Title: Just Another Day Author: Kelly Keil Classification: V,H,A, and a dab of MSR Rating: PG-13 Spoilers: Millennium Distribution: Anywhere is fine. Disclaimer: Scully and Mulder are not mine. They belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. You know the drill. Summary: This is my idea of what goes on in Scully's head. It's short, but not too sweet, and mostly painless. Author Notes: Thanks to Meg and Philippa for being my betas on this. You both are terrific. See additional notes at the end of the story. Feedback: Is very welcome and can be sent to Kellylynn73@comcast.net. ______________________________________________________ Just Another Day by Kelly Keil "...He's my hero. He has the heart of a lion, and the sinews of a buffalo. Look at him--never a thought of the consequences, never afraid of his face, hurling himself into every scrimmage, eyes shining, cheeks ablaze. And shall it be said that I hung back? No, a thousand times no. What's it to me if I have to spend the next couple of years in a plaster cast? Come on, Butch, right through them! Who wants to live forever?" "The Waltz" by Dorothy Parker "I'm fine. Yes, fine. Really, fine. Fine." Of course I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be? After all, I've only been nearly strangled to death by something that clearly should not exist. I can't even begin to describe how horrible it was. The smell alone...but wait, I forgot that you do know how horrible it was. You know, and you don't care. Being locked in a basement with a troop of zombies doesn't seem to have fazed you much at all. In fact, not much of anything seems to faze you. Do you have any idea how irritating that is? Show you a lurking horror and all you do is smile in wonder like a kid on Christmas morning. Look, Scully, zombies! Isn't that amazing? No, Mulder, it is not amazing. It's disgusting, and smelly, and should not be. It's also annoying. God, I hate it when you're right. Of course you were hurt in our little adventure, guaranteeing that I would spend yet another evening in a hospital. As an added extra bonus, it's New Year's Eve. Thank you ever so much for ruining my plans. I'm not sure why I still bother to make plans. Something always comes up. I guess you see today as just another day of monster hunting, but across the world, obliviously happy people are celebrating. Why can't I, just once, be one of those happy, oblivious people? I suppose Christmas did come and go relatively unmolested by the supernatural. Thank you for the sweater, by the way. Pink angora, and two sizes too small for me. So thoughtful, so...you. Did you mistake the look on my face for surprise, rather than horror? Oh, you did? Good, I'm so glad. I had hoped to spend this night doing something fun. Not that I had a date, of course. Nope, no men loom on my horizon. Only you, Mulder, only you. Beside you, all men are too short, or too boring, or too normal. You have spoiled me for one half of the human race, and for that I thank you. I prefer my own company anyway. But tonight I had planned on going against my own grain. I was going to go out. I was going to have fun, dammit, no matter what. Yet here I am, in the hospital, feeling sorry for your sorry ass, and wishing I had an ice pack on my neck. That isn't too much to ask, is it? Maybe, if I wave hard enough, I can flag down one of the nurses who swoop down on you on a regular basis to see if you're still doing okay. It's doubtful, though. Even with the red hair it's hard to notice me when you're lying there in all your wounded-puppy splendor. Oh, to hell with it. When I go home I'll take care of it. There's a bag of frozen peas with my neck written all over it in my freezer. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. "Are you sure he's going to be okay? Have you checked for nerve damage? Did the x-rays show any fractures? Has he lost too much blood? Is he feverish? To me he feels feverish. No, I'm his doctor. All right, then, but I'm going to keep an eye on him nevertheless." Mulder, how did I become your doctor? Is it just laziness on your part? Maybe it's because I don't charge for office visits and I do make house calls, albeit reluctantly. And how many people can boast that they have their physician's cell phone number? But Mulder, I have to wonder about you. Sure, I'm an MD, but I've never practiced. Hell, I cut up dead people for a living. Perhaps this is part of the appeal for you. I wouldn't put it past you, sick little puppy that you are. And I suppose it hasn't been all bad. After all, if I ever do need a different line of work, I could look into emergency room medicine. You've given me plenty of triage experience. And really, when you get down to it, doesn't every girl dream of growing up to be some arrogant man's wet nurse? Heaven knows that when the opportunity came up to work with you, the illustrious Spooky Mulder, it was explained to me that I would be your secretary, pocket scientist, den mother, and, of course, wet nurse. Right away I said, "Hey, sign me up for that. This is an opportunity that I, for one, cannot turn down. I will dedicate my life to babysitting this man." Yes, Mulder, caring for you is a career in and of itself. I just do the slicing and dicing as a hobby, like macram. "No, Mulder, you are not going to drive yourself home. I won't hear of it. You only have one good arm, for heaven's sake, don't be ridiculous. Here, let me help you out of bed. Me? Oh, I'm fine. No, it doesn't hurt a bit. We really should stop by a