A Challenge came in from another list I was on…

1. Needs to include a banana in some sort of sexual situation (can be innuendo, whatever)

2. Needs to include the line "LOOK AT ME! I`M TAYLOR HANSON AND I`M DEAD


3. Mulder becomes depressed because his goldfish Binky dies

4. Must have Super!Scully in a tight leopard skin leather catsuit

5. Must include the Bunny Hop dance

OK, guys. Wrote it as a warm-up.


Rotten Day

By J. Krucek ("Allronix")


Categories: V, H, Season 6

Rating: R - for some lewd thoughts, bad language

Contains: UST

Summary: Murphy's Law and a day in the life.


Obligatory Disclaimer: Surfer God's kids, I'm just borrowing.

There were very few days where Fox Mulder ever entertained the idea of taking up smoking again. Today was one of them. And as usual these past few years, his damn partner was behind at least part of it.

He was just glad it was over, as he sat on the couch, beer in hand, carton of take-out Chinese in his lap, and a cheesy, Cinemax late-night movie playing. Ok, it was not up to his usual standards for smut - this actually had some thin excuse for a plot - but the lead actress in this movie had an eye-pleasing figure and a double D-cup to make up for her lack of acting ability. He was only trying to see if that chest was real - honest...

He took another swing of beer and followed it with a bite of greasy chow main. Who was he kidding?

He passed out on the couch the night before with a new issue of Sports Illustrated, watching something on ESPN while waiting for the scores. He had five bucks riding on the game and was sure he could stick it to Phillips from Forensics.

When he woke up, he had about 20 minutes to get to work. After tossing on a suit, and fastening the buttons so that the left side rode a button higher (he hoped no one noticed after he threw on some pants and his coat), he snatched up his work gear.

Halfway out the door, he remembered that he forgot to feed the fish last night. He dropped his attaché case on the floor, papers and cell phone, and disks flying out like the case ate some bad Mexican food. Letting out a curse loud enough to wake up the old prude next door, he stumbled back into his apartment and the fish tank.

Picking up the fish food, he hovered over the tank, only to stare into the lifeless eyes of Binky, the old veteran who had previously survived most of his other attempts to kill off the fish tank.

With much dejection and haste, he used a small net to pick up Binky's remains and give him a fast funeral in the sewers of DC via the toilet.

That's when the damn thing started to clog and overflow. Letting out a few more words to mortify Mrs. Fletcher next door, he finally managed to get it to stop before the water (and dead fish) spilled out onto the floor. The second attempt worked, but now he was going to be about 15 minutes late to work.

The day was already scheduled to be rotten - meeting with Kersh first thing in the day. Oh, joy. Closing up some last loose ends left over from the half-year chasing manure piles. Basically, the meeting was where some of the case material they investigated was being handed over to a couple of recent transfers who didn't mind the low-risk work. Not that he blamed Jenkins - he saw the guy set up his cubicle in the bullpen, and it was decorated with family pictures - the centerpiece being little Henry Jenkins, Jr. - Little League All-Star.

The other guy's demeanor could be summed up by the words, "I'm Taylor Hanson, and I'm dead sexy! Love me!" He openly flirted with Kersh's secretary (not fair!), and got her number within about five minutes. He had to admit, Hanson had a technique.

The best solution Mulder came up for these dull meetings with was to use his imagination to put him somewhere better and thank God for photographic memory when someone asked him to repeat the meeting's topics back.

This was a Kersh meeting - long and dull with little actual point. Time to let the brain wander. Hmmm…what to use for material?

Fantasy basketball? The best players of now against the best players of all time? Well, that was an option, but he did that last time.

He looked around the room. Hanson was sitting upright, smiling like a used car salesman and taking notes like an eager Boy Scout.


Jenkins was also looking bored, to his credit. They guy was genuinely likeable. Even admitted that he hadn't paid attention to the bullpen gossip and hadn't developed the preconceptions about "Spooky" that others had. He just shrugged and admitted that he'd seen a few things in his career that not even he could explain fully.

