A/N: I apologize for the long wait for this chapter. And otherwise, a happy holiday season to my readers!


When he had been invited to Scully's mom's on Christmas day, Mulder hadn't expected to start out the day laden with bags and boxes while standing out in the cold. After parking her little Ford Taurus on the freshly-plowed albeit slushy street of the east coast suburban town, Scully had requested Mulder's help in getting the bundle of gifts packed in her backseat into the house. So, of course, Mulder had obliged, picking up the two large paper bags of presents and essentially leaving Scully hands free.

"Mulder, you don't need to take it all," she said, reaching out a hand to take one of the brimming bags. Mulder swung the bags away from her with a playful smile.

"I got it, Scully," he replied. Scully stared at him for a long moment, deciding whether or not she should heed his claim. Finally, she shrugged, but not before raising a warning finger.

"Just don't fall. There are some fragile things in there." She dropped a gloved hand to one of the medium-sized boxes sitting at the top of the present pile. Mulder looked up the black asphalt driveway and concrete sidewalk leading up to the house; someone had been kind enough to shovel walkways after the night's snowfall, but dirtied globs of grey slush still coated some areas.

"Look who's talking," Mulder returned, running his eyes down her coat-clad figure to the pair of black pumps she wore. "Those things are a tripping hazard if I ever saw one." Scully glanced down at her shoes in turn before raising an arched eyebrow at Mulder.

"These heels are shorter than the ones I usually wear," she informed him pointedly.

Mulder wasn't the sort to normally pay attention to lady's footwear, but he was nothing if not detail-oriented, and after six years of working with Scully, he had a decent grasp on how she dressed herself—despite the stylistic evolution she underwent as she got more settled into the X-Files. The straightened auburn hair of a new field agent, the 28 year-old Scully of 1992, had morphed into a titian-colored bob. And the overbearing pants-suits had gotten an overhaul; she primarily stuck to button-down blouses with a well-tailored suit jacket and a matching pair of slacks or a skirt. But she had always maintained a specific taste in shoes; sleek, stylish, leather stilettos—often with about a three inch heel. It was sharp; it was professional, and Mulder had to admit: it was sexy. He looked down at her current choice of footwear again and resolved to take in a bit more detail than upon his initial inspection. The shoes she wore at the edge of Mrs. Scully's driveway were the furthest thing from her customary day-to-day wear: they were little suede things with a block heel.

"New shoes?" he asked, once more meeting her eyes. She scuffled them against the asphalt.

"No," she said with a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "I just don't get much opportunity to wear them." Watching him a moment longer, she ensured she had locked her car and started up the driveway. With a silent chuckle to himself, Mulder followed.

Special Agent Dana Scully. Doctor Dana Scully. Scully. Those were all people Mulder had become acclimated to in six years of partnership. But he had never had the opportunity to get to know "Dana."

As he stood at Margaret Scully's front door, he realized he was about to get that chance.

The chill nipped at Mulder's face and hands. He hadn't brought a hat and he had stupidly forgotten to pull on his winter gloves; they were buried uselessly in his coat pocket. Meanwhile, the stringy, cord-like handles of the twin paper bags were cutting into his palms, so he was forced to readjust his grip frequently. Scully was the picture of practicality: bundled up in a winter coat and wearing a set of cashmere-lined driving gloves with a simple black scarf hanging from her shoulders. Mulder had his coat on at the very least, but he couldn't wait until they'd be allowed into the presumably warm, cheery house and out of the cold.

"You know, Scully," he said, silently counting the seconds as they waited, "I feel more like a porter than a house guest at the moment." She tossed a glance his way, and he smirked in response. "Your mother's cooking better be worth it."

"You were the one who decided you had to be chivalric," she pointed out, gesturing to the loaded-down bags. "I offered to help."

Scully became minutely distracted; movement could be seen through the translucent curtains and small glass panes bordering the door on either side. With the click of a lock and jiggle of the handle, the door swung open.

"There you are, Dana!" Mrs. Scully greeted with a warm, welcoming smile; Mulder detected a hint of relief to her demeanor. "We were wondering where you were." She was wearing black dress slacks and a forest green sweater, but the ensemble was obscured by a large apron covering her. Mulder guessed she had been hard at work in the kitchen.

"Hi, Mom," Scully greeted as she wrapped her arms around the petite woman in a hug. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Dana," she returned liltingly before turning her eyes on Mulder. Her smile widened into a broad grin. "Fox!" she said. "I hadn't been expecting you."

"Scully roped me into it," Mulder replied good-naturedly with a smile of his own. Unable to hug him that moment given his encumbered state, Mrs. Scully put a hand on his arm.

"And I'm glad she did. You're always welcome at my table, Fox." Mulder could sense the genuineness in Mrs. Scully's offer, and it was altogether foreign for him. Being so distant from his own mother and father for so many years leant him to becoming more of a loner than was perhaps necessary. He didn't keep many friends or loved ones around, and he certainly didn't receive offers to come join other families during their holiday meals. More often than not, he kept to himself or spent the day with the Gunmen.

