From: Isahunter@aol.com
Date: Thu, 23 Dec 1999 14:13:19 EST
Subject: NEW: "Tidings of Comfort and Joy" (1/1) by Diadem
Source: xff


Title:  Tidings of Comfort and Joy (1/1)  

Author:  Diadem

Category:  V, A

Rating:  G

Feedback:  Diadem@cwcom.net

Archive:  Sure, but please let me know where.

Spoilers:  Beyond the Sea, Emily, TGWSC

Disclaimer:  Not mine.  CC's.

Notes:  Short.  Written in about 20 minutes.  Merry Christmas!

Summary:  'Twas the night before Christmas....


Tidings of Comfort and Joy (1/1) by Diadem

The strains of "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" drift 
through the door from the hallway.  These carol singers 
are good.  Very good.  Not the usual high shool crowd 
out to make some money, either for themselves or for 
charity.  No, these sound like singers, the kind I 
really should get up and open the door to.  But I 
can't.
     At this point I'm not even sure I could reach for 
the glass of wine that is perched on the end of the 
coffee table, not four inches from my leg.  I've slipped 
into a state of Christmas induced apathy.  I don't want 
to move.  It's not that I'm miserable.  Well, I'm not 
bawling my eyes out, at any rate.
     I let my eyes slip shut.  Just tonight, I tell 
myself, tonight I will remember.  Remember Christmases 
past, the good times, and the bad.
     Whenever I think about my childhood all the memories 
seem to group together into a single entity - a bright, 
colourful scene of happiness, family, health and security.  
I doubt I'll wake up to find any of those in my stocking 
tomorrow morning.
     Christmas especially used to fill the house with 
joy and festivity.  Every other year my father would be 
home, and we would listen for the Jeep as the night drew 
in on Christmas Eve, and we would run out into the street 
when we heard it coming.  He would jump down, wave to the 
driver, and then crouch down on the sidewalk and do his 
best to hug is all at once.  It didn't matter if he 
didn't quite manage it - it was enough to know that 
he was home, and would be with us for the holidays.
     When I left home for university and med school, 
Christmas was my constant.  I could always go back, 
decorate the tree, help mom with the cookies, and 
run out into the street to meet my father on Christmas 
Eve.
     The last time I did that was just before I joined 
the Bureau.  I stood there on the sidewalk, watching as 
Melissa threw her arms around him - Bill and Charlie 
couldn't make it home until Christmas Day itself.  
Then she let go and turned towards me.  He knew I had 
made the decision to go.  He didn't approve, and I 
knew he probably never would, but he opened his arms 
to me and hugged me anyway.  And I knew then that no 
matter what I did, however many mistakes I made, he 
would always love me.
     The year after that I stood by the window, but I 
knew that no Jeep would arrive.
     Maybe it was an omen, a sign of things to come.  
A warped, twisted embodiment of the Ghost of Christmas 
Yet To Come.  Emily.  A haunted house with two 
psychopathic spirits.  Christmas is no longer 
colourful, beautiful, joyful.  Christmas is a black 
and white photograph, kept out of view, that I do 
my best to shut out and forget.
     The carollers have left the hallway.  I can 
hear them singing "When A Child Is Born" outside 
the front door to the building.  I always loved 
that carol.  Now it just brings back too much 
heartache.
     I am shaken from my reverie by the shrill ringing 
of my cellphone.  For some reason Mulder set the 
tone so that it now plays Jingle Bells.  I haven't 
yet figured out how to reset it.
     I breifly consider not answering it, but I am, 
technically, still on duty, and it is in my pocket, 
so I don't even have to move.
     "Scully."  At least, that's what I tried to say.  
It came out sounding more like "Ugh."
     "It's me."  Despite my evening I feel my dry lips 
cracking into a smile.
     "Hi, you."
     "I, uh, wondered if I could come over?"
     "Haunted house, mutants, monsters or ET?"  I 
enquire, my melancholy mood lifting with every second.
     "Well, that depends on which category you think 
would fit me best.  Only me."  I can hear his television 
in the background.
     "Well, none of those, Mulder.  You're one of a 
kind."  I tell him.
     "So is that a yes?"  Doesn't he know by now that 
I would be happy to see him whether or not he phones 
first?
     "It's a yes."  I confirm.
     "I'll see you in a few minutes, then."  He hangs up, 
and I haul myself off the couch to see what bounty my 
kitchen will yeild.  It wouldn't do to have anungry Mulder 
around on Christmas Eve.  As I putter about, arranging this, 
oranising that, I realise that this is exactly how I want 
to spend Christmas.
     Maybe I'll find happiness on Christmas morning this 
year after all.

End

Merry Christmas!  
Feedback is top of my list this year - Diadem@cwcom.net