TITLE: Home for Christmas
AUTHOR: stellar_dust
EMAIL: stellar_dust_x@yahoo.com
WEBSITE: http://xfiles.katycat.net/
ARCHIVE: Sure. Let me know, and I'll link
back to you.
FEEDBACK: Love it.
SPOILERS: EVERYTHING. MOO HA HA.
RATING: PG
KEYWORDS: angsty fluff, Christmas, songfic
DISCLAIMER: Characters, not mine, through no
fault of my own. Ideas, mine, through
*every* fault of my own. Sorry.
SUMMARY: Mulder!Christmas through the years.
DATE: 12/19/2004
NOTE 1: Written for the 2004 e-muse Secret
Santa story exchange. But it's been kicking
around in my brain for at least a year.
NOTE 2: You wouldn't know it, but I'm fairly
convinced Mulder's family growing up was at
least half Jewish. For this story I've
concentrated solely on the Christian part,
because I can, and it's fun, and anyway it's
a Christmas story so to tell it right, I had
to. Irrelevant, really, but I thought I'd
let you know.
//---~*~---~*~---~*~---//
/I'll be home for Christmas/
"Samantha Claus is coming tonight, Fox!"
Seven years old, bouncing and excited and
mischievous, she grinned up at her brother
as he paged through a comic book.
"*Santa* Claus, dummy. Not *Samantha*
Claus." At eleven, sarcastic, he was *way*
too old for her, had no patience for little
sisters who thought they were the center of
the universe. He shifted deeper into the
couch and pointedly turned the page,
ignoring her.
"Is *too* Samantha Claus! And she's going
to bring all the presents for *me*.
*You're* going to get a lump of coal and
lots of *underwear* because you were mean to
me all year, so there!" She stuck her
tongue out and threw herself dramatically
onto the couch beside him. "I'm *bored*,
Fox. Why can't it be Christmas *now*??"
He shoved against her legs with his feet,
trying to push her off the sofa. "Go read
or something. Leave me alone."
Sam braced herself against the armrest and
tried to catch hold of an ankle to pull his
socks off. "Quit it, Samantha! I'm
telling!"
She blew a raspberry at him and her eyes lit
on the colorful drawing on the front of his
comic. "Oooh, what are you reading?" She
made a grab for the book, and catching him
off guard, managed to pull it out of his
hands.
"Hey!" Fox lunged across the cushions, but
she rolled off the couch and out of reach
before he could get his hands on her. "Ha
ha, mine now!"
"God, you're such a *brat*!" Fox launched
himself across the room and tackled her,
alternately tickling her and grabbing for
the comic. Sam shrieked with laughter,
giggling and kicking.
Finally Fox wrenched it from her fingers,
and as Samantha lay gasping on the floor he
frowned, inspecting it carefully. "Fox?"
He looked up, and she was sitting beside
him, her big brown eyes wide and innocent.
"Will you read it to me? I'll be good, I
promise."
He looked the book over. There were a few
wrinkles in the cover, but at least she
hadn't ripped it or drawn mustaches on all
the faces, as she'd done to his baseball
cards last summer. And it'd keep her quiet
and not bugging him .. He opened to the
first page. "Well, all right. But be quiet
and don't interrupt."
"Yay!" She snuggled up next to him and put
her head on his shoulder. "I'll tell
Samantha Claus to bring you bring you
something cool after all."
Fox poked her in the side and she giggled,
then curled closer as he began to read.
"It's Christmas Eve in Metropolis, and in
the town square *Santa* Claus is .."
~*~
When Teena walked in with her packages
twenty minutes later, she couldn't believe
her eyes - Fox and Samantha, curled up
together beside the Christmas tree, reading.
She paused at the door and smiled, watching
unseen, on her way upstairs to wrap the last
few presents. I'm so blessed, she thought,
and turned away, unwilling to disturb them.
Now if only Bill weren't working late,
everything would be perfect.
~*~
That was the year they got Stratego.
