mirror-textfiles.com/sf/XFILES/j&f1

PLEASE NOTE:  I'm posting this story for Summer, who would love to
hear from you at summer@camelot.bradley.edu.  Please e-mail her with
your comments and not me :)  Thanks....
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Subject: NEW > Jeans & Fishnets < (1/4)
Date: Thu, 7 Sep 1995 19:23:07 -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!
	There IS a little **adult language** in this story.
	SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully hang out together on a Sunday.

	A zillion thanks and raining roses on Saint Susan L. who posts
these here for me since my evil server won't let me do it myself! 

	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. 

     Blue Jeans and Fishnet Stockings
           An X-Files Story
              by Summer

    Special Agent Fox Mulder pulled open the car
door with a flourish and swung into the 
driver's seat, throwing his duffle bag into
the floor space in back. The first touches of
spring were blooming, even in the heart of 
Washington, D.C.; the bright sun and cool breeze
combined to create a beautiful afternoon. Even
Mulder couldn't help but feel pretty good on a 
day like this. He rolled down the windows, then
selected a tape from the plastic box he'd jammed
between the driver's and passenger's seats, dis-
lodging the crumpled package that had contained
his breakfast.
     Mulder reached back and plucked the fast 
food wrapper from under the passenger
seat where it had rolled. There was another
crumpled mass of paper under there, crammed
between the seat and the door jamb. He
extracted it gingerly and smoothed it out to
discover two sheets of paper covered with
neatly penned figures.
	He hauled his duffle bag out of the
back and fished around for his cellular
phone. First number on the speed dialler...
	"Hello?"
	"Hey Scully. You busy?"
	"I'm just cleaning up breakfast
dishes," she answered.
	Mulder checked his watch. "It's past
noon."
	"It's Sunday," she replied, as though
that explained everything.
	"Uh-huh. Have you re-done the budget
sheets we lost yet?"
	"No, I've been putting it off all
weekend," Scully sighed. "Why?"
	He grinned. "Found 'em."
	"You found them? Really? Where were
they?"
	"In my car, stuck under the seat."
	"How'd they get there?"
	"I'm not sure you want to hear my
theory."
	She chuckled. "You're right. If I'm
going to listen to your theories, I'm going
to get paid for it. Tell me tomorrow."
	"So should I hang on to these? Or I
could swing by and give them to you now if
you want."
	"Skinner said he might have something
for us tomorrow, right? I'd better finish
this up tonight in case he sends us out on a
new assignment. Bring 'em over, I guess, if
it's no trouble."
	"No problem. Actually I've got some
time, I could stick around and help you
crunch numbers for a while. You gave me a
hand on the budget last time. Only fair."
	"Would you? Thanks, Mulder. I really
want to get this paperwork out of the way."
	"Hey, that's what partners are for.
I'll be over in a little while."
	"Okay, see you."
	Mulder tossed the phone onto the seat
beside him, turned the key in the ignition,
and popped a tape into the stereo. Soon he
was cruising through the midday traffic,
tapping the steering wheel and mouthing the
words along with Warren Zevon. "I wanna live
all alone in the desert, I wanna be like
Georgia O'Keefe, I wanna live on the Upper
East Side, And never go down in the street;
Splendid isolation, I don't need no one;
Splendid isolation--"
	He frowned at the tape player and hit
fast forward to the next song. "The whistle
blows and the factories close, There's a
million more commuters on the access roads,
The brake lights flash, there's an RV
crashed, I'm in the passing lane going
nowhere fast..."
	Mulder nodded. Much better.

	Dana Scully was dumping the last of the
breakfast dishes into the steaming water when
she heard a rhythmic tapping noise. She
glided into the living room and peered
through the peephole as the tapping turned
into a bona fide knock. Scully opened the
door at once, bringing her partner stumbling
in; Mulder had leaned against the door just
as she opened it. She suppressed a startled
laugh as her partner regained his aplomb and
handed her two sheets of wrinkled, grubby
paper.
	"Speedy delivery," he smirked as she
nudged the door shut behind him, scanning the
papers.
	"I'm so glad I don't have to look all
this up again!" Scully exulted.
	"It's all there?"
	"Yep," she gloated. Her eyes shifted
from the numbers to her partner as he shoved
his hands into his pockets. "Mulder, what
happened to your jeans?"
