Date: Tue, 2 Jan 1996
The Temp

Ok, you asked for it. . .One submission coming up. It's 16 pages long, so I
broke it into 2 parts. It's my first - first person story, I have Goo to
thank for the inspiration, but it ain't no Corpse. Rated PG13 for excessive
use of damn and shit.
********************************

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended (like always).
Mulder, Scully, Skinner belong to Ten Thirteen. Bettye came from
the first X Files Novel, _Goblins_. Carrie Harms and Agent Weber
(and the guys in the lab) belong to ME.
RATING AND WARNINGS: PG 13 No 3rd Season. This story
takes place right after "3" and during "One Breath", so it couldn't
possibly be about the Third Season, or have any sex between
Mulder and Scully since she was missing or in a coma most of that
time. I did use 'colorful metaphors' (to quote _Star Trek IV_) but
not the really naughty words. Comments always welcomed and
usually responded to unless the kids are screaming at me for dinner
or something mundane like that. I'm at vmoseley@fgi.net One of
US #5335 and Founding member of Xangsters Anonymous :)

Enjoy.

THE TEMP (Part one of two)
by Vickie Moseley

It seemed really ridiculous, later, much later, when I thought
about how scared I was that first day. Oh, I wasn't afraid of the
job. I mean, I'd done temp work forever, even during high school.
My father was sure that I needed secretarial skills, even though I
wanted to go to law school. He once told me that I might need
those skills to fall back on, in case being a lawyer didn't pan out. I
had been angry for a week. Then, the counselor at my high school
*agreed* with him, and I really got mad! But I took the damn
courses just to shut them both up. And now, it was how I was
paying for law school. Life is weird.
So it wasn't the job that scared me. And it wasn't the fact that
this was the FBI. I mean, the Federal Bureau of Investigation, for
Pete's sakes! Going through the security clearance had given me
nightmares. But once that was over, (and they never did find out
about the summer I baby-sat and didn't file a tax return), I sort of
adjusted and figured it was like any other government job. Besides,
it was only for 6 weeks. The lady I was replacing was having a hip
replaced and would be out that long. She had been really nice,
letting me come in a couple of days early so I could learn the ropes.
I don't know what I expected, but I'm sure I didn't expect to
work in the basement. It looked like it had been used for storage,
or something. There weren't many offices down there, only three,
and my little cubicle which was sort of in an alcove by the elevators.
Two of the offices were really little labs, and the agents that
worked there did almost all of their work on computers, so the
most I did for them was fill their supply cabinets and make sure the
coffee was made in the morning. Real challenging work. The other
office belonged to an agent who was in charge of a project. Sort of
a 'mini' division. Something about X's. Bettye, the lady I was
replacing, didn't dwell on the types of cases he handled. She took
most of her time telling me the care and feeding of this particular
agent.
At the time, I didn't think that was odd. I mean, what did I care
what kind of cases this guy investigated? It wasn't like I was going
to be working on them with him, after all. And a good secretary is
at least one part nursemaid, I had figured that out a long time ago.
I look at it this way, it's a lot easier to deal with an employer who is
happy than one who is grumpy and if you can affect that in any
way, in short, make their life a little easier--you are way ahead of
the game. Of course, there are lines I never crossed, I have no
intention of 'sleeping my way to the top'! But coffee with milk
instead of cream, pencils sharpened but not too short, mail in the
corner of the desk and not on the chair, all those are the little things
that make a difference. Sometimes, a BIG difference.
Bettye seemed more concerned than anything about this guy.
Sort of almost motherly, in a way. She told me that sometimes she
had to remind him to eat. And sometimes, he would sleep at the
office, on his desk and she would come in and have to wake him up
so he could go home and shower. He didn't have a girlfriend or a
wife. (It's not nosy, a good secretary can get in a real tub of hot
water by screening the *wrong* call.) He had a partner, a woman,
but she had disappeared, actually been kidnapped. Bettye didn't go
into details, but made sure that I understood this was _not_ a topic
for discussion. She hinted that they were very close, and that he
was really upset over her disappearance. It sort of scared me to
think that an FBI agent could get kidnapped. I would have thought
it would be all over the press, that they would have hundreds of
agents, the DEA, the Secret Service, hell, even the CIA trying to
find her. But according to Bettye, they searched for a while and all
