From: maybe_a@rocketmail.com
Title: Renovatio
By: Lisby and Amanda Wilde (MaybeAmanda)
Rating: PG. If that.
Category: MSR, Post-Truth, AU, a little MT, 2005 X-OK Holiday Fic
Archive: Yes. We'd be honored. Please let us know?
Disclaimer: Chris Carter owns Mulder, Scully, Skinner, etc.;
Fox owns The X-Files; we own this story.
Feedback: Always welcome at lisby@earthlink.net and
maybe_a@rocketmail.com
Special props to Marlene, The Constant Beta.
Quoth Lisby: For all the list sibs of X-OK. You are the wind
beneath our wings upon which the eagles soar on high, the rush
of the water over the falls just as the idiot in the barrel
reaches the precipitous drop, the massive thrust of the
warp-speed engines that makes Scotty The Man, and that jittery
caffeine-and-sugar high achievable only through an espresso
fluffy with extra syrup.
)
Quoth Amanda: Um, what she said. I think.
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To: f.mulder@fbi.gov
From: dks@hotmail.com
Subject: Re: The Answer: The Eiffel Tower, Big Ben, and
Fox Mulder.
-- Mulder wrote:
>>The Question: Name three things that were not on the
7:15 p.m. flight to San Diego.
I take it this is your not-so-subtle way of saying the case is
not going well?
S
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To: dks@hotmail.com
From: f.mulder@fbi.gov
Subject: Oy
Good guess. You must be psychic.
We had Devon Bushong cornered, but then, somehow, we
didn't, and now we've got two agents in the hospital
instead. I'd like to shove the blame onto the entire tactical
team and wash my hands of this mess, but it's not their fault
-- their boss is an arrogant asshole who has the imaginative
capacity of a slightly-below-average rock.
But enough about Crenshaw....
The profile on the serial case is coming together, but shit,
I've been saying that for a week. Eventually someone is
going to figure out I'm full of crap.
Someone other than you, I mean.
The Justice Department is breathing down Skinner's neck,
so Skinner is riding my ass about catching Bushong,
Christmas or no Christmas, so I don't know when I'll
actually get out of here. If I actually get out of here.
I am so sorry, Scully.
What are the Merry In-laws up to? And the kids? I miss
you all so much.
M
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To: f.mulder@fbi.gov
From: dks@hotmail.com
Subject: Nothing to Be Sorry For
Well, nothing new, at least.
Besides, Christmas is still three days away.
Bill's ship is overdue, but that's par for the course this time
of year.
The kids are keeping me busy and Mom is keeping me
crazy. William has now decided Santa should bring him a
horse. I think I'm glad he's over wanting a bear, but then
again…
Spent the morning hanging decorations. The halls are well
and truly decked. Fa la la la la, etc.
Tara wants to make cookies. I keep wondering why no
one's ever pointed her in the direction of a good bakery.
You're working on the Melinda Jeffers case, aren't you? It's
a serial killing now? It's okay -- you can tell me -- I can
take it.
And we miss you, too.
S
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To: dks@hotmail.com
From: f.mulder@fbi.gov
Subject: Oy, Oy, Oy
Yes to working on Melinda Jeffers -- now the Melinda
Jeffers, Sunshine Bender (I wish I was joking), and Marilyn
Morford case. No to telling you about it.
Just not right now, anyway.
Why the fuck am I here again, Scully? I hate what the bulk
of the FBI is being forced to become -- a bunch of spies
and eavesdroppers. I hate there being no X-Files Division. I
hate the bullpen power plays and head games. I hate the
whispers that follow me up and down the hallways. I hate
spending Ho-Ho-Ho Time staring at crime-scene photos of
chopped up she-males instead of spending it with my
family, whose lives go on sweetly without me.
Okay. I'm feeling sorry for myself. I'll let you kiss it and
make it better.
Speaking of someone whose life is going on sweetly
without me: How is little Version 2.0? Has your mother
shared her yet or is Maggie still bogarting? (I'll bet Wills is
glad he has a little sister now. With time, his nightmares of
those giant, face-sucking lips may abate.) Does she miss
me? *Can* she even miss me at two months old?
Shit! Kersh at 12 o'clock, bellowing! Evasive action
required!
M.
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To: f.mulder@fbi.gov
From: dks@hotmail.com
Subject: Sounds Like Someone's Been Reading the FBI
Newsletter Again
Well sure, the job sounds bad if you describe it *that way.*
I seem to recall some stuff about getting psychos off the
streets and keeping the world safe for democracy. Or what
passes for it lately, anyway.
You said this is what you wanted to do, Mulder. If it's not --
really not -- then you don't have to. Moreover, you
shouldn't. We can manage. In the meantime, I wish you'd
hand off the Jeffers case; you have enough on your plate
with the Barrymore kidnapping.
Speaking of plates, have you been eating? Real food, I
mean. You get cranky when your blood sugar is low.
Yes, you do.
If we can't have Christmas on Christmas, I told you, we'll
have it as soon as we can. The date doesn't matter.
And speaking of bellowing, Mom wants to go to the mall
before naptime -- more pictures with Santa. I'm humoring
her.
What a good daughter I am.
S
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To: f.mulder@fbi.gov
From: dks@hotmail.com
Subject: Hey wait -- she-males???
What? Since when? Huh?
Inarticulately yours,
S
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To: f.mulder@fbi.gov
From: dks@hotmail.com
Subject: No Means No...
...To several things. First, I am not-not-not going to discuss
the photographic documentation of gore spread across my
desk. Second, I'm supposed to eat with said gore spread out
across my desk? Third, Skinner has a really spectacular
butt. A minute ago he was reading a report while bending
over McGill's desk, which as you know, is a mere foot from
mine. So much for that office they promised me when I
agreed to work VC. Anyway, Skinner's unadulterated
gluteusness was in extreme close range. Verily, I almost
reached out and goosed him, but Colton was spying on me
from across the bullpen.
Have I distracted you from she-males adequately enough?
I want to be with you and William and Kate. I'd even put
on a smile and blow a kiss to your salty-crab brother.
My playing up the camp is doubtless due to the victim
profiles I'm assembling.
Toast with butter, Scully. I had some this morning.
M.
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To: f.mulder@fbi.gov
From: dks@hotmail.com
Subject: Fun at the Maul
Ugh. Three hours. Whining, bickering, hair pulling. And
that was just me.
On the up-side, we now have even more pictures of the
most gorgeous, gifted children on the planet. And Matthew.
If all you had was toast with butter this morning, you need
some protein, and you need it a good three hours ago. I hate
to have to be the one to break this to you, beloved, but you
aren't 18 anymore. You aren't even 30 anymore. They call
it tough love. ;)
Please never use the words *blow* and *my brother* in a
sentence again. Ever. Pretty please?
[continued in next message]
--- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05
* Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)
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