Apparitions I- Spirit
By Sandee jellybean5000@hotmail.com
SUMMARY: Scully has a little talk with herself.
RATING: PG to R
CLASSIFICATION: MSR
SPOILERS: Set mid-season 6. Whenever; After One Son
DISCLAIMER: CC, 1013 and Fox's. No money being earned. You sue me and
I'll present this disclaimer, ya hear! I'll win! I'll.... :)
NOTES: I thought I'd do a little Sort-Of-Smut. It's weird, I know.
*****
Apparitions I- Spirit
By Sandee
*****
I'm bored. If being bored had **this** much in it, I have overflowed
into *****this***** much. It's that bad.
I'm at home. On my couch. Doing nothing. Staring at the wall. That
considered doing something? Breathing. Stuff like that. god, I'm hardly
even thinking. All that's in my mind is the fact that I have nothing to do.
All my work, all the tedious, boring paperwork, is done.
So... I'm kind of doing... nothing.
The past few weeks have been quite hectic. Mulder and I getting back the
X-Files and everything. My soul needs to get out. It's been trapped too long
in the cage my brain has set up for it. Too much paperwork, too much
take-out Chinese food, too much Mulder...
Mulder. It always comes right back to him... doesn't it?
How sick is that?
Suddenly, I feel all the parts of my body mold together, then come apart.
And then I am sitting across myself.
The real me is sitting on the couch. The other me is on the coffee
table, staring at me quite irritated look on her face.
"Why did you think that?" it says.
"Think what?" I ask myself oddly. "I didn't think anything bad."
The Scully sitting on the coffee table spreads her arms wide, a look of
disgust on her face. "Yeah right, you didn't think anything bad. Just
rude, spiteful and hateful."
I am indignant. "What did I think?"
My doppelganger sighs impatiently. Totally Un-Scully. I would never sigh
like that. I'm not one to outwardly show rudeness. Always inwardly.
Maybe my inward is striking back.
"That it was sick to think of Mulder. You know it's not. He's a very
pleasant thought." She says almost sadly. "My god, if it weren't for
Mulder, you'd be rotting somewhere... bored to death."
I suppose that' true. I wrack my brains for a response. Is this what
Mulder feels like when he's conversing with me? God, I'm annoying.
"I never thought that I didn't like thinking of Mulder. And I already am
bored to death. Out of my mind, even. How would being without Mulder be
any different?
"And before you begin even asking me such nosy questions, who are you?"
The me on my coffee table laughs. "Don't pretend you don't know who I am.
You expressed will to let your soul out. And here I am."
This puzzles me. What? "If you're my soul, why am I not dead yet?"
She smiles sympathetically at me, a smile that I think I've given to
Mulder every now and then... when he's acting real stupid. Running off to
the Bermuda, crap like that. I don't think I'll ever give it to him again;
it makes me feel *this* small. May be the same for him.
And he isn't that small.
"I'm your soul, not your spirit. Your spirit is what keeps you alive...
it's mixed with your character. I'm your soul; I'm mixed with your thoughts
and your memory." She explains in a scientific tone.
"Then what am I?"
"The Being."
If I believed in such drivel, I'd probably be bawling my eyes out and
calling 911 to confine me into a mental institute. But I don't believe you
can talk to your soul outside yourself; physically. Maybe I subconsciously
think this is just a dream.
But consciously? I'm worried. If this being carries all my innermost
thoughts, I'm afraid it will get loose and begin spilling all my
secrets, especially my *secrets*.
"Don't worry," my Soul reassures me. "Only you can see me."
"Oh, so not only do you carry information vital to my reputation, you can
read my mind, too?" I snap sarcastically at it. I never realized I was so
cold.
"Sorry." I apologize immediately, hanging my head a little.
My Soul grits her teeth, a gesture I know does not mean anger, but
signifies thought. "Gotta work on your temper. Temper, temper, temper."
I raise my hands defensively. "I know, I know."
"So where were we?" she asks thoughtfully. "Right. Mulder. You know
you're nothing without him."
I squint at her and get up, strutting to the kitchen to fetch myself a glass
of water. She is already there, holding a glass out to me. "Here." She
says, handing it to me. I graciously take it from her and sip. Aaah.
"Am I really that pathetic?" I ask, suddenly realizing that the kitchen floor
is quite cold when I'm barefoot. She's leaning against my counter, lost
in thought.
"No. It's me."
"You? But you're me!"
Her forehead wrinkles. She's thinking again. "That's right... so I
guess... maybe you are that pathetic."
I raise an eyebrow at her and lean against the counter next to her. I finish
the water and set it in the sink next to me. "That's stupid. That'd make two
of us."
She makes a face at me and sidesteps me to the sink. She begins washing
the glass. "You know what, you're right. We are both so pathetic, it's sick.
So here's my question: does he need to know?"
I'm confused. "Need to know what?"
"That we need him. A lot." The glass is rinsed and she puts it in
the dishwasher.
I walk back to the sofa and sit down. She is already there. Man, she moves
fast. We sit in silence for a while. I try not to think too much, but I do.
