From: Sue <susieqla@yahoo.com>
Date: Tue, 15 Jan 2002 04:47:02 -0800 (PST)
Subject: Work With Me Here (1/3)
Source: xff


Title:      Work With Me Here (1/3)
Author:     Sue
            susieqla@yahoo.com
Category:   LGMFIC
Rating:     PG
Note:       Continuation of 'The Date'
Distribution: Wherever, whenever, it's fine.
Disclaimer:   C.C., 1013 Productions, FOX
know what they own; Lislita comes from me.



Work With Me Here
Part 1


Scully's Apartment
Georgetown, Washington, D.C.
November 20, 1999

7:05 A.M.


"See you then, Langly.  Uh huh. . .why?
Completely sure.  Of course I want to spend
the *whole* day with you.  No, I haven't
changed my mind.  Positive.  Stop.  I know
what I want.  Surprise me, then.  'Bye..."

Lislita ends the call, thinks over most of
what he said, and then rises from the
high perched, wide-seated stool.  In her
cousin's downy, fleece-lined slippers, she
pads her way to the immaculate refrigerator.
Yawning, she opens its door, craving some
cold oj, and wondering what kind of day it
would be.  The weather, even at this early
hour, holds out the promise of being one
of D.C.'s ten best.

The kitchen still holds the delightful
smell of strawberry shortcake, a holdover
from Scully's and hers adventures in baking
from scratch, two nights ago.  They'd made
piglets of themselves and only a smidgen
of the pastry remains in the fridge.

She thinks she's being as quiet as a mouse
as she opens the refrigerator door.  She
is, but she forgets that her relative is
a crack F.B.I. agent, with hearing bordering
on canine range.  She has the half-filled
carton of Minute Maid half-way to her mouth,
already tasting citrus.

"Don't even think about it, 'prima.'  You're
busted big time."  Scully is leaning against
the adjoining wall with her arms folded,
perpetrating a glare which she bounces off
Lislita.

"Oops, so I am."  The aprehendee begins
lowering the carton, looking sheepish,
but a faint smile trails on her face.
"A bad habit, but one I get away with at
home.  Rosa's been indulging me since
my childhood."

The softly-blurred image of the sedate
Mexican household's earthy family cook
forms in Scully's mind, and she remembers
how anxious the hugable woman had been
about practicing her English on her.
Scully prinks her face with a warm smile
as it eases its way onto her face.  "Use a
glass?  Please?"  Lislita nods and heads
for the sink.  "How's Rosa?"  Scully
watches her vivacious cousin comply with
her minimal request.

"She's fine.  She's a grandmother of
six now."

"That's great."  Scully yawns with a
limbering stretch.  "Been up long?"

"Since about six-thirty."  Lislita sips
from a long-stemmed glass as though she's
sipping champagne.  "It was hard staying
asleep any longer.  I'm so excited.  I
can't wait to see him again."

"So I heard," Scully says, thinking that
this is sounding like the start of some-
thing weird, as she catches the twinkle in
her cousin's deep brown eyes.  "Langly,
right?"

"'Ricardo, si.'"  With a dramatic slant of
her knowing eyes, the cousin says, "Okay,
how much did you hear?"  Same, old Dana,
she thinks, always listening in on private
conversations through any means at her
disposal.

A dubious shading beclouds the federal
career woman's tone, the quality, all
high and flighty, on the cusp of being
critical.  "Enough to know you, 'can't
wait to see him again.'"

"Why are you sounding like that?"

She knows her reservations are plain on
her face, but helping that isn't her chief
concern right now.  "I'm not trying to
sound like anything, Lisi.  I'm just
curious, that's all."  What could a
sophisticated beauty such as she see in
Mulder's quirky, dorky friend?  The
immature paranoiac beset by varying degrees
of monomania on a daily basis?

Lislita's face lights up.  "He's amazing. . .
so brave, and fearless."  Scully does a
mental double take.  Langly. . .the geek
who's afraid of his own wraith-like shadow
if ever he hears an unfamiliar sound in the
dim recesses of the warehouse?  Lislita's
mind drifts to the scary incident at the
little sundry store, where she'd accompanied
Langly to get some antacid, and subsequently
where at knifepoint, if it hadn't been for
his heroic intervention, she would have been
spirited off to a location where rape, and
God knew what else would have surely
followed.  "He wants to show me the D.C. he
knows.  The places he likes."

"Oh, *that* should be interesting," Scully
judges, suppressing the urge to ask her
cousin if she likes dives where the menu
is exclusivly cheesestakes.  That, and
spending the bulk of her day in Radio Shack
watching Langly gawk over hand-held gadgets
of all arcane descriptions.

Lislita finishes the last of her orange
juice in one gulp.  She dabs at the citric
moisture at the corners of her mouth with a
few haphazard fingertip swipes.  "I think
so.  He'll be here by eight."  There's that
look again.  "Somehow I get the feeling
you're something much less than happy, Dana."
Lislita sets the empty glass upon the bone
Rubbermaid skid in the sink, and while
turning away from the running water says,
"You don't want me going, is that it?"

"Don't mind me."

"Oh, sure."  Finishing up by shutting off
the faucet, the cousin goes back to the
stool to sit.  Her long, slender legs the
color of deliciously-toasted toast, dangle.
"What is up?"

Scully travels over to the fridge to get a
spot of juice for herself, wondering how
she's going to put what she's spoiling to
say as non-argumentative as conceivably
possible.  She uses the same glass her
cousin's just rinsed and dried.

"Well. . ."  Ah, this might work better,
than coming right out and saying how
wrong she thinks it would be for her
cousin to get mixed up with the nerdiest
and weirdest of the Three Stooges.  "It's
just that, since it's Saturday, and I'm
off, I thought we could do something
together--finally.  Sunday, and you'll be
heading back to Miami.  Where did the time
go, huh?"

"This is true.  Two weeks have never gone
so fast."  It's Lislita's turn to sigh.
"We haven't been able to do much together.
At least not as much as I would've liked."

"Same here.  Your first week here I was up
to my eyeballs in autopsies."

Lislita's twittery laughter flutters
across to Scully.  "'Ay,' I wish I had
more time to visit, but there're the
cruise shows I'm booked for.  Next week,
and--boom."  She'd used her hands to mimic
an explosion.  "The Caribbean season kicks
into high gear, and runs for the next
several months.  I'm booked solid."

"Well, Mulder did offer to cover for me
so I could take off to be with you, but I
didn't think it was fair, doing that, and
there were all the follow-ups to those
crazy autopsies."

The spark of an idea lights up Lislita's
expressive face.  "I know.  Take a cruise
on my line.  Make it a vacation.  I can
get you a discount for family."

Sloshing down another swallow of oj,
Scully wipes her mouth off with the
kitchen towel, shaking her head afterwards.
"Mulder and I are in the middle of this,
well I'll say, unusual case at the moment,
so any thought of a vacation has to be put
on hold for the time being."

"Come along with us, today; 'Ricardo' and
me, then.  We'll have fun, the three of
us.  No--even better--invite Mulder too.
It'll be great.  No?"

Scully swishes her hand into her mussed
hair, imagining what that mixed company
would be like.  "No, that's all right."
Her grimace is great.  "Trust my strong
feeling that Mulder's and my tagging along
wouldn't sit too well with Langly, your
date."  Thoughtfully, "I mean, you're going
on a date with him, right?"

Lislita looks quizzical for a moment, and
then sums up, "I'm the one who asked him
out, so whatever he thinks is fine with
me.  He's very. . ."

"--Not the usual sort of man you date?"
Scully rushes to fill in before tendering
a finer, more delicate turn of phrase.
Quickly she counters, "You two certainly
hit it off last night."  They sure didn't
hide the fact that something had changed
between them after coming back from the
convenience store, Scully rethinks.  Her
deductive use of reasoning effortlessly
clicking into place.  (Their hot little
hands, well, in Langly's case, his very
large ones, were all over each other
during the ride home.)

The lithe relation chuckles in fondness,
remembering how all through their phone
conversation of a short while ago, Langly
had kept saying that if she wanted to
change her mind about going out with him,
it was 'cool.'

'...Wouldn't be like the first time a
chick had second thoughts,' he'd told her...

"I like him.  I think he's sweet," Lislita
insists.  "'Tan padrisimo.'"

(That means she definitely sees something
in him that I've missed all these years.)
"But he's not your usual type, though,"
Scully waggles, unwilling to have that bone
shaken loose.

