CLASSIFICATION: fowl bash
SUMMARY: culinary death
RATING: G
DISTRIBUTION: Somebody actually wants this thing? Go for it.
DISCLAIMER: All X-files characters belong to Ten-Thirteen and are used with no intent to profit and most assuredly without permission.

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An Intimate Little Dinner
by Exfilia

Diana Fowley knew better than to eat Mexican food. She had no tolerance for the peppers. Once in college she'd gotten a third shift job in a cannery packing jalapenos. All she had to do was stand by the conveyor and pick out trash. She lasted three hours, and was hospitalized for three weeks. Her eyes had swollen shut, and the lining of her respiratory tract was literally burned.
So she guessed you could say she was allergic to peppers. She couldn't remember, though, if she'd ever told Fox Mulder that. She must have, during all the time they'd been together. Yet here he was at her door, with nachos, a Mexican pizza and two plates of assorted rolled up things. His eyes were bloodshot with worry, or he said it was with worry. Also he apologized for Scully's behavior.
What can you do when a man apologizes. Diana let him in and started on the most innocuous looking item. A crust rolled around a little sloppy joe filling, with some salad thrown in. Not too bad.
"You want some hot sauce on that?"
"Fox, you know I can't eat peppers."
"You can't? I'm sorry. I should have brought something else."
"Oh, don't worry."
"This stuff is good."
"You always did love it." He had. He had eaten pizza with extra peppers in front of her on more than one occasion, and she'd told him why. Why was he claiming ignorance now?
"Uh, I meant this place was good. Better than some. And I wanted it to be nice. For you, I mean. Because it hasn't been nice for you lately, and I'm sorry." Fox chose another item and took a bite. "Oh, this is good! Not hot at all, either. Here, try one."
What could she do? He was making the puppy dog eyes. Even if he hadn't been making the puppy dog eyes, she'd been told to get close to him. She couldn't refuse his overture and expect him to keep trying.
She took the item. It was a hard shell, with more sloppy joe stuff and salad. It smelled hot.
"Fox, you're not playing with me, are you?"
Mulder's face fell. Oh, hell. If he sniffled, she was going to tell the Consortium to go to Hell and spend the rest of her life trying to please Fox Mulder. She unwrapped the thing and bit.
Mistake! The juice seared her mouth, then burned down her throat. Her eyes began to water. She opened her mouth to tell Fox Mulder what she thought of him, but the requisite deep breath didn't happen. There was no pain, but her lungs wouldn't work. Mulder was grinning. He leaned over her, checking her pulse.
The veins in his bloodshot eyes were green. He saw her looking and laughed. His form started to revert, growing a little taller and much wider.
"You're wondering what I'm doing here?"
She couldn't speak, but she nodded.
"You shouldn't cross the smoker," he said, as he walked out the door.