Warnings: Over-the-top sexist behavior from the title character.
Categories: GEN, Humor, Comedy, Crossover
Pairings: slight Mulder/Scully UST
Characters: Dana Scully (primary), Fox Mulder (primary), Pete, Undisclosed
Spoilers: The pilot episode of Cleopatra 2525.
A/N: X-Files/Stargate SG-1 crossover, and yet somehow completely alien-free. Comedy, with a side of UST. Don't take this one too seriously, folks. Dedicated to those who thought that Badfic!Pete and the Temple of Doom could use a sequel.
Credits: Beta credits go to Anne Rose, Lizzoid, and Q. Thank you. As for the screencap in the title graphic, the blame is entirely my own. My apologies to David DeLuise. Research credits include the Taco Bell Store Finder, this fan-made Taco Bell menu, and the Internet Movie Database.
Disclaimer: Is Chris Carter nuts enough to do this? Quite possibly, but since he didn't, I stole his toys and did it for him. Snagged a couple from MGM, too. Fandom is fun.
"Mulder, my date is not an alien." Scully barely glanced up from writing her report. Her partner's theory failed to surprise her -- much. She'd grown used to him.
Mulder had already moved to the filing cabinet, no doubt to support his claims with shaky evidence from disreputable eye-witnesses now long dead. "Not an alien, Scully, a traveler from another dimension, another version of reality where the history of Earth, perhaps even the history of the galaxy, took an entirely different course."
She sighed. "Mulder, he's just a regular guy from Denver."
"Ah, but Denver on which Earth? Physicists believe that an infinite number of parallel Earths exist, where any and all possibilities are fulfilled."
"Mulder . . . "
"Tell me, Scully, how did you meet this guy? What do you really know about him? Won't you at least entertain the possibility that forces beyond our knowledge -- "
"He's a friend of a friend," Scully answered. More than patiently, she thought. "He's a cop. We're having dinner. There's nothing mysterious here, Mulder; this is not an X-File."
Despite what she'd told Mulder, Scully did feel some suspicion regarding her blind date. Mulder's ideas were clearly off-base, but Scully did suspect that this guy might fall short of her ideal. Her friend's description had leaned towards the vague, to the point where Scully doubted they'd actually met. Still, she doubted any of the precautions Mulder suggested would prove necessary, unless a date could be criminally dull.
She parked her car and made her way towards the designated meeting place. That he'd insisted on meeting at the Washington Monument raised a flag in her mind. Maybe he thought it was romantic to choose a famous tourist attraction, and that someday they'd tell their grandkids about it. Or maybe he'd picked the location as the ideal spot for a kidnapping. The third -- and discouragingly far most likely -- explanation was that he'd seen too many spy movies.
Several tourists loitered near the monument. She ruled out the knobby-kneed guy in the Hawaiian shirt on the weight of the numerous camera bags draped around his person, a hunch which proved correct when he turned out to be half of a couple. Another camera-wielding tourist appeared from the other side of the monument.
Scully ruled him out as well, and approached a nearby bench to wait.
"Darla! Darla, over here! Hey Darla!"
She realized to her sudden horror that the shouting was meant for her.
Camera-wielding tourist number two waved both arms in the air and practically jumped up and down. "Hey Darla!"
Scully waved weakly, and to her dismay he bounded up to her with the enthusiasm of a Labrador retriever.
"Hi Darla!" He thrust a hand at her. "I'm Pete!"
"It's Dana," she said. "Dana Scully."
He beamed at her.
A shame he wasn't an alien, it might have provided Scully with a direction for the conversation. She seized on the practical option. "What time do we need to be at the restaurant?"
"Don't worry, Darla, we have plenty of time."
"Dana," she said again.
"Oh, right, sorry." He giggled. Actually giggled.
Scully decided that when Mulder called -- and she had little doubt that he would -- she'd seize the opportunity to excuse herself. In the meantime --
"Let's go for a walk!"
The Labrador metaphor again rose in Scully's mind.
Pete snatched up her hand as they walked. "It sure looks happy to see someone." He giggled again. "Romantic, huh?"
She realized, to her ever-increasing horror, that he was referring to the Washington Monument, which he now gazed up at with fondness. She discreetly checked her cell phone battery.
"I hope you like Mexican," Pete babbled. "It's my favorite. If you'd rather -- "
"Mexican's fine." A change of venue would only prolong the experience. Scully let him keep custody of her hand, despite his sweaty palm, because the situation provided a strategic advantage. She guided him towards the parking lot. "We should probably drive separately," she said. "I'd rather not leave my car -- "
"That's okay," Pete said. "I took the bus."
