Mulder's Midnight Visitor
by Brown Eyed Girl
Mulder stared out the window at the rain streaming down. He hated rain at Christmas time. It wasn't that he dreamed of a white Christmas, exactly, but after growing up in New England, rain at this time of year always seemed wrong to him, somehow. He shivered involuntarily. Rain or not, it was cold. But after the evening he'd had tonight, the rain definitely fitted his mood.
He'd been acting like a Grinch all week, but he had let Scully talk him into attending her mother's annual Christmas Eve party. With Bill on the other side of the world, it might not have been too bad, until Mrs. Scully's surprise guest showed up, that is. Walter Skinner, the same man who just a few hours earlier had sent Mulder from his office with the stern rejoinder that they would be discussing the Dorfman case in detail as soon as all the key players were back in the office after the holiday hoopla. That was one discussion Muler was not looking forward to. He knew that his behavior on this last case would not meet up to Skinner's stern expectations. Looked like the new millennium was going to start off on the wrong foot.
Actually, at first, things had gone pretty well at Mrs. Scully's. She had fussed over him, as expected, but he found himself actually enjoying the party. In fact, everything had been fine until he had decided to pour himself one more cup of eggnog to warm him for the ride home. Mrs. Scully and Skinner had been chatting by the ornate punch bowl and Mulder had smiled at them politely while reaching for the ladle. Mrs. Scully's gentle hand on his arm had stopped him.
"Fox, I don't think you'd better. I put almost a fifth of my father's best Irish whiskey in there, and since Dana and I haven't been able to convince you to stay the night, I really don't think it's wise for you to have anymore. The roads are already wet, and they say it might ice up later."
He had given her his best disarming grin. "Now, Mrs. Scully, I don't think one more cup is going to hurt me. It will just keep me warm on the ride home," he had said, continuing to reach for the ladle.
She had frowned at him, unsure what to say, but that at that moment, his boss had intervened.
"Sorry, Mulder, but I agree with the lady. If you're going to be driving, I think it's time you switched to soft drinks." Skinner had firmly removed the silver ladle from his hand and taken his elbow, intending to lead him over to the other table. Mulder had yanked his arm away, annoyed.
"Sir, we're not on Bureau time right now, so I'd appreciate it if you'd stop telling me what to do," he had snapped, which had drawn a strongly disapproving stare from Mrs. Scully.
"Mulder, inside the Bureau or out, you rarely listen to anything I say anyway. I just don't want you to have any trouble getting home," Skinner had remarked mildly.
Unfortunately, the older man's calm demeanor and gently teasing words had had the opposite effect on Mulder's mood. He knew his boss was still angry with him from earlier in the day, and his ability to simply set those feelings aside for the party had just annoyed Mulder even more.
"Maybe I don't listen to you because you never say anything not approved by the big boys upstairs," Mulder had snarled, startling himself with the comment. It wasn't really true, but he was so angry and tired of defending his actions, he had lashed out at the nearest target.
Both Skinner and Mrs. Scully's faces had reflected their shock at his nasty words, and the sudden silence around them had distracted Scully's attention from the conversation she was having nearby. As soon as she had seen Mulder's defensive posture and the stunned expressions on her mother and her boss' face, she had quickly intervened.
"Hey, what's going on here? It's Christmas Eve-the most wonderful time of the year!", she had remarked cheerfully, trying to defuse some of the tension.
"Fox was just getting ready to apologize to Walter," Mrs. Scully had said tightly, her voice betraying her disappointment in Mulder's behavior.
Mulder had recognized the tone from his own childhood dealings with his mother. It had usually been followed with the words "Go to your room", or even "Bring me the hairbrush", depending on the severity of his misbehavior. But time had dimmed the effectiveness of the tone, and Mulder's anger made him reckless.
"I will not apologize!", he'd bitten off sharply, ignoring both Mrs. Scully and her daughter's startled looks. "I'm sick and tired of everyone telling me what to do! I'm not some stupid child!"
