A Christmas Peril (06/06) (Continued scene)
by Kestabrook

"Here. Put these on."

Mulder stared at the sunglasses his friend held 
toward him. "It's night and dark already, Dopey."

"In the future, you won't need film projectors and 
DVDs. These are virtual reality glasses. Put them on 
and see where they take you."

"Do they show me what's in my mind? I can see Bambi 
Bigboobs if I imagine her?"

"Down boy," Frohike replied. "No, you'll see what 
you're *supposed* to see. Besides, who needs Bambi 
Bigboobs when he could have the fine Agent Scully?"

Mulder donned the glasses and blinked in the new 
darkness. Instantly, he saw the basement of the 
Hoover Building. And though his feet weren't moving, 
he moved down the hallway, nearing the X-Files 
office. "Not bad, Frohike," he murmured. 

"Glad you like them. By the way, you're about to see 
Christmas, 2005."

Mulder nodded. In virtual reality, he turned to the 
closed door of his office and jolted to a halt. "What 
the..." he muttered in shock. 

His doorplate had been replaced. He didn't bother to 
read the new one as he sifted through the door. The 
occupants of the office were oblivious to his 
presence. 

His gaze quickly found his partner. Her red hair had 
been cut in a close-cropped, skull-hugging style that 
looked fine but wasn't *his* Scully. She stood behind 
a metal desk; his old one had been removed. New file 
cabinets were in place. And he noticed Scully's 
nameplate occupying the desktop. 

Seated before her was a dark haired man whose face 
Mulder couldn't see. The person was tall and had 
short hair, too, and wore a dark suit.

"But Dana," the man was saying, "I really don't want 
a new partner. You were terrific--the best. I can't 
do this without you."

She smiled at him. "I know you mean well, but this is 
something I have to do. The decision wasn't easy; 
I've enjoyed working with you, too, but the time has 
come. I could spend the rest of my life here, but 
what would I have in the end? Nothing but memories 
and a ton of paperwork that bears my signature. 
That's not enough, Robert." Her eyes seemed to stare 
into the past as she slowly muttered, "I learned that 
the hard way."

"But leaving the FBI--"

"For what might be a more stable, promising career 
and life?" Scully grabbed her nameplate and stuffed 
it into a box on the desk. "I think that's all." She 
held out her hand and let Robert shake it. "It's been 
a pleasure, Agent. Good luck here in the Bureau's 
Office of Case Re-Assignment."

As the other agent stood to usher Scully from the 
room, Mulder tore off the glasses and turned to 
Frohike. "What is this? Scully quits the FBI? The X-
Files are gone? Where am *I* in 2005?"

The elfin man met his gaze. "Got a joke for you: 
knock, knock."

Mulder stared in frustration, then impatiently 
answered, "Who's there?"

"Mulder."

"Mulder who?"

"That's what they all say at the Hoover by 2005." 
Frohike gave him a moment to digest that. "Yes, 
Scully leaves. The X-Files are closed down. New 
people and assignments have taken the office."

"Where am I during all this?" Mulder asked in 
desperation.

"That's what I'm about to show you."

**********************

1:55 A.M.

Had she ridden this snowmobile under different 
circumstances, Scully thought she might have enjoyed 
it. She and John were second in the line of three 
snowmobiles that sped along the snow-covered road in 
the deep darkness. The wind whipped against her as 
did the snowmobiles' slipstreams, and riding on the 
back of the sled, she tightly gripped the handholds 
at her sides.

But her thoughts were fixed on Mulder. If they found 
him, in what condition would he be? Could he have 
frozen to death by now? How injured was he? How 
damaged? It had been a horrible day; she prayed it 
would not be a horrible night.

"Almost there!" John yelled back at her.

"Okay!" she called back. She just hoped there would 
be truth to what she said.

**********************

1:55 A.M.

At Frohike's urging, Mulder returned the glasses to 
his eyes. The despair he'd felt before had turned 
into budding anger and fear. He wanted now to get out 
of the car and find Scully. She couldn't quit the 
FBI, and she couldn't let the X-Files be closed. 
Heck, she couldn't cut her hair either.

