From: slyseng@gpu.srv.ualberta.ca (Susan)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW > "Jalopeno Peppers" < 1/1
Date: Wed, 13 Sep 1995 13:03:38 GMT


Here's another fine story by Summer--she'd love to hear your comments
at summer@camelot.bradley.edu.....
*****************************************************************************

Subject: NEW > "Jalopeno Peppers" < 1/1
Date: Tue, 12 Sep 1995 16:11:32 -0500 (CDT)


	_The X-Files_: all characters copyright Chris Carter and Ten
Thirteen Productions. They shouldn't have made up something so cool if
they didn't want us to write fan fiction about it. However, i don't
really want to upset them, so no infringement upon their copyrights is
intended.
	All non-_X-Files_ characters and situations are MINE MINE MINE!

	Since i produce a zine (DAZE, available from 818 N. Race St. /
Princeton, IN / 47670) i am _very_ supportive of all fanzine efforts;
if anyone wishes to reprint this story in a fanzine, go for it! (Just
leave my name on it and tell me, please.) That everything? Okay,
here's the story. 


	           Jalapeno Peppers
		   An X-Files Story
		      by Summer

	Fox Mulder stepped through the pnuematic doors of
the Shop 'n' Save with a certain dread at the prospect of
what lay ahead. He regarded the silvery shopping carts
warily before he succumbed to good sense and wrestled one
from the corrall.

	Mulder reminded himself that his refrigerator
contained three beers and a jar of relish. True, he
didn't spend a whole lot of time in his apartment, and
when he did he generally got by with pizza and takeout--
but the occasional bout of guilt compelled him to attempt
to stock his kitchenette as though he were a normal human
being. Mulder was full-tilt into one such bout, and no
matter how hideous the process of grocery shopping
seemed, he wouldn't be able to think about anything else
until he damn well put something edible in the
refrigerator. He wheeled the cart through the canned
goods and headed for the produce department. He'd pick up
some apples or something as a concession to the concept
of nutrition, and then get a stack of frozen dinners.
Then maybe he'd be able to concentrate on something other
than three beers and a jar of relish.

	That was the plan, anyway. Mulder was rounding the
Cheetos display rack when he thought he heard his name
being spoken quietly nearby. He half-turned when someone
abruptly invaded his personal space and prodded his
kidney; Mulder glanced with shock and saw the pistol.

	He blinked and looked again. It was still there. 
It was still a gun. It was still pointed at him. And most
surreal of all, he was still in the Shop 'n' Save.

	"Hello, Agent Mulder," the woman said pleasantly.
She made some extremely fast move with her hand and the
gun was gone, with none of the other shoppers any the
wiser. Mulder had absolutely no doubts that wherever
she'd tucked it away, the pistol was still pointed
directly at him, primed to cause a great gaping wound and
spray Mulder-bits all over the Chicken of the Sea cans
behind him.

	Mulder swallowed, tightening his hands on the grip
bar of the shopping cart. "There are easier ways to get a
date with me," he deadpanned, wondering why this scenario
had never come up in his training at FBI Academy.

	"Normally we'd prefer something a little more
subtle," she answered in equally low tones, "but between
your paranoia and your caseload, banging a shopping cart
into yours and angling for dinner and a movie just
wouldn't cut it."

	"Ooh," he muttered, "you've got a gun AND a
comeback. How can I resist?"

	"You can't," she replied. "Why don't you just come
with me..."

	"Maybe because I don't feel like getting shot."

	"Do what I say, and I won't have to shoot you. And
before you try any schoolboy heroics, I suggest you look
around. There are three other people here with weapons
aimed at you. Two men in blue baseball caps and a woman
in a red blouse. See them?"

	Mulder craned his head around. One guy in a blue
baseball cap, idly chewing gum and perusing a copy of
World Weekly News, looked straight at him. He had one
hand in the pocket of his navy windbreaker. Uh-oh. A
woman in a red blouse was digging in her purse for
coupons, but when he noticed her, she also looked
directly at him and nodded slightly. Mulder's stomach
sank as he spotted the other guy waiting at the door;
this one also made deliberate eye contact as Mulder
looked his way.

