TITLE: The Spirits of Christmas
AUTHOR:  Dyann Zimmerman
RATING: PG. One bad word. Very mild, especially for me.
KEYWORDS: MSR; RST; Holiday fic.
SPOILERS:  Christmas Carol, Per Manum
SUMMARY:  Mulder is visited by three spirits who teach
him the real meaning of Christmas... and life.
DISCLAIMER: Please sue me! I'd love my 15 minutes.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This probably takes place during Season
Seven, even though there are spoilers for Per Manum.
The spoilers are the flashbacks from that episode,
something I figure took place around that time.  There
is no William, no 'all things' yet in this story. And a
thank you to Charles Dickens-- may he forgive my
blatant plagiarism.
FEEDBACK:  Welcomed and answered at philer@onemain.com


'I have endeavored in this Ghostly little fanfic to
raise the Ghost of an Idea, which shall not put my
readers out of humor with themselves, with each other,
with the season, or with me. May it haunt their houses
pleasantly, and no one wish to lay it.' CD & DZ

HOME OF FOX MULDER
ARLINGTON, VA
December 23, 1999

Mulder was nodding off a bit, his place next to Scully
on the couch warm and cozy, despite his mood.  "Oh,
good, 'A Christmas Carol' is on.  I love that movie,"
Scully said gleefully, setting the remote down after
finding her choice for the evening.
A bit too gleefully for Mulder.

"How can you stand that tripe, Scully?  And year after
year," he grumbled, getting up to go to the kitchen for
another beer. Scully shook her head, sighing as she
stood to follow him into the kitchen.

"Should I ask what's up with you or should I just
ignore your mood?" she said to him.

"Nothing's up.  I just don't see what the deal is with
Christmas," he started, opening his beer.  "Did you
know that there are more suicides at Christmas than at
any other time of the year, Scully?"

Scully leaned back against the counter, crossing her
arms in front of her as she took him in.  "I don't
think I realized just what a Scrooge you are, Mulder,"
she told him plainly and meant it.

"Bah, humbug," he grouched, glancing at her before
heading back to the living room, the
leather of his worn couch squeaking as he settled in.

Scully slowly followed, finding her place next to him,
wondering if she should broach the subject she'd been
wanting to bring up since she'd arrived at his
apartment.  "So, um, what are your plans for this
rottenest of holidays?" she asked.

"Nothing.  Christmas is just another day, so I have no
'plans'," he told her, noticing her bit of
disappointment with his answer.  "What? You'd feel
better if I'd go out and get a plastic tree and hang
plastic bulbs on it and pretend I find it... oh, I
don't know... heartwarming?" he said facetiously.

"Jesus, I'm sorry I asked," she sighed, deciding maybe
she should just cut her losses and go.

Mulder looked at her and could tell she had something
on her mind and thought he'd better give her an
opportunity to tell him what it was or he'd probably
find himself in the doghouse way into the next
millennium.  "Okay, Scully.  What are your big plans
for the big holiday?"

"Well, don't hurt yourself being interested," she
snapped back, standing from the couch, deciding it was
certainly best if she left.

"I'm sorry, Scully.  Really," he said, momentarily
regretting his nasty temperament.  "Come on.  Really,
tell me your plans for Christmas," Mulder said, trying
to sound as interested as he could. He was just tired
of everyone trying to make Christmas happy which
generally only served to make him miserable.

Scully looked at him for a few moments, her glare
something that usually made Mulder tow the mark.  She
moved back to sit down next to him on the couch, hoping
she could try to get him not to spend his holiday
alone.  "Well, my mom is going to San Diego, to Bill's.
She wants me to go with her," she said to his nod.
"You'd, um, be welcome to come with me."

Mulder didn't answer immediately, but then let it fly,
seemingly unable to stop himself.  "Scully, I'd be more
welcome at the Kersch holiday celebration than I would
be at a Scully family Christmas."

"Mulder, you know that isn't true," she said
disgustedly.  "You could have a nice, family holiday
for a change."

"Oh, come on.  Why would you want to add me
to the Scully family mix when you usually come back
from those events wishing you hadn't gone?" he said,
wondering how she could be trying to convince him it
would be a positive experience.

"Fine.  Fine," she said, his observation only serving
to irritate her.

"Scully, you know I'm right.  Families get together
under the guise of having this 'Norman Rockwell'
Christmas and all that usually happens is that people
are either bored stiff or they end up getting into some
big family quarrel," he went on. "That's what I'm
trying to say-- Christmas is nothing more than a
contrived, phony impersonation of something happy.
Merry fucking Christmas, I say."  And that was enough
for her, Scully standing from the couch and grabbing
her coat.

"You know, Mulder.  What you know and what you think
you know are two very different things," she told him
angrily, heading for the door.  "Stay here by yourself,
Mr. Scrooge," she finished, slamming the door behind
her.

"Bah, humbug!" he yelled after her, irritated at her
for being irritated at him.  She knew he was right, he
told himself.

Scully had gone to Mulder's that evening with the
specific purpose of trying to find a way for them to be
together for the holidays.  She had hoped he would
agree to go to her brother's with her, but deep down
figured he wouldn't agree to that. So she was ready to
stay in Washington and offer to have him come to her
apartment and they could enjoy a quiet holiday
together, just the two of them.  She felt they had been
growing closer in the last several months and hoped
that he felt it, too.  She had just wanted them to be
together.  But somewhere, Mulder had developed a
terrible mood and she realized it wasn't going to
happen.

Mulder lay on the couch for a while after Scully left,
flipping through the channels, unable to find much of
anything but holiday-themed shows that he had
absolutely no interest in.  So, finally, after dozing
off and on for the better part of an hour, he decided
to go to bed and shut the world out with a good night's
sleep.  He laid in the bed, watching the snow fall
against the window lit by the glow of the streetlight
at the curb, the bare branches of the tree outside
tapping against the glass.  He wished he hadn't gotten
into an argument with Scully, but maybe it was for the
best. At least it sent her on her way to San Diego with
her family and left him to stay in his dreary mood
alone.  He didn't need to ruin her holiday, too.

Suddenly, he heard something that sounded different
than the steady noise of the tree outside his window.
Then, his bedroom door rattled with a booming sound,
and he heard the noise much louder on the wood of his
floor; coming into the living room; then coming
straight towards his bedroom door. Mulder scrambled for
the gun on his dresser, pointing it at the door to his
room, waiting for whoever was walking towards it.
"Who's there?!" he yelled, still pointing his gun.  His
breath almost stopped though, when, without hesitation,
it passed right through the door and moved into the
room materializing before his eyes.  When he'd focused
his eyes, the smoky shape moved closer near the bed and
he found himself calling out, "Dad?!" and fell back
against the headboard, unbelieving of what he was
seeing.

The same face, his stern scowl, his salt and pepper
hair unkempt on his head; his sweater the one he'd worn
every night as he read alone, nursing his bourbon
before bed, the same shade of pale brown Mulder
remembered.  He was wrapped in chains, clasped around
his middle, long, and wound around him like a tail.
His body was transparent so that Mulder, observing him,
and looking through his body, could see the dresser and
wall behind him.  And though he looked at his father
before him and saw him standing there, looking as he
had before he had been ruined and taken from him, he
felt the chilling influence of death-cold eyes.  Mulder
was still incredulous, and fought against believing
what he was seeing.

"Dad...?" Mulder said again, his voice cold, feeling
almost afraid of this image of his father, much as he
had been as a young teen.

"Yes, Fox," William's voice spoke from the clouded
figure.

"What, who are you?" Mulder gently asked.

"In life, I was your father.  "You don't believe in
me?" observed the man's spirit.

"I want to believe," said Mulder.

"Why do you doubt your beliefs?"

"Because," Mulder began, "you might just be part of a
dream... indigestion maybe... or a product of the four
beers I had earlier." The truth was, that even though
he tried to chalk the image up to other tangible
causes, he knew it was a means of distracting himself
and keeping down his fear, because the vision and its
voice disturbed him down to the marrow in his bones.

At Mulder's words, the image trembled with a frightful
cry, and shook its chains, with such an unsettling
noise, that Mulder found himself holding on tight to
his gun, wondering if he would have to save himself
from whatever this vision might be.  "Jesus Christ!"
Mulder cursed, his voice almost shaking.  "Why, why are
you here?"

