TITLE:  Merry Christmas, Baby
AUTHOR:  Michele Lellouche (mdanl73@gmail.com)
RATING:  PG
DISCLAIMER:  I don't own them. Rupert does. CC, DD and GA
also have a good claim as does Fox and 1013.  I treated 
them nice, they'll be back soon.

TIMELINE/SPOILERS: Set during the sixth season, so some
references to the movie and season six en generale.

ARCHIVE:  Anywhere, okay to Gossamer, Ephemeral, etc.  Let
me know where it goes!

SUMMARY: A Xmas party story. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Previously posted on EMXC and M&S.  This is a
pretty good description of my company Christmas party last
year, and some of the events herein happened.  Feedback gets
you which ones <g>.  Jesse, this one's for you!

MERRY CHRISTMAS, BABY
By Michele Lellouche
mdanl73@gmail.com


"Every year, I wonder why in hell I do this to
myself."  Mulder growled. 

Scully reached over and straightened his Grinch
tie.  They had stepped from the cab into the Washington
Hilton lobby, were pausing to get themselves back together,
steel themselves for the upcoming event.  "Oh, come on.  We
get a free meal *and* we can watch our fellow agents get
drunk and make fools of themselves."

"True--can't be all bad.  You look beautiful, Scully." 
He tried to forestall her check of herself in a 
decorative mirror.

She smiled, straightened.  "So do you."  They made a
perfect set, both in black,  Mulder's suit set off by the
Grinch tying the reindeer horn on his dog Max, her velvet
cocktail dress set off by a costume gold necklace Mulder had
seen in a museum catalog and urged her to buy-the choker was
made of the Chinese characters for "happiness."

"Shall we?"


The Violent Crimes Section Christmas party was like
the parties of any company of similar size--a meal at a
hotel, cash bar, DJ, and dancing. The only difference was
that most of the assembled carried guns as accessories.

As most companies, they were also collecting Toys
for Tots and Mulder and Scully were not in the least
surprised to see Skinner talking with the Marines who had
come to collect.  Mulder set their pair of stuffed bears in
with the other animals.

Skinner's secretary Kim was running the check-in
table.  Pulling out their red envelopes with drink tickets,
entre card and nametags, she smiled, genuinely happy to see
them.  "I've missed you two haunting my office."

"We do tend to liven things up," Mulder grinned
back, slapping on his label.  Kim's work again: the tag said
"Mulder" not "Fox."

"Anything interesting so far?"  Scully asked.

"You've got to check out Gerry Hopkins' date when
you get inside. It's still too early for anything
else...Heads up," she warned, and the agents turned to see
AD Maslin, who had exiled them, starting toward the table.

"What do you think, Scully, drink before dinner?"

"Your drink tickets are in your envelopes," Kim
waved them into the ballroom.


"I think we should've brought our flashlights,"
Mulder grumbled at the darkened room, thronged with agents,
support staff, and spouses.

"Mulder, if you keep acting like this, I'm taking
you home."

"Would you?"

"On second thought--"

"Hey, a friendly face," he grabbed her elbow and
steered her toward a table.

Skinner didn't want to be there almost as much as
his erstwhile charges.  He talked with the Marines as a way
to avoid entering the ballroom and having to begin surviving
the evening.  It had been bad enough when he'd had Sharon to
attend with him.  At least he could communicate with her
during the evening.  This year...

He caught sight of the bright red hair first, offset
against the black velvet, and there was no mistaking the
owner of the arm at her back, in his own black costume.  He
didn't realize he was staring until AD Cassidy appeared
beside him.

"Ah, the King and Queen of the Dark."

He bristled on their behalf.  "Is that what they're
being called now?"

"I don't know," she said simply.  "I think of them
like that. Especially after I read some of the master copies
of their...adventures."  She looked at him before he could
beg to differ. "I wanted them back with their files.  I was
overruled, as you were."

He stared after her as she walked away.  _Well,
well...potential ally? Or just a smoother path?__

As he was puzzling that performance, the King and
Queen themselves came up to him.  For a second and a half,
he was struck by how beautiful a couple they were.  Then he
caught their conspiratorial looks and they morphed back into
his agents again.

"You two are up to something," he said in way of
greeting, slipping back into the less formal relationship
they had found lately.

