Ye Olde Author's Novella:

Greetings!

A ridiculous amount of words later, it is done.

A little backstory: I've been re-watching our beloved show and binging on fic, and I've come across a lot of cliches that, to be honest, give me hives. A lot of them have turned into actual tropes, which gives me a rash on top of the hives. And a few of those cliches and tropes . . . well, frankly, they annoy me.

And since I never really found what I wanted to read . . . a ridiculous amount of words later, here we all are.

The first chapter of 'Hints' is in direct response to two of those cliches/tropes: the one where Skinner gives Mulder the shovel talk/threatens him against hurting Scully, while usually blaming him for being so stupid/selfish/self-centered/yadda-yadda-yadda and hurting her career/chance at a family/blah-blah-blah. Having been on the receiving end of that attitude more than a few times myself, these fics started to rankle after awhile, especially since Mulder always meekly accepts that treatment and assessment of his character. I have yet to see a story where the 3 ghosts of Christmas visit **Scully** instead of Mulder, and I don't recall ever reading one where someone warned her off of hurting Mulder.

The second annoyance was prompted by a particular fic (whose name I cannot recall to save my life, so if someone knows, please tell me; like a gormless idiot, I forgot to bookmark it or save it to my computer, and I can't locate it in my history. Gah!) where the theme is Scully laying into Mulder for keeping some things for her at his desk (chocolates, etc) and chewing him out for thinking she's incapable, and he got sad and gave up and left. It's a beautifully written story and if that were the only one of its kind, I'd think nothing of it, but I keep coming across that trope, that pattern, and it grates on my nerves. Again, on a personal level, it infuriates me when people who should damn well know better constantly think the worst of me and my motives and, when given proof to the contrary, never apologize. Or really change their behavior.

Frankly, I wanted Mulder to stand up for himself and *not* accept that kind of shabby, uncalled for treatment. So . . . have chapter one.

Chapter two is a direct result of finding one and a half stories that don't portray Mulder as the devil incarnate during/after 'Never Again'. I despite that episode for a lot of reasons, and the character assassination of Mulder in so many fics has not helped. But I went back and watched it again so I could be as truthful as possible and came up with a completely different (to me; with my luck, this plot bunny was written twenty minutes after the show aired) take on Mulder, his motivations, and his actions.

I also wanted someone to forcefully explain that to Scully because as much as I love her character, she's got some giant blind-spots, an equally-huge ego at times, and a flat refusal to ever be wrong - and not just to or about Mulder. Again, this makes her human, but seeing those traits portrayed as positives and things to be emulated . . . just doesn't sit well with me.

I chose the Lone Gunmen as the conveyors because . . . well, because they're awesome and deserve all the love we can give them. But they were also, of the available 'recognizable' pool of available characters, the best I could do for 'neutral'.

So . . . tl; dr. Basically, I took a few cliches and tropes, tossed them in a saltshaker, and went to town. So talk to me! Review, PM me, smoke signals, whatever. I would really like feedback on this story, because it is unusual for TXF, as far as I can tell, and I'd love to know how I did. I know my take on things won't be for everyone and that's fine, but please keep it respectful.

Also, in this fic, my episode order is a bit different from the aired order. So, in my world, the episodes go as follows: The Beginning, Drive, Dreamland 1&2, How the Ghosts Stole Christmas, Terms of Endearment, SR 819, The Rain King, Tithonus, Triangle, Two Fathers, One Son, as aired after that. This is the ONLY way I could begin to make sense of the emotional context we got in one ep, only to be immediately ignored the next. I adore Chris Carter, but he could give Gumby whiplash. So please keep my personal headcanon of timing in mind when reading this; I promise it'll help.

And last but not least: a huge shout-out and thanks must be given to TaleWeaver, who answered my desperate (and possibly a little pitiful) plea for help and agreed to beta read for me. Her insight was invaluable and this story is much better for it. Thanks, TW!

And that's it! I present to you:

Hints and Allegations

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Basement
February 25, 1998
2:47pm

That Wednesday afternoon, less than a week after their undercover assignment at Arcadia, when Walter Skinner went down to the basement office of his greatest pair of agents — and his biggest pain in the ass, both individually and collectively — he had no idea that he would end up attempting to play boss, parent, hero, and disciplinarian.

