From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: Thu, 28 Dec 2000 21:33:15 -0600
Subject: Elemental Light by KatyBlue
Source: direct

Reply To: katy2blue@aol.com


TITLE: Elemental Light (1/1)
AUTHOR: KatyBlue
RATING: PG-13
SPOILERS: No season eight + No pregnancy + No Doggett 
+ No editor (sorry) + No angst (okay, maybe a little <g>) =  
A simple story:  Mulder, Scully, X-mas...  
What more could we ask for?
DICLAIMER:  Not mine.  They belong to CC Scrooge.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: A Happy Holiday Season, however you 
may celebrate it, to all x-philes scattered over this small 
and wonderful world of cyberspace!

************************************************************
Part (1/1)

Scully leaned forward to adjust the string of white lights 
that drooped a bit in their designated spot on the tree.  
She ignored the prick of stiff pine needles as she pressed 
the lights firmly into the selected branch.  Dusk had 
dimmed the room during the course of her decorating 
and she took several steps back to survey the result of
her efforts.

As is required to examine anything properly from a 
distance, she tilted her head a little to the left and 
squinted her eyes.  It took the tree out of focus and 
blurred the tiny pinpoints of light until they grew into 
larger rounded halos.  The effect was mesmerizing.
She brought the room back in focus.  Dark green 
branches etched a pattern against the white wall 
behind the tree, draped with its hanging blanket
of illumination.  Something magical was added to her 
living space.  The lights resembled stars and the 
fragrance was a breath of fresh balsam -- nature 
crowding her walls and transforming its manmade, 
pristine surroundings into something more connected 
to the outside world -- less limited than the space 
usually conveyed.

These days, she took her moments of inspiration 
where she could get them.

There were no ornaments cluttering the tree yet.  She 
liked it best at this stage.  Simple and unadorned with 
anything but makeshift stars. 

The doorbell rang.  She was crossing the room to answer
when the door opened on its own, admitting a sheepish 
Mulder when he saw her heading toward him.  "Hey, Scully."  
He held out a gift like a peace offering for having had the 
audacity to use his key to let himself in.  "I thought you 
were tied up."

"You wish, Mulder," she retorted.

He made the requisite attempt to give back as good 
as he got. "Scully, since when have you become 
clairvoyant about my baser fantasies?"

She smiled smugly.  "Hate to tell you -- but I've always 
been clairvoyant when it comes to you, Mulder."  

She stared at the brightly wrapped package he held 
outstretched in front of him like a shield, smiling to 
herself when she realized his grin belied a slight 
nervousness.  And he surprised her as she moved 
to take his jacket by leaning forward and brushing his 
lips briefly against hers.  

She stood very still for this attention.  She could 
smell the warm scent of him -- a just-showered soapy 
essence as he invaded her space.  The gesture 
bordered on intimate, a fine line they'd been precariously
walking lately.  They avoided each other's gaze for a 
second afterward, motionless in this tableau until Mulder 
finally spoke.  "Go ahead and put the jacket away, 
Scully," he said quietly.  "I'll put this under the tree."

When she entered her living room, he was examining 
her handiwork with a critical eye.  "Scully, what's up 
with your tree?"  He rubbed his hands together 
expectantly.  "You need ornaments."

She crossed her arms slowly and studied her over-
enthusiastic partner.  "Well -- actually, that's what 
you're here for, Mulder," she admitted.

"I knew you had an ulterior motive," he crowed in triumph.

"I need someone to create chaos on the almost perfect 
symmetry of that specimen."  She nodded toward the tree.  

Mulder's eyes shot over to it.  He did the same thing she 
had a few minutes earlier, tilting his head and squinting 
at the evergreen.  Amused by this, she moved to stand
beside him but surveyed the tree with a more focused 
eye this time.  "Personally, I prefer it like this.  The 
lines are cleaner."

"It's bare, Scully," he said in mock horror.  He rushed on. 
"Trust you to pick out the most evenly branched tree on 
the lot, Scully -- no Charlie Brown Christmas for you, hmm?"

Scully felt a small twinge of annoyance at this comment, 
but couldn't argue her inner need for order.  She jumped 
when she felt Mulder's arm come around her shoulders 
and squeeze lightly.  He dropped a kiss onto the top of 
her head.  "I don't mean anything by that, Scully," he 
whispered into her hair.  "Don't read into it.  You're 
perfect as you are."

"Perfect, hmm?" she commented dryly.  They stood like 
that for a minute, the intimacy of their stance bringing an 
odd 'what's next?' feeling to creep in with it.  Something 
should come next.  Something that they weren't quite 
managing to get to.

He left her side abruptly and sat down on the sofa, dragging 
the cardboard box labeled 'x-mas' toward him.  Enthusiastically, 
he began to sort through it, lifting random ornaments out and
holding them up to the light.  

