Title: Over the River and Through the

Woods

Author: Vickie Moseley

Summary: Mulder and Scully are invited to

share Thanksgiving Dinner with the Gunmen.

Mayhem ensues. Written for the Virtual

Season 11 Thanksgiving Day Special.

Rating: PG

Category: RST, BT, FA, MA, SA, humor

Archive: Two weeks exclusive property of

VS 11, then anywhere.

Author’s note: This piece is dedicated to

my Sissy, who inspired much of the

Gunmen’s actions, especially the turkey.

I hope she never sees this.

A special Thanksgiving Day thank you to

Sally for super fast beta work!

Comments to vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com

Over The River and Through the Woods

by Vickie Moseley

Cafeteria

J. Edgar Hoover Building

FBI Headquarters

November 21, 2003

“You did what?” Scully cried out, then,

realizing their location, lowered her

voice to a harsh whisper. “Mulder, what

on God’s earth provoked you to tell

Frohike that we’d go to their place for

Thanksgiving?”

Mulder looked quickly around the

lunchroom, nodding and smiling as people

went back to their noon repasts. Finally,

he leaned over the table to keep their

conversation private. “Scully, he invited

us. What was I supposed to do?” he

demanded, a bit wounded that she was

taking this so poorly.

“Well, for starters, you could have lied!

You could have said we had somewhere else

to go, a case, something,” she shot back,

still keeping to that raspy whisper.

Under other circumstances that tone in her

voice usually turned him on, but in the

current situation, it was only giving him

a mild headache, right behind his left

eye.

“Why in the world would you commit to

something like that for both of us?” she

continued, taking time out of her tirade

to spear a cherry tomato out of her salad

and shove it in her mouth.

“Look, it won’t be that bad. Besides,

we’d already decided that you weren’t

going out to San Diego to Bill’s with your

Mom . . .”

“Yes, I remember, Mulder. But I also

remember us deciding to have a quiet

Thanksgiving at my apartment, just the two

of us,” she countered.

“Well, yeah, I remember that, too. But

Scully, you should have heard his voice.

You must have mentioned something about

not going to Bill’s because they dreamed

this whole thing up so we wouldn’t be

alone on Thanksgiving.”

“It never occurred to them we might _want_

to be alone on Thanksgiving? That maybe,

since they already know about our

relationship, we might have other _plans_

on Thanksgiving, plans that include other

uses for turkey basters,” she shot back.

“Oh, now you’re just being a tease!” he

cried out, then remembered too late to

lower his voice. “What could we do with

the turkey baster?” he asked, chewing on

his bottom lip.

“Like you’re ever going to find out now,

mister,” she growled in return. “We’re

probably going to end up eating Frohike’s

chili and Langly’s onion dip!”

Mulder sat back, a set look on his face.

“I already told them we’d be there. Let’s

just make the best of it.”

Scully blew out a deep breath and shook

her head. “Fine. Are we supposed to

bring anything to this . . . feast?”

“Ourselves. Frohike made it very clear

they were handling all the food.”

“Then I suggest we get a couple of Hungry

Man frozen turkey dinners for when we get

home Thursday night. I have a feeling

you’re going to be starving,” she said

with a glare.

Thanksgiving Day

Scully’s apartment

5:45 am

Mulder had his arms wrapped around Scully

in a warm, comfortable embrace when the

phone by her bed starting ringing and

jolted them both out of a sound sleep.

Mulder fumbled and finally grasped the

offending object, handing it over to

Scully before he flopped back into the

pillows and pulled her closer to him. Now

that he was awake, he tried to hear the

conversation. It didn’t take long for her

to identify the caller.

“Byers? Do you know what time it is?” she

asked peevishly.

Mulder closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Yeah, I know a little . . .” Scully said

hesitantly. Mulder gave her a questioning

look, he could only hear her side of the

discussion and now his curiosity had

kicked in.

“No, that’s the neck, that much I know. .

