Longer Summary: Ah, the post-Veritas funnyfic. Took me awhile, but at least
I've made my deadline of "before the next frickin' episode airs, for cryin'
out loud!" This fic is a quiet interlude, focusing on Ian Three, our
current season's Nottingham, and Pez, in separate conversations with people
who should have occasion to know something about women and conspiracies,
respectively. Sometimes the truth is out there, and sometimes it's at
Starbucks. This is the Three-Ians-and-a-Severed-Hand continuity (as so
named by AudreyCherie on the Delphi forum), if anyone's wondering. Feel
free to ask me if you need the list.
NOTE: the full-length version of this story has a coda that may violate the actor-fic rules at ff.net, so e-mail me or visit Voy Forums' Digitabulum Magae site if you'd like to read it.
Title: Dead Presidents
Spoilers: Through the 8-5-02 episode, Veritas.
Author: The Mad Fangirl
Archive: Wherever, but let me know.
Disclaimer: The characters herein are owned by other people and I make no money from their shameless exploitation. A/N: Oswald acted alone. Sorry, they made me put that in there. Did I say "they?" There's no "they." I was just kidding. Guys? You can put down the duct tape now. Guys?
* * * "Hello there," came the voice from behind the fireplace chair. The current season's Ian Nottingham, "Ian 3" to his friends and "Aaack!" to his enemies, rose fluidly and turned, blade in hand. When he saw who had surprised him, though, the blade clattered from nerveless fingers, while the other hand maintained a death grip on the old photo album. He flipped the album open, and looked down and back, and down and back.
"That, ah, that is me with your father, son." John F. Kennedy said.
"Yes, Mr. President," said the somewhat stunned superman. "Ah, Mr. President?"
"Yes, Ian?"
"Sir, what are you doing here?"
"Well, I was in town giving Sara some advice on her conspiracy troubles, and it occurred to me that you were having difficulties in another realm that falls under my noted experience."
"Sir?"
"Women."
And Ian the Third just stared.
* * *
"Thanks for seeing me," Pez said to the attractive young couple who sat across from her at the Starbucks booth. The woman was short, strawberry blonde, the man a full foot taller, attractive with half-lidded, sloe eyes. "Gabe said you might be able to help me out with my cabal troubles."
"Well," the woman said, "we did a little checking since, and while we might be able to give you some general advice, it looks like we're dealing with different cabals here."
"Advice like why we're meeting here," the man said. "Starbucks is practically a cabal by themselves. You won't find any working recorders in here except theirs, and they're notoriously stingy with their intel. It's the perfect place for a meet."
"Really?" Pez asked, and the man gave a slight lazy grin, nodding.
"So, why were they after you?" the woman asked.
"The usual. Kennedy assassination."
"So who did it?" the man asked. Pez shrugged.
"Didn't the Witchblade help?" The man tossed the question in so nonchalantly that Sara found herself nodding first, then stopping to stare.
"Mulder!" the blonde chided.
"Sorry Scully. I couldn't help myself."
"I apologize for him," Scully said. "We really didn't come here to pump you for information on your bracelet."
"Speak for yourself," Mulder said, now openly studying the dormant red stone. Scully just sighed. "Hey, I'm becoming a man of faith," Mulder said. "This is an object of power that was reputedly possessed by Joan of Arc. Catholic, Scully. Your kinda people." He leaned forward, eyes intense. "So what did it do?"
"Pulled in JFK to consult."
Scully's eyebrows climbed to her hairline.
"Really. He dropped by my apartment a couple of nights ago."
"So you got a midnight visit from the horniest president in living memory, up to and including Clinton, and all you got was advice?" For that, Scully swatted Mulder in the back of the head. "Hey!" Then he reoriented himself. "Wait a minute. You had JFK's ghost on the line and you didn't ask him who did it?"
Pez shrugged. "It never really came up."
Mulder blinked.
"I mean, I could have, but it just seemed tacky."
Mulder stared.
