Subj: [Phoenix] NEW: Partners-A-Go-Go (1/1) by JHJ A. and EPur Date: 7/6/00 8:08:20 AM Pacific Daylight Time From: epursemouve@goplay.com (EPurSeMouve) Reply-to: EPurSeMouve@goplay.com (EPurSeMouve) To: PhoeniXFic@egroups.com, scullyfic@egroups.com, xfc-atxc@onelist.com, xff@lists.x-philes.com TITLE: Partners-A-Go-Go AUTHOR: EPurSeMouve and JHJ Armstrong CATEGORY: SH RATING: PG-13 for carnage KEYWORDS: We run screaming from. SPOILERS: A possible casting decision for 8th season. Episodes up to "Requiem." Many different films, television shows and political campaigns (not that there's much difference). SUMMARY: Make love, not war. Kill partners, not sprogs. DISCLAIMER: We, the undersigned, do solemnly swear that no cultural icon is safe from our deranged fantasies. Repeat after us: ALL HAIL MIKE FENTON. ALL HAIL MIKE FENTON. DISTRIBUTION: By all means. Just let us know, 'kay? Partners-A-Go-Go By EPurSeMouve and JHJ Armstrong Dana Scully walked into Skinner's office, looking prim and proper and not at all like a pregnant woman mourning for the mysterious disappearance of her partner. Which she was, but she didn't want to look like it. Hence, extra eyeliner. There was a man waiting with Skinner. He was older, with lots of streaky gray hair and a sardonic look. She didn't know how he could look sardonic without actually saying anything sardonic. He just did. "Agent Scully, I'd like you to meet Detective John Munch. He's transferred from Baltimore to be your new partner," Skinner said. Scully had already told him that she didn't want a new partner and that she'd do just fine on her own, but Skinner hadn't listened. Who said the fight for women's rights was over? She tried to look pleasant. "Nice to meet you, Detective Munch." "Yeah, right. Do I look like Geraldo? Don't lie to me like I'm Geraldo." She sighed. They had a case - mutants of some ilk, hiding out in an abandoned warehouse. So they drove over to investigate. Munch wouldn't shut up in the car, making lots of sardonic comments about political candidates. And he seemed to shake, like like Katharine Hepburn was running his life's Steadicam. At the warehouse, there was some muck on the floor. Scully leaned down to investigate, reaching into her pocket to pull out a glove. "No way, Agent Scully," Munch said. "Let me take care of this." He stuck his hand into the muck. To his credit, he only screamed a little before the acid started eating into his skin. "Don't worry," Scully soothed. "It took Mulder nearly a year to learn to wear gloves." A piece of Munch's finger fell to the ground. "Oops," she said. ------ Friday, 5:30 p.m. A crisp knock on the office door. "Come," said Scully. "Commander William Riker reporting for duty ... sir?" At his questioning tone, Scully lifted a skeptical eye from a foot-high pile of paperwork to behold a bearded, blue-eyed man who was eying her with a skeptical glance of his own. Hers was better. "*Commander* Riker? What branch -- Army? Navy?" "Starfleet." "Ho-kay," said Scully, skeptically. "As you were, soldier." He relaxed, and smiled a smile of horribly perfect gleaming teeth. "I assume you're my new, ah, *partner*?" The insinuation in his tone made her blink, and she noticed for the first time his paisley silk shirt, numerous gold chains and lavender polyester bell bottoms, not to mention the shiny silver socks and imitation white leather slip-ons. "You're not exactly dressed for field work." "What do you mean? Who are you?" His eyes narrowed. "What day is this?" "I am Special Agent Dana Scully of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, it's April 19, 2000, and I --" Riker snorted, punching a strange-looking insignia-type badge-like pin on his left pectoral as he turned to leave. It beeped, and Riker barked, "Damn it, Data, I said I wanted to party like it was nineteen *seventy* nine!" He dissolved into light particles. "Oops." ------- Skinner did the introductions this time. "Agent Scully, John McClane. He's on loan from NYPD. Apparently, they don't want him any more. But he's got experience suited perfectly to this job." It was strange, being the only one with hair in the room. But McClane's biceps and swaggering drawl were adequate compensation. After a few witty wisecracks, she was almost convinced he was a keeper. Even if he did hate putting on the formal dress required of FBI agents. Right away, they had a case. Important data and test subjects were being shipped around the country on trains. It was their job to investigate. They found one of the trains, standing on a bridge overlooking the tracks as the train approached. "Okay, Agent Scully. You back me up on the cell phone while I jump onto the train and stop the conductor," McClane said. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" she asked. "Hey, I can do this barefoot." He jumped. "But you're wearing dress shoes!" she yelled after him. "Slippery soles!" "Auuuuugh!" *SPLAT* She sighed. "Oops." -------- Somewhere in a Brazilian rain forest... A poison-tipped arrow thunked into the tree beside Dana Scully's head, quivering like headcheese. She reloaded her pistol for the second time that day and cursed the man in the fedora beside her for what felt like the thousandth. "Quit cursing me and shoot them, would you?" he hollered at her, looking sweaty and burnished as he fired at the naked natives on the other side of the ravine. "Jones, if we live through this, you're gonna wish I'd shot *you*." "Promises, promises." Another thunk, next to his head this time. "Run for the truck! I'll be right behind you!" Scully ran. She vaulted over the door and into the driver's seat, starting the engine and throwing the jeep into reverse all in one smooth motion. She stomped on the gas and the tires spun in the dirt for a second before the vehicle shot backwards. Unfortunately, the rugged archaeologist got flattened beneath it. "He was behind me, all right," she muttered as she sped off, arrows bouncing off the steel exterior. "Oops." -------- Another intruder into the basement. At this rate, Scully was never going to finish this paperwork. "You must be my new partner," she said from her desk, trying to dot one more I before looking up. She gave him a once-over. He was cute. "Huh?" he said dumbly. Not too bright, though. "The One. Neo, right?" she supplied, hoping Trenchcoat Boy With Gun really wasn't as dumb as he looked. "Uh, yeah," he said. "You're Agent Scully?" "Yep. Welcome to the basement." He looked around, confused. "So we're going to fight the dark forces of oppression from here?" "Maybe later. Right now, I need to finish up some paperwork." She gestured to a nearby chair. "Mind giving me a hand?" He sat, waiting as attentively as a new puppy. She passed him a few forms. "Okay, if you don't mind, would you go over this? I need you to itemize the receipts and organize them in order of date on the expense report, then prioritize each expense and attach clarification for each request. Then copy it in triplicate and submit it for reviewing by committee and department. That a problem?" He looked at the paperwork, then back at her. "Whoa," he said, just before his brain exploded. Scully looked despondently at the twitching mess in the chair across from her, wiping a bit of skull off her blazer. "Oops." -------- "BOOONNNNDDDDD!!!!" she screamed, her voice echoing in the rock quarry. A Navajo heard her cry, and came towards her. "What is wrong? Word is bond?" he asked, his long braids dangling down the back of his Snoop Doggy Dogg T-Shirt. Scully sighed. "I'm looking for my partner. Bond. James Bond. Wears tuxedos, possibly an alcoholic, definitely a sex addict. Not bad-looking, either. Have you seen him?" "Oh, him? He went down into the buried boxcar to see if there were answers. But his cigarette ignited some gas and the boxcar exploded." She breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, good. Now all we have to do is check behind all the piles of rocks and see which one he's crawled to safety behind." The Navajo shook his head. "No, that is the other boxcar. This one has actual consequences." She rolled her eyes in frustration. "You mean there aren't any tunnels for him to escape through and we won't be able to perform an inaccurate Navajo healing ritual to bring him back to this world?" She pulled out her cell phone to call Skinner. "Oh, well. Oops." ------- Scully waited in Skinner's office for her new partner to arrive. She heard a thump-shuffle-thump-shuffle in the outer room, and a being one-third her height, one-fifth her weight and four times her age crept through Skinner's door with the help of a gnarled cane. "Yoda?" Scully was dumbfounded. "I thought the FBI had height requirements." His left ear flicked at her like a collie's. "Cast stones you should not." He thump-shuffled a little closer and put his hand on her knee, closing his eyes. "Take your hand off me, you wizened little fleabag --" "Shh," he shushed her. She shushed, though it felt forced. "Seeking someone you are. Partner? Friend." Yoda's eyes popped open, and he nodded knowingly. "Lover." "Tell you where he is can I." The little being closed his eyes again. "Lafayette Park. Behind the White House. Rose Garden? No. Goldfish pond." Scully snorted. "Prove it." He shook his head. "Some things on faith have to be." His other ear flicked. "Believe me you do not. Skeptic. Tell you the truth I do." "Perhaps. But we have eleven episodes to fill before David comes back." Scully fired the kill shot with her usual precision. She blew a tuft of Yoda hair off the business end of her service weapon. "Oops." ------- January 2005 Scully and her latest partner, Ahnuld Schwarzenegger, were assigned security detail at Jesse Ventura's inaugural ball. He'd been elected leader of the free world last November. Poor Al Gore had made the fatal