A Storm Is Brewing
By Jennye Jackman
Written : September 21, 1995
A/N: Only the story and original characters are mine. No profit has been made other than the joy I got from writing this. Feedback is always welcome even constructive criticism.
Thursday 12:30 p.m. -- The Mall - Washington D.C.
Agent Fox Mulder took advantage of a rare opportunity to eat his lunch outside in the fresh air. He enjoyed eating beneath the trees surrounding the Tidal Basin, near the Jefferson Memorial. It was quiet there and allowed him time to relax and think.
Today Mulder thought as he looked across the tidal basin toward the memorial, it would seem that children from a dozen buses have the same idea He sighed as he turned and walked toward his alternate lunch spot near the paddle boats.
Mulder located an empty bench and removed his black duster-like topcoat before he sat to eat his sack lunch. He enjoyed the warmth of a passing sunbeam as it soaked into the layers of his dark suit coat. The fall air was filled with the distant sounds of birds, traffic and children at play on the Mall. Mulder took a deep relaxing breath. The air had a crisp snap to it, promising the approach of fall.
A light breeze tossed his short black hair as he finished his sack lunch and leaned back. He watched the multicolored paddle boats as their paddlers steered them in meandering patterns across the calm water. Mulder started as he heard a soft feminine voice speaking directly behind him.
"Mr. Mulder, I need your help."
He turned to face the speaker. "How can I ... help ... you?"
There was no one within twenty yards of him. The closest person was a man jogging by, totally oblivious to his surroundings as some form of music blared from his earphones.
Puzzled, Mulder stood and scanned the area. Finally, he shook his head. Maybe Scully was right he thought wryly as he pushed his fingers through his breeze ruffled hair, maybe it is time I took a vacation Mulder picked up his trash, tossed it into a nearby open topped bin, and drew on his topcoat.
As he walked across the Mall, on his way back to the J. Edgar Hoover Building, a cold breeze touched him. He shivered and pulled his topcoat tighter. He glanced skyward. Clouds were gathering, growing darker and looked to be rain filled. There was definitely a storm brewing.
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Mulder hurried, wanting to beat the impending rain. He took the front stairs of F.B.I. Headquarters two at a time. Meeting an elderly woman at the door, he opened it for her, saying cordially, "Let me get that door for you."
"Thank you, young man," she said, her blue-green eyes twinkling as she entered the building.
Mulder followed her into the building and opened the interior doors for her as well. The woman stopped at the information desk and Mulder continued on to the security barrier. He handed his gun to the bored security guard, then passed through the metal detector uneventfully and collected his gun on the other side.
Crossing the F.B.I. logo embedded in the white marble floor as he had done enumerable times before, Mulder headed over to the bank of brass doored elevators and stopped in front of the first elevator. He pressed the call button and nodded to one of the patrolling security guards. The gentle ringing of a chime announced that the elevator car had arrived. The doors opened a moment later.
Mulder entered the small mirror and wood-paneled car which had mirrored panels to give the illusion of increased dimensions. He turned to face the doors and selected the fourth floor as his destination. A leggy brunette wearing a dark blue dress and carrying an armload of thick manila files slipped into the elevator just as the doors began to close.
"Going up?" she asked coyly, trying not to meet his gaze.
Mulder half-smiled at Agent Karen Ashcroft and said, "Yes." Then, continuing their almost ritualized word game, he asked, "So, how far do you want to go today?"
She smiled at him and winked. "All the way," she said huskily.
He smiled and shook his head slightly. It's a damned shame Mulder thought, that she's happily married. "My pleasure to give you a lift," he said, pressing the button for the eighth floor.
The eighth floor was designated for exclusive use of Internal Affairs and Administration. The doors of the elevator opened onto the fourth floor a minute later. "Good luck," Mulder said as he stepped out of the elevator.
Agent Ashcroft's brow rose slightly. "Apparently, not this time," she said with feigned regret as the doors began to close.
Agent Mulder walked down a corridor which led him to an open office door and an empty reception desk. Beyond the desk was a second door. On the door was an engraved brass plaque that proudly declaring that the room beyond was the office of Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner, the man he had come to see. Mulder knocked twice, waited a beat and entered the room as he heard "Come." from beyond the door.
Skinner looked up, obviously surprised to see Agent Mulder standing there: as he never came into this office unless summoned or he was in some sort of trouble.
"Agent Mulder," Skinner acknowledged him as he entered the room. "What can I do for you?" he asked as he continued to scan through the contents of a manila folder, then signed the last page with a practiced flourish.
"Sir, I was wondering..." Mulder started hesitantly. He wasn't completely sure how to ask for time off because it wasn't something he usually did voluntarily. Mulder thought back on the time he had off in the last few years and realized uneasily, that most of his time off was usually spent in recovery from some type of injury. Normally, Fox was forced into taking the time off. Somehow, he usually managed to get very little in the way of recreating done.
Skinner looked up from the next thick manila file out of a large stack of files. His brow rose slightly, toward to his nonexistent hairline, as he waved his pen impatiently in the air, motioning for Mulder to finish his thought. "Wondering what?" he prompted.
