From tperreau@newshost.aoc.nrao.edu Wed Mar 26 09:41:03 1997 Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: Life With Queequeg [1/1] From: tperreau@newshost.aoc.nrao.edu (Barney O'Borg) -------- Life with Queequeg "A Most Memorial Weekend" Disclaimer: The characters of Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, and Frohike belong to Chris Carter /1013 Productions / Fox Television. Datclaimer: While I don't like the idea of rating stories, I guess that this one would be classified as being "R" for adult themes and language. Implied sexual scenes, no violence to speak of. D'otherclaimer: A fluff piece that takes place while the adorable little fluff ball is alive and kicking. Warning: don't let Mulder dog sit for you... And we *all* know where the name Queequeg came from... ***** Saturday -- "Breakfast At Scully's" The faint trilling of the phone drifted through Mulder's subconscious until the incessant sound clawed its way past his dreams, causing him to open a bleary eye. Women in colorful Spandex leotards two sizes too tight pranced about on the television as he slowly blinked his eyes, then rubbed them with his knuckles, wiping away the gummy residue that Morpheus had left behind. He glanced at the time on the VCR, wincing now as the phone trilled, breaking through the low sound coming from the speaker of the television. Mulder reached for the phone, his back complaining in protest that he had fallen asleep on the couch again when there was a perfectly good waterbed not ten feet away on the other side of the wall. "Mulder." "Mulder, its me." Scully's voice issued from the earpiece. "You forgot, didn't you." "Forgot what, Scully?" Mulder thought, but his mind was still foggy from sleep. Scully was silent on the phone for several seconds, then whispered with a playful yet sultry tone; "Was it a *good* dream, Mulder?" "Not unless you call watching Torqumada torturing people with the TuckusTucker (tm) while Richard Simmons danced in the background with a dozen nuns to Gregorian chants 'good'." Mulder responded with a smile. "Sorry I asked - just habit, I guess." Mulder winced as Scully chuckled. "You do remember that you promised to look after Queequeg." Mulder opened his eyes. "Scully...I thought you were joking! You know I..." "Mulder..." Mulder sighed. "Okay...okay...fine..." "Thanks. I would have asked my mother, but since she's joining us - and you know my feelings about kennels." Mulder nodded as he watched the gyrations on the television, wondering if what they were doing was actually legal by FCC standards. Scully had mentioned that she was heading down to her brother's beach house on Hatteras over the long weekend. Mulder had thought of running up to see his mother, that was until Scully asked him to look after her dog - with her blue eyes giving him a very sad puppy dog look - one that *he* had used on her several times. He knew that it was effective, he just hadn't known *how* effective it was - until Scully used it on him. "Look, I'm here at the airport..." the sound of a jet taking off punctuated her statement. She waited until the roar had faded away. "The dog food is under the sink, take her out three times a day for her walk, and give her a flea bath tomorrow night. I'll be back Monday evening. Thanks, Mulder. I owe you one!" She hung up. Mulder looked at the phone. "A *big* one, Scully..." He looked from the phone to the television. The women were squatting over, the ThighBlaster (tm) between their legs and they were pumping slowly. Mulder shook his head - if his Puritan ancestors could see America today... ----- Mulder dug through his pocket, searching for his spare keys to Scully's apartment. He could hear frantic yipping from the behind the door. "Shut up you miserable excuse for a canine," Mulder muttered under his breath. The yipping increased in frequency and pitch. Finding the keys, he twisted the dead bolt and the doorknob lock. A tannish yipping blur squeezed through the opening door and between Mulder's legs, running down the short hallway towards the front door, accurate as a Tomahawk cruise missile. Mulder swore he heard the yipping of Queequeg undergo a Doppler shift as she accelerated away from him. "Queequeg! Get back here you mangy mutt!" Mulder ran after the dog who had stopped at the front door, looking out through the glass, whining pitifully. Mulder caught up to her but failed to see the pale puddle that Queequeg had deposited on the tile floor. His feet went out