Special thanks to Manami (Japan) for this marvelous manipulated picture.

TITLE: Dendrite - Chapter One - Time and Motion

NAME: Mik
E-MAIL: ccmcdoc@hotmail.com
CATEGORY: M/Sk
RATING: NC-17. M/Sk. This story contains slash i.e. m/m sex. Not suitable for children, Baptists or Republicans.

SUMMARY: First time M/Sk. Do you need any more information?

ARCHIVE: Only with my permission.
FEEDBACK: Feedback? Well, yes, if you insist.
TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Okay...hmmm...no specific spoilers for specific eps. Back in the good old days when Skinner was still their boss, nothing had been burnt and no one's best friends had died needlessly for the sake of ratings or to jump sharks.
KEYWORDS: story slash angst Mulder Skinner NC-17
DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner, and all other X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20^th Century Fox Broadcasting. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use. I personally think Chris Carter, et al, should just give them to me, since they're not using them anymore, and anyway, I treat them much, much better, but there you are.

Author's notes: I got a lot of wonderfully sweet letters, begging me to give But Dreams Are Free a happy ending. Since my idea of a happy ending might differ from others, and I can't compromise on my vision of this story, I'm putting it on hiatus. In its place, I'm offering this. A little bit of baby free M/Sk.

More notes: If you love or loathe this one, the kudos or complaints go to my beta, Susan. At Christmas this year she gave me one dozen of my favorite fountain pens, two dozen of my favorite pencils, and three dozen of my favorite writing pads. Not a pear or a partridge in sight.

Still more notes: My partner, Jaxon, was kind enough to take a break from his war with the tooleedoolians to give me not only the title, but the plot for this story. If you have a problem with either, it's too darn bad. He's up to his hips in tooleedoodoo.

And the final note: Dendrite, n. Short fiber that conducts impulses toward the cell body of the neuron

If you like this, there's more at https://www.squidge.org/3wstop

If you didn't like it, come see me, anyway. Pet the dog.

Dendrite - Chapter One - Time and Motion

by Mik

Bored.

I was bored.

I'd passed eye watering, faced locked yawnlessness about two hours before, but we still had at least six more hours of this painful nonsense. Whose idea was it to torture government employees with the wholesome, earnest essays of wholesome, earnest high school AP students, and would I actually get convicted by a jury of my peers if I killed that person? I understand these kids worked hard to be part of this national presentation of the best and brightest, but who made me the prize in their Cracker Jack box?

Damn, I was bored.

I'm not sure how it happened, but somewhere along the third hour of listening to them stammer and stutter or heartwrenchingly emote their way through these little masterpieces of flag waving and Norman Rockwellism, the sea of faces before me shifted to a black and white caricature from Mad Magazine, with at least the first row of them trying to stuff beer nuts into their little upturned noses. I think half a giggle escaped me before Scully jabbed me in the knee with a pen.

Bored. Boredboredbored.

I contemplated the faux wood formica tabletop before me with a heavy sigh, trying to calculate the speed at which my body would have to careen forward in order to leave an impression of my prodigious profile in it. It might not rank with the Shroud of Tourin as a source scientific and religious debate, but…who knows, maybe one day people might wonder about the amazing Table of Toledo.

Bor-fucking-ed. Really, really bored.

I shifted uncomfortably in the poorly padded chair, feeling my service revolver rubbing a hole under my arm, wondering if anyone would really mind if I suddenly jumped up on the table and emptied my clip in a frenzied attempt to kill a rogue fly that had been buzzing around the last half hour. "Die! Die! That's right, you Commie bastard, try and take me out! Ha! Ha!"

Did I mention I was bored?

I risked turning my head just slightly to the left. Scully was sitting in exactly the same position she had taken when we were introduced to this mass of acne cream and failed birth control. Her face was still perfectly composed. She had that same little polite smile, that same slightly encouraging tilt to her head. She actually managed to look as if she still cared … as if she ever cared. But I've seen her do this a thousand times in Skinner's office. Hell, I've seen her do it in our office.

To my right was another prospect. He didn't look quite so placid, or interested. The tips of his ears were red. His jaw throbbed. Although his eyes were open, they had the glazed look of a man who had been fished out of the river four days too late. His lips were parted, and his breath was going in and out at such a measured pace I realized he was diverting himself by trying to control his respiration, counting his heartbeat and eye blinks per minute. The timing of the body's mechanical functions only interest two types of people; doctors and people who are about to die of boredom.

Now that was interesting.

Just for fun, I put my hands on the table in front of me, one folded over the other and began to tap one fingertip on the back of my wrist just a fraction of a second out of rhythm with his breathing. It didn't take long for his ear tips to get redder, his jaw to throb more noticeably and his breathing start to hitch. You can't call it an entirely wasted day when you can make your supervisor self conscious about the way he breathes.

