TITLE:  A Christmas Miracle  (1/2)

AUTHOR:  Brandon D. Ray

EMAIL ADDRESS:  publius@avalon.net

DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT:  Anywhere and everywhere, so long as my name
stays on it and no money changes hands.

FEEDBACK:  Oh, hell yes....

Ephemeral: *FEEDBACK*publius@avalon.net

SPOILER WARNING:  The Beginning; Drive

RATING:  PG, for language

CONTENT WARNING:  We are hereby issuing a Grade 3 sappy romance alert.
Anti-shippers and Grinches are advised to take shelter immediately.  You
have been warned.

CLASSIFICATION:  CRA, and finally MSR

SUMMARY:  Crossover with "It's a Wonderful Life", which has been done to
death, but I couldn't resist.  If you've actually managed to avoid
seeing that movie, just think Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed, and get out
your hanky.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  I would like to report that when I ran this sucker
through my spellchecker it rejected the word "Kersh" and suggested
"carwash" as a replacement.  I was so tempted....  :)

Oh, and for some inexplicable reason, Mulder's apartment seems to be in
the District in this story.  Don't ask me why...it just happened.

DISCLAIMER:  Nope, I do not own these characters or situations.  If I
were THAT smart, I would be rich.


A Christmas Miracle

by Brandon D. Ray

Special Agent Fox Mulder stood leaning against the wall at the back of
the auditorium.  Impatiently, he glanced at his watched, and shifted his
weight from the left foot to the right.  Assistant Director Kersh, in
the front of the room, droned on and on, seemingly without end,
announcing this, proclaiming that, declaring a third thing.  <> Mulder thought.  <>

His thoughts flashed back three hours:  10:13 a.m., to be precise.  That
time would be forever etched in his memory.  The moment it all came
crashing down.  The moment his career ended.

#          #          #

"I've finished reading your report on the Harrington case, Agent
Mulder," Kersh stated, his voice flat, emotionless and accusatory as
always.  It had been a little over six weeks since Mulder and Scully had
been assigned to work under him, and Mulder had come to hate the man
more with each passing day.  He remembered a line from a movie he'd once
seen:  <>  Ned Beatty had delivered the line; Mulder couldn't help
but wonder if Beatty had had Kersh in mind when he said it.

Kersh's cold, dark eyes were focused exclusively on Mulder.  The A.D.
continued, "Quite frankly, I have to say that I am not satisfied by your
explanation of the events leading up to the death of Josie Franklin.
Not satisfied at all."

"She had the drop on me," Mulder declared, already knowing that it was
pointless.  "If I hadn't managed to reach my holdout, *I* would have
been the one pushing up the daisies."

Kersh shook his head, unimpressed.  "If there had been any witnesses --
if we'd even been able to find a gun or some shell casings -- that story
might have held up.  But I didn't call you in here to debate the
matter."  His eyes continued to bore into Mulder like twin laser beams.
"It is my duty to inform you that this matter will now be referred to
the Office of Professional Responsibility for further development."
Which meant, in all likelihood, referral to a federal grand jury, as
they both well knew.  Kersh continued, "And although I am in no way
obligated to say this, in light of your past service to the Bureau I am
also advising you in the strongest possible terms to retain an attorney,
if you have not already done so."  He paused for just a moment, and his
eyes glinted.  "In the interim, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you for your
firearm and your badge."

Mulder felt his face flush, and there was a roaring in his ears.  "But
that's not fair!" he burst out.  He knew he sounded childish, petulant,
and he hated himself for it, but he couldn't seem to stop.  "That was a
righteous shoot!  You can't --"

"Agent Mulder!" the A.D. said sharply, cutting him off.  "Need I remind
you that anything further you might say can -- and will -- be used
against you in a court of law?  You are in very serious trouble, Agent
Mulder, and you would be well-advised to start acting like it."  The
other man held out his hand; resignedly, Mulder took his Sig Sauer from
its holster and handed it over, butt first.  He paused for a moment and
looked sadly at his badge, and then gave that to Kersh, as well, and the
A.D. put both items into his desk drawer and locked it.

Mulder stood silently for a moment before the man's desk, lips clamped
tightly shut, jaw muscles working furiously in suppressed anger and
humiliation.  Then:  "I want to speak to Skinner."

