Something Will Always Go Wrong. Part (1/1) By RedDoggX E-Mail: RedDogg57@aol.com Distribution: As many places as you would like, as long as I receive credit and feedback. ;-) Spoilers: FTF, Fallen Angel, Squeeze, Anasazi, SR 819, The Ghosts Who Stole Christmas, Small Potatoes Classification: V Rating: PG-13 for suggested sexual situations Summary: A guide of another typical day in the office life of Fox Mulder. With typical zest in his search for the Truth, Mulder will forget an important date Disclaimer: This was written during a late-night battle of depression. In no way do I mean to infringe on the hallowed copyright of CC and 1013 Productions/Fox. I mean this a humble way of expressing my thanks for the wonderful characters that they bring to the screen every Sunday night. Plus, I am a poor college student, so they wouldn't be able to squeeze a penny out of me. ;-) Feedback is eagerly awaited, as this is my first fanfic. Even if it is something as simple as 'Good!", I would love to hear all criticism, both good and not so good. ============================================================= Wake up at 5:30 in the morning, since your insomnia is plaguing the halls of your well-worn memory. Decide, after ten minutes of deep contemplation of the mysteries of your ceiling, to head on in to work. As your skin coldly protests from being removed from the surface of your leather couch, run your hand through your hair, which has recently decided to not behave, even after you have invested in a military- style crew cut. Even though your psychologist training tells you that this latest fashion crime is a weak attempt at a modicum of control over your meager existence in the grand scheme of old, white guys who are afraid of extraterrestrial black oil and spontaneous repopulation, you wish that, for once, something in your life would go the way you want. Something always goes wrong. == As you stand under the showerhead and let the water run down your shoulders, you feel the tension in your muscles slip away. The dreams stand just outside the scope of your self- maligned photographic memory, taunting you with the promise of finding that one elusive truth that will answer all of your questions. One image fills your mind: a little eight- year old girl with pigtails Snap your head up, and nervously laugh. Mutter, 'C'mon, Mulder. It's not even 5:45 yet, and you're ready to cry." Hurriedly finish your shower, and wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. == Step into the main room of your apartment, trying to get your newest tie on straight while balancing a donut in one hand. Glance in the hall mirror, smile, and picture the look on Scully's face when she sees your tie. She has always told you that you should try to be a little more imaginative with your necktie design. As you stand there, the colors seem to evoke the image of a rumpled Ivy League professor ready to claim his next cowering undergrad victim. Just what you wanted. Stop suddenly, and think abruptly about how lucky you are to have a partner that would put up with your all of your eccentricities, not to mention your tastes in neckwear. Wonder about the first wisecrack you will say today that will reward you with a small grin instead of the patented Scully rolling of the eyes. Smile with the prospect, and head towards the door. You'll need lots of time to practice your humor. == Enter your office, such as it is. You look around, noting the 'I Want to Believe" poster and the piles of work stacked on your desk with a vague glance. The rumblings of hunger have subsided now that you have ingested the Bureau's pathetic attempt at bagels and a quarter-pound of cream cheese. You throw your coat in the general direction of your coat rack, nearly knocking over Max's hat. You finally notice that the stacks of papers on your desk are rather abnormal, even for you. You then realize that these new files require your 'immediate" attention. Snicker, and picture Skinner's waif- like secretary trying to balance these files in one arm while unlocking the door with the other. Roll up your sleeves, and glance at the clock. 6:15 am. Lots of time to get ahead before Scully shows up. You know how much she loves paperwork. == Scully will enter a few minutes before nine. She takes in the three empty styrofoam cups that once contained the Bureau's super high-octane coffee, the stacks of papers strewn about your desk, and the bright, shiny look in your eyes. Her mind will register this in a second, and she will nonchalantly quip, 'Another day of paperwork? Don't you at least have a vegetarian genetic mutant that we could chase?" Look up, smirk, and begin to reply. Before you can begin, she walks out for her coffee. Two creams and no sugar, you remember. Over her shoulder, she calls out, 'Nice tie." == You have never felt so swamped in your life. Files now cover your desk and Scully's. You have devised a system for the quick completion of your paper duties. Any expense report goes in your inbox, while any report that details case proceedings heads over to Scully. You have an overactive imagination that manages to keep you away from the FBI's personal auditor assigned exclusively to your division, while Scully manages to not make you look like a complete fool in her case reports. You both pass files to each other wordlessly, and you both manage to know exactly what is needed in each file, so words are few. When you hold out the latest inquiry into your unorthodox methodology, her fingers brush yours when she takes the file. Ignore the tingling you feel at the base of your spine. Notice that she seems completely oblivious to your condition. Proceed with your arduous task. Hold out another file, and bump hands with Scully, thereby spilling the contents of both files. Stand