Tilt by Michelle Kiefer
 

"Of course I missed you, Ethan."  Phone balanced between shoulder
and ear, she wondered why she'd never noticed that whiny quality in
Ethan's voice before.  She kicked the cheap duffel bag across the
floor in the direction of the bathroom, flipping  through the mail
that had piled up while she was in Oregon.  "I wish I could see you,
too, but I'm completely exhausted.  Really, I'm not planning anything
more exciting than some laundry and a hot bath.  Well, yeah, I'm sure
that would be more exciting, but we'd probably slosh water all over
the bathroom floor."

Damn piece of crap duffel bag.  She mourned the loss of the overnight
bag her parents had given her when she graduated high school and
the brand new taupe suit she spent way too much on and the gray
plaid jacket that didn't fit that well, but wouldn't wrinkle if you
backed a car over it.  All lost when their motel went up like a Roman
candle.

"Ethan, I've got to go.  I promise, lunch tomorrow.  Yeah, me too.
Good night."   She switched off the phone and set it back in its
base.  Apparently, there was a lot about Ethan that she had never
noticed before.  He didn't approve of her job any more than her
parents did, and couldn't understand why Dana wanted to fly across
the country to investigate missing kids when she could be enjoying
his company.

She wondered what Ethan would have said if he'd gotten a look at
her new partner.  Did guys even recognize when another guy is
attractive?  Maybe Ethan would look at Fox Mulder and see a gawky
man with a big nose.  That was her initial impression, too, until that
moment when she shook his big, warm hand  and looked into his eyes.
Of course, if Ethan had seen that smart ass attitude, he'd know there
was nothing to worry about.

Crouching down, she drew the plastic zipper of the duffel open and
parted the stiff purple nylon.  Purple.  Apparently,  navy or black
nylon was in short supply in Oregon.  Her only consolation was
watching Mulder sling a matching purple bag over his shoulder.

Still wearing their clammy, mud-covered clothes, she and Mulder
had stopped at a nearby KMart after the fire. Without a dry pair
of socks between them, they'd filled a shopping cart with a couple
of changes of clothes each.  She'd felt a flash of embarrassment
as she tossed a package of panties into the cart, before it occurred
to her that this man who she'd known less than 48 hours had seen her
in her underwear already.   Up close.

The loamy damp smell of muddy clothes wafted up out of the bag.
God, these jeans were probably a lost cause.  Mud and leaves were
cemented to the denim, a permanent reminder of her first case in the
field.   The sweater was possibly salvageable, except for that big
snag at the hem where she caught it on a twig during her mad dash
through the forest.  She hoped this job wasn't always going to be
this hard on her clothes.  She didn't think she could afford the
dry cleaning bills.

She'd managed to scrape most of the mud off her boots, but the laces
were still knotted and stiff.  She noticed the chipped polish on her
fingernails as she flaked some mud particles out of the plackets and
smiling, remembered Mulder laughing in the rain. Once she got past the
hyperactivity and the defensive wiseacre behavior, she could see the
hint of a fascinating person.

Jeez, it felt like someone had punched her hard right in the middle
of her back. She felt the bone deep fatigue of too many days hiking
up and sliding down hills and not enough sleep.  Leaning back against
the cool surface of the shower stall, she decided to deal with the
clothes in the morning.  A powerful yawn passed through her like a
wave. Hell, maybe she'd deal with the laundry in the afternoon.

With a hand bracing her lower back, she stood up and gave the
duffel bag one last kick.  She pushed the stopper down in the
tub and turned on the taps, adjusting the temperature of the water
to just this side of scalding.  Maybe a nice hot soak would ease
that ache between her shoulderblades.

She could barely hear the trill of the phone over the rushing water.
Please, let it not be Ethan asking to wash her back.  She couldn't
put her finger on why, but Ethan was a source of irritation these
days.

"Ethan, really, not tonight, okay?"

"Scully?" A laughing voice asked. "Oooh, poor 'Ethan.'  Cutting the
poor guy off, huh?"

"Mulder, is something wrong?" She felt the blush rise into the roots
of her hair and was glad no one was there to witness it.

"No, nothing's wrong.  At least not as far as I'm concerned. Now, 'Ethan'
might not agree."

"Mulder, could we please drop the 'Ethan' discussion?  Now, why did
you call?"

"Oh yeah, I wanted to be sure you still had the implant."

She searched the pockets of her coat, the fabric still streaked and
dusty though she'd sponged it as clean as she could.  "Yeah, I have
it right here."

Holding the tiny vial up, she watched the metal implant glitter in the
lamplight.  Except for the clothes they stood up in, this was the only
thing that had survived the motel fire.

"Good.  Don't let it out of your sight."  She knew he saw this as the
first piece of concrete evidence he'd ever been able to hold onto.
The importance of his leaving the vial in her possession was not lost
on her.  It was both a test and an olive branch of trust. "So, you
okay?"

Was she okay?  She set the vial on the coffee table and sat back,
listening to the sound of rushing water from the bathroom.
Everything she thought she knew seemed slightly altered in the space of
a few days.  It was as if the planet had tilted, and the ground had
dropped out from under her feet.

"Scully, are you still there?" Mulder's voice had that concerned
quality she had heard that night in his motel room. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." She raked a hand through her hair, fingers catching in the
tangles. "I'm fine."
 

End.