Musings of a Dawson’s Creek Watching Man Rated: PG-13 Summary: Mulder is forced to give up porn. Will the world be a safe place for women? Disclaimer: Aha ahahahahaha. Right. Chris Carter just happened to stop by my house on his way to Los Angeles the other day, and while he was there he dropped a couple of things, including the contracts for Mulder and Scully. And if he wants them back, he’s going to have to pay the hefty ransom of letting me write bad fanfic without putting disclaimers on it. Or else. Muahahahahah. * * * * * * So this is what it comes to? Sitting at home alone on a Friday night, without my usual double dose of Alien Probe. No Alien Probe, no Girl of the Galaxy, and certainly no Busty Babes from Planet X. I am so bored right now, that my brain is telling me to do something productive. Nothing can save me. Scully would probably know what to do, only I’m too embarrased to tell her my problem. I’ve given up porn, and my life seems empty. Now you might be saying to yourself, a fine strapping lad such as myself would have no problems walking into a bar and picking up a fine looking girl to take home with me. Thank you oh so very much, but I ain’t that kinda guy. No sir. Plus, by the time I lay down my usual line on them, Hey girl, you ever had a UFO experience? They are outta there like greased lightning. So you see how I have to resort to my porn. But now I’m worried. Yes, my brain is going into its usual hyperactive paranoia state, and all because of some overweight geezer who just waltzes into my life with the devastating fact that he can foretell my death. And it ain’t pretty. Autoerotic Asphyxiation, say that five times fast. Its been many years, and several calls to Loveline, all of which were joked about on stage, and I still can’t get that thought out of my head. What a way to die, without dignity, without loved ones all around you (I hope) and without a beautiful woman next to you. This is why I’ve decided to give up porn and concentrate on my real life. But it seems, in the short while that I’ve been watching my Alien Probe every Friday night, someone has played a very nasty trick on me. Where did my life go? I used to get laid every Friday night, usually by a different girl. (Sometimes by two different girls at once) and now, whenever I walk into a bar it seems that I am wearing my anti-sex cologne. It has the opposite effect of animal pheremones, it repels any attractive woman within sixteen miles. It’s lonely in a no-porn world. I wish I could talk to Scully about this, but that wouldn’t be too swift of me, now would it? Yes, I am not as thick as I seem, I know all about the road not taken, but seriously, I’m not in the mood for a quickie with my best friend, that would severly warp our relationship. I am in the mood for a meaningless fling, like in the good old college days. The days before Spooky, when the used to call me Slickie. But, it does no good crying over spilled, ahem, milk. I suppose maybe if I tried a dose of normality for a change, women would start lining up at my door. I would go out to a club, wear my black jeans and shirt, comb my hair back, and turn on the charm. I would tell her that I was Fox Mulder, International Man of Mystery, FBI agent deluxe. Would you like whipped cream on that Ma’am? Then what would happen? I would take her home and, well, I would be thinking about Scully the whole time. There goes that plan. However, I use porn like my body uses oxygen, to make energy, and right about now, I have precisely none. Nada. Zero. And I can’t call Scully. I have never been more depressed. So, Fox Mulder, sitting alone on a Friday, what do you want to do? Of course. The television. My life has sunk to a new low. But what’s this? This new show? On the doubleyoubee. It’s called Dawson’s Creek. I’ve never seen anything like this. Is this what life is like as a teenager today? Such depression, such drug-filled malaise, such sex. Oh God, listen to me, I sound old. All the people on this show look so satisfied with life, so fresh, so young. I miss that. I need a life. I need to stop watching this show, and go out on a date. Hmm. The only women I know (other than Scully) are phone-sex operators. Maybe I’ll meet someone. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Can I say it enough? There is a painfully good-looking woman over near the water fountain in the hall of the J. Edgar Hoover building. Thank the lord. Thank you J. Edgar. I love you all. I’ll make my move. Here comes Slickie. Unfortunately, I forgot that I am the clumsiest person put on the face of this earth. And it comes and goes. At the wrong times. I trip over some pile of crap in the hall, and land face down on the water fountain, severely dranching myself, and getting water up my nose. Here comes Slickie. I hate my sense of humor. The woman, staring at me from the sidelines, smiles, sideways. //You should take that on the road.// I smile charmingly, and make an exit that would have been swift, if it wasn’t for the necessity of hacking the water out of my nose. I’m rusty. I haven’t done this sense College. Fortunately, the woman is not disgusted, from what I can tell. She exits after me. And smiles again. Not sideways. Nice Work Fox. Friggin’ A. //So, what do you do between circus acts?