I don't remember what inspired this one, but needless to say, it's a little bizarre. I think it might be considered a crackfic...? Can anyone define that for me? Anyway, I thought halfway through my other (very dark) story would be a good time to post this and lighten things up a bit. Enjoy!

Once upon a time there was a--alright, let's just cut the crap right here. This isn't that kind of fairy tale. There's no Goldilocks, Little Red Riding, or any Big Bad Wolves. Princesses don't have guns and MDs, and well, he sure as hell ain't no Prince Charming. Though I'll say he's a damn sight better than the schmoe grabbing ass in my bar.

"Mulder, knock it the hell off, or I boot your ass outta here!" I shook my head at the man who looked like Mulder, but yet, wasn't him. Morris Fletcher was closer to the beast than prince charming.

The not-Princess scoffed at him, and went back to knocking back gin and tonics like she might never see liquid again. Agents Mulder and Scully have made appearances at my bar before, it's right near the federal building, so Feds account for most of my customers. We even celebrated her birthday here once, but Scully had never gotten wasted before.

Tonight she'd hit wasted, bypassed plastered, slid through hammered, and was rapidly on her way to being bombed out of her mind. Her cheeks were already pink with the alcohol, clashing with her flame-colored hair.

"You really miss him don't you?" I asked, wiping over the bar in front of her with my well-worn white towel.

"What do you mean? He's right there." She nodded toward the grinning, giggling idiot flirting with the two secretaries at his table. She was definitely inebriated, or she'd have pretended she didn't know who I was talking about.

"Listen, I'll be the first to admit that Mulder can be a tool, but a jerk like that, he's not."

She scowled at me. "Well, if that isn't Mulder, who is he?"

"Morris Fletcher."

Her mouth opened, and her head titled to the side in drunken confusion.

"What would you do if I told you I could give you Mulder back? Make everything the way it was?" I leaned on the bar, smiling as I offered her, her number one wish.


"You want him back don't you?"

"Of course I do, but how, how could you possibly change anything?"

I leaned in close and whispered against her ear, "I'm a fairy."

She leaned back from me, and looked me over, head wobbling around as she took in the six foot two, two hundred pound frame, and tattoos barely hidden underneath the white shirt. This before staring straight at me, one skeptical eyebrow slowly arching toward her hairline. Then she nodded, lids slightly hooding her eyes. "Sure you are."

"Always the skeptic, Agent Scully. Mulder would believe me," I said, eyeing her, knowing that, if nothing else, would get her attention.

"Mulder is presently occupied with being a pervert, as you can see." She once again nodded in the general direction of the table, where he had his hand up the blonde's blouse.

Not in my bar, buddy. I nodded to my guys on the door, and they walked over to the table, and glared at Flectcher. He abruptly removed his hand from his companion's top.

Scully had seen, and shook her head miserably, before emptying her glass, and tapping it on the bar. Jesus, what was this six, seven now? How much can a little thing like her hold before she succumbs to alcohol poisoning?

"So, if you can get Mulder back, why haven't you yet?"

"Because, I don't use my gifts to help just anyone. I need to know that they're deserving, and that my actions won't be wasted."

"Sending that horse's ass back to where he came from won't be a waste, of that sir, I can assure you." She took a sip of her fresh drink, and straightened her blazer.

"Oh, I know it won't, so far as the good of humanity goes. But, I'm talking about wasted on you and him."

Nose slightly pink, eyes a little watery, and mouth hung open, even without my help, she wouldn't have remembered much of this in the morning.

"I don't...I don't...follow."

"Yeah, I don't think you're likely to follow much right now."

She giggled, wobbling on the stool.

I shook my head. "Alright Agent Scully--"

"Nope," she interrupted. "Just Scully. Kersh booted my ass out of the Bureau."

I raised an eyebrow, this was worse than I thought. "Sorry to hear that, but you want life to go back to normal, you've got to obey the rules of fairy tales. It always takes a kiss to fix these things, Age--uh, Scully. Sometimes a prince, sometimes a frog--"

"That? You want me to kiss that?" She wrinkled her nose at the man that wasn't her partner.

"No. Fletcher isn't the one you're afraid to kiss. Kiss Mulder, and you get your world back."

She frowned at me though her gin haze, and started to get off the bar stool, and head toward Fletcher. I pulled her back.

"That's not Mulder. You want him back, you fly your drunken self to New Mexico, and smooch the right man."

She pressed both hands down on the bar, pulled herself back onto the stool, and looked at me appraisingly, ready to cross-examine. "Why do you want me to kiss Mulder?"

"Hoping to get him laid."

"Excuse me?" What do you know, the woman could still glare after seven gin and tonics.

"Kidding, Scully." Not completely, but she didn't need to know that; I was hoping to get her laid too. "I just want to know that if I give this to you two, there's some hope of you finally getting it together."

She looked indignant. "I don't know what you mean."

I shook my head. "Of course you don't. Just humor me, and kiss the man."

She sat back down, and stared at her half-empty glass for about twenty minutes. Then she looked up at me with the heart-wrenching puppy dog look that I'd always thought was her partner's thing. Though, she looked more lost than pathetic.

I sighed, and snapped my fingers inches from her face.


The next morning, the Princess woke up in a motel in Roswell, New Mexico with a pounding headache, and no memory of how she got there. Being a doctor and law enforcement agent, she first checked herself over, noting that she was in fact, still wearing her clothes, and didn't feel as if she'd had sex. Next, she was faced with trying to determine how much gin she'd consumed the night before, and why she remembered something about fairies and frogs.

