Wrapped in Blue
by Jori

Scully gets her Christmas wish. NC-17

*******************

"Wrap it up," I say to the young clerk. Her name tag lets me know that she is 
Lucy and she's in training. Judging from her expression, her employment 
probably won't outlive the training period. She looks like she'd rather be 
anywhere else but here on Christmas Eve. Too bad. She's got four more hours to 
go until the mall closes. Almost everybody else on earth either took off at 
noon or didn't even bother showing up today. I did one. Scully did the other.

Lucy takes my credit card out from between my fingers and wanders off with an 
exasperating lack of speed. I guess at this point, she knows that I am 
desperate, as are the ten men in line behind me. How come there are so few 
women shopping on Christmas Eve in an all out panic?

"Here you go, Mr. Mud-lar," she says, goofing up my name on top of everything 
else. She was even looking at the card when she did it. She hands me a chewed-
on Bic pen and I sign, waiting for my receipt. She hands it to me, sliding my 
bag across the counter. "You'll need this to get your free gift wrapping. It's 
on the second floor."

"Thank you, Lucy. Have a Happy Holiday," I say, choosing the politically 
correct salutation.

"Yeah. You, too," she says with so much feeling it damn near moves me.

The next man in line moves into my spot, ready to be tortured by a teenage 
clerk for the sake of having something for his wife on Christmas morning.

"Anything else?" is the last thing I hear her say to the poor man before my 
cell phone starts to ring.

"Mulder," I answer, and I have to turn around in a circle to get descent 
reception. I swear some of these stores have a cell phone blocker painted 
across the ceiling so you can't call to find out if you are buying the right 
size.

"Mulder, It's me . . . I just wanted to call and wish you a Merry Christmas," 
Scully says, even though she knows I don't technically celebrate anything. 
Occasionally, if it has been a good year, I put up a string of lights or buy a 
stocking for the fish that lasted for a whole year. Beyond that, it could be 
just any other day of the year.

"Thank you, Scully. I'm sorry I didn't catch you today. I had your present," I 
say, and at that moment, those mysterious department store dings echo through 
the store, followed by someone on the intercom.

"Mr. Mud-lar . . . please return to the fine accessories register. Mr. Mud . . 
." the voice stops, as I turn around and face Lucy. Placing the phone back down 
on the receiver, she holds up my credit card and waits for me to retrieve it.

"So, you had my present already this morning, *Mudler*?" she asks, 
incredulously, her voice sounding quite amused.

"Who says I'm shopping for you?" I say, plucking my American Express out of 
Lucy's fingers. She gives me a condescending grin and for a brief second, I 
hope she gets stuck in some time vortex where she's a department store clerk on 
Christmas Eve for the rest of her life.

"Oh? Who else would you be shopping for? I know you sent your mother flowers. 
Perhaps . . . something for A.D. Skinner?" she asks, still sounding far too 
delighted in catching me at this.

"Okay, Scully. I got you something you have always wanted," I say, teasing her, 
as I get on the escalator on my way to the gift wrapping department. Last year, 
I rolled my own. Literally. Scully made fun of me and the way I wrapped her 
present in a tube, simply tying the ends with ribbon. This year, I'm going to 
go all the way.

"Really? Something I've always wanted?" she asks, her voice growing softer, as 
she ponders what that might be. She does that with her voice occasionally. Not 
too often, but when she does it, it sends my heart into a quick time tempo. 
Sometimes, other things react, too. But not in crowded department stores. I do 
have some self control.

"Yes . . . something you've always wanted," I say back, letting my voice sink 
into the mode I know gets to her. I've used it before when I needed something. 
Sometimes it works perfectly. Sometimes it just makes her roll her eyes.

"Mulder . . ." she says, her voice as sweet as cane sugar dipped in honey.

"Yes?" I say, trying to keep my cool. Really, not enough has been said for it 
to be bothering me like this. It must be the holiday mood in the air. A little 
yule tide cheer gets me going every time. I stick a finger in my collar, trying 
to loosen it just a little.

I miss the top of the escalator coming at me, and trip instead of getting off 
smoothly. I hear people on the one going down laugh and it shakes me back to 
reality.

"There's only one thing I really want for Christmas . . ." she says, unnerving 
me again. I half expect her to tell me what it really is.

"Yes," I say again, acting as if I wanted to trip over the second floor. I look 
around, trying to determine where the complimentary gift wrapping might 
be."What would that be?"

"I'd like to see you do that again," she says with a laugh, but this time it 
isn't a voice over a cell phone. It is her voice, behind me.

