And How Was Your Day, Honey?
Fandom:
X-Files
Pairing: Sk/K/D implied
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"So he sat there, attempting to look all innocent and stated it was for
'obtaining important contact information', with Scully nodding firmly."
Alex blinked as he thought this through, "And the fact it was actually under the name of 'Madame Foofoo's Exotic Farm Massage' obviously adding credence to that claim." He tucked the phone more snugly under his chin and shoulder as he manoeuvred the corning ware dish into the oven.
"I know." Walter rolled his eyes, not normally a gesture translatable across a phone line, but it somehow managed to work its way into his voice.
"Geez. And I thought he had some interesting excuses for his habits when we were partners. I mean, did he really think he could get away with the funding towards a whip, a feathered boa, leather harness and half a gallon of 'wrestling' jelly?" Eyes narrowed, he adjusted the heat settings before turning back to the sink.
"I'm starting to regret having asking him to fully itemise his reports. And the way Scully sat down, I'm not sure I really need to have the mental imagery." Walter doodled absently on the pad beside his phone as he cast a jaundiced eye towards the paperwork he'd brought home.
"I have to say, either the X-files are getting a lot spookier, or their sex life has become so passé they need the, er…" Alex trailed off as he attempted to find suitably acceptable …
"Sadomasochistic leather enema harness with vacuum attachments and added electro-shock points…"
Alex paused. Well, so much for acceptable... "…to spice up their relationship…" He gave the pot on the stove a judicious stir, before throwing in some pepper.
"Hmm? Oh, I was just reading out loud…" Walter reached for the red pen.
"I don't know. Maybe you just have to keep them busy. Throw a few more cases into their laps." Alex checked the dish in the oven before pulling some vegetables from the fridge and tossing them into the sink.
"An idea, it's just that there isn't too much going on at the moment, yet they still manage to fill the budget. I don't want to think how much they got away with when it was all just grouped together…" Walter took a mouthful of beer as he recapped the pen, placed it firmly on the pile of forms, gave the pile a nudge to the side and refocused on the television that was currently flickering the latest football game.
"I could always show up visibly somewhere…" Alex offered as he chopped the beans slowly, hindered somewhat by a missing limb. "I could pop into existence in some one horse, Podunk town, far, far away and stand there staring pointedly at an anthill or something. I'm sure Mulder would sit there digging away until the next odd something-or-other-and-probably-elvis sighting."
"He's easily distracted." Walter agreed, wincing as one of the star players got knocked down and crushed between the wall and a particularly busty cheerleader. "Show him something shiny and he'll be off. I swear he has the attention span of a ferret on speed…" Something occurred to him and he pulled the expense sheet back out, scanning down it quickly. "Oh wait, here's the expense for the Ritalin."
"Explains a lot, that does." Alex switched shoulders, and tossed the beans into the water, jumping back as the splash almost scored on his "Kiss the Assassin" apron. "Would you believe ol' Smokey has me on toddler training?"
"What, you're actually moulding the future minds of the death industry?" Walter channel surfed through the obligatory advertisements for 'a dryer tastier beer' and 'Hair loss' that seemed prevalent during the game, obviously the station knew its target audience.
"Oh yes: Ladies and Gentlemen of the class of now. Wear black. If I could offer you only one tip for the future, black would be it." Alex snorted under his breath. "I swear, they're getting younger each year."
Walter grinned, he had felt the same seeing each new batch of agents stroll into the Hoover. Sucked up into the bureaucracy. Younger, ganglier, less respect for their betters, always smart mouthed behind your back…
"And I tell you, Walt, none of them have any sense of style, nah, it's all done with explosives nowadays, no finesse, no pride in their art. To them, there's nothing a kilo of C4 won't fix. It's depressing." Alex looked up as he heard the key in the door.
"The days of the gentleman assassin long gone, Lexi?"
"Too true. If they're not trying to look mysterious and dark, they have the subtlety of Schwarzenegger on a steroid high. I don't know if I'm training beat poets or WWF wrestlers." He quickly set the cutlery out, before carefully transferring the hot dishes to the coasters he'd placed in the centre of the table. "Anyway. Gotta go, Spot's back, and dinner's done"
Walter laughed. "I still don't know how you managed to get Doggett to answer to that name."
Alex grinned, "It's nothing more than the truth, I mean you've seen, just in his inner left thigh…"
Walter heard Alex's cry of "Hey!" in the background as the phone was deftly fielded by a slyly grinning Agent Doggett who spoke into the receiver. "Goodnight Walt, see you soon. I have a rat I need to rough up a little." Walter laughed and hung up the phone, looking forward to the homecoming.