"Christmas 2010," Frohike stated. "Straight ahead."

"Wait a minute--I don't get this." The images coming 
to Mulder were of a large family car driving through 
the streets of DC. "These glasses still need work, 
Frohike."

"Just be patient, will you?"

The car slowed and turned into an area hemmed by a 
wrought iron fence. Before Mulder could see the 
auto's destination, though, he found himself in the 
car, seated with his back against the dashboard. He 
faced the family inside. 

He noticed her first. Scully, nine years older. She 
was still beautiful and desirable to him, but a few 
wrinkles had sprouted around her mouth and eyes. Her 
hair, still close-cropped, held a few streaks of gray 
she'd not yet colored. She wore a black turtleneck 
sweater beneath her camel coat. Driving the car, was 
a man of medium build and receding hairline. His 
glasses magnified his mid-forties' eyes, and he, too, 
wore a black sweater and camel coat. Mulder suddenly 
noticed two boys and a girl, between ages six and 
twelve, in the back seat. Each wore glasses and bored 
expressions. 

"Dana, please make this fast," the man said. "We 
don't want to be late. Your mother will worry."

"Tom," she replied, "we have plenty of time. Bill and 
Tara and their kids will keep Mom entertained until 
we get there."

"I don't see why we do this anyway. It's been nine 
years. It's silly to hold onto the past. You're a 
mother now as well as a researcher, a professor, and 
a doctor in charge of medical mysteries at 
Georgetown. Yet we do this every year."

She looked at the driver. With her left hand, she 
smoothed a piece of lint from his lapel. On her 
finger, Scully wore a big diamond and a gold wedding 
band. "It's important to me."

Tom smiled. "Like we are--I hope."

"Of course. You're all important to me."

The car stopped. Tom leaned forward, looking out at 
something. "This is the right spot, yes?"

Scully gazed out solemnly and nodded. "I won't be 
long." She opened the car door.

"Dana? Don't forget this!" The little girl in the 
back seat handed Scully a miniature sunflower. 

"Thanks, honey."

Mulder, gazing in shock, asked, "They call her by 
name? Why don't they call her 'Mom'?"

"They're his kids. With his first wife."

In dismay, Mulder watched Scully move through what he 
now found to be a cemetery. The day was chilly, and 
its cloudy gray light mixed with the scent of 
December earth and decaying flowers to create a 
dismal atmosphere. A brisk breeze lifted dead leaves 
in a macabre dance about the cold stone of grave 
markers. In their midst, Scully walked, her steps 
slow but determined. Her mouth formed a tight line, 
but her eyes glistened with tears.

At last she stopped. She gazed at a headstone for 
several seconds before kneeling. At this grave, she 
placed the sunflower in a small urn already filled 
with a fairly fresh bouquet. Mulder's eyes left her 
briefly and read what he'd expected to find on the 
marker: "Fox William Mulder. 1961-2001. Partner, best 
friend, touchstone. Rest in peace."

Again, Mulder tore the glasses off. "Frohike! I *do* 
die in this accident? I die tonight?"

"Mulder, be patient," the other man chided.

"I don't want to die tonight! Not like this!"

Frohike gave him a stern glance. "If you don't shut 
up I'm gonna kill you anyway."

Mulder's expression mirrored his frustration, but he 
gradually, reluctantly returned the glasses to his 
face. "Everyone's nightmare: to be killed by an elf 
on Christmas."

Scully still knelt and slowly ran her fingers over 
the engraving of Mulder's name. Finally, she sat back 
on her heels. "Oh Mulder," she sighed. "I know I was 
just here the other day, but today is different. 
Tom's great; he really is, and the kids are sweet. 
They're a lot of work, believe me." She wiped some 
tears from her eyes before they could spill. "I can't 
believe it's been nine years. So much has changed. My 
work is rewarding, and my family is a joy. But 
there's something missing. Something I'll never know 
again. Something I want so much it hurts, and that 
hurt will never go away."

"Dana! We'll be late, sweetie," Tom called.

