Disclaimers, etc. in part one
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~ Sunday 26 January
Aleve taken: 3, Trips to the bathroom to purge stomach of solely liquid content: 4, Hangover remedies ingested: 2 (godawful stuff)
(2:30 PM)
Just woke up on kitchen floor. Have horrible hangover, want to die. Oh! Missy's waking up.
(10:15 PM)
Spent whole rest of day recovering and dissecting contemptible character of Vile Tom at length with Missy. Still feel rejected and a little perplexed, though should have seen this coming. Knew Vile Tom was vile -- what did I expect?
~ Monday 26 January
Stunning career moves: 0, Krycek seductions: 1 (but half-hearted), Number of minutes plotting Vile Tom's demise: 368
Office. Am over feeling dejected and have moved on to Severely Pissed Off. Is much healthier. How dare he stand me up? Is like high school, when most unattractive boy in school walks up to you in a group before Prom and looks past you to ask your best friend instead. While you never really wanted to be asked, it still hurts when snubbed by sweaty, unappealing geek-boy.
Oh God. What is wrong with *me*? Has life gone so wrong that even the likes of Vile Tom prefers better company? Wonder if excess water retention leftover from time of month is culprit.
No, must stop this line of thinking. Am responsible, stable woman of substance not to be swayed by minor setbacks -- namely those involving man with "Vile" before his name. Will persevere in plans of career advancement, reuniting with friends, etc. and regain quality of life deserved.
Right. I'll get started now. Just as soon as I finish this bag of éclairs.
~ February ~
~ Tuesday 4 February
Wilted veggies thrown out: 8, Cornfields ran through: 3, Alien autopsies performed: 1 (smelly, unnatural creatures), Number of times contemplated finding new job: too many to count.
Ugh. Must find new occupation. In the meantime, being out in the field (quite literally) has given me time to think about the Vile Tom Situation. Decided somewhere between cornfield number two and liquefied alien intestines that:
1) Whole mess is blessing in disguise. Have been saved from possible relationship with a complete ass.
And
2) Need to focus not on said mess, but instead direct energy towards maintaining dignity in the workplace -- a particularly difficult feat when one's hand is up alien's bottom.
There. That should do it.
~ Wednesday 5 February
Frohike calls: 2, Krycek seductions: 0 (progress!), Panic attacks concerning upcoming holiday: about 50
Ugh. Have just realized dreaded Valentine's Day is less than two weeks away. Who invented concept of Valentine's Day anyway? Who? Am convinced was simpering, wide-eyed youth in full throes of love and devotion. Saccharine sweetness of it is appalling, really. Am boycotting whole affair on principle.
~ Friday 7 February
Chocolate units: 5 (okay, 15), Number of ideals crushed: 1, Krycek seductions: 0 (who has time when ideals are busy being crushed?)
Damn Fox Mulder! Was busy typing up report, feeling v. smug and assured in boycott of stupid, commercialized holiday when felt eyes boring into the back of my head. Turned around to find Mulder staring at me with small smile on his face.
"Can I help you?" I asked irritably. Hate it, *hate it* when he stares in this manner, as if plotting something at my expense. Which is usually the case.
"Just thinking," he replied, offering nothing more in way of explanation. By now am:
1) Annoyed
And
2) Curious.
Returned stare for a few moments with expectant look on face, to which he only smiled wider. Finally, could take it no longer.
"What?" I shouted. "What?"
Grin unbelievably bigger -- had not thought this possible, but clearly have been shown up by Tooms-style person and his amazing elastic mouth.
Hmm… Spared a moment considering possibilities for such a talent.
Finally, he answered. "Whatcha doin' for Valentine's Day, Scully?"
Humph!
Gathering dignity, squared shoulders and answered airily, "Valentine's Day, Mulder? Don't you think we're above such tedious, silly holidays?"
He just stared at me. Went on, feeling inexplicable need to fill in the silence.
"I mean, just because greeting card and chocolate manufacturers *tell* us we need to celebrate love on the fourteenth of every February, doesn't mean we all need to be mindless slaves to their marketing strategies."