	He examined the clothing in question.
"They're old," he shrugged.
	"They have holes in them!"
	"Yeah... well... I've just been playing
basketball," he said. Scully sniffed
conspicuously, drawing a grin from her
partner. "I showered and changed clothes, but
I'm wearing the same jeans because these are
the only clean pair I have right now."
	"Laundry!" she said abruptly, with an
air of realization.
	"Yes..." he replied uncertainly as she
dropped the papers onto her couch and rushed
back into her spare room. "Forgot about some
clothes, huh?" he asked the empty room.
"That's okay. Don't mind me. I can wait."
	Mulder kicked his way over the thick
carpeting to thump onto the couch. The
television was on, but muted; he blinked with
disbelief. Scully had a videotape of a
Garfield Christmas special playing. With the
sound off. He checked the date window on his
watch. It was indeed March, just as he had
thought.
	There was a cardboard box of videotapes
sitting next to the couch. Mulder poked
around in it without actively disturbing its
contents. Most of them were cryptically
marked with words like "Xmas '86 at
Gramma's", "New Apt." and "Grad. '87".
Scully's father must have videotaped every
conceivable milestone in his daughter's life.
	Whoa... this one he was willing to bet
had NOT been taped by Captain Scully. It was
marked on the side with letters that looked
like dripping blood: "Rocky". Mulder gave in
to temptation and took the cassette out of
the box.
	The tape case had a piece of
posterboard pasted to the front. It read
"CONGRATULATIONS DANA! We'll miss you..." and
below that, "Tell us about it, Janet." There
was a passable likeness of Scully drawn in
the center, wearing a cap and gown. Mulder's
eyebrows shot up; the gown was hitched up to
the cartooned Scully's hip, revealing a
shapely pair of legs in fishnet stockings.
She was winking, and a word balloon above her
said "My mind has been expanded!"
	Mulder shook his head and turned the
tape over. Another posterboard. Written at
the top was "LOOK, IT'S THE ROCKETTES B
SQUAD! (Uh, make that the F Squad.)" This one
was covered with signatures saying things
like "We'll miss you Morticia, Love Eddie"
and "Good luck to our favorite redheaded
Rockette, Take Care, Kendall (Magenta)". At
the very bottom was an inscription reading
"If it's not easy having a good time, how did
we manage to have so many? Good luck with all
the future holds, Dana. With love from the
Rockettes."
	Scully came back with an apologetic
expression. "I forgot I had clothes in the
washer," she explained sheepishly. "What's
that you're looking at?"
	"That's what I've been trying to figure
out," Mulder replied with consternation.
	She came around to look over his
shoulder. "Oh! I wondered if that was in
there!" She took it and looked at the
signatures fondly. "Some of my friends in
college gave me this as a graduation
present."
	"I had no idea you were such a big
Stallone fan."
	Scully glanced at him with amusement.
"Wrong Rocky, Mulder. This is a copy of The
Rocky Horror Picture Show. These," she
indicated the box with her foot, "are old
tapes my mother found cleaning out the
closets; I left them when I was home the
summer between college and med school. I've
been going through them to see what's on
them..."
	"Garfield's on the one you have in. It
looked like a Christmas thing," Mulder
informed her, relieved that there was a
justification for the unseasonable cartoon.
	"Is it? I love Garfield. I may keep
that." Scully looked at the screen. "What's
this?"
	Mulder didn't know. He was digesting
the fact that his long-time partner loved
Garfield. Garfield?! Well, hm. Small, orange,
and cynical. Okay, he could see how Scully
might like Garfield. Stating the resemblance
out loud, however, would not be wise. Scully
was a doctor and Mulder was sure she knew
lots of fascinating ways to inflict pain
without leaving a mark. She could make him
watch the Garfield Christmas special, for
example.
	Scully un-muted the television,
watching as a man and woman dressed in ritzy
seventies outfits chit-chatted. Mulder looked
on with strained good humor. At least it
wasn't Garfield.
	"I remember what this is!" she
exclaimed as the scene changed to a cafe and
the camera zeroed in on a different man with
curly brown hair wearing a topcoat and a
ridiculously long scarf. "It's Dr. Who!"
