Office Space Challenge: Her Office
TITLE: Her Office
AUTHOR: memories_child
SPOILERS: IWTB
RATING: PG-13
CHARACTER/PAIRING: Scully
WORD COUNT: 199
DISCLAIMER: Sadly, they belong to CC. He just lets me play with them sometimes.
A/N: Written for thedrabblefiles.
________________________
The first time she saw the office she couldn't believe how light it was. The sun shone through the windows that dotted the cream walls (walls blissfully free of newspaper clippings proclaiming that Elvis really was alive and well, of photographs of Bigfoot and UFOs) and highlighted the dust motes that floated in the shafts of light. She ran her fingers over the desk (her desk, with her own name-plate and her own chair), the dark brown wood rippling under her fingers. The 'in' and 'out' trays were stacked neatly next to the Apple that hummed quietly to itself, and the photograph of her and Mulder, crouched in some New Jersey forest, already stood in pride of place amid her medical journals and textbooks.
She walked into the replica of the basement office he'd created as soon as she got home, sinking into his battered leather chair and staring at the pencils that hung precariously from the ceiling tiles. It wasn't a clean, spacious, fresh office; she didn't have her own desk or chair; and the photos that clamoured for space on the walls weren't of Mulder and her. But there was no other place she'd rather be.
AUTHOR: memories_child
SPOILERS: IWTB
RATING: PG-13
CHARACTER/PAIRING: Scully
WORD COUNT: 199
DISCLAIMER: Sadly, they belong to CC. He just lets me play with them sometimes.
A/N: Written for thedrabblefiles.
________________________
The first time she saw the office she couldn't believe how light it was. The sun shone through the windows that dotted the cream walls (walls blissfully free of newspaper clippings proclaiming that Elvis really was alive and well, of photographs of Bigfoot and UFOs) and highlighted the dust motes that floated in the shafts of light. She ran her fingers over the desk (her desk, with her own name-plate and her own chair), the dark brown wood rippling under her fingers. The 'in' and 'out' trays were stacked neatly next to the Apple that hummed quietly to itself, and the photograph of her and Mulder, crouched in some New Jersey forest, already stood in pride of place amid her medical journals and textbooks.
She walked into the replica of the basement office he'd created as soon as she got home, sinking into his battered leather chair and staring at the pencils that hung precariously from the ceiling tiles. It wasn't a clean, spacious, fresh office; she didn't have her own desk or chair; and the photos that clamoured for space on the walls weren't of Mulder and her. But there was no other place she'd rather be.