"Hell, by then I knew it was some shadowy cabal, didn't seem to matter which, or who from."
Mulder took a long drag on his caramel Frappucino, eyes closing, then leaned back looking somewhat restored. "Scully, I swear if the Lone Gunmen weren't already dead, this would've killed them." The woman nodded, lifting a latte to lost companions and sipping.
* * *
"It just seems you're having girl troubles, and believe me, that's, ah, that's something I know about." The lanky ex-President settled himself on the edge of the study table.
"Yes, but Mr. President, you're a famous philanderer. I'm a thirty-year-old virgin. I don't think that our experiences are comparable."
"You'd be surprised, son." JFK leaned his arm on something, then realized that it was a vase containing a severed hand, and inched away diplomatically. "I can tell you that you made a bit of a misstep recently throttling that poor Gabriel boy."
"I know," Nottingham sighed. "I just saw the ardor in his gaze. It drove me mad."
"Now, see, this is where you're going wrong. You shouldn't be getting jealous. You should be getting her jealous."
Ian frowned. "I want no one else."
"Son, you're a red-blooded American male. I find that hard to believe, but at any rate, it's not like you've got to pursue your other interests seriously. It just has to look serious to Sara."
"Mr. President, I haven't found her suddenly overcome with need for either of my brothers since they started dating Amanda or Harley, respectively."
JFK caught and held Nottingham's gaze with his trademark intensity, Boston staccato lending emphasis to his words. "That, young man, is because she still has you in reserve! And they'd ceded her to you before this year had quite begun, which she's picked up on, believe you me."
"But even if I could look elsewhere, who would credibly..."
The late chief executive sighed. "Have you looked in a mirror? I'd guess that the main reason you're not beating them off with a stick is because you've probably actually been beating them off with a stick."
"But the physical aside, I know that I'm not...normal," Ian Three shrugged.
"You want a woman who'll understand you. Well, I might be able to help you there as well," Kennedy said. "There's a girl in California who's generated some buzz in the supernatural world; goes for the dark, tortured types, like you, and she's had a run of past lives as a supernaturally augmented fighter, just like you. Name's Bunny or something."
"Really." Nottingham tried to look interested, for JFK's sake, but by the discouraged look on the president's face, he wasn't sure he was succeeding.
* * *
"I think my mocha's up," Pez said, standing and moving to the brown plastic oval where the new drinks appeared. While the powers that be might disable listening devices, she still had two perfectly good ones on either side of her head, so she eavesdropped shamelessly on her way.
"...think they're dishing on the Kennedy thing over there, Munch," said a slightly shadowy man in dark green glasses.
"Yeah, but everyone knows that was screwy," said a thin grey-haired man, detective's shield clipped to his belt. "The really interesting stuff's in the old conspiracies. Abe Lincoln. Way more to that than anyone let on."
"Oh yeah," the man replied succinctly.
"So when did you say your buddy was getting in to town?"
"Any day now..."
Pez let her attention wander further around the room, and heard, to her surprise, some familiar voices.
"So this one's as unstrung as the last couple, huh?" That was her rookie trainee, Jake McCartey.
"Yeah. Not dropping by the mansion seems to have been one of our better ideas." That was her friend and accidental decoy, Gabriel Bowman. "He throttled me for *looking* at her. And he was going off about unrequited love. Look, I won't argue, to know her is to love her, right? But key word: unrequited. You know that's not healthy, I know that's not healthy, so I went looking, and now I'm getting plenty requited. I got requited three times last night...what?" Because Jake, mouth hanging slightly open, was looking up and slightly to the left behind Gabe's shoulder. Gabe followed the glance.
"Oh, hi Pez," he said, and began to turn an interesting shade of salmon pink.
Pez gave him the slight smile and raised eyebrow, then mercifully turned and headed back to her table. Sitting down, she pulled some whipped cream off the top of the mocha and said, "So, aliens, huh?" The brown-haired man opened his mouth when the door banged open. Pez, still jumpy, found herself wielding both gun and blade immediately.
