From: Humbuggie <san@sv-tales.com>
Date: 14 Jan 2003 14:16:54 -0800
Subject: xfc: NEW STORY: Shopping Spree 1/1
Source: atxc
 
Shopping spree
By Humbuggie
 2003 
san@sv-tales.com
www.sv-tales.com 
 
Why'd you go and make things so complicated?
Life's like this
You fall and you crawl and you break 
-- Avril Lavigne
 
 
Story: Scully takes Mulder into an unexpected supermarket visit. 
There's only one man in this world that can get badly hurt there.
Yep. 
 
Background: I actually came up with this story doing my own shopping J
 
Spoilers: A few minor ones for "Monday" but that's about it. 
 
Type: A tad of MSR, MT (of course) and humor. 
 
 
 
Shopping spree
 
There is a reason why I eat so much junk food.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, there actually is a very, very good reason. 
I hate supermarkets. Hate them. Don't want to go in them. Dislike all
the little 
racks filled with groceries one you always end up buying when you don't
need 
them. Hate the way all those cans and bottles and plastic bags and paper

wrappings end up in my shopping cart. Hate the way money vanishes from
my hands. 
 
 
I can't help it. I also end up spending quite a bit of money on food,
and other 
stuff one really just keeps on putting in the cupboards, only to find it
much 
later again with an expiration date that says: March, 1992. 
What's the use? I might as well order take-out or pizzas or burgers.
Much 
cheaper in the long run and just as appetizing. I never cared for
yoghurts and 
tofu anyway. I'm not a health-junkie. But hey, I stay fit and healthy
anyhow: 
jogging off the Quattro Stagioni from the local pizza place.  
 
Of course even someone like me to have beverages and something in the
house. I 
cannot avoid that. So what I usually do is find the smallest shop near
my house, 
drop in there like once every two to three days. I pick up my loaf of
bread; buy 
some stuff to smear on that, get a big bottle of orange juice and live
on that. 
Oh yeah, and let's not forget my David sunflower seeds. Those are the
best. I 
could nibble on them for an eternity. 
 
Yet here I am, and I don't even know how I got myself lured into this. 
I'm standing in front of the largest supermarket this town has ever
seen, and am 
actually walking in. I've never been here before, even though this thing
must be 
one of the largest buildings around. 
I didn't even know they made supermarkets like this one.
 
Then again, it's not just a grocery store. It's everything: shops,
jewellery 
counters, pharmacy, groceries and damn, even guns. What is this place?
Do they 
keep people locked in here for a day or so, spending all of their money?

 
And why in the world is my partner doing her groceries here? 
 
'Come on, Mulder,' she urges me as I stand and waver. I don't want to
get in. I 
can see it happen: Scully of course wants to go past all the racks,
loading 
everything she needs for the next year or so in her cart, and I will be 
following her like a puppy dog. I will get bored. I always get bored in 
supermarkets. 
 
'Come on,' she again urges me as if I truly were a puppy dog she needs
to lure 
into a big, scary place. 
'What is this place?' I hear myself stupidly say. 
And she smiles. 'It's called "A Supermarket".'
'I know that,' I groan. 'I've never seen this one before.'
'It's only been here for like five years or so,' she laughs. 'Don't tell
me 
you've never noticed it.'
'Not my part of town.' 
'Yep, that's true, Mulder. You live a whole six blocks from this place.
Come on, 
I don't have much time.' 
 
I groan even louder, hating myself at that very moment for allowing her
to 
persuade me. Then again, it was my fault she had not been able to do her

shopping yesterday. I kept her at the office until midnight or so. So I
can't do 
anything but go in there and hope for the best. 
 
She grabs one of the big shopping carts  bad sign!  and takes me
through the 
first racks, which are filled with bottles and bottles and bottles of
wine. 
White wines, red wines, "rose". American, Australian, French, Spanish
and 
South-African. Large bottles, small bottles and medium bottles. Make up
your 
mind already, woman. 
 
