From spooky42@juno.com Sat May 24 02:33:27 1997 Subject: *NEW* "WHAT Potatoes?" (1/2) From: spooky42@juno.com -------- =x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x= "WHAT Potatoes?" written by GreenFish post date: 24th May 1997 =x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x= AUTHOR IS JABBERING: Yes, I am. Hey-- guess what?? It's yet *another* "Small Potatoes" farce... but not quite what you're thinking! In the words (but not in the arms, unfortunately) of Han Solo, "Hey-- it's me." Read on... I dare 'ya. =x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x= DISCLAIMER: Chris Carter owns Mulder and Scully. Except here. You'll soon see. DISTRIBUTE: Anywhere RATING: PG-13 (strong language) CONTENT/SPOILER: Obviously, a "Small Potatoes" spoiler. If you haven't figured that out yet... well, forget it. I just won't say anything... Also a quick "Elegy" spoiler, but nothing that'll really ruin your viewing. Don't expect the *usual* X-Files fanfic content in this one, okay? Oh-- and major bashing of "Millennium" and John Shiban writing... if you can't stand that, don't read, okay? One more thing-- please check out my post note...! ARCHIVE: S; H SUMMARY: A slight uproar occurs on Studio X (Lot 1013) after the airing of "Small Potatoes"... DEDICATED TO: Vince "I'm no Small Potato" Gilligan... the coolest XF writer in my book... =x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x= THINGS YOU NEED TO KNOW: before you read this story. "SMALL POTATOES" credits (on a need-to-know basis) WRITTEN BY Vince Gilligan EXEC. PRODUCERS R. W. Goodwin and Howard Gordon PRODUCER Kim Manners CO-PRODUCERS Vince Gilligan and Paul Rabwin "ELEGY" credits (also on need-to-know) WRITTEN BY John Shiban DIRECTED BY James Charleston EXEC. PRODUCERS R. W. Goodwin and Howard Gordon PRODUCER Kim Manners CO-PRODUCER Vince Gilligan =x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x= QUICK INTERLUDE: If you don't understand the IRC chat session, please check the end notes... oh, and enjoy the story, for God's sakes! =x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x=x= "WHAT Potatoes?" (part 1/2) -Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada; 10:14 a.m.- Chris Carter was sitting in his cushy office chair, the graying boyish haircut poofed up atop his head from the little sleep he had gotten the night before. He had spent the entire day arguing with FOX executives that 'Millennium' really *didn't* suck, and that there were actually people out there who watched it. "Look-- Rupert-- I know, and you know, that *our* baby-- even the *X-Files,* didn't do well in its first season... you guys had better hopes for Frisco Bounty, Jr... or whatever the hell that thing was--" "That's *Mr. Murdoch* to you--" the Mega Mogul bristled. "Yeah, whatever," he replied. "Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is that it takes people a while to warm up to the concept... give it another season, maybe a few magazine covers--" "Carter-- this was the most anticipated new show of our entire line- up this fall season! And ratings have only steadily *decreased* as it's gone along..." "So we lost a few people..." "Chris! Your show isn't even in the top fifty! I mean, true... it's not doing bad for a FOX show, but people expect more from the creator of the *X-Files*..." "I've put my heart and soul into it--" he protested. "What? Your charred soul?" another exec cut in. "Your character's name is Frank Black. He is *never* happy. Your plot lines are all about death and the end of the world--" "Hence, the title--?" Chris Carter said, raising an eyebrow. "But *all* the time, *every* episode?" the exec said. "People like Gothic," Carter replied. "It's the trend, now, especially considering the fact that the millennium actually *is* approaching, it makes it a very timely subject..." "But, still--" And after that entire afternoon of arguing, they still hadn't gotten anywhere, and he was still left with his sophomore effort--his pride and joy-- on the brinks of cancellation, and flagging in the wind. Carter sighed, and popped the tape in the VCR. At least he could still count on his X-Files crew to produce the show all right, he thought. He pressed play. Carter had left the most recent episode "Small Potatoes" up to Howard Gordon and R. W. Goodwin to take the executive producer credits. Of course, Chris, himself automatically had the credit, but he didn't have any working effort in this one. "Pleasantly surprise me," he had said to Gordon, just before heading off down the street to the set of 'Millennium.' Despite all the week's work there, however, it didn't appear to be paying off... Setting his mind back to the episode he was about to watch, he knew that Vince had written the episode. And even though the guy could be a little-- although Chris hated to use an Internet term-- 'shippy-- at times, he was a quality writer. Chris had liked the lines of 'Paper Hearts,' and was expecting another one like that... "Oh no... not again," the doctor on the TV said, holding up a screaming newborn. It had a *tail.