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Special thanks to Deb Prewitt, Yvonne Harrison and Kitty Jones, my Beta readers on this story. You're the greatest, ladies!
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Monday, Nov. 25, 1996
12:27 a.m.
Fox Mulder's apartment
"Mother! Make it stop! Mother!"
"Oh, Regan..."
"Keep away! This hour is mine!"
Fox Mulder layed stretched out on his well-worn couch, slowly being lulled to sleep, the voices and glow emanating from the T.V. screen ready to comfort him. He hoped that tonight he would be spared from the nightmares that had plagued him for years. They were especially frequent at this time of year; it was now just two days before the anniversary of his sister's abduction.
Finally drifting off to sleep, Mulder soon found that he would not be so lucky.
As the dream began, Mulder found himself in a place which bridged two worlds -- the world he knew in life and a world he could hardly imagine -- floating in space as he lay in semi-consciousness. All fine and dandy and symbolic, Fox's dreaming self thought, but the atmosphere was a bit spoiled by the fact that the object he was floating prone on was the brand new eight-foot-long leather couch he had eyed enviously last weekend at Levitz.
While he waited for the dream to unfold, Mulder pondered on how the otherwise deep metaphysical symbolism of a dream like this could be shattered to pieces by such blatant materialism.
Fox's disappointment over his subconscious' odd (yet tasteful) choice of furniture was broken by a disembodied, familiar voice which pierced the darkness surrounding him.
"Rrribbit", the voice said.
Fox's happier childhood memories were ignited. "Spiro?" he inquired in surprise, his hazel/brown/grey/green eyes squinting to find form in the void.
The hazy, human-sized image of a lime green, black-speckled bullfrog slowly materialized.
"Of course it's me, Shit-for-Brains!" Spiro the frog spat at his former master in disgust. "Who the fuck did you think it was? Carl Sagan?"
"Spiro!" Mulder gleefully exclaimed from the $800 davenport, grinning at the sight of his old childhood friend, the first pet that had belonged to Fox alone. But Mulder's delighted expression quickly turned to one of concern.
"Spiro, why are you...I mean, it's great to see you, but...why are you cussing at me like this? Are you angry with me?" he asked, slightly offended. "I always thought we were such great friends. I would take you for rides on the handlebars of my bike, I would give you bubble baths, I would..."
"Yeah, Doofus, a real smart way to treat a pet frog!" Spiro interrupted. "Do you realize how many times I fell off of those handlebars? Rrribbit. A drop like that to a frog -- three feet of freefall onto hard blacktop for an eight-ounce amphibian -- is equivalent to a jerk kid like you were jumping off the Sears tower!"
Fox looked at Spiro doubtfully.
"Okay, so I'm exaggerating a bit, but...you get the idea, Numbnuts!" Spiro explained. "And those bubble baths. Rrribbit. Do you have any idea what half a bottle of Mr. Bubble in a tub full of hot water can do to a frog's delicate skin? DO YOU?!"
Fox could only stare at his dearly departed amphibian friend, dumbstruck and feeling more than his usual, constant, low-level grade of guilt.
"Anyhow, you imbecile," Spiro continued in his tirade, "what the hell kind of boy would want to play 'bath time' with his pet frog? And you, dressing me up in your sister's doll clothes! Rrribbit. I always suspected you were a little 'light in the loafers', if ya know what I mean."
Mulder desperately wanted to change the subject.
"Spiro, why have you come to me, after all these years?" Mulder asked, hoping Spiro would not pursue discussing his unusual childhood play habits any further. "By the way, you look awfully good for a frog that's been dead for a quarter of a century."
That remark managed to quell some of Spiro the spirit's vehemence. "You really think so?" he asked, vainly caressing his webbed, spectral foreleg over his satiny smooth, albeit ethereal cranium.
"Yes, I do," Mulder responded, nodding sincerely from the couch.
"Thanks. Rrribbit. You know, I do try..."