//---~*~---~*~---~*~---//
/You can count on me/
Fox lay in bed, eyes closed, curled tightly
in a ball beneath the covers, trying not to
think. We can't have Christmas without
Samantha. We can't. It's not right, it's -
he sobbed suddenly. And it was his fault
she was gone, he was here, he was supposed
to keep her safe and now -
Dad told him he had to be strong, be strong
for Mom, so after the investigation was over
and the house was empty and quiet again
they'd gone out for a tree. It was tall and
full and green, but as soon as Mom saw it
she'd gone up to bed for the rest of the
day, and he and Dad had started to decorate
it but somehow nothing worked without
Samantha and they'd stopped before half the
ornaments were up. Mom slept all the time
and Dad was always at work, Fox was failing
school for the semester because he couldn't
seem to concentrate on anything and spent
most of his time staring into space and
pretending he could hear her voice in the
next room, beating himself up inside because
he hadn't been able to move. And nobody
baked cookies or bought any presents, that
he could see, and when Dad finally hung the
stockings up he left Samantha's in the
closet.
Now all of sudden, in bed, it hit him. Fox
went cold. They don't think she's coming
back. They've given up. He rolled over in
the dark room, shivering, and hugged his
pillow. I'll *never* give up. I believe,
Sam, I believe, it's my fault and I will
never, *ever* stop believing that you'll
come back. I'll find you myself.
With a wrench, he pulled back the covers and
rolled out of bed. Fox padded down the
hallway barefoot, past Mom's quiet room and
Samantha's closed door, now empty of posters
and graffiti since last week when Mom had
screamed and sobbed and ripped them down.
He opened the closet door and dug around
until he found it, then continued
downstairs.
Fox tacked Samantha's stocking on the mantle
next to his own. "I believe, Samantha," he
whispered again. "No matter what Mom and
Dad do, I'll never give up on you."
Bill found him there, asleep on the hearth,
hours later when he stumbled in reeking of
whiskey and carting sacks of last-minute
trinkets he hadn't wanted to think about
buying. He whacked his son once to wake him
and sent him up to bed, then poured himself
another row of shots and started to fill the
stockings. Thanks to the whiskey, he only
cried a little when he tossed Samantha's on
the fire.
Fox never cried for her.
//---~*~---~*~---~*~---//
/Please have snow/
"Hey, Mulder, you coming?" MaClay's voice
rang through the flat, and Mulder's hand
tightened around the cold iron of the
balcony railing.
"Is Phoebe going to be there?"
"And why should that stop you, mate?"
MaClay braced his hands on the doorframe and
leaned forward into the brisk air, talking
to Mulder's back.
"She'll have Bronson with her. I don't want
to see that." A year since they'd kissed
behind the chalkboard in the Psychology
lecture hall, eleven months since they'd
officially become a couple and first gone to
bed together, one since the first snow of
winter and their liaison with Sir Arthur,
two weeks since he'd gathered his courage
and gone to her flat to propose, and found
her naked with Seth Bronson. He'd turned
and fled, and heard her laughing as he went.
"It's all right, Tom. You go have fun.
I'll be fine. Have some nog for me."
Grudgingly, Tom dropped his hands and shoved
his fists into his pockets, shivering. He
shook his head and turned to leave. "Have
it your way, Mulder. But you can't avoid
her forever, kennit."
Mulder heard the door close as his flatmate
left for the party, and collapsed forward
against the railing with a sigh. He had it
all figured out. He'd graduate in the
spring, and as she was one year behind him
he'd planned out his schedule to avoid every
class she had a chance of signing up for.
And then he'd just have to talk his way out
of every single social function between now
and then ... right, so, that was it, then.
He'd just die of humiliation and be done
with it.
Thought it'd be so easy, right, Fox? Go to
school half a world away from home, make new
friends and a new life that isn't miserable
and no one drinks all night and blames you
for everything when they aren't beating or
ignoring you. Right, he thought bitterly.
Because I'm so much happier here. Solved
all your problems, dinnit?
Never again. He'd never let anyone so close
again.
Graduate, and what then? Go home? He'd
join the French Foreign Legion first.
