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"We're quietly making noise, making noise
Pissin' off the old killjoys
Not too soft, not too loud
Just enough to draw a crowd
We're quietly, quietly, quietly making noise."--Jimmy Buffet
Sunday, September 1, 2002
LGM Headquarters:
"So, what are we gonna do?" Admiral Albert Calavicci demanded of the motley crew lounging around the Lone Gunmen's Warehouse. "Can't we just throw a surprise party?" Langly whined, wanting the meeting over so he could try out the new cookie dough flavored massage oil he had managed to track down at a little specialty store in town. (He couldn't WAIT to see the look on Byers' face!) "We already did that," Agent John Doggett complained from his seat on the floor between his friends, Fox Mulder and Walter Skinner. John wasn't in a good mood. First he had had to break off a date with sweetheart, Monica Reyes, to be at this meeting (something he knew he'd end up paying for) and secondly, he was forced to suffer through the endless rounds of cow-eyes that Mulder and Skinner kept flashing each other. Quite frankly, Doggett was afraid he was going to hurl any minute. "Well, we could always just do a group strip-tease," Dr. Samuel ('just Sam, please') Beckett suggested. "That went over well the last time." "But that's the problem," Captain Jonathan Archer commented, commanding the room with his quiet authority. "We need something new." "But there doesn't seem to BE anything new," Melvin Frohike threw in his two cents. "It does seem like we've done everything we can for these birthday stories," John Byers added, snuggling close to Frohike (who was snuggling close to Langly) on the couch. Three other men, all dressed in stylish futuristic jumpsuits, were sitting on some cushions across from the couch. "There must be SOMETHING we can do for her," Commander Trip Tucker argued, melting into Captain Archer's embrace (and pointedly ignoring the jealous glare he received from his arch-rival for the captain's affections, Lt. Commander Malcolm Reed). "It's not fair that she doesn't get something nice for her birthday." "Well, I'm open for suggestions," the Admiral announced, taking a seat by his long-time life partner, Sam. They all sat around in silence for a few minutes, just looking back and forth at the others in the room, (well, all except Skinner and Mulder, who only had eyes for each other), waiting for someone to say something. Finally, when it was obvious no one was going to volunteer anything, Lt. Reed offered up, "We could always throw a fancy dress party." "What the hell all is a fancy dress party?" Trip sneered. "Sounds pretty fruity to me." Malcolm ignored the man and addressed the rest of the room. "It's a party where everyone comes dressed up in funny outfits with masks and things." "You mean a costume party?" Doggett asked for clarification. "I suppose that's what you Yanks call it," Reed replied, haughtily. "You know, that actually sounds like a fun idea," Dr. Beckett answered. "And I have the perfect outfits!" Al exclaimed excitedly. Byers looked at Frohike who looked at Langly who looked back at Byers and as one they nodded. "Works for us," Frohike declared for the trio. "You know, Malcolm, that's an excellent idea," Captain Archer praised his young lover, giving his knee a loving squeeze. Reed beamed. Trip seethed. Agent Doggett shrugged his shoulders. "You can count me in, I guess. What about you guys?" he asked of Mulder and Skinner, who had moved from cow-eyes to blowing kisses back and forth to each other. Doggett rolled his eyes and did his best to suppress his gag reflex. "Well, I'm sure if these two weren't so busy, they'd vote 'yes', too." "Okay, then it's agreed," the Admiral stated, taking control of the room once more. "We meet back here on October 1st for Minna's fancy dress party. Meeting is adjourned." His decree was met by more than one celebratory cheer.
