2:00 a.m. EST.
I'm just sitting here typing away at another story--the usual MSR
this time--yet there's something
I can't explain! I feel as though
there's some sort of presence in the room, but, as it happens, I am
There's a chill in the room. Chalk it up to the
drafty apartment and the absurd windchill factor tonight.
The words keep coming, so I keep typing until I need a cigarette or
a tea. Seems to me the chill is becoming
intermittent, more or less.
You know, the type of thing you feel when you walk back and forth in
front of the air conditioner
in the window, or open and close the
refrigerator at mealtime. It comes; it goes.
"Is that you?" I ask, thinking it's one of the kids. "Because if it
is, you get right back to bed before
I carry you there!" I exclaim.
I don't hear any child reply or talk back to me. What I do hear is
a familiar voice that scares me enough
that my knee bumps against
the desk. "Ahh!!!" So, I turn around slowly, and I see HIM. Great,
only one month on a new
medicine and already I'm seeing DD in my
own home at two in the morning. "Yeah, I hallucinate about David
I mutter. "Sure. Read all about it! She's gone nuts! Too
many X-Files episodes and fanfics! I can see the headlines."
"DD? You mean David Duchovny? The actor who portrays me. No, I'm
Fox Mulder." He's doing it again! Please...
I sit here in shock. This is the payback for not getting enough rest
and fresh air, I just know it.
Should get out more and go shopping.
Knit a sweater. Crochet a blanket for the house. "You, YOU are stress gone awry,"
I answer tersely. "Time for me to hit the hay." But I know he's doing it again. Back to get me to do a POV for him.
"I am defending Scully right now, by the looks of it." The presence
is reading the monitor and glancing
over the plot! Now I KNOW it's
time for bed.
"If you're a hallucination, go away. See me next Monday. Make an
appointment," I say, in my smart-ass
voice. And some people think I
only write that way on MR!
"What's this about the sutures coming out and the handcuffs way too
tight?" It says. The presence. Maybe
I had a bad chunk of chicken at
"Oh, okay. My inner editor is pressing the guilt on me," I whisper. "I get it. Loosen the cuffs and get Scully
to shoot the bum behind
this all before it gets way worse."
"Inner editor? No, uh, actually, I'm here to give you my opinion on a few things."
"Really?" I laugh. "Okay, Fox, lay it on me. I mean that figuratively."
"Don't call me Fox," he admonishes, with a shake of the head and a wave of his index finger.
"Right. Say, you prodded me to write that fic last fall about your
"Uh huh. And you did."
"So, what now?" I have to give in. I know that "Mulderprod" from a
"Just want to tell a few people at one of your favourite sites how I
feel about all the torture and pain
I've been reading about, going
through, you know. I don't need to look in on that Carter guy much
I do understand MR is having a birthday, too. I really
must visit the others in the next few days, as well."
"You get around," I concede. "You know the rules, too, right?"
He raises his head, rolls his eyes and utters in resignation, "No
touching the keys because this is your
cohab.'s computer. No really
bad words because YOU don't use them, and no contacting anyone in
your address book. Oh,
and no reading the mailbox. You type, I
stand here and tell you what I'm thinking, feeling, whatever, yada,
"Good boy, Mr. Inspiration! Let's get to work."
"Pattie, you gave me a stroke, here."
"Rising to a challenge. Couldn't resist. I DID give you the Scully
comfort you love so well... "
"You made me speechless!" He exclaims. "I couldn't go on like that!"
"And you didn't, Mr. Whiney." Got to tease him here. He's asking for torture if he doesn't watch
it. "You're a verbose character at times. It made you uncomfortable, vulnerable and grateful for the ability to speak."
"Here, you had some guy shoot me up with a bad influenza vaccine,
fearing that my hair would fall out!
I love my hair!" Whiney puss.
"Well, Scully assured you that she'd still do the movie and a beer
thing, right?" I ask, cautiously. There
is some merit in treating the character with caution: I get some inspiration.
"True. You make sure she'd still care about me no matter what. But
this is not like you."
"Hey, Mulder. I AM open to new ideas. Remember the M&M's keychain?
You lived through that."
"Oh, yeah. Hot chocolate on the privates, burned mousepad, food
poisoning, bad case of the 'flu over
Christmas, no cable... "
"You're not a... WUZZIE, are you?" I shoot back.
"Well, uh, no... which reminds me, you have me stuttering a lot in
even your tamer fics."
"That's the Mulder character! You know that. You're Mulder. I did
not create you in that manner.
You always do that sheepish
stuttering thing when you make a pass at Scully in the early years,
try to explain something
really embarrassing, broach an uncomfortable subject. C'mon."
"Well, I seem to recall that, yes. I'd like to think that I have
become less inhibited over the years.
By the way. I have some things
to say about what ****** and ***** and****... "
"Go tell them," I quickly admonish Mulder. "You may confront me about anything I've done to you, but PLEASE
do not get me into any trouble with the nice people at Mulder's Refuge. Go tell them yourself. It is only fair, you know."
He shifts his feet, shrugs his shoulders and looks at the floor in
that classic Mulder fashion known and
loved by many of us.
"Pattie, you're right. Look, I have a few others to visit. Just one
"Tell Mulder's Refuge... Happy First Birthday."
"You do it. Anything else?"
"Well, thanks for the post-Truth series. Needed some sort of
"I think you may get a kick out of the post-Colonization fics,
"Shh. Let me tell them myself."
As he fades away, I realize something: I'm done.
Hope he waits a while before coming around again, though. I have
other things to do, to write, to tackle.
For now, going to bed is
enough. He thanked me! He did.
Note: Dedicated to Mulder's Refuge First Birthday.