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Rated: Read it only if you're over 13, because there's
some violence in parts.
Category: Scully POV, MT, H, Angst.
Spoiler(s): Bits of The Pilot, Squeeze, Tooms, orts
from Seasons 1 through 7. (Yes. Orts. As in miniscule pieces.)
Author's Note: This was written because some folks have
noticed there's still a need for Mulder to get fed up
with his detractors, and harassment in the workplace is
fair game for fic writers.
Of course I had my doubts about working with Special Agent
Fox Mulder. Wouldn't anyone wonder if this was the F.B.I.'s
way of trying to get rid of an employee who, while maintaining
an exemplary service record, was the equivalent of itching
powder under his bosses' collars? How was I to know his
curious nature and bending of protocol would soon be leading
us to things 'they' didn't want known, and I would be right
with him all the way?
Now, I know we all referred to him as "Spooky Mulder" at the
F.B.I. Academy, and this reputation persisted years after he
had graduated. The legend lived on about him even after I
attended and graduated. We all knew he was a target for
whispers, looks, even loudly malicious castigation not only
throughout the halls of the Academy, but at Hoover's Haunt.
The big building in the nation's capital!
Personally, I have no idea how he managed to keep his sanity
and eventually get into the X-Files Office, but I only know
he did, and it was with some trepidation and doubts of my
purpose that I agreed to be assigned to work with him. I
was supposed to debunk his theories by using my training in
pure science. Well, I wasn't able to do that, because I
couldn't find scientific evidence against a lot of things I
saw, experienced and investigated. Actually, they wanted me
to write that his theories were straight from the 'Twilight
Zone', and get rid of him once and for all. However they
wanted this done, I was not going to be dishonest in any
report.
I have seen a lot of things while assigned to Mulder. Believe
me, if I hadn't actually witnessed the people, creatures
and events for myself, I would have said he was a certifiable
crackpot. Well, I saw those things. I was even a part of
those things. With God as my witness, I, Dana Katherine
Scully, was even a genuine X-file myself, at least twice!
Yes! And while that would have sounded preposterous coming
from anyone else, I must tell you that events did happen to me
that were the result of some of the various things Mulder was
thought to be crazy for believing the existence of.
As crazy as Fox Mulder may have seemed in school and at the
F.B.I., the man could take care of himself. I had him
figured for the village idiot who smiled and waved as people
were throwing insults wherever he roamed, but I was wrong.
Boy, was I wrong.
The very day I met the legendary "Spooky" Mulder, we discussed
a case of missing young adults in Bellefleur, Oregon, having
been found dead or alive, with no recollection of what had
happened to them. Bumps were found on their lower backs that
contained an unknown substance. The people who survived their
ordeals were just "dropped off' in the middle of the forest in
their night clothes. Some of them had been so traumatized they
were unable to speak.
As we got off of the elevator to arrange for a rental car and
fill out forms for travel, I could hear a woman giggling and
saying to her co-worker, "There goes the latest Mrs. Spooky.
I wonder how long SHE'LL last!"
I briefly looked at her, then whispered to Mulder, "You still
let people get away with the name-calling?"
He just smiled, looked down at me and whispered, "I like to let
them have their fun. Now, if you'd like to bop them, I could
cite a hundred reasons why a federal agent shouldn't assault
a colleague -- "
"All right," I told him uncertainly. "It doesn't bug me, but
you're never going to get rid of that reputation as long as you
let them do that."
"They don't get out much, I guess. Think of it as cheap
entertainment." The way he bent over me so closely was a
bit embarrassing, given the ladies' little laugh fest.
A few months months later, I noticed these women had not made
what had apparently been their usual remarks. There had been
at least three occasions when I had overheard them refer to me
as "Mrs. Spooky", but one day I noticed it hadn't been happening.
The remarks had stopped. It had been a long time since I had
even seen them smirk and nod! What miracle could possibly have
occurred? I reasoned that since God hadn't removed their vocal
chords, something had to have transpired. Did they respect me
more? Had they read my thesis on "Einstein's Paradox?"
I decided to find out what had happened. One morning, I went
into the office as usual and asked Mulder why these women hadn't
been making their usual remarks.
"Hey, Scully. The dry cleaner couldn't get the bile stains
out of my shirts, so the Bureau, out of the kindness of their
hearts, decided to spring for new ones. How cool is that?"
"Yeah, it's cool." I sat down in front of the desk and began
reading the final report we were filing concerning Eugene
Tooms. "So, I noticed Lena and Sal have stopped kidding you,
and me. What did you do? Did you file a report?"
Mulder looked up from his notes and smiled. "Uh, no."
Well, was he going to tell me or not? "I think I have
a right to know... I mean, since I advised you not to take
their cackling. Tell me what happened, Mulder?"
He sat back in his chair and fiddled with his pencil. "I
helped Lena's son set up an aquarium as part of his fifth
grade science project. Gotta give credit to the kid, though.
He won second prize at the district Science Fair. As for Sal,
well, I referred her as my partner in my two-for-one AAA
membership. Her husband's quite relieved he won't have to
drag out cash for a tow for that lousy clunker of hers."
I didn't know what to say. "Oh," was all I could manage. So,
Special Agent Mulder was killing them with kindness, applying
the Golden Rule.
"Well, what did you want me to do, Scully? Charge them with
verbal harrassment? We're all here see to it that Federal Law
is enforced, and I didn't want to interfere with company
efficiency. Besides, I have a thick skin. You don't need
to worry about me, Scully. I've taken it for years, long
before I took over this department in the happy house of
Hoover."
"Yeah, I guess so, considering the nickname you earned at
the Academy."
"Ancient History. Now, would you mind reading this toxicology
report so we can justify taking up oxygen here? Unless of
course, you'd like to relive the good old days in the Academy
and work with Tom Colton."
"I think I'd rather make sure the toxicology report is
complete, Mulder."
Time passed as time does, and a couple of years passed by
business as usual, occasional oddball memos and practical
jokes, as usual. There were even rumors that I had not gone
missing -- that Mulder had actually kept me holed up in
a little love nest in Alexandria for several months, and
then we broke up, remaining friends and work partners.
Now, Lena and Sal weren't the only employees who were chiding
Mulder and talking behind his back. Take Wendell Holliman in
Drug Enforcement, a nation-wide part of the Bureau which is
highly efficient at stopping drug traffic.
Mulder had been to hell and back in Arizona by then. His water
was drugged with LSD or some other kind of hallucinogenic
substance, his father was shot dead as he was standing in his
house, getting too close to DOD secrets, and then there was
the deliberate explosion in an buried rail car. No sooner
had we managed to find our way out of those messes and get
back to our usual hectic routine, than Holliman had to get
into the act. As if facing death straight in the face,
losing his father and having been shot by me, his partner,
hadn't been tragic enough.
He filled out a bogus drug offence record on Mulder, and sent
a copy straight to our office. I wish I'd seen the papers
first. As I hadn't, I found Mulder beating the crap out of
Holliman in the parking garage two days later, and after two
black eyes, a broken nose and three fractured fingers, Holliman
didn't file a complaint against Mulder. In fact, he even had
footage from the Security Cameras destroyed. Why? Even
Mulder had sustained a fractured patella, two broken fingers
and a split upper and lower lip. I almost forgot to mention
the nasty blows to the lower back. (I know what you're
thinking: He does look good in black and blue). I was the one
who patched him up in the office, then let the nearest Emerg.
do the rest.
Apparently, there had been several arrests made in Mulder's
neighborhood in an effort to stop the drug dealing at a
public school that Holliman's son Evan was attending at the
time. With a little assistance from the Alexandria PD, Mulder
found evidence that Evan had been one of the kids in seventh
grade selling Ritalin on the playground, and one Wendell
Holliman didn't have a leg to stand on. Mulder had done some
background work on him one night, and found that yes, Holliman,
one of our finest, had been supplying large amounts of
marijuana, amphetamines and diazepam derivatives to several
dealers all over the Eastern seaboard. He's now serving a hefty
sentence in a Federal Penitentiary, and Mulder has yet another
commendation to his name.
Sure, some minor teasing went on after about the third year of
our partnership in the X-Files. Nothing major. Just those
annoying inter-office jokes one receives when idle hands
become the Devil's workshop. I'm glad I saw it before Mulder
did, and tossed it into the trash.
'Tour Agent Spooky's Office, six dollars at the door. See
things even Spielberg hasn't thought of. All proceeds to
go to the Geogetown Hospital Psychiatric Unit.' Luckily,
Mulder and I were out of town, but you know how some things
miss the trash bin, get left in the washroom, get dropped
in the garage. We had been in Leon County, Florida,
and Mulder decided he'd rather investigate the forest rather
than attend a boring team seminar.
Of course, the next round of 'Mr. and Mrs. Spooky' rumors,
remarks and congratulatory letters on 'an affair to remember'
assaulted us once again, but we had become used to that.
After all, Agents Kinsley and Stonecypher knew we were not
only hindered by a police roadblock, but did have a bona fide
investigation on our hands, and people had disappeared in
that area, so that was set straight.
But after Mulder was foolish enough to venture out to a ghost
ship in the Bermuda Triangle, there was a resurgence of
dislike growing throughout the Hoover Building, and I should
have sensed something was not quite right. Only after the
act of sheer, cowardly bullying did I realize just how
Mulder had been suffering right under my nose, and I regret
missing the warning signs.