She winks at me. 'This one's for you, if you're a good boy.' 
I look at a bottle of excellent French "Pinot Gris" and pretend not to
care. She 
then takes more booze home with her: a bottle of "Port" and "Vodka
Peche", which 
looks yuk to me but excellent to hear. I never figured my partner as a
big 
drinker. I guess I'll have to reconsider that one. 
 
Next in line are the biscuits and potato chips, salty nuts and sunflower
seeds. 
I throw in a pack of David sunflower seeds just for the heck of it 
they have a 
nice tasty chocolate crust around them  and follow her towards the
Mexican Hot 
Chili Potato Chips. She throws in two bags. Perhaps that's what the wine
is for, 
I think. 
 
On and on we go through more racks filled with jams and tomato sauce,
spaghetti, 
rice, all sorts of sugars, tofu  yes, she buys plenty of that  healthy

wok-stuff, and so on and so on. I glare at my watch and realize we have
already 
been here for half an hour. 
 
We pass past a rack with cans of vegetables. 
'Grab me the peas, will you?' she asks and I simply reach forward and
grab the 
first can I can get my hands on. 
 
'Ah!' I hear someone say, only to realize it's me doing the talking. I
look at 
my fingers and stare at the enormous cut that runs up and down my index
finger. 
And then I look at the can and realize it's a mishap: one that shouldn't
have 
ended up the racks. 
 
'Jesus Mulder,' Scully says, grasping my hand as she stares at the cut
that is 
deep enough to have blood dripping on the tiles. She reaches inside her
pocket, 
grabs a white handkerchief and wraps that around the finger. 
 
I actually feel dizzy because of this stupid cut. 
'You okay?' she asks worried. 
'Yeah. It's nothing, really.' 
 
An assistant rushes towards us as several people stare and watch this
little 
scene. Oh great, I think. I'm a sideshow freak with a cut in his finger.

'I'm so sorry,' the assistant says repeatedly as she ushers us to a
small office 
next to the pharmacy. Then she's gone again and returns with assistance.
Two of 
them are there, and I'm trying to avoid a spectacle here. 
 
The assistant rushes out again and returns with three cans of peas. They
are all 
sharp as a knife. I shudder as I think of children grabbing those cans. 
Now you see why you shouldn't allow me inside a supermarket? 
 
'It's nothing,' I say as my finger is professionally bandaged. The
bleeding has 
finally stopped after putting pressure on the sucker for ten minutes or
so. 
'Looks to me like you should get a tetanus shot though,' Scully suggest.
'It was 
a nasty cut and you never know what bugs could be on those cans.'
'Oh please,' I groan, pushing her gently away from me. 'I'm fine. Okay?
Let's 
finish this shopping and head home.' 
 
'Do you want to wait here?' the assistant asks. 'You do look a little
green 
around the nose.' 
'I'm. Fine.' I get up, smile ruefully at everyone and leave the office
as a sign 
that the party is over. Scully follows and we return silently to the
waiting 
cart, still standing next to the canned peas. 
 
I can't help it. Suddenly I smile. And then I laugh. And she attempts
not to 
laugh but she gives in. 
'I can't take you anywhere, can I?' she asks and roars with laughter.
People 
stare at us strangely. And I grin back and hold up my finger. 
'A kiss for the hurt babies?' 
 
She looks at me in the eyes shyly and takes my hurt, bandaged finger
into her 
small, warm hands. She leans forward and actually kisses the top of it,
at the 
same time staring at me seductively. Or is that my imagination?
 
'Come on,' she speaks soothingly. 'We've suffered long enough. Let's
finish this 
up and I'll make you a nice dinner. How does that sound?'
'Excellent.' 
 
She grins, takes a can of peas. And drops it right on my left foot. 
'Ah!!' This time around it sounds much louder than the first time I
yelped. As 
of this very second, I can actually feel the full force of a filled can
hundreds 
of little peas drop on my shoe like a ton of bricks. It hurts so badly I
wish 
for once that I worked in the construction sector and wore iron-tipped
shoes on 
a daily basis.
'What - ?' 
Scully had not even noticed that the peas had slipped out of her hand
and 
directly onto my foot. Make that my big toe. 
She stands there, staring at me like I'm some idiot and watches me do a
rain 
dance that would make Albert Hosteen proud. 
 
