By Sarah
sarahbellax@hotmail.com
 

Date: 10/24/04
Spoilers: None
Category: Mulder POV, MSR, SK/O, Humor
Rating: PG-13 (mild sexual implications)
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to Chris Carter.
Notes: This is my first attempt at fanfiction, so thanks for
humoring me :)
Feedback: Always welcome at sarahbellax@hotmail.com

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Oh, God. This is not happening...

Even at my most paranoid moment, I didn't really think this was
possible. And now that it's happened, all that comes to me is
a line from Dickens' Great Expectations: "To think that I should
be so unconscious and off my guard after all my care, was as if I
had shut an avenue of a hundred doors to keep him out and then
found him at my elbow." Yeah well, I've shut all kinds of doors.
Locked them, set the alarm and booby trapped them. And yet...

How could I have let this happen? Protect the work and preserve
the partnership; those two things have always been top priority.
But for all my fabled investigative instinct, and with all the
various forces constantly threatening my career (and my life), it
is my failure to make the most basic of observations that may
serve as my undoing. No, the irony is not lost on me. What is lost
is my ability to do something to diffuse the situation. Luckily,
I'm not the only one surprised by this unexpected confrontation.
If I force myself to recover from the shock, perhaps I can make
the first move and gain the upper hand.

"Uh, hi."

Shit.

I should have kept my mouth shut! No, I should have made a break
for it, knocking over the display tower of beer cans on my way to
the door, thus creating a diversion and confusing him enough to
forget he'd seen me at all... Or, maybe I should have just looked
around when I came in the store; you know, paid attention to my
surroundings. Well, it's too late for any of those things now.

Ugh...

Now, I know that in the past I've been accused of being overly
dramatic. But I seriously believe that if you were to look up the
word "awkward" in the most recent edition of Webster's Dictionary,
it is entirely possible that you might see a small illustration of
this exact scenario.

I wonder if Skinner's glare would have the same affect on paper as
it does in real life? That's right, it's Walter Skinner, Assistant
Director of the FBI.

My boss and I have just run into each other at the checkout
counter of the drug store, both of us with a box of condoms in our
hands.

Amazingly, we're able to maintain eye contact. Most likely due to
the fact that at the first instant of recognition, knowing what we
had in our own hands, neither of us could help looking down to see
what the other was buying. Apparently, Walter is an extra-large,
ribbed kind of guy. I'm too afraid to let my eyes wander again
(and I do not feel at all inadequate or intimidated about my own,
regular sized, purchase... in any way). From this excruciating
stare down, I get the feeling we're both thinking the same three
questions: 1) Why, God, did this have to happen? 2) Why, God, did
he have to come to this drug store? And, of course, 3) Who is he
going to be using those with?

One of the only things my boss and I have in common is a tendency
to keep ourselves to ourselves. In our line of work, keeping your
personal life out of the office is as valuable as it is difficult.
The consequences of any "inappropriate" liaisons could be
disastrous (something we've both suffered from in the past, to say
the very least). However, neither our private natures, nor our
embarrassment is enough to successfully extinguish the question of
"who" that flickers in our locked gaze. We both know it's there.
After all, investigators are trained to see the truths hidden in a
man's eyes. Also, well, we're both men. And men the world over
think alike: sex is always our business, no matter who's having it.
The longer we stare at each other, the more that curiosity is
inflamed. So to deflect this dangerous question, I decide to ask
one of the more appropriate ones.

"So... what brings you to this side of town?" I don't quite
succeed at making that sound innocent.

Skinner has to cough to clear the lingering disbelief from his
throat. "Um, just happened to be in the area, you know, running
errands and, uh..." He sputters and peters out as a voice from
behind the counter penetrates the fog of discomfort that surrounds
us.

"Um, can I help who's next?," the clerk asks impatiently. Skinner
and I look back to each other, briefly engaging in a silent battle
of male egos. The challenge: which of us will be the first to
place their prophylactics on the counter for all to see. Jeez, this
just keeps getting better and better. I swear, if the guy has to
do a price check over the loud speaker, I might have to pull out
my gun.

This time, it's me who has to clear my throat to croak out, "Ah,
you go ahead, Sir."

As Skinner shuffles by me to the counter so the clerk can ring him
up, we're given a brief respite from the torture. Well, now that I
have a chance to actually think, lets see if I can put the "I" in
FBI and get a quick read on my boss. His strategically vague answer
to why he's here could mean either: a) whoever it is that
Skinner is seeing lives around here; or b) he's driven out of town
to avoid bumping into anyone he might know while running said
"errands". Initially, I lean towards "b", because that's what I
usually do.