// Ooh, I love a woman who can stick with a metaphor. I am going to hook this pretty fish. //I happen to be an FBI agent.// I flash the badge. The check is in the mail. Her eyes light up. Then she laughs. //Impressive, Mr. Mulder. I actually came here to meet an FBI agent.You might know her.// Oh goodie, either she is going to meet Scully, or she is going to meet her lesbian lover. Either way its just my luck. //her name is Fowley. Diana Fowley. Oh. . .// she must have noted the look of utter anguish on my face. Great. //. . .you know her.// Not a question. Heh. I smile shakily. //Yeah. We used to be engaged. Long time ago. Long story.// The woman, thrown off guard, stares at me. //You‘re spooky? Wow. She never told be how good looking you were. Melissa’s the name. Melissa Powers. Nice to meet Diana’s old Spooky boyfriend.// She smiles at me, and shakes hands. Maybe this will work out after all. * * * * * So here I am, and it is dork-thirty. I mean four-thirty. And I feel like a dork. Going out on a date at my age is pretty pathetic. This woman, however, is really a sharp one, thank god, and makes me feel slick without trying. She is an operator, that’s for sure. Actually, she is a graphic designer from Boston, with a PhD in computer programming and Java. Whew. I’ve even introduced her to the lone gunmen. I got their seal of approval from the get-go, when she got into a heated debate with Frohike over the relative merits of ASCII against text-only documents. I am in over my head. I am used to the negative IQ bimbos who star in Starship Hooters. Or Scully, who is smart, but in a different, more medical way. There is one thing though, that I haven’t told Miss Computer Genius about. That is, of course, the fact that I am attached at the damn hip to Miss Dana Scully, devil- in-disguise of the FBI. I’ve told Scully, however, about Melissa. She was fine. Almost. //Heya Scully// I lay a hand on her shoulder, softly. That, my friend, is what tact is called. She looks pissed off. No coffee. Uh-oh. Wrong time to tell her. //Would you mind keeping your Russian hands and Roman fingers to yourself Mulder, just for today?// Hmm, I wonder if that is a backhanded remark about Krycek. Mental Note. Ask Scully is she has ever been felt up by the original one-armed man. I shrug it off and fling myself endearingly down on my chair. It creaks. Nothing is going right today. (mental image of Scully smacking me over the head with her soup-spoon at lunch.) I really feel something for this girl. She is intelligent, beautiful, and interested in me. By this I mean Melissa, not Scully. But they’re interchangeable, thos characteristics. I wonder if this is some kind of subliminal message that my brain is trying to send me. But whatever. I plunder on. //I won’t be around tonight, for that conference call.// Now that got her attention. The damn eyebrow goes up, like a barometer. She shrugs, somewhat vulnerably. She’s just so cute like that. //Got a date, Mulder?// hah. Sarcasm which can be easily fended off. I look up casually. I’ve got this all planned. //Yup.// She gives me a quick glance of surprise. Fox, you flatter yourself. Shock is more like it. My ego is offended. That’s not so surprising, is it? I can get a date. //A date?// I nod. My ego is having a bad day. She can’t seem to grasp the concept that I can get a date. Hey, I’m not bad looking. I used to be slickie, right? //oh.// Is that it? I was looking foreward to some kind of jealousy show. Something. Sure, fine whatever.Two can play at this distance game. //Yes, but its okay, I’ll make it up to Skinner.// Her eyes are so sad. Maybe its her that I should make it up to. But why should I? I can go on a date without having to apologize, can’t I? //Can’t I?// Oh christ, I said it out loud. Jesus. What will she take that to mean? Meet Slickie. She looks startled. //You can do whatever you want, Mulder. I’m not your mother, for God’s sake.// Even if she was it wouldn’t matter. My mother never cared, anyway. Scully is waiting for me to say something. Say something Mulder. Come on. Say something. //Yeah..// Whaaat? Oh god. I feel like slapping my head. I am such a fool. Now she’s looking at me like I’m out of my head. Am I?Yessir, that’s a roger. //I mean, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.// Oh, that’s just great. That’s smooth. Not she’ll know you were thinking it. Mulder, you fool. //Whatever, Mulder. We need to get to Skinner’s// Why are we always being called on the carpet? It almost reminds me of that Dawson’s episode I saw yesterday. You see, Andy got in trouble for sleeping with another guy when she was away at the asylum. She was being called to the principle’s every four seconds. Yep, that’s my life. That’s why Dawson’s creek is such a good show. It mirrors life wonderfully. Except for the whole teenage/sex thing which doesn’t happen to me. At least not with another person. I make myself sick sometimes. * * * * * I know it doesn’t have the sort of closure that you wanted. But it has more than some of our other cases. . .I mean fanfics. . . 10 points if you can tell me what episode that comes from. Go ahead! Email me! Make my day!