AUTHOR: Diana Battis
RATED: NC 17
FEEDBACK: All4Mulder@aol.com
Part two
********
She stands incredibly still, almost afraid to move or breathe. Her heart flutters in her chest like a caged bird, and she fights the urge to turn and run. This must be the way animals feel when danger is near, she thinks. The basement hallway is her safety zone, but once she passes through that door anything might happen.
Maybe that's why she is so afraid.
Her gaze lingers on the plaque mounted on the door. Once, she'd wondered about her place in this office, rebelling against the narrow scope of their working relationship. But in the end, it hadn't made much of a difference. A small, melancholy smile crosses her lips as she reaches out to trace the letters of his name. It all seems so long ago.
Sighing, her fingers leave the plaque to comb through her hair. He waits just beyond the thin barrier of wood. And she's run out of delaying tactics. Her shoulders straighten with almost military precision as she takes a few deep, cleansing breaths. Her normal guise of professionalism in place, she opens the door.
Mulder looks up as she enters, his half-closed eyes sweeping over her. He's leaning back in his chair with his feet propped casually on the desk, and his long fingers are busy folding a piece of paper. Though it's still early, the silk tie is already askew, and the sleeves of his white shirt are rolled back to expose strong, lightly tanned forearms. "Afternoon, Scully," he quips, glancing at his watch. His ironic tone is tempered with a half-smile.
Scully looks at her own watch, then raises an eyebrow. "I'm only forty-five minutes late, Mulder." She shrugs off her jacket and hangs it up, pausing to brush away an imaginary speck of lint from its sleeve. "And I stayed until eight last night, in case you're interested," she adds, turning to face him.
"Sounds like you had a productive day." His voice drips with forced cheer. "I take it that means you finished the expense reports?" The paper he holds is taking on a new shape under his agile fingers.
She nods, then walks to her desk to wave at the stack of folders and envelopes in her outbox. "Among other things." She slides into her chair and begins to sort through the large bundle of mail awaiting her. Separating the envelopes into neat piles with her usual efficiency, she is pleased to note her almost-steady hands. "And you, Mulder -- did Dr. Friedman live up to your expectations?" she inquires, forcing herself to meet his gaze.
He laughs, swinging his legs to the floor. "It was an interesting experience. Not at all what I'd expected." With a sharp flick of the wrist, he sends a finished paper airplane sailing across the office. "I learned quite a lot."
The ease of his grin is contagious. In spite of herself, Scully mouth quirks in response. "What did he tell you, Mulder?"
He looks away, pushing a hand through his hair. "Not 'he,' Scully. She. Dr. Judith Friedman."
Her smile sours slightly before she catches it. "Dr. Friedman is a woman?"
Mulder's grin turns sheepish. "I didn't mention that yesterday?"
Her tongue darts out to graze the corner of her mouth. "No, you didn't," she observes with a raised eyebrow.
He shrugs. "Sorry, Scully. Guess I didn't think it was important. Anyway, I wish you had gone with me. I think you'd have liked her." He leans forward, a conspiratorial look on his face. "She's one of the youngest department heads at the university."
Nodding, she gnaws on the inner skin of her lip, wondering how she's supposed to respond. "Interesting," she says after a moment, flinching inwardly as he gives her the full Mulder smile, teeth and all. She fights the urge to throw something at him.
"Anyway, Judy has one of the largest...."
Scully interrupts. "Judy?" she asks blandly. She can see this woman now. Smart and successful. Tall, blonde, beautiful, with long legs that look fabulous beneath lab coats. And with an interest in the supernatural, no less. A damned Mulder fantasy come to life.
Mulder nods. "That's Dr. Friedman -- Judi with an 'i.' As I was saying, she's amassed one of the largest collections of data on mermaids in the world. A number of the volumes are extremely rare. Over dinner she was telling me that...."
"Over dinner?" Scully's fingers curl, her nails digging into the soft skin of her palms. She is beginning to dislike this woman with a surprising intensity.
He leans back in his chair and closes his eyes, a faraway look stealing across his face. "She'd made reservations at this fantastic seafood restaurant in the harbor, Scully. Great food, and the view was spectacular."
