From: Jedi Shipper Date: Thu, 30 Mar 2000 17:49:23 -0800 (PST) Subject: Tamed (Manolos II) Source: xfc TITLE: Tamed (Manolos II) by The Jedi Shipper E-MAIL: JediShipper@yahoo.com DISTRIBUTION: If you want it, I'd be honored. Just drop me a line telling me where it goes. :-) SPOILER WARNING: There are a few here and there. Nothing big. RATING: PG CLASSIFICATION: SH KEYWORDS: Different POV SUMMARY: You remember Carrie and Trent? Well what happens when Scully and Carrie leave their men alone for the weekend? AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is the sequel to Manolos. I would suggest you read that one first. View the shoes that started it all: http://www.neimanmarcus.com/subcat.jhtml?id=131 DEDICATIONS: Of course, to the real Carrie. This is for you baby. And, as always, Adrienne for a great BETA read. (crotch-SCRATCH not snatch!) Special thank you to Rikki and Maricris. I will finish your fic, I promise! *Thump* *Thump* *Thump* I was startled out of my morning paper by the comforting sound of a basketball hitting the floor above me. Now normally, one might think I'd find this annoying, but no. I simply smiled and went back to my Knicks article. The friendly neighborhood G-Man above me had not dribbled his basketball on the floor for more months then I'd care to remember. I suppose, in the five years I've lived here, his constant dribbling morning, noon or night reminded me that I wasn't the only lonely guy around town. I never realized how much I had gotten used to the sound until it wasn't around anymore. At least...until I realized that the reason he'd stopped was the same reason my Saturday night poker games are all but none existent now. We had our hands full with other things, so to speak. Don't get me wrong. I love Carrie, obsessive shoe collection and all. Gladly I'd go to the moon and back for her, but lately I've been feeling more then a little domesticated. I am 32 years old and I've never had as much fresh food in the refrigerator as I do now. At this point, my neighbor's steady thumping brought back memories of the good old days. I allowed myself to indulge in a crotch-scratch, one of the first of my idiosyncrasies Carrie had tamed. At about three that afternoon I stumbled across my laundry basket. I could hear Carrie's voice echoing in my head already. "Trent, is a single load of YOUR laundry really too much to ask?" I stared at the basket with full-out rebellion in my eyes. I am not a tamed man. I will do my laundry when I *want* to do my laundry. Fifteen minutes later, I knew I was kidding myself. After I grumbled and cursed for another five minutes, I found myself standing in front of the elevator, laundry basket under my arm. The elevator dinged and who did I find myself facing but Mr. GQ FBI, laundry basket settled at his feet. I'd never really talked to the man, save to complain about the impromptu shower last year. I had mumbled a hello when I saw him at Carrie's apartment a few weeks ago, but other then that, all I knew of this man was that he lead a crazy life. We nodded at each other as I stepped in. I wondered which one of us was going to crack first and mention something. Logically, the only thing he'd wonder about me is how in the hell I landed a girlfriend right next door to his. I, on the other hand, had a million questions. Why fake your own death? Just how many times has he been shot? How much does a bill run for the blood stains on the carpet? I nearly jump out of my skin when he says, "How's that stereo working out for you?" By then we had entered the laundry room, though hell if I remember getting off the elevator. "Uh, great. How's your waterbed?" I managed finally. Intelligence, I know. He simply shrugs. "Got rid of it...and those damn mirrors too," he adds, sort of to himself. This causes my eyebrows to shoot up. "Mirrors?" Another shrug. "Long story. No, not a long story...just a story I don't know." He shakes his head, dismissing the thought. "Your uh--girlfriend make you do the laundry?" This earns a grimace from me. "What makes you say that?" He gives me a wry look. "I'm nothing if I'm not the King of the Bachelors, and Bachelor rule book say: don't do laundry until you have nothing else to wear and everything has failed the stink test. You have a full but not overflowing hamper there." "Ah, Bachelor rule book also say: Bachelors make their own rules," I point out. Another smug grin from the G-Man. "Well," he cleared his throat. "Correct me if I'm wrong but...silk isn't really your fabric," he says, gingerly lifting Carrie's silk blouse from the top of my stack of clothes. I yank it back from him defensively. "Yeah well, try telling me that those are yours," I say, pointing to a pair of distinctly small jeans that have fallen from his stack. His cocky grin suddenly becomes a semi-scowl. Then he chuckles and starts tossing clothes into the washing machine. "You and I," he mutters, not looking up, "are what they call whipped." A sigh from me. "I hear you brother." I chuckled. "My name's Trent Morgan, property of one Carrie Williamson." This earns another smile from the G-Man who, if I'm not mistaken, puts his hand a little shyly into my