Of him, of her, of me.
Maybe I should, I think. Tell him.
"What good would it do?" I ask her a little while later.
A breath is expelled from between her lips. She is thinking. Why can't I
read her mind? I guess because what she thinks is what I think. How weird
is that? maybe Mulder and should be investigating her.
"Hilarious." She comments at my thought. She goes back to thinking. "Girl, a
lot of good can come from it, as well as bad."
"What good could happen?" I ask. Suddenly, I already know. I purse my lips.
Sex. The raw, mad sweet kind. She grins evilly at me. God, my soul is a
sick, sick, woman.
"I heard that!" she squeals, tossing a throw pillow at me. I catch it with
ease. I set it aside. She bites her lip. "C'mon, Dana. What's the worst
that could happen?"
"He could... hear me." I reply shortly. Which is true; he could hear me and
he could *not* return the feeling. Or he could... which would be... weird.
"Yeah, yeah. But the thing!" she whines irrtatingly. "The good thing! When
was the last time you had the good thing, anyway? What.. two, three
years? That's even sicker than being completely under his will--"
"Hey!" I interrupt her ramblings. Is that how I sound when trying to
convince Mulder of scientific realities? Eesh. "I am not completely under
his will; I am not even *under* him--"
She interrupts me. We're in an interruption match. "Even if that's where
you want to be."
I sigh, defeatedly. "Maybe." I say weakly, my control dying. "But it's
an irrational want."
She smiles and shakes her head. "It's not a want, Dana. It's a need."
A knock at the door snaps my soul back into me. She enters me again with
such force that I am knocked off the couch. If only she were here to see
that...
There is another knock.
A quick glance at my watch tells me who it is. A late Saturday afternoon,
I wonder who else it could be.
I stand to open the door. But before I do so, I peep through the hole. You
can never be too careful.
It's him... and he looks a bit pale. Pale, was it. Pale. And worried. Why?
I wonder, opening the door swiftly to let him in. He comes in quickly
and brushes past me into my living room. He still looks a bit worried.
"Mulder?" I say cautiously. "What's wrong?"
He spins around from staring at my couch and grabs me at the waist eagerly.
All I notice is him... his presence... and my soul. He smells sweaty, like
after a run. I feel it bouncing for joy.
And imagine what I feel when he roughly kisses my mouth, pushing his tongue
down my throat like some boa constrictor trying to consume my face. I try
to respond with as much vigor an enthusiasm.
This is crazy.
But my soul is laughing.
*****
end part 1
for missing parts, visit: www.geocities.com/surefinewhatever00
By Sandee jellybean5000@hotmail.com
SUMMARY: Scully has a little talk with herself.
RATING: PG to R
CLASSIFICATION: MSR
SPOILERS: Set mid-season 6. Whenever; After One Son
DISCLAIMER: CC, 1013 and Fox's. No money being earned. You sue me and
I'll present this disclaimer, ya hear! I'll win! I'll.... :)
NOTES: I thought I'd do a little Sort-Of-Smut. It's weird, I know.
*****
Apparitions I- Spirit
By Sandee
*****
I'm bored. If being bored had **this** much in it, I have overflowed
into *****this***** much. It's that bad.
I'm at home. On my couch. Doing nothing. Staring at the wall. That
considered doing something? Breathing. Stuff like that. god, I'm hardly
even thinking. All that's in my mind is the fact that I have nothing to do.
All my work, all the tedious, boring paperwork, is done.
So... I'm kind of doing... nothing.
The past few weeks have been quite hectic. Mulder and I getting back the
X-Files and everything. My soul needs to get out. It's been trapped too long
in the cage my brain has set up for it. Too much paperwork, too much
take-out Chinese food, too much Mulder...
Mulder. It always comes right back to him... doesn't it?
How sick is that?
Suddenly, I feel all the parts of my body mold together, then come apart.
And then I am sitting across myself.
The real me is sitting on the couch. The other me is on the coffee
table, staring at me quite irritated look on her face.
"Why did you think that?" it says.
"Think what?" I ask myself oddly. "I didn't think anything bad."
The Scully sitting on the coffee table spreads her arms wide, a look of
disgust on her face. "Yeah right, you didn't think anything bad. Just
rude, spiteful and hateful."
I am indignant. "What did I think?"
My doppelganger sighs impatiently. Totally Un-Scully. I would never sigh
like that. I'm not one to outwardly show rudeness. Always inwardly.
Maybe my inward is striking back.
"That it was sick to think of Mulder. You know it's not. He's a very
pleasant thought." She says almost sadly. "My god, if it weren't for
Mulder, you'd be rotting somewhere... bored to death."
I suppose that' true. I wrack my brains for a response. Is this what
Mulder feels like when he's conversing with me? God, I'm annoying.
"I never thought that I didn't like thinking of Mulder. And I already am
bored to death. Out of my mind, even. How would being without Mulder be
any different?
"And before you begin even asking me such nosy questions, who are you?"
The me on my coffee table laughs. "Don't pretend you don't know who I am.
You expressed will to let your soul out. And here I am."
