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He shouldn’t be here. The thought gnaws at him as he tosses and turns on Mrs. Scully’s couch. He knew he should have declined the invitation for Scully’s sake. Except that she was the one who asked him, her eyes soft and pleading with him.
She wanted him here at her mother’s house for Christmas. Still wants him here if her words are to be believed. Mulder turns around again, trying to shake off the guilt. It’s impossible. He’s tried all his life and not once has he succeeded.
Now he stares at the Christmas tree, its colorful lights mocking him. There, at the top, where the angel ornament should be that’s been in the Scully family for decades, is nothing but a glaring void.
It’s not his fault, even if Bill Jr. would probably disagree. Mulder has no doubt Scully’s brother not only blames him for destroying his baby sister’s life but also for the loss of the family heirloom.
He wonders if Scully is asleep, up there in her old bedroom, all alone, or tossing and turning, too. Before she and her brother started fighting, their voices increasing in volume steadily, like a well-rehearsed crescendo, she showed him the ornament. A delicate winged angel that had survived wars, divorces, and once, a fire. It couldn’t survive a fight between two stubborn Scully siblings.
The devastated expression on Mrs. Scully’s face when she walked into the living room is etched on his mind; another Christmas memory he could have done without.
There’s no way he’s going to fall asleep, so he gets up, mindful to be quiet. The light in the kitchen comes on with a soft buzz and Mulder rubs his eyes, adjusting to the brightness.
Earlier today, Mrs. Scully showed him where everything was in the kitchen and with a pat on his hand told him to feel right at home. He’s about to open the glasses cupboard when his eyes catch something shiny. Thirst forgotten, he picks it up and realizes it’s a piece from the destroyed angel ornament. He follows its fine contours with his finger, his heart heavy until an idea begins to form in his mind.
It’s a good thing he has an eidetic memory because Mrs. Scully showed him where she keeps her craft supplies and he knows exactly where to find them now without making a peep. He’s going to make this right.
Mulder doesn’t remember falling asleep, but the next thing he knows is that someone is running their fingers through his hair and gently cupping his neck.
“Oh Mulder.” He’d recognize Scully’s voice everywhere, anytime.
“Don’t tell me it’s morning,” he says, trying to lift his head. He’s way too old to fall asleep at the kitchen asleep, no matter the reason. His back protests as he sits up in his chair, groaning.
“Did you do this?” She ignores his question, her voice thick with emotion. The angel ornament sits in the palm of her hand like a small, wounded bird. There are visible cracks but all in all, the angel is whole again, smiling at them.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he says as if apologizing. “I saw it and I felt responsible for-“
“None of it was your fault,” Scully interrupts him. “It was mine and Bill’s.”
He nods. “I know, but my being here was the culprit. It doesn’t even matter, Scully. I saw it and I knew I could fix it so… I did.”
“Thank you, Mulder,” she says, stepping between his open legs, and putting her hands on his shoulders. For once she’s taller than him and that alone makes him smile.
“I think you may have saved Christmas,” she says, leaning down close to him, their noses almost touching, as if sharing a secret.
“Ah,” he says, brushing it off. “I just couldn’t sleep.”
“Mulder, I know you want to downplay this but… it means a lot. It will mean so much to my mom.” She nuzzles his nose.
“I’d accept a kiss as a thank you,” he says, intending to make it sound like a joke.
“That’s a wish I can grant.” Her words land on his lips as she takes them with her own. They don’t get to enjoy their newfound closeness for long because Mrs. Scully walks in and lets out a squeak so loud that Scully startles, almost biting Mulder’s lip and tipping over his chair.
“My Christmas angel,” Mrs. Scully says, tears in her eyes. “But how-“
“Mulder fixed it,” Scully says, sounding proud.
“Fox.” He’s never heard his first name spoken with so much warmth, so much appreciation for him. “Thank you so much for this wonderful gift. You see, this ornament means a lot to this family. It’s survived so many moments and last night… I thought we lost it. We have already lost so much. So have you.” She puts her hand over his. “I’m glad you and Dana have each other. I know my son will come to understand that too – one day.”
“Mom, we’re not-“
“Oh shhh, Dana. I do have eyes you know. Don’t think I didn’t just see what the two of you were doing just now.” Even though she isn’t his mother, Mulder shrinks under her eyes. Chancing a glance at Scully he knows he’s not alone: her cheeks are crimson.
“Merry Christmas,” she says, smiling at them both.
“Merry Christmas,” they mumble somewhat in unison.
“Now excuse me, I need to put the ornament on the tree.”
“I’ll help you,” Mulder says but she brushes him off.
“You stay here with Dana. This is something I have to do on my own.”
“You know,” Scully says as soon as her mother leaves the kitchen. She slips into his lap as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “She will invite you to every family function from now on.”
“As long as you’re there, I don’t mind.”
When she kisses him again, he realizes how wrong he was last night. Accepting Scully’s Christmas invitation and coming here wasn’t a mistake at all.