up quickly, and get down on the floor to pick up the loose papers. Find yourself a foot away from Scully, gazing directly into her eyes. Vaguely notice traces of a floral perfume. Just when you think you could stay in your exact position for the rest of the day, she will smile with her eyes, and say, 'Are we a little jumpy today, Mulder?" Push your heart down into its proper position in your chest, smile, and deadpan, 'Oh, you know. Probably another dialysis machine in the CoffeeMate." She will turn away, and return to her report. Wonder if she actually smiled. == Around noonish, notice the rumblings of hunger, and ask, 'So, Scully. What should we torment our bodies with today?" Banish all thoughts of strawberries dipped in chocolate, mangoes, and whipped cream. She will stretch her lithe body as she ponders this new question. Keep your mouth closed at all costs. She will groan, 'Should we even brave the cafeteria today, Mulder?" Without a second's pause, reply, 'Well, I think the Bureau's tapioca pudding is finally considered extraterrestrial in nature. Maybe we should check it out, purely for professional reasons, of course." Drink in her slight grin. Mentally chalk another point onto the scoreboard. == As you both step into the elevator, take a few deep breaths. Realize that this day will be like any other, especially after you have heard that a few of the greener agents have posited that you were the one to put Skinner in the hospital. As the car reaches the ground floor, glance at Scully. When she sees the look on your face, she reaches over, and squeezes your hand, briefly. As the doors open, you grit your teeth and step out into the hallway. Your hand still tingles. == You both split up as you enter the cafeteria. You head straight for the grill, while Scully moves to the salad bar. As you stand in line, vaguely notice that a few of your former VCS colleagues are waiting in line. You have learned to tune them out. You get your food, and move to a table in the corner of the room where Scully has already taken up residency. Agents will move out of your way like you have the plague, but you try not to notice, keeping your eyes firmly on Scully. You reach the table, and sit down. As you do, you say, 'Scully? Is it just me, or do I need to change my cologne? No one has decided to confront me today. Especially after Skinner got sick." She will begin to tell you that maybe people have learned to leave you alone, especially after you saved Skinner's life again. She will also claim that maybe the new agents have a modicum of respect for you. Glance over her shoulder, and spot a group of uptight agents pointing and glancing at you like a museum exhibit. As Scully continues, she plays with her food, using her fork to emphasize her points emphatically. Notice the glint in her eyes. Remain fixated on your hamburger. == Return to your office, thankful that you didn't have to quell another murderous instinct toward another agent. Gaze at the new pile of file folders on your desk. Scully will spot them, and sigh. 'Just another day at the office." Grimace. Sit down, and notice that these new files have the now- familiar letter stamped at the beginning of the file number. Feel your heart rate jump. Stack the remainder of the paperwork on your desk, and eagerly pick up the first X-File. Scully will wordlessly take the rest of your paperwork, and leave you to your musings. You love it when she can read your mind. == In frustration, place the next to last file in your outbox. Another batch of poorly substantiated UFO sightings. You wonder if you should even pick up the last one and bother to read it. Experience tells you that you should always be thorough, and you grunt as you pick up the last folder. Scully will not even look up, and say, 'That exciting of a case, Mulder?" Reply, 'I think our division recycles about 20 percent of the Bureau's paper." Open the folder, and glance at the incident report. Forget your surroundings, and let your mind take over. == Name: Linda McCarthy Marital Status: Widowed, one child, age 25 Location: Salt Lake City, Utah Complaint: For every Valentine's Day since her husband's death, Linda will inevitably catch a glimpse of her husband, holding a red rose in his hand. This has occurred for 13 years in a row, but for some reason, Linda has become afraid. She reports that whenever her boyfriend, a man named Charles Bennion, enters her house, she will feel drafts when no windows are open, find that everyday household objects will disappear from their usual storage places and reappear in strange ones, and that doors will automatically lock whenever he knocks. Witnesses: Charles sustained minor injuries when he fell down a short flight of stairs. He claimed that he felt like someone had pushed him. Linda's neighbor, a woman named Julie Richmond, has been present when the doors have inexplicably locked themselves. You suspect that Linda's home is being visited by the spirit of her dead husband. Remain calm, as you have not investigated a reported haunting or visitation since Christmas. Wince as you remember the look on Scully's face when you were both lying on the floor, covered in your own blood. Pray that this case proves to be less stressful than the last. == Hand the case file to Scully and briefly narrate the claims that Linda McCarthy has reported. Enter into the usual discussion of the existence of ghosts. Remind Scully of the reoccurrence in literature of the spirit of a loved one watching over them throughout their lives. She will turn your argument against you, claiming that the notion of a loved one protecting you is nothing more than a hallucinogenic manifestation of the pain and grief that one suffers when you lose that person. Remember when you lived for three months without