TITLE: Ghosts of Christmas Yet to Come
AUTHOR: Tarin Z. Kesumin
E-MAIL: Muzinke@aol.com
SUMMARY: The thing that you must remember is that 
Mulder was missing, to begin with. This one thing you 
must remember, or none of the events you are about to 
read will seem wondrous.
KEYWORDS: Angst, MSR. 
CATEGORY: S, D (just a passing mention), Challenge-fic, 
Holiday-fic.
SPOILERS: 'Requiem', 'Within' and 'Without'. 
RATING: R for reference to sexual situations, and 
language. 
DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, all mentioned 
members of the Scully family, Walter Skinner, John 
Doggett, and The Lone Gunmen are property of 1013 
Productions and Fox Corp. No copyright infringement is 
intended, and no profit is being made by this story. Just 
spreading some holiday cheer.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: At the end of the story. 

*	*	*

Apartment of Dana Scully
Saturday
December 23, 2000
11:21pm

"You have no messages."

Not a surprise, really. The only people who bothered to 
call her at home these days were Skinner, the Gunmen, 
Agent Doggett, and her family. And everyone except 
Doggett, who as far as Scully was concerned would never 
set foot in her own home let alone her mother's, had been 
at Maggie Scully's annual Holiday party. 

Scully had been genuinely surprised at her mother's 
decision to require formal attire for all guests this year. 
When questioned, Maggie had airily told her daughter 
that she felt the need for a little "added festivity" this 
year. At the time, Scully had recoiled at the obvious 
motive behind Maggie's decision.

In retrospect, however, she did finally have to admit 
that the swirls of velvet, silk, and combed wool drifting 
through her mother's tastefully decorated house had 
helped to lift her spirits. 

Even Matthew had looked dapper, carried in the arms of 
his uniformed father for all to admire. By the end of the 
evening, however, the tuxedo everyone had ooed and ahhed 
about had been creatively accessorized by several juice and 
chocolate syrup stains. Scully had sworn to herself as she 
watched Tara pluck at the sticky mess with a damp 
dishtowel, that her child would *not* be allowed to wear a 
tuxedo, for any reason, before the kid's senior prom. 

Either that, or Mulder could pay the cleaning bills out of 
his own paycheck. After countless encounters with slime, 
mud, and goo, he probably had some kind of agreement 
with his dry cleaner involving automatic deductions from 
his paycheck.

Scully felt a grin tug at the edges of her mouth, and 
again wondered at her increasing ability to do so when 
thinking of her absent partner. Months after losing him in 
the desert sands of Arizona, she felt no less at peace with 
the his aching absence from her life. Her memories of him, 
and the warmth they brought her, however, did not invoke 
the slicing guilt they once had.  

As reluctant as she was to admit it, she was beginning to 
learn how to live without him. 

Uncomfortable with the turn her thoughts were taking, 
Scully absently ran her hand across the convex curve of her 
belly, smoothing the already stressed royal blue velvet 
against her tender skin as she made her way into the 
kitchen.

Despite having amply sampled the many culinary offerings 
at the party, Scully found herself pulling open her 
refrigerator door in search of something more to appease 
the renewed buzzing of her stomach. Her deliberation did 
not last long; still moist from washing, the smooth red 
strawberries Bill and Tara had brought with them from 
California quickly caught her eye. 

Her stomach gurgled in anticipation as Scully drew the 
glass bowl from the top shelf, bumping the refrigerator door 
closed with a toss of her hip. Eagerly she tucked the first 
berry into her mouth, and savored the cool tangy flavor 
against her tongue for a long, sensuous moment before 
making her way out of the kitchen and into the shadowy 
dark of the living room. 

Reaching for the nearby light switch, she flipped the paddle 
upwards, and was instantly bathed in the soft glow of 
hundreds of glittering pinpricks. 

The tree was ridiculously large; it had taken herself and all 
three of the Gunmen to wrestle it into her living room. She 
had insisted, however, on decorating the monstrous conifer 
herself, placing each of the ornaments carefully on the 
individual boughs. Once finished decorating, she had 
stepped back to admire the ornamental patchwork whose 
collective stories and origins told the story of her life. 

The angel presiding over the chaos was a family heirloom 
passed on from her maternal grandmother. A red and black 
speckled terrapin proudly waving a 'Maryland' banner in 
its left foot. An amethyst crystal suspended on a deep 
purple velvet ribbon. The U.S.S. Morgan in detailed 
miniature. Santa Claus basking in a claw-footed tub, body 
submerged in the froth of a bubble bath. And last year's 
addition, a flying saucer with red and green blinking lights 
around its circumference. 

