From: slyseng@gpu.srv.ualberta.ca (Susan) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW > "Embroidered Blue" < 1/1 Date: Thu, 30 Nov 1995 01:22:02 GMT Another offering from Summer--all comments to her at summer@camelot.bradley.edu--not to me :) ---------------------------- Fox Mulder is the intellectual property of Chris Carter and (IMHO) David Duchovny. No infringement on their work or on Fox or 1013 or anyone else, for that matter, is intended. NOTES: Half of this was a very odd dream I had; the other half was written to make it a story. I still don't know what it means. Embroidered Blue A story which isn't really about X-Files at all, it's about Fox Mulder... I think... by Summer * * * * "Now there's a tragic waste of brutal youth; strip and polish this unvarnished truth... Stay the hands, arrest the time, 'til I am captured by your touch. Blessings I don't count, small mercies and such. The flags may lower as we approach the favorite hour." "Favorite Hour", Elvis Costello * * * * "Fox. Wake up. Come on." "Mm." "Come ON, I've been trying to wake you up for five minutes. I mean it, come on. Up." "Wdtimezid?" "It's early. Come on now." "Frrgedid." "Oh, yeah?" Fox Mulder sat bolt upright in bed at the sound of a shot next to his ear. "WHAT the HELL--" The woman next to him knelt serenely on the mattress, the gun in her hand breathing smoke from the barrel. "Well, that worked." "Are you crazy? This is not a toy!" Fox reached for the gun; she held it up and away from him, then swung her leg over to straddle his waist. "Oh no?" She pressed the muzzle against his chin. "Well, I'M having fun." She smoothed back her blond hair and pulled the trigger. Fox cringed as the bang resounded in the room, coughing as the brimstone smoke drifted up into his mouth. "Jen, do you mind? You could deafen me. What time is it, anyway?" "It's early. I had to shoot you. It's bloody impossible to get you up in the morning." "I beg to differ." He pushed her back into the bed and rolled over, pinning her down. "Give me the gun." "No way," Jen grinned. "Last line of defense. That and those little pink pills-- which, by the way, I missed yesterday, so push off for now, mm?" "You missed one? Christ, you were drunker than I thought." Fox feinted for the gun and kissed her; as he drew away he snatched the gun from her hand and turned it on her. "Why'd you wake me up so early?" Jen pouted prettily. "Kimmy didn't come home last night." "What else is new?" Fox groused. "Well, this time she had my car," Jen replied sensibly. "Don't point that thing at me." "You shot me!" "We have to go pick up my car." "We?" "I need you to drive me so I can drive it back." Fox groaned and flopped back against the pillows. "Why in hell did you loan your car to Kimmy anyway? She must be the least reliable human being on the planet." "I seem to remember you bringing me that fourth drink last night-- and after that I was so far gone I would have given my car and my virtue to Maggie Thatcher if she'd asked me nicely." "Too bad I was too sloshed to take advantage," he said. "Not really. I don't think either of us wants to be saddled with Fox Junior, hmm?" "God no. And I wouldn't name it Fox in any case." "Well, no danger there." Jen slid off the mattress onto the floor and stood up, kicking the day before's clothes as she weaved to the closet. "It's probably cold out. Want a sweater?" "I s'pose. Isn't there anyone else who can drive you, Jen? I'm dead gone. I must've drunk twice my weight last night." "Take some aspirin and a nice cool shower." She ignored the curse he uttered at the suggestion and tossed him an unravelling mass of acrylic. "This is the wonderful world of adult responsibility, sweetie. Up and at 'em." "You call loaning a known airhead your car and letting her go off to who-knows-where in the middle of the night, responsibility? Novel definition, Jen. You and Webster should chat." "I mean dealing with the consequences of your actions, Fox." Jen pulled into her clothes quickly, carelessly, shaking back her long, flat blond hair. "That's fine, but I'm dealing with the consequences of YOUR actions," he pointed out as his head poked through the neck of the sweater. She glared at him. "Are you going to drive me, or not?" "I'll drive you," he shrugged. "I'm just gonna bitch about it all the way there. Where's `there', now that I think of it?" "Remember that trashy club across from the rattrap bookshop?" "You've got to be kidding. What's she doing there?" "What do you think?" "That place is an hour away! And in the worst part of London." "Which is why," Jen said, "we'd better