Title: An Audience of One Author: nevdull (nevdull@mailcity.com) Rating: PG Category: SAH Archive: Yes, anywhere. Disclaimer: The usual. Feedback: You bet. Thanks: Jesemie, her evil twin, and their cats, for their remarkable feedback and encouragement. Spoilers: None in particular, but there's some familiar dialogue sprinkled throughout. Notes: There's an incredibly tiny reference to my earlier story, "Thank You, Drive Around." You can find that here, if the mood strikes: http://members.tripod.com/nevdull/thank-you.html Summary: Storytime with a tough crowd "You know when I was a kid, just kicking a can around the yard was entertainment enough." "Mulder, you're an incurable technophile. You were probably bored for the first twenty years of your life because no one had invented pay-per-view." He grunted. "You're just peeved because the virtual reality game you spent five bucks on was only rated G." She wasn't sure why he looked at her strangely just then. "Agent Scully, Agent Mulder, they're ready for you." In unison, they nodded to the junior agent, and entered the room with identical expressions of fear. "My name is Dana," she said, squatting down. "What's yours?" The boy screwed his face up, as if he couldn't decide on an answer. "Joseph," he said finally. Scully rocked back on her heels. "That's a great name. Does anyone call you Joe..." Her question was cut short as the interrogated decided at that moment he needed to run across the room and throw himself under a plastic bench. "Okay," she said loudly. "I guess that's a 'no'." Someone tapped her on the back. "Where's my dad?" Dan sulked. He had made himself known the moment they'd entered by blowing into a plastic bugle and announcing himself as, "Dan, Master of the Whole World." The bugle was one of dozens of toys haphazardly dumped into the playroom in a desperate attempt by largely childless agents to make the space entertaining for kids. Predictably, the sheer volume of choices ensured that most of the children had heretofore elected to sob. Scully shuffled over to the scratched plastic window and pointed. "Look Dan, your dad's right there where he's been all along." Dan sniffled and nodded. Dan's father had been unwise enough to agree to the whole enterprise and was lined up with all the other kids' parents along a colorful, whale-shaped counter. Many of them were clutching drinks of a strength not usually found in family restaurants; all were wearing similar expressions of forced good cheer and optimism. "Wave hi," Scully said, and herself waved at the line-up of restrained parental terror. A few gestured back haltingly; most seemed overwhelmed with the effort to appear relaxed. "See," she said through teeth locked in a grin, "everything's fine." Dan stared sullenly at his father, sized up the older man's robotic parade wave, and mumbled, "Where's my mom?" He shuffled away from the window to the corner where Joseph had begun to patiently disassemble the bench. Mulder swatted an errant helium balloon from his face. "Is it too late to go back to the arcade?" Scully sighed and stood up. The balloon passed unmolested over her head. "Let's keep the maturity level correlated with height, shall we?" Raising her voice, she asked, "Is anyone here hungry?" Fifteen hands shot up immediately. Mulder breathed deeply and spoke into his sleeve. "Can we have fifteen Happy Combos brought in ASAP?" "Fourteen," Scully whispered. Joseph had abandoned the bench and was waving both arms. Fourteen mouths thus subdued, the agents were able to relax into their ill-fitting, molded chairs and survey the area. The children were nearby, crowded around the table inhaling their lunches, the parents flitted nervously in the main hall, and the rest of the patrons of the Chunk-O-Cheese family restaurant were blissfully unaware that the tallest occupants of the playroom were FBI agents and not unusually dry-witted babysitters. Other agents roamed inconspicuously throughout the restaurant: a few washing dishes, several spinning out long meals in the dining hall, one tasked with fishing sobbing children out from the pool filled with colorful balls. All of them on careful watch for one unpleasant perpetrator. Three kidnappings from DC-area family restaurants, none of the victims yet recovered. There were no particular leads, but one critical (and unpublicized) trend -- the perp seemed to be moving in a clear trajectory. Law enforcement felt