Title: Interstice: Sunday (1/2) Author: Christy E-Mail: attalanta@aol.com Rating: PG-13 Category: MSR, Christmas Fic Additional Headers in Saturday: Part 1 * * * * * Sunday, December 23, 2001 "They're writing songs of love, but not for me." - Ira Gershwin "Life is like music; it can be composed by ear, feeling, and instinct, not by rule." - Samuel Butler * * * * * CHARLES They met in Margaret Scully's living room at nine the next morning, as soon as Dana and Mulder got there. They had left early the previous night, just after dinner. The baby had been cranky, crying as they all pitched in to clear the table and wash the dishes. Half the Scully family took a turn walking the baby around the house, but to no effect. So Dana and Mulder left, and it wasn't long before the rest of them wandered upstairs, tired. But Charles had had a hard time falling asleep. His body was worn-out from the long flight, but his mind was still on Seattle time. Sitting on the lumpy pull-out couch in the study, he had tried reading one of the books he'd packed, but he couldn't concentrate. His gaze kept drifting over to the crib set up near the window, but he couldn't figure out why he was so distracted. Charlie slept fitfully and awoke early the next morning. He slipped into the shower, then dressed in his converted bedroom, glancing over at the crib as he dressed and made up the pull-out. His mom was already downstairs, and Charles helped her start coffee and make breakfast, and the aroma of scrambled eggs and bacon urged Bill, Tara, and Matthew from bed. So they were all dressed and ready when Dana and Mulder pulled into Margaret Scully's driveway the next morning. All they had left to do was work out how many cars they were going to take, and who was driving with whom. Easier said than done, Charles knew. "Our van's big," Bill said as they pulled on their coats, "but it'll be tight trying to fit all eight of us, especially with a carseat." Dana nodded. "We can take our car, too. Then we won't have to move Liam's carseat into your van." "Okay," Maggie said, handing Matthew his mittens, then turning to Dana and Mulder. "Do either of you know how to get to the mall?" Mulder nodded. "I've been there before," he said. Bill jingled his keys. "Okay, then. You three in Dana's car and the rest of us--" "I'll ride with Dana," Charles offered. He had had his fill of Bill yesterday, his brother's cool greeting, his sulking after Dana arrived, his monopolizing the dinner conversation. If he could get out of riding in Bill's van, Charlie knew that spending the rest of the week en famille would be that much more tolerable. Bill narrowed his eyes at his brother, then looked over at Dana. "There's more room in the van, I'm sure," he said. "Especially with a carseat in the back." Bill looked like Charlie remembered feeling so many times on the elementary school playground after he had been picked last for kickball. Tough, Charles thought. "There's room," Mulder said, "if he wants to ride with us." Bill transferred his scowl from his brother to Mulder. Thanks, man, Charles thought, sending a positive vibe over to Mulder. "Fine," Bill said, punctuating his reply with a crisp zip of his jacket. "Let's go." Charles followed his sister to her car and waited until she buckled Liam into his carseat before climbing in the backseat next to him. Mulder pulled the car out of the driveway and headed down the street, Charles turning to watch Bill's van follow them. Charlie had just wanted to get out of riding with Bill, but riding with Dana with a pretty good bonus. He hadn't spent much time recently with either his brother or his sister, but it was his sister he missed, his sister who intrigued him now. Bill was Bill: steady, predictable, boring. But Dana... It had been his mom who had told Charlie, about a year ago, that Dana was pregnant. He'd had a hard time masking his surprise, even over the phone. Dana? Pregnant but not married? That was something the family might expect of Melissa or Charles, not Dana. Perfect Dana, Daddy's little girl, the Captain's favorite. Sure, she wasn't exactly the picture of a poor single mother, but still... Until then, Dana's single act of rebellion -- as far as he knew -- was joining the FBI. If you could call that rebellion, Charles thought; he sure as hell didn't. Rebellion was running away from home to join a motorcycle gang. Dropping out of school a week before graduation. Dying your hair purple and taking drugs. Rebellion wasn't changing careers from medicine to the FBI, no matter what Captain William Scully, Senior, thought. And the Captain thought quite a bit: he didn't want his baby girl joining an old boys' club, risking her life to chase murderers and terrorists. And he didn't hesitate in making his opinion known. Charlie was all too familiar with Captain Scully's look of disappointment. He had been on the receiving end of that look more times than he could count. But he couldn't remember the Captain ever looking at Dana that way, like she had disappointed him so deeply that she would have to earn her way back into his heart. Their mom, Charles remembered, had tried to stay out of it. They were all home for Christmas when Dana broke the news that she was planning to leave her medical training if her application to Quantico was accepted. Margaret Scully had tried to keep the peace, urging her daughter to consider her father's opinion. But Dana had been adamant. While his sister had always been pig-headed, Charlie couldn't remember her ever standing up to their father like that. Charlie had lurked on the landing of the stairs, listening while Dana and the Captain argued late into the night. Then he crept down again later when he heard Dana crying in the family room. But Melissa had brushed past him on her way downstairs to comfort Dana. Charles had expected Dana to give in. She was stubborn, but she was no match for the Captain. But Charlie had underestimated his sister, who had left San Diego even more determined to attend the Academy. There hadn't been another argument -- that was probably their mom's doing, Charles realized, remembering how she hard she had tried to bring her husband and youngest daughter back together -- but whenever the topic of work or school came up things got tense. But despite that anxious week in San Diego, the Captain's relationship with Dana hadn't completely fallen apart. Not the way his would have, Charles thought bitterly, if he'd been the one to disobey the Captain like Dana had. No, he amended, *when* he had disobeyed the Captain. It infuriated Charles to imagine the Captain's reaction to Dana's recent life choices. In a way, Charles had always figured that he and Dana were alike. Both had stepped out of the Scully family gender typing, Dana breaking through their mom's views of femininity and Charles never quite fitting into the Captain's vision of a man. The Captain had tried teasing and strong-arming and roughhousing Charles back into the role of Scully Man. But Maggie had supported her daughter's