WEARING ICICLES
BY: Annie Jennings

DISCLAIMER: The characters of Mulder, Scully, and Margaret
Scully, are all property of Ten Thirteen Productions and
Twentieth Century FOX. But they're greedy about their characters,
so I'm justified in thieving them for a little holiday vignette.
:-) The lyrics that bookend the story are from Gordon Lightfoot's
lovely song, "Song for a Winter's Night", though I listened to
the heavenly Sarah McLachlan cover from _Rarities, B-Sides, and
Other Stuff_ while writing this story. Just wanted to give credit
where credit is due - beautiful, rich song. :)

SUMMARY: A bout of winter loneliness and a heartwarming
conversation make for a typical Mulder and Scully Christmas...
With just a little sap. ;-)

CATEGORY: V, A, UST (Mulder/Scully... Who else would I write? ;)

RATING: PG

SPOILERS: A little "Christmas Carol"/"Emily" and "How the Ghosts
Stole Christmas", but set before "Millennium"

ARCHIVAL: Please request before archiving - I'd like to know
where my children are living. :-)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I loved "Millennium" dearly, but one part got
under my skin. When Mulder said "Merry Christmas" to Scully, it
was as though they hadn't spoken over the holidays, and that
irritated me, seeing as how close they've been this year. So, I
decided to correct that problem, especially after being inspired
by music and finally catching the Christmas vibe (it's been too
warm in Charleston to really experience any sense of winter, let
alone Christmas!).

This is dedicated to anyone and everyone in the fanfic community
- Happy Holidays! :D

And thanks to my faithful beta readers, Heather and Kristin, who
always listen even when I whine to them that the error colors on
Microsoft Word are Christmas colors, and therefore that should
make them automatically valid. Apparently, it doesn't work that
way, even in the holiday season. Whatever. ;)

*****

WEARING ICICLES

*****

"The lamp is burning low upon my tabletop
 Snow is softly falling
 The air is still in the silence of my room
 I hear your voice softly calling
 If I could only have you near
 To breathe a sigh unto
 I would be happy to just to hold the hands I love
 On this winter's night with you"
 --Gordon Lightfoot

*****

A lulling shower of frozen ivory drifted down around outside of
the rustic cabin, languidly shimmering to the ground in fragments
of alabaster. Each minute piece of snow was utterly unique,
shaped differently as well as exquisitely, imprinted with
different patterns and magnificent shapes, pirouetting like icy
ballerinas. They met the blanket of snow that covered the
Colorado cabin, coating the individual pine needles and
enveloping the range with angel's wings. Fragile frost was blown
onto the window as if by cherubs, some sort of sweet spirit
whispering on the glass, and this was the thought that finally
made Dana Scully smile. Spirits breathing ice onto her windows...
How deliciously Mulderesque.
 
She shifted her legs under the quilt, her socked feet rubbing
against each other with the comfortable ease that she felt in the
cabin. The temperature, the setting, the way the old-fashioned
gas lamp burned on the nightstand... All of it was perfect,
seasonal and festive, as she watched the late night fall of snow
drift gracefully onto the ground. She sighed a little
contentedly, turning the yellowed pages in the weathered book her
mother had given her upon her arrival.
 
The pages in the old copy of Louisa May Alcott's grand young
adult masterpiece, "Little Women", were brittle with age and
slightly rippled from once being dropped in a bathtub when she
was just discovering the art of reading while bathing, but it was
still highly readable. How remarkable that her mother had found
Dana's childhood copy of the first classic the child had ever
read, and how remarkable that it was still intact. The binding
was marked from multiple readings and most of the pages were dog-
eared, but it was still the same text. The Christmas party at
Laurie's, Amy nearly dying in the ice-hole, and of course, the
tragic death of the quietest March sister... Scully remembered it
all well.
 
Scully had been doing a lot of reading since her arrival in Vail
at her brother's rented cabin. Charlie and his wife had been
saving up for this family get-together since their second
anniversary, and this was the year when they were finally able to
afford the cozy little cabin positioned between the mountain
peaks. Her mother was there with her two sisters, along with
Bill, Tara, and little Matthew, as well as Scully's uncle on her
mother's side had also shown up for the Christmas reunion.

A small snowstorm had kept the family a little snowbound for the
season, preventing them from visiting the ski lodge or gliding
across the pond on ice skates, but the isolation and quietude was
welcome for the vacationing agent. However, the alienation was
not.

