An Open Door
Written by Surreal (feedback!!:  surreal666@hotmail.com)
Rating:  PG
Archive:  Anyplace, anytime
Disclaimer:  Not mine, just a variation on a theme
Spoilers:  None
Summery:  Scully receives an unexpected visitor, and ends
up with a new respect for a friend.


Scully's apartment
9:48pm

    *Tap, tap, tap*  (shuffle, shuffle, sniffle)
    "What the hell?"  I mumble as I go to see what the noise
at my door is.  I look out the peephole;  'What the...'
    "Langly?" I ask as I quickly open the door.  Geez, it *is*
him.  I almost didn't recognize him; he looks horrible.  He's
wearing his usual t-shirt and jeans, and is dripping wet.  I
assume he's been out in the pouring rain for a while, with no
jacket or anything to protect him from the elements.  He looks
at me sheepishly, then quickly looks away.
    "Oh...S-Scully...." he stutters, shivering.  "Ummm....sorry, I 
shouldn't have come here, I'm sorry," he stammers as he 
starts to turn away, down the hall.  I have to do something, 
quick.
    "Wait, Langly, come in here," I reach out and grasp one of
his arms, which are hugged tightly across his chest.  I don't 
know what is going on, but obviously something bad happened 
to make him turn to me for help, whether he intended to or not.
    He looks at me, stunned.  I guess he didn't expect me to offer
him help.  That kind of makes me sad;  I've turned to the Gunmen
for help so many times over the years, and they have done any-
thing and everything to make things right.  To see this 
reluctance in Langly, now, who is plainly looking for someone 
to talk to...well, I feel a little knot tighten in my stomach.  
    "Langly, what's wrong?  What happened?"  I ask him as I 
guide him into my living room, where he stands uncomfortably.  
"Are you and the guys all right?"
    He hesitates, then nods.  "Yeah, we're okay...nothing's wrong.  
I just..." he looks down at the floor, then focuses on his shoes.  
He sniffles again; that's when I realize he's been crying.  
    Instinctively, I reach out to him, placing my hand on his back 
and looking up at his face to get his attention.  "Do you want to 
talk about it?" I ask gently.
    He looks at me, swallows hard, and shrugs.  "I don't know why 
I came here...it's stupid, I'm sorry..." he apologizes again.  I can
see this is going to take some prodding.  I'm not about to let him 
leave like this, either.
    "Look at you, you're shaking.  You must be freezing," I say, 
maternal instincts suddenly kicking in.  "Come on, let's get you 
dried off.   I've got some of Mulder's old clothes here."  I lead 
him into my bedroom, where I pull an old, dark blue FBI t-shirt,  
a pair of black sweatpants and some socks out of a box of 
Mulder's clothes that he had left here over the past few years.  
"Here," I say as I offer the clothes to him.  "You change in here, 
and I'll put your wet clothes in the dryer.  Okay?"
    He looks at me incredulously, like he can't believe I'm actually 
doing this.  Well, maybe he can't.  I haven't been this open and 
welcoming to the guys very often;  in fact, I can only think of 
once, when Frohike showed up at my place, drunk, after Mulder 
faked his own death.  
    Finally he takes the clothes, and I leave the room, closing the 
door behind me and head for the kitchen.  He looks like he could 
use some hot tea pretty badly.
    As I wait for the water to boil, I hear Langly approaching 
quietly.  I take the wet clothes from him and go put them in the 
dryer.  When I get back he is still standing in the kitchen, looking 
around cautiously.  The water has begun to boil, so I pour some 
into the two coffee cups I had prepared with tea bags and handed 
him one.
    "Come on, let's go sit on the couch," I tell him gently, taking 
his arm and pulling him with me back to the living room.  I sit 
down on the couch, and motion for him to join me.  He plops down 
on my right, after a moment of consideration.  "Now, tell me what 
made you walk all the way to my place in the rain."
    He looks at me sheepishly, running his hand through his wet, 
tangled hair.  "Um...I..." he starts, then sighs.  "I had a fight 
with Frohike, and I just...I had to get out of there."
    "Was is about something I should know about?" I ask softly.
    He shakes his head.  "No, nothing really important.  But Byers 
is up in Baltimore, and he's usually the one that keeps us from 
killing each other.  Frohike and me started fighting, and there 
was no one there to break it up."  He pauses.  "So, I ran 
out.  I didn't realize it was raining like that, and I forgot my 
keys on my desk...didn't feel like going back to get them, so I 
just started walking.  I didn't know where to go...I don't even 
know why I ended up here."  He gives me a half-smile of 
appreciation. "Sorry if I scared you."