"In a minute!" she yelled, never taking her eyes from 
the tombstone. In a quiet voice, she muttered, 
"Mulder, why couldn't you be here? Why did you have 
to die? We wasted so much time. With our running all 
over the country, investigating this and that. We 
failed for too long to investigate what was most 
important--us--our feelings for each other. And once 
we finally did that, you were gone." She wiped more 
tears and then inhaled heavily. She visibly willed 
her composure to return. Reaching out, she lay her 
hand atop the grave-marker, caressing it lovingly. 
"I've got to go now. But I wanted to do this. To be 
here. With you. Mulder, Christmas isn't Christmas 
unless you're with the one you love most." She slowly 
rose to her feet, her hand keeping its place even as 
she turned. Slowly it left the cold stone.  He felt 
her pass as she walked toward the waiting car. After 
a last longing glance, she got inside, and Tom drove 
away.

Mulder remained at the grave, wanting to follow. But 
he suddenly found that no movement was possible. He 
had become embedded in the earth beneath his feet and 
was slowly sinking.

"Frohike!" He tried to take off the glasses, but they 
wouldn't budge. And the sinking didn't stop. He felt 
himself mired up to his shins. "Do something! I'm 
stuck! I'm getting buried! Get me out of this!" The 
ground quickly claimed his knees and worked toward 
his thighs.

"Have you learned anything yet?"

"Yeah! I don't want to die! Help me!"

"Why don't you want to die?"

Mulder stared frantically at the ground now 
swallowing his hips. "Because there's so much I 
haven't done! So much yet to be lived! That should be 
me in that car with Scully. She's with that guy--that 
Tom--and those kids. I don't want that!"

"You what? *You* don't want that?"

"No! And neither does she! You heard her! My job, my 
past--I've been hooked to those for too long. I've 
ignored what I could have had--what I could have had 
with Scully! Let me go back. Please!"

"Isn't that being selfish?" Frohike asked.

"No. Maybe. I don't care," Mulder protested, the 
ground at chest level. "It's what I want. And it's 
what she wants."

"So what you want--and need--in your personal life 
*is* important after all?"

Up to his shoulders in the earth now, Mulder 
screamed, "Yes! What Scully and I have together is 
the most important thing in my life!"

"Well, why didn't you say so?" Frohike gleamed. He 
paused a moment, listening to the headset. A smile 
formed and widened at whatever he heard. "It's been 
decided. Seems you're gonna live after all."

Instantly, the glasses fell from Mulder. The sinking 
feeling, the consuming earth, the gravestone 
vanished. As he tried to raise his hands to his face 
to rub the images from his eyes, he found his wrists 
handcuffed to the steering wheel. 

"A last reminder," Frohike laughed, and the handcuffs 
fell away.

Mulder tried to calm his breathing. "If that was just 
a dream, it was major league."

"Who said it was a dream? Illusion or reality, my 
friend. Who can tell the difference?"

"I don't know at this point. And I don't care." 
Mulder swallowed hard as his heart pounded in relief 
and joy. He looked over at his friend. "I've got to 
see Scully. Now. Are you--can you--get me out of 
here?"

"Nah. I'm just an apparition, remember? Gotta go. 
Besides, help's on the way." As Frohike began to 
evaporate into the night, he waved once. "Welcome 
back to the living, Mulder. Not just the existing, 
but the living. There's a big difference."

As the apparition disappeared, Mulder lay his head 
back, swallowed, panted, and swallowed again. The 
images of Scully at the grave, with another man, and 
out of the FBI, as well as the words he'd just 
spoken, haunted his mind. He ached to be with her, to 
touch her and know she was real. 

He closed his eyes, then immediately opened them, 
checking the dark car for the source of humming 
engines getting louder. 

***********************  

2:00 A.M.

Before the snowmobile came to a full stop, Scully 
bounded from its seat. She'd come to appreciate 
snowmobiles when she realized they could leave the 
road to explore rugged terrain. And that's what their 
party had done. At a wicked curve on the two-lane 
road, John and his friends had veered into the side 
ditch and slowed to descend a hill. Their headlights 
had illumined a bridge's abutment, and just to its 
right, they had fallen on a large mound. The wind had 
swished away some snow from the mound, revealing 
badly dented red fiberglass.

