Conspiracy Not Included
BySummer
summer@camelot.bradley.edu
Date: Sun, 15 Oct 1995
Here i go again...
_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.
Summary: Mulder and Scully are propelled into a series of
bewilderingly banal encounters when their rental car gets a flat.
Rated PG for realistic language. Believe it or not, this story DOES
have a point eventually.
I love mail. More to the point, i ANSWER mail. All comments to
summer@camelot.bradley.edu, please. I don't care if it's the year 1999
and you're reading this off the archives. Write me!
Saint Susan, soon to be upgraded to goddess for her good deeds,
posts my stuff for me, bless her-- thank you Susan!
*********************************************
Conspiracy Not Included
An X-Files Thing
by Summer
"Dammit! I knew I should have gotten that spare tire fixed..."
"Mulder. Please tell me you're kidding."
"How many rental cars have we driven in the past two years? How
many? And the one time I don't insist on getting the spare tire
fixed--"
"You're not kidding?"
"Scully, I don't have THAT twisted a sense of humor. I'm not
kidding, the spare really is flat, and the tire's blown..."
Special Agent Dana Scully groaned and opened her car door. "Oh
my god. Mulder, how did this happen? The tire's off the rim. How did
you manage to rip it like that?"
"Get back in the car, Scully, it's pouring!" Mulder was already
scrambling out, fumbling with the umbrella. He circled around to where
his partner crouched examining the front right tire, and opened the
umbrella over their heads.
"Look at that! Tires don't tear like that. I'm sure they said so
in one of my physics classes. What are tires made out of?"
Mulder blinked at his partner. "Um. Rubber?"
"Well, rubber doesn't tear. It bounces. This," Scully tapped
the massacred tire none too gently with the toe of her beige pumps,
"this is impossible."
"Are you saying it's an X-File?" Mulder asked, a hint of humor
creeping into his voice.
"Why not? We've investigated things on much less evidence."
Scully glared at her partner, daring him to say something.
Mulder sighed. He'd dragged Scully on their latest case to
look into an `angel' sighting that he was sure was actually an alien
ship. A dying man of ninety-five had disappeared during the sighting,
and Mulder suspected that the man had been abducted from his room at
the nursing home.
But the witnesses to the event weren't interested in talking
to the FBI; they were occupied with plans for talk show appearances
and book deals revolving around `the mystery of the angel'. After four
days of Mulder's famous persistance got them nowhere, even he had to
admit what Scully asserted from the start: there was simply no way to
prove that his theory was correct. The man was being presumed dead,
and since he had outlived his family and friends, there was no one to
object. No one but Special Agent Fox Mulder... but with minimal clues
and zero resources, even Mulder had to give up.
Particularly when Assistant Director Walter Skinner called
them back to Washington to take on an `urgent' case that the AD was
`not at liberty to discuss' over the phone. Mulder hoped the tow truck
wouldn't make them late for their appointment with Skinner.
"Well, fortunately," Mulder said, pulling out his trusty cell
phone, "my triple-A membership is good. Get back in the car, Scully,
we'll just have to wait a while..."
"Unfortunately," Scully informed him as he put the phone to
his ear, "we're in the middle of Nowhere, Nebraska. There's no
cellular coverage here."
Mulder stared at his cell phone, betrayed. "No coverage?" She
was right, there was nothing at all on the line.
His partner glared at the tire. "And the one time you don't
fix the spare is also the one time neither of us wears our coats."
"It's been nice lately."
"It's cold now. How long has it been since we passed a town?"
"A town? Out here?" Mulder shook his head as drops of rain
slithered down his hair and into his collar. "We're lucky there was a
road. In Nebraska, they just give you a scythe and send you into the
wilderness."
Scully reached back into the car and unfolded the crinkly map.
"This says there's a little town five miles up the road... seriously,
Mulder, how long since we passed anything?"
"I don't know. The sun was setting, it must have been around
seven or so."
"Then it looks like we're walking north." Scully tugged the
keys from the ignition and circled to open the trunk; she stepped from
her pumps into the sneakers she pulled from her suitcase.
Mulder pressed his lips together in a thin, frustrated line.
"I can't believe this is happening to us," he complained as he reached
into the trunk for his own tennis shoes.
"We've been swarmed by pre-historic bugs, attacked by genetic
mutants, and tied up by Satanic schoolteachers, Mulder. It was only a
matter of time before we got a flat tire." Scully slammed the trunk
shut, draping the sweatshirt from her overnight bag over her head.
"Yeah, but you'd think with all those big catastrophes, the
odds would be on our side for little things like flats."
"You call a five-mile walk in this rain a little thing?"
Scully fumed.
Her partner regarded her with a mixture of affection and fear.
"Look, why don't you stay in the car? There's no point in both of us
getting wet."
Mulder could have sworn her mouth twitched just a little as
Scully shook her head, "Absolutely not. With our luck, you'll be
whapped over the head and spirited away by men in black, the car will
fall through a time warp with me in it, and we'll both wind up lost in
space."
"I thought time was a universal constant," Mulder reminded
her.
"Not in this zip code," Scully replied, hefting her satchel
from the car. "C'mon, we've got a long walk ahead of us."
Scully didn't know how right she was. She and Mulder trudged
endlessly along the road while the rain roared down around them. They
walked on the asphalt, and the rain bounced up and soaked them to the
knees. They tried walking by the roadside, but the plants whipped
water at them from below and the trees deluged them from above.
Mulder held the umbrella too high, and Scully got drenched.
She tried holding the umbrella, but her arm got tired from lifting it
high enough to keep it from chewing up her partner's hair in the
spokes. More than once she wished she had left the satchel in the
car, the files within be damned. And Mulder kept trying to be polite
and take the bag from her. Scully didn't want him to be considerate,
she wanted him to be insensitive so she'd have another reason to be
mad at him for getting them into this mess.
A fat drop of water rolled off the umbrella and plopped on
Scully's nose; she inhaled reflexively and breathed in rain, sneezed,
and coughed. She snarled and fired off an opening salvo. "From now on
I'm checking the spare."
"Come on, Scully, the ONE time I didn't catch it. Give me a
break."
"This IS your break. The fact that I haven't beaten you silly
with the umbrella for making me walk in this storm qualifies as one
hell of a break, Mulder."
"In case you hadn't noticed, I have to walk in it too. You
could have stayed in the car."
"If I'd stayed behind, you would have slipped and broken your
neck by now or something. Haven't you noticed that every time you go
off on your own you end up mortally wounded?"
"I can take care of myself, Scully," he replied, increasingly
irked. "You know, I did just fine on my own before you came along."
The instant he said it, Mulder felt a horrible chill seep
through his skin, a far deeper cold than anything caused by wind or
rain. His partner's eyes were wide as she stared straight ahead, her
face a mask.
Finally he managed to say, "God, Scully, I'm sorry."
She turned her gaze on him, practically stabbing him with her
blue eyes. "Right," she said, and looked ahead again.
"I didn't mean--"
"Just shut up, Mulder."
He was torn between trying to apologize again or throwing it
in her face that she'd been the one who wanted to argue. Mulder
waited, marshalled his thoughts and his courage, and spoke again.
"No. Listen. I didn't do just fine on my own. I was miserable.
I hated my co-workers. I hated my boss. I hated my job. The only thing
that kept me going was looking for my sister, and even that was--" he
took a breath, finding the strength to admit the frightening truth.
"Even that was more habit and compulsion than anything else." Mulder
stopped, looking down at his soaked tennis shoes. "I couldn't keep
going without you. I'm sorry."
Scully studied him for a moment. She took the umbrella from
her partner's hand and held her satchel out. "Here. Let's trade for a
little while."
Mulder shouldered her bag with a smile.
She added, "I'm still checking the spare next time."
He chuckled. "Scully, if you want, you can get under there and
tune up the car."
================================================
part 2 of Summer's story--all comments to summer@camelot.bradley.edu
******************************************************
Disclaimer in part 1, but i want to repeat: thank you Susan
for posting for me!
Conspiracy Not Included
An X-Files Thing
by Summer
part 2
"Okay. `The rain falls hard on a humdrum town, this town can
drag you down--'"
"Easy. `William, It Was Really Nothing' by the Smiths. Um...
`The seaweed is always greener, in somebody else's lake. You dream
about going up there, but that is a big mistake. Just look at the
world around you, right here on the ocean floor--'"
"Oh, `Under the Sea' from _The Little Mermaid_. But Scully,
that doesn't count. Songs that have to do with rain and water, we
said."
"The sea is water, Mulder."
"But if we include songs about the sea I don't have a chance,
not with all those Navy songs you grew up with!"
"You should have said something about it when we agreed on the
rules, then."
"I'm doomed," he sulked. Mulder's shoes squelched with every
step they took. Both agents were completely soaked, and the end-of-
the-world deluge pouring down on them showed no sign of abating.
"Oh, fine, Mulder, we'll stick to rain and water." Scully
pursed her lips, considering. "`Here comes the rain again, falling on
my head like a memory, falling on my head like a new emotion. Talk to
me, like lovers do. Walk with me, like lovers do...'"
