How I Spent My... Vacation at Work by Mish mish_rose@yahoo.com Classification: H, Action!M/S UST, Parody Rating: R for language and action figure violence, angst Spoilers: Oh, let's see... just about anything, including a tiny one for Signs and Wonders Summary: The trials of a fic writer doing the unthinkable - writing while she's supposed to be working. Gasp! Distribution: Gossamer, Spookys. If you want it, it's yours, just give me an excuse to check my email. Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully do not belong to me. The other characters, however, are entirely real, and they would be royally pissed if they knew I'd written this. Author's Note: God, I'm *so* sorry if I've offended any of the fic writers mentioned in this little ditty. Look at it this way - if your name is in here, it's because I'm insanely jealous! Many thanks to my bestest friend, Jan, for giving this a read and laughing at all the right places. I'll even forgive you for laughing in all the *wrong* places, too. More notes at end, if you make it that far. December 27, 1999 Trying to write fanfic at work is a bitch, but you already knew that, didn't you? You wake up with a gem of an idea rolling around in your head. Good start to the day, yes indeed. While you're in the shower, you realize that this is the slowest time of the year, workwise, that is. The rush of adrenaline that makes your fingers itch to touch the keyboard makes you hurry. No makeup today - you're out of the door in less than thirty minutes. Good thing you have the coffeepot ready; you don't want to dawdle for the extra minute it would have taken you to clean it and get it started. A flick of the switch makes you smile. You can just picture Scully saying that to Sheila. Of course, it's permanently etched on your brain. Watching "Rain King" a dozen times will do that to you. Check email while coffee is brewing. Hilarious joke from Shell - bwahaha! Oooo, Alicia just posted some good smut! Download quickly, print even faster. Nobody here but you yet. Good bedtime reading, yes sirree. Yeah! Galia got the tape today! Yippeee! What am I doing for New Year's? Not a damn thing - hope this little jewel of an idea manifests itself into something I can work on over the holiday. Am I a loser or what? We don't need no stinkin' kiss - after all, kissing some forty-something guy you picked up in the casino bar at midnight can't compare to the sweet peck Mulder gave Scully at midnight, am I right? Oh, gotta check out the Haven before I get started. Spoiler free? Not this chick. Nothing like seeing a pic of snake-covered Mulder to start the day. Oh, yeah, gotta check out MTA for some new goodies sometime today. Put a check by that on the 'to do' list. But, first things first. Open up WordPerfect. Man, that 450mHz processor zooms, don't it? Of course, you feel a slight twinge of guilt. The powers-that-be bought this new computer for you to run the RAM-hog of an imaging software called MIMS 3000. Too bad you *won't* be editing trip tickets today! Put a Mozart CD in the drive.... Oh, yeah, now we're cooking. 7:15 a. m. Another forty-five minutes before anyone else shows up. Plenty of time to get this little gem on that zip disk. Can't store it on the hard drive, you know. Thanks to the Computer Center Nazis that installed a marvel of a program called pcAnywhere last year on all the department's computers. Damned inconvenient. Spying everywhere now. Your paranoia fades with the excitement of the chase. Beginning? What beginning? You can't help it; you would really like to start at the beginning of the story, but usually you find yourself thinking about this one scene that just won't go away. The whole fic builds around that *one* scene. So, against your better judgment, you begin with that. Too easy, you tell yourself. Write the hard stuff first. Nah. You squash that little voice into smithereens and have some fun. ********** Behind the door was her future. She and Eliza waited patiently under the curious gazes of the Guardsmen that flanked the elevator. Eliza had been wrong. It had hurt, the worst form of torture Julia had ever experienced. The physical pain had not bothered her; it was a mere discomfort compared to the emotional humiliation she'd had to endure. Julia had never left the building when Laura escorted her to the sixth floor. She later found out it was called 'The Infirmary', although she hadn't seen any sick or injured in the cubicles lined up against the walls. Eliza was made to wait outside the main treatment area, much to her relief. Julia didn't want her back there, anyway. The less Eliza