By Spock
spockdaggoo@yahoo.co.uk
 

Rating: PG-13
Keywords: X, H, MT, hint of MSR
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: Not mine, C 'Le Cupid' C's. :)
Feedback: always appreciated at spockdaggoo@yahoo.co.uk
Archive: Ephemeral, Gossamer, anywhere else, just ask
 

~~~

The Case of Sy Silverpeel
By Spock

Mulder was sitting at his desk in his living room, surfing the b-ball
scores when he received notice of an arrived email. The holy event of
someone sending him email meant two things; either it was the Lone
Gunmen asking for his help, or then it was a UFO chaser, ready to drag
him on a wild goose chase. He was surprised to see it was the former,
but the guys didn't want his help, they had news to bear. Attached to
the email was a picture of his enemy, the Cigarette-Smoking Man in the
company of someone who looked mysteriously like Elvis 'The King'
Presley.

"Oh. My. God." Mulder tried to breathe as he looked at the picture.

"Is no one sacred?!" he went on flustered, and dialed Frohike's
number.

"I'll be there in twenty," he barked out, ending the call before
Frohike could say, 'Yo'.

Nineteen minutes later he was knocking on the door of the lair of the
Gunmen. Once Frohike had managed to undo security, Mulder barged in,
demanding answers.

They smirked at him.

"No way, guys, was this a trick?" he managed with a left cheek squeak,
and the Gunmen burst out laughing. Langley, with his wild, greasy hair
and spotty spectacles, looked especially pleased.

"Doesn't it look authentic? It's the latest soft wear; the
multi-lay..."

"Shut up!" Mulder burst out, unable to contain his rage much longer.

"You can't kid about The King, it's just not done!" he cried, muting
all present, toting his index finger at them. Byers swallowed audibly
at this unprecedented reproach.

"Mulder, I'm sorry, Langley seemed to think it might be a cool
joke..." he began, twitching nervously behind his laptop.

Mulder glared at him, his eyes practically shooting icy arrows.

"Hey, man..." Frohike began; yet, Mulder would not be appeased so
easily.

"You owe me a huge cheese steak!" he spat and whirled around and
stalked towards the door. Before reaching the exit, he turned around,
menacingly looking at all three of them.

"No, scratch that, you owe me _loads_ of em!"

The Lone Gunmen looked at each other, and back at the door that Mulder
slammed with a loud bang as he left.

Mulder was fuming.

"CSM and Elvis, yeah right." Mulder muttered as he dumped himself in
the driver's seat of his car, only then realizing, he should be happy
at this turn of events. Elvis had not met with the Cancer man!

He returned home, pulled up his chair and touched the mouse of his
computer.

"You've got mail" the screen cheerily informed him. The guys were
probably offering their sincerest apologies for their utter lack of
tact. He opened his mailbox.

'M,

I need your help.

-S'

Mulder read the note again, not able to register the meaning of the
words at first, but soon it damned on him. It was from Scully.

"Scully," he gasped, grabbed his coat and was out the door like a
whirlwind. He dialed her numbers as he dove into his car, yet there
was no answer. He tossed his cell into the passenger's seat, drove off
in a hurry.

As he drove like a madman, roaring towards Georgetown, he thought he
heard music ringing in his ears...

"Wise men say, only fools rush in..."

He took a deep breath and swallowed his fear. Now was not a time to
begin hearing things of doom. Scully was O.K. Nothing had happened to
her. Nothing.

He took the next exit and arrived at Scully's apartment building
fifteen minutes later. He double-parked next to a gigantic Cadillac,
but there was no time to find an empty spot. Scully needed him, her
email had said so. He rushed up the stairs, adrenalin surging through
him with trepidation. His legs were jello, but, amazingly, he was soon
at her door, banging away on it like nobody's business.

"Scully!"

She opened the door, a dumbfounded look on her face.

"Mulder?"

He roared past her, hand on his gun as he checked out her apartment.

"You sent me an email, Scully. It said you needed me."

"I did not. I can take care of myself." Scully puffed. He turned to
her in surprise and raised his eyebrow. Scully was looking at him
confused.

He stalked over to her computer.

"See, sent email. Have a read." He pointed at the message. Scully read
the message on the screen and shrugged.

"I never wrote that. Someone must have gained access to my email,
broken in..." Scully began, and Mulder scanned the room again.

"Why didn't you answer my calls?"

Scully looked totally confused.

"I must have been in the bath, Mulder. You barge in here and ask me
all these questions. What's up, what did you think was going on here?"