My old school chum, Tom Colton, had never really gotten over
the dissing I gave him after the Tooms case. Although I really
respected the fact that he had written a brilliant profile
that led to the arrest of the Washington Crossing Killer, I
felt I couldn't date someone who would be constantly reminding
me how weird my partner was. I don't take name-calling from
dates or friends very well. It's so... it's so damn
immature. Brother Bill is hard enough on the ears.
Tom was ranking quite highly in the violent crimes section,
as of a few weeks ago. Friday, October 30, 1998, was one
day I would have loved to skip. Going straight to Hallowe'en
really would have been our best bet. But no. Tom Colton
and his high maintenance wife had asked me to dinner at their
home, and to "feel free to bring along that Agent Mulder."
I'm of a forgiving nature. I offered Tom's idea to Mulder
and he agreed to have dinner with us.
"Why not help the dear boy celebrate his latest promotion?"
Mulder said. "Just to be on the safe side, I'll bring along
the gun I keep in my sock as well as my service revolver."
"Mulder, I think Tom's grown up a lot. Give him some credit.
You know, as a fellow profiler."
Mulder tried to keep a straight face behind a tabloid he
felt a sudden urge to read. I know when he's faking, and
I know when another smarmy remark is just bubbling from that
mind of his. After all, even then I had been partnered with
him long enough to know his reflexes.
"I'm serious, Mulder. We've all been through a lot in the
past five years. I'm sure if he's matured, so have you."
"Trust me, Scully. I have matured. My motto for the evening
will be 'Trust Tom... to a Point'. You won't hear any
disparaging remarks about his overly eager ego. I will pick
you up at seven."
"Thank you. Now I can relax."
The split level home in a suburban Washington neighborhood
wasn't the type of place I had imagined Tom buying. Maybe it
was just until he felt confident in his marriage. Mary Lee
wasn't exactly Ms. Frugality, and rumor had it she had a
healthy appetite for gold, diamonds, and catered dinners.
I know this sounds awful, but she was a blonde in a
brunette's body. I'm sure of it.
Dinner was kind of rich for my tastes, and most certainly
Mulder's, but conversation was quite reserved.
Mary Lee had one of those voices you hear from actresses like
Judy Holiday in the old movies late at night. "Now that Tom's
Department Head, he can relax a bit more, Dana. I'm very
proud of my Tommy." Geez, a voice at least an octave and
a half above normal for the average adult female.
Mulder didn't waste any time jumping into conversation. "Tom's
always been am- He's always been so eager to please, and
I'm sure he deserves his new position."
"Well, it took a lot of hard work to get to where I am today,"
Tom added. Oh sure, there was a slight tone of bashfullness
in his voice, but I think I was just as quick to pick up on it
as Mulder was.
"Tom" I began, "What's it like being that high up the ladder?"
"Well, funny you'd ask, Dana. Nobody pulled out any rungs on
the way. You know, Mary Lee, Dana said the funniest thing a
few years ago -- "
Mulder was becoming visibly uncomfortable. "How about that
rain we've been having? Kind of sets the right atmosphere for
Hallowe'en, doesn't it?"
Tom saw an opening, of course. "Oh yeah, Mary Lee, guess what
we called Mulder at work?"
I didn't trust Mulder at that point, or Tom, for that matter.
"Tom, your wife is so sweet to have put up with your long
hours at the office. I was just telling Mulder last week
how dedicated to the job Tom's been. Don't you ever worry
about him and all the after hours meetings?"
"Yeah, she does," Tom interrupted his wife. "But we know
how overtaxed VCS is, and when my agents work, I'm there to
help them find the perpetrators. I have an idea. After
coffee, how about I show Mulder what I've done with the
garage?"
"I'm sure he'd love to see it, Sweetie, but I'm sure he and
Dana have a busy day tomorrow, right Dana?"
"Oh, I'm sure we can spare a few minutes," I said. "As long
as the boys behave themselves." Thank God it was a small
dining table, and I was able to kick Mulder ever so slightly.
"I can't wait for coffee, Tom. Keeps me awake. Besides,
we have a meeting in the morning, right Scully? Just like one
of those 'meetings' Tom has at night.
Isn't that right, Hon?"
Secretly wishing the floor would collapse beneath our chairs
and hide us away for a while in some top secret place, I
frowned at Mulder. "I think Mulder means 'Hon' as in 'Atilla'.
Work, work, work! That's us. You guys go on out to the
garage. I want to see this dream home Tom was telling me
about."
As I was folding my napkin and getting up from my chair,
Mulder whispered, "I bet he has an air hockey game some men
would just die for." Something told me I couldn't trust
him to be good, so I went outside with Mulder and Tom. The
grand tour would just have to wait.
So, the four of us went downstairs to the door of the adjoining
garage. Tom flicked the light switch. "Don't know why it
won't come on," Tom said. "I replaced the bulb last night."
