From: " " Date: Wed, 08 Dec 1999 07:42:04 -0800 Subject: xfc: A Moose and Squirrel Christmas: 3rd epilogue by dlynn Source: xfc From: " " TITLE: A Moose and Squirrel Christmas: Epilogue 3 AUTHOR: Dlynn RATING: PG DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Anywhere, but I would appreciate being notified so that I would know where it is. Please, keep my name and all headers attached. FEEDBACK: dlynn1550@my-deja.com CATEGORY: Vignette, humor, SUMMARY: This is a continuation of A Moose and Squirrel Christmas, and A Moose and Squirrel Christmas: Epilogues 1 & 2. SPOILERS: You just need to have read the other three Moose and Squirrel Christmas stories. They are currently at ephemeral. Eventually they'll be at gossamer. Millennium isn't a part of this universe, for obvious reasons. And, for those that have asked, "no, I don't have my own site." AUTHOR'S NOTES: I guess you would say that Moose and Squirrel are the proud parents of epilogues. Several of you are responsible for me being behind with Christmas preparations, geeesh! I'm writing as fast as I can. DISCLAIMER: I don't own Mulder, Scully, the Lone Gunmen or Mrs. Scully. Everything x belongs to Fox, Chris Carter and 1013 productions. The lyrics for "I Believe in Father Christmas" are from Emerson, Lake and Palmer's Works Vol. II. A Moose and Squirrel Christmas: 3rd epilogue Strains of Bing Crosby's "White Christmas" floated through the living room. His was not the voice of angels, but there was something about that song. Christmas just wouldn't be Christmas, without Bing. Listening to "White Christmas" reminded her of her grandfather. He had been in the Battle of the Bulge during World War II. Because of his knowledge of German and French, he was an army radio operator and translator. She could remember the gentle ribbing every holiday between she and her granddad. She would pray for the first holiday snow, delighting in a world blanketed in white. Whereas, he would tell her how "White Christmas" reminded him of being "fanny deep" in the freezing cold of winter during one of the war's bloodiest battles. With a hug and a kiss, year after year, they'd agree to disagree. Scully was wrapped in the warmth of terry cloth. She had dug through her closet, finding the well-worn robe shoved way back in a corner. Since her other one was still AWOL, this one would have to do. She was seated on her living room couch, her feet tucked beneath her, and an afghan thrown over her legs. She held a steaming mug of tea in her hands, cradling it gently to her lips. Bing was still crooning, the fire was blazing, and the tree lights were twinkling. There was a gentle snow falling right outside her window. Nothing drastic. No blizzard. Just the slow, aching drop of perfect flakes. The lights were off, save the one small one over her kitchen stove. Shadows danced with the small tendrils of flickering firelight. The twinkling tree lights gave a fairy like quality to the darkened room. There was a hush over the world, the quiet slumber existing in the morning's wee hours. Not a sound, besides Bing, disturbed her contemplation. Until now. "Oh, God, I've died and gone to Bedford Falls," came Mulder's croaking voice. "No, Mulder, I don't think you could say this is your "Wonderful Life". "Nope, Scully. In my life's version of the movie, I don't find myself waking up on your hardwood floors. Something a little softer comes to mind." "Hey, I tried to move you. You're the one who refused to budge, saying, 'sol right, just wanna sleep...", she slurred, imitating his inebriated condition. Pushing aside the covers tangled around him, Mulder said, "I appreciate the blanket and pillow. Nice touch. Leave the drunk on the floor but at least layer him in goose feathers and down." Placing her mug on the end table, Scully got up, moving over to where Mulder lay in her entryway. She grasped both his hands, helping him pull himself up from his prone position. He leaned back, his head against her door, a moment of deja vu upon him. He tried shaking his head to clear it, but discovered that was an unbelievably stupid idea. Grasping his head with both hands, Mulder shakily asked, "Would, you, please turn that music down. I don't need any more sleigh bells jingling in my head." Flipping the stereo switch, Scully asked, "Better?" "I'm not sure. You wouldn't by any chance be hearing "Joy to the World" would you?" "'The Three Dog Night' version?" she inquired. "No, the 'Hark', it's Harold and his angels' version," Mulder whined, doing his best to come to a standing position. "Nope, not hearing a thing," she said, grasping his forearm, forestalling him from swaying into the tree. "That's what I figured." "Mulder, you're looking a particularly nasty shade of green at this moment." "That's good, Scully, because I'm feeling pretty putrid. In fact,..." Mulder lurched from her grasp, charging down her hallway as quickly as his swaying legs would allow. Heading into the bathroom, he heard her scream. "Mulder, you'd better make it. I'm telling you right now. I don't do