knew about Julia, the better. Laura had followed the medical personnel surrounding Julia into a large chamber off from the main treatment area, murmuring what was supposed to be calming words. Julia tuned her out quickly, the roar of unwelcome fear in her brain blocking all sound very efficiently. She was made to undress quickly by the nurses, and she blanched when she saw the examining table. It was something she'd seen before, in flashbacks and dreams she'd never acknowledged as the truth. The truth came to her in a rush as she'd looked at the shiny stirrups and well-worn restraining straps. Her eyes had shifted nervously to and from the bindings. "We wouldn't want you to hurt yourself, dear," Laura had replied. "In addition to the muting procedure, you will also undergo sterilization." Julia had felt anger temporarily replace the fear. She'd wanted to shout to this haughty woman that she was already sterile, thanks to the men that now lived liked royalty. Laura's eyes had hardened to ice blue chips. "We have to make sure, dear. Wouldn't want any unwanted pregnancy, now would we?" ********** Ring! Shit. You actually say "shit" because the telephone made you jump. It's your boss. He's going to be late because he's stopping to get an oil change this morning. All right! Still nobody here but you. Half of the section took vacation time between Christmas and New Year's. With any luck, the other half will call in sick. Getting back to the fic, you realize that you have to insert the obligatory Emily reference at this point. But somehow, you don't really feel like getting all schmoopy on this fine morning. Let's get to some Mulder and Scully interaction. Insert many hard returns. ********** The loud rap of voices through the door made them both back away from it. "I *told* you I didn't want another one!" Dear Lord, Julia thought, her heart seizing in her chest. She'd know that voice anywhere. "Now, Fox, I really think you're going to like this one." Cancerman. Although now he held the esteemed title of 'Appointing Authority'. It made no difference. A chicken in peacock feathers was still a chicken. "Oh, like the one who was so repulsed by me she drowned herself in the bathtub? Or the last one, who fucking nearly killed me? Or should I say, nearly killed me while fucking me?" So, it was true. Eliza and Julia looked at one another in shock. As long as it had been a rumor, it wasn't quite so frightening. Hard facts, on the other hand, were more terrifying, the stuff nightmares were made of. "Fox, there's something you're not considering here...." The voice lowered to a murmur. They could no longer hear what he was saying to Mulder. "I think he's calming him down," Eliza whispered shakily. "Here, let's take a final look - it could be any moment now." She turned Julia to face the gilded mirror at the end of the hall. ********** God dammit, the phone's ringing again. Glancing at the clock, you realize it's after eight already. Wonder who's calling in sick today? Jesus, it's the secretary. Her two year old is sick and she won't be coming in today. Great. Fucking great. Now this means you'll be stuck answering the main section telephone today. Hopefully, it won't ring too much. Who conducts any serious business over the holidays? And maybe, just *maybe* - the student worker from hell will show up today. Not that she does all that much when she's here, but at least she can pick up the telephone. In between all of her personal calls, that is. Don't think about the damn student worker, you tell yourself. Concentrate. You're on a roll. ********** Julia was pale, and the champagne colored lipstick did not help matters any. She had to admit, though, that she'd never looked better. The weeks spent with Eliza had worked wonders for her sagging health. She was toned and lean, in quite possibly the best physical shape of her life. The golden satin dress draped low in the front and plunged modestly in the back. Her arms were bare, and if not for the blast of heat from the vent above, she was sure she'd be sporting gooseflesh. She walked toward the mirror and unwillingly admired the way the material of the dress clung to her hips and thighs before falling to the floor. The cling of the fabric prevented her from wearing underwear; besides, what escort would wear underwear? Just one more thing that stood between him and his pleasure. The shoes - God, she had to admit that she *loved* the shoes. Made of finest Italian leather, they were nothing but a crisscross of delicate straps that attached her feet to the four-inch heels. She'd always worn heels, yes, but they were