Mrs. Scully's eyes had narrowed in a look Mulder immediately recognized from all the times it had appeared on her daughter's face. "You may not be a child, Fox, but you're certainly acting like one-and an over-tired one at that. If you can't conduct yourself in a civil manner, I suggest you excuse yourself until you can. The offer is still open if you'd like to take the guest room upstairs, but right now I think it's time for you to say good night."
Mulder face had burned with embarrassment and he had quickly mumbled a good bye to everyone there and had fled into the night. Even now, hours later, he still flushed, remembering his behavior. Resolving to call Scully at her mother's sometime tomorrow to deliver a more sincere apology, he sank down on the couch to watch whatever pathetic holiday movie was on for all the poor suckers like him who were alone on Christmas.
He flipped through the channels until he discovered "A Christmas Story". He could always identify with the kid who wanted something his parents didn't want him to have, so he settled down contentedly to watch. He enjoyed the movie for awhile, but exhaustion overcame him and he was soon sleeping peacefully.
He awoke sometime later, staring blearily at the screen. As he was trying to get his eyes to focus, he became aware of another presence in the room. Sitting up with a start, he stared in amazement at the figure before him. Over the years, he had grown used to all manner of intruders in his apartment, but this apparition was truly the most unusual. A rotund man, dressed all in red.
"Frohike?, he asked, dazed. "Why are you dressed like Santa Claus? Don't you think it's a little late for Halloween?"
"Frohike?", the chubby man repeated. "If you're referring to Melvin Frohike, that nasty little man who's been on my permanent 'naughty' list for years, I'm afraid you're not only mistaken, but you've also insulted me."
Mulder sat up a little straighter and stared more intently. His mystery guest was definitely too short and fat for Krycek, and at the moment, he couldn't remember any members of the Consortium with this particular build. And the stranger certainly didn't seem threatening. His voice had been kind, and his eyes twinkled merrily. Even the suit the man had on was beautiful -certainly a step above a department store Santa. Maybe he had been hired as a silly holiday gift from the Gunmen.
"Look," Mulder said sleepily. "I'm not sure who you are, or who hired you, but it's awfully late for this. Whoever decided I was deserving of this particular brand of holiday cheer must have paid you a nice bonus to come out at this time on Christmas Eve. But since I'm not really in the mood for cheering up, why don't you just be on your way?"
The little man just smiled kindly. Mulder scowled. What was he waiting for-a tip? Scrounging around on the coffee table, he found his wallet and withdrew a ten.
"Here you go, mister. I'll be sure and tell whoever asks that you did a good job. And would you mind returning my key? I don't know which one of my friends gave it to you, but my apartment already seems like it has a revolving door in it."
Now the older man let his smile droop a little and Mulder felt irrationally guilty. "Look, it's nothing you did-I'm just not in the mood for Christmas cheer, okay?"
"Fox, Christmas cheer is exactly what you need-among other things. Let's discuss it, shall we?"
Mulder watched in amazement as the stranger reached into a huge velvet bag and withdrew what looked like a laptop computer.
"What are you doing?" , he managed to sputter.
"Just going over my records for the last year or so. You didn't still think I did it all manually, did you? Thank heavens my dear wife had the idea of giving Billy Gates that toy computer all those years ago. When I think of the time I could have saved...." The older man shook his head ruefully and went back to his typing.
Mulder drew a hand over his face and looked around. He hadn't been allowed enough of Mrs. Scully's eggnog to produce a hallucination like this, but he didn't think he was dreaming. For one thing, he was cold, and he didn't ever remember feeling cold in his dreams.
The small man was making tsking noises under his breath as he read what was on the screen. "You've been busy, Fox. Bermuda? Beautiful place, tiny chimneys though. And Antarctica? Colder than the North Pole, I think," he said with an exaggerated shiver. "Glad we didn't let the real estate agent talk us into building down there."
Mulder sat forward a little on the couch. "Excuse me", he said politely, feeling a little silly talking to what he was sure would prove to be a figment of his imagination. "Why are you here? And what are you doing?"
"I told you, Fox, it's time we discussed your behavior for the past year. The past several years, in fact. Now, unlike Melvin Frohike," he continued with a frown, "who as I said, forced me to add his name to the permanent naughty list back when he posted that doctored photo of Mrs. Claus doing unspeakable things with the elves over the Internet, you are basically a very well mannered young man. Unfortunately, your behavior doesn't always reflect that. Take tonight's little display, for instance. Do you think it was polite to ruin Mrs. Scully's party by being so rude to your boss?"
"You were there? Did Scully send you? Who are you?" , Mulder asked frantically, disturbed that this funny little man seemed to know so much.
"Fox, Fox-you know who I am. Why do you deny what your own eyes are telling you?"
"I know who you look like-not who you are. Believe me, any thing can seem real enough with the right props and costumes," Mulder remarked bitterly.
The older man shook his head sadly. "Oh, Fox-you'll believe in aliens, sewer monsters and shape shifters, but it's too much of a stretch to believe in Santa Claus?"
"I stopped believing in Santa Claus a long time ago. And I've never seen any bit of evidence to prove me wrong," Mulder replied steadfastly.
"Well, I'd say the evidence is sitting here in your living room. And I know when you stopped believing-the Christmas you were twelve. Most of your friends had given up on me before that, but you managed to hold on to that tiny bit of hope. You always were willing to consider an 'extreme possibility'," the man said quietly.
"Yeah, well what good did believing in you ever do for me?," Mulder asked, seemingly unaware of the fact that he was now addressing the man as though he truly believed he was the real thing.
"Fox, you had many happy moments in your childhood. You and Samantha both. I'm sorry that what happened that year destroyed the magic for you."
Mulder looked lost in thought for a moment. "That was the year I was sure I was going to get the Lionel train set I'd been wanting," he murmured, his eyes far away. "Mr. Kelso had one set up in his window from Halloween on. I used to stop by every day on my way after school to see it. I was sure my parents were going to get it for me. In fact, Mr. Kelso even let it slip that my dad had been by to see him one day early in November, and I just knew that must have meant my parents were putting it on layaway. But then Samantha disappeared, and I guess they forgot about it. We didn't even have a tree that year. And the only presents I got were ones my mother had gotten me before, and the ones all my relatives gave to me to make up for my sister being gone." Mulder stared at the man in front of him, tears suddenly blurring his eyes. "You certainly didn't make an appearance that year!"
"I couldn't anymore, Fox," said the older man gently. "Your disillusionment was so great, even my magic couldn't overcome it. Believe me, son, I wanted to so badly I can still feel how much it hurt."
Mulder shook his head and angrily brushed his tears away, disgusted at his own foolishness. "Look, this is all very interesting, but it's late, and I'm sure you have lots of stops to make. This is your busy night, isn't it?", Mulder pointed out snidely.
Santa's expression became very stern. "I can arrange time in any manner I choose for this one night, and right now, this is exactly where I need to be. This bitter attitude of yours has gone on long enough, but I've finally seen some cracks in that facade of yours that have allowed me to appear to you. I'm sure I have Dana to thank for that."
Mulder's face softened at the mention of his partners' name, but then he winced, remembering her earlier anger with him.
"Yes, I can see that you're feeling a little guilty about the way you behaved earlier. Now, totaling up all the incidents on your record, I see that for this year, you've come out slightly ahead on the naughty side. Not acceptable, young man. I think you know what naughty boys get for Christmas."
"No cable TV and you're going to cancel my subscription to Celebrity Skin?", Mulder asked flippantly.
In reply, Santa reached back into his bag and withdrew a large lump of black coal-and a long, supple looking switch. Mulder couldn't help the uneasy shudder that went through him.
"What are you going to do with that?", he asked nervously.
"Nothing. It's not Santa's job to deliver punishments. I merely contribute the instruments. The actual correction is up to someone else. Someone who loves you."
Mulder let out a sigh of relief. "Guess I'm safe then," he said, but his tone was almost wistful.
