From lauracap@erols.com Tue Apr 22 02:43:28 1997 Subject: NEW: MISERY LOVES COMPANY (1/1) From: laura capozzola -------- DISCLAIMER: FOX and 1013 own Mulder, Scully, Krycek and the rest of the characters in this story. Chris Carter isn't mine either and wishful thinking gets me nowhere. As usual, no monetary gain is planned and no offers are anticipated. Don't hurt me, big guys. TITLE: MISERY LOVES COMPANY (1/1) AUTHOR: Laura Capozzola E-MAIL: lauracap@erols.com DISTRIBUTION: Please archive; Do Not Post To ATXC SPOILERS: None RATING: R CLASSIFICATION: VHA (Vignette-Humor-Angst) WARNING: This is a parody of the show and fan fiction, in general. All characters are healthy and intact. NOTE: I'd like to thank all of the writers who pointed out to me some good examples of humor-angst writing. I tried. Really, I tried. SUMMARY: All genres of fan fiction take a beating at Apartment Number 42 as Mulder unexpectedly entertains a cast of characters. MISERY LOVES COMPANY (1/1) by Laura Capozzola Fox Mulder unlocked the door, flipped on the radio and dropped the laundry basket on his sofa. He stared blankly at its contents while he mentally fast-forwarded the last few months of his life. No matter how often he played the events in his mind it ended the same way. He rubbed his temples in a slow circular pattern hoping to erase the dull pain in his head that he knew wasn't really there. It had been a long week in a series of long weeks and Mulder was tired. Dead tired. He began to fold his socks carefully as he contemplated the futility of his situation. At one time in his life he believed he was treading water. He no longer believed that. The Smoking Man and his cronies were winning and now he was being sucked under. Mulder was certain he didn't have the strength to keep himself from drowning. The towels were still warm from the dryer. Mulder held them to his face for comfort as thoughts of Scully heated his weary mind. They wanted him to lose her just as he lost his sister. And to what end? It was just a game to them and it was one that he could never win. The Bangles' "Walk Like An Egyptian" interrupted his morose thoughts. Mulder threw down the towel and jumped to his feet. Instantly invigorated, he grabbed his red Speedos from the top of the pile of clean laundry, placed them on his head and spastically danced around the room while he wept uncontrollably. After a minute or two he stopped, clicked off the radio and flopped dejectedly on the sofa that also served as his bed. "Er, Laura. I, uh, don't really think this is working. What exactly are you trying to do?" Mulder pulled a fresh hanky from the laundry basket, wiped the remaining tears from his eyes and removed the teeny form-hugging bathing suit from his head while he waited for an answer. "I'm going for humor-angst here, Mulder. What's the problem?" "I don't know. The angst seems to be moving along nicely but I think the humor has to be more subtle. I've been in some humor-angst ones, you know. The good writers don't hit you over the head with the funny stuff." "Hmm. You could be right. Well, how about if I -" A loud knock at the door abruptly terminated the conversation. Mulder quickly pulled the laundry basket off of the sofa and gave his apartment the visual once over. Apparently, he didn't move fast enough. The knocking became more persistent. Mulder quickened his steps and jerked the door open without checking first to see who was outside. Alex Krycek posed petulantly in the hall. "What took you so long?" "You son-of-a-bitch!" Mulder drew his fist back and let it fly in the direction of his leather-jacketed former partner. Krycek grabbed the fist before it made contact, twisted Mulder's arm behind his back then pushed his way inside the apartment. "Not in this story, Mulder. I'm her favorite. In her fan fiction, I'm the good-looking one and you're the fool." Krycek shoved Mulder down on the couch but the FBI agent broke free and pounced on his adversary knocking him to the floor. With minimal effort, Mulder flipped Krycek over on his stomach and restrained him by laying on top of him with the full length of his body. Minutes ticked by. Mulder began to move slowly but he didn't get up. "Mulder, what do you think you're doing?" "What does it feel like I'm doing?" "Get off of me, you idiot! Laura doesn't write slash." Somewhat reluctantly, the lanky FBI man rolled off of his handsome visitor and sat down on the floor beside him. Exasperated by this sudden turn of events and feeling out of control, he buried his head in his hands and began to sob. Krycek sat up and stared at him. Then, he began to laugh. "Alex, really!" "I was trying to help you out. I thought you were going for humor-angst." The author