From: Steph Lutz Subject: Fox and Irma's Excellent Adventure Date sent: Wed, 3 Sep 1997 02:57:12 +0000 FOX AND IRMA'S EXCELLENT ADVENTURE By Steph Lutz kaisteph@worldnet.att.net Rating: PG Category: SH Disclaimers: Ain't mine. Don't sue. All I've got is a Nissan with no original parts... A little humor to lighten up things after a very depressing weekend. Dedicated to Annie Wingate, for her very colorful description of a certain ranger ;) ************************ Boat Dock, Cumberland Island 4:00 PM Fox Mulder set down his backpack and stretched his arms up over his head, flexing his chest muscles as he stretched. Dana Scully set her pack down as well, and watched her partner preen with a raised eyebrow. "Very impressive, Mulder," she murmured dryly. "Are those Levi's new?" Mulder cheerfully ignored her and took a deep breath. "Smell that, Scully!" he said. "Fresh air. No smog, no soot, no car exhaust. Just salt, and pine needles." "Very nice," Scully said politely, rummaging through her pack for some Chlor-trimeton, and a bottle of water. She sneezed heavily and swallowed two tablets. Figured Mulder had to drag them out at the start of the worst hayfever season in years. Mulder was on a roll. "Back to nature, Scully. Just us and the fish. And the squirrels, the rabbits, the owls...." "And the "aliens", Mulder, don't forget them," Scully reminded him. They were there to investigate the disappearances without a trace of three campers, the companions of whom had sworn they'd seen bright lights. After interviews with the survivors, Scully was convinced that the bright lights had been the result of a little too much Bud Lite, and that the purported abductees would wash up on the shore in a few days time. However, allergy season or not, it was nice to get out of the hot and grimy city for a weekend, though she wasn't about to tell Mulder that. "And the only reason this place isn't swarming with holiday campers is that the place is still closed off from the police investigation." She jumped off the dock onto the sand and lifted the yellow streamer. "Look, Mulder," she teased, " it's even recyclable!" Her partner jumped down next to her, his Timberlands splashing the wet sand in the wake of a small wave. Not allowing Scully to dampen his enthusiasm, he bent down and touched the water playfully, straightened and wiped his hand on his flannel shirt. "Regardless, Scully, we're gonna have to rough it. No hotels here, just what we've brought with us. No plumbing, and no hairdryers." He gave Scully a wicked grin. "At least you didn't promise a nice trip to the forest this time," Scully muttered, then she returned Mulder's grin. "No cable either, Mulder," she pointed out. She paused, then struck the cruelest blow. "No basketball playoffs." Mulder winced, then clenched his jaw in a show of bravado. "I set my VCR." "Yeah, well - hope you don't have a brown out, like you did during the Superbowl. How much did Frohike charge you for that tape, anyway?" "Won't be a problem this time - I'll just give him copies of those snapshots of you from the Christmas party," he countered, stepping in front of her and shading his eyes against the low-hanging sun. "I think someone's coming." Sure enough, a rather oversized golfcart was rolling down the sandy path from the heart of the woods. "Those must be our guides," Scully said, reaching up to the dock and hefting her backpack. "I hope you know how to pitch a tent, because I'm not helping you." "Oh, and you're the expert?" Mulder grabbed his own pack, slinging it on his back in a fluid motion. "I've been camping every summer since I was in diapers. Come on, City Boy." She started in the direction of the path. "Martha's Vineyard is *not* city," Mulder said indignantly, following at her heels. Scully snorted. "Resort Boy, then." Mulder bit back his reply and smiled at the people climbing out of the golf cart. His smile froze, and he swallowed hard. The woman who stepped onto the sand was as tall as he, and easily 300 pounds. Her khaki Ranger uniform was about 3 sizes too small and her straining chest looked like it was about to burst its binding and take flight. Her face was devoid of makeup, though large lips were plastered with glossy chapstick, giving them a swollen, bee-stung appearance. Piercing grey eyes glowed far above leathery-tanned jowls, and the Ranger hat was jammed down over a hive of blue-rinse hair. Stepping forward, her back ramrod straight, she engulfed Mulder's hand in hers and shook it so hard his shoulder ached. "I'm Irma!" she barked. "And this is Bert." The driver of the cart had climbed down and was standing meekly behind her. About 5'5, beanpole thin, and balding, he gave them a shy smile. Jack Spratt leapt to Scully's mind, and she pressed her lips tightly together to keep from laughing as she watched Mulder. "A-Agent Fox Mulder," he stammered. "Th-this is Agent Scully." Scully nodded solemnly. "I expect you want to see the crime scene," Irma bellowed, her voice still decibels above the average jet engine. "Hop in, Fox," Mulder cringed at the use of his name, "Miss Scully. Bertram - take their packs!" Climbing into the back of the cart, Mulder recovered enough to murmur in Scully's ear, "Think she coulda been Skinner's drill sergeant?" "Better stay away from the pic-i-nic baskets, Yogi," Scully murmured back, completely straightfaced, as the cart bumped up the trail into the woods. ****** Campsite 42 5:00 PM Investigation of the crime scene didn't take long - it had rained the night before, washing away any trace evidence that the local forensics team wouldn't have already obtained. There was nothing to be seen but a slightly damp, perfectly ordinary campsite. Scully was gratified to discover that Mulder had not dragged along his Geiger counter, stopwatches and other handy UFO detection equipment. She supposed he expected to catch the aliens grey-handed. He did seem, however, to be trying very hard to find *something.