by Madeleine Partous
email: [email protected]
Hi. This is a sequel to Mulder's Tale, which in turn is a sequel
to A Hacker's Tale.
Writing in first person raises the question of how the other
characters involved interpret the same events. So this is
Hacker's Tale from Scully's point of view. This one won't make
any sense whatsoever unless you read Mulder's Tale first
(sorry about that; it's something I try to avoid), and Mulder's
Tale is best read after A Hacker's Tale (The three stories
really are closely interrelated. Let me know if you need them.)
Quite a few people have asked for a version from Skinner's
point of view. Hmmm. We'll have to see.
Category: MSR vignette. Rated R.
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DISCLAIMER: Characters and concepts herein are the
property of Fox and Chris Carter and have been lovingly
borrowed for entertainment purposes only.
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Men.
Honestly.
What my mother said is true, isn't it? You really *are* all
the same.
God. You must really think women are all idiots.
Fools.
A word of advice: never underestimate the power of a
woman to get what she wants.
Ever.
I'm writing to let you know I know everything.
The best part? I've known everything since the
beginning. Well, most of it anyway.
It's too funny.
Ha. Suckers.
This e-mail is addressed to Mulder, but I've decided to
CC the rest of you just so I can sit here and imagine all of you
squirming together.
I just love that image. I really do.
Just for the hell of it, I'm forwarding Frohike a copy of
Mulder's e-mail along with this letter.
After all, why should the poor guy be the only one who's
still in the dark about all this?
Mulder: sorry to reply to an e-mail that wasn't
addressed to me, but all's fair in love and war, as you so
charmingly noted.
And this, my dear, is war.
You're not the only one with, um, how did you put it? A
"homemade e-mail stealth program."
I ripped it off your computer. Hope you don't mind. The
couple that hacks together, stays together.
Well. I'm not as loquacious as the lot of you, thanks in
large part to my "devastatingly scientific mind," although I'm
relieved to hear that I'm a woman all the way. So I'll start by
addressing some of the issues in FWM's little missive.
Bear with me. I promise you'll enjoy this.
Oh, sorry. I got confused there for a minute. I promise
*I'll* enjoy this.
> So I'm writing because as long as the proverbial cat is
>out of the bag, my male ego needs to set the record straight
>here. Jesus. Frohike made me look like a complete asshole,
>some kind of medieval cuckold who can't see what's going on
>right under his nose.
"Cuckolded" doesn't even begin to describe what
happened to you, chump.
>You've seen my nose.
Of course. We'd have to be blind or living on another
continent to miss it.
>Frohike's saved my ass more times than I care to think about
>and I've never had a chance to repay the debt, not even
>once.
Yes. And wasn't this a lovely way to show your
appreciation...
>One day, though, I will. One day, I'll do something that'll
>change his life. I swear it. Because to add insult to his
>injury, I let him do all the dirty work, as he said, and then I
>snatched her away.
My, my. Thank you both so much. It's so lovely to feel
like a pair of discounted socks in a bargain basement bin.
>I feel a little guilty about it.
Like hell you do.
>Hey. He's the one who keeps calling me a son of a bitch,
>right? Wouldn't want to disappoint him.
Don't worry. I'm sure you haven't.
>So. Here's what really happened.
Oooooo. Can't wait to hear the "truth" at last.
>I've always known Frohike had the hots for her.
Could it be because he told you the first day he saw me?
>He's never been subtle about it.
I'll say. And quite frankly, he's not the only one who
lacks subtlety around this place.
>And it never bothered me much, even though he really is a
>dirty-minded little troll, you know.
Well, as it happens, so are you.
>And then there's the pathos of the thing, because quite
>honestly I didn't think even Clark Gable would stand a chance
>with that woman.
Don't fool yourself, sweetie. If Clark Gable were to show
up at my door right now, I'd drop you like a ton of bricks.
>She'd just give him the cold blue eye and say, tersely,
>"Frankly, Clark, I don't give a damn," that sort of thing.
Actually, what I'd say, tersely, is: "Thank God, Clark.
