Title: Welcome to New Rochelle
 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