Mulder slid a sly smile her way and said, "That was a
giveaway." At her indignant look, he added, "After all, you sang the
title. `Here Comes the Rain Again'. Eurythmics. `Somebody's face has
just been washed off the pavement into a puddle where petrol will be
poisoned by rain. Miss MacBeth saw her reflection as confetti bled
its colors down the drain...'."
"Score one for you, Mulder, I've never-- no, wait, it's by
Elvis Costello, isn't it?"
"Hey! Look up there!"
Scully followed Mulder's wild gesture up the road. A blue and
red light shone far ahead. "Ah, finally," she sighed. "This place had
better be open."
"Right now I'd settle for an awning to stand under for a
little while, so we don't get rained on."
"I wouldn't," Scully replied. "I want a phone. And a drink."
"Then you're in luck," Mulder said, peering ahead. "It looks
like it's a bar."
"How can you tell from here?"
"I can spot a bar at five hundred paces," he replied. "It's
your turn."
"`This is my five-string serenade; beneath the water it's
played. And while I'm playing for you, it could be raining there
too. And on my easel I drew, while I was thinking of you...'"
"Ah," Mulder snapped his fingers, "it's that one band you
like, the sleepy one. Something star, right? `Five-String Serenade' by
Mazzy Star."
"I'm impressed, Mulder." Scully hauled her satchel up her
shoulder again, gazing longingly toward the neon glow ahead. "Your
turn."
"Ummm... ah-hah. `I've given you levels of moisture from
desert to mud, I've given you growth lights and mineral supplements,
what do you want from me, blood?--"
"Hey, if I can't do sea songs, you can't get away with just
`moisture'," Scully protested, "you have to--"
Mulder put up his hand to halt her and continued, "`I've given
you sunlight. I've given you RAIN.'" She rolled her eyes at him as he
finished with satisfaction, "`Looks like you're not happy 'less I open
a vein; I'll give you a few drops, if that'll appease...'"
Scully grimaced. "I know I know this one. It's that thing with
the big plant that takes over the world, what the hell is the name of
that show? _Little Shop of Horrors_! I thought you didn't like
musicals."
"_Little Shop of Horrors_ is no mere musical. It's a
masterpiece."
"`Grow for Me', that's the song. Which do you like better, the
vaguely ominous ending of the movie version, or the all-hell-breaks-
loose ending in the stage version?"
"What do YOU think?"
"Oh, of course. All hell breaks loose."
"Of course." Mulder shook his head as Scully returned to her
rapt contemplation of the lights up ahead. "You know, it would be
point- less and silly for us to run to that bar. We're already
completely wet. We'd probably just slip if we tried to hurry. Or
maybe those lights are just a mirage." Hey, this skeptic thing wasn't
as hard he'd thought.
Scully turned her attention back to him. "I want COFFEE," she
answered plaintively.
"Okay," he shrugged, "we run." Mulder closed up the umbrella
and the two FBI agents rushed up the road to the lights, which
resolved into a neon sign reading `Four Aces Bar'.
They both crowded into the doorway out of the rain, panting
and spluttering. Scully sneezed and wrung out her shoulder-length red
hair. Mulder just leaned over and ruffled his hand through his short
brown hair, finally shaking his head to send droplets everywhere--
sprinkling his partner as well. She scowled at him and wiped at her
face with chilled hands while Mulder attempted to smooth his hair back
down and failed completely.
Scully tucked away a smile at her partner's haphazard
appearance. From what she could see in the bar's filmy windows, she
looked like a half-drowned cat herself. Finally they had squeezed as
much water as possible from their clothes; Mulder opened the door and
they stepped inside.
Typical small-town bar, Mulder observed; low glaring lights,
rows of dusty racked glasses, a paunchy bartender and one lone patron
wearing a grimy baseball cap. The bell on the door rang, dissonant
against the country music lulling from the jukebox.
Both bartender and patron's heads swiveled to stare at the two
bedraggled people at the door. The bartender finished polishing the
shot glass in his hand and added it to the row above his head.
"Car troubles?" he asked laconically.
"Flat tire," Mulder agreed. "Use your phone?"
"Back there," the bartender said, jerking his head toward an
alcove on the far side of the bar.
Mulder shuffled in his pockets for change; Scully tapped his
arm and dropped a quarter into his hand. He glanced at her with
bemusement and went to call Triple-A.
Scully went to the bar, thumping her satchel onto a stool.
"Can I get a cup of coffee?" she asked.
"Sure," the bartender replied. "If you don't mind a bit of a
wait."
"That's fine," she sighed.
The bartender nodded and turned to busy himself with the
coffeemaker.
The sole customer smiled at her. "Why don't I buy you a
whisky, instead? That'll warm ya up." He winked.
"Thanks, no," Scully said, in the tone she'd perfected at the
FBI academy: friendly but dismissive.
The man was too drunk to notice her disinterest, or if he did,
he didn't care. "C'mon, sweetie," he said, "must be cold out there,
raining like that. That boyfriend of yours ain't doing nothing to keep
you warm."
"Leave 'er alone, Jim," the bartender called over his
shoulder.
Scully checked the files in her satchel to make sure nothing
inside had been rained on; the notepad she'd stuffed in the outside
pocket was soggy, but everything else was fine.
"Y'know, they get wet t-shirt contests in here now and
then. George, I think this little lady deserves a prize." Jim adjusted
his baseball cap and chuckled at his own wit.
Mulder, returning from the phone, caught that remark, gave
Scully a pained look and started to say something. She stopped him
with a glare.
"That's real sweet," she said to Jim with an exagerrated
twang, "and ordinarily I'd have you buy me a drink, hon, but I'm on
duty right now." Scully flicked back her jacket to reveal her gun in
its holster. "Sorry, sweetie."
Jim's eyes went wide and clearer. "I sure am sorry, ma'am, I
din't mean no harm--"
"Don't worry about it," she dismissed.
The bartender came to hand Scully a pair of large styrofoam
cups. "You two with the gov'ment?"
"FBI," Scully affirmed. "How much?"
"Ah, no problem," he waved away. "Taxpayer money anyway."
She nodded, "Thanks," and gave Mulder the cups, hefting her
satchel and walking back to a booth near the jukebox. "When's the tow
truck showing up?"
"Not until six," Mulder grimaced. "I hope you have five hours'
worth of quarters with you for the jukebox, or else we're in for a
really long wait."
Scully checked her watch. "Well," she said in an attempt at
optimism, "at least we're not getting rained on anymore."
"What was that," he added, nodding to the bar, "someone else
makes a cheap comment and I get a dirty look?"
"I'm a big girl, Mulder. I did just fine before you came
along."
Mulder winced. "I said I was sorry--"
"Anyway, if you start trying to defend my honor I may have to
shoot you again. He's just drunk."
"How do you know I was going to defend you? Maybe I was going
to agree with him," Mulder smirked.
She glared at him again and fished in her pocket, drawing out
another quarter and pushing out of the booth to peruse the scant
selection of music on the jukebox.
Mulder joined her, looking over the small cards in their
slots. "This is a nice old machine," he observed.
"Reminds me of the ones in the bowling alleys on Navy bases,"
Scully answered, running one finger down the list of Roy Acuff, Hank
Williams, Johnny Cash. "These are all country songs."
"No taste for Merle Haggard? I didn't know you bowled."
"I didn't, Bill did. I got dragged along a few times, that's
all. Mom would give me a handful of change and the whole time I was
there, I just listened to the jukebox. Or played pool."
"You shoot pool?"
"Used to. I got pretty good at it when I was, I don't know,
twelve, maybe? Then Bill discovered girls and quit bowling, so I quit
playing pool."
"Here. This is a good song," Mulder said, tapping the glass.
"Dire Straits, `Money for Nothing'? No thanks."
"The B side, Scully, `Romeo and Juliet'."
Scully pursed her lips doubtfully, then put the quarter in the
jukebox. "I don't really see anything else besides country. Unless you
have a burning desire to hear a Menudo song."
"You have a sick mind."
"Menudo it is," she grinned, punching in the song numbers.
"I hope you were kidding." Mulder settled back into the booth
across from her, rubbing at the initials carved into the plastic
table- top.
A guitar started in with a bluegrass rhythm as the singer
murmured, "Love struck Romeo sings a street-soft serenade. He's layin'
everybody low. He's got a love song that he made. Finds a convenient
streetlight, steps out of the shade and says something like, `You and
me babe-- how 'bout it?'"
The bartender walked over to the booth. "I hear you say they
ain't coming for you for a while?"
"Yeah," Mulder answered, "they said the tow truck doesn't run
til six. When's the bar close?"
"Half-hour," the bartender answered. "I won't turn you out,
though. See here, those car people don't know what they're talking
about. Tow truck driver here's my brother-in-law, I'll get him out
here for you."
Mulder and Scully traded looks. "That would be great," Mulder
said.
"Thank you so much," Scully chimed in, giving the bartender
the benefit of her smile.
He grinned back, an older man pleased by a pretty young lady's
attention. "Ah, no problem. Thing is, there's only one place anywhere
near where you could get a tire, and that's Sears, over in Carlisle.
They don't open up 'til seven."
