Date: December 1998 Category: V; A, implied romantic feelings Rating: PG Keywords: MulderSadness (I just invented a new one…) Spoilers: "Emily", slight one for "Redux II". Archive: Archive anywhere, as long as you keep my name attached. Please let me know. Summary: Mulder. Christmas eve. Need to say more? Dedication: This one's for Santa. If you read this, reply soon, I still have to email you my long…long list... Disclaimer: Yada, yada, CC, 1013 and so on… Feedback: Please, feel free to drop me a line. Nice comments and even flames will be appreciated. I believe in constructive criticism and I'm very open to any suggestions. Comments: Bittersweet. You've been warned. *** *** "Christmas Fix" (1/1) by Lili Blue I shouldn't be here. But I am one sorry son of a bitch and I can't help it. It snows slightly, just a sprinkle of sugar on the world, and it does add to the mood. Right out of "It's a Wonderful Life". It's even painted in gray shades to me. Fantastic. I'm able to see most of the living-room through the window. Her mother brings a undetermined pie to the table. I can't properly smell it but I have a fierce imagination and my stomach loudly demonstrates its craving. Her brothers are there too, and their wives. If I made an effort, I could probably discern a baby somewhere in the room; the little baby who was born the day my partner lost her daughter. My angel is already seated. She wears her hair down; it barely brushes over a black shimmering top. One I've never seen before. She must have gone shopping last week-end. I picture her strolling down one impersonal, crowded mall, browsing through scarves and perfumes to select the right present for her mother. She didn't buy anything for me, I know. Her breathing is enough. There isn't much to say really except I bear no guilt or shame at my little spying. I would if I got off from a perverse need to know what she does, who she's with, if she giggles. But do I surprise you if I confess it's different? I have no family left. None that's worth it. I wasn't raised in any determined religion. I had to build my own faith; I chose her. This is my cult. My Sunday mass. I drink from her on this sacred eve, stolen moments because I cannot have the whole picture. So, for once in my life, I have no guilt at relishing this Christmas dinner that isn't mine. Trying to figure what the mouthful she just ate must taste like. If it is grainy or bitter on her tongue. There, she ate again then talked a bit and I have to move closer to stimulate my mental pictures. For the first time since I silently arrived, I notice that the front door light is on. A tray rests on the top step. As I bravely approach, a blank card standing up straight like a soldier catches my attention. "M". One capital letter has been delicately written there, then the card was put down near a glass of milk and a plate of butterscotch and raisins cookies. A few snowflakes come dying on the still warm pastries. The card is blunt and I read: "Come inside." Santa. Claus. None of his initials are "M". My partner knows me so well. I manage a sideways glance at the window and the family remains there, oblivious to my misery and rejoicing in their festive meal. I slowly empty half of the glass, then stuff one cookie in my mouth, and grab a few for later. The sweet taste makes me drunk on blessed happiness and I have to go if I want to survive that fix. I quickly steal a last look at Heaven and she is laughing. Teeth and all. As I drive away, my hand doesn't encounter sunflower seed shells in my right pocket but crumbs of crushed cookies. As I munch on them, a shiver passes into me and all the regret in the world hits me. She wanted me to come inside. Maybe next year, Scully. Maybe next year. FIN *** *** Happy Holidays to you all!!!

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