. Yeah, they cut the neck, clean it and

then put it in the cavity. . . . I don’t

know why, they just do. People use it,

for soup, for gravy stock, all sorts of

things. Did you find the internal organs?

No, the heart, the liver, the gizzards,

those internal organs. They’re in a bag

and should be somewhere in there. You

need to take that out before you cook the

turkey. . . . Well, maybe that turkey

didn’t get a set. . . . I really don’t

think it’s a conspiracy, Byers. Sometimes

not all the parts get back in. . . . No,

that is _not_ a ‘professional assessment’!

Now, please can you go back to your turkey

and let us get some more sleep? Thank

you. Yeah, we’ll see you at noon, sharp.

I’ll tell him. Bye.” She leaned over

Mulder and put the receiver back on the

cradle.

“Tell me what?” he asked, nuzzling her

hair as she got comfortable on his chest.

“He thinks we should be investigating the

missing gizzards. Could be some kind of

cover up in the military-industrial-

poultry complex. But he told me it could

wait until Monday,” she said with a sleepy

yawn.

“That was kind of him,” Mulder smirked and

settled back to sleep.

7:13 am

The two were deep in the throes of a

passionate, deeply erotic kiss when the

phone rang again.

Mulder growled loudly as he grabbed the

phone and handed it to Scully. “Five will

get you ten, that’s Bill,” he muttered,

struggling to keep from pulling the cord

of the phone out of the wall.

“Langly, what’s up?” Scully asked with

forced cheerfulness.

“I am! I am!” Mulder growled, biting her

free ear. She swatted him away and

concentrated on the person on the line.

“No, it’s supposed to look that way.

Yeah, just like the can. I know, it is

sort of freaky. Is it really glowing?

Well, maybe it’s just the lighting. No,

Langly, there have been no reports of crop

circles in cranberry fields. Actually, I

think cranberries grow in bogs, not

fields. They grow too far north for

alligators. Well, I guess there could be

swamp monsters, but I’m sure all that

would be cleaned out in processing. Yeah,

we’ll be there at noon. Sure. Yeah. See

ya then. Wait! Langly, the can wasn’t

bulging in any way, was it? That could be

a sign of contamination and in that case,

you should throw it out immediately! No,

you can’t use that for botox, there’s a

special refining process. Yeah, maybe you

better. Bye.”

She hung up the phone again. “We won’t be

having cranberry sauce this year.”

“Ah, darn,” Mulder said with a smoky look.

“Wanta make it up to me, right now?” He

flipped her over on her back, but not

before taking the phone off its cradle.

“Mulder, what if Skinner tries to call, or

Mom?”

“They can leave a voice mail,” he purred

and continued his soft kisses of her

shoulders.

“Oh yeah,” she moaned in agreement.

9:30 am

Mulder was shaving, Scully was in the

shower when both their cell phones started

ringing at once. Mulder neatly carved a

nick in his right cheek before he was able

to drop the razor and run into the bedroom

to dig his phone out of his pants pocket.

“Mulder,” he said gruffly.

“Better tell Scully her phone is out of

service,” Frohike said accusingly.

“Nah, we just took it off the hook,”

Mulder replied with a smug grin. “What do

you need this time?”

“Is the lovely Agent Scully nearby?”

“No, Frohike, the lovely Agent Scully is

currently washing her hair in the shower,

and I’m not man enough to call her out.

Are you?”

“Um, no,” came the quick response. “I’ll

call back later.”

“What’s the problem, Frohike. I might be

able to help.”

There was silence on the other line for a

minute. “Oh, OK. I guess. When a recipe

calls for milk, what if you don’t have the

exact type they call for?”

“Milk? All milk is the same, Frohike.

What, you got skim milk or something?”

“Yeah, something like that. Hey, just

answer the question!”

Mulder rubbed his chin, dislodging the

small scab that was trying to form. “I

would say you can use whatever milk you

want. Now, do you guys think you can

handle the rest of the morning by

yourselves? I’d really like to get

dressed.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Thanks. We’ll try not

to bother you again,” Frohike said

hastily. “See you at noon.”