'Mulder.' 
'My foot,' I manage to groan and she suddenly seems to realize she is no
longer 
holding to the can. She is, in fact, staring at me, and at the can of
peas on 
the tiles.
My god, what have I ever done to peas? I don't even like them. Nasty
little 
critters. 
 
'Mulder, it can't be that bad.'
'No?' I hiss angrier than I want to and point at the several other cans
standing 
there  mocking me. 'Do you want to try it? Do ya?' 
She can't help but smile again, and it seems as if she would never stop
smiling. 
In fact, she laughs at me. Not with me, because I am angry as hell. But
the 
angrier I get, the wider she grins. Roars with the same laughter I so
rarely 
hear, and only at the wrong times. This is one of those times.
 
I want to pull out my shoe and sock and check the damage, only to find a
little 
boy glaring at me. He watches me intensely and he has the cutest little
smile on 
his face. And I actually reach forward and want to groan, 'Whatcha
looking at?' 
 
But his mother grasps him by the arm and pulls him away before either of
us can 
do anything. 
 
'Come on, you big baby,' Scully says soothingly and grabs my arm. I turn
to her, 
put my foot on the ground and try to make an effort to walk. Damn it,
that hurts 
like hell! Like the time I came home from the office and stepped
directly into 
an iron suitcase my downstairs neighbour drags with him on vacation.
Back then, 
it was a one-way ticket to the ER. It feels like today might be my lucky
day, 
once again. 
 
'It hurts,' I complain loudly and several female shoppers watch me with 
frustration. 
What a man knows of hurt, they think, is absolutely nothing. We bear
children 
and suffer for nine months, their eyes say. You only had a can of peas
dropped 
on your foot. Don't be so ridiculous. 
 
And Scully actually looks at me in the same way, even though she never
gave 
birth. She knows, because she's a woman. She has periods and buys
tampons that 
she keeps in her shopping cart on top of all the rest. She's not
ashamed: she's 
a woman. 
 
And I am a man. If I were buying condoms, I should be stuffing them into
the 
back of the cart, where no one can see them. 
 
'Can you walk?' she finally manages to utter without sounding too
frustrated. 
I limp, exaggerating for a few steps, and turn. 'I can manage,' I groan.

'Good. Then limp towards the register. I'm just going to grab some
vegetables 
and chicken. Be right back. Here, hold onto the cart for me.' 
 
Before I know it, I am standing in the centre of the biggest supermarket
in 
town, with a pack of tampons on top of the pile, limping with one foot
whose big 
toe is starting to feel like it's been rammed by a truck. And a finger
that 
starts aching. How can a cut hurt so much? Perhaps I really do need a
tetanus 
shot. Hell, it might already be too late. 
 
I am becoming more and more sympathetic with myself here. Why should I
be 
limping towards the exit alone? Why do I have to get in line with all of
those 
women whose children just won't stop nagging? Why aren't those kids at
school? 
They should be at school and staying away from us grownups. Hell, they
should 
make way for men with battered toes. 
 
I sigh in self-pity and stroll towards the long row of cash registers.
Only 
three of them are open now. It's not busy enough, those closed registers
say. 
But to me they say: You need to stay in the line long enough to buy some
gum, or 
a magazine, or some candy. Go ahead, take a look around and knock
yourself out. 
 
I groan more deeply, have a woman stare at me surprised  she probably
thinks 
I'm trying to seduce her with my deep roaring male groans  and decide
to focus 
on the big clock behind the register. There are only three people in
line before 
me. How long can this take, really? 
 
Big mistake. Big, big mistake. The clock ticks extremely slowly and
unnerves me. 
I want to get out of here. I'm getting claustrophobic listening to the
ticking 
of the register as piece by piece gets shoved past the counter. 
 
And Scully is of course nowhere to be found. What is she doing:
slaughtering 
that chicken? 
 
The entrance doors slide open and close. Two men enter the supermarket.

