Title: Tilt Author: Michelle Kiefer Email: msk1024@aol.com Episode: Pilot Summary: It was as if the planet had tilted and the ground had dropped out from under her feet. Category: Post-ep Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: Not mine. Written for the Pilot episode challenge for After_the_Fact. Tilt by Michelle Kiefer "Of course I missed you, Ethan." Phone balanced between shoulder and ear, she wondered why she'd never noticed that whiny quality in Ethan's voice before. She kicked the cheap duffel bag across the floor in the direction of the bathroom, flipping through the mail that had piled up while she was in Oregon. "I wish I could see you, too, but I'm completely exhausted. Really, I'm not planning anything more exciting than some laundry and a hot bath. Well, yeah, I'm sure that would be more exciting, but we'd probably slosh water all over the bathroom floor." Damn piece of crap duffel bag. She mourned the loss of the overnight bag her parents had given her when she graduated high school and the brand new taupe suit she spent way too much on and the gray plaid jacket that didn't fit that well, but wouldn't wrinkle if you backed a car over it. All lost when their motel went up like a Roman candle. "Ethan, I've got to go. I promise, lunch tomorrow. Yeah, me too. Good night." She switched off the phone and set it back in its base. Apparently, there was a lot about Ethan that she had never noticed before. He didn't approve of her job any more than her parents did, and couldn't understand why Dana wanted to fly across the country to investigate missing kids when she could be enjoying his company. She wondered what Ethan would have said if he'd gotten a look at her new partner. Did guys even recognize when another guy is attractive? Maybe Ethan would look at Fox Mulder and see a gawky man with a big nose. That was her initial impression, too, until that moment when she shook his big, warm hand and looked into his eyes. Of course, if Ethan had seen that smart ass attitude, he'd know there was nothing to worry about. Crouching down, she drew the plastic zipper of the duffel open and parted the stiff purple nylon. Purple. Apparently, navy or black nylon was in short supply in Oregon. Her only consolation was watching Mulder sling a matching purple bag over his shoulder. Still wearing their clammy, mud-covered clothes, she and Mulder had stopped at a nearby KMart after the fire. Without a dry pair of socks between them, they'd filled a shopping cart with a couple of changes of clothes each. She'd felt a flash of embarrassment as she tossed a package of panties into the cart, before it occurred to her that this man who she'd known less than 48 hours had seen her in her underwear already. Up close. The loamy damp smell of muddy clothes wafted up out of the bag. God, these jeans were probably a lost cause. Mud and leaves were cemented to the denim, a permanent reminder of her first case in the field. The sweater was possibly salvageable, except for that big snag at the hem where she caught it on a twig during her mad dash through the forest. She hoped this job wasn't always going to be this hard on her clothes. She didn't think she could afford the dry cleaning bills. She'd managed to scrape most of the mud off her boots, but the laces were still knotted and stiff. She noticed the chipped polish on her fingernails as she flaked some mud particles out of the plackets and smiling, remembered Mulder laughing in the rain. Once she got past the hyperactivity and the defensive wiseacre behavior, she could see the hint of a fascinating person. Jeez, it felt like someone had punched her hard right in the middle of her back. She felt the bone deep fatigue of too many days hiking up and sliding down hills and not enough sleep. Leaning back against the cool surface of the shower stall, she decided to deal with the clothes in the morning. A powerful yawn passed through her like a wave. Hell, maybe she'd deal with the laundry in the afternoon. With a hand bracing her lower back, she stood up and gave the duffel bag one last kick. She pushed the stopper down in the tub and turned on the taps, adjusting the temperature of the water to just this side of scalding. Maybe a nice hot soak would ease that ache between her shoulderblades. She could barely hear the trill of the phone over the rushing water. Please, let it not be Ethan asking to wash her back. She couldn't put her finger on why, but Ethan was a source of irritation these days. "Ethan, really, not tonight, okay?" "Scully?" A laughing voice asked. 'Oooh, poor "Ethan.' Cutting the poor guy off, huh?" "Mulder, is something wrong?" She felt the blush rise into the roots of her hair and was glad no one was there to witness it. "No, nothing's wrong. At least not as far as I'm concerned. Now, 'Ethan' might not agree." "Mulder, could we please drop the 'Ethan' discussion? Now, why did you call?" "Oh yeah, I wanted to be sure you still had the implant." She searched the pockets of her coat, the fabric still streaked and dusty though she'd sponged it as clean as she could. "Yeah, I have it right here." Holding the tiny vial up, she watched the metal implant glitter in the lamplight. Except for the clothes they stood up in, this was the only thing that had survived the motel fire. "Good. Don't let it out of your sight." She knew he saw this as the first piece of concrete evidence he'd ever been able to hold onto. The importance of his leaving the vial in her possession was not lost on her. It was both a test and an olive branch of trust. "So, you okay?" Was she okay? She set the vial on the coffee table and sat back, listening to the sound of rushing water from the bathroom. Everything she thought she knew seemed slightly altered in the space of a few days. It was as if the planet had tilted and the ground had dropped out from under her feet. "Scully, are you still there?" Mulder's voice had that concerned quality she had heard that night in his motel room. "Are you okay?" "Yeah." She raked a hand through her hair, fingers catching in the tangles. "I'm fine." End.