Title: Ornamental (1/1)
Author: Pita1013
Feedback: I enjoy it a lot. PitaM13@cs.com
Rating: G
Classification: SAR (heavy on the A)
Spoilers: very vague references: the Anasazi trilogy,
Requiem, Small Potatoes, and the cancer and Emily stories.
Keywords: MSR
Summary: It's a post-Requiem Christmas story, and that's all
the summary you get. You'll be happier without spoilers!
Archive anywhere. Let me know if possible.
Thanks to everyone who helped out with this one. Joylynn,
as always; Meg, Squirrel, and Emerex who helped out in a
pinch; and Robby, who wasn't MIA for Christmas after all.
Disclaimer: Characters from the X-Files are owned by Chris
Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Television. They are being
used without permission and without money changing hands.
Author's Notes/Intro: This story assumes that Requiem took
place in June, and the pregnancy happened at least a month
before her announcement to Skinner. The rest of the
timeline should be pretty close to correct. I took some
artistic liberties with Melissa Scully, but nothing
out-of-character (I don't think).
**********
Ornamental by Pita1013
Scully Residence
December 19, 1981
10:42 a.m.
Cheers and laughter rang out as Charlie Scully, the baby of
the family at fourteen years, swayed precariously at the
top of a ladder. He carefully maneuvered a glitter-covered
star toward the summit of the tree, shaking it badly. The
future of the whole expedition seemed to be in doubt for a
moment as the young boy tipped dangerously close to the
edge of balance, prompting looks of terror from both of his
parents.
Finally, the star docked like a well-manned ship, mission
complete without a single casualty.
But it wasn't until Charlie had both feet back on the ground
that the family started to breathe again.
Bill Jr. smacked him on the back. "Good job, Chuck. I still
don't think you've beaten my record time, though. Next
year?" Home from the Naval Academy for the holidays, Bill
was slowly getting used to being the big brother again.
Their father snorted good-naturedly. "Watch it, Junior, or
I'll tell them how you tipped over the tree when you were
six," he chortled. Everyone grinned, having heard the
story every year since they'd been old enough to understand.
Dana didn't remember the event itself, though she'd
been there. Toddlers didn't have a great memory for events,
even if the events included their big brother and a giant
tree.
She thought Melissa would remember it, though.
It was a bad thought. Despite the laughter and joking, there
was an air of strain around the family. Melissa, the oldest
sister, had vanished the month before. She had taken two
suitcases and everything she held dear, and bailed out.
They had gotten one short postcard from New York City the
week after she left and hadn't heard a word since.
"She's always been a rebel", their father had said. "This
shouldn't be a surprise to anyone." He was bitter at her
leaving, but the headstrong teenager had always dreamed of
greater things than their military-base lifestyle.
Surprise or not, expected or not, it was still a blow to the
family. It was worse for Dana, now the only sister living
at home. Before, she had Missy to talk to about the things
she couldn't ever say to her mother. Now, she had no one.
There was Charlie, of course, but he was younger and a boy.
Both made him an unsuitable confidante. A companion,
sometimes, because they'd always been close, but not someone
to tell her deepest secrets as she could with Missy.
She needed her sister back.
Thanksgiving had gone by as always, with turkey and the
trimmings, but the festive spirit hadn't spread without
Missy. Now they had to deal with the Christmas season. A
time for family, with one member somewhere far away.
The "star ceremony" was one of many traditions that
continued despite Missy's absence, sending someone up the
ladder with the hopes that they could do the job without
tipping the tree and causing complete mayhem. The ritual
was there; the feelings weren't.
No one acted as if there was anything wrong. With the tree
up, the family disbanded to their various areas of the house
with their own things to do for Christmas preparations.
Without anything constructive to do, Dana ended up in an
easy chair, staring at an open book without realizing it.
She heard the clang of the mailbox opening, and welcomed the
distraction. Shelving the book, she headed for the front
door to bring the mail in.
She did the chore without a second thought, dropping junk
mail into the trash and stacking the obvious Christmas
cards (which made up most of the mail that week) on Maggie's
desk. After the letters were sorted, she turned her
attention to the small package that had been included in
the mailbox.
She assumed it was a gift from some distant relative, and
was even heading for the tree before she really looked at
the name on it.
"Dana Scully." So whatever it was, it was for her. The
return address had no name or street, but simply stated "New
York City, New York" in sweeping, feminine strokes. It was
Missy's trademark handwriting, on a gift sent from her last
known location.
At the bottom corner was written "open immediately" in the
same script. Dana bit her lip, wondering if she should tell
her parents that she had a package from Missy. Then she
decided to tell them *after* she had looked inside.
With a furtive look around, Dana sprinted to her room and
closed the door, confident that everyone else was too busy
to interrupt her. She made short work of the packing tape
and opened the small box.
Inside was an ornament, a glass ball like any other that
a person used to decorate their Christmas tree. But this
one was clear glass, and filled completely with pea-sized
crystals of white and blue. It was beautiful.
Tearing her eyes from the shining globe, Dana took out the
enclosed letter and read it quietly aloud.
"Dana,
"I know I've been gone too long, but I love it here in New
York. In the last month, I've learned more than I ever
dreamed possible. I will come home, though, and soon. I miss
you all more than you know.
"I especially miss my baby sister, and I know it must be
rough with just Charlie to talk to. I've been thinking of
you and I decided to send you something. This ornament was
hand-made by a good friend of mine, who studies things like
crystals and chakras. It's all fascinating. Anyway, he says
that the crystals he used are for happiness and luck, and
that you should always think of me when you look at it.
"Don't tell Mom and Dad about this, or that I'll be home as
soon as I can. They'll know soon enough, won't they? Let's
have a secret for old times sake, and the ornament can be
just ours.
"I love you, baby,
"Missy."
Dana didn't know whether to laugh or cry, or a gasping
combination of the two. She settled for a wistful grin. With
extra care she folded the letter and replaced it in the box,
hiding both of them in the far reaches of her closet.
Ornament in hand, she sought out her mom.
