Date: December 22 – 23^rd, 2000

Author: Jvantheterrible

Rating: R. OMG. Christmas SCHMOOP? What is this site COMING to?

Category: Sk/M – What if it was their first Christmas together? (And their first kiss, and their first…no, they are JUST coming together in this story. Figuratively, not literally!)

Disclaimer: Characters are CC’s and Fox’s. Story is mine. (It’s what THEY would want.)

Author’s Notes: Had a pretty worthless interview this afternoon, but DID come up with a new story. So, here it is. Enjoy, and thanks for stopping by during the Holiday Season.

Feedback: Embraced with open arms at Rllnslvr@aol.com. Someone cheer me up, please…by all means, be my guest.

"Send them in," I sigh deeply into the phone, her perky ‘yes sir’ making me cringe. When did I stop enjoying this time of year, anyway? When Sharon was around, we used to spend hours shopping together, arm in arm, taking in all the roasted chestnuts and eggnog that we could handle. It seems like forever ago since she passed away, not just three years, and my thoughts do not do much to put me in any more of a favorable mood for Mulder and Scully, who enter my office before I can clear the lump completely out of my throat.

"You asked to see us, sir?" Agent Scully asks as she takes her usual seat in front of my desk, just to the left of Fox Mulder. Once they’re both settled into their respective spots, I begin.

"Agents, I wanted to commend you on your latest case." Scully looks as though she’s going to fall out of her chair, and Mulder coughs rather loudly into his fist, bending over nearly to his knees as he attempts to catch Scully’s eye with his own wide-eyed gaze. Why does he have to exaggerate every goddamned little thing…

"Sir?" Agent Scully asks me, clearly near the point of shock, her petite hand across her chest as though to keep her heart from bursting out.

Mulder sits back upright in his chair and stares at me with just a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, hands now folded neatly in his lap. He bats his eyelashes at me on purpose, and instead of giving in to my urge to go over my desk and smack him, I continue, clenching my jaw and my fists simultaneously.

"There was great potential for much Bureau time and money be wasted on this one, and you both did a stellar job of wrapping it up – and keeping it quiet. You will both be receiving letters of commendation in your files. Given your, how shall I say, propensity for outrageous expenditure, it has come to my attention that the upper echelons are rather pleased with your performances. As am I." They look at one another and smile and I half expect them to join hands and start singing ‘Kumbaya’, the mere image causing me to bite my tongue to keep from snickering. Once their silent glances return to me, I force an attempt at a smile, "That will be all, Agents. Good work." I get up from my chair as they stand, and they both thank me politely before walking back to the door. Scully opens it and exits, but Mulder stays behind.

"Are you alright, sir?" He asks me…is that concern I see in his eyes?

"Agent Mulder, you did a good job. You deserve the praise, you and Scully both. Have a nice weekend." I turn and walk the few short steps to my window and gaze down at the city below. It’s snowing, and I am dreading driving home already. DC is far from enjoyable to drive through in good weather and downright messy at this time of the year. I sigh again, surprised when I hear Mulder speak to me again; I thought I dismissed him!

"Sir, is everything alright? You seem sort of…well, I don’t know…down. Is it the holidays, sir?" I don’t face him, instead shake my head at him from where I’m standing. What the hell is he so concerned about, anyway? "You know sir, the suicide rate this time of year is staggering," he says, and I frown before I turn back to face him, forcing him to hurriedly continue, "Not that I think you would…I mean…I was just saying…would you like to go grab a beer with me, sir?" He gulps audibly, and my frown fades slowly, my eyes widening at his suggestion.

"Agent Mulder, are YOU feeling alright?" I ask him. He wants me to go grab a beer with him? Is he out of his mind?

"Yes sir, I’m feeling quite fine. I just wondered if maybe you could use, you know, someone to talk to."

"Mulder, you know that FBI regulations discourage supervisors fraternizing with their agents. Although it’s a tempting suggestion, I’ll have to decline and insist that you go home and have a nice weekend." He stands and stares at me for a long moment, the wheels in his head clearly turning one million miles per hour. He’s not leaving. I walk back to my desk and sit down, straightening my glasses out as I pull a file out of my in-box and pretend to peruse through it. I can’t concentrate on a damn thing while he’s here staring at me.

"Agent Mulder, you’re dismissed," I tell him without looking at him.

"Sir, Agent Scully and I usually go out on Fridays, but she is leaving town for her mother’s tonight. She’s on vacation next week, you know," he says, returning to his usual seat and sitting down across from my desk.

"Good for her, Mulder," I tell him, still not looking at him and feigning aggravation when what I really want to do is say, ‘yeah, let’s go grab a cold one and watch a football game’.

"Sir, I really don’t have anything else to do. REALLY. We could watch a game or something; you know, knock back a couple of brewskis and just have ‘guy night’. What do you think?" I drop the file I’m holding in my hands and pull off my glasses, rubbing my eyes once they’re uncovered. I regard him coolly and casually from behind my massive desk, wondering just what the hell he’s trying to get at here.

"Agent Mulder, are you lonely?" I ask him, and he snorts immediately, shaking his head vehemently – but he can’t look me in the eye! "You said yourself that the suicide rate goes up this time of year. Is there something I should be aware of here, Agent?"

