**

When Frohike woke, Mulder was sitting up in bed next to him, staring at him with a curiously intense expression. The agent had his reading glasses on, and Frohike was hard pressed not to toss the man's laptop away and fuck him silly. He stepped on the impulse, and followed Mulder's line of sight. Once he realized what Mulder was looking at, he tried to pull his arm away, but Mulder grabbed his wrist and wouldn't let go.

"Mulder, it's way too early…" he started.

Mulder shook his head, brushing off the half-joke. "Seriously, Fro, what happened?"

Frohike shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I'm allergic to something."

"That's not an allergy. It looks like a contact burn."

Frohike sighed and sat up, grabbing for his own glasses. "Let go, Mulder."

Mulder did, reluctantly, and Frohike regarded his arm for a moment. "It is getting worse. I think I'm allergic to the cream I put on it."

"It doesn't look like an allergy." Mulder shook his head again, impatiently, and pushed the laptop in front of Frohike. "It looks like this."

Frohike stared at the picture on Mulder's screen. He looked back at his arm, and back at the screen. Finally he cleared his throat. "It does look pretty similar, doesn't it. What is that?"

Mulder kept glaring. "That," he said, jerking his head at the screen, "is a contact burn. And so is that," he finished, jabbing a finger towards Frohike's arm. "It's the result of exposure to a UFO."

Frohike decided he didn't want to think about that. "It's just a rash, Mulder," he said flatly, and stood up to go to the can. "You can have the shower after me."

"Do I have to share with the crabs?"

Frohike sighed and detoured back to the bed to grab his robe before knocking on the adjoining door.
"Cover yourself, will you?" he instructed Mulder. "Don't want to give the kid a heart attack."

J. Wayne opened the door fairly quickly and cast a suspiciously comprehensive glance at the bed. Frohike tried not to laugh. J. Wayne dragged his eyes back to Frohike.

"I'm, uh, all done, so if you need my shower, I can, um, go down to the coffee shop for breakfast."

Mulder lounged, there was no other word for it, across the bed and grinned. "Sounds like a great idea."

"Down boy," Frohike said without bothering to look back at him. "I'll be done in a few. J. Wayne, you stand right there and make sure he doesn't try to get past you. I want to get clean, Mulder."

Mulder's snickers accompanied him across the kid's room and into the bathroom. He shut the door and heard Mulder immediately say something to J. Wayne. Frohike wondered if he should have left them alone together, what with Mulder naked and in bed and all. It'd take a lot to resist that, and they did have things to do today.

He slipped off his robe, listening carefully, but all he heard was normal conversational tones. The kid had a lot more restraint than Frohike would have guessed.

Frohike turned on the shower, but not before checking for clams, crabs, ping pong balls, little gray men, small rubber duckies, God alone knew what all was possible at this point. He heard a door slam over the sound of the water and wondered if he'd overestimated J. Wayne's self-control in the face of a totally nude, lithely stretching Mulder, something he, Frohike, could have described with accuracy down to the last hair. Mulder in the morning was a hell of a sight, and something Frohike rarely bothered to resist. Too bad they had such a full schedule…

Mulder's cockteasing laugh and the sudden vision of Mulder and J. Wayne together quivered straight to the place at the base of his balls where the shock and the twitch started, stiffening him into full hardness. He could see Mulder pulling the young man down, spreading that beautiful body across the kid while he smoothly disposed of the kid's suit… Sliding those full lips up the kid's chest to his neck… God.

Mel groaned softly to himself, barely aware he was doing it. He tried to push the image from his mind, but it stayed, stubborn and vivid. He slid his fingertips down to grasp his prick, his grip a little awkward with his left hand, but he wasn't willing to risk the rash under hot water again. He stroked himself gently, slick with the falling water, and braced his free arm on the cool tile. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the image of Mulder, Mulder, sucking the kid off. He didn't know what the kid would look like naked—yet—but imagination supplied sparse, fine hair, gentle movement of muscles, well-defined hips and thighs, tight, pale balls, and a long, proud cock to go with his lean, tall frame.

He panted, stroking himself slowly, slowly, under the hot water, reveling in sensation and each image his mind held out to him. Mulder, swallowing the kid down, down, all the way to the root, fingers dancing across the kid's balls, J. Wayne with his head thrown back as he begged for more, those beautiful writers' hands tangled in Mulder's silky dark hair.

Mel moaned, and the echo of it froze him. He stared for an eternity at a tall form silhouetted against the shower curtain, not sure which man it was, not sure which man he hoped it was. The curtain flicked away, revealing Mulder—had he doubted, really?—nude and lazy, the half twist of a smirk on those perfect lips.

"Can I play too?"

Mel sighed, not entirely in aggravation, and stepped back to make room. "Water conservation?" His dick, slightly softened from uncertainty a moment before, twitched and hardened under the heat of Mulder's gaze.

"In Seattle?" Mulder teased back, planting both palms on Mel's chest and pushing him against the shower wall. He leaned in and down and tasted of toothpaste as he smothered Frohike's retort.

Mulder slid down his body, then, leaving a minty trail of kisses, taking Mel's left hand in his own and placing it on his shoulder.

Mel closed his eyes and twisted his hand into Mulder's now wet hair. "Mmmm…" His head lolled against the tiles as he waited for the blessing of Mulder's mouth. Another eternity, another heartbeat, and Mel found the voice begging this time was his own.

Mulder chuckled, licked, laughed at the reaction. Held Mel's hips and arranged his own hard length against Mel's leg. A noise like a purr rumbled in the agent's chest as he slid his tongue along Mel's dick. When he took the head into his mouth, Mel grunted and tried to thrust deeper, but Mulder wouldn't let him.

**

"Mulder!" Mel's desperate groan was audible even over the sound of running water. It came clearly to the bedroom through the door Mulder had thoughtfully left open, winking at J. Wayne as he did so.

Minutes before, Mulder had leaned over the edge of the bed, displaying rather a lot of smooth, pale skin, and snagged his boxers and something else, which he'd tossed at J. Wayne.

J. Wayne had caught the little box automatically, and done a classic double take. "What—"

"Consolation prize," Mulder had smirked.

Some people said it with flowers, J. Wayne had reflected. Agent Mulder said it—whatever it was—with novelty condoms shaped like gooseneck barnacles.

He wondered how Mel put up with it. He concluded that Mulder had his advantages. Thought about it some more as Mulder had squirmed into his shorts, barely concealed by the blankets. Mulder had stretched again as he climbed from the bed, and J. Wayne had stopped speculating and known.

Mulder had, what was the word, sauntered, into the other room—J. Wayne's room—in boxers and smug grin.

And now here J. Wayne was, listening to—well. He could guess. There was none of the weird conversation of the night before. In fact, all he could hear was Mel becoming increasingly incoherent. He thought about Mulder's mouth, that full curve… He wondered exactly what their relationship was, beyond the obvious.

**

Mulder's tongue rasped across Frohike's sensitive cockhead, managing almost the same speed and pressure as the shower water itself. Mel closed his eyes and leaned into it, imagining it to be—it all to be—Mulder's clever, clever tongue. He almost came right there.

"Mulder!" he said urgently.

Mulder pulled away, alarmed. "Fro?"

Frohike patted at his shoulders reassuringly, starting to lose some of the tension in his far-too-tight body. "Nothing, nothing, it's okay," he panted. "Just I'm going to come."

Mulder was exasperated. "That's pretty much the whole point, Fro," he said snarkily, giving a sharp nip to Mel's scrotum. Mel yelped and jumped and Mulder looked gratified.

"Mulder," Mel gasped. "Not, please, not yet…"

Mulder moved back and kissed the tip of his cock lightly, just enough to make him twitch, and then slid gracefully up Frohike's body till they were as close to face-to-face as they got.

"Mel?" he teased. "What do you want first?"

Mel groaned. "You're gonna kill me."

"Nah. I'm not into necrophilia."

Mel rolled his eyes. "Hey, that's one for the list."

"What is," Mulder said suspiciously.

"Something that doesn't turn you on," Mel snickered.

Mulder sulked briefly and Mel dove in to kiss him ferociously. Mulder finally broke away, taking deep breaths to get himself under control.

"So what do you want to do first," Mulder repeated, arms sliding around the smaller man.

