Title: Mulder's Christmas Gala Author: Gina Rain (ginarain@aol.com) Rating: PG-13 (mainly for author's smutty thoughts while writing) Category: M/S UST Spoilers: Post-How the Ghosts Stole Christmas. Archive: Sure, but drop me a line and let me know where. Summary: Scully's invited. Frohike has provided the libations. Mistletoe makes an appearance--of sorts. Disclaimer: I don't own them. Don't send money. Thank you and virtual cookies to my beta, Christina. May a less-obsessed Mulder-clone appear under your tree. "Here you go," Mulder said, handing her a glass of thick yellow liquid. He sat next to her on the couch with a soft sigh of pleasure. Relaxing after a very wild and bizarre evening. Taking a load off. Something she rarely had the opportunity to witness. She focused her attention on the fluid that lazily sloshed against the sides of the glass, leaving an opaque film in its wake. "What in the world is this?" Scully asked, gingerly sniffing the contents and wrinkling her nose in response to the alcoholic fumes that seemed to rise up and tickle her. "Frohike's contribution to the annual Mulder Christmas gala: eggnog. Low on egg, heavy on nog." "I don't know. . ." "Come on, Scully. Live a little." "I think I've done enough living today, thank you. And some dying. . ." Her voice trailed off, confusion over what happened in the "haunted house" once again trying to sully her orderly mind. Of all the very many strange things that had happened to them, this was going down in the top ten. She felt Mulder shift closer to her on the couch and watched as he gently clinked her glass with his own. "Come on--there's not a dairy product in there. You are absolutely safe. I've been drinking the stuff for years. I don't know any Catholic toasts so-- 'to life.'" Scully smiled. "To life," she repeated. She took a quick swig of the drink and waved her hand in front of the glass. She realized how foolish she must look, trying to douse the fire in her gut by fanning the flames at the source. "I can't possibly drink this, Mulder. I've still got to drive home and make it to my mother's tomorrow." "You could stay. I could start the Mulder Christmas Gala early. . ." "No, Mulder. Really. I still have so much to do." He frowned a bit. She could almost hear him mentally chastising himself for daring to take more of her time than he already had. For not being grateful that she had spent most of the evening with him and, even after parting, had come back for more. She didn't want him to do that. The fact was she wanted more as well. She made the decision to come back. To give him his gift; to talk. She didn't want to let go of the evening any more than he did. "You're right. Thank you for dropping by, Scully. . .and for the. . ." "I'll stay," she interrupted. "What?" "I'll stay." "You don't have to stay because I guilted you into it." "I didn't hear one word come out of your mouth, Mulder. And even if it had, I'm here because I want to be. You've never invited me to your Christmas gala before and--well, call it curiosity. And then later--call me a cab home because I won't be driving after this," she said as she lifted her glass to her lips. "You can have my bed and drive yourself home tomorrow." "Early," she warned, setting a limit for both of them. "Early," he agreed. She took another sip of her eggnog and relaxed against the back of the couch. "I am going to get so loaded on this, Mulder. Drinking something this potent on an empty stomach." "Are you dropping a hint?" "I'm not sure it would do me any good. Do you actually keep food here?" He cocked his head to one side and gave her a strange, sideways glance. "Sometimes, Scully, you have some very strange ideas about me. I don't always throw out spoiled food --in a timely fashion--but I do manage to shop. I can even cook. Simple, straightforward meals. Don't go away." While he went into the kitchen, Scully traveled around the apartment she knew so well. Nothing very festive here. The annual Mulder Christmas gala, indeed. The man spend the day with his fish and his television. She found that unbearably sad and not simply because it was a lonely existence for him. It was due more to the fact that she was about to spend Christmas in a situation she found far from comfortable when she'd rather be with Mulder. Two people with the same desire actively choosing to not fulfill it. The magic of Christmas. Bah humbug. Mulder returned with a tray of food. On it, a roll of Ritz crackers lay next to a jar of peanut butter and one of jelly. Potato chips, tortilla chips, another jar-- this time of salsa--and what looked like a box of expensive chocolates rounded out the menu. "The truffles