Date: Sun, 14 Feb 1999 11:58:50 -0600 Subject: Agent Bueller 2 Title: Agent Bueller II: The Psychiatrist (1/2) Author: Luan D. Lascy Rating: PG, for language Spoilers: through & including Third Season Category: CA Keywords: Ferris Bueller's Day Off/XF Crossover, Scullyangst Summary: Scully unloads her angst onto a "psychiatrist" who's related to Agent Bueller. Disclaimers: Mulder & Co. aren't mine, they're Chris Carter's, yadda- yadda-yadda. BIG disclaimer because I stole the police station scene from FBDO, almost verbatim. I don't know who does the druggie that Jeannie falls in love with, but Ferris Bueller & Co. is owned by Matt Broderick, Alan Ruck, Mia Sara, and the rest of the gang. Notes: This is my first attempt at writing angsty fanfic, so read with caution and mercy. Merci. ~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~ "Take a seat and the doctor will be with you in a minute," the overly perky receptionist told Scully. She plopped into a fake leather chair irritably. For a while she stared stonily into space, consumed with frustration and anger. She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be waiting in a psychiatrist's office for an appointment to talk about her partner. She heard an annoying crack to her left, then a few more. Someone was loudly cracking their knuckles. She turned her head and saw a rocker- looking man of about twenty, with bloodshot eyes and a haircut that looked like a lawn mower had run over it. "Drugs?" he asked in a gravelly voice that suggested he'd been up all night. "Thank you, no, I'm straight," Scully answered in her best Ice Queen voice. "I mean are you in here for drugs?" "Why are *you* here?" she asked. "Drugs." "I don't know why I'm here," she told him with a Look. "Why don't you go home, then?" "Why don't you keep your mouth shut?" she retorted. That shut him up for a while, then he said: "You wear too much eye makeup." Scully raised an eyebrow in her best Ice Queen stare. "My sister wears too much eye makeup," he continued. "People think she's a whore." Scully glared at him and considered moving to another seat, but she didn't want to give him the satisfaction. Besides, all the other seats were taken. "You don't want to talk about your problems?" he asked. God, he never gave up, did he? "With you? Are you serious?" she scoffed. They sat in silence for another few minutes. Then, without knowing why, Scully took him up on the offer. "All right. You want to know what my problem is?" "I *know* what it is. I just want to hear *you* say it." "In a nutshell," she told him, "I want to kill my partner." "That's good," he encouraged. "Did you blow him up or something?" She smiled tightly. "No, not yet. See, we got in a fight over whether a certain case was an X-f. . .should have been marked 'unsolved', and things got a little, ah, out of hand." "Sounds like a gross understatement, if you wanted to kill him." "It is." They'd begun sniping, she told him, about Melissa, Samantha, their respective fathers, religion, Dr. Bambi, Scully's abduction, Donnie Pfaster, Phoebe Greene, and little green men. Always the little green men. Then Skinner had heard them yelling and topped their volume for another ten minutes, prompting censure and trips to a psychiatrist. "So you're pissed off," the rocker concluded, "because he's caused you grief these three years, and killed your sister." "He didn't kill my sister," she said stiffly. "They were looking for me and mistook Melissa for me." "Same difference. Is that about right?" "Basically, yeah," she admitted. The rocker nodded. "Your problem isn't your partner; it's you." She blinked, startled. "Excuse me?" "Excuse you. You ought to spend a little less time worrying about your partner, and a little more time worrying about yourself." "What are you, a psychiatrist?" Scully snapped defensively. He shook his head. "Then why don't you keep your opinions to yourself?" He nodded and looked away. Scully picked up a magazine decisively, hoping he'd get the message this time. After a few seconds, she looked up thoughtfully, for the first time taking the rocker's words seriously. ~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~ "Dana Scully?" the psychiatrist called, stepping into the waiting room. No answer. "She left a few minutes ago," said a leather-clad biker, smiling faintly. The psychiatrist's brow furrowed. "Did she say why?" The biker shrugged. "I guess her problem was solved." Title: Agent Bueller II: The Psychiatrist (2/2) Author: Luan D. Lascy ~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~ "Morning, Mulder," Scully sang as she waltzed into the office. Mulder came out of hiding behind the computer to stare in shock. Was this the same Scully that had nearly bitten his head off yesterday? Humming a tune under her breath, Scully hung up her coat and turned to Mulder, noticing for the first time the strange expression on his face. "What's the matter, Mulder? You look like you've seen a ghost." "Nothing, nothing," he lied quickly, wondering how to ask what went on in the psychiatrist's office without causing another explosion like yesterday's. After a few minutes, he gave it a go. "Everything go okay yesterday with the psychiatrist?" "Hmm? Oh yeah, it went great. I never even saw him, and I feel a lot better." Mulder's paranoia kicked into high gear. Scully must have some something planned, this