TITLE: A Christmas Peril
AUTHOR: Kestabrook
EMAIL: Kestabrook@yahoo.com
RATING: PG 
CONTENT: MSR, A
SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully's plans for a Christmas 
getaway suffer a setback, and Mulder's life hangs in 
the balance.
COMMENTS: For Courtney, and my Crystal Ship sisters 
who made a difficult year easier. Mega thanks to 
Laura, Michelle, FabulousMonster, Judie, and Catbird 
for great friendship and super beta work. Also, 
thanks to Charles Dickens for voicing no objection to 
my borrowing his idea.
SPECIAL THANKS: to Humbuggie for loaning me her 
character, Jack, and to Kimpa for her magnificent 
artwork. 
FEEDBACK: If positive or helpful, I love it!
DISTRIBUTION: Archive, if desired, after 9-21-01.
DISCLAIMER: X-Files characters are 1013's and Chris 
Carter's. All others are mine.
SPOILERS: VS 9 canon. Brief mentions of Jack Campbell 
from Humbuggie's fine "Matrix," and Clarissa McKinnie 
from my VS 8 story, "Shady Rest."

WEBSITE: A new one! Please visit:
http://www.geocities.com/kestabrook/Kestories1.html


A Christmas Peril
by Kestabrook


TEASER
11:55 P.M., December 24, 2001
Outside Springville, NY

"Mulder? Where are you?"

He smiled, his lips grazing the cell phone. "Hey, 
Scully, good to hear your voice. Merry Christmas, a 
few minutes early." Mulder's elbow rested on the car 
door as he pictured her on the motel bed, her face 
near her own phone. "I'm on the way. It's snowing. 
Did you notice?" 

"*Notice*? It's done nothing but snow, Mulder."

"We're in ski country. You have to expect this."

"I assume that means you're somewhere in western New 
York, then. Finally."

"Yeah. Almost to you...I think." He squinted into the 
blinding blanket of snow slamming into the 
windshield.

"Why do I not believe that? Could you perhaps have 
called me before this? It's been hours, Mulder. I 
would have called you, but I was afraid I'd find you 
were still in New York City. Anyway, the last time I 
heard from you, you were still in DC."

"I was busy all day, Scully. After the flight to New 
York City this morning, I was either at the precinct 
or at Jack's apartment. I wanted to get finished as 
quickly as possible. I told you I'd call when I was 
on my way. I needed to close out things for Jack." 
Jack Campbell, his old buddy from VCS who had left 
the FBI and become a New York City cop, had been shot 
to death not two weeks previous--a fact which made 
Mulder grip the steering wheel tighter as grief 
threatened his composure. "You aren't angry with me, 
are you?" 

"Maybe just a little. Here I am, only five minutes 
from Christmas, sitting alone in a motel in the 
middle of nowhere. I've driven in snow, and I've 
looked out at nothing but snow. I've been here 
waiting for you--over ten hours now--to show up for a 
*ski* vacation--though neither of us skis. Why would 
I be angry? Just because you and I could have been 
warm and cozy at my mother's house, waiting to 
celebrate the holiday with my family? Next year, if 
your email friend, Clarissa, suggests a vacation 
spot, get my okay before you make plans."

"Bah, humbug, Scully." Mulder winced from her rant.

"Bah, humbuggie, Mulder." 

"I haven't exactly had a great day," he told her. 
"Getting a flight out of New York wasn't easy, and 
once I did, we spent over three hours on the ground 
in Rochester. Buffalo couldn't clear the runways fast 
enough in this blizzard. The flight attendants showed 
'A Christmas Carol' twice--only movie they had 
onboard. We finally took a bus to Buffalo, and by 
that time, the only rental car left was a 1980 Ford 
Fiesta at 'Rent a Lemon'; I might as well be in a 
shoebox, as tiny as this thing is. My head hits the 
roof if I yawn."

"Too bad *you* don't have little legs," she replied. 
"You know, Mulder, the inn you sent me to was fully 
booked. I spent the day finding a motel with a 
vacancy." 

"But we had reservations--"

"My plane from DC to Buffalo was late, and it took me 
hours to get a rental car, then find Glenwood after I 
left the airport. Driving in this storm took hours. 
By the time I got to the inn, our reservations had 
been forfeited."

"Scully, I--"

"And, Mulder, you've dumped me during cases in the 
past; I've forgiven you for taking off with little or 
no explanation. But this morning when you dumped 
yourself from our flight and let me go on ahead, I 
was really shocked. I guess I wonder at your 
priorities. You know, you being able to get on 
flights whenever you want has to be one of the 
biggest Christmas miracles yet." 

"Scully, I'm sorry for the last-minute notice, but I 
needed to go to New York and finish taking care of 
Jack's things." He swallowed hard as he remembered 
the emptiness of his dead friend's apartment. 

"I realize that, but it could have waited, couldn't 
it? I mean, this was supposed to be a getaway for the 
two of us, Mulder."

"I *am* sorry, Scully." Mulder slowed the car's 
speed. He could no longer tell the difference between 
road and snowbank. "The NYPD *did* call me last 
night, asking if I'd help finalize Jack's case 
paperwork; some of them are going on vacation 
starting tomorrow, and they wanted to get it done. 
And I wanted to pack up Jack's apartment and get that 
off my mind before our time together. I figured doing 
both Jack-related things the same day would be 
preferable." He smiled. "I promise that when I get 
there, I'll make it all up to you." He hoped that the 
passionate scenes he imagined might fill her mind, 
too. "Where are you?"

She heaved a sigh. "I ended up in a town which is 
somewhat southwest of Glenwood and your Kissing 
Bridge--what a romantic title, by the way, for 
nothing but a ski slope. Springville is the town, and 
I'm in Room 8 of a motel called 'The Palace' which is 
about as grungy as cheap motels come."

"Springville? The Palace?" Mulder scowled. "I was 
there ten minutes ago! I took 219 'cause 400 was 
closed. I'm on the other side of Springville--"

"Better turn around then. If you'd called before you 
left Buffalo, you could be in this room right now," 
she murmured. "By the way, Mulder, you do realize 
that it's illegal in this state to talk on your cell 
phone while driving, don't you?"

"I'll hide it if I see any cops." His smile dwindled 
to a frown. "Can't believe I just passed you. I got 
lost, and a guy at a gas station gave me directions. 
That gas station was across from your motel." He got 
no response. "I'm looking for a place to turn around. 
I should be there in fifteen minutes. There's a good 
two feet of snow out here; it's not easy finding a 
driveway that's been shoveled. The plows must have 
been out all day, trying to keep up."

"Tell me about it. Those directions you gave me were 
worthless--at least in this storm. Too many roads 
were closed."

"Scully?" With the difficult drive and long hours of 
travel, he felt too fatigued to discuss much more in 
the car. "I'm sorry. I thought it would be better if 
you went ahead. And I should have called you sooner. 
I know I've screwed up."

"And it was all so avoidable. We could have waited 
until after Christmas to come here." 

Mulder scowled. "You could have stayed at your 
mother's if you'd really preferred that."

"*You* were invited, too."

"It wouldn't have been the same as this. Besides, 
your brother's animosity doesn't fill me with the 
Christmas spirit."

"Yeah, as if you know Christmas spirit." Scully's 
tone was matter-of-fact. "You know, Mulder, if we're 
going to go ahead in this relationship, you're going 
to have to face my family one of these days."

"I'd be glad to if your brother was ready to face 
me." He quickly swerved to miss a car whose 
headlights he'd hardly seen in the blinding deluge. 
"I would have gone--"

"Right. And looked edgy and unhappy the entire day. 
Mulder, you'd rather have been with the Gunmen, 
talking conspiracy theories, than with my family. 
You'd rather have been sitting alone at home watching 
a movie for the thousandth time."

"I would have gone if you'd insisted."

"Why should I have to insist? You were asked. It's 
only polite to accept. I would have liked to have--to 
have had you there...with me." She paused, then 
continued. "Too late anyway. Here we are, stranded in 
snow country. Yee-ha. Merry Christmas to you, too."

Mulder pulled the car back onto what he assumed was 
the road and slowed its speed to a mere crawl. "Look, 
we'll talk when I get there." When she said nothing, 
he added, "I'm looking for a turn-around. I'll see 
you in a few minutes." He ended the conversation and 
muttered in the car's stillness, "Unless you'd rather 
I just keep going." He then tossed his cell phone 
into the passenger's seat.

He now gripped the steering wheel as tightly as he 
could--partly because it was *that* hard to drive in 
the present conditions, and partly because he was 
frustrated with Scully. His fatigue and the day's 
earlier emotional upheaval didn't help matters 
either. The getaway had been Mulder's idea to curb 
his grief over his friend's death by sharing "secret" 
time with the person he most loved. But the past few 
hours may have spoiled that holiday getaway already--
for both of them.

"Damn it, Scully," he muttered, "this could have been 
so good."

Suddenly, headlights sprang from the darkness and 
headed straight toward him. They belonged to a 
tractor-trailer moving much faster than prudent on 
such a night. And they were too close. 

Mulder gasped as he pulled the steering wheel to the 
right and his foot slammed onto the accelerator. But 
he felt no relief as the car skidded and narrowly 
missed impact with the truck. Instead, he was 
conscious of a scream escaping his lips as his car 
plunged into a snowbank and cartwheeled. He passed 
into silence as the vehicle became airborne, flipping 
once before hitting the deep snow and sliding like a 
toboggan down a steep bank. Rightside up, it came to 
rest in a snowbank near the underside of a bridge. 

But Mulder was oblivious. His head had collided with 
the badly dented roof of the tiny car. A blinding 
pain raced through it, and he lapsed into 
unconsciousness. A blanket of white snow soon covered 
the car, obscuring it from the roadway above.

*****************************

ACT I
12:20 A.M., December 25, 2001

Scully, her hands on her hips and jaw set in a fierce 
scowl, continued to pace the narrow path between the 
motel room's bed and door. "Damn it!" she muttered 
between clenched teeth. "Damn him!" She no longer 
needed the blanket she'd tossed around her shoulders; 
her emotions warmed her enough.

The day had gotten the best of her. She was tired, 
worried, frustrated, annoyed, and relieved all at 
once, and she'd allowed those feelings to inject 
themselves into her conversation with Mulder. That 
wasn't like her at all. Where was her calm, steady 
exterior? Hearing his voice had been so welcome to 
her, and yet, she'd basically told him just the 
opposite. But then, why not? He certainly hadn't 
minded leaving her alone for the day, putting NYPD 
cops' happy Christmas before hers. Maybe he *should* 
know she didn't like being low on his list of 
priorities.

She'd tried to call him back, but he'd shut his phone 
off completely. And that was typical of him: dumping 
her one way or another.

She almost wished she *was* at her mother's right 
now, basking in the warmth from the fireplace, 
singing carols, drinking eggnog, and watching her 
nephew gaze at the lights on the gaily decorated 
tree. Mulder could have been home, alone, doing 
whatever he did on Christmas. Why make her prisoner 
to his lonely excuse for a celebration?

