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From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 9 Dec 2001 23:53:22 -0000
Subject: A Holiday Wish (for Mulder), MSR, PG by Ann K
Source: direct
Reply To: annhkus@yahoo.com
A Holiday Wish
Author: Ann K
Rating: PG
Classification: MSR, V
Timeline: Written in season nine.
Summary: Called away on an assignment during the holiday,
Scully tries to be strong during her first Christmas away from
Mulder. Will a special wish give her the strength she is
looking for?
Feedback welcomed and much appreciated at annhkus@yahoo.com.
Thanks to my awesome beta reader Kayla for her feedback and
input.
I.
She was exhausted enough that, when she heard her name
whispered in the dark room, she looked down at the corpse,
waiting for him to continue the conversation. "Agent Scully?"
she heard again, this time with a subtle note of urgency and
concern, and she realized she was not the only presence in
the darkened autopsy bay. Living presence, that was. She saw
the young deputy standing just inside the doorway, his cap
held in his hands and his uniform wrinkled from a full day's
work.
He must think she was crazy.
"I'm sorry, Deputy Griggs. I didn't hear you the first time."
She was a little embarrassed, but mostly too tired to care. It
had been a long day, and an exhausting week, and an even
longer couple of months, and mainly she wanted to finish her
work with Agent Doggett and get back home to Washington. To
William, she thought with a small smile. She missed his chubby
arms and two teeth and, yes, even the three o'clock in the
morning feedings.
Deputy Griggs walked into the room, watching her closely. "I
was saying, Agent Scully, that I am closing up for the
evening. If you are finished with-" His gaze landed on the
rather grotesque body of Mr. Jones, and he cleared his throat
uncertainly. "Finished with whatever it is you were doing,
Miss, uh, Agent Scully, I'll be glad to walk you out." She was
finished actually, finding little in the autopsy to suggest
foul play. Seems like Doggett and Reyes were looking for
something that wasn't really there. She knew the feeling.
"Actually, I am done here, Deputy Griggs," she said, pulling
the sheet over the remains of Mr. Jones and walking over to
the small sink in the corner. "Let me wash up and I'll be glad
to walk out with you." Glad was an understatement, she
thought. She was ready to finish this assignment and catch the
first plane home tomorrow.
She laughed silently as the young officer made a show of
holding open the door for her as they walked out into the
evening air. She could see their hotel across the desolate
two-lane road, the neon street sign blinking dizzily in the
darkness. Where were they again? Oh, yeah. Beaumont, Alabama,
population 5,400, minus one Mr. Reginald Jones, who did not,
contrary to what Doggett and Reyes wished to believe, die of
anything more spectacular than alcohol poisoning and
hypothermia. She supposed it could get cold at Christmas time
almost anywhere, even in the Deep South.
"You don't remember me, do you, Agent Scully?" The officer's
words caught her by surprise. What was his name again? Oh,
yes. Deputy Griggs. "Well, of course, I do. We met just this
morning-" He laughed at her confusion. "No, actually I was
talking about before. You and Agent Mulder came down several
years ago. A case about the haunted house and missing pigs?"
She looked at him intently, trying to place him amid the
hundreds of faces that constituted her case records with
Mulder.
Finally, she remembered. It had been a quick weekend jaunt,
Mulder's idea. As always. If it was possible, Deputy Griggs
was even younger then. She smiled. "Ah, yes. I had forgotten.
That was a long time ago." It was, in more ways than one. Pre-
William, pre-Doggett and Reyes, pre-complicated long-
distance arrangements. She missed those days, when it was just
she and Mulder against the world.
She pulled her coat closer to her as they arrived at the
motel, focusing on Deputy Griggs' words. "It was a long time
ago, Agent Scully, but I will always remember how kind you and
Agent Mulder were to help us out. How is Agent Mulder?"
She should have anticipated the question. It was a natural one
for the conversation, but it caught her completely off-guard,
and she felt the tears spring to her eyes, surprising herself.
Mulder was fine, she wanted to say, except he is miles away
from those who love him, and the forced separation
is slowly killing both of us, and we lay awake at night
thinking of each other and would might have been and what we
have to give up to get what is normal for everyone else.
But she only offered him a sad smile, and said, in a tone
which refused to elaborate further, "He is fine, Deputy
Griggs. Thank you for asking."
As the young man offered a hesitant good night, obviously
trying to read between the lines of her rather tense reply,
she saw Agent Doggett's motel room light in the distance. She
remembered that she promised him she would stop by after the
autopsy, to tell him whatever earth-shattering conclusions she
might have come up with. Not only had she not come to any
conclusions worth mentioning, the last place she wanted to be
right now was with anyone.
Except Mulder.
She stood hesitantly in the parking lot, not wanting to be
alone in her motel room, not wanting the company of Doggett
and Reyes. Exhaling slowly into the frigid night air, her
breath hanging around her, she looked up, the sky clear. The
stars fascinated her, reminded her of how small she was in the
world. She forgot at times what they looked like away from the
big city. Here, she could count a million stars dangling over
her head, and couldn't help but wonder if Mulder was looking
at the same stars in that exact moment. She missed him.