Mel reached up and bit at Mulder's lower lip, the one he dreamed about. "You, Mulder," he said in a voice so low Mulder barely heard it over the noise of the shower. "I want you. I want to fuck you."

Mulder grinned triumphantly, prompting another long, deep kiss. "How about the kid?" he mumbled against Mel's lips.

"Hm?" Frohike, Mulder's hands expertly kneading his ass, didn't entirely remember the question.

"The kid. We should get him in here."

Frohike's turn to grin. "Tell you what. I'll scream 'rape', and he'll come running. Then we can strip him and drag him between us."

Mulder pretended to consider it. "A brilliant plan, Fro, except for one minor detail."

"Only one?" Mel responded wryly.

"What makes you think he'll come running to save you?"

"I didn't say he'd come running to save me, Mulder, I figured he'd—"

"—Come running to watch," Mulder finished with him. "You're a sick man, Frohike."

Mel tried for offended, but mostly accomplished naked, dripping, and hard. Mulder thought it was incredibly sexy, and said so.

Frohike grinned. "Never mind the kid." He spun the agent away from him. "Hands over your head, and spread 'em."

Mulder laughed. "Sicko."

The repartee died as Frohike prepared the younger man. He hadn't meant to thrust so quickly into Mulder, but the hot water died as he was inching his cock inside and he shoved forward hard and fast, slamming his hand on the tap and shutting the cold water off. Mulder bellowed in surprise, and Frohike wasted a distracted moment wondering what the kid was making of that.

**

J. Wayne heard Mulder's shout from where he sat on the edge of the bed, squeezing his erection through the cloth of his pants. With the water off, he could hear every sound, and he squeezed a little harder, rolling his cock a little with a firm palm.

J. Wayne had met the journalist and the agent a year earlier at a UFO conference in Indiana. Mel had, for some reason, taken a shine to him, and the last night of the conference had invited him to dinner, insisting there was someone who had to meet him. Throughout the meal, the agent had flirted with J. Wayne, which had obviously amused Mel. But it had become very clear that Mel and Mulder were a couple, for lack of a better word.

Over the past year emails had been exchanged between the three of them in which one or the other would flirt shamelessly with him. Weirdly, it had also become apparent that they were sharing the emails with each other.

Not that he, J. Wayne, minded—he just wasn't sure where he fit in between them.

He had eventually, reluctantly, concluded that the two men were using him to make each other jealous, to goad each other on. Last night's display had clearly been staged with the full awareness that he could hear everything through the thin walls.

And he had. Every last pant and moan, every grunt and groan. Every weird word of Mulder's lectures. He'd felt keenly again the loss in the realization that they were only using him. He didn't mind, exactly, couldn't, really, considering how good it made things for them—but damn! He wished they were serious.

He turned the condom over in his mind, wondering what it meant, if anything. If it was an invitation. Unbidden, his imagination inserted him between the two men, his mouth in constant contact with both Mulder's face and what idle speculation promised would be Mel's stout, dark cock. He could almost smell Mel's musky arousal, almost taste Mel's hot skin with the water dripping off it, the sharp coppery tang of Mulder's tongue.

The urge to join them in the bathroom was nearly overwhelming. The only thing that kept him rooted to his perch on the bed was how much he needed the two of them, and the rest of the Gunmen, to help with his story.

If it wasn't for the story, he'd gladly risk rejection, mockery, and the possibility of being tossed naked and wet into the motel hallway.

But the story was important. Sure, it wasn't Wolf Blitzer-under-the-desk important, but the whole Maury mess—it was about time the truth was told. Besides, it might not be the Pentagon papers, but it was his story.

J. Wayne was pulled back to the present by a noise barely identifiable as Mel, a screech that dopplered to a disintegrating raspy moan. When he heard breathless laughter, he realized he was about to be caught in the act, so to speak, and reluctantly pulled his hand from his pants. In that moment, the story didn't seem quite as important, and he regretted not having just walked into the bathroom and slipped into the shower with them. His gaze fell on the condom again. Surely an invitation…

The thought sent him scurrying awkwardly for the bathroom in the adjoining room where he could finish in relative privacy.

**

"I guess we scared him off," Mulder said cheerfully, emerging from the bathroom and looking around.

Frohike snorted. "Not likely." He sighed and walked back to their room. "He probably thinks I'm a pervert—" he began, picking up a sock and sniffing at it.

Mulder made a face. "You are. Anybody who wears the same socks two days in a row—"

Frohike rolled his eyes and let the sock fall. "Yeah, yeah." He was about to add something when a muted moan emanated from behind the closed door.

The two men exchanged a look. Another moan, followed by a rattling noise. Mulder smirked.

Frohike covered his face with both hands. "I don't want to know," he muttered. "I don't want to know."

Mulder rapped on the closed door, snickering. They heard a sharp gasp. "I'd be careful in there, J. Wayne," he said casually. "There was this guy in England who shoplifted a couple of lobsters."

"Do I want to hear this story?" Frohike asked plaintively, pausing in his dressing.

Mulder grinned. "He'd fit in perfectly with the Brotherhood of Pragmatic Resistance."

Frohike stood up. "I think it's time to go."

**

Another envelope waited for them at the desk. Mulder took a long look at the enclosed photos and handed them to Frohike.

"Our nutcase is back, I see."

"Maybe you can stick Allen with these, too."

"I've seen more convincing pictures on fridge doors, Mulder."

**

Two Grand Slams and a fruit plate later, Frohike looked up. "Oh, shit."

Mulder and J. Wayne stopped talking and looked where Frohike was staring. "Uh-oh," J. Wayne said.

"Who's that?"

The woman approached. "May I sit with you," she asked in her high, nervous voice. "Agent Mulder, I'm pleased to finally meet you." She held out her twitching hand, and he had no choice but to take it. The woman held on. "Barnacles!" she said, startled.

J. Wayne blushed bright red, but Frohike didn't notice. He was too busy trying not to blush himself. Barnacles. Of course.

Mulder blinked, tried not to grin, ended with a stifled snicker. "And you are?" he managed.

"Agent Mulder, Sela Loy." Frohike made introductions while J. Wayne tried to recover himself. "Sela Loy, Agent Mulder, but you knew that. Come to share some more predictions?"

"No, well, I needed to, ah, meet Agent Mulder."

"Needed?" Mulder questioned.

She thrust something into his hands. "Don't look at it. Twist it six times."

Mulder blinked some more, this time at Frohike. "What—?"

"Go ahead, Mulder."

Mulder shrugged and did as he was told. She took it from him and set it on the table, a pattern of black and yellow squares on the top. She jumped as if she'd been stung. "Bees!"

It was Mulder's turn to jump. "What the hell?"

"Bees," she said again, a little more calmly. She flipped the Cube around to view apparently random patterns on four sides, and a reverse of the black and yellow on the bottom. "Bees," she repeated. "Bees. Lots of bees."

"Whoa," Mulder said. "No way. No bees. No more bees." He shook his head emphatically. "The last time there were bees, I ended up in the Antarctic without a ride home."

Frohike grinned at him. "And a naked partner, as I recall."

Mulder winced. "Covered with alien goo."

Loy stared. "I don't want to know."

J. Wayne cocked his head. "I do. How'd you get home?"

"Amtrack," Frohike said shortly. "Tell us about the bees."

The woman closed her eyes and stroked her Rubik's Cube. "Four thousand, two hundred, and ninety-two bees, to be precise."

"That's pretty precise," Frohike agreed. "Anything else you'd like to share with us? How's the weather looking?"

The woman smiled, eager but unoffended. "It's going to rain. A lot."

"Damn," Frohike said dryly. "I left my umbrella at home. It had mice in it."

Loy twitched visibly and stood to leave. "It wouldn't have helped, anyway," was her parting shot.

**

"You'd better stand back, Mulder," Frohike advised him. "This guy was pretty squirrelly when we were here last. I think our friends in dark suits had visited him. The way you dress…"

Mulder shrugged. "What about the kid here?"

"He's met J. Wayne." Frohike knocked on the door.

"I'm coming," came a voice from within. J. Wayne and Frohike exchanged odd looks.

The door was opened by a short man with a beer belly, but there the resemblance to Payter ended.

"Is Mr. Payter home?" J. Wayne asked politely.

"You're looking at him."

"Uh, Mr. Payter, Senior."