serviceable, clunky work shoes. Professional to the max. These shoes were professional, all right. The uniform of the oldest profession known to man. "You look fabulous," Eliza breathed. "Simply gorgeous. He's going to love you." Julia crossed her fingers and waved them in front of Eliza, hoping she'd added enough twinkle in her eye to satisfy her friend. "We're ready for you." The two women snapped around at the voice. Laura stood in the open doorway, a trickle of smoke seeping through above her head. She raised a brow and pursed her lips as if to say - *now*. "Good luck, Julia." Eliza gave her a quick peck on the cheek and moved back, but not before brushing her thumb over the smudge in a final cleanup. "There - perfect." Yes, Julia thought, everything's perfect. Just what I wanted. Fox Mulder's head on a silver platter. And what a beautiful head it was, too, bowed in tight anger, set upoon ********** Ka-lop, ka-lop, ka-lop. You'd know that sound anywhere. Cowboy boots, nine o'clock and heading your way. Minimize! Yes, good morning to you, too, Tim. Any calls? Just one, from Nina. She won't be in today. Can I handle the phones? Sure! Expecting a conference call, are you? Oil spill in the gulf? FUCK. Guess the phones will be hectic today, huh? No problem. I'm here, not going anywhere. You listen to the fade of his footsteps before maximizing... okay, he's in his office. Now, where were you? ********** and what a beautiful head it was, too, set upoon ********** Backspace. That's "upon", stupid, not "upoon". ********** rigid shoulders that didn't move a hair when she walked in. He stood at the window, sans jacket, his hands clenching and unclenching upon lean hips. "Fox?" If possible, Mulder stiffened more at the odious word, though he didn't turn around. Julia could hardly make out his shadowy form in the dimness of the immense room. She knew it was him, though. Even if she were blind, she could have picked him up by scent alone. "Fox, this is Julia." The Appointing Authority gestured to Julia, and she moved further into the room, her hands clasped nervously at her waist, the only blemish in her outward calm. Mulder's head turned as he gave them his profile. Julia was thankful she couldn't speak when she saw the slash that marred his neck fully illuminated by the moonlight. Her mouth dropped slightly by instinct, the silent gasp escaping anyway. It was much worse than it appeared on television. Naturally, the Appointing Authority employed only the finest when it came to hiding anything. Mulder wasn't comfortable with it, that much was obvious. The only artificial light in the room came from an open doorway into the next room, a bedroom, Julia surmised, glimpsing an enormous king-sized bed. "I don't want this," Mulder said quietly, interrupting Julia's inspection of the suite. Speak again, she pleaded with her eyes. I wasn't paying attention to your voice. She just as quickly chastised herself; he couldn't see her eyes, he was too far away. The Appointing Authority ignored Mulder's entreaty and turned to Julia. "Come closer, my dear." He extended a hand, and Julia grasped it reluctantly, suddenly unsure of those four-inch Italian shoes. The light from the bedroom knifed across her face before disappearing over her head. Mulder's head whipped around, his peripheral vision picking her up instantly. "Scully?" ********** No, no, no! Fucking telephone. No, Donna isn't here yet (the student worker from hell). No, you don't know when she'll be in. The bitch on the other end hangs up without even a thank you or a goodbye. You snarl into the telephone before you hang it up. "I'm not her fucking secretary." Mornin'! The female voice breezes into your office from the hall. Shit! Too late to minimize now. Act cool. Screen saver will kick in any minute now. It's not your bestest friend, Jan, but a friend anyway. Did you have a good Christmas? Yeah, got money. Money? Yeah, blah, blah, blah.... You let loose with a silent sigh of relief when the pipes appear on your screen out of the corner of your eye. Twenty minutes of conversation about her problems, during which you can't get a word in edgewise. You nod, all the while wishing her voice would dry up, or her phone would ring, or she'd get a sudden attack of gas... *anything* to get her out of your office! You say a prayer of thanks when the telephone rings. Visitor from hell makes a quick exit, something about downloading data from USGS while she has the chance. Woohoo! It's your bestest friend, Jan! Miss me already, huh? Yeah, I remembered you were off all this week. Bitch. She laughs and calls you a