Lislita hops off the stool.  "Interesting,
attractive men are *always* my type."

"Langly?" Scully intones like wind wending
through a dark, cavernous cave, and looking
as incongruous as a duck in a tux, wearing
a top hat and spats.

Lislita whirls around with a dervishness to
the movement, a time or two.  When she
laughs, the kitchen vibrates, in step with
the lilt in her walk as she heads for the
bedroom she's sharing with Scully, and it
wouldn't surprise the Agent if her cousin
has it in her to throw a handspring.  "I'll
shower quick, and get dressed.  Please
say you'll come.  I'm sure he won't mind,
Danita.  He being the gentleman he is."

(Oh, I strongly doubt he wouldn't mind.)

"Langly?" Scully echoes, as incredulously
as before.  She upbraids herself for the
hooting that brazenly couched itself in
her tone.  Lislita stops in her tracks
and does an about-face.

"You don't. . .you don't think much of him,
do you?"

Scully puckers her mouth after the last
essense of juice clears her palate.
"Uh. . ."

"*Why* don't you?"

Scully shrugs, her mind crimps for a
moment, as a fuzzy memory rises, then
falls.  (Cutie?)

"I don't *dislike* him," she stalls, "it's
just that he's. . .well. . .he's just not
the type I picture you with."  Scully wraps
her robe around her taut frame.  "I don't
picture you with a geek."

Lislita wrinkles her brow.  "Geek?  'Que?'
What means geek?"

"Langly's a geek, Lisi," Scully says point-
bluntly, blurting the first thought that
had deluged her mind.  "All upper case."
That wistful sigh again, the one Mulder
knows well.  "Even *he* knows it."

"You make it sound very bad.  Something I
think 'Tia' Maggie wouldn't like hearing
you call somebody.  Especially somebody
thoughtful and nice."

Still sounding as though her cousin has
to be referring to somebody else, she
replies, "Geek's not a bad word.  It's
used to describe, usually guys, like Langly
who are, who."  She sees that the foundation
of her disparaging explanation isn't scoring
any points with her scowling cousin.  "Okay,
for simplicity's and impartiality's sakes,
guys who are socially-challanged.

"They're not exactly the kind of guys who
make a good impression.  Case in point--
Langly.  Misfits.  Hey--I'm not saying it's
through any fault of their own, generally.
It's just the way it is.  C'mon, at least
admit that you go out with drop dead good-
looking men, Cuz, in your show-biz universe.
Not, well, not.  Look, excuse my rude, but
not men who're mercy dated, or never have
been.  But, men you *have* dated like, well
you've said so yourself. . .Luis Miguel,
or that other hunky torch singer, uh. . .
Alejandro Fernandez, and a fair assortment
of actors and male models.  Not like,
like--"

"Like 'Ricardo?'  *Langly*?  Is that the
name you're groping for?" Lislita grumbles.

"I'm sorry, Lisi, but I--"

"So you're saying I shouldn't go out with
Langly because he's not good-looking
enough?"

"No--no, I'm not saying that at all."

"Then, what *are* you saying?"

Scully drops the volume and power of her
voice.  "I just want you to have a really
enjoyable last day here."

This visit isn't going to end on a sour note
if she can help it.  (HELP IT!)

"I'm sure I will.  He's so funny."

(More like funny looking.)

Dana relents, seeing how her cousin has
her heart set on a Langly she has never
reckoned as anything remotely 'appealing,'
before.  At least while having her mind
sound and intact.

The shadow boxing of wills ends because
Scully decides it should.  "Then, I guess
you will, hon.  Word of advice though. . .
don't let him steer conversation solely
to his pet conspiracy theories, or
indecipherable technobabble.  Trust me on
this, sweetie.  He'll give you a headache;
I know of what I speak."

"Yes, Mom. . ."  And she smiles anyway when
remembering how smart he is. . .and how
'cool.'  His term.

Following some very descriptive eye-rolling,
Scully mutters more to herself, "I still
owe him one good ass-kicking.  He plays with
her head, he'll really get it."  She rinses
the glass in imitation of her cousin.  "Oh,
and you've got an early flight tomorrow, so
don't stay out all hours."

"Yes, Mother," Lislita teases, and flashes
Scully her dazzling pearly whites.  "I'd
better not miss my flight if I want to
eat this winter."  She performs a polite
curtsey, and resumes her trip to the bedroom.

(Ahab salutes you. . .contrition complete.)


Lone Gunmen's Headquarters
Takoma Park, Maryland
7:37 A.M.


"GOD!"

"Grow up, Langly."

Several more caustic words fly out of the
bouncing and flouncing blond's mouth, adding
icing to the cake of his vespiary temper.
"Gimme one good reason why I can't use the
van, dammit--I need it total big time!"  If
his buds thought they'd heard him whine
in the past, their ears were about to be
treated to the mother of all 'whinefests'
of all time, inflicted upon them.

"Stop acting your shoe size," Frohike
snipes sharply again, "and give it a rest
already."  He goes on reading his paper.

Langly strafes Frohike's back with lethal
eyes.  "Look, this is how it works.  No
van, no chick.  No chick--I go ballistic!"
In frustration, he rakes his 'stragglies'
until his scalp hurts.  "Ouch!"

Frohike pours himself another freshly brewed
cup of Mr. Coffee's finest, and doesn't
bother to look Langly in the face when he
replies.  "Get a grip, man.  First things
first.  Ya TCB.  That comes first.  Then
ya get to party."

"Yeah, Langly."  Byers pushes more scrambled
eggs, that are liberally peppered with
flecks of green peppers and onions, onto his
fork with the remainder of burnt toast.
"*We* need the van more, and since you see
fit to shirk your civic responsibilities,
majority rules, as always.  Our prime
obligation is to our readers."

Langly sees red, and storms over to stand
at Byers' side, toying with the idea of
slapping the fork out of his hand.  Maybe
a more novel approach dipped in subtlety
might do the trick.  "C'mon, guys. . .when
do I ever ask for special favors?"  He
grinds the heel of his hand into his multi-
creased forehead.

Byers and Frohike exchange very jaded
expressions.

"The source is time-sensitive, so *we* need
the van," Frohike reminds him.  "That takes
priority over your little tryst you're hell-
bent to keep with Scully's hot cousin."  He
and Byers nod in semi-unison, and both
relishing the mask of desperation awash on
Langly's screwed-up face.  "You never care
about repercussions."

"What repercussions?" Langly barks.

"I think I know what Frohike's driving at,"
Byers supplies as he takes another sip of
cranberry juice.

"Enlighten *me*," Langly demands.

Frohike's sniffs seem to hang in the air.
He folds his newspaper, and focuses on
Langly intently.  "You could mess things up
for us, hippie.  You upset Scully's cousin
with the versatile ways you have of being a
real punk-ass, and there goes our F.B.I.
connection."

"And two of the nicest people we know,"
Byers finishes.

Then more to himself, although Frohike is
looking Byers' way, he says, "Man, I still
don't get it.  Exquisite Lislita wanting
to make the couple scene with homely-Jones
here.  Maybe she needs glasses too.  It's
like I keep sayin', there *is no* justice."

"Rant on, Frohike.  You just can't take it
'cos for *once* a chick--a real looker--gave
me the time of day.  *Ha*.  I can't help it
if she digs me."  Sounding churlish then,
he says, "You and Byers are gonna haveta
walk to the meet."  (I'm gettin' the van.
Case closed.)  "Where're the keys, narc, you
had 'em last."

"Sorry, Langly," Byers upholds, and gets
some visual encouragement from Frohike
who's shaking his head.

"No way, buddy," he says.  "You made your
plans, you plan on how you're gonna get
there without the van."

"Please, guys?  How often do I get lucky?"
pleads Langly, saving his more energetic
whimpers as his final ploy, and looking the
worse side of desperate.

"That settles it," Frohike says, clearly
showing signs of giving Langly a good clip
upside his head.  "No way you're getting
the van now.  You try hustlin' her onto the
fast track like some sex-starved freak. . ."
Which you are, Frohike thinks to himself.
"And you can kiss the more shapely of the
Fibbies good-bye."

"But--"

"Here's an idea, Romeo," Byers adds to the
mix, and with a smug laugh ends by saying,
"Take a cold shower. . .make it a very cold
one."

The look Langly gives him suggests that it
could happen if Byers joins him, where
Langly'd wind up holding his head beneath
the spray until Byers turned blue.