"Do you believe in me or not?" the spirit yelled to
him, his chains rattling, one of the heavy padlocks
which kept the links together banging against the floor
so loudly, Mulder was afraid the neighbors would hear,
no matter how irrational he knew his thought was.

"I must or I wouldn't be sitting here talking to you,"
Mulder answered.  "But why have you come here?"

"To make you understand what you have, but seem to want
to ignore," the ghost told him.  "If you do not heal
the unhappiness you have in life, you are condemned to
take it with you into death."

"You think I'm unhappy?" Mulder asked softly, sad that
his father had to find out what his existence had
become, still a disappointment no doubt.

"You are blessed with a life you don't appreciate!" the
spirit cried, his chains shaking, his shadowy hands
wringing with anger.  "You have so much you might have
shared on earth and turned into happiness; happiness
that I was never unchained to experience!"

Mulder trembled, his father's ghostly declarations
affecting him to the core of his soul.  "Why are you
chained?" Mulder asked his father, seeming barely able
to continue to stand from the weight of the heavy iron.

"I wear the chain I forged in life.  I made it link by
link, lock by lock, of my own free will by selfish
decisions I will be shackled by for eternity without
the key to unlock them.  But do you know," pursued the
ghost, "the weight and length of the strong chain you
bear yourself? It is as full as heavy and as long as
this, if you do not take heed to what I say to you!"

Mulder glanced around himself on the bed, the floor, in
the expectation of finding himself surrounded by links
of iron, but he could see nothing. "But you have a
key," Mulder observed, a long skeleton key hanging from
one of the padlocks connecting his father's chains.
"Why don't you free yourself?"

"You may see the key, but I can't!  I never found the
key to life, so neither in death!" his father screamed,
his chains rattling all the more.  "I will be chained
to the life I've led for all eternity and so will you
unless you alter your path!"

"Dad," Mulder said, imploringly. "Please, Dad.  Tell me
what you are saying isn't true... Please."

"I cannot comfort you," the image of his father
replied. "It will come from others, Fox, as I am not
the one for you to believe," the spirit admitted.  "I
cannot stay, I cannot linger anywhere.  In life, I
wasn't where I was really needed and now I am destined
never to rest where I want to rest.  All I have are the
weary journeys that lie before me! I found my mortal
life too short for what I should have done with it and
no amount of regret can make amends for life's
opportunities misused!"

The ghost held up its chain at arm's length, as if that
were the cause of all its futile grief, and flung it
heavily upon the floor again. "It's at this time of the
year that I suffer most. Why did I walk through my life
with my eyes turned away, and never raise them to see
what I was doing with my life, the lives of my family."

Mulder became very much dismayed to hear the image of
his father going on like he was, but still couldn't
understand exactly what his father wanted him to know.

"Hear me!" cried the Ghost. "My time is nearly gone."

"I do," said Mulder. "But why now?  What is it you want
me to know at this time in my life?"

"How it is that I appear before you in a shape that you
can see now, I'm not sure. I have sat invisible beside
you many and many a day."  Mulder didn't like that idea
and he shivered, feeling himself beginning to perspire.
"But I am here tonight to warn you, that you still have
a chance and hope of escaping my fate, Fox.  You aren't
destined to be unhappy if you listen to what I say."

"How?" Mulder asked softly.

"You will be haunted," resumed the ghost of his father,
"by Three Spirits."

Mulder couldn't resist a laugh, not expecting his
father to propose such a thing.  "I'd rather not,"
Mulder told him bluntly.

"Without their visits," continued the Ghost, "you
cannot hope to avoid the path I am doomed to. Expect
the first tomorrow, when the clock reaches one a.m."

"This is the last you will ever see of me. If you do
not make use of what you will learn, I will not return
to help you again," his father told him.  "Remember
what I have told you."

The apparition walked backward from him and at every
step it took, it faded, his father's image finally
disappearing when it reached the bedroom door.  Despite
his fear, Mulder went to the door and opened it,
looking out into the rest of his apartment.  Mulder
looked around, seeing nothing and examined the door by
which the Ghost had entered. It was double-locked, as
he had locked it earlier and the chain lock was
undisturbed. He tried to tell himself everything had
been no more than a disturbing dream, inspired by the
season, maybe his argument with Scully.  But he was
disturbed, now finding himself very much in need of
sleep and went straight to bed, falling asleep in an
instant.

THE NEXT DAY
December 24, 1999
Mulder had gone into work, everything eerily still
without Scully.  He'd thought about what had happened
to him the previous night, still somewhat freaked by
how real the visit from his father had seemed.  Was it
a dream?  An apparition?  Indigestion?

After work, he had stopped by the bar around the corner
from his apartment building, a place he went sometimes
when he didn't have much else to do.  But he found the
place fairly empty, Mulder remembering that it was
Christmas Eve and most people were likely with their
families.  After finishing only one beer, he headed
home, finding himself not only bored, but tired from
not having slept much the night before.

Later, still on the couch where he'd fallen asleep
watching one of his videos, he woke abruptly, noticing
that it was almost one o'clock.  And even though he
felt silly about remembering the Ghost's warning, he
looked around, feeling a strange sensation come over
him, suddenly knowing he wasn't alone.

"The son of William Mulder," called a hollow voice from
the dark.  Mulder startled at the sound, jolting up
from his recline, his eyes finally focusing on a figure
near the corner of his living room.

"Who are you?" Mulder asked quickly.

"I am the spirit whose coming was foretold to you," the
figure told him.  The voice was soft and gentle and
even though he could see it standing close to him, its
speech seemed as if it were coming from far away.

"Who are you?" Mulder asked again, the figure shadowy
and unrecognizable as anything or anyone.

"I am the Ghost of Christmas Past."

"You're kidding, right?" said Mulder, unbelieving in
what he was actually witnessing.

"Your past," it told him and put out its hand and
clasped him gently by the arm. "Rise and walk with me."

Mulder somehow didn't feel threatened by the figure's
presence and stood next to it without questioning
further.  The grasp it had on his arm, although as
gentle as a grandmother's hand, was not to be resisted.
The figure moved him toward his windows, the casement
already open, a light snow filtering in to powder his
desk.  "Hey, it's cold out there and in case you hadn't
noticed, I'm not exactly dressed for an evening walk,"
Mulder said, feeling he'd likely freeze in just his t-
shirt and pajama bottoms.

But even as Mulder protested, they passed through the
wall, and stood upon an open country road, with the
ocean lapping to the side of them.  The streets of
Arlington had completely vanished as had the darkness
and the cold and he was warm within a clear, cold,
winter day, with snow on the ground. "Jesus..." Mulder
sighed as he looked around him.  "I grew up here.  I
lived on this street," Mulder said, pointing down the
road.

The Spirit gazed at him mildly, its gentle touch
leading him down the road.  Mulder found himself
conscious of a thousand smells and sights floating in
the air, each one connected with a thousand memories,
and hopes and joys and cares long, long, forgotten or,
maybe more accurately, suppressed.

"You remember this street?" said the Spirit.

"Remember it?" Mulder laughed, "I could walk it
blindfold."

"Strange to have forgotten it for so many years,"
observed the Ghost.  Mulder realized the Spirit was
right-- he hadn't thought of his childhood home in many
years, generally trying to put his memories out of his
mind.  But there had been good ones, too, and he had
let those slip away as well.  "Let us go on," the
Spirit instructed.

They walked along the road, Mulder recognizing every
gate, and mailbox, and tree and the little village that
appeared in the distance, with a bridge and a church.
A few cars passed and he noticed they were the models
of his childhood, nothing of today.  Several boys
walked by, carrying sleds and skates and he recognized
them as grammar school friends.  All of the boys seemed
to be having fun, enjoying their days off from school.
Mulder called to them, but they didn't seem to hear or
even see him.

"These are but shadows of the things that have been,"
said the Ghost.  "They have no consciousness of us."

Others walked past that he recognized as neighbors he
had known and he named every one of them.  Why did he
find himself comforted to see them?  Why was he filled
with warmth when he heard them wish each other 'Merry
Christmas'?  What was 'Merry Christmas' to him?  What
good had it ever done him?

They left the road near the beach and turned onto a
well-remembered lane and soon approached a modest home
with a large welcoming porch with a wind chime hanging
from it.  They entered, glancing through the open door
to the many rooms, all decorated for the Christmas
holidays.  He could see the tree in the living room,
the presents already having been opened, boxes of toys
and clothes and everything else, still scattered
beneath the tree.  A new blue 10speed bicycle sat next
to the sparkling tree, Mulder remembering the year he
got it.  "1972, isn't it?" Mulder said to the spirit,
remembering the year just before Sam was taken.

