#romcom trope

You’d been undercover before. Posing as a weapons dealer’s assistant in Prague. A tech consultant in Dubai. Once, and most memorably, you were acting as a worker in the red light district where the regulars had more knives than teeth. You could slip into roles like second skin.. you could change your walk, your voice, your smile, all of it. You knew how to disappear into someone else.

But this? This was very different, because this time, you weren’t just undercover. You were married.

To Simon Riley. Your coworker, comrade, and someone you've known primarily as Ghost.

You stood in the kitchen of the safehouse ("your home" according to the mission file) watching him unpack groceries like he hadn’t spent the last week blowing holes through cartel strongholds. The mask was gone, replaced by a plain black hoodie and jeans. His face was still half-shadowed by the hood, but you could see the sharp line of his jaw, the way his mouth pressed into a permanent frown.

He hadn’t said much since you arrived. Just a nod when you walked in, a grunt and a point when you asked where the bedroom was. You’d been assigned separate rooms, but the cover said otherwise. Husband and wife who had newly moved into the neighborhood. No kids. No pets. Just two people trying to start a life.

You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him stack cans with military precision.

“This is surreal,” you breathed out in a laugh with a small shake of your head punctuating your words.

Simon didn’t look up, only grunted before finally deciding to say something that wasn't one syllable. “The mission?”

“No. You being domestic.”

He paused, fingers curling around a box of cereal. “You think I don’t eat?”

“I think you don’t alphabetize your pantry.”

He glanced at you over his shoulder then, eyes unreadable but narrowed none the less. “You want chaos in the damn cupboards, go'head.”

You smirked. “Since you're insisting, then I’ll make sure to put the bleach next to the soups after I use it.”

That earned you a twitch of his mouth that was absolutely not a smile, but close enough that you counted it as a win. Honestly, you were convinced this would be the most difficult mission yet, despite

The silence stretched again, filled only by the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of a lawnmower outside. You shifted your weight, suddenly aware of how strange it felt to be here with him in a space that was supposed to feel like home.

You’d worked with Ghost before, but it was never in this close of proximity. Yet, it was enough to know he was efficient, brutal, and allergic to small talk. He moved like a shadow, spoke like it was, and wore his silence like armor. You’d never seen his face. Not fully. Just glimpses. A scar near his temple. The curve of his mouth. Eyes that didn’t blink often enough.

And now you were supposed to be his wife.

You pushed off the counter and walked to the living room, where the mission file lay open on the coffee table. Photos of your “neighbors,” notes on routines, and surveillance targets. You picked up the dossier labeled Mr. and Mrs. Riley and flipped through it.

“Did you read this?” you asked.

Ghost entered the room, arms folded. “Enough.”

You held up a page. “We’re supposed to have a meet-cute story. Something about a bookstore and spilled coffee.”

He stared at you, eyebrows furrowed and lips set in that same unreadable way. “What, you wanna rehearse it?”

You raised an eyebrow in amusement. “You want to pretend you read poetry?”

He didn’t answer. Just walked past you and dropped onto the couch with a sigh that sounded like gravel. You watched him for a moment, then sat beside him, not too close but you figured you needed to grow more comfortable with one another.

“This is going to be fucking weird,” you grumbled, sinking into the couch with your legs curled up under you.

Simon nodded, his leg spreading and settling while his head dropped onto the cushion behind him. “Already is.”

You turned toward him, studying the way he sat. Your eyes raked over his flexed arms that were folded over his chest, his legs set in the manspread that was beyond annoying everywhere else, but here? Under the guise that there was something between you that you had to foster? Well, unfortunately, or fortunately (you hadn't decided yet), you were seeing it in

Your arm came up to rest under your cheek as you narrowed your eyes in his direction. “You know we’re going to have to touch, right? Hold hands. Kiss. Maybe even argue in public.”

His jaw tightened, but his eyes remained shut and his posture closed off as it was when he finally settled. “I know.”

You leaned in slightly, voice dropping to hold a less teasing edge. “You're okay with that?”

He looked at you then, really looked. His eyes were dark, steady, and something flickered behind them that remained unreadable.

“I’ll manage,” he said simply, and that was all you got from him.

You held his gaze. “You sure?”