Maggie blinked at the ball, which was practically glowing
in the sunlight of her reading room. "Where did that come
from?"
Dana gritted her teeth for a second. She was a horrible liar
and everyone knew it.
"A friend gave it to me, and I forgot about it until
now. Can I put it on the tree?" she asked smoothly,
wondering how this particular fib came out so easily.
Maggie, who never noticed that her daughter was crossing
her fingers behind her back, granted permission without a
second thought.
After all, why would Dana lie about something like a
Christmas tree ornament?
Dana had the ornament up within minutes, gazing again at the
prisms of color that danced over it. The holidays had just
gotten a lot brighter.
*~~*~~*~~*
December 22, 1990
8:37 p.m.
Dana sighed as she flopped backwards on her couch, looking
at her new apartment. It was a pretty nice place for a
woman just starting a new job.
Sitting up again, she surveyed her territory. One couch.
One kitchen chair. One microwave. One refrigerator. Twenty
boxes of clothing, knickknacks, and other necessities of
life. One stubby Christmas tree with nine glass ornaments
on it.
She smiled as she thought of the ornament tradition that
Melissa had begun. After that first year, even though Missy
came home in early February, Dana always received one glass
ball. There hadn't been a letter enclosed since the first
one, the still-beautiful crystal globe, but there could only
be one person providing the gifts.
It was their secret, something for the sisters and no one
else. Dana liked it that way, especially after the past few
months.
She still didn't quite understand why the rift had appeared.
The FBI was a great place to try and distinguish herself,
and it didn't seem any less prestigious than a career as a
doctor. To her, anyway.
Her father had different ideas. He blamed everyone he could
think of for her sudden about-face decision, including her,
her professors, her friends, and her sister. Missy had borne
the tirades with an inner peace that she had slowly learnt
over the years. And she had supported Dana as much as
possible.
Then, she disappeared again, headed for parts unknown to
continue her spiritual quests. And once again, Dana was
alone when she needed someone the most.
She had sent her new address to her family, but she doubted
she'd get visitors. Her father was the only one who was
vocal about it, but everyone held a degree of disapproval in
their tones. Except Melissa, and she had gone to find her
"path", as she called it.
With a sigh, Dana opened the mostly-empty refrigerator.
There was a bang and a series of sparks, and the whole room
descended into darkness. Dana was left standing in the
kitchen, blind and dumbfounded. She cautiously made her way
into the hallway, which seemed unbearably bright after the
apartment, and went down to the landlord's place.
He nodded as she explained what had happened. "It's a bad
fuse," he told her. "We expect to have it fixed by tomorrow
at the latest, but for tonight I suggest you light some
candles."
Oh, wonderful. "No problem," Dana said with a tight smile
and turned to leave.
"Oh, hang on a second!" he said suddenly, and vanished back
into the recesses of his own well-lit apartment. He was back
in moments with a small box. "This came in the mail today,
but whoever sent it didn't have your apartment number. Your
name isn't on your box yet, so the mailman passed it to me."
Dana took the box with shaking fingers and thanked the man
with a suddenly dry voice. She fled home as fast as she
could go.
Three candles later, she was on her couch, ripping into the
box, wondering all the while how Missy, who had left first,
had found her.
It was, without a doubt, from Missy. This time, there was a
rare letter enclosed.
"Dana,
"I'm in New Orleans now, enjoying the heat but missing the
white Christmas. I'm sorry I left while you were still
having trouble with Dad; I know it'll blow over soon.
"I got your address from Charlie, but he didn't have the
number of your apartment. I guess if you're reading this,
you got the package. That's good to know.
"The ornament this year is another hand-made one. I'm told
that it's a combination of the Flame of Knowledge and the
Scales of Justice. I thought it was appropriate.
"See you soon!
"Missy"
Dana gently laid the letter down and pulled the ornament out
of its wrappings. It was as Missy had described: the red
glass ball was covered in flames, with stylized scales
repeated four times. It really was appropriate.
This one had an inscription too, something different.
Dana Scully, Future Pride of the FBI
Pleased smile firmly in place, Dana attached the ornament
at the front of the tree, right at eye level.
"Merry Christmas, Missy," she said softly, and went to
unpack.
*~~*~~*~~*
December 15, 1995
Mulder glanced over at his partner for the third time in as
many minutes, appearing to wonder at the gloomy mood that
she was in. Scully hadn't been sleeping well, and she knew
that it was showing.
"Hey, Scully?" he called, getting her attention from the
back room.
Scully looked up, still preoccupied. "Yeah?"
"Are you okay?"
She looked startled. "What are you talking about?" she
asked. But she knew what he meant, and there was no way he
could miss the subtle changes in her expression.
He came out and plopped down on the desk, facing her. "I can
tell that something's bothering you. You know you can talk
to me, right?" He stood up again and moved closer to her,
resting a comforting hand on her shoulder.
Scully sighed. "I'm fine, Mulder." He looked unconvinced,
and she wasn't surprised. She could never lie with any
degree of skill.
He squeezed her shoulder again and retreated behind his
desk. "If you need to talk..." he started, and trailed off.
He started working again, but the troubled expression never
left his face.
Scully could see his head tilting as he kept looking over at
her. Finally she decided that if she couldn't talk to Mulder
after over two years of work and friendship, she was in a
pretty sorry state.
She cleared her throat. "Mulder?"
"Yeah," he said, as if he had been waiting for her to speak.
"Can you come over later tonight? After work?" She asked the
question quickly, still unsure about saying anything at all.
Mulder flashed her a smile. "Sure. Should I bring Chinese?"
She answered his smile with a small one of her own. "Why
not? Remember I like the Chicken Lo Mein."
"I'll remember."
So at 7:00 that night, Scully found herself eating a Chinese
dinner in her living room. She still hadn't said a word
to Mulder about what was bothering her, and he hadn't
pressed the subject, seeming content to just be there if
she needed him.
Then he unwittingly stumbled upon the source of Scully's
internal pain as she was carrying dishes into the kitchen.
"This is *incredible*, where'd you get it?"
