Title: Last Call
Author: Susan Frankovich
E-mail: susanf@ticnet.com or filesfan34@yahoo.com
Classification: vignette
Keyword: Mulder angst
Spoilers: Jump the Shark
Rating: PG for a couple of bad words
Archive: No.
Disclaimer: This character doesn't belong to me.
I wish he did.

This is for Lenore, because she asked...

Summary: Alone in a bar, a man grieves.
********************************************************

Last Call
by Susan Frankovich
~~~~~~

"Another round, sir?" the bartender asked, holding
a bottle of whiskey in his hand.

"No, thanks.  I'm good for now," the bearded man
sitting at the end of the bar replied.

"You don't look so good," commented the bartender,
setting the bottle down.  He leaned forward and
rested his left elbow on the counter.  "They tell
me I'm a pretty good listener."

The dark-haired man rubbed his chin, the newly
grown whiskers scraping the pads of his fingers.
Tipping his head back, he downed the rest of the
bitter liquid in his glass.  "I changed my mind,"
he said, pushing the glass across the counter.

"Rough night?"

The man rubbed his chin again, this time pressing
harder. "Rough year."

The bartender set down a napkin and another glass
in front of the stranger and waited for him to talk,
just as he done so many other times before.

"I was at a funeral today...Well, I wasn't really
at it exactly. I kinda watched it from the distance,"
he said quietly, swirling the liquid around in the
glass clockwise.

"That *is* rough," the bartender remarked.

His grip on the glass tightened.  "I couldn't even
go to their goddamned funeral," he muttered.

"Their?" the bartender asked, immediately wondering
just what it was that this man in front of him had
gone through.

"There were three of them."  The man closed his eyes
a moment and shook his head. "And they were my friends,"
he said, suddenly throwing his head back and downing
his drink.

"Sorry, man," the bartender said sympathetically.

"So am I," he immediately replied.  "About a lot of
things..."

"I'm going to be closing up in about fifteen minutes,
but if you wanna hang out here for awhile..."

"No, I gotta be getting back home...wherever the hell
that is tonight," the man mumbled, getting up off the
barstool and setting some money down on the counter.

"You gonna need a cab, buddy?"

He zipped up his black leather jacket and said, "No,
but I would like one more shot before I go."

The bartender thought for a moment, trying to decide
if serving the man in front of him another drink would
really be the best thing to do. Seeing that he was able
to stand without swaying, he poured him one last shot
of whiskey. "This one's on the house," he said, handing
it to the tall stranger.

Lifting the glass up into the air, he quietly said, "Keep
everyone in line up there, okay, guys?"

Then he set the glass back down without taking a drink
and walked out into the cold dark night.

Alone.

~end~

Reflections
http://members.tripod.com/sfrankovich/index.html

Stories by Susan
http://www.geocities.com/filesfan34/