Date: Mon, 28 Jul 1997 15:07:27 -0400 From: GirlGone Subject: NEW: The Bermuda Triangle 1-3/21 The Bermuda Triangle A Round Robin Story and a Very Loose Sequel to The Vegas Strip By Audrey Cooper, Thalia D'Muse, and GirlGone RATING: PG-13. We were occasionally naughty. Can you blame us? CLASSIFICATION: X/H. Case file and Humor. SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully fly off to Miami to investigate a mysterious disappearance in The Bermuda Triangle. Unfortunately our heroes get sidetracked by lost reservations, tacky motel rooms, a smut writer. . .and, well. . . you didn't think we would forget John Shiban, did you? DISCLAIMER: They aren't ours and we don't care. After we're through with 'em, CC probably won't want them either. WARNING: Please do not consume food or beverages while reading The Bermuda Triangle. Independent research has shown causal links to coughing, choking, spitting, and spewing liquid from your nasal cavities. If you proceed, remember that WE WARNED YOU! Don't bother asking us to pay the dry cleaning bill. SEQUEL: This is a very loose sequel to The Vegas Strip. A few in jokes and a recurring character or two. Otherwise, this will stand on it's own. Feedback to Audrey Cooper, xf_writer@geocities.com, Thalia D'Muse: thalia@goodnet.com, GirlGone: girlgone@geocities.com We plan on posting this story in 3 parts per day for a total of one week. For those of you who can't wait to see how this turns out, the whole story will be on our web page, The Wild Women's Archive, at http://www.geocities.com/Area51/6423/index.html under Round Robins! The Bermuda Triangle A Round Robin Story and a Very Loose Sequel to The Vegas Strip By Audrey Cooper, Thalia D'Muse, and GirlGone ----------------------------- >From the desk of GirlGone. . . I'm thinking summer. Sun. Lotion. Bikinis. An investigation. Unexplained phenomena. Mulder Torture. Where else could you do all this but... yup, you GUESSED IT... The Bermuda Triangle... This first part is very very very loose. Take it anywhere you want, just have fun. And if pictures are involved, MAKE SURE YOU GET THEM FROM D. A.! She's still got those Mulder-strip pictures from Vegas... D. A. - Guess what? YOU'RE UP!!! GG ----------------------------- The Bermuda Triangle 1/21 By GirlGone It was hot. Mind-sucking hot. Scully felt her brain cells painfully evaporate in the Miami sun and it was only noon. Sighing, she wiped away the sweat from her forehead, silently offering up her everlasting soul for a measly bottle of Evian. If Mulder hadn't been in such a rush, she would have picked one up at Miami International. Now, she stood on the blacktop frying like the proverbial egg, baby sitting their luggage outside of the Alamo Car Rental Agency. *Where the hell was he? It must be 110 degrees out here. How hard could it possibly be to rent a car?* ***** "I'm sorry, sir, but your reservation is not in the computer." The young blond clerk smiled happily as if imparting Fox Mulder with good news. He was tempted to look around in case she was talking to someone else. "What? That's impossible. I confirmed yesterday." "Confirmation number 006785 dash AK is not valid. Are you sure you wrote it down correctly?" Another helpful flash of white teeth. Mulder was beginning to get irritated. "Yes. I wrote it down correctly. I confirmed yesterday." "Well, sir, that number is not valid. Your last name does not pull up a reservation." "I need a car. I'm with the FBI." Her eyes widened noticeably. "No shit?" "Yes." "Wow." "So I really need a car." She nodded her head wisely. "What kind of car, sir? Sub-compact, compact, mid-compact, sedan, mid-sized sedan. . ." "Sedan. A sedan. That's fine." She tapped a few commands into her terminal. It beeped. Then her smile returned. Mulder felt himself relax a little. Pulling the old-FBI-routine always worked like a charm. "I'm sorry, sir, but all our sedans are booked." *Shit.* "A mid-compact." The woman made another entry into the computer. It beeped. Her smile became larger. Instead of a warm fuzzy feeling, Fox Mulder was suddenly afraid. Very afraid. "It appears as if our mid-compacts are all Confirmed Reserved. I don't show one available until next Thursday." "Well, what do you have then?" ***** Hot. Sweltering. Ball-park-plump-when-you-cook-em-hot. Scully already felt as if she had swollen three sizes bigger. As soon as Mulder pulled the car around she would turn the air conditioning on full blast. *Where the hell was he?* Shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun she looked towards the office. No Mulder. *Damn.* She didn't notice the car pull up next to her until the horn beeped. Turning, she watched in disbelief as Mulder disengaged himself from the driver's seat. The very small driver's seat. The driver's seat that made Mulder look like Alice in Wonderland after she drank the potion which made her Too Tall. "THAT is our rental car? You've got to be kidding. A Geo Metro?" "They lost our reservation." "Mulder, just tell me it has air conditioning." One look at his face told her otherwise. END 1/21 ----------------------------- Sorry, ladies. This was Week from Hell for me so I really dragged my feet on this one. Left it WIDE open for you, Audrey. D. A. ----------------------------- The Bermuda Triangle 2/21 By Thalia D'Muse Scully glared at her partner. The lost reservation had to be his fault, directly or indirectly. He had the propensity for getting them into to trouble and this was no different. He was probably perusing the new issue of Celebrity Skin when he made the reservation. She opened the passenger-side door and plopped into the seat, leaving Mulder to take care of the bags. It was the least he could do, with this being his fault and all. *I must have been a magician in a former life,* Mulder thought, the prestidigitation he performed in getting all of their luggage into the car being nothing short of a miracle. Getting into the car was another trick worthy of David Copperfield. He committed a painful act of contortionism to get his knee out of the way long enough to insert the key into the ignition and bring the motorized lawnmower to life. He put the car in gear -- a three-speed stick shift, his favorite -- and stepped on the gas. The car sputtered along, gaining about one mile per hour every ten seconds. He figured at this rate, they'd hit sixty miles per hour some time within the next fifteen minutes. Scully peeked at her partner out of the corner of her eye. He looked absolutely ridiculous. His shoulders scrunched over the steering wheel and his knees at his chin., he looked like he should be riding a tricycle. Biting her lower lip, she tried to stop the giggles bubbling in her throat. No such luck. They poured out, quietly at first but quickly growing in volume and frequency. This was his payback for every 'short' joke he had ever made. *Feet touching the pedals, Mulder?* Dana clutched her stomach and doubled over in hiccuping laughter. "Amused, Scully?" "Very," she managed between fits of giggles. "Thanks for the comic relief. Takes my mind off the heat." "I'm _so_ glad I could be of help, Agent Scully," he sneered. "Oh, lighten up, Mulder. It could be worse. They could have lost our hotel reservation, too." ***** "You WHAT?!" The pimply-faced hotel clerk smiled that pasted-on grin that all hotel clerks were required to wear. "I'm sorry, sir, but we overbooked. We have to go by reservation date and yours was made only two days ago." Mulder tried to keep it on slow simmer but his boiling point was at an all-time low. "That's because I just found out _two days ago_ that we'd be here." "Well, if I might suggest, sir, in the future you should plan your vacations at least four weeks in advance..." Scully looked at her partner's face and could see the countdown playing in his eyes: Four... three... two... one... BLAST-OFF! She grabbed Mulder's arm and squeezed. "Believe me, this is no vacation," she said before Mulder could open his mouth again. "We're here on business. I'm Agent Scully, and this is Agent Mulder. We're with the FBI and..." "Wow, you're here to investigate the disappearance, aren't you?" The clerk's eyes shined with delight as Scully flashed her badge. "Yes, yes we are. And we need to get started right away. So, if you could just get us our room keys..." "I'd love to be able to do that, ma'am, really I would, but like I said before, we don't have any rooms available." Scully resisted the urge to smack the annoying smile off the clerk's face. "Then find us a hotel that does." END 2/21 ----------------------------- Boy, it sure has been awhile, hasn't it? But I'm happy to say I'm having a ball.... All yours, GG - Have fun!! Audrey ----------------------------- The Bermuda Triangle 3/21 By Audrey Cooper "Then turn left..." Scully left Mulder bent over a map with the hotel clerk earnestly giving directions. She hit the women's room and splashed tepid water over her face. A mortuary convention. Good Lord above. Not only was she doomed to be parboiled in Miami's 100% July humidity, she would be parboiled in a Geo Metro with no air. She came back out to the desk just as the clerk was finishing up. "I've called ahead for you, Agent Mulder, and they're holding the rooms." Mulder grunted in assent. Scully roused herself to thanking the clerk, then braced for the blistering damp wave of heat. "So, Mulder, do we know where we're going?" Mulder inserted himself back into the car with all the care of someone carrying something potentially explosive. "Why is it," he started dangerously, "that all doctors use the imperial 'we'?" She glared at him and shut up. ***** Three wrong turns later, they pulled up in front of a garishly neon motel. The fuschia and orange neon proclaimed: HOURLY and DAILY RATES. "Oh, tell me this isn't the place, Mulder. Please." "C'mon, Scully. Can't be that bad. They've got thirty-two channels of X-rated movies." "The Tahiti Motel?" "I'll go in and get the keys, if you just want to wait." Mulder extricated his long legs from beneath the steering wheel, grateful to get out of the tin can without unmanning himself. "What, out here? With no air conditioning. Forget it, Mulder. I'm coming with you." Scully fanned herself weakly with the map and followed Mulder to the door. He opened it and ushered her into the shadowy office with a hand at the small of her back. ***** Oh my God. It was Frohike's twin! Scully backed into Mulder's hand before she got hold of herself. The little gnome eyed their glazed expressions, expensive clothes, and the possessive