Friday evening
Hoover Building
 

The first thing Mulder noticed when he stepped off the
elevator was the lightning flashing from the window in
the outside darkness. One of the many disadvantages to
working in the basement was that he never knew when it
started to rain, he thought. The storm outside looked
nasty, and he had no idea how long it had been
brewing. Maybe he should start watching the weather
reports in the morning, just so he'd remember to wear
an overcoat. He was going to get soaked tonight on his
way home.

The second thing he noticed was that Skinner's
assistant had more foresight than he did. As he
entered her space outside the AD's office, she was
tugging her raincoat over her arm. She looked up at
him, and smiled regretfully.

"You just missed him. Mr. Skinner left for the day
about five minutes ago."

A quick glance at Skinner's closed door brought a
frown to Mulder's face. Damn, he'd wanted to get his
signature on a 302 so he could take off for North
Dakota. There'd been some reports of a possible
vampire up there that looked promising. Now he was
going to have to wait until Monday.

"Thanks, Kim. Have a nice weekend," he said, and
strode toward the elevator, hoping, but not expecting,
to catch Skinner down at his car. Lately, when the AD
left for the day, he *left*. Mulder sometimes wished
he had the same capacity to turn off his work button
as Skinner did these days.

"Wait up," she called. "I'll go down with you."
Scooping her purse from her desk, and grabbing the
handles of a large paper shopping bag and her
umbrella, she turned off the lights of her office and
locked the door while he held the elevator for her.
Mulder checked his watch and was surprised to see it
was almost 6:30pm. That would explain why the halls
were so empty; on Fridays, most people, except for the
devoted few like himself, made themselves scarce by
five on the dot.

He'd guess he'd have to include Kim Cook among his
fellow workaholics. He stole a glance at her while
they stood next to each other in the descending
elevator. To be frank, he never really noticed her
much, except as an obstacle in his way toward Skinner
most of the time. She wasn't really grabbing his
interest now, either, although he admitted her
dedication to work was impressive. If he thought about
it a little more, it shouldn't have been all that
unusual; Skinner, and his legendary temper, could chew
up and spit out a weak or useless admin like offensive
sunflower seed husks. Kim had lasted for years, hell
she'd even thrived in the pressure cooker.

Suddenly, the elevator lurched, then stopped.

Since they'd been standing in the middle of the space,
both of them stumbled, and grabbed at opposing walls.
The overhead lights quickly went out, then the dimmer
emergency lights flickered to life.

Kim shot him an annoyed look. "Did you press the stop
button?"

"No." <Jeez, give me some credit, would ya?>

She pulled herself off the wall she'd fallen against,
and leaned across to pull out the emergency button.
Nothing happened. "Damn," they muttered in unison.

"I think we just lost electricity," Mulder guessed.

"The storm," she agreed. Then she closed her eyes.
"What do you think the chances are that anybody's left
down in maintenance still?"

"Slim to none."

"I was afraid you'd say that." Yanking open the phone
box in the panel beside her, she groaned when she saw
the receiver was missing. "Typical. Is there one on
your side?"

He checked, and found the same situation at his panel.
"Nope. Hope you're not claustrophobic, because it
looks like we're going to be here awhile."

Mulder had to stifle a laugh when he saw the scowl
that appeared to his immediate right. <I wonder if
Scully and I have reached that point, where our facial
expressions mimic each other>, he mused. The look on
Kimberly Cook's face was a mirror image of the one he
saw far too often on Skinner's. There was no doubt
she'd worked for the big guy for too many years if she
was able to imitate him without even trying.

Kim let go of her purse and her shopping bag, and held
her hand out to Mulder. "Give me your cell phone. I'll
call maintenance and let them know we're here. If it's
not an outage, they can come and get us."

"I can dial a phone, Kim," he smirked.

"Really? What's their number?" she shot back, grinning
slyly at him.