Finally, the moderator announced there would a thirty minute break for lunch. I'm quite certain that most people in that room were trying to think of reasons not to come back...I personally was considering appendicitis. I figured that would rescue both me and Scully...after all, she was my physician of record. As we stood and filed out of the room, I was trying to remember all the symptoms of acute appendicitis. A cluster of eager teens had gathered at the door, and I was wondering if I just grabbed at my gut and toppled over, I could avoid trying to run that gauntlet.

Scully moved in tight behind me like a border collie, driving Skinner and I forward. We had no choice but to move into the clutch of wide eyed wannabes, but Scully kept us moving ahead at a steady and unstoppable pace, murmuring sweet apologies in our wake as she herded us into the corridor and toward doors that folded outward, an escape beckoning like the gates of Heaven.

Well, we didn't quite make it to those doors. The newly minted Education Secretary appeared in our path, cutting us off with toothy grins and glad-handing. He just wasn't able to express just how grateful he was that we were there, and just how much it was doing for these fine examples of American youth, despite a long speech to the contrary. Scully and I pasted on our political faces, and left it to Skinner to assure the fellow just what an honor it was for us to attend, and just how deeply moved we were. Just.

Before he could finish his party lie, another officious looking sort, a woman who was probably a librarian in a former life, appeared, and with one of those scary arm sweeping gestures, forced us into a small room for a fairly unappetizing buffet.

Scully and I couldn't find a place to sit so we were leaning up against a wall, smiling politely around our cardboard and cream cheese sandwiches, while we tried to plot a feasible ruse to get out of going back into the auditorium. Skinner squelched our plans quite effectively when he dumped his plate in the trash and stalked toward us. "Don't either one of you even think about cutting out on the rest of this presentation," he warned in that dangerous low voice, the one that could scare snakes and IRS agents.

I put a hand on my side, and started to whine, "I don't know, I'm feeling -"

"Fine," he cut in roughly. "You're feeling fine. And that's an order."

I sighed and looked at Scully. "Yes, Sir."

But it wasn't three minutes into the first speech of the second session, when Skinner's phone vibrated on his hip. Even I felt it. I watched him tug it free and give the text message a glance before he started to rise. I grabbed his arm in a very insubordinate manner and hissed, "Oh, no, you don't." Did I mention I was bored?

He held the screen up where I could see it. I wasn't bored anymore.

Skinner sidled out toward the door. Scully turned to look at him, and then at me. I leaned forward, burying my lips in her hair so no one else could guess what I was saying. "Bomb threat."

She sat up straight, and turned back toward the young woman who was starting to falter in her speech. "Go on," she murmured from the corner of her mouth. "Go see."

I stood up and edged out, offering out tight smiles and nods at the people I needed to pass. Skinner was in the hallway, one hand pressed to the cell phone against his face, one hand pressed to his other ear. He had that look. The one that sends all sorts of messages from my brain to various parts of my body...little electrical impulses that tell my body to be on full alert. I bounced around in front of him like a five year old wanting to know if Santa was on the way. "Is it?" I demanded soundlessly. "Is it confirmed?"

He pulled his finger away from his ear to wave at me impatiently. Then he snapped his phone shut. "We need to evacuate the building," he told me tersely. Then he shook his head. "All those kids in there … we're going to have panic."

"Give them credit," I said without conviction, "they're pretty smart kids. They wouldn't be here otherwise, right?" Okay, I wasn't convinced either. "I'll go get the Education Secretary. Maybe he's got a plan for this kind of thing."

"Good idea. We don't have much time, and the dogs are on their way now. But, Mulder," he caught my arm, "do it discreetly."

I pushed the door to the auditorium open slightly, hoping to catch the eye of the person seated at the end of the dais, but the door creaked and I caught everyone else's attention, as well. The whole room turned as a man to look at me. I smiled weakly and gestured toward my prey. He actually pressed a finger to his chest and mouthed 'Who, me?' So much for discretion. I sighed. I nodded. He rose and came to the door, looking as eager as if he expected me to vote for him.

"What is it?" he announced in a voice that carried over the fellow trying to give his personal take on what American means to me. "What do you need?"

With yet another sigh, I grabbed his lapel and yanked him out into the corridor.

"Agent Mulder," Skinner scolded, marching toward us. "Mister Secretary, I apologize for my agent's exuberance. We have um...a situation." He put an arm across the idiot's shoulders and urged him away from the double doors of the auditorium, murmuring information.

"A bomb threat? Good God!"

I sagged against the wall and gave my head a good hard bang against the wood.

A second later, Skinner was back in control, talking quietly and urgently, while I stood there watching them, and bracing myself for full scale panic any moment. When they reached the exit and turned back to us, the Secretary was looking shaken. His hands fidgeted in front of him, and his eyes seemed to roll around independently in his head. "Yes, yes, I see," he said, and then went on to repeat it nine or ten times. "Yes, yes, I see."

