Chapter Eleven

Mulder/Scully Apartment, New York, New York

April 8th, 2000, 9:47 p.m.

"Shit," Scully lamented as she threw the blanket down and her headphones in a heap onto the footstool. There was a definite dripping sound around here somewhere. She had heard it faintly at first and thought that it was a faucet leaking on her recording, but then she turned her autopsy notes off and listened for a few seconds.

It was driving her crazy as she came closer to the source, and it was, as she suspected, in her bathroom. Scully flipped the light on and proceeded to investigate the room meticulously. She first opened the sink cabinet and inspected the copper piping, but it was sound. She next shoved the shower curtain aside and listened to the plumbing in the clawed tub. Nope, strike two.

Scully pushed her hair back behind her ears and knelt down beside the toilet. Home run! But unfortunately, there was nothing to shout gleefully about. The water feeding tube was spewing forth tiny droplets of fresh water onto the granite floor. She tried flushing; apparently that wasn't working either. Well, the only other remedy she knew to try was to turn the valve off to stop the leaking. Of course, when she tried, it was stuck and did not budge.

She groaned, arose, and tied a robe around herself before roaming into the living room. Mulder was there snoozing in his recliner perfectly positioned in front of the big screened TV with a basketball game on. Scully hated having to resort to disturbing a man sleeping in such tranquility, but the problem needed to be fixed now, or else the bathroom would be completely flooded.

"Mulder. Mulder," she tried and patted him on the shoulder.

"Ahh, Scully," he sighed with pleasure but did not stir.

"Psst. Wake up, Mulder." Scully then tapped him on the cheek with her fingertips. The contact made his eyelids flutter open, and he jerked upright, nearly hitting her.

"Damn. How long have I been out?"

"I'm not sure. I started listening to my autopsy notes at about nine fifteen...oh, anyhow, that doesn't matter. I need your help for a minute."

"What is it?" She pulled him out of the chair by the hand and led him into her bathroom. "Where's that water coming from?"

"The toilet. I think the problem's in the feeding tube--maybe the hose has a hole in it somewhere. Unfortunately, I think it's invisible to the naked eye, and that valve needs to be shut the other way. Then we can call the landlord in the morning to have it fixed. It won't flush, either."

"So why didn't you just turn the valve off?"

You arrogant son of a bitch. Why do you think I dragged you away from your precious sleep?

"I tried and failed. I was thinking maybe you'd have a better chance."

"Since I'm bigger and stronger? Well, I don't think that's where the problem is. I think it will be found somewhere inside this tank."

"Mulder, I'm telling you, it has to be that hose. I've watched my father fix a toilet before, and the first place to look for a leak is in the water feeding tube. Now why won't you believe me?"

"I need to consider the evidence first." He picked up the lid on top of the tank, and Scully covered her eyes and nose with her hand. Mulder next began to play with the handle and watched the flapper move up and down in conjunction with its chain. "Hmm. The tank's only half filled. Maybe it's not getting enough water."

"And where do you think that problem might be coming from?"

"Scully, please, you asked for my help. I'm doing my best to sort this thing out."

"Argh, and I would've gotten better assistance from a vice grip!" she exclaimed. "Suppose that's all I needed. There wouldn't happen to be any tools around this well furnished apartment, would there?"

"Maybe," he replied haughtily, and she heaved a frustrated sigh.

"Now you remember what happened the last time you tried to handle a plumbing problem by yourself, and I hope you aren't thinking of trying to do that again. I didn't ask you what the problem was, I asked for your help to turn that goddamned valve off. Please try to do that while I go look for a vice grip or some kind of wrench around here." She stormed out of the bathroom and went into the kitchen.

Mulder crouched down and gripped the stainless steel valve. He tried it with one hand and there was no success. "Hmm. Let's see. She was right...this ain't no picnic." He then got onto his knees and tried both hands. "Lefty loosey, righty tighty," he told himself as he strained to get the insistent knob to move. Finally, with no small amount of grunting, he finished his task and stood back up triumphantly. "I'm not quite satisfied with you, yet," he informed the tank and rolled up his sleeves.

