Dancing Fool
by JHJ Armstrong

Rating: Hm. R, I think. Sexual situations, minor language. No real smut to speak of, just lust.
Category: MSR, UST. Humor.

Summary: How did Mulder prepare for his striptease? And how did Scully handle the knowledge he was going to do it? Prequel to "He Wore A Fedora." You should probably read (or re-read) that before you tackle this. :P

Disclaimer: If they were mine, DD would be contractually obligated to bring my stories to life. Alas, he's neither.

Starring: Paul Mercurio ("Strictly Ballroom") as Rich Baker and Ving Rhames as Pete. Dancers include Nicolas Cage, Jude Law, Phillip Seymour Hoffman, Billy Baldwin, Ron Eldard, Andy Garcia, Keanu Reeves, Jared Leto, Ewan McGregor, Denzel Washington, Tony Goldwyn, Patrick Swayze and Luke Wilson. Special guest appearances by Dennis Rodman as Shari Lynn and Garth Brooks as Chris Gaines.

To Becky, who begged. And Sabine, who said it was okay to be campy. And especially for everybody who made me feel warm and fuzzy about "Fedora." A sequel is remotely plausible.


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Somewhere in Washington, D.C.
November
Wednesday, 6:30 p.m.

Mulder climbed out of his car, pocketed the keys, walked into Sin City and chuckled to himself. This, he realized, was the first time he hadn't come here to buy or watch something.

No, he was here to dance. The man behind the counter, big, black and wearing a matching studded leather dog collar and name tag, caught sight of him. "Hey, Mulder! We just got a new shipment in. Want to be the first to see Michael Nin's latest? Quite classy."

"Maybe later, Pete. I'm not shopping today." He smiled at the clerk, who over the years had never recommended a movie Mulder hadn't liked. Porno or otherwise. "I'm looking for Rich Baker?"

Pete didn't even blink. He just picked up the phone and hit a button. "Rich? Hi. Fox Mulder's out here to meet you." He set the phone back in its cradle. "So. You need extra money for Christmas, or what?"

"No, I've got money to spare," Mulder said with a laugh. "This is ... personal."

"Ooo. Pretty Boy Mulder don't just wiggle his tail for anybody, huh? Is the lady worth it?"

A man was coming toward them from the back of the store. "Pete, the diamonds in your collar pale in comparison." He held out his hand to the other man, who gave it a strong, sure shake. "Hi. Fox Mulder. But I prefer just Mulder."

"Rich Baker. I prefer just Rich. Let's get to work, shall we?"


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Two hours later, Mulder knew he'd never laugh at another late-night ballroom dance competition on PBS again.

Rich had taken him through Sin City's back room and up a staircase to the second floor, half of which had a mirrored wall and a parquet dance area made of real tongue-and-groove flooring, not the fold-up pieces like you'd find at an outdoor wedding.

The other half was a jumble of dressing rooms, clothes and props. Rich tore through the piles, asking Mulder about sizes and assembling an outfit as he went. "Here. Put those on," he said, handing the bundle to Mulder. "Then we'll talk."

"Is that the royal We?" Rich didn't laugh, just looked Mulder up and down, and Mulder saw just how serious this man was about what he did. He changed quickly into the g-string, tearaway pants and button-down dress shirt.

When he came out, Rich motioned for him to move to the middle of the dance floor, then sat down in the far corner on a worn cable spool with a pile of CDs and a stereo on it. He was quiet until he saw Mulder's eyes start to wander, then spoke in a booming baritone, startling him into paying attention again.

"First, some ground rules. We charge a lot of money for the service we provide, and in turn we give our clients the best entertainment we know how." He stood up and started to pace a little.

"In the next two hours, we will see what you can do. I'm an aerobics instructor and ballroom dancing champ, so I know what I'm doing. You pass the mirror test. But if you can't move, you're of no use to me.

"Each one of your potential co-workers has gone through what you are about to. For every one, about 10 were rejected. I have no qualms about rejecting you, although I sense you might have a little more at stake here than some."

He chose a CD, put it in, hit play, and walked toward Mulder.

He put his left hand at Mulder's waist, grabbed Mulder's left hand with his right and said, "Rumba." Which they did.


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They also did the salsa, tango, foxtrot, waltz, Charleston, two-step, cha-cha and samba. Mulder didn't know every step, but he picked them up without too much trouble.

