From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: Sat, 29 Jul 2000 18:37:53 -0500 Subject: Simple Gifts (1 of 7)...........MSR......Post-Millennium by J.T. Fili pek (aka Livasnaps) Source: direct Reply To: jtfilipek@hotmail.com Author: J. T. Filipek (aka Livasnaps) E-mail: jtfilipek@yahoo.com Classification: MSR Rating: PG-13 (maybe R in Section 7, but I'm fairly liberal about these things)Spoilers: (lots and lots of spoilers) Pilot, Squeeze, The Jersey Devil, Fire, Beyond the Sea, Tooms, Duane Barry/Ascension/One Breath, Irresistible, Anasazi/The Blessing Way/Paper Clip, Grotesque, Pusher, Wetwired, Memento Mori, Gethsemane/Redux/Redux II, Detour, Christmas Carol/Emily, Fight the Future, The Beginning, Triangle, How the Ghosts Stole Christmas, Tithonus, S.R. 819, Two Fathers/One Son, The Unnatural, Biogenesis/Sixth Extinction/Amor Fati, Millennium Summary: A week apart following the events of Millennium gives Mulder and Scully a lot of time to think. They come to the decision that a late Christmas is MUCH better than none at all. Archive: Anywhere, but please let me know so I can visit Feedback: Pretty please with sugar on it. I'll be your best friend. I'll clean your house. I'll cook you dinner. (But I won't watch your kids. Sorry.) Disclaimer: Is there really any doubt about who owns them? They belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Television. Has anyone ever really been sued for fanfic? I've read some where the author should be sued, but not for copyright infringement. Notes: The events in this story occur one week after the evens in Millennium. The events in Sein und Zeit and Closure have not yet occurred. Read on for my guesses as to what Moose and Squirrel got each other for Christmas last year and what I made them get each other for Christmas this year. I know it's past the holiday season, but this one took me longer than I thought it would. Warning: non-shippers turn back now!!! This one is not for you. For my beloved Asti. You've awakened passion and love from a long-dormant sleep. Brie loves you. Really. Simple Gifts 'Tis a gift to be simple, 'tis a gift to be free. 'Tis a gift to come down where we ought to be. And when we find ourselves in the place just right, 'Twill be in the valley of love and delight. Shaker Song, 17th Century Part 1 of 7 Friday, January 7, 2000 Mulder's car 3:08 p.m. Mulder jabbed impatiently at the *seek* button of the car radio. Music--jazz, country, metal, hip hop. Talk-- sports, Dr. Laura, political stuff, traffic, public broadcasting fund drive. None of it was what he wanted. None of it satisfied his mind or his soul. But still he punched the button because the only other option was silence and he really didn't want that. If it got too quiet, he might have to go inside his head and there was too much going on in there for him to have much desire to visit. One more defeat that was still too raw and tender. Friday afternoon. It had been a long, frustrating week. And lonely. Last Friday, New Year's Eve, seemed like a month ago. The memory brought an ache to his heart. He'd kissed her--finally--as the clock struck midnight and for a few too brief seconds, there had been nothing in the world but the feel of her lips like satin against his, the warmth of her breath on his cheek as she breathed through her nose. Nothing else in the world. No hospital paging sounds. No people walking back and forth. No television spewing the idiotic rantings of Dick Clark--an X-File unto himself, the post-modern Dorian Grey. Just Scully's mouth against his, his mind rejoicing all except one small part that cursed the arm in the sling that came between them. It had been a sweet kiss and he recalled the swift beating of his heart as he tried to brace himself for any eventuality--fire, pestilence, nuclear destruction, the roof falling in, a right hook to the jaw, although he still thought his Scully would go for the left. Instead, they'd simply parted and he opened his eyes quickly to see her reaction. Prepared for a fist, instead he for once got his wish. She opened her eyes slowly and smiled at him, her eyes fluttering just a bit. "The world didn't end," he'd said, full of the wonder of the moment. "No it didn't," she replied, the smile there just a second longer before her face went inexplicably sad. He'd failed her again somehow and that look he'd seen so often over the past couple of years was back. The expression he'd do anything to dispel, but he didn't have a clue as to how to do it. So much for the idea of a new beginning for them. And suddenly, they were both aware of where they were and how important it was to get away from there. It was a new year, a new century, a new millennium. Enough of hospitals. They'd both been there enough, had enough of sitting beside one another's beds, enough of pacing dark, lonely waiting rooms. They moved at the same time, as they often did, and he'd draped his good arm--the left one, unfortunately--around her shoulder as they left the hospital. She didn't flinch from contact, but walked just far enough away from him that the gesture became something completely different than he had intended as they made their way to her car in the almost deserted emergency room parking lot. With a pang, he'd removed his arm to walk to the passenger side of the car and waited for her to unlock his side with the button in the handle. At the sound of the lock, he popped the door open and slid quickly inside, happy to note that no one had adjusted the seat since the last time he'd ridden in her car. He turned his head to watch her slip behind the wheel, briefly illuminated by the dome light before she slammed the door shut. In the dark of the car, the halogen lamps of the parking lot cast a bluish light that reflected wondrously in her eyes, making them seem to glow with a strange luminescence. Wanting more than anything to reach over and touch her, he couldn't even blame his injury for his inability to do it. His right arm was the one farthest away from her. It was cowardice, pure and simple, that caused his hesitancy. It was fear of screwing things up even more than he already had that wouldn't allow him to ask what he'd done, how he could fix things. He felt behind him with his left hand for the seatbelt and he tried to twist and pull it across his body to fasten it. She smiled indulgently at his fumbling and leaned over to click it into place, and he was ridiculously grateful for the smile, even at his own expense. Scully backed out of the space, her hand on his headrest as she looked behind her. Their eyes met momentarily and he felt one of her fingers graze his scalp as her hand left the headrest to move to the gearshift lever. She maneuvered through various city streets until she found the onramp for 395 to Alexandria. The road was strangely empty and Mulder supposed, it barely being twelve-fifteen, that everyone was wherever it was they'd decided to ring in the new millennium. They drove through the silent night, silent themselves, and he couldn't help but stare down at her small hand resting on the gearshift lever. He wanted to rest his on top of hers and the frustration of not being able to, along with a throbbing in his shoulder that was increasing in intensity, was making him restless and fidgety. "How's your shoulder?" she asked, concern for him coloring her voice. "Hurts some," he answered. "It'll be okay." "It would hurt less if you'd just relax and let the shot they gave you at the hospital kick in." Her hand moved from the steering wheel to the back of his neck, gently kneading the tight muscles there. It felt fantastic and he pressed against her strong fingers, turning his head slowly back and forth as she worked the muscles. He heard himself hum low in his throat with delight as he slumped toward her so she wouldn't have to reach so far. For the first time in weeks he felt himself relax, and he breathed deeply with it, inhaling her scent as an added bonus. His mind drifted and all he could think about was her fingers drifting upward from his neck, entwining in his hair as she rubbed at the knots at the base of his skull. Carried off by whatever they'd given him for pain, it wasn't too big a leap for him to imagine what those warm, capable fingers would feel like working down the skin of his back, massaging the muscles right above his ass. Then maybe she'd work her way back up, and scratch her way back down. He could almost feel the gentle pressure of her nails raking against his skin. The sensation of the familiar rush of blood to his groin jolted him away from where those thoughts were taking him. He really didn't want a woody at this point in time as he didn't really think he possessed the wherewithal to conceal it. He needed a distraction, but couldn't quite make himself straighten up and pull away from the hand tugging lightly but insistently at his hair. A distraction, something to let Mulder, Jr. know that this wasn't an opportune time to spring into action. "You didn't tell me, Scully. How was Christmas with the family?" His voice was low with desire and he almost chuckled at the sound of it, hoping that she didn't think he was trying out his new imitation of Barry White. She was silent for so long it made him wonder if she were going to answer the question. Finally she spoke. "Okay, I guess. It was good to have everybody together again, to see Charlie and Angela and the kids, and Tara and Bill and Matthew and new baby. It was about on par with any of the visits I've had with Bill over the past few years." She seemed ill at ease with the memory and he wasn't surprised when she changed the subject. "Do you have any food in your house?" "Hmm?" He said, surprised that he'd zoned out a little. "Are you hungry?" She shook her head with a smile, and he was saddened to feel her pull her hand back. She brought it to the steering wheel and negotiated the off ramp and turns to head for his neighborhood. "For you," she replied. "For tomorrow. You're inside for the day, resting. Doctor's orders." His brow knitted in confusion. "The doctor didn't say that." "*Your* doctor did, Mulder," she insisted. "I mean it. You stay in bed and take those pills tomorrow." "I thought maybe you'd come over..." he began, but clammed up. She glanced over at him, concerned. "Do you need me to? I could cancel..." he cursed himself. Just because he didn't have a life didn't mean she didn't. "No, I'll be fine. I've actually got some food for once and if all else fails, Hunan Dynasty is on my speed dial. I'll just veg out and watch the Bowl games. Probably wouldn't have gone anyplace anyway with all the football." He smiled at her reassuringly. "Whatcha doin'? Spending the