Cultures Weren't Opinions
She tucked a strand of titian hair behind her ear, sighing as her eyes fell upon her destination. Smooth as always, her partner had managed to finagle a great table from the maitre d'. Sometimes he was so slick he was almost shady.
As she wove her way through the densely packed tables on the main floor of the hotel restaurant, Scully considered the strange turns her partnership with Fox William Mulder had taken over the course of their time together. Wariness had been the prevailing feeling on both sides in the beginning. That wariness had turned to hard-won trust which had yet to falter. Though they began on harsh terms, the two had forged a connection which transcended their surface differences. They were almost soul mates. One baby to another said, "I'm lucky to have met you." She was constantly amazed at how much the lyrics of a defunct grunge band could apply to her relationship with Mulder. Just because you're paranoid…
Mulder scrutinized the blonde across the table from him. Statuesque and curvaceous, she was precisely the sort of woman who would have been a femme fatale in another era, another life. Her face was deceptively smooth, the ravages of time unapparent. Part of her stock in trade, he supposed. Her eyes were shielded from his searching gaze by the thick partition of honey toned hair which was constantly on her face. What a hackneyed phrase was there. Honeyed hair…no wonder his high school English teachers had all guided him none too subtly away from a career in writing. He thanked them silently and continued his appraisal. Her voice continued to drone on, becoming part of the white noise which he was focused on tuning out. As her lips moved across her teeth he saw slight yellowing. A smoker-not part of the description of herself she had submitted. Interesting. He had only been with her at the table for ten minutes and he had already caught her in a lie. Score one for the home team. She pulled on the long golden chain from which was suspended a watch-one of the cheap ones, he could tell, because it hadn't been made upside down for the wearer's convenience. She paused in her spiel, still agitating the watch chain, but now looking at a point above his head.
"Ah, your lovely wife has finally arrived-now we can get down to business."
Mulder half-turned in his chair. It was Scully-and she was looking lovely. Too bad she's only dressed like that as cover. Scully had transformed herself into the ultimate corporate-beauty-queen of a wife. Why must I be a federal agent in love?
"Sorry I'm late hon-the traffic was awful." She bent to kiss his cheek, in proper wife fashion. He gulped.
"No problem. We had much to discuss without you and we didn't wait long."
"Well, let's get down to business, shall we?" Scully pointedly raised her eyebrows. "Oh, and I'm sorry but I don't believe I caught the name."
Mulder's companion cleared her throat. "Oh that's perfectly alright. I'm Agent Dana Scully, FBI." Mulder and Scully looked at each other surreptitiously.
Femme Fatale was right.
She tucked a strand of titian hair behind her ear, sighing as her eyes fell upon her destination. Smooth as always, her partner had managed to finagle a great table from the maitre d'. Sometimes he was so slick he was almost shady.
As she wove her way through the densely packed tables on the main floor of the hotel restaurant, Scully considered the strange turns her partnership with Fox William Mulder had taken over the course of their time together. Wariness had been the prevailing feeling on both sides in the beginning. That wariness had turned to hard-won trust which had yet to falter. Though they began on harsh terms, the two had forged a connection which transcended their surface differences. They were almost soul mates. One baby to another said, "I'm lucky to have met you." She was constantly amazed at how much the lyrics of a defunct grunge band could apply to her relationship with Mulder. Just because you're paranoid…
Mulder scrutinized the blonde across the table from him. Statuesque and curvaceous, she was precisely the sort of woman who would have been a femme fatale in another era, another life. Her face was deceptively smooth, the ravages of time unapparent. Part of her stock in trade, he supposed. Her eyes were shielded from his searching gaze by the thick partition of honey toned hair which was constantly on her face. What a hackneyed phrase was there. Honeyed hair…no wonder his high school English teachers had all guided him none too subtly away from a career in writing. He thanked them silently and continued his appraisal. Her voice continued to drone on, becoming part of the white noise which he was focused on tuning out. As her lips moved across her teeth he saw slight yellowing. A smoker-not part of the description of herself she had submitted. Interesting. He had only been with her at the table for ten minutes and he had already caught her in a lie. Score one for the home team. She pulled on the long golden chain from which was suspended a watch-one of the cheap ones, he could tell, because it hadn't been made upside down for the wearer's convenience. She paused in her spiel, still agitating the watch chain, but now looking at a point above his head.
"Ah, your lovely wife has finally arrived-now we can get down to business."
Mulder half-turned in his chair. It was Scully-and she was looking lovely. Too bad she's only dressed like that as cover. Scully had transformed herself into the ultimate corporate-beauty-queen of a wife. Why must I be a federal agent in love?
"Sorry I'm late hon-the traffic was awful." She bent to kiss his cheek, in proper wife fashion. He gulped.
"No problem. We had much to discuss without you and we didn't wait long."
"Well, let's get down to business, shall we?" Scully pointedly raised her eyebrows. "Oh, and I'm sorry but I don't believe I caught the name."
Mulder's companion cleared her throat. "Oh that's perfectly alright. I'm Agent Dana Scully, FBI." Mulder and Scully looked at each other surreptitiously.
Femme Fatale was right.
