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From: dadavis@nyx10.cs.du.edu (Deborah Davis)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: Christmas Story - pt.1
Date: 9 Dec 1994 00:37:30 -0700
Organization: University of Denver, Dept. of Math & Comp. Sci.
Lines: 238
Distribution: na
Message-ID: <3c91fq$em3@nyx10.cs.du.edu>
NNTP-Posting-Host: nyx10.cs.du.edu

There is no X-file case in this tale; it's strictly a
relationship story, and it's also bound to disappoint anyone
who's looking for a Mulder-Scully romance. I just got to
thinking about what can happen to friendships (especially
male-female ones?) as friends' lives change over time. This
was the result. I wrote it in one long sitting, which has
NEVER happened for me before, and which serves as my excuse
for any lapses in grammer or spelling.

This is my first posting to this group, and my first fanfic
ever. I'd love to hear from anyone who has an opinion on
it. Please let me know if I bungle any of the technical
aspects of posting.
Address comments and flames to: dadavis@nyx.cs.du.edu

The characters are, of course, the property of Chris Carter
and Ten-Thirteen Productions, and no copyright infringement
is intended.

A
CHRISTMAS STORY -- Part 1

She found him in a bar, which wasn't entirely unusual.
It *was* unusual that he wasn't alone. Fox Mulder didn't
ususally go in for office celebrations, but this evening he
and two dozen other agents were celebrating the retirement
of his latest partner, and Mulder thought it only polite to
put in an appearance. Even if he was the one who'd driven
Agent Salter into an early retirement.
"Well, it's only three months early, and it's not like
I did anything to him personally," Mulder thought. It was
just that the X Files -- and maybe Mulder -- were more than
Salter wanted to cope with at this stage of his career.
Salter hadn't been so bad to work with, Mulder reflected.
He was certainly an improvement over the previous partner
Skinner had assigned him, a ladder-climbing rookie who
resented being assigned to the Bureau's "spooky" backwater.
Even with Skinner's support, the X files were clearly not
the place for an ambitious newbie to launch a career, and
Mulder had not been sorry to see the rookie transfer. He
wished he could convince Skinner to just let him work alone,
but the book said agents work in pairs, and Skinner was
strictly by-the-book.
Mulder sighed. He'd worked, on a temporary basis,
with several competent agents, but he doubted any of them
wanted the assignment on a permanently. Working the X files
required a special person, someone flexible but not
gullible, open -- at least a little -- to extreme
possibilities, and able to cope with having the rational
world turned on its head from time to time. Plus, Mulder
had his own standards for intelligence, professionalism,
loyalty . . . There had been such a person, not all that
long ago, but these days she worked on the other end of the
continent. Mulder was thinking of her when he spied hair of
a familiar coppery shade moving through the crowd.
He couldn't see anything but the top of her head behind
the burly shoulders of the crowd of agents, but the color
was right, and the height. He even thought there was
something familiar about the pace of her movement throught
the crowd. He had just got to his feet for a better look,
when the crowd parted, leaving them momentarily looking
straight at each other.
"Close but no cigar," he thought, as he took in the
sharp little features, the lithe figure, the fringed dress
and granny boots Scully would never have worn. When he saw
that she recognized him and headed straight for his table,
he didn't know whether to be pleased or apprehensive.
"Hello, Fox."
"Hello, Melissa," he greeted Scully's sister.
She looked pointedly at the emptychairs the other
agents had left when they moved to surround the pool table
at the other end of the room. "Drinking alone?"
"No, the celebration just moved on without me." She
