Author: RhymePhile
E-mail: [email protected]
Rating: PG
Category: S, H, M/S UST
Spoilers: A slight one for The Movie, but you're gonna have to be good
to catch it.
Disclaimer: Fox, Dana, and any other peripherally mentioned characters
are owned and operated :) by CC, 1013, and Fox Productions.
Summary: A bored Scully, contemplating cleaning her crumby stove on a
Saturday night, decides to call Mulder instead. She should have known
better.
Author's Note: Love as always to my Aardvark, who gave me the line about
Mulder's profiling, and thanks to my dad who made me watch all those
Nature specials on PBS as a kid.
Author's Note II: Fish death and flying metaphors ahead! You've been
warned.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Frohike Fish"
by RhymePhile
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Humming softly to herself, Scully dried the last of her dinner dishes
and stored them safely in the cabinet above the kitchen sink.
It was one of those quiet Saturday evenings where normal women were out
on dates having fun, socializing, and perhaps meeting nice guys. Guys
who weren't mutants, didn't bleed green, have talking tattoos, or have
fangs. Nice guys. Normal guys. Men she never seemed to meet.
Since she wasn't going out to a bar to party, and she was pretty sure
there wouldn't be a nice, normal, red-blooded unfanged untattooed
gentleman knocking at her door, she did the next best thing.
Scully cleaned.
She cleaned the bathroom, dusted, vacuumed, scrubbed the kitchen floor,
and had just finished her tasty meal-in-the-can of Hormel chili when she
began eyeing the crumbs in between the burners of the stove.
"Cleanliness was next to godliness" her mother always preached. Maggie
Scully kept a clean house, and now her daughter was positive it was due
to boredom, not the desire for sainthood.
Her hand slowly began drifting to the Crumb Sponge on the sink when her
mind sort of, y'know, protested the stiuation.
<Dana> her mind said, <name one other single woman in the entire
DC/Virginia area currently contemplating cleaning her stove on a
Saturday night.>
She couldn't argue with that logic, as her brain *did* get her through
med school and all, so she went over to the couch and flipped on the TV.
Scully had the best of intentions, hoping she would find something good
on the tube to take her mind off her pathetic social life. Her mind was
acting like a pain in the ass lately.
Unfortunately, she couldn't find anything good, and jeez, Dr. Quinn
Medicine Woman wasn't even on anymore. Now what?
Her bookshelf was bare, mainly because the thought of paying $26 for a
hardcover novel scared her more than cleaning her stove on a Saturday
night whilst having conversations with her brain.
Surfing the Web wasn't an option; someone had sent in a complaint about
"inappropriate material" on one of her favorite places to read erotic
stories, "The Shimmying Sex and Smut Shack." Thus, Scully was protesting
her ISP. Sex Nazis.
So there she was: a clean bathroom, slightly crumby stove, no Dr. Quinn,
and no smut.
At the thought of smut her mind drifted to her partner. Her mind did
that a lot, it seemed.
Maybe she would give him a call. Hell, he always called her when he was
bored, so why couldn't she call *him* for once?
The speed dial blipped his number through and she heard his familiar
voice.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Mulder."
"Scully?"
"Yeah, what other woman do you know that would be home on a Saturday
night?"
"Oh God, this is horrible."
"I know, I know, tell me about it. But we both have no social lives, and
I hardly ever call *you*, so it's not that horrible. I was bored...I was
going to clean the *stove* for Pete's sake..."
"He's dead, Scully."
<See?> her mind said, <you should have gone to a bar.>
"What?" she asked, confused. "Who's dead?"
"Oh, it's all my fault...he was so happy, so content, his friends all
around...poor little guy, I can't believe it."
"Who Mulder? Who's dead?"
"He never should have met me--I'm cursed or something, I swear. He
should have stayed where he was, safe and sound. Now look at him. He's
lying there, dead, all soggy and wet, dripping all over the coffee
table. Jeez, my new rug..."
"Dammit, Mulder! What the hell is going on? Who's dead? Tell me!"
"It's Frohike, Scully...I..."
"What?! Frohike's dead?"
"I should have known better. This is all my fault. I'm just going to
become one of those crazy guys that live by themselves, away from all
living things, and make rope out of their own hair...what are they
called again?"
