Date: Sun, 20 Dec 1998 03:55:03 GMT
Subject: *NEW* Inter-Office Politics NC-17 (1/9)

Inter-Office Politics
by Jennifer Stoy
Email: jstoy@mailhost.tcs.tulane.edu
Website: http://members.tripod.com/~j_stoy/writing.html
Rating: NC-17. With a vengeance.
Spoilers: Up to Dreamland II.
Summary: Dangerous people play ruthless games.
Disclaimer: X-Files characters belong to CC, mine belong to me. Author's notes
and acknowledgements follow story.

"She weepeth sore in the night and her tears are on her cheeks: among all her
lovers she hath none to comfort her: all her friends have dealt treacherously
with her, they are become her enemies." -Lamentations 1:2

Alex:

I'm having a good dream. In this dream, Mulder is wearing that red Speedo, the
infamous piece of wet red cloth that will forever haunt my fantasies. He is
dripping wet, lying on the bed and batting his eyelashes at me.

"What are you doing here, Mulder?" I ask, throwing my jacket over the chair
and sitting down. "What do you want?"

"I want you. Hard, fast, cruel, however you'll have me," he whispers.
"Alex, don't make me beg."

I smirk at him. "I don't know, Mulder. I think I'd like to hear that," I say,
stroking my hand over my cock.

"Alex-- please?"

"Please what, Mulder?"

I am ready to pounce at the next word. But then I feel the hot, wet sensation
of someone's tongue in my ear. I twist to see who it is, and there again is
Mulder, smiling a lazy smile at me.

"You know what."

"Yeah," I murmur. "I do."

I pull his face to mine for a long, smoldering kiss. Our tongues tangle, but
he doesn't taste right. He feels too feminine in my arms. I break the kiss,
pull back--

And sitting in my lap is Johnny. Her long, ink black lashes frame the question
in her deep, olive green eyes. A smirk sits on her pretty, full-lipped mouth.

"What's wrong, Alex?" she asks, moving closer. I can smell the perfume.
Johnny is classy; it's Chanel. She kisses my cheek. "You fell asleep in the
chair again, dumbass. And the dream you were having looked like a lot of fun.
What was Mulder doing this time?"

"Wearing the red Speedo and begging for it," I reply, pushing Johnny back.
"Get off me, Johanna."

"Don't fucking call me that," Johnny replies petulantly. "You're such a pansy
ass. I bet that's half the reason your Mulder never fucked you. You want it so
bad there's no fun in it at all."

"Ditto, Johnny," I snap. "Bitch."

"In our case, Alex," she says, moving in again and brushing my lips with hers,
"The fun is all mine, and so is the pleasure."

"You're a sick, sick woman, Johnny Valmont."

She purrs something incoherent and kisses her way down my neck, biting down a
couple of times. Although I've never been that fond of women, or fucking them,
Johnny's different. She acts like a man. She turns me on like a man.

She yanks on my shirt, letting me know that I'm either taking it off or she's
ripping it off. I lift my arm and she pulls it away, revealing my entire
chest to her gaze. She worshipfully and purposefully rests one hand on my pec
and the other on my stomach. Her tongue flickers out and wets her lips. Then
Johnny begins her slow re-examination of my body.

"I know I've said it before, Alex," she says, running her well-manicured plum
fingernails over my nipple, "But you are a Greek god embodied."

She drags her fingernails past my other nipple too hard, making me wince a
little. Her other hand remains still, resting on my stomach, warm and
stationary. She kisses the place where her nails have left little red
indentations, and I kiss the back of her neck, revealed suddenly. In response,
she grinds against my lap, letting me know she is fully aware of the erection
shifting beneath her firm ass. She pulls back momentarily, and her hands move
towards my jeans, resolutely unbuttoning.

"Up," she commands, and I pull up from the chair just a little, enough for her
smooth, perfect hands to yank down both jeans and briefs. She swats me lightly
on the ass, and as I settle back down, she pulls the jeans all the way off and
settles on my lap again. I am completely naked and Johnny is totally clothed.
Even with one arm, I could probably physically overpower her, but Johnny is
completely in control, master-- or should I say, mistress-- of the situation.

"What about you?" I ask. "You ever gonna get those clothes off?"

She laughs and gestures at the long, velvety robe she wears. "You think
there's anything on under this, Alex?"

"Slut."

"At least I acknowledge that," she whispers, opening her legs and wrapping
them around my thighs. They are indeed naked, and I'm aching with
anticipation. "What is it? I thought you didn't fuck women. Not unless it was
in the name of duty."

"Johnny babe, you're no woman."

"I beg to differ," she says, positioning herself over me just right and
sliding down. "Does that feel like a man to you?"

"In my case, it certainly does," I say. She snorts and starts moving up and
down on my shaft, riding hard and tight. Even though this isn't my thing, my
body responds typically, and slowly, I'm pulled along, pressing her torso and
her breasts up against me with my one good arm. She yanks back, snaps at me
with gleaming white teeth, and starts riding faster and harder.

I know she's getting close, because she's doing the breathing thing again.
Johnny has a little fetish about autoerotic asphyxiation. When she's close,
she just holds her breath and moves faster and faster, one of her hands
reaching down to ensure her own pleasure. If she has to, she takes fast
little inhales of air, but I watch her, biting down on her lips, gasping in,
getting closer and closer and--

ohmigodohgodohgodshe'sohgodmulder--

She drags me with her, so that my climax is also my shame. Johnny does it for
me, down to the sudden sob and scream of her reasserted respiratory functions,
down to her throwing her arms around my neck and gasping as she comes down.

"Alex, oh God, oh God," she whimpers. "That was incredible."

"Yeah," I say, trying to summon up images of Mulder in the Speedo, thinking
that was what did it. Yeah. Sure, Alex. Believe what you want. Johnny will
let you. Unfortunately, I can't do it, and my breathing as we come apart
matches hers.

Johnny:

Alexei Krycek is the first person in my life who understood what I was. He's
not like my grandfather, good ol' English Jake who got me into the
organization but never put me anywhere useful. Alex knew I'd never be happy
shuffling papers for a bunch of toothless old bastards and their Armani-clad
kowtowing underlings. I fell in love with him because of that. Now I know
better.

After our morning quickie, I dragged his ass into the bathroom and started
getting us ready for the day.

"You're never going to get anywhere with those motherfuckers," he informed me
as I smoothed shaving cream onto his face. "They don't want women around,
except as pussy."

"I don't give a damn what they want. I'm getting what they got," I replied,
washing off my hands and pulling out the razor. "I'm more qualified than half
the little bastards running around there. Even the old man believed that."

"He turned into a Crispy Critter tipping off Mulder," Krycek said acidly.
"He's gone and we don't have any protection in the organization. You're gonna
have to play it safe, Johanna."

I hate my name. He knew that. I made sure I nicked him a little with the razor
for calling me Johanna. "Safe is going to get some other little shit in charge
of us, and we'll be nobody forever," I told him bluntly. "If your dumb ass
weren't such a pansy and a cripple, you'd know that."

His eyes glittered furiously. He knew I was pushing his buttons, but his
ambition and his loathing for being unable to fulfill that ambition alone made
him bitter and angry.

"And if you weren't such a bitch, you'd know you're never going to earn any
support, even if you're so much goddamn smarter than the rest of us. Just
smile and nod, because you're stuck with money, information, and absolute
powerlessness."

"If you backed me up," I repeated, "If you backed me up, we could make a
play."

"We could. We'd lose."

"Not if we did it right," I protested, finishing his shave. "You know how NOT
to make a play, and we're good together, Alex, you know that."

"The last time I tried this with a woman, it didn't end so well."

"Marita was a walking fucktoy. She didn't have a brain in her head. I'm
different," I told him. "We could do it."

"And so what if we did?" he asked sharply. "I still wouldn't have anything.
Just an upcoming alien invasion to handle, a woman instead of a man to fuck,
and Mulder slipping further and further away."

Damn Mulder! It always came back to him! For too many people in my life, the
sun rose and set on one dumbass federal agent and his interest in weird shit.
I'd seriously considered killing him, but he was still marginally useful, and
you don't waste useful things.

"Oh, screw you," I snapped. "Get your own fucking toothpaste on the brush if
I'm so worthless."

I'd showered before I fucked him, and I was still reasonably in order, so I
walked out of the bathroom and towards my closet. It was a happy, shiny
Tuesday morning, and I had my wonderful job as the Consortium's newest
administrative assistant to look forward to. The closet door banged loudly
against the wall. Motherfucking no-good life. I had degrees from Bryn Mawr
and Yale, money, a nice-looking boyfriend, but it was all bullshit. I was
stuck. Trapped. And not pleased about it.

Alex:

She leaves me all alone to wash up, the bitch. I've gotten used to her taking
care of me, although I managed just fine before Johnny, thankyouverymuch.

I make a mess with the toothpaste, the shower, the gel, and curse her as I go
along. Fucking Johnny fucking Valmont, so what if she's somebody? Good ol'
English Jake's granddaughter. Big deal. I wish she'd come up with a name like
that for the Smoking Man.

But all her pissing and bitching about taking power has to stop. Sure, I want
to get myself a place. I want to be a player again. But I don't trust anyone,
least of all that twenty-six-year-old piece of fine quality meat. She'd blow
my ass away if it suited her. I need to distract her. I need to distract
myself. All this obsessing about Mulder is fucking up my game and that's no
good.

I realize suddenly that both my problems could be solved the same way. I
could get Johnny off my back and Mulder onto hers. I could manage to come out
on top, and then make my move while she's distracted.

The idea swirls about in my head as I figure out ways to make it work. It
comes to me so naturally, so easily that I wonder if God isn't on the side of
Alex Krycek for once. I finish trying to towel off and walk into the bedroom.

