This story is based on characters created by Chris
Carter and Ten Thirteen Productions. Characters
used without permission. No infringement
intended.
TITLE: One Good Turn…
AUTHOR: Jo-Ann Lassiter
EMAIL ADDRESS: Jolassi555@cs.com
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Two weeks
exclusive on VS10. Then post anywhere. Thanks.
RATING: PG-13
CLASSIFICATION: S, R
SUMMARY: Scully is nice to a little old man, and
he decides to reward her.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Written for VS11 St. Patrick’s
Day Challenge. M&S are a couple, but only
Skinner is aware of their relationship. Both live at
Scully’s apartment.
AUTHOR’S NOTE 2: I’ve tailored leprechaun
folklore a bit to more suit my needs. Just go with
the flow.
THANKS: To Gerry, for being so picky. 🙂
March 17
Convenience Store
Georgetown
3:14 p.m.
“Be right back,” Scully told Mulder as she exited
the car. “Are you sure we don’t need anything
else?”
Mulder shook his head. “Unless you think we
should have something more than ice cream for
dessert?”
She thought a minute, then shrugged. “I don’t
know. I’ll see what they have.”
“Okay,” Mulder said, nodding. “But hurry. We have
to get cooking.” He gave her a big grin, and she
laughed. Gone were the days when his sexual
innuendoes were a source of frustration for her.
The thought that he could, and would, make good
on them kept the smile on her face all the way to
the door of the market.
Entering the store, she found the freezer section
and grabbed up the four different flavors she had
decided upon in the car. On impulse, she
snatched up a package of Hostess cupcakes and
a package of Twinkies. She was pretty sure that
Matthew liked ice cream, but it wouldn’t hurt to be
over-prepared.
She trudged to the register with her 60,000
calories and stood behind the smallest man she
had ever seen. Not more than three feet tall, he
barely reached the counter. When he went to pay
for the wrapped sandwich and apple, he handed
what looked like a gold coin to the clerk.
“What’s this?” The young man examined it for a
few seconds, then handed it back to the customer.
“Sorry, we can only accept U.S. funds.”
“But I’ve only the one coin,” the man said in what
Scully thought was an Irish brogue. “Can ye not
take the gold, man? T’is worth a far lot more than
this fare, I’ll grant ye.”
“Sorry, sir,” the youngster said, shaking his head.
“I don’t make the rules.” The clerk moved the
sandwich and apple to one side, clearly finished
with the customer.
When the man turned around to leave, Scully was
surprised by the long white beard, nearly as long
as the man was short. It was neatly trimmed, and
complemented the leather vest he wore over his
gray suit, which was clean, but threadbare.
As the clerk added up Scully’s purchases, she
indicated the man’s items he’d set aside. “Ring
those up, too, would you, and put them in a
separate bag.”
With only the briefest shrug, he did as she asked,
then Scully paid and strode quickly to the door.
She spotted the old man about half a block away.
“Wait!” she called.
The man stopped and looked around, and Scully
caught up to him. She handed the bag with the
sandwich and apple to him. “I, um… hope you
don’t mind that I bought these for you.”
Confusion gradually gave way to delight as the
old-timer accepted the food. “Why, thank ye, lass.
You’ll be wantin’ a wish then, will ye?”
The smile Scully had been wearing faded a little.
Oh, lord, was he an escaped mental patient? “Er,
no. No, thank you.” She so wanted to just walk
away, but her sense of duty prompted her to ask
him, “Is there someone I can call for you? Do you
have a place to stay tonight?”
The man chuckled. “Don’t you be worryin’ about
Macauley O’Callahan, darlin’. I’ll find me way back
in no time at all.”
“But–”
“Are ye sure about that wish, lass? Ye are entitled
to it, ye know.”
As she shook her head, Scully glanced down the
street to the car, trying to catch Mulder’s eye. He
was up and out of the car in under a second.
“What are you doing?” he asked, when he
reached her.
“Mulder, I think–” When she turned back to the old
man, he was no longer there; he hadn’t merely
continued on his way, he was completely and
totally gone from sight. She turned back to her
partner. “Where did he go?”
Dutifully, Mulder made a show of looking up and
down the street. “Who?”
She was growing exasperated. “The old man. I
was standing here talking to him not more than a
minute ago.”
Mulder’s eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. “There
was no one here, Scully,” he said gently. “You
came out of the store, walked down the block,
then stopped here. When you asked me to, I
came.” He laid a hand upon her arm. “There was
no one else here.”
What in hell was he talking about? “The old man
who came out of the store. I followed him.” She
looked up at him. “Handed him a bag.” She
mimicked her actions. “He thanked me.” She
laughed. “Wanted to grant me a wish.”
Mulder’s face came alive at this. “Is that what he
said?”
