Left Field -- Playing House ww, c'mon, Scully, have a little fun with it ..." "Mulder, this is an *assignment*, our first one back on the X-files, lest you forget. We are going to play this by-the-book all the way. And *you* are going to behave." Mulder pouted comically in the driver's seat of the minivan he piloted toward that yuppie nirvana known as The Falls at Arcadia. Scully pointedly ignored him, staring instead out the passenger side window at the lush green foliage running along the stretch of road. How do I get into these situations? she thought, closely followed by, dumb question. She should be used to it by now. She'd been getting into *just* this kind of situation for the past six years, ever since she was thrust into Mulder's crazy existence. She didn't mind it, usually, and she couldn't quite put her finger on why this particular assignment was bugging her so much. Maybe it just struck a little too close to home? Oh, no, Dana, don't *even* go there, she thought, running a hand through her casually tousled hair and fingering one small pearl earring. If there was one good thing about this assignment, it was that it got her out of her business-suit rut for a few days. She tossed a glance Mulder's way, allowing a small smile to escape at the sight of his ensemble -- loafers, argyle socks, chinos, sweater and a polo shirt. A *pink* polo shirt, even. Just making him wear that shirt and drive a minivan made up for their names. Rob and Laura Petrie, of all things. Sheesh. Some people spent *entirely* too much time watching Nick at Nite. Scully sighed as her left thumb idly pushed at the wedding ring on her finger. This playing-married bit was for the birds already, and they hadn't even spent a night in the house yet. Scully knew enough about Mulder's bad habits -- most of them typical for any bachelor, she admitted to herself -- to be sure that he had plenty more unpleasant surprises for her once they "moved in." She just hoped she'd *finally* have the chance to break him of his favorite "guy" thing -- leaving the toilet seat up. He'd done that every single time he'd used the bathroom in her apartment since she'd known him, and while she hadn't said anything to this point, she planned to pound that into his head while she had the chance. If she didn't end up just pounding him *on* the head, period. "Honey, we're home!" Mulder called, false cheer filling his voice as he pulled up to the neighborhood gate. Lowering the window, he leaned over and punched in the 10-digit number he'd been given by the sales office the week before, and a disembodied voice came from the speaker: "Welcome home, Mr. and Mrs. Petrie." Mispronounced, of course. Mulder turned his head, slowly, to meet Scully's gaze. "Uh, I think I'm scared of that," he said, then gave a half-grin. "Right," Scully agreed, eyeing the squawkbox dubiously. Mulder maneuvered the minivan through the gates, pulling aside to allow the moving van to go ahead, and made a couple of turns before pulling up at the curb before their "new home." Scully looked askance at the woman standing at the edge of the lawn, holding a humongous basket wrapped with cellophane and adorned with a ribbon reading "Welcome Neighbors!" "Showtime," she muttered, reaching for the door handle. Scully had to admit that the little "hands-off" scene inside the house was a bit much, but Mulder was already starting to piss her off by that time, and she just had to get his arm off of her already. That, and she was getting a little too used to it. Assignment, Agent Scully, keep your mind on the assignment ... The sweep of the house had yielded nothing but a handful of leering comments from Mulder -- cute, for the most part, but not particularly helpful to either the investigation or her state of mind -- plus a set of "replacement" dishes from their clumsy veterinarian neighbor, and that one clump of dried blood and hair from the ceiling fan. Scully wasn't at all sure she wanted to know how it had gotten up there. She pushed that thought away as she worked on dinner, shoving Mulder off with the borrowed dishes to set the table. She would have made him cook, but she had no intentions of garnering the type of attention smoke alarms would draw, and she certainly wasn't going to order in or eat cold cereal straight from the box. She'd make him handle the cleanup instead. "Scully?" Mulder's voice trickled in from the dining room. "That's 'Laura' to you, 'Rob,'" she called back, allowing a teasing tone to enter her voice to keep it from sounding *too* much like a rebuke. "Okay, '*Laura,*'" Mulder returned. "Have you seen that bag of sunflower seeds? I know we had one ..." Scully sighed. Assignment or not, some things never changed. "Try