She felt a surge of uncontrollable affection as she moved 
to join him.  When she stood over where he was bent in 
deep concentration over the contents of the box, she found 
herself reaching out to touch him, running her fingers lightly 
over his hair.

He glanced up at her in surprise.

"Sorry."  Her voice was flustered.

"It's okay," he murmured, grinning.  "Where'd you get all 
this junk, Scully?"

She felt a sudden pang about the answer as she sat 
beside him.  Mulder's propensity for self-flagellation was 
exasperating, at best, and she wanted to answer the 
question without making him feel bad about asking it.  
"Different places.  Some I collected over the years...and 
my Mom gave me all Melissa's stuff."  She slipped this 
last part in casually.  

Mulder looked up at her with startled eyes.

"It's okay, Mulder," she said quickly, shrugging.  "A lot 
of it is junk.  She was such a pack rat and her Christmas 
collection is no different -- it's a decidedly eclectic 
mix," she stated, giving him a reassuring smile. 

Mulder's mouth was open as if he were trying to think
of a way to verbalize himself out of the hole he thought 
he'd just dug.  "I'm sorry..." he started to say.

"Mulder, it's no big deal," she interrupted.

He dropped his eyes, staring at the box.  "Why remind 
yourself at Christmas, of all times, Scully?" he asked
quietly.

She closed her eyes, asking for patience.  "What would 
you do, Mulder?  And I don't need you to answer that," 
she continued, "because I know."  She leaned her body 
up against his, bumping his shoulder lightly with her own.  
"Hey --" she said gently, "Earth to Mulder..." 

He stayed very still, his hands curled in on themselves.  
Reaching over, she closed her fingers around one, opening 
it in order to extract the ornament he'd been clutching 
throughout this conversation.  A green felt elf, knees 
drawn up under encircling arms, gave her an impish smile 
from under a pointed green cap.  Smiling, she took the pixie 
from him and examined it closer, running her finger over the 
freckled cheeks.  "We all had one of these -- this one was 
mine."

"It looks like you, Scully," he said.

"Thanks!"  Laughing, she dropped the elf carelessly 
back into the box.  

Reaching in, Mulder picked it out, brushing a 
strand of tinsel off it carefully.  Standing, he walked 
to the tree and placed the tiny figure into a nest of 
green branches.  "There," he pronounced with
satisfaction.  "Where's the next one?"

Even as she smiled, she felt a sharp ache in her 
chest at the delicacy of this man.  The gestures that 
were so sweetly thoughtful but often betrayed a deeply 
buried, wounded child.  She reached into the box blindly 
and pulled out another ornament, holding it out.  "Here."

He took it and turned it over in his hands.  Then laughed 
out loud.  "Scully, I *know* this one isn't yours."  He 
dangled the offending object in front of her.  Her eyes 
finally translated it into two naked clay figures, molded 
into the most delicate and primal of all acts.

"Oh, for god's sake!"  She snatched it from his hand and 
dropped it back into the box.  "Definitely Melissa's," she 
stated firmly.

Mulder, still chuckling, bent over and retrieved it, 
returning to the tree.  "The idea is to hang them 
on the tree, Scully.  And you've got to put this 
one up.  It's classic."

"Classic Melissa," she muttered, smiling.  "It is, isn't 
it?"  Standing, she dragged the box closer to the tree as 
they set to work to empty the box in an attempt to 
dress the end of each branch.

Mulder pulled out a small star, cut from nothing more 
elaborate than a paper cup, it was completely covered with 
gold sparkles.  At its center, a picture cut from a magazine 
was pasted in place -- a horse, saddled up in full western 
gear.

"What's the story behind this one, Scully?" Mulder asked, 
grinning at her.

"I went through a phase of wanting to be a cowgirl," she 
said dryly.  "Doesn't everyone?"

"What happened?"  Mulder was smirking.  "I think you'd 
look damn good in chaps, Scully."

She rolled her eyes.  "I finally figured out there was 
just no place for a horse on a Navy base."  She snatched 
the ornament from his hands and, looking at it critically, 
noticed the unevenness of the glue application under gobs 
of stuck glitter.  "I should throw this one out."

"Oh, no, you don't."  Mulder snatched it from her and stuck 
the paper star on a branch.  Shaking her head, Scully 
extracted the next.  A simple bulb without a story or a 
past.  With a sigh of relief, she found a spot for it.

Mulder seemed to be rummaging for the most 
unconventional ornament he could find.  "I'm not telling 
you every story, Mulder," she warned.  "We'll be here 
all night and my childhood is just not that interesting."

