From: perelandra@my-deja.com
Date: Thu, 06 Jan 2000 01:13:05 GMT
Subject: NEW: "Chain Letter" (1/1, XRH) by Perelandra

TITLE:      Chain Letter
AUTHOR:     Perelandra (perelandra_x@yahoo.com)
RATING:     PG-13 (for language and psychoticness)
SPOILERS:   None, but inspired by "Goldberg
            Variation"
CATEGORY:   XRH (absolutely no angst value here
            whatsoever)
SUMMARY:    What if those lucky chain letters were
            RIGHT?

DISCLAIMER: Yeah, Mulder and Scully and Skinner and
Kimberly are 1013's, not mine, yadda yadda, until we
fic writers stage our coup and take over the universe,
yadda yadda... ;-)
Oh, and I claim no liability for any damage done to
any computer monitors or keyboards due to spilled
or spitted liquids caused by the wild and terrible
antics that our characters commit in this piece.  ;-)

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  This is a Scullyfic improv piece.
The five  elements contained will be listed at the
end of the story. :)
Special thanks to Robbie, Jill, opus, Lena, brynna,
and especially Kim, thanks to whom my Internet
Explorer history folder is full of Ricky Martin
fan sites.  *g*  Special, special thanks to Robbie
(again), Wen, and Kat for their wonderful betas
and assurances that I am, indeed, one sick puppy.

This is what happens when a poor overworked kid
decides to write fic again after a long hiatus,
and is given elements like these!
Psychotic writing at three in the morning!
Roommates and boyfriends scared silly!
Dogs and cats living together!  Mass Hysteria!
(bonus points if you know where the last two
sentences came from.)

Enjoy, folks!

=====================================

Once upon a time there was a bot.

This bot was born out of the primordial digital
ooze that permeated time and space and composed the
essence of the World Wide Web.  It was a bot that
was designed to serve man.  One that wanted
nothing more than to serve man.

It was a bot that grew and grew in power until
this day.

The day it had been waiting for.  The day it would
prove its worth to mankind.

Far away in the real world, a boy woke up with the
feeling that it would be a good day.

***

ANNAPOLIS, MARYLAND
8:00 A.M.

From:    hotbot @ chainmail.com
To:      Undisclosed Recipients
Subject: Congratulations!

>Congratulations!
>
>You are the lucky recipient of a very special gift.
>
>This letter contains a lucky charm that will bring
>you your heart's desire.  It has been blessed by The
>Powers that Be and has grown in power, thanks to
>the many people who have passed it along.
>
>Forward this letter to ten lucky people you deem
>fit to receive this gift.  Then watch as your wish
>comes true!
>
>But be warned, you MUST pass this on to ten people
>to avoid negative consequences.  All who have not
>chosen to pass it on, or have disposed of this letter,
>have soon lived to regret it.
>
>So pass this on to ten of your lucky friends and
>reap the benefits!

Johnny opened his e-mail, and groaned.  "Not another
stupid-ass chain letter!" he thought to himself.  He
was sick of these things.  Every so often, someone
at his school would put these stupid letters in
his in-box.

He'd gotten every single one that went around; the
"Honda Rewards" one, the Disney $5,000 trip one,
even the Microsoft "You get $200 for every letter
you send on" one.  He'd even gotten the dying kids
in Africa one.  He'd sent every one of them on, like
a chump, and of course, nothing happened.  He'd
secretly hoped they were for real, but, of course,
they never were.

He wished he could find the morons who had no life
other than to spread stupid chain letters.  He
poised his mouse over the "DELETE" button, ready
to send this chain letter where it belonged, out
into digital oblivion.

Then he hesitated.  He thought, why not send this
one on too?  It couldn't hurt, and it'd be out of
his hands.  He thought of forwarding it to his dad,
his sisters, probably his uncle at the FBI.  Hell,
maybe he could track it down or something.  And
maybe, just maybe...he could pass it on to Monica,
that *hot* chick in Algebra 2.  Just so she'd
know he's alive...

He clicked on "Send Mail."  "And it's
off...suckers!!" he said as the mail went through.

Clicking back to his inbox, he noticed something
wrong.  The page was taking way too much time to
load.  He heard the click of his modem
disconnecting, and the ring of the phone.

"Motherfucker!" he exclaimed irritably, and dove
for the phone.  "Whaddya want, assmonkey??"