kept looking at the chairs until he invited her to sit in
one. There was something slightly combatative about the way
she was looking at him, he thought, something disapproving.
If Dana looked at him that way, he'd be expecting a lecture
for sure.
"What can I get you," he asked, signalling the waiter.
"White wine."
He smiled. "Won't it mess up your aura?" She was
wearing a crystal around her neck, so he figured she was
still into all that New Age junk.
For the first time, she smiled at him. "Same old Fox.
I think my aura can handle it."
While they waited for the drinks, he cast about for
something to say. He couldn't imagine that they had
anything in common. "What are you doing these days?"
"Still running my bookstore." Mulder pictured one of
those New Age places, with plenty of incense and books on
improving your karma. "You should come in sometime," she
added, "We have a great science fiction section." OK, maybe
he'd jumped to conclusions, no incense after all.
"How's the family?" he asked casually
"How's the family," she mimicked. "Oh, Fox, you are
too much!"
Now, he was puzzled. "I don't understand. How's Dana?"
"Fox," and by now he was sure she was using the name
deliberately to annoy him, "Dana is hurt. You don't call;
you don't return her calls --"
"That's not true!" But it wasn't entirely false
either, he thought uncomfortably. "Did she say that?"
"She didn't have to; she was just evasive when I asked
how you were. And I could tell she was hurt."
"Because you're psychic." He was sarcastic.
"Because I'm perceptive -- which may be the same thing
a lot of the time."
For a moment, they glared at each other.
"Melissa, I've just been --"
"Busy, yes I'm sure."
"Look, Dana has a new life in California, a husband, a
career that's finally going somewhere -- believe me, the
last thing she needs is to hear from me."
"Fine, stay angry." Abruptly, the fire seemed to go
out of her, and she rose. "But I wasn't thinking of her
career; I just thought she could use a friend."
She was three steps away from the table when he caught
up to her and turned her around.
"What do you mean? Is something wrong with Dana?"
She sighed and sat back down. "If you kept in touch
you'd know. Daniel's been sick. They spent all summer
going to doctors. It's MS."
"Oh." He couldn't think of a thing to say. He thought
of Daniel Seton, the brilliant researcher and writer Dana
had married and moved to California for. He could guess how
little that man would like becoming disabled or depending on
others. "What can I do?"
"You can call her." Melissa stood up again. "Better
yet, come for Christmas dinner; she'll be there." She
headed back into the crowd before he could answer. Over her
shoulder, she added, "If you get hungry before then, you can
always take me to dinner."
***
At five a.m., Mulder was sprawled in his desk chair,
staring at his computer screen. When he slept especially
badly, it was easier to come in early than to sit in his
apartment. His hands hovered just over the keyboard for the
last few minutes.
"You are not going to do this," he told himself.
"It's pathetic."
But his fingers had a will of their own. They typed
out the commands to access the Bureau's database
geographically, then entered the code for the Los Angeles
office. The California offices were even more computerized
than the Washington headquarters. A staggering amount of
information was available to an agent with his clearance:
statistics, case summaries, agents' field reports. You
could even look up the reports of a particular agent.
He pulled up Scully's latest report, impeccably written
and turned in on time as always, and began to read. He
wasn't much interested in the case, he just liked the
intimate sensation of reading over her shoulder. He
remembered her reports from their first cases together.
"There is no evidence to support or disprove Agent Mulder's
conclusions . . . This agent can neither substantiate nor
refute Agent Mulder's observations . . . Evidence does not