"Your family was still all together," the Ghost
confirmed.  "A gathering of people who loved each
other, living the meaning of Christmas together."  The
Spirit touched him on the arm and pointed to the open
doors to a room down the hall.

"I don't think you know my family very well," Mulder
chuckled, remembering that even before Samantha was
taken that his family was far from perfect.

"Nothing is perfect all of the time," the Ghost told
him plainly.  "That is why you must make good use of
the best that is availed to you."

As they entered the room, Mulder gasped at what he saw,
his heart pounding with ache at the sight before him-
the Christmas table of his youth, filled with his
family. "Sam..." Mulder whispered, seeing her sitting
next to him, smacking his arm for something he'd said
to her; something that had made him laugh.  His
grandfather Mulder was there next to his mother, her
parents sitting across the table.  "Aunt Tess," Mulder
spoke again, his father's sister always being his
favorite, her children his favorite cousins.  He had
forgotten how big and wonderful his Christmases had
been before, well, before things changed after Sam was
gone.

"There's Puff!" Mulder gasped, his favorite dog, a
mixed Cocker Spaniel, appearing from under the edge of
his mother's damask table cloth.  "I loved that dog..."
Mulder said wistfully without even realizing he'd said
it.

The Ghost smiled thoughtfully, and waved its hand, "Let
us see another Christmas." And although Mulder found
himself very much wanting to stay, they went, the Ghost
and Mulder, across the hall, to a door at the back of
the house and even though he could tell it was still
Christmas, it was a different time--he felt it.  The
door opened before them, and disclosed a bare,
melancholy room, a porch of sorts, made barer still by
only one chair sitting down at one end.  And at that
end sat a lonely boy, bundled for the weather, but
sitting reading... alone.  Mulder sat down on the
banister and began to weep; knowing that it was him and
that he had felt forgotten and alone after Sam was
gone.

There wasn't a sound in the house; not a squeak of a
footstep on the floor, not the sound of a radio playing
Christmas carols, not the sound of a family
celebration.  The realization stabbed at Mulder's
heart, his tears flowing freely despite the presence of
the spirit.  The Spirit touched Mulder on the arm, and
pointed to his younger self, intent on his reading.
"Life is influenced by many things, but often it is not
so much about what happens in our lives, but how we
live with what does happen," the Spirit pointed out to
him.  "Living in the past in isolation of what you
truly desire for the present only makes you old and
bitter."

Mulder had seen enough, not able to remember another
moment of his younger life, how he'd cut himself off
from pleasurable things, seemingly as some kind of
penance for his sister's disappearance. "Get me out of
here," Mulder demanded, now angry for what the Spirit
had made him witness.

"I told you these were shadows of the things that have
been," said the Ghost. "That they are what they are.
Do not blame me!"

"I said, I've seen enough!" Mulder yelled. "I want to
go home.  Take me back!"

"But you have one more scene to witness," the Ghost
said.  "After all, what you do or do not do affects
others as well.  You do not live in isolation Mr.
Mulder, no matter how you see yourself."

Mulder could feel himself leaving his family's home,
but had no real sense of movement.  For some strange
reason, he trusted the Spirit who led him out into the
night.

"Scully..." Mulder said as she materialized before him,
visiting her brother's home at Christmas.

"We are not in the current day.  Remember, I am the
Ghost of Christmas Past," the Spirit reminded him,
Mulder now noticing that Scully looked different,
younger, but troubled.

"Excuse me," Mulder watched her say to her family as
she got up from their table.  He could see that she was
bothered by something as she dialed someone from her
brother's phone, seemingly not wanting her family to
notice.

"Who did she call?" Mulder asked, wondering why she
didn't speak, hanging up instead. He could tell she
wanted to talk to whoever it was on the other end of
the line, but couldn't seem to let herself admit it.

"Why, you, Mr. Mulder," the Spirit told him, moving
them toward the kitchen, sensing again that it was a
different time. "She needed you."

"Me?  For what?" Mulder asked, puzzled.

"You shall see."

"Oh, he's kicking!  Kickboxing!" Scully's sister-in-law
said excitedly, smoothing her hand over her pregnant
abdomen.  "You know what, I can't believe I'm going to
say this; as big and fat as I am right now, but I can't
wait to have more.  This is our baby, our son.  It kind
of gives everything new meaning.  I can't help but
think life before now was somehow...less.  Just a
prelude..."  Mulder could see the devastated look on
Scully's face despite her efforts to smile at her
brother and sister-in-law, so happy and proud.

"She... she knows," Mulder said, realizing by the look
on Scully's face that she knew about her inability to
have children.  And he could see that she was
distraught, so obviously heartbroken over her own
situation and struggling not to let anyone notice.

Suddenly they were in the kitchen, Scully seemingly
deep in thought as she washed a few of the dishes from
dinner, her mother eventually joining her.  "What's the
matter?"

"Nothing, Mom.  I'm very happy for Bill and Tara,"
Scully said, Mulder remembering that Scully's nephew
had been born that Christmas.

"You don't seem to be," her mother replied, a bit of
chastisement in her inflection.

Scully sighed, unable to look at her mother, something
very obviously on her mind.  "Oh, Mom," she sighed,
seemingly needing to telling her secret to someone.
"Several months ago, I learned that as a result of my
abduction, of what they did to me..., that I cannot
conceive a child." Her mother embraced her, Scully
reaching around her as well, her mother's comfort
welcomed.

"I'm so sorry," her mother told her sincerely.

"I just never realized how much I wanted it until I
couldn't have it," Scully admitted sadly.

The Spirit looked at Mulder and could see how
profoundly he was affected by his friend's confession
and then moved him away from the scene, the time
changing again. There was now a Christmas party going
on in her brother's house, people mingling, Scully's
mother enjoying a conversation with her very pregnant
daughter-in-law on the couch.  But Scully was sitting
alone gazing out a window, her mind obviously
somewhere very far away.  "Dana, could you give me a
hand in the kitchen?" her brother Bill said sternly to
her.

Mulder watched as Scully's brother chastised his
sister, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she was
having some kind of emotional pain.  "You're not here.
You're a million miles away.  I thought you came to see
the family," he snapped.

"I did," she answered meekly.

"I thought this other thing was resolved," he
continued.  "It's about that little girl, isn't it?"

"Emily..." Mulder whispered, knowing which Christmas
this was and what was on Scully's mind, why she was so
obviously troubled.

Mulder watched as Bill stood over her, Scully almost
cowering, something Mulder could barely believe he was
witnessing. He'd never seen Scully like that.

"Melissa called you from the grave?" he asked her
mockingly.  "That sounds like something that partner of
yours would say."

"It does not matter where that phone call came from.
What matters is that there is a little girl who needs
my help," Scully told him, trying her best to stand up
to her brother's mistreatment.

"This isn't about any little girl, Dana. It's about
YOU!" Bill continued, Mulder barely able to stand by
and watch Scully be bullied by a brother she loved.
"It's about some... void, some emptiness inside you
that you're trying to fill," he told her, blind to his
sister's obvious pain.

"You bastard, leave her alone!" Mulder yelled to no
avail.

"He can't hear you..." the Spirit reminded him.  "But
had you gone with her as she'd asked, you would have
been there for her and she wouldn't have had to suffer
alone."

Suddenly they were in a child's bedroom, Scully tossing
and turning in the pastel linens of a twin bed.  And
she was crying... sobbing, covering her eyes with her
hands as she cried, "I need you... I need your help,"
he could hear her muffled words.

"Is, is she talking about me?" Mulder said, it slowly
dawning on him who she cried for.

"Of course, Mr. Mulder.  She wanted you with her but
she was afraid to let you know.  And you wanted to go
with her, but you didn't for no better reason than to
avoid her officious brother," the Ghost told him what
he already knew.  "A selfish response, Mr. Mulder."

"But I did go... later, after she'd called me," Mulder
said, trying to defend himself to the Ghost, but unable
to do so against his own guilt.

"But did you comfort her?  Did you?!" the Ghost
challenged.  But all Mulder could do was slowly shake
his head, knowing she had needed more than words from
him then, needing his physical comfort more.  He wanted
to give it to her, to hold her and tell her everything
would be okay, but wouldn't let himself do it.

"Please, I've seen enough," Mulder said defeatedly, his
deep regret apparent to the Spirit.  "I want to go
home.  Please take me back."

