Title: O Captain, My Captain
Author: Kitty
Summary: "O the bleeding drops of red, where on the deck my Captain lies, fallen cold and dead." Each member of the team copes with the near loss of their Captain in unique ways...
Warnings: X-Files mini cross over, minor language, blatant abuse of glitter and tinfoil.
Disclaimer: Still, not my characters. And at this point the lawsuit would cover so many shows/characters/moral violations that it's just not worth anybody's time to sue. Promise.
A/N: The plot thickens!! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, added this story to their alerts, and continues to read. Hope you all enjoy this chapter. My request offer still stands. Also, I recently learned of a genre I'd not previously known existed, called 'crack', in reference to the drug I presume, but who knows? I am starting to think it may be an accurate genre for this story, as no others have really fit... What do you think, is this 'crack!fic'? Or is it just romantic comedy? Can it even be classified, really?
* **
Nick knelt in the hallway, tying an errant shoelace with a wide smile. God, this had to be… well, the greatest surprise he'd had in months, at least. Who knew Ecklie had even been missing? Yeah, he hadn't seen him around lately, not that he was even looking, but two weeks? Wow. He definitely hadn't seen that coming. And a broomstick to top it all off! The irony was just too bloody perfect. Of course, he supposed they'd have to catch the guys who pulled this stunt off eventually.
But, Nick considered, straightening, that could wait until after the celebration. Priorities are vital.
Intent on spreading the good news to anyone and everyone it had yet to reach, Nick went off in search of Greg. Neither Nick nor Warric had seen him yet today, so the pair split up to cover more ground, each eager to be the first to share the revelation.
Rounding the corner toward the front desk, a clearly frustrated and angry voice reached his ears. Intrigued, he stopped to listen.
"Goddamnit, you promised you wouldn't wear that anymore!" the voice berated. "I can't believe you snuck it into the car without me noticing. How many times do we have to have this conversation? You're embarrassing me," the voice whispered fiercely. Nick peaked around the corner to see a petite redhead in a sleet black suit attacking what appeared to be her male colleague, trying to dismantle some kind of shiny hat from his head. "Just—Just take it—Stop that, just give it to me!"
"I love it when you talk dirty—Ah! Hey, that hurts!" Her colleague recoiled in pain when she pinched him hard on the arm. "Scully, it's hardly even noticeable; I don't know why you're making such a big deal out of it."
"Wha-You've got to be kidding me, you don't see how a normal person would find it embarrassing to wear that? It's aluminum foil for christssake!" Nick took a second look at the man's hat. Damn—it was full on tinfoil. No wonder she was pissed. It vaguely resembled one of those pointed anti-alien-mind-reading things from old movies. Only with some extra sparkles glued on; presumably for aesthetic appeal. Nick couldn't imagine glitter having any other redeeming qualities.
"Ah, but I never did claim to be normal. You should really be used to it by now. Oh, and hey, I made one for you too! See Scul—Ow!" Nick could no longer hold back the laughter as the man started to reach into his jacket only to be whacked firmly upside the head. Fearing his amusement would reveal his eavesdropping, Nick decided to do the gentlemanly thing and introduce himself to the lab's bizarre new guests and see what they wanted.
"Just let me do the talking. Go… wait in the car or something, I don't care."
"Aw, and miss getting my arm bruised some more? You're adorable when you look at me like I'm the crazy one and get all mad. At least one of us cares about privacy," he added, tapping his hat pointedly.
"Can I help you folks?" Nick walked up to the pair and they instantly quieted, the woman replacing her disgruntled glare with a welcoming smile as he approached.
Holding out her hand, she promptly, and with a clear air of professionalism, introduced herself while holding out her federal badge, "Special Agent Scully, FBI. This is… ah, my partner Special Agent Mulder. We need to speak wi—"
"Holy shit!" Nick discourteously interrupted when the partner in question turned around to shake his hand. Shocked, Nick could only stare wide-eyed at the apparently not-so-dead man in front of him. Nervously withdrawing his hand after a moment, the agent straightened his tinfoil hat self-consciously. "Man, I…" Nick was at a loss for words. "I could have sworn you were… You must have a twin or something."
"Yeah. Something like that," Agent Mulder offered with a chuckle.
"I take it you know why we're here then, ah…" Agent Scully paused.