Boy, she's not the quiet little doormat I thought she
was, he thought, as he handed her the phone in defeat.
She had him there; he wouldn't know the number for
that department if his life depended on it. He looked
more closely at her as she spoke to someone who
thankfully picked up at the other end. She was
actually a pretty woman, with that luminous milky
complexion that typically went with red-haired women
like her.

<Like Scully,> his mind automatically compared.

The two women were about the same height, too.
Scully's features were more delicate, but he certainly
wouldn't call Kim's blunt or unappealing. Her overcoat
was agape, and her white blouse was tucked neatly into
a dark blue skirt. Now that he was taking a good long
look at her, he could see that she was more buxom than
he'd noticed in the past. Great legs, too, with her
shapely calves flowing very nicely down to a pair of
matching dark blue shoes. Upon closer inspection, he
saw that while her outfit was in line with Bureau
protocol, her footwear just edged along improper - the
heels were almost stilettos and they held onto her
back tendon with a tiny strap around the heel. <Those
were some very sexy shoes>, then mentally slapped
himself for the thought. For one, she was Skinner's
secretary, and for two, well......she just looked too
much like Scully for him not to compare them. And
while Kim was attractive, she wasn't who he really
wanted.

She wasn't Scully, damn it.

Kim disconnected, and looked over at him, clearly
frustrated. "Stu says there's a block-wide outage. He
has no idea how long it'll be. We're stuck here for
the duration."

Great. Stuck in an elevator with a near stranger.
Lovely way to spend your Friday night, Mulder. But
hey, he thought with a half-smile, it beat chasing
fluke-worms down sewers.

"So, you got anything to eat in your purse? I haven't
had dinner yet."

She snorted, and shook her head. "Sorry. Can I use
your phone again? My, ah, boyfriend's waiting
downstairs for me. I should tell him what's going on."

He cocked an eyebrow, but nodded his approval.
<Boyfriend, huh. At least someone around here had a
life.> Kim punched in a number quickly, then turned
toward the panel in an effort to keep her conversation
private. The small size of the enclosed space made
that a useless gesture.

"Hi, honey, it's me......No, I'm fine. But I'm stuck
in the elevator......No, there's nothing you can do. I
already spoke with maintenance ......Hmm? ......Don't
worry, I'm not alone. Agent Mulder's here with me. You
should--......no, hon, just go home. It could be
hours. I'll cab it there when I get out." She gave a
small laugh. "Yes, I've got them. Prepare to be duly
impressed... ...Okay, I'll see you later tonight. Hey,
can you make sure there's something to eat when I get
there? I suspect I'm going to be starving
......Thanks. Bye."

She hung up, and handed back the phone to Mulder. "You
can go ahead and turn off the power. I should conserve
the battery just in case," he said.

With a small frown, she complied, and finished handing
him the phone. "Thanks for letting me borrow it. Don't
you have anybody to call and tell them you're going to
be late?"

<I wish>, he thought. "My fish haven't figured out how
to pick up the receiver yet. I'm working on teaching
them the skill, but they're stubborn little brats."

She gave him a smile of condolence, and fell silent.
Mulder was pretty much at a loss as to what to say
next; he couldn't recall ever having any type of
conversation with her in all the years they'd both
worked for the same man. They both fidgeted, looked at
their watches, shifted around aimlessly. Kim rifled
through her purse but didn't remove anything. Mulder
fingered the keys in his pocket until he even he was
annoyed by the muffled clinking. An awkward stillness
filled the air, enhanced with a couple of furtive
looks and strained smiles at each other. After about
fifteen minutes, she suddenly bent over, and slipped
off her shoes with a sigh of relief.

"Making yourself comfortable?"

Kim smiled, and sat down in a corner, wiggling her
stocking-clad toes as she spread her legs out in front
of her. "Might as well. It could be a while. And my
feet are killing me today. Take a seat."