Scully bounded clumsily through the deep snow, 
imagining that she resembled an astronaut moonwalking 
in zero gravity. She chanted Mulder's name with each 
plunge and paid no attention to those with whom she'd 
traveled or the cold surrounding her. Her eyes 
focused on the driver's door, and her mind cringed at 
what she might find.

The mittens loaned to her now swiped at the snow 
covering the driver's window. Underneath that, a thin 
coat of ice prevented her from seeing inside. She 
debated not opening the door in case that might cause 
Mulder injury, but her need to know overcame reason. 
She grabbed the door handle and pulled. When nothing 
happened, she jerked the handle roughly. Snow fell 
away, and with a loud creak, the door opened. 

>From somewhere behind her, a flashlight shone. Its 
beam came to rest on Mulder's face. Scully stared, 
noting blood issuing from a forehead cut. She held 
her breath as she pulled the mittens from her hands 
so she could check for a pulse. She muttered, 
"Mulder? It's me." 

Then her breath burst forth as her mouth widened into 
a smile of delight. Mulder's head pivoted groggily on 
the headrest. 

He looked straight into her eyes and gave her a 
crooked smile. "Merry Christmas, Scully."

*************************

Epilogue
6:38 A.M.

Early morning sunlight silhouetted icicles on and 
gently seeped through the dusty, cream blinds. The 
heater knocked occasionally and spat warm air, making 
the atmosphere cozy and relaxed.

Mulder lay on the hard mattress of the motel room, 
his head pillowed by Scully's left shoulder. He 
barely felt any pain from the accident, and the cut 
he'd suffered, now mended with a butterfly bandage, 
caused him a mild twinge only if he moved. He drifted 
in and out of contented sleep, happy to open his eyes 
that were very close to Scully's red-lace-covered 
breasts; happy to feel his head gently rise and fall 
with the pattern of her breathing. Happy to be with 
her.

"Mulder?" Scully whispered. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." In fact, he was drunk with pleasure--the 
scent of her skin and warmth of her body captivating 
his senses.

She sighed heavily. "I think you should have stayed 
in the hospital. Just for observation."

"Not on Christmas," he muttered. "Besides, the ER doc 
confirmed your diagnosis: mild concussion and 
bruises. All I'd get at the hospital is rest. I can 
rest much better here."

"Well, that's not all you'd have gotten at the 
hospital, but..." She lightly stroked the left side 
of his head, her fingers softly grazing his ear. "Are 
you cold?"

"No, I'm fine. Very comfortable. Are you?"

"Yes," she sighed lazily. "I don't know how you 
survived that crash, Mulder. And with only a 
concussion and bruised knees. Talk about Christmas 
miracles."

"Couldn't leave you alone in the middle of nowhere," 
he smirked. His hand moved to rest on her lace-
covered thigh beneath the covers. "You still want to 
go home to your mother's?" 

"No. I never did. I was just tired and worried--"

"And angry. I don't blame you, Scully. I should have 
called."

"Oh well, that's in the past, Mulder. Let's forget 
about it." She pulled the bedcovers up closer to his 
chin. "You should sleep. And I hate to tell you this, 
but even just a mild concussion will prevent you from 
learning to ski. I'm not sure I'll let you out of 
this room until it's time to go home."

"Sounds a bit naughty--keeping me captive."

"You love the idea as much as I do," she chuckled. 
"Now tell me about your dream again."

He started to shake his head but winced as the cut on 
his forehead protested. "I'm not sure it was a dream. 
And I don't want to relive it. But the images, the 
things I learned from it are fresh in my mind. I 
think--I hope--they always will be." He closed his 
eyes as her lips touched his head.

"I'm glad you're okay," she murmured. "I'm glad 
you're here."

"I'm glad *we're* here, Scully," he replied softly. 
"Christmas isn't Christmas unless you're with the one 
you love most."

*******************************
End "A Christmas Peril" (06/06)