New Vampire/Mulder
also known as "There is no seven"
"Not to brag, but I think I have this whole re-soulin' thing down, now," Willow confided to Scully. "Hey! Like, like a cobbler. Not the apple-y kind, although, ooh, I like peaches."
Years of being around Mulder had inured Scully to non-linear conversation. "But there would be confusion if you put that in the yellow pages," she said. "People would keep bringing you shoes."
In her head, Scully heard Mulder's voice. "Sounds like the joke about the mohel who put watches in his shop window. A customer comes in and wants his watch repaired. The mohel says that he only does the ritual circumcision. Customer wants to know why there's watches in the window. 'So what should I put there?' Oh, come on, Scully. Lighten up."
She looked up to see the proprietor of the Magic Box rubbing his glasses with a handkerchief, as if a genie would appear.
"I'm, ah, ready if you are, Willow."
"Piece of cake. Or cobbler," Willow said, putting down the glass ball---Orb---and raising her hands over her head.
Angel stalked back in the Hyperion, dripping green goo. To the uninformed, he looked as gloomy as when he left.
Wesley was not the uninformed, and he said, cheerily, "So, feel better?"
Angel shrugged and went up the stairs, leaving a thin green trail as he went.
Cordelia was several beats behind him, her nose wrinkling as he tried not to laugh. "Where'd Tall Dark and Miserable go? Upstairs? Good." She set her purse on the counter, just as the faint sound of a door slamming came to them. "Oh, Wes, it was a Kodak moment. I mean, it was--"
"I know what a Kodak moment is, Cordelia. I did live in the twentieth century."
"Whoa, there, cut back on the bran muffins, okay? Angel thought he was saving a woman from a demon, and turns out she was mugging him. The demon. She was a demon, too. Hence the goo---and we should so get a garden hose for these little moments. I had to drive back and boy, is he bitchy when you cut the corners in that boat of his."
"But no sign of Spike, or Mulder? Or even a Russian triple-agent?" Wesley asked, with elaborate patience.
"Nothing. I think he was smelling for them. And can I just
say, ew?"
The phone rang. "Angel Investig---why are you calling, Angel? No,
Wesley and I were just stacking up the piles of money we've been---
hey, if you want me to do you a favor you'd---Ha! Okay, coming up."
She hung up the phone. "He can't get his shirt off, the demon snot
is sticking to him. He needs acetone."
"Nail polish remover," Wesley said. He picked up his pen.
"Oh," Cordelia said. She opened her desk drawer and rummaged
around in it. "Here, you take it."
"But if I take it, you'll lose additional chances to mock him."
"Oh, you're right. Great!"
Spike, Mulder, and Krycek were slamming Stolis at a little club
that was demon-friendly. Alcohol made Mulder friendly, and he kept
flinging his arm around the necks of both the other men, but he
was actually calmer than Krycek had ever seen him. Apparently, he
liked being dead.
"I didn't know vampires could get drunk," Krycek said to Spike.
Although the techno music was very loud, both the undead heard
everything he said.
Spike peeled the plastic off another packet of Marlboros with one
black-painted nail. "Sure," he shouted, for the benefit of Krycek's
human hearing. "Don't last as long, but we get drunk.
Get high. Get laid. Oh, that's right, you know that."
Mulder raised his head and grinned at the other vampire. "Nah."
"Maybe he wants to find out," Spike said, clicking open a Zippo
and lighting up.
"Depends. Do you eat after mating, like a praying mantis?" Krycek
asked, turned on but wary.
"Not half the time," Spike said, soothingly. He ran a cool slim
hand over Krycek's maimed arm. "Never had a bloke with one arm,
before. Kinky."
"You think something's kinky?" Mulder snorted.
"Well, I've mademen amputees, before," Spike said. "Or they'd
have been if they'd lived."
"Shit, you really know how to come on to a guy," Krycek said.
Spike took the cigarette out of his mouth and stepped closer. "Yeah,
but you like that stuff," he said, suddenly unsmiling. "Oh,
yeah, Peaches, you do."
And Krycek realized two things. First, that Spike was, indeed, a very
old, immortal being; and second, that he very much wanted Spike to
fuck him.
Mulder smiled. "See? It's all good. And we happen to have a nice
new hotel room waiting for us, Alex." He nudged Krycek's hip. "Hi-def
television. Pay-per-view porn."
Spike dropped some bills on the bar. "Let's go, then, children."
It was in the parking lot, next to a big shiny Mercedes, that Mulder
staggered, and fell to his knees.
"Something's happened to me," he said, holding his chest. "God,
it...hurts."
Spike stopped dead, his eyes narrowing. "Oh, Christ, I know
that smell. Oh, bollocks."