The world felt as if it turned in slow motion as Scully
looked around. Mulder had found the Christmas tree, complete
with fourteen glass ornaments. He had zeroed in on the
oldest of the bunch, the blue and white crystal globe.
He looked over his shoulder at her and seemed to sense her
distress with one glance at her face. He released the
ornament, which swung back to its accustomed place, and
watched with a helpless expression as Scully plopped down
weakly on the couch.
He was by her side in a flash, close enough for her to feel
his presence but not close enough to crowd her. For a
moment she thought he was going to see her cry, a rare
occurrence. Then she brought herself under control and
tried to slow the flood of memories running through her
mind.
After a while she looked up, even managing a smile for him.
"I'm sorry," was the first thing she said.
Mulder raised an eyebrow. "Don't be. You haven't done
anything wrong."
She sighed, her gaze fixed on the tree of ornaments. "This
is the first Christmas since Melissa died," she said flatly.
Mulder looked like he'd been kicked in the stomach.
Scully caught his involuntary grimace and sighed,
understanding that he blamed his quest for Melissa's death.
She also knew there was more than that. "It feels selfish
for me to unload this on you. You're in the same boat I'm
in, with your father gone." It seemed she was sad enough for
both of them.
"Scully, my relationship with my father was rocky at best.
I miss him, and I'll miss him more as time passes," he said
gently. "You lost your sister, someone you were very close
to, and that's much worse." He paused. "I wouldn't trade
sorrows with you, but I'll share them if you want me to."
An open invitation to spill anything if she needed to.
Scully met his eyes, open and ready to help. She made a
valiant effort to push aside her normal reserve, and started
to tell him about Christmas of 1981, and the crystal globe.
As she described the meaning of each globe, she remembered
how the ornaments always brightened her up at her lowest
points. She talked of how she and Melissa had drifted apart
over the years, yet still the glass balls kept coming on
schedule every year.
She finished the last story as Mulder listened with a rapt
expression. When Scully stopped, Mulder said, "It's a
wonderful tradition."
Scully nodded. "I guess I never realized how important it
was to me. Missy always knew exactly what kind of pattern
would be the best for me, every year. It was like she read
my mind and picked out whatever would make me feel the best.
She was my best source of support, all the time." And now
she's gone added her traitorous mind.
Mulder looked pensive for a moment, then smiled. "It'll take
a while to get used to her absence," he told her, "but you
have these to remind you of her at the holidays. I think
that's a great thing to hold on to."
"I know you're right, and it'll get better," Scully agreed
half-heartedly, "but I still feel lost without that little
package showing up on my doorstep."
Mulder reached over and hugged her. "You'll never be lost."
-----
Nine days later
Yawning, Scully wandered out of her bedroom after sleeping
in *way* too long. She padded out into the living room,
still barefoot, and pulled the door open to pick up her
newspaper.
Her hand froze halfway down.
Sitting on the paper was a small brown box. An eerily
familiar brown box. Scully rubbed her eyes like a child and
looked again. Still there.
Then, realizing she was still in her pajamas, she snared the
box and newspaper and retreated back inside.
This box was different from all the others, in that there
was no mailing label. It had been deposited at her doorstep.
There was no letter inside, simply a mess of shredded paper
and one shining glass ball. Scully stared at it, stupefied,
for a long moment.
It was white, with two figures on it, little more than
glorified stick-men. Or in this case, a stick-man and a
stick-woman. The man was significantly taller than the woman
and had a painted mop of brown hair. The woman was clearly
a redhead. It didn't take a scientist's brain to know who
the people were supposed to be.
The figures were holding hands on the front of the ball.
On the back was a short inscription: "You are never lost."
The same words Mulder had whispered to her the week before
after listening to her memories and fears.
It was as clear a message as the ones Melissa had sent her.
An assurance that she'd always have someone who cared.
Grinning foolishly and fighting tears, she added the new
ornament to the tree.
*~~*~~*~~*
December 22, 2000
Nineteen ornaments.
Scully gazed dully at the Christmas tree she hadn't wanted
to put up and counted the balls for the fifth time. Nineteen
of them. And there would be no more.
It had been too long. Too many hours of searching that did
little or no good, too many leads that fizzled out. Even the
diligent help of her friends had failed to produce the only
thing she wanted for Christmas.
She didn't want to think about him, but in a way, she needed
to. Her hand snaked out and touched the first sphere that
he had given her, trying to make her understand that she
was always a part of something and never alone. The stick-
people had faded a little, but they were still recognizable.
The second ball had come the next year, after she had been
diagnosed with cancer. It had been a blow that no one could
make better, and she had steadily lost faith as time passed.
Then, right before Christmas, that trademark box appeared
again with its precious cargo.
That ornament had been gold, with only one word painted on
it in shades of red.
Hope
Mulder's message, a mix of encouragement and plea. She
needed to keep hope alive, and he needed it as well. Scully
had realized that year that Mulder had her sister's gift for
reading her like a book.
The next year had been different. In the wake of her
remission, the holidays had been progressing happily. That
year's ornament had arrived much earlier, anticipating her
impending departure to San Diego.
The red ball had one word, showing that no awkwardness could
ever permanently harm the two agents and their friendship.
In comical bubble letters, the ball read SUPERSTAR.
Eddie VanBlundht (with an H) was far enough behind them to
make that joke extremely funny to her. A few months closer
to the actual case, and she would've punched Mulder into
next year. Trust Mulder to know when the time was right.
Then, a mere ten days later, came Emily.
The memory of her first, lost daughter was still too painful
to dwell on, especially with a third-trimester baby kicking
around inside of her. Scully's mystifying fertility reversal
was something she had never imagined.
But the Christmas after Emily's death, she had received a
white ball with tiny crosses and angel wings on it. A tender
way to remember Emily, and possibly the sweetest gesture
Mulder had made up till that point.
Not that he had admitted it once. Through those years, he
never made a mention of them, not even when he was at her
apartment during the Christmas season.
That had all changed last year.
Scully smiled to herself as she remembered that evening.
