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December 1995
The case was one dead end after another. They would’ve been back with time to spare, too, if Mulder hadn’t insisted on tracking down and interrogating the missing teenage boy’s estranged father. Unfortunately, he’d been ice fishing off the grid for days with his buddies, an airtight alibi with the walleye to prove it. Once they made it back to Detroit from Billy Graff’s father’s cabin on Lake St. Clair, Billy had been found holed up in a cheap motel with his girlfriend. It turned out his younger sister had caught him sneaking out of the house a week earlier and he’d bribed her to make up a story about witnessing him being taken by a bright light in the sky for their gullible, UFO-obsessed mother.
By the time Billy was safely returned home, the snow that had been teasing the area all week began to fall in earnest. And now they’ve missed their original flight and are stuck in the Detroit Metro Airport for the foreseeable future.
Even with all the weather delays, the airport is mostly empty. It’s Christmas Eve and everyone is already where they need to be. Officially off the clock, he’s convinced her to have a drink with him at the airport bar.
“If we get out tomorrow morning you’ll likely make it back for Christmas dinner,” he says, carrying two beer bottles back from the bar to their table.
She just nods and, fortunately, he doesn’t push it. Last year was her first Christmas without her father and this would be her first without her sister. She feels guilty about leaving her mother with another empty place at the table, but she doesn’t miss facing Bill’s interrogation about her work or having to tell Maggie there are no new leads on Melissa’s murder.
“I’m sorry I brought us out here for nothing,” he says.
“You didn’t know he made it up,” she replies, staring down at her beer bottle. She understands by now that a sibling gone missing under mysterious circumstances is enough to send them halfway across the country no matter how flimsy the evidence may be. And she knows it’s too sensitive of a point to call him out on.
“Hey,” he says, his eyes lighting up. “Why don’t we have our own little celebration right here?”
“What are we celebrating, Mulder?”
“Billy Graff is home for the holidays with his family. We both made it through the case unscathed. And I think it’s still Hanukkah.” He gestures over the little battery-powered, flameless candle flickering on their high-top table. “Let’s get eight more of these and we can have our own little festival of lights.”
She doesn’t have time to protest before he’s off his bar stool, gathering fake candles from the surrounding empty tables. He comes back with both hands full and moves their beer bottles around to make room to line up nine candles in a row.
“Aren’t there supposed to be eight? One for each night?” she asks.
“Oh, Scully, you forget the shamash.”
“The what?”
“The shamash,” he repeats, acting surprised this isn’t common knowledge for his Irish Catholic partner. “The middle helper candle? The one we use to light the rest?”
“When was the last time you did this Mulder?”
“I’m pretty sure Nixon was in office,” he says. “But don’t worry. Nothing’s changed for over 2,000 years. Here, I’ll come sit next to you.”
He stands and scoots his bar stool until it’s directly next to hers. Their shoulders brush through their suit jackets, and she feels a rush of heat.
“See, you place the candles right to left, so let’s pretend I already did that,” he sweeps a hand over their improvised menorah. “Then we light the shamash, and use it to light the other candles left to right. Of course, these candles need no oil, pure or otherwise, to keep burning but it’s the thought that counts, right?”
She smiles at him. Her Jewish, agnostic partner, who believes not in God but in astral projection, psychic visions, and chupacabras is guiding her through a bastardization of a religious ritual in the middle of the Detroit Metro Airport. It’s never a dull moment with him.
“Here, I’ll show you,” he says.
He picks up her hand from the table and covers it with his. They pantomime lighting the middle candle, then using it to light the rest. Even without real flames, his hand feels warm over hers and she realizes this isn’t the worst way to spend Christmas Eve.
“Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tsivanu l’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah,” he whispers in her ear as they pretend to light the candles. “Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, she-asah nisim la’avoteinu bayamim hahem bazman hazeh.”
“What does it mean?” she asks.
“Oh, you know, the usual,” he sighs. “Bless you God, we thank you for all your wondrous deeds. Although the Yankees haven’t won a World Series in nearly 20 years, so I'm not sure exactly what we’re thanking him for.”
They’ve mock-lit all the candles now but he’s still holding her hand. She knows she should pull away but she doesn’t want to break the spell. He’s her partner and, she’s slowly starting to realize, her best friend. They don’t do this enough—simply spend time together. That’s not entirely true. They spend nearly every waking hour during the week at each other’s sides, but they’re typically debating a theory or investigating a case, not simply enjoying one another’s company. And for all the times he frustrates, challenges, irritates, and even ditches her, she really does enjoy Mulder’s company.
“Thank you for sharing this with me,” she says.
He shrugs, taking his hand off hers to pick up his beer bottle. She immediately notes its absence. “That’s my first time lighting the candles since Samantha was taken. She disappeared a few weeks before Hanukkah, which kind of put a damper on that year’s festivities, and then after that, we stopped practicing.”
“I understand,” she says, suddenly embarrassed. “I’m sorry if this triggered any bad memories.”
“No, not at all, Scully,” he chuckles. “It was my idea, anyway. Besides, we’re a lot like the Maccabees.”
She isn’t sure where he’s going with this, so she raises an eyebrow as an invitation to continue.
“We’re the underdogs fighting for what we believe in against all odds, looking for a little light in the darkness.”
He grins at her and she returns the smile. She doesn’t underestimate the significance of him including her in his quest. For so long, he’d been chasing windmills on his own but for three years now he’s had her by his side. She’s seen things she hasn’t been able to explain through science or logic, she’s had her own body manipulated by these shadowy men, and she’s lost her sister to the cause, but she never fled. She never considered abandoning him, tossing him back into the darkness alone. That, at least, is something to celebrate.