    "No, no, it's fine.  You know you're always welcome here, no 
matter what."  I smile at him, hoping he understands.  "So, how 
long have you been wandering around out there?"
    He ducks his head down, cringing.  "A couple of hours, I think."
    "Ohhh, Langly," I whine.  Why do all the guys I know always 
beat themselves up over the stupidest things?
    He blushes, embarrassed, and sips his tea.  "I know, Scully.  
But..." he trails off.
    "Please, call me Dana.  This isn't a professional visit."
    He smiles at that.  "Oh.  Okay, Dana." he says, having trouble 
saying my first name out loud.  
    He doesn't continue, so I do it for him.  "So, are you like 
Mulder in that you even made your parents call you by your last 
name, Langly?"
    "Um, not really.  I just don't use my first name..." he 
explains.  That's when I realize I don't even *know* his first 
name.  Wow.
    "Well, what should I call you, then?  I mean, all this last name 
stuff seems so...well, FBI."
    He actually laughs at that.  "Well, um...my first name is, uh, 
Ringo.  I guess you can call me that, if you want."
    I smile.  "I like that, Ringo.  It fits you just fine."
    He smiles back, then sips his tea again.  This time, I see him 
wince and bring his hand to his lips.  I notice for the first time 
that his lower lip is swollen, and there is a newly healed cut on 
the left side.  I reach up to move his hand away to get a better 
look at his injury.  "Ouch, how did you do that?"
    He sighs.  "The little troll has a hell of a right hook."
    "WHAT??  Frohike HIT you?"  Now I'm starting to understand 
why Langly had been so upset.
    "Like I said, we got into a fight..." he says absently, as if 
that were enough explanation.
    I'm shocked.  I have no idea what to say at this point.  What 
could possibly have been said to warrant physical violence 
between these guys?  I take a deep breath, and decide to proceed 
calmly.  "Tell me what happened."
    Langly fixes his eyes on the cup of tea in his hands, thinking.  
"I accidentally came across some classified military records from
Viet Nam, and found some containing information about Frohike,
from the war.  When I asked him about it, he got really upset, told
me to get out of the site and forget that I'd ever seen it.  I 
didn't get it...usually if we come across something about any of 
us, we try to erase it, but he didn't even mention that.  So, I kept 
on him about it, asking him why we don't get rid of it.  It just got 
uglier, then he knocked me on my ass and told me to stay out of 
his life."  He pauses, drawing in a shaky breath.  "That scared me; 
I've never seen him get so mad, and he's NEVER hit me before.  
So, I bolted."
    "God, Ringo," is the best I can do.  I put my arm around his 
shoulders and hold him close.  I give him time; time to steady
his emotions, gather his thoughts.  Anything...he just needs some-
one to comfort him, to make him feel safe.  He leans into me, 
resting his head against my shoulder.  
    If you would have told me five years ago that I would be 
spending a night at my apartment with Langly crying on my 
shoulder, I would have thought you were crazy.  But over the
past few years, I have somehow grown closer to these guys as
individuals, not as "the Lone Gunmen," and not just as Mulder's
friends.  So here I am, cradling this young man in my arms and
stroking his hair, comforting him when he needs it most.
    After a few minutes he straightens up, and smiles at me 
appreciatively.  "Thanks, Dana.  I know you weren't expecting
something like this to fall into your lap tonight.  I...I should call
Frohike, have him come get me..." he says uncertainly.
    "No," I tell him firmly.  He looks at me questioningly.  "You're 
staying here tonight; you can sleep on the couch.  You need some
time away from him; I'll call him and let him know you're okay, 
and that you're staying the night."
    If I thought he looked shocked when I offered him dry clothes,
the look he gives me now is priceless.  I can't help by smile;  he 
can't seem to operate his jaw, which has dropped open.  "Dana,
I can't...I mean, I've already imposed too much..." he argues.
    "No, you haven't," I interrupt him.  I tighten the hand I still
have on his shoulder.  "You are more than welcome here, anytime. 
You should know that.  You need to spend time away from the other 
guys sometimes;  I'm just sorry it took something like this for you 
to need it."  
    Langly looks away, and slowly nods.  "I guess you're right."  
He's quiet for a minute, thinking.  "I'm not mad at him, not 
really.  Just...I guess I'm just a little scared, that he's really 
mad at me, and I'm not ready to face that..."
    "I'll call him and talk to him.  Then we'll see what happens, 
okay?"
    He nods sadly.  "Okay."