Mulder nodded, observing her hair was damp.

"Someone used your computer while you were in the bath, but there is
no sign of break-in. Who else has a key?"

"Mulder..."

He checked the door and the lock. It was untouched.

"You, my mom, and me, and of course, the janitor, Mr. Silverpeel."

Mulder stopped examining her door for break-in and entry marks. He
gulped for air.

"What's his first name?" he gasped out his question.

"Why?"

Mulder pointed at the computer, feeling the excitement start pumping
blood into his every pore... Could it be?

"Sy." Scully answered and shrug again.

"Sy?"

"Yes, his name is Sy Silverpeel."

"Oh my God, Scully...." Mulder whispered, his eyes and mouth beginning
to water at the prospect. He took shivering steps towards her.

"What?" Scully asked miffed. He had demanded to be let in just as she
was getting a bath. His odd behavior did not appease her at all.

"Don't you know what this means?" he gasped, taking her by her
shoulders, shaking her violently.

Scully shook her head and rolled her eyes, attempting to be let loose
by this raging madman that was her partner.

"My janitor has a funny name?" she offered, utterly confused by her
partner's behavior. It did not help being naked underneath her robe
either, but Mulder did not seem to show any interest in her show of
leg.

"Come on, Scully!" he grabbed her by the shoulders again and frog
marched her toward the door.

"Mulder..." Scully gasped but followed her partner out in the hallway,
managing to grab her coat on the way out.

"Which apartment is his?" Mulder enthused.

"Number 1." Scully answered, only a little curious and very wary,
tucking herself safely into her coat.

"Fitting," he quipped giddily and hauled her down the hall.

"Mulder, what are you up to?"  She was seriously wondering if some
conspirator had got in and spiked one of Mulder's TV dinners.

"Scully, he needs our help, and I intend to give it to him."

Mulder knocked on the door vigorously.

"Mr. Silverpeel? Mr. Mulder here." He shouted through the door.

Scully bit her lip. Mrs. Anderson, the old teacher from #14 walked
past, eyeing them curiously. She was half-naked. He had a wild gaze in
his eye.

"Good morning." Scully said, trying to appear normal. Her wet hair was
clinging to her face.

They heard a shuffle of old feet behind the white door, and Mulder
licked his lips.

"Scully, why did you never tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"That you live next-door to..."

Mulder's voice trailed off as he saw the man who opened the door.

"Yes?" the man asked, looking at Mulder suspiciously.

"Miss Scully?" he queried when he noticed Scully.

"Hello, Mr. Silverpeel, sorry to disturb you like this, but my partner
here seems to think you need his help. Please explain to him you are
O.K." Scully smiled apologetically. Mulder owed her a ticket to
SaunaLand for this.

"Er..." the old man said, peering out in both directions of the
hallway.

"You're not Him," Mulder muttered, turning to leave, feeling utter
disappointment. He had been so excited hearing the name of Scully's
janitor. How utterly devastating it was to be fooled twice.

"Come in," the man offered, and then Mulder heard a faint trace of
something electrical about the old man's voice. He looked at Scully
and gasped. Scully's eyebrows were now somewhere up in her hairline.
An awkward grin pasted on her face.

"Of course!"

They entered Mr. Silverpeel's apartment. Scully had never been inside
number 1 during the short while her new janitor had lived there, but
she had to gasp at the sight. Mulder looked around amazed, nodding
stupidly at every item in the apartment.

"You like my little home?" Mr. Silverpeel intoned, and motioned for
them to sit on the red velvet sofa between two gigantic porcelain
Dalmatians.

"Home away from Home?" Mulder asked, a wide grin on his face, loving
the way his ass sank into the decadent piece. Scully gawked at the
lewd statuettes on the glass sofa table.

"And what a GRACEful home it is," Mulder stated, exaggeratedly
stroking the head of one gigantic clay Dalmatian.

"Wow, Mr. Silverpeel, you must have traveled a lot?" Scully exclaimed
as she scoped out the many-framed photographs of Mr. Silverpeel taken
at the Taj Mahal, the Pyramids, and somewhere that looked suspiciously
like the Antarctic.

"Did you win the lottery?"

"Hah," Mr. Silverpeel puffed out and took a seat opposite his guests,
offering them some M&Ms. Scully looked at the candy, her mouth almost
watering and quickly decided there were too many E's in them. Mulder
scooped a small fist of chocolate-filled goodness and popped all the
sweet orbs into his mouth.

"I wish," Sy continued, looking troubled.