outstretched one for a firm shake. "Fox Mulder. Mulder for obvious reasons. Owned and operated by Dana Scully." I finish shoving my dirty clothes into the machine and hop up on it. "I gotta tell you, since I knew you were both G-People, I figured she was your partner." Mulder laughed as he haphazardly threw soap into the machine. "She is my partner." We share knowing eyebrow raises. "Is that what my tax dollars are paying you to do?" He slams the lid of his machine shut and starts it. "No we're all business at the office, as much as I'd hate to admit it. Out in the field, we're the very model of good FBI agents...no one suspects a thing. She even kicks me out or leaves before 11 p.m. on week nights. That's how we play it." I whistled. "That's tough." He shrugs, leaning against a machine. "We have to play it that way, or risk... well let's just say I don't want to risk it. If her brother knew what I was doing he'd kick my ass, and that's the least of my problems." "You're an FBI Agent--aren't you trained in self-defense?" This brings a wry smile to his face. "Let's just say that self-defense is not my strong point." "So you're saying she's the ass kicker of the duo?" I'm finding it hard to believe that. There's an obvious hint of pride in his voice. "Are you kidding? She humiliates the hell out of me in the field. She's taken down men several times her size. Saved my sorry ass more times then I'd care to remember." I have to shake my head. "How high does insurance run for an FBI Special Agent?" I ask jokingly. "You mean a normal one or do you mean Scully or me?" he asks, seemingly enjoying poking fun at himself. "Speaking of Scully and you...where is she? If I was in your situation, I wouldn't leave the apartment all weekend." This brings a true grimace to his face. "Doctor convention, or something like that." This story just keeps getting better. "Doctor?" "One of her many talents," he says, grinning again. "Hey I don't know how long this takes, but are you up for a game of b-ball?" There's only one way to answer that question. "Hell yes." ******* Well he spins odd tales, and I do believe he's crazy, but I had a good time with Mulder that afternoon. It'd been a while since I'd played a good game of basketball. Nothing like a sweaty, competition-based sport to get the testosterone flowing again. Or so Carrie would say. Once, during a break, Mulder asked if I believed in aliens. "Well, I think that this universe is too big for it to be just us. I don't think it's all that garbage you see at the theater. If a race was so advanced that it could get here, why destroy the planet? Bunch of humbug if you ask me." He gave me what can only be described as an ironic smile, but didn't say anything more about it. Afterward we stopped to gather our laundry. Mulder invited me up to his apartment for a beer and I readily agreed. "Where's Carrie? I forgot to ask," he said as we crashed on the couch. "Oh, she went to a wedding. I would have gone, but I had work to do last night," I said. What I didn't say was how relieved I was to have gotten out of that situation. Thank God my boss was a single male too. He nodded. We started talking about different things, all the questions I'd wanted to ask him. Then we just happened to get to his Quasi-suicide. "He was spying on me. He had the apartment above me," Mulder explained. "I'm not going to get into details about this but, when I went to confront him, he raised his gun at me. His death, my apparent suicide, bought me enough time to find something that saved Scully's life. I think...we have to think that things happen for a reason. How else do you explain tragedies?" I nodded, food for deep thought there. "Like your partner had to be attacked that night. That sent Carrie on a guilt trip, and then down to the shoe store where she met me." Mulder nodded. "I'd rather that maniac not have come after her, but you see...you have to find the good in it," he shakes his head. "The landlord once told me that people feel safer having an FBI Agent in the building. What about Carrie? She feel safer with Scully around?" he asks, his tone good-natured. "No offense or anything, but Carrie knows better. I have to admit I'm kind of nervous sitting here right now, waiting for some shit to happen," I say, pretending to look out the window nervously. It's not all an act--some strange things have happened up here, after all. "I find it amazing we haven't been evicted yet," Mulder admitted. This conversation has gotten way too serious for my tastes. My eyes have wandered to where a pair of women's heels rest in the corner. "How many pairs of shoes does Dana have?" I asked suddenly. Mulder blinks once, twice before saying, "Excuse me?" "Shoes, heels. I was just wondering what the deal is with women and shoes. I have five pairs of shoes, three dress, two comfortable. Those are more then enough, too much if you ask me. Carrie, on the other hand, has so many shoes she fills up of our closets. Sometimes I think that the only reason she dates me is for the extra closet space," I say, shaking my head. Mulder looks thoughtful. "No, it's not shoes for Scully. She doesn't like to admit it, but she loves to