From: AnubisKV5@cs.com   
      
   TITLE:  FOX MULDER'S BIG BLUES (*Do not   
   archive to Gossamer*)   
      
   AUTHOR:  Anubis the Annoying   
   E-MAIL:  AnubisKV5@cs.com   
   DATE:  10-01-2005   
      
   FEEDBACK:  Constructive feedback always   
   appreciated!   
      
   RATING:  NC-17! No minors allowed! Shoo! Go   
   away! This isn't for you! (NC-17 is the copy-   
   righted rating of the MPAA; no infringement   
   intended.)   
      
   SPOILERS:  Seasons 1-3 up to and including   
   Quagmire. For my purposes, the events in "3"   
   never happened.   
      
   BETA-READER:  The wonderful, The Amazing   
   Maleeni ... er ... I mean, Aerostar. Glad you   
   and yours survived Katrina, dear-heart (even   
   if you did it for days and days, situated in   
   your own personal hot, humid Gulf Coast swamp,   
   with skeeters the size of dinner plates,   
   sweatin' out the wazoo and doing it all with-   
   out the benefit of electricity)!  Life would   
   *not* be remotely the same without you in it!   
   Awl other arrows; in thus storey is! my. owen,,   
      
   CATEGORY:  MSR, H, RST, PWP.   
      
   ARCHIVE:  I will post to Ephemeral and   
   Gossamer. All others please ask first. I'll   
   likely say yes; I just wanna know whar it's   
   goin'.   
      
   DISCLAIMER:  Not mine; I only wish. The   
   X-Files characters belong to 1013 Productions,   
   Chris Carter and Fox. No rights implied. I'm   
   only borrowing them. No infringement intended.   
      
   SUMMARY:  Sometimes, it was a real bitch to   
   be an F.B.I. agent. Or Fox Mulder, for that   
   matter. Actually, when he thought about it,   
   Fox Mulder decided it was a bitch to be Fox   
   Mulder pretty much all of the time. In fact,   
   most of the time it just downright sucked.   
   Big time.   
      
   AUTHOR'S NOTES:  Written for the Virtual   
   Season of Smut Challenge - Season 3 at   
   Fandomonium.net (please note the address has   
   changed from ".com"). As said before, I am   
   *not* the authors "Anubis" or "Anubis-Lite"   
   at Gossamer. I'm a totally separate indivi-   
   dual, ergo, AnubisKV5.   
      
   DEDICATION:  For Aerostar, ahite? For   
   Marlene, for old times sake, deep friend-   
   ship and fellow-lust for a certain tall,   
   dark-haired, lanky, hazel-eyed actor,   
   writer and director-guy, and Beckyc and   
   SilverD -- for pretty much the same   
   reasons! For NancyBratt and Dusty, for   
   new-times sake. For R-Pod and her Mom Pod.   
   For AJ, SSD and Becca, always.   
      
   ~~x~~X~~X~~X~~x~~   
      
   Sometimes, it was a real bitch to be an F.B.I.   
   agent. Or Fox Mulder, for that matter.   
      
   Actually, when he thought about it, Fox   
   Mulder decided it was a bitch to be Fox   
   Mulder pretty much all of the time. In fact,   
   most of the time it just downright sucked.   
   Big time.   
      
   This was one of those times.   
      
   Next to a small campfire, on the bank of   
   Heuvelmans Lake in the Blue Ridge Mountains   
   of Georgia, Mulder had been lying on a blan-   
   ket and bedroll, a pillow under his head,   
   with another couple of blankets draped over   
   him for warmth. Unable to sleep, he had been   
   staring up into the stars for several hours   
   now. His hunt for the alleged prehistoric   
   lake monster, Big Blue, was over. Other than   
   a very, very dead alligator, a whole lot of   
   bruises, a slightly sprained ankle and some   
   swollen and sore toes, he had nothing to show   
   for his troubles.   
      
   Okay, that was wrong.   
      
   He *had* killed an extraordinarily large 16   
   foot male alligator, estimated to be roughly   
   800 to 850 pounds and possibly as much as 70   
   years old, which, as he had come to under-   
   stand, was pretty damned big, pretty damned   
   old and pretty damned unusual for an American   
   alligator in the wild.   
      