* That must have been Gordon's idea, Carter thought. Just then, the title sequence came up. He watched it through, just to make sure they hadn't messed with the tag line, or anything... Goodwin might have done that to screw with his head, he thought. Luckily... all looked in order so far. =x=x=x=x=x= -Meanwhile... in IRC#xf-romantics chat session- *MulderLuv has joined channel #xf-romantics *users on # xf-romantics @DanaBabeG-WomanVinceTripleX *TripleX had changed the topic on #xf-romantics to Hey, MulderLuv! Where've 'ya been? TripleX> What's up, bud? MulderLuv> I was watching this week's... DanaBabe> What'cha up to? Numbers, pleeze! G-woman> What'dya think? MulderLuv> What? Wait... not too fast... 1) seen it 10 times... 2) liked it! Vince> Was the writing good? G-woman> MULDER AND SCULLY (ALMOST) KISSED!!!!!!!! MulderLuv> Wasn't the REAL Mulder, G-woman... MulderLuv> Yeah, the writing was good. ***G-woman sighs anyway. ***TripleX joins in. DanaBabe> I wish Vince Gilligan would write more scripts ***MulderLuv scowls MulderLuv> Yeah-- but make sure that it's the REAL M&S this time!! >: ) G-woman> like that smile, MulderLuv Vince> Too bad that's never gonna happen... DanaBabe> HUH??? MulderLuv> I think it will!!!!!! Vince> I mean, you know-- the Big Cheese... ***Vince trails off G-Woman> Damn that CC! Sometimes I think he wants to curse us all...... ***TripleX grins ***DanaBabe cheers loudly DanaBabe> Kudos, G-woman! TripleX> I totally agree... hey, Vince-- have you been on here much? TripleX> Vince, you there? Vince> Yeah, I'm here DanaBabe> Have you been around IRC at all? TripleX> Well? Vince> No, I don't get on too much --->*TripleX* I'm going to do a /who on Vince... what d'you think, DanaBabe? >/msg TripleX Yeah... do the /who. I'm curious. TripleX: /who Vince #xf-romantics VGilligan@fox_net.com.ca --->*DanaBabe* What'd you get? >/msg DanaBabe You're not gonna believe this... *user Vince has left the room G-woman> Hey are you guys there? MulderLuv> I'm here DanaBabe> yeah, sorry... hold on --->*DanaBabe* What??? >/msg DanaBabe his addy is VGilligan@fox_net.com.ca --->*DanaBabe* no way... too obvious! >/msg DanaBabe could be...!!!! MulderLuv> DanaBabe? TripleX?? DanaBabe> here!!!! G-woman> you sure about that? Do you guys need to get a room? MulderLuv> LOL, G-woman! TripleX> I don't think so... MulderLuv> We think you scared Vince off. ***Triple X starts laughing hysterically G-woman> what's up, TripleX? ***Triple X continues laughing TripleX> DanaBabe? DanaBabe> It's your call, buddy! MulderLuv> Someone wanna enlighten us sometime this century??? TripleX> We did a /who on Vince, right before he left... =x=x=x=x=x= -Back at the office of Chris Carter, Vancouver, 11:02 a.m.- "No, no... I didn't say he was an alien... I said he was from another planet! His name is Luke Skywalker. He's what's known as a Jedi Knight..." Carter sat forward in his chair. This was getting weird. Mental note: Chris thought. No more *yaje* allowed on the set... or to any of the writers, for that matter... =x=x=x=x=x= -Trailer of David Duchovny, 11:12 a.m.- David Duchovny sunk down into his leather chair, turning the page of the book of essays he was reading. 'It was the lot of the Nietzschean generation to experience a disappointment compared to which the disillusionment of the Napoleonic generation seems mild. Raised on Marx and Nietzsche, it witnessed both the caricature of Nietzsche's ideas in the Hitlerian state, and the falsification--' He was interrupted by a knock at the door to his trailer. "Who is it?" he called out in a feminine voice. "Chris Carter," a husky voice replied. David swung the door open with a grin. "Gillian," he said to his short, red-headed co-star. "You gotta stop doing that. One of these days, I'll open the door, and it *will* be him." Gillian laughed loudly, and let herself in. "You know when you ask that, Chris always answers, 'Kolchak,' anyhow. So just remember that I'm Chris, and Chris is Kolchak, and--" "Gill-- I can only handle so much this time of the morning." "It's eleven 'o clock, David." "Exactly," he deadpanned. Gillian didn't reply, but glanced around his trailer. It was neat to the point of absurdity. Her trailer, on the other hand, where her two year-old daughter Piper was taking a nap under the supervision of her nanny-- was an absolute pigsty. Clothes everywhere, toys everywhere... dishes in the small sink from Piper's--and her own-- need to eat something every ten minutes. "So," she finally said. "So," he replied, mirroring her. "Are you mocking me?" she asked suddenly. David gave her an innocent look that would have melted a crowd of female fans in under five seconds. Gillian didn't budge. "Damn it, Duchovny!" "All right, all right," he said, truly apologetic this time. At least, it sounded like he was. It was too hard to tell with that man! "So," he said. She gave him a warning look. "I didn't mean anything by that!" he protested. "Do you want something to drink?" Gillian lifted a brow. "Do you have anything other than that health- food store cesspool-in-a-can that you usually drink?" This time, David was the one to send her the