Author: Daydreamer
Date: 30 March 2003

The Skinner Journals: Little Green Men

/July 8, 1994/

It all started when Mulder ditched work. I tried to explain that he
needed to be patient, to give it time. He might not get the X-Files
back, but if he'd just ease up a little, he could probably get back to
where he, and I, would have a lot more flexibility in terms of his
assignments.

But he couldn't wait.

It hadn't even been six weeks and he'd taken off.

And I only found out because the Smoker showed up in my office with a
tape. A tape of a conversation I had with Agent Scully. It was a hell of
a way to find out my phone was bugged! I'm the Assistant Fucking
Director of the FBI, head of the Criminal Investigations Division, and
my fucking phone was bugged.

I had called Scully to see if she knew where Mulder was, but it was
obvious from her concern that she not only didn't know where he was, she
didn't know he was missing. She offered to assist in a search and I felt
like a heel giving her the standard "the Bureau can handle it' spiel. I
could tell she was not impressed with my response.

I was also pretty sure that regardless of what I said to her, she would
be launching her own search and rescue attempt the minute she hung up.

But I didn't share that with the Smoker -- I only told him that Scully
didn't know where Mulder was. But the Smoker didn't need me to tell him
that Scully would start looking, that Scully would be the way to find
Mulder.

I put an agent on her immediately, and while she made the incompetents
that the Smoker sent, she didn't make my man.

She went to Puerto Rico.

What the hell was Mulder doing in Puerto Rico?

I spent the rest of the day calling in every favor I was owed -- trying
to find out what kind of activity was going on in Puerto Rico. It had
meant leaving the building, going to see people in person, and using pay
phones. After the little revelation from the Smoker that there was a bug
on my phone, I was less than inclined to use the damn thing anymore.

I also put in a request that my office be swept, but I have a feeling
I'll do better bringing in a private firm myself -- after hours. But at
least by making a formal request, I've put people on notice that I know
what's going on. And ain't that a laugh? I haven't got a clue what I've
gotten myself into, but whatever it is, I'm in deep. Office security is
going to become a line item on my monthly budget -- effective
immediately. I probably better get the house checked as well, and
Sharon's office.

And isn't that just what I need? Yet another thing related to my work
that will piss off my wife. I thought she hated Chicago, but she
/really/ hated Las Vegas. She'd been happy in California -- hadn't
wanted me to go for the Vegas job. When I told her I'd been promoted
again, I wasn't even sure she was going to come with me. Things had been
rough between us for a while. She had a miscarriage in Chicago,
something else she blames on that city, and she -- I -- neither of us
ever seemed to get completely past it.

She complains that I won't talk to her -- that I don't need her. But she
has no idea how wrong she is. She's the /only/ person I've ever let
myself need. But she's miserable here and I have a feeling it's only a
matter of time before she wants out. I don't know if I can let her go.

So, sweeping her office at the HMO she's working for now will certainly
go over well toward convincing her that the move here was a good one.
But I don't know what else to do. I can't let her be in danger from what
I do.

Once I convinced myself I had a plan to deal with the bugs, I finally
ran down an old friend from the Army -- he stayed in while I got out as
quick as I could. He's in intelligence now, and he owed me. And with so
many people looking for Mulder, and now Scully off to find him as well,
I felt the time was ripe for collecting. Something told me that whatever
was going down in Puerto Rico -- whatever my wayward agent had involved
himself in -- it was serious and if I was going to be any help, I needed
to do it fast.

And shit if I wasn't shocked when Albertini told me what it was! I had
no idea that we -- the United States -- the military anyway -- actually
had a UFO retrieval team. Oh, they don't call it that, of course. Blue
berets. A retrieval unit for unidentified crash sites. Which translates
in just about anyone's book as UFO retrieval team.

And they were going to Puerto Rico.

Where my agents were. Or at least, at that time, where one of them was
and where the other one would soon be. I didn't think a team like that
would look kindly on finding two Feebies on their turf.

So I did the only thing I could.

