OctoberFicFest: Politics As Usual
“So who’re you voting for, Scully?” Mulder has his feet up on the desk, and he’s tapping his pencil against his lips.
“None of your business,” Scully tells him, calm and collected.
“Come on,” he says. “You trust me with your life, but you don’t trust me with your favorite candidate?”
“I trust you,” she says. “I just believe that voting is a private activity.”
“I know for a fact you’ve donated to political campaigns,” he tells her.
“As a private citizen, yes,” she says. “I’ve also volunteered for campaigns before. Campaigning is public. Voting is private.”
“The one implies the other,” Mulder points out.
“An implication is not a certainty,” Scully retorts. “As a psychologist, you should know that past performance is not necessarily an indication of future behavior.”
“There’s many a slip ‘twixt the tongue and the ballot?” he asks the ceiling.
“Something like that,” Scully says.
“I never knew you were so stubborn about voting,” Mulder says.
Scully raises an eyebrow. “Maybe it’s my stern military upbringing. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m a federal employee. Maybe I just like knowing there are some mysteries you can’t solve.”
“Ha,” he says.
“Who are you voting for?” Scully asks sweetly.
“None of your business,” he tells her cheerfully, and she smiles. “Want to watch the debate tonight?”
“As long as you don’t try to make me play a drinking game,” she says, scribbling something on her report. “If we’re drinking together, who’s supposed to take us to the ER when we get alcohol poisoning?”
“Good point,” he says. “What about debate bingo? You can bring your spreadsheet comparing the candidates’ positions.”
“I don’t have a spreadsheet,” she says, but she’s smiling.
“It’s okay,” he reassures her. “I won’t tell anybody you’re a geek, Scully.”
“Thank you,” she says, completely deadpan.
“You’re welcome,” he says. “And for what it’s worth - you’d have my vote.”
“I’ll keep that in mind if I ever get tired of this job,” she tells him.
“Four more years,” he chants, and they both laugh.
“At least four,” she promises.
“Good,” he says, and throws his pencil at the ceiling.