"I can imagine," she murmurs under her breath. Her teeth ache from biting back the litany of reproach that flows through her mind.
"What?" Mulder's eyes blink open, their dark depths alight with confusion.
Her nostrils flare with scorn. "Mulder, unless you're going to tell me that a mermaid served you dinner, I fail to see the connection to the New Jersey case. That *is* what this is all about, isn't it?" She can't help it; the words slip through her lips in a stinging rebuke.
He leans forward, his cheeks suffusing with color as the verbal slap connects. "What's going on, Scully? Are we still talking about the case, or is this because I failed to mention Dr. Friedman was a woman?"
"Don't be ridiculous," she says quickly. Too quickly, it seems, as a speculative light enters his eyes. She hates him for being able to see through her so easily.
Mulder's head tilts in appraisal. "You know, Scully," he says conversationally, "I never said Dr. Friedman was a man, either. And now I'm wondering what, specifically, this has to do with the case?"
Her face freezes into an icy mask and she pushes the stack of mail aside. "My point exactly. You've wasted time on a meritless case when we have more pressing matters to attend to."
His eyebrows shoot up as he leans forward, his lips fighting a grin. "I think someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," he smirks, losing the battle. "I wish...."
Those words are the final straw -- a proverbial red flag. She's put up with far too much these past few days and has reached her breaking point. Hating herself for the loss of control, she stands and walks over to confront him. "Damn you, Mulder. That's what started this whole thing," she exclaims hotly.
"What are you talking about?" Mulder swivels around to face her.
"Your *wish*, Mulder," she bites out.
"I'm lost, Scully. Want to draw me a map?" He rocks back in the chair, a puzzled frown creasing his forehead.
"I know what you did," she accuses. "With all that's happened, and all you've seen, how could you use it that way? How could you use...." She swallows hard, not wanting to believe he could have done this to her. Not wanting to believe that Mulder could ever have been so selfish. "I don't understand how you could have done it...." Her voice dwindles as she is faced with the hard truth -- maybe she doesn't really know Mulder at all.
Or perhaps she doesn't know herself...is it possible her dreams have a basis in reality? Are they a result of her own selfish desires?
Mulder stands slowly. "You know what happened with my other wishes. Was it wrong to use the final one to wish someone a little happiness?"
There is an underlying note of regret in his words that weakens her. Her anger melts in an instant, and she can do nothing but watch, transfixed, as he approaches her. He cups her chin, his fingers caressing and warm against her skin. "Someday, I hope you'll understand why," he says softly as his head tilts toward her.
He's so close to her. She sways, her knees as wobbly as a toddler's, and her hand reaches out to clutch his forearm. His eyes are so green, she thinks absently, unable to look away from him as his head dips lower. She can hear him breathe, short little puffs that stir the wisps of hair touching her cheek. One inch closer and he will be kissing her....
With a gasp, she pushes away from him and flees the office.
********
It is almost six when she enters the coffee shop. The place is deserted, a quiet oasis in the bustle of downtown. The aroma of freshly ground beans fills the air, while hints of chocolate and cinnamon add texture to the heady mixture. Scully inhales deeply, savoring the comforting atmosphere as she gives her order.
It has been one hell of a day.
Her shoes pinch, and she stifles a groan as she shifts her weight from foot to foot. One hand rests at her waist, trying to ease the ache in her back. Her body trembles with weariness, and she is beginning to regret the impulse that led her to this tiny shop.
Sighing, she leans an arm on the counter, eyeing the pastries on display. She hasn't eaten since breakfast, and there is an empty feeling inside her that she tries to blame on hunger. But it will take more than the small sweet roll she selects to assuage it.
Nodding her thanks to the dour-faced woman behind the counter, she accepts her change and carries the mocha latte and pastry to a small table in the back. She chooses a wing-backed chair, settling into the upholstered seat with a barely stifled chuff of pain. Hours spent bending over a microscope have tied her muscles in knots, and she hopes to find solace in this peaceful corner.
For the first time since the confrontation with Mulder, she lets her guard down. Her head lolls against the chair's back as her gaze turns toward the window. The interior of the shop is reflected on its surface; the cozy room, with its wood paneling, comfortable chairs and diffused lighting, provides an illusive backdrop for the stranger she sees in the glass.