Again, Kersh shook his head.  "You are no longer accountable to
Assistant Director Skinner, and he has been instructed to have no
official contact with you," he replied.  "As you know.  Anything you
wish to say regarding this matter you may say to me."  He paused, as if
waiting for a reply.  After a moment of silence:  "Is there anything
else?"  Mulder shook his head, slowly and silently.  "Very well.  You
are excused, Agent Mulder."

Numbed and shellshocked, Mulder turned to leave.  <> he thought wildly.  <>  But it WAS
happening, and there didn't seem to be anything he could do to stop it.

Scully was waiting for him in the hallway, of course, as she always did,
worry and concern etched on her face.  "How'd it go?" she asked.

"Fine," he replied brusquely, and walked past her without making eye
contact.  He couldn't bear to see the pity he was sure he would find
there.

He heard her heels clicking rapidly behind him.  "Mulder...wait!"  She
put a hand on his shoulder, and he spun around in anger.

"Look, I said it was fine!" he half-shouted, knowing he was taking his
anger out on her, knowing also that it was unfair to her, but again,
unable to stop, unable to control his emotions or behavior.  "Now leave
me alone, okay?"  And he turned again on his heel and stalked away.


#          #          #

He hadn't been able to make himself stay away from this meeting, of
course.  Normally, no problem -- no one liked staff meetings, and as an
agent under suspension, Mulder had a perfect excuse NOT to attend.  But
he had to be there, for Scully's sake.  And now, finally, Kersh had
reached that part of the program.

"It's always a pleasure when I have an opportunity to deliver some good
news," he said.  "Doesn't happen nearly often enough.  Agent Scully,
will you please come forward?"

Moving like a wind-up toy, acute embarrassment clearly visible on her
face, Scully rose from her seat in the front row and approached the
podium.  Everyone in the room knew what was about to happen, and there
was a hushed silence as they waited for the actuality.

"Agent Scully," Kersh continued, "allow me to read from the citation you
are about to receive:  'On November 25 --' That's the day before
Thanksgiving, folks. '--Special Agent Dana Scully, while off duty,
encountered a hostage situation in Alexandria, Virginia.  Unarmed and
unable to call for backup, Special Agent Scully proceeded to move
against the perpetrators, who were holding a school bus containing 26
young children and two adults.  Displaying exemplary personal courage,
and with utter disregard for her own safety, Special Agent Scully was
able to resolve the situation and take the perpetrators into custody,
without the loss of a single human life.  Her prompt and courageous
actions are in the finest traditions of American law enforcement, and
especially of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and it is for this
achievement that she is awarded this Commendation for Valor, this 24th
day of December, nineteen hundred and ninety-eight.'"  The A.D. looked
up from what he was reading.  "I might add that this commendation
carries with it a substantial cash award.  Congratulations, and Merry
Christmas, Agent Scully!"

Her face as red as her hair, Dana Scully accepted the award.  At Kersh's
insistence, she stepped up to the microphone, but for several seconds
she said nothing -- she seemed to be tongue-tied.  Finally, she blurted
out, "I'm sure any of you would have done the same!"  Then she fled the
podium amidst a thunder of applause from her assembled fellow agents.

Mulder knew that Scully would be looking for him as soon as she could
get clear of the crowd of backslappers and well-wishers which had
immediately surrounded her as the meeting concluded.  Normally, he would
have welcomed the opportunity to take his mind off his own troubles and
bask in her success -- but not today.  The contrast between her
situation and his own precarious one was just too damned stark, and so
he slipped out of the back of the room, unnoticed, and left the
building.

He had taken the precaution of switching off his cell phone, but when he
got home his apartment phone was ringing.  "I don't want to talk to you,
Scully," he snarled without picking it up, and flopped down on the
couch.  But the ringing went on and on, and finally with a growl he
reached over and picked it up.  "Mulder."

"Mulder, it's me," she said.  "I've been trying to reach you for half an
hour.  I need to talk to you.  I --"

"Look, if I'd wanted to talk to you, I wouldn't have let it ring that
long!" he shouted.  God, she didn't deserve this, but there was no one
else to yell at but himself.