"So, did you visit my apartment just now?" Scully asked, slightly
vexed.

"Yes. I'm sorry, it was a little unorthodox, but I had to get your
partner's attention."

"Then you do need our help, Mr. Sy Silverpeel?" Mulder enthused,
munching on the M&Ms, smiling around the anagram.

"Yes." The old man looked from Mulder to Scully, and sighed
vehemently.

"We are all ears," Mulder offered.

"Yes, unfortunately there are ears all over," the old man shrugged
with a sigh.

"Tell us, Mr. Silverpeel," Scully encouraged, eager to know what the
hell was going on.

"My name is not Sy Silverpeel."

"I know," Mulder hurried to inject. "You are Him, aren't you?" he went
on, seemingly lacking all restraint. Scully was more confused than
ever.

"Who is he?"

Mr. Silverpeel sighed again and nodded.

"I am tired of running," he said solemnly.

"Well, Langley, I ain't telling you about this," Mulder murmured and
was met with Scully's frown.

"What are you saying, Mr. Silverpeel? Who are you?"

"This man is Elvis, Scully, The King! Sy Silverpeel is an anagram,
Scully. Elvis Presley - Sy Silverpeel!"

"What?" Scully cried as she jumped to her feet, taking in Mulder's
shit eating grin where he leaned back in the lush pillows of the sofa,
looking very pleased with himself.

Mr. Silverpeel looked up at her solemnly, and she shook her head.

"Elvis is dead, Mulder, he died. You're not suggesting that this man
is him, are you? This man? My janitor?? Elvis? You aren't, are you?"

"Oh, little sis'", Mr. Silverpeel began, and Mulder hooted.

"She does need proof, Mr. Silverpeel, why don't you remove the device
and sing for us?"

Scully looked at Mulder. This day was currently rating a ten on her
weird-shit-O- meter.

"What device?"

"And you believe me, Mr. Mulder?"

"Isn't that why you contacted me?" Mulder asked.

"Yes, the man you knew as Deep Throat seemed to think you realiable
enough to contact if things got too difficult..."

"You knew Deep Throat?" Mulder gasped, as did Scully.

"Sure. He was my angel of mercy if you will. He knew about the cloning
program and came up with the idea of my untimely demise."

"The cloning program?" Scully asked incredulously and sank down into
the selfsame sofa cushions Mulder was cradled by.

"You think Frank Sinatra's voice could keep that well preserved?"

"What?" Mulder gasped and grabbed a hold of the clay Dalmatian, he had
almost let tip over.

"Old Blue Eyes was one of the first stars to be abducted and cloned.
The real one is in storage in Montana. Iced down to await 2012."

"What will happen in 2012?"

"The aliens will want human entertainment," Mr. Silverpeel answered
Scully's question flatly.

Mulder and Scully exchanged looks and shrugged.

"You said he was one of the first ones, who else?"

"Cher, Stevie Wonder, Perry Como, I wish they would have taken Jacko
as well, but they didn't, damned them, well, he never could sing..."

"Perry Como??!!"

"The list goes on, Agent Mulder, but Mr. Deep Throat refused to
sacrifice me to the demands of the aliens...I had always been his
favourite..."

Scully was rolling her eyes, trying her best to find her feet, which
would walk her towards the door and out of insanity which was this
apartment. The low fat rice dreamsicle she had eaten earlier must have
been off. This was all a very weird stress-induced dream. She needed
to lie down, resume her bath, anything.

"Mulder, I will be in my apartment. When you people have found some
sense, I'll be there, having lunch, or conversing with real people."

Scully managed to stand up.

"Miss, Scully, I need your help. They are still searching for me. I've
had plastic surgery, and use this voice distortion device to hide who
it is, I really am. But I am tired of hiding. I want to sing. I need
to sing. I have loads of new songs."

Mr. Silverpeel removed the little device from his neck, and Scully's
doctor radar started beeping curiously, forcing her to stay rooted as
Sy cleared his throat with a few cleansing coughs.

"My only wish when night is near
My only dream when day dawns, dear -- -
I need your touch, your lips so sweet,
forever..."

 He sang, tears in his eyes and Scully stumbled backward, reaching for
her seat and sank into the cushions next to her equally dumbfounded,
awestruck partner.

"O.K., do I have your attention now?" Mr. Silverpeel intoned in his
velvety Southern voice, sniffling and drying his tears.

Mulder and Scully nodded, their mouths hanging open. It was really
Him, Elvis 'The King' Presley, and they were all ears. Both of them.

