by Maureen B. Ocks (Maureen_B_Ocks@yahoo.com)

Disclaimer:  Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and all other familiar X
Files characters belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and
FOX.  No copyright infringement intended.

Archive -- Sure, as long as my name stays with it.
Spoilers:  Through Season 6
Keywords:  Mulder and Scully on a stakeout.  UST.

R for language


Key Bridge
Washington, D.C.
December 17th

"This is the worst assignment we've ever had." Scully stated.

I turn to look at her, "You never had wire tap duty."

She semi-shrugs her shoulders.  I could have told her she never
crawled under an escalator to get up close and gooey with
Eugene Tooms, but that would bring up the fact that I nearly
saw her get killed on that case.  I could bring up the fact that
we were sent into a prison full of infected inmates and she was
nearly exposed to a deadly toxin.  I could bring up the whole
nightmare of her abduction, her cancer and dumpster diving for
Leonard Betts head -- but I won't.  If she thinks this is the worst
assignment ever, fine.

It is a bad assignment.  Some nut promised to blow up sixteen
federal sites because sixteen of his fellow freedom fighters are in
jail.  The genius forgot to tell us what jail, who the freedom
fighters are and what he planned to blow up so the NYPD, DC
Metro cops, FBI, ATF and about half a dozen other lettered
agencies have folks sitting in front of bridges, monuments,
federal buildings and big public areas until we hear from the
bombing wonderboy.

Add in the recent bombings/impeachment diversions in Iraq and
Scully and I are likely to be here until New Year's.

Here is the Key Bridge in a Ford Taurus.  Think we stick out
much?  Bunch of street people, an occasional late night cab and
the oh so inconspicuous government car with two well dress
white people sitting doing nothing.

At 3am.

What was that line in "My Cousin Vinnie"?  Oh yea, we blend.

"Was wiretap duty the worst assignment you ever had?"

Hmm, good question Agent Scully.  "I guess" I reply shrugging
myself.  "I lost work that mattered to me . . . "  

And you.  

"I was use to the windowless office . . . "

With you.

"and the obscure evidence."

Which was great to argue with you.  

"I just wasn't use to Tony NoNose explaining the finer points of 
lap dancing and why New York strip clubs don't sell alcohol." 

And the thought of not seeing you every day.

"They don't?" she tries to stifle a yawn.  She fails.

"No, model of propriety, New York didn't allow drinking and
stripping at the same club back then."


"Liar." I tease.

"You've still lost what mattered to you now."

Much of the time, I think Dana Scully is the smartest woman,
skip that, person I've ever met.  There are other times I'm
convinced she's absolutely clueless.  I'd ask her if she
remembered that my desire to quit my life in general and the
FBI in particular lessened when I started meeting with her again
but then we get back on abductions, cancer and the rest.  "We'll
get it back.  Spender's not up to the job."

"What about Agent Fowley?"

Scully, I know, is interested in who Diana Fowley is and what
did or does she mean to me.  The problem is I'm not interested
in Diana anymore and I just don't want to address it.  "I'm a
better believer than she is, you know that."

"I do?" she asks, eyebrow looking for a fight.

"Well, for a believer, her behavior at that final meeting with
Skinner left a lot to be desired."

Hey, Scully didn't you hear the same office scuttlebutt that I did
after Diana's performance?  It seems it was OK to treat me
badly in those type meetings -- Spender was only paying me
back for what I did to him at his briefing and what I've done to
about half the other agents in the room at some time or another. 

Agents Russell, Davis and Curtis, however, were just horrified
that Diana treated you so badly.  Seems you've been helping
these guys out from time to time, behind my back.  Imagine
that.  After all the time and effort I've spent alienating these
people, you ruin everything by working well with them.  

"What's so funny?" Scully notices my musings.

Busted.  "I was just thinking," Oh this will be good.  "If they
assigned me Jeffrey Spender all those years ago instead of you,
I'd have shot him long before you shot me."  OK, not my best
bullshit but it is three in the morning.

"What if they assigned you Diana?"

Good grief Scully -- a one note night for you.  Ah, it is 3am,
you're as tired as I am.  "Diana passed on the job.  Wanted to
go work in Europe and the Middle East.  Good luck, see you
down the road."

"Hey," Scully interrupts, "Kersh's rat."

Of all the humiliations of this recent assignment, the rat is the
worst.  Assistant Dick, I mean Director Kersh has a man
checking up on us every night.  

"Son of a bitch, that's Mike Costa.  I know him."

"Do you know his cell phone number?" I ask.  

Please, say no.  Because if you say yes, I'm gonna have to kill
him.  Won't want to.  But I'll have to.  It will be my moral

"My Cousin Vinnie" and now "Real Genius".  I am watching
way too many movies on cable lately.

