Title:  Strange Days 4: Foxie Loxie (Scully's Issues...)
Author:  Fox's Gal
Rating: Um...I guess PG
Summary:  That would spoil the surprise now, wouldn't it?
Disclaimer:  We all use then, we all abuse them, none of us is
authorized to do so.  Does that stop us? Absolutely not!  Fox Mulder
and Dana Scully are the creations and possessions of Chris Carter, Fox
and 1013 Productions and I am making absolutely NO money off of this
psychotic venture.  Foxie is her own person, of course.  If you want
to use her and abuse her, that's between you and her.  Fox's
Gal...well, that's me and, no, you can't use me nor may you abuse me
without my permission either. (Once you get my permission, that's a
whole other story.) 
Archive:  Sure? Why not?  Just tell me first so I
can visit every now and then. 
Feedback:  Do I want to hear if you
think I'm twisted?  Of course I do!  Email me at foxs_gal@hotmail.com
and tell me what you think.

Strange Days 4: Foxie Loxie (Scully's Issues)
By Fox's Gal

Damn, it was cold.

Foxie Loxie pulled her coat tighter around her and, for the fifth time
that day, cursed herself for wearing a skirt.  The walk home from the
campus research department where she held her internship wasn't a long
one.  A five minute walk, usually (the fact that it felt like a half
an hour was beside the point.)  Of course, usually she was wearing
something a little bit more sensible than her navy skirt suit.  What
had she been thinking that morning?  It was November, for God's sake! 
November in upstate New York was not something to take lightly.  It
was something to be respected.  

Who was she kidding?  It was time to pull out the long johns and
flannel sheets.

At least it was Friday.  Nothing planned for two days.  Two huge blank
spots on her calendar had been smiling at her.  She was done with her
master's thesis for this semester.  That meant a lot of things.  Time
to catch up on sleep, time to catch up on laundry, time to do a lot of
things...like catch up on recreational writing. She did a mental check
of all of the fanfic projects she could choose to work on.  There was
Scully's vacation where Girlfriend was going to get some much needed
action (sans Mulder), there was a comedic Scully/Fowley piece that she
hadn't touched for a long time and...hmmm...oh there was also "Mirror
Mirror."  She'd been working on that with Fox's Gal and neither of
them had touched it for a very long time. It had started out as
totally comedic and was becoming rather angsty on the Scully front. 
They both needed time to think about that one.

She thought briefly about Fox's Gal.  That girl was definitely a
Mulderist to Foxie's Scullyism.  She was actually writing a companion
piece to Foxie's Scully Vacation story where Mulder was off roaming
the countryside on a Harley Davidson.  Foxie Loxie stopped a second
and contemplated Mulder on a motorcycle.  Mmmmmm...

She walked up the concrete steps that led to the front door and let
herself in.  She rented the house with three other girls; one of whom
she was convinced was certifiable.  Fortunately, none of the other
girls were home and she would be able to get some much needed peace
and quiet.  She walked quickly to her room, her heels clicking on the
hardwood floor.  Once in there, she eschewed the navy blue Scullysuit
for a more practical outfit of sweatpants and sweatshirt.

She flopped into her computer chair and, after a few unsuccessful
tries, connected to the Internet through the university server. 
First, she'd check her mail.  Then, she'd work on some fiction. 
Then...hmm, perhaps pop a TXF tape into the old VCR and watch some
"Bad Blood" or "Jose Chung."  Foxie checked her mail and was not
surprised to see a few messages from Fox's Gal.  They wrote each other
often and had even had the chance to meet over the summer.  One of the
several messages was stranger than usual, which caused Foxie to furrow
her brow.  Something about needing to talk to her over the phone and
she'd never believe what had happened.  Foxie chuckled.  FG always did
tend to overdramatize things.

She read the rest of her emails and closed the connection.  She rifled
through some floppy disks for a moment and found the one that housed
most of her fiction.  After a few long moments, she chose "Mustang
Scully," the piece about Scully's vacation and consequent much needed
nookie.  She clicked on the link and waited.  After a few seconds, she
became concerned.  She clicked the link again.  Again, nothing.  Not
being a patient soul, she kicked the computer at her feet.  Suddenly,
Word came up on the screen and a blank document stared at her.

"What the...?"  She tried again to open a document, but nothing was
happening.  The computer hadn't frozen up, but she wasn't getting
anywhere either.

She kicked the computer again, more lightly this time.  "Come on you
stupid thing."

Just then, a line of text flashed rapidly across the screen.

Watch who you're calling stupid.

"Excuse me?"  Great, just great.  Either my machine is going the way
of Stephen King's "Maximum Overdrive" or I'm having the nervous
breakdown I should have had ages ago.  All of a sudden, another line
appeared under the first.

Unless of course, you're referring to your computer.  In that case I
can only assure you that an inanimate object can not animate itself
and is consequently incapable of being "stupid."  If you're thinking
that your machine has come alive, I have someone you should talk to.