The silence between you lingered, but it wasn’t empty. It was thick with the questions neither of you were ready to ask, and answers you weren’t sure you wanted. You could feel the heat of him beside you, the way his presence filled the room even when he didn’t speak. Ghost didn’t do small talk, and he sure as hell didn't do comfort, but he was here, sitting beside you on a couch that smelled faintly of new fabric and dust, and that meant something.

You hummed before leaning back, letting your head rest against the cushion, eyes tracing the ceiling. “You ever done one like this before?” you asked, blinking over to him with an eyebrow quirked.

Simon didn’t answer right away. You heard the faint creak of leather as he shifted, the subtle tension in his body as he considered the question.

“Not like this,” he grumbled gruffly, finally. “Not this.. deep.”

You turned your head toward him again. “You mean the cover?”

He nodded. “Usually it’s in 'n out, not with some romantic plotline. This—” he gestured vaguely to the room, the house, the life you were supposed to be living “—this is different.”

You didn't have a response to that, you just nodded and pulled your bottom lip between your teeth. You reached for the mission file again, flipping to the page labeled Daily Routine. “We’re supposed to go for walks,” you said. “Hold hands. Smile at neighbors. Do you know how to bake? It says we should make some sweets to bring over.”

Ghost raised an eyebrow. “You think I can smile on command?”

You smirked. “I think you can fake it. Barely.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice dropping. “You think you can handle playing wife to a man who doesn’t do small talk, doesn't sleep and if I do you'll likely be woken up because I've been told I threaten in my sleep?”

You didn’t flinch. “I think I already am handling it."

That made him pause. His eyes searched yours, something unreadable flickering behind them. You didn’t look away. You let him see you and decipher what he needed to in order to grow somewhat comfortable in your presence. For the sake of the mission, of course.

And slowly, something shifted.

Simon leaned back, his posture loosening just slightly now. “We’ve got dinner with the neighbors tomorrow,” he said. “You want to rehearse?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Rehearse what?”

He looked at you, mouth curving into something that might’ve been a smile. “How to look like I’m in love with you.”

You felt your heart skip, just once. Not because of the words, but because of the way he said them quietly and steadily, like he wasn’t fully joking.

You stood, walking toward the kitchen, voice light. “Couldn't hurt because you definitely are gonna need some practice.”

Ghost watched you go, and for the first time since you arrived, you felt the weight of his gaze not as a threat, but as a promise.

The next evening arrived faster than you expected.

You stood in front of the hallway mirror, adjusting the collar of your blouse for the third time, trying to decide if you looked like someone’s wife. Not a soldier. Not an operative. Just a woman who’d moved into a quiet neighborhood with her quiet husband and was now heading to dinner with the couple next door.

It felt absurd.

You glanced down the hall toward the living room, where Ghost sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, watching the door like it might explode. He was dressed in civilian clothes again, dark jeans, a fitted henley, boots that looked way too tactical for suburbia. His mask was gone, but the tension in his shoulders hadn’t budged. He looked like a man waiting for a mission to go wrong or a terrorist group to strike the cul-de-sac the block over.

You stepped into the room, smoothing your shirt. “You ready to meet the neighbors?”

He looked up, eyes scanning you slowly. “You look… normal.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Wow..." You deadpanned before raising your eyebrows at him expectantly. He only responded with a stare before letting out a groan and a grumble.

"You look fit, wife." He grumbled with a begrudging smile.

Patting his forearm as you walked past to grab your shoes you flashed him a bright and beaming smile across over your shoulder.

"Calling me wife isn't gonna work in public, but good start! You don't look too bad either, babe." You tugged your sneakers on, turning around a bit too fast, and bumping him with your bag.

Simon stood, towering over you, and for a moment you just stared at each other. You were supposed to be married. Supposed to know each other’s rhythms, each other’s tells. You were supposed to touch, to smile, to lean in like you belonged together.

But you didn’t. Not yet.

You held out your hand to finally break the tension. “Practice.”

He hesitated, then took it.

His palm was rough, warm, steady. You laced your fingers through his, and the contact sent a flicker of heat up your arm. You looked up at him, searching his face for something.. resistance, discomfort, anything. But he just stared back, completely unreadable.

“Convincing?” you asked.

Simon’s voice was low, but a small, amused smirk tugged at his lips. “Dangerously.”

The house next door smelled like roasted chicken and vanilla candles... aka it was too warm, too perfect, and looked like it had been staged for a magazine shoot or taken directly from an Ikea. You stepped inside first, Simon trailing behind you with the quiet weight of a man who didn’t trust any room he hadn’t cleared himself. His hand slipped from yours and brushed your lower back as you entered, a subtle gesture that looked affectionate but felt more like tactical positioning.