throw-up!" xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Moments later, Scully pushed open the bathroom door several inches. She extended her arm, only the distance needed for Mulder to grab the new toothbrush box from her hand. She, then, heard sounds of running tap water and frantic teeth brushing. "You, o.k. in there, Mulder?" she inquired solicitously, wanting to give him a modicum of privacy. "I've made my donation to the porcelain god, if that's what you're asking," came his voice, muffled with toothpaste. "And, before you ask, donations were delivered directly into his waiting maw. No side trips along the way." Mulder turned off the water, fully opening the bathroom door. Permission was granted. She could enter. He stood in front of the mirror, examining his red eyes and the puffy shadows beneath them. He gestured to the disheveled man reflected in the glass. Here was a man, whose rumpled suit and five o'clock shadow made him look like Red Skelton's version of "the pour soul". Mulder grimaced. "Scully, you kissed that?" he asked incredulously. "Yea, hard to believe, isn't it?" she said, slapping a clean towel down on the vanity. Turning her back on him, she left the room. Washing his face and running his wet fingers through his spiky hair, Mulder sneered at his reflection. "I wouldn't kiss you either. You are such a sorry son of a..." The rest of his words were lost as Mulder, once again, staggered into the drunkard's cathedral. Going through a repeat clean-up, he remembered at least one thing very clearly. This is why he rarely drank. He didn't need this kind of help in making a bigger ass out of himself than normal. After throwing his dirty towel on top of Scully's hamper, Mulder turned off the bathroom light. Walking back towards her living room, he heard the faint strains of Emerson, Lake and Palmer. What was that? Oh, yea, "I believe in Father Christmas." Scully was definitely eclectic with her holiday selections. Not exactly "Joyful, joyful". "I wish you a hopeful Christmas. I wish you a brave New Year. All anguish, pain and sadness, Leave your heart and let your road be clear." "Feeling better?" "Better is a relative term, Scully. I'm feeling 'rode hard and put away wet," Mulder replied, reaching into her kitchen cabinet for a large tumbler. Turning on the tap, Mulder asked, "Got any aspirin?" "One cabinet over. Fill that glass to the top, Mulder. You need every ounce of water. Your body's dehydrated." Quite aware that aspirin, sleep and lots of water were the only true remedies for a hangover, Scully felt Mulder needed more penance than that. He and the Lone Gunmen had gotten her into a fix with her mother. Mulder deserved PAIN. So, she stood at her kitchen counter, with a selection of booze at the ready. "Uh, Scully. I think I've had enough for this evening." "No kidding, Mulder. I want you to pick out what your particular poison for the evening has been and I'm going to make you a hangover remedy." "I thought I just needed to drink lots of water?" Mulder inquired, eyeing the variety of alcoholic options. "That's true, you do need to re-hydrate. However, a little home remedy couldn't hurt," Scully said, with her eyes daring him to back down. Mulder grabbed a bottle off the counter. "Bourbon, Mulder?" "Well, we started with beer, but quickly ran out. Frohike had the bourbon stashed for a special occasion." "This was a special occasion?" Scully asked, pouring a shot glass full of bourbon. "I thought so," he said, trying to meet her eyes. But, Scully would have none of that. She poured a large glass of orange juice, added a couple of raw eggs and a large dollop of tobasco. She then added the shot of bourbon. With a final flourish, she stirred the mixture together. "Hair of the dog, Scully?" "Dr. Scully's cure-all for what ails you. Guaranteed to diminish that hang over you're already beginning to feel." Looking at the finished product, sitting on her counter, Mulder tried not to think about the raw eggs and bourbon. "Who does your testimonials, Dr. Scully? You're clientele are not noted for stimulating conversation." Handing him the drink, Scully said, "I don't know about that, Mulder. This stuff's been known to raise the dead." Taking a sniff, Mulder's face grimaced with dissatisfaction. "Can't I just take an Alka Seltzer? You know, "plop, plop, fizz, fizz". It's always worked before." "It'll put hair on your chest," she cajoled, noting his less than enthusiastic response to her ministrations. "Hell, Scully, that'll put hair on my tongue!" "I promise not to complain if it does," she said, moving down her hallway to her bedroom. Contemplating the tongue comment and hearing her chorus of 'wuss, wuss', Mulder forced the noxious liquid down his throat. He feared Scully's cure would probably inflict a slow, painful death. He may have been sloshed, but he knew her game. This was no home remedy. This was an act of retribution and he couldn't really fault her. Scully returned to the living room with arms full of bed linens. Noting his curious look, she shoved him toward the couch. "One kiss, does