hearing Scully's voice. Quickly banish the thought from your mind, and remind Scully that Julie Richmond is happily married and a scientist in the field of microbiology, and is probably not easily swayed by the longings of a lonely widower. Begin to make travel arrangements for the two of you. Notice the look on Scully's face. You are in trouble. == Take in her posture, her hands balled up on the points of her hips. Notice how she seems to gain an extra five inches when she shows her displeasure with you. Rack your brain for what you could have possibly done this time. Scully will take in the dumbfounded look on your face, and not so gently remind you of the date. You will fumble for your calendar. Scully will save you the trouble, and say, 'Mulder, I'm not going on this case until *after* Valentine's Day. Remember? I told you about this last week." Notice the disappointment in her voice. Think about your past holidays and how lonely it was to spend them without friends or loved ones. You inevitably will unplug the phone and will end up surfing the net in to the night for the latest nudie pictures, content with the knowledge that your mother won't call you and try to cheer you up with her painfully bright tone of voice. You will notice that Scully is gazing at you with a look that you can't quite figure out. It contains a little of everything: pity, affection, motherly concern, hurt, and a little bit of disappointment. She will take a deep breath, and ask, 'Mulder, are you sure you don't want to come over for dinner at Mom's?" Marvel that Scully even asked you. Wonder if the impromptu Christmas in your apartment at two in the morning had anything to do with it. Banish the thought from your mind, and say, 'Bill would just love that, wouldn't he?" You will mean it as a joke, but Scully will look like you just told her dog diedagain. Smile, and try to let her know that you were only kidding, and that you had to use humor to escape her invitation without hurting her feelings. Too late. == You will work the rest of the day in relative silence, stopping only to answer the call of nature. You glance furtively at Scully, trying to ascertain her mood. When the clock reaches three, you stand, stretch, and tell Scully to go home. It's the least you can do for her after you told her that you wouldn't be caught dead with her brother in the same room. She will only raise her eyebrow at your offer, and lean back in her chair with her arms crossed. Realize that this is going to be harder than you originally thought. Stammer, 'C'mon, Scully. Go have fun with your family. The last thing you want to do is spend the rest of the day down here with a stack of bureaucratic BS while you could skip the traffic and make it over to your mom's early for dinner. Besides, I'm no fun to be around anyway." She will remain expressionless for many moments, lean forward, and mutter, 'Thanks." She will quickly and quietly gather her files and slip them into her briefcase. You will watch her walk toward the door, and she will stop before exiting. Think of nothing but the sensation of a cold shower as she turns around. 'Thanks, Mulder. See you Monday. I'm sure Mrs. McCarthy will still be here when I get back." Before she can leave, say, 'Happy Valentine's Day, Scully." Tears will well in her eyes. It will only last for a second, and you will wonder if it ever existed. Then she'll be gone. == As the remainder of the office drives off to their separate loved ones and families, remain in your office, wondering about the composition of the ceiling tile and its amazing ability to hold pencils thrown at them. Replay the day's events in your mind, reviewing each moment from every angle and search for the one place where it went wrong. Pick up your cell phone, gaze at the only number that you have programmed into it, hit send, and hang up before the call can be processed. Put your phone into your bottom drawer, underneath the latest pile of ghostly visitation X-Files that you have been researching in preparation for Monday's case. Close the drawer. For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, wipe your hand across your eyes. == The ring from your cell phone will shock you from your uneasy sleep. You will fumble for the drawer. Ring. You finally locate the handle in the semi-illuminated office. Ring. As you open the drawer, the ringing will cease. Hit the talk button, and be greeted by the familiar dial tone. Turn the power off on your cell phone, and begin to gather your things. After all, the internet awaits. == Enter your apartment, throwing your stuff down by the door. Turn on the power to your computer, and check your messages. One from Chantel. Chuckle softly. Another rip-roaring night of fun in the Mulder household. As you sit down, again recall the look on Scully's face when she left the office. Wonder if you really saw it. Pick up the phone and begin to punch in Scully's number. Realize, after the sixth number, that she probably wouldn't want to hear from you tonight, especially after today. Hang up. Feel the twisting in your stomach, and suddenly, the internet will lose its appeal. Shed your clothing, even the tie that you thought might have been a success, and lay down on the couch. You know that you will not fall asleep for a few hours, but you try to relax anyway. Wonder why Scully would even consider coming back to work on Monday. You smile. She always does. Why, you can't figure out. Your grin will fade. End (1/1) Thanks for making all the way down here! Hope you enjoyed! -RedDoggX e-mail: RedDogg57@aol.com Feedback is always appreciated; in fact, it is devoured like air to a drowning man. 'The only causes worth fighting for are the lost causes." Jimmy Stewart, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington