Title: The Bar at the End of the Universe Author: ML Email: msnsc21@aol.com Feedback: always welcome Distribution: Ephemeral, Gossamer, Enigmatic Dr., or if you've archived me before, yes; if you haven't, please just let me know and leave headers, email addy, etc. attached. Thanks! Spoilers: Everything Rating: PG-13 (language, gentlemen!) Classification: Vignette Keywords: Frohike POV Summary: A diverse group of people with a common interest meet under unusual circumstances. Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine. They mostly belong to the actors who portray them, but Chris Carter created them, and Ten Thirteen and FOX own the rights. I mean no infringement, and I'm not making any profit from them. The music used in this story is likewise borrowed without permission, but with great respect. Apologies to Douglas Adams. This is my answer to the IWTB 2002 Birthday Challenge. Elements and a few notes at the end. ===== The Bar at the End of the Universe by ML Lately it occurs to me What a long strange trip it's been... -Grateful Dead Frohike entered first, blinking in the dimness. He looked around, took off his glasses, and rubbed them on his vest. He looked around again and repeated the actions. "Guys," he said. "Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" "Dunno," Langly said. "What are you seeing?" Frohike saw a pool table with a fake Tiffany light over it. He saw leatherette booths and a few tables. He saw a bar. He heard Janis Joplin wailing about trading all her tomorrows for a single yesterday. He could smell the grease of the burgers. "The Last Call, outside of Camp LeJeune," he said. "I haven't set foot inside there since...well, it's been a long time. How'd we get here?" "I don't know what you're talking about, man," Langly said. "It's Cruddy's Pizza, outside of Philly. Lousy pizza, great cheesesteaks." "I thought the place was called `Buddy's,'" said Byers. "Well, yeah, but we renamed it," Langly said. "Have you been there, too?" Byers shook his head. "You told us about it when they tore it down," he said. "Besides, this looks more like..." "You're all three correct," came a voice from a booth nearby. The three friends turned as one to look at the stranger. He was an older man, neatly dressed in a three-piece suit. He had mostly gray hair crinkling back from a receding hairline. His eyes appeared hooded above his sharp nose, but they had a twinkle in them and he wore a slight smile. "It takes a little getting used to," he said. "Now, to me, it looks like the Club Bar in Boston," he said. "I have my own private stock of single malt in the cabinet behind the bar." He took a sip and waved his hand. "Cuban cigars, too. Every comfort." Frohike looked around. It still looked like the Last Call to him, but out of the corner of his eye he had a sense of things shifting, just out of his view. He nudged Langly. "What did you say you see?" "Cruddy's Pizza," Langly repeated. He wrinkled his nose. God, I can even smell it." "Byers?" Byers blushed. "The Jungle Room. It was a karaoke bar I used to go to in college." He seemed to feel the need to explain. "I don't -- didn't go to bars much." The mysterious man nodded. "Everybody has a favorite `hangout,' if you will," he explained, crinkling his face in a rueful grin. "I've been here long enough that I can imagine my surroundings to be what I like, and even take others with me. I don't have your memories or experiences," he said, and he looked grateful, "so I can't see what you see here. Perhaps, in time, I will. But we can occupy this same space and be as comfortable as such different people can be." "And who might you be?" Frohike asked. "My name isn't important," the man said. "But some have called me `Deep Throat.'" Byers gasped. "Not --" The man smiled. "Not the one you're thinking of, though we were poker buddies," he said. "Look around. No doubt you'll see a few familiar faces before long." They looked around. The edges of the room seemed to move in and out depending on where they looked. Frohike tried to sneak up on the room by whirling around suddenly, but all it did was make him dizzy. "I need a drink," he said, and sat at the bar. Langly and Byers joined him. "What'll it be, boys?" The bartender asked. "Beer," Frohike said. "Beer," Langly said. "Vodka, straight up," Byers said. The other two stared at him. Byers stared back. "Gimme a shot of whisky too," Frohike said. "Tequila," added Langly. Their drinks arrived swiftly and they knocked back their shots simultaneously. Langly started to choke and Byers and Frohike thumped his back until he recovered. They stared into their glasses as Elvis replaced Janis on the jukebox. "So where the hell are we?" Langly asked no one in particular. "Damned if I know," muttered Frohike. Unasked, the bartender brought the three friends another round. He looked around for the familiar faces the other man suggested they'd see. No one else sat at the bar except one man at the far end, who appeared to be playing liar's dice against himself. "You don't suppose it's hell, do you?" asked Byers. "We did die, didn't we?" Perhaps made bolder by drink, Langly shouted over to the man who called himself Deep Throat. "Hey, are you dead?" The man looked up from his conversation with another very well- dressed older man and smiled. "Either that, or I'm very relaxed," he said with another half-smile. "Why would hell look like a place we have good memories of?" asked Langly. Byers