Elvis
By RocketMan

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Notes: MSR - PG13 - Aaagggghhhhh! I'm sick of Elvis. I live in Memphis
and you'd think that Elvis was the only thing going on here. I mean
sheesh, a policeman was shot yesterday and a house was sold and tons of
other stuff. So forgive me if this turns into a
Scully-going-off-on-Elvis-Week.
=-)

=====

"Mulder, seriously, he's dead." I said to his back as he reached down to
pick up his luggage from the baggage carousel.

"Scully!" he sounded shocked.

"Mulder.....you really don't think he's still alive, do you?"

I saw that look on his face, the one that says 'I know exactly what
you're going to say so don't.'

"Mulder..." I said, sounding like a school teacher trying to explain the
rules to a kid who just doesn't get it. Then I understood. "Mulder! You
think *aliens* took Elvis Presley?!"

He sniffed and handed me my one black piece of luggage. "It's a working
theory."

"Yeah, of lunatics!" I said.

###X###

I realize now that was the wrong thing to say to Mulder. I mean, I
didn't try to hurt him, but after that he hasn't answered me.

"Mulder, come on..." I say and he turns to me, a look of scorn on his
face.

"Oh, jeez, Mulder. I didn't mean it." I say. Never has he held my
beliefs against me. I guess I scandalized sacred ground with that
comment.

We're in the motel room, and I just know this motel is *the* place for
the prostitutes to bring their 'work.' I mean, I can hear them.

"Mulder, you had to pick this place, huh? Admiral Benbow Inn. What a
name....what a whorehouse."

He turns and stares at me icily.

"Mulder." I am sick of this. "I'm going back to D.C."

"No! Please, Scully, stay here. It'll be fun, I promise."

I seriously doubt this, but I'm not saying that to his face. "Mulder,
this is a little ridiculous. There is no X-File here."

He frowns. "What about the fact that on Elvis Presley's birth
certificate, it clearly spells his middle name with one A. But on his
headstone, it has two? A-A-R-O-N."

I can't beleive he's telling me this. "Mulder. One word. Mistake. Oh,
wait, make that two words. Stupidity."

He glares at me. "Scully."

I guess that's a warning.

"Just come to Graceland with me, okay?"

"Why? There will be a ton of people there straining to glimpse a man
that not only was an alcoholic, but a drug addict that had eccentric
behavior and probably bi-polar disorder."

"How come you know so much about Elvis?"

I groan. You led yourself to slaughter on that one Dana.

"All right. I'll come."

He smiles. "Don't let me twist you arm, or anything Scully."

It's my turn to glare. "Mulder..." Mine is now a warning.

He knows how far he can go.

"Glad you're coming with me Scully. It wouldn't be any fun without you."

He is pouting.

What a baby!

###X###

The bus goes through the gates and up the driveway and I am impressed
that everyone on the little bus can stay so very quiet. The tour is now
on tape and I think it cheapens the whole thing; I liked the tour guides
the last time I was here with Melissa.

"I don't like tapes, Mulder." I say, as the bus rolls to a stop.

I stand, ready to depart and the crowd, including Mulder remains seated.

He yanks me down and we are just sitting here, waiting.

How come everyone else knew to remain seated?

Oh......they've been here before.

Actually, so have I, but I didn't remember to stay seated.

In irony, John Denver is playing in the little piped in music. I think
it's the song "It Amazes Me." How very appropriate.

Then we are let off.

Finally. Into the hot, humid Memphis day.

"Mulder, it's August!" I complain.

His look plainly tells me to shut up.

Ooohh. Sorry, didn't realize this was so holy for you, Mulder.

We put on the tapes and headphones and immediately the voice tells us
that the house was bought from a doctor for such and such amount of
money and that the doctor's wife was named Grace, hence Graceland. So
Elvis never changed it. He met Priscilla when she was forteen.....blah
blah blah. I could care less.

Mulder is enraptured.

###X###

Finally out of that weird house.

A Jungle Room? Complete with waterfall?

A TV Room? With yellow, cancary yellow interior and about twelve
televisions?

Whatever.

Mulder is practically prostrate in front of the grave.

I am a little worried.

I pull him away. "Mulder.....don't worship him...."

He frowns and looks around at the crowd who are worshipping him.

"I'm not Scully. I'm looking to see if the headstone has been --"

"What? Tampered with? Mulder they did move his body, along with his
parents and stillborn twin to this place from a real cemetery."

He frowns. "Yeah, that's going to be a real problem."

I yank him away from the crowd and past the standing sprays of memorial
flowers that come from as far away as China and as odd as Paraguay.

No joke.

"Mulder, listen carefully. You're scaring me here. Just stop with this,
all right?"

I think my voice wavered a bit. If he turns into one of those crazy,
Elvis-sighters, then there is no way I will have any respect for him.

"Mulder?"

"Yeah, Scully. All right. I'll stop."

He looks at me and I think he can see the fear in me, that he will go
crazy on me and I'll loose him.

"I'm okay. Really." he says.

I hope so.

"Here, as long as I'm being crazy, why don't I be crazy in a more
productive manner?"

I raise an eyebrow to his words and look in his eyes.

His eyes are getting bigger, no closer to me. What?

Oh my gosh, Mulder is kissing me.

"Mulder!"

He pulls away and grins. "I've always wanted to do that."

I have no clue what to say. Despite that he has just violated my
personal space, not that he doesn't all ready, but he's acting crazy.

Elvis crazy.

"Mulder.."

He smiles and leans forward again. "Once more, Scully..."

This time I catch his lips in my mouth and I don't let him get away.

If Mulder and the rest of the world can go crazy one day, why not me?

Elvis crazy that is.

end,
adios
tchau
RocketMan