the leads went cold and then they stopped. Except he hadn't
stopped. He was still looking for her. It had become an obsession.
Bettye didn't say as much, but I recognized the symptoms from the
one psych course I had taken in undergrad.
So I don't know what I expected when I started working there.
But he wasn't in the first day. He was in Los Angeles on a case.
And he wasn't in the next day. Or the next. Then, out of the clear
blue, there he was when I came in.
He was standing at the file cabinet when I came in with files. I
so surprised to see him that I almost dropped the files. He was tall,
at least 6 feet. He towered over me, I just barely hit 4'11" in tennis
shoes. He was in shirt sleeves, but then, he was a supervisor. I had
discovered that sups got by with shirt sleeves as long as they didn't
walk the halls with them. His dark hair was cut short, and looked
like his stylist kept trying to get it to stay in place, but it wasn't
about to cooperate. It fell over his forehead. He wore gold
wirerims as he dug through the drawer, and almost didn't
acknowledge my presence until I cleared my throat so I could
introduce myself. I set the files down on the desk, the messy one
(his desk, I had been told by Bettye) and went over to him with my
hand extended.
"Agent Mulder, hello. I'm Carrie Harms. I'm replacing Bettye
while she's in the hospital," I said in my best 'I'm just a temp, don't
kill me' voice.
He gave me a real once over, like I figured he probably did
everyone he met. Finally he took my hand and shook it. My dad
taught me that you can learn a lot from a handshake. His was firm,
but he didn't squeeze, it told me he was confident, but not
egotistical. His smile was warm, but a little confused.
"Why's Bettye in the hospital?" he asked.
"Hip replacement surgery. She's out for 6 weeks, possibly a
little longer. She's at Georgetown U. I can send flowers, if you
want," I added. I had yet to work for a boss who knew how to dial
a florist shop. Or pick out a birthday card, for that matter.
"No, thanks, I'll stop by later." He stood looking at me, like he
was expecting me to say something.
"Ah, is there anything you want me to do? I mean, I understand
you just got back from a case. If you have any notes to type up, or
files to put up, I'll be glad to do it." Geez, did I have to tell the guy
what a secretary did, for cripes sakes? Or was he just testing me?
He got a really weird expression on his face and sort of snorted.
"I type up my own notes and I file my own files. I really don't have
anything for you do to, Ms. Harms. Sorry," he added, but sure
didn't sound like it.
This was a real bummer. First there was nothing for me to do
for the lab guys and now my only hope of any activity was telling
me in so many words to 'buzz off'. What did Bettye do all day?
She sure seemed busy the two days I had been with her. Then it
dawned on me. He probably *Trusted* Bettye. He didn't know me
from Adam.
"Look, Agent Mulder, I have all my clearances. I mean, the
guys upstairs even know what color my shower curtain is. You can
trust me. Besides, I'm kind of bored, the other guys down the hall
don't seem to need me, either. There is only so many hours a day a
girl can file her nails, you know?" He didn't look the sexist type,
but I was desperate. I don't know why I was spilling my guts,
except he seemed like a nice guy and I was praying he would
understand. "Are you sure there isn't *something* I can help you
with? Anything?" Good grief, I was begging for work! I felt like I
should be wearing one of those cardboard signs that read 'Will
Work for Food'.
He smiled, kind of sad really, and sighed. Then he looked over
at the big pile of papers on his desk and it was like a light bulb went
off in his pointed little head. He got a big grin, a lot like the Grinch
staring down on Who Village, and scooped up the pile. It was a
foot and half high, no joke. Some of the pages were stapled. From
what I could tell, they were mostly interoffice memos. He hefted
them for a second, as if he wasn't sure I could carry that much
weight. Then he ceremoniously handed the whole pile over to me.
"Do you want me to file these," I asked meekly. I didn't have
clue.
"No, Ms. Harms, I want you to *read* them. And then throw
them away." He was still grinning.
"That's it: just read them and throw them away?" I squeaked.
"Well, if you come across anything that I might possibly use, let
me know about it. Otherwise, just make sure none of those are life
threatening, or mention my name. Let me know right away if they
mention my name," he said, suddenly serious. "Or Scully's name,"
he added as an after thought. I must have looked confused because
he gestured toward the empty desk at the other end of the room.
"Dana Scully. She's my partner. That's her desk. I want to know if
any of the memos mention her. That is *really* important." The
smile returned to his face again. "There's more where that came
from. Now, get to it," and with that he returned to his filing.