"I'm as senior as they get. Can I help you?" The man peered at them suspiciously, and then his face lightened. "Hey, I know you. You're the guys who came here the other day."

"Yes, we did. And you are?" J. Wayne was still trying to be polite.

"Marcus Payter. Don't you remember? We met Wednesday, you and, uh, the Lone Ranger here, right?" He gestured at Mulder. "You're new. Are you a reporter too?"

"Lone Gunman," J. Wayne corrected blankly. "We, uh…"

Frohike rescued the kid. "You're not the man we met," he said in his most threatening voice. "What the hell is going on here?"

The man seemed genuinely puzzled. "What do you mean? You came to see me, to ask about my, uh, experience. There wasn't anything more I could tell you." He glanced at them again. "Still isn't. You're wasting your time."

"What the hell is going on here," Frohike repeated, stepping closer. "If this is some kind of—"

Mulder pulled him away. "Hang on. Mr. Payter?" The man nodded, starting to look annoyed. "Mr. Marcus Payter?"

The man nodded again. "Yeah. Who are you?"

"Special Agent Fox Mulder. FBI." Good delivery. Johnny Staccato with a hint of Who-Wants-To-Know. The man took a step back.

"So you're not a reporter, then."

"No. Can you tell me, sir, do you live here?"

"Yes."

"For how long?"

Frohike made a noise like a growl under his breath. Mulder elbowed him.

"Fourteen years. Look, these guys came by the other day about a UFO sighting." He seemed embarrassed. "It was nothing, really. Just lights, and maybe I overreacted, let my imagination get away from me. I told them that, and they left. Now they're back, with an FBI agent? What's going on here?"

"That's what I'd like to know," Frohike muttered ominously.

"Frohike." Mulder turned to him. "You're saying this isn't the Marcus Payter you met."

"I'm the only one I know about," the man put in, starting to sound angry.

"No way." Frohike shook his head emphatically. "That guy was older, and balding, and he had a big red nose. There's something going on here, and this guy is behind it!"

"Hey, I don't have to take this—"

"Just a moment, sir," Mulder said smoothly, grabbing Frohike's arm and moving away. "Are you sure, Fro?" he asked in a low voice.

Frohike calmed down a bit and nodded again. "Look, Mulder, I don't know what's going on here, but this is not the guy we met."

Mulder turned to J. Wayne. "What about you?"

The kid shook his head too. "No. It's not the same guy. Definitely not."

"Is this some kind of joke?" the man demanded.

"No, sir," Mulder said. "Just trying to get to the bottom of this. You remember these two men?"

"Wayne something with Powder Keg, and the other guy came with him. Sure I remember them. They came over Wednesday morning. There wasn't much I could tell them. Is this some stupid joke?"

"What about the metal," J. Wayne asked suddenly. "We asked you about the metal."

"What metal? Are you guys cracked?"

"The goddamned metal—" Frohike closed his mouth with a snap and leaned forward to peer in the house. The tartan beast was still there, but the place had been cleaned. He deflated some. "Weirdness," he announced to no one in particular.

Mulder smiled politely at the man. "Could we see some ID? I'm sure that would clear things up."

"Hey, I still haven't seen your ID, Mr. FBI Man."

Mulder apologized and produced his credentials. The man ungraciously offered a Washington State driver's license that showed him to be Marcus Andrew Payter. It looked well-worn, and the picture was indisputably that of the man before them. "Well, I guess there's been some kind of mistake," Mulder said lamely.

"No problem," Payter said, all smiles now. "Hey, while you're here?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you heard the good news about Amway?"

**

"You didn't have to stop me, Mulder," Frohike griped. "I was gonna beat it out of him." He turned to J. Wayne and jerked a thumb behind him to indicate Mulder. "That guy just got lucky my chick was there."

J. Wayne fought a laugh, only to lose when Mulder fluttered his hand over his heart. "Lawsy, you men are so violent!"

Frohike almost smiled. "Your slip is showing, baby."

Mulder grinned, then sobered. "Are you sure that was a different guy?"

"Very damned sure, Mulder," Frohike snapped.

Mulder held his hands out in surrender. "I believe you, I believe you. It's just that this is a little…"

"Weird?" J. Wayne supplied.

"Mulder, stop humoring me and just believe me, okay?"

"Is there a difference?" Mulder asked dryly.

"Apparently someone is bored with oral sex," Frohike mused. Mulder shut up.

"Maybe he's a Man In Black," J. Wayne said suddenly.

Frohike and Mulder looked at each other.

"Looking like that?" Frohike sneered.

"Two words, Fro: Morris Fletcher."

Frohike stiffened. "We do not mention that name."

"Who's Morris Fletcher?" J. Wayne asked.

"You remember the Tommy Lee Jones character from Men In Black?"

"Mulder, for fuck's sake."

"Exactly not like him at all," Mulder finished, smirking.

"Oh," said the kid.

"Mulder," Frohike sighed. "Fletcher is a two-bit pig-fucking syphilitic rat of a con man," he explained to J. Wayne, "who just happens to be employed by the government."

"He's got kind of a grudge," Mulder stage-whispered to J. Wayne. "The boys got sucked in by Fletcher a time or two."

Frohike glared. "And you've never been fucked over by him."

Mulder smirked some more. "Not like you boys."

Frohike snorted. "Mulder, I've got some security vid I'll have to show to you someday. You ever wonder where you got that waterbed you're so proud of?"

J. Wayne blinked.

Mulder swallowed. "Let's go see WETIIS."

J. Wayne blinked again. "Wheaties?"

Frohike shook his head. "Washington Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence Institutes."

**

"I'm not lost," Mulder repeated defensively. "This… just isn't the road I wanted to be on."

"By which you mean, I assume," Frohike said dryly, "that this is the road that gets us lost."

Whatever Mulder was about to say was pre-empted by the sudden splat of purplish goo on the windshield.

"Nice," Frohike muttered. "Damned birds."

Another glob hit the hood of the rental, and then the place was covered in them. Mulder braked carefully, sliding a bit on the smears on the road.

"What the hell?" he asked.

J. Wayne leaned forward to see up through the sunroof, which was fortunately closed. "It's, uh—"

The splatter got worse, the accompanying noise drowning out conversation briefly. Then it abruptly stopped.

The three men eyed each other.

Frohike cleared his throat uneasily in the unnatural silence. "Waterspout?"

Mulder grinned. "I only want to see you bathing in the purple rain," he warbled.

Frohike sighed and covered his face. "Mulder…" he said warningly.

"I never wanted to be your weekend lover," Mulder continued, badly off key. "I only wanted to be some kind of friend…"

J. Wayne twitched. "I'm going to have a look," he said shortly, fleeing from the car.

Frohike laughed, and Mulder held out a hand to him with great melodrama. "Let me lead you into the purple rain, purple rain…" he sang.

Frohike thumped his head repeatedly on the dashboard.

J. Wayne smeared at part of the windshield with some napkins, and peered at them through the mess. Frohike opened his door. "Okay, what the hell is it?"

Mulder joined them, dipping fingers cautiously into the goo. "Last time I did this, it was bile," he reflected.

"Bile's yellow," J. Wayne pointed out. "This is another one of those stories I don't want to hear, isn't it."

Mulder sniffed carefully. "Well, there was this mutant who constructed cocoons of bile and newspaper… These are elderberries!" he said suddenly.

Frohike stared. "As in, your father smelled of?" he asked.

Mulder shrugged. "Let's get out of here before it starts raining hamsters."

J. Wayne was still working on it. "Why would elderberries be falling out of the sky?"

Mulder grinned faintly. "Waterspout?"

He handed the napkins to Mulder. "Ms. Loy did say it was going to rain today."

"So she did," Frohike sighed, scraping off his shoes. "Elderberries."

Mulder got back into the car and started the windshield wipers. "Hand me the map."

**

Jimmy came to a stop behind a car on the side of the road, whose two occupants, both women, appeared to be poring over a map spread on the hood. Langly took out his earphones and turned to Jimmy.

"What is it this time?"

Jimmy shrugged, opening his door. "They look like they need help."

"Since when are we roadside services?"

Byers put a hand on his shoulder. "We can probably stand to stretch our legs anyway. Let's go see what's going on."