"Mulder!" she replied.  "Listen to me.  We can work on this.  We can fix
it.  My god, all the times you've gone out on a limb for me, the least I
can do is --"

"I don't need your pity," he snapped, jumping to his feet and starting
to pace like a caged animal.  "And I don't need your help, either.  It
may come as a surprise to you, Miss Special Agent Hero of the Day, but I
have been known to get through an entire day without someone to hold my
hand!"  His own words were tearing into him, ripping at his heart; he
didn't even want to think about how they were affecting her.  But he
couldn't stop; he couldn't.  "So if you will just keep your goddamned
nose out of my business, I'd be most appreciative!"

There was a moment of silence.  Then: "Mulder, I'll be over in twenty
minutes."  And she hung up.

With a scream of rage, Mulder grabbed the phone with both hands, yanked
the cord out of the wall, and threw it across the room.  "God damn that
woman!" he shouted, and he flailed out with his arms and knocked the
television off its stand.  The tube imploded with a loud report, and
Mulder hurled himself back on the couch and started weeping.  "God damn
her...why can't she leave me alone?  She's just going to get hurt again
if she tries to interfere, and it will be all my fault -- again!"

Sobbing, he stumbled back to his feet.  He had to get out of here.  She
would be here in twenty minutes, she said -- more likely fifteen if she
was in a hurry, which she would be.  He pulled the door open and
staggered out into the hall.  He wouldn't let her see him like this; he
wouldn't let her cluck over him and pity him.  She wasn't going to be
able to "fix it", and if she had any brains she'd realize that.  They
had his nuts firmly in the cracker, and all it would take would be one
good hard squeeze to finish him off.

He ran down the stairs and out into the cold, late afternoon air.  It
had started to snow while he was inside:  Large, wet flakes that drifted
down out of the sky and stuck to everything they touched.  Already, the
windshield of his car was lightly coated with the stuff, but he just ran
the windshield wiper for a few seconds and it came right off.

He drove aimlessly for awhile, trying to think of something, anything,
to do, but there was nothing.  He supposed he could get drunk, but even
that didn't have any appeal.  <> he thought.

The snow continued to fall and accumulate.  Fortunately, it was
Christmas Eve, which meant there wasn't much traffic on the road.  Most
federal workers had been released from their jobs after lunch, so that
they could spend more time with their families, and although some stores
were still open, the majority had already closed and would not reopen
until the 26th.

He noticed one of the bridges over the Potomac coming up, and decided to
drive across the river into Virginia.  As he took the corner, however,
the left rear tire skidded on the now slick surface, and bumped up
against the curb.  Cursing furiously, Mulder gave the car more gas, and
the tire popped up over the curb.  The rear end of the car slewed
wildly; Mulder tried to steer into the spin, but he had been speeding,
and now the vehicle was turning too fast for him to correct.  Whirling
like a dervish, the car slid across the roadway and up onto the sidewalk
on the other side of the street, taking out a newspaper vending machine
before finally smashing into the wall of a building.  As if to punctuate
his carelessness, the airbags deployed, several seconds too late to have
saved him from injury if the front of the car had hit the building
instead of the rear.

"Fuck!" Mulder shouted, pounding his hands on the steering wheel so hard
they hurt.  "Fuck fuck fuck fuck!"  He climbed out of the car and walked
around it to inspect the damage.  The rear end was completely smashed
in, and fluid was leaking out from underneath it.  This was not going to
be a minor repair job.  "FUCK!" he repeated, and kicked the left year
tire.  "You lousy piece of shit!"  He wasn't sure whether he was yelling
at the car or at himself.

The hell with this.  He'd planned to go to Virginia, and by god he was
going to go to Virginia.  Giving the car one last healthy kick, Mulder
stalked away from it, walking towards the nearby bridge.

The river was running fast that day:  Gray and wet and fast.  Mulder
stopped about a quarter of the way out over the river, and leaned on the
railing, looking down at the rushing water.  <> he
thought.  <>  Oddly enough, he found the idea rather calming.  He took a
deep breath, and considered it.  Maybe it WOULDN'T be such a bad idea.
Certainly he'd never brought anything but pain and heartache to the
people he loved.  He'd be doing them a favor, really, if he just put an
end to everything.  <>  The
thought rang in his head, seductively.  <>

The more he thought about it, the better he liked the idea.  <>  With special
viciousness:  <>

But then there was Scully.  <>  The name echoed in his mind.
He tried to conjure up her image, tried to imagine what she would look
like when she got the news, but somehow he couldn't see her face.  She
would be sad, he decided, but she'd get over it.  And in the long run,
it would be better for her.  She could get back to her profession, get
back to her career.  Maybe in a few years, she'd make Section Chief,
maybe even Assistant Director.  Without good old Spooky Mulder dragging
her down, there's no telling WHAT she could do.