look, but his tone was lighter in reply. "You trying to tell me something, Anderson?" She advanced the few feet to face him, and even after standing on her tip-toes, and raising her head up to him, the height difference made it ridiculous. "Maybe I am," she replied, her now-blue eyes flashing. "Oh, sit down, Gillian. I'll grab you a root beer." A few minutes later, they were each settled in chairs opposite one another, Gillian with her can of root beer, and David with his tomato-zucchini 'cesspool-in-a-can,' as Gillian had so eloquently put it. David cleared his throat. "So why *are* you here?" It wasn't often that she came over for any old reason. She had Piper to deal with, and besides... in a social context, the two were living in different worlds. Despite the fact that he and his co-star were already as different as night and day, the fact of the matter remained that Gillian was a mother. And if she wasn't thinking about work, she was watching her daughter. This had to be about work, he thought. "I was wondering if you'd gone over the lines for the scene we were supposed to be filming today." "Last night, why?" "Did you see page 35... that part about--" "Yeah," David replied, already knowing exactly what she was referring to. "So?" David shrugged. "Not much we can go.. this is a John Shiban episode. It's already destined to fail, anyhow..." "David," Gillian said. "How can you..." Her voice trailed off. Images of furry cat puppets ran through her head... "One word, Anderson: Goatsucker." "Isn't that two words?" "Whatever," he said. "I think that's one of those things that you can use up to your discretion, but because you're referring to it as..." This time, he trailed off. "Oh, never mind. I just wish that Vince was writing this one." "You're right... I never had so much fun as I did on that episode we filmed a couple back..." "Well, that's because Chris was gone for that shoot," David mumbled across to her. "You'd better hope this place isn't bugged, David..." "If that were true, I would have been fired a long time ago, Gillian." =x=x=x=x=x= -Office of Chris Carter, 11:21 a.m.- As David's character headed into a room, Chris watched as the ass of a-- Hey, he thought. That ass looked very familiar-- "Excuse me, sir... I'm an agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation-- can I just ask you a few questions...?" Oh Lord, Carter thought. It =was= Darin Morgan. Glen's mentally mutated half. What was *he* doing in this episode? He hadn't acted since playing the Flukeman back in early second season... and no one could =see= him then... For the third time that day, he cursed the fact that he hadn't looked at the script, nor paid attention to the credits beforehand. It was his fault... Chris sighed. It looked interesting enough so far, at least-- "Scully! Check it out!" "That's him?" he heard another woman say over the television. Chris found himself chuckling lightly. =x=x=x=x=x= -Meanwhile, at Studio X, (Lot 1013), Vancouver, 11:32 a.m.- Co-producer Paul Rabwin heard a squawk come over his hand- held transceiver that the crew had to keep on their person at all times on the set. "Rabwin-- you little shit! You there?" He picked up the little walkie-talkie, and pressed the transceiving button. "Manners-- what's up?" Kim Manners was the one of the producers for the latest episode that they were filming. "Where the fuck is Carter? He was supposed to be here by eight this morning!" "Maybe he didn't know," Rabwin suggested, and let up on the button again. "Fuck! Am I supposed to call him?" Rabwin shrugged, even though he knew Manners couldn't see him. After some thought, he said, "I don't know. Did he watch 'Small Potatoes' yet?" "I don't know," Manners relayed back. "He's gonna have a big uproar over that one, you guys." Rabwin suddenly recognized the voice of Howard Gordon, one of the Executive Producers, over the radio. "You know *I'm* the one who's gonna have my ass in the sling." "Yeah, you *and* Goodwin are really gonna be taking the shit," Manners laughed over the radio. "So where the hell is he?" Rabwin asked, looking around the main set, where they were supposed to be starting filming. They were wasting so much money, anyhow, just standing around waiting for him to show up, Rabwin thought. It worried him... "He said he was working on a final draft, yet," Frank Spotnitz, another co-producer cut in the line. "Great," Rabwin muttered. "The one day we are actually ahead of schedule, and *he* doesn't show." "I'll call him," Manners replied. "Man... I hope he didn't watch that episode first... *all* of our asses are gonna be up in slings after he sees that--" "Just call him, all right? I gotta find Charleston, 'cause he's directing this one-- God only knows where he went off to... and Dave and Gillian... oh my Lord...!" Rabwin howled, nearly dropping the radio. He ran off in the direction of their trailers. David had a fit every time they didn't start on time... =x=x=x=x=x= -Trailer of David Duchovny, 11:35 a.m.