Part Seven


This was a bad idea.  One of the worst she'd ever had.  So why was it sooooo
good?  Scully draped a leg over an exhausted Alex Krycek, who was, oddly
enough, still wearing his sunglasses.  And nothing but.   Not a word of protest
when she slipped the prosthetic off but when she touched the sunglasses-he
nearly bolted.

Who would have ever thought that greasy-haired, geeky little Krycek from four
years ago would turn out to be a well-hung sex machine?  If she had any idea
back then - well, if she hadn't been abducted back then-.  Feldman sure could
pick them.  First the little piranha set her sights on Mulder, who supposedly
was no slouch in the sack (not that he'd ever let Dana Scully have a crack at
him) and then she snagged Ratboy.   The over-sexed little bitch.  Then again,
the over-sexed little bitch might have to learn to share because there was no
way in hell Scully was going to give up such a prime piece of ass.  Not without
a fight, anyway.

Krycek stirred, raised himself on his elbow and smiled radiantly at her.

"Again?"

"You didn't show me where It is."

"Sure I did.  And you got it right every time."  And that was truly a first.

"It wasn't there."

"Excuse me?"

"The Feldman gave It to you."

The Feldman?  Gave it?  Scully scowled at him and Krycek's mouth dropped open
in fear.  "If you're looking for that stupid alien thing, I trapped it in a
maxi pad and Spender flushed it."

"Flushed it?"

"That's right.  It's in the sewer system.  Which is where you belong you
rotten, lying, sneaky conniving no-good ---"

Krycek leaped out of the bed.

"How dare you have sex with me to get the oilien back!?"

"Sex?  With you?  For the oilien?"

Scully reached for her gun.  "Where the hell have you been for the last two
hours, Ratboy?!"

"Here," Krycek said, doubtfully.

"I don't think so because you obviously weren't paying attention."

"How do I get It back?"

"Get out!  Get out before I shoot you," Scully exploded.  "You-you
*Indian-giver*!"

To his credit, Ratboy didn't even bother grabbing his clothes.  He just leaped
out the window - well, through the window, actually - and took off down the
street stark naked, running with grace that made her lower her gun and lick her
lips with admiration.

So what if he was an Indian-giver dirtbag?  He had a body that didn't quit. 
And now that she showed him who was boss-.   Ratboy was going to do things
*her* way.  And Feldman was going to learn to share if it killed everybody on
the planet.



"This has been an awful day," Yuri sighed.

Wojtek dropped another quarter into the dryer.  "Should we put in some Bounce?"

"Yes, I hate static cling."  He rummaged in their bag and tossed the box of
dryer sheets to Wojtek.  "Make sure you only use one.  Those things are
expensive."

"It's still cheaper than buying new clothes.  You think that alien residue
stuff will come out?"

"How the hell should I know?  If you wanted to know that, you should have asked
the man with the cigarettes."

"As if you could trust anything *he* says," Wojtek sniffed.  "He's like an
American Jurik.  Worse maybe, because this one knows things that Jurik would
never understand."

"How many people do we now work for?"

"I've lost count.  The American wants us to take out Jurik, Jurik wants us to
take out the Italian.  Our government still wants us to get Krycek, but the
exchange rate is so terrible that we would lose money on the deal."  Wojtek
sighed and watched their clothes cycle in the dryer.  "You would think with all
these employers we'd have money for a cab home tonight.  We can't even afford
the bus."

"Subway."

"Why me?"




"Why do these things always happen to me," Carmine complained.

Nicky stared at him for a full minute.  "It's your fault."

"It is *not* my fault."

"I told you to take Ellen an' the jerk to the dump -"

"Which I did."

"Yeah, but you *left* them there.  You were supposed to wait.   How the hell
are they supposed to get back?"

"I had to go to confession," Carmine said, softly.  "It's been kinda a rough
week."

"Oh."

"I was there for over an hour."

"Oh."  Nicky drained his cup of coffee.  "In that case, I'm sure they was able
to find a cab or somethin'."




"Is there somewhere we need to go?"

Feldman glared at him for a full minute before answering.  "What do you mean?"

"Did your boss find Ratboy," Mulder asked.  The answer to that question was
obvious, if the scheming look on her face was any indication.  And from that
poorly disguised conversation, Mulder was pretty sure Ratboy was in DC.

"I told you -"

"I know, I know.  You don't work for the smoker."  Before he could needle her
further, the cell phone rang.  "Mulder."

"Mulder, it's me."  Scully.  She was agitated and-something else.  Something
that he couldn't quite identify.  "You need to get back here.  Now.  Ratboy was
just here and he was looking for the sample you gave me to analyze."

"Did he get it?"

"What?"

"Did he get the sample?"  Was it his imagination or did she sound slightly
guilty?

"No.  Spender flushed it."

"What?!"

"It's a long story, Mulder.  I'll explain later.  The long and the short of it
is that the alien got absorbed by the dry-weave in a Stay-Free Ultra and
flushed down a toilet in the ladies' room in the Hoover Building by that moron,
Spender.   Speaking of which fiasco, Skinner wants to see me in his office
ASAP.  I'll talk to you when you get here."

Mulder hit the `off' button and stared at Feldman.  Somehow, this was all her
fault.  Somehow.  Even if she wasn't there.  This episode had the Feldman
Effect written all over it.

"Now what," Feldman asked, tapping a Baby Doc Marten impatiently.

"Now you tell me where we need to go next."  He'd give her ten minutes.  Ten
minutes in which she would lie and connive and attempt to convince him to go to
DC.   Ten entertaining  minutes of Feldman lying through her teeth.  Maybe two
minutes of lying and then maybe eight minutes of her doing something else with
that mouth-.  She would if he asked nicely.  Hell, he didn't even have to ask. 
When he refused to believe those lies, of course Feldman was going to use sex
to get him to do what she wanted.  And now that he'd made his position on that
matter crystal clear, he had no problem accepting whatever she offered in
exchange for sending him off to rescue Ratboy.

"We have to go to DC, Mulder."

"Why is that?"

"Weren't you paying attention to your own conversation, Inspector Clouseau?"

"I don't believe I mentioned Ratboy -"

"Not by name, but who else would know Scully has the sample?"

Forget ten minutes.  She made her point in less than ten seconds.   So much for
that oral argument he was hoping for.   Of course, that didn't mean he couldn't
play with her a little, just to keep her on her toes.  "Your boss would know,
wouldn't he?"

"I must have been right because you changed the subject."

Oooh.  Sneaky Feldman.  Smart, sneaky Feldman.   "I'm not changing the subject,
Feldman.  I'm questioning the content of *your* conversation with - what did he
call himself? -- Judge Thackeray."

"You know, I'm really tempted to have Alex give the smoker my resume just so I
can get a job with him and piss you off."

"I wouldn't be pissed off, Feldman.  Just amused."

"Would you, really, Foxboy?"

"Mulder," he corrected, tapping her lightly on the nose with a finger.  "And
yes, I would.  In fact, I am.  You must be driving the old bastard crazy. 
You've got Ratboy so distracted he's practically useless ---"

"What?!"  Feldman glared up at him, fists on her hips.  "How dare you ---"

"How else would Ratboy have ended up in so much trouble?" Mulder draped an arm
casually around her shoulder.  "Maybe the smoker would have sent him here to
recover the alien and the ship, but Carmine and his goons wouldn't have been
involved.  And Ratboy wouldn't have gotten taken over by the alien."

"Are saying it's my fault he's missing?!"

"Not completely.  If he's pussy-whipped, it's because he let himself get
pussy-whipped."

Feldman jerked out of his grasp.  "What do you mean, pussy-whipped ---"

"Exactly what it sounds like.  But you're changing the subject again.  We were
talking about your boss, the judge."  Mulder hooked his arm through hers and
tugged her towards the gate.  "You can deny it all you like, but the evidence
speaks for itself.  You've got Ratboy working with Carmine and you and I both
know that's as unnatural as oil and water mixing."



It stared down into the swirling water of the Potomac, ignoring the screams of
the other primitives.  Krycek's body seemed affected by the loss of the fabrics
- clothes, they were called.   In fact the appendage that the Scully seemed so
fascinated with because it was so large (she said) had shrunk noticeably from
the temperature.

That part of Itself was in something called the sewer somewhere.  The primitive
that It encountered in the park, in between ramblings about aliens from outer
space, had explained that the sewer was connected to the water somehow.  

Krycek's body was not suited for long periods underwater.  It now had a problem
to solve.

"Looking for something?"

It turned and saw a human in a uniform holding an object.  A flashlight,
Krycek's brain supplied, helpfully.  "Yes.  It is in the sewer.  I need It."

"Yeah, I bet you do.  How much of it did you have tonight, buddy?"

"I didn't have It.  It was taken from me but the Scully says It's in the
sewer."  It used Krycek's smile but the human - a cop, Krycek's brain put in -
didn't seem affected.  

In fact, The Cop seemed angry at the gesture.  "Get on your knees and put your
hands over your head."

"I need It."

"You'll get it, alright.  Just do what I tell you."

Finally!  A human who was going to help.



It was all going straight to hell.  

Assistant Director Walter Skinner glared angrily at the yellow `caution wet
floor' sign and cursed beneath his breath.   He cursed Special Agent Fox Mulder
because even though Mulder wasn't here, this was Mulder's fault.  Next, Skinner
cursed Special Agent Dana Scully, because even though Scully wasn't here - yet
- she caused this particular fiasco.  And finally, Skinner cursed Special Agent
Jeffrey Spender. 

"Sir?"  Scully's voice echoed in the empty hallway.

Skinner turned and hit her with his meanest, angriest glare.  "I trust I don't
have to explain why I called you here."

"Oh.  My.  God.  The toilet overflowed," Scully gasped.  "This is all Spender's
fault."

Scully looked different somehow.  Her hair, which was usually perfectly
coiffed, was slightly disheveled.  And what was with that low-cut clingy
sweater?   Skinner scrutinized her carefully.  Sweet heaven.  Had Scully
finally gotten laid?  By whom?  Who would be that foolhardy?  He cleared his
throat and tried not to look down her sweater, but it was hard because she was
so damned short and he had to look down at her anyway.  Oh, screw it.  Why did
women wear things like that if they didn't expect men to look?  "Spender says
it's all your fault, Agent Scully."

"Actually, sir, it's Ellen Feldman's fault."  This was said in the tone of a
younger sibling ratting out an older sibling.

"Feldman?  She hasn't worked here since 1996.   How is this her fault?"

"Trust me, sir, it is."  Scully drew her gun and started stalking down the
hall.  "We have to find it, sir, before it gets out of the building."

"Before what gets out of the building?"  

"The thing Spender tried to flush down the toilet."

"The thing  was a -"  God, he could hardly make his lips form the words. 
"-maxi pad." 

"And it contained a dangerous life-form that I was trying to ----"

"There you are!"  Spender's shout echoed so loudly it made the fillings in
Skinner's teeth ache.  "Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in, Agent
Scully?  Those maxi pads are non-flushable!"

" - trying to examine until Poodle-boy here interrupted me, set the damned
thing loose and then flushed it," Scully finished, with a growl that made the
hair on the back of Skinner's neck stand up.

"You should've warned me," Spender argued.

"You were too busy being a jerk to listen!"  The red-head glared at Spender
with such ferocity that the man stepped back.  Even Skinner found himself
tensing when Scully focused her attention on him once again.  "We need to seal
off this building until we find it."

"We are not sealing off a building to look for feminine hygiene products,"
Spender snapped.  "Tell her, sir."

"Let's seal off the building," Skinner ordered.  But not before he downed four
or five Tylenol.  It was going to be a long day.



Jet lag.  Definitely jet lag.  Add to that an in-flight bagel went down like a
Goodyear tire and a headache that wouldn't quit.   Ellen groaned and slouched
down in the passenger seat of Mulder's BuCar.  

"Where to, Feldman?"

"If you ask me that one more time ---"

"I'm deferring to your expertise in Ratboy rescues."

Sighing, Ellen scrunched her eyes shut.  "Five minutes, Mulder.  That's all I
ask.  Give it a rest for five minutes, okay?"

He patted her knee in a sympathetic gesture.  "Sorry, Feldman.  No can do."

"What?!"  Her eyes flew open.

"You dragged me into this mess.  I think I'm entitled to some fun - even if
it's at your expense, don't you?"

"Jerk."  Oh, her aching head.  Her bubbling stomach.   And worst of all, she
smelled.  Like landfill.  She was sure Mulder smelled, too, but she couldn't
tell over the stench of her own clothes.  

"Uh-huh."  His hand wandered further up her thigh.

Ellen's teeth clenched as she pushed his hand away.  

He put it back.

She shoved it away again.

The offending hand returned, landing much further up her thigh with a playful
squeeze.  "I have an idea."

"Swell."

