From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 26 Dec 2006 04:56:48 -0000
Subject: NEW: Christmas Eve 2005, 4:20 p.m. (1 of 1) by Diana Battis and Forte, VA, Rated PG-13 by Forte
Source: direct
Reply To: bjm1352@aol.com
TITLE: Christmas Eve 2005, 4:20 p.m.
AUTHORS: Diana Battis and Forte
E-MAIL: all4mulder@aol.com and Bjm1352@aol.com
URL: http://www.geocities.com/dbattis.geo/TheXFilesFic.html
and http://www.thebasementoffice.com/
RATING: PG-13
CATEGORY: VA
SPOILERS: Basically everything through "The Truth"
SUMMARY: What do you give someone who has everything...or
nothing?
TIMEFRAME: Post-"The Truth." Fourth in the "Christmas 4:20"
series ("Christmas Day 2001, 4:20 p.m.," "Christmas Eve 2003,
4:20 p.m.," and "Christmas Eve 2004, 4:20 p.m.;" it's not
absolutely necessary to read the others first but this fic will
make more sense if you do. You can find them at
http://www.thebasementoffice.com/Xmasseries.html
ARCHIVE: Gossamer/Ephemeral/Spooky awards site OK; anywhere else
please ask first.
DISCLAIMER: They belong to CC, 1013, and FOX; *definitely* not us.
FEEDBACK: Would make our day!
THANKS: To Musea, for all manner of friendship and support.
****
Christmas Eve 2005, 4:20 p.m.
****
Walker's Bookstore & Cafe
Omaha, Nebraska
December 24, 2005
4:20 p.m.
"I'll kick his ass if he doesn't show up." Mulder peered
through the blinds over the store's "CLOSED" sign at the
last-minute shoppers hurrying along the snowy sidewalk.
"How are you going to kick his ass if he's not here to have his
ass kicked?"
When she got no response to her joke, Scully walked over and
laid a gentle hand on his arm. "James," she said, maintaining
their "pseudonyms only" rule while in the public part of the
store, "he won't let us down. He never has."
Mulder pulled his fingers from the slats and the blinds snapped
back into place. He looked down at his partner, a worried
expression in his eyes.
"Come on," Scully said, with just the slightest tug on his arm.
"We have to finish cleaning the coffee urns."
=======
Scully was elbow deep in the last urn when she heard the soft
scratching at the rear door. Her first thought was of the gun
stashed beneath the counter in the shop, but a more forceful
knock and a few uttered curses brought a smile to her face.
"James," she called, "you can forget about the physical
violence. Cal's here."
Quickly drying her hands on a snowman-covered towel, she walked
to the rear entrance and peered through the peephole before
disarming the alarm and unbolting the door.
"I know, I know, I'm late." The little man dropped a plastic
shopping bag to the floor and used the end of his red scarf to
wipe at the melting snow on his face. "Missed the first bus by
seconds and that shot the rest of my timetable to shit."
"And a Merry Christmas to you, too."
"Aw, sorry Caroline." He looked at his shoes, his cheeks
competing with the scarf for brightest color. "Merry
Christmas."
She laughed and gave the little man a hug. "I was teasing!"
Scully pulled back a bit to take in the dark, wet shoulders of
his parka. "You're soaked! Take off your coat and let it dry
out a bit."
He unzipped his parka and draped it over a wooden chair back,
peering around the store. "Let me guess -- James is hiding
downstairs and left you up here to do the real work?"
"I heard that," Mulder's voice drifted up from the basement
storeroom. "It's called TAKING INVENTORY, Calvin!"
"Oh, is that what they call it these days?" was their guest's
chortled reply. He retrieved his shopping bag and carried it
down to the storeroom. Scully closed and bolted the basement
door behind her, tapping a code into a security panel in the
stairwell before following.
Mulder greeted his friend with a warm bear hug. "Just keep your
hands off my ass, Frohike."
