From pythia@aye.net Fri May 16 07:15:23 1997 Subject: An X-mas Story (MSR) From: Lynn Gregg -------- An X-mas Story by Lynn Gregg Disclaimer: I still don't own Mulder & Scully. CC, 1013 & Fox have the honor. Category: VR Rating: PG-13 Summary: A dangerous plant leads to romantic complications in the agents' relationship. Spoilers: Nada. Warnings: MSR ahead! Note: I wrote this thing last December, before I owned a computer or even knew of this wonderful fanfiction subculture. It got lost in the shuffle & only just now resurfaced. So, happy late holidays--& on with the show! **************************************************** An X-mas Story by Lynn Gregg **************************************************** "...It's an interesting theory, Mulder, but do you really believe a lack of impulse control is the only thing that separates the average person from the sociopath? That conclusion seems a little too facile to me." Typing in the last few words of her report, Dana Scully saved the document & shoved the keyboard aside with a sigh of satisfaction. The holidays were enough of a strain without the added pressures of an investigation looming overhead, & she was immensely glad that they had brought this particularly bizarre & disturbing case to an end. 'Twas the night before Christmas; & the only creatures stirring in Scully's apartment were herself & her partner, Fox Mulder. The hour had grown late as the pair struggled to wrap up the final details of the case; beyond the frost-scummed window a bitter wind howled, driving thick snowflakes in a swirling storm. It sparkled beneath the streetlights like a rain of gems, working a kind of magic on the Capitol city & its environs. Even the pragmatic Scully wasn't entirely immune to the "White Christmas" mystique; leaning her elbows on the desktop, propping her chin in her hands, she peered out the window at the winter wonderland unfolding .The beauty & charm of it aside, she was also thinking how glad she was she didn't have to drive home in it. "Do you have any booze in here, Scully?" Mulder's voice floated out to her from the kitchen, breaking her reverie. "It's almost midnight & we are officially off the clock. Time to start celebrating." "There's a half pint of bourbon in the cabinet over the sink. I got it to go with that carton of eggnog." A brief interval followed, wherein could be heard the slamming of cabinet doors & the rattling of sundry kitchen apparatuses; then Mulder reappeared in the living room with a brimming glass in each hand, one of which he presented to his partner. "You weren't saving this for anything, were you?" "I was, actually."Scully accepted the glass & savored a long draught. Grinning up at him, she added, "But I can get more." Settling onto the sofa, Mulder patted the seat beside him invitingly, waiting until she had joined him to continue his discourse. "In answer to your question...You're absolutely right--that *is* a facile diagnosis, & of course there are numerous other factors involved. But at the core of the sociopathic personality is the utter lack of ability to control the impulses. These are people who have taken Aleister Crowley's famous dictum to absurd extremes." "Aleister Crowley's...?" "'Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law'," Mulder quoted. "Think of it: impulse control is the glue that holds civilized society together. It is only the largely self-imposed restrictions people place upon their behavior that prevents utter chaos." "Then you believe that adherence to a strict set of personal & societal mores is essential to the preservation of civilization?" To hear such conformist sentiments issuing forth from her maverick associate surprised Scully. "But wouldn't that be impossible--& to an extent also undesirable? Certainly much of the progress humanity has made owes itself to people's unwillingness to so strictly regiment their behavior & actions according to externally-imposed parameters." Now it was Mulder's turn to express surprise. "Am I hearing this right? You, of all people, coming down on the side of spontaneity & impulsiveness? I must've mixed the eggnog too strong." "I'm often spontaneous & impulsive," Scully assured him dryly. "At least once a week I find myself having to reinvent Bureau protocol to get your ass out of whatever sling you've landed it in." She gave him a measuring, sidelong glance. "Why? Are you implying that I'm rigid?" "Oh, no, not at all. A bit repressed, perhaps, but not--" "*Repressed*?" The word burst out of her in a tone midway between amusement & anger. "Mulder, you're nuts!" "I mean it, Scully," he went on earnestly, digging his grave a little deeper. "When was the last time you had a date? Or went out to a club? Or even had a drink--er, not counting the one in your hand." "I've been too busy for that sort of thing," she said defensively, not