No, it can't be happening! Not the Rift again! I thought we resolved that
damn plot line! You are MEAT, CC! Beef, to be exact!
Well, looks like I'm just gonna have to resolve it *again*.
WARNING: LOTS of third season references. Especially 'Quagmire' since it's
written after they return from that little escapade.
RATED PG, no angst, no romance, some anger, a couple of adult words (or
adolescent words depending on your POV)
Disclaimer: Tell you what, Chris, if you let Howard Ganza write the next
*several* episodes, I promise I won't infringe on your copyright. I won't
anyway, but, heck, I had to try, right? (Who was this 'Kim' person, anyway?
Where did she come from, the Charles Grant School of Cheap Shots?)
NOTE: There is a sequel in the works.
Comments to me. I love 'em, and I almost always write back.
Epistles to Fox
by Vickie Moseley
vmoseley@fgi.net
FBI Headquarters
Friday May 10, 1996
4:45 pm
"Just one clue, Scully? Are you at least taking your cell phone? I swear, I
won't call unless it's an absolute emergency," Fox Mulder said, standing
erect with his right hand held up in the traditional Boy Scout salute.
"Not on your life, Mulder," she said evenly, shaking her head. "Personnel
said that if I don't take this time off, I lose it and I am _not_ about to
lose a week's vacation time. We have been so bored lately that we spent
last weekend searching for 'Big Blue'! Not that I minded finding that
alligator in the middle of Georgia, but I did lose my dog, after all! I
need a little time. I _need_ a vacation!"
He nodded his head in agreement. That always infuriated her, how he managed
to stand there and agree with everything she said--and then go off and do
the exact opposite. "OK, Scully. I understand. And I really am sorry about
Pegleg, uh, I mean Quepqueg. But I need you to promise me one thing," he
said and put his hand on her shoulder.
She sighed and looked at him with a mixture of exasperation and affection.
"What 'one thing' would that be, Mulder?" she asked tiredly.
He leaned over so that his mouth was right next to her ear. "Promise me
you'll come back," he whispered. When he pulled back, she could see just
how much that took for him to ask that of her. And just how important it
was to him that she answer him the right way.
She gave him an indulgent smile. "I'm still 15 years from retirement, Agent
Mulder. I'm not going anywhere until my pension is fully vested," she joked
and reached up to pat his hand lightly. "Now, I will see you in a week from
Monday. And please, Mulder, no phone calls. I need to rest. I really need
this time to myself, OK?"
He was all wide eyed innocence as he shook his head vigorously in the
affirmative. "Have a great time, Scully. I'll see you when you get back."
She smiled at him and nodded, then picked up her briefcase and started out
the door. Before she closed it behind her, she turned and stuck her head
back into the office. "Oh, and Mulder. No Hospitals! Got it? Stay in the
office, stay in your apartment, just stay OUT of the healthcare system.
That is an order, understood?"
He laughed silently and nodded again. Then, with a final wave, she was gone.
********
Interstate 95
North of Baltimore
Saturday, May 11, 1996
10:30 am
Scully set the cruise control and settled back in her seat. It would only
take another hour and a half to arrive at the cabin. She was looking
forward to the little place. It was in the Pennsylvanian hills, totally
secluded, no phone, just electric and a Franklin stove when the nights got
cold. Just a little place her dad had managed to pay for on a Lieutenant's
pay so that they would always have a place to 'get away from it all'. And
that is precisely what she intended to do. Get away from Washington, get
away from the empty dog dish and the water bowl that haunted her, get away
from the newness of her apartment that still wasn't quite as homey as the
old one. But more than anything else, she needed to get away from her
partner.
<It's not quite that bad,> her inner voice scolded her. It had been, a
couple of months before. She had been ready to call it quits. He had
finally succeeded in pushing her so far away that she was looking longingly
on those teaching positions at Quantico that were always posted in the
cafeteria. <Now, Starbuck. Who was really doing the pushing?> <Damn voice,
shut up!> she let her mind shout. Still, it had a point. She had been doing
as much 'pushing' as Mulder. It took her seeing him with a gun to his head,
pulling the trigger without a second thought and then struggling NOT to
pull that trigger when he had been forced to point it at her, to make her
realize how much he really cared. And how much she couldn't walk away from
him, either.