	Mulder leaned forward on the couch. "No
way! I love this show. I watched it
faithfully the entire time I was at Oxford."
	"How did you have time to watch
anything faithfully in college?" Scully asked
pointedly.
	"Okay, I taped it faithfully," Mulder
amended. "Looks like I wasn't the only one."
	She shrugged. "I did a project my
senior year using this as a resource."
	"Your instructor let you use Dr. Who as
a resource for a project? Now THAT's an X-
File."
	Scully turned the tape in her hands
thoughtfully. "It was a research project
tracing ideas considered valid by current
science that were originally created or
inspired by science fiction."
	"Yeah? That's a great idea. Do you
still have the paper? I'd like to see it."
	"I think my mom has it packed away
somewhere," Scully said, suddenly focussing
her attention on the tape she held. Until
that moment, she'd all but forgotten about
the saucy portrait of her that had been drawn
on the case.
	"Oh yeah," Mulder grinned as she
noticed it at last, "I was gonna ask you
about that..."
	She fixed him with a stern no-nonsense
expression. "What were you going to ask?"
	Danger, Will Robinson, danger! This
called for a little evasion on his part.
Mulder assumed his most concrete deadpan and
asked, "Can I borrow your fishnets?"
	Scully stared a good five seconds
before a gorgeous, enormous smile surfaced.
Mulder had seen that smile a few times before
and got a lot of mileage out of it. He could
go a long time on one of those smiles; good
thing, too, because she didn't let them loose
often. "I'll get you some of your own for
your birthday," she returned. "What size?"
	He drew a blank and sidestepped. "The
problem is, I just don't know... do fishnets
go with a red garter belt?"
	"Fishnets go with anything," Scully
parried.
	"That must be why you wear them to work
so often."
	"Must be," she agreed blandly. "And
they're really very comfortable under
slacks."
	Score one for her, Mulder thought
ruefully; she could easily be wearing fishnet
stockings under those sensible suits, for all
he knew. "Great, then I could wear them on
the job, no problem?"
	"Well, you'd have an interesting time
in the men's room, I'm sure, but other than
that--"
	"I'm not worried. No one said anything
about the chastity belt."
	Scully broke down laughing. "Okay,
okay, I'll tell you, before you start making
up stories about wearing a chastity belt to
work..."
	"Sure! Don't you remember that day I
was walking around, clank, clank, clank--"
	She hurled a throw pillow at him. "Just
ask whatever you wanted to know, Mulder."
	"Rocky Horror Picture Show. That's some
kind of cult movie, right?"
	"Right."
	"All this time chasing cults-- you
never told me you were in one, Scully."
	She did an excellent impression of the
Sphinx.
	"So what's the movie about? Can we
watch it?"
	"It's not really about anything,"
Scully shrugged, "and this is a Saturday
night kind of thing.  I think it might be
breaking a law somehow to show this movie on
a Sunday afternoon."
	"Sounds like my kind of film," he
joked, then caught the slip. He'd left
himself wide open for a hit; Scully was
certain to get in a good dig on those `tapes
that aren't yours' in his desk.
	She looked askance at him and, oddly
enough, passed up the opportunity. "You might
like it. It's certainly strange enough for
you. Really, I'm surprised you've never seen
it, considering your affection for cheesy
movies."
	"I missed this one, I guess."
	"Funny. Because if it had any kind of
plot-- it doesn't, but if it did, it would be
about these aliens who are trying to invade
Earth."
	"Now I'm really curious," he said,
genuinely intrigued.
	"Rent it," she suggested cheekily.
	"I can't borrow your copy?"
	"So I can find Xeroxes of the cover all
over the office tomorrow? I don't think so."
	"You wound me, Scully. I'd keep the
Xeroxes for future blackmail purposes,"
Mulder grinned. "I'm sure there's a story
behind that tape case."
	"Yep," she stonewalled.
	"What if I just borrowed the tape, and
not the case?"
	"Sorry, Mulder."
	He regarded her suspiciously. "What's
really on that videotape?"
	"The Rocky Horror Picture Show," she
answered angelically.
	Mulder's eyes narrowed. He called up
every memory he could summon regarding the
movie and came to the conclusion that... "You
were in it!"
	Scully's expression took on a resigned
cast. "Yeah," she admitted, "I was Janet in
the stage show."