And he was shocked, horrified, humbled, and humiliated to fail so very spectacularly at every single one of them.

He was coming around the corner, feeling both amused and aggravated (and possibly a little nervous as well; when the pair was this quiet for longer than two days, nuclear destruction generally wasn't far off), when he heard their office door close — and for a reason he didn't immediately understand, that quiet snick made him uneasy. The sound of clicking heels moving at a pace much too fast to be safe warned him that Dana Scully was headed his direction. And that, combined with the deliberate, careful way she had first closed their office door behind her, told him why he was uneasy: she was at least three levels beyond pissed off and nuclear destruction was indeed imminent.

Self-preservation instincts developed in Vietnam, sharpened by years of being a field agent, and honed to an exquisite edge by virtue of being Fox Mulder's supervisor informed him in no uncertain terms that if Scully saw him right then, he would be a dead man simply by proxy. So he dived to the left and somehow managed to defy physics, squeezing himself in the space between two stacks of boxes that Scully herself would have been hard-pressed to fit, it was so narrow. But needs must and since Skinner didn't wish to die or be castrated (verbally or physically), he pretended for a minute that he was Mulder and believed wholeheartedly in the impossible.

And it worked: Scully didn't see him, was in fact glaring straight ahead . . . though even from the half-profile view he had of her expression, Skinner could see the rage blazing in her eyes. But it was the hurt etched in the lines beside her mouth that sparked his temper and his protective instincts.

What the hell had Mulder done now?

It wasn't a secret that Skinner held a soft spot for Scully, and he would often allow her to get away with things that he would (and did) stop Mulder in his tracks for trying. No, it wasn't fair, but neither was life. And since 95% of the things Skinner let Scully do were for her partner, he figured Mulder had no room to complain.

(He was wrong about this, but it would be a long time before he was forced to understand just how deeply Mulder resented him for it, and how justified his resentment was. It wasn't that he begrudged Scully looking out for his best interests, or hers. But it rankled that Skinner's reasoning and attitude toward him frequently smacked of 'you're a child who's too stupid to take care of yourself'. And the man's refusal to let Mulder do what he was asking too often resulted in Scully being forced to come to his assistance (well, okay, rescue), when the reality was that if he'd simply granted Mulder's request to begin with, a lot of that crap could have been avoided.

But Skinner was human, same as the rest of them, and Mulder was self-aware enough to acknowledge that his impatience to act was the reason for many of the jams he found himself in. He still didn't like Skinner's favoritism of Scully, either professionally or personally, but he did understand it. And he knew that the catalyst for change would have to come from Scully herself, or a tragedy Skinner couldn't deny responsibility for. For everyone's sake, Mulder didn't actually want the latter to happen, but he was a realist, so he let it be and said nothing. Well, nothing that could be taken seriously. After all, what point was there in saying anything else?)

Once the elevator doors had safely closed behind his not-so-secretly favorite agent, Skinner worked himself out of his hiding place. It took a series of moves that wouldn't have been out of place in a wrestling match with a greased pig, but he finally managed it and even managed to avoid knocking over any of the boxes. Unfortunately, both the absurdity of the situation and the protectiveness roused by Scully's obvious upset had combined to spike his anger at Mulder far beyond what could be considered reasonable for the situation and he stormed down the hall, slamming into the X-Files office without so much as a by-your-leave.

And ran face-first into an equally furious Fox Mulder.

He was, however, too blinded by his own temper to realize the implications of that until it was too late.

"What the hell did you do this time, Mulder?" he demanded, voice crackling with the force of his emotions as he tried to bully the other man back to his desk. Seeing both the anger and the hurt on Scully's face had led him to the conclusion that she was upset about Diana Fowley (likely among other things; Mulder never did anything by halves). Since this had been a recurring issue from the moment of the other woman's appearance, he didn't think this was an unreasonable assumption.