She nodded. “I figured he escaped from a nursing
home or a mental hospital, so I signaled you to
come help me.”
Mulder sighed. “No one came out of that store
before you. I watched you the whole time. Up until
I joined you, you were alone.”
She shook her head. “No. He was here. A little old
man, about three feet tall, with a long white beard.
Surely you couldn’t miss someone who looked like
that?”
He nodded, agreeing with her. “But I didn’t see
him, Scully,” he said quietly.
“But you had to, Mulder,” she insisted. “He was
here. He was in there. The kid in the store saw
him.” Looking toward the store, she took hold of
Mulder’s sleeve. “Come on. We’ll ask him.”
Mulder allowed her to pull him along until they
reached the entrance, then he shook free and
followed her inside.
“Excuse me,” she said to the young man. “Do you
remember me?”
The clerk smiled. “Sure. You bought all that ice
cream.”
Scully returned the smile. “Do you remember the
old man who was in line before me? He had a long
white beard? He tried to buy a sandwich and an
apple with a foreign coin?”
The clerk seemed to revise his opinion of her,
studying her cautiously. “There wasn’t anyone in
line before you, ma’am. I didn’t see any old man.”
Shocked, Scully nodded. First Mulder, and now
the clerk didn’t see him. “You’re sure?” she tried
one last time.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “It’s been a pretty slow day,
so I’d have remembered someone like that.”
“All right,” she said, sighing. “Thank you.”
After they’d gotten in the car and had driven for a
few minutes, Mulder asked her, “Can you tell me
what he was wearing?”
“Gray wool suit, with a leather vest on top,” she
said dully.
“Was he wearing a hat?
“Yeah, it was some kind of stocking cap, one of
those long floppy ones.”
“Anything else?” he asked. “Why did you chase
him down the street?”
“He tried to pay for something with a foreign coin.
The clerk wouldn’t take it. After he left, I paid for it
and gave it to him.”
“Ahhh…” Mulder said, as if he’d just unearthed
buried treasure. “*That’s* why he offered to give
you a wish.”
She stared at him as he drove; his eyes were
alight with animation. “Why?” she asked, warily.
“Because, my darling, generous, soft-hearted
Scully, you did something nice for him, and he
wanted to pay you back.”
She continued to stare at him, flabbergasted.
“Yeah, but he couldn’t really…” At Mulder’s grin,
she broke off, not wanting to hear it. “No, Mulder.
He wasn’t some magic genie or fairy god… father.
He was just a nice little old man.” She winced as
she recalled something else. “With an Irish
accent.”
Mulder banged his fist on the steering wheel. “I
knew it!”
Scully sighed; she always got a little afraid when
Mulder got too excited. “What?” she asked with
trepidation.
“Do you know what today is, me lass?”
She looked at him quickly. “Stop that,” she said.
“That’s what he called me.”
This revelation only caused Mulder’s head to bob
up and down. “Scully! Do you know what today
is?”
She thought a moment. It was Wednesday, March
17… “Oh,” she said, a sinking feeling in the pit of
her stomach. “St. Patrick’s Day?”
“Yes!” Mulder exclaimed, as though she’d just won
a million dollars in the lottery. “A leprechaun,
Scully! You were talking to an honest-to-God
leprechaun.”
She sighed. Didn’t she see *that* one coming. “I
highly doubt that, Mulder.”
“Can you explain it, then? Huh? Why can only you
see him?”
“The clerk saw him,” she started, then faltered.
“The first time, anyway.”
“But he didn’t remember! Don’t you see? The
leprechaun didn’t want anyone to remember him.”
He took his eyes off the road to give her a smile.
“Except you. He didn’t mind that you saw him.
Because he owes you.”
Her eyes widened. “What are you talking about? I
didn’t ask him for any money.”
He shook his head at her as if she was a
recalcitrant child. “Scully, Scully, Scully. He owes
you a wish, a favor, something to pay you back for
what you did for him.”
“No.” She shook her head. “No, he doesn’t. I didn’t
ask for anything, and I don’t want anything.”
“Ah, but he has to give you something in return.”
Mulder’s eyes twinkled. Actually twinkled. “It’s in
the rules.”
She stared at him. “There are rules for
leprechauns?”
“Well, sure,” he said, and she felt like an idiot for
even questioning it. She knew that the next logical
question would be, ‘Gee, Mulder. Could you tell
me what they are?’ but she refused to ask it. She’d
seen a man, not a leprechaun, and no amount of
evidence was going to convince her otherwise.
Apparently deciding that she needed to be
enlightened, Mulder ploughed on ahead. “If you
don’t take a wish, it’s his obligation to pay you
back by another method, possibly perform some
act of kindness for you.”
