Part II of "Careful What You Wish For," also known as "You Might Get It." If you haven't seen a copy of "Careful" (or were so bored to tears with it that you forgot what happened), a quick recap: Scully gave Mulder a bird as a gift. Mulder hates said bird. Threatens to kill bird. Scully and Mulder are talking on the phone. Mulder swears he killed the bird. Hangs up. Looks at the bird cage. Yup, you guessed it, the bird is dead! Keeled over from the number one cause of bird death, drafts. Meanwhile, the better half of our intrepid duo has just knocked on the door of Mulder's apartment. As always, Scully, Mulder, et al. belong to CC, Fox, 10-13, and anyone else desperately waiting to reach the magic number for the syndication jackpot. No infringement intended, okay? The dead bird is courtesy of my parents, who actually suffered through the events of "Careful What You Wish For." Thanks go to all those "Troupers" who clamored for a sequel, and even better, suggested some story lines. Please do not post this to atxc - I'd prefer to wait for more feedback (hint, hint) before doing so myself. We begin.... ------------- He might not have murdered the bird, but he was definitely going to fry for this. Now how was he going to explain to Scully, a _pathologist_ that he didn't croak Tweetie? *Serves me right for opening my big mouth. Scully always warned me about the little boy who cried wolf, but I could have sworn she was talking about EBEs.* Taking a deep breath (and quickly glancing over to the cage to make sure he had put down the drop cloth), he opened the door. "What took you so long, Mulder? I was about to let myself in. Bet you were putting certain video tapes out of sight." Dana Scully walked into the apartment, brown bag held out to him. "I stopped by that ice cream store you love so much on the way over and picked up my contribution to the evening's festivities. One quart of Death by Chocolate, and I promise not to make any jokes about hardening arteries." Just great. Not only was the bird dead, but she brought over ice cream. I'm dead meat. *Take me now, Lord.* "Sit down, Scully." "What is it Mulder? Let me pop this in the freezer first. Do you know how hard it is to get chocolate stains out of carpet?" Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he led her over to the couch and sat her down. "Mulder, you're scaring me. What is it? C'mon, 'fess up. Did you forget the egg rolls?" Sitting down beside her, he steeled up his nerve, commended his soul to God, and started the long, painful explanation of how, when he had threatened for the 567th time to strangle the bird, he was actually joking, even though he had sworn he was telling the truth. "Scully, I...when....when we were talking on the phone earlier today and I told you I had murdered the bird? Well, he's dead. No, don't look at me like that - I didn't do it, I swear. I looked over at the poor thing, and there he was, lying on the cage floor, little bird feet up in the air. I would have tried mouth-to-mouth, but he was already cold. Scully? Dana? Say something!" Dana knew, from the instant he started talking about the bird, that it was dead. She could just feel it. She knew Mulder hadn't killed him...no, these things just had a way of happening to Mulder. The mishaps he could get into - he was the only person she knew that could pull a muscle twiddling his thumbs. She was about to tell him it was alright, when she saw that mournful, whipped puppy look on his face. *This is just too good to pass up* Dana was still contemplating his penance when she realized Mulder was blathering on. "...you could even do an autopsy on him - it'll prove I didn't do it!" The image was too much to bear. She could just see the little bird body lying on the cold metal slab in the autopsy bay. *The subject is a 18 oz. parakeet, yellow, with green and orange markings. The autopsy is being conducted by Special Agent Dana Scully, M.D. Although not trained as a veterinary pathologist, I am nonetheless conducting the autopsy. I would not place it above government forces, especially one Fox Mulder, to interfere and obscure the evidence. Agent Mulder is not present at the autopsy, as he is currently being held handcuffed to his bed while I investigate his participation in said parakeet's cause of death. Suspected cause of death is strangulation, but there are no visible contusions or ligature marks about the neck. The feathers of the bird appear relatively undisturbed. It is my considered opinion at this time, based upon the open window, the temperature in the room where the victim was found, and the lack of physical evidence to the contrary, that the bird died of natural causes and I have no grounds upon which to hold my partner. Still, it is tempting to withhold this information from the suspect. And I quote, "Sometimes the need to mess with their minds outweighs the millstone of humiliation."* Hmmm, punishment or extortion? Which one will it be? Looking up, she saw that whipped puppy look on his face (does he practice it in the mirror, or does it just come naturally?) and immediately made her decision. Extortion. It was for his own good. "Alright, Mulder, I believe you. Something like this could only happen to you. But you owe me a penalty. I gave you that bird as a present, and you could have taken better care of him. If you didn't want a bird, you should have said so, not let the poor thing die of pneumonia. Forget the Knicks game. We're going to the pet store, and you, Agent Mulder, are going to purchase a pet as a present FOR ME, which you will like and you will care for and you will have custody of. No ifs, ands, or buts. He desperately wanted to complain, but wasn't about to press his luck. If he was lucky, he might get away with purchasing a pet rock. "Pets Plus" was a disaster from the start, and he knew it could only go downhill. Scully started oohing and aahing over some disgusting little furball masquerading as a dog - "German shepherds are real dogs, Scully. Not Pomerians." Worse, she kept telling him it was for his own good. He hated that. "Fish just won't cut it, Mulder. You need some type of companionship. Now how about a nice cat?" Scully wasn't about to give up. He was going to pay, and pay but good. "Too finicky. Haven't you noticed that cats are always slinking about, looking at you as if they know a secret about you, and spying on you? I'd think it was Krychek in disguise." "Okay. Not another bird...ummm....a rabbit?" "Right. You just said this was going to be your pet, which I would care for. The bullpen gossip about us is bad enough already. Can you imagine it if word got around that the rabbit died? He had a point, and he knew it. He loved watching her blush. He didn't think it was possible for human skin tone to match that particular shade of red, but evidently it was. "How about a snake?" "And every time it shed its skin I'd think of Skinner. No thanks, Scully. But there's an angelfi..." "I told you before, fish don't count as pets. We're talking about companionship, here. A gerbil? A hamster?" "Only if I get to call it Dana. Awww, it's so widdle, and cute, and furry...OW! that hurt!" "Don't press your luck, Mulder. Hamsters are definitely out. I know, a ferret!" "Ferrets are passe, Scully. And they remind me too much of weasels. And weasels make me think of Krychek. Nope, for the sake of my blood pressure and my precarious mental health, absolutely NO ferrets." They had reached the rear of the store, where the fish inevitably resided. Damn, but she had sworn she wouldn't let him get more fish. Too easy. "Oh please, Scully! They've got angelfish, and I've been meaning to pick up some replacements. The fish babies disappeared last week, and I don't think ET was responsible." By this time, quite a few people were staring at them. One of the clerks, cleaning a fish tank, stifled a laugh. It's not every day one saw a 6 foot plus man begging and pleading with a petite redhead. Somehow, groveling was more effective when the groveler stared UP at the grovelee. "Mulder, you're making a scene. I told you earlier, no fish. You need companionship - you need a pet!" He was ready to bang his head against the wall in frustration. Why couldn't she get it through her thick skull? "I don't need a pet, Scully. I've got you." Gulp. Silence. He hadn't realized he had shouted the words out, so forcefully was he thinking them. He stole a peek at his partner, who was standing there, mouth open, obviously about ready to launch an attack once she finished plotting the most effective way to kill him without causing a mess. Yup. Dead meat. ------------ How will Mulder extricate himself from this mess? Will Scully drown him in the nearest fish tank? Will she put a collar and leash on him and walk him home? Stay tuned for the our next installment: "Or You Might Not" (lousy title, I know. I'm open to suggestions...)