The copper hair seems dull, tarnished like an old penny, and dark, almost bruise-like crescents stain the fragile area beneath her eyes. New lines of weariness are etched in the surrounding pale skin, and her mouth wears an inverted smile. Defeat seems to cover her like a blanket; her shoulders sag under its weight, sinking like the sun whose waning rays paint the horizon in tones of tangerine and peach.
Her fingers brush against the cold glass, tracing the colorful patterns in the darkening sky. The spectacular sunset is another illusion -- nothing more than light filtering through pollution. In life, nothing is really as it seems. Sunsets. Rainbows. Mulder. She watches, unblinking, until the last of the light disappears, leaving the sky as cold and dark as her thoughts.
Shivering, she turns and again reaches for her latte. The richness coats her tongue and pushes back the lump in her throat, while the heat radiating through the cup warms her icy fingers. But inside, she's still cold.
She breaks off a piece of the roll and pops the morsel into her mouth. What now? she wonders. A teaching position at Quantico? Or maybe something in the private sector? One thing is certain, there is no way she can continue to work in the X-files. Mulder has destroyed her trust; shattered it with soft words that fell like the blow of a hammer. And yet.... She sighs, forcing herself to swallow the hard truth. Though the partnership is over, she can't imagine her life without it.
Without him.
Suddenly, the roll is sawdust in her mouth. It takes several sips to wash it down, but even the sweet latte isn't enough to neutralize the bitter taste of betrayal left behind.
"Small world."
She jumps. Liquid drips down the side of the cup and over her fingers, collecting in a puddle on the table, but she is oblivious to the spill. With deliberate care, she sets the cup down and raises her eyes to the speaker.
Though she wears her hair in a more feminine style and her suit is a soft shade of aqua instead of the black she'd worn before, Scully has no trouble recognizing the face of the woman handing her a napkin.
"I didn't mean to startle you," the woman apologizes, settling into a matching wingback with a sigh of satisfaction.
Scully is silent as she wipes the stickiness from her fingers. Over and over, each stroke rougher than the last until her skin is red and the paper is in shreds. Swallowing hard, she crumples the soiled napkin and pushes it aside. She stiffens her shoulders, covering her agitation with a mask of indifference as she meets the piercing eyes of her uninvited guest.
"You're Agent Scully, right? Mulder's partner? You'll have to excuse my forwardness. These little social niceties are a bit new to me." Though her speech is formal, she examines Scully with a frank curiosity that is disconcerting.
"And you're Jenn. Mulder's...djinn." Scully spits out the final word as she scans the coffee shop with exaggerated interest.
Amused, Jenn sets her cup into the saucer. "Well, now that we know who we are...."
"Who unrolled you this time?" Scully's voice is deceptively quiet as she brings her narrowed gaze back to the other woman's face.
"Not one for small talk, either." The laconic assessment is accompanied by a telling twitch of her brows.
Scully's mask cracks, anger seeping through the tiny fissures. "I don't think we have much to talk about, do you?"
The barbed comment hits its mark. "If I've caught you at a bad time, I apologize. When I saw you sitting here...." Jenn shrugs. "I just wanted to stop by, say hello, find out how you're doing."
"Fine," Scully asserts. "I haven't made a fool of myself in front of a team from Harvard in, oh, two weeks. Anything else?"
"Look, I'm not trying to cause you any trouble...."
"Trouble? How much more could you possibly cause?" Scully's lips curl with an ironic twist.
"I beg your pardon?"
Scully hesitates. There is nothing to be gained from a confrontation -- it's too late to undo things. "I know about Mulder's third wish," she says finally, her voice pitched low and even.
A delicately arched dark brow flicks upward. "He told you about that?"
Pushing aside the remnants of sweet roll, Scully leans forward to rest her elbows on the scarred surface of the table. "Not exactly. But he didn't have to. It was easy enough to figure out."
"Was it?" Jenn counters, a speculative look on her face. "Is there a problem?"
"Does nothing ever touch you? How do you live with yourself after what you've done?" Though she wants to shout at the other woman, her tone is cool, betraying none of her inner turmoil.
