TITLE: Something Fishy
AUTHOR: Susanne Barringer
EMAIL: sbarringer@usa.net
ARCHIVE: Anywhere okay, as long as these headers remain intact.
CATEGORY: SHA
KEYWORD: Parody (Is that an official keyword?)
RATING: R
SPOILERS: none
SUMMARY: Parody of Angst/Comfort. Scully helps Mulder cope with a
horrible tragedy.
DISCLAIMER: Not my characters. They belong to Chris Carter, 1013,
and Fox. No one would pay for this, so I should be safe.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
I wrote this story several months ago but held off posting it because a story
with a sort of similar premise came along at the same time. I'm kind of
fond of it though, so I've dusted it off to post now. Any similarity to
previously posted stories really is coincidental!
This is a parody of MulderAngst and Comfort!Scully stories (I write that
stuff, so it's nothing personal). It was intended to follow "Devil's
Jukebox," my parody of songfic (sort of a parody boxed-set!), but this is a
stand-alone so you don't have to read that first.
_____________
Something Fishy
by Susanne Barringer
It's Friday evening. I've barely been home long enough to kick off my
shoes and change my clothes when the phone rings. I debate whether or
not to pick it up but decide I'd better in case it's someone who wants to ask
me out for tomorrow night. Okay, so that's a pipe dream, but whatever. I
pick up the phone anyway.
At the other end is an extremely distraught Mulder. Just by the way he
says "Scully," I know something is terribly wrong. He's all breathy and
sad.
"What's wrong, Mulder? What's happened?" My heart is thumping in my
chest. Mulder gets upset about very little. Right now, he's crying so hard
he's speechless. Something terrible must have happened. "You're scaring
me, Mulder! Tell me what happened."
Mulder manages to collect himself. "It's Mary, Scully. She's dead."
OH MY GOD! I reel with the shock.
Wait a minute, who the hell is Mary?
"Who's Mary, Mulder?" I ask, hoping like crazy this isn't someone he told
me about when I was only half paying attention, which is most of the time
when it comes to Mulder and his long rambling stories about alien
abductions and whatnot.
"My fish, Scully. My goldfish." His voice breaks in a sob on the word
"goldfish."
"What happened?" I ask, figuring that's the proper thing to ask in such
circumstances. Not that I've ever been in these circumstances. Sure, I can
sympathize with the loss of a pet. I was devastated when my dog was
slaughtered by a red Buick Skylark convertible when I was eight, but this is
hardly the same. One, it's a fish for God's sake, and two, Mulder isn't
eight.
"Oh Scully, it was horrible. I came home from work and went over to tell
her about my day like I always do. And there she was. Just floating. Oh
God, the horror of it! I just can't get that image out of my head." He
breaks into sobbing, hard from-the-gut sobbing. Oh boy, I guess I'm going
to have to go over there and comfort him. If I don't, he'll just work himself
into some kind of guilt trip, and he's about maxed out on guilt-trip frequent
flyer miles.
"I'll be right there, Mulder. Hold on." Mulder sighs on the other end, and I
realize he's relieved that he won't have to go through this alone.
**********
I arrive at Mulder's apartment to find Mary still floating belly up.
"Mulder, you have to get her out of the tank. She'll make the other fish
sick."
Mulder looks ragged and emotionally drained from his ordeal "I know,
Scully, but I just can't bring myself to remove her. That was her home, she
loved it. It seems a shame to take her away from the only home she's had
for the last three years."
"Would you like me to do it?" I offer. It's the least I can do. Mulder is in
no shape to perform such a delicate procedure anyway.
Mulder looks relieved. "Would you? Thanks, Scully. I just don't think I
could . . . "
I grab the fish net sitting on the shelf above the tank. Mulder turns away as
I perform the removal. Having captured Mary safely in the net, I'm not
sure what to do with her.
"What do you want to do with the . . . uh . . . remains?" Mulder turns
around to face me and then slowly, gingerly, lowers his eyes to look at
Mary. The tears well up again and I see him fighting back sobs.
"Should we flush her?" I ask.
As soon as I've said the words, I know they were the wrong ones. Mulder
looks like he wants to throw up. "Flush her? Scully, that's so insulting to
her memory. She was a great and loyal fish. She deserves more than being
flushed."