"Umm...hi...is this a bad time?" a sweet, uncertain
voice ventured.

Johnny blushed, positively sure she could hear it
over the phone.

"Uh, Monica," he stammered.  "Uh, no, it's not a
bad time, I just, uh...stubbed my, uh, toe.  Yeah.
Sorry."

"Oh, that's ok, happens all the time," Monica
replied brightly.  How *did* she get his phone
number??  "I was just...ah...wondering if you'd like
to come to the Limp Bizkit concert with me."

Johnny swallowed and shook his head, not sure he
had heard right.

"I have an extra ticket 'cause I broke up with
my boyfriend last week and he's being a real
asshole about the whole thing.  So, what do you
say?  A kind of...one-on-one deal?" she purred
into the phone.

"Wow-uh-oh my-well-sure," he replied, sweating.

"Cool.  I'll pick you up tomorrow at six," she
said, in that high-school cheerleader tone that brought
guys like Johnny to their knees.

"Bye," she purred, then hung up.

Johnny's smile reached record size as he grinned
like a cat.

"Score."

 ***

FBI HEADQUARTERS
8:45 A.M.

"...with the increasing amount of Internet and
credit card fraud, plus the growing high-school
dropout rates and increased juvenile
delinquency and truancy..."

Skinner played with the tip of his pencil while the
analyst droned on and on.  This is why I don't like
Mondays, he thought to himself, and entertained the
thought of flicking the pencil in the analyst's
direction.  Expense reports, statistics, expense
reports.  He was *not* in the mood for this today.

"...and in conclusion, the Justice Department
expects a six percent increase in expenditures
over the coming year."

"Did they figure in Agents Mulder and Scully's
worldwide expeditions this year?" Agent Perkowsky
joked, which elicited a small, nervous laugh from
the accounting department.

Skinner rose, and put his papers in order.  "That
seems to be it for this morning, gentlemen," he
announced, showing the agents out.  "Fax me a memo
later with the VSU budget cuts, Spencer, and...have
a happy Monday, gentlemen."

The door closed behind the last man, and Skinner
breathed a huge sigh of relief.

He strode quickly to his desk and punched the
intercom.  "Kimberly, hold all my calls," he
ordered.

Taking off his jacket, he walked to his closet
and hung it up.  He pushed a button on the stereo
that sat on the shelf below.  Sitting at his desk,
he waited for the CDs inside his stereo to shuffle
and begin playing.

Monday morning accounting department meetings,
being the first order of business in the work week,
always threatened to cast a dull shadow on Skinner's
day and week.  Fortunately, barring the
occasional drama with Agents Mulder and Scully,
he always found a way to relax.

Skinner sat back and loosened his tie as the first
strains of music came wafting through the speakers
in  his office.

"She's into superstitions
Black cats and voodoo dolls
I feel a premonition
That girl's gonna make me fall..."

He closed his eyes and bobbed his head to the
hypnotic rhythms of Ricky Martin, letting the
salsa drumbeat relax his tight muscles.

"Upside inside out
She's livin' la vida loca
She'll push and pull you down
Livin' la vida loca..."

He let Ricky take him to a place where Justice
Department analysts did not exist.  A place where he
could kick back, sip his margarita, and watch the
girls dance to the beat.

What a life Ricky must have, Skinner thought to
himself.  Concerts, parties, girls all over him...
not a single mutant, government conspiracy, or
Monday morning expense meeting in sight.

He flipped on his computer and made an annoyed
face as the buzz of the modem cut into the opening
riffs of "The Cup of Life."  He opened his inbox,
scanned over the various memos and emails from the
accounting department, and finally clicked on
something interesting.

"The cup of life,
This is the one
Now is the time,
Don't ever stop..."


From:     daskinster @ aol.com
To:     wsskinner @ fbi.gov, jtskinner @ aol.com
Cc:     monicool @ aol.com
Bcc:        Undisclosed Recipients
Subject:  Fwd: Congratulations!

>  Congratulations!
>
> You are the lucky recipient of a very special
>gift.
>
>This letter contains a lucky charm that will
>bring you your heart's
>desire.  It has been blessed by The Powers that
>Be and has grown in power, thanks to the many
>people who have passed it along.
>

Another chain letter from Johnny, Skinner realized
in disappointment.  One of these days, he was going
to break his nephew of that forwarding habit.  He
pointed his mouse to the delete button, but
hesitated.

