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December 25th, 2000
6:23 a.m.
Mulder might have slept the whole morning if not for the car door slamming outside. The last few weeks had been stressful, and somehow the week before Christmas had been some of the busiest he’d seen in a while. He sighed and rolled over to reach for Scully and pull her closer to him, eager for her presence in his arms, but she was gone. He opened his eyes at that – the sheets were still warm, so she must not have gotten up that long ago. Sure enough, when all of his senses had adjusted to awakeness he heard her padding around somewhere in the apartment.
“Merry Christmas!” someone called from outside. He imagined an uncle or grandpa, arms full of presents, a child happily jumping up and down at the sight.
If it wasn’t for Scully stepping back into the bedroom, wrapped up in an old red sweater of his that he thought had somehow disappeared, her glasses perched on her nose, he likely would have fallen back asleep. She yawned, and gave him a smile when she saw he was awake.
“I was chilly.” She slid back into bed and into his arms, pressing a kiss to his chest. “I don’t know how it’s possible – I already feel like something is sitting on my bladder.”
In just two weeks, her second trimester had proved to be much kinder than her first. For the most part, all of her symptoms had been standard. The doctor had informed them that the intense nausea should go away as she progressed. But then, at ten weeks, she had gotten a fever. By the time they’d gone through the emergency room, it had lowered considerably, but they’d given her Tylenol and done an ultrasound, where they’d found a strong heartbeat and sent them home, telling her to rest.
There’d been no issues since then. In the past two weeks, the intense nausea and lightheadedness had faded, and Scully said she felt better than she had in a long time.
The ultrasound photos were now carefully stashed away in his wallet and proudly displayed on the front of Scully’s fridge. The little gray blob didn’t resemble quite anything yet but was a daily reminder that made him feel giddy inside.
His joy upon seeing the pictures had been one of the most intense things he’d ever felt.
“How are you feeling?” he asked. His anxiety that something could be wrong still weighed on him.
“I’m tired.” She nuzzled into him and pulled the blanket up to their chins. “But I’m good.”
“No nausea?”
“Don’t jinx me, Mulder.”
“On Christmas? I’d never.”
She smiled. He always loved waking up next to her, but lazy mornings where they could lay in bed for as long as they wanted had become his favorite. The December chill meant that the warmth of her flannel sheets and quilt were all the more enticing. Who needed a jacket when you were next to Scully
He tentatively reached down between them and pressed the palm of his hand to her belly. She was still barely showing – no one likely noticed but him, but he had the benefit of seeing her every day. He didn’t know what he had done throughout his life that had granted him that, but he was grateful.
“How did you sleep?” she muttered, then yawned. Her fingers went to the sleeve of his t-shirt, fixing where the edge had flipped up.
“Fine.” The issue hadn’t necessarily been falling asleep but rather trying to stay awake. After his mother’s death, the doctor put him on antidepressants. Mulder was a trained psychologist, but medication wasn't something he'd considered, but he was starting to realize that maybe it was a good choice for him. The side effects were waning, slowly but surely.
He’d dreamed the night before. In his dream, it hadn’t been Christmas but at some point in winter. Snow rested in thick, white blankets over the parking lot, the little park by the apartment. There had been a child too, but his dream had been too hazy to pick out any of the details. Scully had insisted that they needed to eat breakfast before going out, and had put Vaseline on their cheeks so they wouldn’t get windburnt.
Scully’s due date – May 22nd, 2001 – was carefully marked on the calendar. That was just the doctor’s estimate, of course, it could be a little earlier or later. But it was only five months away, which really wasn’t a lot of time. He felt a little giddy thinking about how the tiny thing between them would be an actual person.
They had decided that those lazy days between Christmas and the new year would be spent both sleeping and making the first preparations for the nursery. On a Sunday when Scully had been feeling up to it, they’d gone and selected a bunch of paint cards, which were now carefully spread out in the apartment’s second bedroom. He’d even convinced her to go with him to Babies-R-Us and browse around.
