From lauracap@erols.com Tue May 27 00:59:28 1997 Subject: REVISED: DEAD FOR THE SUMMER (1/1) From: laura capozzola -------- Disclaimer: I don't own Mulder, Skinner, Krycek, Scully, Mrs. Mulder, CSM, Frank Black, Donnie Pfaster or for that matter, Chris Carter. I love them all and I used them unmercifully. But, as fate would have it, they belong to 1013 Productions and the FOX Network...except for Chris, who I'm sure is his own man. As usual, no monetary gain is planned and no offers are anticipated. TITLE: DEAD FOR THE SUMMER (1/1) AUTHOR: Laura Capozzola E-MAIL: lauracap@erols.com RATING: PG-13 CLASSIFICATION: Story/Humor (S/H) WARNING: This is a post-season 4 parody. The humor is based on a knowledge of Season 4 episodes and the episode Irresistible, which was conveniently issued commercially just as this story was written. DISTRIBUTION: Please archive; Do not forward to ATXC SUMMARY: Mourners file past a post-Gethsemane Mulder who evokes a plethora of feelings and unconventional actions from his friends and his enemies. Parody. DEAD FOR THE SUMMER (1/1) by Laura Capozzola An overpowering scent of flowers assaulted the nose of Walter Skinner as he made his way through the Pfaster Funeral Parlor. He could think of a million places that he would rather be than this place for this man. But fate was fate and this death was inevitable; a re-run that stopped and started then finally played out. As he entered the designated viewing room, his eyes scanned the crowd of mourners before focusing on the mother in the front row. Attired in traditional black garb, she was comforted by people he guessed were close friends and family. Except for one. The Cigarette Smoking Man had his arm around the grieving woman. Skinner refused to let his mind go there. As he walked by the folding chairs and down the center aisle, his ears tuned out the whispered conversations of the people gathered. The mahogany casket was open. He approached it reluctantly and stared at the corpse of Special Agent Fox William Mulder before dropping his head in sadness. Skinner tried to think of an appropriate prayer but none came to mind. Then, he saw it - a streak on the wood hull that held the body. He passed his fingers gingerly over the blight and was surprised to find something rub off on his hands. Something sticky. He looked over his left shoulder and saw Scully chatting with his secretary. To his right, Mrs Mulder was engaged in a conversation with two elderly women. When he was certain that no one was closing in, he reached underneath his raincoat into his suit pocket, and removed a handkerchief. The mission consumed him and his heart began to pound erratically. Removing a can of Lemon Pledge from his pocket, he delivered two short but effective squirts to the offending streak. Skinner glanced around furtively. With the folded handkerchief concealed by his hand he quickly polished the offensive mark. He had spritzed enough substance so that he was able to remove a few fingerprints that had also caught his eye. Satisfied, he returned his cleaning gear to his pocket just as Alex Krycek sidled up beside him. "What are you doing here?" Skinner snarled. "I came to pay my respects." Krycek started to sniff. "Do you smell lemons?" Skinner's eyes narrowed but he ignored the question. "Take notes while you're here, Krycek. You're headed down the same path. Now if you'll excuse me, I see Agent Scully over there." Skinner deliberately jostled Krycek as he walked away. Krycek looked down at his former adversary's face and gasped. Whoever did Mulder's hair, they got it all wrong. The FBI agent hadn't worn his hair like that for at least two years. Krycek reached into his pocket, pulled out a comb and attempted to restyle Mulder's hair. But try as he might, it kept springing back. He spit on the comb and tried again. No luck. He leaned over Mulder's face and pounded on the upstart lock of hair. By now Krycek was nose to nose with Mulder and the frustration was overwhelming. To onlookers who could not see the small comb in Krycek's hand, quite a different image played in their minds. Still oblivious to his audience, Krycek gave up and returned the comb to his pocket. He was about to leave when he took a good hard look at the body and let out an audible gasp. Mulder was wearing Krycek's leather jacket. His favorite leather jacket. This was a nightmare. Alex Krycek had no intention of leaving the funeral parlor