The Barbecue Series-5: Holiday on Ice Date: Fri, 25 Dec 1998 Category: Story, MulderTorture, Angst (for everyone!) Rating: PG-13 for some language Spoilers: Through Emily Summary: Mulder is talked into spending Christmas with the Scully Family…the WHOLE Scully Family…Here we go again, folks! Archive: Yes Disclaimer: The names you recognize belong to 10/13 productions and Chris Carter. I'm just borrowing them. I won't keep them. At the end of the story you can have `em back, I swear, (unless you *want* to give `em to me.) All other characters belong to me, and if Mr. Carter wants to borrow them, all he needs to do is ask. Introduction: The Barbecue Series, which of course when abbreviated is The BS, , is now five fold. It picks up in the Barbecue Series Universe, after "A Quiet Thank You." You might want to read the stories sequentially to avoid confusion. You can find them on my fanfic site (Thank you, Shirley Smiley!!!) at: http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Chamber/4819/index.html As always, thank you Vickie Moseley for taking time away from yet another Holiday story to check this one out for me!… ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The Barbecue Series 5: Holiday on Ice by Susan Proto (STPteach@aol.com) Part 1/3 I still don't know how the hell she convinced me to be on this airplane with her. But that's my Scully; she can do things to me and for me that no other person has been able to do in a long, long time. The crazy thing is, she actually thinks this is a good idea. It's not, of course. It's not at all. I mean it's a bad idea to put Bill Scully, Jr. and me in the same country, much less the same state, or worse, the same house. But here I am, flying to San Diego, California, because my Scully asked me to. Okay, I made her plead. I know. That makes me a heel, or as Bill has been heard to say, "One sorry sonofabitch." But I honestly couldn't imagine a place I would rather _not_ be over the holidays, so poor Scully resorted to begging and pleading, and you know I can't stand to see her look sad or, heaven forbid, cry. So, though it's definitely under protest, I am spending the holidays in San Diego. The holidays. Jeeze. It's been a long time since I'd spent the holidays with anyone. It's been a long time since I'd felt like I had anything to celebrate. But I do now. And my reason for celebration is sitting right next to me. Which is why I am sitting on this overcrowded, poor excuse for a sardine can, and going to spend time with someone who dislikes me as much as I dislike him. Ahh, family is a wonderful thing, isn't it? But Charles will be there, and for that I am extremely grateful. I like Charles Scully. I like him, and what's more, I think he sincerely likes me. He treats me with respect, something Bill Scully wouldn't do for all the tea in China, but Charlie? Well, he accepts me, for me. And as his sister's significant other. Which is something else I don't look forward to dealing with when I get to San Diego. We've been told there's plenty of room at the house, and we're expected to stay in Bill and Tara's home. I'm not quite sure how he figured that out. I mean, it'll be me and Scully, Mom __, I mean Maggie. I gotta remember to call Mom 'Maggie' in front of Bill. It's just not worth the daggers he throws at me with his eyes to not call her 'Maggie.' Anyway, as I was saying, it's us three coming from the east coast, Charlie and Karen and their two kids coming from Texas, plus the fact that Tara and Bill have their own little guy, Matthew. That's a lot of bodies to have to pile into one small, four bedroom house, right? So, why do I have a feeling Bill and Tara will keep their room (granted, as it should be) all of the kids will sleep in Matty's room, Charlie and Karen will get another room, and Maggie and Scully will share the fourth room. Guess where that leaves me? On the proverbial couch. And as much as I wouldn't have minded that six months ago, I kind of mind it now. Oh, but not for the reason you're probably thinking. Well, kind of for that reason, but not totally. Yes, Scully and I have been sleeping together. No, we haven't had sex yet. We sleep together, for cripes sake, that's all. Don't get me wrong, it's not like we don't want to take it to the next level. Oh God, we want to. We _really_ want to. It's just that, well, between my bum leg, which thankfully is just about fully healed, and our case load being fuller than the load of crap congress has been dishing out lately, well, we haven't exactly been able to manage to get the timing right. Right. I know. Doing the wild thing does not usually take much coordinating. Just jump in the sack and go at each other like boffing bunnies. Well, maybe coordinating isn't the right word. Maybe coordination is more appropriate. You see, I haven't exactly been at my one hundred per cent physical peak these last few months, and well, even then, I mean, when I did feel like I might be up to it, I __, I __. Shit. I choked. Big time. Scully was terrific about it. She said all the right things and didn't make me feel like a total asshole. I did that to myself just fine, thank you very much. But I'm okay with it. I mean, I know when the time is right, we'll make slow, passionate love to each other. Or we'll have wild, no holds bar, raw sex. Or perhaps a combination thereof. I don't care which it is, and neither does Scully. We've talked about it. Whatever happens, happens. I just know it won't happen if I'm sleeping on the God damned couch in the San Diego home of William Scully, Jr. So much for my Christmas wish this year. Of course, BillyBoy doesn't know this. Which on one hand is a good thing, but on the other, more likely hand, it's a bad thing. I don't know if I'd want to be in the same universe, much less the same room when BillyBoy finds out his baby sister and I are even contemplating doing the wild thang. I sigh out loud, and Scully looks at me. "You okay?" she asks. "About as okay as I can ever be knowing I'm going to spend five glorious, fun- filled days at the mercy of your big brother," I say with a forced smile on my face. "Mulder, it's going to be fine." "When did you become the poster child for Christmas optimism, Scully?" I ask a little more cynically than I'd intended. "You promised me you were going to try, Mulder. Please. He wasn't that bad last time, was he?" "Oh no, not at all. He just accused me, along with his, however well- intentioned, but totally incorrect wife, of being anorexic. And the only thing that saved this past Thanksgiving was the fact he wasn't there, Scully. No, I just had to endure the incredulous looks of our AD during that holiday! "Look, I'm sorry. I know it seems like I'm counting my chickens before they hatch, but Billy and I in the same room together is like adding fuel to Mom's, I mean _Maggie's_ barbecue!" She looks at me quizzically now. I know what it is. I never call her mother by her first name anymore. It's Mom. Just Mom, and I suspect when Maggie Scully hears me use her first name, she's gonna be really annoyed with me. But you see, I know Mom will forgive me for my small transgression. BillyBoy, on the other hand, won't give me the time of day, and I'd just rather not deal with it. So, in answer to her unspoken