But he had been so infuriating the past weekend! Chasing an alligator, of
all things. The son of a bitch *ate* her *dog*! Poor Quepqueg. Just another
victim of the food chain. She sighed and let the tears roll down her
cheeks. And Mulder had *still* insisted that they find that--what? Monster
of the briny deep? What a laugh. Of course, they did manage to save a few
lives during the 36 hours from Hell. Including that frog researcher.
She thought back to the conversation on the rock, after she had expertly
plowed the boat into it. She had really been pissed. Mulder was fanatical.
He was obsessed. He was a maniac who just barely functioned in society and
he *used* her to keep himself out of the psych wards! She had compared him
to Ahab, and the idiot didn't even know what she was really saying. He
didn't even see that she was comparing him to her dad.
She turned on the radio to block out her thoughts and sang to the music as
loud as she could stand it.
Hills of Eastern Pennsylvania
4:30 pm
She put the last of the provisions away in the cupboard. Enough canned food
to last the 9 days she intended to be up at the cabin. She would drive into
town once a day to pick up the fresh things. It wasn't the most efficient
use of energy, but her father and mother had never managed to get a
refrigerator for the cabin. All perishables were kept in a cooler and
needed daily infusions of ice. It was also a good way to keep some contact
with the outside world. Dana wanted to get away, not disappear. In the last
three years she had come to know the difference. She wanted the outside
world to at least have some part of her day.
She pulled out the chicken breast she had packed away in the cooler that
morning and placed it in a bowl with a good sprinkling of bottled Italian
salad dressing to marinate. She would grill it on the little hibachi in an
hour. Now, she could start to relax.
She stared around the cabin. It was cozy. Furnished with cast offs from
garage sales. She knew where each piece of furniture had come from, it's
place of origin. The table had been in their kitchen until they moved to a
house with a dining room. It was grey Formica, tubular metal. The sofa was
actually a porch glider they had found in Annapolis. The end table were TV
trays. The lamps were mismatched and had been found in an auction house in
Rockville. The memories.
She sat on the glider and rocked. She stared at the four walls. She hadn't
even been in the cabin a whole day and already she was bored out of her
mind. <wonder what Mulder's up to?> Where had that come from?! She had come
to the cabin to get away from the madman, not dwell on his itinerary for a
Saturday afternoon! Still, it wouldn't go away.
"Damn you, Mulder! Get out of my head! I want to be alone, for once," she
yelled at the four walls. She got up and paced the floor like a caged
tiger. Suddenly, she spied her knapsack. She had left it by the door, in
her haste to get the food put away. Her knapsack, her salvation! She had
packed it full of cheap paperback novels and writing paper. She grabbed in
like a life preserver and sat down on the glider.
She pulled out the books, ten of them. One for each day, and an extra one
if it rained. But it was late in the afternoon and if she started one of
them now, she would only forget to grill the chicken and probably stay up
all night to finish the darn thing. Bad idea. She shook her head and pulled
out the writing paper and a new Pilot pen. Much better. It was always
easier to end a letter than a book.
<OK, Starbuck. Who do you want to correspond with?> She stared at the ivory
sheets laying innocently on her lap. She had just talked to her bothers,
both of them, in the last week. She had seen her mother just two days ago.
She didn't feel up to trying and explain to any of her college friends why
she was suddenly writing to them after a five year silence. <This is
pitiful,> she decided. But before she could even figure out what she was
doing, she had picked up the pen and started to write.
Dear Mulder,
-scratch that-
Dear Fox,
<If I'm writing to him, it's not the same as 'calling' him Fox. It's
different in a letter,> she assured herself. She'd mail it when she went
into town.
I wanted to tell you what I didn't say last Saturday night. You remember?
After we hit the rock and the boat sank and you pulled me up on the only
dry land to be found (which had also cost us a $500 deposit--you still owe
me $250)? We were talking. Well, I just wanted to tell you that I was
really mad at you that night. You see, Fox, my dog had just died. I know
that shouldn't make a difference, but it did. Quepqueg was my dog, but more
than that, Mr. Brunkman wanted us to find him a good home. It wasn't his
fault that his former mistress forgot to feed him. He was a really good
dog. He never messed on the rug and he always greeted me at the door. And
he only ate one of my slippers.
