Subject: NEW: Welcome to New Rochelle -- Arcadia spoiler
Date: Sat, 08 May 1999

Title: Welcome to New Rochelle (1 of 1)
Summary: Mulder meets the Dick Van Dyke Show
Spoiler: Arcadia
Category: C (my first crossover ;), H, MT, UST
Rating: PG-13 (that Alan Brady developed a 'potty mouth')
Disclaimer: Ho-boy. Now I remember why I've never done a
crossover :) 10-13 Productions gets to claim Mulder, Scully,
Skinner, Frohike, Langly and Cancerman. I do believe it was
Danny Thomas who gets to claim Rob, Laura, Mel, Buddy, Sally,
and Alan, but it could have been Desilu. It's been too long
so I won't infringe on anybody and everybody, how's that?
Archive: Come and get it. And if there's a Dick Van Dyke
archive for fan fic, they can have it, too.
Author's notes: If you've never seen the Dick Van Dyke show,
you should still be all right with this. I didn't go into much
detail. I was trying for 'nuances' as opposed to mixing
timelines. This is NOT Pleasantville <G> But if you have
seen the show, let me know if I came close. It's been about
30 years since I've seen an episode <VEG>
Dedication: This was written for Ten, after I read Fallout
at Arcadia. She inspired it, so I gave it to her. She
'asked' (well, 'demanded' seems a bit forceful ;) that I
post it, so here it is.

Welcome To New Rochelle
by Vickie Moseley
vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com

Falls at Arcadia
late afternoon

"Did you check the bathrooms?" Scully's voice filtered up the
staircase from the first floor to the second.

Mulder groaned, his arms already loaded down with her briefcase,
her carry on luggage and _her_ suit bag. But he answered her
anyway.

"Yes, 'sweetheart', I checked _both_ bathrooms," he hollered
down from the upstairs hallway. He was careful to avoid getting
caught up on the yellow crime scene tape that still blocked off their,
or rather, Scully's bedroom.

He could almost feel the glare she shot up at him. "Lose the
'sweetheart' crap, Mulder, or you're a dead man the minute you fall
asleep on the plane," she growled.

"Sheez, the thrill might be gone, but the constant fear is still
present," he mumbled to himself.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, de . . . um, nothing, Scully," he quickly amended loudly.

It had been fun, the last three days. Sure, it was a stupid case, one
he was sure wasn't an X File. But it had turned out to be an X File,
and that was what counted. Skinner got the request and there were
only two people in the Bureau who had the authority and the
expertise to look into the strange disappearances at the Falls in
Arcadia. He and Scully were on the plane within twelve hours of
getting the 302, and that included buying a whole new wardrobe.

Maybe he had gone a little far, but Scully was just so darned easy to
get flustered. He knew every time he put his arm around her, she
was ready to sock him a good one in the jaw but she didn't. She
didn't want to blow their cover. She'd been nervous about it all the
way out to California. Not to mention the fact that 'Rob and
Laura' were basically the antithesis of their very existence. This
wasn't just undercover work. This was acting worthy of an Emmy
or at least, a Golden Globe and Scully hadn't really felt up to the
challenge. He'd have to remember to tell her he thought she'd
done a great job. Maybe then she would forgive him.

As he was walking down the hall, his thoughts were of getting
home, back to the office. He couldn't believe how 'neat' Spender
and Fowley had kept the place. He hoped to create a little
'disorder' over the weekend, while Scully was off . . . doing Scully
things. Just go through some files, put up some 'color' on the
bulletin board. Nothing destructive. Just make the place a little
more 'homey'.

He never saw the shoe lying on the top step that had slipped out of
his duffle bag on the last trip down to the minivan.

Several hours later

His head was splitting. More than a normal bump, more like the
way he felt when he woke up at Arlington General just before
running off to stop Scully from being an alien's host body. Did I get
shot again, he wondered? It definitely felt like he'd been shot
again. Right in the back of the head.

"But I don't understand, Doctor. Why hasn't he woken up yet?"

It sounded like Scully, but then again, not quite. Her voice was
funny. It sounded . . . well, if he had to name it he would have to
say she was _whining_. Mulder tried to pried his eyes open, but
they didn't seem to want to cooperate.