If she still believed in such things, she would wish on the
brightest star she could see, hanging low over the horizon.
She would wish for Mulder to be back with her. She would wish
for safety for William, contentment for her and Mulder, peace
in their lives. But she didn't believe in such things, at
least not anymore, and not that she would admit, even to
herself.
Shivering in the darkness, she made her way to what she
presumed was the motel lounge. A cup of coffee would help warm
her up and allow her to gather her thoughts, away from Mulder
and back to the reality which was her life.
II.
She slid into the first empty booth, away from the cold wind
blowing through the door. The lounge looked much as she
expected, a remnant from the 70s that, like the rest of the
town, time had forgotten. Colored Christmas lights blinked
lazily at her from behind the bar, with a few draped over the
disco ball hanging over what she presumed to be the dance
floor.
She would love to see this place on a hopping Saturday night.
"What'll it be?" the bartender shouted at her from across the
room, his voice barely registering above the din of music from
the jukebox. She opened her mouth to ask for a cup of coffee,
and stopped for a moment. She was tired of being responsible,
tired of answering to a call of duty that never really gave a
damn about her, tired of everything. "Surprise me," she
announced, feeling reckless. "Just make it straight up."
She almost sounded like this was something she did all the
time. Fingering the plastic holly leaves tucked into the
corner of the table, she snorted ungracefully. If Mulder
hadn't driven her to drink in their seven year partnership,
his being miles away wasn't going to get her to start either.
A disc slid into place in the jukebox, the opening strains of
some holiday number that Scully had heard a million times
filling the air. She couldn't remember the name, but it suited
the mood well, she figured.
She jumped as the bartender slid the drink in front of her.
Scully eyed the concoction suspiciously; the cherry red tone
was appealing, but the smell of whiskey was almost
overpowering. Eyeing the bartender, she hated to ask.
"Southern Frost," he answered her unspoken question. "A little
whiskey and juice, for when it's cold outside."
She grimaced as the drink slid down her throat, and her toes
began to warm almost immediately. There were a million reasons
why Mulder never saw her drunk. Scully was a silly drunk, and
none too proud of it.
"Don't know that I've seen you around here. What's a pretty
young woman like you doing all alone in here right before the
holidays?" Scully decided to let the pretty young woman
comment slide. "I'm in town helping out the sheriff. I'll be
leaving in the morning."
He nodded his head as if she had just made everything clear,
and he moved to sit on a barstool, absentmindedly cleaning out
glasses with a cloth that Scully decided had probably seen
better days. His Santa hat hung limply on his head, the cotton
puff at one end dangling rather sadly in the smoky air. She
noticed his nametag hanging lopsided on his shirt. Vic, it
read.
"You look awfully melancholy. Holidays get you down? Away from
someone you love?" She took another sip of the strong-smelling
concoction, deciding that the specter of Mulder was simply too
great to get away from, even for a moment. If she wasn't
thinking of him, someone was asking. "Actually, Vic, I am,"
she said, resigned that her quick drink alone was turning into
a bartender-hosted therapy session. "Away from two very
special people."
Mulder's image danced in front of her, and she saw him holding
William the night he went away. The two men she loved. She was
a bit unnerved by the bartender's stare, and turned away,
fingering the holly leaves again as another commercialized
holiday number clicked on the jukebox. She heard him slide off
the barstool, jumping at the sound of his boots hitting the
floor. He stood by her for a brief moment, and she was
surprised when she looked up at his eyes. They were alluring,
understanding, peaceful. His hand on her
shoulder was one of a long-lost friend.
"The holidays are a time of miracles. You never know what
you'll get as long as you can wish for it. My grandmamma used
to always tell me that if you can believe it and see it, then
it could happen." She saw him blush in the darkness of the
lounge. "Or something like that." She grinned at his
intentions, and raised her glass up slightly in the air. "A
toast to your grandmother. She sounds like a wise woman."
He adjusted his hat, moving back to the bar with a smile. "You
let me know when you want another drink now. Ok?" She nodded
silently, pondering his words. If only it were that easy. She
drew a lazy circle in the dew under the glass in front of her,
concentrating on the glowing disco ball in the distance. Even
if she had stopped believing in miracles or dreams come true
or whatever you wanted to call it, she felt like she owed it
to herself, and Mulder. What the hell, she thought.
She half closed her eyes, the ball in the distance fading to a
haze of white light, surrounding by the blinking reds and
blues of the Christmas ornaments. "Wherever you are, Mulder, I
wish you were here," she whispered, feeling inanely silly. "I
wish I could hold you for just a moment, and tell you how much
I love you. How much I have always loved you."
Scully shuddered slightly as the breeze blew through the door
behind her, and she sighed, eyeing the bartender out of the
corner of her eye, hoping like hell he hadn't noticed. She
felt ridiculous. The lights looked even more garish after
speaking her deepest wishes out loud. She swore her words
still hung in the air, drifting away from her. Away, just like
Mulder.