ONE MONTH LATER:
Tuesday, October 1, 2002
"Cake?" Frohike asked, looking down at his clipboard. "Check," Byers answered. "Ice cream?" "Check," Byers replied again. "Munchies?" "Chips, dips, and miscellaneous," Langly called out from the living room. "Punch?" When there was no response, Frohike repeated his question louder. "Have we got some punch?" "If I had my way," Yves snarled dangerously, cracking her knuckles. "And what is that supposed to mean?" Frohike demanded. "It means that I can't believe you three sorry excuses for human beings actually talked me into this." Yves glanced down at her puffy blue-and-white gingham dress and whined, "I mean, look at me!" "I think you look kinda cute," Langly chuckled, walking back into the kitchen where everyone was assembled. He was chomping on some tortilla chips. "Rather lovable and innocent. So unlike you." "Watch it, Scarecrow, or I'll rip out your stuffing!" Yves growled, tossing her head back, which caused her braids to smack her in the face. Frohike and Byers stifled their laughter, knowing that gingham dress or not, Yves could still kick their asses – and those ruby shoes she was wearing would probably really hurt, too. "Shoulda made her the Wicked Witch of the West," Langly grumbled, finishing off his chips. "And YOU should've been Glenda the fairy," Yves shot back. "Why you . . .!" and with that, Langly charged her. Yves stood her ground, putting up her fists. "C'mon, Strawboy. Let's rumble!" "Now, now, everyone calm down," Byers the peacekeeper stepped between them, holding up his arms, his oil can almost hitting Langly in the face. "Don't know, Byers – I think they both have a point there," Frohike cut in as he entered the fray. "Maybe this whole Wizard of Oz thing was a bad idea. I mean, I'm dyin' in this lion's costume here." "But, you said it sounded good when I first proposed it," Byers sulked, doing almost as good a job as Langly usually did. "Just because it SOUNDED good doesn't mean it was a good idea," Frohike countered. "You should just be thankful he didn't get you a Munchkin costume," Langly replied, snottily. "Although it probably would've fit better." "Well, he couldn't have chosen a better character for YOU, Mr. If-I-Only-Had-A-Brain." "Kiss my ass, Frohike!" "Anytime, anyplace, sweetness," Frohike mock-lisped. "Oh, perfect!" Yves groaned. "I did NOT need that picture in my head." "Everyone, please," Byers practically begged. "It's a party. Can't we all be civil to each other for just one night? As a favor to J.D. and her friends?" "Don't know why we should," Langly pouted, flopping into a nearby chair. "She hasn't written anything for us in forever. She's too preoccupied with her precious Big Things series." He glared over at Frohike as he said that, before continuing, "She barely even bothers with you and me anymore, John." "That's true," Byers agreed, "but if it wasn't for J.D., then Shamrock wouldn't be writing her wonderful Warm Places series, remember?" "Yeah, and you'd still be a virgin," Frohike added, all three of them ignoring Yves' demented chortling. "A virgin!" she snorted. "I should've known." "For your information, that wasn't my fault!" Langly protested. "It was Chris Carter who wrote that flaw into my character, the evil sonuvabitch! And if I could get my hands around his scrawny neck right now I'd . . . ." The unprovoked libelous attack on Mr. Carter's creative genius was quickly cut off by a sudden knock at the front door. "Can someone get that?" Frohike asked distractedly, looking back down at his clipboard. "I'm not done with the checklist yet." Langly looked at Byers who looked at Langly . . . then they both looked at Yves. "Fine," the young lady huffed. "But don't think I'm EVER going to let you boys forget how much you owe me for this." She sashayed to the front door, which was very hard to do in ill-fitting rented ruby slippers. After unlocking the 17 locks and chains (yeah, the boys had added a few more thanks to their last run-in with Morris Fletcher), she opened the door to reveal Dana Scully. The petite redhead was huddled in the doorway, her long trench coat pulled tightly around her body, but it did little to hide the lumpiness of her costume. "I see the Three Stooges conned you into this fiasco, too," Yves sympathized. "Yeah," Scully sighed deeply, stepping past Yves and into the safety of the Warehouse, trying to ignore the wolf-whistles echoing throughout the neighborhood. "Frohike asked for some help tonight, and it sounded like fun – at the time." "What we do for love, eh?" Scully sighed again, a smile on her pretty face. "Yeah." "Oh goodie! You're here!" Frohike