"Well, we could probably tow the car to a rental agency,"
Scully speculated, "and get another for the trip to the airport."
The bartender shook his head. "No rental-car places anywhere
'round here." He wiped his hands thoughtfully on his money apron.
"You'll have to wait around, I guess, but I could have Jesse, that's
my brother-in-law, he could take you to this all-night truck stop
between here and Carlisle. Got a little spot with tables and a
bottomless cup 'a coffee, and showers in back for the drivers."
"Sold," Mulder said. "That sounds fantastic."
"We really appreciate this," Scully added gratefully.
"Hey, you two're public servants, huh? Just protectin' my
tax-money investment."
"Thank you," Mulder said again sincerely.
"At's okay. Help yourself to that coffee." The bartender went
back to the phone.
"How 'bout that," Mulder told Scully. "Simple human kindness."
"It's been a while since we've seen it," she concurred. "Just
think, Mulder. Dry clothes."
"Then again-- just think, Scully. Five hours in a truck stop."
"Truck stops are great," she asserted. "You shouldn't be so
disdainful, Mulder, if it hadn't been for truck stops, I wouldn't have
been able to drive you to New Mexico last spring."
"Did we stop on the way?" Mulder asked curiously. "I don't
remember anything about it."
"I'd hope not, considering the tranquilizers I had you on. We
stopped twice. Both times at truck stops, where everyone was very
help- ful to me, and understood perfectly when I told them that my
brother was sleeping it off in the car."
"And they didn't wonder about why you were buying all that
medical gauze?"
"You got into a bar fight," Scully remembered, "and I had to
get you patched up and back home to Lincoln in time for our sister's
wedding."
"That's a pretty elaborate cover story. I'm impressed."
"I had plenty of time to make one up," she replied drily, "you
weren't exactly communicative during that drive."
"Did I say anything?" he inquired.
"No," Scully shook her head. "You were too far gone."
Mulder took in his partner's tone of voice, posture, and
slightly edgy air, and decided she wasn't telling the precise truth...
but he concluded that if Scully thought he didn't need to know all of
what happened when he was unconcious, he was willing to abide by what
she did or didn't want to tell him.
"Anyway," she said, "I'm less worried about hanging around the
truck stop than I am about missing that meeting. Maybe we should get
on that phone and see about getting a flight out later today."
"We don't have any way of knowing when we'll be able to get
there," Mulder pointed out.
"I'd rather reserve seats for something today than have to
wait around the airport after waiting around here and waiting around
the truck stop and waiting around Sears..."
"Good point," he conceded. "Well, I called Triple-A, so..."
Scully stood, straightening her damp suit jacket. "I'll get
this one."
Mulder took the opportunity to stop off in the men's room. The
one cracked mirror over the one ancient but serviceable sink showed
him one very sodden, weary-looking FBI agent. And his hair was
sticking out from his head at all kinds of crazy angles. It looked
like was wearing a hedgehog for a hat. Mulder tried to repair the
damage with his fingers; he was still a little waterlogged, so his
hair eventually submitted and smoothed down into something resembling
normal.
His partner noticed his efforts when they met back at the
booth again. "Congratulations, Mulder, you almost look human again."
"Damn. That wasn't the look I was going for at all."
"If you're practicing your zombie impression, all you need is
a little more of a blank stare..."
Mulder let his eyes lose their focus. "Like this?"
"Okay, now stick your arms out and shuffle."
"That's not a zombie, it's the Watusi." Mulder rolled his eyes
back into his head. "How's that."
"Nice touch, very zombified."
"Any more tips? Halloween is fast approaching."
"Just keep rehearsing, Mulder." Scully picked up the cups to
get refills. "Get some dirt under your fingernails, and you're there."
He checked his fingernails reflexively. "Thanks," Mulder said
wryly.
Scully smiled. "Any time."
===============================================
part 3--all comments to Summer at summer@camelot.bradley.edu
*****************************************************
Conspiracy Not Included
An X-Files Thing
by Summer
part 3
"That was a new experience," Mulder said as he and Scully got
out of their rental car.
"One I don't care to repeat," she answered wearily as they
walked to the driver's window of the tow truck. Beyond the stanchion
over the gas pumps, the rain was still streaming in torrents. "I was
sure the chain would slip and the tow truck would drive on without
us... and we'd veer right off the road into the ditch..."
"Ooh, but you're cheerful when you're tired." Mulder nodded to
the tow truck driver as they reached the window.
"I'll go on and take it to Carlisle," the driver told them.
"Get what all stuff you want out of it, and I'll tow it to Sears,
okay? Here," he handed out a scrap of paper, "this is the auto
department's phone number. They get in around five to open the place
up, so if you try to call around six there ought to be someone
there. Tell 'em your car's in the parking lot there, and they should
send someone out for you or else they'll call you a cab. They'll fix
you right up."
Mulder took the paper. "We've already got the bags we need
out, thanks. Sorry we got you up this time of night."
"Thank you very much," Scully added, with a tired smile.
"Don't worry about it," the driver replied, and waved as he
pulled away and drove on down the road.
"We've been awake how long now?" Scully inquired as she and
her partner pushed open the door and trudged into the truck stop.
He checked his watch. "Twenty-one hours straight, also known
as too damn long. Starting to get that eyes-full-of-sand feeling?"
"I'm past that. I'm into the tunnel-vision-slash-acid-trip
portion of my sleeplessness experience. I don't know about you, but I
couldn't sleep the whole time we were in that little hotel, the
plumbing kept rattling and it drove me nuts."
"Yeah, it was pretty bad in my room, too," Mulder said as they
approached the counter. "'Scuse me, we wanted to see about getting a
shower?"
The thin fortyish woman behind the racks of tabloids and
lighters nodded at them. "Just one?" she asked with a dry laugh.
"It's five dollars per half-hour, they're right there back by the
restrooms."
Mulder slid his FBI charge card from its pocket in his wallet
and handed it to the woman. "We're probably going to be here for a
while," he said regretfully. "Keep a tab."
"Weird card," the woman said. "Whatever. I'll run it through."
She swept the credit card through the scanner and returned it to
Mulder. Scully gravitated to the coffeemaker, debating whether to get
a cup of coffee or take a shower first. The vague reflection in the
silver coffeemaker's side convinced her that her wrinkled clothes and
matted hair deserved attention before she took care of her caffeine
infusion.
Her partner brushed by, waving his credit card. "I'm going to
have this thing bronzed," he said as he headed for the showers.
Scully gathered her bag and satchel. "There are easier ways to
get a gold card," she replied as she moved down the same hall in the
other direction.
Mulder was steaming every surface in the shower room with the
condensation from the scalding water when he realized how wrong it
felt to shower before he slept. He was so used to waking up, going for
a jog, showering, shaving, dressing and getting to work every morning
that it seemed foreign to step under the water now. The hot water
wasn't waking him up as it usually did, it was relaxing his taxed
muscles and lulling him half-asleep. Mulder sighed and turned the
water off. Another four hours here in the truck stop before they could
get the rental car's flat tire replaced, which could conceiveably take
another hour after that. Then they'd have to drive to the airport--
still ninety minutes away-- and wait til past noon for their plane
trip, a two-hour flight to Washington.
Probably they'd have to go straight from Dulles in D.C. to
FBI headquarters; the assistant director had made an appointment with
them for eight AM which would doubtless be rescheduled to the instant
they arrived back at the office, whereupon Skinner would chew him out
for this whole mess of flat tires and delays.
Tugging into fresh clothes, Mulder let his head hang with
exhaustion. This wasn't the kind of bone-deep tiredness that came
after a truly draining ordeal; it was merely an annoying combination
of missing sleep and dealing with banalities. And the more he thought
it over, the less likely it seemed that he'd be getting any rest any
time soon.
He ducked out of the shower stall and dug through his bag only
to find he'd forgotten to get his shaving-supply pack from his big
suitcase. No brush or comb in this bag; Mulder messed with his hair
with his hands for a few minutes before giving up and pushing it back
from his forehead. He'd borrow a comb from Scully. At least he'd
washed away that glommy rained-on feeling. Though his stubble was
starting to itch.
His partner was just outside the door; Mulder's eyebrows went
up. "What is it?" he asked, seeing that she hadn't yet showered and
changed.
"There's only one shower in the women's room," Scully said in
disgust, "and the drain is stopped up. So unless I want to shower
ankle-deep in sludge, I'm out of luck."
"There're ten stalls in here, Scully, no one else is around.
Pick one."
Her lips curved up just a little. "Keep an eye on the door for
me?"
"Sure. Can I borrow a comb?"
Scully, of course, hadn't forgotten HER toiletries; she
whipped out a comb and handed it to him. "Keep it, I've got three,"
she said, and let the door sigh shut behind her.
Mulder wandered through the convenience store. This truck stop
was on an interstate junction, and must have received a fair amount of
tourist business, as they were doing a brisk business in t-shirts and
shot glasses emblazoned with NEBRASKA. Snack foods, snack foods--
sunflower seeds! Mulder hooked his finger through the hole at the top
of the bag and swung it in one hand while he examined the shelves of
candy bars and pastries, wondering idly what Scully would say if he
bought Twinkies. Probably she'd give him another of those cute
lectures on nutrition... briefly he imagined greeting his partner
after she emerged from the shower with a candlelit dinner of Twinkies
and Jolt.