“See you then,” Mulder said and closed the

phone, laying it on the dresser.

11:05 am

“Mulder, you don’t even have your shoes

on,” Scully exclaimed, a basket of laundry

on her hip.

“I’m thinking, maybe we still have time to

do something here,” Mulder said, chewing

his bottom lip.

Scully could smell a rat. “They called

while I was downstairs getting the clothes

out of the dryer, didn’t they?” she

accused.

“Scully, I’m getting really worried about

this. I’m almost out of sick time and I

really don’t want to get salmonella for

Thanksgiving.”

“What was the problem now?” she asked,

nudging him over on the couch so she could

sit down. Automatically, he started

helping her fold the clothes.

“Apparently Byers forgot to stuff the

turkey.”

“That’s not a problem. They can bake the

stuffing in a casserole dish. It doesn’t

have to go in the turkey.”

“Byers insisted.”

“But he put the turkey in the oven at 6

this morning. That was hours ago. The

turkey has to be pretty hot by now,” she

mused.

“They were calling from the Emergency

room.”

“Oh dear.”

“It’s only second degree burns,” he said,

casually folding a pillowcase.

“Well, that’s good.”

“The doctor was dressing Byer’s arm and

they should be back at their place before

noon.”

Scully looked over at him, meeting his

eyes. “I suppose it would look suspicious

if we suddenly had to run off on a case.”

“Suspicious, yes. Safer . . .

definitely.”

“But Mulder, they’ve gone to so much

trouble. And as you said, they’re doing

it for us. We really can’t disappoint

them now.”

“Besides, before today is over, they may

need another doctor,” he agreed with a

heavy sigh. “We all might.”

Office of the Lonegunmen

12:05 pm

Mulder rapped on the door and both agents

waited patiently while at least 8

different locks were thrown back. Langly

opened the door, waving them inside.

Scully tried hard not to stare at the

‘Kiss the Cook’ apron he was wearing over

his usual black Ramones tee-shirt.

“Hi. Frohike’s in the kitchen. Byers is

resting,” he said by way of greeting.

“How’s the turkey?” Mulder asked.

“He’ll be fine. Doc said it’d be healed

in a couple of days,” Langly shot over his

shoulder.

“I meant the bird in the oven,” Mulder

said dryly.

“Maybe I better go check on Byers,” Scully

whispered to Mulder and headed off into

the open room stuffed with computer tables

and one lone sofa. Jon Byers was slumped

on the sofa, his right arm bandaged and

propped on pillows and a dejected look on

his face. He barely glanced up when she

sat down beside him.

“Hi. How does the arm feel, Jon? Does it

hurt much?” she asked tenderly.

“No,” he said with a glum expression.

“They gave me a shot. It doesn’t hurt.”

“Well, that’s good. Did they give you

medicine to stop infection?”

“The doctor gave me some salve, told me to

keep it dry and covered until the blisters

break on their own. Then I can leave it

unwrapped. But they didn’t give me

anything for infection.” He finally

looked up at her with suspicion. “Should

they have given me something for

infection?”

Scully smiled. “Not necessarily. If it

wasn’t that bad a burn, it should heal

fine on its own, as long as you follow the

doctor’s directions.”

“It’s caused enough trouble already,”

Byers said with a sigh.

“Jon, it was an accident. Don’t worry

about it. No damage done,” she told him

brightly as she patted his good arm.

“I was doing everything just as the recipe

said, step by step. How did I miss the

part about putting in the stuffing?” he

asked plaintively.

“Jon, I’m sure it will be fine. Just rest

now. You may think it’s just a small

injury, but your body needs to cope.”

“Thanks, Agent Scully.”

“Um, Scully?” Mulder was in the doorway,

again chewing on that bottom lip. “Can

you join us in the kitchen for a moment?”

She patted Byers arm again and got up to

join her partner. Mulder was standing a

few feet from the counter, Frohike and

Langly were staring at an object on the

countertop. It appeared to be the shape

of a turkey, but it was covered in a flaky

substance that Scully was hard pressed to

identify.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“What’s the matter?” Frohike hissed.

