From: jkerper217@aol.com (JKerper217) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New Story - "The Pet Shop Saga (1/3) Date: 7 May 1996 22:30:37 -0400 OK, repeat after me. Mulder, Scully, and the X-Files belong to Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, 10-13 productions, and anyone else who is legally making money off of them. I'm not making a dime, legal or otherwise. The characters are lovingly borrowed with the utmost respect for their creators and the actor and actress who portray them. And no, the bird is not MacSpooky's Krycek/Phoebe found in the Generations series. This is based on an absolutely true story. If you want the real details, e-mail me. Much thanks go to Juliettt and her Troupe - take a bow, gang! Please send all replies to JKerper217@aol.com. "Be Careful What You Wish For" by Jodi Kerper. ------------------------- He was going to murder the bird. It was the only solution, Mulder thought, as he stood at the entrance to his apartment, head slumped down on the door. He was afraid to go into his own home. It was going to have to stop. Inserting the key into the lock, he could hear the nonstop twittering, even through the door. Would the thing _never_ shut up? He tried leaving it alone in a room, covering the cage with a dark cloth - nothing worked. It wouldn't stop chirping. Night and day. Rain or shine. It had even woken him up from the first decent night's sleep he'd had in ages. No nightmares of Samantha or Scully or clones or flaming boxcars, just blissful, deep, dark, sleep. Until the bird had let out a squawk to wake the dead. Mulder stripped of his sweat-soaked t-shirt. He'd been able to get a good 3 miles in this morning, before the rain started. He had a Knicks game to look forward to on the tube tonight, and an entire afternoon to spend on-line before that. He even had leftover Domino's in the refrigerator from last night's dinner with Scully. Ah, breakfast of champions. He and Scully had just finished up three wild goose chases back-to-back, and there was no new case waiting for them. In a day or so he'd start getting restless, looking to catch a new X-file. But for today, at least, he was going to relax and enjoy the vacation. He might even lend VC a hand and do that profile they'd been begging him for. It never hurt to keep his hand in - he was a good profiler, and he knew it. And it was a real pleasure to remind those bozos in VC of that fact. tweetweetweetweetweetweetweetweetwee "Yeah, yeah, I know. You're hungry.. So am I, but you don't hear me yammering about it." The bird had been a birthday present from Scully. "Fish are entirely too silent a companion, Mulder. I thought you might appreciate the company, " she'd proffered as she handed him the cage and its twittering occupant. "And he even likes sunflower seeds!" So he'd found himself with a new roommate (not the one I'd really like, he thought. Better get away from _that_ line of thinking, son.) Unfortunately, this roommate didn't shut up, would fly out of his cage and eat all of Mulder's sunflower seeds, and had an unnatural fascination for his fish. The last time the bird had gotten loose he'd found it pecking at the tank, causing his fish to swim madly in circles for the next hour, and refusing to eat for the next day. Either Mulder was going to need therapy, his fish would, or the parrot. Since Mulder's health plan would rebel at the thought of yet another doctor bill to pay, and he didn't know of any fish psychiatrists - cat and dog shrinks yes, fish shrinks, no - that left the bird. And the thought of being told that HE was the cause of the bird's poor behavior was too much to bear. It would have to be murder. If only Scully would understand.... It was stuffy in the apartment. The humid air mass had hung over the city for days, before deigning to answer the prayers of its residents. Thankfully, the rain that had started at the end of his run had been accompanied by a pleasant drop in temperature. Mulder threw open the window to take advantage of the respite, and wandered over to his shower. ------- His phone was ringing. Snagging a towel from the hook on the back of the bathroom door, he wrapped it around his waist as he dashed for the phone. "Hi, Scully." He sat down at his desk, turning on the computer. "How did you know it was me? Forget I asked, Mulder. You'd think I would know better by now. I'm just calling to see if we're still on for tonight - paperwork at 6, followed by the game? I want you to know I agreed to watch basketball with you only under duress. I'm still black and blue from being elbowed by you during last week's game. This time, I demand a decent dinner beforehand. Takeout Chinese, and you're buying." "I placed the order last night. Moo-shoo pork, Grandfather chicken, and wor bar soup. Great minds, Scully." Mulder smiled. She knew he loved Chinese food. A perfect evening - Chinese food, the Knicks, and Scully. If only he could do something about paperwork. And the bird. Can't forget about the bird. "How's Tweetie?" Scully asked. Sometimes the need to mess with their minds... "I killed him, Scully. I warned you about this last week. Snapped his scrawny little bird neck in half. What can I say, he went after my fish.." "Funny, Mulder, very funny. Has it occurred to you that your level of humor has been declining lately? Nice try, but no sale. You'd never kill that bird. You know what I'd do to you." "Promises, promises. Would you harm a defenseless man? Here I am, sitting unarmed and ungarbed, not hurting a fly - birds don't count. Come