This story is dedicated to Tiny Dancer and Pellinor, as a small but heartfelt 'thank you' for their wonderful X-Files resource sites.

DISCLAIMER:

"Heigh-ho, people, we need to get the show on the road. Now, where's the delightful Gillian? Oh, there you are, girlfriend. Aren't you just divine? Scrumptuous, my dear, yes you are. Now you know, Gilly dear, that this is for the voiceover Fox TV promos, no lines for you, pout-pout. We'll just ignore those network brutes, won't we? OK, so we need you to walk across and turn, come an eensy step back and pose. See, soooooo simple! OK, people, we have lights? We have happy little cameras? Are you ready, Gilly dear? I'm so tingly, we are ready to shoot! Wonderful! OK, roll camera. Gillian, you walk along--oh, so nice! There's your mark, and turnnnnnnnnnnnnnn--yes, wonderful, dear. Now we need a look--no, sweetie, not smug, if we wanted smug, we'd have asked David to do the spot. Oh, don't laugh! let's see that "Big Girls Have Big Guns" look. Oh, yes, that's perfect! OK, and hold it...........and cut and wrap! Cleo material, simply Cleo material! What a professional! I'm honored, Gillian. We must do lunch soon, I'll have my boy call you. Kissee, kissee all around! Toodles everyone, it's been X-quisite!"

Getting a thoroughly whacked-out Dana Scully into gear was tough enough. Steering her in any one direction was another matter altogether, as impossible as getting a grocery cart with a jammed wheel to go in even a remotely straight line. Melvin Frohike kept a firm hold on Scully's hand as they entered the casino, making a mental note to cut Mulder some slack the next time the Agent complained about his bodaciously beautiful partner. 'Seriously jetlagged' my ass, Frohike grumbled sourly about Langly's assessment of Scully's behavior. He had serious doubts that 'Lord Manhammer' could find his Sword of Wounding with both hands and a guide dwarf.

Scully's bubbly monologue was a tinkling surf on the ocean of whirs and pulses of the slots surrounding them. The arresting, distinctive sound of her laugh was what had caught Frohike's attention in the first place, and the enlivened Scully continued to turn heads as she breathlessly pointed out unutterably fascinating sights like blinking lights, slot machines, and people funneling tokens into said machines. Frohike had decided that the shortest distance between two points was through the casino, but he hadn't factored in Scully's distractibility threshold, which was, at the moment, really, really *low*.

Scully's eyes grew large at the array of flashing blue lights over the $20,000 Sapphire Bandit slot.

"Oooooo, 'Hickey, lookit this!" The fiery redhead came to a complete stop in front of the machine and Frohike, who had been operating at full speed, was practically pulled off his feet when the U.S.S. Scully dropped anchor. The rapt look on Scully's face took some of the sting out of the pain radiating from his abused shoulder.

"Scully, this thing is a kid's toy, a piece-of-cake hack. Five minutes, tops. We'll come back later, OK?"

Her luscious pout and plaintive "Oh, 'Hickey, pleeeeeeeeeease...can't we try it just once?" attracted the unwanted attention of a tall and incongruously Stetsoned businessman.

"'Scuse me, Princess, is this little varmint bothering you?" Tex sidled up next to Scully, wrapping an overly-friendly arm around her shoulder. Frohike snorted derisively, and wedged himself between Tex and Scully.

"Listen, Mr. Ti-Yi-Yo-PunkAss, if you're really as stupid as you look you're gonna give Texans a bad name." Frohike poked Tex's chest with a stubby gloved finger. "The lady and I were just leaving."

"'Princess'?" Scully burbled at Tex, batting her eyelashes.

A second later, Frohike found himself shoved aside, as Tex gushed "Here, Princess, let a _real_ man treat you" to a flirtatious Scully who watched as he put a token into the machine and pulled the lever.

A blue sapphire snapped into place in the first window.

Scully's mouth formed a rosy "O" of astonishment.

A sapphire came up in the second window.

"Wow," Scully breathed.

The third window was a blur of shapes and colors, settling at last on--

A blue sapphire.

Frohike nearly wet his pants when the winner's klaxon blared directly overhead and the blue lights strobed wildly. His suspicions that Tex was a slots novice as well as a moron were confirmed when Tex began yodeling "I won!" and whipped off his hat to collect the display tokens cascading out of the machine. Tex muscled Scully aside in his haste to get to his 'winnings,' and Frohike found himself separated from Scully by an exponentially expanding crowd of people gathering to witness the Sapphire Bandit payoff. Frohike wormed his way out of the throng and around the periphery of the group--

--to find that Scully had disappeared.