Just a day or two before Christmas, Mulder had appeared at
her doorway with box in hand. She let herself remember that
evening when things had almost changed forever.
*~~*~~*~~*
December 23, 1999
Scully was stunned, to say the least. Their variation of
Melissa's tradition was a nameless one. She knew it was
Mulder, and Mulder knew that she knew. But no one ever
talked about it.
So having Mulder hand-deliver the box was definitely new.
He stood on the doorstep looking sheepish, holding out
the box like an offering, until Scully finally gathered her
wits and ushered him in. She unwrapped the box for the first
time in his presence, revealing a green ball with a little
red X pattern all over it.
Written on the back was Scully & Mulder, seven years and
counting. Christmas 1999
Mulder blushed like a little boy as Scully read it. "I even
put your name first," he said in a tiny voice, trying to
gauge her reaction.
She hung the ornament first, before she said a word. "I
guess this means I'm stuck with you for a while," she
declared lightly, smiling fully at him.
He relaxed minutely. "As long as you'll have me," he agreed.
That changed the tone of the conversation dramatically.
Scully wasn't quite sure how to answer that, and Mulder
wasn't sure how to continue. Both were distracted by the
television, blathering on in the corner and previously
unnoticed by both of them.
"It's Charlie Brown!" Mulder exclaimed, and the atmosphere
tipped back into familiar territory. Scully didn't know if
that was relieving or not.
Mulder was settling in on the couch, kicking back and
preparing for the Charlie Brown Christmas special. Scully
rolled her eyes.
"Mulder, they're having a marathon. Are you planning on
watching Christmas shows here for the rest of the night?"
she asked incredulously as he continued making himself
comfortable.
His only response was to pat the couch next to him, inviting
her to snuggle in with him for the shows. She hesitated for
a moment, wondering if spooning with her best friend would
be an advisable course of action. Then she squished that
part of her mind and jumped onto the couch to watch Charlie
Brown.
Hours later, she woke up. She had dozed off somewhere in the
middle of the Garfield special, and had turned in her sleep.
She and Mulder were now a tangled mass of arms and legs
squeezed onto a narrow sofa.
Blood rushed to her face as she extricated herself from her
partner's embrace. She waited until the flush subsided, then
shook Mulder a little.
"Go 'way," he mumbled.
Scully decided to let him sleep and simply covered him up
with a blanket. When she woke up in the morning, he was gone
and a note was in his place.
Have a good Christmas, Scully. Say hi to Bill for me.
*~~*~~*~~*
December 22, 2000
Scully closed her eyes and laughed out loud as she thought
of that note. It was no secret that Mulder and Bill weren't
the best of friends. It wasn't surprising that, seven months
into her pregnancy, Scully still hadn't told Bill about it.
She hadn't told Mulder either, but that wasn't her fault.
That night had marked a change in them. From there came
New Year's Eve and their first, chaste kiss. Then the walls
came down like dominoes and eventually there were no more
barriers.
There had been a sad kind of freedom in their lovemaking,
between the knowledge that neither had any bizarre diseases
and that Scully couldn't get pregnant. Protection was the
last thing on their minds when they finally let themselves
express what they had bottled up for too long.
And a few months later came the baby. The perfect irony.
Once again, when she needed a simple gesture from someone
who cared, she was without it. She was lost again.
Scully grimaced as a hard rap shook the door. She hefted
herself out of the chair and walked slowly toward the door,
trying not to waddle, and failing.
"I'm coming!" she called, and received no answer. "Who is
it?" she tried again, still getting no answer. She cursed
as her belly kept her from getting close enough to the
peephole to see out.
Grumbling internally about her lack of speed, she cracked
the door open. There was no one in the hallway. She was
about to close the door again and go back to moping when
some instinct told her to look down.
There was a box on the doorstep, balanced right on top of
the newspaper she hadn't even thought of bringing in.
Except she was the only one who knew about the ornaments,
now that Melissa and Mulder were both lost to her.
Fumbling fingers brought the box in, completely disregarding
the newspaper. The door was latched automatically; Scully's
whole mind was focused on that brown cardboard box.
It took her three tries to get the tape off, and the FBI
in her noted the absence of mailing labels. This one was
left at her door. She knew that whoever did it was long
gone; it had taken her much too long to answer the door.
They'd probably been gone before she was even out of the
chair.
There was no letter, just the customary ornament.
It was a deep, matte silver-gray with beams of light painted
on the top half. The light illuminated the inscription that
marched in spidery letters all the way around the ball.
We shall linger on, for the light is never far.
Remember I love you, Scully. Forever, Mulder.
The globe almost fell from her hand before Scully realized
how badly she was shaking. Heart pounding, she affixed the
new ornament to an open spot on the tree.
She couldn't articulate what she was feeling. Her mind and
body were both numb, unable to comprehend what had happened.
Tears filled her eyes as she started to smile. Laughter
broke free and a new hope filled her heart. Maybe there was
still a chance. It wasn't time to give up on him yet.
"I love you too, Mulder," Scully whispered, and went to get
her newspaper.
-----
A lone figure turned another corner on his way back home,
mind on the place he'd just left. The errand was done and
the message received, he hoped.
Mulder's instructions had been clear, prompted by his near
brushes with death the year before.
"If anything happens to me, I need you to do something for
me," he had said to his friend, revealing their tradition in
vivid detail. And a year later Mulder vanished.
He didn't need to be psychic to see the love that prompted
the request. He had agreed without hesitation.
So he had delivered the hand-made ornament with a message he
was certain echoed Mulder's thoughts. A message Mulder
needed to express, wherever he was, and one Scully
desperately needed to hear.
With a tiny smile and warm satisfaction from a job well
done, Frohike pulled into his customary parking spot at the
Gunmen's lair. Before he got within range of the security
cameras, he stopped and looked up at the stars.
"Merry Christmas Scully...and Mulder, wherever you are."
*******************
~FINI~
Tell me what you think at PitaM13@cs.com
Constructive criticism is appreciated. Flames are good for
toasting weenies and marshmallows, but not for much else.