He pouted.  "You're no fun, Scully."  Suddenly his eyes lit 
up.  "Hey!"  His arm plunged deep as he fished for whatever 
treasure he'd spotted.  The box was tall and she thought he 
was about to climb into it head first when, triumphantly, 
he pulled back, holding up his latest acquisition.  "You 
have got to tell me this story, Scully."  Holding a small 
gilded frame against the palm of his hand, he displayed a 
picture of her at age seven, sitting on a shaggy pony and 
grinning widely.  The rolling green behind her spoke of 
another time and place.

"I was obviously still in the cowgirl phase, Mulder.  Only 
that's not the wild west.  My dad took us all to Ireland 
that summer.  He promised me a ride on the moors.  Not 
that I knew what moors were but I wanted the pony.  I cried 
when I couldn't keep it."  She stared at the little picture 
cradled on Mulder's palm and had a horrifying remembrance.  
The frame was double-sided and Mulder had not yet 
discovered the jewel on the other side -- her second-grade 
school picture in all its goofy, grinning, gap-toothed 
wonder.  Missing both front teeth at the same time, her 
siblings had taunted her mercilessly with the song 'All I 
want for Christmas is my two front teeth' until she'd cried.

Even as she reached for it, he was extracting it from his 
hand, his eyes slowly discovering the other side.  To her 
dismay, he whooped with pleasure and brought it closer.  
"Is this *you*, Scully?"

"Give it to me, Mulder."  Slightly desperate, she leaned 
forward and made a grab for it, bent on retrieval.  

Mulder pulled it quickly out of her reach.  His grin was 
wide.  "Scully!  Are you sure you weren't an elf?"

"Give it, Mulder," she repeated, growing more irritated 
as she lunged for his arm.

He laughed and held the tiny picture up so she couldn't 
reach it.  When she paused in annoyance, he brought it back 
down to peer at it incredulously.  "You were cute, Scully," 
he leered.

Determined, she made one last lunge to halt his torment, 
latching onto his arm just as she lost her balance over the 
bulk of the box.  Laughing, Mulder caught her and instead 
of just steadying her, he pulled her up against him, wrapping 
his arm carefully around her waist while still holding the 
offending picture out of reach.

Feeling her breath catch, Scully stared at him indignantly.  
"Mulder, what are you doing?" she demanded, attempting 
to move out of the circle of his arm without struggling, 
picture forgotten.

He was leaning over to peer at her mouth.  "So did they 
all grow back, Scully?  I don't see them much, so I'm not 
convinced."

"Mulder," she said in impatient exasperation.  "You've 
seen me smile."  Her face felt hot all of a sudden.  

"You were cute, Scully," he whispered.  This time, it 
sounded like an endearment.

She placed her hands against his chest, bracing 
herself, surprised that he wasn't letting her go.  "Mulder, 
can I ask what you're doing?" she demanded.  

He released her.  She waited for the awkwardness to hit.  
It didn't.  In fact, it felt strangely good from where she 
was standing.  Mulder had a little half-smile on his face.  
He touched the picture and smiled at her again before 
hanging the small gold frame on the end of a branch 
where it turned in circles and caught the light.  

"Why don't you go ahead and throw another one of 
those impressive yule logs onto the fire, Mulder?" she 
suggested, a shameless ploy to distract him.  He 
headed toward the fireplace as she hung two identical, 
painted-clay candy canes she and Melissa had made  
one long-ago Christmas on the end of two juxtaposed 
branches.  Strangely, it seemed as if it were only 
yesterday that her youthful hands had formed the clay 
and wielded the paintbrush.

Mulder snorted in amusement as he tossed the foil covered 
log with its 'duraflame' logo onto the dying flames.  He 
watched as the wrapping blackened with soot until it 
roughly resembled the real thing.  "How's that for 
romantic, Scully?"

"Is that what we're trying for here, Mulder?" she quipped. 

He grinned.  "Come'on, Scully."  His voice was low and she 
swore she could feel the vibration of it.  He walked back 
over to the box and pulled out another ornament, glancing 
up at her innocently from under his dark lashes.
 
She stared back.  And perversely found herself wanting 
to touch him again.  Combine this strange urge with the 
more tender emotions he provoked in her lately -- that 
is, when he wasn't doing something infuriatingly irrational -- 
and the feeling became almost overwhelming.  She felt 
tears prick her eyes and fought them back in surprise.  
Was this love, this delicate, deep ache in her chest?  
The intensity of it more poignant than being brought to 
tears by something truly beautiful, or so moved by a 
piece of music that every cell in the body resonates.

Her throat closed off.  She couldn't speak.  Could not 
even continue to meet his eye.  Instead, she looked at 
the tree.  Blaming her strange surge of emotion on the 
twinkling of the Christmas tree lights.  The flickering 
of the duraflame logs.  The shimmer of one, lone lit 
candle she'd placed on the coffee table.  Maybe her 
strange mood was no more than the sensory overload 
from the sum total of all this magical luminescence.  