day with your mother?" She shook her head. "She's still in San Diego. Coming back on Tuesday." Something in her tone caught his attention and he cast his eyes sideways to look at her. It was the same as when she'd talked about Christmas with the family. He wondered if something had happened while she was in San Diego. She'd found Emily at this time two years ago and lost her again a scant few days later. Christmas with her brother the asshole and the memory of the only child she'd ever know. And she hadn't said a word about it when she'd called him just a few minutes after midnight on Christmas. He'd been so glad to hear from her, had missed her to an almost absurd degree. Although it was just nine o'clock in San Diego, he'd been touched by the fact that she'd called to be the first (and only) person to wish him a Merry Christmas. And, to his surprise, to ask him to tell her a story. Had he been so thrilled that she'd thought to call that he missed something important, something she needed? She continued, seemingly unaware of his scrutiny. "I'm going to my friend Ellen's house for brunch, then spending the day with her family." "Ellen?" He was surprised. He hadn't heard Scully mention her friend in years. "Yeah, you remember. Her son Trent is my godson. Anyway, it's kind of an annual tradition. We get together every New Year's Day. I bring over Christmas presents for Trent and the other two kids. Ellen and I sit around and pretend we still know one another and make vague promises to get together more this year. If you need me to, I'm sure I can cancel." He listened closely, knowing from experience that her tone often spoke more than her words. There was no sadness or regret in Scully's voice. More like a weary resignation that he couldn't quite decipher, didn't know how to respond to. "If you're looking for an excuse to cancel, Scully, I'd love it if you came over. But don't cancel because of me. I'll be fine." Something in her demeanor told him that he hadn't responded as she'd hoped, that he'd disappointed her yet again. "Oh, okay. As long as you promise to stay in, I'll go to Ellen's." Her voice was back to *partner* tone and he didn't want that. They were just pulling up to the front of his building and he grasped for a way to fix whatever had happened just now. "But you know, by Sunday, I could have a relapse." She pulled into an empty space in front of his door and turned to him with a smile that made him sigh inwardly in relief, although he couldn't quite interpret its meaning. "I'd better check on you then. I'll call you Sunday morning to let you know when I'll be coming over." He turned to look down at the seatbelt buckle at the same time she turned to release it. Their eyes met and held and he was amazed when Scully leaned forward to press her mouth against his. This kiss was different, less hesitant, promising more than questioning. Not knowing mentally what she meant by this gesture, his only option was to react to it physically. He brought his left hand to weave into her hair, holding her against him as he moved his mouth against hers, the way he'd wanted to in the hospital. Her hand snaked down between them and she pressed the button to loosen the seatbelt and she scooted closer to him--as close as bucket seats, the gearshift column and the sling holding his arm would allow her to get. Her mouth beneath his yielded as she brought her hand around to caress his back and opened her mouth to admit his beckoning tongue. She tasted incredible, like something he'd never had but always known, and the little sounds she was making sent shivers down his spine. It was Scully who broke the kiss, but not abruptly. Instead, her face hovered next to his, her lips mere centimeters away, smiling as if very pleased with herself. "Happy New Year, Mulder." Her already throaty voice was low and breathy, and Mulder, Jr. was threatening to start paying serious attention again. "Happy New Year, Scully," he answered and moved in for another brief touch of his lips to hers. "Wanna come up and help me look for reanimated corpses in the closets?" He saw her eyes widen briefly. In shock? In dismay? And he cursed himself for not being able to keep his mouth shut yet again. He had to hand it to her for quick recovery as she gave him the patented Scully smirk. But it was nothing like the smile she'd given him after their kiss--a smile he'd do anything to see again. "Sounds tempting. But I'd better get home and get some sleep if I have any hope of surviving Ellen, Todd and three kids. The past few days have been fairly eventful." He nodded in resignation, glancing briefly at the wicked scratches on the skin of her throat. Scully--his strong, logical, beautiful, rational Scully--had nearly been beheaded by a dead man come back to life. Always a deadly aim, she'd shot a reanimated corpse three times in the head to save his and Frank Black's life. She'd killed, nearly been killed by, a thing that everything inside her screamed could not exist. Then calmly stated it had been an eventful few days after he had joked about finding one in his closet. Why wasn't there some key, some map, to help him figure her out? Maybe Ellen would try to fix her up again and Scully might meet someone who actually deserved her. The thought made him physically ill. He looked over at her tired face, still trying to give him a smile. If she was even half as tired as he was, she was exhausted. "Okay, I'll talk to you on Sunday." He popped the door open and slipped out of the car, pausing to lean down briefly. "Be careful driving home." He walked to the door, touched to note that she'd waited until he was inside before pulling away. She'd done it before in the past, but the gesture seemed to mean something more in light of what had happened between them over the past hour. Saturday, New Year's Day, passed in a drug assisted haze where he couldn't recall the final score of a single Bowl game, mainly because he'd spent a good portion of the day recalling the feel of Scully's lips against his, the taste of her, the scent of her. He wished the day by quickly, so Sunday would come and he could talk to her, wanting to make things better, yet scared that he wouldn't be able to. He wondered where they would be emotionally and his eagerness to hear her voice was mixed with apprehension. It was a not unpleasant combination, he was surprised to find out-- simultaneously sweet and angsty. She did call at just after ten on Sunday morning and his hopes were cruelly dashed upon the rocks. She told him that Skinner had called her and told her to fly out that same day for Boise. "Scully," he said anxiously. His first thoughts were of her nearly disastrous experience with the almost tragically inept Agent Ritter in New York, when Kersh had sent her on a field assignment without him. He'd come so close to losing her again. Almost as if she could read his thoughts, she hastened to reassure him. "Skinner says no field work. I'll just be in the morgue. Seems they've found some kind of mass grave in a deserted area a couple hundred miles north of Boise. Twenty-eight bodies so far and they're still digging. They think that most or all of them are Mexican nationals-- illegals. They're not sure if it's a mass murder or serial killing, but the Bureau's involved and they need an extra set of hands to do autopsies." "And Skinner volunteered you," he said, trying unsuccessfully to avoid sounding petulant. "You're on light duty this week," she replied. "Desk jockey stuff." "And you're supposed to stay with me and make sure I follow orders," he said in a *you know the drill* tone of voice. She chuckled, a sound he wished he could hear more. "Like I've been real good at that for the past seven years. Come on, Mulder, this is Skinner. He knows us, remember? He knows that if you found anything even remotely interesting to investigate, you'd be able to talk me into it so fast we'd be arguing about who was driving by the time we got to the parking garage." Now it was his turn to laugh. "Really, they need some help out there. It's just this week. Skinner said I could come home on Friday, no matter where they are in the investigation." Mulder sighed, accepting that any protests he might lodge were useless. The AD had ordered it, so Scully was gone. It certainly didn't matter to the Bureau that two of their agents were at a crucial stage in what might become a personal relationship. In fact, they were probably pretty far into breach of protocol-land as it was. "When do you leave?" he asked quietly. "A little before two," she replied. "I have just enough time to throw some stuff together and get to the airport." "Take comfortable shoes," he advised. "Sounds like you'll be on your feet a lot." Twenty-eight bodies so far, she'd said. Knowing Scully, she'd probably take most of the workload on herself. "Yeah," she said sadly. "Mulder, I'll m..." Her voice trailed off. "What?" he prompted softly. "I'm sorry about today." "Me too." He tucked the phone between his neck and should and rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache of frustration coming on. "I guess I'll have to handle my relapse on my own." She didn't answer, but Mulder thought he could hear her smiling in the silence. "Well, I better go." "Okay," he replied. "Call me and let me know what's going on. Oh wait, you said your mother was coming back from San Diego on Tuesday. Does she need to be picked up at the airport?" "No, she left her car in long-term parking. But thanks for offering." That time, he knew he could hear her smile. "Talk to you soon." He heard the soft click of her disconnect and wondered, not for the first time, why they never ended a phone conversation with goodbye, like normal people. He made a New Year's Resolution to work on that. The week had been dismal at best. He sat at his desk and caught up on every bit of paperwork he'd been putting off for the last few months. He culled through the files so mercilessly that Scully would have been amazed at how many he was willing to concede as not being genuine X-Files. All the space in the file drawers made him grab old issues of the *Inquisitor* to see if he could find anything for them to pursue. And sometimes he just sat at his desk, staring at the phone as if sheer will alone would make it ring. He was worried when he hadn't heard from her by Wednesday but successfully fought off the urge all day to call her with a series of empty and meaningless organizational tasks. It wasn't as easy later on at home with nothing to distract him from thoughts of all the reasons she might have had not to call him. The worst, and the one that popped into his head most often, was that she'd