"Hermits?" Scully asked, puzzled.
Mulder groaned loudly into the phone. "Hermits...that reminds me...I
killed Langly too."
"Mulder, I'm on my way over," she said quickly. "Don't move, just stay
where you are until we can figure out what's happening."
She heard a commotion over the phone and Mulder said, "I can tell you
what's happening, it's all over the floor..."
<You should be at a bar, right now, drunk off your ass> her mind piped
in helpfully.
"Mulder, I'll be right there," she said into the phone.
"You don't really have to come over, Scully. Well, I guess I *could* use
a medical opinion," he sighed. "What a mess."
* =A0 =A0 * =A0 =A0 * =A0 =A0 * =A0 =A0 *
Scully prepared herself for whatever it was that awaited her behind
Mulder's door, and knocked. She was good with guts and stuff. "It's me,"
she said quietly into the closed door.
When he opened the door to the apartment, Scully stepped back to avoid
being splashed. He was wet; water was dripping from his shirt, his
jeans, and the doorknob he had just touched.
"See? I told you you didn't have to come over," he said. "I think I was
able to sop up most of it."
Scully pushed past him into the living room, gun drawn. Well, it was
water all over him and the floor, which was slightly odd, but this was
Mulder after all. She didn't notice any blood anywhere, thank goodness.
"Where are the bodies?" she asked cautiously, looking at his dripping
clothes. "You didn't," she hesitated, "put them in the bathtub or
something, did you?"
"Why would I?" he asked. "I hardly think that would do any good. I'm
pretty sure they're already dead, but you can check them if you want.
Look."
Mulder pointed to his coffee table, where various colored fish and one
hermit crab lay dead, dripping water and dead fish ooze all over the
floor.
"Told you it was a mess," he said, squeezing water from his T-shirt.
"Mulder..."
"Yeah?"
She walked over to his coffee table, holstered her weapon, and sat down
with a sigh. She poked one of the fish with her fingernail. "I'm a tad
confused."
Mulder looked at her and sighed deeply, deeper than her sigh actually,
which was pretty deep. He picked up one dark-colored fish--the smallest
of the bunch--and held it gingerly by its little fin.
"I killed Frohike," he admitted solemnly.
Scully covered her eyes with her hand, wishing she were home in front of
her crumby stove. She would know better next time she was bored...next
time she would get drunk at home *and* clean her stove.
"I thought you meant the *real* Frohike when you told me on the phone."
"You did? Technically, this is the real Frohike. Not *the* Frohike, but
*a* Frohike. Frohike Fish," he protested.
"Your fish's name is Frohike," said Scully, annoyed.
Mulder nodded. "And that," he said, pointing to the oozing hermit crab,
"is...was...Langly. That's Skinner. That was Byers. The catfish was
Krycek."
"I don't believe this," she moaned.
"They don't make *rat* fish, Scully, though I did try. The clerk just
looked at me funny and said a catfish was as close as I was going to
get. They have little cute whisker things--they look a little bit like
rat whiskers..."
"No, Mulder, I mean the fact that you named your fish after people you
know."
"What else would I name them?" he asked.
"Why name them at all?"
"How else do you say hello in the morning?" he wondered. "Just, "hi,
fish"? That's rather impersonal."
"Okay," she said, ignoring him. "We've established the victims. Explain
the crime scene." Scully waved her arms, indicating the dripping cofee
table, dead fish, and soaked carpet.
"Well," he started, squishing down onto the couch next to her, "the fish
tank was dirty."
"Gotcha."
"So I had to change the filter, because without it the little guys can't
breathe and it gets all mucky in there." He gave Skinner a pathetic
nudge. "I decided I should probably clean the coral I have in there,
too. It gets covered in algae when you leave the light on in the tank."
"These are tropical fish right? Not saltwater. Why do you need coral?"
"For color. Ambience, Scully. Atmosphere. Fish appreciate a little
underwater interior decorating."
"Ah."
"It's not live coral, anyway. It's just decorative. I pulled the coral
out and put it in my sink, and scrubbed it with an old toothbrush. I
couldn't get the algae off, so I thought I would add a little bleach to
clean up the coral a bit."
"Oh no, you didn't," she said.
"How was I supposed to know you had to dilute the bleach with water
before putting it on there?"
