Title: "I Remember You" Author: Rebecca Perlow Rating: G Category: LGM for Lone Gunmen, M for Mulder, V for vignette Spoilers: Empedocles, some. Summary: After coming back from the dead, Mulder has a word with Langly -- or is it Mulder? Disclaimer: Mulder and the Lone Gunmen are the property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and the Fox network. "Leave Home," "Rocket to Russia," "Rock N' Roll High School" are the property of the Ramones and Sire Records. Mountain Dew belongs to Mountain Dew. Rebecca Perlow belongs to Rebecca Perlow and everybody's happy. My thanks go out to Erika, my beta reader and friend who, like me, has a lot of stuff going on right now, and to my Dad, who doesn't watch the show but read this story anyway. ************************************************************************** "I remember you Oo-oo-oo I remember you Oo-oo-oo.." Langly toyed with the volume knob on his diskman as he balanced it between jean-clad knees, the hyperactive beat of the "Leave Home" album bouncing around inside the headphones clamped firmly to his ears. Silently, he cracked his knuckles and prepared to tackle pages 3, 4, and 5 of the first May issue of The Lone Gunman. Behind him, something was happening that, six months ago, not even the most paranoid conspiracy theorist could have imagined. Death was such a weird thing. So final and yet..not. Mulder's had been the first of two deaths he had had to deal with in the last six months. When Scully had called them with the news, he had sat down on the sofa and not moved for several hours. After so many close shaves in so many years, the very idea seemed downright impossible. People like Fox Mulder didn't die. Obviously. The second - another impossible passing - had hit him just as hard, going so far as to send him into a 37 hour seclusion in the knee hole of his desk, amid the aging dustbunnies and briar patch of extension cords while Byers and Frohike tried to coax him out with promises of pizza and the latest copy of Celebrity Skin. Just him and his laptop as he furiously typed out condolences to several online friends and contemporaries who had also been devastated by the loss. His diskman became his best friend. "Leave Home,""Rocket to Russia,""Rock N' Roll High School," each album got their fair share of his attention in that first week. He and a couple of the guys in his D & D group had even purchased plane tickets for New York in the hope of attending the funeral - or at least witnessing it via high-powered binoculars. Fortunately or unfortunately, a set of unexpected circumstances cut Langly's role in the pilgrimmage short. A few days before, Mulder had walked into their office, as healthy and as alive as anyone walking the street. Maybe more so. No theory - conspiracy or scientific - could explain it. Many would try. It was a privilege not many people had been awarded - the abilitiy to come back from the dead - save for a few religious icons and monstrous stars of late afternoon creature features. And, on this day, he sat on the couch at the far end of the TLG office, going over the finer points of a recently closed case with his other two comrades, as well as answering any questions concerning the six months he'd spent in the ground of a South Carolina cemetery. It seemed, to Langly, unfair that such a chance be bestowed to only one person every 2000 years. Surely there were others who deserved a similar turn of events. He could think of at least one.. Unfazed by the ghoulish nature of the conversation, yet unwilling to participate in it nonetheless, he chose instead to concentrate on editing the upcoming issue, turning up the volume on his favorite track. Eyes glued to the monitor, ears tuned into the beloved CD, he was unsure of precisely when the even drawl of Mulder's monotone had disappeared behind him. But the computer clock had read 5:19 when he'd felt a strangely familiar shadow behind him. "Hey, Ringo." It was Mulder's voice, Mulder's hand on his shoulder Langly had thought as he turned around in his chair. But the figure that had suddenly appeared in front of him stood at least four or five inches taller than the seasoned FBI agent, clad in attire the Bureau would have immediately declared unsuitable. The two items of clothing he would remember in detail later were ripped jeans and a leather jacket. The solid angles of his friend's features were half-covered by a thick curtain of long, dark hair. The color seemed to have drained from his face leaving a chalky subway tan in its wake, and the eye he could see was distorted by a thin ovacular lense. Langly blinked hard as an overwhelming darkness seized the room and, the next thing he knew, he was being hauled back up into the chair by three familiar pairs of arms. The clock on the computer read 5:29. As Mulder had approached him in search of a back issue, Byers explained, he had slumped to the floor, taking the unfortunate diskman with him. It's double A batteries skittering off into an indiscernible portion of the room. The three men had spent the better part of the last ten minutes attempting to revive him, succeeding only when Mulder retrieved one of Frohike's sweat socks from the hamper and held it under the younger man's nose. Both events left their blonde compadre substantially shaken. Over leftover cheese steaks and flat Mountain Dew a few days later, Langly recounted for his friends what he had experienced in that split second before he'd "bailed." Their response was skeptical. But not enough to persuade their storyteller, who remained convinced of its authenticity. Though Byers and Frohike would claim over and over again to have heard nothing of the sort, Langly would swear until the day he died he had been able to make out three simple words from a mouth that - in that one second - didn't look like Mulder's: "Gabba gabba hey." ************************************************************************** This story is loosely inspired by the "We'll miss you, Joey" image on the official LGM website, as well as my own personal obesession with the Ramones' music. Like Langly and many others, I love Joey and miss him terribly. Numbers: 5:19 - May 19 is Joey's birthday. 5:29 - May 29 is my birthday.