Summary: The Christmas one year from the events in `A Christmas Carol'

December 15, 1998
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, DC

The effort was almost complete. Agent Dana Scully pursed her lips and surveyed the room. Not bad, and her partner, `Spooky' Agent Fox Mulder, was sure to love it, she thought with a silent laugh. She fingered the sprig of mistletoe her mother had given her and finally dropped it into a drawer of the desk. She briefly considered hanging it over the filing cabinet, her desk, the door, the coffee pot. She wanted to hang it somewhere he was sure to stand, and where she would have some reason to stand as well, giving her the proper pretense for touching her lips to his. She shook her head as if to clear the thought from her mind. Dangerous.

Things were pretty dangerous as they were. The exponentially increased rate of innuendo exchange was creating a palpable tension in their office. She was certain he was touching her more often, and his little invasions of her personal space had become almost constant. Or maybe it was wishful thinking. She sighed and dropped into her desk chair, booting her computer.

Mulder pushed the door open seconds later with his coat draped over his arm, a dark piece of paper in hand. He stopped for a second, staring at the room, before closing the door behind him.

Then he laughed, laughed at the red and green chains of alien faces she's strung from the ceiling, the small statue of a `Roswell alien' Santa loading presents in his saucer-shaped sled that now occupied the same shelf as the coffee maker, and in total contrast to the other-worldly theme: a traditional wreath with a large poinsettia hung over the filing cabinet, only wrapped around it was a banner proclaiming, "Merry Christmas and They're Here."

"This is great, Scully," he said, squeezing her shoulder tightly as he walked by to get a cup of coffee. She turned to watch him play with the alien Santa. "Where did you get all this?"

"Some place in the mall. Apparently aliens are very hip in mainstream adolescent culture these days," she replied with a curl of her lips. "What's that?" she asked, noticing the dark piece of paper he dropped next to his cup.

He rolled his eyes. "It was taped to the door. Looks like a bit of Christmas cheer from Stonecypher and Kingsly." He handed her the piece of thin poster board and watched for her reaction.

`Cute,' she thought, as she ran her eyes over the redecorated Christmas `Angel Tree' angel. The face had little green and brown lines over it and at the bottom, it read `Adopt a Moth Man.' She wrinkled her nose and dropped it in the wastebasket.

"Are we adopting an angel this year, Scully?" he asked, perching himself on the edge of her desk.

There was only the smallest silence as they both reflected on the thought of adoption, Christmas, Emily. Ignoring the memory, she smiled up at him. "Only if you promise not to buy the poor thing a copy of `The 60 Greatest Conspiracies of All Time' this year, Mulder," she replied.

"Promise," he said, drawing a little X over his heart with his index finger.

"Then I'll pick one up on the way back from lunch today," she said.

"Besides," he added as though he hadn't heard her, "the same authors wrote another book about conspiracies."

She shook her head and swallowed a smile. "Mulder," she objected with a contrived sigh. "Then again, I suppose that's the only brand of, ahem, *literature*, that you prefer that would be appropriate for a ten year old."

"Scully, are you mocking my taste?" he asked, pouting.

She tugged her gaze away from the way his full lower lips was jutting out at the moment. She wondered what it would be like to taste his lips, if only to determine whether he had been eating sunflower seeds today. Mistletoe, she remembered. "Speaking of your taste," she intoned, "turn on the CD player."

Mulder leaned back and flipped on the small stereo unit they sometimes listened to while doing tedious paperwork. They usually compromised on classical, but occasionally she indulged his taste for hokey oldies. He hit the play button and the sound of Elvis Presley crooning, `Blue Christmas' filled the room. He grinned at her and she gave him a sly smile in response. Then they turned to their respective tasks as the king caroled in the background.

"Dana?"

December 22, 1998
Bill Scully residence
San Diego, CA

"Yes Bill?" she replied, pulling herself out of the memory. She reflexively brought the forkful of food to her lips and discovered that it had gone cold while she'd been sitting there. Scully forced her eyes to focus on her brother's face.

"Are you okay, Dana? You were somewhere else for a moment there," he said.

