Title: LITTLE GREEN WOMEN
Author: Jean Robinson (jeanrobinson@yahoo.com)
Disclaimer: Characters from the X-Files are the property 
of Ten Thirteen Productions and the Fox Television 
Network. All others are the property of the author. No 
infringement is intended.
Rating: PG-13
Classification: S
Archive: Please ask permission.
Spoilers: Up through "Tithonus"
Summary: Scully's undercover assignment poses 
unexpected challenges.
Feedback: Gratefully appreciated at 
jeanrobinson@yahoo.com
Author's notes at the end
*****************************


LITTLE GREEN WOMEN
By Jean Robinson


Walter Skinner had never before felt the need to use his 
desk as a barricade quite so keenly. In his FBI career, 
he'd faced down agitated agents, cynical Congress 
members and supercilious shadow figures representing a 
covert power bloc whose scope and purpose still eluded 
him.

They all paled in comparison to the pair sitting before 
him now. Special Agent Dana Scully, who managed to sit 
perfectly straight and perfectly still without any apparent 
effort, and Special Agent Fox Mulder, whose fidgeting 
increased with each sentence Skinner uttered. It 
wouldn't be long, Skinner knew, before Mulder's internal 
restraint dam breached and he launched into a verbal 
flood of protest at the latest assignment.

Or lack thereof. For him, anyway.

But Mulder, for all his size and vitality, was more easily 
contained than he realized. No, Skinner wasn't mentally 
blessing the protective expanse of solid oak separating 
him from these two on account of what he feared from 
Mulder.

Scully, on the other hand, was another matter entirely.

Small, quiet, politely deferential Scully, so easily and 
frequently overlooked by everyone, was a time bomb 
waiting to blow. Skinner sometimes wondered if he was 
the only one who sensed this.

And the news he had was certainly incendiary enough to 
light the fuse.
________________________

Scully sat motionless in her chair, with one thought 
repeating itself inside her head. Don't react, don't react, 
don't react, don't react.

But it was so hard. Skinner was dancing around the 
details of the case, clearly delaying something terrible. 
The longer he rambled about the need to prevent, the 
need to protect, the need to maintain the semblance of 
order and calm in some upstate New York town, the more 
she wanted to scream with frustration.

It was somewhat comforting to know she wouldn't have 
to. Any second now, Mulder was going to do it for her.

". . .and so, Agent Scully, you were picked for this 
assignment."

Finally. The crux of the matter. She allowed her hands to 
relax from their clasped position to rest on her thighs. 
"What assignment would that be, sir?"

"The Seven Lakes Girl Scout Council and the Tompkins 
County Sheriff's department have requested assistance. 
There have been a number of. . . incidents. . . at the local 
Girl Scout camp. It's used frequently in the spring for 
weekend troop camping, and they want to stop this 
before it goes any further."

"What kind of incidents, sir?" She was pleased that she 
could still sound so calm. After the alarmingly lengthy 
build-up, the case was starting to sound silly. Maybe 
Skinner's reticence was due to sheer embarrassment at 
having to waste FBI resources on the cookie patrol.

"Animal mutilations."

Or maybe not. She blinked; of all the things she had 
been expecting her superior to say, that had been 
farthest from her mind.

Skinner continued. "The camp ranger thought the first 
few were simple animal attacks, because the victims were 
small. Squirrels, chipmunks, rabbits. But the last three 
were much larger and the mutilations more precise, and 
can't be explained away by assertions of roving dog packs 
or marauding mountain lions. A gutted deer, a 
decapitated moose, and an eviscerated black bear. It's all 
in the report." He slid the folder across the desk to her. 
"The corpses were all left on the grounds of the camp, 
each one in closer proximity to the main camp area than 
the last."

"The killer is escalating." Mulder spoke for the first time.

"Yes, that is the general assumption. So far they've 
managed to keep it out of the papers, but with the 
camping season heading into full swing, they're 
understandably worried. They've asked for a pair of 
agents to go with the next troop scheduled to use the 
camp."

Scully blinked again. "They're still sending children up 
there? Surely that's unwise, sir."

Skinner looked away briefly. "As you'll read, the 
mutilations have appeared throughout the winter in 
three-week time spans. The bear was found just last 
weekend. So far they have no reason to believe any 
children will be harmed, and there is still a two-week 
margin for error."