So he joined her on the floor at the opposite corner,
bending his knees up, and resting his forearms across
them so his hands dangled. This topic was as good as
any, he mused. "Well the shoes are very nice, but why
wear ones that don't fit?"

She laughed. "They fit fine, they're just new.
Breaking in a new pair can be a pain in the ass."

"Or a pain in the metatarsus," he snickered.

"Mmm," she agreed. "Why, Agent Mulder, are you a shoe
aficionado?"

"Are you asking if I have a fetish?"

She gave him a curious glance. "There's a big
difference between a fetish and a healthy respect for
one of life's pure pleasures. Surely a sophisticated
man like you sees that."

"Shoes are one of life's pure pleasures?"

"Of course."

He parted his legs a little further to examine his own
shoes. Black leather, no laces, bland; they were
serviceable, practical shoes. The same brand and style
he'd been wearing since Quantico. When they got too
scuffed, or started to come apart at the sole from the
miles he put on them or from the mud he found himself
far too often sludging through, he threw them out and
bought the exact same pair.

"I'm a sneaker fan myself." He supposed that was true.
On his off-hours, he wore only that type of footwear.
In fact, he had dozens of them, in lots of styles:
basketball, running, even a old beat-up pair of Keds
from his boating days on the Vineyard.

She made a face. "Bo-ring. Maybe it's more of a woman
thing. Agent Scully would understand what I mean."

He laughed at the idea. Practical, no-nonsense Scully,
drooling over a kicky little sandal or a fuck-me pump?
"You don't know her very well, do you?"

"I know her well enough. I've seen the ones she wears.
That yummy strapless pair she wore to the Christmas
ball last year must have set her back two hundred
bucks, at least."

Mulder gaped at Kim. She remembered a pair of shoes
she'd seen more than six months ago? He could barely
recall the ones his partner had worn *today*, for
God's sakes. He closed his eyes to try to conjure up
the image, but only got as far as her shoulders. It
was Scully's face that captured his interest most of
the time. Those full lips moving so enticingly as she
talked, her blue eyes dancing with intelligence, her
lifted amused eyebrow at his more whacked-out
theories. There were days he was positive that red
curve was going to connect with her matching hairline,
it shot up so high.

"Agent Mulder, can I ask you a personal question?"
Kim's voice broke into his reverie. He opened his eyes
to see her giving him a thoughtful look.

"Sure."

"Have you and Scully gotten together yet?"

Once he picked his chin up off the floor, Mulder
looked over at the security camera above the panel
closest to him. Since there wasn't any electricity he
doubted it was working. If not, he'd just break into
the guard station and steal the tape. Still, it
wouldn't be wise to take any chances.

"Gotten together?" he hedged.

"You know what I mean."

Deciding to goad her a little, he spread his hands
helplessly. "I'm afraid I don't. Agent Scully and I
get 'together' often, for lunch and often dinner, when
we're out of town on business. Is that what you mean?"

Kim looked perturbed at his evasion. "No. Let me be
more blunt, then. Are you and Agent Scully fucking
yet?"

<Whoa. Way to put it right there out on the table,
Kim.>

"Fraternizing with your co-workers is against Bureau
regulations," he admonished, preferring to use a less
colorful word than 'fucking'. Hearing her say it in
the same sentence as 'Scully' had evaporated all his
saliva.

An eye-roll was his reward for his futile stab at
discretion. "Yes, Mulder, I've always admired your
eager desire to follow the rules. You're a role model
to us all. Seriously, are you?"

He debated avoiding the question, argued with himself
over it for a good long time, but in the end heard
himself say, in what could only be described as a
pathetic mumble, "No."

"Well, why not?"

"She's not interested in me." Now that sounded
distinctly like a whine.

Good God, was there some kind of truth serum in the
air of this damn elevator? It did seem unreasonably
hot all of a sudden. He stared at a non-existent spot
on the floor for a long beat, praying the electricity
would come back on so he could escape. Hoped upon hope
for a bright white light and a blissful retreat into a
UFO. Battling aliens seemed far easier than being
right where he was at the moment. What the hell was he
doing, talking about any of this, with Skinner's
*secretary*, of all people? And how had they gotten on
this topic, anyways?

