Date: Mon, 13 Dec 1999 14:27:25 EST
Subject: REV:  We're Not in Kansas Anymore (1/1)
Source: revision

Category:  V 
Keywords:  none
Rating:    PG
Spoilers:  through Triangle (US6) 
Summary:   So when did Skinner and the Lone Gunmen get to be such 
           good friends?  Makes references to my previous flickfic  
	   "Visiting Hours Are Now Over". 
 
 
We're Not in Kansas Anymore 
by Martha & Sally Helmerich 
marthalgm@yahoo.com  
sallyh@flashcom.net 
 
 
late summer 1998 
FBI Headquarters 
Skinner's office 
 
Byers.  Langly.  Frohike. 
 
Now where had he heard those names before? 
 
Skinner stared at the mountain of paperwork on the conference table   
in his office, remembering the question that had started him on this   
quest.  The one that had been bugging him since that hospital visit   
to an injured Mulder when he first ran into these guys.  Personnel   
records, various database printouts, old police files from Baltimore,   
DC, and Richmond, and a number of 'misplaced' FBI files lay scattered   
in various piles.   
 
He knew them.  Somewhere in this heap was the answer. 
 
 	x	x	x	x	x	x	x	x 
 
Present Day 
The Library Lounge 
Washington DC 
 
Langly took a sip of his Samuel Adams.  "At least he didn't call you   
Toto this time." 
 
"Why does he keep doing that?" Frohike asked to the ceiling fan above   
their table. 
 
"You'd rather be referred to as one of those flying monkeys?"  
 
Frohike picked up his tumbler of J&B.  "You'd rather have this drink   
shoved down your pants?" 
 
Skinner interrupted the two.  "Hey, hey.  None of that.  Even on my   
salary, these drinks are expensive."  He had brought the Gunmen to   
this bar after visiting Mulder.  A booth in the back seemed the most   
logical choice for them (much to the relief of the waitstaff) as both   
Frohike and Langly were severely underdressed compared to the rest of   
the regular clientele at this hour.  Byers sat beside Skinner;    
Frohike sat opposite the Assistant Director on the outside with   
Langly sitting sideways beside him, leaning against the wall.  In the   
few months since initially meeting them in another hospital room, he   
had grown curious about this rag-tag team that his agents - oops,   
former agents - had relied upon for information.  He may have known   
people, but these guys had *resources*. 
 
Byers put down his gin and tonic, sucking on the piece of lime and   
wincing a bit at the bitterness.  "What is it about hospitals and   
Mulder?" 
 
"It seems to be the only safe place for us to be seen in," Skinner   
answered. 
 
"That last time wasn't so much fun." 
 
Frohike leaned across the table, shaking a finger at Byers.   "Ah,   
but the striptease was the highlight of that one." 
 
"Compared to your usual viewing habits, I guess I should be   
flattered.  I'm glad you could be so easily entertained, but I did   
get a new suit out of it." 
 
"Yeah.  And you picked another brown one.  Jeez.  Don't you at least   
shop around first?" 
 
"I happen to like brown.  Brown is so . . ." 
 
Frohike and Langly replied in unison, "Dull."  Skinner joined in on   
their laughter. 
 
Langly was quick to note that Skinner was beginning to be more   
relaxed around them.  "Hey, snaps to the nice arrangement you brought   
Mulder.  Do you always go all out for your agents?" 
 
"Only when they nearly die on me."  Skinner picked up his drink and   
gazed into the ice cube formations.  "Kersh is going to crucify him.    
I know that I would.  Oh, to be a fly on the wall of his office when   
that time comes." 
 
"That can be arranged," Frohike deadpanned. 
 
Skinner eyed him from across the table.  He had no doubts about that   
one. 
 
"Move over, Frohike."  Dana Scully had approached the group without   
their noticing, nudged at Frohike's shoulder and slid into the booth   
next to him.  She placed her elbows on the table, forehead in her   
palms and audibly sighed.  When the waitress appeared to take her   
order, she folded her hands underneath her chin and replied,   
"Margarita.  Cuervo Gold.  Go light with the salt, and I want a shot   
of Grand Marnier on the side." 
 
She paused until the waitress turned to leave, leaning on the edge of   
the table with arms now crossed.  "Now that this is all over and done   
with, I just want to know.  Whatever possessed you to do this?"  She   
turned towards the trio, blue eyes boring holes into the middle of   
their faces. 
 
The Gunmen did not need to ask for a clarification.  They knew that   
she was talking about that ship. 
 
Langly recovered first.  "It was too good.  Mulder gets off on this   
sort of thing." 
 
"He'd never forgive us for not making him aware of it," Byers   
offered. 
 
"We didn't think he'd go off and caught in a storm and nearly drown .   
. ."  Frohike paused to look at the other occupants at the table and   
then continued, "but we are talking about Mulder." 
 
Scully shook her head, with the thought 'I don't believe this'   
forming its way to her lips.  "You knew *exactly* how he would react   
to something like that.  What information you guys get to him on his   
own time is your business, but you know that he doesn't work on the X   
Files anymore.  And you know that he is incapable of resisting this   
kind of temptation."  The waitress returned with her drink.  "What   
did you do?  Wake him up with this news?" 
 
Langly sat down his empty bottle on the table.  "You know the dude   
never sleeps through the night.  He was already awake when we   
contacted him." 
 
