TITLE: Christmas Eve 2005, 4:20 p.m. AUTHORS: Diana Battis and Forte E-MAIL: all4mulder@aol.com and Bjm1352@aol.com URL: http://www.geocities.com/dbattis.geo/TheXFilesFic.html and http://www.thebasementoffice.com/ RATING: PG-13 CATEGORY: VA SPOILERS: Basically everything through "The Truth" SUMMARY: What do you give someone who has everything...or nothing? TIMEFRAME: Post-"The Truth." Fourth in the "Christmas 4:20" series ("Christmas Day 2001, 4:20 p.m.," "Christmas Eve 2003, 4:20 p.m.," and "Christmas Eve 2004, 4:20 p.m.;" it's not absolutely necessary to read the others first but this fic will make more sense if you do. You can find them at http://www.thebasementoffice.com/Xmasseries.html ARCHIVE: Gossamer/Ephemeral/Spooky awards site OK; anywhere else please ask first. DISCLAIMER: They belong to CC, 1013, and FOX; *definitely* not us. FEEDBACK: Would make our day! THANKS: To Musea, for all manner of friendship and support. **** Christmas Eve 2005, 4:20 p.m. **** Walker's Bookstore & Cafe Omaha, Nebraska December 24, 2005 4:20 p.m. "I'll kick his ass if he doesn't show up." Mulder peered through the blinds over the store's "CLOSED" sign at the last-minute shoppers hurrying along the snowy sidewalk. "How are you going to kick his ass if he's not here to have his ass kicked?" When she got no response to her joke, Scully walked over and laid a gentle hand on his arm. "James," she said, maintaining their "pseudonyms only" rule while in the public part of the store, "he won't let us down. He never has." Mulder pulled his fingers from the slats and the blinds snapped back into place. He looked down at his partner, a worried expression in his eyes. "Come on," Scully said, with just the slightest tug on his arm. "We have to finish cleaning the coffee urns." ======= Scully was elbow deep in the last urn when she heard the soft scratching at the rear door. Her first thought was of the gun stashed beneath the counter in the shop, but a more forceful knock and a few uttered curses brought a smile to her face. "James," she called, "you can forget about the physical violence. Cal's here." Quickly drying her hands on a snowman-covered towel, she walked to the rear entrance and peered through the peephole before disarming the alarm and unbolting the door. "I know, I know, I'm late." The little man dropped a plastic shopping bag to the floor and used the end of his red scarf to wipe at the melting snow on his face. "Missed the first bus by seconds and that shot the rest of my timetable to shit." "And a Merry Christmas to you, too." "Aw, sorry Caroline." He looked at his shoes, his cheeks competing with the scarf for brightest color. "Merry Christmas." She laughed and gave the little man a hug. "I was teasing!" Scully pulled back a bit to take in the dark, wet shoulders of his parka. "You're soaked! Take off your coat and let it dry out a bit." He unzipped his parka and draped it over a wooden chair back, peering around the store. "Let me guess -- James is hiding downstairs and left you up here to do the real work?" "I heard that," Mulder's voice drifted up from the basement storeroom. "It's called TAKING INVENTORY, Calvin!" "Oh, is that what they call it these days?" was their guest's chortled reply. He retrieved his shopping bag and carried it down to the storeroom. Scully closed and bolted the basement door behind her, tapping a code into a security panel in the stairwell before following. Mulder greeted his friend with a warm bear hug. "Just keep your hands off my ass, Frohike." "Shit! Like I'm interested in your posterior." He awkwardly patted Mulder's back before breaking the hug and turning to survey the room. To an unskilled eye the large basement area looked chaotic and disorganized. Shelves of books lined three walls of the room, obscured in some places by open cartons and crumpled packing materials. Along the fourth was a long, custom made metal desk holding computers and monitors. Beneath the table, a series of printers were set up, and lengths of greenbar paper had spilled onto the gray industrial carpet. Frohike walked over to the desk, studying the collection of maps hanging above. "Have any trouble with that new program, Mulder?" he asked, examining the mosaic of color created by the pushpins dotting the yellowed surface. "Is that a rhetorical question or are you fishing for compliments?" "Mulder, play nice," Scully cautioned, moving to the small table set up in the center of the room. She peeled the layer of plastic wrap from a tray of sugar cookies and placed them on the table where coffee and mugs were already waiting. Three folding chairs leaned against the nearest shelf, and Mulder proceeded to open them. "I really am glad you finally decided to show up, Frohike. I was starting to think you were a jerk like all the other guys who've stood me up over the years." Frohike settled himself in the nearest chair and accepted a steaming mug from Scully. "YOU I'd stand up, Mulder, but I wouldn't dare do that to Agent Scully -- she'd kick my ass." Scully finished filling the mugs, then pushed the tray of cookies toward their guest. He gave a quick longing gaze at the tray, then lifted his mug. "To friends, family -- and survival." Mulder and Scully touched their mugs to his, then each took a sip of the steaming brew. "Nowwwww," Frohike commented, reaching for the cookie tray, "come to papa. I never met a cookie I didn't like." Scully stared into her mug, then cleared her throat. "Any news?" she asked, her voice registering a slight tremor. He bit into a cookie, crumbs