"So, Spiro," Fox interrupted, reiterating his question, "why do you want to speak to me now?"
Spiro shook himself out of his self-involved reverie and glared at Fox anew. "What the hell you *think* I came here for?" he bellowed at his earthly owner. Fox just shrugged his shoulders in confusion. Confusion which seemed a little redundant, considering he was talking with the 6-foot apparition of a dead frog.
Spiro sighed a decidedly froggy, impatient sigh. "I'm here to lay a major guilt trip on you, you asshole!" Spiro yelled. "After all, you *did* kill me!"
Fox gasped at Spiro in shock, raising up on one elbow on the plush, luxuriant couch. "But...but Mom said you died of old age. She...she said you had gone to heaven to play with all the other little frogs that had..." Fox's eyes began to brim with tears as he realized his mother's 25-year-old deceit, looking away from his late pet's insinuating glare.
"And you *still* believe that bullshit?" Spiro screamed, as well as a frog's ghost could scream. "What, do you still have the mentality of an eight-year-old? 'Old age', my hindquarters! Your mom realized I had gone to 'froggy heaven' when she pulled my shrivelled carcass out of the pocket of your jeans...*after* I had been in there through every spin cycle your mom's Maytag could handle!"
"What...what...you mean..."
"YES, you putz!" Spiro croaked. "It was *your* fault I met such an untimely, painful and disgusting death! You shit heap, I was barely older than a polliwog!"
Spiro ignored his former master's angst-ridden countenance, pressing on with a sadistic glint in his eye.
"There are more here like me. After you got me out of the picture, many others fell victim to your carelessness. *You* killed each of those seven gerbils when you kept on trying to teach them how to swim in the duck pond, month after month, visit after visit to the pet store, looking for more furry lives to steal."
Mulder eyes began to mist over as he sank deeper into his guilt. Spiro went on with his attack, glad to finally have the chance to take some revenge on his murderer's psyche.
"*You* killed that unfortunate gopher snake you found behind the house when you were 11, practicing your Boy Scout knots on him. You should be glad that *I* came to visit you, and not *him*! He never wants to see your putrid face again -- just like all the other poor souls you offed with your negligence."
Mulder's face found an even more surprised expression to show to Spiro.
"That's right," Spiro assured him. "Rrribbit. We all drew straws to decide which of us would come to see you, and guess who got the short straw? Rrribbit. Moi!"
Mulder hung his head in shame.
"You killed us all, one by one. But did you ever learn?" Spiro accused. "NO! Even as an adult, you're completely clueless when it comes to the animal kingdom, and we've gotten plenty pissed about it! Enough slaughter and destruction of our brothers!"
Spiro began croaking out "We Shall Overcome" in a rather off-key, throaty baritone.
Mulder cautiously interrupted the chorus.
"What...what's happened? Why are you confronting me with this now?"
"Oh, like you can't guess, Foxy boy!" Spiro snorted, ending his pitifully bad Joan-Baez-after-a-sex change imitation. "As if it's a big surprise...rrribbit...YOU KILLED THE LAST OF YOUR FISH, YOU BASTARD!"
Mulder paused for several moments, feeling as if he might go into shock. "No!" he wailed at last. "Not Pooky!"
Fox burst into tears and smothered his face in the back of the couch, which is how he discovered himself when he awoke from the tormentful dream. However, the couch was now covered with iced-tea-and-sunflower-seed-stained, musty-smelling cheap cloth. The luscious scent and feel of fine-grain, imported leather had disappeared, along with the image of Spiro.
"Crap!" Mulder exclaimed aloud to his dark, lonely, and poorly-decorated apartment.
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Coming up next:
"The Ex-Pet Files II: Pooky the Fish Gets the Big Flush"
Disclaimer, rating and classification in part I, "Spiro the Frog Croaks Again", in which the ghost of Mulder's childhood pet frog informs Mulder that his favorite pet fish has passed away.
Summary, part II: Mulder grieves the loss of his favorite pet fish.
