Disclaimer: The characters you recognize are the property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Broadcasting. Other characters are loosely based on creations of Margaret Mitchell. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: Scully O'Hara. Proceed at your own risk.
Notes: Vintage crack fic, circa 1998. Since I'm too lazy to write any new stories, I thought I'd at least exhume an old one for you!
Gone with the X
Peachtree Motor Court
"...After all, tomorrow *is* another day!"
As the music swelled to unthinkable heights of saccharine melodrama, Dana Scully turned slightly moist eyes to her partner and inquired, "Well?"
Surreptitiously wiping at a damp spot under his left eye, Fox Mulder considered his response. "Mmmm. For it's time, it was truly a remarkable film."
"I suppose it shouldn't surprise me that you'd never seen 'Gone with the Wind'," Scully mused, lowering the volume on the TV. "Not your usual fare. Nobody's naked."
"Scully, you wound me." He affected a pout. "I'd simply never gotten around to watching it--it *is* a very long film."
"I can understand how it's held it's appeal over the years, though," he went on. "The film speaks to timeless themes of survival, triumph over adversity, pride of place and of heritage...Scarlett isn't always very likeable, but in many ways she is admirable, perhaps even more so than her friends who refused to sacrifice honor in exchange for survival. At least she had the courage of her convictions; she refused
to let anyone or anything defeat her."
"You have that. That stubbornness, that resiliency."
"Yeah?" Idly he fingered the hideous curtains behind him. "What d'you think? Is this pattern too busy for me?"
Scully waved a dismissive hand. "Go away, Mulder. It's late and we've got a full dance card for tomorrow."
"Ah, yes. Well, tomorrow *is*--"
"Don't even start with me."
He chuckled. "Good night, Miz Scarlett."
"Good night, Mulder."
Grinning, he exited her room.
Scully O'Hara was heartbroken. Despite being the belle of the county, the only man she'd ever loved, Ashley Pendrell, was engaged to marry another.
"Oh, he can't marry her, he can't!" She thought to herself. "He just can't marry a girl named Bambi! Plus, I know he loves me! Oh, fiddle-dee-dee!"
Ascending the grand staircase in her spreading green hoopskirts, she became aware that a man was staring at her. Leaning negligently against the newel post, a leer upon his handsome face, he gazed insolently up at her with sparkling hazel eyes. Turning abruptly to the simpering magnolia blossom on her right, Scully demanded, "Who *is* that man? The spooky one at the foot of the stairs."
"Oh, my dear!" the girl giggled, "don't you know *anything*? That's Rhett Mulder, and he is no gentleman!"
"He's staring at me," Scully hissed.
"He isn't received," the girl continued, dropping her voice. "His own family kicked him out. He *claims* his sister was abducted by aliens. It was a terrible scandal."
"Aliens," Scully repeated. "Sure. Fine. Whatever." And she swept grandly past Rhett Mulder, to search for Ashley Pendrell.
"Oh, what shall I do?" She asked herself fretfully. And then, she answered herself: "*I* know! I'll marry someone else to make him jealous!" Eager to put her new plan into action, Scully dashed outside to find a suitable victim upon which to work her wiles. Alas, her hopes were thwarted, for at that moment, the War began.
Too late! All the men were rushing off to fight the Yankees--well, except for the old homely ones, and Ashley would never be jealous of any of *them*. Dejected, Scully turned to go back to her carriage, but a rough hand grasped her elbow and spun her around. Gasping, she found herself enfolded in the arms of--
"I love you, Scully O'Hara," he hissed. "And I'll have you, as soon as the War is over. I'll make you forget Ashley Pendrell ever lived!"
"How did you know about Ashley? That's--"
"Do you think I'm spooky?"
She slapped him across the face. "Creep!"
He slapped an absurd Panama hat upon his head. "I'll be back!"
"Miz Scully! Miz Scully!" She turned to see her maid approaching at full-tilt. "The Yankees is here! The Yankees is here!"
"Yankees at Tara?" She ran all the way home and sure enough, there was a Yankee soldier. A malignant smile bloomed upon his face as he stubbed out his cigarette on the lovely wood floor.
"We're foreclosing on this property," he informed her, pulling out a pack of Morleys and firing one up. "You owe three hundred dollars in taxes."
Drawing a pistol from the folds of her skirt, Scully shot the interloper dead. Stepping over the body, she began to pace the hallway, muttering to herself.
"I don't have three hundred dollars. Who's got money?...*I* know! Rhett Mulder! He's rich, and he wants me. He'll give me the money."
But alas, the Yankees had stolen all of her pretty clothes. Finally she pulled down the draperies and fashioned herself a new dress, then went off in search of Rhett Mulder.
She stopped the first old homely man she saw and inquired as to the mysterious stranger's whereabouts. "Oh, the Yankees captured him, Miss Scully. He's in jail and about to be hanged."
"Good," thought Scully. "Maybe he'll will me the money."
When she got to the jail, she found Rhett Mulder playing cards with three Yankee soldiers.
"Wow," said the short, troll-like Yankee in the furry vest. "She's hot."
Rhett led her back to his cell.
"Rhett, I love you," she lied.
"Now *that's* spooky," he said.
"I need money to pay the taxes on Tara," she blurted.
"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn!"
Her eyes fluttered open and the room's depressing features swam back into focus. Her partner was sitting on the edge of her bed, concern writ large upon his face.
"Mulder--what...what are you doing here?"
"You must have been having a nightmare, Scully. I heard you all the way in the other room, yelling about Yankees and taxes and...are you all right?"
"I'm fine." She struggled to sit up. Mulder brought her a glass of water and sat back down, watching her closely.
"Do you think she got him back? Scarlett, I mean. Even though she drove Rhett away again and again...do you think she got him back?"
He thought about it for a minute before speaking. "Yeah, I think so. Some things are just meant to be, you know?"
"Yeah," she said, as she slid her hand into his. "I know."