Sighing, Jenn turns to look out the window. "I didn't make the rules, or the wishes. If someone is unhappy with the results, so be it. I'm not responsible for their dreams going awry."
The word 'dreams' is like a stone thrown into calm waters, stirring up the sediment. Scully's mind churns at the thoughts it provokes. "What about the innocent victims? The ones caught in the crossfire? Do you spare a thought for them?" The angry words spill out in a rush of breath, a harsh counterpoint to their comfortable surroundings.
Her gaze swings back to Scully, cool and analytical. "You don't like me."
"That surprises you?" she asks with quiet vehemence. How could this woman fail to grasp the ramifications of her actions? "You've managed to twist everything around, turning something good into a perversion. Like what you did to the Stokes brothers. And to me."
"I'm really sorry about that. I had no idea you'd brought in those Harvard people until Mulder mentioned it. Not that I could have done anything to change it. Mulder was almost as disappointed as you were. He thought you'd finally become a believer, though from what he'd already told me about you I had my doubts."
"Mulder talked to you about me?" There's a tightness in her chest, like an iron band squeezing her heart. She struggles against its pressure as her mind wrestles with this revelation.
"Oh, please, ad nauseam." Jenn slumps back into the chair. "You were his favorite topic. If you could have seen him after his first wish -- he nearly had a stroke when he realized you were gone." She pauses to take a deep breath. "Mulder thinks very highly of you. He admires your intellect, and your ability to cut through the rhetoric to isolate what's important. Of course, he's a bit blinded by his desire for you. But then, don't all men see the women they want as perfect?"
Scully shakes her head with regret. "It doesn't matter how you think he sees me. Because what you say isn't true. If he knew me as well as you seem to think, he wouldn't have used his last wish that way."
"This is the second time you've mentioned that, and it's starting to annoy me. You think you have it all figured out, but from your other comments, I'm not so sure that's true." Jenn folds her arms across her chest as a calculating light enters her eyes. "Why don't you tell me -- what *do* you think Mulder wished for?"
The blood surges into Scully's cheeks. "You said it yourself -- Mulder...desires me. And he...he wished for me to feel the same," she finishes in a rush.
"Is that what you think? Really?" Jenn's brow crinkles in confusion, and she pauses to take a sip of her coffee. "Because if it is," she continues, carefully setting the cup down, "then Mulder's not the only one who doesn't have a clue."
"I don't understand...." Scully shifts, the springs of her chair squealing with anxiety.
Jenn pats her lips delicately, then drops the lipstick-stained napkin to the table. "No, you don't. But I do -- I've seen it all. Greed. Jealousy. Avarice. Five plus centuries of it. Fashions change, kingdoms rise and fall, but the human race is still the same as it was the day I was born." Jenn pushes her cup into center of the table and leans forward. "But I think you know that already."
After a moment, Scully finds her voice. "What's your point?"
"I've known a lot of men, heard the secret desires of the petty despots of the world." Jenn leans an elbow on the table, resting her chin in a cupped hand. "You can't imagine what I've been asked to do. Crazy, irresponsible things, all because of some idiot's whim. But your Mulder wasn't like that. He used his wish in a...unique way." Her lips twitch. "I certainly can't find fault with the results."
"You admire what he did." A tiny nerve at the corner of her mouth throbs with uncontrolled violence.
"How could I not? He could have had whatever his heart desired. But instead of using his final wish for selfish purposes, he thought of someone else -- me. He set me free." The words are uttered in a tone of quiet reverence.
"He did what?" Scully's hands grip the edge of the table, nails carving their mark into the scarred surface.
"He set me free." Jenn taps the corner her right eye with a well-manicured fingertip. "See? No more mark of the djinn. I'm as human as you are, Agent Scully, though a bit less apt to jump to conclusions."
Scully stares as though fascinated by the smooth expanse of unmarred skin, but her mind is reeling from the disclosure. How could she have been so wrong about Mulder? Her lashes lower as her mind riffs through a rapid succession of images. She sees his amused face, hears the gentle tease of his voice, and her discomfiture increases with each passing second. The haunting dreams and her response to the palpable air of sexual tension surrounding them aren't the result of some misguided wish....