   He also had something else big to show for   
   his troubles: the people who lived around   
   Heuvelmans Lake hated his guts. Every. Last.   
   One. Of. Them.   
      
   Mulder sighed. Yep. That friggin' damned al-   
   ligator had predated quite a number of cattle,   
   deer, cats, dogs, frogs, other assorted wild-   
   life, residents and tourists over the years,   
   and though he had saved the rest of the popu-   
   lation from a similar fate, everyone hated   
   him.   
      
   "Well, you slew the big white whale, Ahab,"   
   as his partner, Dana Scully, had phrased it.   
      
   Yet he was widely hated. Why? Oh, sure, at   
   first they *loved* him because he had rid the   
   Lake of its mysterious killer, effectively   
   stopping the deaths.   
      
   But as the next day wore on, after the long   
   night before, when Mulder himself had barely   
   escaped the wrath and feeding frenzy of that   
   big-ass alligator with some bruises and a   
   slightly sprained ankle from tripping over a   
   log, when he and Scully went into town to   
   Sheriff Hindt's office to file the necessary   
   papers and reports, he noticed that people   
   were staring at him. With what seemed like   
   an awful lot of hostility toward someone who   
   had undoubtedly just saved even more lives.   
      
   He had leaned over and whispered his concerns   
   to Scully, but she had only raised her eye-   
   brow at him and, with a sigh and dramatic   
   roll of her eyes, whispered back to him,   
   "Mulder, you're just being paranoid ...   
   again."   
      
   However, when, as they were leaving the   
   Sheriff's office late that afternoon, a cute   
   little girl of maybe five or six years rode   
   up to them on her cute pink bicycle (complete   
   with cute training wheels, a cute basket with   
   cute flowers and cute pastel streamers flying   
   from the cute handles), even Scully was   
   forced to change her mind and believe her   
   ever-paranoid partner.   
      
   The cute little girl, in her pretty blue   
   gingham-checked blouse, blue pants and match-   
   ing sweater and bright blue boots, with her   
   perfect blonde ringlets, stopped right in   
   front of Mulder, got off her bicycle, put her   
   hands on her hips, stared up, roughly 3 feet,   
   into his eyes.   
      
   Then, completely without warning, she kicked   
   him in the shins.   
      
   Hard. Repeatedly.   
      
   While Mulder hopped around, cursing under his   
   breath, trying to hold his shins -- which was   
   really difficult to do since he had been   
   kicked in *both* of them -- Scully put her-   
   self between the cute little girl and Mulder   
   and asked the girl why she had kicked "the   
   nice man."   
      
   "A'cause, he amn't nice!" she stated loudly   
   in her high, little girl voice, pointing one   
   finger dramatically at Mulder accusingly, her   
   seemingly innocent blue eyes flitting from   
   Scully to Mulder, "*he* done kilded Big Blue!"   
      
   Then, without further adieu, after another   
   long glare at Mulder, she zoomed around   
   Scully, stomped on Mulder's toes (on the foot   
   with the already-slightly sprained ankle),   
   then kicked Mulder in his right shin again,   
   jumped on her cute pink bicycle and sped off,   
   blonde ringlets and streamers blowing in the   
   breeze.   
      
   Residents, including a couple of the   
   Sheriff's deputies, had stopped to watch the   
   display and had actually clapped at the   
   girl's actions and cheered on the cute little   
   brat!!   
      
   After that, it was all uphill.   
      
   It seemed *everyone* hated Mulder now. He had   
   not only effectively ended the "Legend of Big   
   Blue," but had also pretty much single-   
   handedly destroyed the biggest paying tourist   
   attraction for hundreds of miles around   
   Heuvelmans Lake as well. The residents were   
   going to be hurting with the slack in the Big   
   Blue economy because of one overly-obsessed   
   F.B.I. agent's passions.   
      
   In less than twenty-four hours, everyone   
   seemed to have forgotten the half-eaten Boy   
   Scout troop leader, the souvenir shop owner   
   of the unforgettable "Show Me Your Bobbers"   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)