He stumbled upon the magazine rack and rolled his eyes at the
top stories. Hugh Grant here, O.J. Simpson there, some actor on the
cover of _Details_. Cindy Crawford on the front of John Kennedy Jr.'s
new political magazine; Mulder saw the interview with Louis Freeh and
picked it up. It might be interesting to read how the FBI head spouted
off the party line in what looked like politics' answer to _People_.
And why would a truck stop carry _Psychology Today_? He was
tempted, but Mulder passed it over. He hadn't really liked that
particular periodical since the article appeared in its pages citing
the guy in the Diet Coke commercial as the signal that it was okay for
men to be sexy. Mulder appreciated the magazine's permission; thank
you, Psych Today, now that you've said it's all right, now I can be
sexy. Bah.
Mulder lifted his eyes to the top of the magazine rack. Oh
yeah, this was a truck stop all right. The entire back two rows were
jammed with magazines sealed in plastic, the polybags lettered
strategically so that the covers displayed only so much-- and not
quite enough to get anyone arrested. Damn near, though; Mulder grinned
outright and set about shopping in earnest.
He was quite absorbed in the process of selection when he
heard Scully's voice echoing from the hall nearby. His conscience?
Mulder leaned into the hall leading to the showers and heard it again.
"Mulder! Get in here," she was calling.
He frowned, looked at the magazines in his hands, speculated
for a moment, shook his head violently and tossed them aside. Mulder
ran down to the shower room and said through the door, "Did you say
something?"
"Yeah," Scully's voice came back, "I need you to buy me a
towel. Mine's in my other suitcase, I forgot it."
"Oh, is that all. There aren't any towels here, Scully, the
closest thing they have are those chamois for cleaning cars."
"I don't care, that's fine. I did this drip-dry thing before
and that's another experience I don't care to repeat."
"You could just use mine. It's not all that damp, should do
the job."
"...Okay..." He heard the smack of wet feet on tile; the door
cracked open as her hand stuck out. Mulder pulled his rolled-up towel
from his overnight bag and gave it to her.
"Thanks, Mulder," she called, her voice a little muffled as
she dried her hair.
"No problem," he answered, and returned to the reading rack.
Mulder found he had lost all enthusiasm for choosing his magazines.
He picked up the political journal and two of the polybagged ones,
then grabbed _Details_ at random so he could put the plastic-wrapped
issues between two normal periodicals.
The woman at the cash register was reading The National
Enquirer and sipping a soft drink; she added his purchases to the
running total with no comment other than an unreadable half-smile.
"Car trouble?" she asked laconically.
"Flat tire," Mulder agreed, wondering if she was related to
the bartender at `The Four Aces' and his brother-in-law the tow truck
driver.
"Mm. Jesse taking it on up to Carlisle?"
"Yeah. Uh, I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder, I'm with the FBI."
"Well, I'm Marta Harris with Harris Truck Stop, nice to meet
you."
He smiled, nodded. "Oh, apparently the shower in the women's
has a stopped-up drain..."
"Again? Godammit." Marta rubbed her hands. "Some days you just
can't win for losing, I guess. I'll have to call George down here to
fix it again. Your girlfriend go ahead to the men's showers?"
"Mm-hm. I didn't think you'd mind."
"Not a bit," she answered.
Mulder smiled again and went to the grouped tables near the
coffeemaker, taking a seat and flipping past Cindy Crawford to read.
By the time Scully returned, he'd gotten bored with politics
and had ripped into one of the others; his partner served herself a
sizable cup of coffee and took a seat across from him.
"May I?" she asked, indicating _Details_.
"Sure." Mulder caught her shaking her head over his choice of
literature. "For the articles," he told her mischievously.
"Yeah, the interview with `Strip Down Sally' is likely to be
up for a Pulitzer," she replied drily.
"New Ray Bradbury short story," he protested, displaying the
pages he was reading.
"Sandwiched between Miss September and the Girls of the Ivy
League," she shot back.
"Which," he said sardonically, "is NOT a bad place to be."
Scully gave up with an exagerrated sigh. "Far be it from me to
impinge on your collection of erotica." She swallowed her coffee,
wondering if she'd say something like that if she weren't so tired.
"It's not erotica, it's pornography," he corrected, turning a
page.
"There's a difference?" Scully asked.
"There's a world of difference," he said, looking at her over
his glasses.
Scully gazed back for a wry moment, checked her watch, and
said, "It's now three in the morning. We've been just shy of a day
without sleep. This coffee is strong enough to eat through iron, and
my feet still hurt from walking five miles to that bar. By all means,
Mulder, start my day off right. Explain to me the difference between
pornography and erotica." She gulped another swallow, certain now that
she'd never say anything like that if she weren't so tired. Mulder
glanced at her again, shrugged, and folded the magazine back.
"Pornography and erotica are complete opposites. Pornography
strips sex of any kind of meaning or emotion, turns it into nothing
but an exercise of sensation without any soul." Mulder contemplated
the glossy magazine cover. "Imagine what that dichotomy says about
society. The deepest, most sacred human urge is detached from the
feelings that drive it and made into something mechanical and empty."
He pulled his glasses off and examined the lenses. Finally he
muttered, "Maybe it's better that way." Mulder stood and kicked over
to the line of refrigerators against the wall, polishing his glasses
with his handkerchief.
His partner considered the slick magazines in a new light,
then lay the copy of _Details_ gently over the others.
"Check it out, Scully, ever have this stuff?"
She looked up, accepting the change of subject gracefully.
"What is it?"
"Hershey's chocolate drink. Best stuff on earth," he
proclaimed.
"I thought that was Snapple."
"Forget Snapple. This is like drinking a liquid chocolate
bar. It's fantastic." Mulder clinked two bottles of it from the racks
and took them up to the counter to let Marta ring them up.
"Thanks. And my partner's having coffee, tack that on too, please."
"Already done," Marta nodded, returning to her Enquirer.
Mulder turned the bottles upside down and shook them. "Gotta
super-saturate the mix," he informed Scully as he sat down again.
She took the bottle he offered, twisted the cap off and
sniffed at the contents.
"You don't have to smell the cork," Mulder said playfully.
Scully raised an eyebrow at him and took a drink. "Oh wow,"
she said after a moment, checking the Nutrition Facts on the label.
"There's no way this tastes that good, look, it's got hardly anything
bad for you in it."
"Must be some kinda conspiracy," her partner agreed.
"A chocolate conspiracy?"
"Yeah."
"My kind of conspiracy," Scully grinned, drinking some more.
"I'll keep that in mind. From now on I'll blame everything on
the chocolate conspiracy."
She took another long drink, draining half the bottle, then
poured the rest in with her coffee. "Mocha," she said seriously.
Mulder laughed. "You are getting punchy, aren't you."
"Maybe a little..." Scully folded her arms on the table and
lay her head down. "Sleep in shifts?" she proposed, her words already
fading.
"Sure, go ahead," he said, "I'm catching my second wind
anyway."
"Thanks," she murmured into the cradle of her arms, dropping
off.
Mulder returned to Ray Bradbury. Marta caught sight of them
and walked over, leaning down to speak to Mulder. "Your girlfriend
asleep?" she asked quietly.
"Looks that way," he answered sotto voce.
"Well, generally this is just for the truckers, but there's
some cots back past the showers, that room that says Employees Only.
You wanna take her back there, go ahead."
"Ah, thanks," he said, and pulled at his partner's sleeve.
"C'mon, Scully," he coaxed, "there's a horizontal surface back there
with your name on it."
She came up blinking, "Hmm?"
Mulder smiled. "Don't worry about it, just come with me," he
said, prompting her to rise as he did.
Scully nodded and followed, running a hand through her coppery
hair and yawning as they went back to steal a little peace at the
Harris Truck Stop.
=============================================
Disclaimer in part 1... it went on rather longer than i expected,
sorry... you can write and yell at me at summer@camelot.bradley.edu if
you're REALLY upset about it... the spacing improves partway through
it (i had to condense the first part to fit it all in one post).
Thank you Susan for posting for me!
Conspiracy Not Included
An X-Files Thing
by Summer
part 4
"You see, Assistant Director Skinner, the thing is..."
"It was aliens."
"No! No, it wasn't aliens, it was a-- um, a conspiracy.
Right, that's it! A conspiracy. I was drugged by conspirators, so
I didn't notice that the spare tire was flat!"
"Uh-huh. And what conspiracy is responsible for this...?"
Mulder bit his lip, shifted, and said, "Um... the
chocolate conspiracy!"
Scully laughed. "I don't think he'll buy it, Mulder."
"We just need to come up with something a little more
elaborate. If I can invent some really complicated plot, I know I
can sell him on it." Mulder rubbed his hands together in exagerrated
fiendish glee. "If I can cook up a really diabolical scheme he'll
forget all about the delay. Maybe he'll even let us investigate it.
Hey, we could finally solve a case definitively if we just make the
whole thing up..."