	Shit.

	The woman behind him patted his hand, which was
still wrapped convulsively around the cart. "You don't
need to buy anything," she told him, speaking now loudly
enough for anyone to hear. "Let's go out to dinner
tonight, shall we?"

	Mulder let her steer him back to the corrall, where
he replaced the cart with a loud clang. "Three beers and
a jar of relish," he said with disgust.

	"Interesting shopping list," the woman observed.
"Let's go."
	
	*		*		*

	He was prodded into an unassuming station wagon,
crammed into the back seat between one of the blue-
baseball-capped men and his original assailant; the other
two slid into the front seat, with the red-bloused woman
driving. Mulder got a good look at the first woman now;
she was unremarkably pretty, with cinnamon-brown hair and 
steeply arched eyebrows. Her green jacket had deep pockets
just perfect for concealing a gun. 

	His eyes wandered to the windows; they had appeared
normal from the outside, but from the inside, all the glass
was mirrored. The sole exception was a patch of clear glass
through which the driver could see the road, but it was 
positioned in such a way that all Mulder could see through it
was the hood of the car.

	"Ambushed in the Shop 'n' Save," he mused sourly. 
"To what do I owe the honor?" 

	"Take your pick, Agent Mulder," said the first woman,
one eyebrow raising Spock-like with amusement. "There are 
plenty of toes to step on in D.C., and you've managed to
trod on quite a few."

	"Great. This town needs a pedicure." His gloomy
remark only appeared to amuse her further. Mulder's
indignation overcame his caution. "Why the hell did you
abduct me from the grocery store? Innocent people could
have been hurt."

	"Exactly." Her voice was knife-sharp. "We knew you
wouldn't come without a fight if we tried to do it
quietly when no one was around. The way you're wired, it
was less fuss to grab you at the Shop 'n' Save."

	"That's ridiculous," he scoffed. "I go there maybe
once every two months..." Mulder trailed off as he took
in her stony gaze. "No way."

	Suddenly she shrugged and the humor returned to her
expression. "The details are really none of your concern,
Agent Mulder. You have nothing to worry about."

	"Easy for you to say, you've got the gun." Mulder
shifted uncomfortably as his disbelief wore off and
annoyance set in. "So, what, you're the designated talker
for this crowd?" he asked.

	She tilted her chin in acknowledgement.

	"Don't suppose you plan to tell me what's going
on."

	She shook her head.

	"Well if you know so much about how I'm wired," he
said acerbically, "you know I have a photographic memory.
Why are you letting me see you? That's a pretty nasty
risk."

	"It doesn't matter if you know what we look like,"
she answered with a shrug. "We don't exist."

	"Wonderful." Mulder paused to allow himself a
moment of sulky pissed-offed-ness. "Think you could order
me a non-existent pizza? I went to the grocery store for
a reason."

	"I'll see what I can do when we get where we're
going," the woman shrugged with another Spockish smile.
"Everything but anchovies, right? Including pineapple.
AND jalapenos. Though I don't know why you order them.
You just pick them off."

	Of course, he thought. Surveillance. Perfect. "I
like the way the jalapeno juice makes the pizza taste,
but I don't like the actual peppers," he informed her,
striving to maintain a stolid front.

	She nodded blithely. "Fine. I'll eat the peppers.
And you'll want iced tea?"

	Ouch. "I don't know-- what goes well with sodium
pentathol?"

	"A better vintage than I can arrange, I'm afraid.
Fortunately, we have no intention of drugging you, Agent
Mulder, or of harming you in any way. Abducting you like
this was a regrettable necessity, since it's not likely
we could have talked to you if we'd been armed only with
sweet reason."

	"WHAT?!" he exclaimed, aghast. "For years I've
followed leads and talked to people all over the country
while pursuing cases, and no one ever needed armed
coercion to gain an audience with me then!"