It began to snow, big soft flakes, the kind
Samantha always called 'fairy snow' because
they looked like small fragile lace dresses
with wings dancing in the light. Mulder
reached out and caught one on his finger,
watched it melt away too fast, just like
every bit of his life that seemed to matter.
Samantha, Mom, Dad, now Phoebe and the life
he'd patched together at Oxford. He wiped
his hand on his slacks and remembered the
business card in his pocket - the FBI
recruiter he'd met yesterday at the year-end
banquet. Maybe that was something he could
do. Maybe he'd find Samantha when no one
else had been able to. Or at least keep
other little sisters safe.
Odd that the FBI was recruiting in England,
though. He frowned.
Or maybe not, but it was something to think
about.
Mulder turned away from the snow and
wandered back into the flat, nabbing a
Guinness and next semester's Advanced
Criminal Psych textbook on the way to his
bed. Studying, always an excuse, should
have used that with MaClay instead of the
Phoebe thing, damn her anyway.
Halfway through Chapter 3 he looked up,
startled, realizing it was already half one.
Late this year. Still early on the
Vineyard, though ...
He closed his eyes and whispered, "Merry
Christmas, Samantha."
//---~*~---~*~---~*~---//
/And mistletoe/
Mulder fidgeted uncomfortably in the corner.
Why had he let Reggie drag him to this,
again? His gaze traveled over all the happy
people at the VCU Christmas party, spotting
the section chief chatting amicably with the
DJ. Right, he sighed. Don't want anyone to
think this case hit me too hard. If Spooky
Mulder gets any more Spooky we'll have to
hospitalize, and we don't want that, now, do
we?
If it'll get me out of here? Sure. It
can't be that bad, right? Nice quiet room,
pretty nurses? He caught Reggie's
disapproving gaze and with a sigh turned
back to the dessert table.
"Look who's here." Reggie had sidled up
next to him, was nodding toward the doorway
at the front of the room. "She's been
looking at you all night."
Mulder glanced in the indicated direction,
then did a double take. Diana? Diana
*Fowley*? "I haven't seen her since
Quantico," he said wonderingly.
"Word is she's back from her field
assignment." Reggie nudged him, winking.
"I hear you two were quite the item."
"Yeah, well." Mulder shrugged. He hoped he
wasn't blushing. "You know, people talk."
He devoured Diana with his gaze. Field work
had been good for her, he thought. She
looked dazzling. Especially in that dress
.. "I never thought I'd see her again,
Reggie."
"Look where she's standing." Mulder looked.
Diana was chatting with another female
agent, and right above her - he grinned.
Maybe it wouldn't be such a horrible party
after all.
"Go get 'em, Spooky." Reggie chuckled and
gave Mulder a shove between his shoulder
blades.
What am I doing? Mulder thought as he cut
his way across the room. She'll smack me.
I'm an idiot. He tapped her on the shoulder
and cleared his throat.
"Fox!" she cried out with delight and
clamped her arms around his neck. "I was so
sure you didn't remember me!"
"How could I for-" And then they were
kissing, wildly, passionately under the
mistletoe, in front of the entire VCU and
assorted guests. Mulder was sure he heard
Reggie's wolf whistle.
"Fox," she whispered as they broke apart.
"I heard about what you've been working on.
I have something I think you should see."
"What -?" Had she heard about the Modeski
thing? But how?
"Some files." His hand was clenched around
hers, couldn't seem to make himself let go.
"I'll show you tomorrow. You're free
tomorrow?" Diana looked up at him
questioningly.
"It's Christmas." He quirked his mouth
ironically at her. "Of course I'm free."
To Reggie's considerable delight and
amusement, they left together.
//---~*~---~*~---~*~---//
/And presents on the tree/
She walked in that morning with a tiny tree,
holly, lights, and a gift.
"Scully, what's all this?" He handed her a
coffee, which she promptly set down on his
desk where she also began arranging the
tree.
"It's so dreary down here, Mulder. I'll be
gone for a few days, visiting my parents,
and I *know* you'll be here working by
yourself, so .." she trailed off. "I'm
sorry, Mulder. I probably should have
asked, I .."
"No, Scully, it's okay, keep on." He shook
his head and smiled at her, speculatively.