"You think about Mulder entirely too much," Johnny says cruelly, curled up on
my bed. Her long, glossy, nut-brown hair drapes over her shoulders and face
so that only glimpses of her pearl-grey suit are visible. She is barefoot and
in nylons, tracing patterns on the bedspread with her fingernails. "It's this
sick obsession with you. Your life could be a lot better if you got over it."

"Or if I owned him," I reply. This is perfect. She's set herself up for the
play.

"In your dreams, Alex," Johnny sneers. "If you're that fucking hard-up, slip
him some date rape drug, why don't you?"

She raises up on one elbow so that I can see her face better, daring me with
her olivine eyes.

"I've got a better idea than that, Johanna," I reply. Her eyes narrow.

"What's that, asshole?"

"You seduce him for me," I say. "It's a challenge for you. After all, we all
know Mulder is madly in love with that frigid bitch partner of his. He hasn't
touched a woman in years. So if you do that--"

"What?" Johnny interrupts. "Him fucking me isn't getting you any closer to
fucking him, my dear delusional Alexei."

"Au contraire," I say. "If-- if, if, if-- then you arrange a menage a trois,
and I do get his ass--"

I pause. Johnny's eyes glitter. "Spit it out."

"I'll help you make a power play in the organization. You and me, we'll rule
the world," I whisper. She eyes me cautiously. She's definitely got a man's
instincts. She thinks with her head. She's ruthless and willing to do
anything if she gets what she wants.

"It's an adequate repayment, I suppose," she says thoughtfully. "I get what I
want if I overcome your challenge. But I can go you one better."

"Let's hear it, baby," I say. She sits up halfway, tilting her head back so
that her sheath of silken hair slides back and totally reveals her perfectly
made-up, blemishless face.

"You've challenged me to seduce the man of your dreams, a virtuous,
love-stricken man whose dedication to his work and his duties are legendary.
But he is, after all, a shameless smut addict. It would be too easy. I have a
reputation to maintain, after all," she says.

"You're chickening out."

"No, I'm suggesting a more interesting target. You like to change people,
destroy them so that they're willing to do what you want. I'm more interested
in swaying them over despite their desires, and despite their morals. I
suggest the seduction of a woman famous for her fidelity, her integrity, and
her morality."

"Me? Seduce a woman?"

"No, me," she says. "Despite the fact she's straight and madly in love with
another man. I'd make her beg for me, despite her love, despite everything
that made her a worthy target."

It makes sense suddenly. "Scully?"

"I bag her, you become my second in command and we take over."

"The bitch has ice water running through her veins. And she's straighter than
Mulder. You'd be wasting your time; she wouldn't know anything about making it
worth your while. Forget it, Johnny."

"If I fail, I'll be your slave."

I look at her, delighted. "In what?"

"In whatever you want."

The more I think about it, the more I like it. If she fails, who cares? But
if she were to succeed-- I think about marching into Mulder's apartment and
triumphantly showing him video. Showing him his ever-so-perfect Scully
begging another woman, another WOMAN to eat her out. If I can't have him,
after all, breaking him would be the next best thing.

"I'd need proof."

Johnny rolls her eyes. "Easily arranged."

"Sounds good."

"Do we have a deal?"

"We do," I say, clenching my fist over and over. "You're easily the nastiest
woman I've ever done business with, Johnny."

"Thank you for the compliment. I may need a little help with the seductions."

"What?" I ask.

"Not in the actual seductions themselves, moron. I just need you-- or one of
your little homies-- to get me into the FBI."

"You know, that particular method didn't work for me, Johnny," I warn her.

"Well I'm not out to break the X-Files-- though that suggests an interesting
side project."

"What?"

"You know Spud-Boy, Smoking Man's cocksucking spawn?"

"He has a nice mouth."

Johnny shudders. "Yes, well, I don't like him. Want to discredit him? Get his
stupid ass kicked off the X-Files?"

"What's the point? He'll trip himself up sooner or later."

"The spawn is out to create a little family legacy. That would be bad for
both of us. Let's nip him in the bud," she says, stretching back quickly and
swinging herself out of bed.

"So we eliminate him?"

"We castrate him-- metaphorically speaking. We don't want his pretentious
little puss-boy ass in charge now, do we?"

"No," I agree. "All right. We'll get him kicked off the X-Files and have *you*
replace him. Neat work, yes?"

"Brilliant," Johnny replies. "Where the fuck are my eight-hundred-dollar
Italian leather pumps? I have to go be an administrative assistant now."

"Aww," I tease, pointing to her shoes. "Who are you working for now?"

"Beavis. You know, Harry Lancaster?" she says, awkwardly putting her shoes on.
They're gorgeous, three-inch heels. She's six feet tall in 'em. They make her
legs curve nicely. "I swear, Alex, come the revolution, Beavis is gonna get it
so far up the ass-- so, what's tricks for you today?"

"Chauffeuring the Seniorville Trolley. This cripple shit really sucks ass."

"Poor baby," she murmurs, kissing me firmly on the cheek. "Don't worry. Soon
you'll have Mulder's sweet ass and the world for your very own. You can have
the genetic engineers regenerate your arm. As for now, quit your bitching and
get to work, okay?"

"Same to you, Johnny."

"Jody. At work, it's Jody."

"Jody's a dumb name."

"Shut up, Alex," she snarls, grabbing her purse and jacket, and heading out
the door. "See you when I see you."

She slams the door and I almost cheer. Mulder, Scully, and the world, all for
me, all courtesy of Johnny. Things are definitely looking up.

Johnny:

I wasn't stupid. I knew that Alex Krycek's "challenge" had very little to do
with ruling the world and everything with getting me out of his face on the
subject. But I had his word, and a slew of new and interesting projects to
take care of. It made me feel a lot better.

"Jody, could you make sure that the third station in sector 3B25ZZ send me
the reports on subject AXBX by noon?" my boss asked. In other words, Beavis
wanted surveillance tape from our station in Boston and he wanted it fast. We
might have been secretly ruling the world, but we acted like every other
major corporation on earth. Red tape, forms, code words, and stuffed suits
were the order of the day. I emailed Doreen, my counterpart in the Boston
office, and told her I needed that stuff straight up. She said no problem.
Afterwards, I did the usual secretarial errands, and found myself free right
after my coffee break to do my own work.

Despite the law degree, I'm *really* an expert at information gathering. I had
my fingers flying over the keyboard while Beavis strolled in and out of the
office, asking if everything was working out. Yeah. Whatever.

I was busy profiling my targets. One Fox Mulder and one Dana Scully. One of
the benefits of working for a completely unethical corporation is that
everything is at your fingertips, no questions asked. I decided to start with
Scully, because Mulder was not the problem. If I failed with Mulder, I
wouldn't become Alex Krycek's slave. So I started with the birthdate--
February 23rd, 1964, making her a Pisces born in the Year of the Dragon.
Birthplace: San Diego, California, two older siblings.

From the important but static intellectual data, I delved deeper, pulling up
old journals, photographs, family stories, news articles, everything you
could possibly imagine and some you couldn't. I felt a little guilty reading
reports from 1994 written by one of the nurses taking care of her, but only a
little. All's fair in love and war. I was learning my opponent inside out,
figuring out her weaknesses.

"Jody, are you coming to lunch?" I heard one of my fellow secretaries ask. It
was Angie, yeah, Angie was the blonde with the implants. Beavis liked her a
lot, even though she didn't work for him. They were always having 'personal
meetings.'

"Yeah, I'm coming," I said, printing out some of Scully's extremely personal
poetry, written just after the death of her daughter. It was terribly written,
but you could feel the emotion dripping from it, like she'd written it in her
own blood. I followed the group of secretaries down the hall to the elevators.

"Do you have a new project?" she asked.

"I'm just amusing myself, Ang," I lied. "God knows I'm not getting enough
intellectual stimulation in the office."

One of the other girls-- Pam-- laughed. "As opposed to physical?"

"Who needs these namby-pambies?" I asked, watching the elevator doors slide
shut. "You know I'm with one-armed Alex, right?"

"He's queer."

"He doesn't know what the fuck he is," I replied. "He's in love with that FBI
boy, Mulder."

"The little weasel whose daddy gives me the creeps?" Angie asked. "He's just
plain nasty. You've got to be kidding."

"No, that's Spender. And he wouldn't know how to handle a woman, let alone a
man. Mulder is the crazy one who's in love with that redheaded FBI chica."

"Oh, yeah, I remember. She's definitely a babe," said yet another secretary,
Eileen. "I would kill to be tiny like that."

"I'm getting in her pants," I said airily. The girls looked at me with horror.

"Why? You got Alex Krycek."

"Why not? I'm not going to be an assistant to the upstairs boys forever. I
want a piece of the real action, and that takes a few risky moves."

"You're crazy, Jody," Pam said with approval. "So, what are you up to?"

"Making plays, sleeping around, getting Spender out of the X-Files and me in.
The usual petty office bullshit," I replied, watching the elevator doors open
on a dreary New York December.

"Getting Spender off the X-Files?" Angie said speculatively. "Do you need any
help?"

"What do you want for it?" I asked, as we emerged out into the filtered
sunlight. Pam and Eileen lit up their cheap cigarettes.

"A little gratitude."

"Nail it down, Angie."

"My sister's husband beats up on her. He's a prick, but he works for them and
she can't do shit. And you being people and all--"

I nodded. "That's fucked-up, Angie. You want him dead or maimed?"

"Well, I'd want him dead, but Francie loves him, so just maimed. Scare his
ass, would you?" Angie asked, hailing the cab. "Scare him good."

"Consider it done," I replied. "Krycek thinks I've got my head up my ass with
this new game of his."

"Do tell," Pam said as we settled into the cab. "Izzy's on 14th, please."

"He wants to play again, but do you think he'll bring a woman along? Please.
He thinks I'll buy into his promises wholesale and he can do what he wants."

"Men. They think just because they think with their balls, so do we," Eileen
replied disgustedly. "God, I wish I had your advantages, Jody. I'd rule the
world."