Claire, your host, was already gushing. “You must be the Rileys! We’ve been literally dying to meet you. I’m Claire, and this is Dan.”

Dan offered a handshake and a grin. “Welcome to the neighborhood. Hope you like wine.”

You smiled, polite but guarded. Unfortunately, you knew that Simon wouldn't be cheerful, and both of you couldn't be standoffish, so you had to be bubbles and sunshine for the both of you. “Of course we do. Thanks for having us.”

Simon nodded once. “Evening.”

You could feel him scanning the room from the windows to the exits in case of potential threats. He was dressed down, but he still moved like a soldier. You were beginning to wonder if he even knew how to relax, or if he had any hobbies to even relax while doing.

Claire led you to the dining room, where the table was set like a Pinterest board. You took your seat, and Simon sat beside you, close enough that your knees brushed. Glancing over to him, you saw that he wasn't going to be particularly natural with this affection, so under the table you grabbed his hand and planted it on your knee.... not too intimate, but just enough.

“Sooo,” Claire drawled, pouring wine, “how long have you two been married?”

You opened your mouth, but Simon beat you to it. “Three years,” he responded smoothly. “She’s survived me this long. I’m impressed.”

You shot him a look. “Four years in a monh. And I’m still considering escape routes.”

Dan laughed. “Sounds like you keep things interesting.”

Simon leaned back in his chair, eyes gleaming. “She’s gotta temper. I’ve got patience. It balances out.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You have patience?” You nearly laughed, but instead of doing that you decided to take a sip of your drink and glance at him out of the side of your eye.

He turned to you, voice low and a bit of bite behind his smile. “I haven’t strangled you yet, have I?”

Claire gasped, laughing. “You two are absolutely hilarious.”

You smiled sweetly, eyes crinkling as your foot jammed into his lightly. “He’s only charming when people are watching, don't let him fool you.”

Simon sipped his wine and sighed in content (which you knew was feigned.) “She’s only tolerable when she’s asleep.”

You kicked him a bit harder under the table and pressed your tongue to your cheek to prevent yourself from saying anything too unaffectionate. He didn't even flinch, only smirked and wet his lips, which only made you roll your eyes.

Dan grinned, his eyes bouncing between the two of you in nothing but amusement. At least you two were keeping your cover. “So how’d you meet?”

You hesitated, but Simon jumped in again, clearly enjoying himself.

“She spilled coffee on me in'a bookstore,” he said. “Thought she was clumsy, turns out she was just tryna get my attention.”

You scoffed and raised an eyebrow, if he was going to play this game, you were going to have some fun with it. “You were standing in the middle of the aisle like a statue. I thought you were part of the damndisplay.”

Simon turned to Claire, “She insulted me before she even knew my name... knew it was love.” You drained half your wine in one sip, before smiling again.

Claire clapped her hands. “That’s adorable, we didn't even get a chance at that type of meeting! He swiped right on Tinder and I almost didn't agree to a second date!”

After you gave a polite laugh to amuse her story, which in normal circumstances you wouldn't mind hearing more about, but the feeling of Simon's thumb subconsciously rubbing circles against your knee, the way your shoulder was brushing his arm, the way your ring kept catching the light every time you grabbed your glass or fidgeted with your fork... it was all too distracting to respond.

Simon leaned closer, voice pitched just for you. “Y'know you’re blushin', right?”

You didn’t look at him, just scrunched your nose and let out a long, but soft breath. “You’re insufferable.”

He smiled, the scar on his lip tugging it a bit which caught your eye once you finally turned to face him. Damnit. “You married me.”

You narrowed your eyes the second they met his. Taking a breath, you squared your shoulders and leaned an inch closer, your breath mixing with his and fanning between the two of you. “Married.”

His gaze held yours. “Still counts.”

You didn’t respond, not because you didn’t have a comeback, but because you suddenly couldn’t remember it. His eyes were too steady, too close, and the line between pretend and real was starting to blur.

Claire interrupted the moment after her conversation amongst her husband quieted down. “So, any plans to start a family?" That made you choke on your own breath, but thankfully Claire wasn't done yet so you had a moment to compose yourself after that... bomb of a question. "We thought about it, but then we rescued a cat and realized how much of a financial commitment that was.. and we decided to skip the kids for now.” She laughed and leaned into a Dan a bit in amusement.