	"Things have changed," she explained implacably.
"We aren't the only ones who wondered why you picked the
jalapenos off your pizza. Convincing you is one thing.
Shaking your keepers is another."

	"I don't buy it. And I'm sick of this pointless
cloak-and-dagger routine. Interesting use of one-way
mirrors, by the way," he gestured to the windows, "did
you get that from a James Bond movie?"

	"I doubt it. Our technicians go more for _Die Hard_
and Tarantino flicks. They really like the Men In Black
stuff in _Reservoir Dogs_."

	He didn't expect an answer, but he asked anyway:
"You're with them?"

	Again he got that bemused Vulcan glance. "Not at
all. Some of our people use so-called `Men In Black' for
target practice. We're not affiliated with any of the 
groups you're familiar with, Agent Mulder." 

	"Oh, so you're a brand new set of weird conspirators.
Great. _Now_ what am I going to ask for this Christmas?"

	"A copy of Mad Magazine's Snappy Answers to Stupid
Questions book?"

	Mulder glared at her. If there was anything he hated
more that being ushered out of a supermarket at gunpoint, it
was being ushered out of a supermarket at gunpoint by a 
villain with a comeback line. It didn't help that she seemed
to sense his frustration and smirked at him. He mustered his
defenses and went for one last quip. "Under the circumstances,
maybe I should ask for Spy Vs. Spy."

	Strangely, she focused on him more intently and
said, "Really. Tell me, Agent Mulder-- which spy do you 
favor? The one in white or the one in black?"	

	He frowned at her. "They're both the same," he
pointed out, bewildered.

	She nodded slowly, gazing at him. "Exactly." The
drive continued in silence until the woman in the red
blouse made a particularly sharp turn and the car glided
to a halt. The woman in the green jacket by Mulder's side
looked up and nodded. "We're here."

	The car doors opened; his captors got out and the
green-jacketed woman gestured to him with her gun hand,
which was still sunk in one spacious pocket. Mulder
clambered out of the station wagon and into a dim parking
garage. All the other cars were shrouded with tarpaulins;
there was a ramp from above, but Mulder could see only
another level of the garage up there. The air was cool
and vaguely damp, suggesting that they were underground;
a door set in one wall was the only break from the raw
concrete.

	The door opened soundlessly as Mulder's four
captors approached with the FBI agent firmly in tow. They
passed through it from the garage to a broad hallway. The
fluorescent lights and seamless white walls evoked the
atmosphere an anonymous office building. Mulder was led
through several such corridors. As they walked, he turned
to the woman in the green jacket. "So which Spy did you
like?" he asked. "The one in white, or the one in black?"

	"Me?" She smiled. "I liked the Spy in grey who
tricked them both."
	
	The other three who had assisted in Mulder's
abduction suddenly turned down another hallway, while the
talker signalled him to stop. She stood in front of
another door, just like the one leading into the complex
from the garage. Mulder assessed the risks of taking her
on. There was little chance of getting out of this place
intact if he did so-- and by now he was insanely curious
to learn what this was all about.

	The door swung open and the woman stepped back,
gesturing him in with her free hand. Mulder walked in,
slowly, and she entered after him, shutting the door.

	A comfortable-looking chair stood bathed in a
gentle golden glow, the only illumination in the room.
The green-jacketed woman motioned toward it. Mulder shook
his head. "I want some answers before I play along with
this any longer."
	
	"We were hoping you could provide us with some
answers, Agent Mulder."

	The unexpected sound of another voice put Mulder's
every nerve on alert. Now he could just barely make out
the edge of a table or desk indicated by the slightest
hint of amber light. Someone was there, in the shadows,
hidden by the dark.

	"Better and better," Mulder scowled at the
darkness. "You've wasted your time, then. I don't have
anything to say to you."

