TITLE: The X-Mas Spirit AUTHOR: EPurSeMouve [epurxf@yahoo.com] CATEGORY: SRHA RATING: PG SPOILERS: Christmas episodes up to "The Ghosts Who Stole Christmas." Also maneuvers around "Millenium" implications, but no spoilers. Merry Christmas, non-North American people! SUMMARY: "Christmas Day is in our grasp, just so long as we have hands to clasp." DISCLAIMER: If I owned "The X-Files", I wouldn't have thrown in all the incredibly annoying little plot details that make writing a happy Christmas story this year very hard indeed. In short: I may be blond, but I'm no surfer. DISTRIBUTION: Gossamer, Spookies - yes. Everywhere else - please write to ask. Trust me, you'll get a yes. AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was written in a twenty-four hour period, immediately following my Sunday night viewing of "Rush" and Patrick Stewart's "A Christmas Carol," and draws its inspiration from many different sources, the most important of which being my own, recently revived love of this particular season. Merry Christmas to the beta-readers, Sabine, Sarah, Caz and MystPhile, and to Lucy and Jesemie, whose assurances of quality kept me motivated to make it Even Better. The X-Mas Spirit By EPurSeMouve epursemouve@goplay.com "Christmas spirit." The words echo against the concrete walls of the office. They certainly get my attention. "Huh?" I ask. "Christmas spirit," Mulder muses aloud. "I wonder what it's like." "You've never had it before?" Hard, and yet not so hard to believe. He frowns, as if trying to remember. "I'm not sure. Maybe once or twice. Back when I was a kid. But it was something more second-hand, since we didn't do anything at home, what with Mom being Jewish and Dad being nothing. Usually, I'd pick some of it up from the other kids." I nod sagely. "Ah, right. School was always the place I got it from, too. Once my teacher pulled out the red and green construction paper, I was lost." "You've had it before, Scully?" He sounded a little surprised. Why was he surprised? I had shown Christmas cheer in front of him before, hadn't I? Then again - Ahab. Emily. *If I heard Silent Night one more time, I was gonna start taking hostages...* Maybe I hadn't. "I used to get it all the time," I say at last, unsure of myself. "Now... I'm just really... busy this time of year." His face stays the same, but his mood seems somewhat changed. More melancholy, less introspective. "Busy." He says it like a fact that he's just dying to question. "Well, you know," I say blandly, making it clear I don't want to be pushed on this. "Cards to send, presents to buy." I make a show of looking at my desktop calendar. "Speaking of which, I ought to start my shopping soon." "Are you going out to San Diego this year?" he asks. It's a good question. "I haven't really decided yet. Seems like there's usually plenty to do around here. Mom is, though. I'll need to decide, pretty soon. I know Skinner will want me back before the 31st. That's not a lot of time." He nods at this. We go back to our work (can't spell bureaucracy without the Bureau) for a while, and the silence echoes as if Mulder hadn't said anything. Until he speaks again. "I wonder how you get it." "Huh?" "Christmas spirit. Now that you can't pick it up from the playground any more." A puzzle. I like puzzles. Because I like coming up with solutions. "Old Christmas movies. 'It's a Wonderful Life.' 'Miracle on 34th Street.' 'How The Grinch Stole Christmas'." "I've seen the Grinch, Scully." "Recently?" He grins at me, the gleam of teeth bright in the gloom of the basement. It didn't take Mulder long at all to redecorate after we got the basement back, but sometimes I wish that I'd gotten more of a say. Not that some paint and a different choice of posters would conceal the cement walls any better. It gets cold in here. His smile makes the air warmer, though. In my own deadpan fashion, I revel in it. *-*-*-*-*-*-* It is Monday before the subject of Christmas comes up again. I instigate, however. For safety reasons. Close to seven years on the X-Files gives one a healthy fear of deviant behavior in an occasionally mimicked partner. He's wearing a red tie. Bright, clear red, with a touch of green in the edges, a tie that screams festivity. It looks a little odd with the navy suit, but that's the least of my worries. "What's with the tie, Mulder?" I say after only an hour or so of soaking up its glow. He looks up from his work abruptly at my words, then looks down. "Oh, yeah. Nothing special. Just something I had lying around." I raise an eyebrow. "Any particular reason why you're wearing it?" "Well, Scully, I took your suggestion and hit the video store this weekend." I don't even bother to