"I wouldn't be too sure about that, Fox. Perhaps you'd like to see what else I'll be delivering tonight." With that, he returned to his bag and pulled out a beautiful antique wooden hairbrush. The large polished back gleamed in the dim light, highlighting the swirls in the wood.
"I thought Dana might find some use for this."
Mulder frowned at it doubtfully. "I don't know-don't you think it's kind of...girlie for Scully? She usually prefers brushes that don't take up much room in her purse or suitcase."
"I think this is just perfect for her needs. And I'm sure you'll find she doesn't mind making room for it."
Mulder just shrugged; giving presents was Santa's job, not his. Santa's head disappeared back into the bag, popping up a moment later.
"Now, for that dear Maggie Scully, I thought this would be appropriate." Santa was holding a large crock full of wooden kitchen utensils. Spoons, spatulas and other assorted tools crowded the container, which was painted with the words 'Mother's Little Helpers'.
Again Mulder shook his head. "Mrs. Scully has a whole drawer full of fancy metal spoons and stuff that Scully got her last year at Williams-Sonoma. She doesn't need new ones."
"Oh, I think that she'll find that these are a better choice. Nothing like a good, sturdy wooden spoon to get the job done properly."
"Now, for the AD who has everything...." More rustling in the bag, and then Santa was pulling out a long wooden paddle. It was painted bright red and decorated with small sprigs of holly. Mulder stared at it, puzzled.
"What in the world does Skinner need that for?"
Santa stared at the paddle for a moment and then made a sudden motion in the air with his index finger. In a swirl of sparkly lights, the name "Fox" suddenly appeared on the paddle in flowing gold script. The jolly little man nodded in satisfaction. "There, that's better. Not that I think for an instant that Walter would have any doubts about who would benefit the most from this."
Mulder's chin dropped in horror. "You're not seriously thinking of giving that...that thing to my boss are you? Even as a gag gift, it's just too humiliating. Besides", he added nervously, "it might give him ideas."
Santa gazed right at Mulder, his face serious, but his eyes still twinkling. "I'm certainly hoping all these gifts will give the recipients ideas. That's my gift to you, Fox. The clear knowledge of just exactly how many people you have in your life who will be willing to provide you with the discipline you need. Maybe then you'll be able to start the new year off on the right foot for a change."
Mulder gaped at the gifts now lined up on his table, their sinister purpose suddenly clear to him.
"You mean that you're giving these things to them in the hopes that they'll use them to...."
He couldn't even finish.
"That's right, Fox. And just in case you were wondering, I'll be delivering a lovely long handled bath brush to your mother. I know you don't see her too often, but I want her to be prepared."
Mulder sank back against the couch in shock, his lower lip creeping out.
"No, no, no, Fox," Santa said, shaking an admonishing finger at him. "You'd better not pout. I want that lip back in this minute, or everyone on this list will also be getting a nice large bar of Ivory soap in their stockings."
The protruding lip disappeared instantly. Santa nodded approvingly.
"There, that's better. Now, as you said, it's late and I do have an awful lot of stops to make-and all these special gifts to deliver. Now, off to bed with you-and I mean your bed, and not the couch, Fox. And remember-I see you when you're sleeping and I know when you're awake, so be good and maybe next year you'll be at the top of the 'nice' list."
"I may die of humiliation before next year," Mulder muttered. He glanced out the window and watched the rain still coming down.
"I hate rain at Christmas," Santa remarked. "I'll just have to do something about it."
"What can you do?", Mulder asked, curious in spite of himself, but when he turned back to his visitor, he was amazed to see that the man had disappeared, along with his bag and assorted gifts. In fact, there wasn't a single sign that he had been there. Mulder glanced right and left and then shook his head, already half convinced that he had dreamed the whole encounter.
Santa Claus? At his age? Bah humbug!!
He snagged the afghan off the back of the sofa, intending to stretch out for the rest of the night, but he heard Santa's final warning to sleep in his bed ringing in his ears. Feeling ridiculous but deciding it was wiser not to push it, he padded back to his room, pushed the accumulated junk off his bed and fell into a deep sleep.
He awakened the next morning, scowling at the rain still sheeting down. Another grim Christmas with nothing to do and no one to see, and now not even the promise of a visit to the park to check out the new toys the neighborhood kids had received. He walked slowly into his living room, half expecting to see some sign of last night's guest. Everything looked just the same as always, and Mulder shook his head, laughing to himself at his own gullibility. Obviously, one cup of eggnog mixed with one trite holiday movie equaled one bizarre dream.
He walked into his kitchen and opened the cupboard, trying to decide which sugar coated cereal to have for his Christmas breakfast. He grinned when he saw the red and green Rice Krispies. Scully must have slipped them into the cupboard last time she was over as a holiday surprise. Taking them off the shelf and snagging a bowl from the dish drainer, he sat down to enjoy his breakfast. He was just finishing his cereal when someone knocked at his door.
He pulled open his door, stunned to see his boss standing in the hallway, shaking off the rain.
"Uh, sir! What are you doing here?"
"Merry Christmas to you, too, Mulder. May I come in?", Skinner said, scowling as his glasses fogged up. He removed them and wiped them clean and then replaced them to stare at his subordinate.
"Uhm, yes sir, and merry Christmas. What brings you here on the holiday?", Mulder asked nervously.
"You left last night before we had a chance to discuss the plans for today. Since your place is on the way, I thought I'd save myself a phone call and just come to get you."
"Get me for what, sir?", Mulder said, puzzled.
"Dinner at Maggie Scully's. Surely you remember her mentioning it last night-before our rather unpleasant altercation?"
Mulder blushed slightly at the mention of his behavior. He did remember Mrs. Scully's insistence that he come for dinner, but he also remembered his polite but firm refusal. He had very definite rules about ruining two back to back family functions, but apparently Skinner hadn't gotten the word.
"Sir, I appreciate you making the trip here, but I already told Mrs. Scully I wouldn't be attending today. I just think it's better if I don't."
"Well, I'm countermanding your wishes, Agent Mulder. No one should have to spend Christmas alone when they've been invited to a family party."
"But, sir..." Mulder protested.
"Save it, Mulder. You can just consider agreeing to this your apology for your behavior last night."
Mulder sighed, realizing instantly that the older man was not likely to take no for an answer.
A thought suddenly occurred to him and he glanced at the clock. "Sir, if I remember correctly, Mrs. Scully said dinner would be around three o'clock. It's barely ten now. Don't you think it's a little early to be heading up to Baltimore?'
"Yes, I do Agent Mulder, but we have another matter to take care of. Would you happen to have any idea who might have slipped this particular item under my tree last night-without disturbing the security system in my apartment, I might add?"
Mulder stared in horror as his boss removed an all-too-familiar red paddle from his raincoat pocket.
"If this is your wacky hacker friends' idea of a joke, Agent Mulder, I find it in rather poor taste," the older man continued.
Mulder shook his head desperately. "No sir, I swear, I'm sure they didn't put it there. Let me just get rid of it for you," he babbled frantically, reaching for the wooden implement.
"Not so fast, Mulder. I said as a joke it was in poor taste-I didn't say I couldn't use it. So, you're sure it wasn't your friends, hmm? I wonder who it could have been? The director, perhaps? The ASAC on the Dorfman case? Or maybe Agent Scully has finally reached her limits."
"Oh, no sir, she's getting her own hairbrush," Mulder mumbled, and then looked up, horrified when he realized he had spoken aloud.
Skinner glared at him suspiciously, but Mulder wasn't saying anything more. "Well, obviously you know more about this than you're letting on, but I can tell you're not going to reveal your sources. No matter-I'm sure the giver knew I would know what to do with it. Frankly, I should have put one of these on my Christmas list years ago."
Mulder blushed as red as the paddle. "I'm sure whoever left it just meant it as a joke, sir."
"I don't think so, Mulder. It's much too beautifully crafted to be a gag gift. Now, my mother always said that the best way to express appreciation for a gift is to put it to good use. And after the way you've been behaving lately, both on the cases to which you've been assigned and at Maggie's last night, the best use I can think of right now for this gift is to apply it right where it would do the most good. That's why I came here early, son. I thought we could take care of this now, and that would give you some time to recover before dinner at Maggie's this afternoon. If I remember correctly, her dining room chairs aren't padded."
