This is a response to the "Masks" Halloween challenge,
written before I saw D. Joan Lieb's latest, I swear. Just 
a little bit of fun with our own dynamic duo. UST and 
hopefully some humor. No words you wouldn't hear on 
the show, no X-file.
 
 
Disclaimer: The characters and situations herein are the 
property of Chris Carter, Fox, 1013 Productions, DC 
Comics, and Paramount, and have been used without 
permission. No copyright infringement is intended.
 
 
Dynamic Duo 1/1
 
 
FBI Building
October 28, 1996
 
 
"What part of no don't you understand?" The patented 
Scully Glare had finally lost its effectiveness completely; 
time to go back into the lab when she got the chance.
 
 
"Aw, c'mon, Scully, it'll be fun."
 
 
"I am *not* your sidekick. And, I might add, Robin's 
a boy."
 
 
"Actually, Scully, in Frank Miller's excellent Dark 
Knight series, the post-apocalyptic Robin is a short, 
feisty redheaded girl. She's drawn to him from Gotham's 
urban hell because she knows in her bones that justice 
exists and that she should mete it out."
 
 
"Jesus, Mulder, who writes your dialogue these days, 
Quentin Tarantino?"
 
 
"I should only wish. I've reserved the costumes," he 
wheedled. "And I *know* you haven't figured out what to wear; 
you aren't looking sufficiently smug for that. You have to 
go; it's not like we earn lots of Brownie points for good 
Bureau attitude the rest of the year."
 
 
She eyed him balefully. "If -- *if* I do this -- what'll 
you do for me?"
 
 
He leered -- funny how *his* patented expressions hadn't 
lost their punch -- and leaned over her desk. "I thought 
you'd never ask."
 
 
When she didn't react, he tried again. "Please," he 
whined, eyes crumpled in their standard puppy-dog-pleading expression. 
"I'll even leave the favor I owe you undefined
-- absolute power, Scully."
 
 
Hmmm.
 
 
"Fine," she decided. "Bring in the costume a day early 
so I can see how it fits. Your treat, I assume."
 
 
"Believe me, Scully, this will be worth postponing my 
next Armani for."
 
 
* * *
 
 
Scully's Apartment
November 1, 1996
 
 
Scully checked her costume a little nervously. Despite 
her initial resistance, she'd gone all out once she'd acceded. She'd 
added a short black wig in a perfect Robin haircut, and 
she'd even taped her chest to flatten it underneath the 
ridiculous rubber breastplate. Now that she'd lost so much 
weight, the discomfort didn't even outweigh the pleasures of 
disguise. She looked like Robin -- well, not as buff as 
Chris O'Donnell, but the stiff rubber of the costume helped 
her fake it. She chuckled to herself: despite Mulder's comic-
book reference, this Robin costume was definitely for a man. 
Ideally an insecure man. Where *had* the model for the, uh, 
codpiece come from?
 
 
Spirit gum to affix the traditional eyemask completed 
the picture. Not counting her gun, of course, which went on 
the convenient utility belt, underneath the short cape. At 
this point, she'd sooner go without underwear than her gun.
 
 
Mulder pounded on the door. "Hey, Scully! The Batmobile 
awaits!" 
 
 
She opened the door and her jaw dropped. He seemed to 
fill the hallway. *She* looked cartoony; he looked -- scary. 
It helped that he'd stuck with the costume from the first 
two movies, not the more anatomically correct recent 
version. Midnight black, devil's pointed ears, caped and 
masked: a creature of nightmare. So maybe there was 
something to the archetype after all, if *Mulder* could 
make her nervous by dressing up as a bat, which was after 
all the most normal thing he'd done in weeks.
 
 
Meanwhile, he was gaping at her. "Scully?"
 
 
"Holy tonsils, Batman! Shut your mouth and let's go; 
we're late already."
 
 
On the way to the hotel where the FBI's Halloween party 
was being held, he kept stealing glances at her. "I have to 
admit, I'm impressed," he said finally. "You really . . . 
went all out. You make a great Boy Wonder. In fact, if I 
weren't happily heterosexual, I'd definitely make a pass at 
you."
 
 
*Oh, gee, that explains your complete indifference the 
other 364 days of the year.* "Are you saying that I make a 
better man than a woman?" she asked, dangerously.
 
 
"No! Uh, no. You're always completely feminine, which 
is what makes this transformation so . . . unusual." 
*Erotic. Damn, I had to choose a costume for her that 
involved tights.*
 
 
Even for Batman, discretion can be the better part of 
valor, so he shut up for the rest of the trip.
 
 
At the hotel, they showed their invitations and were 
admitted to the main ballroom. Scully spotted Skinner across 
the room, standing next to Sharon Skinner. He was Jean-Luc 
Picard, she was Vash. She nudged Mulder. "Looks like things 
are going well with Skinner."
 
