Title: Dr. Scully's Guilty Pleasure (1/1)
Author: Addicted2fanfic
Email: Addicted2fanfic@hotmail.com
Rating: PG
Category: VH, MS UST
Spoilers: Redux II, Chinga.
Keywords: Mulder POV
Summary: What is Scully typing?
Authors notes: Ending courtesy of Mish_rose!

Dr. Scully's Guilty Pleasure (1/1)

What in the hell is she typing? Damned basement is so quiet 
sometimes every sound carries.  Even here, practically at the 
elevator I can distinctly hear the clatter of her keyboard. 
What could she be typing? Autopsy reports? Nope, last one was 
two weeks ago. Field report? Nyah. That was turned in 
yesterday, and she has been at this for weeks, usually during 
lunch. Letters to her brothers? Yeah, sure, Bill, Charlie and 
every friggin' Scully alive and dead wouldn't take that much 
typing.

Maybe she is inputting medical data into the Fox
William Mulder Medical Database. Hmm, wouldn't put it past her 
to track every hospitalization I ever had. Maybe I can see the 
screen as I hang my suit jacket on the back of my chair. Nope, 
she has the screen angled so I can't, but she isn't 
transcribing notes or medical records or anything.

She is sitting on the edge of her chair - tsk tsk, Dr. Scully, 
that's not ergonomically correct. Her head is bent over the 
keys, hair covering her face. As I get closer it is clear she 
is a million miles away. She doesn't even see me. My chair 
squeaks loudly when I sit down, but she doesn't even look up. 
What has her so focused?

Omigod. Could she be documenting every
sexual innuendo I ever threw her way? 
Taken one by one they are no big deal, but if she
recorded them ALL, she would have quite a sexual harassment 
case. Shit! But why now? What have I done to piss her off 
recently? Maybe that "Marry me." while she was 'on vacation' in 
Maine was the last straw?

Wait a minute. I'm the one with the eidetic memory. I
recall every line I said to her. She couldn't remember them 
all. Could she?

She looks up, and gives me a 'be with you in a minute' glance 
as she saves her work to a floppy.  She puts the floppy in her 
suit jacket pocket. No Chance of 'borrowing' it or her laptop 
for a look-see.

Leaning back in my chair, tapping a pencil against my
hand, I consider my options. Sometimes with Scully the direct 
approach works best. It's what she uses.
Clearing my throat to get her attention, "What have you been 
typing Scully?"

She startles just a little and looks my way. I walk over to 
her, slip my hand into h