"Not to brag, but I think I have this whole re-soulin' thing down, now," Willow confided to Scully. "Hey! Like, like a cobbler. Not the apple-y kind, although, ooh, I like peaches."
Years of being around Mulder had inured Scully to non-linear conversation. "But there would be confusion if you put that in the yellow pages," she said. "People would keep bringing you shoes."
In her head, Scully heard Mulder's voice. "Sounds like the joke about the mohel who put watches in his shop window. A customer comes in and wants his watch repaired. The mohel says that he only does the ritual circumcision. Customer wants to know why there's watches in the window. 'So what should I put there?' Oh, come on, Scully. Lighten up."
She looked up to see the proprietor of the Magic Box rubbing his glasses with a handkerchief, as if a genie would appear.
"I'm, ah, ready if you are, Willow."
"Piece of cake. Or cobbler," Willow said, putting down the glass ball---Orb---and raising her hands over her head.
Angel stalked back in the Hyperion, dripping green goo. To the uninformed, he looked as gloomy as when he left.
Wesley was not the uninformed, and he said, cheerily, "So, feel better?"
Angel shrugged and went up the stairs, leaving a thin green trail as he went.
Cordelia was several beats behind him, her nose wrinkling as he tried not to laugh. "Where'd Tall Dark and Miserable go? Upstairs? Good." She set her purse on the counter, just as the faint sound of a door slamming came to them. "Oh, Wes, it was a Kodak moment. I mean, it was--"
"I know what a Kodak moment is, Cordelia. I did live in the twentieth century."
"Whoa, there, cut back on the bran muffins, okay? Angel thought he was saving a woman from a demon, and turns out she was mugging him. The demon. She was a demon, too. Hence the goo---and we should so get a garden hose for these little moments. I had to drive back and boy, is he bitchy when you cut the corners in that boat of his."
"But no sign of Spike, or Mulder? Or even a Russian triple-agent?" Wesley asked, with elaborate patience.
"Nothing. I think he was smelling for them. And can I just
say, ew?"
The phone rang. "Angel Investig---why are you calling, Angel? No,
Wesley and I were just stacking up the piles of money we've been---
hey, if you want me to do you a favor you'd---Ha! Okay, coming up."
She hung up the phone. "He can't get his shirt off, the demon snot
is sticking to him. He needs acetone."
"Nail polish remover," Wesley said. He picked up his pen.
"Oh," Cordelia said. She opened her desk drawer and rummaged
around in it. "Here, you take it."
"But if I take it, you'll lose additional chances to mock him."
"Oh, you're right. Great!"
Spike, Mulder, and Krycek were slamming Stolis at a little club
that was demon-friendly. Alcohol made Mulder friendly, and he kept
flinging his arm around the necks of both the other men, but he
was actually calmer than Krycek had ever seen him. Apparently, he
liked being dead.
"I didn't know vampires could get drunk," Krycek said to Spike.
Although the techno music was very loud, both the undead heard
everything he said.
Spike peeled the plastic off another packet of Marlboros with one
black-painted nail. "Sure," he shouted, for the benefit of Krycek's
human hearing. "Don't last as long, but we get drunk.
Get high. Get laid. Oh, that's right, you know that."
Mulder raised his head and grinned at the other vampire. "Nah."
"Maybe he wants to find out," Spike said, clicking open a Zippo
and lighting up.
"Depends. Do you eat after mating, like a praying mantis?" Krycek
asked, turned on but wary.
"Not half the time," Spike said, soothingly. He ran a cool slim
hand over Krycek's maimed arm. "Never had a bloke with one arm,
before. Kinky."
"You think something's kinky?" Mulder snorted.
"Well, I've mademen amputees, before," Spike said. "Or they'd
have been if they'd lived."
"Shit, you really know how to come on to a guy," Krycek said.
Spike took the cigarette out of his mouth and stepped closer. "Yeah,
but you like that stuff," he said, suddenly unsmiling. "Oh,
yeah, Peaches, you do."
And Krycek realized two things. First, that Spike was, indeed, a very
old, immortal being; and second, that he very much wanted Spike to
fuck him.
Mulder smiled. "See? It's all good. And we happen to have a nice
new hotel room waiting for us, Alex." He nudged Krycek's hip. "Hi-def
television. Pay-per-view porn."
Spike dropped some bills on the bar. "Let's go, then, children."
It was in the parking lot, next to a big shiny Mercedes, that Mulder
staggered, and fell to his knees.
"Something's happened to me," he said, holding his chest. "God,
it...hurts."
Spike stopped dead, his eyes narrowing. "Oh, Christ, I know
that smell. Oh, bollocks."