TITLE: Untitled Random Case File #4664 (1/3)
AUTHOR: Jess 
EMAIL ADDRESS: snarkypup@mindspring.com
DISCLAIMER: CC may own their bodies, but I own their souls. Read on.
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Anywhere, just let me know.
SPOILER WARNING: Well... Up through Season 7, I suppose
RATING: R for raunchy, but no actual sex was harmed in the making of this
story
CONTENT WARNING: Much silliness ensues
CLASSIFICATION: I have no idea. Humor? MSR?
SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully set out to solve a case. The Author tags along.
Literally.

Visit my site for all my fiction, lovingly archived by Galia:
http://galias.arjika.com/Jess/jess.htm
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AUTHOR'S NOTES: are at the end of this one.

Email me, I know not what I do.

Untitled Random Case File #4664



The following story is based on actual events.

My name is Jess.  I write fanfic. This is my story.

Unnamed Eastern US City
To Which I Have Never Actually Been
Probably Washington DC
Sometime In The Near Future

I got the call on a Friday night. I was nearly asleep in front of the TV,
one hand on the remote, the other on the phone. I think I'd left it on some
infomercial, something with Suzanne Sommers and an ab-machine. Ever since
they put me on stand-by, I'd been on edge, unable to sleep properly. The
only place I could get any rest was on the damn couch.

One of the other authors was out, they said, with a terrible intestinal
ailment. Deadlines were tight, the cast and crew were frantic. Could I stand
in on Sunday? You bet I could.

It was like a dream come true.

I was told I'd find them in the basement office; that was where they liked
to meet the new people. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous. I'd even
gone out the day before and bought a nice suit for the occasion. Dark
purple, almost black, with a tight little white shell underneath. I wanted
to fit in, you know? Well, I guess I really just didn't want to stand out.

I don't know what came over me with the shoes. I could barely walk in them.
I had do some rewriting just to make sure I didn't need to run.

The building isn't nearly as imposing in real life as it looks on screen.
Seventies concrete and a bunch of really tiny windows. Architectural
brutalism, I think it was called. Low rent, is more like it. But there was a
cappuccino stand out front, which I made note of. I'd heard how much she
likes her cappuccino.

The security guard at the front door checked a list for my name, then issued
me a visitor's pass, which was really just a small piece of brown paper with
"pass" written on it. He shoved it into my breast pocket and politely
escorted me to the stairs.

"It's just one floor down," he said.

I thanked him, since he was really very nice, but said I'd like to take the
elevator instead.

"That's all right," he said. "They always want to take the elevator too."

"Wouldn't you?" I replied. "You've seen the terrible things that happen to
them in stairwells."

He leaned close to me, looking around before replying. "I don't actually
watch the show,"  he said. I was a bit surprised, but hey, to each his own.

"Well, it must be fun being the security guard, always watching out for
crazy mind-benders or were-vampires or whatever," I said, making small talk
as the elevator lumbered down from the fourth floor and a bunch of people in
identical dark blue business suits streamed out.

"Actually, I'm also one of the writers," he said cheerfully, and stuck out
an arm to keep the elevator doors open.

Really the stairs would probably have been faster. It's only one floor down,
like he said, and that elevator is unbelievably slow. Their office was down
at the end of the hall, past the bathrooms and the room with the copier.
There were signs up on the wall, done in Sharpie on lime-green poster board.
It looked like Mulder's writing.

"X-Files Office" it said. With an arrow.

I knocked, feeling terribly nervous now. After all, this was a big
assignment for me. It's not often you get to actually meet the characters
you work with.

"It's open," a male voice said, so I stepped through the doorway.

The office was bigger than I expected, and brighter, lit by a row of
cleristory windows above Mulder's desk. Daylight streamed in, highlighting
the floating motes of dust and the "inspirational" poster tacked to the back
wall. "Determination is the Key to Success" it said, with a picture of a guy
climbing a mountain. Must have been a left over from when they rented it out
to Jeff Spender.

Much to my surprise, there were actually two desks. Someone had put a potted
aspidistra on the corner of one, right next to the "in" basket. I was
surprised to see her name on one of those little bronze triangle things.
Dana Scully, it said, plain as day. I admit I did a bit of a double-take at
that one.

Just when you think you know the layout, they go and change it on you. I
couldn't wait to see Scully's apartment.

