The crisp autumn air carried the scent of fallen leaves and roasting turkey as Mulder stood in the middle of the backyard, a football in hand and a determined look on his face. Beatrice, Sabrina, and Joanna, now 13 and full of energy, stood across from him in a loose formation, their matching mischievous grins a clear warning of their intent to dominate.
The Gunmen—Frohike, Langly, and Byers—were scattered in support of Mulder, though Frohike seemed more interested in not slipping on the damp grass than actually catching the ball.
"Alright," Mulder called, pointing toward Sabrina, who was hopping in place. "This time, no mercy!"
Sabrina smirked. "We've been taking it easy on you, Dad."
"Big talk from the team who hasn't scored yet," Mulder shot back, though the grin tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement.
From the porch, Scully leaned against the railing, sipping a mug of cider and watching the chaos unfold with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "Remember, Mulder, if anyone gets hurt, you're the one explaining it to their doctor."
"Don't worry, Scully," Mulder called back. "We're just warming up for the NFL draft."
Joanna crouched slightly, her red hair gleaming in the sunlight. "Hike!" she yelled, and the play began.
Beatrice darted left, narrowly avoiding Langly, who tripped over his own feet. Sabrina spun past Byers, who attempted a half-hearted block, and Joanna charged straight for Mulder.
Mulder scrambled back, trying to stay on his feet as Joanna barreled into him, reaching for the football. They both tumbled to the ground in a flurry of arms and laughter.
Joanna held the ball aloft, triumphant. "Touchdown!"
"You tackled me!" Mulder protested from the ground, though he was laughing.
"Nothing in the rules against that," Joanna quipped, brushing grass from her sweater.
"Yeah, Dad," Sabrina added, high-fiving her sister. "Maybe you're just out of practice."
As the girls celebrated, Frohike ambled over to Mulder and extended a hand to help him up. "You raised some fierce competitors, Mulder."
"Yeah, remind me to take credit for that at their college interviews," Mulder replied, grinning as he dusted himself off.
From the porch, Scully shook her head, her smile softening. "Alright, everyone," she called, setting her mug down. "Wrap it up. Dinner's almost ready, and I'm not serving it to anyone covered in mud."
Beatrice looked at her sisters, then at Mulder and the Gunmen, a wicked gleam in her eye. "One more play?"
Scully raised an eyebrow, amused. "If it means you'll come in when it's over, fine."
"Alright," Mulder said, his competitive streak kicking in. "Last play. Winner takes all."
The girls exchanged a confident glance as Mulder gathered his team. The Gunmen huddled around him, Langly whispering something about running a "secret play" that sounded more like pure chaos.
As the play began, the backyard erupted into shouts, laughter, and flying leaves. When it was over, no one was entirely sure who had won, but the laughter echoing through the yard made it clear the score didn't matter.
By the time everyone trudged inside, cheeks red from the cold and stomachs growling for turkey, the warmth of the house and the smell of Maggie's and Scully's cooking felt like the perfect end to a perfect Thanksgiving.