"We just have to give him time, Laura. It was a nasty fall he took.
You just keep talking to him. That's about the best way to get him
to come out of the coma."

Coma? He didn't recognize the man's voice at all, but the words
sure made an impact. Coma? He'd been in a coma? For how
long? And who the hell was Laura?

He heard a door squeak on the hinges and then click shut. But
there was still a hand on his arm, stroking it gently. Scully. He'd
know that touch anywhere. She hadn't left. He only hoped that
Laura person had gone out with the other guy. He didn't detect
any perfume other than Scully's and so he relaxed. He could
concentrate on opening his eyes.

First the left one opened, and he swore he heard a 'pop' as the lids
separated. Then the right, finally. With a little effort, he could
focus.

And there was Scully, right where she always was, next to his bed.
But what had she done to her hair? It was still the same beautiful
red, but it was done differently, again. He'd just gotten used the
style she'd been wearing since fall, and now she'd gone and
changed it again. But he wasn't sure he liked it. It was fluffier.
Poofier. And what was with the head band?

Other than that, it was Scully. What distressed him most were the
tear tracks marring her gorgeous face. She was staring down at
their entwined fingers and her chin started to tremble.

"S-s-sc-ully," he managed to croak out of his sore and dry throat.

Instantly her head shot up and she looked at him, wide-eyed. She
broke into a earth-shattering smile and he did everything he could to
give her a ghost of that smile in return.

"Oh, sweetheart," she crooned. "Oh, darling, you're awake. You
had me so frightened, sweetheart. I thought you'd never come
back to me."

Sweetheart? Darling? Oh my God, he thought, I must have been
dead, or at least damned close to it. He'd never heard Scully call
him anything but Mulder or partner in their seven years together.

"Scully," he sighed, a little more clearly this time. He turned his
palm up and weakly squeezed her fingers.

Instead of reassuring her, his actions had the opposite effect. She
furrowed her brow and shook her head. "Rob, honey, why do you
keep saying that name? Who is this 'Scully'? I asked Buddy and
Sally. They never heard of him. They thought maybe it was some
name you were using for a sketch, but sweetheart, it's starting to
scare me."

He blinked. Nothing changed, so he blinked again. What the hell
was she talking about? He had no chance to ask her to explain
when there was a knock at the door and she turned to call "Come
in."

Assistant Director Skinner stuck his head in the door. "Laura, is he
awake?"

"Oh, Mel, yes, he is. Come on in. Sweetheart, look who's here to
see you. It's Mel Cooley!" she beamed at Mulder, then smiled back
at Skinner.

Mulder stared at them both. First of all, he didn't even realize that
Scully knew the old VCS nickname for Walter Skinner when he
was an ASAC. And he sure didn't think she would use it to the
man's face. But what was really scaring the crap out of him was
the fact that Skinner seemed to be taking it all in stride. He was
positively giddy with happiness, standing at the end of the bed.

Skinner brought his hand from behind his back and produced a
rather skimpy bouquet of flowers, most of whom were past their
prime. From the looks of them, Mulder wondered if he might have
pilfered them from a much older arrangement. Skinner handed the
flowers to Scully. "Here, these are to brighten the place up a little,"
he said.

As Scully beamed and took the flowers, shooting a roll of the eyes
over to Mulder, Skinner shifted from foot to foot. "They tell me
you'll be off work for a while, Rob. Well, take all the time you
need. Alan said we'll run a couple of summer reruns while you're
out. Of course, if you happen to come up with any good ideas
while you're lying here doing nothing . . ."

Scully's glare shut off that sentence immediately. "I mean, as long
as it doesn't compromise your health, of course," Skinner quickly
amended and looked more than a little chastised.

"I'm sure Sally and Buddy can fill in for Rob, Mel," Scully intoned
with a narrowed gaze that Mulder had learned to run from. He
almost felt sorry for Skinner.

"Umm, ah, well, sure Laura, but it's not the same without our head
writer," Skinner stammered.

