TITLE: Beyond Wishing AUTHOR: JLB CLASSIFICATION: MSR RATING: PG-13/R SPOILERS: general season 7, Je Souhaite FEEDBACK: please -- Amory20@aol.com DISCLAIMER: not mine. property of CC, 1013, and FOX. SUMMARY: sequel to "Bed of Stars" -- Mulder and Scully do some late night talking. you could technically read this without prior knowledge of the series, but then you'd be missing out... * for sister zooey, who is the cat's pajamas as far as i'm concerned * Beyond Wishing by JLB When it's late, and his apartment is covered in strange gray shadows, Mulder can't stand silence. It only seems to accentuate the drabness of his apartment, how dark and dusty his home is, and leave him feeling a strange loneliness that even the most promising X-File can't fully drive off. He always needs some kind of audible distraction to keep him company -- the television or a CD, the buzzing of the fan or the clanging of the radiator. If he manages to fall asleep, it's always with some small, comforting noise in the background -- any sound that lets him forget he's alone. But tonight, his small apartment is absolutely quiet and still. If he concentrates hard enough, he can actually hear the silence, the soft, noiseless hum that seems to make the walls vibrate, the windows rattle, the sheets on his bed whisper against his skin. Tonight, as much as it bothers him, Mulder is trying to keep quiet. It's also warmer than usual, and even the thin cotton sheets tangled at his feet are too heavy. If he could just put the fan on and position it so the air would fall directly across his body, he might be able to fall asleep. But he can't -- too much noise, too much motion involved. To make matters worse, his stomach is rumbling, loud and persistent. All he's eaten tonight is a bowl of popcorn -- hardly a substantial meal, especially without any butter, as per Scully's request -- and now he is starving. Hidden somewhere in the back of a kitchen cabinet is a Twinkie, he remembers, and suddenly his mind is filled with visions of processed sponge cake and sickeningly sweet cream filling. But they package it in those damn cellophane wrappers that make so much noise when torn open. He knows the sharp ripping sound would carry into the bedroom, even from the kitchen. Maybe he could take it into the bathroom, and turn the faucet on so the water would drown out the sound. But then the roar of the sink would ... Jesus, all this subterfuge for a fucking Twinkie. It's not worth it. He's even afraid of moving, afraid that the mattress would ripple beneath him, groan and creak under his shifting weight. It was a big enough risk to turn on the bedside lamp, which he did only after he was certain that the shade was angled so only a thin shaft of light fell across his side of the bed. With the minimal light, he can at least read the BSU's latest statistical report on serial killers, the only reading material within reach from his spot in bed. He would have read it eventually, so now is just as good a time as any. Even if Scully is tangled in the sheets beside him, sleeping soundly. It is so inappropriate that he almost laughs out loud. Scully is next him, wearing nothing but his faded blue comforter, making the soft, tiny sighing sounds of sleep, and Mulder is reading about escalating ax murderers. He takes a quick look at her as she lies on her stomach, hands tucked beneath the flat pillow, all the smooth, pale skin of her back exposed with the sheets twisted at her waist. She is still and beautiful, like some grand, carefully carved sculpture, and he wishes she could stay there in his bed -- just like that -- indefinitely. Wishes... he never stopped to think about them much. But these last few days, he's done nothing but contemplate a multitude of impossible desires. Now Mulder wants to stop, wants to block them out. The genie is long gone -- he has to stop all this wishing, even if it is only in his own head. Eventually he forces himself to turn away from Scully, convinced she'll feel him watching even as she sleeps and wake up, uncomfortable with his scrutiny. He turns back to the report, shifting carefully on the mattress. If he stays still, keeps his body rigid so that not even a single hair strays into the six inch safety zone between he and Scully, Mulder can almost ignore that she is beside him. And he must ignore her, really, because if he doesn't, he'll do one of two stupid, selfish things. Either he'll start making noise -- turn on the fan, blast the television, slam the bathroom door, bounce up and down on the mattress -- and wake Scully. Then he'll maintain a strained, uncomfortable silence until she leaves, quickly and quietly before a word is said, before he has to touch her. Or --and perhaps even worse -- Mulder will reach across the bed and gently trace the sleek ridge of her spine, cover her shoulders with warm, wet kisses until she slowly wakes, and he can turn her on her back, sinking into her again without a second thought. These days, he's been leaning towards option two more and more. He's been feeling disturbingly primitive and possessive where Scully is concerned. If he could, Mulder realizes with disgust, he would shut her away from the rest of the world, lock her in this dark bedroom so he could be the only one to see her soft smile, hear her all too infrequent laughter, touch her perfect, smooth skin -- he wants to be the only person who knows her, the only one who really understands her and all her moods. But, deep down, he knows it's also because he wants to keep her safe, because he wants to leave all the monsters at his apartment door and keep Scully alive and healthy for as long as he lives. He wishes he could do that. She would kick his caveman ass if she