not a bed partner make," she explained. "Besides, I think the only intimacy in your immediate future will include bathroom plumbing." "Yea, just call me "Roto Rooter", Mulder said taking the bedding from her and settling it on the couch. Catching the sleeve of her robe, he pulled Scully gently into an embrace. Wrapped tightly around her, he marveled at how well she fit up against him. He fought protective urges that always entered his mind when he was this close. She was so small. Their size disparity was never more obvious to him than when she was enclosed in his arms. But, there was strength in her. It proclaimed loudly, "I may be small but don't be mislead". And, the vigor of her will was a gravitational force, a compulsion not to be ignored. The complexities of Scully could fill a book. His mind may have been focused on her formidable spirit but the rapid beat of his heart detailed his response to her beauty. Too bad he was in the doghouse and the reality of his upright position was more attributed to her balance than his own sense of coordination. "You owe me, Mulder," she mumbled into his shirt. "I know. My behavior sucks." "Yes," pulling away long enough to grab a receipt off her end table, "It does. But, separate from that, you owe me exactly $50.00." "What?" he responded, grabbing the receipt from her hand. "Mulder, you, and your new best 'bud', Ray, went gallivanting all over D.C., to the tune of $37.50." Mulder rubbed his eyes, noting two Scullys present in his field of vision. And in his current state, that was just one Scully too many. "Ray?" "The Jamaican cab driver," she said, handing him another glass of water. "Ah, Ray." Mulder said, flopping on the couch as his legs finally gave up the ghost. There was a vague recollection trying to force itself to the surface of his muddled brain. Placing the empty water glass on the coffee table, Mulder blustered. "Wait a minute, Scully, you said I owed you $50.00. Now I may not, currently, be the sharpest knife in the drawer but that's a difference of. uh.. hell, that's a big difference." Watching his valiant attempt at higher cognitive function and resounding failure at basic math, Scully took pity. "Mulder, that's Ray's tip. I figure, after putting up with your crap, the man deserved additional monetary compensation." "Geesh, Scully, that's a 33% tip. He didn't give me a kidney, only a ride home." Noting her surprise, that his brain appeared to be calculating again, he said, "Don't get your hopes up. It comes and goes. And, oh God, I think it's going again." Taking a few difficult breaths and sliding down deeper into the cushions, Mulder successfully fought the rising dizziness. He could do it. All he had to do was close his eyes to stop the room from spinning. "Well you were hardly in any shape to determine high finances and Ray did manage to drag your sorry butt in here." "He did?" "Yea, I thought you'd arrived by yourself, barely making it in time to pass out in my entryway. But, then Ray came knocking at my door. You told him I'd cover the bill." "Forgot. I used it all at the mall," Mulder slurred, his voice beginning to give out. "Thankfully, I had some I'd put aside for buying gifts," Scully said, loosening his tie and tossing it on the chair with his suit jacket. She then pulled off his socks and shoes, laying them at the end of the couch. She grabbed a small card off the end table and handed it to him. "What's this?" he inquired. "Ray's card. Apparently, somewhere between your rendition of Montego Bay and Day'O, you offered to get him an interview with the bureau." Full cognizance returning, Mulder sang softly. "Daylight, come and me wanna go home." "Yep, that's the one," she said, unbuttoning his shirt at the cuffs. Slapping his hands away as he awkwardly tried to help, Scully finished off the shirt in short order, adding it to the pile on the chair. "I'm so tired, Scully." "I know but give up the pants first before you go to sleep." "Agent Scully!" Mulder admonished while divesting himself of his trousers. Laying his crumpled suit pants with the other articles of clothing, Scully pushed him gently back onto the couch. With a gentle kiss to his forehead, Scully murmured, "Daylight come and you're gonna talk to mom.." "Mom?" Mulder thought drifting off to sleep. "I don't wanna talk to mom. I wanna kiss Scully." Succumbing to the heavy darkness, Mulder's mind drifted. It all began with.. . a mall. ..a bet. Santa. Frohike?. . a song.. .The Kiss! Groaning, he thought, too bad it was going to end with her mother. (to be continued) ADDITIONAL AUTHOR'S COMMENTS: O.K. guys. Thanks for hanging with me. There is only one more epilogue to come, then we're putting this baby to rest. Christmas is upon me, and I'm not ready! Thanks again to the Haven message board research team, especially 'An Amazon Runs, Laurel and her husband, and CSW' who provided the necessary info. for the "Hair of the Dog" scene. By the way, any grammatical errors or typos, in these epilogue are solely my fault. These stories have not seen a beta, she's on break.