Subject: *NEW* "The Gift of Words" 
Date: Thu, 21 DEC 95 23:42:25 -0500


I wasn't going to attempt a Christmas X-File story.  After all,
this time of year is just =too= hectic!  And besides, if you're
going to do a seasonal story, you're almost =forced= to deal
with the issue of what they would buy each other for Christmas.
And who knows what the answer to that question might be!  
Well, I'm going to take a stab at  answering it.  :)  This is a 
continuation of the "Word" series.  In this version of the XF 
universe, Mulder and Scully are a couple.  A very recent couple.  
Needless to say, these characters are in no way mine.  Instead, 
they belong to CC, 1013, and Fox.  I hope they don't mind my 
borrowing them for awhile.  I also hope that all of you out 
there enjoy the happiest and most blessed of holidays.  Thanks 
especially to all the terrific writers and readers who have taken 
the time to drop me a line.  People like Juliettt, Charlotte, Jess, Lis, 
Nicole, Cherie, Connie and Heathyr make this a very rewarding 
place to hang out.  As always, comments are deeply appreciated.  
You can reach me at krasch@delphi.com.  Take care.  I hope 
you like it.

The Gift of Words 
By Karen Rasch


	"So, Mulder, are you bucking for the role of Ebenezer 
Scrooge again this year?"
	Fox Mulder looked up from his computer screen to spy 
his partner juggling two styrofoam cups and a stack of files.  
Manuevering with a deftness that would have put any of a 
number of professional waitstaff to shame, she shouldered her 
way through their office door, and with one swing of her shapely 
hips, shut the portal behind her.
	"If I am, what does that make you?  The Ghost of 
Christmas Past?"
	She deposited the manila folders on her desk and 
crossed towards him, still in possession of the cups, one now 
at her lips, the other outstretched towards him.
	"Not Past, I wouldn't think.  Present, maybe?"
	He nodded and took the drink from her.  Judging by 
its color and bubbles, he tentatively identified it as champagne.
	"And Future?" he ventured, the question obviously 
in reference to something other than Dickens.
	She smiled at him, her eyes warm.  "If I have anything 
to say about it."
	He smiled back at her, then took a sip.  Good call, 
Sherlock.  Definitely champagne.  The office Christmas party 
must be in full swing.  Scully perched a hip on his desk, and 
gazed at him thoughtfully.  He looked right back at her, 
enjoying the view.  Even now, after more than two years of 
working together and nearly a month after deciding to take 
their professional relationship one step further, he still couldn't 
get enough of her.  It seemed like every time he looked at her 
he rediscovered for the first time just how beautiful she was.  
Now was no exception.  She peered at him over the rim of her 
cup, her blue eyes soft, her auburn hair styled in its usual 
attractive bob.  He found himself watching her throat as she 
swallowed, admiring its graceful line, and noting with 
satisfaction that the tiny hairline scars that had lingered so 
stubbornly were at long last nearly invisible.  She wore a slim 
black suit with, as perhaps her concession to the holiday, a 
deep forest green shell beneath it.   The green brought out her 
eyes' teal undertones.
	"Are you sure you wouldn't like to go upstairs and 
make an appearance?" she asked after finishing the sip.  
"People were asking about you."
	He grimaced at her, the effect leavened by the wry 
twist of his lips.  "I bet I can guess what they were asking."
	She set her glass down, and said mildly, "You'd be 
surprised.  The holidays can do amazing things for peoples' 
personalities."
	He folded his arms across his chest and sat back in 
his chair, his eyebrows lifted sardonically.  "Not to mention the 
champagne."
	Her lips tightened in annoyance.  At times like this 
she really wanted to throttle the man on the other side of the 
desk.  She knew that he had been hurt by many of the people 
celebrating a floor above, that they had often ridiculed his 
ideas, slammed his unorthodox methods and interests.  And 
yet, not all of them were guilty of such slights.  Some of their 
fellow agents actually admired Mulder's drive, his maverick streak 
of independence.  Not that he would believe that.  Not without 
firsthand proof.  Which was awfully difficult to come by when 
the two parties kept their distance.  But, Mulder was a big boy.  