succumbed. "That's sweet of you to want to help me, Alex, but I think I need to try something else here." "SWEET! You're calling this monster sweet?" Mulder was enraged. He brushed the wet stains from his cheeks and continued his rant. "He killed my father. He had something to do with Agent Scully's abduction. I believe he was present when Melissa Scully was shot. I'm sure he was responsible for the disappearance of a Skyland tram operator and he is more than likely the one who murdered Duane Barry!" "Circumstantial." Krycek hissed the word in Mulder's ear. Mulder raised his fist quickly but once again Alex Krycek began to laugh. "Mulder, your fist will never connect with my face. I told you, I'm her favorite. I'm not going to get a nosebleed or a black eye in any one of her stories. Besides, Laura is going for humor-angst not humor-anger." "This vermin really is your favorite?" Mulder's lower lip jutted out and then began to quiver. The author and the handsome vermin stared at Mulder before both broke out in simultaneous laughter. To Mulder's relief, a knock on the door quieted them. This time Mulder pulled it open slowly. The Assistant Director stood before him, shirtless and in tight pants. "What do you want, sir?" He prayed it was an assignment on the other coast. Actually, anything to get him out of here would do right now. "I'm here for the erotica. Where's Scully?" Skinner let out a seductive growl, clenched his teeth and muscled his way past Mulder. "I think you came to the wrong story. As you can see there are no women here." Mulder secretly hoped he rated higher than Skinner, even if he wasn't The Favorite. Skinner suspected that Mulder was lying. It wouldn't be the first time. As he glanced around the apartment his eyes rested on Alex Krycek sitting on Mulder's sofa. Skinner slid his hands slowly up and down his naked chest as his eyes feasted on his potential prey. He could have them both, he thought. He began to salivate in anticipation. Confident that he was totally safe from just about any type of bodily harm in this particular piece of fan fiction, the duplicitous Alex Krycek grinned smugly. "Forget it Skinner. Put on your shirt if you have it with you and take a seat. Laura doesn't write slash." "Well, if this isn't erotica and this isn't slash what am I doing here? Do I at least get to punch you?" Still smiling, Krycek shook his head from side to side and winked at the author. He was enjoying this one. It did not go unnoticed. Skinner clenched his teeth, once again. Mulder thought Skinner clenched his butt, too, but he couldn't be certain. "Well this is just great. As usual, I'm the last one to know what's going on. Do you know what they say on the Internet? They say I'm clueless. Is somebody going to tell me what's going on or do I have to wait until all hell breaks loose before I find out?" "Laura, why is Assistant Director Skinner here?" "I don't know, Mulder. You usually feel pretty rotten after you meet with him. I thought an appearance by him would put you in an angsty mood." Mulder didn't like the way this one was shaping up, but what could he do? He was just another character in this fan fiction. Damn, he thought, he wasn't even The Favorite. Now that bothered him a lot. "Look, why don't you two guys take a few minutes to think this over. I'll get you something to drink and maybe we can sort it out." Mulder sauntered over to the refrigerator and took inventory of its paltry contents. "I only have tomato juice and iced tea. What'll it be?" Krycek frowned. "Laura, can you do something about that?" The handsome murdering lying rodent batted his long dark eyelashes expectantly. And, as usual, the author breathed a hopeless sigh and acquiesced against her better judgement. "Check again, Mulder," Krycek yelled. "I think you missed something." Mulder opened the refrigerator door again and two six packs of beer magically appeared. He rubbed his eyes and looked at Krycek who had come up behind him. "I told you. I'm her favorite." Krycek grabbed a beer from Mulder, popped the top then leaned over to whisper in the FBI agent's ear. "Better get used to it." Mulder tossed a can to Skinner who was now giving Krycek dirty looks. He wished his boss would put on his shirt. "I think we better talk about -" A rap on the door froze Mulder in mid-sentence. The smell of cigarette smoke reached his nose before his hand turned the dead bolt and he paused long enough for the writer to interrupt the action. "Fox, do you know who is at the door?" "I have a pretty good idea and don't call me Fox." If he wasn't The Favorite, then she could call him Mulder just like everyone else, he thought. "Okay, I'm sorry. Does it trouble you to know who is at the door? You know, is