"Is that the press release you plan to issue if some little 
girl disappears?" Mulder asked. His words were soft, but 
his eyes were not.

"Agent Mulder, you are here as a courtesy only," Skinner 
said sharply. "Agent Scully will be temporarily assigned 
another partner for this case."

Her gaze was still locked on Skinner, but Scully sensed 
Mulder stiffening beside her. It was an automatic 
reaction borne of his memories of another New York case 
with another temporary partner, one Peyton Ritter.

Sweet, but annoying. She had been meaning to talk to 
him about it, but other things kept getting in the way.

Skinner was speaking again, and Scully forced herself to 
pay attention. "Agent Mulder, surely even you can see 
why this case needs to be handled by two female agents. 
It would hardly be appropriate to send you out to spend 
a weekend with a group of eight-year-old girls."

"The Girl Scouts permit male troop leaders," Mulder 
argued right back.

Scully suppressed the urge to inquire exactly how he'd 
come by this information.

"Whether or not they allow them is immaterial. They are 
not commonplace. Your presence would immediately 
compromise the undercover situation. Agent Scully will 
be paired with an available, experienced female agent."

"Who?" Mulder demanded belligerently before Scully 
could voice the question herself in a more tactful 
manner. He sounded as if his approval would be required 
before he'd let his partner out of his sight.

Skinner hesitated a beat, laying his hands flat on the 
desk. Scully realized she'd never seen the man look quite 
this uncomfortable before, and sudden dread gripped 
her.

"Agent Diana Fowley."
________________________

"You don't have to go."

"Yes, I do."

"Tell Skinner to send someone else."

"Mulder, I'm fine. I'm leaving in the morning, and I'll be 
back on Sunday evening. After all the times you've 
ditched me, don't tell me you can't survive without me for 
three days."

She did not want to be having this conversation with 
him. Not now, not ever. She could tell exactly where it 
was headed, and she cast about frantically for a way to 
divert Mulder before he reached the point of no return.

Too late. Everything about the case was laden with 
landmines, and her partner seemed determined to step 
on every one, heedless of how many explosions he was 
setting off inside her.

"Scully, I know how you feel about Diana. There's a 
dozen other female agents who would be perfectly 
capable to assist you. All you have to do is ask. Skinner 
put you in charge."

Boom! Detonation 1. Diana Fowley.

Yes, Skinner had indeed assured her in Diana's presence 
who would be calling the shots for this case. But while 
his words at that subsequent briefing confirmed it, his 
expression betrayed him. She was quite certain Skinner 
had changed his mind mid-sentence as he said, "The 
ASAC will be Agent Scully."

She didn't trust Diana to watch her back, not in the way 
she was accustomed to trusting Mulder. And the last 
time she had a partner she didn't trust, it had cost her a 
painful week in the hospital and a scar that still ached 
when it rained.

The National Weather Service was predicting 
thunderstorms for the entire upstate New York area for 
the weekend. Just in case she didn't have enough to 
worry about.

If she pressured Skinner, he would put Fowley in charge, 
and that would be unbearable. Better to keep the woman 
in direct view and under her direct authority than to risk 
putting herself in a vulnerable position.

"You'll be spending a weekend living with fifteen small 
girls."

Ka-pow! Detonation 2. Emily.

A little over a year ago, she'd had a brief few hours to 
contemplate the joys of sharing such simple little girl 
milestones as Girl Scout badges and summer camp with 
her own child.

Now she was being asked to protect some little girls who 
were not and would never be Emily as they went through 
their own passages of childhood. How could he think she 
wasn't ready and willing to do this?

"I can give you some help with the profile, but I'm limited 
with what I can do from here. It would be easier if I was 
on the scene."

Bang! Detonation 3. You'll mess this up without me.

It was number 3, the Big Bang, so to speak, that finally 
sparked a response. "Mulder, I may not have your 
profiling background, but I am fully qualified to handle 
serial murderers, ritual mutilators, and cult activities. I 
did attend the same classes you did at Quantico. We are 
probably looking for a white male, age 25 to 40, above 
average intelligence, with a history of childhood animal 
abuse and possibly a hatred of women. Does that sound 
remotely correct, or do you need to interject some other 
pearls of wisdom that I've neglected in my hurried and 
amateurish assessment of our suspect?"