are my mother's contribution," he explained. Scully bit back any comments she had over the nutritional value of Mulder's well-stocked larder as he set out the junk food on the coffee table and they both quietly ate in between sips of eggnog. Scully was starting to feel a small buzz, in spite of the food. "You know, this stuff is surprisingly good, Mulder. Tastes nothing like eggnog. . ." "Which is a plus in my book," Mulder said. "I'm not fond of eggnog either but this is nice. It has a very pleasant taste." "Nice is a very deceptive word for it, Scully. Lethal is more like it. It can knock you on your ass, you know." She would expect nothing less from an original Frohike- recipe. She smiled at him. "Oh, I know." She sat back against the couch when Mulder suddenly jumped to his feet and crossed the room to turn on the radio. He quickly settled on an oldies station playing nonstop rock and roll Christmas songs. "May I have this dance?" he asked, as he stood before her. She looked up in amazement. "Here?" "Well, we don't have an overabundance of choices." She stood up slowly. He immediately reached out for her and soon was spinning her around the room to a very bouncy "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree." For her part, she could do little more than grab onto his upper arms and hope their various body parts would avoid the many natural booby traps in Mulder's tightly packed living room. The song finished and a slower tune came on the air. They were both flushed and coming down from the surge of adrenaline released during the energetic dance. Scully moved one hand to Mulder's shoulder and felt her body relax as they held each other and shuffled their feet and bodies occasionally. "Oh--I forgot to tell you something, Mulder," she said as she gazed at his completely serene face. "You'll get a kick out of this. Someone left us a Christmas gift earlier in the week. An anonymous present left on our doorstep while we were out Tuesday. Addressed to 'Mr. and Mrs. Spooky.'" "What was it?" "A big bunch of mistletoe with a huge red ribbon attached to it." She laughed lightly. He looked at her with an expression she couldn't read. "You didn't hang it up," he said, after a moment's hesitation. "No. Of course not. I threw it out." "I see." She could feel his arms slightly loosen their grip around her. "What is that supposed to mean?" "Nothing. It means nothing. Just a comment. You tell me something, I understand it and signify my comprehension of said subject by uttering the boring, no-meaning behind it, generic words 'I see.'" "Hmmmm. . ." They did little more than shift their feet for a few more steps. Mulder released her and went to the couch and picked up his drink. She rounded the table and sat beside him. Picked up a cracker. Stared at it. She heard him take a deep breath. "Tell me about a mistletoe experience, Scully." "What?" "An experience. Doesn't have to be your first. Any you'd like to share. The little redheaded girl must have had a line a mile long." "Don't be silly." "You never were kissed under the mistletoe?" She could hear the sarcastic skepticism in his voice. "I was," her voice sounded defensive, even to her. "And I suppose you're going to claim to never had any mistletoe experience?" "No. I have. Quite a bit. Before you--when I was just 'single' Spooky Mulder--I was invited to join in various departmental parties once in a while. Alcohol was consumed. Warm them up and some of those straight-laced secretaries can really do a death grip on a guy's tie. Not to mention a guy's tonsils." Scully scrunched up her nose in mock distaste. "Sorry I put a crimp in your love life." She watched him shrug in response. "So. . .you're not going to tell me? No. I guess you wouldn't." "What is that supposed to mean, Mulder?" "It means I can share experiences because none of mine mean anything. Yours are all very profound. Too profound to share with a business partner." "A what?" "Friend. Partner. Whatever. Forget it. It's not important." She looked at him. What was bothering him went beyond her not sharing a mistletoe story with him. It was equally foolish, but she needed to know why it upset him. "You obviously have something to say, Mulder, and I wish you'd just say it. What would have done with the damned mistletoe? You'd probably send it straight to Frohike to make sure there were no high tech audiovisual devices in it." "Maybe. But once I found out it was just plain mistletoe--even if it was a joke--I'd put it up. Hang it right there in the office." "Mulder…" "Let them think that either we were going at it every time we crossed the threshold or Mr. and Mrs. Spooky, contrary to public opinion