In the Basement of the J. Edgar Hoover Building, and don't EVEN try to fit any of this into a canon timeline...

"Dammit, I wish Scully was here."

Krycek crooked an eyebrow at Mulder. "I thought we were settling in pretty well as partners."

"We're doing okay."

"Judging from what we're doing right now, I'd say we're on more than friendly terms, so why do you want Scully?"

"Scully is a doctor, and she's always prepared for everything. Scully would HAVE lube and condoms."

"Yeah, but she wouldn't be able to fuck you, now would she?" *squeeze*

*groan* "I dunno, I've never seen her naked. Y'know we ran into this really unusual sect of sort of... They weren't exactly Amish, but we finally figured out that their mating habits were even more strange, and..."

"Okay, I can't screw you, but there are other uses you could put your mouth to." *push* *glmmmf* "Muuuuuuch better."

*FLASH* "Yowza!"

*squeak!"

Krycek yelped. "Son of a BITCH! Will you PLEASE not startle him when he's doing that?"

Strife, who had appeared sitting cross-legged on the free desk, giggled. "Hang out a sign, dude." He held up his hands, as if framing something. "BLOWJOB BEING ADMINISTERED BY SKITTISH FEEB. PLEASE KNOCK." Mulder was picking himself up off the floor against the far wall, where he'd flung himself when Strife appeared. Strife fluttered his eyelashes at him. "Fellatious interruptus?"

Krycek was zipping up. "It was damn near an impromptu circumcision, and since I had a PLANNED one shortly after birth, that could have been awkward to say the least." Krycek glanced at Mulder. "Oh, put the gun away. It's just Strife."

Mulder (who didn't have Jim Ellison's seemingly genetic inability to hold onto a gun any time but when cleaning it or at a shooting range) didn't lower his aim. "Krycek, a weird looking guy in leather just appeared out of nowhere..." He frowned. "Interrupting the first sex I've had in ages, I might add, so if he ISN'T an X File, he's STILL a fucking annoyance."

Strife sighed. "Okay, HE'S clueless. Where's tha lil redhead? She can usually whip him inta some semblance of competence."

"I'm partnering Mulder now," said Alex. "Dana is... off doing the FBI equivalent of make-busy work, I think. Consulting on obscure forensics that would baffle most Nobel Prize winners, and have about as much practical significance as the latest issue of People Magazine... No, wait--sometimes People has coupons..."

Strife clapped his hands. "Hey, so, Alex, that means you an' Sulky are currently at tha start of yer Poetic saga, right?"

"This time around."

Mulder was looking back and forth between them. "What the hell are you two talking about?"

Strife sat back in surprise. "You don't know?"

Alex patted Mulder on the shoulder. "Scribe has agreed to let him stay in the dark." His grin was shark like. "Why take the surprise out of a relationship?"

Strife started giggling. Mulder said suspiciously, "What?"

Alex gave Strife a warning look, and the Mischief God waved it away. "He's clueless--he won't get it. Yo, Foxy, I got two songs I want ya ta remembah fah latah." He cleared his throat. "A Foggy Day In London Town, an' Summah Days.**"

Mulder looked puzzled. "London? But I attended Oxford years ago, and the Bureau isn't likely to want to use me on sensitive foreign matters any time soon."

Strife shrugged. "It's tha only song I can come up with about 'fog' right off tha top of my head." He glanced at Alex. "Any idea why she picked fog fah that story instead of rain?**"

Alex shrugged. "She was going on poems instead of songs, the prompt needed a weather condition, and someone had already done rain.**"

"Makes as much sense as anything else she's evah done, I guess. Ya heard what happened, ha?" Both FBI agents shook their heads, so Strife gave them the Reader's Digest Condensed Version. "So I'm tryin ta haul my butt outta tha crack, an' hopefully wedge whoever IS responsible in it."

"Let me get this straight," said Mulder. "You expect me to believe that there are multiple layers of reality--indeed, multiple universes, and that many of them are controlled by rabid fans of television and movies, who manipulate these realities and the lives of those within to satisfy their own often graphically sexual fantasies, displaying them for the pleasure of thousands of other equally twisted readers on the internet--and that one of these people, who has devoted a lot of time and attention to my own sexual exploitation, needs my help?"