"Thank you, Mrs. Scully," Mulder returned, slightly embarrassed. He noticed Scully's sly smile at his side; she had noticed his mild discomfort, and she was too sharp for her own good. Mrs. Scully hastily step back from the doorway to give them passage.

"Well, come in," she said, beckoning to them. Mulder was careful to knock most of the snow from his shoes before stepping into the entrance hall. He didn't want to be the one to dirty her practically spotless floors, and it would be only like him to do so given his naivete of family get togethers.

Mrs. Scully closed the door shut behind them. Scully pulled the gloves from her hands and rubbed them to warm them up again from the chill winter weather outside. Mulder hastily set the bags of Christmas gifts to one side, flexing his sore fingers once he was rid of the weight.

"Now that Dana's not working you like a packhorse," Mrs. Scully said with a teasing look toward her daughter. Scully's brows shot up with an amused smirk.

"Mulder offered, Mom," she informed her. Mrs. Scully waved away the statement.

"No matter." She turned back to Mulder. "Merry Christmas, Fox," she said, reaching up to pull him into a hug. Mulder leaned forward to return the gesture. Mulder noticed Scully hiding a smile as she pocketed her gloves and pulled off her scarf.

"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Scully," Mulder said, standing upright once he was free of the Scully matron's grasp. He was wholly appreciative of her welcoming manner; he had expected nothing less of Mrs. Scully, especially given how open she was to him and his obtuse ways. To some extent, it helped ease his inherent awkwardness and sense of not belonging, but he was certain that was sure to return once the rest of the Scully family filed in. Nonetheless, he was intent on playing the part of the Christmas day house guest right, even if that included immense discomfort on his part.

"I thought you were going to be here earlier, Dana," Mrs. Scully remarked to her daughter, her eyes furrowing questioningly. "It's already past three." Mulder grimaced; Scully had mentioned they were running late. She had been expected by the late morning, just in time to join the family in opening presents and drinking eggnog. Then she was expected to help her mother in the kitchen. Bill and Charlie both flew in on holiday leave from out of state—Bill from California; Charlie from Texas. Bill, of course, had brought Tara and little Matthew along with him. She had missed valuable, rare family time, and Mulder couldn't help feel like the blame fell at his feet.

"Mulder and I got involved in an investigation late last night," Scully explained, offering the briefest of glances in Mulder's direction. She wasn't the least bit upset; she was being pragmatic and factual. "I'd intended to get up in time for this morning, but—"

"I dragged her into it, Mrs. Scully," Mulder interrupted, uncomfortable with the idea of Scully making excuses on his behalf. As always, it was better to just stick to the truth of the matter. "I had been conducting the investigation, and I asked Scully to join me." Scully looked over at him with a mildly concerned glance. She seemed just as unwilling as him to let one person take the brunt of the blame. Mrs. Scully looked between the two, worry lines creasing her face.

"For work?"

"Personal interest," Mulder answered before Scully had a chance to reply. "There's a house in Maryland that's said to be haunted only on Christmas Eve; I wanted to look into it. At my request, Scully generously gave up her Christmas Eve." Scully shot him a look.

"Mulder, you stole my car keys," she reminded him.

"But you drove out in the first place," he countered. Scully sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Well..." Mrs. Scully interjected once there was a lull in the conversation, "since you were unable to get here earlier, Dana, why not spend the night? Bill and Charlie are here. And Tara and Matthew, of course. We're so rarely all together as a family, and I know you'd like to see your brothers for longer than a few hours."

Though she tried to hide it, Mulder picked up a sense of longing in his partner. Scully's expression was neutral, but her eyes were sharp and intent. He knew for a fact that she didn't see her siblings all that often—only for the occasional holiday or emergency. He remembered it had been years since she saw her younger brother, Charlie.

"Fox, you're welcome to stay, too," Mrs. Scully added with a pointed glance at Mulder. Internally, he about reeled at the offer; it was the last thing he had expected of her. Externally, he just smiled grimly—a strained, unnatural smile. It was especially considerate of her to remember him, but it was not his place to stay. He was already considerably nervous about spending a day in the Scully household, let alone the night and some of the morning after. If Scully wanted to stay, that was her prerogative. There was only one issue with that….

"I would, Mom," Scully said with a disappointed sigh. "But Mulder and I only took the one car, and I told him we'd be back home tonight." Mulder internally winced; he didn't want to seem like the bad guy—the reason Scully couldn't rightfully spend more time with her family during the holidays.

"It's fine, Scully," he said, turning to his partner. "You stay. I'll take the train home later."

"Today, Mulder?" Scully said disbelieving. "Trains will be running on a limited basis given the holiday, and those trains that are scheduled will be packed full of people."

"A taxi, then," Mulder offered as a secondary option. Scully crossed her arms and stared at him.

"They'll be just as busy." With a resigned sigh, Mulder realized she was right. No matter what method, it would be a pain to get back to D.C. by public transportation on Christmas day. If he could even get onto a train or bus—bound to be jam-packed with holiday travelers—it would be slow going, and he'd likely not be home until very late at night. It would be much easier if he just drove himself, but he wasn't about to strand Scully at her mother's just so he could get back to his quiet, little apartment by that evening.

