Feedback: XSandPiper78[at]aol.com
Rating: PG-13
Keywords: Humor, “Bridget Jones’s Diary” crossover.
Archive: Sure! Please let me know where.
Disclaimer: The X-Files and related characters are the property of CC, 1013, etc. “Bridget Jones’s Diary” is the property of Helen Fielding and Penguin Books. No infringement intended.
Summary: Scully’s life in “Bridget Jones” style.
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Valentine’s Day of Dooooom
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~ Friday 14 February
Wonderful holiday, Valentine’s Day. Is time of love and
cherubs, roses and proclamations of affection. Wonder what I’ll
get in the mail today — or better still, delivered to office! Will
have to pass gifts off as from someone else other than Tom, of
course. But will be thrilled to see partner eat crow, especially
since was so smug the other day about me not having a date.
Damn! Am late. Can’t find pantyhose anywhere, even though
must have at least ten pairs. Where have they all gone? Where?
(9:48 AM)
Okay, am at work following jaunt through severe rush-hour
traffic and mad dash through Hoover building. Have not had
time to buy new pair of pantyhose.
Interesting, the way Mulder’s gaze has been wandering to my
bare legs. Evil thought: what if I flash him a bit of skin? Could
be more fun than seducing Krycek, at any rate. Must try it out —
in the interest of comparison, of course — purely for scientific
purposes. And…
There! Have done it. Classic leg-cross maneuver. Partner’s eyes
have indeed popped out of their sockets before quickly
returning to file. Cheeks flushed. My, my, my, but this is fun!
Must file reaction away for future reference.
Now will settle into paperwork to pass time until Valentine’s
gifts arrive. Will mentally practice looking surprised!
(11:13 AM)
Nothing yet.
(11:25 AM)
Still nothing.
(11:33 AM)
Nope.
(11:57 AM)
Oh God. What if nothing comes? Will be just like last four
Valentine’s Days at office, with nothing to show anyone cares.
Am loser. Loser!
(12:01 PM)
Bet Mulder will get something, though. Disgusted with how
much stock have put into meaningless bits of paper and water-
starved, wilting flowers from corner grocer. Still, it hurts to be
the only one in the universe not receiving them. Damn Mulder
and his secretarial pool groupies.
(12:45 PM)
Went to drugstore for pantyhose and white chocolate truffles on
lunch break. Wonder — is white chocolate less fattening than
dark? Certainly seems like *should* be — lighter color gives
appearance of innocence. How could anything that innocuous-
looking be fattening? Anyway, have eaten entire bag.
(1:02 PM)
Still no gift, but found one of those conversational heart candies
on top of paperwork saying, “Be Mine.”
Had to smile. Mulder gets so silly this time of year. Wonder if
it’s his way of dealing with inevitable feelings of rejection
whole holiday inspires. But no, Mulder has his groupies.
Whatever. Will get back to work.
(1:05)
Hmm… Found another heart candy in desk drawer while
searching for my cherry-flavored chap stick. This one says, “I’m
yours.”
Shot Mulder amused stare and returned to paperwork. The man
really must get a hobby other than playing with me.
Although…
No! Will not think about Mulder in this fashion. Is work partner
and friend, not to mention promise at start of year not to — Oh,
for crying. Out. LOUD!
(1:09 PM)
Was Skinner, asking about Le Croix case closed two months
ago.
“Agent Scully, I’d like you to clear something up for me.”
“Yes, Sir?”
A pause.
“It says here in your report that Justice Le Croix was dead.”
“Yes, Sir.” Oh God. Here it comes. *Knew* we got out of it too
easy.
Slowly, “That he’d *been* dead for over three months.”
Felt my cheeks flush. “Yes, Sir. That’s correct.”
Another pause.
“And that even though he was dead, he was somehow able to
attack a couple camping at the lake, then evade you and Agent
Mulder by running off into the woods.”
Silence.
Pressure. Too. Much. “Yes! Yes! He was a friggin’ zombie,
okay?!?”
…Well, maybe not.
Took safer route, route guaranteed to *not* lose me my job. I
told him there wasn’t sufficient evidence to determine whether
or not it even *was* Justice Le Croix who attacked that night.
