From: "mrs_kite" Date: Thu, 25 Sep 2008 11:56:24 +0200 Subject: Death, X-Files style by MaddalenaNoemi V. Source: direct Title: Death, X-Files style Author: MaddalenaNoemi V. Rating: PG Summary: The most likely way to die, if you work on the X-Files. Classification: SHA, character death Spoilers: None, I daresay. Feedback: mrs_kite@libero.it Archive: Can't see how someone could want it, but if you do then just ask. Very likely I'll say yes. Disclaimer: Anything even remotely related to the XF belongs to powerful people I have nothing to do with. Author's notes: I call it humor as it's not so serious, but i truly doubt you'll piss your pants reading it. Anyway! Very first shot at XF fic, dates a long time ago. I found it among my various other writings, and decided to set it free. It's nice, really. Especially if you think I was just a kid when I wrote it. Also, english is not my native tongue, so it's possible I made lots of mistakes. Sorry:) ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: DEATH, X-FILES STYLE by Maddalena Noemi V. It was almost summer. The heat was already unbearable, and one could figure out life in july would have been nearly impossible. And the humidity was a bitch, too. Scully hated summer, because air conditioning wasn't working in the office, because she couldn't just walk out of it and take some vacation, and because it was only may and she already was fed up with sweating and spending hours trying to fix up her humidity-driven hair. It was almost half an hour she went on complaining about herself, all the while standing in front of the ladies' restroom's mirror. It felt okay to wallow in self-commiseration. Hell, she deserved at least that! So far her life had really been lousy. That, and the fact that Mulder was also in the office. Well, he would have made quite a nice pastime, weren't his head filled up to the brim with aliens and phantoms and monsters and secret government conspiracies. But take a look at how he had become in these last months, and no doubt he had turned from your friendly average Star Trek geek to some serious pain in the ass. And the more he secluded himself from the world in his paranoid delusion, the more Scully sank in self-pity. "Scully, please, believe me! I really saw that thing down the corridor!" It was his last fad. The thing down the corridor. Scully thought about it, at times, and didn't know if she should laugh or cry. She was a grown-up woman, a 34-year-old, fairly handsome albeit wan, had graduated summa cum laude from medical school, and prided herself upon some 145-ish IQ and a somewhat bright personality. Then why, for God's sake, was she stuck with Mulder, investigating such useless and/or bogus crap? What was I thinking about when I accepted the goddamn assignment? The thing down the corridor! Okay with Mulder believing all that nonsense, but now it was too much! Okay with the alien-abducted sister; sure it had to be quite a shock to lose a sibling like that, and he had all of Scully's sympathy, even for what concerned the mind shield he had made up to cope with the loss (and even if, being almost 37 by now, it was time for him to face the harsh, bitter reality). But, the thing down the corridor! Scully draw a deep sigh, and got closer to the mirror's surface. She had to endure so much, and all of it to blame on Mulder. She'd almost died of cancer, and even if she had recovered no one was going to give her back her blooming healthy looks, or her once-glowing complexion, now pale and sick-looking. Or her hair color, for that matter. Well then, she actually had to start dyeing it. And she had realized red wasn't so bad only after she found out she had gray strands on her temples. The truth was, she had given everything to the little jerk they called Mulder. Her career. Her life. Her sister (Scully couldn't keep herself from blaming Mulder for it, even if he wasn't the one who killed her). Oh, and the chance to settle down to a family, since that frigging job caused her to be hopelessly barren. She had always borne with it; not in a resigned way, as she still didn't feel like drowning in depression in that mulderlike fashion; but she had indeed defended him, and excused and forgiven, at least ten millions times before. They had been working together for six years now, and for six years he had kept dragging her in a tragic merry-go-round of strange alien stuff, government-related things and obscure killings. Scully wasn't bad, but she started to feel fed up with it all. "That's it", she told to her reflection in the mirror. "You do deserve a life of your own, my dear. Now you go and have a nice chat with Mulder. Just in case you didn't notice, you're not getting any younger; but if you just walk away from this ugly mess of a job, then maybe you'll manage to arrange something decent before it's too late". The reflection stared at her with a contrite face. Well, maybe she had lots of freckles and some wrinkle and looked quite emaciated, but wasn't so bad as a whole. She smiled, and found herself much nicer. Oh, well, she still had plenty of time. The important thing was, to talk to Mulder asap. She really was sorry about leaving him all alone amid the damn X-files (because they already proved to have such nasty effect on his over sensitive mind), but she just couldn't go on like that. She had to run away, the sooner the better, or else they were to get some free, long-term vacation in some comfy padded cell, and it wouldn't have taken long before it. She had tried to get him to see sense, and she failed; now it was time to think for herself. Scully walked out the restroom. She was carefully choosing the words. Actually, she had a soft spot for Mulder, and didn't want to hurt him. She went down the stairs towards the basement. She stopped right in front of Mulder's door, hand on the handle, and sighed. The thing down the corridor, she thought all of a sudden. Mulder was so absorbed in that fantasy, he paralized when he heard the weakest sound coming from outside the office. He was so frightened he begged her not to go out, not to leave him alone. A 37-year-old! A big crybaby, I tell you! The thing down the corridor! God forbid! Why in the world it happened to her? She opened the door. "Mulder?", she called. The lights were on, and so the fan. "Mulder?", she repeated. No answer. She peeped into the room, and called him for the third time. Still no answer. Where the fuck was he now? Did he go to Skinner wailing about ugly corridor monster? Mulder, you moron! Okay with the aliens, okay with that sunflower seeds fixation, okay even with those porn tapes of yours. But THIS is way too much! Where the fuck did he run? Why the fuck did he run? The thing down the corridor! Oh, fuck it all! She even came in with a speech designed to avoid him to feel hurt! This time I'm gonna wave my resignation letter at his ugly nose, send him to Fuck-u-land and make a bonfire of his goddamn UFO poster and stuff! She exited the office like fury. She didn't know where to look for him, but knew she was going to find him and kick his flabby butt for good. In the semi-darkness, Scully saw something on the floor. It looked like a tiny, long, uneven ribbon, of a dark and somewhat undescript color. She kneeled down and touched it. It was liquid. She examined her fingertips. They were red. It was blood. "This joke is SHIT!", she cried in a very unscullylike, high-pitched voice. Something stirred in the darkness down the corridor. "Mulder, you're such an asshole! You poor twit! You loser! Just know that I'm gonna resign! And by the way, you can take your fucking X-files and shove 'em up your ass one by one!". Her eyes were sparkling with tears, and her voice broke as she spoke. Jesus Christ, she couldn't believe she had actually trusted that sorry excuse for a piece of shit with six years of her life! That corridor monster bullshit had been a three-months long sham, and only to play some joke on her! And during those three months she had even worried about his sanity, she had consumed herself over their relationship, and had reached a premature mid-life crisis! "Mulder! I HATE YOU!" Scully ran to the end of the corridor, movements hampered by her skirt and stilettos, her mascara (which wasn't tear-proof) starting to blur and hair all frizzy and messy. She felt stupid and ridiculous, and it made her want to cry. She just hoped Mulder would feel guilty, then. But Mulder wasn't there. Actually, only small chunks of him were left. Scully looked up, her blue eyes wide with bewilderment and awe as they met the gazing snout of an enormous, undefinable something. Her mind blanked in less than a sec. She gingerly reached for the thing, just to make sure it was real. She had barely touched it, when its claw closed about her thin neck, like scissors. --THE END! Hope you liked it ;)