As Tom fumbled around in the dark for a flashlight, I suspected
something was up. I didn't know what.
"Okay, people! We're in business!"
Omigod, I couldn't believe it. Hanging from the ceiling were
small flying saucers, riding along wires, and to Mulder's left
were four 'zombies'. Mulder was becomong angrier by the second.
Down from the rafters fell a headless, naked torso that I knew
was a fake, and I quickly grabbed Mulder's arm and quietly
whispered, "Let's go, Mulder." Just as I said that, a yellowish
fluid flowed from a bucket, in through a window.
Mulder jerked himself away from me and went straight for Tom.
As he threw him against the car, Tom got in a few punches,
Mary Lee just screamed, and covered her eyes, and Tom ended up
out on the front lawn with Mulder banging the guy's head into
the grass.
I yelled, "Knock it off! Both of you!" and Mulder got up
from the grass, bleeding nose, scraped knuckles and torn
shirt. To sum it up, he didn't look half as bad as Tom Colton.
Mulder went back in Tom's face. "Was this your idea of a
Hallowe'en prank?" When Tom didn't answer, Mulder grabbed
him by the collar and shook him, then shoved him into... a big
pile of... canine excrement.
Mary Lee had finally regained her composure. "Actually, that
stuffed Scarecrow with the pumpkin head, and the cobwebs all
over the porch were the Hallowe'en... Oh, never mind. I told
Tom not to do this, but he did."
Tom stood and wiped his face with a handkerchief. Apparently
the doo-doo treatment had only made him nastier. "I have wanted
to do this for seven years," he snarled. I hate it when men
bare their teeth like wild animals. "And we all know what YOU
TWO are..."
"We two are going home. C'mon, Mulder." I wasn't going to let
this go on all night. "Give me the keys, I'll drive you home.
Take a shower and forget this ever happened."
Mulder resigned himself to the fact that we were leaving. Why
hadn't it been enough for him to know he had won?
The next day was a Friday, so there wouldn't be much left to
do, barring any assignments from upstairs, and Mulder seemed
a lot more relaxed when I picked him up the next morning in
his car. "Drive me home tonight, Mulder?"
"Yeah, sure," he said as he locked the door to his apartment.
"I guess you're not too proud of me today, Scully. Sorry
I reacted the way I did."
"Don't be sorry," I told him, as we got into the car. "He had
it coming. It was a rotten thing for him to do to you."
"He held a grudge for me for a long time, Scully. We've both
been through a lot in that time, and I know you went to school
with him."
"Tom Colton was always a boorish, overly-ambitious pain in
the ass," I said with a laugh. "I wish I'd taken my camera
along for that one moment..." Then I had a call on my cell.
"Scully. Yes. Okay. Thank you Sir."
Mulder covered his eyes. "If that was Skinner, I don't even
want to know what -- "
"Turn around, Mulder, and smile. Yes, it was Skinner. He
just called to warn me to take the front entrance. It seems
there's some issue with the garage and repairs. Something
about we can park there, but the other doors are off limits.
In through the lobby, Mulder."
Mulder's cell rang, and he acknowledged the instructions.
"Hmm. I guess they didn't get wind of it yet, Scully. Well,
maybe if I tell them first, they'll go easy on me. Do you
think those orange coveralls would suit me?"
"Maybe," I responded. There was a reason for using the front
entrance, but I had sworn not to tell Mulder. Heaven knows
what would have happened if he had known what was ahead of
him.
As we walked around the building to the front, he seemed so
tense. "We're going straight up to OPR, aren't we? No, that
would be too easy. I'm going to be arrested, right?"
I just shook my head, feigned annoyance and told him to
shut up because my feet were killing me. They really were.
As soon as we had gone through the metal detector, Mulder
braced himself for either an arrest or a shooting. Agents
and other Bureau employees came out from everywhere. Cheering.
"Congratulations!" people shouted, throwing streamers around
the lobby.
Mulder was rather confused. "For what? Am I the millionth
customer, Scully?"
Skinner appeared from the thick crowd and offered his hand.
"Congratulations for finally doing what we've all been waiting
for these past seven years, Mulder. I had a bet it would be
Folger in Ballistics, but you beat him to it. Nobody here
wants to write up charges, I guess. Kersh called from the
seminar in Bolivia to offer his new found respect for you,
too."
"Thanks, I think." Mulder still thought the OPR was going
to call him into the conference room and close down our office.
However, the OPR couldn't figure out a way to get rid of Tom
Colton, as there wasn't enough evidence for them. Mulder did
it! I still cannot figure that one out, although I suspect one
of the reasons the police in Colton's neck of the woods was
not summoned was that Derek Dunbar down in Records lived near
Colton and he was not one of his fans.
Nowadays, they call my partner "AGENT Mulder", and there's
nothing spooky about it.
END
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