"How about we stop by my place and shower?  No offense, Feldman, but you stink
to high heaven."

"Five minutes," she muttered.  "All I ask is five minutes."

"You'll need at least fifteen and a good, strong soap."  Another squeeze of her
thigh, accompanied by a grin in her direction.  "I insist on lathering you
myself, just to be sure you're thoroughly clean."

He was-flirting with her?  Now?  On the other hand, a long, hot shower sounded
like a wonderful idea.  "Gee, you're so considerate."

"Aren't I?  And here I thought you didn't appreciate my efforts."  His fingers
continued their exploration.  "Maybe you'll give me a Ratboy Rescue merit badge
for my trouble."

She supposed he was expecting her to offer to give him something else. 
"Maybe."

"Don't sulk, Stinky."

"I'm not sulking and don't call me Stinky.  You smell just as badly as I do, if
not worse."  So there.

"Which is why we're stopping at my place.  And while I'm scrubbing you
spotless, you'll have plenty of time to think of a good story about how you
know where Ratboy is.  Not that I'll believe anything other than the truth."

"Which is?"

"That you work for the smoker, of course."

"You're really starting to get on my nerves."

"Payback's a bitch, isn't it, Stinky?"

"Why?  Why me?"




No!  Nonononono!  This was all wrong.  The Cop wasn't helping at all.  The Cop
wasn't even serving or protecting, even though those were the words on the
Cop's vehicle.  In fact, the Cop was hindering Its progress by refusing to
help.  The Cop wouldn't listen, didn't care about what the Scully had done with
the part of It that was missing.  Perhaps those words - to serve and to protect
- were meaningless.  The Cop wasn't interested in serving or protecting and It
wasn't interested in using the Cop's body.  It was even less interested in what
the Cop had to say about remaining silent.

It had the right to an Attorney.  Whatever that was.  Krycek's memories
contained very graphic images of an Attorney doing things the Scully had done,
so perhaps the Scully was also an Attorney.  In any event, It wasn't interested
in having another.

"Do you understand these rights," the Cop asked.

"Why are you interfering?"

"Because you're wandering the streets of Washington DC in your birthday suit
and a pair of RayBans, pal."

The fabrics.  All the primitives draped themselves in fabrics.   It would have
to remember that for next time.   Or for now.  This primitive certainly wasn't
going to need its fabrics.

It used Krycek's mesmerizing smile.  And then It did what came naturally.





"See?  Didn't I tell you you'd feel much better after a nice hot shower?" 
Mulder tousled Feldman's damp hair.  "And you've had almost an hour to think of
a way to tell me where Ratboy is without letting me know you work for the
smoker."

Feldman folded her arms across her chest and glared at him.  "I'm beginning to
get a little tired of ---"

"Me being right all the time?"  God, he was enjoying this.  Maybe more than he
should, but still, it was nice to watch her struggle to be in control of the
situation.  And lose every time because she kept underestimating him.

"You being a jerk all the time."  She smacked his hand away.

"You think your boss is going to like hearing you talk to me like that?" 
Mulder gestured to the light fixture in the ceiling.  "He's watching you right
now and thinking how you're botching your assignment to hell.  After all, he
sent you to seduce me and calling me a jerk isn't very romantic, is it?"

"You're right, Mulder.  Go get the taco sauce."

"What?"

Feldman smiled at him.  "You heard me.  Get the taco sauce."

"What about rescuing Ratboy?"

"Well, I don't know where he is.  You do, though.  Scully told you she saw him
so that means he was either at the Hoover building or at Scully's place, which
I doubt, but you never know if he was possessed by the oilien.  And anyway-" 
Her small hand shot out and yanked the towel from his waist.  "You insist on
playing games and wasting time.  We may as well waste it doing something that I
enjoy.  In other words, Foxboy, get the taco sauce."

Speaking of underestimating-  "Feldman."

She dropped to her knees and looked up at him.  "Yes?"

"Don't call me Foxboy."  




"Don't say another word, Spender!"  Scully crouched on the floor of the women's
room and shined her flashlight behind the toilet.  "Not one more word.  I've
had enough of your sanctimonious ---"

"Sanctimonious?  This is some kind of menstrual hormonal rage, isn't it?"

"I beg your pardon?"  Her voice took on a dangerous edge as she lowered the
flashlight.

"It's not uncommon," Spender continued.  "Coupled with the fact that I've got
the X-Files and you don't -"

"Spender, you have five seconds to shut up and get out."

"Is that a threat, Agent Scully?  Is it?  Because I don't respond well to
threats."

"Maybe you'll respond better to me shoving this flashlight up your ---"

"Agent Scully!"  Skinner's voice echoed in the bathroom.  "The CDC team needs
your input.  Now!"

"Later, Spender."  Scully waved the flashlight under his nose.  "That's not a
threat.  It's a promise."

"Oh, go suck a Midol."

Skinner rubbed his temples.  "Why?  Why me?"



Part Eight



"I don't believe this.  They lied.  The Americans lied!"

Yuri flinched as Wojtek pounded his fist on the laundry table.  "Easy,
comrade."

"Easy?  Our clothes are ruined!  This Shout does not work!  Neither did the
stain-lifter that's All!  So much for superior American products!"

"Shhh, my friend.  Perhaps the manufacturers did not contemplate the products
being used on-."  Yuri looked around, making sure the laundromat was empty. 
"..extra-terrestrial stains."

"Of course they didn't.  How could they?  Why would they?  Unless Krycek sold
the formula to them, too."

"What?!"

"Krycek is a greedy bastard.  Maybe he sold the formula ---"

"Don't go there.  I know you're furious but that argument makes no sense
whatsoever."  Yuri rested his hand on Wojtek's shoulder.  "Our first order of
business is simple.  We need new clothes.  We cannot catch Krycek until we have
new clothes."

"We can't afford new clothes."

"Details.  Mere details."  Yuri gestured to the humming machines.  "Look around
you.  A veritable shopping mall.  Designer.  K-mart.  It's all here.  And if we
don't see anything we like, we can try other laundromats."

"How far have we sunk that we're stealing clothes in laundromats?"

"Don't look at it that way!  Think of it like that capitalist tale, Robin Hood.
 We take from the rich and give to the poor."

"Rationalizations -"

"Yes!  Do we have money for new clothes?"

"No," Wojtek said, slowly.

"So?"

"Third dryer from the right.  I thought I saw some Ralph Lauren."




Taco sauce.  The smoker lit a fresh Morley as he watched Feldman face off
against Mulder.   His inexperienced little operative had her work cut out for
her, since Mulder was being less than cooperative.  And yet-that little power
struggle going on between them was fascinating.  Even though Feldman didn't
have him completely under control, she still managed to hold her own against
him.   Which was far more than most of his operatives could.

She might manage to pull this off yet.  Unlike Mulder or Krycek, he knew better
than to underestimate her.  Of course, he still tended to underestimate her
innate ability to take a perfectly simple operation and turn it into something
that required hours of damage control.

This was going to be Feldman's last field assignment, he promised himself.




Well, that little bluff worked perfectly, Ellen congratulated herself.  Mulder
thought about accepting the blow-job for all of ten seconds and then he told
her to get up.  Maybe she couldn't push him around any more, but she could
still predict at least a couple of his responses.  Heh heh.  With a grin, she
hitched up her towel and held out his cell phone.  "Call Scully."

"Excuse me?"  

His towel was exactly where she tossed it.  No modesty for Mulder.  Unless he
was deliberately taunting her.  Oh, the game was afoot now.  "She was the last
one to see my Rat - uh, my Alex."

Mulder shrugged.  "Why don't you do it?  It's number one on my speed dial."

"I don't wanna talk to her!"  Oh, now *that* was an intelligent thing to say. 
"I mean, uh, she's your partner and you know she's never liked me much and ---"

"True, but this is your Ratboy at stake, Feldman.  Are you going to let fear of
my partner get in the way of finding him?"

"I'm not afraid of her."  Much.  The red-headed harpy only carried a Sig Sauer
and was an expert marksman.  Think fast, Feldman, think, think.  "Um, you know,
Mulder, you've got that whole partner rapport thing going.  You should call her
---"

"I should, but I'd rather watch you do it."

Bambi eyes?  Nah, that hadn't worked in way too long.  It was time for
something new.  Something completely unexpected.  "I'll call the smoker if you
call Scully."

His only response was a slightly arched eyebrow.  "Okay."

Sucker.

"Go ahead."  Mulder held out the phone.

"You first."  Damndamndamn!

"Come on, Feldman.  Every second you delay, Ratboy could be getting into worse
trouble than he's already in."

Time for Bambi eyes.  Just because her Ratboy was immune didn't mean her Foxboy
was.  "But Mul-derrrrrr-.."

"Uh-uh, Feldrat.  You offered to call the smoker.  I'm not letting you off that
easily."

"I told you -"

"Yeah, yeah, I know.  You don't work for him."  

How could he be that naked, that hard and that confident?  Unless-  Oh no. 
That's it.  The whole thing was a trick to get her back down on her knees or to
call Scully or to call the smoker.  However it ended up, Mulder was going to
win.  Not fair.  Not fair at all!

"Well?"

"No."

"No," he repeated, slowly.  "No what?"

Ellen gave him her coldest courtroom stare.  "No, Mulder.  No, I don't work for
the smoker.  No, I will not call the smoker and no, I am not calling that
bi-uh, Scully."

"Well, then."  Mulder rubbed his chin, thoughtfully.  "No, I won't help you. 
Have fun chasing Ratboy on your own."

"But you promised!"

"No, I didn't."

How humiliating!  Bad enough Ratboy was getting the upper hand these days, but
Mulder?!  Was Winky going to be next?  Ellen sighed.  "Give me the phone."

"Why?"

"So I can call Scully."

"Good girl.  I'll have you paper-trained before you know it."

"I am not a dog!"  Ohhhh, he was going to pay for this.




Scully was going to pay for this.  Mulder was going to pay for this.  And if he
had to go whining to his father to make them pay for this, Jeffrey Spender
would whine with the best of them.  Didn't he whine his way into getting the
X-Files and that hot Diana chick as his partner?

Yeah, the craggy, old, Morley-smoking bastard would do *anything* for his
little Jeffrey.  Including getting that cute Ellen Feldman.  So far, the old
guy swore Feldman wasn't a good match, but what did *he* know about true love? 
Well, true lust anyway.  He'd bring her here, show her his new office and she'd
be perfumed putty in his hands.  All the women were going to swoon for him. 

Yes, sir, this was the new and improved Jeffrey Stuart Spender.  He had it all
- looks, power and -----

Some kind of gunk on his shoe.

His new Ferragamo loafers.  With the tassels.  Dammit.

Spender scowled down at the black stuff on the toe of his left shoe.  It wasn't
gum.  It wasn't toner from the copier or fax machine.  It looked like ink.  Or
oil.

Oil that was moving of its own accord.

"Get off!  Get off of me!"  Spender shook his leg frantically.  "You're ruining
my Ferragamo loafer!  And my Armani sock!  Get off, damn you!"

And suddenly, his left foot was all tingly.  But a happy tingly.  Joyful,
almost.  If his foot was happy, then all was right with the world.

Whistling, Spender continued his search for Scully's missing maxi pad.




"I'm plagued by the evil demons of stupidity," Scully informed her Dogbert
doll.  Normally, she kept it in her desk drawer, where Mulder wouldn't see it
and make his usual stupid, unwelcome comment.  You would think that after so
many years of working for a bureaucracy, Mulder would appreciate Dilbert.  But
he didn't.  For a man who understood every single Far Side cartoon, he could be
unbelievably dense sometimes.

She sank down into her chair - her special chair.  The one she special-ordered
after her old chair got destroyed in the fire.   Mulder bitched about how she
was taking money out of the budget, but when she told him she needed to reach
her desk (or else) he shut up really fast.   Eventually, she'd have him
trained.  Eventually.

But in the meantime, she was being plagued by the evil demons of stupidity -
Spender, Krycek, and the evilest one of them all, Feldman.

This hellish day was completely Feldman's fault.  From the oilien in the Ragu
jar to that amazing roll in the hay with Ratboy to being trapped in the Hoover
building with a pissed off Skinner and a whining, self-righteous Spender. 
Everything.  All Feldman's fault.

As if on cue, her cell phone bleated.  "Yes, Mulder."

"Dana?"

No!  Oh no!  Nonononono!  "What the hell do you want, Feldman?  Where's
Mulder?"

"You know damned well what I want," Feldman snapped, all pretense of any
deference to Scully vanishing.  "I want my Ratboy.  What did you do with him?"

"I didn't do anything with him."  Liarliarliar.  Damn her Catholic inner voice.
 How many Hail Marys was she going to owe when this was all over?

"What?!"

