Date: Thu, 02 Nov 2000 07:23:16 GMT
Subject: xfc: NEW: Rating Men, by Sandee
Source: xfc

Rating Men
By Sandee 

DISCLAIMER: Oh, no no no. Not mine, not mine at all.
SUMMARY: Bored on another stakeout. Might wanna read my "Rating Women" 
first, however. For those who like hearing them babble.
SPOILERS: None
ARCHIVE: Gossamer. Anywhere. Just mail me first
RATING: PG
NOTES: This is for those who lovingly sent me e-mail for the first part! 
This is your reward, my friends. I was a little too quick, wasn't I? Oh, 
hell, I don't think my beta even likes me anymore because this is the second 
fic I've sent to the mailing list without her consultation. I swear she's 
going to kill me. Shield me, Mulder, my love.

Enjoy!

*****

"You promised."

"I did no such thing."

"You did, Scully."

"Prove it."

"Fine. If you hadn't promised, I would never had gotten into the game in the 
first place."

"That's not proof, that's an excuse."

"Excuse? Who needs an excuse?"

"You do. Every time you do something stupid, you end up trying to prove to 
yourself that it *wasn't* stupid. In this case, you are using me as a 
reason... or an excuse. Either will do."

"You're confusing me."

"So what else is new?"

"Scully," he was exasperated now. "come *on*. During the Courlash case, I 
did all the rating. It's your turn now. I even brought the pin-up book. See? 
This cost me seven dollars, Scully, and I don't even *like* looking at 
men--"

"If I agree," she cut him off abruptly. "Will that pacify you?"

"Temporarily," he said with a grin. "Okay, do we start now?"

With an exaggerated sigh, she turned to him. On stakeouts such this, there 
really was no point in staking anything out. Waiting for somebody to drive a 
large pink truck by them? Oh, she didn't think so. If the suspect, Bart 
Frotch, *did* drive by in his big pink truck, Scully was 99.98% sure that 
she would notice *that*, at least. "Yeah, sure, we can start now."

He looked like a kid with a larger piece of cake that his older sister. 
"Okay Scully." He held up the magazine. "Do you recognize this man?"

She snorted. "Oh, please. Harrison Ford."

"And how much do you give him?"

She squinted. "In that particular shot or in general?"

"Let's not get into semantics. Just tell me."

"Mulder, I need to know what you mean."

"You mean you don't know what I mean?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, cut it out. Okay, fine. You're the scientist, I guess you need all the 
freaking facts. In general, then. What do you think of Harrison Ford in 
general."

"In general, Mulder, I think he's okay."

"And, out of ten, how does he rate on the Dana Scully desire scale?"

"Who says this has anything to do with *desire*?"

"You really won't just answer the damn question, will you?"

"Fine, then. You want to know? I'll tell you."

"You'd better."

"Are you going to interrupt?"

"No, no. Go on."

She stared at the photo thoughtfully. "I give him a six."

"Out of ten."

"Yeah, out of ten. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing's wrong with that, Scully. I just thought that since you went for 
older guys, you'd give him something higher."

"You think I *go for* *older guys*? What the hell does that mean?"

"Nothing. Never mind."

"I only rate 5 guys, right?"

"Right."

"And then we end this thing forever?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Might as well get it over with as soon as possible. Who's next?"

For a moment, the only sounds in the car on that moonlit night were Scully 
and Mulder's breathing and the flipping of magazine pages. Then, after two 
minutes of that relieving pseudo-silence, Mulder held up the magazine again, 
much to Scully's dismay.

"Here's the next guy."

"Matthew Perry, Mulder? Honestly?"

"Yeah, just wanna know what you think of funny guys. This is still in 
general, not just in this picture."

"I've got to tell you Mulder, if this weren't in general, I'd be giving him 
a ten for that picture. He's pretty damn hot. There, at least."

"So you don't like him? In general? What is it with you and humor?"

"Mulder, I do like him in general. And as for me and humor, let's just say 
that I may have lost it a long time ago during a case involving you... and 
not much else."

Mulder looked a little dejected. "I did it again, huh?"

She was far too busy examining the picture to hear the multiple meanings 
behind his voice. "Yeah, Mulder, that's another thing I don't have, along 
with the Malibu Barbie and the Teletubby Lala."

For some reason, this eased him a bit.

"I'm ready to give my rating."

"And I'm ready to hear it. So what's the verdict?"

"An 8. Four for the looks, and four for the humor."

"I thought you didn't like humor."

"Oh. Mulder, trust me--"

"I do"

"--humor is elemental."

"Huh? So why haven't you been chasing after me?"

"Because your humor isn't. You have a different brand, which requires more 
intellect than it does laughter."

"Haha. You're funny."

"Glad to hear it. Two down, Mulder. The next three better be good."

He shut the magazine and opened it again, to a random page as he'd seen her 
do on occasion. Ah, the true test. Without a word, but with a very big grin, 
he turned the magazine to her.

"Joshua Jackson." She said without emotion. Then, very emphatically: "Joshua 
*Jackson*?"

"From Mighty Ducks and Dawson's Creek, Scully. You have a problem with that, 
Scully? I think he looks like your type."

"I think he's seventeen, Mulder."

"Actually, he's twenty-two. I figured if you didn't like older guys, you'd 
go for younger guys. It's one or the other, right, Scully?"