He opened the flapper and retrieved a flashlight from his pocket. He stared down the pipe and hunched over the tank. "Aahh...can't see anything." Mulder stooped on top of the toilet seat. "Much better." He began to play with the handle again and unbeknownst to him, his tie wandered into the very pipe he was surveying. Suddenly, one of his knees slipped on the seat, and to grab his balance, he seized hold of the top of the toilet with his other hand. Unfortunately, the hand he had just been flushing with amounted to success. The flap closed and proceeded to start its suction.

"Mulder, all I could find was this crescent piece of crap from China," Scully sulked as she came back into the bathroom and gasped as she saw him being choked to death by of all things, his tie. "Oh no. I'll be right back, Mulder. I think I saw some scissors in my search!" she yelled and ran back into the kitchen.

"That's lovely," he gagged and struggled to pull his tie out of the pipe.

Scully dashed back into the bathroom, and he moved aside so she could work. "If this works, I think I'll frame those," Mulder rasped. She fought with the tie to steady it and commenced to snip. "Scully, this is no time for manners. Just cut the whole damn thing in two!"

"I'm trying, but this isn't as easy as it may look from your end. Now damnit, try to hold it still!" After a few more attempts, she finally cut the tie in two and let go of him. "I see you got the feeding tube valve closed. Thank you. That's all I needed you for. The landlord can take care of the rest tomorrow morning."

"I need a drink," he grumbled and trudged out of her room. Scully gaped at the remnant piece of tie she was holding for a few seconds longer, tossed it into the garbage can, and resumed her prior position in the chair. She snuggled up underneath the blankets, pressed play on her Walkman, and began to snicker. It started as a quiet chuckle, but then it grew to a volume that Mulder could even hear while he was guzzling his second beer from the kitchen. He sauntered back into her room and leaned against the doorjamb.

"Must be some pretty good comedian you're listening to. Who is it, Bill Cosby?" She stopped the tape once more and removed the headphones from her ears, still full of laughter.

"No...Mulder...it's...my autopsy notes," she struggled to stop herself. Finally, Scully composed herself and looked back up at him. He knew why she was laughing but was still in denial.

"Sorry to have bothered you. I ought to start attending your autopsies from now on. You pathologists had me fooled. Working a day job from nine to five, and then it's off to your clubs for your stand-up routines. Here I thought I was partnered to a regular FBI agent." Mulder took a swig from his bottle and turned his back.

"You know how I feel about stand-up comedy, Mulder," she called after him and stood. "Besides, why would I want to lead such a glamorous career in that when I've got all the fame and fortune of the X-Files?"

"What do you do in there, hone your talents and imagine the uproar of applause?"

"Oh yeah. And my audience is so sprite and vivacious that I get twice the amount of cheering than usual. Come on, Mulder. I work with the dead. All I hear is the droning of my own voice and the effects of the instruments I work with."

"Occasionally, you do get wonderful assistants, don't you?"

"Seldom is a better fitting description. But since you've offered, I would gladly receive you." He waived her off with a shake of his hand and walked over to her. "I'm sorry I wounded your manly pride by laughing at you--it's just that nobody else in the world would get his tie stuck in a toilet tank, of all places, and have his life saved by a pair of scissors wielded by his female partner."

"I'll get over it, Scully. I'll make you a deal. It's gotta be a good one, hmm..." Mulder took her by the hand and sat her down onto the bed. He placed the bottle onto the floor and brought her hand up to his lips. "Every time we get into a shitty situation and need to laugh, you say the words "From China". You know how you were complaining about the only useful tool you found being made in China, right? I'll know what you mean by that expression, and we'll forget our troubles."

"Well, what's the other half?"

"Hmm?" She reclaimed her hand and tightened her robe.

"There are always two halves to a deal. What's your half?"

"Oh. I've had it going on for two years now. But there was never any use for it verbally lest I wanted to keep a full set of teeth."

"You can tell me. I won't hurt your teeth."

"Girl Scout's honor?"

"I wasn't a girl scout, so that doesn't count."

"On a good Catholic girl's honor?"

"Watch it, Mulder."

"Threedog Night."

"What?"

"That's my half. I'd ask you to start singing the tune again but I don't want to anger Mother Nature."

"Mulder, hand me that bottle."

"Uh-uhn. I don't trust an angry woman with sharp objects or blunt instruments."