"I said-"  Think fast, Scully.  Think.  Think.  "-I didn't do anything to him. 
He showed up at my place, asked for the jar and ran away when I threatened to
shoot him."

"He showed up at your place?"

Scully's nails dug into the wood of her desk at the tone of Feldman's voice. 
The little piranha definitely sounded suspicious.  Or maybe that was her
courtroom technique.  "What did I just say, Feldman?"

"What was he wearing?"

"Nothing!  I mean-uh-I don't remember-I mean-"  Get a hold of yourself, Scully.
 "He left his jacket.  He was carrying it and he dropped it when I pulled my
gun on him."

"Was he wearing it when he rang your bell?"

Damn!  The piranha was *good*!   "I just told you he was carrying it.  He was
also carrying his prosthesis."

"Why?"

"How the hell should I know?"  This is what she got for trying to give Ratboy
his property back.  If Mulder wouldn't have recognized it, she would have kept
the damned jacket.  It was a nice one - soft, supple leather.  And a sizable
quantity of condoms, not to mention a full tube of lube in the pocket.  "Maybe
he got into some kind of trouble before he got here.  The point is, Feldman, I
threatened to shoot him, he dropped everything and he ran off.  Can I speak to
Mulder now?"

"No, because I don't believe you."

"You little --- !  Feldman.  Put Mulder on.  NOW!"  What was it they practiced?
 Plausible deniability?  Mulder would believe her and he'd convince Feldman. 
Yeah.  Plausible.  Deniability.




Ellen lowered the phone and stared at it.  Something was wrong about this whole
conversation.  She took a deep breath and pretended Scully was a hostile
witness.  "After you threatened to shoot him, in which direction did he run?"

"Didn't I tell you to put Mulder on," Scully hissed.

"The door to your apartment faces north on an east-west street.  Did Alex run
east or west?"   Yes, Scully was getting pissed off, but she also wasn't
telling everything she knew.  And that worried Ellen.

"He ran for his life," Scully snapped.  "And if you value yours, you'll put
Mulder on the phone."

"Are you going to tell him the truth about what happened?"

"What?!  I mean-uh, never mind.  Just put him on the phone.  NOW!"

Mulder chuckled softly as he took the phone.  "Scully?  Uh-huh.  Yes.  Okay. 
It did?  How long?  Right.  We'll call you if we turn up anything."

"Well?"  Ellen poked his chest with a scarlet nail.  Damn.  The polish was
chipped.  "What did she say?"

"She said the toilet overflowed and our little oilien friend is loose in the
Hoover building."  He grinned down at her.  "The whole building's been sealed
off while they try to locate it.  By the way, your nail polish is chipped."

"What did she say about my Ratb - uh, my Alex?"

"She said he ran west."

"Did she say why he took his took off his jacket, shirt and prosthetic?"

"Excuse me?"

Did this man ever pay attention to anything that didn't involve little
green/gray men?  "She told me he left his jacket and prosthetic behind.  He
couldn't take off his prosthetic without taking off his shirt.  Now why do you
suppose my Ratb - uh, my ----"

"For convenience's sake, just call him your Ratboy and stop pretending you use
his real name, okay?"   Mulder padded into his bedroom and began laying out
clothes.  "I'm assuming your next question would be why Ratboy would strip for
Scully.  Remember, Feldman, he's got that oilien in him, so it's making all the
decisions."

He paused dramatically and Ellen swallowed hard as she realized what he was
going to say next.

"Maybe they did the wild thing."

"Ewwwwwwwwwwwww!"

"You seem to find him irresistible," Mulder continued.  "I can't imagine why. 
Who knows, maybe he had the same effect on Scully.  It could be that wounded,
dangerous animal thing he has going or ---"

"Or the fact that he's hung like a ---"

"Feldman!"  

Gotcha!  "Well, he is.  Anyway, he'd never do Scully because she's -"

"But it's not him.  It's the oilien and maybe it liked her."  He grinned
wickedly.  "Of course, she'd have to get over her revulsion, so maybe you're
right.  But I can't think of any other reason why he'd strip to the waist."

"And you're supposed to be an expert profiler," Ellen sniffed.

Mulder regarded her calmly as he buttoned his Levis.  "Oh, I've already built a
profile of Ratboy, Feldman, and it's quite accurate, although I have to revise
it to reflect the fact that you've got him completely pussy-whipped -"

"I do not!"

"Sure you do."  He chucked her under the chin.  "Anyway, my point is, I may
have a workable profile of Ratboy, but I don't have a profile on the oilien. 
Or you."

"Me?"  Ellen snatched his shirt and looked at it with disdain.  "This has a
hole in it."

Mulder took it from her and tossed it into the corner.  "Yes, you.  I didn't
think I needed a profile of you before, but now that you're a player-  Well,
let's just say you've managed to influence all the other co-conspirators."

"I told you -"

"Yeah, yeah, I know.  You don't work for the smoker and Ratboy's not
pussy-whipped," he snorted, reaching into his closet for another shirt.  "Does
this meet your approval, mistress?"

"Who cares.  Start profiling the oilien.  I want my Ratboy back."

"Sorry, Feldman, unlike Ratboy, I'm not pussy-whipped."

Oooooh!  What a jerk!  "What the hell is that supposed to mean?!"

"I don't take orders from you.  If you want me to do something, you have to
ask.  Nicely."

Jerk!  Jerkjerkjerk!   Okay, time for her best Ratboy-attempting
to-seduce-Mulder imitation.  "Mul-derrrrrrr."

The federal agent nearly dropped his shirt.   Ellen had to hand it to him, he
recovered quickly.  "Yes, Feldrat?"

"Mul-derrrrrr," she purred again.  God, that rolled sooo nicely.  "Won't you
help me?  Please?  Pretty please?"

"Maybe."  He tugged at her towel.  Ellen lifted her arms and let him take it
off of her.  "What do you want me to do?"

"Start profiling the oilien, sweetheart," she cooed.  Sweetheart?  Ewwww.  "And
while you're doing that, I'll bet we can think of something I can do for you."

"Know what you can do for me?"

"What?"

"Tell me what you do for the smoker."

Why?  Why her?  It was going to be a long, long night.





Useless.   Utterly useless.  It's missing part was nowhere to be found. 
Unless-It was making It's way back to the ship.  The missing part wasn't at the
Scully's lair.  It went back there and checked.  Even the Scully was missing.

Yes, It would go back to the ship and rest for a while.  Krycek's body, as
wonderful as it was, was exhausting to control.  And maybe, just maybe, while
It rested, and Krycek's body recovered from the uses to which it had been put,
the little missing piece would come home.

It could only hope.




Scully read the police report and pounded her desk so hard, Dogbert fell off of
her monitor.  This was most definitely Feldman's fault.   Sighing, she reached
down and picked up the small white, plush dog.  "Mulder will never believe this
is Feldman's fault."

"Who are you talking to, Agent Scully?"  Spender strode into her office with a
strangely placid smile.  "Oh!  Dogbert!  I have a Catbert on my desk."

"Do you really?"  As if she cared what he had anywhere.  

"Uh-huh."  He plucked the police report from her hand.  "This is an X-File,
Agent Scully."

"No, it isn't."  Yes, it was.  "Show me one iota of paranormal activity in that
police report."

As if he could.  Spender's left eyebrow twitched as he scanned the report for
something, anything that would let him take the case.   Finally, he crumpled it
up and skipped out of her office.

"Newbie," she muttered, reaching for her cell phone.  Wait until Mulder heard
what Feldman did now.



Part Nine

Mulder sighed contentedly and lay back on his pillows.   He could feel Feldman
shift on the bed next to him and he opened his eyes to see her staring down at
him.  "Yes?"

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"The profile," she prompted.  "Did you whip one up yet?"

She couldn't be serious.  No.  Wait.  She was serious.  Feldman really believed
that he could profile a viscous fluid that sometimes mutated into a deadly
alien.  And what's more, she believed he could `whip one up' while-  Mulder
sighed.  "Just a very, very rough draft."

"Tell me."

Think Mulder.  Think.  Think.  "Uh-it's kinda technical.  You know, a lot of
jargon."

"In other words, you didn't do anything."

"Well, I ---"  Yes!  Saved by his cell phone.  "Mulder."

"I have a lead on Ratboy."  Scully's scowl was almost audible.  The oilien
infested Ratboy must *really* have pissed her off.  Maybe he/it made a move on
her after all.  Heaven help the poor creature.  Heaven help poor Ratboy.  "They
found the radioactive remains of a police officer and his patrol car near Cabin
Bridge Road.  Need I remind you where we saw *that* before?"

And need he remind her that she didn't believe in oiliens the first time she
saw it?  "Do we have a time of death?"

"We've got better than that.  We've got the entire thing on video."

"Oh, boy."

"Uh-huh.  And you'd better believe the local cops are pissed.  You know what
they do to cop killers."  Was it his imagination or did she sound almost
worried?  "You'd better find him before they do."

"Right."  He hung up the phone and rubbed his eyes.  "Feldman, I-."

 "What happened to my Ratboy," Feldman demanded.

"The-uh, thing-vaporized a cop."  Mulder slipped out of the bed, watching her
carefully.  "You know that most police cars have video cameras ---"

"Oh, no."

"Oh, yes.  So you can imagine there's quite a manhunt on for Ratboy."  It took
all his willpower not to smirk.  "Feldman-I know you don't work for the smoker,
but maybe you know a couple of Ratboy's friends.  Why don't you shake a couple
of trees while I shower and see if somebody can do damage control?"

"We have to find him."

"We will.  I promise."  Why he was promising to find Krycek was beyond him.  It
wasn't as if he owed either of them anything.  It wasn't as if he *liked*
either of them.  Well, he sort of liked them, not that he would admit it. 
"We'll rescue your Ratboy."

"You know I don't work for the smoker," Feldman said, quietly, looking at cell
the phone on his night stand.  Yup. She was already planning what she was going
to say.  Suddenly, Mulder found himself pitying the smoker.

"I know." Mulder dropped his cell phone in her lap with a wry grin.  "And I
know you probably can't get that video since you don't work for him, but if it
falls into our hands in the next half hour or so, that would be very helpful."

"But, I -"

"Look, I'll agree you don't work for the smoker and I'll even give you the
privacy to go to him behind my back on my cell phone.  I won't even question
you about it or trace the call.  Just do it, okay?"

"I don't work for the smoker."

It was going to be a long, long shower.





The phone was ringing.  His lips clenched the cigarette tighter as he reached
for the receiver.  He'd been dreading this call for the past thirty minutes,
when he learned about the incident.  "Yes, Ellen?"

"It's about Alex ---"

"Yes, yes, I know all about your Ratboy.  It's being taken care of." 
Discreetly, for a change.

"I need a copy of the video."  There was a small pause and then Feldman added a
hasty, respectful, "Sir."

"Why?"

There was an exasperated sigh on the other end of the line.  "So I can figure
out it's next move."

"So Mulder can figure out it's next move, you mean.  Don't you?"  He took a
long drag on the cigarette and waited to hear what she'd say next.

"Whatever.  I need it delivered to Mulder's place in half an hour."  

He'd had agents killed for lesser incidents of insubordination.  "Are you
taking your orders from Agent Mulder or from me, Ellen?"

"I'm trying to carry out your orders," she snapped.  "You told me to keep
Mulder on a short leash, I'm doing that.  You told me to find Ratboy and I'm
working on that.  But I need the damned tape -"

"You need to choose your words more carefully," he said, coldly.  "And I
suggest you watch your tone, as well.   I'm well aware of what you and Agent
Mulder have been doing for the past two hours."

"What?!"

"Agent Mulder was incorrect.  The video surveillance equipment isn't in the
living room."

There was a long, satisfying pause.  "Send over the tape."  

Did she just give him an order and hang up on him?  She must have, if the
recorded instruction to please hang up and dial again was any indication.  
Incorrigible.  Impudent.  Irritating.   Effective.  Her only saving grace. 
Well, he also found her amusing.  To a degree.   Sighing, the smoker reached
for the phone.




Wow.  What a conversation.  Did the smoker really say Ratboy?  Did he really
see-?  Ewww.  Gross!  Grossgrossgross.  What if he had it on video?  What if-
Ewwwwwww!
Ellen found herself staring up at Mulder's ceiling fan.  

She beat a hasty retreat into the bathroom, stifling the urge to stick out her
tongue or give the fan the finger.   That kind of thing could wait until after
she got the tape.

"Feldman, that had better be you."

She slipped into the shower with Mulder and let her eyes wander appreciatively
over his slim, runner's body.   True, he wasn't her Ratboy, but he wasn't a bad
second -

"How long until the tape gets here?"

"I told you ---"

"You tell me a lot of things."  A soapy arm slid around her waist.  "Some of
them might even be true."

Again?  Well, it was a good way to kill time and avoid actual conversation
until the tape arrived.  But-what if the video surveillance equipment was in
the bathroom, not the bedroom?    Ellen found herself staring up at the shower
head.  

Mulder chuckled softly.  "Smile for the camera, Feldman."

"What?!"

"C'mere."

"What?!"

"You need to keep me busy until the tape gets here."

This.  Was.  Not.  Fair.

"I have a clue, remember?"

How could she forget?




Part Ten


"Yuri!  Look!  Tommy Hilfiger!  And it's an extra-large!"

Yuri winced.  He created a monster.    A monster with a designer clothes
fetish.  "You don't wear an extra-large, Wojtek.  And lavender isn't your
color."

"It could be.  I've never tried it before.  Besides, doesn't the lavender look
good with these khakis?"  Wojtek reached into his laundry bag and held up a
pair of pants.  "No, you're right.  This looks terrible.  We need a laundromat
in a better neighborhood."

"But we've already been to three ---"

"The night is young and my laundry bag isn't full, comrade!"  Wojtek continued
rummaging through the dryer.  "Ooooh!  Look at this nightie!"

"Please don't make me."

"Don't you wish you had a woman who would wear something like this for you?"

"Yes, but if I did, she'd have enough common sense to wash it by hand at home,"
Yuri groaned, snatching the silky garment from his partner and tossing it back
in the dryer.  "Let's go."

"But we haven't finished looking yet," Wojtek complained.

"I know where there's a really good laundromat," Yuri lied.  "Very rich
neighborhood."

"Well, then!  What are we waiting for?  Let's go!"  Wojtek reached for his
overstuffed laundry bag.

Yuri cheered silently.

And then Wojtek snatched the nightie from the dryer and shoved it in his bag. 
He grinned at Yuri.  "You never know.  I might meet a size six American girl."

"Why?  Why me?"





"Pizza."

"That must be our tape.  And they sent us food with it.  How considerate." 
Mulder grinned at Feldman, who suddenly seemed very interested in his copy of
Psychology Today.  "You have any cash on you?"

Wordlessly, she reached into her knapsack and handed him a twenty.

Mulder opened the door to a kid in a Domino's uniform.  "Oh, nice touch,
Feldman.  The uniform is very convincing."

"I told you -"

"Of course you did."  He handed the startled delivery boy the money and shut
the door.  "What do you think?  Pepperoni?  Anchovies?  Video?"

"I wouldn't know," Feldman sniffed.  

"Sure you do."  

"I do not."

"Open it," Mulder instructed, setting the box down on the coffee table.  "After
all, you ordered it."

"I did not!  I mean, yeah, I ordered a pizza."

Gotcha!  He placed his hand over hers, preventing her from opening it.  "What
kind is it?"

"What," she asked, weakly.

He felt a tiny flash of sympathy for her.  After all, he'd never worked her
over quite like this before.  Still, she was holding up rather well.  The
average person lasted about ten minutes under far less stressful circumstances.
 "What kind of pizza did you order?"

"What difference does it make," Feldman exploded, digging the nails of her
other hand into the back of his.  "You know there's a tape in there.  I know
there's a tape in there.  And we both know there's a pizza in there!   But are
you going to let me have a slice?  No!  You're going to nag me about how the
damn tape got in the stupid box of pizza ---"

"Down, Feldman.  Easy, girl."  Ouch!  His poor hand.  Mulder used his free hand
to stroke her hair like he was soothing a nervous dog.  "That's my good girl. 
Good, Feldman.  Nice, Feldpup.  That's better.  Take your claws out of my hand
and I'll give you a nice dish of pizza."

"You sonofabitch!"  Feldman shoved him.  Hard.  Hard enough to knock him flat
on his back.  She straddled his chest and he let her pin his wrists.  "For the
last time, Mulder, I am not a dog and I don't work for the smoker!   Got
that?!"

"Can I still call Krycek `Ratboy' or are you deluding yourself about that,
too?"

"Mulder -"

"And now that you've told me what you're not and what you don't do, why don't
you tell me the truth?" 

"The truth?  There is no truth, Foxboy!"

"Mulder."

She squeezed his wrists in what he supposed was an attempt to be forceful. 
"The truth is, I'm an idiot for asking you to help me find my Rat - uh, my Al -
my Ratboy!  Yeah, he's my Ratboy, dammit!  Mine!"

"You didn't ask me to help you.  You came to me because your boss, the smoker,
sent you to screw up my investigation.  And I must say, you've done an
outstanding job of it."  Should he sit up and knock her off?  Nah.  He kind of
liked having her on top of him.   "I hope this gets you that raise you've been
hoping for."

Feldman slid off him with a disdainful sniff.  "If all you're going to do is
call me names and accuse me of things, you can stay here and wait for the
truth.  I'll find my Ratboy by myself."

"What about that pizza?"

"What?!"

"Don't you want a slice?"  Grinning, he sat up and opened the box.  The video
was sealed in a plastic zip-lock bag and taped to the box top.  "Look. 
Pepperoni.  Your favorite."

"Oh."

"Pizza and a video, Feldman.  Just like a real date."

"But ---"

"And then I'll figure out where Ratboy is."

"Really?"

"Yes, Feldman."  After all, he couldn't have her running around after the
oilien by herself.  Innocent bystanders could get hurt.  "Go get your dish."

"Mulder!"






"Stupid!"  

Kick.

"Rotten."

Kick.

"Machine!"

Kick!  

Nothing.   Scully glared at the machine.  "Those were my last dollar bills,
damn you!"

And the Twinkie dangled from slot B6, taunting her with its artificial flavors
and fillers.  Just an eighth of a centimeter and it should have dropped.  But
nooooo.   Somehow, Scully was certain this, too, was Feldman's fault.

She reached for her gun and aimed carefully.

"Agent Scully!  What the hell are you doing?!"

Caught.  By Skinner.  Attempting to liberate a Twinkie with a Sig Sauer.  How
humiliating.   "Uh-.I'm out of change-sir-."

"I'm beginning to think Agent Spender might have a point," Skinner muttered,
reaching for his wallet.  "Do you have some kind of problem with vending
machines?"

"Just the ones in this building."  Oh yes.  Yesyesyes.  He was going to buy her
that Twinkie.  Bless his bald little head.   Before she could stop herself, the
words came of their own accord,  "This is all Feldman's fault."

Skinner stopped short of feeding his dollar bill to the machine and stared at
her.  "In what way is it her fault?"

"I don't have all the facts just yet," she said in her most analytical voice. 
"But Agent Mulder and I are gathering that information for you."

"This report I can't wait to see."  Skinner handed her the dollar bill and
stalked out of the cafeteria.

Sighing, Scully attempted to feed the dollar bill to the machine.  It spat it
out.  She fed it again.  The machine spat it out again.  No!  Nononono!  

Feldman's fault!  Definitely Feldman's fault.




"Forget your troubles, c'mon get happy-.la da la la la-"  Yes.  He was happy. 
His left foot was absolutely joyful.   Spender looked down at his new pair of
sandals and grinned from ear to ear.  So what if it was cold outside?  His left
foot was tingling with joy.  Too bad his right foot couldn't get with the
program.

As he skipped down the street, Spender supposed he should have still been in
the Hoover building.  But if they wanted to keep him there, they should have
sealed the building tighter.  Idiots.  

Not that they could have held him if they wanted to.  His left foot had places
it needed to go.   As for the rest of his body-well, the left foot was in
charge.






"Stop it right there.  Rewind it."

"Again?"

Mulder draped his arm loosely around her shoulders and used his other hand to
pluck the remote from her lap.  "Again.  Until I'm satisfied."

"But we've watched this part eleven times," Ellen protested, snuggling closer
to Mulder.  He responded by holding her tighter and squeezing her thigh.

"We're about to see it twelve times.  You asked me to do a profile, this is how
I do it."

"I've seen what I needed to see."

"Really?"  Hazel eyes peered into hers, sparkling with more than a hint of
mischief.   "What have you observed, counselor?"

"I observed that your partner is a lying tramp who's going to get her ass
kicked when I see her next."

Mulder let go immediately.  "What?!"

"Didn't you see?  Couldn't you tell?  Ratboy was naked!  He didn't just leave
his jacket and arm ---"

"That doesn't mean he slept with Scully!"

"No, but the bite marks on his shoulders are a pretty good clue."

"Anybody could have put those there!"

"I was the last person to have sex with him before he got oily," Ellen
protested.  "And I didn't bite him there."

"No," Mulder said, dryly.  "You're responsible for the hickey on his neck."

"Liam did that," she blurted.  Great.  The stress was starting to get to her. 
"Uh, I mean, I don't know who put that-..I mean, yeah, it was me."

"Liam?"

She gave him her most innocent look.  "Who?"  

"We have two choices, Feldman," Mulder sighed, folding his arms across his
chest.  "You can answer the question now or I can make your life miserable and
then you'll answer the question."

He would, too.  The jerk.  He'd start in on that `you work for the smoker'
routine and then start with that stupid `Feldpup' garbage.  Jerk. 
Jerkjerkjerk!  She tilted her chin up at him and hit him with her most lawyerly
tone, "Mulder, Liam is irrelevant to the problem at hand.  I don't believe he
has any bearing whatsoever on your profile.  Unless, of course, you don't have
a profile."

"I do, Feldpup.  In fact, I'm even refining yours."

Oh, for the good old days when Mulder was actually nice to her.   "I was
beginning to doubt you even knew how to profile."

"Feldman!  I'm shocked."  

"Why?  You've been avoiding producing results for hours now."

"Not necessarily.  I just avoided sharing them with you."

Jerk!  Through clenched teeth, she hissed, "Where is that thing taking my
Ratboy?"

"Back to it's ship.  Are you up to another flight?"

Not again.  Not another flight back to New York.  "Yes."

"You want to call your boss for back-up?"

"I told you ---"

"Feldman, the tape didn't just pop out of thin air or pizza dough."

"I do *not* ---"

"You do.  Admit it.  You'll be much happier if you do."

"Why?  You'll just find something else to be a pain in the ass about."

"Feldman!  I do believe you've profiled me!"

It was going to be a long flight.





"Thank you for flying Delta Airlines.  How may I help you, sir?"  

"New York."

"Our next shuttle leaves in twenty minutes, sir.  Will that be cash or credit?"

Cash or credit.  It rummaged through the pockets of  The Cop's clothes for the
Wallet.  Using Krycek's mesmerizing smile, It pushed the Wallet at the
primitive.

The primitive smiled back at It as it went through the Wallet.  "You must be an
actor."

An Actor?  "Yes.  An Actor.  New York."

"That uniform is very authentic."  The primitive finished whatever it was doing
and held out the Wallet.  "Flight 1013, gate 11B.  Break a leg."

"Yes."  Such confusing beings.  Well, it wouldn't matter.  Soon, they would all
be hosts.  It was going to keep Krycek for Its very own.   The others might
ruin Krycek.   Especially if they were going to Become.   And It would kill
them before It let them ruin Its Krycek.

Yes, It would.

Uh-oh.  Primitives were paying too much attention to It.  Where could It hide?

There had to be a nice safe haven until The Plane left.

This horrible planet was *so* complicated.




"Happy days are here again-la lalalala-."  Oh, his toes were tingling.  Just
his left toes, mind you.  Why, oh why couldn't his right foot be as happy as
his left?  It wasn't as if he didn't pamper his feet equally.  It wasn't as if
that pedicure didn't make both of his feet look and feel good.  And the way
that technician used that pumice and those lotions-.  His right foot should
have been ecstatic.

Spender was bouncing as he walked through the airport.  Yes, he was going to
take his feet to New York, to whatever destination his left foot had in mind. 
Or in toe.

"Excuse me," a very fat woman chirped, stepping squarely on the exposed toes of
his left foot.

Pain!  Oh, God, the pain.  Ouchouchouch!   Should he shoot her for ruining his
foot's mood?  Spender's fingers curled around the handle of his gun while he
considered it.  No.  It was an accident.  Of course, if somebody did something
like that on purpose, it would be another story.   Another story altogether.




"I'm going to the men's room," Mulder announced.

"Gee, thanks for the news flash," Ellen sniped.

He grinned down at her.  "I should be about five minutes, in case you want to
be able to time your call to your boss and let him know where we're going."

Jerk!  She thought fast.  "He already knows.  There are bugs in your button fly
jeans."

"You're cute when you're lying."

"Just go already, will you?"  

"Five minutes," Mulder intoned, walking into the men's room.

Five peaceful Mulderless minutes.   Oh, how wonderful it would be to have her
Ratboy back.   Then again, it was the same story with Ratboy.  Mulder wanted
her to say she worked for the smoker, Ratboy wanted to hear that she loved him.
 Would Ellen Feldman ever know another moment's peace again?   Sighing, she
leaned against the wall and watched the crowd of people.