And why *had* she agreed to this getaway? What had 
intrigued her about spending a few days with Mulder 
at a wilderness resort? Just because they would be 
anonymous and could wander together amongst 
strangers, holding hands or wrapping their arms 
around each other, enjoying the public intimacy that 
other couples experienced? Scully shivered. Just the 
thought of being able to enjoy such public intimacy 
made her tingle.

Why did his work always come first?

With frustrated movements, her hands tugged at the 
tie of her white terry-cloth robe and then tore the 
garment from her shoulders. With even less caution, 
she removed the red, lacy negligee she'd bought 
specially for this night. She wadded it into a lumpy 
ball, and flung it into her suitcase. "Sexy" was not 
how she felt at the moment, and she refused to let 
Mulder see that negligee until she did. After re-
dressing in the business suit she'd worn for travel, 
she sat on the bed. She'd wait for him to arrive. 
She'd let him apologize again. She'd let him explain 
why a case took preference to her. Then she'd try to 
sleep. And in the morning, if his reasons weren't 
good enough, she'd leave him to enjoy his 
lonely Christmas.

**********************

12:30 A.M. 

Mulder decided that opening his eyes was a bad idea. 
The pain surging through his head was like a boulder 
impacting cardboard. He could feel the seatbelt still 
strapping him to the seat, and his head rested on the 
icy window. His knees ached, and he knew without 
looking that the dashboard was lodged against them. 
He felt lethargic, and moving his head from the 
window to the headrest seemed a gargantuan effort.

He wanted nothing but to sleep. In the thermal 
underwear, boots, and parka he'd donned before 
leaving New York City, he was insulated against the 
cold. He was upright, and suffering most from the sad 
realization that it might be some time before Scully 
cooled down enough to miss him. Getting out of the 
car wouldn't be prudent since he had no idea where he 
was, and night was far from over. He also doubted 
whether he possessed adequate alertness, balance, and 
energy to walk. Sleep sounded good. 

In his muddled mind, he slowly became aware of the 
steady clinking of metal hitting metal. It wasn't due 
to anything within the car; the motor had died when 
the vehicle hit the snowbank. He realized the sound 
was coming from beside him.

Mulder forced his eyes open, and he waited a moment 
for the resulting nausea to subside. As his vision 
focused, he found the car strangely illuminated, and 
he could see a spider's web of cracked windshield 
before him. But the clinking metal continued to 
attract his attention, and he let his head slowly 
pivot to the right.

And then he gasped and stared in disbelief. "Jack?" 
Beside him, basked in a faint, white light, sat his 
deceased friend. 

"Nice driving back there, Mulder. Were you trying to 
jump the creek?" 

"Jack?" The pain in Mulder's head throbbed, and he 
squinted against it. Still hearing the clinking, he 
noticed that Jack held a pair of handcuffs and 
repeatedly closed and then opened them. Mulder 
swallowed. "Jack, you're dead."

The apparition chuckled. "Yeah, I was the first to 
find out." He smiled. "Heck of a way to go. Bang! And 
dead Jack." 

Mulder stared closely at his old friend, seeing his 
blond hair and blue eyes shining in the light. "You 
were killed. I saw your body, Jack."

"Relax, buddy." He lightly punched Mulder's arm.  
"How many times a day do you get to see a ghost?" He 
laughed at Mulder's anguish. "I heard what you told 
your partner back there at the cemetery, by the way, 
and you were right. Where I am *is* a very happy 
place. You'll like it when you arrive."

"I can't believe it, Jack. This can't be happening. 
You're here, but you're dead."

"Believe it. And hey, you *could* be, you know. 
Dead."

"Now?" Mulder winced. 

Jack shrugged and pulled the metal cuffs apart once 
more. "Maybe. Or maybe not. It depends."

"What do you mean?" 

"You've been in an accident, Mulder. And not a 
'slight' one. Your car left the road, flipped, and 
slid down an embankment. Yeah, you landed rightside 
up, but you could still be badly injured. Or not. You 
could have massive head trauma or a mild concussion. 
You could freeze to death or maybe not. That's the 
beauty of an accident like this--so many things can 
change one way or another before you're found."

"I don't get it. Do you mean my injuries haven't been 
decided yet? That someone is going to choose whether 
I live or die based on some criteria?"

"Yep. That's what I mean."

"Who? And based on what?"

Jack snapped the handcuffs back together. "I don't 
want to get into that."

"Why don't you just take me now?"

"Aw c'mon. Give it a little fight. Surely you'd like 
to stay a while longer. Scully is waiting, after 
all."

Mulder grunted. "I'm not sure she wants to see me."

"That's crap, and you know it." 

"Not necessarily. Every good person I've ever had in 
my life has left or been taken from me. Or I've 
screwed up relationships until they're beyond repair. 
My sister. My parents. You. Others." Images of loved 
ones' faces floated before his eyes. He smiled sadly 
as he saw Samantha. "Maybe I *am* willing to go with 
you now."

"Not so fast, buddy. I think you're forgetting a few 
things. And not appreciating a few others."

"I think you're wrong."

"Look." Jack sighed and held up the handcuffs. "See 
these? They're what I wore during my life, but I 
never realized it until I didn't have life anymore. I 
was a guy who knew what he wanted. A cop who loved 
the job and devoted himself to it. And you know what? 
I missed out on a whole bunch of 'could have beens'. 
Just like you, Mulder. Now I admit, this idea of 
yours--this vacation with Scully--was good. You might 
have found some happiness. But what happened? You 
were willing to delay it for a dead friend? You're 
willing to give it up now after a few opposing words? 
You never give up on a case when faced with 
obstacles. In fact, they intrigue you."

"Yeah, well, this was different." 

"Bullshit," Jack countered. "You wimped out."

"Did not." Mulder rubbed his aching forehead.

"Scully made some good points in that argument, and 
you're ready to walk away from your vacation. That's 
wimping out."

"No, it isn't."

"Then what is it? What do *you* call it?"

"I call it 'letting Scully do what she wants'." 
Mulder closed his eyes and grimaced. "Maybe she was 
right. I should have let her go to her mother's. Her 
plans were set, and she changed them for me. She 
doesn't need me interfering. She doesn't even need 
me."

Jack laughed. "You don't have time for self-pity. Or 
for throwing away your personal life. You and Scully 
have both been doing that for years." His ghostly 
hand rested on Mulder's sleeve. As his old friend 
opened his eyes, Jack calmly warned, "You have to 
take the handcuffs off, buddy. You have to stop 
having 'could have beens'; stop sacrificing and 
ignoring what *you* want. You *can* do that; it's not 
too late for you."

"Life's not all about me, Jack. I find cases; Scully 
goes with me. I say 'Ready?', and Scully lines up. 
She always sacrifices for me, and this vacation is 
just another example. I'm selfish already; I don't 
think I 'sacrifice' much at all."

"Yeah, you do. You're constantly sacrificing personal 
happiness. So is Scully. And maybe you're both hungry 
for change. Do you think she only came here for 
*your* sake? Maybe she's looking for some personal 
happiness, too."

"You're wrong."

"Am I?" Jack scoffed. "I'll show you I'm not. And 
I've got some helpers who'll be along soon to offer 
you proof." He tossed the handcuffs onto the Fiesta's 
cracked dashboard. He followed those with several 
pieces of Mulder's cell phone and smiled at his 
friend's scowl. "I gotta go. Take care of yourself, 
man. And pay attention to what you'll see; you may 
find that you want to stay on this planet a while 
longer."  

As Mulder watched, Jack seemed to fade through the 
passenger's door. The faint white light followed him. 
In its illumination, Mulder glimpsed images of his 
parents and Samantha holding pairs of handcuffs out 
to him, and then they, too, faded away.

Mulder let his head sag against the headrest. As his 
eyes adapted to the darkness, he found he could see 
little; snow covered the windows and windshield. His 
body cramped and his mind foggy, he allowed the pain 
behind his eyes to take over, enveloping him in 
comforting depths of sleep.

************************

1:00 A.M.

Scully had begun pacing again, adding to her route 
between the door and bed an occasional stop at the 
window to ascertain headlights in the parking lot. 
Mulder wouldn't have taken an hour to find a place to 
turn around. She wondered if he'd been so angry 
with her that he'd decided not to arrive at all? 

She'd repeatedly tried to reach him on the cell 
phone, but he had obviously turned it off. And 
perhaps he was reluctant to call her. 

She wanted to kick herself, to take back her words. 
So what if she'd had a bad day? His couldn't have 
been any better. She'd made it safely and had 
actually looked forward to being here with Mulder, to 
being alone with him for a few days. 

The whole getaway was a complete secret. Almost. 
Until she'd driven to her mother's to make apologies 
for their absence during the holidays.

"A case, Dana? At Christmas?" Maggie had sat on the 
couch, her eyes showing concern.

"No, Mom," Scully had replied, blushing.

"But you're going to New York? Why?"

"Mulder and I...Mom...we just want to..."

Slowly Maggie had smiled, then nodded. "Going away 
together? Well, it's about time."

"What?" Certainly her mother could not know what she 
and Mulder felt for each other. Scully had kept it 
very well hidden--or so she'd thought.

"You and Fox owe it to yourselves to have some fun. 
Put down the badges; get to know each other."

"But Mom--" Scully quit trying to argue. Her mother 
merely repeated the thoughts she herself had had in 
the car. "You're not angry about me--us--not coming 
here for Christmas?"

Maggie had risen from the couch and straightened an 
ornament on the Christmas tree. "I'd love to have 
you--both--with us. But honey, you have to do what's 
best for you. You're always here for me. You can see 
Bill and Tara when you get back. In fact, we'll have 
another celebration then. How's that?"

Scully, smiling, had embraced Maggie warmly.

Scully checked her watch again. She checked the 
window. She went to the door, unlocked and opened it, 
and again felt the rush of frigid air and blowing 
snow in her face. The streetlights were faint in the 
white deluge, and judging from the snow piled atop 
the roofs of the cars in the parking lot, none of 
them were new arrivals.

"Mulder, where the hell are you?" she whispered.

Was it too early to call the police? And if Mulder 
was on his way back to the airport, how would she 
explain that to them or to emergency crews?

No, she'd wait. Or look for him herself. Sure, she 
could spot a little Ford Fiesta in a big snowstorm. 
He hadn't even told her what color it was. With her 
luck, it was probably white.

She sat on the bed, shivering from chills of fear. 
Something wasn't right for Mulder. She felt it in her 
bones.

***************************

1:05 A.M.

Mulder felt the presence before he turned his head. 
Again, a ghostly illumination filled the car, but he 
wasn't prepared what he saw.

"Byers?" He blinked to be sure of his vision.

"In a manner of speaking."

"You aren't a ghost--yet--are you?" 

"I prefer the term 'apparition'," Byers told him. 
"'Ghost' implies the spirit of someone who's 
deceased. And you're right: deceased, I'm not. But 
I've been called on to give you a glimpse of your 
past--for a purpose."