Mulder's head was starting to pound and he was beginning to see
double. "um, Scully, I, uh, could you get the doctor, please. My
head . . ." He was pretty sure he was going to be sick.

"Rob! Oh, Rob! Mel, go get the doctor, quick!" Scully cried out
and jumped up to get a tiny bowl to hold under Mulder's mouth.
Before he could tell her to get a bigger bowl, his stomach rebelled
and he started to heave. Fortunately, only a small amount of bile
came up, but it burned all the way.

When he was aware of his surroundings again, the doctor, he
assumed, was at his side. "Mrs. Petrie, I really think we need to
limit visitors for a while. Your husband has suffered a very severe
blow to the head. He needs to rest. I will allow you to stay, but
please, we need to keep everyone else _out_. At least for now."

Mulder didn't feel like objecting to the doctor's order. He was
terrified enough of how his partner and his boss were acting. He
did the only thing he could under the circumstances. He fell asleep.

He woke up again to whispering.

"We aren't supposed to be in here, Buddy," a low voice said in a
stage whisper.

"Who're we hurting, Sal? He's out like a light. Gee, what did
Laura hit him with? A frying pan?"

Mulder heard a soft 'thump' and a muttered "ouch".

"Laura did _not_ hit him with anything, he tripped over the
ottoman," returned an angry falsetto voice. "And don't you dare
joke about this, Buddy! Laura is really scared. He's been out a
long time and when he wakes up, he keeps calling for some guy
named Scully."

"All this from falling over the ottoman?"

It was Frohike's voice. He knew it better than he knew his own.
Frohike. And going back over the tone of the other voice it had to
be Langly with him. But where was Byers? And why was Langly's
voice so high pitched and nasal? Not to mention squeaky?

He opened his eyes to slits and regarded the two interlopers into his
private room. He'd only once seen Frohike in a suit and tie. But when
his eyes caught sight of Langly, in full drag, with his blond hair in a
classic 60's woman's hairstyle, Mulder promptly passed out.

When he came around, the room was dark, but he could still make
out a silhouette in the corner. The person stood and walked over to
his bed, coming into the dim sliver of light from the partially opened
door.

Cancerman.

"It's OK, Rob. It's just me, Alan. Alan Brady. Rob, I can't tell
you how relieved I was when Melon head told me you were going
to live," CGB Spender said with almost genuine concern. "Do you
have any idea what the other networks are paying their head
writers? I'd never be able to get one of them to work as cheap as
you!"

"What are you doing in my room?" Mulder demanded.

His nemesis had the gall to look confused. "It's only a little after
visiting hours. I was at the fights. Couldn't walk away on a C
note, now, could I? I mean, after all, Rob, you didn't die. You just
ended up in the hospital."

"Where's Scully?" Mulder had a feeling he wasn't going to get a
good answer, but he couldn't stop himself from asking the question
anyway.

The man pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and
stuck one, unlit, into his mouth. "You keep asking that, Rob.
Damned if I know. But if this Scully is a 'she' and not a 'he', you'd
be wiser not to ask it around 'the little woman', if you know what I
mean."

"My name is not Rob," Mulder muttered angrily.

"Then what is it?" the smoking bastard asked, curiosity crossing his
features.

"Mulder. Fox Mulder. And that woman who claims to be my wife
is my partner, Dana Scully. And the guy you call Mel is my boss,
Walter Skinner. We work for the FBI. My partner and I were on
an undercover assignment in a planned residential community. We
played husband and wife to catch a killer. Turned out to be a
monster made of garbage. The case was over and I have no idea
how I ended up here." He sighed and leaned back into the pillow,
exhausted.

The other man regarded him seriously. "That's a damn fine set up,
Rob, but you gotta work on that punch line. It's just not that
funny."

Mulder stared at him, mouth opened and shook his head. "You're
absolutely right, Alan. It's not."

"Well, I better shove off. They tell me you'll be here a couple of
days since you keep passing out all the time. I looked it up, you've
got 5 sick days coming to you. After that, I'll have to dock you."
He looked at Mulder with all seriousness, then broke into a
boisterous laugh. "Hey, Rob, I was just kidding. I won't dock you
for a week, at least!" He reached down and patted Mulder's leg.
"Take care, Rob. And next time, look out for the damned
ottoman."