Never mind that, in fact, there was no doubt in my mind,
especially after having spent a lovely afternoon slicing and
dicing Mr. Le Croix myself just hours before having to fight
him off of my partner. Skinner seemed satisfied with my answer
and wished me a good afternoon.
Good afternoon indeed. Where the hell are my flowers???
(1:33 PM)
What the–? Great. Have broken computer. Work has
disappeared, leaving nothing but red screen. Now will have to
bear sly snipes at my intelligence from *geniuses* in tech
support.
(1:35 PM)
Message appearing across screen now:
“Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I’ll not look for wine…”
Tinny Celine Dion music pipes over computer’s sad speaker
system to lend a hand to sappy romantics of rest of poem.
Sadly, has also drawn partner’s attention, who is reading the
words as they appear and not bothering to hide amusement.
“Someone has a crush on you,” he taunts in annoying, singsong
voice. Am too flabbergasted to respond. Who would be sending
this to me? Couldn’t be Tom, could it?
(1:50 PM)
Hmm… Found more candy hearts upon returning from rest
room, these surrounding my coffee cup to form a request:
‘Kiss me. One kiss. Say you will.’
Shot Mulder a look, who pretended not to notice. V. strange
man. Must be careful — seems to have latent Frohikian
tendencies.
(2:04 PM)
Still no flowers, but another poem has appeared on my screen,
this one accompanied by Sarah Maclachlan song about
surrendering or something like that:
“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”
Oh, brother. Not that Shakespeare isn’t lovely, but I hate to
think my admirer is so unoriginal as to use two of the most
commonly used poems to declare his undying affection. And his
choice in music leaves a lot to be desired.
Mulder is once again reading my screen, but this time has
glasses on so as to read from the distance between his desk and
mine. He is also quoting the sonnet as the words come up in a
most dramatic fashion, even clutching his chest as though in the
throes of agonizing love. I can’t help but laugh heartily at his
antics, and he stops to give me a huge grin.
God, he’s beautiful when his smiles like that. Mulder in
glasses…yum.
(2:12 PM)
Another poem. No music this time:
So well I love thee, as without thee I
Love nothing; if I might choose, I’d rather die
Than be one day debarr’d thy company
Since breasts, and plants do grow, and live and move,
Breasts are those men, that such a life approve:
He only lives, that deadly is in love.
The corn in the ground is sown first dies
And of one seed, so many ears arise:
Love, this world’s corn, by dying multiplies.
The seeds of love first but thy eyes were thrown
Into a ground untill’d, a heart unknown
To bear such fruit, till by thy hands ’twas sown.
Look as your looking-glass by chance may fall,
Divide and break in many pieces small
And yet shows forth the selfsame face in all:
Proportions, features, graces just the same,
And in the smallest piece as well as the name
Of the fairest one deserves, as in the richest frame.
So all my thoughts are pieces but of you
Which put together makes a glass so true
As I therein no other’s face but your can view.
Lovely poem, am flushed all over. Can see Mulder watching me
out of corner of my eye, but this time he doesn’t comment. Must
go get a drink of water.
(2:24 PM)
Saw Tom in the cafeteria. We didn’t speak much; he seemed to
be in quite a rush. “See you at seven-thirty, Dana” was the
pinnacle of our conversation.
(2:31)
Have given up on office delivery of flowers, candy, etc. Was
foolish to think would get anything anyway, as am not in
relationship and am cloistered away in dreary basement office.
Who would be interested in pale, alien goo-covered woman
smelling of Le Corpse parfum? Am social reject. Want to die.
Ooh! Phone ringing…
Oh God, was Frohike. Accidentally hit speakerphone button
when answering.
“Hey there, sexy lady.”
Shit! Speakerphone button jammed down into phone — can’t get
it out!
“Have you enjoyed the poetry?”
Damn! Was Frohike all along. Fiddling with button, reply
coolly, “It was very nice, Frohike. Thank you.”
“Hey, anything for my lovely doc-teur,” he drawls on. “I have
another one for you, my sweet. I wrote it myself…”
Oh God!
“Of course, feelings of this magnitude cannot be cheapened by
typing them on a crusty keyboard. It should be memorized and
passed down from generation to generation, like the orators of
ancient civilizations. We’ll tell our children, and they’ll tell their
children…”
Oh my GOD!!! Someone, please make him stop. Am now
frantic to dislodge the stuck button, but is no use; Mulder is
shaking from force of his repressed laughter and Frohike is
going on.