I got Albertini to stall the launch of the team -- holding them back for
as long as he could sell it. It didn't buy much time, but I was hoping
it would be enough for Scully to get to Mulder first and get him the
hell out of whatever he was into.


------------------------------------------------------------------------

/July 11, 1994/

I spent the rest of the weekend at my office, avoiding my wife, avoiding
everyone. I had that private firm come in and they pulled bugs out of
the drapes, from the lamp and under the table, and out of the phone. I
suspect it will be an exercise in futility, but I intend to keep pulling
them out as fast as I can find them.

I slept on my couch here last night, showered and cleaned up in the gym,
and dressed in my extra suit. I had no idea what I was going to be
facing this morning. But a quick call to Quantico told me Scully had
reported for work on time and was apparently fine. Another few calls
eventually ran down Mulder and I was all set to have a nice heart to
heart with him when he showed up. With a clean office, maybe it was time
to see what else we could come clean on. I was actually looking forward
to getting the full story on his little adventure.

He knocked, I told him to come in, and before he was even in front of my
desk, the Smoker had slipped in through the other door. My head started
to pound. Maybe my private security consultant wasn't as good as I'd
been led to believe.

I had to revamp my whole approach with no notice.

He looked tired -- and depressed. Like he'd lost something important and
didn't know if he'd ever find it again.

And I ended up chewing him out.

I told him his little disappearing act had blown the entire
surveillance. Accused him of throwing months of work away. Threatened
him with censure, transfer, suspension, probation.

And he took it with complete aplomb. Said he understood there would be
consequences to his action. Knew that he would be receiving discipline
and that he was ready to accept whatever was warranted.

But there was something hanging in his words. They were calm, measured,
but there was an undercurrent. So I asked him.

And the calm evaporated. He pointed out, quite correctly, that
surveillance on the suspects had gone on far longer than was necessary
and that he'd amassed more than enough evidence to have convicted them
ten times over. He said he was surprised I'd even noticed he was gone.
And then he dropped the bombshell.

He accused me of wiretapping his phone.

You could have knocked me over with a feather. I just stared at that
Smoking Bastard, completely in shock. My phone, my office -- maybe I
could see that. I was obviously in over my head in something I didn't
understand yet. But they were tapping Mulder's phone as well?

That bastard just stubbed out his cigarette. He acted like Mulder hadn't
just notified his superior, and the Assistant Director of the FBI's
Criminal Investigations Division, of a federal offense that had been
committed. An /illegal/ wiretap procedure. He just looked at Mulder and
told him he was done. Said his time was over and he would leave with
nothing.

I had to swallow a few times to get my throat working, but when it did,
it was all I could do to grit out the words, "Get out."

Mulder looked at me, and for a second I knew he thought I meant him, but
then recognition dawned and he looked shocked. That was painful for me
to see -- that my own agent would be so shocked that I would support him
when he was the victim of an illegal action.

But the Smoker was still under the misapprehension that I meant Mulder,
so I repeated myself and told him to get the hell out. It took a minute,
but he finally got the point. He had to make a production out of it,
taking out his cigarettes, lighting one, staring at first Mulder, then
me. But finally, he walked out.

And I was left trying to figure out what to do with this man who was
obviously a critical element to something far larger than I ever
expected to run across. I decided to keep him where he'd been, at least
for a while longer. I could watch over him there, keep him safe, while I
tried to figure out what was going on.

I told him to report back to his assignment.

He was pissed and didn't bother to hide it. Gotta hand it to the guy --
he doesn't cow easily. Demanded to know if he should make the arrests.

But I told him I wanted more to go on. I know he hates this kind of
work, and really, with a mind like his, it's a criminal waste to be
using him this way. But I didn't know what else to do. I needed time. I
needed more information and time to figure out what I was involved in,
what he was involved in. I needed a plan.

I told him to continue the surveillance. I could see the spirit slip
from him as his shoulders sagged but he just sucked it up and walked out.

I was left sitting there, questions in my mind, the scent of cigarettes
in the air, and filled with remorse for what I'd just sentenced my agent to.

But I didn't know how else I could keep him safe. And for now, that was
all I could do -- try to keep him safe.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

End