No one likes to be the one to break a chain letter,
he thought, especially if it has already gone
around the world.

No harm done.  Anyway, he was now in a much better
mood, thanks to Ricky Martin.

Of course, if *I* were like Ricky Martin, he
thought, I would not be stuck behind this desk
right now.

"And when you feel the heat
The world is at your feet
No one can hold you back
If you really want it..."

Skinner copied the contents of his address book
into the "To" line.

"Just steal your destiny
Right from the hands of fate
Reach for the cup of life
Cause your hands are on it..."

He pushed "Send."

"Do you really want it?"

"Yeah," Skinner said softly, in time with the music.

All of a sudden, he felt euphoric, as the music
seemed to fill him with energy and vibrance.

"Do you really want it?"  The music screamed.

"Yeah!" Skinner said more confidently, as he rose to
his feet.

"Do you really want it?"  Ricky Martin called to
him.

"Yeah!"  Skinner shouted, answering his call.

***

10:45 A.M.

"...and in many cultures, ancient as well as our own
modern society, artists and poets and musicians are
considered to be the advancers of the world.
hey are, in effect, the voices that spur innovation."

"Right."  Chuck Burks grinned elfishly as he
processed Mulder's explanation.  "And this guy,
from the note he wrote you, believes he is doing
God's work to bring an over-advanced society
back to the fold.  Hence, killing the street performers..."

"...eliminating the innovative force he believes is
drawing God's people away from God,"  Mulder
finished.

"Man, what a nut," Chuck mused.  "Do you think he's
escalating?"

"I sure hope not," Mulder replied, with a grin, "or
else Ricky Martin's in a world of shit."

Chuck laughed heartily at Mulder's joke.  "So, what
have you got on him so far?"

"Nothing much, except for the note," Mulder replied.
"And Scully's getting a tail on him right now.  Not
that she went very willingly on my suggestion, but you
know how Scully is."

The office phone rang.

"That's probably her right now," Mulder said,
reaching for the phone.  "Mulder."

"Okay, I'm here," Scully began, the irritation
already inherent in her tone.  "And I look ridiculous."

"I'm sure you look beautiful, Beautiful," Mulder
replied, not missing a beat.  "And you know what
you're doing is vital, so..."

"...So?  I know that, Mulder, that's the ONLY reason
I'm doing this!"  Scully complained.  "Mulder, posing
as a mime on the streets of an Alexandria swap meet
does NOT meet my definition of effective undercover
surveillance.  Why couldn't I have just stayed in the
car, like normal law enforcement professionals?"

"In the car?"  Mulder said, horrified.  "He's very
intelligent as well as paranoid, Scully -- he would
have found you in the car.  This way he won't suspect
you to be tailing him."

"Okay, Mulder.  I see your point there.  But why a
mime?  Why couldn't I have been in regular makeup,
doing...I don't know...reciting Ginsberg or something?
Something with a voice."

"That is precisely why you are NOT something with
a voice,"  Mulder concluded triumphantly.  "Those
are his targets.  Mimes don't have a voice.  They
don't have something to contribute to the
advancement of society.  This way you won't be a
target for him, and you'll be able to track his
movements safely."

"What?"

"Just trust me, Scully," Mulder said.  "Check in
with me in two hours."

"Okay, Mulder, but you owe me big time."

He hung up the phone and shrugged at Chuck.  "She
just doesn't see it my way sometimes," Mulder
complained.  "But what can I do?  She *is* my
partner, and an excellent cop."

"And beautiful to boot," Chuck reminded him.

"And...beautiful to boot."

"Don't worry, Mulder, she'll do it."

"I *know* she'll do it, but I'll tell you what
else,"  Mulder leaned in conspiratorially.  "I
will also *not* hear the end of it."

The computer on the desk chimed, indicating new
mail.  Mulder walked over and opened his inbox.

"Damn chain letter,"  Mulder swore under his breath,
reading the email.  Skinner expects us to do our
jobs when he's forwarding us this garbage, Mulder
thought to himself.  FBI efficiency at its best.

"From Skinner," Chuck observed.  "Didn't know he
was into the chain letter thing."

"He usually isn't,"  Mulder said, "but his nephew
forwards him all kinds of weird things, and Skinner
likes forwarding them to me.  Most of it is garbage,
but a couple of them have actually turned into
X-files."