"Fox," interjected Mrs. Scully quietly, "if it's easier for you to stay the night, you're more than welcome to. I already have Bill, Charlie, and the others staying, but there's plenty of room in this big, old house." She offered the slightest of smiles. "I can find room for Dana and yourself." Mulder sighed audibly, closing his eyes. It really was the last thing he wanted, but if he were to be the proper house guest, he'd have to suck up his displeasure and accept the kind gesture. He forced a smile. Both Scully and her mother looked at him warily; they knew that the idea of staying over went against his best instinct.

"I don't want to intrude, Mrs. Scully," he said by way of apology, "but I guess I'll take you up on the offer. I don't want to be the reason to upset your family holiday." Mrs. Scully smiled reassuringly.

"You'll do no such thing, Fox." The smile faded away as she began considering the situation. "Now I just have to figure out the sleeping arrangements. I've put Bill and Tara in my room since they have the baby, and there's the master bathroom there." She spoke more to her daughter than Mulder at this point since Scully was more knowledgeable about the house's layout.

Mulder realized he had only entered the foyer once before, and otherwise knew nothing of what the house looked like. Now he had time to take in Mrs. Scully's home. While normally very alert and aware of his surroundings, Mulder allowed himself to tune out the chatter beside him. As the voices droned in the background, he inspected the residence—or at least what of it he could see while standing in the entrance hall. It was your average, American, suburban home; it was nicely furnished and carefully decorated. A family home through and through. Excluding the houses he entered when conducting investigations and out in the field, Mulder hadn't been in such a carefully composed home in ages. He had a fairly short list of friends, and most of them were bachelors or divorcees—or both, like him. Even his mother's home had been converted to suit her purposes specifically; there was no room for family at Teena Mulder's since Samantha had gone. And yet it seemed Margaret Scully's motto was "the more, the merrier."

How did I find myself here? Mulder wondered to himself. He concentrated on the two woman occupying the small entrance hall along with him, and a sentence of their conversation finally filtered through his ruminations.

"Perhaps I could put you and Fox in the guest room…." Mrs. Scully was simply musing aloud to herself; she hadn't intended to insinuate anything of his relationship with Scully. Mulder didn't think she had even grasped what she was potentially suggesting. But how that suggestion had hit so close to home for him.

The prospect of sharing a room with Scully intrigued him, even titillated him. Maurice's and Lyda's words from the night before came back to haunt him—tantalizing words meant to provoke him into admitting that he needed Scully with him forever—even unto death. Mulder knew for a fact that he needed Scully, but not in the way the two lovesick ghosts had meant. He was a better person with Scully around; he was a whole person—as he had told her in the hallway of his apartment building just months earlier.

And then they had almost... Mulder didn't like to think on "almosts"—such as the impromptu kiss brought on by pent up frustrations and unwilling goodbyes. Only to be foiled by a genetically-modified bee carrying an extraterrestrial virus at the last second. What mattered is that it hadn't happened. So as far as he and Scully were concerned, they were just what they always were.

But the implications of Mrs. Scully's suggestions were still there—whether she understood them or not—and it left Mulder a bit dumbfounded. Scully had an eerily similar expression of shock on her face.

"Mom...um," Scully stammered, "you're aware that Mulder and I are just partners…."

"Of course, Dana," Mrs. Scully nodded, looking for all the world that she had never thought anything different. Mulder could see the gears in her head spinning furiously as she tried to figure out what her daughter was getting at, and it hit her. Her eyes widened in alarm as she scrambled to correct her earlier statement. "I had only meant to say that I'd rather you both have a bed for the night. I wouldn't want Fox to have to sleep on one of the living room chairs." Mulder just about laughed. He and Scully briefly met one another's eyes. He was grateful for the fact that they could sometimes communicate silently, and he very well knew that he and Scully were on the same page in this case.

"I'm sure Mulder would much prefer one of the lounge chairs, Mom," Scully remarked with an almost imperceptible nod to Mulder before turning back to her mother.

"It's only one night, Mrs. Scully. I'd be fine there," he added with an appreciative smile, hoping to ease Mrs. Scully's embarrassment over her minor faux pas as well as confirm Scully's assertion. She forced a thankful smile, but remained obstinate.

"Fox, if you and Dana were up half the night, it's best for you to get a good night's sleep. An old lounge chair won't give you that." She seemed almost pleading, and it tugged at Mulder's heartstrings. Mrs. Scully had the habit of drudging up the human sentimentality within him unlike any other person in his life, Scully included. "And what kind of hostess would I be?" she added. "Relegating one of my guests to a lounge chair when there's a perfectly good bed available?"

Mulder had always thought Scully's streak of stubbornness came from her father, but her mother could be just as unyielding. He once again felt pressured to fall into the role of the cooperative house guest, even when it went against his better instincts. Yes, of course, there were the Bureau regulations in place prohibiting fraternization with an assigned partner; Mulder was more concerned with the temptations of rooming with Scully. But at Mrs. Scully's home he would be nothing less than a gentleman, refraining from doing anything uncouth and even his standard flirtations with his partner. It wasn't the time or the place. And the already awkward situation needn't be made any awkwarder, especially since Scully was completely ignorant of his internal dilemmas.