"Shit! Like I'm interested in your posterior." He awkwardly
patted Mulder's back before breaking the hug and turning to
survey the room. To an unskilled eye the large basement area
looked chaotic and disorganized. Shelves of books lined three
walls of the room, obscured in some places by open cartons and
crumpled packing materials. Along the fourth was a long,
custom made metal desk holding computers and monitors. Beneath
the table, a series of printers were set up, and lengths of
greenbar paper had spilled onto the gray industrial carpet.
Frohike walked over to the desk, studying the collection of maps
hanging above. "Have any trouble with that new program,
Mulder?" he asked, examining the mosaic of color created by the
pushpins dotting the yellowed surface.
"Is that a rhetorical question or are you fishing for
compliments?"
"Mulder, play nice," Scully cautioned, moving to the small table
set up in the center of the room. She peeled the layer of
plastic wrap from a tray of sugar cookies and placed them on
the table where coffee and mugs were already waiting.
Three folding chairs leaned against the nearest shelf, and
Mulder proceeded to open them. "I really am glad you finally
decided to show up, Frohike. I was starting to think you were
a jerk like all the other guys who've stood me up over the
years."
Frohike settled himself in the nearest chair and accepted a
steaming mug from Scully. "YOU I'd stand up, Mulder, but I
wouldn't dare do that to Agent Scully -- she'd kick my ass."
Scully finished filling the mugs, then pushed the tray of
cookies toward their guest.
He gave a quick longing gaze at the tray, then lifted his mug.
"To friends, family -- and survival."
Mulder and Scully touched their mugs to his, then each took a
sip of the steaming brew.
"Nowwwww," Frohike commented, reaching for the cookie tray,
"come to papa. I never met a cookie I didn't like."
Scully stared into her mug, then cleared her throat.
"Any news?" she asked, her voice registering a slight tremor.
He bit into a cookie, crumbs scattering across the front of his
gray sweater. "All is well. Your mom is fine, missing you
like hell but you know that already. Your brothers and their
families...all fine."
"And..." Mulder walked up behind her, placed his hands on her
shoulders and squeezed lightly.
"He's fine, too. She's doing a good job. And we're keeping
close tabs on them so you two don't need to worry."
A small smile lit her face as she rested her cheek against one
of Mulder's hands. "Thank you seems such an inadequate thing
for us to say compared to..."
"Well, if you have any mistletoe handy we could work out a
deal," Frohike said with a wink, reaching for another cookie.
"Hell, in a pinch I've been known to work for eggnog, but
you're such a damned cheap host, Mulder, I guess that's out of
the question."
Mulder pulled out the remaining chair and straddled it. "Sorry,
no mistletoe or eggnog here, but I do have presents." He
leaned back to pull a plastic shopping bag from behind a stack
of cartons and handed it to his friend. "A few books for you
guys, and for you to spirit back to D.C."
"I'm just the elf for the job," Frohike smirked. He set the bag
on a table and started to pull out the items inside. "'Walter
the Farting Dog'? Can I guess who this one is for?"
Scully cleared her throat. "Mulder's idea, obviously." Her
partner grinned his agreement.
"Man, I'm sorry I won't be there when Skinner opens his
package." Frohike set down the book and pulled out the next
item.
"'Medieval Numerology'. This must be for Monica. Have to say
I'm NOT sorry I won't be there when she opens it...if I hear any
more of her new-age crap I'll have to shoot myself."
He drew out the next item, a separate smaller bag. "Magazines?"
he asked, pulling them out one by one. "Omni?"
"Back issues," Mulder explained, "containing the complete works
of one M.F. Luder for Agent Doggett's reading pleasure."
Frohike barked out a laugh.
"The last three are for you, Byers, and Langly," Scully said.
Frohike reached in the bag and pulled out three books, studying
them quizzically. "'Huckleberry Finn.' 'The Adventures of
Tom Sawyer.' 'A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court.'"
He shot a sidelong glance Mulder's way. "Mark Twain, huh?"
Mulder grinned again. "Because reports of your deaths have been
greatly exaggerated."
Frohike gave him a wry look, then checked his watch. "Damn it
all -- did you have to pick somewhere as 'nowhere' as Omaha to
live?" he grumbled.
