By Kel
ckelll@hotmail.com
 

Date: 9 Jan 2002 17:58:18 -0800
MSR, G-rated fluff, Humor
Thanks to the beta army:
  Linda, Linda, Laura, Kate, Judy, Foxsong, and Tre.
Disclaimer: I stole 'em fair and square.
 

Ricochet (1/1)
 
 

I don't know if all chicks have a thing for FBI agents, but the chicks
who stand in line for the FBI tour have it bad.  I didn't have to wait
in line because I have a friend in the FBI.  A friend in need, on this
occasion.

The guard wasn't willing to take my word for it, though.  Mulder had to
meet me at the entrance and escort me inside personally.

"Do you have them?" he asked furtively.

"You'll get them," I assured him.  "Soon as you take care of your end
of the deal."

"I can't," he said.  "I have to have them first."

"Well..." I let him stew a little.  "I guess I can trust you. I'm sure
Agent Scully would help me out if there were any problems."  I handed
him the envelope.

"If you bring Scully into this, the whole deal is off," he said.  "You
got that?"

"Oh, take a pill," I told him.  "Scully doesn't need my help to figure
out what a drip you are."

He checked the envelope and smiled.

"I'm in business!"  There was quiet triumph in his voice.  I guess you
can't yell "Yippee" inside the J. Edgar Hoover Building.

"Hey!  We've got a deal.  *We're* in business," I reminded him.

= = = =

Several hours later I was taking the tour.  It was a large group, but
mostly families and couples.  Our guide beckoned me over before the
tour began.

"You're Richard Langly?" he asked me.  "Agent Mulder said you might
want to skip this part."

I highly recommend the FBI tour, if you're ever in DC.  Most people
will tell you that the highlight of the tour is the firearms
demonstration.

They are so right.

A different guide accompanied me to the room where they hold the demo.
The FBI definitely frowns on allowing visitors to wander around by
themselves.

The group here was about ninety percent school children.  I forced
myself into a crowded row near the front.  That seemed to be where all
the hot babes were sitting.

The curtain opened and there, behind the protective barrier, was my
closest friend, Special Agent Fox Mulder, looking mighty pleased with
himself for a man who'd just given away a pair of Redskins tickets.

"Oh, my," said a feminine voice behind me.

"Yes, indeed," answered her companion.

"I know him," I whispered to the woman on my left, a blonde in a really
tight sweater.  I think she snorted at me.

"Good morning.  I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder, of the Federal Bureau of
Investigation," Mulder said.  "Today I will demonstrate a variety of
weapons and talk a little about gun safety and crime prevention.
Afterward, there will be time for questions and answers."

"Briefs or boxers?" shouted one of the women behind me.  Mulder
pretended he didn't hear her.

"Boxers," I whispered helpfully.

"Male aggressiveness.  It's a disease," said the woman to my left.  I
was about to answer her when I realized she wasn't talking to me.  She
was talking across me, to an equally gorgeous brunette on my right.

"Uterus envy.  They can't bear children, so they become obsessed with
guns," the brunette commented.

"How, mister, many bad guys did you shoot?" called a kid from the other
side of the room.

Mulder reminded us that he'd be available to answer our questions at
the end of the demonstration.  Then he showed us some nice shooting,
with a revolver, an automatic, and even a small machine gun.

"Seems sort of pathetic, compared to the miracle of birth," I said to
my blond neighbor.

"Oh my God, he is so hot," said one of the women behind me.

Most of the women I know agree about that, and yet Mulder hasn't been
laid since Reagan was President.  I couldn't swear to it in court, but
I'm pretty sure.  Look at it this way:  if it wasn't true, why would
Mulder trade away two tickets at the fifty-yard line for the chance to
do the firearms demonstration?

The buzz around the FBI was that anyone could score with the hard-core
FBI groupies who showed up for the firearms demo.  Even if you looked
like a warthog and smelled like a monkey, as long as you walked the walk
and talked the talk, those chicks were yours.

The same little clique has been conducting the demonstration for the
last fifteen years.  Here and there they'll give somebody else a
chance, but they're a mercenary crew and it doesn't come cheap.

The ladies behind me sounded lust-crazed all right.  Oddly I'd landed
in a row of feminist pacifists, but I was hoping to make it work for me
anyway.

"I could just eat him up," said one of the voices behind me.

"Yum," agreed her friend.

I'm not the best-looking guy in the world and I'm not above tagging
after a guy like Mulder to choose from his left-overs.  The question is
why a guy like Mulder has to finagle himself a gig at the firearms
demonstration to find himself a little lovin'.