I remember looking at my watch all through lunch hour. He
was busy, I could see his back through the door he had left open.
He was hunched over a computer and every once in a while he
would shift to the file cabinet and pull a file, then sit back down. I
noted that he didn't bother *replacing* any of the files. <<I file my
own files. . .>> Yeah, right. I thought about going to lunch. But I
hated to interrupt him. Besides, I usually let the bosses eat first.
OK, it's not like I *let* them, that's what they usually do. Then,
after they're fed and relatively happy, I sneak out for a bite and they
don't seem to mind answering their own phones quite as much. But
it was 2:30 already and this guy was still at it. I remembered what
Bettye had told me. It was time to take matters into my own hands.
"Agent Mulder, ah, are you going to lunch?" My voice sounded
really timid.
His head jerked up from where he was concentrating on the
computer keyboard and he got a look like I had just spoken to him
in Ancient Greek. "'Scuse me?"
"Lunch? I asked if you were going to lunch?" I asked again. I
was certain I was speaking English.
"Oh, *lunch*. . ." he glanced down at his watch. "No. Why,
haven't you gone?" he asked, still looking perplexed.
"Well, I was waiting for you to go first, actually. But if it's all
right, I'll run down to the corner and grab something now. Can I
get you anything?"
"Nah, I'm fine. Next time, Ms. Harms, don't wait. Just go. This
place has yet to fall down. With all it's been through, I doubt your
going to lunch will affect it that much." He smiled at me, and for
the first time I noticed his eyes. He had gorgeous hazel eyes! But
they had big dark circles under them, like he hadn't slept in weeks.
I suddenly felt very protective of him and I had to chew on my lip
to keep from doing something stupid, like throwing my arms
around him and telling him it would be all right. I covered really
well, smiled back and left him to the computer.
I knew it was silly, but I really could not stand the thought that
the guy wasn't going to eat lunch. I mean, he did not have a weight
problem. He looked a little thin, to be exact. And when I noticed
his eyes, and the dark circles, I also noticed that he was kind of
pale, especially for somebody just back from Los Angeles. So I
dug in my wallet and bought him a Big Mac. It wasn't much, but at
least he wouldn't starve to death before Bettye was back.
"Ah, Agent Mulder," I said, hesitantly interrupting him again
when I returned. He looked up and smiled. "The guy at the
window screwed up. Somehow I ended up with an extra Big Mac.
Would you like it?"
His smile got bigger and he looked me straight in the eyes.
"You shouldn't lie, Ms. Harms. You don't have the ability to pull it
off."
I swallowed hard and I think I would have fainted if he hadn't
taken the bag out of my hands and proceeded to unwrap the
sandwich. "But thank you, anyway." He wolfed it down so fast I
was afraid he would chomp off a finger. I ran back to the cubicle
and sat for ten minutes, trying not to shake. The guy was definitely
scary!