mistake of thinking someone who'd wear a yellow feather boa and Holstein-patterned vest in public could never win over the populace. Having finished his prepared remarks, the one they all say hail to decided to go off the cuff. "You can't legislate against stupidity." Lots of clapping. "Love is bigger than government!" Even more enthusiastic applause. "There are no dumb questions. ... Every vote counts!" Frenetic flag-waving and child-hoisting. "No person in Minnesota is ever done learning!" A few random cheers gave way to perplexed looks. An aide whispered in Ventura's ear. "I mean the United States of America!" Wild cheers. Then, Ahnuld moved into Jesse's line of sight. It was like poking a prissy woman at a public bean feed: Lots of gas, held in until there was nothing to do but let out one incredible, smelly explosion of a fart. "You!" Ventura growled, and launched himself off the stage. "You!" Ahnuld snarled, and caught Jesse midair, twirling him like a majorette's baton and tossing him into the crowd. Ventura picked himself up and the two men staggered about, hands locked around each other's throats. Suddenly, both of the men's torsos swelled up and burst. Jesse died instantly; Ahnuld was stubborn and didn't. Partygoers ran amuck. Ross Perot and the Supreme Court justices huddled in the corner. Libby Dole preened and prepared to be sworn in, hoping no one noticed. Scully reached Ahnuld's side in time to hear his last words. "Ahnuld! What happened? Is it a tumor?" "It's not a tumor. It's testosterone." He died. "Oops." ------- "Hey, what's up, Agent Scully?" Scully poked her head out from the back of the office. "Agent Jay?" she asked, taking in the black suit, tie, sunglasses, and man. "That's me. Ready to save Earth from the scum of the universe?" He grinned charismatically. Scully couldn't resist smiling back. It was like being locked in a tractor beam. "One step at a time, Agent Jay. First, we need to see what the scum of the universe has been up to." She motioned for him to come over towards the lab area of the basement, offering up a magnifying lens. "Take a look at this artifact we found recently, and tell me what you think." He took one look at the strange slab of rock, and started shaking, clutching his head in agony. "So many voices," he choked out. "All their thoughts slamming against one another... So much confusion, chaos... And they all hated my last album!" He collapsed on the floor, shaking in agony. Fortunately, a pencil from the ceiling fell at 9.8 meters per second per second towards his exposed neck, and put him out of his misery. Scully looked up, resolving to really get around to taking those down some day. "Oops." ----- Somewhere in China, a man tipped over his calligraphy ink pot. He sent his young son to the store for more. On the way there, the boy stepped on the tail of a cat, sending it shrieking out into the street. A car carrying a reporter for the Beijing Times swerved to avoid the cat, crashing into a rice stand. Rice went flying, and some landed in the ball bearings for a set of replacement wheels for a jumbo jet headed to D.C. Upon landing, the wheels got stuck, and the plane belly-flopped on the runway, tying up all air traffic for four hours. Meanwhile, a psychic on board swore he saw a man matching Mulder's description in the sky right before the crash. Scully and her new partner, Chris Noth, came to the airport to investigate, stepping out onto the noisy tarmac. Bob, a psychotic air traffic controller, got pissed off about the tie-up, and so in a moment of insanity he fired a flare gun at Chris Noth, who seemed doomed for sure. BUT! Because they were on the noisy tarmac, and Chris Noth was tall, he had to duck low to hear what Scully was saying. The flare missed his right ear by an inch or two. She had no way of knowing the events that had led up to it, but as Scully watched the flare whizz by, she had only one thought: *This guy stoops to conquer.* END Author's Note: EPur's muse curled weeping into a corner, having just been soundly yelled at for giving EPur an idea for a story when most inconvenient. It went something like this: "We need to start writing New-Partner-killing fic, instead of sprog-killing fic. That is where the future lies." Piglit piped up at this opportune moment, saying, "Can I write a few?" And so we chose our victims. and we began. It was to be the new Ocean's 11 of fanfic. We think we only managed to off 8 or so, but behold the ones that live. There, the future also lies. But we are *snicker* confident that CC and Co. *snicker* will use the tools they are given *snooooork* in a most brilliant fashion. *hysterical laughter* We are done now. Tell us if we rock the casbah. And thanks for sharing our madness. piglit1975@aol.com and epursemouve@goplay.com http://copygirl.softballjunkies.com/pigsfly.html http://www.goplay.com/epursemouve/ P.S.: All the Ventura quotes are real.