He flinched back, obviously startled by the bitterness she 
had allowed to escape for once. His whole expression 
changed from concerned to bewildered in a heartbeat; 
she rarely turned the sharp side of her tongue on him.

"I'm sorry." He apparently decided that contrition was 
called for. "I didn't mean to imply that you couldn't write 
a complete profile."

But you did, she thought sadly. That's the problem. You 
did mean it. It's time for you to go, Mulder, before either 
of us says something else we'll both regret. Aloud she 
said gently, "I have to finish packing," in the vain hope 
that he would take the hint for once and leave.

No such luck. Instead of mumbling an excuse and 
turning for the door, he stepped in between her and the 
open suitcase on her bed. Scully sighed and stood still, 
closing her eyes. "Mulder, please. I'm tired. I want to get 
to bed."

He reached out and took the socks whose journey to the 
L.L. Bean luggage he'd interrupted from her fists. "So 
let's go to bed, Scully," he said quietly.

And she let him draw her to him, let him ease her down 
on the bed next to the suitcase, and let him erase the ill 
feeling and the anger and the unresolved issues of trust.

For now.
________________________

Thirty-two curious eyes fixated on them the minute they 
pulled up in the rental car. The tallest owner of one pair 
detached herself from the crowd of small bodies and 
came over to greet them. "Welcome to Camp Comstock," 
she said nervously. "I'm Shirley Cherry, the leader of 
Brownie Troop 14."

Scully held out her hand and performed the 
introductions. "Special Agent Dana Scully. This is Special 
Agent Diana Fowley."

"I'm glad you're here. I almost called off the weekend, but 
the girls were looking forward to it so much. It's their 
first camping trip." Shirley ran one hand distractedly 
through her short brown hair. "What would you like 
them to call you?"

"Dana and Diana will be fine." They'd discussed this on 
the two flights up to the Finger Lakes area. It was one of 
the few things they'd agreed upon.

"Girls!" Shirley clapped her hands and the group scurried 
over as one, like a herd of tiny ponies. "Remember I told 
you that we had a surprise? Well, we have some guests 
to help us this weekend, because Mrs. Patton and Mrs. 
Roberts couldn't come. This is Dana, and Diana. Now, 
what do you say to them?"

"Thank you!" The well-rehearsed chorus made both 
agents smile.

"Who wants to take our guests to the campsite?"

"Me! Me!" Little voices yelled for recognition, little hands 
clutched at theirs and tugged them away.

"How are we going to remember all their names?" Diana 
murmured quietly.

Scully didn't answer. Get a grip, she told herself firmly. 
Get a grip. She refused to admit Mulder might have been 
right about her lack of emotional readiness for this task. 
At least three of the girls reminded her strongly of Emily, 
and another two bore an unexpectedly distressing 
resemblance to Missy. Keep smiling, she thought, just 
keep smiling and it will all be over soon.

Learning their names turned out to be easier than either 
one had expected. There were two Nicoles, two Jennifers, 
three Caitlyns and three Jessicas, along with Kristen, 
Amanda, Stephanie, Megan and Sara to round out the 
bunch.

"What were you doing before we got here?" Scully asked. 
They were seated in the covered outdoor shelter at the 
campsite, and the picnic tables were littered with string, 
sticks, misshapen lumps of styrofoam, fabric scraps and 
nuts of all shapes and sizes.

"Making Mr. Peanut marionettes!" Nicole 1, who 
thankfully answered to Nikki, piped up. She lifted a 
handful of twine and twigs that suddenly coalesced into a 
crude Pinocchio-type puppet, and danced it clumsily 
across the tabletop.

"Girls, why don't you pick up where you were while I talk 
to Dana and Diana," Shirley said, and incredibly, fifteen 
small heads bent to their tasks.

The three adults walked out of earshot into the sunshine. 
"I'm not very crafty," Shirley confessed. "Colleen Patton - 
Megan's mother - is the clever one. But the girls don't 
seem to mind. You can't imagine how thrilled they are to 
be here. It's all we've planned through the winter. And 
then when the Council told us about the animals. . . well, 
I was sure they'd close the place and reschedule 
everything."

"That may still happen," Scully warned cautiously. "We're 
here to make sure the girls are safe, but if we see 
something we don't like, we're evacuating you."

"I'd like to talk to the ranger," Diana added. "Where can I 
find him?"

