DISCLAIMERS: Not mine.  Lost 'em playing poker with 

some defense contractors in Vegas.

SPOILERS: Three of a Kind

CATEGORY: S/A

KEYWORDS: Not provided at author's request (bwa ha 

ha).

SUMMARY: A late night heart-to-heart between a drunken 

Byers and the scrumptious Agent Scully.

FEEDBACK: Gimme: jenbird@earthlink.net



This one's for Laine, because she kicks ass *and* 

gives great beta.  Special thanks and big, squishy 

hugs to Christina and Katilina.



LUCK BE A LADY TONIGHT

by: Jennifer Maurer





My name is John Fitzgerald Byers, and I am drunk.  I 

haven't been drunk for awhile, but I'm fairly 

confident I remember how it feels at this point.  

Tomorrow I'll get to experience the exciting world of 

the hangover, but for now I'm feeling no pain.



Okay, that last part's a lie.  I'm in quite a bit of 

pain, actually.  Which is why I'm sitting at this 

casino bar, alone, at 3 in the morning.  I knew there 

was no way in hell I was going to get any sleep.  

Frohike was snoring like a chain saw and Langly was 

absorbed in an online game of D&D, when suddenly I 

couldn't stand to be in the room with them anymore.  I 

love them both like brothers, but at that moment I 

couldn't forget that they have spent the last 10 years 

telling me I would never see Suzanne Modeski again.  I 

sure showed them, didn't I?  Suzanne isn't dead at 

all...but she is gone.  Again.  Dead to me, if not the 

world.



No one will ever know how hard it was for me to put 

her into that cab alone.  She's safe now, or at least 

safer than she was.  Knowing her new identity, I will 

be able to keep tabs on her, in a way.  But it's not 

the same as *being* with her, as I dream about almost 

every night.  Someday, she said, and I have to believe 

that is true, or I may just go insane.  In all my 

dreams of seeing her again, I never imagined it would 

hurt so much.  But then again, I never imagined I 

would have to let her go.



I thought at first that I might wander into the 

casino, let the lights and noise distract me.  But I 

kept seeing Suzanne around every corner, so I 

retreated to the bar for some peace and quiet.  The 

bar is almost deserted, although this *is* Las Vegas, 

and I have this corner all to myself.  I'm on my fifth 

drink.  At least I think it's my fifth.  I don't have 

to drive, so what do I care.  Tomorrow I'll be prim, 

sensible John Byers, the last person you'd ever 

suspect of going on a bender.  Tonight I'm content to 

remove my jacket and tie, and get down to some serious 

self-pity drinking.



I'm 38 years old.  I live in a hole in the wall with 

two other men and spend my days trying to uncover 

government conspiracies.  In my spare time I go to 

defense contractor conventions on the pretense of 

uncovering dangerous secrets, but with a secret agenda 

of reuniting with a beautiful lady scientist, who may 

or may not be a government pawn, that I knew for a few 

hours, ten years ago.



Usually I'm proud of my quirky life, but tonight I 

feel like the world's biggest loser.



"*There* you are."



I turn and squint at whoever has presumed to interrupt 

my wallowing.  My stomach does a little flip-flop at 

the site of Special Agent Dana Scully standing next to 

my bar stool, her arms crossed over her chest and a 

fierce look in her eye.



Guess she figured out it wasn't Mulder that called 

her.



"Come to kick my ass?"  I ask, slurring my words only 

a little.



"Something like that.  I've spoken to your associates 

and they assure me that dragging me along on this 

little jaunt was *your* idea, Byers."



"Weasels," I snort, turning back to my drink, 

"Langly'd sell his own mother if the price was right."



"Actually, it was Frohike who 'fessed up," she says, 

sitting on the stool next to mine.



"What'd you do, bat your eyelashes at him?"



She turns to look at me with a small, slightly 

mysterious smile.



"Something like that."



I chuckle and down the rest of my drink in one gulp, 

motioning to the bartender for another.



"So, do I get an explanation, or should I wait until 

you're sober?"



I hesitate for only a second.  I'm not going to tell 

her I chose her because Mulder is too high profile.  I 

may be drunk, but I still have my manners.



"We needed your forensic expertise," I tell her.  

"You're the best pathologist I know."



"I'm the *only* pathologist you know."



"Well, yeah, that too.  I know we tricked you, Scully, 

and I'm sorry. But if *I* had called you, would you 

have come out to Las Vegas?"



"No, the Pavlov response only works with Mulder," she 

says sourly, and catches the bartender's eye as he 

sets down my drink.  "Scotch rocks."



I raise one eyebrow at her, and get a look of defiance 

in return.



"Think you should be drinking after that...stuff they 

zapped you with?"



"We're in *Las Vegas*, Byers," she answers, "If I 

can't cut loose *here*, what hope is there for me?"