go shopping. Drove me crazy once, at the mall with her, but she's so damn practical she hardly ever buys anything. Suede. She loves suede but she never buys it." We share a look. "Women," we both say at the same time. "Can't live with them, can't shoot them," came a voice from the other side of the room. Mulder and I both jumped to attention, manly slouches forgotten as we turned to the doorway. "Or at least, that's how it went in high school." Leaning against it is the short red-headed vision in black wearing a bemused expression on her face. "How long have you been standing there?" Mulder asks. "How do you know I like suede?" she says in reply. Mulder gets up and crosses the room to her. "The drool," he says, not missing a beat. "It's a dead giveaway," he says, putting his arms around her waist. They stare at each other for a moment in a way that makes me feel like a voyeur. I suddenly miss Carrie...a lot. Dana's slight nod in my direction seems to alert Mulder to the fact I'm still here. "Oh this is Trent Morgan. He lives part time downstairs and part time next door to you." Mulder said, nodding in my direction. I'm about to reply when my cell phone chirps. "Hello?" "Trent? Where are you? I'm at your apartment." The woman has timing, I'll give you that much. "Come upstairs." "Upstairs? As in, to the crazy G-Man's apartment?" she sounds incredulous. Out of the corner of my eye said G-Man is poking around in G-Woman's pockets playfully. She's slapping his hands away, obviously trying to hide her smile. "Hurry, Carrie," I say into the phone and click the off button Less then a minute later she's tapping at the front door tentatively. Dana had left it open when she walked in, so I motioned for Carrie to enter, pulling her into my arms as soon as she was within reach. "How was your day Ree?" I asked her. This brings a sigh out of her. "Oh, it was terrible. My sister, you know the one my parents are always comparing me to, anyway, that bitch was wearing the exact same pair of shoes I was," she said as if it might as well have been the end of the world. She turned to Dana. "I mean, is that not the worst thing?" she asked, voice breaking ever so slightly. Dana shared a compassionate look with Carrie. "Don't feel too badly. The last time someone was wearing my entire outfit, well that's a long, very weird story." "The only kind you know, incidentally." I break into the conversation, trading a look with Mulder. Translation: change the subject before we have a tearful girl-fest. Carrie doesn't seem to notice. "And on top of it," she continues to Dana, and I wonder if she remembers I'm here. "My mother's making her little comments, 'Oh Erin's feet are so small and dainty. Yours are so sturdy.' Sturdy!" At this last comment Carrie threw the arm that was not firmly attached around my waist in the air. Dana made a cluck of sympathy before remembering that she also had member of the non-shoe-obsessive gender attached at the hip. "Oh. Carrie, this is my worse half, Fox Mulder." Carrie grins. "Oh yeah... I've heard all about you. Can't squeeze a tub of toothpaste, leaves sunflower seeds in the sheets, right?" Mulder turns a distinct shade of white. "Excuse me?" His question is directed at the redhead beside him. She looked up. "Well what do you expect when you ask me to do *your* laundry and then rush off to watch the Knicks game?" "Oh you're a Knicks fan are you?" I but in. Mulder shoots me a thank-you look over the girls' heads. "Hey, a friend of mine can get all four of us seats. Interested?" Mulder looks at Dana, who looks up at him. "Yeah sure. Just name the time. We're there." I felt a tug at my side. "Well, as good as that all sounds, I'm not done complaining just yet. But I won't torture you people," she says to Mulder and Dana. "Come on, Trent." She takes me by the hand, leading me towards the door. "Heaven awaits," I say with dread, but I can't help thinking Carrie's just too funny. What's wrong with me? As the door shuts behind us I can distinctly hear Dana's voice say, "Is it just me or did we actually arrange to do something approaching normal?" I have to chuckle. "Just what is so funny?" Carrie asks, not really annoyed but needing some TLC. "Oh Trent," she says, resting her head on my chest as the elevator makes it's decent. "I hate weddings." "I'll bet you were the prettiest girl there. It's probably better that I didn't go, I'd have had to beat up all the guys there because I know they'd all be giving you those looks." That earns me a small smile. "I should have taken the Manolos. I bet Erin doesn't have Manolos." "That's because Erin isn't an eighth as pretty as you and she doesn't have someone who loves her nearly as much as I love you," I tell her as we step off the elevator, arm in arm. "I'll buy you a hundred pairs of Manolos shoes if you smile like that again." "Promise?" she asks. I nod. She smiles, a huge, genuine smile. "Oh Trent, one good thing did happen at that wedding," she said as we walked into my apartment. "What's that?" "I caught the bouquet." God help me. ~~~~~~~Fini~~~~~~~~ I love this story. He he. Well? What'd you think? Feedback is gobbled in all shapes and sizes. PLEASE?