Scully stifled a flash of irritation as Shirley directed her 
partner to the camp ranger's cabin. She'd originally 
intended to be present for the ranger's interrogation; the 
man was a potential suspect, albeit an unlikely one. But 
she could hardly run after Diana now.

"Dana! Dana come look!" It was one of the Jennifers; 
unfortunately both of them preferred Jennifer to Jen or 
Jenny.

Of course it was the Jennifer with long wavy reddish-
brown hair and big blue-green eyes. Not to be confused 
with Megan, who wasn't related in any way but could 
have been her twin.

Or Melissa's.

Scully shook away the upsetting memories and went 
back into the shelter to help shave styrofoam blocks into 
body-shaped blobs, paste on burlap and felt clothes and 
thread string for legs. And smiled.
________________________

Nikki, Caitlyn 1, Amanda and Sara had been dispatched 
to bring their bags to the platform tent designated for 
their use. Scully was less than pleased with its location; 
the tents formed a rough semicircle around the open 
campfire pit in the middle of the site, with the shelter 
forming the other edge of the circle. Their tent was in the 
middle of the lineup, and they couldn't see all the other 
tents from its vantage point.

Diana unrolled a sleeping bag on the camp cot. "You can 
cross off Bill Burroughs as a suspect. He's beyond the 
age range and he's got well-documented alibis for more 
than half the mutilations."

The previously sunny sky had turned threatening shortly 
after their arrival, and now thunder rumbled ominously 
in the distance.

Scully glanced up at the clouds, feeling vaguely uneasy 
for reasons she couldn't pinpoint.

Diana said, "Looks like we'll have to hurry if we want to 
cook dinner over an open fire."

"Hmm?"

"I said, it looks like we'll have to hurry. . ."

"Where's the case file?" Scully interrupted abruptly.

"What's wrong?"

"The case file! Where did you put it?"

"Here." Diana sounded off-balance for once, as if Scully's 
sudden mood shift unnerved her.

Scully scanned it quickly, looking for the link. It had to 
be there. 

It was.

"What is it?"

Scully snapped the folder closed. "It's not the time frame 
that's significant. The three-week intervals were a 
complete coincidence. It's the weather."

"The weather? What are you talking about?"

"Before each mutilation, there was a meteorological 
disturbance. A snowstorm, an ice storm, a hail storm, a 
rain storm, a wind storm. He's not going by dates. His 
urges are triggered by significant changes in atmospheric 
pressure caused by the weather, and we have to get 
these kids out of here =right now=."

The thunder muttered again, louder this time, 
accompanied by a brisk breeze that slapped the 
overhanging tree branches into the canvas roof of the 
tent.

"No."

For an instant, Scully was certain she'd misheard the 
dark-haired woman. Was sure that her ears were playing 
tricks on her, that the storm outside was interfering with 
her hearing in some paranormal way only Mulder could 
explain.

"=What= did you say?"

"I said no, Dana."

She sounded so utterly calm, so completely sane, her 
denial delivered in such a positively neutral manner that 
Scully almost found herself giving in.

Almost.

"The matter is not up for debate, Agent Fowley," she said 
coolly. Two could play the game of ultra-rational; her 
rival was about to find out exactly how much practice 
Scully had had at being the composed voice of reason 
through association with Mulder.

Diana plowed on in a placating manner, as if speaking to 
an errant child. "The veterinarian who examined the 
animals couldn't determine an exact time or date of 
death. They could have been killed days before or days 
after any storm system, but their discoveries were still 
calculated to follow a premeditated pattern of time."

This time there was a visible flash of lightning, followed 
by an even louder growl of thunder. Dimly Scully could 
hear muffled squeals from some of the girls gathered in 
one of the farther tents playing a complicated card game. 
Shirley shouted something reassuring to them from her 
place in the shelter, where the rest of the group had 
cleared away the marionette debris and started dinner 
preparations.

Diana was still talking. "There is no evidence to support 
your theory about the weather being a factor in the 
mutilations, and plenty to support the fact that the killer 
sees some significance in a twenty-one day time frame."

Is this how Mulder feels? Scully suddenly wondered. Is 
this how I sound to him all the time, when he tells me he 
just 'knows' something and I tell him he's grasping at 
straws?

Are there times that he wants to shake me until I 
believe?

I don't have any evidence.

I don't care. I'm right. I know I am.