"I logged a lot of O.T. on my last case and since our case load looks very light for the remainder of this week, I was ... wondering ... if I could take Friday off," he finished in a rush.
Both of Skinner's brows rose slowly above the frame of his silver framed glasses, wrinkling his forehead. "You want a day off?" he asked, surprised.
"Yes, sir." Mulder said.
"Just one?" Skinner asked, obviously hoping that Mulder would take more days voluntarily.
"Yes. Is it a problem?" Mulder asked, momentarily concerned that Skinner might not let him go on such short notice.
Skinner's hopes that Mulder would take more days withered as he watched the agent's resolve waiver. He resumed scanning the report on the desk before him. "No. I'm just surprised, are you all right? Not sick or something?"
"No, I'm fine."
There was a momentary pause in Mulder's response and Skinner looked up, suddenly suspicious. "Is there something else? ... How's your mother?" Skinner asked, fishing for an ulterior motive for Mulder's wanting time off.
"No, she's fine," Mulder said, not appearing to be surprised by his line of questions. "Sir, I just thought it was time to take a day off."
Skinner shrugged, checked his watch and made a note on one of his numerous memo pads. "Okay. I'll see you on Monday and Mulder ..."
"Yes, sir?"
"Close the door on your way out."
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Once Fox Mulder reached his basement lair, he tossed his black topcoat over a hook on the coat rack which set the blue ball cap that always hung there swinging, and went directly to his cluttered desk. He pulled a well worn United States map out of the center drawer. With Friday off, he now had three days to work with. Mulder folded the map in half, narrowing his potential destination possibilities to the eastern seaboard and laid the map face up on his desk.
Looking at his watch, Mulder turned on the beat-up portable radio that sat on his filing cabinet. Ten minutes later, the newscaster finished with the sports scores and began the weather forecast. "The northeast is expecting warm temperatures during the day and near freezing at night." He folded the top third of the map back out of the way. The newscaster continued, "The southeast is expected to be unseasonably hot and wet."
Folding the bottom third of the map back as well, Mulder continued to listen intently to the report. "The mid-Atlantic states are assured of light rains tonight followed by a week of sun and moderate temperatures."
Mulder looked at the folded map for a moment, and then picked it up. He pinned the map to his overcrowded bulletin board near the door, then returned to his desk. He opened the center drawer of the desk and removed a brass-tipped dart with loud green fletchings. It had been the prize for an in-house dart tournament that he had spontaneously participated in late one evening.
He took aim, closed his eyes, and threw just as Scully opened the door. The dart skimmed the edge of the door changing its trajectory. The dart stuck solidly into the map.
"Mulder, what on earth are you doing?" she demanded, startled by the near miss.
"Taking a short vacation like you suggested."
"A vacation?" she asked, puzzled. Then she remembered their conversation. She looked at the map with the green fletched dart sticking out of it. "Where are you going?"
He walked over to the map and removed the dart. "Somewhere in Virginia." He couldn't read the name of the nearest town so he removed the map held it under his desk light for a better look. "St. Charles, Virginia, to be exact," he said pointing to the hole in the map.
Scully looked at the map and said observing the lack of any major population indicators, "It's in the middle of nowhere. Couldn't you find somewhere a little closer to civilization?"
"It's not that far out in the boondocks. It's less than eight hours from here by car," he said, estimating the distance with his fingers. "... as the crow flies. Tell you what," he paused thinking. He raised a finger and spoke. "Since you and the door technically interfered with my choice and I haven't made reservations yet, I'll choose again."
Scully stood aside and watched. Mulder took up the map and once again pinned it to the bulletin board. Dart in hand. He returned to his desk. He took aim, closed his eyes, and threw.
They were both surprised with the result. "Looks like St. Charles it is," he said. A faint smile twitched Mulder's lips as he wondered what the probability of hitting the same spot was, considering the map had been moved and there was no interference on the second shot.
Scully pushed a lock of red hair behind her ear as she sat in Mulder's spare chair. "So what made you change your mind and choose now to take your vacation?"
"I just thought about it and realized that I agreed with you. It is the perfect opportunity and we both know how infrequent vacation opportunities can be sometimes." Mulder pushed a stack of papers, topped with an unfinished gray plastic model, toward the center of his desk and sat on the corner.
"Scully, you're the one who pointed out that there weren't any pressing cases and, like Frohike would say, 'that last case was a doozie'. Maybe I should get away for a few days and unwind a little."
"What did Skinner have to say?"
"Not much. He gave his approval but I think that he was a little disappointed that I wasn't going to taking more days."
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Mulder spent the rest of the afternoon clarifying various hand written notes on several files that he had been working or consulting on. He gathered the completed files and placed the stack on his filing cabinet. He then shuffled the remaining files into a half neat stack and left them lying in the center of his desk.
Mulder grabbed his coat off the rack. The completed files off the cabinet and left his office, locking the door behind him. He rode the elevator up to the second floor and dropped off the completed files before heading home to pack.
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