God, whatever this concoction was, it was strong. A Bing
Crosby number began on the jukebox. This one she knew, she
thought wryly. I'll Be Home for Christmas.
"If only in my dreams," she sang softly out loud, standing up
to get her coat. And turning. And catching her breath as she
saw him standing in front of her, his hair disheveled from the
wind, his cheeks flushed with cold. He met her gaze and
smiled.
It was Mulder.
III.
His name escaped from her lips before she realized it, and she
stopped at the hundredth thought in her head, the one that
reminded her he couldn't be here. They promised each other
that it was too dangerous right now, they had to think of
Will, they had to wait until it was safe... "Mulder?" slipped
out again, disbelief underlying the question.
And then he smiled at her, a true Mulder smile, and she knew
it was him.
"What..." She realized she didn't know what to ask, and that
it wasn't important anyway. He was here, if only for a brief
moment. She settled on a simple question, the only one that
really mattered. "Are you okay?"
He nodded , pulling her closer to him and wrapping his arms
around her. "I am now, Scully. I have missed you." She let out
a shaky sigh, returning the hug, breathing in the delicious
smell of the man that haunted her dreams. He was here,
somehow or another.
"Is it safe?" she asked, unable to shake her worry. So much
was at stake. He leaned down to kiss her, his lips soft in the
darkness of the lounge, the taste of coffee on his tongue. "It
is for right now, Scully. And that's all I want."
She could only look at him, oblivious to everything else
surrounding them. Sensing her disbelief, he laughed, pulling
her by the hand to the dance floor.
"I want to hold you, Scully," he murmured as another selection
clicked on the jukebox. She was oblivious to the words, the
melody only barely registering with her as they swayed
underneath the kitschy disco ball and colored Christmas
lights. She realized she had never seen anything so
breathtaking.
"I've been watching you, Scully. You and Will. There were so
many times I wanted to reach out and touch you, but I didn't.
But I was there, the Sunday mornings you took Will to the
park, the afternoon lunches you took by yourself." She smiled,
unable to help herself. "God, Mulder. There have been so many
times that I have sensed you nearby, just out of reach, but
always there. I thought I was crazy."
He laughed, a genuine laugh, and twirled her around, her coat
circling around her. "Well, no more crazy than you have always
been for sticking with me. But I think I know one thing that
has made it all worthwhile."
She looked up at him, and felt her heart melt, the barriers
from the weeks and months of loneliness falling away. "Will,"
she managed to whisper. "He really is the best of me and you,
Mulder." He laughed, kissing her on the cheek and holding her
a little tighter. "I hope he is mostly you. I am not sure
these days what traits from me I would really want him to
have."
Scully reached up, placing her hands around his neck, her
fingers brushing his lips. "I am sorry, Scully," he murmured,
the sheen of tears in his steady gaze deepening the anguish
she saw there-anguish she knew was reflected in her own eyes.
"I am sorry I can't be your hero."
She kissed him, with the thousand memories they had together,
and the million more she knew they were waiting to share. "Oh,
Mulder," she whispered. "You already are."
The song ended with a click, and they swayed together for a
minute more.
"I have to go, Scully," he said, the regret heavy in his
voice. She was so tired, so tired of regrets. "I know," she
answered, holding his hand tightly in hers.
"The answers I have been searching for, Scully, about Will and
you and us. I know they are out there, and I am so close. I
can feel it. And I know it won't be long until I show up at
your doorstep, and you can domesticate me to your heart's
desire."
She laughed, picturing Mulder with an apron and spatula,
watching over a burning concoction on her stove. The image had
never looked more wonderful.
"But I wish things were different," he continued, standing by
the door, looking out at the empty parking lot with regret. "I
wish so many things, Scully." She held him a minute longer,
then pulled away from him quickly.
"Keep wishing, Mulder. I wished for you to be here with me
tonight, for a kiss, for a dance, for a reassurance that you
were okay. That we were okay." It was as if the rest of the
world drifted away, leaving the two of them standing together.
He watched her. "And here I am," he said quietly, leaning down
to kiss her.
It was a kiss of passion, and regret, and hope, and loyalty,
and strength, and a million other emotions she could never
name, emotions that made up the complex bond she shared with
Mulder.
"Merry Christmas, Scully." She watched him for a long moment.
"Merry Christmas, Mulder," she answered. "I love you." He
stepped out into the evening darkness without looking behind
him. He didn't need to, for he knew Scully would always be
there, waiting for him.
As the door swung shut, the world returned to focus: the
jukebox played, the lights blinked, Vic hummed off-key. But
Scully was different. She was reminded that she wasn't alone,
and soon, very soon, it would all be okay.
"Happy holidays, Vic," she offered, drawing in a breath of
contentment. "And thank you, for everything." He smiled, the
cottony ball of his Santa hat bouncing knowingly as he watched
Scully walk out the door, his smile broadening as he saw her
stare up into the sky, a look of peace on her face.
"You are very welcome, Dana Scully. And Merry Christmas."
The Gossamer Project Author - Title
- Date - Spoilers -
Crossovers - X-Files - Adventures
- Stories - Vignettes
Other stories by K., Ann
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