She wouldn't push him.  She respected the boundaries he set.
	"I just thought you might actually enjoy yourself if 
you gave it half a chance.  That's all."
	He shook his head.  "Scully, the only thing that might 
lure me to a Bureau Christmas party would be the off chance 
of cornering you under the mistletoe."
	That comment earned him a raised eyebrow.  He 
smiled with mock innocence.
	"However," he continued, leaning forward once more, 
his elbows planted on the desk beside her thigh, his eyes 
growing speculative.  "As it's just you and me behind closed 
doors, maybe we don't need that little sprig of green."
	She tried hard to be stern, but her lips kept curving up 
in a bemused smile.  "Mulder, we agreed.  Not on company time."
	He glanced at his watch.
	"It's after five.  We're officially off the clock," he 
coaxed softly, coming out of his chair with his palms pressed 
against the desk top so that his face hovered close to her's.  
"Come on, Scully.  It's the Friday before Christmas.  We're not 
assigned to a case.  Hell--Skinner has even taken off for the 
weekend.  What could it hurt?"
	"I don't know . . . ," she said, the look in her eyes and 
the gentle touch of her hand on his cheek belying the hesitancy 
in her voice.  "Somehow it doesn't seem entirely . . . . 
professional to do that sort of thing in the office."
	His hand found the hem of her skirt and worried it 
between his fingers, the whisper light glide of them against her 
stockinged thigh a subtle tease.  "You've got an entire bullpen 
full of drunken agents one floor above you, and you're worried 
about a little kiss tarnishing the Bureau's image?"
	Her lips quirked.  "Another danger to be considered.  
You say you don't want to go to the party--but what if the party 
decides to come to you?"
	He bent his head and kissed her earlobe, not above 
stepping up the physical coercion.
	"It's for times like these that God created locks."
	With a meaningful look over his shoulder, he crossed 
to the door and threw the deadbolt.  Scully continued to sit on 
his desk, sipping what remained of her champagne, watching him.  
And waiting.  Her legs were crossed, one slim ankle turning lazily.  
With measured step, he returned to her side, and placed his hands 
on her upper arms, caging her body with his against the desk.  He 
smiled an anticipatory smile, his hazel eyes heavy-lidded, and 
lowered his head.  Just a heartbeat before contact, she stopped 
him by placing a hand on his chest, her smile a tad more devilish 
than his.
	"Oh, and Mulder?  One more thing."  Her voice was low, 
purposefully seductive.
	"What?"
	"Who said I'd be satisfied with just 'a little kiss'?"
	His smile broadened.  Then, making a mental note to take 
special care to satisfy the woman before him, he pressed his lips 
to her's.  They clung, warm and soft, and just a trifle moist.  He 
could detect the faint tang of champagne lingering on her 
generous mouth, and realized he enjoyed the wine's flavor better 
this way.  Mingled with the sweet taste that belonged only to 
Dana Scully.  
	They toyed with each other for a time, playfully dueling 
with teeth and tongue, until finally desire began to get the upper 
hand.  His fingers tunneled roughly through her hair, tilting her 
head back to adjust for his height.  She went with him, 
unresisting, her hands gripping the front of his charcoal suit for 
balance.  The stroking of his tongue against hers grew slower, 
more deliberately provocative.  She moaned into his mouth, and 
returned the caress, the wet slide of her tongue over his teeth 
inducing an almost painful shiver down his spine.  The kiss 
turned drugging, neither of them wanting it to end., but both 
knowing that if it didn't, they would soon be past the point of 
no return.  Scully found the willpower to pull free first, and 
trailing her lips across Mulder's cheek to his ear, whispered, 
"I wish you were coming with me this weekend."
	He pulled back to look at her, his breathing more than 
just a bit ragged, his face flushed.  Her eyes were luminous in 
the office's shadowed light, and large, a touch of desire still 
fogging them.  For one perilous second, he was so tempted--
so =very= tempted--to say yes.  But reason prevailed.
	"Scully, we've been through this--" he began with a 
heavy sigh.