I spin around to discover her standing there, not three feet from me, cell 
phone still in her hand. And the most amazing smile on her face.

"Hey, Scully. I was just getting A.D. Skinner's gift wrapped. You want to come 
with me?' I ask, holding up the little bag. Ignoring the fact that I was almost 
taken out by a building. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Gift wrap is to the right," she says, pointing me in the right direction. "I 
was just there."

*****************

"So, Scully . . . what was the one thing you always wanted for Christmas as a 
child that you never got?" I ask her. I have her gift wrapped and tucked in the 
inner pocket of my coat now. The bow will be crushed all to hell, but it is too 
obvious what it is otherwise.

I hand her the coffee she requested, and she sips it through the hole in the 
plastic lid. We continue to walk through the mall, side by watching all the 
shoppers rush by.

I just told her that when I was a child, I always wanted a new ten speed, but 
no matter how much money my family had, my parents only got me used ones. Dad 
would say I couldn't be trusted. That I would just lose a new one. Or my 
friends would steal it.

And for this Christmas, all I really want is a horrific case. Something 
ghoulish would be nice. She cringed and looked at me in mock disgust.

"There are really only two things I wanted that I never got . . . from when I 
was younger, that is," she says, looking at me out of the corner of her eye. I 
wonder what she is wanting for as an adult that she has never gotten.

"What were they? Pretend I'm Santa and tell me," I say, smiling at her.

"Do I have to sit on your lap?" she says, her voice growing soft again. I could 
almost swear she wants to. But then she clears her throat and goes on with her 
story as if she never mentioned it. "When I was young . . . maybe about ten, I 
wanted this '1001 Science Experiments' kit. My dad said no. That I would blow 
up the house. Send us all straight to kingdom come. Yes, those were his exact 
words. I would blow all the Scullys to kingdom come on Christmas morning."

"That's funny," I say, and she shrugs her shoulders before taking another sip 
of her coffee.

"It wasn't funny when I was ten, but now that I'm older and wiser, I can see 
why parents wouldn't want to put such information in their children's hands," 
she says. We stop next to the big Christmas tree and she looks up at it.

"So, what else did you wish for when you were a child?" I ask. She turns around 
and we both lean against the railing that keeps people from touching the tree.

"Umm . . ." she says, thinking. She looks down at the package she has in her 
hand. I can't tell what it is. It is from the department store we met in, but 
that is all I know.

"Is it embarrassing? Did you want a hair crimping iron or something?" I ask, 
and her surprised look indicates to me that she doesn't believe I know what a 
hair crimping iron is. Actually, I found one in a box of Diana's stuff. I had 
no clue what it was until she informed me that it was a popular but eventually 
rejected hair care item from sometime in the 80s. I just thought girls braided 
their hair when it was damp to get that effect. That would happen with 
Samantha's hair.

"No, Mulder. Nothing like that. Actually, all I really wanted was something 
from Tiffany's," she says with a sigh. As if she's asking for the moon and the 
starts to be delivered by horse drawn carriage.

"Tiffany's, as in 'Breakfast at?' As in Holly Golightly and capri pants? 
Moonriver, wider than a mile?" I ask and she nods her head 'yes.' "Why?"

"The wrapping paper. That blue paper . . . you wouldn't know, would you?" she 
asks, looking me in the eyes.

"I know it is blue," I say, squinting at her. "Just like I know your eyes are 
blue."

Her eyes widen, as if I just took a guess. I've known since the moment I first 
met her what color her eyes are. And that they are the most beautiful shade of 
blue in the world. More beautiful than any Tiffany's box.

"Anyway, that paper . . . a package wrapped in paper that shade of blue . . . 
well, it would just have to be good," she says, licking the corner of her 
mouth. "I know my parents made Christmas wonderful for all of us, but for some 
crazy reason, when I was a teenager, I just wanted something from Tiffany's. 
Crazy, isn't it? I guess I just watched that movie a few too many times. And 
that shade of blue makes me think of it . . . of what I wanted . . . every 
time."

"No dream is crazy," I say, as my mind begins to ponder where the nearest 
Tiffany and Company store might be. "It doesn't hurt to chase the rainbow's 
end. Sometimes it is just around the bend . . ."

She smiles at my liberal use of the song lyrics.

"No. You're right. No dream is crazy. But before you go off and do something 
rash, I'm over it. Almost," she says, looking at her watch. "Well, Mulder, I 
have to be around the family tree and ready to open presents at 0600. I really 
should get going."

