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Date Posted: 14:08:32 07/11/01 Wed
Author: Islandgirl
Subject: Another Lone Gunmen fanfic from me

Title: "Three for Texas"
Author: Angela W.
Rating: PG-13
Category: Crossover
Summary: Byers, Jimmy and Yves seek the help of an eccentric computer genius and his wife. Told in first person, Yves' POV.
Note: Michelle and Austin James are from a *VERY* shortlived TV show of the late 80s called "Probe". They've also appeared in one of my X-Files fanfics, called "Access Denied". Michelle and Austin weren't married on the show, but there were indications their relationship was progressing in that direction.
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. Everyone from "The Lone Gunmen" is the property of Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. Characters from "Probe" are the property of Isaac Asimov.
Archive: Feel free to archive anywhere!
Feedback: If it's nice or contains *constructive* criticism, feedback is valued. I'd especially enjoying hearing from anybody else who has fond memories of "Probe".




I can't hack this. I've been trying for days. I guess I'm going to have to swallow my pride and go to the guys.

Hours later, I'm sitting with Jimmy and Byers while Frohike and Langley try to access the data. Finally, with a sigh, Langley stands up from the keyboard. "I can't do it," he says. "There's got to be a key, but I can't find it."

"Do you know of *anybody* who could?" I ask.

"Bill Gates, maybe," Frohike suggests. "Or maybe. . ." he glances over at Byers.

"Austin," Byers says decisively. "Sure, he could do it. But he's not going to do either of *you* two any favors. Not after your behavior the first time."

"Who's Austin?" Jimmy inquires.

"Austin James," Byers explains. "Founder of a Texas computer company called Serendip. Probably knows more about computers than Bill Gates and Steve Jobs put together."

"*THE* Austin James?" I echo. "I've heard of him. He's got a reputation for being a recluse. Are you saying you guys have actually met him?"

"Heck, I used to work with him," Byers says. "And he and Michelle helped Mulder and Scully out once. But then I made the mistake of taking Laurel and Hardy to Austin's lab. They each insulted his wife in their own unique ways and he tossed them out on their ears."

"What did they do?"

"Langley called her a moron and Frohike made a pass at her."

"Well, she *IS* a moron," Langley snaps.

"Michelle isn't a moron," Byers replies with a decisive shake of her head. "She's just technologically incompetent."

"Sounds like me," Jimmy says.

Langley glances over at Jimmy and starts to open his mouth, but Byers frowns and shakes his head again, so Langley remains silent.

"I didn't realize she was his wife," Frohike explains. "Nobody bothered to inform me ahead of time that we were meeting a married couple and Austin just introduced her as his liason. I figured that meant like a secretary or something."

"Liason to what?" I inquire.

"The rest of the human race," Byers says. "Austin is a brilliant man, but he has the social skills of an iguana. Michelle's a people person. Together they make a formidable team. . .not to mention a great marriage."

"So, will you take me to meet him, see if he can help us?"

Byers nods. "You and Jimmy. We'll leave for Texas first thing tomorrow morning."

***

Early the next day we're on a flight to Austin, Texas. I shudder slightly when I remember the last little adventure involving me, Byers, Jimmy and the State of Texas.

"I expect you two to be on your best behavior when we meet up with Austin and Michelle," Byers tells us sternly, as if Jimmy and I were a couple of unruly children.

"What should we keep in mind?" Jimmy asks.

"First, don't bring up the fact that his name is Austin and he lives in Austin. He's heard that observation a million times before. Secondly, do not refer to his wife as either a 'moron' or a 'babe'; ignore the fact that she's only a few years older than you are and treat her as if she's your mother. Third — this one applies to you, Yves — don't even think of trying to flirt with him."

I nod. "Can I ask you a couple of questions?"

"Of course."

"How old are they, anyway?"

"Austin's in his mid-40s; Michelle's about ten years younger. They've been married for nearly nine years and have two children under the age of five; a boy named Parker and a baby girl named Ashley."

"Why are we bringing Jimmy with us?"

"I was actually kind of wondering that myself," Jimmy adds.

Byers looks a bit embarrassed, but says, "Well, Michelle has kind of a. . .hobby. She enjoys matchmaking. She knows about Suzanne, so she doesn't ever try to fix me up. I figure you and Jimmy will keep her occupied."