"I was just .. surprised."
His new partner grinned at him, that shy yet
saucy grin that he already couldn't get
enough of, and wound the holly and lights
over the bookshelves and the doors. Mulder
leaned back, head spinning. He couldn't
remember the last time anyone had cared
enough to decorate for him - or thought he
cared enough to notice. Maybe Reggie, but -
that was different. And here was little
Scully, who he barely knew, making sure the
office would be a nice, cheerful place to
spend Christmas alone. Unbelievable.
~*~
He caught her eye as she was leaving,
getting an early start on rush-hour traffic
to Annapolis. "I have to admit, it looks
nice in here, Scully." He cleared his
throat. "Um, thank you."
She smiled in response and turned to go.
"Oh! I almost forgot your present, Mulder."
"Scully, you didn't have to - I mean, I
didn't get you -"
"Don't worry about it." She smiled and
handed him the small, gaily wrapped gift.
"I got it mostly out of habit, it's not
much. If something comes up and you can't
reach my cell, you have my parents' number,
right?"
He nodded, and she shrugged her coat on at
the door. "Merry Christmas, Scully."
"Merry Christmas."
It was a Christmas tree ornament, a ghost in
a Santa hat. Mulder smiled and hung it from
the knob on the cabinet under the window.
And it *was* nice to work in lights - it
almost felt like Scully hadn't left.
Not long after, her father died. The next
year, she didn't decorate the office, and he
didn't bring it up.
//---~*~---~*~---~*~---//
/Christmas Eve will find me/
Mulder lay stretched out on his couch, mind
wandering as the id monster of Dr. Morbius
rampaged over Altair IV on his television.
A mind under stress, sending out physical
manifestations to lash out at its enemies,
sounded familiar - Kevin Kryder. Of course.
He still owed Scully an apology for that
case, for dismissing her faith so casually.
He should know by now to trust Scully's
instincts as well as he trusted his own; and
in the end she'd been right, she'd known
exactly where the kid would be, pieced it
together from the tiniest of clues ..
Everything but that bit about her being
chosen as Kevin's protector. And Saint
Owen. He didn't think he bought all that.
But still, he needed to apologize; they'd
been growing apart recently, snapping at
each other. He wasn't sure why, but he did
miss the easy companionship they'd shared,
and talking about the case would help. And
it'd be nice to hear her voice, he thought.
Reassuring, that she's okay -
He clicked off the TV and reached for the
phone. No answer. Where - oh. Home for
Christmas, right. He left a "Merry
Christmas" message on her machine and said
he'd had a thought, but it wasn't important
and he'd talk to her later. Fighting back a
pang of disappointment, Mulder had just hung
up the phone and was reaching for the remote
when it rang again.
"Scully, I was just -"
"Oh, you're expecting a call from the little
lady? I'll hang up then." Frohike.
Frohike amused. Mulder groaned.
"No, no, I was just - never mind. What do
you want, Frohike?"
"Well, I'm about to make you an offer you
can't refuse. Unless you *want* to sit at
home and mope on Christmas Eve, of course.
We've got a LAN set up for Doom, looking for
more warm bodies. There's egg nog. And
video surveillance on the roof -"
Mulder burst out laughing. "Frohike, please
tell me you're not trying to catch Santa
Claus on tape."
"Who, us? Mulder, you wound me. Figured
you knew, Santa Claus is a cover story
invented to disguise the military's .. Shut
up, hippy, you're not funny. .. So, buddy,
you in?"
Mulder hesitated, glancing around his
apartment. He'd been ordered not to go in
to the office tomorrow, and he'd been sort
of looking forward to the stack of old B
movies and cold-case x-files he'd dug up
over the past week. But he'd been thinking
of Scully, and suddenly none of that looked
too appealing. Party now, brood later, he
thought.
"Sure," he told Frohike. "Sounds great.
I'll pick up a pizza on the way over .. um,
if anything's open?"
"Try the place on 3rd Street. See you."
As Mulder reached for his coat, his eyes
fell on the photo of him and Samantha beside
his computer. He picked it up, stroking the
side of her face with his finger, and
impulsively stuffed it into his pocket.