way the man guided the woman into the cool dimness of the office. Mulder squinted at the man. "Mulder and Scully. You're holding two rooms for us?" "Oh, uh, hmmm. Muddler." "That's _Mulder_." The man shuffled through loose papers on the charge desk, sending them seesawing down to the floor. "Sorry. Don't have anything in that name." "The clerk just called here. I've got the confirmation number right here. A4NIK8ER." Scully's eyebrow climbed halfway to her hairline. "Thirty dollars for half an hour, fifty for an hour." Digging in his jacket pocket, Mulder pulled out his badge. "We're with the FBI." END 3/21 ----------------------------- OK... Here you go... It is all up to you now... Have fun and please return the Mulder intact. No refunds will be made if the package is opened or otherwise damaged or if you do not have proof of purchase... GG ----------------------------- The Bermuda Triangle 4/21 By GirlGone "Uh-huh. And I'm James T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise. This here is my inter-galactic communications device." He waved his pen in the air. "Look, there ain't no reservation for Muddler." Scully noticed the vein in on the right hand side of Mulder's head throbbing. Staying silent right now was probably the safest bet. "My name is Fox *Mulder* of the. . ." "Fox? What the hell kind of a name. . . OK. It's fake, an alias. I get it. Whatever, buddy. You want a half hour or an hour?" The look on Mulder's face. . . If Scully didn't do something soon, he was going to have a coronary. She smiled sweetly, resting one hand on Mulder's forearm while simultaneously stepping on his toe with the pointed end of her heel. "Agent Mulder and I are here on a business trip. We need a weekly rate. You do have a weekly rate, don't you?" Scully's voice practically purred. She felt Mulder's muscles tense under her hand and issued him a swift kick to his ankle. He shot her a nasty look which widened into surprise when she ran her pink tongue along her upper lip. "We're sort of in a hurry, mister." The man sent an appreciative glance her way, his head bobbing up and down, his grin revealing nicotine stained teeth. "My kind of woman. I only got one unit for weekly. You want it?" Three minutes later the man passed Mulder a key with a conspiratorial wink. "Hope you last that long buddy." ***** The room was. . . well, she had definitely seen better. And worse. Generally that latter scenario included a decomposing body, chalk outlines, and forensic photographers, but yes, she had seen worse. Mulder had some sort of internal radar when it came to sleazy motels. "Well, Mulder, I'd take a few moments to unpack but I think it might be safer if I leave my clothes in the bag." "I made the reservations two days ago." He looked around the dark room glumly. His nose twitched. What the hell was that smell? Musty like. . . Oh god, he better not think about it. Maybe Scully wouldn't notice. Yeah, right. Maybe she also wouldn't notice the fact that there was only one bed and thirty two channels of porn movies. Fat chance. By the time they returned to D.C. he would end up owing her Big Time. Capital B, capital T. "What time do we have to meet your contact, Mulder?" "We need to get down to the pier at 2:00 to meet Bobby Ray." He looked at his watch. "That leaves us ten minutes. I hope you brought something black and sexy." He gave Scully a half-hearted leer. She looked at him, her face inscrutable. "My Sig Sauer." Mulder sighed. "Let's head down now. Before I end up getting shot." END 4/21 ----------------------------- Ladies, I just couldn't resist. It's only Part 5 and we're already well on our way to the deep end of the gutter. Make sure your oxygen tanks are filled. D. A. --------------------------------- The Bermuda Triangle 5/21 By Thalia D'Muse As he and his partner made their way down the aging pier, Mulder wiggled and shook his legs as he walked, desperate to work out the shooting pains setting up residence in his calves. Scully noticed her partner's odd dance. "Mulder, what are you doing?" "I'm cramping," he whined. "It hurts." "Take a Midol." Mulder sneered. "Ha, ha. Not _those_ kind of cramps. Leg cramps, charlie horses, from that damn car." "Serves you right," she mumbled. "Look, Scully, I know you're pissed at me about the reservation thing..." "_Reservations_, Mulder. Plural..." "Yeah, yeah, I know. I said I was sorry. I really did make those reservations, Scully. I promise I did. Besides, it's not _that_ bad." "Not that bad?" She stopped walking and her hands instinctively went to her hips. "Mulder, we have a rental car that even _I_ have to push the seat back in order to get in. We have to share a hotel room that probably has more...germs...than an eighteenth-century brothel. I'm hot, I'm hungry and to top it all off..." Her voice faded off as she saw her partner waving toward the water. She turned to see a well-built man coming toward them. A _very_ well-built man. A very well-built man _without_ a shirt. Scully gulped air. Mulder leaned his head toward her ear. "That's Bobby Ray." *HELLO, Bobby Ray!* Scully's eyes remained on the guy's lightly-furred chest, sweat glistening on firm, tanned skin. She finally tore her eyes away to look at his face. Almost as good as the chest. He looked like the Diet Coke guy, but with thick, wavy chestnut hair. Suddenly, Dana was very thirsty. Maybe it was the heat... ***** "My boss, Al Warner, was the captain on one of our smaller boats." Bobby Ray flashed a killer smile at Scully. "He's been sailing these waters for over forty years. Al was...is... the best. He's survived the roughest waters and sailed through hundreds of storms." Much to Scully's dismay, Bobby Ray had covered his washboard stomach, and the rest of his torso, with a thin white T-shirt. Although, she did find it easier to concentrate on the case without the distraction. "We spoke with the Coast Guard and there is still no sign of the wreckage or bodies. Is there any way he could have changed course at the last minute?" "No," Bobby Ray said shaking his head. "He would have checked in. We may be a small operation, but we log every detail and keep track of all weather conditions and charting changes." He handed Mulder a printout. "This was his last check-in. Now I know what you're thinking, but Al doesn't drink, and he doesn't believe in the Bermuda Triangle legend. That's why I'm so worried. I never thought I'd live to hear Al Warner say he saw bright lights descending from the sky while he was smack-dab in the middle of the Triangle." Mulder drained the remainder of the soda can their host had offered. "Bobby Ray, can you take us out to Al's last position?" "Sure," he said, wiping sweat from his brow. "I'll take you out tomorrow morning, same time Al left, so you can get an idea of the sun placement and regular traffic at that time of day." Scully's eyes widened. "I don't think that will be necessary, Bobby Ray." "Sure it would, Scully. We need to see the crime scene." He nudged her with an elbow and leaned into her, his face inches from hers. "Come on, Scully. You really don't believe in the mysteries of the Bermuda Triangle, do you?" His eyes sparkled with devilish delight. Biting her bottom lip, Scully resisted the urge to kick her partner in the shins. Smartass. He just _had_ to do it, didn't he? Of course she didn't believe in those stories her dad told her when she was younger. They were tall tales told by drunk sailors. There were logical explanations for each disappearance in the Bermuda Triangle. Even the ones that left no trace of the missing vessels or their occupants. Even the ones where her dad said sailors could see the ghosts of the victims as they traveled through the disturbed waters. *Oh no, you don't, Mulder. You're not going to win _this_ one.* Dana Scully straightened her spine. She spoke to Bobby Ray, but her eyes never left her partner's. "We'll be here at seven a.m. sharp." END 5/21 ----------------------------- Sorry for holding up the show. How about a little jealousy for tonight? Let's see what's on the menu... GG, it's all yours!! Audrey -------------- The Bermuda Triangle 6/21 By Audrey Cooper They walked back down the pier toward the parking area, Scully between the two men. "So, Agent Scully, where are you staying?" Bobby Ray asked. The question fueled Scully's already high desire to shoot Mulder again. She opened her mouth, but Mulder interjected smoothly, "Mix-up in reservations. We got stuck at the Tahiti Motel." Bobby Ray looked away from Scully's profile to focus in on Mulder. "You've got to be kidding me. That's..." "What?" Scully asked. "Not a good area of town." Bobby Ray chose to keep whatever other information he had on their accommodations to himself. Scully shot Mulder another furious glance. Oh, well. Right now she was to the point of anticipating Mulder's reaction when they got out on the water tomorrow. Maybe she would forget to remind him about the Dramamine. *That* would serve him right for teasing her about believing in the Bermuda Triangle. Reaching their pitiful excuse for a car, Scully put out her hand for the keys. Resigned, Mulder opened the driver's door for her then handed them over. "What are you doing tonight?" Scully tore her gaze away from Mulder's and gave a Bobby Ray a look of disbelief. Yes, the question was directed at her. "I'd love to take you out to dinner. Maybe do some dancing. Y'know, introduce you to Miami's nightlife." Bobby Ray smiled charmingly. Mulder's face was a thundercloud. Scully put on her best smile, the one with teeth. *She never smiles at _me_ like that,* Mulder groused internally. Bobby Ray leaned toward Mulder conspiratorially. "You don't mind if we go out for dinner, do you Mulder?" Mulder looked from Bobby Ray to Scully and back. The sun glinted off the fire of her hair. Scully tucked a lock of it behind her ear, and leaned back against the side of the car. "About five-thirty? We'll miss most of the tourists then." Bobby Ray was continuing to petition Scully. "We have some--" Mulder started. His voice seemed a bit deeper than usual to Scully's ear. "I'm sure we'll be done by then, Mulder," Scully answered, still smiling up at Bobby Ray. "Well, then. We'd enjoy that, Bobby Ray. Five-thirty? Where do you want us to meet you?" Mulder was enjoying the look on Bobby Ray's face. He didn't dare look at Scully. ***** Scully was seething. Her color was very high, and Mulder would have bet money that it wasn't due to Miami's sultry heat or the fact there was no air conditioning in the car. He