From: mason@umr.edu (Niki) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New Short: The Haunting of the FBI (1/1) Date: 14 Jan 1996 05:43:57 GMT Originally, this was supposed to be Mulder. Just ask Portia, who inputted a lot of the practical stuff about being stranded in DC. But as I have found out, these things have a mind and a will of their own. I was thinking about doing this story and decided to go ahead when Megan Reilly suggested it as well. Disclaimer: Not mine! Not mine! FBI HQ belongs to, uhm, the people who hold the mortgage most likely. Skinner and Co are property of C.C. and Co. ...no infringement intended .... no profit gained.... (I'd make a terrible Ferengi). The Haunting of the FBI ...What Skinner was doing while M & S were otherwise occupied... by Nicole Mason Thursday, 1/4/96, 8:00 pm FBI HQ The papers strewn across the desk blocked the clock from his view. The shades had been drawn hours ago, when it was still sunny. The outer office was eerily quiet without the normal occupant at her station. Rubbing the back of his neck wearily, Walter Skinner checked his watch and groaned. It wasn't the latest he'd ever been at work, but with the winter storm advisory, it wasn't wise. Dreading the drive home, he put all of the files on his desk and a few others in his briefcase and then shrugged into his coat. He walked through the halls of the deserted building. As he signed out of the building, the guard told him how bad it had been when he came on shift an hour ago. Skinner didn't like the sound of it and wished the man a good evening. The garage was just as empty as the building had been. Shivering a little with the wind, he opened the door to his car and threw his briefcase on the passenger side before seating himself. He stared in awe at the scene as he exited the garage. There was no way he'd be able to drive in this. Why did he chose to live so far away? Oh, yeah. He had wanted to leave work at work. Shaking his head at his stupidity, he started up the street for the nearest hotel. Five hotels and almost an hour later, he gave up. There was no way he'd share a room with some of the agents from the Bureau. And besides, there was that couch in his outer office. Well at least he wouldn't have to fight his way into work tomorrow. 10:56 pm He was hungry and he was bored. And that was not a good combination. His eyes hurt from reading and there was nothing mindless for him to relax with. Time for a little bit of a reconnaissance mission. He nodded politely to one of the guards that was making his rounds. Skinner checked his watch. He had exactly seven minutes before the guard would be back to this area. The tennis shoes from his gym bag came in handy as he set off on a quick pace through the halls. The cafeteria was the next flight down. Avoiding the elevator, he headed for the stairs and entered the target area. There had to be lunchmeat or something at least resembling edible in the place. Not wanting to alert the guards, he didn't turn on the lights. The keys made only the slightest sound as he found an appropriate one. /Getting old, Walt./ he thought to himself as he opened the doors leading to the kitchen area. He looked around. Well, he'd at least have some bread to eat if nothing else. He did find some lunchmeat and what appeared to be a beer in the back of one of the huge stainless steel refrigerators. He ate in the kitchen and debated on whether or not he should take a midnight snack up to his office. Deciding against it, in case he ran into one of the guards, he cleaned up the small mess and mentally added up how much he owed the cafeteria. He took the long way back to his office still making a diverting game out of avoiding the guards. Not really looking forward to spending the night on a couch, he wandered aimlessly through the halls. He would probably send out some kind of memo next week, reminding people that this was a federal building. Neatness counted. /Walt, get a life!/ a voice shouted quite loudly in his ear. /I would if I could get out of here/ he argued back. When he realized what he was doing, he shook his head sadly. Cabin fever already, and he had be stuck for maybe two hours. 1/5/96, 5:48 am FBI HQ His back hurt. He hadn't been able to find a comfortable spot all night. He wondered how certain people could sleep on their couches all the time and figured the couches in question weren't property of the US Government. Opening his eyes, he could see a dark gray haze through the window blinds. Was it still snowing? Throwing his coat to the side, he stood up and went to look. Outside he couldn't see very far. The snow was still coming down and obscured his view. What he could see wasn't encouraging. Rubbing his hand along his jaw, he thought about the possibility of being stranded in the office. The ringing phone pulled him from his depressing thoughts. "Skinner." "Sir, I'm sorry to bother you, but since you are the only one in the building with this type of authority, I'll be directing the calls to you." The man hung up before Skinner could ask what calls. Then there was a series of pauses that signaled a call was on it's way. For the next half an hour, Skinner played role call with almost every person that was due in for the 7:00 am start time. It got to the point where he only demanded three things from the person calling. He should've know that Mulder would amuse and annoy him at the same time. "Give me your name, division, and which century you think you'll be dug out." "Director Skinner?" "Unless I've finally lost my mind, that