Her instincts were well served. Two huge, spotted beasts leapt up onto the cash counter, menacing the clerks. Behind them sauntered a woman in red and black motley, holding a large gun with a cork stuffed in one end.
"Awright, everybody be cool, this is a robbery," she yelled. "Nobody move, or I'll...I'll...aw heck. Line!"
A slick, short-haired version of Ian Nottingham leaned his head in the door. "Or I'll execute every m*****f****** last one of you," he prompted, sounding bored.
"Or I'll ... what he said! Gimme your...ulp!" For all the patrons, including Mulder, Scully, and the man with the green glasses, had pulled very large guns, and they were all pointed at her. Well, all the patrons save Gabe and Jake; they'd gotten one look at the version of Nottingham who'd cheerfully murdered them last year and slid under their booth.
"I told you Starbucks was a bad idea," Ian 2.0 said, sounding much aggrieved.
"But we never get to do anything *I* want to do," the clown-girl whined, backing up.
"Hi Nottingham. Go home, Harley," Pez said, Witchblade and gun at the ready. The blade shifted fluidly into a large rubber mallet, and Harley swallowed again, running backwards out the door. Ian 2.0 rolled his eyes, shrugged, and turned to follow her.
"Well, that was different," Mulder said, as he and Scully holstered their weaponry.
"Welcome to New York," Pez sighed, Witchblade a bracelet once more as the hyenas ran out past her table.
* * *
Nottingham Three was shaking his head. "It may be a valid suggestion, Mr. President, but I don't know that I could bring myself to pursue another woman."
"Well, dead presidents can be a help," Kennedy said.
"I know you're trying your best, sir."
"No, I mean money, cash. Spend some money on Ms. Pezzini when you get the chance. Women like nice things far more than they like being stalked. It lets them know they're desired in a less threatening manner."
"Diamonds are a girl's best friend?" Nottingham 3 asked, and JFK winced.
"On second thought, maybe I'd better let you think on the subject for awhile. I need to get going anyhow. But if you need advice, I'll be around."
"Oh," Nottingham said, glancing ruefully at the hand on the table. "Advice is not something I'm lacking."
* * *
END
TMF
Rejected titles for this fic included:
Conspiracy Theory The Truth is at Starbucks
NOTE: the full-length version of this story has a coda that may violate the actor-fic rules at ff.net, so e-mail me or visit Voy Forums' Digitabulum Magae site if you'd like to read it.
Title: Dead Presidents
Spoilers: Through the 8-5-02 episode, Veritas.
Author: The Mad Fangirl
Archive: Wherever, but let me know.
Disclaimer: The characters herein are owned by other people and I make no money from their shameless exploitation. A/N: Oswald acted alone. Sorry, they made me put that in there. Did I say "they?" There's no "they." I was just kidding. Guys? You can put down the duct tape now. Guys?
* * * "Hello there," came the voice from behind the fireplace chair. The current season's Ian Nottingham, "Ian 3" to his friends and "Aaack!" to his enemies, rose fluidly and turned, blade in hand. When he saw who had surprised him, though, the blade clattered from nerveless fingers, while the other hand maintained a death grip on the old photo album. He flipped the album open, and looked down and back, and down and back.
"That, ah, that is me with your father, son." John F. Kennedy said.
"Yes, Mr. President," said the somewhat stunned superman. "Ah, Mr. President?"
"Yes, Ian?"
"Sir, what are you doing here?"
"Well, I was in town giving Sara some advice on her conspiracy troubles, and it occurred to me that you were having difficulties in another realm that falls under my noted experience."
"Sir?"
"Women."
And Ian the Third just stared.
* * *
"Thanks for seeing me," Pez said to the attractive young couple who sat across from her at the Starbucks booth. The woman was short, strawberry blonde, the man a full foot taller, attractive with half-lidded, sloe eyes. "Gabe said you might be able to help me out with my cabal troubles."