smirked at her from the passenger seat. Even that ploy had backfired. In the passenger seat, he had enough room to stretch out his legs somewhat. "Nice of him to ask us to dinner like that," Mulder said innocently. Scully's knuckles whitened with the force of her grip on the steering wheel. He relented. "Hey, Scully, listen to me. I'm not about to let you go wandering off with someone we've just met, who *may* be involved in this disappearance." END 6/21 ----------------------------- The trip was incredibly short. There was no time to send postcards which read "Wish you were here". No. It all happened too fast. . . The trip into GutterLand. . . Umm. . . Ladies. Just couldn't resist. I had the best of intentions. For about one minute, which is probably a world record. Have fun D. A.! This baby's all yours now! GG ----------------------------- The Bermuda Triangle 7/21 By GirlGone She shot him a impassive look in the rear view mirror. "That's one of your best features, Mulder. Your overwhelming concern for others." For once, Mulder decided prudence was the better part of valor. They drove the rest of the way to The Tahiti Motel in complete and utter silence. In part, because of the heat. Although the tiny fact that the GEO Metro was not equipped with a radio did have something to do with the lack of sound. LATER THAT EVENING. . . AT THE COPA. COPA CABANA. THE HOTTEST PLACE NORTH OF HAVANNA. . . The air conditioning was on full blast at The Copa Cabana. It felt delicious. The Cuban food was tantalizing. The huge iced exotic drinks were luscious. Bobby Ray was. . . Well. . . One hell of a good looking man. Scully found that tonight she was getting in touch with her feminine side. She liked it. A lot. In short, she was flirting her pretty little ass off and Bobby Ray was practically eating his dinner out of her hand. Mulder, on the other hand, was contemplating suicide. He stared glumly into his blue frothy drink with three colored straws and a cute little neon green umbrella wondering why Scully was behaving like a. . . like a. . . strumpet. Once again, Mulder's Oxford education came to the rescue. Scully smiled shamelessly, tucking a bright strand of hair behind her ear, leaning forward to laugh at Bobby Ray's anecdote. She caught Mulder's glowering look. The more sulky he became, the more she flirted. Hell, why not? Why was *she* supposed to be a good little FBI agent all the time, chasing aliens and mutant monsters and ruining a dozen pairs of expensive leather shoes in underground tunnels coated with acid eating slime? It was time to have some fun. Loosen up. Carpe Diem. Seize the day and all that. ". . . so then to top it all off, the motor went belly up in a black cloud of smoke. Fred and I were stuck in the middle of the Atlantic without a way of getting back." Scully leaned forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Was there a leak in the oil-gas mix line? Did Fred do that on purpose?" Bobby Ray smiled widely. "Dana, you are too damned smart. That's exactly what he did." They laughed together. Mulder felt like throwing up. He looked over at the bar, searching for some sort of distraction. Immediately, his eyes widened in surprise. No. No way. It couldn't be. . . It *was*. OVER AT THE BAR. . . "I want something fruity. In a souvenir glass, so I can take it home." The Redhead looked over at her two companions hopefully. "Try one of those Flaming Pink Flamingos. They look wicked." The Blonde pointed to a large concoction which was on fire just a few tables over. "Isn't that a fire hazard?" The Brunette looked concerned as her eyes searched for the nearest fire extinguisher. Just in case. She always liked to be prepared in the event of an emergency. "Oh. My. God." "What? What is it?" The Redhead sounded concerned. The Brunette's eyes widened in surprise. She leaned in toward the bar, motioning her two companions to move in closer. They bent down in football-huddle formation as she whispered urgently, "Jack Hammer. At six o'clock. Don't look." The Blonde looked. "I said DON'T LOOK!" "It IS him. Geez. Check it out." The Redhead popped up and she stared openly, receiving an odd look from the bar tender. "Oh God. Should we go over and say hi? Oh no. He saw us. He just saw us staring at him." "I told you not to look," The Brunette pointed out. "Now he knows we're over here." The Blonde looked over at the table while trying to not look like she was looking. "He's Not Alone. That red headed woman is with him. Hey. Wait. She's flirting with that other guy. Maybe he IS alone." "Let's go say hi," The Redhead volunteered. "Right. We'll have The Blonde go over there, whip off her top and say 'Hi, remember me?' while you stick your checkbook down his pants. I'm sure that'll jog his memory," The Brunette responded sarcastically. The Blonde looked back at the table. "I don't think he's having a very good time. Let's send him over a drink." END 7/21 ----------------------------- C'mon in ladies, the water's fine here in the ol' gutter! Watch out in the deep end, though. I hear there's a green-eyed monster rearing its ugly head. I got a little carried away, but there's lots of room for expansion. Audrey, I hand the torch over to you. ;-) D. A. ------------------------ The Bermuda Triangle 8/21 By Thalia D'Muse Mulder swallowed hard, his Adam's apple doing a convulsive dance in time to the conga beat. It was those. . . vultures, as Scully had called them. He saw The Redhead staring longingly at him and his legs started to ache. That chick had one mean grip. He still had the bruises on his calves to prove it. He turned to seek help from Scully but found her seat empty, as was Bobby Ray's. He looked around, frantically searching the room for a splash of red. He found it. On the dance floor. In Bobby Ray's arms. Dancing the Lambada. If the cigarette smoke in the room hadn't have been so thick, passers-by could have seen the steam wafting from Fox Mulder's ears. His eyes narrowed as tiny bursts of jealousy fought their way from the pit of his stomach to his brain. *Since when does Scully dance?* he thought angrily as he rose from the chair. He had all but forgotten about the three problems sitting at the bar trying to look like they weren't trying to look. He stormed to the dance floor, shoving people aside as he went. He reached the couple and insistently tapped on Bobby Ray's shoulder. Mulder caught Scully's eyes for a moment and she shot him a look that left no doubt: if looks could kill, he'd be dead, buried and in a severe state of decomposition within seconds. Mulder tapped on Billy Ray's shoulder again and this time got a reaction. "What? Oh, Agent Mulder, didn't realize it was you. Thought it was some other loser trying to steal this wild Irish rose away from me," he said with a wink to Scully. She dipped her head shyly and Mulder thought he was going to be sick right there on the dance floor. Maybe if he aimed carefully, he could lose the enchiladas he'd eaten for dinner on Bobby Ray's shiny snake-skin boots. . . "Mulder, what do you want?" Scully asked, not bothering to hide her annoyance. "I need to talk to you. Alone." He directed the last word at Bobby Ray. "Oh, not now," Bobby Ray pleaded. "I'm showing Dana here how to dance the Dance of Love. Can't we finish?" "Sorry. Official FBI Business." He threw the overly-buff seahound a saccharine smile. Bobby Ray moved his hands away from Scully's body. "Hey, don't want to get in the way of the law. She's all yours, boss." Before he left, he leaned into Scully and whispered in her ear. She smiled and tittered as he walked away. Tittered? *Since when does Scully titter?* As the music changed to a slow, sultry Latin ballad, Mulder grabbed Scully, pulling her close while wrapping one arm around her waist. He sandwiched her small hand in his, and stared at the crown of her head until she looked up at him. "OK, G-man, what's the all-important 'FBI business' that couldn't wait." Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "I was having a good time until you showed up." "Gee, Scully. So sorry to ruin your fun with Popeye the Sailor Hunk, but I came over here to ask for your help. You're the only one I can turn to." He tossed in his adorable puppy-dog look for good measure. At which she immediately snorted. "Cut the crap, Mulder. What do you want?" She tried to squirm out of his embrace, but he held her close. Too close. Especially their lower bodies. *Oh my.* Well, maybe the discomfort wasn't completely uncomfortable. . . "I need your help, Scully," he whispered. "Look over at the bar but don't look like you're looking, OK?" She threw her head back in a fake laugh, turning her head just enough to see the bar. "I'm an FBI agent, Mulder, I know how to look inconspicuous," she gritted through smiling teeth. He bit a smile in return. "Any of those patrons look familiar?" Scully linked a hand behind his head, grabbing a handful of hair and yanking down until their noses touched. "No, should they?" "Yessss," he hissed, rubbing his nose against hers. "The three women over at the far end of the bar. We know them." She nudged him with her nose. "Dip me." Mulder pulled back. "What?" "I want to get a good look at them." She stood on her tiptoes and nuzzled his ear, her breath feathering his skin. "Dip me." Mulder hoped she hadn't felt him shiver. Or the sudden heat rising Down South. He spun them around the dance floor, then stopped. He held Scully close, looking in her deep blue-green eyes, then folded her over, his hand insistent at the small of her back. He carefully leaned over her, keeping their lower bodies in constant contact. Scully's head fell back, her hair almost touching the floor. She saw the three women looking their way, deep frowns set in their faces. They _did_ look familiar, but from where? An old case? She couldn't be sure since they were upside down. A blonde, a brunette and a redhead sitting at the bar. It sounded like the beginning of a bad joke. Her eyes widened. *Wait a minute...* She whipped her head up, staring at her partner. "Lift me up!" He cocked his head to the side. "What?" "LIFT ME UP!!" He obeyed, pulling her upright. He looked at her expression, the pursed lips and fiery eyes. Was she angry? "This is the official business?" she spat. "Saving you from your rabid groupies? That's NOT in my job description!" His lower lip started to tremble. "Scully, your job is to cover my back, right? Well, I need you to cover my back. And my front. And especially my legs." He cringed as he saw The Redhead smile and wave. Scully's fists pounded at his chest until he released her. "Go fight your own battles, Mulder. I am NOT running interference on your harem!" Mulder watched in horror as Scully stormed off the dance floor, leaving him standing there alone. Vulnerable. Unprotected. "Scuuu-lleee..." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw three very determined women approaching the dance floor. "Scully," he squeaked. "Help. Me." END 8/21 ----------------------------- Splash! Come on in, ladies. The Gutter's fine! All your's, GG. Audrey ----------------------------- The Bermuda Triangle 9/21 By Audrey Cooper Mulder's eyes narrowed as The Blonde split off from the other two women and made her way across the crowded dance floor. Unfortunately, The Redhead and The Brunette were still sharp on his tail as he turned on his heel and started gently shoving people out of his way. "Pardon me. Excuse me. Pardon me." A long slender hand fell on his shoulder. *Oh shit.* "Mr. Hammer?" He kept going. The grip on his shoulder intensified. "Mr. Hammer." The Brunette suddenly appeared in front of him, her small stature making it much easier for her to slip around and cut him off. That meant... *No wonder she's got such a grip! It's her!* Mulder turned and faced The Redhead with a sigh. "I'm sorry. You must have mistaken me for someone else." The Brunette grinned at the redhead, mouthing, "Yeah, RIGHT!" The Redhead smiled shyly and said, "Mr. Hammer, I... uh, _we_ really enjoyed seeing you dance, and I wonder if you would mind..." Mulder stared at her in disbelief as she started rooting around in her purse and triumphantly came up with a Sharpie pen. "Would I mind _what_?" he asked sharply. These women didn't want him to autograph _them_, did they? The Brunette smiled at him coolly. "I see you're still with that redhead. The one who accosted us." Mulder's mouth opened to automatically defend Scully, and he shut it again with a snap. Where was she now, while he was being flanked by capricious women? Off with Bobby Ray. Doing God knew what. His eyes blazed and he looked down at The Redhead before him with a little more interest. She was still digging through her purse frantically, probably for a piece of paper. He shook his head, thinking that if he scribbled Jack Hammer on a napkin he'd be free to go back to the Tahiti Motel with some Peace Of Mind. The Redhead crowed as she came up with what she had been looking for: a small square of cardboard. "Mr. Hammer, would you sign your picture for me?" The Brunette jostled Mulder out of the way as she snatched the Polaroid from The Redhead's hands. "So _that's_ where it went! I can't believe you've been keeping it in your purse!" The Redhead was trying frantically to get the picture back. "Give that back. If he'll sign it..." She turned and looked up at Mulder pleadingly. He cleared his throat vigorously and put out his hand. The Brunette gave The Redhead a sharp look and placed the picture in his palm. Mulder's mouth dropped as he saw himself immortalized on film, wearing only a hardhat, sunglasses, boots, toolman's belt, and a tiny patch of cloth with a clawed head sewn on. His face was all too clear, even with the shades. "I'm terribly sorry, ladies, but I'm going to have to keep this picture. I can't allow any..." He slid the picture into his breast pocket, fending off the redhead's hands forcefully. One of her hands slid down his chest and grabbed hold of his shirt pocket. He pulled back, and she was left with the pocket dangling from her hand. The picture fell to the floor. Mulder put his foot on it. The Redhead looked around the room until she spotted The Blonde. She waved at her and Mulder groaned, backing away, dragging the picture. *Oh, no, she's calling for reinforcements.* Then he noticed where The Blonde was. Right next to the guy who had been spinning latin numbers all evening. The evening had already been disastrous, as far as he was concerned. It suddenly got catastrophic. The d.j.'s deep voice interrupted the salsa number he was playing, booming out loudly. "It seems we have a celebrity in our midst, Copa goers! The *one* and *only* JACK HAMMER!" To Mulder's consternation, the sound of Rod Stewart's gravely voice rolled out of the speakers: "If you want my *body* and you think I'm *sexy*" as he was blinded by a spotlight. *Oh, God. Scully, please, please, please get me outta this!* END 9/21 ----------------------------- Well, ladies. You always leave this to me, don't you? Poor Mulder. I think he needs to give up his day job. This seems to be his true calling, if you know what I mean. And D. A. . . . Try to show some composure here, OK? Sheesh. That's the last time I take you to the bar. . . ----------------------------- The Bermuda Triangle 10/21 By GirlGone The light was shining full force directly into his eyes. There were a few polite claps from the crowd. He heard The Blonde yell something over the music. "Take it off! Take it off! You GO Mr. Hammer!" What the hell had he gotten himself into? And why had Scully ditched him when he needed her most? He couldn't understand how she could have just. . . left him here. By himself. Alone, abandoned, while she chased her own selfish pursuits. How utterly egotistical and self-absorbed. Mulder felt like a deer in the lights of an oncoming car. More like a Mack truck. He couldn't see a damn thing. But he did know the other two women were close. Very close. His FBI instinct told him so. Also, he felt The Redhead trying to pull up the foot which covered the Polaroid. "No. Nononono. This is MINE! It's MINE! Get off. Off. Off. Off." The Redhead chanted in obvious distress, scrambling on the floor while trying to remove Mulder's foot from the picture. Mulder shuffled backwards while keeping his left foot pressed to the floor, looking to escape the dance area. *Maybe there was a fire exit nearby.* He had to wiggle his back end a little so he didn't fall backwards. Somebody in the crowd obviously mistook this move for something other than its original intent. He heard a few woman hooting and clapping harder. Rod Stewart thrummed in the background. God, he really HATED this song. The Redhead continued to jerk on his left pant leg. He was practically dragging her along the floor with him. Keeping his balance was becoming increasingly more difficult. He felt himself leaning precariously to one side. He was going to fall flat on the floor. Then he'd be at her mercy. *Oh no. Scully? Scully, where ARE you?* The Brunette, sensing impending danger, grabbed at the back of his jacket to steady him. There was an awful ripping sound as he felt his body jerked in her direction. The sudden movement caused a similar ripping sound to come from somewhere down below. *Scull-ee?* The chilly air conditioning of The Copa Cabana was not at all welcomed. Thank god he had chosen those black silk boxers instead of his normal white cotton Jockey briefs. ***** The night air felt warm and gentle on her face. Bobby Ray's hand felt hot and firm on her arm. For one blessed night Dana Katherine Scully was forgetting who she was. No more FBI Agent tonight. No siree. Tonight she was just going with the flow and taking a break from that life. She sat on the bench with Bobby Ray, hearing the percussion beat of Rod Stewart's 'Do You Think I'm Sexy?' floating from the open doors of The Copa Cabana. She heard women hooting and hollering and clapping inside. Dimly she wondered what was going on in there. And why Mulder hadn't followed her outside. It was odd. Maybe one of his groupies was buying him a drink. Or getting his phone number written on her chest in ink. Suddenly the night wasn't all that great. Scully felt her chest tighten with that all-too-familiar anger. *Where the hell was Mulder?* She stood up from the bench, ignoring Bobby Ray's rambling comments about going back to his place. Nearing the front door of The Copa, intent on reading Mulder the riot act for behaving like a ten-year-old the entire evening, she didn't notice the man in the shadows. What she DID notice as she stepped back into The Copa Cabana, made her eyes widen in disbelief. Oh no. Not AGAIN. Scully sighed, withdrawing both her gun and her handcuffs. END 10/21 ----------------------------- Hi ladies! Sorry for the delay. You know, the word "Triangle" is starting to take on a whole new meaning. As if readers expected anything less from us. Audrey, I know you'll have fun with this one... D. A. ----------------------------------- The Bermuda Triangle 11/21 By Thalia D'Muse *How does he always manage to do this?* Scully sighed and walked into the club to find her partner and his clothing -- or what was left of it -- in complete disarray. The fleeting thought of "I can dress him up but I can't take him anywhere" flew through her head almost as fast as Mulder's ripped pants flew from his lower body. "Hmmm... black silk. My favorite," she mumbled as she fought her way through the crowd. Several patrons eyed her Sig-Sauer and high-tailed it to the exit. As she neared the dance floor, her suspicions were confirmed: those women were the source of the commotion. Well, that and her partially-naked partner. *Anger, Dana. Channel the anger. You're supposed to be _mad_ at him, not thinking about Jack Hammer and his amazing... tool.