Dana Scully’s Diary – Chapter 8

X-Files, Bridget Jones cross over
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.


~ Wednesday 8, March

Alcohol units: 1 (v.g.), Humiliating conversations with Mom: 1
(but v.v. long), Minutes spent fantasizing about boss: 83, Hours
spent ignoring a pissy-acting Mulder: 2, Standards of
acceptable office conditions lowered: 1 (have feeling this is only
the beginning).

Have had sublime revelation — an epiphany, and a depressing
one at that.

It’s a man’s world.

Yes, everyone says that, but it’s really *true*. Take movies as
prime example. Movies are geared toward men and appeal to
the part of every woman who wants to be a sex kitten for — oh,
yes — her MAN.

Here’s my theory. Men like things that blow up in incredibly
unrealistic and choreographed sequences. That, and fistfights,
gunplay and general destruction. All these things make them
feel more manly. Must name this grunting display of
testosterone-induced euphoria. Hmm… Perhaps something like
“My Penis Is Larger Than Yours Syndrome,” “I Am a Manlier
Man Than You disease,” or similar. But I digress. The women
in these movies fall into two categories:

1) I am a Smoldering Sex Goddess, Worship Me But Treat Me
Badly and Blow Things Up


2) I’m Too Good To Deal With The Likes of You. Watch As I
Pretend To Hate You While *I* Blow Things Up Using My
Kick Ass, Girl-Power Stunts.

The first is transparent enough. The second takes a bit of
analyzing. You see, she *wants* you to think she can’t stand
you. She has the art of looking like you disgust her down to a T.
But really, all she ends up with is the look of a dominatrix,
ready to whip you into submission. All to appeal to the sort of
man who likes his woman to be a goddess in the garage and a
tigress in bed. ‘Hard to get’ kicked up several notches. Is

See? A man’s, sex-driven world. Clearly, men rule over
Hollywood as they do everywhere else. Are these “vixens”
trained to be this way as soon as they step off the bus?
Something must be done! Is a shame lions seem to be more in
tune with the true value of a woman than we are. Females hunt
and care for their young as the males lie about and mate. There
is no pretense there, females are in charge. Perhaps lions are
more evolved as far as that goes, and see no purpose in
exploiting their females.

Whole thing with movies is vicious cycle. Young men grow up,
idolizing people onscreen and think, “This is the way it is.”
Hollywood spreads and feeds that image, and new generations,
bred on this manner of thinking, go into Hollywood to create
new era of this thinking. Cannot think of single movie in which
the women weren’t exposed somehow in this manner, for the
sake of appealing to male audience. Can just imagine directors:
“Look, I know your character just found out she has
Consumption and will die within the next three scenes, but
could you make it look a little sexier?”

Argh!!! Cycle must be stopped! Must share insight with
Meridith and Anya.

Has ruined movies for me. Wish I could share this theory with
Mulder and have nice little debate like usual, but don’t want to
deal with his crap this morning. V. sad — I miss him.

Ooooh! Cell’s ringing!

(11:20 AM)

Was Mom asking if I wouldn’t like to come to lunch with her.
Had to say yes, of course. Will head out in half an hour.

(1:12 PM)

Gah. Another fun-filled afternoon with parent hyped up on
equal doses of “Oprah” and “A Wedding Story,” harassing me
about love life. Strangely enough, seems to have no interest in
pairing me up with Mulder, most convenient man in my life and
former matchmaking target. Latest nudges appear to be in the
direction of Walter Skinner, superior and scary, suspension-
doling ex-Marine and therefore off-limits. Wonder where she
gets such crazy ideas.

Mmm, Skinner though. Bet he’s a big, protective teddy bear
under all that stiff ordering-about attitude and neck tie tight
enough to choke most men. Wonder what he’s hiding under all
those clothes…

(1:22 PM)

Oh God — was just caught by Mulder drooling all over desk
while thinking naughty and impure thoughts about AD Skinner.
Am so embarrassed! Still, he can’t know what I was thinking.
Feel strangely guilty nonetheless — feeling greatly increased by
irritable look given to me by partner.

Decided was great time to try and start a non-work related chat.

“What?” I demanded.

Mentally banged head on desk. Real smooth, Dana.

Didn’t answer me for several minutes, then: “Did you finish that
report I asked you to read?”

What? What report? Where?

Oh! Was supposed to be reading over file. Where did I put it…?

“Of course I finished it,” said in haughtiest tone. Proceeded to
search desk while trying to look nonchalant and like someone
*not* looking for file. Shit! Where did that little bugger go…

“You’ve lost it, haven’t you,” he asked dryly. Not a question.

Shot him scathing glare. “No, I have not. I’m, uh, looking for
that expense report I was working on yesterday.”

Where could it have gone? Is small desk. Where? Where?
Suddenly, see manila folder peeking out of top drawer. Ah ha!
Smugly took it out of drawer and held it up for Mulder to see.

“So? Is it?” He asked.

Is it? Is it *what*? Oh God. Think quickly, Dana!

“Huh?” replied.