Wow.  Look at that yummy cop.  That yummy cop's incredible ass.

That yummy cop with the incredible ass only had one arm and was wearing a pair
of RayBans.   

Ratboy.

The oilien.

The oilien with absolutely no fashion sense whatsoever.  Bad enough it wore
sunglasses at night when it killed that cop, but to wear them indoors!   She
was going to teach it a lesson it would never forget.

Stealthily, she moved up behind it and rested her hand on its shoulder. 
"Excuse me."

The creature whirled, startled.  

Ellen smiled pleasantly.  "You have something that belongs to me and I want it
back."






Oh, no!  Nononono!  Krycek's body had a lot of memories of this creature.  This
was a Feldman.   And the Feldman said Krycek belonged to it.   There was only
one thing to do.  

It fled.

The Feldman wasn't giving up that easily.   No, the Feldman was giving chase. 
"You give me back my Ratboy!"

"No!  This is my Krycek," It shouted back, ducking through doors marked
`authorized personnel only' - whatever *that* meant.   "Go away, Feldman
creature."

"I most certainly will not!"

There was no more room to run.   It looked around frantically.  This was some
sort of storage facility.  Primitive creatures --- dogs, if Krycek's memories
could be relied on - were being stored back here.  And they were all howling at
It.  The Feldman was howling at It.

"-.not giving up that easily!  And how dare you use his body to have sex with
Scully!  You rotten, no-good ---"

"The Scully used us," It whined.

"Do you have any idea what you've done," the Feldman snarled.  "Any idea at
all?"

"The Scully said she had It ---"

"Scully would have said anything to get laid!"

It could vaporize the Feldman, but Krycek's memories said that the Feldman
belonged to Krycek.   If these two were Joined, It couldn't risk harming Its
host that way.  

Think.  Think fast.

And then It had a plan.






Voices.  Ellen was sure she heard voices.  And she smelled dog.

"Feldman?  Can you hear me?"

Mulder.  "I told you -"

"Feldman!"

Ellen cracked one eye open and looked around.  "Oh.  My.  God."

This had to be the most humiliating situation she'd ever been in.  Well, at
least this week, anyway.   The rotten *thing* using her Ratboy's body knocked
her out and stuffed her in a dog carrier.

Winky had a carrier just like this and there was only one way to open the door.
 From the outside.  "Mulder?"

Mulder winked at her and then addressed the airport security guards.  "I have
the situation here under control.  Why don't you gentlemen round up those
dogs?"

Round up ---?  Ellen looked around as best she could.  There wasn't a single
dog in sight.  That rotten alien must have let them all loose and tried
stuffing her in the cages until it  found one that fit.   She was going to get
it for this!

"Well, now-."  Mulder crouched and peered at her through the door to her cage. 
"I guess it's true, Pansy, I can't leave you alone for five minutes."

"Pansy?"  Even as the name left her lips she realized what it was.  Pansy was
the original occupant of this carrier.  A dog.   Mulder was going to die for
this.  The oilien was going to die for this.  Somebody had to die for this.

"I'm considering obedience school," Mulder continued.  "It certainly couldn't
hurt."

"Very funny.  Let me out."

"Tell me what happened."

"I'll tell you after you let me out."

"You can tell me from the cage.  If you're telling the truth, I'll let you out.
 If you're lying, you get to go home to-."  He read the tag on the cage. 
"-Minneapolis."

Jerk!  Jerkjerkjerk!  She rattled the door of the cage.  "Let me out!"

"Tell me what happened."

"Mulder-."

"Yes, Feldman?"  His fingers toyed with the door latch.

"I saw my Ra - uh, Alex --- no, it was his body, but it wasn't him."

"Here?!"

"Yes!"  Didn't he ever pay attention?!  "I chased it back here and ---"

"You chased it?!"  Mulder stared at her incredulously.  "You saw that thing
vaporize a cop.   Did it occur to you that you might get hurt?"

No.  "Yes-"

"Have fun in Minneapolis."  He stood up.

"Hey!  You said you'd let me out if I told you what happened!"

"I changed my mind."

"Mulder!"

"I think I hear them announcing your flight.  Hope that luggage compartment
isn't too cold."

"Mulder!"

"I'm sure your owner won't be too upset about the switch.  After all, you've
got to be more vicious than a rottweiler."

"Mulder!!!"   Ellen pounded on the cage door.  "Mulder!  Let me out of here! 
Now!"

"I'll bet there'll be treats and frisbees and walks in the park ---"

"Mulder-"  Special Jerk Fox Mulder was going to be the death of her yet. 
"Please let me out of here."

"Feldman!  You said please.  Very good.  Too bad I don't have a Scooby snack
for you."  

"C'mon, Mulder-let me out," she whined.  If this is what he wanted-.

He smiled down at her.   "What do you do for the smoker?"

"What?!"  

"You know the question."

"I told you -"

"I know what you told me.  Now I want the truth."  

"Mulder!!!!"

It was going to be a long flight.

Part Eleven


This was not her day.   

Scully sipped her Dr. Pepper and frowned at Skinner.  "What do you mean,
Spender's missing?  The CDC team sealed off the building."

"I mean exactly what I said, Agent Scully."  Skinner took off his glasses and
rubbed his eyes wearily.  "Security cameras show him sneaking out through the
parking garage.   Actually, sneaking isn't the right word.  He was-skipping. 
And singing."

"That's impossible!"

"I have it on tape."

Mulder was going to love that.  Mulder.  Feldman.  The oilien sample.  No! 
Yes.  This was Feldman's fault.  Every single thing that happened.  "Sir, I
think we can call off the quarantine.  I know where the oilien is."

"You don't mean-please don't tell me-"

"Exactly, sir.  In Spender."

And this was, without a doubt, Feldman's fault.




The smoker added the tape to the growing pile on his desk and lit a cigarette
with a sigh.  So much for a nice, easy recovery.   He should have expected as
much.  After all, he was using Feldman in this matter. 

So many video tapes.  Evidence of things he'd rather not see.

Like the tape of Krycek under the alien's control as it killed that police
officer.  Or the tape of Krycek under the alien's control having sex with Agent
Scully.  Three times.  Or the tapes of Feldman and Mulder-.well, he'd seen that
before.   And those might be very, very useful if Krycek got out of line,
provided they got the alien out of him.

And finally, there was the tape of Jeffrey behaving in a very un-Jeffrey-like
way.  A way that suggested the missing alien droplet was in his son.  

A nice, easy recovery was becoming a complex matter involving detoxification
and denials.  Lots of denials.   He hoped Strughold didn't hear about it before
the mess was cleaned up and things could be plausibly denied.

If only Feldman could be plausibly denied-.



Tired.  So very, very tired.   And Krycek's body was tired, too, if the
sluggish responses were any indication.  Well, It would give Its Krycek some
rest before It reclaimed him.   All it needed to do was get back to Its ship,
which was right over ----

Oh no.   No.  Nononononono! 

The Ship was gone!  Gonegonegone!

But that couldn't be!  Who would take Its ship?  It ran through the piles of
refuse, looking for a sign, a clue.  Anything.  But all It found was more
garbage.

It threw back Krycek's head and howled.

Its Ship.  Its beautiful, beautiful Ship.

It had to be around here somewhere.  It just *had* to.






"Here we are, Feldman.  Fresh Kills landfill."

"Hooray."  Ellen slipped out of the car and wrinkled her nose.  Was it possible
this place could smell even worse since they were here last?  "Okay, Master
Profiler, where to now?"

Mulder smiled down at her.  "The ship."

"What ship?"

"The alien spacecraft," he prompted.  "The one Ratboy was going to show me. 
The one you told me was hidden here."

"Oh."  Uh-oh.

"Which way, Feldman?"

Double uh-oh.  "I-.uh-.north."

Hazel eyes appraised her as they met hers.  "Can you be more specific?"

Truth or lie?  Truth? Or lie?   What would her Ratboy do in this situation? 
"No."

"No,"  Mulder echoed.  "And why is that?"

"Because I don't know where it is, exactly," she muttered, kicking at the
decapitated head of a Barbie doll.

"Do you know where it might be?"

"No."

The federal agent rubbed his eyes with his hand and groaned.  "If I close my
eyes and count to twenty, could you `accidentally' stumble across it?"

"No."  God, she was starting to feel really, really stupid.

"Feldman-"   With a weary sigh, he reached into his jacket and handed her his
cell phone.  "Call your boss and ask where the damned thing is.  Now."

"But I -"

"Now, Feldman."

"But ----"

Further protests were cut off by a desperate animal howl coming from deep in
the landfill.  It sounded like-a dog.  It sounded like-

"Ratboy!"

"Are you sure," Mulder asked, resting his hand on the gun holstered at his
side.

"He makes that sound when - uh, never mind.  It's him."  

"As long as you're sure."  

Damn, she forgot what long legs Mulder had.  It was hard enough keeping up with
him on level ground, but he could step over piles of trash that she couldn't. 
And jerk that he was, he didn't even notice she was having trouble keeping up. 
"Slow down, dammit!"

He turned and flashed a boyish grin at her.  "I thought you were in a hurry."

"I am."   Ewww.   What was she standing in?   Whatever it was smelled.  Bad. 
And there was no way in hell she was keeping these boots, no matter how much
they cost.  

Another inhuman howl sliced the night.

"Somebody doesn't sound very happy."

"That thing had better not be hurting my Ratboy."

"You're not carrying, are you," Mulder asked, frisking her quickly.

"Cut that out," Ellen snapped, slapping his hands away.  "That tickles.  You
wouldn't let me bring a gun, remember?"

"That's because I value my life."

Another howl.

"Over there."  Mulder pointed vaguely to their left.

Garbage or no garbage, her Ratboy's body sounded like it was in agony.   Ellen
sprinted as best she could through the large piles of trash, trying to ignore
things that squished, cracked and splattered under her boots.    Gross! 
Grossgrossgross!   She was going to burn these clothes.   

As she made her way past a particularly smelly pile, the screaming grew louder.
 "Mulder.  Look!  There!  By the Beetle!"

Mulder grabbed her by the collar and yanked her down in the garbage.  "Shhhh."

"Ewww!  Ick!  Mulder, lemme go!"

"Shhh," he hissed.  "Didn't Ratboy teach you anything?  You need to observe
your enemy before you attack."

Oh yeah.  "He might have mentioned something ---"

"Lower your voice."

"How do we get it out of him, Mulder?"

Mulder stared at her as if she were the alien.  "I thought you knew."

"Why would I know?  You're the expert."

"Yeah, but your boss sent you to recover it."

"He didn't send me, he sent Ratboy!"  Ellen quickly realized her mistake.  "He
couldn't send me because I don't work for him."

"Feldman!"  With a weary sigh, Mulder held out his cell phone.  "Call him.  I
promise I won't peek at the number."

Just then, they heard it.  Singing.  Off-key, bad singing.   Jeffrey Spender
was skipping happily through piles of garbage, clad in his mid-priced suit and
a pair of sandals.

"Oh my god, he's wearing Birkenstocks with a Geoffrey Beene suit!"

"Life around you is never boring, is it, Feldman?"

"This is not my fault," Ellen snapped.

"Uh-huh.   Tell me another one."

They watched as Spender skipped up to Krycek - well, the oilien-Krycek --- and
smiled ecstatically at him.  "Reunited."

The oilien squeaked happily, the oily tears running down Ratboy's face finally
subsiding as it reached out with Krycek's good hand to touch Spender.  

"Ewwww!"  Feldman squirmed uncomfortably as her possessed Ratboy stroked
Spender's face and Spender touched her Ratboy.  "Mulder, do something!"

"Like what?  Toss them a couple of condoms?"

"Mulder!"

"Call your boss, Feldman.  He'll know what to do."  Mulder thrust the phone
into her hand.  "Do it before they start having sex or something."

"Ewwww!"  

"Hurry, Feldman."

"This doesn't mean I work for him," she muttered, as she punched in the number.
 

"Whatever."

"Uh-hi-this is Ellen Feldman.  Um, Alex Krycek's girlfriend?  We might have met
once or twice," Ellen lied when the smoker answered.  "Uh, I kind of have a
situation here."

"It had better be life or death for you to be calling me from Mulder's phone
for the second time in as many days, Ellen," the smoker said, ominously.

Don't look at Mulder, she told herself.  If you look at him, you'll lose your
concentration.  "I need to get the alien out of Rat-uh, Alex.  And maybe out of
Jeffrey Spender, too."

"What?!"

"Unless you don't want me to."

"I most certainly do not.   Do not touch either of them.  I'm sending a team
there right now."

"B-but-they're-all over each other.  Spender's trying to mow my lawn!"

"Ellen-."

