Dana Scully’s Diary – Chapter 6

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.

~ Getting Some Back ~

~ Sunday 23, February

Times vowed to quit drinking: 6, Number of phone calls to
Mulder: 3 (all unanswered), Number of times scrubbed
bathroom: 3 (always helps when I’m upset. V. strange.)

Spent whole of yesterday nursing severe headache. Am
convinced was brought on by all this stress am going through,
rather than the eight Singapore Slings consumed Friday night.

Was fun, all in all. Really must do it again. Kimberly is great,
though don’t think Amber quite warmed up to me. Have
sneaking suspicion she’s another of Mulder’s conquests, and
therefore, not v. appreciative of my presence. Nevertheless, can
recall in appalling detail pronouncing my unending friendship
and newfound love for the woman. Am thinking should never
drink again, since can’t seem to keep from thoroughly
embarrassing self.

Small details keep coming to me, of what Kimberly said
regarding Vile Tom’s plight in Skinner’s office. Was much
shouting and menacing remarks on Skinner’s part, am told.
Believe her exact words were, “He went ballistic on that creep.”

Hurrah! Walter Skinner is my new hero. Kimberly said when
Vile Tom emerged from office, was shaken and pale.

God, what I wouldn’t have given to see that…

(2:48 PM)

Humph! Have called Mulder to see if he’s planning to show up
for work tomorrow, also to see if he’d like to go to dinner.
Would like to clear up this misunderstanding. Cannot believe
stubborn silence and disinterest in hearing me out has gone this
long, but then, Mulder was never known for his communication
skills wherever I’m concerned. Unless, of course, a conspiracy
or X-File is involved.

This is somehow worse than before. Can’t even be bothered to
pick up the phone? Have had it with his childish behavior.

(3:24 PM)

Finally got a call, but wasn’t Mulder. Caller ID displayed
“unknown name, unknown number,” which can only mean the
Gunmen. Sighed and picked up phone anyway, thinking they
might have some news.


“Heya, Chickadee.”


“Don’t sound so excited.”

“Actually,” winced at what was about to say, “I was hoping
you’d call.”

“Missed me, huh?” he said cheekily. “Can’t say I’m surprised. I
am at your service, m’lady.”

Rolled eyes. “Pshaw. You’re nuts, you know that? What do you
know about Mulder? Is he still at home?”

Heard uncomfortable shifting on other end. “Yeah, he’s still
there. Look, Darlin’, he’s really pissed at you right now.”

Huffed in irritation. “Yes, I’ve gathered that. Yet he isn’t
making it very easy for me to explain the situation, now is he?”
Felt self getting angry.


“And how dare he, anyway? As if I *should* explain myself to
him! He’s not my husband, you know. I don’t need to *answer*
to him. And I never asked him to hit Vile Tom in the first

“Vile Tom?” he laughed.

“Nothing happened between us. Everyone knows Vile Tom is a
liar, and if they don’t it’s because they have their heads too far
up his ass to see it for themselves!”

Took several deep breaths, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said softly. “Just let him cool off and
everything will get back to normal. Then, if you still want to,
you can tell him what really happened. For what it’s worth, I
told Mulder he was insane to think you would keep this from
him out of spite. I know you had your reasons.”

Could’ve hugged the dear little man! At least *someone* is in
my corner.

“So… What kind of underwear are you wearing?”

Hmm… maybe not.

~ Monday 24, February

Number of partners: 0, Number of times called (non-existent)
partner: 0 (wouldn’t give him the satisfaction), Number of
stunning career moves embarked on in partner’s absence: – 0 (v.
v. bad decision has been made.), Violent fantasies involving
Vile Tom’s utter demise: 38, Alcohol units: 4 (but in-flight, so is

(10:01 AM)

Still no Mulder. Am incensed — is obvious he’s using sick days
to ride out time of his suspension. What? Why? I don’t
understand. Suppose he thinks he’s making a point.

No matter, have decided to strike back! No more little white
gloves for *this* agent. Am taking a case out of Mulder’s “B.S.”
bin — a case even Spooky himself was ready to toss in the trash.
Is a ridiculous case, really, slightly reminiscent of the one we
took Florida with the carnies. Only there are no deaths. And no
escaped, conjoining, murderous twins. Reading the casefile, am
struck with overwhelming need to laugh. Reads like a script for
“Scooby Doo and the Haunted Tilt-O-Whirl.”

Plan to be out of town for remainder of work week. Warms my
heart to know Mulder will have to sit here while I go off on
*my* own for a change. Take that! Har har.

Oooh! Must dash. Plane leaves in three hours.

(7:07 PM)

Oh, God. What have I gotten myself into?