Without warning, Mulder was now very conscious of being
exhausted and drowsy and suddenly, of being back in his
own living room.  He barely had time to think about
what had happened, not finding the ghost anywhere in
sight, before he fell into a heavy sleep.

Continued in Pt. 2


FOX MULDER'S APARTMENT
LATER THAT NIGHT
Awakening in the middle of a loud snore, and sitting up
on his couch to get his thoughts together.  After his
earlier ordeal, he was surprised at how awake he felt,
now wondering if the second Spirit his father had
promised would visit tonight.  He had been so affected
by what the Specter had shown him earlier, he was
suddenly afraid of which door another Spirit might
open.  He wasn't sure he wanted to see.  He glanced
around the room with a sharp eye, hoping to be ready if
it came, not wanting to be taken by surprise.  And even
though he tried to prepare himself for anything from a
shadow to a flaming ogre, he still couldn't shake his
overwhelming feeling of apprehension.

Now, being prepared for almost anything, he was not by
any means prepared for nothing and, consequently, when
the clock hit two, and nothing appeared, he found
himself trembling, even more nervous than before.  Five
minutes, ten minutes, a quarter of an hour went by, yet
nothing came. All this time, he laid on his couch in
the dark, hearing every creak, every rattling pipe in
his building, feeling more powerless than he ever had
in his life.

After a good while, he began to think that maybe the
Spirit was waiting for him somewhere else; maybe in
another room.  He got up softly, slipping on his shoes
and grabbing his jacket this time and walked cautiously
to his door.  The moment Mulder's hand was on the
doorknob, a strange voice called him by his name, and
told him to open the door and he obeyed without much
thought.

And even though he'd gone out his own door, he found
himself walking back through into his own apartment.
But it had undergone a surprising transformation. The
walls and windows were decorated with fresh pine
garland, twinkling red lights throughout it all and
mistletoe above each doorway.  His table was set,
complete with a turkey, dressing and a bowl heaped with
mashed potatoes.  A pumpkin pie and various other
fruits and vegetables filled the top of the festive
table, Mulder almost expecting Martha Stewart to be his
next visitor.  In the corner, a fresh, beautifully
decorated tree touched the ceiling, the floor around it
packed with presents wrapped in the multi-colors of
Christmas.  The tree glowed, its light shining on
Mulder, as he peeped around the door.

"Come in!" exclaimed the Ghost. "Come in and know me
better, man!"

Mulder entered almost timidly, and hung his head before
this Spirit. He was not the indefatigable Mulder this
time and even though the Spirit's eyes were clear and
kind, he did not like meeting them.

"I am the Ghost of Christmas Present," said the Spirit.
"Look upon me!"

Mulder did so, despite himself. He was a huge figure,
clothed in a simple green robe, bordered with white
fur, a sparkling torch in his right hand. The garment
hung loosely on his sturdy frame; his feet, observable
beneath the ample folds of the garment, were bare.  And
on its head, he wore a holly wreath, with shining
icicles here and there within it.  His dark brown curls
were long and free and his eyes sparkled upon his
friendly bearded face.  This spirit was different, not
as dark and ominous as the previous spirit or the
apparition of his father had been.  He had a pleasant
voice, almost cheery and his demeanor was welcoming,
unconstrained.

"You have never seen the like of me before!" exclaimed
the Spirit.

"You got me there," Mulder chuckled, his earlier
trepidations relaxed in the presence of this Spirit.

The Ghost of Christmas Present rose, physically
overpowering, but he didn't seem to care about the
domination he could have if he chose.

"Look," Mulder started, feeling no fear from the
ghost's presence.  "I went with the other spirit out of
fear, on compulsion, and I learned of things too late
to change.  So, tonight, if you have anything to teach
me, let me benefit from it."

"Touch my robe!"

Mulder did as he was told and held it tight.  The
mistletoe, red berries, ivy, turkey, pies, puddings,
fruits and vegetables all vanished instantly. So did
the room, the tree and its glow of green and red, as
well as the hour of night, and they found themselves on
the streets of Arlington on Christmas Eve morning,
where people bustled about in a happy holiday mood,
scraping the snow from the pavement in front of their
buildings, packing their cars to, no doubt, head out to
spend the holidays with their families.

Mulder's neighbors, people he barely knew, called out
to each other, wishing each other a 'Happy Holiday', a
'Merry Christmas', a greeting they had never sent his
way in all the years he had lived there.  Several
teenagers exited the coffee shop across the street,
exchanging a friendly snowball, laughing heartily if it
went right and just as heartily if it went wrong. The
shops up and down the street were still half open,
filled with things for last-minute shoppers.  The
blended scents of tea and coffee and various baked
goods from the German bakery that he frequented every
Sunday morning seemed more tastily stimulating than he
ever remembered them being.  Everyone seemed so eager
in the hopeful promise of the day, that he suddenly
felt very alone and out of place.  Had his neighborhood
been like this every year and he just didn't care
enough to notice?

The Spirit had allowed Mulder to take it all in,
knowing he would until, finally, they went on,
invisible, as they had been before, into the suburbs of
the town. It was a remarkable quality of the Ghost,
despite his gigantic size, he could move just as freely
under a low roof as he could in an open space, quite a
supernatural creature, Mulder observed.

And perhaps it was the pleasure the good Spirit had in
showing off this power of his, or else it was his own
kind, generous, hearty nature, that led him straight to
Mulder's heart.  And then he took Mulder with him,
holding him to his robe and with nothing more than a
movement, they were on the threshold of Bill Scully's
door.  The Spirit smiled, and stopped to bless the home
with the sprinkling of his torch. And Mulder thought to
himself that despite the fact that the last time a
Spirit had taken him to Bill Scully's house he had
shown him sad and unhappy events, this kind Spirit had
just blessed his house.

And when they entered, Mulder was taken aback, the
house seeming warm and inviting, no longer sad and
tense as he'd seen it before.  He could see Scully's
mother in the kitchen, stuffing a turkey with apple
dressing.  A stocky, red-headed man sat at the table,
nursing a beer, laughing at something or other with
Margaret.  'Charlie, no doubt,' Mulder said to himself.
Two women, one who Mulder recognized as Bill's wife,
the other most likely belonging to Charlie, were also
in the kitchen, working on a couple of pies.

As the Spirit moved them through the house, they
finally came upon Bill, playing with three small boys
in the back yard, Mathew barely toddling around, all of
them seemingly having the time of their lives.  And
then he saw Scully, sitting in the swing on the back
porch, looking very satisfied as she rocked Bill's
sleeping new baby daughter against her chest.

"You play with Mattie for awhile," Bill told Charlie's
oldest son, heading to the porch to sit next to Scully
on the swing.  "She asleep yet?" he asked his sister
with a soft approving smile.

"Just nodded off," Scully smiled back.

"You're a natural, Dana," Bill told her sweetly.
Mulder felt as if he could barely believe what he was
seeing and hearing-- Bill Scully's sweet side.

"She's a beautiful child, Bill.  She's so trusting and
contented.  She knows she's loved," she told him
sincerely.  "You're good parents."

"Thanks, Dana," Bill told her, slipping his arm around
her to give her a hug.

Mulder watched them, seeing that Dana seemed happy and
comfortable, but also seeing that part of her thoughts
were elsewhere.  "Is she happy?" Mulder asked the
Spirit, hoping Scully was pleased to be with her family
for the holidays.

"She would be happier if you had accompanied her," the
Spirit replied.  "She very much wanted you to."

"I thought she just felt sorry for me," Mulder told him
honestly, never really able to believe that Scully
actually wanted him to be with her, but only asking out
of some sense of obligation.

"What she feels for you isn't pity, Mr. Mulder," the
Spirit smiled to him, but not saying anything further.

"But is she happy; happy being with her family?" Mulder
asked again, watching Scully enjoy a laugh with her
brother.

"She loves them.  They're her family, despite their
sometime frailties," the Ghost told him.  "Listen," the
Spirit added, pointing toward Scully and her brother
still talking in the swing.

"I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but I wish
you could've talked your partner into coming with you,"
Bill told her, his finger stroking his daughter's tiny
arm.

"I never thought I'd hear you say that either," Scully
chuckled, her hand absently patting Mary Margaret
Scully's padded bottom.

"For whatever reason, he makes you happy.  I know
you're in love with him, Dana," Bill said to her.
Scully didn't immediately respond, but finally the
corners of her mouth began to turn up in a soft smile.