"You've convinced me," he said with the slightest of resigned smiles. He was mostly able to hide his discomfort. "So long as Scully's alright with the arrangement…." He looked over at his partner for her input. She blinked at him, undoubtedly surprised at his concession. Though it was her turn to speak, she was distracted—trying to figure him out. Mulder nodded his head minutely, hoping to remind her that he was looking for her contribution. She reared back the slightest bit as reality set in again and turned abruptly to her mother.

"Um…" she coughed, "you said you and Charlie would share the living room pull-out?" She was more perplexed than worried. Mulder suspected her mind was racing as she sought to determine what ulterior motives he had in agreeing to the outlandish suggestion, especially since they had already agreed that he would much prefer sleeping elsewhere.

"Yes," Mrs. Scully nodded cautiously, her wise eyes carefully reading her daughter. "So you and Fox would take the guest room upstairs."

"Um...alright," she agreed with a small nod, glancing at Mulder one more time. He had the distinct impression he would be interrogated later when they found themselves alone. "I just need to get my overnight bag from the car." She pointed over her shoulder to the door and prepared to pull on her gloves once more.

Scully had brought up a very important point that Mulder had completely overlooked.

"Ah, that reminds me," he said aloud, a bit hesitantly. "You're going to have to live with me wearing this strapping ensemble—" He looked down at the navy blue sweater and jeans he wore under his heavy coat. "—all of today and tomorrow. I don't have a change of clothes." Mrs. Scully didn't look the least bit concerned; even more to his surprise, neither did Scully.

"With Bill and Charlie here, I'm sure we can find you a fresh shirt tomorrow," Mrs. Scully said. Mulder wasn't really comforted by the notion, but as he made to object, a shrill, rhythmic beeping pierced through the room from one end of the house. "I think that's the potatoes," Mrs. Scully explained as the sound quieted. "The rest of the family is in the living room. Go on that way when you're ready." Without another word, she strode from the entrance hall. Scully resumed pulling on her gloves, but Mulder gently put a hand to the small of her back.

"I'll get the bag, Scully," he said, leaning close to her. "You go and see your family."

"You sure, Mulder?" Scully asked out of habit. She wasn't the least bit accustomed to being waited on.

"You go ahead," Mulder nodded. "I'll be back in a minute." He turned to the door and reached a hand out to the handle.

"Mulder?" Scully asked. He turned. She looked at him worriedly, her brows knit together as she scrutinized him. "Are you sure you're comfortable with staying in the guest room?" For the slightest of moments, Mulder considered telling her the truth: that he was equally exhilarated and apprehensive. But logic retook his mind, and he did what he always did.

"Why wouldn't I be, Scully?" He offered his best lopsided smile. "And it's not like it's a new situation for us. You've stayed at my place; I've stayed at your place. Hell, we even spent the night together in one of those motels." He was being purposefully vague. His customary back and forths will Scully always calmed him, and he got a kick out of the sexual innuendos.

So much for remaining a gentleman, he thought unabashedly. Scully fixed him with her sternest gaze.

"Mulder, we've only stayed at each other's apartments when one or the other of us is recovering from a hospital stay." She took a deep breath, readying herself for another go. "And I told you that I don't remember letting you into my room that night! Nothing in the slightest happened, and you know it!" Mulder grinned.

Hook, line, and sinker.

"Believe what you want, Scully." Mulder sidled over to the door and opened it. "But I've told you before: you can't hide the truth from me." He slipped out the front door before Scully had a chance to rebuke him again.

Scully stared at the door so fiercely, she could have burned a hole through it. She sighed, tugging at her gloves again and stuffing them into a pocket. Mulder was relentless in his pokings, proddings, and teasings. Even if he meant well, sometimes it got on her nerves. She slipped her coat off and hung it on a nearby coat rack covered in winter coats of varying styles and colors. Distracted by Mulder's antics, she barely registered the heavy footfalls making their way toward her from the direction of the living room.

"I thought I heard my baby sister," a voice boomed. Her frustration melted away, and she turned, smiling.

"Bill," she greeted, hurriedly walking up to him and wrapping her arms around his burly frame. "It's so good to see you," she said into his chest.

"And you have no idea what it's like to see you like this," Bill returned, stepping back to hold her at arm's length. "No medical emergencies or family tragedies. It seemed like every time I saw you, something bad had happened."

Scully's mind ricocheted down memory lane as she tried to confirm his words; the last times she had seen her big brother, he had come to visit her during her bout with cancer and she had gone to spend last Christmas with him only to summarily meet and lose Emily. The raw wound left in Emily's wake smarmed. It had only been a year since that girl had entered Scully's life, and being near the anniversary of her death, Scully felt the pain just as acutely as when the little girl had suddenly died. She hoped she would be strong enough to survive the visit without breaking down.

