Work Text:
The bookshop is nearly as worn and tattered as the books inside it, dust covering just about every inch of the small space. It’s tiny, just a few sections and nooks, and the entire interior and exterior is built from the prettiest wood she’s ever seen. The atmosphere screams archival, authentic. It’s that exact atmosphere that drew her to the shop in the first place.
She had been roaming around the outermost part of campus, leaving the last of the academic buildings behind her and choosing to explore streets that seemed to carry some history. That’s where all the hidden gems were; that’s where she would glance at a hazy shop window displaying first editions of the classics. Books so worn the titles displayed on the hard cover were barely legible. This was just the place for her.
There are only a few other people in the shop with her, she notices, and she adores the quiet. She spends a good amount of time lazily walking about the shop, trailing her finger along book covers that interest her. She recites the names of the authors in her head, intrigued by the vast selection, but she isn’t here for any of them. Her eyes become focused, hopeful to find the one book she has in mind. As she scans over the worn books on a shelf hidden near the back of the store, she catches a glimpse of a yellow dust jacket, the faded letters on the spine spelling out 'Moby Dick'.
She smiles a toothy grin, and proceeds to stand on the tips of her toes in attempts to reach the book from atop its high shelf. Unfortunately, she only stands at 5’3”, and her small hand barely grazes the bottom of the shelf below the one she needs to reach. Just as she is about to consider jumping in hopes of obtaining the book that way, she feels the warmth of a body much larger than her own behind her. A shiver runs down her spine as a long arm brushes against her left shoulder before grabbing the book in question from the shelf with ease. She turns slightly to make out the figure behind her, and her breath hitches when she is confronted with a whole lot of sweater-clad chest, centimeters from her face. “How tall is this guy?” The words whisper out of her mouth before she can help it, and her face blushes a deep red as she peers up into the face of the man behind her.
“Six feet.”
“What?” she stutters, still thrown off by the close proximity and strange intimacy of the man’s left arm holding onto the book which seems to wrap her into his body.
The man chuckles. “You asked me how tall I am. I’m six feet tall. Sort of a weird first question to ask a stranger.” He nods his head down and to the side.
“Right,” she stutters again. “Um, can I have my book, please?” She reaches up in attempt to take the book, but the man moves his hand swiftly upwards before she can reach, resting the book behind his head.
“What’s your name?” he asks.
“Excuse me?” She no longer stutters, now a bit too ticked off by this whole ordeal to waste any time.
“I asked you for your name. Are you hard of hearing, or something?” His tone is light in gest. This pisses her off more.
“Please hand me my book now,” she demands.
He taps the book against the back of his head and leans down further into her. “Won’t you introduce yourself first?” He bats his eyelashes, which are covered by old, wire frame glasses.
Tired of the conversation and eager to escape, she complies. “I’m Dana,” she huffs out. “Now can you please hand me my book?”
He smiles, and she’s annoyed how attractive she finds it. His hand slips from beneath his head and he places the book in her left hand. “Nice to meet you, Dana. I’m Mulder.” He extends his right hand to hers, giving her the opportunity to pivot and step back a little, creating more space between them.
“Your name is Mulder?”
“Well, technically it’s my last name. My first name is Fox.”
She stops herself from laughing and takes his right hand with her own, giving it a firm shake. “I see. I guess if my name was Fox I would also want to go by my last name.”
“You’re lucky your name is so pretty then, Dana.”
Something about the way her name rolls off his tongue sparks something in her and prompts her to say, “You can call me Scully.”
“Scully?”
“My last name.”
“Oh.” He smiles again, this time with teeth and she has a hard time looking away from his bottom lip. “Well, Scully,” he emphasizes, “Why ‘Moby Dick’?”
She peels her eyes away from his lips and down to the yellow book. “It’s my favorite. My dad and I used to read it together when I was a kid. Now I collect them. At least, the ones that aren’t too expensive. I don’t have any first editions yet, but I’m hoping some day…” She trails off. She has no idea why she’s shared so much with a complete stranger. She may know his weird name but she doesn’t know a single other thing about him. She takes a moment to study him. His tall stature, broad shoulders and wire rim glasses make him look older than a college student, but his floppy brown hair suggests otherwise. Together with his pouty bottom lip and baggy sweater, he appears boyish. The sweater in question is navy blue, speckled in white constellations. His sleeves are rolled up, but due to the oversized quality of the sweater, the bunches of fabric slip just below his elbow. She sees a peculiar patterned collar peeking out of his sweater. Squinting she can make out the little green alien heads speckled on the undershirt. She glances down at his khakis and oxfords. If it weren’t for all the weird patterns, she’d say he stepped straight out of a J Crew catalog.
