From: StarGL@aol.com
Date: Wed, 15 Sep 1999 21:18:52 EDT
Subject: Submitting "Prunes"
Source: direct

TITLE: "Prunes"
AUTHOR: The Krycek Burrito
E-MAIL: Krycek_Burrito@hotmail.com
CATEGORY: Not sure.
RATING: PG-13...I guess the bathroom scenes are pretty graphic.
SPOILERS: Absolutely none. Let's just hope this never really happens.
SUMMARY: Mulder has extreme troubles in the bureau restroom. Brief 
appearances/mentions of beloved XF characters. I was inspired by a strange 
situation when I was informed that someone took a dump on the mat in the 
women's room at  church and just rolled it up and stuck it in a corner. I 
was, to say the least, amused. I mean, who unloads on a bathroom rug?? The 
one responsible for the pooping remains a mystery, and it still at large.
DISCLAIMER: The X-Files, and all of it's characters DO NOT belong to me, nor 
do I wish they did (I'd most likely misuse or neglect them). Except for 
Krycek. I wouldn't mind that at all. But, as it turns out, he (and everyone 
else) belongs to Chris Carter and the good folks at 1013. And I apologize for 
the mess in advance. Ok, you can read now.

For Gillian and Amanda. Let's see if you find Mulder tasty after this!

AND NOW...

"Prunes"

