Disclaimer time: I own nothing in the wide, wide world except for sometimes the clothes on my back. But nothing much more.
On with the show?
My god. She's so short. And she's wearing two-inch high heels. How the hell do they expect someone like this to keep up with me? I bet she's some weak-willed government lackey sent down here to spy on me and my work, to try to keep me in line. I know my less-than-by-the-book methods would attract attention! Damn. I wonder whether she actually wrote that Einstein paper of hers. It certainly was impressive, but she's too pretty to have any brains in her red-haired little head. I bet someone upstairs had his eye on her and pulled some strings, got the paper submitted in her name. Probably wanted a little lapdog that he could send scurrying around the FBI to all the places that he didn't want to show his face. Like here. I bet she's a good little lapdog and always goes running home to daddy.
She's probably a real bitch. What do I need a partner for? I'm doing just fine here on my own. And all anyone is going to do is hold me back. Unless they, by any chance, share my rather unique views. Dammit! Why did Diana have to leave?
Oh, now Miss Shorty is introducing herself. Dana Scully. Pleased to make your acquaintance, you spying little tramp.
My, miss. You certainly have an interesting pair of eyes behind those spectacles, I'll say that much for you. I just doubt that it's a pair of eyes I'll be able to trust. Huh. This "partnership" isn't going to last five minutes.
xXx
Oh my. I know I'd be working in the basement, but this really is the basement. A real pigsty, too. And only one desk. I guess that Maintenance hasn't gotten the memo yet that there's going to be someone else working down here. Oh well. That'll probably be fixed soon enough.
It certainly is the most interesting office I've ever been in. I have no trouble whatsoever believing that someone with the nickname "Spooky" would work down here. I just wonder whether he's as crazy as his reputation would have it.
Oh, God. I hope this condescending attitude towards me wears off very quickly, or Special Agent Fox Mulder may wake up one morning with a bullet through his head. If there's one thing I can't stand it's people talking down to me.
Debunk the X-Files. Well, that should be easy enough. In theory. But I get the distinct feeling that this man is not going to be quickly persuaded of my ideas– of the truth behind what he sees as paranormal events. I mean, listen to him! "Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?" He doesn't exactly hold anything back!
Or maybe he does. Because behind his glasses, behind those (admittedly very attractive) hazel eyes, some hidden feeling is lurking. Something to do with a painful past. I don't know, exactly. I could be just seeing things because I'm in a stressful, unfamiliar situation. I'm a medical doctor, not a psychologist. I'll listen to his theories, but I promise myself that I will not be drawn into his fantasies. I know what's real– science is the basis of all life, and I'm comfortable in my knowledge that it is definitely the truth. I can tell already, though, that nothing will come of this partnership. We're just too different to have anything in common.
Et voila. A little oneshot pounded off in the space of about twenty minutes. I certainly am a dedicated writer. Well, please read and review! Or at least, review. Because you've probably already read it, if you've come this far. Yes.