Strife nodded. "Pretty much."

"Okay."

Strife grinned at Krycek. "He's so easy."

Alex sighed. "On some things." He returned the grin. "But he's also worth the effort on the other things. We're ready and willing to help."

"Suggestions?" said Strife.

"I'd say we hit the Lone Gunmen first," said Mulder. "They may be able to help. And even if they can't, if I didn't pull them in on something that looks like THIS big a conspiracy..." He trailed off.

"Make yer life miserable?" asked Strife.

"Strife--they're computer geeks. Hello? Credit ratings?"

Strife winced, then smiled. "I knew there was a reason I recruited so many of 'em. Okay, you two go check in with tha Trippy Trio. I'm off ta wrangle more help."

"Where to?" asked Mulder.

Strife cackled. "Somewhere there's enough weirdness ta keep you happy, enough sleaze fah Ratboy here, an' so much mischief all at once that I'm gettin a buzz just thinkin about it." He lifted his hands. "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas my ass!"

*FLASH*

AGAIN?!, 4

Las Vegas Forensic Lab, Night Shift

Greg sighed. "Look, Sarah, I just interpret the DNA and report. It's not my fault if the results don't fit into your concept of possible reality."

The brunette frowned, staring at the sheet of paper the blond lab rat had handed her. "But Greg--a wombat?"

"I'm telling you that the hair you found in the Jello mold is from a wombat--yes. And you're welcome."

Sarah ignored the hint, as usual. "What I don't understand is why you even considered testing for... wombatness."

"Well, I eliminated all the suspects, eliminated humans, eliminated all common domestic animals and readily available furs, then moved on to indigenous animals..."

"Wombats aren't indigenous to Nevada. Do we even have one at the zoo?"

Greg held up a finger as if to illuminate a point. "Ah! There's the interesting thing. They have several, and the vet was recently called to check one of them out, because..." He paused, eyebrows raised.

"I haven't had any caffeine for hours, Greg."

"It turned out that the little critter was suffering from over eating--fruit cocktail. Didn't you say that there were obvious empty spaces in what was left of the Jello mold?" Sarah stared at him. "I didn't say it made any sense, I just said it was interesting."

"But what possessed you to even THINK about wombats?"

"Someone suggested them."

"Grissom?" Greg jerked a thumb over his shoulder, toward the door that led into the hall. Sarah peered in that direction. The door to the teeny office across the hall was open. A plumpish woman with frizzy hair, wearing a T-shirt that was graced by a cat wearing a bandana, Stetson, and cowboy boots, was currently bent over a keyboard, typing away with a look of almost fierce concentration, mixed with near glee. "No. No, you did NOT take the suggestion of a wacked-out computer geek Internet smut writer."

"Please, you're talking about my girlfriend, and Mozell prefers the title 'Smut Goddess', thank you. And she was RIGHT, wasn't she?"

"But how on earth...?"

"She said that she'd dealt with a lot of weird situations in her writing, and in her experience, wombats were sometimes a good bet." He shrugged. "I was getting nowhere, so I figured it couldn't hurt."

Sarah sighed. "Okay, so it's a wombat hair. Now I have to figure out how the hell wombat hair got into a Jello salad at a Shriners' convention, and how it might tie into the death of the trash talk comic they hired to MC the thing."

*FLASH* "Mebbe he was allergic?"

Greg and Sarah both yelped, staring at the slender, leather clad, crazy looking man who was now poking among the test tubes on a nearby table. Greg pointed at him. "Touch those and I'll..." He caught sight of the dagger hanging on Strife's belt. "I'll have Grissom give you SUCH a talking to!"

Strife shrugged. "Threaten me with bein saddled with Sidestep. That'd be almost as effective as threatenin me with havin Gabby tied ta my back fah an extended period."

Sarah frowned. "My name is Si-dle, not... Wait a minute." She squinted suspiciously. "Do you know someone named Mozell McClain?"

"In a manner of speakin. I know wunna her alternates."

"What's...?"

Mozell peeked into the lab. "Oh, m'gawd! Joel Tobeck? I didn't know there was a convention in town."