You're here at last. Kill Mulder first, though, and get rid of
the body so we can live happily ever after."
>God. Scarlett's about as dangerous as Minnie Mouse
>next to her.
That much is true... and you're about to find out why.
>I really wondered sometimes if she wasn't a lesbian <snip>
I wasn't then. I am now.
> -- a titillating concept, I'll grant you, if a frustrating one,
>at least for me -- except that she seemed to like women even
>less than she liked men.
That's not true. I like almost everyone better than I like you.
>Or at least she didn't seem to like any of the women I
>liked.
Not true again. They're my lovers now, every one of
them. I've convinced them that all men are pigs.
>Okay, this isn't altogether fair. It's not so much that
>she doesn't like people. She's great with kids, did you know
>that?
That's because I've gotten used to dealing with you.
Children seem like adults in comparison.
>Kids make me nervous. I think it's because I still remember
>how they think.
No, no. You still *think* like they think.
>When you're a grownup, if you're sensitive to it, you can feel
>the contempt they have for you.
Believe me. It's nothing next to the contempt I feel for
you.
>The thing is most people don't get her. Most people don't
>even deserve to get her. She just doesn't suffer fools
>gladly...
If that were true, I'd be living in Washington State, or
somewhere equally far from you.
>She can be polite, but it's a strain. The thing is, she lies
>really badly.
I used to be polite. I've decided to give it up for Lent.
And by the way, you should really pay attention -- I've gotten
a whole lot better at lying.
>Her face gives everything away and she knows it.
If only you could see it now.
>So what she does is avoid situations where she has to make
>nice. And more often than not, that means avoiding people.
That's correct. I'm writing this from the airport because
I'm moving to Tibet.
>Being a brilliant woman isn't easy.
Tell me about it. But being a brilliant man, apparently,
is impossible.
>Being brilliant and looking like she does is worse. She's so
>gorgeous that a lot of men treat her like crap.
Offhand, it would seem that *all* men treat me like crap.
>They treat her like a bimbo sometimes <snip>
Actually, only you and Frohike do that.
>What's wrong with men anyway, huh? What the hell is the
>matter with us?
It's a very good question. Too bad you make it sound
rhetorical.
>For one thing, she's often said she loves me because I'm
>gallant.
You should note that I no longer love you. Well. Maybe
that isn't entirely true. Maybe it's a love/hate thing.
>Can you believe that? Just because I open doors for her and
>walk on the street side of the curb.
Boy. You're right. I'm unbelievably shallow.
>I really like women. A lot.
I know. So do I... increasingly.
>An intelligent, beautiful woman? Pinch me. I'm in heaven.
Not for long. Just wait 'til you get home -- pinching will
be the least of your worries.
>I can hear you guffawing from here, but just remember:
>*I'm* the one she's with.
Was. I *was* with you. Now I'm dating Detective White.
Idiot.
>Anyway. I knew Frohike had something up his sleeve
>just from the way he kept looking at me. He's so sneaky,
>sneaky old Frohike.
He's not nearly as sneaky as I am, sweetie darling.
>What I was really saying was that we're partners and I
>had no idea how she felt about me.
I'm really starting to think you spent the last four years
in a coma.
>Because, boychiks, I knew damn well how I felt about
>her.
So did I, oh mysterious Mulder. It was written all over
your face.
>Christ. I've known it for years. And it didn't matter
>how horny I got: I couldn't get away from it. From her. She
>haunted me.
You think it's bad now. Just wait 'til I'm dead and I
start haunting you for real. You'll never get any sleep. It'll be
just like the old days, before you got laid.
>I'd meet women sometimes <snip>
Bastard.
>I'd sleep with women sometimes.
Slut.
>I'd pay to sleep with women sometimes.
So if I understand you correctly, on top of everything
else you're a criminal and a spendthrift.
>But she was always there, hovering in the background, a
>living ghost, the only one I wanted. The only one I trust.
Big mistake, Muldoon. As you'll see.
>Since almost the first day.
>Actually, it wasn't quite the first day, but it was
>definitely on the first case. You remember? I told you about
>it.
God. You don't keep any secrets at all, do you?
