From: Merry Brandybuck Date: Mon, 26 Apr 1999 02:40:46 -0700 Subject: NEW 155 Words: A Request (Post-Unnatural) Title: 155 Words: A Request Author: Merry Brandybuck Code: V, H Keywords: Post-ep: Unnatural Rating: G Archive: If you want... Disclaimer: Dear Chris Carter, Are you sure you want to keep these characters? You are? Darn! A Request By Merry Brandybuck "Scully, please talk to me." Nothing in her manner indicates that she has heard me. She stares straight ahead, her eyebrows creased in a scowl that has been residing permanently on her forehead for the past two days. "Come on, Scully. You can't go on like this. It's just not healthy." She only blinks her eyes; or rather, just one eye, since the other one is swollen shut from the effects of its sudden and dramatic date with a baseball. It has all the qualifications for a special effects Oscar--black, blue, and gory--and even makes *me* cringe. I don't blame her for sulking, really. I'd feel pretty lousy too if half of my face looked like something out of The "Night Of The Living Dead." But something about her prolonged silence makes me uneasy. "It's really not that bad. Your eye, I mean. I've seen a lot worse, and trust me, I've seen a lot." I might as well be talking to her bedpost, for all the response I am getting. Not being the type to give up easily, though, I press on. "And it's not like you have to stay in bed for a long time. The doctor said the brace can come off in two weeks, and you can resume your normal life in another week, as long as you don't engage in any strenuous activities, like, um, twisting your hips." I do get a response this time, but it is in the form of a glare that could wake up the dead in a cold sweat. I finally give up, and get up from her bed, where she is propped up like a Raggedy Ann doll. "I'm going to get a drink. Would you like anything? Another soda?" She purses her lips, and resumes staring at the wall. I sigh, and turn away. This is not going to be a fun two weeks. "Ice cream." "What?" "You heard me. French vanilla. Two scoops. And none of that nonfat nonflavor tofrutti crap. I want the real, full-fat, full cholesterol kind, on a waffle cone. Got it?" It takes me a second to pick my jaw up off the floor and acknowledge her request. "Uh, yeah." I start toward the door. "And Walter?" "Yes, Dana?" "Kill Mulder for me." I sigh for the second time and walk out of her room, wondering what the hell I'm going to do with a six foot three, hundred and seventy pound body. End Author's Note: Don't hurt me! It's two am, what do you expect?