Wishing and Hoping By: Tess Email: tnv099@aol.com Distribution: Please let me know first Rating: PG-13 Content: MSR Spoilers: "Je Souhaite" Disclaimer: The characters herein are the sole property of 1013 and Fox. I use them without permission but with great respect and affection. Author's Notes: Happy Birthday, Lidia! Wishing and Hoping By: Tess Curled up on her sofa, Scully sighed and tugged a lightweight fleece throw over her legs. Her muscles were loose from the long, fragrant soak she had taken and she was wearing her softest, most comfortable pajamas. A flame danced on the wick of a jarred candle on her mantle, filling the air with its spicy, homey scent. A novel she had picked up months ago, but had not yet had the time to read, was lying on the coffee table. The sugar cookies she had purchased from the bakery on her way home were artfully arranged on a delicate china plate and steam wafted from the matching cup of tea cradled between her hands. All the ingredients for a cozy, relaxed and self-indulgent night were in place. Instead, she was brooding. Her cheeks burned as she remembered the humiliation of pulling open the morgue drawer with a flourish and finding... nothing. Invisible man, indeed! Cringing, she shoved the memory aside. She picked up a cookie and wondered what Mulder was doing. Probably still fawning over Jenn and trying to come up with the perfect wish, she groused. Her dislike of the other woman had been poorly disguised and in the quiet of her apartment, she could admit to being jealous. Jealous of Mulder's obvious fascination with the striking brunette and the ease with which she had captured his attention. Her fingers tightened around the cookie and a shower of crumbs exploded over her legs. "Damn!" She carefully gathered the edges of the throw together and stood. Stalking into the kitchen, she shook the crumbs into the trashcan. She tossed the throw over a chair and planted her hands on her hips. Despite the carefully planned setting, she was never going to relax. Without even looking at the clock, she knew it was too early to go to bed. She was too wound up to try to sleep, anyway. She was debating the merits of changing into her gym clothes and working off her agitation on the treadmill gathering dust in the corner of her bedroom when the telephone rang. She grabbed the receiver from the cradle mounted to the wall near the kitchen door. "Hello?" "Hey, Scully. It's me." She walked across the room and yanked open the refrigerator door. "Hi." She pulled a plastic bottle of water from the refrigerator and screwed off the cap. "What's up?" "Not much. Whatcha doing?" She leaned a hip against the counter and took a drink from the bottle. "Just relaxing and reading a book," she lied. "Why?" She began mentally preparing her arguments against meeting him at the office or the airport or wherever he wanted to go. Working herself up with righteous indignation, she was only half listening to him. "... and I've got that beer you like, but I don't have any popcorn, so I thought you could... Scully? Are you there?" Beer and popcorn? What was he talking about? "Yeah, Mulder. I'm here. I'm sorry, what were you saying?" He repeated his offer for a movie night at his apartment. "So, what do you think?" he asked. "You feel like coming over?" She looked down at the pajamas she was wearing and fingered her still-damp hair. She glanced at the clock on the microwave. "Give me about an hour." "See you then." He clicked off and Scully hung the receiver up. She hurried out of the kitchen and blew out the candle on the mantle. In the bathroom she dried her hair, dusted loose powder over her face and stroked a light coating of mascara over her lashes. Deciding that her cheeks were flushed enough, she set aside the pot of blush. Standing in front of the open closet door trying to decide what to wear, she realized that she was treating this night like a date. Was it? She tried to remember the sound of his voice. Had he sounded casual? Nervous? She couldn't remember. She had been to his apartment plenty of times in the past and had never felt this sense of nervous anticipation. Why now? Why was she even thinking of the possibility, she wondered. She clutched the knob on the closet door tightly. Because it was something she had been wishing and hoping for, she admitted. Wished for. Jenn. Could it be? Maybe he had been wanting the same thing. Maybe he had wished... No, no, no, her rational self spoke. But... maybe, the wishful part of her whispered. Maybe. The last time she had seen him, he had been trying to construct one, last, perfect wish... "Don't get your hopes up," she murmured. She pulled on a pair of black jeans and a long-sleeved white tee shirt. Casual, she thought. Keep it casual. Be casual. Relaxed. She grabbed a box of all-natural microwave popcorn from the kitchen and her keys and headed out. It's just Mulder, she reminded herself on the drive to his apartment. Just