and all indications to the contrary, actually do have a sense of humor about themselves. But I guess finding it in the trash showed them, didn't it?" Scully ran a hand through her hair. Why didn't she follow her initial instinct and leave while they were both feeling so good about each other? She watched him watch her and saw the anger dissolve as quickly as it had formed. He put his eggnog on the table. "I'm sorry. That's why. . .I don't drink much. Ever. I get a little--testy. Tell me about your plans for tomorrow." He was trying. She had to give him points for that. "You know my plans for tomorrow. Church, presents. . .early dinner with the family. Christmas carols. . .dessert and then home to a hot bubble bath. I bought peppermint soap for the occasion." He nodded to himself, suddenly at a loss for conversation. He got up and brought the plates into the kitchen. She followed him. "And your plans, Mulder?" He turned sharply. As he knew hers, she knew his. Full- well. He didn't have any. She looked flustered at his direct stare. She hadn't meant anything by the question. Just wanted to keep the conversation flowing. "I'm not--I'm not mocking you. I just. . .is this the most hopeless day of the year for you?" "Hopeless?" That was very smooth, she thought. What a time for her internal censor to take an alcohol-induced siesta. "I'm not saying this right." He looked thoughtful. "No. I think I understand. It's actually a day that I could--and probably should--reflect on my choices. The decision I made--long ago--over what I would put my primary belief in. My primary faith. And how that choice really blocked out a world of possibilities for me. That could seem pretty hopeless. But I don't do that at all. I sit here and blow off the concept of Christmas even as I usually end up watching some old holiday movie on TV. I guess there is a small part of me that hopes that all is not completely lost. When I find the answers. . .possibilities still might be there. Still might be open to me. That's a bizarre form of faith, isn't it?" Scully nodded. "I think maybe. . ." Mulder continued, then smiled, "maybe, I should shut up now." "Why?" "Because I was going to tell you about my initial gut reaction to the news of a certain plant-like present." The catalyst for the glitch in their gala. "Ah, the mistletoe. Tell me," she prompted. "I liked the possibility." "Of?" "Of hanging the damned thing up. The two of us having maybe one too many of those rumballs Kimberly brings in every year and just looking up at it and. . .connecting." Scully smiled. A full-out smile. "Connecting?" "Yeah." "I don't know, Mulder. My mistletoe memories are all pretty lousy. I was kind of--well, not the life of the party as a youngster. If I was near the mistletoe, some guys would actually walk around me. I think it was the braces. Others would push me under and kiss me on a bet. It was the source of a lot of teenaged angst. As I got older--there were kisses with pretty serious boyfriends but usually at family parties with my parents or brothers glaring at me over the public displays of affection." Mulder led them back to the living room couch. He lifted the pitcher of eggnog he had brought with them and offered it to her. She nodded. "Does your mom still hang the stuff?" "Somewhere easily avoidable, thank goodness. Although no one is likely to be there that would accept the challenge anyway. Why? Do you want to come?" She could see him bite back the smutty comment that naturally sprung to his mind. "No. I think Bill's glare might go off the charts if I did. Can't have that." "No, we can't." Scully's eyes were half closed and she concentrated on Mulder's mouth as he took another sip of his drink. She could feel him watching her. It was nice, lazy, and warm. "I. . .should shut up now, too," she said softly. "Why?" he asked with amusement. "Because I can't say I'm looking forward to going tomorrow." "Today, you mean." "Oh, yeah. Today. A few hours from now, really." "That's not a surprise to me, you know." She looked at him. He understood. It was not her family's fault that they were part of a celebration that held little joy for her. She would not punish them with her absence but it was comforting that someone besides herself knew and understood. "I know you know." She leaned closer to him and stared at his mouth, then dropped her gaze. Silly thoughts. All brought to the surface by this impossible evening. This impossibly and surprisingly intimate evening. He lifted her chin up with two fingers and she looked into his eyes. "Don't," he said. "Don't what?" "Don't think so hard. So much. Christmas comes but once a year, Scully. Its brevity has