She chuffed out a laugh, finding that picture highly
amusing. “Mulder, he’s an old man. What could he
possibly do for me? Besides,” she said, waving
away what he was about to say, “he doesn’t even
know who I am or where I live.”
Her partner smirked at this. “He doesn’t have to
know.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why?”
He turned his gaze to her. “Magic, Scully.”
**
Scully’s and Mulder’s Apartment (aka Scully’s
Apartment)
Georgetown
8:23 p.m.
Whose bright idea was this? she wondered for
about the fiftieth time, even as she knew very well
it was hers. Dinner had been tolerable at best, with
little Matthew the only one at the table who
seemed to be, if not enjoying himself, then not
wishing that he was anywhere but where he was.
Bill and Tara and her mother and Mulder looked
every inch like death row inmates partaking of
their last meal before the switch was pulled. Or the
pill was dropped. Whatever.
They looked like they’d rather be taken out and
horse-whipped rather than spend another minute
in each other’s company. And hers. Couldn’t forget
that she was very much a part of this gruesome
tableau.
“So,” she asked as brightly as she could to her
guests now relocated in the living room. She stood
up. “Coffee, anyone?”
Bill looked at Tara, and Mulder looked at Scully,
and everyone looked at Maggie. Her mother tried
not to squirm, but Scully saw it.
“Sure,” she answered in her ‘I’m-being-cheerful-
goddammit (her mother would probably use
another term, but Scully was too tired to think of
one at the moment)-so-you’d-better-be-too’ voice.
“Uh, sure,” the others parroted in their own
versions of forced ‘cheery.’
As Scully nodded and turned to leave the room,
twin echoes of “I’ll help you,” followed her, as
Maggie and Tara hurried into the kitchen. A few
seconds later, Matthew trailed after them, the pout
on his face an indication that it was not of his
choosing.
Uh, oh, Scully thought. Bill wanted Mulder to
himself. That couldn’t be a good thing. She took
out the coffee items, then left it to her guests to do
the actual coffee-making. She had a war to
prevent.
She arrived on the scene just in time to witness
the utterly surprised look on Mulder’s face when
Bill punched him in the eye. Mulder had been
perched on the arm of the wing chair she had
vacated to make coffee, and the momentum of
Bill’s blow caused him to topple off. Fortunately,
his fall was broken by his chin slamming into the
end table.
“Bill!” she screamed, a second before the sound of
breaking glass in the kitchen reached her ears. As
she tried to remember if she’d taken down the
good China, she strode across the room, brushing
aside her five foot eleven, one hundred eighty-
pound brother like he was a speck of dust. When
she leaned toward her dazed partner, she was
shocked to find herself being dragged back
upward.
“What the hell are you doing?” She struggled to
free herself, but he held her in an iron grip. “Let go
of me!”
He didn’t, and so Scully’s training kicked in, and
she kicked out, catching him high in the leg, but
not as high as she’d intended.
“Ow! Fuck, Dana, watch it!” Bill cried, as she
landed another one a little closer to the mark,
“Let me go, Bill,” she seethed, “or you know where
the next one’s going.”
Instead, he adjusted his grip so that she was
caught flush against him, unable to get any
leverage. The worst part was, she could no longer
see Mulder. “Let me go!” she screeched as loudly
as she could.
Out the corner of her brain that was locked on
Mulder and Bill, she could see Tara and her
mother, staring at them in shocked silence. “Mom!”
she called, exasperated and angry. “Do
something. Tell him to let me go.”
That seemed to snap her out of it. “Bill, Let your
sister go!”
Bill shook his head and held fast. “Let me go, you
bastard. I need to see how badly you hurt him.”
The asshole actually laughed at this. “You’re
sleeping with him!” He said it like an accusation
and the worst thing in the world she could ever
have done.
She renewed her attempt to free herself, finally
sagging in exhaustion. “You son of a bitch,” she
said softly.
“How could you do it, Dana?” he asked. “How
could you sleep with a fucked-up loser like him?
You deserve better!”
She shook her head. “You’re such a bastard, Bill. I
wish you were half the man he is; it’d be such an
improvement!”
In the quarter second it took her to blink her eyes,
Bill’s grip on her upper torso had moved to her
legs, and she didn’t feel his bulk behind her any
longer.
Not caring what had caused the change, she
ripped herself free and ran to Mulder. He was just
coming around, and her mother and Tara hastily
backed away when she barreled in.
“Mulder?” she asked at the same moment she
heard Tara gasp and Matthew call out, “Cool.”
Not overly concerned about whatever the hell had
happened to her brother, she helped a groggy
Mulder to his feet. “What happened?” she asked
him.
“I dunno,” he answered, still dazed-looking. “He
asked me where I was sleeping while I stayed
here. I wasn’t thinking, and I told him.” He looked
down guiltily. “I’m sorry, Scully. My mind was on
other things.”
