Chapter Text
Although assigned to the X-Files for several months now, Diana Fowley hadn’t actually gotten around to investigating any of them–a fact that no one at the FBI seemed particularly concerned about. Most of the time she “worked from home” and no one said a word. Occasionally she was asked to come in and make an appearance, though she had a feeling these requests had little to do with her competence as an agent.
No, she was called in when her ex-boyfriend and his partner seemed too chummy. Standing a little too close at the water cooler? Smiling for more than two seconds? The horror. Better call Diana. For some unknown reason, a shadowy cabal of old white men were hellbent on keeping Fox Mulder and Dana Scully from having a sexual or romantic relationship.
Even more ridiculous, in Diana’s personal opinion, Dana Scully falls for the teeniest, tiniest provocations every single time without fail. Diana strolls in, drops a “Fox” or brushes her hand against his arm for a second too long, and suddenly it’s Trouble In Paradise for literal days.
While Diana appreciated how easy this made her job, it troubled her on other levels. For one thing, her talents were being terribly underused. How was she going to prove her worth if she didn’t even get to do anything? For all her flirtations, she hadn’t actually made much progress with Fox. He seemed… distracted.
Then there were the monthly Syndicate staff meetings, which always proved tedious and even embarrassing at times. When it was her turn to give an update, she would stand up and say something like, “Agent Spender and I remain the agents assigned to the X-Files. Agents Mulder and Scully are currently performing routine background checks and should be considered neutralized.”
She would then take her seat and hope against hope that everyone would leave it at that–but of course they never did. The follow up questions and comments always rolled in, each one testing her patience more than the last.
“Why don’t we just kill them?”
“Wasn’t there concern of inciting a crusade?"
“I thought we decided to kill the redhead last year.”
“I think we should just let them screw.”
Diana would have loved to be in charge in these moments. It would be so simple. “Yes, we probably should just kill them. No, there’s no chance of an army of conspiracy nerds rising up to avenge their deaths. Yes, we certainly did agree to kill the redhead. Multiple times, in fact. She was supposed to be the sacrificial lamb at least five times, and each time the planned slaughter was a spectacular failure. Finally, no, we most definitely should not let them screw. If anyone is going to screw Fox Mulder this decade, it’s going to be me. End of discussion.”
She cannot say any of that out loud. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
However, Diana cannot promise that she won’t quietly make things happen.
After all, she’s always found it more pragmatic to ask forgiveness than permission.