Yadda yadda in Part One

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Consortium Headquarters

The music began. Alex Krycek's leg began to twitch.

"You wouldn't," said Marita in mock-dread, sitting with him in the floor by the bar. "You can't."

He stood. Yes, even the prosthesis was feeling the groove. "I know it's harmfully stereotypical, and banal. I know that if homosexuals were watching, they'd be glaring at me, because I would be perpetuating a myth that they all like disco-dancing. That'd be one of the worst things I could do, you know? Maybe disco dance, demand to be called 'Mr. Alex', style someone's hair and sing 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow.'" He sighed. "It would just be overwhelmingly gay of me."

"But you're not, technically, homosexual, Alex." Batting her eyelashes seductively, she trailed one frosty pink fingernail up his real alarm, clad of course in leather. "You just love Mulder."

"You're right!" He said, and kissed her abruptly on the cheek. "I knew there was an excuse to dance!"

Marita pouted. "I could be your Mulder, Alex. I could get you over him."

Krycek stopped in mid-boogie and examined her face. "Do this." He stuck his bottom lip out.

She mimicked him. "Like this?"

He frowned. "Sort of like that. Now, talk in your lowest voice."

Lip still pooched out, she said, huskily, "Like this?"

"Sure," he replied mischeviously. "Now, whap me upside the head."

She sucked her lip back in. "What?"

"No, no...put the lip back out, drop your voice again and hit me in the head."

"What do you want me to say?"

He pirouetted in thought. "Oooh, I know. Say, 'Oh, stop or you're going to hurt *my* feelings.'"

"Before or after I hit you in the head?"

"Say it *while* you're hitting me in the head."

Lip out, voice low, Marita popped Krycek in the ear and said, "Oh, stop or you're going to hurt *my* feelings!" She jumped back, excited. "Was that like Mulder?"

"Yeah," said Krycek, straightening his hair and breaking into a wide grin. "If Mulder was a muppet!"

She hit him upside the head for real. "Asshole! You said you'd help me here."

"Oh, right. Hand me that duct tape."

She handed him the roll. "Here."

"You're going to have to tear it for me," he said sheepishly.

Trying to seductively tear duct tape and failing miserably, she handed him a strip. "No, not there. Here, hold this. You have to wind it around very carefully. If you let it wad up, it's easy to squirm out." She smoothed the tape down. "How's that?"

"Perfect," Krycek commented, admiring her work.

"Should we pull the pants down?" Marita asked.

"Oooh, yeah!" Krycek lifted up while Marita undid the buttonfly on the khakis and yanked them down. "White boxers with a pattern of saucy red lips! How ubiquitous!"

Marita giggled. "It will compliment the pose nicely!"

And when Pendrell regained consciousness and found himself on top of the Cigarette-Smoking Man, he was going to be surprised.

*

Crandall Oaks Inn Almeander, KY

After touring their suite and finding two other listening devices, Mulder threw them out the window and collapsed alongside Scully.

"If I designed hotel rooms," he began whimsically, "all of the furniture would be strategically placed around the television."

Half-asleep, Scully opened her blue eyes blearily. "This somehow segues into your explanation for why you're on the bed instead of the couch."

He rubbed his eyes, and the glow from the television made his skin a pale Aqua-Velvet blue. "The couch is lumpy."

"And pink," she sleepily pointed out.

"In the dark, pink doesn't matter." Mulder continued to channel-surf. "But lumpy... lumpy matters."

Scully grinned. "Thank you, Sofa Socrates."

"Divan Descartes, to you."

"Naugahyde Nietzshe," she suggested.

Mulder smirked. "Oh now you're just being silly."

"You can stay up here," she replied through a yawn. "But don't try anything funny."

He put down the remote control. "Define funny."

"Good night, Mulder."

Pausing at that, he asked her shoulder, "Scully, are you ticklish?"

"It would be the last, great discovery you ever made, Mulder."

He smiled almost impishly. "But possibly worth dying for..."

"Mulder...you hungry?"

"Hmmm." He took advantage of her turned back by scratching himself. "I ate my dinner and half of yours. I'd probably get sick if I forced down more."

"I'm hungry for some pudding myself." She rolled over and fixed him with a look.

A chill trickled down Mulder's spine. "Pudding? Why are you mentioning pudding?"

She turned around again. "No reason."

Mulder swallowed. Next she'd be barking like a terrier...well, she wouldn't start licking him. He wasn't so lucky. Screwing his courage, he confided in her back. "While you were gone after that Duane Barry thing, I slept with a vampire chick."

She didn't say anything.

(Please be asleep.)

"Well," he added. "She was more of a vampire groupie than an actual vampire."

"So why did she sleep with you?" Scully asked, voice muffled by a pillow.

He muted the television and laughed. "I was being a vampire roadie. She was working her way up."

She rolled over once again, careful to keep the white satin of her gown in place. "Why are you telling me this?"

Shrugging was hard lying down. "I've never felt right about it."

Her smile curled softly into the heart-shaped pillow under her head. "Was it good?"

He cleared his throat awkwardly. "I remember the actual seduction itself, but the sex part...gets hazy. I actually fell asleep though, so I guess everything worked."

"You don't remember," she said unaccusingly.

"No," he whispered. "Not really."

"You shouldn't feel bad."

When she again woke lightly five minutes later, he had fallen asleep, his back to her. His tank top was all twisted around his middle, leaving a substantial amount of bare skin above his waist.

Taking a deep breath, Scully crooked her index finger, linked it under the elastic of his sweats, pressed lightly into the top of the crevice there and made a loud buzzing noise.

As he cried out and threw himself to the floor, Dana Scully stretch luxuriously and decided Mulder would have to beg if he wanted back up.

*

New York City, NY Publisher's office

His publisher put the story down. There were tears in her eyes. That was a good sign.

"I can't even begin to know what to say!" The woman ran her fingers anxiously through her frosted blonde hair. "This is so...exquisite!"

The Elder leaned back in his chair, glowing. "Can you believe this began as a fictional scenario involving two agents we surveil? The more I worked on it, the more I realized it was too good for them, my best work. I just changed the names and a few other details, but at its heart, it is still about two FBI agents against the world, living on love."

The woman lifted the entire stack of paper lovingly. "When I say 'title', you think....?"

Making his fingers into a marquee, he said, reverently, "Absent Hearts."

She applauded. "Wonderful! Brilliant! Are you publishing under a new pseudonym or do you just want to use your usual one?"

He smiled brightly, bad teeth gleaming. "Danielle Steele, just like the others."

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