From: "Natasha Luepke" Date: Mon, 20 Dec 1999 09:37:30 PST Subject: xfc: New: Dragon Chaser Source: xfc From: "Natasha Luepke" Dragon Chaser By Natasha Luepke It's the holidays. Send presents and coal to: birdphile@hotmail.com. Spoilers: Up through Season 7. I guess pretend "Millennium" doesn't exist. Category: S/V/ChallengeFic/HolidayFic Rating: G Summary: A tradition is shared. Dedicated to Nat. * * * * * * Last year, I invited Scully to a haunted house and nearly got her killed. (Far too many of my sentences end "and nearly got her killed" these days...) This year, she invited me to her apartment to put up Christmas decorations. Or, more accurately, to move boxes, lift boxes, untangle lights... Of course, the minute I saw her illuminated in the lights, I forgot about my sore back. The lights danced off of her skin, making it shine like I've imagined only very late at night. She would smile at an ornament, trying to find the perfect spot for it on the tree, and I would renew my vow to make a move, * any * move... She stood back a moment, scrutinizing her work. "Go into the closet," she started and I sighed. She smirked. "Well, it's in the back and you * have * to be stronger than I..." "Okay, what's it labeled?" "Well, it's in the very back...I think it's marked 'Mom'. I haven't pulled it out in years..." I dutifully went into her closet, and lo and behold, there was a battered brown box in the very back, on the highest shelf. Grunting, straining, stretching, I pulled it down. Had to wrestle a pretty mean large black spider for it, too. "Set it over by the fireplace," she directed. She followed me and knelt beside the box. She opened the flaps to reveal...a lot of wadded up, holiday-themed napkins. "Uh, Scully, if you need napkins, I can run to the store..." "No," she said softly, reaching into the box. She pulled out a plaster sheep. I didn't say anything. Then she removed a chipped porcelain donkey. And then a wooden manger. Then I understood. "This was my grandmother's. The stable, anyway. My brothers made most of the sheep in Boy Scouts. My mother got a new Nativity Scene a few years back and gave this one to me. I couldn't put it up till now." She set a faded angel aside. "Why not?" I asked softly. She turned to me and smiled. "Missy and I always set it up. We argued over where the animals should go...which way Mary and Joseph should face." Her face lost its lines when she talked about her childhood. "I loved the story when I was little...But I grew up and stopped believing in miracles." She placed the Christ child in the manger. She looked at me. "But...I believe again." She looked away, embarrassed. "It's lovely," I said, hoping I didn't sound too much like an idiot. "There's a music box in this thing," she said, gesturing at the stable. "It plays-what else-'Silent Night.' It doesn't work, though." I saw the turnkey on the back; we reached for it at the same time. Our hands touched and it began to play. Scully would say it began to work due to the combined forces of our hands. I say it means something more...it was meant to be. But then, I tend to get sappy at the holidays. "It works!" she said excitedly. I was disappointed when she pulled her hand away, but was pleased to make her so happy. Later on, after a dinner of Christmas takeout and an evening of holiday classics (Ah, "It's a Wonderful Life"-how many Christmases have you seen me through?), Scully said she had a present for me. While she disappeared into her bedroom, I pulled her present from my coat pocket. She returned with a large, flat object. I handed her the envelope I'd retrieved. "You first." "You first." "We went through this last year." Eye roll. "Same time?" "Yeah!" She'd bought me a book-a children's book: " The Discovery of Dragons" by Graeme Base. It was a picture book about dragon "scientists." She'd inscribed on the front cover: "You are always chasing dragons and sometimes you find them. Even though no one else believes you, you can see their beauty. Love, Scully." With "thank you" on my lips, I looked up at her, sitting beside me on the couch. She was crying. Me, I can do nothing with computers. But I had the Lone Gunmen make a collage for me: pictures of Scully and I (though there weren't many to chose from), pictures of Queequeg, a stray picture of Melissa I'd found, a cross, a stylized alien, a Celtic heart. On the back, I'd inscribed in my messy hand: "Thank you." I placed the book on the floor and took her hand. She looked up. "My gift seems trite now..." she said. "* This * will sound trite, but..." I gulped. "* You * are a gift to me." She leaned across the couch and hugged me, resting her face against my shoulder. I held her for dear life, for all the missed opportunities, lost chances, all the loneliness, and all the love. "Scully, I should tell you..." "Don't bother. I know." I looked at her grandmother's nativity scene, the angels and saints looking down on us. She believes in miracles again.