whore. Spend ten minutes envying her vacation and bemoaning the fact that you're here alone to handle calls. Wonder what you'll charge the time to? Organization #4412 - Habitat Bitching. You and Jan laugh some more, and swear to get together for lunch this week. Fat chance. She won't come into the city, and you don't blame her. Whore. Whore. You roll the "r" broadly when you say the word aloud. ********** The smirk became broader, manifesting itself in the curve of Mulder's lips. "So you're my new whore." ********** Okay, so you skipped a few moments of angst. But you just couldn't resist that word. ********** "Fox!" "That's what she is, isn't she? Just a whore." The last word floated to her on a breeze of whiskey breath. "Oh, she's beautiful, I'll grant you that." But she was still a whore. The unspoken qualifier stabbed Julia in the stomach. "I only want you to be happy, son." Mulder flashed red-hot eyes at Cancerman, his jaw tightening. He said nothing, however, though Julia could feel the angry threat emanating from his body. "If you don't like her, I can find someone else. One more to your taste. Although, I think she's lovely, quite an ornament. You would look well together." "That's what you said last time, and look what it got me." Julia's eyes were drawn to the scar. Mulder flushed at her curiosity; before he could say anything, she looked away, dropping her gaze to the floor. She had to be careful. Her emotions were clouding her judgement. "She thinks I'm hideous. Don't you, Julia?" Julia raised watery eyes to his face. No, she didn't. On the contrary, his was the face she saw in her dreams. ********** Blam! Roadblock! Big time! What next? You stare at the screen until the pipes kick in again, knowing what you want to happen next, but just missing that one little... link. Your face scrunches up and you feel a slight headache coming on. Oh no, not now. The Advil goes down easy with your now ice cold coffee. Five minutes pass, then ten. Telephone rings again. This time, you're actually kind of relieved. Breaks up the monotony. Nope, she's not here yet. This one says goodbye; well, wonders never cease. You have a nice day, too. Half an hour passes. You ask your boss to listen for the telephone while you go to the restroom. Your brain is still frozen when you get back. The Mulder action figure on the shelf above your pc starts speaking to you. I'm trying, I'm trying! Then Action!Scully gets in on the act. You stick your tongue out at them both and take an early lunch. Eating fast food always makes you feel better. Chocolate kisses for dessert. Yeah, you think Jan has some stashed in her closet. Save as "Test" - just in case - and close. 12:00 p.m. Phone rang twelve times while you wolfed down your Whopper, no pickles. Chocolate hunt unsuccessful. Boss went to lunch and you have to pee so bad you have the taste in your mouth, but you can't leave the fucking telephones. Because you're the only one here. Sounded so promising four hours ago. You think God has it out for you for playing hooky at work. Sounds plausible, remotely plausible, actually. Never believed in extreme possibilities until a few years ago. You change out Mozart for Beethoven. "Pastoral" - just what the muse ordered. Oh, now you can feel the creative juices flowing. Or is that warm rush the dying spasm of your sphincter muscle? This time, you cry with relief at the ka-lop of those cowboy boots. Make *him* answer his own God damned calls while you lose some of the ten cups of coffee you had that morning. Before long, though, you're back in front of an empty screen. Relieved, but still frustrated. You think to yourself you'll just start typing. If you touch the keys, it will come. Wait a minute, get that picture of Kevin Costner out of your mind, right now. It won't go away. You have an idea, though. You turn your X-Files 2000 calendar to March and stare at the picture of David Duchovny for a few minutes. That does the trick. Okay, time to continue. ********** "Good," his father murmured, lighting up a cigarette. "It seems we have true love, Fox. I'll leave you two alone, then. Enjoy." With a smug smile, he strode from the room. Julia stood her ground in the deafening silence as Mulder's eyes raked her from head to toe. He was rapidly overwhelming her with his mere physical proximity. She could feel her defenses wilting under his cold stare. She'd been fine until he'd moved closer. One look in the eyes that were mere inches from hers, and she'd almost given it away. He was still sizing her up; she could feel the natural curiosity bloom within him. His teeth worked at his