"Mulder, coral is a porous rock. It soaks up liquids."
"Tell me about it," he sighed, motioning to the pile of dead fish and
one hermit crab named Langly.
"You washed the coral with bleach and put it back in the tank?" she
asked, horrified.
"Yes," he moaned pitifully.
"And what happened? I see the result of the...fish-icide, but there's a
reason you're soaking wet, I hope."
"Icthicide," he suggested. "I was sitting here,
watching...well...uh...Dr. Quinn isn't on anymore, so I was watching..."
She rolled her eyes. "Go on."
"I'm watching TV, when I glance over to check on how everyone is getting
along, and I see them *floating* Scully."
"Ewwww."
"I jump up, smell the bleach and realize it must be the coral, so I try
to find a net to save whoever I could, can't find a net, panic, plunge
my hand in to grab the ones still alive, chase after the damn fish
swimming away from my hand, yell at them becuase they have no idea the
danger they're in, listen to Mrs. MacGrudy across the hall scream
profanities at me because I woke her from her her nap, I yell back it's
8 p.m. on a Saturday night for Chrissakes, and then I lose my
concentration as the whole tank dumps all over me and the floor of my
apartment."
"Which explains the flood and your damp wardrobe."
"Exactly, But I was able to save you."
"Save me from what?"
"From drying up under my couch."
"*What*?"
"Scully fish. I saved her." He pointed to a small glass bowl where an
elegant striped angel fish swam slowly in circles. Scully walked over to
the bowl for a closer look.
The fish was silvery-white with black markings and red-orange stripes
near its head. Long tendrils swayed from its fins, which made it look
like it was competing in a rhythmic gymnastic competition as it circled
the bowl.
"You named a fish after me? Why do I find that vaguely disturbing?"
"When I get bored I like to profile my fish."
"Really." Yes, this was disturbing. "So what do you know about her fishy
life and apparent survival of the fish holocaust?"
"I know I didn't do my research before buying her. Angel fish are
beautiful to look at, but they are damn agressive." Mulder grew pensive
for a moment, putting his hand to his chin. "Actually, the real-life
comparisons between you and your namesake are quite startling."
"Very funny."
"I bought her and a bunch of other fish--with Frohike--about three weeks
ago," Mulder continued, "including this little dull gray guy who seemed
really lonely and depressed. We sort of...bonded, I named him Mulder,
and I put all of them in the tank together, one big fishy FBI family."
Scully glanced at the fish pile. "I don't see a Mulderesque fish lying
there," she noted. Oh God, did she just say that she was looking for a
fish that resembled Mulder?
"Well, that's because poor little depressed Mulder, Agent Pendrell, and
Deep Throat were all swallowed whole by Scully fish. I discovered that
beneath that gentle facade dwelled a tough gal who could more than hold
her own in a tank full of men. And she was also strong enough to survive
the bleaching."
"A woman after my own heart," said Scully, smiling at her namesake now.
"Which is why the name suits her perfectly," explained Mulder. "But
she's her own fish, you see--none of the other fish seem to understand
her. I do, though. She's always swimming by herself, trying to prove she
can face anything alone. Scully should realize she doesn't have to prove
anything to me. I'll be with her no matter what."
"I think she knows that. I'm sure she also notices how you treat her
with the same respect and dignity as you would any other fish. That
would be important to her, as would trust and honesty." Scully looked
over at her fish again. "Hmm, profiling, huh?"
"Yeah, and I like talking to her. She's an excellent listener. Kinda
cute, too."
Scully smiled and sat back down on the couch next to Mulder.
"Sometimes you worry me, Mulder."
"I think fish can be cute."
"Well," said Scully, wrinkling her nose, "I think your profiling days
are over for these fish. The victims are starting to smell...although it
is an interesting addition to your normal Eau du Bachelor."
"Then would you mind helping me with..."
"The burial at sea?" she asked, amused.
"You *do* have the nautical background thing, y'know."
"Boy, if I had known I was going to a funeral, I would have worn black.
Oh, no wait, all of my black suit jackets are at the tailor's getting
the collars removed..." Scully rose from the couch. "C'mon, Mulder. This
funeral should celebrate the short but happy lives of Frohike, Langly,
Skinner, and the rest of the fish named after people we know! We should
be glad they have gone on to a better place."