"Why don't you just admit that you forgot to check the
tire?" Scully asked sensibly, ever the voice of reason.
"I did check it. I saw it looked a little lopsided and
decided we were in too much of a hurry to worry about it. Little
did I know."
A slightly grimy young man entered the waiting room. "Um,
Mister-- that your Taurus they're working on?"
"That's ours," Scully affirmed, springing out of her
chair, "is it done?"
"Flat tire?" the mechanic probed further.
"Right," Mulder said. "It's not done, is it."
"See, the thing is," the young man fidgeted nervously,
"you pretty much shot your alignment when you drove on the tire
after it ripped off. It's gonna be a while."
"Yeah, well," Mulder swallowed a yawn, "when do you
think we'll be able to get out of here?"
The mechanic got even antsier. "'Fraid we only got one
guy who does alignment on Fords... he doesn't come in on Fridays
til nine, so..." he shrugged.
"How long do you think it'll take?" Scully asked.
"No telling," he answered her apologetically. "I guess
you can cross your fingers and say it'll take an hour. But worst
comes to worst it could take til noon. Sorry."
"That's okay," Mulder told him, "thanks for letting us
know."
"And thank you for sending a taxi for us," Scully
pinned on, flashing a warm smile.
"No trouble," the mechanic grinned back, and withdrew
to the garage again.
Scully let her shoulders slump when he'd gone. "Hours,"
she mourned. "Hours and hours in a Sears waiting room, of all
places." She straightened somewhat. "Well, at least there's
a television here."
Her partner slowed in pacing around the small room.
"What, helping me practice my conspiracy theories isn't
entertainment enough for you?"
"You're more fun than a barrel of Mulders," Scully
replied, flicking on the television and locating an old
movie on the late-late-early show, "but maybe this'll help
you sleep. You didn't really get any rest at the truck stop."
"Is it really Friday already?" Mulder stretched. "I must
have seriously lost track of time." He shot Scully a mock-scolding
look. "You're supposed to remind me about these things."
"I'm your partner, not your keeper," she answered.
"Then why are you trying to get me to go to sleep?" he
returned with a triumphant grin.
"'Cause if I don't," she said, folding neatly into one
of the uncomfortable chairs, "you'll pace around and drive me
crazy."
"Haven't you figured it out yet? Driving you crazy is my
purpose in life." Mulder sat on the waiting room bench. It had a
very thin `cushion' that actually seemed to be made of a single
layer of vinyl; it wasn't half long enough to really accommodate
him if he tried to lay out on it. On the other hand, everything
in the room seemed to be shimmying a bit before his tired eyes.
Scully was thumbing through the magazines splayed across
the table; she looked at him expectantly as he pulled his legs up
in an attempt to get something close to horizontal. "This is
NOT going to work," he told her as he pillowed his head on one
curled-up arm. "There's no way I can sleep on this thing. I'll
just try to rest my eyes a little..."
"Good idea," Scully shrugged, then looked up from the
page she was reading; Mulder was out like a light. She smiled
and settled in with an old U.S. News and World Report to fend
off the boredom that loomed ahead.
* * *
"Owww..." Mulder's head hurt. His side hurt. His legs
were cramped and sore, and his arm was deathly numb.
"Mulder? You awake?"
"Awake? Hell no. I think I'm dead." Mulder swung his
legs off the bench and grabbed for the edge as the rest of him
started to follow. "Is there something in your little black
bag that can cure me of this bench?"
"A walk," Scully said briskly.
He groaned. "I'm crippled and you want me to walk.
Forget it. Shoot me now."
"Anyone ever tell you that you're really cranky when
you first wake up?"
"Not lately," he replied with asperity. "Which is
probably a big part of why I'm cranky."
Scully chose to ignore that, digging in her satchel
for a bottle of analgesics. "Here," she said, putting a couple
of tablets in his hand.
Mulder stood slowly, letting the kinks work out of his
muscles. Little by little, his discomfort eased, and he stopped
feeling like he'd spent the night contorted in a crate. He rooted
in the bag of goodies they'd picked up at the truck stop and
opened up the bottle of Jolt he'd purchased there.
"Oh, that'll do wonders for your headache," Scully told
him sarcastically. "Would you like a light concussion to go with
that?"
He made a face at her and tossed down the pills with a
gulp of Jolt. Pins and needles began to infect his left arm as the
blood returned. Mulder winced, shaking his hand out as he looked
past the waiting room doorway and out the Sears store windows.
Turning to face his partner, Mulder gestured out the
door indignantly. "It can't possibly still be raining. How long
was I asleep?"
"Three hours," Scully answered. "It stopped raining for
a while. It just started up again a few minutes ago."
"Just my luck," he said moodily, sneering at the rain
as though it were his personal nemesis. "Where were you proposing
that we walk, then?"
"The store's open now." Scully rose, stretched, and
straightened her blouse. "I think I may buy some jeans and a
t-shirt and change until we get back to Washington. I feel very
overdressed for loitering at a Nebraska Sears."
Mulder looked down at his very rumpled slacks and shirt;
they'd both changed earlier at the truck stop, but all they'd had
with them were work clothes. "That sounds like a plan. Why didn't
you go ahead, they've been open a while..."
"I didn't want to leave you sleeping," Scully replied as
though it were a silly question. "If someone else came in here and
tried to wake you up, you'd probably shoot them."
"I am NOT that paranoid," Mulder declared.
Scully just looked at him.
"Okay, I AM that paranoid, but I wouldn't shoot them, I'd
just toss them around a little... besides, after sleeping on that
bench I wouldn't be able to MOVE to attack anyone." He waggled his
fingers to drive the last of the numbness from his hand.
"This way, Mulder." They passed the auto department desk,
where the young mechanic was filling out a form. He looked up at
them, surprised.
"Oh, you're awake," he said. "Look, Andy started checking
out your car, and he found something pretty serious..."
Mulder leaned against the counter, bracing himself. "What?"
"Well, sir, I'm afraid when you went off the road the axle
was damaged. It'll have to be replaced."
"Damaged? How damaged?" Scully demanded.
"Well, you drove it a little ways on the rim, with the
tire kind of half-off it, and the shocks on this Taurus weren't
too good anyway, and..." he swiped his hair back apologetically.
"When it went off the road I guess that just put too much strain
on it, the axle's broken."
"Hoooh boy," Mulder sighed. "And fixing that will take
how long?"
"We're not sure we CAN fix it just yet, sir," the mechanic
said earnestly. "Andy's looking into it. It depends if we can get
a replacement axle from the body-parts shop down the road."
"When did you find this?" Scully asked as Mulder cursed
under his breath.
"Half hour ago," the young man answered.
"Why didn't you tell us then?" she inquired sharply.
"Well, Mr. Scully was asleep and the car was signed out
from the rental agency in his name--"
"What?" Mulder's head snapped up as an incredulous grin
broke past his sour expression. "MR. Scully?"
"I'm Dana Scully," his partner told the mechanic shortly.
"Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am; when you signed your name Mulder
I didn't realize you two were married."
"I'M Mulder," he informed the young man. "We're not
married."
The mechanic tried not to look disapproving. "Well, I
guess that's your business, sir."
Exasperated, Scully said, "What exactly is the problem
here? My name is Dana Scully, this is Fox Mulder," she pointed to
her partner. "The car was rented in my name."
"Oh." The young man looked from one to the other in
embarrassed amazement. "I'm real sorry. When I was looking at
your forms, the signatures said D. Scully and Fox Mulder and I
thought you must be Fox Mulder, ma'am. I never heard of anyone
with that name before, and it just didn't seem like anything to
call a man... oh. Sorry," he said again meekly, this time to
Mulder.
"Don't worry about it," Mulder said in utter defeat.
"We're going to take a walk around the store," Scully
said, "we'll check in with you in soon to see if the axle can
be replaced. Can I ask you something?"
"Sure," the mechanic assented eagerly, hoping to amend
for his mistake.
"What's YOUR name?"
The young man reddened. "Tom," he said.
"Thank you, Tom." Scully proceeded past the auto
department desk and into the store with Mulder trailing behind
her in his own contained cloud of gloom.
"Perfect end to a perfect nightmare," he muttered.
"Would it help if I promised never to sign `D.' for
my name again?"
"Just when I thought I'd heard every possible comment
about it..." he grumped as they passed children's clothes.
"It happens to me too," Scully consoled him. "I
constantly get junk mail for Mr. Dana Scully. I was even marked
as male for one of my college scholarships for a while. I finally
had to go before the board to convince them I wasn't a guy."
"Oh yeah?" Mulder perked up a little. "How exactly did
you convince them?"
She fixed him with a long-suffering glare. "Mulder."
He threw his shoulders back, clicked his heels together,
and saluted. "Yes, SIR!"
Scully rolled her eyes and negotiated dress racks to
enter the women's department. "Besides, you have to admit,
it's kind of funny," she commented, examining a soft cotton
shirt. She glanced at him with amusement. "Mr. Scully."
"Mrs. Mulder," he returned... and then rubbed his
chin with a speculative smile. "Hmmmmmmm."
"Don't," Scully warned, her eyes lighting and an
enormous smile taking over her lips.