"What's going on" turned out to be a search project. The women introduced themselves as Dr. Adrienne Spratt and Julie Craswell of WUHPS—the Washington Unknown Hominid Preservation Society.

"So you're looking for," Byers managed only a tiny sigh, "Bigfoot."

"Sasquatch," Dr. Spratt frowned.

"Sorry, Sasquatch. Any sightings?"

"Quite a lot of them. Roslyn is something of an historical hotspot for Sasquatch. But this has been an extraordinary week. Seventeen visual confirmations, six sets of tracks, and a number of reports of Sasquatch stealing things."

"Stealing things?" Byers questioned.

Craswell consulted a notebook. "Food, shovels, clothing items, a garden gnome, and rope. Also a car, but that seems unlikely. It was driven, not carried, away. We suspect the man's son."

The Gunmen nodded.

"Also, four missing cats and a poodle, which people believe were eaten. At least one of the missing animals, the poodle, is definitely dead, some kind of attack."

Langly looked queasy. "Yuck."

Byers shook himself out of his thoughts and smiled at the women. "You said we're near Roslyn? Is there anywhere to eat there?"

"It is about lunchtime," Craswell commented to Spratt, folding up the map.

Spratt nodded, eyeing Langly. "Follow us. You can tell us… about yourselves."

**

The women seemed intrigued to meet fellow members of the counterculture press.

"Conspiracies?" Craswell asked. "From the name, I assumed?"

Langly nodded, from his seat between Byers and Jimmy. He hadn't liked Spratt's cooing invitation to call her Adrienne. He liked even less that she was trying to play footsie with him under the table, and not just because she was wearing hiking boots. "JFK, Paperclip, fluoride, that kind of thing. Public service stuff."

Adrienne nodded, hanging on his every word. "Like us, really. The people need to know, to break out of their narrow little worlds defined by what they think they know."

Lunch came, and they discussed the Patterson film, "Of course it's not real, and only an idiot would believe it," according to Spratt, and the Zapruder footage, sharing their expertise.

The door slammed open and a man dashed up to them. "You're that Bigfoot woman, right?" he demanded breathlessly.

Spratt nodded. "I suppose you could say that."

"He kidnapped Clara!" the man wailed.

"Clara?" Byers murmured.

"My goat," the man clarified.

"Bigfoot's gonna eat your goat?" Jimmy was horrified.

"You take that back! Clara's not some eatin' goat!"

Jimmy blinked.

Langly stared at Byers, mouthing the word "Yuck."

Craswell made room and pulled out her notebook. "Tell us what you know."

**

Jimmy insisted they save Clara from a Fate Worse Than Dinner, and they followed the man, Bill Miller, to his truck, where the goat was last seen being kidnapped by a large hairy hominid.

Jimmy jumped up on the bed of the truck to look for clues.

"She weren't there. She were in the cab, with me. He took her outta the front seat."

Byers carefully didn't look at him. "Why would you have a goat in the front of the truck with you?"

Langly grabbed his arm. "We don't want to know, Johnny."

Byers blushed faintly. "Which way did the, ah, Sasquatch go?"

The man pointed. "That way."

Spratt issued orders. "You go with Julie," she told Jimmy and Byers. "You come with me," she said to Langly.

Langly swallowed. "Can't I go with them? They might need me?"

"I need you with me." The woman ran her eyes over him again. "If you see anything, stop where you are. Julie will message me. We'll get pictures if we can, then close off the area and take trace. Let's head out, people," she said, hanging onto Langly's arm.

"There!" Langly shouted, before they even separated. Byers was suspicious of the timing, but sure enough, there was something hairy out in the woods at the edge of the lot. The thing seemed to be hunched over something on the ground, and Byers just hoped it wasn't the missing goat.

Spratt dropped Langly's arm and ran forward, moving silently. Craswell followed, both women checking their cameras.

As they got to the woods, they moved carefully and quietly, trying less to be heard than seen. Langly screeched, sliding on something, and wound up sprawled in a little clearing, with his face in some dead animal. He spat out a mouthful of bloody fur and started retching heavily between screams.

The thing leaning over him seemed mesmerized. It crouched, claws out, huge fox-like face frozen. The long tongue flicked occasionally over the collection of sharp teeth, as if it were tasting Langly's scent in the air. One blood red eye rolled forward to focus on the rest of them.

"Holy cow," Jimmy said.

"My God," Byers breathed, fumbling with his little camera, handing it to Jimmy. "It's a chupacabra."

Spratt turned to Miller. "Is that Clara? The body?"

"Nope," he swallowed heavily. "Ain't her. Looks to be a possum. You don't mind, I'll just be going now."

Byers hissed. "Don't move. Don't give it any reason to chase you."

Langly had stopped screaming, in fact had fainted. Byers moved slowly forward, watching the thing closely. He grabbed Langly's leg and shook. Langly woke up, looked up, screamed, and fainted again. The thing let out a noise suspiciously like a sigh, turned around and scuttled off.

Byers echoed that sentiment as he pulled Langly up and roused him, then held his shoulder while he barfed up everything he'd ever eaten.

"Did you get a picture?" he asked Jimmy over the disgusting sounds.

"Uh, I dunno. How do you tell?"

Byers took the camera back and played with it a bit. "Some nice shots of your finger here, Jimmy. Good work," he sighed again. "Adrienne?"

"What?" she asked.

"How did your pictures come out?"

She looked at him blankly. "I didn't take any."

Even Langly looked up at that. "Why not?" Byers asked carefully.

"It obviously wasn't Sasquatch," she said, as though it were the most reasonable thing in the world.

"Where's Bill?" Craswell asked suddenly, preempting what promised to be a memorable explosion from Byers.

"Over here!" he hollered. "I found Clara!"

They waited till Langly could stand, and followed the sound of the bleats. They all stared.

"Why," Jimmy asked, puzzled, "would Bigfoot put makeup on a goat?"

Miller looked uncomfortable. "Bigfoot din't do that."

They looked from him to the goat and back.

Langly cleared his throat. "You gotta get out more, man."

**

"What the hell was that?" Frohike demanded.

Another thump on the roof of the car. And another, and now it was raining peaches, of all things.

Mulder braked, and the three men sat there, waiting. One cracked the windshield, drawing a sigh from Mulder. Eventually it stopped.

Mulder glanced at Frohike. "I told you we needed insurance."

Frohike glared back. "No songs? What's the matter, you don't like Ludacris?"

Mulder snickered a bit. "I didn't know you knew about Ludacris. You could sing this time, Fro."

J. Wayne opened his door at some speed. "I'll look."

Frohike almost smiled. "I think I've been insulted. Why the fuck are peaches falling from the sky, Mulder?"

"It's not like they don't grow on trees."

Frohike pointedly looked around. "I don't see an orchard, do you?" He got out and stood carefully in the mush, staring up. A flash in the corner of his eye and a final peach hit the roof of the car and ricocheted, smacking J. Wayne in the forehead. J. Wayne went over backward, hitting the ground with a splash.

"What the—? Mulder!" Frohike scrambled to get to him, narrowly averting a sprawl of his own. "You okay, kiddo?" he asked, crouching.

J. Wayne blinked up at him, a red, wet splotch on his forehead. "Mel?" he asked faintly.

"Yeah. Shit." He shook the kid's shoulder. "You okay? C'mon, get up. You're a mess."

Mulder grabbed J. Wayne by the other shoulder and they dragged him back into the car.

"What happened?" Mulder wanted to know.

"I guess one bounced off the car and nailed him. How do you feel?"

J. Wayne considered the question. "Squelchy," he sighed. He winced when Mulder wiped at his forehead.

"That's gonna leave a mark," Frohike commented.

Mulder stood up and let out a sigh of his own. "That's it. Call the Space Cayces and tell them we'll see them after lunch. Let's get back to the hotel and clean up."

"And get a new car," Frohike commented, scraping at his shoes again.

"Right. And get a new car. This one smells."

**

Thump!

Crash!

The back windshield shattered, sending glass fragments all over them. Something glanced off the back of J. Wayne's neck, waking him up. Mulder had been watching him doze in the rearview mirror as he wrapped up his call to WETIIS, Frohike having insisted on driving.

"Next time," Frohike said through gritted teeth, as they brushed at it, "we will get the insurance."

"At least there was only one of them," Mulder observed with what Frohike felt was unnecessary optimism.