Mulder had the slides up and running and Scully was stretching out her
eyebrow, warming up for a long run of disinterested disbelief. Neither of
them seemed particularly surprised to see me there, possibly because I
brought bagels with real cream cheese, and as instructed, a sense of purpose
to their lives.

She was taller than I'd expected, with her head nearly reaching his chin. In
this light, her hair was copper-red, but I guessed it might look garish in
true daylight. She was dressed in that blue suit from the movie, you know
the one. I know you know the one. And very high stacked heels in a matching
shade of navy.

He was undeniably handsome, though his nose looked smaller than I'd thought
it would. I don't know why that disappointed me. He wore the ubiquitous
Season Seven blue button-down and the most gorgeous dark wool suit that
hung... just right.

I began to wonder if I'd been misinformed about the budget.

"Good morning," Mulder said, extending a hand. "I assume you're our author
for today?"

"Mulder," Scully said with a sigh, "Don't you ever read the case files? This
is Jessica. She's been writing fanfiction for just over a year. She was
a..." She hesitated and then lowered her voice. "She was a movie convert."

He stared at me for a moment and then shook his head. "Those are always the
worst. Their expectations are too high."

"Look," I said, blushing and extending the bagels as a peace offering, "I'm
just here to do my job. Can we get on with things? I brought you a new
case."

"Great," Mulder said, moving forward to the slide projector and rubbing his
long fingers together in expectation, "Let's see what we've got."

Scully flipped the light switch near the door and settled on the edge of
Mulder's desk. She wiggled slightly, knocking off a few papers. He coughed
loudly. They were so obviously doing it, despite what I'd be told.

I could see I might have to revise some scenes later on.

Mulder clicked the button on the projector and we began. The first slide
showed a young woman lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to numerous IVs, her
skin pale and waxy. Scully grimaced and looked away. Mulder glared at me.

"Oh wonderful," he said. "Another cancer case. Can't you people just leave
it alone?"

"Her name," I told him, ignoring the look, "is Diane Bigelow. She claims her
ex-fiance, Billy Sims, gave her cancer."

"Why? Was he a smoker?" Scully said.

"Nope," I told her, feeling smug. This was an X-File, after all. I wouldn't
resort to something as stupidly obvious as second-hand smoke.

"Then how, exactly, was he supposed to have given her cancer?"

"That," I said, winking at her, "is why they put the 'I' in FBI."

"Oh God," Mulder groaned, picking up the case file. "Can we at least stay in
a nice hotel?"


Somewhere Outside of Seattle
Because That's Where I Live
And My Writing Teacher Always Said:
Write What You Know
The Next Day

I got them their hotel room, all right. The Westin. A suite with views of
the city, connected by a small, well-stocked living room and wet bar. Don't
think I hadn't heard the complaints, the bitching. Don't think we weren't
all aware of how they felt about the pathetic parade of skanky, flea-ridden
motels along impossibly busy highways. So maybe I was trying to curry a
little favor. Maybe I wanted them to like me. Was that so terrible? They're
two good-looking people, with sex-appeal and charisma to burn. I just wanted
to be liked. That's all.

Besides, it was their expense report.

"This is more like it," Mulder said, dropping his bags in the middle of the
room and striding over to the couch to collapse there. "Where're you putting
Scully?"

She set her bag down neatly by the door and walked over to one of the
bedrooms.

"Wow," she said. "This is much nicer than our usual arrangement. Are you
sure this is ok?"

I turned away so she wouldn't see me blush. It was impossible to lie to her.

Mulder wanted to go meet Diane right away, so we rented a Taurus from the
Lariat rental office downstairs. He wanted the convertible Mustang, I could
tell, but I'd really blown my wad on the room, so I put my foot down.
Besides, I wanted to tell them, this wasn't that sort of story. This was
serious.

I could tell they'd been spoiled in the past by the occasional writer, the
sort who gave into their every sordid whim. Convertibles and trips to
expensive resort islands, hot sex on the beach, that sort of thing. They
were feeling me out, seeing how far I would let them go.

"This is a case file," I told Mulder as he pouted about the Mustang. "Not a
vacation."

He drove. Scully navigated, following the Thomas guide down to the letter,
despite the fact that I could have just told them how to get there. I was
enjoying watching them work together, I have to admit it. Her soft, toneless
voice reading out street names, and the way he shifted in his seat,
adjusting the cut of his pants. It was clear the sound of her voice did
something for him, made him feel a little crazy.

We paused at a stop light and she told him to take a left. He looked over at
her and their eyes met and they held one another's gaze. I was beginning to
feel like the third wheel.

