Summary: Written for the Haven Christmas Challenge: elements include a post-IWTB holiday story with William back in the Mulder family embrace -

Additional notes at end -

Disclaimers: Clones on Loan
Dedicated to NancyBratt, with Love -

Christmas Eve, 2005

The boy tiptoed down the dim hallway, past the bathroom that had the Pooh Bear nightlight plugged into the wall socket. Past the room his daddy used as an extra office. Treading lightly on the old hand- hooked runner that ran the length of the hallway, he made his way toward his parents' room. It was Christmas Eve and very late; when he'd looked at the Felix-the-Cat clock that hung on the wall of his room, he'd seen the big hand was on the ten and the little hand was on the eleven. He should have been asleep hours ago.

But oh, it was almost-Christmas! How could anyone sleep when it was hours-before-presents? He'd asked for a bike. He knew he was kind of young for a two-wheel bike - not even four yet - but he had seen a few of the other kids riding them down the dusty road that ran from the edge of their driveway, into town. He knew he was younger than those boys, but he could do it. He could handle it.

If only Santa had listened, really listened to him when he'd sat on the jolly old elf's lap, just a few days ago at the Neely Mall. He hadn't been scared of him, no sir. He'd jumped right up and sat himself down, and had whispered into Santa's ear.

The boy stepped quietly toward his folks' room, knowing that even on almost-Christmas Day, they wouldn't mind if he sneaked into bed with them. If he wriggled with excitement and anticipation, his mommy would giggle at him and his daddy would tickle him. If he asked real nice, maybe his daddy would tell him about Santa and Rudolf, again. The boy liked that story, most of all.

The door was half-open and the boy peeked around the corner, just to make sure his mommy and daddy were still there, in the big four- poster bed. He heard the murmur of voices - Mommy's, then Daddy's - and he saw in the moonlight pouring in through the window, how his mommy arched her neck when his daddy kissed her there, right above the collar of the pajamas she wore. There was a muffled laugh - his - and a soft giggle - hers. It was a good pair of sounds, something the boy had heard before and would hear again, over the course of his childhood. And although the boy didn't quite understand how a giggle and a laugh could make him feel so safe - so secure - he accepted it the way he'd accepted everything in his short life.

He suffered not a second's guilt over disturbing whatever it was that his folks might have been doing at almost eleven, just hours- before-presents, and ran into the room, jumping up on the bed and landing between them. And he shrieked aloud with happy laughter when his mommy scolded lovingly, "William! You should be in bed," and his daddy dug ten fingers into his little ribs, and tickled him.

The boy called William squirmed and giggled and hiccuped with laughter, there between his folks on Christmas Eve.

She lay in the dark, curled on her side, and listened to the sounds of the house creaking around her. Settling sounds, a scratching here and there, indicative of some small rodent making a nest in the walls. It didn't bother her, not really.

The house was old and weathered. It needed a new furnace, the roof had shingles missing and the kitchen ceiling leaked when it rained. The back porch needed to be rebuilt. But it was theirs. After years of living from truck to rent-by-the-week motel room, to this or that flea-flop apartment, this house was a mansion. Intruding mice and dripping ceilings were nothing compared to some of the tribulations of past living arrangements.

She could hear him in the bathroom, gargling. Such a normal sound.

Their first week in the house. First week, first holiday, first everything in the house. And as soon as he joined her in the bed, it would be their first bout of lovemaking in the house, a fact which made her grin from ear to ear as she lay in the cool darkness and waited for him. The sheets beneath her were new and still a little stiff and the bed was a bit too firm, but the anticipation she felt was all too familiar. She could count it down in her head, what would come next, after the gargling and the soft thud of mouthwash bottle on the counter, the clink of the glass after he rinsed and spit.

He'd leave the light on, push the door wide. A soft light from the bathroom would illuminate his way as he walked to the bed. Tugging off his clothes; shirt first, over his left shoulder, landing on the floor. In the dim room she could see his eyes, those river-clear eyes, so intense. Always intense, focused on her.

Now at the foot of the bed, hands going to the button fly of his jeans. One, two, three, slipping from their thick denim moorings, until they were loose enough to slide down his legs. Stepping out of them, leaving them in a two-legged puddle, not bothering to kick them aside.

Those same hands, easing into the waistband of his shorts, tugging them down and off in one smooth motion. Across the room, shot like a cotton rubber band, to land somewhere near the window.

She let her eyes, now adjusted to the lack of viable light, look him over. Strong and muscled, long and lean. Wide shoulders, flat stomach, narrow hips, long legs. Hard and steely, the length of him; there between well-shaped thighs. Rising proud and full, reaching for her even before his arms could stretch to hold her, before his body could move into her personal space. She watched him with possessive eyes and saw the way her regard made him even harder, even fuller.

It had always been like that, between them. It would ever be, just like that, between them.

His voice carried to her on the silent air of their room.

"Scully."

Just her name, uttered in a rasping honey tone that got to her like nothing else. Just that two-syllable mix of vowel and consonant, and she was melting back into the new sheets, her arms outstretched toward him.

He came down into her embrace on a sigh, a groan, a murmur of need. Flesh, his flesh, touching her, all over. Hot skin, hotter kisses, warm hands, clever fingers. Like the first time, she thought dreamily, while she still had enough blood in her head to actually think. It was always like the first time, every time they came together. Would she ever get used to it, to having him in her arms, within her body, any time she wanted him... any time he wanted her?

Probably not.

His mouth, sliding over the baby-soft of her neck, lodging just under the curve of her chin and lingering on a spot where she was especially sensitive. Smiling into the kiss he placed there, the heat of his tongue leaving tingling tracks wherever it laved at her. Down, down, reaching her breast; taking her nipple, gentle, gentle. A sigh, from him or from her, it was hard to tell. Maybe from them both. And she arched into him, hands slipping up into cool strands, holding his head there, right there where she wanted him, where she needed his mouth. She kissed the dark silk of his hair as he tended to her, and felt the smooth ease of him, between her legs, cradled in the warm notch of her center; the familiar probe, the full, hot glide of him.

Into her, oh, God... into her. Deep and hard, thick and pulsing. Would she ever take it for granted, the eager thrust, the groan in her ear, the bite of his lips against hers as he held her hips high and took her -took her - and in the taking, gave so much of himself?

Definitely not. Never for granted, never that. Their lives could turn in an instant, regardless of the semblance of security they now seemed to enjoy. She had a steady job; it meant nothing if he were not safe, if he ceased to be at her side. They both knew it.

And so they loved in the dark of that Christmas Eve, the first week in their new home; they loved as if it might be the first time as well as the possible last time. And as she shuddered, shuddered beneath him; as he gasped out his love for her on the tender skin below the curl of her ear... both of them refused to think about all they had lost, just to gain this moment in time. It was enough that they had each other. It was enough that they were together.

They fell asleep counting their blessings, bodies sated, heavy with the need for rest... and sent a silent prayer, as always, for the happiness and safety of the child they both loved and missed, so much.

Christmas Eve, 2007

William listened at the door of his folks' room.

He knew he should be sleeping. It was very late; he'd gone to bed hours ago. But it was Christmas Eve and how would anyone expect him to sleep when he knew, he just knew that Santa would be there soon? Sliding down the chimney, his reindeers waiting for him on the roof; a bag full of toys and games and Legos and oh, everything he asked for when he sat on Santa's lap at the mall last week and whispered in his ear. How could he go to sleep when all that would happen, so very soon?

And so he went into his folks' room, to snuggle and giggle with them the way he always did on Christmas Eve when he couldn't sleep because he was so excited. The door was open just a little, but he put his hand on it, ready to push it open... and he heard his folks. He heard the serious tones of their voices. Something in those tones made him stop, and worry a little. Made him not push open the door, but instead sit on the floor very close to that narrow gap, and listen.

"How did he know our name? How did he know -"

"Hon, I just can't guess at something like that. But we have to check it out. Now, you know that. We have to make sure."

But, after all this time?" His mommy's voice was a little wobbly. "It's been four years! Surely, if the mo... if she wanted him back, she'd have come for him a long time ago!"

"It wasn't her who started this, Hon. I'm sure of it. The one who called, maybe he was calling for her in a way, but this is something more than a custody thing. He told me things that I can't even imagine could be true. Yet, somehow I know - in my heart - that they are."

"What kind of things?"

His daddy had a funny catch in his voice, William realized. Not sad, not exactly. More like scared. More like the way William often felt when he woke up in the dark night from a bad nightmare. Like it was still happening, even though he was sitting up in bed wide awake.

"He told me the world was in trouble, that years from now a war would come that we couldn't hope to fight and win. He told me our boy would be wanted by the ones who'd come here to take over. He told me our boy isn't safe here, any longer." His daddy's voice broke as he said, "He told me the only way to make sure our boy lives to see the future, is to send him somewhere safe. To people who can protect him; who know what's coming and how to fight it."

"I don't understand any of this." Tears clogged his mommy's words.

"I know you don't. I'm not sure I do, myself. But we can't afford to just toss this away and pretend it doesn't exist. If the boy is in danger, then we have to do what's best for him. We need to find out more. I've agreed to meet this man, face to face. To hear what he has to tell us."

"I don't want to do this!" Fear. He could hear it in his mommy's voice, and it made William's stomach tighten and hurt. Mommy was never scared. Daddy was always tough. Nothing was okay, all of a sudden. Everything was wrong. Something Bad, he thought to himself, almost as an afterthought. Something Bad is coming.

William sat on the floor next to his folk's bedroom door and wondered when everything he knew would change and go away.

"When?" His mommy was softly crying. William could tell.

"After the holidays. No sense in stirring up a mess and ruining Christmas. Sometime in early January."

"Do you know this man's name? Did he at least give you that?"

"Yes. He did. He says he knows - well, knew - our boy when he was a baby. Before he came to us. He's one of those Federal agents, Hon. Name of Skinner. I'm going to do some checking on him."

"And if he's who he says he is?"

"Then we have to listen. And we have to try to believe him."

William felt the first tears roll down his cheeks. He knuckled them away as he rose to his feet and tiptoed back to his own room. He had a sudden need to be alone, to think and worry on what he'd heard.

Christmas was turning out to be a whole lot different than he'd thought it was supposed to be this year. He wished he knew how to fix it, change it back to how it had been, before.

In the wee hours of Christmas Eve, they snuggled in bed together and talked in hushed voices as if someone might overhear.

A week ago, their lives turned over, turned around on its usually slightly-tilted axis. Everything changed; on the strength of a single phone call it was altered.

She'd been the one to answer the phone. On a quiet Sunday, sitting in the kitchen lingering over a second cup of coffee while Mulder tapped away - as usual - on his laptop in his little office. Just a normal Sunday for them... and the phone rang.

"Hello?"

Breathing on the other end, that was all she heard at first. Familiar breathing. She felt the fine hairs on her neck actually stand up and shiver. She knew that sound.

"Hello! Who is this?" But she knew. Goddammit, she knew.

The voice was the same. Rough, scratchy. "Dr. Scully. Don't hang up."

She clenched her fingers around the receiver. "I'm - I won't. I won't hang up. But I want to know how you got this number. This is a secure land line -"

"Yes. I know. But I have my - I have contacts. When I choose to access them. It's not important. Is Fox - um, is Mulder there?"

"Who?" She was playing the game and he knew it.

"Dr. - Dana, I don't have time for prevarication. I know Mulder is there. I'm the only one, besides Skinner, who knows. I promise you that. Please, get Mulder. You both need to hear what I have to say."

Without a word she dropped the phone, until it hung upside down, swinging gently against the kitchen wall. Took a shaky step toward the living room, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. And jolted almost out of her skin when a warm hand grasped her shoulder reassuringly. Her head came up, a gasp escaping her when she realized it was Mulder standing there, eyes concerned as they gazed down at her.

"I heard the phone ring. What's Skinner want?"

She cleared her throat; it felt dry, swollen. "It's not Skinner." As she watched Mulder's eyes widen in alarm, she reached out both hands to grip his, hard. "It's your... brother. He wants us both, to listen."

**

He held her close in the comfortable bed. Three in the morning, already Christmas Day. They'd both cried a little, laughed a bit, sighed with worry, rejoiced with gladness. Nothing had been set in concrete yet, but they knew this would happen. It had to.

"Do you trust him?" She looked up at Mulder in the gloom.

He nodded firmly. "I do. I know I shouldn't, but... he's been through so much, at that bastard's hands. I know the feeling, believe me. And having Skinner's endorsement helps reassure me. I think we have to listen to him. And to Skinner. Don't you?"

Scully sighed and cuddled closer, holding on tighter. All her wishes, her dreams, her endless desires... coming into her hands, within just a few months. It didn't seem possible. And yet, there it was, within reach. She should have been doing flips around the room, dancing on the bed, bouncing off the ceiling.

But all she could think of, that very moment, was another woman's heartache, as she so-reluctantly loosened her mother-grip on the child she'd cared for, loved, these last five years. Scully didn't know this woman, but she had cause to be grateful to her, and to the husband as well, for taking care of William. For keeping him safe.

And she knew the feeling, oh, Lord, she did. That last, desperate kiss on the little face; the tearing in her heart, deep in her soul, as the baby, her baby, was gently pulled from her arms and taken away. She knew it. She'd lived it. And every day since, her heart had cracked a little more. Even in the midst of her happiness with Mulder; in the deep night when they came together under the covers, held each other and loved each other... it never completely went away. She knew exactly what this other woman - this mother, just like her - was feeling. Would continue to feel for years and years.

"They'll be in such pain, Mulder. It'll be like killing them."

He squeezed her tightly, burying his face against her neck. Only Scully would think to mourn the pain of another in this way, even knowing she was attaining her heart's desire as a result of it. If she hadn't thought, felt that way, she wouldn't be the woman he loved.

"They won't lose him, Scully. Not completely. We can make sure of it. We can make sure he gets to see them again. Someday, when it's safe for everyone concerned. We can do that; we can share."

"Share. I like that. I want to think it can be possible." Scully wiped at a tear or two, and rested her head on Mulder's shoulder. His body was so warm, so protective. He'd placed that warmth and protection in front of her again and again over the years. He'd do the same for their son. He'd protect William with every breath he took. As she would.

"What do you think he'll say, when he's told? He's just a little boy, Mulder. How on earth can we expect a little boy to understand why he has to leave the only mother and father he's ever known and go live with strangers? For his safety. For the future. It's too much for him; he's only a baby."

Mulder closed his eyes as he stroked a hand over her hair, down her bare shoulder, along her slender back. His voice rumbled with emotion, "He'll be all right. He'll understand, I'm sure of it. I don't know how to explain it, but... I believe he'll be all right. I believe he'll know, and find his own way to cope."

"Quite a Christmas gift, don't you think?" Her voice was thick with tears.

He kissed her gently, tipping her face up to his, lips brushing at the wetness he found on her cheeks. "The best. The absolute best. If we ever see Jeff - well, my brother - again, if it's ever possible, that is - I think I'm going to shake his hand, and thank him."

"I will, too."

They drowsed together in their bed, as the wind blew snow over the tops of the trees in the yard of the nondescript house they shared, there in the rural peacefulness of Virginia.

Christmas Eve, 2014

The boy ran down the hallway, slipping on the polished wooden floor, thick sock slippers on his feet. It was Christmas Eve and he was so excited. It had come, finally come, after months of waiting and worrying and wishing and hoping. In just a few hours, he'd know if he'd gotten what he'd asked for.

He'd even asked Santa, although he knew he was too old for that kind of thing. But it never hurt to cover all the bases. He hadn't gone and sat on Santa's lap; that was just too ridiculous for him. But he'd written a letter. He'd done that much. And he'd trekked down to the big public mailbox; had mailed it himself. He hadn't wanted his dad to see the letter, or his mom. They'd think he was nuts, an almost-thirteen-year-old kid writing to Santa.

Earlier that week he'd walked along the street in the deepening gloom of morning. The cold had been unending, biting him through his thermal underwear, two layers of shirt and sweater, of thick quilted vest lined with polar fleece. Snowpants and wool socks, bunny boots on his feet and his fur-edged hood pulled up over his watch cap so that only his eyes were uncovered. A guy had to see where he was walking, right?

The letter had been buried in one of the many pockets of his Triple Fat Goose parka. He'd trudged through snow and over the crunch of black ice, his breath puffing out to join the ice fog swirling through the frozen air, one of only a few people crazy enough to attempt being outside on the shortest day of the year in North Pole, Alaska.

They'd lived here for six years. He liked it, most of the time. But damn, it was cold in the winter! He still found himself trying to adjust, especially when the temperatures dipped to forty below and the breath in his body froze almost before he could expel it.

He'd dropped the letter in the mailbox and had headed back to the warm house on the corner of Santa Claus Lane. Only three blocks, and he'd been this frozen lump of flesh even though he was bundled up like a mummy. But he kind of liked it. It was kind of fun.