She nodded. "I was," and speared another, warmer, piece of chicken.

"Back at the office?" he continued, frowning.

Scully fervently wished for the timely return of her mother and sister-in-law. They had left early that morning for some last minute shopping, leaving her alone with her brother and his young son.

Things between herself and her brother seemed particularly tense this year. "Yes," she answered with as little emphasis as possible.

"With him?" he continued a little roughly.

Scully forced herself not to revert to pissed off baby sister and said tonelessly, "Yes, Bill."

Bill wadded his napkin and threw it at the table. "Can't you take a vacation from him, Dana? Ever?"

"Bill," she warned him, placing her fork against the plate with a ringing finality.

"You are so co-dependent," he hissed.

Scully stopped in mid-motion. "Bill, you don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes I do. They have books on this stuff now, you know. He drags you around, treats you like shit, ruins your life, acts like you're an appendage and you let him because the next day, he'll be oh so sorry and need you so bad and it will be all be okay because you can't even imagine not having each other around any more."

Scully simply refused to argue with him. It was an old argument, and one that she was by no means eager to engage in again. And she didn't want to consider the fact that he might be right. Of course they were co-dependent, but not the way her brother meant it. She picked up her plate, dropped her napkin and deposited her dishes in the sink. One look in his face told her he wasn't about to apologize. Fine then, she huffed. At the door, she met her mother and sister-in-law.

"Dana, is something wrong honey?" asked her mother.

"I'm just going for a walk," she insisted and walked passed them, shrugging her jacket on as she marched.

As she moved away, she heard Tara Scully's tired voice ask, "What did you say to her this time, Bill?"

December 17, 1998
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, DC

She looked up from the computer screen as the knob turned in the door. Her head was still hurting a little and she had turned up the music to drown out the noise from the floor above. As Mulder turned in the doorway, she wondered whether he'd even noticed the bunch of mistletoe over his head, the sprig she'd finally placed there that morning. He placed a cup of suspiciously pale red liquid next to her hand and took a sip from his own paper cup.

"I found the source of the noise," he explained. "There's not much chance of it stopping before five though."

Scully nodded tiredly and hit the save icon. If the paper pushers upstairs were taking a break, so could she. And it was 4:15 on the Friday before their winter vacation.

Sniffing the cup curiously first, she decided too take a small sip. It tasted like Kool-Aid and rum. Mulder's reaction seemed to mirror her own, from the look of disgust on his face. Tossing the cup into the trash can, she leaned her head back and let the music of `The Man Who Sold the World' float through her. The DJ broke in and growled, "WKRH brings you a double shot of Bowie," just as the opening bars of `Let's Dance," began.

"Didn't know you were a Bowie fan Scully,"

"I always liked this song, but ironically enough, you can't really dance to it."

"Sure you can," he protested. She opened her eyes, raising her brow in challenge to his statement. He grinned maniacally. "Allow me to demonstrate?"

She looked at him a little wonderingly and offered him her hand. He took it and pulled her up from the chair. Her breath caught in her throat. It had been over a year since the last time this had happened and she'd forgotten how nebulous and wonderful it had felt. He was holding her close, but not too close as they maneuvered in the small space of the office.

Mulder apparently could dance to it. He seemed to have invented some sort of combined tango waltz step that was amazingly easy to follow. Probably because she was so familiar with his body, but that was another dangerous thought. "Did you make this up, Mulder?" she asked.

"Once upon a time, Scully," he replied, spinning her around.

She rolled back into his arms with a laugh and concentrated on following his next move. The chorus broke in and she let herself be twirled about as the radio cooed, "If you should fall into my arms..." She found herself pulled up against him again, "and tremble like a flower." The expression on his face might have inspired trembling, were she the trembling type. She was at a sudden loss to remember why she wasn't.

He was holding her much closer now, her body molded into his, the movements smaller. One hand slipped to the small of her back and she swallowed a gasp as his hips pressed against hers. The song ended and they found themselves directly beneath the door.

Mulder looked up. "Mistletoe?" he asked. She nodded, not sure what to say.

Mulder leaned down and she knew he was going to press his lips fleetingly on her forehead, `like a good brother.' Scully felt a flashback to watching `Gone With the Wind' with Melissa.

His gaze raked over her mouth as their faces drew closer. She let her lips open slowly and gave the smallest hint of a nod.

That was the beginning of the end of the beginning. His hand was digging into her back and hers crumpled his shirt as she held him to her. And he did taste wonderful; warm dark passion sunflower seeds and coffee. His fingers flexed through her hair and she sighed as he pressed her against the door with his body. She wrapped one arm around him, as though it were possible to have him any closer without removing clothing. They paused for a quick breath and the kiss renewed itself, more gently this time, slow, savoring.

There was a knock on the door and their lips separated reluctantly.

They stared into each others eyes for a moment. Simultaneously, they began to grin like children. Mulder reached up to retrieve the mistletoe and Scully bit her lip to keep from laughing. She finger- combed her mussed hair back into place as she walked to the desk and took a deep breath. Mulder shoved the parasite into his pocket and opened the door.

AD Skinner smiled at them in a way that made Scully wonder how much of the suspiciously pale liquid he'd consumed. "Go home, agents. Everyone else is gone already. Take your vacation. This means you, Mulder," he ordered.

"Yes sir," replied Mulder, resisting the urge to salute.

"Merry Christmas, Agents," he said and turned to leave. Mulder helped Scully into her coat and they walked in silence to the parking lot. Skinner was right. The lot was deserted.

As Skinner drove away, Mulder turned to his partner. "You're going to San Diego, aren't you?" She nodded. "Scully?" he asked, sounding scared suddenly.

"Yes Mulder?" she asked back with a smile.

He returned the smile. "Never mind," he said, grasping her shoulder briefly. "Merry Christmas Scully."

He turned to go, but she caught him by the tie and pulled his face down to hers. As the embrace broke she whispered, "Merry Christmas Mulder," and slipped into the car. If she didn't drive away right then, she wasn't going to make it to San Diego. In the rearview mirror, she saw him stare after her, a wistful expression on his face as he brought his fingertips to his lips. It was indeed a merry Christmas.

"Dana?"

December 23, 1998
Bill Scully residence
San Diego, CA

"Yes Bill?"

"I'd like you to meet Lt. Dennis Daniel."

That name sounds like a Denny's entree, she thought as she looked at the cookie cutter officer standing in front of her. She forced a smile and extended her hand. Bill smiled a little too widely and winked at her before retreating to his wife's side. Dana, at that moment, wanted nothing so much as to stick her tongue out at him and tell him she didn't want to play with his stupid friends.

"So you're the baby sister I'd heard so much about," drawled Dennis Daniel, holding her hand for longer than necessary.

Scully gnawed the inside of her cheek. "I must be," she replied, repeating to herself in a desperate mantra `attempt to be pleasant, attempt to be pleasant. "How long have you known Bill?"

"Oh, I guess about five years now. I just got transferred over here six months ago, but we served together in the Atlantic."

"Do you like San Diego?" she asked.

"It's all right. You know, us sailors shouldn't get too attached to any one place," he replied with a grin.

"Indeed," she said flatly. She never lasted long at small talk.

"So, Bill says you work for the FBI?" She nodded. "That must be exciting."

She simpered. "So exciting in fact, that it's classified," she replied.

That shut him up good and proper she noted with satisfaction.

"Well, it was real nice meeting you Dana," he said.

"Same to you, lieutenant," she replied with a genuine smile this time.

As the man retreated, she looked around. Charlie and his wife had managed to make it this year, with their two children in tow. The kids were sitting in front of the tree, speculating as to what was in the packages. Charlie and his wife were talking with another of Bill's acquaintances. Her mother was taking her turn with the baby and was nowhere to be seen. Tara and Bill were sharing baby stories with a very pregnant woman and a man who was probably her husband.

The details had changed, but the setting was familiar. In fact it was too familiar, too much like last year. It was too painful. She half- expected the phone to ring any moment. After all, they could make a million little Emilies if they wanted to, she reasoned. Where was the next one? Would she get one a year, like the newest model of Barbie? New, Foster-mother-drowned Emily, new Foster-mother- dies of suspicious heart attack-Emily.

Her head was spinning. A baby cried in the distance, but it wasn't her baby. She didn't have a baby. Mulder knew and didn't tell. Why? Damn him. Why didn't he say something? Did he know that it would hurt this much, that it would raise so many questions that could never be answered? Mulder, Mulder, Mulder, the name whirred around in her head but refused to give any answers. Where were her children?

"Dana, you look sick. Are you okay?" her mother inquired.

Scully blinked at her blankly for a moment. Her mother smelled like babies, youth and power. "I'm going to go upstairs," she whispered. "Too much," she offered, not saying too much of what. Let her mother think it was the champagne, though she'd never finished the first glass.

She tottered up the stairs, meeting Tara on the way down. "He gets so restless sometimes," she complained. "Babies can be so cumbersome," she continued.

"Cumbersome, yes," said Scully quietly as she continued up the stairs. She didn't see Tara's look of regret, knowing she'd said too much to the worst person she could have said it to. Scully walked past the baby's room without breathing. Bill had never understood why she never held the baby. She fell diagonally across the bed, still in her slacks. She reached for the phone.

"Fox Mulder. I'm not in. Please leave a message."

At least she'd gotten to hear his voice, she reasoned as she toed off her shoes and her trouser socks. Of course, she didn't know what she would have said if he had picked up. But this year, she wouldn't have hung up on him. She pummeled a pillow and threw her jacket at a nearby chair.

She fell asleep that way, in her slacks and shirt and earrings, in her bare feet. She was vaguely aware of her mother coming in sometime after midnight to throw a blanket over her. Let her think its the champagne, she reminded herself, not stirring. It would be easier for her that way. Easier on mother or herself, she wondered wryly? She decided not to answer that. She fell back asleep instead.

December 24, 1998
Bill Scully residence
San Diego, CA

Scully pulled on her robe and made a turban around her hair. The shower had made her back feel better. Either she was getting old, or chairs do not make for comfortable afternoon napping. She surveyed herself critically in the mirror for a moment before turning away. Nothing like a mirror to tell you how pathetic you look on the eve of the happiest holiday of the year.

She wanted a drink before going to sleep, so she did her best to creep down the stairs quietly. She had expected that everyone else had gone to bed, but to her surprise, they were all five sitting around drinking tea and laughing. A nervous hush fell over them as she came downstairs. She took one corner of the couch beside her mother and smiled, trying to put them back at ease.

"Tara thinks Matthew has another tooth coming in," said her mother, updating her daughter on the conversation.

Scully smiled. "How many will that make?" she asked conversationally.

"Twelve," replied Bill, beaming. The typically proud father. It hurt her, that smile. Mulder would have smiled like that when Emily brought home her first report card. She would have gotten straight A's.

"Well, you beat me Bill. That's more teeth than Nathan had at a year," joked Charlie. "He did have a better vocabulary though."

"Were they always this competitive?" asked his wife with a laugh in her voice.

They kept talking about babies, and she commented when necessary. She was far from being tired, but she was distant. She thought about the day; it had been a long day, in retrospect. She had gotten up early and gone downstairs to the kitchen to scramble eggs for breakfast, but in the process woke her mother. Her mother was surprised to see her in the kitchen; apparently she really had been convinced that Dana went to bed early because of the wine. But the rest of the day had gone by without incident, while she helped her mother clean house and prepare for that night's dinner.

While she had been daydreaming, the children's gifts from Santa had been placed under the tree, and the rest of the family began to yawn, showing signs of retiring. Scully momentarily snapped back to reality, and wished them all sweet dreams and sighed with relief as they filed up the stairs. She stared at the tree, thinking of her father, until she was sure they were asleep. Deciding her hair had adequately dried, she threw the towel in the hamper and found herself gravitating toward the liquor cabinet. She brought the glass and a bottle of cabernet to the table in front of the tree.

Half-way through the first glass, the phone rang. Since the others were upstairs and she didn't want the children to be woken, she reached for it immediately, picking up on the second ring.

"Scully," she said automatically.

The caller laughed. "Which one?"

"Mulder," she said with a sigh and a smile.

"The one and only," he said under his breath. "How are you?"

She paused. "Do you want the truth or THE TRUTH?" she asked.

He laughed again. "The all-caps version, Scully," he requested.

"It's hard," she admitted.

"I know," he said, guilt permeating his tone. There was a silence, and a dim whirring, as though he were in a car...

"Where are you Mulder?" she asked on impulse. "Are you driving?"

There was a long pause. "Uh, yeah actually, I am. I called you to ask for directions, Scully."

"Directions?" she repeated, her heart beginning to beat faster.

"I keep ending up in front of Joe's Fish and Chips."

"So did I the first time. Take Elm instead of Willow. It doesn't curve."

"Will do," he replied and hung up. Mulder never was one for long good byes, she was well aware. After calling the front gate so they would let him in, she curled up tighter under the afghan and finished the glass of wine. Listening for traffic, she went to the kitchen for another glass. She heard wheels on gravel and opened the door for him. "Hi," he said shyly.

"Come on in," she invited.

He handed her a paper bag. "I brought you something," he declared.

She looked into the bag and smiled; it contained blackberry syrup. In a way, it was an absurd gift. Who buys syrup for the woman they love for Christmas? But it was her favorite, and the fact that he'd noticed that in their countless breakfasts together was more than thoughtful. Had he known her brother wouldn't have it? And did it really matter? It wasn't as though she'd been expecting a gift at all. She thanked him anyway and placed the syrup bottle on the kitchen counter.

She led him to the couch and he kicked off his shoes, curling up under the blanket with her. She handed him a half filled goblet.

"How are you?" she asked.

"Besides the obvious?" he asked. "Fine. I called my mother. She went to her brother's again this year." There was a pause. "Did you always spend Christmas Eve in front of the tree?" She nodded.

"That seems like you somehow, trying to catch Santa in the act."

She laughed. "I did when I was seven," she related.

He put down his empty wine glass and settled her in his lap. She took the last gulp of hers and snuggled up against him firmly. He was warm and strong and she needed both at the moment. "How about you? Or did you believe?"

He buried his face in her hair for a moment. "I used to hand out the presents in the morning. Samantha called me Santa Fox. After... well, we stopped celebrating most holidays after Samantha disappeared."

She shifted in his embrace so that his cheek was pressed against hers. "It's difficult to look at a holiday like this the same way after you lose a child," she confessed. Mulder stroked her hair. "I don't like the way my family is treating me."

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "This wouldn't have happened..."

There is was, the guilt again. "It is not your fault Mulder," she protested, covering his lips with her fingers. "Save it. I'll never believe it."

He kissed the fingers. "I love you, Scully" he announced, "And I didn't, I mean, I wouldn't..."

"And you wouldn't do anything to hurt me. Do you think I don't know what by now, Mulder? I know why you wanted to protect me."

"I still want to protect you, even though you don't want me to."

"I know."

"I can't lose you again."

"You won't. I'm not going anywhere." They sat in the semi- darkness and contemplated all the things that could countermand that statement and she pushed them away. She idly wondered if their brief but honest conversation was that `really, really talking' that they never did. In vino veritas, she mused. "I love you, Mulder."

He wrapped his arms around her as she nuzzled her cheek against his chest. Mulder cocooned them in the blanket and slid down the couch so that he could rest his head on one of the throw pillows. Secure, warm, comfortable, she fell asleep as his lips briefly came to rest in her hair.

There was a loud squeal and Mulder shook his groggy head. He felt peculiarly well rested. It had much to do, he suspected, with the red topped bundle sleeping peacefully on his chest. Scully was still dreaming. Amazing how she managed to look so concentrated even in sleep. He shifted slightly and she grasped his T-shirt possessively. He fought a laugh and stroked her hair until she stopped moving.

The source of the squeal and another child came racing pell-mell down the stairs. They stopped like statues on the bottom step when they saw him. He held his index finger to his lips and then pointed to Scully. They nodded and quietly moved to the tree.

They had been told not to bother Aunt Dana, though they didn't understand how anyone could be so unhappy at Christmas time.

"Why are you two so quiet?" asked a voice from the stairs. A woman he didn't recognize stood on the steps, staring at Scully's sleeping form, and her human cushion.

"Aunt Dana is sleeping," answered the older boy. "You're the one said not to bother her."

"That's right darling," she stammered. "I'll go get your daddy," she said and hurried up the stairs.

Mulder rubbed his eyes. With his luck, Bill would be the next one down. He took a deep breath and savored the feeling of Scully's hair in his hands. Instead of Big Brother, Mrs. Scully stood by the back of the sofa when he opened his eyes again.

"Fox?" she questioned. Scully whimpered as Mulder moved to sit up and grasped his shirt again. Mrs. Scully smiled indulgently. "Wake her up so the kids can enjoy their presents," she recommended, patting his shoulder. "I'll make some coffee."

Mulder leaned down and kissed Scully's neck. "Wake up, Scully." She didn't stir, so he went for a different tactic. "It's Christmas, Dana darling." She didn't move, but he heard her huff at the use of her first name. He tried again. "Agent Scully, please report to the land of the living."

That woke her up with a smile. She stretched and shook her head. "I'm up, *Agent* Mulder, I'm up."

He tousled her hair. "Someone needs coffee," he said with a smile, extracting himself from her embrace.

"Merry Christmas boys," she said to the children on the floor. They smiled and the noise began. It wasn't until several minutes later that Mulder noticed Bill and a man who must have been Charlie standing on the steps watching them.

"Coffee's ready," Mrs. Scully announced.

"I'll get you a cup," offered Mulder, eager to leave the scene.

Scully nodded and smiled her brothers and sisters-in-law. Let them wonder. She felt good. She hadn't felt this good in ages, the first merry Christmas in five years. "Good morning," she called out brightly as they dismounted the stairs.

"Good morning Dana," said Charlie, looking utterly confused. Poor little brother, she thought. Didn't expect to find big sis cuddling up on the couch with a stranger on Christmas morning. Well, maybe Melissa, but not Dana Raina, hmm? She fought the giggle that bubbled through her throat, along with the urge to crow, `Look what Santa brought me!'

"Dana, could I speak to you for a moment?" requested Bill, looking more than a bit aggravated. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he didn't like the idea of Mulder sleeping on his couch.

"Later," she replied sweetly. Mulder appeared at just that moment with a steaming cup of coffee in each hand. She took a deep draught, feeling her senses stretch. When she opened her eyes, Mulder was looking at her expectantly. She had forgotten about introductions. With a tiny smile, she introduced her little brother and his spouse to her `partner Mulder.' They could make up their own details... or her mother could fill them in.

"Oh good, everyone's up," said her mother, smiling as they took their seats around the room. "Pancakes this morning? Fox brought some of that syrup that Dana likes so much."

"Mulder, Mom, not Fox. Mulder," said Dana, for what had to be the millionth time. Mulder smiled appreciatively at both of them and shrugged. "And that sounds wonderful."

She leaned against Mulder's shoulder and watched as the children moved back from the tree and the adults opened their gifts. He rubbed her shoulder and took her mug. "Go open your presents with your brothers," he whispered. He felt an incredible urge suddenly to see her by the tree, shredding wrapping paper and laughing with her brothers. She must have understood, he thought, because she kissed his cheek and joined her siblings.

Mrs. Scully took the seat her daughter had vacated. "Well, her temperament certainly changed over night, Fox," she commented. Mulder just smiled rather sheepishly and looked at his hands. She took one of his in hers, something she hadn't done in years and said, "I know this time of year is hard for both of you now." Mrs. Scully herself was all too mindful that there should be at least one more beautiful red headed Scully girl under that tree. "I also know that there are lots of things that Dana shares with you that she doesn't share with us, and I'm glad she was able to share this with you too."

