TITLE: Christmas Eve 2003, 4:20 p.m. AUTHOR: Forte E-MAIL: Bjm1352@aol.com or Forte1354@aol.com URL: http://www.thebasementoffice.com/ RATING: PG CATEGORY: VA SPOILERS: Basically everything through "The Truth" *g* SUMMARY: You're allowed to have help when you need it. TIMEFRAME: Post-"The Truth." Sequel to "Christmas Day 2001, 4:20 p.m."; it's not absolutely necessary to read that one first but it couldn't hurt. ;) ARCHIVE: Gossamer/Ephemeral/M&S/Spooky awards site OK; anywhere else please ask first. DISCLAIMER: They belong to CC, 1013, and FOX; *definitely* not me. FEEDBACK: Yes, please. :) THANKS: To Musea, especially Diana Battis and Audrey Roget, for being partners in crime. **** Christmas Eve 2003, 4:20 p.m. **** A flash of headlights through the curtains and the crunch of tires in the driveway pulled Margaret Scully away from her book. Right on time, she noted, pleased, with a glance to the mantel clock. A bit early, even. She pushed herself up from the couch, pivoted on her good foot, and pulled the crutches under her arms. As irritating as they were -- despite plenty of padding, her hands and arms ached from their use -- she reminded herself once again that she was fortunate her ankle was only badly sprained rather than broken. Besides, it was her own fault that she'd not been more careful and had slipped on the ice. She hobbled to the window, brushed aside the curtain, and watched her visitor make his way to the trunk of his dark sedan. In the fading daylight it was difficult to tell what color suit he was wearing -- black? dark brown? -- but in any case it was nice to know that some men still knew how to dress at the holidays. John Doggett slammed the trunk lid shut and turned toward the house carrying two bulging paper grocery bags. Margaret made her way to the front door, but her visitor either heard the thumping of her crutches in the hall or had seen her in the window; his granite voice came through from outside. "Don't try to turn the knob, Mrs. Scully. Just unlock the door and move away -- I'll open it myself." She did as he'd suggested, grateful to be spared the undignified one-crutch slide-hop-slide she'd had to do when the florist delivered get-well flowers from Bill and Tara. As Doggett entered, shoulders squared, and pushed the door shut behind him, Margaret could see that he was in a dark gray suit, crisp white shirt, and conservative tie. His black wingtips looked freshly polished. Unbidden, it reminded her of her husband's inspections of their sons' outfits before every Christmas Mass. Oh yes, Dana had mentioned that John had been in the military. She looked away quickly and squelched the bittersweet smile before addressing her guest. "It's very kind of you to go to this trouble for me, John. Really, though, I could have asked one of my neighbors to pick up these groceries for me, or someone from my church--" "It wasn't any trouble, Mrs. Scully. I'd want someone to do this for my folks if they were still alive." He pointed with his chin behind her, toward the kitchen. "Want me to put these away for you?" "Yes, thank you," she replied, a twinge of sheepishness in her voice. In the year and a half since Dana and Fox were killed in New Mexico, both John Doggett and Walter Skinner had quietly checked in with her every few weeks. One of them would stop by, make small talk, maybe fix something in the house that she hadn't yet had a chance to take care of herself. She wondered how much they still hadn't told her about Dana and Fox's deaths, how much of their assistance was charity and how much was guilt. At Father McCue's urging, though, she did her best to accept the two men's kindnesses and not judge them. "I'd better not let myself get used to this first-class service, though," she continued. "I'll get spoiled." "You're allowed to have help when you need it, Mrs. Scully." He gave her a tiny smile as he passed her, and she followed him into the kitchen. "You look very nice, if you don't mind my saying so. And I did remember to bring the camera." "Good -- thank you. If my own clumsiness is going to keep me from traveling to see my sons and their families, at least they'll be able to see *me*, if only in a picture." "Family's important," Doggett replied, pulling out a kitchen chair and leaning the crutches against the table as Margaret sat down. "Especially at Christmas." "It is indeed." Margaret paused, watching as he took milk and butter from one of the bags and placed them in the refrigerator. She now knew that his parents were deceased, and he wore no wedding band. Did he have any family with whom to share the holiday? If he had no plans, it would only be polite to invite him to share Christmas dinner with her. Doggett held up a can of