Date: Tue, 14 Oct 1997 01:29:21 -0400 (EDT)
From: Minouu@aol.com


After reading the works of so many talented individuals, I've been 
inspired to give it a shot.  This is my first go at fanfic, so please be kind!  
Comments are welcome; please direct them to minouu@aol.com.  
Legal stuff:  I don't own them, I make no claim to them, I derive no 
profit from them, etc.  Aside from Audrey, they belong to Chris Carter, 
and no copyright infringment is intended.     


     Many will say that they worked for Uncle Sam because they wanted 
to make a difference.  I did so I would never have to go work on my 
birthday-  I was born on Veteran's Day.  So, I believed I had good 
reason to gumble as I trudged down the hallway that blustery November 
day.  I was only a GS-07, but I had endeared myself to my Section 
Head; I had made myself into a kind of "Girl Friday"; you know, the one 
who always volunteered to help.  I was told that it would get me into 
trouble someday.  As I rounded the corner into the coffee room, I was 
searched my memory for the sage that passed me that often-forgotten 
piece of advice.  Aaah, it didn't matter now; whoever it was was 
probably at home asleep.  Wish I were.
      As I approached the counter, I was surprised to see another poor 
soul had been cursed with duty today.  She was shorter than myself, but 
mirrored me in my dress.  She turned to look at me as I came closer, as 
if she was just as curious to see who would be in on a Federal holiday.
     "Hi,  what are you in for?"  If anything, I'm sarcastic.
     "Just the usual," she replied, as I poured my java fix.  "Do you need 
the cream?"
     "And the sugar, please.  Thanks.  I didn't think I'd see anyone else in 
here today."  I paused and added, "That's a great sweater.  Where'd you 
find it?"  It may have been a simple question, but it was clear that the 
woman was taken aback.  She hesitated, then anwered:
     "I found it at Ann Taylor, at Pentagon City."
     I chortled.  "I should work there, or at least buy stock.  Half my 
paycheck seems to disappear in that store.  And at Nordstrom and the 
Off 5th Saks outlet.  They have the best suits."  I glanced downwards at 
my casual attire.  "Although you couldn't really tell from what I look 
like today."
     "Being here on a holiday is just like being here on Saturdays.  No 
one sees you."  
     Geez, why would this woman be here on a Saturday?  I took a closer 
look.  The blue in her eyes seem faded, as if they've lost some color.  
Just as my mind registered she's tired,  she narrowed her eyes for a 
moment.  Oops, caught.  I felt a slight twinge of embarassment, and 
began to turn away.  "You're right; after all, we're the Federal police, 
not the fashion police.  Have a good one."  I was almost halfway down 
the corridor when she called behind me:  "Wait."
    I turned, and she caught up with me, and nodded at my sweatshirt.  
"Did you study at Oxford?"
    "Yeah, it was one of the best experiences of my life."  I loved 
England; it was such a different world compared to the States.  "I miss 
Europe-  I can't wait to go back."
    "What did you study?"
    "Tudor history, the Protestant Revolution and Renaissance 
architecture.  My professor couldn't get enough of old cathedrals and 
manor houses."  I smiled and shook my head. "I would have loved to 
have done some archaeology, but I couldn't fit it into my schedule.  I 
really believe that anyone who studies history has to study archaeology.  
It's like touching history.  It proves history.  It's tangible evidence."
     That sealed it.  She smiled and reached out her hand.  "I'm Dana 
Scully."
     "Hi, I'm Audrey Hamilton.  I'm in the PA Division.  You?"
     "I work in the X-Files."
     My eyes widened.  The X-Files?  I was aware of that division, but 
didn't really know what it was; I had heard snippets of wisecracks of the 
"spooky things that went on down in the basement", but that was it.  
Well, here was my chance.  Deep breath, I thought.  She's a Special 
Agent.  "Can I ask:  what exactly are the X Files?"
     "They're cases which involve unexplainable phenomena."
     I cocked my eyebrow. I was intruiged. "And you can actually prove 
the existence of what is termed 'unexplained'?" 
     "Not always."
     I was at a loss for words.  Almost.  "If you can't explain it, then who 
does?  I...I don't mean to sound, well, stupid, but I suppose I like the 
simple cut and dry answer."
     She smiled.  "It's a little more complicated than that."
     I snickered.  "I had a feeling that you would say that."

