Ellen Feldman sighed wearily as she took in Fox Mulder's disheveled
appearance. His usually-unruly brown hair was wild and that white hospital
gown didn't make him look like the sanest man on the block. "I'll try."
"Try? There is no try. There is only do or do not." He folded his arms
across his chest and the gown rode up about an inch. "I've gotta be outta
here by Wednesday."
Was he calling her Yoda? "I may be short, but I'm not wrinkled and I still
have all my hair!"
"Help me, Morley Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope."
"That makes me a Jedi Knight, Mulder. Truth. Why should I get you out?
It's just 72 hours. The Phantom Menace'll still be here."
"I paid six hundred dollars for tickets." He gave her his most disarming
grin. "Besides, you're the only one I can trust—"
"Even though I work for the smoker?" Ellen grinned wickedly. Would he
notice if she lifted the hem of the hospital gown to sneak a peek? "With
logic like that, Foxboy, it's no wonder they committed you. Again."
"I have not been committed!"
"According to your file, you're a potential danger to yourself." She
shouldn't be having fun with this, but she was and he still had a nice @ss.
But who put those claw marks on it? "You were hearing voices. Were you
drilling holes in your head again?"
"Feldman!" Mulder slapped at her hand and backed away from her. "Drilling
holes in my head is preferable to reading the stupid scripts for this show.
Besides, I didn't drill the holes on my own. I was coerced. Emotionally
coerced. Then again, I was emotionally coerced into doing this show."
"What show?"
"This one." Mulder tapped his foot impatiently. "The one where Scully just
discovered the alien linoleum and the hot tubs of the Gods."
Great. He thought he was an actor and a Z-grade one at that. "If Ratboy
drugged your water again, I'm gonna kill him."
"I keep telling you. It's not drugs. It's alien telepathy. It wouldn't be
so bad if they didn't have all that static on the mental speaker phone."
Lawyers weren't supposed to groan when their clients said something stupid.
She groaned anyway. "A minute ago it was that Von Danskin—"
"Daniken. And he's a crank."
"Riiiight." She nodded and uh-hummed sympathetically to show she was
listening and
believed him. One out of two wasn't bad. "And now it's telepathy? Like
Aquaman used to use?"
"You'd think people that advanced would have better transmission than this,"
sighed Mulder, rubbing at his temples. "It sounds like AM radio in the
mountains."
"Talk radio or music?"
"Talk and stop looking at me like I'm nuts. I'm not nuts. I hear voices—"
"In your head. Just like all the sane people do." And now for her most
convincing argument, the one that would make him shut up so she could be on
time for her appointment with her hairdresser. "Besides, if you're hearing
voices in your head, how will you hear the movie?"
"Just get me out of here. Today. And don't come back without a pizza."
"Are you out of your mind?!"
"Ratboy!"
"Alex. My name is Alex. And I repeat, are you out of your ever-loving
mind?" Green eyes flashed angrily as her leather-jacketed lover guided her
down the hall into the men's room and locked the door. "He's in the bughouse
because our employers wanted him here. Do you have any idea how pissed
they'll be if you interfere?"
"If they didn't want me interfering, they would have blocked the call."
There. That sounded logical. "I'm here because they want me here."
He thought that over. "Somebody wanted him here and I don't think it's smart
for you to try to get him out."
"If you saw him, you wouldn't say that."
"Yes, I would."
"Ratboy!"
"Alex."
"Whatever." Ellen shook herself from his grasp. "I'm getting him out of
here no matter what you say."
"You'll only do that if they want you to. Otherwise, he's here until they've
made their point."
"You think I can still bring him a pizza?"
"Why me?"
This had to be Feldman's fault. Scully was certain of it. Even if it was
Scully herself who agreed that they should take Mulder in for evaluation,
Feldman was the reason Mulder was hearing voices in his head. Ten minutes
of that whining little JAP was enough to drive anybody stark-raving bonkers.
Temporary insanity of JAP etiology. Heaven only knew what prolonged
exposure could do.
"Agent?"
She smiled sweetly at Assistant Director Skinner. "Sir?"
"I asked if whether you thought Agent Mulder's condition was permanent."
"We'll know more in 72 hours, sir."
Skinner blinked in surprise. "Don't you think a 72 hour hold is a little
extreme?"
"It's standard and considering the nature of Agent Mulder's psychosis, it's
for his own good." Yeah, a little Thorazine and Feldman-deprivation and he'd
be as right as rain.
"Psychosis is an awfully strong word, don't you think, Agent Scully?" Diana
Fowley glided into Skinner's office and perched delicately in the empty guest
chair next to Scully. "Particularly since you aren't trained in psychology."
"I am a medical doctor—" As if she needed to be a doctor to diagnose
somebody as bug-fu[k crazy when they were talking to the voices in their
heads and inventing new Creation Theories of Human Development. Her
garbageman could make THAT diagnosis.
"So you've told us. Frequently." Fowley smiled coldly. "I'm interested in
hearing your diagnosis."
"I'll let you know when I have one," Scully snapped, getting to her feet.
Oh, this had to be Feldman's fault!
"Did somebody order a pizza?"
That voice…it couldn't be…but it was. Mulder gritted his teeth and turned
around. "Where's Feldman, Ratboy?"
"In a meeting. You wanted mushroom, right?"
"I thought she was going to get me out of here."
"I thought you were going to get her killed, so I told her not to try."
Krycek kicked the door shut behind him and set the box of pizza down
carefully. "Have some pizza before it gets cold."
"Feldman had a plan—"
"And it probably would have worked if she didn't work for the smoker." The
one-armed assassin helped himself to a slice of pizza. "My kitten's a
damned good lawyer. Unfortunately, she does work for the smoker and if she
does something against his agenda, she could end up as landfill somewhere."
