Title:  Strange Days 8: Debra Fran Baker (or "Slasharific")
Author:  Fox's Gal
Rating: Um...I guess PG
Summary:  It's number 8.  If you haven't caught on by NOW...
Disclaimer:  Okay, I do not have silver hair and I do NOT surf. 
That's how you can all tell that I'm not Chris Carter.  I also have a
craving for continuity.  None of the characters in here (Mulder,
Scully, Skinner, Krycek) belong to me.  Clear?  Good.  I'm making no
money off of them.  Clear?  Good.  They belong to CC and 20th Century
FOX.  Clear?  Ah, you got the picture.  Debra doesn't belong to me
either, but Shirley asked me to write it, and Debra apparently liked
it (no accounting for taste, I suppose...) 
Archive:  Sure? Why not? I mean, if your life is THAT empty... 
Feedback:  Do I want to hear if
you think I'm nuts?  Why not? Email me at foxs_gal@hotmail.com and
tell me what you think.


Strange Days 8: Debra Fran Baker  (or "Slasharific")
By Fox's Gal


It was a creative sort of day.  Those didn't come along too often, but
when they did Debra took full advantage of them.  

Silently, she thanked whoever was listening that such a creative burst
happened on a Sunday.  It just would not do to have to suffer through
a workday with so many plotlines running endlessly through her head. 
She had several projects on the back burner as it was.  Debra wanted
to work on them, even finish some of them up and email them to
Shirley.  That would be one more file to move from her "In Progress"
to her "Finit" file.

She padded into the kitchen and fixed the morning pot of coffee.  As
the scent of the blessed liquid caffeine filtered throughout the
house, she smiled.  Nothing, but nothing smelled better than freshly
ground coffee on a bright Sunday morning.  She placed an oat bagel
into the toaster and wandered idly to the kitchen window.  A perfect
day.

For writing, that was.

Lead colored clouds covered what was very possibly a bright azure sky.
 A fine mist of drizzle fell, casting everything with tiny drops of
water.

Had the weather been anything otherwise, she might have felt the
slightest twinge of guilt at holing herself up in front of her
computer when she could have been doing something productive.  Like
washing her car or perhaps doing some lawn work...

Her lips curved into an involuntary grimace at the mere thought.  No,
this was going to be her day, and only her day.  No if's, and's, or
but's.

After her breakfast, she meandered around the house comfortably, her
hair pulled up into a ponytail high on her head.  The mug of coffee
was warm in her hands and she couldn't help but smile at the thought
that she had nothing on her plate but writing.

It made her giddy.

She flopped into the comfy computer chair and switched on her machine.
 First she'd check her email, then she'd move on to the meatier
stuff.

There were the typical emails.  Mailing list postings, page update
notifications...  She scanned them quickly, then moved on.  She had
more important things on her mind.  Finally, the mail was downloaded,
saved or deleted...depending on priority.

And now...for the main attraction.

She navigated her way through the maze of files until she came to her
work in progress folder.  She selected it and saw an endless list of
possibilities before her.

She chose one.

Nothing happened.

She chose it again.

Again, nothing happened.

"Damn it," she muttered.  The one free day she had.  Didn't it just
figure?  Debra selected another icon, double clicking on it.

And she waited.

"Son of a..."

Suddenly, the screen went black.

At that same moment, a soulful wail sounded throughout the house.

"Nooooooo!!!  Not the computer!  Not TODAY!!!  Dammit!"  In a rare
burst of anger, she slapped the top of the monitor.

Oddly enough, the screen flickered back to life.  Her word processing
program was open and a blank document flashed on the screen.  A
detached sense of calm settled over her.  At least the PC hadn't
crapped out on her.  That was a stab of sunshine through her
increasingly dark day.

Frustrated, Debra ran a hand over her face, rubbing her eyes.  She
sighed deeply, centered herself and, after mentally picking herself up
and dusting herself off, tried again.

She was only slightly shocked to see a line of text on the previously
blank screen.

Wouldn't it be a shame if you lost all that hard work?

What the...?

I know it wouldn't bother *ME* in the least bit.

She narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing the screen.  It had to be a joke.
Some sort of elaborate joke.  After crawling under the desk, looking
for wires and inspecting the entire machine, she sat back down in the
chair, completely befuddled.

Yeah, I'm still here.