	"What does that involve, anyway?"
	"The movie was shown on the screen
while we performed along with it on the
stage," she sighed. "I saw it the first time
my freshman year of college, led the audience
participation as a sophomore, and played
Janet my last two years. It was a: lot of
fun."
	"And that tape has you in the stage
show on it?"
	Scully hid the tape behind her back.
"Yes."
	Mulder eased back to recline on the
couch, stretching his long legs out casually.
"You know I'm going to see it eventually."
	"No way," Scully replied with
conviction.
	"Ah, now that I know about it, there's
no avoiding it. You know how persistent I am.
Might as well just let me see it now."
	"It's not going to happen, Mulder."
	"Why not?"
	"There's no way I'm giving you that
kind of ammunition," Scully said accusingly.
	"Ammunition? Scully, I promise I
wouldn't make fun of you. Honest."
	She just glared.
	"Cross my heart," he swore.
	She seemed to be on the verge of
relenting when the videotape playing on the
television switched from Dr. Who to another
cartoon Christmas special.
	"Ooh, Cathy! My favorite," Mulder
laughed, then bit his lip as Scully nodded
sarcastically.
	"Cross what heart?" she muttered.
	"C'mon, Scully. I'm sorry. Extenuating
circumstances. I wouldn't say a word about
your movie. Please."
	"Not in this life, Mulder."
	"You think I'll get another chance if I
improve my karma?" he asked.
	"Look--" she began, but cut off when
his cellular phone queeped from his pocket.
He dug it out and answered with his usual
brusque "Mulder."
	"Hey, Mulder."
	"Oh, hi, Frohike," Mulder grinned
broadly as Scully's lips pressed together in
annoyance. "What's up?"
	"Well, I'm afraid the evening's
festivities have been cancelled. Byers and
Langly got in a big argument over the rules
and they're not speaking to each other."
	"You're kidding! What were they
fighting about?"
	"Byers thinks we should play using only
the evidence we're familiar with in real
life. Langly thinks anything we've got a
theory for goes. They'll get over it in a
while, but in the meantime, it's pretty tense
around here."
	"Great," Mulder frowned fiercely.
	"What is it?" Scully asked, worried.
	Frohike seized upon the sound of her
voice. "Oh my, is that the lovely Agent
Scully I hear in the background?"
	"Uh, no, that's not Scully," Mulder
lied, "it's... someone else," he concluded
lamely.
	"Oh, right," Frohike laughed, "another
woman? Good one. Tell Scully that any time
she gets sick of you, I'll gladly join the
FBI if I get to be her partner. Don't suppose
I can persuade you to give her the phone."
	"'Fraid not."
	Frohike gave an exagerrated sigh.
"Unrequited love sucks," he said. "Sorry
'bout the game, Mulder. See ya."
	"See ya." Mulder pushed the antenna
down glumly. "There go my plans for the
evening."
	"Your date with Frohike fell through?"
Scully asked with a hint of mischief.
	He scowled. "I was gonna play a game of
True-reau 13 with the guys at the Lone
Gunman."
	"_What_ 13?"
	"Oh. It's a role-playing game... sort
of. There's an RPG called Bureau 13--"
	"Which is basically about what we do
every day," Scully completed drily.
	"You're familiar with it," he looked at
her inquisitively. Garfield, fishnets, role-
playing games... Scully was just full of
surprises today.
	"Can anyone get through college without
getting snagged into at least one RPG?" she
shrugged. "Actually, I never played Bureau
13, I just heard about it."
	"Well, they play it a little
differently," Mulder explained. "Instead of
investigating the fictional cases in the
game, they role-play investigating actual
cases of paranormal activity and conspiracy."
	Scully's face was a study in blank
astonishment. "You were going to play a game
that's exactly the same thing you do at
work?"
	"Why not? Accountants play Monopoly. I
told the guys I'd give them a few tips to add
verisimilitude."
	She threw up her hands in exasperation.
"I give up, Mulder. You're a lost cause."
	"Yeah, I know." The mingled
resignation, affection, and slight sadness in
his tone were subtle, but Scully knew him.
	She put aside her adversarial
inclinations, switching to a gentler teasing
tone. "So what happened? Did they read the
latest World Weekly News and decide to
prepare for Armageddon instead?"