I have a theory about that.

Mulder came out from behind the plastic barrier to field questions from
the crowd.  The school kids mobbed around him and he let himself get
caught up in their admiration.

Myself, I'd learned that the brunette's name was Yvonne, and she
appreciated how free I was from the usual macho hang-ups.  Her group
was scheduled for a lecture/luncheon at the National Gallery, but she
would meet me later in front of the Air and Space Museum.

Mulder was still talking to the children about how cool it looks when
you're shooting in the dark and you can see that little jet of flame.
The women behind me were giggling to themselves.  Actually, it sounded
like they were taking inventory or something.

"His shoulders," said one.

"His neck."

"That nose."

"The jaw."

"Those lips."

"That =lower= lip."

Finally the teachers herded the kids along.  I was thinking that the
ladies in the row behind me would get their chance, until I heard
another voice.

That brings us to Special Agent Dana Scully.  Mulder's partner.  His
friend.  Hey, if I had a friend like that, I wouldn't be cruising the
FBI tour.  Just one of the differences between Mulder and me.

I've pondered the question of why Mr. Chick-magnet would trade away his
football tickets to parade himself in front of the G-man-fans,
and it always brings me back to Agent Scully.

Either Mulder is a pitiful waste of studliness who doesn't even realize
his dream-babe is the one who doesn't have to take the FBI tour to
watch him handle a gun.

Or else he's a twisted genius.

"I have a question."  Scully was way in the back of the room, but her
voice pierced through the conversation and murmurs around me.

"Uh, Agent Scully," Mulder said.  "I, uh, got roped into running the
firearms demonstration."

"Ricocheting.  My question is about ricocheting," Scully persisted.

"Ricocheting.  When the projectile is diverted by impact against a
primary or unintended target," Mulder said uneasily.

"Yes.  I was wondering if you had any concern about one of your
projectiles glancing off the rear wall and striking you, say, in the
abdomen.  Or lower," she said.

"Agent Scully, is something wrong?" he asked.

The room had fallen into a hushed silence, and everyone who remained
was intent on the little drama before us.

"Skinner.  Ten o'clock.  I was there.  You were not," she said.

"I was confident you could handle the meeting without my help."  He was
smirking a little.  "Agent Bailey asked me to take over the firearms
demonstration, as a favor to him."

"A favor for Agent Bailey," she pronounced skeptically.

"That's correct, Agent Scully.  A favor for Agent Bailey," Mulder
confirmed.

"Agent Charles Bailey who has tickets for the sold-out Redskins game
this Sunday," she said.

I took a step back so I could blend in with the other spectators.

"He just happened to mention that?" Mulder asked.

"He did, when he invited me to the game.  But I had another question
about firearms," Scully said.

"I think our time is up," Mulder said, trying to wave the ladies and me
toward the door.

"She's playing with him," one of the ladies commented.

"He's even cuter when he's squirming," another one observed.

"What grip do you prefer?  A poor choice of grip can lead to the
heartbreak of dropping your gun," she said.  "Has that ever happened to
you, Agent Mulder?"

"Folks, there's a really neat gift shop," Mulder said with a weak
smile.  Nobody was moving.

"Perhaps you'd like to comment about honesty between partners."
Scully was staring him down, and the women in the room were looking
back and forth from her to Mulder.

"Is it hot in here?" one of them asked.

"Are you going to the game with Agent Bailey?" Mulder asked, studying
his shoes.

What a turkey, I thought.  But then he looked up from his shoes, just
for a second, and gave his head a little jerk like he was trying to
tell me something.

Even if he was a turkey, I'd gotten my money's worth.

"Hey, everybody, you get a free poster at the end of the tour," I said
loudly.  "Except when they run out."

The ladies were grateful for the tip, and they followed me to the gift
shop.  One of them asked for my phone number, and I wrote it on the
back of her poster.

I have a roommate who would rather take three right turns than make a
left.  Maybe Mulder is like that too.  Trade the football tickets for
the firearms demo so the chickadees would swarm around him and Scully
would show up to shoo them away.

I don't know how Scully found out I was the one who copped the Redskins
tickets.  She called me later and *demanded* that I round up a couple
of tickets to "Riverdance on Ice."  Luckily I was able to do it.  Or
unluckily, according to Mulder.

"He loved it," Scully assured me the next time I saw her.  "He just
doesn't want to admit it."

Judging strictly by the grin, I'd have to agree with her.
 
 

end

Move along.
The gift shop is to your left.