the box marked 'Rob,'" she answered patiently. A few moments of silence reigned; then, "Ahhhh!" and, after a pause, "Thanks, Scully." She smiled despite herself and shot back, "Laura!" Scully felt much better following the "poopyhead" rejoinder, particularly since Mulder couldn't get her back -- at least, not immediately -- for anything she did in front of the neighbors. Although she was about to gnaw Mulder's arm off if he didn't quit putting it around her every single second ... And she could go the rest of her LIFE without ever hearing the phrase "CC and R's" again. Mulder spent half the day in front of the laptop and the other half in front of the television, but Scully flatly refused to serve him lunch, in any form. He grudgingly gave in, even surprising her by making sandwiches for *both* of them. Of course, she found out at dinner that he was just trying to lull her into complacency so he could get her again. "A UFO conference, Mulder? *New age*?" She stood in the middle of the bedroom, her back turned as Mulder shed his preppy wear for grubby sweats, in preparation for checking out Mike's house and the storm drain. "Would you have preferred the truth?" His voice was muffled as he pulled his sweatshirt over his head. "No, but you could have come up with something better than *that*," she answered. She heard shoes dropping on the floor and chanced a look, then turned around fully once she saw he was dressed. "How were you planning on getting into Mike's house, anyway?" she asked. Mulder finished tying his sneakers, then picked up a small leather pouch from the mattress beside him and waved it in the air. "Never leave home without your trusty lockpick kit," he quipped, pushing himself to his feet and heading for the door. He paused as he passed her, then leaned down and murmured, "Kiss for luck?" She rolled her eyes and walked away, not even dignifying the comment with a reply. Every now and then, she got a vivid reminder of the reasons she liked living alone. Sighing, she straighted up the pile of papers Mulder had spread out on the table in the bedroom and dumped his latest pile of sunflower seed shells in the trash. She had expected this kind of thing from him -- after all, he *was* a bachelor and had lived alone most of his life -- so she didn't really hold it against him. Of course, that didn't mean she liked it. Cleaning up after Mulder wasn't her idea of a good time by ANY stretch of the imagination. But she wasn't about to live in squalor while they were on this assignment. Okay, so it wasn't squalor, but it certainly wasn't up to her standards. Not even close. She was on the phone with the San Diego PD when Mulder returned, a little grubbier for the wear, and tossed an evidence bag containing Mike's caduceus to her. His sweatshirt flew by next, and she managed not to snap at him as the scent of sweaty Mulder wafted past her face. She finished her recital of the police report, stalking into the bathroom in the process, and started washing and flossing as he gave his own findings. She knew she was being a little harsh with the toothpaste-and-toilet-seat bit, but she was tired and grumpy, and he was the nearest target. She managed not to crack a grin at his reaction to her green goopy face, and again at his invitation to join him on the bed. The last thing she wanted to do at this point was give him ANY encouragement at all. She kicked him out, washed her face, and slept like a ... well, like a baby cat. The drive into the city and back was uneventful, which left Scully waiting for the other shoe to drop. Turned out she didn't have long to wait. She'd barely gotten inside and started flipping through the test results when she started hearing the noises. "Mulder?" she called, listening intently. "Mulder, is that you?" No answer. She swore she'd kill him if this was his idea of a joke, and then she cursed under her breath as she realized she'd left her purse in the car, her weapon inside it, and she went for the closest thing she could find -- a fireplace poker. Which she then nearly wrapped around Mulder's head. For a split-second, she almost wished she had. It would just serve him right. So *now* it's an X-file? He spent the a half-hour digging up the yard in some misguided attempt to convince her a huge creature was living underground, and she spent the following half-hour on her own, somewhat saner, explanation. Which he promptly turned back on her, with just enough logic behind it for her to see his point, even if she didn't see a way to follow through on it without blowing their cover. He found a way. "A pool, Mulder? Those rules allow a *pool* in the front yard?" He grinned conspiratorially. "This kind of pool, yes." Hours of