“Melissa would’ve already done a tarot card reading by now,” Scully said as she looked down at the little white and blue striped sweater. An embroidered elephant danced on its hem. “Done one of those old wives’ tales. Ellen put her wedding ring on a chain and held it over her palm.”
“And the verdict?”
“That’s the issue. It kept changing.”
Mulder held up the matching socks to go with the sweater. She held up her hand and felt the edge of them, smiling a little at their softness.
The loss of a sister never really went away. He knew it well – he still consistently dreamed about his mother and Samantha. So many mornings he woke up and nearly chose to make a call to Teena. He now understood his own desire for a bad reaction over no reaction at all.
He’d never know now.
“Oh,” he heard Scully say softly from around the corner. He found her gazing at a pale yellow rocking chair that was in a careful display next to a white crib. “This is nice.” He watched as she carefully eyed the price tag. She dropped it carefully and he pretended not to notice.
Mulder knew that he couldn’t convince her right now. She’d say it was too expensive for what they needed. They didn’t have anything for the nursery yet. And that was true – but he didn’t know if they would get this opportunity again. She deserved the best. He wanted that for her.
His arms tightened around her. “Merry Christmas, Scully,” he said softly.
“Hmm, Merry Christmas, Mulder.”
Eventually, they made their way out of bed. Cinnamon rolls were placed in the oven to bake as Mulder finished writing the tags for the presents they were bringing over to Maggie’s later and Scully prepared mugs of tea for the both of them.
Maggie knew about the baby – it had happened earlier than they had wanted, as they were hoping for no complications, but Scully’s stint at the hospital made her want her mother’s advice and affection. Mrs. Scully had only wanted the best for them, after all, for all those years. She’d partaken in her fair share of joy and tragedy.
Bill, Tara, and their two sons had flown in from San Diego. Scully had seen them briefly, but the work week had prevented Mulder. Part of him was grateful – he knew that it wasn’t long before they either told the rest of Scully’s family, they put it together anyway, or Maggie let it spill.
Maybe he and Bill could sign some form of peace treaty.
“I wonder what kids these days like for Christmas,” Mulder called out to her as he put Scully’s nephews’ presents by the door. He stepped back into the kitchen as she carefully took the cinnamon rolls out of the oven. “Are Lite Brites still a thing? Sam had one of those.”
“Charlie and I shared one. I think I used to sort all the colors and line them up in rows.” She loaded her plate with two cinnamon rolls and took her plate to the couch, happily biting down. Mulder joined her and felt grateful that her appetite had finally returned.
“I might be too old, Scully. My first holiday memory is playing with my cousin’s old Johnny Astrobase.”
He could see her smiling as she picked up her mug and took a sip from it. “A Johnny Astrobase?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of it, Scully.”
“Can’t say I have.”
“It was amazing , Scully. There was this… little window you could look into and see all sorts of things. Rockets and spaceships and other things. I couldn’t quite figure out how it worked. Apparently, I didn’t respond to all of the calls for dinner – my father had to go find me in the corner of my cousins’ room.”
She nudged his thigh. “Maybe your interest in the unknown came sooner than you thought.”
“How about you, Scully? What were your most delightful Christmas presents?”
Something in her mind caused her eyes to sparkle a little. “My father got us all sleds. There was a giant hill by the house and by some miracle, it snowed that week. Charlie and I were out there for hours until Bill found us and made us come inside to eat dinner.”
“I remember thinking I was immune to the cold.”
“I think all little kids think that. Mom nearly threw a fit every week trying to get Charlie to wear his jacket to Mass.”
He imagined small Scully and her siblings, frostbitten cheeks and orange hair peeking out from hand-knit hats. It was a scene from a Christmas movie.
“There’d always be a doll for me too – those got roped into Missy’s tea parties.”
“I, too, went to many tea parties.”