"I didn't say a word!" Mulder protested as she
rushed down the aisle. He followed, trying not to laugh.
"That's right, you didn't. So don't." Scully was
ebullient; the glow in her voice went a long way towards
making the whole misadventure of the flat tire worthwhile.
Mulder recognized the serious undertone of her
words, though, and didn't push it. "Okay, okay," he said,
shoving his hands into his pockets and feigning dejection.
"I'll just go over to my own lonely corner of the store and
pick up some clothes... maybe they have some Warner Brothers
ties!"
"Don't buy any ties here, Mulder," Scully called after
him. "My eyes couldn't take it!"
"M.C. Escher ties!" he called back. "Moire ties!"
"You buy an M.C. Escher tie and I'll strangle you
with it!"
"Tempting..." Mulder laughed, turning to wade through
rows of shirts and hats into the men's section. "There are worse
ways to die," he raised his voice to tell her.
"That's what you think. Remember, I'm a pathologist.
I know how to make it slow and painful."
"What are we talking about again?" Mulder looked around,
struck by the incongruity of shouting borderline-flirtatious
banter to his best friend across the racks of clothes in a
Sears department store. Having the place almost to themselves
was strange enough; yelling jokes and innuendo while surrounded
by polyester was like stepping into one of the post-apocalyptic
episodes of The Outer Limits.
"I'm plotting your demise," she reminded him. "What do
you think, should I get a tacky t-shirt that says Nebraska on
it?"
"Only if I get to wear an Escher tie with impunity."
"No deal. Here. A plain white t-shirt."
"And if we get caught in the rain again, you can go
back to that bar and make a bundle..."
"Or maybe a sweater," Scully changed her mind. "Though
I don't intend to get caught out in the rain again. EVER again."
"You won't get caught in the rain if you run fast
enough..." Mulder snagged a blue shirt in his size from a rack.
Good enough. The jeans were against the wall, though, and out of
earshot from Scully. "Meet you back here later?"
"Okay... but Mulder, I'm warning you, you're on fashion
probation as far as those ties go. Shop at your own risk."
The partners separated for almost an hour then regrouped,
checking each other for stray sales tags after changing into newly
acquired casual clothes. Mulder had bought the first thing off the
rack that suited him, then wandered around trying on hats and
perusing the ties; Scully had spent the time choosing an angora
sweater and picking up a cute Sesame Street outfit for her young
godson. Their arms were full when they met up again.
"I guess we need to check in on the car again," Scully
said relucantly after they had inspected each other's purchases.
"Wait, wait, you've got to tell me if this looks
incredibly stupid first," Mulder grinned. He dropped his sack and
put his suit jacket back on, then grabbed a fedora off a nearby
hatrack. "What do you think? Elliot Ness?" He ran a finger along
the brim of the hat and struck a Humphrey Bogart pose.
"More like Al Capone," Scully chuckled. "It does look
pretty silly, Mulder."
"Hmph. We'll see about that." Mulder took off the hat
and plopped it onto his partner's head.
She laughed, her shoulders rising as she looked up at
the brown felt covering her red-gold hair. "Looks stupid?"
Mulder crossed his arms. "Actually, it looks pretty
good. Want a hat?"
"Did you buy this?"
"Not yet." He took the fedora back and started towards
the sales counter.
"What're you doing?" Scully walked after him, shifting
her shopping bags to free her hands.
"Acquiring a hat." Mulder dropped the brown fedora onto
the counter and told the sleepy-looking salesman, "One for the
lady, please."
"Mulder--" she started to object.
"Indulge me," he requested puckishly, slapping his
credit card onto the cash register. "You're an FBI agent. You
need a hat like this."
Scully looked ready to protest further, but she
stopped herself and shook her head. "Okay, okay. You want to
buy me a silly hat, that's fine. Thank you."
Her partner's eyebrows went up. He'd expected much
more of a fight. "Great," he said, and thanked the salesman.
"Now. What will it take to convince you to wear this when
we get back to Washington?" he asked, placing the hat on
her hair again.
"What?" Scully reached up, hindered by her packages,
to straighten the fedora. "Today when we get back to Washington?"
"Today IF we get back to Washington," Mulder replied.
She groaned. "I know. You realize if the car isn't
fixed NOW, we have to cancel our flight out and get a new
one?"
"Hold up." Mulder raised a hand, cocking his head to
one side. "Elvis."
Scully put her hands on her hips. "You do NOT see
Elvis, Mulder. And if this is another goofy conspiracy theory
to tell Skinner--"
He stalked into the Junior Miss section of the store,
weaving past unicorn sweatshirts to stare up at a bank of
television screens above a mannequin display. Scully came to a
halt beside him as Mulder blinked up at the TVs.
"When nobody knows, she puts on secret clothes, and
lies on her bed with her hands tied behind her back. I won't
refuse if you know how to use it, just stop playing that bad
blues music... so tonight I'm drinking to your health, because
I just can't stand myself," the musician sang onscreen.
Scully huffed, "Why didn't you SAY it was Elvis
Costello?"
Still hypnotized by the music video playing over
their heads, Mulder answered, "You know, hearing this song
in the teenage-girls' section of Sears is almost as surreal as
seeing Elvis Presley."
"Tell that to the tabloids." The video ended; Scully
tugged at his arm. "C'mon, we've really got to find out what's
going on with the car."
Mulder nodded and came along. Abruptly he said, "This
is hell, this is hell, I am sorry to tell you, it never gets
better or worse--"
"It's not THAT bad," Scully frowned.
"No, it's the next song on that Elvis Costello album,
I couldn't think of how it went for a minute." He grinned at
her crookedly. "Though it is fitting, to some degree."
"Actually, Mulder, I think I've figured it out. This is
just like the Wizard of Oz, only in reverse." Mulder prompted
her with a curious look; Scully continued, "We've spent so
much time dealing with the fantastic. Now we've ended up lost
someplace where everything is so... ordinary."
"So all we need to do is find the ruby axle and chant
`There's no place like D.C.'-- and we'll be back home in Oz
where we belong?"
"Mm-hm!"
"Wishful thinking, Scully. If they can't fix the car,
we'll have to call the airport, bicker with eight different people
to change our flight, then call around and make hotel reservations
for tonight, and arrange to get transported somehow to someplace
where we can rent another car. And when we do get back to Oz, a
nice big fat stack of paperwork on this whole mess will be waiting
for us. Not to mention one very pissed-off Assistant Director."
Scully heaved a sigh. "Blaming this on the chocolate
conspiracy is sounding better all the time."
=============================================
At last! Thank you for sticking with it if you made it this
far. Disclaimer in part one. Eternal thanks to Saint Susan for posting
for me. And to Vickie Moseley for reading this story piece-by-piece
to let me know if it worked.
___________Summer@camelot.bradley.edu____________
Conspiracy Not Included
An X-Files Ordeal
by Summer
"Thanks, Tom," Scully said to the mechanic, and returned
to thump onto the bench next to her partner.
Mulder rubbed his eyes. "What'd he say?"
"They're working on it," Scully's voice seemed suspended
between her last words and what she was about to say. "They got
a replacement axle, but they're not sure how long it will take
to fix it, if they CAN fix it."
"I thought that was what they told us two hours ago."
"It was, basically."
"Mechanics are even better than bureaucrats when it
comes to stalling on giving a definite answer," Mulder observed.
"What time is it now?"
She checked her watch. "Almost noon."
"And the last flight to D.C. goes out...?"
"Five o'clock. Then nothing until Sunday afternoon.
We should probably start calling around to see if there's any
other way to get out to the airport by nine."
"Let's just concentrate on the idea that they ARE going
to be able to fix the car," Mulder said.
Scully started to push, but gave up before she even
began. They were both running on too little sleep to do any
more than hope for the best.
Mulder slumped, staring at his running shoes. "Now what?
We've exhausted all the recreational possibilities of Sears.
We did as much of the paperwork from our last case as we can
can finish here. And it's still raining."
"No it's not." Scully pointed to the store windows.
Outside, pale sunlight filtered through the heavy clouds.
"It just stopped a little while ago."
Mulder jumped to his feet. "C'mon, let's go for a
walk. I can't stay in here one second longer."
"Hang on, Mulder, we have to move our things..."
Scully gestured to the luggage and sacks they'd piled in the
waiting room.
"Move them where? They'll be fine." Impatiently he
headed for the door.
His partner's mouth flattened into a line of
annoyance, but instead of arguing with him, she shrugged
and followed. "Oh, wait--" she dashed back into the waiting
room. "Forgot my hat," Scully smiled at him, putting on the
brown fedora Mulder had given her earlier.
He grinned back, pleased, and opened the door for her.
* * *
"I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life." Mulder
stomped into Sears, glowering at a few shoppers as they left the
store to rush to their cars.
His partner sneezed as water trickled from the brim
of her damp felt hat. Right now she hated his life too, but
she kept it to herself. "Calm down, Mulder." Scully suppressed
a groan at the mess the rain had made of her new angora sweater.
"Why? Why did it wait until we were ten blocks away to
start raining again?" Mulder's hair was slicked flat on his skull;
droplets were beaded on his eyelashes and his clothes were,
once again, soaked-- for the second time in as many days.
