PLEASE NOTE: I'm posting this story for Summer, who would love to hear from you at summer@camelot.bradley.edu. Please e-mail her with your comments and not me :) Thanks.... *********************************************************************************** Subject: NEW > Jeans & Fishnets < (1/4) Date: Thu, 7 Sep 1995 19:23:07 -0500 (CDT) _The X-Files_: all characters copyright Chris Carter and Ten Thirteen Productions. They shouldn't have made up something so cool if they didn't want us to write fan fiction about it. However, i don't really want to upset them, so no infringement upon their copyrights is intended. All non-_X-Files_ characters and situations are MINE MINE MINE! There IS a little **adult language** in this story. SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully hang out together on a Sunday. A zillion thanks and raining roses on Saint Susan L. who posts these here for me since my evil server won't let me do it myself! Since i produce a zine (DAZE, available from 818 N. Race St. / Princeton, IN / 47670) i am _very_ supportive of all fanzine efforts; if anyone wishes to reprint this story in a fanzine, go for it! (Just leave my name on it and tell me, please.) That everything? Okay, here's the story. Blue Jeans and Fishnet Stockings An X-Files Story by Summer Special Agent Fox Mulder pulled open the car door with a flourish and swung into the driver's seat, throwing his duffle bag into the floor space in back. The first touches of spring were blooming, even in the heart of Washington, D.C.; the bright sun and cool breeze combined to create a beautiful afternoon. Even Mulder couldn't help but feel pretty good on a day like this. He rolled down the windows, then selected a tape from the plastic box he'd jammed between the driver's and passenger's seats, dis- lodging the crumpled package that had contained his breakfast. Mulder reached back and plucked the fast food wrapper from under the passenger seat where it had rolled. There was another crumpled mass of paper under there, crammed between the seat and the door jamb. He extracted it gingerly and smoothed it out to discover two sheets of paper covered with neatly penned figures. He hauled his duffle bag out of the back and fished around for his cellular phone. First number on the speed dialler... "Hello?" "Hey Scully. You busy?" "I'm just cleaning up breakfast dishes," she answered. Mulder checked his watch. "It's past noon." "It's Sunday," she replied, as though that explained everything. "Uh-huh. Have you re-done the budget sheets we lost yet?" "No, I've been putting it off all weekend," Scully sighed. "Why?" He grinned. "Found 'em." "You found them? Really? Where were they?" "In my car, stuck under the seat." "How'd they get there?" "I'm not sure you want to hear my theory." She chuckled. "You're right. If I'm going to listen to your theories, I'm going to get paid for it. Tell me tomorrow." "So should I hang on to these? Or I could swing by and give them to you now if you want." "Skinner said he might have something for us tomorrow, right? I'd better finish this up tonight in case he sends us out on a new assignment. Bring 'em over, I guess, if it's no trouble." "No problem. Actually I've got some time, I could stick around and help you crunch numbers for a while. You gave me a hand on the budget last time. Only fair." "Would you? Thanks, Mulder. I really want to get this paperwork out of the way." "Hey, that's what partners are for. I'll be over in a little while." "Okay, see you." Mulder tossed the phone onto the seat beside him, turned the key in the ignition, and popped a tape into the stereo. Soon he was cruising through the midday traffic, tapping the steering wheel and mouthing the words along with Warren Zevon. "I wanna live all alone in the desert, I wanna be like Georgia O'Keefe, I wanna live on the Upper East Side, And never go down in the street; Splendid isolation, I don't need no one; Splendid isolation--" He frowned at the tape player and hit fast forward to the next song. "The whistle blows and the factories close, There's a million more commuters on the access roads, The brake lights flash, there's an RV crashed, I'm in the passing lane going nowhere fast..." Mulder nodded. Much better. Dana Scully was dumping the last of the breakfast dishes into the steaming water when she heard a rhythmic tapping noise. She glided into the living room and peered through the peephole as the tapping turned into a bona fide