True enough. "What kind of meeting?"
"Huh?"
"You said she was in a meeting. About me?"
"Does it always have to be about you, Foxboy?"
Nice counter. "It usually is. Are you going to eat the whole pizza or are
you going to get me out of here?"
Krycek finished his slice and wiped his hands on a paper napkin. "You seem
to have missed my point. You're going to be here for the full 72 hours. But
you've got pizza, so it's not all bad."
"What?!"
"You heard me."
"I heard you but I didn't like what I heard."
The triple— quadruple?—agent frowned. "Isn't it obvious that they wanted
you out of the way?"
Mulder gritted his teeth and put on his best puppy-dog look—the one he
stole from Feldman. "You've got to help me, Ratboy. 72 hours? It'll feel
like ... " he hesitated, trying to make it sound as drastic as possible,
"like months! It'll feel like six months! It'll feel like November before
they let me back out!"
The poly-affiliated agent clucked in faux-sympathy and held out a piece of
pizza. "Don't exaggerate. This is the safest place for you. Just stay put
and let us find out what's going on."
"Ratboy—"
"Alex." The other man locked stares with him. "They're watching me because
you called Feldman and she came running to help. If I break you out of here,
we're all dead."
Mulder slumped disconsolately in the corner of his cell. "H3ll, I might as
well BE dead."
Ratboy scooted over until his knees rubbed up against Mulder's. His face was
solemn but it looked like he had to bite his cheeks to keep it that way.
"It'll be okay, Foxboy. It's only 72 hours. Just stay here and talk to your
invisible friends and I'll buy you new tickets and a bootleg copy of the
movie all for your very own."
Mulder gritted his teeth. What would Feldman do in a situation like this?
That's right. Bambi eyes. This was either going to look really good or
really stupid. "Please. You don't understand. The voices ... they're
reading bad dialogue from alien artifacts. If I don't get out of here and
stop them I WILL go mad."
"Will? As in ‘you're not over the hills and through the woods nutso'
already? And stop making Bambi eyes at me."
It was going to be a long 72 hours.
This was all Feldman's fault. She knew it. If the smoker hadn't been
besotted with that damn pip-squeak pygmy lawyer the plan would have gone off
without a hitch. Fox would be nice and safe in the padded room, Scully would
be figuring out how bad movies caused adult onset schizophrenia and they'd
have retrieved Sandoz and the alien doohickey without a hitch.
But now ...
Now Scully had found the hot tub. How much longer could the Speedos from the
Stars be kept hidden? And the Agenda. Gawd help them if THAT got out. Now
they had a major cover up to engineer and Diana Fowley knew who'd get stuck
with the dirty work.
And it was ALL Feldman's fault.
This was all Foxboy's fault. Why else would she be subject to such torture?
Hours of it. Her head throbbed, her vision was blurred and her butt, how her
butt ached. Damn those cheap Consortium chairs. Damn Mulder! And damn
George Lucas for making her have to figure out a way to get Mulder his six
hundred bucks back.
"Are you paying attention, Ellen?"
She smiled at the smoker and lied through her teeth. "Of course I am."
"No, you weren't," he chided, blowing a thick cloud of smoke in her
direction. "Explain to me again how you found out Mulder was incarcerated."
Think, Feldman. Think. Fast. Ahhh, perfect. "He called me."
"He's not allowed access to a phone."
Damn! "Somebody left me a video of him ranting and raving like a lunatic—
worse than usual, I mean."
"And you went to set him free?"
"Or to laugh at him."
"You mustn't interfere in our plans like that, dear girl. Agent Mulder
doesn't like to take vacations so we make sure he gets his rest, even if we
have to use Thorazine to do it." The smoker smiled pleasantly. "Every year,
right around now, we have him temporarily committed. It's usually very easy
to create enough evidence to convince Agent Scully or Mister Skinner that
Mulder's finally lost his proverbial marbles."
"You'd think they'd have learned by now!" Then again, Scully actually
thought people believed she was a real redhead.
Her boss beamed at her. "So you see, my dear, he needs his rest. In the
meantime, we need to take care of Agent Scully."
"I'll need a team of experts."
"For what? You've managed to create a fairly steady stream of disinformation
on your own."
"Oh. I thought you wanted to know what her real hair color is."
The smoker smiled nastily. "I already do."
Feldman tugged self-consciously on a curl, wondering if her hairdresser would
take her back now that she'd missed her appointment. Last time he'd made her
grovel. It was going to be a long meeting.
The FBI woman and her little buddy were gone. Albert Hosteen cautiously
opened one eye and brushed the oregano and bean sprouts off his chest. One
of his clan put down his drum and wrinkled his nose. "You smell like a
salad."
"It is a good price. The Chia Pet Cure fools them every time."
A younger man grinned wickedly. "We could have used that pot like we did for
that guy who fried himself in the desert."
Hosteen shook his head, scowling a warning. "No. And the pot is not to be
used lightly. It is the gift of the Consortium and to be used only for
emergencies. And parties."
"Don't be such a wet blanket." The first man stood, cracking his knuckles.
"She bought it, just like Ratboy said she would. And that Sandoz guy paid us
a ton just before the critics offed him."
"The oracle warned him not to take that role." Hosteen shook his head over
the sad foolishness of character actors. "Minor characters always get
snuffed."
"Doesn't matter." The youngest one scooped up a few egg things and headed
for the sweat lodge door. "We got paid. Who'd have thought a chunk of
linoleum carving from my kid's art class would be worth a year's pay?"
"So it is written," murmured Albert sententiously. "Kids say the darndest
things in TV Shows Gone Bad."
It was going to be a long hiatus.
The End. Or is it?
It's Going to be a Long Summer
by Ms Brooklyn
"Get me out of here."