J. Wayne picked it up and stared dazedly at it.

Frohike's look could have boiled it in its husk. "Pineapples don't just fall from the damned sky," he said firmly.

"Why not?"

"They're heavy, for one thing."

"Interestingly, that was going to be my first argument, too. If they weren't heavy, they wouldn't fall. They'd be little stupid-looking clouds."

**

"Hey Scully, how's your vacation?"

"Pretty good," she said, somewhat warily. "I'm getting through all those journals I keep putting aside for later."

"You should have stayed in quarantine with me," Mulder snickered. "You could have done a lot of catching up."

"Mulder, I've spent enough time in quarantine with you to know that it's anything but conducive to concentration. I also know you didn't call to hear about potassium levels in advanced phenylketonurics. What do you want."

"You're so mistrustful. I'd be fascinated to hear anything you had to say about whatever you just said."

Scully made an indelicate noise. "What do you want, Mulder. I'm busy."

"Well," Mulder tried to ease into it. "I was wondering if you'd like a vacation to Seattle. They've got a great art museum."

Scully was silent for way too long. Finally she said, "Okay, you've been there less than a day. Do I even want to know what's happened in that short a time?"

"Well, we—"

She cut him off. "No, let me rephrase that. I don't want to know what's happened in that short a time. Goodbye, Mulder. Have a lovely time."

"We've got physical evidence," he said desperately. The woman wasn't bluffing about hanging up, he knew from experience.

"Mulder, if this is about a bunch of photocopies of blurry pictures of atypical cloud formations—"

He ignored the pictures thing for the moment. "I've got DNA samples."

"I'm sure you do, Mulder."

"From a mutated clam," he explained.

"A mutated clam," she repeated without joy. "Send me your samples, Mulder. I'll take a look at them when I get back from vacation."

"Uh, no," he said carefully. This wasn't going to be easy. "You'd have to look at them right away."

"Why?" she asked suspiciously.

"Well, they're live crabs."

She was silent again. "Scully? You there?"

"Live crabs," she repeated. "I thought you said it was a mutant clam."

"Well, the crabs ate the clam."

"Mulder, is there some reason you felt that feeding a specimen to crabs was a necessary step for analysis?"

"It wasn't deliberate. The clam was in the bathtub, and apparently sometime yesterday the crabs ate it."

"Goodbye, Mulder."

"Look, Scully. I've got some samples of some stuff I'd really like you to look at."

"Live crabs."

"Some other things, too."

"Other things, Mulder? What kind of things?"

Mulder didn't really want to get into it on the phone. "Well, we have a pineapple."

"You called to tell me you went produce shopping?"

"It fell on our car. Along with peaches and elderberries."

"Try to be more careful where you park, Mulder."

She hung up.

Mulder tried not to listen to Mel's snickers.

**

A familiar blue van was parked at the hotel when they got back. As Mulder helped Frohike decant a still-glassy J. Wayne from the back seat of what was now a very ripe-smelling car, the side door slid open and Jimmy loped across the pavement, followed by the other Gunmen.

Jimmy stopped, staring at J. Wayne. "Whoa! Another mouse!"

Frohike blinked. "What the hell are you talking about?" he growled. Abruptly it occurred to him. He jerked a peremptory thumb at Mulder. "Help him get the kid inside, okay?" Then he walked over to Byers and Langly.

Langly, who was wearing sunglasses.

"What's with the shades, partner?" he asked in a low voice.

Langly took them off to reveal a puffy bruise.

"What the hell happened?" Mel demanded, looking from one to the other. "You guys have a fight? Or did Bigfoot take a jab at you?"

Byers smiled, but there wasn't a lot of humor in it. "Nothing so conventional. A, uh, someone in a Mickey Mouse costume, in Montana."

Frohike gave Langly a hard look. "You got into a fight with Mickey Mouse?"

Langly turned pink. "It wasn't much of a fight."

Frohike sighed. "I'm going to want to hear the rest of this story later. Right now, we need to get cleaned up."

Byers blinked. "I wasn't going to mention it, but…"

"Peaches," Mel told him shortly, headed for his room.

"Peaches?"

"Yeah." He sighed again. "Honest-to-goodness Fortean peaches. Falling from the sky. One clunked J. Wayne in the forehead."

"That's… interesting," Byers said oddly.

"You got glass on you," Langly noted. "Window broke?"

"That," Frohike said heavily, "was the pineapple."

Mulder and Jimmy had stopped, J. Wayne swaying between them, and were gazing at a small patch of grass by the stairs. The three Gunmen joined them.

"It's a crop circle," Langly said in awe. "A really small crop circle."

"Technically," Byers observed, "it's a lawn circle."

Frohike knelt and inspected the grass. "More of a moss circle, really."

Jimmy gazed at it, and when he opened his mouth, Langly and Frohike both cringed. "So, like," he said slowly, "these are really tiny aliens?"

Mulder sighed. "Probably not. I think this is a residual effect." He immediately corrected himself. "Just a kind of leftover energy," he explained. "Paranormal phenomena," he glanced at Jimmy again and started over. "It's pretty common to get ghost sightings and poltergeists and that sort of thing in an area of high UFO activity."

"Oh." Jimmy thought about it. "The ghosts of tiny aliens?"

Mulder sighed again. "Sure, if that makes you happy."

Frohike snorted. "Mulder, get the kid inside. I'll get some pictures of this. Byers, you can take some readings, and then we'll measure it. Langly, find us the—" he looked down at the circle and judged its size. "Christ, I dunno. A quarter, or something, for scale."

Mulder snickered. "Let's go with the ruler on that, Fro. It's not that small."

Frohike gave him a fast grin. "I get nervous when you start pulling out rulers, Mulder."

Langly snickered. "Yeah, we heard."

Frohike sighed. "Remind me to give you the number for the line we don't record, okay, Mulder?"

It was Byers' turn to sigh. "Just get the camera."

**

Mel stopped in the bathroom to clean up and made the mistake of looking at the bathtub. He was still there some time later when the door opened.

"Hey, did they eat you?" came Mulder's unaccountably cheerful question.

Frohike pulled his eyes away from the tub. "Mulder?" he said in a strained voice.

"What?"

"Call the manager and tell her we want our pet deposit back."

"Did they escape?"

"They had help," Frohike told him wearily.

There was silence, and then Mulder appeared in the doorway. A brief glance at Frohike's bare chest and he too was staring at the tub. "What the fuck?"

"Did I ever tell you how much I hate this state," Frohike offered in leaden tones.

Mulder leaned over and picked a purple crab out. He held it up and examined it from various angles. "Our friends in dark glasses, you figure?"

"I'd rather assume it was the maid. I can't even imagine the MIB Origami Crab Folding Department."

Mulder snorted. "Your tax dollars at work."

Frohike turned, raising his eyebrows. "Do you know something you're not sharing?"

Mulder shrugged. "Okay, somebody's tax dollars at work." He thought about it. "Probably, anyway."

"Origami crabs," Frohike said conversationally.

Mulder pulled the crab apart and nudged Frohike. "Look, it's got something written in here."

Frohike looked. "This moment of surreality brought to you by the letter B."

"Four thousand, two hundred, and ninety-two bees…" Mulder repeated. "You want to count?"

Mel shook his head. "I'm just grateful they aren't real bees."

"Shame, though."

"What is?"

"I was getting used to sharing a shower with J. Wayne."

**

"How's the kid?"

"Sleeping it off," Mulder chuckled.

Frohike raised an eyebrow. "Sleeping what off, Mulder?"

"He's in no condition for anything… athletic."

"I guess not. He okay?"

"He's not concussed, if that's what you're asking. Just bruised and… weirded out. It hit him pretty hard, but at least it wasn't a direct hit."

"I wonder what the airspeed velocity of a peach is."

"African or European?"

Frohike ignored it. "I guess we can be grateful it wasn't a green peach."

"True. If the pineapple'd hit him any harder, we'd be trying to come up with something dignified for his headstone right now."

Frohike glared. "Not funny."

Mulder pitched himself onto the bed. "I suppose not. If you want, we can tell him he's concussed."

Frohike looked at him oddly. "Why would we do that?"

The agent shrugged eloquently. "Make him sleep with us, so we can wake him up every hour."