* She watched in amusement as he crouched at the campfire site, took a pinch of wet ash between his thumb and forefinger, and held it up to the wind, frowning. "What's Fox doing?" Irma demanded. "Investigating." Scully informed her solemnly. "Ashes?" Irma asked incredulously. "What's he expecting to find?" "Residue from a craft," Mulder explained, straightening up and wiping the ashes on his jeans. He tilted his head back to inspect the tree line. "A craft? Like, a boat? There's no water. Is he stupid or something?" "Or something," Scully muttered under her breath before giving Irma a long-suffering smile. "No, I think he's looking for evidence from another type of craft. Coming from that direction." she pointed at the sky. Scully had to hand it to her - Irma was pretty quick on the uptake. "Spaceships?" The ranger took a heavy step back. "You one of them UFO nuts?" Mulder gave her an eager look. "Have there been others? Have you heard any rumors of UFO activity in this area?" The look Irma returned was scathing. "So, you tellin' me you think them campers was taken by little green men?" "Grey," Scully corrected her. She knew she shouldn't encourage Mulder, but baiting Irma was just too much fun. She was rewarded by glares from both Mulder and Irma. "You're crazy too," Irma informed her. "And just wasting everyone's time. Better get your tents up before dark. Or it won't be aliens that get you." She gave the trees a meaningful glance and stalked off. Scully could have sworn she felt the ground shake. She moved closer to Mulder. "I don't see anything unusual, Mulder. No burn marks, no scorched trees, no sand-glass. And local law reported no signs of a struggle." Mulder shrugged. "Better get our tents up then. We might get some visitors tonight." Scully groaned. ******** Campsite 42 6:30 PM Scully spread her sleeping bag on the floor of her small, neatly pitched tent, and crawled back out the flap. She got to her feet, brushed off her knees, and stopped to stare at the chaos before her. The ground was strewn with piles of metal and plastic paraphernalia, three tent pegs in a semi-triangle, a very large precariously balanced mound of canvas, and Mulder standing there scowling intently at a fourth tent peg. "Geez, Mulder," she said. "What did you do - buy out LL Bean?" "The guy at the sporting goods store said this was the Deluxe Trail Model," he informed her stiffly, picking up a menacing looking hammer. "And you believed him, of course," she nodded. "Trust no one, but complete strangers. I don't supposed he bothered to sell you any food?" Mulder gave her a sharp look. "You said you were bringing the provisions, Scully." She relented. "Relax, Mulder. I've got sandwiches and iced tea mix, and some wonderful dehydrated stuff for breakfast. Oh, and coffee." Mulder smiled. "Okay then." He turned back to the tent peg. "Mulder?" Scully folded her arms and raised an eyebrow, eyeing the canvas mound. "Do you have directions for that thing?" He snorted. "Real men don't need instructions, Scully." He bent industriously to his task, carefully positioning the peg on the ground. Scully thought. Then she dragged her eyes from Mulder's rear and gave herself a mental slap. Glancing at the somewhat larger tent across the firesite, she saw Irma standing there, admiring the view as well, with her mouth hanging open and her massive chest heaving. With an effort, Scully bit back a giggle. Deciding it was better to covertly lust over her partner than to laugh at the well-endowed ranger, she turned her eyes back to Mulder just as he lifted the hammer and brought it squarely down.... on his thumb. Mulder gave a short howl, and cut it off with a more manly "Damn!" as he jerked upright and took a quick step back. His heel landed on a short metal rod, which slid out from under him, and he fell backwards, executing a perfect landing on one of the already positioned pegs. His much higher pitched howl was muffled by the canvas mound, which promptly toppled over onto his face. Scully watched her partner struggle under the tangled canvas for a moment, then gave a deep sigh and crawled back into her tent for her industrial Mulder-sized first aid kit. ***** Campsite 42 8:00 PM Mulder finished the crust of his roast beef sandwich, brushed crumbs from the bandage on his thumb, and gingerly shifted his weight from one hip to the other, stifling a whimper as he adjusted the icepack tucked into the back of his jeans. From across the fire, Irma rose to her feet, an eerie mammoth in the flickering firelight. "Bedtime," she thundered. "Use plenty of sand on that fire. And don't forget your butt-checks! Bertram!" As Bert meekly followed Irma into their tent, Mulder swallowed hard. "Um, Scully? Did she just say what I think she just said?" "Ticks are a real problem here, Mulder," she explained calmly. "We need to check each other over before we go to sleep." Mulder winced. He'd managed to keep Scully from seeing the rather large bruise