knock. Scully opened the door at once, bringing her partner stumbling in; Mulder had leaned against the door just as she opened it. She suppressed a startled laugh as her partner regained his aplomb and handed her two sheets of wrinkled, grubby paper. "Speedy delivery," he smirked as she nudged the door shut behind him, scanning the papers. "I'm so glad I don't have to look all this up again!" Scully exulted. "It's all there?" "Yep," she gloated. Her eyes shifted from the numbers to her partner as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "Mulder, what happened to your jeans?" He examined the clothing in question. "They're old," he shrugged. "They have holes in them!" "Yeah... well... I've just been playing basketball," he said. Scully sniffed conspicuously, drawing a grin from her partner. "I showered and changed clothes, but I'm wearing the same jeans because these are the only clean pair I have right now." "Laundry!" she said abruptly, with an air of realization. "Yes..." he replied uncertainly as she dropped the papers onto her couch and rushed back into her spare room. "Forgot about some clothes, huh?" he asked the empty room. "That's okay. Don't mind me. I can wait." Mulder kicked his way over the thick carpeting to thump onto the couch. The television was on, but muted; he blinked with disbelief. Scully had a videotape of a Garfield Christmas special playing. With the sound off. He checked the date window on his watch. It was indeed March, just as he had thought. There was a cardboard box of videotapes sitting next to the couch. Mulder poked around in it without actively disturbing its contents. Most of them were cryptically marked with words like "Xmas '86 at Gramma's", "New Apt." and "Grad. '87". Scully's father must have videotaped every conceivable milestone in his daughter's life. Whoa... this one he was willing to bet had NOT been taped by Captain Scully. It was marked on the side with letters that looked like dripping blood: "Rocky". Mulder gave in to temptation and took the cassette out of the box. The tape case had a piece of posterboard pasted to the front. It read "CONGRATULATIONS DANA! We'll miss you..." and below that, "Tell us about it, Janet." There was a passable likeness of Scully drawn in the center, wearing a cap and gown. Mulder's eyebrows shot up; the gown was hitched up to the cartooned Scully's hip, revealing a shapely pair of legs in fishnet stockings. She was winking, and a word balloon above her said "My mind has been expanded!" Mulder shook his head and turned the tape over. Another posterboard. Written at the top was "LOOK, IT'S THE ROCKETTES B SQUAD! (Uh, make that the F Squad.)" This one was covered with signatures saying things like "We'll miss you Morticia, Love Eddie" and "Good luck to our favorite redheaded Rockette, Take Care, Kendall (Magenta)". At the very bottom was an inscription reading "If it's not easy having a good time, how did we manage to have so many? Good luck with all the future holds, Dana. With love from the Rockettes." Scully came back with an apologetic expression. "I forgot I had clothes in the washer," she explained sheepishly. "What's that you're looking at?" "That's what I've been trying to figure out," Mulder replied with consternation. She came around to look over his shoulder. "Oh! I wondered if that was in there!" She took it and looked at the signatures fondly. "Some of my friends in college gave me this as a graduation present." "I had no idea you were such a big Stallone fan." Scully glanced at him with amusement. "Wrong Rocky, Mulder. This is a copy of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. These," she indicated the box with her foot, "are old tapes my mother found cleaning out the closets; I left them when I was home the summer between college and med school. I've been going through them to see what's on them..." "Garfield's on the one you have in. It looked like a Christmas thing," Mulder informed her, relieved that there was a justification for the unseasonable cartoon. "Is it? I love Garfield. I may keep that." Scully looked at the screen. "What's this?" Mulder didn't know. He was digesting the fact that his long-time partner loved Garfield. Garfield?! Well, hm. Small, orange, and cynical. Okay, he could see how Scully might like Garfield. Stating the resemblance out loud, however, would not be wise. Scully was a doctor and Mulder was sure she knew lots of fascinating ways to inflict pain without leaving a