In the not-too-distant future. . . [SOL. Crow and Tom are whispering back and forth. Mike enters with Gypsy.] MIKE: I'm sorry Gypsy, but that's just one of the reasons why Richard Basehart will never be king of the universe. GYPSY: Please, Mike? MIKE: No, Gypsy. Besides, I don't decide who gets to be king anyway. GYPSY: Oh. [She leaves] MIKE: Hi, welcome to the Satellite of Love. It's a little too quiet around here. [turns and sees Crow and Tom still whispering] What are you two up to anyway? [They stop whispering abruptly and try to suppress their laughter] CROW: Nothing. . .but we know something you don't know. MIKE: Well, what? What is it? TOM: Can't say. MIKE: Oh, I get it. You two are going to pretend like you know some really big secret and then you're going to pretend like you're not going to tell me, and then I'll get mad, and when you finally tell me, it's going to be something really stupid, right? CROW: Maybe. [The 'Bots snicker] MIKE: Well, I'm not going to fall for it. [A few seconds pass in complete silence. The 'Bots start to whisper between themselves again] MIKE: Ok, just tell me. TOM: We told you we can't say. CROW: [singing] I know something you don't know. . .I know something you don't know. [The Mads light flashes.] MIKE: [sighs] Ok, you two, Oprah and Jenny Jones are calling. [DEEP 13] Dr. F: Well, Mike, having trouble with your little metallic friends again? [SOL. Crow and Tom are now frolicking around still singing "I know something you don't know. . ."] MIKE: Uh, no. Why do you ask? [DEEP 13] DR. F: Very nice. Well, if you can get those little no-neck rodents to get quiet for a moment, we can proceed with the invention exchange. Now, imagine this. . .it's Thanksgiving, and you're all set to join the entire family for turkey and stuffing. The problem is, you haven't made one significant accomplishment since the last Republican president. What do you do when those pesky relatives try to probe into your personal affairs? FRANK: Well, you could come up with some sort of lame lie that everyone will see through faster that you can say "cranberry sauce," or. . . DR F: Or you can use our new invention, The Handy Excuse Generator. Every time someone asks for more information than you're prepared to give, just press this button, and The Handy Excuse Generator will answer it for you. Frank will now demonstrate. . . So, Frank, can you tell me why, after all this time and the many years of training, you're still perfectly willing to work at a job that pays less than minimum wage? FRANK: Now, all I have to do is press this button, and The Handy Excuse Generator will tell me exactly what to say in this type of situation. [presses button] DR F: Well? What does it say? FRANK: It says "Bite me." DR F: [looks confused for a second, then snaps back to normal] Well, Mike? [SOL. Mike and the 'Bots are sitting at a table with a complete Thanksgiving dinner] MIKE: Well, our invention is based on the fact that passing food around the table can soon lead to disaster. How many times has this happened to you? TOM: Gypsy, can you pass the the gravy? [Gypsy shoves the gravy boat to Mike, who passes it in front of Tom to Crow, who attempts to pick it up with his beak, but can't, spilling gravy everywhere.] TOM: Uh, never mind. MIKE: You see what we mean? Now, if there were an easier way to get gravy from one place to another, what would it be? CROW: I know! I know! By RC racer! MIKE: That's right! Instead of a gravy boat, why not try a gravy RC this year? Just watch what happens now. . . TOM: _Now_ can I have the gravy? [Mike picks up a remote control and steers an RC full of gravy directly to Tom] CROW: Pretty sweet, huh? [DEEP 13] DR. F: Cute, Mike, very cute, but not even you can come up with an invention that will save you from this generous portion of Thanksgiving horror. It's an X-Files fanfic from the mind of Deb Prewitt, and it _will_ make you hurt. Pass them a slice of pain, Frank. [SOL. Usual pandemonium] ALL: AAAAA! WE'VE GOT USENET SIGN! TOM: I know something you don't know. . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . [Mike and the 'Bots enter the theater] >Subject: NEW: A Day To Give Thanks (fwd) by Deb Prewitt >Date: 21 Nov 1996 08:20:30 -0500 MIKE: A day that will live in infamy! >From: Gil Trevizo >Organization: Mail to Usenet Gateway >To: "a.t.x.c." >Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative >A DAY TO GIVE THANKS CROW: Uh, that would be Thanksgiving, right? >by Deb Prewitt MIKE: Don't blame Prewitt...She didn't do it! >Summary: Mulder sits alone on Thanksgiving, TOM: Oooh, big surprise. pondering the effects of the >Ephesian case on his life. MIKE: Nope, no effect at all. Now where's the football game? >Archivists/Newsgroups: I give permission for 'A Day To Give Thanks' to be >posted on the archives and newsgroups as long as my name, e-mail addy and >intro remain intact. TOM: And I can still decide who lives and who dies CROW: No, that's me. TOM: Oh, sorry. >Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully are not mine. They belong to Chris Carter, >1013 Productions and FOX Broadcasting. MIKE: Nobody else wanted them. > No infringement is intended nor >implied. TOM: Well, maybe just a little... > CC & FOX, if you want to sue me, just remember: TOM: I know where you live. MIKE: My daddy is a lawyer. CROW: I have OJ Simpson's phone number. > Having me use your >characters in my fanfic is better than 'a stine a hinda loog'. ALL: Oh, yeah, I could see-- huh? > (Thanks to >DD for letting me borrow that quote - I know _you_ wouldn't mind.) CROW: It's not like _you_ would ever read this. >All quotes from author Richard Bach also borrowed without his permission. MIKE: So what you're saying is that this entire post is illegal? >I have no idea if there really is a book called 'The Writings of Richard >Bach', but there probably should be... ALL: Dear God, no! >Author's Notes: In this story, I am answering two challenges: This is my >take on the TFWID/soulmates issue but with a Thanksgiving twist. MIKE: And a nice twist of lime. > So, enjoy >- have a nice helping of Mulderangst with your holiday meal. [grin] >Many thanks to Charli and KL for their continued support and advice. And >much thanks to Mara, Sam, Mary and Bob for their football expertise. CROW: Now I'll have to kill all of you. >Feedback...please, I want feedback! CROW: She's a feedback junkie! MIKE: The first step is to admit that you have a problem. TOM: I think this fanfic is a step in that direction. > Send all comments, questions, MIKE: Chain letters TOM: Flames CROW: E-mail bombs >suggestions or musings to thalia@goodnet.com. I love e-mail - keep it >coming! TOM: I dare you! >And now, for your reading enjoyment... MIKE: Guys, I'm really scared now. . . >A DAY TO GIVE THANKS >by Deb Prewitt CROW: I thought we'd established this already. MIKE: She's just making sure that credit goes to the right people. TOM: As if anybody _else_ would claim this? MIKE: Good point. >"Every person, all the events > of your life are there because > you have drawn them there. > What you choose to do with them > is up to you." > -Richard Bach, 'Illusions' CROW: I choose to ignore them. Makes life much simpler that way. >"...half-time, with the Detroit Lions leading the Kansas City Chiefs 21 to >7. ALL: *laugh* TOM: This _is_ fiction, isn't it? > Right now, we're heading back to the Sports Center for more updates >with...." > >Fox Mulder switched off the portable television set, knocking two file >folders to the floor in the process. He swung his long legs, which had been >propped up on his desk, MIKE: Around his head and twisted himself into a pretzel. > to the floor and bent over to gather the papers >that had scattered. After putting the pages back into their rightful homes, TOM: The pages later divorced their parents and were relocated to foster homes. >he threw the folders on his disheveled desk and rose from his chair. He >stretched his arms up toward the ceiling and yawned lazily. TOM: How else _would_ you yawn? MIKE: Energetically? TOM: With promise maybe? CROW: I'd like this fanfic to show some promise. MIKE: I'll say this much-- Mulder, you sure know how to throw a killer Thanksgiving bash. >"Well, Mulder, you sure know how to throw a killer Thanksgiving bash," he >quipped aloud. MIKE: Uncanny... TOM: Uh, we'll do the quipping here, thank you very much, Mulder. > He looked over to his partner's desk, his mind flooded with >images of CROW: Sugarplums? MIKE: Extra-terrestrials? TOM: Oh, now _there's_ a surprise. > Thanksgiving dinner at the Scully house. Scully had invited him >again this year to join her at Margaret Scully's home, but he politely >declined, telling her he had other plans. TOM: Liar. MIKE: *gasp* Lying to your partner? How low can you get? > Scully knew that he was lying, CROW: See? >but she respected his wishes and didn't pry. That was one of the things >that Mulder cherished most about their relationship: TOM: What relationship? MIKE: The one the author wished they had. TOM: Oh, ok. > The ability to know >when the other needs to talk, and when they need to be left alone in their >thoughts. TOM: [as Mulder] No, please don't leave me alone with my thoughts! >Walking across the dimly-lit office, he opened the door and stepped out >into the hallway, reveling in the silence. MIKE: [as Mulder] All right! Silence! Yesssss! > No photocopy machine whirling, >no filing cabinet doors being slammed shut, no mail cart squeaking >incessantly while being maneuvered down the corridor. CROW: No drunk guys begging for spare change. > Nothing but peace and >quiet. TOM: And Michelob. >Mulder ran his hand through his thick mop of hair CROW: Ewwww... > and trudged up the stairs >to the men's bathroom. Flipping the light switch, the room was flooded MIKE: Call the plumber! TOM: Looks like that mop of hair'll come in handy. > with >a fluorescent glow. He turned on the faucet and let the water run through >his long fingers. Cupping his hands, he caught a pool of water TOM: An entire pool? Geez, he _does_ have long fingers! > and raised >it to his face, shuddering slightly as the cool wetness splayed across his >sensitive skin. He repeated the motion twice, CROW: Because he didn't do it quite right the first time > then grabbed blindly for a >paper towel and lightly ran it over his face. He listened to the faint >scraping sounds as the towel ran across his stubbled cheeks, ALL: Oooh! Ow! Ouch! > then tossed it >in the nearby trash bin. CROW: This story is really cooking so far... >Turning his eyes upward, he looked at the face staring back at him in the >mirror, MIKE: The mirror was on the ceiling? > bloodshot eyes gazing into bloodshot eyes. He hadn't slept much in >the past three weeks, not that he ever allowed himself the luxury of a good >night's sleep. He let his gaze travel TOM: To sunny California! > over his reflection, noticing the >dark circles under his eyes, the fine age lines around his mouth. The face >staring back at him was the face of a man who had seen too many tragedies, >lived too much pain for one lifetime. CROW: [As Mulder] Dad? Is that you? >He laughed bitterly. ALL: Ha ha ha. > *_One_ lifetime? Lucky me, I've lived at least two >other versions of Hell.* MIKE: This fanfic is one of them. > He tore his gaze away from the mirror CROW: Wouldn't that hurt? >and headed for the door. > >------------------------------ TOM: What's that supposed to be? MIKE: I think it represents the passage of time. CROW: So if we put a bunch of those together, this posting would be over? MIKE: I don't think so. >Once back inside the confines of his office, MIKE: I'd rather not know what goes on in the confines of Mulder's office TOM: I think we're going to find out anyway > Mulder retrieved the >microcassette player from his middle desk drawer and placed it in the >middle of the clutter on his desk. TOM: [As Mulder] ...and two more inches to the right, and...there! The exact middle of the clutter! > He sat at the desk, his elbows on the >edge, his hands cupping his face, MIKE: Both feet on the floor. TOM: Ears placed on either side of his head. CROW: Nose firmly attached to the middle of his face. > his eyes staring at the recorder. He >raised a hand to the controls and pressed the 'play' button, filling the >room with the pained tones of the voice that was his own: > >"...souls come back together...different, but always together, again and >again..." CROW: So I can come back someday as a ferret. >He pushed the 'stop' button, letting those words seep into his head. He >didn't need to hear the tape again; MIKE: But I get the feeling he's going to anyway > every word of his hypno-regression >session in Tennessee was forever engraved on his brain. TOM: [Minnesotan voice]Well, Tennessee'll do that to you. CROW: [same] Yeah, it really will. MIKE: [ditto] Oh, and it's so nice there. . . > He didn't know why >he had continued to play the tape over and over again, day after day, for >the past three weeks. TOM: I'm guessing it's because he doesn't have a life. > Maybe if he heard those words one more time, just >maybe the answers he needed would reveal themselves to him. CROW: Hey! I thought you said this thing was rated PG! MIKE: Ok, settle down... > He pressed the >'play' button again: > > "...evil returns as evil, but love...love...souls mate...eternal..." >TOM: Wasn't that by KLF? >*But how could that be?