Chapter Text
Mulder is slouched against the wall at Neddy’s Café, documents and photographs spread before him. The place is full this morning and he’s getting irritated looks for his flagrant use of space. He ignores them, wiping a smear of cherry Danish filling from a phone record.
The bell on the door jangles and Mulder sees a petite redheaded woman weaving among the crowded tables, looking futiley for an open seat. Mulder takes in her serious expression, her boxy plaid jacket, and pegs her for either a newly minted accountant or a Congressional aide from some corn-infested state. She shrugs her briefcase higher on her shoulder, her rusty brows furrowed.
Mulder catches a whiff of her perfume when she walks past him to the register, her stride brisk. He estimates her to be 5'3 and maybe 115 pounds with the briefcase. Her waist is narrow, flaring to shapely hips. Clearly fit.
The woman heads uncertainly back to the door with her coffee, looking somewhat lost. Mulder sighs. It’s not like he’s getting work done anyway.
“Hey,” he calls. “You want to sit down?”
She appraises him frankly, her eyebrow raised now. “I think I’ll take it to go.”
Mulder fumbles in his pocket, shows her his badge. “Vetted by the federal government, miss.”
She smiles a little at this, her expression shifting as she makes her way to the chair across from him.
“Fox Mulder,” he says, extending a hand. “In case you couldn’t read it from fifteen feet away.”
“Fox,” she repeats, shaking his hand. “That’s unusual. Dana Scully. Assistant medical examiner.”
She settles across from him, sipping her coffee. He notes that her eyes are dazzlingly blue. Dangerously blue.
“So that would be Doctor, then. Not miss.”
She sniffs. “Miss is rather condescending anyway.”
Mulder reaches down and grabs a large white paper bag from the floor. He sets it on the table between them. “You hungry?” he asks. “I always buy a bunch of things to justify hogging the space.”
Dr. Scully peers into the bag and withdraws an almond croissant. “Thanks,” she says. “You must come here a lot to have a system developed. No coffee at the FBI?”
“Satellite office. So you’re at OCME, huh? Must be a ballistics expert by now.”
She grins, licking marzipan from her fingers. “We just had the hundredth DC natural of the year,” she tells him, using the medical examiner’s term for a gunshot homicide.
“Ouch,” he says. “It’s barely spring.
“Crack. People get stupid.” She checks her watch. “I’ve got to run in a few.”
“Hot date with a cold body?”
Her laugh is surprisingly goofy. “Something like that.”
Mulder drums his fingers on the table, admiring the light freckles across her nose. She runs her fingers through that heavy auburn hair, shaking it over her shoulders before taking another sip of her coffee. Less than a year since Diana moved away, but maybe it’s time…
“Scully,” he finds himself saying.
She cocks her head, confused.
“Sorry, bad habit. Anyway, uh. Listen. I don’t know what your plans are and I didn’t offer you the seat for this reason or anything, but you know, you seem really interesting and I – shit. I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. Clearly it is not time.
She pokes his hand with a coffee stirrer. “Agent Mulder, are you trying to ask me out?”
“Not effectively.” He sighs. “I had a bad divorce a while back.”
“I’m sorry.”
Mulder shrugs. “Anyway. I don’t normally do this, Go enjoy your autopsy, Dr. Scully. Maybe I’ll see you around.” He passes her a blueberry muffin. “For the road.”
“Thanks.” She gets to her feet, hoists her bag back onto her shoulder. Mulder sees her chewing her lip, an uncertain look on her face. “Um, I don’t normally do this either, but maybe I can reciprocate sometime? For the pastries.” She pulls a business card from her pocket and hands it to him.
He puts it in his wallet, and she’s gone by the time he looks up.