Scully had rounded the corner in time to hear the pathetic punch line, but had been unprepared to deal with the raucous laughter that followed it. Certainly the intelligent, capable agents of the Federal Bureau of Investigation weren't foolish enough to find such an asinine joke funny?
And yet there they were, about fifteen of them in all, all crammed into a coffee room unprepared to deal with such an onslaught and all laughing uproariously at an un-funny joke. Not just mirth, but knee-slapping, coffee-sloshing hilarity.
And the deliverer of the punch line was seated atop the coffee counter, legs crossed primly at the ankle (thank God for small favors), having just sloshed his coffee all over his already abused skirt in the process of slapping his knee. And somehow, he had yet again managed to misplace his shoes and was waving his bare legs around - as well as his bare feet, for godsakes, the nails of which boasted rather hefty coatings of Revlon Cappuccino... a color that Scully well knew was unsuited for her fair complexion and red hair, but which she had never bothered to remove since she had never made a habit of traipsing around the coffee room with bullpen agents ogling at her unshod feet.
She probably should have realized that working with Fox Mulder would have inevitably led to a body-switching episode and should have taken the appropriate precautions.
"So who's heard the one about the proctologist and the Reticulan?" Mulder asked his audience loudly.
Scully opened her mouth to call out to him - he had obviously not noticed her in the back of the room or else he would certainly have realized her displeasure at his unprofessional actions - but then she snapped it shut. If she publicly accused Mulder of unprofessionalism or showed outwardly in any way that she was upset with him, the bullpen agents would see Spooky Mulder berating his Ice Queen partner. After all the jokes and the very relaxed atmosphere Mulder had cultivated in Scully's body, the agents might assume that perhaps the Ice Queen nickname was a little extreme if not wholly undeserved... and if they began to think that, then they might put that together with Spooky's displayed displeasure, and assume that Spooky kept Icy locked up in the basement to hunt aliens with him, rather than the two being a unified and mutually-respectful unit.
She rubbed her forehead. She was having a personality crisis and it was all Mulder's fault. Except that she was Mulder. She stifled a groan.
If only Mulder could be as considerate with her body as she was trying to be with his. She'd behaved in the presence of the Foul One... she'd almost let her kiss her, for godsakes. And now she was going to let Mulder rip her professional reputation to threads in order that his might not be further damaged.
She was going to kill him.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
With spoons.
Dull spoons.
"Hey, Scully, could you toss me a packet of sugar?" Scully called out over the hubbub.
The din decreased as the other agents noticed Spooky.
Mulder blanched guiltily, but obediently tossed her a white packet, shooting her a confused look along with it.
"Thanks, Scully," said Scully with a cheerful wave. "See you when you're done here." She jabbed an unfamiliar guy in the ribs and said, "Have her tell you the one about the rabbi and the uncircumcised necrophiliac. Classic, and her delivery is great!" And she turned around and left.