"You look sick."
She blinks, new color tinting her complexion as the tongue-in-cheek tone of the observation grates across her already battered senses. "I feel sick," she mutters through clenched teeth, aware of the barbed catch in her voice.
"It's not that bad." Jenn reaches out to pat a white-knuckled hand. "Trust me. I've seen how he looks when he talks about you. Mulder would forgive you anything."
"You think so? I'm not so sure. I jumped to the worst kind of conclusion when I should have trusted him." Scully frowns, chewing on her bottom lip. "Trust is important to Mulder. After some of the things I've said and done these past few days, it's very possible I've lost his."
"Listen, I have five hundred years of experience with human nature backing me up. I know he'll forgive you. All you have to do is ask."
Frustration builds, and Scully expels a breath that seems to come from her toes. "Just like that? You make it sound so simple, but this isn't like forgetting your best friend's birthday or breaking a date." She releases her punishing grip on the table to lean forward. "Trust is a big issue for Mulder, and for me as well. I don't know if I could be so forgiving, were the roles reversed. So how can I expect blind forgiveness from him?"
Jenn nods in understanding. "It seems to me you have a choice. You could sit here, debating whether I'm right or wrong, or you could put my theory into practice." She shrugs. "Up to you. Do what you want."
"You're right." Scully reaches for her cup, staring at the caramel-colored liquid. "But knowing what needs to be done and having the courage to face up to the task are two different things."
"I guess you need to ask yourself if he's worth it."
She takes a sip, grimacing as she sets down the now-cold latte. "I think even you know the answer to that," she murmurs, pushing the cup aside.
"Then you know what you have to do." Smiling, she pauses to look at her watch, then swings her gaze back to Scully. "Well, what are you waiting for?"
"Mulder isn't the only one I've misjudged." Scully hesitates, then lifts a fingertip to her face, tracing a deliberate circle on the unblemished skin near her eye.
Jenn brushes away the gesture with a wave of her hand. "Do you believe in fate, Agent Scully? Think about it -- Washington is a big city. What are the odds I'd walk into a coffee shop and run into you?"
"Probably as good as the hypothetical snowball's." Scully leans forward, shoving a delinquent lock of hair behind her ear with impatient fingers.
"Pretty dismal," Jenn agrees. "And yet, here we are." Her arms stretch out to encompass the whole coffee shop. "Destiny? Fate? The compelling urge for a hot cup of coffee?" Her shoulders twitch. "I guess it really doesn't matter. The important thing is we did meet again. And despite our earlier misunderstanding, I wouldn't want it any other way." Flushing, she looks down at her hands. "I owe you a debt of gratitude for the refresher course in being human, with all the messy emotions it entails. Especially love. Until tonight, I'd forgotten how it feels to love someone so much it hurts."
"I think you've misunderstood the situation." The words spill from Scully's lips with practiced ease, infused with a certainty she doesn't feel. Denial is an old friend and comfortable to be around. But deep down, she recognizes the truth in the other woman's words.
"Uh uh." Dark hair swings emphatically against Jenn's cheeks. "I know people, remember? I also know the difference between love and lust. That look in your baby blues means only one thing. And I've spent enough time with Mulder to know exactly where he stands. So why don't you stop pretending you aren't in love and do something about it? God knows I would, if I were in your shoes," she adds, sotto voce.
"If you were in my shoes, your feet would hurt." Scully eases out of the chair, her stiff muscles screaming in protest.
"I can think of someone who could make 'em feel better," Jenn shoots back.
The smile starts in increments; from a sliver to a crescent to a half-circle that lights up Scully's face. "I'll keep that in mind." Turning, she heads for the door. Pausing at the open entry, her gaze returns to the djinn-turned-woman who watches with a small, knowing smile curving her lips. "Thanks," Scully says in a soft tone.
"Hey, I'll give you a call. Maybe we can have dinner sometime," Jenn calls after the retreating agent.
Scully acknowledges the invitation with a wave from the curb. Dinner with Jenn is not her first priority. Shivering in the chill night air, she heads to her car, her steps echoing with purpose. She knows what's on the menu tonight. She's about to eat crow.
********
End of Part two
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