Off the Record, by realitycek

Off the Record

by realitycek

Disclaimer: Doesn't qualify, I know, but mental flashes being what they are... (No infringement of rights intended by reproduction and/or maltreatment of dialogue)

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"Try to remember, Michel!" Mulder snapped, in a vain attempt to cover the hot rush of lust with an excess of professional zeal. "The policeman at the scene supports what you said -- but maybe there was something...unusual...about this woman? Something you wouldn't feel comfortable telling the police on the record?"

"But...this is off the record?" Blushing prettily, the erstwhile victim of a horrible, frothing death by nookie looked apprehensively up at the agent, batting his eyelashes.

Mulder stood dazed in the sudden breeze this created, gazing raptly from the dark, tousled hair, the angelic features, the long curve of throat, to the supine body outlined by the thin hospital sheet... "Absolutely."

Shooting a disgusted look at her slack-jawwed partner, Scully took up the interrogation. "What did you see, Michel?"

"After she left the car, when she was fighting with the cop...I saw her in her clothes, and she looked like..." Embarrassment sent the young man's breathy whisper into the upper registers as he giggled nervously. "She looked like a yam!"

Scully rolled her eyes, lip curling in a dispassionately scientific manner. "She was a yam. A tuber. A member of the family Discoreaceae. A -- "

"Well, it was outside the disco, yeah, but..."

" -- source of botanical progesterone, used in the treatment of PMS and other gynecological -- "

"Uhh...TMI, Scully."

"Listen, the club scene used to be so simple...roofies, poppers, X, junior high kids and tequila, tweak, GHB..." Dark, smouldering eyes slid Mulder a sidelong glance, seeking reassurance. "Off the record."

"Scout's honour." By now, the two fingers he raised to his temple were not the only parts of Mulder's body offering a sincere salute. God, was he ever a Scout? Those little khaki shorts...

Michel sighed in relief, faint smile flickering about his perfect lips. So, Agent, is that a sweet potato in your pocket, or...?

Dragging her partner back out of the room, his shoes squeaking across the tile as he waved and made 'call me' gestures at their dubious informant, Scully gave him a shove down the hallway and resumed pondering aloud. "We can't rule out the possibility that who we're looking for is a transvestite."

"I think Don Juan in there knows the difference between the male and female of the species and a root vegetable, Scully." Fortunately, I don't think he cares...

"I just don't want us to ignore the obvious. I mean, how else could you explain a yam overpowering a 200-pound cop? It was a he."

"In a yam suit, dressed in women's clothing? Jesus, Scully -- "

"What do you want from me? I didn't issue this challenge!"

"Agent Mulder! Agent Scully!" Their liaison from the local field office hurried up to them. "The credit card that was stolen from the last victim in DC was just used to order Miracle-Gro in a hotel downtown, about 8 blocks from here."

This was the break they had been waiting for. "I'll drive!" Mulder exulted as they sprinted for the exit. "I want to stop at a produce stand on the way..." Patting his pocket for the notebook containing the address and phone number of one Michel Lacheur, he grinned broadly in anticipation. "Wonder if parsnips are in season..."

End

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