get moving." Fox rolled his eyes and lay back again. "Forget it. I'll just kill myself now." He put the gun in his mouth and fired. The bang filled the room with a brief flare of sound. Jen slung the rest of his clothes on top of him. "Don't be long, okay? I'm going to nip out to the bath. Be right back." "Fine," he mumbled under the pile. Fox Mulder changed into fresh clothes by feel, groping around with his eyes closed. He didn't want to see the mess of the room he lived in, or face the day that loomed ahead. When Jen returned, Fox was dressed; he crouched on the mattress, surveying the place forlornly. "Look at this. It's like we're living on a raft, just barely above the tide of all this chaos." She snorted, kicking at paper cups, bottles, and books lying about on the floor. "If it bothers you I s'pose we can go off and nick a bed frame from somewhere. Nealy got his from some junk shop at two pounds thirty or some other ridiculous sum." Fox pushed his longish brown hair back from his eyes. "That's okay. I could get used to chaos." "Good thing. We'll be seeing plenty of it when we go for Kimmy." "When we find that human helium balloon I fully intend to blow her nonexistent brains out," Fox informed her, rising to stretch and grab his keys. "And I don't mean with this thing either," he added, waving the gun. Jen intercepted the gun and pointed it at him again. "Bang," she said and fired. He inhaled the puff of smoke it emitted. "You shouldn't be so trigger happy," he said, pulling it away from her again. "I'm running out of caps." * * * * "And while I'm dreaming, there's a passing motorcar that broadcasts a popular song; and a girl appears to be saying, `Do you think that I'm gonna go far?' Just look at me, I'm having the time of my life-- or something quite like it..." "London's Brilliant Parade", Elvis Costello * * * * "God, don't tell me we're lost." "Fine. I won't tell you." "Jen!" "I told you to drive, I told you I wasn't sure I remembered the way!" "I can't believe this. I can't believe you've gone and got us lost in the worst part of this stinking city looking for that twit Kimmy. I can't believe you loaned her your car in the first place." "I told you to drive," Jen repeated insistently. Fox scowled at her, sinking lower against the car door. "You've lived here longer than I have." "Yeah, but you remember all the streets. I don't." "I'm tired. You realize I have a final Monday?" "You studied for it Thursday. You always ace them anyway, what are you whining about?" He tilted his head back and growled, "You woke me up at six in the morning by firing a cap gun in my ear and dragged me out of bed to go chasing after your car and Kimmy in the most rotten part of this reeking town. And I have a hangover. That's what I'm whining about." "If you hate it here so much why don't you go back to the States?" "Pure apathy," he replied, closing his eyes again. "Oh, thanks," Jen answered, the angry sarcasm more a rote response than genuine pique. "You may as well go on back, you never really left there! I can't believe you hung a bloody American flag up in our room." "I miss them," he answered wearily. "Don't you miss fireworks and hot dogs and baseball games?" "Not a bit," she sniffed. "I'm never going back. Give me London over St. Louis any day. Why'd you ever leave if you had such a hardon for home and hearth and Mom's apple pie?" "It seemed like a good idea at the time." Fox frowned out the window. "I like Oxford as well as anywhere, and I'm learning a lot more here than I ever could back home. I wanted some distance. I don't know. I don't know what I want." Jen shook her head at him. "That's obvious. You read all those books about the weirdest crap and breeze through your courses and none of it sticks to you. I can't even tell if you really wanted to move in with me or if it was just easier than trying to get a roommate for this year." "No, I wanted to move in with you," he replied forcefully. "That's about the only decision I've made since I got here that I was sure of." "Well... good." Jen reached over to squeeze his hand. He neglected to add that he no longer felt one way or the other about his choice, opting instead to glance out the window. "Turn left two streets up from here and we'll be on our way," he said. * * * * "`What is your destiny?' the policewoman said `It's a one-way destination I'm afraid'. This is all your glorious country thinks of your life Stripped jack naked with a Stanley knife. It's a dangerous game that comedy plays Sometimes it tells you the truth, sometimes it delays it. You don't have to listen to me, after