"That's what I'm trying to do, Eileen," I said. We shut up for a while, and I
read the poetry and got inside Scully's head. It was a lonely place. Everyone
she loved was dead or unavailable, and she was used to relying on herself,
kind of like me. She wanted to be loved, needed to be loved, but she knew
better.

Dear Dana Scully, what I'm not going to do to you, I thought to myself as the
New York skyline whizzed by and I wondered, briefly, where Alex was at the
moment.

END 1/9

Date: Sun, 20 Dec 1998 03:57:27 GMT
From: jstoy@mailhost.tcs.tulane.edu
Inter-Office Politics by Jennifer Stoy (2/9)

Alex:

Getting Jeffrey Spender off the X-Files and Johnny on takes precisely three
meals and a few phone calls. I've never understood how women's politics work,
but this is an example of why I should learn.

Johnny is friends with the secretarial bimbo squad. At least, I always
thought they were bimbos. But Johnny explains to me that most of them are
intelligent women who have a depressingly pragmatic view of life and gender
equality. Also, they don't have connections like Johnny does, so they do the
best they can. So our first dinner is with Angie. Angie is blonde, fake, and
fabulous. Johnny brings her home from work, and tells me to call up Wing's
Chinese, because we had work to do.

They explain about Angie's sister Francine. Her husband is a guy I used to
know, a middle management guy who works at our facility in Houston. His
name's Sam and I never did like him. Over drinks, we come up with a way to
teach Sam not to hit women ever again.

"It's one thing, what you do, okay?" Angie says on her third shot. "But
usually, they send a guy like you out, there's something else going on.
Hitting a woman, someone who loves you, that's just shit."

"I never understand why women don't just leave. Well, not in this case, I
know. You don't leave a guy who's with them, but usually--"

Johnny shakes her head. "It's not that easy. When you're a woman, there are
always weird factors that keep you from being a completely free agent and--"

Anyway, Angie's terms are fairly simple and I make a phone call or two. Then
she pulls out her file-- well, actually, it belongs to Beavis, but she has
it, it's hers-- and starts pointing out the weak spots in Jeffy's armor.
Number one is that EVERYONE hates the little son of a bitch. Number one is
about the sum total of hard evidence, though. Spender is a by the book,
paint-by-numbers, good American guy. So he works for his dad sometimes.
Family loyalty's a good quality, in theory. But the little bastard can't be
openly broken, not without jeopardizing our own asses. Angie, though, makes a
very good point.

"Even if we don't have anything on him, it doesn't mean we can't manufacture
it. And our point is everyone hates him. No one's going to care if we get him
accused of blowing up a village of starving children, if we get him."

Johnny grins. The light bulb has gone off in her head.

"Angie, are we still friends with that company, you know, the one out in
Vermont that does the special effects?" she asks.

"Oh, you mean Friendly Bob's people? Sure, of course," Angie says.

"Friendly Bob? Don't these people ever have normal names?" I protest.

"Friendly Bob's day job includes running a PBS affiliate in Vermont. And
everyone's named Bob, Alex," Johnny explains. "So you have to differentiate
somehow. Okay. So what do you think will do it? The usual sex scandal?"

"After Monica the Mandroid? Please," Angie says. "Drugs. I'm sure we've got
easily available footage of someone making a purchase. And it's not like we've
never drugged the water to get the results we want."

"What sort of drugs?" Johnny asks, intrigued.

"Does it really matter? We send it to his superiors-- the real sort, not like
Kersh-- we break it to the media that an FBI agent may be the biggest
purchaser of crack on the East Coast, and he's gone. If not fired, at least
in rehab."

"Damn, Angie," Johnny says appreciatively. "I love it. I genuinely love it.
I'd ask for something that turns him wacky, but we're on a tight schedule. So
whatever's easy and on file, we'll do."

We spend the rest of the evening plotting logistics and gossiping. Fuck me
twice. I should have learned to type when I was still capable.

I don't get to attend the second meal that seals Jeffrey Spender's fate. It's
apparently a private affair between Angie and Friendly Bob that happens three
days after our first planning session. At least, that's what Johnny tells me
when she gets home late that night, reeking of cigar smoke and wearing her
long hair in a ponytail.

"He fell over himself trying to help me and Angie. Angie is his type, you
know?" she says, pouring herself a glass of cranberry juice. "So, how's
Sammy?"

"He fell out a two story window."

"Is he dead?"

"Naw, but the asshole won't be hitting his wife any time soon. And from what I
heard, he'd apparently been sodomized, too," I tell her with a smirk.

"That's truly awful," Johnny says solemnly. Then she gulps half the glass of
juice and pauses. "Motherfucker, Alex, you ate all of my Junior Mints! You son
of a bitch, I was SAVING those to eat while I was watching South Park."

Special Agent Jeffrey Tyrone Spender, FBI, is busted in a covert DEA sting six
days later. From what I hear-- I didn't see it or anything, I was too busy
taking Vincenzo Italian Slims (you know, the fat guy with the bad teeth) to an
appointment with his broker. But I hear it was spectacular. It took six agents
to restrain him-- at least, that's what it said on the news reports.

I get home and Johnny attacks me at the front door, boom. I've never seen
anyone so excited in my whole life.

"We got him," she whispers in between kisses. "It was hysterical. Angie and
I-- hold still-- Angie and I-- had to keep a straight face. It was, it was--
oh God, Alex, don't stop doing that-- the most incredible fucking moment!"

But of course, just because Spender is out of a job doesn't exactly mean
Johnny is into one. No, that takes a bit more work on our parts. In fact, I
actually have to do something for the first time. Johnny doesn't have the
same access I do to the top bosses. Hell, I don't even have the same access
to the top bosses. I just chauffeur them about the town. But that means they
can hear me, as opposed to her. So about two days later, we're sitting in
mid-town traffic and I bring up the subject real casually.

"I hear you have a vacancy at the FBI."

"Yes," Italian Slims says. "Agent Spender proved most unsatisfactory."

"You're looking for someone competent this time? Someone who knows what the
hell he's doing?"

"Of course," says another one of them, the one with a gravelly voice. "Why? Do
you have someone in mind?"

"Well, I have a friend," I say coyly. "Well, not exactly a friend. But her
name's Jody Valmont. She'd be perfect."

"Jody--?"

"She works for Harry," I say glibly. "Smart woman. The right age, qualified
for the job, doesn't ask too many questions. She mentioned it to me in
passing. I just thought you should know."

"She sounds familiar," Italian Slims says slowly. "But this is not the usual
procedure."

"Usual procedure never works for the X-Files, sir," I say. "Look at what
happened to me. You need something different."

They all nod like living stone statues. I wonder for a second how the hell
these old geezers ever managed to stay alive, let alone run the Project.
Maybe that's why Mulder and Scully can do so much damage. We've got
incompetent people at the top. That'll change soon enough. Wait and see.

"Now this Jody-- Jody Valmont-- do you mean the granddaughter of our recently
deceased colleague?" Gravel Voice asks.

"Yeah. Her. I know it's weird, but what the hell. Desperate times call for
desperate measures, huh?"

"She doesn't seem like the type. Are you certain?" Italian Slims asks.

"I know it sounds a little strange, but-- Jody's got the brains for the job,
and she's loyal. I mean, she's a little ambitious, like all of us," I say
conspiratorially. "But Jody, she wants what we want. I really think she's
perfect for the assignment. I mean, better than Spender."

They nod slowly. It's working. I've got their interest, and I'm pretty sure
Johnny will be getting a call very soon.

She comes home from work two days later with a grin on her pretty little face.

"Whatever you told the boys upstairs worked," she says, putting her purse
down.

"What, did they offer you the job?"

"Sort of. Beavis called me in and talked about it. I told him that I was
always interested in helping with the Project. In fact, what I told him-- you
know his real name's Harry, and I forgot and I almost called him Beavis-- was
really good. I couldn't believe I did such a convincing job. Of course,
telling him I was just in it to fuck a couple of people and then take over
the world would be suicide, so I played up the innocent girl thing."

"Think he bought it?"

"We shall see. Let's go out for dinner. Out to Lou's, okay?"

Our third dinner is in Manhattan, at a sub place Johnny and I go to
sometimes. Johnny always orders this incredibly disgusting Italian sandwich,
muffuletta. It's a New Orleans thing, olive salad over mozzarella and ham and
mortadella, Johnny explained to me once. She and her mother spent a year down
there, and Johnny picked up a taste for the sandwiches. I just have a ham and
swiss on rye bread.

"I hope that whatever I said to Beavis did the trick," Johnny worries aloud.
"Sometimes I'm afraid he knows I'm up to something, you know? But I acted
like a team player. And I've never done anything to him. I'm not stupid."

"Not for a woman, anyway," I reply smugly. She punches me in the shoulder.
"Hey, don't do that!"

"Asshole," Johnny replies lovingly. "You sure you don't want a bite?"

"No. I eat things I'll keep down, thank you very much."

"You're such a philistine," she replies, but before she can insult me any
more, her cell phone rings. She answers naturally and starts the
half-intelligible gab of a phone call.

"Mmm-hmm, yeah, this is me, yeah, I meant it. Of course I'm still
interested-- when? Tomorrow? Really? I mean, sure I can make it-- where am I?
Virginia, a suburb in Virginia. I'm thrilled! This is just great news! Yeah--
yeah-- who do I report to? Mmm-hmm? And what time? Of course! Not a problem.
No, sir, not at all. I'll see you soon. Yeah, yeah-- bye, now."

Johnny squeals as she ends the call. Then she gives me a kiss. "Wish me luck.
I'm supposed to report to Agent Diana Fowley at 8:30 AM sharp tomorrow
morning."

"Good luck. You're gonna need it," I said. "Just remember, Johnny, you're not
there to chase ghosts and watch for UFOs."

She grins. "No, I'm chasing something much more elusive."

And of course, just like Johnny, she doesn't bother to say what she's chasing.