      J. EDGAR HOOVER BUILDING, WASHINGTON, D.C. -- 7:30 AM
      Tap. Tap tap tap tap. Back space, back space. Tap
      Fox Mulder withdrew his hands from the keyboard and rubbed his eyes 
wearily. He was beginning to get a headache from staring at the computer 
screen as he attempted to finish his field report. Skinner had requested that 
it be in his hands by 9 AM, but with the way things were going, Mulder knew 
he couldn't meet that deadline.
     Not only was his head pounding, but he felt a bit flushed, almost 
feverish. His hands were cold and clammy, and his chest seemed tight, 
impacting his breathing. And worst of all, the sharp pains in his lower 
abdomen were becoming too much to handle.
      He groaned pitifully.
      There was no way in hell he'd be done by 9. Not feeling like this.
    He leaned back in his desk chair to loosen his tie, and glanced about the 
office. It had to be at leasr 80 degrees in the basement, perhaps much 
hotter. He could feel the beads of sweat forming on his upper lip--a feeling 
everyone hates.
      His eyes wandered to his partner's area of the office. It was almost 
immaculate--all of her pencils and pens were bottom up in a wooden pencil 
box. Her files and reports were stacked in a seat pile, and undoubtedly 
alphabetically organized. Her nameplate sat perfectly upon her desk, 
completing the picture perfectness.
      Then Mulder took a look at his own desk and winced. The stacks of files 
building up on the corner of his desk had slopped over and a good portion of 
them now littered the floor, along with pencil shavings and used post-its. 
Photographs of flying saucers, sasquatches and sea monsters were tacked to 
the walls, along with various newspaper clippings and magazine articles. Half 
of his pencils were still stuck in the ceiling, and the others hid among the 
loose papers, computer discs, paper clips, assorted envelopes, employee memos 
he never bothered to read, faxes, and somewhere deep beneath it all, a breath 
mint. He couldn't even remember the last time he saw his nameplate.
      He sighed, and pushed the keyboard aside so that he could rest his head 
upon the mound of desk junk, but accidentally rested upon one of the paper 
clips, which stabbed his chin. He jerked up and cursed aloud.
      " Damnit! Son of a b--"
      " Excuse me, Mulder?"
      Mulder looked up to see Dana Scully standing in the doorway of the 
basement office they shared. He rubbed his chin gingerly and held up the 
contorted paper clip.
      " I was attacked."
      She raised an eyebrow at him, incredulous as always, and started over 
to her desk.
      It was then that Mulder noticed the gift basket.
      " What's the occasion?" he asked, quite curious. He also hoped he 
hadn't forgotten if the day was an important one for Scully. He stole a 
glance at his wall calendar next to the I WANT TO BELIEVE poster, and heaved 
a sigh of relief. The box for the 22nd was blank--it was an ordinary work day 
as far as he knew.
      He turned his attention back to Scully, who had seated herself at her 
desk and begun sorting through the goodies inside of the basket.
      " It's a present from my mom." She inspected a small box of gourmet 
chocolates as she spoke.
      Mulder stood and wandered over to inspect the gift basket himself.
      " Why?" he inquired, poking at a bag of what appeared to be giant 
raisins.
      Scully popped a piece of chocolate into her mouth. " Because she cares."
      " Oh." Mulder seemed disappointed. " Is that all?"
      Scully glared up at him as she savored the chocolate. Mulder could tell 
he'd said something wrong.
      " Mulder, do you have to have a reason for sending someone a gift? 
Can't you send a greeting or a present just because?"
      He thought about it for a moment. He knew it was a woman question--they 
were always big on receiving gifts for no reason, and he could never 
understand why it was so important to them. He didn't feel like answering 
her, fearing his honest answer would upset or anger her, and decided that 
poking at the sumo raisins was much more amusing.
      " Hey! Don't poke my prunes!" Scully scolded and pulled the basket 
towards her and away from Mulder.
      " Prunes?"
      Scully snatched them up and observed the label on the prune bag. " Yep. 
Pure Sun Sweet prunes. Want one?"
      Mulder wrinkled his nose. The thought of consuming an overgrown raisin 
look-alike would have made him sick to his stomach if he wasn't already 
nauseated. " No, thank you."
      " What, you don't like prunes?"
      He shook his head. " They look and sound revolting. Who names a fruit 
prune?"
      Scully shrugged and ate another piece of chocolate. " Who names their 
kid Fox?"
      Mulder frowned. Once again, Scully made a very good point, and he felt 
too sickly to argue. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and 
returned to his computer, unaware that Scully was watching. He read over his 
notes and started typing again.
      Scully's brow furrowed with concern as she was the pained expression on 
his face. " Are you alright, Mulder? You look ill."
      He breathed uneasily, and shook his head. " I don't know what's wrong 
with me. I've been like this since last night."
      He looked at her, and she opened her mouth to ask him a question he 
knew was coming, so he answered before she got to speak.
      " Headaches, a fever and abdominal pain, Dr. Scully." he joked wryly.
      Scully smiled and went over to him. She touched her hand to his 
forehead and cheeks, and bit her lip as she thought.
      " Mulder, when was the last time you had a bowel movement?"
      Mulder almost burst out laughing, realizing he had never heard Scully 
refer to the act of defecating as a bowel movement, and what funny words they 
were!
      Scully shook her head. " C'mon, Mulder, I'm serious."
      He chuckled. " I know."
      " When was the last time?"
      " Say it again, Scully."
      " What??"
      " Please, just say it again."
      Scully gave Mulder the you-can't-be-serious look, though she knew he 
was, and decided to humor him.
      " Bowel movement." she sighed.
      Mulder exploded with a loud, raucous laugh. Scully rolled her eyes.
      " Oh, Scully, say it one more time!"
      Now she was annoyed. " Mulder--"
      " Please!" he pouted. And he pouted poorly, for Scully was the only one 
who had mastered the fine art of pouting.
      " Bowel movement." This time, she growled, and Mulder snickered and 
finally answered.
      " Now that I think about it...Saturday morning, right after I got the 
paper. I like to read while I--"
      " Yes, Mulder. I know." she cut him off.
      " So?"
      " So, I think it's fairly obvious, Mulder."
      Uh oh. He knew what was coming. He made a distasteful face. " I'm...?"
      Scully nodded. " Yep. You're constipated."
      Normally, he could have found the word constipated amusing as well, but 
not in this case. Not when he was the constipatee. This meant great pain. 
This meant Ex Lax.
      Scully grabbed the pack of prunes and handed them to Mulder. " Here. 
Eat a few of these. They'll help."
      He wrinkled his nose again. "Prunes?"
      " Yeah--they're natural laxatives."
      " But I don't like prunes."
      " Have you ever had a prune, Mulder?"
      He shook his head no.
      " They're not all that bad. Try one."
      She watched as Mulder searched his desktop for scissors, but he failed 
to locate them and just tore the bag open. He picked out a nice sized prune 
and scrutinized it. The prune resembled the tiny presents his long-lost 
sister Samantha's rabbit would leave around the house when they were kids.
      " Well?" Scully urged.
      Mulder squeezed his eyes shut, trying to clear his mind of rabbit 
turds, and bit the ugly, wrinkly prune. The skin texture was grainy and 
chewy, but the juices inside tasted much better than he expected. He opened 
his eyes and looked up at Scully.
      " Not half bad." he admitted.
      " See?" She crossed over to the door. " I'm going up to the cafeteria 
for some breakfast. Want anything?"
      Mulder shook his head as he devoured his very first prune. " No thanks."
      Scully left, leaving him alone with his report and a bag of prunes.