- "Oh my God... and then in twelfth grade, there was this girl named Darla..." Duchovny leaned forward in his seat, chuckling. "Was she your Prom sweetheart?" Anderson smiled. "Not quite... more like what you'd call a prom *nightmare*..." he replied. "I ended up ditching her for this cheerleader named Marci." "Marci?" Anderson asked, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, she was this pretty little thing... I remember her dress... it was lavender, real low cut..." "Her name was Marci?" Anderson repeated. "With an 'i,' or with a 'y'...?" "What does it matter?" he asked. "Just answer the question, Duchovny." "With an 'i.'" He looked at her as she raised an eyebrow, and nodded a bit. "What?" he said, frowning. "Do you think that the way a person's parents choose to spell their child's name affects their cognitive and behavioral development, and eventually, who they become later in life? Is that what you're suggesting?" Anderson didn't even blink. "Yes," she said. "Now, tell me, David..." she continued, bending down to lean more towards him. "Why did you ditch Darla for Marci in the first place?" There was a short pause, as Duchovny pondered whether or not to tell her. In the end, he thought, What was it going to matter if it came sooner rather than later? "Because I knew she'd put out," Duchovny replied. This time, Anderson was the one who paused. "You're not one to mince words, are you?" He shrugged. "Depends on the situation." Duchovny decided a quick subject change was in order if he was going to survive this little conversation. "So, what about you, Gillian?" he asked sweetly. "How many convenience stores did you burglarize on prom night?" Anderson tried not to make a face, but she couldn't help it. He was *always* making fun of her 'wild' teenage years. "None, thank you," she replied, resisting the urge to stick her tongue out at him. "But I'll bet you walked in drunk," he replied. "*So?*" she said. "I'll bet you had to get... 'Marci'... drunk to get her to actually do anything with you." "So?" Duchovny said. Anderson smiled. That was one of the few times that she had actually seen him unable to make a retort. Unbeknownst to his co-star, Duchovny actually *had* come up with the perfect flame. But just as he was about to throw it upon her, the door to his trailer suddenly burst open. He looked at Anderson, who then looked at the door to see a very frazzled-looking Paul Rabwin standing there. "Doesn't anyone knock anymore?" Duchovny said. He glanced at Anderson again. "Now I remember why I used to lock my trailer." "David--" Rabwin suddenly looked at Gillian Anderson, sitting by David on one of the chairs, a can of root beer in her hand. He thought: what was wrong with this picture? Suddenly, it occurred to him. Gillian and David *never* socialized anymore. They had a bit during first and second seasons, but by the time third had rolled around, they were all-consumed with their work. This season had only been a further compilation of that. It was most definitely odd to see them together in his trailer when they weren't working at the moment. "What are you two doing?" Anderson furrowed a brow, and looked at Duchovny, who glanced back at her. "We were... going over some lines..." she replied slowly. "Why? Are we supposed to be doing something else?" "Well," Rabwin sighed, stepping in. "We were *supposed* to be filming by eight this morning..." "Yeah," David broke in. "But no one called me, and I talked to my assistant, and she said she hadn't heard anything, either... so I just figured the filming was going on as the usual schedule." "*Maybe*--" Rabwin replied. "We haven't heard from Chris yet." "Chris didn't even call?" Duchovny asked. That was unusual, he thought. Chris Carter was a goddamn control freak. David was still shocked over the fact that he had left "Small Potatoes" up to them... without even a *glance* at the script.... "Has Chris seen 'Small Potatoes' yet?" he asked. Rabwin shot him a look. "God, I hope not. He'll be in such a mood, I'm sure..." "What are you going to tell him?" Anderson asked. She was just as worried as they all were. She had been the one who had suggested that Darin Morgan's character get Scully drunk in the first place. Carter would really be reeling over that one, she thought... Rabwin shrugged. "That it was all a drunken phone prank?" Anderson laughed aloud, Duchovny grinned. But it was all sort of in nervous action. Rabwin shook his head, continuing. "I don't really know..." "You know John Shiban wrote this newest one?" Anderson said, raising an eyebrow. Rabwin nodded. "He's the greatest guy, Gill-- just too obsessed with cultural folklore in his plotlines." "But possessed *cats?