TITLE: Trojan War 
by:    Kel 
Category: VH 
Rating: PG 
Feedback: ckelll@hotmail.com 
Disclaimer: If any of you believe I own the rights to The X-Files, 
            please read no further.  This story is way over your head. 
Summary: Some people have suggested that Mulder and Scully should use 
         condoms.  In this story, they do. It's short. Just read it. 
  
  
  
  
"Agent Scully, I'm not going to ask you what you're doing here, since 
that much is obvious." 
I turn around to face the source of the angry voice. I know who it is, 
but I wonder how he knew he would find us here.  Walter Skinner, who was 
my direct superior until a few months ago.  AD Skinner, whose fall from 
favor is due in large part to the activities of myself and my partner. 
But while I know his support for us cost Skinner whatever chance he may 
have had for advancement, my regret is limited because of one plain 
fact.  What Mulder and I did was necessary and appropriate. 
Necessary and appropriate.  Can I honestly say that about what Mulder 
and I are doing now? 
"Sir, this doesn't concern you," I tell Skinner, trying not to sound as 
stupid and embarrassed as I feel. 
"I'm still trying to run interference for you two," Skinner says more 
gently, "and you don't make it any easier when you sneak up onto the 
roof of the FBI Building and act like a couple of adolescents." 
Mulder, who has had his back to us, chooses this moment to turn around 
and speak. 
"I can't get this damn thing tied," he says, holding up a wet condom. 
To my surprise, Skinner leans in and takes it from him. 
"First of all," he says pedantically, "you made it too full.  And 
second, I don't suppose you've had much practice."  He snaps a knot into 
the latex. 
Skinner always looks so stern and unapproachable, but I think I see an 
opportunity here. 
"Thank you," I say, smiling at him.  "I'm sure we could benefit from 
your expertise." 
"The real problem, sir, is that my hands are frozen." Mulder says.  He's 
been complaining about that for the last twenty minutes, but when I 
offered to take over the job of handling the big fire hose, he told me I 
wouldn't be able to manage it.  Not that he managed particularly well; 
we're both wet and freezing in the cool winter air. 
"Making water balloons is messy work," Skinner says evenly.  "How many 
do you have there?" 
"Fifteen," I tell him.  I bought the cheapest condoms I could find: 
lubrication was definitely undesirable, and we *want* these things to 
break.  Eight bucks for the box. 
"Five for each of us," Mulder says, grinning boyishly.  Skinner steps 
past me to the edge of the roof and surveys our target area. 
"The main entrance," Skinner remarks.  "I guess that looks more 
impressive on the nightly news." 
"That's what this is, sir, a photo opportunity," I say. 
It turns out that Diana Fowley has a flair for publicity.  She and 
Spender have invited a group of journalists for a tour of the Hoover 
Building. She wants to demonstrate how procedures and security have been 
improved over the last six months. 
"They'll be standing right there," Skinner says, pointing to the area 
just outside of the big doors.  "I don't see how we can miss." 
As we watch, a group of people begins to congeal into a semicircle 
around the entrance.  The photographers are shoving their way into 
place, and the cameramen are shouldering their camcorders.  Then the 
bureau car pulls up; the divine Miss F has planned this for maximum 
drama.  Spender gets out first and offers her his arm with a flourish. 
"I may puke," Mulder warns us. 
Skinner distributes the ammunition and gives us some hurried advice 
about spread patterns and timing.  Suddenly it's his operation, and 
he is the tactician and the commander. 
"Sir," I tell him, "it's good to be working with you again." 
"Quiet," he says brusquely. "Ready.  On the count of three..." 
  
the end