"Mulder," she whispered. "Green light."

"Right," he murmured. We didn't go until someone honked.

They let us right into Diane's room at Swedish Hospital. As it turned out, I
should have been more careful in my casting. I had merely specified "sickly
young woman". I should have known, since this sort of crap has been
happening since the pilot.

I got, in typical X-Files fashion, the obligatory sickly redneck who can't
act. That's the thing about these productions. You have to be so fucking
specific.

She coughed pathetically as we walked in. I don't know why she was so
bitter. Ok, the pay sucked, but the exposure was phenomenal. Better than the
ST:TNG work she'd been getting before. I heard later that she'd really
wanted to work with Buffy.

"Diane Bigelow?" Scully said softly. "I'm Dana Scully from the FBI, and this
is my partner, Fox Mulder. We'd like to ask you some questions about your
boyfriend, Billy."

"That bastard was my fiance," she wheezed. Since I hadn't specified what
sort of cancer she had, Diane was playing it all up equally. Scully nodded
sympathetically.

"Fiance then. I understand you've said that Billy gave you your cancer. What
did you mean by that?"

Diane raised one weak hand and grasped a glass of water from the bedside
table. After a sickly sip from the well-chewed straw, she barely managed to
set it back down. I rolled my eyes and she sat up a bit, reluctantly.

"When I left him, Billy was real upset. The next day, they found the tumor.
It was the size of a watermelon, they said."

I glared again.

"Ok," she corrected, "More like the size of a grapefruit. It was real big."

"Well..." Scully began, putting on her skeptic voice as easily as some women
change handbags. "While that is a rather terrible coincidence, it doesn't
necessarily indicate that Billy purposely gave you this cancer."

Diane looked at me for support. I don't know what she expected. Maybe she
never watched the show either.

"Tell her about his relatives," I finally gave in.

"Oh, right. Well, all Billy's relatives also died of cancer."

Mulder rolled his eyes. I mouthed "what" at him and he cocked his head
toward the idiot in the hospital bed. "Union" I mouthed and he shook his
head. They have to put up with this sort of incompetence much more than I
do. I could tell his patience was wearing a little thin.

"All his relatives?" Scully asked, and I could tell she was a little
surprised. For once, Diane was actually sticking to script.

"Yeah," she said, coughing up a bit of fake blood. Mulder winced. I could
sympathize. I bet those fake maggots hurt like a son of a bitch coming back
up. "His mother died of throat cancer. His father had prostrate cancer."

"You mean prostate?" Scully asked and Diane blushed.

"Yeah," she said. "That's it. His sister died of breast cancer."

"Well..." Scully began. "That is unusual, but in and of itself..."

Mulder took a deep breath and let it out slowly. We all turned to watch him.

"Gee Scully," he said slowly, "it sounds like Billy's either really unlucky,
or there may be something more going on here."

He was even more monotone than usual. Scully's eyes widened for a moment and
he shrugged as if to say: hey, what can I do, I'm just working with the
material. Now, I know it's the same stuff they've done a million times
before, but couldn't they at least try? I mean, I don't have a twenty
million dollar contract, do I, Mr. RollyEyes? No. I get scale.

"You think?" she said at last.

"Sure," he said. "Let's go interview Billy. Maybe that'll tell us
something."

"Yeah," Diane said with more enthusiasm than most people have when they're
near death. "You should go talk to Billy."

"Great," I heard her say as we left. "That was just great. God, I need a
cigarette. Doesn't anyone on this show smoke anything other than this clove
crap?"

I bought them both lunch at the Brooklyn, which ain't cheap, lemme tell you.
Mulder spent a great deal too much time wiping a bit of cocktail sauce off
Scully's lower lip and flirting outrageously with the waitress, but at least
he left the tip.

end 1/3

TITLE: Untitled Random Case File #4664 (2/3)
EMAIL ADDRESS: snarkypup@mindspring.com

Billy Sims Residence
The Usual Big Craftsman House
That Looks Like Every Other House
In Vancouver But Is Really
Somewhere In Seattle
That Same Day


Mulder was chatty after lunch. God, that man can talk about nothing at all.
How Scully stands it, I don't know. There he was, rambling on and on about
Underground Seattle and how they had to raise the streets twenty feet after
the great fire, as if I hadn't spend half my childhood learning about that
stuff. I was even bitten by a rat on a tour when I was six, but did I tell
him that? No. Because no one would care.