"I guess. You want to know what I think, then?"

"Always."

"I give him a nine. No question."

Mulder's eyebrows raised. "Really."

"Yeah, really. Are you going to mock me?" her voice held an edge that just 
*dared* him to make a blithe comment. Fortunately (for him) he wasn't 
feeling particularly daring that time.

"No. Of course not."

"Good. Next one, please." She sounded like a casting director.

He drew in a deep breath. Two left. Who should he pick next? He idly flipped 
through the magazine and looked at the different faces of men. Not very 
interesting. Maybe he should borrow Scully's magazine with the women's 
pin-ups. O-kay, here's a guy Scully might like to rate.

"That's Nicholas Lea, Mulder."

"I know. I didn't know you knew him."

"You don't know a lot of things, Mulder. I watched 'Once a Thief'." She 
paused for a while. "He looks oddly familiar."

Mulder looked at the photo. Didn't click. "To you? Or to us?"

"I don't know. But I get the feeling I've seen him somewhere before. And 
spoken to him."

"Alright, that's it. I forbid you to watch television. You hallucinate about 
speaking to people who you probably never will."

"Shut up. I give him a nine point five."

"Ooh, Scully, that's exceptionally high, don't you think?"

"What the hell's wrong with that, now?"

"Nothing, Scully. It's your life."

"I know. I hate it so much when you do that Mulder. Stop criticizing me and 
what I think, okay? It's amusing at first but it just hurts somewhere down 
the line."

He pursed his lips together and nodded. It was pointless to argue, anyway. I 
promise, Scully. "So, a nine point five, huh?"

"He's hot Mulder. You'd think so, too, if you were a woman."

"But I'm not!"

"Point conceded. Last one. Last one! Hurry up and get it over with, Mulder. 
This game is getting really old, really fast."

Madly, he flipped through the magazine. Oh, there were just too many guys to 
choose from, and he wanted Scully's opinion on all of them. But, of course, 
Scully would never let him do that.

"Make it quick Mulder, I think I sense the pink truck coming.

"Premonitions, Scully? We might open up an X-File on you."

"Not in this lifetime. You got anyone, yet?"

"Yeah. This guy. I recognize him from those videos that aren't mine."

"Which ones in particular?"

"A *few*. But he's in some wholesome vids, too. I checked."

"Like what?"

"Beethoven."

"That's wholesome enough, I guess. I have to confess, Mulder, he's way 
hotter that any Nicholas Lea I've seen."

"Even hotter than me?"

She didn't hesitate for a second. "Oh, yeah, Mulder. He's way, *way* hotter 
than you. But then again, that isn't saying much."

"Really? Then what was all that 'Oh God, Mulder, I want you' shit last 
night?"

"I was in the throes of a not-too-gentle orgasm Mulder, don't put words in 
my mouth."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"His name is David Duchovny, right?"

"It's Duchovny with a silent H."

"Ugh, don't even remind me of that stupid 'Silent H' case. Remember that guy 
who could morph into you?"

"You mean that alien?"

"No, that guy who tried to, uh--"

"Oh. *That* silent H case. Who would've thought you'd remember it, Scully?"

"No one. I just did. It's all David's fault."

"Okay, quit blaming the faultless pin-up. Rating."

"Fifteen. Over ten, yeah, yeah. He's quite a work of art, you know. He's 
really, really, familiar, too."

"You seen 'Julia Has Two Lovers'?"

"Who hasn't?"

"Me. He was there. And don't start with all that 'I think I've spoken to him 
at one time' or 'I think I know him' crap. He resembles someone, right 
Scully?"

"You know me too well."

"You're right, I do. So you give him a fifteen, huh? Or are you just 
kidding?"

"No, I'm not kidding, Mulder."

"What makes him so hot?"

"Everything. He's just so freaking sexy. See the way he looks at you? He 
just exudes sexuality, Mulder. It's like it's oozing from his pores. Do you 
see it? I see it. It's hypnotizing."

Mulder sniffed. "I thought *I* was hypnotizing."

"Not in this lighting, Mulder."

"Gee, Scully, you really know how to boost a man's ego."

"Oh baby, I'm sorry. Come here, I'll kiss it better."

"Ma-ma. Ma-ma. M--mm, Scully, are you, uh, sure?"

"If a pink truck passes by, I'll be sure to look--ooohhh, don't stop 
that--I'll be sure to look up."

*****

And as the FBI Agents merrily celebrated life, Bart Frotch drove by in his 
big pink truck, wondering why anybody would toss out a collector's edition 
of The Pin-Up Magazine.

He stopped the truck, and stepped out.

As he bent over to pick up the magazine, he noticed a few things. One, the 
magazine's pages were... a bit sticky. But no matter, a collector's edition 
is a collector's edition. These things normally cost a hundred bucks, and he 
was getting his for free. He wasn't about to complain. Ooh, it was the For 
Women's Edition. His wife would love him.

Two, the car next to the spot from where he picked up the magazine... was 
rocking veeeerrry gently. He chuckled.

And that was the third thing. The window of the car was only partially 
opened, and he couldn't see who was inside because the windows were, er, 
quite fogged up. But then he heard snatches of a woman's voice:

"Does the FBI allow consorting during stakeouts?"

Oops.

Tucking the magazine under his arm, he jumped back into his truck and drove 
away.

*****