a lot of advantages. The thought that it will soon be over gets you through the difficulties of the season and. . .the fact that certain things only happen on Christmas can make the anticipation--excruciatingly wonderful." "Santa couldn't have said it any better, Mulder. You old romantic, you." His eyes had a mischievous little sparkle to them that invited her next move while, at the same time, respecting her decision should she chose not to make it. She made the move. She leaned forward and gently pressed her lips to his. Warm. Home. A chaste kiss for Christmas. Nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all. They were safe with this. No explanations necessary. Except she realized it was Mulder's beautiful bottom lip that was softly returning her kiss. She had always said if the opportunity ever presented itself--there were a few things she'd like to explore. His lower lip was one of them. His upper lip, the other. Should she keep the promise she made to herself? She pressed her closed lips firmly against his three or four times before she moved back a quarter of an inch. She ran the tip of her tongue quickly over her lips and opened her eyes to glance down at his mouth. His lips needed a bit of moisture as well. They really did. She resumed her former position of mouth on mouth and licked his lips for him. Slowly. She felt his mouth open slightly in an expression of surprise and she ran her tongue across the silky wet inside surface of his lower lip. Right there. was her Christmas present to herself. She felt his hand slip from where he had placed it on her upper back, between her shoulder blades, to run up and cup the back of her head. Such large hands. Pushing her closer. Such a beautiful mouth. One more present. It was a greedy move but good old Santa had been far from generous the past few years and sometimes one had to take care of oneself. She slipped her tongue into Mulder's mouth and tasted eggnog that had a sweeter flavor than even Frohike's non-patented moonshine. Mulder's moan brought her back to reality and she slowly backed away--almost reversing the order of their kiss. He followed her movements as she softly stroked his tongue with hers, licked the inside of his lips, the outside, and finished with three or four. . .or seven. . .firm kisses to his closed mouth. When she backed away she kept her eyes closed for a moment. Good Lord. That was a bit much. That would probably require an explanation. Time to face the music. She opened her eyes and found herself looking at a completely surprised and delighted Mulder. His eyes were dark and full of--what she would probably term "joy" in 99 out of a 100 people--but this was Mulder. She didn't know what it signified with him. "We can blame it on the booze, Scully." Dear, sweet man. "I didn't have that much." "Um. . .mistletoe?" "I threw it out, remember?" "So. . .a special event that takes place once a year but when it happens it serves to give us. . .a little thrill of hope?" Scully smiled. "A thrill?" "Um. . .to be uncharacteristically honest about such a subject, if I were to fully express the magnitude of the thrill, you would probably not only miss Christmas with your family but they might still be trying to reach you during the Rose Bowl." she thought as she felt her face flush and her mouth widen into a smile. Of course, she wouldn't say that. For once, she'd like to keep that one step ahead in their relationship marathon. She looked at him for a moment. Glimpses. They were given glimpses. Of what they could have. Of what they would--someday have, or die trying. Perhaps not a great gift to some but enough to keep them going. Time to assume her role as the voice of reason. "But we have answers to find before exploring possibilities." He looked down, regret etched on his face. "Yes." She rose to her feet. "I think I should get some sleep now, Mulder." "Okay. The bed hasn't been slept in since I last made it--so, it's ready when you are. Take any shirt in my dresser to wear to bed. If, that is, you choose to wear anything." "Santa has been good enough to you this year, Mulder." He smiled. "I don't have any complaints. Oh--and, Scully--should you happen to hear any moaning--rest assured it's not the ghosts." She laughed softly. "Goodnight, Mulder. Merry Christmas." He grabbed her wrist as she was about to leave the room and pulled her down to him. He put both hands on either side of her face and quickly kissed her nose. "Only 365 days till next Christmas, Scully," he whispered, his breath soft and warm against her face. "I can't wait, Mulder." She straightened up and made her way into the bedroom. The End Merry Christmas everyone.