soup; she pointed to the cupboard above the stove. "Will you be able to spend Christmas with your family, or..." she searched for the right phrasing, "will you have to work?" A flinch darted across his face as he stacked soup in the cabinet. She felt her face redden with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, John. I didn't mean to get overly personal -- " "No, that's all right, Mrs. Scully. My family isn't... I'm not originally from this area." An awkward silence hung over the room as he put away the rest of the groceries. When he was finished, he folded the empty paper bags neatly and gave her a somewhat... discomfited look, she decided. Why had she asked him such a personal question? "So, uh," Doggett said finally. He reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a slim digital camera. "Are you ready for your picture? Sun should be almost completely down, so I should be able to get a good shot of you with the tree all lit up." "Yes, that sounds like a good idea. Just let me go check my hair and makeup." It would give her a chance to make sure that her face wasn't still red, she added to herself. Several minutes later, satisfied that she didn't look as flushed as she felt, she hobbled to the living room. Doggett apparently had found the light switch for the Christmas tree, which stood in the corner of the room and twinkled in multiple hues that danced off the walls and ceiling. A star of white lights topped off the balsam fir. The other lights in the room were off. She noticed her guest over at the mantel, studying a grouping of family photos. Margaret could see the reflection of the blinking lights in their glass as she approached. "That's my older son, Bill, and his family," she said, trying to point to one photo as she held on to both crutches. "This one?" Doggett touched one of the frames. "Yes, and the next one over is my youngest, Charles, with his clan." Doggett shuffled a half-step to his right to stand before another photo. "This must be you and Mr. Scully?" "Yes," she smiled, "that was taken at his retirement party. It was nice to have him to myself after sharing him with the Navy for so long." She shook her head. "He passed away about ten years ago." "I'm sorry." "We had a lot of good years together. That's more than a lot of people can say, so I shouldn't complain." By the fleeting pain that crossed his face, she knew she'd said something wrong again. Why didn't she just let the poor man take her picture so he could leave? Before she could speak again, Doggett had turned to the next photo, of two more people who were lost to her. "This must be Melissa," he said, touching the top of the frame over her older daughter's head. The reflections from the tree lights seemed to dance around her face. Margaret nodded, feeling a tightening in her throat. A woman expects to have to bury her husband some day, but not her children... not two of them. "Melissa and Dana seemed to... re-connect after Dana was... after she recovered from her coma. I took that picture of them that first Christmas... after." She sighed. "That was Melissa's last Christmas." Doggett nodded in return, staring at the photo of the two sisters. "I... lost my son several years ago." Her face flushed again. No wonder he'd seemed uncomfortable discussing his family. "I'm so sorry." He continued to gaze at the photo, then squared his shoulders and sucked in a long breath. "Yeah, well, sometimes life throws you something lousy you didn't expect. You just have to learn to live with it, make the best of a bad situation." He turned to face her again. "Ready for that picture?" "Yes," she replied, startled, "yes, of course." She made her way over to the tree and positioned herself next to the wall. "Would you mind taking these?" she asked, indicating the crutches. "I'd rather not have them in the picture." "You want a chair to sit in, Mrs. Scully?" he asked. "Let me get you one from the dining room." "No, I'm fine standing like this for a minute or two," Margaret insisted. "I just need to put my weight on my good foot. I'll be fine." Doggett smiled at that as he took the crutches and leaned them on the wall behind him. "I see the apple didn't fall far from the tree." It took a moment to sink it, but Margaret smiled as well. "No, I suppose it didn't." It was another bittersweet smile, but it would do for the photo, she decided. Once Doggett was ready with the digital camera, she posed, and he pressed the shutter. "The flash didn't go off," she remarked. "I thought the light from the tree might be enough for a good picture," he replied, and brought the crutches back over to her. "Let's take a look." Doggett held up the camera's viewer so they could both see. He pressed a