A/N: Hello, all. After a decade of lurking around , I've finally decided to stop just enjoying other people's stories and contribute something of my own. This story is definitely inspired by the X-Files, and it embraces some of the earnest ridiculousness of that show, but I'm going to be drawing most of my characterization/themes from POTO. Though, I'm excited to give Christine the opportunity to kick some ass.

Their first "case" came out rather dark, and I imagine much of the story will enter dark territory. But, I can't resist the call of fluff.

Thank you for reading!

Christine had been warned about her new partner. He was difficult to work with – too eager to see the supernatural in every case, too sure of his own opinions. He was a loner, an agent on the outskirts of the FBI, a weirdo with ridiculous ideas. "Agent Spooky," they called him. And, on top of it all, he wore a mask. Assistant Director Kahn had insisted she say nothing about the mask. Pretend it isn't there, he'd warned. He'd given no further explanation.

Christine had no choice about this assignment. She was a new agent, young and green despite her training and medical license, and she had to pay her dues. She was to monitor Agent Destler's activities, his performance out in the field. She knew the higher ups wanted to fire Destler, but rumor had it that they feared the EEOC would jump down their throats for cutting one of their only "disabled" employees. It was Christine's job, it seemed, to discredit him. Though no one said it so directly, she didn't know why else she would possibly be assigned to report on this seasoned agent's actions. Regardless, she would report on his investigations as thoroughly as possible. She would be fair and honest. Prove her professionalism and skill.

And she would not mention the mask.

So, as she entered the dim basement office, she tried not to stare at the black leather face glaring from the corner. Instead, she busied herself with arranging her desk. The room smelled like air conditioning and mildew. Two of the fluorescent lights had gone out, slicing a dark line between their desks.

"You must be Agent Destler," she said, pulling pens from her briefcase and straightening them into columns. She was quickly realizing she didn't have much to arrange. "I'm Agent Daaé. I'll be working with you on the X-Files."

"Babysitting me, you mean." His voice resonated through the room, at once disdainful and beautiful. Christine felt sweat blossom under her collar. She struggled to find her words.

"Well. No." She flipped her notebook, pretending to review something. "I'll be writing a report after a few months. But, until then, we'll operate as a team."

"I'm not much for teams, Agent Daaé." He stretched her name into an insult. "As I'm sure you've heard."

"I don't put much stock in gossip."

"But you believe enough to fear looking at me."

Christine cursed inwardly. She raised her face to meet whatever she could she of his. A thin, smirking mouth. Eyes that seemed to glow in the shadows of his mask, like a cat's at dusk. How could anyone's eyes be so yellow? How had he ever been hired if he insisted on wearing that thing?

"I'm sorry," she said, willing herself to maintain eye contact for just ten seconds. "I like to get settled in." Five, six.

"Lying doesn't suit you." He crossed his arm.

And ten. Christine allowed her gaze to drop to his desk, which was littered with papers, books, and photographs. She scanned the wall behind him, noting, with dismay, a large poster featuring a glossy flying saucer. She sighed.

"Look, we got off to a bad start. I'm sorry. But we're stuck together, at least for the next few months. There's no need to be so hostile."

Agent Destler stood behind his desk. He was much taller than she'd anticipated, well over six feet, and strikingly thin. He wore a crisp black suit, a gray dress shirt, and black leather gloves. Christine realized her eyes had gone wide, and she forced herself to blink.

"We have work to do," he said, snatching a file from the chaos in front of him.

"Wait, already?"

"I don't know what you think I do here, Agent Daaé, but I assure you that there is always work to be done." He was already walking to the door.

Christine scrambled after him, patting her pockets for her cellphone, her badge, her gun. She regretted her all-natural deodorant. "But I haven't been briefed."

She watched him shake his head.

"I'll explain on the way. We have a long drive ahead."

He kept his back to her, his stride swift and long. In the dark basement hallway, he seemed to transform into a shadow. And, just as she'd been instructed, she followed him.

He drove like a maniac. Christine didn't know why this surprised her. All other signs were certainly pointing to maniac.

"We're investigating the birth of a possible extraterrestrial-human hybrid," he said, swerving the black sedan around a truck that had dared to drive the speed limit. "Birth and then death. The mother, sixteen years old, was arrested after she was caught stashing the baby in a dumpster. She said it was born dead, but the officials aren't sure."

"Haven't they performed an autopsy?" Christine gripped the handle above the passenger seat window.

"The baby seems to exhibit some startling abnormalities. That's where you come in, doctor."

"Fantastic," Christine muttered. An infant's autopsy, on her very first day. "What sort of abnormalities?"

"I'm not sure," Destler said, his voice cold. "But, the mother's story is she was abducted and impregnated by aliens. She claims this baby is the monstrous result."

"And you believe her?"

"Another teenager in the town is eight months pregnant. She claims the exact same thing."

"I see, " Christine said, rubbing the bridge of her nose. So many years of medical school. So many student loans.

"Welcome to the X-Files, Daaé." She sensed him glance her way. His voice softened, just a bit. "Try to have an open mind."

He clicked on the car's sound system. An unfamiliar aria burst from the stereo. Who is this guy?Christine thought, her eyes fixed on the dividing lines whipping past her window.

They drove directly to the hospital morgue and flashed their badges at the sour-faced technician assigned to lead them to the body. Christine followed Destler, watching as the nurses, doctors, and orderlies turned their heads as he moved down the hallway. She saw two middle-aged nurses duck into a doorway, crouched together, whispering. Destler kept walking straight ahead, his back stiff, his shoulders pulled to their full breadth. Though he was thin, he looked somehow giant. Imposing. She wondered if he noticed them, all the wide eyes and muffled gasps. Maybe he'd learned to block them out. Both options sent a surprising pang through her breastbone. She tried to push the feeling down. It was none of her business. She had to focus on his work.

Their work, she reminded herself. At least for now.

The click of her shoes echoed off the linoleum floor and steel cabinets. Christine watched as the attendant laid the body on a clean examining table and pulled the sheet away from its face. She inhaled sharply. The child's heads was disproportionately small and irregularly shaped, with ruddy, veiny lumps rising from the cheeks, forehead, and brow. Thin lids sealed across uneven, seemingly eyeless sockets. A severe cleft palate twisted over the left side of his face. She could see to the back of his tiny throat.

She watched Agent Destler's eyes darken and narrow. He turned from the operating table, his shoulders hunched, his hands clenched, and thudded his fist along the cabinetry.

"All wrong," he hissed.

"It's very sad," Christine offered, though she'd found his inflection strange, laced with an edge of exhausted frustration rather than righteous indignation. Had he sound confused, or had she imagined it? But hadn't they come expecting just this? "Would you like to watch the autopsy?"

"No," Destler said, without turning around. "There's no point."

He strode from the room, slamming the door behind him. Christine and the technician locked eyes. She sighed.

"So, where can I find a pair of gloves?"

It was their work now.

Only for now.