"No, he was a student of mine at the Academy and now son of
a bitch he's checking up on me."

"Us."  Now I know how she feels when I do the me thing.  

She is planning something.  Castro, Costa, whatever his name
is, just tries to look like he blends too.  Scully is having none of

She grabs something, paper, out of the side pocket in the door
and is writing.  She takes two sheets and holds them to the
window.   They read "HI MIKE".

Beautiful.  Nearly six years with me and I've reduced her to this.

Capra, Costas, whatever, drives along side our car.  Shit, he's
handsome, if you like that Italian god look.  Those teeth,
however, have to be caps.

"Evening Dr. Scully.  Or should I say good morning."

"Hi Mike.  You have check up duty?" Scully is suddenly all
sunshine and light.

"Yes, A.D. Kersh brought up that the two of you are working
on this assignment.  He wanted me to make sure you guys were
here.  He mentioned that you've wandered off occasionally."

I'm gonna follow Scully's lead here because I want this guy dead
just because he's looking at her.  Looking is kind.  Worshipping
is more appropriate.  Hey schmuck, I got that handled.

Scully continues leaking sweetness and light.  "Wandering off is
a little harsh Agent Costa.  Agent Mulder, have you met Agent
Mulder," I give the big toothy bastard a nod, "and I have come
across several crimes while on assignment."

"Oh I know Dr. Scully."

Shut up kiss ass. 

"Off the record," he looks around conspiratorially like Willie the
wino over on the park bench is wired, "Kersh is a prick.  I have
this assignment and then I'm working wire tap over at VCS for
a month for losing my phone."

If he wasn't smiling at her like some love struck goof, I'd feel
sorry for him.   

Well, maybe.  

Or not.

"Well Mike, we're here, we're awake and we will hopefully be
relieved in about three hours.  Go home." chides my partner,
who is now channeling Suzy Sunshine.

Scully starts to roll up her window when Capistrano yells
"Good night Dr. Scully, Agent Mulder."  She gives him a little
wave, I try hard not to give him the finger.

"How did you remember him?" besides the good looks, tens of 
thousands of dollars worth of dental work and the nice

"I always remember the fainters." 

"Fainters?" I ask.

She has the cat that swallowed the canary look.  I like that look. 
 Hell, outside the "what did you do now Mulder" look, I like all
her looks.

A lot.

"Yes, he was in one of my early forensic classes.  I cut open a
body and he was on the floor." 

Funny, I'm liking this guy all of a sudden.  

Scully tries to stifle another yawn but fails miserably.  She
winds up stretching and working her neck before adding, "Nice
to know Kersh's rats are all on the stink list themselves."

"Listen, since he's gone, if you want to grab a nap, I'll play
lookout for a while."  Now that the rat's away -- probably
buying dental floss -- there won't be anything to do until we are

"I slept on and off most of today, so if  you want to  . . . "

"Nah.  I wouldn't want to miss the local charm.  You really have
to go to New York to match the high quality of the junkies and
drunks sleeping on the street tonight."  Besides, sleeping next to
you makes me very nervous.  And in all likelihood would make
me rather embarrassed at some point.

I get another eyebrow from Scully.  If she wants sparkling wit,
we need to be talking during the day, not when I'm sleepy and
horny, and not in that order either.

Scully and I sit in a rather comfortable silence for a few minutes
before I jiggle with the heat and move to the radio.  Some
Springsteen would do me the world of good right now.  

As I'm trying to figure out the scan/stop control on this new
Ford, Scully asks "What if we don't get them back?"

Now I get to do the eyebrow thing, "What back?"

"The X Files, our old assignment, the room without a view."

"We will."  Scully, please don't go south on me right now.  It is
a little hard to do the cheerleader thing when the high point of
my night will be finding a station playing something other than
that annoying Shania Twain song or a rebroadcast of Limbaugh. 
Adam Sandler croaking the Hanukkah song pops up.  Well, it
will do.

"How can you be so sure?  How do you know that the rest of
our career is going to look like this?  Sitting in a car waiting,
succeeding when nothing happens."

"I told you before, Spender and Diana aren't up to the job. 
Sooner or later, and my guess is sooner, they will run into
something that only you and I could handle.  They will have to
come to us and we can negotiate our return."

"And then . . . "

"And then Spender can take his perfect little bulletin board, his
pictures of Clinton and Reno and that fucking ficus plant near
the door and get out."  I take a deep breath and answer what I
know is her next question, "And take Diana with him.  She may
think she's protecting the work but largely she's taking orders
from those who have other agendas."

Scully just nods, happy it seems with that scenario.  "And us?"

"Us?"  Oh Scully, I really don't want to go there right now. 
Actually, I'd like to go to the backseat and neck like fifteen
year-olds but  . . . "Us.  When we get them back, you and I are
going to the best restaurant you can find.  We're gonna have a
nice big dinner, polish off a couple of bottles of wine and have
fun.  We've earned it."  Scully smiles.  Note to self, dinner talk
makes Scully smile.  Talk about dinner often.  

