Title: Mulder's Christmas Gala
Author: Gina Rain (ginarain@aol.com)
Rating: PG-13 (mainly for author's smutty thoughts while 
writing)
Category: M/S UST
Spoilers: Post-How the Ghosts Stole Christmas. 
Archive: Sure, but drop me a line and let me know where. 
Summary: Scully's invited. Frohike has provided the 
libations. Mistletoe makes an appearance--of sorts.
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Don't send money.
Thank you and virtual cookies to my beta, Christina. May 
a less-obsessed Mulder-clone appear under your tree.


"Here you go," Mulder said, handing her a glass of thick 
yellow liquid. He sat next to her on the couch with a 
soft sigh of pleasure. Relaxing after a very wild and 
bizarre evening. Taking a load off. Something she rarely 
had the opportunity to witness. She focused her 
attention on the fluid that lazily sloshed against the 
sides of the glass, leaving an opaque film in its wake.

"What in the world is this?" Scully asked, gingerly 
sniffing the contents and wrinkling her nose in response 
to the alcoholic fumes that seemed to rise up and tickle 
her.

"Frohike's contribution to the annual Mulder Christmas 
gala: eggnog. Low on egg, heavy on nog."

"I don't know. . ." 

"Come on, Scully. Live a little."

"I think I've done enough living today, thank you. And 
some dying. . ." Her voice trailed off, confusion over 
what happened in the "haunted house" once again trying 
to sully her orderly mind. Of all the very many strange 
things that had happened to them, this was going down in 
the top ten.

She felt Mulder shift closer to her on the couch and 
watched as he gently clinked her glass with his own.

"Come on--there's not a dairy product in there. You are 
absolutely safe. I've been drinking the stuff for years. 
I don't know any Catholic toasts so-- 'to life.'"

Scully smiled. "To life," she repeated.

She took a quick swig of the drink and waved her hand in 
front of the glass. She realized how foolish she must 
look, trying to douse the fire in her gut by fanning the 
flames at the source. 

"I can't possibly drink this, Mulder. I've still got to 
drive home and make it to my mother's tomorrow."

"You could stay. I could start the Mulder Christmas Gala 
early. . ."

"No, Mulder. Really. I still have so much to do."

He frowned a bit. She could almost hear him mentally 
chastising himself for daring to take more of her time 
than he already had.  For not being grateful that she 
had spent most of the evening with him and, even after 
parting, had come back for more. 

She didn't want him to do that. The fact was she wanted 
more as well. She made the decision to come back. To 
give him his gift; to talk.  She didn't want to let go 
of the evening any more than he did.
 
"You're right. Thank you for dropping by, Scully. . .and 
for the. . ."

"I'll stay," she interrupted.

"What?"

"I'll stay."

"You don't have to stay because I guilted you into it."

"I didn't hear one word come out of your mouth, Mulder. 
And even if it had, I'm here because I want to be. 
You've never invited me to your Christmas gala before 
and--well, call it curiosity. And then later--call me a 
cab home because I won't be driving after this," she 
said as she lifted her glass to her lips.

"You can have my bed and drive yourself home tomorrow."

"Early," she warned, setting a limit for both of them.

"Early," he agreed.

She took another sip of her eggnog and relaxed against 
the back of the couch.

"I am going to get so loaded on this, Mulder. Drinking 
something this potent on an empty stomach."

"Are you dropping a hint?"

"I'm not sure it would do me any good. Do you actually 
keep food here?"

He cocked his head to one side and gave her a strange, 
sideways glance.

"Sometimes, Scully, you have some very strange ideas 
about me. I don't always throw out spoiled food --in a 
timely fashion--but I do manage to shop. I can even 
cook. Simple, straightforward meals. Don't go away."

While he went into the kitchen, Scully traveled around 
the apartment she knew so well. Nothing very festive 
here. The annual Mulder Christmas gala, indeed. The man 
spend the day with his fish and his television. She 
found that unbearably sad and not simply because it was 
a lonely existence for him. It was due more to the fact 
that she was about to spend Christmas in a situation she 
found far from comfortable when she'd rather be with 
Mulder. Two people with the same desire actively 
choosing to not fulfill it.  The magic of Christmas. 

Bah humbug.

Mulder returned with a tray of food. On it, a roll of 
Ritz crackers lay next to a jar of peanut butter and one 
of jelly. Potato chips, tortilla chips, another jar--
this time of salsa--and what looked like a box of 
expensive chocolates rounded out the menu.

"The truffles are my mother's contribution," he 
explained.

Scully bit back any comments she had over the 
nutritional value of Mulder's well-stocked larder as he 
set out the junk food on the coffee table and they both 
quietly ate in between sips of eggnog. Scully was 
starting to feel a small buzz, in spite of the food. 

"You know, this stuff is surprisingly good, Mulder. 
Tastes nothing like eggnog. . ."

"Which is a plus in my book," Mulder said.

"I'm not fond of eggnog either but this is nice. It has 
a very pleasant taste."

"Nice is a very deceptive word for it, Scully. Lethal is 
more like it. It can knock you on your ass, you know."

She would expect nothing less from an original Frohike-
recipe. She smiled at him. "Oh, I know."

She sat back against the couch when Mulder suddenly 
jumped to his feet and crossed the room to turn on the 
radio.  He quickly settled on an oldies station playing 
nonstop rock and roll Christmas songs. 

"May I have this dance?" he asked, as he stood before 
her.
 
She looked up in amazement.

"Here?"

"Well, we don't have an overabundance of choices."

She stood up slowly. 

He immediately reached out for her and soon was spinning 
her around the room to a very bouncy  "Rockin' Around 
the Christmas Tree." For her part, she could do little 
more than grab onto his upper arms and hope their 
various body parts would avoid the many natural booby 
traps in Mulder's tightly packed living room. 

The song finished and a slower tune came on the air. 
They were both flushed and coming down from the surge of 
adrenaline released during the energetic dance.  Scully 
moved one hand to Mulder's shoulder and felt her body 
relax as they held each other and shuffled their feet 
and bodies occasionally.

"Oh--I forgot to tell you something, Mulder," she said 
as she gazed at his completely serene face. "You'll get 
a kick out of this. Someone left us a Christmas gift 
earlier in the week.  An anonymous present left on our 
doorstep while we were out Tuesday. Addressed to 'Mr. 
and Mrs. Spooky.'"

"What was it?"

"A big bunch of mistletoe with a huge red ribbon 
attached to it."

She laughed lightly. He looked at her with an expression 
she couldn't read.

"You didn't hang it up," he said, after a moment's 
hesitation.

"No. Of course not. I threw it out."

"I see." She could feel his arms slightly loosen their 
grip around her. 

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. It means nothing. Just a comment. You tell me 
something, I understand it and signify my comprehension 
of said subject by uttering the boring, no-meaning 
behind it, generic words 'I see.'"

"Hmmmm. . ."

They did little more than shift their feet for a few 
more steps. Mulder released her and went to the couch 
and picked up his drink. 

She rounded the table and sat beside him. Picked up a 
cracker. Stared at it. She heard him take a deep breath.

"Tell me about a mistletoe experience, Scully."

"What?"

"An experience. Doesn't have to be your first. Any you'd 
like to share. The little redheaded girl must have had a 
line a mile long."

"Don't be silly."

"You never were kissed under the mistletoe?" She could 
hear the sarcastic skepticism in his voice.

"I was," her voice sounded defensive, even to her. "And 
I suppose you're going to claim to never had any 
mistletoe experience?"

"No. I have. Quite a bit. Before you--when I was just 
'single' Spooky Mulder--I was invited to join in various 
departmental parties once in a while. Alcohol was 
consumed. Warm them up and some of those straight-laced 
secretaries can really do a death grip on a guy's tie. 
Not to mention a guy's tonsils."

Scully scrunched up her nose in mock distaste.

"Sorry I put a crimp in your love life." 

She watched him shrug in response.

"So. . .you're not going to tell me? No. I guess you 
wouldn't."

"What is that supposed to mean, Mulder?"

"It means I can share experiences because none of mine 
mean anything. Yours are all very profound. Too profound 
to share with a business partner."

"A what?"

"Friend. Partner. Whatever. Forget it. It's not 
important."

She looked at him. What was bothering him went beyond 
her not sharing a mistletoe story with him. It was 
equally foolish, but she needed to know why it upset 
him. 

"You obviously have something to say, Mulder, and I wish 
you'd just say it. What would  have done with the 
damned mistletoe? You'd probably send it straight to 
Frohike to make sure there were no high tech audiovisual 
devices in it."

"Maybe. But once I found out it was just plain 
mistletoe--even if it was a joke--I'd put it up. Hang it 
right there in the office."

"Mulder…"

"Let them think that either we were going at it every 
time we crossed the threshold or Mr. and Mrs. Spooky, 
contrary to public opinion and all indications to the 
contrary, actually do have a sense of humor about 
themselves. But I guess finding it in the trash showed 
them, didn't it?"

Scully ran a hand through her hair. Why didn't she 
follow her initial instinct and leave while they were 
both feeling so good about each other? She watched him 
watch her and saw the anger dissolve as quickly as it 
had formed. He put his eggnog on the table.

"I'm sorry. That's why. . .I don't drink much. Ever. I 
get a little--testy. Tell me about your plans for 
tomorrow."

He was trying. She had to give him points for that. 

"You know my plans for tomorrow. Church, presents. . 
.early dinner with the family. Christmas carols. . 
.dessert and then home to a hot bubble bath. I bought 
peppermint soap for the occasion."

He nodded to himself, suddenly at a loss for 
conversation. He got up and brought the plates into the 
kitchen. She followed him.

"And your plans, Mulder?"

He turned sharply. As he knew hers, she knew his. Full-
well. He didn't have any.  She looked flustered at his 
direct stare. She hadn't meant anything by the question. 
Just wanted to keep the conversation flowing.

"I'm not--I'm not mocking you. I just. . .is this the 
most hopeless day of the year for you?"

"Hopeless?"

That was very smooth, she thought. What a time for her 
internal censor to take an alcohol-induced siesta.

"I'm not saying this right."

He looked thoughtful.

"No. I think I understand. It's actually a day that I 
could--and probably should--reflect on my choices. The 
decision I made--long ago--over what I would put my 
primary belief in. My primary faith. And how that choice 
really blocked out a world of possibilities for me. That 
could seem pretty hopeless. But I don't do that at all. 
I sit here and blow off the concept of Christmas even as 
I usually end up watching some old holiday movie on TV. 
I guess there is a small part of me that hopes that all 
is not completely lost. When I find the answers. . 
.possibilities still might be there. Still might be open 
to me. That's a bizarre form of faith, isn't it?"

Scully nodded. 

"I think maybe. . ." Mulder continued, then smiled, 
"maybe, I should shut up now."

"Why?"

"Because I was going to tell you about my initial gut 
reaction to the news of a certain plant-like present."

The catalyst for the glitch in their gala.

"Ah, the mistletoe. Tell me," she prompted.

"I liked the possibility."

"Of?"

"Of hanging the damned thing up. The two of us having 
maybe one too many of those rumballs Kimberly brings in 
every year and just looking up at it and. . 
.connecting."

Scully smiled. A full-out smile.

"Connecting?" 

"Yeah."

"I don't know, Mulder. My mistletoe memories are all 
pretty lousy. I was kind of--well, not the life of the 
party as a youngster. If I was near the mistletoe, some 
guys would actually walk around me. I think it was the 
braces. Others would push me under and kiss me on a bet. 
It was the source of a lot of teenaged angst. As I got 
older--there were kisses with pretty serious boyfriends 
but usually at family parties with my parents or 
brothers glaring at me over the public displays of 
affection."

Mulder led them back to the living room couch. He lifted 
the pitcher of eggnog he had brought with them and 
offered it to her. She nodded.

"Does your mom still hang the stuff?"

"Somewhere easily avoidable, thank goodness. Although no 
one is likely to be there that would accept the 
challenge anyway. Why? Do you want to come?"

She could see him bite back the smutty comment that 
naturally sprung to his mind.

"No. I think Bill's glare might go off the charts if I 
did. Can't have that."

"No, we can't."

Scully's eyes were half closed and she concentrated on 
Mulder's mouth as he took another sip of his drink.  She 
could feel him watching her. It was nice, lazy, and 
warm. 

"I. . .should shut up now, too," she said softly.

"Why?" he asked with amusement.

"Because I can't say I'm looking forward to going 
tomorrow."

"Today, you mean."

"Oh, yeah. Today. A few hours from now, really."

"That's not a surprise to me, you know."

She looked at him. He understood. It was not her 
family's fault that they were part of a celebration that 
held little joy for her. She would not punish them with 
her absence but it was comforting that someone besides 
herself knew and understood.
 
"I know you know."

She leaned closer to him and stared at his mouth, then 
dropped her gaze. Silly thoughts. All brought to the 
surface by this impossible evening. This impossibly and 
surprisingly intimate evening. He lifted her chin up 
with two fingers and she looked into his eyes.

"Don't," he said.

"Don't what?"