Oh, for the love of… Eloquence, why have you abandoned me?

Was impatient. “Is it? Because if it is, we’re going to need to
book a flight tonight.”

Ugh. Had no clue what he was talking about, but knew did NOT
want to take a flight anywhere tonight. “Um, no. I don’t think it

“So what do you think it is, then?” asked defensively.

“Er, definitely *not* an X-File,” replied confidently. Ah, the old
tried and true. Should shut him up until I can change the

“Are you kidding me, Scully? Then how do you explain the
fatal bite marks? Where do you think they came from?”


Oh, yes! He was going on about carnivorous bugs the other day
(on the phone with Langly, of course, not with shunned,
unsavory me.) Quirked an eyebrow. “Well, it isn’t man-eating
mosquitoes if that’s what you’re thinking,” told him in officious

Looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. “You haven’t read it, have

Damn. “Well…”

“I knew it. Look, I need to book that flight. You can come with
me or not, I really don’t care at this point.” Stormed out of

Great. Have pissed him off further and have won myself trip

Opened folder. Thought should at least know what’s going on
before he comes back.

Mississippi — chasing a possible werewolf?

Oh, fantastic. Want to kill myself and the day isn’t even over
yet. Can it get any worse?

(2:30 PM)

Have reached new low. After much consideration and no less
than five ignored attempts at conversation with Mulder, have
decided to resort to drastic measures. Will Instant Message
partner, who is sitting less than six feet away from me. Is

Will think of it as experiment, and therefore less pathetic. How
long will he go before recognizing my new handle? How long
after that before he huffs out of room again? Must break this
awkwardness between us — might as well amuse self as well.

Here we go. Must try not to laugh while typing in his handle,
also new.

Ncogneat-o: Hey, Mulder.

*Cast sly glance to see reaction. Subject looks confused.*

Government_Pawn: Frohike?

Ncogneat-o: You can’t tell? Should I be offended, Mulder? I’d
know it was *you* from anywhere — no one else would go by
that name.

*Subject still frowning, appears uncomfortable.*

Ncogneat-o: Hello?

Government_Pawn: What do you want?

Ncogneat-o: Just to talk. Is that okay?

Government_Pawn: Not when I don’t know to whom I am

*Oooh, so proper! Only gets hoity-toity when he’s irritated
and/or is talking to member of Consortium, real or imagined.*

“What are you doing over there, Scully?”

Gah! Pretend to be preoccupied with typing legitimate
document, making show of lifting ancient expense report up to
‘see it better’. Wink, wink.


Typing, typing, typing. La lala la la. “Hmm?”

“What are you typing?” Suspicious edge to his voice, Mulder at
his most paranoid.

Minimize message screen and bring up work screen. “This,” I
huff out and swivel the screen his way, obviously miffed by
being interrupted while busily finishing up my part of the
workload. Har har.

“So, are you coming with me to check out this werewolf or

Made noncommittal noise and continued “typing.” Screen full
of random letters in manner of gibberish when a child pretends
to type. Feel completely ridiculous, but must keep up

“You know, I met a werewolf while you were…away.”

Could see him perk up out of corner of my eye.

“It was a case I looked into. Of course, he wasn’t a real
werewolf,” continued conversationally, still hard at work on my
keyboard. “He was a lycanthrope who traveled with a carnival

Several minutes went by without comment, so I brought
message screen back up.

Ncogneat-o: Relax, you know who I am.

Government_Pawn: Then tell me your name.

Ncogneat-o: What fun would that be? C’mon, Mulder, where’s
your sense of adventure?

Several minutes pass, again with no comment. Subject staring at
computer screen, eyes glazed over. Suddenly jumps out of seat
and searches file cabinet. Cannot fathom what he’s doing, but
maybe something in there will divert him from silly werewolf-
chasing tonight.

Oh, please yes! Would be nice to stay in town for an entire
week. Do NOT want to spend another night in woods, squatting
in the foliage and getting poison sumac in v. uncomfortable
places. Has found something seems interested in… whatever it is
will change his mind, I know it. Life cannot be so cruel, after

~ Wednesday, March 9

Alcohol units: 0 (v. bad, as need the alcohol for therapeutic
purposes), Krycek seductions: 0 (good), Relapses into pit of
despair: 1.

(9:46 AM)

Life is cruel.

Messaging attempt aborted by Mulder’s abrupt announcement
that we will instead be “properly” investigating the carnival
haunting I “so carelessly blew off.”

Am now in Montana, drinking coffee while The Tentacled Man
slurps some sort of runny porridge through a small and unusual
orifice. Will spare myself the details — is bad enough to be
living it, can see no sense in forcing self to *re*live nasty event

Am trying to conceal small shudders every time the slurping
gets particularly energetic. Do not think it’s working.

God, someone shoot me, please.

(10:01 AM)

Oh, God. Oh, God, Oh, God, Oh GOD!!!

Humiliation is complete. Have run into Vernon, in all her
piranha-toothed, white leotard-wearing glory. Seems time has
NOT lessened her attraction toward me — a fact am painfully
aware of now. And so is Mulder.