from under him and he landed hard on his back. Flashes of light erupted in his vision as his back protested this latest treatment. Mulder sat up slowly, eyes narrowed at the brown and tan fluffball that looked at him with a vacant expression, head cocked to one side. "You...little...bi -" Mulder felt a presence behind him, and he looked to see Scully's neighbor, Mrs. Feldermier, giving him a rather disdainful look. " - Bite sized bundle of love," Mulder recovered as he stood up slowly, wincing as his back complained. He reached out and grabbed Queequeg and lifted her up off the floor, carrying her under his arm like a fuzzy football. He noted a distinct odor of urine about him, and felt a dampness on the back of his jeans. He glared down at Queequeg, who was looking up at Mulder, muzzle curled up and snarling. Mulder shoved Scully's door open and tossed a yelping Queequeg onto the couch, heading toward the kitchen to grab some paper towels to clean up the puddle. ----- "Y'know, Queequeg, I'm probably living out one of Frohike's fantasies -- I'm in Scully's kitchen sans pants." Mulder cast a look at Queequeg, who stood patiently by her dog bowl. She looked up at him, brown eyes as empty as interstellar space. Mulder sighed and opened up the doors under the sink. There was the promised bag of dog food. Mulder picked it up and glanced at it. "Scully must care an awful lot for you -- she spent more for your bag of food than she has for lunch all week. See here, it even has the Jeffrey Dahmer seal of approval." Mulder pointed to the UPC label. Queequeg tipped her head and yipped. Mulder sat the bag on the table and picked up the dog bowl, while Queequeg started prancing and jumping around his feet, yipping hysterically. "Okay, okay! Waitaminit, will ya?" Mulder opened the bag and scooped out two heaping handfuls of dry dog food, dropping them into the plastic bowl. He looked at the bag. "Am I supposed to add water to this or not?" YIP! YIP! YIP! "Was that a request for Perrier?" Mulder walked over to the sink. "If a little Conestoga wagon comes rolling through, you're going to a kennel -- no matter what Scully thinks of them." Mulder added some water to the dry mixture, which instantly produced a thin soupy gravy. YIP! YIP! YIP! "Bon appetit," Mulder put the bowl onto the floor. Queequeg stopped Yipping, looked at the bowl as if she had never seen it before, looked back at Mulder and began yipping frantically. "Now what!? You got your food, it has the gravy...what more do you want? A pound of..." Mulder grew silent, recalling all too vividly what, or more correctly *who*, Queequeg had subsisted on for a couple of days. He suppressed a shudder. "Haven't you ever heard of not biting the hand that feeds you, you little monster?" Mulder said. He turned to Scully's refrigerator and opened it. Sure enough, there was a small package of aluminum foil with "For Queequeg" on it in blue marker. Mulder tentatively opened the foil where he saw chicken, finely cut up with only the skill of a surgeon or a doctor of forensics could muster, with all pieces of skin, bone, and fat removed. "Queequeg, I swear Scully'll take better care of you than any husband she may have." Mulder said as he took some of the chicken and dropped it into the bowl. Queequeg dove in, eating greedily at the chicken and dog food mixture. Mulder folded over the open piece of foil. "Huh...guess we do taste like chicken." He looked down at the fluffy brown eating machine. "She should have named you Chaco instead." ----- Mulder pulled his jeans from the dryer, being careful not to touch any of the metal studs. YIP! "OW! SHIT!" Mulder jammed a burned finger into his mouth as he glared down at Queequeg, who stood before him, tail wagging. "Whaoowannow?" YIP! Mulder extracted his saliva coated finger from his mouth and looked at it. There was a small red crescent where he had brushed against one of the copper studs. Queequeg ran around in circles, tail wagging furiously. Mulder pulled on his jeans, pulling up his boxers slightly so that the cotton acted as an insulator against the still warm studs. "Fine, fine -- even I know what you need now...after a good hearty breakfast." Mulder walked into Scully's living room and rooted around in the paper recycling box. He picked up a copy of "The Weekly Midnight World" tabloid. "Scully...what interesting reading habits you have." Mulder thumbed through the tabloid quickly. He noticed several personal ads that were circled and