He nodded to himself, and started to climb over the railing.  This was
right; this was good.  <> he thought cynically, <>  He was now over the rail, standing on the thin
ledge of pavement the stuck out beneath it, hanging onto the rail with
one hand, and leaning forward to look down at the rushing water.
Vaguely, he wished he had taken the time to call his mother, and say
goodbye.  Not that even she was really going to miss him.  <> the voice inside his head whispered.  <>

Angrily he shook it off, chased the voice away.  "Get the hell away from
me!" he shouted aloud, and then he laughed at himself.  What difference
did it make?  Five minutes from now, the voice would be gone -- and even
if it wasn't, he wouldn't be here to hear it.

He took one more deep breath, and got ready to jump -- and then he heard
a loud splash, and someone was calling desperately for help.

"Dammit!" Mulder cursed.  "I thought this was a private party."  He was
tempted just to ignore the shouts, and go ahead and get it over
with...but something inside him wouldn't let him do it.  Angrily, he
scanned the river flowing along behind him, looking for the source of
the noise.

There!  Somebody was there, bobbing in the current, hanging on
desperately to one of the bridge stanchions, trying not to get swept
away down the river.  Mulder knew that, whoever it was, he wouldn't be
able to hold on for long; the water must be bitterly cold.

Without a second's thought, he kicked off his shoes and leapt into the
water, as close to the other person as he could, but far enough out that
he wouldn't land on top of him.

It WAS cold.  The shock raced through his system, seemingly at the speed
of light.  Mulder started to gasp in surprise, but realized that he was
underwater and stopped himself just in time.  His head bobbed to the
surface, and now he pulled in a long draft of cold, cold air.  <>

He was momentarily disoriented, but glancing around he saw the other
person -- a man, he saw it was, still desperately hanging on to the
stanchion, and only a few yards away.  Already the current was pulling
at Mulder, trying to drag him down river and away from the other man.
Trying to imagine that he was in the FBI's nice, warm, indoor poor,
Mulder started swimming against the current, trying to angle his course
enough that he would eventually reach the other man.

Finally, he reached the stanchion.  Hand over hand, he pulled himself
along until he came to the other man, who was now barely holding on by
one hand.  Mulder reached out and grabbed the sleeve of the man's coat,
just as the fellow let go, and Mulder found himself desperately holding
on to the stanchion with one hand, while trying to get a better purchase
on the man with the other.

Fortunately, the man didn't seem inclined to struggle, and finally,
Mulder was able to get a firm grip on his wrist.  Then, using all his
strength, Mulder proceeded to haul himself and his now semi-conscious
charge along the stanchion towards the nearest shore.    Fortunately,
this stanchion was the closest one to the shore, but there was still a
good thirty or forty feet of open water.  In the FBI pool, that would be
no big deal; but in the cold and in the gathering dark, with a strong
current working against him and the burden of another individual whom he
had to be responsible for, it wasn't going to be easy.  It might not
even be doable.  Still, he had to try.

It seemed to take forever.  The cold, cold water battered him
mercilessly, and the closer he approached the river bank, the worse the
eddies and side-currents got.  Several times, Mulder was on the verge of
giving up -- it would be so NICE just to let go, and drift away down the
river to the sea.  It would be so much...calmer to do that.  But each
time he caught himself.  <>
he thought.  <>  But
he promised the part of him that was clamoring for release that they
would attend to unfinished business as soon as possible.

Finally his feet touched the bottom, and a few seconds later he was
dragging the other man up out of the water.  Mulder lay on the ground,
gasping for breath, while snow continued to fall.

#          #          #

"So let me see if I've got this straight," Mulder said, looking at the
man he'd just rescued in disgust.  "Your name is George, and you jumped
into the river to save me."

The other man nodded tranquilly.  "That's right.  But you left out the
other part."

"Oh, right," Mulder said sarcastically.  "I forgot.  You're also my
guardian angel.  Well thank you so much; if it hadn't been for you, it
would all have been over by now."  And he turned and stalked moodily
along the river bank.

George followed along behind.  "You mustn't say things like that, you
know," he said quietly.  "You really mustn't."