“This damned turkey has the mange!”

“Shhh, Byer’s right in the next room,

he’ll hear you!” Mulder warned.

“Mange?” Scully echoed.

“Yeah, you know, the mange. When we were

kids, my old man won me a puppy in a poker

game. Darned dog had mange, that skin

affliction that makes the entire skin

blister off. We had to bathe it every day

in this stuff that smelled awful. I’ll

never forget it. And that,” he concluded,

pointing to the bird, “is exactly what it

looked like!”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Scully said with a

good deal of trepidation.

“He tried to do something goofy. Got it

off the net,” Langly said, picking up a

sheet of paper and handing it to Scully.

She scanned the paper, a recipe from the

magazine Epicurious, and then handed it

back.

“Scully, what’s wrong with the turkey?”

Mulder asked impatiently.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. It’s just, uh,

well, Jon decided to put a batter on it.

To keep it moist.”

“That’s batter? Like what, KFC extra

crispy?” he mocked.

“I imagine the concept is more in line

with Beef Wellington, but suffice it to

say it should not affect the flavor of the

turkey meat. And you can always scrape it

off,” she told her partner, directing her

words to Langly and Frohike. “Since Jon

feels bad enough, I suggest we leave this

discussion in this room, gentlemen. Eat

the turkey and keep your comments to

yourself!” She turned on her heel and

left the room.

Half an hour later, the five very hungry

individuals sat down at the table to eat.

Scully noticed that the plates were the

higher quality paper plates and the silver

was actually metal, a step up from the

plasticware she was expecting. They’d

even thought of napkins, she noted, as a

she picked up the one sitting next to her

plate and saw a cartoon Turkey smiling at

her and begging her indulgence with the

caption ‘Eat more Pork!’

Casserole dishes of various sizes crowded

the table. Frohike arrived last, carrying

the turkey, batter and all, on a tray. He

set it down at his place and proceeded to

carve off several slices. Mulder smiled

and squeezed his partner’s hand under the

table. She’d been right, the inside

looked better than the outside.

For several minutes there was on the sound

of metal scraping on glass and porcelain.

Mulder grabbed the dish with the green

bean casserole and took a heaping helping.

With a wink to his partner he took a big

bite, and choked. Covering quickly, he

swallowed the contents of his mouth and

drank half his water. “Um, guys, what did

you put in the green beans?” he inquired,

when he could find his voice.

“That’s the one you helped on Mulder,”

Frohike said proudly.

“Oh, no, I had no part in this,” Mulder

protested.

“Yeah, you did. Remember, I called you

about the milk.”

“OK, I remember that, but Frohike, where

in the recipe did it call for sugar?”

Scully looked from Mulder to Frohike and

down at her plate. Cautiously, she

scooped up a bite of the casserole in

question and tasted it. Smiling stiffly,

she nodded, as if she knew a secret no one

else did. “Frohike, you didn’t have any

fresh milk, did you?”

“No,” Frohike said and pointed a fork at

Langly. “Blondie here had to use it all

up making mashed potatoes.”

“So I take it you used canned milk

instead,” she offered.

Frohike nodded proudly. “I called you

guys. Mulder said milk was milk and I

should use what I had.”

Scully smiled, again it was a bit

strained. “That’s true in almost every

case. But you see, sweetened condensed

milk is for . . .”

“OW!” Langly yelled. “What the hell!” He

poked a finger into his mouth and pulled

out what looked like a piece of seashell.

“About broke my damned tooth! What is

this?”

Byers’ eyes went wide. “I thought, well,

since Mulder’s from the Vineyard, don’t

they serve oyster dressing up there,

Mulder?”

“Mom always shucked the oysters first,”

Mulder said quietly.

Finally, it was time for dessert. Mulder

had to admit, the turkey had tasted fine,

despite the unsettling appearance. That

had been a good thing, because nothing

else was edible. He was terrified of what

these three would do to a harmless pumpkin

and almost expected a can of shaving cream

as an accompaniment.

