I do it all for you, Mulder

Things had been tenuous between them for some time, but they’d been in an upswing. They’d started to get back into their old groove being reinstated to the FBI, back on the x-files, back to each other even though there was hesitation to fully reconcile. They spent most of their waking hours together, but had yet to pass an entire night in each other's company.

After their latest assignment, it was Scully that suggested they stop at the combination flea and farmer’s market, having seen signs posted along the way on their drive to the Fort Wayne airport. Seeing as they had plenty of time to kill before their flight later that evening and the only tourist attraction they’d seen advertised was for the world’s largest ball of paint, it seemed like the best option for a pit stop.

The market was in the faculty parking lot of a high school. Mulder pulled the car over behind a line of vehicles dotting the sides of the road. He stretched his back once he was on his feet, no longer acclimated to long-distance driving like he had been once upon a time. A whistle blew in the distance and he turned to watch the scrimmage on the football field past the fenceline. He breathed in the smell of the dirt and fresh cut grass.

It was a pleasant fall morning; mild and sunny, bright blue sky, low, stationary clouds, no breeze to move them along. Miles and miles of grass and cornfields as far as the eye could see.

He started slightly when he felt a hand between his shoulder blades and he looked down to find Scully at his side. Her fingers trailed softly down his spine and then hooked into the back pocket of his jeans for a moment before she dropped her arm and then squinted up at him.

“Gotta love a small town,” he said.

“You always did,” she answered.

He smiled and gave her a brief nod, resisting the urge to cup her cheek, to brush his thumb over the mole above her lip, as he’d done a thousand times before. He took her hand instead, a small, but bold gesture, something that was never even a consideration once upon a time in their first go-around. She hadn’t made any rules this time though, and besides, Special Agent Scully had been packed away that morning along with the pantsuits in her luggage.

Gravel crunched underfoot as they turned towards the flea market, clasped hands swingingly lightly.

“Are we looking for anything special?” he asked. “Or looking just to look.”

“Just to look.”

“If we were closer to home I’d get some new chairs for the porch.”

“What’s wrong with the old chairs?”

“Gotten a bit rusty.”

“Forget to put them up for the winter?”

“Me? Forget?” He chuckled when she lifted her brow in response. She smiled and squeezed his hand. He’d always forgotten and she’d always had to remind him.

They reached the tented stalls, vendors packed into two neat rows. There were fresh vegetables, homemade goat cheeses, jars of honey, and baked goods on one side, and dusty antiques, old records, toys, and knicknacks on the other. Mulder let go of Scully’s hand to rifle through a milk crate full of National Geographic magazines and she browsed a collection of novelty salt and pepper shakers at the same table.

Mulder bought a well-thumbed sci-fi novel a few stalls later that he vaguely remembered having read in junior high. He quickly shoved the small book into his back pocket as though he didn’t want Scully to see it and she promptly plucked it out to take a look at it. They play-fought over it briefly, ending with Scully in a bear hug as she pressed the book to her chest with both hands, both laughing. He loosened his arms, but still held her, peering over her shoulder as she finally got the chance to inspect his purchase.

The cover was aged, but still had a glossy patina. Like most pulp covers of the time the illustration was designed to titillate. Front and center stood a man holding a gun, crouched slightly as though prepared for battle and behind him a long-legged woman in a mini-skirt, midriff bare, clutching his hand. They were surrounded by large, silver robots, arms outstretched in attack.

“Are you actually going to read this?” she asked.

“You might like it,” he answered, reaching over to point to the people on the cover. “If memory serves, that guy was a former army captain and he teams up with a gorgeous and brilliant scientist to save the world from a robot uprising.”

“Miss Tube Top is a scientist?”

“I happen to know from personal experience that smart and sexy women aren’t just science fiction,” he murmured into her ear, pulling her hips a little tighter into his before releasing her from his arms.

Scully hummed and then spun around. She held the book out to him and he brushed his thumb along hers as he took it and put it back in his pocket. They walked on, rejoining hands, fingers threading naturally together.

“You can borrow it when I’m finished,” he said. “The book. If you’d like.”

“No, thank you. I have no doubt you’ll subject me to a lengthy book report in the coming days, anyway.”

“Do you have a preference for oral, or written?”

She gave him a sideways glance. “After all these years, I think you know my preference by now, Mulder.”

“Yeah, I think I do.” He stopped and took her elbow, pulling her towards him as he bent his head to kiss the corner of her mouth. She smiled into his next kiss on her lips and put a hand on his chest.

“Double-spaced,” she murmured against his lips, “single-sided, one inch margins, TImes New Roman font, by the end of the week.”

He chuckled and then straightened, tossing his head back with a groan. Her eyes sparkled as she looked up at him, bright with amusement and mischief. He hadn’t seen that look from her in a long time. Her fingernails scratched lightly at his t-shirt and he covered her hand with his against his chest. The moment was broken when someone walking by bumped his shoulder and they both sidestepped out of the way.

“I uh…saw a sign back there for the restroom,” he said, thumbing over his shoulder. “Gonna hit it up before you dole out anymore assignments.”

“I’m going to wander.”

“I’ll find you.”

“You always do.”

She slipped her hand out from his and turned to walk away. She didn’t look back, though she was tempted just to see if he was watching. She wasn’t ashamed to admit that she hoped he was.

She didn’t really know what had gotten into her, but she was feeling flirty. Lately, things had felt like the best of old times and it made her nostalgic. She’d missed all of this. The work, the challenge, the mystery, even the long car rides through the middle of nowhere, but most of all she just missed him. She missed being together. She missed his touch, his humor, his companionship, the solid and safe presence of him when he was beside her. She missed the way he made her feel and the way he looked at her when she played the tease. She knew he felt the same and they should probably stop wasting anymore time.

At a table before her, she picked up a crocheted bumblebee amongst the display of handmade creatures. It was hard to believe it had been eighteen years since waking up in Antarctica. She thumbed the little yarn stinger on the bees backside and then put it down. There were some things she preferred not to remember.

She moved on to a stall of aromatic soaps and oils, neatly displayed on cloth-covered tables forming a horseshoe. Each bar was wrapped in tissue paper, closed with a small gold sticker embossed with the initials JM and a handwritten label indicated the blend. She brought a few to her nose to smell. Lemongrass, peppermint, lavender, and eucalyptus. She was particularly drawn to one called vanilla chai. A small stack of brochures was in the centermost table, held down by a heavy geode.

Miller Family Soaps. All soaps are handcrafted by Certified Aromatherapist Jane Miller using all natural, locally sourced ingredients, and made from the milk of our farm’s seven Nigerian Dwarf goats. Personalized wellness blends are available through private consultation. Call 555-3849 for more information and pricing. Stop by the farm off Route 127 and meet the goats for yourself!

At the bottom of the brochure was a black and white photo of what Scully presumed were the goats in question, lined up like they were taking a class photo. She smiled and folded the brochure three times over and slipped it into her pocket.

A few minutes later, she had two bars of soap in hand, the vanilla chai for her and an orange sandalwood for Mulder, ready to purchase. There was a woman at the end of the tables, a basket of soaps on one hip, her back to Scully.

