From: KTsBudgie@aol.com Date: Tue, 6 Apr 1999 14:59:07 EDT Subject: *NEW* "Fortune Cookie 2: Mulder" 1/1 by KTsBudgie Title: Fortune Cookie 2: Mulder Author: KTsBudgie Date Completed: April 6, 1999 Email: KTsBudgie@aol.com Rating: PG, language Archive: Gossamer, sure. Others, drop me a line so I can visit! Spoilers: Yeah, right. Keywords: Humor Synopsis: Sequel to my story "Fortune Cookie". Read that one first. It's Mulder's turn now. Author's Notes: My best friend, Starlet346, gave me the notion that a sequel to "Fortune Cookie" could be done. I thank her greatly for that. Also, I needed a break from a big story that we're working on, so this was the perfect little thing to do it with! I enjoy feed back, so send it my way! Disclaimer: Let's see . . . if I owned them, would Mulder have *ever* chosen Fowley (shudder) over Scully? I didn't think so . . . Fortune Cookie 2: Mulder aka: The Revenge of the Fortune Cookie by KTsBudgie I hate Thursdays. Nothing good ever happens to me on Thursdays. When I was six, I had these two little hamsters. Bert and Ernie. I loved those little guys. They were one of the few gifts that I was able to out of my father. I would run home from school every day, just so I could get to see them faster. Well, one morning I went to check on them. You know, feed 'em, give 'em water, clean the cage. I was six, but I took great responsibility for those little hamsters. Imagine my six year old shock when I looked into the cage. Ernie had chewed off Bert's left front paw. He bled to death. Guess what day of the week it was? Thursday. So, I've never much cared for Thursdays since then. Today has been no exception. I brought Chinese food over to Scully's again. We were scheduled to fly out to Tucson on a levitation and murder case that had recently slithered across my desk, and she said she wanted to go over the file before we left. There was nothing unusual about that. We frequently got together the night before leaving on a case to discuss it. You know, air out the possibilities, come up with some theories before we get there. I think she also likes to check out what the probability factor on a case is of me ditching her and or getting hurt. I know she does this, but I really try to prove her wrong. I can't help it if I get an anonymous tip in the middle of the night. She usually doesn't find out about it. Unless I land myself in a hospital, but that's a whole different story. So, I offer to bring over some Chinese food from our favorite place, and I, for once, arrive on time. "You're punctual and in one piece, Mulder. I'm impressed," Scully had said to me when she opened up her front door. I simply held up two bags of wonderfully smelling Chinese food, and pulled out a little grin from my repetoir before saying, "Good food can make anyone run the straight and narrow." We decided to look over the file as we ate. It's a good thing that I'm not too squeamish, or I would have been revisiting my moo-shoo pork. And I don't mean getting seconds. We reached the third victim and the fortune cookies at about the same time. I was chewing on the last bit of my egg roll when I caught Scully's hesitance at opening her cookie. "What's wrong?" I asked her. Her response to my question was so out of character, I considered sticking her with a pin to see if she bled green. She actually told me what was wrong. No "I'm fine, Mulder" this time. "I'm afraid this fortune will be as bad as the last one," she had confessed. I scrunched my eyebrows together, flipping through the papers of information in my brain, trying to come up with the last fortune that I had been witness to. Finally, I found it. "Was it the 'It tastes good' one?" I asked. Her barely repressed shudder made me grin. She's so logical sometimes that a simple little bizarre fortune can throw her for a loop. "I can't figure it out! It's been almost two weeks, and I'm no closer to knowing what that damned piece of paper meant now then I was then," she had explained. Damn, but she looks good flustered. She get this little rosy tint to her cheeks that makes her sort of glow . . . . Anyway. It was not the time to fantasize about my partner. I needed to try and put her at ease. "Scully, it's just a fortune. Random. The possibility of you getting another whacked out fortune like the last time is relatively low." She nodded at my words, but I know she didn't really believe me. I let her get her fortune over with first. Usually, I crack my cookie open before her, but I had a feeling that