He must notice her staring because he clears his throat a little too loudly. She jumps and regains eye contact fast enough to catch the smug look on his face.
“Anyways, I should get going. Thanks for reaching this book for me. Even though you didn’t hand it to me right away,” …like a normal person, she wants to add.
She turns to leave and he follows her, lightly grazing his finger tips along her right elbow. She wonders what led him to believe personal space was no longer a thing. “Wait! I’ll walk with you.”
She looks at him in question, but doesn’t say anything. He stands far too close behind her while she pays for her book, and places his hand on the small of her back as they exit the shop. For some reason she doesn’t feel the need to shrug him off of her. Not having a reason bothers her.
She’s about to say a final goodbye when he speaks first, practically yelling. “Scully!”
“Yes?”
“Do you want to hang out? You can tell me all about Moby Dick.”
“You haven’t read Moby Dick?”
“Of course I have. I mean, I wouldn’t mind hearing you tell me about it.”
She raises her eyebrows at him, thinking of ways to dodge his invitation that don’t sound completely trite. If she’s being honest, she’s hoping she can’t think of any and has to say yes to hanging out. There’s something about him that’s so inviting, though she can’t quite place what it is.
“Fox.”
“Mulder.”
“Mulder. The only thing I know about you is that you have good taste in bookshops and bad taste in pattern combinations. How do I know you’re someone safe to hang out with?”
He laughs at the dig on his fashion choices. “The whole point of hanging out is to get to know each other better.”
She raises her eyebrows higher. He sighs. “What else do you need to know about me before you agree? I’m a senior at Georgetown studying psychology, I grew up in Martha’s Vineyard, I play basketball in a club league, and in my spare time I go hunting for aliens.”
Scully nods, taking in the new information, satisfied to know he is in fact a student at her school, albeit older, so it’s not completely odd that he’s hitting on her. She’s about to tell him that she’s also studying at Georgetown when her mind catches onto the last factoid he stated. “I’m sorry what?”
“I said I play basketball in a club league. Usually on Thursdays. Are you positive you’re not hard of hearing?”
“I mean what was that last part you said, Mulder?”
“Oh. I go hunting for aliens?”
“Yes. Why are you phrasing it like it’s such a natural thing to do?”
Mulder shrugs.
“Right, okay. It was nice meeting you, Mulder.”
“No, wait!” He grabs hold of Scully’s elbow again. “I promise it’s not as weird as it sounds. Okay, maybe it is. But you can’t knock it til you try it, Scully.”
“Is that so?”
Mulder takes a step forward into her and cocks his head. She feels the odd intimacy again. “Tell me Scully, do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?”
She purses her lips, like she’s really contemplating the whole issue. “Logically, I would have to say no. Given the distances needed to travel from the far reaches of space, the energy requirement would exceed a spacecraft’s capabilities that-”
He cuts her off. “Conventional wisdom.”
She lets out a breathy laugh, the first one since she’s met him. Mulder finds he likes the sound of it quite a lot. “I’m sorry, Mulder, the science to substantiate any claim that extraterrestrials exist just isn’t there.”
“What are you, some kind of bio major or something?”
She laughs again, enjoying their back-and-forth. Mulder tries hard to fight a smile. “I’m studying physics.”
“You’re kind of nerdy then, huh?”
“I’m not the one wearing huge glasses and talking about aliens,” she quips.
“That’s alright. You don’t have to admit it. As for the alien hunting thing, I still don’t think you can knock it til you try it”.
“So, what? Are you going to take me to some crop circle at midnight and look through a telescope waiting for UFOs?”
“Binoculars – but, yes,” he smiles and she can’t help but return it. “Does this mean you’ll hang out with me?”
“Sure, fine, whatever,” she deadpans, but takes out a pen from her purse and scribbles her phone number onto his wrist.
He’s too distracted staring at what he has now deemed the most beautiful sequence of numbers on his wrist to notice her walking away from him. When he looks back up, she’s already crossing the street on her way back to campus.
“See you later, Scully!” he shouts across the street.
“See you later, Mulder.”