“Fine, fine, but only the ones at Miss Shirley’s table and don’t even think about asking for hot dogs this time.”

Scully froze at the sound of the woman’s voice as she got closer. She turned quickly, a chill coming over her in an instant. She felt as though she were going to hyperventilate and she took a few deliberately long and deep breaths. She turned again, slowly, trying to keep a neutral, casual expression on her face. The woman still had her back to Scully and she was speaking to a young girl Scully guessed to be thirteen or fourteen with long, auburn hair and a little boy no more than eight who was the spitting image of her brother Charlie. Scully swallowed. The kids started to walk away.

“Spence, hold Abby’s hand,” the woman called after them, “and I mean it you two, no hot dogs, and if you go out to the field, don’t get in your father’s way!”

Scully stared at the back of the woman’s head. Her hair was a faded strawberry blonde, pulled into a loose braid falling halfway down her back while unruly curls managed to frizz at the scalp. She wore a long-sleeved floral dress down to her ankles and Birkenstocks on her feet. Her wrists jangled with a plethora of slim bracelets.

“Missy…” Scully breathed.

The woman turned, but didn’t appear startled. Scully sucked in a breath. It wasn’t just that the tone and cadence of the woman’s voice matched that of her sister, the resemblance was more than striking.

“Oh, hello,” the woman said, setting her basket of soaps down onto the table. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you there.” She took a glance over her shoulder and put a hand on her head. “Kids. They were supposed to be with my mother-in-law today, but she got sick and…anyhow, I’m rambling. Hi, I’m Jane. Those soaps are five each, or three for twelve if you wanted to get another.”

“Um…” Scully turned, searching. She grabbed the closest bar of soap and then handed them over to the woman, trying not to stare, but finding it impossible not to. The woman, fortunately, seemed too distracted to notice, placing each bar gently into a brown paper bag.

“Twelve even,” the woman said, passing Scully the bag. “We can take cash or Venmo.”

Scully knew she had a twenty dollar bill in her pocket and she gave it to the woman. “Jane…Miller? From the brochure?”

“That’s right.”

“Do I look familiar to you at all?”

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.” Jane gave Scully her change and then put her hands on her cheeks, looking chagrined. “Did we meet at the PTA fundraiser last month? I apologize, there were so many new faces and I have terrible recall. You’re…?”

“Dana.”

“Dana…Dana…” Jane squinted and then shook her head. “Remind me, are you Beth’s friend?”

“No, I’m just…my partner and I are passing through and…” Scully felt her eyes drifting up and caught the hint of a scar creeping out from Jane’s hairline above her temple. She quickly looked away, but her gaze shifted again almost immediately. Jane slid her fingers up to her temple and Scully’s face flushed.

“I’m sorry,” Scully said. “I couldn’t help but notice.”

“Old brain injury,” Jane answered. “Not that that’s an excuse, but that’s why it takes me a little longer in the memory department, even if it was almost twenty years ago.”

“Brain injury? What kind of brain injury? I’m…I’m a medical doctor, maybe I…may I ask what happened?”

“Car accident.”

“Oh…”

“That’s what started this though.” Jane gestured vaguely at the tables. “When I came out of the coma I had terrible headaches, terrible nausea, you know…well, terrible everything as you might imagine.”

“How long were you in a coma?”

“Ten months. I had a lovely physical therapist that taught me about using different scents to aid in healing and once I’d fully recovered it was like I’d found my calling. I got certified in aromatherapy and well, it became more of a hobby once my kids were born, but now that they’re older I’m able to find ways to use my credentials.” She lowered her voice slightly and leaned closer to Scully. “People around here though, you tell them you’ve got a license to use some nice smelling oils and they think you’re into crystals and tarot cards.”

“Are you…into crystals and tarot cards?”

Jane smiled and shrugged, lifting her brows. Scully licked the corner of her mouth. She wanted to embrace this woman, even if she wasn’t who she thought she was, she wanted to feel what it might be like to have her sister’s arms around her one more time, to breathe her in again, smell that combination of patchouli and sage that Melissa wore like a second skin. Her eyes started to well and she blinked and looked away.

“Uh, I…I take it you’re not…from here then?” Scully asked.

“Well, my husband is from Indianapolis. I grew up just outside of Chicago.”

“Do you still have family there?”

Jane gave Scully a curious look and Scully closed her eyes, pressing her lips together into a tight line.

“I’m sorry,” Scully said. “You just…you look a lot like someone I lost a long time ago and I’m…I must look like I’ve seen a ghost…”

“Let me see your hand.” Jane reached out and gently took hold of Scully’s wrist, turning her hand palm up. Jane’s hands were soft and warm. She pressed her index finger into the outer tendon at Scully’s wrist and then took a deep breath. “Breathe with me,” she said, taking another slow, deep breath.

“Oh, I don’t…” Scully trailed off as Jane’s other hand came to rest on the top of her head and she pressed her thumb to the space between Scully’s eyes.

“Focus on your breathing,” Jane instructed, pressing a little more firmly against Scully’s wrist. “In through the mouth and out through the nose. We want to slow the heart rate by putting pressure here at the Spirit Gate.” Jane then moved her thumb in small circles, massaging the spot between Scully’s brows. “And this,” she said. “The Ajna chakra. For emotional regulation.”

Scully tried to breathe deep, but she shuddered on intake and Jane moved Scully’s hand up and put it on her chest, pressing the heel of Scully’s hand into her breastplate. Scully felt herself become aware of her chest expanding against her palm with every inhale, aware of the quick thump of her heartbeat, aware of Jane’s hand that moved from her head to her back and straightened her spine with a gentle press.

“The Sea of Qi,” Jane said. “For relieving anxiety and stress.”

They were both still for a few moments, Jane holding Scully straight with the press of her hands. And then Jane took her hands away and Scully sagged, feeling bereft from the loss of her. She blinked her eyes open and Jane had moved away towards the center of the tables and was rifling through a small wooden box. Scully opened her mouth, but was at a loss for words.

“You need frankincense,” Jane said, coming back to Scully, a small bottle in her hand. “Put a few drops in a hot bath or dab a bit on the pulse points. On the wrists or behind the ears. Also-”

“Mooooooooom!”

Both Jane and Scully turned at the sound of a little boy’s voice. Over Jane’s shoulder, Scully saw Mulder, walking towards the tables. He stopped short, his mouth falling open. He cut his eyes to Scully and back to Jane and then slowly moved his way to the stall. There was panic on his face that she could read past the stoic facade. He slid an arm around her waist, taking a firm grasp of her hip and pulling her to his side like he was subtly trying to urge her away.

“Mulder…”

“I know what you’re thinking,” he whispered to her. “Did you-”

“Sorry about that, we seem to have some kind of chocolate chip cookie crisis on our hands,” Jane said, turning her attention back to Scully. “Oh, hello. You must be Dana’s partner? I’m Jane.”

“Mulder.”

