Snippetfic from Small Lives Awake sequel
By JET (curried_goates@yahoo.com)
http://www.livejournal.com/users/jetfic/

For Lilydale: Happy, Happy Birthday
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December 2001


Mulder unlocked the door and walked inside the apartment with a sigh.
Usually he only felt this exhausted, jostled, ignored, yelled at and 
menaced after a bad day of investigating mutants. It was a sad 
reflection on his mental state that he'd assumed shopping would cheer 
him up. He would never voluntarily step into a mall again.

Somewhere water was running. He ditched his coat on the dining room 
table and went into the bathroom. Scully was singing "Away in a Manger" 
in a frightfully off-key sort of way, punctuating the occasional 
syllable with a hiccup. Did she make a habit of drinking and then 
showering? One more thing she might frequently do in her off-hours that 
he'd known nothing about until now. Or worse, what if she sang all the 
time when they weren't on the clock?

Aside from a hasty annulment, he decided the only course of action was 
to sit fully dressed in her clawfoot bathtub until she finished maiming 
the innocent carol.

Her voice faded when she turned off the water. She opened the shower 
door and a puff of steam escaped like magician's smoke. He half 
expected a white bunny to hop out when she leaned out of the stall.

"Hi," she said, grabbing her towel off the ring on the wall. She paused 
and dripped a few small puddles on the tile. She gave him a pointed 
look. "Did you take off your shoes?"

He glanced down at his feet. Trust Scully to care if he was wearing 
shoes in the bathtub.

"No. Is that a problem?"

"I guess not." She frowned before stepping back into the stall.

Mulder hauled himself out of the tub and wandered into the living room. 
He almost fell backwards onto the couch but stopped in time -- Scully 
wouldn't want his shoes anywhere near the cushions. He pried off the 
oxfords and underhand-lobbed them beneath her computer table. 

By the time she arrived, freshly powered, primped and plastered -- or 
whatever the hell she did that took nearly thirty minutes -- he was 
practically oozing into the weird brocade design of the couch pillows. 
His exhaustion had morphed into the kind of quasi-depression shopping 
was supposed to cure. Competing with this was the nagging thought that 
his partner was far too gorgeous, soft and nicely scented, not to 
mention smart, to stay with him until the end of time. He'd be lucky if 
the marriage lasted through New Year's.

"How'd your plan of attack work?" Scully crawled onto the couch beside 
him and sat Indian style in her silky gray pjs. When he didn't answer 
she poked his ear.

"It was swell," he exclaimed with fake enthusiasm. She tugged on his 
arm until he sat up and leaned against her.

"What's wrong?" she asked quietly.

"I hate December."

"Okay."

"I mean it, Scully. I hate this month. It's nothing but long lines and 
hellish traffic and news stories about welfare recipients whose 
condemned houses burn to the ground on Christmas Eve. It's moog-synth 
'Jingle Bells' and schmaltzy made-for-TV movies and computer generated 
holiday greetings from credit card companies. It's the proverbial 
fruitcake that could be used to build a skyscraper. It's useless gifts 
devoid of all sentiment, except that they were on sale, and office 
potlucks with mysterious, inexplicable casseroles."

He took a deep breath and exhaled. Scully looked far more concerned at 
this diatribe than she had about the bathtub faux pas.

She conceded, "So our track record has been iffy at best during the 
most recent Decembers. But last year wasn't too bad." 

"Yeah, I think the highlight of the month was when I was attacked by 
zombies."

She was trying hard not to smile. "But I saved you and we kept the 
apocalypse from starting in a loony taxidermist's basement."

"Well, let's not forget two Christmases ago, and my brilliant haunted 
house scheme. That went over like gangbusters, didn't it?"

"More like ghostbusters."

"Ha ha. Nothing says 'Happy Holidays!' like a gunshot wound."

"Imaginary."

He didn't seem to be able to stop himself from saying, "And three 
Christmases ago... Well."

"Yeah." A whisper: "Yeah." She blinked, and the sharp sorrow that had 
come into her eyes softened. "Did I ever thank you, for staying with me 
when, I mean, I was pretty angry at you, so I might not have. And I 
pushed you away -- but knowing you were sitting right outside... 
Anyway. You were the reason I had the strength to stay with her."

Mulder wrapped an arm around Scully and kissed the side of her head. 
The part of him that wanted to wallow in self-loathing was shushed by 
the part that knew she'd forgiven him whether or not he deserved it. 
This understanding didn't make him feel less like crying, though.

Scully kissed his cheek. "Something pretty good has already happened 
this December, you know." 

He took her hand and brought it to his mouth. "I know. I know, Scully, 
I know. It's just. I don't know what it is." He couldn't look at her 
and speak. 

"Mulder." Scully took his hand, serious, eyes full of sympathy. "Has it 
not occurred to you that your mother died this year? And Samantha..."

He was shocked. It hadn't occurred to him -- "I haven't spent a holiday 
with Mom since I was in high school, Scully" -- but even as he said it, 
his throat started to ache. He closed his eyes and let Scully hold him 
for a long minute. 

Slowly, she said, "Why don't we just try to relax this month? No 
shopping on Saturday evenings, no silly office parties. No cream of 
celery soup mixed with corn flakes. No haunted houses. If we get a 
case, fine. If we don't, we won't go looking for one. We'll just stay 
in town and celebrate the season in a very low-key way. No zombies 
necessary," she finished, sounding determined.

He nodded against her shoulder before pulling away a little to wipe his 
eyes.

She cupped his jaw. "Of all the Fox Mulders in the world, you're the 
Fox Mulderyist." She rubbed her nose against his. She was purposely not 
grinning again.

He let out an elaborate sigh and tried to remember if Charlie Brown had 
ever told the little red-headed girl how much he loved her.

He smiled at Scully then, and kissed her, and wondered how much longer 
it would take him to truly realize that for the first Christmas in 
years he was home with his family.
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[/snippetfic]

19 December 2003