Mulder heard himself chuckle. "Oh my God, you're the 
Ghost of Christmas Past?" 

"I prefer 'The Apparition of the Grassy Knoll' if you 
don't mind." 

Mulder shook his head in disbelief. "Whatever."

"Now, if you'll just give me a few seconds..." 

Mulder's gaze traced the cord Byers plugged into the 
car's cigarette lighter to a small movie projector 
that was lodged between the front seats. An old movie 
reel's film was threaded into the projector and 
connected to an empty reel below.

"I haven't seen one of these in ages," Mulder 
muttered. "Did you steal it from your high school's 
audio-visual club?"

"Shhh. We're about to journey into your past. You 
don't want to miss a minute."

"I'm sure I don't," Mulder replied, doubtfully. He 
turned his eyes straight ahead as Byers indicated. 
The windshield had become a white screen.

The film began, and was yellowed and streaked by its 
age. He was about to tell Byers that so far his movie 
stunk, when suddenly, the living room of his 
childhood came into view.

Mulder swallowed quickly, instantly engrossed. He 
looked in nostalgia at the long-remembered chairs and 
couch. How often had he sat on that couch and stared 
at the 
walls, matching the patterns on the wallpaper or 
trying to discern seams of the individual strips? How 
often had he ridden his tricycle or, later, his big 
kid's bike through that room when his father wasn't 
looking? How often had he and Samantha sat on the 
floor, playing board games or watching television? 
His heart suddenly seemed to be lodged in his throat, 
and he bit his lower lip against the pain of 
remembrance.

Byers's hand on his arm returned him to the film. 

In the corner of the room stood the Christmas tree, 
its bright red, green, amber, and blue lights 
alternately blinking, its pine scent filling the air. 
A silver garland twisted lazily around the spruce, 
highlighting ornaments of Santas, stars, and candy 
canes. Below the tree, many brightly wrapped gifts 
invited anyone to open them. Without his feet moving, 
Mulder felt himself moving toward the tree. 

It was early morning. The sun's winter rays filtered 
into the room through the blinds and curtains, and 
fell softly on the stockings hung by himself and 
Samantha the night before. Each was filled to the top 
with gum, candy, and tiny, wrapped gifts, and he felt 
the slight tug of anticipation as he had when young. 
The room was nicely decorated with silver and red 
garlands, paper bells, and mistletoe in the open 
doorframe.

He wanted to sit on the couch again, to simply take 
in the moment and let the good memories from this 
room permeate his mind. But suddenly, voices came 
from upstairs. Hushed voices, whispering and barely 
containing their excitement. He watched as two pairs 
of slippered feet--one pair much larger than the 
other--appeared on the stairs, tiptoeing as quietly 
as they could. Mulder felt his eyes brim with tears 
as he saw seven-year-old Samantha descend, her dark 
eyes growing huge at the sight of the tree and 
packages. She was a beautiful girl whose innocence 
and sweetness beamed from her face, and Mulder wanted 
simply to hold and to protect his sister from the 
brutal future that would claim her.

He noticed that Samantha was followed by her older 
brother who looked like a gangly geek. He watched as 
the younger version of himself alternately scowled at 
his sister then looked back upstairs.

"Samantha!!" the young Fox whispered. "We shouldn't 
be down here yet. Remember what Mom and Dad told us? 
No looking at the presents until they get up."

The little girl reached the bottom of the stairs 
before he did. "We won't tell them, will we, Fox? 
Let's just look," she pleaded. "I just wanna look."

Her brother frowned; then his face softened. He put 
his hand on her shoulder. "Okay. But they'll be 
getting up soon."

Samantha gave him a big smile and jumped for joy, 
soundless because of her small frame and light 
weight. She scampered forward, her eyes twinkling as 
she got a closer glimpse of the tree and gifts.

"Oh, Fox," she marveled. "They're beautiful." She 
sank to her knees before the tree. Her tiny fingers 
reached out gingerly to touch the ribbons and then to 
feel the packages. "This one's mine!" she exclaimed, 
reading the tag on a large, shoebox-sized package. "I 
wonder what it is?"

Young Fox joined her, his lanky frame hovering above. 
"So's that one--and that one," he observed, pointing 
out various packages. 

"That one's for you!" Samantha exclaimed.

The older Mulder glanced where the young girl 
indicated, and he grinned in spite of the wetness in 
his eyes. He remembered that the box held his Spock 
Star Trek uniform, complete with pointy ears.

"What is this?" Bill Mulder's voice suddenly bellowed 
from base of the stairs. Mulder and both of the 
children whirled at its sound. "You're not supposed 
to be down here. Fox, we said that you both were to 
stay upstairs this morning."

Young Mulder's face dropped. "Yes, Dad. I'm sorry."

"It's m-my fault, Daddy," Samantha stammered, her 
eyes still shining with excitement. "I asked him--" 

"No, it's mine. I shouldn't have let her come down," 
Fox replied. He stood in front of his sister, 
shielding her from their father's reaction.

"No, you shouldn't have. I left the responsibility in 
your hands, and you didn't carry through." Bill 
Mulder suddenly turned to his wife who was now at his 
side and gripping his arm.

"Bill, never mind. It's Christmas."

Their father scowled briefly and then sighed. "Fine. 
But do as you're told next time, boy."

Fox nodded and moved to sit on the couch.

"Mommy, can I open this one? Can I please?" Samantha 
held the large shoebox.

Glances from the parents ensued, and then Teena 
Mulder smiled. "Of course, sweetheart. But only this 
one before breakfast." She turned toward her son. 
"You, too, honey. Choose one and open it."

Young Fox went to the tree. He chose a small package 
that he instantly and disappointedly realized was 
"clothes." He undid the wrappings and thanked his 
parents for three new pairs of underwear.

The older Fox shook his head, nearly laughing at the 
despair on the young boy's face. Underwear was not 
the greatest Christmas gift, but there would be worse 
problems in this boy's life. 

He then turned his attention to Samantha who was 
slowly tearing paper away from the box she held. She 
had already neatly removed the ribbon and bow and 
placed them beside her in a separate pile, and now 
she was ready to lift the top from the shoebox.

Her eyes again widened as she peeled back tissue 
paper and let her tiny fingers fall on the silky 
white garment folded inside the box. She lifted it 
out carefully, as if handling would cause it harm, 
and revealed a child-sized wedding dress. Her lips 
formed a constant "Oh!" as her gaze wandered over the 
beaded patterns on the lace bodice, and over the long 
train that descended the back of the gown. "Mommy, 
it's beautiful." 

"There's more in there," her mother urged.

Samantha gingerly clasped the dress in one hand and 
lifted a veil from the box with the other. She 
squealed in delight. "Mommy!! Can I put them on? 
Right now? Can I wear them forever?"

"Certainly, darling. Here, let me help." 

Together, mother and daughter walked toward the 
bathroom, Samantha still ogling the gown held softly 
in her hands. 

Bill Mulder sat in an overstuffed chair and turned to 
his son. "Are you going to model your gift?" 

Young Mulder snorted. "No!"

"I'm glad," the man laughed. "A bride and a boy 
modeling underwear are just too much in one day."

Young Fox smiled but then grew serious. "I'm sorry, 
Dad. I knew we were supposed to stay upstairs."

Bill Mulder waved his hand. "Worse things happen in 
this world, son. Don't worry about it."

"I should have done what you asked."

"It's all right, Fox. Everything turned out fine." 
Bill smiled at his son but turned his attention 
toward the bathroom when the door opened.

Samantha stood in the hallway, cautiously running one 
hand over the smooth fabric. Teena had arranged the 
girl's long, dark hair and then fixed the veil on the 
crown of her daughter's head. 

"Here she is!" Teena said proudly. "A lovely bride!"

Samantha gleamed up at her mother who hugged her. She 
then joined her hands in front of her and around a 
big wad of toilet paper bunched up and looped as in a 
bouquet. She took one step, then paused before taking 
another, humming the Wedding March as she made her 
way into the living room.

Older Mulder suddenly felt as if he'd been punched in 
the stomach. Samantha had played "wedding" since 
their parents had taken her, at age four, to a 
cousin's nuptials. The radiant bride's image had been 
engraved into his sister's mind, and it hurt now to 
be reminded that Samantha had never lived to see her 
own wedding. He nearly doubled over with the torment, 
but instead, he turned from the sight of the little 
girl's dreams and happiness. 

"Byers?"

"Seen enough of that one?" The apparition softly 
touched Mulder's shoulder. "A happy Christmas."

"Our last one," Mulder whispered.

Suddenly the film stopped. Mulder felt his headache 
return, and when he reached up to hold his head 
between his hands, he noticed tears on his cheeks. He 
wiped at them quickly. 

Byers was loading another reel onto the projector.

"There's more?" Mulder closed his eyes in despair. 

"Oh yes. We wouldn't want to stop there."

"We wouldn't?"

"You've more to see. More to learn. Now, shhhh."

Against his better wishes, Mulder saw the second film 
start. He instantly knew what it would show.

He found himself in the same room, but it had 
changed. Early morning sun again filtered through the 
blinds and curtains, but the rays did not fall on any 
tree or ornaments. There were no stockings or gifts. 
No garlands. No lights.

The room looked disheveled. Newspapers, magazines, 
letters, and envelopes had fallen onto the floor from 
the stands or racks onto which they'd originally been 
tossed. A film of dust coated the furniture, and a 
small footstool was overturned.

Young Mulder, a year older, sat alone on the couch. 
His older counterpart noticed that the boy had traded 
gawky gangliness for budding coordination and muscle 
tone. The boy's eyes, now sad and haunted, stared at 
the floor where the tree had stood the previous year. 
Where his sister had once been overwhelmed with a 
play wedding dress. 

"Christmas, 1973," Byers observed.

"I know."

"I thought you might."

Slowly, slippered feet descended the stairway, a blue 
robe gently sweeping their tops. Teena Mulder stopped 
when she saw her son in the morning light. 

"Fox? Why are you up so early?"

The boy started at his mother's voice. He stared at 
her vacantly, trying to remember what she'd just 
asked. "Couldn't sleep," he finally replied quietly.

She afforded him a small, melancholy smile. "Nor 
could I." She moved into the room and sat in a chair 
opposite him.

Mulder noticed that she carried a large shoebox in 
her hands. It wasn't wrapped, and he could easily see 
it was Samantha's box from the previous year. Young 
Fox had noticed, too. Yet the child had other things 
on his mind.

"Is Dad coming home?"

"No." She lowered her head. "He's in Washington."

"But it's Christmas."

"Not to him," Teena muttered. "Not to any of us."

Fox's face darkened, and he nodded. "Maybe he'll find 
Samantha today. Or this week."

Teena shook her head. "We'll never find her. Never." 

"Mom? Dad's looking. And the police. And the people 
Dad works with. They'll find her."