She arched an eyebrow.  It appeared there was only one way to speed
the joke along and get to the punchline.  She settled her fingers over
the keys of the keyboard.

And *where* exactly, is "here?"

"Right behind you, of course.  Where else would I be?"

She wracked her brain for any possible reason why that particular
voice would be coming from behind her.  It was possible that the
television was on.  Hell, anything was possible.  It was possible that
she had whacked her head while crawling underneath the desk and was
hallucinating.

That's it.  She was hallucinating.  Dreaming.  Something.  But he
wasn't there.  He just wasn't.  

"Uh, yes I am."

"No, you're not."

A soft chuckle sounded from somewhere behind her.  

"We need to talk, Debra.  I mean, we really, really need to talk."

"'Bout what?" she asked, still not turning around.

"Do you usually carry on conversations with your back turned to
someone?"

"Maybe I do."  She bit on her lip until she felt the warm taste of
blood in her mouth.  Partially, it was to keep from laughing out
loud.

"Not with me, you don't."  She felt a hand on the back of her chair
and was shocked when the swivel chair swiveled to face no one other
than the subject of so much of her work.

Her breath caught in her chest as she looked furtively around for an
explanation.  (And a hat...)

A charcoal suit, black trenchcoat...  Impressive.  He looked...  Wow.

And he didn't look entirely happy.  In fact, he didn't look happy at
all.  The word, "pissed" came to mind.

She felt her eyebrow arch.  "So we need to talk?  Okay.  Talk."

He took a seat across from her.  "We can do this one of two ways. 
Easy, or not so easy.  I'm the front line, so to speak."

She took a deep shuddering breath, and reached for her coffee cup. 
The hot liquid would have brought her back to reality, but it didn't. 
Which only meant one thing.

This was reality, for the moment.

And if this was reality...

She suppressed a groan.

But he was talking to her.

"So.  Here's the deal."  He pulled a sheaf of papers out from an inner
pocket of his trenchcoat. "This might sound, um, more than slightly
familiar."  Mulder cleared his throat and began to read aloud,

"'"Let's not talk." 'With that, Krycek leaned forward and kissed him
gently. Mulder didn't want gentleness. He deepened it, thrusting his
tongue passionately into Krycek's mouth, crushing his body toward
him--'  Okay, I have a problem already."

"You have a problem?  With what?"

He sent her a look of unabashed frustration.  "With what?  Um, where
would you like me to start?  How about that I'm kissing KRYCEK???"  He
stood and began pacing.  "I mean, I have my issues with the erotica
writers.  You know how it is, I have long artistic fingers, they
fumble with the tiny delicate pearl buttons of her blouse, I'm
constantly afraid that I'm going to crush her, yadda, yadda, yadda... 
I mean, let's not get into how if I have such long artistic fingers,
why would I be such a klutz with buttons..."

"Jesus Mulder, for Christ's sake, get to the damn point!"

Two heads snapped to attention at the sound of the voice.  Debra
wasn't sure if her eyebrows could snake any further up her forehead,
but they were trying.

Alex Krycek strode in, clad in black leather and blue denim, and
snatched the sheaf of papers from Mulder's hand.

"Hey, knock that off Krycek.  I wasn't done yet!  Hell, I hadn't even
started yet!"

Alex rolled his eyes.  "You were babbling, man."

Mulder crossed his arms over his chest defensively.  "I was not."

Alex ignored him and began reading where Mulder had left off.  "'It
felt odd to only have one arm around him, but he got used to it. When
Mulder got to Krycek's genitals, he paused and inhaled the clean scent
of his own shower gel overlaying the rich musk that was his lover's
alone.'  Now Debra, let's talk about this rationally, shall we?  I
mean, this is assuming an awful lot.  For instance, it assumes not
only that we're both gay, it assumes that if we were...that I would
have the bad taste--"

"Excuse ME?"  Mulder was indignant.  "Bad taste?  Me?  So, getting
turned on by 'The One Armed Man' is supposed to reflect good taste on
MY part?"  Mulder stood and snatched the papers out of Krycek's hand.

"Hey..." 

