Title: Little Black Book
Author: Polly - polly122456@yahoo.comRating: PG-13; a couple of bad words
Feedback: Welcome and greatly appreciated
Category: Mulder POV, MSR, Humor, Post-Ep
Spoilers: Takes place after the events of "Chimera" (Season 7); references to several other episodes
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions
Archive: Be my guest
Notes: Written for Haven's 500 Words of PMSing Challenge (and it's only 859 words too long!) Thanks to Peg's Girl for the quick betaSummary: Mulder deals with PMS as only Mulder can
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Like every self-respecting, red-blooded American bachelor, I have alittle black book. But mine is not a "little black book" in thewidely understood definition of that term.
I use my little black book to mark the passage of time. Rows and rowsof dates written in my neat block print - one entry every 28 days orso. Some might call it perverse. I call it an exercise inself-preservation. When you spend every day with a woman who has agun and a scalpel and knows how to use both, it's imperative that youhave an early warning system in place.
When Scully and I became partners seven years ago, I had forgottenwhat it was like to be around an adult female on a full-time basis. I never considered how "that time of the month," as my mother used tocall it, might affect our working relationship.
The first few months of our partnership, I was blissfully unaware. Isuppose I was still sulking about being saddled with a partner Ididn't want, forced to not only defend my theories but to find proofthat would satisfy her scientific mind.
Then one day I was hit full force with the wrath of Dana Scully -usually reserved for murderers and mutants, not Mulders. While Itried to figure out what I'd done to deserve it, she stormed off tothe ladies room for the third time in an hour, and then it hit me. Elementary, my dear Watson - the culprit in the strange case of Dr.Scully and Ms. Hyde was none other than PMS. (They don't pay me thebig bucks for nothin'.)
I felt my theory was sound, but the enigmatic Agent Scully taught methe importance of collecting solid evidence, so I found a smallnotebook in the desk drawer and made my first entry. Sure enough, 28days later, it was a repeat performance: irritability, fatigue,frequent trips to the bathroom, and grumbling about her tight skirteven as she consumed two brownies and handfuls of M&M's from a bag shekept in her desk drawer.
And thus my little black book was born. There are a few gaps, but byfar it's the most accurate record keeping I've ever done. It's becomea vital resource, reminding me of the days that I need to watch mystep and my mouth in order to protect my ass.
I did tempt fate once. I threw caution to the wind and under theguise of "liberated male" met the enemy head-on:
"Scully, did you know there's a theory that in the days beforeelectricity, all women had their menstrual cycles at the same timebecause their bodies were influenced by levels of moonlight? And thereason women's cycles are different now is because there's artificiallight everywhere?"
"Mulder, did *you* know that I find these charming little anecdotesyou seem to pull out of your ass extremely annoying?"
I never tried that again.
Another time I forgot to consult my little black book before we leftfor a case out of town. Thus, I was totally unprepared for the week Ispent getting chewed out by Scully and watching her drool all over abucktoothed sheriff. Scully remembers it differently, of course(including the part about the buckteeth). When I suggested herbehavior in Texas was a direct result of PMS, she agreed.
PMS, she said, stood for "Putting up with Mulder's Shit."
After that, my little black book was just like my American ExpressCard - I never left home without it.
Luckily, Scully thought my little black book was exactly what singlemen *usually* use little black books for, so until recently, I'venever had to hide it when I made my notations.
"Another sexual conquest, Mulder?" she'd say as I checked my calendarand made an entry.
"Mmmmm, three-and-a-half stars," I'd reply. "Lost a half-star forwearing pantyhose instead of thigh highs."
She'd shake her head and mutter, "Mulder, you're sick," then turn backto her work.
But she started wearing thigh highs soon afterward. She made sure Inoticed.
Scully and I have been in a physical relationship for awhile now. Onthe fifth or sixth sleepover, as I lingered somewhere between the armsof Dana Scully and Morpheus, that sultry, sexy voice that she reservesfor the bedroom whispered in my ear: "So is your little black bookretired now?"
"Not retired," I replied dreamily. "I burned it."
A lie, of course. Given our new relationship, my book is moreimportant now than it ever was (especially since I figured out thatthere's also a positive side to PMS like increased sex drive and moreintense orgasms). But I have to be discreet. If Scully ever findsout what I've really been doing with my little black book for allthese years, she'll rip it to shreds and then rip me a new one.
The lights of Washington twinkled below as my plane prepared to touchdown at Reagan National. I felt a twinge in my shoulder as I pulledthe seatbelt around my waist - I was tired from the case in Vermontand more than a little sore from being tossed around like a rag dollby a jealous suburban housewife turned monster. All I wanted to dowas get home, wrap my arms around Scully, and let her soothing touchmend my battered body.
It was then that I remembered our last discussion in the seedySoutheast apartment building before I left for Vermont, and hercranky, whiny telephone calls over the last few days. I pulled thebook from my jacket pocket and checked the date. Yep. More thanlikely, I would soon be face to face with a beast woman of a differentkind.
I passed the gift shop on my way out of the airport and couldn'tresist stopping to check out what treasure was behind the handwrittensign that read "75% Off." It was meant to be a tactic to delay theinevitable; but there in the bargain bin, I found the perfect peaceoffering.
A short Metro ride later I rapped on her door lightly, then used mykey. No time like the present to see if my theory was correct, so Icracked the door just enough to poke my head through. As sweetly aspossible I called out, "Honey, I'm home!"
"Call me 'honey' one more time, Mulder, and you'll be peeing through acatheter."
Once I remarked to Scully that I was right something like 98.9 percentof the time. Make that 99.
I removed the key from the lock, dropped my suitcase by the door, andwatched her emerge from the bedroom, already dressed in her satinpajamas. I smiled as she stopped in front of me and placed her barefeet atop my shiny wingtips. Even with the added height, she stillhad to stand on tiptoe to lock her arms around my neck.
"What kept you?" she asked, then pulled my lips to hers, her tongueexploring vigorously as her teeth grazed my lower lip. Did I mentionthe increased sex drive?
When she let me up for air, I answered her question. "I stopped tobuy you a present."
I pulled the gift from behind my back and her eyes lit up. Withinseconds, the box I had selected from the bargain bin of Easter candywas open and the chocolate rabbit inside had been expertly de-eared.
"Mulder," she said as she seductively sucked each fingertip betweenthose cherry red lips, "I've had a craving for chocolate all day. How did you know?"
I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her close, prepared toreciprocate her earlier greeting with equal gusto, when the littleblack book in my jacket pocket pressed against my heart. A suddenwave of guilt swept over me. Should I come clean? Tell her how I'dbeen deceiving her all along? Drop to my knees and beg herunderstanding and forgiveness? I made my decision, looked deep intoher eyes, and gave her my reply:
"I just knew."
THE END
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If you're interested, my other stories can be found here: https://cleigh6.tripod.com/polly/stories.html