Scully grinned at him and for once, the memory of Samantha didn’t cause him pain. He was grateful for the memory, grateful that his child self hadn’t immediately shooed her away, despite how often else they argued at that age. If this kid wanted him to attend tea parties, he’d gratefully go to every single one.
“I should shower,” Scully said. She gave him a pointed look as she sucked icing from her knuckle. He knew that look in her eye. She’d been ravenous lately – he would never complain. “Before we have to leave for my mother’s.”
“We don’t have to be there until three.” Scully was already near him. Mulder placed a hand on her thigh, ran his thumb over the flannel.
“Oh, I know.” Her lips were impossibly close to his. “It can be as leisurely as we like.”
Before he could even respond, she kissed him and maybe, he understood the Christmas spirit. She tasted like cinnamon, felt warm like a fireplace.
It didn’t take them long to make it to the bathtub. Scully quickly rid herself of her clothes, tossing them into a little pile in the corner, and he did the same as she turned on the shower to heat up the room.
Mulder loved her always, but she was particularly magnetic under the shower stream. He wanted to memorize the image before him carefully – the beads of water traipsing over her freckles and the way her bottom lashes clumped together.
Her hand reached between them but he paused her and moved her to the edge of the tub. If this was truly going to be leisurely, there would be time for that later. Right now, he wanted his name on her lips and her thighs against his ears. He kissed his way down, down, gently moving over where she was still very sensitive.
The second his mouth was on her, her hands found his hair as her gasp rang in his ears.
Sitting there in Maggie Scully’s living room, after dinner and everyone opened their stockings, Mulder realized he’d never seen Scully hold a baby happily, or rather, without any reservation. Bill and Tara’s second son, Elijah, was now five months old, and fairly unaware of the holiday festivities but eager for the attention.
She’d had the chance to hold him in her lap to help him open his gift (with a tag in Mulder’s own scrawl stating: From Aunt Dana and Fox). He watched fondly as she carefully undid the red wrapping paper for Eli, his little hands curious as the paper fell away, revealing the wooden train set with the letter blocks that they’d picked out for him. Matthew was happily smashing Play-Doh colors together.
Mulder could already hear Scully in his ear talking about educational toys.
Maggie had packed leftovers for them, a twinkle in her eye. At this point, it was impossible for Bill and Tara not to have some sort of clue, as Maggie had decisively skipped over Scully entirely when passing out wine for the evening. Mulder had tried to ignore Bill’s pointed look at him, but he was still grateful when it was finally Matthew’s bedtime and they could make a quiet exit.
“Fox!” Maggie called from the hallway. Mulder looked up from where he was zipping his coat. In her hand, she held a red gift bag, tissue paper sticking out of the top. “I have something for you,” she continued softly. “For you and Dana. Open it up when you get home.”
He wasn’t exactly used to gifts these days, and both he and Scully had decided not to exchange anything this year. “Thank you, Maggie,” he said.
“Of course.” She gestured for him to lean down and she gave him a firm shoulder squeeze and a kiss on the cheek. “Get home safe, dear. Merry Christmas.”
“I wish I could paint the room,” Scully had mourned, as Mulder finished hanging up the green curtains. They had no day-after-Thanksgiving plans except to sit around, take a nap, and work on cleaning up the apartment. Inevitably when the sunlight would fade, she’d kiss him and it would all devolve from there.
“Apartment living,” he conceded. They had successfully cleared out the second bedroom after Scully had recovered from her fever and now the hardwood floors were empty, ready for new furniture. One trip to Babies-R-Us had been taken and all they had thus far were ideas, minus the green curtains with yellow stars traipsing through the fabric. “That’s the first thing they’ll complain about when they’re born.”
She pursed her lips, amused. “Their first words, more like.” After feeling the fabric of the curtains between her fingers, she stepped back to peer at them.
“I like them a lot,” she concluded. “They’ll be a focal point.”