* The three women, two of whom had permanently affixed themselves to the body part of their choice, scrambled away from Mulder as they saw Scully and her friendly neighborhood service weapon approaching. "I _told_ you she was nuts," Scully heard The Brunette say to her fair-haired companion. Scully grinned maniacally at the women and grabbed Mulder by the tie, which had miraculously remained attached despite every button being torn from his dress shirt. "Why can't I have just ONE night without having to bail your ass out of something?" she hissed through her teeth. "Scully, get me the hell out of here and you'll never have to bail me out again," he promised in a whiny, boyish tone. "I won't even ditch you. Ever again. I swear." She snorted. "Yeah, I want _that_ one in writing, partner. In blood." She turned to the women and ripped Mulder's destroyed pants from the hands of The Redhead. "Sorry ladies, but this one's already spoken for." She slapped one side of the handcuff on Mulder's wrist and attached the other to her own. Throwing in a syrupy smile and a smack to Mulder's ass for effect, she waved good-bye to the women and led Mulder through the jeering crowd. Mulder wasn't sure if he was more humiliated by his lack of clothing or the fact he was handcuffed to Scully and she was pulling him by his tie, like a caveman would drag his woman by the hair. So dominant and forceful, like she was staking her claim. Dragging him back to the cave and do to him whatever she wanted. Actually, the more he thought about it, the more it turned him on... "I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU!" Scully had come to a stop just outside of the club's entrance. "You're a federal agent, for Pete's sake! Skinner would blow an artery if he knew what you did in there." Her left arm flailed in front of her and his right arm, attached to hers at the wrist, went along for the ride. He ended up smacking himself in the chest four times before her tirade ended. "But... but Scully..." "No buts, Mulder. YOU are going back to the hotel. NOW!" Mulder threw his lower lip out in that patented Mulder pout. "Where are you going?" She shot him the most scathing look he could ever remember seeing on her beautiful chiseled face. "I'm going to blow off some steam." "Not with Bobby Ray, I hope." Oops. Busted. He didn't mean to say it out loud, but she caught it. Of course. She _always_ caught the stuff he didn't want her to hear. "Why, Mulder? You're not jealous, are you?" She moved closer to Mulder, her breath hot against his chin. A quick yank on his tie pulled his face even closer to hers, until they were nose to nose. "No. Not at all, _Agent_ Scully. We're off the clock now." He increased the devilish leer in his eyes. "No need for me to hold you, at least not for _business_ reasons. You're free to do whatever you want with whomever you want." *Unless it's with Sailor Boy,* he added silently. "Good. Don't wait up for me, _Agent_ Mulder," she sneered. "Uncuff me, Scully." Three words he'd only dreamt about saying to his partner. Scully dug in her pocket and extracted the key, unlocking both ends in quick succession. Mulder held his hand out for the cuffs but she pocketed them and smiled. "I may need them later," she purred as she turned on her heel and walked to Bobby Ray, who was several feet away, admiring himself in a store window. A brisk wind carried her giggles back to Mulder's waiting ears. "I hope he gives you scurvy," he hissed under his breath. Mulder fished through his shredded pants until he found the keys to the rental car he had affectionately nicknamed 'The Gutless Wondermobile'. "You want to play, Agent Scully. OK, we'll play. Just you wait." Mulder grinned wickedly as folded himself like a card table into the car and drove toward the hotel, completely unaware of the man in the shadows scribbling furiously into a little black book. END 11/21 ----------------------------- This is real short, but.... I'm gonna subtitle this section, "As Outrageous As I Wanna Be". Story idea credit goes to Bob. That man has a wicked mind. ;) Have fun, GG! Audrey ----------------------------- The Bermuda Triangle 12/21 By Audrey Cooper AT THE COPA... The Redhead picked up the dirty, scratched Polaroid, her face an exercise in devastation. "Oh, no..." The Blonde put an arm around her shoulders. "We can send it to my cousin. He might be able to get a good image from it. He's handy that way." "Your cousin? Oh no, not that paranoid geeky guy!" The Brunette examined the picture regretfully, shaking her head. You couldn't even see the tool belt, let alone what it contained. "You really think he might be able to do something with it?" The Redhead's eyes grew hopeful again. The Brunette looked up at the mirrored disco ball. "Oh, _please_." "I'm not promising anything, but he _was_ the president of his high school audio visual club." The Blonde tucked the battered picture back into the redhead's purse, then steered her toward the bar. "C'mon, let's get another drink." "Well, I've still got this, anyway." The Redhead held up the pocket from Jack Hammer's shirt, somewhat mollified. OUTSIDE IN THE SHADOWS... The man closed his black book and sighed. She was a _goddess_. A beautiful, fiery incarnation of...of...of one of those Greek, uh, _goddessess_! An Irish beauty with creamy skin and cobalt eyes. She put him in mind of vanilla ice cream with strawberry sauce. With blueberries on top. Damn, that's good! He opened his notebook again and jotted down the phrase. She was his inspiration and his hope. His only hope. Of finding employment. When he saw her, listened to her dulcet voice, he was able to write. He had actually been able to sell something that he wrote about her. "The High Stakes of Love." So what if it was to 'Women's True Romance'. He trailed the object of his desire and her muscular appendage at a discreet distance, already imagining his next sell: "Enforcing the Law of Love." With the handcuff imagery, he might even be able to get Penthouse Forum interested and blow off the confession magazines. END 12/21 ----------------------------- I didn't start this. It's all Audrey's fault. . . Ladies, it is now officially. . . OPEN SEASON!!! Limit is one buck per woman. GG ----------------------------- The Bermuda Triangle 13/21 By GirlGone STILL OUTSIDE IN THE SHADOWS Penthouse Forum. Selling a story to that magazine would earn him a little respect. No more kissy-kissy romance stories. No more unresolved sexual tension. No more characters dressed up in tuxedos and ball gowns professing their unrequited emotions after a night at the opera. This. . . This would establish him as a full fledged smut writer. He smiled in the darkness of the shadows. It made him look downright evil. Discretely, he followed The Goddess of Love and her Boy Toy. He was very good at following people unobserved. In fact, surveillance was his middle name. Not that he had a first name or a last name. Just a nick name. Oh hell, maybe he should check his license. Why hadn't he thought of that before? Goddess laughed, her voice a bell tinkling in the warm air. Hey! That wasn't half bad! Hiding behind a concrete light pillar in the corner of the parking lot, he scribbled the words into his black notebook: 'She laughed, her voice a bell tinkling in the warm air.' He reread what he had written. No. It didn't feel quite right. It sounded more like she needed to pee. How to describe the actions of the woman he loved? The woman who so inspired him these last four years? How? Think. Think. Think. Describe the scene. Put yourself in the character's shoes. Write what you know. Say the words out loud to hear how they sound. The man mumbled. Scribbled. Mumbled some more. Closing his eyes, trying to get into her. . . OK. _That_ image wasn't going to work. Maybe if he got a little closer. If he could make out the words she was saying, if he could hear that velvet voice floating on the humid Miami air. . . He slammed his notebook shut. Agent Scully and Surfer Boy were very nearly out of sight. He had to get moving before he lost her. Before he lost his chance at starting his new career. The one he had secretly coveted for so many years. The job he had been born for - His destiny. So what if his first published story 'Take A Chance' hadn't been well received? The damn editor from Roman A' Clef had hacked his story to pieces. He had been naive, but he'd learned from that experience. Now, he had a literary agent. Things were going to change. Yes sir. He tucked the notebook into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a pack of Morleys. Taking one out, he lit it and moved towards his Lincoln Town Car. This story better sell, he thought. Or I'll never be able to keep up the payments on this car. Fucking budget cutbacks. Everybody was downsizing. Even the government. ***** Scully forced an amused laughed as she slid into the passenger seat of Bobby Ray's Buick. It was one of two options: Laugh or practice her Kung Fu moves on him. Not usually the best way to end a night with an attractive guy, but he was seriously getting on her nerves. If he "accidentally" brushed up against her one more time. . . It was a good thing she was sitting on her ass. At least it was safe. For now. "Would you like to walk down by the ocean, Dana?" "You know, I'm a bit tired so I think. . ." "The sea air will invigorate you." "We have a lot of ground to cover tomorrow and I. . ." "You'll thank me. I guarantee it." "No. I would rather have you take me back to the hotel." The devastated look in his eyes almost made her reconsider. But damn it, she was tired. She was pissed off at Mulder. Her butt was sore. All in all, the night was turning into a nightmare. She would rather just go to sleep and forget the entire day. Bobby Ray started the car and headed back to the hotel. END 13/21 -------------------- Sorry about the delay, ladies. I managed to keep up at the shallow end of the gutter. For now... ;-) Audrey, have at it! D. A. -------------------- The Bermuda Triangle 14/21 By Thalia D'Muse EN ROUTE TO THE TAHITI MOTEL... "You're sure you don't want to take a walk..." "I'm sure," Scully barked. A slight feeling of guilt spread through her when she heard a sigh coming from the seat next to her. She was about to utter an apology when a hand found her knee. "OK, Dana. I understand. Being an FBI agent must be tiring." Bobby Ray's hand gently massaged her knee as he spoke. Scully's leg tensed. *One more squeeze and I'm going to show you what little pressure it takes to shove a man's nose into his brain.* "Thank you for being so understanding, Bobby Ray," she said sweetly as she plucked his hand from her leg and placed it on the armrest between them. "Agent Mulder and I have several things to review before you take us to the scene tomorrow." "Yeah. Review. Sure," Bobby Ray snorted. Scully eyed him suspiciously. "And just what is THAT supposed to mean?" "Look, Dana. I may not be a thoroughbred when it comes to brains but I can see what's going on between you and Agent GQ." Between the anger stirring in her stomach and the three tropical drinks swimming in her head, Scully couldn't seem to find her voice. The only thing that came out when she opened her mouth were little gasps of disbelief. Her and Mulder?! Her and that pig-headed, alien-chasing, girlie-magazine-reading, sunflower-seed-munching, ditch-prone, well-hung, groupie-draped, even-my-parents-call-me-Mulder egotist of a partner?! How dare Bobby Ray imply that... *Wait a minute. Rewind.