If we stay here, something terrible is going to happen to 
Nikki, the Jennifers, Amanda, Megan and all the others.

I couldn't save Emily. I couldn't save Melissa. But I can 
save these girls. I have to.

She moved without conscious thought and grabbed 
Diana by one wrist, propelling her to a seated position on 
her cot. Leaning over her, still gripping the taller agent's 
arm with bruising force to hold her down, Scully bit out 
the words. "We are leaving. All of us. Right now. This is 
my decision, and there will be no further discussion 
about it. Are we clear, Agent?"

A vivid flash, a tremendous crack, and the skies opened. 
Screaming children fled from the corner tent, some 
angling for the shelter, others running for the tent 
housing Scully and Fowley's Mexican standoff.

Slowly, Diana nodded. "We're clear. Agent."

"Good." Scully released her and turned in time to catch 
four small bodies as they barreled up the tent stairs.

"Dana! Dana!"

"Shh. It's okay, Jennifer. It's just a storm. Come on, let's 
go get your raincoats and go down to the shelter." She 
looked over her shoulder. "Diana, why don't you take 
Amanda and Sara and go explain to Shirley what we'll be 
doing while I take Jennifer and Megan to get their 
jackets."

Fowley nodded slowly again. "All right. Come on, girls, 
we'll make a run for it." She held out her hands and they 
dashed across the campsite to the shelter.

"Dana, I'm scared," wept Jennifer. "I don't like 
thunderstorms!" Next to her, Megan was trying to 
maintain a brave front, but her chin was wobbling, too.

Scully knelt down and hugged them both. "I know, 
honey. I don't like them, either. As soon as we get all 
your coats, we're going to get out of the storm. I 
promise."
________________________

Between their rental car, Shirley's mini-van and Bill 
Burroughs' camp van, Brownie Troop 14 was transported 
to the Tompkins County Sheriff's office for an impromptu 
pizza party and sleepover in the jail.

While two female officers entertained the shortest set of 
criminals ever to grace the cells with Shirley, Scully, 
Fowley, Burroughs and the county sheriff returned to 
Camp Comstock amid the torrential rain and crashing 
thunder.

They found him in the middle of the previously occupied 
campsite, standing in the firepit with confusion on his 
face and a large hunting knife in his hand. He 
surrendered without fuss, seemingly more disturbed at 
how the children could have gotten away than at what 
was now going to happen to him.

He was nobody special. A 27-year-old white male 
graduate student from the local university. He signed a 
full confession and was spirited away to another holding 
facility for the night.

Troop 14 was allowed to return to Camp Comstock the 
following morning. Diana Fowley requested and received 
permission from her ASAC to return to Washington 
immediately.

The ASAC stayed on to complete the camping trip with 
Troop 14. They took a nature hike through the dripping 
woods, put on a show with the Mr. Peanut marionettes 
as the last of the storm clouds blew out, dined on 
campfire stew, sang repeating songs and ate s'mores 
around the campfire, and listened as Scully pointed out 
the constellations in the clear nighttime sky before bed.

Jennifer 1 and Nikki asked if they could sleep in her tent, 
since Diana had left and they didn't want her to be alone 
in case she got scared. Scully smiled and told them that 
would be fine.

Fifteen little bodies clustered around her in a group hug 
on Sunday, promising to write and visit and making her 
swear to do the same. Someone - she thought it was 
Megan - pressed one of the puppets into her hands.

Mulder met her at the airport; she allowed him to drive 
her home and he listened dispassionately as she 
recounted the events of the last seventy-two hours for 
him. If he'd already heard a version of the story from 
Diana, he didn't mention it. He dropped her off at her 
apartment and didn't ask to come in, settling for a gentle 
squeeze of her hand and a warm smile.

She unpacked and got ready for bed. When she lay down, 
the tears finally came.

End

Author's notes: The elements I received to include in this 
Improv were: a thunderstorm, Scully undercover as a 
Girl Scout troop leader, a Mr. Peanut marionette, Scully 
having sex, and Scully kicking Diana Fowley's butt. My 
eternal thanks to Jill, who told me I could and treated me 
with the patience of a saint (a real one, not a paper one) 
while I did; Marguerite, who initially told me I should; 
and my brother, who knows nothing about the X-Files 
but reads my stuff and loves me anyway.

Feedback gratefully appreciated at 
jeanrobinson@yahoo.com