* he silently asked himself. *Melissa...Sarah... MIKE: So, who is it? Melissa or Sarah? CROW: I'm lost. >said that my soul and hers are destined to be together for all eternity. >How can we be soulmates if we never lived or loved together in this life?* MIKE: How can we be lovers if we can't be friends? >Mulder slammed his hand down on the recorder, TOM: Ouch. > forcing it to stop spewing >forth the words that had been taunting him since the Ephesian case. ALL: Ewww... >He grabbed the cassette player and heaved it across the room, CROW: There's way too much spewing and heaving in this scene. TOM: Somebody get a mop. > watching as it >flew through the air and headed toward his partner's desk. MIKE: Look! I can flyyyyy! > He cringed when >he saw the machine land in Scully's coffee cup, sending both items TOM: Which two items? The recorder and the cup? CROW: Or the cup and the desk? >careening off the edge of the desk and hitting the floor with an echoing >shatter. TOM: Hello-lo-lo? Echo-echo-echo! >*Oh, she's gonna kill me,* he thought grimly as he walked around his desk >and eyed the shards of ceramic and plastic casing. Not only did he just >destroy her favorite coffee mug, CROW: [heavy sarcasm] Oh no, her precious coffee mug. What a tragedy. > he had also made short order of her >cassette recorder. MIKE: Yeah, I need an order of cassette recorder and a plate of ribs to go. >Mulder grabbed a few tissues off of his partner's desk, then bent down to >gather the casualties of his fit of anger. TOM: Michael J. Fox in...Casualties of Anger! > Using the tissues, he carefully >plucked pieces of ceramic from the floor and placed them in the trash can >next to the desk. MIKE: Notice how there's always a conveniently placed trash can through the whole story? CROW: Now that you mention it...you're right. >He eyed the recorder, finding the casing completely shattered and the front >cassette cover missing, as well as the cassette itself. He found the cover, TOM: I thought you just said it was missing. MIKE: Yes, but this is the X-Files. TOM: Oh, sorry. Forgot who I was dealing with. >seeing that it had skittered across the floor and under Scully's chair. > >Now on his hands and knees, he crawled around on the floor, looking for the >cassette. Dipping his head toward the floor, CROW: He accidentally whacked his head against the concrete floor and lay there unconscious for several hours. > he glanced under Scully's desk >and smiled. TOM: It reminded him of a normal day at the office. MIKE: Yeah, life's real funny when you're sexually harassing your partner. > He saw two small objects, one looking suspiciously like a >cassette. Reaching under the desk, Mulder pulled both items out. One was >the cassette. The other was a miniature book. CROW: 'The Book of Mormon'? Who knew? >Mulder placed the cassette in his pocket, his mind completely enraptured by >the tiny book in his hand. It resembled other small pamphlet-style books >one might see at the check-out counter, exclaiming 'Lose 5 Inches In 10 >Days' or 'Your Astrological Forecast'. TOM: Uh, Mulder sounds like he knows a little too much about both of those books. >But the title of this one threw him. MIKE: '150 Ways to Murder your Partner'? > The cover was a faded blue with a >white seagull, its wings spread across the entire page. Dark blue letters >across the top told Mulder the title: 'The Writings of Richard Bach'. > >*Richard Bach?* What was Scully doing with a book of quotes from an author >known for his spiritual and life-journey writings? TOM: And what does this have to do with the plot? > Mulder had read >'Jonathan Livingston Seagull' as well as 'Illusions' and knew that these >books definitely did _not_ match Dana Scully's scientific and skeptical >tastes. MIKE: So what's he trying to say? CROW: That Scully only reads autopsy reports and the Wall Street Journal. MIKE: Oh, ok. >Mulder turned the book over in his hands, running his long fingers over the >tattered and frayed back cover. *Maybe this book had belonged Scully's >sister,* he thought. He knew that Scully had held on to some of her >sister's things, feeling that somehow keeping these momentos could bring >her closer to Melissa and would help lessen the immense guilt that hung >over her like a dark cloud. TOM: She was wrong. >He was about to put the book on her desk when he saw that one page had been >dog-eared. CROW: How could he see that through the cover? MIKE: Apparently, 'X' stands for x-ray. > Putting his thumb on the folder corner, he opened the book