shuffled into the room and wrapped his lovely wife in a big furry hug. "I'm so glad you made it. Mom didn't mind babysitting Billy?" "No, but we have to pick him up by midnight." Mel reached out his paws and helped Dana off with her coat, letting loose with a long, low wolf-whistle of his own when he caught sight of her outfit. "Nice costume, angel. Do you think J.D. will ever let you wear it in one of OUR stories?" "Well, since she's the one who picked it out, I'm sure she has other plans for it somewhere down the line." Yves shuddered at the image THAT presented, as she took in Dana's short, frilly French maid's dress and 5-inch white 'fuck-me' pumps. Arching an eyebrow, she commented dryly, "And I thought *I* looked silly. No wonder you were nervous in this neighborhood." "Tell me about it," Dana replied, reaching into her coat pocket for the little lacy hat that completed the costume. As she pulled her hand free, a loaded .357 Magnum fell out of the pocket and clattered to the floor. The sight of the enormous weapon caused Yves' eyebrow to arch even higher. "Well, at least you were sufficiently protected." She picked up the piece and handed it back to an embarrassed Scully. "I'm impressed." Mel glanced at the muzzle of the gun and grumbled, "I'm jealous." "Frohike, that is SO too much information," Yves groaned, painfully. Dana also glanced at the gun, then at her still in-name-only husband and sighed a disappointed, "Oh." But before there could be any more disparaging comments made about Frohike's manhood (or lack thereof), there was another knock at the door. "Thank God," Mel mumbled under his breath, then addressed Yves. "Could you please bring Dana into the kitchen, show her around . . .?" "But I've been here plenty of times," Dana protested. "Yeah, sure, right, whatever," Frohike muttered distractedly, pushing both women out of the room. Taking a moment to adjust his mane, he then checked the video monitor to see who was waiting on the stoop. Recognizing the visitors, he threw open the door. "Ah, Admiral. Sam." He looked the two of them up and down, then commented, "Um, forgive me for criticizing, but . . . that's not a very original costume, Dr. Beckett." The two-time Nobel Prize winning physicist looked down at his gray/green scrubs, white lab coat, and stethoscope, and shrugged his shoulders. "Don't blame me," Sam sighed, dejectedly. "Al picked them out." Al smiled tolerantly as he tugged at the waistband of his favorite dark brown leather aviator jacket; he then took off his mirrored sunglasses and placed them on his head. "I already explained, Sam, these are Minna's favorite outfits," the Admiral said, casually tossing his white scarf over his shoulder. "I mean, how many stories has she written now using them? We couldn't disappoint her, right?" "You know, you seem awfully smitten with this woman," Sam observed. "Well, we go back a long ways, me and Minna," Al replied, fondly. "She's one helluva gal." "Oh, really?" Sam arched his eyebrow in a way that put both Scully and Yves to shame. "Is there something I should know?" He was trying for playful, but it came out catty and dripping with jealousy. Al almost laughed – he loved it when Sam got possessive. "Sammy, baby. As much as I adore Minna, you're the only one for me." "I am?" Sam asked shyly, his cheeks flushing as tears of happiness welled in his beautiful eyes. The kid's getting awfully mushy in his old age, Al mused, but he was used to it by now. "My one and only, dearheart," he murmured tenderly, running a gentle hand down his lover's face. "Oh, Al," Sam sighed, leaning down to give Al a loving kiss. The flames of passion between the two of them quickly grew out of control and Sam soon had Al pressed against a convenient wall, caressing and molesting him by turns. "Awww, isn't that sweet?" came Byers' voice from behind Frohike, almost startling 10 years off the older man's life. "Jesus, Byers! I've got enough gray hairs. I don't need any help from you." Byers just ignored Frohike's little hissy fit, and slipped his metallic arms around the smaller man's waist. "Remember when WE used to do that?" he asked, his lips nibbling at Mel's earlobe – the only place not currently covered with fake lion fur. "JOHN! Not when Scully's around!" Frohike scolded, pulling out of Byers' grasp and turning around to face him. "What's the matter, Mel? She knows all about us, right?" Frohike looked away and nervously started playing with his tail, very much in the same way Bert Lahr did in the movie. "Well . . ." he hedged. "You didn't tell her about us?" Byers whispered in shock. "Well, why should I?" Frohike shot