knew, fume about how she is perfectly capable of taking care of herself, that she isn't some frail damsel in distress who needs a man to protect her. His feelings are inappropriate, maybe sexist -- he knows that -- but he can't help it. Isn't that how it is when you love someone, Mulder wonders. How can it be wrong to value Scully's life the way he does? He sighs loudly, forgetting for a moment where he is, then wants to kick himself for shattering the perfect silence of his bedroom with that rough sound. Quickly, he checks on Scully, who of course is now shifting restlessly against the mattress, her breathing shallow again. She turns slightly, facing him. Her breast is exposed, covered in shadow except for the tip which seems to catch a bit of the dim light. His eyes are drawn to it, unfailingly, and he almost forgets to breathe. This is only their third night together, so he hasn't really had the time to study her body. And it's one thing to see her body while he's making love to her, another thing entirely to just look at her, glance at her soft curves casually like this, as if her full breasts are just part of the scenery that makes up his bedroom, something he sees all the time and can simply take for granted. Scully blinks, her eyes slowly opening, focusing, trying to make sense of her surroundings. He knows the exact moment that she becomes fully aware, her eyes going wide and alert she pulls the sheet up from her waist to cover her breasts. "What time is it?" she asks, her voice rough with sleep. No preliminaries -- just "what time is it?" He doesn't know what he expects her to say, though. "Oh Mulder, thank you for rocking my world..." as she swoons back against the pillows? He wouldn't even be able to laugh at that; it would be too disturbing, outrageously out of character and uncomfortable. He'd like her to say something more though -- even if he doesn't know what that more is -- so Mulder toys with ignoring her. But when he notices how nervous she seems, how unsure and uneasy, he turns to check the clock. "Two thirty-eight," he says quietly, almost afraid to hear his own voice. "And all is well." He doesn't know if he's trying to convince her or himself, but either way, his words sound flat and unconvincing. Scully sits up against the headboard, her elbow brushing his arm as she moves. The frayed bed sheet strains against her breasts, and he forces himself to look away. "Damn, it's almost three," she says quickly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep. I meant to..." He smiles at her as softly as he can manage. "Hey, Scully, it's all right. If anything, I'll take it as a compliment." To Mulder's amusement, he can just make out the blush on her cheeks in the shadows. She smiles shyly, self-consciously smoothing her hair behind her ears, and he watches as she looks carefully around the room, sees her take in the trail of discarded clothing that leads to the bed. When she hesitantly looks over at Mulder, it's his boxers that seem to hold her interest, almost as if she feels more uncomfortable because he's put his shorts back on and she's wearing a sheet. "I should get going. It's late," she says finally, trying to untangle the mess of sheets. Her voice is low, careful -- that deep tone that always makes him a little nervous. As he watches Scully move cautiously under the sheets, Mulder is struck by the uncontrollable urge to ask her to stay. He knows all the reasons he shouldn't, all the reasons he's shied away from being with her like this, but he's spent the last couple of days contemplating his heart's desires, deliberating over how to use his three once-in-a-lifetime wishes. It frightened him to realize that Scully was at the center of so many of them. He wants to keep her safe. He wants to make her happy. He wants to keep her warm and sleepy in his bed, where he can protect her, watch over her, hold her. And he doesn't need a genie now to grant his wish. He only has to ask. "You don't have to go, Scully," he says simply, turning to face her, the BSU's report still draped across his knees. "Like you said, it's late." He tries to appear casual, playing with the plastic binding of the report like it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen. "Mulder, we have to work in the morning." She gingerly slides to edge of the bed, trying to figure out how to make a graceful exit, searching for her lacy underthings amidst the clutter of his bedroom floor. He knows that she doesn't really want to go -- her voice is soft, lacking all of its usual strength and conviction. She thinks that he wants her to go, maybe even that she should. But it certainly isn't what she wants. "You've got a bag in your car, right?" he asks, trying not to sound desperate, trying not to sound disinterested -- it's a fine balance. "I'll just set the alarm earlier so we both have time to shower." He reaches for the alarm clock, cursing under his breath as he accidentally flips through five a.m. He doesn't usually have such a hard time setting the alarm. "I don't want to impose," Scully says distantly, and when Mulder looks up at her -- head bent, lips slightly parted, fingers playing with the sheets -- he is suddenly reminded of the sad look in her eyes when they sat in an LA hotel room and tried to make sense of their relationship. He wishes he could make this right. Jesus, he should have when he had the chance, when he had a thousand years worth of magic on his side. But Scully's theory on world peace probably applies to this as well -- it's something they must struggle through without the aid of wishes. "Impose?" He sighs, shaking his head. "Just stay, Scully." She lets out a deep breath, then slowly lies down again, rolling on her