Scully covered any reaction she had to this revelation by fishing for her keys. "How far away is the restaurant?"
Pete grabbed the keys out of her hand. "I'll drive."
Various abduction scenarios played out in her mind, but she relented.
He provided immediate reason for her to regret the decision, veering into oncoming traffic at the very first opportunity and only narrowly avoiding a collision. This failed to bother him. "So Darla, are you really a spy?"
"No," she answered. "That would be CIA. I'm FBI."
"So, you like wear disguises and tap people's phones and stuff?"
"No, I investigate federal crimes."
"Like who killed JFK?"
She almost smiled at that. Maybe she should take this guy to meet Frohike. Of course that would only make Frohike actually think he stood a chance. "Lee Harvey Oswald."
"Lee Harvey Oswald. He shot Kennedy."
"Really? Cool. The inside scoop."
They crossed the bridge into Arlington.
"You're in law enforcement yourself," Scully tried. "What sort of cases have you worked on recently?"
"I caught a mugger!" Pete beamed at her, ignoring the road almost completely. "That's how I got this!" He proceeded to yank up his shirt, presumably to show off a scar of some kind, but Scully was a little more preoccupied with lunging for her steering wheel to yank the meandering car back to the safety of its proper lane, so she forfeited the opportunity to take a look.
"Pretty cool, huh?" Pete mistook Scully's proximity for affection and slung an arm around her shoulders.
"Red light," she warned. Only once the car stopped safely at the intersection did she let go of the wheel and make the effort to extract herself from beneath his arm.
Pete remained oblivious to their brush with disaster, and launched into his mugger story, possibly already in progress. "So I say to the guy, I say, you'd better drop it. And he didn't. So I tried to grab the knife from him, and he stabbed me right here."
He pointed at his gut, and Scully prepared to grab the wheel again if necessary. "Oh! There's the restaurant!"
Scully looked around, but saw no sign of a Mexican restaurant. She then realized with a sinking feeling that they were pulling into a Taco Bell.
Mulder followed Scully at a discreet distance, closing the gap rapidly as her car swerved erratically on the bridge into Arlington. He had just managed to convince himself of Scully's momentary safety when the guy tried to lose him. Mulder prepared to give chase, but the suspect actually parked Scully's car and got out.
Who took a blind date to Taco Bell? Who took any date to Taco Bell? It did track with Mulder's interdimensional theory, though. Perhaps in some parallel universe, Taco Bell scored a little higher in the culinary arts.
In any case, something was odd about this guy. Mulder's background check proved it. His investigation had turned up very little, other than the fact that his wasn't the first inquiry made about this guy today. And it was more than just Scully exercising a little caution herself, because the search came from outside the FBI. Someone was looking for this guy. Someone with teeth.
He parked in the back and slunk around the side of the restaurant to peer in the window. Scully stood at the counter, perusing the big overhead menu while her date touched her arm entirely too much for Mulder's tastes. He needed to get in there, but the dining area was small and well lit, without a potted plant in sight. He couldn't very well blend in with the scenery.
Mulder headed out back and knocked on the door near the dumpster.
A skinny kid opened the door. "Hey man, I don't know what you heard, but we ain't selling weed. You want the guys at -- "
"That's cool," Mulder answered. "I'm not here for weed."
"Yeah, um, listen man, I gotta go back to work."
Mulder caught the door. "Look, there's a couple in there and -- "
"Oh!" The kid nodded. "You wanna spy on your girl."
Denying it wouldn't be the most expedient way to get into the kitchen, so Mulder nodded. "I know it sounds bad."
The kid shrugged. "Don't go touching the food or my boss will get POed."
"I'll keep my hands in my pockets the whole time."
From the kitchen, Mulder had a good view of Scully's table. He couldn't make out what they were saying, but he could tell that her date was doing all the talking. He also noticed that the guy had a sour cream moustache.
A shame that discretion would keep him from mentioning that to Scully a few dozen times.
Scully studied the menu and decided on a taco salad and a Diet Pepsi.
"What size drink?"
"She'll have the extra large."
So his plan was to impress her by springing for the largest drink. "I don't need -- "
"Don't be silly, Darla. If you get the extra large, you can keep the cup!" Pete held out a crinkled five dollar bill, then started rummaging through his pockets for the remaining sixty-two cents. "I hate to break a one if I don't have to."
Scully took her plastic bucket of diet soda over to a booth and sat down. Behind her, she heard the sound of coins scattering across ceramic tile. When she glanced back, there was her date, chasing loose change on his hands and knees.
She checked her cell phone battery again. Just what was keeping Mulder?
"I got extra hot sauce," Pete announced when he brought over the tray of food. He passed her a packet of plastic utensils.