trying what you will There are promises to break and dreams to kill. Give me strength or give me mercy, don't let me lose heart..." "20% Amnesia", Elvis Costello * * * * "The most festering spot in the entire city," Fox observed as he and Jen went under a cracked sign reading `Jehovah's Parlor' into a dank club. "How do they get away with that name, do you think?" he rambled. "You can tell how much older this country is compared to back home, how much history there is here. It takes a long time to achieve this level of decay." "Will you stop being so morbid?" Jen hissed. "You'll talk yourself into your grave, every other word rot and mold like that." She looked around the black interior of the shoddy barroom nervously. "It's not like this place needs much to make it spooky. Look at all these leaks and things. It smells of mildew. I'm going to be sick." "Go ahead. It'll blend right in." Fox wandered past wobbly tables with sticky tops to the edge of the strippers' stage, where a corpulent bald man slopped a soaked mop across the boards. "Jesus, Jen, look." She walked over and saw what the bald man was cleaning up. "Oh my God that's disgusting," she blanched, backing away. "Do you want me to throw up?" Fox squinted at the man's labors, as fascinated as he was repulsed. "Do you think they'd do that if they realized what a sick mess it leaves for someone else to mop up?" Jen slapped a hand across her mouth. "Will you stop," she spat at him tightly between her teeth. The bald man paused in his work and turned to pin Fox with a mournful expression. "Don't look at me," he said, resigned. "It's just what I do." Fox blinked at him and swallowed. "Uhm, we're looking for a friend of ours. Kimmy Gardner, she's sort of short, bleached-blond--" "They all went into the back rooms when the party ended this morning," the man answered in the same funereal tones. "Back through that bead curtain. Look in the windows before you open any doors." "Thanks." Fox returned to seize Jen's hand, leading her through the curtain in the back of the barroom. "I can't believe you walked over there," she whispered at him fiercely. "That's so incredibly gross. And what about that disease that's been in all the papers lately, that AIDS thing. You're supposed to get that from fucking about." "In that case we'll likely get it off Kimmy, won't we," he replied. "Just come on then. Let's find her and get out of here." "You get it from body fluids they say," Jen continued mindlessly, "it's all poofs have it now but anyone can catch it off them." "Will you stop?" Fox looked around with widening eyes. The drip marks from the flimsy ceiling, the dampness and general miasma of corruption were dissipating as they passed through the hall behind the bead curtain. "Look here, it's like a whole other place." Jen's brow creased as she scuffed at the dark blue carpet underfoot. Clean fluorescent light glared down on her, paling her yellow hair and highlighting her freckles. "Why's it so shabby out front?" Fox ran his hand over the seamless white walls. "I don't know," he breathed. "But I don't like it." They came to the end of the short transitional hallway; another corridor formed a T with the one they stood in. Fox looked left and right without stepping into the other hall. The long corridor was lined with doors; the top half of each was paneled with a large rectangular window. "What do you think?" he asked. "I think I want to find Kimmy and get my car and get the hell out of here." Jen grabbed his hand. "But let's not split up, okay?" He nodded and led her left; they walked to the end of the hall, stealing glances into the windows. Mostly there were small white rooms filled with sleeping people huddled under black and gold blankets; in one a red-eyed man paced restlessly with a cigarette in each hand. The occupants of one room were awake; Fox and Jen saw them writhing inside and stopped looking in the windows. The corridor was broad, with a few plush cushions stacked here and there. At the end of the hall stood an embroidered circular sofa, the soft material the same deep blue as the carpet. "Kimmy's left handed," Fox said. "We'll try the left door." He looked at Jen's tentative face and peered alone into the window at his left. A few women were sitting cross-legged in a cluster on the floor inside, passing around a bottle. Kimmy was among them, her expression slack and dreamy. Fox knocked at the door. One of the women rose, bobbling somewhat, and twisted the door handle to let them in. "Morning," she said. "Is the party on again?" "No," he said, pushing past her. "C'mon Kimmy, we're