violet eyes held his brown ones. "Then leave." "I don't want to." He confessed. His hand slid down of it's own accord to stroke against the naked flesh of her thigh. "Then don't." He swallowed and began to shake. "Bonnie, don't do this to me." He pleaded, closing his eyes to keep them from drinking her in. "You've been through an awful experience. You're vulnerable. I'm not the kind of man to take advantage of you." "I know you're not." Her voice made his skin tingle. "If I kiss you again, I won't leave." Whether this was a promise or a warning, he could never tell. Her hands skimmed up to the long planes of his face. He inhaled deeply and her mouth was on his, tentative. He gripped her harder, and the tentativeness evaporated. It was decided, and he tenderly lay her down, making sure that he didn't rasp against her injured side. * * * * * The sunlight, screened by curtains, cleared it's throat and tapped at her eyelids. She yawned and stretched like a family cat before a fireplace. He stirred in his sleep and she ran her hands over his bare shoulders to reassure him. He grunted and rubbed his face against her, pillowing his cheek against her chest. His body lay along her left side, his right arm thrown protectively over her flat stomach. "You're a good man, Steven Skinner." She said into his ear. "Mf." In answer, he slipped his hand over her right shoulder, over the curves of her waist to her hip. She yelped. He was awake instantly. "Oh, Bonnie. I'm sorry." He sat up, looking down at her with concern. "You alright?" "I'm fine." She grinned up at him. "Just a little stiff and sore." "I'm sorry. I forgot about the accident." Her grin widened. "It's not all from the accident." He flushed a deep crimson. "Bonnie Drew, you have the morals of an alley cat." He scolded. She stretched again as demonstration. "And aren't you glad of it? What time is it?" He squinted at the clock. "9:30." She sighed happily and reached for her over-sized shirt. Then again, most shirts were oversized on Bonnie Drew. "I love Saturdays!" She sang. "Why?" He laid back down on the bed, hands clasped behind his neck, indulging in the pleasure of watching her. "Cause you get to sleep in?" "No. `Cause I get to watch cartoons." "Brat." "Bully." "I'm not going to watch cartoons today." She slumped. "Then what?" "Well, I'll make you breakfast, then we'll find something else to do." "Oh? Like what?" "Something else." He said hastily. She bounded off the bed and dashed into the shower. "Your change of clothes is in the top right drawer, Steve." She called back, her silvery laugh echoing out to him. "I didn't shred them yet." He smirked and went to find his clothes and the makings for French toast. * * * * * They strolled together in the National Mall. "You look like you're about six." He told her, touching the bill of her baseball cap with an index finger. She wrinkled her nose up at him. "Then you should be arrested for contributing to the delinquency of a minor." "You were a delinquent long before I met you." "True." She answered unrepentantly. "What now?" "Come on." He took her hand and began to walk. To the undiscerning eye, they would have seemed like any other couple out enjoying the green of last night's rain. The handsome, balding man in the jeans and dark blue t-shirt, and his smaller companion, a pert brunette in white jeans and red tank top. If the observer were to watch a little longer though, they would have noticed that the woman kept hopping up and down at odd intervals, chanting softly, "It's spring! It's spring!" The man seemed bemused by this display and paused in front of a vendor to buy her an ice-cream cone, for which she settled down and began to eat earnestly. "Wanna lick?" He licked absently and nodded toward a structure. "Here we are." "The Lincoln Memorial." She bounced on her toes, then wilted. "Nuts! I forgot my-" "Right here." "My Slinky!" She threw her arms around his neck, nearly tumbling both of them to the concrete. He caught and held the bullet that was Bonnie Drew, and shook his head as she wiggled away and sprinted up the steps. He followed at a more sedate pace. "Ready?" She asked, crouched like a boy playing marbles. "Knock yourself out." She flicked the top of the coil and giggled as it began it's slow descent. They sat on the steps, watching it walk. "I'm really glad last night happened, Steve." She said abruptly. "No regrets?" "I make it a policy never to regret anything. Saves on stress." She watched the launch of a yellow and gold kite by a little boy about Heather's age. His father was helping, running ahead with the vibrant Chinese box. The boy yanked on the string, and the kite soared. Bonnie smiled. "Last night gave me a chance to thank you." "Thank me?" He repeated. "For what?" "For being my anchor. Dana has been doing it for so long, I wonder that she hasn't ever tried to drown me. You keep my feet on the ground. At least," she squeezed his knee affectionately. "You do the best you can." She jumped up and raced away to retrieve her toy. "I think I need to thank you, too." "Me? What for?" "You gave me back my sense of humor. It had faded a little. Gotten rusty with nonuse. I haven't eaten an ice cream cone in years." "Poor boy." She breathed. "Poor, poor boy." They were quiet. "This is sounding pretty final." "That's because it is." "Yeah, I know." He reached for her hand, and interlaced their fingers. There was another stretch of silence. "When you find her, introduce me, Ok?" He frowned. "Find who?" "The one I've trained you for." She patted his knee again. "The right one." He contemplated that, then nodded. "I will." She stood suddenly and held out her hands to him. "We won't have another day like this, so let's make the most of it." He took her hand and stood beside her. "Lead on, MacDuff." * * * * * A man and a woman paused in their run. "Hey." The man gasped. "Isn't that-?" "Yeah." His companion fought for breath. "They together again?" The redhead shrugged and answer. "First I've heard of it." Her tall, dark companion smiled. "Let them be. It's too nice a day." He reached, squeezed her hand quickly, and said again, "Let them be." She smiled up at him, making his heart skip, and they resumed their run. THE END ----------------------------------------------------------------------- All comments, questions, complaints to Bonnie Drew c/o amstone@ix.netcom.com "Did we. . .?" "No." "Are you sure? Maybe we did and you just forgot." -Edison Carter -----------------------------------------------------------------------