Work Text:
Mexico Prequel - Hoochie Coochie Man
by MJ
mjr91@aol.com
Walter Skinner rubbed his temples. He ought, he knew, to be concentrating on reports this afternoon. He ought to be thinking about requisitions, paperwork, training schedules, and vacation requests. Instead, he was thinking about Fox Mulder. Or, to be more precise, he was thinking about himself and Fox Mulder. In his apartment. In bed. Doing things that normally were accomplished only in movies the Bureau typically seized from adult book stores as evidence in Justice Department pornography prosecutions. In other words, he was thinking about the prior weekend.
Had they really been sleeping together for two months? He'd opened his Day Runner a few times to look back at the date of the trip to Saint Louis, to convince himself that this had really been going on this long. It was the goddamned stupidest thing he'd ever done, to throw over a career's worth of Bureau regulations in exchange for the pleasures of Fox Mulder's body. In exchange for the private enjoyment of Fox Mulder's bizarre sense of humor. In exchange for piles of sunflower seeds left on almost every horizontal surface of his apartment except the bed. In exchange for the very definite delight of hearing Fox Mulder moaning his name when he came, and for the unfamiliar feeling of butterflies in his stomach at hearing "I love you" whispered in his ear at night from the man whose head was next to his on the pillow. A king-sized bed, two men their size, and they used so little space when sleeping together, as if not touching the other while asleep might prove fatal.
It might be the stupidest thing he'd ever done, but damn, it was worth it. He was a cautious man by nature; he'd weighed the risks, considered the drawbacks, reviewed his options. Breaking off with Mulder had been contemplated for all of half a second; that was not one of those options. Not after the devastation he'd felt in Saint Louis when Mulder had considered backing out of the relationship. Not after hearing Mulder's "I love you" that first time in his apartment. Once, the regulations had protected him from his own feelings towards the younger man. Now…now the regulations served only to frustrate him; surely they'd been intended to protect the Bureau from favoritism and exploitation, what did they have to do with love?
A buzz on the intercom from Kimberly. Agent Scully to see him. He wondered what it could be; she and Mulder usually came in a pair around the office, like Tweedledum and Tweedledee. Or a tall Boris and a short Natasha, Reggie Purdue had once cracked. He welcomed the interruption. If Scully had a work matter to discuss, it might help him focus. And if she saw his distraction…well, she knew, and she seemed to be all right with it. He wouldn't have to explain anything to her.
It looked like work. She came in with a file folder in her hand, looking vaguely concerned. He motioned her to one of the seats across from his desk. "Yes, Agent Scully?"
"Sir, Agent Mulder sent me a fax this afternoon. He was out on a preliminary investigation, and according to this he's requesting a 302 in order to continue with the investigation. He and I don't see this case the same way, of course, but I do think there's something here worth pursuing." She handed the folder, with several faxed sheets in it, over to Skinner.
"Would you care to brief me?"
"Certainly." She folded her hands in her lap, stared at them. "Agent Mulder received a report of an alleged psychic who has been selling some sort of spurious formulas with claims of miraculous powers. There's a concern that she may be selling drugs illegally, or, from what I see here, there may be knowing misuse of unregulated herbal remedies with toxic effects. There are some possible FDA violations if so…and also violation of federal consumer fraud laws since she's making specific representations as to their effectiveness in causing particular results."
"So what do we have here, Scully? Modern snake-oil salesmen?"
"Possibly, sir. But I'm particularly concerned not about the fraud issue, but the possibility of public harm. Agent Mulder's preliminary investigation report, which you do need to look at, clearly indicates that she's selling something hallucinogenic. If she's not violating the federal narcotics laws, sir, she's knowingly distributing extremely hazardous substances without warning as to the possible effects."
Skinner nodded and opened the folder. Baltimore Police letterhead. Hmm; that was unexpected. He put his wire-rims back on and began reading. Mulder was, as Scully had indicated, requesting authorization to investigate. He'd been given a tipoff about an alleged gypsy fortuneteller operating from a storefront in Baltimore near, from what Skinner could tell, old Memorial Stadium. That was—what? Thirty-third street, Thirty-fourth? A lot of small businesses there, fairly eclectic.
He looked more closely. "The suspect is operating what appears to be an ordinary fortune teller's establishment offering palm reading, crystal gazing, Tarot reading, and the like from the outside. When I entered, however, it became apparent that there was an additional business being run from the location by the suspect. On the walls were advertisements for 'Mrs. Turner's Botanical Formulas', offering various sizes of different remedies at equally varied prices.