Mel actually smiled at that. "He's definitely in no condition for it once an hour, Mulder."

"Shame."

Frohike thought everything over, listening to Mulder crunching on a Starlite mint. He glanced up, stuck by something. "You know what's strange?" he said.

"Define 'strange' in this context," Mulder snickered, swallowing.

"There weren't any mints yesterday. Or the day before. I don't think I've ever seen mints in a Motel Six, come to think of it."

Mulder froze, staring at him. "You think it's a big deal?"

"Considering our new paper friends, it concerns me a little, yeah."

Mulder relaxed slowly. "You're just being paranoid. There were a couple in J. Wayne's room, too. They must have just changed the policy."

Mel stood up. "All the same, I'm gonna check on the boys. What'd you do with the ones in the kid's room?"

"Left 'em. I think you're just being paranoid."

Mel shook his head. "You're probably right, but all the same…"

Frohike confiscated the mints from the sleeping J. Wayne and went on to the next room. Langly and Jimmy had already eaten the two in there. He handed Byers the two from the kid's room and instructed him to take a look at them, see what he could find out. Byers shrugged and headed out to the van.

Langly, bored and restless, followed Fro back to his room. "So what's going on?"

Frohike opened the door and stood in the doorway, staring. Mulder was sprawled on the bed, naked except for his glasses and one of Frohike's socks, which he'd used to adorn his penis, much of it flagging limply off the tip.

The agent was giggling and singing.

Frohike tried to make out the words, and then wished he hadn't.

"…Here is my handle, and here is my spout!…"

Langly stared over Frohike's shoulder. "Uh." He glanced at the expression on Mel's face, but his gaze was pulled back to the bed. "Is he always like this?"

Frohike sighed, yanking Langly into the room and slamming the door. "No. Well, not usually. I think the mints were drugged." He regarded Mulder a moment longer. "I hope so, anyhow."

"I had one!" Langly started hyperventilating.

Frohike ignored him and went to the bed, pulling Mulder half-upright to peer into his eyes.

"Cutie-Pie!" Mulder giggled.

Mel shook his head. "Forget it, buddy. I don't think you're feeling well."

Mulder landed a wet, open-mouthed kiss on Mel's left ear. "I feel great!" He tried to leer. "But you feel even better!"

Mel turned back to Langly. "You okay? Nothing weird?"

Mulder kept giggling. "I bet he feels great too!"

Langly cleared his throat. "I'm okay. I'll be right back."

The leer dissolved into a sulk. "Where's Blondie going?" Mulder whined.

Langly's eyes bulged briefly. "To get a camera," he announced, and slammed the door again.

Mel's attempts to reclaim his sock were misinterpreted by a laughing Mulder, so he gave up. He managed to get Mulder partly wrapped in the blankets, more to confine him than cover him. It wasn't like Mulder was big on modesty. "Just stay still, Mulder." He hoped whatever it was was going to wear off soon.

The door banged back open and Langly re-entered, followed by Byers, who was carefully looking at the ceiling. "What's wrong?"

"It's okay, Byers. He's covered."

Byers blushed slightly. "What's wrong with him?"

"The mints," Frohike sighed. "Just relax, Mulder." He leaned a little harder on the agent. "I think he's drugged," he told Byers.

"He sure looks fucking stoned," Langly contributed. "But I feel okay. It can't be the mints, man."

Byers moved forward. "Can you get him to hold still? I want to check his eyes."

"Yeah, I'll try. Langly, I could use some help here."

Langly shook his head. "I'm not gettin' anywhere near him."

Byers did what he could and shrugged helplessly at Frohike. "Physically, he seems fine. His pupils are normal, his pulse is okay, he's not flushed or fevered. I don't know what to tell you."

"Mulder, less giggling. We're trying to talk here."

Byers half-smiled. "Langly, please."

The younger man gave in with poor grace and Byers pulled Frohike away into the bathroom, lowering his voice. "Ah, listen, Mel. We could take a blood sample, even get him to a hospital. But are you sure he's not…"

Mel cocked his head. "Not what, Byers? A shapeshifter?"

Byers' eyes widened. "No. I wasn't even thinking that. Uh, do you know what Oz Factor is?"

"Like, we're not in Kansas anymore?"

Byers glanced anxiously at the door, perhaps aware he'd left his lover alone with a potential alien clone. "It's just that—sometimes people behave oddly after… encounters. Ri's fine, so it can't have been the mints. Maybe it's just… fatigue? From everything that's happened today? Or, ah, not enough sleep?"

Frohike glared and then sighed. "I guess. Langly's okay, yeah. Did you get a look at the mints?"

"Not yet." A thought occurred to him. "I'll go check on Jimmy. And then we can get a blood sample from Mulder. Mel?"

"Yeah?" Frohike was distracted.

"Why are there origami crabs all over the floor?"

He shook his head. "Because I needed to use the shower. Go check Jimmy."

"You guys better get out here!" Langly hollered.

They pulled a Keystone Kops routine in the doorway to discover Langly, a panicked expression on his face, partly covered by Mulder, who had gotten free of most of the blanket and the sock.

"Fucking hurry!" Langly yelped as Mulder nuzzled at his neck. "I think he wants to marry me!"

The two of them tried to pull Mulder off Langly, who squeaked in surprise.

"What?" Mel demanded.

"He's, uh—" Langly went bright red. "He's got hold of me. You know? He's got me?" He looked from one to the other to see if they were getting the message.

Byers coughed, embarrassed, and Frohike stifled a bark of laughter.

"Okay, okay, hold still." Frohike tried stroking Mulder's hair, but it only made the agent more eager to reciprocate.

"Johnny!" Langly whimpered. "Make him stop! Please! Make him stop!"

There was nothing else for it. Mel took a deep breath and gently tried to pry Mulder's hand free.

"Watch what you're grabbin', there, Doohickey!" Langly snapped.

"Do you want me to get him off you or not? Shut up and let me work!"

The adjoining door opened and J. Wayne staggered in, rubbing at his eyes. "What's all the noise?" he asked in a pained voice. He stared at them, eyes going wide. "Uh, sorry." He backed into his room and shut the door with more force than was necessary, falling against it on the other side. Langly's glare would have roasted chestnuts.

"Do something, Johnny!"

Byers nodded. "I'll get the first aid kit." He headed out the door.

"Johnny!" he wailed.

"Hold still, I almost got him."

"You got me, dammit! Let go!"

"Mulder!" Frohike snarled, totally exasperated. The agent let go suddenly, collapsing back into the blankets in fits of giggles. "Jesus Christ."

Langly bolted for the other side of the room where he hunched against the wall. "Fuck, man, is he always like that?"

Mel could only shake his head.

Byers came back, followed by Jimmy.

Langly glared some more. "Great, John, bring Jimmy. That's just what I need, a bigger audience."

Byers blushed, but there was a suspicious quirk to his lips. He suppressed it. "We should probably get a blood sample before we sedate him."

Mel shook his head again, getting his breath back. "Skip it. Get a sample, yeah. But I don't want to give him anything with whatever's already in his system. It's too dangerous, and he's harmless."

Langly objected profanely.

Mel interrupted. "Look, you three go see the Cayces, okay? I'll stay here with them. Go see what you can find out. I'll call if anything happens."

Byers didn't look happy with the solution. "Maybe he should see a doctor. Maybe J. Wayne should, too."

Mel snorted. "Maybe Langly should, too. Look, don't worry about it. J. Wayne's okay, and Mulder doesn't need the paper trail. I'll call if there's a problem."

Mulder started singing again. "I don't need any ugly sweaters and I don't play much basketball!"

Byers raised an eyebrow. "I'd feel better if we left Jimmy here with you, just in case."

"Go on, Byers. I can handle it. He's not going to hurt me." Mel narrowed his eyes. "It's him, you saw the blood yourself."

Byers nodded thoughtfully.

"I want a little green guy about three feet high, with seventeen eyes who knows how to fly! I want an alien for Christmas this year!"

Frohike gazed at Langly. "What the hell is this?"

Langly shrugged, still maintaining a wary distance. "Fountains of Wayne. 'I want an Alien for Christmas'."

Frohike sighed. "Perfect. He'll be fine, Byers."

Byers smiled ruefully. "All right. Is there anything you want us to ask the Cayces, specifically?"