digging through decomposed trash later, she tried calling him off. Unfortunately -- or fortunately, she wasn't sure which -- he found just enough to keep him going. And her, too, really. So they followed their usual practice: They headed off in opposite directions to do what they did best. She was on the phone, calling for the forensics team, when she heard the sounds start up. She went for the weapon she'd hidden in the dresser ... and it was gone. The noises were coming closer, a sort of squishing sound, like feet slogging through mud. What the hell *is* that? She backed away from the door, looking around for something, anything, to use as a weapon. And then her heart nearly stopped, and her mind reeled. Mike's alive? He wasn't making any sense, but he wasn't listening to reason, either. And when whatever was outside that door started forcing its way in, Scully was, despite herself, glad to be hidden in the closet. "'Ubermenchesher'?" "That's what he kept saying, Mulder. He said he'd been hiding from it in the sewers." She watched through the minivan's front windshield as the same scenery from a few days before passed by her again, in reverse order. "And you saw it?" he persisted. She sighed. "No, Mulder," she said with extreme patience. "I saw Mike, and saw someone or something attack him, but I never saw what it was." He snorted out a half-laugh. "Well, I saw it, and it was pretty nasty. It looked ... Scully, have you ever seen 'Swamp Thing'?" He looked at her curiously. She raised an eyebrow. "Yes, actually. That's what it looked like?" She could see the amazement on his face at her response, and the beginnings of a smile. "Kinda, yeah. It was pretty damn scary at the time, when I saw what it did to Gogolak. But the more I think about it, the more I think it looked like a refugee from some cheesy sci-fi movie." Scully turned her head toward the window to hide her own smile. He'd certainly know all about *that*. "Hey ... Laura?" Her eyebrows lifted and she shot him a sidelong glance. "Yes, *Rob*?" she said, drawing the two words out. He grinned -- a real Muldergrin, not the fake ones he'd been shooting off to their temporary neighbors. "It's good to be back," he said, his eyes on her. She felt an answering smile spreading across her face, and she gave it full rein. "Yes, Mulder," she replied. "It certainly is." And she turned her gaze back to the open road ahead. he was fiddling with her wedding ring again. Mulder wondered if his partner was even aware she was doing it. Ever since she'd slipped the ring on her finger in their basement office yesterday morning to check the fit, she'd seemed to be alternately fascinated and repelled by the thin white gold band. One moment she was twisting it around and around, or sliding it back and forth across her knuckle, and the next she had her hands folded tightly in her lap or on a desk or table top, fingers tucked in so that the ring wasn't visible. At the moment she was playing with it again, but he knew that as soon as she noticed him noticing she'd stop and fold her hands in her lap and try to act as if the ring wasn't even there. He'd decided early on that the fiddling action must be a stress reliever for her, which meant it would be best if he didn't let her know he was watching. Just the occasional glance out of the corner of his eye, then. It WAS awfully cute, after all. He wondered why she was nervous. It was just another case, and not even really an X-File, in Mulder's expert opinion. Just a series of mysterious disappearances of residents in a gated community. Probably turn out to have some completely mundane explanation, which meant that he and Scully were really wasting their time here. So it couldn't be the case, and Mulder couldn't for the life of him figure out what else might be bothering her. If anything she should be happy and excited, like he was. This might not be an X-File, but the fact was that they DID have the Files back, and this was their first shot out of the box, lame and boring though it may be. Actually, the very fact that this WAS a boring and tedious assignment meant they should be able to cut loose and relax a bit. And besides, they were going to get to spend several days "playing house"; what wasn't to like about THAT? Oh, well. He'd long since given up trying to understand what women were thinking, especially this particular woman. No doubt she'd work through it, whatever it was -- she usually did. And in any case, here they were, ready to make their debut as husband and wife. "Honey, we're home!" he said good-humoredly as he pulled up to the neighborhood gate. He punched in the access code they'd been given during the assignment briefing, and an electronic voice welcomed