shrugged. "Maybe it's to remind us of what we've lost." Langly snorted. "I didn't like Cruddy's *that* much." "So for you, hell is yearning for days gone by?" the man at the end of the bar asked. He finished his drink and gestured for another one. "Not so much olive juice this time," he instructed the bartender. "I like a dirty martini, but not *that* dirty." His drink arrived and he turned to face them, saluting them with the glass. "There are some who say hell is other people," he added. "And the Eskimos think it's a cold place. Hell is what you make it, either here, or back on Earth." He took a sip of his drink. "That's more like it. Though I'm kind of surprised to see you clowns here." "It's mutual, I'm sure," said Frohike. "But it must be hell if you're here, Krycek." "Flattery will get you nowhere," Krycek said. "I'm not the Devil, though some people thought I was." "You sure gave a good imitation of him," said Frohike. "I did what I had to do. Under the circumstances, you'd have done the same." Langly blew a raspberry into his beer and Frohike said, "I don't think so. We didn't betray anyone, and we didn't kill anyone. We didn't switch sides as often as we changed our socks." "That's probably not saying much," said Krycek. "Not that I want to get into personal hygiene with you. You don't know the whole story. Mulder didn't know the whole story." "No one knew the whole story," said Frohike. "Except maybe that smoking bastard, and he took it to his grave, no doubt." He looked around. "I don't see him here." "Not everyone comes here," said Krycek. "I don't know the guest list. But maybe he's not dead, either." "I thought you killed him," Byers asked. "Maybe I did, and maybe I didn't," Krycek said. Frohike was scrutinizing all the corners of the room, looking for anyone else they knew. He breathed an unconscious sigh of relief when he didn't. "Looking for Mulder?" Krycek asked knowingly. "No, he's not dead. Not yet, anyway. But it could happen. I'm not the only one who tried to kill him, you know. I was only following orders." "Spoken like the nazi you are," Langly said. "Hey, Goldilocks, mind your own business," Krycek said. "Do you think I wanted the world taken over by aliens? What I said to Mulder is true. They follow their own imperatives, and they have nothing to do with humans. Those who are left, who throw their lot in with the aliens, they're in for a rude awakening. I thought that killing Mulder would delay their plans, but now I don't think so. I'd probably help him now if I could." "Easy to say now, isn't it?" said Frohike. "Now that you can't do anything." "Who's to say he can't?" Another man approached the bar. Like the first, he was older and well-dressed, sprinklings of white in his short black hair. His eyes were cold and as black as his hair. His lips curled just a little as he surveyed the group. "You Johnny-come-latelys sit here and speculate, but do you do anything? No, you'd rather insult each other, and spout theories. There are still people fighting for the cause down there. Mulder's still down there. You," he said, pointing at Krycek. "You want to put your money where you mouth is?" "Yeah, Krycek," sneered Langly. "I double-dog dare you." Krycek looked at the other man. "Who are you?" "Call me `X'," he said. "That's how Mulder knew me." "What do you expect me to do?" Krycek asked. "Come with me," said X. "We've got an ass to save. Again." X and Krycek were there, and then suddenly, they weren't. "Where'd they go?" Byers asked. Deep Throat spoke up again. "They went back to help Mulder," he said. "Those of us who are here have one thing in common. I think you can figure out what it is." "Are you sure Krycek will help Mulder? He's pretended to before," said Frohike. "You can see for yourself," said Deep Throat. He pointed to a TV set mounted near the bar. Sure enough, Mulder was there on the screen, doing something he shouldn't. Even with no sound, they could see he was in danger of getting himself trapped. Then, out of nowhere, Krycek appeared and pulled him to safety. The safety, however, was short-lived. Within minutes, Mulder had been handcuffed and led away. Frohike just looked at the other man. "You were saying?" x-x-x-x Langly was amusing himself by trying to order something that the kitchen couldn't conjure up. He started with his favorites, and then went for any kind of food he'd ever heard of, whether he'd ever eaten it or not. "What are you trying to do, Langly?" asked Byers, who'd decided he rather liked dirty martinis. He sang softly along with the jukebox, "she was gonna be an actress, and I was gonna learn to fly..." "I'm trying to figure out if I can only get foods I've eaten before, or if they can make up anything I can imagine," Langly said. An array of dishes were scattered along the counter, from a half-eaten cheesesteak to Louisiana hot wings to calamari rings. "I've got it. Salmon mousse," he said to the bartender. Before long, a tray appeared with a creamy pink gelatinous substance on it, molded into the silhouette of a moose. "Have you ever had salmon mousse?" asked Byers. "Nope," said Langly. "But that's what I thought it would look like. These guys are good." Krycek reappeared. "Way to go, Krycek," said Langly. "Knew you'd screw it up." "Can I help it if Mulder won't follow directions?" he said defensively. "Anyway, I'm not done yet. I'm going back. X is still there." "You'll just make things worse," Langly said. "Your help is like a one-way ticket to the Pearly Gates." "Think you could do better?" Krycek said. "Be my guest. I'll bet you anything you like you can't." "I didn't think you were a betting man, Krycek." Krycek grimaced. "Everything's a gamble. Some things just have better odds." Langly said, "Okay, Krycek, if you succeed, I'll do anything you like. Whatever you say." "Anything, huh?" Krycek grinned. "Does that include parading around in a leather thong?" Langly blanched, but recovered quickly. "Anything," he repeated firmly. His eyes looked a little wild behind his thick glasses. "I mean it." "I doubt that Mulder would appreciate the sacrifice you're making," said Krycek. "But you've certainly raised the stakes for me." He stopped and listened for a moment. "Sorry boys, gotta go," and he was gone. x-x-x-x The case wasn't going well for their side. Witness after witness appeared and was shot down, or the testimony was disallowed. Skinner looked apoplectic, and even the opposing attorney looked uncomfortable with the proceedings. Once or twice it looked like a witness might have scored a point in Mulder's favor, but when the verdict was delivered, no one in the bar was surprised. "It looks as though we'll have to resort to more extreme measures," said the man with the English accent. "Whom should we send?" "Krycek and X are still there," said Deep Throat. "But they can't break him out of prison!" protested the Englishman. Deep Throat shrugged. "Who among us can? We can only do so much. We'll have to leave it to his living colleagues." Englishman shook his head. "They'll get caught. The cause is doomed, once again." Deep Throat shook his head. "Oh ye of little faith," he said with a chuckle. "Watch and see." It was like watching a cop show, except it was truly life or death. The Gunmen watched in anxious silence as Skinner and Doggett skulked around the prison compound. Somehow, doors were magically unlocked and guards' attention were misdirected as they found their way to Mulder's cell. "Look over there," Frohike nudged Byers. He followed Frohike's gesture and saw a man sitting alone at a small table, a tumbler of Scotch in front of him. His eyes never left the screen and he gripped his hands tightly together. "I think that's Mulder's dad," Frohike whispered. Suddenly another player appeared on the screen. Frohike heard the hiss from somewhere in the room: "Kershhh..." "Who'd a thunk it?" said Krycek, appearing at Frohike's elbow. "Guess he'll be joining us pretty soon." They watched Mulder rejoin Scully, and head in the direction opposite to what Kersh told them. "Stubborn to the last," said Deep Throat resignedly. "Do you three want to take a shot at convincing him?" "You mean we can go back?" Langly squeaked. "Only to help Mulder," said Deep Throat. "Try to convince him that it's in his best interests -- and the world's -- to head north, until we can figure out the next step." x-x-x-x It was dark, and warm, and windy. Frohike was surprised that he could feel it. He could see headlights coming down the road. The vehicle pulled off near them and the engine was cut. Frohike could just see movement inside, and then the door opened. The Gunmen stood in front of a small copse of straggly trees, and Mulder headed right for them, though he showed no sign of seeing them. As he yanked at his zipper, it became obvious to Frohike that he hadn't seen them after all. When Frohike spoke to him, Mulder showed no surprise at all. He listened to what the guys had to say, and then went on as he always had, keeping his own counsel. Frohike caught sight of Scully as Mulder got back in the SUV. "Goodbye, Agent Scully," he whispered into the wind. "Godspeed." x-x-x-x "Well, we tried," Byers said as they reappeared at the bar. "Yes, you did," said Deep Throat. "And really, that's what counts in the end. Not the accomplishment, but the trying." "What happens now?" asked Frohike. "Their need for us isn't over," he pointed out. They watched the events unfold before them. On screen, Mulder and Scully were escaping the black helicopters. A small cheer went up as they saw the missiles hit home and the Smoking Man finally, irrevocably, met his fate. "Listen, now," said Deep Throat, and they could hear Mulder's words as he spoke to Scully: "I want to believe that the dead are not lost to us. That they speak to us..." ...and Scully's reply: "Then we believe the same thing." "You see?" said Deep Throat. "There's always hope. We haven't seen the last of them, nor they the last of us." He got up from his seat. "Gentlemen, would you like to come along with me? I've got a box at Fenway Park." As the edges of the room faded away, Frohike could hear John Lennon singing, "And we all shine on..." end. Author's notes: The challenge elements are as follows: A Karaoke bar, a double dog dare, a dirty martini, a leather thong, hot wings, salmon, and a pearl (literal or metaphorical). This story is also dedicated to frogdoggie, who wanted to see dead people. He also wanted humor, but YMMV . All of the music playing on the jukebox was performed by dead people, too (unless you're among those who believe that Elvis lives!). And, strictly speaking, it's only Jerry Garcia of the Grateful Dead who's passed on, but I made an exception. And it wasn't playing on the jukebox, either . Thanks for coming along for the ride! This is kind of a departure for me, and I'd love to know what you think of it: msnsc21@aol.com 7/31/02