lower my eyebrow. It stays where it is. He smiles, just a bit. "Got some real classics, too. The clerk gave me a couple of recommendations, along with yours, and I sat around and watched them all day yesterday. And I woke up today and I just thought, red tie. At least, I think it's red." I nod in the affirmative. "You know, Mulder, it seems like you may have gotten some of that Christmas spirit you were talking about. That tie is a dead giveaway, in fact." He ponders the thought for a bit, then ultimately shakes his head. "I don't think so. I think it's one of those things you just know, when it happens. But it might be a start. I think I want to keep going with it. Any suggestions?" "Well, Mulder," I say after some thought, "Try finding some traditions to join in on. Traditions are really the big part of Christmas, after all." "Traditions like what?" he asks quickly, jumping on the opportunity. "I don't know - helping out at a shelter, donating toys and food, shopping, sending Christmas cards..." "Christmas cards," he says to himself. "I haven't done those since I was a kid." He pauses. "Who do you send yours to?" I shrug. "Everyone I want to wish happy holidays. For big or little reasons. Old friends, relatives I haven't seen in a while, people with whom I might like to get back in touch with. And of course, to my closer friends and family." I catch a glimmer of insecurity on his face, quickly adding, "The ones I don't see every day, that is." He nods, smiling just a bit. Then, we get back to work. *-*-*-*-*-*-* The next morning, I come in to find a red envelope lying on the second desk that I managed to squeeze into the office a few months ago. The envelope, though, like Mulder's tie from yesterday, is bright and eye-catching, and the "Scully" written on the front gives me carte blanche to open it. It's pretty nice, as cards go. A streetscape straight out of a Dickens novel, snow falling gently and wreaths and ribbons upon the doors. The message inside is slightly overdone, as to be expected: "Christmas... a time for fond memories and good wishes for special friends. Have a wonderful holiday season." All he's written is "Not bad for an amateur, huh, Coach?" But it warms my heart, just the same. I put the card in my briefcase, so that it can take up residence on my mantle. It'll get a little company, soon enough. Mulder comes back with two cups of coffee, handing me one while his eyes flicker to my desktop, noting its emptiness. I give him a curl of a smile. "I never manage to get my cards done until about a week before," I say. "You've got me beat." "It was a short list," he says, a twinkle in his eye. A actual twinkle. We get back to work. And maybe it's the card, maybe it's the coffee, or maybe it's just me, but the office feels a lot warmer. *-*-*-*-*-*-* The week passes. We have a case, a easy one, out in Maryland - a commuter, for which I'm grateful. I never enjoy flying, and it's nice to go home to my apartment every night, no matter how long a drive it is. When I get home, though, I'm too tired to do anything but go to sleep, and Friday is no exception. Saturday morning finds me only half awake, caught in a web of slumberous thoughts as I ponder my bedroom sleepily. It seems plainer, colder, duller than it usually is, and I realize it's because it seems like everywhere else on Earth is currently buried under red and green stuff for Christmas, or blue and gold stuff for Hanukkah, or black and green and red stuff for Kwanzaa... I can feel the holiday rush begin to build up around me, leaving me behind once again. This is why I haven't had Christmas spirit in a while, I realize. I simply can't keep up with the runaway holidays and what always happens to my life at the same time. The phone rings. It takes a few attempts at grabbing to connect with it, uncoordinated as my sleepy reflexes are. "Hello?" "Hey, Scully, it's me." I roll onto my back, phone in hand, staring at my utterly plain and dull ceiling. "What is it, Mulder?" "I need your help on something, actually." Hearing his voice is like coffee; I wake up completely at hearing it, not wanting him to squeeze something past me when my defenses are down. "If it involves sewers, mutants, or secret military bases, you'll have to wait until at least this afternoon." He sounds amused. "Actually, it's none of the above." I sigh in relief. "I need you to come shopping with me, though." "Shopping, Mulder?" "Yeah. There's this toy drive that some local charity's putting together. I got a flyer the other day. Figured I'd give another tradition a try. But I need your help picking out some stuff. You can get something for your nephews, while we're at it." Despite the terror I