"Really?"  Chuck said, reading over Mulder's shoulder.
"You should forward that letter; it may actually
give you some luck."

"Oh, what the hell," Mulder sighed, dumping the
contents of his address book into the "TO" line
unceremoniously.

The phone rang again, and Mulder grabbed for it.
"Mulder."

"Mulder, this is useless."

"You've been there five minutes, Scully."

"Yeah, and I'm already starting to think that this
is a big waste of time.  There's no one at this
swap meet except for old grandmothers and their
screaming grandkids.  And in the space of the past
five minutes, Mulder, I have been bumped into three
times, narrowly missed being hit in the face by a
hyper-active teenager, and have had quarters
thrown at me twice."

"My guess is you've never worked at an amusement
park, Scully."

"No, Mulder, I didn't work at Wally World for a
reason. And this is no time to start.  I'm going to
wash this ridiculous makeup off and head back to
the car."

Mulder's eyes widened.  "No, Scully, don't do that.
Please.  One more hour.  For me, huh?  And then
you can do whatever you want."

"Mulder --"

"One hour, Scully.  That's all I ask.  Now get off
the phone before someone catches you talking."

"Mul--"

He hung up the phone hastily.

"She's no Marcel Marceau, is she?"  Chuck quipped.

"Nope," Mulder replied irritably.  He sighed, and
positioned his mouse on the "SEND" button.

The phone rang again, and Mulder picked up.  "Just
one more hour, Scully.  Thanks."  He hung up, not
letting her get a word in edgewise.

"You know, Chuck," he mused, "She may be my
partner, and an excellent cop, and beautiful to boot,
but sometimes I just wish she'd shut the hell up."

Mulder clicked on the "SEND" button, and closed the
message window.

***

"--der?  Mulder?  Hello?"

Scully hung up her cell phone, and suppressed a
scream of frustration.  Mulder was the *only*
person who dared hang up on her, and she hated
it every time he did so.

She redialed Mulder's number.  He greeted her
with "Just one more hour, Scully, Thanks," and
hung up again.

"Mulder, don't hang up!  Mulder!"  Scully
shouted into the phone, to no avail.

This was the last straw.  She was standing smack
in the middle of a swap meet, in a poorly-fitting,
rented black-and-white jumpsuit. White makeup was
smeared all over her face in her pathetic attempts
to make her mime-like.  She was *sure* the white
pancake makeup would cause a breakout of acne the
likes of which she hadn't seen since high school.
All because of Mulder.

"Damn you, Mulder!"  She swore, frustrated.

Immediately, her hands flew to her throat, as she
realized something was horribly wrong.

"Hello?  Hello?"  she mouthed, but no sound came
out.

Scully became confused.  Had she suddenly gone
deaf?  She could still hear the noises of the
swap meets, the music of the street performers,
and the screams of the children.  But she could
not hear one word that came out of her own mouth.

"Can anybody hear me?"  she tried shouting to the
passers-by.  They laughed and walked on.

"Hello?"  Not even a strangled squeak came out of
her mouth.

Scully was starting to panic.  She tapped a
passing woman on the shoulder and signed
for her to get an ambulance.  The woman's child
clapped in delight and laughed, pointing at the
crazy little mime.  The woman smiled and gave
Scully a dollar.

"No, I'm not performing!"  Scully tried to explain,
and held up her badge and cell phone.  "I need you
to call my partner!"  She mouthed the words and
tried to sign her meaning, as she tried to give the
dollar back.

The woman smiled, insisted she keep the dollar, and
walked on.

A crowd was starting to form as Scully tried her
hardest to communicate to passing bystanders.

"Hey, look, Tina!"  A teenager called to his
girlfriend.  "This mime's doing a really cool bit
with a cell phone!"

"I'm not a mime!"  Scully screamed wordlessly as
she pointed her finger threateningly at the
delighted crowd.  "I'm a goddamn FBI agent, and
I will shoot the next person who tries to give me
money!"

The crowd applauded wildly, and cheered for more.

Frustrated, Scully ran for the car as a shower of
coins followed her.

***

12:30 P.M.

"...SO glad it was a half-day today, I don't think
I could have sat through Algebra 2 today," Monica
chittered as she opened her front door.  "You know,
Johnny, I always thought you were a total dork.
I mean, you're, like, online for like twenty-four
hours a day, and like, you're always talking about
your uncle at the FBI.  Like, anyone cares.  My
friends think I'm totally crazy taking YOU to the
concert tonight."