And beneath the narrative of the tree and its ornaments 
settled carefully on the simple white skirt, lay a mass of 
brightly papered gifts, patiently awaiting their bestowal 
into the eager hands of her family on Christmas Day.

All except two.

Folding her feet beneath her, she settled herself at the foot 
of the tree, eyes never leaving the two mismatched 
packages set apart from the larger tumble of boxes and gift 
bags. Gingerly, Scully picked up the smaller of the two 
boxes from their place of honor beneath the Christmas tree. 
Turning it back and forth between her fingers, the gold 
ribbon glinting brightly in the soft yellow light of the 
Christmas tree lights. 

They had found it pressed back in the far corner of a desk 
drawer, while searching his apartment for evidence that 
might have been useful for Kersh's 'manhunt'. It was only 
weeks later, long after the focus had shifted to-and-from 
the Arizona desert, that she had been approached by 
Doggett himself. Mercifully, he had said nothing, simply 
handing her the box, tagged with her name, and leaving 
her in the office, alone. 

She winced slightly, belatedly realizing that the agents 
investigating Mulder's disappearance most likely used an 
x-ray to discern the contents of the box before deeming it 
irrelevant to the investigation. While her investigator's 
rationale understood the necessity, her heart protested at 
the unfairness. The box's contents were something private, 
its revelation meant to be shared solely between her and 
Mulder. And because of his blind, by-the-book enthusiasm, 
Doggett had destroyed the fragile intimacy of the gesture.

*It doesn't matter*, she told herself firmly, forcibly pushing 
the melancholy thoughts from her mind, focusing instead 
on the feathery gold refraction of light from the ribbon 
upon her ceiling. 

Scully's gaze softened, blurred by a memory of a winter's 
morning, she no more than three, both Bill and Melissa 
already at school, her father away at sea. The youngest, 
and home alone with her mother for much of the day, 
Maggie had bundled little Dana in her yellow down parka, 
wool hat, and mittens, and brought her with her to church. 
She had fidgeted uncomfortably, her damp palms sticking 
against the glossy varnish of the unyielding oak pew on 
which she sat. Her scalp had itched terribly under the 
heavy wool hat she wore, as she crankily wished she had 
been permitted to bring her coloring book from the car. 

It had seemed like years before her mother reached for her 
hand and led her to the back of the sanctuary, to stand 
before the ordered rows of glowing votive candles. Dana 
had watched and listened, savored the brush of warmth 
from the flame and the hushed tone of her mother's voice at 
prayer, awed to attention by the sense of something 
powerful that she had been still too young to name. 
Sheltered within the golden glow of candlelight and 
whispered prayers, her mother had looked beatific, and for 
perhaps the first time, Dana had felt an undoubted belief in 
God. 
 
She had been longing for that innocent, unfailing belief 
since the moment she lost Mulder, and briefly after his 
disappearance, had made awkward attempts to force 
herself into a faith that she had long ago begun to question. 
*Hail Mary, full of grace*... The chill of his absence 
remained, and when it became clear to her there was no 
turning back to a God whose very origins she now 
questioned, she turned instead to the man in whom she had 
an unfailing trust.

And simply allowed herself to hope. 

Scully's eyes again centered on the warbling gold dancing 
across her ceiling as she set the gift at her knees, leaving it 
there in favor of the larger red and green striped box. The 
content of this particular box was no mystery to her. This 
gift she had purchased, and would remain with its smaller 
companion, unopened, until the day its recipient could tear 
the paper from the box himself. 

She hadn't originally intended to buy him a gift. The 
traitorous thought had descended upon her while caught in 
the throng of color and cheer at Pentagon City. Would he or 
wouldn't he be home in time? Unable to bear the thought of 
the latter, she spent another hour fighting the crowds and 
searching the stores. For him. 
 
And the fruit of that labor would be waiting for him when 
he came back, she determined, placing the package beside 
the other. Both boxes would remain unopened until then, 
so that they could share Christmas together. 

She smiled then, a slow gentle smile that spoke silently of 
hope and love and longing. Closing her eyes against the 
sparkle of tiny lights before her, she let her thoughts drift 
away, carried haplessly along on the tide of muted colors 
swirling beneath her shuttered lids....