*" Duchovny asked. Rabwin tried not to smile. "That idea was not my call." "The puppets," Anderson said. "I will always hate puppets for the rest of my life..." "And goats, for that matter," David added. "C'mon," Rabwin said. "You have to admit, the West Side Story allusion was cool." "Only because I got to shout, 'Maaarrrriiiiia!'" Duchovny replied, imitating the dramatic tone he had used in the scene. "Yeah," Anderson replied. "And it wasn't in the original script, either." Rabwin didn't reply to that. "So?" Duchovny said. "What the hell's going on?" "Manners is calling Chris now." "Ooh," Duchovny replied. "Lucky duty." "We're just praying that he didn't see that other episode yet," Rabwin replied, and left the trailer. Duchovny and Anderson exchanged a glance. "Whatever," he said. Gillian twisted her lip. "So..." he continued on from earlier. "What *did* you do on your prom night?" Gillian sighed, taking a long swig of the root beer. "I guess I have to tell you, don't I?" =x=x=x=x=x= -Meanwhile, back at Chris Carter's office, 11:57 a.m.- "No, it wasn't the cops... it was the fire department... My friend Sylvia, and her idiot prom date--" "Berwood?" "--had built this campfire that went totally out of control, so we had to ride back on the, um... what do you call it? The, um... pumper truck." Chris Carter took a minute to pause the tape, and rewind it back a few frames. Had =his= character, Dr. Dana Scully, that he, himself had spent four seasons cultivating into a well-structured scientist, just say, 'pumper truck?' Chris played it again. "...Um... what do you call it? The, um... pumper truck." Oh God, he thought. That wasn't Scully... that was *Gillian,* for God's sakes! What the hell had they done to her? He emitted a loud sigh, and forced himself to keep watching it. Just then, the phone rang. He stopped the tape as Gillian was looking down into her glass of wine, smiling. "Yeah?" "Uh... Chris?" he heard a nervous voice come from the other end. It sounded like he was calling from a cel-phone. Sounded like Kim Manners, he thought. "Yeah?" "Uhm... the crew, and uh, I... um... we were wondering if you're coming to the set today. We were going start filming 4X20 early today, don't you remember?" "We were," he said. "Yeah?" "Well, I decided that we're going to hold off for about another half- hour," Carter said, his eyes going back and forth between his television, and the remote. "Half-hour?" Manners echoed, confused. "Yeah... I just have to get some things taken care of here, and then I'll be down." "Umm..." There was a long pause as Manners considered how he was going to ask Carter. Finally, he just said, "So, did you watch 'Small Potatoes' yet?" "I was just getting down to it, actually," Carter said. "I'm right near the end." Manners barely got out the next words. "So... what did you think of it so far?" Carter shrugged, even though he knew Manners couldn't see him. "It's been pretty good. A lot of strange writing-- are you sure that Gilligan hasn't been borrowing some of David's weed lately?" "David's we--?" Manners cut off, thinking. "Oh, no, no, no, no... we just... uhm... well, I don't know..." "Yeah, well, the idea to put Darin Morgan in there was perfect. I couldn't have imagined a role that would fit him better--!" Carter broke out into hysterical laughter at his own joke. Manners also attempted a little laugh, just to humor him. "So?" he said. "Uh... I'll be there in about a half-hour, okay? The sets are prepped, aren't they?" "For the most part," Manners said. "Well, get David and Gillian out of their trailers, and make sure they're both lucid, and showered. And make sure that Charleston is around, and that Gilligan isn't screwing with the script, okay?" "Yeah..." Manners mumbled. "Uhhh... you have looked at this week's script, haven't you?" "Who wrote it?" Carter asked. There was a pause. Manners didn't exactly reply. "What?" he asked. "Who wrote this one?" "Ummm... Shiban had control of this episode." Carter was silent for a few seconds himself. "All right," he finally said. "Tell the crew I'll be there in a few minutes. With red pen in hand-- so you make sure they're not too set on the script. You didn't build *all* the sets, did you?" Manners paused again. "Well... uhhh... Chris... you do realize that we have to have this episode filmed within a week." Chris sighed. "Give me another few minutes. This is almost over." Manners squeaked out a reply, and hung up. He picked up the phone again, and frantically started calling people. =x=x=x=x=x= Trailer of David Duchovny, 12:05 p.m. "So you really think that Chris would succumb to that, Gillian? I don't believe you!" "Why not?" "C'mon. You know and I know how he freaked out when we improvised that scene from 'Momento Mori.' He was ready to shit in those jeans of his!" "Still, though, David. I mean, if the time was right for the characters, and the situation worked all right, why not? I mean, even the hardest-core of them has to believe sometime." "I'm not saying there's anything wrong with it," Duchovny said, leaning forward, but I just don't think that Chris would ever allow it." "I don't know. I think he would..." "What do you think would happen, then, smarty-pants?" Gillian's eyes widened. "You're a dissertation away from an PhD in *Literature* and you call me names like *that?