scattering across the front of his gray sweater. "All is well. Your mom is fine, missing you like hell but you know that already. Your brothers and their families...all fine." "And..." Mulder walked up behind her, placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed lightly. "He's fine, too. She's doing a good job. And we're keeping close tabs on them so you two don't need to worry." A small smile lit her face as she rested her cheek against one of Mulder's hands. "Thank you seems such an inadequate thing for us to say compared to..." "Well, if you have any mistletoe handy we could work out a deal," Frohike said with a wink, reaching for another cookie. "Hell, in a pinch I've been known to work for eggnog, but you're such a damned cheap host, Mulder, I guess that's out of the question." Mulder pulled out the remaining chair and straddled it. "Sorry, no mistletoe or eggnog here, but I do have presents." He leaned back to pull a plastic shopping bag from behind a stack of cartons and handed it to his friend. "A few books for you guys, and for you to spirit back to D.C." "I'm just the elf for the job," Frohike smirked. He set the bag on a table and started to pull out the items inside. "'Walter the Farting Dog'? Can I guess who this one is for?" Scully cleared her throat. "Mulder's idea, obviously." Her partner grinned his agreement. "Man, I'm sorry I won't be there when Skinner opens his package." Frohike set down the book and pulled out the next item. "'Medieval Numerology'. This must be for Monica. Have to say I'm NOT sorry I won't be there when she opens it...if I hear any more of her new-age crap I'll have to shoot myself." He drew out the next item, a separate smaller bag. "Magazines?" he asked, pulling them out one by one. "Omni?" "Back issues," Mulder explained, "containing the complete works of one M.F. Luder for Agent Doggett's reading pleasure." Frohike barked out a laugh. "The last three are for you, Byers, and Langly," Scully said. Frohike reached in the bag and pulled out three books, studying them quizzically. "'Huckleberry Finn.' 'The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.' 'A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court.'" He shot a sidelong glance Mulder's way. "Mark Twain, huh?" Mulder grinned again. "Because reports of your deaths have been greatly exaggerated." Frohike gave him a wry look, then checked his watch. "Damn it all -- did you have to pick somewhere as 'nowhere' as Omaha to live?" he grumbled. "If I recall correctly, Omaha was your idea," Scully smiled. "Nah, must have been Byers." He looked at his watch again. "I hate like hell to cut this visit short, but with three buses and a train between me and my wheels I need to haul ass." "Let me get the laundry, then," Mulder said. He reached behind him to the desk against the wall, opened the bottom drawer, and pulled out a thick envelope. He tossed it on the table in front of Frohike. "A little under twenty grand. Don't spend it all in one place." Frohike whistled. "Man, if I knew there was that much money in books I would have spent more time at the library when I was a kid." He shoved the envelope in his pants pocket. "There's a decent profit margin in the coffee and food, too." Mulder shrugged. "I'd sell lap dances if I had to." "Oh, jeez Mulder, THAT'S a visual I could do without," Frohike exclaimed, pushing up from his chair. "Give me a break, okay? I just put something in my stomach and I'd like to keep it there." Mulder stood up, casting a glance at his partner, who was barely maintaining her poker face. "It's not my fault you don't appreciate artistic expression, Frohike." "My Aunt Fanny," Frohike muttered, following his hosts to the stairs. "Where do you want to do this year's video?" At the top of the stairs Mulder keyed in the code and unlocked the door with practiced efficiency. "How about in front of the tree," Scully suggested. "Sounds like the perfect place for my masterpiece." Frohike pulled a digital camera case from the depths of the now-bulging shopping bag he'd brought with him. "Ready for your close-up?" "As ready as we'll ever be, Mr. DeMille," Mulder replied. He led the way into the shop proper, flipping a switch on the wall. Next to the cafe counter, a decorated Christmas tree came to life. "Remember," Frohike warned, "Mamacita is gonna see this little video, so don't go flippin' me the bird." "I can assure you that she's seen much worse," Scully said wryly, joining Mulder in front of the tree. With her arm around his waist and his around her shoulder, they stood and smiled as Frohike shot the brief video that would eventually make its way to Mrs. Scully. Just before Frohike clicked off the camera, Mulder leaned over, eyes closed, and reverently kissed the top of his partner's head. Frohike hurriedly packed up the digital camera, checking his watch again. "Shit, I really gotta go." He embraced Scully and Mulder in turn. "Take care of each other. We'll be in touch." Scully pressed her lips together, her eyes unnaturally bright as she gestured toward the area behind the cafe counter. "Let me, uh, let me get you something to take with you. We have some extra sandwiches." As she moved around the counter and rummaged in the cafe refrigerator, Frohike pulled Mulder aside so their backs were to Scully. He reached into his shopping back again and pulled out a shoebox-sized package wrapped in colorful Sunday comics. "I'm never letting Blondie do the wrapping again," he muttered, and shoved the box into Mulder's hands. "Don't open it until