     Two weeks went by since my brief conversation with Agent Scully.  
On the fourth of December, my Section Head sent me down to the 
basement to get some old press releases.  I knew that her office would 
be down here, but I wasn't quite sure where.  Pondering whether to find 
it and pop my head in, I turned a corner and collided head-on with a 
man, and dropped my cargo, all of the papers scattering like confetti.  
     "I'm sorry," he offered, bending over to lend me a hand.
     "It's OK; I knew that there was a reason my mother didn't name me 
Grace."
     That solicited a laugh.  I looked up from my crouched postion to see 
the goofiest grin in my life.  I couldn't help but join him.  
     "So, if it isn't Grace, what is it?" he quiried, handing me the 
remainder of my papers.
     "It's Audrey.  Audrey Hamilton.  And you are?"
     "Mulder."
     "Mulder?  As in the 'X Files Mulder'?"
     He nodded and stiffened a little.  "I see my reputation preceeds me."
     "Agent Mulder, I don't know much about your reputation, but I do 
know that you work with Agent Scully.  I met her a couple of weeks 
ago, and was going to stop in her office and say 'hi'', but I don't know 
where it is.  Can you help me?" 
     He visably relaxed, and if I hadn't been paying attention, I could have 
sworn that he shook his head at my openess with him.  I couldn't put my 
finger on it, but it was if he expected me to pass judgement on him.   
     "Sure, it's just around the corner there.  She's not in, but I tell her 
you came by."
     "Thanks.  Have her give me a call."  I scribbled my number down on 
a cover sheet, ripped it off, and handed it over.
     "No problem."
     "Thanks again.  See you around."  With that, I turned and headed 
towards the elevator. 

     I was surprised to hear from Agent Scully within the hour.  "Hi, 
Audrey, this is Dana.  Mulder told me he ran into you."
     Literally, I thought, and then plunged on in.  I knew that she was six 
years my senior and more than a couple of grades higher, but hey, why 
not?  "Listen, I've been told that there's a killer new exibit on 
Renaissance architecture at the Smithsonian.  What do you say we hit it 
Saturday and then blast over to Union Station?  Ann Taylor is having a 
sale."
     "That sounds great.  I should be in town this weekend.  I'll meet you 
at the top of the escalator for the Metro at the Archives station at 
noon."  I could hear her smile through the receiver.
     "Perfect.  See you then."
        
     Dana and I became good friends over the next few months.  We 
discovered that we shared many interests and, oddly enough, 
mannerisms, but beyond that, we simply enjoyed each other's company.  
We each had a relaxing effect on the other.  I had commented to her 
that Saturday that I wasn't a "party animal", and she laughed in 
agreement.  By the end of the day, she was actually in giggles as we told 
stories about old high school crushes.  None of my embarassing 
moments could top Marcus and the ride home on the pumper truck.  At 
first, Dana's warmth surprised me.  One of the reasons I had admired her 
in the firstplace was her consumate, professional demeanor.  After I had 
met Dana, I became more aware of the office gossip about "Spooky" 
and the "Ice Queen" in the basement, but after that first Saturday, I 
couldn't figure out why or how anyone who knew her could say such a 
thing.  
     I realized that that was simply it; no one knew her.  Sometimes I 
thought she actually wanted it that way.  At the Bureau, I witnessed the 
fierce companionship between her and Mulder ("Forget the 'Agent'; just 
Mulder", he had said after my fourth visit to the basement).  And that 
carried outside into their personal lives.  Mulder would stop by and join 
us some Saturday nights as we scarfed down popcorn and watched what 
he snubbed, "chick flicks".  "Too many clothes for you, Mulder?" Dana 
slyly quieried on his first apprearance.  Mulder feigned an "I'm hurt" 
look across his face, grumbled something under his breath, reached over 
for some popcorn, and settled into the couch.  Dana wasn't fooled for a 
minute.  I was beginning to catch on to Mulder's antics.  She glanced 
over and me and motioned at Mulder with a tilt of the head.  We each 
shot our eyebrows in the air as we glared at Mulder, causing him to 
comment, "Geez, I used to fantasize about having two women's 
attentions at once, but I'm about to reconsider."  The third Saturday 
Mulder appeared, he actually brought us some sunflower seeds.  
     He's lonely, I thought, looked at Dana, and then back at him.  I had 
never asked Dana about the nature of their relationship.  I knew that it 
was different than any other I had ever seen. My mind lingered on the 
possibility, and I wondered "what if", but then realized that if something 
was happening between the two, he wouldn't be on one side of the 
couch, she on the other, and I wouldn't be present at the other side of 
the room.  
    However, I couldn't help asking myself "why not"?  I have always 
been a hopeless romantic.  Mulder, while not my type, was an attractive 
man.  Dana was a beautiful woman.  I remembered stories she had told 
me about their cases.  He hovered over her.  She's always been there to 
back him up.  I sighed.  It wasn't my place.  I settled back into the 
overstuffed chair and put the thoughts behind me as the comfortable 
nature of our friendship wrapped itself around us like a blanket on that 
chilly April evening.