TITLE: Last Call

NAME: frogdoggie

E-MAIL: frogdoggie@hotmail.com

CATEGORY: VRA, MSR, SK/O, M/SK/SC friendship. SK/SC UST, LGM

RATING: PG-13

SUMMARY: Yes, readers...this really is, in part, an MSR. But...the gang's all here and this is how I'd like to see it end I think. Be prepared for some 'schmoop'. Want to read more of my fic? Then surf here: https://www.squidge.org/3wstop

FEEDBACK - YES PLEASE, AND THANK YOU SIR, CAN I HAVE ANOTHER? Comments, suggestions and healthy debate are always welcome. Flames? They only serve to warm my body and mind.

ARCHIVE: Sure. Anywhere - as long as my name and e-mail addy stay on it.

TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING. The last episode of the show. Everything up until Requiem...and beyond of course.

KEYWORDS: vignette romance angst Scully Mulder Skinner PG-13

DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and all other X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century FOX Broadcasting. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use.

Oh and one last thing...no Doggett. Sorry, he doesn't exist in this universe.

Author's notes at the end.

Last Call

by frogdoggie

I steer my new Crown Victoria into a conveniently empty parking space in front of Casey's Bar, put it in park, and cut the ignition. I'm a little late for the festivities. I feel like an interloper, to be honest, even though I have an invitation to be here. But it's hard to teach an old dog new tricks...especially this old dog even now. There's been a lot of water under the bridge, to coin another old saying...and some of it very muddy water at that. The fact that I was swirling in those waters is the main reason I feel a bit out of place here tonight.

But I straighten behind the wheel, shrug off the morose feeling, and tell myself...times change. This is a new world, and the reason it is can be summed up in two words...we won. Yes, to put it simply...the good guys came out on top and the dark side of the force went down in flames. And you know what? John and Jane Q. Public were none the wiser. Of course that meant none of us got any public credit...but there were those in high places who did know our accomplishments in halting the invasion...and hence my new Crown Victoria.

Yes...the car's one of the perks of the new job. I'm the FBI's new Deputy Director. DD Walter S. Skinner. As I said...times change, and someone did notice. As I exit the car into the balmy summer night, I wonder idly if Alvin Kersh used this particular Ford. Hard to say. There was no evidence of who used it before. The car had been vacuumed out, washed, polished, and buffed until it was shining for the new boss. If Kersh were alive, I'd ask him if he ever used it. But he was a casualty of our covert war, and he's not around to answer me. No...Kersh, Krycek and Covarrubias...even the 'Cigarette Smoking Man'...they're all answering to someone in a lot higher authority than me at this point.

But the rest of us are here. I lock the car up and saunter across the sidewalk to the bar entrance. The FBI is picking up the tab on this little get-together. I made sure we rented out the whole bar for the evening. I'll expense it somehow. I've become a lot less...tense when it comes to budgeting nowadays.

I push through the doors and stride inside. I can hear them right away...and they're laughing. I hesitate in the doorway for a moment, just basking in how different this all seems from even just a year ago. There's suddenly a tight feeling in my throat as emotion clogs it. I manage to swallow and then the corner of my mouth lifts in a smile. There are about thirty people here but I only have eyes for a core group, the members of which are at the bar.

I see Mulder first and then, of course Scully next to him. Not husband and wife, as yet, but more married than a piece of paper could ever mean anyway. He's holding her waist and she's holding their toddler. Their son, Patrick. It's a good Irish name...for St. Patrick, the Saint that chased the snakes out of Ireland. Ironically named I'd say, considering their child was partly the key to mankind's ultimate victory. Oh yeah, he chased the snakes out all right...lots of gray 'snakes'. I smile as Mulder reaches up and gently ruffles his son's hair. The boy's going to have some of Mulder's height, I think. He's eighteen months old now and growing like a weed. Did I tell you his middle name is Walter? That's probably the greatest honor I could have received out of any I garnered before or after the secret war was over.

And even though the invitation said this was a party to honor Mulder, Scully and Skinner, in truth, the celebration's for Patrick's parents...not me. At least that's how I feel about it. Yes...this is Mulder and Scully's night in my book.

Mulder retired from the Bureau today. He's going to teach psychology at Georgetown University. I think it'll be a good fit. I know he's keeping his hand in the paranormal end of things too. He's still got enough of that in his blood to not give it up completely...although he tries to downplay his interest. Scully rolls her eyes and gives him an indulgent smile. She knows you can't take the 'Spooky' out of Mulder...to put a new spin on that unfortunate nickname.