      7:59 AM
      Hunched over the keyboard and typing furiously, Mulder was finally 
getting somewhere. Next to him on the messy desk sat the near-empty prune 
bag. Mulder stopped typing and gazed down at the remaining prune, debating 
whether or not he had room for one more. He was feeling ten times better--he 
was no longer flushed, and his headache had disappeared.
      One more couldn't hurt, he though, could it?
      So he quickly scarfed the prune and tossed the bag in his overflowing 
garbage can and continued with his report...
      WHEN SUDDENLY...
      Mulder was correcting a typo (spelling Federal Bureau of Investigation 
correctly is very important) when he felt an unexpected sensation. It was a 
burning, that began in his stomach and moved into his gut and was now 
approaching "the dangerous part of town".
      Mulder's head shot up as he recognized this feeling with a most 
appropriate word.
      " Oh, shit!"
      He hurried out of the office as fast as his legs could carry him 
without spreading them too far apart and punched the elevator button. To his 
relief, the doors pinged open and he leapt inside and jabbed at the button 
for the lobby. The next few seconds were almost too much to handle as the 
swiftly moving elevator helped to create unwanted pressure in Mulder's bowels.
      When the elevator doors opened, he tore down the hallway and veered to 
the left and slammed right into the men's room door nose first. He yelped, 
but he knew he didn't have time to tend to his new ouchee. He pushed the door 
open and dashed through the empty bathroom for the closest stall and locked 
the stall door behind him. He fussed frantically with his zipper as he 
struggled with his slacks, and yanked a bit too fiercely, catching it on his 
underwear. Mulder's eyes widened with sheer fright as he began to pull 
blindly on his pants. He finally got them around his ankles and stumbled onto 
the toilet.
      There was a moment of silence as Mulder sat there, but only for a 
second.
      Then, he unleashed.
      The sounds that followed were unpleasant, unusual and utterly 
disgusting, but Mulder didn't care. He barely noticed. He closed his eyes as 
his head lolled back, and he sighed with tremendous relief. 
      He had made it to the little boy's room just in time.
      After he was sure he was finished, he opened his eyes. That's when he 
noticed the skid marks all over his brand new tidy whities. He said several 
naughty words under his breath, barely noticeable to anyone but him. But it 
was alright, he was alone. He couldn't offend anyone while he was alone. Or 
so he hoped. His bowel noises weren't exactly sly.
      He turned about, ready to flush his mess away when he realized he'd 
better inspect his doings...just in case he did a little too much. He peeked 
over his shoulder and down at the murky, dark brown mass.
      It was then that he knew he'd never be able to flush it all down. His 
head began throbbing again, and the beads of sweat were returning when an 
idea came to him.
      Wait a minute, he thought, I'll just wipe and bolt. No one has to know 
it was me.
      He concluded he'd have enough time to wipe and run before anyone came 
in, but he'd have to skip washing his hands. But that didn't bother him, 
because he usually didn't wash anyway.
      He grinned, quite pleased with himself, and reached for the toilet 
paper.
      His grin faded.
      He swallowed hard.
      There was no toilet paper.
      This time, the obscenities were loud, echoing off of the bathroom 
walls. Mulder buried his face in his hands, trying to figure some way out of 
his stinky situation.
      And stinky was a serious understatement.
      It smelled worse than the 3,000 port-a-potties at Woodstock, which 
smelled pretty bad. And the smell wasn't just contained in his stall--the 
whole bathroom reeked with the dreaded stench.
      Then, Mulder's behind began to burn with an impending aftershock.
      " Oooh no, no no no..." he stuttered. There was no way he could add any 
more to his...pile, figuratively speaking, and decided to rush around to the 
next stall. He stood very carefully, for he hadn't yet wiped, and started to 
open the stall door when the men's room door swung open. Mulder sat back down 
and shut his door quickly.
      He held his breath, not just because of the smell, but to keep quiet as 
well. Mulder heard the man enter the stall next to his. He heard the distinct 
rustling of pages, and knew the man next to him was reading a newspaper. He 
then heard the man sniff the air, and cough a few times.
      Mulder blushed, because he knew the raunchy smell came from him.
      The man continued to cough, and then started to gag. Mulder worriedly 
listened to the man choking on his putrid air. The man gasped one more time, 
and collapsed onto the floor of the stall unconscious.
      Mulder froze, not wanting to know who he had just konked out with his 
deadly feces stench, but he knew he had to look. It was his responsibility 
and sworn duty as an FBI agent to investigate.
      He mustered up his courage, and peeked under the stall.
      It was Assistant Director Walter Skinner!
      Mulder emitted a yelp sounding very much like a girly scream and jumped 
up, accidentally flushing the toilet with his fumbling hands. The toilet 
surged as it tried to swallow Mulder's load, but soon gooey water was leaking 
onto the floor and coming dangerously close to Mulder's shoe. He jumped back 
against the door, and his weight caused the door the fly right open. He 
toppled backwards and landed hard.
      He sat up in time to see the steamy mass inching closer to Skinner's 