"Why the hell not?"  Mulder kicked at a clod of snow.  "It's my life,
and I'll throw it away if I want to."

"You really mustn't say that, Fox," the other man said.  "You --"

Mulder swung around angrily.  "Don't call me that!  Nobody calls me
that!  And just how in the hell did you know my name, anyway?  Are you
working for them?"

George shook his head.  "No, I don't work for your enemies.  As to how I
know your name...well, I know a lot of things about you.  I told you:
I'm your guardian angel.  And you really, really mustn't talk about
throwing your life away.  It's such a precious gift; the most precious
of all.  Besides, do you honestly think it would make things better for
those you care about if you did that?"

Mulder turned away again and thrust his hands into his pockets as he
stared at the rushing water at his feet.  Jumping in and letting the
darkness claim him had seemed like a good idea a few minutes ago, but
now that feeling was wearing off -- but his self-hatred was just as
strong as ever.  "No," he finally admitted.  "No, I suppose it wouldn't
be any better."  He turned to glare at George.  "I guess what I really
should be wishing for is that I'd never been born at all!"

George stood staring at him wide-eyed for just a moment; then, much to
Mulder's surprise, he smiled.

#          #          #



A Christmas Miracle (2/2)
Brandon D. Ray (publius@avalon.net)


Twenty minutes later Mulder found himself hurrying to keep up with
George as the two men strode rapidly along the streets of Washington.
<> he wondered.  <>

Something was different about the buildings they were walking by, but at
first Mulder couldn't quite put his finger on it.  The snow had stopped
while he and George were still standing on the river bank, but that
wasn't it.  Everything seemed darker; quieter.  There had been little
traffic when he was driving around earlier, but now there was none at
all.  He stopped for a moment and looked around, puzzled.  And then he
had it.

There were no Christmas decorations.  None at all.  Just half an hour
ago when he had driven through this same neighborhood on the way to his
date with the river,  it had been heavily ornamented with plastic
Santas, colored lights and on and on.  Mulder had been doing his best to
ignore all the holiday cheer, but his eidetic memory had recorded it,
and now it was gone.  He turned to look at George, standing a few feet
away.

"No decorations," the other man commented.  "I wondered how long it
would take you to catch on."

Mulder shook his head.  "I don't get it," he said.  "Why would they have
taken everything down?  It's only Christmas Eve."

George shrugged.  "Who said they were ever put up?"

Mulder shook his head again.  "I don't get it.  What are you talking
about?"

"Colonization has begun," the man said softly.  "It's happening as we
speak.  But the invasion is not complete -- not yet, anyway.  The United
States is one of the few remaining enclaves of freedom, if you can call
it that.  And it's under martial law.  No Christmas this year."  His
face suddenly looked very sad.  "No Christmas next year, either, but by
that time no one will care anymore."

At that moment Mulder heard a rumbling sound from down the street.  He
turned to look, but at the same instant George gripped his upper arm and
dragged him back into an alley.

"What the hell --"

"Quiet!" George hissed.  "They'll hear you."

"Who --"

"Shut up and look!"

Mulder turned back towards the street and watched in shock as an armored
troop carry came into view.  A searchlight mounted on top of it swept
both sides the street in a smooth, methodical pattern, and against the
glare Mulder could barely make out a shadowy figure holding what looked
like a rifle.  Mulder took a step forward, to the mouth of the alley,
and watched in stunned silence as the vehicle drove past them, finally
disappearing around the next corner.  He turned back to George.

"H-how..."  Mulder heard his own voice trail off.  This was a dream; it
had to be a dream.  A nightmare.

"How did it happen?"  The other man shrugged.  "Does it matter?  It
wasn't one definable incident, in any case; it was a combination of
things.  What it comes down to is that without you to interfere, they
were able to complete their plans."  He smiled sadly.  "Assistant
Director Skinner was a big help to them, especially towards the end."

Mulder stared at George in shock.  "No," he said, shaking his head
wildly.  "No.  Skinner wouldn't do that.  He's stuck his neck out for us
countless times."

George shook his head.  "You weren't there to stick your neck out for,
Fox.  And without something outside himself to care about, Skinner just
wasn't strong enough.  But why don't you come and see for  yourself?"
And he turned and led the way back towards Virginia.