can imagine the malls being today, the idea has a lot of appeal to it. Mulder in a toy store. Definitely worth seeing. I smile. "When are you picking me up?" *-*-*-*-*-*-* The mall is reaching critical mass by the time we get there; it takes nearly half an hour to find a parking space. "You know, Scully, there's this story I heard once, about a family that went Christmas shopping at the absolute last minute. They couldn't find a parking space, so they circled the parking lots endlessly until they starved to death. Now, there's this ghostly minivan that wanders the rows every Christmas Eve, doomed always to get the one space farthest from the one store they need to visit. Spooky, huh?" "We did ghost stories last Christmas, Mulder. Let's try something different this time." Once we're inside this sauna of a mall, amongst the multicolored tinsel and generic snowman decorations, listening to the Christmas muzak, Mulder's characteristic exuberance comes into full bloom. His eyes dart from one piece of plastic decoration to another, taking it in eagerly, letting this little smile creep onto his mouth... "Happy, Mulder?" His normally pale cheeks are rosy and red, and that twinkle from before is coming back again. "Why, Scully, it's just like Christmas," he says, with some degree of MulderIrony. But he means it. I call his little half-smile, raising him a flash of teeth. "Well, Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents. And..." I look meaningfully over his shoulder, "Kay-Bee is right over there." He turns around to behold the kid-crammed spectacle that is the mall's only toy store. And full-on grins. *-*-*-*-*-*-* I trail his progress through the store, watching as he grabs teddy bears, Lego sets, Barbie dolls with enthusiasm, weighing their merits carefully before replacing an item or putting it in the basket he managed to snatch somewhere along the way. It is soon close to full. In his wake, I find two model sets for Charlie's kids and a stuffed monkey for Matthew, enjoying the exercise a little more than I usually do. Toy stores make me somewhat uncomfortable. But Mulder's happiness seems to abate that, somehow - something about the gleam in his eyes as he pokes at stuffed animals and experiments with action figure limbs. Maybe I just needed a kid to bring. Even a 6'1" one. Finally, his basket runneth over, and we join the store-long line for checkout, weaving back and forth among the clumps of happily playing children. "Think you have enough there, Mulder?" I ask as we begin to inch forward. "Every kid should have a merry Christmas," he says. "Especially the ones who aren't expecting to get one." "Looks like you didn't really need my help, though," I point out, trying not to sound too melancholy about it. He picks up on it all the same, maneuvering the basket enough to free a hand, which drops comfortably onto my shoulder, rubbing back and forth just a bit. The touch is soothing, calming, and just the tiniest bit possessive. Of course, he undercuts the gesture with a spark of humor. "You've been after me for years to start bringing back-up with me. I figured it was time to start." I smile up at him. Smiling at him is getting easier, the longer this Christmas bent of his goes on. "About time, indeed. Who knows what could have happened if you'd faced these eight-year-olds alone." His hand slides to the small of my back, and, perhaps hypnotized by the muzak in the air, or the sound of children laughing, or even the soothing green of the sweater he's wearing, I lean into him a little more. A holiday treat, from me to myself. Enjoy. The two frazzled cashiers help us both at the same time as we ring out right next to each other. However, Mulder's purchases, and the eternity it takes his credit card to clear, mean that I'm waiting outside for him first. He trots out to me, a huge bag dangling from each hand, and twinkles merrily. If it wasn't for what I clearly remember to be a washboard stomach, he'd be positively Santa-like at this moment. "So, where do you want to go next?" he says with more boundless enthusiasm, though it seems a little forced. As if he's desperate to make sure I don't want to go... I play along, if only to keep him happy. That's what I tell myself, at least. "Someplace adult. Mind coming with me while I look for something for Mom?" We start walking towards the middle of the mall, Mulder's easy stride only a little impeded by his bags. But he doesn't seem to be in a mood to complain. *-*-*-*-*-*-* We stop at several stores, splitting up once or twice when necessary, then reuniting at the next stop. It isn't long before we're completely out of energy. "No one ever told me Christmas shopping was so