forays into tomboyhood instead of forcing her into frilly dresses and lacy tights and pink nail polish. And, damnit, Charles couldn't help but resent Dana a little for that. Of course it wasn't her fault, but she had somehow managed to stay in their mom's good graces even when she was killing snakes with her bee-bee gun. And, through it all, Dana had remained the Captain's favorite. Sure, Captain Scully had loved his namesake oldest son. But Bill had given his father exactly what was expected of him: obedience, toughness, diligence. No more, no less. So of course he had loved little Billy, who spent his life trying to please his father. Trying, perhaps, to become his father. As far as Charles was concerned, he had succeeded. Despite this, Dana had been the Captain's favorite, an unexpected gift of a girl. She was so unlike Melissa in her strength, her stubbornness, her unabashed intelligence. Dana would never play dumb to attract a boy. She would not ask for a makeup kit for Christmas. Certainly she would never spoil the family fishing trip by crying over the stuck worm that was to become bait. Not like Charles had. No, Bill Scully, Senior, had nurtured his youngest daughter into a tomboy, had provoked her confidence and outspokenness and daring. She was his unexpected surprise. Instead of receiving a carbon copy of sweet little Missy, he had gotten tough-as-nails Dana. Maybe, Charles thought, he should have suspected that the very traits he had nurtured and admired in his youngest daughter would one day turn on him, growing Dana into her own person instead of an extension of him. No, Charlie knew all too well how Captain Scully would react to Dana's pregnancy and current living arrangements. Initially he would be surprised, maybe a little disappointed at the untraditionality. Certainly there would be an argument. Maybe he would dip into the morality of the Church, maybe into the honor of the family, but surely into his own displeasure. But before long, Charles knew, he would come around. He would put on a tough front, but the Captain would of course be proud of Dana. He would fall in love with her son as he had with her. No matter what Dana did, she had never been able to push beyond the limits of her father's love. What Charlie wasn't sure of, however, was what William Scully's reaction to his grandson's father would have been. Charlie turned his attention to the front seat of the car. Fox Mulder wasn't the kind of man Charles had pictured Dana ending up with. No, he had imagined someone more like their father, someone buttoned up and closed mouthed. A suit with the hanger still attached. Of course, Charles didn't really know Mulder. But from what he had seen of him, the guy didn't fit into the picture of a future Charles had imagined for Dana. Successful career, immaculate house complete with white picket fence, a couple of perfect children. And, of course, a perfectly presentable husband, an attorney or an accountant who wore three-piece suits and drove a Volvo. Someone safe, suburban, and staid. But from what he had heard from his mom, this Mulder was a loose cannon, a rogue agent with a dangerous, possibly deadly, interest in alien abductions and government conspiracies. More than once he had sent Dana into the arms of their mom, seeking help or comfort or safety. And because her escapades with Mulder forced Dana to admit that she needed help, Charles knew that the kind of trouble she and Mulder got into was serious. This in itself didn't turn Charlie against Mulder. No, he was sure that Dana could take care of herself. He knew his sister was smart and tenacious and strong. He figured that, as an FBI agent, she carried a gun and knew how to defend herself. At first it had been weird to think of his sister in that role, but Charles had grown used to the image, which, he admitted, now rather fascinated him. Two things about Fox Mulder intrigued Charles. First was his mom's tireless defense of the guy. Over the years Charles had received a running commentary on Dana's work, on her partnership with a man first referred to as Agent Mulder, then, later, as Fox. Charles knew that his mom had grown close to Fox Mulder after Dana was kidnapped, and that, according to Maggie, Mulder had shown "uncommon devotion" in helping find Dana and keeping Maggie up to date on the investigation into her disappearance. But the thing that most interested Charles was his brother's intense dislike of Fox Mulder. Bill Scully, Junior, hadn't kept secret his contempt of Mulder. Charlie's relationship with his brother was even more distant than with his sister, but Bill had somehow managed to weave Fox Mulder's name into every phone conversation they'd had in the last half-decade. You'd think Bill was the one who worked with the guy. Once, after Dana had received some minor injury in the line of duty, Bill had tried to persuade Charles to phone Dana and try to convince her to leave the FBI. Or at least find a new partner, Charles remembered Bill saying. Charles had, of course, refused. Bill had been livid, accusing him of not caring about Dana's well-being or that of the family in general, of being self-absorbed and afraid of confrontation. "Charles... Charles?" Dana's voice brought him out of his memory, and Charlie focused his gaze on the front seat. "Sorry. What did you say?" "Scully says you're an artist," Mulder said, glancing back at Charles through the rearview mirror. Charles smiled, mostly at Mulder calling Dana by her last name. "Dana's being generous," he said. "You're not an artist?" Mulder asked. "Only part-time," Charles replied. "The Captain -- our father -- wouldn't pay for art school. And when I switched my major from English to art, he stopped shelling out for my tuition," he explained. "Dad was pretty strict," Dana told Mulder. "He didn't think art was an acceptable career choice." "He barely thought English was acceptable," Charles scoffed. "Now physics, that's a real major. A subject to be respected," Charles intoned in a deep, booming voice meant to emulate the Captain. "So I dropped out of school and got a job, first in an art supply store," Charles continued in his own voice. "I got a great discount on supplies, but the store closed. Now I work at a bookstore. I manage to save enough money to take an occasional class at the fine arts college at the University, but at the rate I'm going, I'll be retired before I get my BFA." "What kind of art is it you do?" Mulder asked as he pulled the car off the freeway. "Painting, mostly," Charlie said. "Watercolor and oil. I just finished a photography course, but I was more interested in photo collages than taking the actual pictures." "We should've had you take Matthew and Liam's portrait," Dana said. "It would've saved us a trip to the mall on one of the busiest shopping days of the season." "Aw, Scully, it'll be an experience," Mulder said with a smile. "It's his first Christmas; every parent needs a collection of old photos to embarrass their kid with in front of his friends." "Yeah, Dane," Charlie said. "Like that photo Mom has of you crawling naked across her bed." "Charles," Dana admonished. "Really?" Mulder asked, his interest piqued. "Think she'll show me if I ask nice?" Dana laughed. "If you ask nice, maybe you'll get to see the real thing," she said in a low voice. But it wasn't low enough. Charles smiled. He was in favor of anyone who could get Dana to loosen up a little. * * * * * They waited at the East entrance to the Chesapeake Bay Mall. Charles stood patiently with Dana, Mulder, and Liam in the stuffy, glassed-in entrance while Bill drove the van around the parking lot in search of the perfect spot. Charlie had been about to wander off into the mall to hunt for an art supply store when Bill finally found a satisfactory spot near the mall entrance. Bill's search had given Dana and Mulder time to settle the baby into his amazingly complicated stroller. Charlie watched as they unfolded the beastly thing, locking it in place, and then strapped Liam in. Cool, Charlie thought as Dana tucked a bottle of juice and a baggie of Cheerios into a small zippered pocket at the back of the stroller. "Okay," Tara said when the rest of the family joined them inside the mall. "First we should probably get in line for the picture with Santa. The day before Christmas Eve, the line'll probably be a mile long." Great, Charlie thought. What fun. But the rest of the family agreed with Tara, and they headed en masse to Santa's Winter Wonderland, a miniature-sized village in the center atrium of the mall. Tara had been right, Charles saw when they finally caught a glimpse of the Wonderland. Or, should he say, a glimpse of the line that, eventually, hopefully, would lead them to the Wonderland. They joined the queue, which immediately grew behind them. Charles glanced around and saw that theirs was the only party with more adults than kids; most other groups consisted of one, maybe two parents trying to manage a small herd of children, most of whom had long since worn out what excitement they had once felt for sitting on Santa's lap. The line moved a few steps forward, and Dana elbowed Charles. "Told you you should've taken their picture," she said, looking up at him with a grin. "Yeah," he agreed, pulling his coat off and folding it over his arm. Not only was the mall loud and bright and a disgusting display of conspicuous consumption, but it was as hot as hell. He pushed up the sleeves of his denim shirt and noticed that one cuff was decorated with a splatter of yellow paint. Oh, well, he thought. "Here," Dana said, slipping his coat off his arm. She reached around Mulder and hung the heavy garment off the back of the stroller. "That's convenient," Charles said. "It won't tip over?" Dana shook her head. "This thing weighs a ton," she said. "Push it around for an hour and you'll see." Charles nodded and opened his mouth to un-volunteer himself as pusher of the stroller, but Dana had already turned away at the sound of Liam's frustrated whines. "Are you warm, too?" she asked, lifting him from the stroller. Jeez, Charlie thought, you'd think they were on a two-week expedition to the Antarctic, the way that kid was bundled up. But, as Mulder peeled off the baby's snowsuit to reveal denim overalls and a tiny red turtleneck, Charles smiled. Some things were certain; he had always pictured Dana as an overprotective mother. Charles squinted towards the front of the line, then scanned the mall until he found a clock. He sighed. They were going to be in line forever. It figured that this was how he would die, trapped in a stuffy Christmastime mall with his family. Oh, joy. Plus, Charlie had always hated malls, the blinding lights, the aimless shoppers, the greasy food court. He much preferred buying his clothes from the multitude of thrift shops that lined the streets of his Seattle neighborhood. And malls were aesthetically displeasing, Charlie assessed, all alike in their shiny newness and too-bright anonymity. They reeked of consumerism and materialism and greed. And now, with gaudy Christmas decorations hanging from anything that didn't move -- and a few things that did, he noticed, spying a cluster of electrically animated elves jerkily pointing the way to Santa -- it was even worse. The air was thick with children's Gimmes and I Wants, and not nearly enough Pleases or Thank Yous. Garland and tinsel and spray-painted snow littered the store windows, almost obscuring the sale-priced Christmas gifts that would, in two days' time, end up boxed and wrapped and shoved under a Christmas tree. And, probably, Charles thought cynically, in two more days' time, either covered in a layer of pine needles or returned back to those same store windows. His eyes scanned the familiar storefronts, the same stores that were in every mall. A Gap manned by smiley high school preppies. A jewelry store with too-bright lights and salespeople quick to pounce. A Strawbridge's advertising low-priced sweaters and blenders and watches that went on the same Special, One-Time-Only, Get-Them-While-You-Can Holiday Sale every weekend. And it wasn't just that. Charles hated weaving through the crowds of people. The couples who couldn't stop holding hands long enough to eat their overcooked burgers and soggy fries in the food court. The children who managed to escape their parents and mistake his blue jean-clad legs for their fathers'. The gangs of sulky teenagers who leered at everyone over the age of twenty-five. They were all there together, all partaking in what they saw as entertainment and Charles saw as a vacuum of culture. Why don't you take your kids to a museum, he wanted to shout to the stressed-out parents? Why don't you go to a library, he wished he could ask the teenagers. But most of all, when he watched these strangers wander, coupled and grouped and familied, he wondered, why can't I be like you? * * * * * "Have yourself a merry little Christmas. Make the yuletide gay. From now on your troubles were far away." Judy Garland's throaty voice filled the mall, and Charles wished his troubles were far away. As far away, he thought with a backward glance, as the end of the line to see Santa. But he really shouldn't complain. After an hour's wait, they had almost reached the jolly old guy who, now that he could see him, Charles had to admit looked pretty authentic. His beard appeared real, his glasses had actual lenses in them, and he somehow managed a fresh smile each time a new kid stepped on his toe en route to his lap. He sure beat the hell out of the Salvation Army Santa on the corner of Charlie's street. Keith wore a Cincinnati Reds baseball cap adorned with a white puff ball and an eyebrow ring shaped like a Christmas tree ornament, and had a decidedly feminine affectation. Charles turned his attention to the rest of Clan Scully. His brother and Tara had stooped down to spit-comb Matthew's staticky hair and tuck in the t-shirt he wore beneath his reindeer-print sweater. His sister and Mulder were similarly fussing over Liam, Mulder holding