Scully's Apartment
9:15 A.M.


The thinness of his voice is stained with
thick apology.  "Like, sorry I'm late.  It
took me awhile getting over here. . ."
Just barely managing to look the women in
their eyes, he stands at the door, shifting
uncomfortably from foot to foot.  "No ride.
*They* took it.  I bussed my way over here."
His shoulders bunch for the shrug, and he
hunches over, one loose definition of being
contrite.

He'd wasted more time arguing with the
stonewallers he calls his friends, but to
no avail.  Then, his fruitless attempt at
hot-wiring had proven to be just that in
spades.

Scully strikes her patented arms folded
over chest pose, and regards him with
impassive, appraising eyes.  So typical of
him, she can't help thinking.

Lislita beams him the most radiant smile
he's ever seen a kept-waiting woman ever
give in his life.  She extends her hand,
inviting him inside Scully's.  "That's all
right.  You gave Dana and me another chance
to catch up.  We were just laughing about
things that happened when we were girls."

"*Were* girls?"  Langly draws a blank.
"Then what are you now?"

"When we were *little* girls," his gracious
prespective date underscores, and Scully
rolls her eyes, tucking her uncombed hair
behind her ears.  Suddenly, the bathrobe
she's still wearing makes her feel under-
dressed.

"Oh, yeah. . .little girls.  Cool."

Memories rehashed had been interspersed
with Scully's persistent highlighting of
a host of other good reasons why her cousin
should reconsider taking in Capitol sights
with Langly.  Oddities peculiar to him,
which Scully views more than just passingly
irritating.

"You know when you're little, you think you
know everything," Lislita cheerfully says.

"We *did*," Scully qualifies.

"Like you don't know everything now,
Scully?"  Langly retorts without thinking,
but when he catches sight of Scully's
spikey expression, he wishes he'd kept a
better lid on his mouth.

Quickly overhauling the subject, Lislita
says, "Dana was beginning to think you'd
changed your mind about going out, but I
said you'd come, or else you'd have called,
if you'd changed your mind.  I'm glad you
didn't change your mind."  She squeezes
his upper arm which she had latched unto
possessively, and Langly finds himself
relaxing in proportion to the mystique of
well-being she engenders within him.

(Knew she'd be way cool.  She's amazing. . .
you worried for nothin', man.)

When Lislita's hand fits itself into his,
seizing it so she can gently tug him gently
along, he substantiates, "Oh, yeah, like
for sure.  I would've called."

Scully's taking this all in, without saying
one other word, makes him uneasy all over
again.

"Is it okay, Scully?" Langly asks, as though
spot checking.

"Of course.  Come in."

Once inside, and looking squeamish, he hems
and haws, "Uh, Scully. . .do you think
like. . .uh, like maybe you'd let us use
your car?  --That is, if you've got one
handy."

While Scully mulls this nugget, Lislita nods
along with Langly to lend mute encouragement.

"Like it'd be awesome if we could.  I'd like
to show your cousin some of the deeply cool,
out of the way places the average visitor'd
never hit.  Public transportation sucks the
big one. . ."

Scully deftly raises her eyebrow.

"Well, you know. . .you miss your bus, or
train, ya gotta wait what seems forever till
the next one."

(Tough.)  Scully is about to say it's out of
the question until.

"How'bout it, huh?  Could you make it happen?"

"Langly, I'm, I'm really not at liberty to--"

"Oh, could we, Day?  Pretty please. . .with
'azucar,' sugar on top?  It would make getting
around so much easier."

(Oh, fine, like I really have a choice now.)

"I guess so.  Sure."  (That's one of my
biggest problems, I'm too damn accommodating.)

"Outstanding, Scully!"  Langly reachs out to
ruffle her shoulder.  "We're in!"

"Thank you so much, Day.  Sure you won't
change your mind about tagging along?  You
and Mulder?"

Langly swallows hard, and blinks.  He looks
very shook, like the time when he'd left
the front door of the warehouse unlocked
and had had nightmares each night about
thieves breaking in while he and the guys
had been in North Carolina, doing some
investigative work near Kitty Hawk for a
story on the Wright Brothers.

He holds his baited breath.

"That'd be all right with you, wouldn't it,
Langly?" Lislita asks, round-eyed and
innocent.

Stammering, he gives it a game try, trying
to cover up his true feelings, but Scully
cuts him off.  "On behalf of a randomly-
absent Mulder and my present-and-accounted
for self, I'll decline."  As she goes for
the keys which are lying atop her TV, she
says, "Just be careful with government
property signed out under my name."

"F.B.I. wheels," Langly whispers with a
slight blink of his eyes, and a dry swallow.

Upon returning, she interrupts their hushed
conversation, and tactfully says, "Now get
going, you two," before handing the key ring
off to Langly who's still marvelling.  He
snaps the Versace jacket Lislita's in the
motions of putting on, out of her hands, and
helps her slip into it, and eagerly follows
behind her to the door.  Gratefully he
whispers to Scully on their way out, "Thanks,
G-woman, I owe ya big.  Next time you need an
ultra-sensative hack, or a hard to get a
handle on locatee, you see me."

Scully's indulgent smile is tersely topped
off by her careful reply, "Just take good
care of my cousin, Langly.  That's the
greatest favor you can do for me."

Lislita's face could be a poster for a 'Be
all that you can be' ad, and she laughs the
way she did once when 'Bad Boy Billy' tried
scaring Dana and her, not Melissa, though,
with warty frogs one summer during a family
picnic that had morphed into a reunion at
Gull Pond in Massachusetts.

As her cousin walks off with 'the Stooge'
she knows the least about, arm-in-arm, he
tosses over his shoulder, "Don't sweat it,
she's in the best hands."

Scully flicks a dismissive wave at him.
(If yours turn out to be the cop-more-than-
a-feel kind, you can kiss your you-know-what
goodbye, Larry.)


END PART 1

Work With Me Here
Part 2



Arlington Virginia
Ryan's

9:30 P.M.


Pungent white wine glistens on Lislita's
supple lips before she swabs it with her
tongue.  The vintage is superb, the like
of which she's never sampled before; not
too dry, not too sweet, refreshingly tart.
A little like Langly.

The drink's a fitting complement to cap
the special day she's had with the last
person in the world Scully would have
thought her cousin would jell with in her
wildest dreams.

Langly dangles another crispy brown onion
ring before Lislita's greasy mouth, as
though it's bait on a fishhook, and waits
for her to nibble it out of his hand, the
way she's done for his prior two dangles.

(I've always wanted a chick eating right
outta my hand.)

Giggling, not from the effects of her
second glass of chilled perfection, but
largely from the stimulating company
she's keeping, she darts her tongue out
at the greasy prize, and Langly blends
his chuckles with her giggles.

Just as she snags the vegetal ring, she
allows Langly to press his body further
into hers, against the deep burgundy
plushness of their parqueted booth.  He
knows it's an aggressive move, aggressive
for him, but his date doesn't seem to
mind.  The last thing in the world he
wants to do is disrespect her.  Scully's
cousin is a true lady, but she's also the
most beautiful woman who's ever let him
go this far before, 'pushing up' this hard
as he is.  She's making it virtually
impossible for him to curb his salivating
for female companionability.

As she sighs, kissing the side of his
face, working her way to his ear and
trailing grease along his cheek, still
chewing, she says, "I've had so much fun
today."

An ingenuous grin upon his face blossoms
at the precise moment the weekend warriors
couple at the table a stone's throw from
their booth is being wished a very happy
10th wedding anniversary, above the
sociable din.  The fuss is celebrated with
a creamy layer cake topped with fissioning
sparklers fizzing red and white, and
singing tailored to the tune of the 'Happy
Birthday' melody performed by the pub's
skeleton staff.

Seeing the oily ring she leaves on his
cheek in the gauzy sub-lit atmosphere,
Lislita snatches up his unused napkin with
the words, 'Ryan's Pub' embossed on it,
and gingerly works to remove the oval
slick.

"Hey, it's cool, Lisa.  I like it.  The
neat freak's Byers, it ain't me."

"I like you. . ."

(What'd she just say?)

His eyes shy away from hers, and Langly
does a rapid burn which fans up from his
neck, and goes unnoticed by his soft
companion which is an added benefit lent
by the low lights.  "I uh, huh?"

She aims at his sheeny forehead, puffs,
and his baby-fine tendrils flutter in the
wake of wine-scented zephyr.  She hiccups
a bit, still all smiles, and her shudder
is involuntary.