Teena didn't respond. In the silence, her fingers 
unconsciously smoothed over the box on her lap.

"What is that, Mom?" The young boy's face showed a 
spark of curiosity through its despair. He seemed to 
choose to put his mother's pessimism from his mind.

"It's nothing," Teena croaked.

"Was it for Samantha?"

His mother absently nodded. "I-I don't want to put 
it--away. I wanted her to have it. I wanted her..." 

"Did you make it?"

Teena's hands went to her eyes. "Yes." She sniffed 
and wiped at her tears. "I finished it in early 
November. Just before..." She trailed off, but both 
knew what she had planned to say.

"Can I see it?" The boy's voice was quiet, patient. 
As he saw his mother nudge the box toward him, he 
stood and drew a wadded Kleenex from his pocket. 
Unfolding it, he slowly approached his mother. He 
handed her the tissue, and she gratefully clutched 
it, turning her head and wiping at her tears.

Young Fox quietly lifted the lid from the box. His 
eyes went from what was inside to his mother and then 
back. "It's great, Mom. She would love it."

"Byers," the older Mulder suddenly exclaimed, his 
voice cracking, "I don't want to see this." He tried 
to shift position and stop watching. "I know what it 
is."

"What?" the apparition asked. His hand on Mulder's 
shoulders prevented the sullen man from turning away. 
"What is it?"

Teena's voice continued in the background, "I made it 
for her--after she saw that show on TV..."

"The beauty pageant gown," Mulder replied softly.  
"She even made a sash. My mom. She crocheted the 
words 'Miss Massachusetts' on it. And there was a 
crown made of aluminum foil." Mulder again tried to 
look away from the movie's images.

"Why don't you want to see this?" Byers wondered.

"Mom, it really is great," young Fox was saying. 
"When she comes back--"

"She won't come back!" Teena suddenly screeched. She 
stood and hustled toward the stairs. "She will never 
be back, Fox! Your sister is gone forever!" Her sobs 
echoed loudly behind her as she slammed the door of 
her upstairs bedroom.

Young Fox's expression clouded with unreachable 
desolation. He slowly put the lid on the shoebox and 
then lifted the package. He plodded to the bathroom, 
opened the towel closet, and put the box in the back 
corner of the lower shelf. Closing the cupboard, he 
stood with his back to it. His face wrenched in a 
battle to hold his emotions in check, but finally he 
succumbed, and he clutched his head. Tears fell. His 
mouth opened in a desperate silent scream. Slowly, he 
slid down the wooden doorway until he sat on the 
cold, tile floor. Alone in his grief. Alone in his 
fear. Alone on Christmas. 

The older Mulder's shoulders sagged as he watched the 
scene. His hands clasped each other behind his neck, 
his forearms embracing his head. His eyes were 
squeezed closed in anguish; his jaw set as if to 
fight back any outward emotion. He sighed heavily. 

"C'mon, you still haven't answered my question," 
Byers called. "Why not see the rest of this film?"

Mulder turned toward him, anger and despair evident. 
"Because she never got to wear that dress either. 
Don't you understand? That was the end of Christmas 
for us. For me. I never celebrated it after Samantha-
-was gone. After my mother said those ttthings, there 
was nothing in that holiday for me anymore. There was 
nothing *between* any of us. My mother. My father. 
Me. Nothing. It was the end of--" He closed his eyes 
again; his head pounding.

Mulder shivered. He hoped Byers would leave. He 
wanted to relax and get on with dying.

"Ready for the next one?"

Mulder groaned at the Gunman's voice. "No more. I 
don't know what you're trying to teach me; it's not 
working. Just let me sleep, will you?"

"After 1973, what was your best Christmas?"

"I haven't celebrated Christmas since then."

"Yes, you have. At least once. Think."

Despite his lethargy, Mulder's mind focused on Byers' 
words. A faint smile graced his lips. "1999."

"Right. There you go."  

"In a stupid, haunted house." The smile vanished. "I 
nearly got us killed."

"But you didn't." The projector started again. 

"It was nightmarish, Byers."

"Not all of it. Who visited your place afterward?"

Mulder's eyes opened. "You have *that*? On film?"

"Yes, you and Scully. You had a good Christmas." 

"The best--in a long time." Mulder stared at the 
windshield, imploring images to come and cheer him.

"Why was it the best?" 

"That's sort of a no-brainer, isn't it? We had a good 
time together."

"Yes, 'together'." Byers sat back in the seat, 
satisfied. "You and Scully. Did you ask her to visit 
you that night--at your apartment?"

"No," Mulder laughed. "That visit shocked me. I 
thought she'd never want to see me again."

"Sort of like tonight?"

Mulder scowled. "You gonna show the film, or not?"

"You said--a while back--that Scully wouldn't want to 
see you again after today's fiasco."

"That's different. I took her from her family--"

"Just like you did in 1999?"

"Yes...no... At least we were nearer to DC then."

"But she came when you asked her to. Both times."

"Start the film, would you?"

"Maybe she likes being with you--as you like being 
with her."

"Byers! The film?"

"Fine, Mulder. But I ran this one forward a bit."

Mulder had hoped the film would start when he'd first 
opened his door to Scully that night. But he saw the 
two of them already on his couch, instead, their 
gifts to each other opened and lying on the coffee 
table. The television flickered another viewing of 
'It's a Wonderful Life'," and he decided that this 
was a good enough place to start.

He gazed at the older version of himself first, 
noticing how much he'd changed over the years. Of 
course, he'd viewed childhood to adulthood in just 
minutes, but the change was remarkable. He was much 
taller. Still slender. Much more experienced; he 
could see it in the face, eyes, and demeanor.

And Scully. Just seeing her on the screen before him 
made his body tingle and want. Made him sorry for the 
words they'd exchanged earlier. Made him sorry he'd 
"dumped" her the previous morning instead of flying 
to Buffalo and driving to the countryside with her. 
Made him regret not being in the motel room with her 
right now, continuing to make up for eight years of 
denial. Gazing at her in this film, he could almost 
taste her lips; smell her skin's lovely, fresh scent; 
see her body arching passionately under him as he 
made love to her. Suddenly the cold he'd felt in the 
car vanished, and he was almost ready to shed his 
coat.

"Scully, are you sure you shouldn't be at your 
mom's?" Movie Mulder was asking.

"I'll be there tomorrow. Tonight I--I don't know. I 
just wanted to be--with you, Mulder." She was seated 
very closely to him on the couch. Her arm rested 
against his. 

"I'm glad you're here."

"I'm glad I am, too."

"More?" Movie Mulder passed the microwave popcorn.

Scully reached in and grabbed a handful of the salty 
white morsels. "Is this still our third bag?"

"Yeah. You want another?"

"No. I'd better quit with this one." She munched a 
few pieces. "I have to be able to eat tomorrow. Mom 
always fixes such huge meals. Turkey, mashed 
potatoes, gravy, stuffing, sweet potato pie, dinner 
rolls, and at least five different desserts."

Movie Mulder nodded. "Sounds nice."

"It is. Well, it used to be." She crunched another 
piece of popcorn. "With my dad and Melissa gone, it's 
just not--not the same." 

Movie Mulder looked at his partner, watching her eyes 
moisten as they stared at the TV screen. "Yeah, I 
know how that goes." 

Both his and Scully's feet were propped on the coffee 
table, and his hands rested on his drawn up thighs. 
From the corner of his eye, he noticed her putting 
the popcorn bag beside her. She placed her right hand 
atop his left. He turned his palm and took hold of 
her hand. 

"We both know loss, Mulder. Christmas isn't Christmas 
unless you're with the ones you love most." 

"Yeah." Movie Mulder squeezed her hand and noticed a 
crumb of popcorn stuck just beneath her lower lip. He 
reached over and gently brushed it away. His thumb 
gently brushed her lip as well, and her mouth opened 
slightly in response. He wanted badly to kiss her 
then, but he settled for his hand slowly, softly 
gliding over her cheek, resting there, and then 
returning to his thigh.

Scully turned toward him, her eyes searching his. She 
lay her head on his chest as he lifted his arm and 
rested it across her shoulders. She nestled snugly 
against him; his lips touched her hair.

Suddenly, Byers turned off the projector. Noting 
Mulder's disappointment, he tore the newest reel from 
the machine and put it in a camera bag. "Sorry. My 
time's up. Can't show you the rest of this one. Your 
own memories will have to suffice."

"Wait!" Mulder winced as his head shot him a warning 
jolt of pain. "Byers! I want to see it!"

Byers hovered above the seat. "Gotta go, Mulder. But 
another apparition will be along in a minute." He 
began to drift through the car's passenger door and 
meld with the snow, his mustache and beard standing 
out against the white substance. 

"But I want to see the rest of that movie--" Mulder 
stopped. Byers had disappeared completely, as had the 
illumination that had filled the car. 

Mulder's head sank to his chest. His mind allowed him 
to see Scully held tightly to him, to hear her 
laughter as they watched movies until nearly dawn, to 
feel her closeness to him on the couch. 

Suddenly, images of young Fox crying alone on the 
floor of the bathroom and of Samantha wearing a 
wedding dress replaced thoughts of Scully. 
Overwhelmed by conflicting emotions, Mulder clutched 
the steering wheel and sobbed in the cold darkness.

**********************

ACT II
1:30 A.M., December 25, 2001

"With whom am I speaking, please?" Scully asked. 

"Deputy Kyla Heffen of the Springville town police, 
ma'am," came the woman's voice through the cell 
phone's receiver. "How can I help you?"

Scully paced. "I'm--." Since she and Mulder were on a 
secret getaway, identifying herself as an FBI agent 
wasn't smart. "This is Dana Scully at The Palace 
motel. I've been waiting for the last ninety minutes 
for my--friend--to arrive. I talked to him at 
midnight, and he planned to be at this motel within a 
few minutes. He hasn't arrived yet."

"It's not a great night out there. Hard travelin'."

"Yes," Scully sighed. "I noticed. That's my point. He 
had gone past the motel, and he was going to turn 
around and come back."

"This isn't much of a town. How'd he miss it?"

"That's a long story." Scully said. "We had 
reservations at an inn in Glenwood, but between my 
flight being late and the roads being bad, the 
reservations were forfeited. But my--friend--took a 
later flight and didn't know that."

"I see. Well, has he called you since?"

"No, and I can't reach him on his cell phone. I think 
he may have...turned it off."

"Why? Does he keep it turned off normally?"

Scully rolled her eyes. "No, but..."

"You two were fighting, eh?" The woman chuckled. 
"Wouldn't be the first time a man didn't show up 
after he and the little woman had a spat."

"No," Scully argued. "He's not like that. He might 
turn it off, but he'd still come here."

Deputy Heffen still laughed. "When did you expect him 
to arrive?"

"Just after midnight." 

"Ma'am, what do you expect me to do? He hasn't even 
been missing for two hours yet! I can't file a 
missing person report on him."

"I know that. I--I guess I'm asking if any accidents 
have been reported. If any names...?"