Hey, I think, kinsmen. Suddenly I don't feel so lonely anymore. I almost
feel 
the urge to wave at them. 
 
And then I frown and let go of the cart. 
The first man is swift. So swift, it's barely noticeable what they are
doing. 
The cashiers are sitting with their backs towards the exit and don't see
it. The 
customers are bored to death waiting in line. And children are whining
because 
their mothers won't buy them Harry Potter-DVD's. 
 
I have my hand on my gun and then I know I am 1) too late, 2) playing my
cards 
wrongly, 3) endangering people. 
The first man shoves a ski mask over his face as he enters the
supermarket. He's 
obviously done this before. Within a second, he's at the first register
and 
grabs a hold onto the heavy-set older cashier. 
 
Instantly, he has a Beretta up against her temple and is shoving her
around.
'The money, now!' he shouts and the other cashiers scream as the second
man 
pushes them away from their counters. There must be a third man waiting
in the 
car, my experience tells me. They would need a driver. 
And I beg for Scully to stay away and get help. 
 
I am standing behind two women with children, just staring. 
'Down!' the first man screams towards us and waves his gun while holding
onto 
the woman. 'Get on the floor, now!' 
This feels like dj-v. I've been here before, in a bank or something.
I 
remember that vaguely, as in a dream. 
 
The first lesson any law enforcement officer learns is not to endanger
hostages 
or yourself. When hurt, you can't do a damned thing. You would only make
the 
situation worse. I need to keep that in mind. 
And they don't know I'm FBI. 
 
'Down!' the second man shouts and he points the gun directly at me, as
if he 
knew. He has this look in his eyes that is all the more dangerous
because of the 
ski mask. I can only see those cold eyes. And they are challenging me. 
 
I let go of the cart and slide to the floor, taking the woman before
down me 
with me. She needs to have a hold on her child. 
The second man now starts waving his gun at the shop. Anyone who dared
to 
challenge them, would get a bullet in his or her head. 
Stay away, Scully, I urge her silently. 
 
This could be over quickly. Let them have the money and go for it. Don't
let 
them shoot anyone. They're used to this. They don't take hostages or
kill 
people. They want a swift robbery. If they ever get caught, they would
get away 
with five years max. 
That's how they think. 
 
And the boy before me just won't stop crying. 
I had forgotten about my sore, swollen foot, but it aches now. Like an
itch that 
I need to attend to. I want to grab those guys badly for endangering
people, but 
I can't. This is not the time. If they start shooting randomly, we're
lost. 
 
And the boy cries. 
'Shut him up!' the leader shouts as his cashier fills the bag. He picks
out the 
three open registers and does not bother with the others. He knows he's
on a 
time frame. 
 
The woman speaks to her child soothingly, but the boy  four years or so
 won't 
stop. It's the boy who watched me earlier, I notice now. He's cute. 
I put my finger on my mouth and signal to him to be quiet. He stares at
me and 
continues to cry. 
 
I don't have a way with children, I suppose.
'He's getting on my nerves!' number one now points his gun directly at
the 
mother and child. I know he's at the end of his rope for some reason,
and the 
child's wails make him lose his grip on the situation. 
 
I have to do something. 
'Hey,' I say from my position on the tiles, 'the boy's just upset.' 
'Shut up! I didn't ask you anything.'
'Just take the money and run. Let us be. That's what you're here for,
isn't it?' 
I try to lean up a bit, only to be stopped by a gun pointed directly at
my face. 
I pale, I'm sure. The first man's eyes are even colder than his
companion's. I 
am afraid, at that very second. 
 
He looks at me as I move down. And then he looks once again. 
'Hey, this guy is packed!' he cries out, and then the gun is shoved in
my face 
for the second time. I don't move, knowing I'm in trouble. 
Okay Scully, you can come out now.
 
'Doesn't matter. Let's get out of here,' number two shouts, holding the
bag with 
money. They have been in the shop for less than a minute. 
The first man stares at me. 'Are you a cop?' he asks.
'No,' I say as calmly as possible. 
'Don't lie.'
'I'm a Federal Agent,' I groan, knowing I'm challenging this man. On the
other 
hand, he wouldn't shoot an agent, would he? 
 
