Chapter Text
Mulder straightened his tie as he pushed open the door to A.D. Skinner’s office. He’d been called up from the basement, a typical event of late as the Assistant Director had gotten increasingly involved with the X-Files. In recent weeks, Mulder had been called in to discuss reducing budgetary costs, finding a new partner, and shifting his department's focus toward more traditional solvable crimes.
Nonetheless, Mulder liked his boss. He was a reasonable man and fair. He’d saved Mulder’s life several times and wasn’t afraid to get his suit dirty on occasion. After two years under Blevins (a grumpy pawn in the Bureau), Mulder had been all too happy to accept the leadership shift three years ago. Still, he wouldn’t mind if Skinner took an occasional break from busting his balls.
Smoke billowed off a half-puffed cigarette in an ashtray near the corner of the room; Skinner didn’t smoke. Someone else had just been in here—Mulder knew Skinner had many confidential contacts—Mulder had several himself, and they knew not to ask each other about them.
“Agent Mulder, have a seat.”
“Thank you, sir. How can I be of assistance?”
Skinner sat back in his chair, his gaze shifting to the ceiling. He seemed a bit put off, uneasy as he wrestled with his thoughts.
“I have a case for you. It’s undercover.”
“Okay. Jerry going too?” Mulder asked.
“No,” Skinner smirked.
Jerry had been assigned to the X-Files years ago, and although he and Mulder were civil, their working relationship was no partnership. Jerry had no interest in the unknown and spent most of his time sniffing around the fifth floor for promotions and conquests. Skinner told Mulder he would reassign Jerry eventually, but not until Mulder found a suitable replacement. Mulder hoped that if he stalled long enough, Skinner would just give up and let him fly solo—he’d always worked better that way.
“Let’s go for a walk, Agent.”
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On the Capitol Mall, Mulder was almost knocked over as a brush of kids on their middle school Washington D.C. trip flew by. He smiled at their innocence.
“Sir, is what we need to discuss that sensitive? Or were you just wanting some air?”
“Very sensitive, Mulder. I assume you are familiar with Surtelle?”
“Yes, sir. The research lab.” Surtelle, Incorporated was a private non-profit applied science and technology development company just outside of Albany, New York. It was the type of place that traded in secrets and deceptions. For decades, rumors had swirled the American public—stories of chemical, nuclear, and biological weapons research and manufacturing. They hired the world’s brightest scientists and paid them handsomely to do— well, Mulder wasn’t entirely sure what they did inside the gated walls. He’d heard stories that even the janitors had to sign confidentiality agreements to work there and that the Science staff had to sign them before securing an interview.
“There have been two murders on premises, with evidence to suggest more are imminent,” Skinner said, gazing into the distance.
“I haven’t heard anything about that in the press.”
“No,” Skinner shifted Mulder away from a couple posing for a photo with the Washington Monument in the background.
“You wouldn’t have any way of knowing. They're covering it up.”
“Who is they ?”
“We don’t exactly know. The Board of Directors, maybe. Or the management at the facility.”
“So, how do I fit in here, sir?”
“I need you to go undercover. This request comes from way above me, Agent Mulder. This assignment is highly confidential and requires the utmost discretion—don’t talk to anyone else at the Bureau about it.”
Mulder nodded.
“Arrangements have been made. You start there on Monday as a janitor. I hope that will give you access to most of the facility.”
“Okay, sir.”
"The way it's been arranged, you won't be a new employee. People will just assume they haven't seen you before. You'll need to act like you know what you're doing."
"Got it," Mulder nodded.
“Head to Albany tonight. I have a folder with credentials and identification as well as a janitor’s uniform in my office safe; the motel is arranged too.”
“Yes, sir.”
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Mulder packed his duffel bag—unsure of how long he’d be on this case but somewhat elated to have a break from wearing suits. He jammed in several pairs of underwear, t-shirts, and jeans, running clothes, toiletries, and his new identification and credentials.
Matt Smith , a janitor, had bypassed the screening process thanks to some discrete hacking by someone—Skinner hadn’t divulged who.
He called the Gunmen and told them he’d be gone for a while; they agreed to feed his fish. He made his monthly call to his mom and hit the road.
About seven hours later, he pulled into the Albany motel in the F.B.I.-issued sedan registered under his alias. He was set.
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During his first two days at ‘work,’ he tried his best to blend in among the two hundred or so employees. The successful hacking had Matt Smith appear, in the system, to be a longtime janitor, allowing him to bypass any training or undue attention. Skinner had given him a crude map, and he decided to spend the first few days navigating around the large facility while sweeping and emptying trash cans.
He took discrete notes about what and who he saw: labs dedicated to chemical testing, labs that required a biohazard suit, a nuclear lab, and a physics section. Scientists and technicians draped in white coasts worked busily inside all of these spaces.
There was also plenty of security. Several gates had to be passed just to see the facility, all hidden behind rows and rows of trees and foliage. Mulder figured the locals had no idea this place was even here.
The guard shacks at each gate were always manned by at least two of the ‘tuxedo twerps.’ That’s what Mulder called the security team; even though they didn’t wear tuxedos, they did wear head-to-toe black suits, and all had visible earwigs and walkie-talkies. Not to mention their holstered guns and tasers. They were everywhere, constantly roaming the halls and labs.
Whenever a tuxedo twerp saw him, he smiled nonchalantly but mostly tried to avoid them altogether.
He had less of an issue avoiding the various scientists and lab technicians; they paid him no mind whatsoever. He wasn’t sure if they ignored him because he was the janitor or because they were in the weeds of whatever cutting-edge, potentially dangerous research they were doing.
He was trying to meander into new spaces each day, and today—his fifth day—he pushed the door open to the physics lab. Loads of equipment that Mulder vaguely recognized lined the space; several technicians were working at computer screens in the center. He heard a woman speaking just out of his line of sight.
“Let’s re-calibrate the scales, please.”
“Yes, Dr. Silver. I’m on it,” a technician just a few feet from Mulder said.
Mulder crossed to empty an adjacent trash can and ran right into the mystery woman, who was moving in the opposite direction.
“Oh!” he said, catching her as he almost knocked her down, realizing he was roughly double her weight and probably a good foot taller. Despite her petite stature, the woman—this Dr. Silver—looked intimidating in her lab coat. She was also striking with a flock of red hair skating along her shoulders and piercing blue eyes looking at him with a shocked gaze.
“Sorry, I—” she said.
“It’s my fault, Doctor.”
“It’s okay…Matt,” she said, reading his name badge. She patted his arm gently as he let her go.