An incredulous look met his pissed-off question before it hardened to an icy rage that actually froze Skinner to the spot. Mulder rarely lost control of his temper, unless Scully was involved, and so Skinner, like most of the Bureau, had fallen into the trap of thinking the man wasn't that dangerous. They all assumed that Mulder's frequent losses in physical combat were because he was bad at it; this wasn't remotely true. Mulder was simply, at heart, an inherently gentle man who despised using his physical strength against others, even if they were criminals. Amazingly, considering they were supposed to be the best investigators in the country, very few people at the Bureau had put two and two together and realized that when Scully was threatened, Mulder could and did take out whoever was trying to hurt her and it didn't matter if it was male, female, child, animal, or alien. The odds against him made no difference, and neither did the laws of physics. Fox Mulder would protect Dana Scully with his life and if you were the one trying to hurt her, may God have mercy on your soul.

But Skinner had failed to truly see that underlying aspect of his agent, so Mulder standing his ground caught him completely by surprise. Mulder pushing back against his accusation stunned him stupid.

"First of all, what business is it of yours?" the younger asked in a dangerously quiet voice, eyes going solid grey from the force of his emotions. "Second of all, where the hell do you get off assuming that **I** did anything? And third, who the hell do you think you are, blaming me without knowing a single fucking thing about the situation?!"

Mulder's voice had risen during his questioning, though he kept himself under a control that Skinner couldn't help but find admirable, even as he mentally squirmed. His anger hadn't abated, but he couldn't deny the validity of any of those questions and they both knew it. However, his pride was such that he would not admit he was wrong, especially to Mulder, who was not just his subordinate but also frequently the bane of his existence. And the man who too often hurt Dana Scully.

Okay, so Skinner's soft spot for Mulder's partner was a lot softer than he wanted to acknowledge.

"But since you know everything, tell me my sin," his agent said so sarcastically that Skinner's hair actually curled. Since it wasn't on his head, the sensation was highly unnerving. Also, a bit painful. And that was without the uncomfortable position of being put so blatantly on the spot, which was made worse by the fact that Skinner had done it to himself and they both knew it.

So he manned up, squared his shoulders, and looked Mulder straight in the eye.

The sardonic contempt blazing in them made him immediately wish that he hadn't decided to wander down to the basement today to touch base with the pair. Some days, it paid to leave things the hell alone and this was clearly one of them. But since he hadn't had a clue before he left his office and he'd shoved his foot in it on arrival, he was stuck. Might as well get it over with.

"As you succinctly pointed out," he began cautiously, watching that chilly gaze closely for any hint of warmth or softening. None appeared. "I don't know the specifics, though I can guess it had to do with Agent Fowley. So please enlighten me."

There. That was nice and neutral. And despite his fondness for (and favoritism of) Scully, he knew that Mulder would slit his own throat before seriously, truly hurting her. So, realistically, how bad could it be?

You'd think by now he would know better than to put that thought out in the universe.

"Why not?" Mulder drawled after more than a minute of stony silence, his eyes still that odd shade of grey — and still dark with a very contemptuous anger. Skinner swallowed involuntarily at the sight, because he was beginning to realize that he'd just poked a hornet's nest he hadn't even known was there. And he was allergic to hornets.

"After all, I'm the only person in the entire Hoover building who's ever wrong, and who ever fucks up. No one else could possibly do anything wrong on their own, or do something to me that I didn't ask for, or have coming because it's me, right? And heaven forbid that Dana Scully ever do something to hurt me or make me angry. My God! The very thought is unthinkable!"

Once again, Mulder's sarcasm was so blistering, the tiles in the corner of the room shrank in on themselves, and Skinner swallowed. He hadn't realized until his agent verbalized it, but that . . . that was exactly what he'd thought. Not about other agents being perfect, no — hell, he'd only gotten back three days ago from dealing with a spectacular fuck-up in Nevada caused by a team who damn well knew better and had earned the entire office a reprimand that was both blistering and official. But he did tend to assume that Mulder was the instigator in the clashes he had with other agents and departments, a supposition always backed by their reports (but never by outside witnesses, something that Skinner, to his shame, would learn by direct interaction in the not-too-distant-future. And with that knowledge would come the disturbing truth about how often so many agents lied — and not just about Mulder). And Scully was so calm and reasonable that it stood to reason her partner was the instigator in their conflicts as well.