She eyed the spork dubiously. That one could actually eat a salad with such a device seemed doubtful.
Pete, in the meantime, unwrapped his burrito and began tearing open little packets of hot sauce. He managed to smear a generous amount of the stuff on his meal, as well as on the tray, the table, and the floor. His first actual bite of burrito added a festive glob of color to his shirt.
"Good, isn't it?" Pete asked with his mouth full. "Needs more hot sauce though. I'm going to get more."
Scully started in on her salad without comment. As predicted, the spork performed poorly when faced with corn chips and lettuce.
"I should talk to the manager!" Pete waved a fist full of hot sauce packets at the baffled kid behind the counter. "I want my hot sauce hot and you should know the difference!"
He returned a few minutes later, clutching different packets of hot sauce. "They tried to tell me that Fire Border Sauce is their hottest sauce. But I'm too smart for that. It's the Hot Border Sauce that's really the hottest."
"I see." Scully didn't see, or for that matter care very much. She just wanted this to end. Soon.
"Here, let me show you!" Pete leaned across the table with one of the packets, and squirted it at Scully's salad. Most of it missed the salad, and hit her blouse instead.
She smiled politely as she dabbed at the mess with her napkin, and started to politely insist that it wasn't a big deal.
Pete had already decided that it wasn't a big deal, and moved on to talking about his stab wound again. "So, that time I got stabbed, I needed seven stitches. Can you believe it? Hurt like hell, I can tell you. It throbs when it rains."
Scully considered pointing out that he was probably thinking of broken bones, but it hardly seemed worth the effort. Medical fact, or for that matter fact of any kind, seemed to play a relatively minor role in Pete's world. The guy thought that seven stitches in his ample bellyfat would impress a date.
Maybe the kind of girl who swooned at the prospect of taking home a plastic cup from Taco Bell might better appreciate the heroics that earned such a scar. But if such a woman existed, that would definitely make an X-File.
She watched her date bury his face in the dripping burrito clutched in his fist. Mulder's theories were starting to look a little more plausible.
"Do you watch Cleopatra 2525?" Pete asked. Sour cream dribbled down his chin.
"Can't say that I do." Scully subtly dabbed at her chin with her napkin. A futile gesture, she realized. This guy didn't get subtle.
"You should! See, there's this stripper, and she gets frozen. And when she wakes up, these evil robots have taken over the world!"
Scully's brain rebelled against knowing that people apparently watched this program.
"So she fights the robots. She's really hot and the fight scenes are awesome. Like this one time, she kicks this robot right in the head!" Pete waved his arm for dramatic effect, still clutching part of a burrito in his fist. A glob of refried beans hit the window with a wet thud.
Scully watched the beans slide down the glass and fought the urge to check her cell phone reception. If Mulder chose today to abandon his suspicions out of respect for her private life . . .
"I have all the episodes on tape," Pete explained. "We should go back to my motel room and watch them."
"I need to get home early," Scully lied. "Today is my nephew's birthday and I promised -- "
"I said no." Pete glared at her. "You can't just make up some lie and ditch me."
"Actually, I can." Scully stood up.
Pete grabbed her wrist.
And Mulder propelled himself over the counter with his gun drawn.
Scully twisted free, and her idiot date let loose with a string of obscenities that confused rather more than it offended.
The moron noticed Mulder. "Who the hell are you?"
"Grammar police," Mulder answered. "I could arrest you right now for using Belgium as a verb. Keep your hands where I can see them."
"You can't make me."
"Maybe not," Mulder agreed. "But I can shoot you."
The idiot inched one hand back towards the table, his attempt at stealthiness failing so completely that it was almost entertaining. He retrieved his Pepsi and sipped it. The effect of this proved that nonchalance did indeed have an antonym, at least in practice if not actually in the dictionary.
Mulder continued to hold the gun on him, while Scully achieved safe distance.
Pepsi-sipper noticed this. "Hey! Where do you think you're going? Our date's not over!"
"I think you're mistaken there, buddy. Scully, you ready to call it a night?"
"Darla's my girl!" He stomped his feet. "Mine!"
Mulder rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that'll win her over."
The overgrown toddler doused him with Pepsi.
"Okay," Mulder said. "Now I will shoot you."
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't." A man in glasses joined the standoff, a tranquilizer gun aimed at Scully's normal-guy friend-of-a-friend.
"Psychiatrist?" Mulder asked.
"Archeologist," the other man answered.
"I'm not going back! You can't make me!"
"Can too." The archeologist shot him.
He erupted with a tirade of expletives, most of which he once again used incorrectly. Then he slumped to the ground.