is not your name." And he thought he was going to lose it before the day was out. He had written down 'Skinner' before he even thought about it. "It's Mulder." "If you're stranded in Florida, I think I'll increase your paperwork load." If the roads were as bad as people were making it sound, he didn't want to think about the airport. "No. We were three hours late, but we landed." "And your excuse for not making it in?" He knew the reason why, he just wondered if Mulder was aware it. "Uhm, my car appears to have vanished while I was gone." "Mysteriously, or it there a more conventional explanation?" Skinner was pleased by the sheepish expression he could hear in Mulder's voice. Today might not be so bad after all. "I think it was towed." "So you were the perpetrator." Everyone else had heeded the warnings posted about repairs on the garage and possible towings. Leave it to Mulder to bypass something involving paperwork. "Yes, sir." "Mulder go ahead and tell Agent Scully not to even try and come into the office. The entire city's shut down." "Active tense, sir?" "What?" There was a teasing note to the man's voice that Skinner didn't like. "You used come in instead of go in. Are you stuck in the building?" Skinner definitely didn't like it. There was more than one way to deal with a smart-ass agent. "Why yes I am, Mulder. And remember, I have keys to all but three offices in this place. I'm sure I'll find something to keep me occupied for a day or two." He smiled as he hung up and heard Mulder groan. With the man's paranoia, Mulder would be wondering if he would follow up on the threat or not. As he hit the button and answered the next call, he vaguely wondered if it had been his imagination, or if there had been another person breathing close to the phone. 10:45 am Annoyed with work, he closed the file a little violently and decided to go work out in the gym. Maybe after he worked off some of the boredom, he could raid the kitchen again. 6:22 pm Walter knew he didn't have much of a life outside of work, but he liked to pretend. And that included not staying late on Fridays and not going into the office on the weekends. No, he saved that time for working at home. Yes, it was Bureau things he would work on, but he was at home. Getting almost desperate, he tried to remember which departments had requisitioned a TV. His show was on tonight. He couldn't wait to see what kind of trouble the sarcastic FBI character got himself into this time. The show always gave him ideas about how to handle Mulder. Mulder's office had a TV. But then Mulder would know right away who had been in his domain. Accounting... And there had been rumors of popcorn smells for weeks. 7:28 pm Skinner set the popcorn aside. He could stomach may things, but this was too much like "Poltergeist" or "Videodrome". He made a mental note to see when the last time his home had been sprayed. /If I ever get to go home, that is./ After the show was over, he sat back and tried to decide what to do next. Why was it that when there was only work to do, it was the last thing you wanted to do? Maybe someone had a book laying out on a desk? Or a movie somewhere? He had overheard Scully say something about videos to Mulder once. Skinner made his way to the basement. The atmosphere of the place sent a shiver of apprehension through him. Mulder was one sick puppy to like it down here. But then again, if he could hide out in the basement, too, he'd get a lot more work done than he did upstairs. He looked around the room without digging into any draws. What a mess. That memo about neatness was a must now. He caught a glimpse of some video jackets and walked over to get a better look. The titles weren't exactly a top ten list of things to see: Satellite-feed of an Alien Autopsy," "Electromagnetic/ Pyrotechnic Displays in Seattle (or Vancouver?)," "Proof: Walt Disney is the Anti- Christ," (Huh?) and one more "From Frohike." He walked over to the TV and put the last one in the VCR. Skinner leaned against the desk for support and his jaw dropped as he watched the screen. A scary looking man had made a short intro about "The Lovely Agent Scully" and how this tape was dedicated to her. The next image was of his agent as she walked into a poorly lit room. The camera stayed focused on her the entire time, but he could hear Mulder and some other people in the background. There were several other scenes. All of Scully. In a few he could see Mulder, but only for a second or two until she was the only one in view. Scully was not going to like this. He thought about the strings he would be able to pull for her when she was brought up on murder charges. The ones against, he assumed- Frohike wouldn't stick. It would take a little more to clear her from the ones involving Mulder, but he would do it. If Mulder was lucky, he hadn't seen the tape. Skinner put the tape back where he had found it and turned in disappointment to leave. His pant leg caught on the desk as he tried to maneuver out from behind Mulder's desk. The draw opened a little and he saw more video jackets. Silently apologizing to Mulder, Skinner reached down to pull one of the tapes out and thought maybe he should call and ask. He reached for the phone and dialed. He didn't know all of the numbers for the people he worked with, but a few were necessary to know for his piece of mind. "Mulder." Skinner frowned as the voice came over the wire strangled and a little out of breath. "This is Skinner." "Sir?" The was now a slight sound of panic and a faint gasp of surprise from somewhere in the background. "You know I'm stranded in the building." "Yes, sir." "I heard a rumor that you have some videos here." "Yes, sir." Skinner became suspicious. Mulder was being way too polite. "May I borrow a few?" "Sure." There was a strange hesitancy to Mulder's agreement, but he shrugged it off. "They're in my desk draw, bottom right hand side." "I'll return them as soon as I've watched them." "No problem." Skinner started to hang up the phone when he heard a female laugh. Well, Mulder wasn't stranded by himself. He grabbed several of the tapes without looking at them and headed back upstairs. There had to be a TV near a couch somewhere in the building. There was a natural law that had to be followed by having the two items in close proximity. Behavioral? VCS? 1/6/96, 1:05 am Conference room, VCS He didn't care if he woke Mulder up or not as he reached for the phone. A second later he replaced it and stared at the screen again. Why hadn't Mulder said anything about what kind of tapes they were? Why had he spent the last several hours watching them? /The excuse of boredom only goes so far./ he thought with a grimace. /At least I won't notice how uncomfortable the couch is tonight/ he reflected and stopped the final tape in mid-scene. He took the tape out and laid it on the table with the others. Somewhat distracted, he gathered all of them and headed back down to Mulder's office. He was going to have to talk with Mulder about his viewing habits at the office. 1/6/96, 10:03 am The ringing woke him up from an uncomfortable sleep. Skinner couldn't decide which hurt worse, the crick in his neck or the one in his back as he answered the phone. He was going to have to see a chiropractor after this weekend. "Skinner." "Sir, I just wanted to let you know that they've cleared the streets enough for smaller cars." "Thank you, very much," he said sincerely and hung up. He might not make it all the way home, but he would get out of this building. * * * * * Monday, 1/8/96, 8:30 am FBI Cafeteria Kitchen worker, Bobby Schnelt looked at his inventory list again, his brow wrinkled in confusion. Was someone stealing? He looked at a few of his co-workers that had made it in today with suspicion in his eyes. He had to report it or they would suspect him. Shaking his head at the extent some people would go to, he went to talk to the manager about the recent losses in inventory. 8:37 am FBI Gymnasium Larry Stevens picked up the damp towels from the laundry basket. No one had been in to workout yet, so therefore no one had needed a shower. So where had they come from? He went to turn the heater on for the pool and froze. He remembered turning it off. It was part of his job. He could get written up for something like that. Looking around he pretended to turn it on anyway. If his supervisor found out he'd left the heater on for four days with absolutely no one in the building, he'd be a goner. 9:00 am FBI HQ, Accounting Offices Section Head, Carol Bogston looked at the fuzzy screen on the TV. She stood up in annoyance to change the channel so that the VCR would be able to play properly. She was going to have to have a talk with some of her people. This was government property, not a personal entertainment center. And misallocation of such resources were not to be tolerated, she fumed and settled back to watch the "Untouchables". The whole story was about how the 'bean counters' put Al Capone away. That made it research material for investigative techniques (Kevin Costner and Sean Connery were just an added bonus). She walked over to her microwave and searched for her popcorn. Not finding it, she started to fume. Someone hadn't just stolen from the government; they had stolen from her as well. This was War. Hitting the stop button on the VCR, she went to her desk and called up the files on the people in her office. :30 pm FBI HQ, Violent Crimes Section Agent Tom Colton stood at the head of the conference room. He could barely control the satisfaction he was feeling. His Section Head, the one from Behavioral, three of the top instructors from Quantico, and several of his co-workers were waiting for him to begin the presentation. "I know the weather has played havoc with many people's schedules, and I'd like to thank all of you for coming. Now the presentation I have for you today involves new investigative techniques that we hope to begin teaching soon at the Academy." He turned out the lights and pressed play on the remote. He sat down and let out the smile he had held back. He would be back on the fast track this one. The smile turned to stone as the images cleared after the initial fuzziness. "Colton, what is the meaning of this?" "I don't know, sir. This wasn't the tape I had made." He heard a few snickers echo from the other end of the room. "We watched you put that tape in the machine." "Someone must have switched tapes on me." He didn't realize it, but his voice had taken on a nasal quality that would definitely be considered 'whiney'. "Colton, stop the tape. I want to see you in my office right now." He stood up from the position on the couch and turned the lights back on. The remote was still in his now clenched hand and he continued to stare at the screen. His superiors walked out of the room with looks of disdain on their faces. His co-workers soon followed, all snickering and sending him "I'm glad it's not me" looks. Some one was out to ruin him at the Bureau. And this was the final stretch on a downhill slide that had all started with the Tooms' case and Mulder. * * end* *