to >reveal a section labeled 'Soulmates: The Journeys We Share'. A breath >caught in his throat TOM: [as Mulder] Can't...talk...breath...caught... > as he silently read the text: > ><< A soulmate is someone who has the locks > to fit our keys, and the keys to fit our > locks. CROW: Hey! That's not silently! > When we feel safe enough to open > the locks, our truest selves step out and > we can be completely and honestly who we > are; we can be loved for who we are and > not for who we're pretending to be. MIKE: Or we can kick them out and change the locks. > Each of us unveils the best part of one > another. No matter what else goes wrong > around us, TOM: We can always blame it on someone else. > with that one person were safe > in our paradise. Our soulmate is someone > who shares our deepest longings, our sense > of direction. CROW: And our jar of peanut butter. > When we're two balloons, and > together our direction is up, TOM: Where else _would_ balloons go?? > chances are > we've found the right person. Our soulmate > is the one who makes life come to life. " CROW: I thought that was G.E. >The passage hit him like hurricane, MIKE: Auntie Em! Auntie Em! It's a twister! > words whirling around his head in >random order, then slowly coming together to help him see the truth. It >made perfect sense now. TOM: You mind sharing with us, then? CROW: I'm still lost! > A soulmate is someone who travels through each life >with you, the two of you searching, learning, living, loving. A soulmate is >the one person to whom you can reveal your true self, the one person you >can trust with your life.... TOM: Thank you, Webster's Dictionary! >Mulder jumped when the telephone on his desk screamed at him, CROW: His phone screams? MIKE: He _is_ a messed up little freak! > the obnoxious >ring echoing off the walls. He made it to his desk in three giant steps, >and snatched the receiver up. CROW: [as Mulder] Mwahahahah! MY reciever! Mine! >"Yeah. Mulder," he barked. TOM: So the phone screams and Mulder barks? MIKE: This is getting a little too weird... >"It's me." CROW: [as Scully] You broke my cassette recorder, didn't you? >Mulder couldn't believe her timing. "Scully? What are you.... Hey, wait a >minute. How did you know to call here? I told you that I had plans for >Thanksgiving." MIKE: Yeah, but you lied, remember? TOM: I think she knows. >Scully laughed. "You're a terrible liar, Mulder. CROW: She _did_ know! MIKE: How does she _do_ that? > Besides, I had a feeling >you weren't up to dealing with the entire Scully brood all at once." > >"Yeah, dealing with _one_ of you is enough..." Mulder said playfully. TOM: Since when is Mulder playful? MIKE: Since this fanfic, I guess. >"Oh, well, such a nice thing to say to someone who was calling to invite >you over for leftovers," Scully said, her voice smiling. TOM: Ok, here we go again...the phone screams, Mulder barks, and Scully's voice smiles? MIKE: I think the author is just trying to use colorful descriptions. CROW: She should try harder. >Mulder's ears perked up, TOM: Like a puppy's. That explains the whole barking thing. > but his voice feigned indifference. "Leftovers? I >don't know, Scully. I'm kinda busy and I really don't think I'd be much >company right now." MIKE: Well, it depends. Are you my soulmate? >"What? Do my ears deceive me? ALL: YES! > Fox Mulder is turning down free food? Turkey, >stuffing, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce..._homemade_ pumpkin pie...." >She paused, waiting for a response, but was met with nothing but static. >"Come on, Mulder. You have to help me out here. My mom sent me home with >enough leftovers to feed an army and TOM: The army told me they already had plans. > I don't want it to go to waste. I >thought we could catch the Cowboys/Redskins game and you could help me >dispose of some of this food," Scully said. CROW: They're not going to eat it, they're just going to spend two hours throwing it down the garbage disposal >Mulder pondered this. He really wasn't in the mood for company, but he was >starving, and after hearing the description of the food Scully had brought >home, he could barely keep from drooling on his desk. MIKE: Barking, perky ears, and drool...I'm getting really worried about Mulder. >But more importantly, his curiosity about the book of was getting the >better of him. Was she just as curious as he was about the possibility that >they were soulmates? Did she really believe Bach's writings? Did