A/N: The idea for this corny story just popped into my head once. Had to write it down.
Spoilers: Hollywood AD. References to the movie Ed Wood by Tim Burton.
Disclaimer: The only thing I own is my imagination. The rest belongs to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions.
Rating: K+ for some sexual undertones. Oh, and the word "sexual". You've been warned :)
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Also English is not my first language, so if you see a mistake don't hesitate to tell me about it.
"Friday Afternoon Tensions"
by Scully Sceptic
J Edgar Hoover- building
01:00 PM
Time is floating by at an exceptionally slow rate. In fact, each time I check my wrist watch, it seems as if the minute hand hasn't moved at all. On this sunny and hot Friday afternoon I am stuck in the basement with a Mount Everest of paperwork to plough through. I try hard not to blame Mulder for these unfortunate circumstances, even though he is the one who bares sole responsibility. He was the one who was supposed to do the paperwork. He had the whole week to himself down here, while I was busy doing autopsies at Quantico.
Five autopsies in four days. Five dead teenagers. Each and every one of them a victim of a freak ritualistic crime involving black widows and a UFO-cult. At least according to agent Mulder. Tragic as the whole thing is, I have found no bite marks on the victims' bodies and no traces of spider venom. What I did find was an elevated level of blood alcohol and traces of illicit drugs in their bodies.
Meanwhile, while I was toiling at Quantico, Mulder kept himself busy too. I found another tape that wasn't his in our VCR. It may be paranoia finally taking its toll on me, but I think that Mulder wants to get me back for that god-awful Hollywood production Skinner's buddy has made about the X-Files. The movie stank like last week's garbage, I agree, but how does that make it my fault? I never said that I liked Skinner better than Mulder. If anything it was Skinner's fault for sticking us with the world's crappiest movie maker since Edward D. Wood Jr.
Speaking of which, Walter Skinner has been in the best of moods ever since we got back from LA. Despite the film's moderate success, he has been enjoying his fifteen minutes of fame both in and outside of the Bureau. The rumour has it he's been taking home a different woman every night in the past two weeks. I'm not sure about the degree of accuracy in these rumours, but I haven't seen him this relaxed and easy going since, well... ever. I'm happy for him. God knows he needs a little sunshine in his life, what with the nano-critters in his blood and the failed marriage, from which he hasn't yet recovered.
But between you, me and the filing cabinet over here I've been feeling a little uncomfortable around the Assistant Director lately. Again, it may be paranoia, but it feels like he's been paying a little extra attention to me. A smile here, a pat on the back there and an occasional your-hair-looks-very-nice-today-agent-Scully. And if my instincts are right and he does pay special attention to me, again, I blame the movie. I like to think that our relationship has grown in the right direction over the years. But it has always been strictly professional, as it should be. I can recall - very vaguely - an embarrassing incident in the elevator about a year ago, but it didn't mean anything and we never talked about it. At least, I don't think it meant anything...
Oh, get a grip, Dana! - I scold myself. One cheesy quote in a terrible B-grade movie and you start getting ideas. "Because he has a bigger flashlight". How tasteless! I would never think about the Assistant Director that way. And I would never say something like that. Especially not to Mulder.
"Scully? Are you daydreaming?"
I look up and stare at Mulder, dumbfounded. How long has he been standing here?
"Mulder, what are you doing here? I thought you were in a meeting."
"I was. It's over."
As he is standing in front of the desk, smiling, a tiny spark of hope is being ignited in my heart. Has he come here to help me with this mother of all messes? But the hope dies like yesterday when I see a file folder in his hands. His body language, the excited look of his hazel eyes - they can only mean one thing.
"Scully, we just got a break in the case."
"What case? Oh, you mean..."
"The UFO-cult kids. I might have just solved the mystery of their deaths."
"Mulder, I solved the mystery. And there was no mystery. It was alcohol mixed with drugs and bad judgement. It's very un-paranormal."