Conversation replaced physical activity for the Scullys, and most
of the family gathered in different groupings in different rooms.
Whether it was relating family anecdotes while eating cheese and
salami in the kitchen or sipping apple cider and discussing Navy
politics in the library, everyone seemed to have something to
contribute to the conversation - except Dana. Quiet observation
and a healthy amount of eggnog laced with rum seemed to be her
position during the holiday gathering this year, feeling lost
while the family came together.

The truth was, she was saddened by the way she had been so
effectively isolated from the rest of her family. She didn't know
about Charlie's promotion or her Aunt Mary's remarriage, and such
easily discussed topics were baffling to her. And some of the
discussions just... Hurt. Like how Christine and Tara exchanged
child-rearing tips while giggling as though they were members of
a society that Scully would never enter, or when everyone showed
sympathy for Aunt Judith's benign breast tumor. Cancer and
childlessness were two things that Scully still suffered from, at
least emotionally, and having these things laughed about or
prayed over reopened wounds she wished were healed.

Yet it was much better to listen than participate. When Charlie
had asked her to say a prayer over dinner, her mouth had frozen
around the words. Her experience in Africa had seriously
challenged her religion, and it was difficult for her to
celebrate a virgin birth or any other sort of miracle when she
doubted its validity. Eventually, she formed her lips to take
shape and breathe out a simple, uncomplicated prayer to satisfy
Charlie, and Scully envied the comfort and solace that her
Catholic family found in Christ. She simply did not have the
same copious amounts of faith that she once held before.

And she missed Mulder.

Sad, but true. She missed the big lug, the lanky guy who had spent
Christmas with her last year inside of a haunted house filled
with vengeful lovers and then reminded her that love was not
always so hurtful by giving her a kaleidoscope for Christmas. She
often found his shadow wandering over the cedar walls of the
cabin, wearing the beautiful green sweater over the heather tee-
shirt with vivid blue jeans while creeping toward her blanketed
body, smiling just for her. She yearned for the ease of
conversing with him, for the instant connection and the unspoken
bond that made him so familiar and understanding. She wouldn't
need to explain about her dead daughter and barrenness or any of
the monsters that haunted her dreams.

In other words, to not do exactly what Bill had just done.

To his credit, he'd thought that she was still asleep when he'd
been talking to Uncle Joe. Yet the pleasing aroma of
brewing hazelnut coffee and her uncle's pipe tobacco, a
beautifully familiar scent from her childhood, had awakened her.
Happy, she'd walked downstairs to see her uncle only to overhear
a snippet of her older brother's conversation with him.

"It's understandable that Dana's so quiet around the rest of the
family, Uncle Joe," Bill had been murmuring, his gruff voice
disgustingly superior. "She doesn't get a lot of time to herself
working with the Bureau or on the X-Files." His voice lowered a
notch for sheer effect. "You do know what she does on the X-
Files, don't you?"

The quiet, unassuming voice of her uncle was musing and
contemplative as he answered his eldest nephew. "I've heard
that she does some... Unusual work," Joe Porter said, and she
heard the melodic and rhythmic puffing of her uncle's pipe.
"Aliens and monsters and psychic things. Sounds rather
interesting if you ask me."

"It's interesting," Bill agreed, and that was surprising. Bill
was interested in her work. Well, it wasn't going to be any
Christmas conversation anytime soon, that was for sure. "But it's
also dangerous. And her partner is... He's a nut. And he's so
obsessed with his work. It's killing Dana. No wonder she doesn't
have any connection with the rest of us. It's like... It's like
she's been broken, Uncle Joe."

Broken... That was all of the conversation that Dana needed to
hear. Quietly and subtly, Scully slipped away, the dark ruby of
her silk pajamas glimmering softly in the lamplight like liquid
fire as she returned to her bedroom to contemplate her brother's
words. Broken.

The lamplight flickered slightly and the firelight sparked over
the pages, blurring the ink and obscuring the words before her
eyes. A callused fingertip caressed the brittle edges of the page
as she turned it, and Scully realized that she had forgotten to
read; she had been so caught up in her own personal reflections.
Sighing, she placed the slender ribbon bookmarker between the
pages and rested the novel on the nightstand so that the light
could twist over the velvet cover of the book. She was glad that
she had decided that she wasn't broken at all. In fact, once she
realized this, she'd achieved a sort of solitary serenity, a
tranquility that covered and shielded her like a soft blanket of
snow, and that helped her cope with her talkative family. When
they drank hot chocolate and talked about tea recipes, she just
read her book and smiled.
 