Visit my fanfic!
http://members.nbci.com/XFArchives/pita1013.html
Author: Pita1013
Feedback: I enjoy it a lot. PitaM13@cs.com
Rating: G
Classification: SAR (heavy on the A)
Spoilers: very vague references: the Anasazi trilogy,
Requiem, Small Potatoes, and the cancer and Emily stories.
Keywords: MSR
Summary: It's a post-Requiem Christmas story, and that's all
the summary you get. You'll be happier without spoilers!
Archive anywhere. Let me know if possible.
Thanks to everyone who helped out with this one. Joylynn,
as always; Meg, Squirrel, and Emerex who helped out in a
pinch; and Robby, who wasn't MIA for Christmas after all.
Disclaimer: Characters from the X-Files are owned by Chris
Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Television. They are being
used without permission and without money changing hands.
Author's Notes/Intro: This story assumes that Requiem took
place in June, and the pregnancy happened at least a month
before her announcement to Skinner. The rest of the
timeline should be pretty close to correct. I took some
artistic liberties with Melissa Scully, but nothing
out-of-character (I don't think).
**********
Ornamental by Pita1013
Scully Residence
December 19, 1981
10:42 a.m.
Cheers and laughter rang out as Charlie Scully, the baby of
the family at fourteen years, swayed precariously at the
top of a ladder. He carefully maneuvered a glitter-covered
star toward the summit of the tree, shaking it badly. The
future of the whole expedition seemed to be in doubt for a
moment as the young boy tipped dangerously close to the
edge of balance, prompting looks of terror from both of his
parents.
Finally, the star docked like a well-manned ship, mission
complete without a single casualty.
But it wasn't until Charlie had both feet back on the ground
that the family started to breathe again.
Bill Jr. smacked him on the back. "Good job, Chuck. I still
don't think you've beaten my record time, though. Next
year?" Home from the Naval Academy for the holidays, Bill
was slowly getting used to being the big brother again.
Their father snorted good-naturedly. "Watch it, Junior, or
I'll tell them how you tipped over the tree when you were
six," he chortled. Everyone grinned, having heard the
story every year since they'd been old enough to understand.
Dana didn't remember the event itself, though she'd
been there. Toddlers didn't have a great memory for events,
even if the events included their big brother and a giant
tree.
She thought Melissa would remember it, though.
It was a bad thought. Despite the laughter and joking, there
was an air of strain around the family. Melissa, the oldest
sister, had vanished the month before. She had taken two
suitcases and everything she held dear, and bailed out.
They had gotten one short postcard from New York City the
week after she left and hadn't heard a word since.
"She's always been a rebel", their father had said. "This
shouldn't be a surprise to anyone." He was bitter at her
leaving, but the headstrong teenager had always dreamed of
greater things than their military-base lifestyle.
Surprise or not, expected or not, it was still a blow to the
family. It was worse for Dana, now the only sister living
at home. Before, she had Missy to talk to about the things
she couldn't ever say to her mother. Now, she had no one.
There was Charlie, of course, but he was younger and a boy.
Both made him an unsuitable confidante. A companion,
sometimes, because they'd always been close, but not someone
to tell her deepest secrets as she could with Missy.
She needed her sister back.
Thanksgiving had gone by as always, with turkey and the
trimmings, but the festive spirit hadn't spread without
Missy. Now they had to deal with the Christmas season. A
time for family, with one member somewhere far away.
The "star ceremony" was one of many traditions that
continued despite Missy's absence, sending someone up the
ladder with the hopes that they could do the job without
tipping the tree and causing complete mayhem. The ritual
was there; the feelings weren't.
No one acted as if there was anything wrong. With the tree
up, the family disbanded to their various areas of the house
with their own things to do for Christmas preparations.
Without anything constructive to do, Dana ended up in an
easy chair, staring at an open book without realizing it.
She heard the clang of the mailbox opening, and welcomed the
distraction. Shelving the book, she headed for the front
door to bring the mail in.
She did the chore without a second thought, dropping junk
mail into the trash and stacking the obvious Christmas
cards (which made up most of the mail that week) on Maggie's
desk. After the letters were sorted, she turned her
attention to the small package that had been included in
the mailbox.
She assumed it was a gift from some distant relative, and
was even heading for the tree before she really looked at
the name on it.
"Dana Scully." So whatever it was, it was for her. The
return address had no name or street, but simply stated "New
York City, New York" in sweeping, feminine strokes. It was
Missy's trademark handwriting, on a gift sent from her last
known location.
At the bottom corner was written "open immediately" in the
same script. Dana bit her lip, wondering if she should tell
her parents that she had a package from Missy. Then she
decided to tell them *after* she had looked inside.
With a furtive look around, Dana sprinted to her room and
closed the door, confident that everyone else was too busy
to interrupt her. She made short work of the packing tape
and opened the small box.
Inside was an ornament, a glass ball like any other that
a person used to decorate their Christmas tree. But this
one was clear glass, and filled completely with pea-sized
crystals of white and blue. It was beautiful.
Tearing her eyes from the shining globe, Dana took out the
enclosed letter and read it quietly aloud.
"Dana,
"I know I've been gone too long, but I love it here in New
York. In the last month, I've learned more than I ever
dreamed possible. I will come home, though, and soon. I miss
you all more than you know.
"I especially miss my baby sister, and I know it must be
rough with just Charlie to talk to. I've been thinking of
you and I decided to send you something. This ornament was
hand-made by a good friend of mine, who studies things like
crystals and chakras. It's all fascinating. Anyway, he says
that the crystals he used are for happiness and luck, and
that you should always think of me when you look at it.
"Don't tell Mom and Dad about this, or that I'll be home as
soon as I can. They'll know soon enough, won't they? Let's
have a secret for old times sake, and the ornament can be
just ours.
"I love you, baby,
"Missy."
Dana didn't know whether to laugh or cry, or a gasping
combination of the two. She settled for a wistful grin. With
extra care she folded the letter and replaced it in the box,
hiding both of them in the far reaches of her closet.