“Like what?” she asked softly.
He grimaced. “Like what he punched me for.”
She laughed. If Bill knew where that mind had
*really* been, he would have done more than
punch Mulder in the eye.
Finally becoming aware of the squawking behind
her, she turned around to see what the ruckus was
about.
She took in the four people standing there, and
she blinked. The she looked at Mulder. He was
already gaping at her. “Uh, Scully…”
She looked back at the two women, one little boy,
and… her three foot tall brother. There was no
mistaking it was him. He had the same face, but
he was about the same size as his son. Maybe
smaller.
Mulder tugged on her arm. “While I was… out…”
He gave her an incredulous look. “You didn’t
happen to make a wish, did you?”
That came from so far out of left field that she
couldn’t even wrap her mind around it. “What?”
“You were angry. He was provoking you. Or…” He
threw up his hands. “I don’t know. Did he do
something to make you wish him like…” He
indicated Bill with a tilt of his head. “…that?”
Scully thought over her altercation with her
brother. When she got up to the part where she
knew it happened, she nodded in disbelief. “He
said… some things about you, and I…” She
swallowed hard. “I told him I wished he was…” She
couldn’t help it: she started laughing.
Mulder smiled uncertainly, waiting.
“I told him…” She tried to stop laughing, and it
ended up coming out as a snort. “I told him I
wished he was half the man you are!” She erupted
in laughter once more, then found herself being
dragged out of the room. “What are you doing?”
she asked indignantly.
“Getting you out of there before they kill you.”
She covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh,” she
snickered.
“Scully,” Mulder said sternly, but his own laughter
bubbled up and out, then cut short with an “Ow!”
and a hand to his bruised jaw. He held it fast,
while she saw him trying to get himself back in
control.
The sight only made her laugh harder, and she
turned away so she wouldn’t have to look at him.
“You have to…” he sputtered out. “You have to get
that wish reversed.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to.” Peering out
into the other room, her eyes found her ‘big’
brother, and she felt the power he must feel when
he towered over her. “I want to keep him like that.”
Mulder looked at her like he wasn’t sure she was
serious or not and, to tell the truth, she wasn’t
quite sure herself. She sighed. As much as she’d
love it, she couldn’t leave him like that. “Mr.
O’Callahan,” she called to the air, feeling more
than a little ridiculous about it. “Mr. O’Callahan,
that wasn’t a real wish. Please take it back, and
we’ll call it a debt paid.”
Mulder took a look out into the living room, then
shook his head.
“Oh, come on, Mr. O’Callahan, surely something
said in anger couldn’t possibly fulfill an act of
kindness.”
When Mulder nodded his approval, Scully realized
how much more like him she was becoming with
every growing day, and the thought made her
smile.
An instant later, she found herself alone in her
kitchen, making coffee. Looking out in the living
room, she saw her mother and Tara chatting, and
Bill helping his son open the package of Twinkies.
Mulder still sat perched on the arm of his chair,
looking lost in his own home. Everyone just as
she’d left them before ‘the incident.’
“Drat,” she thought.
**
Mulder and Scully’s Apartment
11:13 p.m.
“Wow,” Mulder said, climbing into bed and
snuggling up to Scully’s backside. “I am *so* sorry
I missed that.” She felt him shrug, then, “Well, not
the part about me getting injured, but all the rest.”
He let out a breath, a wistful sigh if she’d ever
heard one.
His hold on her tightened. “Thank you for
defending me to your brother.” He kissed her neck
in what she knew signified that he loved her, not
as a prelude to sex. “Why did he put everything
back to a few minutes before he changed Bill?
Why not back to the second you said, ‘I wish’?”
She thought about it a moment. “I think because I
would only have said it again. He had to alter the
setting. Tara and Mom followed me into the
kitchen, yet I was alone. That was probably the
key. Bill couldn’t be left alone with you.”
Mulder nodded behind her, the closeness of his
head making hers nod, too. “You’re right,” he said
a little too quietly for her liking.
“It’s not your fault that Bill doesn’t like you,” she
told him gently.
“I know,” he said. “But…” He stopped.
“But what?”
“But I wish he would.”
She turned around in his arms to face him. “Am I
allowed to give my wish away?”
He looked a little off balance by the abrupt change
of subject. “What?”
“My wish,” she repeated. “Can I give it to someone
else?”
She watched as comprehension dawned. He
shook his head. “Non transferable,” he said,
kissing the tip of her nose. “But thank you for
trying.”
Suddenly, she sat up. “Why don’t I wish it for
you?”
Reaching up, he gently drew her back down to
him. “If it’s going to happen, I’d rather it happen
honestly. I’d rather earn it.”
“And if you never do?”
He shrugged. “Then I don’t. Let whatever’s going
to happen, happen, Scully. Use your wish for
something silly, something fun. Being too serious
with a wish only leads to trouble anyway.