"Always," Mulder said as they sidled up to him in a
corner he had found, out of the rush around the bars.

"We wanted to ask-" Scully began.

"You can eat with us, can't you?  Or is it forbidden
for you to sit at our table?"  Mulder finished.

"We might be all alone," he hedged, touched
suddenly.

"Nah.  Jay and Sundance are eating with us.  That's
5.  As long as we don't get Spender."

"Or Fowley," Scully added softly.

Skinner watched them exchange a glance, then move
past it.  "You two had a drink yet?  I think we need one."

They ended up sitting down toward the far end of the
ballroom, by the fake parquet portable dance floor and the
DJ, who had begun spinning a series of oldies.  After
finishing an undistinguished salad, Scully was wishing she
had taken up Mulder on his offer to go to the movies that
afternoon and eat popcorn.

"You remember that time in Sam's, those big
multi-meal boxes we saw? Chicken entre,  veggies,  rice, 24
in a set?   I swear that's what we always get served at 
these things,"  Mulder's sardonic baritone tickled her ear.

"Mulder," Scully warned.

Despite good conversation, carried mainly by their
tablemates, by the end of the half-eaten miserable meal,
Scully could literally feel the Christmas spirit draining
 out of her, at a rate inversely proportional to that of 
the Christmas spirits being imbibed by some of their 
so-called peers.  Skinner had left the table a few minutes
ago with the stated intent of another drink, but Scully 
suspected he was actually after the munchie mix scattered 
in bowls around the bars.  She didn't blame him, in fact, 
she should have thought to ask him to bring some back.  
The stuff was decidedly tastier than the dinner.

Some of their cohorts moved to the dance floor and
she turned to watch, trying to identify the brave ones. 
They had slowly learned their neighbors at the surrounding 
desks, who treated she and Mulder at first as an oddities, 
and then avoided them. Kersh's intent to break them was 
clearly widely known.

She sat carefully sideways in her chair, making sure
her short skirt was yanked down enough.  Mulder was leaning
close and his familiar smell made her relax.

"We should go dance."

The DJ had started a slow number, a ballad by one of
the boy groups--she tended to mix up 'N Sync, the Backstreet
Boys and Dru Hill, hearing them only when she and Mulder
could find nothing on the radio but Top 40.   "A slow dance?  
Mulder, the rumor mill is grinding overtime about us already."

"Y'know, I could care less what they think."

She leaned back, almost against the powerful chest. 
"I know. But-"

"We've got to be good so they'll give us back the
files," he finished.

Skinner paused as he returned to the table, catching
the exchange as if he were closer than he was, a trick of
acoustics.  He knew at this point, Mulder and Scully would
practically have to save the president to get the X-Files
back.  And with this Congress, even that might not be
enough.

He sat down beside them, part of them, but not. 
"You two going to dance?"

"See?"  Mulder grinned.

"Fast dance maybe," she allowed.  "Mulder can only
slam dance."

"Slam dance?" Skinner nearly gaped.

"I was in England during Old Wave-y'know, the Clash,
the Police, U2. If I wanted to get girls, had to slam
dance."

"You didn't have a mohawk or anything?" the AD
asked.

"No, but I did have 2 earrings, and for a brief
terrifying period, I had blond hair."

The music changed to something fast and Scully
turned and gathered Mulder's hand off the table where it had
been abstractly tapping along. Skinner nearly laughed as 
Mulder shot him a punch drunk grin back over his shoulder.

Mulder always thought of Eddie Murphy at times like
these and his comment about how white people danced,
basically hopping from foot to foot.  But soon U2 was wailing 
"Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)," and Mulder was happily 
bopping himself, smiling at Scully, who laughed when he pulled 
her into his arms for a real dance.  Letting himself just be in 
the moment, he relaxed and enjoyed just being with his partner, 
flaunting having the most beautiful woman dancing with him.  
Still, he caught something out of the corner of his eye and saw 
Scully catch it too.

"Who are those two girls?" asked her husky alto in
his ear.

Neither had ever before seen the two girls, one
black, one a redhead who reminded both of them of Melissa,
dancing as if glued together.  The music shifted to a slow
number and Mulder and Scully slid off the floor, both
watching the women dancing together, as was half the room,
the men with great enthusiasm.  Retreating to the table,
they looked to Skinner.