Prepared to launch into second and more comprehensive half of my "Anti-Valentine's Day speech", which had been thoughtfully prepared and repeated at length to self for reassurance when halted by uncharacteristic quirk of partner's eyebrow.
"What?"
"So… what you're saying is, you don't have a date."
Humph!
~ Saturday 8 February
Calories: 10,000, Number of times checked answering machine for calls from Vile Tom: 8 (v. bad), Krycek seductions: 0 (what's the point?), Number of dates for stupid Valentine's Day: 0
Have consumed weight in Haagan Dazs. Am too depressed to write.
(6:30 PM)
Oh God, but Mulder just *knew* I didn't have a date. Is it that obvious? Am I emitting some sort of "pathetic and single" signal? Am destined to die alone in this apartment, covered in cats. Won't be found until weeks later when smell drives neighbors to investigate in manner of sad, New York deaths. Oooh! Phone ringing…
(6:43 PM)
Was Vile Tom, apologizing for not showing up for date.
"Yes, it's been nearly two weeks now, Tom."
"I really am very sorry, Dana. I was called away unexpectedly on a case and only just got back an hour ago."
Two guesses what he said next.
"Let me make it up to you."
Ha!
But no, will be strong. Will not be made a fool of twice. "I don't think it's a good idea, Tom."
"Please? I'll never forgive myself if you go away thinking ill of me."
Then again, it wasn't *his* fault he was called away on a case. I, of all people, should understand that.
"C'mon, Dana. It's just dinner," he teased. Sounds v. cute when he teases. Almost forgot this since has been a long time since our days at the Academy.
"Okay," I whispered before I could question self further.
"Great! Well, I'll be wrapped up in paperwork after this case, so this weekend is no good. How about Valentine's Day?"
Yeeeeessssssss!!!!!!!!!!!
~ Monday 10 February
Bureau accountants dodged: 4, Clandestine lunches: 1, Krycek seductions: 1 (am so bad!)
Euphoric today! Random, leggy blonde from secretarial pool accosted Mulder in hall upon entering building, accusing him of being first-rate bastard, very public argument culminating in resounding slap across partner's stunned face.
I wonder, is it wrong to laugh outright and at length in such a situation? Oh well.
Began day with review of possible cases, in which Mulder actually discarded some of the more outrageous claims rather than deciding to drag us to the forefront of them. Progress, I'd say. Was v. shocked, but pleased.
Ran into Tom on way to coke machine, who cornered me in near-deserted hallway.
"Dana," he purred, grinning. "How…fortuitous, meeting you here."
"Tom," I returned. Oooh, the man smells incredible. He gestured toward copy room next to machine. Without a thought as to propriety, or the past, I followed him in.
Emerged fifteen minutes later with smug smile on face. Of course, did not sleep with Tom on top of copy machine in manner of office tramp, but had v. nice make-out session which gave me a lot to think about. Saw Krycek on the way out of copy room, disguised once again in form of UPS man. Looked at me with a kind of respect, no doubt approving of obvious state of affairs. Felt naughty, so fluffed hair and licked swollen lips in unmistakable 'come-hither' gesture, brushing against him 'accidentally' on way down hall, extra sway of hips completing just-shagged look. Caught mesmerized look in his eyes. Especially enjoyed dropped jaw and lustful gaze. Having entirely too much fun at Krycek's expense.
V. good day in all.
~ Wednesday 12 February
Hmm… v. strange thing happened today. Came home for lunch hour and wasn't home five minutes before there was a knock at the door. Opened to reveal exterminator standing there with clipboard and official-looking expression on face.
"Can I help you?" I asked.
"Exterminator, Ma'am. Mind if I come in?" he answered in all-about-business voice, then proceeded to let self in.
Baffled. Why would an exterminator be here? Briefly wonder if this is some sort of ploy set up by poster boy for lung cancer. Laying hand on gun under ruse of scratching back, I told him, "I never called for an exterminator."
"Basic procedure, Ma'am," he told me while having a leisurely look around my apartment. "Just a little preventative action. There's a small pest problem in the building, so every unit gets sprayed."