"I'm in hell," Mulder declared to himself in a normal tone of voice.
"I died, and now I'm in hell." His head was really beginning to
pound and it was everything he could do to keep his eyes open.
"I'm in hell," he kept repeating, as the pain grew and grew behind
his eyes and just when he thought his head would explode, darkness
pulled him under.

" . . .m in 'ell, . . .m 'n hell . . ."

"What's he saying?"

Mulder recognized the voice and it frightened him. He didn't want
to open his eyes and see his Assistant Director, he boss of over five
years, acting like a neurotic producer of a early 60's
comedy-variety show. Or his partner a dizzy, weepy, whining
housewife. Or his friends, well, one friend in particular, cross
dressing. And he definitely didn't want that black lunged son of a
bitch signing his paycheck!

"I'm not sure, sir. He's been muttering it over and over for some
time. It's probably nothing. Mulder tends to have very vivid
dreams when he's received a blow to the head. Remember how he
was in Bermuda?"

"Oh, God, not the Wizard of Oz, again," the first voice said with
disgust. "Well, I'm going to get a cup of coffee. I'll leave him in
your capable hands, Agent Scully."

Mulder almost cried with relief. He was back, back in his world.
He decided it was worth the effort to open his eyes.

There was Scully, right where he knew she would be. And her hair
was back to normal. She smiled at him as he blinked the sleep crud
out of his eyes.

"Been playing 'possum' again, Mulder?" she asked, with a cock of
her head and a wry grin.

"My head . . ." he moaned, playing for the sympathy angle if at all
possible.

"It hurts, Mulder, I know," she said compassionately as she rubbed
the back of his hand. "You fell down the full flight of stairs. You
managed to knock out two of the bannister posts with your head.
You're lucky you got out of it with just a concussion. You could
have broken your neck."

"I can go back to sleep now, I just got my 'lucky' speech," Mulder
muttered, leaning back in the pillows with a wince.

"You've been out for almost 48 hours, Mulder. You shouldn't be
that sleepy."

"My dreams wore me out," he said, hoping to leave it at that.

She grinned broadly. "So Mulder, what was it this time?
Oklahoma? Guys and Dolls? West Side Story? Your concussion
dreams are better than watching AMC for a weekend," she teased.

He glared at her as well as his pounding head would allow. "I'm
not telling, Scully. I just get ridiculed and it's not worth it," he
pouted.

"Aw, Mulder, just a little. Come on. I sat here for the whole time,
watching you sleep. I deserve a little entertainment," she prodded.

He ignored her request. "Was Skinner here earlier?"

She nodded. "He flew out last night. He was worried about you.
First case back, and you end up in the hospital. At this rate,
Mulder, we'll only get to investigate about three cases a year
around your medical leaves."

"Har har, Scully. So, were the boys out here, too. Did you call out
the troops to laugh?" he groused.

"No, but I did call them. You know they have your name
bookmarked on all hospital admits across the country. I figured it
would save the hospital administration the cost of having to fix the
computer records after Langly hacked into them."

Some of the pieces of this dream were starting to fall into place.
"How about Cancerman? Was he here?"

Scully shook her head adamantly. "Of course not, Mulder. I was
in this room the entire time, used your bathroom, for that matter.
Spender, Sr. never made an appearance. Why? Was he in your
dream? Come on, Mulder. Spill. What was your dream this
time?"

He looked over at her eager expression and almost gave in. But the
thought of his last experience with vivid dreams and how she
reacted brought him quickly back to his senses.

"Let's just say that when we get home, I'm canceling my
subscription to TV Land, and leave it at that, Scully."

the end :)

Vickie

"When you start, you make certain choices, and those choices accumulate and
create a number of [other] choices. The story starts to tell itself, and
that's been very exciting in a way. There's so much that has come and been
told that you are, in a way, a slave to the facts you've created, and it's a
really fun way to tell stories. That's not to say it's simplified. In fact,
it becomes complicated, but it all starts to make sense, and that's been a
really wonderful thing."

Quote from Chris Carter on development of The X Files