"Suspect does not appear to be a doctor, pharmacist, or registered dietician or nutritionist. However, the 'botanical formulas' also do not appear to be medically necessary, but, rather, of a psychic or 'magical' nature—psychic development, luck, money attracting, aphrodisiac, lottery winning, and the like. Legally, public claims for such formulas should be marked 'spurious' or disclaimers as to efficacy posted." Skinner nodded at the report. That much was no news; he'd done a stint once in his early days on a bust involving six phony psychics and substantial cash fraud. He knew the ropes here.
"In order to avoid attracting attention I decided to claim to be a customer, my plan being to obtain a sample of one of the formulas and submit it to Agent Scully for lab analysis. Therefore when the suspect emerged from the back of the shop I requested purchase of one of several aphrodisiac formulas."
Curse Mulder; he would, wouldn't he? Why couldn't he have decided to investigate the lottery formula, and buy a Powerball chance, or an Irish Sweepstakes ticket to test the claim? If going straight for the phony love spells was supposed to be a hint—well it had better not be a hint, that was all. Would Mulder try dropping a hint in Skinner's ear that way? It wasn't beneath the man to do that. But—not satisfied? That was news. If they had a problem in that department, Mulder had damn well better be willing to talk about it. There sure as hell hadn't been a problem last weekend.
"When I inquired about purchasing one of the formulas, she asked if it was for me, so I told her yes. She proceeded to make some kind of liquid formula directly in front of me, although I was unable to ascertain the exact contents as the bottles used were unlabelled. She was also working at a counter and had her back turned to me for part of this proceeding.
"I expected that said mixture would be bottled so that I could take it to Agent Scully for analysis. However, she returned to me with a styrofoam cup containing extremely strong coffee, and proceeded to pour part of the formula into the cup, demanding that I consume it on the spot. I was reluctant to do this, as not only did this coffee appear from its color and consistency to have been sitting for quite some time, but the additional contents had a distinct odor approximating paint thinner."
Paint thinner. The words conjured a smell in Skinner's mind. Then the smell triggered a memory. Of a song. Damn the man…And another memory. Of Fox Mulder, the man who'd first attempted to seduce Skinner over a fake 302 involving "The Shoemaker and the Elves"—he wouldn't be above writing a fake report on a slow day to amuse his lover, would he? But Scully was apparently determined that there was something happening here. "You're certain about this report, Agent Scully."
"Yes, sir. Quite. I'm rather alarmed about the potential misuse of mugwort. Mulder's encountered it on a couple of cases previously; it's alleged to have occult significance. However, its chemical composition—"
"Yes, yes, Scully…" Skinner returned to the document, groaning inwardly. He was certain that Mulder was setting him up. Scully had actually read this thing? He had the horrible idea that he knew exactly where this was going, but he didn't want to think about it.
"Agent Scully," Skinner inquired again, looking down, "You have read the contents of this report?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you seriously think I should continue to read this before I deny this request."
"Yes, sir. I've considered the contents, and I would advise you to read it all the way through. I don't know how familiar you are with mugwort, but
I do think you should look at the last page."
"All right, Agent Scully. If you insist."
He returned to Mulder's creative writing exercise. "…so, again, not wishing to arouse suspicion, I held my breath and downed the contents as quickly as possible.
"Suspicion of hallucinogens of some sort being part of the woman's formulas are undoubtedly accurate, as I rapidly began experiencing severe visual and temporal distortions. Possibly of note to Agent Scully is that there is apparently an effect on the body's internal clock, since I found myself unable to determine exactly what time of day it was, although I had entered the storefront at approximately 10:30 am."
Skinner bit his lip. "All right, Scully, what about this alleged hallucinogenic effect Agent Mulder claims to have experienced? Do you really think this report is serious?"
Scully nodded. "Sir, his statement regarding temporal distortion and interference with circadian rhythms is highly suggestive of ergotism."
"Ergotism, Agent Scully?"
"A naturally occurring fungal hallucinogen which grows on rye crops. It's suspected to have been the source of some of the alleged sightings in the Salem witch trials. Chemically, sir, it's very closely related to LSD." "So you're telling me that Agent Mulder was under the temporary influence of LSD?"
"That's correct, sir."
"Yet it's—" Skinner checked his watch. "—three o' clock. How did he recover quickly enough to fax you this report?"
