Snapshot: The Pilot
by Danielle Leigh
oldviolin7@aol.com

Snapshot is a series that is in no way connected.  Any season, any 
universe, anything at all.  A slice of life examining the lives of the 
members of the xf universe.



"You smoke," Scully stated, putting on a jean jacket over the flimsy, 
cheap fabric of the robe.  She closed the door to her hotel room firmly 
and watched as he rested his weight on first one foot and then the 
other.  He's nervous, she thought.  His energy amazed her.  Three days 
and they hadn't slept more than ten hours between them.

"Yeah," Mulder said, his breath rising in the dark.  He was leaning on 
the wooden rail, watching steam rise from the heated pool below.  "Want 
one?"

"Yes.  No."  She sighed and tugged the jacket closer.  "Yeah.  I think 
I do."

A faint smile appeared on his face and he let his eyes slide toward 
her.  They were very bright in the darkness.  She still couldn't 
figure out what color they were.

"You can't *think* about a cigarette, Doctor Scully.  You've gotta 
want it. *Feel* it."

He looked at her and waited.  

"You're kidding me."

He shook his head.

"You're starting to earn your reputation, Agent Mulder."

"You mean I haven't already?"

"Ask Detective Miles," she said archly.

A small grin appeared, but he continued to wait.  He inhaled and 
exhaled slowly.  Scully found herself leaning toward him, breathing in 
the fumes very deeply.  A little *too* deeply.

"Did you just smell me, Doctor Scully?"  Mulder asked, pretending to 
sound amazed.  "I'm *shocked*."

She flushed.  He took pity on her saying, "I think you've earned it," 
and searched through his pockets, handing her a cigarette, bending over 
her to light it.  

"Ahhhhh," she murmured, letting the smoke waft around her face.  It 
was like coming home.

"I do believe I'm jealous," he said softly, letting his cigarette burn 
on the railing.  Scully coughed suddenly. *Amateur*, a disgusted voice 
railed at her from within.

She concentrated on smoking for a moment, without embarrassing herself.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked.

He shrugged.  "I keep smelling fire," he said, voice distant.

"I'm going to miss that laptop.  And my favorite pair of sweats."  The 
suit she wouldn't miss as much.

Staring at her, he shook his head.  "Your hotel burns down and that is 
all you can think about?"

"Fuck," she growled suddenly.  "My glasses!  Dammit, I'll have to get 
another pair."  The thought of replacing them just made her want to 
cry.  Perhaps she was just over-tired.  It was just a pair of 
glasses.

Mulder laughed then.  A full, deep sound that immediately made Scully 
realize she would forever equate his laugh with rain, cemeteries, the 
dark, and him.  Had that only been two nights ago?

"It's funny," he said, picking up the cigarette, giving her the merest 
glance before returning his gaze outward and to his private thoughts.  
"You look younger with them on."

Usually the mention of her age would infuriate her, especially from 
the arrogant lips of a male colleague.  Agent Mulder was immune to 
what would constitute a ‘usual' reaction from her.

"So do you," she answered, without thinking.  He continued to stare 
somewhere she couldn't see, or had retreated somewhere she couldn't 
follow.  Suddenly shy she bid him goodnight and returned to her room, 
a soft smile crossing her lips.