reconsidered. That being away had made her think about things and decide that they'd made a mistake, had just gotten foolishly carried away. God knows, he'd given her plenty of reasons to believe that over the years, but the idea that she might really believe it tore his heart in two. By eleven that night, he couldn't take it anymore. He needed to hear her, even if it was to tell him that it wouldn't work. He called her cell phone and she answered on the third ring. Surprisingly he found he'd awakened her from sleep, despite the fact that it was two hours earlier in Idaho. "Scully," she said with a drowsy slur, a lot like she sounded mumbling in dreams, when she fell asleep in the car on stakeouts. "It's me. Listen, I'm sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep." "No, wait," she interrupted before he could press the disconnect button. "It's okay. Don't hang up." She immediately sounded more alert. "You sure?" he asked hesitantly. "You sound exhausted." "I am," she conceded. "But the last few days have been so horrific. It's good to hear your voice." Her words warmed his heart and he relaxed a little, glad that she didn't sound like she was going to voice regrets. "What's going on there?" She sighed. "Thirty-seven bodies. I've done fourteen postmortems since Monday and have six slated for tomorrow. It's like it will never end. The local guy here is just overwhelmed. Things like this just don't happen here. He just keeps saying it over and over." He swallowed hard. Things like that shouldn't happen anywhere. "Mass murderer?" "Serial killer," she replied. "Looks like it's been going on for three or four years. All female, Latinas, mid- to late teens. At least all the ones that have been autopsied so far. From the most recent bodies, it looks like he holds them for a few weeks. Evidence of long-term torture and repeated rapes prior to death." "Jesus, Scully," he said, grimacing at the thought. "Thirty-seven." "Yeah," she whispered, her anguish evident. "They died horribly, Mulder, and now it's like we're... It's like an assembly line." She sniffled softly and he wished for the thousandth time that week that he was there with her. To hold her, to rub her tired feet and shoulders. "I'm sorry," he said. "I wish there was something I could do." "I know," she said wearily. "I just have to make it through tomorrow, then I can come home." "Yeah," he said, smiling. "When will you get here?" "Friday, mid-afternoon." "Good," he said simply. "Now you need to rest. Try and get some sleep, huh Scully?" "Easier said than done," she said doubtfully. "The things we see, Mulder." "I know," he answered sadly. "But try, huh?" He could close his eyes and picture her nodding. "Hurry home." "Can't be soon enough." He waited for her to click off, the conversation ended. But she surprised him. "Thanks for calling, Mulder." "Thanks for answering." Again, he waited for her to press the *end* button, but she remained on the line, and he could hear her soft breaths. He listened for a moment with a small smile tugging at his lips and felt a New Year's Resolution Moment hit him. "Goodnight, Scully." "Goodnight." And with a click she was gone, leaving him with a pleasant ache in his chest and a feeling that he might actually be able to sleep. Late on Thursday, Byers called to say that a guy they knew in Wilmington had seen Alex Krycek in Philadelphia a few days before. Mulder had asked the guys to put feelers out for Krycek when he learned what the Ratboy had done to Skinner. Mulder needed that control box for the nano- machines free floating in Skinner's bloodstream. And maybe in the process, he could find out what Krycek might know about what had been taken from Mulder's head. But first he had to find him. Mulder arranged to take one of his seemingly endless supply of vacation days and drove to Wilmington to see the Gunmen's associate, Vernon Glint. Glint was a NICAP member who said he'd seen the picture the Gunmen had circulated on the Net. He said he'd seen Krycek coming out of a seedy hotel in downtown Philadelphia, the Bluebird, and that he looked like a man in a hurry. Mulder then drove to Philadelphia, found the hotel and discovered that Krycek had checked out a few hours before, leaving no forwarding address. A quick check of his room revealed nothing and Mulder cursed himself for his timing. Krycek had a six-hour lead and there was no telling where he'd gone or how he was traveling. Which was how he came to be driving down the I-95 just a little north of Baltimore headed back to DC, punching the *seek* button on his car radio. Nearly three-thirty. Scully should be home and he really wanted to talk to her. He pulled his cell phone from the breast pocket of his jacket and hit the number one on his speed dial. End Part 1 of 7 +++++ Simple Gifts -- Part 2 of 7 See Disclaimer in Part 1 Georgetown 2:58 p.m. Scully felt the shoulder bag holding her laptop slide down her arm as she fumbled with the key to her apartment door. A medium sized suitcase and garment bag lay at her feet, and she clutched a small carry-on bag in her left hand, her mail tucked under her arm. Would it have really been such a big deal to divide the load and make two trips from the car to her apartment? She finally managed to turn the key and she kicked the suitcase and garment bag inside, swinging to drop the laptop onto the chair near the door. She looked around in the dim light and sighed with relief to be home. Walking through the apartment kicking off her pumps as she went, she switched on a few lamps and adjusted the thermostat up to try and diminish the chill of a place too long unoccupied. She dropped the mail on the coffee table in front of the couch and pulled off her trench coat, draping it over the back of her armchair. She gratefully sank into the cushions of her sofa, feeling the soft popping of several vertebrae relieved to be allowed to relax. After a minute or two, the gun fastened to the back of her slacks began to bite into her skin and she sat up long enough to unclip the holster and place it on the coffee table. She scooted across the sofa until her back pressed against the armrest and brought her feet up, clasping her knees to her chest. The week had been grueling and it appalled her that she couldn't recall a week in recent memory that hadn't been. What did it say about her life when autopsying the bodies of twenty-two teenaged girls in four days was just something that happened the week after she'd killed a man who had already been dead for months? A week where she had almost been killed by someone that she, herself, had confirmed dead at the scene of his murder at the hand of someone who had died a week previously. Scully shook her head to dispel thoughts she wasn't ready to think about, might never be ready to think about. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply, exhaling completely before starting the process again. She tried to clear her head but the same thought kept coming back. And, amazingly, she felt her lips twitch into a smile at the thought. More worlds than she could hold in her hand. Just a few years ago, she would have denied the statement completely, but not anymore. For so long, that idea had terrified her--enough so that she felt her only option was complete denial of even the possibility that other worlds might exist. Now, why not? Everything she'd seen, had experienced, could not be explained by science. Why not other worlds? What was so great about this one that it should be the only one? There was a man in Idaho who'd raped, tortured and murdered thirty-seven girls. And there would be more before they caught him. And how many others like him were out there? No, this wasn't such a great world at all. She was so very tired, way past exhausted, nearly to numb. The only decent sleep she'd gotten in days was Wednesday, after she'd spoken with Mulder. Mulder. Thoughts of him had filled the small nooks and crannies of time during the odious week in Idaho. She found herself thinking of him at the oddest moments. Pushing through the doors to the autopsy bay, she'd recall the feeling of finding him restrained on that strange table in the Department of Defense facility. The feeling of walking through the door and her first thought being alarm that he'd gotten so thin that she could count his ribs from across the room. That his breathing was so shallow she wasn't even certain he was breathing at all until she touched his skin and found it warm. That with his arms outstretched, his shoulders looked like skin pulled taut over bone and nothing more. The feeling of relief that flooded her when his eyes briefly fluttered open the first time. The joy she'd felt when she heard him speak. *You help me.* She thought of him when she'd stumble from the bitter cold Idaho night into her hotel room and instantly turn on the television set. That was something she never did at home, yet there in that anonymous room--like so many others they'd stayed in--she needed the sound of the television, a sound she'd always heard through the walls of the cheap motels they'd stayed in. She'd stumble home from the morgue, turn on the tv, and fall onto the bed nearest the television, remote in hand looking for something she thought he'd watch so the sounds would be right. But mostly Scully had thought of him as she lay in bed in the darkness of an unfamiliar room, unable to put away the horrors of her day. There she'd be, between the scratchy, industrial grade sheets, mentally craving sleep and her traitorous body refusing to comply. It was then that her thoughts turned to Mulder. And how much she'd hurt him. Again. She could recall with perfect clarity watching his smile turn to confusion and awkwardness in the seconds following their kiss in the hospital. She could see him come to believe that he had done something wrong, something she didn't want, hadn't enjoyed. And even seeing that, knowing his thoughts and fears, she hadn't been able to reassure him that nothing was further from the truth. The kiss had been completely unexpected. But once begun, it had been welcomed. His lips against hers had been so unbearably superb that she'd been afraid to move, even toward him, for fear of breaking the spell. His lips were soft and cushiony, as she'd always suspected, and the tip of his nose had tickled her cheek a little. Warmth and chills had hit her spine simultaneously and she couldn't believe he had finally made the move she'd both hoped and feared that he would. And it had been wonderful. Until he had made the end of the world comment and she'd been unable to control her reaction to it. Mulder had misread that reaction and thought it was because of