 
"Yeah. Hey, he makes a pretty sexy bald captain."
 
 
"Mulder, he makes a pretty sexy bald AD." She was 
rewarded with a piercing, suspicious glare.
 
 
Tom Colton, dressed like a Victorian fop, came over 
to them. "Nice costume," he said to Mulder, then peered 
more closely at him. "Mulder?"
 
 
"Agent Colton, so nice to see you."
 
 
"Yeah. Where's the Mrs.?"
 
 
Mulder stiffened beside her. As much as his nickname 
hurt him, it was even worse for him that she was 
tarred with it, and in the unkindest of ways. But Colton 
hadn't figured the costume out, so he could at least mess 
with Colton's head in revenge.
 
 
"She couldn't make it. But I did bring a date . . . 
Kevin, this is Agent Colton. We've worked together before."
 
 
Deadpan, Scully extended her hand. Colton looked like 
he was going to refuse, but the thought that Mulder would 
have no compunction about beating the crap out of him in 
front of every one of his colleagues probably deterred him. 
He took her hand, and she gave him the kind of limp-wristed 
handshake men like him always expected from her. Okay, if 
she was going to be cast as a short, gay man, she could at 
least ham up the part. He dropped her hand as soon as was 
minimally polite and fled, not seeming to notice that she 
hadn't actually spoken to him.
 
 
When he'd left, she looked up at him quizzically. "When 
are we going to reveal my dirty little secret? Or lack 
thereof."
 
 
"Do we have to tell?"
 
 
"You don't mind people thinking that you're gay?"
 
 
"There's no lower level of exile for me, anyway," he 
replied. "And maybe the news will get to some of the more 
excitable women in Accounting."
 
 
"And you *want* that?"
 
 
"Sure, women who think you're gay find it easier to 
confide in you. And then when they find out that you're 
not, it makes them so happy, they'll do almost *anything.*" 
Leer. She sighed. She should have known.
 
 
"I don't know whether being a fag hag will be a real 
upgrade from sleeping with my partner."
 
 
"We can reveal the joke if you want, Scully. Whatever 
will make it easier on you." She saw the immediate sincerity 
in his eyes, the determination to protect her in any way he 
could.
 
 
"No, at least it'll help unify the Ice Queen image. It 
seems so unfair to be perceived as a frigid slut, but no one 
else seems to see the inconsistency there."
 
 
"Is it that bad?" he asked, face reflecting the guilt 
and concern he felt whenever he was convincing himself that 
he was bad for her.
 
 
"No, it's not. Not mostly. Just when I'm depressed 
anyway and then I hang around the real office jerks, 
who'd be saying I was sleeping with Skinner and probably 
Janet Reno if I *were* with some other, more popular 
division. And they just don't understand us, Mulder, and 
so I don't care." She said it simply, but she saw the 
powerful effect her words had. "I'm gonna go get a drink," 
she continued, giving him a chance to make the 
conversation lighter. "Want anything?"
 
 
"Iced tea, if they have it. This costume is hot."
 
 
"You have no idea," he thought he heard her mutter 
as she left. But it could have been wishful thinking. 
Conversations swirled around them with tipsy force, 
making hearing a matter of effort. He watched her 
retreating back. Well, not her back exactly. Her cape 
was a lot shorter than his.
 
 
"Agent Mulder?" Skinner's slightly incredulous 
voice dragged him away from the contemplation of his 
partner's body. Oops. Skinner had been following his 
fairly blatant stare.
 
 
"Sir?"
 
 
"Agent Mulder, your personal life is obviously your 
own, but I do need you to tell me that the *boy* you 
brought with you is over the age of consent. He doesn't 
even look old enough to *drive,* much less drink."
 
 
"Robin? Robin's definitely over the age of consent. 
Have no fear there, sir."
 
 
"And what fears should I have, Agent Mulder?"
 
 
"Well, sir, to be honest, Robin was just saying how 
sexy a Starfleet Captain you make." He would have thought 
that, short of rigor mortis, the AD couldn't get stiffer, 
but it happened. Maybe it was an X-file.
 
 
Sharon Skinner appeared at her husband's elbow, 
smiling at Mulder. "Fortunately, Robin doesn't share our 
universe, so I can't see him as a threat. How long have 
you and your friend been together, Agent Mulder?"
 
 
He grinned back at her. "A little over four years, 
now."
 
 
"You've been keeping him hidden."
 
 
"No more than Director Skinner kept you hidden. But of 
course the reasons for that are obvious." She blushed. Now 
steam was practically coming out of Skinner's ears. Mulder 
was *flirting* with her. Sure, some gay men did that 
deliberately, but Skinner knew about Phoebe Green. He 
wouldn't trust Mulder with a biped of any sex, much less his 
wife.
 
