Character: Dana Scully
Fandom: The X-Files
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: All right. Let me tell you something. There are two things that I know for certain. One. Bert and Ernie are gay. Two. You are not gonna die a virgin. Not on my watch. Let's go. (Dean Winchester-Supernatural) Vol4.6.2009 on scifi_muses on LiveJournal
Setting: Season Six Episode: Dreamland
By three o'clock, when her partner hadn't returned from speaking to "El Jefe", Scully took a chance and called his cell. No answer. She called his home phone. There was still nothing. When she had run out of contact numbers, she took her keys and decided to drive out to Alexandria to see just what could be keeping him from his pressing schedule of golf video games. Four hours for a lunch break hardly seemed necessary, even for Mulder.
She had her keys out as she got off the elevator to Mulder's floor. During midday it was quiet, most everyone was at work, and the apartment next to his had been empty for about a month. So it was a bit of a shock to hear voices and giggling coming from the direction of Mulder's apartment. It was even more of a shock to see Kersh's pretty, snotty secretary stepping out of the apartment marked "42", her suit jacket off, her perfectly coiffed hair a mess, and her clothes looking decidedly haphazard. Scully stopped dead as the woman leaned in for a kiss, laughing as she pulled away with a knowing, Cheshire smile.
She turned towards Scully as the door closed, meeting the other woman's astonishment without even a blush. Cool as ice water she slinked past Scully, her suit jacket tossed over a shoulder, giving her a small, triumphant smile. "Agent Scully," she nodded, wiping perfunctorily at her lipstick.
It was clear as to what had messed it up. Scully felt her face burn.
Frozen in hurt and horror, she watched Kersh's secretary saunter onto the elevator, torn as to what to do. Had Mulder really…would he do such a thing? Perhaps the Mulder of five, six years ago, yes, he admitted as much, but never his own boss's secretary. And would he do that to her? Confusion warred with raw anger as she found the ability to move again and knocked, firm and hard, against Mulder's closed door.
"Just can't get enough, huh," he drawled, as footsteps made their way to the door.
"It's me," she shot back coldly.
Mulder opened the door, standing with a cigarette between his full lips His shirt was only partially on, his necktie hanging loose on his neck. His hair looked decidedly ruffled, as if frantic fingers had run through it. And he didn't seem the least bit ashamed of any of it. "Oh, hey Dana!"
A part of her thought it made an amazingly, stunningly attractive picture, the site of her partner in such disarray, like something out of an old, film noir, heavy eyed and smoke curling about him. That was the part that wasn't screaming in outrage at his misconduct, his disrespect, and the sheer hurtful gall he had displayed all day. Blinding anger relieved her of any weakness she might have displayed as righteous indignation took control.
"What do you think you're doing?" Not that she had to ask. It was rather obvious. Kersh's secretary? Scully would have almost preferred it be Diana Fowley to that condescending bitch of a woman!
"Oh, you know," he shrugged, adjusting his shirt haphazardly. "Just a little lunch break. What's up?"
A lunch break? Was that what he called it in the old days? Scully clung to the professionalism she had cultivated all her life, resisting the urge to smack him across the face, hard. "We got the trace back on the call we received this morning. It came from a gas station pay phone off of Highway 375, three miles east of Groom Lake."
"And?"
Mulder was never this obtuse. "And I'm thinking it was your source, although I don't know why he'd try and impersonate you."
"Maybe so," he shrugged, indifferent. Scully's eyes narrowed.
"You don't think that we should follow up on this?"
"Are you out of your pretty, little mind," he bellowed, staring at her as if suddenly she was the crazy one. Mulder…Fox Mulder never, ever responded like this. Mulder would have been five steps ahead of her, already had the plane tickets booked, and would have had a plan of action on how to talk her into this. Fox Mulder would have never demeaned her, nor would he have stood there, looking rumpled and hopelessly sexy after having an encounter with his boss's secretary and not even appear to be the least bit ashamed in front of Scully. Fox Mulder wouldn't be running to Kersh every five minutes as if he needed a confessional.
Tears pricked her eyes, angry hot ones, as her face flushed, her jaw quivering with outrage. "Am I out of my mind," she repeated, meeting the familiar hazel green eyes that were suddenly foreign and strange to her. "Mulder, you are out of your mind? What is up with you? I'm thinking about having you examined for mental illness or…drug use, or…maybe a massive head injury. This is an X-file, your life's work, your crusade!"
"As I understand it," he replied glibly, "we're off the X-files."
Rage filled her to the breaking point. She had no words, she had no coherent thoughts. All she had was hurt, pain, and raw fury as she stormed out of Mulder's apartment, slamming the door so hard the aluminum "4" drunkenly came loose and swung upside down. It didn't open again, and Mulder didn't try to stop her.
Dear God, she fumed, tears falling as she jammed at the elevator violently, praying the car would come up faster. What if the caller had been right. What if it was Mulder at the other end of the line? What if this lothario, this reckless, insensitive, womanizing asshole was not her partner? How did this happen, why did it happen? How could she get him back? Because this…this thing masquerading as her partner, this thing could not stay. She had to get rid of it, she had to find out what was going on.
As she hit the bottom floor she had her phone out and was already calling the airline she frequented most. "Yes, this is Dana Scully, I'd like to book the next flight I can get to Vegas. I don't care if it has a connection, I just need to get there now."