your stomach all in knots just thinking about who it is? I mean, if you are pained by this sudden turn of events, feel free to verbalize your anguish." "Do you want me to cry? I'm really good at it?" "Er, no...why don't you just get the door and we'll see what develops." As Mulder reached for the door, he paused again. "Am I at least your second favorite?" The author didn't answer. Mulder sighed and tentatively opened the door. "Agent Mulder, so glad you're home. Your mother and I were out water skiing. I didn't have time to change into my clothes. Mind if I come in and do it here?" The Cigarette Smoking Man didn't wait for an answer and Mulder was too stunned to give him one. Still attired in his swim trunks, the older man picked up the water skis that were leaning on the wall in the hall, brushed Mulder aside and he headed for the living room. His flip flops left a trail of water but Mulder didn't seem to notice. "Ah, Mr. Skinner. Lovely day to take off your shirt and soak up the sun, wouldn't you agree?" Skinner was temporarily speechless. He glanced over at Krycek who returned a vacant stare and a shrug before returning his gaze to the man he inwardly feared but outwardly dismissed. "If I had known this was going to be a conspiracy story, I would have stayed at the office." "Conspiracy story? Surely, you must be joking. Besides, I heard it was humor-angst. Agent Mulder, do you have an ash tray?" "No, I don't." "Too bad." The Cigarette Smoking Man flicked his ashes in the fish tank and headed off to the bathroom to change his clothes. Mulder winced but the author never got the chance to follow up on that glimmer of pain. Someone was at the door again. "Excuse me for interrupting your party," the somber-faced man said in a flat monotone whisper. "My name is Frank Black. I heard someone was killed in your hallway last fall. The neighbors said he dragged himself to your apartment leaving a nasty trail of blood and wrote something in that blood. Agent Mulder, were his eyes and mouth sewn shut? Was he eviscerated? Was anything carved in his forehead? Were his fingernails torn off?" Mulder looked into the piercing eyes of Frank Black. The man was scary. He could almost hear stringed instruments, screams, death and destruction as he peered deep into the man's soul. "This isn't a crossover. It's supposed to be humor-angst." "Oh." The man raised his eyebrows a fraction of an inch but his voice remained stagnant. "Jeez, I am sorry. Nothing is simple anymore, is it? I'll leave you alone. I didn't know." "No problem." Mulder watched Frank Black walk down the hall carrying the weight of all that is evil in the world on his shoulders. He turned before he reached the elevator. "You wouldn't happen to have any extra batteries in your apartment for those flashlights we use?" "No. Sorry." "That's okay." Frank Black waved halfheartedly. Mulder slammed the door and began to pace. "That guy is perfect for angst, you know. Why not him instead of me? I want the truth." "The truth, the truth, there is no truth. I just make it up as I go along." Mulder wasn't buying it. He thought he heard those words before. "Okay, I don't like the little kid. She's kind of hard to take." Mulder threw up his hands in disgust and went back to his guests. CSM had changed into a red shirt with green pants, Skinner was playing with the hairs on his chest, Krycek was screwing around with his arm and the fish were belly-up in the tank. Mulder looked distressed. The writer was hopeful. They all jerked their heads simultaneously as they heard the door lock being jimmied. The reaction was immediate. Skinner drew his gun. CSM ordered Krycek to pull his out, too, as he groped for the spare retractable ice-pick he kept hidden in his pocket. Only fear kept Mulder from cursing the author of the story as he fumbled for his weapon and dropped it. The door swung open. "Mulder, do you want to help me with these groceries or kiss me first?" Agent Dana Scully, resplendent in a designer pantsuit, dropped the two bags on the floor and planted a half dozen kisses on his eyes, cheeks and neck before zooming in for a big lingering smooch on Mulder's lips. When Mulder failed to respond, she pinned him against the wall and locked lips with him again as she attempted to undo his belt buckle. "Scully. Scully! SCULLY! STOP! What are you doing?" Mulder was having a hard time catching his breath and fending off his amorous partner. "I'm here for the MSR but I was hoping for NC17." Krycek snorted. CSM laughed. Skinner fumed. A perplexed Scully turned abruptly, previously unaware that the three men were present. Her eyes questioned Mulder who was obviously embarrassed. "It's supposed to be humor-angst, Scully." Mulder looked at