what he'd done. But how could he not misinterpret when she hadn't explained, couldn't explain? About Christmas at Bill's house. Bill had radiated mild hostility at her from the time he'd come to the airport to pick up her mother and her. A mild, constant hostility that wasn't voiced and was only partially relieved when Charlie and his family were around. She knew she deserved some of Bill's animosity. She hadn't exactly made any sincere overtures toward reconciling the differences that had sprung up between them since her cancer, but then neither had he. But he was taking things too far with his snide comments and sneers and Scully found herself becoming more and more angry with him. The first day hadn't been too bad, with all the catching up. They'd sat together drinking wine well into the evening, laughing and talking about Christmases past. Charlie's family had driven down from Seattle in a Winnebago, so when bedtime came they retired to the house in the driveway and Bill had told Dana she and Mom would be in Missy's old room. Not Dana's room, not even Dana and Missy's room. Just Missy's. Her mother seemed not to have noticed Bill's jibe, but Dana saw her hesitate slightly at the threshold of the bedroom that had been hers and Melissa's in the house they'd lived in with an identical floor plan. She knew it was difficult for her mother to go into the room and felt her millionth pang of guilt for the fact that Missy would be here if not for Dana. Neither she nor her mother spoke except to say goodnight before turning off the lamp on the table between the twin beds. The next day was busy with last minute shopping and cooking, and late that afternoon the family gathered to set up and decorate the Christmas tree. Like Ahab before him, Bill did not allow the tree to go up before Christmas Eve and it was taken down on New Year's Day. They snacked on hot hors d'oeuvres and spiced cider as they decked the halls, finally sitting down to a light late dinner served by the light of the tree. Dana looked around the table at the faces gathered there, watched them talking and laughing and eating and felt a sudden twinge of loneliness. These people who surrounded her were of her, she loved them, yet she barely knew them and they didn't know her at all. Her brothers gazed at their wives and children with something akin to awe, and her mother beamed at all of them with such pride and love. They had their children around them. But her only child-- one she'd never known she had--was represented by a coffin full of sand in a cemetery not ten miles away. There'd been no body to place beneath the marker that did not bear Scully's last name and with a first name that Scully had not chosen. Two years ago. Emily would have been five this Christmas, a year younger than Charlie's twins. "Dana?" A voice broke into her sad reverie and Tara smiled at her with sympathetic understanding. But not empathy. She hoped Tara and Bill would never be able to feel empathy with her in that area. "Bill says you always got to put the angel on the treetop when you decorated the tree." "Yeah," Bill answered sarcastically. "She was the only one small enough for Dad to still be able to lift her up over his head when she was a teenager." "Funny, Bill," she replied without rancor, happy to find distraction, even for a moment, from her thoughts. "I seem to recall one Christmas when you tried to put the angel on and you jumped up against the tree. How much did it cost Dad to replace the picture window when you drove the tree through the glass?" "Ooh," Charlie piped in with a grin directed at Bill. "Pop was so pissed at you, Billy-boy! Get this," he said directing his story to everyone around the table. "We're stationed at Great Lakes just north of Chicago--perhaps the nastiest place on earth to be posted." Maggie, Bill, and Dana nodded in agreement.. "It's Christmas Eve, blizzard going on outside, wind blowing off Lake Michigan that would freeze the bal..." "Charlie," Angela warned, looking at the children. Charlie reddened a little and nodded. "Anyway, it was really cold, Christmas Eve, and Dad's gotta find someone to come and replace a double pane picture window because gale force winds are invading the living room thanks to Bill's stunt. Trying to put the angel on the tree just to spite Dana. So Dad's on the phone turning six shades of red and snow's blowing in the hole in the window. Like having a little slice of Antarctica right in our own living room." Everyone at the table joined in hearty laughter and Dana tried to force a laugh as well. But she had that sudden feeling of apartness again. She knew Antarctica, and what had happened in their living room so many years ago didn't come close. She'd experienced Antarctica and no one at the table knew about it, not even her mother. She'd never told them about it. Or how she'd be there still if it hadn't been for Mulder. "Your father wasn't that mad," Maggie said, grinning at the memory. "Mom," Bill protested. "He made me wash the car by hand every week for six years to pay off the window. Have you ever hand-washed a car in January in northern Illinois? Talk about brass monkeys. I had to wash it the morning I left for the Naval Academy." They'd continued to hash through old Christmas memories and stories of childhoods long past, seeming not to notice that Dana contributed almost nothing to the conversation. After dinner, they moved into the living room to continue talking closer to the lights from the tree. Finally, Bill proclaimed that it was time to honor the age-old Scully tradition of singing carols. With some friendly prompting, Tara sat at the spinet and everyone gathered around, eggnogs in hand, and began to sing. Dana, careful to stand next to the twins, smiled and moved her lips to the familiar words, but no sound passed them. She never participated in the caroling--hadn't since she was a child, but she was certain that no one else knew that. It was why she always tried to stand next to the kids, who sang so loudly themselves that they were oblivious to the fact that Aunt Dana didn't sing along. For the most part, she was usually content just to listen, relishing their mumbled words and tenderly off-key voices, for these were the people she loved, who loved her. And she did love them with a love so longstanding that she knew it must be a part of her cells. As she mouthed the words to the Jingle Bells, she stole a glance at her mother who was holding Bill's new daughter Lareena, born the day before Thanksgiving. With her mother's attention on her only granddaughter, Dana felt free to just look at her. She smiled watching Maggie bounce up and down, making faces at Lareena as she sang softly to her. She'd always thought her mother was beautiful, but here--with this child, with all the children--she glowed. But on closer look, she saw that her mother's rich, dark hair had more strands of silver and that, even in the joy of her family, there was still a sadness to her eyes that Dana knew to be a longing for those no longer with them. Dana knew it because she felt it, too. Her glance passed over the other members of her family. Bill, holding Matty in his right arm, his left arm resting on Tara's shoulder and looking down on her with such tenderness, she could scarcely believe he was the same brother who used to give her a friendly punch in the arm just because he could. Or the same brother she'd seen over the past two days casting her looks of confusion and anger. Tara returned his gaze with a quick glance away from the keyboard where she played the piano not with great accuracy, but with great heart. She looked serene and joyous, fulfilled in the motherhood that had come to her so late in her marriage, after years of trying to the point that they'd almost given up. And Charlie and Angela, standing wrapped in each other's arms, their six year-old twins on either side of Dana, flanking her like bookends. She touched the tops of their heads, loving the silky feel of their hair beneath her fingers, matching heads with hair the color of cherry wood- -a combination of Charlie's carrot red and Angela's deep black. Charlie, of all of them, was the sibling of her heart. The one who shared with her the experience of being the younger. The younger brother, the younger sister. The one who stood with her bearing the brunt of Bill's bossiness. Melissa had never tolerated it, but to Bill the *runts* were fair game. Dana had fought back as best she could, but Charlie--gentle Charlie--just smiled and did what Bill told him to do, so that maybe Bill would leave him alone to read in peace. Charlie, diminutive and with his face forever in a book, had eventually become a geologist and met the gorgeous, willowy Angela on a dig in Wyoming. Fully four inches taller than Charlie, she still displayed the good sense to pay attention to the quiet man with the carrot-colored hair and had determined by the end of the dig to be his wife. They were married three months later and welcomed the twins two weeks after their first anniversary. Aaron and Zach--from A to Z because they were the beginning and end of Angela and Charlie's children. At six, the children were a handful and the lights of their parents' lives. They'd moved from Jingle Bells, through the First Noel, and from Tara's spirited introduction, Joy to the World would come next. Dana bent her head forward a little, hoping that the hair falling into her face would hide the tears that had spring to her eyes. She blinked them away quickly as she heard her family begin the song, their voices sure and cheery. Dana looked up, startled. "The Lord is come!" They sang in unison, their faces--all but Dana's--split into wide, open grins. "Let earth receive her King!" She shook her head. They couldn't have sung that. With a slightly anxious expression, she looked around to see if anyone had noticed. Only Charlie was looking at her and he gave her a smile that seemed sad to her. End of the world. She'd heard it plain as day, although she knew she couldn't possibly have heard it. End of the world. How many more Christmases would there be like this one? Was this the last? In her heart, she could no longer deny what she'd seen, what she'd touched, what Mulder had had and what they'd taken away from him. Even to herself, whom she'd always been able to fool, she could no longer deny what Mulder had contended for years. Plans were afoot--plans so awful that they were beyond the scope of contemplation, so unbelievable that their sheer inconceivability was what allowed them to move forward unchecked. Unchecked save for her and Mulder. Had they made even the slightest difference in the Plot or were they as