over early and give it your best shot. Heck, I'll even throw in an order of egg rolls." "Deal. And that bird better be alive when I get there, or else you'll really find out how good a shot I am. Last time I aimed for your shoulder. I have my sights considerably _lower_ this time." No time to log on. The last time Scully had come over and found Mulder searching out the latest and greatest .gifs on the newsgroups, he'd been sore for a week. It really was amazing what they could do with scanners and image manipulation software. But did anyone believe that the red-headed tv actress and the woman in that explicit .gif were the same person? Had to be an X-file. He threw on some clothes and started tidying up the place. Not only had he learned to trust someone after he'd started working with Scully, he even learned to appreciate a minimum level of tidiness around the place. Of course, he'd never tell Scully. Oh no, it would give her too much satisfaction. He loved to watch her complain about his messy desk. Arguing with her was a pure pleasure, sometimes. He appreciated intelligence and wit, and Scully had both in ample measure. There weren't too many women (or men) who would stand up to him, let alone put up with him. "Damn, forgot to feed the bird." Better hurry, before he started eyeing the fish again. I might even clean his cage. Wouldn't hurt to impress Scully - maybe he could con her into filling out the equipment loss expense forms this round. Walking over to the cage, he brought with him some fresh newspaper for the bottom of the pile. The bird did have some benefits - he reduced the pile of newspaper he had to lug to the recycling bin down the hall each week. Mulder opened the cage door, only to be confronted by a very small, rather stiff corpse lying feet up on the floor of the cage, and a cool breeze blowing from the window he had opened earlier. Scully WAS going to kill him. There was a rap at the door. "It's me, Mulder." *Gulp* =========================================================================== From: jkerper217@aol.com (JKerper217) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: Pet Shop Sage 2/3 Date: 7 May 1996 22:32:02 -0400 Part II of "Careful What You Wish For," also known as "You Might Get It", by Jodi Kerper (JKerper217@aol.com). If you haven't seen a copy of "Careful" (or were so bored to tears with it that you forgot what happened), a quick recap: Scully gave Mulder a bird as a gift. Mulder hates said bird. Threatens to kill bird. Scully and Mulder are talking on the phone. Mulder swears he killed the bird. Hangs up. Looks at the bird cage. Yup, you guessed it, the bird is dead! Keeled over from the number one cause of bird death, drafts. Meanwhile, the better half of our intrepid duo has just knocked on the door of Mulder's apartment. As always, Scully, Mulder, et al. belong to CC, Fox, 10-13, and anyone else desperately waiting to reach the magic number for the syndication jackpot. No infringement intended, okay? The dead bird is courtesy of my parents, who actually suffered through the events of "Careful What You Wish For." Thanks go to all those "Troupers" who clamored for a sequel, and even better, suggested some story lines. We begin.... ------------- He might not have murdered the bird, but he was definitely going to fry for this. Now how was he going to explain to Scully, a _pathologist_ that he didn't croak Tweetie? *Serves me right for opening my big mouth. Scully always warned me about the little boy who cried wolf, but I could have sworn she was talking about EBEs.* Taking a deep breath (and quickly glancing over to the cage to make sure he had put down the drop cloth), he opened the door. "What took you so long, Mulder? I was about to let myself in. Bet you were putting certain video tapes out of sight." Dana Scully walked into the apartment, brown bag held out to him. "I stopped by that ice cream store you love so much on the way over and picked up my contribution to the evening's festivities. One quart of Death by Chocolate, and I promise not to make any jokes about hardening arteries." Just great. Not only was the bird dead, but she brought over ice cream. I'm dead meat. *Take me now, Lord.* "Sit down, Scully." "What is it Mulder? Let me pop this in the freezer first. Do you know how hard it is to get chocolate stains out of carpet?" Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he led her over to the couch and sat her down. "Mulder, you're scaring me. What is it? C'mon, 'fess up. Did you forget the egg rolls?" Sitting down beside her, he steeled up his nerve, commended his soul to God, and started the long, painful explanation of how, when he had threatened for the 567th time to strangle the bird, he was actually joking, even though he had sworn he was telling the truth. "Scully, I...when....when we were talking on the phone earlier today and I told you I had murdered the bird? Well, he's dead. No, don't look at me like that - I didn't do it, I swear. I looked over at the poor thing, and there he was, lying on the cage floor, little bird feet up in the air. I would have tried mouth-to-mouth, but he was already cold. Scully? Dana? Say something!" Dana knew, from the instant he started talking about the bird, that it was dead. She could just feel it. She knew Mulder hadn't killed him...no, these things just had a way of happening to Mulder. The mishaps he could get into - he was the only person she knew that could pull a muscle twiddling his thumbs. She was about to tell him it was alright, when she saw