lower lip and his eyes narrowed to mere slits. Soon he would break her, she was sure of it. Just as she thought she might swoon, he began to move in a slow circle around her, disappearing behind her. She heaved a small sigh of relief at the loss of his penetrating glare. Maybe he'd bought it. His heavy breath upon her neck stirred the mass of hair between her shoulder blades. She jumped when she felt a warm hand seize her bare shoulder. "Keep still." He's touching me, he's touching me, Julia's mind screamed. Dear God in heaven.... I don't know if I can bear it. A shiver of something - fear, most likely - ran up her spine seconds before his other hand brushed her hair aside to settle on her nape, the fingers searching her neck for the Braille history of her former life. He was looking for the implant. That was no problem; it was still there, just buried as deep as the love she no longer allowed herself to feel. The doctor in Dubuque had taken care of it. The man behind her had taken care of the other. Neither had left a scar. Julia kept still under his touch, counting the seconds until he stepped away, then immediately missing the warmth of his hands. Thank God that was over with. She hadn't known if she could have endured it for much longer. "Take off the dress." No, Julia refused, her eyes slipping shut. I can't do this. God help me.... ********** You're greeted by silence when you answer the telephone this time. You just *know* it's one of the friends of the student worker from hell. The receiver actually cracks when you slam it down, all the while cursing up a blue storm. Was that for me? Tim wants to know, poking his head around your door. Your eyes dart from him to the screen. Kick in, kick in, kick in. Nope, sure wasn't. Nobody there. Please, God, if you're up there listening, please let the screensaver kick in now.... Oil spill wasn't as bad as they thought? Good, good. Only 200 gallons, should evaporate in a day or so. Excellent. Going upstairs? Okey-dokey. I'll be here. Whew. Alone at last. Now - where was I? That damned plastic Mulder is giving you no end of trouble. Shut up, *Fox*, or I'll make you two do it in a pig sty. That's *whore* to you, mister. Just for that, I'm gonna check my email again. Leave you hanging, studmuffin. Nyeah. Nope, no new messages. You check out Ephemeral, just for a lark (like you don't do it twenty times a day, anyway), and see another chapter in Narida Law's "Worth Breaking". When is she gonna finish that, anyway? Just your luck, you swore off of WIP's just when it seems everybody and his brother are writing them. Groaning, you close the Internet and take up the mule train again. Shut up! Oh wait, Action!Scully said that. Getting a little horny, aren't we, Dana? Frustration? You don't know the meaning of the word! Scully smiles in insincere sympathy, and you decide then and there to get this chapter finished today. Today, do you hear? ********** "I said, take off the dress. Or I'll take it off for you." Would he hurt her? Fear made her hands fly to her shoulders, where she released first one silken frog, then the other. For a moment, she held up the garment with crossed arms. Then with a deep breath, she let it fall to the floor. She was instantly aware of a change in his breathing. It became heavier, slower, more labored. Hers, on the other hand, raced to catch up with the pounding of her heart. Please don't let him touch me again, she prayed. Of course, everyone knew there were no prayers answered anymore. Mulder grunted slightly, his knees popping as he squatted on the floor behind her. She calmed when she realized what he was looking for. That was gone, too. Santa Fe, three months ago. Although she'd only seen a reflection of it in the mirror, she knew it was good work. Damn, there were his hands again, one at her waist, the other smoothing over the spot where the ourobourus once was. The doctor had assured her its removal had been nearly flawless; only a dime- sized pucker of tucked skin remained after the surgery. He'd sculpted it into a dimple. Mulder's thumb lingered in that dimple above her right buttocks before moving away. She was as sure of this work as she was of the implant. She hoped he would let it go at that. Her mind went numb with relief as she heard him rise. The inspection was over; she passed with flying colors. If she could have laughed, she would have. Until he moved to crouch in front of her. ********** No, not yet, Plasticman. It's no use ignoring them. Mulder and Scully are the only ones around to talk to. But that's been done! Whine, whine, whine. Sure, it's romantic. But