* Well-hung? Where did that come from? That didn't belong there. It was like that song from 'Sesame Street': One of these things is not like the others, one of these things just doesn't belong... Scully shook her head. Those drinks must have packed more of a punch that she thought. "I gather from your silence that I'm right," Bobby Ray said in the most pathetic voice Scully had ever heard. "No, as a matter of fact, things couldn't be further from the truth," she replied with conviction. "Agent Mulder and I are professional partners. That's all." *And if he keeps copping that macho attitude, we're not even going to be THAT after this case!* Scully leaned her head on the headrest and closed her eyes while massaging her temples with her thumbs. The exorbitant testosterone levels she had witnessed this evening were making her dizzy. It was enough to make her swear off men forever. Well, maybe not _forever_, but for a very long time. The Buick slowed to a stop and she heard the car's idle change. She didn't know how but she could sense Bobby Ray's hand hovering somewhere near her body. Whipping her head around, she caught just enough movement from his arm to know she was right. "Well, we're here," Bobby Ray sighed. Scully displayed her best happy smile. "Thank you for a lovely evening, Bobby Ray. I'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning." "Hey, maybe after the case is done, you and I could, you know, go somewhere again. Without an escort," he said as she exited the car. "That could be remotely plausible," she managed with a wry grin. *Yeah, right. And maybe I'll let Mulder off the hook with those Polaroids.* She tried not to laugh while watching Bobby Ray digest the word 'plausible'. She could hear the little wheels in his head turning as he tried to determine if 'plausible' was good or bad. He must have chosen 'good' as she caught the smile on his face as the car pulled away. Scully headed for the motel room, digging the key out of her pocket, but stopped a few feet from the door. She had almost forgotten that she and her testosterone-dripping partner were sharing a room. The curtains moved ever so slightly. He saw her coming. She briefly wondered if he was alone or was in the company of his Vegas entourage. Her anger was on its way back with a vengeance. She turned away from the door and found a sliver of an ocean view between two buildings directly in front of her. A walk on the beach was definitely in order. AT THE TAHITI MOTEL, ROOM 13... Mulder heard a car engine approach and a door slam. Being the crack FBI agent that he was, he determined someone was just outside the room. He moved the curtains enough to see Scully exiting a full-size, late-model blue car. "A Buick? The stud drives a Buick?" Mulder chuckled to himself. As Scully approached, he let the curtain fall back into place. He heard Scully's heels clicking on the pavement. The sound stopped then started up again, but began to fade. He pulled the curtain aside again to see Scully jogging across the street and toward the ocean. "Where the hell is she going?" Mulder pulled off his jogging shorts and threw on a pair of jeans, a clean t-shirt and his running shoes. Grabbing the room key, he left the room in pursuit of his partner. OUTSIDE THE TAHITI MOTEL, IN THE SHADOWS... The shadowy figure ducked behind a minivan when he heard the door to Room 13 open and quickly close. 'The Goddess' had ran off toward the beach and he was about to follow when the door to her room opened and HE emerged. The man had always wondered about the relationship between these two partners, and now it seemed they were sharing a cozy little room at a sleazy motel. The man smiled, then shook the thought from his head. It didn't matter what they were doing anyway. Their relationship was no longer his concern. Or was it... The man dropped the Morley butt, grounding its flame into the asphalt. Pocketing the notebook and pen, he walked toward the ocean. END 14/21 -------------------- Finally!! It's short, it's not-so-sweet, it's light and fluffy. Well, ladies, here we are. Welcome to the middle of the story, as those wonderful wackos from Monty Python would say. At least I'm *hoping* it's the middle... Audrey -------------------- The Bermuda Triangle 15/21 By Audrey Cooper ON THE BEACH Scully dug her toes into the sand, which still retained some of the heat from the blazing sun, walking straight across until her feet were dampened by the surf. Getting rid of her three-inch heels and putting her pantyhose in a nearby trash receptacle were the only things that had felt really good today. Breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, she tried to dismiss all the little peevish details of a truly horrific day from her mind. In...car reservation. Out...gone. In...Mulder ingratiating himself into her date. Out...gone. In...Mulder's harem from Vegas showing up. Out...had him practically stripped in five minutes flat. Out... *Shit.* She gulped in air. Ok, well that one wasn't going away that easily. She'd come back to it. In...hotel reservation. Out... Out... She shook her head. This wasn't working. Her and Mulder. One room. That wasn't _that_ bad. They'd managed it before. But. One bed. Her and Mulder in bed. Together. *Oh God.* In... A stealthy footstep behind her jarred her from her increasingly wayward thoughts. She casually dropped her shoes to the sand and reached behind her back, placing her hands at her waist, as if she were stretching. Her right hand found the reassuring weight of her gun. "Hey, Scully." Mulder's greeting was quiet. She closed her eyes for a long second, counting to ten, then acknowledged his presence with a nod, keeping her eyes on the ocean, she bent to pick up her shoes. Great. One hundred and twenty dollars of suede covered in wet sand and sea salt. "Nice out here," Mulder tried. "Um-hmmm." Scully started walking slowly down the beach once more, and he fell in step beside her. They walked in silence for a time, both feeling the earlier tension between them drain away, only to be replaced by a new tension. One room. One bed. Neither Mulder's super FBI agent sense nor Scully's down-to-earth sensibilities noticed the discreet shadow following just within earshot. END 15/21 -------------------- OK, D. A. You wanted a love scene? One loooooooove scene coming right up. . . OK. I believe it's all yours now. . . GG -------------------- The Bermuda Triangle 16/21 By GirlGone Perfect! A perfect setting. The two agents were walking along the shoreline of the beach under a nearly full moon. This was the kind of shit smut novels practically oozed. If he could work this scene into his story it would write the ticket to his success. He would show those manipulating nameless bastards of The Consortium what he was _really_ made of. They would be green with envy. Crouching behind an outcropping of rocks he furiously scribbled in his notebook. He wanted to write down their actions before he lost the feel for the scene. Later, he would refine it and send it to his beta editors and get their opinions. After all, this would be his first smut story. He would need to get some expert opinions. 'They had stopped along the shoreline, their walk forgotten. The moon painted the scene in silver, creating a world where only they existed. It had been this way for so long, only the two of them against such incredible odds, that they no longer realized they were separate entities. No. Now, at this moment in time, they realized how right they were for each other. Slowly, he turned her to face him, his eyes searching hers in the natural glow of the moonlight. He brought his hand up to trace a finger down the side of her cheek, brushing away the copper strands. He let his hand rest against her cheek, feeling the warm pulse of her fragile skin. Then, he bent forward, his face next to hers. Her world collapsed and it was only them. She closed her eyes, waiting for the touch of his lips, shivering with anticipation, tilting her head to greet his mouth with a hunger she could no longer bear.' ***** They had stopped at the shoreline, looking out over the horizon each thinking their separate thoughts. They knew each other so well, had become so steeped in the other's lives and habits that this silence felt companionable. Comfortable. Scully stared out at the blanket of stars and wished it could always be this way. Maybe if Mulder kept his mouth shut more often, she would be less inclined to be angry with him. A smile curved her lips and before she could say as much to Mulder, he had moved his hand and encircled her arm. Slowly, softly, he turned her to face him, his gaze imploring, as if there were some great secret he wished to impart, but could not say aloud. She couldn't breathe. The intense look in his eyes sucked all of the air from her universe. One hand rose and she felt his forefinger trace lovingly along the side of her face. The touch was brief, gentle and in his eyes there was an unspoken message. Something dangerous he wanted only her to know. His hand rested against her cheek. She felt his body lean forward, his face moving closer, closer, her eyes closing in an involuntary reaction. Any moment she would feel his lips against hers. Instead, he whispered in her ear. "We're being followed, Scully." ***** He was so excited. He couldn't believe it. All those rumors about Mulder and Scully were true. Heck, they had probably been doing the dirty dance since that first case four years ago. He had heard the story about Scully coming to Mulder's room clad only in a robe. Heck, he'd seen the surveillance photos. But he had never believed them. Now, the proof was happening right before his own eyes. He needed a better vantage point. He was having trouble seeing the whole thing from behind the wall of rocks. Maybe if he climbed up to one on the top. That big pink granite one over by the water. . . He had almost made it to the top when one of his leather dress shoes slipped on a slimy object. He tried to keep his balance and nearly succeeded by merely shifting his weight. Unfortunately, this also caused him to whack his elbow against the edge of the rock which set off a chain reaction landing him ass down in water up to his hips and knocking all the air out of his lungs. He jumped up and ran down the shoreline, hoping they wouldn't follow. Unfortunately, he heard their feet pushing against the sand and he forced himself to run even harder, gulping large quantities of air into his oxygen deprived lungs. His legs felt rubbery from the exertion as he darted across the road to the Lincoln parked in the neighboring hotel parking lot. Shit. He was getting too old for this. END 16/21 -------------------- Ladies, you knew it had to happen. It wouldn't be one of our round robin stories without it. Read on and you'll know what I'm talking about. ;-) Audrey, I think you can handle it from here. D. A. -------------------- The Bermuda Triangle 17/21 by Thalia D'Muse Mulder felt the burn in his calves as he ran, his shoes barely touching the sand before pushing off with the balls of his feet to gain momentum. And to gain on the mystery man in black. Man In Black. Mulder sighed. He so sick of this subversive shit. He saw the man running across the street, heading toward a black Lincoln. *Of course. Man In Black, Big Black Car.