It went that way for the next week. I came in, made coffee,
checked the supply cabinet, and then sat down to read those blasted
memos. I felt I now knew more about the FBI than J. Edgar. And
it was a really *boring* place, believe me! The trash can was
overflowing. I had a small pile, about two inches thick, that I
wanted Agent Mulder to look at. All that from over 3 feet of
memos. I almost cried at the thought of all those dead trees. What
a waste.
Agent Mulder was generally pleased with the memos I had
sorted out. They seemed pretty important, and one of them did
mention his name. There was no mention of Dana Scully, however,
and he seemed disappointed, but resigned when I mentioned that.
I don't know if I finally gained his trust or if he was feeling
particularly claustrophobic, but one afternoon he called me in and
asked if I would mind filing some of the folders on his desk. I was
overwhelmed with gratitude--I thought I would slice my wrist if I
had to read one more of those damnable memos. I was grateful,
until I tried to decipher his filing system. Suddenly, I was
wondering if the lab guys needed more staples. If it was
alphabetical order, he was using a different alphabet. I tried
chronological order, numerical (by case file number), then, in
desperation, I tried by tab color. None of the *logical* ways made
any sense.
He must have sensed my frustration because I glanced over to
see him watching me with a bemused expression. I glared at him
for a second, determined to figure this out. I had a college degree
in history and political science, for cripes sakes, and I was not going
to be thwarted by some wiseass FBI agent's filing system! A couple
more tries and he was trying really hard not to fall off his chair
laughing. He got up, took the file I was holding out of my hand
and opened a file drawer.
"Top line, all caps: phenomenon. By alpha. Second line, Caps
and small case, case name: by alpha. If more than one name,
numerical, by file number." He shoved the folder in the drawer and
went to sit down.
"OK, then explain this one," I taunted. I had opened the next
drawer down and discovered an entire drawer with no rhyme or
reason.
"Simple. UFO sightings are geographic by state, alpha, and then
chronological, except when dealing with hot spots and then its
alpha, by city or by witness who first reported the sighting." He sat
down as if he had just explained how to use the elevator.
Maybe it was the way he sat down, or the fact that he had been
laughing at me, or maybe I had just about had it with the stupid tie
he was wearing, but I lost it. Not too much, but enough.
"That is the stupidest filing system I have ever experienced!
Where did you go to school, Sears Business College and University
of Insurance?" I turned beet red before the words were even out of
my mouth.
He stared at me, open mouth for a moment and then broke out
in a broad laugh. When he recovered, he gasped, "No, actually, I
went to Oxford, but you were close." And he promptly turned back
to his computer screen and left me to finish the filing. By the end of
the day, I think I was beginning to figure it out and that thought
frightened me more than I could possibly imagine.
The next morning, I got in on time, as usual, did my coffee
thing, checked the supply closet and went to check on Agent
Mulder. No Mulder. The waste basket, however, was overflowing
with wadded up paperballs. Enough to look like a scene from 'The
Trouble with Tribbles' on the OLD Star Trek. Since my
wastebasket was empty, I surmised that he must have been there
after the cleaning people. And I got the impression that they came
pretty late. Maybe he had worked late and was sleeping in. He
could use the sleep, that was for certain. I had caught him asleep at
his desk twice in the last couple of days and the dark circles were
looking like permanent tattoos under his eyes. I could see why
Bettye had been so worried about him. I was beginning to feel the
same way.
I still had a nice pile of folders to file, so I was hard at work and
didn't notice the incredibly good looking, very young agent standing
in the door until the poor guy cleared his throat a couple of times.
He scared me half to death, no body but Agent Mulder and the lab
guys ever came down to the basement, and the lab guys never left
the lab. I dropped the file I was holding and I think I might have
squealed (not *screamed*, thank you very much). He ran over to
help me retrieve the folder.
"Sorry about that," he apologized as he handed me the folder.
"I was sent down to find Agent Mulder."
Oh, crap. Cover for the boss. It had been awhile. "Uh, he's
washing his hands," I lied.
"Well, Assistant Director Skinner wants to see him at 10:00
sharp. Would you mind giving him the message?" he asked, and
glanced around with an air of someone who wanted very much to
run and hide before something grabbed him.
"No problem, Agent, ah," I quickly checked the ID badge,
"Agent Weber." I smiled, like the good little secretary I am and he
smiled back and retreated as quickly as he could without being too
obvious. It seemed like Basement Dwellers were the lepers of the
FBI.
As soon as Weber left, I glanced at the wall clock and choked.
It was 9:05. Agent Mulder had exactly 55 minutes. This was going
to be tricky! I ran to my desk, and accessed his phone number.
The phone rang four times and the machine picked up. Damn. I
tried again. The phone rang three times and a very sleepy voice
answered. "Mulder."
"Agent Mulder, this is Carrie, Carrie Harms. At work. You
overslept. Assistant Director Skinner wants to see you at 10:00.
You have to hurry." I hoped he was catching on to the seriousness
of the situation.
"Shit." came the answer. I knew how he felt. Been there, done
that, threw away the instructions.
"Uh, maybe you better hurry," I suggested, gently.
"Yeah, guess so. . .oh shitshitshitshit! I left the car at the
office!" he said, finally sounding a little more awake.
"How did you get home?" I asked, bewildered.
"I walked. I needed the air. I was going to take the Metro in
but by the time I shower. . ."
"Forget the Metro! I'll come pick you up. I have your address
right here, I can be there in 15 minutes," I interrupted.
"I can't ask you to do that, Ms. Harms. It's way above and
beyond the call of. . ." he started.
"Agent Mulder, shut up and get showered," I commanded.
"Yes, ma'am," he responded and I could hear the smile on his
face. "But give me 20 minutes, OK?"
"20 minutes. Just hurry!" I hung up the phone and dashed out
the door, stopping only long enough to grab my purse.