“Fox,” Scully said, speaking over Mulder and scrutinizing Jane’s face for any sign of recognition. There was none. “His name is Fox Mulder.”

“How unique,” Jane said.

“Your name is Fox?” the little boy asked. “Like a…fox fox?”

“Afraid so,” Mulder answered.

“That’s weird.”

“Spencer!” Jane chastised. “Did you leave your manners at home today? Apologize right now, young man.”

“Sorry,” Spencer mumbled. His pale skin had a pink blush, which made the freckles on his face stand out. He leaned back against Jane’s stomach as she put a hand to his chest and one on his head, much like how she’d just calmed Scully.

“Now you know why I go by Mulder.”

“What was I saying before?” Jane asked.

“Um…frankincense,” Scully answered.

“Right.” Jane passed the little bottle over to Scully. “Take this, I probably have dozens back at home. And get yourself some chamomile. Anywhere that sells essential oils should have it, no problem.”

“Thank you, that’s really…” Scully lost her train of thought as she caught sight of a small, pale pink mole at the bottom of Jane’s right earlobe. Melissa had that same mole. She felt faint, like her knees were going to give out on her.

“Not to be rude,” Mulder said, digging his fingers into Scully’s hip, “but, we have to get back on the road so we don’t miss our flight.”

“It was nice meeting you,” Jane said. “Safe travels.”

Scully felt like she was on autopilot as Mulder pulled her away from the stall. He was moving quickly, radiating tension and adrenaline.

“Mulder…” she squeaked, voice pinched and breathless.

“Keep moving, Scully.”

“Why?”

“Just get to the car.”

“Mulder, my…that was…it couldn’t…”

He didn’t say anything else to her, just hustled her to the car and put her into the passenger seat himself before coming around to the driver’s side. She felt as though she was in a fog of confusion and he was in a heightened state of awareness, looking over his shoulder and in the rear view mirror as though danger was imminent. They were at least ten miles away from the market when Scully finally broke through the haze and demanded that Mulder stop the car.

“What aren’t you telling me?” she asked.

Mulder wouldn’t-couldn’t look at her. He cut the ignition and stared out the windshield and the empty highway, white knuckling the steering wheel. It had been years since he’d even considered something like this might happen and he’d forgotten all the things he’d once thought about to say to her.

“Mulder? Who was that woman? Was that…was it Melissa? Was it my sister?”

He hesitated to answer, which was a mistake. “Your sister is dead, Scully.” He clenched his jaw and Scully saw the muscle in his neck twitch.

“Why do I not believe you?”

“Because the truth is…the truth is that that woman might have once been Melissa Scully, but not anymore.”

“What does that even mean?”

Mulder sighed. “You’ll obviously remember when I was contacted by the clone of my sister, the group of them, actually.”

“Of course I do.”

“And that we thought they’d all been murdered after the exchange was made on the bridge that night.”

Scully nodded and swallowed. It was an incident that used to make her stomach flip every time she thought about the fact that Mulder had given up the woman he’d thought was his sister for her, before they knew the truth of who the woman was. It made her stomach flip thinking about it again.

“Well, they weren’t,” he said. “Not all of them, anyway. And…when they heard about what happened to your sister, they took it upon themselves to…make their own exchange, of sorts.”

Scully put her hands over her face, pressing her fingertips deep into her forehead. “They abducted a dying woman? Used her as a lab rat and you kept it from me all this time?”

“No! No, it wasn’t like that, I swear to you, Scully. It was an act of kindness, they wanted to…what they wanted to do was heal her. They were doctors, scientists, just like you. And they thought they’d be doing us a favor, keeping her safe like…like witness protection.”

“And that woman back there, Jane, are you telling me they cloned my sister?”

Mulder shook his head. “They were able to keep your sister alive, physically heal her, but her memory…her memory was gone. She had no…she didn’t know who she was and when it became clear that she never would they decided that…that the best thing they could do was give her a new life. So, they did.”

“But, what does that mean? What did they do to her?”

“They gave her some kind of implant that they’d been working on that altered memories. It’s my understanding the intention was to remove painful memories of an abductee's experience. Like…Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind style.”

“This isn’t funny, Mulder.”

“I’m not laughing.”

Scully turned away, her elbow braced against the window of the car. She put a curled finger in her mouth and bit her knuckle not to scream.

“What they did was create a new life for her,” he said.

“A lie,” she responded. “What they created was a lie.”

“They thought it was the humane thing to do.”

“Humane!?” Scully exploded, pulsing with fury. “You call taking a woman away from her life and family and treating her like…like Frankenstein’s monster, you call that humane? She was just another science experiment to them!”

“They kept her alive, Scully. She was in a coma for I don’t know how long and once she came to, the longer she went without recovering her memory, the more agitated, depressed, and anxious she became. They did what they thought was best.”

“I can’t listen to this anymore.” Scully yanked at the door handle and tried to get out of the car, but she was stopped by the seatbelt, jolting her back into the seat. She growled in frustration and released herself before stepping out of the car and slamming the door behind her. She heard the slam of Mulder’s door as well as she walked away from the car, hands on her hips, breathing heavily.

Finally she stopped, her back to him, staring at the ocean of green grass ahead of them and the grey line of highway that stretched endlessly through it. It looked like a straight line, but it felt like a circle. She turned. Mulder was behind her, hands in his pockets, looking grim.

“I want you to know I didn’t find out until years later,” Mulder said.

Scully took a few steps towards him, brows coming together in consternation. “But, you knew. You knew and never said anything.”

“What was I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know, how about ‘your sister is alive and well and living in Indiana!’”

“I didn’t know that!” he argued, rubbing the back of his head. “Scully, I didn’t know that. Aside from what I just told you, I didn’t know her name, I didn’t know where she lived, I didn’t know her job, I didn’t know anything other than she’d been taken out of the hospital and her death was faked. You saw her back there and she had no idea who you or I were. The reason I didn’t tell you your sister was alive is because she isn’t. Melissa Scully is dead. And that woman you saw back there isn’t her. I didn’t say anything because opening up that can of worms was…I didn’t want to do that. To you or to her.”

“Why did you get to make that choice? Why you alone when it’s my sister?”

“I don’t know, Scully, why did you get to make the choice to give William up when he was my son too?”

Scully reeled back as though she’d been slapped. She stood stock still, nostrils flaring, trying her damndest not to start shaking, but her hands started to tremble and then the rest of her followed. She blinked rapidly and then angrily swiped at the tears pooling in her eyes.

“I didn’t mean that,” Mulder said, reaching out for her, but reflexively drawing back when Scully took a step away from him. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he repeated. “I just…I just couldn’t stand the idea of bringing you any more pain. I think we both know how unbearable it is knowing he…knowing someone is out there somewhere and you can’t do anything about it.”

She could understand it, but it didn’t excuse the fact that he’d kept something from her. It was the truth of her stolen ova all over again, it was all the times he’d run off on her in the middle of an investigation and left her in the dark. It was a pattern she couldn’t accept any longer.

“I can’t keep doing this,” she said. “Finding things out about my own life that come as no surprise to you.”

