A/N: Woo. It took me a while, and I apologize, but here we go with Chapter
5! It's been a long week, and when I finally found tons of time to write
this weekend, I hit a block, if yew will. Not really a writer's block - no.
I have a pretty good idea of how I want the story to go on, but getting my
thoughts down into words is not an easy task =) So it took me a bit longer
then usual to flop this onto the computer, and I hope yew guys are still
with me!
Now then, yew have to withstand a few of my rants and raves. Ok, not that drastic. More like, a few of my comments. Fic-wise, I must say, this is turning out to be an odd category of writing. It was meant for humor, but as one of my lovely reviewers noted, it's not really "haha funny." It's more like what a typically rational Scully would do with an insanely drunk Mulder. And of course, there's a blend-in of MSR, which will be wrapped up in the last chapter as part of my master plan! Now, I have no idea why I had to get that out, but, I did! So we move on.
Referring to the comment about Scully and her depiction as 'short' - yes, I'm sorry about that word usage =) As yew can probably guess, I'm a taller person [just over 5'7''], and most of my friends are 'smaller' then me. So they like to gang up and poke fun at my height, and naturally, I get back at them =D But I really don't mean to offend anyone. I'm a bitch like that, and I'm talented enough to mock people by accident. So, no offense, correct? I love yew guys! Heehee.
And Beguile -pats- Yew're obsessed. Sorry to disappoint, but seeing as this is set season 5-6ish, Doggett wouldn't have even been part of the crew. Not that it would stop me if I were to drop him in, but yea. Trying to keep this as real as possible? Ok. Lame excuse =D But seriously. First yew want llamas, now this! Can ya ever be pleased! -Grin-
And lastly, yew guys can go on and read =D I've wasted enough of yar time. Once again, there're some more notes at the end!
~~~~~~
One Hour Later
Well, there were no 'them.'
No aliens. No mythical creatures. No shadow government men.
No unexpected family members coming with urgent news, no coworkers dropping in for an early assignment, and no unidentified information bearers rising up to warn of impending doom.
But right now, Scully would have preferred any of that to what she got instead.
Point Of the matter, anything and anyone would have been better then her elderly next-door neighbors, who'd popped up over 40 minutes ago, wailing and fussing over the acute noises that had woken their peaceful slumbers.
One would think a mere apology and promise for the better would please the aged visitors, but no. Almost an hour had to be spent arguing back and forth over conduct, rights, respect, and manners.
The couple, seemingly in their mid-60s, insisting they had been keeping an eye on Scully for the past few years, waiting for this troubling day to come.
Apparently, they had been enjoying a romantic late-night dinner and movie, in remembrance of their 50th anniversary, when a consistent yelling and stomping, followed by struggling and fighting, had interrupted their peace.
Of course, in their overdosed generosity and with the hope of spending the rest of their night sleeping soundly, the twosome had let it pass. After all, it was later then 3 AM and they'd not wished to wake the whole building.
But now, in the wee hours of the morning, the bashing and crashing coming from Scully's adjacent apartment had been too much to bear.
And the couple was threatening to call the cops, despite being aware of Scully's line of work, as well as informing the manager of the building.
No wonder many people sent off their parents to nursing homes and facilities when they reached this age - god, were they really just stubborn or did they enjoy being such pains in the ass?
And to top it all off, Scully had to keep them out in the hallway as well as explain why she'd greeted them with a gun. When they asked about the racket, she'd insisted that she'd seen a large rat and had knocked over a few household items while eliminating it.
All along the never-ending conversation, she'd been praying that Mulder didn't break down the door to come to her rescue. Having to explain her partner would have been quite a show.
With an exhausted sigh, Scully waved to Mr. and Mrs. Buckweed as they filed through their apartment door, into a seemingly old fashion, dimly lit home that suited their age.
And with the click of their door lock, Scully closed her eyes and inhaled, her hand shifted down to her own doorknob, preparing herself to walk back into her living room and take in the damage that Mulder had probably added to in her absence.