And Scully you ask? What is Scully going to do? Well, with my promotion to Deputy Director, there was a vacant Assistant Directorship. Scully was promoted into the position, becoming only the second female Assistant Director...and the youngest in FBI history. She's still under my jurisdiction, but now she's going to know how the other half lives. She'll have all my old responsibilities, and she'll still have to listen to me crack the whip on occasion as well. I have no doubt she'll have no trouble at all. She's got the brains, the professionalism, mixed with compassion...and the balls to do the job. It's going to be a pleasure working with her.

Boisterous talk and more laughter interrupt my train of thought and then I hear a voice calling from near the bar. I focus on its source as I advance into the room at last. Margaret Scully waves her hand, beckoning me over. "Oh...here's Deputy Director Skinner," she says in way of greeting. All heads turn my way as I reach her side.

Byers and Suzanne Modeski, newly married, and practically glowing with their love for each other, are standing next to Mrs. Scully. Suzanne, like the 'Spy Who Came in From the Cold', returned to join in the fight for freedom and found her man again in the process. Byers, slightly drunk, slaps me on the back and proclaims, "The first round's on me." Mulder promptly slaps me as well and says that the next round's on him.

I notice at the other end of the bar, Frohike is in heavy conversation with the bartender...a buxom, '40 something' and statuesque blonde. I chuckle to myself. He never gives up trying. When Frohike notices me, he says a few last words to the woman and then excuses himself, weaving through the crowd to greet yours truly.

Langly and that friend of his from forensics, Chuck, are in heated debate where they're seated near Frohike, but he taps them both on the shoulder and draws their attention as he passes. In a few moments, the party has all gathered around me, and the bartender begins to pour whiskey shots. I notice that Scully, Suzanne and Chuck are drinking sodas. The designated drivers, I surmise. Frohike shoves a shot into my hand. I raise an eyebrow in amusement at Mrs. Scully as she picks up her shot.

"Mr. Skinner...never underestimate an Irishwoman...or a Navy wife," she advises. "Besides...one is my limit." Her smile is gracious, but there's a hint of mischief in that smile as well.

I smile back and tip my shot glass in acknowledgment of her wit. Scully actually guffaws. Mulder's smirk is from ear to ear, and then all of us are raising our glasses, soda and whiskey alike as Frohike makes the toast.

"Live Long and Prosper!" he laughs, and we all repeat the sentiment, Mulder almost so helpless with laughter that he can hardly drink the whiskey. Those of us with shots slam them down on the bar, and the bartender refills them, to my bemusement. Frohike raises his glass again, and we do the same.

"Ladies first," he proclaims with a nod towards Scully who holds Patrick on her hip and her soda dexterously in her hand. "To Assistant Director Dana Scully...long may she reign."

Everyone cheers and upends their shots; Scully takes a sip of her soda and places it on the bar, her face flushed with emotion. I have just enough time to down my shot and place the empty next to Scully's soda before she hands me Patrick. I know the expression on my face must be a picture...I'm not exactly used to holding babies...and then everyone is laughing again as Scully grabs Frohike's head in her hands and plants a kiss on his grizzled cheek. The kiss is of the huge, smooching variety and Frohike is so startled he nearly chokes on the whiskey he was swallowing when she delivered the compliment.

I raise both my eyebrows and Scully notices, fixing me with a mock glare as she crosses her arms. "What's wrong? You got yours already," she declares archly, struggling to suppress her own laughter. The entire group falls silent, and I realize instantly that I'm not the only person who finds old ways dying hard. It's obvious the assemblage thinks I'll be offended by Scully's remark.

But how could I take offense? I remember her kiss in the elevator, of course. Funny how that story got around, too. It was a hell of a shock at the time...a louder, discordant note in the jarring symphony that had been my life, up until that point. But...the kiss was a mark of something I'd long told myself to never acknowledge. It was the mark of a strictly one-sided feeling I'd chosen never to admit to anyone, and one I almost never admit to myself. So, that kiss, although shocking, is no less a good memory despite the accompanying pain of denied emotions. It's a good memory because it also contains an underlying sweet appreciation and respect which I would never denigrate or find offensive at all.

So, I start to chuckle, and then the laughter just bursts from my chest, claiming me until my eyes are watering and Patrick is looking at me as though I have two heads. The room erupts in laughter and even some applause. Mrs. Scully relieves me of Patrick, taking him to his car seat, which is strapped to a nearby chair. I catch my breath as the toddler's neatly tucked in, and the next round of shot glasses is placed on the bar.