It was getting worse by the second.  Her Ratboy was snuggling against Spender
in the front seat of the VW bug and they were saying things to each other she
couldn't hear, although she was pretty sure she heard the words unite and join.
  Mulder seemed to be having the time of his life, watching them and watching
her stutter like an idiot while not getting the information she needed.  Her
eyes traveled down to the gun holstered at Mulder's side.  Maybe-just maybe she
could bluff the smoker.

Gently, she rested her free hand on Mulder's butt, stroking slowly towards her
destination, while the smoker lectured her about how she'd botched this mission
completely to hell.   Her fingers curled around the handle of the gun and she
yanked it from the holster, pointing it squarely at Mulder's face.

"Feldman!  Jesus Christ," Mulder exclaimed, as she unlatched the safety.

"You listen to me, smokey, and you listen good," Ellen snarled.  "I've got
Mulder hostage and unless you tell me how to get the damned alien out of my
Ratboy, I'm going to shoot him.  Piece by piece."

There was an audible gasp on the other end of the phone.

"You know the number."  She disconnected and aimed carefully at Mulder's chest.
 "Sorry, Mulder, but I can't wait for some detox team."

"Feldman-put the gun down.  The smoker can't see -"

"I'm sure he's got this place wired, just like your apartment."

Mulder licked his lips and drew a deep, nervous breath.  "Feldman-"

Hmm, Mulder didn't seem at all turned on by her holding a gun on him.  Not like
her Ratboy.   "Just relax, Mulder, he'll call back in a few seconds.  Once he's
sure I'm not playing around."

"C'mon, Feldman, put the gun down and I swear I won't arrest you ---"

The bleating of his cell phone nearly made the federal agent jump out of his
skin.  Ellen grinned as she answered it.  "Well?"

"Ellen, you're treading on some very thin ice," the smoker said, coldly.  "I'm
giving you this opportunity to save yourself and let Agent Mulder go."

"Answers first, smokey, or I turn him into FBI Swiss cheese."

"Feldman!  Do not push me!  I allow you much leeway, but not for something like
this."  With that, the smoker disconnected.

Crap.  He called her bluff.  And now she had a hostage she didn't want and no
way to save her Ratboy.   Or maybe, she had everything she needed to rescue her
Ratboy.   "On your feet, Mulder.  Now!"

Mulder blinked at the order.  "Look, I know you're a little miffed about -"

"Shut up and get up."

"Feldman-"

Ellen nibbled her lower lip as she watched him rise slowly.  "Good boy.  Now
walk over to where they can see you."

"Whatever you're planning, Ellen, don't do it.   You saw that thing vaporize a
cop.  Do you want to be next?"

"We won't be next, Foxboy.  Trust me."

"I would if you had the slightest idea what you were doing," Mulder complained.
 "And if you weren't pointing a gun at me.  And if you didn't work for the
smoker -"

"Shut up," Ellen ordered.  Mulder's mouth snapped closed.  Oooh.  That was kind
of fun.  What else could she make him do?  "Move."

Mulder moved slowly, hands raised, towards the Volkswagen, wincing at the sight
of Spender cuddling with Krycek.  "I think I'm going to be sick."

"Me, first."

"Okay, Feldman.  Now what?"

"Yooohooo!  Oilien!  Look what I've got," Ellen called.

Both possessed-Spender and possessed-Ratboy turned their heads in her
direction.  

"Look at this pretty host body.   Look how nice and healthy it is."  She
pointed with the gun at Mulder, whose mouth was hanging open.  "Two arms, nice
ass, hung.  A real babe magnet."

"Krycek is better," possessed-Krycek said.

"How do you know unless you try him on," Ellen wheedled.

Mulder stuttered wordlessly for a second.  "I'm not a pair of shoes, Feldman!"

"You're better than a pair of shoes," Ellen soothed.  "Maybe not better than a
pair of Bally, but better than Easy Spirit, that's for sure."

The federal agent looked completely horrified.  "Feldman!"

"Shhh, Mulder.  Just hold still and let our friend get a good look at you."

Possessed-Krycek rubbed his cheek against Possessed-Spender's.  "We prefer this
body."

Ellen thought fast.  She needed a closing argument that would get the job done.
 "I used to prefer that body, too, but I'm the Feldman, remember?  That body
belonged to me.  I also own this one.  I'm willing to make a trade.  This one
has all functional parts.  It's a little older, sure ---"

"Feldman!"

"Shut up, Foxboy," she hissed at him and then directed a sweet smile at the
oiliens.  "Older, yes, but this baby comes with a few features that newer model
doesn't have.  Uh, like an eidetic memory.  Do you boys know what that is?"  

"I am *not* a used car," Mulder protested.

Ellen gave him a quelling stare.  "Yeah, he's got that state-of-the-art eidetic
memory and best of all, he doesn't need sleep.  He can go for days without
sleeping."

The two oilien-infested men looked at each other as they considered the offer.

"How about a test drive?  You can take Mulder around the block and see if you
like him.  If you don't, there's no obligation to keep him.  Just return him
without any wear and tear and your money back."  Wow.  What a spiel.  And
Mulder was going to get her for this, she was sure.  But it served him right
after all the crap he pulled on her during the last couple of days.

"If we don't like him, we can keep Krycek," the oilien asked, blinking
innocently.

"Sure," Ellen lied.  "Absolutely.  I've got a Mulder.  Why do I need an
outmoded Krycek?"

"Feldman, you don't have to do this," Mulder negotiated.  "We can -"

"We'll try him," the oilien decided.  "On one condition.  We want to see his
smile."

Ellen waved the gun.  "Smile, Mulder."

"What?!"

"The Mulder's smile must be as useful as Krycek's," the oilien insisted. 
"Otherwise, we won't try it."

She pointed the gun squarely at Mulder's crotch and repeated a threat that
worked so well with her Ratboy.  "Smile or I'll make a eunuch out of you."





Mulder smiled radiantly.   Yes, he was going to get her for this.  If she
thought the treatment she got during the past two days was bad-  Of course,
that pre-supposed his surviving this little oilien encounter. 

The oilien looked him over and Mulder wondered idly if it was going to kick his
tires.  "We will try the Mulder."

"Keep smiling," Feldman ordered.  "And stop squirming."

"Feldman ---"

"Shhh!"  The little piranha smiled at the oilien.  "Okay, what do I need to do
to help you?"

"Hold the Mulder still," the oilien said.

Feldman nodded and kept the gun trained on his crotch and Mulder could feel his
balls shrivel and seek cover.  

"You must ignore the sounds Krycek makes as we leave.  Krycek is in no danger."

"Right-o."

Mulder could feel his jaw hit the ground as the black oil began to pour out of
Krycek's mouth, nose and eyes.   It wasn't the most disgusting thing he'd ever
seen, but it sure was the most disgusting thing Feldman ever saw, if the look
on her face was any indication.

Krycek groaned and slumped to his knees as the thing continued to pour out of
him and ooze slowly towards Mulder.

"Mulder-"  Feldman looked up at him, her eyes wide.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, you're sorry, but Ratboy comes first."

"No, you idiot!  Run!!"

He didn't have to be told twice.   Mulder sprinted through the piles of
garbage, wondering what the hell just happened.  Did she *plan* this?  Now that
was a scary thought.  Feldman without a clue was terrifying in itself, but
Feldman with a plan-.

The oilien didn't seem to be giving chase.  Which meant-Feldman was about to be
in over her head.  As usual.

Mulder doubled back and crouched low to the ground.  No oilien in sight.  And
there was Feldman, tugging at a semi-conscious Ratboy.

"Get up, dammit," she yelled at Krycek.   The Sig was tucked in the waistband
of Feldman's leggings and he sincerely hoped she remembered to engage the
safety.  "Ratboy-.please get up-we don't have time for this-"

Krycek groaned and spat oily fluid from his mouth.

Despite everything Krycek ever did to him, Mulder felt a twinge of pity for the
one-armed, pussy-whipped bastard.

Spender came up behind Feldman and yanked her back by her hair.  "Krycek is
ours!  You lied to us!  You weren't going to give us the Mulder and you were
going to steal Krycek!"

Yup.  Feldman was now officially in over her head.

"Krycek's body is mine," Feldman argued with the oilien infested Spender.

Mulder looked around frantically.  At least he knew where the oilien was ---
and it couldn't have happened to a better person --- but he couldn't let it
vaporize Feldman.   "Hey!  Over here.  You want this body?  Come and get it!"

That was all the distraction Feldman needed.  She scrambled to her feet and
took off in search of a weapon, Mulder hoped.

The oilien began oozing out of Spender and heading straight for Mulder.

"Mulder!  Look out!"   Scully's voice echoed through Fresh Kills.

For once, Mulder did as he was told and narrowly avoided being torched by the
flame-thrower Scully was toting.  Unfortunately, she missed and the oilien beat
a hasty retreat for the limp body of Ratboy.

Feldman came up behind Scully waving Mulder's gun.  "Gimme the damn
flame-thrower you red-headed harpy!"

Oh Christ!  Of all the things for Feldman to do-.

"You think you can do a better job, you selfish, little piranha?  Go ahead." 
Scully handed Feldman the flame-thrower with a disdainful sniff.

The petite lawyer fired up the flame thrower and stalked towards the oilien. 
"Get away from him, you-you bitch!"

Wonderful.  Feldman was having delusions of being Sigourney Weaver.  Did she
have any idea at all what she was doing?

A burst of flame narrowly missed her Ratboy's face, driving the oilien away
from the man and back towards the landfill.   Feldman stomped after it, a
terrifying scowl plastered on her face.  "Nobody messes with my Ratboy! 
Nobody!"

"Does she have any idea what she's doing," Scully snapped, echoing Mulder's
thoughts, but with a bitchy edge to her voice that made the hair on the back of
his neck stand up.

"Maybe."  He hoped.  He prayed.   Feldman kept pushing the oilien further into
the landfill, back towards the Volkswagen.  "Scully, grab Spender.  I'll get
Ratboy.   We've got to get out of here.  Now."

"Oh my God-"  Scully's mouth was agape as realization dawned.

Mulder threw Ratboy over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and called to
Feldman.  "Feldman, be careful with that flame!  There's methane here!"



"What?!"  Ellen glanced over her shoulder and saw Mulder carrying her Ratboy to
safety.  Wow, that looked nice.  Too bad she didn't have a camera on her.

The oilien retreated under the Volkswagen.  Right into the oil pan, Ellen
guessed.  After all, what better hiding place was there?

She aimed carefully.   So what if she torched it?  It was an ugly car anyway. 
And this was a garbage dump.  It wasn't as if she was going to be sued for
property damage.

The newspapers would be writing about the explosion at the Fresh Kills landfill
for the next week and a half.

Part Twelve



Aftermath


"You're an X-File, Feldman."

Alex didn't even bother opening his eyes.  No, it was better to keep them
closed and imagine whatever the hell was going on around him.   Somebody was
taking his temperature and stroking his forehead.  Somebody who was being far
too gentle to be Scully.

"How do you feel, Krycek?"

No, that was definitely Scully's voice murmuring in his ear.

"You're a walking disaster."  Mulder's voice rose as he continued lecturing
Feldman.  "First you sink the Fire Island Ferry, now you've blown up a
landfill.  What's next?  Taking out a continent?"

Scully's lips brushed his cheek.  "I'm going to take a blood sample now."

Alex groaned his assent to the blood sample.  What the hell was going on here? 


"Hey!  What are you doing to my Ratboy!?"

Ah, there was his little Feldy.  Defender of his civil rights and blood
samples.

"I'm taking a blood sample," Scully snapped.  "You'd like to know if he's
suffered permanent damage, wouldn't you!?"

"Permanent damage from what?  The oilien or you slobbering on him!?"

Say what?!  Alex strained to open his eyes.

"Listen to me, Feldman, and listen good, you don't get exclusive rights on all
the hot, well-hung men.  Understand?!" 

"Excuse me?"  Feldman's voice was colder than ice.

"Don't think I don't know what you and Mulder were up to while Ratboy was under
alien control," Scully hissed.  "I can spot your claw marks a mile away."

Feldman?  And Mulder?  Good for her!   About time she got over that hang-up
about the difference between business and pleasure.

"And don't think *I* don't know what you did to my Ratboy while he was under
alien control, you slut!  Where do you get off mowing my lawn?!"

Alex felt whatever contents remained in his stomach rise.  Scully?  And him? 
Bleecccchhhh.

"I'll mow your lawn any time I damn well please," Scully exploded.  "Mulder
won't let me have a crack at him, but Ratboy ---"

"Alex," he protested, weakly.  "My name is Alex."

"-Ratboy is mine," Feldman barked.  "And as for Mulder, if he doesn't want you,
that shows he's got taste."

"Feldman, shhhh."  Mulder clamped his hand over Feldman's mouth.  "That's
enough."

"Let go of me, Foxboy!"

Foxboy?  Foxboy?!  Say WHAT?!