"Any accidents? On a night like this? Yes, we've had 
*a few* reported," Heffen sneered.

"And?" 

"'*And*?' And those injured have been taken to 
Bertrand Chaffee Hospital here in town. All the roads 
around us are closed; our ambulances aren't about to 
take those people elsewhere."

"Can you tell me who was injured?"

"No, I can't. And I won't. Not all families have been 
notified yet. You can call the hospital if you want 
to know that information."

"Fine." Scully resented keeping her FBI status 
secret. "Can you at least tell me if any Ford Fiestas 
were involved?" 

Deputy Heffen rustled paper for several seconds. 
Finally, she drew a deep breath. "No Ford Fiestas."

Scully's head dropped--partly in relief and partly in 
worsening fear. If Mulder *had* been in an accident, 
then he'd not yet been found. "Thank you. Will you 
call me if any reports *do* involve such a car? 
Please? My friend's name is Fox Mulder."

"*Fox*?" Heffen giggled. 

"I'm in Room 8. I'd appreciate a call, Deputy."

"All right, ma'am. Have you called the bars around 
town? Maybe he stopped to wash away his troubles."

Scully accepted the tip. Reluctantly, Scully had to 
bow to the logic of the suggestion. "I'll do that."

"Okay. And don't worry. I'm sure he'll come home to 
the nest when he gets--you know--the urge."

"Thank you," Scully said between clenched teeth. 
After hanging up, she searched the nightstand for the 
phone book. Grabbing it from a drawer, she let her 
fingers race through the yellow pages. She looked up 
"taverns" and "bars," and was disgusted to find that 
those pages had been torn out. 

She next opened the door and looked toward the motel 
office, hoping she could find an undamaged phonebook 
there, but the office was dark. She ducked back into 
the room when a strong gust of icy wind whacked her 
face and nearly gagged her. As she panted, she 
realized there had been no snow in the wind. Peering 
through the window, she found that the storm had 
finally stopped. Now, the wind lifted powdery snow 
and formed it into drifts like sand dunes. As a 
snowplow went by on the main road, she decided that 
phone calls wouldn't do.

Moving to the desk, she found stationery and a pen, 
and wrote a hurried note to Mulder should he arrive 
while she was out. She left the note on the bed, but 
the shivers she suffered told her that he wouldn't be 
back on his own.

Scully buttoned her coat and pulled the collar up. 
Grabbing her gloves and keys, she hastily bolted from 
the motel room, leaping through the deep snow to get 
to her car.

**********************

1:35 A.M.

"Hey, Mulder? Is your face melting, or what?"

The voice came from the passenger seat, and Mulder 
quickly wiped away tears. He straightened himself, 
ignoring the shooting pains in his head. Again, the 
car was illuminated, and again, an apparition sat 
beside him. He was not surprised to find Langly, the 
long-haired Lone Gunman.

"Ghost of Christmas Present?" Mulder muttered.

Langly shook his head. "Apparition of Cyberspace."

"I should have known. And what will you show me?"

"Christmas present. Well, not *a* Christmas 'present' 
but the present Christmas."

"I had that figured out."

"Yeah, well, you win a prize." Langly started to open 
the flap of a leather carrying case. "I'm here to 
show you how much you mean to people."

"Yeah, right. Good luck." Mulder watched his friend's 
movements. "What, no projector this time?"

"In the days of cyberspace?" Langly chided. "You must 
be joking." He produced a laptop computer and let the 
leather case fall to the car's floor. "Yo, Mulder; 
man, check this out! One point zero gigahertz 
processor, 256 MBs of RAM, twenty gigabytes of hard 
drive, DVD capability, twenty-one inch screen, 
ultralight notebook..." Langly smoothed his hands 
reverently over the computer. "I'm tellin' ya, this 
baby isn't just state of the art. This is so far 
superior--"

"Why not just use a portable DVD player?"

"Why eat one chocolate chip when you can have the 
whole cookie?" the apparition countered. "This laptop 
is so much more--"

"If I could interrupt your worship," Mulder murmured, 
"could you tell me why you're here?"

"You know why I'm here. I'm supposed to show you the 
Christmas that could have taken place today."

"Then can we get on with it? I'm a little cold here. 
And a little bit ready to either die or get the hell 
out of this car."

"Voila!!" Langly exclaimed. "Your wish is my 
command!" He twirled a DVD in his fingertips and held 
it before his eyes as if appreciating the technology 
for the first time. He then placed the disc inside 
the laptop, hit a key, and watched as the screen lit 
up. 

A snapshot of Langly's face appeared in the lower 
case "g" of a homemade logo proclaiming "Langly 
Multimedia Productions." Mulder smirked. "You're 
gonna be right up there with Paramount, huh?" 

"Laugh now, but that will be reality someday."

"Yeah, and Santa Claus is real." 

Langly's jaw clenched as he bit back resentment. 
"Shh. Just watch the disc." He balanced the laptop on 
the steering wheel's top and dashboard so Mulder 
could see better. As a menu popped up on the screen, 
he clicked on one of the items. "Christmas 2001 
coming up."

Mulder watched as the Langly logo dissolved into the 
living room of Maggie Scully's house. Instantly, he 
felt the room's warmth, not just from the furnace, 
fireplace, and the yellows and browns of the room's 
furnishings, but from Maggie's cheery smile and 
hospitality.

Near the bow window stood a tall, decorated tree. 
Plenty of red bows, candy canes, and gold or silver 
ornaments hung from its limbs. Tinsel and white 
icicle lights sparkled throughout the tree, and many 
gifts lay piled two and three deep on the floor 
beneath it. Bill Scully, Jr.'s four year old son 
stood before those packages. Little Matthew's round, 
blue eyes gazed in awe at the sight.

Mulder glanced at the clock, finding the time to be 
1:02 P.M. He could smell the cooking turkey, 
potatoes, sweet potato pie, and a variety of spices. 
His aching head swooned, and his dry mouth watered. 
Nothing matched Maggie Scully's cooking.

Suddenly, Langly reached over again and clicked on 
the laptop's mouse. Mulder found himself propelled 
from the living room into the kitchen. And though the 
smells were now more potent, his mouth wrenched in a 
sneer. Maggie stood at the kitchen's island, her 
apron showing a Christmas Currier and Ives drawing. 
But Bill Scully, Jr., leaned against the sink.

"So she's not coming?" Bill was asking. "Why not?"

Maggie placed sprigs of parsley on a meat platter. 
"She's vacationing somewhere near Buffalo."

"Vacation?" Bill's disdain echoed in his voice. "When 
she knows the family is together?"

"She deserves it, dear. She felt she had to get away, 
and I agreed. And you know Dana; if something's on 
her mind she has to act on it."

"Like her shift from medicine to superagent?"

Maggie ignored his comment. "How many times have we 
had this conversation? It's Christmas, darling. I've 
not seen you, Tara, and my grandson for quite a 
while. I'd just like to enjoy the day."

"Mom, you and I both know what turmoil that decision 
added to Dana's life. We've both seen the tragedy it 
brought to this family. It killed my sister, and it's 
nearly killed Dana many times."

"Shhhh!" Maggie warned, noting the rise in her son's 
volume. "Matthew and Tara will hear you."

"Tara knows how I feel. It's not new to her."

"That's not the point--"

"No. The point is," he said angrily, "that Dana keeps 
running from everything that could make her happy. 
She could have had a safe career in medicine. She 
could have had a husband and children by now. She 
wouldn't be rushing off or hanging on every word of 
her worthless excuse for a partner."

"Stop it, Bill. Just stop it." Maggie's hands were 
now clutched against her chest, her face stern in 
anguish. "Yes, Dana could have picked a safer 
profession, but she's happy with her decision. All 
I've ever wanted was for my children to do with their 
lives what they felt best. Dana *is* doing that. Just 
as you are."

"Is she? Mom, you know how Dana idolized Dad. She 
would have followed him anywhere or done anything he 
asked. Are you so sure that she hasn't simply 
projected that loyalty to this Mulder?"

"Yes, dear." A hint of laughter touched her voice. 
"I'm quite sure she hasn't."

"Well, I'm not so certain."

"You don't see Dana often, and you don't know Fox."

"And I don't want to know him." Bill tore a chunk 
from a dinner roll and placed it in his mouth. "I 
wish Dana would let him rot in his basement office 
and get on with her life."

"That basement office *is* her life. Let her be."

"Oh, Bill, not this again." Tara came into the 
kitchen. "Mind your own business." She wrapped her 
arms around her husband and kissed his cheek. 

"Whoa! Good woman!" Langly suddenly shouted. He 
pressed a key on the laptop and paused the action. 
"Score one for her, eh?"

"Langly," Mulder shook his head, "mind *your* own 
business." He put a hand to his throbbing head. "Is 
there a point to all this? I'm not Bill Scully's 
favorite person. That's not news."

"Did you know Mrs. Scully liked you so much?"

"'So much'? I guess I knew she didn't hate me."

"Did you know she stood up for you in family 
arguments? Did you know she invites you to these 
celebrations because she wants you to be there?"

"I don't believe that."

"Well then, my friend, watch on!" Langly hit the key 
again, and action resumed.

"Bill, why don't you go play with Matthew?" Tara was 
saying. "He's so excited about the gifts."

"Yes, that's a good idea," Maggie added. 

Bill popped the rest of the roll into his mouth. 
"Okay, but when Dana gets home from this vacation, 
I'm going to have a word with her."

"You are not," Tara replied. "Unless it's to ask if 
she had fun or why she doesn't vacation more."

"Not likely," Bill stated as he left the kitchen.

The younger woman sighed heavily. "I'm sorry, Maggie. 
He comes 3,000 miles and says the same things. 
Sometimes he exasperates me."

Maggie smiled. "I know. He's too protective of Dana 
since her dad died. He needs to let go."

"Agreed." Tara dumped boiled potatoes into a bowl. 
"So Dana has actually gone to have fun somewhere?"

"Yes. She and--she and a friend are in upstate New 
York on a skiing vacation."

"She skis? I didn't know that."

Maggie chuckled. "No, she doesn't. I'm not sure how 
much skiing she'll be doing."

Tara's eyes twinkled. "I see! Well, good for her!"

"I'm happy, too--with some reservations. I'll never 
like your generation's morals--or lack thereof."

"Well, Dana's not exactly promiscuous." Tara poured 
some milk onto the potatoes. "Is she with Fox?"

Maggie noted the mischievous smile. "Yes."

"Good. I like him. I don't know what Bill's problem 
with him is--unless it's jealousy. Someone else has 
the attention of his little sister."

"You do like Fox? I'm glad to hear that. Until Dana 
announced this trip, I wanted them both to come to 
dinner today. I would like Bill to get to know Fox as 
I know him. I don't think Bill would doubt then. But 
Fox and Bill have had words in the past, and they 
just seem like bulldogs together now."

"Woof! Woof!" Langly laughed, pausing the film again. 
"See what I mean, man?"