~ Tuesday 24, February

Minutes skin has spent crawling: upwards of 672, Time spent
plotting Vile Tom’s demise: 0 (who has the time?), Time spent
plotting Arrogant git of a partner’s demise: 825 (ah, always have
plenty of time for *that*)

Oh, God. This was *definitely* a bad idea. Started out strange
and just got gradually worse. Have been pawed by the Elephant
Woman and shuffled off onto the Tilt-O-Whirl against my will,
which started up and spun at high velocity. Was sick all over
ground afterwards, as carnies gathered in a circle and watched.

“So, whaddya think, Ma’am?” The talker (have been told is
incorrect to call them ‘barkers’ now) for Penguin Man (who, by
the way, really *does* look like a penguin) asked. The others
stared in silence.

Was mortified to be puking guts up while others congregated, as
if was some spectacular event. Straightened and tried to
maintain some semblance of dignity. “Er, yes. Well, is it
supposed to be that fast?” Fought rising bile back down.

The man spat on ground and seemed to ponder the question.
“Well, Ma’am, I’d say no.” Looked at godawful contraption with
look between awe and respect. “I expect that ride’s haunted.”

Great. V. helpful. Had to remind self more than once that was
*my* brilliant idea to take this case on. Damn it all!

Was semi-forced to have dinner with everyone in a tent rather
than go back at motel, where I could die of humiliation in
peace. Was v. interesting — found out facts about lycanthropes
never would’ve known. However, one calling himself
“Wolfman” (how original) seemed intent on convincing me in
great detail how many of them get extra frisky just before the
full moon. Edged away, a bit miffed on behalf of people
suffering this disease the world over.

Was squashed between “Wolfman” and a female contortionist
named, strangely enough, Vernon. Woman has tiniest teeth I’ve
ever seen, much like a piranha, and the face of Arnold
Schwartzenegger. Uncanny resemblance, really. Wore an all-
white body leotard, which accentuated painfully skinny, but
agile body. Was horrified just after a dwarf called “Stumpy”
served us all and felt Vernon gazing at me. Turned to see what
she wanted and was met with lustful stare.

Will NOT mention where she put her hand under the table later
in the meal. Am blocking it out of mind as I write this.

Wonder, is getting back at Mulder worth this?

(11:39 AM)

Oh God. Wilson (the talker for the Penguin Man) has just
stopped by to give me romantic advice.

“Look, I know you’re this big time FBI agent and you’ll be gone
in a couple-a days.”

Was confused but nodded, trying to figure out where the hell
was going with this.

“Right. Here’s the thing — Vernon’s a sensitive soul. Be gentle
with ‘er. She gets her heart broken so easily.” Patted my hand,
wiped tear from corner of his eye and left.

Oh. My. GOD.

That’s it. Am going back to DC tomorrow.

(2:24 PM)

Okay, have endured goo-goo eyes from Vernon all day while
attempting to figure out what’s going on with their…god, it
pains me to even *write* it…*haunted* ride. Not only that, but
entire acrobat act seems to have been enlisted in the effort. Was
doing flips and all manner of tumbling around the three of them
who carried her in the center while she held a sign with the v.
large letters “F.B.I” written in gold glitter. Sat there for an hour
with expressionless face as they tumbled around her and I
attempted to ignore whole spectacle. Was v. creepy.

I need a drink. Will go back to motel, take a hot bath and find a
decent bar as soon as I can prove this is mechanical failure of
some sort.

(9:30 PM)


Found only bar in town and settled in for nice Cosmopolitan
when who should appear but Vernon! Sat on stool next to me
and stared as I uncomfortably attempted to sip my drink and
ignore her attentions. Didn’t say a word — has NOT said a word
to me at all, in fact. Was even in her regular attire of white body
leotard, only with a pink marabou-trimmed housecoat. Left as
soon as drink was finished and got the hell out of there.

Am putting chair up against doorknob in motel room as added

~ Wednesday 25, February

Tears of joy: a million (all metaphorical), Number of partners:
1, Number of words spoken between partner and self: 2

Sighed in relief as I plopped down into my wonderful chair in
our glorious, wondrous office. Love this place. Love makeshift
desk and jars of questionable things in formaldehyde and stupid
“I Want to Believe” poster on wall.

Humph. Seems Mulder finally made it back. Didn’t speak to me
as I entered the room and made myself comfortable, but raised
an eyebrow in question.

“Don’t ask,” I told him, and settled in to print report off my

God, it’s great to be back.


A/N: The phrase “No more little white gloves” comes from “All
I Wanna Do.” Cute movie. Again, thanks to Logan, this time for
helping me remember where I got the quote from.

And as always, thanks to all of you who have reviewed/sent
feedback! I never dreamed so many people would like this
story, but I’m incredibly glad you do.