Title: _ A Fleeting Moment in `96_ Author: Karen (snarky_freak@hotmail.com) Rating: PG/PG-13 Keywords: Skinnerfic, mostly. With a touch of Reyes & Doggett, for good luck... Summary: 'Where was I going? Not in the immediate moment, but where, in general, _was_ my life going these days?' Spoilers: nuthin', really. Disclaimer: Again, they are not mine. So, again, quit lookin' at me like that, `kay? Archive: All are more than welcome, just please notify me... Author's Note: Slightly AU (Alternative Universe); Pre-NeXt-Files, takes place around the latter half of Season 3, and early season 4. Skinman's in a rut, and he knows it... Also, for Michelle--I agree with ya, babe... Skinner: Every Episode! Lastly, beware the 'slashy' undertones... --- Have a bite to eat. After that... Get these photocopied. Return the Director's call. Look over Scully's autopsy report. Look over Mulder's field report. Check on their budget report. No, wait; I've done that-- Double-check their budget report, then. Then look over Mulder's field report. Again. Then call the Director. Again. I didn't ask for this, but here I am. Again. Protecting these two, and not really knowing why. Covering their asses. And at the same time, putting my own ass on the line. All for what? How many times have I asked myself that? One too many times. I do this, all because I think I believe. A fleeting moment, that's all it was. I was there. So was my body. Rotting in mud and dead leaves, and god-knows-what-else. `Nam never looked so peaceful, until then. And now here I am. Supporting a cause. A crusade. And maybe, just maybe-- Nursing a pathetic infatuation... a crush on Agent Mulder's partner. Ding. Right you are, Skinman. So what's the prize awaiting you behind the elevator door? Stupid as it seems, I follow my train of thought and stare straight ahead, ready for what's coming my way. Well, more like who's coming in here and going down to the cafeteria with me. I can't believe I'm even holding my breath for this. Swoosh. You've taken to sound effects too, Wally-boy? You're starting to give Spooky Mulder a run for his money... "--didn't get to see him when I popped by on my way here for a visit, so I--" "How old's he now, anyway?" "Seventeen. Can you believe it?" "This one plays basketball, right?" "He swears Jordan's a god." I watch them, and I'm completely amazed. Their conversation's as normal as the sky is blue, and I'm amazed. Try going down to the basement and talking to Mulder. Maybe then your idea of a conversation won't be as normal as you think... They look at me briefly after they step into the elevator. The woman smiles; the fluorescent light glints of her bright white teeth and, for a split second, makes her look vampiric and predatory. Keep those X-Files in the basement, Skinman... Those X-Files stay in the basement... I nod at her and bow my head. She's got long legs, I'll give her that. Nice, long legs--I'll give her that, too. My ex-wife never had legs like that... "Two weeks to Thanksgiving. Are you visiting your mother?" "Yeah. Booked my flight already." "I'm sure she'll be glad to see you." "Huh," her companion grunts under his breath. He seems uncomfortable talking to her, with me around. And who wouldn't be? You're not exactly blending into the background, Walt, with ears as pointy as yours are... "When will you be back?" "Don't know. Depends." "Oh." She sounds disappointed. "_You_ doin' anything?" "I'm not sure yet." "Huh." Ding. I look up. To my relief, the elevator doors part and reveal the entrance to the cafeteria. The lunch line's as long as it is noisy. You'd think, for a bunch of Federal workers, they'd be a little more-- "You know what? I think I forgot something upstairs. Go on ahead, I'll find you." The woman's comment hangs in the air for a brief second. Her companion momentarily blocks my view as he steps out and holds the elevator door open with a large hand. "What do you want?" "Something light. A--" "You mean a whole damn vegetable garden." "Sounds good to me." "Jesus--I don't know why." Her hand unabashedly reaches out and squeezes his forearm. Nice, long fingertips to complement those nice, long legs, I see. Standing here, waiting for her companion to move so I can get off the elevator... Well, it's plain as day. She's trying not to flirt with him. But she can't help it. "Thanks, John." "Yeah, whatever," her companion replies with a gracious smile. He stands aside and allows me to walk past him. Behind me, I can still hear his deep voice. "Tell you what, Monica. Next time you're here, I'm gonna take you to this stand on M street. They've