without it. As he glanced around the room, onlookers averted their eyes. Certain that no one was watching, he lifted Mulder's lifeless form into a sitting position. The deceased immediately flopped over onto Krycek's chest like a stiff dead fish and Krycek had to use his chin to pin Mulder's head to his own body. Once he had convinced himself that Mulder was anchored, Krycek maneuvered his one and only arm across Mulder's chest and tried in vain to pull down the jacket sleeve. "Oh dear. You must have loved my son so much to try to embrace him like this." The voice of Mulder's mother startled the duplicitous murderer and the body slipped from his grasp. Much to Krycek's relief, Mulder did not fall out of the coffin. Instead the corpse flopped back down into its former position. "Dear, dear boy. Don't be embarrassed." Mulder's mother stroked Krycek's reddening cheek affectionately. "I'm sure he loved you as much as you loved him. Did you know my son a long time?" "We, er, used to work together. We ran into each other in Hong Kong and a couple of months ago he took me with him to Russia." Krycek fumbled for the right words to say. As Mrs. Mulder's eyes widened, Krycek realized it didn't come out quite right almost as soon as the words slipped off of his tongue. "He and I...we weren't...it was work related." "I see." Mrs. Mulder wasn't buying it. "Would you like something of his to remember him by?" Krycek looked wistfully at his jacket then nodded. "Why don't you have this." Mrs. Mulder reached into her pocketbook and handed Krycek an Apollo key chain. "I found a whole shoe box of these in Fox's apartment." "Thanks." He mustered a smile for the woman who pinched his cheek before walking away. Krycek stood there for a moment then pulled Mulder's apartment key out of his pocket and slipped it on the key ring. After one more longing look at his jacket that was lying in state, he leaned over the casket. "Looks like you win this one, partner." Then he left. The Cigarette Smoking Man approached the coffin from the left as Skinner came up from the right. Neither man said a word for a minute or two until CSM broke the silence. "I picked out the tie, you know? I think it's quite stunning. Don't you agree Mr. Skinner?" Skinner looked down at the red and green striped monstrosity and decided to say nothing. He was sure that this man, with the cloud of smoke surrounding his face, had something to do with Mulder's alleged suicide. He was just as certain that it would take him until the Fall to determine the truth about what really happened. CSM leaned over the body and affectionately straightened out Mulder's tie. In doing so, an inch of cigarette ash dropped on Mulder's shirt. Skinner started to twitch. "You know, I liked his hair better when it stood straight up." CSM pulled out his pocket comb and lifted Mulder's hair with it. It wouldn't stay up. CSM spit on the comb and managed to get a few strands to meet his standards before admiring his handiwork. "There, there son, that's better. Don't you agree, Mr. Skinner?" Skinner couldn't concentrate on the question. The cigarette ashes consumed his thoughts. He needed to get the bastard away from the casket quickly. "I think Mrs. Mulder needs to talk to you." He wondered if his cracking voice betrayed his anxiety. The Cigarette Smoking Man looked long and hard at Mulder's boss. For once in his life he would take the high road and not taunt this man in his grief. "She does? Excuse me, then." When he was sure the Cigarette Smoking Man was gone, the Assistant Director moved fast. Positive that he was not being watched, and that no one was coming, he opened his raincoat and whipped out his Dust Buster. Aiming the instrument at Mulder's shirt, with one short click of the switch the offending ashes were sucked up. Pleased with his work, the gunslinging AD blew on the nozzle before pocketing the tool safely in the folds of his raincoat. It wasn't a moment too soon. Scully was advancing with a tear-stained face. "Agent Scully, are you okay?" "No. No, I am not okay. That is not the tie I picked out for Mulder! That is not the shirt I picked out for Mulder! That is not the jacket I picked out for Mulder! And where did those pants come from? Wait a minute..." Scully unbuttoned Mulders pants, unzipped his fly and felt around inside for his underwear. "Just as I suspected. These are not the black silk boxers that I brought here for him. These