He Said, He Said: Exaiphnes Commentary
Written by Rachel and Marti
AUTHORS' NOTES: A little Exaiphnes metafiction -- we got to wondering how
Tim and Mulder would respond to all the things we've said about them.
Since we each feel we understand one of the characters better than the
other, each of us wrote half of this and finished it before reading the
other half. We made only minor stylistic changes after that. Basically,
it turns out they know each other pretty well by now.
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on the characters and situations created by
Chris Carter, the Fox Network and Ten Thirteen Productions as well as NBC
and Baltimore Pictures. As such, the characters named are the property of
those entities and are used without permission, although no copyright
infringements are intended.
Part I: The Real Mulder
Okay -- I usually don't talk about my private life that much, but the time has come to set things
straight. It appears that you've been reading about me and Mulder in these stories that Marti and
Rachel write, and let me tell you, they are *so* far from the truth. They make it look like all we
ever do is fight and have sex. I mean, there's more to life than that. Sure, they pick the episodes
with the most dramatic impact -- and I can tell you that camping trip was every bit as miserable as
Marti said it was -- but most of the time our lives aren't dramatic at all. We have to pay bills and
take out the garbage just like everyone else.
To begin with, we both work sixty or more hours a week. When we come home, we're *tired.*
We just want to read our mail, eat dinner, watch some TV. And one thing that has always amazed
me about Mulder is that he can do all these things at once. I don't know if you'd call it multitasking
or what, but he'll have the TV on and be reading his e-mail, even writing back to people, plus he'll
have a magazine open on the desk next to him to read when he's waiting for files to load or
whatever. The first time we sat down to watch a video together and he pulled out a magazine, I
thought he just wasn't paying attention, until I realized that's how he always does it. Me, I have to
do one thing at a time. I can't even read with music playing.
Music is one thing we don't really agree on either. You know Mulder picks on me for listening to
dance music, Erasure and stuff, but I liked it long before I knew that any of us -- me or them --
were gay. I think he thinks it's too repetitive, or soulless, or something, but I like stuff with some
life to it. Everything he listens to is morose -- grunge, Metallica ballads. So slow, so ponderous,
Another thing we've never agreed on is food. I can't believe how he can go for days without eating
a single vegetable. If it doesn't come frozen in a box, he won't eat it. I keep trying to introduce
him to new things out of the Moosewood cookbook -- north African couscous, curried stir-fry
vegetables, stuff with some *flavor* to it. And I make him go with me to Margaret's once in a
while. He'll eat the stuff, and sometimes even admit to liking it, but I know he would never cook it
himself. Not that he cooks anyway. Once he tried to make spaghetti sauce, and he misread the
recipe and put in a tablespoon of pepper instead of a teaspoon, so it was inedible. Now there's no
way he'll ever stop eating Ragu.
Most of the time we do agree on what TV shows to watch, except that I really like Millenium and
he thinks it's too much like work. I've recently gotten hooked on those VH-1 Behind the Music
things -- you know, the pathos, the sober reflection on a misspent youth. And he has a strange
preoccupation with the Lifetime made-for-TV-movie, for some ungodly reason, though he gives
them the MST3K treatment. One fascination he's developed since he met me is Loveline, that
late-night MTV show. I think it's depressing to see how neurotic all the callers are, but he can't get
enough. Maybe it's the psychologist in him. He ends up telling the callers' stories to people later,
almost like they're people he knows, like that one where the woman thought the guy on JAG
looked just like her ex-husband.
One TV viewing habit I wish he'd get over is the porn. I know men are supposed to be more
visually stimulated, blah, blah, blah, but I never did understand it. It's not even that I think it's
degrading to women, although much of it probably is. I just think it's boring and clinical.
Fortunately, he doesn't watch it or talk about it when I'm around. But there was that one time
when I got home earlier than I expected to, and he was stretched out on the couch, with some
couple writhing on the screen in front of him. At least he had his pants on; thank heaven for small
favors. I don't want to end up calling Loveline myself. "Dr. Drew, I came home the other day to
find my boyfriend..."