I know you didn't like him and I could never figure that out. I mean, God,
Mulder, he was a dog! What was there not to like? But that night, when we
were on that damn rock, I just wanted to cry. I wanted to grieve. I wanted
to hold that furry little body in my arms and feel it's little heart still
beating and it's little hot breath on my hand and know that it loved me and
I loved it and damn you, Mulder, you just wanted to find that stupid giant
fish! Couldn't you at least have given me the chance to _cry_? Would that
have crumbled your world that much? Just to let me have one night when I
could crawl into bed and wish that I hadn't let loose of the leash. Ah,
hell.
I know I shouldn't be, but I'm really mad at you, Mulder. And that's why I
wanted this time away. I know I'll get over it, eventually. I always do.
But right now, it's a good thing we are in different states.
Dana
*******
Sunday, May 12, 1996
Dear Fox,
It was a pretty day out today. I found a patch of mayapples and they
reminded me of you. That's silly, right? I mean, how could mayapples remind
me of you? Well, I'll tell you. They are persistent. You can dig them up
and sure enough, they are there the next year. Like you. You are always
there. Always.
Except in New Mexico. Did I tell you that I stood in that ravine and
screamed your name for over an hour before Albert and his son made me go
back to their house and get something to drink. I think they thought I was
going to pass out from heat prostration. Or that I was having a nervous
breakdown. Why didn't you answer me? Why did you let me get in that car
with the bloodstain on the passenger seat (OK, that was my fault, I'll
admit it) and drive back to DC? Did you know THEY stopped me. THEY frisked
me and ransacked the trunk and went through my bags and all the time I knew
you were dead. I knew it, Mulder. I knew. It hurt so damn bad. I knew.
Would it have cost you so much to tell Albert to let me know you were
alive? Where were you? When you got back you gave me some New Age babble
about being dead, but WHERE WERE YOU? I was so scared.
And then I got to face the 'firing squad' by myself. They were so smug. I
didn't know half of them. And they as much as accused me of your death. And
I walked, get this Mulder, I walked to my mom's house because I couldn't
stand the thought of getting in that car again and seeing your blood on the
seat cover. I had killed you. I might not have shot you dead, but I sent
you to the damn ravine alone. So I killed you. And you bastard, you waited,
you took your own sweet time to tell me that you weren't dead.
I'm still mad at you, Fox William Mulder. I just wish you were here to tell
you that myself.
Dana
*********
Monday, May 13, 1996
Dear Fox,
I went fishing and caught a trout. It was about two pounds and I'm fixing
it with a little salad and maybe some rice. I'm beginning to feel human
again. I wanted to let you know that you might get two letter before this
and, well, you can ignore them, if you want.
I just had some stuff that I needed to air out, you know. And I guess, in
true fashion, I turned on you. I didn't mean to dump on you. Well, yes, I
did, but now I'm feeling better and I realize that it wasn't all your
fault. You can't help it, Mulder. You are just you. If you were any
different, I probably wouldn't want to be your partner. You infuriate me,
you make me so mad that I could just--no, let's not go there again. But I
realized as I was sitting on the bank and catching that fish that I also
enjoy our friendship. And I wouldn't want to be partners with anyone else.
And quite frankly, I could have said no when you wanted to look for Big
Blue a week ago. It was a Saturday and I could have said no. I just wanted
to let you know, I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings on that rock. And when I
said you reminded me of Ahab, I meant that as a compliment.
Dana
********
Tuesday, May 14, 1996
Dear Mulder,
You won't believe what I found today! A faery's ring! Out in the woods. It
was in the middle of a clearing and the sun was shining on it through the
canopy to leaves. It was so pretty, it was glistening with dew. I wish you
had been here to see it. Of course, I left my camera in the cabin and when
I went back I couldn't find it. But it was really neat to find it in the
first place and I wanted you to know about it.
I had beans and wieners for dinner tonight. The trout must have figured out
my bait. It would help if I had a boat and could get out into the middle of
the lake, but with my recent luck with boats, I'm forgoing that option.
How's work been? Dumb question, right? Did you get the expense report for
April to Skinner? I know this won't get to you before it's due, since it's
due tomorrow, but did you remember to turn it in? Try to remember to turn
it in, Mulder. I put in on the computer under exp_april.txt. If you get it
to him a day or two late, he won't go ballistic. But if it's not turned in
when I get back on Monday, he'll have both our heads.
I really wish you could have seen that faery's ring. It was neat.
Dana
*********
Wednesday, May 15, 1996
Dear Fox,
Remember when I told you not to call me this week? Well, I really wish I
hadn't. I brought my cellular with me. You know the number.