"Hey, you okay?" he asks, chewing on his
lower lip.

Lislita nods as she wriggles her hand into
his, which lies half a finger from his non-
alcoholic Coke.

"Not too tired?"  He winces, hearing a
deeply-embedded Frohikian sentiment tickle
in his ear.

Lislita brushes the tip of his beaky nose
with her leisurely-tapered one; a 'schnoz'
she's grown into naturally, and easily an
envy of every plastic surgeon she's ever
been introduced to at a 'Telenovela' wrap-
party.

As though testing the tricky waters of
romance, he brings her hand up to his
quivering lips, and rams a solid one upon
her velvety knuckles.

(You call that one suave move, turkey?
She's about to laugh in your face again.)

He thinks he only thought it, but realizes
he must have vocalized his feelings of
inadequacy when she, looking bemused, says,
"You suck this?"

More than mildly startled, he flounders
automatically, "I suck at this.  I--I'm no
good."

"No good?  I don't think so.  I think
you're very nice."  Mindfully, she parts
the curtain of hair hiding his face which
is mired in apology.  "Hello?  Where are
you?"

A heady apprehension sticks it to him.
"*No.* I mean I suck. . . with women."  He
begins backing off from her, obeying the
mandate of low self esteem, bonded to a
bad case of nerves, calling him to heel.
Every blind date gone wrong in high school
comes rushing to mind, and the impulse
to bolt from the shadowy booth is irresis-
table.  "You've had better dates. . .for
sure."  Another little slide, and he's out
of there.

"Don't leave."  She tugs his forearm,
noting how quickly he has his jacket on,
and then uses her smile effectively.
"This is one of the much better ones,
'chulito.  No te vayas.'"

His tone turns cold.  "I'm not a ladies'
man.  I know I bored you.  It's just that
computers and machines are what I know.
Techno whatever, I'm there.  I monopolized
to mechanize every conversation we had
today, and I'm sorry." His eyes, a darker
shade of blue now, grow sadder.  "You're
too glamorous, and I don't know how to
deal.  So-sorry I wasted your time."

Even softer this time she repeats, "'No
te vayas.'  Don't go.  'Por favor.'
Please."

His skittishness somewhat abates, and he
wrestles with himself to quell his
misgivings.  "See I--"

"If you want to end our date early, that's
one thing, but if you abandon me here,
finding my way back to Dana's will be very
difficult, 'verdad?'"

"You know her phone number, right?"

"But we have her car."

"Oh, yeah. . .right."

"It's my fault I don't know her street
address and apartment number by heart,
but even if I did, this city's a stranger
to me.  But, you aren't, now. . ."

(How much more of a frickin' idiot are
you gonna be, loser?  Scully'll shoot you
like she did Mulder if you cut-out on
her cousin 'cos you can't handle the
incredible woman she is.  You're beyond
sad, dweeb.)

"Ok-kay, I'll stay."  He re-seats
himself, but across from her at the
booth, and though she doesn't think
she's done anything wrong to have him
behave this way, she decides she'll take
the conversation by the horns, for a
first this day.

A nice clean break from whatever's
plaguing him, she thinks before speaking.
"Have you ever been on a cruise,
'Richillo?'"

"Who me?"  (No, genius, the double-
jointed waiter carryin' that tray with
the beers.)

Lislita comes forward, her elbows propped
atop the table, she studying him intently.

"Uh. . .uh-uh."  (Brilliant conversa-
tionalist you are when a chick's tryin'
to have a normal one with ya.)  Langly
sits up straighter, and eyes her
thoroughly.  "I kinda always wanted to go
on one."

"You have?"

"Yeah."  (Like pullin' teeth, huh?)  "I
get the idea, though.  From websites,
like it could be lots of fun."

"I think you'd have a good time if you
took one on Carnival, my line.  They
aren't called the 'Fun Ships' for
nothing."  The clime changes in the next
moment, and her hand inches to his, and
closes over it.  "Why are you sitting way
over there?

Little beads of sweat pop out across the
center of his broad forehead.  He tries
to hide the confusion scrawled on his
face.  "I dunno," he says vaguely with a
reflex of a shrug.

"Have I done something to upset you?"

He shakes his head 'no;' rapidly.  "Uh. . ."

"Then. . .come back. . .over here.  On my
side."

As Langly continues to stare, fairly more
than a million impulses course through him.
She looks like she means it, he judges, so
slowly he makes the move back to be with
her.

Nuzzling up close to his ear, she gently
whispers, "What are you afraid of?"  And
when she hears his several audible gulps,
she rests her hand on his knee and gives
the boney knob a light squeeze.  "It can't
be me?"

(You wanna bet?)

Lislita takes the inititive by taking up
the remaining onion ring, and pranks with
coaxing until he can do nothing but open
his mouth, so she's able to plop the still-
warm circlet in.  "Don't forget to chew."
He nods like a man comatose, but begins
to, and as he swallows, he finds himself
beginning to relax.

"Sor-sorry about what just ha-happened,"
he says, willing himself to stop being so
self-conscious.

"What did just happen?"

"I caved."

"Why?"

"See, I got this phobia."  He wipes his
sweaty palms off against the nearly thread-
bare thin denim of his jeans.

She finishes wiping the grease from his
mouth with a tatter of napkin that's
dappled with melted cheese from her steak.
"Phobia?  What sort of phobia?  'No
comprendo.'"

"Caligynephobia.  Fear of beautiful women,"
he says through a near-hiccup, with she
dabbing at errant Coke that has eluded his
mouth following his convulsive guzzling.

"'Dios mio,' that's a mouthful."  She rubs
her index finger against his clammy neck,
smiling, and then sends a jolt to his heart
and a spike to his beleagued brain when she
kisses the very spot.  "You sweet talker,
you. . ."

He hates himself when he sweats profusely,
but that's hard to help at a time like this.
"Mescaline to the max," he wheezily pushes
out.  The reference escapes her powers of
comprehension which is responsible for the
blank look on her face.  "You're--you're
like so. . ."  His tense brow crinkles in
his search for just the right word to ace
it.  "--Nectar."  His Adam's apple pushes
up against the back of his throat when she
nears his cheek to taste it, and taking
her time about it too.  He closes his eyes,
feeling the room spin out of control, like
it has whenever he's absorbed how pathetic
he is.

"--Get a room!"

Langly opens his eyes wide as he's sucked
from paradise.  "Huh?"  The voice, he
knows, it's the phrase the voice's owner
used he isn't used to.

"Ringo?  Who's this looker, and how's it
she's here with you?"

Langly shifts around to confront the buxom
interrupter.  "Hey."

"Awesome T-shirt, guy.  You know something
the rest of us don't?"

Langly's fingers stroke the ominous slogan,
'Reboot:  Y2K is Near!' billboarded across
his pects.  "Nope, but at least when it all
goes to hell on the stroke of midnight,
can't say you weren't warned.  Byers, 'Hike
and me got our collective act together,
though.  We rigged all our systems with a
dedicated, fail-safe bundle which works like
a worm, two years ago.  That way, the shit
hits the fan--"

"Spare me the gory details, Poindex.  Your
techy-jive talkin' was Mory's thing, God
rest his soul.  Never mine; no yen for
it."  The lippy, high-spirited woman's
eyes re-ignite.  "I'd much rather know who
your ravishin' lady friend is, Foureyes."
The late fiftiesish proprietess, who's
been keeping a bead on the pair throughtout
most of the evening from her rollicking
lair behind the bar, nails Langly with a
saucy wink.

"Foureyes," Lislita says coyly, "that's
funny."

"Ida's nickname for me," Langly fills in.
"Ida Megan Ryan, this is. . .uh, Lisa,
mind tellin' her your name?  For the full
effect."

"Lislita Mar--"

"I mean the whole moniker," Langly inter-
rupts with eyes brimming eager respite,
and the young lady cannot refuse.

"Pleased to meet you, dearie," Ida says
with her livliest brogue.

"I'm visiting from Miami.  I'm happy to
meet you, 'senora.'"  She proffers her
hand, and it's shaken heartily.

"My, but you are a pretty thing, honey.
How'd you ever come to meet up with the
likes of Langly?"

"Ha, ha, thanks, Eye."  Shifting uneasily,
wishing Ida would make herself scarse,
Langly mutters, "Thanks a heap. . ."