back defensively. "What we had . . . it was great, Johnny. The best. But they were only AU's, dreamed up in J.D.'s fevered little mind." At Byers' incredulous look, Frohike continued, "Hell, John – in one of her stories, I slept with MULDER! You think I'm going to tell Dana about THAT?!" "I can't believe you, Mel!" Byers chided. "Scully's going to kill you if she finds out." "But she WON'T find out, will she?" When Byers didn't answer right away, he asked again, more nervously, "Will she?" The younger man got a mischievous gleam in his eye, the kind that used to set Mel's heart aflutter in his previous slashy life, but now just scared the hell out of him. Taking a step forward, Byers reached out and grasped Frohike's furry forearm. "Tell you what, Mel," he cooed, teasingly. "Come over Friday night, and we'll," he paused to gently run his fingers up and down Mel's arm, ". . . discuss . . . the situation." That caused Frohike to stop and think for a moment. What the hell? It's not like it'd be considered 'cheating', he pondered. I mean, Scully and I haven't even done anything yet. It's been nearly a year now, and I'm horny! And John is really handsome, not to mention great in the sack. As long as Dana doesn't find out, what's the harm?But just as the unscrupulous fanfic author was about to lead Frohike down the path of temptation, there was another knock at the door. "I'll get it," Byers offered, walking to the door, leaving a still-rattled Frohike standing in the middle of the living room, watching Sam and Al continue to devour each other. Christ, don't they ever come up for air? Byers unlocked 12 of the 17 locks (Frohike hadn't gotten around to bolting the other 5) and greeted the couple that was standing there. "Agent Reyes. Agent Doggett. It's good to see you both. Please, come in." "Thank you, Byers," Reyes smiled at her host, as she and Doggett entered the Warehouse. If Byers had been paying more attention, he would have seen the leather leash that Reyes held, connected to a collar around Doggett's neck. "May I take your coat, Agent?" Byers asked politely, proud at himself for not stuttering in front of the beautiful brunette, who seemed taller than usual. She again smiled at him, a bemused little smirk. "What a gentleman," she commented, untying the belt to her ankle-length black leather coat and opening it. What she revealed almost made John Byers faint dead away. The coat was just the beginning. Monica Reyes was decked out ENTIRELY in black leather: black leather opera-gloves, a black leather lace-up-the-front corset that only half-covered her perfect breasts, and black leather thigh-high boots with 4-inch heels (thus explaining the extra height). She let the coat slip off her shoulders and handed it to the thunderstruck Gunman. With a snap of her fingers, Agent Doggett removed his own matching leather trench. Byers was stunned to see the handsome F.B.I. man dressed in nothing more than black leather boyshorts and a pair of black leather motorcycle boots; on each wrist he wore a studded leather wristband, matching the dog-collar around his neck. He also handed his coat to Byers with a shy little smile. "What do you say, Pumpkin?" Reyes demanded, her voice cool and controlling. "Thank you, Sir," Doggett replied automatically. "Pumpkin?" Byers found himself asking. Doggett looked over at his mistress, who nodded indulgently. Lowering his eyes, he explained, "It's my slave name, Sir." Byers could feel the sweat beading up on his forehead, and it had nothing to do with the tin-foil outfit he was baking in. "Slave name?" his repeated, his voice barely a whisper. "Yes. Mistress Monica gave it to me when she purchased me at the slave auction." Byers actually relaxed when he heard that, and released the breath he was holding. Oh, okay. Their characters. Mistress Monica and her slave, Pumpkin. That was okay. He got it now. Just at that moment, Frohike wandered over, his eyes almost bugging out of his head when he got a glimpse of Monica. "Whoa, mama! That is one tasty costume you've got there. What rental shop did you get it from?" Monica laughed. "Rental? Who said these were rentals? This is our normal weekend wear. Isn't that right, Pumpkin?" "Yes, Mistress," Doggett answered, politely. "Too bad we had to leave all the toys in the playroom," she sighed. A dreamy look flashed across Doggett's face. "Yes, Mistress," he said, breathlessly. "Oh, well – nothing we can do about that. Come now. Let's go see if we can help out with the preparations." Another click of her fingers, and Doggett dropped to all fours. "Good doggie," Monica praised, scratching him behind the