Work Text:
8:07 AM
The bouquet on his desk is beautiful, elegant blues and whites, tied together by a silk bow and white mesh.
“Who’s the sponsor of this fragrant monstrosity?” He says, hanging up his coat. It’s not a cheap bouquet, not the last minute or bulk buy of a grocer chain. It has the touch of a florist, an elegant design, not big or showy like the arrangements he remembers from when he was a kid, but somehow the perfect size, personal and beautiful. The antithesis of a monstrosity really, but he’s not going to admit that.
Scully turns slowly from her computer, glancing between him and the flowers, “sorry?”
He tugs on the silky ribbon and scrunches his nose. They smell quite nice, but it’s very strong in their poorly ventilated den. Rounding his desk and dropping his briefcase, he notices behind it, a coffee cup from the good place.
“You went to the good place,” he says with a smile, dropping into his chair and picking up his cup. It’s still quite hot, he must not have been far behind her. “Thanks,” he says and she nods but the same word for when she passes him a file feels inadequate here.
“Who got you flowers?” He presses, “they leave a card?” He reaches for the bouquet but Scully is out of her seat and snatching it up before he can touch it.
“No,” she says and plucks a card from between the petals, “they didn’t.”
He laughs a little and opens his mouth to tease her but her cheeks are aflame and she’s avoiding his eyes, turning her back and dropping the flowers out of the way by her computer. He pauses, furrowing his brows and drumming his fingers, channelling her magician uncle, the card vanishes from her hand.
“A secret admirer?” He prods and mashes the button to turn on his monitor, he picks up a pencil to tap against his lip, “one of the boys from the lab?” They’re like fangirls, tripping over each other in their eagerness to do her bidding, it wouldn’t surprise him if they had the fastest test turn around in the Bureau. But, he cranes his head to see the flowers past her screen, they’re such a pretty and personal thing, he doubts any of those guys have taste that refined.
She shakes her head, turning back toward her work and untucking her hair from behind her ear, hiding her face from him.
“Frohike?” He doesn’t think she’d be embarrassed if it were from Frohike.
“Skinner wants our report before lunch,” she says prim and pointed, the tendons in her neck tensing in a way that makes him want to bite.
“Skinner!” He points the pencil at her even though she’s not looking, “You know he has a fat crush on you-“
“Mulder,” she hisses, “he does not-“
He laughs, “he has a massive crush on you, Scully.”
“No he doesn’t-“
“He does-“
“Your report,” she snaps.
“You’re so oblivious,” he says fondly.
“Yeah right,” she mutters, “I’m oblivious.”
He tilts his head, “what does that mean?”
She shakes her head and Mulder, surprised to realise that he’s nearing the end of her patience, ducks to pull his field notes out of his briefcase. He taps the pencil against the lid of his coffee cup.
She hadn’t been annoyed with him earlier this morning. She’d woken him briefly with soft kisses to say goodbye and see you at the office, tasting like toothpaste and smelling of his deodorant. He’d made half heartedly to pull her back to bed but she’d brushed his eyes closed like one of her dead people and sleep had taken him back under.
What could’ve irked her between then and the office and what’s the story behind the pretty flowers? A coincidence or cause and effect? Why’s she so embarrassed by them and why keep the supplier's identity from him?
He’s pretty sure that they’re dating now too, so it’s even kind of his business. At least that’s how he thinks it works. Objectively, if a man’s woman is sent flowers, it’s alright to ask who they’re from. Surely? Not that she would appreciate him considering her his woman, or maybe she would like that, the experimental phase they’re in right now is steadily revealing lots of little things about what Scully does and doesn’t like.
But lately they’ve spent every day together in some capacity or another, even if they’re from someone she met, he struggles to think of a time when it would’ve been logistically possible for her to foster the kind of connection that would preclude such an intimate arrangement.
He sips his coffee and reshuffles his notes. Trying to come up with more suspects he hasn’t discounted sounds much more interesting than writing up this report.
12:34 PM
“Hungry?” Scully asks, following him into the elevator. Skinner has given them the all clear on their report and Mulder planned on finishing up their request to head to the coast next week.
“Sure,” they normally eat later to miss the lunch rush but he could eat. He goes to nudge the button for the third floor only Scully beats him to it, sending them down.
“Let's go out,” she declares.
“Okay,” he slips his hands into his pockets. She’s been quiet all morning and when he asked her to check out a website, she’d looked over his shoulder and hadn’t cupped the back of his neck or played with his hair or even so much as touched his shoulder. Nothing further has been said about the flowers and he’s not sure if that’s a good or bad sign.
The street is busy and loud and hot and he follows closely on her heel. She weaves through the crowd, passing their favourite cafes and pubs and sandwich shops.
“Where are we going?” He asks and touches her back as they’re forced to step aside for a group of suits who believe themselves to be the reincarnations of Moses, walking shoulder to shoulder with no regard for oncoming foot traffic. Him and Scully and a woman with a pram glare at the men as they stroll past.
“There’s this new place I want to try,” she says.
He resists the urge to groan, “tell me it’s not a salad bar? You know how I feel about rabbit food.”
She shakes her head. He wishes he could hold her hand. “No rejoinder about the necessities of rabbit food for a healthy diet?” He nudges her shoulder with his elbow a little, “not even a mention of the food groups?”
She says nothing and he slumps, resigning himself to something green and vegan. As she leads them across the street, he remembers that there’s meant to be a new steakhouse around here.
“Hey Scully, that new restaurant I was telling you about -the one on Byers’ foodie blog? It’s meant to be around here-” she grabs a fistful of his sleeve and pulls him into a gap between two tall buildings. The shade is nice and cool in the narrow alleyway, no wider than a small car, Scully leads him past a long line of people taking up one side.