"Don't mention it, Foureyes.  When was the
last time I saw you in here with someone
of the female persuasion?"  Before he can
open his mouth to protest, the woman chock
full of ginger fires, "Never, that's when.
I was beginnin' to think your preference
runs to tall, dark and handsome."  Once
her gutteral laughter diminishes, and
Langly's pupils stop chasing themselves,
the merry widow actually lowers her voice
which has carried over to the bar with
ease.

"Langly and I have Dana Scully in common.
She's my cousin.  Do you know her?"

"Magic!"  Ida ravels off a flurry of Irish
colloquialisms.  "Aye--Scully--do I know
Scully?" she fairly blusters.  "One of my
dearest muckers, dearie.  Have known her
for nigh on seven years, now.  Kindred
spirits, we are.  I'm thrilled to meet a
relative.  She and that Mulder of hers,
not to mention Langly and his partners in
crime are regulars here."  Her voice drops
to a level in the neighborhood of confiden-
tiality.  "And, speaking of here, ye old
pub hasn't been this jumpin' in a long
time.  And, wait till I tell ya. . ."

"Tell us what?" Langly asks, all interested,
and amiable, feeding some latent need to be
such.

"Lacy lambed, day before yesterday.  Went
off to L.A., hoping for her big break into
the movies."  Ida wags her head demonstra-
tively.  "Wished her all the luck, but,
personally, I don't think her chances are
brilliant for the toughest business there
is.  She invited me once to see her in this
play, and, you ask me, she was so-so.  She
should stick with singin'."  Looking about,
Ida next divulges, "I'm sorta strapped
for live entertainment of the vocal kind
tonight.  If anything close enough to a
singer walked through that door right
now, I'd kiss their feet, and plunk 'em
on stage!"

Langly gives his date a conspiratorial
high sign.  "She can sing," he crows,
nudging the reticent young woman who
wears the keen expression that someone
who'll remain nameless should have kept
his overactive mouth shut.  "She's
whizzy."  A ruffle beneath his breath he
adds, "And mindblower cuspy, man."

"I think we're even.  I speak Spanish,
and you speak whatever you call the
things you say."

"Jar-*gon*.  Easy to learn."

Ida comes down with a severe case of the
'gimmies,' but she tempers her enthusiasm
with the words, "Away on.  Professional?"

Before Langly can wedge another word in,
Lislita answers in a small, wispy voice,
"Yes."

"Dead on!  Mind helpin' me out tonight,
love?"  The widowed hopeful's fidgety
hands wring the string of her apron
into a double knot, and the look on her
anxious face could twist an arm.

Lislita glances sidelong at Langly and
he's nodding with the goofiest grin.
"You know you're lethally awesome.  Let
'em hear how lethal you are."

"If you sing as talented as you look,
lass, you'll be doin' me the biggest of
favors.  What d'ya say?  Give us a
sing?"

Cautiously, Langly takes her hand in
both of his, but no sooner than he does,
he's looking as though he doesn't know
what to do with it.  Slowly, however, a
smile that says she's willing piques.

"I'll do it. . .  'Por cierto.'"  More
practice before the cruises, she thinks.
"Does your band know--"

"They know just about anything you can
carry a tune on," Ida guarantees.

"You've got it aced, Lisa," Langly
roots, as he steps clear of the booth
to let her out.

Ida takes Lislita under her ample
sleeveless wing as the women head off
in the direction of the subdued stage
where the three-man, and one woman band
are playing mellow notes.

Langly watches the beautiful songbird
face the audience, while Ida announces
her, with a solid cast of approbation
set in his face, and pride threatening
to smother him.  The band breathes
life into the first several notes of the
Streisand standard, 'People,' through
his, "Knock 'em dead, Leese--like ya did
me last night. . ."  When he realizes
how that last part came out, he stretches
his grin.



Ryan's
11:55 P.M.


"Was I okay?"  Lislita's query sounds a
little hoarse and is directed to Langly,
back at their booth.  He has his arm
slung around her damp shoulders, and is
drawing small light circles on the moist
skin of her upper arm before giving her
some weightless pats.

Hearing her hoarseness, he encourages
her to drink some of the sparkling water
he'd had the forethought to order for
her.  "You were great, Leese," he whispers
in her ear, as she quenches her rampant
thirst.  If the audience had had its way,
the patrons would've kept her singing
through the night.  "You are great.  You're
only gonna get bias from me."

"You're so sweet, 'chulito.'"

"You're sweeter."  Seconds before he gets
to return the kiss on the cheek she's
just given him, a youngish, salt and
pepper-pated well-wisher interrupts their
pre-mature foreplay.

"Miss, you were wonderful."

The woman's tall, auburn-haired male
companion corroborates, with a contagious
smile, and a dialectic dab of Dublin in
his words.  "Exceptional.  I've never
heard, 'When Irish Eyes Are Smiling' sung
quite so poignantly in me entire forty-one
years, darlin'.  Your rendition was the
rapid showstopper.  Brilliant, to be sure;
sheer magic."

Langly showers them with looks of grati-
tude, boldly going where his courage leads,
and kisses Lislita's damp temple.  "See,
knew you'd be a hit.  No doubt."

"As long as you liked me," she whispers
close to his neck.

"That's a cinch. . ."

Roisterously, Ida parts several bodies as
she works her way through the ruck of
patrons who are clustered at their busy
booth.  "Honey, if you're looking for a
job, I'll say you passed the interview
with flying colors.  We're crazy about
ya," she congratulates.  "Those Spanish
numbers you did sounded so beautiful.
You're hired--how about it?"

Lislita, her eyes round with restless-
ness, gives Langly a look of, 'now what?'

Not slow on the uptake, he covers for
her.  "Yo, Eye, she's got a previous
engagement.  She's singing for Carnival--"

Ida snorts, and holds Lislita's vocal
admirers at bay.  "Get shlossed--she'd be
better off singing here, for me, 'stead of
singin' in some stale carnival, Foureyes,"
Ida remonstrates.  "She's a right charmer,
she is."

"Not *that* kind of carnival," Langly is
quick to point up, with his eyeballs
looking as if they're rolling over.
"CARNIVAL, as in the cruise line. . .the
*fun ships*.  She's doing their shows till
February."  Lislita nods that it's true.

"Ach, well that's the luck for ya!  That's
that, then.  That's crack for ya, honey.
Tell you what, though. . .if you'll be
needin' a job once you're finished with
the bounding main, come back.  I'll put
you on weekends regardless of whether I've
hired somebody in the meantime."  The
offer was on the table, and there it would
stay.  Ida is wholly satisfied with
herself, and with Langly to a degree, for
having had the 'dead on' presence of
mind to have brought such talent to her
doorstep, and she beams.

"Thank you for your kind offer, Mrs.
Ryan."

"Ta, love, and it's Ida, sweetie, and
y'are grand, y'are."  She extracts herself
from the congestion of praisers who are
still overflowing with accolades.  As she
fords to the bar to oversee the final
preparations for closing up, she tosses
over her shoulder, "Just think it over,
Lisa, okay?  Langs, me wee, bap, there's a
Guinness here waitin' for ye 'fore ya
leave."

"I might consider it," Lislita says,
looking at Langly promisingly, and he
isn't slow on the uptake for this either.

"Would you come back, if I asked ya to?"

"I might. . ."

"Then, I'm askin'."  She had definitely
inherited from the Scully line, he
assesses, noting how he's seen that exact
same look on Scully dozens of times.

"I'll consider that too. . ."

"Maybe *this'll* get your decision goin'
in the right direction. . ."  Ignoring the
thinning throng, but heeding the total
macho 'guyness' he was getting from some-
where, Langly pulls her into himself, with
her invitational lips and eyes leading him
on.

The old Portsmouth clock on the far wall
reads that it's quarter past midnight,
after they come up for air.  It's only
then a pang of panick reminds him that
if he gets Lislita back any later than
one o'clock, Scully'll have his head.
(Along with my ass.)

"Think it's time we blow this place or
there's gonna be one very testy cousin
to deal with," he nudges into her ear.
"Ya down?"

"Whatever you say, but 'pierda cuidado;'
I'll handle Dana."  That look again has
him sold that she really can, if push
comes to shove.

Just as they're about to leave, Langly
yells to Ida who's since poured the
Guinness Stout, "Keep it cold for me,
Eye, till next time.  'Night."

"You bring her along with ye, and it's a
deal," the pub owner vows, raising what
would have been his beer in a toast, and
sips it herself.