**************

    In my bedroom, I pick up the phone and dial the number for the
Gunmen...household, I guess is what I'd call it now.  I listen as it
rings four times, then the machine picks it up.  I smile when I 
recognize Byers' crisp, professional tones on the answering 
machine:  "You've reached the offices of the Lone Gu---", then
I hear a loud series of clicks, followed by a crash and several
choice curses.  
    "Lone Gunmen, I'm here..." Frohike gasps into the phone.  It 
sounds like he had run to answer it, and is still fighting to turn
off the machine.  My own anger keeps me from laughing out loud.
    "Frohike, it's Scully."
    "Agent Scully...oh, sorry.  We...I'm having a bit of a crisis 
here, can I call you back?" I get the feeling he was on his way 
out when I called.  
    "No.  I've got your 'crisis' over here right now."
    "Langly's over there?" he asks, sounding very relieved.  "Is he 
okay?  I was about to go looking for him..."
    "Yeah, he came here a while ago.  He's all right, except for a 
sore lip," I add sternly, knowing he'll catch my drift.
    "Damn," he mutters.  I can picture him, sitting at the desk in
that office, head in his hand and eyes closed.  I almost feel sorry
for him...but not quite.  "I was worried...I never meant to hurt him,
he has to know that."
    "Frohike, listen to me.  He's scared, and very confused.  I'm 
going to keep him here tonight, let him calm down and think.  You
need to do the same, without him around.  I'll drive him home on
my way to the office in the morning, all right?  Then you two can
talk this over.  Understood?"
    I wait patiently for his answer.  Finally, he speaks, his voice
very quiet and subdued.  "Yeah, that's a good idea.  Um...thanks,
Scully."
    "I'll see you in the morning," I tell him, then hang up.  

*************

    On my way back to the living room I stop to grab an extra 
blanket and pillow from the hall closet.  
    When I get back I see Langly is starting to fall asleep.  He's
got his arms crossed loosely over his chest and his head is tilted
forward, fine yellow hair falling everywhere.  I imagine after 
the evening he's had, he could use a good night's sleep.
    "Hey, sweetie, why don't you lay down," I tell him gently, 
tossing the pillow onto the arm of the couch and shaking out the
blanket to unfold it.  
    He looks up at me wearily.  It takes him a second to awake.  He
takes his glasses off, tossing them onto the table and runs his 
hands over his face.  "Mmm...yeah, okay," he mumbles absently.
He falls to his side roughly, and I reach down to pull his legs up
next to him.  "Um, what did you tell Frohike?" he asks.
    "I told him that I'd drive you home in the morning, and that
you guys can talk about what happened.  Until then, you two 
need some time to cool off.  Is that okay?"
    He smiles shyly.  Without his glasses on, I notice his eyes 
are warm and gentle, not as bright as before.  "Yeah, that's 
cool.  Thanks."  
    I drape the blanket over him, essentially tucking him in, as
absurd as that seems.  "Anytime.  Get some sleep; I'll be down
the hall if you need anything."
    "Okay," he sighs, eyes closed and nearly asleep already.
    I stay there, standing over his sleeping form for a few 
moments.  A Gunman sleepover...who'd have thought?

