Title: New Millennium: Agent Michels Speaks Author: Vickie Moseley Email Address: vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com Category: V, MSR, AU Rating: G Finished: June 30, 2003 Spoilers: Requiem, but by now, just the bare skeleton of the show. Note: This is the continuation of the New Millennium version of the events of the first half of season 8. There was a new agent introduced in NM: Homecoming. Her name is Andrea Michels and she was assigned to be Scully's partner while Mulder was missing. She's a minor character in that story, but Ten and I have decided to give her a little more playtime. This is Andrea's first full-length story. Disclaimer: Nope, we still don't own them. Nope, we still make no money. Nope, we won't infringe on that copyright. Nuff said. Second Note: It's not necessary to read the first, oh, bunch of stories (I've lost track), but it will make this one a little more understandable. You can find them all archived on Ten's wonderful site. http://bitter-moon.com/tenxffic/ Go to the drop down toolbar at the top of the page (the one in bronze) and find 'Co-Authored/Series', click and find 'New Millennium'. They're all there. And while you're there, check out Ten's other stories. Drop her a line kristina@ocean.com.au Dedicated to Ten. This started out one little story posted two and a half years ago! Look how it's grown! Thanks, sweets! Lord knows I couldn't have gotten here without you New Millennium: Agent Michels Speaks by Vickie Moseley vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com I am not an insensitive person. OK, the one roommate I managed not to scare off in the first three weeks of a semester, a psych major no less, confided in me that I could be a bit distant at times. Well, maybe she said a lot distant. Focused. But in a good way, she assured me. Single-minded. And that's how I've viewed myself. I'm single- minded. If other people are having personal problems around me, I prefer they keep them to themselves. I see no reason to drag those very personal problems into the workplace. It's an advantage, really. I don't participate in office water cooler gossip. I don't go out of my way to attract attention to myself, especially from the opposite sex. I keep to myself, do my job and all is generally right with the world. So why am I now driving over the Key Bridge on the way to my superior's tidy little suburban home on a weekday? Try as I might to keep the personal out of the workplace, I had never intended on ending up in the basement with the poster child, strike that, poster children for stepping over the professional/personal line. I'm the junior partner in the X files Division and that means I'm just part of a big happy family. It wouldn't be so bad if they were just sleeping together. Most agents who find their way into each other's beds have the good grace to keep it quiet, not flaunting it in front of the Bureau. I like that arrangement. I frankly couldn't care less whom is boffing whom. And it's my understanding that these two kept it quiet up until the time Agent Mulder went missing. Then, it was hard not to hear the story of how she walked into the Hoover building, sporting a wedding ring and changing her name in personnel to 'Scully-Mulder'. The announcement came close to shutting down the support staff for a week! Not only were they sleeping together, they were married. Married, and much to my horror, expecting their first child. How I was graced with this particular piece of very personal (since she made it clear it was not for public consumption) information about Agent Scully-Mulder's life, I will never know. I didn't mean for her to interpret my questions as anything more than perfunctory inquiries after her health when she came to work five days in a row and immediately headed for the bathroom and a barf break. I really didn't want to have her get all weepy and explain that it was hormones and please not to tell anyone and especially not to let Assistant Director Skinner know that she wasn't able to keep food down in the morning. Somehow, I became Mother Confessor and I really wasn't prepared for that. It wasn't anywhere in my job description, either. I could almost handle all that. I've had emotional roommates before, though usually after one angst session with me, they find other places to bunk. I could almost forget all about it and get back to work. But just as I was getting back to work, all hell broke loose, literally. I have no idea why Agent Mulder was missing. I know the reigning theory according to Agent Scully-Mulder and it makes me doubt that the woman was ever a serious scientist. I'm just not going to sit in that basement and believe that Agent Mulder was abducted by aliens. Aliens, as in little green men, not the guys who dodge the border patrol down in El Paso. Hey, my ancestors came here legally, I believe everyone else should, too. I didn't speculate on why Agent Mulder was missing. It was enough of a mindbender that the Bureau was willing to expend manpower and resources to find him, at all costs. I thought that was a bit extreme, considering