question, I explain, "Just while I'm around your brother. It really upsets him to hear me call her 'Mom', so I figure since he's the host, I'd accommodate him, 'kay?" She looks at me and wonders how the hell I make it sound like I'm only thinking of Billy, when we both know it's my own personal psyche I'm trying to save. She nods her head and then says, "You'd better warn Mom. She may not be nearly as understanding as I am." I look over at the woman I've adopted as my own maternal savior, and who, thankfully, has chosen to accept and adopt me as well. She is eagerly studying a holiday cookbook she'd picked up on sale a couple of days ago, hoping to find a new recipe to spring on us. Mom likes to use her children as guinea pigs for new concoctions. Yeah. I think of myself as one of her children. Can't let BillyBoy ever know that one either. Can't let BillyBoy know about anything that makes me happy, now can I? Damn! Why the hell did I let Scully talk me into coming to San Diego? But now I look at her, and I know why. I love this woman so much, I'd have crawled there if she needed me to. "Please fasten your seat belts, ladies and gentlemen. We are currently in a holding pattern but are do to land shortly. Stay in your seats now, please," the flight attendant announces. I watch as Scully checks her seat belt. She'd never taken hers off. Ever the little flyer, my Scully. Now, put her on a boat, and the woman is in her element, but put her in the air, and she looks like a sad, little platypus who has definitely lost her way. She nudges me, and I realize she still wants me to talk to Mom, but I shake my head. It can wait. Or maybe she'll just figure it out. I hate like hell telling this woman who I respect, admire, and love very much, that her first born son is an asshole. An asshole who manages to make me feel like shit every time I'm in his presence; who makes me feel guilty for calling his mother, 'Mom'. An asshole who makes me feel it necessary to refer to 'Mom' as 'Maggie for the duration of this visit. The thing is I know in my heart she'd rather I call her 'Mom' no matter what her asshole son thinks. But I hate putting her in that position. You see, Mom knows BillyBoy acts moronically sometimes, but he's still her first born, and, rightfully, she loves him. I gotta admire a woman who can love her idiot son unconditionally. I wish I were so lucky. Well, in a way, I am. I've got Maggie Scully to love me without judgment. It just would have been nice if it had happened, oh say, about twenty-six years earlier, but I guess beggars can't be choosy, right? "Ladies and Gentlemen," says the flight attendant, "we are now about to go into our descent. Please make sure your trays are upright and your seat belts are secure. Thank you for flying American Airlines, and have a very happy holiday and healthy new year." Okay. This is it. I'm really here, on the west coast. Oh, my favorite place to be. Land of earthquakes and the three hour tape delay. Every time I've ever been forced to visit the west coast, I've refused to reset my watch. East coast time is the only real time in my book. I'd also rather face a blizzard at Christmas time than an earthquake any day. Well, so much for my wants. Actually, that's true. So much for my wants, because this year it's about Scully and her wants. Her needs. This is the best present I can give her; I promised her back in DC I'd be on my best behavior. She told me all she wanted for Christmas was for me and Bill to get along. Okay, she told me, if not get along, at least tolerate one another while we were in the same room. I told her I could do that for her. I could do anything for her. I don't mean to sound all mushy or anything, but that's what the woman does to me. She turns me to mush. Her love for me is my Christmas present, my Hanukkah present, my Kwanza present, my New Year's present. I feel so rich because of her love, I still wonder to myself if it's all for real. She leans over and pulls my face down toward hers. She kisses me on the lips. It's for real. I thank what ever powers to be for my reality. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ We disembark and I hear Tara's voice above the crowd, calling out, "Dana! Mom! Here we are! Matty, say hi to Grandma!" I look at the tall, red haired man standing beside her, and see the man is actually smiling. He's really not a bad looking guy when he smiles. It's just that I so rarely see him do so when I'm in his line of vision. Uh oh. Like now. I smile meekly at him, and the smile he was wearing now melts into a scowl. Billy stares at me with his mouth now seemingly frozen in a permanent frown. Welcome to your Christmas cheer, Mulder. I've got to look for a local motel or something. Right. Like I'm going to find anything available two days before Christmas. And the president is going to come out of the impeachment process smelling like a rose. Maybe a dead, black rose, is more like it. I think I need some air. "Hello Billy," cries out Mom, I mean _Maggie_. "Oh, Tara, you look wonderful! And who is this beautiful, big boy?" "Matty," he cries out in a much deeper voice than I expect to hear coming out of a one year old. Then something amazing happens. The kid sees me. He starts squealing something and squirming. I don't understand what the hell is wrong, but I'm ready to take off in the other direction because I figure BillyBoy is certainly going to blame me for his kid's agitated state, ya know? I look at Tara, hoping I'll find something of an ally there, and I'm amazed to see she's actually laughing. The kid is practically falling out of her arms, but she's laughing. And then she looks at me, and, holy shit! She's smiling. Man, this Christmas spirit stuff should be bottled and sold. "Mulder, you'd better get over here and take him, or I'm going to drop him on the floor," calls out Tara happily. I'm in daze. I think I just heard her say to take the baby, so I do, and he comes practically flying over to me. He's slobbering kisses all over me, and then I realize what he's squealing at the top of his little one year old lungs, "Unc-key Muddah!" over and over again. I'm an Uncle. I mean, I really am an Uncle, but since my sister's decided she doesn't want me to a part of her or her children's lives, I've never had to practice my 'uncle-ing' skills. Now, I guess I'd better start honing them, since Matty has me as a designated uncle. It's enough to make me not even mind him slobbering all over me, or messin' with my hair or my favorite New York Knicks tee shirt. Hell, I might even reset my watch to be sure I don't miss out on anything with the little bugger. I like this Uncle business. In fact, I'm eating this up. And then I notice Billy staring at me as if I have three heads. Those damned daggers again. How is this man able to reduce me to feeling like a three year old who's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar? I've done nothing wrong, yet he looks at me and his own son as if we're both, somehow, betraying him. I give the little boy a peck on the top of his head, and say aloud as I hand him back to his father, "Okay kiddo, it's time for your dad to take over." I hand him over, and then turn around. I don't even look for a reaction from Bill. I think I could hate him right now. I could hate him for thinking he has exclusive rights on happiness. Why does Billy think I'm not allowed to be happy? I determine the best thing I can do is avoid the man at all costs. If I see him coming from one direction, I will go in the other. I figure it may be possible to never have to be alone in the same room with him. I can get through this. I can. For my Scully's sake, I can do this. But is she ever going to owe me big time. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ End of Part 1/3 The Barbecue Series 5: Holiday on Ice by Susan Proto (STPteach@aol.com) Disclaimers in Part 1 Part 2/3 Scully and I follow Bill in our rental car. We arrive at the house, and Bill starts barking out orders for us to put our bags in the appropriate rooms. Charlie and his brood haven't arrived as yet, but sure enough, I hear Billy inform everyone they'll be sleeping in the guest room while Dana and Mom will have the little office with the trundle bed. Gee, I wonder where I get to hang my hat? I know I shouldn't be offended. I mean, I certainly didn't expect Billy to put his mother on the couch. I certainly didn't expect Billy to openly invite me to sleep with his sister. I just didn't expect him to take so much glee in designating me as the family couch potato, you know? But what really gets to me is I'm the only one who seems to notice. I guess that Christmas Spirit shit also blinds you to what's really going on around you. Oh, well, I'll have to deal with it. I decide to be gracious about it, and ask Tara if she's got a set of sheets I'll be able to use for the couch. "Oh, Mulder," begins Billy, smiling broadly, "Look, man, I figured you wouldn't be very comfortable on that ratty old couch, so I made you a reservation at the Red Roof Inn. We passed it on the way over, about seven miles back. I figure this way you'd be able to get a decent night's sleep." Everyone, including his wife, gapes at the man, standing before us, with the shit eating grin. He's proud of himself. He thinks he's succeeded in besting me, yet still remain the total innocent. He's only being accommodating of my needs. He's just being considerate, right? Sonofabitch thinks he's gonna come off looking like the hero, when, in reality, he really looks like the moron he is. But you know what? I decide to play along with it, because the thought of having to put up with this bastard for the entire time I'm stuck here gnaws at my gut. "This is really, really considerate of you, Bill," I say ever so sincerely. "Thank you so much. You know, ever since my leg got torn apart in that little Fourth of July fireworks fiasco, I haven't been comfortable sleeping even on _my_ own couch. So, you know what, I think I'll take a quick drive over to the motel now and settle myself in. Figure dinner will be around five or six?" BillyBoy nods numbly, while I give each of the Scully women, whose mouths gape open even more at the moment, a quick kiss on the cheek and tell them I'll meet them back here for dinner. I then pick up my bag and stride toward the door. Suddenly I hear a high pitched wail, "Unc-key Muddah!" I hesitate for a second, turn around, and see the baby is gyrating uncontrollably in his grandmother's arms in an attempt to get to me. I swallow the lump in my throat and call out, "Catch ya later, Matty," and then head out the door. I practically break out into a dead run for the car, because I can't face Scully right now. I didn't want to do anything that would give BillyBoy an excuse to knock me in front of Scully and Mom, but I also didn't want to be the cause of Billy getting berated by his mom and sister. So, I took the high road. At least, I think I took the high road. I hope the others see it that way, cause if not, dinner ain't gonna be a very pleasant dining experience. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I find the motel easily, and though I'm not absolutely sure he'd really made one, I find I do have a room registered under Bill Scully's name. The bastard even prepaid the room. Isn't that special of him? It dawns on me I won't see Charlie, Karen and his tribe until dinner. That makes me a little sad, but what frustrates me even more is I'm here in this shitty motel room, and Scully's _not_ here in this shitty motel room. If Scully were here, the room probably wouldn't be nearly as shitty. I smile to myself as I wonder what we could do in here to improve the ambiance. I also figure I'd better check my libido at the door when I return to the 'brother from hell's' house for dinner. I just finish hanging up the one suit I brought in case we went out to dinner somewhere more formal than a taco stand, when the phone rings. I'm actually surprised it took Scully this long. I half expected the phone to have been ringing when I'd first entered the room. "Hello," I say when I pick up the phone. "Are you okay?" "Scully, I'm fine." "That's my line, Mulder." I chuckle at this, because it's so true, but I have to reiterate it for her benefit. "I know, but I need to borrow it, because I really am fine with this. Scully, let's face it. I was dreading the thought of being cooped up with Bill for five days. Obviously, he was dreading the same about me." "But he has no right __!" "__ Stop, Scully," I say as gently, but as firmly, as I can manage. "He has every right. Look, it's his home. It's his family. It's his right to have a pleasant time at the holidays too, and if my not being underfoot twenty-four hours a day is the solution, then let's consider it my little Christmas present to him. Okay?" "Are you sure you're okay with this?" she asks me again. "Yes, and if you would consider some of the side benefits of my having a room, all to myself, with a lock and key __." "__ Ohmigod, Mulder! You're right! I'm gonna go kiss Bill right now, and I'll be over in __! Shit, the doorbell! I think Charlie's arrived, Mulder. Maybe we can have our little tryst after dinner?" I can practically see her batting her eyelashes playfully. "Yeah, Scully. Go say hi to Charlie for me, and tell him I'll be there around five." "Okay, but I'd like it better if you made it back here sooner, please? Matty has been absolutely distraught since you left. I think Tara would be ever grateful for your 'Uncle-ing' skills." I laugh out loud at this one. "Scully," I begin, "since when do I have experience at being an uncle?" "Oh, I don't know, Mulder. Every time I've seen you around kids, they've always gravitated toward you. Even __, even Emily melted around you when she'd first met you," Scully says to me. I know this is hard for her to talk about. I know this is hard for me to talk about. Ever since Emily's death, and Scully learned about her frozen ova, well, the idea of motherhood has been one that's always close to the surface. But she's afraid. She's really afraid she wouldn't be able to hack it because of her commitment to her job. Oh, job hell. It's her commitment to me. Crazy, selfish, poor excuse for a person, sonofabitch, me. So, I try and let her know I support her no matter what she decides to do, but it's a decision only she can make. In the end, it doesn't really matter what I think; at least that's the way I see it. "Well, I'm willing to use the old Mulder magnetism, even if it does only work on the under five set," I say, as I try to deflect some of the pain she goes through every time she has to deal with a child that reminds her of Emily. "Oh, I'd say that magnetism works on the over five set too, Mulder. In fact, I venture to say you'll have a lot to attract this evening, after dessert, and everyone has gone to bed __." My breathing quickens all of a sudden. "We'll eat fast, okay?" I can feel her smile from seven miles away. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I ring the doorbell and Tara lets me in. She just looks at me with these sorrowful eyes, and I lean over to give her a kiss. I whisper, "It's okay. Really. In fact, Dana and I really _," and I emphasize the word really quite a bit now, "like the fact I have some privacy away from mothers, and brothers, and babies, oh my!" At this, Tara bursts out laughing. She returns my kiss with absolute relish, and whispers back to me, "Oh, Fox Mulder, I knew there was a reason I like you. Turn lemons into lemonade, will you! Well, good for you, and it serves my idiotic husband right! "Come, Charlie's been asking for you. And my son went berserk earlier. Now, I don't need to tell you how thrilled my husband was over that little scene," said Tara conspiratorially. I follow Tara into the family room and see Charlie and Bill in a rather animated discussion over something. Before I can say anything, I feel something akin to a leech latch onto my leg. The bum leg, which thankfully isn't so 'bum' anymore. I look down and I see little Matty holding on for dear life. The last time this had happened there were two little screaming meemies following him around and playing monster. I half expect to see Daniel and Briana chasing him, but no, he's latched on just for the heck of it. "Hey, Matty," I greet. "Uppy." His arms reach straight up towards me. "Okay, up we go," as I hoist him up to eye level. "How you doing big guy?" "Unc-key Muddah, 'tay!" he says vehemently. If I interpret the little bugger correctly, I think he's insisting I stay. "I'm not going anywhere right now, Matty. I'm staying here for now, okay?" "Unc-key Muddah 'tay. Okay. Down." Hey, I can take orders. I mean I work with his aunt and all, so I put the toddler down, and he turns to me and once more says, "'tay." I nod my head, he smiles a perfect Scully like smile, and runs off to play. "Looks like you've got a regular fan club there, Mulder," says Charlie as he stands up and offers his hand. I grasp it in greeting, and say, "I've never had a fan club before. Surprised the hell out of me, I'll tell ya." "You're not the only one," mutters Bill. "Oh, Billy," I hear Dana call out, "Don't be a spoil sport!" "Easy for you to say," Bill mutters some more, but then his face brightens a little and he announces, "C'mon folks. Dinner time!" He then calls out to Tara and lets her know it's time to start bringing out the food. I offer to help as does Charlie and Dana. We go into the kitchen to see Karen already hauling out bowls of cole slaw and potato salad, while Tara is trying to balance a bowl of macaroni salad with a tray of sirloin steaks. "Mulder," Tara calls out, "would you mind grabbing the tray for me?" I immediately walk over and pick up the tray. It's covered in plastic wrap, so it's a pretty safe bet I won't be spilling anything on my person (or anything else for that matter) but I have to close my eyes for a second. The steaks are defrosted and swimming in blood. Not exactly the kind of sight I look forward to seeing nowadays. I manage to carry out the tray without upchucking all over it and lay it down on the table next to the gas grill. Unlike Mo_, Maggie, who's obviously a purist because of her refusal to use anything but a real charcoal grill, Bill has the super duper deluxe model of gas grills. I think he really needs his navigational skills to use the damned thing. I watch him as he puts on an apron with one of those stupid sayings on the front, "Kiss the Kook," which of course I think is incredibly appropriate, but I certainly will not be the one to point that out to him. I look around and wonder if there's anything else I can do to help; like bring out something other than a slab of bloodied red meat to throw on the ol' barby. I don't want to ask Tara, for fear of embarrassing her in case she's forgotten I've given up food that bleeds. I certainly don't want to ask Bill, since I have a feeling he did forget on purpose. Okay. I guess it's time to take that proverbial high road again and just keep quiet. Now, if my stomach will only cooperate. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Everyone is chomping away on their steaks while I wrestle with the macaroni salad. I never was much of a cole slaw fan, and the potato salad has a little too much vinegar to my liking. The macaroni salad's not too bad, but an entire meal it does not make. In a word, I'm starving. Okay, that's two words. Doesn't change the fact I'm still starving. It appears I'm on that high road all by myself though, since no one seems to be aware I'm going to start gnawing on the table soon. That is until my Scully notices. "Mulder, that's all you're going to eat?" she asks incredulously as she eyes the tablespoons of macaroni salad on my plate. "Aren't you hungry?" "Actually, I'm starving." "Okay, so why don't you grab a steak and __." Scully stops dead in her tracks. "Oh, Mulder, I'm sorry. I forgot to remind Tara you don't eat meat." "It's okay, Scully. I'll grab a bite later on my way back to the motel." "Oh, Mulder, there must be something in the fridge we can cook up for you," she says. "No, Scully. Please. I'd rather not make a fuss. I don't want to do anything to make Tara feel badly," I say aloud, and then to myself I think, *don't want to do anything that'll make Billy feel good.* "Well, if you're sure," she says. ''Oh, I'll be right back. I wanted to ask Charlie something about __. Be right back, Mulder!" I watch her scurry off to speak with her brother. Scully is never so animated and relaxed as she is with her kid brother. She's not even this relaxed with me or M_, Maggie. And certainly not Bill. Never with Bill. Speaking of which, he looks me straight in the eye and asks me how my steak was. I think about it for only a moment. I reply, It was delicious, Bill. Just the way I like it." I then take that high road again and simply walk away. Now if I can keep the stomach from growling, I might just get away with this scam. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I plead jet lag, and leave the Scully house around eight forty-five. I pass a deli on my way back to the motel and got a tuna fish salad sandwich on a roll with lettuce, tomatoes, and extra mayo. Apparently Tara bought the potato salad from this deli, so I abstain from that. I buy a couple of bags of chips instead, and a couple bottles of iced tea. I enter the motel room and place the food on the desk. I grab a pair of sweats from the drawer, as it suddenly got cooler. I can't believe how cold the nights are in San Diego. It was a balmy seventy-three degrees this afternoon, but now if feels half that. As I pull off my jeans in order to change into the softer sweats, I feel a twinge in my leg. I lift my leg to put on the sweats. Okay, scratch twinge, substitute lancing pain. Since the fireworks accident ripped apart my leg this past July, I acquired my very own weather barometer. The damn leg starts aching like a mother fucker when it's going to rain. My very own precipitation forecaster. Which, quite frankly, I would gladly give up for a pain free day. But right now, it looks like I'd better pray there's some Tylenol in my overnight case, or I'm gonna have a helluva time getting to sleep tonight. I change and turn on the television. The remote allows me to surf around until I find my friendly neighborhood weather channel. I know. It seems the last station I would have any interest in would be the weather channel. But to be honest, I just want to check on the accuracy of my leg. I munch on the tuna, which isn't horrible, but apparently they don't know that Hellman's mayo is the _only_ mayonnaise one should use to make tuna fish salad. As I eat, I watch the television in amazement. The leg gets it right again! Only the forecast is a pretty incredible one. There's been this cold snap in the southwest of late. Hell, according to the map it's twenty-seven degrees in Texas. Texas. And Mother Nature is apparently pushing her little cold front west. Which, when mixed with the warmer air coming down from the desert, makes it appear we're gonna have a white Christmas after all. Unfuckingbelievable. Snow in San Diego. By morning. Will wonders never cease? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Scully and I were both too damned tired from the flight and the day's events to do much more than cuddle and catch some zzzz's when she'd conveniently dropped in late, last night. She felt pretty silly having to sneak out, first from the bedroom where Mag__, oh hell, where _Mom_ was supposedly sound asleep. Of course, as Scully was just about to step out the door, she heard a very soft, "Give Fox a hug for me too." God, I do love that woman! Well, she then managed to get passed BillyBoy both coming and going. Yeah, she left here before dawn, kind of at my insistence. Bless my Scully, 'cause she didn't argue. She knows as well as I do her brother looks for any excuse to make my life miserable. I couldn't stand the notion of his passing some kind of moral judgment over my Scully's character just because of me. Especially not now; not at Christmas time. So, even though she left here around four thirty in the morning, she did promise she'd drop by this morning to visit before I had to go back to her brother's. I'd already gone out for a light run; couldn't do too much because the leg was protesting a lot this morning. Besides, it's cold. I heard on the Today Show it's only thirty-one degrees, and it's threatening to drop even more. I have my Egg MacMuffin unwrapped and ready to chow down when I hear knocking on the door. I open it, and feel my jaw drop. "Close your mouth, Mulder, you'll catch flies," said Scully. "Umm, Scully? When you said you were coming over early to visit, I kind of assumed it would time for just us?" I say as I look at the bundled up form in Scully's arms. "Unc-key Muddah!" Matthew squeals and attempts to reach out to me, but he's so bundled up with layers of clothing, it's kind of hard for him to move. As I take his squirming body from Scully's arms, she explains the baby's appearance to me. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I really, really am, but when he heard me tell Tara and Charlie I was going to visit you, he became crazed again. He just started crying and pleading to come with me to see you. I'm so sorry, Mulder, but I couldn't resist. It seemed like such a simple thing to do, and he became so happy." She pauses for a moment and takes in my own skeptical expression. "Fox Mulder, you are nothing but an old softie, and you would have done the very same thing, and you know it!" admonishes my Scully. "I suppose you're right," I admit, and then I say without giving it a second thought, "God, Scully, our kids are gonna have us wrapped around their little fingers." "What?" she gasps slightly. At this moment I wish I'd given what I'd said a second thought. Shit! How could I have said that out loud. How damned presumptuous of me could I be? It also astounds me how insensitive I must have sounded. I mean, this being near to the anniversary of Emily's death. I'm ready to crawl into a hole about now. Just get me a shovel; I'm ready to dig. "Scully __, Dana. I'm so sss__," but she cuts me off before I can finish the apology. "__Do you mean it?" she asks suddenly. "Do I mean it?" I echo cautiously. "Do you mean it. About having kids. _Our_ kids. Do you mean it?" she asks even more tentatively then me. I simply look at her, and I wonder how she could not know. Am I that closed off to her about my feelings for her? What can I say to her to make her realize I'd want to be the father of an entire football squad if she were their mother. Oh, Scully. Look at me. Look at me and know how I feel. But she's not saying anything, which means I'm gonna have to break down and actually verbalize how much I love her. Not a problem. "Dana, of course I mean it. I'd want nothing more than to be the father of your children. Dana, I love you. I've told you I love you; do you doubt me?" She looks at me with such an incredibly happy face, but more than that, she wears a content expression. Almost serene. Oh, I like Scully in serene mode. I reach over to embrace her in my arms when I feel a little leach latch onto my bum leg again. Only this time it feels like a bum leg. "Ouch," I mutter. "What's wrong?" Scully asks with her doctor's tone of voice, as she unlatches Matty from my leg. "Nothing. I'm okay. My leg's acting up a little, that's all. The weather, you know?" I say calmly and hope it rubs off on her. "Did you run today?" she asks. "Yes, but I warmed up and I cooled down, and it actually felt fine earlier, but now __," I begin. I bend over to rub it a little. It really is spasming up on me now, and, all of a sudden, I'm pretty dammed uncomfortable. "Have you taken anything for it?" she asks. "Last night, I took some Tylenol, but I didn't need it this morning." "Motrin's probably more effective for the deep muscle pain," she says. "I probably have some of that too. I've learned from someone near and dear to me to always be prepared," I say with a grin. "Need it now?" she asks, and I nod immediately. "In your shaving bag?" she asks, and I nod again to confirm her thoughts. She actually finds a bottle of Motrin and watches me shake out four pills. "Four?" "I always take four," I hedge. "It really hurts, doesn't it?" she asks quietly. I simply nod and swallow the pills down with some orange juice. Scully insists I lay down on the bed with my leg propped up. She wants to examine me, even though I insist it's just the weather. She agrees that's probably all it is, but suggests it won't hurt to check. She puts Sesame Street on for the baby and demands I pull down my sweats. "Scully, Matty's here," I remind her in an admittedly whiny tone. "Mulder, I'm not looking to have sex with you." "You're not?" I ask with my best puppy dog look. "Not at the moment, my friend. Believe me, you'll know when I'm looking for sex. Now drop 'em!" she commands. "Scully, you're turning me on, and quite frankly, at this