“Easy for them to be the focal point when there isn’t anything else in the room yet.”
“Well, I can imagine the rest of it. Don’t tell me you can’t use your imagination after all these years?”
“Do you want to open the gift?” Mulder asked once they’d gotten inside and put away their coats. He guided her to the kitchen table.
Scully carefully reached into the bag to pull out the tissue paper. “I don't know why she waited to give it to us, if not…”
Her hands pulled out a blanket, hand-sewn but clearly well-loved. Tears filled in her eyes, bittersweet ones.
“Oh my god,” Scully said. She pulled out a chair so she could sit. “This was Melissa’s baby blanket. I have mine somewhere, but…”
Underneath the blanket, they would later find, was a book of old nursery rhymes, one all the Scully children had read from. And at the bottom of it all, a note from Maggie:
Dear Dana (and Fox),
These have been collecting dust for far too long in the house. I hope for nothing but the best for you and I hope you get good use out of them.
Love, Mom
At last, pajamas were donned, hot chocolate was made, and they returned to the couch.
“I feel neglectful,” he said, as the heat of the mug warmed his hands. “What do you want for Christmas, Scully?”
She took a sip from her mug, the whipped cream giving her a mustache. He watched her tongue move carefully up to take care of it. “Hmm, I think I have what I want for Christmas. It’s on backorder, though. I have to wait another five months.”
“A shame.”
He loved her smile always, but she glowed when she was this happy. She curled up next to him, kissed the tip of his nose, and wrapped her arms around him, as he settled back into the couch.
His own relationship with Christmas was complicated to begin with – the Mulders' celebration of it had been, for the most part, secular. There were cookies and presents under the tree. Somewhere in the boxes of his mother’s things, there was a photograph of him helping Samantha as a baby open boxes. But just like his own sister had disappeared, those events had as well.
He spent so many subsequent holidays alone. Even during college, coming home for Christmas was far from an enjoyable affair. His mother’s house would be quiet until they flew down to North Carolina. He spent time with his cousins, but that didn’t stop the rest of the family from viewing him with an air of pity.
If you had asked him ten years earlier where he imagined himself on the verge of forty, this wouldn’t have been it. The chance of there being someone out there who could be the love of his life and a baby on the way would’ve scared him shitless.
He was thankful his past self could be so wrong.
Now he was just ready for the baby to be here. He’d had to be patient for years just searching for answers — somehow this felt the longest he’d ever had to wait.
How was it possible to feel so excited and so worried for someone he didn’t even know yet? They were the brightest spark at the end of a year that brought him and Scully both tremendous grief and joy.
And Scully…
She’d been quiet while Mulder had been lost in his thoughts, and for a moment during his pondering, he’d considered that she might’ve fallen asleep (even at seventeen weeks, pregnancy exhausted her). But she adjusted herself in his arms so they could be face to face.
He let his heart fill up as she brushed his hair back and kissed his forehead. She looked at him deeply, peering into his eyes.
“What about you, Mulder? What do you want?” He knew by her tone that she meant more than Christmas gifts.
You, always , he thought. It was true, he’d wanted her before he even realized it. Sometimes he still wanted to pinch himself.
“I think, for a long time,” he started, “I just wanted to feel happy, fulfilled. I suppose I did a lot to try and find that. But it didn’t really stick.” He met her gaze. “Until… you, I think. I get so lost in my own head and thoughts that I’m not even sure when but… Your happiness, your life became important to me. I felt as if I was the issue, I detracted from what your life could be.” Her eyes looked sad, so he continued: “It’s funny how maybe we just both wanted the same thing in the end.”
“We did,” she acknowledged. She placed a gentle hand on his arm, and looked at him softly. “Did you ever consider your own happiness in that?”
His lips upturned and he tugged her – her and their future child – closer to him. “I am, Scully.” He breathed in her scent, felt her, accepted that someone as wonderful and strong and kind as her could desire what he did. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.” And it was the truth.