She looked at him sharply, then remembered his
little run-in with that genie. “Yeah, I suppose,” she
muttered, hardly able to believe she was taking
this whole wish thing seriously.
“Tha’s good, Scully,” Mulder mumbled, and when
she looked at him, he was almost asleep.
‘If I didn’t already have you, you would have been
my wish,’ she thought as she joined him in
slumberland.
**
March 18
FBI Headquarters
10:16 a.m.
Scully stopped short right in the middle of the
bullpen. On her way back from the lab, she had to
cut across her old stomping grounds. No fond
memories there, no one she would stop and chat
with, yet she nonetheless stopped at this desk.
For there sat Macauley O’Callahan, beard and all,
wearing a three-piece standard issue suck-up suit.
“Mr. O’Callahan,” she whispered. “What are you
doing?”
He stroked his beard for a moment before
replying. “I’m sorta stuck here, lass, until ye use
your wish.”
She looked at the man kindly. “Please, Mr.
O’Callahan, I’m not holding you to that wish. I don’t
need it.” Leaning in a little closer, she told him,
“I’m releasing you from that obligation. Please go
home.”
He shook his head sadly. “I canna do that, lass.
Ye did me a kindness, now I’ve got to do one for
ye.”
“Take me to lunch then,” Scully said. “I bought you
lunch, you can buy me lunch.”
Macauley shook his head sadly. “I possess none
of your money. Remember?”
“Oh, yes,” she said, frowning.
“Then…” She had a brilliant idea. “Conjure
something up. How about a turkey on pita, with
lettuce?”
Again, he shook his head. “I canna let you let me
off that easy. It must be a deed of some sort.
Not…” He wrinkled his nose. “…lunch.”
Sighing, she nodded her head and proceeded on
her way. When she reached the exit, she glanced
back.
As she knew it would be, Macauley O’Callahan
was no longer sitting at Agent Shaughnessy’s
desk.
Shaughnessy, however, who always treated her
and Mulder like second-class citizens, appeared
rather flustered as he looked around for the source
of the white hairs that had come out of nowhere
and settled on his nice new three-piece standard
issue FBI suck-up suit.
Scully smiled. She was beginning to enjoy having
Mr. O’Callahan around.
**
March 18
Basement Office
12:34 p.m.
Scully sat at her desk, daydreaming of what she
might wish for. Her sister? Her father? World
peace?
She shuddered at that one, remembering Mulder’s
description of how his wish for ‘world peace’ had
turned into his being the only person left in an
unpopulated world. Maybe he was right, and
frivolous was the way to go. The trouble was, she
couldn’t think of one single solitary thing that she
wanted.
“Having trouble deciding?” Mulder’s soft question
was a welcome interruption.
“I just can’t think of anything Macauley would
consider a good enough deed. He already turned
me down for lunch.”
Mulder chortled. “You wanted to use your wish for
lunch?” He chuckled. “That must have gone over
big.”
She frowned. Why should he know so much about
leprechauns when she was the one with the wish?
Then she perked up. *She* was the one with the
wish, not Mr. ‘I-know-everything-there-is-to-know-
about-leprechauns-except-how-to-get-a-wish.’
“How about a pay raise?” he suggested. “You
could always use the extra money. Or what about
a vacation, all expenses paid?”
“I don’t know…” she said, thinking it over. “I don’t
want to ask for too much.”
“Well, whatever you choose, I’m sure you’ll select
wisely. Only don’t take too long. Poor Macauley’s
stuck here until you decide.”
She sighed. “I know. If he’d only accept that I don’t
want anything…” Another sigh.
Mulder rose and stood before her desk, arm
stretched toward her. “Come on,” he said.
“Pretend I’m the type of leprechaun who *does* do
lunch, and join me for a fine dining experience at
the Hard Rock.”
Looking at him dubiously, she shook her head, but
let him help her up to her feet. “The Hard Rock,
Mulder? At lunch time? Unh, uh. Let’s just go to
the caf.”
He smiled. “Ah, Scully, you really know how to get
my taste buds a-waterin’.”
When they arrived, the lunch room was brimming
with employees. “Oh, great,” Scully murmured
when she found herself face to breast with Marilyn
‘Monroe’ Russell, the former Miss Georgia Peach
who’d just about knocked Scully down so she
could talk to Mulder.
“Hello, Fox,” she said in her breathy ‘Marilyn’ voice
that all the males seemed to find so alluring.
“Hello, Marilyn,” he said, frowning. Then he guided
Scully so that they both could bypass the
roadblock she’d thrown up.
The woman planted herself in front of them again.
“Care to join me for lunch?” she asked.