"It appears to act very rapidly, sir. Please continue."
Skinner rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighed, and returned to the report. "I left the premises and returned to 34th Street, where, unfortunately, I found my car being ticketed. I regret to inform you that despite the suspicion as to contents, the formula appears to be effective as represented. Fortunately, my badge was on me and not in the car, as I am currently at the Baltimore PD main office, originally having been charged with assault on a police officer and attempted sexual assault." Skinner let out an involuntary groan. Only Mulder…shit. No, he reminded himself, this had to be another one of Mulder's jokes…but knowing his lover, it wouldn't be the least bit unexpected if it were true…
"However, I have a prior acquaintance with an Officer Munch of the Homicide unit, which has enabled me to talk my way out of the original charge of assaulting an officer. You may be aware that Officer Munch has had some experience previously with unexpected exposure to hallucinogens on my part. I am currently visiting with Officer Munch, and Munch is allowing me to fax this report to you from his office. Although the hallucinogenic effect of the formula appears to be extremely short-lived, I must inform you that the purpose for which it is being retailed appears to be considerably more long-lasting.
"If you are interested in my continuing the investigation on this portion of the matter…how's seven at your place? You might be interested in a personal demonstration of the effects. PS—I love you. FM."
Skinner shut the file and laid it down squarely in front of him on the desk. He took off his glasses, folded them, and laid them on top of the file, fairly sure that he must be blushing—he could feel the heat spreading over his face. If Scully, as she'd said, really had read this, then she knew Mulder had set him up to ask him out. He opened his eyes slowly—yeah, there was the Scully smirk, all right…
Oh, well, why shouldn't she smirk? She was the one who'd sat with him on the flight back from Saint Louis, translating Mulder's behavior to him in terms of Mulder's absolute terror at the time at having realized that he was in love with Skinner. He'd never been able to feel very close to her before that, but the walls between them had started coming down when his own emotions had been exposed to her nakedly on that flight. And she undoubtedly knew about Mulder's original 302 request in Saint Louis…the one that had started this whole thing.
God help him, he really was in love with that damned idiot, wasn't he?
Finally, he folded his hands and laid them on the desk in front of the file. Scully looked as if she might be ready to beak into a sweat, despite the air conditioning. Skinner took a deep breath and a shot in the dark. "Agent Scully, exactly where is Agent Mulder at this moment?"
"Um…in the office, sir." She squirmed under Skinner's gaze.
"Not in Baltimore?" He began to smile, just at the corners of his lips. Agents feared that look, and he knew it. Lesser agents than Scully and Mulder had succumbed to it. Agent Fernandez had passed out once when he'd given it to her over a misstated fact in a report she'd submitted, he recalled.
"No." Oh, Scully was definitely nervous, and it felt good. A little revenge for this 302 was definitely deserved.
"Agent Scully, has Agent Mulder in fact been to Baltimore today?" The smile was turning feral. He could practically imagine that he felt his eyeteeth descending as fangs. They'd better not, though—he really didn't want Mulder investigating him as an X-File. Investigating him in bed was more than sufficient. As he'd no doubt remind himself again tonight.
"Well, sir, since you ask me that, I would have to say that Agent Mulder has been out of the office today, but if you were to ask me where he was when this was faxed, I could not answer that question specifically, no, sir. Although I believe that he did in fact meet with Officer Munch."
He'd heard that type of line from Scully before. He knew damn well what she meant, every time she'd ever obfuscated with them. She was a pro at delivering Mulder coverups by now. Mulder's buddy from Baltimore must have slipped him the stationery—there had been a meeting this morning with the Baltimore police over some kind of serial killings near the docks; the racketeering guys and the VCU were helping out on that. "I didn't think so, Agent Scully."
Skinner looked over the contents of his desktop for one moment, then found and uncapped his pen. "Please inform Agent Mulder that although this is one of the worst-written requests he has yet submitted…I *am* authorizing it." He scrawled a signature on one of the sheets, and passed the file back to Scully.
Scully accepted the file and grinned. "Yes, sir. I'll tell him. Any other message?"
Skinner thought for a moment; no, it wasn't appropriate. Not now. "No, no message. I'll tell him when I see him."
"Yes, sir. Would 'love you, too' be the exact wording I should deliver?" Completely expressionless, both voice and face—damn, she was good.
"Yes, Agent Scully. Thank you."
end