chuckled. YIP! YIPYIP! "Okay, okay...here." Mulder said as he walked into the bathroom, with Queequeg following him, tail wagging. Removing the personal ad section for further investigation and blackmail purposes, he dropping the rest of the paper onto the floor. "There you go...now, go..." Queequeg looked at the screaming headlines of the tabloid, then back at Mulder, and made a low throaty growl. "I thought...you were...paper trained..." YIP! Mulder sighed, walking back out into the living room, Queequeg his living shadow. He found the leash hanging on the coat rack attached with a little yellow sticky. " 'Take Q. for a walk after eating.' " Mulder read aloud, Scully's handwriting unmistakable. Unlike most doctors, it wasn't a mindless scribble, although she had a tendency to not dot her 'i's. He clipped the latch onto Queequeg's collar and thought about the tabloid on the bathroom floor. "I guess it would be redundant, come to think of it." ***** Sunday -- "Race Among the Ruins" YIP! Mulder tossed Queequeg a piece of heavily buttered and salted popcorn, the latter snatching the soggy yellow object from mid-air with a snap of her jaws. Her tongue ran the length of her snout. Indy was on Scully's television, the roar of the cars piped through her stereo for a thunderous surround-sound effect. Mulder had to hand it to Scully, she had a top-notch entertainment set-up. He had even brought a couple of his videos over to watch on her larger screen, wondering if the surround-sound would help out the cheesy soundtracks any...it hadn't...although the stereo hi-fi four head SVHS player was far superior to the VCR that he owned. The freeze frames were crystal clear. He thought about inviting Frohike over with his laptop to do some video captures, but then the race was on. YIP! Toss...snap...lick... Mulder sipped his Sam Adams while the surround sound growl of the race cars reverberated in Scully's apartment, causing her living room windows to rattle. He finished off the bottle and burped. He looked at Queequeg, then shoved his right hand into the top of his jeans. "All I need now is a redheaded wife and two kids." YIP! Toss...snap...lick... The yellow caution flag came out, and cars started for the racing pits. Mulder nodded. "Pit stop time." Mulder stood up and made his way to the bathroom, his bladder reminding him that one never really purchased beer, one just rented it. Mulder emerged from the bathroom to find Queequeg standing by the door with an expectant look in her eyes. "Awww, com'on you little beast. It's INDY!" YIP! "Look, I *promise* to take you for a nice long walk in the park as soon as the checkered flag is dropped. I'll even get you something nice for a snack! Honey roasted Chaco chicken! Just... don't...do...anything..." Queequeg tipped her head, as if considering Mulder's offer. She then trotted back over to the chair and hopped up on the cushion, laying her head between her forepaws. "Thanks, fluffball." Mulder resumed his position on the couch as the green flag came out. As soon as the checkered flag waved, Queequeg was off the chair and at the door. Mulder looked from the dog to the TV. "Naw..." he said, reaching for the various remotes, and after trying to turn off the TV with the stereo remote, he decided that he really did need to stretch the legs. Mulder killed the TV and stereo, then grabbed the leash from the coat rack. "Com'on, fluffy." Mulder attached the latch to Queequeg's collar. "Time for our version of the Washington 500." ----- Spring had most definitely arrived, Mulder thought as he walked Queequeg to the park near Scully's apartment. More than one nubile young thing was jogging around the circumference of the park, clad in shorts,cotton halter tops or t-shirts and baseball caps to keep hair from their faces, personal stereos or tape players hanging from their waists. He glanced at Queequeg, and decided that even attempting to jog was not a good idea, her four little legs were moving triple time just to keep up with his walking pace, tongue lolling out of her muzzle. Mulder picked a tree that didn't have anyone around it, and after checking the ground, he sat down with his back to the tree. Queequeg flumped down with a sigh beside his feet, the leash going slack. Vacant brown eyes looked at Mulder accusingly. "Mommy Scully said three times a day...not my fault she, like you, has short legs and little feet." Mulder replied to Queequeg's stare. Queequeg snorted in response and laid her head down on the