Mulder's eyes were closed. "No. I *am* dreaming, 
aren't I?" He shook his head slightly. "I don't 
really believe this one, Langly."

"No? It's true; I swear." The Gunman suddenly ejected 
the disc. "But I have another version of Christmas 
2001 that you'll *have* to believe."

"I can hardly wait," Mulder yawned.

*************************

1:45 A.M.

Scully had given up trying to get her car out of the 
motel's parking lot. The main road had been plowed, 
but not the motel's driveway. Her winter hiking boots 
were no match for the deep snow that covered what 
must have been sidewalks. Her short legs weren't much 
help either. With chunks of packed snow slithering 
inside her boots and melting into her socks, she 
walked in the cleared roadway beneath streetlights. 
No traffic passed at nearly two in the morning, and 
so far, no taverns or other establishments appeared 
open. 

Almost ready to call Deputy Heffen again, Scully 
noticed an old, flashing neon sign on a distant 
building. She stepped up her pace, beginning to jog 
as the wind hurtled at her. Her gaze roamed over the 
snow-covered cars parked around the run-down bar, but 
none of them resembled Ford Fiestas. Two tractor-
trailers and a panel truck were also parked nearby. 
And to her amazement, several snowmobiles rested at 
the side of the building. Apparently, some people 
used any means to get to their favorite watering 
hole.  

At last, she entered the Smiling Oaks. She was eager 
to get out of the freezing night, but not thrilled to 
see the smoky haze and dimness of the tavern. She 
coughed as she breathed the dank air and moved 
further into the room. 

Her trained eyes took in at least fifteen people. 
Most were at the bar, but some sat at a back table or 
threw darts at a board on the side wall. A recently 
released country tune, "Slammin' My Love Away," 
warbled over the stereo system. She allowed a brief 
smile; she remembered hearing that song while in the 
car with Mulder once. She'd laughed at the bawdy 
lyrics he had sung in place of the real words. But 
his unexplained absence brought a frown back to her 
face, and she returned to the present.

She suddenly noticed that all eyes had turned in her 
direction, and all activity had stopped. Before her 
were big, burly men. Some had long, stringy hair that 
needed to be washed, and others had buzz cuts or 
receding hairlines. Most were either overweight or 
just overly muscular. Scully was a David meeting 
fifteen Goliaths.

"Merry Christmas! Can I help you, miss?" 

The question came from behind the bar, and Scully 
quickly relaxed when she saw its owner: a small 
woman, fifty-ish, with a conditioned body. Scully 
flashed a smile. "I hope so." She glanced warily at 
the surrounding men as she moved to the bar.

"Name's Laura Dow," said the bartender. "What can I 
do for you?"

Scully looked into the open, cheerful face of the 
woman and felt instantly confident. If anyone could 
help her, it would be Laura.

"I-I'm looking for someone--"

"Aren't we all, honey?" Dow laughed.

Scully shook her head. "No, not like that. My friend 
was supposed to be at The Palace hours ago. I talked 
to him by phone, and he'd just passed the motel. He 
was going to turn around and come back. But he's 
never made it."

"And you're out on this night looking for him?"

"Well, Deputy Heffen suggested I try a few bars--"

"Oh, not her." Laura looked toward some of the men. 
"Hey, guys? Deputy 'Heifer' is giving advice again." 
Many groans and shaking heads greeted her comment. 

"Look," Laura told Scully, "Deputy Heffen doesn't 
have the best reputation. She has an awful lot to do-
-but so little of it is police businessss. She's a 
great gossip. She got that job because she wanted to 
hear any news first." She gazed at Scully's face. 
"Where are you from?"

"Washington, DC. We were going to Kissing Bridge, but 
with this storm and delayed flights--"

Dow held up a hand. "Don't even bother. I know the 
stories. Been running this dump for years now." She 
poured a cup of coffee and put it before Scully. "You 
got a picture of your guy?"

Scully quickly removed her gloves and sunk her hands 
into the pockets of her long wool coat. On a whim, 
she'd grabbed a photo of Mulder from her bag before 
leaving the motel. She now handed it to Laura. "It's 
not the best one I have, but that's him."

Dow's eyes widened as she whistled. "And you let him 
out of your sight?" She regarded Scully with 
interest. "Does he have an older brother?"

Scully frowned; no recognition had registered on 
Laura's face. "You haven't seen him, have you?"

"Sorry. I sure wish I had." She turned to her 
patrons. "Hey, fellas? C'mere a second." She waited 
until they came to the bar. "Any of you seen this guy 
tonight? His lady is waiting for him."

Each of the men gazed at the photo, but none of them 
nodded. A long-haired, young man grinned at Scully. 
"If he don't come back, I'm available."

Scully laughed slightly. The man intended no harm. 
She noticed that he had playful but sincere eyes.

"Where was he?" an oversized, furless bear asked.

"Coming in from the airport. He was on Route 39 when 
I last talked to him," Scully replied. 

The man leaned closer. "On 39? Heading which way?"

Scully searched her memory of the earlier 
conversation with Mulder. "I don't think he said. 
He'd gotten off--what was it? 219? 319?"

"219?" the man asked. "Then he'd been going east."

Scully could only shrug. "I really don't know."

"Hey, Al?" the man called to another. "Maybe this 
explains that car."

Al was bald and wore a red mustache and goatee on his 
terribly large face. "Ma'am, what kind of car was 
your friend driving? How big?" 

Scully's curiosity was peaked. "A Ford Fiesta."

Al nodded while giving his friend a wink. "Yep, I'll 
bet that explains it."

"Explains what?" Scully didn't dare hope. 

"About that time," Al began, "I was heading west. 
Came around a curve; couldn't see anything out there 
in that damned storm. All of a sudden, there was this 
dinky car right in front of me. He swerved and 
skidded, and I missed him. But when I looked into the 
rearview, I couldn't see any sign of him. Just seemed 
to have disappeared. I 'spect I should have stopped, 
but that ain't easy with my rig when it's rolling."

Scully's eyebrows raised. "Where did this happen?"

Al shrugged. "I travel this route a lot, but in this 
weather, it's hard to tell where you are."

"Please!" Scully pleaded.

"How far out were you, Al?" Laura asked.

"I don't know. Somewhere's between five and ten 
minutes, I guess." His hand scrubbed at his beard. 
"That'd put me near the creek, wouldn't it? 'Bout 
where they found that girl a few years back."

"Girl?" Scully asked, confused.

Laura nodded. "In the winter a few years ago, a local 
girl came up missing on her way home from work. 
Family, police, friends, and townspeople searched for 
weeks. Didn't find her until spring. Her car went off 
the road and under a bridge on 39. She was dead, but 
all those months passed until the family found that 
out. Terrible thing."

Scully looked frantically from Laura to Al to their 
friends and back. "My car--it's buried in the parking 
lot at the motel. Could you--some of you--please help 
me dig it out? I need to look for Mulder's car." 
Again her hands went to her coat pockets. "I can pay 
you for your trouble--"

"A car isn't going to get you there tonight," Laura 
said. "The town's streets are plowed, but the state 
and county roads haven't been touched yet. We're 
under a State of Emergency." 

Before Scully could protest, the long-haired man 
intervened, "Hey, we'll take my machine. I can get 
you out there in no time."

"John," the barkeeper asked, "look at how she's 
dressed. She'll freeze on that snowmobile."

"She can wear my helmet and suit," another man said. 
"They ain't gonna fit, but they'll work."

John grabbed the offered one-piece snowmobile suit 
that was far taller than Scully. "It'll be warmer 
than your coat. The temperature is fifteen degrees 
tonight. Wind chill's at five below zero. When you're 
riding on my machine, that'll feel like at least 
twenty below."

Scully felt confused and a bit dazed as she hurriedly 
put on her gloves. "Are you sure we need to do it 
this way? I really could take my car--"

"C'mon." John held the suit open for her. 

Al peeled her long coat from her shoulders so she 
could don the proper gear. "A few of us will go with 
you in case you need some help."

Scully nodded. To find Mulder was the objective after 
all. She let John guide her arms into the sleeves, 
and then she stepped into the suit and zipped it 
around her. She was reminded of another time when 
she'd been dressed in a taller man's clothes to 
survive extreme weather. She hoped this time would 
have as favorable an outcome.

"I'm grateful to you all," she said as a helmet was 
placed on her head and a clear visor fell over her 
face. She felt John fixing and adjusting the chin 
strap as several other men nodded and pulled on their 
suits or heavy coats. 

"Here." Laura Dow handed her the cup of coffee. "Have 
a sip right now and warm yourself up." 

Scully raised the visor and did as told, the hot, 
bitter liquid filling her mouth. The shivers she'd 
felt earlier were gone; she sensed she was closer to 
finding Mulder.

"Gloves!" John suddenly shouted. "She'll need heavier 
gloves. Don't want her pretty hands to freeze."

A thick pair of mittens was produced and put onto her 
hands by two different men. "I don't think I've been 
dressed like this since my mother did it back in my 
childhood," Scully breathed.

John laughed. "Well, the pleasure's all ours, ma'am. 
I hope your boyfriend's okay."

"Me, too," Scully murmured. She followed the suited 
men out the door. "Me, too."

*******************

1:45 A.M.

"And this disc will show me what, precisely?" 

"You'll have to see, won't you?" Langly handily slid 
the DVD into the laptop. 

"Just tell me."

"Christmas 2001. But this time, it's as if you hadn't 
asked Scully to join you here. You'll see how she 
would have spent Christmas otherwise."

Mulder settled back against the headrest. "But I'm 
still not going to believe it. Not if it hasn't 
happened yet." 

"That's where you're wrong." The blond apparition was 
suddenly serious. "This Christmas *has* been 
happening to Scully for years."

Mulder took a long, stunned glance at the Gunman. 
Then he turned to the laptop, curious and wary.

Again, Maggie Scully's festively decorated house 
greeted Mulder's sight, and the wonderful smells 
filled his head. And again, as he saw people gathered 
for the holiday, Mulder felt a bit of nostalgia and 
jealousy. 

Maggie and her family were seated at her big dining 
room table. Plates were full; voices were busy in 
various conversations. 

Mulder's gaze settled on Scully. She sat to her 
mother's left, across the table from brother Bill. 
She wore a low-necked, tight, black sweater that 
beautifully accentuated her curves and proved 
provocative enough to make him squirm slightly in the 
seat. But he noticed that while her lips moved in 
pleasant conversation, her eyes were pensive, her 
face showing anyone who knew her well that she was 
not happy here. Not content.

"What's wrong with Scully, Langly? Why is she sad?" 
he whispered.

"Duh. Listen and find out."

"So, Dana," Bill was saying as he stuffed a piece of 
roll into his mouth, "where's your partner today? Mom 
invited him, didn't she?"

On her plate, Scully's fork chased a pea, finally 
spearing it fiercely. Mulder winced.

"Mulder celebrates Christmas his own way, Bill." 

"Kind of rude, don't you think?"

"Bill..." Maggie warned. "Let's not do this."