button, and she waited for her picture to pop up. Instead of a picture, a silent video began to play. Margaret was puzzled for a moment until she recognized the petite woman moving on the screen. Dana. Margaret gaped as she watched her daughter, dressed in jeans and a navy sweater, place an ornament on a Christmas tree. Then the video zoomed out to a wider shot, and Margaret gasped as Fox Mulder, also in casual clothes, entered the frame. With Dana smiling at him, he approached the tree, then reached up and placed a gold star on top. He smiled at Dana, putting his arm around her shoulders as she wrapped hers around his waist, and the two turned to the camera. The screen went blank. Margaret stared in shock at the camera viewer before looking up at John Doggett. Before she could give voice to her questions, he shook his head, holding a finger to his lips to tell her to not say a word. *Just one more time* he mouthed. *Then I have to erase it.* She blinked, then nodded her understanding. Doggett pushed a button and the video began again, and this time Margaret noticed the timestamp that flashed at the beginning. December 20, 2003. She tried her best to memorize those precious fifteen seconds as they ran the second time. Dana looked... not relaxed, but not tired or hungry or sick. She looked at Fox with love on her face, and he seemed to regard her the same way. And they were gloriously, gloriously alive. When the screen went blank the second time, Doggett cleared his throat. "That really didn't work out very well. I guess I better try it again with the flash." He pushed a few more buttons, and Margaret looked away, not wanting to watch him destroy the most miraculous Christmas gift she'd ever received. "So, umm, why don't we try that picture again," he said, taking a step away from her. "You want me to take your crutches again?" "I, uh..." She struggled to find coherent words, realized that the crutches were virtually the only thing holding her up at that moment. "I think I'd like that chair this time, if you don't mind." "Sure thing, Mrs. Scully." A minute later she was settled into one of the dining room chairs, holding her hands tightly in her lap so they wouldn't shake. When Doggett took the photo again he used the flash, and there was nothing for him to show her other than her picture. She looked... vaguely anxious in the shot. She'd have to tell her sons that the flash startled her. She didn't think she could sit still for another photo to see if she'd look any better. She followed Doggett, dazed, into the kitchen to her computer nook, where he downloaded the photo to her PC so she could e-mail it to her sons. She settled herself onto a kitchen chair, trying to pull her thoughts together, trying to decide which of her many questions she would ask first, getting more and more anxious for some answers. After a few minutes, Doggett straightened and made a show of putting the camera back in his suit jacket pocket. "Guess I'll be going now, Mrs. Scully. I'll let myself out." She stared at him defiantly as if to say, "You're not going anywhere, young man." He shook his head, squatting to be at eye level with her. *I don't know.* he mouthed. *I don't know where they are.* He waited until the sharp set of her jaw softened. He reached for her hand, squeezed it tightly with both of his, then leaned over and brushed a soft kiss on her cheek. "Merry Christmas, Mrs. Scully." He stood, gave her a rueful smile, then left. The door clicked behind him, a draft breezed through into the kitchen, and she heard his car start up and pull away. Margaret stared into space where John Doggett had stood moments before, too stunned to move. She stayed that way for several minutes before she realized that he'd left her with one last gift: pressed in her hand was a familiar, delicate gold cross pendant. END **** Feedback makes my day: Bjm1352@aol.com or Forte1354@aol.com Author's notes: I've taken the liberty of assuming that Doggett's parents are both deceased. To the best of my knowledge they've never been mentioned on the show, but since they were not on hand when Luke's ashes were scattered, that seemed a logical conclusion. I'm also assuming that, since the events of "The Truth," Mrs. Scully has believed that Mulder and Scully are dead. Doggett (and Reyes, and Skinner) kept up the charade for Mrs. Scully's own protection... until now. Thanks for reading. I wish you and yours a wonderful holiday season and a happy, peaceful 2004. *~*~* My fanfiction: http://www.thebasementoffice.com/ The Map Room: http://www.thebasementoffice.com/Musea/maproom.html "Off the Top of My Head" (ep commentary): http://www.thebasementoffice.com/OTT.html Musea: http://www.geocities.com/museans/ *~*~*