But she didn't presume it was anything as simple as 
that.  Without Mulder here with her, the lights would 
no doubt be beautiful, but also melancholy.  With him 
here, there was an air of expectancy that was almost 
palpable -- of something hopeful and new.

Mulder reached out and captured both of her hands in his.  
And then pulled on them gently until she moved toward 
him.  Until her hands were stopped against the hardness 
of his chest.  He held them there.  Tilting his head, he gave 
her a bemused smile.  "What are we doing here, Scully?" 
he asked quietly.

To her chagrin, she found that she could barely speak.  
She cleared her throat awkwardly.  "I don't know, you 
tell me, Mulder."  Her voice was husky.

Under her fingers, she could feel his heart beating.  
Her eyes noted the uncertainty in his answering gaze.  
She shifted, thinking something about getting enough 
leverage to extract her hands from where they were 
folded against his thundering heart -- at least, that's 
what she told herself.  But her heart was beating its 
own erratic tempo.  And for a second, she wondered 
if love was no more than this cardiovascular response.  
If caring and affection were only a physiological 
manifestation of the same, unfortunate musings that 
she faulted her profession for.

She would rather believe this ache in her chest was 
evidence of a purpose to this otherwise lonely human 
condition.  The overwhelming response of loving 
someone.
  
"What are we doing, Mulder?" she repeated, less of 
a question than a search for clarification.

He lowered his head toward her.  "Something long overdue, 
I think."  His comment against her lips tickled, the vibration 
of his voice made them buzz slightly.  But still, her mouth 
and his were only verging on contact.  Mulder leaned back 
slightly, as if he couldn't quite make up his mind whether 
or not he should kiss her. 

So she made the decision for them, instigating the contact 
herself -- she kissed him.  His mouth opened under hers.  
And for a moment, she lost herself in the sensation.  The 
glorious novelty of kissing Mulder.  When they broke apart, 
Scully froze, feeling his eyes on her as she stared at 
some unfocused point on his chest.  She felt him pull 
back further so he could look at her.  When she met 
his eyes, they were hooded.  He was waiting for her 
to speak.  Ready to take her lead.

"That was nice, Mulder," she managed finally.  The 
understatement of the millennium.

Mulder tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, playing with 
the curve of her ear for a second, sliding his fingers down 
to her earlobe to finger the small diamond stud there.  He 
frowned slightly and reached up to rub at his eyes as if he 
were tired.  Something rose in her throat and she felt tears 
sting her eyes.  She took a deep breath. 

And was almost knocked on her ass by the emotion that 
gripped her.  Regret or sorrow were not the culprits holding 
her hostage -- nor were joy or elation, or any of the more 
extreme sensations what were assaulting her thoughts.  

What she felt was small and quiet and hers alone.  A fierce 
and certain tenderness toward this solitary human standing 
before her.  

Finding within herself the courage to reach out yet again, 
she rested her hand gently against his cheek.  "Mulder," 
she whispered softly.  He stood very still, choosing to 
stare down at their interlocked hands instead of meet
her eye.  So she rose on tiptoe in order to press a kiss 
on the tip of that nose of his.  Another one landed on 
his forehead.  At the pensive expression in his unfocused 
gaze, she inevitably found herself drawn again to his lips, 
touching her own there to heal his fractured gaze.

When they pulled apart, he smiled.  She was struck by 
the haunting vulnerability she saw in his eyes and the
grateful affection his gaze bestowed on her.  She closed 
her eyes tightly against the tumult.  And felt Mulder's 
arms pull her tightly against him in what was nothing more 
threatening than a hug.  "It's okay, Scully.  Let's just stay 
right here for a minute."

"Okay," she muttered against his neck.  Content to let the 
corporeal body stand and allow the restless mind to rest.  

"God, Scully, you are so beautiful," he whispered in awe.

"Don't overdo it, Mulder," she muttered into his neck.

He gave a short bark of laughter.  "I don't think that's 
possible."

They held one another.  As purely as one can hold and 
embrace another's unique and perplexing differences, 
despite how fragile and limited are these all-too-human 
bodies we inhabit.  And they ignored how slowly they 
moved in comparison to the thoughts racing inside 
their heads.  

For love is no more complex than one mind making 
a connection to another wholly separate, traveling 
merrily along its own uncertain path.  

And love is no more simple than one heart beating 
its unique rhythm against another, whispering of the 
wonder of life.

****************************************************************
THE END

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Please visit my website!
X-mas cookies and spiked eggnog for all!
http://members.nbci.com/KatyBlue
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