they had tried, repeatedly, to toss him out on his keester. But after reading up on him, I discovered that Agent Mulder was a brilliant profiler in his day and chances were it was a sentimental thing happening. His buddies in VCS had all climbed the ladder higher than Agent Mulder and now decided to find him when he hared out and ran off on his . . . partner. Who just happened to keep a bottle of ginger ale at her side at all times. All well and good. Then, suddenly, without any real progress on our part that I could discern, he was back. Not exactly healthy. Just back. Found without a stitch of clothing at a National Cemetery with two-dozen other people, also without clothing and in dire condition. All of the few found alive have died, save one. Agent Mulder remains as the only survivor. My first thought was cult activity. These people had joined a cult, been abused and eventually either escaped or were dumped when they were close to death. And, to be quite honest, it's the theory I still hold. Of course, Agent Scully-Mulder, and to my immediate dismay, Assistant Director Skinner told the inquiry panel that it was a 'classic case of alien abduction'. Agent Scully-Mulder had always been the voice of reason in the X files Division. I can see that in the case reports. When Agent Mulder wrote the report, he often waxed poetic about the mysteries uncovered, usually taking the same view as a Weekly World News 'correspondent'. When Agent Scully-Mulder was at the keyboard, she included scientific facts and findings to back herself up. So what happened? Simple, really. Agent Scully-Mulder went from being a partner and scientist to being a woman in love. I've seen it happen all through my career. Take a perfectly normal, professional woman, let her participate in sex a couple of times with the same man and BAMM, she's a moonsick teenager sitting by her phone waiting for 'him' to call. Disgusting, really. I have no time for that, hope to God I never do. Oh, I'm not 'asexual'. Far from it. I'm simply 'asentimental'. I do not form lasting attachments. It doesn't come to me naturally, and I don't intend to start fostering the ability in the near future. Now, that isn't to say Agent Scully-Mulder isn't still a brilliant woman. I've seen her work. In some ways, it was a credit to her that she could hold herself together in the face of all that was going on around her. I was frequently the victim of various snide comments made at her expense. I've heard the words 'Mrs. Spooky' come out of more than one sophomoric agent's mouth. And upon Agent Mulder's return, they have gotten even more inane. Yet she attempted to keep her composure and did a fairly good job of getting the work done. But now that he's home, all bets appear to be off. I find myself on their street and search the houses for the right address. It's definitely suburbia here, with clipped lawns and little azalea gardens tucked under perfect picture windows that stare straight across into other perfect picture windows. Ah, a bay window comes into view. I glance at the number on the slip of paper in my hand. Yes, this is the place. I park the car and gather my briefcase containing the files I want to have Agent Scully-Mulder review. There is a 302 in there, sent down from Assistant Director Skinner with a very visible post- it note attached: "Only if you think it's necessary, Scully" and initialed WSS. So, I guess we only do business on a whim basis now. I sigh and get out of the car, preparing to do battle. As I knock, I hear voices. I detect a shuffling sound and suddenly the door is opened by a man. I wasn't expecting that. He's tall, very thin and looks as if a strong wind would topple him right onto the steps. No, make that a light breeze. But his smile is instantaneous and he shifts his cane to his other hand and reaches out to guide me into the house. "Agent Michels. We finally meet! Hi, I'm Fox Mulder." I completely forget my upbringing and stare at the man. Somehow, I never really pictured him in my mind. I got just a few brief glimpses of him in the hospital when I went by to have Agent Scully- Mulder sign a form we needed. He was always asleep and could have been a store window mannequin for all I could tell. But here he is, alive, breathing on his own and showing me the way to his dining room, albeit at a rather awkward gait considering the cane. "Scully's upstairs. Nature called. Would you like a cup of coffee?" He's chatting away and goes into the kitchen. I stand in the dining room and watch as his trembling hand reaches for the cupboard door and I can just feel an accident and broken china in the making. I hurry to his side and rescue the cup, which looks like it belongs to their everyday dinnerware. "Thank you, I'll just help myself," I tell him. "Would you like one?" "Yeah, I'd love one. But the Gestapo would be on my ass in a New York minute," he gives me a grin. "I'm on a decaf diet for the time being. Nothing that might get the ticker racing." He seems to find this statement intensely humorous and gives into the urge to chuckle. "I heard about your heart