Fabulous. "Okay, then. But could you make it fast? I've got to leave in about ten minutes."
Stan, as the patch on his uniform announced, looked affronted. "Well, there's no reason to stay," he assured me. "Been in here plenty of times before when you weren't in."
"Excuse me?" I sputtered. Shocked and outraged that management has abused trust in such a manner. Further protests cut off with a raised hand from Stan as he looked around apartment forebodingly, scowling as he scanned the room with his eyes.
"You have German roaches," he said darkly.
"What?!"
"I can smell the little bastards," he went on, searching the room with frantic whips of his head. Stormed off in direction of kitchen, and I followed, horrified that it could be true -- that I'd been unwittingly harboring roaches.
"You…you can *smell* them?"
"Save your questions, Ma'am," he said, never looking at me, then dropped the clipboard on the counter. Eyeing every nook and cranny with suspicion, he stood in the middle of the room with one hand on a canister of spray and another on a line of tube gels, all located in his tool belt-like apparatus around his waist. Am reminded of Old-West-style gunfighter. By now am v. disgusted. Apartment, though kept immaculate, feels dirty and invaded.
After several minutes of spraying, gelling and trap laying, Stan spent the next twenty minutes regaling me with inner workings of the mating habits, hatching cycles and domesticity of the German roach, along with details on roach feces and sputum, ad nauseum. Lost track of number of times Stan repeated that this particular breed has to be introduced into apartment, as they do not travel from one house to the next unless in someone's purse, clothes or similar.
Now leaving v. late for second half of workday, appalled and horror-struck. Will sterilize apartment tonight.
(2:56 PM)
V. pissed off right now. Have told Mulder about plight, only to be met with whooping laugher. Wonder how much of a head start would have before officials begin to realize partner is missing.
Hmm…
(8:21 PM)
Something really weird going on here. Have scrubbed every inch of kitchen with strongest bleach solution I can stand, moving appliances away from walls and scouring cabinets and drawers, yet cannot find single sign of infestation. Surely there would be evidence? Am thinking "Stan" is a phony. Will keep lookout and change locks. Must speak to management tomorrow before work.
(10:14 PM)
Phone call from Frohike, disturbing much-needed bath.
"Scully," I sighed into phone, glad have finally gotten into habit of taking cordless with me.
"Hey there, sexy lady."
"Frohike. How are you?"
"Not as good as you, apparently." Sounded hurt.
"What is it, Melvin?" I sighed again, resigned to my fate.
He gasped at my mentioning first name. Had to smile. Could be fun to flirt with little troll once in a while. "Well?" I prodded.
"I saw you and that Tom Colton creep today."
Sat up straight, causing water to splash sides of tub. "What?" Oh God, this is bad. Bad!
Silence.
"Are you in the bathtub?" He asked, changing tacks.
"Er, yeah."
Did he just groan?
Heard shuffling and sounds suspiciously like switches being flipped. Could *hear* the leer in his voice.
"My, my. Don't you look fetching today, my beauty."
"Frohike! Do you have a camera in here?!?"
He laughed. "Maybe. You'll never know, will you?"
Outraged at lack of concern for my privacy. Decided to test him and find out truth. Trailed free hand down stomach to submerge beneath bubbles, giving appearance of…well, should be rather *obvious*.
"What am I doing now?" I breathed into phone.
Strange, broken breathing was only response. Couldn't tell if this was caused by seductive voice or by actual picture.
"G-gotta go!" he squeaked.
Hung up the phone with huge grin on face. That was too easy.
Though, have to admit, *did* grab towel for coverage before stepping out of tub. Damn Gunmen and their damned surveillance equipment.
~ TBC ~
A/N: Thanks for the reviews so far!
ScullyAsTrinity: Colin Firth…Yum. Perfect Darcy, any way you slice it.
TLWROX: The Krycek seductions are just for my (and Scully's) twisted amusement, since Scully never once showed any interest in Krycek, or vice versa, in canon. Just a little fun. :-)
Byersgal and . (anonymous): Thanks! I'm glad you like it so far. There will definitely be more to come -- gotta finish out the year, after all!
Thank you all so much!