mark. She could make him watch the Garfield Christmas special, for example. Scully un-muted the television, watching as a man and woman dressed in ritzy seventies outfits chit-chatted. Mulder looked on with strained good humor. At least it wasn't Garfield. "I remember what this is!" she exclaimed as the scene changed to a cafe and the camera zeroed in on a different man with curly brown hair wearing a topcoat and a ridiculously long scarf. "It's Dr. Who!" Mulder leaned forward on the couch. "No way! I love this show. I watched it faithfully the entire time I was at Oxford." "How did you have time to watch anything faithfully in college?" Scully asked pointedly. "Okay, I taped it faithfully," Mulder amended. "Looks like I wasn't the only one." She shrugged. "I did a project my senior year using this as a resource." "Your instructor let you use Dr. Who as a resource for a project? Now THAT's an X- File." Scully turned the tape in her hands thoughtfully. "It was a research project tracing ideas considered valid by current science that were originally created or inspired by science fiction." "Yeah? That's a great idea. Do you still have the paper? I'd like to see it." "I think my mom has it packed away somewhere," Scully said, suddenly focussing her attention on the tape she held. Until that moment, she'd all but forgotten about the saucy portrait of her that had been drawn on the case. "Oh yeah," Mulder grinned as she noticed it at last, "I was gonna ask you about that..." She fixed him with a stern no-nonsense expression. "What were you going to ask?" Danger, Will Robinson, danger! This called for a little evasion on his part. Mulder assumed his most concrete deadpan and asked, "Can I borrow your fishnets?" Scully stared a good five seconds before a gorgeous, enormous smile surfaced. Mulder had seen that smile a few times before and got a lot of mileage out of it. He could go a long time on one of those smiles; good thing, too, because she didn't let them loose often. "I'll get you some of your own for your birthday," she returned. "What size?" He drew a blank and sidestepped. "The problem is, I just don't know... do fishnets go with a red garter belt?" "Fishnets go with anything," Scully parried. "That must be why you wear them to work so often." "Must be," she agreed blandly. "And they're really very comfortable under slacks." Score one for her, Mulder thought ruefully; she could easily be wearing fishnet stockings under those sensible suits, for all he knew. "Great, then I could wear them on the job, no problem?" "Well, you'd have an interesting time in the men's room, I'm sure, but other than that--" "I'm not worried. No one said anything about the chastity belt." Scully broke down laughing. "Okay, okay, I'll tell you, before you start making up stories about wearing a chastity belt to work..." "Sure! Don't you remember that day I was walking around, clank, clank, clank--" She hurled a throw pillow at him. "Just ask whatever you wanted to know, Mulder." "Rocky Horror Picture Show. That's some kind of cult movie, right?" "Right." "All this time chasing cults-- you never told me you were in one, Scully." She did an excellent impression of the Sphinx. "So what's the movie about? Can we watch it?" "It's not really about anything," Scully shrugged, "and this is a Saturday night kind of thing. I think it might be breaking a law somehow to show this movie on a Sunday afternoon." "Sounds like my kind of film," he joked, then caught the slip. He'd left himself wide open for a hit; Scully was certain to get in a good dig on those `tapes that aren't yours' in his desk. She looked askance at him and, oddly enough, passed up the opportunity. "You might like it. It's certainly strange enough for you. Really, I'm surprised you've never seen it, considering your affection for cheesy movies." "I missed this one, I guess." "Funny. Because if it had any kind of plot-- it doesn't, but if it did, it would be about these aliens who are trying to invade Earth." "Now I'm really curious," he said, genuinely intrigued. "Rent it," she suggested cheekily. "I can't borrow your copy?" "So I can find Xeroxes of the cover all over the office tomorrow? I don't think so." "You wound me, Scully. I'd keep the Xeroxes for future blackmail purposes," Mulder grinned. "I'm sure there's a story behind that tape case." "Yep," she stonewalled. "What if I just borrowed the tape, and not the case?" "Sorry, Mulder." He regarded her suspiciously. "What's really on that videotape?" "The Rocky Horror Picture Show," she answered angelically. Mulder's eyes narrowed. He called up every memory he could summon regarding the movie and came to the conclusion that... "You were in it!" Scully's expression took on a resigned cast. "Yeah," she admitted, "I was Janet in the stage show." "What does that involve, anyway?" "The movie was shown on the screen while we performed along with it on the stage," she sighed. "I saw it the first time my freshman year of college, led the audience participation as a sophomore, and played Janet my last two years. It was a: lot of fun." "And that tape has you in the stage show on it?" Scully hid the tape behind her back. "Yes." Mulder eased back to recline on the couch, stretching his long legs out casually. "You know I'm going to see it eventually." "No way," Scully replied with conviction. "Ah, now that I know about it, there's no avoiding it. You know how persistent I am. Might as well just let me see it now." "It's not going to happen, Mulder." "Why not?" "There's no way I'm giving you that kind of ammunition," Scully said accusingly. "Ammunition? Scully, I promise I wouldn't make fun of you. Honest." She just glared. "Cross my heart," he swore. She seemed to be on the verge of relenting when the videotape playing on the television switched from Dr. Who to another cartoon Christmas special. "Ooh, Cathy! My favorite," Mulder laughed, then bit his lip as Scully nodded sarcastically. "Cross what heart?" she muttered. "C'mon, Scully. I'm sorry. Extenuating circumstances. I wouldn't say a word about your movie. Please." "Not in this life, Mulder." "You think I'll get another chance if I improve my karma?" he asked. "Look--" she began, but cut off when his cellular phone queeped from his pocket. He dug it out and answered with his usual brusque "Mulder." "Hey, Mulder." "Oh, hi, Frohike," Mulder grinned broadly as Scully's lips pressed together in annoyance. "What's up?" "Well, I'm afraid the evening's festivities have been cancelled. Byers and Langly got in a big argument over the rules and they're not speaking to each other." "You're kidding! What were they fighting about?" "Byers thinks we should play using only the evidence we're familiar with in real life. Langly thinks anything we've got a theory for goes. They'll get over it in a while, but in the meantime, it's pretty tense around here." "Great," Mulder frowned fiercely. "What is it?" Scully asked, worried. Frohike seized upon the sound of her voice. "Oh my, is that the lovely Agent Scully I hear in the background?" "Uh, no, that's not Scully," Mulder lied, "it's... someone else," he concluded lamely. "Oh, right," Frohike laughed, "another woman? Good one. Tell Scully that any time she gets sick of you, I'll gladly join the FBI if I get to be her partner. Don't suppose I can persuade you to give her the phone." "'Fraid not." Frohike gave an exagerrated sigh. "Unrequited love sucks," he said. "Sorry 'bout the game, Mulder. See ya." "See ya." Mulder pushed the antenna down glumly. "There go my plans for the evening." "Your date with Frohike fell through?" Scully asked with a hint of mischief. He scowled. "I was gonna play a game of True-reau 13 with the guys at the Lone Gunman." "_What_ 13?" "Oh. It's a role-playing game... sort of. There's an RPG called Bureau 13--" "Which is basically about what we do every day," Scully completed drily. "You're familiar with it," he looked at her inquisitively. Garfield, fishnets, role- playing games... Scully was just full of surprises today. "Can anyone get through college without getting snagged into at least one RPG?" she shrugged. "Actually, I never played Bureau 13, I just heard about it." "Well, they play it a little differently," Mulder explained. "Instead of investigating the fictional cases in the game, they role-play investigating actual cases of paranormal activity and conspiracy." Scully's face was a study in blank astonishment. "You were going to play a game that's exactly the same thing you do at work?" "Why not? Accountants play Monopoly. I told the guys I'd give them a few tips to add verisimilitude." She threw up her hands in exasperation. "I give up, Mulder. You're a lost cause." "Yeah, I know." The mingled resignation, affection, and slight sadness in his tone were subtle, but Scully knew him. She put aside her adversarial inclinations, switching to a gentler teasing tone. "So what happened? Did they read the latest World Weekly News and decide to prepare for Armageddon instead?" "Don't be silly, Scully. According to World Weekly News, we still have another five years." Mulder absently pulled at loose threads hanging from the holes in his jeans, unravelling them further at the knees. "Although it may be a sign of the end of the world-- Langly and Byers aren't speaking to each other. They got into a fight about the rules, so the game is off." "Sorry your plans were cancelled," Scully sympathized. "Yeah. Oh, and Frohike sends his regards and says that any time you get sick of me, he's ready to join the FBI." Scully rolled her eyes. "Tell him I'm in no danger of getting sick of you any time soon." "I'm touched," he drawled. "In the head," she needled. "Where's my laptop? You can help me do the budget." Scully never thought she'd be thankful for the dull necessity of the quarterly budget, but it gave her partner an excellent excuse to stay without crossing any of the lines they had drawn over the course of their partnership. Sometimes Scully felt that she and Mulder had become eerily symbiotic; if Mulder left, she knew he would go home, sack out on the couch, and sink into a morass of doubt and depression-- and knowing that, Scully would also be miserable for the rest of the evening. Thank you, Mr. Budget. Mulder met her eyes; he knew what she was thinking, and his slight nod thanked her for it even as he mumbled "What fun!" and took up the two grotty pages of numbers. "Let's start with the medical..." She examined the numbers crowded onto the sheets he handed her. "On second thought, let's start with the travel expenses." "Don't suppose we can watch that tape while we're working?" "Dream on, Mulder." "I'm going to do half the budget even though it's your turn," he reminded her. "Good karma." "You can pick out some music or something if you want." "Scant consolation," he complained, but he stood and wandered over to her stereo, perusing the CD rack. "What's Mazzy Star?" he asked. "Moody band, acoustic guitar, strings, female singer. Kind of sleepy and romantic." "Isn't that a contradiction in terms?" He skimmed past Seal and Shakespear's Sister to encounter several Smiths albums. "Hey, the Smiths! Morrissey was pretty big with my friends at Oxford." Scully made a 'hmm'ing sound that he translated under his breath: "Feel free to talk all you like, Mulder, I'm not listening..." he glanced at the smooth bob of coppery hair bent over the computer. No response. "Don't mind if I do," he tested. "Mm-hmm." Mulder returned to the CD rack. "They Might Be Giants? My oh my. Who's Tim Finn?" That brought her attention back to him. "One of the most underrated singer/songwriters around. No one listens to really GOOD music," she sniped. "Uh-huh," he said, taken aback. He checked something. The CDs were, of course, in alphabetical order by the artist's name, but, "You have him filed under T." "Right. T for Tim." Her fingers clacked the keys of her laptop. "Every other artist is under their last name. Well, the ones that have last names," he corrected, noticing that there weren't many in her collection. "Here's Peter Murphy right after Mazzy Star. What? None of Morrissey's solo work? What kind of Smiths fan ARE you?" "I've never forgiven him for breaking up the band," she said briskly, leafing through some of the budget sheets that HADN'T spent the past week stuffed in a corner of her partner's car. " 'If you're wondering why, when all I wanted from life was to be famous'," Mulder quoted sardonically. "Hm, Erasure... why is that familiar?" He slid the CD from the rack and checked the track listing. "Ah, they did `Always'-- I love that song. Here we go." He fiddled with the player a bit, finally coaxing it to play, and settled on the couch again as the quirky synthesizer music began. "Okay, hand me the medical records, I'll tackle those." Scully thrust the assorted pages at him. "Knock yourself out." "Then I'd have to add another medical expenditure. Calculator?" "On the coffee table, should be under the TV listings." "Disguised as a remote control, no doubt." He dug around in the detritus on the coffee table and came up with the calculator, humming with the music. 'When it's cold outside, am I here in vain? Hold on to the night, there will be no shame; always I want to be with you...' Mulder arranged the calculator and papers on the arm of the couch and got to work. *********************************************************** end of part 1/4