Johnny:

The first anything is an exaggeration. First day, firstborn, first night,
whatever. Firsts tend to be tentative, experimental, and messy. So much so
that I'd never bother talking about my first day at the FBI, but it was
important.

I reached the basement office at 8:27 AM sharp. Diana Fowley was waiting, and
she was an unknown factor in my seduction scenario. If she dragged me to
Bumfuck, North Dakota on a weekly basis, the entire plan would take forever.

So I entered quietly, noticing a woman a little younger than my mother
drinking coffee and reading my faked FBI dossier. Well, not that faked. My
degrees were right, my past job experience was right-- except the FBI Academy
graduation and field work dating from six months ago. But hell, everyone pads
their resume.

"Agent Fowley? Hi. Johanna Valmont--"

"Sit down, Agent Valmont."

I sat and watched her carefully. She was a fairly attractive woman, but her
eyes were cold and unfriendly and glaring at me.

"Why are you here, Agent Valmont?" she asked. "And be honest. I don't really
care as long as you stay the hell out of my way."

I surveyed the woman, considered the situation, and decided honesty would be
the best policy in this case.

"I'm working for Smoking Man and his cronies. Supposedly. Really, I have my
own project, and this is a good position for me."

"Are you going to need the X-Files? For bait?" she asked.

"Well, sort of. To establish trust with certain people," I answered.

"You're not trying to shut them down, are you?"

"No. I don't really care one way or another, Agent Fowley," I said. "So, if I
want to share a little information with these certain people, then--?"

"Keep Fox out of the office proper. That's FBI rules now. And don't touch the
files I tell you not to touch, do you understand?"

"Yes," I answered. Her eyes warmed up some.

"Thank God you're not a weasel like Spender. God, I was ready to strangle him.
Do you want some coffee?"

I nodded. "I feel so Melanie Griffith-Sigourney Weaver in Working Girl."

She snorted. "Just keep Harrison Ford's distinctive nose out of my work and
he's all yours, Melanie," Fowley replied. "So, will you want to stay in
town?"

"Huh?" I asked, truly confused.

"Well, I assume your business is mostly in DC. I'll do my best to keep you
here. If you want."

"Rock on," I said gratefully. "I promise to cover us both. AD Skinner will be
singing our praises."

She looked at me curiously. "What are you looking for?"

"Sex, adventure, and global power," I said. "The usual."

She shook her head. "And you're the next generation. Oh, well, by the time you
people fuck things up irrevocably, I'll be dead."

After Fowley and I set the ground rules for our partnership, I decided to go
hunt out Mulder and Scully. Casually, nothing too overt. Certainly not, hi,
I'm Johanna. I work for the X-Files now and I want to be your best buddy in
the whole wide world! That doesn't even work on television. So, ironically, I
literally ran into Scully. I came around a corner too fast, carrying a folder
of papers to run off, and BOOM! Papers go flying everywhere and I lose my
balance and fall flat on my ass.

"Ouch! God damn it, watch where you're--"

I stopped, and I stared straight up into the face of my greatest challenge.
She was holding out her hand to help me up. I took that as a good omen.

"Sorry," I muttered as I lifted myself up. "I'm sort of a pushy walker. It's a
New York thing."

"No problem," she said. I had heard her voice before, but live, it had a
certain resonance and strength that it didn't have on tape. "I haven't seen
you around here before."

"First day," I apologized. "Hi. Special Agent Johanna Valmont."

"Hi. Special Agent Dana Scully," she said, shaking my hand. "Looks like you
had some work to do."

"Just making copies. My partner and I have a new case and I'm triplicating all
the forms. You know how that is," I said. I started to pick up the papers. She
helped, and when she saw that it was an X-File, an odd expression crossed her
face.

"You're with the X-Files?"

"Yeah," I said shyly. "They're sort of wacko. Really interesting, though. So,
do you know anything about them?"

"I used to work down there," she replied shortly.

"Really? For how long?"

"Five years," she said.

"Five years! That's a long time. I bet you know everything about them," I
said. I'd learned how to suck up in high school. It was probably the most
useful skill I'd learned there. "Hey. Do you ever consult about this stuff?"

"I'm actually not allowed to--"

"Not allowed? What are our bosses, stupid? Hello, here we have the experts,
and they're banned from their field of expertise? The government makes no
sense."

"Interesting sentiment from a government agent," someone behind me said. I
turned around. It was definitely my day; it was Fox Mulder. "I didn't catch
your name, but you're the new agent on the X-Files, right?"

I smiled. Score one for Johnny. "Special Agent Johanna Valmont."

"Nice to meet you. Mulder," he said, shaking my hand. "So. You're working with
Diana. How do you like it?"

"As first days go, it's not so bad," I said calmly. "I mean, the cases look to
be fairly interesting, and Diana and I mesh well. She makes good coffee."

"Yes, she does," Mulder agreed. "So, Valmont. You're pretty new to the FBI?"

"Six months. Pretty new. Um, I think I have to get these copied," I said,
trying to look harried and busy. "But it's nice meeting you, Mulder, and
Scully, right? We should talk again. Okay?"

"Sure," Mulder said. I broke away from my prey and skittered down the hall,
hiding my grin. I'd forgotten that first impressions, no matter how stupid,
are usually kept. So in their heads, I was now a pretty, slightly clumsy,
slightly pushy young agent who had a little sense and a loud voice. That
worked just fine for me.

As for the rest of the day, I made copies, faxed requests, talked to a really
stupid sheriff from Kansas who was bitching because of cattle mutilations and
wanted to know if it was UFOs, asked Diana about some paranormal stuff, and,
oh yes. I did see Mulder and Scully again. I was walking back to my brand new
1994 Ford Taurus, in the groovy shade of tan, when I saw Mulder and Scully
walking through the parking lot. I followed them, of course.

"I think she could help us out. She seems to want our help," Mulder was
telling Scully.

"We'll get fired."

"I think we'd be able to trust her! She said something to you about
consulting, didn't she? Come on, Scully, opportunities like this don't come
up every day!"

"Mulder, how do we know we can trust her? I think that we have to be careful."

"Scully, I'm going by gut instinct here, I admit it. And we will be careful.
But who's it going to hurt if we help the Valmont kid out on a few minor
cases, catch a few teenagers messing with cattle?" Mulder wheedled.

Scully stalked a few steps, and stopped. "All right. We'll see if she's
serious about consulting. But Mulder, I'm serious. Cautiously."

"Of course, Scully. I don't trust just anyone," Mulder replied. I resisted
the urge to cheer and hurried back to my car. The game was definitely afoot,
and the advantage was to Valmont.

Diana:

New girl is definitely looking for something. I don't know what, exactly, but
she's watching just a little too closely. She waits just a little too
patiently. She's a predator, a profiler, a stalker. She breathes, watches,
and moves too silently. I don't like her, but I'm not the one she's chasing.
So we get along okay.

Fox took to Valmont immediately. Of course, she arranged that, and very well,
might I add. Oh, what do you think about this, Agent Mulder? This reminds you
of another case? Tell me about it! I don't understand why they reassigned
you, Mulder, except you're a fucking psycho. She asked for his help, took it
under advisement, and always acted grateful, whether she agreed or not. Fox
bought it hook, line, and sinker. For some reason, a pretty woman turns his
mind off. Well, okay, not just some reason. But wouldn't you be suspicious of
someone so nice to you, no matter how much you wanted to fuck her? Especially
as he'll never actually try anything. But tall, dark, and dangerous has ever
been Fox's type. And he's never been the sharpest tool in the shed.

"Morning, Sigourney," Valmont calls like she does every morning. Valmont loves
nicknames. Skinner is the Surly One; his secretary is Kimbo, et cetera, et
cetera. She pours herself coffee and hands me a few files. If nothing else,
Johnny is efficient and she does know how to cover ass.

"We have to go to Pennsylvania tomorrow," I tell her.

"That's okay, nothing planned. Whaddup?" she asks, her peculiar green eyes
flickering over the latest news.

"The residents of Keskuwanna County have reported a werewolf, and a little boy
was mauled last night," I reply.

"You don't sound surprised."

"Keskuwanna County is a werewolf breeding ground. About once a generation it
gets out of control."

She regards me placidly. "Sometimes I think the paranormal doesn't exist for
the unbeliever," she says. "You know? I mean, I don't know. When I was a
little girl, my dad died, and two years later, my mom saw him in a dream. He
told her that if we didn't leave New York right away, something bad was going
to happen. My mom moved us to her mother's in Virginia. Three weeks
afterwards, the apartment where we'd lived burnt down."

"And you don't believe it?"

"I think that the paranormal exists for who it needs to exist," she replies
wistfully. "It never has for me. No matter how many times I've clapped my
hands, Tinkerbell has never come back."

"In my experience, I call it the Dana Scully syndrome."

She grins. For some reason, Valmont is obsessed with befriending Dana Scully.
She wants to be good friends with her. I don't know why, just as I don't
understand what she wants with Fox, except for maybe a good fuck. I should
tell her she's going to be disappointed. I mean, Fox enjoys sex, but he
rarely initiates, and he has *no* imagination. But Valmont was different with
Scully. The bubbly new agent schtick doesn't impress Scully. So Valmont
switched tactics. She spent a lot of time getting inside the woman's head,
slowly but surely gaining Scully's trust.

I listened in one day, the day I think new girl hooked Scully as a friend.
She was telling stories over yogurt in the FBI cafeteria. Scully just had
hers plain with pollen. Valmont had hers with a huge lunch. New girl eats,
but keeps her Mae West figure. The young have it easy.

"So it was just me and my mom, and we were living in a bad part of LA, because
we were fucking broke. It was very tough there, so I toughed up. I learned how
to defend myself, because Mom-- well, Mom has her own issues. She kept telling
me how one day we'd live in a big Malibu house and have a Mercedes and eat out
every meal. It never did happen."

"It must have been hard."