inconsequential as Don Quixote and the Sancho Panza tilting at windmills? The end of the world. When would it come? What was the timetable? How would it be? Unbidden, her thoughts turned again, as they often had for the past month, to the man who had been killed in Arizona, the Raush employee found ripped apart in his own living room. They had argued bitterly that day, she and Mulder. Especially over Mulder's contention that an alien life form had gestated inside the man and burst free at its birth. But Scully had not had a more rational explanation for the man's gory death. Now, more than a year later, she was finding it more and more difficult not to dwell on it. That she herself might have suffered that same fate had Mulder not come to her with the vaccine. He'd saved her in more ways than one, although he probably would never be aware of any but the most obvious. He'd saved her life. Even at his most self-deprecating, she couldn't imagine that he would not realize that. But he'd also saved her from the awful irony, the final most cruel joke, that she would die bearing the only life she'd ever carried inside her to full term. Dana looked at her family again and couldn't help the vision of them, spread out grotesquely as the man in the crime scene photos had been, bloody and torn open. And she couldn't suppress the shudder that accompanied that vision. She stopped even pretending to sing as she gazed at their faces, alight with Christmas bliss. They didn't know that this could be the last Christmas like this and she envied them their ignorance. At the same time she feared for it. They didn't know, couldn't know, for only she could tell them and there was no way to explain that they might possibly understand or believe. No one could know except Mulder and she. Suddenly the room seemed too small, too close and confining, and she realized she was being smothered by her own thoughts. She slipped away while everyone else was engrossed in a debate about whose turn it was to pick the next song. A nearby doorway gave off to the kitchen and back porch where her jacket hung on a peg by the door. Walking out onto the porch, the late December night was warmer than it would have been in Washington, but still cool enough that she was glad to have the dark green suede to drape over her shoulders as she sat on the porch steps. It was better outside, the quiet darkness soothing her fevered thoughts somewhat. She pulled her jacket more tightly around herself and took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the suede. A good smell, a comforting smell-- almost as nice as black leather. It had been a stretch on her G-Woman's salary to afford the jacket, but the color was one of her favorites and the smell of the suede had finally clinched the decision. Mulder had seemed to like it that night that they'd played baseball. Mulder. She'd tried to keep busy and occupied to keep her thoughts from constantly returning to him. She'd been hesitant to make the trip to San Diego because she didn't feel right about leaving him so soon after all he'd been through. But he was officially back at work without restrictions, so she couldn't really justify staying in Washington when her family had plans to meet in San Diego. Alone in the dark, however, it was easier to admit to herself that it wasn't so much his health that concerned her, but the fact that she missed him. She'd been away from him for what seemed an eternity while she was in Africa, so scared that she wouldn't be able to help him that she'd been able to put out of her head all that she had seen. She knew the panic, the helplessness, of not knowing where he was when he was taken from the hospital. Those feelings were still recent enough that she often felt as if he might disappear if she didn't keep a vigilant enough watch over him. Had he felt anything even close to that while she was missing all those weeks? No wonder he hovered over her when she got back. She wanted to hover over him. Scully leaned her back against the porch rail and looked up at the sky. A thin layer of wispy clouds blotted out all but the brightest stars. She could still hear the piano, although not the voices anymore. But it was enough to let her know what song they were singing. A slight breeze stirred her hair and she slid her arms into the sleeves of the jacket to ward off the cool air. She looked down at her feet and smiled at her slippers, the ones Mulder had given her for Christmas last year. Black slippers with little glow-in-the-dark alien heads--ala Whitley Streiber. They almost always made her smile when she wore them at home. Nobody had said anything about them since she'd arrived here. They must not have noticed or Bill, at least, would have mentioned them, more than likely disparagingly. She recalled last Christmas and sitting on Mulder's couch wondering what he possibly could have got her that was cylindrical. He'd folded them up into a plastic tube, one alien head at each end, and wrapped them in silly man fashion. She'd laughed out loud when she'd finally gotten them unwrapped and immediately doffed her laced boots in favor of the more comfortable footgear. Mulder, looking particularly pleased with himself, had turned off the lights so that Scully could get the full effect of their luminescence. Mulder opened his present then. She'd been checking out one of the on-line auction sites and saw for sale a copy of *Close Encounters of the First Kind, the Special Edition* with the box autographed by Steven Spielberg. On impulse, she bid on it, knowing it was the perfect gift for Mulder. She'd been overbid twice, but she persevered and finally got it. His mouth fell open in delighted amazement when he saw what was beneath the red and gold foil wrapping. "Scully," he said, his voice soft with wonder. "This is incredible. The greatest movie ever made *and* autographed by Spielberg." He turned the box over in his hand to examine the signature and the cellophane wrapper crackled beneath his fingers. He looked back at her and his eyes twinkled in a way she hadn't seen in a long time. "Have you ever seen this movie?" She nodded. "Once, a long time ago." "You want to watch it now?" he asked eagerly. "I haven't seen it in a couple of years." "Pop the wrapper," she replied with a smile. He looked at her, aghast. "Scully," he said. "I can't pop the wrapper on this. It's a collector's item. It has to stay wrapped. We'll watch my tape. My *other* tape." He bent over to dig through the videos in the cabinet beneath the television, seeming to Scully to be careful about what he pulled out. With a small triumphant "hah!" he grabbed one of the tapes and stood up. He looked at the tape to make sure it was rewound then, strangely, looked at his watch. "This movie is long, like two-and-a-half hours," he said regretfully. "You'll miss family roll call under the tree at six." Scully looked at her own watch. He was right. The movie wouldn't be over until after six and then there was travel time to her mother's house. She shouldn't start a movie with him that she couldn't finish. She glanced out the window for a moment and noted the snow falling gently but steadily. Road conditions might be bad, too. But then she looked around Mulder's apartment and saw the red striped stocking hanging from the shelving unit that held the aquarium and the little white reindeer on the shelf, and something about these small attempts to add holiday cheer to his life both tore at and warmed her heart. Her feet in their cozy alien slippers curled in protest at the thought of having to put her boots on again and her spine was settling in quite comfortably against the worn leather of the sofa. And she knew in that moment that there was nowhere in the world she'd rather be than right here, sharing Mulder's favorite movie with him. "I'll call them later and tell them to go on without me. Let's make some tea and watch the movie." His smile was worth whatever her family would dish out to her later about missing roll call. "I've got some microwave popcorn, too." "Bring it on," she replied and followed him into the kitchen. They watched the movie, huddled together under the wool blanket he kept on the back of the couch to ward off the chill that always seemed to permeate Mulder's apartment in the winter. Scully was amazed at how good a movie it was and it seemed that there was more to it than the first time she'd watched it all those years ago. "Spielberg reedited it in 1980, I think," Mulder explained when she asked him about it. "If you saw it in the theater the first time around, the whole ending's different. I remember at the time not believing that he could have made it better, but he did. Just a phenomenal movie." His voice held something like reverence. Scully nodded, understanding why he loved the movie so much. It was about a man who wanted to believe, did believe, and was rewarded for his belief. The message was one of hope that the truth was out there and that it was good. The movie was finished and they found themselves famished, even after the microwave popcorn. They left the apartment and trudged through the snow to Rose's Diner close to Mulder's apartment where they gorged on blueberry pancakes and hot, strong coffee. She went back upstairs long enough to grab her slippers, and said goodbye to Mulder, the end of the longest, strangest Christmas Eve she'd ever passed. When she arrived at her mother's, Bill was predictably miffed but kept it to himself as she'd joined them at the breakfast table. To avoid further hurt feelings, Scully forced down some breakfast, although she was still full from the meal she'd shared with Mulder. The kids were delighted to have one more gift to open and feelings were seemingly smoothed over. Now, sitting on Bill's dark back porch, carols wafting to her as if from someone else's dream, she longed for another Christmas like last year's--haunted house and all. She missed Mulder and wanted to be with him so she could give him this year's present--a glow-in-the-dark universe for the ceiling of the bedroom she hadn't known he had until the past year. Tara had put one up in Matty's room and Scully found out where she got it and got one for Mulder. She'd have to wait until she got back from San Diego on New Year's Day. But she wished it were tonight. And that he'd tell her the story of Maurice and Lida again. She could do without the house experience, truth be told, but she wanted desperately to hear the story again, in the same soft voice he'd used to tell it to her the first time. She pulled her jacket more tightly around her and felt something in the pocket below her left elbow. Her cell phone. She'd left it there earlier that afternoon when she'd come back from shopping. Glancing at her watch, she saw that it was three minutes after nine. Just after midnight in Washington--Christmas Day. She pressed the *on* button and dialed Mulder's number. He answered on the second ring. "Scully?" "Yeah," she chuckled in amazement and amusement. "How'd you know?" "Christmas wish," he said and his tone stirred something in her soul. "Merry Christmas, Scully!" "It's not Christmas here yet," she answered. "I called to wish you a Merry Christmas, Mulder." "You're the first to say it, you know." His voice was deep and somewhat wistful. "So how is Christmas in sunny San Diego?" "There's just something wrong with Christmas lights on palm trees and cooking the turkey on the barbecue. And after last year, it's kind of mundane." She wondered if he'd heard the sigh she'd tried so hard to conceal. "And that's a bad thing?" he kidded her. She smiled to herself, feeling something akin to happy for the first time in a long time. "Mulder?" "Hmm?" She paused, not sure she could ask for what she wanted, embarrassed within her own mind that she might even need it. "What, Scully?" he prompted gently, as if he could sense her hesitancy. "Would you tell me the story again? The one about Maurice and Lida?" "I thought you didn't believe in ghosts." His voice was warm and lightly teasing. "Technically Mulder," she said, rising to the banter. "I think they're called *apparitions.