She throws her coffee cup away in the nearest trash can before returning to my 
side. She fidgets with her package, passing it from one hand to another.

"Here. This is for you to open in the morning. It might not be from Tiffany's, 
Scully . . . but Merry Christmas," I say, digging her gift out of my pocket. 
Thankfully, she doesn't open it right away, but tucks it into her coat pocket. 
After last year, it is just better that we don't open anything in front of one 
another.

"And this is for you," she says, handing me the bag. "I hope you like . . . 
it."

"I'm sure I will. Have a nice time at your mother's house. Wish her a Merry 
Christmas for me," I say. I kiss her once on the forehead before she walks 
away, leaving me alone for Christmas once again.

***************

It is a little after midnight and I shouldn't be knocking on her door. Her gift 
. . . it could only mean one thing, right? I could be wrong. I would never 
admit this to her, but it wouldn't be the first time.

"Merry Christmas, Mulder," Scully says, opening her door just a crack. I've 
been standing here for five minutes already when she finally answers. "Is 
something wrong?"

She is tired. She has to get up early. But I have to know if this is supposed 
to mean something, this gift of hers to me. All she ever wanted. That's what 
she said. Is this also a gift to herself?

"Can I come in?" I ask. Scully looks hesitant and unsure, as if she knows why 
I'm here but now she's questioning what she has done. Second guessing the 
actions that brought about my midnight arrival on her doorstep.

"Sure," she says, after a brief deliberation. She shuts the door to take the 
chain off and then lets me in. I pass her and move to the living room, sitting 
down without being invited to do so. "You opened your present already, didn't 
you?"

"Yes, I did," I say. I look under her tree and see that she opened my gift. The 
box is there, with the lid on it, but the wrapping paper is gone. 

Does she want to open this other one? The one I never expected? The reason I'm 
here?

"Thank you," she says, her eyes following mine to the small package. 

"You're welcome," I say.

Scully sighs softly and winds her tired eyes for just a second. 

"I never expected you to ask me what you did . . . about what I always wanted. 
You would have never known . . ." she starts. She tugs her bathrobe around her 
tighter, and ties the belt securely. Scully sits in a chair across from me, but 
doesn't look at me.

"I would have suspected something. This isn't exactly something someone buys 
for their 'partner,' no matter how close we are, Scully," I say, growing warm 
in my winter coat. She pulls a blanket over her while I want to shed a layer. 
Or more than one layer.

The present she gave me is unmistakably really intended to be a present for 
her, in one way or another.

"I wasn't sure you would recognize . . . the color," she says, still looking at 
anything but me.

"I never would have if you wouldn't have said something earlier. Scully . . . I 
want what you do. You and I . . . we're two drifters . . ." I start and she 
finishes.

"Off to see the world? Mulder, I'm sorry if what I implied was . . . wrong . . 
. but, it is what I've wanted for years," she says, her eyes finally meeting 
mine. The tension between us is enough for someone to trip over it if they 
aren't careful.

I stand up off the couch and go to her, grabbing her hand and bringing her up 
to her feet. Her bathrobe slips a little from the sudden motion and I see she 
has on something dark and silky underneath.

"You want your present? The one wrapped like you always wanted?" I ask her, 
pulling her backwards along with me to the bedroom. Her bedroom. Her hands are 
in mine, holding on to me as I take her where I want to go. Where she wants to 
go. This has nothing to do with the package I gave her earlier. This time, 
Scully wrapped her own present.

"Yes," she says, her voice turning back into spun sugar. "Yes. I want to see my 
present."

*********************

Scully's fingers tremble as she slides my tie from around me neck, casting it 
aside. It lands on a pile of packages. The ones that need to be under a tree in 
less than six hours. I look at her hands as they undo each button, working her 
way down. My abdominal muscles quiver as her fingers brush by, and she smiles 
slightly at the involuntary reaction.

Sliding my shirt off of my shoulders, it lands in a pool of Oxford cloth at my 
feet. She studies me briefly, still hesitant about taking the next step. She 
wants to. Her present tells me so. I want her to. So badly I can feel every 
thread of the clothes I'm still wearing brush up against my flesh. I want it 
off. I want her hands to do it.

I kick off my shoes and socks before she goes any further. Scully just watches 
me, her hands no longer so unsure because as soon as I'm done they reach for my 
belt. She has it undone in a matter of seconds, not even bothering to pull it 
out of the loops. Then my pants are unfastened.