“There is nothing else that I have kept from you, I swear. Scully, nothing.”

“I wish I could believe that,” she whispered, voice strained with the tears that had now begun to roll down her cheeks.

“Scully…” He blinked back tears of his own. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They were in an upswing. They were getting their groove back. He was going to ask her to move back in.

She wiped her eyes and then folded her arms across her chest, walking back to the car with her head down. He stood in the middle of the highway, endless road in front of him, endless road behind him, and wasn’t sure if they would recover or if this was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back.

“Wait, a minute,” he said, trotting after her. “Hold on!”

If Scully heard him, she didn’t acknowledge it, and he grabbed her elbow when he caught up with her and pulled her to a halt. She frowned and tried to jerk her arm free, but he held on, forcing her to turn towards him.

“You told me to stop looking for my sister so many times over the years I’ve lost count,” he said. “You told me to stop bringing the darkness into our life, into our home.”

“That didn’t mean lie to me.”

“I never lied. I just didn’t tell you what little I’d found out, but I didn’t lie. I didn’t even know if it was real or some kind of set-up to try to lure me out of hiding. Dammit, Scully, you have no idea how hard it was not to dive headfirst down that rabbit hole. But, I didn’t, as much for your sake as for mine because if I’d started, I…I wouldn’t have been able to stop.”

“You never stopped, Mulder. You never will. Every light in the sky, every monster in the dark, every conspiracy that needs to be unraveled, you’ll always be there.”

“And now we’re back to the beginning of the end again.” He let go of her elbow and let his arms drop heavily to his sides in defeat. “Except I did exactly what you asked me to do. I did hold back.”

“And why is that?” Scully crossed her arms with a frown and narrowed her eyes. “If it were your sister, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

“So are you angry with me that I did what you asked of me and never pulled at that thread, or that I didn’t tell you about something I never investigated in the first place?”

“Both!”

Mulder turned, lacing his fingers together at the back of his head while he puffed his cheeks and blew out a long, steady breath. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “Scully, all I know is that I was emailed a video that was less than five minutes long. It was of one of the God knows how many clones are out there of Samantha. It looked like it was recorded secretly, like bodycam footage, grainy image, hard to hear. Someone off camera asks what happened to Melissa Scully. She explains exactly what I told you and the video cuts out.”

“Who sent it to you?”

“I don’t know.”

“It never crossed your mind to find out?”

“Of course it did. I struggled for months over what to do about it.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you already had one foot out the door!” He threw his hands up and then shook his head. “You had your battles with the hospital, you were still angry at me for helping the FBI on that case, you weren’t even coming home except once every, what, two-three weeks? It was too questionable. I had nothing to go on and I had to wonder why someone was sending it to me and the timing of it, if it was even real. Who would be hurt? Who would be put in danger if I started digging? But, I just kept coming back to what you’d said to me in that locker room. You didn’t want to hear it. You didn’t want ‘the darkness’ in our home.”

Scully tightened her crossed arms and lowered her head. “I’m sorry you felt you couldn’t talk to me,” she said.

He sighed and put his hands up like he was going to embrace her, but he stopped himself short of touching her and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Let’s be honest, Scully, open communication was never our strong suit, if it wasn’t about work. And even then…”

She lifted her eyes to him, then quickly dropped her gaze and shook her head slightly. Keeping things to themselves, holding their cards close to the vest was nothing new for either of them, especially when they wanted to protect themselves or one another.

“Maybe I should have said something a lot sooner,” he said, taking a cautious step towards her. “But, can you at least see why I didn’t? Why I couldn’t?”

She raised her eyes again and this time held his gaze. Her chin wobbled, but her lips were defiantly pressed closed. He put a hand on her cheek and then bent to touch his forehead to hers.

“You’ve gone through more than any person should ever have to,” he whispered. “Lost so much.”

“We both have,” she murmured.

He moved to kiss her brow and then pulled away. She kept her head down, eyes closed, until he grazed a knuckle under her chin and the dam burst. She let out a sob, falling forward against his chest. He enveloped her in his arms, one hand buried deep in her hair and the other molding to the curve of her hip.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so damn sorry, Scully.”

She shuddered against him, deflating just a little as she let go of her initial anger and the sorrow crept in. His heart thumped steadily against her cheek, too quick, but hers was faster still. She breathed deep, holding the strange aroma of aftershave and dust and adrenaline in her lungs before exhaling long and slow. When she finally pulled away, it was with an upturned face and Mulder’s hands brushing the tears from her cheeks.

“Do you want to go back?” he asked.

“Back?” she questioned.

“To the flea market. To explain the situation.”

After a hesitant pause, she shook her head. “No,” she whispered.

“Do you want to investigate?”

“Right now I don’t know what I want.”

He nodded. A soft breeze stirred her hair and he pushed it back from her eyes. She surprised him by stepping back into his chest and wrapping her arms around him. It was his turn to shudder, overwhelmed by that small bit of reassurance that they weren’t lost to each other. He took a moment to run his hands up and down her arms when the hug ended and they got back in the car.

“I don’t know where I’m going,” he said, buckling his seatbelt.

“Right at the first crossroads, I think,” she answered, retrieving the map she’d stored in the glove compartment when they’d stopped for the flea market. “It’ll take us back to the interstate.”

It was a good ten minutes before they reached their turn. As the car veered, the bottle of frankincense rolled across the floorboard and hit Scully in the foot. She picked it up, held it in her palm for a few moments before she unscrewed the cap. She closed her eyes, breathed deep, and thought of her sister.

The actors seemed to like him and he liked them. He’d gotten extremely lucky that his top picks, Sam Rockwell and Rosemarie Dewitt, were willing to work with a dilettante filmmaker, but their expertise definitely made up for his lack of experience. Watching them bring life to the characters he created had been exhilarating and at first it felt intimidating making his suggestions as a director for an emphasis on a different word or a change in blocking, but everyone on set seemed open to trying new things and as long as he got everyone out on time, people were happy.

The other surprising joy of agreeing to do the series was that he’d had the opportunity to co-write one of the episodes with Becca. In outlining and prepping the individual episodes it was apparent that he needed more material and he’d had a serious discussion with his daughter about expanding the world of the main characters to include more of their child. She agreed, not because she was eager to work with her father, but it would also give her a bit of experience should she ever want to adapt one of her own works into a screenplay. They only butted heads a few times and never seriously hurt each other's feelings, which was a relief considering she’d inherited his intellect and his sharp tongue.

The last day of filming was bittersweet. A lot of the supporting cast had been wrapped days ago and it was just Sam and Rosemarie for this last shot, and though incredibly rare, the last day of filming would also be the last shot of the show. He wanted it to be perfect. The last scene in his book had caused a lot of debate, mostly online, of what it meant for the characters. He could see how the ambiguity would be frustrating and got a kick out of the discourse that surrounded it. People hounded him at his book signings, begging them to tell them if Scott and Miranda got back together. For everyone that was adamant that they’d rekindled their marriage, there were those equally as adamant that they hadn’t. Hank kept his own thoughts close to the vest. The hopeless romantic in him wanted the happy ending, but the part of him that stole the pain of his many breakups with Karen as inspiration knew that sometimes people just weren’t meant to be together.