It was with a sinking feeling that Frohike realized that a Scully of diminished capacity was loose somewhere in the Monte Carlo complex.

---

"Yoo-hoo, 'Hickey-poo..."

Scully peered into the dark cabaret theater, then sighed in abject disappointment. "No 'Hickey-poo," she mourned, resting her forehead against the polished brass trim on the theater's door. This game wasn't fun anymore. 'Hickey-poo was too good a hider, and she'd always HATED being "it" in hide-and-seek. There should be a rule--Scully nodded in vigorous agreement with herself--that you can't just disappear and expect someone to play hide-and-seek and come find you. 'Hickey must have picked up that bad habit from Mulder, 'cause every time Mulder ditched her, Scully had to be "it." She decided then and there that Mulder was definitely a poopyhead.

The long hallway of cabaret and dinner theater arenas was cool and dark, save for the recessed accent lights overhead. Scully shed her shoes and danced on the plush pile carpeting, hop-scotching from one pool of light to the next down the corridor. An alcove archway bordered with pulsing white minilights beckoned, and she peered in through the open doorway. Inside was a cozy lounge, an intimate space with just three tables next to the slightly-raised stage, and booths and bar stools further back for those in the audience more interested in each other than the performers. A single work spotlight illuminated the table directly in front of the stage. It was practically an invitation, and Scully accepted the offer at once, tiptoeing through the lounge with stealthy ease. She settled into the upholstered chair at the stageside table with a comfortable and heartfelt sigh.

As if by prearrangement, the spotlight over the table faded to black. Embedded in the darkness she could feel faint crew noises, the band warming up on their instruments, and then the hollow echo of an open microphone.

"Welcome to the Stardust Room at the fabulous Monte Carlo Hotel and Casino!"

Scully smiled while craning her head to get another look around the lounge, hoping for a glimpse of the M.C. whose luscious deep voice seemed to boom from the darkness. Nope, no bod to go with the sexy baritone...and there was no one else at any of the tables in the room either. She was apparently an audience of one, but she would be a very GOOD audience, that was a promise. Scully drew an 'X' in the air over her heart.

"Tonight, the management of the Monte Carlo takes great pride in presenting--"

The center stage spotlight swelled to life, illuminating the performer. Scully's mouth dropped open in amazement.

It couldn't be.

She'd know him anywhere, even in a Vegas costume of tie and tails, but she'd thought he was -- he was supposed to be--

"Ladies and gentlemen...Sean Daniel Pendrell!"

Eyes closed, he warbled the first words of the song, a woman's name spoken like a pledge of love--

     "Glor-i-a...Glor-i-a," he sang,

while his unseen backup added a '50s vocal beat,

          //wow, wow, wow--ooooo//--

     "It's not Mar-ie--"

Scully was sure, that was *his* voice, a light sensuous tenor. She'd walked in on Pendrell working late in the laboratory often enough to have heard him singing to the background rumble of the shaker platforms and the thin deceleration wheezes of the centrifuges.

     "Glor-i-a, it's not Sherr-ie--"

Pendrell looked right at her, a shy grin begging for encouragement.

     "Glor-i-a,"

          //Gloria-a-a// came the backup's echo.

     "But she's not in love with meeeeee."

"He's sweet on you, you know," Mulder had once whispered to her as Pendrell had hurried over with yet another set of 'we need these ASAP' test results. Mulder had limped for the rest of the day after she'd kicked him in the ankle to shut him up. She could see now that Sean had indeed had a crush on her and that this was his way of letting her know.

One of the crew came out from the wings to bring a wooden stool on stage. Pendrell held out his hand to Scully. Pendy wanted to sing for her, and she wasn't about to pass that up for the world. She climbed the two steps up to the stage and sat on the wooden stool as the spotlight grew to include her as well.

Pendrell swept his hand in an exaggerated 'join in' gesture to encourage Scully to sing along. It was such an outrageous request that she immediately lent her support to the backup group's gentle 'woo-woo-woo' vocal efforts. The stage lights came up a fraction, and Scully stole a look at the backup singers, wondering if they were wincing at her attempt to croon along with them.

She simply wasn't prepared for the tears of joy that welled up in her eyes.