the suspense would kill her this time. Once it was open, she let out a huge sigh of relief before a little impish smile took possession of her mouth. I quirked an eyebrow, mimicking her favorite look, and waited for her to tell me the fortune. " 'You will encounter many obstacles to help someone close to you.' I think this one I understand," she remarked, giving me a knowing look. I shot her back a bland expression of my own before grabbing my own little cookie. I must have had egg roll grease on my fingers because when I tried to open the bag, it shot from my fingers, hitting me in the face. Scully barked a laugh once before she got herself under control. "A new breed of Chinese food. Attack cookies." Pursing my lips at her, I said nothing as I wiped off my fingers and the wrapper. The second attempt was much more successful than the first. Once the wrapper was gone, the only thing keeping me from that little slip of paper was the cookie itself. I cracked it open, popped both pieces into my mouth, and read my fortune. Then I promptly began to choke on the cookie. I was barely even aware of Scully moving at all. A hand gently, but firmly, hit my back a few times and a can of Pepsi was thrust into one hand. Once I stopped coughing, I stared over at her with watery eyes. "I mentioned something earlier about the possibilities involving fortunes. I take it back," I croaked, staring at the little piece of paper that I had crumpled between my fingers. Her eyes widened at my words. "Don't tell me . . . ." she began, letting her words trail off. I shook my head briefly. "It's similar, not the same." With one last look at my fortune, I showed it to her. I saw her read it a couple times, then she handed it back to me. It was a good five minutes before she stopped laughing. I sat there the entire time, rubbing the back of my neck, staring at the fortune. It feels good. I think I know what Scully went through a couple of weeks ago. What the hell feels good? Certainly not the damned Chinese food when you swallow it. And definitely not the cookie. Part of that thing is lodged in the back of my throat, and it's beginning to drive me crazy. Like the fortune. Maybe the Fates are trying to tell me I need to get out more. *That* would feel good, but I am never going to admit that to myself or anyone else that the Fortune Cookie Gods are probably getting more action than Fox Mulder. Hell, everyone's getting more action than me. Oh, damn. Now I'm starting to feel depressed. Of all the things that I've seen, done, and been a part of, a freaking little cryptic fortune has totally dumped a bucket of water over my head. Man, this sucks. Scully chose this moment to gather her courage and say something. "If you can figure out what feels good, then maybe you can tell me what tastes good, and we can go out and hunt down the people who made these fortunes." I snorted at her words. I'm not sure that I *want* to figure out what it means. A fortune is just a fortune, right? Just a slip of paper with a random phrase printed on it that is stuffed into a piece of crisply baked dough, then sent out for human consumption. There's not suppose to be anything logical or implied about it. Purely random. "I'll say one thing about these two fortunes," I told her, taking my little slip of paper and carefully tearing it into four identical pieces. "Whoever thought up these things is laughing at us while he or she sits behind a nice big glass desk. They probably don't even like Chinese food." Scully simply had agreed with that, and we dove back into the case file, our dinner complete, and the strange messages temporarily forgotten. Now, it's two o'clock in the freaking morning, and I still can't sleep. I can't stop thinking about that fortune. This will, most likely, keep me occupied for a good few days, trying to figure it out. Hell, maybe I'll discover some sort of link between this and Cancerman. I shudder at that possibility. Nothing is below him though. No more sleep will be coming to me for a while, so I might as well get up. Maybe I'll go take a run. There's a twenty four hour gym about three miles from my place. I just might figure this out after that. There's only one good thing that I can tap upon as I leave in running shorts, shoes, and my favorite Knicks shirt. At least it's not Thursday anymore. end So? You like? I love feedback! And if anyone wants to torture Skinner or the Gunmen with the other senses, go for it! Just let me know what you're gonna write so I can visit!