"That's what it looks like. But I have just spoken to sheriff Cloudy over the phone. Apparently the police have missed an important piece of evidence when they first searched through the crime scene." this is when he places the file folder on the desk for me to read. Don't open it, Dana! I open it. I read it. I stare at Mulder.
"Petroleum? Oil?"
"Black oil, Scully. Black oil."
"So traces of petroleum have been found at the scene. Mulder, I have examined their bodies myself, and I found no traces of that in any of them!"
My voice rises a couple of decibels and I take a deep breath to compose myself. Suddenly I feel like there's a led zeppelin where my head should be. A hot bath would be good right now. Or a relaxing massage.
"Maybe you missed something. Now, don't get mad, Scully! But I would appreciate if you would do another autopsy on one of the victims. That girl," Mulder reads in the file, "Lizzy Dobson. I believe she was infected with the black oil and then killed the other four kids."
"How could she have been infected?"
"Through a spider bite. Just like I suspected in the first place."
"When do you want me to do it?" I ask wearily.
"First thing tomorrow morning. I spoke to Lizzy's family and they have agreed to leave the body at Quantico over the weekend."
This is when I lose it.
"Mulder, I have spent four days on my feet doing autopsies. All for you. I do it all for you, Mulder! My back is killing me and I can hardly stand on my feet. And now you want me to go to Quantico on a Saturday morning to examine the body I have searched through inside and out?"
"I said I would appreciate it?" he is tapping his fingers gently on the desk while speaking. And as I am watching him do it, I get a crazy idea. A good relationship should be about give and take, right? Well, Mulder and I have been friends for almost seven years now, and a thing like that wouldn't be too weird to ask.
I lean back in the chair and cross my arms. My face is straight as a line, but I'm afraid that my eyes give away my motives.
"Alright, I'll do it."
"Thank you, Scully!"
"But I want you to do something for me."
"Sure, anything you say. What do you have in mind?"
"You're the psychologist, you figure it out. Go ahead,read me!"
He is watching me in silence for a beat. Oh my, he is actually trying to read my body language! Then his eyes light up and he says,
"Oh, you want to... You want me to, um..."
"I want you to give me a backrub."
"A backrub?" I swear I heard the notes of disappointment in his voice. Well, what did he think I wanted from him?
"Yes, Mulder, a backrub. I have been working very hard all week and I am tired. If you want me to be able to work tomorrow, you will help me get in shape."
"Yeah, sure. I'll be glad to do it. Listen, I have to talk to Skin-man about our case. But when I get back I will rock your world." his voice drops to a husky whisper and I can't help but wince.
He then dances out of the office leaving me excited about the upcoming massage.
Two hours later
I am almost done ploughing through the files and reports and gasoline bills when Mulder comes back. This is it, I tell myself. The big moment. Time to kick back. But Mulder brushes past me and heads right for the filing cabinet. What the hell?
"Mulder, is everything OK?"
"Yeah, everything's fine."
He pulls a folder out of a drawer marked "J-K-L" without even looking at me. He reads through the papers in that folder with the most focused look on his face. Finally he pulls his eyes away from the paper and faces me.
"Scully, I'm so sorry, but something came up. I have to go."
"What? Why?"
"I just got a big lead on our case and I have to go out of town. I see you on Monday, OK?"
He leaves the office with me on his heels.
"Wait, Mulder, what do you mean 'see you on Monday?' Who's gonna rub my back?"
When I say this I am standing in the door frame, but Mulder has already rounded the farther corner of the hallway and I hear the elevator go "DING!". But I am not alone down here and someone else has heard my angry question. I turn my head to the left and see A.D. Skinner. Where did he come from?
"Hi, sir."
"Agent Scully. Is there a problem?"
"No, sir, no problem." I hurry back to the office and take a seat behind the desk. "Can I help you?"
"Well, agent Mulder just left. I wanted to ask him something, but never mind."