"Down, Feldman.  Down, girl."

"I am not a dog, dammit!"

"Maybe not, but you can't deny you work for the smoker."

"Yes, I can!"

Maybe this was one of those alternate universes he kept reading about-.  Nah,
he'd never get that lucky.

"Okay, little Ms. Denial, explain where the tape in the pizza box came from,"
Mulder challenged, moving closer to Feldman.

Feldman licked her lips slowly and Alex felt a slight pang of-no, that couldn't
be jealousy, could it?

"The tape came from Domino's," Feldman purred.  "Honestly, Mulder, you see
conspiracies everywhere."

"I see a lot of plausible denials coming to cover up your misdeeds, you little
criminal," Mulder murmured, hooking his arm around Feldman's waist.  "And I see
a very, very long interrogation ahead of you."

No.  This couldn't be happening.  But it was.   Alex struggled to sit up and
watch as Feldman blurred the lines between business and pleasure.  Blurred them
to the point where it made his blood boil.

"I told you, Mulder -"

"Yeah, yeah, I know, you're not a dog and you don't work for the smoker." 
Mulder leaned down and rubbed noses with Feldman.  "But you know something,
Feldpup, that's not what my profile of you says."

"Feldman," Alex rasped.  "Get over here.  Now."

"What is it, Ratboy?"

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Talking to Mulder."  Feldman looked confused.  He had to give her that - the
little wench had no idea what she was doing.

"Are you fucking Mulder," he asked, softly.

Feldman nodded proudly.  "You were right, Ratboy, it's easy -"

"Sure it is," he interrupted.  "It's very easy to make a pussy-whipped cuckold
out of me, isn't it?"

"Huh?"

"Don't get me wrong, Feldman, you can fuck him, but I don't think I can let you
talk to him.  Unless, of course, you're willing to share."

"Feldman?  Share?"  Scully snorted her disgust.  "No, she wants all the men for
herself, while I get stuck fending off ---"

"Maybe if you didn't put your make-up on with a shovel and walk around with a
stick up your ass, you might get laid," Feldman snarled.

Scully folded her arms across her chest.  "I got laid by Ratboy, Feldman. 
Three times."

"Yeah, but he had to be under alien control to get it up for you."  Feldman
grinned evilly.  "And it helps if you're not afraid to swallow."

"You bitch!"

"You lawn-mowing harpy!"

"Bra-stuffer!"

"Dye-job!"

Alex found himself looking up at Mulder.  

The lanky federal agent grinned at him.  "I'm getting out of here before this
catfight gets out of hand.  Care to join me?"

"Absolutely."

"This doesn't mean it's a date," Mulder added, quickly.

But that didn't mean it wasn't.



Epilogue One  - Lawnmower Man

"If you ever --- and I mean EVER - breathe a word of this to anybody, I'll kill
you."

Krycek rose slowly on one elbow and stared down at Mulder.  "Who's going to
care that we had sex?"
 
 "Shut up!  I told you not to mention it!"  Mulder covered his eyes with his
hand and groaned.  What the hell had he been thinking?!  
 
 "You told me not to tell anybody.  You didn't say I couldn't talk about it
with you."  He pried Mulder's fingers from his eyes.  "I had no idea you liked
to bite  ----"

"Krycek!"

"Aww, Mulder-.you can trust me.  I'm the epitome of discretion."

Mulder sniffed disdainfully.  "This didn't happen and it's not going to happen
again."

"Sure it will," Krycek said, confidently.  "And maybe we can get Feldman to
play, too.  I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Please shut up-"

"She's going to want to know where the bite marks on my shoulders came from,
Mulder and she's not stupid.  Feldman's going to recognize them as yours. 
After all, she's got the same ones."

"Please-"

"Mmm, mmm, mmm." Krycek smacked his lips.  "I sure could go for an FBI
sandwich."

"Why me?"



Epilogue Two - A Tale of Two Assistant Directors


"Somebody has to pay for the damage to the eighth floor women's room." 
Assistant Director Alvin Kersh scowled at Assistant Director Walter Skinner. 
"Somebody has to pay for the damage to the vending machines.  Explain to me why
that somebody shouldn't be Special Agent Scully."

Because that would be a year's salary, you pompous ass, Skinner wanted to
shout.  "Agent Spender was the one responsible for setting the-.thing loose in
the first place."

"That brings us to that matter," Kersh said, and Skinner could swear he
detected a note of subdued glee in the other man's voice.  "Does anybody have
conclusive proof that this alleged creature exists?  And I mean conclusive,
Walter."

Oh, for some Tylenol.  Oh, for some arsenic.  "I'm sure Agent Scully has
something ---"

"Something?  Like what?  A tampon wrapper?"  Kersh pounded his fist on his
desk.  "You coddled those agents too damned much, Walt.  You never asked for
results, you never asked for proof.  You let them walk all over you and waste
Bureau resources."

"Right."

"Don't take that tone with me.  Have you seen Agent Scully's report," Kersh
asked, lifting the slim document from his desk and sliding it under Skinner's
nose.  "Who the hell is Ellen Feldman, anyway?"

"A former employee."

"And why is it nobody's questioned her about her role in this matter, hmmm?"

"Didn't you assign that task to Jeffrey Spender?"

"Damn straight I did.  That kid's a brown nose, but he does what he's told,
unlike Scully and Mulder.  And you know something, Walt?"

Did he want to?  "What?"

"I can't wait to hear Agent Mulder's story about how the destruction of an FBI
bathroom, a tampon machine and a snack machine all tie in with the explosion at
Fresh Kills.  I'm sure there'll be aliens and spacelings and maybe even this
Feldperson."  Kersh smiled a cobra's smile at Skinner.  "Wanna stay for the
entertainment?"

Maybe Scully was right.  Maybe this *was* Feldman's fault.



Epilogue Three - Earth Shoes, Anyone?



Buried deep in the basement of the Hoover building, Jeffrey Spender sat and
pondered the pair of brown suede Birkenstocks that sat on his desk.   Sandals. 
He woke up wearing sandals.  Other agents saw him wearing sandals.   With his
good navy Geoffrey Beene suit.  It was utterly humiliating.

What made it worse was that he'd spent his entire life avoiding sandals.  Yes,
his mother often extolled the virtues of open-toed footwear, but it just didn't
seem right for a boy to be wearing them.   Men who wore sandals were-hippies,
counter-culture weirdos.  Spender was positive Mulder owned a pair.

Mulder.   If anyone was responsible for the events of the past three days it
was Mulder.  Unfortunately, just like Mulder's cases, there was no hard
evidence of that.   There was, however a witness.

Ellen Janine Feldman.  Esquire.  And A.D. Kersh just gave Jeffrey Spender the
plum assignment of getting her statement.

"Jeffrey?"

"Dad?"  Too late to hide those damned sandals.  Too late to do anything except
feel ashamed that they were sitting on top of his day-by-day desk blotter.

His father lit a cigarette and stared thoughtfully at the footwear.  "I'll have
those burnt for you."

"Thanks, Dad."  Gee, the old guy was really making up for all those missed
birthdays-.

"I came to talk to you about your assignment -"

"Ellen Feldman?  Don't worry, Dad, I'll make sure Mulder doesn't get her
killed."  Jeffrey allowed himself a confident smile.  "I'll make sure she
doesn't go near him again."

"You will?"

"Absolutely.  Once I start going out with her ---"

"No!"  The old man nearly dropped his cigarette.  "You are to have nothing to
do with her."

He must've struck a nerve.  "Dad?  Is there something going on between you and
Ellen?"

"Just stay away from her.  She's not for you."  The smoker snatched the file
and the sandals from Spender's desk and stormed out, slamming the office door
behind him.

Yeah, this was all Mulder's fault.  And Spender was positive Mulder owned more
than a couple of pairs of sandals.



Epilogue Four - The Sound of Silence


Mulder finished another game of solitaire and tried to ignore the sound of
Scully stabbing her keyboard with her sensibly manicured fingernails.   From
time to time, she would stop and flip through the pages of the Quicken manual. 
 And somewhere, in between all that, she would shoot him looks that would
freeze lava.

Did she know about the Ratboy incident?

Or was it because Kersh was making her pay for all that damage?

She hadn't said a word to him since they left Kersh's office.   

Maybe it was better that way.   Because sooner or later, the truth was going to
come out.  Not the truth about extra-terrestrial life.   Scully would deny that
until her dying day.  No, this was the truth about Ratboy.

About what he and Scully did with Ratboy.

And the truth was, if he got the chance, he was going to do it again.  Because
killer or no killer, Ratboy had *technique*.  

Which just about proved Scully's point:  Feldman was going to have to learn to
share.




Scully looked at her projected budget and scowled at the screen.   This was all
Mulder's fault, so why did she have to pay for everything?   Was this going to
her life at the FBI?  Paying for Mulder's breaches of protocol?  His screw-ups?
  His inability to get rid of Ellen Feldman once and for all?

Feldman.  That was who should be paying for this mess. 

What did Mulder see in her?  Hell, what did Ratboy see in Feldman, for that
matter?

What made Feldman so damned irresistible to those two?

It just wasn't fair.  And that selfish bitch wouldn't even share.



Epilogue Five - In the Cold Light of Day-.


"If you ever --- and I mean EVER - breathe a word of this to anybody, I'll kill
you."

Feldman rose slowly on one elbow and stared down at Scully.  "Who's going to
care that we had sex?"
 
 "Shut up!  I told you not to mention it!"  Scully covered her eyes with her
hand and groaned.  What the hell had she been thinking?!  
 
 "You told me not to tell anybody.  You didn't say I couldn't talk about it
with you."  She pried Scully's fingers from her eyes.  "I had no idea you liked
to bite  ----"

"Feldman!"

"Aww, Scully-.you can trust me.  I'm the epitome of discretion."

Scully sniffed disdainfully.  "This didn't happen and it's not going to happen
again."

"Sure it will," Feldman said, confidently.  "Everybody is a patch of my lawn. 
Even you."

"No!"

Scully opened her eyes and looked around her bedroom.  Just a dream.  Thank God
that was just a dream.  She crossed herself.   And made sure her door and
windows were locked.

What a nightmare.

She reached for her vibrator thinking that this was all Feldman's fault. 



Epilogue Six - Bless me, Father.


Scully slipped into the confessional, thankful to have avoided Father McCue on
her way into the church.   She took a deep breath and waited for the
confessor-priest to open the little window.  Finally, the window slid open and
a pair of sympathetic green eyes looked at her through the screen.

"Yes, my child?"

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.   It has been five days since my last
confession."  The words tumbled out in a rush.  Yeah, five days since the last
fiasco Mulder dragged her into.  "In that time, I have committed adultery, I
have coveted, I've ---"

"Adultery?  Are you married?"

"No-but there is someone-.sort of."  God, she felt like an idiot.  This, too,
was Feldman's fault.  "Anyway, that's not important.  What's important is, I
fornicated with somebody I wasn't supposed to and I ----"

"Was this man married?"

"No, but he's involved with a selfish bitch --- I mean, he's with somebody."

"I see."

"No, you don't.  You don't see at all!  This was the best sex I ever had and it
wasn't even with this man.  It was with his body!"  Oh, that sounded really
good.  How many hail Marys for necrophelia?  "He was drunk ---"

"No, he wasn't."

Oh, God.  That voice.  It couldn't be.  "Ratboy?"

"Alex.  It's a nice, Christian name."

"What the hell are you doing here?!"

"I followed you.  Feldman and I had a bet.  I bet that you'd go to confession
within a day.  She bet you'd wait `til Sunday.  Looks like I win."

If she shot him, she'd never have sex with him again.  And she wanted to have
sex with him again.   "What did you do with the priest?"

A soft ironic chuckle.  "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Ratboy ---"

"I told you, my name is Alex.  And if you insist on calling me Ratboy, you'll
never have a shot of getting me in the sack again."

Yes!  She had a chance!  "Why don't you come home with me, Alex?  I'd like to
check you out -"

"I know you would," he purred.

"I meant examine you."

"Of course."  Another soft chuckle.  "I'm afraid I'm going to have to take a
rain check.  I have a date with Mulder tonight."

"What?!"

"That was my bet with Feldman.  If she won, she got Mulder.  But, as you
know-."  Leather crackled as Krycek shifted in the confessional.  "I'm a good
sport, though.  I'm going to let her tag along.   I'd let you tag along, but
you're not the type."

"The type for what," Scully asked, weakly.

"The type for an FBI sandwich."

Scully leaped out of the confessional, but he was gone.   Damn it.  Now she was
going to have to teach Mulder to share, too.   Sighing, she walked over to the
holy water and splashed some on her face.

Yeah, no doubt about it.

This was Feldman's fault.




Epilogue Seven - Shout `em Out!



"Wojtek, you promised!"

"Just one last laundromat, Yuri."