are 100 percent cotton briefs!" Scully knew why they put the "I" in FBI. "This makes me really angry." Skinner's eyes widened. "Look if you don't believe me..." Scully climbed up on the kneeling thing alongside the coffin, leaned over the body and struggled to pull down Mulder's pants. She grunted and groaned but failed to make any real progress in moving the tight material down Mulder's hips. "Agent Scully, is this really necessary?" But Scully was incensed. "Well look, put your hand in here." Scully grabbed Skinner's hand, thrust it inside Mulder's pants and moved it up and down. "Cotton right?" "I don't know. Agent Scully, please." "CAN'T YOU FEEL IT!" Scully was now yelling at her boss. People were watching. Mrs. Mulder fainted. Skinner jerked his hand back and Scully took a minute to calm herself down. Forgetting about the pants, she pulled what she thought was Mulder's jacket over his chest to hide the hideous tie. A vial labeled "Scully's Eggs" dropped out of his pocket. She picked it up. Her eyes began to well with tears at the same time her lower lip started to quiver. She looked up at Skinner and blubbered. "He came over for breakfast. I sent him out for some eggs. He, he got it all wrong." She buried her face in Skinner's chest and sobbed. Skinner put his arm around her and let her cry. When her tears subsided she once again turned to face her dead partner. "You know, I never liked that hair style." Scully reached into her raincoat pocket and began to unload the contents one at a time. Realizing that there was no place to put the items except in there with Mulder, she did exactly that. The stuff began to bounce off Mulder's body as she tossed it in haphazardly. First she pulled out her gun. Then she dug out her cell phone. Next came her keys, then Skinner's keys, then Pendrell's keys (she made a mental note to toss those away), then her mother's keys, then Mulder's keys dangling on the Apollo key chain. Next came 4 different shades of lipstick, some blush, mascara, eyeliner, condoms, hairspray, a mirror, a spare pair of flat shoes and a cylindrical silver object. The catch on the retractable alien icepick killing instrument was accidently engaged as it flew through the air. Its sharp point managed to target the region between the open folds of the fly on Mulder's pants but Scully didn't notice. She had found what she was looking for - her hairbrush. Carefully and lovingly she stroked Mulder's hair with the brush. But try as she might, one piece just wouldn't stay down. Her frustration began to mount again. She noticed an adjoining chapel to the room where Mulder was lying in state and she ran in with her brush. One quick dip in the holy water and Scully was back at Skinner's side fixing the ‘do of the deceased. She finished her task with a quick spritz of hair spray then stood back pleased with what she had accomplished. Another mourner approached the pair. He introduced himself as Frank Black then bowed his head for a short prayer. When he looked up, Scully was peering quizically at Mulder's face. "Is something wrong Agent Scully?" Black thought it should be the peeled back fly with the icepick sticking out but Dana Scully was staring at Mulder's head. "I don't believe it. Did they put eyeliner on him?" It was dark in the funeral parlor and Scully couldn't be sure. Black wasn't sure either. Both whipped out their flashlights and pointed the high beams at the face of Fox Mulder. "Assistant Director Skinner, does it look like eyeliner to you?" Skinner leaned over the bier. So did Agent Scully. Just then her nose started to bleed. Skinner watched the drop of blood roll off Scully's upper lip onto the collar of Mulder's white shirt. Black moved his flashlight to spotlight the stain. Skinner began to perspire. It screamed for his attention. He looked at Scully and Black and tried to will them away with his thoughts. Someone called out and Frank Black disappeared into the sea of mourners. Meanwhile, Scully had found a tissue and was dabbing at the area around her nose. "I'm alright, really." Not that Skinner had noticed. "Would you excuse me?" Scully turned to make her way to the ladies room. Skinner thought he was home free until she did an about face and returned to his side. "Can I have Mulder's desk?" "You can use it but I were you I wouldn't move my things into it for a few months. Why don't you wait until the Fall?" Scully nodded. Obviously her boss was denying the finality of Mulder's situation. She gathered up her things, stuffed them back in her pockets and once again headed for the ladies room. "Agent Scully," Skinner called after her. "Let me know if it's not clean in there." Skinner was glad she was finally gone. Time was of the essence. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the black lunged bastard administering smelling salts to Mrs Mulder. The other people were otherwise occupied. He looked at Mulder's collar. The red blood stain was mocking him, calling to him, begging for his attention. He reached into his raincoat pocket and pulled out the can of spot remover. Just as he was about to take aim he noticed that this was the cheap generic brand. The beads of sweat danced the Macarena on Skinner's forehead. He placed his hand on Mulder's to steady himself and to absorb the strength of Mulder's beliefs. Skinner prayed for a miracle. If ever he needed one it was now. He gave the can a short manly shake and pointed. The stream of chemical found its mark. He watched intently as the spot remover did its thing. As he dabbed at it with his handkerchief, he congratulated himself for a job well executed. Preparing to leave, he thought that he heard a humming sound. In fact, he was sure that he heard a hum. The noise came from the large spray of red roses. It was a bee. A large bee. Skinner was both mesmerized and afraid. He knew what this bee meant to civilization as he knew it. He had to summon the courage to act. The insect, apparently tiring of the flowers made a short hop to Mulder's nose where it sat watching Skinner watch it. Skinner slowly slipped his hand under his raincoat and his suit jacket. He felt the butt of his gun and gingerly removed the weapon. The bee did not wait. It walked south down the center of Mulder's body. Skinner waited it out. It settled on Mulder's open fly. Skinner took aim and fired. Mulder's body jerked. The bee splattered. The mourners screamed and fled from the room. Mrs. Mulder swooned once again and was scooped up by CSM who carried her from danger. When the noise died down and Skinner was satisfied that he had gotten the job done, he replaced his weapon. One small step for man...one giant leap for mankind. As he exited the empty funeral parlor, Skinner passed a tanned man, with twinkly eyes in a Hawaiian shirt. They nodded but no words were exchanged. Donald Pfaster, the funeral director, met the handsome man in the hall. As they shook hands, Pfaster admired the man's perfectly coiffed hair and manicured fingernails. "I was just about to close up." "If you don't mind, I wondered if I could have a few minutes alone with him." "Of course. He's right in there." Pfaster directed the man to the viewing room that held the body of Fox Mulder and retreated to his office. Chris Carter walked over to the casket and looked down at the FBI agent. He blanched when he saw the large bullet hole in Mulder's groin area. "Jesus Mulder, this wasn't how you were supposed to commit suicide. This is all my fault. I knew you were depressed because you only had sex one time in the last 3 years. But, I never expected you to shoot yourself there." Carter bowed his head and said a little prayer for his favorite FBI agent. As he turned to leave he noticed Mulder's hair was all wrong. He spit on his fingers and messed it up so it looked the way it had been for the past year. "You're only dead for the summer, Mulder." Carter slipped a small book titled, "Greatest Hit Speeches of the Ancient Philosophers" into the casket and left. ***** Donnie Pfaster locked the door to the funeral parlor and returned to the room where Mulder reposed. His first attempt to close the coffin met with resistance. He tried a second time and the top sprang up. Using all of his strength, he pushed down hard on the top. Once again it popped up. Mulder's nose was in the way. Donnie Pfaster went into the back room and got his electric saw. This casket was going to be closed one way or another. Besides, he didn't have a nose in his collection. Maybe he would shampoo Mulder's hair, too. He was getting excited just thinking about it. Mulder twitched involuntarily. The Fall was a long way off. -THE END- -- #***#***#***#***#***#***#***#***#***#***#***# "The truth, the truth.....there is no truth. These men just make it up as they go along." - Alex Krycek (Tunguska) - #***#***#***#***#***#***#***#***#***#***#***#