I'm bored. I've been here, staring at these walls for hours. I've walked in
the woods, sat on the bank and fished, read trashy novels, hemmed a skirt,
wrote my college roommate and balance my checkbook for the month.
I miss you.
Want to grab a pizza when I get home on Sunday?
Dana
*********
Thursday, May 16, 1996
Dear Fox,
I had the weirdest dream last night. We were on that rock again. And it was
night. We were talking, just like we did. And all of a sudden, the rock
started to move. It was 'breathing'! It rose up in the sky and I started to
slip off, but you grabbed my arm and pulled me back up. Then we heard it.
It let out this terrific noise, Mulder. Like a roar or a scream or I don't
know what. And then I realized what was happening. That rock was Big Blue!
And we were hanging onto it's back.
I woke up then. Let me tell you, it scared the shit out of me! I was
sweating and it felt like slime and I could almost smell that dank, musty
smell that was on that rock. I sat up and read until the sun came up and
then I slept until noon.
Have you gotten the other letters? Remember to ignore the first two. Are we
on for Sunday?
Dana
*********
Friday, May 17, 1996
Dear Fox,
It stormed last night. Lots of lightning and even a little hail. It was
loud on the roof. I have to get back up here sometime this summer and see
if I need to reshingle. Mom would never think to have the boys do it. They
get home so seldom. Ever thought about getting away for a weekend? On
second thought, you and a roof--I don't think so. I know how you hate
casts.
Well, today is my last full day of vacation. I've decided to come back
early. I never got a chance to clean out my refrigerator. I have some
lettuce in there that is now beyond 'science experiment' stage. Mushy,
brown, you know the route. I hate that smell, you know.
I'll be back before you get this. I've had a good week, Mulder. I've had a
chance to clear my head, eat some great food ( the trout was excellent),
and I even gave myself a pedicure. It was a good time.
I just wanted you to know that I remembered my promise. Instead of Sunday,
want to go out tomorrow night? I think 'Broken Arrow' is still at the cheap
movies. I'll call when I get back home.
Dana
PS Want to help me get another dog? I think I need that. See you soon.
*******
Mulder's Apartment
Wednesday, May 22, 1996
7:30 pm
Mulder smiled as he finished reading the last letter. He put it in the
bottom drawer of his desk, right on top of the others.
the end.
This is the second part of a two part story line. If you haven't
read 'Epistles to Fox' go back and find it and read it first.
Otherwise a lot of this will be senseless (or more so than it
already is :)
MAJOR SPOILER WARNING: Both these stories are very
connected with the episode 'Quagmire' in the third season. If
you haven't seen it, you'll get horribly shocked and possibly
lost for all time. You have been warned.
Standard disclaimer: OK, I've watched the episode three times
now and I might have been a little hard on old Kim. So I
promise I won't infringe on your copyright, CC or those of
1013 production, FOX and everybody else who has a legal
claim. Oh, and just a word of advice. Better let DD and GA
in on the marketing stuff. It really isn't fair that they be cut out
of it, since they did give life to these characters.
Comments, please. vmoseley@fgi.net
E-Mail for Dana
by Vickie Moseley
vmoseley@fgi.net
FBI Headquarters
Washington DC
Friday, May 10, 1996
5:00 pm
Fox Mulder stared over at the empty desk for the tenth
time in as many minutes. <You're being a dope, son,> he told
himself. <She's only on vacation.> He turned back to the file
folder open in front of him. <Besides, if she had requested a
transfer, you'd know about it by now,> he nodded, silently
satisfied that his 'moles' in personnel would alert him to that
disaster. <It pays to be nicey-nice to the clerical staff.>
But that didn't completely stop him from worrying. She
had never taken time off before. Never. In over four years,
since March 6, 1992, his eiditic mind rattled off, at 10:42 in
the morning, she had not taken a single 'vacation' day. There
had been a half day off for her father's funeral. They had been
suspended when her sister died. And sick time, *plenty* of
sick time, counting hospitalizations and quarantines. And that
horrible 3 months that personnel insisted had to be accounted
for even though *he* considered it 'line of duty' and all the
sick time after that. But never time off just to get away from it
all.
<Away from *me*,> he corrected his train of thought.