"If I wanted to kill you Mulder, do you think I'd leave such a mess afterwards?" she asked him with such a morbid tone that made him shift away from her and handed her the bottle. He hesitated before letting go too quickly, and it wasn't until she raised the drink up to her lips to drink that he let out an audible breath of relief. "Had you big time again."

"Prankster. And I could tell you were joking all along. I was just making you believe."

"Yeah, right. Look, I'm gonna need to go visit the lab at the office tomorrow, so can you stay here and wait for the landlord or plumber to come fix that feeding tube?"

"Talk about role reversal. When did I suddenly fit into the role of the homemaker?"

Well, the apron you wore while we were dishwashing was quite appealing.

He saw her trying desperately to disguise another smile from forming at the corners of her mouth and shook his head. "Forget it. Don't answer that. Instead, will you answer a personal question for me since I answered one for you?"

Thanks for asking this time. I warn you if you're going to inquire about Daniel, the subject is closed until further notice.

"I suppose," was all she said in reply.

"Did you ever pull a prank on somebody? I don't mean something like just putting a whoopee cushion under the librarian's seat, although some time ago, that used to be quite a dangerous task."

"Of course. Charles and I used to steal my father's pipe tobacco and replace it with dirty wood shavings."

"I'm not talking about an altruistic trick, Scully. I mean a really, nasty, good one that had someone crying over it for days--or at least a few hours."

"Let me think. I'm sure I haven't done anything that vicious to make a man weep in years."

"Why just a man?"

"Well let's face it, Mulder, how many chills would I send down your spine if I told you that I made another woman cry?" He considered her point and agreed. Scully arose and carried the empty beverage container into the kitchen. She was shocked to find not only that he had followed her but was also standing right behind her.

"Mulder, are you going to follow me everywhere I go?"

"You're keeping me in suspense. Come on, Scully, give."

"Oh, brother. Okay, I have one. Bill had just come home from his graduation at the Naval Academy, and the first thing Dad went out and did was to buy him a Cadillac convertible. Mind you, it wasn't brand new--it was from the '60s--maybe a '65. Yeah, I think it was a '65."

"Was it pink?"

"No, I think it was champagne. Dad kept on raving on about how wonderful it was that Bill was carrying on the Scully tradition, and I got so sick about hearing all his praise. Mind you, Bill didn't stop him. In fact he-"

"How old were you?"

"Huh?"

"How old were you?"

"Um...seventeen, I think. Bill polished that thing day and night. Dad even let him keep in in the garage all the time. He worshiped that car so much that he wouldn't let anyone ride in it. I remember bringing home one of my boyfriends just before a date or something. He ran his fingers over the hood once, and Bill practically bit his head off for touching his car."

"One of your boyfriends? Just how many beaus did you have dangling on a string, Scully?"

"Oh, I had a few wrapped around my finger in high school, just like any another girl, Mulder."

"Just give me the grand total."

"Honestly, I can't remember...-"

"All right, which one do you remember best? Which one really melted your butter?"

"Mulder, just how many times are you going to interrupt me?"

"I was just trying to identify with you."

"Most audiences do that with eye contact."

"That's easily remedied." Before she could stop him, his arms wrapped around her waist and spun her around. His hazel eyes seared dangerously into hers, and he removed his arms before she could protest. "So what happened to this 1965 Cadillac Eldorado?"

"One night, I perfected the ultimate destructive concoction--turtle wax and turpentine. Then with the assistance of Marcus, we pushed Bill's beloved convertible outside into the elements and distributed the mixture over the top evenly. By sunrise, it had caked on beautifully. I don't think I've ever heard such a tapestry of obscenities poured forth from a man's mouth since the time Charles backed into the fire hydrant with the family station wagon. Only that was my dad, in that instance."

"Did he disturb the whole neighborhood?"

"My dad? Nah. Everyone that lived in our neighborhood had a relative in the Navy, so creative cursing was a part of normal life."

"I meant your brother. And who's Marcus?"

"The guy I was dating at the time. I thought I told you all about...-oh, no that wasn't you."

"Another guy? Who was it, then?"

"I think it was Eddie Van Blundht."

"You were telling that guy personal information? No wonder you're still getting those letters."

"I think you seem to forget the fact that he looked exactly like you once. Letters, what letters?"

"Oh," he yawned and stretched, "I'll tell you tomorrow morning. They're not important. Night, Scully."