support his theory . . ." He skimmed the current report for
phrases that reminded him of her voice, the voice he hadn't
heard since the last message on his answering machine,
months ago. He hadn't returned her call.
He glanced at the clock. He certainly couldn't call
her now; it was the middle of the night in California.
Scully was undoubtedly sleeping peacefully beside her
husband.
Was he jealous of Daniel? For the hundredth time, he
raised the charge and acquitted himself. He wasn't jealous,
at least not as most people understood the word. He'd never
considered Scully romantically; well, maybe a fantasy here
and there -- who wouldn't? -- but it was nothing serious,
nothing he woud die from. He didn't begrudge her any
happiness. He even admired Daniel, a brilliant chemist with
a wide-ranging intellect, who successfully wrote books both
within and outside his field. Daniel Seton had a sardonic
wit, a keen imagination, and a strong devotion to his work.
He was, as Melissa had once observed, quite a bit like Fox
Mulder -- except that Daniel was not too obsessed with his
work to marry Dana and raise a daughter from his first
marriage.
No, the only thing he held against Daniel was that he'd
taken Scully away from him. It still hurt that she could
abandon their partnership and the work they'd done together.
Maybe Scully could be just as happy chasing bank robbers, or
serial skateboarders, or whatever they had out in L.A., but
the X files were Mulder's life. He'd thought -- hoped --
they'd become just as important to her. In some childish
part of his mind, he still cherished the dream that, with
Scully's help, he'd find his sister, or at least find out
what happened to her. His search had become the most
important part of him. He'd shared it with Scully, and
she'd just dropped it when it became inconvenient.
He knew that wasn't fair. In more honest moments, he
knew that she worried about him, worried that no one could
watch his back the way she did. (She was probably right.)
He remembered her face the day she told him she was leaving.
He could tell she hadn't slept and that she dreaded what she
had to say.
"Daniel's been building up this lab for twelve years,"
she'd told him. "Assembling the staff, gathering the
grants. It's his vision. I can't ask him to give that up
when there's a good opening for me in the Los Angelos
office.
"I never expected this, Mulder. I never thought anyone
could get between me and my work, but that's the way it
is."
She'd asked him to be happy for her, but he hadn't been
able to do it. He'd tried to say all the appropriate
things, but she knew him too well to be fooled. He wasn't
sincere; he was simmering with resentment, and that's how
he'd sent her away, pretending he didn't give a damn where
she went.
Well, he had a chance to see her again, if that could
make any difference. If he went.
He wished it were a different time of year. For no
good reason, he thought suddenly of a night in the Oregon
wilderness, when they'd sat shoulder to shoulder waiting for
morning, hoping green glowing bugs didn't kill them before
it came. Was it really easier for him to face death with
someone than Christmas dinner?
If only Christmas didn't come with all those memories.
("Look at my red dress, Fox! Aren't I beautiful?")
("Look at what Santa brought me, Fox! Will you play
with me?")
("Look what I got you -- I made it myself!")
Christmas brought back the past, and in the past
Samantha was always waiting.
"Grow up, Mulder," he told himself. "Think of someone
elses's problems for a change."
Impatiently, he cleared the field report from his
screen. He grabbed his jacket and decided to go out for
breakfast.
*"I just thought she could use a friend."* That remark
cut into him like a knife. *"If you get hungry before then,
you can always take me to dinner."* What was that about?
He wondered if he'd find Melissa Scully so annoying if she
wasn't always playing his concience.
If she wasn't always right.
****