She could only stare, perplexed, at the computer.  A question popped
into her mind and her fingers flew over the keyboard as she typed it.

So if you're not my computer, and you insist that an inanimate object
cannot animate itself... What, exactly, are you?

"Funny, I thought you knew me better than that by now."  

The familiar, feminine voice came from her left and Foxie looked up
quickly and was stunned.  It was...well, it was her.  

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the window and caught the
auburn in her hair.  She stood in front of Foxie and seemed to tower
over her.  She knew, though, if she stood, this woman would still
tower over her.  They were about the same height and Foxie wasn't
wearing three-inch heels.  Foxies eyes took in a vaguely familiar
green suit, the skirt falling below her knees.  Her hands were on her
hips and she was directing a very familiar "look," complete with
eyebrow, in Foxie's general direction.

"Well, it appears my partner was right.  You people never do really
believe it for the first few minutes."

"What?"

The redhead smiled ruefully and proceeded to walk around the room. 
She smiled vaguely at the "I Want To Believe" poster and paused
briefly at the closet where a small collection of Scullysuits hung
neatly.  "You have good taste."

"Thank you." She was nonplussed.

Scully nodded absently and paused by the window.  She folded her arms
over her chest and stared out the window, her lips pursed in thought. 
Just when Foxie thought she was going to have to sit and analyze
this...event in silence, Scully spoke again.

"You know...it could turn out to be quite an interesting thing."

Okay, now it's your turn.  Dammit, why does she have to sound so
cryptic? Then again, what was I expecting?  This is a wom-character
(dammit, she's a character) who communicates with looks more than
words.

Scully almost seemed to hear her, as she looked at the petite brunette
carefully.  "Sorry about that."

Foxie could only lift her eyebrow in response.  "Um...do you mind
if...I ask..."

"What, exactly, I'm doing here?"

"That would be a nice start."

"Well, it has to do with your writing.  There are some...issues I
think need to be addressed."

"Such as?"

"Well in your first shot...I believe it was entitled "A Life Blessed,"
you not only killed me off, you had me married to Mulder!  That, my
friend, is a bad foot to start off on.  So I'm thinking, 'she's new at
this...give her another chance, okay?' So, I decided to.  And then I
began to notice a trend that I'm beginning to get annoyed with."

"And that would be?"

"Damn girl, you never FINISH them!" She threw her arms up in the air
and began to pace the room.  "Do you have any idea how frustrating it
is to be going along and everything's happening smoothly.  You know,
Mulder acts like an insensitive clod and I rip apart his crazy
theories with simple scientific evidence...I mean, you know the drill!
 But you, you have me going along in that 'Mirror Mirror' piece and
now you've got me standing in the hospital and Mulder's disappeared
and then...NOTHING!  For cripes sake, I'm not even supposed to know
he's GONE yet!  Then you start up another one and I'm about to get it
on with an able bodied ranch hand who's ten years younger than me and
you STOP again!  Please, for the sake of my sanity, please finish them
before you start another one!"

"Uh huh.  Okay."  I've officially lost my mind.

Scully was no longer paying attention.  "I mean, it's not just you. 
For some reason everybody seems to have a hard time writing me.  I
can't begin to tell you how many unfinished stories there are out
there that have me either dying of some mutated alien virus or about
to get it on with Mulder (my God, can you imagine that?) and the
author either gets bored or stuck and we have no choice but to move
right along with the next adventure we get thrown into.  It's like a
perpetual 'To Be Continued.'  Do you have any idea how frustrating it
is to have your life put on hold like that?"

"No, I'm afraid I--"

Scully turned to face her, "Of course you don't!  You don't have
people messing around with your life...writing it and rewriting it. 
It's so frustrating!"

"I'm sorry, I--"

"And as long as I'm on a roll, may I continue?"

Foxie sat back and folded her arms over her chest. "Please do."

"Would it be too much to ask for some equal time?"

"Equal time?"

"Yes.  Do you have to be mentally unstable to get people to devote
webpage after webpage and fiction archive after fiction archive to
you?"

"But..."

"I know.  There *are* fiction archives that are all my own, but they
don't seem to have as fervent a following as Mulder.  And...well...it'
s just that...Mulder's stories are so much more interesting.  That
MulderTorture site.  I mean, he hates it...but it's really quite
fascinating how people can hone in on an aspect of a personality and
really run with it."

"So, you're saying you wish you were as messed up as Mulder so that
people would have more aspects of you to write about?"

She smirked.  "Well, let's face it.  A ticking biological clock versus
years of pent up anger, an abducted sister, an alcoholic father... I
mean, with me, people always write about the obvious: Emily.  I mean,
do they not think I miss Missy?  My father?"  She pounded her chest
with her palm, "I have issues! He's not the only one!"

She leaned back in her chair and began cracking her knuckles.  "Oh,
you have issues all right."  Her bachelor's degree in psychology was
about to come in very handy.  "For starters, you're co-dependent.  

