From: z004799b@bcfreenet.seflin.lib.fl.us (Paul Wartenberg) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: In Life The Firmest Friend Date: 4 May 1996 14:10:09 GMT This is a "what-if" follow-up to the loss of Scully's dog Queequeg. Copyright: all copyrights are owned by other people. Any character from the X-Files belongs to Chris Carter & Co. Any other characters probably belong to other X-Philes in which case I'm in trouble anyway. Go figure. As I am very poor, please do not sue me. IN LIFE THE FIRMEST FRIEND by. Paul Wartenberg An undisclosed pet cemetery Nowhere near Stephen King's house Outside Annapolis, MD Afternoon They stood there in the slight April drizzle, the grey skies matching the dark demeanor of those who stood in honor of the fallen. Scully stood silently next to her mother under the umbrella, tiny droplets of water rolling down from its sides. Mulder stood to the other side of them, close to the grave, occasionally coughing and staring at his partner, wondering how the hell he ever decided to be here. Behind the women stood Byers, always dressed in professional decorum, Langly, wearing a tie over his Kurt Cobain t-shirt, and Frohike, who once agains displayed a complete disregard for tact by showing up in a University of Florida t-shirt. Mulder coughed again, and this time spoke to Scully. "Are you ready?" Scully nodded silently. Mulder shrugged and pulled out a piece of paper. He prepared himself to read the eulogy, but once again reminded himself why he hated doing this. This was why Mulder liked fish as pets. There's actually little emotional attachment to fish. You can't hug them, can't play frisbee catch with them, can't sit there with them resting comfortably on your stomach during nap time. While that might be fun, you never seem to realize how short a lifespan other animals seem to have. When this time comes, as it always does, the grief can be a damned annoyance. And when the fish die, you don't have to go through an elaborate viking funeral. Just send them on their way with some Ty-D-Bol to make sure the toilet smells okay afterwards. Mulder sighed, and read from his note. "We are gathered here to pay tribute to Queequeg, a small, furry little lifeform sometimes considered to be a dog but actually more of a flea trap...ouch!" Scully was wearing very pointed shoes that day. "Ahem." Mulder continued. "Queequeg was very special to our friend Dana. She had come across the dog during a case in which her compassion was swayed by the loneliness of a man doomed never to enjoy life. She took in the dog into her home and her life, and very thankfully kept a good number of MIBs out of her closets because we made sure they all knew what Queequeg liked for snacks...Owwww!" "Mulder..." "As I was saying...Queequeg met his untimely death during another investigation, and we are here to pay tribute not to his body, which, um, we weren't able to retrieve, but to his spirit, as well as his noticeable tinny barking..." Mulder jumped a little, avoiding Scully's shoe. "For today, I wrote a poem. Free verse, actually, since I never figured out meter and rhythm..." Mulder coughed before continuing. "A friend has left today Travelling to parts unknown Taking a different path A home is empty now Places have been made barren Some will never be refilled A voice is silenced Tales now left untold Echoes captured in our hearts A friend has left today While we remain behind Waiting for some word, some sign." Frohike wiped tears from his eyes while Langly elbowed him and whispered not to act up. Each of the Lone Gunmen left momentos at the grave site, Langly leaving a box of Milk Bones, Byers leaving some flea powder, Frohike leaving an empty bottle of Jack Daniels ("Queequeg's favorite," he whispered to Mulder). Mrs. Scully nodded to her daughter and walked away, leaving Mulder and his partner alone. Scully walked up and nodded with a smile. "Thanks, Mulder, that was actually sweet of you." "Does that mean I scored points with you?...Owwww!" "Good thing I bought these shoes yesterday." "Is your mom going to be okay?" "No, she's going to wait for me. I just wanted to thank you for that poem you wrote." Mulder shook his head. "I stole it from Granger's Index, actually. Some guy named Rimbaud wrote it a long time ago." Scully scowled but this time didn't kick Mulder. She wrapped her arm around Mulder's and together they walked to their cars. Two hours later, making sure the FBI agents had gone, a dark car pulled up close to the burial site. A door opened and two men stepped out. One of them pulled a cigarette out and lit it, taking a long deep puff of smoke before going over to the grave. They stood there for two minutes before CancerMan finally spoke. "A damned shame." "What's that, sir?" his assistant asked. "Did you like this dog?" "Hell, no," CancerMan snarled back. "It's just we spent all that effort planting a high-powered mike in this mutt's neck and now we got nothing to show for it..." The End