Her voice was surprisingly firm. "You're wrong. She's
very interested."

"How do you know? Did you and Scully become bosom
buddies when I wasn't looking?"

"No," she laughed. "I've had as many conversations
with her as I've had with you. But she doesn't have to
say anything. I can tell just from looking at her."

"Boy, Skinner's gonna hand me my ass on a platter when
I tell him we've got to open a new X File. I'm sure he
has no idea his admin is clairvoyant," he remarked
sarcastically.

Kim laughed again, but her expression was serious.
"Mulder, in my position I can see a lot more than
you'd think. I know you ignore me most of the time,
and I don't mind. We clericals understand that we get
about as much recognition from you agents as the
office furniture does. But I've got eyes, and a degree
in sociology from Georgetown that's going to waste
while I staple and paper-clip my little heart out. You
do know what sociology is, don't you?"

"The study of human behavior in a social setting," he
responded instantly, his unease shifting to a growing
respect for her. He supposed she did have a
fly-on-the-wall perspective. And she certainly was
bright enough.

"Exactly. So I watch, and I pay attention. Would you
like to know what I see?"

"Please, enlighten me," he smiled.

She treated him to an answering smile. "Just to ease
your mind, I should tell you that, for the most part,
you're both very discreet about what you feel for each
other. To a casual observer, you would appear to be
just as you seem, partners who work closely together,
and who enjoy each other's company a great deal. I
would even venture to say you're each other's best
friends."

"So far, so good," he admitted. "But you, being the
covert profiler you are, see beyond that."

"Yes, I do," she giggled. "I wish I could hold up a
mirror to you both when you're sitting on the couch in
my office, waiting for Skinner. The body language,
especially from you, is unmistakable. Plus, all those
half-joking comments I hear you make all the time."

His eyebrow lifted in a mute question mark.

She mimicked his voice so well, he cringed. "Scully,
should we be picking out china patterns? Scully, I
think I'm falling in love. Scully, I......"

"I got it, I got it," he begged her to stop, waving
his hands in surrender. "But how can you tell that she
returns my feelings?"

Kim leaned over, and picked up her shoe in her hand,
waving it at him suggestively.

"Her shoes? You can tell Scully's got the hots for me
from her *shoes*?" he asked, incredulous. He'd heard,
and had personally spouted, more than a few wild
theories in his day, but this one really took the
cake.

"Oh yeah. Haven't you ever noticed?" She snorted,
shaking her head. "No, of course you haven't. We've
already ascertained you're not a shoe guy, which is a
true shame."

"I'm dying to hear your analysis of Scully's footwear.
Please continue."

Kim leaned forward, her hands moving animatedly,
getting into the topic. "Let me explain something
about women's clothes, Agent Mulder. Unlike men, most
females don't throw on any old thing, unless we're
hanging out at home eating Ben & Jerry's with our
little toes encased in bunny slippers. Our outfits
usually send a message, or we use them to symbolize
who we want outsiders to know we are. A smart, capable
woman like Dana Scully wears a lot of professional
suits, almost like armor, to protect her image as an
equal to the men around her, to downplay her
femininity. Do you remember, when she was first
assigned to the X Files, all those dumpy sacks of
cloth she used to hide in?"

He nodded. He'd been very glad when she started
wearing more form-fitting clothes. And now that he
thought about it, even those were sternly proper. As
were Kim's.

"The more respect she was garnering from you, the more
I noticed she changed her wardrobe. I'm guessing she
was less concerned with her perceived image as she
began to realize she could probably wear a paper bag,
and you'd think she was brilliant and competent." Kim
smiled at his look of astonishment. "But her
shoes......now, they send an entirely different
message."