the baby as Dana retied the double knots on her son's tiny hiking boots. Margaret Scully stood between the two families, beaming proudly. She reached out and grasped Charlie's shoulder, drawing him to her. He saw that she had tears in her eyes and a smile on her face. She shrugged apologetically and wiped the tears away. Charlie gave her an indulgent half-smile back. She had always been weepy around the holidays, especially since the Captain died, but so far this year she hadn't been too bad. Maybe, with the whole family together again, she was too busy to dwell on the Captain's death. It had been so long since they had spent Christmas -- or any time at all -- together, long before the Captain and Melissa died. His guilt gnawed at him; he was usually the one who had kept them apart. Sometimes it was Bill, who often spent months at sea, but usually it was Charles. Despite Bill's constant grumbling about Dana's time-consuming work, as far as Charlie knew, Dana had always been there for the holidays, for Christmas and Thanksgiving, even for Easter and Mother's Day. Of course, it helped that she lived so close to their mother, but Charles didn't think Dana had missed a family holiday in years. Finally it was their turn. Matthew, after significant prompting by his parents, followed Dana up to Santa Claus's throne. The old man grinned, but Matthew eyed him suspiciously. Liam, however, was all smiles as his mother set him on Santa's lap, then helped Matthew up. She backed away, waving at Liam when his smile faded slightly at her retreat. Dana stepped back in line with them, standing next to Mulder. Charles watched his sister, not his nephews, as the pimply faced photographer snapped several shots of the boys. Mulder's arm slipped around Dana's waist and pulled her close, and she laid her head against his upper arm -- she didn't quite make his shoulder -- for the briefest of seconds. Charles realized then that this was one of the reasons he was having difficulty fitting Dana into this new life. Here was this man she had been working with for almost a decade, had a child with, and was shacking up with, Charles thought deliciously. Yet they never touched. Well, rarely. He had seen Mulder lay his hand on Dana's back a few times, but they didn't hold hands and certainly had not kissed. Of course, they didn't seem uncomfortable with each other either. No, Charlie thought, quite the opposite. They moved together easily, fluidly, with a familiarity born of what seemed to be an intense and long-exclusive relationship. Still, Charles thought as they were ushered through the line, it was strange. He watched Mulder lift Liam off Santa's lap and kiss the top of the baby's head before buckling him back into the stroller. It was strange because they were both so demonstrative with Liam. Charlie wondered what kind of father Mulder had had, to feel so comfortable being affectionate with his son, and in public no less. Charlie himself couldn't remember Captain Scully holding him or Bill any closer than was necessary to put them in a headlock. Dana and Melissa, of course, but not the boys. For his sons the Captain had reserved the honor of roughhousing and wrestling and boxing in the basement. Charlie remembered the weight set the Captain had bought Bill and him one Christmas, forcing them to spend the rest of the day setting it up when Charlie would rather have been testing out the new colored pencil set Melissa had given him. Bill had spent every morning before school in the basement with that weight set, lifting and hefting and grunting. Dana and Melissa had tiptoed around the closed basement door, laughing at Bill when he broke into the Village People's "Macho Man." But more than once Charlie had caught Dana in the basement, having worked herself into a sweat with the smallest of the weights. Then there were the ever-present models, usually ships and submarines, that the Captain brought back for Bill and Charlie when he returned from leave. The more interesting presents, the books and t-shirts and pencils with lead that changed colors, were always given to Missy and Dana. Finally Liam was settled back into the stroller and the family quickly broke into smaller groups so they could finish their holiday shopping. Bill and Tara disappeared together after spelling out "B-i-r-t-h-d-a-y" to Maggie. That's right, Charles remembered, they would be celebrating Matthew's birthday on the twenty-sixth. His real birthday wasn't until the following week, but by that time Bill and Tara and Matthew would be in Pittsburgh with Tara's parents. Charlie would have to find a gift for his nephew. He watched as Dana and Mulder wheeled Liam off in another direction. Then his mother waved at him before pointing Matthew in the direction of the toy store and scurrying after her grandson. "Through the years we all will be together," Judy Garland continued. Damn liar, Charlie thought as he wandered through the mall by himself. * * * * * Two hours later Charlie was waiting outside Johnny Bee's, a 50s style diner at the East entrance of the mall. He had finished his shopping at the toy store, picking up a Lego set for Matthew. Then he had spent the rest of his time in the two bookstores since, of course, the mall didn't have an art supply store. The bookstores weren't bad -- he jotted down a few interesting titles add to his January order -- but neither were they any different from the cookie-cutter Borders in Seattle. So Charlie was the first to arrive back at the East entrance, where he stood at the window of Johnny Bee's and watched the staff entertain the customers. Every fifteen or twenty minutes the waiters and waitresses lined up and danced to a tune selected with one of the tiny jukeboxes that sat on each table. He had already watched the staff's exuberant version of the B-52s' "Love Shack" when Tara and Bill arrived, each of them clutching a shopping bag. "Been waiting long?" Bill asked. Charles shook his head. "Not long," he said. "And it's been entertaining." "Johnny Bee's," Tara exclaimed. "We've got one of these in San Diego, but I didn't realize it was a chain. You ever been there?" she asked Charlie. "No," he said. "Oh, we should eat here, then," Tara said, checking her watch. "It's past noon, and I'm sure Matty's getting hungry. I wonder where he is." Tara rose to her tiptoes, then sunk back down. "I don't see him or Mom, but there are Dana and Mulder," she said, gesturing towards her left. Minutes later they were indeed joined by Dana and Mulder, who was pushing Liam's stroller. "Are we late?" Dana asked, checking her watch. "No," Charles assured her. "We're still waiting on Mom and Matthew." "Get any shopping done?" Tara asked them. Dana nodded, and Tara smiled knowingly. "I remember those days," she said. "Being able to shop for Matthew while he was with us, not even having distract him while Bill paid. Just wait," Tara warned Dana and Mulder. "The first Christmas is definitely the easiest; it gets harder as they get older." Bill nodded his agreement. "This