The set up was simple. Sam, as Scott, would stand at the bottom of the steps of the townhouse that the location scout had booked for exteriors. Rosemarie, as Miranda would stand at the top. They would have a brief conversation and she would make her way down, stand before him and then he would turn to leave, stop, and turn around again for one last look. As they rehearsed, as they got closer to filming and he watched the blocking play out through the lens of the camera, he had a different idea. He called his director of photography, the steadicam operator, and the gaffer over to where the actors were being touched up.

“I know we don’t have a lot of time,” he said, “but I want to make an adjustment. After we go wide in that last moment before Sam walks away, instead of a two shot, I want to push in on Sam’s back and when he turns, I want the camera to swing back to Rosemarie. Like it’s turning with him.” He made a frame with his fingers and imitated the movement of the lens. “And then we’re gonna hold there. We can eliminate cutting back to Sam, we're just going to hold on Rosemarie.”

Hank quickly demonstrated the new blocking using the stand-ins, showing them all how he wanted the flow.

“Look, I know it’s a big ask,” he told the group. “Sam, Rosemarie, we’ve talked about this last scene a few times and everyone’s motivation and none of that has to change, but I think…I think what the audience needs from this moment is to see exactly what Scott sees. And you can still play it as you feel it, it could be a goodbye or welcome home that’s…I’ve always said that’s in your court. You’re the embodiment of these characters. I may have shaped them, but you gave them a soul. Alright? Everyone good?”

It was kind of a dick move, making such a last minute change like that, but he had a good, solid crew that had proven in the last three months to be very adaptable and very skilled. Shit changed last minute all the time in film, he just preferred when it was due to the weather or a location falling through rather than the source being himself.

When everything was in place, they rolled sound, they rolled speed, and Hank called action for the last time. The scene played out exactly as he saw it in his mind and it brought him to tears. They wrapped the actors and though people lingered as they broke down the set and people wanted to make speeches and say their extended goodbyes, Hank bowed out as soon as he saw the opportunity. He had his driver bring him straight home.

Not having a clue when they would be done filming that evening, he’d told Stella not to wait up for him, but it was still fairly early and she had late classes in the morning so there was still a chance she’d be awake. The main room of the loft was dark, but their bedroom door was open and the lamp was on. He thought he might find her in bed, but she was in their bathroom washing her face.

“I was hoping you’d be up,” he said, leaning against the doorjamb as she shut off the water. She wore a silk camisole and lace underwear and he could see her breasts swaying softly as she patted her face dry, nipples pert against the thin fabric. Next to full nudity, it was his favorite of her summer nighttime attire.

“How did it go?” she asked.

“Better than I could have ever imagined,” he answered, crossing to her as she put the towel down. She yelped as he hoisted her up onto the counter and took her face in his hands, cheeks still slightly damp. She immediately wrapped her legs around his hips and smiled against his mouth as he kissed her, but then pushed him back at the chest, though she kept her legs locked around his hips. He tried to kiss her again and she pushed back so instead he circled his arms around her and cocked his head in question.

“You’ve got that look about you,” she said.

“What look?”

“Like you’ve just written something you’re particularly pleased with. I want to hear about it.”

“Mmm say ‘particularly pleased with’ again, Sherlock, there’s something about alliteration with an English I find intensely satisfying. Or I’m just having flashbacks to latent Mary Poppins fantasies.”

“Tell me.”

He rubbed his nose against hers and then pulled back a little, relaxing his stance so that his grip on her loosened. Even though she was always careful with the sunscreen, summer had a way of rousing the ordinarily dormant freckles across her nose and forehead. He pulled the elastic tie out of her hair to set it free and ran his hands through the soft waves. It was already frizzing and curling at her temples where her hairline had gotten wet. Sometimes it took his breath away what a natural beauty she was.

“Obviously, you remember the time we went to Bora Bora,” he said.

“Of course.”

“Do you know what golden hour is?”

Stella shook her head.

“In filming, after sunrise or before sunset, when the light hits just so. I remember hearing about it once when I was on a set a thousand years ago.”

“And you found a golden hour tonight?”

“I did.” He nodded then hesitated before he spoke. “Actually, I’d already found one, I just didn’t realize it.”

She gazed at him silently, waiting patiently for him to continue.

“We were blocking the shot tonight and I thought I’d had it all set up perfectly until we got to a point and…the sunlight, it suddenly just…I was standing on the steps of this townhouse and there were these brass plates on the door that just glowed when the sun hit them. And then I found myself thinking about Bora Bora.”

“Are you trying to say that you’d like to go on holiday when you’re finished?”

“No…well, I’m always down to vacation with you, Sherlock, you know it’s still on my bucket list to get you to a nudist resort, preferably before I start to develop saggy old man balls, but that’s not what I was getting at.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Well, as I was saying, I found myself thinking of Bora Bora and this one particular moment, after we’d fucked in the hammock and all you were wearing were those blue bikini bottoms and you went over to the railing of our hut and you stood there with your face tipped up to the sun looking radiant, like a goddess, looking fucking ethereal and it’s like I was back in that place, watching you bask in the light. I remembered how you’d opened your eyes to look out at the water and I’d felt…I’d felt absolutely blinded. I saw the ocean in your eyes, saw the sky, and your skin…”

He stopped and ran his hand down the back of her arm from shoulder to elbow and up again. She shivered and shifted her hips. He smiled and pressed himself against her just slightly, teasingly. Her thighs clenched at his hips.

“Your skin was like hot honey in the sun,” he continued. “It was just…it was one of those moments where you see the past and present and the future all at once and then it’s gone, but you know something profound just happened that you’ll never truly be able to put into words. So I…I had them change the blocking because up until that moment I thought it had been so important that we end with the image of Scott on the screen as he looked back at his wife.”

“Heartbreak and hope,” Stella said, clearing her raspy voice and then swallowing. “I think that’s what the last sentence of the book was. He looked at her with heartbreak and hope.”

“That’s right. And that was…that’s what I thought I wanted until I remembered Bora Bora.” He paused. “Suddenly I just wanted to capture that feeling in a bottle and it occurred to me that the only way to really do that was to reevaluate that last shot and so we redid the blocking and instead of keeping the camera on Sam, I had it swing back to Rosemarie when he looks at her that last time and she was facing west and the sun was setting on her face and…and Stella, it felt like this is what I wrote the book for.”

Stella didn’t say anything. She simply curled her hand and took a fistful of Hank’s shirt and pulled him to her for a kiss. It was soft and sweet, just a touch of her lips to his, then another, and one more before she pulled away. He tried to steal another kiss from her, but she turned her face and wrinkled her brow and he ended up grazing her cheek instead.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I’ve yet to moisturize,” she murmured, trying to wiggle away from him.

He grunted and locked one arm about her before he pulled at the side of her panties, slipping his fingers inside. “I’m no expert,” he said, “but sure seems moist enough to me.”