Sound of throat clearing.
“When at first I saw you, my heart was full of joy,
I then knew at that moment, you should be my toy.
You fill my days with sunlight, and fill my nights with sorrow,
I wonder if the day you come to me might be tomorrow.”
Mulder’s shaking frighteningly seizure-like. Eyes are watering,
face reddening. Meanwhile, have shoved pencil into phone in
attempt to coax button out, but to no avail. Have succeeded in
pushing damn thing further in.
“I see you everywhere, where I’ve put up my gadgets,
I’ll die without you, baby, my body covered in maggots.
How can you be so cruel, my love? How can you be so mean?
To keep your love for others, makes me completely green.”
Mulder positively purple from strain, tears streaming down
face. Am trying various office supplies to extricate friggin’
button, but to no avail. Frohike, oblivious to my horror, goes
on:
“Oh, will you ever be mine? Oh, could it ever be?
Could you ever love a man, who is as short as me?
We’d be a perfect fit, dear. We’d match so perfectly,
I can see it all real clear, when will you ever see?”
Mulder lets out whoop of laughter, then shoves fist into mouth
to stopper further outbursts.
I’ve given up. Resigned to my fate, I drop into my chair and
wait rest of horrendous poem out.
“And so I pine in misery, waiting for your love,
You’re such a beautiful creature, like the winging of a dove.
The angels are not half so fine, and they are not so true,
If it isn’t plain by now, I’ll say it: I love you.”
Silence. Realize polite thing to do is respond to his lyrical
stylings, but am too horrified to speak. Mulder, now blue with
effort to bite back laughter, looks at me with pleading eyes to
end call.
“Er, that was very nice, Frohike.”
“Please, Dana. I think we should be on a first name basis now,
don’t you?”
Another yelp of glee from partner. Will kill him once this is
over.
“It *is* a lovely poem,” I force out, “But we’re just friends,
Frohike. You realize that, don’t you?”
Outraged gasp. “What are you trying to say?”
Shit. Knew this day would come, but didn’t think it would feel
so awful letting the little man down. Am horrible, horrible
person.
“Are you giving me the ‘let’s just be friends’ speech? ‘Cause I
don’t need this, baby. It’s time you made a decision.”
Another yelp from across the room. Shot Mulder death-glare.
“Frohike,” I begin slowly, like talking to insane person
brandishing weapon, “Don’t you think friendship is important? I
for one value our friendship.”
Silence, then, “You know what? You’re a tease, *Agent Scully*.
You should be ashamed of yourself. See ya around, baby. And
don’t bother calling, begging for me to come back. You don’t
know what you just lost!”
With that, he slams down phone. Mulder howling with laughter.
I just want this day to be over.
(3:00 PM)
Oh no. New poem, this one to the tune of that death-march
song. Is Annabel Lee — morbid poem, that. Frohike must hate
me now. Not that I don’t deserve it. Should never have played
around with him.
But then, have always made it clear was never interested in
more than just being friends. Is this really my fault? Hmm…
Well, feel terrible about whole mess, regardless.
(3:07 PM)
Another one, accompanied by that “Oooh, Barracuda” song:
“April is in my mistress’ face,
And July in her eyes hath place,
Within her bosom is September,
But in her heart a cold December.”
Ouch. Okay, maybe I do deserve that. Hell, they don’t call me
the Ice Queen for nothing, right?
“What did he send this time?” Mulder asked.
Showed him my screen, at which he frowned. “I’m going to give
him a call. I know he’s hurt, but this,” he gestured at the
monitor, “needs to stop before he breaks out the dirty
limericks.”
Ah, Mulder. Can always count on *him*, anyway.
(4:02 PM)
Oh, praise be to God in the highest, I’m *finally* out of here!
Have knocked off an hour early to get ready for date tonight.
Mulder joked about me having a hot date. Funny, looked a little
put-off when responded smugly that yes, I did have a date thank
you very much. Suppose I should feel bad about snooty
response, as possible he looked put-off because he was going it
alone tonight, but find it hard to sympathize with *his* lack of a
date tonight, especially since was so haughty about *me*
spending Valentine’s Day alone.
Wait a minute — maybe he *does* have a date tonight. Humph.