going home." She turned her head to regard him mistily. "I don't wanna go," Kimmy said. Someone passed her the bottle; she smiled and took a swig. "Get up, Kimmy, I need my car," Jen demanded. Kimmy stood shakily and dug into her jeans pockets, producing Jen's keys in one trembling hand. She was fully dressed, but she moved as though she were nude. "Here," she said, pressing the keys moistly into Jen's palm. "Go away." "I need to know where you parked the fucking thing!" Jen shouted, snatching the keys away. "What's wrong with you?" "Nothinnnng," Kimmy replied, taking another pull from the bottle. She stumbled and fell towards Fox; he caught her awkwardly. She dumped the contents of the bottle down the front of his sweater and giggled. Fox dropped her and stepped away fast, holding his sweater away from his body to keep the liquid from touching his skin; whatever it was, the stuff was dark and viscous and stank eloquently. Jen looked around at the women in the room and turned to Fox, resolute. "I'll get it out of her. Go on out and wait for me in the hall there." Fox nodded, still staring in dread at the saturated front of his sweater. He half-tripped getting out of the room and plunged against the soft round couch with a surprised grunt. The door was just a little bit open; a thin keening sing-song threaded out the crack. He kicked the door shut and gagged at the odor rising from his shirt, finally holding his breath and pulling it over his head. He nearly lost it when the drenched fabric came close to his face, but Fox managed to get the sweater off and dump it onto the carpet. He huddled on the sofa, knees drawn up against his chest, his hands tucked into his shoes; he watched the doors until his eyes watered, wondering if the people in those small white rooms would emerge. It was cold. Fox eyed his sweater distastefully, then looked at the embroidery on the plush midnight blue of the sofa. The threads were black and gold, the pattern exotic and complex. He leaned his head back to rest it atop the cushion; the texture felt strange. Fox reached back and felt the material; he took it in his hand and lifted it. It was an embroidered vest, made of the same stuff as the sofa and with the same pattern sewn onto it. The silky lining inside it was black and oddly reflective. Fox examined it, baffled, but it was otherwise unremarkable. His eyebrows went up; Fox looked down the corridor again, shrugged, and donned the vest. It was cool and slick against his skin. The door opened. Jen came out, looking a little dazed. "She won't leave," she said dully. "Did you find out where your car is?" he asked. "Yeah... a couple of blocks from here. ...Fox? When do you think you'll move out?" "Of the apartment?" "Yeah." "I don't know. A few months. I'm kind of tired of it already." "Will you go back to Massachusetts?" "No. I'm not going to leave Oxford." "Just me." "Just you," he agreed plainly. "You didn't forget your pill yesterday." "No," Jen sniffled reluctantly. "What is this place?" "I'm not sure." He stopped as the bald man from the barroom appeared and turned to come down the hall towards them. Two good-looking young men trailed after him, carrying bottles and folded black and gold blankets; they both had on blue vests identical to the one Fox wore. The three of them approached, stopping at the door to the room of women. Kimmy and another girl appeared at the window, pressing their hands up against the glass, tapping at it and laughing. The bald man talked to the floor. "They want these two," he said. "We need a third to take care of the drinks." Jen looked at Fox; he tilted his head to gaze at her with his sharp hazel eyes. His mouth curved up, independant of the rest of his expression. "I would do it," the bald man continued, "but I still have the mess in the front to clear up. You can go when the party starts again at sunset." Fox nodded and stood; for the first time since Jen had known him, he wasn't slouching, and he was far taller than she had realized. The bald man clucked and took the bottles from the two young men, handing them to Fox. "See you at school," Fox told Jen. "I'll be back tonight. I still have that test on Monday." She stared at him, her mouth slightly open, half-formed protests buzzing across her puzzled face. Fox rolled the bottles in his hands and shrugged at her. "Don't look at me," he smiled kindly. "It's just what I do." Jen kicked his sweater under the sofa and turned away as Fox went behind the door. * * * * "For old times' sake... don't let me awake..." "London's Brilliant Parade"; Elvis Costello. * * * * -- Summer.