"Thank you," he whispered. She squeezed his hand and he returned the gesture. "Do you need any help in the kitchen, Mrs. Scully?" he asked.

She smiled. "You're more than welcome to help set the table, Fox," she replied, standing. She felt her daughter's eyes follow them as they walked to the other room, wanting to follow.

Breakfast went well. The children were pleased and subdued. Even little Matthew had worn himself out tearing the scraps of wrapping paper apart and was sleeping on the floor by the sofa, despite the lively conversation at the table. Scully watched with satisfaction as her younger brother milked Mulder for information about life in England. Bill at least made a pretense of being hospitable.

After clearing the table, the family, with the exception of Tara, began to prepare for mass. Scully took a deep breath. "You know what Tara, Mulder and I can keep an eye on Matthew. Why don't you go with Bill," she suggested when the three of them were left standing in the parlor together.

Tara smiled. "You wouldn't mind?"

Scully shook her head. Mulder splayed his hand against her back.

"Not at all," he replied for her.

As they strolled out to the cars, Bill stopped and stood awkwardly before them. "Hey, er, Mr. Mulder, look. You're more than welcome to stay as long as Dana wants you here," he managed before turning away abruptly.

Mulder closed the door after him and smiled. "That went better than I had expected," he related.

She smiled and leaned against the door.

He grinned and pressed one hand against her shoulder. "So Scully," he inquired, looming over her slightly, "what am I getting for Christmas?"

"I'll let you change the diapers."

His grin grew into a leer and he kissed the corner of her mouth as she tried not to smile. "Oh, Scully, I love it when you talk dirty to me."

Her laugh prompted his own. "Shouldn't we put him in his crib or something?" he asked.

She moved away from him and stood over Matthew. "He looks comfortable where he is," she commented.

"On the floor?" he replied incredulously. Scully shifted her weight. "What is it?" he asked, realizing that something was wrong.

Slowly, she sank down on her knees and ran her hand over his face.

"I've just...I've never held him before," she admitted as she carefully scooped him up. Matthew's forehead settled comfortably into the crook of her neck. His deliciously soft baby skin on her bare neck sent a mild thrill of pleasure rippling through her.

Matthew turned slightly in her arms and whimpered. "Go back to sleep," she ordered quietly. He stopped moving abruptly.

"Should I take him?" Mulder asked.

"No, I've got him." She rubbed her chin against his downy hair.

"Why don't you set the table for lunch, Mulder. I'll be right back."

Thirty minutes later, he walked up the stairs. She didn't look up, but she put her index finger to her lips. He put his hands on her shoulders. "Are you okay, Scully? You've been up her for a while?"

She started and turned to look at him, one eyebrow painfully arched. "Have I? I'm sorry."

He crossed his arms over her waist and dropped a kiss in her hair. "Don't apologize. I'm just worried about you."

Gradually she relaxed into the embrace. "I spend a lot of time trying not to think about some things, Mulder. About what happened to me, about this thing in my neck, about all the things they took away from me."

"Scully, how can you not think about them?"

She smiled. "Mulder, you and I talk about the truth an awful lot considering that we live in a deeper state of denial that most people can without going crazy."

His snort of agreement was muffled by her hair.

"I told you once that I'd seen the truth and I wanted the answers. Mulder, how can I recognize the answers if I don't even let myself form the questions?"

She let out a deep breath and he pulled her closer to him.

"Thank you, Scully," he whispered. She turned in his arms to question him. "I don't think I could have asked for a better Christmas present than that."

"You smell like baby powder," she pointed out as he nuzzled her neck from behind.

"Hey, he's asleep again, and dry. Do all babies go through diapers that quickly?"

"You didn't have to change him every time," she reminded him, looking up from the oranges she was peeling to meet his eyes.

Mulder reached for one of the orange sections and bit it in half. He dangled the other half before her face. Around his mouthful of fruit he inquired, "Wanna piece?"

She shook her head, ignoring the obvious double entendre and the melodramatic leer on his face. "I'm not hungry yet."

