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The world outside the large window was as white and quiet as a blank page. Mulder perched on a ledge and watched the flakes fall fast onto the Magdalen College courtyard, dusting the brown bushes and adding another inch to the untouched top sheet.
Christmas had slunk by a few days before, just as he’d planned. His mother’s call had come at a proper hour for the time difference — his 3 in the afternoon — but he’d stayed up for Scully’s, waiting until her family Christmas had died down to ring her.
He’d opened her gift on the call: a copy of The Martian and a thick blue scarf she’d knitted herself. “Blue’s your color,” she’d said. Mulder reached up now and rubbed the end of the scarf between three fingers. He’d barely taken it off since.
She’d sounded happy, and he loved it as much as he hated not witnessing it. The holidays brought out a different Scully, one he wanted to get to know. Did she tear her gifts open, or fold the paper into a neat square? Did she eat all of her candy and fall asleep in the middle of the day? Did she wear themed pajamas, or her favorite blue flannel pants and the Christ Church sweatshirt she stole from him and never returned?
Mulder tucked one leg underneath him and looked out into the courtyard again. Being alone was better than being lonely. And where better to be alone at Christmas than Oxford?
“A clean, sweet city lulled by ancient streams, a place of visions and of loosening chains,” he recited under his breath. “A refuge of the elect, a tower of dreams.”
A fox, orange and slinky, crept through the open archway under Magdalen Tower and sniffed at the snowy ground. Its long tail swished behind it. It stepped further into the courtyard, dark ears perking up.
Mulder stilled, not wanting to disturb this sight. Then he crept to the closest door and eased it open. The cold air hit his nose first, sharp and crisp. He pulled his scarf up to shield it.
The snow fell softer now, drifting out of the bright white sky. Nobody else emerged onto the courtyard or appeared at a window. The fox searched each corner of the courtyard, sniffed at each bush. What could it be looking for, Mulder wondered. Food? Shelter? Surely it had those. Companionship?
When it reached the corner nearest Mulder, it raised its head and looked at him, hazel eyes into green.
For a long minute, their gazes held.
Something warm pressed into his forearm. Mulder jumped and turned around.
“Hi.”
“Scully?” Mulder stared down at her. Scully was wrapped in a chocolate brown coat and peering up at him with amusement in her eyes. She pulled off her white cap, freeing her short red hair.
“I’ve been looking for you since I got back. You weren’t answering your phone.”
“I left it in my room. What are you doing here?” Mulder wasn’t sure he wasn’t imagining her, some corporeal likeness he’d conjured with thoughts of her.
“Welcome back, Scully.” Scully rolled her eyes. “Or whatever.”
If she was a figment of his mind, she was an accurate one. “I just thought you were staying in the States until New Year’s.”
Her cheeks were suddenly red. Had they been red when she greeted him? “I changed my flight. I missed…this.” She gestured around them, ducking her head.
Mulder grinned. “Right.”
Scully noticed his scarf and placed a gentle hand on it, over his chest. “Has it been cold?”
He wanted to tell her he would’ve worn it in the middle of July. “Do you know the difference between winter and summer at Oxford, Scully?” Mulder asked.
Scully raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“In the summer, the rain is warmer.”
Mulder expected her to roll her eyes again. Instead, she gave him a third Christmas gift: one of her rare mega-watt smiles. He should’ve gotten her more than a pair of earrings. He should’ve gotten her the whole jewelry store. Instead he pulled her into his chest.
“Welcome back, Scully,” he murmured against her hair.
“Or whatever?” She looked up at him, still in his arms, still smiling. He shook his head.
“No.”
Scully glanced past his shoulder and gasped. “Mulder, look!”
He turned back to the courtyard. A second fox had joined the first. They raced around the courtyard, two lean shapes moving in a dance, pouncing when one caught up to the other, falling to the soft white snow. Their jaws snapped but never bit. The second fox sprung up from the first’s clutches and dashed away, then looked back, as if waiting for it to catch up.
Mulder glanced down at Scully. Her flushed face held the ghost of her smile; wide blue eyes the exact shade of his scarf followed the foxes.
“See?” she breathed. “If I hadn’t come back, I would’ve missed this.”
“Yeah,” Mulder said. “You wouldn’t want to miss this.”
She was not builded out of common stone,
but out of all men’s yearning and all prayer,
that she might live, eternally our own,
the Spirit’s stronghold—barred against despair.