This story was originally written for Xanthe during a period of dire overwork (or at least that's what she claimed...) and shared with her kind permission. Obviously, I do not mean to imply that she would *ever* behave in any way like the character in the story. Of course not. :) ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Temporary Insanity Skinner strode down the corridor, nodding morning greetings to people, shoulders already tense from the thought of another day of paperwork and meetings. He knew Mulder’s latest report was due this morning, and sighed a little at the thought, wondering what incredible story his agent was going to come up with *this* time. Instinctively, he pushed away the vague, familiar twinges that the thought of Mulder always prompted, not allowing them to crystallize fully. One day, perhaps, he would confront them. But not today. He was brought up short in his routine musings by the sight of an unfamiliar woman at Kim’s desk, who smiled and stood up at the sight of him. She was blonde, stocky, and looked thoroughly capable, greeting him with familiarity. "Assistant Director Skinner. Good morning, sir." She held out a hand, and automatically, he shook it. Something about her smile, almost predatory, disturbed him for a moment, but he dismissed it without a second thought. "May I help you, Ms..." "Zanth, sir. But you can call me Samantha. Kim’s sick. I‘ve been pulled from HR to help you out for the time being." He considered for a moment, then grunted in acceptance. The accent had thrown him for a moment -- the Bureau only accepted American citizens with proper security clearances, and a true British accent was rare -- but he supposed it wasn’t polite to ask about that sort of thing anymore. The badge appeared genuine, and she wouldn’t have been allowed into the building, much less this floor, if she hadn’t passed all the requisite checks. "You’re familiar with the security procedures, filing system, letter format, whatever else it is Kim does?" "Oh yes, sir, I’ve had loads of experience, and Kim’s a personal friend of mine -- my second cousin, in fact. I shouldn’t have any trouble. I’ll get you some coffee in a moment. Black, one sugar." He nodded in surprise. Although it was a bit unusual for Kim to have arranged her own replacement, she seemed to have done so with her usual quiet efficiency. And she’d covered all the details, too. He made a mental note to get her something extra for Secretary’s Day. "Do you have any idea how she is?" "She’s a bit tied up, uh, that is, laid up at the moment -- the flu, you know -- but I’ll check in with her during the day and let you know. She said you could tell me if you needed anything. Of course, you could speak to her yourself, but she’s losing her voice a bit." She gazed at him innocently, her eyes almost challenging him to disturb his poor, ill, over-worked secretary. He sighed. "No, no, you seem to have everything under control... Samantha. What do I have this morning?" She flipped briskly through the appointment schedule, seeming to decipher Kim’s semi-coded notation with relative ease. "Nothing till nine-thirty. Disciplinary meeting with Agent Williams, followed by a new agent, Ms Fletcher, meet-and-greet at ten. Then a, um, *debriefing* from Agent Mulder at eleven." She snickered, and hastily turned it into a cough. Skinner sighed. Obviously word of Mulder’s various exploits and behaviour had spread its way through the secretarial pool. It was hardly surprising, and he really couldn’t blame the girl for her reaction. "That’s all?" "Some of the afternoon’s double-booked, but I’ll see what I can do." "Thank you, Samantha -- if you could just finish off the letters there and get on with the filing, that should be enough for now. Oh, and pull Williams’ file for me." "Yes, sir." As he entered his office, he couldn’t shake the distinctly unpleasant feeling that she was still staring after him, wearing a repeat of that strange, possessive smile. *** Settling into his chair, he breathed out once, slowly, to clear his head. Then he reached for his glasses, and cleaned them, while mentally sorting the piles of paper on his desk into priorities. Report, report, assorted administrative trivia, letter of commendation, written report to the director, personnel review... "Coffee, sir." She thumped the mug cheerfully onto the desk and left, not noticing the liquid slopping over the side onto two major homicide investigations and an accounts circular. Glancing with some irritation after her, he mopped up with a tissue and took a trial swallow from the mug. He grimaced, and almost choked. It turned out to be a ghastly premonition of things to come. *** After the coffee incident he had paused only to throw a new pile of filing and a couple of Dictaphone tapes onto the temp’s desk before retreating once more behind his pile of papers. He then began to work seriously on his in-tray, stopping only when the intercom buzzed to announce the arrival of Agent Williams. Automatically, he acknowledged the appointment and reached for his day file, only to realise he hadn’t been passed the information he’d requested. He pushed past a startled Williams and went to confront his new assistant. At least she was typing away diligently, presumably on his faxes, but as he came up quietly behind her, his eye was instinctively drawn to his own name, repeated several times over on the screen. What he read over her shoulder brought a burning flush to his cheeks. She wanted to see him do *what* and *what* to Mulder? This was intolerable! ...Although oddly intriguing... But no! How dare she write such slanderous... *filth* on office time? Almost sputtering with rage, he cleared his throat pointedly, only to watch in alarm as she calmly pressed the ‘send’ and ‘delete’ buttons before turning to him. "Sir?" His brain kicked into gear attempting to find the most appropriate way to refer to what he had just seen. Ms Zanth, I would prefer you not to speculate so, so, *explicitly*, about my private life and my feelings, if any, towards Agent Mulder. And who the *hell* did you send it to? I’ll have both of you dismissed *immediately*. But that would involve actually discussing the whole difficult matter with her, here and now... without any concrete evidence... and Williams was waiting in his office... Faced with her cool, unflustered demeanour he found himself unable to do more than clench his jaw and snarl: "Samantha, it’s nine-thirty. Agent Williams is in my office, but his file *isn’t*." "Oh, I’m so sorry about that sir, here it is." She smiled disarmingly, and handed the file to him from the pile on her desk. "He’s been a bad boy, hasn’t he? What are you going to do to him? A good spanking, perhaps? Can I help?" He was quite, quite sure none of his secretaries had *ever* spoken to him like that. "Have you sent those faxes to the DOD yet?" "Not yet, sir, but I’ll get to it right away." He began to feel the throbbing beginnings of a headache as he sat back down at his desk, waving the hapless Williams to a chair. The young man looked apprehensive, and Skinner didn’t blame him. He opened the file, and methodically began to tear Williams apart. *** Ten-thirty. After his second appointment, his headache had worsened. Fletcher had exuded the usual enthusiasm and eagerness of a new agent, but something about the way she had looked at him throughout the interview had made him very uncomfortable. A mix of obvious appreciation and... speculation, as if she were thinking things about him that he wasn’t sure were appropriate for an agent under his command. He could have sworn it was the same look he had seen in the secretary’s eyes this morning, but that was a ridiculous suggestion. Worthy of a cheap horror novel. The Stepford staff. Kim had not even been absent an entire day and already things were falling apart around him. He reached into his drawer for a couple of small white tablets and downed them with water from the cooler. Hoping to find peace in his next report, he found himself unable to concentrate, periodically distracted by noise coming from outside that he could have sworn was *giggling*. Poking his head around the door to investigate, he found his temporary assistant and his last appointment in deep discussion over the photocopying machine. In the output tray rested several grainy copies of what he uneasily identified as his own photograph, blown up to different sizes, obviously taken from an old Bureau journal. "Agent Fletcher, you were *dismissed*." Fletcher started guiltily at the sound of his voice, and without turning around snatched up the top copy from the tray and hurried briskly from the room, heels clacking. "Have you sent those faxes yet, Samantha? Or typed the letters?" He could hear his teeth grinding together in barely leashed aggravation. "Um... Give me fifteen minutes on that, sir." His bellow could be heard down the hall. *** Eleven-twenty. He was grateful when Mulder finally arrived. In the increasingly surreal environment that had become his office this morning, it was somehow reassuring to have a familiar source of irritation, one that he knew how to deal with. At fifteen minutes past the time for their appointment, he had had to go outside and forcibly wrest Mulder away from his newest nightmare. She had let Mulder go with a last, conspiratorial glance that had brought Skinner’s by-now familiar feelings of paranoia back in full force. Mulder settled himself, smiling. "Bit of a... uh, character, isn’t she?" "Yes... I can honestly say I’ve never had to deal with anyone *quite* like her before." He said grimly, his irritation for once directed away from the agent in front of him. The intercom buzzed. "What is it now?" He barked, with none of his customary politeness. "Have you ever noticed how cute Agent Mulder is, sir? You know, it’s been a while since Sharon died, don’t you think it’s time you let someone into your life again? I know how much you really care about him, and he’s just *waiting* for you to make the first move..." He cut her off abruptly, and glared up at Mulder, daring him to comment, but Mulder was studiously looking through his files, carefully pretending not to have heard a thing. Skinner studied him closely, but there was no sign of either discomfort or amusement in his bland expression. Did that woman know everything about his personal life? Had Mulder told her about Sharon? Worse, *how* did she know how he felt about Mulder, or rather, *didn’t*? This was really getting out of hand. As soon as he got through with Mulder, he was going to have to deal with her once and for all... To his immense relief, for once Mulder had managed to get through an entire case without losing anything, killing anyone or destroying a single piece of Bureau equipment. In the dry, calm facts of his report, Skinner could regain his control, tamp down the inappropriate thoughts that that interfering woman had deliberately planted. Finally, when the agent had left, closing the door softly behind him, Skinner took a single deep, calming breath, and reached for the contents of his bottom desk drawer. *** She was in the midst of a phone call full of whispered confidences and breathless exclamations, and waved casually at him as he emerged from his office. He stood by her desk, and waited. And waited. It took her a full three minutes more to conclude the call, laughing delightedly as she placed the phone back on the receiver. "That was Agent Fletcher, sir. I think you made quite an... impression on her." She gave him a smile of pure admiration, totally unfazed by his grim scowl. "Ms... Zanth, I’m sorry to have to bring this matter up, but I’m afraid your performance so far today has been significantly *less* than satisfactory." He was using his sternest expression, the one that usually turned agents to stammering idiots, but she continued to smile at him, almost indulgently. "And although there are various disciplinary methods at my disposal," he continued, "I have found that for persons of your particular... character, unfortunately, only one thing really seems to work." He produced from behind his back a black, pliable leather strap, small metal studs covering one surface. Pausing, he slid the strap over the palm of his free hand and let the full effect of his threat sink in. "Now... you will kindly *stop* writing personal emails, *stop* abusing office equipment, *stop* interfering with my staff meetings, and GET SOME WORK DONE! Or there will be unpleasant consequences. Am I understood?" She stared at him in what appeared to be shock, her eyes wide. "Sir... you wouldn’t... would you?" "I’ve had to deal with difficult personnel before. I find this to be a most effective... persuader. Now you will perform your duties as instructed, do you understand?" She ducked her head and suddenly appeared to be fighting back tears, folding her arms protectively. He felt an unexpected surge of shame at his own intimidatory tactics. Nevertheless, he couldn’t allow the support staff to misbehave like this. There had to be order. "Ms Zanth?" he repeated, more gently this time. "Yes, sir," she replied, in a subdued tone, "I understand perfectly." Too late, he realised she had been fumbling with a catch under her navy jacket, and was now bringing a gun up to point directly between his eyes. She was smiling the strangest, most disturbing smile he had ever seen, and he realised that the earlier look in her eyes had not been shock, but appreciation. "You’re right, of course. *Never* underestimate the importance of discipline. Step into the office, please. Keep facing me, I want to see your hands." This was ridiculous. One shout from him, and personnel would come running from all directions. Only... they would see him being held at gunpoint by his own secretary, holding a leather strap in his hand. There had already been enough commentary over the incident with the high-heel, and he didn’t think his reputation was going to stand much more along those lines. Besides, it shouldn’t be too difficult getting the gun away from her... She waited a moment longer, just enough to catch his wry grimace, then gestured once more, impatiently, with the weapon. He sighed and obeyed. She slipped in after him, her grip sure and unwavering, closing the door after her with her free hand. "Back up against the desk, Walter. Drop that toy, and put your hands out in front of you." "Who the hell *are* you? Where’s Kim..." "Just do it." The strap fell with a soft whisper onto the carpet as he moved into position, playing along for the moment. If she came a little closer he could probably knock the gun from her hand, although something inside him balked instinctively at the thought of hitting a woman. Something that was probably going to get him killed, one of these days. Possibly today, he realised, as she darted forward and the handcuffs closed lightning-fast around his wrists. Suddenly it all fell into place. Her smooth explanation for Kim’s unusual absence; her complete disregard for office work; her continual prying into his personal and professional life; the fact she was not only armed but apparently prepared for an active struggle. And the name she had chosen, Samantha, obviously a little joke at his expense. *They* had been very clever, this time, although as usual, he could only guess at their dark purposes. "You’re working for *him*, aren’t you? What do you want?" "Just a little private meeting with you, sweetie. And I assure you, I work for myself. Most of the time. Now, stand up straight, and let me get a good look at you. My, you *do* have nice shoulders. I think you ought to be able to unbutton your shirt like that, don’t you?" "What???!!" Her amiable expression was replaced by a sudden frown, and she waggled the gun barrel at him menacingly as a reminder. It was awkward with his wrists shackled, but he finally managed to loosen his tie enough to tug it off and begin fumbling with the shirt buttons. She perched herself on a chair, watching attentively. "I’ll have you know I’m usually a wonderful employee, thanks very much. Only a girl gets a bit distracted sometimes around you -- now pull it down a bit over those gorgeous shoulders -- yes, I know you won’t be able to get it all the way off, but see what you can do." He shook his head to clear the dizzy feeling of unreality that had swept over him. As he was tugging the left side of his shirt clear, there came a knock at the door, and both heads turned as one. "Excuse me sir, I just needed you to... oh." Mulder stopped dead at the sight of his partially unclothed boss and the blonde sitting across from him. Instantly, he began to back out, shaking his head with a murmured apology. "Agent Mulder!" They yelled simultaneously. Instantly, Mulder’s head popped back around the door, to be met by the best scowl that Skinner could manage under the circumstances. "I could really use some help here, Mulder." Skinner snapped. He glared daggers at Mulder. Mulder shot a questioning look at the woman, who winked back, and Mulder’s face broke into a sudden grin. Skinner felt cold sweat beading on his brow. "Just get the gun away from her, damn it! Shoot her if you have to." Skinner insisted, but Mulder ignored him, as his gaze came to rest on the exposed skin of Skinner’s chest, drawn there as if by some irresistible force. "Oh, I don’t think I could do that, sir. Besides... that’s my gun she’s using." The woman was giggling madly now. "Come on in, Fox, you big coward. Take a seat. Lovely, isn’t he? See, I promised this would work." Mulder licked his lips nervously and edged into the room. Skinner stared at him incredulously. Had everyone gone completely mad? Had Agent Mulder been replaced by some kind of alien clone? Why was Mulder looking at him like that? His throat tightened as he realised that the attention wasn’t *entirely* unwelcome, if he were being honest with himself. Skinner’s flushed confusion increased as the woman handed Mulder the weapon, then proceeded efficiently to check and secure all entrances to the room. Mulder continued to point the gun steadily at him without a word, the intent, focused expression in his eyes suddenly uncomfortably familiar. "This is ridiculous. Mulder, you’re not going to shoot me..." "Turn around, please." The woman interrupted. Her tone brooked no disagreement. Mulder continued to smile at him unnervingly, and suddenly the air went out of his belligerence, just like that. His felt his life was no longer in danger, if indeed it had ever been, but instead as though deeper and more disquieting forces were being brought to bear on him. Overcome by curiosity, and the compelling force in Mulder’s eyes, he obeyed, numbly. As he faced the window, the woman walked up behind him, ran a hand tenderly over his scalp and then stood on tiptoe to plant a soft kiss on the top of his head. "Now, it’s not nice to treat your staff like that, is it? Teasing them, threatening them, yelling at them all the time, never showing them how much you really care. I think it’s time to relax a bit while we have a little fun with you. You’ll need to drop your pants, I’m afraid. Don’t worry, I won’t look. Not yet, anyway." Skinner managed one, last desperate attempt to restore a measure of sanity to the situation. "Mulder, this incident is going to go on report!" "Yes, I know sir," Mulder said dreamily. "I’m sure it’ll make *great* reading." Skinner’s shoulders sagged in defeat as he finally surrendered to the inevitable, hoping that neither of them were aware of how badly he was blushing. He heard movement behind him as the strap was retrieved, and then gentle hands helped him with his pants, caressing his bare buttocks as they did so. The secretary from hell had him at her mercy. "Now, first, I’m going to use that lovely strap you provided on that beautiful ass of yours. Then, just maybe, I’ll let Agent Mulder here take over and get better... acquainted with you. I’ve *dreamed* about seeing that, you know. Now be a good boy, and bend over." This *could not* possibly be happening, he decided, as she brought the strap down hard, once, twice, and a warm, tingling glow of pain began to spread through him. Through his involuntary gasps, he could hear Mulder making appreciative noises in the background, and the sensation of heat grew suddenly, inexplicably stronger. Slowly, the last reserves of rational thought drained irrevocably from his mind, lost in the blaze of his nerve-endings as the blows continued to fall. He decided, at last, that he was most probably dreaming, after all. Yes, that must be it. This woman had taken control of his office, and Mulder had just looked at him in a way he had never hoped to see, and he obviously now had no further choice but to go along with whatever they had in mind for him. That conclusion happily arrived at, he sighed deeply and finally relaxed under her hands, giving himself fully, helplessly up to circumstance. *** The woman nodded with satisfaction as she finished the strapping and gestured to Mulder, giving Skinner’s ass a last, loving pat before moving away. She held out the handcuff key, exchanging it for Mulder’s (never loaded) weapon and helpfully added to Mulder’s pockets the lube and condoms from her own. She watched then, with rapt attention, as Mulder drew Skinner around to face him, unshackled Skinner’s hands and proceeded to kiss him very, very thoroughly. Skinner responded without hesitation, pulling Mulder’s body tightly against his own, holding him close. As the kisses continued, their bodies began to move urgently against each other, hands everywhere, touching, fondling, caressing, undressing. Skinner’s half-unbuttoned shirt was the first thing to go, and Mulder tugged it off with the force of desperation, bringing his mouth down to Skinner’s nipples, eliciting some truly delightful sounds. And she smiled. Yes, this was definitely the most productive working day she’d had for a long, long time. She settled back more comfortably in the soft leather couch, curling her legs up under her contentedly. "Don’t worry sir, I’ve cancelled all your afternoon appointments." Her voice rang out reassuringly over the background of wet suckling noises and half-stifled moans, but by then, no-one was really paying the slightest bit of attention. *** END ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Feedback (or, is anyone there?)...