Once outside breathing freer, fresher air,
it takes Langly a few moments to remember
where he parked the Saturn.  A Saturn. . .
he thinks, going up and down the monotonous
blocks in his brain, the F.B.I.'s way of
making fun of the 'Spookies,' giving them
that make and model.  He smiles wryly, but
is still coming up dry.

"What happened?" Lislita asks, reading
his agitated look correctly.

Following some embarrassing hesitation,
he starts them off then in the direction
he's guessing is the right one.  "Nothin'.
It's cool."  He hopes it's the right
direction.  "Had a good time?"

"Being with you, how could it miss?".
Langly makes a grab for her waist,
nailing her to his side, and she pulls
on the giving lapel of his jacket.
"Guess what I liked best?"

"What?" he seeds into her hair, his hands
glued to her sides.

"The imposing black walls filled with the
names.  I know it's a grim tribute, and
a lot of people think there's nothing very
aesthetic about them, but I think they're
beautiful, I really do, because of the
'recuerdos'--remembrances upon them."  She
sighs heavily, but when she inhales again
shortly thereafter, it's as though the
many sorrows of the world are transferred
elsewhere.  "So many names. . ."

Langly nods the way he does when he's
standing with Frohike.  "Whenever I make
the scene there, it's payin' homage to
Frohike and his long lost 'Nam buds, and
yeah.  There are.  Way too many for such a
frickin' fiasco.  I could take bets where
the next 'Nam's gonna be."

"I wish wars would never happen, ever."

"You, me, Fro' and the narc, Scully and
Mulder, ditto, but who's ever learned a
damn thing from history, 'cept it repeats
itself?"  Langly shrugs as he slips his
hand into hers; a snug fit.  "Man, I'm
feeling raggedy.  Not enough sleep last
night, I guess."  When he feels her
squeeze his hand, he grins, then glances
down at his Converses; he wears the red
pair tonight.  He adds a few more scuff
marks to the already well-scuffed toe of
the right shoe.  "I couldn't get you outta
my head--not that I wanted to."

Nodding, she knows exactly what he means.
"Thank you, 'muchisimo,' for making
everything so perfect.  Exactly what you
are. . ."

Her outspokenness startles him.  His eyes
scrape the pavement still as he purses
his chapped, peeling lips harder, and,
fishing again, mutters,  "Wanna do to it
again sometime?"

"We will."

"Promise?"

She nods as his head lifts in stages, and
she drifts closer to him.  As though she's
made of porcelain, he kisses her.  They
ease apart when the time is right.  Her
hands frame his face, which mirrors the
exchange of joy permeating their ephemeral
society.  She traces the outline of his
gaunt cheeks with her thumbs, and he
closes his eyes, trembling between her
delicate hands.

"Can you stay forever?" he says, desperate
to trap the moment, never letting it go.

She kisses the tip of his nose several
times, and when she finally answers,
"Come sail with me," he knows a vacation
is tangently in his future, barring
unforeseen occurrences.

"Yeah. . ."

More spiritedly now, and holding hands,
they head off again, due east for the
silvery, government-issued, gas-fueled
chariot, parked somewhere in the greater
metropolitan D.C. area.



1:13 A.M.


"CRAP!"  Langly looks around frantically,
his heart pounding savage beats.  "I
could swear this is where we left it!
The corner of this block.  Oh, man,
Scully's gonna fry my ass."  He has no
problem with algorithmic relationships;
spatial and geographical ones, however,
are occasionally another story.  "What
the fuc--"

"But it's true, we *did* leave it here."
Lislita latches onto his arm, hearing
him groan again, and even trembling a
little now.  "I remember that wicker
chair over by those large trash bags by
the curb.  We left the car here.  You're
right."

"If I'm so right, why ain't it here?"
Langly curses with the blue word he was
going to use a second ago.  The attempt
to keep his language fairly clean, at
least for tonight, a failure.  "Damn--bet
it was ripped."

"Whatever's happened to it, it's *not*
your fault."  She strokes his arm
determinedly, but her effort to calm him
down isn't working too well.

Paralysis sets in his eyes, and the
chilly breeze goes straight to his bones,
and he shudders.  The weight of the car
key he holds in his palm is burning a
hole into it.  "Why in all hell did I
park here??"

"Ripped?"

"Ripped-off--stolen, by professional
thieves, or kids with nothing better to
do, who took it for a freakin' joy ride."

He kicks the pavement, and the ball of
his foot is treated to sharp pain.  (This
so figures. . .fairy tale date with the
girl of my dreams, and the damn wheels
are stolen right out from under us.)

"By the time I get you home, and hit
Scully with the word, it'll be a miracle
the dimensions of Godzilla, she doesn't
string me up by my bah--"  He smiles
sickly, and his eyebrows reach for the
heavens while opting for a minimally
graphic word, although the one he was
going to use stubbornly sticks in his
mind.  "Craptacular!!!"  He takes in his
winsome date's lost look, feeling he's
the most chronic loser who ever lived.
"C'mon, let's go before we get mugged..."


END PART 2

Work With Me Here
Part 3


Dulles Airport Expressway
7:00 A.M.


>From the van's lumpy bench seat, in back,
Scully reiterates for the third redundant
time, "Look, Langly, just stop, okay?"
In the rearview mirror she detects his
look of naked surprise.  "Quit beating
yourself up about it."  Through another
yawn, she casts dubious eyes at him and
says, "The anti-theft device was
disabled, Mulder explained because, and I
quote, 'the force of interference that
UFO bombarded us with rendered the
computer-guided systems inoperative."
She decides to ignore his comment about
where their latest so-called alien
encounter was this time, noticing her
cousin giving them both strange looks.
Her eyes take on an expression of whimsy
for her cousin's sake.  "The Saturn's
tagged.  It'll be located, no matter how
long it takes to.  The FBI always recovers
its vehicles.  The track record's amazing.
So, to coin a phrase, be cool."

"Cold," Langly says after a moment or so
of deliberation.  "Only, the Bureau
shouldn't get its hopes up about seeing
it again in one piece.  Even as we speak,
it may already be chopped up, or stripped
clean down to the chassis for parts.  I
should know.  This old warhorse has come
pretty close to that fate, lots of times."

Lislita turns around in the passenger
seat.  Dana's sitting pretty, smack dab
in the center of the springy seat.  The
cousin flashes her a tropical smile.  Dana
hasn't changed very much, all these years,
her relative considers.  Lislita is a lot
more relieved now, than she was when she
and Langly had trooped back to Scully's
in the uncharted wee hours of the morning.

Scully hadn't been as ticked off as he'd
feared about their slinking in with only
two hours separating them from the crack
of dawn.  Talk about a race against time.

Langly chances a quick look back.  "You
should've heard this star last night,
beltin' 'em out at Ryan's, Scully.  She
was terrific."

"That's one of the irresistables about
'Richillo,' Dana," Lislita plugs, a fluid
smile flowing out to him.  "He's so vocal
with his praise."  Her eyes are pari passu
orbs of recommendation.

"Call me prejudiced.  I know what I like."

(Have you told her *all* the things that
you like, on your uncanny list?)  Scully
studies the tow-colored back of his tufted
head.  His hair, never looking well cared-
for, is the last word in severely-knotted,
this morning.  (From the little I know. . .
Mallomars slathered in peanut butter and
marshmallow 'Fluff,' washed down with Tang
he adds root-beer, or whatever soda's
handy, to.)  Scully's facial revulsion
reflects itself plainly in the rearview
mirror.

"Prejudiced," Lislita bats his way,
teasing.  "You said to call you--"  Scully
is relieved that she isn't being called
out.

"Well, I wasn't the only one."  He dares
another quick look around from the lightly-
traveled direct route to the airport to get
a full view of Scully; not just her eyes
and the top portion of her nose in the
rearview mirror.  The sun is putting in a
measured appearance from the east, its
dappling rays fingering the Agent's some-
what haggard face.  "Ida's in love."
(Behind me, that is.)  "There's a job
waiting for her here, if she wants it.
It was so cool.  Patrons were crawling
outta the woodwork, tellin' her how good
she was, and, man, she was.  How many
times has that happened, huh?"

"'Chulito,' I was okay.  Your friend was
desperate for entertainment.  If I'd have
sung, 'Twinkle, Twinkle,' she would've
been just as bowled over."  Lislita checks
her black thin-strapped wristwatch, and
then peeks up at the brightening sky.
Flying wasn't too bad when there weren't
any dark clouds threatening, and today
there aren't.  "'Dios mio,' my voice
shook more times than I like it to."