on his butt so far, and just settle for bandaging his hand and giving him the instant ice pack. He was *not* going to let her see it now, especially since it felt like it was swollen to twice its original size. "You first," he whispered. Doctor Scully just shrugged. "Fine," she said simply, crawling before him into his tent. Mulder checked her over very carefully, examining every inch of scalp under her fiery hair, and valiantly suppressing all lewd comments as he probed the firm white flesh of his partner's exquisite rear. He was going to need a swim in that icy water if this lasted much longer. "You're fine," he told her, bending down and letting her run her fingers through his short dark hair. She pulled up his shirt, and ran her hands down his back, but he pushed them away when they reached for the waist of his jeans. "No." he said shortly. "Mulder," Scully began patiently. "No. That means no." Mulder turned his butt away from her, and sat down, flinching. "The ice will have kept them away." Scully's eyebrow climbed at that medical revelation, but she gave in with another shrug and exited the tent. Irma peaked her head out of her tent, as Scully shoveled sand onto the fire. "Everything okay? I thought I heard arguing." "Everything's f-" Scully caught herself, as an evil thought planted itself in her mind. She couldn't. Could she? "To tell the truth, Mulder's being less than cooperative," she answered, with a sorrowful look in the direction of his tent. Lips set in a purposeful line, Irma stalked across the site, and gripped the flap of Mulder's tent in her meaty fist. Scully threw the last pile of sand on the fire. she thought as she hurried to hide in her own tent. Lying in her sleeping bag, Scully heard a very high-pitched scream. she thought with a giggle. A thunderous shaking indicated that Irma had returned, and a few seconds later there was a tentative scraping at the flap of her tent. "Scully?" came a soft whisper. "Um, do you have another ice pack?" ***** Campsite 42 4:00 AM Scully thought with a groan as she crawled out of her tent and stumbled off into the woods to relieve herself. The ground rumbled, shaking in response. she thought with a yawn. At the thunderous shaking, Mulder woke with a start, heart pounding. He grabbed his rear protectively, before realizing it was too much for even Irma. He scrambled out of his tent in time to be blinded by a bright white light. A strong wind stirred up the sand around the fireplace, blowing some into his face. He rubbed his eyes to clear them, and saw Irma and Bert standing outside their tent. Irma was screaming, her eyes huge, and Bert looked stunned - evidence of an actual personality? Mulder wondered. The light intensified, focusing on Irma, making her look like a bloated version of Moby Dick. As she continued to scream soundlessly, her eyes bugging out, she began to levitate. She was sucked upward into the beam of light, hesitantly at first, then the light seemed to brace itself and give a mighty tug. Irma's voice finally broke the sound barrier. "Fox!" she shrieked, meaty hands reaching for him. "Help me!" Then she vanished from view, and everything was still. Mulder gulped. "I'm gonna have nightmares about this for years," he muttered. Finished her business, Scully returned to the campsite to find Mulder and Bert standing there staring up at the sky. "What's going on?" she yawned, shining her standard FBI issue flashlight at them. Mulder blinked in the harsh glare of the light. "They were here, Scully," he said hoarsely. "They took Irma!" "Mulder, what are you talking about?" Scully asked crossly. "Who took Irma?" Bert stepped forward and picked up Irma's ranger hat from where it had fallen on the sand. Clasping the boat-sized hat with both hands to his chest, he gazed reverently at the sky. "Angels," he breathed. Scully opened her mouth to say something, and closed it again as she heard Mulder clear his throat. "Um, Scully?" She turned the light back on him, watching him squirm and look decidedly uncomfortable. "What?" "My butt really itches," he said miserably. "Do you think there might have been ticks after all?" **** Apartment 42 the next day Scully hit enter, closed the laptop, and stretched luxuriously in her chair. Across the room from her, Mulder lay sprawled on his stomach on the couch, head propped up on his hands, attempting to watch a recorded basketball game. He was dressed in just a t-shirt, with an old sheet draped artfully across his lower body. Scully shook her head. The worst case of poison ivy she'd ever seen, coupled with a hematoma the size of Texas. Only Mulder. She briefly considered petitioning to have "Murphy's Law" legally changed to "Mulder's Law", it seemed more fitting. She watched him squirm under the sheet for awhile, then had enough. "Mulder, don't do that. Stay still - you're just going to make it worse." He sullenly ignored her, giving his butt another twitch. "Fine," she said with a shrug. "If you break the blisters and it spreads, don't blame me. And next time-" "I know, I know," he grunted. "Stay away from shiny leaves when I use the little boys' room. Scully, shut up and pass me the calamine." Scully just smiled. THE END kaisteph@worldnet.att.net ********************************************** SAY, X-Phile, JBFC Back by popular demand - Tickle Me Spooky #{:~.()+=[}< ********************************************** "Truth is eternal; knowledge is changeable." - Madeline L'Engle