cool grass. Mulder leaned back and closed his eyes. So far everything was going fairly well, he thought. Other than hurting his back and blistering his thumb. The walks yesterday had been short, just enough for Queequeg to do what she had to do and then back to the apartment. But Mulder knew that he couldn't drive back to his place in his current condition. Skinner would just love to find him arrested for DUI. "Oh, what an adorable puppy!" A feminine voice caused Mulder to open his eyes. An attractive woman knelt by Queequeg, patting her. Queequeg looked up, eyes bright, shamelessly absorbing the attention. "Your dog?" The woman looked at Mulder. She had fine blonde hair that went down to her shoulders, a sweatband holding bangs out of her blue eyes. A light sweat glistened off her skin, the t-shirt damp, making the front slightly transparent. Mulder caught a faint whiff of a perfume, spicy without being heavy. Teal running shorts and white running shoes with loud pink laces completed her outfit. "No," Mulder smiled disarmingly. "She belongs to a friend. I'm dog sitting." Queequeg happily rolled over. The woman obliged Queequeg by rubbing her tummy. "What's her name?" "Queequeg." The woman laughed. "And let me guess, you're Ahab?" Mulder turned on charming smile #4 and shrugged. "It fits." The woman's blue eyes sparkled with mischievousness. "Where's your peg leg?" Mulder snapped his fingers. "Left it at home." A sly grin formed slowly on the woman's face, reaching her eyes. "Are you sure? Maybe you should check your pants." Mulder felt his face grow warm, and the woman laughed, a rich throaty sound that promised much. "So, tell me...is Queequeg a man eater?" Mulder suppressed a shudder. "You don't know how close to the truth you are." "Really?" The woman finished petting Queequeg and stood up. Mulder followed her with his eyes, appreciating her figure. "Maybe I'll see you later." "Maybe," Mulder modified his smile to hopeful interest #2. "Bye Queequeg!" YIP! Mulder watched as the woman jogged off. When she was out of hearing he leaned back and looked at Queequeg. "You are a chick magnet. Wonder if Scully will let me borrow you for the weekend of the Fourth when I head up to the Cape?" In reply, Queequeg backed up and squatted, spraying Mulder's shoes. Mulder closed his eyes and counted to twenty -- very slowly. Opening them, he glared at Queequeg. "Piss on you too..." ----- "You DILL-DOH!" "Go Wang," Mulder said, his lanky form draped across Scully's couch, his copy of 'Flesh Gordon' in Scully's VCR. He was just going to have to save up and buy an SVHS and large screen for his place -- if he could only find the place to put it. He could move out the kitchen table. Not like he ever really used it... YIP! Mulder tossed a handful of very soggy and cold popcorn in Queequeg's general direction, keeping the fluffy brown eating (and piddling) machine busy until the end of the tape. Mulder sat up and stretched as the tape rewound. He popped it out and put it in the slip cover. "Wonder what Mama Scully watches..." Mulder muttered as he sat on the carpet in front of the cabinet section of the TV/VCR stand where her collection of videotapes sat. "Pride and Prejudice," he hefted the boxed set. "Figures." He set it aside and leaned in, grabbing some of the tapes from the back. "Queequeg, I hit the motherlode." Mulder said as he pulled out several tapes, reading the titles aloud. "Blackadder II -- the one with the "Beer" episode. Monty Python and the Holy Grail," Mulder envisioned Scully as Zoot of Castle Anthrax, clad only in a very sheer white robe. "Don't go there, Mulder..." he muttered. "Leave that stuff for Frohike...besides, she's been acting more like the watery tart..." He dropped the tapes and grabbed several more. "What the..." Mulder looked at the garish slipcover. " 'The Best of Wrestlepalooza'?" He flipped it around, looking at small photos of sweaty buff men grappling in a roped off ring. " 'Watch the matches that made Wrestlepalooza famous! Hunk Bogan versus Candri the Giant! Muchacho Man (with Elspith) against Adonis! Tag team champions The Lone Gunmen' -- hmm, better show this to Frohike, see if there is a copyright infringement." Mulder tossed the tape onto the growing pile and reached in, grabbing a tape at random. Pulling it out he glanced at the box. A trim, tanned, muscular man in a sailor uniform stared back. "The Pud'n'Buns Series tribute to the men of the armed forces. Men on Steel - Hunks of the Navy?" Mulder shook his head, flipping the box over to see several smaller photos of men in various stages of undress on a battleship. "Scully...