From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: Mon,  8 Sep 2008 16:15:15 -0500 (CDT)
Subject: Waiting for Scully by chalcedony.1
Source: direct

Reply To: chalcedony.1@hotmail.com




Title: Waiting for Scully

Spoilers: Hollywood A.D.

Category: Humor

Notes: Thanks to Jaimelyn and DashaKfor feedback and 
suggestions.  


Mulder sat across from Skinner's Hollywood buddy, Wayne 
Federman. Federman's flashlight was lost somewhere deep in 
the crypt, held in the dusty phalanges of a dancing 
skeleton. In the diner, where he and Mulder now sat waiting 
for Scully, he continued to marvel at this fact to an 
anonymous tinny voice coming from the other end of his cell 
phone.  Mulder wondered if he'd ever met someone more 
annoying.    

"Yeah, I'm telling you it was real.  If I hadn't seen it 
with my own eyes...what? No...it's in a crypt--a real crypt 
underneath a real church...I'm positive, but wait." He put 
his hand over the phone and confirmed with Mulder, "That 
was a real church."  

Mulder nodded.  

"They have masses and whatnot."

Mulder nodded again.  

He turned back to his phone. "Yeah, that's what he 
said....Hello?...Hello?" He looked at his cell phone.  "It's 
dead."  He sighed and put the phone in his pocket, "Oh 
well."  

There was an awkward silence as Federman sat there looking 
at Mulder expectantly.  

Mulder smiled awkwardly and cleared his throat.  "So, 
Skinman, that's what you call him? When did that happen?"

"Oh man, when was it?" Federman took a sip of his juice and 
made a sour face.  "Feels like I've been calling him that 
forever, but it was...you know I think it was his bachelor 
party.  Hey, do you mind?"  Federman reached for his coffee 
before Mulder could object. 

This was news.  "Skinner had a bachelor party?" 

Federman swigged the coffee, wincing.  "Ow! That's hot! 
Yeah, it was a trip to--must've been almost ten years ago--
a trip to Wyoming.  Possibly the most boring bachelor party 
in the history of bachelor parties.  Skinner wanted to go 
fly-fishing, but he was the only one of the group who knew 
how the heck to do the casting." 

Mulder tried to picture Skinner in gaiters and a fishing 
hat. He watched Federman blowing on his coffee and thought 
he might ask the waitress for a Coke.   

"Anyway, the rest of us drank way too much beer and got 
sunburned.  The lodge was out in the middle of nowhere--the 
Grand Tetons--but there were no Tetons anywhere near, if 
you know what I mean."

Mulder laughed sympathetically. 

"The TV. in the lodge had one channel, so we were stuck 
watching it--five guys and a couple of cases of beer.   
Saturday Night Live was on with Rob Schnieder.  Ever seen 
the one with the photocopy machine?" 

He deadpanned and shrugged his shoulders like he didn't 
know what Federman meant. 

"So, the rest of the trip it was the name game. Skinner, 
the Skinster, Skinmaaaaaan!"

Mulder shook his head. "Sounds like good times." 

"Skinner was awful at it," he laughed.  "He's all 
'Federman, the Fedinator, the Federal Bureau of Wayne 
Federman.'" 

He checked his cell phone to see if he'd missed a call from 
Scully.  

"Wayne. The Waynester.  The Wayne Gutter."

"Yeah, OK. I get the picture."

"Dude, can I just say, we were so bored.  But 'Skinman,' 
yeah--I guess the name just stuck."

Mulder looked at his watch and then leaned back and gazed 
out the window of the diner, hoping for salvation in the 
form of Scully's car.  

Federman tore open three packets of sugar simultaneously 
and poured them into Mulder's coffee. 

"So no nicknames for you? Just Mulder?" 

"Just Mulder."

He nodded and rubbed his chin, "It's a tough one. 
Mulder...Mulder...Muldman."

"No please," Mulder interjected.  "I don't need--"

"Mulder the Boulder."

"No, that's not even--"

"Mulder Shmulder."

"No."

"Muldalay-hee-hoo."

"Stop!"

"OK. Sorry." Federman put his hands up.  "Don't shoot me." 

Mulder looked around hoping to catch the eye of a waitress 
so he could order another drink.

"Where is Scully?" Federman asked.

"She didn't say.  I thought she'd be here by now." 

Federman sighed and started slapping his palms on the table 
like it was a set of bongo drums.  "You two have a thing 
going on?" 

Mulder just looked at him, but he couldn't hold the look. 
He got the panic face.  Things had been going pretty well 
for a couple of months, and he had it bad for her.  He was 
happy, so happy that it made him anxious sometimes.
 
Federman laughed, "Ha! I knew it." He pointed his finger at 
Mulder.  "She is hot, man.  Congratulations.  That is one 
hot federal agent. Whoo!" 
 