“Let me just-”

“Later.” He grabbed her by the ass and pulled her up off the counter, heading to their bed.

She stayed wrapped around him, ankles locked at the small of his back, arms locked around his neck, and he brought her down to the bed with a soft oof and an exhale. He moved up on hands and knees above her as she relaxed. He watched the rise and fall of her chest, moved a hand up her camisole to hold a breast. She raked her nails softly up and down his sides. He’d missed this. Even though he’d finagled it into his contract that the show be shot in New York, he’d been so busy that they’d barely had time for more than a few quick fucks in the last three months and he’d missed the slow ache of desire over the frenetic need for release.

They kissed and touched each other leisurely, neither making moves to undress, even though the room was warmer than Hank would like. The ceiling fan wasn’t much of a match against the combination of late summer and body heat. He stroked her thighs and she let her arms fall back above her head as she shifted her legs. When his thumbs caressed the thin edge of her panties she arched her back and her lips parted with a small moan.

He pulled his shirt off by the back of the collar and tossed it over the side of the bed. Stella wrapped a hand around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. He dragged his chest up against hers, camisole rucking up between their bodies. Belly to belly, he could feel her labored breathing, the clench of her abdominal muscles as she writhed beneath him.

By the time he started grinding his hips against her, his groin had started to ache to the point of discomfort. He was about to very reluctantly move off of her to unzip his fly, but his blessed, perfect wife had already come to his rescue and her nimble fingers were already there. She panted into his mouth with the exertion of shimmying his jeans and jockey shorts off his hips and he grunted appreciatively when she grabbed his ass with both hands. The lacy fabric of her panties scratched the underside of his cock as she pulled him tight against her. They both groaned and he bit into the point of her chin as she tipped her head back.

“Off,” he mumbled, fumbling with the left side of her panties to drag it down her thigh.

“Careful, they’ll rip,” she said, trying to move his hand away.

“I’ll buy you a dozen more.”

Together, they managed to remove her underwear, without ripping them, and his pants, and in the tangle of clothes and limbs, Stella managed to get him on his back and without any preamble, took him in hand and guided him home. He groaned and she pressed her hands into his chest, fingernails biting into his pectorals like claws as she rocked herself back and forth. The undulation of her breasts beneath her camisole was hypnotic and he reached up, pebbling one of her nipples with a twist of his thumb and index finger. She grabbed his hand, holding it to her breast and squeezing his fingers over his.

“Touch me,” she breathed.

“You’re close?” he asked.

“Mmm touch me.”

He obliged, thumbing her clit in tight, quick circles as they both squeezed and massaged her breast. He could tell her orgasm was approaching by the way she clenched her thighs like she was pulling it towards her, pulling harder, pulling higher until she could let go. He wasn’t quite there, but he was always spurred on by her pleasure and it wouldn’t take much to tip him over once she got there.

“Are you close?” she asked.

“Don’t wait for me, Sherlock, I’ll be right behind you.”

She rolled her head back and forth and slowed her hips slightly. “No,” she said. “Come with me.”

That was new. He couldn’t ever recall a time she’d said that to him and he felt his balls tighten at the request. It was then he decided he’d been playing the pillow princess too long and even though it pained him to do so, he took his thumb off her clit so he could push himself up with one hand. She whimpered in frustration and he moved quickly to flip her down to her back, slipping out from inside her as he did so to stand on his knees. His cock was throbbing, glistening with his precum and her wetness and he grasped himself, giving a few quick tugs for good measure.

“Bastard,” she grumbled, throwing the back of her hand up against her forehead. He sat back with his legs folded and yanked her towards him by the hips so that her thighs were draped over his.

“You want to come, don’t you?” he asked, teasing her entrance with the head of his cock. She hated teasing, always an all or nothing type woman, but this was one of those times he felt he could get away with it.

“For fuck’s sake,” she breathed. “Yes, I want to come.”

“Then take me with you.” He drove into her, burying himself to the hilt without stopping, and then he pulled back and did it again. And again. And again.

The headboard rattled against the brick wall, thumping rhythmically with every thrust, paired beautifully with the high pitched keening noise Stella made in the back of her throat with every gasp.

“Almost there,” he muttered, feeling that coil of tension building in his groin. His dick throbbed in time with the loud pulsing of his blood in his ears. Any moment now he was going to break.

“Yes,” Stella gasped. “Yesyesyesyesyesyesyes…” Her thighs clamped his hips like a vice and she scrabbled at his sweat-slick back for purchase as he shouted his release. He could feel her body quaking in his arms, the walls of her cunt milking him for all he was worth.

They stayed entwined, slowly rocking out of their joint euphoria. Hank assumed she would be the one to finally let go, but she stayed wrapped around him, bearing his weight, her body still mournfully clutching for him as he began to soften and slip free.

Finally, they both began to loosen and he rolled off of her, coming to rest on his back. He was hot and sweaty and felt like jelly. His limp cock was sticky against his thigh, but he couldn’t move. He needed to catch his breath before he got up. He turned his head to look at Stella, also on her back beside him. Her eyes were closed. He tapped her wrist with the back of his finger.

“Hey, Sherlock.”

“Hm?”

“I want you to know that I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“Done what?”

“The show.”

“Of course you could have.”

“No.” He sighed and managed to roll up onto his elbow, propping his head in his hand. He grasped her hand, pulling it up to his mouth to kiss her knuckles. “You’re the reason I’m so much better now than I ever was,” he murmured against her skin. “It’s your radiance, your presence, the very essence of what makes you you that inspires me every day, even when I don’t always see it. Even when I don’t always say it. What I want you to know is that you…you’re my golden hour.”

Stella stared at him agape, and then she turned to look at the ceiling and blinked back the tears that gathered in her eyes. One rolled from the corner of her eye along her temple and Hank reached over to brush it again.

“The things that you say sometimes,” she whispered, “the way that you say them, it’s…it’s overwhelming.”

“In a good way?”

“Yes, in a good way.”

“Okay, well just so you know if the show comes out and it gets panned we’ll also know who’s to blame.”

She closed her eyes and breathed out a small laugh. He leaned over and kissed the corner of her mouth. She turned to him and kissed him fully, bringing her hand up to his face. When they parted, he peppered her face with kisses until she pushed him away.

“I do want to take you somewhere when I’m done,” he said. “Whenever that may be.”

“That would be nice.”

“I didn’t hear a ‘no’ from you on the nudist resort.”

“Never in a million years, my love.”

“Plenty of time to think of something, I guess.” He rolled onto his back again with a smile. That’s right, he thought, they have all the time in the world.

“Hey, Scully, it’s me.”

“Mulder.”

“Where are you?”

“Purgatory,” she replied, coming to a stop once more behind the sea of taillights.

“You’re still shopping?”

“I finished shopping an hour ago. What I’d like now is to escape the parking lot.”

“You know I hate to say ‘I told you so,’ but with only four shopping days until Christmas-”

“Yes, thank you,” she interrupted, her voice clipped with annoyance. “I am well aware of the time crunch, however if someone hadn’t dragged me out of town the last three weekends in a row, I might not be in my current predicament.”

“Maybe if you’re a good girl next year, Santa will make sure all the unusual crimes are contained to the DC metro area.”

She sighed and deflated just a little. “Sorry, Mulder, I know it’s not your fault. I’m just…”

“I try not to take offense to anything said under the influence of road rage.”

“At least I can finally see the traffic light up ahead.”

“There’s hope yet. When do you think you’ll be home?”

“Why?”

“Well, I was calling to see if you were up for stopping by to take a look at something, but I think I’ll just come to you instead.”

“Mulder, I leave tomorrow, I’ve got packing to do, wrapping to do, I can’t-”

“It won’t take long.”

“Can’t it wait?” She closed her eyes for a brief moment and shook her head. “No, of course it can’t.”

“I’ll be out of your hair in no time. Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a boy scout, Mulder.”

“It’s the thought that counts though.”

Scully craned her neck up as she caught sight of the red traffic light changing to green. “Half an hour if I can make it out at the next light or two,” she said. “You can let yourself in if I’m not there.”

“See you soon.”

She heard the soft click of disconnection and tossed her phone onto her overcoat. She might have been exasperated, but a small smile still tugged at the corners of her mouth. She didn’t know what Mulder had up his sleeve, but she was fairly certain it wasn’t work-related. It had been happening a lot lately; whether a late night game of baseball or a spontaneous stop at a frozen yogurt shop on a long drive or a video rental and popcorn on a Friday evening after work, Mulder had been finding little ways to connect with her on a personal basis. She’d been seeing a different side of him this past year, one that she was initially afraid to admit that she liked, but if she were being honest, she liked it a lot.

As it turned out, she was not lucky enough to make the next light, or the one after that, but after twenty more minutes inching her way towards the exit, she was finally free, but the snow had gotten heavier and it made for a more cautious, slower drive home. By the time she parked in front of her building, the streets were white and the estimated time of arrival she’d given to Mulder had doubled. She was a little surprised he hadn’t called to check her status.

The building superintendent was outside salting the sidewalks and he gave her a little wave and offered to help with her bags, which she politely declined. She shouldered open the lobby door and went straight to the elevator, shaking her head lightly to displace the snow in her hair and eyelashes. She could already feel the melt in her collar. Thankfully she’d chosen boots to wear that morning and not pumps, even though it was an in-office day, so at least her feet weren’t wet or frozen.

It was obvious Mulder had let himself in when she opened her door. Her TV was on, displaying the yule log channel, and the soft strains of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas were playing on her stereo. His jacket was draped over one of the kitchen chairs and the light was on above the stove. She dropped the bags next to the door. Suddenly, Mulder’s head popped up from over the couch, where he’d apparently been relaxing.

“Oh, hey,” he said, pushing the arms of his dark grey sweater up to his elbows as he came towards her. “I was starting to get a little worried.”

“The snow didn’t help with the traffic,” she answered, taking a glance behind her as he helped her out of her jacket.

“Supposed to let up within the hour though.”

“I hope so.” She bent to unzip her boots as Mulder hung her coat on the rack. “So, what’d you want to show me?”

“First thing’s first.” He started to back away towards her kitchen. “Stay right there. Or, I mean go sit down. I’ll be right back.”

She leaned slightly to the side to try to see past him, but he made a shooing motion at her and then pointed to the couch. She gave him a suspicious lift of her eyebrow, but started towards the couch and then changed her mind.

“You do whatever mysterious thing you do and I’m going to go change,” she called to him.

“Fine,” he answered, waving a hand with his back turned to her.

She wanted to get comfortable, but not too comfortable. Not because Mulder was there, but because she still had to pack for California, still had to wrap her last-minute presents, still had to shower and make sure her plants were watered. She went with jeans and a baby blue sweater, one she always liked but hadn’t worn in years. Her mother had once suggested she wear it to a church function that turned out to be an attempted set-up with a single man that had joined the parish. It just really brings out your beautiful eyes, Dana.

When she came out of her room, Mulder was still in the kitchen, so she sat down on the couch and tried not to let her curiosity get the better of her. “You need any help in there, Mulder?” she asked.

“Almost done.”

She turned her face up and sniffed lightly at the air. She didn’t smell anything cooking, or burning for that matter, but she did think she’d heard the snap of the stove igniting just before she’d shut her bedroom door to change. It was quiet, save for the crackling of the faux yule log on TV.

“Okay,” Mulder called. “Close your eyes.”

“My eyes are closed.”

“Great, now really close them.”

She smiled a little and then covered her face with her hands. “They’re covered. Happy?”

“No peeking.”

She could hear movement, soft and slow, and it made her heart start to hammer a little harder. Even as a child, she’d hated surprises, but it wasn’t fear she was feeling, it was anticipation. She felt the couch dip at her side and there were a few moments of adjustment.

“Alright,” Mulder said.

Scully hesitated, and then opened her hands and squinted one eye open. There were two coffee mugs on her table, one that was painted like Rudolph and one like the Abominable Snow Monster that she recognized from the classic stop-motion movie that always played when she was a kid. Each one was topped with mini marshmallows and had a candy cane draped over the mouth.

“Hot chocolate?” she asked.

“Not just any hot chocolate, Scully, Swiss Miss, limited holiday edition instant peppermint hot chocolate.”

“Oh, I see.” She reached for the mug closest to her and paused with her fingertips on the handle when she saw Mulder shift a little out of the corner of her eye and then bite his lip. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing…”

She picked up the mug and then handed it to Mulder. “You want the Abominable Snow Monster for yourself, don’t you?”

“I mean, I didn’t think you’d actually go for that one.”

“Where did you even get these?” she asked, taking the Rudolph one for herself.

“I have my sources,” he answered in a low, serious tone. “Cheers.”

They cautiously tapped their mugs together, conscious of the potential for spillage. Scully blew across the top of the mug, briefly dissipating the swirling steam rising from the hot liquid. The marshmallows were quickly dissolving into thick, creamy white bubbles and the candy cane was sweating. She took a tentative sip and nodded in approval.

“It’s good,” she said. “But, I don’t imagine it’s what you wanted me to ‘take a look at,’ is it?”

“Ah…” Mulder chuckled as he set his mug back down on the table and then bounced his fingers together a few times. He got up and went to where his jacket was draped over the chair and pulled out a box hidden beneath. It was flat and rectangular, the kind of box a shirt might come wrapped in, and it was wrapped elegantly in gold paper and a thick, gold and silver ribbon.

“Mulder…”

“Look, I know we said we wouldn’t do gifts, but…I got this awhile ago, so I couldn’t just…I was going to give it to you today before you left the office, but I…I guess I chickened out. Merry Christmas, Scully.” He put the box in her lap and sat back down on the couch, immediately picking his mug back up as though needing to fill his hands with something.

“We did say we weren’t going to do gifts.” She set her mug down and ran her fingers over the loops of the bow formed by the ties of the ribbon. “The thing is…I got something for you too, it just isn’t wrapped.”

“That’s okay. One less thing to do.”