"Don't think so hard. So much. Christmas comes but once 
a year, Scully. Its brevity has a lot of advantages. The 
thought that it will soon be over gets you through the 
difficulties of the season and. . .the fact that certain 
things only happen on Christmas can make the 
anticipation--excruciatingly wonderful."

"Santa couldn't have said it any better, Mulder. You old 
romantic, you."

His eyes had a mischievous little sparkle to them that 
invited her next move while, at the same time, 
respecting her decision should she chose not to make it.

She made the move.

She leaned forward and gently pressed her lips to his. 
Warm. Home. A chaste kiss for Christmas. Nothing wrong 
with that. Nothing at all. They were safe with this. No 
explanations necessary. Except she realized it was 
Mulder's beautiful bottom lip that was softly returning 
her kiss. She had always said if the opportunity ever 
presented itself--there were a few things she'd like to 
explore. His lower lip was one of them. His upper lip, 
the other. Should she keep the promise she made to 
herself? She pressed her closed lips firmly against his 
three or four times before she moved back a quarter of 
an inch. She ran the tip of her tongue quickly over her 
lips and opened her eyes to glance down at his mouth. 
His lips needed a bit of moisture as well. They really 
did. 

She resumed her former position of mouth on mouth and 
licked his lips for him. Slowly. She felt his mouth open 
slightly in an expression of surprise and she ran her 
tongue across the silky wet inside surface of his lower 
lip. Right there.  was her Christmas present to 
herself.  She felt his hand slip from where he had 
placed it on her upper back, between her shoulder 
blades, to run up and cup the back of her head. Such 
large hands. Pushing her closer. Such a beautiful mouth. 

One more present. It was a greedy move but good old 
Santa had been far from generous the past few years and 
sometimes one had to take care of oneself.  She slipped 
her tongue into Mulder's mouth and tasted eggnog that 
had a sweeter flavor than even Frohike's non-patented 
moonshine. Mulder's moan brought her back to reality and 
she slowly backed away--almost reversing the order of 
their kiss. He followed her movements as she softly 
stroked his tongue with hers, licked the inside of his 
lips, the outside, and finished with three or four. . 
.or seven. . .firm kisses to his closed mouth.

When she backed away she kept her eyes closed for a 
moment. 

Good Lord. That was a bit much. That would probably 
require an explanation.

Time to face the music. 

She opened her eyes and found herself looking at a 
completely surprised and delighted Mulder. His eyes were 
dark and full of--what she would probably term "joy" in 
99 out of a 100 people--but this was Mulder. She didn't 
know what it signified with him.

"We can blame it on the booze, Scully."

Dear, sweet man.

"I didn't have that much."

"Um. . .mistletoe?"



"I threw it out, remember?"

"So. . .a special event that takes place once a year but 
when it happens it serves to give us. . .a little thrill 
of hope?"

Scully smiled. "A  thrill?"

"Um. . .to be uncharacteristically honest about such a 
subject, if I were to fully express the magnitude of the 
thrill, you would probably not only miss Christmas with 
your family but they might still be trying to reach you 
during the Rose Bowl."

 she thought as she felt her face 
flush and her mouth widen into a smile. Of course, she 
wouldn't say that. For once, she'd like to keep that one 
step ahead in their relationship marathon.

She looked at him for a moment. Glimpses. They were 
given glimpses. Of what they could have. Of what they 
would--someday have, or die trying.  Perhaps not a great 
gift to some but enough to keep them going.  

Time to assume her role as the voice of reason.

"But we have answers to find before exploring 
possibilities."

He looked down, regret etched on his face.

"Yes."

 She rose to her feet. 

"I think I should get some sleep now, Mulder."

"Okay.  The bed hasn't been slept in since I last made 
it--so, it's ready when you are. Take any shirt in my 
dresser to wear to bed. If, that is, you choose to wear 
anything."

"Santa has been good enough to you this year, Mulder."

He smiled.

"I don't have any complaints. Oh--and, Scully--should 
you happen to hear any moaning--rest assured it's not 
the ghosts."

She laughed softly. 

"Goodnight, Mulder. Merry Christmas."

He grabbed her wrist as she was about to leave the room 
and pulled her down to him. He put both hands on either 
side of her face and quickly kissed her nose.

"Only 365 days till next Christmas, Scully," he 
whispered, his breath soft and warm against her face.

"I can't wait, Mulder." 

She straightened up and made her way into the bedroom.

The End

Merry Christmas everyone.

    Source: geocities.com/ginarainfic