"And what message is that?" This chance encounter was
turning up all sorts of unexpected revelations, about
himself, about Scully, and about the woman trapped
with him in the elevator. She was smarter, and
funnier, than he gave her credit. If it weren't for
Scully, he'd be on the verge of asking Kim to pick out
china patterns.

"That she is a woman, and a very sexual one, at that."

Good Lord, he hoped she was right about this. But for
the life of him, he couldn't recall a single time he'd
ever looked at Scully's feet. Oddly enough, when he
tried, it was a sound that came to his mind, instead
of an image. A tapping. He screwed his eyes shut to
concentrate on where he'd heard it. Tap, tap,
tap......

It was the sound of Scully walking down his hallway to
his apartment. The secret signal that she was
approaching that he always caught just before she
knocked on his door.

The little sound of her that made his dick twitch in
his pants every damn time.

"Scully wears heels," he said, dejected. "But I can't
picture them."

"You don't have to," Kim said, clapping her hands in
delight. "The fact she's wearing them is all you need
to know."

"Huh?"

He opened his eyes to see Kim holding her shoe up for
inspection. "Does this look like something you'd want
to wear running after criminals or monsters?"

"N-noooo," he drawled. Scully wore heels during all of
their misadventures? He suddenly got an image of that
actress who'd portrayed her in that stupid movie
asking her to run around the studio, to show her how
she did it. Having never worn a pair of high heels,
Mulder hadn't really considered how difficult it would
be. His feet, in his practical and dull footwear, hurt
enough at the end of most days.

"Exactly. And they probably get ruined every time she
does an autopsy. Formaldehyde and blood is hell on
expensive leather, I imagine. So we can assume she's
not wearing them for comfort, or because they make her
work easier. Then why is she?"

"To make herself taller?" he guessed, his mood
brightening considerably as he finally put the pieces
together of why, jokes aside, she went to the trouble.
But he wanted to hear it from the shoe expert to his
right, before he jumped to
conclusions.

"No. She wears them for *you*. She's a very serious
woman, and if she started flirting with you, like you
do with her, it would be outrageously out of
character, and everyone would know. Agent Scully's
worked very hard to build her reputation, and having
people think of her as just a woman who's hot for her
partner would be disastrous. And given Bureau dress
code, it's not as if she can wear a slinky outfit to
work to send you any kind of hint. So all she's got
left to work with are her shoes. But you, you big
dummy, you don't even look at her feet, do you?"

"No," he said forlornly. God, how many years had he
wasted assuming Scully wasn't interested? Maybe she'd
changed her mind already; he'd have to see what she
wore on Monday before he got his hopes up again.

"Well, you've been missing out," she admonished.
"Because Scully's got fabulous taste in footwear.
Almost as good as me."

Since it was true confession time, he decided to turn
the spotlight on Kim. "So tell me, what message do you
send with those pumps? And who are you sending it to?"

She gave him a mysterious smile. "To my boyfriend, of
course. I wore these because I knew I'd be seeing him
tonight. Now he understands the purpose and beauty of
a well-constructed heel."

"A fetishist," Mulder teased.

"Hardly. It took him a while to read the signals I
sent with my feet, too, but he caught on fast once he
did. I suspect he likes my shoes almost more than I
do, by now." Then she laughed. "Boy, you should have
heard him ask me if I remembered to bring my new
purchase with me tonight."

Mulder's gaze went over to her shopping bag. He
finally noticed the label from Joan & David. A shoe
store, he assumed. "Can I see what you bought?"

She squinted at him, debating. "I dunno. I don't think
you're ready for 'em quite yet. You sort of have to
work your way up to a pair like these."

"I think I can handle it," he scoffed. "Besides, it'll
give me a goal to reach for."

She laughed, but dipped her hand into the bag,
rustling tissue paper for a few seconds. Soon she was
holding up a boot for his inspection, and Mulder was
stunned into silence, very grateful he was sitting
with his legs up so she couldn't see the shockingly
strong physical reaction in his pants that the boot
created.