His eyes focus on me. 'A Fed, huh? A Fed busted my little brother. I
don't like 
you guys.'
'I don't like you either,' I quip, and I know I have just sealed my
fate. 
He leans forward, kneeling by my side and his gun is so close to my face
I can 
actually see the bullet in the barrel. 'Maybe I should just finish you
off, 
then. You obviously don't like being here.' 
 
'Come on!' the second man cries out. 
The first one turns around a bit, still holding that gun. And the boy
cries. 
He's out of control. 
He turns, points his gun towards the boy and screams for the kid to be
quiet. At 
that same second I know he's not intending to leave. 
 
From my uncomfortable position I grab his arm, holding it firmly as he
grasps 
the gun, smacks the weapon out of his hand and sees that thing flying
away. I 
move up, pulling him to the floor with me, toppling somehow over him,
and 
holding his chin with my bare hand. 
I can feel the weight of my own gun against my chest, and my right hand
goes for 
it. 
 
I feel something hit me hard, knocking me backwards and I'm on the
ground, still 
holding onto number one, partially sitting on him. Number two is
suddenly on the 
ground too, struggling for air like a dying fish. Seconds later, he
stops 
gasping. 
 
Number one is below me, hitting me hard in the side as he tries to pull
himself 
from underneath me. I see blood drip on his clothes. Could that really
be mine? 
 
He is much stronger than I am, and he shoves me aside. I fall off him
and 
against the counter and there's a voice, and then a shot and utter
silence. 
 
I look aside and see Scully. She's standing ten feet from us. And she's
one hell 
of a shooter. 
 
Over my other side sits the boy, who has stopped crying. Instead, he
looks at me 
and says, 'Does that hurt more than a can on your toe?' 
 
And so we are off to the hospital. Not that I remember much of that. I
was hit 
in the shoulder, you see. And hit hurt. Number two managed to put a
bullet 
inside me while I was fighting number one. And Scully - who had remained
hidden 
from a safe distance, as well as most of the other shoppers at that time
 could 
shoot both numbers only after I got out of the way. 
 
'Never get in the way, Mulder,' she reprimands me. 
'Sorry,' I groan with a painful smile on my face. 'I had to make a
judgement 
call.'
'You did fine, partner,' she answers and pats me reassuringly on the
good 
shoulder. It's one of the few places of my body that does not ache at
this time. 
 
 
And so we are in hospital and I need to have surgery to get that bullet
dug out 
of me. Perhaps I should ask them to cut me at the exact same spot Scully
where 
shot me once. At least that way I won't have too many scars. 
 
And yes, do I feel a strange sense of relief when my shoe is removed and
it is 
shown that my big toe is actually busted? That is to say: the bone is
not broken 
but hit badly. And I have a black-and-blue toe that needs medical care. 
 
I look at Scully with a victorious grin. 'Now call me a baby again,' I
pant in 
between groans as they touch and scan my poor big toe. 
 
I even get that tetanus shot. 
 
So it is that I'm resting in my nice little comfortable hospital room,
with nice 
little comfort drugs dripping into my arm, when Scully enters the room,
carrying 
a bag. 
She sits down cautiously on the side of the bed and puts down the bag in
the 
visitor's chair. 
 
'What's in there?' I ask, still dozing off the anaesthetics. 
'My promise to you,' she smiles. 
'Let me see.' 
She puts the bag on top of me and helps me dig out its contents. 
 
A bottle of perfect Pinot Gris, raw chicken wrapped in plastic,
cucumbers and 
tomatoes, and cute little potatoes you just need to bake for a few
minutes. 
'This is what you're going to get when you behave like a good boy,' she
sooths 
me, 'I promised you dinner and you are going to get it. Only not today.'

 
I groan and my stomach protests painfully. I have not eaten all night. 
'Just promise me you'll never take me to supermarkets again,' I beg her.

 
'You can count on that.' 
 
 
The End
 
 
 
 
 
Humbuggie
www.sv-tales.com