Strife grinned at her. "Ain't him, kid, though I DO get that in some dimensions."

She clasped her hands, eyes wide with joy. "Strife?"

"One an' only."

"Coooool. I KNEW you'd have to show up here eventually. Too damn much weirdness going on for you not to."

"Wait," said Sarah. "Strife? As in Xena, Warrior Princess?"

Strife shook his head. "Ain't nevah been in Xena. Kinda like ta keep my balls attached, as I'm rathah fond of 'em. All of ya listen up--I'm only gonna explain this once." He pointed at Mozell. "First off, evah considahed tha chance that yer a figment of someone's imagination?"

He talked. When Sarah tried to sidle (I'm sorry, I had to) out, she found her way blocked by what appeared to be a faint shimmer over the door. She noticed that Greg and Mozell were listening closely, nodding occasionally. "You two aren't buying this, are you?"

Mozell shrugged. "Sure. Why not?"

"But it would mean that you aren't real."

"Define 'real'. I look at it this way," she spread a hand over her bosom, looking smug, "I'm someone's fantasy."

"So," said Strife, "I need all tha help I can get in this. Greg, will ya come help look fah clues, and *cough* sorta... comfort Scribe?"

Mozell hugged Greg. "Aw, my honey-bunny gets a chance to save the day--and get some nookie."

Sarah gaped. "Wait a minute! I happen to know what 'comfort' means to you Internet smut readers. You're sending your boyfriend off to have sex with a strange woman?"

"No, I'm sending him off to have sex with another version of myself. Wait--that DOES qualify, since I AM a strange woman." She put her chin on Greg's shoulder and batted her eyelashes at him.

He kissed her. "That you are, and I thank God for every odd little atom of you. Sure, I'll help any way I can."

"Just remember, stud," Mozell warned, "that version of me is feeling sorta achy-breaky right now." She rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Shave before giving oral sex. Whisker burns on the inner thighs are NOT fun."

Sarah groaned. "I really didn't need to know about that."

As Strife and Greg disappeared together, Mozell was telling, "The state of your love life, Side Reaction? I'd think you'd need all the inspiration you could get..."

AGAIN?!, 5

A Nice Manufactured Home in Rural SE Texas

There was the sound of quiet swearing from the back bedroom, then a plaintive voice said, "Inga, quit guilting me, would you? I've told you a dozen times, I CAN'T lift you up on the bed. I only have one functioning arm, and the way you're built, I just can't balance you right now."

*whine*

*sigh* "Fuck it. I'll try one more time. C'mere. Stand up, and put your front paws on the side of the bed." The woman sitting on the side of the bed, left arm held protectively against her body in a sling, bent down, slipped her right hand under the weenie dog's belly, and hefted quickly. *yelp!* *The yelp was NOT of the canine variety*

The dachshund was resting on the mattress next to the woman, who was now clutching her arm, pale faced. The little dog put her front paws up on the woman's leg, stretched up, and licked her face. "You're welcome, Inga. Oh, shit. I left the Vicodan in the bathroom."

*FLASH*

Strife and a companion appeared in the middle of the room. Scribe pointed at the Mischief God. "So help me, Strife, if your sparks set fire to anything in here I'm going to use YOU to smother the flames!" *sigh* "Right. Like I'm up to that right now."

Strife gave her a wary look. "Is that all yer mad at me for right now?"

She waved at him. "Oh, I'm not mad at you--I'm just pissed at the world and Fate in general right now." She pointed to the sling. "Life has been a bit pissy of late."

Strife looked relieved. "Then I don't hafta convince ya that I ain't responsible fah that particular bone snap?"

"What? No, of course not. Not after that incident with my hip. Besides, I can FEEL it when you're involved in one of my little life hiccups, and this one was nothing but sheer bad luck and my own lack of co-ordination." She gave him a shrewd look. "But not everyone else believes that, eh?"

"Got it in one, sweetheart. Yer Mary Sue fanfiction characters are aftah my ass, an' not in tha standard fun slash way."

"I'll tell them you aren't responsible."

"That'd help, but they're just gonna figure yer bein kind."

*violent giggle* "Please don't make me laugh now. It shakes the arm, and makes it hurt worse."