I nod at this; in my inebriated state it makes perfect 

sense.  



"So who is she, really?"



I manage to keep from snorting my drink out my nose by 

the smallest margin.



"Excuse me?"



"Suzanne Modeski.  Who is she?"



I launch into the familiar story about a young man at 

an FCC convention, and a mysterious lady scientist.  

How I met Frohike and Langly and Mulder.  I leave out 

the part about watching Suzanne being forced into a 

limousine, to what I feared at the time was her 

ultimate demise.  Even now, 10 years later, I can't 

deal with that image...especially not after watching 

her drive away again tonight.  Instead I talk about 

chemical warfare and government conspiracies and how 

this country has never been the same since John F. 

Kennedy was assassinated.  Scully listens politely, 

nodding in all the right places, and I think I've 

satisfied her curiosity until she asks me her next 

question.



"All that doesn't explain why you've spent the last 10 

years hoping to see her again."



I'm too drunk to have any poise left at all.  I just 

gape at her.



"Frohike...kind of mentioned it."



That asshole.  I bet he mentioned a lot of things, 

once she turned those blue eyes on him.



I turn away from her and stare into my drink, unable 

to stand looking at the pity in her eyes.  Maybe I am 

a pathetic excuse of a man, pining for this woman I 

hardly know.  Scully lays a cool hand on my wrist, but 

I don't look at her.  I can't.  After a minute she 

removes her hand and goes back to fiddling with the 

swizzle stick in her drink.



"You know, Byers, I never thanked you for coming to 

the hospital that day."



I turn and stare at her blankly.



"When I was in Allentown," she continues, reminding 

me.



"Oh.  That."  I wince inwardly, remembering what we 

found that day, and how anxious we all were about her.  

"You don't have to thank me."



"No, I do.  You helped Mulder save my life."



"We were worried about you," I tell her, "Not just 

because you're Mulder's partner.  Because we like 

you."



She flashes me a shy grin and I'm surprised at how 

pretty she is.  I don't think I've ever seen her 

really smile before.



"Thanks, Byers.  That's nice to know."



We sit in a companionable silence for awhile.  The 

bartender hears Scully chewing on her ice cubes and 

automatically brings each of us a fresh drink.  I try 

to think of something nice to say to her.  Something a 

friend would say, not anything work related.  Her 

doubt that we care for her as a person, aside from who 

she works with, vaguely troubles me.



"I wanted to tell you, I'm sorry about that thing with 

Diana," I blurt out.  The small corner of my brain 

that is still sober is horrified by my tactlessness.  

I stumble over my words, trying desperately to improve 

this awkward conversation.  "What I mean is...when we, 

uh..."



"I know what you mean," she says quietly, and when she 

finally looks up at me, her eyes are suspiciously 

moist.  "I wasn't entirely surprised that Mulder 

questioned my motives, but I never expected him to do 

that to you guys."



I think about telling her what happened after she left 

that night.  Frohike was ready to take Mulder apart 

piece by piece, but I jumped in before he got a 

chance.  I was embarrassed for Scully, and shocked 

that Mulder would give his loyalty to that shadow 

woman, Diana, and ridicule the woman who had been by 

his side for the past six years.  I was also thinking 

of Suzanne, of course, and that put a sharper edge on 

my tirade.  Mulder's eyes were the size of dinner 

plates.    Langly pulled me away when I backed Mulder 

up against the wall while Frohike gazed on in 

admiring, if bewildered, fascination.  



I was furious with Mulder because he acted like an 

asshole, but also because I was jealous---not of 

Scully, but of the simple fact that he had her by his 

side, while I didn't even know if Suzanne was still 

alive.  I was also, perhaps, angry with myself at that 

moment, for pining after my own shadow woman.



"You're thinking about her, aren't you?"



I almost forgot that Scully is sitting beside me.  The 

suddenness of her question startles me into an honest 

answer.



"There's not a day that goes by that I don't think 

about Suzanne.  I dream about her almost every night.  

The guys think I'm nuts."



Her hand covers mine, and squeezes gently.  



"I don't think you're nuts at all," she says softly.



I let out a shaky sigh and wrap my hands around my 

glass to steady them.  Scully is the first person to 

listen to how I feel about Suzanne without trying to 

convince me that it's hopeless.  This thought brings 

me perilously close to tears.



"You know," she comments nonchalantly, "I think this 

is the first time I've ever seen you without a tie."  

I can tell she is trying to lighten the mood, and I am 

grateful.  I swivel sideways on my bar stool to face 

her and lean my head on my hand.



"Casual Byers.  A rare and elusive creature.  Fear 

him," I joke.



"No, I kind of like it," she says, draining her second 

drink.  "It makes you seem..."



