X-Files Fanfiction

Fourth story in the Murphey series...

One of Those Days

Serendipity awoke suddenly, fleeing images of a roasted teddy bear and a charred cradle. Sleepily, she glanced at the super-modern, ultra-expensive digital alarm clock on the beside stand. Its crimson face blinked smugly, reading an unhelpful 00:00. �What the hell?� She rolled closer and picked it up. When shaking, banging, and some particularly inventive threats provoked no response except a few esoteric beeps, Serendipity conceded defeat. �You,�, she declared as she swung her slim legs out of the bed, �have just bought yourself a one-way ticket to the trashcan...as soon as I can face the dumpster, anyway.� The clock remained supremely unimpressed. She tramped into the living room of her two bedroom apartment, studiously avoiding her reflection in the hall mirror. To her disgust, the display on the dust-shrouded VCR had also reset, this one to a mundane 12:00. �At least that�s a real time.�, she muttered softly. Serendipity had learned to avoid threatening her VCR; the last time had resulted in a destroyed rental copy of Riverdance, and a rather large repair bill. She looked around the sun-splattered living room. The accumulated junk of two weeks� avoidance of cleaning, in favor of profiling an unusually prolific arsonist, had transformed the room into a Good Housekeeping nightmare. Luckily, she�d been granted three �off� days, just enough time to do emergency repairs...and to get the smell of burned flesh out of her clothes, if not her mind.

Theoretically, there should be a watch somewhere near the couch, but Serendipity didn�t feel she needed to know the time *that* badly. She turned her back on the living room and headed for the kitchen. A quick inspection revealed five stone bagels, a dish of something in shades of purple and turquoise, and half a can of Coke hiding in the freezer. On the fridge was a sticky note that read: Go Shopping!. It was dated five days ago. Serendipity crumpled the note, and tossed it toward the trashcan. It landed perfectly on the top of the heaped pile, and caused a tiny landslide, leaving a small ring of trash on the linoleum. There had to be a way to claim a cleaning service on her expense report. She ran a hand through her tousled brown hair, for the first time realizing just how badly she tended to neglect �real� life when she went into what her ex called her �fugues�. In L.A., Brian had tended to take care of the practicalities, while Serendipity immersed herself in profiles and the hunt. It�d been one of the reason�s they�d broken up, she recalled, as well as one of the reasons she�d asked for a transfer. She shrugged off the memories impatiently. What she needed was a shower, everything would look better once she was clean. Anticipating the hot, cleansing water, Serendipity headed eagerly for the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, a startled shriek and a slippery thump filled the apartment.

********** �Oh, bloody *hell*!� Serendipity glared at the empty parking space where her battered Mazda should have been. Only now did she dimly recall the informal celebration she, her partner Mueller, and a few of the others involved in the capture of one Daniel Sumter, firebug extrordinaire, had thrown. She must have taken a cab home, which meant that her beloved little car was still at one of the several bars the party had encompassed. �Damn it all!� she shouted, getting a little satisfaction from the booms and echoes her voice made in the nearly deserted garage.

�Need some help?�

Walter had noticed her as soon as he�d stepped off the elevator. She was standing in a parking space, one slender hand raking through a short, disordered mass of thick brown hair. Her other hand was massaging her lower left hip. It drew flattering attention to the way her emerald green shorts hugged her waist and upper thighs. With difficulty, he forced his eyes up to a more acceptable zone, but couldn�t resist letting his feet carry him closer. As he approached, she yelled a heartfelt curse. He couldn�t very well ignore a fellow agent in trouble, now could he? �Need some help?�, he asked neutrally. She spun around, her right hand automatically dropping to her side for a gun she wasn�t wearing.

�Oh. It�s you.� Startled gray eyes peered at Walter quizzically. He suppressed a smile at the decidedly unflattering greeting. Whatever else she may be, no one could accuse Agent Murphey with being a brown-nose. When not paired with Mulder�s total disregard for proper procedure, it was surprisingly refreshing.

�I asked if you needed any help, Agent Murphey. Did you lose something?� He began to scan the pavement around them. There was no answer from the younger woman. He looked up, and when he met her eyes again, Serendipity blushed.

Wow. Serendipity stared unabashedly at Skinner, taking in the sinfully tight, faded jeans, the T-shirt that clung lovingly to his broad shoulders and molded against the well-muscled torso. In formal clothes, he looked yummy...in casuals, the A.D. was a walking advertisement for carnality. Down girl, she scolded herself, not only is he *not* interested, but wouldn�t it just look lovely to have *that* running around the Bureau? Colton already wanted her head for accidentally stumbling onto his office Rogaine supply. He�d just love to hear she was having a torrid affair with another of his favorite people. Of course, Serendipity considered, so would *she*! It suddenly occurred to her that Skinner had been speaking and was now regarding her with barely concealed impatience. �W-what?�, she stammered hurriedly. Skinner tilted his head slightly, the diffuse light sparkling across the lenses of his wire-rims. He repeated himself, slowly.