Ornament in hand, she sought out her mom.
Maggie blinked at the ball, which was practically glowing
in the sunlight of her reading room. "Where did that come
from?"
Dana gritted her teeth for a second. She was a horrible liar
and everyone knew it.
"A friend gave it to me, and I forgot about it until
now. Can I put it on the tree?" she asked smoothly,
wondering how this particular fib came out so easily.
Maggie, who never noticed that her daughter was crossing
her fingers behind her back, granted permission without a
second thought.
After all, why would Dana lie about something like a
Christmas tree ornament?
Dana had the ornament up within minutes, gazing again at the
prisms of color that danced over it. The holidays had just
gotten a lot brighter.
*~~*~~*~~*
December 22, 1990
8:37 p.m.
Dana sighed as she flopped backwards on her couch, looking
at her new apartment. It was a pretty nice place for a
woman just starting a new job.
Sitting up again, she surveyed her territory. One couch.
One kitchen chair. One microwave. One refrigerator. Twenty
boxes of clothing, knickknacks, and other necessities of
life. One stubby Christmas tree with nine glass ornaments
on it.
She smiled as she thought of the ornament tradition that
Melissa had begun. After that first year, even though Missy
came home in early February, Dana always received one glass
ball. There hadn't been a letter enclosed since the first
one, the still-beautiful crystal globe, but there could only
be one person providing the gifts.
It was their secret, something for the sisters and no one
else. Dana liked it that way, especially after the past few
months.
She still didn't quite understand why the rift had appeared.
The FBI was a great place to try and distinguish herself,
and it didn't seem any less prestigious than a career as a
doctor. To her, anyway.
Her father had different ideas. He blamed everyone he could
think of for her sudden about-face decision, including her,
her professors, her friends, and her sister. Missy had borne
the tirades with an inner peace that she had slowly learnt
over the years. And she had supported Dana as much as
possible.
Then, she disappeared again, headed for parts unknown to
continue her spiritual quests. And once again, Dana was
alone when she needed someone the most.
She had sent her new address to her family, but she doubted
she'd get visitors. Her father was the only one who was
vocal about it, but everyone held a degree of disapproval in
their tones. Except Melissa, and she had gone to find her
"path", as she called it.
With a sigh, Dana opened the mostly-empty refrigerator.
There was a bang and a series of sparks, and the whole room
descended into darkness. Dana was left standing in the
kitchen, blind and dumbfounded. She cautiously made her way
into the hallway, which seemed unbearably bright after the
apartment, and went down to the landlord's place.
He nodded as she explained what had happened. "It's a bad
fuse," he told her. "We expect to have it fixed by tomorrow
at the latest, but for tonight I suggest you light some
candles."
Oh, wonderful. "No problem," Dana said with a tight smile
and turned to leave.
"Oh, hang on a second!" he said suddenly, and vanished back
into the recesses of his own well-lit apartment. He was back
in moments with a small box. "This came in the mail today,
but whoever sent it didn't have your apartment number. Your
name isn't on your box yet, so the mailman passed it to me."
Dana took the box with shaking fingers and thanked the man
with a suddenly dry voice. She fled home as fast as she
could go.
Three candles later, she was on her couch, ripping into the
box, wondering all the while how Missy, who had left first,
had found her.
It was, without a doubt, from Missy. This time, there was a
rare letter enclosed.
"Dana,
"I'm in New Orleans now, enjoying the heat but missing the
white Christmas. I'm sorry I left while you were still
having trouble with Dad; I know it'll blow over soon.
"I got your address from Charlie, but he didn't have the
number of your apartment. I guess if you're reading this,
you got the package. That's good to know.
"The ornament this year is another hand-made one. I'm told
that it's a combination of the Flame of Knowledge and the
Scales of Justice. I thought it was appropriate.
"See you soon!
"Missy"
Dana gently laid the letter down and pulled the ornament out
of its wrappings. It was as Missy had described: the red
glass ball was covered in flames, with stylized scales
repeated four times. It really was appropriate.
This one had an inscription too, something different.
Dana Scully, Future Pride of the FBI
Pleased smile firmly in place, Dana attached the ornament
at the front of the tree, right at eye level.
"Merry Christmas, Missy," she said softly, and went to
unpack.
*~~*~~*~~*
December 15, 1995
Mulder glanced over at his partner for the third time in as
many minutes, appearing to wonder at the gloomy mood that
she was in. Scully hadn't been sleeping well, and she knew
that it was showing.
"Hey, Scully?" he called, getting her attention from the
back room.
Scully looked up, still preoccupied. "Yeah?"
"Are you okay?"
She looked startled. "What are you talking about?" she
asked. But she knew what he meant, and there was no way he
could miss the subtle changes in her expression.
He came out and plopped down on the desk, facing her. "I can
tell that something's bothering you. You know you can talk
to me, right?" He stood up again and moved closer to her,
resting a comforting hand on her shoulder.
Scully sighed. "I'm fine, Mulder." He looked unconvinced,
and she wasn't surprised. She could never lie with any
degree of skill.
He squeezed her shoulder again and retreated behind his
desk. "If you need to talk..." he started, and trailed off.
He started working again, but the troubled expression never
left his face.
Scully could see his head tilting as he kept looking over at
her. Finally she decided that if she couldn't talk to Mulder
after over two years of work and friendship, she was in a
pretty sorry state.
She cleared her throat. "Mulder?"
"Yeah," he said, as if he had been waiting for her to speak.
"Can you come over later tonight? After work?" She asked the
question quickly, still unsure about saying anything at all.
Mulder flashed her a smile. "Sure. Should I bring Chinese?"
She answered his smile with a small one of her own. "Why
not? Remember I like the Chicken Lo Mein."
"I'll remember."
So at 7:00 that night, Scully found herself eating a Chinese
dinner in her living room. She still hadn't said a word
to Mulder about what was bothering her, and he hadn't
pressed the subject, seeming content to just be there if
she needed him.
