Title: "Waitlisted" Author: Fox's Gal Category: Vignette, Humor Spoilers: None Summary: Mulder's thoughts on a flight... Archive: Sure, I'm shameless. Just let me know so I can visit. Feedback: PLEASE! foxs_gal@hotmail.com Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. They are not my creations. I had no part in creating them. I know that none of this is news to you...I'm just doing this so I don't get sued. Not that they'd actually GET anything out of me. But, just for sanity's sake, here's the spiel: Fox Mulder and Dana Scully are solely the creations of Chris Carter. They belong to CC, 1013 Productions and Fox. Yadda, yadda, yadda... Author's Notes: This really, honestly and truly happened. The character might be fictional, but the events recorded herein are too true for my comfort. "Waitlisted" I'm never flying wait listed again. Okay, I should be a veteran here with as much traveling as Scully and I do, right? Right. So when our latest case up to Massachusetts consisted of 5 hours sitting in the Atlanta airport waiting for a connecting flight, was I upset? Frustrated? No. Why? Because I'm a professional. We had our laptops and various other diversions. The most our delayed flight did was make me wonder: "Is it this hard to get a direct flight these days?" I mean, I would think that Dulles to Logan would be a straight shot. But due to the nature of our jobs, last minute air arrangements are made and we find ourselves at the mercy of the airlines. So there. I've acknowledged, accepted and I've moved on. So there we are in Massachusetts, up by the Cape actually, investigating mysterious deaths of tourists. Exsanguinated. No puncture wounds. Yeah, I know. But she STILL insisted there was a scientific explanation. Sure. Fine. Whatever. Actually, it was a parasite unlike any I had ever seen. Mutated, I think, and passed via intimate contact. So anyway, we've got a sample of this little monster (it might have been a scientific explanation but it was unlike anything she had ever seen either.) And boom, we get to go home a day early for once. Well, the flights were booked and our options were limited, at best. Either fly waitlisted or wait another day. We argued. I know, big surprise. She wanted to go. I'll never understand why. She's got as much to go home to as I do. I wanted to stay. I said it would be a good chance to work on our report, yadda, yadda, yadda. Was I going to admit that I wouldn't mind a little extra time to knock around? An extra night to just relax? No. Why? Because I'm a dumbass. Guess who won? Damn, you're good. Well, the moment of truth came and the wait listed passengers names started getting called. They call them in alphabetical order, so I waited. Ain't no way I was getting on the plane sans Scully. Thankfully, (or so I thought) we both got on the flight. We get our seat assignments and guess what? The ever- enigmatic Dana Scully got a seat in first class. I'd love to know how she managed that. Probably that little trick she does with those big baby blues of hers...or maybe it was a feminine flip of the hair this time...So, I mosey to the ass end of the plane. No aisle or window seat for me. No sir. Nothing but the best for Fox Mulder, right? Middle section of the plane. Middle seat. Smack dab in the middle. In between a pair of religious zealots and a 3-year-old traveling with his mother. So there I was, cramming my too long limbs into this seat, my carry-on shoved under the seat in front of me. To be honest, I was afraid that the church goin' folks to my right were going to try and help me find religion. I wasn't in a particularly confrontational mood so I hoped they'd just not talk to me. Come to find out I was concerned about the wrong set of travel mates. I like kids about as much as the next guy. And he was a cute kid. For about the first five minutes. I found out something about 3 year olds. They all have this underdeveloped chromosome that takes years to come to full maturity. It's the chromosome that allows them to firmly attach their asses to a seat. This child (whose name, I deduced, was Ian simply from the number of times his mother said, "Ian, sit down.") stood, kneeled, crawled, and explored his and his mother's seats. Sometimes he wanted to lie down across the seat (I have tiny sneaker prints on my pants to prove this) and sometimes he'd want to sit on his mother's lap. He also thought it was great fun to drop his toys on the floor. Oh, and lest I forget: with his 3-year-old sized carton of milk on the collapsible tray, he tried to put said tray back into its upright position. Milk has a very funny odor when it dries on dress slacks. Did you know that? Did I mention that during this two-hour visit to purgatory that his mother put down not one, not two, not three, but four beers? No wonder she didn't seem to mind. She was tanked. I was jealous. Had I been able to get to my wallet, I would have happily joined her. By this point, I'm watching the clock. A half-hour till we land. 20 minutes. 15 minutes. Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, the PA system came on. I cringed at the message the overly chipper, tinny voice had to share: Due to severe thunderstorms in the DC area, our landing will be delayed a half an hour. I seriously considered taking my gun out and putting it in my mouth. I might have if I could have actually gotten to it. I was jammed into my seat so tightly, I couldn't get to my seat cushion if I needed to use it as a floatation device. I think Scully knew that I wasn't In the best of moods. It's this 6th sense of hers. She actually volunteered to drive me home. That was nice of her since she drove me to the airport...but I wouldn't have wanted to spend any extra time with myself if I could have helped it. I would have made my ass take a cab. And do you know what she asked me? I've just lived through the longest 2 and a-half-hours of my life and what do you think my partner asked me? Not "How was your flight?" Not "Did you catch the in flight movie?" Oh no. What do you think my thoughtful, considerate partner of nearly six years asked me in the car? "What's that smell?" Milk might do a body good, but it stinks on cotton/wool blend pants.