year we had to get a babysitter for Matthew while we went shopping," he said. "It's getting tougher and tougher to distract him." They smiled, then Tara turned to Dana. "While we're waiting, I'm going to stop by the restroom," she said, nodding to her right. "You want to join me?" Dana nodded, and the two women headed off into the crowd. Charles turned to Bill and Mulder, and uncertainty hung between them. Charles stuffed his hands in his pockets, and Bill crossed his arms over his chest. Mulder rolled the stroller forward and back, and Liam giggled. Easy for you, kid, Charles thought. Your biggest problem in life is waking up in a dirty diaper. Just wait, Charles thought. One day, sooner than you think, you'll be standing here with your brother and... some other stranger, wondering where you were when everyone else learned how to live a normal life. "Women," Bill scoffed. "Going to the bathroom together. I'll never understand the appeal." They're probably talking about us, Charlie thought. At least about you, Bill; aren't you everyone's favorite topic of conversation? But Charles and Mulder simply gave polite nods, and the conversation died. Obviously uncomfortable with the silence, Bill coughed a bit, then tried a different tack. "Say, Charlie," he said, "you excited about this year's bowl games? I hear Wash. U.'s got a good match-up on New Year's. I bet you're glad you'll be back in town for that game." Actually, Charlie couldn't care less about football, Wash. or any other U., and he guessed that Bill knew as much. Even as a little boy, Charles had never been able to sit through Sunday afternoon football marathons with Bill and the Captain. In fact, the extent of his athleticism was the tai chi class he had once taken with a college girlfriend. "I'm not much of a sports fan," he told Bill. Bill grunted in displeasure and turned to Mulder. "What about you? Your alma mater in any bowl games this season?" "No football at my alma mater," Mulder said. "At least none that would be played in a bowl game." Bill squinted at him, trying, Charles thought, to decide whether the guy was playing with him. "I went to Oxford," Mulder said. "Oxford?" Bill asked. "In England?" Charles echoed. "That'd be the one," Mulder said. Interesting, Charles thought. "Why Oxford?" he asked. "No accent... You're not British, are you?" Mulder shook his head. "A long, boring story," he said in a passable English accent. He scooped Liam out of the stroller, even though, to Charlie, the baby seemed content sitting in the stroller. "Isn't that right, buddy?" he asked Liam as he set him against his chest and bounced him up and down. "So you're not much of a football fan either?" Bill stated. Mulder shook his head. "Basketball," he offered, "or baseball." "You play?" Bill said casually, but Charles smelled a challenge. "A little," Mulder said equally casually. "Baseball or basketball?" Bill asked. "Depends on the season," Mulder said. Bill's eyebrows raised as he gave Mulder a once-over, as if evaluating his physical fitness. From Charlie's admittedly limited athletic experience, the guy looked pretty sporty, tall and muscular. But Charlie doubted he would measure up to Bill's standards. Exactly like the Captain, Charles thought, no one good enough for his family. Bill had played football throughout high school; had, in fact, been a three-year letterman quarterback before the Captain had "advised" him to drop the game to concentrate on his studies while at the Naval Academy. Charlie remembered when the Captain had had that talk with Bill, the summer before he started at the Academy. It was late at night in Bill and Charlie's bedroom, and Charlie had pretended to sleep while the Captain and Bill spoke quietly. Bill had taken it like a man, Charles remembered, though he had pounded his fist into his pillow more than once after the Captain left the room. "Do you play?" Mulder asked, shifting the baby so that he was facing straight ahead. Both Liam and Mulder eyed Bill carefully, returning Bill's challenging gaze. Bill shrugged. "Now and then," he said. "I don't have the time I used to, but I plan on signing Matthew up for t-ball this summer. I don't know how much time the new job will eat up, but I'm hoping to help coach." Hoorah, Charles thought. Start him early, Bill. Teach him all those things the Captain taught you. Maybe the Captain had used up what was left of his boy lessons on Dana, or maybe he had been out to sea the week when he was supposed to teach those lessons to his youngest son. Either way, they had never made their way down the food chain to Charlie. Or maybe he simply hadn't been paying attention. Teach Matthew the things you know, Bill, the things that make you into the Man you've always wanted to be, the things the Captain had never bothered to teach me: Do your best; Don't hit your opponent when he's down; Kick ass now and take names later; and, most importantly, Take It Like a Man. Maybe those were valuable lessons after all, Charlie mused. Certainly they were serving Bill well, and Dana wasn't doing half-bad with them either. Charles eyed Mulder. What testosterone-fueled lessons had his father taught him? Charles's gaze drifted to Liam, who was trying to stuff his left fist into his mouth. With parents like Dana and Mulder, what lessons would his nephew learn? "Sorry we're late," Margaret Scully called out as she and Matthew hurried over to them. "Matthew and I had so much fun that we just lost track of the time." "Where's Mommy?" Matthew asked, looking around. "She and Aunt Dana went to the restroom, Matthew," Bill said. "They'll be--" "I'm hungry," Matthew whined, tugging on his father's pant leg. "I told Matthew we could eat lunch when we finished shopping," Margaret said. "Any suggestions?" "Tara said Johnny Bee's was a good place," Charles said, nodding at the nearby restaurant. "The food's nothing special," Tara said as she and Dana joined the family in front of the restaurant. "But the atmosphere's a blast." They agreed on Johnny Bee's, and, as they got in line at the restaurant, Charles realized that it was the first thing they'd agreed on since they'd all arrived. He wondered if it would be the only thing. Probably, he thought. Probably they should consider themselves lucky they had come this far. The waitress led them to a large booth, and Charles slid in, careful to get in first and sit with his left side to the wall. He was a lefty, and he didn't want to spend the meal elbowing anyone... especially his brother. Bill, Tara, and Matthew slid into the booth next to him, and Charlie was immediately glad that he had gotten in first; Bill was the last person he wanted to rub elbows with. His mother and Mulder slid into the other side of the booth, and Dana arranged Liam in a high chair before taking the end seat. "Have you folks ever been to Johnny Bee's before?" their waitress asked, tossing her blond ponytail over her shoulder and skimming the plastic-coated menus across the table to them. Bill and Tara nodded. "Once," Bill