by Piper Sargasso
Archive: Would anyone seriously want this? I would print it out to line my birdcage, personally. If you want it, it’s yours.
Disclaimer: These are all mine. The real characters would never be so stoopid!
Author’s Note: This bit of idiocy is for the Metaphor Challenge at Beyond the Sea. It’s my first (intentional) badfic.
Spot the fanfic cliches!
Mulder looked at Scully sitting across the room from him. A radio played in the background. It played Sarah McLachlan’s song, “Sweet Surrender.”
you take me in
no questions asked
you strip away the ugliness
that surrounds me
are you an angel
am I already that gone
I only hope
that I won’t disappoint you
when I’m down here
on my knees
“Oh my God!” he thought, “That’s just like us!” But then he remembered that there’s no way Scully could love a loser like him because all he could ever think about was Samantha and his Quest for the Truth. That, and all he ever watched was porn and he knew she could hear it through the thin motel walls. How many times had he wished she would come to him through the adjoining door? He always left it unlocked, just in case.
His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.
“Mulder,” Scully said, breaking his reverie. “Look at this invitation that conveniently surfaced on my normally immaculate desk! It’s the Annual FBI Charity Ball!”
Suddenly, the phone rang. “Scully.”
She listened while Mulder spit sunflower seeds husks all over the floor. He even blew one all the way over to land on Scully’s desk. She gave him The Eyebrow and went back to her conversation.
“Hmm, hmm. I see. Yes, Sir.” Sighing, she returned the phone to the cradle. “Mulder, that was AD Skinner. He said we have to go to the ball or it’s our jobs. I never realized how expendable two highly intelligent agents with a high solve rate and a knack for uncovering government conspiracies can be!”
And what will I wear?
Mulder looked at her. Dare he ask her? There was really no one else and he was so afraid to go by himself or ask another woman because he was a social pariah and he still had no idea how he got along all those years before Scully came along.
He never wanted to trust her like he trusted the endless parade of informants that lied to him repeatedly. He never wanted to fall in love with her like he did with Diana that hot, steamy night in Switzerland with two blonde twins, Heidi and Gretchen, and a bottle of Absinthe. But she grew on him. Grew on him like she was a colony of E. coli and he was a room temperature Canadian beef.
He suddenly got courage all over the place. It was like Jack in “Titanic”, his favorite movie. When he saved Rose. He smiled, remembering that scene. Oh, Scully. My heart can’t go on without you.
“Scully?” his eyes grew dark and intense. “You are my one in five billion. Please go with me.”
She thought about this, then gave a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up. “Of course I’ll go with you, Mulder. Everyone knows I can’t get a date for
myself! And who cares about the whole “inter-office dating” thing? I’m sure no one will notice two infamous agents grinding on the dance floor together.”
Since there was only four hours until this Ball began, and everyone else at the Hoover Building apparently had their gowns and tuxes in their desk drawers (and therefore had no need to leave early to get ready), Scully left early to buy a dress.
She found a boutique with the perfect dress right away. She didn’t have to worry about the price or the fit, because it was all perfect. It was in the window, so she asked the sales lady to take it
down. When she came out of the dressing room, the sales lady cried.
“Oh! You look so beautiful! That green, off the shoulder cut with bosom-heaving bodice is perfect for you! Is there someone special you’re going with?” She winked like a woman with an eyelash in her eye that won’t come out no matter how many times she blinks.
Scully blushed and went home to change.
Mulder knocked on her door. When she opened it, he was blinded by her beauty. He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant and she was the East River. She was mesmerizing in her green dress and he could see the color of her flaming red hair for the very first time. Her beauty cured his red/green colorblindness! Maybe it was an X-File.
She saw the hungry look in his hazel eyes, the kind you get from not eating for a while. She decided to hurry up and leave before she had any unpartner-ly thoughts about ravaging him on her floor.
They pulled up in front of the hotel. The valet hobbled to them and took the keys. Mulder slipped him a $1 bill. “Keep the change, Buddy.”
The man smiled in gratitude. He really was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical duck, either, but a real duck that was actually lame. Maybe from stepping on a land mine or something.
When they went inside, everyone stared at them. “C’mon, Mulder. Let’s forget about these people, consume large amounts of alcohol and end up forgetting ourselves. We’ll show them!”
She spun away from him, twirling like a ballerina to the music. She rose gracefully en pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant. Mulder was turned on by her flexibility.
Then they danced together. Remembering her flexibility, he looked deeply into her eyes. Her hair glistened in the light of the opulent chandelier like nose hair after a sneeze.
She blinked at the intensity in his eyes and he held her closer. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you’re on vacation in another city and Jeopardy comes on at 7:00 p.m. instead of 7:30. Shivers ran down her spine as his hand made contact with her bare back.
Mulder realized he was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up. He imagined her carrying his baby, standing in front of their house. They would live in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan’s teeth. He wondered how she felt about the PTA.
Suddenly, they heard Tom Colton’s voice from across the room.
“I’m telling you guys, that Dana Scully’s as easy as the TV Guide crossword puzzle!”
Mulder was mad. He was as mad as a construction worker that lost his sandwich when it fell from a skyscraper beam. He walked over and punched Tom Colton, who was very rude to him before in the Tooms case, right in his ugly face.
Impressed by his manly display of testosterone-induced fury, Scully hooked her arm into his. “Let’s go, Mulder. Will you take me home now?”
When they got to the street, they stopped and looked at the stars. “You know, Scully,” Mulder began. “I’ve loved you ever since you dropped trou in my motel room all those years ago.”
Overwhelmed with love, she answered with tears in her eyes. “And I’ve loved you ever since I first laid eyes on you. Oh, Mulder!”
They kissed, and it was like fireworks were bursting all around. The earth tilted on its axis and their heads felt like they were spinning like Linda Blair’s in the Exorcist. It was magical.
“C’mon, G-man,” Scully said with a wink. “Take me home.”
It was the most magical of magical things he ever could’ve hoped for.
~ The End ~
A/N: God help the future of America, but nearly all of the metaphors represented in this fic were actual ones used in high school papers. I am suitably terrified.