===========================================================================

From: LisdXPhile@aol.com
Date: Tue, 2 Jan 1996 09:50:08 -0500
Subject: The Temp part two

Again, this one is by Vickie Moseley, and should be archived as such.
********
THE TEMP (Part two of two)
By Vickie Moseley
Disclaimer in first part

Naturally, there were no parking spaces in front of his building,
so I had to park half a block up the way. I locked the doors and ran
up to his building. He wasn't anywhere in sight, so I found his
buzzer and hit it with all my might. He didn't answer, but I heard
the click and buzz of the door and I pushed inside. I guessed at the
right floor to push for the elevator, and surprisingly, I guessed
right. I found his door, knocked and he greeted me, tying his tie
and bare foot.
"Gimme two more minutes, promise," he said over his shoulder
as he disappeared down a small hallway.
I have always hated being alone in someone's apartment. It feels
like I'm reading their diary or something. This was no exception. I
couldn't help but look around, and I felt really weird doing it. He
had tropical fish, I noticed, in a corner by his desk. The room
looked like a cross between caveman male and southwestern. He
had some neat prints, which I suspected he had picked up in
England, if he really did go to Oxford. On the bookcase was the
picture of a little girl, no more than 8 or 10. She was cute as a bug,
and her eyes looked just like his. I picked up the picture for a
closer look and heard him enter the room behind me.
"Is this your daughter?" I asked.
He looked confused for a second. I think it never occurred to
him that he could have had a daughter that old. "No. That's my
sister."
"Boy, she must have been a surprise to your parents," I smiled.
I was born when my father was 50 and my mother 43. I had been a
BIG surprise.
Again, he looked perplexed. Then, it dawned on him what I was
saying. "Oh, no, it's not like that. That picture was taken 22 years
ago."
It hit me like a bolt of lightening! "Oh, gosh. She isn't. . .dead?"
I really felt like a heel.
He shook his head with a sort of sad smile. "No. She's just
been missing. She was. . .she was taken from our home when she
was 8 and I was 12. I haven't seen her since." He was standing by
the door and looking like he wanted to drop the subject and leave--
fast.
I know when to drop a subject. So I dropped this one. "Well,
we better get going before they send out the mounted police." We
sorted sprinted out to the car.
Once we got in the car, he settled in and tried not to second
guess my driving. I'm not real familiar with Alexandria and every
once in a while, I would make a wrong turn trying to get to the
main road back into the city. He would flinch and then gently
suggest the way back to the road we wanted to be on. A guy who
knew directions. What a catch!
We were finally crossing the Key Bridge and he started to relax.
I guess he figured even *I* could negotiate downtown DC.
"So, you're a temporary," he said, trying to think of some nice,
safe topic to pursue.
"Yep, sure am," I replied. It wasn't a really leading question,
after all. So much for his skill as an interrogator if that was the best
he could come up with.
"I sort of figured you for more than just a secretary. I mean, it's
an honorable profession and all that. . ." he trailed off. Well, at
least that was an opening.
"I'm working my way through law school. I take night classes,"
I offered.
"Have you thought about working for the Bureau, I mean, after
you get out of law school?" he asked.
"Do you get some sort of signing fee if I do?" I grinned at him
and he smirked and shook his head.
"No. You just seem to fit in around there. And they are always
looking for bright, observant people. And the law school diploma
wouldn't hurt. The money may not be Wall Street, but the job has
some rewards. Beats the heck out of reviewing wills."
"Are you a lawyer?" I asked.
He really cracked up at that one. "Good god, no!" Then he
realized that his comment could be taken the wrong way. "Oh, hey,
I didn't mean that the way it sounded. . .I'm not a lawyer. I'm a
psychologist."
"Oh, that explains it," I countered. Now it was his turn to be
offended.
"Explains *what*?" he asked with a deep scowl.
"All those books in the office." Ha Ha, gotcha! "Jung, Freud,
all those P-sychologists," I said, using the 'Anamanics'
pronunciation. That merited a big grin.
"So, you're a shrink, what's Dana?" I asked. So far the only
thing I knew about Dana Scully was that she was neater than he
was and that her name hadn't appeared in any office memo since
early summer.
His face got tight and his whole stature stiffened. "She's a
doctor. A pathologist, actually."
"Dead bodies. Yuck!" I grimaced.
"Yeah, well, she gets in to it," he smiled, lost in some memory.
He looked up and realized we were almost to the FBI
Headquarters. "I wonder what I did this time," he muttered, half
under his breath.
"Maybe it's a new case," I suggested, though I don't think he
meant for me to hear him.
"Not bloody likely. If it was a new case, he'd just send down the
file folder. No, he's calling me up to ream me out. Trouble is, I
can't think of what I could have done."
When he came back down after the meeting, he was really quiet,
not looking at me at all while I filed next to him. Every once in a
while he would shoot a look over to the empty desk at the other
end of the room, sigh and turn back to the computer screen in front
of him. I didn't bother him.
If I had thought he was bad before, I was in for a big surprise.
He had been pretty distant since the big meeting. Oh, he wasn't