"Ain't she something'?"  Langly's eyes
snap away from Scully to her, and he can't
believe she's being this modest, although
he was treated to a lot of it throughout
last night.  "Coulda fooled me.  I never
heard a hitch, and I was all ears."

Lislita makes it difficult for Scully to
hear when she says, barely moving her
lips, "Not all.  Many times I liked what
you did with. . ."  She purses them,
draining them of color, and softly laughs.
"'Sus labios.'"

"No translation required," Langly remarks,
chuckling softly like a goof, and
imitating her quiet register, "yours
melted in my mouth.  Better than M & M's
any day."

Scully clears her throat, not liking their
delve into being conspiritorial, nor the
scratchy, gravelly quality her voice has.
There was nothing sexy about the sound of
scouring sandpaper hard at work, despite
Mulder's contrary claims otherwise.

Langly's grip tightens on the steering
wheel, and before he has a meltdown in
front of Scully he quizzes, "Wanna know
how many buses it takes to get back from
the pub to your place, Scully?"  Narrowly,
he misses the bumper of an Avis Rental
shuttle bus, roughly less than two yards
ahead of them.

Lislita looks askance at him, smiling,
as she pats the seatbelt that jerked
her back into place.  Langly balloons
his cheeks, then noisily deflates them.

"Sorry 'bout that," he assures his
roughed-up passengers.  "Jerks pullin'
out like that shouldn't be drivin'."

Scully checks her wristwatch, thinking
about many of the nailbiting stunts
Mulder has pulled while behind the
wheel.  "Why didn't you catch a cab?"

Langly shakes his head adamantly, so
sure of himself.  "It wasn't happenin'.
Nobody wanted to stop.  Who knows why?"
Scully considers why, grimacing at the
back of his head, which he snags in the
rearview mirror for a third time, and he
smirks, feeding off her customary look
of being put-upon.  "Anyway, we were
lucky to make the right connections.
I'm just glad we got back when we did."

"I love adventures," Lislita insists, no
hint of reservation, and smacks him with
the widest of grins.

Langly sighs heavily, wishing oh, so very
hard that she wasn't leaving today.

The middle of February was a long, iffy
way off.  Too much time for him to miss
feeling everything wonderful about her.

Who knew if he'd even be able to get away,
if Y2K made everything go bust?  Seeing
her again might not be possible for ages.
Bummer!

(Something is definitely in the air.)
Scully eyes them cagily, noting their
furtive nuances.  (It's more than just
her finding him interesting. . .and I've
never seen nor heard him be more civil.)
She mandates that she won't label it
love. . .but, what if it is?  But *this*
fast?  What the heck could she do if
that's how they felt about each other?
(The heart wants what it wants.)  How true
that is, she meditates.

Never more civil, and almost. . .Scully is
reluctant to admit it but, she concedes.
(Mannered.)  He'd arrived with the van,
timed to the split second that they were
leaving from her building, to her complete
surprise, but Lislita had known what his
intentions were, as she told Scully that
he wanted to drive her to the airport.
How he'd managed to procure the vehicle,
this time around, and without the other
Gunmen hitching along for the ride, he
hadn't said.

"Trying real hard not to sound like a
spoilsport here," Langly says.  Then,
adding serious leverage, he gives Lislita
a visual tweak.  "We could've done without
the car disappearing."  Playfully, she
winks back at him and he returns it.
"Maybe it was abducted. . ."

"*Not* funny, Langly," Scully admonishes,
trying hard not to sound as if she's
sparing with Mulder, the way she had the
other day outside of Skinner's office in
full earshot of Kimberly who'd made
believe she'd had her mind fully on her
transcription.  Scully couldn't help
thinking sometimes that Mulder liked
having a willing audience when they really
got a good disagreement going.

"That's the second mention of things
alien-related."  Lislita piles her
weighty hair atop her head, opens her
hand acting as a crimp and lets her long
locks tumble free.  "Why's it such a hot
topic?"  Silence saturates the vagabondic
VW micro-bus.  Vastly intrigued, she
shoots her eyes loaded with inquiry from
the one tight-lipped soul to the other.

"Uh--hey, here's your terminal," Langly
loudly announces, seeing the bemused
expression of relief swamp Scully's face
in the rearview mirror, and he swings
into an ample space at curbside.  A skycap
who looks to be on his break, comes alive,
stepping up to the van's passenger side.
"Look, I'll plant my good-byes here, Lisa.
'Bye."  He reaches over, and makes a long-
range grab for Lislita who isn't happy
at all.

"But--" she gushes, "I thought--"

Langly frowns, shaking his head, rearing
back from her a little, and inadvertantly
blows the horn, startling the skycap and
a group of six kids who are engaged in a
pushing and shoving match by the van's
right bumper.  "Problem?"

"I want you to come with me to the gate."

Her uneasy driver shakes his blond mane
animatedly.  "Can't go all the way there.
I'm not ticketed--and besides, by the
time I go park, and hustle to catch up
with you, there you go, on your way."
His left hand pantomines her jet taking
off.

"Maybe Dana can stay with the van. . ."
Lislita swivels around and pleads her
cause.  "Would you, Day?"

Langly ticks the countdown to the Agent's
turning that down in his mind.  He keeps
his eyes locked on the beautiful girl he
hopes he won't be seeing for the last
time.  "Next time, huh?"

(Next time?  He's got it all planned.)
Scully comes forward on the seat.

"No, now. . ."  Lislita pouts every bit
as masterfully as Scully does who is
renowned Bureau-wide for her versatile
facial gymnastics.  "I don't want to
leave you like this."

"Check.  I know the feeling."  Langly
shrugs, and pragmatically replies, "I hear
that, but, Scully's the one who should be
there with you.  Not me.  She's *family*."

"I know that," Lislita says, still pouting.

"So, c'mon you've got a lotta hustling to
do.  You still haveta check-in, and bolt
to the gate in say, fifteen minutes or so.
Don't wanna miss your flight now, do ya?"

"No, I don't," she answers sullenly, but
doesn't move a muscle.  "But I want you
*there*."

"Unreal!"  Langly's blank stare never
wavers as his jaw locks.  (Man, these
Scully babes.  They're tough.  A
mule cemented in quicksand would be
snappier.)  And as another two minutes
are lost to history, he has no idea
what's supposed to 'go down' next.
Whatever does, he's sure it'll make him
appear sorrier, the way he feels.

"Hey, I've got an idea," Scully inter-
venes between the soon to be separated
couple, with this sudden thorn between
them.  For the first time this morning,
she smiles. (No--I *don't* need to be
reminded.  Ubergeek and my cousin?  Byers
and Lita, well, maybe, but. . .Langly?
God, forgive me, but *that's* beyond the
bounds of probability.  I'll give it more
thought later, in my bubble bath.)

"Guys, how about this?  I'll stay with
the VW."  Langly switches around in his
seat in a flash, preparing to re-open his
mouth in protest.  "It's okay, Langly.
You go with Lita.  Get her all squared
away, then get her on her way.  *I'll*
say my good-byes here."

"But, Scully. . ."

"But nothing, Langly.  Just do it."

"Thanks, Dana, big-time."  Lislita knees
her way out of the front seat, and flings
herself at her cousin, hugging Scully for
all she's worth.  Through the shower of
kisses, the traveler effuses, "I love you
*so* much, 'primita.'"

"That goes double for me, Cuz."

"Are you sure, Scully?" Langly fires at
the tangle of familial affection.

"Yeah, I'm sure.  Now--*move*!"

A gleam ignites Langly's lens-fronted
eyes.  "If you're carryin' your badge,
you could flash it so they won't hassle
ya about leaving the van unattended.
Then we could all go."

Scully sneers at the very notion of his
pat suggestion.  "Can't do that.  Not
playing by the rules.  What if all FBI
Agents flashed their badges around for
unofficial reasons?  It's not right, just
because I have one to flash.  Who'd take
Agents seriously when there's a *real*
emergency, if we all did that?"

"Okay, okay, I get the point," Langly
backpedals, "but, like. . .who'd know
it's not?  It's like Mulder says--"

"Please!  Spare me," Scully scoffs, and
Langly shrinks in the seat.  "I know what
Mulder says.  He tells me often enough,
when he thinks I'm being little Miss Rule
Book.  But now's not the time, nor place
to get into Mulder's private fantasy
world of procedural make-believe.  Get
her bag, Blondie, and hop to.  I'll make
it an unofficial order if that's what
you want."