"It scares me how well you know me sometimes, Bill,"
she answered, Mulder barely able to absorb what she had
just confirmed.  "But I don't think it's in the cards,
big brother.  He seems content to be alone."

"Have you ever told him how you feel?" Bill asked,
hoping he wasn't going too far with his questioning.

Scully chuckled again, "I can't even get him to
Christmas dinner, Bill."

Mulder looked at the Spirit, his shock bringing a smile
to the Ghost's face.  "You have let your own
selfishness and bitterness blind you to what you could
have."

"She's in love with me?" Mulder asked, still
incredulous.

"You are able to hear, to see.  She has said to her
brother what she is afraid to say to you," the Ghost
spoke.  "But I have more for you to see."

Again, Mulder had no sense that they were moving, but
the next thing he knew, the Spirit had brought him to
an upstairs room, Scully and her mother standing over
Mary Margaret's crib.  A small Christmas tree sat on
the girl's dresser, a snowman adorned sweater lying
next to it.  "She's so beautiful," Scully said softly,
barely able to take her eyes off her only niece.

"She looks so much like Bill did as a baby," her mother
added, moving to slip her arm around her daughter's
waist as she stood next to her.  Mulder could see that
great emotion was slowly covering Scully's expression
and she turned into her mother's arms, quietly crying
against her shoulder.  "You could adopt, Dana," her
mother said softly, knowing exactly what was bothering
her daughter.

"Oh, Mom... I, I should've told you..." Scully said,
still holding on to her mother.

"Told me what, Dana?" her mother asked softly.

"I won't go into the details, but I, I tried in-vitro
several months ago," Scully confessed, moving out of
her mother's embrace to look at her.

"What?" her mother said, surprised.

"Mulder located the facility where they had stored my
ova and we tried in-vitro... three times," she said,
reaching for a tissue to wipe her tears.  "But it
didn't take..."

"We?  You mean you and Fox?" Margaret asked, hoping
that her assumption was correct.

"Yes, he agreed to be the, um, donor," Scully told her,
her voice breaking again.

"Oh, Dana...," her mother sighed, taking her into an
embrace again.  "I know you love Fox, honey.  Please
don't let what you want in life pass you by."

"Oh, Mom..." Scully sighed, wishing she had such
control over what it was that she wanted.

"She would be having a nice holiday with her family if
it weren't for me," Mulder said, almost pleading with
the Spirit to say it weren't so.

"Christmas is nothing more than a contrived, phony
impersonation of something happy," the Ghost mocked and
Mulder hung his head at hearing his own words used
against him.

"So, do you think she's happy?" the Spirit asked him as
they stood there and watched Scully's interchange.

"I think I'm the one who's made her unhappy," Mulder
admitted.  "Please tell me there's time to change
things.  That there's something I can do."

The Spirit turned and Mulder realized they were back on
the street in front of his apartment building in
Arlington, a light snow falling.  "If this shadow
remains unaltered by the future, her unhappiness will
persist," the Ghost of his present life warned.

Suddenly, Mulder looked around, finding himself in his
own bed, lying on top of the covers, the darkness of
the winter night outside his window.  Mulder looked
around for the Ghost and he was gone, but he remembered
the prediction of the apparition of his father of a
third visit.  And when he lifted up his eyes, he saw a
solemn Phantom, draped and hooded, coming, like a mist
along the floor, towards him.

The Phantom slowly, gravely, silently approached,
Mulder moving back on the bed, the very air through
which this Spirit moved seemed to scatter gloom and
mystery.  It was shrouded in a deep black cape that
covered it to the ground, concealed its head, its face,
its form, and left nothing of it visible except one
outstretched hand, the boney hand of a skeleton.  If it
hadn't been for the lone hand, it would've been
difficult to distinguish the figure from the night, and
separate it from the darkness by which it was
surrounded.  Mulder felt that it was tall and stately
when it came beside him, and that its mysterious
presence filled him with a solemn dread.  Mulder didn't
know what to expect from this new Spirit since the
Spirit neither spoke nor moved.

"Are you the 'Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come?'" said
Mulder.

The Spirit didn't answer, but pointed with its hand to
move onward.

"I take it you are about to show me the things that
have not yet happened, but will happen in the future,"
Mulder pursued.  The upper portion of the Spirit's
garment nodded once under its hood and that was the
only answer he received.

Although very used to ghostly company by this time,
Mulder felt himself so fearful of the silent shape that
his legs felt weak and he found that he could hardly
stand when he prepared to follow it. The Spirit paused
a moment, observing his hesitance and giving him time
to recover.

But that seemed only to upset Mulder more, to know that
behind the dusky shroud, there were ghostly eyes
intently fixed upon him, while he could see nothing but
a spectral hand within a garment of total black.

"Look, I know that your purpose here is to do me good,
to help me live to be a better man than I have been and
I am prepared to see what you are going to show me,"
Mulder began.  "But why won't you speak to me?"

But still, the Ghost gave him no reply and the hand
again pointed straight before them.  "Okay, have it
your way," Mulder said, almost under his breath as he
followed in the shadow of the Spirit, which seemed to
carry him along.

They scarcely seemed to leave Arlington before they
entered another city, Mulder not sure where as the city
seemed to spring up around them and encompass them.
But there they were in the heart of it, among others
walking out of a small chapel.  He noticed a small
handful of men who seemed a bit antsy, jingling the
money in their pockets, looking at their watches.  The
Spirit stopped beside the little group of older men and
observing that the hand was pointed to them, Mulder
advanced to listen to them talk.
"Cold, isn't it?" said a non-descript man in a grey
overcoat.

"Seasonable for Christmas time, but dreary for a
funeral," said the other man, putting his hat back on
his head. "Did you know him?"

"No," said an older man, Mulder thought looked old
enough to be his grandfather.  "I don't know much about
the family. I only know he's dead."

"When did he die?" inquired the man in the overcoat.

"Well, officially last night," the other man said.
"But from what I understand, he might as well have been
dead long ago, no more than he made out of his life."

"What has he done with his money?" asked the other man.
"I heard that William left him quite well off."

"I haven't heard," said the first man.  "He never
married, had no children, so I don't know.  All I know
is he didn't leave it to me."  The men had a chuckle
over the comment.

"Well, there's no one to go so I guess we should at
least attend.  No one should be buried without someone
there, no matter who he was," one of the men said, the
others nodding.

The Spirit glided on into the street, its finger
pointed to the gates of the cemetery down the road.
Mulder wondered why the Spirit would have him listen to
a conversation that seemed so trivial, so unrelated to
him, but figured he must have some hidden purpose and
he wondered what it could be.  He knew the dead man
couldn't be anyone in his family; they were already
dead.  Thank god, it wasn't Scully, he told himself;
the men had clearly identified the dead person as a
man.

The Ghost moved them on toward the cemetery, the cold
morning mist giving the place an even more foreboding
feeling that is already inherent in a cemetery.  But
when they got to the entrance, Mulder knew where he was
and immediately feared what he might see.

"We're in Raleigh, aren't we?" he futilely asked the
silent Spirit.  "Look, I'll learn the lesson you're
trying to tell me here.  Trust me.  But I really don't
want to go in there."

Still, the Ghost pointed with an unmoved finger toward
the entrance, the small uncaring group of men making
their way to an open grave, a casket suspended over it,
just waiting to be lowered into the ground.  "Is there
anyone, any one person who gives a damn about this
man's death?  Anyone?" Mulder asked the Spirit, knowing
he wouldn't get a reply.  "If there is anyone, please
show me."

The Specter spread its dark robe before him for a
moment, like a wing; and withdrawing it, revealed a
woman, kneeled by the grave, sobbing into her hand.
She was alone, crying only to herself.  The Spirit
moved them closer and Mulder could see that the woman
was Scully; older, seemingly worn and tired, but it was
Scully.  "Oh, my god," Mulder said out loud, no one
there to hear him.  "Scully!  Scully!" he called to
her, then recognizing his voice for the wasted attempt
it was.

"Who is she crying for?" Mulder pleaded.  "Please!
Answer me!"  But the Spirit only pointed, shaking his
skeletal finger.

But the Ghost gave him no reprieve, moving away, Mulder
unable to do anything but follow the dark cloak.  The
Ghost conducted him through several streets, only to
find himself in Annapolis, the sight of Scully's
mother's house familiar to him.  They entered the house
of Margaret Scully, a place he had visited several
times before.  Her house had always been warm and
welcoming, but on this day, it seemed empty and sad...
and quiet.