"I don't know who they are," he admitted.  "They don't look 
familiar, but we're hiring so many new support people these 
days."

"Kim'll know," Scully decided, getting to her feet
again and looking for where Kim had gone as Mulder went in
search of drinks.

By the time Scully returned with news, the girls had
disappeared from the floor.  "They weren't from our party. 
There's several other groups here-one's really formal."  
She had run into women from that group in the bathroom.

"Imagine that, the FBI is the cool party," Mulder sent as a 
parting shot as he headed off to find the facilities.  He 
wanted to get out of here--even home to his cold apartment was
preferable.  After a few subtle Scullyisms, he knew Scully must 
be ready to go too.  These enforced jovial occasions were wearing
but they had to go to this one, in the increasingly vain hope of 
regaining the Files.  He almost snarled at Spender as he passed 
that table.  Then he caught sight of Diana and suppressed the urge.
No need to make a scene--it would be talked about until he hit
retirement age.  Spender looked even more thrilled to be here 
than he was, but Diana had that predatory gleam in her eye.  Mulder
had had enough drinks to admit that her look made him uneasy, unsure
of what his ex-amour was plotting, but he decided not to think about
that tonight.

He walked past several parties on the way to the
men's room, and on the way back, decided to slow down and
snoop.  But in the second room he entered, he abruptly
wished he hadn't.  He stopped cold and felt a shiver as he
watched the women who had danced together, ground against
each other,  at their party dancing again-this time with
half the dance floor between them.

Scully started as she caught sight of Mulder emerging almost 
out of the darkness to sit between her and Skinner.

"We've got to get out of here.  I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I 
really can't take this any more." Mulder grumped as he sat again.

"What brought this on?"  Scully asked softly, not liking his look. 
"Besides the bad food."

"I'll tell you when we go."   He sort of gathered her at his side by 
his elbow, and they both stood, beginning the long escape from the 
room, making their farewells.

They ended up at a small coffee shop, a college
hangout near Scully's apartment in Georgetown.  She waited
until they were settled with lattes and biscotti (Mulder
always called it their "Yuppie indulgence").  "So why did
you get us out of there so fast?"

"Y'know those women who came into our party and-"

"Did the lambada?"

"Polite way of putting it."  His brief, bright grin was lost
almost immediately in the sigh that followed. "Anyway, I saw 
them at their own party, and this time they were dancing at 
opposite ends of the dance floor."

She didn't even have to guess at what he meant.  The sadness 
that always tinged his eyes shadowed deep.

"I watched them and, hell, it's not like I'm hiding who I love 
in this life, but I can remember that horrible summer we spent 
having to lie to even see each other, and now, when we have to 
sneak around to investigate what we were meant to--" He took 
refuge in staring into his cup.

Scully slipped her hand over his on the table.  "At least they 
haven't split us up yet."

"We'll go back to work on Monday and hear another thousand 
rumors about us when they think we aren't listening and...Scully,
I think I'm losing what little tolerance I had for this crap.  
I just can't do this much longer."

"Mulder," she whispered, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles. 
"Remember what you said?  What I said?  If we quit now, they win.
I know it's hard."

He looked up with a slight smile.  "I know, you're right.  I'm 
glad you're here to remind me of it, though."

After more coffee, memories of the miserable meal at the Hilton 
began to fade and they were talking about anything and everything, 
avoiding the night they had just endured.  Scully glanced out at 
the light snow falling, making this restored part of Georgetown
look like a Christmas card, and she felt Christmas spirit at
last. For the first time in weeks she didn't care what Monday would 
bring--it was Christmas, and this year meant a year of distance from 
Emily, a year in which she and Mulder had survived so much, learned so 
much, regained what they had had and strengthened it, even if 
the Files had slipped away.  She felt absurdly hopeful.

"What are you smiling at?"  Mulder asked, thinking that if she
continued smiling like that, he would forget all about his 
problems.  They were already fading to see her happy once more.

"The hell with them, Mulder.  We'll get the Files back.  
We're together and it's Christmas and for once, we're happy.  
Sort of.  Let's leave it there."

After a long moment, considering, he smiled himself.  "You're 
right." He raised his cup in a toast. "Here's to our friends and
 the hell with everyone else."

She clinked his cup with a smile.