It wasn't just any old boot. It was a fire-engine red,
silver-toed, do-me-right-now-up-against-the-wall,
cowboy boot. He got an immediate mental image of
Kimberly Cook wearing the pair of them and nothing
else, and his dick congratulated his brain for such a
pleasant idea. But when he changed the woman in the
picture to Dana Scully, every nerve ending in his body
died a very happy death.

"Kimberly, your boyfriend is a lucky, lucky man," he
sighed dreamily, and she giggled.

"Thanks. I'll tell him you said so."

As she put it back into the bag, he considered himself
a convert. Shoes really did make the woman. "Do you
really think she'd wear something like that? For me?"

"Well, maybe not these exactly. They're not for the
faint of heart. But that's not the point of why I'm
telling you this stuff. I just wanted you to see
there's hope."

"What do you recommend I do, Dear Abby?" he queried,
only half-joking.

Her eyebrow lifted, very similar to the look Scully
shot him when she thought he was acting as dense as a
forest. "Have you considered just asking her on a
*date*, Agent Mulder?"

A date. Well, that certainly seemed logical, and
simple, but there wasn't anything about his
relationship with Scully that could be described as
either of those two things.

He was puzzling what kind of date he should ask Scully
on when the elevator shook, and the motor came back to
life. The lights switched over from the emergency ones
to the regular fluorescents, as both he and Kim looked
at each other, grinning.

"Not bad. Only an hour," she said, pulling back on her
navy pumps, and gathering up her bags and umbrella.

"I'm sure your boyfriend will be thrilled to see you
earlier than he figured," Mulder answered, graciously
helping her back up to a vertical position.
"Especially with your new purchase."

Kim laughed, and within a few minutes, the doors
opened at the first floor. She waved off his offer of
a ride home, pointing out the plate-glass windows of
the foyer. "The rain's died down, so grabbing a cab
shouldn't be too tough. Have a nice weekend."

"Kim." Mulder grabbed her elbow as she turned away.
"I...I want to thank you for the lesson, and the
advice."

She shook his proffered hand, smiling. "It was my
pleasure. And good luck."
 

++++

Monday
Hoover Building

Mulder stood in the elevator bay of the parking lot,
waiting. Over the weekend, he'd put a lot of thought
into what kind of a date he should ask Scully on, and
he had a few ideas already brewing. But oddly enough,
he wanted to ask Kim her advice before taking the
plunge. Maybe he'd swing by her office before heading
to the basement, and see if she'd go get some coffee
with him, so he could ask her in private.

He heard a purposeful stride behind him, and turned to
see Skinner coming toward the bay. The big man nodded
a greeting to him, an amused twinkle in his eye. "I'm
not sure I should take the chance of going up with
you. I heard you had some problems traveling in one of
these on Friday."

As they both watched the illuminated buttons over the
door slowly descend from 12 to 10, then stop, a
question popped into Mulder's head. If Skinner was
just coming in, then how did he know about what
happened on Friday night, after he'd left work?

"You know, I've never really spoken to Kim before that
night. She's a remarkable woman," he offered, testing
the waters. Skinner merely shrugged.

"And she's got excellent taste in shoes," he
continued. Still no vocal response, but the AD seemed
to be resolutely watching the lighted panel, as if he
were unable to look Mulder in the eye.

Then the great idea struck. He glanced around the lot
to make sure no one was coming, and pulled his cell
phone out of his pocket. He hadn't used it all
weekend, so he casually hit re-dial. The last number
Kim called. The man she called 'honey'.

Skinner's cell phone, clipped to his hip, began to
ring.

He didn't bother to answer it; he simply turned, at
last, to face Mulder.

And flashed him a wolfish grin.

"Yes, she does, Mulder," Skinner finally said. "Yes,
she does."

THE END
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