Summary: Blair is upset about fanfic. What else is new?
Disclaimer: Paramount/Viacom, FOX/1013, and Pet Fly own you-know-who.
No copyright infringement intended.

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(SPOCK walks into Einstein's Folly and finds BLAIR shooting pool and
muttering to himself. MULDER is watching and drinking beer.)

BLAIR: Azure. Cerulean. Hazy. Midnight. Powder-blue. Sky-blue.
Ice-blue. Lapis. Cobalt. Sapphire. *Indigo*, for God's sake--

SPOCK: Blair?

BLAIR: --not to mention fucking *lilac* and God knows what else.

SPOCK: Blair, what is it you are doing?

BLAIR: I'm reciting the thesaurus and shooting pool.

(MULDER stirs and speaks up.)

MULDER: He's reciting colors fanfic writers call his eyes. Oh, and
Jim's eyes.

BLAIR: They're a nice blue. His eyes. Pale. Slightly gray. But
*ordinary*. Not six million shades. They're just eyes. (He begins to
mumble to himself.)

SPOCK: Ah. I confess that I have never suffered such a fate. My eyes
are black. Occasionally people call them dark brown, but that is all.

MULDER: You're lucky.

SPOCK: I believe you and Jim Kirk would have much to commiserate about.
Hazel. Gold. Green-flecked--

MULDER: Gray. Stormy. Little gold bubbles rising. Same shit,
different fandom.

(They watch Blair, who is still muttering under his breath, sink the
8-ball.)

MULDER: He handles that cue well.

SPOCK: And those balls.

MULDER: Those azure eyes must be good for something. Or is it
'midnight'?

SPOCK: I believe I would call it 'hazy'.

(BLAIR glares at them.)

BLAIR: Laugh it up, fuzzballs.

MULDER: As if you'd know? Do you have any idea how often I get shaved
in fanfic?

BLAIR: Not often.

MULDER: Well, if it's the right kind of fanfic.

BLAIR: Just shut up.

(He grabs his coat and heads for the door.)

SPOCK: Where are you going?

BLAIR: I'm going to get some color contacts. I'm thinking yellow and
red stripes. I'd like to see them 'indigo' that.

MULDER: You mean 'azure'.

(BLAIR slams the door as he leaves.)

MULDER: That man has no sense of humor.

SPOCK: At least he is not morose.

MULDER: Are you saying I'm morose?

SPOCK: Yes.

MULDER: Well, you have no sense of humor, *and* you're morose.

SPOCK: Are you certain?

MULDER: Yes.

SPOCK: Ah. Perhaps I should not have put the aphrodisiac in your beer,
then. That would be out of character.

MULDER: Oh, God. Is this going to be another trip to HunkaHunka Burnin'
Vulcan Land? I'm still sore from the last time...

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The End