<Subtract me from this equation and she probably wouldn't
mind letting the days lapse,> he decided sadly. <Hell, I've got
more lapsed vacation days than actual. And I use vacation
days *instead* of sick days anymore, just to get rid of the
damn things!> He glared at the empty desk. <So you 'need'
some time alone, huh?> He slammed the folder shut and
pushed his chair away from the desk. "Well, two can play that
game, babe!" he said out loud and grabbed his jacket and
headed for the door.
The Offices of The Lone Gunman
6:15 pm
Mulder negotiated the narrow staircase, deftly balancing
the pizza in one hand and a set of night vision goggles in the
other. He smiled brightly at the surveillance camera that was
secreted in the corner of the hall and knocked twice.
"Dominos!," he called out, and waited for the door to open.
The slightly pudgy, bespeckled gnome that answered the
door looked once at Mulder, then around the empty hallway.
"Where is she?" Frohike asked, slightly disgruntled.
"Nice to see you, too, Frohike," Mulder said sarcastically.
"*She's* on vacation. I'm by myself," he added, moving past
the little man and setting the pizza box and goggles on an
empty table.
"Vacation!" Frohike cried. "Agent Scully never takes a
vacation! Damn it all, Mulder! If you drove her off for good
this time. . ."
Mulder waved his hand to stop the onslaught. "Chill, Fro.
She's got some time that's going to lapse if she doesn't use it
right away, she didn't want it to disappear into the ether. This
really is a vacation," he said, hoping he sounded more
convinced than he felt. "So, where is everybody? That's a
large pizza."
"Byers has a seminar and Langly has a date," Frohike said
absently, looking for a piece of pie that had more cheese than
the rest.
"Langly has a *date*?" Mulder responded in amazement.
"I _know_ Skinner would approve a 302 to investigate *that*
extreme possibility!"
"Hey, not all of us treat women as shabby as you do,
Mulder," his friend replied. "Some of us actually are 'nice' to
them."
"I'm 'nice' to women," Mulder defended himself.
"Hah!" the little man laughed. "Mulder, you treat your
partner like dirt, and you know it. You are always dragging
her to the four corners of the Earth, you ditch her any time
you feel like it, you pick the sleaziest hotels to stay in on cases.
. ."
"Sometimes there aren't anything other than 'sleazy' hotels,
Fro," he interjected.
". . .And I bet you didn't even send her a sympathy card on
the demise of her beloved Pomeranian!" Frohike concluded
angrily pacing in front of his friend. "Face it, Mulder. You are
a sot!"
"Hallmark makes sympathy cards for dead dogs?" Mulder
asked, trying to ignore what the other man was saying.
Frohike threw up his hands in disgust. "Forget it, Mulder!
But let me give you a little sage advice. I had a woman in my
life like Dana Scully once. And I treated her just like you are
treating Agent Scully. And I lost her, forever. I have never
forgiven myself for that," he concluded sadly. Then, pulling
himself up to his full 5 foot 7 inches, he shook his finger
angrily at the slightly bemused agent before him. "Don't let it
happen to you!"
Fox Mulder's apartment
8:45 pm
After the tongue lashing Frohike had given him, Mulder
had decided he had enough of human companionship. He
went home to his apartment to relax. The weekend loomed
ahead of him, like a vast uncharted territory. It had been
months, *years*, since he had a whole weekend with no
thoughts of investigation. There was nothing to investigate.
He had checked even the MUFON newsgroup and there
weren't any recent sightings of any note. Even the aliens were
on vacation, it appeared.
After changing into jeans and jersey, he stretched out on
the couch, but he was restless. It was too early for sleep and
he wasn't in the mood to see men and women interacting, no
matter how tawdry the subject matter, so his videos were out.
His fish tank needed cleaning, but that was a chore best left for
Saturday morning, while watching THE TICK and the X Men.
He got up and pulled his desk chair out, booting up his
computer. "Time to go 'on-line'," he said to the fish, who did
their level best to ignore him when he was in one of 'those
moods'.
He had plenty of e-mail, but one caught his attention. It
was from Scully. It had been sent on Wednesday. <I really
need to check my e-mail more often,> he chastised himself and
clicked the file open.
>Mulder,
>Don't forget the expense report for April. If you don't
sign it and turn it in, Skinner will kill you and I will help. I put
it on the computer at work under exp_april.txt. All you have
to do is print it and sign it, I already double checked the
numbers. And remember, May is yours alone, Buddy-boy, so
you better keep track of all those little receipts! And they do
NOT accept scribbles on the back of paper napkins anymore,
the girls upstairs have caught on to that one.