She came back to consciousness slowly, allowing the 
familiar sounds of Alexandria at night to tickle against her 
ears as she lay, naked and warm, beneath Mulder's 
bedsheets. The awareness that she was alone dawned 
quickly, sparked along by the unshakable fear that his 
earlier presence against her had been nothing more than 
another all too vivid dream. Such dreams had both 
sustained and tortured her in the many months he had 
been missing. 

Heart hammering against her ribs, Scully reached out a 
tentative hand to the empty side of the bed. To her relief, 
the sheets were still warm to the touch; he had been here. 
It hadn't been a dream. And as her fear ebbed, she was able 
to take note of other clues: the dull ache in her thighs, the 
smell of him upon her skin, the rumpled clothing-both 
Mulder's and her own-littering the bedroom floor. 

And the unfamiliar weight against her neck, the belated 
Christmas present he had purchased so many months ago. 
Rolling to rest on her side, her hand fluttered to her throat, 
fingertips smoothing against the delicate links of silver and 
the demure, blue sapphire resting against her collarbone. 

She'd been shocked, to say the least, when her eyes finally 
alighted on the gift he had purchased months before his 
disappearance. Too extravagant had been her first thought, 
and had raised her eyes to him intending to say just that. 
But his look of naked adoration had eliminated any 
thought of protest, as she gathered her hair and allowed 
him to slip the necklace on.

Shifting lazily in the bed, Scully caught the faint aroma of 
coffee wafting through the bedroom door. Smiling, she 
closed her eyes and snuggled deeper into the blankets, 
allowing herself a moment alone to luxuriate in the simple 
contentment that had been so long elusive. 

"Scully?" Her grin widened, hidden beneath the corner of 
the sheet, at the sound of her lover's hesitant voice. "You 
awake?"

"Mmmm." Curling one hand around the edge of the 
blanket, she pulled it down enough to peer at him through 
a squinted eye. He stood at the door, head peeking around 
the jamb, hair a mass of brown spikes and tangles. He was 
adorably sexy first thing in the morning. "Maybe. Is that 
coffee I smell?" 

The mattress sagged, pulling her down towards him as he 
sat on the edge. "Fresh ground Colombian--decaf, of 
course," he stated matter-of-factly, before leaning down to a 
gentle kiss upon her lips. "Good morning, by the way."

"It certainly is," she whispered reverently. "How long have 
you been up?"

"Not long. Why, you miss me, Scully?"

"Mmmm," she murmured, luxuriating in a full body 
stretch, savoring the solid warmth of his back against the 
round of her stomach. "Maybe." 

"Not so certain of yourself first thing in the morning, are 
you, Agent Scully?"

"Shut up, Mulder, and get me some coffee," she said 
sweetly, giving him a not so subtle shove in the direction of 
the door. "I'll be right out." 

Rising from his perch beside her, he ambled slowly out the 
door, grumbling good-naturedly under his breath as he left 
the room. The foggy sounds of the radio coming to life and 
clinking earthenware followed his footsteps seconds later, 
and she felt her heart swell at the simple, domestic 
normalcy of it. 

It had been so long since anything in her life had seemed 
normal. Not that her definition would fit the public norm, 
anyway. She'd been reluctant for many years to give up the 
dream her parents had taught her to covet; standing now, 
watching dust motes drift in the sunlight from his bedroom 
window, she decided she had found something better-
because it was real. 

She pulled herself from the bed with a reluctance borne of 
lazy weekends and excess sleep. The cooler air touched her 
naked skin as she again stretched her tired muscles, and 
tried to ignore the tingling itch of rising goosebumps on her 
skin. Reaching to her feet, she pulled Mulder's Oxford shirt 
from the jumble of hastily discarded clothing, and threw it 
over her shoulders as she left the bedroom, and drifted into 
the living room. 

And was greeted by a view of an alien-clad ass, as Mulder 
bent to place twin steaming mugs on the coffeetable. A feral 
grin bloomed upon her lips. "This morning is better than 
good, Mulder. From where I'm standing, I'd have to say it 
was fantastic."

Unruffled by neither her presence or her candid remark, he 
straightened and turned to shoot her a sultry gaze. "What 
can I say, Scully, you have excellent taste in men's 
underwear." She merely snorted and shook her head in 
response. 

"I sincerely doubt, Mulder, that glow-in-the-dark aliens are 
the haute couture. My guess is that Gianni Versace would 
roll over in his grave at the mere suggestion." 

He sauntered over as she spoke, wrapping his arms loosely 
around her expanded waist. "But black silk, Scully. He'd 
have to agree that silk is one of the finest of fabrics. Tres 
chic."