He'd tromped up the steps and burst through the front door, yelling for hot coffee, cocoa, boiling water, anything he could get. It was a running joke. He liked walking in the freezing cold and his parents let him because it was one of his favorite things to do. And his mom always had a hot cup of something to give him, when he came through the door. That morning, it had been hot apple cider.

She'd grinned at him as he'd peeled off layers of goose down, wool, polar fleece. Holding his cup, waiting for him to finish unwinding the scarf, pull off the watch cap so that his dark blonde hair stuck straight up on his head. He looked at her, saw her grin, and retaliated by shoving his cold fingers down the back of her sweater.

She'd shrieked, although she knew it was coming, those cold fingers. "William! You fiend!"

He had snatched the cup from her hands and reached over to press a quick kiss to her cheek, letting his own chilly cheek linger there for a moment. "I'm not a bit sorry."

His mom had stroked a hand over his wild hair. "No, you never are, you little sadist. So, get that letter to Santa sent off?"

William had gawked at her. "How did you know?"

"Mother knows all." Her words dripped superiority, and William had hooted as he gulped down the cider.

"Don't tell Dad. He'll think I'm a wuss."

"Not your dad. I know for a fact he sent his own letter off just a few days ago."

"For real?"

She'd tapped him on his still-red nose. "For real."

He came to a stop in front of his parent's door, hearing the soft murmur of voices within, and knowing if he just walked in, they'd be okay with it. When the door was open, he was always welcome to walk in without even knocking. When the door was closed, he knew his folks were probably doing what couples usually did under the covers. It didn't squick him out, now that he was older and understood some of the intricacies of romance and marriage. It kind of gave him a warm feeling, that his folks loved each other that much.

Tonight the door was open and so as he'd done in the past, he ran in and took a leap at the bed, landing square in the center and partially on his dad who coughed out a raspy, "Oof! God, you weigh a ton!"

He grinned. "Nuh-uh."

"Uh-huh. We'd better stop feeding you. No more brownies. No more pizza, no more hamburgers, no more -"

He got no further, for William dug ten fingers into his dad's ribs and tickled for all he was worth. His dad squawked and shouted with laughter as he grabbed for the boy, and they rolled over the large bed while his mom nestled against a mound of pillows and watched their antics with a soft smile on her face.

It was Christmas Eve and she had everything in the world she'd ever wanted, including safety. This family knew the value of it, that safety. They'd been crusading for it, then fighting for it, long enough.

The war had come. And the war had gone, defeated almost before it had begun. Their enemy hadn't been as prepared as they'd thought, because planet Earth had fought back with a vengeance. They'd known how. They'd had the necessary weaponry to fight, and she would always feel such pride, that she and her little family had had an important hand in developing what was needed to fight back.

It was safe now, just a little over two years later. Well, as safe as it was going to be, as safe as any life could be when faced with uncertainty. But what uncertainty there was in the world, at least it was human instead of... something else.

Dana Scully waited until her menfolk came up for air, both red-faced and choking from lack of oxygen and laughter. They sat there, tangled together, and stared at her. Two sets of dancing hazel eyes, exactly alike. Two long, lanky bodies, one gawky with youth but just beginning to fill out. Both so beloved, so dear.

She caught Mulder's eye and winked at him, before reaching out a hand to her son. They had some news for him, this precious boy of theirs. Some very good, welcome, much-desired news... and just in time for Christmas.

"William, guess who's coming to see you, right after Christmas?"

As their boy's eyes showed confusion, then comprehension, then dawning joy... Scully knew they'd done the right thing, in contacting the couple who lived on a small ranch on the outskirts of a small town in Wyoming.

It was safe now. At last, safe enough. And after all, a promise was a promise, meant to keep. It was another present, to be tucked under their tree and opened in just a few hours. One that she and Mulder would embrace as well, for they owed these people so very much.

Samuel and Eleanor Van De Kamp. Quite a Christmas present for their boy.

End

End notes: I couldn't bear to see the Van De Kamps lose William completely, any more than I could have allowed Mulder and Scully to never have him. After all, it's Christmas!

And Merry Christmas to all! Thanks for reading, and thanks for all the kind words and feedback, over the years.

Nancy, I hope your Christmas is peaceful and bright, surrounded by your loving family and friends. You are always in my thoughts and prayers.