From: msnsc21@yahoo.com   
      
   OK to send to newsgroup; I'll send to Gossamer and Ephemeral.  Thanks!   
      
   December 28, 2005   
   Title: Christmas Past   
   Author: ML   
   Email:  msnsc21@yahoo.com   
   Feedback: always welcome   
   Rating: B for bittersweet   
   Ep frame of reference:  several through S7.  After that, it's   
   AU since there's not a baby or a Super Soldier in sight.   
      
   For the BtS Secret Santa Challenge, and with best wishes to   
   Donna, whose stories always delight me!   
      
   =====   
      
   "In goes my hand into that wool-white bell-tongued ball of   
   holidays..."   
      
   -Dylan Thomas, "A Child's Christmas in Wales"   
      
   =====   
      
   Christmas Past   
   by ML   
      
   She has never considered herself a sentimental person, but   
   Christmas always brings it out in her.  More to the point,   
   Christmas is the only time she indulges herself.   
      
   She unpacks the box carefully, mindful of its age and fragility.   
   She knows she could pack all of its contents in a plastic container,   
   but part of the charm is this old box, one she remembers from her   
   parents' garage time out of mind.  The years are catalogued on it,   
   scratched out and renewed, sometimes listing new contents, sometimes   
   not.  She pulls off the first layer of bubble wrap carefully and   
   surveys what's there.   
      
   Right on top is the oldest item: a box of "Shiny-Brite" ornaments   
   from her childhood.  She knows that Bill and Charlie have similar   
   ones to share with their families.  She wonders briefly, sadly,   
   what happened to Melissa's.   
      
   She lays them carefully aside.  In deference to their age, she   
   will not put them on her tree, but she will display them under   
   it, a tangible reminder of days gone by.   
      
   They used to vie for the privilege of putting the first ornament   
   on the tree.  There was a strict protocol, decreed by their father   
   but enforced by their mother if he wasn't there.  One put the   
   first ornament up; another got to put the "special" ornament, a   
   large stylized swan with a feathered tail.  One helped Mom put   
   up the Elf Village, though that was more fun for Charlie and   
   Melissa than Dana or Bill.  Bill didn't have the patience to set   
   the little figures just so, and Dana wasn't interested in elves.   
   Melissa took forever, always making up a story to go with the   
   tableau.   
      
   The final honor was to be the one to "present" the finished   
   tree.  Once the last ornament was hung, everyone had to troop   
   into the kitchen and shut the door.  They waited until they heard   
   the Christmas music turned up from the stereo (Melissa always   
   chose The Nutcracker, Bill and Charlie always chose some pop   
   song), and then they returned, Mom first. They ooh'd and ahh'd   
   over the tree, the only light in the living room, and then they   
   had hot chocolate with a peppermint stick in it.   
      
   One year, when it was Bill's turn, his preparation for the   
   ceremony seemed to take forever.  Dana, Melissa, and Charlie   
   snickered that he must have blown a fuse or knocked over the   
   tree when they heard his urgent "Mom!" from the living room.   
      
   A few more long minutes passed and the three siblings dared each   
   other to peek around the edge of the kitchen door to see what   
   was going on.   
      
   Then Mom's voice called them to come back into the living room   
   -- and there was Dad, home early from his deployment.  Charlie   
   declared that it was "the best Christmas ever" on the spot, but   
   looking back, she could say that about any Christmas growing up.   
   Every one of them was the best in its own way, until the next one   
   came along.   
      
   The smile as she places the box carefully under the tree is   
   bittersweet.  No more "best Christmas ever" for the Scully   
   family.  At least, not in the widely understood meaning of   
   the term.  The remaining members can and do get together, and   
   they have fun, but the ghosts of Christmas past are always   
   there.   
      
   She smiles as her hand encounters a familiar tissue-wrapped   
   object.  It's an empty bottle of Old Spice, still slightly   
   scented. She closes her eyes.  No matter how much time passes,   
   the scent will always remind her of Ahab.   
      
   With a few tears, she recalls the last Christmas her father   
   was alive.  She'd been so proud of her new job, her apartment,   
   the pretty tree and the dinner she'd made for her parents.  The   
   boys had both been deployed, Melissa was off on her own, and   
   she had her parents to herself.   The following year she hadn't   
   put up a tree at all, and every year now she remembers his   
   teasing about leaving the tree up past Christmas Day.   
      
   She lifts a small square tissue-wrapped object out of the box   
   but doesn't unwrap it.  She knows what it is.  Emily, the gift   
   she hadn't known she wanted until she found her.   
      
   No tears fall from her eyes this time.  Her family has very   
   different memories of that year, and she chooses to dwell on   
   the miracle of her nephew, Matthew, as well.  She keeps that   
   pain to herself.  It will always be hers to bear alone.   
      
   Perhaps not entirely alone.  Laying Emily's photo carefully   
   back in the box, she picks up another object.  Once unwrapped,   
   she flips the tiny switch on the underside and the Grinch's   
   green face glows at her.   
      
   "It was the closest thing to an alien head I could find," Mulder   
   had explained when he gave it to her on the most bizarre Christmas   
   she's ever experienced.  "Besides, I think the case could be made   
   that he *is* alien."   
      
   "But I thought you said Reticulans were gray, not green," she'd   
   countered.   
      
   "Not all aliens are Reticulans," he'd replied.  They'd argued   
   back and forth until Mulder had unexpectedly kissed her.  Not   
   long after that, she'd reluctantly left for her mother's house,   
   where the day had passed in a blur of fatigue and longing.   
      
   Is that the "best Christmas ever" in her adult life?  Maybe not,   
   but it is definitely in the running.   
      
   Evidently Mulder had decided that kissing her was meant to be an   
   annual event, since the next time he'd even attempted it was the   
   following year.   
      
   Ah well.  Water under the bridge, as Ahab would say.  She smiles   
   to herself as she places Mr. Grinch in a prominent place on the   
   tree.   
      
   Lounging in the doorway of her kitchen, Mulder watches as Scully   
   removes and then replaces each precious object in the cardboard   
   box.  He's never witnessed this before, but he can tell that it's   
   a ritual that Scully has performed many times in the past.   
      
   He notes her tears and her smiles, and wonders about the events   
   that cause them.  Some he can guess at, but he'd like to hear   
   about them from her.  He has long wanted to know everything about   
   her, to share her tears as well as her laughter.  Little by little,   
   she is letting him.  But he wants her to do it on her own terms,   
   not because she's forced into it.  He turns quietly back into the   
   kitchen and calls out to announce his presence.   
      
   "Hey Scully, ready for some eggnog?"   
      
   "I was beginning to think you'd gotten lost," she says, carefully   
   folding the flaps of the precious box closed and coming over to   
   meet him.   
      
   He hands her a glass and gives her a kiss.  He gestures with his   
   free hand.  "What's in the box?"   
      
   She looks at the box for a long moment, and he thinks that she's   
   not ready to share this with him yet.  Then she turns to him and   
   says, "Christmas past.  Would you like to see?"   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
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    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)