Yuri groaned.  "You said that four laundromats ago.  Don't you think you're
going a bit overboard?"

"No!  I love this!  I've never had so many nice clothes," Wojtek boomed, as he
began rummaging through a dryer.  "And you can't beat the price."

"No, but I can beat you black and blue for stealing my shirt, you Commie
freak."

The Russians gasped in unison as Carmine, still clutching his box of Mountain
Spring Downy, bore down on them.

"I knew you guys had no class when you blew up those dumpsters," Carmine
snarled.  "But to steal clothes from a laundromat?  Whatsamatter?  Don't that
jerk, Jurik pay you nothin'?"

"We get paid in rubles," Yuri squeaked, nervously, backing towards the door. 
"Do you know what a ruble is worth?" 

"No, but I hope you got enough of `em saved to pay your hospital bills."

The Maytag repairman was called in later that day to remove the two Russians
from the oversized washers.   Although Yuri and Wojtek were injured, the
machines were unharmed, thus proving the dependability of Maytag appliances
once again.




Epilogue Eight -  It's Never Too Late to Change Careers



Jurik Jarozlaus heaved a weary sigh.   His chances of becoming a major crime
boss were gone.  Now all he was, was a laughingstock.  They pulled his top men
out washing machines - washing machines, yet --- where they were *stealing
clothes*, for Stalin's sake.

Worse still, the Italians were coming to speak with him.  To make him an offer
he couldn't refuse, no doubt.  Why did communism have to go and collapse and
ruin all his black market operations in Russia?  Why?

He wasn't equipped to compete in this American marketplace.  All he knew was
what he saw in those movies he smuggled - The Godfather (parts one through
three, naturally), Goodfellas and Johnny Dangerously.    Those movies,
unfortunately, were completely useless to him now.

"Jerk!  It's about time we met face ta face."

"Jurik.  My name is Jurik."  He managed a weak smile of gold teeth.  "You must
be Mr. Scavelli."

"And this is my associate, Carmine."  Scavelli gestured to a wall of a man who
looked angrier than a bull staring at the red flag of communism.  "We've come
to talk about your future."

"I ain't no psychic or nothin'," the human wall named Carmine rumbled.  "But I
gotta tell ya, I see a trip in your future.  Capisce?"

"Capisce."  Maybe be could make a living in Cuba.

"My friend," Scavelli said, pulling a plane ticket out of his jacket and
thrusting it into Jurik's hand.  "I do believe I see you setting up shop in
Vermont."

"V-vermont?"

"Yeah.  There ain't no carting cartel there.   Mebbe a piker like you could
make a name fer himself."  Carmine flexed his muscles.  "You gotta problem with
Vermont?"

"No."

Where the hell was Vermont?





Epilogue Nine - Why me?



"The reason I asked you to be here, Alex, was to help me review Ellen's
activities over the past few days and assist me in critiquing them."  

Alex didn't dare peek at Feldman.  No, he kept his eyes on the smoker's and
prayed they would all survive this meeting.

"Let us begin with recovery of the merchandise," the smoker said, crushing his
Morley.  "I believe I assigned that to you, Alex.   Therefore, Ellen, you will
not be held responsible for failing to follow that order.   I am, however,
holding you responsible for the explosion at the landfill.  There is no doubt
in my mind that could have been avoided had you simply followed orders."

Feldman drew herself up.   "Your orders -"

"Are to be obeyed without question.   Had you simply waited fifteen minutes, a
team would have arrived and gotten the creature out of Alex without destroying
government property and generating undue attention."  A new cigarette was
pulled lovingly from the pack.   "Instead, you took Agent Mulder hostage and
threatened to kill him."

Oh shit!  Shitshitshit.   They were dead.  All because Feldman had no idea what
she was dealing with.

"We do not threaten to kill Agent Mulder, Ellen.  Ever."   The smoker lit the
cigarette and took a long, deep drag.  "And you are not to take him hostage. 
In fact, you are forbidden from taking any hostages unless you are so ordered
and under supervision of a senior operative." 

Say what?

"Which brings me to you, Alex.  I'm making you her supervisor.  You are
responsible for seeing that she obeys my orders to the letter and that under no
circumstances does she perform field work of any kind."

This was a fate worse than death.  He was being made responsible for Feldman. 
That was like trying to control a tornado.  "Sir, I  ---"

"I seem to recall you urging me to recruit Ellen, Alex."  The smoker's mild
expression belied the stalking cobra underneath.  "You've got your wish and now
you're responsible for her."

Alex felt a chill run up and down his spine.  "B-but that was four years ago
---"

"Good luck."  And then, evilly, "You're going to need it."

"Now, wait a minute," Feldman protested.  Alex clamped his hand over her mouth.

The smoker blew a cloud of smoke into her face.  "And while we're still on the
subject of Agent Mulder, Ellen, would you care to explain why you called me
from his phone while he was present?  Why you felt you could give me orders? 
Why you think your pitiful denials have him convinced you don't work for me? 
And, of course, what you intend to do about this relationship with him that you
seem to have initiated?"

With each question, Alex slumped lower in his seat.  

He was doomed.




Epilogue Ten - The Insult That Made A Man Out of Mac



"That went-uh-well, didn't it," Feldman ventured.

Alex pulled the car over and stared at her for a full minute while he tried to
think of an answer that didn't involve him putting her over his knee.  "That
depends, Feldman.  What were you trying to accomplish?"

She blinked innocently.  "What do you mean?"

"I don't even know where to start.  You tried ordering the smoker around.  You
took Mulder hostage.  Do you ever think about what the hell you're doing?!"

"Hey!  Don't take that tone with me, Ratboy ---"

"Alex."

"--- I saved your skin.  Again."

Was it his imagination or did she sound more than a little smug about that?  "I
saved you plenty of times when you were dating Mulder.  Hell, I even helped you
save Mulder."

"How classy of you to throw it in my face," Feldman sniffed.

"I'm stating a fact."  Maybe putting her over his knee wasn't such a bad idea
after all.  "Look, kitten ---"

"I am *not* a kitten!"

It was too soon for PMS, wasn't it?   Patience was the key, he reminded
himself.  "You did some very, very bad things.  I know you had good intentions,
that you wanted to rescue me, but you need to be subtle in this business.  
Otherwise, you end up dead.  Fast."

Feldman examined her nails.  "Gee, thanks, *boss*."

"That's right, honey.  I'm your boss from now on."  God help him.  "And if you
learn from me, you're going to be very, very successful."

"I've been very, very successful without your advice."

"Really?  Let's review those successes, shall we?"  He reached into the back
seat and produced a thick manila envelope.  "The smoker gave these to me while
you were powdering your nose.  He said we needed to go over them and I should
explain what you did wrong."

Maybe he shouldn't be enjoying watching her squirm, but he did.  God, did he
ever.

Alex tore open the envelope with a flourish and shook the contents into his
lap.   There were pictures and transcripts galore.  He selected a picture at
random and had to stop himself from bursting into hysterical laughter.  "Okay,
Fido, explain the dog crate."

"I am *not* a dog."

"True, but you do work for the smoker."  He grinned at her.  "And for me."

"Ratboy ---"

"Alex."  Hmm, this was an interesting picture.  "You did it in a landfill with
Mulder?  Didn't the smell bother you?  And shouldn't you have been looking for
me?"

"I *was* looking for you," Feldman protested.

"In Mulder's pants?  I don't think so."  

"Oh, Alex," she whined, her eyes going dewy as she looked up at him.  "You
don't know what a horrible time I had.  Mulder kept calling me names and he was
so mean to me -"

"Very mean to do you in a landfill," Alex murmured, flipping through the
pictures.  "And his shower.  And his living room.  His bedroom, too?  Jesus! 
You brought him to my house!"

Feldman blinked innocently.  "Our house."

"My house.  I paid for it and I let you live there if you don't call me
Ratboy."  He sighed and  looked at the surveillance photo of Mulder snickering
at the welcome mat.  "My ex-house.  I'm going to have to sell it now."

"B-but ---"

"I can't have Mulder knowing where I live, Feldman."

"Ra - uh --- Al - uh, ----sweetie ---"

"Forget it.  The house is history."  Alex thrust the picture under her nose. 
"You know what he'd do if I didn't?  Every time he wanted an answer to
something, he'd come barging in and beat me up.  And even if I had no idea what
he was talking about, he wouldn't believe me.  I'm not getting pounded to a
pulp in my own home, kitten."

"But, Alex, I can't afford rent!"

"Fine, then you keep the house.  I'll move out."

"But Ratboy ---"

"Alex."  He stuffed the pictures back into the envelope.  "Look, I was planning
on getting you your own place anyway.  I think it's better if we don't share
accommodations."



Ellen could feel her mouth drop open.  "Y-you're dumping me?  It's not because
of Mulder, is it?  Because I could give him up.  At least, I think I can ---"

Her Ratboy waggled a finger.  "No. I am not dumping you.  I'm just not cut out
to be-domesticated."

"But you're the one who wanted to be domesticated in the first place," Ellen
exploded.  "I wasn't the one who told you to buy the house.  I wasn't the one
who wanted to get married and have kids!  I wasn't ---"

"I didn't say you were ---"

"And I certainly didn't pussywhip you, either," she finished, with an angry
sniff.  "No matter what Mulder says."

Her Ratboy buried his face in his hand.  "Swell."

"You're *not* pussywhipped, Ratboy!"

"I must be," he muttered.  "I let you call me Ratboy."

"You can't move out, Alex."  There.  She used his name.  "Where will you go?"

"Wherever I'm assigned.  Just like I did before you pussywhipped me.  And when
I'm in town, I'll stay with you."  He grinned wickedly.  "Or Mulder."

"What?!"

"I told Mulder I wouldn't kiss and tell.  You don't mind sharing with *me*, do
you?"

"You want to mow my lawn?!"

"I thought I was your lawn."

Think Feldman.  Think fast.  "You are.  You're my front lawn.  He's my back. 
And I don't know if my lawns should mow each other."

"Don't you remember, kitten?  You're my favorite."

"Your favorite what," Ellen sniffed.  "What happened to being engaged?"

Her Ratboy looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a Mack truck.

"You said you loved me," she whined.  Oh yes, she had him now.  Did he think
she was going to beg him to stay?  No, when she was finished, he was going to
beg her to be allowed to stay.  "You said you wanted to have a relationship
with me.  All you want is a regular lay."

"I do.  That's what Mulder is for."

"He's mine!"

"Scully's right.  You are a selfish little bitch."  Those long-lashed green
eyes had her pinned in place.  "And as long as we're on the subject, you said
you loved me and wanted to be monogamous.   But what do you do the first time I
get possessed by an oilien?  You go bang Mulder.  Which isn't unforgivable. 
But that-.flirting, I can't have that."

"You do it!  You bat those damned eyelashes at him every chance you get.  It's
unfair, using your eyelashes like that.  I can't get that look with any mascara
on the market."

"You have other assets that Mulder likes."

"You have one that's eight inches."

Her Ratboy gave her a smile that left her underwear dripping.  "Yes, I do.  And
yes, he does.  You're welcome to come play with us if you're willing to share
and share alike."

"What about Scully?"

His nose wrinkled.  "Bleccchhhh."

"Oh, Ratboy ---"

"Alex.  Forget it, Feldman.  I'm not going back to that house and giving Mulder
an advantage over me."   He patted her knee.  "Look, I promise I'll stay with
you when I'm here ---"

"So how is that different from our arrangement now?  You're still gonna keep
your stuff in my closet."

"I own two suits, two pairs of jeans, four sweaters, a couple of T shirts, the
boots I'm wearing and this jacket."

"Oh, honey, you *do* want a commitment."  And a real wardrobe.

"That's what I've been saying.  I just don't want to lose my edge.  Got it?"

"No.  Because your argument makes no sense whatsoever."

"You want me to say it?  Fine, I'll say it.  A domesticated Ratboy is a dead
Ratboy.  Understand now?"

"But I didn't domesticate you.  You domesticated yourself!"

"I did it for you."

"I don't want a domesticated Ratboy.  I want the dangerous Ratboy I took
hostage."

"Feldman!"

Oh, look.  There was his gun, hanging within easy reach in his cute little
shoulder holster.  With a grin, she lunged forward and grabbed it, disengaging
the safety easily.  "Now, then.  I've got the gun, so I guess that makes me the
one in charge."

"Feldman!"  Those sexy green eyes widened in surprise.  "Didn't you hear what
the smoker said about taking hostages?"

"Consider this a coup, Ratboss."

"Alex-my name is Alex.  And for God's sake, be careful.  That thing has a very
light trigger."

"So do you."  She reached out with her free hand to undo his jeans and free the
monster erection that lurked within.  "You're not going anywhere, Ratboy."

It was going to be a long hostage crisis.


The End.  For now.