Skinner was suddenly curious.  "What exactly happened?" 
 
"Well, we were playing with some new equipment that we had just   
purchased . . ." Byers began. 
 
"A slow night on the Internet?" Scully added sarcastically. 
 
Frohike explained, "The NBA lockout has some us scrambling for late   
night entertainment." 
 
Byers continued.  "So we're doing some testing, some fine tuning . .   
."  
 
"Some downloads of satellite feeds to . . ."  Langly stopped when   
Frohike cleared his throat. 
 
"I'm not here."  Skinner began to finish off his J&B and was   
considering a second.  "I was never here." 
 
"So we get these pictures."  Byers lowers his voice a bit as he   
continues diplomatically with the story.  "And acquire some radio   
traffic from that area about the reappearance of the Queen Anne.    
Mulder is an email address away so we let him know what we found." 
 
Langly again interrupted.  "And he writes us right back saying that   
this had better not be bogus 'cause we just interrupted this mother   
of a download of mud-wrestling twins . . ." 
 
This time, both Frohike and Byers nonverbally cautioned Langly while   
Skinner nearly choked on the piece of ice he was sucking on. 
 
"Actually, I think he was just joking with us," Langly replied,   
apologetically. 
 
"Somehow, I doubt that," Scully whispered to herself.   
 
Byers settled back into the corner of the booth and continued.  "And   
so, he shows up at our place shortly afterwards, and we give him what   
we've found, and he takes off.  Knowing Mulder, we had to assume that   
he wouldn't stop to let you know where he was going - just so that   
you wouldn't get into any trouble - and started keeping tabs on his   
Visa authorizations." 
 
Frohike finished the accounting.  "We knew the coordinates of where   
he would be heading.  When that freak storm blew into the area, we   
tried to get the marina to contact him by radio, but they weren't   
getting any response.  So we came looking for you."   
 
"That's another thing."  Scully set down her glass.  "How did you   
guys end up unescorted at my desk?" 
 
Langly and Frohike suddenly became interested in the woodwork of the   
table, and Byers, wide-eyed, tried to come up with an explanation.    
"Agent Scully, you really don't want to know." 
 
"I guess I don't." 
 
"Seriously, Scully," Skinner began, "what are you going to tell Kersh   
tomorrow about your little trip to Bermuda?" 
 
"I haven't a clue," she replied.  "Maybe I'll find some ruby red   
slippers by then that will take me away from all of this." 
 
"How appropriate," Langly interjected. 
 
"Excuse me?" 
 
"Well, Mulder was definitely reliving scenes from The Wizard of Oz.    
The storm wrecks his boat and knocks him out, like that tornado takes   
out Dorothy.  He has these wild adventures with people he knows   
playing these weird roles."  Langly draped his arm across Frohike's   
shoulders.  "Heaven knows, we have Munchkins on hand." 
 
"Does anyone think I look like the Good Witch of the North?" Skinner   
asked. 
 
"Please don't get him started," Frohike warned. 
 
This only energizes Langly.  "Hey, did you hear about the connection   
between The Wizard of Oz and Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon?  If   
you start the album right where . . ." 
 
"We're leaving," Frohike gestured to the others.  "Right now." 
 
	x	x	x	x	x	x	x	x 
 
late summer 1998 
FBI Headquarters 
Skinner's office 
 
Skinner surveyed the paperwork that now covered the conference table   
and the surrounding floor space.  What was it that Byers had said in   
that hospital room after the others had left?  That they knew him   
even before the X Files. 
 
Skinner dug back through a pile of folders for Mulder's casework   
chronology.  Before the X Files.  Before 1991.  To a case involving   
murder and sabotage that had led Mulder to Baltimore.   
 
And Skinner would find John Fitzgerald Byers.  University of   
Pennsylvania graduate.  Some grad work at George Washington.  Federal   
Communications Commission.  Sent before the Board of Review a week   
after the incident at the Baltimore Convention Center.  Where he   
offered no explanation of his actions that led to his arrest or that   
involved the intrusion episode from the computers at the FCC booth.    
Tendered his resignation the following day.  And later sent in a   
letter detailing the exact steps he took to break into the DoD site -   
with the express purpose of forcing these agencies to improve their   
security efforts and absolving his coworker of any of the charges.    
This was one weird bird, Skinner thought.  An anarchist with a   
conscience?   
 
And he found Ringo Langly.  Or tried to.  A birth certificate.  A   
Social Security Number.  Well, it might have been his except that   
there was no work or salary history attached to it.  What has this   
guy been doing for the past ten years?  Or before?  And do I really   
want to know? 
 
And he found Melvin Frohike.  Army.  Vietnam.  Just a few years older   
than he but the paths they had taken upon being shipped home . . .    
Skinner had come home to a country that repaired his body and gave it   
a second chance.  Frohike had come home in one piece but with a   
spirit that couldn't rest to a country that just wanted to forget   
that he existed.  A concept that was actively cultivated.   
 
What was it that Mulder had said to him once? 
 
With all due respect, sir, that could have been you.   
 
A combination of brilliance, paranoia, and determination.  Skinner   
smiled as he began to gather up the paperwork.  This underground   
caucus was a perfect compliment for Mulder and his work.             
 
He just wondered if he'd have to wait until Mulder was hospitalized   
again to see them.     
 
 
end