face. He jumped up and grabbed Skinner and dragged the Assistant Director 
away from certain doom.
      Mulder tried to pull his own pants up as he worriedly watched the 
overflowing toilet slowly pouring out onto the bathroom floor and felt the 
burn in his bum again when suddenly the cell phone in his coat pocket began 
to ring. He answered it quickly, hoping it was Scully.
      " Scully??"
      " Mulder! Where in Cancer Man's name are you?"
      Mulder realized he had never been happier to hear Scully's voice. 
" Scully! Thank God! Listen, I'm in big trouble--"
      " Mulder, where are you? It sounds like...it sounds like you're in the 
bathroom..."
      Mulder hesitated. " Well, I am in the bathroom. Oh, Scully, I need your 
help!"
      " Well, don't force it, Mulder. It's best to just sit back and--"
      " No, Scully! The prunes, they worked! I ate the whole damn bag, and--"
      " YOU ATE THE WHOLE BAG OF PRUNES?! Are you INSANE?!"
      Mulder blushed again. " They just tasted so good..."
      " Oh, God, Mulder, you idiot..."
      " Oh, Scully, it was terrible...it just started pouring out and it 
wouldn't flush and then Skinner came in and passed out, and--"
      " Wait a minute, wait a minute...did you just say what I think you said?"
      " Probably."
      " Oh my God."
      " I think it's the smell, 'cause he went down pretty quickly, Scully."
      There was a long silence. He figured Scully was most likely either 
evaluating the situation or considering hanging up on him. He hoped for the 
first one.
      " Mulder. Let me get this straight. You ate a whole bag of prunes, 
clogged a toilet, AND the Assistant Director of the FBI is lying unconscious 
on the bathroom floor?"
      Mulder nodded vigorously, though he knew Scully couldn't see him. " And 
I've...ripped my pants."
      He could hear Scully groaning...or was she laughing? He couldn't 
tell--the sounds were muffled. Then it became painfully clear that she was 
laughing hysterically. He blushed a third time, turning beet red (which, if 
you've never seen a beet, is actually maroon, not red).
      " Mulder, I wouldn't worry about your pants right now. I'd worry about 
that smell!" she cackled.
      He knew she was right. He removed his tie and carefully tied it around 
his face, covering his nose and mouth. He decided not to tell Scully that.
      " Scully, I'm in deep shit here!"
      Scully continued to laugh at him. " I'll say!"
      " Scully!!"
      " I'm sorry, Mulder, but you're on your own!"
      He couldn't tell if she actually hung up or dropped the phone because 
she was laughing so hard, so he tucked his cell back into his coat pocket.
      The mass in the toilet had stopped overflowing (much to his relief), 
but Skinner was still out cold.
      Mulder yanked up his pants and knelt near his fallen boss. " Skinner
...? Sir?"
      He poked at Skinner's arm, which had no effect. He pressed his ear to 
Skinner's chest, listening to his slow, shallow breaths.
      This was not looking good.
      Walter Skinner needed CPR.
      Mulder considered getting help, or calling Scully back, but both ideas 
weren't very good. One way, he'd embarrass himself in front of the entire 
bureau. The other, he'd embarrass himself in front of the woman he had worked 
with the past 6 years who would undoubtedly never let him live it down, but 
it was already too late for that.
      He knew what he had to do, even if it meant...well, you know.
      So, he took a deep breath, pulled off his makeshift mask and planted 
his lips on the Assistant Director's and began to blow.
      The one thing Mulder had forgotten to do was what most people in his 
place would have thought to do first, which was to lock the men's room door. 
Given the unusual circumstances, it could have been alright, but Mulder 
wasn't the only one having bathroom troubles that day.
      The men's room door flew open, and Alex Krycek dashed in, suffering 
from a severe urinary tract infection, and was tugging frantically on his 
zipper with his only hand when he saw Mulder giving mouth-to-mouth to 
Skinner, surrounded by a deep brown sea.
      Krycek's eyes widened, and he would have dashed right back out again 
but he had already caught a whiff of Mulder's pungent poop and immediately 
doubled over with nausea.
      Mulder looked up and saw him, figuring Krycek was after Skinner for his 
life and reacted quickly. He tackled Krycek, sending the both of them right 
into the urinals. Krycek recovered quickly (it wasn't the first time he had 
been slammed up against a bathroom wall, and it wouldn't be the last) and 
staggered for the door, struggling to breathe. 
      He didn't care about Mulder making out with the Assistant Director, or 
even about being seen by someone. He just had to get away from the toxic odor.
      He was close to freedom when Mulder grabbed him by the ankles, and 
Krycek fell face first into the toilet spillage. He struggled, but was soon 
unconscious as well.
Mulder flipped Krycek over and dragged his body over to Skinner, laying them 
side by side, then locked the bathroom door.
      There he was, with a clogged toilet, an unconscious boss and an 
unconscious fugitive. He shook his head, and sighed.
      There was only one thing he could do. He had always done it before in 
times of need, and figured this situation would be no different. She had 
always come to his aid before. She was the only woman he knew he could trust. 
He whipped out his cell phone and dialed her number, knowing she would 
answer. She always answered when he called.
      Someone picked up. Mulder sighed, exhausted, and smiled.
      " Mom?"

      THE END.