Yet some wistful part of her still hoped for a connection.
 
A cuckoo clock sounded out the hour of midnight for her in the
background, and the chiming startled her. Christmas already? Had
she really spent the majority of Christmas Eve snuggled in with a
book? But her watch told her the truth - the clock was twenty
minutes fast. A little ahead. Sighing, she relaxed again into the
tower of pillows and cushions that supported her and closed her
eyes, wondering if it would be possible to nap through Christmas
until it was time to head back to Washington just in time for New
Year's.
 
Wistfully, she peered out the frosted window to the majestic
slopes that surrounded her. Massive pine trees crowned with
garlands of white dotted the rises and falls, and twinkling
lights from other cabins glittered in the snow like merry
diamonds. It was as though the stars had fallen from the sky and
embedded themselves into the mountainside and now shimmered like
contented sequins.

Contented herself, Scully leaned her chin into the crook of her
arm and nuzzled her cheek against the soft flannel of Mulder's
shirt, thieved from him so long ago that his scent was nearly
erased from the cloth. But it was still there, subtle and warm,
as familiar as her uncle's pipe tobacco or her mother's monkey
bread baking in the oven. A comforting, rich aroma that took her
back to happier times. Inhaling the fading hint of soap and
sunflower seeds, Scully smiled briefly, and wondered what he was
doing back in the capitol.

And she wondered if he was thinking about her as well.

Fluttering bits of snow danced lightly from the sky to a waltz
that she could not hear, but she could guess its tempo from the
lilting way the snow drifted toward the ground. Frost brocaded
her windows with icy silk, and it was obscuring the rest of the
Colorado landscape from her eyes. Billowing smoke rose toward the
sky, ascending in clouds of dark breath from the fireplace in the
other room. Her family was gathered there now, attending a sort
of makeshift Midnight Mass, and Scully had opted to sit the
service out. Candles and incense burned in the other room, but
she languished alone with the smell of Mulder's shirt still
wafting gently to her nose.

She missed him fiercely. He understood her, knew her better than
anyone else in the confines of this cabin, and having him so many
miles away always hurt. Especially this year, in the light of
their blossoming relationship and unfurling romance, it was
difficult to be enthralled by so much beauty and unable to share
it with anyone else. If he could only see the pale china of the
lake, covered by a thick layer of ice, glistening in the
moonlight so that the designs cut by a day's worth of skaters
shimmered like carving, then no words would need to be spoken. He
would just smile at her, maybe touch the back of one gloved hand,
and make one witty remark that would make her eyes glow as
brightly as the frozen lake itself.

But instead, she walked alone to the lake the other night, and
enjoyed the imagined scenario, letting that warm her more than
her down jacket or her knit hat.

Rose danced across the back of her hand in a blush caress,
lighting the peach knuckles, and Scully thought about Mulder
alone in his apartment. No Christmas tree to brighten up the dim
corners, no family or friends to smile at him and make up for the
lack of physical holiday spirit. She wondered again if he was
thinking about her, his lanky limbs strewn across the leather
couch, a gentle smile on his face similar to the one touching
hers.

The telephone rang from the small end table, interrupting her
wistful imagining, and she sighed, reaching behind her to answer
it. "Hello," she said, her voice a little hoarse from its
prolonged silence and the dryness of the mountain climate.

"What luck; I get connected to the best Scully on my first try,"
a laughing tenor voice responded, velvet rippling beneath the
words in the most deliciously inviting chuckle she had heard in the
past week. Mulder's grin could almost be seen across the miles of
line and wire, and she shifted contentedly in the layers of quilt
and blanket.

"That's because every other Scully in the house is busy at the
moment and I was relegated to the job of telephone operator,"
Scully replied, her cheek still leaning against the softness of
his flannel shirt. "What's up, Mulder?"

"Absolutely nothing," he said, "and I'm hurt that you assume this
call is automatically business-related. We're on vacation,
Scully. A well-earned vacation, if memory serves me correctly.
And I hope you're enjoying yours. How's Colorado?"

She took a moment to glance out the window at the seemingly
endless miles of white countryside and scattered cabins, all
cozily burning fires and adding smoke to the fathomless winter
sky. How beautiful everything seemed, so still and silent, except
for the rise and fall of Mulder's breathing in her ear. "It's
very beautiful," she finally murmured, a smile curling the ends
of her mouth. "One of the major differences is the absolute
absence of light. No light from the city filters over to detract
from the setting. So everything's very natural and simple - the
snow, the cabins, the frost and lakes... It's all unadulterated
by the rest of the world."