Mulder regained his composure, "I don't know what you're 
talking about.  I admit nothing.  She's my partner. We work 
together.  It's a professional--"

"Scully, scully, fee, fi, fo fully, mee, my, mo, mully, 
Scully."

"Please don't do that," he requested, but it was too late.  
The words were a contagion. Like a childhood virus caught 
in a stuffy classroom on a rainy afternoon, they were 
replicating through his brain.  He was infected, and the 
disease would have to run its course.

"Don't worry, man.  You're secret's safe with me.  No 
worries." 

Just then, Mulder spotted Scully through the diner window.   
She was walking across the parking lot, wind in her hair, 
jacket billowing.  She pulled her sunglasses off as she 
walked and squinted at the light.

Federman followed his eyes.  "The Scullinator is here," he 
said.  He beat another ditty on the Formica tabletop, 
"Scull-ama-rama-mama."  

The bells on the diner door jingled as she pushed it open 
and walked in.  

Mulder looked at him with a straight face and said, 
"Sculling-a-ling ding dong."

Federman smiled and slid out of the booth pointing two 
fingers back and forth between his eyes and Mulder's, "No 
worries man, I got your back."  His face took on an 
uncomfortable, worried look as Scully strode up. 

"Sorry I'm late," she said slightly breathless, "Skinner 
had a lot of paperwork for me to catch up on."  She blew an 
errant strand of hair up, but it landed back in the same 
spot.  

"Great to see you," Federman smiled awkwardly.  "I've had 
waaay too much to drink.  If you'll excuse me, I've got to 
find the john." He looked queasy.  "I hate using public 
restrooms."  

Scully pulled back and looked at him sideways without 
exactly making eye contact.  

Mulder smiled weakly and pointed. "I think it's that way."  
Federman exited, stage right. 

"So..." she said quirking the eyebrow. 

He crossed his eyes and put his hands up to his head in 
what looked like an imitation of Munch's "The Scream." 

Scully smiled, quicker than a blink, shrugged out of her 
jacket and slid into the booth across from him

Mulder exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for the 
past half hour.  "Scully."  

"Mulder." Their eyes locked and they held each other's gaze 
for a moment.  

He was struck by the thought that he wanted to consume her 
by the mouthful, like coconut cream pie. His slight smile 
widened into a full grin, and he inexplicably burst out 
with machine-gun-like precision, "Scully, The Scullinator, 
Scullam-a-rama mama, Sculling-a-ling ding dong."  

It did the trick--she smiled again, rather reluctantly, and 
shook her head.  She reached across the table and felt his 
forehead with the back of her hand, "No fever." 

Just then the waitress came up, looking like Flo from Mel's 
Diner, popping her gum and pulling a pencil from behind her 
ear, "So, you guys OK? Can I get you something?"

Scully looked up, "I'll have a coffee, thanks."

Mulder made some weird hand motion which the waitress took 
to indicate that he was fine, and she left. 

He couldn't help himself.  "Numbscull, Numbscullnikov, 
Scully Petreyovich Numbscullinovsky." 

"Been reading Tolstoy?  Who are you and what have you done 
with Mulder?"  she asked.  She thought about stabbing him 
in the back of the neck with an ice pick to see if he bled 
green blood.  If nothing else, it would shut him up. 

He knew he should stop, but the compulsion was 
overwhelming.  "Scull-bob a-loo-bop a wop-bam-boo."

Scully slumped back in the booth, idly twisting her napkin, 
and in her most mumbling and inaudible voice muttered, 
"Mulder, seriously, if you don't stop now, there's not 
gonna be any Tutti Frutti for you or your little Richard."

It took him a minute to translate what she'd said, "Oh--
Tutti Frutti?" he asked meaningfully.  She looked up at him 
and her eyes held a mischievous glint usually reserved for 
stealing crime scene evidence and tampering with Federal 
property. He could almost feel the virus leaving his body.  
"Well, why didn't you say so?"

__________________________

Notes: Author makes no claims to originality, intelligence 
or taste.  Parts of this story may actually be better (and 
when I say better, I mean really, really bad) when read 
aloud.  I like to think of it as performance art. Just make 
sure it's in a place where no one else can hear you. 

I thought about doing Mulder and Scully as Frankie and 
Willie. So little time, so many ways to waste it....

Scully:  You know the other day I was uh...
Mulder: ...dragged aboard an alien spacecraft, stripped naked 
and cryogenically frozen?
Scully: Yeah, that's right. 
Mulder: I hate it when that happens. 
Scully: Me too. Especially when they...
Mulder: Shove plastic tubing down your throat and into your 
lungs.
Scully: Exactly, I mean, talk about pain.
Mulder: That really smarts. 

Feedback: chalcedony.1@hotmail.com