I get back to the paperwork, all the while keeping an eye at the A.D. This has turned out quite awkward, what with me yelling at Mulder in the hallway, but I don't think Skinner gives two cents about what's going on down here. Then why doesn't he leave?
"Sir, Are you sure I can't help you with anything?"
"Actually, I thought I could help you."
"Excuse me?"
"I'm sorry to have overheard your conversation with Mulder, but it seems that he owes you a massage."
"That's alright. He'll do it on Monday."
"That's almost three days from now. If you're very tense I would be glad to help."
My heart sinks a bit when he seats himself on the opposite side of the desk and smiles at me. What would Mulder do in my seat?
"Thank you, A.D. Skinner, but that won't be necessary."
And I hide behind a file folder pretending to read the blank papers inside.
"Why not?"
Really, why not? The truth is, my back is killing me and I do feel very tense. If I go through with the autopsy tomorrow, I will most likely call in sick on Monday. I need help and it's too late to make a massage appointment at some parlour. Alright, so we've established that a good backrub is very much appreciated. Then why can't A.D. Skinner do it? Well, a)it's inappropriate, and b) it's obvious that Skinner's sudden desire to help is a direct result of the emotional confusion caused by what my character has said about his character in the movie. With other words, he may be infatuated with me and the whole idea of "us" tickles his imagination somehow. There we go: two very solid reasons why Skinner shouldn't be the one massaging my back. Then why don't I say no to him?
The silence hangs upon us for a couple of minutes, while I'm desperately trying to think of another, more convincing reason for me to say no. But I guess the question I should be asking myself is whether or not I want to get a backrub from A.D. Skinner. And while my mind is thinking hard about it, my tongue has already betrayed me.
"Well, if it's not too much trouble-"
"None at all!"
He springs up to his feet and walks around the desk. I take my time to remove my suit jacket so I won't come off as too eager. My muscles tense even more when Skinner suddenly places his hands on my shoulders. But then he starts massaging them and the smooth motion of his big warm hands makes me relax almost instantly and I sink back in the chair.
"How does that feel, agent Scully?" by the tone of Skinner's voice I judge that he isn't the slightest bit uncomfortable about this engagement. Good, neither am I.
"Just fine, sir."
He is rubbing my shoulders and my neck, making little circles with his thumbs and putting just the right amount of pressure into it. By and by I feel how my muscles relax and the dull pain I have been feeling all week is fading away like morning mist. Without taking notice of it, I close my eyes.
"I have to say you're very tense, Scully. I've heard Mulder had you do autopsies all week."
"Yes, he did."
"I'm gonna have to have a serious talk with him when he gets back. He can't make you work so hard."
I chuckle at the idea of Skinner yelling at Mulder over me.
Meanwhile he continues working on my tired upper body. It feels good. Who knew that a man of Skinner's stature could have such a gentle and light touch? And as I sink even deeper in the chair I suddenly feel like crying. Yes, I want to cry when I think about how good I feel. I haven't been this relaxed and at peace in a very, very long time. When was the last time someone gave me a backrub? When was the last time I could allow myself to unwind like this? And I want to cry because I feel sorry for myself. I deserve more than this. I deserve to come home to someone who would do this (and more) to me every night. But who is it gonna be? In the past seven years I have gotten extremely close to two men - Fox Mulder and Walter Skinner, while my social life has practically been non-existent. Where does it leave me? Where do I go from here?
"Hey, Scully, have you seen that report on black widow spiders we got from that specialist we contacted?", Mulder asks as he is striding back in the office.
Again, he seems to be up in his own little world and doesn't notice me and Skinner at first. Then, as his eyes go up, his jaw drops. His eyes travel from me to Skinner and then back to me. I am frozen in position. I don't know what to say, or how to react. I don't even know how to feel right now. But Skinner seems completely unperturbed. I wish he would interrupt what he's doing, but he just continues rubbing my shoulders as if Mulder wasn't even here.
