From: juliettt@aol.com (Juliettt) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New: "Another 'One of Those Days'" by Juliettt Date: 8 Nov 1995 06:44:38 -0500 "Another 'One of Those Days'" by Juliettt@aol.com (November 1, 1995 posted November 7, 1995) Well, the board seems a little slow these days, and so. . . . Poor Scully. This time I'm inflicting on her a day a friend of mine (and fellow X-phile, though she doesn't have access to the 'Net -- thanks for the story, Serena!) had this week, along with some material from my own continuing saga of The Missing Wallet. Oh, and I still haven't found it (and thus, neither has she. I may do a "Scully goes to the DMV" story if my own experience gives me any grist for the mill). Dana Scully and Fox Mulder belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions, FOX Broadcasting, and to Gillian Anderson and David Duchovny, respectively. This story is mine -- and Serena's (after what she went through she *deserves* some recognition, although I'm pretty certain this isn't what she would have chosen). Any and all similarities between events in this story and those of real life are purely intentional; in fact, I've taken a little creative license but the majority of this is true. Read and rejoice that *you* had a better day. ************************************* Another "One of Those Days" by Juliettt@aol.com ************************************* "Good morning, Mulder," Special Agent Dana Scully said determinedly, dropping her briefcase on her desk. "Mrfng," he mumbled around the half of an apple fritter he'd stuffed into his mouth. He waved the remaining half at her and lifted his eyebrows, confident she would refuse. To his surprise, instead of curling her lip scornfully at his "MacMeal," as she often called the junk he always ate, she snatched the pastry from his fingers and took a huge bite. "Starved," she said when she could speak again. "Didn't have time for breakfast. You wouldn't happen to have any milk around here, would you?" "You're welcome," he said grumpily, watching her devour the rest of his breakfast. Fine time for him finally to take her refusals to heart and *not* pick up an extra danish to tempt her sweet tooth. "Hmm? Oh, thanks, Mulder," she said distractedly, skimming her e-mail. "Skinner wants a copy of my preliminary autopsy report on the Crawford case -- better go make some duplicates." She hurried out the door, leaving Mulder gaping at the red whirlwind that was his partner. He shook his head and reached for his cup of coffee. He almost spilled it when he hear the loud BAMM!thudd issue from the hallway and raced out to see what was the matter. What he saw made him run to the copier and fall to his knees on the hard floor. "Scully?" he asked in concern, grasping her shoulder. She lay huddled there against the side of the copier, her head cradled in her hands. "What happened?" he asked bewilderedly. She could only moan. He stroked her hair gently and waited for her to reply. "Paper -- feeding from the wrong tray -- got jammed -- I bent over to fix it -- raised up -- hit my head . . . oooooooh," she groaned. He was concerned but a faint glimmer of amusement poked its way through his solicitude. *He* was supposed to be the klutz on this team. She pushed at his hand and tried to sit up, her face pale. He bit down the sympathetic half-smile with which he had intended to greet her and leaned over to look in her eyes. She blinked and stared right back at him, looking a bit nauseous. He sighed in relief. Her eyes were not dilated. "You okay?" he asked softly. She tried to nod, then winced again. "Yeah, I think so. I stood up and whacked my head and bounced right back down again. Go ahead, laugh," she said severely, "I know you're dying to." "Scully, I would never laugh at your getting hurt," he said seriously. She smiled wryly and he allowed his eyes to twinkle a little. "As for the *way* you got hurt, though. . . ." He grasped her arm and stood up, taking her with him. She reeled a little and he steadied her. "Scully?" he asked, immediately concerned. "I'm fine, Mulder," she said. "Just as long as you haven't used up all my Advil again." ***** Forty-five minutes and four Advil later and her head *still* hurt. She closed her eyes and tried to relax. She groaned and buried her face in her hands. *Seven more hours.* The phone rang and she picked it up. "Scully." She winced as her courteous greeting was answered by a high-pitched screeching sound. Great. Some idiot had evidently mistaken their phone number for a fax number. She dropped the phone into the cradle and rubbed her eyes, attempting to focus on the paperwork she was finishing. Ten minutes later the phone rang again. "Sc-" This time she jumped. The fax again. She slammed the receiver home just as Mulder walked in the door. "Hey, take it easy, Scully," he said cheerfully, then recoiled at the Look she gave him. "Whoah. Sorry." "Some idiot keeps trying to send us a fax," she explained through clenched teeth. He shook his head in silent commiseration and sank to his chair. They worked in silence for half an hour before the phone rang again. Absorbed in a file now that her head was *finally* beginning to calm to a slow throb, she reached for the receiver without thinking. "Scul--ARRRGH!" she yelled. "LISTEN HERE, YOU ELECTRONICALLY ILLITERATE MORON! THIS IS A *TELEPHONE* NUMBER, *NOT* A FAX NUMBER! *LEARN* *THE* *DIFFERENCE* BEFORE I COME THROUGH THIS PHONE AND RIP YOUR LUNGS OUT!!!!!" "*Scully*," Mulder stage-whispered, shocked. She stared at the phone, trembling, and set it gently into the cradle, then buried her face in her folded arms. Mulder heard a soft whimper and just sat there, staring at her. When the phone rang again three minutes later she was still motionless and he made no move to answer it. ***** Four hours had passed. They were ignoring the phone whenever it rang. Mulder figured he would rather deal with an irate Assistant Director, Director, President and Congress combined than an irate