meeting his eyes. "I don't exactly have a nine- to-five job around which to plan a social life. Besides, I don't know anyone, & I'm really not in a position to meet anyone-- except, of course, for freaks & mutants." "I don't know...Agent Pendrell would be happy to oblige, I'll bet." "Pendrell?" Scully stared at him in astonishment, the same blank, incredulous look usually elicited by his wackier theories of extraterrestrial activity. "In the lab? But he's not--I mean, he's never--" she broke off, flustered. "Oh, of course not. He's convinced you & I are--well. That's the general consensus, you know...You *don't* know. Scully! Come on, you can't be that oblivious! Don't you see the way those two little blondes on the clerical support staff glare at you every time we walk by there together?" This was news to Scully. "I never noticed. God, do they really think we're--oh, NO!" And to Mulder's amazement, his calm & logical partner dissolved in a fit of helpless giggling. It was akin to seeing Spock crack up. Thumping her glass down on the end table she collapsed, shaking with mirth, into his arms. Flame-red hair & the scent of--sandalwood? Mulder felt a very unprofessional response burgeoning in his nether regions, & he stifled a groan as she continued to writhe against him. "The entire Bureau thinks we're--oh, God!" Gasping for breath, she pushed herself upright. "All my efforts to maintain some sort of credibility, & for what? And it's so ridiculous! I mean, I'm not even your *type*!" In the four years he'd known her, Mulder had had ample opportunity to consider his "type"; he questioned her now as to her perception of same & was rewarded by the rare sight of a faint pink blush creeping into her cheeks. Dropping her gaze, she muttered, "I don't know. The centerfold type, I guess. Um, taller. *Bigger*." After a beat, she dared a glance at him; & what she saw on his face so confused & unnerved her that she fairly leaped from the sofa, propelling herself across the room. Too deliberately, she went to the door & opened it, on pretext of checking the weather--but the small surprised sound she made was genuine enough to bring Mulder instantly to her side. "God, look at it--there must be a foot of snow on the ground already & it's still coming down...You can't drive home in this mess, Mulder; I doubt you could even get out of the parking lot. Looks like you'll just have to stay & wait up for Santa with me." "Darn," he drawled, pulling the door shut & sealing out the night. "And I was *so* looking forward to spending Christmas Eve alone in my cold, empty apartment, reading the latest theories of the Lone Gunmen. Which reminds me, Scully-- Frohike gave me detailed instructions as to what I was to do should I find myself alone with you in close proximity to a sprig of mistletoe." "Mistletoe by proxy?" Scully's eyebrow quirked up. "Hmmm. Well, better you than him." "D'you mean that, Scully? Because I believe I happened to notice a specimen of the plant in question, suspended above the kitchen doorway." The flush had returned to Scully's cheeks. Delighted, Mulder forged on. "I was going to ask you about that, actually. As you live alone &, by your own admission, are neither involved with nor interested in anyone at present--I must admit, the usefulness of such a plant escapes me." The flush had deepened to crimson. The unflappable Dana Scully flustered--nay, *embarrassed*, & twice in one night! Mulder was entranced. "I don't know," Scully mumbled, glaring at the offending sprig. "Mistletoe is just a traditional Christmas decoration, like poinsettias &, er, things. I don't know why I put it up there, I just--" "Scully?" She broke off in mid-defense. "What?" "You yourself admitted that impulse control can be carried to extremes." As he spoke, Mulder sauntered across the room, coming to a stop in the kitchen doorway. With studied nonchalance, he leaned against the doorframe. "Scully." He waited until she looked, reluctantly, in his direction. The bright head came up; the blue eyes that met his defiantly were devoid of expression. "Dana, com here." He grinned. "I can't let Frohike down." After a moment of hesitation, she joined him. Looking at her steadily, Mulder reached out, placing his hands lightly on either side of her waist, & drew her to him. Scully stood motionless in his embrace, her head tilted back slightly; she stiffened involuntarily & turned her face aside as his lips inclined toward hers. He corrected deftly, closing his mouth over hers, parting her lips gently with the tip of his tongue. Scully started to draw away, pushing at his chest with her hands, but his arms held her fast & his lips never slackened their insistent pressure. She fought him, & herself, an instant longer before giving way all of a rush, melting against him, returning his kiss with a fierce abandon even she had not