And when the door opened Mulder saw Scully enter, even
older and sadder than when he'd seen her at the
cemetery.   "Hi, honey," Margaret said to her, Scully's
mother looking older, but not having aged nearly as
much as her daughter.

"Hi, Mom," Scully said, removing her coat, tossing it
into the nearest chair.

"To what do I owe this visit," Margaret asked, giving
her daughter a quick hug.

"Just wanted to see you, I guess," Scully said, her
effort to conceal the real reason not good enough to
fool her mother.

"You went to see him again this weekend, didn't you?"
her mother asked softly.

"It's been two years, Mom... Two years," Scully sighed,
her sadness palpable.

"Oh, Dana," Margaret said, moving to embrace her
daughter, a move Scully barely returned, seemingly
unable to feel much but sadness; a sadness that he
somehow knew he had some part in causing.

"See who?  Please Spirit, tell me whose grave she has
seen that has made her so sad," Mulder pleaded, knowing
he would go unanswered.  Then a strange feeling came
over Mulder, a feeling of finality to everything.
"Specter," said Mulder, "Something tells me that we are
coming to our end.  Somehow, I know it.  But what I
don't know is who makes Scully so sad.  Tell me who
that man was whom we saw being buried."

The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come transported him, as
before -- though again at a different time, he thought.
There seemed to be no order to these latter visions,
except that they were in the future.  The Spirit
pointed as before and Mulder accompanied it and they
reached the iron gate of the cemetery again.  Here,
then, the man whose name he wanted to learn, buried in
the ground away from this life.

The Spirit stood among the graves, and pointed down to
one, the one he had seen Scully weeping beside. Mulder
advanced towards it, an ominous feeling coming over his
entire being.  The Spirit hadn't moved, but Mulder
thought he sensed a new purpose in the figure's solemn
shape.

"Before I look at the stone to which you pointed," said
Mulder, "answer me one thing."  To his surprise, the
Spirit nodded.  "Are these the shadows of the things
that will be or are they shadows of things that may
be?"

But the Ghost only pointed downward to the grave by
which it stood.

"Whatever a person does in his life will lead to
certain ends if they continue on the same path," Mulder
said to the Spirit, probably more to himself.  "But if
a person changes their path, their life, the ends will
change. Will they not?"

The Spirit was immovable as ever.

"Please, answer me..." Mulder asked one last time, but
the Ghost only pointed.

Mulder finally moved slowly around to the front of the
stone, following the Spirit's finger where it pointed.
And Mulder looked, seeing the tombstone that sent his
blood cold through his veins, "Fox William Mulder, 1961
2001".  Mulder fell to the ground, realizing it was him
who had died friendless, alone, leaving Scully to cry
at his grave, the only one to notice his passing.

"Spirit!" he cried, desperately clutching at its robe,
"Listen to me! I am not the man I was. I will not be
the man I must have been for this to be my end.  Why
the hell show me this, if you have no hope for me?"

For the first time the hand appeared to shake.

"I will heed what the three Spirits have told me.  I
have learned the lessons they have taught me.  I will
change... I want to change," Mulder told the Spirit
earnestly, hoping the ethereal figure would listen.
"Please tell me I can erase the inscription on this
stone..." In his desperation, Mulder caught the
spectral's hand. It sought to free itself, but Mulder
was strong and determined and he held on.  But the
Spirit was stronger and fended him off.

Holding up his hands in a last surrender, Mulder saw an
alteration in the Ghost's hood and shroud.  It shrunk,
collapsed, and dwindled down into a bedpost.

And when he awoke, Mulder realized the bedpost was his
own; the bed was his own, the room was his own. And
what made him happiest of all was realizing that the
time before him was his own... his own to amend.

Mulder was in such a hurry to get back to his life, he
barely knew what he was even doing.  He didn't know
what to do first, finally able to focus enough to get
into the shower.  He had been sobbing violently in his
conflict with the Spirit, and his face was wet with
tears but he felt high, giddy almost, feeling himself
fighting not to just laugh out loud like a lunatic.
He looked around his apartment; down onto the street
below, wanting to know for sure that he was indeed in
the present, that he could change the things that might
have been.

He opened his window, the cold air invigorating, the
soft snow that was falling glistening beautifully in
the sunrise.  Then he realized what day it must be-
Christmas day!  "Hey kid," Mulder yelled to the boy
delivering the paper on the street.

"Me?" the boy asked, looking up to see who was yelling
at him.

"Yeah, you.  Hey, tell me what today is," Mulder yelled
down to him, hoping he'd confirm that he was indeed
back in the present day.

"Are you crazy, man?" the kid asked, wondering who
wouldn't know what day it was.

"Yeah, but tell me anyway," Mulder said, smiling fairly
much like an idiot.

"It's Christmas day, mister," the kid yelled back.

"Then I haven't missed it!" Mulder reassured himself.
"Merry Christmas!" Mulder yelled down to the boy.  The
boy started to walk on, seemingly having enough of
Mulder's obvious questions.  "Hey, kid.  Find me a taxi
on Christmas day and I'll drop you a twenty."

"For real?" the boy yelled back, having stopped in his
tracks at the mention of money.

"I promise!  Hurry up; I've got to get to the airport,"
Mulder told him, the boy running off down the street to
hail the first cab he could find.

And then Mulder knew what he wanted to do, where he
wanted to be.  He dressed as fast as he could and
packed his suitcase so quickly he wasn't even really
sure what he put in it.  As he ran out into the hall of
his apartment building, heading to Dulles as fast as he
could get there, he found himself actually wishing his
neighbors 'Merry Christmas'... 'Happy Holidays',
laughing at the strange looks they gave him in return.
After all, they'd never seen him act like that.  It was
barely dawn and he hoped he could get an immediate
flight out.

HOME OF BILL SCULLY
SAN DIEGO, CA
Six hours later
After Mulder landed in San Diego, his feet barely
touched ground as he headed for the airport exit,
hailing a cab and heading to Miramar Air Force Base
with Bill's house number in hand.  He had to finagle a
bit when he got to the base gate, but explained he was
surprising Lieutenant Scully's sister and, after all,
it was Christmas.  The car let him off in front of the
house, a house that looked like all the others except
for the number on the front.  Mulder got his suitcase
and a few bags of stuff he'd picked up at the airport
in Washington while waiting for his flight time and
headed to the front door.

Under any other circumstances, he would've been nervous
as hell in apprehension of what he was going to do,
but, today, he felt empowered, knowing he was doing the
right thing; that he was going to change his life.

"Hi, um, Tara, I'm not sure if you remember me, but I'm
a friend of Dana's," Mulder said when she'd answered
the door.

"Of course, I remember you," Tara said politely.
"Please, come in."

Mulder stepped just inside the door, setting his
suitcase down on the floor.  "Is Dana here?" he asked
quickly, not wanting to waste any time.

"Yeah, I'll get her," Tara smiled, very glad to see
Mulder arrive, somehow knowing that her sister-in-law's
preoccupation had something to do with her partner.

Tara found Scully in the dining room and told her
quietly that she had a visitor at the front door.
"Visitor?  Me?" Scully said, noticing Tara's sly smile.
"Who would be...?" Scully mumbled to herself as she
stood, handing Tara the remaining silverware that she
had been setting on the table.

When Scully reached the foyer, she could barely believe
her eyes, the sight of Mulder a wonderful one.
"Mulder?" she asked when she saw him.

"Scully!" Mulder said, immediately grabbing her up in
his arms, hugging her tightly.  "Merry Christmas,
Scully.  Merry Christmas!"

"Are you alright?" she asked when he'd finally set her
down.  "Has something happened?"

"Yes, actually, it has.  Something has happened," he
told her, barely able to contain himself he was so glad
to see her.  "Scully, I need to tell you something...
something I should've said a long time ago," he told
her, taking her hands in his.  Scully would've been
worried for him because of his odd behavior if it
hadn't been for the happy, loving look on his face.

"What are you doing here, Mulder?" she asked, still
unsure what he had on his mind that seemed so urgent.

Mulder glanced around, noticing a couple in the living
room, recognizing Scully's brother, Charlie, from one
of his ghostly visits.  "Can we, uh, go somewhere more
private?" Mulder asked hopefully.

"Charlieee, Danaaa," both of them heard Scully's mother
call from the dining room.