Then he unwittingly stumbled upon the source of Scully's
internal pain as she was carrying dishes into the kitchen.
"This is *incredible*, where'd you get it?"
The world felt as if it turned in slow motion as Scully
looked around. Mulder had found the Christmas tree, complete
with fourteen glass ornaments. He had zeroed in on the
oldest of the bunch, the blue and white crystal globe.
He looked over his shoulder at her and seemed to sense her
distress with one glance at her face. He released the
ornament, which swung back to its accustomed place, and
watched with a helpless expression as Scully plopped down
weakly on the couch.
He was by her side in a flash, close enough for her to feel
his presence but not close enough to crowd her. For a
moment she thought he was going to see her cry, a rare
occurrence. Then she brought herself under control and
tried to slow the flood of memories running through her
mind.
After a while she looked up, even managing a smile for him.
"I'm sorry," was the first thing she said.
Mulder raised an eyebrow. "Don't be. You haven't done
anything wrong."
She sighed, her gaze fixed on the tree of ornaments. "This
is the first Christmas since Melissa died," she said flatly.
Mulder looked like he'd been kicked in the stomach.
Scully caught his involuntary grimace and sighed,
understanding that he blamed his quest for Melissa's death.
She also knew there was more than that. "It feels selfish
for me to unload this on you. You're in the same boat I'm
in, with your father gone." It seemed she was sad enough for
both of them.
"Scully, my relationship with my father was rocky at best.
I miss him, and I'll miss him more as time passes," he said
gently. "You lost your sister, someone you were very close
to, and that's much worse." He paused. "I wouldn't trade
sorrows with you, but I'll share them if you want me to."
An open invitation to spill anything if she needed to.
Scully met his eyes, open and ready to help. She made a
valiant effort to push aside her normal reserve, and started
to tell him about Christmas of 1981, and the crystal globe.
As she described the meaning of each globe, she remembered
how the ornaments always brightened her up at her lowest
points. She talked of how she and Melissa had drifted apart
over the years, yet still the glass balls kept coming on
schedule every year.
She finished the last story as Mulder listened with a rapt
expression. When Scully stopped, Mulder said, "It's a
wonderful tradition."
Scully nodded. "I guess I never realized how important it
was to me. Missy always knew exactly what kind of pattern
would be the best for me, every year. It was like she read
my mind and picked out whatever would make me feel the best.
She was my best source of support, all the time." And now
she's gone added her traitorous mind.
Mulder looked pensive for a moment, then smiled. "It'll take
a while to get used to her absence," he told her, "but you
have these to remind you of her at the holidays. I think
that's a great thing to hold on to."
"I know you're right, and it'll get better," Scully agreed
half-heartedly, "but I still feel lost without that little
package showing up on my doorstep."
Mulder reached over and hugged her. "You'll never be lost."
-----
Nine days later
Yawning, Scully wandered out of her bedroom after sleeping
in *way* too long. She padded out into the living room,
still barefoot, and pulled the door open to pick up her
newspaper.
Her hand froze halfway down.
Sitting on the paper was a small brown box. An eerily
familiar brown box. Scully rubbed her eyes like a child and
looked again. Still there.
Then, realizing she was still in her pajamas, she snared the
box and newspaper and retreated back inside.
This box was different from all the others, in that there
was no mailing label. It had been deposited at her doorstep.
There was no letter inside, simply a mess of shredded paper
and one shining glass ball. Scully stared at it, stupefied,
for a long moment.
It was white, with two figures on it, little more than
glorified stick-men. Or in this case, a stick-man and a
stick-woman. The man was significantly taller than the woman
and had a painted mop of brown hair. The woman was clearly
a redhead. It didn't take a scientist's brain to know who
the people were supposed to be.
The figures were holding hands on the front of the ball.
On the back was a short inscription: "You are never lost."
The same words Mulder had whispered to her the week before
after listening to her memories and fears.
It was as clear a message as the ones Melissa had sent her.
An assurance that she'd always have someone who cared.
Grinning foolishly and fighting tears, she added the new
ornament to the tree.
*~~*~~*~~*
December 22, 2000
Nineteen ornaments.
Scully gazed dully at the Christmas tree she hadn't wanted
to put up and counted the balls for the fifth time. Nineteen
of them. And there would be no more.
It had been too long. Too many hours of searching that did
little or no good, too many leads that fizzled out. Even the
diligent help of her friends had failed to produce the only
thing she wanted for Christmas.
She didn't want to think about him, but in a way, she needed
to. Her hand snaked out and touched the first sphere that
he had given her, trying to make her understand that she
was always a part of something and never alone. The stick-
people had faded a little, but they were still recognizable.
The second ball had come the next year, after she had been
diagnosed with cancer. It had been a blow that no one could
make better, and she had steadily lost faith as time passed.
Then, right before Christmas, that trademark box appeared
again with its precious cargo.
That ornament had been gold, with only one word painted on
it in shades of red.
Hope
Mulder's message, a mix of encouragement and plea. She
needed to keep hope alive, and he needed it as well. Scully
had realized that year that Mulder had her sister's gift for
reading her like a book.
The next year had been different. In the wake of her
remission, the holidays had been progressing happily. That
year's ornament had arrived much earlier, anticipating her
impending departure to San Diego.
The red ball had one word, showing that no awkwardness could
ever permanently harm the two agents and their friendship.
In comical bubble letters, the ball read SUPERSTAR.
Eddie VanBlundht (with an H) was far enough behind them to
make that joke extremely funny to her. A few months closer
to the actual case, and she would've punched Mulder into
next year. Trust Mulder to know when the time was right.
Then, a mere ten days later, came Emily.
The memory of her first, lost daughter was still too painful
to dwell on, especially with a third-trimester baby kicking
around inside of her. Scully's mystifying fertility reversal
was something she had never imagined.
But the Christmas after Emily's death, she had received a
white ball with tiny crosses and angel wings on it. A tender
way to remember Emily, and possibly the sweetest gesture
Mulder had made up till that point.
Not that he had admitted it once. Through those years, he
never made a mention of them, not even when he was at her
apartment during the Christmas season.