#          #          #

They came to a stop outside a house in Alexandria which Mulder didn't
remember seeing before.  He turned to George in confusion.  "This isn't
Skinner's place," he said uncertainly.

George looked back at him calmly.  "It is now.  To the victors go the
spoils."  He nodded towards the front walk.  "Why don't you ring the
bell?"

Numbly, Mulder walked up to the door and stood staring at it for a
moment.  He was distantly aware of George standing a few steps behind
him, but most of his concentration was focused on the door.  He felt
unreal, in shock.  On the long walk to Alexandria he had come to realize
that he believed everything George had been telling him.  All of it.  He
shook his head at the bitter irony:  For once in his life he DIDN'T want
to believe, but he couldn't help himself.  He took a deep breath, and
reached out and rang the bell.

After a moment the door opened and there was Skinner, looking the same
as always in his immaculate clothing and wire-rimmed glasses.  Mulder
gave a sigh of relief; maybe it wasn't true after all.  Maybe he had
just been following a crackpot around the streets of Washington and
freezing his ass off.

He started to step across the threshold, but Skinner blocked his way.
"Who the hell are you?" he demanded sourly.  "And what do you want?"

Mulder blanched and stumbled backwards a step.  "Sir?" he said.  "It's
me, Mulder.  I know I'm not supposed to be talking to you, but I've just
had the weirdest experience, and --"

Skinner looked a little closer at him, his face grim and closed, then
shook his head.  "Mister, I don't know what the hell you're talking
about, but if you're smart you'll get the fuck off my property before
the patrol finds you out past curfew."

Something moved in the room behind Skinner, and at the same instant
Mulder smelled a faint whiff of tobacco smoke.  He felt his eyes widen,
and he looked in horror past the A.D.'s shoulder.  It was the Cigarette
Man.

"Mr. Skinner?  Is there a problem?"

Skinner glanced back over his shoulder.  "No problem.  Just some drunk
at the wrong door."

"Well get rid of him," Cancerman said calmly.  "The others are waiting
for us."

Skinner nodded, then turned back to Mulder and slammed the door in his
face.

#          #          #

Again George was leading the way through the streets of the city.
They'd had to dodge two more APCs, and Mulder had lost track of where
they were, but he really didn't care anymore.  Skinner had sold out.
The Consortium had won.  And all because of him.  He'd thought his life
was bad; he'd never imagined that not living could be even worse.

At length they came to a halt outside of a cemetery, and George turned
to face him.  If anything, his face was even sadder than it had been
before, and Mulder shuddered.

"All right, Fox," the man sad softly.  "Just one more stop, and we'll be
done."  And he turned and led the way into the graveyard.

It was dark and silent in the cemetery, the only sounds being the
crunching of snow under their feet and the soft murmur of the wind
through the trees.  The sky was gray and overcast, and Mulder felt his
mood darken with each passing step.  He didn't know for certain what
George was about to show him, but whatever it was, he knew it would be
worse than anything that had come before.

At length they stopped in front of one of the graves.  George stood for
a moment with his body blocking Mulder's view of the headstone; he
seemed to be looking down at it, and Mulder suddenly realized that the
other man was praying.  Then George glanced over his shoulder at him,
nodded once and stepped aside.

Mulder closed his eyes and tried to prepare himself for whatever lay
ahead.  It suddenly flashed in his mind that he wished Scully were with
him.  She had always been there, taking care of him, and it shocked him
to realize that it hadn't even occurred to him to ask George what had
happened to her in THIS world.

He opened his eyes and turned to the other man, the question on his
lips, but George simply shook his head, and nodded towards the
headstone, and after a moment Mulder reluctantly turned to look at it.
Snow had drifted up against it, obscuring the inscription, and Mulder
bit his lip as he knelt down to brush the snow away.  And when he saw
what was written there, he was sure that his heart was going to stop.

Dana Katherine Scully
1964-1994
Loving Daughter
The Spirit is the truth.  1 John 5:07

Very softly, George's voice came floating from somewhere behind him.
"Dana Scully disappeared in the fall of 1994 and was never heard from
again.  It wasn't a total loss, though; the experiments they conducted
were essential to completing the Plan on time."