mean, or angry, and he would talk civilly to me, but his eyes refused
to shine. They looked dull, all the time. And his shoulder's looked
like he was carrying a ton of bricks on his back. It was driving me
nuts. Then, he got the phone call.
He was on the other line, talking to some guy upstairs named
Danny, who seemed to be the resident 'Klinger' of this particular
'MASH Unit' and so when the call came in, it was routed to my line.
The voice on the other side was soft, a woman's voice and very
gentle. I told her he was on another call, could I have him call her
back? She said yes, then added "Tell him to call Margaret Scully.
He has my phone number." I took the number again anyway and
hung up. Margaret Scully. Dana *Scully*. There had to be some
relation here. He was finally off the phone and I picked up the little
pink sheet and walked it to his desk.
He was working on a file and a pile of files was threatening to
fall off the desk. He grabbed at them as I walked in and then
sheepishly handed them to me. I smiled and started to refile them,
but remembered the sheet and gave it to him first. I didn't mean to
eavesdrop. He picked up the phone and called the number without
even glancing at the sheet.
"Mrs. Scully, it's Fox, have you heard something?" His voice
was strained, a little anxious.
"Oh." Silence.
"Well, aren't any of the boys available?" More silence.
"Yeah, right. Sure, I'll come with you. What time do you want
me to pick you up?" He nodded, not bothering to write anything
down.
"Ah, Mrs. Scully. . .Margaret. . .you know I think this is
premature. We are still searching. I know I'll find her. . ." his voice
was tighter now and it hurt my chest just to hear him try to say the
words. "Of course, I understand, but I've been through this before.
. .I just. . .I just don't want to give up. . .Not yet. Not ever."
"No, I'm sorry. Please, Margaret, don't cry. No, I didn't mean. .
.you know I would never accuse you of that. . .I just. . .I just miss
her, too." I was positive there were tears in his eyes, because there
were sure tears in his voice. I really wanted to leave and run to my
desk, but then he would have known I had been listening. So I
stood there and tried like hell to fade into the woodwork and file
the damn files I held in my hands. Finally, he hung up the phone
and jogged to the men's room. I took the opportunity to finish
shoving files in the drawer. It didn't matter how, just as long as
they were in there and I could finally hightail it back to my seat
before he got back.
I heard him walk up behind me and I guess I kind of tensed up,
because he put his hand on my shoulder. "Ms. Harms, I'll be taking
tomorrow morning off. I have. . .an errand to run. . ." He turned
and started toward the office. I could tell he was really hurting and
I thought if he could talk about it. . .
"Was that her mom?" I asked. If he wanted to talk, he would.
If not, he could tell me to mind my own business or something. I
was a big girl, I could take it if he blew up at me. He just needed to
get rid of some of that steam that was threatening to go off like a
bomb inside him. He kept walking. I got up and followed him into
the office.
"That was her mom, wasn't it? I wasn't meaning to listen, I'm
sorry, you just seem. . ." I stopped when I looked at his face. He
looked horrified and stricken and all those other bad things all
rolled into one. Then it broke. All of a sudden and he just fell, his
whole face fell and he put his hands up to his head.
"I can't give up!" he shouted. "I *won't* give up! She wouldn't
give up on me. She didn't give up on me. God knows she should
have, but she never did! I can't do it."
I had the good sense to close the door, in case the lab guys got
nosy and went over to him. His shoulders were shaking and I
rubbed his back a minute saying things I say to my nieces and
nephews when they stub their toes. He got himself under control
pretty quick, I thought.
"Sorry, that was really. . .really stupid. I mean, that was her
mom, Scully's mom. She asked me some time ago if I wanted to
help her pick out a stone for the cemetery. She got me at a weak
moment, she was crying and I said, of course, anything to get her to
stop crying. Well, she called the stonecutters and put in the order
and now we have to go look it over." He stopped and pulled out a
handkerchief. I hadn't seen one in years, but I knew some guys still
used them. At least they still sold them in stores. He wiped his
eyes and blew his nose and took a deep breath. "I just didn't expect
them to get it done this soon. I thought it took a long time. . ."
"Hey," I said, pushing him down in his chair so my eyes were on
the same level as his. "It's just a dumb piece of rock. It doesn't
mean anything, not if you don't want it to. If it makes Mrs. Scully
feel better, then let her have it, go with her and help her through
this. Dr. Scully would want that. But it doesn't have to mean
anything to you. Don't give up hope. You don't have to, you don't
want to, _just_don't_! I know you'll find her. Hell, you can find
files in that" I pointed back over my shoulder to the file cabinet.
"You can find *anything*!"
That got a weak smile. "What was your undergrad in," he
asked.
"Poli Sci and History," I said proudly.
"No Psych?" he questioned.
"Took one class, aced it and decided it was too easy so I looked
for something challenging," I teased. This time he chuckled.
"You are wasting your time in Law, Ms. Harms. You should
get a stand up act in Vegas," and he turned back to his desk and
picked up the file he had been working on.