“Let me go get it.” She took a sip of her cooling hot chocolate and left the box to save her seat while she went to grab Mulder’s gift.

Like Mulder, she’d gotten this particular gift some time ago and held onto it, initially thinking she might give it to him for his birthday, but it felt too extravagant somehow for a birthday present. She’d only suggested they skip doing gifts for each other this year because he’d grumbled about the holiday shopping seemingly starting earlier and earlier every year and how he couldn’t even get a parking spot at his local shopping center just to get some new socks on a weekday morning last month. He’d seemed reluctant to agree when she brought it up, but acquiesced with an eventual shrug.

The book had been an unexpected find while out for an afternoon at an antiques flea market with her mother. It had caught her eye because of the bright and unusual cover, a colorized version of a 19th century engraving from a piece she was unfamiliar with titled L'atmosphère Météorologie Populaire, according to the inside cover. She’d thumbed through the pages, normally not drawn to books on space, that was her partner's milieu, but she’d never seen anything that quite blended history and science and art in such a seamless way. The way it was crafted with illustrations, anecdotal asides, stunning photographs, it seemed like a real labor of love, and perfect for Mulder. It was also in surprisingly perfect condition for having been published nearly thirty years ago and tucked within a haphazard stack of dusty books.

It had been in her closet for five months, and she was glad to finally be able to give the gift away, but she wished she’d had the forethought to wrap it. As a last minute thought, she grabbed a clean towel from the linen closet and folded it up inside so at least he could unwrap something.

By the time she returned, Mulder had finished half his hot chocolate and was sucking on the remnants of his candy cane. She handed him the towel-wrapped gift before she sat down and he lifted it up and shook it by his ear.

“Thought you said it wasn’t wrapped,” he said. “This looks pretty Bed, Bath, and Beyond official to me.”

“I tried.”

“You go first.”

Scully took her time untying the bow, but tore through the paper for Mulder’s benefit, knowing how antsy he got when she tried to carefully cut through wrapping without causing any rips. The box was plain and as she suspected, the kind that some sort of article of clothing would usually be wrapped inside. The white tissue paper that held the mystery inside was taped closed with a gold sticker.

“Oh,” she breathed, uncovering a black cashmere scarf and a pair of black, suede gloves. Without even checking for a brand, she knew either one of them could cost a month’s rent. “Mulder, this is too much.”

“They don’t fit?”

“I mean…I mean you shouldn’t have, they’re…”

“Perfectly matched to that jacket you got last spring.”

“What jacket?” she asked, pulling on one of the gloves and flexing her fingers.

“The one you wore the night we slapped a piece of horsehide with a stick, I think was the expression.”

“Oh,” she said, tugging the glove back off and returning it to the box with its mate. “The green one.”

“I liked it. It was soft.”

“It is soft, just not very work friendly.”

“Maybe that means we should aim for some non-work friendly environments to meet up in next year.”

Her stomach did a quick somersault. “Yeah, I…I guess we could aim for that.”

They held eye contact for probably a few moments too long and Scully finally looked away, tucking her hair back over one ear. She ran her hand over the scarf. It felt like touching a cloud.

“Me next?” Mulder asked.

“Yes.”

“I don’t think it’s the E-Z Bake Oven I asked Santa for,” he said, tapping his fingers over the top of the towel.

“Maybe next year.”

The book landed upside down in Mulder’s lap when he unraveled the towel. He turned it over and then quietly studied the cover. He nodded a few times and then his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed.

“This is really beautiful,” he said. “Where did you find it?”

“At a flea market.”

“I love it. It’ll keep me occupied for the rest of the week.”

“Anything to keep you out of trouble.”

He smiled a little. “Or keep me from missing you.”

“Oh.”

Scully felt a heat rise from her chest to her cheeks and she buried her sudden rush of emotion in her mug of hot chocolate. She sat back and surreptitiously watched Mulder slowly turn the pages of his new book. He looked rapt, not in the focused and determined way he put together his slide shows, but more like a child discovering magic for the first time.

She finished her drink and gathered up the wrapping to take to the trash, leaving an engrossed Mulder on her couch. The bag of mini-marshmallows sat unopened on her counter and the box of hot chocolate packets was tipped over, but the kettle had been placed in the sink and the candy cane wrappers had been thrown away. She tidied up the small mess and as she turned, started when Mulder was suddenly behind her with his empty mug.

“I should probably get going,” he said. “I can wash those, before I go.”

“Leave it. I need to run the dishwasher tonight anyway.”

Scully followed as he went to pick up his jacket. The book was on the table nearby. He pulled his jacket on and then tucked the book under his arm.

“There is one more thing I wanted to show you,” he said.

“Oh?”

They were paused together in the doorframe between the dining area and living room. Mulder nodded and lifted his eyes up. Scully did as well. A small sprig of mistletoe was taped to the top of the frame. When she dropped her eyes to his, he was biting his lip.

“You know the Druids believed that mistletoe was sacred,” Mulder said. “Since it flourished year-round, even in the harshest of winters, it was considered a symbol of vitality.”

“Is that right?”

“They thought that if it ever touched the ground, it might lose its magical properties. It used to be hung in doorways at the winter solstice to ward off evil.”

“I think I could get behind that tradition.”

Mulder hesitated and shrugged one shoulder slightly as he shook his head. “Are there…other traditions involving mistletoe you could get behind?”

She held his gaze, her heart thudding rapidly against her chest. She licked the curve of her mouth and noticed his eyes dart down to her lips and back before he swallowed. She nodded softly and then tilted her chin up ever so slightly. Her eyes drooped shut as he leaned towards her and she felt him press a light kiss to the side of her mouth.

“Merry Christmas, Scully,” he whispered.

She felt a pang of disappointment when she opened her eyes and Mulder had straightened. Her mouth opened and she tried to speak, but ended up sighing instead. His hand came up, cupping her cheek.

“I thought I’d worked up enough nerve to do this and now I don’t know if I can kiss you and let you go for a week.”

“You could come with me.”

He chuckled softly and stroked the apple of her cheek. “Your brother would love that, I’m sure.”

“Or I could stay.”

“Your brother would love that even more.”

“Mulder…”

“Something to look forward to. For both of us?”

She reached up and took hold of his wrist. “What are you doing New Year's Eve?” she asked.

“No plans.”

“There’s another tradition that night I could get behind.”

“So could I.”

“So…”

“So…it’s a date?”

She nodded. It was difficult to step away from each other, but she finally let go of his wrist and his hand slipped off her cheek.

“Well, then,” he said, lifting his other arm up at the elbow to flash his book. “Travel safe. I’ll see you in a week.”

“Merry Christmas, Mulder.”

Scully locked the door behind Mulder and then pressed her hands to her cheeks and took a sharp breath. Her night was not something she had envisioned would happen, but it was something she’d hoped for. She went back to the dining table and pulled a chair out to reach the doorframe. Even on tiptoes, she wasn’t nearly tall enough to reach. As soon as her fingers touched the mistletoe, she paused and then stepped back down from the chair without taking it down, deciding it could stay right where it was. It could be useful next week and she had wrapping to do.