From: "lucy marchmont" Date: Mon, 19 Nov 2001 10:26:46 +0000 Subject: New Story: One of Those Days, Or, How Dana Scully Lost Her Underwear Source: direct Title - One of Those Days; Or, How Dana Scully Lost Her Underwear Author - Lucy Marchmont E-mail address - lucymarchmont@hotmail.com Rating PG-13 Category - S, MS UST, Humor Spoilers - Season 5/6 Diana era Summary - Scully's having a bad day. Everything that can go wrong does. A return to Philadelphia is imminent, Scully thinks Mulder has a date with Diana, and Scully has an unexpected visitor in her bedroom. Note: It may look like Scully/Other at one point, but don't worry. Distribution: Sent directly to Gossamer. I am more than happy for it to appear elsewhere, no need to ask permission. Disclaimer: Nothing to do with me. Dana Scully was not having a good day. In fact it was one of THOSE days. If anything could go wrong it had. Her computer had crashed. She had lost her wallet and had had to cancel her credit cards. It was a sweltering day, and her shirt was already glued to her back with sweat. And Fox William Mulder was sitting at HIS desk, with his big feet on the pile of receipts he was supposed to be putting in date order, with a smug, flirtatious grin on his face. Said grin was not directed at her, but to whomever he was speaking to on the telephone. "Whoever?" she thought, inwardly laughing at her own pathetic attempt at self-deception. She knew full well who it was. Diana! Although he had carefully not addressed the person as Diana, his pathetic attempt at lowering his voice to conceal some of his replies had clued her in. Diana, with her horrible sexy sophistication, and husky please-fuck-me-Fox voice. Scully looked directly at him, as she realized she was now the subject of conversation. "No, we haven't got any important work to do." He laughed. "Scully and myself are NOT joined at the hip; she'll be fine without me for one night." The son of a bitch then had the nerve to look in her direction and wink! How generous of Diana to check poor no-life-Scully could cope alone while she and Mulder arranged their big night. "I hardly think Scully would want to come!" Mulder guffawed. "How nice it is," thought Scully sarcastically, "when a couple share a mutual sense of humor." "A date? Scully?" he laughed again. Unbelievable. Did he not remember the last time he had taunted her about her non-existent love life? Where was the nearest psychopath? She wanted one now, right now, on the desk, right under Mulder's nose. "Actually, I have a date, Mulder, you prick!" Mulder spluttered in shock. Whether this was shock at the manner in which she had addressed him, or the prospect of her having a date, she was not sure. "With my mother. I am going to my mother's for dinner." Great, let him think you are a loser whose only social life is with her mother. "Scully's out this evening. She's going to her mother's for dinner." Diana must be fascinated. Mulder was going to be a scintillating dinner companion. Scully buried her nose in the latest issue of the "Lancet." Sometimes that lost career in medicine was very appealing. She tried to block out the rest of the conversation, which was no easy matter in view of Mulder's sniggering. She had a mental picture of Mulder as a teenager: gawky, insecurely cracking jokes, and desperate to get laid by some big breasted bimbo. Not much had changed. The previous week she had unexpectedly visited Mulder's apartment and had pushed her way past him and sat herself down on his couch, her eyes surveying the apartment for any sign of Diana's presence. She had tried to tell herself it was imperative she give the papers to him at one o'clock in the morning, but of course a modern translation of an eighteenth century account of poltergeists in Munich was not exactly up- to-date. Once seated Mulder had immediately looked guilty, and had thrown a newspaper over something on the table. Her curiosity immediately piqued, she pretended not to notice, and five minutes later she had managed to send him to the kitchen to make coffee. Under the newspaper was a book entitled, "How to Make the Woman in Your Bed Scream Every Time." The flyleaf was inscribed, "Darling Mulder, I'm not saying you need any tips, but . . . All my love Diana XXX" The existence of the book, and the inscription within, had haunted her all week, hence some of her crankiness. The publication date of the book was 1990, so it was possible Diana had given it to him at the beginning of their relationship. Or had the book been remaindered, and she had bought it on sale recently for Mulder? But if it was old, why was Mulder pouring over it now? Why did he need the book anyway? She knew he had not had any practice in recent years (at least she prayed he had not), but in the event of her ever finding out for herself, she had always imagined he would be fantastic. Was he cramming for an exam with Diana? The possibilities were horrible and endless. She was brought back to the present. Mulder was making another phone call. ". . . Four Red Roses . . ." He was ordering her flowers! Scully had had enough and stomped out of the office. She spent half an hour in the ladies room, until she felt able to return without punching him in the gut. Towards the end of the day the phone rang again, and Scully fell to the floor in her attempt to grab it before Mulder. She furiously brushed off his attempt to help her up. "Why do you always have to answer the damn phone?" she grumbled, examining the damage to the hem of her skirt. It really was one of those days. "New case tomorrow," Mulder announced, clearly determined to ignore her bad temper. "We fly to Philadelphia tomorrow." "Philadelphia?" They both fell silent. The dreaded