Oh, God.

Has been following us as we investigate the carnival site,
circling us on a unicycle and staring at me intently whenever am
in sight. Pretended not to notice, instead focusing on path ahead.
Prayed Mulder wouldn’t notice the attention was directed
toward me, but in vain, as Vernon has the letters “F.B.I.”
emblazoned, once again, in glitter, only this time is written
across the chest of her white leotard. Also, has glittered the
letters “M.D.” on an area further south of her bodysuit. Am
cringing as I write this.

Glitter appears to be set and dry, which can only suggest
Vernon has created this look some time ago. Why? Why can I
not attract a nice, normal man? Will even settle for Frohike,
dear, sweet, perverted Frohike, at this point.

(2:58 PM)

Mulder appears to be in good spirits. But then, I *am*
providing ample amusement for him, much against my will.

Vernon has taken to contorting herself atop a high wire with no
net. Have been told she has held the same position for last two
hours and forty-three minutes with no break. Most impressive.
We stumbled on her impromptu act two hours and twenty-six
minutes into it — I squeaked something about running to the
ladies as soon as I recognized her, but Mulder insisted I stay and
watch for a moment.


It wasn’t long before Strange Earl, the owner of the sideshow
came up next to us with Wilson, who is still ‘talker’ for the
Penguin Man.

“That’s a really long act she has going on up there,” Mulder
stated with a gesture upwards.

Wilson spat on the ground and squinted up at the high wire.
“Well, now, that ain’t no act. That there’s a bona-fide declaration
of love.”

Winced at the long, drawn-out way he said ‘love’, as if each
letter equaled a new syllable — each one mocking me.

“Let’s get to that ride, Mulder,” pleaded with partner, who
smirked at me in response.

“Love?” he asked Wilson, obviously amused.

“I reckon so. Our Vernon’s had it bad for Miz Scully over there
ever since she first set eyes on her a few weeks back. I’ve never
seen her so in love.” Stopped long enough to fix me with a stern
expression. “You remember that talk we had, Agent Scully?”

Wanted to die. “Yes,” replied miserably.

“You treat her right,” came unexpected, gruff voice of Strange
Earl, and they both walked away.

Mulder looked at me, eyebrow quirked and amusement all over
his face.

“Not a *word*,” I warned him.

Glint in his eyes not v. reassuring.

(6:33 PM)

On the plane home now. Partner has said nothing about Vernon,
who gave us a mostly silent yet tearful sendoff at the airport an
hour ago, dressed in her housecoat with the pink marabou
thrown over the glittered leotard. Am convinced these represent
her “dressy” clothes. She was taken by the most quiet fit of
hysterics imaginable as we prepared to board. Our parting shot
was the sight of Vernon, twisting herself beneath an orange,
plastic airport chair, bawling in short, high-pitched gasps.

“That woman’s voice is an X-File,” Mulder said jovially. Har,
har. Glad he’s been properly entertained.

Was surprised when Mulder ruled “mechanical failure” as cause
for ride going haywire. Had convinced myself that, though
*obviously* correct in my deduction, he would want to spend a
week in Montana with a haunted ride as grounds just to spite
me. Perhaps he felt was properly humiliated as it was, without
his help. Does this mean he’s not angry with me anymore?

Feel awful about Vernon, though. Maybe should send her a

Hmm… May not be a v.g. idea.

(8: 00 PM)

Home at last! Will check machine and shower grime off of

Hmm, three messages.

“Dana, honey, it’s Mom. Listen, I know you said you didn’t
want to be set up, but I know this darling man who I just know
you’d be perfect with. I’ve given him your number and he’s
promised to call by tonight to arrange a date. Be a sport and go
out with him, dear. For me? Ta!”

Ugh. Parental guilt-trip intermingled with self-loathing at
having to be set up in order to get out of the apartment for social
occasion involving member of opposite sex. Also, am beginning
to regret giving her box set of “Ab Fab” for Christmas.

“Heya, Doc.”

Huh. Frohike. And by the raspy voice he thinks is sexy, am in
for a little treat.

“I’m having a problem with this bone — it just won’t seem to go
away. Hope you have a cure…”

Langly shouting in the background.

“Yeah, well use some newspaper you hippie freak! But if you
flush it again, I’m not cleaning up the mess this time.”

More shouting in the background.

“So’s your mother!”

Loud click. End of message.

Rubbing at tension headache forming, I eyed the machine
warily. Last message.

“Hi, Dana. This is Chad. I, uh, (nervous laugh) don’t usually do
this sort of thing, but your mother knows my mother and they
both thought we would have a nice time. So I have two tickets
to “Chicago” if you’d like to go. Give me a call, any time after
five, at…”

Hmm… Sounds friendly enough and have really wanted to see
“Chicago.” Have heard good things, but didn’t realize the troupe
performing was in town. Could be nice.

Dialed number.

“Hello?” Oooh, nice voice. Promising, v. promising.

“Hello, Chad? This is Dana…”