	She shushed him with a fingertip on his full lower lip.  
"I know, I know.  And I'm sorry.  I don't mean to nag you, but I 
promised my mom I'd ask one last time.  Although, for what it's 
worth, Mulder.  I should probably tell you--I wouldn't mind 
having you there myself."
	Margaret Scully had invited Mulder to be part of the 
Scully family Christmas.  She had done this not knowing of the 
change that had taken place in his relationship with her 
daughter.  Instead, she had merely not wanted him to be alone 
over the holidays.  Mulder had declined the invitation for a 
number of reasons.
	"What makes you think your mother would allow you 
to 'have me' under her roof?"
	She traced his mouth with her forefinger, a dry smile 
gracing her lips.  "=You= are possessed of a singularly prurient 
mind."
	He nodded, grinning with satisfaction.  "And damn 
proud of it."
	She gave him a quick, noisy kiss.  "=And= incorrigible.  
Even so, I know everyone would love for you to spend the 
holiday with us.  You're sure you won't reconsider?"
	He shook his head.  Much as he loved his partner, there 
was no way in hell he was going to spend that particular Christmas 
with her clan.  Not only were both her brothers due to fly in with 
their families, undoubtedly to link up with god only knew how 
many other relatives.  But, it would be the first such holiday 
without Melissa.  He could only imagine how difficult the day 
would be for those who had been closest to her.  He didn't want 
to be there.  Intruding.  His presence serving as a sort of silent 
reminder as to the circumstances of her death.
	"No.  Thank your mom for me, but I've gotta pass," he 
said, his fingers combing lightly through her hair in an effort to 
right the damage they had wrought.  "Besides--I kept meaning to 
tell you today, but with first one thing, then another, the timing 
just never seemed right--um . . . my mom called last night.  She 
wants me to drive up to Connecticut."
	Scully's eyebrows nearly climbed to her hairline.  "She 
does?"
	"Yeah.  Do you believe it?  She wants me to come up 
for dinner.  First time in years.  I guess I now understand why 
they call this the season of miracles."
	Scully said a silent prayer of thanks.  While she would 
have selfishly welcomed Mulder's strength this particular 
Christmas, she was more than pleased to hear of his mother's 
invitation.  She knew of the estrangement that had existed 
between Mulder and his parents for years.  And although he 
never referred to it specifically, she also knew that the 
separation had pained her partner.  If this phone call was any 
indication, it looked as if maybe he and his mother had rounded 
a bend in their relationship.  Who would have thought it 
possible?  Perhaps something worthwhile could be salvaged 
from the far too early deaths of William Mulder and Melissa 
Scully.
	"That's great," she said softly, her fingers running lightly 
along his suit's lapels.  "Are you heading up there tonight?"
	"No.  This isn't 'Christmas on Walton Mountain.'  We're 
just doing dinner.  I figure I'll drive up Monday morning."  She 
smiled at him, aware that his flippant words cloaked some very 
powerfully felt emotions.  He smiled back, tenderness in the look, 
and pulled her into his arms so that she rested with her head 
against his chest, needing at that moment to hold her, although 
he couldn't put his finger on why exactly the need existed.  They 
leaned quietly against each other for a time, his hands running 
soothingly up and down her back, her arms wound tightly 
around his waist.  
	"What about you?" he asked finally.
	"I've got my stuff in the car.  I thought I'd take off 
directly from here."
	"Oh.  Well then, maybe you should get on the road."  
Regret echoed hollowly in his voice.
	She leaned back to look him in the eye.  "No, not yet.  
Even with holiday traffic, it's not that long a drive."  She then 
stretched up and kissed him on the chin.  "And anyway--we 
haven't opened our presents yet."
	Mulder felt his heart expand, then sharply contract.  He 
had been waiting for this.
	"Presents?"
	Her eyes narrowed in mock scrutiny.  "That doesn't 
sound too promising, Mulder.  And I've been awfully good this 
year."
	Her teasing calmed him for a moment.  One half of his 
mouth pulled up in a lop-sided grin.  "Relax, Scully.  I got you 
something."