moment, that scares the hell out of me," I say chuckling as I pull down sweats. I watch as she goes into doctor mode and immediately begins examining the scar tissue on my leg to be sure it's free of infection and to make sure there's no unusual swelling. Several minutes pass, and Scully pronounces my leg to be as fit as to be expected, and that, indeed, my extremity is a rather accurate weather barometer. "I told you so," I tease. I then take a quick look over at the smallest visitor. Somehow, while Scully was concentrating on examining me, and I was concentrating on her, Matty discovered my Egg MacMuffin and is now happily munching away on it. "Hey, ya little thief! That's _my_ breakfast!" I cry out. He looks so startled, poor little guy, that I immediately give him my biggest smile to show him I'm not really angry. Hungry, yes, but angry, no. "Hey big guy, can we at least share?" No one ever told me the word 'share' is not truly a part of a one year old's vocabulary. On the other hand, 'tease' is very definitely in a one year old's repertoire. Matty walks over with a piece of the muffin in his hand, pretends to offer it to me, and at the very last second snatches it back and chomps away at it. The giggles are worth my feelings of starvation, but I finally call a halt to the game and insist we go out and get me a proper breakfast before I start gnawing on the furniture. "Okay, Mulder. Throw on some jeans, and let's blow this joint!" says Scully giggling. I love to hear this woman giggle. It has got to be one of the sweetest sounds on this earth. I do as told. Hey, I'm no fool. When my Scully talks, I listen. Well, most of the time. While I throw on my sweater, Scully works on bundling the baby up again. I can't believe it's as cold as all that, but Scully reminds me Matty's not used to cold weather, so he'll feel any drop in temperature. We decide I'll drive the rental, so I can return here anytime I want. Scully will drive the baby in Bill's van since it has the car seat. I pick up the mini abominable snowman, he's dressed to the hilt for the unusually cold San Diego temps. I open my motel room door, and am immediately assaulted with cold air and big, wet, white splotches of precipitation. . The baby screeches, "NO! NO!" "It's okay, Matty, it's just snow," I say in an attempt to reassure him. "'NO! 'NO! Down! Matty down!" he squeals with laughter. "Oh! Yes, Matthew, it's snow," I respond as I emphasize the 's' sound. I hesitate to put him down though, as it's apparently been snowing since Dana got here. There's a pretty good layer of snow on the ground. "C'mon, Matthew," she says as she takes his squirming form from my arms. "Your father is going to have a heart attack that Auntie Dana has you out in this weather! Let's go, little boy. Mulder, I'll meet you back at the house, okay?" "Yeah. Hey, Dana? Be careful, it's pretty darn slippery out here, okay?" I caution. "Yes, I will. You too, G-Man." I nod and watch her walk deliberately on the snow layered ground. She climbs in her car, and I walk with care to the rental. We both pull out around the same time, and I figure we'll make it back to the Scully house in about ten to fifteen minutes. Maybe a little more, what with the snow and all. When am I going to learn I should never assume anything? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ End of Part 2/3 The Barbecue Series 5: Holiday on Ice by Susan Proto (STPteach@aol.com) Disclaimers in Part 1 Part 3/3 I never see it coming. The snow is coming down pretty hard now. I'm following the big blue monster SUV Scully borrowed to get here, so it's kind of tough for me to see beyond it. I've always hated those things, as well as vans and four wheel drive models for that reason, unless I'm in one of them of course. But it's a real pain in the ass to be stuck behind them. Especially in a snow storm, when the visibility is for shit as it is. So, I am concentrating so hard on keeping focused on her vehicle, and trying to figure out where the hell the road is, that I don't see it until it's way too late. SMASH!! CRASH!! CRUNCH!! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The light hurts my eyes. I can only manage to open my eyes into slits, but it's just enough for me to realize there is much too much light out there right now. I try to get my bearings, but it's almost too much for me to think about at the moment. I feel dizzy, and I wonder why my insides feel as though they've been turned and twisted about. I turn my head slightly to look out the window of the car and find out. I'm on my side, or rather the car is. I have a feeling this is the position it was left in after it had flipped over once. Well, judging from the pounding in my head, maybe it flipped twice. I look around by turning my head slowly, as I don't want to add to the already loud timpani number jostling my brains, when I remember something very important. Scully. Where's Scully. And Matthew. What's happened to them? I start moving a little faster now, as I realize if Scully were able to, she'd be at my side trying to give me a medical examination. But she's not, which means she must be __. Oh God, let her be all right. Let the baby be all right. I manage to undo my seat belt and push the now deflated airbag out of my way. I push myself upwards toward the passenger door, and with strength I didn't think I could possibly possess, I push the door up and open. I close my eyes quickly as the light assaults my sensitive eyes all the more. The cold air takes my now very shaky breath away, and makes it even more difficult for me to breathe. I pull myself out of the car. I do a preliminary check of myself to make sure I haven't sustained any other injuries. The bum leg is sore but no more damaged than before. I thank the powers that be for small favors. Next, I look for Scully's van. At first, all I see is a world of white. Snow is everywhere, and it's still falling. I look for the tall, road blocking, blue van but can't see it. I don't understand. She was driving right in front of me. If she saw my car hit and roll over, she wouldn't have just left. Where is she? I take a shaky step and find myself very lightheaded. The snow is swirling around my face which makes it even more difficult for me to focus on my surroundings. I feel as though I'm going to throw up when I look to my right. Now, I actually do throw up. I can't control the heaving. I guess between what is probably my hundred and tenth concussion, and my unmitigated fear for Scully and Matthew's safety, my body just gave up. When I'm finally to catch my breath, I stand up and once again look to my right down a small, but steep ridge, which had been blocked off by a flimsy metal roped fence. I work hard to focus my eyes on the blurry images below. One is red, the other blue. It doesn't take me too long to get down the side of the ridge. The snow makes a wonderful icy pillow for me to slide down upon. As I get nearer to the van I hear a wonderful sound. Matty's screaming his bloody head off. I say a quick prayer of thanks for that much. I then awkwardly move around the wildly growing brambles to get to the van. I see Scully with her head leaning back on the headrest. I next look over at Matty who's crying so hard he doesn't even