"Well," the woman said, "we did a little checking since, and while we might be able to give you some general advice, it looks like we're dealing with different cabals here."
"Advice like why we're meeting here," the man said. "Starbucks is practically a cabal by themselves. You won't find any working recorders in here except theirs, and they're notoriously stingy with their intel. It's the perfect place for a meet."
"Really?" Pez asked, and the man gave a slight lazy grin, nodding.
"So, why were they after you?" the woman asked.
"The usual. Kennedy assassination."
"So who did it?" the man asked. Pez shrugged.
"Didn't the Witchblade help?" The man tossed the question in so nonchalantly that Sara found herself nodding first, then stopping to stare.
"Mulder!" the blonde chided.
"Sorry Scully. I couldn't help myself."
"I apologize for him," Scully said. "We really didn't come here to pump you for information on your bracelet."
"Speak for yourself," Mulder said, now openly studying the dormant red stone. Scully just sighed. "Hey, I'm becoming a man of faith," Mulder said. "This is an object of power that was reputedly possessed by Joan of Arc. Catholic, Scully. Your kinda people." He leaned forward, eyes intense. "So what did it do?"
"Pulled in JFK to consult."
Scully's eyebrows climbed to her hairline.
"Really. He dropped by my apartment a couple of nights ago."
"So you got a midnight visit from the horniest president in living memory, up to and including Clinton, and all you got was advice?" For that, Scully swatted Mulder in the back of the head. "Hey!" Then he reoriented himself. "Wait a minute. You had JFK's ghost on the line and you didn't ask him who did it?"
Pez shrugged. "It never really came up."
Mulder blinked.
"I mean, I could have, but it just seemed tacky."
Mulder stared.
"Hell, by then I knew it was some shadowy cabal, didn't seem to matter which, or who from."
Mulder took a long drag on his caramel Frappucino, eyes closing, then leaned back looking somewhat restored. "Scully, I swear if the Lone Gunmen weren't already dead, this would've killed them." The woman nodded, lifting a latte to lost companions and sipping.
* * *
"It just seems you're having girl troubles, and believe me, that's, ah, that's something I know about." The lanky ex-President settled himself on the edge of the study table.
"Yes, but Mr. President, you're a famous philanderer. I'm a thirty-year-old virgin. I don't think that our experiences are comparable."
"You'd be surprised, son." JFK leaned his arm on something, then realized that it was a vase containing a severed hand, and inched away diplomatically. "I can tell you that you made a bit of a misstep recently throttling that poor Gabriel boy."
"I know," Nottingham sighed. "I just saw the ardor in his gaze. It drove me mad."
"Now, see, this is where you're going wrong. You shouldn't be getting jealous. You should be getting her jealous."
Ian frowned. "I want no one else."
"Son, you're a red-blooded American male. I find that hard to believe, but at any rate, it's not like you've got to pursue your other interests seriously. It just has to look serious to Sara."
"Mr. President, I haven't found her suddenly overcome with need for either of my brothers since they started dating Amanda or Harley, respectively."
JFK caught and held Nottingham's gaze with his trademark intensity, Boston staccato lending emphasis to his words. "That, young man, is because she still has you in reserve! And they'd ceded her to you before this year had quite begun, which she's picked up on, believe you me."
"But even if I could look elsewhere, who would credibly..."
The late chief executive sighed. "Have you looked in a mirror? I'd guess that the main reason you're not beating them off with a stick is because you've probably actually been beating them off with a stick."
"But the physical aside, I know that I'm not...normal," Ian Three shrugged.
"You want a woman who'll understand you. Well, I might be able to help you there as well," Kennedy said. "There's a girl in California who's generated some buzz in the supernatural world; goes for the dark, tortured types, like you, and she's had a run of past lives as a supernaturally augmented fighter, just like you. Name's Bunny or something."
"Really." Nottingham tried to look interested, for JFK's sake, but by the discouraged look on the president's face, he wasn't sure he was succeeding.