	"Good," she said with a answering smile as she gave 
his middle a squeeze and scooted off his desk.  "Because I find 
that I become alarmingly mercenary this time of year."
	Mulder shook his head with fondness and viewed with 
appreciation the gentle sway of her hips as she crossed away 
from him to her side of the room.  He just knew that Dana Scully 
had been one of those kids who shook their parents awake 
Christmas morning before the sun had even cleared the horizon.  
The sort who carefully composed their list for Santa, who 
scrimped and saved their allowance for months in order to buy 
each of those they loved a very special gift.  
	She caught him looking at her and flashed him a full 
blown smile.  "Well don't just stand there, Mulder.  Hand it over."  
She then sat behind her neatly organized desk and opened the 
lower right hand drawer.  An instant later, a long flat box, 
approximately the length of a business sized envelope, sat 
upon her blotter.  Brightly colored paper sprinkled with what 
looked to be angels covered it.  A saucy red bow perched on top.  
	Mulder raised his eyebrows in consideration, and 
battling curiosity and his nerves, went behind his desk where 
he retrieved a small shopping bag from beneath it.  Inside the 
crisp green paper bag was a medium sized square box wrapped 
with exceedingly tasteful striped paper.  Unfortunately, just 
looking at it was enough to jumpstart his concern.  It's no big 
deal, Mulder, he tried telling himself.  It's just a gift.  A token of 
affection.  A wish for the season.  It's not as if the fate of the 
world rested on her reaction to it.
	No.  It was more important than that.
	Well, if nothing else, the package looked nice, he 
thought with rueful satisfaction.  Thank god for stores that 
offered their customers free gift wrapping.
	He glanced up.  She sat watching him with unbridled 
anticipation, her eyes aglow, her elbows resting on the desk, a 
small smile gently curving her lips.  He took a deep breath, his 
eyes focusing again on the gaily wrapped package before him.  
This whole gift-giving thing was likely to give him an ulcer.  It 
was crazy, really.  After all, it wasn't as if neither of them had 
ever bought anything for each other before.  They had 
exchanged Christmas gifts in years past.  Birthday presents too.  
	But this year was different.  This was their first 
Christmas as lovers.  And the gift had to reflect that.
	Right?
	Consequently, he had tortured himself for the past two 
weeks.  Had battled the crowds.  Suffered rude and inattentive 
sales clerks.  Pounded the pavement on his lunch hour and 
after work as if he were seeking clues, hoping to singlehandedly 
solve the crime of the century.  When, in reality, all he wanted 
to find was the ideal present.
	For her.
	He thought he had done pretty well.
	He would know for certain in a matter of minutes.
	If his heart didn't give out first.
	"Mulder, would you mind grabbing my cup?"
	He snapped out of his reverie, and made his way to her, 
their glasses of rapidly warming champagne and Scully's present 
in tow.  Handing her one of the cups, he set the package down, 
then made himself comfortable on the corner of her desk.
	"Who goes first?" she asked lightly, her eyes shining 
like a little girl's.
	"You."  He had to end this suspense.  Had to see what 
she thought of his choice.  Although he never believed for a 
moment that were she disapppointed, she would consciously 
allow such emotions to register on her face.  Still, he flattered 
himself that he knew her well enough to be able to truthfully 
read her reaction.  However, right now he wasn't entirely sure 
that this supposed skill was a good thing.  Smiling tightly, he 
pushed the package towards her.
	Scully looked at him a bit shyly, picked it up.  Some 
weight, some bulk.  And yet, not really heavy.  "Can I shake it?"
	She was certain Mulder paled.  "I wouldn't."
	She raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth lifting 
in tandem.  Saying nothing, she thoughtfully turned the box 
carefully in her hands, while she silently mused over what might 
be inside.  As she did so, the cascade of ribbon crowning the 
box shifted, and revealed a small golden seal embossed with the 
logo of one of the capital's most exclusive stores.  She sucked 
in a breath.  Oh good lord, Mulder.  What have you done?  She 
had gone into that place once.  And quickly exited.  Their prices 
were as outrageous as their merchandise was beautiful.