"And originally they put clear glass in the sidewalks to let in light, but
then they found that there were bums living down there, using their vantage
point to stare up women's skirts as they passed overhead, so they replaced
the clear glass with the bottoms of green glass bottles, set into the
concrete like stained glass..."

Scully nodded through the whole thing, but I knew she was really just
wishing he'd shut up. We both were.

"We're here," I announced loudly. Mulder glanced in the rear view mirror and
grinned. I got the feeling he was really just trying to annoy me.

Scully fixed her lipstick and we stepped out of the car. I had a surprise
waiting for them inside, assuming I got a good Billy Sims.

Billy answered and I knew immediately it was ok. He was a little scruffy, a
little grungy, but not too obvious. He wasn't wearing flannel or anything.
And he had good hair. Floppy, dirty blond, without any gel. I hate it when
they overdo the gel. He eyed them both with admirable suspicion and said:

"Look, I've already accepted Jesus Christ as my personal savior, and I don't
need another f*****g copy of the Watchtower."

Mulder's jaw dropped and I heard Scully whisper: "Language."

"They'll bleep it out later," I whispered, delighted.

"Billy Sims?" Mulder asked, recovering his lost dignity.

"That's me," Billy said, and by God, it was. He was totally convincing,
right down to the belligerent grin. I'll bet he actually watched the damn
show.

"Agents Mulder and Scully with the FBI. We'd like to ask you a few questions
about your ex-fiance, Diane Bigelow."

"Ex?" Billy said, opening the door and letting us in. "She's not my f*****g
ex anything. We're still engaged, as far as I'm concerned."

Scully glanced at Mulder and raised an eyebrow.

The plot sickens, as they say.

"Are you aware, Mr. Sims..." Mulder began.

"Hey, call me Billy, Ok? I hate bein' Mr. F*****g Anything."

Scully pursed her lips and Mulder nodded, and I swear to God, he was
blushing. Who would have known he was such a prude? Mr. ThoseAren'tMine,
indeed.

"Ok, Billy," he said slowly. "Are you aware that Diane is accusing you of
having given her cancer?"

Billy's face fell slightly, just enough to telegraph his disappointment. I
was really going to have to congratulate them on him. Of course, if I did
that, I might be working with him every third episode for the rest of the
run. I've never understood that one. I mean, there's such a thing as central
casting, you know? Ooo, and your audience's memory.

"Yeah," he said, moving over to the living room. "I may have said some
things that hurt her feelings and maybe she thinks... But I would never do
that. I know what it's like to watch someone you love die, and I wouldn't
wish that s**t on anyone. Would you?"

Mulder looked a bit stricken.

Scully stepped forward and said gently: "What did you say to Diane, Billy,
that would give her the impression you wished her harm?"

Truthfully, she should probably have asked Diane this question. And no doubt
she would have, if Diane hadn't been such a f*****g idiot.

Actually, I don't have to beep myself.

"I... uh..." Billy looked from one to the other of them, clearing his
throat. It was quite a performance. Even Scully looked moved. "I told her if
she left me, I'd kill her."

Mulder's eyebrows rose a notch, but he said nothing.

"Why would you say that, Billy?" Scully asked, her voice quiet.

"I didn't really mean it," he said sadly. "I was just mad that she was
trying to break up. I had just told her I loved her..." He broke off for a
moment and I could see them both lean forward expectantly.

He looked up, right into Mulder's eyes, and delivered the line exactly as
I'd instructed.

"I mean," Billy said. "You tell the woman you love her and she just blows
you off. How would you feel?"

Mulder's face turned a peculiar shade of gray. He glanced nervously at
Scully, who was studiously avoiding his gaze, then turned to look at me. I
have to admit, the look hurt.

There's a reason he makes the big bucks.

"I'd imagine that was difficult for you," he said at last, voice dripping
venom. "But that doesn't mean you can threaten someone, that you can
therefore go on to hurt them."

Scully was staring at me now, and I was beginning to feel the early twinges
of author guilt. I reminded myself that this sort of torture was sanctioned
by the Big Guy. He did it to them all the time, right? She looked away and I
stopped blushing.

"But I didn't do anything to Diane," Billy said earnestly. If he'd noticed
the effect his remark had on them, he didn't show it. God, why couldn't they
all be this good? "I was just mad, I swear."

"I understand," Scully said at last, moving forward, "that your mother,
father and sister have all died of various cancers?"