An hour later, Rich said, "Not bad. At least the g-string doesn't make you walk like you've got a wedgie," and stopped the CD, taking out the latin-flavored instrumentals. He inserted another, and the opening bass notes of "Sunshine of Your Love" filled the room.

"Okay. So you can dance. Now strip." Rich leaned against the mirror. Mulder, still a bit winded, took a few deep breaths and did as he was told, stealing glances at himself in the mirror along the way. He had his shirt off when the song ended. Rich shook his head.

"Nope. You have to be down to the g-string by the time there's a minute left in the song. 'Less clothes, more money' is how it goes."

"I'm not in this for the money."

"I realize that. But you're still going to be dancing with us. And that means you play by our rules."

"So I'm in?" Mulder felt a rush of excitement.

"Yes. Welcome to Working Men. Come back tomorrow, same bat time, same bat dance floor. The other guys'll want to meet you."

Mulder nodded and headed for the dressing room.

"Mulder." He turned around. Rich grinned. "It's okay to get turned on when you look in the mirror. Happens to the rest of us all the time."


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SciCrime lab
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Thursday, 5 p.m.

"Mulder, would you quit fidgeting? You're driving me nuts. And I doubt Danny appreciates the shells you're leaving all over the floor."

Scully walked over to where Mulder was leaning against the wall, one knee flexing back and forth. "I can't help it, Scully. I need to get somewhere ... " He trailed off as she moved close enough to lick him.

She trapped his leg between both of hers, looked up with her best Scully stare and said in her worst Scully voice, "Stop." Followed by, "Please?" accompanied by a sunny Scully smile. Mulder froze.

They stood like that, motionless, staring at each other, until Danny cleared his throat. "When you have a free moment, agents, I have some results for you."

Scully didn't move her body an inch, just held out her hand until Danny put the folder in it. She backed up, turned left and walked out of the room.

Danny looked at Mulder. "Yowza."

"You got that right." He escaped from the building five minutes later.


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Sin City, second floor
Thursday, 6:30 p.m.

"You must be the new guy. I'm Brad Malone."

Mulder, stretching out on the floor in red mesh shorts and gray Knicks T-shirt, shook the proffered hand and looked up to see a guy who could have been the main character in "Leaving Las Vegas."

Except the man in front of him was wearing not a ratty undershirt and faded khakis but a leotard, tights and leg warmers. He wore lace-up shoes, soft leather with a low heel. "Nice shoes," Mulder told him.

"Best thing to dance in. Light as a feather. And they don't look as airy-fairy as ballet slippers." Brad seemed not to notice the irony. "I can get you a pair, pretty reasonable price."

"Thanks. But I think I'll see how I do in my Nikes." Mulder stood up to finish stretching his legs. "I'm Fox Mulder. Good to meet you."

"Fox? Did your parents not like you?" Brad joined him in stretching, balancing on his left leg and pulling the right one toward his butt with both hands.

Mulder grimaced. "Something like that. Just call me Mulder."

Brad nodded. "Ah. Hey, we've got a couple minutes, let's go meet some of the others." He walked toward a guy with beefy shoulders, a narrow waist and styled, shoulder-length hair.

Mulder followed, eyes widening as he realized who the man looked like. "That's not --?"

"Patrick Swayze? Nope," Brad said, shaking his head. "But the uncanny resemblance doesn't hurt a bit. A lot of the women who come to our shows got through puberty watching 'Dirty Dancing.' "

The Swayze doppelganger stopped doing T'ai Chi long enough to shake Mulder's hand and say, "Welcome. I'm Jay Krueger," then resumed his exercises.

Brad introduced Mulder to a few more before Rich came bounding up the stairs, ending up in the middle of the dance floor. "Okay, guys, business." Everybody sat in a circle around him.

"We have a new member tonight. Mulder, stand up, please." Mulder stood, lifting a hand in greeting. "Mulder will be joining Team 4, replacing Jorge for the D.C. Hope Christmas party." Indicating a solidly built man with thick, dark blond hair and blue eyes, Rich told Mulder, "Thomas is team captain. He'll be working with you on routines and costumes." Mulder smiled at the man and sat down.