Scully had fared no better, either the night before or
right now. Her socks squished around her wet feet, and her
red hair, darkened by water, leaked rain down her shoulders and
back. She charged past her partner as he shook off water on the mat,
not really caring if she got the tile floor wet. She had barely
stepped into the waiting room when Scully cried, "MULDER!
Look!" She gestured around.
"What? There's nothing here." And then he realized.
"There's nothing here! Where are all our bags?"
"Good question." Scully stormed down to the auto
desk. He winced in sympathy as she tore into Tom, the
young man who'd had to deal with them all morning. Mulder
drifted toward the desk as Scully growled at the mechanic.
"Well, ma'am," Tom was saying, "there's no way we can
guarantee if you leave something here that it's not going to
get taken."
"We left our luggage in there for half an hour. I
find it hard to believe that someone stole all those bags from
that waiting room in half an hour-- they would have been SEEN.
How could anyone haul all that stuff out of there without being
noticed?" Scully demanded heatedly. "Check with your staff. I'm
sure someone moved our things. I refuse to believe it was stolen."
"I don't know what to tell you," Tom stammered. "It
isn't here. You can check with lost-and-found at the customer
service desk up front, I guess." He was staring at her, wide-
eyed, looking as though he were trying not to laugh. Scully
abruptly realized she was still wearing the fedora.
Mulder sidled up next to her and whispered, "Why is
it so unlikely that our stuff's been stolen?"
"Stolen to where?" she hissed back. "Someone carried
it off, away into the rain? Or maybe they folded it all up and
put it under their raincoats." She scowled. "At least somebody
has raincoats."
"You two sure are having bad luck, aren't you," Tom
noted. "I guess today's the day for it--"
"We'll check up front," Scully interrupted. "Thanks."
She hauled Mulder by his sleeve along with her as she walked
quickly through the department store. "Only to you," she groused
at him. "Only to you would this happen."
Visits to the customer service desk and then to the
main office got them no further, and by the time they returned
to the waiting room, Scully was fuming. The trip around the store
had served to dry her a little, and it was obvious that her
new sweater was unsalvageable. Normally, Scully wouldn't
have bought it, since she generally didn't like to wear clothes
made from animal porducts. But they'd been through such a hard
time the night before that she'd decided to treat herself
with this nice, fuzzy, comfortable rabbit-fur-and-wool
sweater... which was now clinging in damp lumps to her skin,
making her itch and irritating her nose with its not-quite-but
almost-offensive wet fur smell. She could almost believe that
karmic retribution dictated she be rained on to make up for
trespassing her normal convictions in buying the sweater.
And the reason she could almost believe it-- despite every
rational impulse she had worked to cultivate in herself from
childhood-- was pacing around the auto department staring at
tires, looking wet and pitiful and sorry for himself.
"Mulder." Her voice seethed.
He looked up at her balefully without pausing. "What?"
"Please stop walking back and forth."
"Sorry." Mulder slunk off into the waiting room. Scully
hesitated. She was upset, and the last thing she wanted was
to start an argument with him, particularly today.
She stalked off through the connecting door to the
garage, where their rental Taurus was sitting forlornly with
the front wheel wells gaping toothlessly empty. Their luggage--
sans the overnight bags they had left to be stolen from the
waiting room-- sat against the wall under a dingy sheet of
plastic. Scully popped open her suitcase and got her towel,
dried her hair, and picked out a dry blouse. After she had
she had changed and straightened up a little, Scully felt
that she had recovered enough patience to talk to her partner
without causing him severe bodily harm.
Scully entered the waiting room only to find Mulder
listening as a woman, mid-fiftyish and ponderous in a black
and khaki pantsuit, was saying: "...who came to speak to us,
we paid $10,000 for this man to speak, and he didn't tell
us anything. He went on and on for an hour about himself,
then another hour about his books. Then he told us about the
sound the universe makes. Ang-Oom. Which is true, the whole
universe makes that sound. It's a frequency, a cycle, the
whole cosmos vibrates like that. Ang-Oom. But anyone who
studies metaphysics knows about that! I thought for $10,000
he could at least tell us something new."
Mulder glanced up at his partner as she paused in
the doorway, then looked morosely away. Scully strode over
to sit next to her partner in one of the uncomfortable vinyl
chairs.
"Oh, hello there, dear," the older woman said
cheerfully to Scully. "I was just talking with your friend
about a speaker who talked at our church last night. Anyway,"
the woman resumed, "All the congregation said to me afterwards,
`Dee Dee,' they said, `wasn't he just wonderful?' Well, only if
you don't know a thing about metaphysics."
Mulder nodded sympathetically. "What church sponsored
him?" Scully stared at him, amazed at his humoring the woman.
"Unity Church, over in Hampstead. Quite a little way
from here." The woman shook her head. "I've been involved in
spiritualism since '69. That man didn't tell me a thing I hadn't
known for years. And his books! I read one. The first chapter was
good. And the second chapter said everything that was in the
first chapter over again in different words! And most of THAT was
about how he loved his wife. He's married to some secretary.
Talking about how in every relationship you have to to have trust
and freedom. I should write a book. I could say a lot more
substantial things than just that! Well, he had a bigger
vocabulary than me and I suppose he went to college. But I could
tell people what they really need to know. Like about cleansing."
Mulder prompted her with an inquisitive sound. Scully
resisted the urge to elbow him in the side for encouraging the
woman.
"The one thing I agreed with that speaker about," the
woman told them solemnly, "is that it shouldn't be body and soul,
but soul and body. And I truly believe that, that the body is
just a vessel for the soul. So you should cleanse the body through
meditation so it's more fit to house the soul. But you see,
psychics, they won't tell people how to perform cleansing rituals."
"Why not?" Mulder asked. "Seems like helpful information."
"They just don't, it's something people in the occult
would rather keep to themselves, I suppose. But I think it's
high time someone wrote it down and shared it. A girlfriend of
mine, she wrote a book about exorcisms, her experiences with
exorcism ceremonies. But she couldn't get it published. Finally
she published it herself and sold it locally. That was Ruth
Harbison. Have you ever heard of her?" she asked, slurping a
swallow from the diet cola can in her hand. "She's a very
well-known psychic around Hampstead. Tremendously gifted. She's
worked with the police department there several times, finding the
bodies of murder victims and so forth."
"Really," Mulder said, raising an eyebrow at his partner.
"Oh yes. Just a few weeks ago, the chief of police called
me up about that terrible case that was in all the papers, that poor
little three-year-old boy who was killed. They couldn't find his
body anywhere. And so they asked me if there was anything I could
see about it all. I tried, I went into a trance state and couldn't
really come up with anything except that they wouldn't find the body
near water. Then Chief Greer told me that they had a man in custody
that he was sure was the killer, but they didn't have any evidence
to hold him. He said `I sure need your help, Dee Dee, we're going to
have to let him go.' So I tried again and sure enough I came out of
it and told him, `Check that man's trunk, there'll be blood in the
trunk of his car.' So they took that as an anonymous tip, got a
search warrant, and checked the trunk of his car and found blood
from that poor little boy. Oh, sometimes I just can't understand
people, how could anyone do that to another person? Let alone to
that sweet little boy?"
The woman shook her head sadly, paused for a scant, reverent
moment, then plunged on. "But they couldn't recover his body, couldn't
find it anywhere. Ruth and I talked every night, but neither of us
could see where that little boy had been put. Then, I swear this
had never happened to me before, but..." the woman leaned forward
in her chair, her voice dropping to a low, confidential tone. "One
morning around three AM, I woke up and something had come over
me. It was that little boy, poor thing. His spirit took me right
over and it was--" she sighed shakily-- "it was just awful. I had
never felt a thing like it before. I saw just where the murderer
had thrown him, and all the things he did to that sweet little
boy... when it was over I called up Ruth and she said I'd have to
call Chief Greer right away, and I was still half under this
possession when I told him that the body was not in the river,
although they had found one shoe on one side, and the other shoe
on the other side. The body was buried right outside a little
church the killer went to when he was young. So they found that
poor child's body and put him properly to rest, and arrested
his murderer. I was glad to do my part, but I sure hope nothing
like that possession happens to me again. I've gone out of my
body on occasion, but I do not take well to having someone else
in it with me. But I am glad I could help put his spirit to rest,
and he blessed me with that when he was buried; that night I had
the strangest sense of peace and I sensed his presence just before
he slipped away from this world. And all his pain was gone. He let
me know he was at rest."
Mulder accepted this serenely, nodding deeply as the
woman took a drink from her diet cola.
The young mechanic walked in with a clipboard in one
hand. "'Scuse me," he said, "ma'am, you were getting your brakes
checked? We've looked them over and everything's okay now, just
a few minor adjustments. It's all done. If you could just come
up to the desk and sign a few forms..."
The woman lumbered to her feet and smiled at the man
and woman left in the waiting room. "Well, it was nice talking
with you. Take care of each other, now." She left.
Mulder and Scully blinked after her, then looked at
each other for a long moment of baffled enlightenment.
