| It�s snowing outside. She stands at the window, staring down at the street, watching the pedestrians hurry through the swirling white whirlwind. It�s been snowing like this for the past 12 hours and the weatherman predicts that it will continue for at least another 12. She sighs and traces her fingers upon the window, feeling the cold frost from the outside seeping in. She raises her gaze to the windows across the street, watching the blinking Christmas decorations, feeling somehow as if they are mocking her. She glances around her own apartment, taking in the stocking hung on the wall next to the Christmas tree, the candles burning on the tables, the garland hung on the walls. She sighs, for although she has made it appear as if she is enjoying this time of year, inwardly she is wishing that it were over already. You see, this is going to be a Christmas of firsts for her. Her first Christmas with her child. Her first Christmas in her new apartment. Her first Christmas not spent with her family. But most importantly, this is her first Christmas in many years that she has spent without him. Her touchstone. The father of her child. Her focus blurring from unshed tears, she turns back to the window, now seeing nothing but her memories. He�s been gone eight weeks, but it seems like eight years. She closes her eyes, leaning against the cool window, remembering their last day together. The way that he had leaned down and kissed their son, then picked him up and held him close as if he would never let go. The way he had wrapped his arms around her, tears streaming down his face as he buried it in her hair. The way that her tears stained his shirt. Both of them standing there, holding each other, afraid to say something for fear of ending the moment. The way that he finally pulled back and reached up gently to wipe away her tears. How he had kissed her, first on the forehead, then the cheeks, then gently on the lips, all the while his eyes begging her to say that it would be ok, that he could stay, but knowing in his heart that if he was going to keep himself and his family safe, he would have to go. She could feel the tears flowing freely down her face now as she remembered how he had opened the door, and turned to look at her one more time before leaving. That was the last time that she had seen him. She�d gotten postcards in the past eight weeks. None of them had anything written on them, but she knew they were from him. The first had come from California, then Nevada, then Illinois. The last, only 5 days ago, had been postmarked Boston. She had cried when that one came in the mail. Cried because he�d been so close, yet so far away. Cried because she missed him and she needed him, yet she couldn�t reach out to him. Cried for everything that could have been, and everything that she still wanted there to be. She was startled out of her memories by a knock on the door. She started to reach for her gun, then realized how silly that was. She looked out the peephole to see her mailman standing outside, carrying a package. She slid off the chain and opened the door. �Afternoon, ma�am,� the postman said with a smile. �I�ve got a package for you today that just wouldn�t fit in your mailbox.� She feebly tried to return his smile as she took the package from his hands. �Thank you.� He tipped his hat to her. �Merry Christmas,� he said as he started back down the hall towards the stairs. �Merry Christmas to you too,� she whispered as she closed the door behind him. She sat the package on the table and just stared at it. It was a simple brown box. There was no return address. No stickers of any kind. Just her name and address printed neatly on the top. Printed in the same handwriting that her postcards always came in. She sat on the couch and reached for the box, carefully setting it on her lap. She didn�t want to rush the moment. She carefully removed the cord that had tied the box shut, lifting the flaps to peer inside. Wrapped in tissue paper, there were two small silver ornaments. One was the star of Bethlehem. The other, a heart. She pulled them out, then set them on the table as a piece of paper fluttered to the ground from the package. She unfolded it gently and smiled at the words that were written inside. �Merry Christmas, Scully.� She stood and hung the ornaments on the tree, smiling her first real smile for the day. �Merry Christmas to you too, Mulder,� she whispered. *The end* |
| Christmas Eve |