Simon didn’t miss a beat, he gave a smile before shrugging. “We’re practicin'.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed — what a little shit — before clearing your throat and swatting his arm. "Sorry, he has no filter, what he meant to say was that it's definitely something we've talked about for the future."

He shrugged off your slap and looked at Dan, "I'm just sayin, she's the one whose made me late to work." He shot the other man a knowing wink which only made Dan whistle lowly and nod in approval.

Dan chuckled. “You two are never gonna leave the honeymoon stage, lucky you.”

You forced a smile, heart pounding. Simon just looked at you, calm and unreadable, like he hadn’t just set fire to your nerves with a single sentence.

And for the rest of the night, he kept it up — little comments, subtle touches, quiet provocations. You gave as good as you got, but beneath the banter, something else was building. Something sharp. Something warm.

Something dangerous.

The door clicked shut behind you, and the silence was immediate.

No more laughter. No more candle-scented air or polite questions about your fake honeymoon. Just the quiet hum of the safehouse, dimly lit and still. You kicked off your shoes in the entryway, the hardwood cool beneath your feet, and exhaled like you’d been holding your breath for hours.

Simon followed you in, slow and deliberate, his boots heavy against the floor. He didn’t speak. Didn’t look at you. Just walked past, heading toward the kitchen like he hadn’t spent the last two hours playing the role of charming husband with alarming ease.

You stared after him, pulse still thrumming from the way he’d leaned into the role—his hand on your knee, his voice low in your ear, the way he’d said we’re practicing with that maddening smirk. You’d played along, of course, you always did and you had to. But something about tonight had shifted, something about the way he looked at you, touched you, spoke to you — it hadn’t felt like acting.

And now you two were alone.

You followed him into the kitchen, arms crossed, voice tight. “Well you had fun. I've never heard you talk that much and I've worked with you for, like, 4 years.”

Simon opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, twisted the cap, and leaned all too casually against the counter with a lazy grin tugging at his lips. “It’s a mission.”

“That wasn’t just the mission, don't bullshit me.”

He took a sip, sighed, and then let his eyes meet yours with a spark of a challenge behind them. “You sayin' I broke character?”

“I’m saying you enjoyed it." You corrected, stepping forward

He didn’t deny it. Just watched you, eyes steady, unreadable. “You didn’t?”

You stepped closer, the air between you charged. “You were pushing me.”

Simon’s voice dropped. “You're pushin' back.”

You stared at him, heart pounding as a frustrated sigh left your lips and you turned away from him with a groan. “This isn’t real.”

He set the bottle down, crossed the space between you in two strides. “Then why're you so damn frustrated?”

You hadn’t realized you were. Not until he was close enough that you could feel the heat of him, the tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze pinned you in place like a target.

“You don’t get to play like that,” you said, voice low, your finger jutting into his chest as you pushed him. “Not with me.” This wasn't your plan. Your plan was to do your job and get it done swiftly as always. You never worked with Simon, you never liked him but you didn't dislike him. Now? You didn't know if you wanted to throw yourself at him or if you wanted to punch him in the teeth.

Simon’s hand came up, fingers brushing your jaw. “I wasn’t playing.”

You froze, your hand still pressed against his chest, your eyes locked on his, and your ears warm from how flustered your emotions were. “Then what was that?”

He leaned in, mouth inches from yours. “You tell me.”

And then the tension snapped.

You grabbed his shirt, pulled him in, and kissed him like you’d been waiting all night. All week. His hands found your waist, your back, your hair, anchoring you as his mouth claimed yours with hunger. It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t soft. It was all of the frustration and desire you'd been holding back, and now the thrill of finally letting go.

He kissed you like he’d memorized the shape of your mouth, like he’d been counting the seconds until he could. You gasped against him, and he swallowed the sound like it belonged to him.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, his forehead rested against yours.

“Well... this complicates things,” you whispered breathlessly.

Simon’s voice was rough. “Always does.”

And neither of you moved.

ᝰ.ᐟ edawgz 2025.

“That won’t do.” She hears Mulder chuckle. She furrows her eyebrows and manages to crack open her eyes making out a blurry image of Mulder kneeling on the ground, his chin resting on the crook of his right elbow upon the couch, facing her at eye-level. He smiles softly.

