From: Muzinke@aol.com Date: Wed, 3 May 2000 22:48:34 EDT Subject: xfc: Reclaiming Christmas (1 of 1) by Tarin Z. Kesumin Source: xfc TITLE: Reclaiming Christmas AUTHOR: Tarin Z. Kesumin E-MAIL: Muzinke@aol.com SUMMARY: Ghosts of cases past help ease the trials of the present. CATEGORY: S, V, mini-A KEYWORDS: M/S friendship, loosely a post-ep. SPOILERS: How the Ghosts Stole Christmas. That's 'bout it. RATING: PG for one or two unsavory words. AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story was begun as a response to a challenge posted to the CrystalShip discussion group. The challenge was to write a story based on a photograph of both he and Scully at a crime scene, which is now hanging in Mulder's office. You can take a look at the picture here: Thanks to FX for their unwittingly helping me along by re-airing an old favorite. And, as always, to Suzanne for the beta and the encouragement. If you liked this story, sample others I've written at: * * * Mulder tipped back in his chair, landing his feet on the corner of his desk with a solid thunk. Rubbed the bridge of his nose as he slowly counted to ten. Upon reaching 7, he came to the conclusion that Monday was, in fact, as loathsome as its reputation implied. This particular Monday was doing nothing to improve the reputation, either. The only thing more repulsive to him at this moment was the memory of what had transpired in this very room only minutes ago. He really hated it when they argued. There had been a time, though, when their arguments had been fun. Before their differences in opinion were seen as personal rejection rather than professional challenge. , he mused sadly. His eyes landed finally on the picture Scully had given him for Christmas a couple years ago. To this day he was amazed that she had forgiven him for that fiasco. Haunted house. Whatever. * * * The absence of tell-tale rattling had eliminated his initial suspicion that a video tape lurked beneath the Christmas plaid paper. In fact, no noises at all had resulted from the vigorous shake he had given the package on his way to the couch. Now, sitting back against the warming black leather, he turned the gift in his hands, studying the size and shape, looking for any clues to what might lurk behind the cheerful colors... "Mulder, would you stop profiling the damn thing and just unwrap it, please?" Sheepishly, he met her eyes, surprised to find her gaze warm and gentle, a slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth. A smile that was infectious. "I'll show you mine, if you show me yours," he said, nodding at the long package resting in her lap. "Mulder, are you coming onto me?" "Just getting into the Christmas spirit, Scully." She said nothing, simply smiled again, and began tugging at the ribbon securing one end of the wrapping. He turned his focus again to the square enigma resting in his hands, and began to pull at the edges of the paper. The apartment was filled with the dry rasp of tearing paper and the popping of scotch tape. "Mulder, this is beautiful!" Her exclamation served to distract him from his careful separation of paper edge from tape. One eye squelched shut, the other hidden behind the kaleidoscope tube, she had turned her face upwards in an attempt to catch the room's only light. Careful fingers manipulated the rotating lens, generating a soft crackling sound as glass pieces fell against each other. The look of sheer joy on her face was the best Christmas gift he could have ever hoped for. It had been so very long since he'd seen anything like it grace her features. Too many long, difficult months filled with losses and confusion. She deserved this time together. They both did. "Thank you, Mulder. It's perfect." She was gazing at him now, eyes soft as her smile. "You want to take a look?" He shook his head in the negative, picking up his partially unwrapped present and waggling it in the air. "I think I'd like to see what you've got in store for me, first." She nodded her assent, and he resumed his meticulous peeling of the cellophane tape. Her barely restrained laughter halted his progress seconds later. "And what, pray tell, Agent Scully, is so humorous?" "Mulder, I just never pegged you as being quite so...well, anal retentive. You're usually so impulsive." He tried his best to look offended. "You say anal retentive, I say adrenaline junkie." Off her look, he continued, "I could care less about ripping the paper, actually. I really just like to draw out the suspense. Once that's over, and you know what it was underneath the paper, the excitement's pretty much over." She seemed to consider this a moment. "Well, I guess that makes sense. But you do need to speed things up a *little* bit. Remember, I've got 6AM roll-call." He gave her a light nudge with his shoulder. "Yeah. Big brother Bill will have my ass in a sling if I do anything to disrupt the Scully family Christmas." "Mulder," she warned, but said nothing more. They both knew all too well that his words, while laced with sarcasm, held the ring of truth. Instead, she pushed the package to his chest as encouragement to continue. Minutes later, paper dispatched and dropped to the floor, he skimmed his fingers across the glass surface, caressing the image protected beneath. "Scully, where did you find this?" "Well, my brother-" "Bill?" he asked with a degree of trepidation. "Charlie. He knows someone, who's got a friend who's cousin is married to the press photographer for the local newspaper." "Ah, but can you relate Charlie to Kevin Bacon in ten degrees or less?" A roll of her eyes was the only response to his question. "Seriously, Scully. There must be hundreds of pictures just like this one in the Bureau archives." "I saw this one in the paper before we flew back to DC, tagged with an article about the arrest." She seemed to feel this was explanation enough, and looked to him a moment before dropping her eyes to where the kaleidoscope lay in her lap. He didn't push her for a less cryptic answer; instead, he too looked down to study his lap, and the picture resting against his thighs. He and Scully, armed in FBI wind-jackets. Kevlar, too, if he remembered correctly. The case hadn't even been an X-File; it had been during those interminable months on the DT unit. Stuck in the middle of Bumfuck, Wyoming, chasing after elusive smugglers of the stinkbomb. On the surface, unremarkable from the countless other assignments Kersh had sent their way. What had made all the difference wouldn't have been in the official report, or in the by-line of the local paper. For whatever reason-maybe it was cosmic alignment-for the first time since their return from Antarctica, they had *flowed*. Returning his focus to her, he found that she was again looking through the lens, towards the light above them. "Hey, Scully, isn't it my turn yet?" * * * He had decided to hang the picture behind his desk after only a moment's consideration. Its position not obvious or ostentatious. Placed for the regard of only those who knew of its location. In other words, himself and Scully. For whenever either of them needed to remember why. he reflected. Hinges squealed as he rocked forward and out of his chair. Gathering his suit jacket, he looked once more at the picture. She was most likely at home by now. He would be there within the half- hour. It was time to re-find their flow. * * * End.