*****************

7:09am

    My alarm goes off for the second time, and I know I can't
hit snooze again.  Two hours until I have to be at the office,
and I still need to drive Langly home.
    When I finish getting ready for work half an hour later,
I head toward the living room to see if Langly has woken up 
yet.  
    He hasn't.  I smile fondly at the figure draped on my couch,
reluctant to disturb him.  He is lying flat on his stomach, his 
arms wrapped around his head, face buried in the pillow.  His
long, lean frame is a bit too big for the length of the couch, so 
his legs are folded slightly.  I step closer;  most of his face is
obscured by his arm, but I can still see the soft, innocent 
expression.  I've never seen him look so vulnerable...or so
trusting.  
    With much regret, I place my hand on his back, jostling
him gently.  "Hey, you.  Time to get up."
    He mumbles incoherently, then raises his head to take in
his surroundings.  I can see the moment when he realizes
where he is, and why.  "Mmm..hey, Scully," he mutters,
reluctantly pulling himself up onto his knees.  There is 
something about his movement, something so...childlike,
and comfortable.  I watch as he brushes the hair away
from his face and picks up his glasses.  
    He pushes himself to his feet and puts his glasses on in
one fluid motion.  There's the old Langly I'm used to.  He
smiles at me.  "Looks like you're ready to hit the street,
g-woman."
    I laugh softly.  "Don't worry, we've got a while before 
we have to go.  You've got time to change back into your
clothes and have some coffee."  I point him toward the 
little laundry room and he nods thanks.  
    Langly gathers his clothes from the dryer and heads 
toward the bathroom to change.  I take this opportunity
to get the coffee started.  
    While I'm waiting, I hear Langly thumping down the 
hall.  I turn to see him approaching, his t-shirt in his
hands.  "Hey, Scully?  Do you have a sewing kit or some-
thing?  I didn't realize it last night, but it looks like I 
snagged my shirt on something..."
    I'm not sure when I stopped hearing him, but I think
it was right after "Hey."  My eyes had locked on an all
too familiar-looking mark on his bare chest, close to his
left shoulder, just under the collar bone.  Without realizing
it, I brought my hand up to trace the scar.
    "Scully?  What?" He asks me, then follows my gaze.
    "Ringo, is that..." I manage to ask.
    ".38 Caliber, if I remember right," he answers quietly, 
raising his own hand to meet mine at the small scar of an 
old gunshot wound.
    "When did this happen?" 
    He looks at me, and I finally raise my eyes to meet his.
He smiles at me, but his eyes give away a darker emotion.
"A long time ago, back in college.  A human rights protest
turned ugly, and the police opened fire on us.  I didn't have
the sense to get out of there, and...well, got a nice souvenir
to remember it by."
    This man just keeps unfolding like a flower.
    "But hey, it happens.  It was a long time ago.  Do you have
something I can sew up this hole in my shirt with?"
    I nod numbly and back away.  I pulled a small sewing kit
out of a kitchen drawer and he accepts it, grinning his thanks 
and walking back to the living room to get to work.

***************

    I walk up with him to the Gunmen place, making sure he 
gets in all right.  
    Frohike lets us in, looking like he hadn't slept much, which
is likely.  He greets me quietly;  I guess he thinks I'm still
mad at him.  I give him a tight smile, and he relaxes.  
    Langly is silent and drawn, not sure how to proceed.  I
give him a long, tight hug and whisper in his ear:  "It's 
okay, just take your time."
    He pulls away and gives me a warm smile.  
    "You guys behave yourselves," I tell them both, only half
joking.  "Call me later so I know everything is okay."
    They both nod in unison, and I walk out, back to my work.
Back to normal, or as close to it as I'll ever know. 

***************
End.