When the pair of them reached me, I stepped aside, giving him access to the doors. He flinched when I moved, but then he straightened his tie, coughed once or twice, and then pushed the doors open like a man on a mission.

"Where are we directing them?" I asked Skinner as we waited for the shrieks and screams to begin.

"Some auxiliary buildings across the quad," he said with a loose handed gesture. "He believes they're already unlocked."

"Unlocked?" I twisted around to look at him. "Do we know if they're secure?"

Skinner frowned. "No."

I drew a deep breath. "I'll go -"

He put that hand on my arm again. "The dogs will be here any moment, we'll send a pair over there."

"Anyone claiming responsibility yet?" Something felt funny to me.

"An alleged terrorist group, but not one I've ever seen on the wires." Skinner's frown went deeper. "They've traced the call into Canada, but that's -"

"Canada has terrorists?" I smirked. "Define a Canadian terrorist for me. Someone who wants us to drink Keith's Pale instead of Coronas? Someone who wants us to have national health care? Someone who wants us to say 'No doubt' and 'eh' more? Someone who -"

"Mulder." Skinner's voice made it clear he wasn't finding my nervous humor the slightest bit humorous.

"Yes, Sir." I paced for a moment, rubbing that place at the back of my neck that was tingling. "Are we sure it's this building? I mean, we had Secret Service over the place this morning. Everyone who came in was swabbed with a metal detector. Everyone -"

"Mulder," he said again.

I looked at him. His temples were pulsing. He was acting under orders and even he had his doubts. "Yes, Sir." I shoved my hands into my pockets and paced again. Each turn brought me a little closer to the exit. Finally, I stopped and stared across the carpet of green and dandelions to the row of squat cement buildings. "If I were targeting someone in this building, with all the security measures in place here, I'd just try to get him out of this building..."

Skinner sighed. I could hear it all the way down the corridor. I didn't turn back to look at him. "Go."

I pushed the door open and stepped into sunlight. I blinked, checked my gun, and started across the grass. I didn't feel as if anyone was watching me, but that doesn't mean anything. An hour ago, I would have exulted at this reprieve, I would have drawn out my errand, tried to stay away as long as I could. But things change. Now I was fairly convinced I was walking toward a...wait a minute...

I turned around and looked back at the old fashioned brickfaced structure from which I'd just escaped. It looked pretty much like every old schoolhouse in Middle America. How did the Education Secretary know the auxiliary buildings existed, let alone were unlocked? As I stood there, pondering that one, the doors burst apart, and students, teachers and parents were expectorated onto the grass. "Go back!" I yelled, waving with both hands. But they kept coming toward me.

I started backpedaling, thinking I might reach the doors before they did, still waving my arms, and shouting, "Go back!" A few people stopped, bewildered, but others kept rushing toward me. I considered doing something dramatic like pulling my weapon out and firing into the air, but that only works on cop shows. In real life, those bullets come back down at the same or greater velocity, and there were so many targets moving across the quad.

I backed up all the way to the door of the cinderblock and steel building, the kind that was so often featured in Better Cons and Felons. The only thing missing was the bars on the tempered, reinforced windows. Bracing my back against the steel door, I crossed my arms and looked determined. One parent looked like he was going to come and remove me physically, and all of them were shouting at me, but no one persuaded me to move, and the front of the crowd began to ripple as people rushed into the standstill, trying to force those ahead of them to move. It was about to become Cincinnati and the Who all over again. I grabbed the arm of the woman nearest me and jerked her to the right. "Go. Get away from this building. Go. Now."

I produced my badge and held it up high enough that the first two or three rows of surging flesh could see. "Follow this woman. Follow her." Then I glared at the woman who was staring at me stupidly. "Go," I reiterated, gesturing with my fist for each word. "Bomb. Get. Away. Now."

The man who looked as if he was going to make it personal shouted at me, "We were told -"

Without taking my eyes off the woman, I over shouted him. "You were told wrong. Go. Get away from here. Now."

Somewhere over the top of the throng, Skinner's voice roared toward me. "People, move to the center of the quad. Walk, do not run, to the center of the quad. I repeat, for your safety, walk, do not run, to the center of the quad." He continued this litany as those people pushing up against me because they were being pushed by people behind them, twisted and struggled and tried to move to the right.

The crowd began to swell away from me, people starting to understand that they had to move and move quickly. I wanted to dive into the horde, but knowing that if someone wasn't here to block the door, there would be at least one fool who would either a) not hear what was said or b) decide that no one else knew better than he did or c) decide that it would be fun to look inside the building anyway.

As the last stragglers veered in their path toward the center of the quad, I could see Skinner check his watch and lift the bullhorn once more. That was the last thing I saw. If he said anything, it was drowned out by a strange pop and the shuddering sound of steel and concrete going in directions they were never intended to go.

End 01