side to face him. When she's settled, she smiles softly, and reaches out to pull on the report in Mulder's lap so she can see the cover page. "What are you reading, Mulder?" "BSU's new stats. Just a little light bedtime reading." He smoothes his hand across the thick paper cover, tracing the embossed lettering. Scully shakes her head, smiling, then stretches a bit. He hears her joints pop slightly, making sharp cracking sounds, and he winces in sympathy. "So is it official?" he asks, when she finishes stretching and he can't stop himself from looking at her any longer. She smiles thinly, panicked, as if she expects him to ask something troubling, serious. He spits his next words out as quickly as he can. "Did you hate 'Caddy Shack'?" Her smile deepens to one of indulgence. "I think I'll stand behind my earlier assessment. It is a total guy movie." She toys with the corner of the report in Mulder's lap. "But it was fun to watch you watch it." Her smiles transforms again, into something more knowing, more secretive, and he feels himself get warmer. "What does that mean?" He huffs quietly, not certain if he should be offended, flattered or amused. "And the gopher was cute," she says, ignoring him. "Or the groundhog. Whatever it was." She smiles coyly, sultry and full of promise, and Mulder suddenly realizes the damage Scully could do with her arsenal of smiles if she put her mind to it. He should have paid more attention to her smiles over the years, however infrequent they might have been. He could have learned something. He sighs and shakes his head. "Well, you sat through the entire thing with a minimum of snide comments. That's something." He can't help smirking as he reaches over to run his fingers through her hair. She is still beneath his touch, but her scalp feels so warm, and it takes him a moment to pull away. He comes back to himself, and awkwardly moves his hand to his knee. He can feel Scully watching him, feel her eyes tracing over the bones in his hand, maybe listing them to herself as she fiddles with the sheet. "Are you ever going to tell me what your final wish was?" Scully asks, trying to feign disinterest but her voice catches at the end, hinting at her curiosity. He likes the fact that she wants to get his secret out of him, that he has something to hold over her. It is immature, silly, but he is pleased nonetheless. "How do you know I didn't wish for this?" He can't resist reaching out and running his hand over the soft cotton at her hip. "I don't think anyone could fault me." Scully blushes again, looking down at Mulder's hand moving slowly across her thigh. He watches too, surprised by how large his hand looks against the sheet, against her body. "I think you know that you didn't need to ask a genie," she says softly, lightly, but there is a seriousness in the way her voice trembles, and his hand freezes, a bit of the cotton sheet pinched between his fingers. He knows she's looking away from him now too. It's as if she's let some carefully guarded secret escape and wishes she could turn back time. So he tries to move time forward for her, tries to gloss over what's been said. "What would you wish for, Scully?" he asks, gently squeezing her hip. "If you believed in genies and magic carpets and all that..." He smiles and looks over at her, but she is staring up at the ceiling, as if there is something interesting written there. "I don't know, Mulder. I haven't really considered it." Her tongue darts out quickly as she finishes, and her lips shine in the darkness, wet and slightly parted. It takes everything in him not to reach out and touch her mouth, slide across the bed and kiss her. "Come on, Scully. When you were a kid, you didn't wish on stars or candles on a birthday cake? You never threw a penny into a wishing well and asked for your heart's desire?" He watches her closely now, unable to look away. She sighs, sounding slightly exasperated. "Sure I did. But back then all I wanted was a puppy... maybe a pony in my more extravagant moments." She turns to him, cocking her head. "I don't really have the need for a pony these days... or even a puppy for that matter." He glares at her for a moment, teasingly, wanting her to play along for just a moment. Now he absolutely has to know what she'd wish for, what sorts of things the ever so sensible Agent Scully would ask a thousand year old genie for. He needs to know... "Mul-derr..." she almost whines, and he smiles in spite of himself. "Fine... Health, happiness. Longer legs maybe." She lays her hand over his on her hip, tracing his fingers, softly rubbing against his nails. "I'm serious, Scully. If you could have anything, do anything... what would you want?" He drops the BSU report to the floor, and slides closer to her in bed. "Because I think you already have great legs," he whispers beside her ear, and she shivers, he notes with pride. When she smiles then, he is too distracted by it to notice her movement. But suddenly he feels her foot hesitantly rub against his. He looks down at her tiny, pale foot sliding up and over his calf. The contrast between their bodies -- in color, size, even texture -- strikes him as beautiful, strange but right. It's mesmerizing, her foot gliding over his leg in a soft back and fourth motion, and he almost doesn't hear her when she finally answers him. "I don't want to think about it, Mulder," she says quietly. "I don't want to think about all the things I want but can't have. I just want to... I want to enjoy my life as it is." She looks up at him, checking to make sure he understands, then whispers, "No wishes for something more. No regrets." She smiles, her eyes so soft and dark, and he can't help but see the sadness in her. She