Minor X-Files Drabble
Apr. 22nd, 2003 05:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
itsallovernowTalk about being late to the party! But I watched Clyde Bruckman's Final Repose the other day, and my $100,000 education finally smacked me upside the head, and I sat up saying, "Oh, that's why she named the dog Queequeg." I've never written X-Files fic, and this hardly counts, but it's a moment.
Ahab and Ishmael
“His name is Queequeg.”
Mulder fixed the little dog with a dubious stare which was returned without hesitation. Scully pressed her lips together at the exchange, already envisioning future comparisons of the dog to his owner - little but scrappy, same color hair. Suddenly, Queequeg’s doubt about his world seemed well grounded.
“Did he come with that name, or did you name him, because if he came with it, well, that’s some kind of fate there Scully.” Mulder chewed on his lip and looked at her with a grin.
She said nothing.
“So why’d you name him that?” Scully gripped the leash tighter, sighed and simply said, “Mulder.”
That high-powered brain and expensive education were bound to pay off sooner or later. The moment stretched between them, and then with another glance at her and a slight step backwards, he said,
“Oh.”
Then, “Scully that’s just gross.”
She allowed herself a tiny smile, and a little pull of wickedly platonic pride at the firing of the neurons in her partner’s mind.
She liked the obscure reference, felt the moniker gave weight to the tiny ball of fluff, orphaned but not without resources. Besides, Ahab and Ishmael, while unlikely names for children were not completely out of the question, and kid and pet were not going to share.
“Cats do that to,” Mulder said, the pause button in his brain clearly stuck on off.
“Do we really need to continue this conversation?” she asked, and he shrugged.
“Don’t you think a cat would be easier?” he tried again.
She shook her head. Queequeg may have been taking advantage of an unfortunate situation, but he hadn’t been predatory about it, just practical. Cats, well, they always seemed to be looking at you, evaluating your usefulness. She got enough of that from Mulder, and then there’d also been that possessed Peruvian cat.
“I need to take him out. Then we can go.”
“Do you want me to go with you?” She shook her head. “I’ll just be a minute. Just, don’t touch anything.”
She took the small animal outside, collected and deposited his leavings and brought him back up the stairs. “He’s easier to clean up after than you are, Mulder,” she said, garnering a grin.
They collected her bag, put it in the trunk and headed to the airport. Something was clearly on her partner’s mind, though. He kept making nervous fits and starts of conversation; and finally, her natural compassion for him winning out, she touched his hand.
“Mulder, what is it?” He didn’t answer right away, and when he responded, she didn’t know where he was going with the thread. That, of course, wasn’t unheard of.
“Are you really going to keep the dog?”
She thought about it, really considering the issue for the first times, and then said, “Yes. Yes, I think I will keep him.”
Another silence, and then Mulder said, “Scully, do you think that I’ll die alone?”
She was a doctor, and she’d never lied to him about anything that mattered.
“Probably. Most people do, in one way or another.” She glanced at him, waiting for his reaction and starting to get a sense of where he was going, “But I’m guessing Mr. Bruckman may have been pulling your leg with the autoerotic asphixiation.”
He looked directly at her with the same wary doubt he’d shown Queequeg, and Scully fervently wished that he was less confident in his ability to multi-task.
“I don’t really want to test that experiment right this minute, Mulder.” And he’d looked back at the road. “Is that what you’re worried about? Dying alone?”
“I don’t know. Not dying so much, but alone yeah. Clyde Bruckman could see his death. He knew he’d end it himself. And now you’ve got a dog, and that’s a little less alone.”
“You’ll always have the goldfish Mulder.”
And he returned her grin then. “It’s just awfully final Scully.”
“Yes. It is.”
“I guess I’m pretty safe from goldfish cannibalism, too.” She grinned wider. “Just keep driving, Mulder.”
Ahab and Ishmael
“His name is Queequeg.”
Mulder fixed the little dog with a dubious stare which was returned without hesitation. Scully pressed her lips together at the exchange, already envisioning future comparisons of the dog to his owner - little but scrappy, same color hair. Suddenly, Queequeg’s doubt about his world seemed well grounded.
“Did he come with that name, or did you name him, because if he came with it, well, that’s some kind of fate there Scully.” Mulder chewed on his lip and looked at her with a grin.
She said nothing.
“So why’d you name him that?” Scully gripped the leash tighter, sighed and simply said, “Mulder.”
That high-powered brain and expensive education were bound to pay off sooner or later. The moment stretched between them, and then with another glance at her and a slight step backwards, he said,
“Oh.”
Then, “Scully that’s just gross.”
She allowed herself a tiny smile, and a little pull of wickedly platonic pride at the firing of the neurons in her partner’s mind.
She liked the obscure reference, felt the moniker gave weight to the tiny ball of fluff, orphaned but not without resources. Besides, Ahab and Ishmael, while unlikely names for children were not completely out of the question, and kid and pet were not going to share.
“Cats do that to,” Mulder said, the pause button in his brain clearly stuck on off.
“Do we really need to continue this conversation?” she asked, and he shrugged.
“Don’t you think a cat would be easier?” he tried again.
She shook her head. Queequeg may have been taking advantage of an unfortunate situation, but he hadn’t been predatory about it, just practical. Cats, well, they always seemed to be looking at you, evaluating your usefulness. She got enough of that from Mulder, and then there’d also been that possessed Peruvian cat.
“I need to take him out. Then we can go.”
“Do you want me to go with you?” She shook her head. “I’ll just be a minute. Just, don’t touch anything.”
She took the small animal outside, collected and deposited his leavings and brought him back up the stairs. “He’s easier to clean up after than you are, Mulder,” she said, garnering a grin.
They collected her bag, put it in the trunk and headed to the airport. Something was clearly on her partner’s mind, though. He kept making nervous fits and starts of conversation; and finally, her natural compassion for him winning out, she touched his hand.
“Mulder, what is it?” He didn’t answer right away, and when he responded, she didn’t know where he was going with the thread. That, of course, wasn’t unheard of.
“Are you really going to keep the dog?”
She thought about it, really considering the issue for the first times, and then said, “Yes. Yes, I think I will keep him.”
Another silence, and then Mulder said, “Scully, do you think that I’ll die alone?”
She was a doctor, and she’d never lied to him about anything that mattered.
“Probably. Most people do, in one way or another.” She glanced at him, waiting for his reaction and starting to get a sense of where he was going, “But I’m guessing Mr. Bruckman may have been pulling your leg with the autoerotic asphixiation.”
He looked directly at her with the same wary doubt he’d shown Queequeg, and Scully fervently wished that he was less confident in his ability to multi-task.
“I don’t really want to test that experiment right this minute, Mulder.” And he’d looked back at the road. “Is that what you’re worried about? Dying alone?”
“I don’t know. Not dying so much, but alone yeah. Clyde Bruckman could see his death. He knew he’d end it himself. And now you’ve got a dog, and that’s a little less alone.”
“You’ll always have the goldfish Mulder.”
And he returned her grin then. “It’s just awfully final Scully.”
“Yes. It is.”
“I guess I’m pretty safe from goldfish cannibalism, too.” She grinned wider. “Just keep driving, Mulder.”
