Fic: The Beginning of a very bad Day (1/1)
Title: The beginning of a very bad day
Genre: Humor
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Pairing: Agent Mulder, Agent Henriksen
Disclaimer: Nothing's mine. Wish it was but would never write say it out loud.
Spoilers: Nightshifters
Word Count: 1000
Summary: Mulder approaches Henriksen with a really strange information. Okay, so the Winchesters are ... what?
A/N: This is a challenge for
copsandhunters and a crossover with X-Files.
EDIT: It's been beta'd by the lovely
mad_server who totally saved my cute ass with this little piece of fic. Yet remaining mistakes are totally my fault.
*****
The visitor was a little bit more self confident than Henriksen was comfortable with. He flashed his ID, introducing himself as Agent Mulder with a “strictly need to know” attitude that made Henriksen want to throttle him. Or kick him out of his bureau. Preferably both.
And now the stranger sat in HIS bureau, on HIS chair and tapped his foot repeatedly against the front of HIS desktop drawers, oozing ignorance like a bad smell.
Henriksen wondered, if he himself looked the same.
“What do you want?” he demanded to know, finally stepping into the office and tossing his briefcase onto the messy surface of his desk . Stacks of paper and blank forms littered the ground but Henriksen didn't care. He was in an bad mood, really bad. And this guy would have to take his wrath, agent or not.
Yesterday had been a disaster. Those two Winchesters would be his doom, he just knew it. Probably by giving him a freaking heart attack or by being the cause of his irrevocable resignation. Or just having him plain fired. Either way, it wouldn't be pretty.
And now there was a man sitting in his chair looking like he'd escaped from the set of MIB III ... minus the glasses.
“Nice decor,” the man replied in a voice that could have been sarcastic... or not, letting his gaze sweep over the naked walls. There were no diplomas, no pictures of a wife or kids. Only stacks of papers, piled high and in severe need of sorting. Somewhere beneath the chaos, Victor assumed, was his PC ... if his superior hadn't already taken it away due to the fact that he barely ever touched that thing. He'd already forgotten how the on-button looked.
The man's gaze had stopped at the only picture hanging on the side of the closet. A wanted poster with the face of one Dean Winchester.
“So,” he went on and got up. With a slight curl of his lips that made him look amused and sad at the same time he stood in front of the poster, staring at it as if reading Winchester's face like a book. “You're looking for the Winchesters?”
“You could say that,” Henriksen grumbled and even though he didn't feel like sitting down, he let himself sink onto his worn chair. After all it was HIS chair. He could sit down, if he wanted to... or not in this case. Seconds later he couldn't sit still anymore, stood up and, to his full satisfaction, realized that he was slightly taller than the other agent. This whole 'staring someone down'-thing'd make things easier.
Unfortunately his bad mood seemed to bounce off his opponent's skin like bees from an insecticided blossoming apple tree.
“Anything in particular you want to talk about, Agent Mulder?” Victor asked, pinching his eyes half closed to look more threatening.
“Well yeah, why else would I be here?” Agent Mulder replied, his face showing real surprise which made Victor wonder if the man in front of him was demented or just plain stupid. “I'm here because of him.” His finger tapped against Winchester's nose.
“He's not here,” Henriksen grumbled and was surprised by a hearty laugh from his visitor.
“You're a funny man, Mr Henriksen.”
“Really? Most people would describe me as narcissistic, egocentric and slightly psychotic.”
"You could have fooled me."
“Yeah, I'm a surprise present that comes in a box with a pink ribbon tie. So, what do you want in my office, Agent Mulder?”
Henriksen's hostility didn't even scratch the other man's surface and he ground his teeth painfully in his mouth.
“I wanted to ask you something,” Mulder said and started to pace in the small space. Two steps forward, two back and then he leaned against the closet, his head resting on Winchester's face. “How do you think those two manage to get away from you. Over and over?”
“They're good,” Henriksen answered and felt ridiculous for having to defend himself. Yeah, maybe they were like an irritating itch in his side all the time, maybe they were slippery SOBs, and yeah, maybe some day they'd be the nails in his coffin but still... this was HIS case. “Maybe they have accomplices.”
Mulder snorted. “Bet they have.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
Mulder shrugged his shoulder but there was a gleam in his eye like Christmas had come early this year. “Oh nothing, just that, you know, I do think they have accomplices.”
“Is there anything I should know, AGENT MULDER?” He really tried hard to not explode but failed badly.
“I'm not sure you're ready to hear this. There are... circumstances.”
“Circum...” Henriksen blurted but kept his rage in check. He was having a bad day and it was only nine in the morning. “Agent Mulder, whatever you've got to tell me... spit it out or leave my office. It's not like I have a morning to waste.”
“Aliens.”
What?
“What?”
“Think about it. It makes sense. Being in two places at the same time. Leaving a fully barricaded building without any trace.”
"Did you just say 'aliens' and 'it makes sense' in the same breath?"
Mulder shrugged again. “I see you're not quite ready to hear me out. But don't come crying to me if your alien clone shoots you in the head and ruins your day.” Mulder turned to go but changed his mind, came back and threw a business card on the table. “You should clean up or you'll never find that card again,” he remarked with one last, disapproving look at the mess. “This looks worse than the stuff my partner's got lying on her autopsy tables.” And then he was gone, leaving Henriksen behind, who felt a headache the size of Wyoming knocking on his temples. With a bewildered huff he let himself fall into his chair, feeling tired and probably more confused than should be humanly possible. If the day went on like this ...
“Hey partner, you look like you've seen a ghost.” He looked up, finding Reed standing in the doorway with a casual posture. “Oh and there was this guy. He wanted to talk to you. I sent him over half an hour ago. He found you?”
“Unfortunately,” Henriksen replied and let his head sink against the backrest. “Why is it, that I always have to handle the weirdos?” Not really expecting an answer he wiped his face and concentrated on the important things. “I so need to get a lock on my door.” His gaze fell on the business card. “And a shredding machine.”
Genre: Humor
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Pairing: Agent Mulder, Agent Henriksen
Disclaimer: Nothing's mine. Wish it was but would never write say it out loud.
Spoilers: Nightshifters
Word Count: 1000
Summary: Mulder approaches Henriksen with a really strange information. Okay, so the Winchesters are ... what?
A/N: This is a challenge for
copsandhunters and a crossover with X-Files.
EDIT: It's been beta'd by the lovely
mad_server who totally saved my cute ass with this little piece of fic. Yet remaining mistakes are totally my fault.
*****
The visitor was a little bit more self confident than Henriksen was comfortable with. He flashed his ID, introducing himself as Agent Mulder with a “strictly need to know” attitude that made Henriksen want to throttle him. Or kick him out of his bureau. Preferably both.
And now the stranger sat in HIS bureau, on HIS chair and tapped his foot repeatedly against the front of HIS desktop drawers, oozing ignorance like a bad smell.
Henriksen wondered, if he himself looked the same.
“What do you want?” he demanded to know, finally stepping into the office and tossing his briefcase onto the messy surface of his desk . Stacks of paper and blank forms littered the ground but Henriksen didn't care. He was in an bad mood, really bad. And this guy would have to take his wrath, agent or not.
Yesterday had been a disaster. Those two Winchesters would be his doom, he just knew it. Probably by giving him a freaking heart attack or by being the cause of his irrevocable resignation. Or just having him plain fired. Either way, it wouldn't be pretty.
And now there was a man sitting in his chair looking like he'd escaped from the set of MIB III ... minus the glasses.
“Nice decor,” the man replied in a voice that could have been sarcastic... or not, letting his gaze sweep over the naked walls. There were no diplomas, no pictures of a wife or kids. Only stacks of papers, piled high and in severe need of sorting. Somewhere beneath the chaos, Victor assumed, was his PC ... if his superior hadn't already taken it away due to the fact that he barely ever touched that thing. He'd already forgotten how the on-button looked.