"Is there a problem, agent Mulder?" he says in voice that is suddenly rough and commanding.
"No, sir. No problem."
"Then why are you still here?" and then to me "There you go tensing up again, Scully. Relax!"
Mulder casts one last shocked look at me before mumbling something incoherent and fleeing the building.
My heart is palpitating and I feel my blood pressure rise as a direct reaction to the embarrassment I feel. I am struggling to find a logical explanation to why I feel as if I have just got caught in the middle of cheating on Mulder. It's Skinner's selfless efforts that finally make me take a deep breath and enjoy what is left of my afternoon. I'll deal with Mulder on Monday, I say to myself.
Later that evening...
I am all snuggled up on my couch watching a Friday night movie in my pyjamas. By a freak irony the movie is "Ed Wood" by Tim Burton. Now and then I roll my shoulders just to feel how relaxed my muscles are. Say what you want about A.D. Skinner but the man has amazing hands. I wonder where he got it from, or if he's a natural.
Interesting how after a while it didn't feel awkward at all. I recall all those uncomfortable moments in the hallway. Those looks and smiles I received from Skinner - it's almost as if they have lost their sexual charge. Perhaps rubbing my back has also helped Skinner deal with this boyish infatuation with me and now he will be able to move on. He will realise that there is nothing between him and me but friendship. One that is based on strict professionalism. Come to think of it there was nothing sexual about what happened between us this afternoon. Nothing romantic. Then why can't I stop thinking about it?
As far as Mulder and I are concerned, I think I too have been confusing our friendship with a romantic involvement. Why else would I feel like I was cheating on him when he saw me and Skinner? It's simple psychology: you've been hanging out with a person long enough, and the thin line between what you think is friendship and a romantic relationship eventually erases. I must understand, therefore, that what Mulder and I have IS friendship. Besides, he was the one who was supposed to give me a backrub and he said no. So, he is the one who should feel guilty not I! But the reasoning falls short when I remember the look he gave me just before escaping our office. I don't think I will ever be able to forget that look.
"You have to get through that door!" Johnny Depp's Edward tells Martin Landau's Bela. And as Landau opens the fake door prop there is a knock on my front door.
"Who is it?" I say, too lazy to get up.
"It's me Mulder!"
I set the ice cream on my coffee table and pull myself from the couch.
"Hey, Mulder" I say as I open the door.
He walks in without me even inviting him in. But that's OK, it's practically his home now too.
"Are you OK?" I ask because I can read his body language. He's very serious. His jaws are stiff and his eyes absent. He doesn't answer me. He starts looking around the living room. It looks like he's searching for something.
I repeat the question.
"Lie down on your couch." he says all of a sudden.
"Excuse me? What are you talking about, Mulder?"
"Lie down on you couch, Scully. I'm gonna rub your feet."
This is highly unexpected.
I don't put much thought into my actions when I walk over to my couch and lay down, stretching my legs full length. Mulder takes a seat next to me and puts my bare feet on his lap. Thank God I showered when I got home!
He rubs my feet in silence, while watching the movie with me. I didn't even realise how much I actually needed a foot massage. It's not easy being an FBI-agent on heels. But why does he do that? Is this jealousy? Is he being territorial with me? Or could it be that he feels guilty about blowing me off today? Wait a minute, wasn't he supposed to be out of town today?
I ask him that.
"Oh, that!" he says as if he only now remembered his appointment, "I talked to sheriff Cloudy again. Turns out you were right after all. The police have found the guy who sold Lizzy Dobson the drugs. He confessed. So it was like you said: booze, drugs and bad judgement killed those kids."
"So it means...?"
"It means you're off the hook, Scully." He smiles at me and I can just kiss him. But I won't. Instead I lay back and enjoy one of those little gifts life throws at me sometimes. Whatever Mulder's reasons are for coming here tonight, I'm sure I'll find out eventually. No need to rationalise this baby to death.
"Cut! That was perfect!"