"Stokes. Nick Stokes ma'am," Nick quickly supplied. "And yeah. I can imagine." Recovering suddenly, Nick remembered, "Actually, one of your people already picked up the evidence last night. Are you here to look at the body then?"
"What do you mean it was picked up already?" Scully demanded.
"Told you so," Mulder muttered under his breath.
Rolling her eyes, she sighed, "Fine, yes, the body. Please take us to it."
"Sure thing ma'am," Nick declared, promptly forgetting his mission to find Greg and now trying to mentally wade through the unbelievable weirdness of the situation.
Not only was he pretty damn certain that he'd just seen this man one hundred percent, fully deceased—complete with bondage, nudity and a garbage bag around his head—only last night, but now he shows up wearing a tinfoil hat.
Nick paused, stopping suddenly in his tracks, and turned to the man suspiciously. 'Agent Mulder' hadn't shown any identification… Though the badge on the vic seemed pretty real…Was he really going to take this guy's word for it? He was wearing a shiny tinfoil hat. With glitter. Hell, he probably made it himself. That didn't exactly bode well for the man's credibility. "Sir, I'm gonna need to see some ID."
"Right, well—"
"Agent Mulder recently had his federal badge compromised. Mr. Stokes—"
"Please, just Nick."
"Nick. We don't have time for protocol and pleasantries, if the body is left too long or the temperature drops too low, we'll… lose valuable evidence."
Never one to gamble with the evidence, Nick considered her request. Taking a reluctant leap of faith, Nick conceded, "Well, okay. But you'll have to go through security on the way out."
Without another word, he led them down to the morgue. Mandy and Hodges stepped out of their labs as the three of them passed, staring spellbound at the dead man in the tinfoil hat. Of course, they both had donned shiny pink party hats themselves, so the agent really only stood out as a crazy person in a sea full of crazy people. Nonetheless, it was a decidedly odd sight.
"Hey Doc, you in?" Nick greeted, about to jerk open the door to the morgue.
"Nick! Don't come in!" demanded Doc Robbins' voice from deep inside the room. "I'm not done prepping the body yet, I want it to be a surprise—authentic, just like it was found."
Nick paused obediently, keen anticipation rising in his chest at the mention of the body and joyous thoughts of the celebratory autopsy to come. "Actually Doc, I've got some feds here to check out the 419 from last night."
"Oh." A pause. Movement. A metal door slamming shut. "Well, come in then," he offered finally, pulling the door open himself.
Doc Robbins looked positively ecstatic for someone who had just pulled a double shift and was currently splattered with a variety of human remains. He wiped something off his glasses while motioning them inside. Hopefully not brain matter this time, but you could never be sure down here.
The two agents exchanged an indiscernible glance and moved into the room. "Has an autopsy been preformed yet?" Agent Scully questioned.
"Uh, no, actually. We've been pretty backed up, but I've got it on ice," Doc Robbins reassured them, walking over to one of the body drawers, checking its label and then smiling at the agents. "Right here."
Agent Scully looked weary, "Do you mind if I…"
"Be my guest."
Gingerly, she pulled open the drawer, peeking inside. "Damn it!" she cursed loudly, catching Nick off guard and jolting him out of his happy thoughts. "We're too late."
Apparently satisfied that nothing was going to crawl out, she slid it open all the way, revealing a gooey luminescent substance plastered firmly to the bottom of the metal drawer, where parts looked as though they had been burned through.
Nick immediately flashed back to the disturbing condom found at the scene and resolved to bring it up at a more appropriate time. Somehow, he just didn't find himself comfortable with discussing the green condom, bondage, erotic-asphyxiation or obvious nudity of the deceased when the guy's mirror image was standing right next to him. Clearly, the agent's twin was into some kinky shit and suffering from some horrible flesh eating venereal disease. Awkward. Maybe Catherine would do it.
Doc Robbins leaned over the drawer, intrigued, and proceeded to poke at the substance with the end of a pencil, muttering with curiosity.
"It's okay," Agent Mulder finally spoke up, "it's only toxic during decomposition." His reassurances were needless; Doc Robbins would not be deterred from poking at something with a pencil no matter what the health hazard.
Turning to the preoccupied man, Agent Scully placed a business card on the edge of the metal drawer. Silently nodding to her partner, they headed back out the door.
Glancing over one shoulder, she added, "We'll be in touch."
***
TBC!!!