"Like, I'm so gone," he says with an
obedience she wishes Mulder would try
on for size sometimes, and peels himself
away from the micro-bus to race around
to the passenger side.

The cousins exchange another fierce
hug.  "I'll call tonight, Lita, to make
sure you got home safe."

"Think about taking a cruise real soon,
Dana.  Discuss it with Langly.  We've
already made some tentative plans."

On the strength of that revelation, both
her eyebrows raise.  (So, that's it. . .)

With her door open, Langly nods, but his
face contorts a little.  "Kinda," he says,
unable to look Scully in the eye.

Scully watches her winsome cousin link
arms with the lanky beanpole, who
dutifully has the rollie in tow now,
while the skycap asks if there are more
bags.  Lislita tells him there aren't.
As Scully continues to survey the rushed
proceedings, suddenly, a fleet-footed
airport traffic manager is vying for her
attention, at the driver's side.  Carrying
a fire-red stop sign, he pre-emptorily
tells her to move along.

Her eyes fall on the ignition, and she
sees that Langly thought to leave the key
where it is.

"Sure thing, sir.  Not a problem."



Security Gate Checkpoint
7:25 A.M.


"You're really gonna haveta book if you're
gonna make it, ya know.  They're gonna
leave without ya!"

"No they won't--promise you won't forget
about me.  I'll call you as soon as I'm
home."

"*Me* forget about *you*?  Ain't no way
I'd let that happen.  Now get goin', or
I'll carry you on board myself."

"I think I'd like that."

"Well, hold that thought, and keep movin'."

"Ma'am, I'll need to see your ticket,
please."

Absent-mindedly, Lislita hands it over to
the discriminating security personnel.

As Langly looks on, he says, "Man, I'm
gonna miss you.  It's gonna be hard."

"I'll write.  You write back."

"I can do that.  You've got e-mail?"

"No."

Now how was that possible?  Everyone had
e-mail.  "A computer?"

"A laptop."

(Now we're getting somewhere.)  "Same
thing.  I'll call ya tonight, and tell
ya how to get with a free e-mail service
provider.  How's that?"

"Thank, you, miss.  Your gate's straight
down at the head of the concourse.
Personal effects on the conveyor, and
step through this way," the automatous-
sounding employee directs.

Suddenly, Lislita's eyes are brimming
with plentiful tears, as she turns
from the x-ray machine to Langly.  In
frustration, she swipes at her face.

"I. . ."

"Yeah, I know.  Me too.  I'll call ya
tonight."  It's an awkward surprise
that a glimmer of similar wet
'weirdness' is going on behind his
glasses, too, but he has better control.
"I'm takin' that cruise.  Hey, I'll be
in Miami three months from now, before
you really start missing me.  Swear."

"Please, keep it moving, miss. . ."

"I love you. . ."

(NO SHE DIDN'T.  Oh, God--she hauled off
and said the 'L' word.  How can she know
that?)

She looks back to him again, freezes in
her steps, and runs the wrong way out of
the metal detector, oblivious to the
other perspective passengers jockeying to
finish with the security check so they
can get to their gates.

She molds herself to him one last time,
and it's all very clear, once again, why
he hates saying 'good-bye,' as they're
the hub of causing a curious scene.
Close to her shimmery hair, he whispers,
"We'll talk tonight. . ."

Too overcome by emotion, she can't speak,
nodding flush against his moist cheek.

"You're makin' this real hard, y'know,"
he says gently, massaging the back of
her neck.  (I missed that. . .)

((FINAL BOARDING FOR FLIGHT 354 NON-STOP
TO MIAMI))

(Thought so.  That's her.)  Langly braces
her absorbed face between his hands, and
he marvels at the gift she's so willing
to bestow.  "Go--git!"

"I love you," she manages to choke out,
again, and it's all he can do not to
wring the life out of her as he wreathes
her tight for the last time.

In slow stages they separate.  And he
hears himself croak while brushing his
thumb to and fro over the polka dot beauty
mark hugging the right corner of her chin,
"You sure 'bout that?"

"Yes," she loudly sussurates.

"To-tonight, then. . .  Like I said, we'll
talk."

In transfixion, he watches her make her
bid for the departure gate.  She's got
about three minutes to get herself on
board.  She never does an about-face, but
walking backwards, she waves at him like
her hand'll fall off; her shoulder bag
banging her every which way as she steps
up her maddened gesticulations of farewell.

It isn't until she reaches the gate proper,
that she puts an end to all the waving, and
stands before the female gate attendant
with her back towards her.  Lislita ignores
the requests ligtly-battered with impatience
for the surrender of her ticket and her
boarding pass being inspected.  She keeps
her eyes riveted on Langly's long-range
person.

(What's with her?)  He shoos her on with
both hands to get her going in the right
direction, but it's as though she's stuck
in neutral.  "Haul that sweet little ass
of yours on that jet-propulsioned bird,"
Langly mutters through a deep, deceptive
grin.

"Miss, please," the gate attendant says
for the third time, "what's it going to
be?  Going, or staying?"

What could be determined as painfully by
a casual observer, Lislita drags her eyes
away from the distant hacker, and rests
them upon the attendant whose professional
smile has lost some of its luster.  She
surrenders her paperwork, then casts a
final look in Langly's lengthy direction.

And then. . .she walks through the gate's
embarkation threshold, no longer looking
back, and disappears from his strained
sight.

Sighing heavily, Langly turns away with
a mind too engaged in jumbled thought to
think straight.  (*How* can she know she
loves me?  She just came out of the
freakin' blue with it like that.  That's
too unreal, even for me.  Tryin' to figure
women out all these years. . .and then I
go an' meet one who smithereens the mold.)
Absent-mindedly, he pulls on his right ear
lobe, too caught up in his daze to realize
he's been talking to himself, aloud, with
many folks giving him leery looks.  (Nah,
man, she just got all caught up in the
heavy good-bye scene.  Good-byes, yeah. . .
no one can tell me how much they don't
suck, and how emotionally-charged they
*always* are.)

Mumbling incoherently, he removes his
glasses to dry off the moistened lenses.
He mutters a curse, and tries not to think
about their never seeing each other again.
After he sets his specs back in place, he
srubs his sandpapery cheeks with an open
hand, still staring at the last place she
was, already missing her by leaps and
bounds.  He takes a few unthinking steps
backward, getting a sense of her being
very long gone, although it's only been
less than two minutes thus far.

Her phone number, which she'd given him
last night, loops within his memory like
a previously-recorded message.  Nothing
short of his suffering severe trauma to
the head would make him forget.

He's about to turn away, but decides to
look back one last time.

(What the hell?)

He's seeing things; that's got to be it.

(No she didn't!!)

She's coming back.  No, she's racing back.

(What did she forget?)

Before he can think that it's his mind
playing a mean trick, she slams into
him and proclaims, "I can't, 'mi amor.'
Not like this.  Not right now.  Now, I
need to be with you."  She's hugging
him tight, her head resting atop his
shoulder, as her rollie tips over,
against his leg.

"But. . ."  As though they have a will
of their own, his arms crush her against
him, but dutifully he reminds, "Girl, you
can't just flake-out on your commitment."
She fills his heart, not just his arms,
and it's hard to talk now.  "Wo-won't you
be in deep shi--doo-doo for not showing
up?  Your contract."

Lislita eases out of his arms, and her
eyes scour his bemused face; her eyes
are steeped in smoldering mischief,
fueling her passion.  "Will I *be* in
trouble?"  Her smiling lips unite with
his, all agape, as though they too are
also empowered with the cabal of free
will.  The torrid kiss is broken off,
and she soughs against his lower lip,
"I'm *in* deep. . .way over my head,
already."

Langly nods in full accord, having a
great deal of difficulty focusing clearly,
and moves over to make ample room for her
on cloud nine.  Nuzzling her nose with
his, he says, "Yeah, me too, only this is
the kind of trouble I've been dreamin'
'bout for a long, long time."

"I can't stay till Y2K, but I think I can
twizzle a few more days from my festive
employer."  She laughs sunnily.  "Dana
will think I'm crazy."

Langly's laugh is as bright, in-between
the little kisses he's planting on her
forehead.  "Well, she already knows *I*
am.  C'mon, let's show her how crazed we
can be *together*. . ."

END PART 3