FIC: And the Dirt Won't Hurt (XF, 1/1)
TITLE: And the Dirt Won't Hurt
RATING: R
Pairing: Mulder/Scully
SPOILERS: Whole series is up for grabs.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine and I'm not selling.
SUMMARY: Four times Scully had to clean mud off her shoes.
Written for 12 Days of X-Files, 2013. I hope y'all are at least amused. :-)
--
1.
Oregon mud had a special quality about it. It was gray and slick, coming off most things without any trouble, but it had a way of sticking to patent leather.
Scully tried wiping it off with a dry cloth. Scrubbing at it with a wet, warm cloth. She spit on it. She tried rubbing alcohol wipes, conveniently stashed in her purse. Nothing was working.
She left this out of her official reports, of course, but wasn't above expensing a new pair of shoes.
It looked like her F.B.I. salary was going to go just about as far as her father had predicted, after all.
-
2.
She was bone-weary and looking forward to a hot shower.
And just thinking that, she was immediately bitter. Since when had that become the best way to spend a Friday night, she wondered. Since when was a hot shower the best I could do?
She wiped her face with her bare hand (God only knew where her gloves had gone) and then groaned, feeling the mud she'd wiped across her brow in the process.
Wait, was it really mud? She squinted at her hands, then reached up and turned on the light above the rearview mirror.
"Scully, I can't see the road when you do that."
"Shut up, Mulder," she muttered, examining her hands. That was definitely blood.
"Mulder, could you tell me what exactly was in that soil, back at the cemetery?" She was feeling a bit murderous, come to think of it. Mulder had dragged her out on a wild-goose chase in the middle of the night, they'd been chased off by the sheriff, and now they were on their way back to their shitty motel covered in....something.
"Well, if I was right about the cult ritual being performed earlier this evening, and Scully, I was right, it's likely a mixture of pig's manure and blood. And dirt, obviously."
Scully looked at her hands again. And then her slacks. And her boots. All covered in it.
"Now, can you switch that light off so I can see to drive?"
Scully obliged, but not before wiping her other hand on Mulder's seemingly pristine jacket sleeve.
-
3.
It was raining the day of Melissa' funeral.
It rained the day of almost every funeral.
Scully wore her best shoes, a pair of black Prada pumps that had been a graduation present to herself partially paid for by Melissa. She'd worn them all of twice before the day of the funeral.
The mud soaked through, staining the insoles, and Scully's hose. She felt it cold against her skin.
Those shoes ended up in a box in her closet and years later, she found them while searching for a file, still caked with mud.
-
4.
"Remind me not to listen to you the next time you say 'exsanguination,' Mulder.
"Ah, come on. You had fun."
"I'm not sure anyone would classify running through the woods of east Texas, chasing a teenage pizza delivery driver, hoping you won't stab him in the chest with a wooden stake only to have you do that exact thing as 'fun'."
"He was a teenaged vampire pizza delivery driver."
"Mulder, there are no such thing as vampires."
"Scully, you were almost in thrall with one back there."
"I...what? Mulder, just...this is absurd. You're absurd."
"Admit it Scully, you wanted to find out what his fangs would feel like in your neck."
"He didn't have fangs, Mulder!"
"Oh, no, you're right, those were just his crooked redneck teeth."
"Mulder!"
"Scully! Vampires! A real vampire colony! You saw it all for yourself, I know you did. You can't keep denying these things."
"I deny nothing. I question. I question the idea that there is a colony of vampires masquerading as plain townsfolk in deep east Texas. It's illogical and there is scientific reasoning why those cows were exsanguinated."
"Sure."
"Mulder...."
"Sure, whatever you say Scully."
"I'm going to get the mud cleaned off my shoes, Mulder, and then we're going straight to the office to explain ourselves. I hope you're not planning to try and make Skinner believe your theory."
"My theory? The stake stopped him cold, you know."
"A wooden stake in the chest would stop anyone cold, Mulder. Not just vampires."