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From: dadavis@nyx10.cs.du.edu (Deborah Davis)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: Christmas Story - pt 2
Date: 9 Dec 1994 00:38:28 -0700
Organization: University of Denver, Dept. of Math & Comp. Sci.
Lines: 317
Distribution: na
Message-ID: <3c91hk$eom@nyx10.cs.du.edu>
NNTP-Posting-Host: nyx10.cs.du.edu

There is no X-file case in this tale; it's strictly a
relationship story, and it's also bound to disappoint anyone
who's looking for a Mulder-Scully romance. I just got to
thinking about what can happen to friendships (especially
male-female ones?) as friends' lives change over time. This
was the result. I wrote it in one long sitting, which has
NEVER happened for me before, and which serves as my excuse
for any lapses in grammer or spelling.

This is my first posting to this group, and my first fanfic
ever. I'd love to hear from anyone who has an opinion on
it. Please let me know if I bungle any of the technical
aspects of posting.
Address comments and flames to: dadavis@nyx.cs.du.edu

The characters are, of course, the property of Chris Carter
and Ten-Thirteen Productions, and no copyright infringement
is intended.

A
CHRISTMAS STORY -- Part 2

Christmas day had filled the Scully house with the
smells of cooking and the sound of children's laughter. The
newest grandchild was screaming for a bottle, Christmas
carols were playing on the stereo,and Margaret and her older
daughter were at work in the kitchen when they heard a car
in the drive. Melissa looked out the window and smiled with
satisfaction. "Mom, we need to set another place for
dinner."
She met him at the door. "If it isn't the Grinch"
"If it isn't the Little Drummer Girl," he answered,
handing her a shopping bag of presents.
"You shopped." She peered into the bag. "Football
videos for everyone, right?"
"Only for those who were good this year."
Two small boys careened past them as they entered the
living room.
"My nephews," she explained.
"We got 'Alien Combat'," one of them said, brandishing
a video game cassette. "Will you play with us?"
"Absolutely. It sounds like my line of work." Mulder
said, then he caught his breath. Out of the kitchen
steppped a little girl with long dark hair and a velvet
dress.
"This is Dana's stepdaughter, Sarah," said Melissa.
"Where's Dana, honey?" she asked the child.
"With Daddy."
Mulder kept looking at the child, dismayed. There
wasn't any resemblance really, just the dark hair, and a red
velvet dress like the one generations of girls must have
worn at Christmas. It just brought back memories he didn't
want right now. He turned away from her and looked down a
hallway -- and saw Dana.
She was half-turned away from him, talking to someone -
- Daniel, probably -- in the bedroom behind her. Mulder
found himself studying her. Was he expecting her to look
the same, or different? He wasn't sure. Her hair was about
the same, but the dress was like nothing he'd seen her wear
at work, all soft folds of green velvet, a grown-up version
of Sarah's. All the same, he noticed the crisply starched
collar and cuffs, the tightly cinched belt; it was as though
the neat, precise Sully-persona he knew was working its way
through all that uncharacteristic velvet and lace.
"Go ahead and rest; I'll call you for dinner," he heard
her say. Then she closed the door, and for a moment, her
shoulders slumped and he saw the strain in her face. He
also saw the moment that she straightened up and put it
aside. Then she turned and saw him.
For a moment, she looked so shocked he wondered if this
had been a good idea.
"Mulder? What --"
"Melissa invited me."
"Oh." She smiled slightly. "This must be my Christmas
surprise."
"Told you it wasn't a scarf this year," Melissa called
from over his shoulder somewhere. He could hear her herding
the children out of the living room to some other part of
the house. Dana came down the hall to join him. There was
an awkward moment when they met, as if neither of them were
sure what greeting was appropriate. He thought for a moment
she was going to hug him. They settled for grabbing each
others' hands.
"How have you been?"
"Fine. How are you?"
"Fine," she said insincerely. "California is fine."
"How is Daniel?"
She read his gaze and dropped his hands. "Melissa must
have told you."
"Yes. I'm sorry."
"Well" She looked away. "We're coping."
He felt he should say something more, but he didn't
know what it was. He felt the urge to touch her, caress
her shoulder or her face, but after all this time he no
longer felt comfortable doing that. Miserably, he stood
with his hands in his pockets. He didn't want to continue
this stilted little conversation they were having; it made
them seem like strangers. An uncomfortable silence
stretched between them.