Scully was indignant.  "What?"

"Hey, who's the psychology major here, Madame Forensic Pathologist? 
Now, as I was saying, you're co-dependent, you have an irrational need
to please authority figures, you have an intense fear of death and
dying..."

Scully sank to sit on the bed.  "Great, from one psychologist to
another.  Just what I need," she scowled.

Foxie continued, "I mean, Mulder's ahead of the game since he had such
a screwed up childhood. That just opens the door for some intense
abnormalities.  Of course, I could just go totally Freudian on you.
For instance, you clearly have a deficiency in your superego, or the
moral ego. Now, by deficiency I don't mean that you don't have a
superego I simply mean that you have too strong of a superego. When
you were a child, your parents must have handled you in such a way
that you grew up thinking that everything you did wasn't good enough."
 She paused to make sure Scully was actually listening.  To her
surprise, she seemed to be engrossed. "You see, there are 3 parts of
the personality; the Id (or the pleasure principle), the Super ego (or
the moral principle) and the ego (or the conscious, rational
principle). The Id is also known as the infantile part of the
unconscious because its only goal in life is pleasure (this would be
sleep, food, drink, and sex). The ego is the balancing force between
the two so that you can live a normal, healthy life. If the Id
dominated, you would be a fat, sex-crazed lunatic. If the super ego
dominated you would die." She smiled and shrugged as she said this.

Scully's right eyebrow lifted slightly.  "I did take basic psych
classes," she said wryly.  
She laughed.  "Good, so I don't have to talk down to you.  Basically,
the Id's control over the body is diminished by going through the
Oedipus or Electra Complex. What happens is the child lusts after the
opposite sex parent but through one reason or another learns that
lusting after that parent is wrong. Boys have a castration fear (if
dad finds out I want to have sex with mom, dad will cut my penis off).
Girls decided that they can have dad sexually in secret with mom not
knowing by developing penis envy. Anyway, in order to have "simulated
mind sex" with the opposite sex parent the child identifies with the
same sex parent. It is through identification that children learn
their morals. Now, what happens sometimes is that the child's
identification process gets screwed up somehow and they end up with an
over developed super ego, going through life with constant guilt and
this need to please everyone." She was trying not to sound like a know
it all, but instead was taking on the tone of a familiar (and present)
red-headed pathologist when said pathologist got on a roll herself.

"Are you saying that I--"

Foxie held up her hand.  "Come on now, I'm on a roll.  So really, in
effect, they also have an ego disorder because their ego has allowed
their super ego to take over. This sort of thing can lead to eating
disorders and self-mutilation since they are actually connected. The
same processes are at work in both. Basically, it's a control thing.
The person feels that what they eat or what they do to their body is
the *only* thing in their life that they have any control over. With
eating disorders it's also a body image thing, but it all stems from
control issues. During their childhood something happened where they
lost control of their own life. Maybe they were molested, maybe their
parents were overly strict and rigid, maybe they were forced to...oh,
I don't know, move around a lot? That sort of thing. Well anyway, this
is Freud we're talking about. The man was a lunatic, but basically, if
someone gets the message when they are young that they aren't good
enough it will carry through into adulthood."

"And you're insinuating that I don't think anything I do is--"

"Good enough.  Yes.  What, isn't that enough?  I could go on
actually."

"No, no, that's okay."  She seemed slightly disturbed.

"I mean, if you like, I could write something about you being into
self mutilation and having an eating disorder and so on and so forth. 
What the hell, right? You want to be as screwed up as Mulder? 
Girlfriend, you've got your wish.  Then we have your defense
mechanisms." She began to list off her fingers, "We have denial,
completely rejecting a thought or feeling (you do that); we have
suppression, where you're vaguely aware of a thought or feeling, but
you try to hide it (you do that one too); we have rationalization
where you come up with explanations to justify a situation whilst
denying your feelings (yep, that too); and we have intellectualization
which is just more intellectualized (you do that more times than I
care to count.)  Shall I go on?  I mean, we can't forget your
anal-retentiveness..."

"That's quite enough, thank you very much."  She was pinching the
bridge of her nose and closing her eyes.

Jeez, I thought only Mulder made her do that... Foxie turned around to
her computer.  "Are you sure there aren't any ScullyTorture sites on
the web?  I know you don't have that many fiction archives really, but
there HAS to be a sister site to the MTA thing.  There just has to
be."  She connected to the Internet and was slightly shocked that the
university system worked on the first try.  She turned to look at her
guest and was more than slightly shocked to see that she was, once
again, alone in the room.

"There has to be a scientific explanation for this."

Shaking her head, she turned back to the monitor.  She opened up her
email and proceeded to type:

To:		Fox's Gal
From: 	Foxie Loxie
Subject:	Breakdown	

FG:

Girlfriend, we gotta talk. Either I've just had a nervous breakdown or
something very strange is going on here.

F. Loxie