Finally Scully said, with a mixture of resignation and
wonder, "Only you, Mulder. Only to you would this happen."
Mulder started to grin and retort when he suddenly
remembered himself and ducked his head in apology. "You have
every right to be mad at me."
Scully gave him a tiny, compassionate smile. "I'm
not mad at you," she answered.
"You should be. I am."
"As easy as it is to forget sometimes, Mulder, you are
only human."
"To forgive, divine..." he glanced at her with bemusement.
Scully's blue eyes were kind. "To err is human, to
forgive is necessary."
"Why do I do this to myself?" Mulder asked her. "I saw
that the spare was flat. I knew I should tell the rental agency
and get another spare tire. I knew this would happen. But no. I
didn't bother to take care of it. I practically set us up for this."
"We were in a hurry. We had a long drive ahead of us.
It's perfectly understandable."
"That's just an excuse. What about our overnight bags?
You even said we should move them, but no, I had to demand that
we go out to get rained on right away. You should at least say
you told me so, Scully. We'd probably both feel a little better."
She shrugged, "Okay, Mulder, I said we should move our
stuff, and we didn't, and now it's gone. I told you so. Better?"
Tom returned to the waiting room once more. "Mr. Mulder,
Miss Scully," he said carefully, "I hate to tell you this, but we've
tried everything we can think of. We just can't fix that car. It's
possible the axle could be replaced, but we just don't have the
equipment or the expertise to deal with it. I sure am sorry."
They slumped almost in unison. "Thank you, Tom," Scully
said with a sigh.
"I've just got to run back and finish up Dee Dee's papers,
I'll be back in a minute," the young mechanic said, leaving again.
Mulder banged his forehead with his palm. "Skinner
is going to rip my lungs out with his teeth. He's going to nail
my skin to his office wall and I think I might even deserve it."
His voice spiraled down. "You said we should try to find another
way to get to the airport, you said not to leave the bags..."
"Mulder," she protested against his self-recrimination.
"I don't even need a conspiracy working against me to
screw everything up," he muttered. "I do a great job of it all
by myself."
"Everyone's entitled to make a mistake now and then."
"Not like this," Mulder demurred. "I could have done
something to avoid this, but I didn't, because it just seems
inevitable that disaster will befall me in one form or another.
But I keep dragging you down with me."
"Mulder, this whole thing has been an inconvenience, but
it hardly qualifies as a disaster."
The penetrating look he cast her made it clear that he
wasn't just talking about their current woes. Scully shook her
head, a little frustrated. She knew there were words that would
deny what he had said, that would express what she really thought;
words that would make them both feel better. But it had all gone
on so long that she couldn't find a way to say any of it. Finally
she settled for the obvious.
"We're partners," she said simply.
It worked. Mulder looked at her again, and half-nodded,
half-shrugged, half-smiled, the total expression of acceptance
adding up to more than one-and-a-half. He reached up and flicked
the brim of her hat. "See. This is what happens," he chuckled,
"when you're partners with some nut who was born on Friday the
thirteenth. I can't believe I'm going to be thirty-four soon. How
did I manage to get this far without--"
Scully flinched as her partner stopped abruptly with an
air of realization. She sank back in the chair, propping her head
in her hands.
"Happy birthday, Mulder."
He leveled her with a look of pure disbelief. "No way.
It can't already be the thirteenth." But as he counted up the
days mentally, he realized it was true. Scully generally reminded
him of dates and times when he was intent on a case; he had
forgotten completely.
They sat in silence for a little while. "Well," Mulder
said at last. "That explains a lot."
Scully opened her hands apologetically. "I've been keeping
you away from calendars all month. I was hoping you'd forget about
it. Mulder, we didn't have any meeting with Skinner today. I asked
him to call us back so I could take you out to dinner tonight at The
Exchange for your birthday."
"You made reservations?" he asked.
She nodded. "For eight tonight. I know it's the only nice
restaurant you really like in D.C."
"How'd you know?"
"You mentioned it once."
"And you remembered a little thing like that?"
"Of course," Scully replied.
"Wow." He pondered this new information for a long moment.
"So I didn't get us in trouble. I just managed to screw up all your
plans for my birthday." Mulder gave her a pained smile. "Well, thank
you for the thought. Even if I did louse it all up for us both. You
know, I don't deserve a friend like you, Scully."
She regarded him with mock-indignation. "I think a friend
like me is exactly what you deserve, Mulder." She added wryly, "Who
else would give me this hat?" She flipped the brim of her fedora.
"You mean the hat you didn't really want?"
"Maybe not at first. But now that I've got it, I wouldn't
trade it for anything..."
Tom reappeared yet again in the doorway. "Is there anything
I can do to help you folks out? We're all just as sorry as we can
be about that car."
"Well, that's not your fault, Tom," Mulder said, sitting
up in the chair.
The mechanic grimaced. "Well, I feel like we did tell you
we could fix it, and we just didn't come through. I know you all
are from out of town, so if there's anything I can help you with,
I want you to let me know."
Scully snorted delicately. "Can you get us to the airport
by five?"
"Well, no, I'm afraid I can't," Tom said.
"Then I guess we need to find a hotel," Mulder started.
Tom cut him off. "Now, I can't get you to the airport.
But Andy, back in the garage-- he goes up to town every weekend to
see his girlfriend, and he's been known to take on a passenger now
and then. Hell, I was thinking of going up with him myself to hit
the bars, spread a little bad luck tonight, you know what I mean.
Hang on." Once again, the young man vanished.
Mulder and Scully barely had time to exchange amazed looks
when Tom returned with another greasy man in tow. "Hi, I'm Andy,"
he said. "You really screwed up your car a good one. So you need
a ride to the airport? I can drop you off there, no problem. When's
your flight leave? I'm taking off now, once I get cleaned up. Two
o'clock, I guess."
"Our plane leaves at five," Scully said, equal parts
gratitude and disbelief.
"Plenty of time," Andy asserted. "That boat seats seven,
if you don't mind sittin' in the back. Tom's comin' along too."
"I don't know how to thank you," Mulder said, awed.
"It really means a lot to us," Scully added with an
enormous smile.
"Don't worry about it," Andy grinned. "Glad I could help
you folks out. Tom'll worry about that rental company. They never
should have sent you out on the road in that piece of crap anyway.
No wonder the tire blew and the axle broke, as bad as those shocks
were. Come on out to the garage, we'll move your stuff to the trunk
of my car."
"Kind of like the good witch just gave us the ruby axle,
huh," Mulder murmured to Scully as they followed the two mechanics.
"There's no place like home," she replied.
They hefted their luggage from the garage to the trunk
of Andy's enormous restored Chevy. Scully asked Tom, "Could we
leave a note with our number in case those bags should happen to
turn up?"
"Oh, I found out--" Tom nodded them over to their rental
car and popped the trunk. "Charlie moved 'em back here earlier,
he saw them in the waiting room and didn't want any of your stuff
to get stolen. I guess he thought I saw him, and I'd tell you. Sorry
about the mix-up."
"Believe me, Tom," Mulder told him, "that's perfectly okay."
Scully rushed to her satchel and dug past the paperwork
from their last case to pull out an envelope; she checked inside and
sighed with relief.
"What's this?" Mulder asked, looking on.
She beamed at him. "Here, go ahead and open it."
"Aw, Scully, you didn't have to get me a card." He opened
up the envelope. Inside was no card: instead, wrapped in a blank sheet
of paper were two Redskins season tickets.
"Oh. Wow." Mulder seemed genuinely touched. "Scully. These are
wonderful." A wide grin split his face as he added, "Do you want to
hang
on to your ticket, or should I?"
"They're yours," she answered, her own smile threatening
to swallow her face. "But if you were to invite me to a game or two,
I think I might be free."
Trust and freedom, Mulder thought. "Consider yourself invited."
"Consider the invitation accepted."
"Okay!" Andy called into the garage, sleek from a quick
shower. "You two ready to get out of here?"
"YES!" Mulder and Scully called back together. They gathered
their remaining things and headed out to the car, deposited all
their bags in the trunk, thanked Andy again profusely, and settled
into the back seat.
"Well, I hope your birthday hasn't been too bad," Scully
said as the car started up.
Mulder smiled at her. "Maybe not what I wanted before," he
said, "but now that I've had it, I wouldn't trade it for anything."
She smiled at him fondly, and with a wicked sparkle added,
"And just think. It's not over yet."
He chuckled and let his eyes slide shut, Scully's gift still
tucked in his hand. Her head dropped against his shoulder. Soon
both were fast asleep as the road spun out before them once again.
* * *
The End
NOTE: See. I told you it had a point-- this is my response to
the birthday dare. Thank you, Sarah Stegall, for prompting me to
turn a light, harmless vignette into a full-out story about Mulder's
birthday. I think I lost almost as much sleep as Our Heroes did over
this! Thanks for sticking with it if you made it this far. Wow, this
was just supposed to be an easy toss-off to write between spurts of
creativity on the next Dilemma story (2/3 done). How did it get
so important to me? Say it with me: must be a conspiracy!
You can write me at summer@camelot.bradley.edu if you care.
Bye for now.
end of part 5