*you*?" Mulder slid the tape out and the label matched the box. He slammed the tape home into the VCR and grabbed the remote. Not Scully...he pushed the fast forward...not *Scully*...she'd never own, let alone... "Oh my stars and garters..." Mulder muttered as he hit the PLAY button. A man in a white Naval uniform stripped to his waist was lathering himself with oil, hairless chest with well defined muscles. Then the white jumpsuit was pushed down... YIP! "No! You're too young to watch this!" Mulder covered Queequegs' eyes as the man on the video took matters into his own hand while "In the Navy" played in the background. Mulder grabbed the remote and hit the STOP button. Mulder rewound the tape and popped it out, shoving it back into the case. "Some things were better left unknown..." He muttered as he replaced the videos back into the cabinet. ----- Mulder turned off the taps to Scully's antique claw footed tub and tested the shallow amount of water, guessing that it was warm enough. Queequeg stood at the door to the bathroom, head cocked to one side as she watched him. He knelt beside the tub, jeans traded for gray sweats, an old Redskin t-shirt on. "Okay, come here Queequeg." Mulder called, holding out a sliver of chicken. "Nummy nummy for Scully's puppy." Queequeg approached, sniffing at the sliver of meat. Running a pink tongue across her chops, she grabbed the chicken from Mulder's fingers. Mulder grabbed the fluffball and deposited her gently into the tepid water. Brown eyes accused Mulder. "Don't look at me like that. Scully said for me to give you a bath." Mulder grumbled under his breath as he picked up the tube of doggy shampoo and poured the green gel out into his hand, the scent of balsam fir filling the air. He applied the gel to Queequeg, who made low growling sounds but suffered the indignity of being manhandled. "Quiet," Mulder sighed. "Giving you a shampoo on Saturday night isn't exactly my idea of fun, either." Not that he really had any other plans, or anyone to do something with. Maybe he should call up the leggy blonde. She had finished her jogging and dropped by as Mulder was leaving, handing him her business card. He could call her after the bath, make plans for tomorrow... "Argh!" Mulder was interrupted from his daydreams as Queequeg, deciding that enough was enough, shook herself -- in the process spraying the wall, the collection of bottles of bath oils and Mulder liberally with the foaming shampoo. Mulder pulled back his soapy hands as Queequeg yipped excitedly, jumping about in the tub. He ran his forearm across his face, wiping the stinging shampoo from his eyes as he swore, hearing bottles splash into the tub. Blinking tears from his eyes, Mulder reached in and grabbed the bouncing animal, cursing under his breath. "Sit!" Mulder bellowed, and was surprised that Queequeg did as he commanded - or at least the foamy white and brown blurry object in the tub seemed to do so. He reached into the tub, blindly grabbing a tube from where it floated in the water. "Scully's gonna have a hissy if you broke any of her bath oils," Mulder muttered as he squeezed some gel in his hand. "And the bath was almost done too, you stupid mutt." He slapped the gel onto Queequeg, tears running from his eyes. Queequeg yelped and snarled, whining in pain as she reached around and snapped at Mulder's hand, missing by a hairs breadth as he pulled back. She started to spin around in the tub, growling and whining. "What the --" Mulder backed away as somehow Queequeg managed to scale out of the slippery tub and bolted out of the bathroom. Mulder lunged for the dog but she squirted out of his grasp, and he fell hard to the floor, his chin cracking against the tile. Pain shot up his jaw, bringing more tears to his eyes as a coppery taste filled his mouth. Yipping at the top of her voice, Queequeg went speeding out of the bathroom. Mulder heard a crash and winced as Queequeg was ki-yiying around Scully's apartment, more sounds of destruction echoing back. Grabbing the tube from the floor, Mulder squinted, reading the label. "Nair?" He glanced up, seeing a brown and white foaming blur head for Scully's bedroom at warp speed. "SHIT!" ----- "Dr. Usher will see you now," the receptionist at the emergency vet clinic said as she led Mulder, with a whimpering Queequeg wrapped up in one of Scully's