them, mispronouncing the name "Petrie". Mulder rolled his eyes and turned to look at his partner. Maybe he should have gone with Lucy and Ricky Ricardo after all. "Uh, I think I'm scared of that," he said, throwing a smile at her in hopes of helping her break out of whatever had put her in this introspective mood. "Right," Scully agreed, looking as if she'd just found an insect in her soup. A glowing green prehistoric insect. Mulder shrugged; some days it almost seemed as if she didn't WANT to have fun and be happy, and this was apparently one of those days. Without further ado he maneuvered the minivan through the gate, and a few moments later they were pulling to a stop in front of the house they'd be sharing during the assignment. A woman was standing at the curb holding a big basket wrapped with cellophane and adorned with a ribbon reading "Welcome Neighbors!" "Showtime," Scully said under her breath, and Mulder smiled. If she was able to crack jokes then the situation wasn't completely hopeless. He was sure that with just a little prodding she'd be relaxed and having fun in no time. Okay, so maybe he'd been wrong about the prodding. Mulder meditated on the matter as he set the table for dinner. Things had seemed to be going fairly well: They'd met their new neighbors, and everyone had pitched in to help them beat the 6 p.m. deadline for getting moved in. Mulder had actually been a little taken aback by all the neighborliness; he wasn't used to being chummy with strangers. But he'd adjusted fairly quickly, and had thrown himself into the role of yuppie husband with gusto -- and Scully had seemed to be having a good time, too. But the moment they were alone in the house she'd backed off, and her professional mask had fallen into place again. Mulder had done his best to draw her out with the wisecrack about carrying her over the threshold and then the one about making a honeymoon video, but nothing had seemed to break through her reserve, beyond the very smallest of smiles. They'd proceeded to check the house over as thoroughly as they could in the limited time available. Then, much to Mulder's surprise, Scully had offered to fix dinner if he'd just set the table. He'd been ready to go get some Chinese carryout or order a pizza, but he wasn't about to pass up the opportunity of a home cooked meal, especially one he got to share with his beautiful partner, and so he'd jumped at the chance. Now if he could just figure out which side of the plate the salad fork was supposed to go on.... Mulder was starting to get seriously annoyed at his partner. First there had been the "poopyhead" remark, but that hadn't actually bothered him that much -- in fact, he'd taken it as a sign that she'd finally decided to come out and play. But as the day progressed it had become clear that she was actually increasingly on edge, and for some reason was choosing to take it out on him. The unspoken argument over who would fix lunch had been typical: Mulder had been attempting to do some indepth research on the Internet -- okay, so it wasn't related to their current assignment -- but Scully had flatly refused, without ever quite saying so, to fix him anything to eat. He'd finally given up and reluctantly torn himself away from alt.paranormal.possession.Furbys and wandered out to the kitchen -- and just to show her he knew how petty she was being, he'd made her a sandwich, too. Not that she'd showed any appreciation for his efforts on her behalf. Of course not. When they went to dinner at the Shroeders' things seemed to be better again. Mulder launched himself back into his role, and Scully actually emerged from her shell a bit, hamming it up to his account of their first meeting. Well, okay, the kick under the table was a bit over the top, but Mulder supposed that was just due to her renewed enthusiasm for the parts they were playing. Unfortunately the evening was a flop in terms of finding any useful information about the case, but Mulder still wasn't that interested in the investigation anyway -- although Scully did seem still to be stuck on her inexplicable insistence that this WAS an X-File. Whatever. At least they were together and working on a real investigation again, after all those months on the fertilizer patrol. But once they were safely home Scully switched on him again, and took him to task over the U.F.O. conference story. And to add insult to injury, after he'd gone out and broken into Mike Raskub's place and then crawled halfway into the storm drain to retrieve that damned necklace -- at her request, no less -- she REALLY lit into him, finding fault with the way he squeezed the toothpaste and even continuing to nag him over the frickin' toilet seat. It