said, and the rest of them shook their heads. "Well, you've got your own jukebox there on the table, and we start you out with three nickels. When you request a song it gets entered into the playlist, and when it comes up, it'll be piped through the restaurant," she explained. "I'll just give you a minute to look over the menus." "Thank you," Maggie Scully said as the waitress left. The Supremes' "Stop in the Name of Love" fell over the table as the Scullys grew silent and considered their menus. "Oh, Dana," Maggie said, looking across Mulder at her daughter. "I didn't think to ask: did you bring anything for Liam? I'm sure he doesn't have enough teeth--" "No, he doesn't," Dana said. "But I've got a bottle and some cereal. And we can cut something up for him. He'll be fine." Gross, more smooshed up food, Charlie thought, remembering back to the previous night's dinner and the mess Liam had made on his high chair tray. "French fries," Mulder said, checking the menu. "He's had french fries before." Scully nodded, and the waitress returned to take their orders and their menus. Maggie glanced around the restaurant with a grin. "Your father and I used to eat at a diner just like this one, before we were married," she said. "All the kids used to go there for a burger and fries and a chocolate malt after the football games." "Just like 'Happy Days,'" Mulder said with a smile. "More or less," Maggie admitted. "There was a big juke box in the corner. We'd line up and feed it our nickels. I remember," she said, her voice growing soft and wistful. "I was still in school when I met your dad, but he took me to the diner when he was home on vacation from the Naval Academy. He kissed me for the first time at that diner, while Elvis Presley was playing on the jukebox." Maggie continued her journey into the past, but Charles glanced around the restaurant, bored and frustrated. He had never been a fan of his mom's Dating the Captain stories. Probably, he thought, because he couldn't quite believe them. Not that he thought his mother was lying. Of course not. But, try as he might, he couldn't imagine what of the young William Scully might have endeared him to Margaret McKinney. Not that Charlie had ever been an expert on the subject of what women wanted, but still... Charlie's gaze fixed on a couple in a booth at the back of the restaurant. They were sharing a plate of french fries and a chocolate malt, their heads bobbing alternately to sip from the shared straw. They looked to be in high school, maybe college, and Charles tried to imagine his parents in their place. To fit in with the high school kids, the Captain would have worn his letterman jacket; he had told them often of his glory days in high school as an offensive lineman, how he had played varsity football four years straight, setting some kind of record, though, with his limited knowledge of football, Charles didn't know what kind of award an offensive lineman would win. But that position suited the Captain, Charlie thought: steady and dependable and doing all the grunt work but getting none of the credit. The Captain would have fancied the position self-sacrificing and tough. Noble. And Maggie McKinney would have dressed fashionably, a poodle skirt maybe, and saddle shoes. Her dark ponytail would have bobbed against her shoulders, and the Captain's bulky high school ring would have rested in the v-neck of her sweater. Charlie cracked a grin at the image. But his thoughts were interrupted by the waitress. "Iced tea?" she asked, then set down the glasses in front of his sister and mother. She sorted out Bill's Pepsi, Tara's hot tea, and Matthew's milk, then plunked down two tall malt glasses in front of Charlie and Mulder. She set down a handful of straws and two spoons, then disappeared. Mulder grabbed a spoon and dropped it into his malt. He tasted the thick froth, then smiled. "There used to be this great soda shop near our house in Quononchontaug. Probably just like yours," he said with a nod at Maggie. "We'd ride our bikes into town after an all-day baseball game and order chocolate malts." "Hey," he said, spooning another dollop of malt and reaching past Dana to Liam. "Here, buddy," he said, aiming the spoon at Liam. "I bet you'll like this." Liam eyed the spoon cautiously before finally opening his mouth. Mulder fit the spoon inside and the baby clamped his lips around its cool metal handle. His forehead wrinkled, his expression betraying his surprise at the sudden cold, then his pleasure at the thick, chocolaty sweetness. He smiled, showing two tiny teeth, as Mulder pulled the spoon from his mouth. "Mmm, did that taste good?" Dana asked, running her hand over the baby's head. "I bet it feels nice on your gums." Charlie reached for a straw and dropped it into his own malt, then took a long, thick sip. It was good, perfect to combat the overheated mall and greasy heat of the diner's nearby grill. They sipped at their drinks, Mulder feeding Liam alternate sips of his malt, until the waitress brought out several plates of french fries and onion rings. The waitress knelt down next to their table and removed a bottle of ketchup from her apron pocket. She set four square paperboard saucers on the table, then uncapped the ketchup bottle. "Watch," she said to Matthew with a smile, and the little boy craned his head to see. Working quickly, she dropped ketchup onto each saucer in the shape of a smiley face. "There ya go," she said, pushing one saucer towards the boy. "Smiley face," Matthew said. "What do you say, Matthew?" Bill prompted. "Thank you," the little boy replied, still smiling at the saucer of ketchup. "You're welcome," the waitress said, setting the bottle of ketchup on the table before heading back into the kitchen. "These are just like the fries at the diner where your father and I used to eat," Margaret said after taking a bite of a french fry. "You can actually taste the potato in there, not like that cardboard stuff they pass off at fast food restaurants nowadays." Bill nodded. "I know," he said. "We've been trying not to get Matthew hooked on fast food, but..." He looked pointedly at Tara. "But I've had the most amazing cravings for cheeseburgers lately," she said with a guilty grin. "Fast food cheeseburgers, the greasier the better, and extra onions." "Personally," Bill said, "I think she's milking this craving thing for all it's worth. With Matthew it didn't start until much later in her pregnancy. I think," he said, again glancing at his wife, "that she remembers how eager I was to run out at midnight for a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and a serving of onion rings--" "Two servings," Tara corrected. "I wasn't the only one with an onion ring craving. And you weren't all that eager, either," she remembered. "For most of my pregnancy you were at sea, and I had to go out myself." Bill's smile faded. "But when I was there--" "When you were there," Tara said, laying her hand on his, "yes, you did run out for ice cream and onion rings at midnight. My