"No, I don't think it's rude," his sister replied, 
not meeting her brother's gaze. "I think it's just 
the way he handles it."

Bill scoffed. "What kind of crap is that? What--is 
this his 'I lost my sister years ago and never got 
over it' routine again? Well, it's old, Dana. We lost 
our sister, too--thanks to him and his worthless 
quest. And we manage to celebrate still."

Scully sipped from her water glass. "We also have 
family that's living. Family we can still enjoy." She 
set the glass down. "Mulder doesn't."

"We *are* missing a few, though, in case you haven't 
noticed," Bill sniped. "Missy *and* Dad. Charlie's 
absent again, but still we celebrate."

"And isn't it a wonderful thing that we're this 
fortunate?" Maggie asked. "We've had our losses, but 
still we gather."

"Yes, it is, Mom," Scully replied. "I'm sure that if 
Mulder joined us, he'd feel differently, but I don't 
blame him for feeling as he does."

"Well, I do." Bill's fork sank into mashed potato. 
"Don't get me wrong; I have no desire to see him. But 
if he's invited, he should make the effort. We don't 
all give up when hardship enters our lives."

"Mulder doesn't give up, Bill."

"No, I'm sure," was his sarcastic response. "But I'll 
bet he expects you to come to his place later today, 
right? To make it all better for him?"

"He doesn't expect it, no. In fact, he was adamant, 
as he usually is, that I be with my family." Scully's 
eyes coldly stared into her brother's. She tossed her 
fork onto her plate and hit the table with her fist. 
"But, yes, I am going to his apartment and surprise 
him this afternoon, if you want to know. For his 
sake. And for mine."

Maggie covered Scully's hand with her own. "I think 
that's a wonderful idea, Dana. You've got the best of 
both worlds today. Christmas isn't Christmas unless 
you're with the ones you love most."

"*That* line again," Mulder mused. He watched mother 
and daughter exchange understanding looks. Then he 
turned to the apparition. "You're showing me this 
because Scully *did* want to be with me?"

"Boy, you're quick, Mulder," Langly smirked.

"And because I'm apparently stuck in the past too 
much to enjoy things in the present?"

"Gee, can't get anything by you!" Langly's smirk 
became a goofy grin. 

Mulder didn't notice. He stared blankly at the 
windshield. In his mind, he heard, "People don't give 
up after hardships...the 'I lost my sister years ago 
and never got over it' routine..." Suddenly Mulder 
focused. "The handcuffs. That's why Jack had them, 
why I saw my family after he left. I've been attached 
to them even though they're no longer here. Is that 
right, Langly? Is that what this is all about? I need 
to let go of them?" 

He turned to the passenger's side of the car, but 
Langly was gone. The laptop had disappeared. Mulder's 
jaw dropped. "Hey! Wait a minute! Tell me if I'm 
right? Apparition of Cyberspace? Hey!"

When nothing but quiet greeted him, Mulder sagged in 
his seat. He allowed himself to recall Scully's face-
-how it had appeared so melancholy in ttthe last disc, 
and then had brightened when she'd mentioned going to 
his apartment. *That* had surprised him, and it 
warmed him now. He closed his eyes to savor the 
feeling. But the sound of clinking metal returned to 
his ears, and visions of multiple pairs of handcuffs 
floated in his mind.

***************************

ACT III
1:50 A.M., December 25, 2001

"Hey, Mulder. You're missing the porn flick."

Mulder's eyes snapped open at another familiar voice. 
Once again he found the car illuminated by a soft 
glow coming from his right, and though he needed no 
identification of his latest visitor, he turned his 
head to find Melvin Frohike. "Which one are you? Doc? 
Sneezy?"

"Ha, ha, very funny," the elfin man replied without 
smiling. He adjusted the headset he wore, positioning 
the earphone more comfortably. "If you're trying to 
get beauty sleep, you should give it up."

Mulder smirked. "So, you must be the ghost--the 
*apparition*--of Christmas Yet to Come?"

"Close. Apparition of Futurama, actually."

"How could I have missed that? Look, Frohike, I know 
what you're going to show me. I've seen the movies, 
read the book. Why don't you just forego this little 
charade and help me out of this car? It's not exactly 
an oven in here, and I should at least let Scully 
know where I am."

The small man was shaking his head. "No, you don't 
know what I'm going to show you. And I'm not so sure 
that letting you out of his car alive has been 
decided yet. So shut up, will you?"

"That's no way for an apparition to talk."

"Mulder, I know what you're trying to do. You've 
dealt with some pretty heavy emotion so far--your 
childhood and the end of Christmas as you knew it. 
You've seen the rebirth of happy Christmases for you, 
though you've been too bull-headed to enjoy more 
since 1999. And you've even seen that you mean a 
great deal to Scully and to most of her family. But 
you don't handle close looks at your emotions well, 
so you're trying to avoid the next images. I'm 
afraid, my friend, that you can't do that."

"Are you going to tell me the secrets of the 
universe, too? Why we're here--"

"Quiet, wise guy. You wouldn't understand them 
anyway. You still don't understand your own personal 
life. You don't understand what these visions are all 
about."

"I beg to differ," Mulder replied. "I was shown my 
childhood to remind me why Christmas used to be great 
and why that ended. I was shown Scully at my 
apartment to realize I *can* feel holiday spirit. 
Maybe it even showed me that having her come here 
wasn't a bad idea. I did see Scully's family and know 
they're not all against me, and then I saw Scully 
with her family to know that she understands me and 
didn't want me to be alone on Christmas."

"That's the only reason she was going to your 
apartment?" Frohike asked, but immediately he held up 
a gloved hand. "Never mind. I know you'll say it 
was." He pushed his glasses higher onto his nose. "So 
what have you learned from all you've seen?"

Mulder looked toward the windshield. "That Scully has 
a loser as a friend."

"Hmmmm..." Frohike said. "That wasn't the point."

"I know." Mulder turned back to the apparition. "I've 
learned that I've been stuck in the past, and I fail 
to appreciate all that I have around me."

Frohike nodded, smiling. "Not bad. Anything else?"

The younger man paused in thought. "No."

"Here. Put these on."

Mulder stared at the sunglasses his friend held 
toward him. "It's night and dark already, Dopey."

"In the future, you won't need film projectors and 
DVDs. These are virtual reality glasses. Put them on 
and see where they take you."

"Do they show me what's in my mind? I can see Bambi 
Bigboobs if I imagine her?"

"Down boy," Frohike replied. "No, you'll see what 
you're *supposed* to see. Besides, who needs Bambi 
Bigboobs when he could have the fine Agent Scully?"

Mulder donned the glasses and blinked in the new 
darkness. Instantly, he saw the basement of the 
Hoover Building. And though his feet weren't moving, 
he moved down the hallway, nearing the X-Files 
office. "Not bad, Frohike," he murmured. 

"Glad you like them. By the way, you're about to see 
Christmas, 2005."

Mulder nodded. In virtual reality, he turned to the 
closed door of his office and jolted to a halt. "What 
the..." he muttered in shock. 

His doorplate had been replaced. He didn't bother to 
read the new one as he sifted through the door. The 
occupants of the office were oblivious to his 
presence. 

His gaze quickly found his partner. Her red hair had 
been cut in a close-cropped, skull-hugging style that 
looked fine but wasn't *his* Scully. She stood behind 
a metal desk; his old one had been removed. New file 
cabinets were in place. And he noticed Scully's 
nameplate occupying the desktop. 

Seated before her was a dark haired man whose face 
Mulder couldn't see. The person was tall and had 
short hair, too, and wore a dark suit.

"But Dana," the man was saying, "I really don't want 
a new partner. You were terrific--the best. I can't 
do this without you."

She smiled at him. "I know you mean well, but this is 
something I have to do. The decision wasn't easy; 
I've enjoyed working with you, too, but the time has 
come. I could spend the rest of my life here, but 
what would I have in the end? Nothing but memories 
and a ton of paperwork that bears my signature. 
That's not enough, Robert." Her eyes seemed to stare 
into the past as she slowly muttered, "I learned that 
the hard way."

"But leaving the FBI--"

"For what might be a more stable, promising career 
and life?" Scully grabbed her nameplate and stuffed 
it into a box on the desk. "I think that's all." She 
held out her hand and let Robert shake it. "It's been 
a pleasure, Agent. Good luck here in the Bureau's 
Office of Case Re-Assignment."

As the other agent stood to usher Scully from the 
room, Mulder tore off the glasses and turned to 
Frohike. "What is this? Scully quits the FBI? The X-
Files are gone? Where am *I* in 2005?"

The elfin man met his gaze. "Got a joke for you: 
knock, knock."

Mulder stared in frustration, then impatiently 
answered, "Who's there?"

"Mulder."

"Mulder who?"

"That's what they all say at the Hoover by 2005." 
Frohike gave him a moment to digest that. "Yes, 
Scully leaves. The X-Files are closed down. New 
people and assignments have taken the office."

"Where am I during all this?" Mulder asked in 
desperation.

"That's what I'm about to show you."

*******************

1:55 A.M.

Had she ridden this snowmobile under different 
circumstances, Scully thought she might have enjoyed 
it. She and John were second in the line of three 
snowmobiles that sped along the snow-covered road in 
the deep darkness. The wind whipped against her as 
did the snowmobiles' slipstreams, and riding on the 
back of the sled, she tightly gripped the handholds 
at her sides.

But her thoughts were fixed on Mulder. If they found 
him, in what condition would he be? Could he have 
frozen to death by now? How injured was he? How 
damaged? It had been a horrible day; she prayed it 
would not be a horrible night.

"Almost there!" John yelled back at her.

"Okay!" she called back. She just hoped there would 
be truth to what she said.

**********************

1:55 A.M.

At Frohike's urging, Mulder returned the glasses to 
his eyes. The despair he'd felt before had turned 
into budding anger and fear. He wanted now to get out 
of the car and find Scully. She couldn't quit the 
FBI, and she couldn't let the X-Files be closed. 
Heck, she couldn't cut her hair either.

"Christmas 2010," Frohike stated. "Straight ahead."

"Wait a minute--I don't get this." The images coming 
to Mulder were of a large family car driving through 
the streets of DC. "These glasses still need work, 
Frohike."

"Just be patient, will you?"

The car slowed and turned into an area hemmed by a 
wrought iron fence. Before Mulder could see the 
auto's destination, though, he found himself in the 
car, seated with his back against the dashboard. He 
faced the family inside. 

He noticed her first. Scully, nine years older. She 
was still beautiful and desirable to him, but a few 
wrinkles had sprouted around her mouth and eyes. Her 
hair, still close-cropped, held a few streaks of gray 
she'd not yet colored. She wore a black turtleneck 
sweater beneath her camel coat. Driving the car, was 
a man of medium build and receding hairline. His 
glasses magnified his mid-forties' eyes, and he, too, 
wore a black sweater and camel coat. Mulder suddenly 
noticed two boys and a girl, between ages six and 
twelve, in the back seat. Each wore glasses and bored 
expressions. 