Other annoying habits? Here's something you probably don't know. It's hard to get him out of the
bathroom in the morning, mostly because he spends a lot of time on his *hair.* It's so short, I
don't see what he could need to do to it, but he's always concerned that it's parted just right. Me,
on the other hand...I once shaved mine off so I didn't have to fool with it. I'm even tempted to do
that again, since it's getting kind of long and hanging over my collar. But I'm never going to worry
about it like he does. God, I think he might even have some *mousse* in there.
So, this is the kind of stuff Marti and Rachel won't tell you. They always rave about his tawny
skin (tawny?? oh, come on.) and his pouty lower lip and his brooding intensity -- but then they
never had to watch him clip his toenails. Trust me, all the mystique goes right out the window.
And they don't tell you that he snores, and doesn't leave me a lot of room on the bed, and always
wants more blankets than I do.
But, then, it's still worth it to have him sleeping next to me. So Marti and Rachel are right about
that much. Just don't let them fool you on the other stuff.
Except the bondage stories -- those are true.
And, by the way, we do *not* hire the housekeeping out; I do it all.
Part II: The Real Tim
Tim just came in here with another one of his "Zen" ideas, and so here I am trying to get some of
my "emotions and feelings" out on the screen for all of you. Please bear with me. I may have a
degree in psychology, but sharing is not one of my strong skills. Anyway, you've been taking a
look at our world through the rose-colored glasses that Rachel and Marti seemed to have tattooed
on their heads and I would like to set things straight as well.
First of all . . . can I start with the whole Exaiphnes thing. I've studied a little bit of the ancient
languages and what's it with this fan fiction thing and the Greek? Quite frankly, I think they are
just trying to prove to all of you that they aren't fourteen. Believe me, they aren't and they have
the bottles of Oil of Olay to prove it. Oh, but I was supposed to be talking about me and the
Hooking up with Tim Bayliss has been a, well, a pretty weird experience. If I had known what
was going to happen when Scully and I pulled up to that house last fall, I'm not sure I would have
gotten out of the car. First of all, until we had that *big* moment where we realized we were a
little more than just buddies, I had never entertained the notion of homosexuality. I figured that
some night I'd get drunk and Scully would tie one on and we'd finally hook up. Man, I hope she
wasn't pinning all of her dreams on me as well.
So, where was I? Yeah, I'm supposed to tell you what life with Tim is really like. Well, it ain't as
pretty as it sounds. Did I mention yet that he picks his feet? While we're watching TV he sits in
his chair -- that's right, *his* chair -- and picks at the dead skin on his feet. I may not be much of
a housekeeper (we hire it out) but that's gross. Just imagine the Thinker there in your Lazy-Boy
just picking away.
He does cook, and quite well, but man, what the hell is it? I think I may have moved him off the
tofu kick, but I have yet to put my hands on some red meat in this house. And all those years of
bachelor living kind of ruined me for the schedule of eating when somebody else is hungry. Some
days I like to just come home, read my e-mail, check out DejaNews and call it a day. Other times
I like to stay up all night. Tim, he's run by a schedule. Dinner at six, bed at 11:30, back up the
next morning at 6:30.
Yes, that's right...6:30 a.m. Not 5:45. Contrary to what they might have told you, Tim very rarely
gets up with me in the morning and he never -- and I mean never -- makes me coffee. Hell, he
bitches when I disturb him in the morning so that I can get down to DC and actually make a living
so we can take nice vacations like that trip to New Orleans. That whole morning before I left for
Minnesota? Anomalous all the way around. Also, he always makes me take out the trash.
Okay, picks his toes, sleeps in, no trash . . . oh, but did I mention the back rubs? He gives
incredible back rubs. I think Marti or Rachel might have mentioned that once. He also listens to
me bitch about my job, Kersh (when I still worked for him), Scully, the shitty rental cars we get.
He listens to it all and then tries to put it in perspective for me. The man is downright unflappable.
I guess all in all, I'm pretty damn lucky that we got the call on that bombing case. As much as it
might have looked like a dog's life, sitting home every night on my couch watching porn was really
not that fulfilling. I do miss the waterbed, but not much else.
Oh yeah, if you're wondering . . . the sex, it's all made up. Natural lubrication . . . my ass, literally.