"Well, ya ARE kind--on occasion."

"Don't spread it around. I'm trying hard to overcome that 'sweet and nice' reputation that was cemented to me in high school."

"Any ways, I'm tryin ta exonerate myself." He paused, grinning thoughtfully. "Exonerate myself. Sounds kinky, don't it?"

"You'd find a box of Whitman Sampler kinky, Strife."

"Excuse me, but it can be VERY kinky, if used properly," said the young blonde man.

Scribe looked at him, then squeaked. "Greg Sanders?"

He bowed. "In the flesh."

"Being that this is probably a fanfiction, that's debatable, but since when have I ever let logic interfere with a good yarn. What are you doing here? Not that I MIND, you understand, but I feel obligated to ask. Damn that exposition."

"I'm gonna need him ta help me interpret any physical evidence I find," said Strife.

"Okay, I can see that. But he can hardly do it HERE, Strife. I don't own sophisticated, state of the art forensic equipment. I have an outdated VCR, a barely adequate computer, a TV set that won't work for the remote, a broken dishwasher, a refrigerator/freezer that's stopped automatically making ice, dammit to hell, a toaster oven, a George Forman grill, and does ANYONE really believe that he wrote all the recipes that come with it? Now, the 'rents have been hitting the casinos a lot lately, and they've acquired a rotisserie, a wall clock, and a combination coffee maker/toaster oven/grill, but I don't think that any of these things would be of much use in analyzing evidence."

"The coffee maker could come in handy," said Greg. "Lab techs need massive amounts of caffeine."

"You're welcome to make some. I don't drink it, so I can never remember how to make it. Personally I stick to..."

"Diet Pepsi. I know."

She blinked at him. "How do you know?"

"I snatched him outta Gorgeous Stud," Strife informed her.

*squeak!* "Strife! I haven't been able to shower since my accident, and with just one arm, the sponge baths have been sketchy, and I haven't been able to wash my hair since then, either. It now can't decide to be limp, straight, or frizzy, and since the weenie dog likes to get on my pillow, and she has BO like you wouldn't believe, I'm, shall we say, less than fresh, and you bring MY version of Greg to see me when I'm like THIS?!"

Greg took her hand and kissed it. "Yep, this is my Mozell, all right." He wiggled his eyebrows at her. "I'm available as personal body slave."

"Uhhh..."

Strife rubbed his hands together. "Okay, so he'll keep ya company till I need 'im. Ya want me ta go get yer Vicodan before I leave?"

Greg had continued kissing her hand. Now he'd turned it over and was kissing her palm. There was a little tongue action going on. Scribe's expression had gone dreamy. "That's okay," she said vaguely. "I think I've found a better pain reliever."

Strife giggled just before he flashed out. "Yah, but knowin you, it might be more addictive."

AGAIN?! 6

Boston ME Office Lab

"Nigel, get off the computer. I want to look something up."

"Sod off, Bug. I think I'm about to talk someone into cyber sex."

Bug blinked, then leaned over Nigel's shoulder to peer at the screen. "Is Dana a girl, or a boy?"

"I think it's a girl, but frankly since we're on opposite ends of the information highway, it hardly matters, does it?" Bug pulled a chair up where he could sit and comfortably watch the screen. "Voyeur."

"Exhibitionist."

"You know, being bi is very convenient--it automatically doubles your chances of finding someone to get kinky with." Nigel nodded, typing busily. "I DO get a little brassed off when some bigoted American thinks anyone with a British accent is automatically gay."

"Well, you have to admit we don't exactly make it easy to deny. I mean, perhaps they have a boy named Sue, but we're the nation who names some of our men Beverly, Vivyan, Shirley, and Evelyn."

*Flash* "Funky names are wunna my favorite buzzes." Nigel and Bug (who had both jumped back from the computer when there was a shower of blue sparks--neither one willing to risk being fried, even if Dana WAS in the middle of confessing a fantasy about a threesome with two of her co-workers, though guys named Fox and Ratboy weren't exactly inspiring in the mental image department) gaped at the slender, pale man in black leather. He grinned back at them, pointing to Bug. "Yours, f'rinstance. I get an tingle every time some poor schmuck tries ta pronounce it."