Langly brought the pie to the table and,

much to Mulder’s relief, a tub of Cool

Whip brand topping. Mulder and Scully

exchanged glances. The pie looked good,

but then, so had the green bean casserole.

Langly took no notice. He was slicing up

the pie and serving it with a big dollop

of topping.

When the pie landed in front of Mulder, he

stared at it for several minutes. He

wasn’t just being polite, waiting until

everyone else was served. There was no

way he was going to be the one to test the

pie. Frohike, oblivious to his guests’

concerns, dug into his pie with relish.

He opened his mouth, consumed the forkful

of custard, crust and whipped topping, and

closed his eyes in blissful appreciation.

Seeing that Frohike hadn’t keeled over,

Scully tried a bite. She, too, nodded

happily. “Langly, this is fantastic!

I’ve never tasted better pie!”

Mulder wasn’t entirely convinced and

searched his partner’s face for any hint

of deception. Finally, he tried the pie

and was happily rewarded. “Langly, you

get the prize. This is great pumpkin

pie!”

“Yeah. Ya gotta love Baker’s Square,” he

said, beaming. At Frohike’s glare he

bristled. “Hey, you said ‘make a pie’,

but why make a pie when you can buy a pie

like this?”

Mulder finished off his piece of pie in

record time and looked longingly at the 3

remaining pieces in the pie plate.

“Go ahead, there’s another one in the

kitchen,” Langly cajoled.

“Great!” Scully piped up, scooping herself

up another slice.

Mulder and Scully insisted on doing the

dishes, since the other three had cooked.

After dinner, everyone sat down to watch

the second half of the Green Bay/Detroit

football game.

When the game was over, Mulder nudged a

sleeping Scully and nodded toward the

three conspiracy theorists. Frohike,

Langly and Byers were all sound asleep.

“Isn’t that sweet. They’re all tuckered

out,” he whispered. “Quick, now we can

make our escape!”

She giggled and Frohike awoke with a

snort. “Oh, damn, sorry. Must have dozed

off there.”

“That’s fine, Frohike. We were just

getting ready to head out,” Mulder said

with a smile.

“Hey, wake up! They’re leaving!” Frohike

shouted at the other two, who drowsily

lifted their heads to squint in his

direction.

“Oh, gosh, so soon?” Byers asked.

“Yeah, tomorrow is a heavy shopping day,”

Scully reminded him. “Mulder will need

his beauty sleep to help me carry all

those packages,” she added with a sly

grin. “Thanks so much for dinner, guys.

It was, um, quite an experience!”

“Hey, don’t mention it,” Frohike said with

a blush.

“We won’t,” Mulder said confidently.

Scully’s residence

5:45 pm

The message light on the answering machine

was blinking when they walked into the

apartment.

“Oh, darn, I bet I missed Bill and Tara’s

call,” Scully whined as she hung up her

coat.

“This day isn’t turning out half bad,”

Mulder muttered quietly.

Scully pretended not to hear him and hit

the button for playback. She was

surprised when it wasn’t Bill or Tara, but

Langly’s voice that greeted them.

“Hey, I just thought I’d warn you guys.

Fro’s been in the toilet since you left

and Byers is complaining of stomach

cramps. We can’t pin down the source,

but, well, you never know. Just thought

I’d clue you in. Have a great night!”

Mulder turned to a stricken Scully and

forced a grin. “At least we have three

days to recover!”

the end.

Recipe for Green Bean Casserole

2 cans or (or one package frozen) green

beans

1 can condensed cream of mushroom soup

1 can (fill the soup can) milk (fresh

milk, whole, 2 percent or skim)

1 can (approx. 12 ounces) French’s Fried

Onions.

Combine green beans, soup, milk and half

can of onions in a casserole dish, bake a

350 degrees (F) for 30 minutes, top with

remaining dried onions and bake for an

additional 5 minutes.