"You mean I'm supposed to act as if he's my boyfriend?" I demand increduously.

"Not neccesarily," Byers replies. "In fact, Michelle will probably enjoy herself more if she thinks the two of you have never thought about each other in those terms before."

***

When we reach the James family's home, we're met by a locked gate and a taped message that demands the password.

"Peter, Peter, Pumpkin Eater," Byers replies.

"Who is this?" a male voice snaps.

"It's me, Austin; John Byers. I told you I was coming."

"Are you alone or did you bring Tweedledee and Tweedledum with you?"

"I didn't bring Frohike and Langley, but I'm not alone, either. I told you, I've got a girl who needs your help. And a young. . .associate. . .of mine is here, as well."

"I'm assuming that, unlike the last ones, these two are housebroken?"

"You have my word on that," Byers assures him.

"Enter," Austin snaps.

I explain my problem to Austin as soon as we enter his lab. It's apparently separate from the house, but connected by a breezeway. Austin plugs the disk I've brought into his computer and begins a rapid series of calculations. There is no sign of Michelle or their children. I've formed a certain mental picture of a woman who could be described as "technologically incompetent" but yet managed to capture the heart of a man who is a computer genius. My assumption is that she's got to be drop-dead gorgeous.

So when a woman — holding a baby on her hip and a little boy by the hand — walks in at dinnertime and announces it's time to eat, I assume she is probably a nanny or housekeeper. She's pretty enough, but not a swimsuit model by any stretch of the imagination. Then Byers jumps up and drops a kiss on her cheek. "Michelle! How are you?"

"Fine, Johnny," she replies. "Come on, we can catch up over supper; and you can introduce me to your friends."

"Let's eat, ladies and gentlemen," Austin says firmly, shepherding us all out of the lab and into the house.

"Michelle, this is Yves Harrow and Jimmy Bond," Byers says. "Yves and Jimmy, this is Michelle, Parker and Ashley James."

"Did the Master of Space and Time," Michelle indicates Austin with a jerk of her head, "help you with your problem?"

"I'm making progress on it, Michelle."

Just as we enter the kitchen, Parker runs ahead of us. "Wow, Mama, pisghetti! I want some!"

I watch in horror as the little boy reaches for the pot on top of the stove. "Parker, no!" both his parents call out in unison. But Austin is too far away to reach the child and Michelle would risk injuring their baby girl if she stepped in between her son and the scalding water. To my amazement, it's Jimmy who sees and reacts the quickest, grabbing the little boy with one arm and the boiling pot with the opposite hand.

Within moments, the danger is averted. Michelle has thrust Ashley into Byers' arms and led Jimmy to the sink, where she's putting his hand into a basin of cold water. Austin is holding his son in his arms, but telling him sternly that he must *NEVER* reach for something on the stove. I make myself useful in the only way I can think of, by wiping up the water that has spilled on the floor.

Michelle regains her composure first. "Johnny, go ahead and put Ashley in her high chair; Yves, you can help him if he needs it. Parker, come here and apologize to Mr. Bond and tell him thank you. He saved you from being very seriously hurt."

"Tank you, Mister Bond," Parker says. "I torry."

"It's okay, Parker," Jimmy assures him. "But your Daddy is right. You should never, ever touch things on the stove."

"Mama tolds me dat," Parker replied. "I forgetted."

"You gonna be okay?" Austin asks, joining Michelle and Jimmy at the sink.

"I'll live," Jimmy answers.

"Want us to run you up to the emergency room?" Austin inquires. For a man who is supposed to dislike human beings other than his wife and children, Austin is doing a remarkable job of showing empathy for Jimmy. On the other hand, maybe people who save his children from physical harm get a special dispensation.

"It's not necessary. If you have some antibiotic ointment and some sort of painkillers, it'll be okay."

"Right here," Michelle says, swinging open a high cabinet with a child safety latch on it. She spread ointment thickly on Jimmy's hand, then places a couple of extra-strength Tylenol in his other palm and gives him a glass of water.

Finally, we all sit down to eat. It's delicious and I say so.

"Thank you," Michelle replies. "I enjoy cooking."

"You do all this yourself? You don't have servants?"

"We have a housekeeper who comes in twice a week to do stuff like vacuuming, laundry and cleaning the bathrooms," she says. "And we have maintenance guys for the pool and yard. But I take care of my own children and do my own cooking."

"Jimmy, do you need any help with your meal?" Austin asks. "I noticed you were right-handed when we were in the lab and that's the hand you burned."

"No, I can eat okay with my left hand."

"Are you ambidextrous, Jimmy?" Byers asked.

"No, I only like women," Jimmy answers.

Michelle bursts into laughter at that remark. I open my mouth to snap that she shouldn't be laughing at a man who just injured himself saving her son, even if he does get his vocabulary words a bit mangled, but then catch sight of Jimmy's face. He's laughing right along with her, as though the two of them share some private joke. I suddenly realize that, in a way, they probably do. I wonder how many of Austin's associates other than Langley have called Michelle a moron? I bet she and Jimmy are both used to being assumed to be the stupidest person in the room. And, rather than resent it, they both seem to get a kick out of the fact that they're not quite as dumb as they're thought to be.

"Let me guess, Jimmy," Austin says. "You played some sort of sport — I'd guess football, by your build, but possibly baseball — at the collegiate level; maybe even professionallly."

"Right," Jimmy agrees. "Football quarterback of my high school and college teams. Then I was a third string back up on nearly every team in the NFL for a few years; I got traded so many times it got to where I had to go out and by a newspaper every morning just to remember what city I was in that month. How did you know?"

"You have an unusally high level of physical intelligence," Austin replies.

"You mean he has quick reflexes?" I inquire.

"It's more than that," Austin answers. "It's an ability to react to what he sees before his brain is finished processing it. I don't mean that as an insult. There are multiple varieties of intelligence, not just mental intelligence. Michelle, for instance, has an extremely high degree of emotional intelligence. She can be fooled by a false information on a computer or in a book, but people can't lie to her. She can always tell whether or not someone is telling the truth."

***

It's late by the time we finish up in the lab. I'm amazed that Austin was able to crack the encryption code in a few hours, after I messed with it for days and Langley and Frohike, together, couldn't make a dent in it after several hours. He's even better than I've always heard.

We wander back to the house and Michelle greets us with a smile. "How's your hand, Jimmy?"

"Okay. I think the painkillers have really kicked in. I'm sleepy."

"We'll head for a motel in just a minute, Jimmy," Byers tells him.

"No need," Michelle answers. "We've got two guest bedrooms; one has a queen-sized bed and the other has twin beds. Just feel free to set your own sleeping arrangements."

I start to ask her what she means — naturally the guys will take the room with two beds while I take the one with only one — but then I remember what Byers had said about her hobby of matchmaking. If it makes her happy to speculate on whether or not Jimmy and I might be sharing a bed, let her.

***

I'm in bed — alone — and almost asleep when I hear noise from the bathroom across the hall; a bumping sound and a muffled curse. I suspect it's Jimmy and get up to see what's going on.

"Jimmy?" I whisper. "What's wrong?"

"Hey, Yves," he whispers back. "Can you get this open for me? My hand's beginning to throb and, naturally, all the painkillers in the house have childproof caps on them."

"Sure," I say, twisting off the cap and putting two of them in his hand, then filling a Dixie cup with water and giving it to him. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Jimmy's eyebrow goes up a bit at that, as if he suspects a trick. "Really," I assure him. I'm honestly trying to be sweet here, but I behave this way so seldomly that I guess I can't blame Jimmy for being skeptical.

"Would you help me get my shirt off?" he asks. "I don't like sleeping with it on, but I couldn't manage the buttons with my fingers all greasy from ointment."

"Sure, but let's go over to my room. There's barely room for the two of us to fit in here." There seem to be about five bathrooms in this house, and most of them are spacious, but we happen to be standing in one that's narrow.

Once we're in my room, I quickly unbutton his shirt, then slide it carefully over his injured hand and toss it onto the end of my bed. Suddenly I realize I'm standing beside a rumpled bed with a nearly naked man in the middle of the night. I wait for Jimmy to make some sort of sexual innuendo, but all he says is "Thanks, Yves. Now if I can manage not to roll onto my hand, I can actually sleep."

