Scully spots an opportunity

Scully's eyes narrowed. All her FBI training hadn't gone to waste, after all. She had spotted an opportunity.

There. Across the street. A coin laundry.

Of course, this presented an ethical problem. Where there was a coin laundry, there were clothes. And where there were clothes, there were pants. But the pants were bound to belong to someone, and that someone wasn't Dana Scully. And FBI agents weren't supposed to steal things, no matter if those things were pants or not.

Scully thought about the problem for about two seconds before deciding that this was an exceptional situation, and the normal rules of conduct didn't apply. After all, FBI agents weren't supposed to steal things, but they also weren't supposed to go running around small towns with no pants on. It wasn't ideal, but the Bureau would forgive her. If they ever found out. And they were absolutely never ever going to find out about this.

She tensed herself.

Of course, in addition to the ethical problem, this presented a practical problem. The coin laundry was on the other side of the street. Which meant that, in order to get to the laundry, Scully was going to have to run across the street. Without any pants.

Scully had never, ever run across a street without any pants on before. Not even in college. Good Catholic girls didn't do things like that.

She could feel her lower lip quivering. This wasn't fair. She'd always tried to be a decent person, to work hard and think scientifically. She didn't deserve to be stuck out here in the middle of nowhere, hiding in a phonebooth like a pranked schoolgirl, **** to choose between getting caught in her underwear and running across the street without any pants on. For goodness' sake, she was an FBI agent!

But right now, nothing was going to change the fact that she was an FBI agent without any pants.

She peered out into the street, watching for her moment, trying not to think too carefully about what she was about to do. A housewife in a vintage dress wandered past, peering into a shop window. A convertible rolled past, driven by a woman with her hair bound up in a scarf. Two teenagers in poodle skirts stood on the corner, chatting about records. Scully held her breath. She had to time this exactly right. Wait for it...

The housewife paused before the shop window, studying some antiques.

The convertible pulled into a parking space, facing away from the street.

The teenagers turned to check out a boy in a leather jacket, giggling to each other.

Now!