Summary: Life after the World settles.
Pairing: They're all there.
Rating: Humour
Archive: Archive X, Gossamer: anywhere else, please just ask so I know where this has gotten to.
Disclaimer: The characters are the property of CC, Fox, 1013. Imitation is the greatest form of flattery.

Once upon a time there were Three Little Feebees.

There was Mulder Feebee who liked to pursue the paralogistical. (Isn't that a *cool* word. I found it in a Thesaurus.)

There was Scully Feebee who liked to pursue the scientifical.

And then there was Skinner Feebee who read reports and tried to keep the other two from wreaking havoc on the home front.

One day, the World settled and the Three Little Feebees decided to go off on their own. They set up their own business: The Three Feebees Consultation, Inc.

And they, each of them, went off and built their very own little houses.

Mulder Feebee looked around and saw how beautifully the sun shone on the fields. (He was a romantic at heart.) So he built himself a golden house of straw.

Scully Feebee scoffed at Mulder Feebee's choice of material. She wanted something more solid and yet natural. (She was one of those green-types, don't you know.) What could be more solid, green and natural than wood. So she built herself an ecologically correct house of sticks.

Skinner Feebee ignored the other two. He wanted something strong, conservative. So he built himself a house of bricks. By himself. (Looking, if I may say so, trŠs butch and virile in his worn jeans, tight white t-shirt, open denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up framing his strong wrists and muscular forearms... Deep sigh...But I digress.)

Of course, it took him much longer to build his house than it took Mulder Feebee and Scully Feebee to build theirs. (Actually, they contracted out to a very reputable firm: Boars Construction, Inc.) But he endured their friendly teasing with patience. Let them go off and play while he built himself a lovely, solid, sturdy home of red-brown bricks. Finished it off with one of those new steel roofs.

All in all, he was very pleased with his new environment when it was done.

All went well for the Three Little Feebees. Their lives were less alien-ated. Business was good. Mulder Feebee took all the weird consultation cases and usually solved them. Scully Feebee took all the scientific/forensic consultation cases and usually solved them.

Skinner Feebee worked the desk, did the paper work (which pleased Scully Feebee to no end as she felt she had already done more than her fair share), maintained their budget (which displeased Mulder Feebee who felt that he really shouldn't have to account for *every* cell phone), dealt with the sensitive, conservative consultation cases and usually solved them.

The sun shone. The lark was on the wing. The snail was on the thorn. All was right in their world.

Until the day when, in the early morn, Scully Feebee was awakened out of a sound sleep by a frantic pounding on her door. Muttering to herself, she pulled on her dressing gown, went and opened the door.

In fell a dishevelled, hysterical Mulder Feebee. He wore his old sweat suit, had straw all over him, looked as though he had rolled in the stuff.

"HE BLEW MY HOUSE DOWN!!!!!" Mulder Feebee screamed. He sobbed. He wailed. He cried. He kept on repeating, over and over again (which irritated Scully Feebee to no end because she thought that *now* that they had gone out on their own she would never have to deal with *this* Mulder Feebee ever again), "He blew my house down!"

"Mulder Feebee," she snapped, already out of patience with him. "Just what do you mean? Who *he*? And why are you covered with straw? Do you know how dusty that material is? I just cleaned my house and now I'm going to have to do it over again."

But Mulder Feebee had calmed down enough for him to tell her about the Big Bad Wolf who had blown his house down around him.

"Now you're just being silly, Mulder Feebee," said Scully Feebee. "No one has the lung capacity to blow a house down. Even one made of straw. It was probably an earthquake. Or a twister: they are common phenomena at this time of year. Or maybe your house was caught between two shearing masses of air. This sometimes happens to planes and it rips the wings...."

But just then Scully Feebee heard a deep roar, masculine laughter and suddenly her lovely little house of sticks, so carefully built to be ecologically as undamaging as possible to the environment, began trembling around them. Mulder Feebee let out a shriek of panic and made for the door. Scully Feebee was just a stride behind him. She stepped out just as her lovely thatch roof collapsed to the sound of laughter from the Big Bad Wolf.