P word had been uttered. By both of them. The word equated Ed Jerse, and whatever Scully had or not done with Ed Jerse. For once Scully was not too sorry the subject had arisen, since if she was going to be jealous and miserable Mulder might as well be too. "Philadelphia?" she repeated. "Good. Good." She tried to think of something clever or caustic to say, but unfortunately that sort of thing was more Mulder's forte. Still, in view of Mulder's resentful face, there was no need to add anything else - Mulder was filling in the blanks quite nicely. "Have a pleasant evening," she added, as she put on her coat. Mulder looked away quickly, but not before she saw a guilty "she knows where I'm going" look on his face. Sometimes he forgot what a terrific agent she was. On the way home she wavered between feelings of sickness, anger and jealousy. There was not even much consolation to be had in thinking of how she had wounded him with the Philadelphia jab, as she cringed at the remembrance too. Ed Jerse had been a disaster in every way, and only served to remind her that Dana Scully's attempt at being a bad girl had failed miserably. Ed had recognized the bad girl within, but had then decided to take the role of gentleman by taking the couch and sending her to his bedroom. Scully had lain in bed and fumed for an hour and a half about that. After she had fallen asleep she had awakened to a strange buzzing noise, and in the half darkness it appeared to come from between her legs. Ed Jerse was trying to rouse and arouse her with a vibrator! At Scully's protests, Ed had assured her that although it was his ex wife's vibrator, he had washed it first! Once Scully had thrown him out of the room, the only course of action was to put her pantyhose back on as a protective layer against any further incursions against her sleeping person. Poor Mulder, there was nothing to be jealous of concerning that night. She walked into her apartment, mentally chastising herself for pitying Mulder. No, Dana, not poor Mulder, nasty, treacherous Mulder, who throws your trust and judgment back in your face. Even the dinner date with her mother was a lie. The only excitement so far this evening had been a trip to Safeway. About to turn on the light, she paused. She heard a muffled thump. Someone was in her apartment. She momentarily froze and tried to track the source of the sound. There was a further creak coming from her bedroom. It sounded like her wardrobe closing. She drew her gun, imagining the intruder had concealed himself within the large wardrobe, waiting to attack her. Scully entered the room silently, regulating her breathing carefully. She moved as lithely as a cat, silky and dangerous. It was one of the qualities her intruder admired most about her. Scully paused as she spotted a movement in the mirror. It was the figure of a man, but the subdued lighting caused an eerie halo about his head. She swallowed hard, her throat feeling as if she had swallowed a particularly large marshmallow without chewing. Suddenly her mind was transported back to childhood, sitting with the family at the dinner table, Bill laughing as she choked on too large a mouthful of peas. "Starbuck, if you masticated more carefully these things wouldn't happen," her father had said. "Masticated! That sounds like mast. . .!" "Bill, enough!" shouted their mother. Scully shook herself, forcing herself to rationalize. She knew she was having flashbacks to her childhood only because the figure in the mirror had reminded her of a long resolved childhood fear. She was an adult now, an FBI agent, and she could deal with this. For one dreadful moment she had thought the figure in the mirror was a clown, with curiously unnatural hair and white skin. She could see better now, and knew that this was no clown. Despite first appearances this was a man. There was a man in her bedroom. This was a rare sight. "What are you doing here?" It was evident what he was here for, but he looked as embarrassed and unsure as she did. "Isn't that obvious?" he asked. Scully put her gun down on the bedside table and walked closer. But not too close, she still was not sure as to the best course of action. "Frohike," she breathed. "Why?" "Scully, I'm sorry," he murmured. He was looking down at his feet, mesmerized by the sight of the shoes he found there. "Mulder mentioned you weren't going to be home this evening, so I thought . . . "You thought what?" she asked, shaking her head, her anger returning. "That you would take the opportunity to snoop, to go through my things? To install a camera in my room, perhaps, so you can entertain yourself at leisure with the non action in here." He raised his hand, pleading for her to halt her tirade. Something about the action reminded her of Mulder when he had had enough of her arguments. Mulder! Her heart broke yet again. Why could it not have been him, waiting to surprise her in her bedroom. He had concealed himself there once. "But only because he needed your help," she thought bitterly. Where was he now? She imagined him, still smartly dressed from work, but with his tie loosened, with Diana in some romantically lit wine bar. Diana would be laughing sycophantically at his jokes while Mulder eyed her breasts. In a vase in front of them were the roses he had ordered. Scully knew, however well she hid it, that she was jealous. Just as she knew that Mulder had been jealous of her disastrous escapade with Ed Jerse. Perhaps, bizarre as the situation was, he would be jealous of Frohike right now, in a position to discover all the secrets of Dana Scully the unbuttoned FBI agent. She looked at him, and he winced under her direct gaze, feeling as if she was mentally undressing him, assessing