A warm sound that could have been a sigh came from across the
line and heated her body, curling her toes underneath the layers
of cotton socks. "Sounds beautiful, Scully," he smiled. "So what
have you been doing up there?"

"Reading," she answered, looking at the velvet-bound novel that
rested gently on the edge of the table. Lamplight flickered over
the forest green, making the embossed gold words shimmer. "My
mother dug my old copy of 'Little Women' out of the attic and
gave it to me for Christmas, and I've been rereading it. I
haven't read it since I was twelve."

She wondered if he would snicker or if he would smile, but his
reaction was more of a combination between the two. "Never knew
you were a 'Little Women' type of girl, Scully," he said, and she
shrugged her shoulders.

"I never said that it was a literary classic, but it certainly
brings up some good girlhood memories," she said. Her voice
softened considerably, her fingers absently picking at fraying
threads at the edge of the quilt. "I can certainly relate to a
lot of it."

When he spoke, his voice was equally soft, as gentle and subtle
as it got. "I think you did a little more than sell your hair,
Scully," he murmured, and a rushing whisper of history murmured
past her ear. She had sold more than her hair - her daughter, her
life, her family and many pieces of her own beliefs. All sold to
pay for a war that she would never fully understand, and neither
would he. The most simplistic parts of it were all that they
could comprehend - the battle for right and wrong. And a more
primal battle for sheer survival.

Sighing, Scully leaned back and looked out the window. Slender
icicles hung from the windowsill like frozen teardrops,
glistening in the light radiating from the cabin and catching
stray pieces of snow in their icy fingers. She chuckled into the
phone, grateful for the easy conversation that she had been
unable to muster up with her family. "There are icicles on the
windows, Mulder," she said, a smile creeping into her voice. "I
remember being a kid in North Dakota, visiting my mother's
family, and making icicle jewelry with Melissa. Nothing
complicated, just tying string around them and hanging them
around our necks, but we thought that they were more beautiful
than diamonds."

"Not to mention cheaper than diamonds," Mulder helpfully offered,
and Scully chuckled. A very Mulder thing to say.

"Well, we very happy with our makeshift gemstones until we got
inside," Scully said. "I suppose that we forgot that ice melts,
and soon all we were left with was string and wet clothing, not
to mention wet floors. Mom got so mad at us until Missy told her
what we were doing, and then I guess she couldn't get too upset."
Her smile waned slightly, and she looked wistfully at the elegant
droplets of ice, clinging to the window with frostbit fingers.
"We thought that they would last forever."

Quiet hung between them, crossing the miles, until Scully was so
painfully lonely for contact that she pressed her cheek against
the phone, listening to the rhythmic sound of his breathing.
Dark, impenetrable blue stained the sky, only marred by the
occasional flickering of snow against the frosted window. The ice
and snow that created such a lovely picture outside was only
temporary; spring would eventually come and melt everything to
reveal naked, raw grass beneath and dead plants. "Nothing lasts
forever," Scully murmured into the telephone, and Mulder's voice
was quiet and contemplative when he replied.
 
"No, it doesn't," he murmured in reply.
 
>From the other room, she heard the sounds of her family laughing,
gathered around a fire, drinking red wine and playing what
sounded like a simple arrangement of Vivaldi on the stereo. Warm,
bright violin and guitar performed a duet of strings, and Scully
sighed. "I used to know my family so well, Mulder," she said,
playing with the too-long cuff of her stolen shirt. "No matter
how distant the relation or how long it had been since I'd seen
them, there was always a sort of connection that always sparked
when I saw them again." Frustrated, she shook her head. "I
haven't seen Charlie in a year. Bill's uncomfortable talking to
me because of what happened with..." Her voice trailed, and she
heart the poignant, painful pause stretch across the line. "Well,
he's not right anymore. And my mother just aches." She sighed
again. "But none of them understand who I am or what I do."
 
