Ten out of Ten: Pilot Fic
I knew I’d written a Pilot fic, but I’m terrible at remembering the names of any fics, let alone my own. I missed the anniversary yesterday because of...life, but here’s my contribution.
She’s been eager from the get-go, running on the fuel of naivety and the need to please. She’s tired, though. He can see the smudges under her eyes, even through the make-up. He sees the mole too and wonders why she covers it. Well, he doesn’t wonder. He knows. Dana Scully has a point to prove. To them, to him. And at the moment, she’s scoring about an eight out of ten. But he won’t let her know that. Not yet.
She’s eating a burger, matching him calorie for calorie. She’s popping fries in her mouth and talking when she’s finished chewing. Running over the details of the case. The mysterious object inserted in Ray Soames’ nasal cavity. The dead kids. She’s yammering on and on and there’s a napkin between her fingers that she’s rubbed a ragged hole in. He takes a breath to talk but she starts again, running through possibilities. Probabilities. Anything that disproves his early theory.
“Scully,” he says, as she takes a sip from her soda. She blinks, a tiny gesture of recognition that she’s been talking a lot. He wants to smile and say thank you but there’s already a flush forming on her neck and cheeks.
“Have you ever seen the Indiana Jones movies?”
“What?” Her glass makes a clunk as it lands against the table top too quickly.
He sees her trying to calculate where he’s going with this. She’s always thinking, strategising. And he loves that about her. Nine out of ten. “Raiders of the Lost Ark, Temple of Doom.”
She blinks again, pushes a slice of tomato around her plate. “Handsome archaeologist runs around the world rescuing artefacts and pretty women? Yes. Highly questionable ethics and improbable plot lines…”
“I carry a whip with me, wherever I go,” he says, raising his hand to catch the waitresses’ attention. From the corner of his eye, he sees the blush deepen and the tomato slip from the side of the plate. She picks it up with a napkin and crumples it on her plate. The waitress snaps her gum and leans over him, affording him a good look at her ample cleavage. He uses the moment to let out the chuckle he’s been holding and Scully’s sharp exhale is loud enough to earn her a mumbled curse from the waitress.
“Can we see the dessert menu? My friend here loves chilled monkey brains. Do you have something similar?”
The waitress jabs her pencil on her pad and grimaces. “We got ice cream. I can add an extra squeeze of strawberry syrup if your friend likes.”
Mulder laughs out loud as the waitress walks away. Scully rolls her eyes. The silence isn’t as uncomfortable as he expects as Scully starts to giggle.
“Spielberg is the master manipulator of emotions,” she says, lifting her gaze to his. Her skin is pale again. Her breathing even. She’s sitting upright, chin slightly forward. “One of my favourite movie scenes is the one in Jaws where Brody, Quint and Hooper are comparing scars and wounds. It’s such a show of masculine one-up-manship and yet they bond at that moment, find their common ground.” She offers him a small smile. “It’s the beginning of what could have been a great relationship.”
He walks her back to her motel room. She stands in the doorway and says she’s going to study the X Rays of Soames. He lies on his bed awhile thinking. But he’s too wired for sleep. He pulls on his track pants and a puts his baseball cap on. He knocks at her door and turns the cap round.