strenuous," Mulder murmurs from his new best friend, the bench. "Better than a Stairmaster," I breathe out. We're seated opposite the obligatory mall Santa's station, surrounded by our multiple packages, watching kids in semi-holiday best and snowsuits being loaded onto the red man's lap. It gives us something to watch, at least. Though children at this time of year are hard for me to deal with, it seems easier today. I'm not sure why, and am nowhere near a breakthrough when one little girl, maybe four years old, climbs onto the big lap. Mulder, seeing her as well, turns to me. "Scully?" "Yeah, Mulder?" "What are you thinking about?" I sigh. I know he's really worried. Otherwise, he'd never have brought it up. "Her. Emily. A little. Actually, I'm thinking about how it hurts less this year." "It does?" "A little. I think I'm finally figuring out who to blame for what happened. That's really the first step." Risking the collapse of the complicated shopping bag mountain we've constructed around us, he shifts position to slip his arm around my shoulder. "It is," he echoes. Mulder the psychologist talking. And Mulder the friend. I'll never understand how he can pull double duty like that. "And... I'm looking forward to a nice, normal Christmas," I say, much brighter than before. "I think, between the two of us, we should be able to pull that off." He grins, following my mood swings with his usual dexterity. "I tell you, Scully, the Christmas spirit. I'm this close to really getting it." I stand up carefully, and begin to gather up bags. "It is the season for miracles. Come on, G-man. I'll drive home." Laden down with bags, we head out to Mulder's car. I'm not sure, but I could swear he's humming "Jingle Bells." *-*-*-*-*-*-* When we pull up to my apartment, we get out of the car and do the driver/key switch as usual, but before I can move to leave, Mulder lightly grabs my arm. "Hang on a second, Scully," he says, reaching into one of his mammoth trenchcoat pockets. "Got a early present for you." His voice is like gravel, but his eyes are like bright coals. Almost as bright as the scarf he pulls out of a small paper bag. Silky and soft and a rich, brilliant emerald green. I wrap it around my neck almost immediately. "Thank you, Mulder," I say demurely. "Something bright for you to wear," he says, in an almost deceptively nonchalant manner. "After all, it's almost Christmas." I look down and realize that, with the exception of my dark blue jeans, I'm in all black. Funny how a fashion statement can become second nature. "You're right," I say gently, then make my own attempt at a twinkle. "Does this mean you want your present early this year?" He smiles softly, like a shy 12 year old. "Whenever you feel like it, Scully. I'll be around." "All right," I respond, somewhat blandly. Not knowing what to say, I end up reaching out, caressing his arm with my gloved hand for one quick moment, before going inside, away from the cold. From my building's foyer, I watch as he waves goodbye, gets into the car and drives away. Watching him leave, my new scarf wrapped closely around me, I feel much warmer indeed. *-*-*-*-*-*-* The days pass in the same comfortable manner. He calls me the next day, and since I hadn't found anything for my mother before, we go out again. The next week, more work. He cracks jokes about us caroling with the FBI choir - I tell him he'd have to listen to me rrehearse first. We're spending more time together, outside of work, and it's nice. Nice to have someone with whom to shop, wrap presents, trim a tree, watch Christmas movies. I keep finding myself trying to come up with new, more interesting traditions to entertain him, but as it turns out, he's perfectly content with doing what I do. Though he does insist on snowman-building after a freak early snowstorm drops three perfect wet inches of snow on the ground. He also insists on giving our snow creation three eyeballs, discarding the old straw hat I'd chosen in lieu of antennae. But I still maintain that the snowball which collided with his head is a result of high pressure systems and a strong wind current. He, in turn, is quite sure that a poltergeist masquerading as him is the one who really pushed me into the slushy remnants of our creative efforts. No matter. For I have been having a normal, cheery Christmas, with snow and hot chocolate and a man who is trying his hardest to get into the spirit and make sure I have a good time too. Before it's too late, that is, because I've decided that family is also a part of a normal Christmas, even if the 60¡ San Diego winter skews the image somewhat. I'm supposed to leave the morning of the 23rd. The evening of the 22nd, Mulder