"You learn to deal, don't you? I mean, somehow you learn to deal. I bet your
life hasn't been all wine and roses," Valmont says. "But you don't ask for
sympathy. I respect that."

Scully nodded. I watched her eyes. She couldn't help it. Valmont was pushing
her buttons, she had her number. Whatever. They had rapport, and that foot in
the door was all new girl needed.

"Dana Scully syndrome?" Valmont laughs, breaking me from my reverie. "I wish I
could catch it. It's so hard to make friends with that woman!"

"But she likes you," I object. She looks at me, and those unworried, predator
eyes are suddenly focused on me with full intensity. She feigns a smile.

"Do you really think so, Di?" she asks in a voice so soft and so harmless I
shiver.

"Well, I overheard you in the cafeteria one day. You're her type, I think," I
reply, trying to defend myself. "I mean, it just looked that way to me. Why do
you want to be her friend so much?"

"Friends are nice," she replies. "So-- Pennsylvania tomorrow?"

"Yeah," I say. "Hey, Valmont? When you were a kid, what was your favorite
monster?"

"I didn't like monsters. I liked owls. When owls swoop in for a kill, they're
absolutely silent. I always thought that was so neat."

My God, I think I'm afraid of her. But then she stands up and gets another cup
of coffee, and I realize I'm not the one who has to be afraid.

END 2/9


Date: Sun, 20 Dec 1998 04:01:58 GMT
From: jstoy@mailhost.tcs.tulane.edu
Subject: *NEW* Inter-Office Politics NC-17 (3/9)


Alex:

I run into the little weasel Spender while I'm busily taking Vincenzo and the
Pussycats around New York. He looks like hell. Johnny will be delighted. He
looks bewildered, unshaven, and desperate, and I give him a nasty grin as he
shambles up.

"What do you know about what happened?" he asks.

"Nothing, man," I reply.

"I hear you and Johanna have a thing going on. Are you sure you don't know
anything?"

I shrug. "Johnny and I are pleasure, not business. She takes care of herself.
And I wouldn't be so quick to place the blame on her, though I'm sorry her
success is your failure."

He glares at me. "It's a pity *you* ruined your chances through the FBI. I've
heard it's a useful springboard to power."

"I think you've heard wrong, Jeff. I've never seen that. Maybe whoever fucked
you over did you a favor?"

I supposed we'd chat a little more, but Italian Slims finishes his errand with
his broker or his proctologist or whatever and saunters toward the car. I'll
have to be off.

"You, too, right?" Spender asks bitterly, walking off.

I don't answer back, just get in the car and head on down the New York
streets. When I get done with work, I decide to go on down to DC and see what
Johnny's been up to. I haven't seen her in about a month, and it's not the
same listening to her mocking, sultry voice over the phone. We also need to
discuss how her plans are going, and besides, Spender on the skids will make
her laugh.

So I get there, grab a car, and head for the butt-ass nowhere Virginia
suburbs. When I finally reach Johnny's apartment, I'm impressed. It's a
modest, demure sort of place. She's good, showing that she's clearly living
on an FBI budget. I have to admire that. I never could. Then I let myself
into her apartment and shudder. The decor is just so precious. Laura Ashley
and Martha Stewart? Cabbage roses and Navajo white semigloss paint? I swear
to God, if I find a crocheted toilet paper cover, I'll throw up. Quick check.
No. Thank God. I find a plain grey fleece blanket in the linen closet and
settle down on the couch. I pass out cold and I don't dream for once. But the
snerk of the key in the lock wakes me up and I spring off the couch and out
of sight, just in case Johnny's brought home a guest.

"Hi, honey, I'm home!" she calls to the room. "And an ugly-ass home it is,
too--"

I take this as a sign she doesn't have anyone with her. "It's truly hideous,"
I agree, popping out from my hiding spot. She doesn't scream, but she does
jump.

"Mother--flipping-- Alex!" she rasps, holding on to her bags of groceries.
"Take a bag."

She hands me two plastic bags and I follow her into the kitchen.

"How do you stand this?"

"Necessity. So, what brings you down here, my one and only?"

"I needed a good shave," I lie.

"Is that all?"

"It's been a little too long," I growl. She laughs and puts away her
groceries, very domestic-like. "So how's the FBI, Agent Valmont?"

"Fun. Di Fowley and I have come to an understanding. I day trip to a few
places-- usually obvious hoaxes-- but there have been two or three cases that
I've needed my friends for. They're a fantastic consulting staff."

"And how are you progressing in your little project?"

"Well, my dearest darling rat bastard, I think I'm about ready to seduce Mr.
Mulder."

"So soon?"

"So soon?" Johnny echoes. "It seems late to me. But yeah. Mulder likes the
package and he kind of trusts me. Besides, I leak him information when I can."

"What's the deal about that?"

"He slept with Diana, you know. I'm his type. He'll think he's weak, but that
won't stop him if I throw myself at him."

"Look who's so sure of herself!" I marvel.

"Yeah, I'm confident," Johnny agrees. "But he's alone and I'm available."

"So are a million other women."

She snorts. "I won't argue with you, Alex," she replies snippily. "I'm making
carne asada tonight. DC sucks for Mexican, but I did my best."

"Are you inviting me to dinner, Johnny?"

"Is there anyone else here?"

Then someone knocks, of course. Johnny shoos me into her bedroom, and I
scramble frantically. I leave the door ajar, though, because there's no
fucking way I'm not going to listen in on them.

"Hey, Mulder," I hear Johnny drawl. "How's it going?"

"Shitty," is the brief reply. "Did I mention I hate AD Kersh?"

"On occasion."

"We've drawn the prime assignment of interviewing prospective employees for
the Library of Congress. I've complained to Scully it's a high-risk job. One
day, I'll be so bored that I'll shove a pencil up my nose and commit
suicide."

I stifle a laugh. Someone at the Bureau has a really nasty sense of humor.

"Ugh. I'm sorry. You want dinner? I'm making carne asada."

My stomach growls. Fucking Mulder, he's getting my dinner and my evening with
Johnny. Mulder says something I can't hear and Johnny laughs.

"No, dumbass, it's beef. They're delicious. I learned to make them in LA. My
mom and I lived there forever, ese. I appreciate the finer points of
tortillas and Mexican food that ain't Taco Hell. You want a beer?"

"Sure. So, Valmont--"

"Johanna."

"Please."

"Johnny, then. But I don't use Valmont after hours," she says. "So, Mulder,
what's up? You're not here for food. Bored?"

"I don't know," Mulder answers. "Have you ever felt guilty about just being
who you are?"

"No. Why, what's so hard about being you? I mean, besides the fact your job is
shit."

"No, it's being me. I mean, I--"

The scent of cooking meat overlays their conversation and my mouth starts to
water. I move closer to the door, trying to see what the hell is going on.

"Ever consider sensitivity training?" Johnny teases.

"Are you kidding?" Mulder answers. Johnny grins and strolls up to him, right
into his personal space, tempting him. "What?"

She smiles at him. "Nothing. I need to get plates," she says, brushing past
him and opening the cabinet. "I think a girlfriend would do wonders for your
demeanor. She'd keep you in line."

"I've got Scully for that."

A rattle of crockery. "I guess, but there are certain realms y'all leave
alone, right?" she asks, going back to the sizzling meat. "You keep the
bedroom out of the office, you know what I mean?"

"I'd keep the office out of the bedroom, too," Mulder says. "Do you need any
help?"

"Not really."

She finishes cooking and they dig in. I sulk. But watching Mulder wrap his
mouth around a burrito and whimper with pleasure certainly helps my mood.
He's not as delicate about eating as Johnny, who keeps looking in my
direction quickly, as though I was going to ruin our cover or something. I
swear to God, sometimes she's a little too jumpy. So, over Mulder's I think
sixth taco, Johnny starts talking again.

"You ever been in love, Mulder?" she asks, punctuating her question with a
gulp of beer.

"Sure. Everyone has."

"I don't think I've been in love. Really. I mean, there's something about that
phrase, you know. It's mystical. I mean, I've loved people, and I've lusted
after people I loved, but it's not like being in love, you know?" Johnny
replies. "It's one of those phrases, like the truth. I mean, what the hell is
The Truth? What does it mean to you?"

Mulder's quiet. Real quiet. "The truth. It's everything, you know? The
answers. But it's more than that, too. It's something that can't be denied,
it'll set things right--"

"My mom said that about God once," Johnny replies. "And someone else told me
that there's nothing like that, and that we make things up because we're
afraid that there may be nothing, so we have to-- I don't know. Compensate.
Make up meanings."

"Well," Mulder says. "This is a suddenly depressing conversation."

"I'm sorry," Johnny says. She looks at her watch. "Oh shit. It's-- you gotta
go. I'm sorry."

"What? Did I do something? What's wrong?" Mulder says, confused.

"Nothing. I have something to do tonight. As nice as your company's been, this
is urgent. I forgot."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't--"

"S'okay, forget it. So. If I need your help with the mutant kid with the weird
disease, call, right?"

Mulder bobs his head up and down vigorously. He gets up awkwardly. "Tomorrow,
then?"

"Yeah," she says, moving in deftly and kissing him on the cheek. "See ya."

He leaves, and Johnny throws open her bedroom door. "I bet you're hungry," she
says, grinning.

"Watching you mindfuck Mulder over my dinner has worked up quite a few
appetites," I reply, roughly pulling her against me. "Is there any reason you
threw him out so quickly?"

"I figured fucking him on the couch with you around would be impolite. And we
were headed that way. Do you want something to eat?" Johnny asks, rubbing up
against me.

"Later. God damn, you're so sure of yourself!"

She kisses me hard, dragging her teeth across my lip and her nails across the
back of my neck.

"Fuck yeah," she whispers, letting me go. "I get what I want. Always."

And afterwards, my arm thrown across her waist, I realize it's true.