"Find out anything you can about the Men In Black, okay?"

Still singing: "And I'll take him out for walks when it gets nicer in the spring!"

"Shut up, Mulder." A chorus of three.

**

In contrast to Sela Loy's exotic feline looks and Dottie's ditsy maiden auntie patina, Celestiya Delfine Astrelisa Cayce was the kind of woman who dotted her "i"s with nightshade blossoms.

She zeroed in on Jimmy, practically purring. Byers and Langly exchanged somewhat amused glances. Julian Cayce didn't seem to mind. He ignored it and focused on the questions.

"We've been scrambling all day. We have reports of just about everything you can imagine, and a lot you probably can't. Today we sent out six teams to examine Fortean incidents."

Jimmy opened his mouth to say something, and Celestiya stroked his hand. He shut up, squirming a little.

"Let me guess," Langly said. "Fruit."

Julian looked only mildly surprised. "Seen some of it yourself?"

"Not us, personally," Byers commented. "But Frohike and Mulder. Peaches and pineapples, it seems."

Julian consulted a computer. Celestiya took the opportunity to run a finger along Jimmy's cheek. He tried to edge away.

Julian looked up. "We've also had huckleberries, cherries, duku, and guava."

"Duku?" Langly asked.

"That's a stupid word," Jimmy contributed, grinning. "Duku. Duku."

Celestiya patted his hip. "It's like a yellow grape the size of a golf ball. They fell in a half-acre area in Issaquah."

Jimmy managed to put Langly between him and Celestiya. Byers gave him a brief look and turned back to Julian, who was nodding.

"They caused some damage."

"No vegetables?" Langly asked, watching Byers. "Just fruit?"

Celestiya slithered around behind Langly, making him tense.

"Just fruit." Julian shrugged. "We've also had Bigfoot sightings."

"Bigfoot is a hoax," Byers sighed.

Julian smiled. "You seem less convinced than you used to be, John."

Byers shook his head. "It's been a long trip."

"Speaking of which, where is Mel?"

"He's busy."

Celestiya moved back to Jimmy's side, to his serious discomfort. "So he's along?"

"Yes, of course. What about the MIB?"

Julian groaned. "They're all over, apparently."

"Intimidating witnesses?"

"Yes, of course. We've had reports of them, and we've had previously cooperative witnesses refuse to talk to us." Julian shook his head. "Our investigators have spotted them, but there's been no contact with them."

"What kind of contacts have you seen?" Byers asked.

"CEs One through Four. A lot of abductions reported by our regulars. Not many new ones, though. The MIB have visited a few of them, so it's safe to assume not all of them are reporting." He shook his head. "As far as sightings go, we can't even keep up."

"Saucers?" Langly asked, still nervously watching Celestiya.

"No. Wedges, mostly. Deltas."

Byers tried to look like he was remembering things. "Boomerangs?"

"Yes."

"That's unusual," Byers suggested.

"Not really. We're seeing a lot of them. I think they may be connected with the MIB. Saucer sightings don't usually prompt MIB visits."

"Johnny!" Langly said in a strangled voice. "We gotta go. Remember that thing we have to do?"

Byers stared at him, seeing panic in his eyes again. He relented and glanced at his watch. "You're right. We need to be going." He turned to Julian while Langly scrambled away in a hurry.

"What thing—" Jimmy started, puzzled. "Ouch!"

"I seem to have accidentally stepped on your foot just now, Jimmy. I'll try not to do it again." Langly mugged furiously at him.

"Uh, okay…" Jimmy hesitated.

"We'll call you later," Byers told Julian and Celestiya. "Thank you for the information."

They hurried out. Once in the car, Byers turned to Langly. "What was that about?"

"She put her hand in my jeans, Johnny."

"Oh."

"I thought she liked me," Jimmy commented.

"I don't think she's picky," Langly said heavily.

"She didn't hit on me," Byers pointed out.

"So she's crazy, too."

**

They headed out for dinner, Mulder recovered but a bit wan.

J. Wayne had declined to come, still looking tired and a little dazed. He'd managed to sleep through Mulder's singing and various advances on Fro's body (and a chair, the table, and the bathroom sink). After a couple of hours, Mulder'd wound down and fallen asleep, waking with a headache and no memory.

Frohike had elected not to explain, but Mulder probably wasn't going to be put off forever.

As they ate, they exchanged notes. Frohike insisted on an explanation of the Mickey Mouse incident, Byers wanted to know about the samples. Jimmy explained about the missing goat. (She'd been so relieved to be found she stuck her nose in Langly's crotch and drooled. Langly wasn't amused, and Spratt looked like she wanted to follow suit. They'd departed hastily.)

When Byers and Langly got to the part about the chupacabra, Mulder stared.

"Were you two drunk?"

Langly gave him a dirty look. "Jimmy saw it too."

"Oh, that helps."

Frohike narrated the fruit story for Langly, who explained what the Cayces had said. He described Celestiya's attentions, which were obviously eating at him, the way he glared at Mulder.

"What'd I do?" Mulder demanded.

This seemingly innocent question caused a torrent of snickering and snorting from his tablemates. Langly threw his fork on the table and stood up, shaking his finger at Mulder. "You keep your hands off the joystick!" He stalked away.

Byers stood up. "I'll go talk to him," he said in a suspiciously shaky voice. "You'd better explain, Fro."

There was silence for a few moments. Frohike cleared his throat. "Uh, the mints?"

"There was something weird about them, wasn't there."

"Well, about the ones you ate, I guess. You, uh, hit on Langly."

Mulder stared. "Langly?" he choked out.

"Uh, yeah. Kind of, uh, physically. You know? Physically?"

Mulder went beet red. "I did what?"

"Look, Mulder, you grabbed him, okay?"

"I don't remember that."

Frohike glared briefly at Jimmy, who was snickering. "Well, you did. J. Wayne walked in on it. You were, kinda, naked."

"And singing," Jimmy managed.

Mulder swallowed a few times. "Kinda naked, Fro?"

"You were, uh, wearing one of my socks."

"Wearing?"

"Kinda. Look," he snapped at Jimmy. "Just shut up, okay? It's not funny."

Jimmy stifled giggles. "It was, really."

Frohike sighed, watching Mulder intently. "Yeah, okay. Actually, it was. But you'd better apologize to Langly."

The apology, when they came back, was received with a frosty look. Mulder, trying to make amends, offered to buy Langly a beer.

Langly's response was cool. "Trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me?"

"Rin-go," Byers warned.

Mulder sighed.

Langly relented. "Listen, just don't do it again, okay?"

"Well, well," said a familiar voice. "The gang's all here."

"Josh, Chuck," Byers said without too much surprise. "Pete, isn't it?"

Dodden nodded.

"What do you guys want?" Langly demanded, easily transferring his hostility.

Mulder and Frohike exchanged uncomfortable glances.

Allen yanked a chair towards the table while glaring at the agent. "Turns out somebody owes us dinner."

"A deal's a deal," Frohike protested.

"Checkers, Mel?" Rosenberg was trying not to grin.

"We didn't take the pics," Mel said defensively.

"I didn't think so," Rosenberg smiled. "Somebody dumped them on you?"

Mel gave in, chuckling. "Just passing the favor along."

"What pictures?" Langly asked.

"Uh, don't got 'em." Allen looked sheepish. "We, uh, passed 'em along to Rainbow."

Mulder snorted into his beer. "Tasche?"

"No. Len's not here. Yet," Allen grinned. "We gave 'em to Tuperan."

Mulder looked relieved. "What'd you get for them?"

"None of your business," Allen informed him loftily. "I expected to see Scully tonight."

"She was looking forward to seeing you, too, Allen," Mulder deadpanned. "But she got abducted this morning."

They looked startled. "Grays or Nordics?" Allen demanded.

"Republican Women's Coalition," Mulder said. Everybody relaxed and Mulder snickered. "They're trying to brainwash her."

Allen laughed at that. "They don't stand a chance in hell."

Mel tossed a folder on the table. "Here, a freebie."

They regarded him skeptically. Rosenberg took it carefully and opened it. Eyes screwed closed, he handed them to Dodden.

Dodden took a brief look and passed them to Allen. "Don't get your hopes up. Noctilucent cloud."

Mulder and the Gunmen grinned at each other while Jimmy looked blank.