"Good night, Mulder."

The X-Files' Office, FBI Headquarters, Washington, D.C.

April 14th, 2000, 9:45 a.m.

"I just wanted to interject at this point, Agent Short," Mulder declared, "that I saved the Bureau some money."

"And how did you do that, Agent Mulder? Many of these charges seem extravagant."

"Well, at the beginning, Skinner suggested that we again pose as a married couple. But I put my foot down and said no. That would be too much for the Bureau to have to go out and buy us rings."

"We already have ten different models in stock, Agent Mulder."

"Yeah, but last time, we had to go out and re-size Agent Scully's because it was too big."

"Hmmph. Under your philosophy, a dollar saved equals ten dollars later spent. But go on, Agent Mulder. What happened that evening?"

"We ate dinner in."

"This time, I agree with you."

Mulder/Scully Apartment, New York, New York

April 8th, 2000, 8:52 p.m.

"Mulder, there's something I've been wanting to ask you since yesterday," Scully told him as she reached into the sudsy sink and pulled out a perfectly scrubbed plate. She rinsed it off and handed him the dish.

"Go ahead, Scully, I'm listening." He rubbed it carefully with the towel and set it onto the counter.

"I have a strange feeling that this case isn't just a day old. The Lone Gunmen's tip was your catalyst, right? They just added some fuel onto the dying fire?"

"Well, yeah, they did. It was a big breakthrough--which was why I was so excited about it."

"I could tell. Mulder, that apron is so you. How much would I have to pay you to get you to wear that in our office?" she leered at him with a closed mouth.

"Only the apron?"

"Not exactly what I meant." Scully glanced away from her work to size up the white bib covering him from his hips downward. "Anyhow, you're distracting me again. Just how old is this X-File?"

"About ten years old. There were lots of tabloid reports present and something done on a typewriter. But I couldn't read most of the report--it was blacked out. All I could see was 'Drew and Angela Robinson' and New York, New York. I must admit that I didn't give it a further thought because the file was so sketchy. Even I know when to draw the line, Scully."

"Tabloid articles, huh? Once some of my neighbors found out about my work with the paranormal, I started receiving them anonymously on my doorstep. To this day, I'm not quite sure if they're meant to be a joke or assistance. So I started using them for the disposal of my used coffee grinds."

"You're using the hot sheets for your garbage!"

"I thought you said that you never saw Men in Black," Short interrupted Mulder.

"What?"

"Did you not tell that to an assistant director a year and a half ago? He asked you if you'd seen that movie, and you said no." Short arose to get himself another cup of coffee.

"Well, I have to confess that I did. But I only watched it for the purpose of research."

"Did you think that those aliens abducted your sister?"

"Of course not--those were all actors and CGI. After watching it for the second time, I must say that there was only one breed of aliens that I did not find to be credible," Mulder announced and also went for more coffee.

"And that would be?"

"The dog named Frank."

"The dog?" Short repeated in disbelief and sat back down. "Why's that?"

"Well, of all the types of furry creatures that we have out there, why would a dog be considered to be the diplomatic type?" Mulder asked this rhetorically and continued on. "They're the most emotional animals, ergo, the most likely to blow a fuse in the middle of a debate. They would not be good listeners or mediators. They also have the biggest egos--always want to be the center of attention, et cetera."

"If you had it your way, Agent Mulder, which species would do?" Short inquired sardonically.

"Hmm." He stroked his chin pensively and took a sip of his steaming beverage. "If I'd had my druthers, I'd probably say an iguana would be best."

"Interesting. Let's go to the next page," Short's lips smacked as he folded the stapled paper over and his hands resumed their previous position. "What's this I find here? A bottle of wine and a bottle of champagne?"

"Uh, well, I had a rather embarrassing incident with the toilet and plumbing. It kind of hurt my...pride. Now don't be so superior and tell me that you've never had one of those before?"

"Of course, Agent Mulder. We've all fought our battles with household appliances."

"So then you needed a drink afterwards, right?"

"Sometimes, yes. But the FBI should not have to pay for your damaged self worth, Mr. Mulder."

"What's done is done, okay? And if they want whatever the numbers are back, I'll be more than happy to dish out the cash."

"Good. I'll see to it that that's done--for these two items anyway."