Johnny:

Wednesdays are my good-luck day. I was born on a Wednesday. I started college
on a Wednesday. Good news always comes-- well, you get the point. I seduced
Mulder on a Wednesday without even meaning to. It's good luck.

After our interrupted Mexican binge, I started brooding about how exactly I
was going to woo the wild Mulder into my bed. After all, that wasn't my
ultimate goal, just a stop along the way. I had to convince him to sleep with
Krycek. That was going to be worse than Paul convincing Agrippa-- and Paul
failed.

In fact, I can't actually claim my own success in seducing Mulder.
Circumstances turned to my advantage and I put them to use. Mulder had
managed to piss off Kersh yet again. But he also managed to piss off Scully
in the process. Basically, what happened was Prince George County Sheriff was
using a psychic to help search for a missing child, and dumb fuck Mulder went
to check it out. She was a fake, but the department complained to the FBI and
Mulder got himself a week's suspension. Scully was furious because he handled
it so poorly, so the dummy found himself alone, friendless, and broke in
Alexandria.

Johnny to the rescue!

I came bearing food. Submarine sandwiches, chips, and beer, to be precise.
This alone guaranteed me entry into Mulder's musty apartment. He eyed dinner
like a starving man, but his eyes found their way back around to me, too. I
was dressed for work-- and not the FBI. I was in black leggings and a loose
blue top, v-neck. And the top button had a bad habit of coming undone.

Did I mention I wore a Wonderbra? Well, it certainly never hurts.

"I heard," I explained apologetically. "Sucks for you."

"Yeah."

"I brought a movie, too. How do you feel about Bull Durham?"

"It has Kevin Costner in it. No, thank you."

"Good, because I brought Spaceballs."

He laughed. "A woman who brings food and has excellent taste in film. I think
I'm in love."

"Sorry to disappoint you, Mulder, but I only have eyes for Brad Pitt."

It was very friendly on the couch, watching Lone Star and Princess Vespa
cavort in the giant Winnebago. We laughed, we talked, we ate sandwiches.
Mulder, like Alex, could not understand the appeal of muffuletta. The point
is, by the time Yogurt told Lone Star about his true heritage, Mulder was
comfortable and I was ready.

"It's getting late," Mulder said after the last run of credits.

"I'm okay. What, you got a hot date?"

"Not really. I mean, no."

"Do you ever?"

"Ever what?"

"Date. Engage in human mating rituals. Or social rituals. Or any rituals?"

"No. I'm anti-ritual."

I grinned. "Ah, you're a conscientious objector to the dominant ideology?
Defying cultural authority? Walking on the wild side?"

"Yeah, you know me, I'm so wild, all by myself."

I kicked off my shoes and leaned back against the couch. "You could fix that.
Quite a few women around the Bureau covet your ass, Mulder."

"Including you?"

"I've seen finer asses than yours," I replied. "So, I was just saying you
don't have to be alone if you don't want to be."

"I'm not alone right now."

"Are you propositioning me?"

"Would you like me to?"

"I don't know. Could I get a preview?"

Mulder stood up and walked two steps to where I was sitting. I stretched up
and he bent down, and in a heartbeat, our lips met, and I aggressively pulled
his lips around mine as his tongue ran against the smooth ivory of my teeth
and into my mouth. He had a vague flavor of pretzels and beer and I realized
my pulse had sped up.

We stopped, and our eyes met. I put a finger on his lips and nodded. He
opened his mouth and began sucking hard. Finally, I pulled back and popped
open my top. Mulder's eyes were saucer-sized, and I stood up then, and pushed
him down on the couch.

"Lose the top," I growled. He hurried to oblige, and then I straddled him and
shoved him back with one hand. Then I bent down and decided to become
well-acquainted with his neck and right shoulder. While I was busy exploring,
Mulder's arms surrounded me and awkwardly removed my bra. He pulled me back
upwards, staring at my breasts with reverent lust.

"Take a picture," I whispered as his hand tentatively enclosed breast and
began to tease. "It'll last longer."

Mulder responded by pushing me back against the couch and wrapping his mouth
around my other breast. All of the myths about Mulder being oral were
promptly proven true. I let him have his way with my breasts as I dragged my
fingernails across his back, slowly but surely adding pressure until red
welts stood out against his skin. Then I grabbed him by the hair and pulled
his head up for a long, voluptuous kiss. He fell back against the couch,
which was exactly what I wanted. I looked at him and then silently, I opened
the top button of his fly. Mulder finally made a noise; he groaned as I
continued unbuttoning.

"Up," I ordered when I finished with the buttons. He shifted his hips,
staring at me with fascination. I pulled off his pants and boxers, leaving
him naked and vulnerable. His eyes were fixed on me-- specifically on my
hands. I smiled, and dragged one rounded nail across his erection lightly. A
tickle, really. He shuddered, and violently bucked upwards.

"Did I hurt you earlier?" I asked. "Poor Mulder. If you'd told me to stop, I
would have."

He almost spoke then, but I laid a finger against his lips and shook my head.
"Don't worry. I'll make it up to you now."

He moaned pitifully as I drew back and inclined my head. I almost felt sorry
for him as I took him in. How often do men realize that women can be just as
dominating and cruel as they when they need to be? I moved slowly at first,
very much in control. Heavy on technique, light on actual passion, and yet
producing the desired effect. He started to whimper, clawing at his thighs.
He wouldn't touch me at first, whether out of chivalry or hatred, I don't
know. But when it became apparent I would keep up my professional pace all
night, one of his hands twined into my hair and pushed. I retaliated by
sucking harder, whipping my tongue across the underside of him with abandon.
He shrieked, an honest to God squeal almost, and his grip slackened. I didn't
slow down, keeping up the frantic pace and abandon. His free hand balled up
into a fist and pounded into his thigh faster and faster. A stream of
incoherent words fell from his lips as I sped up just a little more and he
came. It's not my favorite thing, either, but I swallowed, and rose to meet
his eyes.

He looked pale and frightened, drenched in sweat and panting. "If you ever do
that again, I'll spit in your face," I warned. "Did you enjoy that?"

He nodded. I smiled.

"Good boy," I said. "Guess what. We're going to do it again."

"What?" he asked, finally finding a voice. I found my wallet and pulled out a
condom.

"I need to get off, too, Mulder. It's not fair if I don't enjoy myself, now,
is it?"

"No, of course not."

I tossed the condom on the coffee table, and watched him speculatively. Then
I stood up and got rid of my remaining clothes. "I realize it may take you a
while to recover. So I'll make this easy for you. Do you have a bed, or just
the couch?"

"There's a bed-- a waterbed-- but--"

"It'll do. Show me the way."

I followed him into the bedroom, retrieving the condom for later. I was on
the Pill, but I was about to stop being monogamous and I was always a
proponent of safer sex. Better late than never, I sighed. I walked into
Mulder's inner sanctum, surveyed it, and sat on the chair near the bed. Then
I let my legs fall open. He looked bewildered.

"We have to be fair. And turnabout is fair play," I chided him playfully.

He nodded mechanically. Goddamn men. They come, they want to sleep. But he got
down on his knees and placed his arms on my thighs.

"Scoot forward," he said. I did. He looked up at me with almost laughter in
his eyes. "Open up, ma'am. I'm FBI and I have a warrant to search the
premises."

"Go ahead," I replied, spreading further, as his eyes dropped down. I started
squirming. "But I don't think you'll find anything amiss."

He brought his lips against my stomach as one probing finger pushed inside. I
gripped the chair tightly and started writhing as Mulder started lapping my
stomach and his finger explored my body. I had already been wet, but it had
been ages since a man had gone down on me. Alex had categorically refused.

"Oh God," I gasped. "More. Harder. Please."

He pulled back and drove a second finger inside. I hissed. "Oh, fuck, yes,
that's it." I felt him chuckle against my stomach and I shivered. Then he
nipped at the skin right above my hip and I screeched. Then his fingers
started moving faster and harder, building friction. I took a deep breath.
Then, unexpectedly, he pulled his fingers away.

He didn't leave me alone, though. I felt his mouth encircle me and the
lightest scratch-- a tickle, really-- across my clit. Then he was back to
work, driving me headlong over the edge. I tried not to stop breathing, but I
really couldn't help it. I was helpless, breathless, and writhing in delight.
I came hard, spasming and gasping as though I'd been drowning. Finally, I got
my breathing under control and stared at him.

"I'd never figured you for a gasper," he says. "Does it work?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm always going when I'm coming," I said. "It's a lot better."

I noticed that Mulder was back in fighting form, so to speak, and he looked at
me anxiously.

"I've recovered."

"I see. Do you get seasick?"

"Not on waterbeds."

"Well, if you do-- I promise not to tell."

"Ditto."

He smiled at me, a genuine smile. We'd just sealed the bargain, and I had
every intention of keeping it. I rose languidly, and pointed at the bed.

"Ladies first," Mulder replied.

"Only in fiction," I snapped. "Come on. Had we but world enough, and time--
but we don't."

He laughed, and we went to bed. But not to sleep.

Mulder:

I wake up at about three in the morning, sore and confused. Something has just
happened, but I'm not quite sure what--

Woman. There's a woman in my bed, and she's tall, with dark hair that
disguises her identity. Think, Mulder, think. Who could she be? And then I
remember Valmont and close my eyes again.

Oh, fuck me twice.

Wait, she DID.

Oh-- whatever. But this isn't good at all. First of all, she's just a little
bit too young for me. Twenty-six, I guess, is plenty old enough, but still.
She seems younger, at least in appearance, and in demeanor before tonight.

The scratches on my back hurt like hell. I creep out of bed, hopefully not
waking her up. I sneak into the bathroom, close the door and flip on the
lights.

"Good morning, stupid," I tell myself, wincing at the light. I try to examine
my back. I haven't been this marked during sex since Phoebe, and even Phoebe
wasn't quite so fond of hurting me. Johnny had been so subtle and unrepentant
about it, too. But she did make up for it.