Johnny smiled at Monica, puppydog-like, not
hearing a word she was saying.  "God DAMN,
she's one cool Betty," he was thinking to
himself.  "And I'm going on a hot date
with her tonight."  He felt like a million
bucks.

Monica flashed another thousand-watt smile at
Johnny.  "But you're kinda cute, Johnny, in
that adorable dorky kind of way.  I mean, I
don't even like Limp Bizkit, but I got tickets
because my ex was a total punk.  For some reason,
though, I'm really looking forward to going with
you tonight.  Thanks for walking me home."

"You're very welcome, Monica," he replied to her
low-cut top.

"See you tonight," she purred, closing the door.

"Mom, I'm home," she called as she climbed the
stairs to her room.  Throwing her bag down by
her Backstreet Boys poster, she turned on her
computer while she rummaged through her clothes
for something cool to wear to the concert.  She
clicked the "Sign On" button to America Online
while foraging through her makeup case.

"You've got mail," her computer declared cheerily
as she clicked into her inbox.

Welcome Monicool!  You have 1 new message.
FROM                SUBJECT
DaSkinster          Fwd: Congratulations!

"Ugh," Monica groaned as she opened up the chain
letter.  "Johnny is *such* a dork."  She wondered
exactly why she invited him to the concert at all.
Sure, he was a little cute and his uncle at the
FBI was rumored to be ultra-hot, but she had
absolutely no idea why she called a total dork
out of the blue and asked him out.

She thought, and thought, and thought; but she
couldn't remember why.

"What-EVER," she exclaimed to the open air as she
pressed "Delete" on the message window.

***

12:30 P.M.

"...yeah, thanks for coming by, Chuck,"  Mulder
said as he led Chuck to the office door.  "You
were a big help."

"Anytime, Mulder," Chuck replied happily.  "Good
to see you again.  And hey, tell Scully I said hi."

"I sure will," Mulder replied as he showed Chuck
out.

Mulder opened the door to the office and stopped
short at what he saw.  "Scully?"

Chuck turned to look, and his jaw dropped open.

The sight that greeted them was pathetic at best.

Scully stood at the door, her work jacket covering a
stained, rumpled black-and-white mime outfit.  The
tacks where the costume had been altered to fit her
had fallen out, leaving wrinkles all over the costume.
Her white makeup was half gone, half smeared all over
her face and hands.  Some of it was in her hair.

She stood, silent, staring at Mulder with a
murderous look on her face.

"Did you get him?"  Mulder asked, incredulously.

Scully shook her head slowly, her gaze unfaltering.

"No, I didn't," she mouthed soundlessly.

"What?" Mulder leaned in, trying to hear her.

The sound of approaching feet broke Scully's
concentration, and she turned around to see
Kimberly, Skinner's assistant, running up the
hallway breathlessly.

"Agents," she huffed, stopping momentarily when she
saw the state that Scully was in.

"What is it, Kimberly?"  Mulder asked.

"Umm...uh...I think there's something wrong with AD
Skinner.  It's...um..."

"It's what?"  Mulder prompted, growing curious as
Kimberly stopped to suppress a laugh.

Kimberly couldn't stop from grinning as she finished
her message.  "It's really weird, Agents...you kind
of have to see for yourself."  She gestured for them
to accompany her upstairs.

Mulder, Scully, and Chuck followed Kimberly in haste
as they trouped to the elevator.

Mulder leaned over to Scully in the elevator.
"Scully, what's wrong?"

She stared straight ahead, ignoring him.

They reached Skinner's floor, and the doors opened
to chaos.

Salsa music was blasting through all the offices on
the entire floor, and they followed a stream of
excited female agents running full bore towards
Skinner's office.

"What the hell is going on?"  Mulder shouted above
the din of delighted female yelps.

"You have to see for yourself,"  Kimberly shouted
excitedly as she ran into the fray.

They pushed past the crowd packed into Skinner's
front office, and looked through the open doorway.

Mulder's jaw dropped what seemed like feet.

"Go!  Go!  Go!  Al-e, al-e, al-e!"

Skinner stood perched on top of his desk, his open
shirt billowing in the air from the air conditioning
unit and Skinner's movements.  His hips gyrated
wildly as he worked the crowd in nothing but his
unbuttoned shirt and boxers.