The man's gaze had stopped at the only picture hanging on the side of the closet. A wanted poster with the face of one Dean Winchester.
“So,” he went on and got up. With a slight curl of his lips that made him look amused and sad at the same time he stood in front of the poster, staring at it as if reading Winchester's face like a book. “You're looking for the Winchesters?”
“You could say that,” Henriksen grumbled and even though he didn't feel like sitting down, he let himself sink onto his worn chair. After all it was HIS chair. He could sit down, if he wanted to... or not in this case. Seconds later he couldn't sit still anymore, stood up and, to his full satisfaction, realized that he was slightly taller than the other agent. This whole 'staring someone down'-thing'd make things easier.
Unfortunately his bad mood seemed to bounce off his opponent's skin like bees from an insecticided blossoming apple tree.
“Anything in particular you want to talk about, Agent Mulder?” Victor asked, pinching his eyes half closed to look more threatening.
“Well yeah, why else would I be here?” Agent Mulder replied, his face showing real surprise which made Victor wonder if the man in front of him was demented or just plain stupid. “I'm here because of him.” His finger tapped against Winchester's nose.
“He's not here,” Henriksen grumbled and was surprised by a hearty laugh from his visitor.
“You're a funny man, Mr Henriksen.”
“Really? Most people would describe me as narcissistic, egocentric and slightly psychotic.”
"You could have fooled me."
“Yeah, I'm a surprise present that comes in a box with a pink ribbon tie. So, what do you want in my office, Agent Mulder?”
Henriksen's hostility didn't even scratch the other man's surface and he ground his teeth painfully in his mouth.
“I wanted to ask you something,” Mulder said and started to pace in the small space. Two steps forward, two back and then he leaned against the closet, his head resting on Winchester's face. “How do you think those two manage to get away from you. Over and over?”
“They're good,” Henriksen answered and felt ridiculous for having to defend himself. Yeah, maybe they were like an irritating itch in his side all the time, maybe they were slippery SOBs, and yeah, maybe some day they'd be the nails in his coffin but still... this was HIS case. “Maybe they have accomplices.”
Mulder snorted. “Bet they have.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
Mulder shrugged his shoulder but there was a gleam in his eye like Christmas had come early this year. “Oh nothing, just that, you know, I do think they have accomplices.”
“Is there anything I should know, AGENT MULDER?” He really tried hard to not explode but failed badly.
“I'm not sure you're ready to hear this. There are... circumstances.”
“Circum...” Henriksen blurted but kept his rage in check. He was having a bad day and it was only nine in the morning. “Agent Mulder, whatever you've got to tell me... spit it out or leave my office. It's not like I have a morning to waste.”
“Aliens.”
What?
“What?”
“Think about it. It makes sense. Being in two places at the same time. Leaving a fully barricaded building without any trace.”
"Did you just say 'aliens' and 'it makes sense' in the same breath?"
Mulder shrugged again. “I see you're not quite ready to hear me out. But don't come crying to me if your alien clone shoots you in the head and ruins your day.” Mulder turned to go but changed his mind, came back and threw a business card on the table. “You should clean up or you'll never find that card again,” he remarked with one last, disapproving look at the mess. “This looks worse than the stuff my partner's got lying on her autopsy tables.” And then he was gone, leaving Henriksen behind, who felt a headache the size of Wyoming knocking on his temples. With a bewildered huff he let himself fall into his chair, feeling tired and probably more confused than should be humanly possible. If the day went on like this ...
“Hey partner, you look like you've seen a ghost.” He looked up, finding Reed standing in the doorway with a casual posture. “Oh and there was this guy. He wanted to talk to you. I sent him over half an hour ago. He found you?”
“Unfortunately,” Henriksen replied and let his head sink against the backrest. “Why is it, that I always have to handle the weirdos?” Not really expecting an answer he wiped his face and concentrated on the important things. “I so need to get a lock on my door.” His gaze fell on the business card. “And a shredding machine.”