got the best..." Sounds like a New York accent, to me. That, or something Southern. Go figure. I walk on, and swing the door to the cafeteria open, instantly forgetting about John, Monica, and whatever might be going on between them. I'm hungry--who cares if she's got a crush on him? Well said, Skinman. You can sympathize, though, can't you? Falling for Agent Scully like that... "Thanks." I squint in confusion and look over my shoulder. That John guy from the elevator caught up to me and held the door wider for him to walk through. I didn't realize I'd been holding it open, waiting for him to catch up. "Yeah, no problem." I look at the long lunch line and I can feel my stomach grumbling in protest. Damn Mulder. Damn him and his theories. They keep a man from having a decent meal on time. "Shit, look at this. We'll be here all day." I look over my shoulder again and nod. "Might as well skip lunch, I think." "Yeah, maybe. Or not have it here, at least." He slides his tray back into the nearly empty rack and looks over at me. "You gonna stick it out an' wait? I'd admire ya for that, but I'm too damn hungry." He's quirked a friendly smile at me. His sharp blue eyes squint ever so slightly as he begins to turn on his heels. Probably looking for his girlfriend. Probably thinking of a place where he can get her that vegetable garden she wants to have for lunch. "Nah." Who're you talking to now, Walt? You know, you've been doing that a lot, lately. Talking to yourself. You should go out more, hang out with some people. Talk to some real people, and not just to yourself... Would be a hell of a lot more fun talking to some buddies... And just where are those buddies? Somewhere. Everywhere. Nowhere. You're in a rut. Your divorce finalized, your money flyin' out the window, your ex-wife quickly forgetting about you... You. What are you doing? Worrying for a lost cause like Agent Mulder. Feeling more and more willing to pine away for Agent Scully. You might as well just request to have your office moved to the basement, too. "Hey. Goin' up?" "What?" I look around and realize that I'm standing by the elevators again. My unexpected lunch companion is holding the door open, this time for me. "No." I shake my head and stare at my shoes, suddenly feeling disoriented. Hungry. Confused. Where was I going? Not in the immediate moment, but where, in general, _was_ my life going these days? "You okay?" I simply stare at him. We're dressed alike. Three-piece suit, polished black shoes, conservative tie, I.D. clipped neatly to the side... The FBI's good at making drones. Damn. Mulder should've heard that one. He would've loved it, coming from me... John raises his eyebrows and shrugs almost apologetically. "Just askin'." He lets go of the door and I watch as it begins to close on his face. He's good-looking, I'll give him that much. Guess I can see why, or how, his friend Monica would be attracted to him. A gentleman. I think that's the word for people who look like John. Or people who sound like him, at least. Whoever you are, John, I'm not okay. Not these days. And why do you ask, anyway? Why do you care, whoever you are? What do you care? That I'm lonely as hell. That I'm stuck in a dead end. With no one but Mulder and Scully to keep me company. He's got blue eyes, just like Scully. I've always liked blue eyes. There was even a point in time, when I was a kid, that I wanted blue eyes. Go figure. I shake my head and decide to take the stairs to the lobby. I hope he finds Monica a nice vegetable garden for lunch. I hope he has a good time, when he visits his mother for Thanksgiving. I hope he never ends up like me, whatever that means, or whatever that implies. He seems too good a man to end up stuck in a place where I'm finding myself right now. The fire exit door swings open before me, and I'm greeted by a cool breeze coming from the main entrance. It's a nice day. Too nice to waste standing in line at the cafeteria. Too nice to waste thinking about this rut I'm in. Maybe I'll talk to Mulder again--see if I can understand where he's coming from; where he thinks this case he's working on is headed. Maybe I'll call my ex-wife tonight. Maybe I'll try that stand on M Street--see what they might have for lunch. And if the line there's as long as it is noisy, too? Maybe I'll stick it out an' wait. Patience. I'd admire that, but I'm too hungry. So, where to? M Street's sounding better and better. Sounds like a good plan to me, Skinman. END Send comments/feedback to: snarky_freak@hotmail.com The Vision: http://www.geocities.com/visionjdmr/index.html