>DS
"*Buddy-boy*!" he shouted. "Now, I'm *Buddy-boy*!"
He sat and fumed for a few minutes. Then, without
consciously taking action, his fingers clicked on the 'reply' icon
and he began to type.
>Special Agent Dana Scully
>GS 12,
>Where in the hell do you get off calling me 'Buddy-boy'?
As I remember my org chart, *I* am the senior agent in the
division, and *I* can assign you the duty of handling the damn
expense reports on a permanent basis, if I so desired. But no,
I thought it would be more in line with our 'supposed' *equal*
status to divide the more mundane chores between the two of
us. So, to review, while you were doing the expense report
(with a calculator, might I add), *I* was doing all the filing for
this month. It don't add up, sweetie, but we switch off,
remember?!?
>And if any of this is about that mutt, I already said I was
sorry, Scully. What do you want? I can't bring the damn thing
back from the dead! It was a dog! Get over it!
>Actually, I am glad you took some time off. I think you
have a lot of stress to work through and this separation will be
beneficial for both of us. I just hope you decided to go out of
town, so we don't 'accidentally' run into each other.
>Special Agent Fox Mulder
>GS 14
--------
Date: Saturday, May 11, 1996
To: Dana Scully
From: Fox Mulder
>And another thing. I *do not* 'ditch' you! There have
been times that I have decided to go off on my own to
investigate a situation. In almost all of those instances, you
are well aware of what the circumstances are and have either
blown off my theories or know that it is my personal business
and none of yours. I *have* a life! It may be 'obsessive' and
'megalomaniac', but it's mine and I'm stuck with it. So you can
just stop getting on your high horse everytime you think I
should have you tag along. Sometimes, Scully, I do it for your
own good. Respect me enough to realize that next time.
>And for your information, I was hospitalized a total of 2
times between 1984 and March 6, 1992. And one of those
times was for a torn ligament I got playing basketball!! So
maybe I am safe to leave alone, after all, huh?
-------
Date: Sunday, May 12, 1996
To: Dana Scully
From: Fox Mulder
>Scully,
>Hey, on the off chance that you didn't leave town, do you
have any idea where I left the directional microphone that I
borrowed from the LGM to use on the assignment in Georgia?
Byers called this morning, apparently Frohike wants it for
something tonight. I've searched both my apartment and the
office and came up with bumpkus. I didn't leave it in the rental
car, did I? I know I didn't use it, but if I left it, well, when
they don't find my body in the first week, have them drag the
Tidal Basin.
>Oh, and one more thing. Some creep has been hacking
into my e-mail. S/he leaves these really mean posts and signs
my name so it looks like it comes from me. Byers alerted me
to it. Just thought I'd let you know. You know how 'open'
these things are. Just watch for any and be careful who you
say what to. OK?
-------
Date: May 13, 1996
To: Dana Scully
From: Fox Mulder
>Scully,
>Just wanted to let you know that the first issue of that
new medical journal you've been waiting for finally arrived.
My god, when are you going to find the time to read the damn
thing, it must be two inches thick! So I didn't put it with your
mail in your desk, it took up too much space. I put it on the
bookshelf. On the left side at the end. You'll see it. I just
didn't want to forget to tell you where I put it, since I knew
you wanted to check it out before subscribing.
>Kimberly in Skinner's office wanted to know where you
went. Of course, I didn't know, so I couldn't tell her. I hope
you took a raincoat if you headed to the midwest. But then,
who in their right mind would vacation in the midwest,
anyway? Oh, if you *did* decide to go to Chicago, or St.
Louis (doesn't your brother live in one of those places?)--that
was not a slam. I just meant the weather has been really lousy
there, you know.
>And I was not in Skinner's office getting reamed out. I
was turning in the expense report. And I filed all the folders in
your out box. It's been so quiet, I might rearrange the file
drawers tomorrow. I think I'll take you up on that suggestion
of alphabetical order. Would be fun to try something new.
Hope you're having a great time. Rest up.
-------
Date: May 14, 1996
To: Dana Scully
From: Fox Mulder
>Scully, are you pissed at me?
>The reason I ask is that I just got this letter. But it was
raining and I was going to read it on the elevator but I brushed
it up against my raincoat and it smeared something awful.