"Less anal?" I suggest.  She smiles.



"More approachable, I was going to say.  I've always 

thought of you as the parental guidance of the group."



"Does that make me Larry, Curly or Moe?"



She grimaces.  "Sorry about that.  It was late."



"How about Bashful, Dopey and Sneezy," I offer.  

"Mulder can be Grumpy."



Another grin.  "Does that make me Doc?"



"No, you get to be Snow White."



"Great.  All I need now is a Prince Charming."



She starts absent-mindedly chewing ice again, and I 

watch the muscles in her jaw move, suddenly fascinated 

by her face.  She is beautiful even when she isn't 

smiling, I realize.  



The impulse comes over me out of nowhere: I want to 

kiss Dana Scully.  It's crazy.  I love Suzanne, and 

I'm pretty sure Scully loves Mulder.  But they're not 

here right now.  It's just the two of us in a Las 

Vegas bar at 4 am.  I'm drunk and she's half way 

there, but she seems to really understand what I'm 

feeling, so I still want to kiss her, even though 

tomorrow I'd probably wonder what the hell got into 

me.  Not to mention that Frohike would *kill* me.



Then Scully turns to look at me with those blue eyes, 

and it's easy to imagine how Frohike could turn to 

putty in her hands.  How does Mulder work with her 

every day if she looks at him like that?  Well, being 

sober probably helps.  Better question: how can he 

treat her so badly sometimes?   Is he *that* stupid?



"I don't think Mulder appreciates you," I announce.  

Scully looks weary at the thought.



"Not nearly enough."



"He's an idiot," I tell her, like I've just had this 

amazing insight.



"On occasion."



"So why do you put up with him?"  I ask boldly.



When she answers me, her eyes are incredibly sad.



"I guess for the same reason you never gave up on 

Suzanne Modeski," she answers quietly.  



That shuts me up quick.  I didn't mean to needle her.  

In my drunken state I have a flash of clarity: she 

*does* love him.  How can he not notice this?  I know 

Mulder cares for her; at times I have suspected he is 

even in love with her.  Most of the things he comes to 

us for help with are about Scully.  I saw how he 

looked when he came to the hospital in Allentown and 

she wasn't in her room.  If he is also an 

inconsiderate bastard at times...well, we're all 

human.



"I'm sorry," I say, "I guess I've had too many of 

these."  I push my empty glass away from me.



"I think we both have.  Ready to go?"



She slides off her stool and plunks some bills down on 

the bar.  I scoop them up and fold them back into her 

hand.



"I got it."



"Frohike said you lost all your money playing poker."



"Frohike talks too damn much," I grumble, "I lost all 

of *our* money.  I didn't lose all of *mine*."



Scully tips her head to the side, digesting this fact, 

then smiles.



"Want to play some slots?"



Why not?  I figure this night is shot to hell anyway.



We sit next to each other and feed quarters to the 

machines until we run out.  Every so often I glance 

over at her out of the corner of my eye.  She looks 

very relaxed, like she is enjoying herself.  We could 

be two normal people, just on vacation, I think.  Then 

I remember Suzanne, her face looking out the cab's 

window as she moved away from me.  The sense of 

contentment I was starting to feel vanishes.  Scully 

and I found a common thread tonight, and it helps, but 

it also brings me back around to the reason why we're 

here---we're two lonely people, unable to be with the 

ones we love.



"I'm tapped out," she declares.  "How'd you do?"



"About as I expected, the way my luck's been going," I 

reply.



Her hand comes to rest on my shoulder as we get on the 

elevator.



"You'll be with Suzanne again someday, Byers," she 

reassures me.  It does not sound like a meaningless 

cliche coming from her, because she believes it.  

Still, her voice is sad again.  We ride up to our 

floor in silence.  Ever the gentleman, even when 

loaded, I walk Scully to her door.



"This was...nice," she says with a smile that is only 

slightly tired.



"Thanks, Scully.  For being there."



I lean in slowly, giving her a chance to back away.  

She doesn't, so I kiss her.  Her lips are very soft 

and taste like Scotch.  Suzanne tasted like mint when 

I kissed her.  I don't feel bad for thinking this.  I 

have a feeling Scully is thinking about Mulder, and 

how different it feels to kiss someone who has a 

beard.  None of this bothers me because I know this 

isn't going to change anything.



We break the kiss.  She says nothing, just touches my 

cheek with her hand and smiles.  I say good night.  

She goes into her hotel room and shuts the door.



~* End *~



Well, now, do you think we have a new keyword here?  

Scully/Byers UST, anyone?  If you'd asked me a few 

days ago I would have said you were nuts, but after 

watching "Three of a Kind" it didn't seem all that 

far-fetched.  Let me know if you think I've gone off 

the deep end: jenbird@earthlink.net