TWELVE DEGREES OF SEPARATION
No. 4:  December
Air of December
by Paula Graves
GravesPA2@aol.com

                                  
Margaret Scully re-read the Christmas cards from her
sons, torn as always between pride and sadness.  They were
both so like their father, strong and honorable men
dedicated to the defense and preservation of their country. 
They loved their wives and children, hating yet not shirking
the sacrifices they had to make to serve the Unites States
Navy.  Sacrifices that precluded their attendance at family
functions.  They'd made it to their father's funeral and
Melissa's.  They hadn't made it to Dana's bedside when she
was so ill, although they'd have made it to her funeral if
that had come to pass like everyone had feared.
       
Everyone but Fox, she amended with a small smile,
straightening the family photos on the mantle.  Her other
son, as she always thought of him.  He alone had faith that
Dana would come back to them.  And she had.
       
Dana emerged from the kitchen, her sea-foam green sweater
and faded jeans covered by a large chef's apron.  Baking
powder covered her hands and dusted her nose.  "Did I hear 
a knock on the door?"        

Margaret stifled a smile.  "I was just straightening
some pictures."
       
"Oh."  Dana's slight smile faded and she went back into the 
kitchen.  

Margaret watched her go, her smile widening.  Her daughter
prided herself on being hard to read, but she couldn't fool
her mother.  Dana was eager to see Fox again.  She'd visited
him in Boston while she was there working on a case, but
that had been over a month ago.  Too many long, lonely days
and nights had passed since then.
       
And the real beauty of the situation was that Fox couldn't
wait to see Dana, either.  Margaret could hear the longing
in his voice every time he called to check in with her. 
Through the casual conversations about his work and his
family, she could hear the deep undertone of loneliness. 
It hadn't taken any effort to talk him into bringing his
sister and his mother to Washington to spend the Christmas
holidays with her and Dana.  Fox and his mother should be
there any minute.  Samantha and her boyfriend were due to
arrive later that afternoon, stay through Christmas morning,
then drive down to Charleston to visit with Preston's
parents.
       
Margaret had never met Fox's mother, but she'd seen Samantha
once, several months ago when the young woman had first come
back into Fox's life.  Margaret's heart had broken when she
walked into the hospital room to find Fox silently weeping
at his sister's bedside, watching her sleep, his hand on her
arm as if to make sure she was really there.  Dana had been
there, sitting quietly in the corner, watching Fox through
eyes bright with unshed tears.
       
This time, there really was a knock on the door, and
Margaret answered it.  Fox stood on the porch, his hand on
the shoulder of a tall, silver-haired woman who looked just
like him.  Margaret smiled and gestured for them to come in.
"You must be Fox's mother.  I'm Margaret Scully.  It's so
wonderful to finally meet you."
       
Caroline Mulder's smile was genuine but wary.  "Mrs. Scully,
it's a pleasure to meet you, too.  Fox has spoken of you
many times."
       
Margaret knew a good deal about the tragedies Caroline
Mulder had experienced in her life, ordeals that had
strained her relationship with her only son.  Margaret
immediately recognized that Caroline was intimidated by
Fox's obvious affection for herself.  She hoped to able to
put the woman at ease. "Please, call me Maggie.  Everyone
does.  Fox, it's so good to see you!"  She hugged him,
pleased when he warmly returned the embrace.
       
"Same here, Mrs. Scully."
       
Margaret just smiled at his formality.  Since he called
Dana "Scully," she had long since concluded that "Mrs.
Scully" was a Fox Mulder term of endearment.
       
"Where do I put these?"  Fox carried a large bag filled to
the brim with wrapped presents. 
       
Margaret waved toward the tall Christmas tree in front
of the window in the living room.  "Has it been that long
since Santa came to visit you, Fox?"
       
He grinned and carried the presents over to the tree.
       
"You're here!"  Dana emerged from the kitchen, wearing
even more baking powder than before.
       
Fox looked up immediately at the sound of her voice. 
"If it isn't Casper the Friendly Ghost!"
       
Dana tried to dust the flour from her face, succeeding
only in adding more.  "I'm making cookies."  She blushed a
little beneath the flour as she looked up at Caroline
Mulder.  "Hi, Mrs. Mulder.  Merry Christmas."
       
"Merry Christmas, Dana."  Caroline turned to Margaret. 
"Is there anything I can do to help?  I cook a mean apple
pie."
       
"She does, " Fox said with a nod.  But he only had eyes
for Dana, Margaret noted with hidden pleasure.
       
"Why don't you go wash up, honey, and let Caroline and
me handle things in the kitchen?"  Margaret reached behind
her daughter's back and untied the apron.  Dana didn't
protest--not that Margaret expected her to.  She watched
with satisfaction as Fox followed Dana down the hall to the
bathroom.
       
"He's a different person these days," Caroline commented as
they walked into the kitchen.  "I believe I may owe that to
you and your daughter."
       
"He's a good man, Caroline.  I think that has something
to do with you."
       
"I'd like to see him happy."  Caroline chuckled ruefully. 
"I've almost given up on getting any grandchildren from him,
though."
       
Margaret patted her arm and handed her another apron. "He's
still young."
       
Caroline nodded, her hazel eyes sharp.  "So is Dana."
       
Ah, an ally, Margaret thought, smiling again as she
donned her own apron. 

*  *  *  *  *

Mulder leaned against the bathroom sink, watching Scully
wash flour dust away from her face.   Without make-up, she
looked about eighteen, fresh-faced and freckled.  She made
him remember high school and all those tempting young co-eds
who'd kindled his interest in the opposite sex.  Funny he'd
never really thought about it before, but Scully was exactly
the kind of female he'd gone for back then--cerebral,
relatively unconcerned with her looks, not afraid to stand
up for herself.  He sort of wished he'd met her back then. 
Maybe she'd have spared him a lot of heartache. 

"Missed a spot."  He took the washcloth from her and
wiped a patch of flour from the side of her neck.
       
She glanced at him, a thoughtful look on her face for just a
second.  Then she lowered her eyes, taking the washcloth
back.
       
That look, he thought, remembering a barbecue joint in
Wisconsin and a similar look.  One of these days, if he ever
got up the nerve, he was going to ask her what she was
thinking when she gave him that look.  "Before I left the
office, I got a call from the Pittsburgh field office,
asking about a strange death that sounds an awful lot like
our friend the retrovirus."
       
Scully nodded.  "I got the same call.  Told them to ship the
body down to Quantico and I'd take a look at it sometime
this weekend."
       
"So you're going to have to work?"  He tamped down a sense
of disappointment.
       
"Just a couple of hours.  Wanna come?"
       
"Mmm, exactly how I want to spend the holidays--you, me and
a corpse in a cold autopsy room."
       
"Is that a yes?"
       
He nodded.  "Wouldn't miss it."
       
"The body should be there by tomorrow morning.  Nothing like
a Christmas autopsy to get you in the holiday mood."  She
tossed the washcloth in a hamper by the toilet.  "But enough
of that.  How are you?"
       
"Fine."
       
"You haven't run off your new partner yet?"
       
"No, I think Thacker's made the cut.  We've been at it for
well over a month, and we haven't killed each other yet."
       
"And how does he look in a skirt?"
       
"Pretty sad."
       
Scully chuckled. 
       
"So what are we going to do all day?  Cook turkey and watch
soap operas?"  he asked.
       
"Actually, I need to go by my apartment and pick up a couple
of things I forgot to pack.  Wanna come?"  She slipped off
the counter and smiled up at him.
       
"Hey, if I can stand an autopsy, I can stand a trip to
your apartment."  
       
She led the way to her mother's kitchen.  Margaret and
Caroline were busy at the counter, finishing the batch of
cookies Scully had started.  "Mulder and I are going out for
a little while.  We'll be back in a couple of hours or so. 
If you need us, try our cell phones or call my apartment."
       
She saw her mother and Mrs. Mulder exchange a brief, telling
glance.
       
Uh-oh, she thought.   Mothers being mothers.  She glanced at
Mulder to see if he noticed, but he was looking at her
mother's mantle, where photos of almost every Scully living
or dead was displayed in one frame or another. 
       
"Mulder, I forgot something--wait for me in the car, okay?"
     
He nodded.  "Sure."

Scully stifled a smile as he walked out the door.  Then she 
ducked back into the bathroom and shut the door, making 
sure she wouldn't be overheard.  She pulled out her cellular 
phone and dialed her home phone number.  When she heard 
the answer, her smile broadened.  "Okay, folks...it's show 
time."

*  *  *  *  *

"I thought we were going to your place."  Mulder frowned as
Scully took the turn toward the J. Edgar Hoover building.
       
"We are, but I promised Skinner I'd bring you by when you
got into town."  Scully pulled into the parking garage and
flashed her badge at the guard.  He did a little double take
as he caught sight of Mulder.  His smile broadened and he
gave a little wave.  
       
Mulder waved back automatically, then cut his eyes at
Scully.  "You promised Skinner?  You see him much?"
       
"We stay in touch.  He comes by Quantico, or I'll drop by
here.  We have lunch sometimes."  
       