But when Mulder actually said it, plain and unvarnished, Skinner mentally cringed. Hearing it out loud like that made it sound . . . childish. One-dimensional. And just flat-out wrong. Mulder had his moments, to be sure, but he was hardly the only one. Still, this wasn't about other departments or agents. It was about Scully.

And Skinner simply couldn't conceive of a scenario where she would be the reason she'd stormed out of their office, so angry and hurt that she didn't notice her giant of a boss dive-bombing his way between two stacks of boxes. Since Mulder was the only other person down here and they weren't currently working a case, well . . . obviously, he'd done something wrong.

Hadn't he?

"My sin, Assistant Director Skinner, is trying to be a good partner and friend," Mulder snarled, lowering himself very deliberately into his office chair and fixing his boss with a frigid gaze that — dear God, had icicles really formed on the edge of the desk?

Blinking against the sudden chill, never mind Mulder's bitter assertion, Skinner could only shake his head dumbly. The other man gave him no chance to form any response, not that he had one.

"See, for all that Scully is one of the most organized people on the planet, she is very bad about finishing some things off," his agent said, almost conversationally now, and Skinner blinked again at what seemed a very random non-sequitur. "She always has a bag with a change of clothes and stuff in her car, but she doesn't always drive to work and she never remembers to keep one here too. And every other week, at least once, someway, somehow, she gets coffee on her shirt. The third time it happened, I realized that she wasn't going to start keeping a shirt in here, so I did. I have a spare set of her casual clothes in my bottom drawer, so she can either change if she didn't drive or get to her car for work clothes without people sneering at her wearing my stuff. Because the only possible reason for her to have on my jacket over her suit is because we had sex, don't you know?" he snapped, voice full of a biting anger that made Skinner swallow again.

And once more squirm in shame, since he was well-aware of the rumors; unfortunately, there was no power on Earth (or any other planet, come to think of it) that could stop gossip. Mulder and Scully were hardly the only pair who had to deal with those rumors and the resultant aggravation, but still. In this, he sympathized with Mulder — it didn't matter what he did, the man could not win.

Clearly ignoring his train of thought, Mulder kept talking. His voice was frighteningly calm, but his body language got angrier and more upset with each word.

"I also, having learned things over the last few years, keep some other supplies for her. Tampons, pads, a few bars of her PMS chocolate, gloves, spare pair of glasses, eye-drops . . . things that she rarely needs, but when it happens, she never seems to have and always needs at least two of them. And it hasn't been a problem before now. When I realize she doesn't have something or she's used the last thing I got for her, I wait 'til she's out of the office and slip it in her desk drawer," he explained, giving a red-faced Skinner a very even look. It was decidedly embarrassing for a Vietnam vet to be discomfited by the mention of tampons and the like, but he was. Once again, Mulder ignored this in favor of explaining to his boss just what a jackass he'd been.

In more ways than one.

"And I don't know if she really thought she was restocking it herself or if she's just been politely pretending not to notice because she never actually sees me do it. Today, however, she caught me putting the chocolate bar in there and, being Scully, she would not let it go. So we did the interrogation about why I had her chocolate and what I thought I was doing, and what else was I hiding from her," Mulder said . . . and suddenly sounded so exhausted that Skinner's shoulders bowed with involuntary empathy. "So I told her and showed her, because she wasn't going to be satisfied with a simple 'just in case'. She bristled like a cactus but it still might have been fine . . . until she saw the latest issue of American Cancer Society. And she lost her fucking mind."

He stopped here for a second, looking . . . Skinner wasn't sure. Not quite angry, but . . . sad, maybe? No, that wasn't it. But whatever it was, it made his throat ache.

This didn't bode well.

"Because the only possible reason I would keep a drawer of stuff for her when she needs it is that I don't think she's capable of taking care of herself, you see," Mulder explained, his voice dead now, and Skinner bit his tongue to still his instinctive flinch. "Who did I think I was, babying her and treating her like she isn't a grown woman who can get her own fucking supplies, and where did I get off, researching cancer? After all, I wasn't the one who got sick and had to live with it, so the only reason I could be researching it is because I don't think she can look after her own health!"