confident they'd covered all possible target restaurants for the next attack. Assuming there was a next attack. Scully was uneasy with using any children as bait, but Mulder felt, not unsurprisingly, that the possibility of recovering the missing children was worth the risk. By the time they'd argued and finally agreed, all of the likel y restaurants had been assigned to other teams. This particular Chunk-O-Cheese was well outside the kidnapper's circumference. Thus the two agents were alert, but not seriously expecting a confrontation. At least, not a confrontation with the kidnapper. "I want my juice!" was the first cry. The already red-faced boy named Ethan had darkened to an alarming shade of crimson. "Ethan, I just saw your juice. What did you do with it?" "I don't know," he said between sobs. Scully looked around. "Has anyone seen Ethan's juice?" A sallow-faced girl to Scully's right was coloring not just outside the lines, but often outside the border of the page and onto the table itself. "I saw it," she said, swinging her legs. Mulder watched her dig the crayon into the Formica. "Where did you see it, honey?" She didn't look up. "My name is Megan. And I'll tell you if you tell us a story." This was a popular bargain. Most of the children cheered, except Ethan. Ethan still wanted his juice. Mulder laughed uncomfortably. "Oh, I'm not sure I know any..." "Oh, come on Mulder," Scully said, trying not to smile. "You tell me outrageous stories every week." Some of the children giggled. One whispered loudly, "Moldy!" "That's not the same," he protested. "Those are case... C-A-S-E-F-I-L-E-S." Scully raised an eyebrow. "You mean you don't have any light-hearted tales of E-X-S-A-N-G-U-I-N-A-T-I-O-N? Perhaps a cheery fable about A-L-I-E-N H-Y-B-R-I-D-S? A heartwarming parable involving a boy and his F-L-U-K-E-W-O-R-M?" "Okay, that's enough out of Y-O-U," he growled. A large boy with thick plastic glasses blurted out, "Are you saying 'shit'? Because when my mom and dad spell stuff, what they really mean is 'shit'." "No!" the agents said simultaneously. "I can tell a perfectly good story if I want to," Mulder continued. "Better than you, anyway." "Bet you can't." "Bet I can." "Bet what?" Mulder considered this. "You win, you get to hold my VCR hostage for a week. I win, you play kick the can with me." "I don't know how to play. Do I get lessons with that?" "As always." Hmm, she thought. "Deal." "One thing," he added. Neither noticed the playroom had gone completely silent. The children were enthralled by the verbal seesaw. Scully leaned over a plastic molded chair and asked, "What?" Mulder leaned over an identical chair, which was awkwardly low for his needs as a prop. "You have to go first." She rolled her eyes. "Chicken." "I believe you've cornered the market on that one." She ignored him. "Okay. An original children's story." "And nothing scary." "MAKE IT SCARY!" came the chorused reply. "Okay, not too scary." "Aw," complained Megan, the errant colorer. "A not-too-scary original children's story," Scully amended. "One that's better than yours." Mulder gestured for her to take a seat. On cue, the children crowded around them. Joseph circled behind Scully and sat cross-legged next to her chair, looking up. Scully sat slowly, thoughtfully. She glanced at the windows surrounding the playroom for a moment, but the activities in the restaurant were utterly normal. It was unlikely that the kidnapper would strike here, yet they had so much time to pass. And there was the matter of the bet. "Once upon a time," Scully began. The young girl awoke with a start, although the source of her awakening was not immediately apparent. The ship continued to sway gently as it always did in calm waters; her cabin was as comfortably dark and warm as usual. Nevertheless, she sat up carefully and fully alert; she knew something was very wrong. Then she heard it again -- the sound that had alarmed her in her sleep. A dull thud from the deck above. The resourceful girl rose from bed and dressed as quietly as possible. She put on her fine but sturdy shoes, and tied her flowing red hair sensibly back from her face. She was afraid, but she knew what she needed to do first. Avoiding every squeaky plank, she crept from her cabin down the hall to her father's. The captain of the ship would not have been in his chambers at that early morn; she was not looking for him there. Instead, she crossed to