Allen threw down the stack of photos. "Okay, fine. What the hell is a noctilucent cloud?"

Dodden shrugged apologetically. "A high altitude cloud catching the sun's rays—"

"There's no sun in these pictures!" Allen objected. "The goddamned things are time stamped 21:43."

Dodden sighed. "Look, the earth is round, right? You've got a horizon, and when the sun goes under the horizon, we call that a sunset. But it doesn't actually go anywhere. It's still there, and if the clouds are far enough away from you, or there are hills that raise your horizon, you may not be able to see the sun, but it's still got line-of-ray to the cloud, okay?"

"I'm starting to not like you very much, Pete."

**

After dinner, they headed back to the motel to look at the samples Frohike and J. Wayne had gathered. Langly snatched the digital camera and retreated to the other side of the room to look at it.

Mulder sighed. "I said I was sorry!"

Frohike patted him on the shoulder. "Just let it go, Mulder." He went to the adjoining door and knocked quietly. "J. Wayne?"

After a while, the kid came to the door. He looked rumpled, and his forehead had bruised a nasty yellow. His neck was obviously still sore.

"You okay?"

J. Wayne rubbed his temple. "Yeah, I guess so. Is, uh, did you need something?" He gazed around the room and apparently saw nothing to alarm him.

"We brought you dinner. One of those veggie burger things. You up to talking?"

"Yeah, okay. In a few minutes." He closed the door silently.

Mulder glanced at Frohike. "Did you tell him about the crabs?"

Frohike rolled his eyes. "Somehow, Mulder, it slipped my mind."

Byers grabbed some sample jars and sat down with the microscope and tweezers.

"What the fuck is this?" Langly demanded.

"Alien goo," Frohike said.

Langly shook his head. "That's what you said it was supposed to be, but this doesn't look alien."

Frohike went over and looked. "Goddammit," he said. "This is not what we took pictures of. J. Wayne, get your ass in here!"

The young man came in, looking pale and worried. Frohike snarled at him. "These pictures—Someone screwed with the camera. Look!" He thrust the camera at J. Wayne. "This is not what we found on the beach."

J. Wayne looked closely. "No, it's not. These pictures are of—"

"Strawberry ice cream," said Byers, looking up and focusing at them with rapid blinks. "Right? Just like these samples."

"What!" It could've been any one of them—or all of them. Mulder thumped his head against the wall behind him, and Langly sat up abruptly. J. Wayne nodded, still staring at the pictures. Frohike slapped his forehead. And Jimmy started laughing.

"Well, that's weird," he said.

Mulder glared. "You guys brought Marilyn Vos Savant here, you can explain it to him. I need a drink."

"Settle down, Mulder," Frohike said flatly. "Byers? You wanna explain?"

Byers glanced at Mulder. "Ah, sure. There was a famous story, well, it was a film, about an alien—"

Mulder interrupted. "The government was supposed to be holding an alien. The alien was supposed to like certain Earth foods, particularly strawberry ice cream," he recited in an annoyed monotone. "Some idiot made a movie out of this story, which was totally untrue." He took a deep breath. "Somebody dubbed the whole incident the Strawberry Ice Cream Show, and now UFOlogists use the phrase to make fun of people who believe stupid things."

Jimmy nodded, forehead wrinkled. "So somebody…"

"Broke in and replaced our alien samples with melted strawberry ice cream," finished Frohike. "Somebody with a nasty sense of humor. The same somebodies who replaced the crabs in the bathtub with paper ones. And the same somebodies who left the mints."

Langly nodded. "The Men In Black."

"It's a good bet, yeah. So all we have left is the metal and the original pictures."

Byers looked appalled. "I hope this room isn't bugged."

Frohike sighed. "It doesn't seem to matter. These guys have been four steps ahead of us the whole time."

They sat like that for a while, breaking out of various reveries only when the phone rang.

"Mr. Frohike," came the familiar voice. "It's Sela Loy."

He gazed at J. Wayne. "Yes, Ms. Loy?"

"I have a tip for you, but you'll have to hurry."

**

"Scully, I need you."

"I'm not falling for that one again, Mulder."

"No, seriously, just listen. I'm standing in a Wal-Mart in the middle of Washington State, where we've just watched four hundred plus oranges spontaneously combust."

There was a moment of silence. "Oranges," she repeated. "What happened to the pineapple?"

"This is different."

"Spontaneous orange combustion."

"Yes." Mulder nodded in his sincerity, but it was wasted on Scully.

She was silent for a much longer moment. "Mulder, you need something, but I don't see why I have to go out there. I can call in a prescription for antipsychotics for you from here."

"Listen, I've got a store full of witnesses."

"Wal-Mart customers."

"It's not like they've got webbed toes or anything."

"Webbed toes are rare. You're telling me your witnesses are a store full of Wal-Mart customers who are shopping barefoot."

"I didn't say that. Anyway, we all saw it. Not just the natives."

He could hear the suspicion down the line. "Are the Three Stooges there with you, Mulder?"

"Yeah…"

"And they saw this happen?"

"Yeah. We all did."

"I can phone in prescriptions for them, too."

"C'mon, Scully, this is serious. A huge pile of oranges has just incinerated itself."

"Mulder, what do you know about compost?"

"Shit."

"Compost, not manure. It can get pretty hot in the middle of a pile of decaying vegetable matter."

"The oranges were fresh."

"In a Wal-Mart?"

Her skepticism gave him pause but he rallied gamely. "Delivered this morning."

"They start to decay the instant they're picked, and orange peels contain volatile oils that could catch on fire under the right circumstances."

"Scully, there isn't so much as a pip left here, but no evidence of flames on the bin or anything else."

"Have a lovely vacation, Mulder," she said, hanging up.

Mulder glanced up at the Gunmen, who were trying very hard not to snicker. "Well, she's not coming," he said.

"You should have told her she was the only person who could save innocent produce from immolation."

"Fuck you, Langly," Mulder retorted good-naturedly.

"Don't even think about it," Frohike advised both of them.

Byers shook his head.

**

"So what'd you bring," Mulder asked, inspecting the VCR back in the hotel room.

"I'm not sure you deserve it after what you tried with Langly."

Mulder twitched. "I… I'm glad I don't remember it," he said at last.

"Well, I guess you've been punished enough," Fro commented. He dug through his bag and tossed a tape at Mulder. "Here. I've been saving it."

"Lust in Space. This is a classic. We should invite the kid over."

"Haven't you had enough of that today?"

"Well, he's no Langly, but…" Mulder grinned. "Hey, did you explain…?"

"Yeah. I'm not sure he believed it."

"There's something already in here," Mulder frowned. He hit eject. "Fuckaroo Bonzai. Is this yours?"

"Nope. Maybe it's J. Wayne's."

"He's got excellent taste. Now this is a classic."

"Claymation doesn't do it for me."

"You have to see this." Mulder pushed it back in.

The tape started.

"That's not right." Mulder stood back. "Weird."

"Elvis impersonators?" Frohike asked.

"Not very good ones, either. They're lip-synching."

"They're also Korean girls, Mulder."

Mulder looked closer. "You're right. Maybe Cambodian."

"Korean," Frohike nodded. "Lip-synching. 'Clambake', of course."

"They're a half-second behind."

"Of course they are. This is just weird."

"Maybe it's the MIB again."

"MIB Elvis impersonators?"

"No, no. Maybe the MIB left the tape."

Frohike thought about it. "I guess that makes sense. Unless J. Wayne is into a very weird scene."

The girls hit their stride on the chorus. "Mama's little baby loves clambake, clambake…" The lead singer waggled her hips. "Mama's little baby loves clambake too!"

The crowd cheered themselves hoarse. The film zoomed in on one of the speakers, which said, in flowery print, "Suspicious Mimes".

"That's about perfect," Frohike said, rolling over. "I give up."

"I've got this feeling to be free!"

"Shut up, Mulder."

**

*Next Up: Caffeine, Conspiracies, and the Fortean Nature of Fishes XI: Killer Korn from Outer Space: In which everyone has a lot more fun with crop glyphs than Mel Gibson ever did, and the author has a lot more fun with several fine Seattle institutions than is narratively justifiable, while Pete continues to suck the fun out of some sightings.*

Harpy hdsidhe@gmail.com Handmaiden of the Goddess of Irony

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