him. "Or were you hoping I would come home early, and you'd get lucky?" She sat on the bed, wearing the bossy look he had always admired about her. "Frohike, take off my shoes." He stepped closer, a little afraid, but too turned on not to comply. He bent down and reverently removed them. "My jacket, Frohike." She leaned forward a little, not wanting to miss anything. With Mulder she frequently felt powerless, but now she felt like the most indomitable woman in the world. Frohike dropped the jacket on the floor but, seeing the irate expression on Scully's face, quickly retrieved it and put it neatly on the back of the chair. She stood up, and both were reminded that they were pretty much the same size. Scully sighed, remembering Mulder's height. If she was taller he might respect her more. She remembered when they had first started to work together, and Mulder had challenged her to an arm wrestling contest while they waited for their order at a diner. She had been momentarily thrilled to win. She had laughed with glee at first, but then she had glanced up into Mulder's merry eyes. The bastard had let her win! She was broken from her reverie by a hesitant cough from Frohike. He looked as though he was tempted to make a run for the door while the going was good, but she was not having that. This was too good an opportunity to miss. "Agent Scully?" "So formal, Frohike? I thought we'd already learnt too much about each other for that." She stood up, and they assessed each other. She could tell Frohike was apprehensive. "Now my skirt." There was a silence, only broken by the sound of the zipper and the rustle of soft material falling to the floor. Frohike did not have to be told this time, and carefully gathered the skirt from in front of her and placed it on the chair. "Stockings next or bra?" Frohike swallowed. He had only dreamt to hear those two words from her lips in this kind of situation. "You choose," he said huskily. "Take off my bra," she ordered firmly. She fingered the strap, "you realize this is one of my favorites?" "I know. Sometimes, when you're wearing a white shirt, I can see it. You've no idea how often I've thought about it, wondered whether it was as silky to the touch as I imagined." "Well, you know now. Besides, if you look at the label, I think you'll find that it's a manmade fiber, not silk. Silk requires a lot of care, and in this line of work . . ." "Yes," interrupted Frohike. He adored Scully, but sometimes she knew just a little too much about everything. "The bra, Frohike," she reminded him. Obediently he raised his hands to the delicate clasp at the front, and the beautiful manmade fibered piece of lingerie fell, a cup in each hand. Scully snatched it from him, and he ached as he wished she would let him touch what often filled it. She walked across the room and he admired the contours of her hips and ass as she bent down to pick up a bundle of material in front of the wardrobe. Her arms full, she stalked back to him. "The stockings?" he asked hesitantly, not wanting to rush her. Who knew how this crazy evening was going to end? "The stockings?" she mused. "I don't usually wear sheer stockings with seams to work. Perhaps I was saving them for a special occasion. Do you think this was the kind of special occasion I was imagining?" "I . . . er . . ." She had an evil look about her now. Perhaps he had gone to far. "Never mind. You can keep the stockings, Frohike. You've probably had more fun with them than I ever have. The panties you can return when they've been washed, and they had better not be stretched." She put her face close to his, so close he could feel her angry breath warming his cheeks. "Scully . . ." "And if I ever catch you wearing ANY of my clothes again . . ." "I'm sorry," he stuttered. "I know I shouldn't have come here and . . ." For the first time since confronting him she smiled warmly. "I'm not really angry, Frohike. In a way I'm flattered." "Really?" he gulped, pulling his trousers and sweater on as quickly as he could. Somehow her forgiveness was even more frightening than her ire. As he was about to bolt out of her apartment door he feared further anger when she called him back. "Frohike, the wig!" Scully giggled. "I don't think you want to be seen on the street like that!" Frohike pulled the auburn mop from his head and stuffed it in his jacket pocket. "Somehow, I'm not sure red's my color," he muttered as he raced out of the door. Scully's peel of laughter waved him goodbye. An hour later, a still flushed Frohike met Mulder, Langley and Byers outside of their favorite adult cinema. "Hey, Frohike, I thought you couldn't make it?" said Mulder. "The hot date didn't pan out?" asked Langley. "I'd planned to live on the details for months." "Too bad. I'd planned to notify the "Guinness Book of Records" that our resident lothario had his first date in ten years," quipped Byers. Frohike was still too overwrought to rise to their bait. "Guys, there are dates and there are dates, but this date was too hot to handle, let alone describe." "What, she was hotter than Scully?" joked Mulder. "I'll have to tell her of your defection." "Let's just say that celluloid babes leave you with your balls in one piece." As they sat down to watch "The Plucking of Four Red Roses," Frohike could only be relieved the others did not know he was wearing Scully's panties and suspenders. "I wouldn't want them to think I was some kind of pervert," he thought. Author note: I stole the twist in the tale from a six line joke I heard recently about 1960s "Thunderbirds" puppets, the aristocratic Lady Penelope and her chauffeur Parker. It was of the "Take off my underwear, Parker" variety with the cross-dressing twist.