"It was nice of you to come," she said at last, as if
he were some stranger who'd shown up at a funeral. "I know
how you hate these family things. It's all right if you
don't want to stay."
The polite dismissal in her voice cut into him. How
had he let this happen, he wondered desparately. More
importantly, how could he fix it? He suddenly realized how
badly he wanted to fix it.
"Scully, I . . . need . . . to apologize. Not just
because I didn't stay in touch, but . . . because . . . I
tried to make it hard for you to leave." At last, he'd
found the words he needed. "It wasn't fair." He held his
breath.
"No, it wasn't." Then she met his eyes. "but it's all
right."
"It is?"
"It is now." This time she smiled, not the teasing
grin he was used to, but the rare and radiant full smile.
He started breathing normally again and smiled back. "I
missed you." The words were out before he knew he was going
to say them. She smiled again, wrapped her arm around his,
and lead him toward the sofa.
"Now I want to hear how your new partner is working
out."
"Salter? Oh, I wore him out. You know, they just
aren't making partners like they used to."
***
It *was* all right, he decided as the day wore on, even
the family dinner, family jokes, and the nephews who
demanded he play with them. His presents went over well;
most of them were just generic: tins of cookies for the
adults, action figures and paint sets for the kids, a book
for Daniel. He'd bought scarves for Scully and her sister,
one short, soft, forest green wool, and one long silk
paisley with fringe.
"Well done," Melissa told him. She'd been shooting him
looks of approval all day, and he wasn't sure how he felt
about it. She made him nervous, he realized. It was one
thing to have Dana know him so well after all they had been
through. Melissa seemed to know him better than she should
on short acquaintance. It made him feel uncomfortably
transparent.
"Tell me something," he said under the hum of family
conversation. "Did we meet by chance the other night, or
were you looking for me?"
"Sheer serendipity, Mulder. You can call it chance if
you want to."
"But you call it -- what? -- Fate?" he asked, amused.
"I believe things happen for a purpose. Energies
converge. I think you believe that, too, when you're not in
denial." She handed him a small package. "This is for you.
I didn't tell anyone you were coming, but I had hope."
He opened the box and sniffed at the contents. "Should
I arrest myself for possessing this?"
"It's tea, Mulder. The kind you drink. I had my
herbalist make it up especially for you. It's good for
insomnia."
"It looks like lawn clippings."
"Closed minded, isn't he?" Melissa said to her sister.
"It's a selective thing. He believes in aliens, but
not herb tea."
They were laughing at him, and he was actually enjoying
it, until Sarah started to sing. A little girl's piping
voice, singing "Silent Night." It threw him back over 20
years.
("Fox, listen to me; everyone listen. I know all the
words!" And Sam's little girl voice, high and sweet and
full of Christmas excitement. . . )
"Mulder, are you all right?" There was a hand on his
arm. The words and the gesture were so familiar, he
expected Dana, and was surprised to find it was Melissa.
"Yeah."
She studied his face. "It's all right to feel what
you're feeling."
"Melissa . . ."
"Ok, no homily this time," she held up a hand to stop
his protests. "I just meant that it's natural to miss
someone at Christmas. I just wanted to know if you were all
right."
"I'm fine." And, surprisingly, he was.
Not long afterward, he decided to leave, and went
looking for his coat. Opening what he thought was a closet
off the hallway, he startled Daniel, who was seated at a
large desk in a room Mulder figured must have been Admiral
Scully's study.
"Oh! Sorry," he said, as Daniel dropped the small tape
recorder he'd been dictating into.
"It's OK. You just caught me in the act. Working on
Christmas; Dana would give me hell."
"Well, I promise not to tell her." He was about to
back out, but Daniel gestured him in.
"Have you got a moment?"
"Sure."
Carefully, Daniel retrieved the recorder from the
desktop and turned it off. From the way he held it, Mulder
could see he had trouble using his fingers. A heavy-looking
cane rested between his knees.
"What are you working on?" he asked, so he wouldn't
seem to be scrutinizing the man's disabiliites.
"I had an idea for a book that I needed to get down."
Daniel made a face at the recorder. "I hope I can get used
to this dictating business; I'm used to thinking and
revising as I type. I like to see my words." He waved away
Mulder's murmurs of sympathy. "That's not what I wanted to
talk about. Did Dana tell you we're planning on moving back
East?"
"No," Mulder said with some surprise.
"Well . . . it's still in the works, but I'm sure it's