"See," said Mulder Feebee still frightened but not too frightened to gloat, "I told you *he* blew my house down. *NOW* do you believe me?"

Skinner Feebee was drinking a very good cup of coffee, his first of the morning, perusing the paper when he heard the doorbell ring and pounding on the front door of his lovely house of bricks. He listened for a moment, calmly folded up the paper, took a last sip of his coffee and went to see just who was making such a racket.

He was not really surprised when Mulder Feebee tumbled in, a bit more when Scully Feebee did. He expected that sort of behaviour from Mulder Feebee but had never before encountered it from Scully Feebee. At first he couldn't make out a word of what Mulder Feebee was saying: it was all too mumbled, too screechy. So he waited until Scully Feebee had caught her breath and looked to her for an explanation.

"I'm certain there is a scientific explanation for the whole matter if we just look at the situation the right way," was the first thing out of her mouth.

"He blew our houses down! Who gives a fucking damn about the scientific explanation! We don't have any place to live in any more! He *blew* them down!" Mulder Feebee seemed to Skinner Feebee to be very distraught. Scully Feebee looked as though she was ready to jump down Mulder Feebee's throat.

For a moment there Shinner Feebee thought he might have to knock out the two of them, but suddenly, with the arrival of a barely audible rumble, they both calmed down, looked around them and dove into the hallway closet.

Skinner Feebee listened as there was a muted deep roar, the faint sound of masculine laughter and the sound of a strong wind buffeting his sturdily built house of bricks.

He went over to the window and could make out a form, a black figure of some kind, whirling around his house, causing the strong wind.

"Ah, a vortex," he said to himself. "That will make Scully Feebee happy. But not a natural one, so that will please Mulder Feebee."

He waited until he heard a sputter, the wind die down before he opened his front door and stepped out.

Outside, in his yard, now having run out of gas, was a motorcycle. Big. Black. With a black figure sitting casually on it.

Skinner Feebee walked over to the big, black motorcycle with its black helmeted, black leather-clad driver. He stood, rested his hands on his hips, shifted his weight to one foot and quirked an eyebrow at the man who had caused all this hullabaloo.

The man kicked down his stand, swung a leg over the gas tank, rested his black booted ankle on it, stretched out his other leg. He reached up and removed his helmet.

From behind him, Skinner Feebee heard two gasps of shock. He ignored them. Instead he concentrated on the rueful grin, the sparkling emerald eyes, the dishevelled brown-black hair of Krycek Wolf.

The two adversaries looked each other over without saying a word. Skinner Feebee noticed the lithe body, the long legs, the muscular thighs encased in the shiny skin-tight leathers. (Like, who wouldn't.) Krycek Wolf looked the older man down and up, noticing the strength clothed in denim, the physical confidence of a man at ease in his own body. (Hey, we're not blind either.)

"Krycek Wolf," said Skinner Feebee in his most patient Marine tones, "why are you doing this?"

"Well," Krycek Wolf's grin spread into a full smile, one of those Luciferin things that thickened the bulge at the front of Skinner Feebee's jeans, "I figured it was one way of getting your attention."

"Well," Skinner Feebee shifted his weight to his other foot, pleased to note that Krycek Wolf's eyes followed his action, that the front of his very tight leather pants became even tighter, "you've got it. Now what are you going to do with it?"

There's a new consultation business around these days called: The Two Feebees Consultation, Inc.

And Mulder Feebee and Scully Feebee have built new houses, two of those below ground sod houses that are very snug and very ecologically environmentally sound. They are both very pleased with their new homes.

Mulder Feebee still takes all the weird consultation cases and usually solves them. Scully Feebee still takes all the scientific/forensic consultation cases and usually solves them. They're very happy about that.

But now Scully Feebee has to do all the paper work and Mulder Feebee has to maintain their budgets. They're not happy about that, but, hey! that's life.

As for Skinner Feebee, he's very happy in his new business: BRICKS & BIKES, INC.

And with his new partner.

In fact, he's just finished building a nice brick addition to the garage that is just the right size to shelter a big black motorcycle.

NIF

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