he? MIKE: What is the average air speed velocity of a laden swallow? CROW: Why do you park on a driveway and drive on a parkway? TOM: Will Mulder ever actually answer any of these questions? >"OK Scully, you're on. I never walk away from a challenge. Anything you >want me to bring?" > >"Nope. Just you and your sunny smile," she said lightly. CROW: [as Mulder] Dang! Where am I going to find a sunny smile at this time of night? >He snickered. "Would you settle for me and a sarcastic sneer?" > >"I always do, Mulder." > >They both laughed, MIKE: They're way too happy to be the real Mulder and Scully. TOM: Maybe this is another one of those government coverups. > then fell into their familiar comfortable silence. He >knew that she was in her kitchen, his ears picking up sounds of plastic >bags crinkling, the refrigerator door opening and closing, the tearing of >aluminum foil. CROW: Apparently the Scully family food fight had gotten a little out of hand this year. >"Well, it's 3:30 now, Mulder. TOM: Do you know where your children are? > If you hurry, you can be here before >kickoff," Scully said, breaking the silence. > >"I'll be there in fifteen minutes," Mulder said. He was just about to hang >up the phone with a thought hit him. MIKE: Ouch! Stupid thought. > "Scully, are you still there?" > >"Yeah, I'm still here." > >"I...uh...just wanted...to say thanks." > >"Thanks? For what?" TOM: Well, you know, since it's THANKSGIVING and everything. MIKE: So this is the author's last attempt to throw in a Thanksgiving theme? TOM: Yeah, pretty much. >"For...well, for being there for me. Thanks for knowing...for understanding >me, for sticking around." ALL: [singing] You are the wind beneath my wings. . . >Scully sighed, obviously taken aback by Mulder's statement. "You don't need >to thank me, Mulder. That's what friends do. They stand by each other, no >matter what. I know that what we've been through together I wouldn't wish >on our worst enemies, TOM: [as Scully] Oh, wait-- worst enemy-- that would be you, wouldn't it? > but I will never give up on our friendship," she said >sincerely. "I will _always_ be here for you, Mulder, you know that." > >Mulder's face lit up, a smile stretching wide across his lips. CROW: And stopping right between his eyes. MIKE: Now _there's_ a mental picture I didn't need. > "Yeah, I >know, Scully," he whispered as he slipped the book into his pocket. "I >know." CROW: [singing] I know something you don't know... MIKE: Oh, would you cut that out. . .? >THE END [Mike and the 'Bots leave the theater] 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . 4 . . . 5. . . 6 . . . [SOL] CROW: So, Mike, I don't get what that post had to do with Thanksgiving. TOM: Yeah, it seemed really depressing to me. MIKE: Well, guys, it's obvious that Mulder didn't have anyone to spend the holiday with, no family or anything, right? TOM: Right. MIKE: So, he decided to use this day to reflect on things he _could_ be thankful for, like his partner, Scully, and the idea of soulmates, so that he won't have to be lonely on special days like this in another lifetime. CROW: That's beautiful, Mike. TOM: Yeah, kinda makes you think. MIKE: Thanks. Now what was that big secret you wouldn't tell me? CROW: Oh, that? Nothing. TOM: We just wanted to see if your head would explode, like that guy on TV. MIKE: I thought so. What do you think, sirs? [DEEP 13. Frank is still pushing the button on The Handy Excuse Generator.] FRANK: I think this thing is broken. All it says is "Bite me." DR. F: Just push the button, Frank. FRANK: I did. It still says "Bite me." DR. F: Not _that_ button! Oh, forget it. . . [Dr. F. pushes the button himself] *WOOSH!* [In the darkness, we hear. . .] FRANK: Nope, still says "Bite me." ************************************************************** Credits: MSTing by Heather "Magic Voice" Holder Mystery Science Theater 3000 and all its characters are property of Best Brains, Inc. The X-Files and its characters are property of Chris Carter and Ten Thirteen Productions. No infringement is intended. (Besided, even if you *wanted* to sue me, I think it's only right that you should know that I'm only a college student and I'm completely broke.) This MSTing is meant purely in fun, and no offense should be taken by anyone, especially Deb Prewitt (ok, Deb? Buds?). A Binary Spork, Inc. Production **************************************************************** >Scully sighed, obviously taken aback by Mulder's statement.