Whatever.
Found another set of candy hearts lining dashboard as soon as I
got into car.
“I love you. Only you. Always and forever.”
And then more, lining the gearshift.
“I’m yours. Only yours. Marry me. Say you will.”
Grabbed cell phone.
“Mulder.”
“You need professional help, you know that?” I informed him.
He just laughed. Amazing, the way men can crack themselves
up. Must be nice, needing only oneself to stay amused.
(5:45 PM)
Okay, have plenty of time to get ready. Have already taken long
soak in bath, shaved legs (just in case). Of course, once stepped
out of bath was chilled and could actually feel hair on legs
prickling up. Had to hop back in bath before water drained and
shave again.
Allowing hair to air dry with styling gel finger-combed in.
Should give appearance of fresh out of bed, tousled look with
minimal effort. At least, that’s what Cosmo says. Hope it turns
out well as have never tried this before.
Will have glass of wine to calm nerves.
(6:14 PM)
Bought frosty-looking makeup that’s all the rage with young
women the world over. Consulting Cosmopolitan once again,
made sure to get the proper colors for redheads. Have headband
pushing hair out of way and am ready to apply. Am excited to
see how it all turns out!
Hmm… Plenty of time yet. Will settle in to watch a little TV.
Should help this wine to soothe my nervousness.
(6:50 PM)
Oh shit!
(7:10 PM)
Oh God. God! Why does this sort of thing always happen to
me? Am I doomed to social failure? That’s it. Am doomed.
Doooomed!
Trendy makeup makes me look like frosted corpse. Am pale
enough as it is — now just pale in a shimmery sort of way. Why
do they sell such things? Why? They only look good on models,
who have team of professionals to apply and magazine experts
to airbrush pictures. I have neither, and am in thirties wearing
colors that most teenagers would look silly in. Makeup is
ridiculous, will go back to my tried-and-true at once. Right after
I get another glass of wine.
(7:26 PM)
Oh God. Am beauty disaster. Have successfully applied own
*regular* makeup, which looks fantastic. But once took
headband off, realized with immeasurable horror that gelled hair
has dried into strange, wing-like flips around face where
headband had pushed it down. Look like 80’s revisited, only
slightly less attractive. What’s worse — has not only dried into
peculiar, Flock of Seagulls-style flip, but has dried into greasy-
looking clumps where gel has lumped together in streaks. Is
conspiracy, I swear it. And Tom will be here in less than five
minutes.
Oh God, please let him be late like any other male in the
universe. Oh shit! Someone’s at the door.
(7:41 PM)
Appears God is unavailable for requests tonight as Tom is now
seated in my living room, waiting for me to finish. Have
gathered hair into hasty ponytail to answer door so unfortunate
hairdo will be well hidden.
Sadly, unfortunate hairdo preferable to *this*, sticky hair
tangled in elastic band with no alternative than to cut it out.
Where are the scissors?
(7:45 PM)
Want to cry. Cannot believe this, have cut out chunk of hair.
Not only that, but hair standing on end everywhere — there’s no
hope for it. Am sneaking into bedroom to call Missy.
(7:59 PM)
Okay, have managed, on Missy’s advice, to secure crunchy hair
into low chignon. Is quick fix and will have unbelievable time
with tangles later, I’m sure. But at least top is brushed smooth
and rest is pulled together. Am heading out door now just as
soon as I get shoes on.
Wait a minute… where the hell are my shoes?!?
~ TBC ~
A/N: I’m really sorry about the delay. I had intended this to be
updated weekly at least, but due to Christmas and some
personal problems which some of you already know about, my
writing time has been severely cut back. Thanks for your
patience!
Now, about those poems. Titles and authors here:
1) “Drink to me only with thine eyes…”
“To Celia” by Ben Jonson
2) “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”
Sonnet 18 by William Shakespeare.
3) “So well I love thee, as without thee I love nothing…”
“So Well I Love Thee” by Michael Drayton.
4) “When at first I saw you, my heart was full of joy…”
Frohike’s poem, by Frohike.
5) “Annabel Lee” by Edgar Allan Poe. (My all-time favorite)
6) “April is in my mistress’ face…”
“April is in My Mistress’ Face” (author unknown)
BTW, I happen to like Sarah Maclachlan myself (and Celine’s okay).