realize I'm staring at him through the window. I rap on the window in an attempt to get his attention. He doesn't hear me at first, so I try to open the van door, which of course is locked up tight, and bang on the door harder. This gets the baby's attention. "Unc-key Muddah!" I hear his muffled cry and my heart feels like breaking. I walk around to the other side of the van and try the other door, but it too is locked. The rear is also locked, and the baby's cries begin to escalate once again. I try to reassure him, but I'm not sure how much he can hear me through the closed windows and his layers of hat, muffler, and hood. I look once again at Scully, trying to ascertain how seriously she's injured. I don't even think about any other possibility, though I gasp a sigh of relief when I do observe her chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm. I don't know how to get to her. I look around for something strong enough to break the window. I wish I had a crowbar. Then I suddenly remember the other car, the red one. The reason we're probably all in this mess in the first place. I walk over, admittedly with a great deal of trepidation, to the red car. It's on its side and I have to brush away some snow to get a look at the driver. Oh, shit. It's a kid. It's just a kid, who's probably never seen snow in his entire life, and got stuck driving in it during this freak southern California storm. I knock on the window and, thank you God, see him move a little. I guess he's groaning a bit too, but it's hard to hear through the closed window. I knock again, and this time the kid moves a little more. "Open the door," I shout. "The lock! Open the lock!" Amazingly, not a moment later I hear a click, and I'm able to pull the door open. I ask the kid if he's okay, and he mumbles something about his right arm. He's leaning on it, and when I pull him up, he moans deeply, and I see the arm is dangling at a rather precarious angle. This kid's definitely gonna be opening his gifts up one handed, but from the look of things, that's probably the most serious of his injuries. Unless you count his car. Totaled. But I think he got away lucky. Merry Christmas, kid. I look down by the driver's seat, and sure enough see a trunk release latch. I pull it and the trunk pops open. I look inside and see the object of my desire. I pick up the jack handle and carry it to Scully's van. I go to the passenger side and start rapping the window. Matty's quiet now, which calms me down a little. I'm still waiting for Scully to show more signs of consciousness, but I see she's still breathing, so I don't go into a total state of panic. RAP! RAP! RAP! Nothing's happening, and now I'm getting frustrated. My own head is reeling a bit more from all of the noise and the exertion of energy, but I've got to get to Scully. RAPRAPRAPRAP! RAPRAPRAPRAP! I see the beginnings of a hairline crack and I begin anew. RAPRAPRAPRAPRAPRAPRAPRAP! CRUNCH!! The window splinters now. I pull my coat sleeve over my hand and gently push the shattered glass in toward the seat. I'm now able to open the passenger door, and after I brush the glass off of the seat, I climb over to Scully. "Unc-key Muddah, uppy!" cries out Matty. "I will, big guy. Let me just check on Aunt Dana, okay?" I plead. Miraculously, the baby quiets down and allows me to do my way too inept examination. I gently caress Scully's face with my hands and try to ascertain if there's any cuts or bruises which would indicate head trauma. I don't see anything, so I feel her head and discover a pretty nasty bump on the side of her head. Great! Twin concussions! I call her name softly, but when I get no response, I call out a little louder. Finally, as I'm starting to go into panic mode, she says, "Mulder, there's no need to shout." I choke a bit on the last breath I'd attempted to take, and lean down to give her a kiss. "Sorry, but you were a little reticent about waking up there for a while." "I was? Why?" she asks with some confusion. "Scully, do you remember what happened?" I ask a little nervously. Amnesia is not something I want to have to deal with. "We were going back to Bill's house. It was snowing, and it was hard to see. I looked in my rearview mirror to make sure you were behind me, when __. Ohmigod! Suddenly there was this other car! It was coming right toward me. It was skidding, and I knew it was going to hit me, and, oh __!! Matthew!? Matthew? Baby, are you all right?" she cried out all the while attempting to twist towards the back to see the baby. "He's fine, Dana. Those car seats really do their job. See?" I ask as she turns to the baby. "He's fine. Really." "Aunty Dana! Go Boom!" said the baby. "Unc-key Muddah? Uppy?" he now pleaded. "Soon Matty. I promise, we'll get you out of there soon." I then turn to Scully and ask her if she's okay to get out of the car. She nods yes, and I offer her support, but allow her to get out on her steam. If she is injured anywhere else, I don't want to exacerbate it. Scully manages to stand on her own beside the van, and then looks over at the red car. "Did you check the driver?" I explain what I saw, and she asks me if I could manage to deal with Matty while she goes and checks on the driver. I tell her sure, and move toward the car. I stop short. All of a sudden I'm feeling a little dizzy again and the notion of throwing up again doesn't sound too bad. I move toward the back of the van and do just that. I'm still feeling lightheaded, but not as nauseous as before. I find Scully's cell phone on the floor of the car and, after I pull Matty out of the car seat, call her back to the van. I don't want Matty to see the other driver in pain. "Scully, I found your phone. Maybe you should call your brother and 911," I say. I lean against the van. I feel dizzy again, and I clutch Matthew, like a shield, even closer to me. Scully takes the phone from me and calls 911 first to report the accident. She looks a little pale to me, but none the worse for the wear. I think the force of the damn airbag knocked her out, she's so tiny. The van is in pretty good shape considering. A lot better shape than the red car or the rental up above. I'm trying to figure out how my car sustained so much damage when I hear Scully say, "Hello Bill? Listen, I don't want you to worry, but there's been an accident." I hear the man scream at the top of his lungs, "WHAT?!" "Bill, we're fine. Matthew's fine. I'm fine. The van's even in pretty good condition; it just has to be pulled out of the ditch, that's all." Bill starts ranting and raving, when suddenly I hear Scully say, "Yes, Charlie, we're fine. No, Charlie I'm not hurt. Yes, Charlie, we were on the way when I was hit by some poor kid who went into a skid. Poor thing had only skied in snow; never had to drive in it. "Yes, please. It's cold and the ambulance should be coming soon for the other driver. I want to wait with him until it comes. Also, we'll need some tows for the van and the other driver's car." Scully sees me motioning and miming something. "And the rental will need a tow too." Remind me never to be on the opposing team of Scully's when we play a round of Charades. I smile now, or maybe it's a grimace, I'm not too sure any more. Scully gets so wrapped up in dealing with