This puzzles me. What? "If you're my soul, why am I not dead yet?"
She smiles sympathetically at me, a smile that I think I've given to
Mulder every now and then... when he's acting real stupid. Running off to
the Bermuda, crap like that. I don't think I'll ever give it to him again;
it makes me feel *this* small. May be the same for him.
And he isn't that small.
"I'm your soul, not your spirit. Your spirit is what keeps you alive...
it's mixed with your character. I'm your soul; I'm mixed with your thoughts
and your memory." She explains in a scientific tone.
"Then what am I?"
"The Being."
If I believed in such drivel, I'd probably be bawling my eyes out and
calling 911 to confine me into a mental institute. But I don't believe you
can talk to your soul outside yourself; physically. Maybe I subconsciously
think this is just a dream.
But consciously? I'm worried. If this being carries all my innermost
thoughts, I'm afraid it will get loose and begin spilling all my
secrets, especially my *secrets*.
"Don't worry," my Soul reassures me. "Only you can see me."
"Oh, so not only do you carry information vital to my reputation, you can
read my mind, too?" I snap sarcastically at it. I never realized I was so
cold.
"Sorry." I apologize immediately, hanging my head a little.
My Soul grits her teeth, a gesture I know does not mean anger, but
signifies thought. "Gotta work on your temper. Temper, temper, temper."
I raise my hands defensively. "I know, I know."
"So where were we?" she asks thoughtfully. "Right. Mulder. You know
you're nothing without him."
I squint at her and get up, strutting to the kitchen to fetch myself a glass
of water. She is already there, holding a glass out to me. "Here." She
says, handing it to me. I graciously take it from her and sip. Aaah.
"Am I really that pathetic?" I ask, suddenly realizing that the kitchen floor
is quite cold when I'm barefoot. She's leaning against my counter, lost
in thought.
"No. It's me."
"You? But you're me!"
Her forehead wrinkles. She's thinking again. "That's right... so I
guess... maybe you are that pathetic."
I raise an eyebrow at her and lean against the counter next to her. I finish
the water and set it in the sink next to me. "That's stupid. That'd make two
of us."
She makes a face at me and sidesteps me to the sink. She begins washing
the glass. "You know what, you're right. We are both so pathetic, it's sick.
So here's my question: does he need to know?"
I'm confused. "Need to know what?"
"That we need him. A lot." The glass is rinsed and she puts it in
the dishwasher.
I walk back to the sofa and sit down. She is already there. Man, she moves
fast. We sit in silence for a while. I try not to think too much, but I do.
Of him, of her, of me.
Maybe I should, I think. Tell him.
"What good would it do?" I ask her a little while later.
A breath is expelled from between her lips. She is thinking. Why can't I
read her mind? I guess because what she thinks is what I think. How weird
is that? maybe Mulder and should be investigating her.
"Hilarious." She comments at my thought. She goes back to thinking. "Girl, a
lot of good can come from it, as well as bad."
"What good could happen?" I ask. Suddenly, I already know. I purse my lips.
Sex. The raw, mad sweet kind. She grins evilly at me. God, my soul is a
sick, sick, woman.
"I heard that!" she squeals, tossing a throw pillow at me. I catch it with
ease. I set it aside. She bites her lip. "C'mon, Dana. What's the worst
that could happen?"
"He could... hear me." I reply shortly. Which is true; he could hear me and
he could *not* return the feeling. Or he could... which would be... weird.
"Yeah, yeah. But the thing!" she whines irrtatingly. "The good thing! When
was the last time you had the good thing, anyway? What.. two, three
years? That's even sicker than being completely under his will--"
"Hey!" I interrupt her ramblings. Is that how I sound when trying to
convince Mulder of scientific realities? Eesh. "I am not completely under
his will; I am not even *under* him--"
She interrupts me. We're in an interruption match. "Even if that's where
you want to be."
I sigh, defeatedly. "Maybe." I say weakly, my control dying. "But it's
an irrational want."
She smiles and shakes her head. "It's not a want, Dana. It's a need."
A knock at the door snaps my soul back into me. She enters me again with
such force that I am knocked off the couch. If only she were here to see
that...
There is another knock.
A quick glance at my watch tells me who it is. A late Saturday afternoon,
I wonder who else it could be.
I stand to open the door. But before I do so, I peep through the hole. You
can never be too careful.
It's him... and he looks a bit pale. Pale, was it. Pale. And worried. Why?
I wonder, opening the door swiftly to let him in. He comes in quickly
and brushes past me into my living room. He still looks a bit worried.
"Mulder?" I say cautiously. "What's wrong?"
He spins around from staring at my couch and grabs me at the waist eagerly.
All I notice is him... his presence... and my soul. He smells sweaty, like
after a run. I feel it bouncing for joy.
And imagine what I feel when he roughly kisses my mouth, pushing his tongue
down my throat like some boa constrictor trying to consume my face. I try
to respond with as much vigor an enthusiasm.
This is crazy.
But my soul is laughing.
*****
end part 1
for missing parts, visit: www.geocities.com/surefinewhatever00