Alex, understanding perfectly about the importance of security, rolled off
him. "I'll help. What are we looking for? Bugs? Explosives? Hidden
cameras? By the way, if it's bugs or cameras, can I have copies of what we
do? I can get Mulder so hot his zipper will melt."
Scott peered cautiously under his bed. "It's more along the lines of road
kill."
"What?"
Scott gingerly tweezed the top sheet of the bed between thumb and forefinger
and lifted it, squinting in anticipation. All he uncovered was a pair of
underwear. "Hey, and I thought I was out of clean skivvies." He picked
them up, looked at them, took a sniff, thought, then shrugged, and dropped
them in a dresser drawer. "Flat cats, skunk pancakes, armadillo pate'."
"You find these on a regular basis?"
"It's better than the horse apples." Scott checked each drawer. "Aw, SHIT!
Look at what that little..." He paused, looking closer. "No, that's the
left over pizza from last Tuesday." He reached in and broke off a bit of
crust, munching it. When he saw Alex's look he said, "Don't give me that.
The dry desert air preserves it."
"I didn't say anything. Considering some of the things I had to eat during
survival training with my real employers, week old pizza is a delicacy."
Scott went to his closet. "Check the bathroom, huh? And be DAMN sure you
look at the toilet seat before you sit down. Dad's always talking about how
he had his scrotum shaved when he was fifteen. I bet he wished he'd kept it
up after Mini Me pulled that stunt with the super glue on his seat."
"So I'm just looking for booby traps?" Alex went into the attached
bathroom. He carefully checked the toilet, medicine cabinet, and shower.
Alex also checked out the reading material in the magazine rack beside the
toilet. Hm. Playboy AND Manbeat. He tried to rifle the pages, and
smiled. And stuck together pages in both. That's my Scott. There was a
yell from the bedroom, and he bolted out, gun in hand. Scott was holding a
pair of Doc Martins, a disgusted look on his face. "What is it?" Silently
Scott upended the shoes. Unidentifiable lumps pattered to the floor, in a
rain of what looked like fine gravel. "What the fuck?"
Scott gritted his teeth. "I knew Mini Me was up to something when he
volunteered to clean Mr. Bigglesworth's litter box."
"Oh, man!" Alex sniffed, then wrinkled his nose.
"Yeah. I tried to tell Dad he should put him on a special Science Diet
formula food, the one with chlorophyll. Not only would his shit stink less,
but it would make sure he didn't have bladder problems, which would stop him
peeing on Dad's chair in the conference room. You'd think THAT would
persuade him, but NOOOO..."
"You mean to tell me that someone put cat shit in your Doc Martins?"
"Not just them, man. My Nikes, my Reeboks... Damn, he even made little
piles on my sandals."
Alex peered into the closet. "Thorough bastard."
Scott sighed. "Well, it could be worse, I guess. At least I looked before
I stuck my foot into anything. I can just close the closet door for now."
He did.
Scott rubbed his face. "The mood is kinda spoiled. Want to hit the kitchen?
Mom makes a killer strudel."
"I could eat." He grabbed Scott's butt.
Scott snickered, slapping at his hands. "Later. C'mon, I know there's
beer."
They left the room, and Krycek said, "Just a moment." He unwrapped a stick
of gum and chewed it briefly, then removed it from his mouth and stretched
it out.
Scott watched, interested. "My mom never let me do that. She said it was
gross, but I always thought it was kind cool."
"It's useful, anyway." Alex bent down and plastered the main blob on the
doorframe, and the second blob on the door, attached by a gooey string.
"Okay."
"What kind didya use?"
Alex bent forward and made a kissing motion. "Guess."
Scott happily gave him a very sloppy, intrusive kiss, then stood back,
smacking his lips thoughtfully. "Juicyfruit."
"How terribly politically incorrect of you, my dear. Though I can't argue
with you about the juicy part, I certainly don't think of myself as a fruit.
Speaking of which, what type of strudel did your Mom make?"
"Dunno. Let's go find out."
They made their way to the kitchen, and stopped just inside the door.
"Scott, what the hell is a plaid walrus doing in your kitchen?"
"Fat Bastard!" Scott yelled.
The floor shook as the behemoth in front of the refrigerator turned. There
was a roast chicken in each hand and probably a third in his mouth. "Wha'?"
"Son of a bitch!" Scott surveyed the kitchen. There were opened boxes and
cans and empty bowls, plates, and platters on every flat surface.
Fat Bastard belched. "Eh, Scotty boy. Ya got tha name right tha firs' time.
It's Bastard. Now," he ripped half of the chicken off and chewed
thoughtfully. "While some maht argue that a son o' a bitch WAS a bastard,
technically..."
"Shove it!"
Fat Bastard chuckled. "Now laddie, while ah'm all for food play, ah dunna
think that a chicken would be..." He trailed off, eyeing the chicken in his
right hand. "Weel, ah suppose if ye used plenty o' butter an' mebbe tied th'
wings..."
"Don't you DARE finish that thought! Have you left ANYTHING?"