"Fun?  You and I have fun?"  She's working that eyebrow again. 
She's still smiling -- not the happy "I'm gonna get fed" Scully
smile of a minute ago.  This smile is shy, quiet, beautiful.

"You and me, Rupperts," I hope that's the right restaurant. 
You know I'm bored when I'm reading the restaurant reviews in
the Post between late 80's, early '90's comedies on TBS.  

She is still smiling, studying her shoes right now.

Aw, what the hell,  "I'll let you get me drunk and take me home. 
We can go from there."

Scully looks up to me with some sort of wondrous gaze when a
horn blasts.  I'm really not sure who jumped higher, but I do
think I touched the car ceiling.

Goddamn.  It is the poster boy from the American Dental
Association back again.  Scully rolls down her window as I
mutter the words that made George Carlin famous.

"My wife is expecting and she beeped me to get her a midnight
snack.  I thought you and Agent Mulder wouldn't mind some
coffee and cookies." Costanza tells Scully.  He passes over two
delicious smelling containers of coffee and a brown paper bag.  

"Mike, that is so nice of you," Scully is back to the "gonna get
fed" smile, "isn't it Mulder?"

"Thank you."  I say, much in the same voice I used for Aunt
Ruthie when she use to give me undershirts and socks for my
birthday as a kid.  Light on the gusto.  I wind up with the coffee
and the brown bag, leaving Scully free to break up a marriage.

"You two have a good night."

"Thanks again Mike." Scully grabs the bags back from me after
her window motors shut.  "Would it have killed you to be nice
to him?  He didn't have to do this."  She opens the coffee and
sniffs with a near orgasmic joy.

That little shit busted up a nice moment and now I'm the bad

"Look at this, he got us little creams, sugar, sweet-n-low,
stirrers."  She hands me a coffee container with a sugar on top. 
Nice of her to remember.

"And look at this.  Milano cookies.  Remind me to e-mail him

"We'll be here tomorrow.  Maybe if he has rat duty you can put
in an order and Campo . . . "

"Costa, Mike Costa"

"Costa will bring you some brie and merlot."  OK, I am a
miserable person.  Someone does something nice for her and I
should be happy.  Really. I should.  But I'm not wired like that.

"Mulder, be good."  She's getting a little hard to understand
with a Milano cookie in her mouth.     

I sip my coffee.  Captain Fluoride has excellent taste in coffee. 
I'm sure he also is nice to old people, great with children and
kind to furry animals.  I just don't  . . .  shit, "The coffee was a
nice gesture."

Scully seems satisfied again, but it could be the cookies.  "So
when do you think sooner rather than later will be?"

"Got a busy social schedule between then and now Scully?"

"No but if you are taking me to Rupperts, I would imagine we'd
need reservations well in advance."

"I never said I was taking you," I tease, "just that we were

Scully sighs loudly, "Fox Mulder, big spender."

"Don't mention his name."  Scully tilts her head a little, one
point for me.  "I think probably by the spring.  I've been
working on the side trying to find Gibson, trying to find Krycek,
trying some other avenues."  

I don't tell her about last month's field trip.  The weekend of
Thanksgiving I thought I found Dr. Scanlon.  Close but no cigar
or Monica jokes.  It was Scanlon, he was in a small hospital in
Beckley, West Virginia.  He left two hours before I got there
and hasn't returned.  

"And?" Scully brings me back from the Blue Mountains of West

"And Krycek never stays missing long, Gibson wants to find us
and has the skills to do just that and finally, when push comes to
shove, Spender will mess up because you and I made a mistake
or two along the way."

"Us?  Make a mistake?" she jokes.

"Once or twice, on a bad day.  But they will make a mistake and
the powers that be will need what you and I bring to the table." 
And if Jeffrey Spender gets his ass kicked in the process, and
maybe I can help in the ass-kicking, things will be perfect. 
Well, maybe after that celebration dinner things will be perfect.

Scully smiles again.  The "you and I" thing worked.   She goes
to speak but winds up yawning.  

I decide to play gentleman, "Get some sleep Scully.  You
spotted the rat, you win the nap."

Scully nods and mumbles her thanks.  As she dozes, I polish off
my coffee and a handful of Cantos's Milanos.  More mental
notes -- food, good; you and I, better.  Tomorrow I'll bring a
thermos of Starbucks coffee and a pound of Milano cookies.

Watching her sleep I realize I'll see sunrise with Scully in a few
hours.  This isn't the worst assignment we've ever had.  We're
here, we're healthy and we're talking to each other.  Not the
worst by a long shot.


Feedback would be nice