Hastily, she walled up the pain and hurt. It couldn't be allowed to disrupt the family holiday.

"I'm so glad you finally took my advice and didn't bring your work home with you," Bill said sincerely, looking down at her. Scully smiled back up at him, trying to be appreciative. Bill could be a bit of an ass. She knew that. He was just doing his best to keep the family together now that their father was gone, and since Captain Scully had been so overly-protective of her throughout her life, Bill was taking on that task.

Scully heard the door handle jiggle, the door swing open, and felt the chill winter air blow against her. Bill looked over her shoulder, staring.

"But you did bring your partner," he remarked numbly. He dropped his arms. Scully turned.

Mulder silently shut the door and quietly set down the little, black suitcase beside the bags of presents. Once he turned back to face the pair of siblings, he immediately registered their expressions. Scully was anxious, well aware that her older brother and he didn't get along. She silently pleaded with him to remain calm and courteous. Bill just looked stunned, but the shock of Mulder's arrival quickly wore off and his expression set into a frown. Mulder sighed to himself; Bill was already surly and ill-tempered. There would be no getting around that.

"Hello, Bill," he greeted, raising a hand. Bill looked from the outstretched hand to his sister.

"Bill," Scully said sternly, meaning to talk down her big brother, "Mulder had no place to go. I invited him." Bill stared at her for a few moments, reading her face and deciding on his options. A begrudging smile came to his lips, and he clapped Scully lightly on the arm. Bill stepped forward and accepted Mulder's hand, giving it a firm shake.

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Mulder." Bill's smile reeked of falsity, but at least he was putting on an effort; it was likely all Mulder could ask of the Navy man. He couldn't expect the two of them to be chummy after over a year of disagreements.

"I hope you're doing well," Mulder said, opting to make small talk.

"Very well. Thank you." The words came out strained, and he hastily detached himself from Mulder, returning to his sister across the room.

Mulder wondered how much trouble she'd be in from her overbearing brother. He was obviously a bit cross, and while Mulder attempted not to eavesdrop, he could pick up that Bill was questioning Scully's decision to invite a stranger to the family dinner—a stranger he hated, no less. Scully was adamantly defending him, her hushed voice raising now and again.

Mulder tried to distract himself with another glance around the little room, but it wasn't doing the job. Thankfully, a more formidable distraction presented itself in the form of Bill's wife, Tara, as she entered the room with baby Matthew. As she passed by her husband, she put a hand to his arm. Mulder noticed that she gave him a firm squeeze, silently warning him to behave himself and cool his temper. He immediately did so, well aware that there'd be hell to pay if he went against his wife's wishes.

Tara continued her trek across the room and stopped in front of Mulder, offering a warm smile. She obviously intended to be more welcoming toward him than her husband.

"Mr. Mulder," she said cheerily. "I'm not sure if you remember me, but we met last Christmas." Her tone was a bit tentative, as if unsure if he recalled her. For the briefest moment, Mulder found himself struck dumb by the necessity of social interaction. Outside work and his few personal relationships, he rarely communicated with the general public. He quickly recovered.

"Tara, yeah," he said suddenly, taking her hand to shake it. She ignored the hand, and pulled him into a one-armed hug, pressing the baby against his chest. Scully caught his eye from across the room; her face was expressionless since she was now calmly speaking to Bill, but Mulder knew she was silently checking up on him—asking if he was alright. Mulder smiled the slightest bit in affirmation, and Scully returned to her conversation. "Thanks for letting me come to your place last Christmas," Mulder added to Tara once they had separated, thinking it safest to proceed with the pleasantries. Tara smiled sympathetically.

"You're very welcome, Mr. Mulder. With the revelation about Emily and Dana's situation—" She looked over to her sister-in-law. "—what other choice did we have? Dana wanted you there."

Last Christmas had been a hard one for Scully. She'd gone off to California expecting to spend a normal holiday with her brother's family only to receive phone calls from beyond the grave—seemingly from her dead sister, Melissa. While Mulder believed adamantly in the validity of spectral manifestations—his attempts at paranormal investigation the night before could be seen as evidence of that—he wasn't entirely sure what to make of Scully's insistence that her deceased sister was phoning her.

Scully was rarely willing to accept a statement or theory without any verifiable proof. That sort of impulsiveness was just not of her nature. So in those moments when she did depend on some manner of faith, Mulder became wary. Her innate form of "belief" was very different from his own. To some extent, she believed in miracles and signs from God, religious events that had the potential to set someone on a specific path; as a rule, Mulder generally detested such occurrences. The only one he wanted in control of his fate was himself, and he was thoroughly uncomfortable with Scully believing so adamantly in some phantom voice—whether it was the so-called "Voice of God" or a long-lost sister.

But rather than debate the matter with Scully, he chose to try and believe her. She was too involved in the entire situation: her sister calling to warn her that a little girl direly needed her help. And—even so far as Mulder was concerned—if any of Scully's relatives were to push the boundaries of spiritual existence, it would be Melissa Scully.