>And I know what you're thinking, you perverts.
So do I.
>It wasn't the underwear.
Yes, it was.
>Well, okay: I noticed her underwear a little. I noticed
>her skin. Her hips. Her waist. How firm her buttocks were
>under my hand.
Oh, stop. You're turning me on.
>I'd never told a soul everything about me. But there was
>something about her, even though I really did believe she was
>sent to spy on me -- and she was, too; she never denied it
><snip>
Yes. I've been telling Skinner everything since he and I
started sleeping together all those years ago. Oops. I knew
there was something I forgot to tell you.
>As it turned out, she never did spy on me.
Only because there was nothing to say. "Oh, look,
Cigarette Man, you big sexy smoky hunk of a fella. Mulder
sees aliens everywhere."
>It happened a little later when we stood in the cemetery in the
>goddam rain for an hour and yes, we were fully clothed,
>soaked to the skin,
>and yes, suddenly I realized I was completely in love with
>her, and it happened when she started laughing her head off
>because she suddenly realized that as ridiculous as it
>sounded, maybe I was right... <snip>
Actually, I was laughing at you. Sorry. At the time, you
said, "You think I'm crazy." I did. I still do.
>It blew her mind. Because as crazy as it sounded, it was
>the only explanation that made any sense.
No. Actually, I was laughing at *my* theory, which was
that Samantha Stevens from "Bewitched" was looking for
Darren in the forest but she couldn't figure out why her
husband managed to look so similar despite the fact that he was
two different people. That -- and you. As I mentioned, I was
also laughing at you. And I was trying to figure out how to
wiggle my nose and make you disappear.
>She cackled her head off in the rain because her mind opened
>all at once, just like that, like a flower. She was like an
>innocent little kid asking what rainbows are made of and then
>laughing with delight when you tell her, against all logic,
>that it's made up of rock candy...
Rainbows *are* made up of rock candy. I'm a scientist. I
know. The really amazing thing is that you're made up of 100
percent unadulterated bullshit.
>I knew right then and there she was the only one I
>wanted.
The sad thing is, I want you too. You jerk -- you've
ruined my life.
>She was the only one I'd ever need.
Personally, I think what you really need is therapy.
>And I couldn't have her.
You pathetic fool. You could've had me that first day up
against the file cabinet.
>I couldn't. I just couldn't bring myself to ask her.
Idiot.
>You know. Partners. We were partners. I believe in platonic
>friendships with women.
Do you? I want names and addresses.
>This just wasn't one of them.
At last. Reality intrudes.
>But it was too complicated.
Only for the mentally incompetent.
>And besides, she never showed any indication...
>Well. Now I realize maybe she did.
It's a miracle! You're no longer mentally incompetent.
>But at the time I swallowed it down. My love for her. My
>desire for her. My devotion to her. I'd have done anything
>for her. I'd've died for her.
You just still might.
>It's been more than a year now and I still can't believe
>it's happening. I still wake up every morning, sometimes with
>her next to me, sometimes alone, not believing it.
And to think that from now on you'll have to wake up
with me and Skinner next to you. Will you still want to believe,
loverboy?
>The pit of my stomach squirms most of the time because I
>don't know how long they'll let us go on like this.
They? Who are they? It's me you have to worry about.
>I know they know, whoever they are. And I'm afraid, so
>afraid, that they're gonna find a way to stop us.
It won't be soon enough for me.
>They're never gonna kill us, you know.
They won't have to. The murder/suicide I'm planning
will make it redundant.
>Or at least I don't think so. I think they're just gonna strip
>us of everything.
Stripped? Hell, I'm sitting here naked already. (Now
settle down, guys.)
>Until there's nothing left of us. Until we're
>empty, drained dry, like a couple of shed snake skins, until
>we just barely function. And then they're gonna shake their
>heads, click their tongues and say, see, that's what happens
>when you get obsessed with fairy tales, when you put the
>search for truth before everything else.
Wow. What a powerful image. As soon as I wake up, I'll
try to start breathing again.