     "And maybe," Pendrell sang--

          //maybe// Missy echoed, her fingers dancing over guitar strings. She nodded her head at Scully, her crystal earrings shifting the stage lights through rainbows.

     "She'll want me."

          //ooo, want me// Ahab's voice joined Missy's, and he winked at Scully from behind his station at the drums.

     "But who am I to know?"

          //who am I to know?// Scully wasn't sure which surprised her more: Deep Throat's melodic bass rumble or his apparent skill at the electronic keyboard. He charmed her with such a warming smile that she forgot her own musical hesitancy and joined them in another chorus.

     "And maybe"

          //maybe//

     "She'll want me"

          //want me//

     "But who am I to know--oh-oh--"

The comparison was inescapable: Pendrell could hit the high notes with grace and aplomb, whereas Mulder would approach those same notes only with the aid of a cold-handed urologist. As Scully blushed at Pendrell's gentle reverent kiss on her hand, she realized that Pendrell, Missy and Ahab, and even Deep Throat were here to say thanks, as a way to obtain some kind of spiritual closure. It didn't matter that she couldn't carry a tune. They didn't care about that, she could see it in their smiles. Scully did not hesitate to sing along in the final chorus...

     "Glor-i-a,"

          //Glor-i-a//

     "It's not Mar-ie."

     "Glor-i-a,"

          //Glor-i-a//

     "It's not Sherr-ie."

     "Glor-i-a,"

          //Glor-i-a//

     "But she's not in love...wi-th me-eeeeeeeee."

The spotlight tightened around Pendrell, as he voiced the final refrain. His last note was clear and sweet.

The lights faded to black.

---

The echoes of enthusiastic applause drew Frohike through the labyrinth of intimate cabaret settings. It was far too early for the lounge performers or the cabaret acts and it wasn't until he'd stumbled over one of Scully's shoes that he'd had any confidence at all that she'd come this way. Frohike changed his mind about hacking into the Internal Revenue Services' database and putting the security guard up for an audit. 'George' may have escorted Byers and him out of the poker game, but he was also the only one to have noticed Scully-Go-Lightly heading off toward the cabaret area.

The ovation seemed to be coming from the end of a deserted corridor. Frohike found Scully's other shoe just inside a tiny portal festooned with white Christmas lights. The word 'intimate' didn't come to mind--it was cramped in the tiny lounge. And there she was, sitting in the soft light of a half-powered work spot, applauding, whistling, and cheering for all she was worth.

Frohike kept looking around as he cautiously made his way to the front of the lounge. The place was like a morgue, except for the effervescent Scully. She'd started chanting "more!" but couldn't manage to make her hand clapping synchronize with her voice. Frohike hissed at her from the frontmost table.

"Scully!"

"'Hickey-poo!" Scully squealed, scampering to the edge of the stage and holding her nose for the twelve-inch jump down to the floor level. She grabbed Frohike by the shoulders, jerking him close enough to nuzzle his ear.

"You're 'it!'"

She consented to letting Frohike put her shoes back on, but her newly acquired hyperticklishness meant that the job was five minutes of having her squirm and giggle. When he began to lead Scully out of the lounge, her sudden solemnity was a shocking contrast.

"I don't suppose..." She looked back wistfully at the stage.

Frohike's heart beat faster at the sight of a vulnerable Dr. Scully. "Scully, we need to check in with the guys, but we can come back later for some performances. Although...I've seen U-Stor-It lockers bigger than this place. Were you watching the backstage crew set up for tonight's acts?"

A single glistening tear lingered on her lashes, then dripped onto her cheek. "No," she whispered, "they were singing for me." She turned to see Frohike's confused frown.

"'They'? The crew?" he asked. She shook her head. The two paused in the lounge's doorway. "Scully, who were you listening to?"

Her smile seared the last of the tear's wetness from her face.

"Oh, 'Hickey," Scully hiccupped before lapsing into a soft giggle. "You could say that I was listening to the grateful dead."

ADDITIONAL AUTHOR NOTES: This story isn't songfic, and it really isn't about the song "Gloria," but when I played that cut on "The Best of The Manhattan Transfer" CD, I suddenly had this vision of Pendrell singing to Scully. I could not get that picture of Pendy out of my head, and with the backup singers of Missy, Ahab, and Deep Throat--well, I knew I had to write the story or go crazy in the attempt.

It was a close thing, too.