* Mulder kicked it up a notch, clearing the sand several paces ahead of his partner. He bolted toward the Lincoln, unaware that he had run into the street. That was his first mistake. His second was as soon as he realized he was in the middle of the street, he stopped short. The squeal of tires could be heard for blocks. So could the thud Mulder made when his backside made contact with the windshield of a passing car. ***** Scully heard the impact before she saw it. She tried to yell but her voice choked, her scream culminating in a squeak and a heaving coughing fit. Pushing herself, she reached the end of the sand and sprinted to the accident scene. Her partner was sprawled across the hood of a burgundy BMW, his legs dangling over one side. Passers-by gave one look and went on their way, as if someone getting hit by a car was an everyday occurrence. Scully scoffed at their indifference, then turned her attention to her partner. "Mulder, can you hear me?" she asked as one hand started to take his pulse, and the other checking his pupils. His only answer was a moan. "Mulder, where are you hurt?" He groaned something which could have been an obscenity but she wasn't sure. She continued her cursory check, feeling for broken ribs. She was vaguely aware of a car door opening and slamming shut. "Ah jeez! Ah jeez! My Uncle Chris is gonna kill me! What the hell was this idiot doing in the middle of the street? Why couldn't he have run in front of the guy behind me? Oh, I'm dead meat!" The man's voice cracked, raising an octave. "He's gonna pay for the damages, you know! He's gonna pay!" Scully's head jerked around at the outburst, a scathing look narrowing her eyes. She took in the driver's appearance: wrinkled and stained corduroy shorts, a T-shirt with the three frogs from the Budweiser commercials screened on the front, and worn rubber thongs. *Loser. Lou-zer,* she thought as she approached the guy in as menacing fashion as she could muster. She backed him up against the driver's door and whipped out her badge. "What's your name?" she spit out. "Huh?" "Your name," she said through clenched teeth. "Surely you can remember it." "Sh....Sh....Shiban. John Shiban," he stammered. "Well, Mr. Shiban, you have just hit an FBI agent in pursuit of a suspect." "B...but... he ran out in front of the car." Scully sniffed the air between them. "Have you been drinking, Mr. Shiban?" Shiban paled. "Uh, well...yeah...I mean, no...uh, maybe a few beers. But that's it," he added quickly. "Scully?" She turned toward the moan, seeing Mulder attempting to sit up. He succeeded but at a price, if the grimace on his face was any indication. "I'll be right there, Mulder," she said before turning back to the cowering driver. "OK, Shiban. Here's the deal. We walk away from this and I'll overlook your obvious intoxication and obstruction of justice." Scully held her menacing gaze on Shiban, hoping the idiot wouldn't realize that both charges were trumped up higher than a Las Vegas card game with a loaded deck. *Wait a minute,* she thought. *This guy looks familiar. _Really_ familiar...* "But I only had a couple of beers. And he ran out in front..." His whine faded off when he saw her eyebrow arch even higher. Scully waited for him to protest further but his downcast eyes and pathetic sigh told her she had won. She swiftly moved to Mulder's side, helping him down from the car hood. "Are you sure you're OK?" she asked, concern threaded in her voice. Mulder nodded slightly. "Yeah, just got the wind knocked out of me." He winced as Scully's arm brushed his lower back as she snaked her arm around his waist. "OK, maybe a little more than the wind. I think I'm going to have one sore butt tomorrow." "Let's get you back to the room," Scully said, leading Mulder toward the Tahiti's parking lot. "I want to check you out thoroughly." A leer found its way into Mulder's expression. "Thoroughly? What exactly does that entail, Dr. Scully?" She shot him The Look but tightened her hold around his waist. "Don't push it, Mulder." He didn't miss the ever-so-slight upturn of her lips as she spoke or the barely-perceptible playfulness in her voice. He smiled in spite of the pain. Maybe getting plowed by a Beemer wasn't so bad after all... END 17/21 -------------------- Ladies, you should be proud of me. Since this *is* a family show, I mightily restrained myself to the middle of the gutter (well... maybe just a teensy dip in the deep end ). I'll leave anything further to you, GG... Audrey -------------------- The Bermuda Triangle 18/21 By Audrey Cooper TAHITI MOTEL, ROOM 13 Scully pushed Mulder into the room, avoiding looking at the bed. Grabbing the ice bucket, she said, "Strip, Mulder. I'm going to get some ice." He raised his eyebrows and pulled his T-shirt over his head. Then -- *Ice? Oh, _no_.* But Scully was already gone. Shrugging, he stripped down to his boxers and sat on the bed, popping up again immediately. *Bad idea.* Scully reappeared, the empty ice bucket in one hand, the first aid kit she now routinely packed in the other. Mulder had adopted a sprawling pose on the bed. He lay on his side, his legs curled slightly, propping up his head with a hand, probably to avoid putting any pressure on his rear end. He looked like a centerfold for Playgirl. The black silk boxers and garish red bedspread only enhanced the impression. The whole room looked like it had been airlifted from an extremely tacky James Bond movie. She swallowed hard, putting on her doctor face. "Well, you're in luck, Mulder. The ice machine is broken." "Thank heaven for happenstance," he said with heartfelt sincerity. Scully's lips twitched as she set the ice bucket and first aid kit on the nightstand, then tilted the tasseled gold lampshade to throw a bit more light onto the bed. "If you tilted that up instead of down, you'd probably get more light," Mulder said, pointing up. "What?" Scully looked up in confusion then shook her head as she saw the mirrored ceiling. "How do you always manage to find the worst motels?" Mulder took that question as rhetorical but answered, "It's a gift." Scully sniffed and he watched over his shoulder as she started delicately probing his lower back. He winced as she hit an especially tender spot, his breath coming in filled with the light scent of her shampoo. "Here?" He nodded, adding, "Lower is worse." "Turn onto your stomach." He complied, happy to have his front face down. Her light touch and scent were wreaking havoc on his hormones. One room. One bed. *Dead puppies, dead puppies...* Scully tugged gently at his boxers. "Uh, Scully -- what are you doing?" "You're already bruising," she said, brushing lightly over the dimples at the top of his rear. Every hair on his body rose to attention and stood erectly. "By tomorrow you're going to look like a Canadian sunrise. The only thing that would really make this bearable for you tomorrow is ice," she explained in patient tones, continuing to stroke his abused flesh absently, her touch barely perceptible. Mulder groaned inwardly. "Since we don't have any, I'm going to do the next best thing." He refused to look up and see if her doctor face was still in place. Instead, he addressed his question to the bedspread. "And that involves what, exactly?" "Deep massage." END 18/21 -------------------- Did you really think? Did you really?????? Didn't think so. Well, ladies, no Mulder Torture farce would be complete unless our hero puked, now would it? D. A. ... Have fun!!!!! It's all yours! GG -------------------- The Bermuda Triangle 19/21 By GirlGone Deep Massage? *Deep*? Oh. God. Atten-HUT! Major Sparky was at full salute and preparing to invade Normandy all by himself, thank you very much. The Major, soon to be a General, strained against the fabric of his boxers. Silk. Oh. God. Hadn't he dreamed once about wet silk? He and Scully in a room with. . . He couldn't think. The sensation was driving him crazy. Not to mention how close she was. How very close to his nearly naked body. *Old sitcom reruns. My Favorite Martian. Mr. Ed. The Brady Bunch. Marsha. Nooo! Jan. JanJanJan.* He almost had control again. Almost. "Now, this may hurt a little, Mulder" Scully said lightly. "I've been waiting four years for those words," Mulder muttered face down into the sheets. "What did you say, Mulder?" "I said go ahead I'm all yours." She pressed her fingers into his buttocks, a very gentle pressure. Then she dug in. He wasn't ready for the immense pain from his bruised tissue. Fox Mulder had been shot by his partner, punched, drugged, shot again, blown up in a boxcar somewhere in the middle of the desert where he managed to escape by a super-secret passageway no one knew about, had a superfluous hole drilled into his head, and had even risen from the dead. None of these events had prepared him for this. He groaned and promptly passed out. "Mulder?" Scully looked at his inert form. She checked his breathing. Checked his heart beat. Eyed the body sprawled across the entire bed. *Now where do I sleep?* she thought in irritation. *Typical male. Takes up the whole bed.* She pushed him in the hopes she might be able to move his body over a tiny bit and claim a part of the bed. She must have pushed a little too hard because not only did he move, he rolled over and off the bed right onto the floor. She winced at the sound his body made when it hit the floor. "Mulder?" Peering at him from her vantage point on top of the bed, she watched his deep and regular breathing. He looked fine. Shrugging, she grabbed her pillow and stretched out on the bed. On TOP of the sheets. Damned if she was feeling lucky enough to sleep between them. Some things she was better off not knowing, thank you very much. ***** It was the pain that woke him up. At first, he didn't open his eyes. Moving his eyelids would only add to the excitement of the fifteen men with jackhammers inside his head. He tried to move an arm and a leg, but obviously those places were under construction as well. *God. I've got one hell of a hangover.