This time Mulder stayed put, his hand still on her
back. “Thanks, but no. We’ve got a case to
discuss.” Scully didn’t even blink at the lie.
When the woman laid a hand on his arm, Scully
felt his fingers dig into her back. “Oh, you can
spare ten minutes, can’t you?” The viper started
pulling him away from Scully’s side. “I’m sure your
partner can let you out of her sight for that long,
can’t she?” She smiled sweetly at Mulder, and
deigned to throw a patronizing glance Scully’s
way.
“Oh, I’m sure she could,” Mulder said,
disentangling himself from her hold. “Except that I
don’t want to.” He started them walking toward the
food area. “Excuse us.”
As he led her away, Scully heard Marilyn
muttering to anyone who’d listen how ‘poor Fox
was afraid to cross his scary little troll of a partner.’
Scully continued on to the salad bar, taking a plate
and indiscriminately filling it with lettuce. Suddenly,
a loud crash caused her–and everyone else in
the cafeteria–to look for the source. It was then
that she saw Marilyn Russell laying splayed out on
her stomach, just beyond Agent Nick Quintero’s
outstretched legs, a look of pure horror on his
face.
Almost immediately, whistles, catcalls and cheers
were heard, from both the male and female
occupants of the room. Try as she might, Scully
couldn’t feel one iota of sympathy for the woman
whose bare rear end was exposed to all gathered.
No one offered her a hand up, too shocked, Scully
imagined, from the sight that they had just
witnessed.
As Russell picked herself up and stormed from the
room, the agent whose legs had tripped her up
kept saying, “But I was facing the other way. I
don’t know how it happened. I…”
Whatever he said was swallowed up by the voices
of almost everyone else talking at once,
exclamations of lust, amusement or disgust being
bandied about.
Scully wasn’t surprised when she saw Macauley
O’Callahan sitting at Agent Quintero’s table,
doffing his stocking cap to her. Nudging her
partner, she directed his attention to the small
man. “Mulder,” she whispered.
“I see him,” he returned, winking at the
leprechaun. “Oh, man, I hope he lets me
remember this.”
When Scully turned back to the salad bar,
everything looked a hell of a lot more appetizing
than it did a mere few seconds ago.
**
March 18
Basement Office
12:57 p.m.
Because of all the hubbub still going on in the
cafeteria, Mulder and Scully decided to take their
food back to the office to eat. Plus, Mulder was
tickled pink that after Macaulay had disappeared,
he could still remember seeing the leprechaun,
and she could tell he needed to talk about it.
“This is so cool, Scully,” he said the second he’d
closed the door. “Why do you suppose he allowed
me to remember him?”
Scully shrugged, removing the cover from her
salad. “I don’t know. Maybe he likes you.”
Although she hadn’t thought it possible, Mulder
perked up. “D’you think so?”
She smiled. He was so cute like this. “Maybe he
heard you trying to help me so he could go home.”
He became thoughtful, and finally sat in his chair,
unwrapping his sandwich. “Maybe that was his
good deed for you. Maybe he let me see him
because he’s no longer here.”
“Maybe,” Scully agreed, hoping he was right.
But she’d miss the little guy.
**
March 21
Stakeout
Mulder’s Car
10:21 p.m.
They hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Macauley
O’Callahan in three days, so Scully thought it safe
to assume that he’d considered his debt paid and
gone home.
“What time’s our relief supposed to be here?”
Mulder asked.
Scully didn’t even have to look at her watch.
“Twenty minutes ago.”
“Dammit,” Mulder swore, and she knew exactly
how he felt. “What–”
“Mulder,” Scully interrupted him when she saw
their suspect leaving the building on foot.
“Jensen.”
Mulder nodded; he reached to open his door,
waiting for the man to go around the corner. “Call
for back-up, Scully. I’m going to follow him.”
Phone already to her ear, she reported what was
happening and ended the call. “Done. I’m coming
with you.”
They both exited as silently as they could, running
to the corner, peering around it carefully. Jensen
was still in view, but turned abruptly down a side
street.
“Do you think he made us?” she asked.
“I don’t know. We didn’t do anything to give
ourselves away.” He started walking toward the
street where the suspect vanished. “Let’s be
careful anyway.”
She nodded her agreement, and followed behind
him. The street was deserted when they turned
down it.
“Damn,” Mulder said. “He must have seen us.”
A second later, a muzzle flash registered just
before Scully felt the white-hot pain that only came
from a bullet wound. She found herself being
dragged into a doorway, while her partner fired at
their assailant. Darting a glance at her, he asked,
“How bad is it?”
The pain in her chest was so great that she could
hardly talk. “Bad,” she managed to gasp out.
She heard Mulder’s weapon clatter to the ground
as he gave her his full attention. “Scully?” He
sounded so lost, and she wished she could tell
him that everything would be okay, but she knew
that this time it wouldn’t.