“Hey there, Scully. The movie just ended.”

“What?” She asks confused, disoriented as she sits up, her hair plastered on the left side of her face. Pouting a little, still groggy from sleep, she remembers what happened. “I missed the movie?” Mulder nods and gets up off the ground to run his fingers along her left cheek and loosen the strands of hair stuck to her face. She thinks she felt a featherlight kiss on her left temple.

“Come on. Go freshen up. I’ll have coffee ready for you before you head out.”

“Mmkay,” she mumbles and untangles herself from the blanket. A few minutes later, she re-emerges from the bathroom looking somewhat awake and decent, her hair looking more windswept than bedhead. She can smell the pot of coffee brewing in the kitchen as she sits down on the couch to put on her boots. Mulder reappears in the living room, and hands Scully the travel mug he just gifted her a couple hours ago filled with coffee. She offers her thanks as he walks her to the door. She turns around.

“Mulder, are you sure you don’t want to come to my mom’s? You’re always welcomed.” He shakes his head.

“Nah, I’m good, Scully. I won’t be the best company considering how tired I feel.”

“Well, what are you going to do the rest of the day?”

“Once you leave, I intend to fully pass out since I hadn’t slept yet. I’ll be okay, Scully.” She frowns a little, looking up at him from behind her shoulder as she opens the door. Mulder leans against the door frame as she exits. “I kept you long enough away from your family. I need to be nice and share.” Scully gives him a small smile.

“Merry Christmas, Mulder.”

“Merry Christmas, Scully.”

Chapter 2. Scully Christmas Gathering

Scully arrives at her mom’s home on time with 15 minutes to spare despite the fresh snowfall. She gulps down the last of the coffee in her travel mug before stepping out into the cold, and retrieves the large shopping bags containing the presents in the trunk and backseat of her car. Just when she reaches the front door, it suddenly opens revealing a man standing nearly six feet with ruddy brown hair and dark green eyes clad in a burgundy plaid shirt and jeans.

“Charlie?!” Scully exclaimed surprised and excited to see her little brother. She drops the bags and gives him a huge hug. He laughs.

“Hey, Sis.”

“That’s it?! A ‘hey, sis’ after years of not hearing from you, and you decide to show up on Christmas Day?!” She playfully punches him in the arm.

“Hey, now! You get photos of my whereabouts. They’re a small fortune, you know.” Scully rolls her eyes at him, though she’s not the least bit irritated by his remark. Her free-spirited brother found his true calling as a freelance photographer right after college, landing assignments every so often from travel guide magazine publishers.

“Those don’t count. You’re not even in them.”

“Yeah, but I took them.”

“I still can’t believe you’re here.”

“I know. Mom’s pissed at me right now for not telling her I’m in town. She’s upset that I won’t have any presents to unwrap. Come on, let me help you out.” Charlie reaches for the bags and brings them inside as Scully follows him to the tree. The house smells like holiday spices from the mulled spiced cider their mom prepared in the kitchen the night before. The living room looked picturesque with a roaring fireplace, complete with hung stockings and a fully decorated tree with all the ornaments handmade and collected over the years. She notices Melissa’s stocking with her favorite horse sleigh ornament hanging on the mantle. Scully smiles a small bittersweet smile as she heads over to the tree to place the gifts underneath. She sees a light flash from the corner of her eye.

“Charlie, really?” She turns to him only to be greeted with another flash of light.

“I’m creating memories, Dana. Just go about doing what you’re doing and pretend I’m not here.” She scoffs.

“Don’t worry, Dana. I’ll be turning off the flash once daylight breaks.” Scully hears footsteps coming down the stairs and sees their mom in cozy, festive flannel pajamas and a fluffy robe. Their mom smiles at the two of them beside the tree.

“I see you two are catching up. I’ll make some coffee. I already woke up Bill and Tara. They’re getting Matthew ready. The King’s Mass is held at 9 this morning. That should give us more than enough time to unwrap presents and get ready.” Their mom looked at them amused by their dubious expressions. Both Scully siblings seemed to have forgotten about the Christmas Day mass they hated attending as children. Bill hosted Christmas last year, and Scully’s previous holiday seasons had been overshadowed with life-altering events. Their mom shakes her head smiling as she heads to the kitchen.