And in a twist that was even more shocking than a collect call from the grave was learning of the existence of Emily, Scully's biological daughter. The moment Scully had called him up in D.C. and told him the baffling revelation, Mulder knew the grim truth: the government had begun its experimentation on the ova harvested from female abductees; they sought to make a human-extraterrestrial hybrid and required the reproductive capabilities of human females to achieve that goal. Scully was one of those victimized women, and Emily was a product of those labors. But because of what Emily was—a test subject, for lack of a better word—she was doomed to die.

And that had torn Scully up.

Standing in the hall of Mrs. Scully's cheery, family-filled home, Mulder stared at his partner across the room. She was smiling and laughing, the picture perfect representation of a young woman home for the holidays. She and Bill had obviously gotten over their minor tiff over his presence; perhaps Bill had realized that the anguish wasn't worth the effort, especially when up against such a competent adversary as Scully. Or maybe he realized his mother would kill him if he dare speak out against a guest—or his wife would kill him, for that matter.

But the point was that Scully was happy, her trials and tragedies temporarily forgotten. Or at least it so appeared. Mulder knew Scully too well; she loved to feign contentment when turmoil was boiling up inside her like a hurricane bearing down on the shore. Mulder wondered when that calm would break, and he suspected it would do so at least once during their stay; the circumstances surrounding her were too similar: a family-filled Christmas only one short year later.

Perhaps it was a good thing he had come along with Scully.

A hand fluttered against his arm. Mulder's eyes darted to Tara's, and she smiled sympathetically at him.

"No matter what my husband says," she said slowly, "you're good for Dana, Mr. Mulder." The baby wavered a bit in her other arm, and she removed her hand to place it against his back, simultaneously steadying him and holding him to her chest.

Mulder felt himself just about stop breathing. He expected such compliments from Mrs. Scully, but not Tara. They had only met a few times before, and in those moments, they barely spoke to one another. And yet she claimed to see something in his and Scully's relationship. What in the world was it?

She turned away from him, but Mulder reached out and gently caught her arm. Tara turned back inquisitively.

"It's Fox." He coughed once, feeling a raspiness to his breathless voice. "You can call me 'Fox,'" he said with more conviction. Tara nodded, an amused smile turning at the corner of her lips, and walked to join her husband and sister-in-law.

"Fox" wasn't exactly his name of choice, but he couldn't expect the entirety of Scully's family to call him by his surname all the time, and Mrs. Scully had already taken to calling him by his first name. As much as he hated it, though, he never really minded it when Mrs. Scully said it. She never spat it out in ridicule or to criticize him. She just said it, and it was natural coming from her. He was under the impression it would slip from Tara's lips just as naturally.

On the sight of her brother's wife, Scully smiled at her and immediately greeted her with a hug, likely more out of familial obligation than actual desired intent. Mulder suddenly realized that Scully likely knew Tara as well as he did; they hardly saw one another since the whole of the United States existed between D.C. and California, but she had to do her duty as a sister-in-law. And that included the looks of adoration when she set sights on Matthew. But the pain was there, too—lurking just behind her eyes. Thankfully, the married couple was well aware of the potential effects of their son and hastily changed the subject to less turbulent matters. As quickly as it came, the pain faded away—boxed up for some unknown period of time.

Bill and Tara had Scully in hand; Mulder could take the moment to himself. He needn't be so customarily protective of her as he usually was.

And since he already happened to be looking at his partner; and since the moment of potential turmoil had passed, he found himself noticing her. Her long coat was gone, and she looked so different than he ever saw her before. It was more than the block heeled shoes. She wore a maroon cardigan with a thin, long-sleeved, off-white shirt beneath that. The neck dipped low and curved at her collarbone, showing plenty of skin around the gold-glinting chain and pendant of her cross necklace. With her hair tucked back behind her ear, Mulder could make out tiny stud earrings glistening in the light. And then to round out the outfit, she wore some simple charcoal gray slacks. Surrounded by the numerous more muted colors and the red of her hair and sweater, the bright blue of her eyes absolutely popped.

Mulder wasn't used to taking note of Scully in such a way; he usually saw her in some variation of the same outfit day-in and day-out. On those occasions when he saw her dressed down some, work usually still had a part to play. So seeing her dressed so casually and colorful was a new experience for him.

While staring at his partner, a new figure mosied into the room. He briefly came to stop behind Bill, and Mulder noticed he was slightly taller than the Navy man, though his bearing wasn't quite so burly. If Bill had been a linebacker on his high school football team, the new visitor had certainly been a quarterback. He seemed light and quick on his feet, but that wasn't to say he was weak. Mulder suspected he was physically stronger than he appeared. Of course, the Scully family as a whole seemed pretty strong.

Mulder surmised that he was staring at Scully's younger brother, Charlie. Firstly, he was the only family member left unaccounted for, and if that wasn't a big enough clue, the reddish tinge to his short, cropped hair was a dead giveaway. After noticing that his sister was caught up in conversation with Bill and Tara for the moment, his eyes roamed the room and landed on Mulder. His eyes narrowed and brow furrowed, and he slowly stepped on over with an easy gait. Mulder prepared himself for the worst.