ears, and leading him on his leash towards the kitchen. Byers and Frohike watched them walk away then turned to look at each other. "Lucky bastard," they muttered at the same time. A moment later, Monica returned to the main room, alone. Striding right up to Byers, she ran a gloved finger over his bearded cheek and purred seductively, "By the way, Johnny – I'm on the lookout for a playmate for my Pumpkin. And I've had my eye on you for a long time." "You . . . you have?" Byers gasped, torn between being excited and being scared to death. "Um-hmmm. I think you'd make a nice addition to our little family." Leaning over, she brushed her lips ever-so fleetingly over his and whispered, "Think about it, okay?" And then she was gone, leaving Byers shaking and quivering. "John, my boy, if you don't take her up on that offer, you're the dumbest man I've ever met," Frohike declared, a touch of envy in his voice. But before Byers could answer, there was yet another knock at the door. "I'll get it," Frohike announced, taking in John's still discombobulated state. "I don't think you're in any condition at the moment." Going over to the front door and undoing the single lock that Byers had remembered to fasten, he opened it to The Marx Brothers – or at least three men who were DRESSED as the Marx Brothers. Three men who were currently in the middle of an argument. "I still think we got the characters wrong," the one dressed as Harpo was complaining. "YOU should have been Grouchy, Malcolm." "Groucho," replied the man dressed as Chico in a clipped British accent. "His name was Groucho. And need I remind you AGAIN that Harpo was a mime. So zip it!" "See," 'Harpo' responded. "I was right. Grouchy." 'Groucho' had had enough and spoke to both men in a quiet, dignified (but commanding voice), "The costumes are perfect. And Trip, Malcolm is right. From now on, use the horn when you want to speak." "But . . ." Trip started to protest, but 'Groucho' just pointed to the horn. With a grimace on his face, 'Harpo' honked his horn, angrily. 'Groucho' nodded, pleased. "That's better. And you, Malcolm – as much as I enjoy hearing you talk, drop the British accent and use an Italian one." "But Captain . . ." Reed started to protest, but 'Groucho' glared at him, and he finished, "Okie-a-dokie-a, Boss-a man." 'Groucho' smiled. "That's better. Now remember – whichever of you is more convincing tonight in your respective role gets to play 'Hide the Phase Pistol' with me for the whole weekend. Deal?" For an answer, he got some enthusiastic honking and a "Youse-a got it, Boss-a man." And with that, Malcolm went off in one direction looking for a piano to torture, while Trip went looking for a blonde to chase around the room. 'Groucho', meanwhile, duckwalked past an amused Frohike. With a waggle of his eyebrows and a wave of his cigar, he deadpanned, "I never forget a face – but in your case I'll make an exception." Frohike was about to close the door when two other revelers approached. Their costumes were so unwieldy they couldn't help bumping into each other, and Mel was finding it hard not to burst out laughing at the sight. "Mulder, I can't believe you got us these costumes!" Walter Skinner bitched, trying to squeeze his giant Yellow Peanut M & M outfit through the Warehouse door. "I feel utterly ridiculous! What happened to the Robin Hood and Little John suits we had picked out?" "Oh, and green tights and mini-skirts would have been so much more dignified, right?" Mulder groused right back, managing to get his round Red M & M body stuck in the doorway. "There's no need to get snippy, Fox. I was just asking." Mulder, still struggling to get through the door sighed heavily. "Um, can someone help me out here?" Taking pity on his friend, Frohike grabbed one arm while Skinner grabbed the other, and they pulled the hapless man free. Once liberated, he turned to his oval-shaped lover and explained, "The reason we have these costumes is because when I went to pick them up, my credit card was declined, and I didn't have the cash for the Robin Hood stuff. However, I DID have enough cash for these outfits. They were on the clearance rack." "Gee, I wonder why," Walter muttered under his breath. Looking down at his egg-shaped body, he sighed, "I really hope the other A.D.s don't catch me like this." Just then Langly came strolling out of the kitchen carrying a huge sheet cake; Scully, Yves, Monica and Doggett all followed along behind him, carrying miscellaneous snacks and drinks. Langly took one look at Mulder and Skinner and started laughing so hard he almost dropped the cake. Scully quickly turned her back