"Hmmm..." she murmured, pretending to consider his 
words as she ran her hands down his back and over the 
downy, cool fabric. "Oui, oui." The gentle rumble of his 
chuckling filled the room, vibrated against her pliant form 
as she leaned her weight against his.  

She felt his arms tighten possessively around her as he 
ducked his head to drop a kiss at the crown of her head. 
"God, Scully. You know how much I missed this?" Her own 
arms constricted around his chest reflexively in response, 
even as she nodded her answer. 

Scully spent several minutes in motionless quiet, straining 
to hear the steady sound of the Mulder's breathing over the 
babble of the radio. She seemed unable to take such 
minutia for granted any longer; Mulder's abduction had 
since stripped her of the overdeveloped sense of 
complacency she had been cultivating these past few years.

"Dance with me, Scully?" he murmured softly, breath 
tickling against her ear and pulling her reluctantly back to 
awareness. Slowly, she became aware of the bouncy, 
rhythmic beat issuing forth from his stereo, and the gentle 
swaying of their embracing bodies in a half-time 
counterpoint to the music. 

"We *are* dancing, Mulder."

"Not like this. With the music, Scully," he said, brushing 
his lips across her earlobe as he pulled back within the 
circle of her arms to gauge her reaction.

She listened again to the instrumental playing on the 
radio, and fought the urge to roll her eyes. "You've got to be 
kidding me, Mulder; a tango?"

"Not just any tango, Scully," he said with a lopsided grin. 
"The holiest of tangos: 'Hernando's Hideway'."

"You've got to be joking," she stated flatly. He stared back 
at her in quiet response. Then, without warning, grabbed 
her left hand in his and swept her forward with several off-
beat, rhythmless steps. 

"Are you implying, Scully," he said airily as he swept her 
around the room in a wild, loopy circle "that I don't know 
how to dance a tango?"

It was a struggle for her feet to keep pace with his as 
he spun them sloppily about the room. She was struggling 
with equal determination, but less success, not to giggle at 
his antics. 

He seemed unfazed when his hip made firm contact with 
the corner of his desk, overturning a picture frame and 
leaving the desk lamp tottering uncertainly in his wake. 
His shin connected with the coffeetable a minute later, 
sloshing coffee over the rims of their forgotten mugs. On 
his second pass, his right foot made contact with the table 
leg, dislodging the now soggy TV guide and the remote 
control, sending both to the floor in a flutter of pages and 
crashing plastic. 

"I don't need to imply, Mulder," she said a bit breathlessly, 
as she eyeballed the destruction over his shoulder. "You've 
provided me with all the evidence I need." 

Loosening her left hand, her spun her under his arm before 
guiding her down into a deep dip. "I think I may be 
insulted, Scully," he breathed, leaning in to touch his nose 
to hers. 

"Poor baby," she said jutting out her lower lip in a playful 
pout. Taking advantage, Mulder honed in for a brief, gentle 
nip before swinging her upward and taking off for another 
sweep about the room, buoyed by her the sound of her 
laughter as it trailed at their heels.

As they continued to swing and cavort, Scully lost focus of 
her surroundings, aware only of the overheated pressure of 
Mulder's hand gripping her own, the giddy light in his 
eyes, the hum of pure, unadulterated joy ringing in her 
ears.

So wrapped in the heady thrill of the dance, Scully barely 
registered the cool press of something solid against the 
back of her thigh as Mulder arched her back over his arm. 
She felt the warm rush of blood to her face as she fell back, 
eyes watching as the room turned on its axis. He held her 
steady for only a few seconds, enough time for her to read 
the cover of a book scant inches from her nose, before it 
began to slip left, out of her field of vision.

"Mulder," she called out gruffly, her vocal cords strained by 
her inverted position even as he began to pull her up. 
"Mulder, I think your book is about to fall off the table." 

His eyes met hers as she rose, before taking a cursory 
glance behind her. "Shit!!" he yelped in alarm, letting go of 
her instantly and making a dive for the stack of teetering 
journals, books and file folders. Unprepared for the loss of 
his nurturing embrace, Scully backpedaled unsteadily in an 
attempt to regain her balance, eyes wide at the spectacle 
before her. 

Falling to his knees, Mulder skidded several inches on the 
hardwood floor, arms outstretched towards his impromptu 
library, beseeching. Rapidly crawling the final few steps, he 
placed a steadying hand on the topmost book, wrapping his 
free arm around the body of the tower, an embrace Scully 
found amusingly similar to the way he had been holding 
her earlier.