"So you admit there could be vampires?"
"Mulder!"
-
END
RATING: R
Pairing: Mulder/Scully
SPOILERS: Whole series is up for grabs.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine and I'm not selling.
SUMMARY: Four times Scully had to clean mud off her shoes.
Written for 12 Days of X-Files, 2013. I hope y'all are at least amused. :-)
--
1.
Oregon mud had a special quality about it. It was gray and slick, coming off most things without any trouble, but it had a way of sticking to patent leather.
Scully tried wiping it off with a dry cloth. Scrubbing at it with a wet, warm cloth. She spit on it. She tried rubbing alcohol wipes, conveniently stashed in her purse. Nothing was working.
She left this out of her official reports, of course, but wasn't above expensing a new pair of shoes.
It looked like her F.B.I. salary was going to go just about as far as her father had predicted, after all.
-
2.
She was bone-weary and looking forward to a hot shower.
And just thinking that, she was immediately bitter. Since when had that become the best way to spend a Friday night, she wondered. Since when was a hot shower the best I could do?
She wiped her face with her bare hand (God only knew where her gloves had gone) and then groaned, feeling the mud she'd wiped across her brow in the process.
Wait, was it really mud? She squinted at her hands, then reached up and turned on the light above the rearview mirror.
"Scully, I can't see the road when you do that."
"Shut up, Mulder," she muttered, examining her hands. That was definitely blood.
"Mulder, could you tell me what exactly was in that soil, back at the cemetery?" She was feeling a bit murderous, come to think of it. Mulder had dragged her out on a wild-goose chase in the middle of the night, they'd been chased off by the sheriff, and now they were on their way back to their shitty motel covered in....something.
"Well, if I was right about the cult ritual being performed earlier this evening, and Scully, I was right, it's likely a mixture of pig's manure and blood. And dirt, obviously."
Scully looked at her hands again. And then her slacks. And her boots. All covered in it.
"Now, can you switch that light off so I can see to drive?"
Scully obliged, but not before wiping her other hand on Mulder's seemingly pristine jacket sleeve.
-
3.
It was raining the day of Melissa' funeral.
It rained the day of almost every funeral.
Scully wore her best shoes, a pair of black Prada pumps that had been a graduation present to herself partially paid for by Melissa. She'd worn them all of twice before the day of the funeral.
The mud soaked through, staining the insoles, and Scully's hose. She felt it cold against her skin.
Those shoes ended up in a box in her closet and years later, she found them while searching for a file, still caked with mud.
-
4.
"Remind me not to listen to you the next time you say 'exsanguination,' Mulder.
"Ah, come on. You had fun."
"I'm not sure anyone would classify running through the woods of east Texas, chasing a teenage pizza delivery driver, hoping you won't stab him in the chest with a wooden stake only to have you do that exact thing as 'fun'."
"He was a teenaged vampire pizza delivery driver."
"Mulder, there are no such thing as vampires."
"Scully, you were almost in thrall with one back there."
"I...what? Mulder, just...this is absurd. You're absurd."
"Admit it Scully, you wanted to find out what his fangs would feel like in your neck."
"He didn't have fangs, Mulder!"
"Oh, no, you're right, those were just his crooked redneck teeth."
"Mulder!"
"Scully! Vampires! A real vampire colony! You saw it all for yourself, I know you did. You can't keep denying these things."
"I deny nothing. I question. I question the idea that there is a colony of vampires masquerading as plain townsfolk in deep east Texas. It's illogical and there is scientific reasoning why those cows were exsanguinated."
"Sure."
"Mulder...."
"Sure, whatever you say Scully."
"I'm going to get the mud cleaned off my shoes, Mulder, and then we're going straight to the office to explain ourselves. I hope you're not planning to try and make Skinner believe your theory."
"My theory? The stake stopped him cold, you know."
"A wooden stake in the chest would stop anyone cold, Mulder. Not just vampires."
"So you admit there could be vampires?"
"Mulder!"
-
END