"I'm sorry, Mulder. I'm not really up on my fish burial traditions. Do you
have a box or something to put her in?"
Mulder goes into the kitchen to search for a suitable casket. I hear
cupboards opening and closing. He returns with an empty Mrs. Paul's box
that he fished out of the garbage.
"Um, this was all I could find. I'll look for something nicer later."
I carefully place Mary's corpse in the Extra Crunchy Frozen Fish Sticks
box. Mulder folds back the top so that he can see her lying in her
cardboard sarcophagus. He takes the box from me and carefully places it
on the coffee table, then plants himself on the sofa like he's sitting fish
shiva.
Finally, he speaks. "I don't understand what happened, Scully. I should
have known something was wrong."
"How could you have possibly known, Mulder?"
"She just hasn't been herself lately. She's been swimming really slowly,
sometimes not swimming at all, just treading water. And she hasn't been
eating much. I know I've been gone a lot and haven't been paying her the
kind of attention I should be. I knew she wasn't happy, but I just didn't do
anything about it. Oh, Scully, you don't think she . . . " Mulder grows
pale.
"Offed herself?" I finish his thought for him.
"Yes," he says, swallowing hard. "Oh, it's all my fault. If I'd just paid her
more attention, this wouldn't have happened."
Mulder is distraught now, his body heaving with the pain of his loss. I try
to think of something to say to comfort him. "She was old, Mulder, for a
goldfish anyway. I'm sure that's what happened. She'd just reached the
point where she'd swum her last swim, eaten her last fish flake. It was
time. I'm sure it was a peaceful ending," I add, noting that Mary really
does look quite peaceful lying there as if she's a frozen dinner. "I'm sure if
it had been a painful death, or an uncomfortable one, she wouldn't have
that serene look on her face." In truth, I have no idea what a serene look
would be for a fish, but Mulder seems satisfied.
I take a seat on the sofa next to Mulder and wait to see what he wants to
do next.
"I guess we should bury her, huh Scully?"
"Um, well, yeah, you can't leave her there."
"I know. It's just so hard, you know? Knowing she won't be here to greet
me everyday, to wave her tail at me?"
"I know, Mulder. Give it time. Eventually, you'll come to appreciate the
memories you have of her."
Mulder begins crying again, the sobs wracking his body. "Will you come
to the funeral tomorrow? I know Mary would appreciate it. She always
liked you, Scully."
"Sure, Mulder. I'll be there if you need me." I reach out and Mulder
comes to me, nestling into my arms, crying out his grief on my shoulder.
His heart is broken, and I wish I could help ease the pain.
While I hold Mulder in my arms, I think about sex. Comfort sex. I mean,
I've always wondered what it would be like to have sex with Mulder. Now
would be a good time. It would seem like it just happened with the
emotion of the moment, no strings attached. Let's face it, if this were a
television show or, God forbid, a piece of fanfic, we'd be screwing on the
floor like dogs in heat.
Feeling sympathetic to Mulder's horrible pain, I would kiss him gently. We
would look into each other's eyes, searching, telling each other all kinds of
things without words. I would lean in to kiss him again, this time less
gently, more demanding. And he would return it, opening his mouth to
me, our tongues meeting and dueling, our bodies pressing against each
other hungrily. Next thing you know there'd be erect nipples and hard
shafts and hot cores all over the place and all kinds of sticky, hot bodily
fluids glistening everywhere.
Hmmmm. Could be fun. It would help Mulder feel better and I'd get
something out of it too. At least I'd better.
I look at Mulder, though, and the idea doesn't seem so inviting. His eyes
are puffy and red from crying, his nose is running, and he's kind of sweaty
from the energy of being full of angst. I decide to nix the sex and just
focus on the comfort part.
I hold him as he grieves for the lost Mary, his favorite fish, the one he's had
the longest. I know it's a tragedy for which he will need some time to
recover. But Mulder is strong, and this pain will make him stronger. Loss
in his life always does. Someday, soon, he will get a new fish, a new
beginning, a chance to start again and form a new, lasting relationship.
Until that day, I will be there for him, supporting him, loving him, in a way
that only a partner, and not a fish, can.
THE END
____________
Write and tell me you laughed (if you did): sbarringer@usa.net
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