God. How am I ever going to explain this to Scully? Oh, yeah, I fucked the
new girl. Just because. She's one of the hottest lovers I've ever had in my
life. If you were game, I'd suggest giving her a try. Oh, God, I can't say a
fucking word to Scully. She'd strangle me, despite the fact we're not
actually lovers. It's the principle of the thing.

The principle of the thing. Yeah, Scully and I are so principled that we're
constantly sitting, staring at each other like dinner and stuck in neutral,
because partners do not fuck. That would ruin our platonic paradise.

I check out the scratches over my shoulder. Shit. These better not get
infected.

"Eww," Johnny says, walking in suddenly. "Those look awful. Do you have any
Bactine?"

"Bactine does not fit under my list of sex aids."

She almost laughs. "No. I was going to put some on your back so that those
nasty scratches don't get infected. I'm not that kinky, nor am I currently
horny," she replied sardonically.

I blink at her and pull out a bottle of aloe vera disinfectant. She takes it
and pulls me back into the bedroom, and sits back down on the chair.

"Sit," she says, pointing to the floor in front of her. "You're too tall."

"Imagine being Scully."

"I have. She has my deepest sympathies," Johnny says as she squirts out some
of the blue gel and delicately rubs it into my back. I shiver. That stuff is
cold.

"Did I wake you up?"

"Yeah. I'm a light sleeper, though, it's okay," she replies. "So, what have
you decided?"

"This never happens again."

"And why not?"

I pause. "It was wrong. I barely know you, and I don't love you and--"

"If Scully found out, she'd be upset?" she says, rubbing more gel in. "Did I
mention I have no intention of sharing this information with her?"

I snort. "So what do you want to do?"

"Have an affair. Break it off when it's no longer good. I don't love you
either."

"Meaningless sex?"

"God, leave it to me to find the one man on earth turned off by meaningless
sex," Johnny sighs. "Maybe. I mean, I like you, Mulder, and I'd like to be
friends, and we are friends but--"

She lays her head against my shoulder. "I wouldn't mind doing this again."

This is a sweetheart deal. Am I really going to say no? Yes. I can't do this,
it's just not my style, it's not my way--

"I don't know, Johnny," I stammer. "I don't know if I can be so casual about
sex."

"Well, think about it. Really," Johnny says lightly. "Mulder, you do know
you're not cheating if you're not dating, right?"

"This is not because of Scully!"

"Isn't it?" she asks, massaging my shoulders lightly. "You've got it baaad for
that woman. And yet, you've never kissed her. Not even at office Christmas
parties where you've had an excuse."

I squirm. "It's hard to explain."

"What's hard to explain? You're a freak," she says, getting up and walking
away. "It's up to you. Give me a call if you're so inclined."

With that she leaves the room and begins searching out her missing clothes. I
sit there, confused. I suddenly want to do this. I suddenly feel stupid for
giving up an opportunity like this. I stand up, and hurry into the living
room. She's pulled her shirt around her loosely.

"What if I give you a call now?"

"I have to go home now. I have work in the morning, unlike dumbasses like
you," she says, patting me on the cheek. "But I'm more than happy to be the
horizon you run to when she has left you."

She yanks on the leggings and slips on her ballet flat shoes. I look at her
wordlessly.

"It's three am, Mulder. Don't you ever sleep?" she asks.

"Not when I can avoid it," I reply. She laughs.

"You know what you're doing, so don't even--" and she pauses. "Go to bed,
Mulder. I mean it. You need to sleep once in a while."

"Who are you, my mother?"

"Good night," she says, opening the door and leaving. I stand there,
dumbfounded. I think I've just been ditched.

I fall asleep again at four on the couch. And that's that. Except I wake up at
five-thirty and realize, in horror, that I don't know Johnny's phone number.

END 3/9

Date: Sun, 20 Dec 1998 04:04:12 GMT
From: jstoy@mailhost.tcs.tulane.edu
Subject: *NEW* Inter-Office Politics NC-17 (4/9)


Alex:

I get a call from Johnny on a Thursday. "Get into surveillance tonight," she
says.

"DC Surveillance? Why, whatever for?"

"Just do it, Alex. Or not. Whatever."

She hangs up. I glare at the telephone. Damn her to hell. I had plans for the
evening. An old friend of mine, Sascha, was coming in for the evening. He had
always been an excellent distraction, but surveillance meant only one thing.
She wanted me to watch.

So I cancel my plans with Sascha. More accurately, I move them up. He arrives
in worn, fraying 501's that curve around his ass in a way that drives me
crazy, and his flexible, strong form fills out a grey Fruit of the Loom
t-shirt quite nicely. It's been so long since I've touched anyone except
Johnny that I succumb to Sascha's first fumbling come-on.

After, though, I miss Johnny's first ragged breath. I miss her wickedly
sensual sadistic side. I still flip Sascha over for a second go-round. But I
don't kiss him good-bye when the time comes, just wave him out the door and
make a few phone calls.

Crazy Becky's eyes and ears tonight. She's a weird broad; she lives in her own
little world where she's God and everything is her way or the highway. She's
sort of a space cadet, always grooving to some internal rhythm and dreaming
fantasies.

"Screen sixteen," she tells me when I arrive bearing Chinese.

"Thanks, Becky."

"Saves me the trouble."

I settle in and plug in the headphones. He's on the phone.

"Aren't you coming over tonight, Johnny?"

I can't hear her response, but Mulder grins. That must be a yes.

"Half an hour? Great."

Half an hour? Shit. Of course, watching Mulder preen is always a pleasure.
After he hangs up, he calls Domino's, nothing but the best for his new woman,
and then turns on some hardcore fuck-me music, Barry White, Isaac Hayes, the
Stones, the kind that makes my cock twitch. I use the controls to follow him
into the bedroom-- when did Mulder get a waterbed?-- and snicker at his
pathetic attempts to sing.

"Let's spend the night together-- now I want you more than ever--" he croons
as he-- have mercy-- strips down and heads for the shower. The thought of
slick, wet, naked Mulder is almost enough to send me into the bathroom for a
few quality moments alone, but I can't. Although I do whistle when shiny,
towel-clad Mulder steps out of the steamy bathroom and starts drying off.

When Johnny arrives, wearing a sleek black suit, I feel the oddest twinge of
pleasure. Damn, she looks good.

"Coo coo kachoo, Mrs. Robinson," Mulder greets her. "Pizza's coming."

"Good for pizza," Johnny replies, removing her shoes and pantyhose. I don't
think she's wearing any underwear. "How's your back?"

"Better."

"I need you to restrain me."

Mulder's eyes widen. "Excuse me?"

"If you don't stop me, I might hurt you again," she explains, walking over to
him and wrapping her arms around his neck. She kisses him, a sloppy kiss, and
then those gem-green eyes turn cruel. She tightens her grip on his neck,
pushing him back step by step until they're up against the wall, and she's
grinding against his crotch with abandon. Mulder pulls her off him, and slaps
her hand.

"Stop that. I mean it."

"I'll do what I want," she replies petulantly. "You can't make me."

"Wanna bet?" he replies, grabbing her wrists and yanking them over her head.
"Move backwards."

She complies with a grin. He doesn't get it, but I do. Rough sex is not
Mulder's thing at all. He's a gentleman at heart. He wants to make love, not
fuck. Preferably, he'd like to make love to Scully for the first time in
Paris, with roses and candlelight. Don't believe me? Watch him. He likes
things perfect, which is why he's never touched his dream woman. And Johnny,
with her little games and rationalizations, is bending him, changing him,
with an eye towards the future. When-- my body aches. When.

He practically throws her onto the bed, shoving her skirt up crudely. She
scrambles back, just to be contrary. Mulder snarls, actually snarls, and pulls
off his belt. She offers her wrists with a grin, and he restrains her.

"What are we gonna play?" she asks innocently.

"Wait here," he replies. "Don't you dare move."

He leaves, and she grins, looking upward. Looking for me, maybe-- hi, Alex,
enjoying yourself? Mulder returns with chocolate syrup and I groan. Johnny
stares at him as he pushes her skirt to her waist and drizzles chocolate syrup
on her thighs.

"Don't move," he warns her. My mouth has gone dry and I keep licking my lips
as Mulder starts devouring Johnny's thighs with his tongue. It's nice to see
her rattled. Evidently, she was expecting pain, not creativity. "And don't
you stop breathing, either. It's dangerous."

"Go to hell," she replies. "I'll get off as I please."

Mulder doesn't reply, just licks further and further up her legs, finally
reaching the point of no return and settling his head between her legs, begins
to finish his meal. Johnny starts moaning.

"You're so hot-- please-- don't stop-- that's just the place--"

And then she breathes in.

Mulder stops. She looks at him furiously.

"I told you no."

She whimpers, but she breathes again. And he removes his pants, slips on a
condom, and plunges inside of her without any apologies. He goes at it fast
and furious, and she starts screeching helplessly. But she keeps breathing,
and she suddenly starts praying-- or not--

"OhGodohGodohpleaseohGodohGOOOOOOODDDDDDD!" and she goes slack. Mulder
chuckles triumphantly and keeps going. Eventually, he moves his hand between
them, and she squeals.

"You want more?"

"Don't ask-- stupidstupid questions--" she growls, arching up. "I'm gonna--
I'm gonna--"

She screams. He can't take any more, and he comes, too. I blink and hope I
haven't ruined my pants watching them. Crazy Becky looks at me and shakes her
head.

"Where the fuck is the pizza?" Johnny asks, as Mulder lets her hands go and
rubs them gently. He's such a nice boy, and I got to see firsthand, with such
a nice ass. I'm starving. I can't wait much longer...

Johnny:

"How do you feel about Italian?" Scully asked one Monday morning. I looked at
her blankly.

"Italian men? Overrated. Children."

"Italian food?" Scully asked.

"Oh. Usually, I like it. Especially if it's smothered in alfredo sauce and
served with warm, soft, French bread with whipped herb butter--"

Scully's eyes widened. "God, you make it sound like a sin," she murmured
demurely.