"That's right," Billy said, his voice sad and a bit whispery. "All within a
few months of each other. Sometimes this world is so f****d up, you know,
man?"

Mulder sighed and drew one hand through his hair. "Yeah," he said, "yeah, I
do."

Scully looked at him quickly, then looked away. "Billy, how would you have
characterized your relationship with your family?"

"Well, sometimes we'd fight and everything, but we got along ok, I guess."

She nodded and wrote it all down.

"Let us know if you think of anything you think might be helpful," Mulder
said, handing Billy his card. "Anything at all."

We'd been in the car for nearly half an hour before I realized they weren't
speaking to me. Sometimes characters can be so childish, you know?

"I was just going for a good audience reaction," I stressed as we walked up
toward their suite.

Mulder gave me a look that said I could kiss my own ass. I left Scully
examining Billy's family's file, and Mulder sipping an Evian with a
disgusted look on his face.

I sincerely hoped that a night at the Westin and one of those little fruit
trays with chocolate dip (again, not cheap) would make it all up to them.
I'd heard all sorts of things about what they liked to do with chocolate.

The longer I was around them, the harder it was becoming to keep the case
rated PG. I know smut attracts more attention, but damnit, I was going for
credibility my first time out. And it wouldn't have hurt to have been
noticed by the more... legitimate channels. But Jeez, the were doing
something to me. All that whispering, the long, lingering looks... the way
he stood right behind her, so close their clothes touched.

Maybe I was writing the wrong kind of story. Not for them, you understand,
but for me. I called a buddy of mine, who's been doing this for years.

"You gotta get the two of them into bed," she said, practically purring.
"You have no idea how big he is. And her... well, let's just say she's not
above a little kink, if you know what I mean. They seemed to get off on
being watched."

Wouldn't anyone, by this point?

I won't even go into my dreams that night.


The Westin Hotel
Seattle, Though It Looks
Suspiciously Like Los Angeles
The Next Morning


I brought them hot bagels and lattes from Starbucks, to complete the local
experience. They looked... well-rested. As we left the hotel, I saw Mulder
smack Scully on the ass and heard him whisper: "That was for using the damn
banana."

No one had slept on that couch. The leather was cold when I sat down. I
decided I might be missing some opportunities there.

Scully was her usual serious self as we climbed into the car. That woman had
phenomenal self-control.

"I've already talked to the local coroner. We're having the bodies of
Billy's family disinterred."

"Isn't that a bit extreme?" I asked, thinking of all the palms I would have
to grease after these two left town.

"I'm merely being thorough," she said.

Mulder just grinned at me in the mirror again. Merely being thorough, my
ass.

She wanted me to have to sit through the autopsies.


Bureau Field Office
Forensics Department
A Big Empty Room With
A Metal Gurney or Three
That Same Day


What I didn't tell her is that I have a stomach of iron, and that my nasal
passages have been nearly scoured clean by years of over-the-counter allergy
sprays. Billy's family were not in the best of condition. Where they got
three totally decaying corpses on such short notice was beyond me. I'll say
one thing about this production: you gotta hand it to the props department.
These things didn't just look real, they smelled real. Mulder turned a bit
green and retreated to the corner of the room.

Scully was extremely efficient, considering she had no real forensic
training when she was cast. Guess seven years of slicing and dicing were
enough field experience to get her through. Only once did she look up at me.

"Hey, I didn't write this. You're on your own," I told her. She cut off
Billy's dad's head with the saw.

I thought I saw the muscles around her eyes stretch. She was smiling under
the mask.

When she was finished, we retreated out into the corridor and both watched
with gory fascination as she snapped the bloody latex off her hands and
tossed it into the prop bin.

"Well, all three individuals did die of cancer," she said. "Extremely
fast-acting cancers that seemed to have consumed their entire bodies in
days."

How the hell she could tell that by cutting off their heads, beats me.

"So we may have to act quickly, if we're going to save Diane," Mulder said.

"Mulder," she began, and we both grinned in anticipation. "I hate to say it,
but I see no evidence that Billy has done anything to Diane other than scare
her. He may be guilty of bad timing, but I don't think he's guilty of
murder."

"I don't know, Scully," Mulder said. He was in a considerably better mood
this morning. And he had a constant half-hard on. You can't help but notice
these things sometimes. Really. I swear to God. The man is hung like...well,
let's just say that if I heard the sound of a distant "Woah!" last night, it
wouldn't have been from Keanu Reeves. "It seems like the coincidences all
point in one direction."