It's a gala night. Mulder and I are toasted in turn, and then the party ritual begins. I press the flesh, greeting all the attendees, conversing, sharing war stories, taking my share of ribbing and dishing some out in return. Kimberly Cook presents me with a hand-thrown and beautifully glazed coffee mug that her husband, a potter, made for me. "You should have a unique cup, sir. That old FBI issue isn't exactly appropriate in my opinion," she advises with a shy smile. I'm incredibly touched because Kim won't be making the trip to the DD's office with me. She's quitting the FBI to spend more time with her family.

The evening plays on. Margaret takes Patrick and leaves, insisting over Scully's objection that it's not an imposition. I have a feeling Margaret is sage enough to realize that Patrick's mother and father would like a little uninterrupted time alone together tonight. I only have to look at Mulder and Scully, standing together, Mulder behind Scully, with his arms wrapped around her waist to know how much they want to be with each other.

Later, Mulder and I get into a terrific debate about the Washington Redskins' chances of a repeat win in the Super Bowl, causing Frohike to lay bets on which one of us is right. Even the bartender gets in on that one. Byers and Suzanne plug the jukebox, and some people dance a few tunes away. Scully invites me to dance at one point, to accompanying wolf whistles from Mulder.

I cut myself off the shots and start in on coffee, thinking if I don't I'll have to leave the Crown Vic and hail a cab. It's getting late, and I make my way over to Mulder and Scully to say my good-byes. "Last Call!" the bartender yells, and I know it's truly time to go since it's nearly two o'clock in the morning.

"Oh...sir...uh...you can't leave yet," Scully blusters, looking at her watch, frowning a bit and then looking at Mulder.

"Assistant Director Scully...it's nearly two AM. Way past my bedtime even for a Friday night," I reply, the truth underlying the humor.

"Hey, at least stay through the last call," Mulder suggests, glancing behind me...and then he breaks into a wide smile. "On second thought...maybe you won't want to do that after all," he adds, his chin tipping in the direction of the door behind me.

I turn in that direction and my heart nearly stops beating in my chest. I know my mouth sags open for a moment as I stare at the woman standing just inside the threshold. Sharon. I can't believe it's her. I turn back toward Mulder and Scully, and both of them are beaming at me. I'm speechless, my throat working to try to get the sound out but I can't utter a word.

"We knew you hadn't seen her in a while, sir," Scully whispers, her eyes bright with pleasure.

I find my voice and reply at last, murmuring as I glance back in my ex-wife's direction.

"Grant's been dead for over a year but I still didn't think she'd want to hear from me to be honest."

"Yeah, well you thought wrong...Walter," Mulder replies with a chuckle. "We called her out in LA, and she said that she'd try her damnedest to clear her schedule so she could fly out. Evidently, she did. Now...if I could make a suggestion..."

I turn, with raised eyebrows, and fix Mulder and Scully with an incredulous look. I'm not surprised to see my vision blur with the tears that are threatening to spring up in my eyes. I glance away from them to hide my emotion, looking at Sharon as she finally spots where I'm standing.

"You two set me up?" I mumble.

Scully lays a hand on my arm and when I turn again to look at her, she smiles gently into my face.

"Everyone needs a second chance, sir," she replies softly.

"Yeah, Skinman...go for it," Mulder interjects, giving me a slap on the back.

"I told you not to call me that," I automatically answer, hardly knowing what I'm saying anyway. Mulder chuckles, and Scully gives me a gentle push forward. It's all the prompting I need as I leave their side and walk, as if in a dream, towards the woman I called wife for 18 years.

She still walks with a limp, my Sharon...a leftover effect of the car accident that nearly claimed her life years ago. Her marriage to Grant hadn't been a truly happy one, but she stuck with him after she found out he was terminally ill. I still harbored a special feeling for her even after the divorce...and longed for a chance to reach a better understanding between us. I'm much different now after having come through the crucible. I've been transformed into the man I wish I'd always been. I thought I could be a better man for her if we could only reach a common ground. If we could recapture what we did have once when we were young.

We'd talked a few times after we split. They weren't unfriendly discussions. They just weren't...well...I thought any connection we'd had was fading between us. But for me there was always an underlying, if I told myself, foolish hope that someday, in some way...we'd reconcile. I thought that hope had been one-sided...on my side only. If I was wrong, and Sharon had some hope too...my mind grasps hold of that thought as I meet Sharon halfway across the room.

We awkwardly face each other for a moment. Her eyes play over my face, and I pour out through my eyes all my hopes, dreams, wants and needs for the both of us. "I love you," my eyes say. "Be with me," they beg. For the first time, perhaps, I let her see the true me, and I watch as her eyes widen slightly and then that slow smile I remember loving to see on her so much, plays over her mouth.