The next afternoon, I could tell he was trying hard to not let it
get to him. I wondered how many other people in that building
could go with their partner's mothers and pick out headstones and
not let it throw them right in the loony bin. I made sure he noticed
the bag of sunflower seeds I had picked up and I got him coffee
about once an hour. He probably thought I was hovering, but he
didn't say anything. I think he wanted some hovering right then.
It was Friday afternoon and I knew he would go home and sulk
through the weekend. God, he was so cute. And smart and tall and
why in the hell didn't some girl hang on him all day and all night and
just fawn on him? But then, it dawned on me that he probably
made sure that never happened. Besides, I knew there was only
one possible candidate for such a role and she, from what I had
picked up in the four weeks I had been working there, was
definitely NOT the 'fawning' type. I almost thought about inviting
him to go to a movie, but that would be against every protocol in
the book and many outside it. Not to mention a really bad clichE.
So, I held my tongue and just wished him a good weekend before I
left.
Monday was almost a relief. I had spent the weekend with torts
and I was even looking forward to a new batch of memos that had
just arrived late on Friday. Maybe law wasn't what I thought it
would be. But I made it to work early and tackled the stack,
zipping through it quickly and waiting for him to come in. 9:00,
still no sign.
By 10:00 I was getting worried. By 11:00, I started thinking
about a guy I had met once who seemed perfectly normal and really
cute who shot himself in the head because his girlfriend had run off
with his roommate to Mexico for Spring Break. Agent Mulder had
a _much_ better reason to commit suicide than Joe ever had. But
in the back of my mind, I just couldn't believe that he would do
that. He just wasn't the type. I decided he must have gotten sick
over the weekend and had forgotten to call in. I was going to go to
his apartment at lunch to make sure he was all right.
At 11:30, he called. He sounded so tired, but in a weird way, he
was so wound up, so excited. They had found her! Whoever they
were, Agent Scully was in the Intensive Care Unit of Northeastern
Georgetown Medical Center. He had been there with her since
Friday night. He wanted me to dig through the files and find
anything I could on the cases of alien abductions where abductees
had been returned in comas. I told him I would leave them on his
desk chair, so he could find them. I gave him his messages, I doubt
sincerely that he wrote any of them down. And then I said I was
really happy for him.
"Well, we aren't all the way home, yet. She's in a coma. But at
least I can see her. And she's tough. She'll make it. We still have
too much to do," he said. Then he hung up. *We still have too
much to do*. I wondered if he had ever bothered to tell her how
much she must mean to him. Probably not. It's not a guy kind of
thing. Maybe he would now.
He didn't come into the office again for the rest of the week. At
least, not while I was there. He must have been in once, because he
forgot to turn off the printer. There were boxes on the desk, it
looked almost like he had been packing. There was a piece of
paper, torn in half, lying by the door. I picked it up and threw it
away.
On Monday, there was a big bouquet of flowers on my desk.
The note said "For helping me remember not to give up" and was
signed simply FM. His door was closed and I didn't really want to
disturb him, but I also wanted to know what had happened. I went
up to the cafeteria to get a diet pop and the whole place was
buzzing about how Agent Scully had come out of her coma. She
was going to be OK. I went back down and knocked on his door.
"Nobody here but the FBI's most unwanted," he quipped loudly.
I smiled and opened the door. "Ms. Harms, oh, hey, great suit. Is
that new?" he asked. I couldn't believe the transformation! And for
the first time since I had met him, he actually looked like he had
gotten a good night's sleep. He was. . .glowing.
"I heard upstairs that Dr. Scully is recovering. I suppose you
already knew that, though, right?" I accused.
"Oh, yeah, sorry. I should have called or something. She came
out of the coma. She's still pretty weak, but she's laughing at my
jokes. Of course, that could be a sign of severe head trauma, but I
think she'll be fine. She has to stay in the hospital for a couple of
more days and then she'll be home on medical leave for three or
four weeks. She'll hate every minute of it. She always says *I*
make a lousy patient. She should try looking in the mirror
sometime." He stopped himself, almost like he didn't want to speak
ill of her or something. Then he broke out in a hugh grin. "Before
too long she'll be back and stealing my coffee and complaining
about my seeds and generally trying to frustrate me at every turn. I
can hardly wait!"
His smile was totally infectious. "I just bet you can't," I said and
got him a fresh cup of coffee. He didn't seem to notice when I sat it
down on the desk. He was too engrossed in the file in front of him.
Bettye came back the next week. The guys in the lab had a little
party for me. I didn't really do that much for them, but they all
agreed that I made the best coffee they had ever had. Agent
Mulder gave me a card with a gift certificate for a nice restaurant
on the Hill. The note on the card reminded me to "consider the
Bureau. It ain't all that bad. . ." I gave and got hugs all around and
then I walked out of the door and didn't look back.