interrupts my packing to call me into the office. I'd stayed home to get some last-minute things done, doing mindless report summaries from my laptop whenever I got a chance. Truthfully, I was avoiding him - ever since I'd told him about my latest frequent flyer cash-in, I'd had a hard time being with him. I know he supports my decision, and that he isn't intentionally trying to give me a hard time - he just doesn't want to be alone this year, and I can feel his disappointment whenever he's near. He hasn't warmed up to the idea of coming with me, no matter how I try to plug it as the ultimate of traditions. So, here I am, feeling guilty enough about the whole situation to make a last minute consultation on some case I *know* can wait until I get back. Trekking through the darkness of the basement twelve hours before I'm supposed to get on a plane. Fortunately, the office's glow lights my way fairly well... Wait. The office isn't normally that bright. I approach cautiously, half-expecting the worst as I peek into the doorway... And drop my jaw. Forget the worst. What I see, in the words of a child, is the best. The gray, cold room I spend my professional life in is ablaze with lights and color. Christmas tree lights are strung across the ceiling and walls, some twinkling madly, others glowing gently, filling the room with multicolored rainbows. A large Christmas tree stands in the corner, decorated with bent paper clips, case files, post-its, and more strings of lights. Garlands circle any available wall space, cardboard alien heads dangling festively from them at odd intervals. A small 'Ho-ho-ho'-ing Santa Claus rotates at my feet. The King croons carols in the background. A X-Files fairyland. I blink in wonder. Mulder sits at his desk, calm in the middle of the chaos, a Santa hat on his head and a proud grin on his face. Well, he has a damn good reason for it. "This is incredible, Mulder," I say at last. "You spent all day working on it?" "Figured I'd do it while I had the opportunity. I'd have just done it the night before, otherwise." He's still grinning, the smile and his t-shirt making him seem years younger, a little kid who snuck out of bed after Santa came to visit. T-shirt... "Mulder, is it me, or is it warm in here?" I ask suddenly. He looks confused for a minute, then comprehension flashes across his face. "Oh, yeah, that. I got the heater fixed. Hadn't even realized we had one until I was clearing room for the tree." "Scrooge buys an extra coal scuttle," I mutter as I shed my coat and the scarf, depositing them on the coat rack. "What?" "Nothing." He stands up and pulls out a cooler from underneath the desk, withdrawing two cups of what looks to be eggnog. "C'mon Scully. Time to toast the holidays." I lean against his desk in a familiar posture, take a cup and clink with him silently. It doesn't taste like store-bought eggnog, though... *You spiked the eggnog, Mulder?* I ask with an eyebrow. His *So, what?* is communicated with a shrug. After a few sips of the rum-heavy concoction, I put down my glass. He's put together this absolutely lovely send-off for me - the least I can do is acknowledge the reason for it. "Mulder, I'm sorry I won't be spending Christmas with you." He nods his head. "It's all right, though, Scully. I've had plenty of Christmas with you, these past few weeks. I don't really care about the day itself. And you should see your family." His words fill me with warmth, and I feel the strength I need to say the other thing I need to confess. "I'm also sorry, Mulder, that I don't have a present for you yet." His face falls at that, just a bit, and I reach up, place my fingers under his chin, so that he can look straight at me and know that I'm serious. "Not because I haven't been trying to find one. But because I want to find something for you that gives you what you've given me." His face is too serious for its backdrop of colored lights, but the question he asks is important enough to warrant it. "What's that?" I pause, trying to find just the right way to word it, and like all inspiration, it comes in a flash. "Color and warmth." His eyes widen, and before I know it, we're hugging tightly, my body pressed firmly against his. "Scully," he murmurs. "When you walked in just now, and you saw the office..." I lean back slightly, to see him more clearly. "Yes?" He smiles. "Christmas spirit." "Huh?" "Christmas spirit," he says again. "I think I found it." END Feedback - the perfect gift. You don't have to stand in lines, shell out precious cash, or wrestle with wrapping paper. And it's ALWAYS appreciated at epurxf@yahoo.com. And to everyone in Fic-Land, whether you be Presbyterian or Pagan - happy holidays.