Title: REMOTELY CONTROLLED Author: Marguerite (marguerite@operamail.com) Rating: R Skinner held on to the remote as if it were the last life raft on the Lusitania. He could not believe his eyes. "COPS," with his two most stroke- inducing agents as special guests, shimmered on his television screen. "Jesus wept," he groaned as he watched Mulder mug for the camera. "I knew it'd be bad, but I had no idea..." Skinner was propped up in his bed, a half-empty bottle of Sam Adams in one hand, the remote control in the other. He sighed as he watched Mulder explaining his werewolf theory to two police officers. When the female officer asked to see Mulder's badge a second time, Skinner lifted the bottle in a toast. "You go, girl," he muttered, then took a long, soothing swallow. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but looking at the results made him queasy. Mulder was clearly using the cameras to his best advantage while Scully hid behind doors and turned her head away from the lights and the intrusive lenses. Pity, Skinner mused, because she looked damn good in the field, weapon at the ready. Or in handcuffs. Whoa. Back away from that thought and no one gets hurt. He watched the episode with the grimly voyeuristic fascination of a rubbernecker at a fatal traffic accident. While Mulder was practically prancing for the cameras, Scully was trying to save face. Save ass, too, as she insisted that "anyone" would have mistaken the insect bite pattern for an animal bite. Besides, she looked damn cute at the autopsy as she bared her teeth at the camera and announced that "the FBI has nothing to hide." Skinner just knew those words and the accompanying death's-head smile were directed right between his eyes. And that annoying lab assistant. What was she...? Skinner stared at the blood spatters coming from the hapless woman's nose. "I can't believe they're showing this!" He knew from reading Scully's report that he was watching the woman's death throes and for one moment his finger twitched on the remote, but he refrained. He'd seen worse. He took a long pull of the beer, which had taken on the warmth of his hand. Briefly he considered getting up for a cold bottle, but his bed was comfortable and there was more to come on..."COPS." He finished the contents in one long gulp. "Reno's gonna have my ass," he mumbled before tossing the empty bottle neatly into the trash can on the other side of the room. Three points, but who was keeping score when you could have Steve and Edie to watch? Could Mulder have stumbled upon more embarrassing stereotypes? Oh. Yes. The hooker. Even better. Skinner began typing his resignation letter in his head. Scully was refusing to play nice, finally telling the cowering camera crew that she hated them. In spite of himself, Skinner chuckled and said "That's telling 'em." One more burst of commercials announced the end of the torture. Next week on COPS...someone else's headaches. For now Skinner could only seethe. And listen to the embarrassed squeak coming from under the covers. With a wolfish smile, Skinner began pulling the blankets down with two fingers, exposing a tangle of red hair and the curve of a blushing cheek. "Come on out, Agent Scully. After all, the FBI has nothing to hide." ***** Feedback is welcome at: Marguerite@operamail.com.