not suited for my angsty post-colonization piece. Yes, she did. And a helluva lot better than *I* could ever do. Nope, just not that good. You lift your eyes to the duo just as Action!Alien dude twitches that four-clawed hand, a very smug smile on your face. ********** Then scar on her abdomen had been much more difficult to remove, requiring several operations in Portland, Oregon last April. She'd been anxious to move on, paranoid that they would find her in that makeshift clinic hidden in the midst of chaos. The doctor had assured Julia that she was working as fast as possible; but, surgical scars were often the trickiest things, didn't you know it? Julia inhaled sharply at the sight of his long, tanned fingers on her pale skin. She really shouldn't have been watching. Disinterest was the preferred response. After all, a cool head was the best advantage in any battle. It shouldn't matter that the hand belonged to the one person left in this meager world whose touch was the firiest of brands upon her skin. He's just a man, just a man, she kept repeating to herself, even as she watched her betraying hand slowly rise to hover above his head. His hair was short, painfully so. Strewn with silver inch-long dashes, it shined in a tapestry of vivid copper and amber threads. She so longed to touch it. Mulder was oblivious to her scrutiny, so enraptured was he by the play of sleek muscle that quivered under his hand. Julia could see his teeth capture his lower lip, consternation furrowing his brow. He was so vulnerable to her now; if she had a knife, she could have ended this in a heartbeat. She tried to picture the weapon in the hand that shook above him, to no avail. All she could see was the caress of that same hand over the burnished cap that seemed to ache for her touch. Would he feel it if she airbrushed a finger over the slight curl behind his left ear? The curl beckoned; her hand inched closer. Mulder sighed, turning his head to the right and pausing. It was all Julia needed to drop her hand and return to sanity. He rose and didn't spare her another glance while striding to the closed door behind her. She crossed her arms defensively, half-turning to follow him, a question in her eyes. He plunged the room into darkness before opening the door. A soft glow from within showed her the lines of disappointment and grief he was striving to hide from her. "You sleep over there," he said, nodding at the bedroom she'd seen when she'd first arrived. "This is my room. If you need anything, knock. Otherwise, stay out." His gaze pierced her one final time. "If you ever come in here without my consent, I'll kill you." He slammed the door behind him, then threw the lock into place. ********** Nope, not right now. Sorry, Romeo. It's 4:00. Time to surf a bit before I go home for the day. All in all, it's been a fruitful day. You never think you'll write a post-col piece, and this looks like it may take a while. But you have all week, then the weekend. You check your email one final time, but your mind is still on the story. How to begin, how to end? Now you're browsing the archives for some oldies but goodies you can print out while you still have sole possession of the network printer. In the mood for some post-col, huh? Oh, this sounds like a good one! Scully as a slave, Mulder looking for her.... Wait a minute, she's been... Aw, fuck! Muted. God dammit, you spend a whole fucking day on what you thought was a brilliant idea, and you find out it's been done. Calm down. Don't hyperventilate. You didn't write *exactly* the same storyline. Yours will be different. It's not like you haven't read dozens of "Mulder and Scully finally admit their feelings and do it in some seedy motel" fics. Just to be on the safe side, you print out the two- year old fic and take it home with you. You certainly want to make yours as different from this one as possible. It *will* be different, you tell yourself. Tomorrow will be different. No, I didn't, Mulder. Alien dude growls at whiny-boy, grabbing him from behind. Action!Scully dives right in. You shut down and grab your briefcase amidst the screams and thuds, lamenting the mess you're gonna have to clean up tomorrow. And not just the plastic blood, either. END My sincerest apologies if *this* has been done before, too! Writer's block warps your brain, big time. Actually, I began the post-col fic detailed in here about two months ago, and I had almost nine chapters written when I *did* come across a similar fic where Scully had been rendered mute. Don't know if I'll ever finish it now.... Alien dude demands. mish_rose@yahoo.com