"Let's see. Team 3, report." Brad stood and gave a quick rundown of his team, then Thomas and Caleb, who looked barely old enough to drive, much less be an exotic dancer, did the same.

Keeping half his attention on the speaker, Mulder checked out the other 20 or so men in attendance. They came in all shapes, sizes and colors. They all looked young, most under 30, and well-muscled. As his eyes flicked past, a tall, long-limbed black man winked at him. Yep, definitely all types here, Mulder thought.

The men separated themselves into teams, and Mulder found himself with Thomas (last name Graham), Rory Crawford, a wiry brunette with a Scottish accent, an olive-skinned, black-haired Greek named Vasili Theoharis, and the black man, who introduced himself, with another wink, as Lenny Johnson. Mulder wanted to ask him if he had a nervous tic, but held himself in check. Barely.

Thomas pulled five blue folders out of a briefcase, handing out four. "Mulder, Rich told me you're a pretty quick study, so I'm just going to start going over the plan and you can butt in with any questions along the way." Mulder nodded.

"Okay, turn to page four." Thomas looked at his notes, then started to outline the show. "A group number first, then we'll go in this order for the solos ..."


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X-Files office
8:12 a.m.

Mulder came to work Friday morning a little sore but invigorated. Team 4 had started on its routine after the verbal walk-through. Around the fourth or fifth time through the opening sequence, the men had hit a groove, and Mulder realized that he was really going to do this, he was going to "wiggle his tail," as Pete put it, in front of God and everybody.

But especially Dana Scully. And her reaction was the only one he cared about at all. Knowing she was due any second, he slipped the dance routine description out of his briefcase and tried a couple moves.

"Mulder, are you having a seizure?" He whirled around to face a clearly amused redhead. She was also a little flushed, Mulder noted; perhaps his basement gyrations were having the desired effect.

Because Fox Mulder wanted Dana Scully. Pure and simple. He'd wanted her since she told him she'd only put herself on the line for him, but his insecurity and her cool facade kept him silent. So when he heard Rich's voice on her speakerphone, he'd seized the opportunity. Hell, he was ready to go paint "I love you, Scully" on a billboard, but he was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Or the g-string.

"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it, Scully." He put the papers back into his briefcase and went to pour her a cup of coffee.

She took it from him, letting her fingers linger on his for the merest second. "What makes you think I haven't?" she asked him, mischief in the eyes that peeked at him over the cup's rim.

He just gaped at her as she turned and walked out the door.


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As Scully waited for the elevator that would take her to the third floor and the SciCrime lab, she reflected upon the sight she'd been greeted with this morning: Mulder, shimmying and shaking his fine ass all over the X-Files office.

It took a half-second before she realized she had to put a stop to it before she threw him down on the floor, rode him hard and put him away wet. So she joked, and gave him a little dose of his own innuendo.

But she was still weak in the knees and her heart still pounded in her chest. This was not an uncommon occurence when it came to Mulder, but usually it happened at home, late at night, when she was alone with her Plastic Peter.

She was insanely curious about her partner's dancing ability, and she was coming to realize just how insane she was about him. Honestly, prior to the impromptu show just now, she didn't think he was going to go through with it. Now she saw he was in earnest, and as she stole a glance back down the hallway into the office, she was hypersensitive to the slightest thing he did, from running his fingers through his hair to chewing on the earpieces of his glasses.

The elevator arrived, and Scully stepped into it, taking another sip of coffee out of the FBI mug in her right hand while she looked at the contents of the folder in her left. How is it, she wondered, that I can walk, drink coffee and review an autopsy report at the same time, but I can't find a way to tell Mulder I want his bod?


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Saturday
FBI Fieldhouse
Basketball courts
9 a.m.

It was Saturday morning, which meant Mulder would be playing basketball. And Scully would be watching.

After he'd drained several from downtown, fed two alley-oops and executed a perfect give-and-go, Agent Tony Paulson's wife Callie smiled at Scully and said, "Your Mulder's having quite the game today."

Scully nodded her head. "Yes, he does seem to be playing above his usual superstardom this morning." She realized she sounded a little breathy, and glanced at Callie, blushing a bright red when she saw her knowing expression. "He's not *my* Mulder," she muttered, and the other woman just snorted.

"Like hell he's not," she said with a smirk, and went back to watching the game.