"If I recall correctly, Omaha was your idea," Scully smiled.
"Nah, must have been Byers." He looked at his watch again. "I
hate like hell to cut this visit short, but with three buses
and a train between me and my wheels I need to haul ass."
"Let me get the laundry, then," Mulder said. He reached behind
him to the desk against the wall, opened the bottom drawer, and
pulled out a thick envelope. He tossed it on the table in
front of Frohike. "A little under twenty grand. Don't spend
it all in one place."
Frohike whistled. "Man, if I knew there was that much money in
books I would have spent more time at the library when I was a
kid." He shoved the envelope in his pants pocket.
"There's a decent profit margin in the coffee and food, too."
Mulder shrugged. "I'd sell lap dances if I had to."
"Oh, jeez Mulder, THAT'S a visual I could do without," Frohike
exclaimed, pushing up from his chair. "Give me a break, okay?
I just put something in my stomach and I'd like to keep it
there."
Mulder stood up, casting a glance at his partner, who was barely
maintaining her poker face. "It's not my fault you don't
appreciate artistic expression, Frohike."
"My Aunt Fanny," Frohike muttered, following his hosts to the
stairs. "Where do you want to do this year's video?"
At the top of the stairs Mulder keyed in the code and unlocked
the door with practiced efficiency. "How about in front of the
tree," Scully suggested.
"Sounds like the perfect place for my masterpiece." Frohike
pulled a digital camera case from the depths of the now-bulging
shopping bag he'd brought with him. "Ready for your close-up?"
"As ready as we'll ever be, Mr. DeMille," Mulder replied. He
led the way into the shop proper, flipping a switch on the
wall. Next to the cafe counter, a decorated Christmas tree
came to life.
"Remember," Frohike warned, "Mamacita is gonna see this little
video, so don't go flippin' me the bird."
"I can assure you that she's seen much worse," Scully said
wryly, joining Mulder in front of the tree. With her arm
around his waist and his around her shoulder, they stood and
smiled as Frohike shot the brief video that would eventually
make its way to Mrs. Scully. Just before Frohike clicked off
the camera, Mulder leaned over, eyes closed, and reverently
kissed the top of his partner's head.
Frohike hurriedly packed up the digital camera, checking his
watch again.
"Shit, I really gotta go." He embraced Scully and Mulder in
turn. "Take care of each other. We'll be in touch."
Scully pressed her lips together, her eyes unnaturally bright as
she gestured toward the area behind the cafe counter. "Let me,
uh, let me get you something to take with you. We have some
extra sandwiches."
As she moved around the counter and rummaged in the cafe
refrigerator, Frohike pulled Mulder aside so their backs were
to Scully. He reached into his shopping back again and pulled
out a shoebox-sized package wrapped in colorful Sunday comics.
"I'm never letting Blondie do the wrapping again," he muttered,
and shoved the box into Mulder's hands. "Don't open it until
after I leave."
Mulder's eyes widened slightly, then he nodded, turned, and
placed the box on a bookshelf behind him just as Scully emerged
from behind the cafe counter. She handed Frohike a bulging
paper sack, which he dropped in his shopping bag. "Sandwiches,
bottled water, and cookies," she explained, her voice strained.
"I'm sorry there's no more hot coffee."
"S'okay," he muttered, lifting the bag with an exaggerated
grunt. "I just hope these handles don't give out."
"I think I can help you with that, too," Scully said,
disappearing behind the counter once more. "It's under here
somewhere...got it." She stood up holding a canvas sack,
garish green letters across the front screaming 'Lamperella's
Liquors.' "Remember this?"
"The bag or the store?" He gave her a quick grin as he accepted
the bag. "Hell, I remember them both. Good times, but..." he
turned the bag inside out, "this is a little too loud, if you
know what I mean." He dropped his plastic bag into the
inside-out canvas one and tested the straps. "I'm good to go
now."
The three walked to the door in rear workroom. Frohike
retrieved his parka and slipped it on, wrapping the red scarf
around his neck as Mulder disarmed the alarm. "Guess I'd
better get this show on the road."