My new office, at the Department of Education had taken me
out for my birthday in March. They took me to a pizza place on
Pennsylvania Avenue. It was a party, so I walked over to the juke
box to pick out some tunes when I saw him. He was sitting in a
booth with a really pretty red head and they were talking in
whispers over a medium pepperoni and mushroom pizza, from what
I could tell. I thought about it a minute and then decided to go
over and say hello.
"Agent Mulder? Hi. It's Carrie. . ."
"Ms. Harms! Hi! How are you?" he asked, standing and
shaking my hand. The young woman was giving him a raised
eyebrow. He looked over and smiled. "That's right, you left before
Agent Scully got off medical leave. Scully, this is Carrie Harms.
She took Bettye's place while she was in the hospital getting a new
hip. Ms. Harms, this is Dana Scully." I smiled and shook her hand.
Yeah, I had to admit it, she looked worth it.
"When did Bettye have her hip replaced?" Agent Scully asked.
"Good grief, nobody ever told me."
"We were keeping it a national secret. Only four or five people
know and none of them can ride in the same plane," he deadpanned.
From the sudden pained expression on his face, she must have
kicked him under the table.
"So, how are you doing? Been to Roswell lately?" I asked. I
couldn't help but joke.
"Actually, it's my first day back. I've been. . ."
"Agent Mulder just spent a month examining the insides of his
eyelids in a military hospital in Alaska," Agent Scully said, like she
was scoring some kind of points or something. He looked
sheepish. I just shook my head.
"So, how is law school?" he asked, smoothly changing the
subject.
"I finish up this summer."
"That's terrific. Got any job offers, yet? I could give you
Personnel's number, if you need it."
"How much is that signing fee they offered you?" I teased back.
"No, actually, I have a pretty good lead on a job on the Hill.
Working for a Senate Committee. The FBI is just too. . .well, you
make it seem pretty dangerous."
"We haven't lost a lawyer, yet. Give it some more thought. I
think you could really do well there," he added. He definitely
seemed sincere.
I just smiled. God, he was so *cute*. And definitely taken.
Why was it always the cute ones. . . "Well, I need to get back to
my table. It's my birthday and I think they want to embarrass me by
having the waiters sing to me or something. It was nice to see you
again," I said, shaking both their hands.
"Good to see you, too, Ms. Harms. And Happy Birthday," he
said. As I was sitting down at my table, I could see them. Their
heads were together and they were talking. He said something and
she tossed her head back and laughed. He was grinning like a
Cheshire cat. Yup. Definitely taken!

The end

Comments, words of wisdom, song lyrics to Beatles tunes sung backwards, can
all be directed to me at vmoseley@fgi.net. Let me know if you think Carrie
should show up again.