	"Even if you choose not to speak with me, Agent
Mulder, this has hardly been a waste of time. A show of
power never is." The voice was, he decided, being
disguised in some way. It was too even, too modulated; he
couldn't even tell if it was male or female. Probably
whoever was speaking to him wasn't even in this room;
there could easily be an intercom on that desk through
which the voice could talk to him.

	"A show of power? This is another move in your
game?" Mulder didn't bother to hide his outrage. He
didn't care if they thought he was naive, a "schoolboy".
Wait... Mr. X had called him that, once, and the woman in
the green jacket had used the same word...

	"We didn't start this, Agent Mulder, but we've
found it necessary to play along at times. This was a
good time to satisfy our curiosity about the FBI agent 
who's been causing such a stir lately. You see, we're
looking for answers, just like you."

	"Just like me. Except I'm not in the habit of
conducting interrogations at gunpoint."

	"You're in no danger here," the voice assured him.
"Please, Agent Mulder, sit down. Ask your questions, and
I'll answer as best I can."

	Mulder stalled a long moment, then eased into the
chair. "What do you gain by bringing me here?"

	"Nothing tangible. However, Miss Saavik has just
established her team's reputation as an outstanding
covert unit--"

	"Saavik?" Mulder twisted around to see the woman in
the green jacket give him a wry smile. Apparently he
wasn't the only one who thought her canted eyebrows and
odd expressions were faintly Vulcan.
	
	'Saavik' shrugged. "You'd rather I went by Mr.
Brown?" she joked. She directed her attention towards the
voice. "Will that be all?"

	"Yes, thank you, Saavik." At this dismissal, the
woman turned and exited swiftly, shutting the door behind
her.

	"As for this organization's returns," the voice
continued, "we've affirmed that we have the resources to
expend on this little jaunt despite the lack of
substantial gain. We've let the other organizations who
have an eye on you know that we're aware of them. And
we've proved that they are not an obstacle to us. You
might think of it as getting a few new cards in draw
poker. A move not likely to improve your situation
enormously, but with the potential to allow you to win
one hand."

	"Great. I'm an ace of spades," Mulder replied
dourly.

	"Sometimes you're a player and sometimes you're a
pawn," the voice replied placidly. "However, the
unpredictability of your status is part of what gives you
power."

	"I'm not in this for power."

	"No, you're not. This, too, gives you an
advantage."

	Mulder just shook his head. "What do you want?"
	
	"Our aims are much the same as yours, Agent Mulder.
We're trying to find the truth."

	He leaned forward. "And you intend to find the
truth by using lies? By-- hiding in shadows?"

	"You and your partner are an independent force,
Agent Mulder. You have been used by various agencies and
organizations, but you belong to none of them. That's a
dangerous path. On the other hand, you answer only to
your superiors in the FBI and to the dictates of your own
conscience. You've had opportunities to cast your lot in
with one group or another, and refused. Enlighten 
me, Agent Mulder. Why, if you so desire to know the
truth, have you never joined with those who would reveal
it to you?"

	"I have no desire to become one of those who hide
the truth," Mulder answered honestly.

	"Do you really think that you alone can discover
the secrets that all those people conceal?"

	"I'm not alone."

	"No," the voice said thoughtfully. "No, you're not
alone. On your own you were dismissed as a crank. Now...
now your partner lends credence to your claims."

	Mulder stared into the darkness as though he could
pierce the shadows with the intensity of his stare. "Is
that why she disappeared for two months?"

	"We don't know."

	He exhaled, only then realizing he'd been holding
his breath. Mulder stood and paced restlessly back and
forth. "Why? Why all the lies, the secrets? What are they
afraid of?"
	
	"Have you asked them?"

	Mulder scuffed the toe of his running shoe against
the wall. "One of them told me that if people knew what
he'd seen, it would all fall apart. I can't buy that.
It's bullshit, it has to be."

	"And what if he was right? What if the truth is so
explosive that society would, in fact, fall apart?"

	"I refuse to believe that society is too fragile to
handle the truth."

	"Faith in your fellow man, Agent Mulder?"