*" He shrugged. "So... Anderson. What d'you think would happen?" He patted his lap. "C'mon." She smiled, and jumped in, going into "actor" mode already. Lost was the Gillian Anderson who was giggling over a can of Mug rootbeer, and instead came the incarnation of Dana Scully... sort of. Gillian found herself wondering if her character would ever end up in the lap of Duchovny's character. Somehow, she doubted that... "First of all," she said, "I really don't think we would be in this position." Duchovny stood up, dropping Anderson to the floor as he did so. "Okay, then. So how *would* it go?" Wiping off her bottom, she stood up. "Well..." she said. I always imagined it happening somewhere where one of us has just been returned from one of our amazing Death Defying Experiences..." "So, you mean, like what we did in the second season finale?" "Yeah," she said. "All right," he replied, and picked her up. "You're going to be the dead one this time." "Why me?" she asked, her entire body hoisted in the air. "Ahhh-- David-- would you put me down? It's painful with you grabbing my ass this way! Ouch!" "Because... you're the one who's character was diagnosed with the fatal illness," he explained. Reaching the small bed in his trailer, he dropped her there. "Ow!" she exclaimed. "What? I dropped you on the bed!" he said, puzzled at her reaction. She sighed. "You don't realize-- oh, God. Forget it... let's just get on with this." "So?" he asked. "What happens next?" "Oh, now it's your turn to say." "Well, what if I don't think it's going to happen like this in the first place?" he asked. "I mean, I think Chris would just be embracing a typical cliche by having Scully almost die, and then have some cheesy romantic scene abound from it." "I didn't say it had to be cheesy, Duchovny. And I also did not say it had to relate to her illness." "But it probably would, right?" "Well," Anderson said. "She's got to stop denying it one of these... oh, damn it! Just get on with your stupid scene!" "My stupid--?" David stopped right there. This was getting nowhere, he realized, and it was just being juvenille, anyhow. "All right," he said, his voice softening. "I think Mulder will have just found out that Scully's finally recovering..." "Hmm?" she asked. "All right," David sighed. "Your character almost dies. But then, through Mulder's search for the Truth, he's able to come across some amazing technology, and presents it to her, and this occurs right after they figure out it's working." "*That's* when you think the climax of the series would be?" she asked incredulously. "Why not?" he asked, becoming defensive all of a sudden. "I think it would make sense. At least take the viewers out on a good note instead of a depressing one..." Gillian paused. "You know what? For once, Duchovny, you actually have a really good point there." "Thanks," he replied. "I think." "All right... so how would it go? You're the writer, aren't you?" "Yes, I am," he said. "Now..." Gillian saw his face change as he went into actor's mode, and leaned forward, across her. "Look serious!" he hissed, and she sobered her expression. David-- now as Mulder-- took her hand. "Scully... I... we've been through so much in all these years..." She nodded, looking at him. His eyes started to tear up. "And... if I had to say that-- you didn't mean anything to me, I'd be lying. Scully... you mean everything to me. And to see you dying; it-- it crushed me... I didn't know what I would ever have done without you there... I almost missed you challenging all my theories..." "*Almost?*" she smiled. "Well..." he shrugged. "Anyway, what I wanted to say, is that... with this new treatment... it's just, put a whole new perspective on the way that I've been seeing everything. I mean, Scully-- I'll admit, when I saw you about to kiss Eddie Van Blundht who looked like me-- you scared the shit out of--" "David," Gillian said, interrupting him. "You can't say 'shit' on television." "Gillian-- please," he said, feigning a pained expression. "I'm in the zone, here... you're ruining the moment." "Sorry," she said, and let him go on. He continued. "I didn't know what you were doing, I just--" he shook his head, the actor's tears falling down his cheeks freely now. Gillian, in Scully mode, took his cheek, stroking it softly. "Mulder-- I know... but I..." her voice trailed off. "Scully..." his words were cut off as he bent over across the bed, and touched his lips to hers. They imagined the passion of the two partners finally being consumated over the years into this one kiss. The moment was a most amazing work of acting, when-- "David, you're--" Kim Manners stopped short upon the sight of the two actors in the make-shift bedroom of David's trailer. They, in turn, looked over at Manners in the doorway, their mouths agape in horror. "It's not--" "Kim, we were just--" "You know..." Manners said, backing up a step. "Uhm... I really, I mean... I didn't want to intrude, and, uh, whatever you two want to do is, uh..." "No," Duchovny said, standing up. "This is not--" "--At all what it looks like," Anderson finished, jumping off the bed in a flourish. "No, really... I promise I won't say anything, because if you two wanted to, uhm... you know... I mean, it's your business, and--" "Kim!" Gillian shouted out. "David and I are not romantically involved. I know you don't believe me, but we got in this odd