	"Mulder . . . " she drawled, tipping the box to bring his 
attention to the seal, admonishing him without words for his 
extravagance.
	He shrugged and smiled.  "Open it."
	She eyed him for a beat.  Then, shaking her head, 
she began carefully removing the paper.  Normally, she would 
have simply torn apart the wrappings with relish.  But, somehow, 
when she considered the expense he had apparently borne on 
her behalf, it seemed rude to rush.  Mulder didn't push her.  
Instead, he just sat there quietly, sipping his champagne.
	If she didn't just rip the paper off the bloody thing soon, 
he was going to grab it from her and do it himself!  Leave it to 
Scully to be as methodical with her gift opening as she was with 
her autopsies.  Praying for patience, he managed to get through 
the process without betraying his agitation.  Finally, the box sat 
naked.  Sliding a neatly trimmed nail beneath the flap, she popped 
it open.
	At first, she couldn't see anything; tissue paper and thick 
white pieces of styrofoam obscuring the view.  Then, lifting the 
packing free of the box, she finally discovered what it so 
painstakingly protected.
	Mulder had bought her a clock.  Although to call it such 
did the piece a great injustice.  For surely it was beautiful enough 
to be considered art.  It was small, the sort of dainty curio that 
seemd destined to belong to a woman, and rectangular in shape, 
its case resting on four tiny round wooden feet.  It had been 
constructed from two types of wood, both reddish in tone.  She 
guessed that one of them, the darker of two, the one that 
composed the piece's inlays, was rosewood.  She couldn't be 
sure of the second.  Their finishes had been buffed to a burnished 
glow that gleamed, even in the office's half light.  She was almost 
afraid to handle the piece for fear of ruining that shine, of leaving 
fingerprints behind like a common criminal.  Etched into the 
delicate timepiece's surface with meticulous precision and detail 
was a gently winding vine covered with leaves.  The design ran 
down either side of the clock's front panel, framing the dial.  The 
carving coaxed still more shades from the wood; deeper, 
nearly black hollows, and golden edges.  The dial itself was made 
of some sort of stone; its color, the palest shade of pink she 
had ever seen.  The shell-like hue completed the wood's warmth.  
The dial's numbers and rim were both a soft gold.  The overall 
impression the piece gave was one of beauty, elegance, and 
superb craftsmanship.
	"Oh, Mulder," she whispered finally, her eyes raising to 
meet his, their gaze tender.  "It's lovely."
	He had watched her examine the present without moving, 
very nearly holding his breath as he waited for her verdict.  Now 
that he saw that he had done well with his selection, that he had 
pleased her, he found himself wanting to confess to her all of the 
nonsense and anxiety that had gone into choosing the gift in the 
first place.  How he had tromped from store to store, but nothing 
had ever really hit him, had ever struck him as having been made 
solely to belong to her.  How what had first drawn him to the item 
in her hands was its color, which reminded him of her hair.  How 
the longer he looked at it, the more right for her it seemed; its 
grace, size, and  beauty, echoes of her own.
	But ultimately, he only told her the most important thing 
of all.
	"In the beginning, I didn't know what to get you," he 
said quietly, his eyes at first clinging to hers, only to at last slide 
away.  "So I asked myself , 'What is it she wants most?'"
	Scully gently set the little clock on her desk, and cocked 
her head as she listened, not certain where he was going with this.
	"Only it wasn't as easy to narrow down as I thought.  
The most important things, the things that really matter, I have 
no power over.  Much as I'd like to, I can't bring back your father 
or Melissa."
	She nodded, her eyes misting unexpectedly, her throat 
closing.
	"And the other . . . the months that you were away . . 
. .  Well, I can't return those to you either."  He scowled for a 
moment, trying to get his thoughts in order, then leaned 
forward and took her hand, enclosing it in both of his.  It lay 
there smooth and soft, and rather small.  And without warning, 
he was sideswiped by memories of holding her hand under 
very different circumstances.
	On the night when he had thought he was saying 
goodbye.