It occurs to me that it might be difficult for a man of Jimmy's size to sleep in a single-width bed without reinjuring his hand. Without thinking, I blurt out, "Why don't you sleep in here?"

"Huh?"

"You can have this bed. I'll go sleep in the other twin bed. It's not like I'd be sleeping in the same bed with Byers, for heaven's sake, just the same room. He's hardly likely to leap across three feet of floor space and attack me in the middle of the night. He's not like that."

"Yeah, but he'd be embarrassed when he woke up the next morning and saw you in the same bedroom with him," Jimmy points out. "He's kind of old-fashioned about some stuff."

"Why don't we both sleep in here then?" I ask. What the hell has happened to me, I wonder? Usually I spend half my time fending *off* suggestions from one man or another that I share a bed with him. Now I'm suggesting it.

"Okay, if you want," Jimmy says with a shrug, as if it's a matter of complete indifference to him whether or not we sleep together. He slides into bed and gestures at the bedside lamp. "Turn off the light, will you?"

I lay down and turn my back toward him; within moments, I feel his hand on my hip. "What are you doing?" I hiss.

"Propping up my hand," he replies. "It hurts less if it's elevated."

His breathing evens out and I think he's fallen asleep when he mumbles, "Yves?"

"Mmm?"

"Why are you only sweet to me when I'm hurt?"

Oh, shit, Jimmy! Why can't you just try to probe my body, the way any other man who wasn't "ambidextrous" would? Why do you have to try to probe my psyche? "Go to sleep, Jimmy," I mutter in reply.

***

When I wake up the next morning, bright Texas sunshine is streaming in through the window and Jimmy has cocooned himself around me. There's no other word for it. His injured hand is still resting, palm up, on my hip. He's snaked his other arm beneath waist and is resting that hand just below my breasts. His legs are intertwined with mine. And something that is definitely *not* a gun in his pocket is poking into the small of my back.

I untangle myself from him slowly, being careful of his burn. Then, just as I walk out into the hall, Michelle comes up the stairs and Byers steps out of the bathroom. "Yves, have you seen Jimmy?" Byers asks.

"He's still sleeping," I reply.

"No, he's not. His bed is empty."

"His hand was bothering him in the middle of the night and I, uh," I jerk my head backwards in the direction of the room I just stepped out of. "Nothing *happened*," I state emphatically, as Byers stares at me with something like shock on his face and Michelle regards me with a gentle, amused expression.

"I didn't think it had," she says quietly. "He's hurt, after all. I'm sure you wouldn't take advantage of that."

I feel a childish desire to stomp my feet and snap that if anybody was trying to take advantage of anyone it was the other way around. But then I remember that it certainly hadn't been Jimmy's idea that we share a bed.

"I just came up to tell all of you that breakfast is ready," Michelle adds. "I made pancakes and bacon."

"Did somebody say pancakes?" Jimmy's sleepy voice rumbles.

Okay, this is too weird. I duck into the bathroom Byers has just vacated to grab a quick shower.

***

Later that morning, as we're leaving, I ask Austin for some advice on a programming problem I have. He listens carefully, then suggests a solution that would probably have taken me months to come up with on my own.

"Thank you," I say. "For everything. I won't take up any more of your time."

"Wait a minute," Austin says, detaining me with a hand on my shoulder. "You listened to the advice you asked for. Now you have to listened to the advice you didn't ask for."

"Of course," I nod.

"Two things: tell Jimmy whatever it is that you're keeping such a deep, dark secret."

"How do you know I'm hiding something?" I ask, startled.

Austin shrugs and the shadow of a smile flickers across his face. "Michelle told me. Like I said, people can't lie to her. Not even non-verbally. She knows there's something about you that you don't want people to know. There's no reason you should tell her, or me or even Byers. But tell Jimmy. Whatever it is, he'll understand."

"Michelle tell you that, too?" I inquire.

"Yeah."

"You said there were two things?"

"If he ever asks you to marry him, say yes."

Before I can respond to that, Austin opens the door and helps me in, then turns and walks away.


Author's e-mail addy: tapw63@yahoo.com

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