With a soft creak, the door swung open and Scully peered in. The hallway lights once again spilling into the room from behind her, adding to the glow still coming from her bedroom.
Otherwise, the home was dark, and the heavy hail/thunder storm that was still going strong outside was not helping.
All time stood still for a second, and then a muffled "aye-eee-yaaa!" announced the charge of Mulder, as he came at her from the closet.
Having little time to take in the danger and move, Scully found herself falling back onto the hard floor, with a very heavy and crazed Mulder on top of her.
She took a moment to keep herself from erupting, then very calmly and with surprising ease, pushed her silenced partner to the side and sat up.
"Mulder?"
His unspeaking manner unnerved her, so she decided to step up to the plate. In the low lighting, she could see he was very well coconscious, and seemingly aware of that was going on. Or about as aware as he could be.
"Mulder. Is everything alright?"
It was a silly question to ask of a drunk, but she was making small talk.
He locked eyes with her, blinked, then shook his head.
"They got to you. Now you're one of them!"
His voice was just above a whisper, but she heard every word. And it was somewhat amusing, but overall, annoying.
Scully was getting bored with this. Very bored.
"There were no 'them,' Mulder. And they didn't get anyone. It was just the neighbors complaining about all the noise *you're* causing!"
It took him a full second to let that sink in before he formulated a reply.
"But if there were no them, then how do you know they didn't get you!"
He shot her an 'I win' look and nodded for effect.
Only now did she note that he still reeked of alcohol - a tint of his bar drinks, with a stronger aura of her rather costly wine. The past hour would have logically given him some ease, yet, here he was, full swing.
Scully's eyes shot up to her desk, where she'd perched the wine bottle in return for her gun earlier. Of course, the wine was now gone.
Wonderful.
With a sigh, Scully picked herself off the floor, and helped Mulder up as well, guiding him to the couch.
Once he was seated, she scanned her living area, taking in the damage again. The closet door hung loosely off its hatches, most likely broken. A few vases and ornaments now lined the floor, along with wine stains on the carpet, and about 50 pieces of her once-table.
Mulder was so going to pay for a nice refurnish of the whole house once this was over. She'd see to it.
~~~~~~
Yet another 30 minutes later, nearly half past 7 AM, and night was still going strong.
A winter storm watch was in effect for the area, and the outside world was refusing to shed any light into the dim apartment.
Mulder was propped on the couch, trying not to fall asleep in fear of 'them' getting him.
Scully, was seated on the floor, watching the news on TV, trying not to fall asleep in fear of Mulder getting her apartment.
Both were failing miserably.
"Mulder. Go to sleep. It'll make you feel better."
She knew it was useless. For the past half hour she'd urged him to close his eyes three dozen times. And all she got was the same answer.
"Not. Safe. No sleep."
Scully groaned and rested her head on her hand, glancing sideways at her dazed partner. He must have been feeling the effects of his party night by now. Why wouldn't he give into sleep, damn it?
"Scull-ee?"
She shook her head of all thoughts and turned around to face him, raising an eyebrow in question.
"Yes, Mulder?"
"I love ya."
Strike two. This time, Scully was on guard and managed to play it cool.
"Sleep, Mulder. Get some sleep."
And surprisingly enough, he closed his eyes and did just that.
8:02 AM
Scully lay in her bed now, more then 9 hours after she'd first fallen into it after coming home. She'd stayed by Mulder's side for a few minutes, making sure he was indeed asleep, before she'd retreated into her bedroom.
She was dead tired, no doubt there. But her mind refused to rest.
Involuntarily, she'd drifted off into thoughts about her partner, and what he'd been trying to imply all night.
It was just the alcohol speaking. Why was she unwilling to accept that?
Sighing, she closed her eyes, and snuggled against the pillow, listening to the heavy hail-turned-snow fall outside her window.
The silence was welcoming, but it lasted mere seconds.
Then a loud gunshot forced her eyes open.