	Swallowing past a sudden uncomfortable lump, he 
continued.  "But, I would.  I would give you that time, Dana, if 
I could.  If it was mine to give.  And . . . and, I just . . . want you 
to know that.  I guess that's what this is supposed to symbolize.  
I don't know . . . ."
	She stood then, her eyes filled with tears that would 
not fall, and took his face in her hands.  She kissed him softly, 
the touch imparting not passion, but love.  Still cradling his face, 
she leaned her forehead against his.
	"Thank you."
	"You're welcome."
	"You know, Mulder, I realize sometimes . . . with 
everything that's happened over the past couple of years it's 
easy for me to lose sight of something."
	"What?" he asked, his voice coming out low and rough,
his hands on her waist.
	"I'm lucky," she whispered, pulling back to look at him, 
her eyes glistening.  "I'm so very lucky."
	Mulder made a soft, inarticulate sound in the back of 
his throat, and pulled her into his embrace.  She hugged him 
fiercely, her face buried in the curve of his neck.  He found he 
couldn't say anything.  He just held her.  It wasn't difficult to 
do.  She felt warm and soft and strong and vital and fragile 
and . . .  necessary--positively essential.  She thought =she= 
was lucky?  Well then, . . . hell.  
	What word was there to describe how he felt?
	After what seemd to Mulder like an unreasonably short 
period of time, Scully pulled back slightly, kissed him on the 
cheek, and murmured, "It's your turn."
	  She drew back, and handed him her present.  It 
weighed next to nothing.
	"Can I shake it?" he asked whimsically, consciously 
mimicking her earlier question.
	She smiled, standing beside him as if her anticipation 
made it impossible to sit.  "You can--but it won't tell you 
anything."
	He found she was right.
	"Just open it," she urged with a little push on his 
shoulder.
	He smiled over her impatience, and did as she 
requested.  Stripping the paper away, he uncovered a plain white 
box, which when opened, revealed a bed of soft white cotton.
	On which rested her cross.
	"Scully--?"
	"You know what they say about great minds, Mulder?" 
she asked softly.  "Well, in our case, I think it must be true."
	He pulled the dainty medallion from its box, cupping it 
in his hand, studying it as if to discover its secrets.
	"I also asked myself what it was you wanted most in the 
world," she continued, taking a step closer to him, her fingers 
gliding along his upper arm, the touch soothing.  "And when I 
came up with the answer, like you, I realized I couldn't give it to 
you."
	He looked up, knowing immediately to what she 
referred.
	"I couldn't stick a bow on Samantha and put her under 
your Christmas tree," she said, regret and nearly bottomless 
compassion darkening her blue eyes.  "But, I came to see that I 
could give you my promise to help you continue the search, 
my pledge that together we'll find her."
	"How can you be so sure?" he asked, his voice 
sounding potholed and a bit lost, his eyes shadowed.  "I mean 
. . . it's my search, you know?  My . . . quest.  And yet 
sometimes, I wonder whether the whole thing isn't just some 
sort of cosmic snipe hunt."
	"That's what this is for," she whispered, laying her 
hand over his so that they nestled the cross between them.  
"Faith.  I'm not talking about Catholic faith, or any kind of 
organized religion really, Mulder.  I just mean . . . belief."
	She gently tightened her grip over his hand.  "On those 
days when you question, when it seems like Samantha is farther 
away than ever.  Remember this.  Remember that I'm here.  That 
not only do you have your strength to draw on but mine as well.  
That's my gift to you.  Does that make any sense?"
	He nodded, his eyes lowered once more.  Then, he 
cleared his throat.  "What about your mom?"
	"What about her?"
	"Well, it's just--this was her gift to you.  I don't know 
if--"
	"I think she'll approve," she interrupted gently.  "After 
all, she gave it to you once herself, didn't she?"
	He nodded.
	"Since you brought up my mom . . . I'd like to tell her 
about this, if it's all right.  About us."
	His lips stretched in a wry smile, embarassment 
threatening.  "Yeah.  Okay--sure."
	She nodded.  "Good.  I'd just like her to know, that's 
all."