That's what I would have done tonight if I'd been thinking with my
brain instead of my penis. I was going for speed rather than
discretion after finding myself unprepared for the weekend my
lover had planned (much to my chagrin, and her annoyance).

Ah yes, my lover. Now that was another one to slip past the
radar. Despite all the tricks I've devised to protect myself from
the vulnerability of love (you know, arrogance, inappropriate
sense of humor, last-name-only policy, and tendency to ditch), she
managed slip into my heart. Well, that's my partner- she always
gets her man. Lucky for me, I am that man. I nearly chuckle out
loud, thinking that my earlier Dickens reference won't be lost on
Scully. That is, if she doesn't kill me immediately after I tell
her what happened here tonight.

That thought brakes me away from my tangent, and I refocus on
Skinner. Hmm... actually, perhaps reason "a" makes more sense.
Skinner knows Scully lives in Georgetown. This store is only a
couple blocks from her apartment. I don't think he would have
picked this location if anonymity was his main goal. I quickly
scroll through my mental rolodex, trying to recall anyone else
from the Hoover that lives in Georgetown. The only names I'm
coming up with are male agents. Again, hmm...

What I've been thinking must start to show on my face, because
when I finally realize that Skinner has asked me a question, I see
that his jaw is flexing, a tell-tale sign of his annoyance
(instantly recognizable after years of seeing it while going over
302's and expense reports). However, even his trademark surliness
is tempered by his continued embarrassment. Maybe I should carry
condoms with me whenever he calls me up to his office?

I quickly shake myself to attention. "Sorry, what did you say?"

Skinner tries to reinforce his stern glare and asks again, "I said,
were you still planning to fly out to Sacramento on Monday for the
Baldwin case or did you end up hearing from the local SAC before
you left today?"

Of course. When in doubt, talk shop. "No. Scully, thouh..ur... "

Shit! I practically choke, realizing that when I said her name I
unconsciously glanced at the box in my hands. I say a quick prayer
that Skinner didn't pick up on that tell (or the second, more
obvious one). Unfortunately, I instantly see in his eyes that I'm
praying in vain. Skinner didn't become an AD for being unobservant.

Yeah, Scully is definitely going to kill me for this. I attempt to
maintain my dignity, pick up the shattered pieces of my career,
and answer his question.

"She thought it might be better if we wait for SAC Janik's
response to the profile we sent him. If he still wants us there to
put it to good use, we'll probably head out Tuesday morning."

Skinner just nods in reply, and turns to accept his change from
the clerk. Continuing this farce of a casual conversation, I say,
"Scully took a copy of our alternate agenda up to your office
before she left. She said she left it with your assistant since
you were unavailable. Didn't Kimberly give it to you?"

"No, she didn't."

"Oh... well..." I step past him as I move to take my turn at the
register. Skinner takes this opportunity to start backing away
towards the door.

"Yeah... well then. I'll see you Monday morning Agent Mulder."
This quasi-dismissal is uttered as confidently as is possible
considering he's making an hasty exit while trying hard (but
failing) to look casual. Suddenly, the situation doesn't look
quite as desperate as it did a few seconds ago; it seems my boss
and I have all sorts of things in common. I smile and say, "Yes
sir," in an assuaging manner. God, this is just too ridiculous. He
nods again and turns to head out the door while I complete my
transaction.

But before he gets away, I just can't resist...

"Oh, and Sir?" He stops, one hand on the door, and hangs his head
but doesn't look back. " Have a good night," I finish, my grin
clearly audible in my voice. He sighs and finally turns back to me.
Knowing it's pointless to pretend any longer, he looks up with a
slow, resigned smile.

When he meets my eye, Skinner lets out a small huff of laughter.
"You too, Mulder. You too."

My smile broadens as I turn back to reclaim my purchase from the
clerk, I can't help but laugh as he too wishes me a good night. He
gives me a polite, yet slightly confused smile, as I thank him and
return the sentiment. He is completely unaware that he was just
witness to a potentially life-altering exchange between his two
customers. I continue to chuckle to myself as I head out the door,
finally expressing my earlier surprise at seeing that when Skinner
blushes, it goes clear to the top of his bald head. I'm pretty sure
he's aware it's this fact that answered the unspoken question of who
the condoms were for... the moment I spoke the name of his assistant.

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end