“Shit! Crap! Sorry for cussing on Baby Jesus’ birthday. I totally forgot all about The King’s Mass. This is probably why I subconsciously avoided visiting during Christmas season,” Charlie murmured to Scully, “I guess I’ll have to don on some khakis.” He glances over at Scully, “and you look like you’re a government agent. Shouldn’t you dress in something more festive?” Scully shrugs.

“I packed an overnight bag, but I didn’t account for Mass this morning. I’ll be fine. I’m sure Tara or Mom bought me a nice scarf or something this year for me to throw on.”

Within the next couple of hours, the Scully family festivities went underway filled with chatter, coffee, spiced cider, cinnamon buns, and Christmas music playing in the background. Matthew is the main star as he wobbly walks to his Nana, allows Auntie Dana to hold him, and pats the shiny boxes that keep coming his way. Charlie stays in the background taking photographs. The adults exchange presents, with mostly Tara and their mom oohing and ahhing over presents they unwrap. Scully merely grins and offers her thanks until she opens a box from Tara that housed a royal blue blouse tunic with a scoop neckline. She gasps in amazement; she hears a click and shutter from Charlie’s camera.

“Looks like you have your festive outfit,” he says. Scully admits to her family that she plans to wear the tunic for mass as her family breaks out in laughter. She excuses herself to quickly change.

As Bill, Tara, and their mom get ready for mass, Scully tidies up the living room while Charlie entertains Matthew. “So what’s up with Fox? Why doesn’t he join us?” Scully looks at Charlie in surprise.

“He goes by Mulder and he doesn’t celebrate Christmas.” Charlie hums.

“I’ve been taking photos this whole morning, Dana. You’re here, but you’re not here. It shows.”

“I just have a lot on my mind.” Charlie shakes his head as he lets Matthew study his camera.

“No, you have this far-off look in your eyes. A restlessness about you. I recognize that look anywhere.”

“What are you trying to say, Charlie?” He purses his lips and shrugs, their conversation ending as they hear the rest of the family returning downstairs.

Bill rented an SUV that could transport all of them to the church, but Charlie insists that they take two cars.

“I wanna catch up with Dana!” Charlie announces as he runs to the passenger side door.

“Really, Charlie? I’m tired of driving,” Scully whines, but she walks to the driver’s side and unlocks her car.

Chapter 3. The King’s Mass

The Kings’ Mass at St. Mary’s Church was full of generational families much like the Scully clan. Their mom waved at many of the churchgoing ladies, offering well wishes and season’s greetings as she led them to her usual pew. Tara, Matthew, and Bill sat in the row first, followed by their mom, Scully, then Charlie. The service started with the usual procession of the pew boys, then the priest, Father Bennett, and the deacons. They had a larger than usual choir having some of the Sunday School children participating in today’s service. Just when the priest welcomed everyone to the church and encouraged all to greet their fellow brothers and sisters, Charlie turns to Scully and says, “I think you should head back home after service.”

“What?” she hissed through a fake grin as she waves at a family two pews ahead.

“You heard me, Sis. Just go.” Scully gives him a look as she sits down waiting to listen to the choir sing before the liturgy. Charlie pesters her again when they stand up to recite the hymns from the church bulletin. He causes enough commotion for their mom to give them a pointed look. Scully glances at her apologetically.

“You two are worse than Matthew,” she whispers leaning back for the two to see Matthew passed out in Bill’s arms. They sit back down again for the sermon after a deacon recited Isaiah 9:6 where Father Bennett spoke in detail of the miraculous birth of their Lord and Savior, symbolizing hope and love to mankind, but not without the struggles and sacrifice that Joseph and Mary had to endure to travel to Bethlehem.

“...so let us be reminded of His enduring love for us as we celebrate his arrival with loved ones. To not forget the road traveled for all of us to be here in this room. Let us honor his arrival with a giving spirit, full of compassion and empathy towards our fellow man,” Father Bennett concluded, “Now, as we begin communion, let us feel His loving spirit surround us.”

“Now’s your chance, Dana,” Charlie says as the pew rows were systematically dispersing to line up for communion, “Just make a break for it. You heard what Father Bennett said ‘celebrate with loved ones.’”

“I am celebrating with loved ones!” she responds a little too loudly as they stand at the ready for the church volunteer to beckon them to get in line.

“Mom, can you talk some sense into Dana, please?” Charlie says turning around giving their mom a knowing look, “I know you saw what I saw this morning. You can’t deny it.” She sighs in resignation, lips pressed together.