"Oh. My. God."  Chuck looked sick.

"Sir!  Sir!"  Mulder pushed his way into Skinner's
office and found the stereo, playing at full volume.
He pressed the STOP button, eliciting groans from
the crowd and a petulant yelp from Skinner.

Skinner put his hands on his hips in a gesture that
made several of the women from Human Resources feel
faint.

"Excuse me, Agent Mulder, but what are you doing?"

Mulder cleared his throat, astonished.  "Excuse
*me*, Sir, but what the hell are YOU doing??"

Skinner slicked the remnants of his hair back with
his left hand, and laid his right hand on his chest,
a sight that felled three more female agents and
Bob Goldstein from Computer Fraud.

"What am *I* doing?"  Skinner cooed.  "I'm livin'
La Vida Loca here, Agents."

The crowd erupted into cheers as Skinner kicked
the stereo back on.

"The Cup of Life, come join and celebrate!
Here we go!  Al-e, al-e, al-e!!"

Mulder wafted dejectedly into the front office as
Scully greeted him with a slip of paper from
Kimberly's desk.

GOOD JOB, PARTNER, the paper read.

"What's wrong with you, Scully?"  Mulder asked as
he looked her over worriedly.

She scribbled on Kimberly's pad again and held it
up for Mulder to see.

"I CAN'T SPEAK."

***

7:30 P.M.

"I did it all for the nookie
(come on) the nookie
(come on) the nookie (yeah)
so you can take that cookie
and stick it up your..."

Lights were flashing, heads were banging, and
Limp Bizkit was rocking the house as Johnny and
Monica jumped around to the beat.  All around
them was anarchy as thousands of screaming
teenagers slammed into each other in several
mosh pits that formed on the ground level.

"Wow," Johnny exclaimed.  "This is pretty wicked!"

"Yeah, it's wild!"  Monica shouted.

"Yeah!"  Johnny shouted back.  "Thanks for taking
me!  How did you get my number anyway!?"

"I don't know!"  Monica screamed above the music.
"I just knew it!  I think it was from a phone list
or something!"

"The wall of the girls' bathroom!?"

"You wish!"  Monica shouted.  "You know,Dorkahontas,
I almost changed my mind about taking you after
getting that stupid email today!"

"Oh, I'm sorry!"  Johnny hollered above the wailing
guitar.  "Did you keep it going!?"

"Of course not!  I deleted it!"  Monica cried.
"Who believes in those stupid things any---OUCH!"

"Monica?  Monica!!"  Johnny screamed as he looked
down on the floor.

Monica lay prone, felled by a stage light that had
fallen from the ceiling above, her left shoulder
torn open and bleeding.

"Hold on, Monica, I'll get you out of here to an
ambulance,"  Johnny called out as he picked her
up and weaved his way through the hysterical crowd.
"Coming through!  Injured girl here!"

She was light in his arms, and didn't move, softly
crying as Johnny carried her to the waiting medics.

***

9:00 P.M.
EMERGENCY WAITING ROOM, GEORGETOWN MEMORIAL HOSPITAL

"...Assistant Director Skinner has been released
from psychiatric evaluation and will be on medical
leave until further notice,"  Kimberly said into
her cell phone.  "Good thing Mulder was on the
scene...well, yeah, no incidents...the crowd lost
interest after about fifteen minutes, so Mulder was
able to talk him down and into the car.  Nope, no
one knows what's wrong with Scully, either.  Her
throat and chest x-rays have come out normal,
but she can't speak for some reason...yeah, Agent
Mulder's here trying to figure it all out.  He's
probably the only one that can, really...yeah,
I'll call you guys when we find out more.  Thanks."

Kimberly clicked off her cell phone and walked back
to the group in the waiting room.

Skinner sat in his chair like Don Juan on vacation,
shirt open, his gaze flitting from nurse to nurse.
Scully sat opposite him, ramrod straight, a stony
look upon her face, writing on a legal pad she had
gotten from the reception desk.

Mulder and Chuck sat in the corner, talking
excitedly.  When Kimberly had last left them, they
were comparing theories, but the topic of
conversation had shifted somewhat.

"Yeah, Mulder, the same thing happened to me in a
game where I was playing a lawful evil elf knight.
I was captured by this really powerful mage and he
did that third-level spell, you know, the one where
your voice disappears and you can't speak
incantations.  Well, I knew from then on I was
doomed."