He'd set it up beside his monitor at the
Gunmen's. For luck.
Christmas Eve with Samantha again, he mused
as he locked the apartment door. Would she
like Doom?
Mulder sighed, torn between chuckling and
whimpering. She'd probably whip his ass.
//---~*~---~*~---~*~---//
/Where the love-light gleams/
Mulder actually got a present from his
mother that year. It was mailed, a long
silly stocking cap with a tassel at the end.
He had no idea *what* on Earth had made her
send it to him, unless it was some old
memory of reading 'The Night before
Christmas' with Samantha and how he'd loved
the illustrations of "I in my cap."
Probably some girlfriend at church had
called her on not sending presents. It was
a little sad, he thought, that his mother
still thought of him as a little boy, still
bought him things he would have enjoyed at
age ten - when she remembered him at all,
that was.
In any case, it was warm, and his apartment
froze at night, so he wore it. Not in
public and he wouldn't dare show Scully.
He was wearing it two nights after
Christmas, when Scully called and told him
about her - her *daughter*. He doubted
things would work out in the end - he had a
very bad feeling about it - but he went,
because by now he knew he loved her.
Bill was cool, but distracted by his wife
and son. Maggie was herself, compassionate
and friendly and loving. Emily died and it
broke Mulder's heart to stand and do nothing
as another child slipped away, as his
partner collapsed in tears of
incomprehension.
He held her in his arms as he struggled to
comfort her, to earn her forgiveness for the
secrets he'd kept and for those he still
held back for her sake, and what struck him
most was the unconditional love and support
of her family, even in the face of something
like this, something they'd never understand
the full scope of, they stood by Dana and
cared for her. He wondered what it was like
to have a family like that.
When he got back to DC, he called Teena and
thanked her for the cap.
Then he went to Scully's and watched movies
and talked about nothing, which was at the
same time the greatest and most painful
thing in the world.
//---~*~---~*~---~*~---//
/I'll be home for Christmas/
Teena called unexpectedly, and invited him
up for Christmas. Mulder blinked and
agreed; he hadn't seen her since .. he
honestly couldn't remember the last time
he'd seen her.
He wanted to invite Scully along, because
they had that kind of relationship now, the
kind where you share holidays. And also
because dammit, he was scared. In the end
he didn't, he decided it might throw his
mother off her stride too much, though he
sensed she would have come, and gladly.
On Christmas Eve he walked through the door
of the house in Greenwich. "Fox," his
mother said hesitantly, awkwardly, and after
a moment he hugged her though it didn't feel
right.
"How are you, Fox?" she asked, clearly
concerned, and her hands went to his
forehead.
That's right, she was involved with that.
She was involved with *him*, with the
cigarette smoking bastard who'd cut his head
open for fun and profit. He dropped his
suitcase with a clatter, frozen.
"I'm fine," he said stiffly. "No thanks to
you."
She had the grace to look hurt for a second,
then slammed the stoic mask back into place.
"I didn't want to, Fox. I can't stand
against him. You have to understand, I -"
Her eyes met his for a second, and she
seemed to deflate. "I have food in the
kitchen."
Mulder followed slowly, as if in shock,
though he'd known all along what he was
saying, known he wasn't strong enough for
this. "You knew. You knew all along, what
he was doing, what he wanted to do." His
voice was soft, controlled; his eyes were
hooded and steely, hurt if you knew which
crinkles to look for. "Just like you knew
when they took Samantha." She gasped and
turned away, didn't answer.
"That's why you asked me here. You feel
guilty, all of a sudden, and you want to
atone. I'm sorry, Mom, I can't. Not like
this. I can't stay here. I'm sorry, Mom.
I'm so sorry." His voice didn't change, but
tears were streaming down his face as he
walked out the door.
He stayed in a motel that night and didn't
call her before he left the next morning.
A week later, he kissed Scully, and it meant
something.
Five weeks after that, Teena was dead, and
finally, so was Samantha. It took him many
long nights to forgive his mother.
He never did quite forgive himself.
//---~*~---~*~---~*~---//
/If only in my dreams/
That night he spent in a trailer in New
Mexico, sharing a bed with Gibson Praise.
He took a moment to look at the stars and
think of Samantha; he took hours to look at
the photograph in his hand and think of
Scully and William.
He wanted to be there - oh, how he wanted to
be there. He couldn't miss his son's first
Christmas. Scully'd be reading to him right
now, telling him stories, hanging his
stocking above that ridiculous, wonderful
fireplace in her apartment.
Unless they were at Maggie's. That was more
likely, he thought. If Mulder couldn't be
there, he should have as much family around
as possible. Meet his cousins, if he hadn't
already.
He'd wanted to send something, a card, a
toy, anything. Anything so Scully wouldn't
have to feel so alone, as alone as he felt
every second of every day. Anything so his
son would remember he had a father. In the
end Gibson talked him out of it, and he
settled for another sappy email, an email
that didn't sound like himself because his
emotions were so close to the surface these
days and he wasn't used to it. He hoped she
understood.
I should be there, he thought. There's
nothing more important than this. William's
life is more important that seeing his Daddy
for Christmas, something whispered in his
mind, but is it really? he wondered. Every
life is in danger, every day; that's just
life.
Somehow he thought Skinner, at least, would
understand if he appeared at her doorstep
next morning, and hang the consequences.
But Scully might not.
Mulder went to bed conflicted, brushing past
Gibson's tacky aluminum tree. The sky was
light when he finally drifted to sleep; he
dreamed of home and his son's smiling face
in a sea of wrapping paper, Scully's
carefree laughter, her kisses.
When he got Scully's message with a one-way
train ticket, he practically danced for joy
and didn't stop smiling until two days
later, when supersoldiers appeared and he
had to jump the train in a rock quarry so
*close* to her, and hide again.
He felt as though his soul had been ripped
from his chest, ground into little souly
bits, and stomped on.
As he made his way slowly, quietly,
anonymously back to New Mexico and Gibson,
every night he dreamed of home, but these
dreams were of death.
//---~*~---~*~---~*~---//
/Home for Christmas/
"Oh, Mulder .. I'm so sorry. I wanted to
see you so, so badly, too, and I never
thought .."
"It's okay, Scully. I got over it. I'm
here, right? Home. With you."
"And the rest of your stories, Mulder - I
had no idea. Your mother, and .."
"I know. I probably should have kept my
mouth shut, but you asked, and - it felt
good to talk about it. I'm sorry that was
so selfish and depressing, Scully; I'll get
you a real present tomorrow."
"No. No, Mulder, that was just what I asked
for, and it was perfect. Sad, but perfect.
... I love you so much, you know."
"I know. Because I love you more."
"Mmm. I'd dispute that, but I'm cold. Will
you put another log on the fire?"
~*~
"So, Mulder, what would *you* like for
Christmas? Keeping in mind, again, that we
have no money."
"Heh. Can I ask for a rendition of choice
and memorable Scully Christmases of auld
lang syne?"
"Hmmm. ... I don't know, Mulder, I think
I'll give you an I.O.U. on that. I'm kind
of storied out for tonight. Okay?"
"Mmm. Okay, I get that. I'll hold you to
it, though. Next year."
"Next year. We'll start a tradition."
"A good tradition?"
"I hope so. Until we run out of stories."
"Never happen. Have I told you the one with
the Chupacabras, that-"
"Yes, Mulder. I was there, in fact,
remember?"
"No, no, see, *this* Chupacabras came down
people's chimneys in a red suit, and -"
"Mulder!!"
"You'll see, Scully. It was sighted in this
part of Mexico exactly one year ago
tonight."
"Mulder. What do you want for Christmas?
Besides a visit from the Christmas
Chupacabras."
"... Scully?"
"Yes?"
"Will you please just kiss me?"
"... I can do that."
//---~*~---~*~---~*~---//
I'll be home for Christmas
You can count on me
Please have snow
And mistletoe
And presents on the tree
Christmas Eve will find me
Where the love-light gleams
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams.
//---~*~---~*~---~*~---//
FIN.
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