bath towels and tucked under his arm like a football, into one of the small waiting rooms. Mulder deposited Queequeg on the stainless steel table and looked around, noticing the similarities with doctor offices. Cabinets with various drugs with strange names, a chart on the wall of the musculature of a dog. Mulder patted Queequeg through the thick towel, trying to calm the whining, shivering mass of damp fur. "What's the problem?" A small man said as he walked in the door, wiping his hands on a paper towel which he tossed unerringly into a trash basket. "I put Nair on my partner's dog," Mulder explained. Usher blinked. "Nair." He peeled the towel away from Queequeg, making soothing noises that calmed the frightened dog. He glanced critically at a bald spot, about the size of a half-dollar coin on her shoulder, the flesh red and inflamed. "Nasty stuff." He walked over to a cabinet and extracted a small bottle and some cotton pads. Wetting a pad, he gently wiped the bald spot and the fur around it. Some of the fur came away with the pad, making the spot larger. Mulder winced inwardly. Scully was going to kill him -- quickly, if he was lucky. "Okay. I'm going to give you some ointment. Apply it to the patch twice a day, making sure to wipe the area clean with water first. This'll help the skin to heal. The fur will grow back naturally in time." Usher deposited the packets of medication into a small bag, handing them over to Mulder. "And to prevent Queequeg from licking the ointment and getting sick, she'll have to wear this." He handed Mulder a conical piece of plastic with an opening at the narrow end. "A lampshade?" Usher sighed and opened the plastic up, the Velcro making a ripping sound as he positioned it over Queequeg's head, pulling it snug and sealing it. "This is to prevent her from licking the patch. She'll have to wear it until you use up all the ointment." "How long will that be?" "Two weeks." Scully was going to kill him...slowly, of that he had no doubt. ***** Monday -- "Hair of the dog..." "Gee Mulder, it looks like the mutt is the life of the party." Frohike said as he looked at Queequeg laying on Scully's couch. "Is that a lampshade or a doggie funnel for it's food?" "Ha ha ha," Mulder swept up the shards from the vase that had crashed from Queequeg's race around the apartment last night. He lifted the dustpan and looked at Frohike. "Can it be fixed?" Frohike examined the dark blue fragments of glass. "Not before Scully returns." "Great," Mulder poured the puzzle that had been Scully's favorite vase into a small cardboard box. He still had to get to the explosion of videotapes from where Queequeg had eventually taken refuge, knocking all of the tapes onto the floor. Never mind fixing up the disaster zone that had been Scully's bed. He looked at the mass of fluffy brown dozing on the couch. Who would have known that such a small thing could have made such a mess? "Here," Mulder handed Frohike the box. "You sure you can fix it?" "Got some great new acrylic cement, Mulder. She'll never even see the cracks. Nice thing about it is that it can be sculpted once it gets dry. I'll add some blue dye to it so it'll blend in." Frohike looked at the contents of the box. "Good thing for you it didn't chip." "About the only good thing that's happened." Mulder opened the small utility closet and put away the broom and dustpan. "Your choice, Fro. Want to strip Scully's bed and toss her sheets into the washer, or do you..." Mulder stopped as he saw Frohike's face undergo a slight change. "Uh, never mind. I'll take care of her bedroom," he ran a hand through his hair. "You take all the fun out of things, Mulder." Frohike put the box on the couch. "Fine, I'll sort through her tapes and put them away." "No!" Mulder thought quickly. The last thing Frohike needed to see was Scully's video collection. "Uh, why don't you go grab us something to eat," Mulder reached into his pocket, grabbing the credit card receipt from the emergency vet clinic. He inwardly winced again as he saw the near hundred dollar bill. Shoving it into his other pocket he extracted his wallet, handing over a twenty. "Take the mutt with you, too. She needs to get out." "Sure. Fine. Whatever." Frohike took the money and whistled. Queequeg perked up, the plastic cone moving like a directional radar. "Com'on, Queeg," Frohike patted his thigh. Queequeg jumped off the couch and onto the floor, tail wagging. Glancing at Mulder, she snarled, lip curling back. "Same