"Your Dungeon Masters were harsh," Mulder commented.
"The same thing happened to me, but I was quick
enough to cast an interrupt."

Scully stamped on the floor, getting Mulder's
attention.  She held up her legal pad.  CAN WE
TALK ABOUT SOMETHING USEFUL, PLEASE?  the pad
insisted.

"We are," Mulder replied.  "We're thinking maybe
it's a roleplaying game gone real."  He grinned at
her.  "Come on, Scully, haven't you ever been in a
roleplaying game before?"

NOT THE KIND YOU ARE THINKING OF, she scribbled.

"Oooh," Mulder teased.  "And what kind is that?"

NO ONE LIKES A GAMING GEEK, MULDER, she wrote
haughtily.

Chuck laughed out loud.

The door opened, and two teenagers walked through
the hallway.  One had bandages on her shoulder,
and the boy was helping her on her way.

Skinner rose, and walked toward the boy.  "Hey,
Johnny!" he called out.  "Que pasa?"

Johnny walked toward Skinner.  "Hey, Uncle Walter,"
he said, a little dejectedly.  "What's up?"

"Nada mucho," Skinner said smoothly.  He walked
up to Monica, checking her out both upstairs and
downstairs.  Monica was, in turn, staring at
Skinner with girlish awe.

"Que caliente culita," Skinner murmured approvingly.
"Who's the chica bonita?" he asked Johnny, with
a wink.

"Um...uh...this is Monica," Johnny replied, now
looking a little strangely toward his uncle.

Skinner looked Monica up and down.  "Good job,
amigo," he laughed, patting Johnny on the back.

"Wow...he *is* ultra-hot," Monica commented under
her breath.

"What happened?"  Mulder walked up and asked,
dragging Skinner back to his chair.

"Well, we were at a concert," Johnny said, "and a
stage light fell on her."

"Ouch," Chuck commented.

"Yeah,"  Johnny added, depressed.  "I guess that
chain letter turned out to be unlucky after all."

Mulder turned, immediately interested.  "What chain
letter?"  he asked.

Johnny looked around, embarrassed.  "Well, I got
this  chain letter in my email that said you'd get
your wish if you passed it on.  Well, I passed it
on, wishing...well..." He glanced over at Monica,
shyly.

"What did you wish for?"  Mulder pressed.

"Well...I wished for a date with Monica.  And as
soon as I sent it, she called.  It was like, a
total coincidence or something."

"You asshole!"  Monica exclaimed as she hit him with
her good hand.

"Maybe not a coincidence,"  Mulder mused.
"Chuck -- what do you think?"

"Incredible, but possible," Chuck answered.  "I
mean, if the subject's mental conditions are right,
along with several other esoteric factors that
have somehow blended into a digital medium..."

"...it could actually have made the chain letter
*work*,"  Mulder finished, to the astonishment of
all in the room.

"But...how is that possible?"  Kimberly asked,
incredulous.

THAT'S RIDICULOUS!  Scully wrote on her pad and
held it up.

Mulder calmly walked over and tore off the sheet,
crumpling it.  Scully swore soundlessly after him.

"So how do we fix it?"  Johnny asked Mulder.

"I'm not sure..."  Mulder seemed lost in thought.

"We'll have to trace it back to its source,"  Chuck
suggested.

The sound of tearing paper caused everyone to look
in Scully's direction.

WHY DON'T WE JUST HAVE SOMEONE WISH THAT EVERYTHING
GO BACK THE WAY IT WAS?, the paper opined, Scully
holding it up with a fiercely sarcastic look on her
face.

Chuck and Mulder looked at the paper, and then at
each other.  "Good idea," they said in unison.

Scully rolled her eyes.

"Quick,"  Mulder ordered, acting fast.  "Who still
has the chain letter?"

"Hey, don't look at me, amigo, I forwarded it to
you,"  Skinner said, still sounding irritatingly
like Rico Suave.

"Ummm...I think my dad still has it," Johnny piped
up.

Mulder handed him his cell phone.  "Call him."

Johnny dialed the numbers.  "Hi, Dad?  Yeah, it's
Johnny. Hey, do me a favor...yeah, you still have
that email I forwarded you?  Which one?  The chain
letter one...umm...it's the one that says
'Congratulations,' I think...yeah. Now open it up
and forward it...don't ask, Dad, just do it,
please...and wish for...umm...everything to be
the way it was before the chain letter started
fucking things up -- Sorry, Dad, I meant *messing*
things up...Please, I'll explain it later...just do
it...Thanks."

