Dana huffed out a small laugh without bothering to turn around, this guy knew nothing about boundaries. But as in other men it annoyed her, he made it feel casual and safe. She heard the clank of bottles and looked over her shoulder.
“Don’t you have enough glass for one day?”
“Something to wash down the food, totally optional, I’m not counting this into your tab,” he set the bottles on the table and spread out the pamphlets, “pick a place.”
“I just moved here, how should I know which one is best?”
“It’s like an adventure, come on, they’re all great so there’s no wrong choice to be honest.”
“Okay, how about this,” she picked the most subdued design.
“Not bad, best egg rolls of them all, mean sweet and sour chicken, but it’s your choice.”
“Okay, let’s have that, I’m really not picky, and you seem to know your way around.”
“You sure?”
“Yup, go wild.”
“Such a vote of confidence, I’m touched.”
“Oh, just order already.”
He picked up the phone, ordered and laughed with the person on the other side of the line, it sounded as if he was a regular customer. In the mean time she went to the box with kitchen utensils and found a bottle opener.
“One hour tops,” Mulder said hanging up and took the bottle she offered, lifting it in a small salut, “to new friends.”
“And safety glass,” she added and sipped from her bottle then went back to washing and drying the mugs.
“So, Fox,” she started and he barked out a laugh.
“Please, just Mulder, nobody calls me Fox, not even my parents.”
“Alright, Mulder, what do you do for a living?”
“I write horoscopes,” he went to his usual joke.
A small lie combined with the fact that his novels were published under a pseudonym, bought him at least a few of days to get to know people without signing copies of his books for friends and relatives and answering questions about extraterrestrials. Life of a sci-fi novelist was hard.
However the side effect of such innocent lie was her gaping mouth and bewildered smile.
“What?” He chuckled, “someone has to do it.” She looked cute, frozen mid-wipe of a blue china cup.
“How do you do that?” Dana forced herself to remain calm, “you had some kind of training?”
“I took a four year course in Oxford,” he pushed on, wondering how far he could go with pulling her leg, before she burst out laughing, “came back to the states and now I run a little column for Cosmo, I can read your palm if you want.”
And that was that, she couldn’t hold it in anymore, she bent over, arms crossed over her stomach and laughed, and laughed, and he laughed with her, marveling at the wonderful sound.
“No, seriously, what do you do,” she gasped, siting at the table, wiping her eyes.
“I’m a psychologist, not practicing, but I work for the FBI sometimes, mostly consulting jobs.”
“And that leaves you with time to read people’s futures?” She teased, resting her chin in the palm of her hand.
“Enough to balance dabbling in criminals’ past.”
She laid both her hands on the table, palms up. “Okay, what do you see in my future”
Mulder chuckled, but took her hand in his awkwardly, his right still throbbing under the bandages.
“I see a tall dark stranger, completely harmless, no need to worry,” a wink earned him a smile, “a charming young man who could be a true friend if you’ll let him, well versed in neighbourhood politics, a wellspring of knowledge about best parking spots, local take-out joints and deli stores.”
“How many girls did you try to pick up with that line?” Her gaze was honest and she made it clear his BS made no impression, except maybe being slightly amusing.
“Not as many as you’d think,” he let go pf her palms and dialled back on the teasing.
“It’s not very effective,” she went back to washing the mugs, “so about those neighbourhood politics, are there some unwritten rules I should know about?”
“Not really,” he could feel that he crossed some line, but didn’t let it scare him away. Dana Scully didn’t suffer fools and he made note to remember that. “The guy above you, Alex Krycek doesn’t like noise, I don’t mind either way, the couple downstairs, the Petrie’s are away on an extended holiday, haven’t seen them in three months, and I don’t expect them to be back anytime soon.”
“Where did they go?”
“I didn’t ask, they kept to themselves, and I respected that.”
“So you do not make a habit out of barging in on your new neighbours on their fist day?” That stung a bit, he was beginning to regret his forwardness.
“No, I do not, and if you like, I can leave,” he pushed the bottle aside and started to get up, “you did enough for me as it is, and I see you have a lot to do.”
“No,” suddenly alarmed, Dana turned to face him, “I didn’t mean it like that, please, stay. I’m just not used to being,” she stoped, he wasn’t sure why, but a cloud of shame passed over her face, “called someone’s friend after 20 minutes since meeting them. People usually take me for the Ice Queen.”
“You didn’t meet me 20 minutes ago,” he sat back down, trying to bring her back from the shell she was crawling back into, “we met this morning.”
“We did?”
“Yeah, you passed me when you were leaving the diner at the end of the street, great waffles and coffee, probably the best in D.C.”