Mental note - be nice to the guy.

Kersh was still a pompous ass. Death, taxes, the Syndicate, and Kersh - good to know that some things were universal constants.

And then, there was Scully. She brought her breakfast to the meeting, and was munching it with placid oblivion; part seeming to pay attention, partly seeming to do a little mental wandering of her own.

It started with the yogurt with bee pollen. He thought it was amazing she could do that on a daily basis. He hadn't so much as touched honey since getting a good scare in a gigantic beehive last year. And wasn't even the one who got stung!

She ran the spoon around the cup, scraping the last bits of the creamy, fruity concoction from the plastic cup, and sliding the spoon into her mouth, eyes closing with satisfaction and enjoyment.

Nice to know that something pleasant was going on with her.

Next was a muffin, which she sliced carefully with a plastic knife, and savored. It was probably from the coffee cart across the street. He had sometimes wondered himself if the muffins contained something addictive.  Her eyes closed, and a small smile danced on her face. She could almost get him to forget this morning's headache.

*A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou...* He started picturing a beach, maybe the one near Martha's Vineyard. The surf coming in, a blanket on the beach, and no one about save the two of them. No hunting for literal bullshit...She had that same, satisfied smile on her face, and…

The last part of her meal was a banana - ripe, firm, and just about the right size and shape...

He remembered his eyes getting wide and the blood in his body going south. Her fingers ran down the smooth, yellow surface, circling the top gently to find just the right spot to start peeling.

The first part of the peel slid down slowly, and she was looking at it with a perfectly innocent expression, fingers brushing the white inner rind briefly before caressing and SLOOOOOWLLLLY peeling away the next section.


Kersh blabbered something about conducting a new background check on this suspect guilty of buying a U-Haul and loading it up with fertilizer.

Scully nodded, said something, and went right back to her banana.

The white fruit exposed, she angled her neck, and brushing away a last bit of peel, and took the first small bite. Two more small bites, and then she must have shoved half of it in her mouth for a bite!

Holy shit.

 All while keeping her cool blue eyes on the dry erase board in the meeting room, and the look he knew her to have when she was deep in thought. She chewed and swallowed. More peel. Another bite. Her tongue stuck out a little as she claimed another mouthful.

George Carlin had been right - just TRY looking at a beautiful woman eating a banana and NOT think of a blowjob. Forget the videos he "didn't own!" His imagination threw out the beach entirely, and was cooking up an extremely vivid image - a dingy hotel room. The hotel bible and any possible wiretaps, recording devices, and bugs thrown out the goddamn window, and him reaching to waist level, running his hands through her auburn hair, messing up that too-neat hairdo while she went to work...

In the middle of a meeting with Kersh, and all he was concentrating on was how artfully she could apply her banana-eating skills elsewhere.

He recalled going to the bathroom and thinking about baseball (which failed to work ever since he took Scully to the ballpark), liver-eating flukemen, and Russian prisons to try and derail the train of thought he boarded when Scully pulled out the last part of breakfast. He finally calmed down by thinking of how he had wanted to deck Jeffery Spender. THAT was followed by a random thought that Jeffery probably wasn't mixed in a lab. That meant...

He was no longer turned on, but he made a mental note to wash down that image with a STRONG alcoholic beverage and never go on that mental bus trip again.

The rest of the meeting finished without incident, thankfully. Then, back to the basement, and not so much as a Bigfoot sighting crossed his desk. After looking through a few more stacks of files that would be better handled elsewhere, he looked up. (Did someone get it in their heads that he and Scully were the FBI's garbage dump or case file orphanage?)

It was quitting time, and for once, Scully was on her feet and getting ready to get out the door.

"Why are you in a hurry?"

"Oh, thought I told you," she said. "I've got a date tonight."

"With who?"

"Taylor Hanson."

She picked up her purse and coat and walked out the door.

In frustration, he downed another mouthful of fried rice. It would figure. Taylor Hanson was good-looking  - in the same way a Ken doll was. Probably had all the equipment of a Ken doll, too...

*Back to Cinemax, Mulder. Lot safer than the thought of your partner doing the horizontal tango with Taylor god-damn Hanson.*

The movie's plot (If you could call it such) was of this top-secret double, triple, quadruple (Who cares? She had a great ass) agent who was stalking down either the men who raped and killed her friend, or who were leading an international cocaine cartel, possibly both.  About midway through, the plot just degenerated into a testosterone pill. It had guns (which fired two more bullets on-screen than he knew they contained in real life), car chases, and LOTS of bedroom action as the lovely secret agent not only seduced the man sent by the government to help her, but half the cartel as she pumped them for information while pumping various parts of their anatomy.

Yup, late night on Cinemax. For the finest quality entertainment.

Now, it was the final showdown. The lovely spy just walked into the cartel's headquarters in a skin-tight leopard-print catsuit, brandishing a Smith and Wesson. Her male partner was chained to a wall, about to get shot by the bad guy's thug.

Oh, he could see it now.  Just substitute the ugly-looking Hong Kong imported thug by the door for Krycek, put Smoking Man at the desk. Then have Scully stroll in wielding her Sig, and wearing THAT catsuit. And add those sunglasses the actress was wearing.

She would walk up to the desk, sit on it, and slide her leg up so that the Smoker got a good look. Then, start to ask him questions.

"Where is he?"

If the Smoking Man got that ridiculous expression on his face as the guy in the movie...the thought had him laughing so hard that he had to swallow some air with the beer otherwise, it would have come out his nose.

The laughable scene continued. The thug/Krycek came out from the doorway and the spy/Scully turned around and shot him dead, then continued the purring interrogation of the ringleader/Smoker.

"Where's my partner?"

Hey, under the circumstances, he didn't mind playing damsel in distress in this little fantasy.

Ringleader/Smoker stood up and Spy/Scully gave him a roundhouse kick to the face. (Never mind that the fight scene had all the choreography of a roadside sobriety test). Ringleader/Smoker threw a punch, knocked Spy/Scully on her rump.

The air punches and silly acrobatics continued. He left for the kitchen to get a second beer.

By the time he got back, Secret Agent Woman had gotten off her ass and was kicking a little of her own. Finally, a darling, matching leopard-skin print pump going right into the man's gut knocked him down, and finish it with impaling the spike heel into the man's temple. Spy/Scully wiped off the mess with a tissue from the box on the Ringleader/Smoker's desk.

The agent freed the male agent working with her, and they limped out of the warehouse.  The shorter woman helping her taller boyfriend out was so badly acted. The two of them weren't so much helping each other limp as doing the Bunny Hop. And, like all overloaded films like this, the warehouse promptly detonated. A helicopter threw down a ladder, and Secret Agent Woman and Male Prop climbed aboard. The helicopter flew into the sunset.

And there was a knock on the door.

He got up from the couch and cracked open the door. Scully stood in the hall, holding a blockbuster sack with one hand, and the other shoved in her pocket.

"Hey, what are you doing here?"

She looked down at her shoes. "I was hoping you had a better day than I did."

"I thought you were going with Taylor."

A shake of her head. "Well, he got to my door, we went to Capitol Pub. I had one drink. He had about four. The more he had, the more empty headed he got. Fortunately, I took my car and he took his."

"So why are you here?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to watch a couple movies I picked up. Besides, you looked depressed at work today."

"Yeah," he said. "My goldfish, Binky, died today."

An eyebrow raised, and a smile.

"Come on in."

It wasn't a beach, dingy hotel room, or a drug ring's warehouse. But his apartment, greasy Chinese, and the genuine article next to him on the couch actually made this day a good one.