Title: Ricochet Author: Kel ckelll@hotmail.com MSR, G-rated fluff, Humor Thanks to the beta army: Linda, Linda, Laura, Kate, Judy, Foxsong, and Tre. Disclaimer: I stole 'em fair and square. Ricochet (1/1) I don't know if all chicks have a thing for FBI agents, but the chicks who stand in line for the FBI tour have it bad. I didn't have to wait in line because I have a friend in the FBI. A friend in need, on this occasion. The guard wasn't willing to take my word for it, though. Mulder had to meet me at the entrance and escort me inside personally. "Do you have them?" he asked furtively. "You'll get them," I assured him. "Soon as you take care of your end of the deal." "I can't," he said. "I have to have them first." "Well..." I let him stew a little. "I guess I can trust you. I'm sure Agent Scully would help me out if there were any problems." I handed him the envelope. "If you bring Scully into this, the whole deal is off," he said. "You got that?" "Oh, take a pill," I told him. "Scully doesn't need my help to figure out what a drip you are." He checked the envelope and smiled. "I'm in business!" There was quiet triumph in his voice. I guess you can't yell "Yippee" inside the J. Edgar Hoover Building. "Hey! We've got a deal. *We're* in business," I reminded him. = = = = = Several hours later I was taking the tour. It was a large group, but mostly families and couples. Our guide beckoned me over before the tour began. "You're Richard Langly?" he asked me. "Agent Mulder said you might want to skip this part." I highly recommend the FBI tour, if you're ever in DC. Most people will tell you that the highlight of the tour is the firearms demonstration. They are so right. A different guide accompanied me to the room where they hold the demo. The FBI definitely frowns on allowing visitors to wander around by themselves. The group here was about ninety percent school children. I forced myself into a crowded row near the front. That seemed to be where all the hot babes were sitting. The curtain opened and there, behind the protective barrier, was my closest friend, Special Agent Fox Mulder, looking mighty pleased with himself for a man who'd just given away a pair of Redskins tickets. "Oh, my," said a feminine voice behind me. "Yes, indeed," answered her companion. "I know him," I whispered to the woman on my left, a blonde in a really tight sweater. I think she snorted at me. "Good morning. I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder, of the Federal Bureau of Investigation," Mulder said. "Today I will demonstrate a variety of weapons and talk a little about gun safety and crime prevention. Afterward, there will be time for questions and answers." "Briefs or boxers?" shouted one of the women behind me. Mulder pretended he didn't hear her. "Boxers," I whispered helpfully. "Male aggressiveness. It's a disease," said the woman to my left. I was about to answer her when I realized she wasn't talking to me. She was talking across me, to an equally gorgeous brunette on my right. "Uterus envy. They can't bear children, so they become obsessed with guns," the brunette commented. "How, mister, many bad guys did you shoot?" called a kid from the other side of the room. Mulder reminded us that he'd be available to answer our questions at the end of the demonstration. Then he showed us some nice shooting, with a revolver, an automatic, and even a small machine gun. "Seems sort of pathetic, compared to the miracle of birth," I said to my blond neighbor. "Oh my God, he is so hot," said one of the women behind me. Most of the women I know agree about that, and yet Mulder hasn't been laid since Reagan was President. I couldn't swear to it in court, but I'm pretty sure. Look at it this way: if it wasn't true, why would Mulder trade away two tickets at the fifty-yard line for the chance to do the firearms demonstration? The buzz around the FBI was that anyone could score with the hard-core FBI groupies who showed up for the firearms demo. Even if you looked like a warthog and smelled like a monkey, as long as you walked the walk and talked the talk, those chicks were yours. The same little clique has been conducting the demonstration for the last fifteen years. Here and there they'll give somebody else a chance, but they're a mercenary crew and it doesn't come cheap. The ladies behind me sounded lust-crazed all right. Oddly I'd landed in a row of feminist pacifists, but I was hoping to make it work for me anyway. "I could just eat him up," said one of the voices behind me. "Yum," agreed her friend. I'm not the best-looking guy in the world and I'm not above tagging after a guy like Mulder to choose from his left-overs. The question is why a guy like Mulder has to finagle himself a gig at the firearms demonstration to find himself a little lovin'. I