took all of Mulder's willpower not to remind her about the damp pantyhose she'd left hanging in the shower that morning, or of the fact that she'd used HIS razor to shave HER legs. Women. Having Scully go into town on her own the next day was actually a bit of a relief, and Mulder was left to his own devices for awhile. A little peace and quiet, he thought, was definitely a good thing in ANY relationship. Best of all, the case was finally starting to show some promise. Mulder had gotten the idea that the disappearances were somehow related to the CC&R's that kept getting thrown in their faces, and now he set about trying to prove that theory by committing a series of rule violations. The pink flamingo in the front yard was an especially nice touch, he thought. Mulder also took a certain amount of pleasure at shooting hoops in the driveway at 10:30 at night. Try to tell him he couldn't play basketball, would they? It stopped being fun, though, when Cami Shroeder was attacked by the whatever-it-was. But at least Mulder finally got a good look at the monster, and he was actually perversely delighted to be able to report back to his partner -- after narrowly escaping having a fireplace poker wrapped around his head by that self-same partner -- that this was an X-File, after all. Of course, by this time SHE had decided that it really WASN'T an X-File. Go figger. And then, finally, everything seemed to come together at once. Using a backhoe, Mulder tore up the front lawn on the pretext that he was digging a reflecting pool -- another nice touch, he thought -- and finally he found a clue. A real, live, honest-to-god clue, linking the deaths of the Klines -- and presumably the other missing residents -- to Gene Gogolak. Mulder went to Gogolak's home and confronted him, and drug him back "home" in handcuffs, congratulating himself on having wrapped the matter up and ignoring Gogolak's blustering threats of intimidation and reprisal. Scully was really going to be proud of him on this one -- he'd managed to solve the case using her brand of deductive reasoning, and he hadn't even had to ditch her to do it. Unfortunately the monster chose that moment to manifest itself at the "Petrie" residence. Upon seeing the front door of the house broken down, Mulder cuffed Gogolak to the mailbox and ran inside, only to find Scully safe and sound and none the worse for the wear. The creature was nowhere to be seen, but a moment later he heard screams from outside, and he raced back out just in time to see the monster finishing off its creator. Then it turned on Mulder...and suddenly collapsed back into its constituent elements. Case closed. Of COURSE she hadn't seen anything. Why should this time be any different? She was constantly arriving on the scene ten seconds too late, or looking in the wrong direction when the U.F.O.s flew by, or some other damned thing. This time she'd contrived to get herself locked in a closet at the crucial moment, god knows how. And of course, that meant she hadn't seen anything. Again. Okay, to be perfectly fair she'd admitted that she'd seen SOMETHING, but of course she was unable to identify it. It was all just too damned convenient -- like the way Captain Kirk always used to lose his communicator whenever he beamed down to an alien planet. Mulder allowed his mind to fast-forward to the report they were going to have to write. Most of it would be fine, of course: Introduction, methodology, preliminary findings -- all of that stuff was pretty much cut and dried. It would be fine. But then they'd have to write some conclusions, and from that point on things were most definitely NOT going to be fine. Mulder would insist on reporting what he'd seen: That all the mayhem had been caused by a tulpa, a creature composed of rotting garbage from the landfill under The Falls and bound together by psychic energy provided by Gene Gogolak. Scully, of course, would insist on reporting what SHE had seen -- which is to say, nothing. The argument, he estimated, would last one hour and fifteen minutes, and he would lose. In the end they'd submit a nice, comfortable non-report report, and everyone would be happy with it except for Mulder himself. Par for the course. With a sigh of contentment he glanced briefly down at his partner as he steered their minivan away from The Falls at Arcadia. "Hey...Laura," he said. Her lips quirked in the Scully equivalent of a thousand watt smile, and she drawled, "Yes, ROB?" Mulder felt a grin spread across his own face, and he said, "It's good to be back." Mulder watched in amazement as a real smile appeared on his partner's face. "Yes, Mulder," she replied. "It certainly is." Maybe things were going to be all right after all.