hero." They laughed. "I remember," Maggie said. "When I was pregnant with you, Bill, all I wanted to eat were vegetables: cauliflower, cabbage, corn on the cob. And it was strange, because you were the only one of the four that I never had to fight with to get you to clean your plate." That fits, Charles thought. Of course it was Bill who ate all his vegetables. Tara smiled and bit into an onion ring. "That's odd, because I've heard that whatever foods a woman craves when she's pregnant will be her child's favorites." They all looked over at Matthew, who was stuffing an onion ring in his mouth. "Ouch," he cried out, reaching for his milk. "Careful, Matthew," Bill warned. "They're hot. Here." Bill pulled his son's plate towards him and quickly cut two onion rings into smaller pieces. "There. Wait a few minutes for them to cool so you don't burn your mouth again." "What about you, Dana?" Tara asked, turning her attention to Liam, who was sucking intently on the end of a french fry. "What did you crave with Liam?" Dana smiled, slipping the spoon from Mulder's malt out of her mouth. He snatched it away from where she laid it on the base of his glass. "Sunflower seeds," she said with a pointed look at Mulder. "Really? You never told me that," he said with an almost proud smile. "You corrupted me," she said, and Charlie didn't want to touch that one. He hoped Bill would let it go. Thankfully, he did. Being in public had always brought out Bill's kindly older brother image. For once, Charles was grateful at its immergence. "I kept a bag in your desk drawer," Dana added. She smiled and snatched back Mulder's spoon, which she swirled thoughtfully in his half-empty malt glass before removing a spoonful and offering it to Liam. "And then pizza," she said. "I had pizza three or four times a week during my last trimester." Try as he might -- and even though he had seen what few photographs his mother had taken -- Charles had great difficulty conjuring up the mental image of his sister pregnant. He wished he had seen her then, if just to satisfy his own niggling curiosity. But plane tickets were so expensive and the bookstore had had a rough few months in the sales department, so he had had to save up his plane ticket money for Christmas. "Does Liam--?" Tara began. "Not yet," Mulder said, toying with an onion ring. "We're waiting for a few more teeth before trying him on pizza. And no sunflower seeds yet either," he said with a slightly pouty glance at Dana, who smiled. "I think sunflower seeds are going to have to wait a few months, Mulder," she said with a smile as the waitress arrived. "Okay," the waitress said. "Kiddie cheeseburger," she said before placing the plate in front of Matthew, then distributed the rest of the plates. Cheeseburger with extra onions for Tara, chilidog for Bill, grilled cheese for Maggie, barbecue cheeseburger for Mulder, BLT for Dana, and a chicken sandwich for Charlie. They passed around napkins and bottle of ketchup, then dug in. Like the fries and onion rings, the food was oily but delicious. They said little while they ate, and Dana and Mulder focused on trying to get Liam interested in the Cheerios they had brought along for him rather than their sandwiches. Matthew, however, was a fairly self-sufficient eater, once Tara cut his cheeseburger into bite-size chunks. "It's the only way he'll eat it," she said with a shrug. She turned to Matthew, who was poking one finger into the bun of his burger. "Hey, Matty, how 'bout I don't cut up your cheeseburger today? Don't you want to eat it like a big boy, just take a bite?" "Nuh uh," Matthew said, shaking his head. "That's yucky." "But that's how your daddy's eating his sandwich," Tara said as Bill took a bite of his hot dog. "And me and Grandma and Uncle Charlie and Aunt Dana and Mulder." Matthew looked up at Tara, an expression on his face that Charlie read as 'You *are* kidding, aren't you, Mom?' So Tara sighed and cut up the cheeseburger, then pushed Matthew's plate back in front of him and took a bite of her own sandwich. Charlie watched the rest of the family, feeling as if he were caught in some kind of alternate universe. Sure, it had been a long time since he had been with all of them together, and he understood that things changed. He knew that, intellectually he did, but, well, seeing it was a different proposition altogether. Despite his artistic leanings, Charlie had dabbled in science as well over the years; Dana wasn't the only one with an interest in Einstein. Right then he felt as though he were living the twin paradox: he had gone up into space and returned just a minute later. But that minute had been a decade for his siblings, who were busy living their lives, Bill married with a child and a pregnant wife, Dana with a baby and in what appeared to be a serious relationship. Charlie was catapulted back into his childhood. Once again he was the socially backward baby who could never catch up to his siblings, no matter how fast he ran. So why not give up running, he figured. He would always the youngest. No matter what I do, he thought, or what Dana and Bill do, I'll always be the youngest, always the last to start school and the last to finish. The last to leave home. Probably, he thought with a glance at Dana and Mulder, the last to get married. Clearly the last to have a family, if any of those things were ever going to happen for him at all. And, frankly, he had his doubts: he was thirty-four years old and couldn't remember the last time he was in a serious relationship. "You know," his mother said, and Charlie looked up at her, setting his sandwich back on his plate. Margaret Scully was smiling proudly around the table, and Charlie braced himself for something gushy and maudlin. "You know," she said again, "I want you to know how happy I am to have all of you here for Christmas. I can't remember the last time..." She shook her head, then dabbed at the corners of her eyes, still smiling. "And I'm so proud of you. All of you," she said, focusing on each of them in turn. "And I know your father would be, too." Charles followed his mother's gaze as it again traveled around the table, from Bill to Dana to himself. Bill coughed slightly and studied the squirts of chili left on his plate, and Dana focused her attention on Liam, although he was sucking contentedly on his bottle for once. When Maggie's gaze reached Charles, he, too, looked away, feeling guilty. It was a no-brainer that the Captain had been proud of Bill and Dana. Bill had done everything right: admirable career, happy marriage, perfect little family; Bill had become the same man his father had been. And Dana, well, despite the twists her life had taken, Charles knew the Captain would be proud of the way his baby girl had fought every step of the way, in her career, for her health, and in her personal life. Dana never could hold her father's disappointment for long. What Charlie didn't understand was why his siblings looked away guiltily as their mother's proud gaze passed over each