She felt a sudden pang in the middle of her stomach. This could have been hers: slicing oranges in the kitchen, while keeping an eye on her baby and a husband with a propensity to talk with his mouth full. But it wasn't hers. She chided herself. No use wallowing in self pity when she had a day alone with Mulder (and the baby), away from the office. She heard the baby cry. Not a demanding cry, but a cry to let you know that he would soon be screaming full blast if you didn't come soon. Mulder was looking at her expectantly. He must have said something that she didn't quite catch.

"I'm going to get the baby," he announced, dropping a kiss on her neck before zipping off to the baby's room. When she finished the oranges, she found him in the living room, helping Matthew build an alphabet block fort. Rather, Mulder was trying to build some sort of structure and Matthew was gleefully knocking it asunder with his pudgy hands. "Hi," he said as she took a seat next to him.

"Think if we work together we have a chance against him?"

"Maybe," she replied, reaching forward to tickle her nephew's tummy. He rolled onto his back and laughed. "Aunie Dada silly," he said as he righted himself. They laughed at him and he smiled in satisfaction. "Blocks, Moldy" the boy insisted.

"Moldy?" asked Scully, raising an eyebrow at her lover. She really like the sound of the word "lover."

"Okay, okay, blocks," replied Mulder with exaggerated exasperation, ignoring her teasing. "You Scullies are so demanding."

The door swung open and her mother stood in the arch. For a moment, she had the most plaintive expression on her face as she watched the three of them play. Scully knew what she was wishing for, but knew that it would never happen. "What are you kids doing?" asked her mother.

"Aunie Dada and I are entertaining little Matthew," Mulder reported.

Mrs. Scully shook her head and smiled at them. The others began to file in too, smiling happily at the scene on the floor. "Thanks Dana," said Tara, lifting her suddenly demanding child. Scully just smiled back. "We lit a candle for you," she whispered.

"Thank you," whispered Scully, looking down at her hands, at her empty arms. Mulder rested his hand on her thigh, drawing her back into the present.

As her sister-in-law walked away, Mulder leaned over and inquired, "Should I help your Mom with lunch?"

He had meant it as a joke, but her reply was serious. "If you like. I think it's mostly ready. There's something I have to do."

Mulder helped her to her feet and, despite Bill Jr's scrutiny, ran his fingers over her cheekbone. He guessed that she wanted to visit Emily's grave. It couldn't be anything else. "I'll go with you," he offered. Remembering her response in the hospital, he added, "if that's all right."

Scully licked her lips. "You don't have to do that Mulder," she told him.

"Yes I do," he replied in a hushed voice. She looked at the glimmering tree, then back at him. "You're not alone, Scully."

She nodded her agreement and let him help her into her coat. Mrs. Scully watched them from the window as they slipped into Mulder's rented car. Her daughter hung her head as Mulder revved the engine. He stopped, turned to her and lifted the fragile gold necklace into his palm for just a moment. Dana brushed her cheek against his hand and lifted her chin. Their smile hurt Margaret, but she knew it was their way, to be strong for each other. Her little nephew tugged at her skirt and she looked down at him. "Where Moldy and Aunie Dada go?" he demanded.

She picked him up. Her nephew, Bill's little Christmas miracle, too young to understand. For that matter, she wasn't sure that anyone besides Fox and Dana really understood. She explained the best way she knew how, and upon reflection, decided it was accurate.

"They went to go wish their little girl a merry Christmas."

The End

Notes: Lilith: If not for Suzanna, this story would have gone to the file graveyard. I hope you'll think it was worth the effort. If the story seems to change tone in odd places, that's probably because I've been working on it since `Emily' and my understanding of the M/S relationship has significantly deepened since then. Thanks to all those who encouraged me to keep writing this. And of course, to the Ladies at the Haven.

Suzanna: Thanks to Lilith, for letting me write part of this story, and for not sending it to the graveyard! Thanks to Susan for the proof-reading, and the girls at Haven for encouragement (especially Obsidian!).

Disclaimer: We don't own them. Not for profit. Not for educational purposes. No Foxes were harmed in the making of this story.