“I did?” She raked her memory, but pulled blank.
“You probably were too busy to remember, with the movers arriving soon.”
“How did you know that?” Her eyes grew wide, and she became worried a little, despite his assurances.
“Calm down, simple observation, I saw the truck, I remembered your clothes and hair, eidetic memory, just a simple matter of putting two and two together.”
“You do work for the FBI.”
“Part time, but you pick up a habit or two, I swear I mean you no harm.”
“Even if you did, I took a self-defense class, so I know how to take care of myself.”
“I don’t doubt that,” he tried to smile his most sincere and non-threatening smile, and she began to relax, still he was curious. “Why do people call you Ice Queen? I see no reason for that.”
“You seem like the exception to all rules,” she sighed and dried the last mug. “I guess I’m skeptical of all new acquaintances, you can call it trust issues if you want.”
“I’d rather call it reason,” he got up and rounded the table.
“You’re going? What about the food?” She sounded anxious but didn’t step back.
“No, I’m not going anywhere,” he pushed up the sleeves as much as he could with his bad hand, “put me to work, how can I help?”
“But your hand.”
“I’ll manage, and if I break anything I’ll pay for it,” he was completely serious and she saw it. “Come on Scully, I’m at your disposal.”
“Okay,” she let slide the use of her last name, with what he said about his own name, it seemed kind of fair, “maybe we’ll leave the dishes for now, I don’t want you to get those bandages wet, we could unpack the books, you think you can handle that?”
“I’ll hand them to you, and you’ll arrange them inside the bookcase, because I’m sure you have a system.”
“Yup,” she smiled and led the way to the stack of boxes in the living room, “I sure have.”
The process went quite smoothly as they waited for the food to arrive. Thanks to her sensible packing, the books were basically ordered the way she wanted them, the only problem was picking bookshelves. He didn’t skip a chance to laugh at some of the titles.
“’Inflammatory Bowel Diseases: A Personal View’ now that must be a real page turner,” he laughed handing her another pile of books.
“You have no idea, Steven King has nothing on this one.”
“Nope, wait, we have a winner, this one I got to read,” he picked a medium-sized volume and started to page through it.
“Give it back, Mulder,” she reached for the books but he turned away.
“Hold on a second, this is great.”
“What have you got there,” she tried to take the book from him but he escaped her again, “a layman shouldn’t read this stuff, you’ll read something and you’ll think you’re sick or dying.”
“I’m not a layman, I’m a psychologist,” the book was hidden behind his back and smile, “not a hypochondriac.”
“All men are,” she laughed and her arms went around him, searching for the book. Mulder froze and she realized what she was doing. She was holding on to him, her arms around his waist and he was looking down at her with a wicked grin.
“Like I said, you’re no Ice Queen,” he took half a step back, still in her space but no longer in her arms, and showed her the title.
“DIY Brain Surgery,” he said and gave her the book back, “you have to lend me this one sometime.”
The doorbell saved them. Scully from thinking too much about the hard muscle of his chest, and Mulder from trying to remember when was the last time a woman putting her arms around him made him laugh with excitement.
He went to the door and paid the Lin boy, as always, tipping him handsomely.
“You want to eat here?” She asked walking to the kitchen, ready to set the table.
“Sure,” unpacking the food, he grimaced as she set the plates and napkins and silverware, “I thought we said no dishes.”
“I want to try everything, so we’re sharing, I’ll do the dishes.”
He didn’t argue, and she did try everything, eating with gusto, as befit someone who did a honest day’s work. The sight made Mulder almost as pleased as if he cooked for her himself, although he never did things like that.
“I like this chicken thing, not too spicy to burn you through,” she said around a mouthful of moo goo gai pan.
“Easy on the deep fried shrimp then, the sauce is pure fire,” he warned.
“Really?” Taking a piece and dipping it cautiously, she nibbled at the end then gasped, “oh-ghod-wha-ish-thish”
She covered her mouth breathing deeply, hoping the beer could put out the fire, gesturing with her chopsticks for him to take the shrimp.
“Put it down,” he said and she did, the shrimp and the beer, looking down, flushed at being caught taking too much liberties.
“You don’t pass food like that,” he said with a smile, picking the shrimp of her plate and dipping it in sauce, “it’s a funeral custom in Japan.”
He bit of half without flinching, then licked his lips, and the sight made her feel warmth that had nothing to do with the hot sauce. She wanted to argue that they were having chinese not sushi, but he licked his lips again and she lost her train of thought for a moment.
“Try the dumplings,” she heard him say a moment later and time picked up its’ usual pace.