Scully did likewise, and admired the grace with which her partner ran the court. Lithe and agile, he jumped and grabbed a rebound, putting it back in without touching the ground. The other team called time out, and he ran over to his bag for a swig of Evian. She sighed, and Mulder seemed to sense the sound. He turned and waved, grinned and wiggled his hips. She blushed again. Callie laughed and said, "You were saying?"

Scully rolled her eyes. "Whatever."


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Sin City, second floor
Monday
7:45 p.m.

"Okay, Mulder, what's your plan?" The team was discussing their solo acts.

"Well, I know I'm going to wear a blue, pinstriped three-piece suit. White dress shirt. Glasses. But I'm kinda lost after that. I ... I'm trying to make an impression on somebody, somebody I care about a lot, and I want to get it just right."

Rory grinned. "Sounds serious. What does she like?" He got up and started rummaging through a pile of hats. One rolled off the table and came to a stop, brim up, at Mulder's feet.

It was a fedora. Memories of a day of watching movies with Scully, teasing her about her penchant for Harrison Ford and his hat, crowded into Mulder's mind.

He picked it up, put it on. "Gentlemen, we have lift-off. Music suggestions?"


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Saturday
Amateur Night at The Romper Room
8 p.m.

One of the requirements of being in Working Men was a weekly performance. The group had quickly developed a loyal following, and now clubs were calling them. Bar managers know that horny women like to drink. A lot.

Team 4 met at the dance studio for a final walk-through before heading off to The Romper Room. Mulder was a little nervous; this was his debut, after all. He hoped he could just funnel the energy into his performance. Hard to remember a dance routine when you're dry heaving.

Lenny sat next to him on the way over to the club. "So, Mulder. Who's this person you're trying to impress? Wouldn't be a tall, handsome black man with a devilish smile, would it?"

"I hate to burst your bubble, Lenny, but no. She's a petite redhead who hides a ferocious Irish temperament behind business suits, mysterious expressions and a handgun."

Rory turned from the shotgun seat to look at Mulder. "Sounds like you wouldn't mind it if that ferocious temperament was focused on you."

He laughed, a deep, genuine one. "If you only knew, Rory. If you only knew."

They arrived at the club, and each man grabbed his garment bag out of the back of the van. Once they'd all hung up their stuff in the dressing room, Thomas called them together.

"Ok. Let's have a tight show, and give the audience some good memories." He glanced at Mulder. "Everybody help the new guy if he falters, eh?" Heads nodded.

"Ok. Showtime."


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"... And that was Shari Lynn with 'Embraceable You!' Let's have a big round of applause for Shari Lynn!" The emcee's enthusiasm clearly exceeded the audience's opinion of Shari Lynn; only a few people could be heard clapping.

Mulder hadn't thought the singer was that bad -- a bit too much influence from Marilyn Monroe's version of "Happy Birthday," perhaps, but he'd heard worse. Much worse.

As the singer cleared the curtain and came backstage, however, Mulder saw why the crowd was so underwhelmed. Shari Lynn was a he. A black, six-foot-seven he wearing a cream silk halter dress, blond wig and spike heels.

Shari Lynn gave Lenny a big hug. "Hey, baby doll." She released him, then gave Mulder a thorough visual inspection. "Who's the new meat?" Lenny grinned.

"Shari Lynn, this is Fox Mulder. He's Jorge's replacement." Mulder shook a hand that was attached to a very large forearm and tattooed bicep.

"Hi," Mulder said. "You, uh, you walk really well in those heels." Vasili, who had just taken a drink of ice water, spewed it right back out. Mulder glared at him, then looked back up at Shari Lynn. "I mean it. You're a big ... person, it can't be easy."

"Well, aren't you a charmer? And no, it's not easy. You should try it. You've got great legs."

"Um, thanks." Shari Lynn smiled, revealing a gold tooth, then pecked Lenny on the cheek and walked toward the dressing area.

Four men looked at Mulder like they couldn't decide whether he was crazy or just plain stupid. "Dude, she could have squashed you like a bug," Thomas said.

Mulder shrugged. "What can I say? I'm debonair with savoir-faire."

The emcee, meanwhile, had been playing the guitar and singing a bad cover of "Like A Rolling Stone." His voice was familiar, so Mulder went to get a better look. It was Chris Gaines. Mulder shook his head. Talk about your fifteen seconds of fame.