on her friend and her boss, not wanting them to see her snickering, but the silent movement of her shoulders gave her away. Monica and Doggett tried to keep straight faces, but after a moment or two gave up and doubled over in hysterics. "Mulder, you are in SO much trouble when we get home!" Skinner growled. "Do you need to borrow any of my . . . equipment . . . Sir?" Reyes asked helpfully, in between guffaws. "No need, Agent," Skinner answered silkily, taking a moment to appreciate the leather-clad lovely, before turning his attention back to Mulder. "I'm sure I can find something . . . appropriate . . . for his punishment." For his part, Fox blushed, thankful that his bulky costume hid the boner he instantly sprung at his lover's words. Attempting to cover his unexpected arousal, he set his sights on his favorite game – teasing his best friend. "Hey Scul . . . do you do windows? Or are you strictly a chamber maid?" In a heartbeat Dana was in his face, shaking her feather duster at him. "Mulder, don't even start, or I'll shoot you in the other shoulder." "I saw the gun, Mulder," Yves stated. "I'd listen to her, if I were you." Suddenly a horned blared behind her; she yelped in surprise and took off at a fast sprint, with Trip 'Harpo' Tucker hot on her heels. The duo narrowly missed crashing into Al and Sam, still making out against the far wall. Finally getting his fit of laughter under control, Langly managed to ask, "So, how's things going?" "Pretty good," Frohike said. "Everyone's here now except for the birthday girl – oh, and Jimmy." "Nope, here I am," Jimmy Bond piped up, coming out from a back room, dressed in his old college football uniform. "Wait a minute!" Langly protested. "How the hell did HE get out of this stupid Wizard of Oz theme?" "We couldn't cram him into the Toto costume," Frohike answered, flippantly. "Looking good there, Jimmy," Byers complimented, sipping carefully from his bottle of beer, not wanting to smudge his silver makeup. "Yeah, I was pretty surprised it still fit," Jimmy said, adjusting the shoulder pads. "I've put on a couple of pounds since my playing days." "Well, you'd never know it," Monica simpered from her seat on the couch, eyeing the young man up and down. "Can you turn around for a moment?" While confused by the request, he did as she asked and Monica was rewarded with a view of his white Lycra-covered tush. "Phwoar," she whistled, clearly impressed. Petting the head of the man kneeling obediently by her side, she commented, "We may have found your new playmate, Pumpkin." Doggett nodded, luxuriating Monica's attentions. "Anything Mistress wants," he answered respectfully, nuzzling at her wrist. "HEY!" an indignant Byers sputtered. "What about me?" Reyes raked an appraising glance over Byers and smiled. "Well, I hadn't intended on taking on two more slaves, but who knows?" Glancing between Byers and Jimmy, she smiled wickedly. "It could be fun." Byers looked over at Jimmy – who still stood facing away from the schemers, oblivious – and blushed. "Yeah . . . fun," he agreed, with a toothy grin of his own. While all this was going on, Mulder wandered over and confronted the couple. "Uh, excuse me, Dogman, but aren't you supposed to be with me and Walter? At least you were at Kylara's party." Looking up at his mistress to get permission before answering, Doggett replied, "Sorry Muldah, but apparently Minna likes me with Monica better, and this IS her story, after all." He glanced back up at Reyes adoringly from his kneeling position then winked at the stunned man, "Poor me, huh?" Mulder just walked away, shaking his head and muttering, "Lucky bastard." "Hey-a, does any-a-body wanna hear a tune-a?" Lieutenant 'Chico' Reed called out from his seat behind a Casio keyboard that he had managed to unearth from among the computer components lying around the workstations. "No, I'm not in the mood for tuna," Captain 'Groucho' Archer quipped, flicking his unlit cigar. "Any chance of getting trout instead?" "Any-a-thing for youse, boss-a," 'Chico' replied, and began playing 'Chopsticks'. Archer was about to snidely remark, "If you get near a song, play it," when 'Chico' went from 'Chopsticks' into Beethoven's 'Fur Elise', which morphed smoothly into Gershwin's 'Rhapsody in Blue', and then back to 'Chopsticks' again. Momentarily forgetting to stay in character, Archer gaped in amazement. "Malcolm, I didn't know you could play piano." "I can't," Reed answered in his normal voice, quite unfazed by his remarkable achievement. "Then how did you just do that?" Archer inquired, curiously. With a shrug of his shoulders, Reed retorted, "You'll