	He shrugged and sank into the chair again. "You
could call it that."

	"What do you think of the idea that people get the
government they deserve?"

	Mulder's head snapped up and he peered at the
darkness again. "Meaning...?"

	"That the apathy of the average person in this
country allows the leaders to take licenses they would
avoid if the public were vigilant. That ultimately, it is
the common man who is responsible for the problems of the
government."
	
	"I think it's a smug platitude used by those in
power to justify their abuse of their positions."

	"Most people don't want to know the truth, Agent
Mulder. They'd much rather their government took care of
it behind closed doors and let the citizens live their
lives."

	"Even if you're right, and most people don't
care, in this country we strive to satisfy the
majority while protecting the rights of the minority.
The smaller number of people who want to know the truth
should have the right to know it, even if 'most people' 
do not," Mulder said decisively.

	"What qualifies as 'truth'? Any time one person
talks to another, the two are conspiring... any time
information is transferred the people involved are
conspirators. Most 'government conspiracies' are merely
agreements between a few officials who keep the terms to
themselves." The voice chuckled. "What is a conspiracy
but a covert committee?"

	"Look, I don't have the answers to all your civics-
class questions," Mulder snapped. "You can debate
abstractions all you like, but on a practical level--
every citizen has the right to know the truth. Protecting
the people isn't an excuse; protection becomes another
word for oppression. Every day I deal with cases where
people have been hurt and killed because someone wanted
to keep a secret. You can't convince me that the
insulation of lies does more good than harm. Because I
know, I _know_, that it's just another excuse. Just
another lie."

	"Are you really so certain you're doing the right
thing?" the voice suggested insidiously.

	Mulder glared into the darkness. "Yes." He walked
to stand at the door. "Our conversation is over. If you
were telling the truth, I should be free to go."
	
	"Certainly, Agent Mulder," the voice soothed
tranquilly. "A taxi is waiting for you in the parking
garage; Caitlin will take you to it." The door clicked
open slightly; Mulder nudged it the rest of the way to
find the red-bloused woman standing patiently outside.

	"Oh, and Agent Mulder...?" the voice added.

	"Yes?"

	"It was nice to meet you."

	*		*		*	

	'Saavik' strode decisively into a well-appointed
room. A comfortable padded chair, its back to her, stood
in the midst of a desktop and assorted monitor screens,
forming a well-equipped control center. "Okay, Taggart."

	The chair swiveled around. "Well, Jean?" A gruff,
burly man with a grizzled beard nodded to her and
surrendered the spot. "I asked him most of your questions 
before he balked. What did we get out of this? Did you 
find out what you wanted to know?"
	
	Jean took her chair and peered into one screen; the
camera in the holding room now piped in the image of the
empty chair. "You know, when you tail someone the way
we've been hanging on to this guy, you think you know 'em
really well. But you never know anyone, do you, Taggart.
Talking to him today proved that-- I thought I was
prepared for anything, but he surprised me."

	"How? He didn't do anything." Taggart yanked at his
beard, the timeworn grooves around his eyes deepening
with curiosity.

	"Right. He didn't short-circuit, he didn't cave in.
He asked tough questions, but he gave some tough answers
too... he's respectful." She laughed. "Respectful of his
enemies. The true mark of a gentleman."
	
	"You think he'll figure out this is your show?"

	"My show? C'mon, Taggart, what happened to 'we're
all in this together'?" she chuckled. "Nah. There's no
way he could figure it out. Mulder's a good detective,
but nobody's that good."

	Taggart depressed a few buttons, changing one of
the monitors to a view of the parking garage, where
Mulder was being ushered into a car marked like a taxi.
"I don't see what the big deal is. He's just one guy.
Even with that doctor he's dragged into it, I mean, come
on, Jean. In the overall scheme of things, how much can
two people accomplish?"

	Jean pointed out, "History is made up of people.
Everyone makes a difference."