From what I had read, I got the feeling that we have some
unresolved 'business' to attend to when you get back.
>Dana, I'm really very sorry about Queequeg. I mean that.
I know how attached you had become to the little guy. He
didn't deserve to be dinner to that damn 'gator. Nobody
deserves that. But I think it was fitting that he gave his life to
save yours. I mean, if he hadn't been chomped first, you might
have been. If I could have traded places with him, I would
have. I mean that.
>I tried your cellular, but I think you must be in the
mountains, because I couldn't get through. I noticed the
postage mark was from Pennsylvania. Doesn't your mom have
a cabin up there? At least the weather's better there. See you
soon.
--------
Date: May 15, 1996
To: Dana Scully
From: Fox Mulder
>Dana,
>I am really sorry that I didn't have Albert call you. See,
when he found me, those MIB's had messed him and his son
up and trashed their house (apparently you knew about that)
and he was afraid that any call he made would have put you in
danger. He really did mean well. I was out of it at the time.
He told me later that I had a really high fever, but I don't
remember any of it. Well, I remember some dreams. But
nothing of reality. He said I kept asking for sunflower seeds.
Funny, what you ask for when you're sick, isn't it?
>I feel really rotten that you had to go before the OPR
alone. I wouldn't wish that on a toad. Bastards. They had no
right, accusing you. Deflecting blame, that's all it was.
>Having gone through that shit when you were missing, I
can only say that I know how you felt. And I am *really* very
sorry I put you through that. I know you were probably
scared. Hell, when you were gone I was so scared I forgot to
eat and refused to sleep. I didn't want to dream. My dreams
were too frightening to think about. My hallucinations were
enough, thank you very much. I feel like the worst kind of
heel for putting you through even a couple of days of that.
>Damn it, I wish I could get through on your cell phone!
I'll keep trying, maybe you'll go into town to the movies or
something and you'll be closer to a cell.
-------
Date: May 16, 1996
To: Dana Scully
From: Fox Mulder
>Scully,
>A faeries ring, huh? Haven't seen one since Oxford.
Cool.
>Don't take this the wrong way, but this last letter sounded
a LOT better. I mean, you sounded relaxed. Happy. I'm
really glad you've had a good time.
>I did reorganize the filing cabinets. And guess what? We
now have room in them! Since the chances of us ever seeing
the two new ones that I requisitioned last month are slim and
none, I think the additional room will eliminate the need to use
the bottom drawer of your desk--for now. See, I am a nice
guy, sometimes.
>Pizza sounds good. Hey, instead of 'Broken Arrow'
(which will be out on video next week, probably), how about
going to see 'Twister'. Would make a good X File.
---------
Date: May 17, 1996
To: Dana Scully
From: Fox Mulder
>Scully,
>Well, only one more day. Hope you had a good time, but
from the sounds of your letters, you did. You were right, the
time away was what you needed. Sometimes that office is just
too damn small.
>You know what? I think you might have inspired me. I
mean, I might take a vacation myself one of these days. Not
right away, mind you. A file came through this morning that
really looks too good to pass up. I'm thinking we could get
the 302 Monday morning and be off by noon. Of course, if
you don't want to go to Key West at the height of the suntan
season, I'll understand (yeah, right). Numerous unusual
attacks by manta rays. Ever been scuba diving, Scully? Better
bring your flippers.
>I'm going into the office tomorrow morning. I went
through that pile of stuff on my desk and, well, you know that
bottom drawer of your desk? I sort of used it. But I promise
to clean out the bottom drawer of my desk to put the stuff in.
I hope to get that done before you get back.
>I sort of wish you were coming home tomorrow. Not
that I missed you or anything, it's just that I hate going out on
Sunday nights. If we catch the late show, it makes getting up
hell on Monday. But that's OK, I really have been hungry for
pizza, so I don't mind. See you soon. Real soon.
-------
Dana Scully's apartment
Saturday May 18, 1996
1:25 pm
She smiled as she finished reading the last message. A
quick glance at her watch and she knew exactly where he
would be. She picked up the phone and speed dialed the
number.
"Mulder," came the answer on the other end of the line.
"Have you finished cleaning out the bottom drawer, yet,
Mulder? Because if you haven't, tonight's pizza is on you.
Literally," she said smiling.
"Almost finished," he chuckled in reply. "Give me half an
hour and I'll come help you unpack the car."
She hung up the phone, still smiling.
The end