"I'm going to take a wild guess and assume my sister brought you along," the man said in greeting, holding out a hand. "I'm Charlie, Dana's kid brother."

Kid is right, Mulder thought now that he could see Charlie up-close. He had a young face, much more carefree than either of his older siblings. His eyes were bright, almost the same shade of blue as Scully's, and while there was a measure of experience lurking within them, he was still pretty green. Whether for good or ill, he had seen little of the corruption and horrors of the world. Mulder granted it was a more pleasant way to live, but it could be all the more dangerous.

Mulder tried to gauge his age; he looked to be in his late 20's, but Mulder suspected he was actually just shy of 31. Looking at his thin, smooth features reminded Mulder of how much older he was in comparison. He didn't feel any older, though. He was still springy, virile, and as ready for action as ever. He was still set on his continual search for the truth. But he guessed he looked older; maybe his eyes gave him away, unintentionally divulging all the impossibilities he had seen and experiences he had gone through.

But Charlie didn't seem the least bit intimidated by him; he was just curious. He was wondering who the mysterious figure that Scully had unexpectedly brought to a private family function was.

"Fox Mulder," he said. "Scully's childish partner." The quip was trite and probably stupid, but Mulder wanted to make light of the meeting. Charlie's mouth formed into an "o" as he slowly nodded, the name obviously registering for him.

"Ah, so you're Mr. Mulder," Charlie replied, replacing the look of realization with an easy smile. "I've heard about you over the years."

"I'm not sure I want to know what stories you've heard," Mulder returned with a strained smile of his own. He sincerely doubted Charlie only heard the good about him.

"Well," Charlie said with a slight quirk of his head, "I guess I've heard about you from just about everyone. Dana's mentioned you a few times on calls. Mom and Bill have mentioned you. Hell, Melissa even told me about you once." The last comment was said off-hand, very nonchalant, but mention of his sister sobered him up some. The light in his eyes dimmed a bit.

Perhaps he's seen a bit more horror than I gave him credit for, Mulder thought, remembering that the young man had to suffer through the unexpected deaths of both his father and older sister in a few years' time. And Melissa only died because she was mistaken for Scully. As much as I don't like Bill, he has his reasons to hate me. He looked over Charlie's shoulder at the elder Scully brother.

"I only met her a few times," Mulder said, returning his gaze to Charlie and hoping to console him some, "but Melissa was a good woman. She gave me the push I needed once...when I was in a really dark place." Charlie smiled faintly; whether or not Mulder's attempt at commiseration helped, he was thankful.

"She told me you were a bit stuck in your ways," Charlie remarked indifferently. "That you were unwilling to look at the world outside your closed-minded understanding of it." Mulder let out a chuckle, finding the statement too ironic.

"Try telling that to Scully…."

"Telling me what, Mulder?" Scully asked, appearing at his side with her arms customarily crossed in front of her and looking up at him inquisitively. She had temporarily returned to the skeptical partner he knew and worked with on a daily basis. Her eyebrows arched as she awaited his newest hairbrained theory. He couldn't stop himself from grinning down at her.

"Apparently I'm closed-minded." Her sharp eyes turned to her brother, and she pointed a thumb over her shoulder and at Mulder.

"If he's been telling you that, Charlie, don't listen to a word he says." Mulder was prepared to protest his innocence, but thankfully caught himself before he spoke. Scully reached up and wrapped her arms around her brother. "Merry Christmas, Charlie."

"You, too, Dana," he returned. Mulder was glad he hadn't blundered and interrupted the two siblings' greetings.

"Fort Worth treating you well?" she asked, looking her little—albeit taller—brother up and down. He shrugged.

"As well as can be expected." He looked from between her to Mulder at her side. "How's the FBI?" His cool blue eyes returned to her. "Still playing secret agent woman? Have the entire, 'I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you' routine down?" Scully mused to herself for a moment.

"I think I've only used it twice," she answered. Mulder suspected she was joking, but there was something to her demeanor that had him second guessing that assumption.

"Do I want to know, Scully?" he asked. She smirked up at him, her blue eyes teasing.

"What do you think, Mulder?" He raised his arms in mock surrender.

"Consider me appeased. I don't want to know." Scully laughed, and looked between the two men at either side of her.

"Well, I see you two have met, at least." Mulder could sense a mild nervousness about her. She didn't want his and Charlie's relationship to hastily develop into another one like the begrudging civility he shared with Bill—or rather that Bill shared with him. Mulder didn't care one way or the other that Bill disliked him. Scully looped in arm into her brother's and stood at his side, scrutinizing Mulder. "So what do you think?" she asked him. Mulder suddenly felt like some piece of art being admired and gawked at. He wondered if he should strike some sort of pose.

"To be frank," Charlie said, glancing down at his sister, "he's a bit tall for you, Dana." Scully swatted at his arm, hitting it a little harder than expected. Through a laugh, Charlie rubbed the thwacked spot. Mulder couldn't help but chuckle. "Well," Charlie tried again, his laughter abating, "I've only talked to Mr. Mulder for a few minutes. You have to give me more time to get to know him before I come to a deliberation."