“Dana, I’m glad we got to spend time with you this morning, but Charlie’s right-- a part of you isn’t with us, it’s someplace else.” She gives Scully a fierce hug. “We’ll see you later this week. Charlie is staying for a couple more days before he flies out to the Netherlands. Now, go. You have some matters to attend to.” Scully’s eyes turn glassy as she manages not to cry. She smiles against her mom’s shoulder and gives her a quick peck on the cheek. She mouths and waves goodbye to Bill and Tara who each had a curious expression on their faces. Charlie gives her a quick hug and waves goodbye to her as he stands aside to let her out of the pew. She can hear Bill asking their mom where she’s going, and her mom answering that she has to attend to matters of love. Scully walks out of the church with one destination in mind.

Chapter 4. Give vs. Offer

It seems that no one left Hegal Place as Scully had to park a block away nearby a liquor store. She quickly runs into the store and purchases some items for the day. The afternoon weather is nippy, but tolerable with a heavy coat she had placed in the back of her car as she briskly walks on the sidewalk, being careful not to slip. She doesn’t know whether Mulder is at his place or not; it didn’t occur to her to give him a call during her trip. The early snowfall that morning had covered all the parked cars, making it difficult to identify which car is his. She finally arrives at his building, promptly taking off the heavy coat from the extreme temperature change. She knows her hair looks unkempt again from the weather as she takes the elevator up to the fourth floor. She can’t decide whether her heart was rapidly beating from the brisk walk or the notion that Mulder might not be home. Scully raps on the door sharply, causing the “2” in “42” to be slightly askew. To her relief, she hears muffled footsteps behind the door. The door cracks open revealing a disheveled Mulder dressed in sweatpants and a white t-shirt. He braces himself against the door frame with his right forearm as he rubs his eyes. His left hand still on the doorknob.

“Scully? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with your family?” he asks in a gravelly voice, eyes squinting from the hallway light. She realizes she must have woken him up from his sleep. His eyes come into focus, and she can see him take in her appearance. “Is this how you usually dress at family gatherings? Maybe I should accompany you next time you go.” She feels a blush forming on her cheeks.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about the movie this entire morning,” she says, averting her gaze away from Mulder’s form, staring down at her boots. “It’s been bothering me, how Sandra Bullock’s character is in love with what looks like a huge asshole.” She looks up at him slightly flustered, “And Mulder! Even if I had watched ‘While You Were Sleeping’, I wouldn’t have caught on with the line you misquoted. The character’s mom gave her dad the world, which by the way is not a snow globe but a regular globe. So, I can only deduce that the actual line is ‘I give you the world’ not ‘I offer you the world.’” Mulder looks amused.

“To be fair, Scully, I only watched the movie once on cable. I thought I got the gist of the phrase, especially when paired with the snow globe I grabbed at Grand Rapids to show you. It appears much later in the movie by the way.”

“But ‘give,’ and ‘offer’ are two very different words, Mulder,” she continues, “Their meaning is completely different in context. ‘I give’ means that there are no strings attached to this phrase, no conditions set in place, while ‘I offer’ allows the other party a chance to accept or decline the option.” Scully knows she’s rambling, but she can’t stop herself. She holds up the plastic bag in her hands.

“For instance, I’m offering you this bag full of items I purchased at the corner liquor store. It contains components to make delicious hot chocolate—you still owe me hot chocolate, Mulder--”

“Of all the things to begrudge me for, it’s hot chocolate?”

“Hot chocolate, milk, whipped cream, chocolate sprinkles, marshmallows, and peppermint sticks. And since it’s around lunch time, I even purchased some gourmet frozen dinners because I know the state of your fridge and pantry, Mulder. A man can’t suffice on sunflower seeds alone.” Mulder’s grinning at this point. He unbraces himself from the door frame and reaches for the bag, but Scully holds it away from him.

“Mulder, this is an offer. Offers usually come with conditions from the party presenting it.”

“State your conditions then, Scully.” He drawls as he leans against the door frame crossing his arms.

“I want you to be the one to prepare hot chocolate for the both of us. I also want to finish watching the movie. I want to see how Sandra Bullock’s character goes from thinking she’s in love with an asshole to falling in love with Bill Pullman’s character.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Mulder’s eyes shone brightly as he stared at her intently. Her eyes slightly widened at his question. He straightens himself up and fully opens the door. He motions with his head as he says, “Get in here, Scully.”