202 lines
10 KiB
Plaintext
202 lines
10 KiB
Plaintext
From meltaylor@aol.com Thu Sep 1 19:10:25 MDT 1994
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Article: 205 of alt.tv.x-files.creative
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Path: mnemosyne.cs.du.edu!spool.mu.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!gatech!news-feed-1.peachnet.edu!news.duke.edu!solaris.cc.vt.edu!uunet!newstf01.cr1.aol.com!search01.news.aol.com!not-for-mail
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From: meltaylor@aol.com (MelTaylor)
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Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
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Subject: "Bad Dreams" (Rated PG)
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Date: 31 Aug 1994 23:24:06 -0400
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Organization: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364)
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Lines: 186
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Sender: news@search01.news.aol.com
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Message-ID: <343hgm$iqv@search01.news.aol.com>
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NNTP-Posting-Host: search01.news.aol.com
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Okey-dokey, here's my contribution to the alt.tv.x-files.creative group.
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This is not so much a story as it is an imagined scene/sketch that
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occurred to me while I was trying to break a bad case of writer's block.
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(Picture a grown woman sobbing hysterically and beating her head against
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the wall---that's me! ;-D) The
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standard disclaimers apply; e.g., the characters are property of Ten
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Thirteen Productions/Fox, and no infringement of copyright is intended,
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blah, blah, blah...This is fan fiction, folks, written by a fan, for other
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fans, so don't sue me. I'm broke anyway.
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This story is "rated" PG for a few mild adult words. This story does NOT
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contain full-frontal nudity, sex, smoochin', romance, or anything remotely
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offensive, so don't get your knickers in a twist. ;-). E-mail me if you
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have constructive criticism, suggestions, advice, whatever---but please,
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no flames. I'm in a cranky phase right now, thanks to far too many
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football pre-emptions, and I might snap
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and snarl and bite you on the ankle if you provoke me. ;-D
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Bad Dreams
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by Melissa Taylor
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The worst thing about it, of course, was that she was alone.
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Scully sat in the middle of her bed and listened to the cool stillness of
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her empty apartment. Her heart pounded in her ears. Just a nightmare,
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she told herself, nothing new. She had them every now and then---who
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wouldn't---but this one had been bad, more like a fever-dream, a queasy
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mix of capering images. She wondered how much more time would pass before
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she would stop seeing Eugene Tooms in her bad dreams, slithering out of
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her heating vent, or when Luther Boggs' face would fade from her memory.
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She finally reached for her bedside lamp, clicked it on. Cheery light
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banished some of the shadows from her bedroom---some, not
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all. She shoved one hand through her tangled hair and reached for the
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book she'd been reading before her eyelids had grown too heavy. Maybe
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this *wasn't* such a good time to re-read The Silence of the Lambs. She
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put the book back down, arranged the covers around her legs. The clock by
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her bed ticked quietly over from 11:50 to 11:51. She stared longingly at
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the mute phone by her bed, then jerked her gaze away.
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Stop it, Dana, she thought firmly. It was just a bad dream,
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nothing more. Get up and go watch tv. Fix a cup of tea. Go find
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something else to read. Do something, but don't just sit here. She
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looked at the phone again, then at the clock. 11:55. There was a good
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chance he'd still be up.
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No. She wouldn't do it. Hadn't she spent enough time today
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around Fox Mulder? They'd spent the better part of the twelve hours
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slogging through the pouring rain, trying to get leads on a kidnapping
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case that was going nowhere fast. Frustration had made them both
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irritable; twice, she'd had to walk
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away from Mulder to keep from kicking him in the shins or doing something
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equally immature but satisfying. He could be so damned pigheaded!
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Then *why*, for heaven's sake, did she want to call him right now?
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Why did she want to hear his voice, hear him say something dry and
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Mulder-like? Shouldn't she be sick to death of him by now? She puffed
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out her breath in a sigh and started to wiggle back under the covers. She
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wouldn't call. Absolutely not. She reached out, clicked off the lamp,
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and watched darkness claim her bedroom once again.
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Crap. It was so quiet---*too* quiet. Scully turned onto her side
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and stared at the clock. Watched the numbers change from 11:56 to 11:57.
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Ridiculous. She reached for the lamp again, then picked up the phone.
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She'd let it ring twice; if he didn't answer, she'd hang up. That way,
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she wouldn't
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wake him---if he *was* home. She hadn't thought about that; he could have
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gone on a date...or something. Why did her stomach just do a slow and
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uneasy flip? Bad tacos, she thought. Maybe I should get up and get some
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Maalox. Instead, she pushed the speed-dial button. Why did she feel
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absurdly guilty about having his number programmed on the first button?
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"Hello?" His voice startled her; he'd answered on the first ring.
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"Mulder," she said, still struggling with her surprise. "It's
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Scully," she added unnecessarily.
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"Hey, Scully. What's up?" He didn't sound at all sleepy.
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"Um. Are you busy?" she asked. Now why in the hell did her voice
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crack like that?
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"Uh-uh." She heard the tv volume go down a notch. "Scully, are
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you ok? What's going on?"
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"I'm fine. Just fine." Scully stared at the ceiling and wished
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it would cave in and save her from this mortification. "I
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just...uh...can't sleep." Oh, hellfire and damnation. She sounded like
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an idiot.