attack. I'm very sorry. How are you doing? Better, I hope." I'm a little confused that he's taking it so lightly, but it's probably a deflection. "It wasn't a heart attack, actually," says a voice from the doorway. We both turn in unison to see Agent Scully-Mulder, her fists on her hips and a scowl planted on her face. "And he'd be doing much better if he'd learn the definition of the word 'resting'." "I went to the door," he whines, actually whines. "Someone had to let her in. You were upstairs." Then something really strange happens. He looks over at her with the most incredible expression, somewhat lost, somehow provocative, definitely attractive and she just seems to transform before my eyes. Gone is the serious Special Agent I've been sharing a workplace with for several weeks. In her place is a woman who, well, not to wax poetic, but she seems to radiate. She positively glows! After just a moment, so fast that I almost think I'm imagining the whole thing, she gathers her composure and glares at him, but with affection in her eyes. "Cut that out, Mulder!" she growls. "I'll deal with you, later. Now, Michels and I have work to do. Go downstairs like a good recovering G-man and watch that rugby channel you found." "Aw, Mom! I want to play with the big kids!" he replies and makes a pretty fast exit past her in to the dining room, pulling out a chair and sitting down, hands folded and that same stupid grin on his face. If I were her, I'd tear him limb from limb. The man is not only smug his whole demeanor is insufferable. While he's been playing 'sickbed', she's been forced to stay home with him. I start to feel sympathy for her. See what happens when you let them get their hooks in you? It strengthens my resolve to remain unattached. She's looking at him like he's a bug under a microscope, and for a moment, my concern is that I will be in the middle of a domestic dispute. But then she calmly walks over to the table and leans on the back of one of the chairs. "You'll take a nap when we're done?" It's both question and order. "Yes, Mommy," he replies and gives her a Boy Scout salute. "You really are too much, Mulder," she says with a shake of her head. He just grins at her again and it's over. All is settled. Apparently, he stays. The majority of the material is forms and quarterly reporting documents that have to be reviewed and then signed. When I became an FBI agent I realized quickly that there is no greater bureaucracy than an agency that call itself a 'bureau'. But it all has to be done and I suppress a smile as Agent Scully-Mulder's pen flies over the documents while Agent Mulder is craning his neck to see what's in the reports. "We're getting less equipment money again," he mutters when she comes to the page detailing our upcoming budget request. The money won't be disbursed until October 1 and it still has to go through Congress, but the document gives the divisions a heads up on what they're likely to receive. "Mulder, I told you this last year. If you think they're going to keep replacing cell phones and flashlights like they're the local 'Home Depot', you're nuts!" she tells him as she tosses the paper on the 'signed' stack and reaches for the next one to be signed. A strange look comes over his face. At first I think he's taken offense, but then she looks up and into his eyes and there is something going on between them that makes me feel I just left the room. "Are you telling me I'm crazy, Scully?" he asks, low and throaty. "You're crazy, Mulder," she replies in the same low voice that is almost a purr. I clear my throat and both sets of eyes snap in my direction. "Agent Scully-Mulder. If you don't mind?" She has the grace to look properly chastised. He looks like the cat that just ate the canary. "I'm thirsty. Who wants iced tea?" he announces and she almost looks relieved that he's going to busy himself elsewhere. I sigh to myself. If this is what they're like when going over paperwork, I'm going to be subject to near X rated displays on an hourly basis when we're all at work together. This is a perfect example of why involved agents should work in separate departments. The personal just always seems to find a way into the professional. Eventually, someone gets hurt. In our line of work, a broken heart can lead to someone with a bullet in the back of their head due to carelessness. He's off fixing us both iced tea and she gets back to work. She comes to the 302 and I cringe. I was hoping to talk to her before she read it. "Um, Agent Scully-Mulder, that came down yesterday. As you can see, AD Skinner . . ." She holds up a hand to cut me off. "I can read the post-it, Agent Michels." Calmly she removes the yellow paper obscuring her view and her eyes slide down the page. Just at the exact moment her eyes meet the page, Agent Mulder returns awkwardly balancing three tall glasses of iced tea. He hands one to me before he drops it and is about to set one down next to Agent Scully-Mulder when he sees what she's reading. "Skinner sent down a 302?" he asks, directed at me, no less. I find myself chewing on my lip before I respond. "He said it was only necessary if Agent Scully- Mulder felt . . ." Before I can finish, Agent Scully- Mulder hands him the post-it note. He reads the note and then starts reading the form over her shoulder. "It's a hoax," he says, before she's even finished reading through the pages. "Mulder, the evidence. Crop circles, two bodies, both burned beyond recognition . . ." "Precisely, Scully. 