He worked himself back into a rage so quickly that he shouted the last few words and Skinner involuntarily took several steps back from the force of his wrath. He was stunned speechless — which was a good thing, because Mulder wasn't done.

"Of course, the fact that she keeps a spare tie and bag of sunflower seeds and pack of handkerchiefs for me in her drawer is completely different," he added, his voice now so scathing that Skinner flinched again, closing his eyes against the fury blazing in that dark gaze. And feeling his own shame rising hard and fast, because his arrogant assumption had been so wrong it was laughable and he deserved to have his conceit beaten out of him. "That's just her being a good partner because mustard on my tie is unprofessional and I drive her crazy when I'm out of seeds."

He stopped again, giving his boss a look so pointed it drew blood, and smiled.

Skinner's blood went cold.

"Obviously, that's bullshit. Because I usually do keep a spare tie in here, but I know she hates most of them and it makes her happy to put a boring tie on me every so often. And it's . . . it's great that she thinks of those little things for me. Doesn't bother me at all," his agent said, once again sounding conversational, and Skinner mentally cringed.

Well. He was a royal fuckup today, wasn't he?

He said nothing, didn't even try to defend himself; he had this coming and they both knew it.

"But she's got that stick up her ass about 'competent' and refuses to consider that I, her partner and friend, understand that she's human and sometimes shit happens and she needs a little help. No, the only possible explanation is that I think she can't do it herself, which she informed me of in those exact words." Breathing hard, Mulder stopped again. His nostrils were flaring from the force of his emotions and Skinner had to physically fist his hands to keep from stepping back again. "And I don't know why, I really don't, but I finally lost my temper," Scully's partner said, leaning back in his chair and giving his boss a challenging look that went unanswered; he couldn't have spoken had he wanted to. That changeable gaze was burning with anger, frustration, and a deep, dark sadness. "I just couldn't take it again. I pointed out her hypocrisy, and I also informed her that if she really thinks so little of me after six fucking years, then maybe we needed to rethink some things. And she tried, she did, I'll give her that, but even Dana Scully couldn't refute that truth, and the world will fucking endbefore she admits she's wrong, so she stormed out."

One final pause, and then Mulder leaned forward, pinning Skinner with an icy black gaze that sliced him open and displayed his own hubris and arrogance for the entire world to see.

Then he said it, driving that last nail home.

"And then here you come, blaming me because of course it's my fault. Has to be, right? It's one of the laws of the universe: Fox Mulder is always in the wrong. Even when he's right, he did it wrong." A single deep breath was drawn, causing his nostrils to flare in a way that should have been funny. "So with respect, Sir, two things. One: I'm taking the rest of the week off. And two: don't you ever fucking talk to me the way you did today. Even if I did screw up, you still have no right to speak to me like I'm a recalcitrant dog. And you weren't right. Not even a little bit. And since I already know you won't say anything to Saint Scully, you don't get to say anything at all. I'll see you Monday. Sir."

With that, he was gone.

Walter Skinner stood in the abandoned X-Files office, drowning in shame, guilt, anger, and embarrassment. But it never occurred to him to reprimand Mulder, or stop him, or even call him back. Mulder was right on all counts and they both knew it — including the fact that Skinner wouldn't speak to Scully about this. So he merely cleared his throat, shrugged at the empty room, and quietly left. And if he ate some crow on the way to his office, well . . . no one would ever know.

The issue was never spoken of or even referred to later, and when the pair came to his office the next Monday, there was only a little underlying tension. Otherwise, they seemed to be mostly in accord and appeared like their usual selves. But some of the trust and respect Mulder held for him had broken that afternoon. Neither man allowed it to become a problem, but they both knew it was there and why, and for the rest of his life, Walter Skinner would always remember the shame of that day, and grieve for what he'd thrown away.

But he did learn from his mistake, and it was one he never made again.

It was a shame he would never know if that made a difference.

~~~
tbc