Bug looked indignant. "My name isn't all that hard--Mahesh."

"I ain't talkin about that one, kiddo. I mean tha last--Vijayaraghavensatyanaryanamurthy."

Now Nigel blinked. "Bugger me..." Strife grinned. "Let me rephrase that. Good lord. Bug, I believe he got it right. When was the last time anyone, even one of your relatives, managed that mouthful on the first try?"

"No one has," Bug admitted. "All through school I could pretty much doze during roll call. I just waited till the teacher paused a long time, with a dazed look on her face, then called myself present. How did you do that?"

Strife buffed his nails on his leather. "I'm special. Besides, this is a fanfiction. Yer just lucky Scribe din't do what she did with tha interdimensional pixie dude in Career Girl Blues. She never could remember tha spellin of his name, so he went through fifty-eight chapters as 'Mixedpickles'. Tartarus knows what she would've come up with fah you if she hadn't been connected to tha net an' looked up tha cast list."

Both men blinked. "Huh?"

"I ain't got time ta explain it. Shove ovah." Strife sat at the computer, peering at the screen. He cackled. "I'm savin a copy of this chat an' emailin it ta Skinner. Should give him an' Red somethin ta talk about. Now, lemme just call up Scribe Scribbles." He typed. "I'm bookmarkin this for ya. Ya might have a hard time explainin it if tha head honchos have wunna those spy programs on yer computah, but it they did, I expect they'd have called ya on tha nookie talk sessions by now. Okay, lessee... where to start?" He giggled. "Why not with tha Love and Mischief Series? Might as well toot mah own horn. I think that 'Imp gets babysat' chaptah in What a Difference a Deity Makes is a good place ta start."

Nigel and Bug bent down and started reading. They exchanged looks. They read again. Bug picked up a report and fanned himself. Nigel tried to loosen his collar. This was difficult, since he was wearing a T-shirt under his lab coat. After a minute Nigel said quietly. "Uh... wow."

Bug was staring. "Wow would just about cover it."

"An' if ya think it's fun ta read, imagine what it's like ta live it. Plus she's got tons of othah stuff available, an' churnin out more all tha time--when she ain't too bunged up."

Nigel was clicking on links. He frowned. "Austin Powers smut?"

"She uses Scott Evil--tha Seth Green charactah? Puts 'im with such honeys as Alex Krycek, Benton Fraser, Oz..." Strife was ticking off on his fingers.

"Wait a minute," said Bug. "Oz and Scott? Two Seth Green characters together?"

"Yah. She manages four of 'em--throws Dwayne Cody from Rat Race inta tha mix, too. I think she's workin on tryin ta figure out a way ta put in a fourth Green charactah. She's shooting fah some sorta record."

Nigel twitched with interest. "Well, why hasn't she done it yet? How long will we have to wait?"

Strife explained the author's alarming tendency to break bones, and the current situation. "So I'm huntin tha real culprit. Can I enlist you guys fah possible interpretation of evidence?"

"I thought you said you got that Greg Sanders person?" said Nigel.

"He's currently busy *cough* amusin Scribe."

Bug piped up. "How about dropping him back in the lab and bringing us over to entertain her?" Nigel patted him on the shoulder.

Strife shook his head. "Nah. She's developin an interest in you two, but nothin specific on tha MarySue front just yet."

"But she WILL if she can get back to writing regularly?" asked Nigel.

"Probably," said Strife. He smirked. "She ain't really good at resistin when a plot bunny from a new fandom nips her."

Nigel and Bug whispered together for a minute, then Nigel said, "We'll be happy to help--on one condition--we get an introduction later."

"Fine by me, as long as I actually catch tha snot responsible fah this fiasco. If I don't, believe me--ya ain't gonna wanta use me as a reference. See ya when I have somethin for ya."

*Flash*

They turned back to the monitor, muttering to each other that it was a good thing it was a slow night. *clickclickclick* Nigel brightened up. "Oh, look, Bug--Dracula slash! And she includes Renfield. I wonder if she has him doing his insect munching? Want to read it?"

Bug made a face, then shrugged. "Sure. I wasn't planning on eating lunch, anyway."