"Mr. Deep Throat devised the plan. When the aliens were lamenting my
death and the voice they had missed out on, and of course the rest of
the world attended my funeral at the time, I was able to get away on a
military plane. Unfortunately, there were people inside the government
who cared very little for my well-being, and wanted nothing more than
to butter up the aliens for their own selfish purposes. They pretended
to help me and instead they brought me to New Mexico, practically
sending me directly to the lab. That jaundiced chain smoker was the
worst...if I ever get my hands on that guy, I'll...."

Mulder and Scully exchanged looks.

"Oh, dear," Mulder croaked.

"Yeah. However, Deep Throat helped me escape and, since the aliens
were hot on our trail, he devised another plan, a look-alike pageant,
in Vegas, and voilá it was possible for me to hide in the flux of
Elvis clones. A lot of those men were abducted as potential
Elvises...the shameful loss of life, all because of me..."

Elvis took a moment to sniff into a silk hanky.

"That's why there are so many Elvises..." Mulder flashed as if
suddenly everything was crystal clear.

"Yes...but the aliens were smart and saw through it all. I could no
longer sing with the rest of them. They used some very sensitive radar
techniques and could scan over the bone structures of the performers,
and so I was forced to alter my appearance radically, plus I learnt
then that they could read minds as well. A blessing for me was of
course that so many of the Elvis wannabees actually thought they were
Elvis."

Mulder chuckled in total understanding. Sy smiled.

"Of course my Elvis look-alike days were over, as was my singing in
public. I have had this apartment, like all the other ones I have
lived in over the years, padded with thought proof plaster.

Scully chuckled at this.

Elvis was not fazed by her disbelief.

"And I wear this thought-proof wig, another gift of Deep Throat's."

"Nice."  Mulder commented, eyeing the curious affair.

Scully rolled her eyes at Mulder, but it was one of half-hearted
incredulity.

"You don't know what it's been like, having to stay cooped up this
long. Always having to fear the aliens, always having to hide in
crummy hotel rooms and travel from place to place. I just want to go
back home, to Graceland. "

Sy took a moment to gaze at the clay Dalmatians.

"You should realize I haven't been able to tell my wife and daughter
that I am alive? I've had to watch them make terrible career mistakes
and personal blunders, not able to help them."

"You've sacrificed a lot, Mr. Silverpeel," Mulder whispered, a lump in
his throat.

"Yes. And, businesswise, you can imagine the difficulty in collecting
royalties from your songs if you're dead...and I want to perform
again. I _need_ to sing."

"Sy, there's only one thing for you to do."

Mulder smiled broadly and stood up.

"What?"

"Sy, you gotta face the music."

Sy worried his lip at the prospect of taking the stage again.

"Sy, remember this?"

The next thing Scully and Sy knew, Mulder had disjointed his hip in a
sad imitation of Elvis' and was whimpering on the floor.
 
 
 

A Week later.
Memphis
 

"Elvis # 1013!"
The announcer roared into the microphone.

Mulder and Scully were sitting at a table with Mr. Silverpeel,
clapping their hands vigorously. Mulder's walking frame was parked
next to their table.

"It's your turn now!" Mulder shouted in Mr. Silverpeel's ear, who
nodded, getting up and walking over to the stage, his black Elvis wig
and glittery white suit perfectly decadent and sequined. The band
began to play.

Mulder fingered the voice distortion device and gazed over at Scully
with a smirk.

"He might not look the part, but his voice is going to win this
contest."

"Yep. " Scully quipped, sipping at her Margarita.

"I won't tell the Gunmen."

"Don't be cruel."

And Elvis began to sing.
 
 
 
 

A week later
D.C.
 
 
 

" Wow, I won a night at Graceland. I guess taking risks is better than
being half-alive."

Scully turned in her chair to look at her excited partner reading out
loud from his email.

"You think Priscilla'll take him back?" Mulder asked Scully.

"Well, he has a beautiful voice," Scully replied.

"Do you think I have a beautiful voice, Scully?"

"I think you have Elvis lips, Mulder."

"Really?"

"Aha".

"And, what about Elvis hips?"

"Mulder, you don't really wanna go there do ya?"

Scully eyed the crutches next to Mulder's desk.
 
 
 

In the evening
Scully's bathroom
 
 

"Love me tender, love me sweet, all my dreams ful..."

"Shut up, Mulder, or I won't help you out of the bath."

"Don't be cruel."
 

End :)