Fat Bastard scratched his head with a chicken. "Weel, I dunno. I MAY have
missed summat."
"Not from lack of trying," Alex said, looking at the destruction.
The rest of the chickens disappeared as Fat Bastard stared at Alex. "An'
who's this likely lad?"
"My friend, Alex. Get your eyes off him," Scott said shortly.
"Now Scott. He's disgusting, but there's no reason to be so short with
him."
"You don't understand, Alex. He'll eat you."
Alex gave Fat Bastard a queasy look. "Not in this lifetime."
"No, you don't understand. He'll EAT you. With mint sauce."
"Ah resent that!" Fat Bastard said indignantly. "Besides, mint sauce is for
spring, an' it's autumn. Now, CRANBERRY SAUCE..."
"Scott, there's a pan of strudel on that counter under that empty Cheetos
bag. Get it and back out behind me, very slowly."
As Scott obeyed Fat Bastard spluttered. "Now, laddies, no need to be so
suspicious." He burped. The walls trembled briefly. "See? Ahm quite full.
Uh, wouldya mind puttin' that strudel back?" Fat Bastard started to waddle
toward them.
Alex drew his gun. Scott yelled, "For God's sake! You got any idea what
will happen if you puncture him?"
"What?"
"Alex, there are two empty institutional size pinto beans cans on the table!
THINK!"
Alex blanched. "Oh, my Lord!"
"Yeah, that's right. There'll be an explosion to rival White Sands, and the
fall out will be a lot more deadly."
Fat Bastard was still advancing. He crooned, "Scott, I allus liked you, ya
pretty little girly boy. C'mere an' I'll show ya a genuine haggis."
Scott made a sound somewhere between a moan and a retch. Alex looked around
desperately for an alternative weapon. He grabbed a can of whipped cream,
flipping the cap off with his thumb as he shook it. "Stand back, or I'll
let you have it."
Fat Bastard wiggled his hands. "Ooo, ahm SO scared!" He ground his hips,
the kilt flapping. "C'mon, sport. Ah have a cream scone big enough for the
both o' yas."
"It reminds me of that Walt Disney movie with the hippos and elephants in
tutus. RUN, SCOTT!" As Scott scampered back down the hall, Alex depressed
the nozzle. A stream of white goop spewed out, burying Fat Bastard's face.
As Alex had anticipated Fat Bastard stopped immediately and began scraping
the fluff off his face, eating it. Alex made his escape.
He caught up with Scott farther up the hall. "Thanks, Alex. I'd rather not
have to kill myself."
"Just remember, Scott. Keep a roll of Lifesavers or a bag of Fritos on you
at all times. Throw food, and you should be able to escape."
They came to Scott's room, and as Scott reached for the door, Alex caught
his hand. "Wait." He pointed down.
Scott squatted and looked. "Hey." There was not strand between the two
blobs of gum.
Alex held his finger to his lips, then leaned his ear against the door.
After a moment he nodded and mouthed, "Wait here." He jerked the door open,
darted in, and slammed the door shut behind him.
There was a blood curdling string of sounds from behind the door: thumps,
crashes, and high pitched yowls. Then the sound of the toilet flushing.
And flushing. And flushing.
"Oh, wow. That does NOT sound good!" Scott whispered.
The door opened. A disheveled Alex stood there, straightening his lapels
and smoothing his hair. "All right. You can come in now."
Scott came in cautiously, peering around. "What happened, dude?"
"Tell me, this Mini Me you told me about, does he look like your Dad after
he'd been left out in the rain, then put in the drier on high?"
"Uh, yeah. That's pretty accurate."
"The little asshole was short sheeting your bed. And he also slipped a dye
disc into your showerhead. Blue. You would have ended up looking like Mel
Gibson in Braveheart."
Scott looked around. "So, where is he?"
Alex crooked a finger, led Scott to the bathroom, and pointed. Scott saw a
pair of size two shoes sticking straight up out of the toilet. They
wiggled. Alex said, "He's stuck. Can't get back out, but I figure if he's
motivated enough he'll be able to crawl through to the main sewer line, then
make his way out."
Alex reached over and flushed the toilet again. Scott could hear high
pitched squeals over the rushing water. He looked at Alex with moist eyes.
"I love you."
"C'mon, sweetheart." Alex put a hand around Scott's shoulders and led him
back to the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. He took the strudel.
"It's apple. You can have all of it. I'll just watch you eat." Scott's
voice was adoring.
Alex took the pan. "That's sweet, kid." He put the pan down on a table and
shook the can of whipped cream. "But..." He pulled Scott's waistband out
and shoved the nozzle under it, squeezing. There was a hiss, and as Scott
squealed Alex said, "But I want to have dessert first."
Randy Newman Had the Right Idea
by Scribe
Scott Evil was giggling madly as Alex Krycek, lying full length on top of
him, licked his neck. Alex was licking his neck while he decided the next
part of Scott that he wanted to taste. Scott suddenly gasped, "Oh, shit! I
forgot to do a sweep! Lemme up, Alex."