"I still feel bad about killing them, Scully."
"It was an accident, Mulder. Lord only knows what you were thinking when
you washed the coral with bleach, but an accident nonetheless."
Mulder thought about that for a moment, and then asked, "Can fish grow
legs, Scully?"
"Well, actually there's the walking catfish found on a certain mudflat
in Africa--it uses its fins to propel itself in a walking motion. It
lives in tidal pools, and it moves as each pool dries up...why are you
asking me about walking fish?"
"Just wondering, y'know, if I may be haunted by walking fish."
"God, what a way to spend a Saturday night. Mulder, why didn't you put
newspaper down or something here? There's going to be water stains all
over the coffee table. And how are we going to pick all of them up?
They're sloshing all over the place."
"Here, we can carry them to the bathroom in this." Mulder grabbed his
cereal bowl that had obviously been sitting on his computer desk all
day. It smelled like sour milk and oats.
"Mulder, there are still Cheerios stuck in this bowl!"
"Frohike liked Cheerios," he recalled glumly. "What a lovely tribute."
Before she could protest, he used his breakfast spoon to scoop dead fish
from the table into the bowl.
"Remind me to skip your next breakfast invitation," she muttered,
looking down at the Cheerio-and-fish-filled cereal bowl.
She followed Mulder into his bathroom and stood beside him above the
open toilet.
"We should say something, Scully."
"They're *fish* Mulder. Just flush them."
"But what about karma?"
"You believe in karma?"
"Scully, by now you should realize that I believe in just about
everything."
"Riiiight, including fish hauntings. Okay, let's see, something for the
fish. I'm not sure the Catholic church ever had to deal with a fish
service before."
Mulder spooned up Frohike and held him poised above the funeral toilet.
"Then just say a verse or something."
"Uh," Scully began, "let's see:
Behold dear Frohike
Stiff as a board
Off to fishy heaven
Take care of him, Lord!"
Plop! went Frohike into the toilet.
Scully smiled in spite of herself. She was pretty good at this.
"Here's another one, "she continued.
"There is little Langly
But I bring bad news
He used to be a hermit crab
Now he's only ooze."
"Oh, that's bad," Mulder laughed. Plop! again.
"Okay, okay, wait...where's Skinner? I have one for him:
There's Skinner our boss
A man of many moods
But now he can't be happy
In a can of cat food."
"I'm feeling better, thanks, Scully," smiled Mulder as he pitched his
boss into the toilet.
"One fish, two fish
Dead fish, smell fish!" she cried.
"Uh, Scully..."
"He cleaned out the fishtank
Quick as a flash
Why that Grinch even took
The last can of fish hash!"
"Scully..."
"A is for Apple
B is for Bread
C is for Cookie
And D is for Dead!!"
"Scully?"
"I do not like Green Eggs and Fish!
I do not like it, not one little bit
I do not like Green Eggs and Fish
Not as a main course,
And not as a side dish!!
Bwah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!!!" Scully shouted.
"SCULLY!!!!"
"Whoa," she said, "what just happened?"
"I asked you to say a few words for the deceased, and suddenly you were
channeling Dr. Seuss."
"I was? Well, I think that means that my work as preacher is done."
"And for your services, may I offer a payment of some kind?"
"Such as?" she asked.
"Dinner?"
"I already had a tasty meal-in-the-can of Hormel chili."
"Okay, a snack, then?"
"That sounds good...I bet you can't guess what I'm in the mood for..."
"Uh-oh..."
"What would I enjoy
On a night such as this?
Something tasty, of course
Frohike fishsticks!!!"
-Exeunt-
Adieu
RhymePhile
[email protected]
A friendly little tip from RhymePhile:
This fish-icide actually happened to me. Never, never, never use bleach
to clean anything in a fish tank. Don't use soap either! Just plain
water and scrub well. Better yet, just buy a picture of fish in a tank
and hang it on your wall. Much easier, and you won't be haunted by
little murdered fish.
*******************
Hello, Samantha dear,
I hope you're feelin' fine/
And it won't be long until
I'm with you all the time
-- "Calling Baton Rouge"
Garth Brooks
"I move in silence;
I walk in shadow;
I take out Duchovny."
-- The Clay Tommy Lee Jones
Celebrity Deathmatch