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"Wait, isn't that supposed to be my line?" he asked, and she
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relaxed a little, hearing the wry smile in his voice. "Only one insomniac
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per team, remember?"
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"Sorry. I forgot."
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"Tell me what's going on, Scully," he said, his tone sliding into
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the teasing wheedle he used when he was trying to get her to listen to one
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of his far-fetched theories.
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Scully sighed. He'd pester her endlessly if she didn't tell him.
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"I had a bad dream," she confessed. "Stupid, I know, I'm too damn old to
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get the willies from bad dreams, but I did, and now I can't sleep, and..."
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she trailed off with a little laugh. "...And now I'm calling you so you
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won't be able to sleep either. Misery loves company and all that."
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He was silent for a moment. "What did you dream about?"
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Scully paused. "Tooms. Boggs. A lot of stuff, all mixed up."
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She sat up, pummeled her pillow into a more comfortable shape. "Trot out
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your psych background, Mulder, and tell me what's wrong."
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"There's nothing wrong. You're just under stress, that's all.
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This case isn't helping."
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"Aigh, the case. Don't talk about the case."
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"Okay."
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More silence, but it was a companionable quiet. She didn't mind
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it. He was the only man she knew who didn't mind the silences that
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sometimes spun out between two people. She could hear the even cadence of
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his breathing over the muted chatter and hum of his TV.. "What are you
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watching?" she finally asked.
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"The Thing."
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"John Carpenter version?"
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"Yeah."
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"Mulder, how many times have you seen this movie?"
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He snorted. "How many times have you seen Lethal Weapon?"
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Scully pursed her lips. Busted. "Okay, okay," she grumbled.
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That's what she got for letting slip that she owned the damn movie on
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laserdisc; Mulder, of course, had immediately teased her into confessing
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her guilty-pleasure crush on Mel Gibson. She heard a burst of static,
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then the clatter of metal in the background. "What was that?" she asked.
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"Kettle. I'm making tea. You should make some too, Scully. It
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might help you sleep."
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Scully sat up, pushed the covers away. "That's not a bad idea,"
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she commented. "When did you get a cordless phone, Mulder?" She walked
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into her kitchen, flicking on all the lights as she went. Go away,
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darkness.
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"Hmm, last month, I think. Weren't you with me when I got it?"
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"Must have been some other redhead," she said lightly.
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"Nahhh," he replied. "You're the only redhead I know."
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Now *why* did that make her feel better? Scully put the water on,
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hauled down her favorite mug. "This reminds me of that movie," she told
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him, digging in her tea cannister in search of chamomile tea.
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"What movie?" Mulder interrupted.
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"Give me a minute." She blew a stray strand of hair out of her
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eyes. "Oh, hell, you know the one I mean." She fished out a teabag and
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stared at it. "The one with Meg Ryan and what's-his-face."
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"That really narrows the field, Scully. Meg Ryan has made how
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many movies now?"
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"Oh, stop." She swung the teabag by its string. "When Harry Met
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Sally. Remember? They would both watch the same tv show together
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and...Oh, never mind; bad analogy."
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"No, I understand." And she knew he did; that was the thing
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about Mulder. He understood her, even when she had her rare moments of
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complete incoherence. She heard the dim whistle of his tea kettle, the
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sound of spoon against mug. "Want to watch something together? The Thing
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is on HBO," he
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added helpfully.
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"Ick."
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"Hmm, you're right; it wouldn't help you sleep. Is your tea
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ready?"
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"Almost."
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"Tell me what you're wearing," he said in a passable imitation of
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a phone-sex operator.
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Scully snorted and looked down at her long cotton t-shirt and
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socks. "Mul-der," she admonished.
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"Okay, okay, *don't* tell me." A slight pause. "Don't you want
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to know what I'm wearing?"
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"This conversation has taken a turn for the *weird*," she informed
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him, pouring hot water into her mug.
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"Kill-joy. Isn't your tea ready yet?"
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"Yes, yes." Scully carried her mug into the livingroom and
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flipped on the tv. "Channel, please."
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"Wait, that's my line. I'm supposed to be Billy Crystal, right?"
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"You can be Meg Ryan if you want."
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"Hell, considering what I'm wearing, I'm dressed for the part," he
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commented, and she nearly spat her sip of tea all over her couch.
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"Scully, there's something I haven't told you." He tried to sound
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serious, but she could hear him trying not to laugh.
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"Uh-huh. Mulder, if I had a dime for every time you've said that
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to me..."
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"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Okay. Channel 8?"
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"Okay." She stared at the screen. "Do you have a really cheesy
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looking kung-fu movie on the screen?"
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"Hey, I like kung-fu movies," he said, sounding hurt.
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"Next!"
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"Jeez." He grumbled. "Channel 10."
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"Aigh. Home shopping network."
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"Oh, look. They're selling big fake diamonds in ugly settings.
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Channel 2?"
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"Yay!" Scully exulted. The Philadelphia Story.
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"Ooohh, Kate," Mulder commented. "Is this a keeper?"
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"Yes."
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"Are you sure? We can go back to the big ugly diamonds if you
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really want to."
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"This is good." Scully tucked her feet under the couch cushions
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and settled in. "Mulder," she said a few minutes later.
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"Hmm?"
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"Thanks."
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"Anytime, Scully."
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*END*
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