Chapter Text
December 24th, 1999
11:21 p.m.
Mulder sat alone in his apartment, a remote control held loosely in one hand as he flicked through the channels on his TV. Outside, he caught snatches of the sound of voices, groups of friends heading home from the nearby bars or families making their way to church to celebrate midnight mass. Somewhere, he was sure that Scully was among the latter along with her family who he knew were gathering at Maggie's for the holiday. As always, he had been invited and, as always, he had chosen to decline. He didn't like the idea of pity invitations and didn't want to feel as if everyone was talking behind his back, the way he had felt several years before when he had flown to San Diego to be with Scully following her discovery of Emily. Back then, he constantly felt Bill's harsh gaze following him around and he had no desire to feel that way again.
He also had an invitation to spend Christmas with the Gunmen but had declined that offer too. A Gunman Christmas usually consisted of a mountain of Chinese food followed by multiple hours hooked up to a wide variety of video games or an epic session of D&D and while all of those sounded fun, he also felt as if the guys only invited him over out of some sense of duty rather than an actual desire for his company. His mother was away visiting friends in Vermont - she had at least made the effort to call earlier in the evening - even Skinner had offered to have Mulder over for Christmas lunch at his apartment where he too would be spending the holiday alone, but Mulder felt that spending Christmas Day alone with his boss was a level of tragic that even he was yet to sink to.
Instead, he planned to spend Christmas Day alone, as he had for the last several years. His token efforts toward the season were in place - his old childhood stocking was hung from the bookcase beside his sofa and a three-foot-tall bare Christmas tree was perched on the table by the front door after Scully had turned up with it the week before, explaining how horrified she had been when she visited the previous Christmas and realized he didn't own a tree. He had even gone so far as to buy a nice piece of honey-glazed ham from the delicatessen that he planned to have for lunch the next day. If he wasn't careful, he thought to himself, he'd be turning into Martha Stewart by next Thanksgiving. On the desk lay a small pile of presents he had bought too late to distribute to the various recipients but at least they made the room look more festive.
Finding nothing on the TV worth watching, he switched it off and flopped back onto the couch, taking a swig from the fancy beer bottle he was finishing up - one of a set he had received from the FBI Secret Santa. He had been dragged into the tradition last year when he was forced to work in the domestic terrorism bullpen and despite the fact that neither he nor Scully was assigned there anymore, the others had insisted in including them in this year's Secret Santa anyway after realizing that the X-Files department definitely didn't have one. Scully had been happy enough with that - she was one of those weird types that loved Christmas shopping - but he begrudged having to add Agent Phillips to his holiday shopping list when he knew literally nothing about the man.
Over the last few years, Mulder's holiday shopping list had grown from meager to downright miserly. Scully, the Gunmen, Skinner, Maggie, and his mom. He always added a few charitable donations in there as well, mostly to make himself feel like less of a Scrooge, but he was still acutely aware that his entire list could be comfortably counted off on the fingers of one hand.
Finishing his beer and realizing there was nothing worth staying up for, Mulder washed out the bottle and made his way to bed, brushing away a slight stab in his heart at the knowledge that when he awoke, his stocking would still be empty.
December 25th, 1999
12:01 am
Mulder woke to a cold rush of air flowing across the room. He looked at the clock and noticed that it had just passed midnight, it was Christmas Day, and this is how he was starting it. Cursing, he threw back the covers and made his way to the window to close it, but when he opened the drapes, he was confused to find the window was still shut tight. Feeling another cold blast at his back, he realized that the chill was coming through the partially open door - the open window must be in the living room. Pulling on his dressing gown, Mulder padded through the door but stopped dead as the room beyond came into view. Someone was sat at his desk. Whoever it was sat facing toward him but their face was obscured by the shadows cast by the streetlight outside. Slowly he began to reach for his gun.
"I wouldn't bother," a familiar voice said. Mulder's heart missed a beat.
"Dad?"
He flicked on the light and found himself face-to-face with his father who sat in the desk chair looking as old and worn as he had the last time Mulder had seen him four years previously.
"Merry Christmas, Son."
Mulder froze as a thousand emotions flowed through him. He staggered to the couch and sat down at the far end, staring at the apparition of his father who looked back at him, a kind yet also sad smile on his face.
"How much did I have to drink?" Mulder asked. Bill chuckled slightly.
"Not enough to account for this, I'm afraid."
"I don't understand, what are you doing here? How are you here? You can't possibly have faked your own death, I was there!"
"No, no, nothing like that. I'm still just as dead as always, only tonight I get to pay you a little visit."
"Why tonight?"
"Because tonight is Christmas Eve. I'm here to bring you a message."
Mulder's eyes narrowed.
"What kind of a message?"
"You need to change your ways Son."
"Ohhh," a smile grew across Mulder's face, "Oh I see. Yeah, I've watched this movie. Read the book too actually. Are you about to tell me that I'm going to be visited by three spirits?"
Bill smiled back.
"As a matter of fact, I am."
Mulder laughed.
"OK, this is an interesting dream so I'm going to play along, but I have a question," Bill nodded to give his assent for Mulder to continue, "why me? I mean, surely if anyone should be getting a visit from three spirits determined to help them avoid an awful fate, it should be our old smoking friend Mr. Spender?"
Bill snorted a laugh.
"You don't think we've tried? Spender has received Christmas visits from me and several others but unlike old Ebeneezer, he has refused to change. The spirit world has given up on him entirely now, but you Son, you still have hope. I don't want to see you end up like me, spending Christmas alone every year with a bottle of liquor. There are people around you who love you and want to spend the holidays with you. Will you let us show you?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Of course. You have no obligation to go with any of the spirits who will visit you tonight. Spender ignored them all every time. But if you do, perhaps you'll learn something."
"About the true meaning of Christmas?"
Bill laughed again.
"Something like that. Or perhaps you'll just learn something about yourself?"
Mulder considered it. If this was a dream then it was a much nicer one than the usual nightmares he was plagued with during the small hours of the night. If it wasn't, then who was he to pass by the opportunity to meet three spirits in one evening?
Bill stood up from his chair, sighing heavily and somewhere in the distance, Mulder heard what sounded like the rattling of chains. He met his father's eye and an unspoken understanding passed between them which sent a chill down the younger man's spine.
"I have to go now Son," Bill said, "it's been good to see you once again. Expect the first ghost.."
"When the bell tolls one?"
The two smiled at one another.
"When the bell tolls one," Bill agreed.
Mulder stood too and took the few steps to cross the room and embrace his father, but as he did, his arms wrapped around nothing and he stepped back to find he was holding onto nothing but air. Shaken more than he cared to admit, he made his way back to bed and looked at the clock which still read 12:01 a.m. as it had when he had awoken.
Frowning, Mulder climbed back under the covers and settled his head on the pillow. He still wasn't sure if what he had experienced was an elaborate dream, a hallucination, or something real. As much as he wished to discuss it with Scully, he knew she would be in church and would not appreciate a call from him to discuss ghosts - she had made that abundantly clear when she called him earlier that evening and their conversation had drifted toward their previous Christmas Eve at the mysterious house in Baltimore. Instead, he decided to wait it out and see what happened during the night. Would he really be visited by three spirits, or would he awaken as normal on Christmas morning with just the memory of this bizarre conversation with his father? He watched as the clock ticked on to 12:02 and closed his eyes. In 58 minutes, he would have a better idea of what was really going on and if he could get back to sleep, those minutes would roll by all the sooner.