>And they'll park us in some sanitorium and feed us
>pablum as we drool down our chins. And they'll take care of
>us for the rest of our lives as we sit side by side saying
nothing, staring out into space.
Sounds a lot like our professional life now.
>I love her so much that it's eating me alive.
You know, I've been sitting here for 5 minutes staring
at that last line. I just can't be cute about this one.
Mulder.
Christ, Fox. You bastard.
Eaten alive? I vanished years ago because of you.
I love you too.
>God help me, I didn't know how to reach her most days.
>I didn't even have the strength to try.
Saying "hi" would've probably done the trick,
amazingly.
>It's funny. We had nothing left except each other, and
>most days we didn't even have that anymore.
Most days, what we had was your cel phone answering
service because you'd disappeared on some escapade without
me again. That's what we had most days.
>She'd become like a stranger <snip>
Only because you'd moved to another planet,
figuratively speaking.
>and it made my skin crawl. I resented it. I did. She never
>understood this one thing about me. Or maybe she did, but at
>the time she couldn't do anything about it.
Mulder. I always understood. And I was here, Mulder. I
was always here.
>Something was broken in me, the thing that would've allowed
>me to tell her how lonely I was, how afraid, how much I
>needed her.
>They'd broken it. They broke it when they took my
>sister.
Don't you think I knew that? Don't you realize I've
always known that?
If you want to know the truth, I'm tired of replying to
this e-mail.
Actually, the letter is unbelievably personal, despite
the fact that it wasn't addressed to me.
Funny.
The fact is, Mulder wrote this to you guys without
thinking I'd ever see it.
And still, it's a beautiful letter, filled with his love for
me.
Filled with our love for each other.
Frankly, I'm not prepared to discuss that with you.
Not even you, Frohike, in spite of what you've
undergone for both our sakes.
This whole thing started as a bit of a joke for me, but
for some reason, I don't feel like laughing anymore.
There's nothing particularly amusing about what Mulder
and me have been through. About what we'll probably still
have to go through for the next thousand years.
So I'll tell you what really happened. Just like that.
Because I'm a scientist. Because I'm a scientist in love with a
lunatic.
Never mind his infuriatingly glib tone for now.
It's a tone that hides a wealth of pain, and who am I to
add to it at this point?
I love him. I'll stand by him. Maybe it's stupid, but I
think we're doomed to suffer through it together.
So nothing I'm about to tell you impacts on what he
means to me.
Is that clear?
So. I knew from the beginning that Frohike was behind
it all.
I mean, who else could it be, right?
Pendrell is too much of a wimp -- he'd be terrified to try
it.
Mulder? Please. It's funny because I'm famous as the
empirical one, but the fact is ol' Muldoon doesn't have a
romantic bone in his body.
Honestly.
He loves, though. God. He knows how to love. And I
don't just mean physically, although he's not too shabby in
that department either.
Give me true love over romance any day.
Still. I got a big kick out of seeing how jealous you got.
I must say you hid it very well, my dearest.
NOT!!!!
Boy oh boy. It was truly hysterical. I kept having to
run out of the office to laugh my head off in the ladies' room.
You may think my face reveals everything, Muldoon, but
truly: for someone with so few facial expressions, you sure
manage to say a lot with the ones you've got.
And one more thing: don't be so smug about Frohike's
little poems. They were silly as hell, it's true; but they *were*
extremely sweet.
And the roses, Mulder. A girl loves to get roses.
Remember that.
Thank you, Frohike. It was very touching, all of it, and
I'm sorry I used you like this. But I knew the big lug wouldn't
do anything unless I instigated it, and what you gave me was
the perfect opportunity. I can't thank you enough. And I'll
say this: if he and I ever break up, I'll call you. It's a
promise, you sweet lovable man.
Back to you, Muldoon. Are you beginning, at last, to
glimpse the perfection of my plot? A play within a play, worthy
of your beloved Shakespeare, don't you think?
First, get you to wonder who's doing it. I was pretty
sure I knew how you felt, but to be absolutely certain, I had
to find out if you'd get jealous.
You've always laughed at me for my jealousy, even when
you deliberately tried to cause it. You played with me, Mulder.