to you, mutt," Mulder retorted as Frohike snapped the leash on the collar and walked out. He went back to Scully's bedroom and sighed at the site of the disaster area. The bedspread, blanket and sheets smelled like a cross between "Die Flea Die" and wet dog. The lamp was on the floor, mercifully unbroken. Phone, paper, books and the contents of a box of Kleenix were scattered over the floor and under the bed. The only thing the dog hadn't gotten into was the closet and her dresser. Mulder yanked the damp bedding from the mattress and dropped them in a pile. Off came the pillowcases. Mulder felt the mattress cover, hoping that it wasn't damp. No such luck. He pulled off the mattress cover as well. "Damn good thing I didn't have Frohike do this, Scully. Bad enough that he wants to know if you wear cotton, satin or silk." Mulder glanced over at her dresser, curious. He could find out...all it would take would be a quick peek...no harm and he could hold it over Frohike... "No," he muttered to himself. He had discovered enough secrets about his partner this weekend. Sighing, Mulder picked up the assembled bedding and headed to the closet where Scully kept her washer and dryer. Shoving in the sheets, pillowcases and mattress padding, he added a liberal amount of soap to the water. "Okay. Next, the videos." Mulder headed into the living room. He turned on the stereo and poked through Scully's collection of CDs. Some of the titles surprised him. He had assumed that Scully would be one who liked the decomposing composers. He wasn't expecting to find "Spinal Tap" and "Weird Al". He grabbed a CD and popped it into the player, pushing the random play mode. Instrumental music filled the air as he dropped onto the floor, sorting the tapes out. "Lessee, the porno goes in back..." Mulder grabbed the adult tapes, glancing quickly at the titles. After all, he reasoned, he could always give her one for her birthday. " 'Mighty Howitzers - Men of the Army. Afterburners - Men of the Air Force. Semper Fi - Men of the Marines.' " Mulder read off the titles as he put them back. "Guess she really likes a man in uniform," Mulder muttered as they went in back. Next went the Monty Python and Blackadder tapes. Finally, in the front went her disguise tapes (as he thought of them). High brow series, educational tapes and..."Babe?" Mulder shook his head as he shoved the tape home. "There." He stood up, brushing his hands across the front of his thighs. Next came the kitchen. Luckily there wasn't a whole lot that the furball was able to get into, other than to have collided with the dog bowl - which naturally had been full of food as Murphy's Law dictated. Same with the bowl of water. He had quickly cleaned up some of the immediate mess last night, but he had to make a closer inspection. Mulder walked into the kitchen and right away noticed the spray pattern of light brown that stained the off white of the lower cabinets and the refrigerator. Round particles of dog food laid on top of the table and counters. Mulder closed his eyes and thanked whatever power that Scully didn't feed Queequeg soft dog food. Grabbing a handful of paper towels and a cleaner, Mulder attacked the stain. He heard the door slam over the music. "Hi honey! I'm home!" "Ten thousand fucking comedians out of work," Mulder grumbled as Frohike walked into the kitchen with a large pizza box. "Wow. Some pattern. Looks like a weird Rorschach inkblot." Frohike brushed the dry pellets of dog food off the table where they clattered onto the floor. He deposited the pizza. "Pineapple, Canadian bacon and green chili." Mulder's stomach rumbled in anticipation. "Great. Where's the hellspawn?" "On the couch I think." Frohike said through a mouthful of pizza. "She trotted in ahead of me. I think she wants to watch the tube." "Fine. Turn on the soaps." Mulder stood up and winced, his lower back complaining. Frohike saw the twinge of pain. "Dude. You need to go see my acupuncturist. She does wonders." "I'm allergic to needles." Mulder dropped the paper towels into the trash and rinsed his hands off in the sink, picking out several nuggets of dog food. Wiping his hands on his jeans, Mulder opened the fridge and pulled out two bottles of Sam Adams, handing one to Frohike. "Cheers," Mulder took a long swig while snagging a slice of pizza. YIP! "Fug off," Mulder said around a mouthful of pizza as he glared at Queequeg YIP! "Aw, com'on Mulder. She's hungry." Frohike tore off a piece of his slice and