Now she slows down again. Her tongue keeps darting to her lips, marking her 
nervousness with tiny dabs of well placed saliva.

I let my pants drop over my hips and step out of them. She smiles at what she 
sees.

"You are wrapped in blue," is all she says, her fingers touching the silky 
fabric of the boxers she bought for me. They are the same shade of blue -- 
almost the shade of a robin's egg -- as a package wrapped from Tiffany's. She 
wrapped me in this color. Made me the package she always wanted.

"Would you like to unwrap it?" I ask, my voice teasing her. Her hands tease me 
back.

She doesn't answer right away. Instead, her thumbs swirl around the waistband, 
playing with the gathers in the blue material. "I really have always wanted 
this. Something just like this. Now only this."

I can no longer hold myself back. I want to touch her, remove her Christmas 
wrapping, have her stand before me naked. That is what I've always wanted. And 
now I know what she's always wanted.

Her robe falls with one quick pull of a knot, and she wearing only a scant 
piece of lingerie, sheer and edged in lace. She had to be expecting me. Or else 
she has a special Santa that I don't know about. She knew her gift would bring 
me here.

"Nice," I say, my fingers touching the lace near the top of her breasts. She 
draws in a quick breath, waiting for my hand to pass before she exhales. Her 
breasts rise and fall with that breath, and the view is intoxicating.

With hands long experienced in the fine art of unwrapping gifts, she tugs down 
my boxers, and I kick them aside. My cock has been hard for a while now, 
waiting to be released. It springs forward, enjoying its freedom. Scully 
apparently is enjoying the view if her smile is any indication of how she is 
feeling.

"Come here," she says, taking my hands, inviting me in to the warmth of her 
bed. I follow her, just as I would follow her anywhere.

My fingers now undo the ribbons holding together that slip of fabric, allowing 
it to fall off of her body. We are now both unwrapped, lying exposed in front 
of the other like the empty boxes left behind on Christmas morning.

Her mouth meets mine and a sweet exploration ensues. I feel her tongue touch 
mine for the first time, and a jolt of pure electricity travels through my 
body. It sets my mind of fire with only thoughts of what we are going to do 
here in a few minutes.

With her legs wrapped around my waist, those fiery thoughts become reality as I 
slip into her body with ease. This is not how my fantasies have played out all 
these years, but this will do for now. I have always imagined long hours of 
foreplay before we ever made it this far. 

And I never imagined blue . . .

Maybe she has something else she's always wanted for New Year's Eve . . . some 
other color fantasy I can partake in.

We make love to each other, and it doesn't seem possible that this is the first 
time. I know her too well. I feel as if I know everything she likes and when my 
fingers touch her clit and she moans in absolute pleasure, I'm sure of it.

Yes, Scully knows what she likes. Knows what she wants. Apparently, she has for 
a long time. My body thrusts into hers, sinking deeper and nearly getting lost 
in the process. Or maybe it is my heart now lost.

Scully inhales several sharp breaths before I feel her body quake beside mine. 
Her eyes snap shut and she is lost in the moment, riding through the waves of 
orgasmic pleasure taking hold of her body. Then her blue eyes open again and 
focus on me.

With only a few more quick thrusts, I'm joining her in a place of pure light, 
where anything is possible if only for a moment. I release everything I have 
into her, and she takes it all in, her eyes never leaving mine.

"Merry Christmas, Mulder," she says, her voice sleepy. She has to get up soon 
and leave to go to her mother's house. I don't ever want her to go.

"I hope you liked your present," I whisper to her as she begins to drift off to 
sleep. I'm not refering to that tiny box sitting under her tree. She knows 
that. "From now on, everything I give you will be wrapped in blue."

The end

**********

From the Tiffany and Co. website at www.tiffany.com: A COLOR OF DISTINCTION: 
Soon after Tiffany & Co. was founded in 1837, a distinctive shade of blue was 
chosen to symbolize the company's renowned reputation for quality and 
craftsmanship. The color was adopted for use on Tiffany & Co. boxes, 
catalogues, shopping bags, brochures, as well as in advertising and other 
promotional materials. Over time, this lustrous color became so closely 
identified with Tiffany & Co. that it is today universally recognizable as the 
trademark Tiffany Blue. Glimpsed on a busy street or resting in the palm of a 
hand, Tiffany Blue boxes and shopping bags evoke images of elegance and 
exclusivity, as well as nature's lush bounty - long the inspiration for Tiffany 
design. True to the vision of Charles Lewis Tiffany, the Tiffany Blue Box was 
to become an American icon of style and sophistication.