"Sir! You can't do this!", Mulder pleaded.
"Someone obviously thinks that you could benefit from a good paddling, or they wouldn't have gone to all the trouble to make sure I received this. Now, I'm certainly not going to argue, especially when I happen to agree", Skinner said, rolling up his sleeve.
"But, sir! It's Christmas!", Mulder wailed.
"Sorry, son, but when you behave like a brat for 364 days out of the year, you can't expect to get a reprieve on the 365th just because it's a holiday. Now, come over here to the couch."
Mulder stood his ground, ready to bolt, when he suddenly heard the faint strains of "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" coming from somewhere in the room. He glanced around wildly, but he couldn't identify the source. 'He knows if you've been bad or good, so be good for goodness sake...' came the words, and Mulder felt his heart sink. Realizing that further protest would be futile, he shuffled over to his boss, who was now sitting and waiting expectantly.
"Over my knee, Mulder. And let's lose the sweats, first." Mulder reluctantly complied, arranging himself gingerly over his boss's broad left thigh. He simply couldn't grasp the fact that he was draped, bare bottomed over his boss' lap, waiting to be spanked. Of all the horrible Christmases he had had in the past, this one was truly in a class by itself! He grabbed the nearest sofa cushion and hung on, waiting for the first swat. It connected with a resounding THWAP! and he found himself squeezing the sofa cushion in desperation.
"OUCH!!", he yelled.
"What a perfectly balanced tool," Skinner marveled, though Mulder couldn't share his appreciation. "I think twelve swats would be appropriate Mulder-one for each day of the Christmas season," the older man said with a chuckle.
"I think I'd rather have ten lords-a-leaping," Mulder muttered, gasping as blow number two landed. Long before Skinner had reached number twelve, Mulder was writhing on his knee and swearing to be good. Satisfied with the redness twelve licks had produced, Skinner helped the younger man adjust his clothes and climb to his feet.
"All right, Mulder, why don't you go back to bed and rest for a while and then take a shower. Then we can leave for Baltimore", his boss remarked kindly, feeling downright cheerful after delivering the most useful gift he'd ever given.
Mulder stopped rubbing his bottom for a moment to stare at the older man. "I don't want to rest! And I don't want to see Scully or her mother!", he yelled frantically. "They're both going to be after me! I hate wooden spoons. And Scully's going to know right away that that brush isn't for her hair!", he continued, almost incoherently, and Skinner stared at him, concerned.
"Mulder! Fox!", his boss grabbed his arm, trying to reach the distraught young man through his misery. "What are you talking about? What wooden spoon?" He grew truly worried as Mulder continued muttering about bath brushes and soap, so he firmly guided the younger man into his room and pushed him carefully down on the unmade bed. "Shh! Just rest, son. I'll be right in the living room," Skinner soothed, shaking his head in puzzlement at the strong reaction the spanking had produced. It had obviously been way too long since Mulder had experienced corporal punishment, a fact he intended to remedy in the coming year.
Mulder let his boss cover him up, and drifted off into a troubled sleep, wondering how to talk Skinner into letting him skip the holiday dinner at Mrs. Scully's. He awoke some time later, peeking his head out from under the blankets. He rolled over slowly and sat up, tensing in anticipation of the soreness he was sure he'd experience when his bottom touched the mattress. To his amazement, there was no pain at all. He bounced in place for a minute, but there was no protest from his butt. He shook his head and glanced out the window, noticing the light seemed odd. To his amazement, it was snowing, and clearly had been for some time.
"Hey, when did the snow start?", he yelled to his boss, surprised when the older man didn't answer. He turned toward the door, thinking that perhaps the older man simply hadn't heard him, but stopped and stared at the clock on his nightstand. It clearly read 9:23AM. Mulder scratched his head, confused. He clearly remembered noting the time right after his boss had arrived, and it had been close to ten. Was it possible he had slept right through Christmas and into the next day?
Sudden comprehension dawned and his face lit up with a huge grin. It had all been a dream! A silly, though amazingly vivid, dream!! He hadn't been visited by a jolly old elf, or a paddle-wielding boss, and there weren't any paddles with his name on them; no hairbrushes, or spoons.... Almost giddy with relief, he practically skipped into the living room---and skidded to a stop.
There, set up under a tiny tree, was a beautiful train set, complete with all the accessories. Without a doubt, it had to be the one from Mr. Kelso's window all those years ago. Mulder just stared at it in shock for several long minutes. It had to be from Scully, he finally decided. He must have mentioned his disappointment at not receiving the train all those years ago, and she must have filed it away as a future gift idea. Yeah, right!his mind supplied. But last night had to have been a dream! He suddenly noticed something else propped against the pillows on his couch. A beautiful red velvet stocking , trimmed in real fur, with his name emblazoned in glad across the top in that same flowing gold script. A note was attached. Mulder crossed quickly over to the couch and opened it.
"Fox,
Merry Christmas, my boy!
I know you've waited a long time for this train, but I hope it brings you pleasure.
Guess you weren't too naughty this year!
Never let yourself lose the magic, son.
And remember, I'll be watching!
Love,
Santa
PS-Told you I hated rain at Christmas!
Mulder stared at the note in his hand, and then back at the train. It just couldn't be possible...could it? Deciding for once that he was just going to leave a mystery alone, he dumped his stocking and found all kinds of silly things, as well as enough candy to have Scully scolding him well into the new year. He was just getting ready to set the empty stocking back on the couch when he felt one more thing tucked in the soft cloth. He withdrew the same long switch he had seen before. Attached was a tiny card with the words, "Just a reminder!" He felt slightly uneasy when he saw it, remembering the assortment of things Santa had pulled from his bag, but he was sure those other gifts had just been meant as a warning. Santa even wrote in his note that he hadn't been too bad this year!
He sank back on the floor, overcome with wonder and delight. Yep, this was one X-File that was going to get buried in the back of the filing cabinet. What did it matter anyway? Whether it was Santa or Scully, somebody loved him enough to make one of his childhood wishes come true.
He sat and played with his train for a few minutes, pausing only when the phone rang. Sure it was his partner, he picked it up and began speaking at once.
"Hey, Scully, Merry Christmas! You've just got to see what I got! And tell your mother, if the invitation is still good, I'd love to come for dinner!"
There was a long pause, and then he heard his boss' unmistakable voice. "Sorry to disappoint you, Mulder, but it's not Scully. But Merry Christmas just the same. And I'm glad you've changed your mind about dinner, because that's why I was calling. Maggie made me promise before I left last night that I'd make one last attempt at getting you to join us."
Mulder was startled to hear Skinner on the other end, but recovered quickly. "Sorry, sir. It's just that Scully is usually the only one who calls me Christmas morning." His happiness from his surprising morning made him feel light-hearted. "I'm sorry about last night, too, sir, and about my behavior on the Dorfman case. I promise you, it won't happen again."
"Glad to hear it. Agent Mulder. That's definitely a step in the right direction. But now, I have a question for you. Do you have any idea who might have left a beautifully wrapped package under my tree? The tag reads, 'To Fox Mulder's supervisor.'"
Mulder's heart skidded to a stop and then started up again with a lurch. "No, I don't sir, but you can't be too careful. As an assistant director with the FBI and all, you might be a target for terrorism. Better throw it away right now!! Or, even better, have the bomb squad blow it up!", the younger man suggested desperately, thinking fast.
"Oh, I don't think that's necessary. Let's just see what it is, shall we?"
There was a rustle and the sound of paper tearing, and then Skinner spoke into the phone again.
"Well, this is odd, Agent Mulder!... Agent Mulder?....AGENT MULDER??
He was speaking to an empty line. Mulder had already flown back to bed, trying desperately to fall back to sleep and erase another day!
THE END.....and Merry belated Christmas and happy New Millennium!