"So why do my deep emotions about pasta matter so?"

"I wanted to know if you wanted to come over for dinner tomorrow night at my
place."

I snapped to attention. Okay, that was out of nowhere, even if we have gotten
chummy over the past month. "Sure. Kay-- but are you going to sacrifice me to
your heathen god?"

"What?"

"Teasing. Nothing."

"No, what?"

"It's just that you're really close to Mulder and nobody else and--" Shit. I
had gotten a golden opportunity and I was screwing it up. "I mean-- God. My
foot is so far in my mouth it's coming out of my ass."

She looked at me solemnly. "That's okay. If you don't want to come over--"

"No! Look, ignore my big mouth, I spent too much time in New York, stupid
Jody. I'm all about dinner at your place, if you can forget that I'm so
rude."

"All right. I forgive you already. Is six-thirty okay?" Scully replied,
looking inexplicably pleased.

"It's just dandy, darling," I told her. "I'll be there with bells on."

Di Fowley's form was hunched over her desk and another precious X-File when I
arrived in the office. Fowley was unlike anyone else I'd met involved with
the X-Files. They weren't uniquely personal to her. She wanted to pursue the
paranormal, an adventurer, desperate to discover something. Her life wasn't
at stake, except in the sense it was her heart's desire to reveal this stuff
to an uncaring world.

"Where are you today, Diana?" I asked.

"Colorado," she replied. "On the trail of a very unusual monster."

"Scuzzlebutt?"

"Hmm? No. It's something fascinating, very obscure, based on an Amerind folk
legend."

"Cool. I once took an Iowaska journey when I was in high school. I found out
my spirit guide is a lion-headed eagle, and that Lucifer is a woman who
drives an ice cream truck."

Fowley looked up and glared at me. "Sometimes, Agent Valmont, I think you're
still dropping acid."

"We alter reality in our own favorite ways, Sigourney," I answered. "Whether
chemical or psychological, the effect is the same. Distortion."

She didn't answer, just went back to her research and her quest, while I took
a few files to do prelim research, and a few more for Mulder's amusement.
I've always despised sitting still and working on one thing, so I found
myself in the cafeteria, headphones screaming PJ Harvey, writing notes on the
recurrence of Sasquatch while profiling the nature of Scully's desire. I was
singing along to "Rid of Me," quietly, and I was too distracted to notice the
man until he sat down beside me.

"Good morning, Agent Valmont."

I pulled off the headphones. It was the Smoking Man. "Hello, sir," I replied.
"How's your son?"

"Jeffrey is doing all right. How's Alex Krycek?"

"Last I could tell, he was a slut and a bastard. We're doing well."

"You're having an affair with Agent Mulder."

I grinned. "Yes, sir."

"You realize that's not a wise course of action?" he asked, blowing a smoke
ring.

"You realize I don't care?"

He looked at me coldly. "Whatever you and Krycek have in mind, Ms. Valmont,
I'd suggest you reconsider now."

"Sir, if I'm involved with Agent Mulder, that doesn't have anything to do with
Krycek, you, or the Project. Also, I'm not fond of threats, sir."

"Watch yourself, young lady. You don't have anyone to support you right now."

"Are you gonna blow me sky-high like English Jake?"

"Don't be crass."

"It's not my fault your son is a cake-boy pansy who couldn't deliver here."

He shook his head. "Do what you want, Agent Valmont. I've done my duty."

"Congratulations," I replied. "Now why don't you go chase yourself?"

He didn't reply, either, just picked up and left. I made a face and went back
to work.

Mulder was talkative that evening; he got to go back to work the next day,
and he was so up that he didn't even blink when I asked him to take me from
behind. I'd invited him to my place, because I was sick of providing free
porno for the surveillance people. I was slightly disappointed in Mulder.
After his initial show of resistance, he was more than happy to go at it
anytime, any place. I felt vaguely pissed on Scully's behalf. Love indeed.

"Why haven't you ever made love to Scully?" I asked him afterwards, giving
him a few files for good measure. "I just don't get it."

"Why does everyone assume our relationship needs to become physical?" he
snapped. "Maybe we don't have sex because our relationship is not involved in
any way, shape, or form with sex?"

"And maybe you're a major flipping liar," I replied. "Do you wanna know why
people ask why? Because you two radiate sex towards each other. You're
begging for it. You two are insane, I mean, goddammit, you want in her so bad
*I* can almost taste it. Admit it, when we're in bed, you've imagined her in
my place."

He closed his eyes. "I wouldn't. It would be wrong. Scully wouldn't act like
this."

"Yeah, she just gets it on with her vibrator and wishes it were you."

He glared at me. "Don't talk like that. I mean it."

"Fine. But you do love her, don't you?"

"She wrecks me," he answered. "I trust her, I need her like nobody else."

"You're afraid of her."

"Everything I love leaves."

"And if it's not love, she'll stay."

His eyes bored into mine, anguished. I almost felt sorry for him. Life hadn't
treated him well. But it wasn't my job to knit up the raveled sleeve of care,
or mend the wounded heart. I needed him willing to bend over for Alex, and I
needed him to help me understand Scully.

"I'm going home, Valmont. I'll see you tomorrow."

So he left and I went to bed. Then I went to work, and managed to stay out of
trouble. Then I came home again, changed, grabbed a bottle of tequila, and
drove to Scully's apartment. I was so nervous I kept chewing my cuticles.
Finally, I just knocked on the door like an unwilling Girl Scout. A dark
haired, older woman opened the door.

"Hi," I said nervously. "Is Dana Scully here?"

"Yes. Hello there, I'm Maggie Scully, Dana's mom. You must be Jody Valmont."

"Johnny, ma'am. Jody's my work nickname."

Scully heard my voice, I guess, and burst out of the kitchen. "There you are!
I was afraid something had happened! Mom, that's Jody, Jody, that's my mom."

Maggie looked at me, her, and then shook her head. "This is your first time
here?" she asked quietly.

"Mmm-- yeah. But see, I'm really new to the Bureau and I've only been in town
a month," I said. "Dana's been wonderful. She's always over at my place in
the middle of nowhere Virginia, helping me settle in."

I realized now why Scully had invited me over, and I was impressed. Using your
one semi-friendly work acquaintance to get your worried mother off your back--
it was devious. Very devious, and not quite what I'd expected of Scully, who
re-emerged from the kitchen with Italian.

"Oh, let me help you, Dana," Maggie said, leaving me alone in the foyer. I
did what any professional would-- I cased the joint, starting with the
photographs. Sure enough, there was a small picture of Emily, plenty of
family shots, but not so many as I'd expected. The room was strangely
impersonal, and very lonely.

"Jo?" Scully asked, peering into the living room. "Dinner's up."

"Of course," I replied.

Dinner, thanks to me, was an unqualified success. Scully was a terrible
actress, and obviously a little stressed out. I, on the other hand, sparkled,
chattered, I turned the world on with my smile. Scully looked grateful, and
Maggie never caught on to the fact I was lying. Poor woman, she just wanted
her pretty, intelligent, freak of a daughter to be happy. I have to admit,
though, Maggie's maternal care made me miss my mother's absolute lack of
interest. The last time I'd seen Charlotte, she was in detox with the
Beautiful People and enjoying it thoroughly.

Maggie left fairly early, and Scully and I were left to stare at each other at
the door. Finally, I just burst into laughter. Scully looked at me like I'd
grown a second head, but finally she started laughing, too. I howled, and
howled, and finally just flopped onto her couch.

"You're such a TERRIBLE liar!" I screeched. "Oh-- my-- God--"

"And you're a drama queen," Scully answered. "What was that? 'I'm ready for my
close-up now, Mr. DeMille,' or something? You were killing me."

"Why didn't you just tell me your mother was coming and you wanted me to cover
for you?"

Scully looked embarrassed. "Because it was dishonest, and you were right,
we're not really close, and it was too hard to ask. I mean, I used you."

I smiled. "Well, I think this counts as breaching the line between coworkers
and friends. What time is it?"

"Eight o' five?"

"Cool. Buffy's on."

Scully wrinkled her nose. "You like that show? It's silly."

"It's brilliant. Come on, try it."

She sighed and flipped on the tv. "Okay, we'll try it. But I just don't see
the appeal."

"You don't see the appeal in Giles? I despair of your heterosexuality."

She raised an eyebrow. "Who's he, the British guy? Okay, he's fairly
attractive. And the white-haired vampire guy."

"Spike? Oh, hell yes, he's a total hotty, and he's on tonight."

So we watched, and I could tell that she liked it, even though it was silly.
At the end credits, she turned to me and shook her head.

"I think there's something terribly wrong with Spike doing it his way."

"Oh, but it's fun. And I liked his words of wisdom to Buffy and Angel. I mean,
star-crossed lovers-- get over it," I said. "Angsty much?"

She smiled again, rather wistfully. "So you're not for tragic love?"

"Tragedy in love stems from stupidity and shyness. If you love someone, tell
them. If you want someone, shag them. Life is very short, and regret is very
long."

"Thank you, oh wise Valmont."

I smirked. "No charge," I murmured, moving over to her CD collection. "Hmm--
Sarah McLachlan, of course, Alanis-- the Beastie Boys?"

"License to Ill was my anthem album in college," she answered, as I popped the
CD into the player and chose a song.

"Girls! Yeah all we really want is GIRLS!" the Boys shout.

"Oh, God!" Scully laughed. I grooved through the room to the song, dropping to
my knees in front of her.

"Woman, don't be so boring. You know what you need?"

"Therapy?"

"A good kiss."

"That, too," Scully agreed. "Find me the man."

I grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a good hearty smack instead. She
looked at me like the second head I'd grown earlier had just starting singing
like the Chipmunks. I laughed at her.

"See? That did the trick!" I teased, hoping that maybe, sooner or later, it
would be true.

END 4/9