dropped it on the floor. Queequeg sniffed at it experimentally, then scarfed it up, tail wagging. Licking her chops, she looked up at Frohike with a pleading expression. "Cute." "You're just saying that hoping to get into Scully's drawers." "Been there, done that. Cotton, Hanes Her Way, colored," Frohike said with a sly grin. "Except for a jade green silk teddy that she got from Victorias Secrets back in Feburary." "Pervert." YIP! "I prefer 'hentai' myself," Frohike dropped some more pizza. This time it never made it to the floor. "Great catch!" "She does a good number on popcorn, too." "Cool," Frohike tipped the water bowl back over and poured some of his Sam Adams into the stainless steel container. Queequeg made a beeline and slurped up the beer in record time. "Jesus, Fro. What are you trying to do? Get the damn thing wasted?" "It's just a little beer, Mulder, chill out." Frohike replied. Just then there came a series of thumps from the washing machine. "Christ." Mulder put his bottle on the table. "Knowing my luck the washer just died." "Naw, sounded like it was out of balance. Don't you know anything about laundry?" "Yeah, how to get to my cleaners where they charge it by the pound," Mulder walked into the hallway and opened the closet. Sure enough there was a bright red light under the 'unbalanced' indicator. "Okay Mulder, lift the lid and even out the stuff." "I know that much." Mulder reached in and shoved the wet bedding around. "What time is it?" "Half past a freckle?" Mulder glared at the shorter man. "Okay, okay. Sheesh. It's just a little after one." "Good. This will get done before Scully returns. Maybe she'll get caught in traffic." "How are you going to explain the vase." "An accident." Mulder closed the lid and was rewarded by the sound of the washer spinning up again. "Guess that'll work." They walked back to the kitchen where they found Queequeg on the table, snout into the pizza, Mulder's bottle of beer knocked over and a suspiciously small puddle. "Hey!" Mulder bellowed. Queequeg looked up, nose plastered with cheese and tomato sauce. YIP! "Yip this," Mulder balled up his fist, ready to smack the fluffball into the next state, but he was restrained by Frohike. "Mellow out, Mulder! It's only pizza and some beer!" Queequeg yipped in agreement and bounded off the table, walking a little unsteadily toward the couch. ----- The bed was made. The mess in the kitchen cleaned up. The trash taken out. The videos back in place. The only thing that was missing was the blue vase. Mulder had his fists on his hips as he surveyed the apartment. Almost everything was back in its proper place. He sighed deeply. Other than the vase, and the obvious lampshade around the quiescent fluffball, Scully wouldn't notice anything. Frohike had left with the shards of the vase, promising to deliver it the next day. Surely Scully would understand an accident. Mulder rehearsed his speech, telling Scully what happened. She would believe him. After all, accidents happen. Mulder looked at the dozing dog. "Why couldn't she have fish. I know how to take care of fish. Fish are nice and quiet, calm and soothing. You don't have to take fish for a walk, or wash fish. You just have to feed fish and flush 'em down the toilet when they die." Mulder talked to himself. He heard keys in the door. Mulder turned as Scully walked in, duffle bag slung over her shoulder. "Hey Scully," Mulder said as he took the duffle bag. Queequeg looked up from the couch, not moving or even yipping. "Mulder. I didn't expect you to be here," Scully looked around her apartment. Everything looked okay, except for..."What happened to Queequeg?" "Uh, well you see, Scully..." Mulder began, his well rehearsed speech going out the window as his petite partner made a beeline for Queequeg. "What is this?" Her voice went up an octave as she saw the patch of pink flesh on the shoulder. "And this?" A finger flicked the plastic lampshade. "Um...you see...I was giving..." Scully picked up Queequeg... The wrong thing to do... Queequeg let out a belch and vomited partly digested pizza over Scully. "MULDER!" "Gee, Scully. She was fine all weekend..." ***** To be continued... -- ******************************************************************************* *** "Tall, sexy, handsome, svelte, athletic, muscled, petite-nosed sexual *** *** powerhouse of a dude seeks snugglebunny for wife." Opus (and me :) *** *******************************************************************************