*" "Po-tay-toes, po-tah-toes," he said with a chuckle. They were both quiet for several moments, and she listened to the sound of his breathing. "Wanna hear a story, little girl?" "Yeah," she replied, tucking the phone between her ear and shoulder and pulling her knees up to her chest as she leaned against the porch rail. "Okay, settle in." She did as she was told, shifting her behind a little and finding the perfect spot between her shoulder blades for the post supporting the railing. Eyes closed, she tilted her head back, her face toward the sky, and waited for him to begin, counting on his eidetic memory to make it just like before. "Christmas, 1917. It was a time of dark, dark despair." His voice was low, rough and silky at the same time, just as she remembered. "American soldiers were dying at an ungodly rate in a war-torn Europe while at home, a deadly strain of the flu virus attacked young and old alike. Tragedy was a visitor on every doorstep." He kept on with his story, his voice soft and soothing. To her delight, he embellished his story here and there-- adding details and providing comments--confident in the fact that Scully wouldn't bolt in the middle of it. It made her momentarily sad to think that she might have left him last year and never heard the story. she admitted to herself. "...never to spend another Christmas apart. And their spirits still haunt the house at 1515 Larkspur Lane." He finished his story and a comfortable silence hung between them, connecting them by an invisible thread across thousands of miles. "That was a good story, Mulder, and very well told," she said, just as she had the previous year. This time, though, there wasn't any hint of dismissal in her voice--no *but* followed by a rational explanation. She hoped he heard that. "Think Maurice and Lida got anyone this year?" "Is that a concession that they almost got us last year?" Although Mulder's tone was light, Scully didn't get the feeling that he was joking anymore. "I don't know that I'm ready to concede that fact. But you know, even if it *did* happen, it's not the most bizarre thing that's ever happened to us, Mulder." "Yeah, I guess not," he admitted. Scully shivered slightly, suddenly feeling as if she were being watched. She turned her head toward the door to see her mother's face in the small window. Scully caught her eye and nodded, unable to decipher her mother's expression. She looked... Hurt? Angry? It seemed she'd lost the ability to key into what her mother was thinking. She was certain she was about to find out. Her mother turned and walked away from the window. "Hey, you okay?" Mulder asked and she realized she had stopped participating in their conversation. "Hmm, sorry," she said. "I think I was just getting serious signals to rejoin the clan. I better get back to them." "Yeah, I guess you should. Have a great Christmas," he said and she could hear in his voice that he was trying hard for a cheery tone. "Scully, I'm gl... It means a lot to me that you called." "Me too." They were both silent for a scant few seconds then with a soft click, he was gone. It was just such a Mulder move that the thought that it was rude didn't even cross her mind. She'd ended other of their phone calls in the same way. Had they ever actually ended a phone conversation with goodbye? Maybe with everything they'd been through, goodbye was too scary a word. She held the cell phone a moment longer before placing it back into her pocket. When she turned to stand up, it was Bill's face in the door. And there was absolutely no problem reading his expression. She braced herself for an attack when she walked through the door. He actually let her get her jacket off and hung on a hook before he started. "Is it too much to ask that you spend Christmas Eve night with your family?" She sighed and moved past him to go back to the living room. Entering the living room, she say her mother sitting beside Charlie on the sofa. Tara, Angela and the kids were not in the room. "Where is everyone?" she asked, trying her best to smile at her mother and brother. "Tara and Angela are putting the kids to bed," Bill replied, although the question was obviously not directed toward him. "It might have been nice if they'd been able to say goodnight to their Aunt Dana." "Don't start, Bill," she replied wearily. "I was away for twenty minutes." "Try forty-five," Bill spat back and she looked at her watch. Going on nine-fifty. "So what?" she challenged, tired of his attitude--one that she'd put up with for longer than she could remember. "Yeah Bill," Charlie piped in taking his lifelong place with his sister against Bill's tyranny. "So Dana was gone for forty-five minutes. It's not the end of the world." She swung her head to look at Charlie, unsuccessful in fighting off images she'd had earlier. She shuddered, but neither Charlie nor Bill seemed to notice, facing one another. Her mother, though, looked at her with an expression she could not interpret. Why wasn't her mother saying something to make Bill stop? "Charlie, you're not even in this so shut up, okay? It wasn't bad enough that he... that Fox Mulder wrecked our Christmas last year, but he's got to do it this year, too? That's who you were talking to, wasn't it?" When she didn't answer, he continued his rant. "Damn it, Dana. This time is supposed to be for family." "Bill," she said angrily. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm here with the family." "Bullshit," he replied, matching her tone. "You're here but you're not *with* the family. You've spent the past two days here moping, and trying to get three words in a row out of you is like pulling teeth. Two Christmases in a row you let him wreck things. No, make that three. Two years ago he was here encouraging you in that... that..." "Don't," her voice dropped, low and dangerous. "Don't you dare go into that. For your information, Mulder did not encourage me. He thought my trying to adopt Emily was a mistake, too. But the difference is that he realized the choice was mine and he supported that choice." Her voice fell to a whisper. "And he believed me, which is more than I can say for any of you." She looked around the room. Charlie's expression was one of confusion. Nobody, it seemed, had told him about the events of two years ago at Christmas. But then, why would Bill or her mother have told him about Emily when they never really believed it? Her mother refused to meet her eyes and hadn't said a word since Dana had walked into the room. Bill obviously took her silence as tacit agreement with what he was contending and Dana hoped and prayed that wasn't true. "He believed you," Bill sneered. "Well, from what I've heard, he'll believe any asinine thing that comes down the pike. You know, I met an FBI agent from the LA field office a few months ago. He was on base for some kind of investigation. I asked him if he knew Mulder..." Dana interrupted him. "And he told you that everybody calls him Spooky Mulder. That he used to be a brilliant investigator, but that he's pissing his career away chasing little green men and things that go bump in the night. Hello! Bill! I've worked with Mulder for over seven years. You think I've never heard that? You think there haven't been assholes who call him Spooky to his face? They've never been very subtle about it." "Well did you know they call you Mrs. Spooky?" he said in a tone that implied he'd just dropped momentous news. She smiled and shook her head. "Let's see. I think the first time I heard that was when Mulder and I had been working together about a month. We get interdepartmental mail addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Spooky. So what's the point?" "No, Dana, that's my question to you. What's the point? What are you doing there? The guy's obviously a nut case." "Bill," she said trying to regain her composure. "I've been working on the X-Files for nearly eight years. We're an actual division of the FBI. They give us badges and guns. We investigate cases so difficult that others have written them off as unexplainable. Eight years, Bill. This isn't just some silly, frivolous... We do legitimate investigations and, damn it, we save lives. Ask your buddy in the LA field office what his solve rate is. During our last evaluation, they told Mulder and me that ours is eighty-three percent. Eighty-three percent of cases that are labeled unsolvable before we even get them. I do my job, Bill. A job I chose to do and keep choosing every day I do it. In the meantime, I don't really give a good goddam what other agents think of me--especially those I've never met." "You save lives," he said with a nasty smirk. "Is that what he was calling you to do? Come back and save a few lives with him?" Save a few lives. If they only knew. She shook her head to clear her thoughts. "For your information, I called him," she sneered. "As if it's any of your business. Who died and named you phone monitor?" "Who died?" he repeated and his voice broke. "Our sister Melissa died. You almost died--three times that we know about. How many more times were there that you didn't tell us about? Like you ever tell us about anything." "You wouldn't believe the things I could tell you," she said defeatedly. "You can't tell me why my sister died," Bill said through clenched teeth. "Because of the choice you've made, the one you make every day you continue on in that job. What I just don't understand is..." "Anything, Bill," Dana said, interrupting him. "You don't understand anything. I know you blame me for what happened to Melissa." She looked over at her mother sitting on the end of the couch clutching the armrest. "You blame me, too." She finally gave in and let the tears that had threatened since the beginning of the conversation fall from her eyes. "Not you, Dana," Maggie spoke through a lump in her throat. "I don't blame you, honey. But sometimes I can't help thinking that she'd still be with us..." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I just miss her so much." "And you don't think I blame myself, that I don't carry that blame around every day? Melissa has a lot to do with what I do. I want to see the people involved in what happened to Missy punished--for what they did to her, for what they did to me, to us." "To everyone except Mulder," Bill countered, bitterness dripping from his voice. "He seems to come through all these things basically unscathed." "Mulder unscathed," she said with a caustic snort, almost as if to herself. "I said it before, Bill. You don't know anything about anything. I'm you sister and you don't know anything about my life. What would possibly make you presume to know about Mulder's? Now, if you'll excuse me, I think this conversation has gone as far as it should. And maybe too far. I'm going upstairs." "But we're leaving for Midnight Mass soon," Charlie protested, shooting wicked glares at Bill who stood still as a statue. "Come on, Dana." He strode across the room to catch her hand at the bottom of the staircase. "Come to Mass with us, Daynee." Smiling at his use of his childhood name for her, she shook her head. "I can't, Charlie, not after that. It's better this way, really. Bill and I need a breather from each other and this way, both Tara and Angela can go to Mass with you. I'll be here with the kids." She squeezed his hand and turned to climb the steps, letting him know that he couldn't change her mind. She sat on the bed in the room identical to the one she and Melissa had shared in their early teens. They'd giggled and laughed and fought and made up in a room just like this one. She'd first tried on one of Missy's cast-off bras in this room. Missy had taught her how to use a lip-liner at the vanity they shared. This was where they'd sneaked peeks at each other's diaries. Dana had read her sister's and found it so much more exciting than her own that she started to make up stories for her own diary. Melissa had read the fabrications and told their mother that Dana was up to things she shouldn't be up to. They'd fought viciously about invading one another's privacy, but the anger dissolved into hysterical laughter when they realized they both were making up tall tales for the other's snooping pleasure. Neither one of them were very good at staying mad for a long time, anyway. How could they not understand her wish for justice for the life those men had snuffed out when they killed Melissa? How else did they think that she would ever be able to live with what had happened to her sister instead of to her, Dana? If she didn't follow through and try to stop this, for good and for all, Melissa's death would be more bitter and meaningless than it already was. She heard her family trudge out of the house about an hour later and she finally left the room, going in to check on Matty and Lareena in the nursery and Aaron and Zach temporarily crashed on the bed in Bill and Tara's room. Everyone was calm and dry, and sleeping so sweetly, she could almost believe that visions of sugarplums danced in their heads. Heading back to the bedroom, she hauled her suitcase from the closet and began to pack her things. Years of traveling, often with little or no notice, had made her an efficient packer and in just a few minutes, she found herself zipping her suitcase and latching her cosmetic case. She carried both pieces of luggage down the stairs and tucked them around the entryway to the living room, so that they wouldn't be visible from the front door. Pulling out the yellow pages, she found the number for a cab company and asked that one be sent at one-thirty to Bill's address. The family would certainly be home from Midnight Mass by then. She called the airport and found that she couldn't get a flight back to Washington before late afternoon and she took the opening they offered her on the 2:58 flight. She'd stay the rest of this night at a hotel near the airport. Not that she expected to get much sleep, but a hotel beat the prospect of spending sixteen hours in an airport waiting area. After her flurry of activity, she found that she still had nearly an hour before they were expected home and the time weighed heavily on her. She knew that what she was doing was actually proving the points that Bill was trying to make, but she just couldn't stay knowing how they felt. She left a note for her mother, apologizing and trying as best as she could to explain, although her best couldn't possibly be good enough here. Dana jumped at the sound of the key in the lock and quickly rose to meet them at the door so that she could make her move before any of them thought to stop her. She glanced at her watch--the cab should be arriving any minute. Bill opened the door to allow Maggie to enter first and she met her mother's eyes for what seemed the first time that night. And Dana knew her mother knew that she was leaving. "The kids are all asleep," she said. "I just checked on them." But her words did not stop either Angela or Tara from going up to see for themselves. And to let the *blood* Scullys do whatever they were going to do in that moment, for the air was thick with the emotions between them. Dana bit the bullet and retrieved her bags from the living room. She saw her mother's eyes fill with tears, and felt her own eyes brimming over. Bill and Charlie looked on-- Bill with contempt and Charlie with anxiety--as she spoke to their mother. "I've gotta go, Mom. I can't stay here. It's just... too much." "Dana, honey," her mother protested. She shook her head. "No, I'm going. I've got a reservation and a cab will be here in a few minutes." She felt tears running down her cheek and rubbed them away quickly with the back of her hand. Pulling her mother close to her in an embrace, she whispered. "I'm sorry, Mom. I love you and I'm so sorry." She felt her mother's head nod against her own and pulled away. She reached for Charlie and hugged him as well. "Bye, Chuckles," she whispered, using the nickname she'd given him after they saw the Mary Tyler Moore episode about the death of Chuckles the Clown. "Remember, you have the key to all the great mysteries of life." "Yeah," he said with a melancholy smile. "*A little song, a little dance, a little seltzer down your pants.*" His words brought an unexpected smile to her face. "I love you, Charlie. Kiss Angela and the kids for me. And tell the kids not to worry, I left their goodies under the tree. Next year, baby brother." She quickly hugged him again and turned to Bill, who turned his face at her attempts to meet his eyes. "You think I didn't love her, too? You think I don't wish every day that it had been me instead of her?" Her head turned at the sound of the cab outside tooting its horn. "I love you, too. And someday I hope I can tell you how much. I'm sorry Bill, but I have to go home now. Give my love to Tara and the kids." She grabbed her bags and headed out to the waiting cab, confident that someone would shut the door behind her. So she'd arrived home early the morning of the twenty-sixth and Mulder called her cell phone a few days later to tell her about the case Skinner had given him. He seemed surprised to find that she wasn't still in San Diego, but he didn't pry, and he seemed glad when she told him she'd meet him at the scene. And then life went into overdrive with the case and the necromancer and the undead and Mulder's injuries and her own and Frank Black and his daughter. Until that night in the hospital watching Dick Clark. She'd been so relieved to see him walk through that door, his arm in a sling but otherwise intact. She'd been scared by the amount of blood on his shirt at the scene, but they found out that his lacerations, although numerous, were mostly superficial and that his most serious injury was a dislocated right shoulder. Not exactly a new experience for Mulder. In fact, he had talked the med student on duty through the procedure and suffered what most people found to be excruciating with barely a whimper. And then he kissed her, softly and tentatively and for those few seconds, time slowed and stilled. Until he'd mentioned the end of the world, and all that had happened and all that she'd thought about in San Diego came back to her. And Mulder thought her reaction was because of him. He'd asked in the car about her trip to San Diego and she hadn't been able to talk about it with him. Again. Hadn't been able to express her sorrow, her fears. And as a consequence he'd misunderstood what she was feeling. Scully had tried to make it better with another kiss outside his building. And things might have gotten better if Mulder hadn't been so cavalier with the comment about finding reanimated corpses in his closet. But was he being cavalier? The circumstances of that case had been easier for him to accept, was had most of what they'd faced over the years. Did he understand, did he have any idea what the events of the past few months had done to her? The very foundations of her life--the things she knew, the things she believed--were crumbling around her? Did he know what that felt like, what it meant to her? She rubbed her tired eyes, glad to be home, in a place where it didn't matter if she smeared mascara halfway down her cheeks. Mulder did know what it felt like to have his beliefs shattered. She'd watched him experience it over and over--in the months following her remission from cancer, during their removal from the X-Files in the wake of the events in Dallas and Antarctica, in the weeks after Cancer Man told Mulder that his life's work was fruitless, had always been fruitless. Yes, Mulder knew how it felt to have his beliefs shattered. And each time it had torn her heart out to watch him, to see the defeat in his eyes. Did he see the same thing when he looked at her? Yet every time it had happened to Mulder, she'd pretended that nothing was wrong--simply worked beside him and watched him hurt. Was Mulder doing the same thing? God, it was all so stupid--this *don't ask, don't tell* thing they'd built around their emotions and feelings. If there'd ever been a valid reason for it, surely everything that had happened to them and between them canceled it out. Were they both so afraid of appearing weak in front of the other that they'd hidden their fears from each other? The fears certainly were justified. Their lives were terrifying and completely unbelievable to anyone but each other. There was much to fear and of all the people in the world, only she could understand Mulder's fears, and only he could understand hers. Yet they kept them to themselves, like dark gifts tightly wrapped in their hearts. And for what? For what? If it had ever made sense, she could no longer remember why that was. Scully suddenly had an overwhelming urge, nearly an ache, to talk to Mulder. To tell him what had happened in San Diego, to talk about how incredibly horrible the case in Idaho had been, to hear his voice and hope that one more time, it could be what held her soul together strongly enough for her to keep functioning. Tired. Had she slept soundly for even ten hours since Monday? She was just so damn bone-weary that she wasn't certain she could reach for her cell phone, or even press the buttons that would connect her with him. Taking a deep breath, she tried to muster the last of her reserves to make the call. Her fingers had just brushed the phone, when it chirped beneath her fingers. She expelled the breath and felt her eyes sting with tears of relief. Of course, he would know when she was due home. "Scully," she said thickly as a single tear escaped and ran down her cheek. "Dana, it's Mom." A familiar voice drifted into Scully's ears. "I got your message about having to go out of town. I was taking a chance that you'd be home." "Yeah," she said, her tone careful and cautious. "I just got in a couple of minutes ago." She brushed away the tear on her face with a trembling hand, struggling to swallow the lump that had sprung to her throat with her disappointment that it wasn't Mulder, and feeling instantly disloyal to her mother. "You get back okay on Tuesday?" "Yeah," her mother answered. "The flight was crowded but on schedule." "That's good." Scully replied, feeling awkward and ill at ease with her mother. She wanted to apologize for Christmas Eve but she wasn't certain even of where to begin. "Honey, do you think you could come over and see me?" Maggie asked hesitantly. A sudden pang of anxiety hit Dana's stomach and, coupled with her exhaustion, it felt like a blow from a sledgehammer. She really didn't want to have the inevitable conversation with her mother, not just yet. "Mom," she said softly. "I just got back and I'm kind of tired. Can we do this tomorrow?" She heard the disappointment in her mother's sigh. "I was really hoping... I want to talk about what happened. And there are some things I really need to give you," Maggie replied. And truly, Scully wanted to make things right between her mother and herself, knew that she had to for both their sakes. "Okay, Mom. I'm going to wash up a little and change my clothes. Then I'll be over." "Thanks honey," her mother replied, her relief evident in her voice. "I'll see you in a little while. Bye, sweetheart." "Bye, Mom." She pressed the disconnect button and pulled herself to a sitting position using the back of the sofa for leverage. Dragging herself to a stand, she headed for the bathroom where she washed her face and retouched her makeup, trying to ignore the deep shadows below her eyes. Maybe a little more concealer would diminish them somewhat. She did what she could, but wasn't very convinced by the results. She dressed in black jeans and one of Mulder's seemingly endless supply of gray t-shirts, which she'd somehow ended up with over the years. Grabbing a fleece jacket from her closet, she stopped by the coffee table to retrieve her keys, bag and cell phone. Leaning forward to pick them up, she became a little lightheaded and straightened quickly, waiting for the spell to pass. It did, quickly enough, and she headed for the door. The phone in her pocket rang, startling her somewhat. "Scully," she said with an impatient sigh. "It's me. I was hoping you'd be back by now." She almost managed a smile. "Yeah, I got in about twenty minutes ago. You sound mobile. Where are you?" "In the car. I'm driving home from Philadelphia. Probably halfway between Baltimore and DC." 'Did you find a case?" she asked, hoping he hadn't. She was so tired, she couldn't imagine having to go right back to work. "Nah," he replied. "Just running down a lead from the Gunmen. I'll fill you in on it when I see you." With Mulder, that could mean anything, but it was obvious that he didn't want to talk about it on the phone. He was silent for a few seconds and she listened to the sound of his breathing. "Did you finish out there?" His voice was low and dark with concern. "Yeah," she said, her eyes closing involuntarily at the memory. "Finished my last postmortem just after midnight last night. Twenty-two autopsies in three-and-a-half days." "Scully," he admonished lightly, but nonetheless seriously. "That's too much. You sound so tired. I hope I caught you on your way to bed and if so, I'll hang up now." "No, Mulder," she replied. "As a matter of fact, I was just on my way out." "Out?" he asked incredulously. "Out where?" "My mother asked me to come over. She has some stuff she wants to give me." "Can't it wait till tomorrow?" he asked. "You need some rest." "She says it's important," Scully answered with a sigh. "So are you," he replied. "Listen, I could swing by your mother's on my way back into town and drop the stuff off at your place. It's pretty much on the way." She smiled to herself. Pretty much on the way if he veered thirty miles off his path and added an extra forty-five minutes to his trip. "Thanks, Mulder, but it's okay. I'm fine and I kind of have to do this." She paused and Mulder waited for her to continue, saying nothing. "When I was in San Diego, there was kind of a discussion... Hell, there was a fight, maybe even a blowout." "I thought so," he said softly. "I couldn't figure out any other reason for you to come back ahead of time." "It was pretty bad," she admitted. "Things were said that shouldn't have been, mostly between Bill and me, but Mom, too. And I think my mother wants us to fix things." "Whatever happened between you happened over two weeks ago. I don't see how one more day's going to make that much difference." "Maybe it's not for you to see," she answered more sharply than she had intended. "It's for me to decide." There was a moment of awkward silence between them until he muttered, "Okay, fine." He paused and she was about to speak, to apologize for her sharpness, when he continued. "No, damn it, it's not fine. I'm not trying to make decisions for you. I just care what happens to you." "Mulder, I'll be..." "Fine?" he said wryly. "Scully, I want you to think about how you feel right now. If you knew for certain that I felt just like you do right now, would you let me drive?" "No," she whispered, knowing that she'd never let him behind the wheel if he felt like she did. "I just want you to be safe," he said and she felt tears spring to her eyes. "Like I said, I can swing by her place and bring back whatever it is she wants you to have." She sighed, her heart heavy. "I don't think that's a good idea, Mulder." "Why won't you ever let me help you?" There was no anger in his voice, only bewilderment. It was on the tip of her tongue to deny his question as being untrue, but she hesitated. He'd helped her so many times over the course of seven years, but how many of those times had been at her request, or even with her full knowledge. "It's not that I don't want you to help me," she replied, hoping to reassure him. "It's just that part of what happened at Bill's house was..." She paused, not knowing--not wanting to know--how to go on. "Part of what happened was about me." She didn't answer, knowing he would understand her silence. "It doesn't take a huge leap to figure out what Bill was mad about. I'm not exactly on his Christmas Card list. The gist was why do you continue to stay with a raving lunatic." "God, he was such an asshole," she said angrily, but immediately dismissed the anger. "He doesn't understand. None of them do." "Your mother included," Mulder said quietly. "She didn't stop him," Scully replied, her voice thick with long unshed tears. "She didn't disagree. That's why I don't think you should pick up those things from her." "Geez, Scully, I'm not going to move into her spare bedroom. I'm just going to pick up a few things. Three to five minutes, max." It sounded so tempting to her. Just a little sleep. A couple of hours would make all the difference in how she felt. But she'd promised her mother, and Maggie had said it was important. "I already told her I was coming," she protested weakly. "Scully, no matter how your mother feels about me, I know she wants you to be safe, too. Listen, let me call her and explain things. Then if she still thinks she has to talk to you today, I'll come down and take you to her place." "I think whatever Mom wants to talk to me about will take quite a while." "I'll go have coffee, go to a movie, something. You can call me when you're ready to leave. Please, let me do this for you." He certainly seemed to have all the bases covered. Longstanding habit tugged at her, making her reluctant to let herself be taken care of. When had the concern of others come to seem like a relinquishing of her self- determination? Did she really believe that someone couldn't care about her without trying to control her? She hoped that she didn't believe that, but she was simply too drained to think it through. "Okay." "Yeah?" Mulder asked, seemingly surprised at her acquiescence. "Okay then. You get some sleep and I'll be there later, either with the stuff from your mother, or to take you to see her. I'll wake you up when I get there." She was already taking off her jacket and heading to the couch for a nap, her body barely believing that her mind had allowed this. Neither of them spoke as she gratefully kicked off her shoes, but neither of them seemed ready to end the conversation, either. She reclined on the sofa and pulled the afghan off the back, drawing it tightly around her. A warm lassitude enveloped her almost immediately, and she finally broke the silence. "Thanks, Mulder." "You're welcome," he replied, his voice soft and honeyed. "Now go to sleep." "Halfway there," she said on a yawn and pressed the disconnect button before she was too far gone to remember to do it. End Part 2 of 7 +++++