That had all changed last year.
Scully smiled to herself as she remembered that evening.
Just a day or two before Christmas, Mulder had appeared at
her doorway with box in hand. She let herself remember that
evening when things had almost changed forever.
*~~*~~*~~*
December 23, 1999
Scully was stunned, to say the least. Their variation of
Melissa's tradition was a nameless one. She knew it was
Mulder, and Mulder knew that she knew. But no one ever
talked about it.
So having Mulder hand-deliver the box was definitely new.
He stood on the doorstep looking sheepish, holding out
the box like an offering, until Scully finally gathered her
wits and ushered him in. She unwrapped the box for the first
time in his presence, revealing a green ball with a little
red X pattern all over it.
Written on the back was Scully & Mulder, seven years and
counting. Christmas 1999
Mulder blushed like a little boy as Scully read it. "I even
put your name first," he said in a tiny voice, trying to
gauge her reaction.
She hung the ornament first, before she said a word. "I
guess this means I'm stuck with you for a while," she
declared lightly, smiling fully at him.
He relaxed minutely. "As long as you'll have me," he agreed.
That changed the tone of the conversation dramatically.
Scully wasn't quite sure how to answer that, and Mulder
wasn't sure how to continue. Both were distracted by the
television, blathering on in the corner and previously
unnoticed by both of them.
"It's Charlie Brown!" Mulder exclaimed, and the atmosphere
tipped back into familiar territory. Scully didn't know if
that was relieving or not.
Mulder was settling in on the couch, kicking back and
preparing for the Charlie Brown Christmas special. Scully
rolled her eyes.
"Mulder, they're having a marathon. Are you planning on
watching Christmas shows here for the rest of the night?"
she asked incredulously as he continued making himself
comfortable.
His only response was to pat the couch next to him, inviting
her to snuggle in with him for the shows. She hesitated for
a moment, wondering if spooning with her best friend would
be an advisable course of action. Then she squished that
part of her mind and jumped onto the couch to watch Charlie
Brown.
Hours later, she woke up. She had dozed off somewhere in the
middle of the Garfield special, and had turned in her sleep.
She and Mulder were now a tangled mass of arms and legs
squeezed onto a narrow sofa.
Blood rushed to her face as she extricated herself from her
partner's embrace. She waited until the flush subsided, then
shook Mulder a little.
"Go 'way," he mumbled.
Scully decided to let him sleep and simply covered him up
with a blanket. When she woke up in the morning, he was gone
and a note was in his place.
Have a good Christmas, Scully. Say hi to Bill for me.
*~~*~~*~~*
December 22, 2000
Scully closed her eyes and laughed out loud as she thought
of that note. It was no secret that Mulder and Bill weren't
the best of friends. It wasn't surprising that, seven months
into her pregnancy, Scully still hadn't told Bill about it.
She hadn't told Mulder either, but that wasn't her fault.
That night had marked a change in them. From there came
New Year's Eve and their first, chaste kiss. Then the walls
came down like dominoes and eventually there were no more
barriers.
There had been a sad kind of freedom in their lovemaking,
between the knowledge that neither had any bizarre diseases
and that Scully couldn't get pregnant. Protection was the
last thing on their minds when they finally let themselves
express what they had bottled up for too long.
And a few months later came the baby. The perfect irony.
Once again, when she needed a simple gesture from someone
who cared, she was without it. She was lost again.
Scully grimaced as a hard rap shook the door. She hefted
herself out of the chair and walked slowly toward the door,
trying not to waddle, and failing.
"I'm coming!" she called, and received no answer. "Who is
it?" she tried again, still getting no answer. She cursed
as her belly kept her from getting close enough to the
peephole to see out.
Grumbling internally about her lack of speed, she cracked
the door open. There was no one in the hallway. She was
about to close the door again and go back to moping when
some instinct told her to look down.
There was a box on the doorstep, balanced right on top of
the newspaper she hadn't even thought of bringing in.
Except she was the only one who knew about the ornaments,
now that Melissa and Mulder were both lost to her.
Fumbling fingers brought the box in, completely disregarding
the newspaper. The door was latched automatically; Scully's
whole mind was focused on that brown cardboard box.
It took her three tries to get the tape off, and the FBI
in her noted the absence of mailing labels. This one was
left at her door. She knew that whoever did it was long
gone; it had taken her much too long to answer the door.
They'd probably been gone before she was even out of the
chair.
There was no letter, just the customary ornament.
It was a deep, matte silver-gray with beams of light painted
on the top half. The light illuminated the inscription that
marched in spidery letters all the way around the ball.
We shall linger on, for the light is never far.
Remember I love you, Scully. Forever, Mulder.
The globe almost fell from her hand before Scully realized
how badly she was shaking. Heart pounding, she affixed the
new ornament to an open spot on the tree.
She couldn't articulate what she was feeling. Her mind and
body were both numb, unable to comprehend what had happened.
Tears filled her eyes as she started to smile. Laughter
broke free and a new hope filled her heart. Maybe there was
still a chance. It wasn't time to give up on him yet.
"I love you too, Mulder," Scully whispered, and went to get
her newspaper.
-----
A lone figure turned another corner on his way back home,
mind on the place he'd just left. The errand was done and
the message received, he hoped.
Mulder's instructions had been clear, prompted by his near
brushes with death the year before.
"If anything happens to me, I need you to do something for
me," he had said to his friend, revealing their tradition in
vivid detail. And a year later Mulder vanished.
He didn't need to be psychic to see the love that prompted
the request. He had agreed without hesitation.
So he had delivered the hand-made ornament with a message he
was certain echoed Mulder's thoughts. A message Mulder
needed to express, wherever he was, and one Scully
desperately needed to hear.
With a tiny smile and warm satisfaction from a job well
done, Frohike pulled into his customary parking spot at the
Gunmen's lair. Before he got within range of the security
cameras, he stopped and looked up at the stars.
"Merry Christmas Scully...and Mulder, wherever you are."
*******************
~FINI~
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