Date sent: Sat, 01 Nov 1997 21:51:33 +0800 From: "P.Daza" Subject: He Must Be Quite A Guy (1/1) Title: He Must Be Quite A Guy (1/1) Author: Penny Daza (majick@webquest.com) DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, The X-Files and all its characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and Fox Network. We are NOT making any money out of this experience. In summary, No copyright infringiment is intended. These characters I've written about also belong to David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson, who gave them life, who gave them soul. Rating: G Classification: V, H Spoilers: None Summary : It's amazing what some people tell their barbers. And what they forget to tell them too. ARCHIVE anywhere. Retain author's e-mail addy. HE MUST BE QUITE A GUY (1/1) X x X x X x X x A magazine is tucked under his arm as he smiles at me and takes off his sunglasses. He sits himself in his usual chair and asks me how's business doing, and like always I say, "I can't complain." Mr. FBI's name is Mulder, a regular of mine for almost six years, although he'd been coming here for almost two before he told me. Nice guy, this agent Mulder. He never used to talk, except to tell me what he wanted done with his hair, then shut up and read his magazine till I finished. One time he was paying for his haircut, I caught a glimpse of his wallet and BOOM! That's when I found out he was FBI. I thought to myself, well, next time I'll have something to talk to him about. It can get boring just cutting cutting cutting the whole time without talking. Call me pushy, sure. I don't mind. Hey, it's true! So the next Saturday comes along, and in he walks. I put the barber's cape over him and there he goes again, just about to open his magazine. The last 8 months he stopped talking altogether, because by then I knew what he wanted done, like he'd lost his tongue or something in the line of duty. So before he can open up his kooky magazine - one with men from outer space on the cover - I ask him, "How's it like working in the FBI?" He tilted his head to one side and looked at my reflection in the mirror, as though he wasn't sure he heard me right before answering. "I can't complain." We became buddies after he said that, when the laughter subsided. He'd fished his hand out from under the cape and offered it to me. "Mulder," he said. "Tommy." I answered back. Talking was a lot easier from then on. There are things Mulder doesn't like talking about. You can tell what a person doesn't like talking about when he doesn't ask you about that particular aspect of your life. I can tell he doesn't like talking about family. I can also tell he doesn't like much talking about work or his lovelife, so I never ask. I figure, work he doesn't wanna talk about because all that FBI stuff must be top secret or something. He don't like talking about family because he's either too far from them, or not close to them, or comes from a broken home. He don't like talking about his lovelife to a sixty-year old fart like myself, so I never ask. Instead, we talk about sports. Baseball, basketball, football. Mulder's a walking sports encyclopedia, he's made some waves for himself in my little shop. I've heard this guy talk to doctors, lawyers, kindergarten teachers, shrinks and electricians. It don't matter what they are, Mulder always knows something about anything they wanna talk about. One day I'm giving him a haircut and his cell phone rings. He reaches for it on the counter and answers, "Mulder." Jeez.this guy can't say hello like a normal person. "Yeah, Scully. What's up?" Snip, snip. "Right. I'm on my way." Snip. He stands suddenly, his hair still long on one side and shrugs off the cape. "Be back in a while, Tommy. Work calls." I'm sitting there holding my comb and scissors about to tell him he looks like a hippie on one side, and a Fed on the other but don't get to. Those long legs of him fly out the door before I get even half a chance. So anyways, Mulder does come back, but it's closing time. He grins at me through the window and mouths that he'll be back tomorrow instead. I give him a little salute and sure enough, the following day, he's standing outside as I open my doors. He gets back into his chair and lets me finish my business. Snip. "So who's this Scully character who can send you flyin' outta my shop? Co-worker?" I ask. He grins, and puts the magazine he was about to open down on the counter. "Yep. My partner." "FBI too, huh?" His grin gets wider. "Yeah. And a doctor too." "Whoa! How'd that happen? Must be pretty tough." "Yeah, I'm sure it was. Med school, then Quantico. And now," all of a sudden his voice gets really low so I don't hear the rest of it. "Wha'd you say again? That last part?" "Nothing, nothing." I'm thinking to myself that it WOULD take a medical doctor to keep up with Mulder. The kid's too smart to handle it all on his own, and that explains why I've seen him black and blue with the neatest bandages you could ever hope for on a wound. His partner's a doctor. Explains a lot, if you think about it. All that medical jargon he knows. It's all french to me, but Mulder - you could pass him off as a brain surgeon at a convention. "So you and your partner - how long you been partners?" Snip, snip. "Almost five years." I nod my head and purse my lips. "And I bet," I say, as I lean against his chair and wave my scissors around, "you two trust each other like nothin' in the universe can ever measure up to, huh? Like more than you'd trust your own mother." Mulder looks down at his cape, then back at my reflection. "Something like that." I start cutting his hair again, feeling proud of myself for putting that together. "So you two have saved each other's necks a lot, huh? I mean, five years - lotta things happen in five years, know what I mean?" He laughs. The first time I've ever seen him laugh. He's always a sullen kinda guy. Usually, he grins a lot, but he never laughs. "Scully's saved my neck a helluva lot more times than vice versa." "And that's because of the doctor thing too, right?" He nods. "Right. Aside from other things." "Such as what things?" I ask him. Snip, snip. "Scully keeps me together, but it can drive you nuts too. Imagine someone second-guessing you at every turn, but willing to listen to your bullshit and put up with you in the long run." Snip, snip. I don't say anything. I know that if I keep my mouth shut, the kid'll get some things off his chest. "And then there's those looks that tell you 'You're losing it pal,'" he laughs. "But there's never a doubt in your head who to call when you've been shot, maimed, tranquilized, or lied to. Because you know who to trust. You know who'll listen. You know who's going to take care of you. You know who's there when it counts the most." I put my comb down, and pick up the brush, sweeping it across his shoulders. A snip here and a snip there and Mulder's done. He takes the barber's apron off himself, like he always does and stands up. I hand him the brush like I always do and he brushes himself while looking at the sides of his head. "Sounds like what I'm in!" "What do you mean?" "I got a partner like that too." "Who?!" he asks. I laugh hard. "My wife!" Mulder smiles and looks off into the distance. For a second, he looks like he's thinking about something real deep, then shakes it off and looks at the mirror again. Those dang sideburns of his are finally doing what I've been making them do, and he fishes his wallet out and hands me a twenty. "Thanks, Tommy. Good job as usual." He walks out, tucking his wallet back into his coat. Mulder's a nice fella. If only my daughter weren't happily married, I would've set them up. He'd make a good husband one day to someone special. I gotta ask him next time if he's got someone to come home to at night. I'm cleaning up when he comes running back the second I figure out why. He left his cell phone on the counter. He grins sheepishly as he picks it up and says, "Scully'll kill me if I lose this thing." I give him a whack on the back. "Get outta here, Mr. Bigshot-FBI!! Do something constructive with my tax dollars, and shoot a couple of bad guys for me!" He shakes his head and chuckles. "See you around, Tommy." Then he walks out the door, checking the cell phone before tucking it into his jacket too. I watch him and think, "Whoever that Scully character is, he sounds like one helluva guy." X x X x X x X THE END