Mulder silenced him with a look.  He stared at the paper, trying to
find where Krycek had left off.  "Ah, here we are... 'He was right
-Krycek tasted like Paradise' (Paradise???)  'all over. He licked all
around the erect penis and the scrotum,' Oh God, I did NOT need that
mental image...where was I?  Oh, here... 'touching only now and then
to feel Krycek twitch and hear him moan.'"  Mulder's voice faltered
and he seemed to pale slightly before turning a sickly greenish white.
 "Oh Jesus..."

"I do believe you're leaving some text out, Fox."  Alex made no effort
to hide his laughter.

"Dammit, don't make me read this!"

Debra watched with growing amusement.  "Go on, read it..."

He sighed and cleared his throat again, turning an intense shade of
red.  "'You are a damn tease, Mulder!'"

Debra heard barely stifled laughter.  She glanced at Krycek out of the
corner of her eye and saw that he was doubled over in his chair,
wiping at his eyes.

"I'm so glad that I'm such a source of amusement for both of you.  And
- for the record - I am not a tease."  He tilted his chin upward
imperiously.

"Yeah...it's kind of hard to tease yourself!!" Krycek cackled.

"Hey, I've...I...I've--"

"Erotica writers don't really count, Mulder.  I mean, actually you
only really got laid once, and that was in Season 2.  And it was a
vampire chick."

"Oh," Mulder tilted his head.  "And you've got room to talk?"

Alex leaned back in his chair, grinning widely.  "With only one arm I
managed to get a piece of Marita."  

Mulder sat in his previously vacated chair.  "Uh huh...and, what?  I'm
supposed to be impressed with that?  I hate to break it to you Krycek,
but--"

"Um, guys..." Debra tried to intervene.  

"But what?"  Alex stood over Mulder.

"Oh, nothing." He tried to look uninterested.

Debra, on the other hand, was captivated at the ensuing scene.

"Mulder, so help me..."

Mulder stood and drew himself to his full height.  "She's a slut,
Alex.  If Flukeman had been in possession of the Russian kid, she
would have nailed him--that--whatever-- in a heart beat!  She was
USING you.  'Course, I don't expect you to be able to recognize it
when someone uses your own trademark dirty tricks against you."

"You're  lying," he growled.

"Read the script.  Or better yet, ask her your--"

"Dammit!"  Another, deeper voice had entered the conversation and the
room.  Walter Skinner strode in angrily, his own trenchcoat billowing
behind him.  "Can't I send either of you off on a fool's errand
without having to check up on you?"  

"Ah, Sir.  Come to join the party?"  Mulder regarded Skinner
amusedly.

"Hardly, Mulder.  I'm here to clear a few things up.  First and
foremost--"  Mulder offered Skinner the papers he'd been reading from.
 "I don't want that, dammit!"

"But they're very help--" 

"I said I don't want them!" he growled.

"But--"

"Agent..." he said, sending a warning glare in Mulder's general
direction.  "Now, as I was saying..."

"Actually, Walt, they are really helpful.  I mean, to make your point
with."  Alex nodded his head encouragingly.

Suppressing an exasperated sigh, Skinner took the proffered packet of
papers.  "Oh Jesus..." he muttered.

Debra noticed that an exceedingly amused glance was tossed between
Mulder and Krycek.

"Go on Sir."  Mulder made no attempt to hide his grin.

Skinner flipped through the white sheets of paper, scanning them. 
"Okay, here we go. '"Sir, are you in love with me?" Skinner nodded
ruefully. "I'm a fool. You are not an easy man to love, Agent Mulder,
in the best of circumstances. And I do believe these are the worst."'"
 He looked at Debra with what looked very much like a pointed glare. 

She found herself shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

"How clear do I need to make myself?"

"What do you mean?" She tried to sound light and uninterested.

He drew his eyebrows together slightly.  "Well, for starters...I,
um...I happen to like women.  And secondly, even if I did NOT, I sure
as hell wouldn't--"

"Okay, why the HELL is everything coming down to, 'Why'd you have to
go and pair me up with Spooky?'  Am I that bad?  Do I stink or
something?  I mean, I hear it from Krycek, I hear it from Skinner--"

"And you hear it from me, Mulder."

"Scully? What the hell are you doing here?  You're not supposed to be
here.  She's a slash author.  You and me, we don't make slash."

Scully bit on her bottom lip in an effort to hide her smile.  "You're
late."

