ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER DRAMA By dot This is just a random piece of fluff, written to cheer myself up when the boyz were giving me a hard time. It's silly, derivative, and *thoroughly* self-indulgent. And those are its good points. I did feel better, though. :) Thanks to Xanthe and Sergeeva for understanding. *************************** Another Day, Another Drama Mulder sat on the long bench, head in his hands, waiting. Despite the endless supply of distasteful alternatives, the waiting was always the worst. He hated everything about this place. Hated the stark grey walls, the stains and litter on the concrete floor, the coffee that tasted like silt. The slow, creeping uncertainty. He supposed he should be grateful for any respite at all - usually it would be straight into the next one without the luxury of notice, but summer was always slow. He just wished he could spend the odd off moments in his apartment, with his TV, couch and most importantly, his shower, instead of in this grim hangar space. A little company would be nice. Where was he? He'd checked the list - neatly thumbtacked as usual amidst the clutter of the corkboard - when he'd arrived, and was only slightly relieved to know that this time around he would be starting off with Skinner. Things *usually* turned out more pleasantly for him when Walter was around, although there had been significant exceptions. Unfortunately, they weren't on the need to know list for anything else. He looked up expectantly as familiar footsteps came towards him, then frowned as another cup of undrinkable sludge was thrust into his hand. Reflexively, he placed it on the ground next to its identical twin, not bothering to take a swallow. Skinner must have come straight from the office; he looked impressive as always in the improbably starched shirts and immaculate overcoat. A small, internal voice carped at the thought of how often he must clean his glasses. In contrast, Mulder was a mess. His pants were rumpled, his shirt sweat- stained with the top buttons undone, the bottom edges bearing interesting stains from a surprise encounter down a dark alley. "Where've you been?" He complained, but without heat. "Just had to finish up a daydream at my desk - they're nice. And generally quick, too." "Yeah, not to mention you usually don't need a shower afterwards. Me or Scully?" Skinner looked him over properly for the first time, taking in his crumpled appearance, and bloodshot eyes. "You. And I'd say that depends on the daydream. Tough week?" Sympathy gleamed in the brown eyes. "Aren't they all? As usual, I've been shot, beaten up, hospitalised, tortured, spanked... by the way, do you think it's really necessary to put that much effort into it?" He couldn't help glaring at Skinner, and got a wry grin in response. "Don't look at me, Mulder, I couldn't go easy on you even if I wanted to - you know that. And it's not like I *enjoy* it or anything. Not even while I'm doing it. Much." Mulder subsided sulkily, wearing the expression that was the primary source of his troubles, had he but realised it. "Not to mention handcuffed, practically raped (although I suspect I was secretly enjoying that), killed outright *twice* and scolded by Scully. That was the worst. Boy, can that woman go on... at least dying is usually *quick*." Skinner took a sip of his coffee, choked and spat. More stains on the floor. "Damn. It never gets any better, does it?" He could have been referring to the job or to the coffee. It didn't seem to matter. Mulder shook his head regretfully as Skinner ditched the cup and moved to sit beside him, leaning forward to meet his tired gaze. "Well, at least you get Krycek for your pains. He's a sick bastard, but you've got to admit, he's pretty damn good. I haven't seen him in months. And Scully. Boy, do you get Scully. Endlessly. And no one ever thinks *you'd* be a good match for her *mother*..." Skinner grumbled, getting caught up in his own litany of woe. "And practically no one's sick enough to make you do Spender or CSM." He shuddered at the memory. "Now, *that* was some experience." Mulder grinned, feeling a bit better. "Not to mention Byers..." "You leave Byers out of this. At least he's tidy. Which is more than I can say for you. Do you ever pick up your socks? "Nah, I just buy new ones, to match the joke underwear everyone gives me. At the rate it gets ripped off, I practically keep them in business." Skinner smiled wistfully, placing a hand on Mulder's arm and giving him a quick peck on the cheek. "Some of the weekends were pretty good though, you've got to admit. Like that one with Scully. And the holidays we had weren't bad, at least the ones with *me*..." "Mmm, Greece, St Kitts, Cape Cod. Although you tend to spoil everything by getting all serious on me when I'm obviously trying to avoid talking about a commitment." Skinner retracted the hand, and straightened up defensively. "That's just the kind of guy I am. Can I help it that you're basically a neurotic mess? It's not easy being this noble, you know. I had to be faithful to Sharon for *17* years - I think I deserve a little something to make up for it now. I don't think you've ever managed much longer than 17 minutes," he added dryly. "Is that my fault? You're just jealous because I get propositioned by everyone within shooting distance. It's because I'm so totally abandoned in bed. Everyone agrees on that bit." Skinner put his hands behind his head, and leaned back against the rough surface of the wall, looking heavenward. It had been about three years now, and even their downtime squabbles had taken on a familiar cast. "Mulder, no-one would put *up* with you if you weren't so good in the sack. Do you know how exhausting it is getting involved with you? Always Mulder, Mulder, poor, needy Mulder - Krycek's a lucky bastard, he just gets down to it and leaves the mess behind. Whereas in between working 60-hour weeks, I have to spend my time giving you longing looks, waiting around hospital rooms, soothing and comforting you when you have those goddamn nightmares... I even *cook* for God's sake and get my ass kicked for it half the time. You just don't recognise a good thing when you see it. No-one appreciates me..." The flood of self-pity was broken by the appearance of a small, businesslike, dark-haired figure clutching a laptop and assorted papers, her boot heels clacking ominously on the concrete floor. "Oh, *I* care, sweetheart. I really do. Although I realise I'm in something of a minority here. C'mon, boys, stop chatting, you're going to be doing enough of that over the next few days." "Oh god, not *her*." Skinner groaned in recognition, resignation in the slump of his shoulders. Mulder put a hand on his shoulder in mixed apology and support, his own troubles forgotten. Ever the more foolhardy of the two, he faced her down and ventured a timid question. "Days? Not your normal vignettes, then. Can't you at least let us know what it's going to be this time?" "Nope. Haven't fully worked it out myself yet. All you get to know is that for the next 10,000 words, darling, I *own* you. To hell with Carter. He hasn't got the guts to give the public what it *really* wants." Mulder gave her his most winning smile, but to no avail. "Sorry, won't work on me. Now if you could get *him* to give me that look, I'd consider something painless for a change. Well, sweetie? How about a nice smile, then?" She looked hopefully at Skinner, who grimaced and covered his face with his hands. "Fine. Have it your way. Just remember - I've got the paddles and I know how to use them. Now, get your lovely tight asses over to... no, we'll skip that one today, I'm feeling depressed now. Hospital, I think. Yep." She checked her location list. "Studio 6 it is. Fox, you look pretty good like that -- no, you can have a shower later -- well, that's too bad, I don't care what *she* made you do... Now, I want you sitting next to the bed, and try and look concerned, OK? I'm turning the tables a bit with this one. Walter, I want you out of those clothes, lovely as they are. Then go see Wardrobe about a bullet wound... stomach, chest, I'm not fussy. And just for that look you gave me, tell them to throw in some multiple fractures as well. I'll think of something." Skinner threw Mulder a look of despair as he stood, turning away from his tormentor. "The short ones are the worst," he mouthed. "I *heard* that! That's *catheters* for you, love! Any more smart comments?" Skinner stalked off in the direction of the trailer without a backward glance, his shoulders rigid. Shaking his head slowly, Mulder began the slow trudge to the set, his shirt sticking to him limply. He couldn't wait till the show was over and they were all limited to reruns. Hell of a way to make a living. THE END