She stops at an unassuming door, a lady at the front of the queue with a big head of blonde hair clears her throat pointedly. He wonders if the cat smell is her or the alley.
“I don’t think they’re gonna have a table-” Mulder says and a server appears.
Scully says hello and the smartly dressed waitress nearly trips over herself to take them upstairs and to their reservation. Which they apparently have. A good thing too because their’s seems to be the only unoccupied table in the whole, wide room.
They’re right up against the window with a view of the busy street, he can even see where the line of people vying for a table starts. The waitress lights the candle in the middle of their table, a handful of rose petals surrounding it and Mulder picks one up to play with. Another waiter walks past with a steak sizzling on a hot plate. He’s suddenly very hungry and very ready to apologise for his crack about rabbit food.
Their waitress hands them a leather bound drinks list each and produces a jug of ice water from somewhere, pouring into crystal glasses. The candle smells of lavender and he feels a little underdressed in his work suit.
“Have you two had a good day so far?” The woman asks over the buzz of the full restaurant. Two women behind Mulder are talking animatedly about needing no man. “Any plans for valentines day?”
The blood drains from Mulder’s face.
“We’ve had a good day, thank you,” Scully says politely and buries her nose in the wine list.
“I’ll give you a moment to decide,” she says and then is gone.
He clears his throat, “it’s uh- it’s valentine's day?”
She glances at him and then quickly away again, shrugging, “I think so.”
Oh god , he thinks and feels a bit like crying. Their first valentines day and not only has he missed it but someone else bought her flowers and she had to make her own reservation and get her own coffee. They’ve never acknowledged it before, hell he’s never celebrated it before, but it’s exactly the kind of soft, sappy thing Scully would secretly love. It’s an excuse to exchange presents if nothing else and he knows well and good how she feels about presents. And here he is, with absolutely nothing to give her.
Shame burns in his chest. He looks at the wine list without seeing it and has absolutely no idea how to fix this. He doesn’t even know if he can, she’ll always remember this first one and how he didn’t get her anything or do anything for her.
Part of him pushes back, she never said she likes the holiday, but what kind of dick doesn’t get his woman flowers or chocolates at the very least? Even knowing it won’t fix anything, he has to make sure she doesn’t think that he doesn’t care.
He puts the wine list down and clasps his fingers between his knees. “Scully I-” but he notices the restaurant name embossed on the cover of the menu. “This is the place from Byers’ blog?”
“What a coincidence,” Scully shrugs again and somehow manages to sink even further into her chair.
“This is where I said I wanted to try,” He touches his foot against her boot, “Four months ago.”
“Did you?” She squints.
He hooks two fingers on her menu and brings it down so he can see her face, “you made a reservation here for me?”
She winces like he’s stepping on her foot.
“Are you two ready to order some drinks?” Their waitress appears with a beaming smile and he almost jumps. They get diet cokes and she exchanges one menu for another. This one has steak on it. A light bulb goes off in his head.
On his desk, next to his coffee, which she bought for him. But he was already running his mouth.
“I’m an asshole,” he blurts, interrupting the waitress’ explanation of their marinade making process or something. Even the women behind him pause in their dissection of an ex's behaviour, “Sorry,” he adds, “I just uh, realised something,” he flashes the girl a smile. She resumes her story about marinade.
“Scully-” he says when she finally leaves. His chest physically hurts, as though all the emotions he’s feeling are pressing at his ribs, trying to get out.
“Mulder-”
“Those flowers, they were for me?” He whispers because his voice is going to crack if he speaks any louder.
“We don’t need to-”
“You got me coffee and flowers and a reservation at the restaurant I offhandedly mentioned ages ago, Scully-” he really might cry and when he reaches for her hand she clasps his fingers in both of hers. “I’m sorry, really I- those flowers were beautiful-”
She shakes her head, still not looking at him, “you don’t have to lie-”
“No stop, they were, I just didn’t want to say that because I thought someone got them for you and I can’t be complimenting the flowers someone else got for my woman. It never even occurred to me that -that they might be for me.”
“I didn’t say,” she lifts a shoulder.
“Why not?”
She sighs, “I thought -well I didn’t want you to laugh I guess, we’ve been friends for so long.”
He clears his throat, “I wouldn’t laugh, no one- uh, no one’s ever gotten me flowers before.” Her cold hand touches his cheek, the side of his nose.
“You um -you make me feel really special,” she admits, so quietly it’s hard to hear over the busy restaurant. “I wanted to make you feel special too. If it’s too much-”
“No,” he cups her hand against his cheek, “no, Scully, it’s perfect, I’m sorry that I was oblivious and I’m sorry that I forgot our first valentines day.”
“I don’t care for it that much,” she shakes her head, “we don’t need to do anything-”
“Hush woman,” he kisses her knuckles and longs to kiss her properly, “this is the best valentine I’ve ever had.”
“Is it the only valentine you’ve ever had?” She raises a brow.
“That’s not the point,” he says and when she shakes her head, he’s relieved to see a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Thank you, Scully,” he whispers, “thank you for doing this for me, you make me feel really special too.”
“You actually liked the flowers?”
“They’re perfect.”
“They kind of ended up looking like a baby shower gift,” she says and he barks out a laugh before he can stop himself.
“They’re lovely.”
“You can make it up to me,” she flashes him a smile, “for not realising the date, if you want-”
“Yes, I want,” he presses his ankle against hers and squeezes her hand.
“I got you a present, well -I say you, it’s really mine, but you get to look,” her cheeks flush but this time, in a good way, the best kind of way.
“Holy shit, Scully,” he breathes, “this is the best day of my life,” and her perfect, rare Scully giggle proves it a hundred times over. “You think I’m kidding.”