have a theory about that. Mulder came out from behind the plastic barrier to field questions from the crowd. The school kids mobbed around him and he let himself get caught up in their admiration. Myself, I'd learned that the brunette's name was Yvonne, and she appreciated how free I was from the usual macho hang-ups. Her group was scheduled for a lecture/luncheon at the National Gallery, but she would meet me later in front of the Air and Space Museum. Mulder was still talking to the children about how cool it looks when you're shooting in the dark and you can see that little jet of flame. The women behind me were giggling to themselves. Actually, it sounded like they were taking inventory or something. "His shoulders," said one. "His neck." "That nose." "The jaw." "Those lips." "That =lower= lip." Finally the teachers herded the kids along. I was thinking that the ladies in the row behind me would get their chance, until I heard another voice. That brings us to Special Agent Dana Scully. Mulder's partner. His friend. Hey, if I had a friend like that, I wouldn't be cruising the FBI tour. Just one of the differences between Mulder and me. I've pondered the question of why Mr. Chick-magnet would trade away his football tickets to parade himself in front of the G-man-fans, and it always brings me back to Agent Scully. Either Mulder is a pitiful waste of studliness who doesn't even realize his dream-babe is the one who doesn't have to take the FBI tour to watch him handle a gun. Or else he's a twisted genius. "I have a question." Scully was way in the back of the room, but her voice pierced through the conversation and murmurs around me. "Uh, Agent Scully," Mulder said. "I, uh, got roped into running the firearms demonstration." "Ricocheting. My question is about ricocheting," Scully persisted. "Ricocheting. When the projectile is diverted by impact against a primary or unintended target," Mulder said uneasily. "Yes. I was wondering if you had any concern about one of your projectiles glancing off the rear wall and striking you, say, in the abdomen. Or lower," she said. "Agent Scully, is something wrong?" he asked. The room had fallen into a hushed silence, and everyone who remained was intent on the little drama before us. "Skinner. Ten o'clock. I was there. You were not," she said. "I was confident you could handle the meeting without my help." He was smirking a little. "Agent Bailey asked me to take over the firearms demonstration, as a favor to him." "A favor for Agent Bailey," she pronounced skeptically. "That's correct, Agent Scully. A favor for Agent Bailey," Mulder confirmed. "Agent Charles Bailey who has tickets for the sold-out Redskins game this Sunday," she said. I took a step back so I could blend in with the other spectators. "He just happened to mention that?" Mulder asked. "He did, when he invited me to the game. But I had another question about firearms," Scully said. "I think our time is up," Mulder said, trying to wave the ladies and me toward the door. "She's playing with him," one of the ladies commented. "He's even cuter when he's squirming," another one observed. "What grip do you prefer? A poor choice of grip can lead to the heartbreak of dropping your gun," she said. "Has that ever happened to you, Agent Mulder?" "Folks, there's a really neat gift shop," Mulder said with a weak smile. Nobody was moving. "Perhaps you'd like to comment about honesty between partners." Scully was staring him down, and the women in the room were looking back and forth from her to Mulder. "Is it hot in here?" one of them asked. "Are you going to the game with Agent Bailey?" Mulder asked, studying his shoes. What a turkey, I thought. But then he looked up from his shoes, just for a second, and gave his head a little jerk like he was trying to tell me something. Even if he was a turkey, I'd gotten my money's worth. "Hey, everybody, you get a free poster at the end of the tour," I said loudly. "Except when they run out." The ladies were grateful for the tip, and they followed me to the gift shop. One of them asked for my phone number, and I wrote it on the back of her poster. I have a roommate who would rather take three right turns than make a left. Maybe Mulder is like that too. Trade the football tickets for the firearms demo so the chickadees would swarm around him and Scully would show up to shoo them away. I don't know how Scully found out I was the one who copped the Redskins tickets. She called me later and *demanded* that I round up a couple of tickets to "Riverdance on Ice." Luckily I was able to do it. Or unluckily, according to Mulder. "He loved it," Scully assured me the next time I saw her. "He just doesn't want to admit it." Judging strictly by the grin, I'd have to agree with her. end Move along. The gift shop is to your left.