Scully swallowed some aspirin from her overnight bag, pleased to know that she was at least not so drunk she left without anything, and then jumped in the shower. What was she doing in Roswell? To see Mulder again? Did she have something to tell him? Did she discover something last night while she was so severely inebriated? And seriously, what the hell was this about frogs?

She pondered these and many others of the world's great enigmas as she dressed, and prepared herself to go to Area 51 to meet with her partner. Hopefully, they'd let her in to see him. She still wasn't sure why she needed to see him, only that it was important that she did. Scully was hoping that she'd figure out what to say when she saw him.

So it was, that she was stopped as she drove toward the base, and ordered out of her vehicle by men with rifles. "What's your business here, Miss?"

"Scully. Dana Scully here to see Morris Fletcher. It's of the utmost urgency." She held her hands in the air, and spoke calmly and clearly.

"Why do you need to see Fletcher?"

"That's need to know only." She glared and relished the opportunity to spit their words back at them.

She was ushered into one of their vehicles, and driven to the base, as one of the men jabbered on the radio about clearances, and if she was in fact allowed to see Fletcher. Once at the base, they sat her in what appeared to be a lobby, and told her to wait until someone came for her. So, she sat on the thin, uncomfortable couch and studied her hands for a good thirty minutes.

The clock ticked by, and occasionally the redhead looked up, hoping someone would walk by, but no one did. During that thirty minutes, she stretched, fidgeted, sighed, and ultimately decided that she needed a buff and polish. Her usual French tips, perhaps a little shorter than usual, since long nails could be such a pain in the ass, especially when holding a gun. Though, she supposed that didn't matter anymore, doctors don't have guns.

"Scully, hey, what are you doing here? Oh, please tell me you found something to fix this?" Morris Fletcher pled with her, face suggesting he was in considerable pain.

"Hey," her voice came out soft, tired. "No, I don't think I found anything."

"Don't think?" he frowned, "what do you mean?"

"I got," she paused, looking away, jaw tightening. "I got really, exceptionally drunk last night, Mulder. I don't even remember coming here."

"Drunk? Since when do you drink, Scully?"

"Since last night, evidently. I don't even remember getting on or off the plane, or checking into the hotel, or anything. So, yeah, I don't think I found out anything."

"Are you sure it was the alcohol, Scully? You weren't roofied or abducted?" He asked, hands moving toward unfamiliar hips, only to drop, completely uncomfortable touching another man's hips.

"Well, if I was roofied, I don't see a purpose for it. I woke up alone, un-assualted. And, if I was abducted, I also don't see the purpose. They didn't do anything, so far as I can tell." She threw her hands up in confusion.

"Well, what do you remember?" He walked them back over toward the uncomfortable sofa, and they sat down together, shoulders and hips pressed together.

"Well..." She sighed, and looked mildly pained. "Something about frogs?"

"Frogs, Scully?"

"Yes Mulder, frogs."

They remained silent for several minutes, contemplating the significance of her only memory. She broke the silence.

You have any thoughts?"

It was his turn to appear constipated and the follow it with a sigh. "Maybe you were abducted by frogs?"

Scully frowned. "Well, I'm not familiar with the literature on frog abduction, but I don't find any reliable evidence suggesting that's the case."

Mulder laughed, and she smiled. What the hell were they going to do? He took her hand, and rubbed his thumb softly along the top, contemplating life without her. The little electric current that travel from his fingertips, into her hand, up her arm, across her shoulder, up her neck, and into her brain, jolted her into remembering what she had to do. She didn't think about why, just grabbed her partner's new, ugly face, and pressed her lips firmly to his.

His shock lasted only the few seconds it took for her to open his mouth, and then he plunged in, tasting her with an unfamiliar tongue. Right there on a sofa in the middle Area 51, the poster children for abstinence played a around of tonsil hockey.

"What was that for?" He asked when they finally broke apart.

"I don't, I don't know..." She frowned, on foggy memory coming back. "I had to kiss to frog to get the prince."

Mulder opened his mouth, about to protest the logic of her statement, but changed his mind. "Well, that's not terribly flattering."

Scully's eyes suddenly widened, and she gasped. "Mulder! You're you!"

"Huh?" He felt along his face with his hands, moving around to his hair, a massive smile breaking out on his face. "Yes! Yes! Yes!"

Then he did a little happy jig, before hurrying back to his partner, sweeping her into his eyes, and kissing her passionately on the mouth.

Taking pity on them, and whoever might find them making out in the middle of a top secret military base, I snapped my fingers again. Poof.


"Mulder...Mulder...Mulder..." The voice was persistent as he cracked his eyes open to come face to face with his partner's less than amused ones. He pulled his face off the floor, and looked up blearily to see really, really bright light. And, a car.

They were in a car. In the desert. And, Scully looked really pissed, and now that he looked more closely at her, unkempt. "What happened?"

"I was hoping you'd be able to tell me, Mulder."

"I'm thinking, Scully, that we might have found a UFO."

"Your evidence?"

He opened his arms. "You need more than this?"

"No. No, because I don't want to debate it, I just want to go back to DC, and have a long bath." She maneuvered herself into the passenger's seat, leaving him to finagel his way from the backseat to the driver's.

"What're we telling Kersh?"

"I already did. You've got a violent case of food poisoning, and I'm staying with you to make sure you won't need a hospital before it passes."

"I get the feeling lots of doctor jargon went into that."

"As much as I could fit." She barely hid a smile.

Mulder laughed. "Alright, which way is DC?"

They two highly trained FBI agents surveyed the surrounding area, and came to a unpleasant realization.

They weren't even on a road.