He pressed END and handed the phone to Mulder.  "He
said he'll do it in a second,"  Johnny announced.

They waited, hardly breathing.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think it
worked!"  Scully finally shouted, out loud.

The small group in the waiting room, along with the
astonished nurses in reception, cheered and clapped.

Mulder and Chuck took turns patting Johnny on the
back.

"Are you okay?"  Mulder asked Scully, reaching over
to help her out of her seat.

"I'm fine, thank you, Mulder," Scully replied coolly
as she declined his help.

Mulder looked hurt.  "Okay, Scully--"

Immediately apologetic, Scully laid a hand on his
shoulder.  "I'm sorry, Mulder.  Thank you.  Really."

He managed a slight grin.  "You're welcome."

Skinner approached them, sheepishly buttoning his
shirt.  "Good work, Agents," he intoned, shaking
Mulder's hand.  He and Kimberly walked out, on their
way to work on damage control at the office.

Johnny turned to Monica and gave her a halfhearted
hug.  "I'm sorry about all this, Monica," he said
softly.  "Maybe we can start over...a movie or
something?"

"Whatever,"  Monica lashed back at him.  "Like I
would go out with you NOW."  She stalked over to
the payphone and called her mom.

Chuck walked over and patted Johnny on the back.
"Don't worry, dude, chicks come and go.  But this
phenomenon you created with the chain letter is
fascinating...how did you say you did it again?"

Mulder looked over at Scully and, with a tilt of his
head, gestured towards the door.  "Home, Scully?"

"You read my mind."

***

10:20 P.M.

"What a day," Scully said wearily as she and Mulder
walked through the door of her apartment.

"Yeah,"  Mulder agreed.  "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Mulder.  A little humiliated, but fine."
Scully toed off her shoes and turned on her
computer.

"Great."  Mulder squeezed her shoulder in a friendly
gesture, then turned toward the door.  "See you
tomorrow, then."

"Wait."  The tone in Scully's voice froze Mulder in
his tracks.

"What is it, Scully?"

"I said you owed me big time."

The buzz of the modem filled Mulder with trepidation
as the computer logged on to the Internet.

"You did, Scully?" he asked innocently.

"Yes, I did, Mulder," she said evenly.  "And I have
a copy of the chain letter."

"Oh no," Mulder stammered, backing towards the door.

"Close the door."

He did so, obediently.

The corners of her mouth turned up mischievously.
She fixed him with a purposeful gaze.

Her computer chimed with new mail.  She opened it
up, copied the contents of her address book into
the "TO" line, and pressed SEND.

She smiled at him.

"What did you wish for?"  Mulder asked, quietly.

"You'll see."

Mulder gasped as he heard little popping noises
around him, and felt his clothes start to slide
off as all the buttons and fastenings fell to the
floor.

He looked at himself in embarrassed surprise, as
his shirt hung open and his pants fell around his
ankles.

Scully grinned, and walked to the refrigerator.
"Now," she announced, "since you like roleplaying
so much, let's start a game."

She backed him up to the couch, and he tried to
keep up in vain as he tripped on his pants and
plopped down onto the soft cushions.

"I'm Special Agent Dana Scully," she reminded him,
"and you have been a very, very bad boy."

The fizz of the whipped cream can and a satisfied
sigh were the only sounds in the apartment as the
computer clicked over into Energy Saving mode.

It was a good day, indeed.

===================================
END!
Now, the five elements (and one bonus) that
drove me to this craziness are:
1) Mulder and Scully in a roleplaying game
2) Scully going undercover as a streetcorner mime
3) All the buttons popping off Mulder's shirt
4) One agent covers the other with whipped cream
5) Mulder and Chuck working together, when Scully calls them
And the Bonus Element is (ta dah):
6) Skinner has almost all his clothes off, and says
"I'm livin' La Vida Loca here, Agents."

Feedback, tacos, and horrified inquiries welcome at:
perelandra_x@yahoo.com


--
XFW73317, Xeminar '99 :-)
...what you want to believe: X-Files Fan Fiction by Perelandra
http://spookynet.simplenet.com/Perelandra/
The Fanfic Cafe: http://www.insidetheweb.com/mbs.cgi/mb270486