“Love… you… Mulder,” she whispered, and then
she died.
**
March 21
Side Street
10:46 p.m.
Scully was being crushed. She couldn’t breathe,
and her whole body was shaking.
“No, Scully! No no no no no…” It was Mulder. He
was the reason she couldn’t breathe, and he was
the one crushing her, and it was his trembling that
made it feel like she was shaking. “Oh, God. Oh,
no. Oh, God, Scully, no…” He was crying, and
hugging her to him so hard that she couldn’t move.
“Please. Oh, God, please, don’t take her away
from me. Don’t do this. Oh, God, please…”
He sounded so devastated that it was breaking
her heart. What the hell was the matter with him?
Except for his trying to squeeze the life out of her,
she felt fine.
“Don’t die, Scully. Please don’t die.” His tears were
soaking into the shoulder of her blouse, and she
could tell how distraught he was, but she couldn’t
do a thing about it, his hold on her was so tight.
“Mulder… Hey, come on, man, let her go.” People
kept trying to pry her out of his arms, but it only
caused him to cling to her all the harder.
“No!” he snarled.
“Agent Mulder.” She recognized A.D. Skinner’s
voice. “What happened?” he asked softly.
His voice sounded dead when he spoke. “We
followed the suspect down here. We were careful,
but he must have seen us. He ambushed us, and
shot Scully.” He took a hitching breath, and
sobbed out, “She’s dead, sir.” Clutching her to
him, he whispered, “She’s dead.”
“Let the paramedics look at her, Mulder,” Skinner
said gently.
Mulder sniffled. “Okay,” he said, loosening his grip.
Scully felt herself being removed from her love’s
arms and laid carefully on something soft. It was
then that she realized that it wasn’t because of
Mulder that she couldn’t breathe, or move, or…
anything. She just wasn’t alive any longer.
Hands began touching her. Examining her, she
knew. After a few moments, the paramedic
stopped. “I’m sorry,” she heard the man say.
Then she was back in Mulder’s arms again. “No,”
he moaned. “Please don’t…” He buried his face in
the crook of her neck. “Don’t do this to me, Scully.
Please… Oh, God. I wish we were never assigned
to this fucking stakeout–”
And she found she could breathe. She was still in
Mulder’s arms, but they were on her couch, in her
living room. She heard Mulder gasp, then loosen
his death grip on her. “Scully?” he asked fearfully.
Finding she could move, she threw her arms
around him. “I’m here. I’m here, love. I’m alive!”
Instead of his hugging her back, Mulder ripped her
from his body, holding her out at arm’s length. His
breathing was shallow and hitching; he looked like
he was having a heart attack. “You’re…” He tried
to draw enough breath to talk. “You’re not…”
She shook her head. “I’m not.” Not anymore, she
thought.
“But you…” His face crumbled, and he gathered
her in close, tight but not as bruisingly hard as
before. He didn’t say anything more, just held her
close and wept. She hugged him back, and let him
get it all out of his system.
After a few minutes, he took several deep breaths
and released her–not letting go of her, but moving
her out to where he could see her face. “Do you
remember…” he asked.
She did, and she nodded that she did.
“How?” he asked, his hands still touching her all
over, reassuring himself, she knew, that she was
real and alive.
“I don’t–”
“With me finest compliments, laddie.” At the
accented voice behind her, Scully turned around
to face Macauley O’Callahan, perched on the back
of her armchair.
“Mr. O’Callahan!” she cried, genuinely surprised to
see the little man. “I thought you’d repaid me
already.”
“Aye, lass,” he said. “This was for your laddie
there.”
“For me?” Mulder squeaked. “Not that I’m
complaining, but why?
The leprechaun smiled. “Ye tried to help the
lassie. Not out of greed, but to help an old
leprechaun get home.”
“But…” Her poor Mulder looked so confused. “You
kept bugging Scully, but you didn’t bug me at all.”
The leprechaun’s eyes twinkled mischievously.
“Aye, laddie. A lass ye are not. Me need to see ye
wasn’t as great as me need was to see the lovely
lass.” When he winked at her, Scully blushed.
“Mr. O’Callahan…” Mulder started. Scully saw that
he was having trouble getting a handle on his
emotions once again. “I can’t tell you…” He
swallowed. “What you did I can never repay you
for.”
The little man hopped down to the seat cushion
and, with a bounce, landed nimbly on the floor.
Stepping closer to Mulder, he touched a finger to
her partner’s knee. “Did ye not understand,
laddie? I was merely returning a kindness.”
Mulder shook his head. His voice was very quiet
when he spoke. “You did more than that, Mr.
O’Callahan. You gave me back my life.”
The old man looked at him for a moment, then
nodded his head. “I know that, laddie.”