"At least you're more easy-going on me than your brother," Mulder remarked unthinkingly. As soon as the words had spilled from his mouth, he regretted them. Thankfully, Bill was across the room and caught up in a conversation with his wife. Scully glanced over her shoulder, also checking that her older brother was out of earshot. Charlie smiled sheepishly, less offended by Mulder's comment and more embarrassed by it.

"Yeah, sorry about Bill, Mr. Mulder. He comes on a bit strong." Mulder shrugged, deciding a noncommittal response was his best option.

"He has his reasons." He began to cross his arms over his chest, feeling the uncomfortable silence begin to settle in when a voice spoke up behind him.

"Ah, you've met Fox," Mrs. Scully said to Charlie, returning from the depths of the house to find the whole of her family loitering in the entrance hall. She lightly set a hand to Mulder's arm for a moment before taking it away. "And yet you forgot to take his coat." She fixed her youngest with a stern but amused stare.

"We got talking," he shrugged. Scully slipped her arm out of her brother's as he proceeded with his duty. "I'll take your coat, Mr. Mulder." Mulder slid off the heavy fabric and handed it over.

"Thanks," he replied. As Charlie stepped over to the coat rack to hang it, Mulder turned to Mrs. Scully. "I could have handled that myself, you know." She waved it off.

"Nonsense, Fox. You're a guest, and I thought I'd raised my children better." She eyed Scully with a stare similar to the one she had given Charlie. Scully raised her hands defensively.

"I'm Mulder's partner, mom. He wouldn't dare relegate me to secretarial duties. Or as the Bureau likes to call them, 'personal assistants.' We made that clear on day one." She glanced up at him for affirmation.

"I'd never dream of it, Scully," he nodded somberly. "Unless it involves getting coffee, of course…." Scully rolled her eyes.

"I can always count on you, Mulder," she sighed. Charlie returned to the clustered group, letting out a small chuckle.

"Looks like you have Mr. Mulder in hand, Dana," he said, clapping her lightly on the back.

"I always think so," she replied, looking at Mulder pointedly, "at least up until the point where he steals my car keys."

"In my defense," Mulder said bracingly, realizing that Scully really wasn't going to let him live that moment down, "you were going to leave." She stared at him incredulously.

"Because you were going to drag me along on a ghost hunt," she accused him, her vocal volume raising some. Bill and Tara abandoned their conversation to look over. Charlie and Mrs. Scully just watched the back and forth between them like they were observing a tennis match.

"A ghost hunt?" Charlie interrupted, looking at his sister quizzically. "You went ghost busting?" By the look on Charlie's face, Mulder could see that "ghost busting" was the furthest thing on his mind when he considered Scully's leisure activities. He was downright stunned, but suddenly a grin spread across his face. "I think I want to hear this story, Dana." Mrs. Scully intervened.

"In a bit, Charlie." Scully looked less than thrilled at the prospect of recounting her and Mulder's midnight outing, and Mrs. Scully was obviously trying to assuage her daughter's frustrations. "Let Dana and Fox get settled." She turned to her daughter. "Why don't you show Fox the guest room?" Scully stared at her mother for a few seconds, took in a deep breath, and nodded. She was happy to have something to do that would get her out of the limelight, albeit briefly.

Mulder decided his best course of action was to keep quiet and do as he was told; Scully would give him hell to pay if he pushed things further. He sidled over to the black briefcase lying on the floor and picked it up. Scully pointed up the stairs and began to lead the way.

"Hold on," a voice called out just as Mulder's foot creaked against the first step. The tone was urgent and alarmed. Mulder turned to look at Bill who was eyeing his younger sister and him suspiciously. His gaze landed on the briefcase held in Mulder's hand. "They're using the guest room?" Bill asked, pointing to the pair.

"Yes," Mrs. Scully admitted. "Because they arrived so late, I invited Dana and Fox to spend the night."

"In the guest room?" Bill stressed again, his features hardening some.

"Yes," Mrs. Scully nodded again. "It's the only bed available." Mulder swept his gaze about the room. None of the others were so disturbed by the news as Bill. Mrs. Scully appeared concerned while Charlie looked mildly confused. Tara held her husband by the arm, as if preventing him from launching himself at Mulder. Mulder was very thankful that Tara was on his side.

"Together?" Bill asked. As if the situation needed to be any more awkward. Tara tugged helplessly against him.

"Mulder and I are adults, Bill," Scully said calmly. Her eyes darted back and forth among the audience in front of her; she was clearly uncomfortable with how the situation had developed. Bill readied himself to rebuke her, but she swiftly cut him off. "It's none of your business," she said sharply with a minute shake of her head.

Mulder's jaw about dropped to the floor. Had Scully—his Scully—actually said that? Actually insinuated that? He glanced to Bill. He had fallen absolutely silent, finally yielding to his wife's pull and conceding.

I guess this is Dana, Mulder thought. I need to remember not to get on Scully's bad side.

"Come on, Mulder," Scully whispered, continuing her way up the steps. Mulder followed without hesitation.