Roger, the young driver, that she doesn't have a chance to hover over me. Which at any other time I might think is a good thing. Except for the fact I really feel like shit, and could probably use a good hover, ya know? But Roger, who I find out is sixteen years old and has had his driver's license for exactly a week and a half, is in a lot of pain. Poor kid's also scared to death he'll be forty years old before his father ever lets him have the car again. He's even more scared he'll be fifty before he actually _wants_ to get behind the wheel of a car again. So, I can't fault Scully for wanting to mother him a little bit. I hear sirens now. I can't tell if it's an ambulance or paramedics or fire trucks, or police cars. Considering the volume, it could be all of them. My head is pounding again. I think I've been in an upright position for a little too long. I lean against the car, still holding onto Matthew for dear life. Then I hear a chorus of voices shouting down from up the ridge. "Matty! Matty! Dana! Where are you?" I know the loudest voice is Billy's, but I hear Tara and maybe even Charlie's voice. Oh good. Reinforcements. The cavalry has arrived, and not a moment too soon. I'm feeling more lightheaded then ever, and Matty's starting to feel heavier and heavier to me. I wouldn't mind if someone took the little bugger from me soon; like right now would be good. "Matty!" Billy grabs the baby out of my arms. I know he didn't do it as a kindness to me, but I'm grateful just the same. I feel as if my head is reeling, and I don't know how much longer I'll be able to stand upright. "Matty, are you okay big boy? Oh, you poor thing. Damn it, Mulder, what the hell did you do?" shouts Billy directly at me. "Unc-key Muddah! Unc-key Muddah!" calls out Matty as he extends his arms toward me. Oh, that really pisses Billy off. Here he wants to desperately think I'm the villain in this mess, and his kid wants me to hold him again. Sorry, Matty, not right now. I'm considering whether I should just slide down to the ground gracefully, or fall down in an awkward heap. "Oh, Billy, knock it off. It was nobody's fault, least of all poor Mulder's," admonishes Scully. The paramedics arrived and are now attending to Roger, teenage driver, so Scully is able to come over and defend my honor. You go, G-Girl, and by all means, wake me up when it's all over. I slowly begin my slide down to the ground. I decide it's much more dignified. "Mulder!?" calls out a new voice. Charlie? "Mulder, you okay?" Yep, it's good ol' Charlie. As a matter of fact, Charlie my friend, no. No, I feel like shit. Does he hear me say any of this? No. I don't think I'm capable of making intelligible sounds at the moment. "Dana! Dana, help! It's Mulder!" Charlie cries out. I knew I liked the guy for a reason. Scully runs over to my side and immediately checks my pupils. Unequal and dilated. What a surprise. I could have told her that! "Oh, Mulder, why didn't you tell me?" she laments. Sure. Ask me the hard questions, Scully. "The kid was hurt, and somebody had to watch Matty," I reply in only a modified gibberish. It sounds like a reasonable response to me however. "But you're hurt too, G-Man. When were you planning on telling me you were hurting too?" she asks as she gently massages the pain away from my forehead. All I can do at this point is whisper her name, and finally, confess, "Scully, it hurts." I guess it's at this point I pass out. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ When I wake up, I'm in a nice cozy hospital bed. They've taped some electrode thingamagingies to my head to monitor me. I suppose my self-diagnosis of concussion was on the money. I hate being hooked up to machines, but since no one ever asks me my opinion on these things, I don't bother getting cranky about it anymore. Well, at least not too much. "Scully?" I call out. I'm all alone, and I'm not too thrilled about feeling all alone in a hospital room with only a God damned hospital gown to my name. "Scully?" I try once more. Damn. Where is everyone? And how long have I been here? Did I miss Christmas? I look around the room for any kind of a hint as to day or time. I see it's dark outside the window, and wonder if it's simply the same night of the accident or, heaven forbid, if I've lost some days. I reach for the call button and press it pretty insistently. Moments later, a tall, male nurse enters my room. "Well, welcome to the land of the living, Mr. Mulder. You've been out of it for a good bit of time there," he says. Shit. I'm afraid to ask how long a 'good bit of time' is, but I have to ask. "How long?" "Oh, well you were brought in eleven o'clock this morning, and you've been out of it ever since. It's a little after midnight, Mr. Mulder," he explains. "That's all?" I ask almost gleefully. Just a little over thirteen hours? God, the man does not know the meaning of 'good bit of time,' does he? "Isn't that enough?" he asks. I have to chuckle at that, and I quickly agree that it's more than enough. I then ask if Scully is around, and he mentions she went to get a quick bite to eat in the cafeteria. "Do you want me to page her?" "No. Let her eat. I'm sure she'll be back here soon enough," I answer. "Hey, any idea as to when I can get out of here?" "I don't know, but I'm sure the doctor will be in later. You can ask her." I thank the nurse and watch him leave, all the while thinking there's only one doctor I want to see walk through that door.. Luckily for me, my wish is granted not ten minutes later. She walks in and greets me with that perfect Scully smile. "Hi," I greet in reply. "How ya feeling?" "Actually, I don't feel too badly. My head isn't pounding at the moment. Just a nice, quiet, manageable, dull throb." "Tylenol, miracle drug." "I guess they should pay me to be the spokesperson," I say, not quite entirely in jest. "I guess they should," she replies in kind. I smile at her, and then ask the question most on my mind. "How bad and how long?" "Mild, and overnight on the condition you're still stable in the morning. You'll have to be under constant supervision, however, which means only one thing," she says with a slight glint in her eye. "Scully, there is no way I'm moving into Billy's house for the next few days. I'm sorry. I can't. I won't," I say firmly. "Who said anything about you moving in to Billy's? Hell, no, G-Man! I'm moving out. Looks like you're just gonna have to share that nice, private, with a lock on the door, motel room. Can you live with that?" "Umm, yeah. Yeah, I can live with that." "Good. When you're released tomorrow, it's going to be Christmas Eve. We'll go over to Billy's and spend a nice quiet afternoon, have dinner and then go back to the motel. "Oh, and Mulder? If you're a good little FBI agent, you may even get your Christmas present early," she says as she bats those beautiful baby blues at me. "Scully, are you coming on to me?" I ask in my usual leer. "Yup." "OH!" Oh, indeed. OH, indeed! And a Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a very good night! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ End of 3/3 Please send all comments and feedback to STPteach@aol.com And may I please take this opportunity to wish you all a very happy and healthy holiday seaon!