“Thank you,” Mulder said, his voice hoarse.
“Thank you for giving her back to me.”
“Right welcome, ye are,” Macauley said jovially.
“Now see that ye don’t go believin’ all those tales
you hear about the wee folk. Mind you,” he said in
a conspiratorial tone, “most of them are true, but
we’ve our good sides as well.”
“Well, you’ve got two people who’ll vouch for you,”
Mulder said, gazing at her like he still couldn’t
believe she was back. “If there’s ever anything we
can do for you, just ask,” he told the leprechaun,
finally breaking eye contact with her.
Scully reached out and took the old man’s hand in
hers. “Anything, Macauley. If it’s within our power
to help you, we will.”
The leprechaun seemed to consider how these
two mortals could ever help him, then he smiled.
“I’ll keep that in mind, darlin’,” he said, giving her
another wink. “And now I’ll be takin’ me leave.” He
looked at Mulder. “See that ye take care of the
lass.”
Mulder nodded earnestly.
Macauley turned to Scully. “And ye take care of
the poor laddie, me fine lass. I think he needs it
more than ye!”
Then he plucked his cap from his head, revealing
that shocking cap of bright orange hair, and with a
‘pop’, vanished into thin air.
They stared at the empty space for a minute, and
then Mulder scooped Scully off her feet and fell
onto the couch with her on his lap. She didn’t say
a word; she knew he needed to reassure himself
of her presence. She suspected he would for a
few weeks to come.
Making herself comfortable, she laid her head on
his chest and snuggled in.
Mulder’s sigh was a little unsteady still. “I’m going
to be overbearing for the next few days,” he said.
“I expect so,” she agreed. “Probably longer.”
He nodded. “Probably.”
She hugged him to let him know she understood,
and that it would be okay. “Mulder?”
“Yeah?” His voice was muffled; she felt his chin
resting on her head.
“What do you think happened with Jensen? Do
you think anyone got… hurt… in my place?”
He was still for a moment, then asked, “Do you
want me to find out?”
“Yeah. I think I need to know.”
With barely a movement, Mulder had his cell
phone to his ear. “Sir?” he said after dialing
Skinner’s number. “I was wondering if you could
give us any information on Alfred Jensen? There
was a stakeout tonight– No, sir, I didn’t. I just had
a feeling. … Oh. Well, that’s great, sir. I’m glad no
one was hurt. … No, no. Like I said, it was just a
feeling. … Yes, sir. Good night.”
Scully felt like a weight had been lifted off her
chest. “So no one was hurt or… killed?”
Mulder drew in a breath, and let it out shakily.
“Other than Jensen, no. When the agents ran
down that side street, one of them tripped over his
own feet, and the bullet missed him.” He squeezed
her to him. “You’ve got to start being more clumsy,
Scully.”
Before she could reply to that, her phone rang. Not
willing to relinquish her spot on Mulder’s lap, she
stretched toward the phone. Mulder plucked it
from the cradle and handed it to her. “Hello?” she
said into the mouthpiece.
She listened to her mother’s frantic ravings,
inserting an occasional comment when
appropriate until, “It sounds like an allergic
reaction to something he ate. It should go away on
its own, but he should see his doctor when he gets
home.” Then she said her goodbye’s.
Passing Mulder the phone, she waited until it was
safely back on the hook before bursting into
laughter.
“What is it?” Mulder asked.
She pushed off until she could see his face. “It
seems that Mr. O’Callahan left us a parting gift.”
She waited a second while Mulder brought himself
up to speed with the clues she’d provided thus far.
“What did he do to Bill?”
She snickered, then snorted. “Bill’s hair turned
orange.”
Mulder grinned. “Really?”
She locked eyes with him, hers barely able to
contain her glee. “Everywhere.”
Now his eyes widened. “Everywhere?”
“That’s what Tara said.”
Mulder threw his hands up in front of his eyes.
“TMI, Scully! Do you want me to go blind?”
She started laughing again. “You think it’s too
much information for you, you should have heard
Mom trying to tell it to me!”
Mulder was holding his sides. The sight of him
laughing after his horrible evening made her feel
happy. “Let’s go to bed, partner. I need to see if
Macauley left any other little surprises.”
Mulder looked horrified. “What? You don’t
suppose…”
Scully squirmed around on a certain part of his
anatomy. “Well, my favorite parts appear to be
working okay.”
Mulder jumped up, catching her before she could
hit the floor. He pulled her toward the bedroom.
“You never know with leprechauns, though. We’d
better get in there and make sure.”
She swatted him on the behind. “Hm. You’re right.
Magic and a warped sense of humor. There’s no
telling what we might find.”
After giving her a pained look, Mulder walked a
little funny to the bedroom.
And Scully laughed.
And Mulder was glad she could.
The End
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Virtual Season X 