"Mulder, don't be an idiot," she said and then covered her mouth in shock.
"I'm sorry, that's not in the script."

We both stared at her.

"Not enough sleep..." she said, looking out the window.

"Beds not comfy enough for you?" I asked. "Pillows too fluffy?"

They both ignored me.

Scully had put through a few DNA and other tests, and we decided to go back
to the hotel to wait out the two hours until they were done. It seemed
entirely possible to me at this point that she'd given blow jobs to every
lab tech in the Bureau to get things that quickly.


Back At The Westin
Seattle, Though You'd Never Know It
For All That Glorious Sunshine
We Suddenly Seem To Be Having
That Same Day


Mulder was less restless than I thought he would be, considering we were
just sitting around. He was watching Jerry Springer and talking about the
psychology of midget lesbian transsexuals of color.

No one was listening. Scully decided to  take a shower, wash away the smell
of fake dead people. I noticed she didn't seem to be above sauntering past
in nothing but a couple of thin hotel towels.

She had very short legs. I still have no idea how she managed to look so
tall when they were face to face.

"So," he said suddenly, switching off the howling cat fight that had so
interested him just a moment before. "Tell me why you got into fanfiction."

I wondered if he asked everyone stuff like this, or if he'd taken a special
interest in me. While I hoped for the latter, I suspected that the reality
was: he was bored. Mind like a trap, indeed.

"Well," I began, distracted by the fact that Scully was changing with the
door to her room open. I couldn't see anything from where I was sitting, but
I wasn't so sure about Mulder's vantage point. He had his back to her by now
anyway. "I had this terrible case of writer's block. It had lasted nearly
five years at that point and I was feeling a little less than confident
about my prose. I read an article in Entertainment Weekly about fanfiction
and I was really into the show, so I thought I'd go check it out. I got
hooked, and all these ideas started popping into my head. So I wrote a story
called 'Goblins and Ghosts' and posted it. And suddenly, all these emails
came in telling me how much people had enjoyed it and that I was a really
good writer. It was like my writer's block had never existed. I just... I
think I owe the novel I'm working on to fanfiction. It saved me. You both
saved me."

By the time I'd finished, I was blushing again. He was staring at me with
those incredible gray/brown/green eyes and he seemed to see into the center
of my soul.

"That's great," he said.

"Almost done," Scully called from the bedroom. I never wanted her to come
back out.

Then it happened. You forget, looking into those adorable blues/hazels, how
cruel he can sometimes be.

"Well, much as I like this stuff, I gotta say I prefer the real thing."

I just couldn't believe it. I'm sitting there, pouring out my soul and he's
talking about the Big Guy like he ever gets a fucking break from the man? I
didn't give Scully cancer and take away her fertility only to get her
pregnant and have him get kidnapped by aliens. I didn't leave him up in the
fucking sky. I'm here, in the off-season, working my ass off to provide them
with a little quality entertainment during the hiatus and he likes the "real
thing" better?

Well to hell with this, I thought. I've got better ways to spend my time.
I've got RL too, you know. I've got a house to clean and fucking novels to
write and... and... I was nearly in tears. He had rolled over onto his back
and wasn't even looking at me anymore. I heard the TV switch on and the
midget lesbians start screaming.

"Damn you," I said, and stomped out of the room, slamming the door as I
left.

end 2/3


TITLE: Untitled Random Case File #4664 (3/3)
EMAIL ADDRESS: snarkypup@mindspring.com

Location Undetermined
Somewhere In The Gray and Hairy Back-Lots
Of The Author's Imagination
That Same Day


I walked and walked forever. Eventually, exhausted and thoroughly depressed,
I sat down on the edge of the curb, kicked a can of Fresca from my Seventies
childhood out of the way, and slouched there miserably. I had waited so long
to work with them. I'd given my whole heart to this project, even though it
was last minute, and this was how they repaid me? Didn't they know how dull
and colorless their lives would be if it weren't for people like us?

Through my self-absorption and the sound of sniffling, I could suddenly hear
something else. The familiar click, click of a woman's very high-heeled
shoes.

She sat down next to me, and I'll be damned. Her hair did smell like
strawberries.

"Jess," she began. I sniffled dramatically. "He's really sorry."

"I'm sure he is," I said bitterly. "He always is."

She sighed and placed one small hand on my knee. Her manicure was
immaculate, even after the autopsy. I'd love to know where she gets her
nails done.

