Subj: NEW: Tempus In A Teapot 1/1 by Pendgirl Date: 97-03-20 21:03:44 EST From: Pendgirl@aol.com Sender: owner-x-files-fanfic@chaos.taylored.com To: x-files-fanfic@chaos.taylored.com Summary: Agent Pendrell meets up with some other X-Files characters in a similar situation. Category/Rating: H/PG Disclaimer: Chris Carter owns everything, but won't own very much more if he keeps killing everyone. SPOILERS: FOR TEMPUS FUGIT!!! SERIOUS ONES!!! Stop NOW!!! (And if you haven't seen TF, you will be lost.) TEMPUS IN A TEAPOT By Pendgirl ************* "Here you are, Sir. Room 1013." Agent Pendrell looked around in some confusion, as he was motioned toward the door at the end of a long, spotlessly white hallway, by a very beautiful woman in a bright white, immaculate suit. //OK, think Pendrell.// And he thought. I was in a bar. Good, got that. I was on my...uh...uh...10th beer? No, no couldn't be. I puke after seven. Alright, I *did* notice a blond, no a redhead..no,no,no. Maybe I *did* puke. He entered the room. And heard a voice. "Well, look who it is..." Pendrell peeked in the sparsely furnished room and looked at the man who spoke. A handsome African-American, tall and imposing, with a deep voice. Besides him sat an older man with a cynical look and...whoa ha! A red-haired babe, that looked so, so... Familiar. Oh, and one more thing. A small, yappy dog. "We were waiting for you, sonny boy." said the older man, with a barely concealed laugh. "What the hell took 'em so long?" They all burst into laughter at the confused look on Pendrell's face. "Uh, pardon me?" he asked, not liking this one bit. The red-haired woman giggled. "OK." she said to the others, still laughing. "Who won the bet?" "That would be me." said the African-American. "I clearly stated that he would terminated before the end of the fourth year. And I believe that I was correct." The older man rolled his eyes. "Excuse me, but I remember that specific details were included just last week. You were shot, is that correct, uh...uh...what's your name again, son?" "Um, Pendrell, sir." he said, beginning to get slightly queasy. "I really don't remember getting shot..or.." The occupants of the room stared at him. "I mean, I may have been a bit out of it last night, but since I'm here, that means I obviously wasn't shot. Right?" asked Pendrell, hopefully. The room became alive with hysterical laughter. Even the dog barked with sniggering irony. "My turn, my turn!" cried out the red-head, wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes. "Tell us something. What's your first name, sweetie?" She is hot, thought Pendrell. "Oh, well, my first name is...uh...ummm..." said Pendrell, but with a horrible knowledge just dawning on him. Oh, this couldn't be. No...but...but it was true. He had no first name. "Oh, my Lord. I don't have one!!!" Pendrell cried out in horror. "I never had one!!! How...why...what???" The laughter began to shake the room. The African-American was bent over holding his stomach trying not to hyperventilate with amusement. "What's so funny?" asked Pendrell, indignantly. "You all have names, don't you? Why don't I have one? And what's going on here anyway?" "WE ALL HAVE FIRST NAMES???!!" screeched the older man, as he and the African-American held onto to each other, tears of laughter streaming down their cheeks. "He..." gasped the older man, pointing at the African-American, "doesn't even have a syllable!!!! He just has A LETTER!!!" "True. But at least my namesake wasn't a cheap piece pornography." said the African-American, becoming slightly miffed. "I have a name." said the red-head, pinching Pendrell on the cheek. He blushed and smiled at the floor. Boy, was she hot. "Really? What is it?" Pendrell asked, shuffling a foot, still smiling. "Melissa Scully." she whispered in his ear, with just the faintest hint of a giggle in her voice. Pendrell looked up and stared hard at her. //Melissa Scully?// But she's...she's... Dead. Dead as doorknob. Bought a Yugo. Been cured of her oxygen habit. Traveling the embalming fluid highway. Stiff and cold as a Twinkie in Alaska. Pendrell's eyes opened wide. He turned to the other two. "And who..who are you?" he asked them with a trembling voice. "What are your names?'' The older man smiled. "You can call me Deep Throat" he replied, trying to choke back another laugh. He motioned at the African American. "And you can call my friend over here *X*" "And where are you from?" asked Pendrell, his voice truly shaking. "The place where people like us don't last very long." said the older man cryptically. The small, yappy dog barked in agreement. "Oh, my boy. You've been fooled." said Deep Throat sadly. "Sure, you thought that you were safe from the curse. But no. You are just another one like us. The ones who have been fated to die for no other reason than being created in the first place." "I heard you wanted more air time." said *X* with a raised eyebrow. Deep Throat ignored him. "But don't worry..." Deep Throat said brightly. "We have lots of fun here. Why, Bingo is every Thursday." Pendrell's eyes opened in horror. "Bingo?? I don't want bingo!!! I have work to do!! I have...I have.." he said feebly, almost unable to continue. Melissa smiled at him. "Believe me, pal. You've got plenty of time." she said, and planted herself on his lap. "It could be worse..." Pendrell looked up at her in disbelief. "How the heck could it be any worse than this?" he asked. "You could be *him*." said Melissa, pointing at the alligator that sat silently in the corner of the room. The one that choked on poor QueeQuag. *********************** Fini.