Mulder didn't like the sound of that, but he wouldn't let
himself speculate why.  After all, Skinner had proved to be
something of an ally over the years.  Sometimes even a
friend.  He just hadn't realized that Scully and Skinner had
become such GOOD friends.
       
In the outer office of the Assistant Director's suite,
Eleanore Brennan sat in front of her typewriter, fingers
flying.  As Mulder entered the room, she looked up, eyebrows
lifting in surprise and a smile spreading over her face. 
"Agent Mulder!"
       
"Thought I'd come give the A.D. a chance to chew my ass
again for old times' sake.  Call it my Christmas gift to
him."  Mulder winked.  "Is he alone?"
       
Eleanore sniffed the air.  "Smells like it."
        
Mulder glanced at Scully, who arched her eyebrows.  "Don't
let him know we're here.  I'd like to surprise him."
       
Eleanore smiled and pressed her finger against her lips.
       
Mulder opened the door and strode in, Scully at his heels. 
Assistant Director Walter Skinner looked up in alarm.  Then
his brow smoothed and he managed a half smile.  "Well, Agent
Mulder, I can see that your time in Boston hasn't improved
your understanding of Bureau procedure and protocol."
       
Mulder shrugged.  "They don't make any better sense up there
than they do down here."  Mimicking Eleanore's earlier
action, he sniffed the air.  "Hmm.  The air's remarkably
fresh these days."
       
Skinner's lips curved slightly.  Mulder couldn't tell if it
was a smile or a grimace.  "What's remarkable is how little
traffic this office has seen since you went to Boston, Agent
Mulder.  The quiet is almost--spooky."
       
Mulder chuckled and gestured toward one of the chairs in
front of Skinner's desk.  "May we?"
       
Skinner waved at the chairs.  "So, how long are you in town,
Mulder?"
       
"Through Sunday.  I've got to be back at work on Monday.  My
mom and I are spending the holidays with the Scullys."
       
"Yes, Dana told me."
       
Mulder's spine stiffened.  Dana?  He glanced at his former
partner.  Her pale blue eyes met his, inscrutible as always. 
Then she looked back at Skinner.        

"Sir, my mother wondered if you'd like to join us tonight
for our Christmas dinner?  Unless you have other plans." 
Scully leaned slightly forward, a little smile crossing her
porcelain features. 
       
Skinner appeared sincerely taken aback.  "I wouldn't want to
intrude on a family event--"
       
"There's always an extra plate at the Scully table," Scully
insisted.
       
"That's because the Scullys persist in their delusion that
there are two Scully sons," Mulder muttered.  "Mind you,
I've never seen a shred of irrefutable evidence--"
       
"And since when has that deterred your belief in extreme
possibilities?" Scully shot him an amused glare. 
       
"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I've really missed you
two."  Skinner shook his head.  "What time, Scully?"
       
"Six-thirty, sir.  And sir?  Dress down.  No ties allowed."
Scully's half-smile lit up her face.
       
Mulder watched the interchange, only partially soothed by
the fact that Skinner hadn't called her "Dana" again. 
Things between his former partner and their former
supervisor obviously had changed while he was in Boston, and
Mulder didn't think he really cared much for it.
       
He and Scully chatted with Skinner for a few minutes more,
talking about everything and nothing.  Then Eleanore buzzed
through, informing Skinner that the Attorney General was on
the phone.
       
Skinner grimaced.  "I have to take that.  I suppose I'll see
you tonight?"
       
Not if I see you first, Mulder thought, definitely NOT
liking the warmth in Skinner's eyes as he looked toward
Scully.

*  *  *  *  *

"So what are we picking up?"  Mulder leaned against the wall
outside Scully's apartment as she unlocked her door.
       
"Just some things I forgot."  She pushed open the door and
walked inside.  
       
And stopped in her tracks.
       
They had truly outdone themselves, she thought, staring at
her apartment. 
       
"What the hell---?"  Mulder bumped into her. 
       
Her apartment was buried beneath the gaudiest, most garish
Christmas decorations Scully had ever seen--and growing up a
Scully, she'd seen some doozies.  Red, silver and green
garland draped across her ceiling, dripped down the walls,
swallowed the mantle whole.  A life-size cardboard Santa
stood by the couch next to a life-sized plastic Rudolph the
Red-Nosed Reindeer.  At least 500 colored Christmas lights
were flashing like the runway at Dulles on a foggy night. 
Her power bill was going to be enormous.
       
"Ho, ho, ho, Mulder!"  Frohike popped up from behind her
kitchen counter, wearing an elf suit with a little green
peaked cap.  He held out a mug of something dark red and
noxious looking.  "Want some hooch?" 
       
Mulder leaned close to Scully.  "Want me to call 911?" 
       
She shook her head.  "Merry Christmas, Mulder.  And if I
ever do something this stupid again, just take out my gun
and shoot me."  Scully walked in small circle, looking at
the horror the guys at THE LONE GUNMAN had created of her
normally tidy, attractive apartment.  She caught sight of
Byers emerging from her hallway.  "Byers?  You promised to
keep an eye on Frohike!"
       
A sheepish look crossed Byers' face, half-hidden behind his
neat beard.  As always, he wore a conservative charcoal suit
and subdued tie.  His one concession to the festive occasion
was a small tie tack shaped like a holly leaf.  "Langly
sent me out for egg nog, Agent Scully.  I'm afraid I didn't
think my actions through.  I'll make sure your apartment is
in the same immaculate condition in which we found it."
       
"Where is Langly, anyway?"  Mulder asked.
       
"Sent him for more booze," Frohike said.
       
Mulder bent and murmured in Scully's ear.  "Um, Scully, did
you actually let them have a key to your apartment?" 
       
She nodded, her stomach sinking.  

"Do we have to go over the 'Trust No One' rule again?"
       
"I thought you changed it to 'Trust Everyone.'"  Her attempt
at humor fell flat in the face of her frightfully-decorated
apartment.  "I'll change the locks and fumigate tomorrow."
       
"I think I'm hurt."  Frohike took a long swig of whatever it
was he had in his mug.  "Say, Mulder, I heard you've come
across that nasty retro-virus again."
       
"Scully?"  Mulder frowned. 
       
She shook her head.  "They didn't hear it from me, Mulder. 
You know them--they probably know what Skinner wears to
bed."
       
"Gray and green striped pajama bottoms.  No top," Frohike
offered.
       
Mulder gave an exaggerated shudder.  "Please, it's
Christmas!  You're giving me nightmares!"
       
"So how's Boston treating you, Mulder?"  Byers asked. 
       
"Like a stepson."  Mulder grinned.  "Anything new at H.Q.?"
       
Scully backed off and left Mulder talking with his friends,
surreptitiously removing as many of the gaudy decorations as
she could while Mulder and the guys weren't looking.  A few
minutes later, a soft knock on the door caught her
attention.  She looked through the peephole.  It was
Langly, bearing liquor.  She sighed and opened the door.
       
"You promised not to go overboard," she murmured as he
walked in.                                                   
                       
His eyes were huge behind his thick black-rimmed glasses. 
"What, you don't like it?"
       
She sighed.  "Were five strings of lights really necessary?"
       
He stared at her for a second.  "Yes."
       
She shook her head as he walked over to the small cluster of
men standing by Scully's counter.  How had her life gotten
to this point?  Spending Christmas Eve with the four most
paranoid men in the world-- 
       
And loving every minute of it.
       
Mulder turned his head and caught her eye.  He looked so
relaxed.  Happy, even.  It was a side of Mulder she seldom
got to see, and it gave her immense pleasure to realize that
she'd had a hand in his contentment.  One smile from Mulder
was well worth having her apartment turned into a Christmas
nightmare.  She dropped onto her couch and rested her head
back against the cushions, listening idly to their
rapid-fire exchanges of information and disinformation.
       
"Agent Scully?"
       
She looked up to find Byers standing in front of her.       
"I'm sorry about the mess."
       
She shook her head.   "I don't suppose it would be a LONE
GUNMAN Christmas any other way."
       
He gestured at the sofa cushion next to her.  "May I?"
       
She nodded.  "Please."
       
Byers' formality after all these years still struck her as
rather endearing.  Of the guys at THE LONE GUNMAN, Byers was
secretly her favorite.  Polite, well-dressed, intelligent,
self-deprecating--he seemed the odd man out.  But Scully
knew he was the driving force behind THE LONE GUNMAN.  She
often wondered what had happened to bring him to a point
where he distrusted everyone and everything.  At a glance,
he looked like an accountant or a banker--conservative
suits, a simple gold band on his left hand telling her he
was married (though she'd never heard him or the others
mention his wife).  He definitely didn't look like the head
honcho of an anti-establishment underground publication that
considered the CIA to be the "most heinous and evil force of
the twentieth century."
       
Of course, after her own experiences over the past few
years, his ideas didn't seem nearly as "out there" as she'd
always thought.  
       
"Mulder seems to be getting along all right," Byers
commented.
       
She nodded.  "He gets to spend a lot of time with his
sister."
       
"We miss him, though."
       
"Yeah.  So do I."
       
"The last time we exchanged e-mail, Mulder mentioned he was
going to ask for a transfer back to Washington.  Anything
new on that front?"
       