that mournful, whipped puppy look on his face. *This is just too good to pass up* Dana was still contemplating his penance when she realized Mulder was blathering on. "...you could even do an autopsy on him - it'll prove I didn't do it!" The image was too much to bear. She could just see the little bird body lying on the cold metal slab in the autopsy bay. *The subject is a 18 oz. parakeet, yellow, with green and orange markings. The autopsy is being conducted by Special Agent Dana Scully, M.D. Although not trained as a veterinary pathologist, I am nonetheless conducting the autopsy. I would not place it above government forces, especially one Fox Mulder, to interfere and obscure the evidence. Agent Mulder is not present at the autopsy, as he is currently being held handcuffed to his bed while I investigate his participation in said parakeet's cause of death. Suspected cause of death is strangulation, but there are no visible contusions or ligature marks about the neck. The feathers of the bird appear relatively undisturbed. It is my considered opinion at this time, based upon the open window, the temperature in the room where the victim was found, and the lack of physical evidence to the contrary, that the bird died of natural causes and I have no grounds upon which to hold my partner. Still, it is tempting to withhold this information from the suspect. And I quote, "Sometimes the need to mess with their minds outweighs the millstone of humiliation."* Hmmm, punishment or extortion? Which one will it be? Looking up, she saw that whipped puppy look on his face (does he practice it in the mirror, or does it just come naturally?) and immediately made her decision. Extortion. It was for his own good. "Alright, Mulder, I believe you. Something like this could only happen to you. But you owe me a penalty. I gave you that bird as a present, and you could have taken better care of him. If you didn't want a bird, you should have said so, not let the poor thing die of pneumonia. Forget the Knicks game. We're going to the pet store, and you, Agent Mulder, are going to purchase a pet as a present FOR ME, which you will like and you will care for and you will have custody of. No ifs, ands, or buts. He desperately wanted to complain, but wasn't about to press his luck. If he was lucky, he might get away with purchasing a pet rock. "Pets Plus" was a disaster from the start, and he knew it could only go downhill. Scully started oohing and aahing over some disgusting little furball masquerading as a dog - "German shepherds are real dogs, Scully. Not Pomerians." Worse, she kept telling him it was for his own good. He hated that. "Fish just won't cut it, Mulder. You need some type of companionship. Now how about a nice cat?" Scully wasn't about to give up. He was going to pay, and pay but good. "Too finicky. Haven't you noticed that cats are always slinking about, looking at you as if they know a secret about you, and spying on you? I'd think it was Krychek in disguise." "Okay. Not another bird...ummm....a rabbit?" "Right. You just said this was going to be your pet, which I would care for. The bullpen gossip about us is bad enough already. Can you imagine it if word got around that the rabbit died? He had a point, and he knew it. He loved watching her blush. He didn't think it was possible for human skin tone to match that particular shade of red, but evidently it was. "How about a snake?" "And every time it shed its skin I'd think of Skinner. No thanks, Scully. But there's an angelfi..." "I told you before, fish don't count as pets. We're talking about companionship, here. A gerbil? A hamster?" "Only if I get to call it Dana. Awww, it's so widdle, and cute, and furry...OW! that hurt!" "Don't press your luck, Mulder. Hamsters are definitely out. I know, a ferret!" "Ferrets are passe, Scully. And they remind me too much of weasels. And weasels make me think of Krychek. Nope, for the sake of my blood pressure and my precarious mental health, absolutely NO ferrets." They had reached the rear of the store, where the fish inevitably resided. Damn, but she had sworn she wouldn't let him get more fish. Too easy. "Oh please, Scully! They've got angelfish, and I've been meaning to pick up some replacements. The fish babies disappeared last week, and I don't think ET was responsible." By this time, quite a few people were staring at them. One of the clerks, cleaning a fish tank, stifled a laugh. It's not every day one saw a 6 foot plus man begging and pleading with a petite redhead. Somehow, groveling was more effective when the groveler stared UP at the grovelee. "Mulder, you're making a scene. I told you earlier, no fish. You need companionship - you need a pet!" He was ready to bang his head against the wall in frustration. Why couldn't she get it through her thick skull? "I don't need a pet, Scully. I've got you." Gulp. Silence. He hadn't realized he had shouted the words out, so forcefully was he thinking them. He stole a peek at his partner, who was standing there, mouth open, obviously about ready to launch an attack once she finished plotting the most effective way to kill him without causing a mess. Yup. Dead meat. ------------ =========================================================================== From: jkerper217@aol.com (JKerper217) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: Pet Shop Saga 3/3 Date: 7 May 1996 22:33:57 -0400 The adventures begun in "Careful What you Wish For" and "You Might Get it" continue. When last we me, our intrepid heroes were at the mall, shopping