known herself capable of. Her arms slid round him, hands stealing up to twine in his hair & draw his head more tightly down to her. It was Mulder who broke the spell, wrenching his mouth free of hers & holding her off at arm's length. His eyes, dark with passion & concern, searched her face anxiously. Blinking as though surfacing from a deep sleep, Scully licked her swollen lips & asked in a strangely husky voice, "Was that Frohike?" "No. You're still dressed." He slid his hands slowly up her arms, feeling the prickle of gooseflesh there, & brought them to rest lightly on her shoulders. "That was just me." Comprehension began to dawn on Scully's face; the look of absolute horror thereon cut Mulder to the bone. Ducking out from beneath his hands Scully scurried away, into the bright safety of her kitchen. She prepared herself another stiff eggnog, with shaking hands. Mulder remained in the doorway, feeling as though he'd been sucker-punched. "Dana. What is it?" "DAMN it!" Bringing both palms down hard on the counter top, Scully spun to confront him. "'Impulse control' my ass! I am not going to do this, Mulder. I'm not going to risk it. I'll risk my life every day of the week, but not this." "What?" His voice was so low she barely heard it over the beat of her own heart. "Tell me, Scully." "This!" She flung her arms wide. "Everything I--WE've worked so hard to build over the past four years. I'm closer to you than I am to anyone; sometimes I think you're the only friend I have in the world. I'd trust you with my life, Mulder. I'm not willing to jeopardize what is for what could be." Mulder looked at her steadily, fighting for control. His heart seemed to have leapt into his throat & lodged there; his voice came out sounding strangled. "Scully. What would you do if you knew--you *knew*-- there'd be no repercussions? If you knew you had one day in which you could do anything at all, & the next day just pick up where you left off like nothing unusual had ever happened-- what would you do?" "First I'd hunt down Alex Krychek & kill him," she said mildly. "Then I'd go find that Cancerman. Are you trying to force me into an admission of something?" "Yeah." Silence. It stretched out, endlessly. Mulder held his breath. Scully let hers out, a long ragged exhalation. Her shoulders slumped & she felt tears prickling behind her closed eyelids as she turned away from him again. "What I'd really want to do," she said, very softly, "would take longer than just one day." Mulder was across the room in two long strides, desperate now, heedless. Grasping her round the waist he turned her to face him; when she refused to look at him he took her head in his hands & tilted it back gently, forcing her to meet his gaze. "You can take as long as you want," he assured her, soothing away with his thumb one errant tear that tracked slowly down her cheek. "Don't you know by now how I feel about you, Dana? Sometimes I think the only thing that's kept me sane through any of this is knowing that you're with me-- knowing that there is someone I can actually trust, implicitly." "'Sane', of course, being a relative term in your case." "You are my sanity." Feeling the tremor of suppressed emotion running through his taut form, Scully slipped her arms around him & drew him close, cradling him as she had so many times before--as he had done for her on those rare occasions when she'd managed to drop her defenses & reveal the truth of herself to him. The hot unfamiliar longing that filled her was at once frightening & exhilarating. So much at stake--but hadn't she accepted that risk when she joined the FBI? She risked her life on a daily basis, & never once paused. Why, now, did she falter? So much to lose--the delicate, precarious equilibrium of their strange bond; would it shatter so easily upon the introduction of their messy human passions, or was it stronger, greater than that? Though she couldn't be certain about much of anything anymore, Scully thought she knew the answer to that one. She searched for just the right words to carry her across this last, most difficult breach; but it was he who found them, & spoke them in tones that brooked no doubt. "Dana. I love you." Feeling herself on the brink of behaving like one of the dippy heroines of a romance novel, Scully made a last-ditch effort to lighten the mood: "But, Mulder, what'll we tell Frohike?" "I'll send him a gift subscription to Hustler," he said, hands sliding down over her hips. "Don't you think he's already got one?" "I'll give him my video collection, then. Stop stalling, Scully, & tell me what you want." The hands slid lower, snugging her up tight against him. She smiled up at him, knowing her Christmas wish had already come true. "Just you, Mulder," she murmured, settling into his arms. "Just you." ~~Finis~~ comments, flames, raves, etc. to pythia@aye.net