"You have to understand how it is for us. Fanfiction is great, but
sometimes..."

I looked over at her face, so perfect in the evening light. I'd give
anything to have that nose.

"Help me understand," I said, with only a little reluctance.

"It's like this... see, I like fanfiction, I really do. In it I get to be
stronger, tougher, sexier than I do on the show. I speak my feelings and
show my heart. I get laid occasionally." She laughed and squeezed my knee.
"But Mulder... well, fanfiction writers seem to love torturing him. The
injuries he has to endure, and the lengthy, draw-out recoveries... and then
there's the fact that he's often portrayed as a bumbling idiot, dropping his
gun all the time."

"I see your point," I conceded.

"Well, that's not all," she continued. "There's the whole... sex thing."

"The sex thing?" I stare at her. "What sex thing? I thought you two... I
mean don't you..."

Laughing, she nodded. "We do, we do, don't worry. It's um... it's the Slash
that gets to him. Particularly Krycek. See, Mulder's really not into guys
and then Alex is so big and..." She trailed off. We were both blushing.

"What about you?" I asked.

"Well, at first the sheer size of both of them bothered me, but I've gotten
used to... oh, you mean how do I feel about Slash?"

"Yeah," I said, looking down at the hand, which was now on my thigh.

"I love it," she admitted, her voice a bit breathy. When I looked up, she
licked her lips. "Sometimes I surprise myself with how much I enjoy it."

I cleared my throat. Everything on my entire body was tingling. I had to get
out of there, right then.

"You don't write Slash, do you?" she said, her tone a low purr.

"Uh, no," I whispered. "I've never been that into it."

"Riiiight," she said slowly. "Well, there's a first time for everything,
isn't there?"

That's when I stood up, brushed myself off briskly and said: "Well, I'm
feeling better, shouldn't we be getting back? Heh heh..."

She looked only a little disappointed as she stood to join me. "Yeah, Mulder
wanted to apologize before we went back to the lab."

I'll bet he did. Bastard.


The Westin Hotel
Seattle, Near Impossibly
Blue Water On A Sunny
Seventy-Eight Degree Day
That Same Day


He wasn't in the room. That surprised me. I knew the man could be
insensitive, but he was usually around for the apology part. Scully shrugged
and volunteered to go look for him.

"I can almost always turn him up," she said, and winked.

I wasn't sure I was ready for this new level of intimacy between us.

Sitting alone in the room, I did a little thinking. Perhaps I'd been too
hard on him. It was true that we fanfiction writers could sometimes be a
little harsh. He was always getting shot, or stabbed, or knocked out. I
could remember numerous occasions in my own work where he'd been in the
hospital for days. I always tried to get him a good-looking nurse, to my
credit, but maybe I had skimped on the pain medication a little bit. He was
so cute when he was in pain, and so contrite.

Speaking of contrite, at that moment the door opened and in walked Mulder,
carrying an impossibly large bouquet of flowers. I would find out later he'd
charged them to the room.

"Hey there," he said quietly, and moved to sit on the ottoman in front of my
knees.

"Hello." I tried to sound somewhere between annoyed and forgiving.

"Listen, Jess, I'm really sorry for what I said earlier. I've been reviewing
some of your previous work and... and I think I've been too hasty in my
assumptions. You've always been so good to us, both of us. I'd just like to
thank you for it."

He handed me the flowers. Both hands were then on my knees. I should have
known, from earlier experience, what was coming.

"That's all right," I said, setting the flowers down beside me. "I'm sorry
if we, the fanfiction community, have been tough on you. It just that we
love you so much, and..."

I trailed off. He was staring at my mouth.

"I'm really sorry," he repeated and leaned forward slowly.

My heart was pounding, blood surged in my ears. His lips brushed mine and he
drew back, eyeing me questioningly. I swallowed.

"Forgive me?" he said and I nodded dumbly. "You sure?" he asked and started
to lean forward again. I could feel his breath on my mouth. He  smelled just
like chocolate and fine wine.

"Woah there," I said, regaining some sense of reality. "Hang on a minute."

He paused, inches from my face and whispered: "Bees?"

"No," I assured him. "No bees."

He sat back and looked me in the eye. "What's wrong?"

"Just save it for Scully, ok?" I said, regret in every fiber of my body. "I
don't do Mulder/Other."

At that moment, she knocked on the door and then walked in. I think she must
have been in on the whole thing. Otherwise, why knock?