* * *
"I think my mocha's up," Pez said, standing and moving to the brown plastic oval where the new drinks appeared. While the powers that be might disable listening devices, she still had two perfectly good ones on either side of her head, so she eavesdropped shamelessly on her way.
"...think they're dishing on the Kennedy thing over there, Munch," said a slightly shadowy man in dark green glasses.
"Yeah, but everyone knows that was screwy," said a thin grey-haired man, detective's shield clipped to his belt. "The really interesting stuff's in the old conspiracies. Abe Lincoln. Way more to that than anyone let on."
"Oh yeah," the man replied succinctly.
"So when did you say your buddy was getting in to town?"
"Any day now..."
Pez let her attention wander further around the room, and heard, to her surprise, some familiar voices.
"So this one's as unstrung as the last couple, huh?" That was her rookie trainee, Jake McCartey.
"Yeah. Not dropping by the mansion seems to have been one of our better ideas." That was her friend and accidental decoy, Gabriel Bowman. "He throttled me for *looking* at her. And he was going off about unrequited love. Look, I won't argue, to know her is to love her, right? But key word: unrequited. You know that's not healthy, I know that's not healthy, so I went looking, and now I'm getting plenty requited. I got requited three times last night...what?" Because Jake, mouth hanging slightly open, was looking up and slightly to the left behind Gabe's shoulder. Gabe followed the glance.
"Oh, hi Pez," he said, and began to turn an interesting shade of salmon pink.
Pez gave him the slight smile and raised eyebrow, then mercifully turned and headed back to her table. Sitting down, she pulled some whipped cream off the top of the mocha and said, "So, aliens, huh?" The brown-haired man opened his mouth when the door banged open. Pez, still jumpy, found herself wielding both gun and blade immediately.
Her instincts were well served. Two huge, spotted beasts leapt up onto the cash counter, menacing the clerks. Behind them sauntered a woman in red and black motley, holding a large gun with a cork stuffed in one end.
"Awright, everybody be cool, this is a robbery," she yelled. "Nobody move, or I'll...I'll...aw heck. Line!"
A slick, short-haired version of Ian Nottingham leaned his head in the door. "Or I'll execute every m*****f****** last one of you," he prompted, sounding bored.
"Or I'll ... what he said! Gimme your...ulp!" For all the patrons, including Mulder, Scully, and the man with the green glasses, had pulled very large guns, and they were all pointed at her. Well, all the patrons save Gabe and Jake; they'd gotten one look at the version of Nottingham who'd cheerfully murdered them last year and slid under their booth.
"I told you Starbucks was a bad idea," Ian 2.0 said, sounding much aggrieved.
"But we never get to do anything *I* want to do," the clown-girl whined, backing up.
"Hi Nottingham. Go home, Harley," Pez said, Witchblade and gun at the ready. The blade shifted fluidly into a large rubber mallet, and Harley swallowed again, running backwards out the door. Ian 2.0 rolled his eyes, shrugged, and turned to follow her.
"Well, that was different," Mulder said, as he and Scully holstered their weaponry.
"Welcome to New York," Pez sighed, Witchblade a bracelet once more as the hyenas ran out past her table.
* * *
Nottingham Three was shaking his head. "It may be a valid suggestion, Mr. President, but I don't know that I could bring myself to pursue another woman."
"Well, dead presidents can be a help," Kennedy said.
"I know you're trying your best, sir."
"No, I mean money, cash. Spend some money on Ms. Pezzini when you get the chance. Women like nice things far more than they like being stalked. It lets them know they're desired in a less threatening manner."
"Diamonds are a girl's best friend?" Nottingham 3 asked, and JFK winced.
"On second thought, maybe I'd better let you think on the subject for awhile. I need to get going anyhow. But if you need advice, I'll be around."
"Oh," Nottingham said, glancing ruefully at the hand on the table. "Advice is not something I'm lacking."
* * *
END
TMF
Rejected titles for this fic included:
Conspiracy Theory The Truth is at Starbucks