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Scully walks into the shop after checking the address posted on the door twice. She made Mulder promise they weren’t on a case when he called her today at 8am, a Saturday. He had pinky sweared, an action she noted as ridiculous as soon as he said it:
“Pinkies touching is a key part of the pinky promise. We can’t do that over the phone.”
“Scully, you know I wouldn’t fake this. Pinky promises are the blood oath of the adult world.”
“That is by far the most ridiculous sentence you’ve ever said.”
“I could do a lot worse.”
--
She moves through the aisles, weaving past wall hangings and table lamps, novelty salt shakers and Tupperware. She wraps around the end of the aisle when she sees a ceramic cookie jar depicting a Native American in a headdress. You really can’t make this shit up, she thinks. Antique stores say nostalgia in the same breath as they say colonialism.
Mulder is in the back corner staring at an old washing board as if he’s actually contemplating buying it. Next to it are stacks of old radios, some more functional looking than others. Scully’s brain strings together the threads between the sports memorabilia Mulder started at to the radios to the washing board now holding his full attention.
“Let me guess, that was the murder weapon,” she deadpans.
Mulder looks up as if just remembering he is visible. His expression shifts from surprised to electric. As she’s learned in the last 6 months, his eyes have the tendency to flashbulb her memory. Expressions take over his face, and she’s left stunned by the way he focuses his gaze.
“Hey, Agent Scully. What’s the news?”
He says this as he looks her up and down, flicking his gaze from her light flannel to her slightly loose jeans. She threw on her jeans after his invisible pinky promise to remind herself that this is a day for leisure. The weather in DC is unseasonably cool for May, so she threw the brown soft flannel over her burgundy tank. She knows she fussed too much about her hair before throwing it back with a scrunchie.
Before she can doubt her outfit again, she sees his face flush. Her nerves steady.
“I was the one summoned here. You said it wasn’t a case.”
Mulder’s face morphs into confusion: “It isn’t.”
“It isn’t,” Scully repeats.
Mulder shifts on his feet and looks around. Scully sees his hesitation, an anticipatory pre-rejection response.
“Oh, are we here to shop, Mulder? Are you looking for some furniture or something?”
“I was just looking,” Mulder mumbles.
His eyes have found a steady place on the ground, and she has the distinct sensation she assumes she’d feel after kicking a puppy.
“Oh! Oh, okay. I was just confused,” she quickly responds.
She needs to right the boat somehow and raise spirits among the crew. She’s thinking through her course of action as Mulder runs his finger along the top of a nearby radio, feeling the smoothness of the polished wood. She usually relies on him to keep conversation going, but she seems to have caused a full shutdown.
“Did you see that cookie jar?” Scully says, loosely pointing her thumb at the offensive ceramic work and pulling a disgusted face.
Mulder follows her thumb to the jar before cringing: “Only the finest colonial caricatures for my snickerdoodles.”
She smirks at his joke, and he cracks a sly smile. She’s only known him a period of months, but she feels the familiar sense of ease of a close confidant when she opens up a little, expresses herself without fear of a strange look in return. He respects her in the way she does him.
“Did you know there’s a long indigenous radio history in the U.S.? There are broadcasts that date back to at least 1941. One of the early ones, Indians for Indians, was out of Norman, Oklahoma, created by Don Whistler, principal chief of the Sac and Fox tribe at the time. People would call in to express community concerns, share cultural history, and more.”
Mulder picks up speed as he says this. His eyes brighten, and it occurs to Scully that information sharing may be one of his love languages. Melissa had made her take a quiz she found in a book about love languages recently, claiming it would change how she saw her relationships forever. She’s annoyed she’s revisiting it in her head. She notes that quality time is one both she and Mulder share.
“I didn’t know that,” she replies, neglecting to mention a memory of her dad saying something about Indians trying to be the next Wolfman Jack.
She starts walking toward the lamps, and Mulder follows. She points out one that looks just like her grandmother’s, a cheap imitation of an antique brass lamp one might see in a mansion library. Mulder recalls a similar one in his family’s summer house, and Scully realizes it was probably the one her grandma dreamed of owning.
They weave past shelves of glassware in bright blues and greens. Mulder stops in novelty salt and pepper shaker land, excitedly showing Scully alligators, corn cobs, and lambs. She sees his eyes land on a cactus and UFO set, his eyes widening comically.
“Oh, I’m getting these,” he emphatically states.
Scully lets out a big laugh, and Mulder stares at her for a full minute, seemingly unaware of the social convention of not staring for a full minute. She doesn’t know why it makes her stomach flip, but it does.
They continue searching for nothing in particular. Mulder examines some caramel-colored cowboy boots curiously while Scully goes through a rack of slightly stained pink and yellow dresses with impossibly-cinched waists. They find collections of old keys and spend way too long pulling out old suitcases and imagining where the trunks may have traveled before ending up here.
It’s the jewelry that stops Scully in her tracks. She sees a brooch that reminds her of her other grandmother, and she’s captivated. It’s a tacky flower design with a faux pearl in the center, but it makes her emotional nonetheless.
“My grandmother loved wearing brooches like these. My dad’s mom, not my mom’s mom. She was always wearing a floral perfume, and she always had fresh flowers at her breakfast table. Flowers were her signature, if you will. She had a brooch that was similar to this one that she always kept out on her dresser, and I would sneak into her room while my siblings were playing to run my hand along it. I would hold it up to my shirt or pin it if I felt bold. It wasn’t pricey, but it felt so fancy to me as a kid.”
“Anyway,” she says, trying to brush past her sudden vulnerability. There’s opening up, and then there’s oversharing.
Mulder looks at her and nods, saying nothing. He’s waiting for her to say something else, but she refuses to bend to this request. They stand for a minute facing the case of jewelry, pretending to keep looking.
“Should we head out?” Mulder asks.
Scully is thankful for his reprieve.
“Yeah, I think I’ll save the quilt purchase for another day.”
She’s good at lightening the mood when it’s her who shifted it. Distract and pivot.
They walk past young couples shopping for furniture and retired women filling their baskets with knickknacks and baskets. They give a wave to the shopkeeper and step out to the front sidewalk.
Before she can ask where he parked, Mulder remembers the salt and pepper shakers he left in the store, and disappears through the door. Scully shifts awkwardly from foot to foot until he finally returns with a paper shopping bag a few minutes later.
“I lost them among the war memorabilia,” he says awkwardly.
They part with a half-hug because it feels too weird to just leave, but a full hug feels too intimate. He initiates it, and she’s relieved she doesn’t have to decide. Mulder smells of mossy amber, and she thinks, new aftershave, or is he wearing cologne?
It’s a week before she finds a tiny velvet drawstring bag tucked into the pocket of her jeans. It’s another Saturday, so she pulled on a casual outfit for errands. Her mouth opens as she looks at the brooch, wanting to respond to an audience of zero. Mulder bought her the brooch. She can’t think of what it means, but then a thought pops into her head: Small gift giving is another of Mulder’s love languages.