pharmacy to get your prescriptions filled--I think there's a twenty-four hour store on the way to your apartment. No, I don't mind." You know, Mulder, it's a damn good thing for you that I'm crazy about you. Crazy being the operative word, of course. How I could have ever been so insane as to fall in love with you? You obviously have some sort of sinister control over time and space to make me into your willing slave. You are an evil magician who waves his wand and makes me follow him into situation after situation that tears away at my perception of reality. I don't know what is real and what is fantastical anymore, Mulder. Hell, for all I know, the Tooth Fairy does exist, and is living happily in Kalamazoo, Michigan. You probably have an X-file on her filed artfully under "R" for "Really exists". I would not be surprised at all. I have fought you every step of the way, for all the good it's done me. I am no match for your gravitational pull, and I've become one of your satellites. I tried to leave you once, Mulder, but how can the moon leave the earth without being destroyed? What really breaks my heart, Mulder, is that I will never be closer to you than I already am. I am caught in an eternal stasis that keeps me at arms length from you but prevents me from escaping. It isn't fair, Mulder, and it isn't right, but life isn't fair, is it? Why should this be any different? I'll just be the Sally to your Encyclopedia Brown and be grateful for frozen peas and turtlenecks. Sorry, Mulder, no cleavage for a few days, but I'm sure you'll struggle through. You never notice anyway, except on a superficial level. You ogle, but only in a very perfunctory way. There are days when I feel like more of an object d'art than a living, breathing person. What does it take to get through to you? Oh look, Dick Clark, the amazing eternal man, is counting down the seconds until the new year. And despite your oh so witty "math geek" comment, this isn't the start of the new millennium. Not that anyone cares, but I would like to be on the record as being accurate. I have to maintain my image--Agent Scully, not a fact out of place. It also means that I have an entire year before I make the really big millennium resolutions. I have an entire year to exist in your orbit, which is unsatisfying, but astonishingly easy. Inertia is a bitch, Mulder. A real bitch. Why are you looking at me that way, Mulder? There's a crazy light in your eyes that I'm not sure I can attribute to the Demerol. Your face is moving closer to mine and I have an intense feeling of deja vu. I wonder what will pop out of the woodwork this time. Nice timing, by the way. So considerate of you, as always, to give both of us an out if this turns out badly. "It was the Demerol, Scully. You know how crazy I get." "It was just a New Year's kiss. It didn't mean anything, Mulder." Nice to know that I'll be able to retain my-- Oh, my. That was...it felt...I...oh, you're still kissing me. Shut up and just go with it, Dana. This is your first, and likely last, time to experience this. Shut out the hospital smell and the fact that people are watching and even Dick Clark's voice. Just be, for once in your over analyzed life. The world didn't end. Funny, somehow I expected it would. Shouldn't there be earthquakes or tidal waves? At least some thunder and lightning? I open my eyes and am surprised the hospital is still standing. Amazing, simply amazing. "No, it didn't." Come on, Mulder, let's get your happy ass home. Yes, I feel that arm around my waist. My, my, this almost makes up for the pink sweater. Almost. Trust you, of course, to be the first to break past our uneasy truce of noninvolvement. You must have enough of that telepathic ability left to know that I had planned to give myself one more year in purgatory before attempting to make a break for heaven or hell. You beat me to the punch, Mulder, again like the proverbial kid on Christmas, this time sneaking down to open his presents early. No fair peeking, Mulder. Oh well, what's done is done. The question, of course, is where we go from here. I guess time will tell. There's not a monster out there that we're afraid of, so why are we so scared of each other? I know that Monday you will be at work, despite my warnings to stay in bed, and we will ignore what happened when the ball dropped. You're good at uncovering conspiracies and burying your feelings, Mulder. On the other hand, so am I. See what a good match we are? A smart woman would accept an invitation up to your apartment. A brave woman wouldn't need the invitation. A tired, cautious, and jaded woman would find away to avoid the subject of invitations altogether. "No, I couldn't. You need to rest, and shouldn't be drinking alcohol with the pain medication you've already taken, anyway. I don't want to see you at work until Tuesday. No, I'll be fine. Any crises that come up can just wait until then. Yes, Happy New Year to you too. Good night, Mulder. I'll come over tomorrow to check on you and you better be lying down when I get here. Very funny. Good night, Mulder. Good night." The End Author notes: This is a very personal challenge fic-- my husband was the one who came up with the challenge. He wanted me to write a story based on "The Waltz" by Dorothy Parker, the grand dame of black humor. I said what the heck, and here is the result. If you hate it, blame him. If you want to read Parker's story, it's available at this addy: http://www.wsu.edu/~jbgreene/waltz.html Kelly Keil (kellylynn73@comcast.net)