I'm not saying the two of them are... slutty, or anything. I suppose years
of fucking every other member of the consortium, Skinner, various lab
technicians, perfect strangers they just met in bars, etc. could make them a
little loose with the old morals.

I still love them. I just don't respect them quite as much.

Scully's cell phone rang before any of us could say another word. I'd
practically forgotten about the damn case.

"What?" she said, suddenly on edge. "When?... All right, we'll be there in
few minutes."

She hung up without saying goodbye.

"What is it?" Mulder asked, rising stiffly off his knees with a little wince
of pain. Not the secret agent he once was, eh? He did have a noticeable
bulge in his pants, which I would have found gratifying, if it hadn't been
there all day.

"Billy's collapsed. They've rushed him to the emergency room."


Swedish Hospital
Or A Suitably Big Building
That Same Day


Scully emerged from the ICU with a strained look on her face. Mulder and I
waited anxiously, even though I knew what I was going to hear.

"Billy's dead," she said softly.

"What? How?" Mulder asked. He actually sounded interested this time. They
both seemed to have a renewed sense of urgency. Guess reaming out the
writer'll do that for you.

"Cancer. Every part of his body, Mulder. Brain, breast, lung, liver,
colon... even his skin. It seems to have developed overnight. And here's the
even stranger part. Diane Bigelow is suddenly, miraculously cured. No chips
in her neck, nothing strange, just woke up this morning with no cancer at
all. Billy visited her last night after we left. It seems they reconciled."

Mulder mused over this for a moment, chewing on a stirring stick from his
latest latte.

"Wanna hear my theory?"

This was the best part. See, here's the beauty of my stories. I didn't give
him any clue to the real cause. The conclusion was pure Mulder at his best.
That's why they do these things. Ok, that and the wild, horny sex.

"Shoot," Scully and I said in unison.

"I think Billy did give Diane cancer, but I don't think he meant to do it. I
think that cancer has been growing in his body for years, but he's been
passing it off to those around him, preventing himself from getting ill.
Maybe it took an argument to trigger the spread to other people, I don't
know. But the realization that he may have given the cancer to Diane brought
an end to it. He didn't visit her last night to reconcile. He visited her to
cure her, and accept his own death."

It was a pretty damn good theory.


The Westin Hotel
Seattle, On A Balmy
Spring Day In October
That Night


I was all packed up, having finished typing up the thing the day before. I
just wanted to say goodbye, and thanks for the ride, you know? And a hell of
a ride it was!

Scully greeted me wearing nothing but a black silk slip. Mulder was sitting
on the couch wearing only his boxers. That erection he'd been nursing all
day? It was enormous. I swallowed weakly and tried to look him in the eye.

"So," she said slowly. She was holding a strawberry in one hand and one of
those wicked little fondue forks in the other. "Going so soon?"

She speared the strawberry quite viciously and then leaned over Mulder. He
ate it off the fondue fork with a flick of his tongue and a lusty leer.

"Uh yeah," I said. "Just came by to say that I've had a great time and I
hope we can do it... again sometime."

Mulder was sliding a finger full of chocolate into his mouth.

"You seem distracted," he noted. "Maybe you shouldn't drive home."

Yeah, maybe.

"Well I um..." I began.

"You could stay here," Scully said, her voice all sweetness and light. "It
is a suite, after all."

"Stay here?" I gulped. She moved to where Mulder was sitting on the couch
and straddled him. She wasn't wearing any underwear.

"Sure," she said, in between sliding her tongue over his ear. "We don't
mind. In fact, we'd just love it if you.... would."

I couldn't breathe. Were they really proposing what I thought they were
proposing? It's amazing what seven years of public coitus can do to a
couple.

"I... I've got to go!" I said, backing toward the door.

"Oh, come on," Mulder said, his voice a deep, lusty growl. "I've read 'The
Airport'."

"Fuck," I said under my breath. Why had I given him my website address?

"You know you want to," Scully said, sliding her hands up Mulder's
considerable chest.

Truth hurts. I left my bag in the car.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Author's Notes: This whole silly thing is the direct result of too much
Pepsi before I went to sleep. That's right folks, it was all a dream.
Literally. It isn't exactly like my dream, but some parts are word-for-word.
And yes, I know having this dream makes me certifiably insane. Writing it
probably makes me a sociopath.

Thanks to the YesVirginia world for encouraging this randy bit of nonsense.