"Hi," I murmur, keeping my eyes on hers...and my heart soars because I see everything in her eyes that I could have hoped to see in return. A profound peace floods my body as she answers me, and I smile.

"Hello, Walter," she replies, stepping close, putting her arms around me and hugging me tight. I respond, nearly crushing her to my chest, and there's a muffled cheer from the crowd behind me.

When we part she laughs, and I glance back to see Mulder giving me the thumbs up sign. I nod my head and smile at him and at Scully, too. I take Sharon's hand and turn toward the door.

"We're not staying?" she asks, her voice carrying her smile as we walk away.

"Do you want to?" I reply, rumbling a chuckle.

She gives me a quizzical look with her answer.

"Do you think they'll miss us or think it's rude if we don't stay?"

I answer her, my response short and sweet.

"No."

She laughs and squeezes my hand.

"Then let's go," she answers, walking at my side.

As we reach the sidewalk and the door shuts behind us, sealing off the sounds of camaraderie coming from inside, Sharon takes one last look back and speaks, her voice pensive.

"They looked really happy."

"Who?" I ask, although I pretty much think I know who she means.

"Mulder and Scully," she replies, continuing to walk at my side.

We reach the car, and I release her hand, pausing to answer her.

"Yeah, they're definitely that," I whisper, looking down on her.

"I wonder what their plans are for tonight?" she asks, her smile a seductive one this time as I raise my eyebrows.

"I have no idea. But...I know what my plans would be for later...that is if you're interested in joining me," I reply quietly, my heart hammering in my chest.

She smiles and the smile lights up her whole face as she leans into me. My hands find their way onto either side of her head, and I cup her face gently, pulling her lips toward mine.

"I'm driving," she answers, her voice a sultry agreement.

Any comeback I had in mind disappears as our mouths meet and we kiss.

xXx

EPILOGUE

Greg the night guard didn't even bat an eye when he waved us through to come down here. Maybe it was a mistake to come under the circumstances, but Scully and I really couldn't stay away. This last trip down to the basement has certainly proven to be a teary eyed nod toward sentimentalism. But what the hell...it's worth it to just spend a couple of quiet moments with Scully reminiscing about life, the universe and everything.

"The answer is 42 you know, Mulder," she remarks at last as I tell her we're doing a Douglas Adams. She wipes the tears from her eyes and we laugh.

We're living in old number 42 at Hegel Place at the moment. It's a long story, but Scully's place is being fumigated and we didn't want Patrick being exposed to the chemicals. I guess we need to find a place of our own one of these days. An Assistant Director needs better digs than what we've got right now.

I lever up out of my old desk chair, and Scully stands up from her seat on the corner of my desk. It's all so familiar...but so different now as I glance around at the packed boxes and vacant walls.

"We're going to need a much bigger place to store all this stuff," Scully comments, keeping her voice light to lift the mood.

By tacit consent we walk together toward the door. It really is time to go, and with that silent communication we have between us, we both know it without saying the words. Scully leads the way, taking my hand and guiding me to the open door. Just before we reach it, however, I pull her up, stopping her, and she turns to face me.

"Mulder?" she asks, a puzzled expression on her face.

I chuckle and look down into her limpid, blue eyes. I get lost in those eyes every time I look in them. I've gotten lost in them for seven years, and I plan on getting lost in them for a lifetime as well. I smile and reply.

"Hey...where's mine?" I ask, the smile turning into a smirk. It's an abrupt change of subject to refer to the kiss she gave Frohike and the kiss she'd alluded to with Skinner in that elevator. I see her brow furrow a little.

"Where's your what?" she asks, perplexed. I chuckle and answer her, stepping into her space.

"*My* kiss."

She grins then and snakes her arms around my waist. I feel myself go warm all over.

"Oh. *Your* kiss. Well that's right here, Agent Mulder," she replies, smiling.

And then Scully reaches up, grabs the back of my head, pulling it down,

and crushes my mouth to hers in a passionate kiss that practically sucks the air right out of my lungs. I sense, rather than see, her leg shift back. I hear the thud of her high-heeled foot as she kicks the office door shut with a slam.

-THE END-

Author's notes: This vignette is a direct result of two postings on The Haven's Spoilerboard. I have to thank Theef and Stormlantern for the wonderful thoughts that inspired this fic. I merely elaborated on them. I hope they will forgive me for running with their scenario and that this humble dedication to their optimism will be thanks enough for appropriating their ideas.

I'd also like to extend my heartfelt thanks to Susan for beta above and beyond the call of duty, dlynn for patient and marvelous mentoring and Ten, for fantastic feedback and a suggestion which I did implement...just for her. LOL. You're all the best.

-frogdoggie