Mulder. Relax. Despite her best efforts, the butterflies dancing in her stomach were anything but relaxed and she couldn't suppress the tiny voice whispering maybe, just maybe, in her ear. ************ The butterflies were still and the tiny voice had changed from hopeful to chastising. She didn't know what she had been thinking. She had felt awkward with him from the moment she had walked into his apartment. She tried to hide it by joining him in a nonsensical exchange about the merits - or lack thereof - of unbuttered popcorn and the dubious qualification of Caddyshack as a classic movie. She munched on popcorn and sipped her beer and studied him out of the corner of her eye. When Mulder said that he hadn't made the world a happier place, she cautiously offered that she was fairly happy, but he didn't take the bait. When she asked him what his final wish was, he simply smiled mysteriously and turned his attention to the movie. They had settled side-by-side on the sofa, so close that they were almost touching. But they weren't. He seemed caught up in the movie and she laughed in all the right places at the antics of Bill Murray and the pitifully fake-looking groundhog. When he spoke, his voice was filled with affection. He teased her good-naturedly by calling her a movie snob when she admitted that she had never understood the appeal of films like Caddyshack or Animal House. He touched her on the arm twice, casually drawing her attention to something on the television screen. He pressed his hand against her knee when he pushed himself to his feet to fetch two more bottles of beer from the refrigerator. In short, he acted like he always did on nights when they spent time together away from work. When the movie was over, she popped to her feet. "I'd better get going." "What's your hurry?" He sounded surprised and a little hurt. His hand shot out and he snagged his fingers in the waistband of her jeans. She sucked in a startled breath and froze. "I just... it's late and I have to, um... the alarm goes off early in the morning," she stammered. Her stomach muscles quivered against his knuckles and she knew she had telegraphed something to him when his fingers clenched in the material of her jeans. He cocked his head to one side and studied her face intently for a moment. His head tipped forward and back in a barely perceptible nod and he seemed to arrive at some kind of decision. He rose, slowly unfolding his long frame from the sofa inch- by-inch. His chest brushed deliberately against hers and she could feel his breath against her cheek as he slid up the length of her body until he was towering over her. "Tomorrow is Saturday," he reminded her in a voice pitched lower, rougher than she had ever heard it before. "You can sleep in." "I can't. I... I have things to do. Her gaze was locked somewhere in the vicinity of the collar of his tee shirt. "Like what?" There was an odd quality to his voice and demeanor. He seemed challenging... predatory. She jumped when he dipped a knuckle into the indentation of her navel. She sensed that he was testing her, but she had been too on edge all evening long to now successfully hide her reactions. She tipped her chin forward, hiding her face and watching the lazy glide of his fingers over the soft cotton of her shirt. He dipped his head next to hers. "You wanted to know what my last wish was," he reminded her. "What if I told you that I wished for you?" Her eyes shot up to his. "Did you?" She held her breath. He shook his head slowly. "No." She swallowed and nodded. "I see." She took a step backward but was prevented from moving away by the hand still knotted in the material of her jeans. She didn't understand the game he was playing and at that moment, she wanted nothing more desperately than to gain her freedom. She tried pushing his hand away but he pulled her closer until her chest was pressed against his. He threaded the fingers of his free hand through her hair and forced her to look up at him. "I didn't use my last wish, wishing for you," he repeated. "But I've been wishing for you... for 'us'... for years." She lifted a cautious hand and pressed it against his chest. The heartbeat thundering beneath her palm belied his calm manner. "I've been wishing for you all of my life," he admitted. Her eyes swam with unshed tears. "Oh, God." She flung her arms around his neck and he curled his around her waist as he lifted her into a hug. It was too good to be true, she thought. This can't be real. I'm dreaming. "Stop thinking," his voice rumbled into her ear. "Stop thinking, and tell me what you're feeling." She sucked in a steadying breath and tilted her head back. "I've been wishing for you too." Her tentative smile widened to match his happy grin. He sank back down onto the sofa and framed her hips between his hands. "Then... will you stay?" She leaned forward and pressed a sweet kiss to his mouth. "I'll stay." End http://www.tessfiles.com