his dresser, and removed his pearl-handled pistol from an inlaid wooden box. Of course, the pistol was not loaded with gunpowder -- the girl knew better than to use weapons for which she had not received extensive firearms training in a controlled setting. Nevertheless, she tucked the gun away in the small of her back, and moved silently along the wall towards the stairs leading to the fore deck. She heard nothing but the sound of the ocean echoing through the hall; this itself was unusual as the crew, while always kind to her, was generally of the more unruly breed of sailor. She began to wonder if they had all mysteriously vanished, as in the fantastic stories she'd often been told. She believed none of them, of course, but was nevertheless afraid. Then came the moaning from the mess hall. She forgot climbing the stairs altogether and immediately turned towards the door to her left. It was careless and dangerous, but she could think only of the suffering person inside. I hope it is my father, she thought, and that he is not badly injured! But when the undaunted maiden burst through the entrance to the hall, she was perhaps more startled to find -- Scully paused, her eyes far away and expressionless. No one moved, or even blinked. Finally, Dan yelled, "Found _what_?!" Scully smiled. -- to find the kindly ship's cook, who always delighted her with his wild tales of distant lands. Her father frowned on his exaggerations, believing that Cook would inspire her to abandon her studies and take to the high seas, but he never forbade them from speaking. Father also believed that she could make the best choices for herself, despite being only a young girl. Thus, her heart cried out at finding her beloved Cook gagged and bound in a corner of the mess hall. His eyes were closed -- he had not seen her -- and it appeared he had been struck in the head. The plucky young heroine ran to him and began to untie his bonds, admonishing, "My dearest Cook, please refrain from motion, as a vicious scalawag has done harm to your cranium, perhaps inducing a concussion or even cortical edema -- and I fear I have not a drop of cortisone by which to lessen the swelling should fluid begin to accumulate in the interstitial space! I beg of you, move not!" Cook responded to her ministrations with a sad, grateful smile. "Ah, young miss. It should come as no surprise to you that after all my adventures, it should end this way. Please remember that of all the peoples of the New and Old World, you were my one in..." The girl frowned as she patted his head with the sterile gauze she prudently carried in the pockets of her britches at all times. "Cook, you will hush now. You are not to die, not in my care. But before you rest, you must tell me of the men who have done this to you, and where I might find my father." Cook smiled wearily as he recounted the story of the ship's boarding by pirates, and her father the captain's heroic struggle to repel the brigands. Then his wounded face fell. "The rest of the story is not so grand, I fear. The crew was taken aboard the pirate ship as slaves, and your father, because he refused to abandon his vessel (knowing you were still aboard it), he was brought to..." He turned his head suddenly, unable to continue. The girl leaned forward, brushing away an errant lock of his hair and looking into his eyes. "What, dear Cook?" Scully paused dramatically. Megan's crayon, which she had been unconsciously digging into the table, snapped, and everyone in the room jumped. Everyone but Scully, who simply continued. Cook met her gaze finally, and said, with infinite sadness, "He was brought to the top of the crow's nest, in this demon sun, so that he might die a painful death and be fodder for the filthy birds of carrion." Inwardly, she gasped, but as she always did in times of crisis, the girl kept a calm face. "I will go to him." Cook gasped, and grabbed her arm. "You mustn't! Those men are fiends! You cannot imagine what they are capable of!" "He is my father," she said simply. "If I can save him, let me." Cook stared at her for another minute, wide-eyed, and then let go. "Irish to the core. Always stubborn." She administered one final examination of the wound, elevated his feet and advised him to drink plenty of fluids and to remain awake at all costs. She touched his hand fleetingly. "I will return for you." She fled from the room and up the stairs, slowing only when she