	"History is made by leaders," Taggart corrected
her. "These two aren't demagogues-- hell, they don't tell
anyone about what they know. I think this Mulder guy is
full of shit."

	"We can debate that later," Jean shrugged. "They're
driving him around for half an hour; I have to leave in
ten minutes to catch up."

 	"Are we going to waste time tracking him after
this?"

	"We'll see," Jean said, flipping through a batch of
dossiers on her desk. She separated a few from the pile:
Circe, Dilemma, Susan, Lynette. "We'll see."

	*		*		*		

	Mulder hesitated before getting out of the "taxi"
at his apartment building. Somehow, despite his
suspicions, he had never really believed that his place
was under surveillance. Knowing it was probably bugged
with mikes and cameras gave him an unpleasant itchy
feeling.

	"Don't worry, Agent Mulder," a sardonic female
voice advised as the car door swung open. Mulder's
eyebrows shot up as the woman in the green jacket slid
into the seat beside him. "As far as we know, your actual
home is sacrosanct. It should be clean. It's only from
the outside that you're being watched."

	"You again."

	"Me again," she agreed. "Thought you might like a
souvenir." She handed something to him.

	He started. It was the pistol she'd held on him at
the Shop 'n' Save. But it was far, far too light to be an
actual gun. His surprise gave way to pained bemusement as
he stared at her. She shrugged.

	"We don't really want to hurt anybody," she
explained. "Hold the barrel and pull on the handle."

	He hesitated, then did as she instructed, primed to
throw it in case it was rigged in some way. Far from it.
The gun unfolded into a loose configuration of metal and
plastic topped by a mechanical head. "It turns into a
robot..." he groaned.

	"I thought you might appreciate the duplicity," she
grinned outright. "You were never in any danger from us.
In the eventuality that we need to speak with you again,
we really will be armed only with sweet reason, and the
choice will be yours."

	"My partner is never going to believe this," he
said ruefully.

	"How do you know?"
	
	"Because I was there and I'm not sure _I_ believe
it."

 	She laughed. "Go on home, Agent Mulder."

	He stared a moment longer, shook his head, and got
out of the car. She leaned out to grab the door handle,
paused, and looked at him one last time. He waited,
expecting some kind of comment, but she only raised one
eyebrow and gave that owlish Vulcan smile before shutting
the car door. Mulder watched the taillights vanish far
off down the street, then turned to trudge up the stairs
to his apartment.

	He unlocked his door and was immediately greeted by
the smell of pizza. Mulder shut the door behind him and
leaned against it, tilting his head back to bang it a
couple of times on the wood. Finally he tossed his keys
onto the counter and walked into the living room.

	Sitting on his coffee table was Mad Magazine's Spy
Vs. Spy book and a box from Papa Romano's, his favorite
pizza place. Mulder eased onto his couch and picked up
the book.

	"Merry Christmas" was written neatly above the
title.

	He sighed and opened the box. A perfectly
delectable pizza was steaming deliciously within. A Post-
It note was stuck to the inside top lid. The typewritten
text read, "With our compliments. We picked off the
jalapeno peppers for you this time." Then, in the same
neat writing as was on the book: "I ate all but one,
which I left for you. They're actually very good. You
should try it sometime. Happy Chanukah."

	"Mazel tov," he murmured, and took a bite.

			(END)



	NOTES: This tale was partially brought on by
Amperage's "The Letter Box", a great story that made me
think about the shadow government subplots of X-Files in
a new light. The conspiritors on the show always seem so
humorless; I wanted to have Mulder encounter some "bad
guys" who were vaguely likable. I thought that with all
the coverups and lies in the X-Files world, they must be
rather cluttered with conspiracies, so maybe I'm poking a
bit of affectionate fun at the show, too. And of course,
I couldn't leave well enough alone; this story ties into
another I'm working on, "Dilemma", which will probably be
posted within a coupla weeks. Please send any comments,
corrections, feedback, etc. to summer@camelot.bradley.edu.
Thank you Saint Susan forever for posting for me!!