"Mulder... I'm due at the family table," Scully told
him.  "Come on, we'll talk later."

"But, Scully..."

"Come on.  It'll be fine," she smiled, taking him by
the hand and leading him into the dining room, the rest
of the family taking their places around the extended
table.

Mulder immediately noticed that an extra place had
already been set, conveniently next to Scully's spot.
"Good to see you, Fox," Margaret greeted him with a hug
and a sweet kiss to his cheek.  "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas to you too, Mrs. Scully," he smiled
back, her unwavering acceptance of him meaning all the
more.

"Mr. Mulder," Bill said, offering his hand to shake and
even enough of a smile that Mulder felt he actually
meant it.

"Bill," Mulder acknowledged sincerely, now knowing that
even though Scully and her brother didn't always see
eye to eye, he loved her.

"Mulder, this is my brother, Charlie; his wife,
Olivia," Scully introduced, everyone now seated at the
table, the food smelling as friendly as Scully's family
was being.

Charlie shook his hand, "The infamous Mulder... I've
always thought you were just a figment of Dana's
imagination," he teased him cordially.  "She talks
about you incessantly," he went on, good-naturedly
ribbing his sister.

"And my brother is often delusional, but we just ignore
him," Scully teased back, only slightly embarrassed.

"Charles, would you please say Grace," Margaret said,
putting an end to her son's teasing.

"Sure, Mom," Charlie said, but glancing at Scully with
a smile.  "Dear God, please bless this food before us
as well as the loving hands who prepared it.  May it
provide us health and sustenance to continue to do your
work.  And bless my family, my brother and his family,
my sister and her family and our mother.  God bless us
all on this day, the day of the birth of your son,
Jesus Christ.  Amen," he finished, the children barely
able to sit still through his offering.

"God bless us everyone," Charlie's five year old added
after his dad had finished.  "That's what Tiny Tim said
in the movie last night," his words garnering a chuckle
from the adults around the table.

"Thank you, dear," Margaret said, reaching for the
closest bowl to pass it to her son next to her,
everyone digging in, conversations and laughter filling
the room.  Mulder was silent, almost unable to process
that Scully's brother had included him in his prayer as
Scully's 'family' and as part of his own.  Mulder
looked up and down the table, seeing the smiling faces
of Scully's brothers, enjoying their children, their
wives, enjoying being part of the celebration of a
family Christmas.

After the meal, the children in the living room playing
with their new toys; the adults split between
corralling them and cleaning up from the abundant meal,
Mulder and Scully were able to find some privacy on the
back porch, sitting in the same swing Mulder had seen
Scully rocking her niece in.  "I'm glad you came,
Mulder," she said softly to him.  "I was worried about
you spending Christmas at home alone."

"Scully, if you really knew how many holidays I've
spent at home alone, you would have reason to worry,"
Mulder told her honestly.  "But I won't again; that's
why I've come here."  Mulder turned and took her hands
in his, wanting her to understand his sincerity.
"Scully, I've been stupid... stupid about my life and
what I've done with it, at least, parts of it," he
started.  "I've been given great gifts and, until last
night, I didn't even realize it."

"Last night?  What happened last night?" she asked
softly, sensing a profound change in him.

"That part I'll save for another time," he chuckled,
thinking it was going to take some time for her to
absorb that information.  "But, what I've come to
realize is that I've been given so much that... that
I've ignored.  I made the wrong things my priority and
have closed my eyes to the things I should've been
paying attention to."

"Mulder, what are you trying to say?" she smiled to
him, wondering just what his point was.

"Scully, I love you... I have for a long time," he
confessed, looking her square in the eyes as he did.

Scully was stunned... barely able to speak, "Mulder..."
was all she could muster.

"I want to be with you... spend my life with you... if
you'll have me," he spoke sincerely.  He watched Scully
closely, his heart pounding; more from excitement and
hope than from nervousness or fear as he might have
suspected.  Then he saw Scully's facade begin to
crumble, her chin begin to quiver, her eyes beginning
to tear.

"Oh, Mulder," she sighed, moving to wrap her arms
around his neck, pressing her cheek against his.  He
held onto her, waiting for some kind of response, not
sure if she was happy or concerned that he'd lost his
mind.  She took his face in her hands, giving him that
soft, loving smile that could melt his heart, and
looked at him with a sincerity that almost scared him.
And then she kissed him; a firm, long kiss that told
him more than any of her words ever could.

After they'd parted, Mulder looked at her and she at
him, both of them slowly smiling at each other before
speaking.  "Does that mean you'll have me?" he asked
tenderly.

"Mulder, I think, on some level, probably many levels
actually, I have been in love with you since the moment
I met you," she declared lovingly.  "I... I'd hoped
you'd come with me for the holidays, wanting you to
know that you didn't have to be alone... that you have
a family in mine... and in me," she said, moving in for
another soft kiss.

"Scully, I never knew until now how much that means to
me... I wouldn't let myself believe how much I have
been missing," he told her, his hands slowly stroking
over her back as he held her.

Scully took his face in her hands again, her eyes
questioning where his new-found realization had come
from.  "Mulder, what has happened?  Are you sure you're
okay?" she asked, concerned.

"I've never been better in my life," he smiled, pulling
her closer to him as he kissed her for all he was
worth.

Continued in Pt. 3

HOME OF DANA SCULLY
GEORGETOWN, WASHINGTON, DC
The next night, December 26th

They had spent the rest of the day and evening with
Scully's family at Bill's, Mulder enjoying watching
Scully enjoy her nephews and her new niece, wishing
things could be different for her.  Mulder didn't
expect that he and Bill would head out for a round of
golf any time soon, but Bill had been civil, cordial
even, and Mulder was appreciative of the man's efforts.
He'd had a Christmas like he hadn't remembered since
before his sister had disappeared and he had developed
his downhearted view of the world.  God, what he'd
missed.

Scully had shared the guest room with her mother and
Mulder had ended up staying at Bill's instead of
getting a hotel room, the living room couch not seeming
all that uncomfortable to him.  They had gotten a
flight out the next day near noon and had flown back
together.  Scully had her car in long term parking, so
they ended up going back to Scully's apartment to share
dinner.

"Three ghosts, huh?" Scully questioned, her usual
skepticism fully in place, both of them sitting on her
couch eating late night pizza.  The lights were low and
the room was lit by little more than the glow of her
Christmas tree.

"I'm telling you, Scully, they were real. And they took
me to Martha's Vineyard and Raleigh and San Diego and
to my childhood and even my grave," Mulder tried to
explain.

"Mulder, you don't think your... your 'visits' might be
due more to a dream brought on by me calling you
'Scrooge' and you yelling 'Bah, humbug' at me when I
stormed out of your apartment?" she asked, teasing him
a bit.

"But I saw you, Scully," he said, trying to convince
her of his supernatural experience.

"You've, um, never dreamed about me before?" she asked
coyly, turning to give him a mischievous smile.

"Oh, you've been in many of my dreams... but not along
side your mother and your brothers," he told her
truthfully.

"I would hope not," she smiled, tiredly leaning her
head back against the couch, reaching for his hand.

Mulder took that as a cue to move over closer to her,
slipping his arm behind her on the couch.  "Tired?" he
asked quietly.

"Jet-lagged, I think."

"You barely got there before you turned around and flew
home.  We could've stayed longer, if you wanted to," he
said, moving a bit closer, his thumb massaging the back
of her hand.

Scully looked at him and smiled, knowing that he
actually meant what he'd just said. "You know, I had a
really nice time with my family this year, but, um,
that house was just a bit too... 'crowded'," she
explained.

"You mean after I came," Mulder kidded.

"No, I mean because you came," she smiled to him,
Mulder understanding her meaning.

Mulder leaned over and kissed her, his arm slipping
around her waist, her hand grasping his bicep as he
held her.  "I want to be with you, Scully... but I'll
wait as long as you want to," he told her against her
ear.

"Wait for what?" she asked him sincerely. "Isn't that
what your dream was all about, Mulder?  Admitting what
we want and not waiting for it?"

"Then what's next?" he asked, kissing her neck just
below her ear, his arms totally enveloping her.

"Stay tonight..."

DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT
GEORGETOWN, WASHINGTON, DC
The next morning

"Mmmmmmmm," Scully quietly moaned as she stretched,
trying to get her bearings as she attempted to wake.
Once she realized where she was, she looked to her left
to wish Mulder a good morning, but found the bed empty.
Scully sighed a deep breath, lamenting that Mulder had
awakened earlier and had probably gone home.  She had
hoped he wouldn't try to escape what had happened
between them, but guessed she didn't get her wish,
wondering just how much he had actually changed.