for a replacement after a certain pet bit the dust (not to be indelicate or anything). Mulder, ever the suave diplomat, has just informed Scully that he doesn't need a pet - he has her. As always, Scully, Mulder, et al. belong to CC, Fox, 10-13, and anyone else desperately waiting to reach the magic number for the syndication jackpot. No infringement intended, okay? The dead bird is courtesy of my parents, who actually suffered through the events of "Careful What You Wish For." Thanks go to all those "Troupers" who clamored for a sequel, and even better, suggested some story lines. Here goes - "Or You Might Not" by Jodi Kerper (JKerper217@aol.com) But she didn't explode, didn't shoot him a dirty look, or just *shoot him* for that matter. She just turned on her heel and stalked out of the store. He was still trying to figure out whether to follow her or not when the crowd gathered round decided to make up his mind for him. Most of the women present were pushing him to go after her. It seemed that, even though SHE had walked out on HIM, rule number 621 dictated that the man must at least make a brave-hearted attempt at reconciliation. "It's in the rule book. Really. And my life is in danger just for telling you this." the tall woman struggling to heft 50 lbs. of dog food joked. "I bet she drove, didn't she?" Yup. He'd felt so guilty about Tweetie, he'd even let her drive. He could be stranded at the mall. On a weekend. With teenagers. Lots, and lots of teenagers. Gulp. A grizzled old man toying with the display of jeweled dog collars cackled at him, shaking his head. "You might as well give it up now, son. Once they've got their hooks into you, you're done for. The little ones are the worst - what they lack in size they make up for in spirit. Yep, that's what my father always told me. And look at me now. Picking up a tacky dog collar for the Missus' toy poodle. I hate the runt, but what can I do? She loves him." "Don't listen to him, dude," a young, pimply-faced spiky-headed kid interrupted. "Ya gotta show the little lady who's the boss. Man, if she were my chick, I wouldn't let her push me around. Stand up for your rights! It's in that Constipation thingy they're always talking about in civics class." Was he really going to take advice from a boy wearing a dog collar as a fashion accessory? Mulder didn't think so. Besides, the future of his paperwork depended on his gaining Scully's forgiveness. The things a man would do for a redhead. Especially a redhead accounting whiz... Dashing out of the store, he scanned the mall looking for sight of his partner. It was always easier for her to spot him. He had to remember to look down and between the hordes of mall groupies roaming the corridors. He was an FBI agent, for God's sake! How hard could it be to find one small women in an enclosed environment? How hard could it be? Very. He searched every place he could think of - the sporting goods store, the perfumerie, the chocolate shop...he even went into Victoria's Secret. Alone. If that wasn't the act of a desperate man, he didn't know what was. He barely escaped with his life. Although there was this little gold silk number that might look interesting on Scully. *Whoa, where did that thought come from? If she was pissed at him now, imagine what she'd do if you ever bought her anything like that as a present. A bullet in his _shoulder_ would be the least of his worries.* Two hours later, he was still looking. It amazed him, the number of different stores that seemed to be necessary in order to fulfill man's basic needs. Strolling through the electronics store had been a pleasure. He really liked that laptop he saw, although he had his doubts about the screen. It seemed to flicker a bit - not really sharp. After that though, he started to lose his patience. A Warner Brothers store? Okay, maybe. After all, Taz is a very cool character. But a Barbie store? Flanked by two giant, transparent columns filled with floating multi-colored thingamabobies? Mulder was so amazed by this structure he found himself drawn to it. It was worse than he thought. The rainbow array of thingamobobies in the columns were actually miniature Barbie shoes. High heels, no less. "You make one crack about my tiny little feet reaching the pedals and you're a dead man." He whirled around, to find Scully grinning at him, one eyebrow raised. He didn't know what to say that wouldn't get him killed. But she didn't seem to be mad. Was even amused. "C'mon, Mulder. I've decided to let you live. Watching you roam around the mall, going into every shop - that must have been a greater torture than anything I could dream up. Let's hit the road. There's Death by Chocolate and a Knicks game awaiting." Her hair whipped around her as she headed out of the mall and into the parking lot. He had done it. Made it out of the situation alive, and still in his partner's good graces. *Thankyouthankyouthankyou* he found himself praying to a deity he didn't know he believed in. Scully was right - a higher power must exist. This was proof. He slid into the passenger seat and buckled his seat belt with a sigh of relief. An evening of Chinese food, the Knicks, and Scully coming up. What more could a man want? "Scully? I'm...well.., you know - sorry." "I know." She really was a saint. What other woman would let him off with that simple apology? He stretched his legs as best he could in the car and contemplated the evening ahead. His thoughts were interrupted by the woman next to him. "Now about that gold silk nightie..." Gulp.