what we want to do. We want to be near our families; I want
Sarah near her grandparents. It's funny how your
perspective can change; that lab I was sure I couldn't live
without will just have to get along without me now. But my
point is about Dana. She has this idea she'll take a leave
of absence, maybe quit working entirely, to help me. I
don't want that."
"No?"
"No! I didn't marry her to make her my nursemaid, and
I can hire an assisstant if I need one. Besides, I have
work to do. I'm not going to get any writing done with her
hovering and scolding. So I want your help."
"My help?"
"I want you to help get her back to work. Tire her up
and drag her in if you have to. "
"I doubt I can get Scully to do anything she doesn't
want to do."
"I'm not so sure about that. Anyway, I don't think she
knows what she wants in this case. Or she knows, but she's
doing what she thinks I need. But she's wrong. Tell her
you need her help. Tell her aliens are rearranging your
furniture, I don't know! Just help me convince her to do
what we both know she's happiest doing."
"I'll try."
"Good." Daniel grinned. "I have faith in you. . By
the way, how long have you been seeing Melissa?"
"Seeing . . .? I'm not."
He must have looked shocked; Daniel laughed. "My
mistake -- I think! Go get started on Dana, so I can finish
this damned dictating before she catches me."
Out in the hall, Mulder located the closet, and
retrieved his coat. Before he could put it on, Melissa
appeared and relieved him of it. "You won't need that just
yet. I want to go for a walk later."
"A walk?" Why did this woman always catch him off
balance?
"To look at the stars. It's the way I like to end
Christmas. I just have to help get the kids to bed first."
She was gone with the coat before he could protest. "I am
in the hands of Scullys," he thought. "There is no escape."
He sat alone in the living room for a while, watching
the lights on the tree, listening to the sounds of children
being put to bed, and adults retreating to their rooms.
Margaret Scully looked in on him once. "Oh, Fox, you're
still here. There's a bed made up for you in the guest
room; Dana can show you. She's in the kitchen. Good night
and Merry Christmas!"
Mulder headed for the kitchen, and found Dana loading
the dishwasher. She looked worn out.
"Scully! I finally get to see you do something
domestic!"
She smiled. "I was thinking of the year my dad gave
mom this machine as a Christmas present."
"Oooh, how romantic."
"It was, actually. It was his way of pledging that
they were finally settling down, after all those years of
moving from one Navy base to another."
"I take it back; it's a very romantic dishwasher." He
moved to help her load. "Are you all right?" he asked
softly.
"Isn't that usually my line? I'm fine." She didn't
look up, but he could hear the unshed tears in her voice
"It's just that it's so hard to see someone you love . . .
struggle."
"I know." Now, it was easy to put a hand on her
shoulder, to brush a stray hair out of her eyes. "He's a
great guy, Scully."
"It means a lot that you think so."
For a moment, they stared at each other, smiling.
Enough had been said. He went back to loading dishes.
"So, can you come into the office tomorrow, Scully? I
have something I want you to see."
"Tomorrow? The day after Christmas?"
"Does crime take a holiday? I need your professional
opinion on something."
"Tomorrow I promised to take Sarah skating."
"You ice skate?"
"I had a few lessons as a kid."
"Ah, a budding Dorothy Hamil."
"I preferred to play hockey with my brothers."
"A budding Wayne Gretzky. I should have known." He
cocked his head, looking at her from a different angle. "I
keep forgetting; you're someone's mother now."
She laughed out loud this time. "It's true. Things
really have changed."
"Not all things."
"No, not all things," she agreed. The clear affection
in her blue-green eyes warmed him. "I could come Tuesday."
"I'll dust. There's a lot of room in that basement
these days, Scully."
Before she could answer, an impatient tapping at the
window made them both jump. Melissa stood outside, holding
his coat.
"I forgot; she wants to go for a walk."
Dana nodded. "Does it every Christmas; it's become a
tradition. When we were girls, she used to say she was
saying good night to the stars."
Mulder gave an exaggerated sigh. "We're probably going
to read their auras. You coming?"
"I wasn't invited this year." Dana looked amused.
"You know, " she said, looking out at her sister, "this is
one thing that may take some getting used to . .."
"For you and me both." he said wryly.
He left her laughing as he went to join the waiting
woman.

THE END




Brian,
telnet://ricksbbs.synchro.net:23
http://ricksbbs.synchro.net:8080
---
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