	"Don't be silly, Scully. According to
World Weekly News, we still have another five
years." Mulder absently pulled at loose
threads hanging from the holes in his jeans,
unravelling them further at the knees.
"Although it may be a sign of the end of the
world-- Langly and Byers aren't speaking to
each other. They got into a fight about the
rules, so the game is off."
	"Sorry your plans were cancelled,"
Scully sympathized.
	"Yeah. Oh, and Frohike sends his
regards and says that any time you get sick
of me, he's ready to join the FBI."
	Scully rolled her eyes. "Tell him I'm
in no danger of getting sick of you any time
soon."
	"I'm touched," he drawled.
	"In the head," she needled. "Where's my
laptop? You can help me do the budget."
Scully never thought she'd be thankful for
the dull necessity of the quarterly budget,
but it gave her partner an excellent excuse
to stay without crossing any of the lines
they had drawn over the course of their
partnership. Sometimes Scully felt that she
and Mulder had become eerily symbiotic; if
Mulder left, she knew he would go home, sack
out on the couch, and sink into a morass of
doubt and depression-- and knowing that,
Scully would also be miserable for the rest
of the evening. Thank you, Mr. Budget.
	Mulder met her eyes; he knew what she
was thinking, and his slight nod thanked her
for it even as he mumbled "What fun!" and
took up the two grotty pages of numbers.
	"Let's start with the medical..." She
examined the numbers crowded onto the sheets
he handed her. "On second thought, let's
start with the travel expenses."
	"Don't suppose we can watch that tape
while we're working?"
	"Dream on, Mulder."
	"I'm going to do half the budget even
though it's your turn," he reminded her.
"Good karma."
	"You can pick out some music or
something if you want."
	"Scant consolation," he complained, but
he stood and wandered over to her stereo,
perusing the CD rack. "What's Mazzy Star?" he
asked.
	"Moody band, acoustic guitar, strings,
female singer. Kind of sleepy and romantic."
	"Isn't that a contradiction in terms?"
He skimmed past Seal and Shakespear's Sister
to encounter several Smiths albums. "Hey, the
Smiths! Morrissey was pretty big with my friends
at Oxford."
	Scully made a 'hmm'ing sound that he 
translated under his breath: "Feel free to  
talk all you like, Mulder, I'm not
listening..." he glanced at the smooth bob of
coppery hair bent over the computer. No
response.
	"Don't mind if I do," he tested.
	"Mm-hmm."
	Mulder returned to the CD rack. "They
Might Be Giants? My oh my. Who's Tim Finn?"
	That brought her attention back to him.
"One of the most underrated
singer/songwriters around. No one listens to
really GOOD music," she sniped.
	"Uh-huh," he said, taken aback. He
checked something. The CDs were, of course,
in alphabetical order by the artist's name,
but,  "You have him filed under T."
	"Right. T for Tim." Her fingers clacked
the keys of her laptop.
	"Every other artist is under their last
name. Well, the ones that have last names,"
he corrected, noticing that there weren't
many in her collection. "Here's Peter Murphy
right after Mazzy Star. What? None of
Morrissey's solo work? What kind of Smiths
fan ARE you?"
	"I've never forgiven him for breaking
up the band," she said briskly, leafing
through some of the budget sheets that HADN'T
spent the past week stuffed in a corner of
her partner's car.
	" 'If you're wondering why, when all I
wanted from life was to be famous'," Mulder 
quoted sardonically. "Hm, Erasure... why is
that familiar?" He slid the CD from the rack
and checked the track listing. "Ah, they did
`Always'-- I love that song. Here we go." He
fiddled with the player a bit, finally
coaxing it to play, and settled on the couch
again as the quirky synthesizer music began.
"Okay, hand me the medical records, I'll
tackle those."
	Scully thrust the assorted pages at
him. "Knock yourself out."
	"Then I'd have to add another medical
expenditure. Calculator?"
	"On the coffee table, should be under
the TV listings."
	"Disguised as a remote control, no
doubt." He dug around in the detritus on
the coffee table and came up with the
calculator, humming with the music. 'When
it's cold outside, am I here in vain? Hold
on to the night, there will be no shame; always
I want to be with you...' Mulder arranged the 
calculator and papers on the arm of the couch and
got to work. 

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end of part 1/4