From: "David Hearne" Date: Mon, 13 Dec 1999 12:11:04 -0500 Subject: xfc: Three-Fourths of an Inch and Six Inches (1 of 1) Source: xfc From: "David Hearne" TITLE: THREE-FOURTHS OF AN INCH AND SIX INCHES (1 of 1) AUTHOR: DAVID HEARNE RATING: PG CLASSIFICATION: H SUMMARY: A story on being almost completely lucky. AUTHOR'S NOTE: It's just fluff, that's all I got to say. Acknowledgements to The Bee Gees and Aretha Franklin. By the way, what's the deal with "Orison?" I thought they were showing that next week. Is some damn football game getting in the way? XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Fox Mulder woke up, feeling different. He didn't understand the feeling at first until he pulled himself out of bed and looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. "Cripes!" he yelled. He checked himself several times in the mirror, shifting his profile left and right. Then he got out a ruler and pressed it against his nose. He estimated that three-fourths of an inch had vanished off his nose last night. Hell, he thought, it hadn't been a nose to begin with. It had been a trunk. "It gives your face character," his mother has assured him in his youth. "It keeps you from looking like everybody else." Yeah, every normal person. But now...he had a nice, short honker on his face. The nose of a model and not a Borsch Belt comedian. He stumbled out of the bathroom, confused but in a fun way. He saw the newspaper on the coffee table. "INTERGALACTIC CONSPIRACY EXPOSED" was the headline. Accompanying the headline was a photo of the Cigarette-Smoking Man, the Bounty Hunter and a big-headed grey alien. They were all being led away in handcuffs from a courthouse with bitter, exhausted looks on their faces. As his fingers trembled, he read about a brave, resourceful and very misunderstood FBI agent who had exposed a plot that had threatened the existence of the human race. Then the newspaper dropped from his hands to the floor and he ran theories through his head. What was this? A virtual reality hallucination? Brainwashing? An alternate reality? A dream brought on by those jalepeno peppers he ate last night? In a daze, he noticed that there were eighty-seven messages on his answering machine. He pressed the play button and flopped down on a couch. He heard messages from all the major news outlets demanding an exclusive interview with him. George W. Bush and Albert Gore wanted him to join their campaign while their campaign managers begged him to replace the candidates. Publishers were offering ten-digit advances for his memoirs and all of Hollywood wanted to film his life. Speaking of Hollywood, Michelle Pfeiffer, Julianne Moore and Angelina Jolie wanted to have his baby. ("I can't take life with David anymore," Pfeiffer moaned. "He keeps wanting me to get a lesbian lover." She paused, then said in a husky voice, "Of course, if you want me to do that, Fox...") He also heard a message from a psychiatrist telling him "we've had a real breakthrough with your mother." Samantha called up to ask if they were still on for dinner tonight. Bill Scully left a long, drunk, tearful message, begging for Mulder's forgiveness. Maybe I am being brainwashed, Mulder thought. But I could play around with it for awhile. When he arrived at the FBI Headquarters (and that took awhile, what with all the people stopping him and pleading for his autograph), he discovered that he no longer worked in the basement. Instead, the X-Files division took up a big, hefty chunk of the top floor. To get to his personal office, he had to walk past an area full of people hard at work at their desks. Every one of them gave him a cheery "Good morning, Mister Mulder" as they returned to their research into ghosts and psychic phenomenon. For some reason, the "Saturday Night Fever" soundtrack was playing on speakers. The sound of "You can tell by the way I use my walk..." went well with Mulder's strut. In his office, Mulder plopped himself behind his beautiful oak desk. His personal secretary (a tall, leggy blonde who kept batting her eyelashes at him) gave him his schedule for today. It included lunch with the President and his weekly appointment to beat the hell out of Krycek. "Cancel it!" Mulder declared. "I just feel like...sitting here today." "Whatever you say, sir," the secretary said, batting her eyelashes one more time before leaving. Mulder leaned back in his leather chair, placed his hands behind his head and just grinned up at the ceiling. There was a knocking at the door. "Enter!" he called out. Dana Scully walked in. She had a smile on her face big enough to match his own smile. "Scully! What brings you here?" "You're looking rather happy," she commented as she closed the door. "Why not? I'm the luckiest person in the whole wide world." "Well, you're a hero, Mulder. You're admired by all and -- what's more -- you were right about everything." "Damn right. Of course, you're looking pretty cheerful yourself." Scully looked down at the floor for a moment in a bashful gesture. Then she lifted her head and said, "I've met someone." The smile remained fixed on Mulder's face, but he couldn't feel it. "What?" "His name is Steve. He's from accounting." She clapped her hands together like a schoolgirl and bounced on her heels. "Oh, Mulder, he's so wonderful! I wanted you to be the first to know!" "Uh...thanks. So, what does this guy look like?" Scully pulled a photo out of her wallet. She handed it to Mulder. He accepted it like a sharp blade. He looked at it. The man had the biggest nose he had ever seen. My God, it was practically 3-D in the photo. "He looks...very nice," Mulder commented, forcing his lips to remain upward. Scully gave Mulder an indulgent smile and took back the photo. "Oh, I know he doesn't have your good looks, Mulder, but he has...such character." "I'm...I'm..." Mulder coughed. "I'm very happy. For you both." "Oh, thank you, Mulder," Scully cooed, pressing the photo against her chest. "That means so much to me! Well, I better leave you now! You're a very busy man!" "Yes, I'm...I'm a..." Scully opened the door, danced out of the office and closed the door behind her. "...very busy man." The smile vanished to regions unknown and Mulder sank down in his chair. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX "Jiminy Christmas!" Scully stared at herself in the mirror. When she had walked into the bathroom, she had a funny sensation in her legs. Then she realized the problem -- she had a greater quantity of leg than usual. Overnight, she had grown six inches. She no longer had that short, compact body described by her mother as "a comfortable fit for any lucky boy" in an attempt as an assurance. Now, she was meant to be strutting down Paris walkways as flashbulbs exploded around her. More inexplicable yet enthralling strangeness had occurred while she had slept. A newspaper informed her that an "INTERNATIONAL UFO HOAX" had been "EXPOSED" by a brave, resourceful and very under-appreciated FBI agent. There was a photo of a scowling Cigarette-Smoking Man in handcuffs along with a man in a alien costume without a head. Her answering machine was full of offers and conjolences from reporters, publishers, Hollywood studios and politcial office-seekers as well as from Denzel Washington, George Clooney and Brad Pitt. ("I can't believe that I'm dating an actress from 'Friends!'" Pitt moaned. "I need a woman with some grey matter in her skull!") Bill Scully had also called, drunk as a frat-boy and remorseful for ever interfering in her life. Scully searched for the rational and scientifically manageable in this weirdness. (Dammit, I knew that I shouldn't have had Mexican with Mulder last night!) Her attempts to find explanations were dismissed, however, when she looked down at those long, shapely legs of hers. She was a little late getting into work. Not only did she stop to bless others with her presence, but she bought herself a new pair of shoes. This was not her usual high-heeled "(expletive deleted) me" apparel. This pair was short-heeled and told every man in the vicinity "Get down and lick my toes." She strode on her long legs and short heels through the Offices for Scientific Rationalism, soaking in the sounds of "Good morning, Agent Scully!" and "R-E-S-P-E-C-T" on the speakers. Her personal secretary -- a tall, blue-eyed man who kept flexing his large biceps at her -- gave her today's schedule. Lunch with the President at twelve-thirty, beating up Diana Fowley at two o'clock... "Cancel it all!" "Yes, ma'am," the secretary told Scully, bunching his arm one more time before leaving her alone in her office. She was given a minute to consider her good fortune when a person knocked on her door. It was Mulder and he looked as happy as she felt. "Mulder! Welcome to my life!" "You're looking very cheerful," he told her. "Why not? I'm the luckiest person in the whole world! No! The whole universe!" "Well, you're a hero, Scully. You're admired by all and -- I manfully concede this -- you've been right about everything." "Darn tootin'. Of course, you're looking sunshiney yourself." Mulder looked away with an "aw-shucks" expression. Then he looked back at Scully and said, "I've met someone." "I...beg your pardon? "Her name is Sarah. She's from accounting." Mulder hugged himself. "Scully, she's all I ever looked for in life. I wanted you to be the first to know." "Uh...much obliged. So, what does she look like?" Mulder got out a photo. Scully took it from his hand as if it might explode. She looked at it. Holy smokes, the woman was a midget. How did the camera even find her? "She's...uh...she's very nice." Mulder gave Scully an indulgent smile as he took his photo back. "I know she doesn't have your statuesque figure, but she's...she's a comfortable fit." "I'm...uh..." Scully coughed. "I'm very happy for both of you." Mulder winked at Scully and mimed shooting her with his finger. "That's great. You know, you're like a sister to me, Scully." "Hah." "Well, I better go. I know how busy you are, alleviating the scientific ignorance of a nation." "Yes, I'm...I'm..." Mulder went out the door. "...so very busy." Scully beat her forehead against the desk. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Both Mulder and Scully were late coming into work, a fact over which they both got chewed out by Skinner. "It was those damn jalepeno peppers," Scully complained. "Why did I ever let you talk me into eating them?" "Look, Scully, I had the same long run on the toilet myself, okay?" Scully gave him a mean look. He gave one back. They sat in the musty basement office, deliberately silent to each other. They went through their mail. Scully had received an invitation to attend a party for the twentieth of her fellow Quantico graduates to receive a major promotion. She had also gotten another love letter from that short, creepy Steve in accounting as well as a letter from Bill Scully who was coming up to D.C. and promising to explain everything that was wrong with her life. Mulder found several letters from the major Presidential campaigns explaining that the candidates did not give a fart in the wind for the issue of "alien abductions" and telling the FBI agent to "quit bothering them and get a life." He had also gotten a bill for his usage of adult cable channels as well as a warning from Scully's brother that he was coming to D.C. and "if I see your big-nosed face, I will impale you on the Washington monument." After they got through their mail, they sat with slumped posture in their chairs, not looking at each other. Finally, Mulder said, "Have any interesting dreams?" Scully turned to him and said, "What?" "Did you have any interesting dreams?" "Why...why are you asking me that?" Mulder shrugged. "Just asking." Scully thought about it, then said, "Yeah, I had an interesting dream." "A happy one?" "You know...I'm not sure. Everything about it was good except...for this one thing that ruined it." "Funny. I had a dream just like that." They looked at each other. For a long, long time. Finally -- "Scully..." "Mulder..." The door was locked. And they both got very lucky. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX