From bower2@juno.com Tue Dec 03 10:31:36 1996
Hi gang! This little piece of fluff has been bouncing around in my head
for the last couple days so I decided to get it out of my head and onto
e-paper. I guess you could call it a MSR but it's not really. It's more,
um....oh, never mind. Just read it and see for yourself. :) Some
Mulderangst. It's rated PG-13 for language. Feedback? Yes, please!

Standard Disclaimer: No, the characters don't belong to me and they never
will. They belong to CC, 1013 Productions and Fox Broadcasting. So sue
me.

Silent Night by Lydia Bower <bower2@juno.com> PG-13
Classification: S, Mulder/Scully romance (kinda)
Summary: While spending Christmas with Scully's family, Mulder comes to
some realizations about himself and his guilt over Samantha's abduction.

Silent Night
by Lydia Bower<bower2@juno.com>
1/1


	Fox Mulder finished off his beer and carefully set the bottle on
the coaster. Wouldn't do to leave rings on Margaret Scully's end table.
That would be pushing his luck. Even as self-absorbed as he was in his
own bleak mood, Mulder was cognizant enough to realize he'd managed to
piss off nearly everyone in the Scully household today--from Ma Scully
down to Dana's youngest nephew, a way too energetic four year old named
Dustin, who kept climbing into his lap and asking Mulder to read 'The
Night Before Christmas' to him. Mulder had begun to lose count at ten and
had made it until about the thirteenth request before unceremoniously
dumping the kid out of his lap and heading outside for a well-needed
break from the traditional holiday hell going on inside. Mulder knew he'd
be reciting the damn Christmas story in his sleep for the next week.
	He still couldn't figure out why he'd let Scully talk him into
this. She'd been dropping little hints for the last month or so,
mentioning that her mom was planning a big get-together beginning
Christmas Eve and carrying on through the next day since both her
brothers and their families were going to be there this year, and her mom
wanted to be sure that Fox knew he was welcome if he wanted to come.
Mulder had gotten away with noncommittal grunts the first several times
she'd brought it up, not bothering to stop whatever it was he'd been
doing. Couldn't take the chance on glancing at her and making eye
contact. He was really bad at denying Scully anything after she'd pegged
him with one of those 'I'm trying to do something nice for you, now will
you please cooperate?!' looks.
	And then last week Scully had asked him flat-out if he'd join her
family for the two day extravaganza. "C'mon, Mulder, it'll make Mom happy
if you're there. She worries about you being alone so much over the
holidays," she'd said as her eyes had pinned him and given him a
mega-dose of the look he dreaded.  
	"Aw, Scully...." he complained.
	"What are you going to do, Mulder? Hole up in your dark apartment
again this year watching football and eating Chinese? What kind of a
Christmas is that?"
	"It's a Mulder family tradition, Scully. Alone and in the dark." 
	Her eyes had gone soft then and Mulder had glanced away, not
wanting to see that particular look either. 
	"Always, Mulder?" she'd asked him quietly. "Or just after...."
The connection to Samantha's abduction went unspoken.
	"Yeah," he answered. "Nobody really felt like celebrating after
Sam was gone. What was the point? We hardly even spoke to one another,
let alone try to pull off some kind of phony-ass charade about how happy
a family we were."
	She'd gone silent for a long time, and Mulder had known the
little wheels were turning in her head at about a thousand miles an hour.
He'd waited to see what she'd come up with. He'd thought she'd try to
worm her way around it, come at him slow. He should have known better.
	Instead she'd come at him with both barrels, damn her. She'd
gotten up from behind her desk and came to lean over his, laying her
small, warm hand on top of his own. He'd shut his eyes for a long moment
before swiveling his head around to look up at her. 
	"If you won't do it for Mom and if you won't do it for yourself,
Mulder, then do it for me. You can save yourself some money and make this
your Christmas present to me this year."
	"What makes you think I was going to buy you anything for
Christmas, Scully?"
	"What, and deprive me of my usual year-long supply of Mr.
Bubble?"
	He'd grinned up at her. "I'll bet you look fabulous in a tub full
of bubbles."
	"Come with me Christmas Eve and your chances of finding out might
go up considerably."
	"Is that a threat, Agent Scully, or a promise?"
	"You're the psychologist, Mulder--you figure it out," she'd
quipped and headed back to her desk.  
	In the end he'd relented, trying not to resent Scully's smug grin
when he'd done so, and now sat in Margaret Scully's living room, sucking
down beer and watching a football game in near solitude. I coulda done
this at home, he thought absently. But then Scully wouldn't be around. He
glanced at his watch and noted it was past eleven. The house was quiet
and dimly lit; brothers, wives and assorted kiddies had headed back to
their respective hotel rooms for the night. Mulder figured it was about
time for him to do the same. He'd politely turned down Ma Scully's offer
of the spare bedroom, tried to suppress the grin roused by her unexpected
comment that it was "Just down the hall from where Dana will be
sleeping," and had instead rented a hotel room a few miles down the
road--the same one the Scully boys were staying in. Mulder didn't like to
sleep in other peoples' houses. It was bad enough sleeping on the road
and the times when he was separated from Scully by nothing more than a
thin wall or a door that divided their connecting rooms. Never knew when
the nightmares might creep in on him and there was something oddly
comforting about waking up in a cold sweat, his throat fighting back a
scream, on his old familiar leather couch--just him and a TV screen
filled with static. He hated nightmares that visited him in strange beds.
	Mulder caught a movement in the corner of his eye and watched
Scully as she crouched down beside the couch, resting on hand on his knee
for support. "I'm going down to the church with Mom," she quietly told
him, though there was no particular reason to whisper. "She wants to
light a candle for Dad and Melissa. She may want to stay for midnight
Mass. I don't suppose you'd want to come?"
	"My Latin's a little rusty, Scully. I think I'll pass."
	"Will you be here when we get back?"
	Mulder studied her face and decided that Scully looked really
nice bathed in the light from the Christmas tree decked out in the corner
of the room. The soft pinkish glow illuminated her features, throwing
sweet shadows under her cheekbones and lending a sparkle to her eyes. He
covered the hand on his knee with his own. "Do you want me to be?"
	"I want you to do whatever makes you happy, Mulder." He could
read nothing in her face. 
	Mulder sat up and braced his elbows on his knees. Caught Scully
eye and grinned apologetically. "I'm sorry I was such lousy company
tonight, Scully. Holidays tend to bring out the asshole in me."
	"So I've noticed," she observed dryly. "But you haven't been
*that* bad, Mulder." 
	He barked a laugh, oddly touched by her attempt to make him feel
better. "Oh, no. Just that both your brothers want to kick my ass and
your nieces and nephews have begun to refer to me as Mulder-the-Poophead.
I can just imagine what Mom's calling me right now."
	Scully got that little smart-ass smirk on her face, the one that
always made him think she'd pulled something over on him. He looked a
question at her. 
	"You don't want to know what she said. Don't even go there. And
it's not what you might think, so don't go there either." Scully caught
his puzzled look. "Never mind."
	"The enigmatic Dr. Scully."
	They shared a smile that managed to cut through some of Mulder's
blue funk. Scully rose from her crouch. "Well, I guess if I don't see you
again tonight I'll see you here for breakfast. Nine am sharp. Then we get
to open presents." She looked like a little kid when she said that.
	"Hey, Scully, if I stay do I get to tuck you in?"
	Her only answer was the sweet smile she tossed back over her
shoulder as she left the room. A few minutes later he heard Margaret
Scully call out, "Good-bye, Fox."
	"Good-bye, Mom," he called back. He heard the back door shut and
the sound of the car starting up and backing out of the driveway. Mulder
got up and grabbed another beer before he settled himself back on the
couch in the darkened living room and stared at nothing, thinking about
Samantha.
	He tried to remember the last really happy holiday in the Mulder
house. That would have been Sam's seventh Christmas--she wasn't there for
the eighth: she'd been taken late in November of that year. She hadn't
been there for Christmas. There'd been no tree that year, no brightly
colored lights strung around the front windows and door, no rib roast in
the oven, no presents to speak of. Oh, he'd gotten one or two things but
his mother hadn't wrapped them--almost as though the effort was too much
for her. And his father...he might as well have been a ghost: there but
not there. No addressing Christmas cards, no smell of cookies baking in
the oven, no urge to slap a hand over Samantha's mouth to keep her from
singing that goddamn favorite holiday song of hers over and over again
until he wanted to scream. No song. No Sam.
	He almost wished he could go back to that year just one more
time. To feel the guilt that coursed through him because of Sam's
abduction and his utter inability to help her. That twelve-year-old's
guilt was clean, pure, and simple. The same guilt he'd carried up until
the day he'd found out why Sam had been taken and had discovered that his
mother had been forced to choose between him and his sister. That
gut-wrenching feeling wasn't clean anymore; far from it. It was dirtied
by hatred and anger and an unrelenting need to understand why. Why Sam?
Why not him? What the fuck had he ever done to make him the better one,
the chosen one, in his mother's eyes? 
	"Leave it alone, Mulder," he whispered to the empty room. He
located the remote and starting surfing, no longer interested in watching
the Redskins get their asses kicked. Movie. Movie. Religious services.
Infomercial. MTV. He watched an old Doors video before hitting the button
again. Wildlife documentary. Movie. Court TV. When are they gonna shut up
about OJ anyway? News. A soccer game. Nah. Nick at Night. He watched a
few minutes of 'I Love Lucy' before the boredom kicked in again. Go back
to the hotel, Mulder, get some sleep. Yeah. Right. Some soft porno
series. What was it called? Oh, yeah: Red Shoe Diaries. What an asshole
that guy was. Can't live your whole life trying to find answers where
there were none to be found. No, he argued with himself, it isn't the
same thing with me and Sam--it's not! Movie. Football--the Redskins
again. Still getting their asses kicked. Christmas carols. Wait. 
	Mulder's finger hovered above the channel up button. Boston Pops.
Strings, horns, farting tubas and big bass drums. And then the soft
strains of that goddamn song Samantha loved so much. 'Silent Night.'
	No, I can't sit here and listen to this, he thought. But for some
reason his finger wouldn't drop that last quarter inch to change the
channel.
 
	Silent night, holy night 
	All is calm, all is bright
	Round yon virgin, mother and child
	Holy infant so tender and mild
	Sleep in heavenly peace
	Sleep in heavenly peace

	Mulder didn't even bother to wipe the tears away. He simply sat
in the dark in Margaret Scully's living room and bawled like a baby. He
didn't even notice Scully had returned until she sat down beside him and
laid a hand on his leg.
	"Mulder? You okay?"
	"I'm fine." How many times had he said that to her? A hundred? A
thousand? Yeah, I'm great, Scully. I'm just sitting here ripping my guts
out over a stupid fucking Christmas carol, crying like a little kid over
something I can't change and something I'll never get back.
	He used the heels of his hands to dry his eyes, wiped his nose on
his sleeve  and made a point not to look at Scully. Gotta love her, she
did her best not to be too obvious about checking him out, but he could
feel her unspoken concern. There was a long silence before she finally
said something.
	"I love that one," she said, referring to Silent Night. "It's
always been one of my favorites. It was Melissa's favorite, too."
	"Yeah?" he mumbled, glad he was able to push out a single word
past the lump in his throat.
	"Mmmm. She always said it made her feel safe."
	He snuck a quick look at her then. Scully's eyes were focused on
the TV. 
	He sat up and laced his fingers together, resting his forehead on
them. Scully's small hand settled on his back. Not rubbing or stroking;
just a steady, easy touch. A connection. 
	Mulder addressed the floor. "I thought you were staying for
Mass."
	He felt Scully's smile. "Mom made me come home without her. She
said you needed me more than she did. She'll get a ride home with one of
the ladies at the church." 
	"She said that? About me needing you?"
	"Ahuh."
	"And people call me 'Spooky'."
	"So she was right?"
	"Mothers are always right," he said. "Except when they're not.
Except when they make the wrong choices."
	She was quiet then. They sat through another song before Scully
spoke up. "I think.... I think Samantha would have said the same thing,
if it had been you instead of her."
	"That supposed to make me feel better, Scully?" He couldn't keep
the bitterness out of his voice.
	"No." She turned a little on the couch to face him more fully.
"Mulder, wherever Samantha is, whatever happened to her, you've got to
know that she wouldn't want you to put yourself through all this agony
over her. She'd want you to be happy. To go on with your life."
	"I have, Scully!" he protested. "I *have* moved on! I'm not the
same twelve year old kid I was when she was taken!"
	"Maybe not," Scully quietly argued. "But there's still a part of
you that won't allow yourself to feel anything but sadness when you
remember her. Mulder, you live in a perpetual state of regret. Everything
you've done in your life since Samantha has just been a way of trying to
make up for an event over which you had no control and for which you
certainly can't be blamed. You throw yourself into the work to such an
extent that you deny yourself any opportunity to actually enjoy life."
	"I enjoy hunting down EBE's and liver-eating mutants," he pointed
out. He caught Scully's small grin and returned it. Mulder knew that
there'd be at least one thing he'd be thankful for this Christmas...and
every other day: he had Scully.
	"I know that you don't understand sometimes, Scully, because
you've got this." He opened his arms to encompass the whole of the house
and everything it stood for. "But I'm not as lucky as you. All I've got
is the work. And I can't change who I am--not even for you."
	She lifted her hand and brushed a lock of hair off his brow. It
was such a tender gesture it made him ache. For what, he wasn't sure. He
just knew it made him ache.
	"I don't want you to change, Mulder. I like you just the way you
are. But I *would* like to see you happy a bit more often. So would some
other people I won't mention. You know, despite going out of your way to
alienate my family today, they still like you. And Dustin will still bug
you to read him stories tomorrow."
	Scully pushed up off the couch and turned to face him, extending
her hand. He looked at it and followed the line of her arm up to her
eyes, frowning at her.
	"C'mon. Come outside with me. It's a clear night and there're
stars everywhere. It's beautiful. I want you to see." 
	"It's cold, Scully. Besides, I've seen stars before."
	She shot him one of her patented Special Agent Scully looks. "Not
like these." Then she breathed an exasperated sigh when he wouldn't take
her hand. "C'mon! Do you mean to tell me that Fox Mulder, star-gazer
extraordinaire, won't even come outside with his favorite partner and
take a look at the Christmas sky? Please?" The dreaded look that'd gotten
him here in the first place was back.
	"Oh, all right, goddammit, I'll come look at the stars."
	He dug around and found his boots jammed under the couch and
pulled them on, not bothering with the laces. Located his leather jacket
and slipped it on. He followed Scully out the door and onto the front
porch. Scully stopped at the edge of the steps and tipped her head back,
her breath escaping in steaming little clouds. Mulder came to stand
beside her, stuffing his hands in his pockets and hunching his shoulders
against the cold. He watched her watching the sky and knew that she knew
he was watching. He liked that about Scully. She didn't seem to mind when
he sort of drifted off just looking at her. He suspected it was partly
because he allowed her the same freedom. They were comfortable in each
other's eyes.
	"Look, Mulder," she lifted her arm and pointed up. "There's the
Christmas star."
	He obediently lifted his eyes and looked in the direction she was
pointing. He would've had a hard time missing it. It was incredibly
bright, and surrounded by what must have been a billion other stars, all
shiny and glittering like diamond dust scattered carelessly across a
backdrop of black velvet. It was beautiful, just like Scully'd said.  
        In fact, the whole outside scene was pretty nice. It was colder
than hell, but peaceful, quiet. Nice.
	Scully heard it first. "Mulder, listen. Do you hear that?"
	"What?"
	"Shhhhh. Listen."
	He shot her a look. Yeah, ask me a question and then tell me to
be quiet. Typical Scully. He grinned at her.
	And then he heard it: the faint sound of singing. Maybe a block,
block and a half away. Four, maybe five people. Men and women. 
	Scully looked up at him. She was smiling. "Carolers."
	Mulder hadn't been able to tell exactly what song they were
singing, but as they moved closer he caught the end of one and the
beginning of another one. And knew that Scully heard it too. He knew
because she opened her mouth and began to quietly sing along with them.
Mulder stood transfixed as a soft, clear, perfectly-pitched voice flowed
out of her. A lovely soprano. She was singing so quietly that at first he
had to lean towards her to hear. But then she began to sing more loudly,
a little at a time, until all he could hear was Scully. She sounded sweet
and confident and...oh God...so young. Like a child. Like a lost child.

	Silent night, holy night
	All is calm, all is bright
	Round yon virgin, mother and child
	Holy infant so tender and mild
	Sleep in heavenly peace
	Sleep in heavenly peace
	
	Instead of a sharp flash of regret and renewed anguish at hearing
Sam's favorite song, Mulder was hit with a flood of memories that didn't
hurt so badly. Good memories. Remembrances of a time when the holiday was
a happy one, filled with laughter and love and warmth. And it occurred to
Mulder at that moment that he and the Grinch had a lot in common: both
their hearts seemed to be able to grow in their chests. His eyes welled
up with tears and he reached with the outstretched fingers of one hand
until they brushed against Scully's. She easily turned her hand until it
slid into his--a perfect fit. She and the carolers ended the song just as
the group reached the front of the house.
	"Merry Christmas!" the singers called out.
	"Merry Christmas!" Scully returned. She glanced up at Mulder. She
must have understood that he couldn't say the words right then because
she didn't say anything to him. And it wasn't that he didn't honestly
feel them for the first time in over twenty years. It was just that they
couldn't ooch past his heart--it'd gotten too big.
	They stood there in the cold, following the progress of the band
of carolers until they could hear them no more; Mulder absently rubbing
his thumb across the back of Scully's hand, enjoying the contact, the
connection. 
	They both turned towards each other at the same time and their
eyes locked. It was a long, easy look. Comfortable. Familiar. Intimate.
Scully dropped her eyes first. She hesitated for an instant before
speaking.
	"Mulder. What you said earlier, about having nothing but your
work? That's not true. You also have me. You know that, don't you?"
	He gently pulled her to him and took her in his arms, wrapping
himself tightly around her. "I know, Scully," he whispered into her hair.
"I know. That's the *only* thing I know with any certainty. And that's
what keeps me going." 
	She pulled back enough to tilt her face up to his. Smiled that
gorgeous Scully smile and said, "Merry Christmas, Mulder."
	"Merry Christmas, Scully."
	And then Mulder brought his mouth down to hers and gave himself
the only thing he really wanted for Christmas: he took a kiss.


The End