 
"*Your* date is returning," he ground out. Scully 
came up to the group and handed Mulder his iced tea, 
keeping the champagne for herself. "Where is Agent Scully?"
 
 
"I'm not her keeper," Mulder said lazily.. Scully 
wondered if he practiced insolence every morning, or was 
just a natural. She wouldn't put it past him to think up 
lines in advance for maximum irritation.
 
 
Sharon Skinner put her hand on her husband's arm. 
"Why don't we go look for her, dear?" she suggested. "This 
isn't good for your heart." Skinner allowed himself to be 
tugged away.
 
 
"What are we going to do when I have to talk?" Scully 
asked, standing beside him.
 
 
"In this noise it shouldn't be too hard. Pitch your 
voice low, growl a little, slur the words. You'd be 
surprised how far people's preconceptions will carry them."
 
 
Sure enough, the braver agents who came over to 
greet them didn't seem to sense anything out of the 
ordinary in Mulder's shy young date. In fact, several 
of their colleagues who sought them out were falling over 
themselves to thank Mulder for bringing a man to an 
official function, and seemed to be so pumped up by the 
information they were sharing about themselves thereby 
that they hardly gave Scully a second glance. In a lull, 
she told him, "Mulder, if I ever date outside the Bureau, 
remind me not to go to *his* professional functions or 
bring him to mine. I feel like I'm scenery, and not very 
interesting scenery at that."
 
 
"Scully, that was way too many openings even for me 
to take advantage of. But I'll start by saying that you 
make excellent scenery."
 
 
She snorted. Such an indelicate noise from such a 
delicate woman. "Look, we've been here well over an hour. 
Costume shown off, impression definitely made. Take me 
to Au Pied de Cochon and buy me a chocolate mousse and 
we'll call it a night."
 
 
"We could go over to Tracks," he named DC's best gay 
dance club, "and continue. Hundreds of gorgeous men, 
Scully, and if you just want to look without touching all 
you have to do is take off your costume." Whoops. That 
little image would keep him up a while tonight. "Or you 
could keep it on and get hit on to your heart's content."
 
 
"Mulder, whenever we go *anywhere* you get more passes 
than I do. And women are supposed to be less aggressive 
than men. Why would I want to go somewhere where you'd get 
all the men, too?"
 
 
He considered that. "Chocolate mousse?"
 
 
"Not ten minutes away, walking. We could leave the car 
in the hotel lot and get it later. They have lots of things 
with cheese and ham too if you want to make a really full-
fledged assault on your arteries."
 
 
"Deal. But one last thing before we go."
 
 
"What?"
 
 
With a flourish of his cape, he swept her into his 
arms. The dramatic motion drew plenty of attention, as he'd 
intended. "Mulder!" she squeaked. Damn, she hated to sound 
shaken. But she had more pressing concerns. Literally, as he 
brought his lips to hers in a body-liquefying kiss.
 
 
When he released her, she had to focus all her 
available attention on breathing. And on resisting the urge 
to rip all that . . . sexy . . . rubber off and jump on him 
like Det. White. 
 
 
It was some satisfaction that he was panting too. 
"Needed a good reason to leave," he said raggedly, looking 
at her with dilated eyes. He wasn't paying any attention 
to the crowd for whose benefit he'd supposedly done this. 
 
 
"Let's get out of here." She whirled and stalked toward 
the main doors, clearing a path by sheer willpower -- short 
people have to get good at that -- trying to think about 
chocolate mousse. Then about dissections. Then about bile. 
That one nearly worked.
 
 
He caught up with her outside the hotel as she 
reoriented herself and turned toward Wisconsin Avenue. "What 
am I going to do if someone asks me about tonight, Mulder?" 
she asked, looking straight ahead.
 
 
He shrugged. "Deny everything." They walked together, 
automatically in step, garnering not a few shouted 
compliments from passing cars. "That's my plan for 
explaining tonight."
 
 
She allowed herself a knowing glance at him, pursing 
her mouth in rueful acknowledgment of the wisdom of his 
course. "Indubitably correct, Mulder . . . for once," she 
told him. "But you still owe me a favor of my choice. Sit 
and squirm, partner, because I plan to have a *great* time 
when I decide to collect."
 
 
"I guarantee, Scully, that I'll be squirming when I 
think of you."
 
 
She pulled a face. Always had to have the last line. 
Oh well, at least he was going to pay for the mousse. "So, 
I don't suppose I get to call you 'Batty' from now on?" She 
darted away from his attempted poke. "'Bats?' One animal to 
another . . ." and she started to run, laughing. She might 
just let him chase her until she caught him.
 
 
END
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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