She didn't know.  They hadn't talked about it since her
visit to Boston.  "He may be reconsidering.  He's found a
partner up there that he likes, and I think they're letting
him pursue some outside interests as long as he keeps his
official work first.  Could be he prefers Boston."  Her
stomach burned as she said the words.
       
"I still wonder why the X-Files were shut down practically
on the eve of the Congressional elections."  Byers rubbed
his beard.  "We've heard rumors that the Intelligence
Committee chairman was hoping to curry favor with a certain
shadow organization in order to ensure re-election."
       
The Consortium, Scully thought.  She'd met her share of
those particularly loathsome movers and shakers.  She
wondered if the aforementioned former senator's failed re-
election bid was because of the efforts of Consortium--or in
spite of them?  Frankly, she'd like to know.  Because she
had formed one virtually unshakable tenet over the past six
and a half years.  
       
Any friend of the Consortium is no friend of mine.  
       
"I don't know why they shut the X-Files down when they did,"
she told Byers.  "I do know, however, that both Mulder and I
have felt less pressure since the elections.  When we were
reassigned, I was surprised by the quality of our
assignments.  I have a great deal of freedom in pursuing my
investigations in my capacity as a medical examiner, and
Mulder's ASAC seems to be giving him plenty of slack to look
into, um, extreme possibilities."
       
"Still, I imagine that you'd be more successful working 
together."
       
Always, she thought.  She'd been a better agent when she
worked with Mulder.  And she liked to think he was a better
agent when he worked with her.
       
"Hey, Scully, looky what I found!"  Frohike bent over the
couch, dangling a sprig of mistletoe over her head.  "Lovely
tradition, I always say." 
       
"Down, boy."  Mulder snatched the mistletoe out of Frohike's
hand.  "What did I tell you about those lips of yours?
Lethal weapons.  You could hurt somebody."
       
"But what a way to go!"  Frohike leered at Scully.
       
She sighed.  He was utterly hopeless.  She pushed herself
off the couch and turned to look at him.  A slow smile
curving her lips, she crooked her finger.  "Come here,
elf boy."
       
Frohike's eyes widened and he took a step back.        

Scully chuckled.  "I knew you were all talk, Frohike."
       
"No, wait--"
       
She shook her head, holding up her hand to ward off his
quick recovery.  "Sorry.  One chance only, and you blew
yours."
       
Mulder bent and murmured in Frohike's ear.  "You snooze, you
lose."  Carrying the mistletoe by the red ribbon tied around
its stalk, he crossed to Scully.  "I think I'd better let
you take charge of this, Scully.  No need to take any more
scary chances."
       
She tied the ribbon around her wrist like a bracelet.  "So,
how'd you like your Christmas present, Mulder?"
       
He bent closer.  "Couldn't you have just baked me a bundt
cake?"
       
"I burned it, so I had to settle for Santa's little elves
here."
       
He smiled.   "You're braver than I, Scully, if you gave them
the key to your place."
       
"Well, just Byers.  I made him swear on his life that he
wouldn't let it get anywhere near Langly or Frohike."
       
"Hey, you guys still do it, you know," Byers noted.
       
Scully looked at him. "I beg your pardon?"
       
"You two put your heads together for a minute, and it's like
the rest of the world doesn't exist," Langly said.
       
"Yeah, what's up with that?" Frohike muttered.
       
Scully looked up at Mulder.  His hazel eyes were warm with
affection.  "Well, these days, we don't get that much time
together to plot the overthrow of the government," she
murmured.
       
"We have to make the most of our chances," Mulder added.
       
Scully suddenly realized how close he was standing.  His
face was only a few inches away, so near she almost had to
cross her eyes to focus on his strong, unique features.
Damn, she thought, I should've put the mistletoe in my hair
instead of around my wrist.  Then she scolded herself for
the thought.
       
"Well, this party is threatening to take a nosedive into the
crapper," Frohike groused.  "Langly, didn't you bring some
tunes?"
       
"Yeah."  Langly reached behind the couch and pulled out a
battered briefcase.  He opened it to display a jumble of
tapes and CDs.  "Any requests?"
       
"Barry Manilow's greatest hits?" Mulder deadpanned.
       
"Michael Bolton," Scully piped up.
       
"Whitney Houston."  
       
"Please!"  Langly put his hand over the Screaming Cheetah
Wheelies logo on his t-shirt, a pained expression creasing
his face.  "You'll make me toss my eggnog."
       
Scully looked around her fright of an apartment.  "Who'd
notice?" .
       
Langly found something from the dregs of his CD case that
was loud and unintelligible.  Scully sighed.        

"Let me reiterate that this was YOUR idea." Mulder bent his
head even closer so she could hear him over the din.  His
cheek brushed hers, his beard stubble leaving a tingling
path along her skin.
       
"I've been known to have some bad ones once every couple of
decades," she replied, her mouth close to his ear.  She
sighed and he turned his head to look at her, his eyes dark
and intense.  Captured in his gaze, she couldn't seem to
draw a breath.
       
Frohike suddenly popped up at Mulder's elbow.  "Hey, Mulder,
guess who's joined MUFON now--"
       
Mulder sighed and took a step back.  "Elvis?"
       
"Hah hah."  Frohike made a face.  "Actually, Darren Milton."
       
"The shuttle astronaut?"  Mulder was instantly interested. 
Scully sighed.  NASA and UFO's--Mulder's weaknesses.  
       
She sat down on the sofa again.  Alone.

*  *  *  *  *

The envelope had no return address, only three neatly
printed lines--Ms. Melissa Scully, followed by Margaret
Scully's street address.  Margaret's hand trembled as she
looked down at the card--it had to be a card, she thought. 
Red envelope, Christmas card size, angel stamp.  Somebody
who hadn't heard about Melissa, even after almost four
years.
       
"Maggie, are you all right?"  Caroline Mulder touched
Margaret's arm.
       
Margaret blinked back tears.  "It's for my daughter Missy."
       
Caroline's expression changed subtly, and Margaret thought,
she knows.  She remembers what it's like to lose a child--
even though her child had finally returned to her.  Margaret
took comfort in Caroline's soothing touch and let the woman
lead her into the kitchen to the table.
       
"Would you like some tea?"  Caroline moved to the cabinets,
looking for cups for the tea still steaming in the kettle on
the stove eye.
       
"The cabinet by the sink."  Margaret lay the card carefully
on the table in front of her, studying the bold, artistic
lettering on the address.   A man, she knew instinctively. 
Someone who'd loved her daughter.
       
Missy had been estranged from the family for almost six
years before she finally showed up in Dana's hospital room,
dangling a shimmering white crystal over her sister's
comatose form.  Margaret had been surprised but pleased to
see her.  Even happier when Melissa announced her decision
to stay in D.C. once Dana had recovered.  "Life is fleeting,
Mom," she'd said.  "What happened to Dana should prove that.
I need to be here with my family."
       
Melissa had missed her father's funeral.  She'd missed
Charlie's wedding and the birth of Bill Jr.'s third child. 
But she'd been there those last precious months, and
Margaret thanked God daily that when her daughter had passed
on, she'd been surrounded by people who loved her.

Caroline placed a cup of strong, hot tea in front of
Margaret.  Margaret drank gratefully, smiling at Fox's
mother.  "Thank you, Caroline.  I needed this."
       
"For years after Samantha was taken from us, I'd walk
through Chilmark looking at the faces of every little girl I
passed, wondering if the next one would be my baby.  I
started haunting the school yard, wandering all hours at the
beach or the park, knowing deep inside that the very next
little dark haired girl I saw would be my daughter.  Even
though I knew that she'd never be returned willingly, I
forced myself to hang onto that hope."  Caroline took a sip
of tea.  "I went a bit mad, Maggie.  I started to believe my
own insanity.  I--"  She faltered, staring down at her cup
of tea.  "Poor Fox.  I let him take the blame on himself
because I wasn't strong enough to take it onto myself or
stand up to my husband and his lies.  I let Fox suffer for
me.  I'll never forgive myself for that."
       
Margaret was silent.  She couldn't understand how Caroline
had allowed her gentle, sensitive son carry his unearned
burden of guilt for all these years.  But she also
recognized that Caroline Mulder was deeply, fiercely sorry. 
And the fact that the woman could admit her own failures was
a step toward healing.  Impulsively, Margaret took
Caroline's hand in her own.
       
Caroline drew back momentarily, her eyes widening.  Margaret
stifled a smile, thinking how very alike were Caroline
Mulder and her son.   Fox had been wary at first when she
touched him.  But gradually she'd worn down his defenses,
gentling him with her deep, unconditional love.  And
Margaret had been rewarded with the undying affection of
a young man who had become a much loved son of her heart. 
       
So she held onto Caroline's hand, knowing that Fox's mother
needed a friend as much as Margaret did herself.  And that's
how their children found them when they returned to the
Scully house that afternoon.

*  *  *  *  *
       
Dana Scully stared at her mother's tear-stained eyes, and
her heart turned a little flip.  Panic shot through her,
fed by the past few years of loss.  Was it Bill Jr.? 
Charlie?  One of her nieces or nephews?  She rushed to her
mother's side.  "Mom?"
       
Margaret smiled reassuringly.  "Everything's okay, honey." 
She let go of Caroline Mulder's hand and brushed Scully's
hair away from her forehead.  "I just got that in the mail."
       
Scully's gaze followed her mother's gesture, and she saw the
red envelope.  She stood slowly, her eyes tracing the name
on the front.
       
Missy.  Her heart clenched.
       
"I haven't been able to bring myself to open it," Margaret
admitted.
       
Scully looked at her mother, tears stinging her eyes.  "Do
you want me to open it?"
       
A swift flicker of emotion twisted Margaret's face, then she
seemed to will herself to relax.  Her blue eyes met
Scully's,  red-stained but steady.  "Please."
       
Scully picked up the envelope, willing her hands to stop
shaking.  Warmth spread across her back and she realized
Mulder had come up behind her and stood very close, a wall
of steady support.  She fought the overwhelming urge to
close her eyes and lean back against his hard heat. 
Comforting herself with the knowledge of his unwavering
friendship and loyalty, she found the strength to slide her
finger under the envelope flap and tear it open.        

The card was handmade, she recognized immediately.  Even the
paper was hand-pressed, the front flap embossed with a
small, minimalist rendering of an angel.  Scully ran her
fingers over the slightly bumpy surface, tracing the
ribbon-like outline.  Taking an unsteady breath, she opened
the card and read the words neatly hand-printed inside.
      
                                                            

How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December's bareness everywhere!
And yet this time removed was a summer's time,
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,
Like widowed wombs after their lord's decease.
Yet this abundant issue seemed to me
But hope of orphans and unfathered fruit,
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
And, thou away, the very birds are mute, 
Or if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.
                             -William Shakespeare

                                                            

                       
Then, just below, in flowing masculine script:  
                                                            

Mel, 
                                                            

I'm back East and thinking about you.  I know it's been a
long time and maybe some old flames should just be allowed
to die, but I couldn't let another year pass without trying
again.  I miss you.  I love you.  Can we talk?
                                                            

Mark

The address jotted below his name was in Manchester, New
Hampshire.
       
Scully closed the card and let it flutter to the table.
Mark.  No last name shown--but of course, Melissa would've
known his last name.  Not that it would be hard to find out
who he was.  She was an FBI agent and she had his address. 
A couple of phone calls and she'd know more about him than
his own mother did.  She pulled out a chair and sat down.
       
Her mother looked at her, apprehensive and expectant at the
same time.  Scully closed her fingers around her mother's
hand and pushed the card toward her.  Margaret closed her
eyes for a moment, then she reached for the card and opened
her eyes. 
       
Scully watched the play of emotions on her mother's face--
tenderness, sadness, love, regret.  Missy had followed her
own path without them for many years, and when she'd
returned, neither Scully nor her mother had wanted to pry,
afraid that Melissa might once again take flight.  But this
card was a reminder that there had been so much about
Melissa that those who loved her most didn't know.  How
she'd spent the years away from them.  Where she'd lived.
Whom she'd loved.
       
Mulder's hands closed over Scully's shoulders, strong and
warm.  She leaned back slightly, the back of her head
resting against the lean muscles of his torso.  His thumbs
gently stroked her shoulders, kneading away some of the
tension.  She realized, not for the first time, that being
separated from Mulder had its surprising rewards.  Since
he'd gone to Boston, Mulder had been more attentive, more
supportive, more--
       
--physical, she thought.  He touched her more.  For that
matter, she touched him more, too.  Somehow the separation
had served to crumble some of the barriers they'd carefully
constructed between them during their time together as
partners.  Not that the attraction hadn't always existed, in
one form or another.  But by necessity it had always been
more cerebral than sexual.   

But they weren't partners anymore.  And maybe that wasn't
such a bad thing after all, Scully thought as his hands
continued to work their whispery magic on her body.  She
felt 
her muscles relax, tension and pain seep out of her mind.  
Heat built in her belly, along with a low hum of pleasure.   
    
Oh my God, she thought. I'm sitting here in my mother's
kitchen, with Mulder's mother sitting right across from me,
and I'm getting turned on by a backrub from my best friend.

*  *  *  *  *       
       
Samantha breezed through the door around 5:45 that evening,
Preston in tow.  He was loaded down with brightly wrapped
gifts; Scully directed him to the Christmas tree while
Samantha hugged everyone in sight.  
       
"We detoured to New York City," Samantha said, shrugging off
her thick wool coat.  Mulder took it from her and hung it on
the coat rack.  "We wanted to pick out this..."  She held
out her left hand.  A simple but obviously expensive diamond
solitaire adorned her left hand. "So, what do you think?"

While Caroline Mulder, Scully and Margaret took turns
congratulating the newly engaged couple, Mulder stared at
the ring, a tight sensation coiling in his belly.  One more
step closer to losing her all over again, he thought.  He
pasted a smile on his face for her benefit, glad that she
didn't really know him well enough yet to recognize a fake
Mulder smile when she saw one.
       
Scully, however, saw right through him.  She pinned him
with her blue eyes, leaving him no room for denial.  When
Mrs. Scully led Samantha and Preston back to the rooms she'd
set aside for them, Scully crossed the room and looked up at
him, her gaze uncomfortably sharp.  "You're not losing a
sister, Mulder, you're gaining a brother-in-law."
       
He grimaced.  "Thank you, Scully.  That makes me feel much
better."
       
Her chuckle went a long way toward easing his tension,
however.  "Have I ever told you that you're the most
obsessive man I've ever known?"
       
"Not in the last hour or so."
       
"Must be slipping."
       
He tapped the knuckle of his forefinger against her pointed
chin.  "Not you, Scully."
       
There was that look again.  Her cool facade seemed to melt a
little, her eyes softened.  Though the look was gone in a
heartbeat, the memory lingered, setting a series of little
fires all along his spine.  How long had she been looking at
him that way?  Months?  Years?
       
He remembered the first time he'd seen it.  In a Baltimore
police station.  Without thinking about it, he'd reached out
to straighten her necklace, and the backs of his fingers had
brushed against her breasts.  Even in the fog of his
free-wheeling ponderings about the case at hand, he hadn't
missed the look she'd given him.  He'd made himself ignore
it, of course, assuming that she'd allowed herself a passing
fancy as he had from time to time.  And there hadn't been
all that many times when she'd let her professional facade
fall after that, had there?  She'd taken his comfort after
the Pfaster case.  She'd given him her comfort after his
father's death. 

She'd refused the nasty liquid concoction that might have
kept her alive longer when they were dying of premature old
age in the Norwegian sea--had that been nobility as he'd
always thought or something more?  
       
Maybe an admission that without him, she didn't want to
live?
       
No.  That couldn't be.  Scully had never really thought
about him that way.  If anything, she was the wall keeper,
careful to preserve their professional distance whenever
things between them got too intense.
       
But as he watched her turn from him and start lighting the
logs in the fireplace, he found his photographic memory
clicking like a slide projector, showing him snippets of the
past six years.
       
<Click>  A motel room in Oregon and Dana Scully standing in
front of him, clad only in skimpy underwear.  Trembling as
his fingers brushed the base of her spine to determine that
the bumps on her silky skin were only mosquito bites.
       
<Click>  Scully kneeling next to him in the woods near Lake
Okobogee as he frantically tried to uncover a shallow grave,
sympathetic anguish in her blue eyes as she stilled his
trembling hands with her own.
       
<Click>  Her voice, low and intense in the darkness of his
car outside the place where Tooms was living.  (Mulder, I
wouldn't put myself on the line for anyone but you...)
       
Time after time, she'd shielded him with herself.  Covered
his ass, covered his tracks, put herself in the path of the
speeding car or the flying bullet.  She'd lost Melissa to
their pursuit of the Truth.  Lost three months of her life. 
Lost her innocence and some portion of her faith in her
fellow man.
       
Why hadn't she walked away from him a long time ago?       

"Mulder?"
       
He looked across the room and found her gaze on him, a
little quizzical.  She took a couple of steps in his
direction, and he moved toward her, helping her close the 
distance. 
       
As they approached each other, silence hung between them,
thick but not uncomfortable.  In the quiet, he could hear
the soft sound of her breathing, the brush of her shoes
against the carpet.  He heard the pounding cadence of his
own pulse in his ears.  He didn't know what he was going to
do or say when the distance between them closed to nothing. 
He knew only that he had to touch her.
       
"This is a wonderful house, Mrs. Scully!"  Samantha's
enthusiastic voice sliced through the silence, and Mulder
faltered.  Scully looked away from him and turned to
straighten the pictures on the mantle.
       
Were we about to do what I think? Mulder wondered, his gaze
lingering for a moment on the fluid curve of Scully's spine
beneath her soft sweater.  
       
Margaret Scully hooked her arm through Samantha's like
they were old friends.  Mulder noted the familiarity with a
hidden smile.  Leave it to Mrs. Scully to bring his sister
right into the fold.  He'd felt the same sense of homecoming
from Scully's mother when they'd first met in Scully's
trashed apartment--despite the horror of the circumstances. 
       
"When Bill was on active duty, we had to move from town to
town every year or two," Mrs. Scully said.  "So when he
retired, we wanted the kids to have a place they could
really call home."
       
Mulder's chest clenched at the soft undercurrent of sorrow
in Margaret Scully's voice.  Her family was almost gone now.

Capt. Scully had passed away five years ago.  Missy had died
a year and a half later.  Her sons were never home,
following their father's path out to sea. Only Dana
remained.  And her career choice had kept her on the road
and in danger for years now.
       
Mrs. Scully looked up at him at that moment, her blue eyes
filled with love and quiet joy, and Mulder felt his breath
catch in his throat.   Just when he let himself feel sorry
for her, she surprised him with the breadth and depth of her
inner strength.  He felt a fierce, abiding gratitude that
this remarkable woman had opened her heart to include him.
       
Those amazing Scully women...
       
"Okay, Mom, what do we need to do?"  Scully turned from the
mantle and put her hands on her hips.  "I told Skinner to be
here at 6:30."
       
"Just about everything's done.  Caroline and I weren't lazy
while you two were gone."  Margaret smiled at her daughter. 
"Since you and Fox have already freshened up, why don't you
two pick out some music to get us all in the holiday mood? 
I  could use a quick shower and some fresh clothes."
       
"So could I," Caroline agreed.
       
"I think I'd like to get unpacked and settled in."  Samantha
caught Preston's hand and pulled him down the hall behind
her, leaving Mulder and Scully alone in her mother's living
room.
       
Conspiracy if I've ever seen one, Mulder thought.  And I've
seen plenty.
       
Not that he was upset.  Curious, yes.  A bit aroused, yes. 
But not upset.

"Hmm, wonder what constitutes 'holiday mood,'" Scully
murmured as she crossed to the walnut cabinet holding her
mother's stereo system.  She looked through a neat stack of
CD's.  "Think we should go with Handel's MESSIAH or Patsy
and Elmo's GRANDMA GOT RUN OVER BY A REINDEER?"
       
Mulder chuckled.  "Come on, Scully.  Your mother doesn't
really have the MESSIAH, does she?"
       
Scully's answering laugh sent a little shiver through him. 
"We've got Nat King Cole singing all your Christmas
favorites, Bing Crosby singing all your Christmas
favorites..."
       
"Mel Torme scatting all your Channukah favorites..." 
       
"Oh, this is a good one."  Scully pulled out a disc and put
it in the machine.  She punched the select button and a
moody, dark sound came from the speakers.  Definitely not
Christmas music, Mulder thought.  But familiar.
                                                             
"Thursday afternoon you cast a shadow 'round my room
The breeze moved the curtains and lifted my perfume
Into the air--and danced with with lazy curls in your hair.
The sun was in the sky like pink champagne,
And it glistened in your eyes all day
I remember you put a chill across my face like the
Air of December--I swear I remember it that way.
I swear I remember it--
Where are you now?"

Mulder recognized the raspy female voice.  Edie Brickell.
"That's not a Christmas song, Scully."
       
"It's called AIR OF DECEMBER, Mulder.  Close enough."       

He didn't think this was what her mother had in mind--
although he had to admit it was doing a great job of setting
a mood.  Not the mood Mrs. Scully had in mind, perhaps,
but... 

"You stood by the lake--I wanted to take you for granted
The grass was thin and high
The water mirrored tiny sparkles to the sky
I remember you put a chill across my face like the
Air of December--I swear I remember it that way.
I swear I remember it--
Where are you now?"

       
His heart pounded, compelling him to move closer to her.  As
he drew near, he smelled the fresh soap and water scent that
said "Scully" to him.  He closed his eyes and drew in a deep
breath, filling his lungs with her essence.
       
When he opened his eyes again, she was looking up at him,
her blue eyes wide and darkened.  

"In the by myself mornings the birds windchime
The tree limbs crackle and the sunshine climbs up the sky
Like pink champagne that glistened in your eyes all day
I remember you put a chill across my face like the
Air of December--I swear I remember it that way.
I swear I remember it--
Where are you now?"

He took a step closer to her, his hands clenching and
unclenching by his side as he contemplated the next move he
would make...
       
The sound of the doorbell hit his spine like a jolt of
electricity.  He jerked back, his body thrumming with
reaction.  Scully released a little sigh and walked past him
to the door.
       
Walter Skinner stood in the doorway, dressed in a pair of
dark gray chinos and a thick blue and gray sweater topped
with a well-worn brown leather jacket.  He held a beautiful
white leafed poinsettia in front of him.  Mulder's eyebrows
rose, an involuntary response to seeing his former boss
looking so casual and ill at ease at the same time.
       
Skinner flashed Scully a tight, somewhat uncomfortable
smile.  "I'm a little early--"
       
"No, you're right on time."  Scully waved him in.          

He handed her the poinsettia.  "Merry Christmas, Agent
Scully."
       
Mulder hid a smile at the A.D.'s obvious nervousness. 
Really, Skinner, you ought to get out more...
       
"Dana, was that the door?"  Margaret Scully emerged from the
back of the house.  She was barefoot, her hair hanging loose
and a little touseled.  But she didn't seem the least bit
self-conscious as she looked up at Walter Skinner and smiled
with genuine pleasure.  "Mr. Skinner, I'm so glad you could
join us."
       
Skinner's smile widened a bit.  "It was very kind of you to
invite me, Mrs. Scully.  I'm afraid I'm a little early."
       
"Not at all.  Why don't you have a seat while I check on
dinner?"  Mrs. Scully went into the kitchen.        
 
Skinner nodded to Mulder as if he'd just realized he was in
the room, too.  "Agent Mulder."
       
"Sir."
       
They looked at each other for a moment.  Mulder contemplated
asking the man to call him...well, Mulder...
       
Nah.
       
"Can I take your coat?"  Scully held out her hand.         

Skinner shrugged off his jacket and gave it to her.  "This
is a lovely house, Dana."
       
Dana again, Mulder thought with a frown. 
       
"Thank you, sir."
       
"Just Skinner tonight, all right?"
       
She gave the Assistant Director one of her pretty smiles,
and Mulder's frown deepened.   
       
"Fox, do you remember if I packed the gift for--"  Mulder's
mother emerged from the hallway next.  She stopped short at
the sight of Walter Skinner.  As Mulder watched, his mother
seemed to shrink a little.  Her expression hardened to a
brittle mask.  Mulder glanced at Scully to see if she'd
noticed.  Scully's gaze met his, slightly quizzical.
       
"Mrs. Mulder, it's nice to see you again under more
pleasant circumstances."
       
Scully's eyebrows lifted.
       
"I didn't realize you two had met,"  Mulder said.  He looked
from his mother's stiff face to Skinner's.  The A.D. looked
a bit--embarrassed?
       
"I was the one who told your mother about your disappearance
a few years ago."
       
Caroline's voice was cool.  "You told me my son was dead."
       
Skinner looked at the carpet.  "That's what I believed at
the time."
       
"Fortunately, Dana believed otherwise."  Caroline lifted her
chin.
       
Skinner looked at Scully, his expression unreadable.        

"I'm afraid Mr. Skinner had no reason to believe that Mulder
was alive," Scully said to Caroline, her voice gentle.  "I
believed he was dead at first, too."
       
"Could we not talk about my death while I'm standing here?"
Mulder asked, eager to diffuse the tension.  "Sir--Skinner,
I don't believe you've met my sister Samantha.  I'll go get
her."
       
Skinner's dark eyes gleamed with something like amusement as
Mulder passed him.  He lowered his voice slightly.  "The
real thing this time, Mulder?"
       
Mulder could barely smile even now, years after the cruel
hoax that had almost cost him his sanity--and his life. 
"Pretty sure, sir."
       
He went down the hall to the bedroom Mrs. Scully had set
aside for Samantha.  Just inside the doorway, he found his
sister in a passionate clinch with her fiance.  "Ahem." 
       
Samantha turned her head and glared at him.  "Go get a life,
butt munch."
       
"My former boss is here and would like to meet you, twerp,
though God only knows why."  He flashed Preston an
unrepentant big brother glare.  "You can come too, I
suppose."
       
Preston's chuckle was disproportionately irritating to
Mulder.  Laugh now, you big egg-sucking jerk, but if you so
much as piss off my sister, your ass is mine, he thought as
he followed them out to the living room.
       
"So, you're Assistant Director Skinner," Samantha said,
smiling brightly and shaking his hand.  "Fox has told me SO
MUCH about you."
       
Mulder shot her a glare.  She dimpled and hooked her arm
through Skinner's beefy one as they all headed toward the
dining room, where Margaret Scully had already set the table
with her holiday finest.
       
Mulder's bad feeling swiftly escalated to panic with his
sister's next words.  "So, tell me, Mr. Skinner, did you
really make him bend over and grab his ankles?"

*  *  *  *  *
       
Despite the little sibling war threatening to break out
between Mulder and his sister, Scully couldn't remember a
happier Christmas in years.  Certainly not since the
Christmas right before her father died.  But having those
she loved most around her, sharing in good food and good
conversation--it was so right.  So perfect.  She found
herself watching Mulder to see if he was experiencing the
same feelings of contentment.  He looked relaxed, smiling
more than she could ever remember.  He even joked with
Skinner--who joked back, to Scully's delight and surprise. 
Skinner was a bit of a revelation, himself.  Once he
relaxed, his dry humor rivalled Mulder's, and he had the
story-telling skills of a professional raconteur.  His tales
of his days in the Marines bordered on salty, but he kept
the table entertained, even Mrs. Mulder, who after her
initial iciness had warmed to his good-natured off-duty
persona.
       
People at the Bureau would never believe her if she told
them about this side of Walter Skinner.  But, of course,
she'd never tell.  A man had a right to his secrets.
       
Her mother seemed to like him, she noted.  Perhaps it was
his inescapable military bearing--straight posture,
commanding presence.  Her father had been like that, very
much Captain Scully even when lounging around the house in
shorts and a t-shirt.  Maybe that was part of Scully's own
feeling of kinship to the Assistant Director.  He was a bit
younger than her father, but Skinner and Ahab were both
military to the core.
       
That thought made her glance at Mulder again.  No soldier,
her pal Mulder.  At least, not in the conventional sense. 
But he was as dedicated to his own agenda, his search for
truth, as any gung-ho leatherneck.  Just as willing to
sacrifice all.        

Special ops, she thought with a secret smile.  Mulder was
special ops.  Deep cover.  Underneath the paisley nightmare
ties beat the heart of a warrior.
       
He turned to look at her, as if sensing her gaze on him. 
She ventured a small smile.  To her delight, he smiled back,
his face lighting up like a joyful child's.  Her breath
snagged in her chest at the sight.
       
When they finished dinner, Mulder insisted that Margaret and
the others retire to the living room while he and Scully
cleared the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher.  
       
"Are you having a good time?" Scully took the plate he
handed her and put it in the lower rack of the dishwasher. 
       
He hunkered down next to her to look in her eyes.  "Yes."
       
She smiled again.  "I'm glad."
       
"You worry about me too much, Scully."
       
"Well, you're usually so depressed around the holidays." 
She looked down at her hands.  "I guess having Samantha back
changes things, though."
       
"Yeah."  He lay his hand on her shoulder briefly, then stood
up.  "And it's good to be here with you and your mom."
       
She stood and closed the dishwasher.  Punching the power
button, she murmured.  "You don't have to go to Mass with us
tonight, you know."
       
"I know.  But I want to come."
       
She glanced at him, remembering a little boy in Ohio who'd
helped her redefine her own feelings about God and faith. 
For once, she had been the believer and Mulder the skeptic. 
It had been an odd feeling, arguing for the existence of
miracles and hearing Mulder refute her in an eerie echo of
her own usual logic.  "I'll understand if you don't."
       
"I want to come with you," he repeated. 
       
She smiled.  "Okay."
       
When they joined the others in the living room, Scully found
that the others were having a similar discussion.  

"It's a Scully family tradition, going to Midnight Mass,"
Margaret said softly.  "Even though only Dana and I are here
to keep the tradition alive these days."
       
Scully went to her mother, slipping her hand into her
mother's strong grip.  "It's still a good tradition."
       
"I'm going, too."  Mulder joined Scully, putting his hand on
Margaret's shoulder. 
       
"I'd like to go, too, Margaret."  Caroline smiled.  "We
haven't had enough traditions in the Mulder family, I'm
afraid."
       
Scully saw the little flash of pain dart across Mulder's
face.  She slipped her free hand into his, and he squeezed
her fingers gently.
       
"Well, if you all are going, so are we," Samantha declared.
       
"Mr. Skinner?" Margaret looked at Skinner.
       
"I would be honored to be included in your family tradition,
Mrs. Scully."  His smile for Scully's mother was warm.  "I'd
like to change clothes first--"
       
She nodded, then smiled.   "But first, it's time to open
presents."  She glanced over her shoulder at Mulder.  "Would
you play Santa, Fox?"
       
"Santa Fox," Samantha said with a strange little catch in
her voice.
       
Scully felt Mulder's body twitch.  She looked up to find him
close to tears.  He met her questioning gaze, unable to
speak.
       
"I called you that, didn't I?"  Samantha stood and crossed
to her brother, staring up at him.  "One Christmas when I
was maybe six years old.  You were playing Santa Claus in a
school play, and I followed you around the house for a
month, calling you Santa Fox until you were ready to kill
me!  I'd forgotten about that."
       
Mulder nodded.  "I'd almost forgotten, too."
       
Scully looked down at her mom.  "I'll play Santa," she
murmured.  Her mother nodded.
       
She started with a box.  "This is for Preston from Mulder." 
She handed the gift to Samantha's fiance.
       
Preston darted a wary look toward Mulder, then began opening
the box.  Inside was a scrapbook.  He flipped it open, then
looked up at Mulder, a look of surprise on his handsome
face.  "Thanks, Fox.  This is wonderful."
       
"I thought you should get to know the Samantha I knew.  So I
got duplicates made of her childhood photos and other things
we kept to remember her by."  Mulder ran his hands through
his hair, lifting it into spikes.  Scully hid a smile and
ran her hand down his arm on her way back to the Christmas
tree for the next present.
       
"Hmm, to Dana from Samantha."  She arched her eyebrows at
Mulder's sister.  Samantha's grin was reminiscent of Mulder
at his most playful.  She didn't know if she dared open the
gift in front of the whole group.
       
"Open it," Mulder urged.  The expression in his eyes was
utterly wicked, and Scully nibbled her bottom lip, more sure
than ever that she shouldn't open it in front of everyone.
       
Okay, she thought.  I'm a big girl.  I'll take a quick peek
and if it's too embarrassing--
       
She ripped open the paper and opened the flat box.  Inside
was the most exquisite blue silk nightgown she'd ever seen. 
She released a shaky breath and turned to Samantha.  "It's
beautiful. Thank you."
       
"Don't suppose I could talk you into modeling it?"  Mulder
looked over her shoulder, so close she could feel his breath
against her neck.  A little shiver darted through her.
       
"Fox!"  His mother's admonishing tone was only half serious. 

But he desisted like a good son.   "I'll get the next one." 
He picked up a small box and looked at the tag.  "Oh.  This
is to 'Mr. Skinner' from 'Maggie Scully.'"

*  *  *  *  *

Scully looked at her mother, surprised.  She'd thought the
invitation for Christmas dinner was a spur of the moment
thing.  So when had her mother gotten Skinner a present?
       
Skinner looked a little disconcerted.  But he had enough
presence of mind to take the gift with a gracious nod toward
Margaret.  Scully leaned over her mother's chair, watching
with curiosity as he unwrapped the present.       

It was a book of poetry, Scully noted with surprise. 
Skinner looked up at Margaret, a puzzled expression on his
dark face.  
       
Scully's mother smiled. "I ran into an old colleague of my
husband's who knows you, Mr. Skinner.  Colonel March." 
       
"Mick March?  He was in town and didn't look me up?"  
       
Margaret shook her head.  "No, I was down in Norfolk,
visiting friends.  Anyway, Mick tells me that at one time
you were the poet laureate of your Marine unit."
       
"Unbelievable," Mulder murmured.  Scully glanced at him, her
own amusement unhidden.
       
"And he seemed to think you were fond of Robert Frost, so I
picked that up.  I hope you like it."
       
"It's wonderful.  Thank you very much, Mrs. Scully."  He
smiled, and the transformation of his face was breathtaking. 

Scully shook her head in amazement.  Now, she thought, I've
REALLY seen a miracle.
      
"Next?"  Margaret asked, when the silence threatened to
become uncomfortable.
       
Scully watched Mulder pull himself out of his bemused stupor
and pick up the next present.  It was his mother's gift to
Margaret, a very pretty crystal picture frame.  Scully could
tell her mother really liked it. Margaret, in turn, had 
bought a small silver jewelry box for Caroline Mulder.
       
Scully's gift to Samantha, a pearl drop necklace to match
the earrings she'd given her for her birthday in November,
made Mulder's sister smile.  Mulder's gift to his sister
made her cry.  "Stratego."  Samantha sniffled as she looked
at the travel sized version of the game she and her brother
had been playing the night she disappeared.  And underneath
the game in the same box was a Dr. Seuss book.  "Green Eggs
and Ham."
       
"Would you eat them with a fox?" Mulder murmured.
       
Samantha shoved the box into her fiance's hands and flung
her arms around her brother.  "Thank you, Fox." 
       
Scully hid her own tears and went to get the next present. 
"Mrs. Mulder, this is from Mulder and Samantha."   She
carried the box to Caroline Mulder.
       
"Oh, my goodness gracious."  Caroline stared at the framed
photograph lying amid the tissue paper.  She lifted it out,
tears spilling down her cheeks, and showed it to everyone
else.  It was a recent photo of Mulder and Samantha,
obviously professionally done.  
       
Scully remembered Mulder's anxiety when he called her the
night before the photo shoot back in September.  "Is it too
stupid?  I don't really take a good picture."
       
"Nonsense," she'd assured him.  "Mothers love pictures of
their children, and you're very photogenic."  She had the
candid photos to prove it.
       
Next came Mulder's gift to Scully's mother.  Scully bent
over the chair as her mother opened the large, flat gift. 
Her own soft gasp of surprise echoed her mother's.       
Inside lay a framed charcoal portrait of Scully.  
       
Margaret looked up at Mulder, tears in her eyes. "Fox, this
is beautiful."
       
He grinned with pleasure.  "One of the guys I work with in
Boston is married to an artist.  I gave her a photo of
Scully to work from.  It's one I really liked--"  He looked
at Scully.  "One of the candids we divvied up last
September, remember?"
       
She nodded.  "Glad you picked that one instead of the one
that where I look like a drowned rat."
       
His smile took a decidedly wicked turn.  "Oh, I put that one
under my sofa to scare away the monsters."
       
She rolled her eyes for old times' sake. 
       
Finally, there were just two presents left.  Scully's gift
to Mulder and his to her.  Scully wondered if he'd held them
back on purpose.  He grabbed her gift to him before she
could preempt him.  "To Mulder from Scully."  He shot her a
half-leer and gently shook the package.  He lowered his
voice so that only she could hear him.  "Hmm, no rattling
sound, so I guess I can rule out fur-lined handcuffs."
       
She met his teasing with a placid expression she'd perfected
over the years.  But inside, her stomach was turning anxious
little flips.  Just open it already, Mulder, before the
suspense kills me.
       
He opened the box.  And gaped. "Scully, how did you--" 
       
She smiled, relieved that he looked pleased.  "I know a
guy who knows a guy..."
       
He withdrew the baseball card.  It was a vintage Sandy
Koufax baseball card, in excellent condition.  Scully had
called in dozens of favors to locate the card and wheedle
the price down to something she could afford.  But she knew
Mulder was a closet Dodgers fan, and that Koufax had been
his father's favorite player.  She wanted to give him
something that had sentimental meaning.
       
"This is so--"  He stared at her, at a loss for words. 
       
"Merry Christmas, Mulder."
       
He looked at her for another long moment, his eyes telling
her a thousand amazing, scary, exhilarating things.  Then he
turned and looked over his shoulder at his gift to her.  She
could tell by the crease of his brow that he was worried his
gift wouldn't measure up.
       
Nonsense, she thought.  That look you just gave me was the
best Christmas present I've ever gotten.  Anything else is
just icing.  She went to the tree and picked up her gift. 
       
It wasn't very large, but it was heavy.  And she felt
something shift and slide inside.  When she looked at
Mulder,  he was still struggling to regain his composure, so
she mercifully lightened the moment.  "Well, it's not
ticking..."
       
His chuckle had a sort of watery sound, but it seemed to
calm him down.  He watched like a hawk as she tore the paper
and opened the box underneath.  Inside, was a smaller box,
also wrapped, and a book.  She pulled out the smaller box
and put it on the coffee table, then withdrew the book.
       
It was an old book, in excellent condition.  MOBY DICK--her
father's favorite and hers as well.  She flipped open to the
date page and was stunned to find it was a first edition. 
"My God, Mulder, where did you ever find this?"
       
"I know a guy who knows a guy..."  He looked so relieved. 
He gestured at the other box.  "One to go."
       
She opened the smaller box.  Inside was a small box of
perfume--called BEYOND THE SEA.  She looked at her mother,
saw her reading the name on the box.  Tears sparkled in
Margaret's blue eyes, but they were happy tears.  Happy
memories of her father.
       
Mulder crossed to Scully's side.  "I had planned to just get
the book," he said, his voice so soft she doubted anyone
else could hear him.  "But I was walking through the
fragrance aisle and some pert little blonde made me come
take a sniff--"
       
Scully arched her eyebrows.  "Of the perfume or her?"
       
He grinned down at her.  "It reminded me of you--"
       
"The perfume or her?" Scully repeated.
       
"--and when I saw the name, I knew I had to get it."  He
opened the little vial and waved it under her nose.  "So?"
       
The fragrance was delicate and clean, with just a hint of
crisp sea scent.  If this fragrance reminds Mulder of me,
she thought, I must be doing SOMETHING right.  "I like it."
       
He looked so ridiculously pleased with himself she wanted to
tug him down by his ears and kiss him silly, but of course
she couldn't, not with everyone else here.        

But what if everyone else wasn't here, Dana?  What about
then?

*  *  *  *  *

Margaret Scully sat in the heart of the small church,
listening to the recitation of the Christmas Mass, and let
the sense of peace and well-being flow over her.  Her
daughter sat to her left, with Fox to Dana's left.  Walter
Skinner sat to her right, his solid bulk pleasantly warm
next to her.  He had changed into a suit to attend Mass,
just as Fox had done.  Two good men who had both taken good
care of her daughter at very dangerous times in her life. 
Margaret added a prayer of protection for both men, grateful
for the blessings in her life.
       
As the Mass came to a close and they rose to leave the
church, Margaret allowed herself a moment to watch her
daughter and Fox.  They didn't touch as they walked down the
aisle of the church toward the door at the back, but
Margaret saw the connection between them with a mother's
heart.  She had known for a long time how much Dana and Fox
loved each other.  The depth of their devotion was plainly
evident in their actions if not in their words.  But since
their separation, a subtle change had taken place.
       
They were finally beginning to see what had been evident to
everyone else all along.  And maybe--finally--they were
considering what to do about it.
       
Margaret tugged her coat more tightly around her as she
stepped into the cold night air.  Suddenly, she felt a hand
on her back, lightly guiding her toward the sidewalk.  She
looked up in surprise at the touch and found Walter
Skinner's dark gaze meeting hers.  She saw the question in
his eyes, felt the hesitation in his touch.  In a split
second, she realized that she was facing a turning point of
her own.  Maybe not with this man, but--
       
Can you ever love another, Maggie?
       
The warmth of his hand felt good.  Comforting and enervating
at the same time.  She released a small breath and ventured
a smile.
       
Walter's lips curved slightly in response.  
       
He doesn't smile much, Margaret realized, sad and curious at
the same time.  Then his hand pressed gently against her
back, and she let him lead her to the car.

*  *  *  *  *

Around nine o'clock Christmas morning,  Samantha and Preston
left for Charleston to spend the rest of the holiday with
his parents.  Margaret Scully and Caroline Mulder decided to
do some baking for a church-sponsored dinner for the
homeless.
       
Scully and Mulder spent most of the day in a cold, dank
morgue at Quantico.  The body sent by the Pittsburgh office
looked achingly familiar to Scully, who'd watched Mulder lie
at death's door looking very much like the corpse before
her.   
       
Mulder stood in the corner, observing the autopsy until she
pulled out the saw to open the cranium.  He made a quick
retreat, waiting another couple of hours before venturing
back into the autopsy room.  "Well?"
       
"It definitely looks like the retrovirus."  She pulled a
cover over the corpse she'd just finished stitching closed
for burial.  "The pathology's the same, the blood tests look
conclusive."
       
"Damn it.  What does it mean?  Are they back?" 
       
Considering that Scully didn't really know who--or
what--"they" were, she didn't comment.
       
"Did you try subduing it with cold?"
       
She nodded.  "Went dormant right on time."
       
"Hold onto at least part of that virus sample, Scully."
       
She looked at him, alarmed.  "Mulder, I can't--"
       
"The sample you took at the Boston office last month
disappeared."
       
She lifted one red eyebrow.  "You didn't tell me that."
       
"I didn't know until just before I left town to come
here."
       
"Could it be a paper work mix up?"
       
He shrugged.  "I doubt it.  We never found that virus sample
from your autopsy of Agent Weiss during the Gregor case,
either.  I just don't think it's a coincidence."
       
That's because you're a bona fide paranoiac, as you're so
fond of reminding me.  She bit back her usual skeptical
retort.  She and Mulder had so little real time together
these days, she didn't want anything to spoil it.
       
"What, no logical, no-nonsense comeback?" Mulder's hazel
eyes met hers, half-amused, half-wary.                       
                 
"It's Christmas."
       
He smiled slightly.  "Well, only because it's Christmas. 
But don't go soft on me, Scully."  He leaned forward
slightly, lowering his voice in that intimate way that
always made her spine tingle.  "I depend on you to keep
me from going too far."
       
Maybe we haven't been going far enough, she thought, staring
up at his face, so close that she could feel his breath
against her forehead.
       
"Are you finished here?" he asked, drawing away slightly.
       
She took a step back and tucked an errant strand of hair
behind her ear. "Yes.  I'll wash up and then we can go back
to Mom's."
       
He waited for her outside.  When she emerged from the
examining room, freshly changed from her scrubs back into
her jeans and gray sweater, he had found a cup of coffee for
her.  Cream, no sugar.  She sipped gratefully, letting the
hot liquid drive away the chill of the morgue.
       
"Did you hold onto a sample of the retrovirus?" He kept his
voice low as they walked toward the elevators.
       
"Yes."  She didn't tell him that she'd hidden the vial
inside her bra.  Not that she thought he'd go searching for
it--damn it.
       
Okay, okay, calm down, Dana, she thought, not nearly as
surprised by the dangerous notion as she should have been. 
She'd been contemplating a lot of dangerous notions over the
past day or so.  And she had a distinct feeling that Mulder
had been doing the same.  
       
*  *  *  *  *

As they were pulling out of the Quantico parking lot, Mulder
pulled out his cell phone.  "Hey, Frohike, it's me.  I've
got something for safekeeping.  Can you meet me at the
archive?"
       
After he hung up, he started to give her directions, but she
waved her hand at him.  "Been there, Mulder."
       
He arched one eyebrow.  "You HAVE been hanging with the guys
a bit too much if they let you in on all their little
secrets."
       
She shrugged.  "Well, my favorite paranoiac was 400 miles
away."  
       
She drove to a small, non-descript apartment building in
Alexandria, not too far from Mulder's old apartment.  He
sighed softly as they passed the street where he used to
live.  "I hope my transfer request doesn't take forever."
       
She smiled as she pulled up in front of the apartment
complex housing the LONE GUNMAN archive.  So he HAD put in
for a transfer back to D.C.  "Missing the Beltway that much,
huh?"
       
He shrugged and unfolded himself from the passenger seat. 
"I guess I miss that smell of pork in the air every time I
pass the halls of Congress.  The sound of automatic weapon
fire on the White House lawn."
       
"The aroma of Morley's fouling up Skinner's office?" 
       
Mulder grimaced.  "No, not that."
       
Scully pocketed the car keys and followed him up the
sidewalk.  They buzzed into the building using a variable
code that involved the day of the week, the weather and the
date.  Scully knew the code, but she decided to let Mulder
have the honor.  He, in turn, let her precede him up the two
flights of stairs to the apartment where the guys at the
LONE GUNMAN archived some of their more sensitive
information.
       
Frohike and Byers met them at the door, eyes darting around
the hallway as they hurried Mulder and Scully inside. 
"Whatcha got?" Frohike asked.
       
"A sample of a retro-virus that may be extraterrestrial in
nature."  Mulder turned to Scully and held out his hand.
        
She frowned slightly.  "Um, Mulder..."  She glanced at the
other men.
       
"What?"
       
She sighed and turned her back to them, trying to get to the
vial through the neck of her sweater.  But she couldn't get
her hand down far enough.
       
"What's the problem?" Mulder asked.
       
"I can't get it--"  She sighed.  "I'll be right back." 
       
She headed down the hall to the small bathroom.  She pulled
the door closed behind her and started to pull up her
sweater.  Then she stopped, thinking about where she was.
       
No way, she thought.  There's got to be a camera in this
bathroom somewhere, and I am NOT going to let Frohike get
his hands on a tape of me in my underwear.
       
She opened the door.  "Mulder?"
       
He came down the hall.  "Yeah?"
       
"Come here."   She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the
bathroom with her.  He came willingly enough, although his
forehead wrinkled slightly with confusion.
       
"I put the vial in my bra," she said softly, knowing that
her voice couldn't possibly be soft enough to escape the
kind of listening equipment these guys had access to.  "I'm
sure there's a camera in here somewhere, so I need you to be
my dressing room.  Now, hold your coat open."
       
His lips curved slightly, but he obeyed.  She shrugged out
of her own coat and put the edge of either lapel in his
fingers, creating a sort of trench coat tent for herself. 
"Got it?" she asked.
       
He nodded.
       
"Now, just in case there's a camera in the ceiling, I need
you to put your chin on top of my head so that an overhead
shot is blocked, too."
       
She heard a soft rumble of laughter run through him as he
rested his chin on her head.  "I think I played a game of
Twister like this once."
       
She quickly stuck her hand under her sweater and retrieved
the vial.  "There."  She started to pull away, but he held
her pinned by her own coat.
       
"You are DEFINITELY spending way too much time with these
guys," he murmured, his eyes more green than gray as he
smiled down at her.
       
"And whose fault is that?"  She arched her eyebrows at him,
in no hurry to escape his trap.  "I have to keep my
skepticism honed to razor edge, Mulder, and since you're not
here to do it for me..."
       
"I would be if I could, Scully."
       
She nodded.  "I know."
       
He let her go and took the vial from her.  "Mmm," he
murmured in a sexy drawl, "it's nice and warm.  Will the
virus wake back up?"
       
She nodded, trying to control a little ripple of awareness
darting through her at his soft, intimate words.  "The
retrovirus has to be exposed to continual cold for 72
hours before it dies.  That's why I put it in that bio-
hazard vial--virtually unbreakable."
       
She watched as he held up the small vial of contaminated
blood.  Though it retained the vivid red of arterial blood,
it had the consistency of cottage cheese.  She shuddered,
remembering that Mulder's blood had begun to look like that
once, in Alaska.  Only hypothermia and her radical
prescription of blood thinners, transfusions, and a plethora
of anti-viral agents had been able to save his life.
       
She saw a little shiver run through him, too.  "Damn," he
muttered.
       
She took the vial back from him and went back out to the
main room of the apartment.  "Okay, guys, it has to be
refrigerated for at least 72 hours.  You may want to store
it indefinitely in the cold."  She bypassed Frohike and
handed the sample to Byers.  "Treat this like you would
alien blood." 
       
Byers smiled slightly and promptly handed the vial to
Frohike.  Scully sighed and motioned for Mulder to follow
her to the door. 
       
"By the way, Agent Scully--" Frohike's voice made her pause
in the open doorway.  "There's a camera hidden in a floor
tile, too."
       
She glared at him, and he grinned, unrepentant.
       
Mulder put his arm around her and guided her safely out
the door.
       
*  *  *  *  *
         
Margaret Scully and his mother were getting along far better
than Mulder expected.  Not that he had thought Mrs. Scully
would be anything but kind and gracious.  But he knew his
mother didn't socialize well.  Not since Samantha's
abduction.  She kept to herself, much like he did, and she'd
never found it easy to make friends.  
       
Trust Mrs. Scully to bulldoze right through all those
hard-built walls, Mulder thought, watching with a smile as
his mother and Margaret laughed easily as they discussed
their children over a cup of hot tea.
       
"I think your mother's having a good time."  Scully came up
behind him, resting her hand on the small of his back.  
       
He closed his eyes for a minute, affected by her soft touch. 
"Yeah."  He opened his eyes and nodded toward the living
room, where soft music and a crackling fire beckoned.  
       
Scully followed, curling up on the couch next to him.  She
was in her "trouble" mode again--no make-up, messy hair, 
bare feet.  In the flickering light from the hearth, her
hair looked like candlelight, and he was tempted to touch
the fiery strands to see if they burned his fingers.  He
restrained himself, searching for a safe subject.  "Samantha
called while we were gone to let us know they got to
Charleston safely."
       
She nodded.  "Mom told me.
       
"Mom wants to get an early start in the morning so we can
stop by her sister's place in Dover."
       
Scully looked down at her hands.  She was trying to hide her
disappointment, but she wasn't a good dissembler.  He could
always see through her rare attempts at lying--and she knew
it.  Finally, she looked up at him, her eyes luminous.  "I
never realized how much of my life is missing when you're
not around to drive me crazy."
       
He chuckled.  "I miss you, too."
       
"Where's one of your time-space anomolies when we need it,
Mulder?  Something to make time stand still?"
       
This is getting really dangerous, he thought as he fought to
drag his gaze away from her radiant face.  He turned and
stood, crossing to the bay window overlooking the front
lawn.  Outside, he saw, snow had begun to lightly fall.  By
morning, there might be enough to cover the ground but not
enough to keep him snowed in at the Scullys.  Damn it.  
       
He felt more than heard Scully's approach.  He looked
at the window and saw her reflection superimposed over the
fluttering snowflakes.
       
"It's snowing."  She knelt on the window seat and pressed
her face to the window panes for a better look.  "Hmm,
remember the '96 blizzard?"

How could he forget being snowed in with Scully not once but
twice in a ten-day period?  He sighed, looking out at the
light, half-hearted flurries falling outside.  "I'm afraid
we'll be lucky to have an inch with this snowfall."
       
"Spoilsport."  She turned to look at him, her eyes full of
warm memories.  
       
Damn it, Scully, don't do this to me.  He tried not to stare
at her upturned face, her shining eyes and pretty pink
mouth.  Then her head tilted back, giving him a good view of
her sleek white throat, and she smiled.  "So that's what
happened to Frohike's mistletoe."
       
He looked up and saw the little sprig of green hanging by
its red ribbon in the bay window alcove, right above their
heads.  He looked back down at Scully, saw the teasing light
in her eyes, and realized there was no escape.
       
She rested her hands on his shoulders, pushing herself to
her feet. Standing on the low window seat, she stood about
eight inches taller than he, forcing him to look up at her.  
      
This is different, he thought.   
       
Then she gently pressed her palms against his cheeks,
holding his head still as she bent and touched her mouth to
his.
       
The kiss was soft, brief, undemanding.  But the gentle
pressure of her lips parted his, and her warm, sweet breath
filled his mouth, sending a dizzy sensation rocketing
through him.  His knees wobbled, his head spun, and he
realized with surprise that her strong hands were the only
thing holding him upright.  

"Merry Christmas, Mulder."  As she spoke, her lips moved 
against his.  Then she pulled back and released him.
       
He managed to keep his feet as she stepped down from the
window seat and crossed to the sofa.  He followed slowly,
trying to force his breathing into some semblance of
regularity.  He didn't know what to say, so he said nothing.

To his relief, Scully didn't say anything, either.  She just
smiled her most enigmatic Dana Scully smile and rested her
head against the sofa cushions, staring into the fire.
      
                          
End of 4