Sue Me? Ditto. Chris Carter and Top Cow can battle each other to their
mutual extinctions trying to collect a substantial sum from my use of
their copyrighted characters. Er, um ... I mean, I don't own 'em, I'm
just borrowing to play out in the sandbox.
Summary: A summary? You need a summary for a pointless one-parter
unbetaed and thrown out in less than half an hour?? Just read the damn
"Did he finally quit fussing?"
Fox Mulder rolled his eyes and sank onto Dana Scully's blue sofa. It
didn't have the comforting squeak of his leather couch, but neither did
it reek of late nights of Porn-Per-View. "Thank God," he blew air out
exaggeratedly between his teeth. "Finally! Took forever for the little
rugrat to conk out and-"
He caught sight of Scully's head rotating slightly in his direction,
motherly eyebrow arched rather high.
"-and, er ... I mean, for the little angel to float off to the
"Will's your son, too, you know."
Mulder nodded with feigned enthusiasm. Nobody had proven that yet;
for all he knew, Scully could've inhaled excessive fumes from Die Flea,
Die! and gotten it on with a gray-skinned Reticulan shortly before or
after he'd done the Flat-Backed Boogie with her.
Which was noticeably absent these days. Subtle as a hand grenade in
a barrel of oats, he scooted closer and began easing his arm around her
shoulders. "Y'know, now that Willie's sleeping-"
"It's *Will,* Mulder. I will not have my son sounding like some
furloughed prisoner," she snorted.
"Sleeping more often than not through the night," he continued,
barely interrupted, "there's no good reason his old man can't get some
action." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at her. "Whaddya say,
Scully -- how 'bout showing me how you got into the elite ranks of the
"What does that have to do with anything?" She looked skeptical.
"Aren't you a female Body Inspector?" he grinned.
"Gr-oan," she muttered, reaching behind and removing his arm from
Desperate, he hastily added, "I can do better."
"Too late." She clicked the channel over. "It's Team time."
"Huh?" Mulder watched as the screen displayed a familiar shoot-em-up
reddened logo along with the opening strains of Mike Post's finest
composition -- and stayed there. "You watch the A-Team?"
He glanced skeptically at her. "The ... A-TEAM? The same one with
Mr. T and Goofy off of 'Star Trek?'"
She narrowed her eyes dangerously and gave his skinny frame a quick
scan. "Look who's talking, Pluto."
Mouth still hanging slightly open, Mulder sat through the first few
minutes of Tonight's Episode, which featured bad guys doing mean things
to innocent babes in a Florida town. He squinted at the background
scenes and wished he had his glasses handy. "Hey, Scully ... since when
are there mountains near Miami beach?"
"Shh!" she hissed.
He quieted and waited until the commercial break. "When did you
start watching this, anyway?"
"It's on late. Keeps me company when I'm walking the floors with the
baby every night."
Uh-huh. Well, there was no accounting for taste, he thought. "But
he's asleep now ..." he began suggestively, in a low voice.
"Hush -- commercial's over." Sighing, Murdock watched as the four
A-Team guys seemingly drove cross-country and reset Mr. T's watch upon
arrival in "Florida." He shook his head as the angry black man got out
of the car and threatened the skinny guy, who was doing some kind of
weird little dance in ugly-print shorts and pale white legs. Scully
sighed, and he recognized it. "Don't tell me you like that ...
what's-his-name. Dwayne Some-"
"SHH!" Her palm came down hard on his leg, stinging.
He uttered a little pained squeak, but closed his mouth promptly.
And kept watching. He chuckled at one point when Mr. T tried to mangle
Dwayne, recalling catching snatches of the show when it was first on
nearly twenty years ago, during slow evenings in college, stuck at home.
Dirk Benedict was onscreen in some significant way, and he caught
another sigh from his left -- well, this one he could at least
understand. Even he had to admit Dirk looked good. "Y'know, I used to
watch Battlestar Galactica back when I was in junior high-" he began.
"Uh-huh ... that's fascinating," she absently responded, her mouth
slightly parted as her eyes riveted on a scene of Skinny and Dirk
Mulder watched a bit, then, being male, ventured yet again, "Doesn't
look like Barclay there ever had hair, did-"
"Would you HUSH!" She glared briefly at him, and Mulder was suddenly
hungry, enough that it became imperative to get up and go into the
kitchen and Away From Here.
He fixed a bowl of popcorn and two colas and arrived back in the
living room ten minutes later with the peace offering. After all, he
figured if Scully could put up with his religious viewing of "Baywatch
Nights" in reruns, surely he could occasionally indulge her secret
A-Team fetish as well. Quietly, he took his seat after setting down the
sodas on the coffee table, offering the corn. She scooped out a handful.
"So what'd I miss, other than the beach babes?" he whispered.
She gave him a brief narrative of The Plot So Far, including a
chuckled account of Murdock pretending to be a train coming out of a
tunnel to run over the bad guy tied to the tracks. *I bet that's the
clip that landed him the part of Oppenheimer,* Mulder nodded to himself
as he listened.
Finally, after much derring-do and some MacGyver-esque jury-rigging,
the Team triumphed at the end of the episode, and Hannibal and Face put
their heads together for "Moon Over Miami." More commercials ensued, and
then the Final Scene. Mulder turned his head sideways in confusion at
Dwayne carrying a big plate of sandwiches around. "I thought he was a
pilot, not a waiter," he joked.
Scully sighed. "Mulder, I understand if you feel threatened. But
remember, it's just an actor. And you should take it as a compliment --
you and Dwight resemble one another quite a lot." Mulder's eyebrows shot
up and he automatically clapped his palm to his head to feel for his
hair. "Besides -- you should see him in a kilt. Damn! I have these
pictures I got off a mailing list. Remind me and I'll show you
"The day I wear one of those is the day you can put *me* in the VA
hospital," he harumphed.
Scully clicked off the TV and stood, stretching. "Too bad," she
taunted. "I've always found plaid kinda sexy." With that, she tossed the
remote control to the small table and rounded the side of the sofa
toward the bedroom, waggling her fingers to him in a goodbye wave.
"'Guess I'll take advantage of it being such a quiet night. Darn.
Damn! At that, the lanky agent stood and started to follow. "Hey,"
he called in a stage whisper so as not to wake the baby, "now that I
think about it, I might have an old bomber jacket stuck in the back of
my closet at home. And ... yep, I think Mom kept my old Chuck Taylors
from high school ...."