his partner sheepishly. "Humor-angst? I see. Is something troubling you Mulder?" "No." "Well, do you feel particularly funny today?" "No. Not really." Scully rolled her eyes and went in the living room to chat with the half- naked Skinner who by virtue of his buff topless form was more in line with the type of fan fiction she was hoping to appear in. Krycek was also a tempting morsel but the author gave her the evil eye so Scully backed off lest she be the featured player in the writer's next parody. Mulder surveyed the people crowding his tiny apartment and a sadness began to well up inside of him. His mother refused to tell him the truth. His dead father was most likely a very bad man. He had no real friends, no family of his own and no love life. His partner acted as if she liked him but most of the time he thought she was humoring him. He was always in trouble at work. Physical evidence kept disappearing on him. Even after countless sessions that the Bureau knew nothing about, his shrink wanted to know if Samantha wasn't really his imaginary playmate. He didn't seem to acquire possessions of any real worth. And on top of all of that, in his living room having a beer was the good-looking rat who constantly outwitted him and murdered his father, the evil man who watched presidents die and who quite possibly boinked his mother and the boss who always got Scully in the fan fiction when he, Mulder, did not. He thought about picking his gun up off of the floor and ending it all. He even had dreams about killing himself. Always in his dreams, some dead guy once a part of his life, and quoting some philosopher, would string big words together urging him on in his search for the truth. Mulder didn't understand the dead guys, one of which was his father, but he was so impressed with their vocabulary he felt it was a sign that he had to go on to fulfill his destiny. He wasn't so sure anymore. As he bent over to pick up his gun, Chris Carter walked in through the unlocked door. "C'mon everybody. Time to go to work." One by one they filed out of Mulder's apartment past The Creator who was standing guard to make sure all of his characters were safely returned to him. Krycek mumbled something obscene and Skinner tripped him accidently on purpose. "Chris, is this one an action-adventure or an X-File?" "It's both Scully." "Do I have a lot of lines?" "Yes, Scully." "More than Mulder?" "I don't know. Longer ones. More technical ones." "Am I getting a raise?" "I don't know. We'll talk." "Chris, has Mrs. Mulder been asking about me? CSM blew a puff of smoke in Mulder' face causing the agent to choke as he lunged at the powerful contemptuous man. "No and I wish you would stop baiting him. You know how gullible he is. I can't trust you to leave him alone, can I?" "You can trust all of us." CSM gave a conspiratorial wink to the author and slipped into the hall. Krycek tried to sneak by The Creator but Carter was on to Ratboy and his wiley ways. He grabbed him by the back of his jacket collar and pushed him roughly out of the door. "She spoiled you, didn't she? And, what the hell happened to your arm?" Chris shook his head. "And Skinner, where's your shirt? My God, I can't leave you guys alone for one day." Mulder picked up the empty beer cans, tossed them in the garbage can and started to leave. "Mulder, is that lipstick on your face?" Chris Carter's eyes widened. "On second thought, don't tell me." Mulder paused in front of the boss of all bosses. "Am I your favorite?" "Yes, Mulder. You're the man." He patted his lead character on the back to reassure him. "I'll be downstairs in a minute. Wait for me in the limo." "Chris, do I need my Speedos for this one?" "No, not this time." "How about my khaki or black silk boxers?" "No Mulder. This is pretty much a suit and raincoat episode." Carter tried to gently guide the FBI agent out the door. Mulder popped his head back in. "I think I could use a new hairdo." "Sure. Sure. You're my lead male character. Whatever you want." Fox Mulder beamed.....then he stuck his tongue out at the author. She made a note to herself to star him in her next parody. Carter closed the door, leaned back on it and folded his hands across his chest. "I take it the humor-angst didn't work out." The author shrugged her shoulders. "It happens." "I've had some rough ones, too." Carter's eyes twinkled. "Yeah, I know. Syzygy." "Some people liked it." "Some." "Well, I've got to get going. Er, the lipstick? Mulder and Scully?" "Nah," the author lied. "We were doing clown faces." "Okay, then. See you around." The writer smiled weakly and waved to the surfer-man. As soon as he left, she sat down at Mulder's computer and posted her story. The angst was her own. THE END