of them. What could they have to feel ashamed about? They weren't struggling for money and direction in their careers. No, they were both at the point in life where thirty-somethings were expected to be, where Charlie knew, deep down in that place where the harshest truths resided, that he would never be. So why couldn't they look their mother in the eye? Charles, however, was another story. He had disappointed the Captain every step of the way; never being enough of a boy or enough of a man; dropping out of school to live as a semi-employed artist; not marrying or having a family or maintaining a respectable relationship. If the Captain could see his youngest son now, he would probably have another coronary. * * * * * DANA The drive home passed in silence. Unlike the previous day's drive, Scully thought, remembering Liam's unrelenting fussing that had forced her to sit in the backseat with him and had made them to leave her mother's house early. His crying had continued in the car, magnified by the small confines. Not that Scully had minded leaving her mother's early. No, by the time dinner had finished and Liam had grown cranky, she too had grown tired. She loved her family -- really, she did -- but it had been years since she had spent a day with all of them. It was the weekend of Bill's wedding, she remembered. Her father had died earlier that year, but the rest of the family was there. Not that they got to see much of Bill or Tara, who were both so busy trying to make everything run smoothly. She tried to remember the last time she had seen Charles. It was Christmas, she decided, but she couldn't place the year. It was after she had been assigned to the X-Files, after Melissa had died but before Matthew was born. Maybe 1996, she figured. It had been just the three of them that year: Scully, Charlie, and their mother. Bill had been oversea, and Tara had spent the holiday with her sister in Los Angeles. It was on Thanksgiving that Margaret Scully had invited the three of them over for Christmas. Maybe it was her mother's apparent acceptance of hers and Mulder's living arrangements, but Scully couldn't find it in herself to argue. Maybe, too, it was a fantasy that they could all be together again and everything could be picture-perfect: singing Christmas carols, baking cookies, Midnight Mass, gifts under the tree on Christmas morning. Surely, she had thought, they could all behave themselves for five days. Plus, Scully knew that it had been years since Mulder had truly celebrated any holiday, Christmas or Hanukkah. Or even Flag Day. And he had seemed so excited about Thanksgiving, eager as a little boy as they cleaned the apartment that Wednesday. She had joked with him that there were no gifts on Thanksgiving; that was Christmas, in case his memory was a little foggy. She had immediately regretted her weak attempt at humor, knowing that it well could be that his memory was foggy, that he had never been one for holidays. She remembered the Christmas he had toted her along with him to that haunted house, the year she had spent most of the night at his apartment, unwrapping their gifts to each other, then watching old holiday films on American Movie Classics. They had eventually fallen asleep on the couch, the third showing of "Miracle on 34th Street" buzzing in their shared subconscious. Scully had woken up when the rising sun pushed through Mulder's blinds and into her eyes. She had woken Mulder up in her panic, and had left him behind, dazed, as she scrambled to get home to shower and stuff her family's Christmas gifts into festive holiday bags before heading over to her mother's house. It had been easy to let Mulder's Thanksgiving enthusiasm wash over her, cause her to forget that, with the entire family in attendance, Christmas would be more complicated than miscalculating how many pounds of turkey were appropriate for three adults and a baby that had still no teeth. Scully had tried to get out of it later, pleading temporary insanity when she attempted to explain to Mulder why they simply could not spend Christmas at her mother's with the rest of the Clan Scully. And, despite his Thanksgiving joy, she had fully expected him to agree with her that Christmas wouldn't be as pleasant, not with Bill, Junior, in attendance. They would try next year, Scully told him. Maybe they would get lucky and Bill would be at sea. They could deal with Charles, she knew. She just wanted another year before seeing Bill again. Was that too much to ask? Apparently so. And apparently she had forgotten who she was talking to. How could she have expected Mulder, of all people, to agree with her for once? Of course he had to argue, to insist that this was Christmas and they were family, Liam's family as well as hers. She couldn't deny her son spending his first Christmas with family, could she? Damn, she thought. The guilt card. Mulder didn't often play the guilt card -- no, he usually got further with a sad look and a turn of his pouty lip, and he knew it. But this time he had been right. Or at least she had thought so then. Fine. They would spend Christmas with the rest of the family. It would make Mulder happy, it would give Liam something to, well, not remember, but see in photos when he got older. And it would be a nice Christmas gift for her mother, who had always been rather gloomy around the holidays anyway. Scully looked over at Mulder, caught him glancing at Liam through the rearview mirror. "Is he asleep?" she asked. "Nope, wide awake," he said, glancing over at her before turning his attention back to the road. "So, Mulder," she said. "Are you regretting yet agreeing to spend Christmas with everyone?" He shook his head. "I thought it was going well," he told her. "There hasn't been any yelling or screaming. No one threw the roast at anyone else. And everyone showed up. In the history of Mulder family holiday gatherings, that alone would rate it a success." "Not yet," she reminded him. "Don't forget that it's only the twenty-third. Plenty of Christmas left for yelling and screaming and roast throwing." He gave her a wry grin. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think Bill's taking it pretty well." She just shook her head. You don't know Bill very well, she thought. She knew her brother was building up to something. More than once she had noticed him staring intently at Liam. Scully knew full well that he was trying to match the baby's facial features with Mulder's. She had seen her brother's gaze dart back and forth from her to Liam to Mulder at dinner the previous night, then again at lunch at the diner. Boy, has fatherhood turned you into a softie, Scully thought. "He's just distracted," she told him. "I don't think he's come around, Mulder." Scully could feel it building up in him, the sidelong glances and the concentrated stares gathering his strength like a storm. She knew this from a childhood of experience fighting with Bill; she knew this quiet was not a good sign. * * * * * To Be Continued in Interstice: Monday