conversation about our characters..." "And how they might eventually consumate their relationship," Duchovny finished, feeling the blood rush up into his face. He couldn't believe this had happened. "Look," he said. "I'm already going out with someone, and Gillian and I would never..." He looked over at her, making a little face. "Right back at you, Duchovny," she said, sticking her tongue out at him. "Look," Manners said. "You don't have to--" "We're not!" they said, amazingly in unison. Gillian sighed. "Sorry for ever asking you that question, David," she mumbled to him, and started to leave. "Wait!" Manners said. "I'm supposed to tell you that I called Carter, and that he was ready to shit a brick.... he's just watching the end of 'Small Potatoes' as we speak, and he also just found out that John Shiban wrote this next one." "He didn't know that?" Anderson asked. "Obviously not," Manners replied. "Oh, damn it ...we're fucked, then," Duchovny replied, sinking down into his chair. Anderson left the trailer to get changed, and to get Piper up before they had to start filming. =x=x=x=x=x= Office of Chris Carter, 12:01 p.m. "Now I'm seeing a whole new side of you, Mulder." "Is that a good thing?" "I like it." Chris Carter stopped the tape for a moment, and stared at the screen. What the hell was that? 'I like it?' That wasn't right, he thought. That wasn't the Scully he knew... that wasn't... Chris glanced at his watch. Damn it, he had to finish this episode... He pressed play again. "Do you ever wish things were different?" "What do you mean?" "The person you wanted to be when you grew up when you were in high school? How far off of that did you end up?" "Career-wise? Miles off target." "Uh, uh... not just that... do you ever wish you could go back and do it differently?" "Do you?" Scully asked, and then... Carter leaned in further towards the television, even though he could very clearly see the action. Mulder had started to lean forward... and then, he got this really odd look on his face, Chris thought. The realization suddenly hit Carter. Van Blundht was going to *kiss* Scully, whom she thought was Mulder! "What the--?" he burst out, jumping up from his seat. He took a step closer to the television, squatting down in front of it. "Jesus," he mumbled to himself as he watched them edge closer, and closer, and then... The door suddenly burst in-- with the *real* Mulder... "Oh, my God!" Carter screamed out. He watched as Mulder stared at Scully, she looked at Mulder, and then at Van Blundht, who turned back into Darin Morgan's form once again. "Aauughh..." Carter grimaced, shutting off the VCR for good. That was just plain gross... and horribly degrading... what the hell had they done? Chris Carter decided he had seen enough. He shut off the television, and stormed out of his office, slamming the door on his way out. -Studio X, Lot 1013, 12:32 p.m.- Kim Manners yelled into his walkie-talkie. "Damn it, Rabwin! Where the fuck are Gillian and David?" "Gillian's right here, with the hairdressers... As for David..." Rabwin's voice trailed off. "He's right here," another voice picked up. It was Howard Gordon. "I sent him over to the hairdressers just now." "Will he be ready when Chris gets h--" Manners started to say, when his voice trailed off. "Manners? Are you there?" "Fuck... fuck... fuck..." he kept repeating into the radio. "What?" Rabwin said. "What is it?" "It's Chris," he said. "He just got here." Manners paused a moment. "And-- uh-- he doesn't look to happy, to say the least." Manners let up on the transmitting button, and shut off the radio. He didn't want to have to deal with the comments of the crew while he was dealing with one angry Creator. "Kim!" a voice boomed out. Ah... great, he thought. Chris never yelled. Unless he was really upset. This was not a good sign. "Yeah?" he asked. "I was just looking over the first scene there... where the hell are Gillian and David?" "Getting ready as we speak." "And Charleston? Where the hell is he?" "Right here," a voice piped up from behind Chris. "We have the shots all set up, and ready to go." "Well, look," Chris said. "We've got to change a couple things about this first scene... I don't know who came up the idea to have Gillian's character end up in the backseat wi--" "Gilligan," someone coughed out from a couple feet away. Carter thought, a dark cloud forming over his head. The man of his nightmares... lovers of all those weird people on the Internet who called themselves 'relationshippers,' and mortal enemy to his cause to keep Mulder and Scully professional. Any more of this 'touchy-feely' stuff, he thought, and-- "Anyway," Chris continued. "One more thing..." "Yeah?" Manners asked meekly. "The next time you guys wanna film your own episode? There will be *no* drugs allowed on the set, no Darin Morgan, and most of all, no 'shipper plots without my approval first. And speaking of which, where the hell is Gilligan?" "Uhmmm... I don't know...." "Well, another thing," Chris said. "Those *cats* have got to go. Possessed =anything= does not fit in with a cancer episode. And she's