"Got yourself a few good books there, Mulder?" She said, 
raising a delicate eyebrow for punctuation. 

He slowly pulled his feet under him and rose to stand, all 
the while keeping his eyes fixed on the precarious pile, as if 
sheer will would keep it from toppling. "You know me, 
Scully. Gotta make up for lost time." 

Her face fell at what was left unspoken, and she shivered 
under a momentary chill. When he turned to face her a 
moment later, however, the melancholy had vanished from 
her visage, and had been replaced by a look of invitation.   

Her heart thrilled at his acceptance, her eyes smiling as he 
sauntered over to her before casting a final, fierce look over 
his shoulder to the offending pile of publications. "Maybe 
we should just stick to the basics," he said sheepishly as he 
again gathered her body close to his.

Scully settled happily into the renewed embrace, resting 
her hands against his bare chest, and gazing up at him 
with wide eyes. "We seem to do the basics pretty well, don't 
we?"

"You know what they say, Scully. Practice makes perfect." 

The cliché hung in the air for several heavy seconds, and 
Scully felt their weight pressing against her chest despite 
the protection of Mulder's presence. Blinking rapidly 
against the burgeoning moisture at the corners of her eyes, 
she slid her arms around his shoulders and buried her nose 
against his sternum. "We're so out of practice, Mulder" she 
whispered sadly.

"Oh, Scully," he whispered with similar longing, wrapping 
his arms about her slight frame in a voracious hug. Again, 
he took up a gentle swaying, rocking her as a mother might 
a teething infant. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," he murmured 
over and over again, the words blurring together into a 
comforting, resonant melody. She said nothing, her 
thoughts muddled and slow with emotions too painful and 
private to express. Instead, she tightened her grip on his 
waist, and placed whisper-soft kisses above his heart, 
against his breastbone, at the base of his neck.  

He grew silent as she stilled in his arms, resting her cheek 
against his chest, relishing the coarse itch of his hair 
against her skin as he breathed. "I'm sorry, too, Mulder." 
she finally whispered, closing her eyes and succumbing to 
the unbridled current of emotions she no longer had the 
strength, nor the desire, to conceal....

Scully's nose twitched fitfully in a fruitless attempt to 
dislodge a stray lock of auburn hair from its perch upon 
her face. As her eyelids began to flutter with the first signs 
of wakefulness, Scully raised a limp hand to brush the 
offending strands back against her ear.

"Mulder?" she called in confusion, raising herself onto one 
elbow as she perused the empty room with muggy eyes. 
She took in the pair of boxes, still resting beside her now 
prone body, the glittering constellations of lights on her 
Christmas tree, the fruit bowl dewy with condensation. 
And with a sinking heart, realized that she had fallen 
asleep under the tree, dreaming of the only thing she truly 
wanted in this season of magic and miracles. 

For a moment, Scully found herself wishing that when she 
was eight years old, Bill had never told her there was no 
such thing as Santa Claus.

In the next, she was in tears, struggling awkwardly to rise 
to her feet under the weight of her distended abdomen. 
He'd been gone six months, a time both long and terrible, 
and, short and hopeful. Would he so gracefully allow 
himself the luxury of learning to live without her by his 
side? 

It wasn't a question worthy of her consideration; the 
answer was plainly, painfully obvious.

Inhaling sharply, Scully raised her head, and met head-on 
the piercing, anguished eyes of her reflection. 

And smiled. "There may be a Santa Claus, after all." 

*	*	*

End.
*	*	*

NOTES: This story was begun in response to a challenge 
issued by the X-Files Quill and Scroll Society. Required 
story elements are as follows: 1) a string of Christmas 
lights, 2) a slow, sexy tango to the tune of "Hernando's 
Hideaway", with Mulder wearing nothing but black satin 
boxers with glow-in-the-dark aliens all over them, 
3) Mulder and/or Scully in formal dress, 4) a sapphire 
necklace, 5) a bowl of fresh strawberries, and 6) a huge 
stack of books about to fall over. A motley crew, if I ever 
saw one. Hopefully, I've been able to put together a plot 
that pulls them all together, and isn't too ridiculous. 

This has been my first attempt at challenge-fic, and it's 
been, well, a challenge. But an enjoyable one. Of course, 
couldn't have done it without the help of my diligent, 
tireless beta, Suzanne, who's been with me from outline to 
finish. Thank you, thank you!! 

'Tis the giving season, so give the gift that keeps on 
giving-feedback! 

Happy Holidays, and thanks for reading!!

    Source: geocities.com/xmas_files