"Maybe you don't let them understand," he suggested, and Scully
frowned. He did not wait for her to question him or ask him to
elaborate; Mulder continued naturally. "Scully, we've suffered an
unnatural amount in our line of work. What we do has cost us some
of the most precious and valuable things in our lives. And we're
different people than who we started out as. But no matter who or
what you are, your family loves you. No matter how unlovable or
distanced you think you are, they know the truth. So talk to
them. Listen to them. Because even if it seems like nothing is
temporary, the way someone loves you isn't." His voice softened a
little until it was nothing more than a shadow above a whisper.
"I promise you that much, Scully."
 
With a sigh that exhaled everything wearied or worried, Scully
leaned back and sank into the pillows, stretching her arm back
behind her and smiling into the telephone receiver. The stolen
flannel rubbed her skin in just the right way, so that if she
were to close her eyes, she could almost feel the gentle, loving
caress that he would give her if he were here right now. "Thanks,
Mulder," she murmured.
 
"Anytime, Scully."
 
From somewhere inside of the house, a more accurate clock chimed
out the hour in a tinkling of silvery bells that sounded like ice
beating together. Startled, Scully looked down at her wristwatch
and smiled. "It's Christmas Day, Mulder," she said, and she heard
the rustling of clothing as he looked at his own clock.
 
"Wow, you're right," he said. "Christmas Day." He sighed on the
other end. "Doesn't feel like it though."
 
Tilting her head to the side, Scully smiled to herself. "Why
not?" she asked, and she could almost see him on the other end.
Stretched on the sofa, shrugging his shoulders, a wistful
expression tilting his plush pink mouth into a yearning smile.
 
"It's gonna sound corny, Scully, but it's because you're not
here."
 
Heartache and longing seized her body with a ferocity that seemed
permanent, and Scully's fingers caressed the receiver as though
she could comfort his skin with her touch. "I'll be there in a
couple of days, Mulder," she said, but it was a feeble
reassurance. She wanted him there with her in Colorado, spooned
on the couch and lit by the dying lamplight, so that the gold
would burn over their entwined bodies until they were plunged
into darkness and contented silence. And all the while, the
cedars and pines would waver with their icicle wind chimes, and
snow would dust the ground.
 
"Tell you what, Mulder," she said. "Don't let it be Christmas
until I get back, and when you feel it's Christmastime, just let
me know and we'll celebrate together." She could tell that he
warmed to the suggestion, and his voice chuckled across the other
line.
 
"Does that mean I have to wait to get my Christmas present,
Scully?" he teased, and she snorted.
 
"Mulder, I'm over a thousand miles away from you," she said.
"What exactly could I give you?"
 
A snicker. "You could tell me what you're wearing right now."
 
A slow, demure, victorious grin spread over her face as Scully
answered his question with complete and utter honesty. "I'm
wearing your shirt, Mulder, and not very much else," she said.
"Merry Early Christmas." And before he could respond or let that
sink in, Scully hung up the phone with a smile.
 
Snow shimmered in dazzling bits of ivory outside, beating against
the window with the lightness of wintry butterfly wings. Still
smiling, she pushed the quilt away from her body and stepped onto
the wooden floor, padding across the room in her socked feet
until she was standing at the window. The majestic rise of the
mountains and their snow-covered valleys met her eyes with their
alabaster splendor, and the smell of freshly cut pine and cedar
met her nose. Intricate patterns of frost unfurled against the
glass, and Scully looked down at the elegance with which the
icicles hung.
 
Perhaps the bleak beauty of winter was not permanent, but there
were some things that never did die. And one of those things was
gathered in the family room around a fire, watching orange and
gold flicker and laughing over the joy they could find in life.

Pressing her fingers to the frosted glass and tracing the shape
of one pendant of ice, Scully smiled, and turned away to join her
family for their celebration of Christmas. And all the while, she
dreamed of her own private holiday still lying in wait in an
apartment back in Arlington. But for now, this would be more than
adequate.

As Scully closed the door behind her, the small gas lamp that had
illuminated her room earlier finally died, and the room slipped
into a darkness pierced only by the silver of a full moon
reflected upon ice and glass.

*****

"The fire is dying, my lamp is growing dim
 The shades of night are lifting
 Morning light steals across my windowpane
 Where webs of snow are drifting
 If I could only have you near
 To breathe a sigh unto
 I would be happy just to hold the hands I love
 On this winter's night with you
 And to be once again with you"
 --Gordon Lightfoot

*****

(end)

*****

'Tis the season of giving, and no gift is better than feedback!
I'd love to hear from you at Auralissa@aol.com. Happy Holidays to
one and all!
 

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"All our regrets are just lessons we haven't learned yet"
 --Beth Orton
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