Scully put her arms around him and squeezed tightly. "God bless
you and keep you safe," she murmured, then placed a kiss on
each of his cheeks. "One for Bruce, one for Larry," she
explained, using Byers' and Langly's pseudonyms.
The little man flushed, then quickly pulled back. "Hey, don't
go gettin' all sentimental on me. I don't have time to get
this damned coat dry again -- it's Christmas Eve and this elf's
got deliveries to make." He pulled open the door and was
outside and around the corner before anyone could reply.
As usual, no one said "goodbye."
=======
The shop seemed inordinately quiet when Mulder and Scully
returned, and even the festive splashes of color provided by
the reflection of the tree lights did little to dispel the
gloom. Scully touched one of the branches, the needles
surprisingly soft against her fingertips. "And so goeth another
year."
"And look at all we have to be thankful for." Mulder came up
behind her and nuzzled the side of her neck.
She turned to face him. "Do I seem ungrateful? Because I'm
not." She shrugged, eyes downcast. "I just miss..."
"I know. So do I." He pulled her into an embrace, rubbing his
hands up and down her back. "Could I interest you in an early
Christmas present?" he murmured in her ear.
Scully pulled back to gaze up at him. "You wouldn't tease me
about a present, would you, James?"
He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "I value my life,
Caroline." Mulder retrieved the gift that Frohike had given him
and handed it to her. "A little something early from Santa.
How about we go downstairs and finish the cookies while we open
this?"
Scully nodded her understanding: whatever was inside the box was
likely not suitable for the "public" area of the store.
They made their way to the basement door again, flicking off the
switch for the tree as they went. Scully descended first,
carrying the package, and had the wrapping paper ripped off by
the time Mulder had set the security alarm and joined her.
"A shoe box," he commented, stating the obvious. "I hope
they're my size."
Scully removed the box top and proceeded to unpeel plastic
bubble wrap from the object inside, revealing a digital camera.
With shaky hands she powered up the camera and turned it so
they could both see the viewer.
A picture of a beautiful young boy popped onto the screen. He
had dark wavy hair, playful blue eyes, and a nose just slightly
too big for his face. He wore a huge grin and had what
appeared to be ice cream smeared around his mouth.
"He looks happy," Scully whispered.
"Yeah," was Mulder's whispered response. He put his arm around
Scully's shoulder and squeezed, then reached with his other hand
to press a button on the camera.
Another photo appeared of the boy, this one of him on a
swingset. He was in mid-swing, eyes closed as he leaned
slightly forward, the breeze blowing his hair nearly sideways.
Neither said anything, just drank in the rapturous look on the
boy's face.
Several more photos of the boy followed: perched on a bike with
training wheels. Feeding ducks at a pond. Wearing a pirate
costume. Sitting cross-legged on the floor reading a book.
When there were no other photos, they went back and viewed them
all again. And again. And again.
Finally, Scully powered off the camera and set it back down on
its bed of bubble wrap.
"We're doing the right thing, Mulder," she said firmly, staring
at the camera.
"I know." With a gentle tug on her wrist he pulled her into an
embrace, nuzzling the top of her head. "Merry Christmas,
Scully."
She sighed and relaxed into his arms. "Merry Christmas,
Mulder."
And each gave up a silent "Merry Christmas" for the beautiful
boy in the pictures.
END
****
Authors' notes: Surprised that the Gunmen are alive? *g* We
subscribe to the theory that they were not really dead since on
the show we never saw the Gunmen's bodies nor were we told that
Scully had done the autopsies. Hell, that explains why Jeffrey
Spender was still alive in S9 when he seemed very, very dead at
the end of S6. "Jump the Shark" our asses! *g*
Feedback is better than spiked eggnog: all4mulder@aol.com and
Bjm1352@aol.com
Why yes, this fic is a year late, just like last year's. We'll
catch up eventually!
Thanks for reading. May you and yours have a wonderful holiday
season and a happy, peaceful 2007.