�Did you lose something, Agent Murphey?�

�Well, my car. Sort of.� , she added quickly. He regarded her blankly.

�You...�sort of� lost your car.�

�I know where it is, probably, I think.� She replied, flustered by the measured, humor-the-madwoman quality of Skinner�s voice. He nodded, as if he�d expected the answer. Skinner was beginning to realize that conversation with Serendipity Murphey often meant checking logic at the door. Luckily, he�d had almost five years of practice with illogic.

�Where, probably, is your car?�, he asked. She answered reluctantly.

�The Pink Sailor.�, she mumbled.

�The what?�

�It�s a bar. On M Street.� Skinner�s lips twitched, then a low rumble of laughter shook his entire body. Serendipity smiled, puzzled but willing to go along for politeness� sake. Still chuckling, he looked down at the woman, then over to his car. He gestured briefly towards it.

�Get in. I�ll give you a ride there.�, he offered. Serendipity stiffened, her gray eyes flashed with annoyance.

�I don�t recall asking for a ride, sir.�, the �sir� was practically spit out. Skinner pushed his own, unusual, flash of temper aside, and stared at her for a long moment. Finally,

�I�m sorry, I didn�t mean to presume. Good day, Agent Murphey.� He nodded his head to her, then turned and began to walk towards his car. She watched him for a second, then caved in and asked him to wait. He turned back towards her in one swift, graceful movement. Serendipity blinked, momentarily distracted by the play of the fluorescent lighting across the tanned skin of his face and head. Catch a cab, ride a bike, *walk* for Pete�s sake, but don�t get into that car with him!

�If you�re going in that direction...� Skinner smiled, an unexpected flash of white teeth and the twinkle of true-brown eyes.

�Get in, Murphey.�

**********

The Pink Sailor was one of those bars no body in D.C.�s political circles would dare to be seen in. It was a monument to tastelessness. Which, Skinner reflected as they pulled between the neon orange lines of a parking space, was probably the reason why a group of Agents wanting a private party would choose it. The building was, of course, a hideous pink. The blinding color was occasionally broken by patchy paintings of a chubby sailor doing cartwheels and flips across the walls. A small strip of ground in front of the bar was festooned with a flock of battered pink flamingos. It was the architectural equivalent of �Plan 9 From Outer Space�.

�It looks better at night.�, Serendipity offered.

�It would have to.� She glared at him, but received only a neutral stare in return. �Do you see your car, Murphey?� Startled, she looked around the empty parking lot. She exited the car, and groaned.

�Oh, no.� She cast a hopeful look in Skinner�s direction. �Maybe someone inside knows what happened. Wait here, I�ll be right back.�

Five minutes later, a highly annoyed Serendipity was escorted out by a nervous looking man in a lime green sailor�s uniform. Skinner winced and smiled slightly. She shook off the man�s arm, saying something that he didn�t believe was �Thank you�, and stalked across the pavement towards him. Hell hath no fury, he thought, admiring the sleek lines of her body, and the vital energy that swirled around her. She pulled up sharp before him, almost vibrating in fury. �They *towed* my car! They towed it!�

�Where?�

�Macmillan�s Auto Yard, wherever the hell *that* is!�, she snarled. Skinner sighed,

�It�s in Alexandria. About an hour away, if my memory serves.� Serendipity seemed to deflate, the righteous anger draining away as guilt rushed into the void.

�Look,� she ran a hand through her hair, �You�ve been a lot of help, but there�s no reason for you to go all the way out to Alexandria for me.� Skinner slipped his glasses off, polishing them on the bottom of his T-shirt. He slid them back on, and said softly,

�Perhaps I want to.� She blinked, and looked up at him. Their eyes met, silver-gray and darkest brown. Without conscious violation, they moved closer together; one of Skinners large hands slowly came up, and gently touched her cheek. Serendipity�s eyes widened and she hurriedly stepped back, braking the fragile link between them. She walked quickly around to the passenger side of the car, her anger gone...replaced by an entirely new kind of heat.

Walter took a deep, ragged breath. He cursed himself silently, for acknowledging the unspoken attraction, for moving too fast, for moving at all. That touch was...wrong. Incredibly ill-considered and thoughtless. His mind agreed totally, but other body parts refused to be convinced. Very quietly, he swore, �Damn.� He glanced over at Serendipity. She was looking at him, her cheeks flushed, and the one hand he could see was curled tightly in a fist. �Look, Mur... Serendipity. I apologize for that, and I promise, it won�t happen again.� A bit of the shocked look left her face, and he slowly relaxed. Her face gradually brightened, and before long she was giggling, then laughing happily. �Are you all right?�, he asked, concerned.

�I�m just peachy. Now can we go home? I need to clean my living room.�, she replied, still giggling.

�Of course, but, is there a joke here I�m missing?� She shook her head as they got into the car. Not for long, Walter, she thought, not if I have anything to do about it....

Yet again, The End.

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