"Dana, please make this fast," the man said. "We 
don't want to be late. Your mother will worry."

"Tom," she replied, "we have plenty of time. Bill and 
Tara and their kids will keep Mom entertained until 
we get there."

"I don't see why we do this anyway. It's been nine 
years. It's silly to hold onto the past. You're a 
mother now as well as a researcher, a professor, and 
a doctor in charge of medical mysteries at 
Georgetown. Yet we do this every year."

She looked at the driver. With her left hand, she 
smoothed a piece of lint from his lapel. On her 
finger, Scully wore a big diamond and a gold wedding 
band. "It's important to me."

Tom smiled. "Like we are--I hope."

"Of course. You're all important to me."

The car stopped. Tom leaned forward, looking out at 
something. "This is the right spot, yes?"

Scully gazed out solemnly and nodded. "I won't be 
long." She opened the car door.

"Dana? Don't forget this!" The little girl in the 
back seat handed Scully a miniature sunflower. 

"Thanks, honey."

Mulder, gazing in shock, asked, "They call her by 
name? Why don't they call her 'Mom'?"

"They're his kids. With his first wife."

In dismay, Mulder watched Scully move through what he 
now found to be a cemetery. The day was chilly, and 
its cloudy gray light mixed with the scent of 
December earth and decaying flowers to create a 
dismal atmosphere. A brisk breeze lifted dead leaves 
in a macabre dance about the cold stone of grave 
markers. In their midst, Scully walked, her steps 
slow but determined. Her mouth formed a tight line, 
but her eyes glistened with tears.

At last she stopped. She gazed at a headstone for 
several seconds before kneeling. At this grave, she 
placed the sunflower in a small urn already filled 
with a fairly fresh bouquet. Mulder's eyes left her 
briefly and read what he'd expected to find on the 
marker: "Fox William Mulder. 1961-2001. Partner, best 
friend, touchstone. Rest in peace."

Again, Mulder tore the glasses off. "Frohike! I *do* 
die in this accident? I die tonight?"

"Mulder, be patient," the other man chided.

"I don't want to die tonight! Not like this!"

Frohike gave him a stern glance. "If you don't shut 
up I'm gonna kill you anyway."

Mulder's expression mirrored his frustration, but he 
gradually, reluctantly returned the glasses to his 
face. "Everyone's nightmare: to be killed by an elf 
on Christmas."

Scully still knelt and slowly ran her fingers over 
the engraving of Mulder's name. Finally, she sat back 
on her heels. "Oh Mulder," she sighed. "I know I was 
just here the other day, but today is different. 
Tom's great; he really is, and the kids are sweet. 
They're a lot of work, believe me." She wiped some 
tears from her eyes before they could spill. "I can't 
believe it's been nine years. So much has changed. My 
work is rewarding, and my family is a joy. But 
there's something missing. Something I'll never know 
again. Something I want so much it hurts, and that 
hurt will never go away."

"Dana! We'll be late, sweetie," Tom called.

"In a minute!" she yelled, never taking her eyes from 
the tombstone. In a quiet voice, she muttered, 
"Mulder, why couldn't you be here? Why did you have 
to die? We wasted so much time. With our running all 
over the country, investigating this and that. We 
failed for too long to investigate what was most 
important--us--our feelings for each other. And once 
we finally did that, you were gone." She wiped more 
tears and then inhaled heavily. She visibly willed 
her composure to return. Reaching out, she lay her 
hand atop the grave-marker, caressing it lovingly. 
"I've got to go now. But I wanted to do this. To be 
here. With you. Mulder, Christmas isn't Christmas 
unless you're with the one you love most." She slowly 
rose to her feet, her hand keeping its place even as 
she turned. Slowly it left the cold stone.  He felt 
her pass as she walked toward the waiting car. After 
a last longing glance, she got inside, and Tom drove 
away.

Mulder remained at the grave, wanting to follow. But 
he suddenly found that no movement was possible. He 
had become embedded in the earth beneath his feet and 
was slowly sinking.

"Frohike!" He tried to take off the glasses, but they 
wouldn't budge. And the sinking didn't stop. He felt 
himself mired up to his shins. "Do something! I'm 
stuck! I'm getting buried! Get me out of this!" The 
ground quickly claimed his knees and worked toward 
his thighs.

"Have you learned anything yet?"

"Yeah! I don't want to die! Help me!"

"Why don't you want to die?"

Mulder stared frantically at the ground now 
swallowing his hips. "Because there's so much I 
haven't done! So much yet to be lived! That should be 
me in that car with Scully. She's with that guy--that 
Tom--and those kids. I don't want that!"

"You what? *You* don't want that?"

"No! And neither does she! You heard her! My job, my 
past--I've been hooked to those for too long. I've 
ignored what I could have had--what I could have had 
with Scully! Let me go back. Please!"

"Isn't that being selfish?" Frohike asked.

"No. Maybe. I don't care," Mulder protested, the 
ground at chest level. "It's what I want. And it's 
what she wants."

"So what you want--and need--in your personal life 
*is* important after all?"

Up to his shoulders in the earth now, Mulder 
screamed, "Yes! What Scully and I have together is 
the most important thing in my life!"

"Well, why didn't you say so?" Frohike gleamed. He 
paused a moment, listening to the headset. A smile 
formed and widened at whatever he heard. "It's been 
decided. Seems you're gonna live after all."

Instantly, the glasses fell from Mulder. The sinking 
feeling, the consuming earth, the gravestone 
vanished. As he tried to raise his hands to his face 
to rub the images from his eyes, he found his wrists 
handcuffed to the steering wheel. 

"A last reminder," Frohike laughed, and the handcuffs 
fell away.

Mulder tried to calm his breathing. "If that was just 
a dream, it was major league."

"Who said it was a dream? Illusion or reality, my 
friend. Who can tell the difference?"

"I don't know at this point. And I don't care." 
Mulder swallowed hard as his heart pounded in relief 
and joy. He looked over at his friend. "I've got to 
see Scully. Now. Are you--can you--get me out of 
here?"

"Nah. I'm just an apparition, remember? Gotta go. 
Besides, help's on the way." As Frohike began to 
evaporate into the night, he waved once. "Welcome 
back to the living, Mulder. Not just the existing, 
but the living. There's a big difference."

As the apparition disappeared, Mulder lay his head 
back, swallowed, panted, and swallowed again. The 
images of Scully at the grave, with another man, and 
out of the FBI, as well as the words he'd just 
spoken, haunted his mind. He ached to be with her, to 
touch her and know she was real. 

He closed his eyes, then immediately opened them, 
checking the dark car for the source of humming 
engines getting louder. 

***********************  

2:00 A.M.

Before the snowmobile came to a full stop, Scully 
bounded from its seat. She'd come to appreciate 
snowmobiles when she realized they could leave the 
road to explore rugged terrain. And that's what their 
party had done. At a wicked curve on the two-lane 
road, John and his friends had veered into the side 
ditch and slowed to descend a hill. Their headlights 
had illumined a bridge's abutment, and just to its 
right, they had fallen on a large mound. The wind had 
swished away some snow from the mound, revealing 
badly dented red fiberglass.

Scully bounded clumsily through the deep snow, 
imagining that she resembled an astronaut moonwalking 
in zero gravity. She chanted Mulder's name with each 
plunge and paid no attention to those with whom she'd 
traveled or the cold surrounding her. Her eyes 
focused on the driver's door, and her mind cringed at 
what she might find.

The mittens loaned to her now swiped at the snow 
covering the driver's window. Underneath that, a thin 
coat of ice prevented her from seeing inside. She 
debated not opening the door in case that might cause 
Mulder injury, but her need to know overcame reason. 
She grabbed the door handle and pulled. When nothing 
happened, she jerked the handle roughly. Snow fell 
away, and with a loud creak, the door opened. 

From somewhere behind her, a flashlight shone. Its 
beam came to rest on Mulder's face. Scully stared, 
noting blood issuing from a forehead cut. She held 
her breath as she pulled the mittens from her hands 
so she could check for a pulse. She muttered, 
"Mulder? It's me." 

Then her breath burst forth as her mouth widened into 
a smile of delight. Mulder's head pivoted groggily on 
the headrest. 

He looked straight into her eyes and gave her a 
crooked smile. "Merry Christmas, Scully."

*************************

Epilogue
6:38 A.M.

Early morning sunlight silhouetted icicles on and 
gently seeped through the dusty, cream blinds. The 
heater knocked occasionally and spat warm air, making 
the atmosphere cozy and relaxed.

Mulder lay on the hard mattress of the motel room, 
his head pillowed by Scully's left shoulder. He 
barely felt any pain from the accident, and the cut 
he'd suffered, now mended with a butterfly bandage, 
caused him a mild twinge only if he moved. He drifted 
in and out of contented sleep, happy to open his eyes 
that were very close to Scully's red-lace-covered 
breasts; happy to feel his head gently rise and fall 
with the pattern of her breathing. Happy to be with 
her.

"Mulder?" Scully whispered. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." In fact, he was drunk with pleasure--the 
scent of her skin and warmth of her body captivating 
his senses.

She sighed heavily. "I think you should have stayed 
in the hospital. Just for observation."

"Not on Christmas," he muttered. "Besides, the ER doc 
confirmed your diagnosis: mild concussion and 
bruises. All I'd get at the hospital is rest. I can 
rest much better here."

"Well, that's not all you'd have gotten at the 
hospital, but..." She lightly stroked the left side 
of his head, her fingers softly grazing his ear. "Are 
you cold?"

"No, I'm fine. Very comfortable. Are you?"

"Yes," she sighed lazily. "I don't know how you 
survived that crash, Mulder. And with only a 
concussion and bruised knees. Talk about Christmas 
miracles."

"Couldn't leave you alone in the middle of nowhere," 
he smirked. His hand moved to rest on her lace-
covered thigh beneath the covers. "You still want to 
go home to your mother's?" 

"No. I never did. I was just tired and worried--"

"And angry. I don't blame you, Scully. I should have 
called."

"Oh well, that's in the past, Mulder. Let's forget 
about it." She pulled the bedcovers up closer to his 
chin. "You should sleep. And I hate to tell you this, 
but even just a mild concussion will prevent you from 
learning to ski. I'm not sure I'll let you out of 
this room until it's time to go home."

"Sounds a bit naughty--keeping me captive."

"You love the idea as much as I do," she chuckled. 
"Now tell me about your dream again."

He started to shake his head but winced as the cut on 
his forehead protested. "I'm not sure it was a dream. 
And I don't want to relive it. But the images, the 
things I learned from it are fresh in my mind. I 
think--I hope--they always will be." He closed his 
eyes as her lips touched his head.

"I'm glad you're okay," she murmured. "I'm glad 
you're here."

"I'm glad *we're* here, Scully," he replied softly. 
"Christmas isn't Christmas unless you're with the one 
you love most."

**********End**********

    Source: geocities.com/xmas_files