~~~~~~
A/N: Dum dum dum? Of course! I'll try not to use up a full week for the next chapter. Bear with me! Also, I think another 2-3 installments will wrap the story up. Don't get me wrong - I'm loving this. But I do think the fic is gonna overkill its name soon. Remember to review! I just *love* that!
Now then, yew have to withstand a few of my rants and raves. Ok, not that drastic. More like, a few of my comments. Fic-wise, I must say, this is turning out to be an odd category of writing. It was meant for humor, but as one of my lovely reviewers noted, it's not really "haha funny." It's more like what a typically rational Scully would do with an insanely drunk Mulder. And of course, there's a blend-in of MSR, which will be wrapped up in the last chapter as part of my master plan! Now, I have no idea why I had to get that out, but, I did! So we move on.
Referring to the comment about Scully and her depiction as 'short' - yes, I'm sorry about that word usage =) As yew can probably guess, I'm a taller person [just over 5'7''], and most of my friends are 'smaller' then me. So they like to gang up and poke fun at my height, and naturally, I get back at them =D But I really don't mean to offend anyone. I'm a bitch like that, and I'm talented enough to mock people by accident. So, no offense, correct? I love yew guys! Heehee.
And Beguile -pats- Yew're obsessed. Sorry to disappoint, but seeing as this is set season 5-6ish, Doggett wouldn't have even been part of the crew. Not that it would stop me if I were to drop him in, but yea. Trying to keep this as real as possible? Ok. Lame excuse =D But seriously. First yew want llamas, now this! Can ya ever be pleased! -Grin-
And lastly, yew guys can go on and read =D I've wasted enough of yar time. Once again, there're some more notes at the end!
~~~~~~
One Hour Later
Well, there were no 'them.'
No aliens. No mythical creatures. No shadow government men.
No unexpected family members coming with urgent news, no coworkers dropping in for an early assignment, and no unidentified information bearers rising up to warn of impending doom.
But right now, Scully would have preferred any of that to what she got instead.
Point Of the matter, anything and anyone would have been better then her elderly next-door neighbors, who'd popped up over 40 minutes ago, wailing and fussing over the acute noises that had woken their peaceful slumbers.
One would think a mere apology and promise for the better would please the aged visitors, but no. Almost an hour had to be spent arguing back and forth over conduct, rights, respect, and manners.
The couple, seemingly in their mid-60s, insisting they had been keeping an eye on Scully for the past few years, waiting for this troubling day to come.
Apparently, they had been enjoying a romantic late-night dinner and movie, in remembrance of their 50th anniversary, when a consistent yelling and stomping, followed by struggling and fighting, had interrupted their peace.
Of course, in their overdosed generosity and with the hope of spending the rest of their night sleeping soundly, the twosome had let it pass. After all, it was later then 3 AM and they'd not wished to wake the whole building.
But now, in the wee hours of the morning, the bashing and crashing coming from Scully's adjacent apartment had been too much to bear.
And the couple was threatening to call the cops, despite being aware of Scully's line of work, as well as informing the manager of the building.
No wonder many people sent off their parents to nursing homes and facilities when they reached this age - god, were they really just stubborn or did they enjoy being such pains in the ass?
And to top it all off, Scully had to keep them out in the hallway as well as explain why she'd greeted them with a gun. When they asked about the racket, she'd insisted that she'd seen a large rat and had knocked over a few household items while eliminating it.
All along the never-ending conversation, she'd been praying that Mulder didn't break down the door to come to her rescue. Having to explain her partner would have been quite a show.
With an exhausted sigh, Scully waved to Mr. and Mrs. Buckweed as they filed through their apartment door, into a seemingly old fashion, dimly lit home that suited their age.
And with the click of their door lock, Scully closed her eyes and inhaled, her hand shifted down to her own doorknob, preparing herself to walk back into her living room and take in the damage that Mulder had probably added to in her absence.
With a soft creak, the door swung open and Scully peered in. The hallway lights once again spilling into the room from behind her, adding to the glow still coming from her bedroom.
Otherwise, the home was dark, and the heavy hail/thunder storm that was still going strong outside was not helping.