after I leave." Mulder's eyes widened slightly, then he nodded, turned, and placed the box on a bookshelf behind him just as Scully emerged from behind the cafe counter. She handed Frohike a bulging paper sack, which he dropped in his shopping bag. "Sandwiches, bottled water, and cookies," she explained, her voice strained. "I'm sorry there's no more hot coffee." "S'okay," he muttered, lifting the bag with an exaggerated grunt. "I just hope these handles don't give out." "I think I can help you with that, too," Scully said, disappearing behind the counter once more. "It's under here somewhere...got it." She stood up holding a canvas sack, garish green letters across the front screaming 'Lamperella's Liquors.' "Remember this?" "The bag or the store?" He gave her a quick grin as he accepted the bag. "Hell, I remember them both. Good times, but..." he turned the bag inside out, "this is a little too loud, if you know what I mean." He dropped his plastic bag into the inside-out canvas one and tested the straps. "I'm good to go now." The three walked to the door in rear workroom. Frohike retrieved his parka and slipped it on, wrapping the red scarf around his neck as Mulder disarmed the alarm. "Guess I'd better get this show on the road." Scully put her arms around him and squeezed tightly. "God bless you and keep you safe," she murmured, then placed a kiss on each of his cheeks. "One for Bruce, one for Larry," she explained, using Byers' and Langly's pseudonyms. The little man flushed, then quickly pulled back. "Hey, don't go gettin' all sentimental on me. I don't have time to get this damned coat dry again -- it's Christmas Eve and this elf's got deliveries to make." He pulled open the door and was outside and around the corner before anyone could reply. As usual, no one said "goodbye." ======= The shop seemed inordinately quiet when Mulder and Scully returned, and even the festive splashes of color provided by the reflection of the tree lights did little to dispel the gloom. Scully touched one of the branches, the needles surprisingly soft against her fingertips. "And so goeth another year." "And look at all we have to be thankful for." Mulder came up behind her and nuzzled the side of her neck. She turned to face him. "Do I seem ungrateful? Because I'm not." She shrugged, eyes downcast. "I just miss..." "I know. So do I." He pulled her into an embrace, rubbing his hands up and down her back. "Could I interest you in an early Christmas present?" he murmured in her ear. Scully pulled back to gaze up at him. "You wouldn't tease me about a present, would you, James?" He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "I value my life, Caroline." Mulder retrieved the gift that Frohike had given him and handed it to her. "A little something early from Santa. How about we go downstairs and finish the cookies while we open this?" Scully nodded her understanding: whatever was inside the box was likely not suitable for the "public" area of the store. They made their way to the basement door again, flicking off the switch for the tree as they went. Scully descended first, carrying the package, and had the wrapping paper ripped off by the time Mulder had set the security alarm and joined her. "A shoe box," he commented, stating the obvious. "I hope they're my size." Scully removed the box top and proceeded to unpeel plastic bubble wrap from the object inside, revealing a digital camera. With shaky hands she powered up the camera and turned it so they could both see the viewer. A picture of a beautiful young boy popped onto the screen. He had dark wavy hair, playful blue eyes, and a nose just slightly too big for his face. He wore a huge grin and had what appeared to be ice cream smeared around his mouth. "He looks happy," Scully whispered. "Yeah," was Mulder's whispered response. He put his arm around Scully's shoulder and squeezed, then reached with his other hand to press a button on the camera. Another photo appeared of the boy, this one of him on a swingset. He was in mid-swing, eyes closed as he leaned slightly forward, the breeze blowing his hair nearly sideways. Neither said anything, just drank in the rapturous look on the boy's face. Several more photos of the boy followed: perched on a bike with training wheels. Feeding ducks at a pond. Wearing a pirate costume. Sitting cross-legged on the floor reading a book. When there were no other photos, they went back and viewed them all again. And again. And again. Finally, Scully powered off the camera and set it back down on its bed of bubble wrap. "We're doing the right thing, Mulder," she said firmly, staring at the camera. "I know." With a gentle tug on her wrist he pulled her into an embrace, nuzzling the top of her head. "Merry Christmas, Scully." She sighed and relaxed into his arms. "Merry Christmas, Mulder." And each gave up a silent "Merry Christmas" for the beautiful boy in the pictures. END **** Authors' notes: Surprised that the Gunmen are alive? *g* We subscribe to the theory that they were not really dead since on the show we never saw the Gunmen's bodies nor were we told that Scully had done the autopsies. Hell, that explains why Jeffrey Spender was still alive in S9 when he seemed very, very dead at the end of S6. "Jump the Shark" our asses! *g* Feedback is better than spiked eggnog: all4mulder@aol.com and Bjm1352@aol.com Why yes, this fic is a year late, just like last year's. We'll catch up eventually! Thanks for reading. May you and yours have a wonderful holiday season and a happy, peaceful 2007.