Deliberately. Detective White. Bambi. To name a few. Don't
think I didn't know exactly what you were doing, you son of a
tulip. You made sure I knew all the sordid details, didn't you?
Well, it was time to turn the tables on you. And thanks
to Frohike, the perfect solution fell smack in my lap.
The second part of the plan, if the first one worked,
was to make you believe I thought it was you.
I mean, I thought about it. Just making you jealous
might've been enough to get you to do something. But it wasn't
foolproof. You were perfectly capable of withdrawing into a
little sulky cocoon. Or of acting completely indifferent out of
defiance and insecurity, and where would that've left me? I
would've had to pretend you *were* completely indifferent,
right? A complete waste of time.
But if I pretended I thought it was you, the ball would
be in your court suddenly. And I'd have a perfect excuse to
throw myself at you, right? And then. And then it would leave
you off the hook. You'd be able to simply respond without
instigating anything.
My little passive-aggressive bunny.
Of course I hope you realize I was taking a big chance
here. I might've completely humiliated myself. You might've
sat there in shock and said "for God's sake, Scully, get a
grip. We're partners. We're friends. That's all."
You might've. Except I was fairly certain you wouldn't.
Allow me to refer you back to statements made above
which indicate clearly how transparent you've been for the last
four years.
Men. God.
Oh. And the presents. Let me just say how amused I was
by Frohike's presents. And how even more amused I was to
hear your little fantasy about Skinner sending me a stuffed
giraffe.
You really did lose it there for a while, didn't you?
There's one place, though, where you did surprise me,
Mulder. I hate to admit it, but you got me. You really got me.
I never dreamed you'd start sending me gifts of your
own.
I thought you'd wait around, steam coming out of your
ears, until I made my move.
I really did.
They were nice gifts. It's too funny that you didn't
somehow clue in to the fact that they were so different from
the other ones as to be a dead giveaway.
Frohike doesn't know me very well, Mulder. The gifts he
chose reflected that fact.
Everything you gave me was incredibly personal.
Tailor-made for me.
Get it? Only someone who knew me extremely well
could've come up with any one of them.
And at this point in our lives, you're the only person
left who knows me extremely well.
So when those things started showing up on my desk, I
knew.
I knew I had you.
That moment you described when you broke my
unbelievably transparent password? (I mean, for God's sake,
Mulder -- don't ever underestimate to that degree anyone
carrying a loaded weapon. FWM? Please. I can't believe how
long it took you figure it out.) Well, that moment, when you
blissed out in front of my computer for ages in the middle of
the night, pales in comparison to the way I felt when I realized
you were mine.
I'll bet you. I'll bet you a million trillion gazillion dollars
And that moment was completely eclipsed when I opened
up that little box at home to find the ring.
An engagement ring. You got me there. I'd never have
expected that from you in a million years.
I hate to admit it but I actually cried, to my complete
amazement. And I wanted to call my mother, you know, as
corny as it sounds, but I knew I couldn't do it, that this ring
didn't signify that kind of engagement, not now anyway. And
you know what they say: never tease a Catholic mother about
marriage.
But I knew it was an engagement, a commitment, on
altogether a different level.
A deeper level.
Of course, it was right about then that it suddenly
occurred to me how Frohike might've sent the damn thing.
Think about it. A bunch of cheap country fair presents
for weeks to disarm me, and then bam: a doozy.
It was the kind of thing he'd do.
Jesus. I sat alone with that thought for a while, let me
tell you.
Anonymous stuff can get so confusing.
Well. I decided to go for it, as you keep telling me to do
ad nauseam.
I figured I'd wear it to the stakeout and you'd do one of
two things.
You'd either smile or you'd go completely twitchy.
You smiled.
That's it, boys. That's what really happened.
I consider this subject closed. Which means I don't want
to hear a peep out of you about any of it. Not from you,
Mulder. Nor Frohike. Nor from the rest of you guys.
That includes e-mails, one-on-one discussions,
telephone calls, snail mail, talk shows and signs pulled by
airplanes.
Here endeth this charade.
I hope I've made myself perfectly clear.
END