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Monday, Nov. 25, 1996
1:02 a.m.
Fox Mulder's apartment
Sweating profusely after his horrible nightmare, Mulder reached for the remote and clicked off the T.V., cutting short Linda Blair's pea soup scene.
Wearily, he sat up on the couch, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with his hands. "Oh, Pooky, not you," he said aloud to the dark living room. He began trying to convince himself that the dream was nothing more than the product of eating too much Chinese food too late at night. Good thing he hadn't had some Gorton's Fish Sticks instead. Then he'd be feeling really guilty.
To prove to himself that his nocturnal terror had been nothing more than the aftermath of indigestion, Mulder reached over to switch on the light to his aquarium. It had held hundreds of fish over the years; not all at one time, of course. He usually had four or five fish at the most in the tank that were alive at the moment. Pooky had lived the longest of all of them; she was actually a little older than Mulder was -- that is, in fish years.
With relief, he saw the lone orange fish calmly nestled amongst the plastic plants in the center of the tank.
Smiling in his reassurance of Pooky's well-being, Mulder told himself that the dream was just his subconscious' way of telling him that he needed to be more responsible in his relationships. Plus eat more sensibly. He vowed to stop running off without telling Scully where he was going. After all, he thought, Scully was supposed to be his fish sitter; the least he could do for Pooky was to let his partner know he would be away for a while, instead of simply disappearing with no notice.
He remembered all the times he had left without telling anyone, often nearly dying in his never-ending quest for The Truth. He wondered guiltily about what might have become of Pooky if he had died.
"Pooky, I promise I'll never leave you like that again," Mulder said to the lone orange blob he saw in the tank. "You deserve better than that."
But Pooky the blob wasn't responding to his words.
"Pooky?" Mulder tapped the glass of the aquarium. "Pooky!" he gasped in shock when he realized his beloved fish was not just "sleeping" or "taking a little break after a long day of swimming around", as he had first hoped when he saw Pooky's unusual lethargy.
The fish, Mulder's last fish, Mulder's longest-lived fish, Mulder's favorite fish, was caught in the foliage of one of the aquarium plants. "Pooky, please, wake up!" Mulder said hopefully, shaking the tank as best he could without toppling it over.
The vibrations he set off did get Pooky to move. The fish's body floated slowly up through the water in the tank, then turned belly up as it bobbed on the surface.
"Nooooooooo!" was all Mulder could manage to moan before he broke into heaving sobs...for the second time that night.
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That morning
10:13 a.m.
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, D.C.
Agent Dana Scully knew that this latest loss was going to take a toll on her partner and best friend. Mulder hadn't called her directly to tell her he would be in late that morning; he had called Skinner's office first. That was always a bad sign where Mulder was concerned. Mulder apparently had explained to the A.D.'s secretary that a close friend had passed away during the night. When Scully heard the news, she had called Mulder immediately. She managed to coerce the truth out of her partner.
The truth was that the close friend that had passed away was his pet fish.
She knew that Pooky had been important to him. He had never talked with Scully about the special bond between the man and the fish, but she had seen the little presents he had given Pooky from time to time, mainly on holidays. A small plastic castle for Valentine's Day. A tiny fish menorah for Hanukkah. Pooky was probably the most important "person" in Mulder's life since Phoebe Green, Scully surmised...and Scully had seen how emotionally scarred he had been by the termination of *that* relationship.
As Scully thought of this, Mulder suddenly walked through the doorway to the basement office, looking disheveled and weary from lack of sleep.
Taking in his appearance, Scully's concern seemed validated. "Mulder, I'm sorry about your fish," she said when he glanced at her upon entering the office. She wasn't sure how he would react to her mention of the passing of Pooky.
"It's okay, Scully," was all he would say as he sat down at his desk and began looking through the report she had written on their last case. Scully knew from experience with Mulder that he was not going to open up with her about this. Not easily, at least.
"Listen, Mulder, I...I want you to know that I'm always here for you, if you want to talk," she said, trying to sound supportive, without prying.