"What else is new?" The mutter came from Skinner's general direction. 
A snort of laughter came from Krycek's.  Mulder shot both what would
have been an angry glare, had Debra herself not begun to dissolve into
giggles.

"Okay, so what was the point of this whole visit?" She was laughing
openly now.

"The point was supposed to be to show you all the reasons not to write
slash."  Mulder stood and brushed the wrinkles out of his pants.  "But
apparently, everyone had to be in on the show."

"But it's only fiction..."

"Only fiction?  Only fiction!?  Do we LOOK fictitious to you?  Did it
ever occur to you that whatever you type on your computer there might
have an adverse effect on us?  I mean, did you just think that you
made up those scenarios and they didn't really happen?"

"Well..."

But Mulder was on a roll, and there was no stopping him.  "Because if
you thought they didn't really happen, let me tell you that you are
sorely mistaken.  And if there was one piece of information I could
have gone without knowing for my entire life, it was that Alex Krycek
tasted like Paradise!!!  And as if THAT wasn't bad enough?  You go and
KILL me!"

"Sometimes I know how she feels," Scully murmured under her breath,
checking her watch.

Mulder continued, gathering steam.  "I mean, the words 'Character
Death' send chills through me enough as it is. But a lover's pact
with...HIM?" He pointed at Krycek.  "A suicide pact?"

"Hey, it's as insulting to me as it is to you, Mulder."

"And you know," Scully said, stepping forward and taking the pages
from Skinner.  "When you killed him, you really did assume quite a bit
on my part."

"Like what?" Debra was puzzled.

She raised an eyebrow.  "Like I'd miss him?"  She flipped past a few
pages and began to read.  "'And it was over. No more silly jokes at a
stake out. No more sexual innuendos just when she needed a laugh. No
more brilliant intuitive leaps at almost no information.'  Brilliant? 
Brilliant? Please."  She rolled her eyes.

"Hey--" Mulder began.

"Mulder, I'm talking here. 'No more beautiful face made more beautiful
by wearing those glasses' Oh, that doesn't do anything to boost his
ego... 'while peering over slides of yet another cattle mutilation. No
more sheer joy at losing time.'  You know what they say, simple
pleasures... 'No more smile that lit up entire buildings.'  So, what
I'm saying, Debra...what we're all saying is..."

"Stop writing slash." Mulder said humorlessly.

Four sets of eyes watched her intently, waiting for some sort of
response.

"I'm sorry, I just can't do that."

"What if you tried, really, really hard?"  It looked as though Mulder
was about to get on his knees and beg.  He had begun the descent to
his knees...

"Mulder, jeez, get up."  Krycek's tone was of pure disdain.

"I mean, what if you just tried to write me with..." he looked around
the room, first at Alex, then Skinner, then Scully.  "...someone else.
 Just...someone else."

"It's not just about you, Mulder," Krycek said.

"Yeah, not everything's about you, Mulder," Skinner added, annoyance
tingeing his voice.

"I keep telling him that, and keep telling him.  Do you think he
listens?"  Scully's arms folded across her chest.

Debra considered the group.  "I'm not going to make any promises.  I
mean, this is my niche, my genre.  Why do any of us write what we do? 
So, I'm sorry, but..." she trailed off, shrugging.

"I told you, Mulder.  They never want to change."  Alex stood up and
walked out the door.  

Skinner heaved a sigh.  "I had my doubts as to whether this approach
would really work too, Mulder.  I mean, this isn't the first time
you've tried this, and none of those times worked either.  All the
other writers you've visited have continued writing.  Some have even
been doing more..."    He tossed a glance at the seated Debra, then
back at Mulder.  "Well, guess I'll be seeing you around." And with a
vague shudder at the thought, he left the room as well.

And then there were two... she thought as she watched Scully and
Mulder stand before her.

"C'mon, Mulder.  We've got some erotica writers to visit."

"Scully, do you really want them to stop?"

She made no effort to hide the rolling of her eyes.  "Come on,
Mulder."  

He walked to the doorway, Scully behind him.  Debra watched as Scully
sent her a sly look before grabbing at her partner's ass.  Mulder
yelped.

"Scully!"

Debra closed her eyes and shook her head.  When she opened them again,
all occupants were gone.

And the really strange thing was, the computer was once again working
correctly.  But that wasn't what caused her to take pause and consider
her sanity.

Her coffee was still steaming hot.