Scully stretched again, some of the muscles she hadn't
used in a while feeling a bit strained.  She found
herself smiling at the memories of the previous night
as she got out of bed and headed for the shower, the
first time with Mulder better than she had ever
imagined it would be.  She was just disappointed that
Mulder wasn't there to wake up to.

After her shower, Scully slipped on her robe and headed
to the kitchen, noticing it was already mid-morning and
she was in need of caffeine.  She stood at the counter,
measuring just the right amount of beans into the
grinder when she heard her front door open, startling
her.  She turned around in an instant, her brain
immediately trying to remember where she'd put her gun
when she'd gotten home from San Diego.

"Scully?  You okay?" Mulder said, seeing the strange
look on her face.

"God, Mulder.  You scared the crap out of me," she
said, taking a deep breath to settle her nerves.

"Gee, I'm sorry..." Mulder said, not really knowing why
she seemed so shocked to see him.

"I thought you'd gone," Scully told him when he'd
joined her in the kitchen.

Mulder might have had his feelings hurt if he wasn't
still on his high from his newfound Yuletide spirit.
"You thought I left?" he asked.  "As in 'I sleep with
you and get up in the middle of the night and leave
you' left?"  Scully could see the look on his face and
realized that her mistake of assuming he'd done such a
thing had hurt his feelings.

"I'm sorry, Mulder," she told him sincerely, slipping
her arms around his waist.  "Forgive me?"

Mulder sat his packages down on the counter and
returned her embrace, bending to give her a slow kiss.
"I just went to get some stuff for breakfast.  Since,
um, we didn't get a lot of sleep last night," he
smiled, "I tried not to wake you."

"You'll have to give me some time to get used to this,
um, development in our relationship, Mulder," she told
him.  "I'm not sure what to expect."

"I'm not going to screw this up, Scully," he told her
sincerely.  "I understand what is important now.  I
feel like I've been given a second chance to do
something more with my life."

As Scully looked at him, she could see that
he was very serious about what he'd just said, not
exactly knowing how to react. "That dream has really
affected you, hasn't it?"

"Scully, someday, I'm going to prove to you that what I
experienced wasn't a dream," he smiled to her, his
hands moving tighter around her waist and he lowered
his mouth to hers again, both of them enjoying being
able to kiss each other as they had wanted to for a
long time.  "Right now, I'd like to prove to myself
that last night wasn't a dream," he whispered in her
ear, his breath tickling her skin.

"THAT we can prove."

APARTMENT OF FOX MULDER
ARLINGTON, VA
Later that evening

After they'd finally gotten out of bed again, Scully
had dug around under her tree for a couple of gifts she
had wrapped for Mulder, but hadn't yet had a chance to
give to him.  Since he hadn't had a chance to even get
her anything, he told her they'd meet at his apartment
for dinner and took the afternoon to do a bit of
shopping.

"Oh, my god," Scully gasped when Mulder had let her in
the door.  "Mulder... it's wonderful."  She could
barely believe what she was seeing and smelling, the
aroma from his kitchen pleasing and inviting.  He had
not only shopped for a gift for her, but had found lots
of Christmas decorations on sale, including an eight
foot, lighted Christmas tree and had finally found a
caterer who would do a late notice meal.

"You like?" he smiled to her, knowing Scully always
enjoyed decorating for Christmas, giving him hell
because he didn't.  The table was set in red and green,
Christmas candles lit all over the apartment.

"Mulder, I can't believe you," she smiled to him.  "A
tree... dinner with all the trimmings."

"And mistletoe," he said, looking up to the small twig
hanging above them on the woodwork between his dining
and living rooms.  He pulled her into a hug, bending to
kiss her softly.  "This'll be our Christmas."

After they'd made a considerable dent in the turkey
feast that Mulder had brought in, they moved to the
couch to open the few gifts they had for each other.
Mulder had gone out and picked up several gifts during
the afternoon, not having really gotten
anything for Scully prior to Christmas, to his
visitation and transformation, not really having given
the holiday much thought.

"Mulder, it's beautiful," Scully told him as she lifted
a celery green cashmere sweater out of a Bloomingdale's
box.

"I've always liked you in green," he told her
sincerely, slipping her hair behind her ear.  "It makes
your hair look almost like copper."

"You've noticed things like that?" she asked, quietly
touched that he seemed to.

"I don't think there's anything about you I haven't
noticed.  I've just never been able to tell you
before."

"Thank you... for the sweater and the sentiment," she
smiled to him, giving him one of the packages on the
coffee table. Mulder opened a larger one, both of them
chuckling when he discovered the dark grey cashmere
sweater inside.  "Like minds, I guess," Scully said.

Mulder gave her a soft kiss, "Thanks.  Um, open this
one next," he said, handing her a small present.

For some reason, Scully felt like all thumbs, opening
the small green and gold package, finding a small white
box inside. She pulled the top from the bottom, finding
white cotton covering whatever was supposedly in there.
But when she lifted the small cotton covering, all she
found was a brass key.  "It's to my apartment," he told
her calmly.

"Mulder, I already have a key to your apartment," she
reminded him kindly.

"Not like this one," he began, "This is a key that I
want you to use every day because I don't want to eat
another meal alone.  I don't want to sleep another
night without you beside me.  I want to wake up to you
every morning for the rest of my life, Scully.  In a
way, I guess this is the key to my heart."

Scully was overcome, unable to respond to Mulder's
declaration with any words that could possibly be as
meaningful as his except what was in heart that very
second. "I love you..." she said, reaching to embrace
him, crawling into his lap as she kissed him, holding
him so tight she thought she felt him flinch.  "Take me
to bed..."

THE NEXT MORNING
"I told you, Mulder, more times than I care to
remember, I. Don't. Believe. In. Ghosts.," she told him
as she snuggled closer to him.  He had told her the
whole story; of the visit from his chained father to
the three spirits and what they had showed him, taught
him.

"You don't believe that there really was a man named
Scrooge who was visited by ghosts either?" he asked
her, his hand absently stroking her soft skin.

"One is Charles Dickens; one is a very vivid dream-you
figure it out," she teased him.

"Even if I could prove to you that what I experienced
wasn't a dream?"

"And just how do you think you could do that?" she
asked, looking up to him to give him a smile.

"There's something I didn't tell you..."

"You mean there's more?"

"I saw your conversation with your mother in San Diego
several years ago... when you found Emily," he started
carefully, turning to face her, easing her off of him
gently.

"What conversation?" Scully asked slowly.

"You were washing dishes... you told her about, well,
about not being able to have children," he revealed.

"Mulder, that could be a conversation anyone who is
infertile might have with her mother," Scully pointed
out, albeit unconvincingly.

"Scully, you told her you never knew how much you
wanted a baby until you couldn't have one," he told her
frankly and wasn't surprised when she almost gasped.

"Mulder... how, how could you know that?" she responded
in disbelief.

"I told you, Scully.  What I experienced was no dream.
I was taken into the past, the future," he tried to
convince her, but deciding to let it drop for the time
being. He had plenty of time to make her a believer.
And even if he never did, they had both benefited from
the messages and lessons learned from whatever kind of
spirits they actually were.

Mulder smiled at her as she sat up in the bed, swinging
her legs over the edge, reaching for her
robe where it lay across the foot of the bed.  "I think
I'll take a shower," she said, turning to look at him.
"Care to join me?" she smiled and Mulder couldn't get
out of bed fast enough.  But when she stepped onto the
cold hard wood floor, she stepped on something poking
her foot. "Ouch," she mumbled, bending over to retrieve
whatever it was under her foot.

"What is it?" Mulder asked when he walked up next to
her.

Scully looked at him, Mulder noticing the expression of
disbelief on her face before he looked to see what was
in her hand. "Oh... my... god," she said softly to him,
opening her palm to show him what she'd found on his
floor.

Both of them looked at each other, their look of
astoundment slowly evolving into a knowing smile, for
in her hand was an old, rusty padlock key....

Mulder had no further visits with the Spirits, but
lived the way they had taught him ever afterwards.  And
Scully always forever after said of him, that he knew
how to keep Christmas well.  May that be truly said of
us, all of us! And so, as little Charlie remembered
Tiny Tim observing, "God Bless Us, Every One!"

THE END

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