Her concern was met with silence.
"Mulder, did you hear me?"
Mulder paused for a moment, then swiveled in his chair so that he wouldn't have to look Scully in the eye.
"Yes. Thanks. I...I know you care. I'm okay, really," Mulder said to the wall.
Moments passed in silence. Finally, he quietly broke it with a whisper.
"Her...her name was Pooky." He found himself having difficulty controlling his voice as he said the name.
Scully moved closer, squatting down beside her partner. Mulder felt a twinge of resentment to her intrusion as she rested her hand lightly on his shoulder.
He got up quickly and walked determinedly to the filing cabinet in front of Scully's desk. The one with the X-Files in it, the source for the cases that had always helped him escape the pain and guilt he still felt over the loss of his sister. He opened a drawer and began looking for a file, wishing Scully would disappear and leave him to his misery.
"Scully, I've found our next case. It involves the mysterious disappearance of a film actress," he said quickly, pulling out a file, still not daring to look at his partner. "At first glance, it doesn't seem to be an X-File. But I have reason to suspect it's the work of a satanic cult. Possibly related to some of the darker fan groups that communicate on the Internet. I've never heard of her...she was in that movie about Drac..."
"Mulder, I hate it when you do this!" Scully interrupted, trying not to shout at Mulder in his precarious emotional state. She was barely succeeding. "You're trying to bury your feelings in your work! You need to talk about this...about Pooky!"
Mulder slammed the drawer shut and took refuge in a corner of the office, as far away from Scully as he could get. "Dammit, Scully, I told you I was okay!" he growled, facing away from her.
But he knew he wasn't okay. He didn't know if he would ever be okay again.
Scully saw Mulder's resistance, and didn't know if there was any way she alone could reach him. She stood silently watching his back, waiting for him to make the next move.
Mulder didn't say a word.
"Fox..."
Mulder raced back to his desk, dumping out the few remaining contents of the 10-pound, economy-sized bag of sunflower seeds he kept there, and hurriedly placed the bag over his head, hoping to escape the prying concern of his partner. Stray seeds continued to trickle out of the upturned bag, bouncing off Mulder's shoulders and chest and finally landing with seedy "pings" onto the floor.
Looking at Mulder's bag-covered head, a large picture of a sunflower where his face once was, Scully began to truly worry about her partner.
"Mulder, please, let me help you," she said gently.
Mulder moved slowly back to the corner, bumping into furniture as he went because of the bag impeding his vision. Finally feeling his way to the corner, he huddled there, wrapping his arms around his chest, trying to keep his feelings inside him. He couldn't do it any more. This was just too much for him, and he knew Scully would not leave him alone until he talked with her about what had happened that night. He was well aware that, if this got out, it could adversely affect his career and his reputation. They could make him take involuntary leave. There would be even more whispers about "Spooky" Mulder in the hallways. The guy at Tropical Fish World might revoke his credit.
Scully continued to watch in concern as Mulder's back began to shake with silent sobs. She went to him and carefully turned him around to face her. Even with his face covered by the bag, which crinkled in and out as he breathed unevenly, she could tell that tears were streaming down his face. She knew her partner too well to not know that. The water spots that had begun to soak through the bag helped tip her off, as well.
"Scully...I'm all right; please don't worry about me," his muffled voice pleaded from behind the bag. Scully could still tell that he was struggling to keep his voice in control. He had to take several deep breaths before he could find the strength to tell Scully the truth that he had come to realize that night, after Pooky had passed on.
"It's just...it's just that Pooky...Pooky...s-she reminded me so much of...of Samantha!"
It was this revelation that finally broke down the last of Mulder's defenses. He could no longer keep the flood of tears and sobs inside him. He dropped to his knees in the corner of the cold office floor, reaching out for and receiving Scully's comforting embrace. But, despite her efforts to dislodge it, he refused to remove the bag from his head.
It was then that Scully knew that she had to get Mulder into counseling.
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