All time stood still for a second, and then a muffled "aye-eee-yaaa!" announced the charge of Mulder, as he came at her from the closet.
Having little time to take in the danger and move, Scully found herself falling back onto the hard floor, with a very heavy and crazed Mulder on top of her.
She took a moment to keep herself from erupting, then very calmly and with surprising ease, pushed her silenced partner to the side and sat up.
"Mulder?"
His unspeaking manner unnerved her, so she decided to step up to the plate. In the low lighting, she could see he was very well coconscious, and seemingly aware of that was going on. Or about as aware as he could be.
"Mulder. Is everything alright?"
It was a silly question to ask of a drunk, but she was making small talk.
He locked eyes with her, blinked, then shook his head.
"They got to you. Now you're one of them!"
His voice was just above a whisper, but she heard every word. And it was somewhat amusing, but overall, annoying.
Scully was getting bored with this. Very bored.
"There were no 'them,' Mulder. And they didn't get anyone. It was just the neighbors complaining about all the noise *you're* causing!"
It took him a full second to let that sink in before he formulated a reply.
"But if there were no them, then how do you know they didn't get you!"
He shot her an 'I win' look and nodded for effect.
Only now did she note that he still reeked of alcohol - a tint of his bar drinks, with a stronger aura of her rather costly wine. The past hour would have logically given him some ease, yet, here he was, full swing.
Scully's eyes shot up to her desk, where she'd perched the wine bottle in return for her gun earlier. Of course, the wine was now gone.
Wonderful.
With a sigh, Scully picked herself off the floor, and helped Mulder up as well, guiding him to the couch.
Once he was seated, she scanned her living area, taking in the damage again. The closet door hung loosely off its hatches, most likely broken. A few vases and ornaments now lined the floor, along with wine stains on the carpet, and about 50 pieces of her once-table.
Mulder was so going to pay for a nice refurnish of the whole house once this was over. She'd see to it.
~~~~~~
Yet another 30 minutes later, nearly half past 7 AM, and night was still going strong.
A winter storm watch was in effect for the area, and the outside world was refusing to shed any light into the dim apartment.
Mulder was propped on the couch, trying not to fall asleep in fear of 'them' getting him.
Scully, was seated on the floor, watching the news on TV, trying not to fall asleep in fear of Mulder getting her apartment.
Both were failing miserably.
"Mulder. Go to sleep. It'll make you feel better."
She knew it was useless. For the past half hour she'd urged him to close his eyes three dozen times. And all she got was the same answer.
"Not. Safe. No sleep."
Scully groaned and rested her head on her hand, glancing sideways at her dazed partner. He must have been feeling the effects of his party night by now. Why wouldn't he give into sleep, damn it?
"Scull-ee?"
She shook her head of all thoughts and turned around to face him, raising an eyebrow in question.
"Yes, Mulder?"
"I love ya."
Strike two. This time, Scully was on guard and managed to play it cool.
"Sleep, Mulder. Get some sleep."
And surprisingly enough, he closed his eyes and did just that.
8:02 AM
Scully lay in her bed now, more then 9 hours after she'd first fallen into it after coming home. She'd stayed by Mulder's side for a few minutes, making sure he was indeed asleep, before she'd retreated into her bedroom.
She was dead tired, no doubt there. But her mind refused to rest.
Involuntarily, she'd drifted off into thoughts about her partner, and what he'd been trying to imply all night.
It was just the alcohol speaking. Why was she unwilling to accept that?
Sighing, she closed her eyes, and snuggled against the pillow, listening to the heavy hail-turned-snow fall outside her window.
The silence was welcoming, but it lasted mere seconds.
Then a loud gunshot forced her eyes open.
~~~~~~
A/N: Dum dum dum? Of course! I'll try not to use up a full week for the next chapter. Bear with me! Also, I think another 2-3 installments will wrap the story up. Don't get me wrong - I'm loving this. But I do think the fic is gonna overkill its name soon. Remember to review! I just *love* that!