"No," Mulder whispered, shaking his head.  Louder:  "No!"  And suddenly
he was scrambling to his feet and backing away from the headstone.  He
bumped into George, and whirled to face the other man, and now he was
shouting, screaming his denial.  "No!  It's a lie!  It didn't happen
that way!  I got her back!  She came back to me!"  There were tears
streaming down his face, but Mulder didn't care.  He took George by the
shoulders and shook him.  "Dana Scully is a hero!  She saved every child
on that school bus!"

With infinite sadness, George shook his head and replied, "Every child
on that school bus died.  Scully wasn't there to save them, because you
weren't there to save Scully."  He shrugged.  "Of course, it wouldn't
have made much difference in THIS world; they would only have lived a
few months longer in any case."  Mulder released the man's shoulders and
started backing slowly away from him as George continued talking.
"Funny, isn't it, how every life affects so many others?  You really had
a wonderful life, Fox.  Such a pity to throw it all away like that."

And then Mulder was running, stumbling through the snow and tripping
over tree roots and fallen branches.  At length he came to a road, and
the footing became easier, but he really didn't care; all that mattered
was the running.  He was running, running, running, pulling the cold
winter air into his lungs, his arms pumping at his side.  If only he
could keep running he could keep it all away.  If only he could keep
running....

Without quite knowing how he'd got there, he found himself back on the
bridge where it had all started.  He realized he had come full circle,
and that now there really was no reason left for him to live.  Panting
and gasping for air, he slowed to a stop and leaned against the railing,
gazing once again down at the water, and he realized that it was over.
He climbed over the railing once again, and as he stood there teetering
on the ledge, he became aware of headlights approaching from behind
him.  Great, one of those military patrols.  Well, it wasn't like he had
any reason to wait.  He thought of Scully, and of the life he'd thrown
away, and as he prepared to jump his last thought was to pray that
somehow this would make everything be okay for somebody.

And it started snowing again.

"Mulder!  Wait!"

Mulder started at the sound of his name and turned.  The vehicle whose
headlights he'd seen had come to a halt, and as he squinted against the
glare he saw a tall, powerful figure hurrying forward, and in another
instant he realized that it was Skinner.

"Jesus, Mulder!  What in the hell do you think you're doing?  We've been
looking all over for you."

Mulder stared in shock.  "S-sir?  Skinner?  You know me?"

"Of course I know you, you idiot.  No climb back across the railing
before you fall in."

"I -- I wasn't going to fall.  I was going to -- "

The A.D. held up a hand.  "I don't want to hear it.  Now climb over that
rail and get in the damned car; somebody wants to see you."

Moments later Mulder was strapped into the passenger seat of Skinner's
late model Ford, and as they drove on across the bridge and into the
District, Mulder noticed that the town was lit up and the Christmas
decorations were back.  He shook his head in disbelief; it must all have
been a dream.  It had to have been a dream.  He'd worked himself into
such a state that he'd actually started hallucinating.  That was the
only explanation.

But god it was good to see everything back the way it was supposed to
be.  If he encountered Kersh at this very minute, Mulder would be
tempted to hug him.  He knew things were still going to be tough for
him, but when had his life ever been anything but tough?  He smiled
slightly.  He thrived on tough, and somehow he always came out on top,
no matter how dark things might seem for awhile.

The car pulled to a stop.  Mulder hadn't really been paying attention to
where they were going, but now he looked around and realized that
Skinner had parked outside his apartment building.  He turned to the
other man and gave him a questioning look.

"She's waiting for you upstairs," Skinner said.

Mulder didn't have to ask who "she" was.  Hesitantly, he said, "Will
you...Do you want to come in with me?"

The A.D. shook his head.  "Not right away," he replied, smiling, and the
light from the streetlamp glittered on his glasses.  "You go on ahead.
I'll come up in a little while."

"All right," said Mulder.  "Just don't go away okay?  I don't want to
lose you again, either."  He got out of the car and entered the
building.  The elevator ride up to the fourth floor seemed to take
forever, but at last he stepped out on his floor and started walking
towards his apartment door.  With each step his apprehension and
self-doubt grew.  What if she was angry with him?  He'd been pretty
cruel, and she would be completely justified in being furious with him.
What if she rejected him?

<> he reminded himself.  <>  Gathering all his courage and resolve, he reached
out and turned the door handle.  Slowly, fearfully, he pushed the door
open with his foot.