* Just WHAT had he done last night? Let's see. . . The last thing he remembered was. . . Scully giving him a deep massage. Oh. Oh. He sat bolt upright which was a bad idea. A very bad one because he felt like he was going to pass out. Or throw up. His body couldn't seem to make up its mind. Scully, with a sixth sense that only a forensic pathologist has, came out of the bathroom. Except when he looked at her, there wasn't just one Scully. There were three. Oh sure, the other two you could see right through. . . but still. . . if he squinted just right. . . He could focus in on the solid one in the middle. "Morning, Mulder. How are you feeling today? Better?" He squinted some more. The one on the left looked a little bit taller than the others. *Would the real Scully please stand up?* "Mulder? What are you doing? Are you all right?" Nope. Still three Scullys. All dressed rather nicely in loose fitting shorts and white blouse. Where did she think she was going in that outfit? The boat. The BOAT! Fox Mulder rose and bolted into the bathroom, pushing by all the Scullys. The nausea had apparently won. END 19/21 -------------------- Hey, less than a 24-hour turnaround. I think that's a record for me. Unlike Audrey, I'm afraid my visit to the gutter remained in the deep end. I have no self-control. :P D. A. -------------------- The Bermuda Triangle 20/21 By Thalia D'Muse After flushing the toilet, Mulder got up from the floor, his legs wobbling like rubber bands. He went to the sink and splashed cool water on his face while he examined himself in the mirror. No doubt about it. Green was NOT his color. He had to admit that emptying his guts and a few internal organs into the porcelain receptacle did make him feel better. Well, at least his stomach. The nausea had masked the throbbing in his lower torso. Not the pleasant kind of throbbing he felt when Scully wore that tight white blouse and a thin lacy bra underneath that left very little to the imagination. No, this throbbing was around back. And it definitely wasn't pleasant. He felt like Buddy Rich was pounding out a killer drum solo on his rear end. No, more like Ricky Ricardo was using his ass cheeks for bongo drums. *Babaloo! Babalooooooo!!!* Mulder flinched when he heard the light tapping on the door. "You OK in here?" Scully pushed the door open, concern lining her mouth and eyes. "I've been better," he said with a pained smile. "Have you surveyed the damages yet?" she asked with as straight a face she could muster. "No, but if you'll kindly leave, I'll do just that." Scully shook her head. "No way. I want to see for myself, make sure it's just bruising." Despite his pain, he managed an eyebrow flip for her benefit. "Scully, if you're coming onto me, you've got lousy timing." She shot him The Look and pointed to his boxers. "Drop trou, partner." He hesitated, momentarily stunned by her choice of words. He quickly shook it off and did as ordered, lowering the back of his boxers. A low whistle echoes off the bathroom tile. "That bad, eh?" He twisted around and was able to catch a glimpse of skin mottled with purple, red and green splotches. He nearly hit the ceiling when Scully reached out and poked a few choice spots. "No hematomas, from what I can feel. That's a good sign." Scully lowered the boxers further and pressed her fingers into more of his flesh. *Nope, nothing but tight muscles, flexing and contracting at her touch. A nice, firm, colorful yet gorgeous hunk of male butt. The kind you can use as target practice for tossing casino chips...* His yelp brought her out of her hormonal fog. "Sorry. Does it really hurt?" "Only when I laugh," he bit out as he pulled up his boxers. She covered her smile with a cough, then walked out of the bathroom. "Mulder, I don't think you should go out on the boat today." She watched as he greened visibly at the word 'boat'. "I'm fine," he replied as he left the bathroom and dug through his luggage. "Isn't that my line?" she joked. "No, it's an equal-opportunity lie." A self-satisfying smirk sat on his lips. Her eyes narrowed but she ignored the dig. "Still, in my professional opinion, I don't think you're sea-worthy in your present condition." "You're not going alone, Scully," he said firmly. "Mulder, I am perfectly capable of handling this on my own. Bobby Ray and I are just going to retrace the path of Al's boat. It'll take a few hours at the most. I figured I could use that time to see what I can get out of Bobby Ray." Mulder didn't miss the double meaning in her last sentence. He turned from his luggage to face her. "You are not going out on a boat with a suspect without backup. He could take you anywhere and I would have no idea where you are or what's happened to you. Forget it, Scully." Scully's eyebrow arched so high her eye hurt. This conversation was getting interesting. Very interesting. "So, let me get this straight," she said evenly. "You're saying that it could be dangerous for me to continue this investigation on my own, to pursue my own lead, without backup. That going off on my own without informing my partner of my whereabouts would be stupid and irresponsible." "Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying," he stated matter-of-factly. She looked him in the eye, searching for the slightest bit of sarcasm. He was serious. He was SERIOUS! Scully had the overwhelming urge to knock out his teeth. Or better yet, to kick him in his Technicolor ass. "Fine," she barked. "Get ready. We leave in twenty minutes." She turned on her heel and opened the motel room door. "Where are you going?" "To get some breakfast." She turned back to face him, a wicked gleam in her eye. "Care to join me?" Mulder swallowed convulsively. "Uh, no thanks. I'll pass." "Are you sure?" she asked sweetly. "I hear they make a killer omelet, just dripping with cheese. They don't cook it all the way through, leaving it a little runny but that makes them more tasty, doesn't it?" She paused as all of the color drained from her partner's face. "And their sausage links are plump and juicy, brimming with grease and gristle, just the way you like them, Mulder. You bite down and they squirt..." Her grin widened as Mulder stumbled into the bathroom and emptied whatever remaining stomach contents he had into the toilet. *Poor Mulder,* she thought with a half-hearted pang of guilt. *He's in pain and here I am, making him the butt of my jokes.* "The _butt_ of my jokes..." A fit of giggles hit her as she closed the motel room door and headed to the coffee shop. END 20/21 -------------------- GG, Ladies, I think it's about time to wrap this up... Of course I've left *plenty* of room for an epilogue or sequel. It's been another wild trip! Where are we going next?? Audrey -------------------- The Bermuda Triangle 21/21 By Audrey Cooper THE COFFEE EMPORIUM When Mulder walked in, he really wasn't surprised to see Bobby Ray tricked out in a Miami Vice wrinkled linen jacket and jeans, talking animatedly with Scully. He had one arm draped over the seat back in a juvenile move even _he_ could better. She was backed into the corner of the booth. As Mulder approached, he saw her push Bobby Ray's other hand off her thigh. He cleared his throat and Scully glanced up with something that almost looked like gratitude. "Mulder." Bobby Ray's tone was anything but pleased. Mulder nodded and sat down carefully opposite them. "I'd back off if I were you, Bobby Ray." Bobby Ray's mouth opened, but Mulder cut him off. "Just coffee," he said to the waitress who appeared, snapping her gum. "Bobby Ray was just telling me--" Scully started. "I don't think I want to hear what he was telling you." "But--" "Al came home last night," Bobby Ray interjected triumphantly, eyes gleaming. PALM BEACH, FLORIDA "I didn't even _see_ the guy, Uncle Chris! He ran right out in front of me!" Chris eyed the ocean waves longingly, then shook his head. "John, I don't want to hear it." UNKNOWN LOCATION IN WASHINGTON, D.C. "...and she pursed her luscious lips--" "Excuse me." "--trying to decide if now was the moment--" "Mr. Bloodworth. Excuse me." "Yes?" "Is that it? Where's the plot? The action? The _sex_?" The tall man smashed out his Morley into an ashtray already heaped with butts, shifting his white-knuckled grip on the phone. This was the absolute last magazine on the list. He _had_ to get in here! "In the next section--" "I think I've heard enough, Mr. Bloodworth." "But--" "I'm sorry, but your story just isn't right for 'Harley Hookers'," the editor said in the syrupy voice reserved for children and the extremely unintelligent. "I can--" "You may want to try 'True Confessions'. That seems more your genre." "I've already--" "I'm afraid we don't have a place for you in our magazine. But thanks for calling." ANOTHER UNKNOWN LOCATION IN WASHINGTON, D.C. Langly entered the Lone Gunman office, breathing hard. Frohike pushed things aside on the nearest table and Langly dumped a pile of letters and packages into the bare space. "Took me forty-five minutes to duck a tail. Followed me all the way from the mail drop." "You sure you lost it?" Frohike asked. "Yep. MIB." "What do we have today?" Byers asked as he started going through the mail. He handed the boxes over to Frohike, who ran a sniffer over them before opening them. "Oh, cool, my video subscription!" "Langly, were you expecting something FedEx?" "No." "Well, there's something for you." Byers gave Langly a FedEx mailer. "Frohike, give me the sniffer." He ran it over the flat package, then shrugged and ripped it open, turning it upside down on the table. A square of cardboard and a piece of paper fell out. Byers picked up the cardboard. "Looks like a Polaroid. But it's badly damaged." Langly, who had been reading the letter, rolled his eyes. "It's from my cousin. She wants me to try to recover the image from this. She says The Redhead is 'inconsolable at its loss'." "Did she mention..." Byers paused delicately, "her _other_ friend?" "The Brunette?" Langly shook his head glumly. "No. I guess she didn't like the black light poster I sent her. And whenever I see her, well..." Frohike already had the Polaroid under a magnifier. He had a special weakness for redheads, and he liked Langly's cousin's friend almost as much as the delectable Agent Scully. "Looks like it's been run through a wringer." Just the thing to get Langly out of his funk. "Let's try the T-Tiwerp-30 software on it," Byers said. As the image sharpened before their incredulous eyes, Frohike muttered, "Looks like someone we know has taken up carpentry." THE END