The song finished, and Thomas said, "Time to line up." The five men moved into their places.

"And now, the main event!" hollered Gaines into the mike. "Ladies, get ready to rumble with Working Men!"

Curtain up, spotlight on. Dance, Forrest, dance!


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Two days before the D.C. Hope Christmas Gala
Scully's apartment
Thursday evening

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU SHREDDED MY DRESS?" Scully shouted into her cordless. Mulder, filling out expense reports at the coffee table over kung pao chicken and beef broccoli, flinched and felt sorry for the poor slob on the other end.

The poor slob, a dry cleaning man, flinched in turn. "I'm sorry, ma'am. It -- it got caught in the rotor blades, and by the time we hit 'stop,' the dress was beyond help. We will pay you for the damages," he said, and named an amount that made Scully's eyes widen and went a long way towards easing the pain of losing her best, and favorite, party dress.

She thanked the man and hung up. Mulder asked the question with his eyes. "Oh, the dry cleaner destroyed my dress. I wouldn't mind so much, I mean, they're going to pay for it and then some, but it was one of my most favorite things to wear."

"What did it look like?"

"Oh, it was a deep green brocade, not beaded, just the fabric. Square neckline, empire bodice, A-line skirt ..." She stopped when she saw Mulder's eyes glaze over. "Sorry. It's not like I don't have other nice things in my closet." Her voice became small and quiet, like a little girl's. "But it was a really nice dress." She shook her head, shifted gears, picked up another report and was soon lost to the world.

Mulder, however, had an inspiration. He got up and headed to the bathroom, but grabbed his cell phone on the way. Once inside, he closed the door and dialed. "Marie? It's Fox Mulder. Oh, I'm fine. How are you? Good. Listen, I need a really big favor ..."


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Saturday morning
Scully's apartment
8 a.m.

Someone was pounding on the door. "All right, already, I'm coming."

Scully opened the door to behold two women holding four armfuls of dresses. Green dresses. Designer dresses.

"What is this?"

"You are Dana Scully, yes?" The woman spoke with a slight French accent. Scully was too dumbfounded to do anything but nod mutely.

"We are from Marie Yvette." Scully's eyes widened as she recognized the elite designer's name. "And you are to choose two dresses, madame. At no charge."

"What? Who --" The other woman handed Scully a note.

"S,
Sorry about your dress.
Maybe one of these will do?
See you tonight,
                    M"

Scully's lips made a silent "O." The first woman laid her burdens on the couch, selecting one to hold up to Scully. "Perhaps, madame, you would like to try the velvet?"


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D.C. Hope Christmas Gala
Hyatt Regency Ballroom
Just after dinner

Mulder hovered near the curtain, trying to catch a glimpse of the room without being seen. He just wanted to see her.

She came into view, walking arm-in-arm with a statuesque brunette. Emily, Mulder's mind supplied. Secretary, fourth floor. A plump, laughing blond was on her left, with a name tag reading "Janie."

The three debated for a moment on where to sit, then chose a table in the back center of the room, facing the stage.

Scully was ... glowing. No other word for it. Mulder held his breath and absorbed the simple but chic upsweep of her hair, the flush in her cheeks, the smile on her face ... and the dress.

It was brocade (with a square neckline, empire bodice and A-line skirt, Mulder noted wryly) trimmed with crushed velvet, flaring gently and stopping just below the knee. Scully chose that moment to cross her legs, and Mulder admired the way her shapely thighs and calves tapered into a chunky, four-inch heel with a delicate strap around the ankle and beads on the part that surrounded the front of her foot.

Thomas, Rory, Vasili and Lenny came up behind him. "Do you see her?" Vasili asked.

Mulder nodded. "Back of the hall, straight across from center stage."

Rory started to ask, "Where ... oh. Oh. Very nice, Mr. Mulder."

Lenny's smile was genuine, if a bit pouty. "Well, I'm glad she's as pretty as you are." Mulder grinned and chucked him under the chin.

"Thomas, do me a favor?" Mulder asked, fishing a note out of his back pocket. "Give that to her before my solo."

Thomas read it, smirked and shook his hand. "Good luck, Mulder."

Mulder grinned. "Somehow, I think the fates are smiling on me tonight," he said, and meant it.


-- 30 --

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