She was alive!  She was standing across the room, staring out the
window, and she was alive!  As he stepped across the threshold, she
slowly turned to face him.  He saw her eyes, red from crying and lack of
sleep, widen in sudden recognition; he saw her face transform in an
instant from the depths of despair to sublime joy.

Then "Mulder!" she cried and "Scully!" he cried, and she was flying
across the room at him, and she was throwing her arms around his neck as
if she would never let him go, and he was wrapping himself around her in
a rib-crushing embrace, and they were both laughing and crying at the
same time, and she was saying "Oh, God, Mulder, I thought I had lost
you!" and he was saying "Oh, Scully, Scully, I'm so, so sorry!"  And
just when he thought his heart would burst from joy, she pulled back,
just a little, and looked up into his eyes, and tears were streaming
down her face, and tears were streaming down HIS face, and she was
grinning from ear to ear, and she laughed and said, "Mulder..."

He felt a joyous premonition run through him like an earthquake, and he
held his breath.

"Mulder," she breathed again, looking as if she herself could not
believe what she was about to say.  "Oh, Mulder -- WE FOUND THE GUN!!!"

"WHAT??"

"I said we found the gun!  It's true!  We did -- and we found a WITNESS,
too, a beautiful, beautiful witness, and he confirms your account down
to the last detail!"

"But -- but -- how?  The CSU ...they looked..."  His mind whirled in
confusion.  He had thought he was as happy and relieved as it was
possible to be, just to have his life back, just to have Scully back,
and now this -- But she was still talking, babbling on, the words
pouring from her beautiful, beautiful lips.

"I called Skinner."  She giggled through her tears.  "Woke him from a
sound sleep, poor man, and I DON'T think he was alone."  Mulder couldn't
help but smile at that.  Right at the moment, EVERYTHING was making him
smile.  Scully went on, "Anyway, as soon as he heard what had happened,
he appointed me SAC, and I rounded up every agent I could find, and
Frohike and Byers and Langley helped, too, I deputized them.  We tore
that neighborhood apart, and we knocked on every door within a 20 block
radius, and oh, Mulder, we found the gun, and we found a witness, and we
dragged a federal magistrate away from her family on Christmas Eve,
practically at gunpoint, and we took a deposition on the spot, and on
Monday morning at eight o'clock sharp I'm going to ram the transcript
down Kersh's fucking throat, and I was so afraid that it was too late, I
was afraid that you...that you...Oh, Mulder..."  And she buried her face
in his chest and started to cry in earnest.

"Oh, Scully," he said, stroking her hair.  "Oh, Scully, I'm so sorry I
put you through that.  I'm so sorry; you deserve better than that."

She looked up at him again, and her eyes were shining, not just with
tears but with an inner light all their own.  "I don't want anything
better," she told him.  "I want you."  She shook her head and laughed,
the semi-hysterical laugh of a condemned prisoner who has just been
reprieved while standing on the gallows.  "Don't you know, Mulder?
After all these years, after all we've been through, haven't you got the
slightest inkling?"  She stared into his eyes with an intensity he had
never seen before, and spoke the words he had never expected to hear in
this life:  "I'm in love with you."

There was a lengthy silence, as Mulder tried frantically to stop the
universe from spinning.  Could she mean it?  Could she really mean it?
Could it possibly be true?  After all these years of self-denial, was
he, finally, possibly, going to be happy?

He realized that she was still staring up at him, intently.  She was
waiting for a response, and there was only one he could give:  "I love
you, too, Scully.  More than anything in the world."  And then they were
kissing, and there was nothing in the universe but Scully, only Scully,
beautiful Scully, HIS Scully, and he never wanted it to stop, never
wanted it to end.

Finally, though, they had to come up for air, and she closed her eyes
and rested her head against his chest, and when she started talking
again her voice was like heavenly music.  "Everything's going to be all
right, Mulder," she said softly.  "I can feel it.  We've turned the
corner at last.  Don't ask me how I know, but I know:  A miracle has
happened, a Christmas miracle.  We're going to find the truth, we're
going to find Samantha, we're going to bring down the evil men in high
places, and we're going to do it together.  It's going to be a storybook
ending, and we ARE going to live happily ever after."

And she kissed him again, and she kept on kissing him, and outside it
was midnight, and it was Christmas Day, and church bells began to ring,
pouring out great peals of everlasting joy.

And Scully was right.

Fini

    Source: geocities.com/xmas_files