Scully. Suddenly the fax machine itself began beeping. They stared at one another in disbelief, then Mulder was shocked and relieved to see her lips part in a sardonic smile. He smiled back. And then the fax began making a weird noise. He bit his lip and looked at her. She was definitely the more mechanically inclined of the two, but today. . . . She sighed and crossed the room to the beeping machine, rubbing her forehead. She hadn't felt comfortable with taking more Advil, and her head was still hurting. She bent over the fax and frowned. The digital display still read "Transmitting," but it wasn't printing anything. A flashing message caught her eye. "Replace cartridge." She groaned. Great. "The cartridge is shot." She glared at the machine like she wished the cartridge weren't the *only* thing, then looked up at Mulder, who was leaning over her. "How much you wanna bet this is the same guy?" He grimaced. "I say he deserves not to have his fax come through," he muttered, rummaging for a cartridge. It was similar to a roll of carbon paper. he grumbled mentally. By the time they got the cartridge in place the message no longer said "Transmitting," but the machine was still beeping. She sighed. "Well, maybe he'll get a message that the fax didn't go through and resend it." With their luck he would call first. She shut the cover and was rewarded with a loud ripping sound. By the time they had finished taping the cartridge back together she was silent again and Mulder was eyeing her nervously. "Scully." She lifted her eyes to his in mute inquiry. "Let's get out of here." She sighed again and headed for her briefcase, laptop, and coat. When she reached for her keys he grabbed them and shook his head. "I'm driving. Let's go find a happy hour somewhere." "A definite misnomer," she muttered, following him anyway. Maybe she'd make it home alive after all. ***** They sat inside The Block, a local bar not usually frequented by feds. He signalled to the waitress and she came to take their order. "Beer for me," he said, "umm -- Black and Tan. Scully?" "White wine," she sighed. Then she straightened up. "No. Rum and Coke." The waitress hovered hesitantly. Mulder and Scully looked up. "I.d.," she said tersely. "What?" Mulder asked. "I need to see her i.d.," she explained patiently. Scully frowned. "What for?" Mulder's mouth dropped open. "You think she's underage?" he asked incredulously, a bemused grin spreading across his face. Scully rolled her eyes. "You're kidding me, right?" she asked. The waitress eyed her stonily. She wasn't. Scully sighed heavily and reached into her suitcoat pocket and withdrew her FBI identification. "Here. My wallet's missing," she explained. "I have an appointment Thursday to replace it," she informed Mulder. The waitress shook her head. "Sorry. This doesn't have your birthdate on it." Scully glared at her. "You have *got* to be kidding. What do you think I am, Special Agent Doogie Howser, M.D.?" The woman shrugged. "For all I know, you could be one of those sting agents. Sorry, but we i.d." Scully's mouth tightened and she glared even more evilly at the waitress. Mulder was surprised that it seemed to have no effect. "Hey, cheer up, Scully," he said. "Someday you'll be grateful you look young for your age." He stood up and she followed. "Dontcha want your drink?" the waitress asked. He turned on her with disbelief. "She's the one with no license. Obviously I'm driving. And you want her to sit here and *watch* *me* *drink*?" She shrugged again and moved off, evidently not about to waste her time where no tip was involved. Scully stood next to him, her eyes closed. "Take me home, Mulder," she whispered. For once he didn't have the heart to rise to the bait. He drove carefully to his place, stopping at a strip mall on the way there and admonishing her to stay in the car. "And don't touch anything," he teased before jogging toward the grocery store. Ten minutes later he was back with a large paper sack and a plastic bag from the video store. He grinned at her unspoken question and drove on. ***** When they reached his apartment and he stepped back to let her in she was astonished to see that he really *had* cleaned. She allowed her eyes to dart furtively around the living room, looking for her wallet. He had said it wasn't there, but she wouldn't put it past him to mistake it for an overgrown dust bunny. "Have a seat," he offered, disappearing into the kitchen. Accordingly, she sat. Within minutes he reappeared and offered her an icy Harp just as the doorbell rang. "*Perfect* timing," he said, hurrying to answer it. She took a few deep swallows of the perfectly iced beer and leaned back into the sofa. Another beer or two and she would be asking to spend the night. Knowing Mulder, he would give her the bed -- not that he spent much time there, anyway. And he had crashed on her sofa enough. . . . He returned, bearing a huge smile and a steaming cardboard box. "Called Tony's from the video place," he informed her, handing her the pizza and picking up the plastic bag. She opened the box. "Extra cheese, pepperoni, mushrooms, jalapenos," she sighed. "You really *are* perfect." He beamed at her and popped the video into the machine. "So, what are we watching?" He tossed her the box and she read the title. _Falling Down_. She looked up at him. "Figured it was appropriate," he deadpanned. There was a split-second of silence, and then the apartment resounded with laughter. ***** Late that night, Dana Scully lay in bed thinking those last hazy, half-formed yet startlingly clear thoughts that seem to creep into the mind just before sleep. And she realized just how lucky she was. *End* I guess I should *dedicate* this one to Serena, too. The copier, phone, and fax machine all happened to her. On the same day. Getting carded was my contribution. . . . Juliettt@mail.aol.com Troupe Leader, Dragon Posse, Lone Gunwoman #7, Eden Agent, Clan McBride, Wolfpack, WWtBJLSWWGU, TFOSG charter celebrant, SKKS co-founder, BBTG!