complete turnabout wasn't like her. It usually took her a few days to forgive and forget. Her speediest recovery from a fight of that magnitude was four days. When Scully went to the coffee machine to refuel, Mulder took the opportunity to look for Prozac in her purse. He found lipstick, a match book, several pens, a picture of her nephew, but no medication of any kind. Not even aspirin. He barely had time to scoop everything back into the purse before Scully walked in with coffee. ~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~ "Frohike, it's Mulder. . .Yeah I need a favor. You know the psychiatrist Scully went to see yesterday? I want to find out what happened in the waiting room. . . Four-thirty PM. I know it sounds crazy, but Scully's acting really weird. . .Get your mind out of the gutter! You know what I mean! Whoops, gotta go, bye." ~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~ "You sound chipper," Mulder commented the next day, when Scully's exceptionally good mood persisted. "I'll take that as a compliment," she replied. "It was." God, this was strange! Normally she would have snapped his head off. She laughed. "I can't believe what a bitch I used to be! Worrying about anything and everything. That's what got me so uptight that day we were fighting - I realize that now. A biker opened my eyes to reality." "A biker?" Mulder echoed, getting more and more worried. Scully nodded, getting up and picking up her mug. "Coffee?" she offered. "I need a refill." "Uh, yeah," Mulder said, on autopilot by now. Humming a dance tune, Scully walked out with both their mugs as Bueller entered. "She's in a good mood," Bueller observed. Mulder nodded silently, then waited until Scully was out of sight down the hall before closing the door and adding, "I think something happened in the psychiatrist's office a few days ago." "Yeah, she had a good psychiatrist," Bueller offered. "No!" Mulder shook his head impatiently. "She never even saw the shrink. She says some biker guy in the psychiatrist's waiting room 'opened her eyes'." Bueller raised his eyebrows. "A biker, huh? Tell me, which psychiatrist was she visiting?" Mulder checked a paper on the disaster zone known as his desk. "Alex Delaware, at four-thirty. Why?" Bueller burst out laughing. "What?" Mulder asked, annoyed. "Why's that so funny? He could have given her some drug, and you're laughing?!" That only made him laugh harder. "You've got it. . .all wrong," he gasped out. "That was Charlie. My sister's fiancé. He's studying psychology when he's not in and out of trouble." "Jeannie's fiance?!" It was Mulder's turn to start laughing. "The biker junkie? She's going to LOVE hearing that!!" "Hearing what?" Scully's voice came from the now-open door, where she stood with the two mugs. Mulder and Bueller were both laughing too hard to answer. "Mulder. . ." Her voice held a hint of warning. "May I remind you that I am holding two cups of VERY hot coffee, and I have no qualms about using them." "Your biker. . ." Mulder gasped out. ". . .Was my brother-in-law," Bueller finished between gales of laughter. "I'm sorry, you are. . ." Scully began politely. "Agent Bueller. Ferris Bueller," he said. "I'd shake your hand, but I guess now's not a good time." "Agent Bueller, could you explain what Mulder trying to say?" she asked in her best Ice Queen voice. That sent Mulder into stitches. "The biker you met yesterday in the psychiatrist's waiting room is my sister's fiancé," Bueller explained. "And what's so funny about that?" Scully asked blankly. Bueller began snickering again. "Twenty bucks says he was high on something when he began playing shrink." "Oh God!" The idea of being advised by someone she now knew to have been doped was repulsive somehow. The disgusted look on her face sent Bueller into fresh gales of laughter. "Mulder, I have hot coffee and I'm not afraid to use it," she warned him. "You wouldn't dare," he challenged. Scully took the bait and poured a trickle of coffee into his hair. "AAAH!" Mulder ducked, rubbing the liquid out of his scalp. His elbow bumped the hand holding the coffee. More of the brown concoction splashed onto the front of Scully's blouse. "Mulder! This was expensive stuff!" she lamented. "Serves you right," he groaned, massaging his scalp. He saw Bueller hiding a smile and grabbed one of the mugs in Scully's hand. "Your turn, *Ferris*." Bueller's hair was suddenly drenched in coffee. "Hey! What did I do to deserve this?!" Scully stood laughing, watching the coffee-war that was ensuing. Mulder's horrendous tie was soon stained brown, as was Bueller's. "AGENTS!!!" Skinner's drill sergeant yell cut through the laughter like an axe. Everything suddenly froze. The only sound was coffee dripping to the floor in a brown puddle. Scully groaned. ~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~ "You'd never get away with all this in a play But if it's loudly sung and in a foreign tongue It's just the sort of story audiences adore In fact it's a perfect opera. . ." -Phantom of the Opera ( AL-D musical) "Nobody down here but the FBI's most unwanted." -Mulder, "Pilot" As much as I'd like to receive feedback, I discourage sending it to me. I'm mooching off my parents' E-mail account and they don't like their mailboxes crammed with anonymous X-philes praising my work (hint, hint;-). Though I KNOW you'd LOVE to send it - RIGHT?!?!?