is the strongest person he knows -- no surprise there. And he isn't surprised by the depth of her love for him -- in awe of it maybe, but not shocked. He is surprised, however, by his reaction to her declaration, confused by the fact that he wants to shake her and say, "Are you crazy, Scully? What the hell is wrong with you? You deserve so much more." He doesn't say anything though. He simply pulls her to him, so they both lie on their sides, and kisses her forehead. As if that could possibly convey what he feels for her. He is nothing if not inadequate. "Mulder, we have to get up in three hours," she says, laughing nervously as his kisses become wetter, warmer. "We really should get some sleep." Her hands move in loose circles on his back, and he gets the impression that she isn't really that tired. "More like two hours," he mumbles as he moves his lips from her forehead to her cheek, down to her jaw, across her throat. He has to show her now, has to let her know that as hesitant as he may be, he appreciates the gift he's been given, all the wishes she's granted him with her own magic. Prying the sheet from her body, he reaches for her breast, slowly and gently -- he's always careful with Scully -- and sshe sighs, a deep, breathy sound, as his mouth finds hers. It is as if they've been kissing each other for years -- they are so in tune with one another, perfectly in synch. And when they kiss like this, he knows she is his, that no one will ever touch her like this again. He can even believe for the moment that he will be able to keep her safe. She rolls to her back, and he covers her instantly, trying to work his shorts over his hips without taking his lips from hers. She tries to help him, pushing at the material ineffectually, distracted as Mulder nips at her lower lip. He stops for a moment, just to look at her -- eyes half-closed and sleepy looking, lips wet and swollen -- and tries to find the words to tell her what he's feeling. He needs to tell her, though he'll probably regret it later. "Scully, I..." She rocks her hips under him slowly and deliberately, covering his lips with her fingers. She shakes her head, pressing herself up against him firmly, and he forgets what it was he was going to say. He closes his eyes, trying to slow his breathing, and settles himself between her thighs. As he pushes inside her, Mulder hears her moan "Oh God" under her breath, and he pauses, feeling some kind of divine inspiration, intervention, bliss -- nothing else can explain what he's feeling. He will keep her safe, he promises himself, as her nails lightly scratch at his back. He will do everything in his power to make sure no harm comes to her. There is no room for failure, Mulder knows, as he feels her hot breath against his neck, her broken voice moaning softly beside his ear. When she comes for him, her legs tight around his hips, Mulder wishes for a thousand more moments like this, a thousand more quiet nights in his bed with Scully warm and tight all around him. He knows there is no genie to hear him, to take note of his petition and make it happen. But maybe Scully will hear him, will listen to the way he calls out her name at that moment -- the two syllables dragged out in agony -- feel the way his hips pound against hers, remember his sweaty, slick skin rubbing against hers. She'll know what it means, what he's asking. When he finally has control of his arms and legs again, Mulder drags himself off her, rolling onto the mattress beside her. He watches her try to slow her breathing, her eyes closed, damp hair sticking to her forehead, and his heart beat speeds up again. Forcing himself to turn away, he lays his arm across his eyes, and tries to calm down. He feels her pulling the sheets across them, feels her warm body as she settles herself next to him. "It's really hot in here, isn't it?" Scully asks, her voice sounding scratchy and rough, like she has a sore throat. "Yeah. Want me to turn on the fan?" He's still panting, but starts moving to the edge of the bed even before she responds. "If you don't mind," she says, and even though his back is to her, he can feel her watching him as he plugs in the fan and turns it on. "Thanks, Mulder." He smiles as he crawls back into bed, the air already feeling less stale as the fan begins to work its magic. As he adjusts the sheets, he checks the clock, and mentally cringes. "Only an hour and forty-five minutes now," he informs Scully, reaching to turn off the bedside lamp. "You're going to have to drag me out of bed when that alarm goes off," she says, yawning. She turns on her side so she's facing him, but not touching him. He can feel the sparks coming off her body, and he tells himself that it's simply static electricity, nothing more magical than that despite how it might feel. "I'm not quite sure how you'd explain showing up to work in nothing but a sheet to Skinner, but I'd love to see you try." "Good night, Mulder," she says firmly but with a touch of amusement. "See you in an hour and forty." He slides over to kiss her mouth softly, surprising them both. Her eyes open, wide and dark, and her tongue slides over her lips where his just touched. He closes his eyes, not certain he'll fall asleep but willing to give it a try. Even with his eyes shut, their bodies not touching, he can feel Scully beside him, warm and safe. It's not what he wished for when it counted, but right now, it's all he wants. Scully becomes still beside him, and he listens to her breathing, the soft, steady rhythm, as it mingles with the buzzing of the fan. He falls asleep, still listening to the sounds of his bedroom. the end. feedback is adored at Amory20@aol.com URL: http://members.aol.com/amory20/page/index.html