'Burned beyond recognition'. Someone is covering up a murder. A double homicide from the looks of it. Here, let me see something." He takes the papers from her and flips to the second page. He finds what he's looking for and hands it back to her, pointing out a specific line. "The two victims were lovers." She licks her lips and frowns as she reads the line. I ache to grab the paper out of her hand and read where he's directing her. I read the file, too. The victims were co-captains of their football team, best friends since childhood. He seems to understand my confusion before I even give it voice. "One night stand gets jealous, Michels. Unrequited love can cause violence to erupt in the right individual. Plus, the image of the team is at stake here. If it were to get out the co-captains have been doin' the nasty, it would ruin the morale of the team. Individually, those might not be the ingredients of a murder, but together it's pretty hot stuff. Besides, what better way to cover two murders than to deflect the blame to the unknowable?" He mocks me with another grin and points his finger toward the ceiling. "Is there anything we should tell the local PD when we send it back to them?" she asks, setting down the file. "Tell them to check the whereabouts of the cheer squad when the boys went missing," he shoots back and she looks over at him with one eye brow raised as if in question. He shakes his head. "Not like Comity, Scully. There was no planetary alignment in the past few weeks that I'm aware of. Are you implying that a girl who can lift another girl over her shoulders to do one of those 'statue of liberty' poses isn't capable of murder? I never saw you as that sexist, G-woman." She smirks at him. "Agent Michels, I'll call AD Skinner directly on this one," she tells me and that seems to satisfy him. He pulls out his chair and settles in with his iced tea. "But, Agent Scully-Mulder," I start, still confused. "And exactly how did you know the name of the pose, Mulder?" Agent Scully-Mulder ignores me completely and turns toward him, both eyebrows raised. He grins. "Don't get all huffy, Scully. I got over Peggy Sullivan years ago. But I'll tell ya, she could toss me in the air and catch me . . . any time!" "You dated a cheerleader?" she asks. He nods, still grinning. "In high school?" and again he nods. "And the best part, Scully," he says, dropping his voice to almost a whisper. "She was a red head." "Well, Agent Michels, I think that's all we can do for today," Agent Scully-Mulder says, pushing her chair back and rising. Agent Mulder does the same, foregoing his cane to snake his arm around his wife's waist. I understand that I've been dismissed, but I don't budge. I want some kind of answer here. "But the crop circles," I say, gathering the papers and putting them back in my briefcase. "A ruse, Michels," Agent Mulder says and squeezes Agent Scully-Mulder's waist. "Didn't you teach this kid anything while I was gone, Scully?" "But how was it perpetrated?" I can't leave this alone. I was under the impression when Agent Mulder heard of anything strange like this, he'd be on the first flight out to investigate it, up close and personal. "Cheerleading captain, the jilted one, convinces the other squad members that they can pull a real fast one on the good townsfolk. The girls sneak out at night and create a nice pattern in old farmer Quigley's wheat field. Next morning, two boys are missing, they turn up next to the circle. Townsfolk assume aliens, cheer squad think they 'called' the aliens with their little prank and clam up without telling anyone for fear of taking the heat and Cheer Captain gets her revenge _and_ saves the image of the football team. All nice and neat." I can feel my mouth drop open and I force it closed. "You got all that from a 302?" "He's pulled as much from a matchbook cover," Agent Scully-Mulder mutters under her breath. "Thank you for bringing all this by, Agent Michels. I'm hoping I can be in the office on Monday." She flashes Mulder a look and he just shrugs in response. The silent conversation is broken when he abruptly yawns. "Well, that's my cue," I say, heading for the door. Agent Scully-Mulder moves to escort me, but I wave her off. "I can find my way out. Thank you, Agent Scully-Mulder." "Call if Skinner sends down any more bogus 302's," Agent Mulder calls out as I reach the door. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, Agent Michels. Thanks again," Agent Scully-Mulder calls out. I close the door tightly behind me. I can barely hear the footsteps on the stairway. Something tells me Agent Mulder will not be lonely during his nap. What the hell have I gotten myself into? the end