Mulder and Scully both turned to the archeologist. "Okay," Scully said. "What just happened here?"
"To be perfectly honest, I'm really not at liberty to say." The archeologist held out his hand. "Dr. Daniel Jackson. Nice to meet you. Now is there any chance I could talk you into helping me get him out to my car?"
Mulder exchanged a look with Scully, and pulled out his badge. "Special Agent Fox Mulder. This is Agent Scully. Now would you mind telling us who is at liberty to answer her question?"
"FBI, right. Yeah . . . here's the thing." He also produced a badge. USAF, civilian consultant. "My clearance is higher than yours."
"You're an archeologist who works for the Air Force and your clearance is higher than ours." Mulder nodded and turned to Scully. "Now will you admit that forces beyond our knowledge are at work here? Your normal cop-from-Denver friend-of-a-friend date is obviously part of something bigger."
"He's also going to wake up if we don't get him out of here," Jackson said. "Trust me, we don't want that."
"I'll agree with you there," Scully said. She shot a meaningful glance at the food smeared across the table. "I say we help him, Mulder."
Together they carried the unconscious man out to a nondescript car with government plates.
"Thanks," Jackson said. "I owe you one."
"How about telling us why the Air Force wants this guy. Is he an experiment in cloning technology? A hybrid? An EBE masquerading as human?"
"Extraterrestrial biological entity. An alien."
"You mean . . . " Jackson raised his eyebrows and swirled a finger skyward. "Like from outer space?"
Mulder nodded eagerly. This was it. Proof of alien contact.
"No," Jackson said. "He's from Denver."
"An abductee then? I know there's more to this guy than meets the eye."
"Actually, there's less. But that's not really the point. He's . . . classified. Look, would you believe me if I told you that there's a research facility deep beneath Cheyenne Mountain, and we're studying a magical mirror found on an archaeological dig in Giza?"
Mulder nodded. "Yes."
"Really?" Jackson scrunched his eyebrows together. "Well that's troubling. That's from a movie I saw recently." He turned to Scully. "Is he always like this?"
"Quite often," she answered. "Listen, obviously there's some rational explanation for all of this. If you'd just tell us what you can, it'll probably save us all a great deal of trouble."
Jackson sighed. "Okay, since you're FBI you can probably find this out on your own anyway, so I might as well give you the basics. The truth is, he's a specimen that was discovered frozen in a block of ice just outside Nome, Alaska. That was ten years ago. At first he made astonishing progress. He learned English, and I had hopes of one day integrating him into society. We even had some success in exposing him to social situations. But as you no doubt noticed, my success in that area has been somewhat limited."
"Somewhat limited?" Mulder asked. "He brought a blind date to Taco Bell."
"He clearly lied to you, Mulder." Scully reached for the napkin and smoothed it across her lap. "No life form as complex as a human being could survive being frozen for ten thousand years. It's ridiculous. Even if an accidental freezing did somehow mimic the effects of cryogenics -- an imperfect science at best even in theory -- the specimen could never survive the thawing process."
"But this one did, Scully. Imagine the things he could tell us!"
"Unfortunately I know precisely what he can tell us," Scully answered. "He can tell us the difference between three different types of nearly identical hot sauce and the plotline to the most absurd show on television. Which, it so happens, features a cryogenically frozen character."
For a moment, Mulder looked so disappointed at this revelation that Scully felt compelled to reach across the table and pat his hand.
But nothing kept Mulder down long. "Then maybe the first story he told us was actually the truth, and he didn't expect us to believe it. That version of events actually fits much better with my original evidence, which indicates -- "
"A magical mirror uncovered at Giza? Come on, Mulder, even you can't believe there's any truth in that story."
"Replace magic with advanced alien technology, and it makes perfect sense. What if it's actually a device used to travel between dimensions, and this guy traveled through it? That would explain why the Air Force was so eager to track down an apparently ordinary, if socially inept, cop from Denver. Perhaps he's the parallel version of the man your friend knows. That, or you need better friends."
"That possibility had occurred to me," Scully said.
"Just imagine the possibilities, Scully. Somewhere, on another Earth, you and I might have already found proof of alien contact."
Scully smiled. If multiple dimensions existed, she was certain of one constant. Mulder would always find a way to believe.
This transformative work constitutes a fair use of any copyrighted material as provided for in section 107 of the US Copyright Law. X-Files™©, Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and related properties are the creations of Chris Carter and the legal intellectual property of FOX. Stargate SG-1™©, Pete Shanahan, Daniel Jackson, and related properties are the legal property of MGM. No copyright infringement intended. No profits made here. © Spiletta42, April 2007.