	The smile grew stronger.  "I know."
	She smiled back.
	"Thank you," he said, placing his hand against her face, 
his thumb smoothing over her cheekbone.
	"You're not done yet."
	"Scully!"
	She chuckled.  "Look in the bottom of the box."
	He did.  Beneath the layer of cotton he found a plain 
white envelope.  After an encouraging nod from his partner, he 
opened it and began reading the contents.  Upon finishing the 
first couple of sentences, his eyebrows arched.  Soon after, a 
stunned laugh escaped his lips.
	"You bought me a star!?"
	Scully laughed outright.  This was precisely the 
reaction she had hoped for.  "Can =you= think of a more appropriate 
gift?"
	He just looked at her, stunned.
	"I got the idea from something I saw in the Post," she 
explained, her smile still wide, her eyes dancing.  "It talked 
about this agency that was authorized to sell stars."
	"But how?"
	She shrugged.  "I don't really know all the ins and outs
of it.  I do know it's all supposed to be above board, though.  And 
very official.  That little piece of the universe is all yours, Mulder.  
You should know that I tried to get them to promise that your 
particular star would be populated.  But, the man I talked to said 
there were no guarantees."
	He smiled in wonder and shook his head, his eyes still 
scanning the document before him.  "Star #3285497531-0, huh?"
	"You know, as the new owner you can change that name. 
Something to think about."
	"Any suggestions?"
	"Not the kind that involve names."
	His smile changed, became more intimate.  "Why don't 
you show me what you have in mind?"
	Her smile matched his.  "I could do that."
	She kissed him once more.  The touch gentle, sweet.
Mulder's hands held her loosely to him.
	"I love you, Mulder," she whispered when she was 
done, her breath warm upon his face, her arms draped around
his neck.
	He looked at her, the gaze alone a caress.  "I'll tell you
something, Scully.  Something that's proven to me everyday.  
=I'm= the lucky one."
	She smiled at him tenderly, and opened her mouth to
reply when their interlude was interrupted.
	"Hey, Mulder!  Spooky!" roared a slightly slurred voice
from the other side of the door.  Mulder grinned mischievously,
and put a finger to his lips.  Although he couldn't be certain, it
sounded as if Special Agent Peter Boyd, one of the VC's finest, 
had downed more than his share of champagne.  Scully smiled
wryly and kept quiet also.  Their shared silence only earned their
office door a knock that threatened to shake it off its hinges.  Next,
the doorknob was tried.  "Come on, man--you in there?  Hey, there's
a party goin' on upstairs.  Why don't you join us?  We've got
everything you need!  Wine, women, song.  Hell--somebody
even brought mistletoe."
	"Come on, Pete" urged another much higher voice 
Mulder couldn't identify.  "I told you they weren't here.  Let's 
go back up.  Come on--I wanna see if the mistletoe is occupied."
	A short burst of co-ed laughter followed.  And faintly 
Mulder and Scully could hear the tip-tap of heels receding down
the basement's tiled hallway.
	Scully shook her head and looked at her partner, one 
eyebrow raised.
	Mulder smiled, and pulled her more closely to him,
reveling in the sleek feel of her , the fresh clean scent of her skin,
the humor twinkling in her clear blue eyes.  Sorry, Boyd, he
thought.  Thanks for the offer, but there is no way in hell you
have everything I need.
	"Mistletoe?" he growled softly as he lowered his lips
to her's.  "We don't need no steekin' mistletoe."
	Even before their mouths touched, Scully knew with 
absolute certainty that Mulder was right.

THE END

*Note*  The idea of buying a star for a person came from a 
number of articles I read a few years back.  Apparently,
someone came up with the brainstorm of selling off celestial
bodies.  Unfortunately, I can't remember the details.  However,
for *some* bizarre reason I =do= remember that Princess Di 
supposedly received a star as a wedding present.  I can't tell 
you if such purchases are still possible.  I only know that the 
idea stuck in my head as something wildly romantic.  And a 
very fitting present for the FBI's best known stargazer. :)

Happy Holidays!