not going to have any contact with him... I don't want Scully touching Mulder at all, do you hear me?" Manners nodded. =x=x=x=x=x= Somewhere in Vancouver, 12:59 p.m. "Are you sure it's safe to leave yet?" Vince Gilligan had been crouched in the most dingy basement imagineable with only a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and an apple to eat. "I usually give myself a couple days, but people like your episodes, Vince. You'd probably be okay, now." "But this was... you know." Vince nodded. John Shiban stood up, nodding back. "I know. But you can always claim that you were blackmailed... like me. I mean, nobody knows that I wrote some of those parts for 'Momento Mori,' and 'Elegy'..." Vince sighed. "They probably think *I* came up with the idea for the backseat." "Well... I'm sure you're fine. Besides, you're supposed to be co- producer for this episode. Make sure they get it right." "I will. But I can't guarantee that Chris will leave in the part about the backseat... I mean, they just had that argument. It might come off as a trite unrealistic, you know." Shiban shrugged. "I thought it was a good idea..." Gilligan nodded. "A good idea, always. But some of us don't think so, it seems..." He sighed, and looked at Shiban, who had huddled himself in a corner again. "See you in a week?" "Yeah. That's about good." Vince started to leave, and then suddenly thought of something. He turned around. "You need me to bring you any food?" Shiban shook his head, and held out a bag. Gilligan took one whiff, and it sent him reeling. "What *is* that stuff?" "Vine of the soul, my friend. Vine of the soul..." =x=x=x=x=x= -THE END- ...what did you think... for another "Small Potatoes" story??? Please... feed the feedback machine... "Feed me, Seymour... feed me..." By the way... that joke about David's weed came from the June issue of "Details" magazine.... in that interview he did. If you can't get the issue, and are dying to know the story, I'll type out that part for 'ya. (more below) ------------------------------------ All characters (IRC names, e-mails, etc) within the story itself were completely fictionalized... my apologies if any of those names or otherwise is in direct coincidence or mirrors your own... no infrigement was intended. ------------------------------------- END NOTES: (a.k.a., Other things you might have needed to know) ------------------------------------- IRC jargon... and all that good stuff (please skip if you know this) I'm going to explain the symbols and terms used quickly... for a better explanation, please read "IRC#X" the story I based this model off of... (the address and author are listed below) TripleX> "TripleX" is the name of the person-- the 'handle' that they use, and when their name is in the carrot like that, it means that they are speaking... to the entire chat room. *** indicates a 'virtual' action, such as laughing (hysterically) --->*TripleX* means that TripleX sent a personal message to someone (like DanaBabe, as was in this story), that only *she* could read. >/msr Triple X ...would be DanaBabe's *private* reply to him, that only she could read /who is a command that allows a person to look up the e-mail address, and sometimes the name of the person who falls under a certain handle... like TripleX did to Vince. And no one else has to know what he found, nor does the person who is the recipient of the /who. ------------------------------------------- AUTHOR'S APOLOGIES: To John Shiban. I really respect him as a writer... despite the works of "Tesos Dos Bichos," which was certainly not entirely his fault, but to which the blame was mostly thrown. "El Mundo Gira" was not really all that bad, I didn't think, and yes, John Shiban actually *was* one of the co-writers in "Momento Mori." And though I may joke about it, I'm sure most of what he wrote in "Elegy" was his own... My kudos to you, Mr. Shiban, for all your hard work, despite all of the ragging we've done on you... ---------------------------------------------- FOR REFERNCE: That article excerpt that Duchovny was reading about in that scene from his trailer came from an essay titled, "The World of Man Condemned to Death," (based around Albert Camus' book, 'The Stranger') from a translation of the original text, written by Rachel Bespaloff from "Esprit," (c) 1950. ------------------------------------------------ RECCOMENDED READING: (Just because.) on the X-Files Funny Fanfic site: -Kymberlee Ricke (kkaricke@delphi.com) "IRC#X" (NC-17) -Rebecca Rusnak (rrusnak@avana.net) "If John Shiban Wrote Small Potatoes" on the Gossamer Project Archive -Andrea A. Pappas (aapappas@newsstand.syr.edu) and Tony Anderson (demeter@eskimo.com) "The Adventures Of Chris Carter and Co." parts 1-4 -Laura Capozzola (lauracap@erols.com) "Multiple Choice" -Nessie (joest@lineone.net) "Platonic Sex" -YouKneek (YouKneek@aol.com) "The Round File" ---all of these are highly reccomended, and VERY funny reads!!--- ------------------------------------------------------ **thanks for staying on this long! If you still have something to say, you know where to find me!**