have to ask J.D. She's the one writing this cornball story." "Did I hear someone say my name?" Everybody in the room turned at the sound, just in time to see a huge group traipse through the front door that no one had bothered locking. (Langly and Jimmy both glared at Frohike and Byers – after all, they ALWAYS got in trouble if even one lock was left unlatched.) At the head was the aforementioned J.D. Rush, along with her friends Shamrock and Kylara, all in costume. With them was a woman many at the party didn't know – but Al Calavicci sure did. He charged forward and gave her a huge hug. "Minna! Baby! It's so good see you again." Wrapping his scarf around her neck, he pulled her close and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Happy Birthday, sweets." "Same here, honey," Sam echoed the sentiment, kissing her other cheek. Meanwhile, The Scarecrow, The Tin Man, and The Cowardly Lion stepped forward, their mouths gaping at the sight of their latest arrivals, refusing to believe what they were seeing. It may have taken her a while, but after much soul-searching, and a night of too many spiked Shirley Temples, J.D. had come up with the perfect costumes for her and her crew. Ringo was the first to recover, taking in the carbon copy Langly-image Shamrock presented. She was dressed in a pair of faded ripped jeans, banged up Converse sneakers, an authentic Ramones concert tee shirt, and real Buddy Holly glasses. He just shook his head sadly and pronounced, "J.D., this is completely fucked up." Byers walked up to Kylara, who was decked out in a navy suit, crisp white shirt, and red-striped banker's tie – she had done a remarkable make-up job on her fake whiskers, her stage training really paying off. He sighed dramatically and stated, "I think we've entered a whole weird area here." Frohike took a bit more time, checking out J.D.'s outfit. It seemed she hadn't missed a thing: the black combat pants, the black combat boots, the olive green Henley shirt and black leather vest, the black hip-length leather jacket, and, of course, the fingerless gloves. She had somehow even managed to make a tiny ponytail out of her short, shag haircut – and Kylara had done a bang-up job with the five o'clock shadow. Giving a hearty chuckle, he said, "You know, J.D., this is probably the strangest thing I've ever seen – and you're talking to the king of strange. I don't think you could have made this any more bizarre if you tried." But just seconds later, he was forced to eat his words, as "Scully" came bouncing through the still-open front door. Planting a kiss on 'Byers' cheek, she announced, "Got the car parked, babe. What did I miss?" The real Dana tottered over on her high heels (though you think she'd be used to them by now) and stared at her doppelganger. The imposter had the same bottle-dyed red hair shaped in a style she hadn't worn since season 5, the same boring gray suit skirt and jacket set it seemed she wore every episode, the dull tan raincoat that was necessary because it was always raining in Washington for some reason, and a pair of impossibly practical black square-heeled pumps. "Who the hell are you?" the real Scully demanded, hands on her hips, eyebrow quirking inquisitively. 'Byers' wrapped her arms around 'Scully', and announced, "I think you all remember my SO, Kate, from the last party. Didn't she do a great job with this costume?" "Okay, I take it back," Frohike corrected himself. "THIS is the most bizarre thing I've ever seen." "Don't count on it," came a new voice from the front door. Once again, everyone in the room turned at the sound, just in time to see Vel~ make her grand entrance. She sashayed into the room on towering high-heels, which really set off her black leather catsuit, and short leather bolero jacket. Striking an exaggerated pose, she tossed her long black tresses and sniffed, "What a dump!" Throwing his hands up in disgust, Frohike turned to the author and reprimanded her. "J.D., I don't know what you were smoking when you wrote this story, but next time, bring enough for everyone, okay?" "Hold it, hold it!" the real Yves called out as she elbowed her way to the front. "The Dorothy outfit was one thing, but I will not stand for this slanderous character assassination any longer. For your information, J.D., I do NOT do bad Bette Davis impersonations!" "No, you just do bad Emma Peel ones," Vel~ scoffed, advancing on the fuming young woman. "Face facts, Toots, you were nothing more than wanking material for 12 year old boys." And a collective, "OOOOHHHH!" echoed throughout the room. "Why, I never!" Yves exclaimed, indignantly. Vel~ just jeered, "Sure you have. Many times and in many positions." The "Ooohhh"-ing was even louder this time, and an occasional "All right, Vel!" and "You go, girlfriend" could be heard among the clamor. When Yves could do nothing more than gasp in shock that someone had out-vamped her, Frohike sniggled, "You know, I think I like this girl." Suddenly, 'Harpo' Tucker popped up from behind the Lay-zee Boy and started chasing both Yves and Vel~ around the Warehouse, honking his horn. Shamrock and Kylara, of course, had no choice but to chase after Trip – even though neither had a horn to honk. Not to be outdone (and perhaps losing out on the chance to play 'Hide the Phase Pistol' with his captain) 'Chico' Reed chirped, "I hate-a to be a party-a poopa, but-a Minna doesn't have-a da costume." "Oh, I think we can fix that," J.D. proclaimed proudly. "Girls?" With the command, Shamrock and Kylara dragged Minna behind a convenient dressing screen that had suddenly appeared in the middle of the room. After a couple of minutes, they stepped around front again. Minna was now dressed in green tights, a darker green tunic, and a little green hunter's cap – complete with red feather; a bow and a quiver of arrows were slung over her back. "Ta-da," J.D. announced with a flourish. "The birthday girl." While everyone was applauding and cheering, Mulder smacked himself in the head with his big spongy glove. "Well, at least we know who got the Robin Hood costume!" Suddenly, there was an urgent banging on the front door. Byers, Langly, and Frohike all looked at each other, and, without a word, went into a fast round of 'Rock, Paper, Scissors', which Byers lost. Grumbling under his breath, he went over to the door and opened it; he was forced to jump out of the way when a bundle of energy dressed in full football gear charged in. "Sorry I'm late," came a feminine voice from behind the helmet, "but I got this flat tire on my mobile command unit and it's really hard to get someone to stop and help you when you're dressed like this." "Oh, God, NO!" Langly cried out in agony, banging his head against a nearby keyboard. "Not ANOTHER Jimmy?! My worse nightmare has come true!" Frohike just shook his finger at the author. "A Jimmy clone? J.D., how could you?" The real Jimmy inched over to the newcomer. Looking up and down at his mirror image (albeit a much shorter version of himself), a wide smile split his face. "My own clone? Kewl!" "Hey Goddess, glad you could make it!" J.D. enthused, rushing up to the newest arrival and giving her a quick hug. "I was starting to wonder about you." "Goddess?" Jimmy Bond asked, puzzled. The girl removed her helmet and made a quick introduction. "Goddess Michele, at your service." Turning her attention to Langly, who was still banging his head against the keyboard, she tsked, "Ringo, please stop that, unless you plan on crying afterwards. You know how I love to see you cry." "You love it when ANY of us cries," Mulder sulked. "Oh, don't pout, Mulder," Michele chided, "although I do enjoy the quivering lower lip action." "You would," he griped. Slinging her arm around his shoulder, she smiled, "C'mon, I'll give you a Long Slow Comfortable Screw Against The Wall." "Well, okay," Mulder relented. "Just as long as you don't do anything else nasty to me and Walter up in that cabin." "I promise," Michele reassured him, making sure he couldn't see that she had her fingers crossed behind her back when she said it. "Hey, now that everyone's here, let the party begin!" Al called out – and it did. As the partygoers went about getting their snacks and their drinks, J.D. sidled up to A.D. Skinner and smiled. "Hey Walter, long time no see. What say we bag the party and sneak off to OUR closet?" Running her fingers over his costume, she leered, "I can't wait to see if what they say is true: M & M's melt in your mouth, not in your hand." * Walter turned the loveliest shade of red and answered, regretfully, "Sorry, my love, but I can't." "It's the whiskers, isn't it?" J.D. stated, confidently. "No problem. Give me a couple of minutes to wash them off and . . . ." "No, it's not that. Well, yeah, that's part of it. But you see, I'm . . . um . . . well . . . it's like this . . . ." "He's taken," Fox finished, grabbing Skinner's hand possessively and dragging him away. Skinner looked over his shoulder and smiled sheepishly at the stunned author. Dammit! I KNEW putting those two together would be a bad idea! J.D. cursed to herself as the lovers walked away, arm-in-arm. And as Mulder planted a kiss on the handsome Walter Skinner, she couldn't help heaving a wistful sigh, "Lucky bastards." THE END