"No sir. I’m…I’m sorry that I wasted your time. Have a nice weekend, sir," he says, standing up and heading for the door, his head hanging a bit. Goddamn him! If I’m going to reconsider, I have to do it quickly; he’s almost to the outer office…

"Mulder," I say loudly, closing my eyes as I prepare myself, opening them once he’s stepped back into my office, "Who’s playing tonight, anyway?" His face lights up with a smile that I don’t think I’ve ever seen – and why do I find that, dare I say, charming? Christ almighty. I should just go home and have a couple of fingers of scotch and turn in early like I usually –

"The Cowboys and the Packers, sir. It’s going to be a great game," he says excitedly, "It starts at six. Bring some beers!" He says happily before he leaves. Oh no. Oh God. I’m going to spend Friday evening at Spooky Mulder’s house. I put my face in my hands and shake my head as I wonder what I must have been thinking…and then I realize it. Fox Mulder IS lonely. And truth be told, so am I. I wonder if he hates Christmas as much as I do - and suddenly I can’t wait to ask him. I don’t remember the last time anyone invited me ANYWHERE. Leave it to Mulder to do the unthinkable. Who knows; maybe we’ll have a nice time after all. What can go wrong with football and beers on a Friday night?

As I stand in front of his door loaded down with beer and snacks, I think back over my thoughts from the last hour or so, mentally kicking myself in the ass for my stupidity. We’re just two guys, hanging out together on a Friday night a week before Christmas because neither of us has anyone else to hang out with and –

The door opens and Mulder is grinning another face-splitting smile at me, clad in blue jeans and a black sweater, laughing as he says, "I thought you knew to knock! I heard the floorboards creak a bit and decided to take a look. Come on in, sir," he says, holding the door open for me. I walk in and he shuts the door behind me, coming back over to where I’m standing to take the beers from me. He puts them all in the fridge except for two, motioning for me to hang my coat up by the door. I do, and he hands me a beer when I turn back around to face him.

"Thank you, Mulder," I tell him, taking a long drink from the small green bottle and uttering a heartfelt, "Aaaah," after I’ve swallowed it. "Cheers, sir," he tells me, that grin still on his face while he holds his bottle out to me. We clink glass and drink one more sip before he ushers me over to the black leather couch that faces what must be at least a 36" television. The commentators are going over stats and the injury list, and we sit at opposite ends of the sofa, content not to speak for the moment. Well, I was, anyway.

"So how was your day, sir?" He asks me, appearing completely interested in what I have to say. I can’t allow him to keep calling me ‘sir’ in his own home, so that’s my first order of business.

"Mulder, you can call me Walter…I mean, ‘sir’ just sounds so out of place…especially in your own home on a Friday night." He looks at me with his eyes opened very wide, eyebrows arched in surprise.

"Oh-kayyy, Walter," he says, trying the name out for the first time, clearly nervous at the concept, "But you still have to call me Mulder. Deal?" He asks me, taking another sip of his beer.

"Deal," I tell him, wanting to smile at him and finding myself stone-faced as ever. I am going to have to relax somehow…but how? It’s been years since I had any sort of casual acquaintance with anyone, let alone a subordinate under my command. Christ, why did I ever agree to this? As if he can sense my trepidation, he smiles at me and says, "You don’t get out much, do you Walter?"

I nearly choke on my drag off my beer at his words, realizing that I am well and truly busted – he knows I’m nervous. I am stiff as a board at my end of the couch, hoping that by some miracle, my muscles will loosen of their own accord. Maybe if I just slam this beer and about two more, I’ll feel better, I think to myself as I realize that I haven’t answered his question. Stop talking to yourself Walt, make conversation…you remember that, don’t you, I ask myself, one person talks and you reply, and then they talk again…

"Uh, no Mulder, I don’t get out much. I’m…I’m sorry. I wasn’t even going to come over tonight, and maybe it wasn’t such a good idea," I tell him as I place my beer on the coffee table and stand up, placing my hands in my pockets like a twelve year-old. He looks at me with something that appears to be sympathy – and may very well be. He invited me to his home out of kindness, knowing that I was alone this close to the holidays, and here I am acting like a skittish teenager to repay his hospitality.

"Walter, really, I understand. Come on, don’t leave yet…the game’s just starting," he says as he points to the television, continuing with, "I can’t possibly drink all those Heinekens by myself, you know." He meets my eyes and silently begs me to stay; why is he looking at me like that? And what exactly IS that? And why am I so unsettled by it? We’re just two guys, hanging out on a Friday night with beers and football, right? I swear to God, people call HIM Spooky – if they could only hear my inner monologue.

"I’m…I’m sorry, Mulder. It’s been…a long time since anyone invited me to do anything. I guess I’m just out of practice. I really appreciate you inviting me over, and I’d like to stay. I’m just…a little out of my element, I guess," I tell him, picking my beer back up from the table and taking another long swig.

"It’s alright, Walter. I understand. People don’t really invite me out to do anything either. I’m lucky that Scully even WANTS to hang out with me once our day is over. Come on, sit down, finish your beer, have some chips, and I’ll crank up the surround sound so we can hear their teeth break!" He smiles at me yet again, and it actually makes me shiver. What is wrong with me? Have I really become this socially retarded? And why is it that every time he’s smiled at me…it’s gone straight to the pit of my stomach…or truthfully, a little lower?

"Thank you, Mulder. Sounds like a plan. Cheers," I tell him, holding my bottle out and finishing it off once he’s touched his bottle to mine. "Guess I’m ready for another one," I tell him sheepishly, forcing a smile that probably looks more like my lips are stuck on my teeth.

"You got it, Walter. Break open those chips and I’ll be right back," he says as he heads for the kitchen. Breathe, Walter, breathe, I begin my little pep talk to myself, you can do this. It’s called socializing. You used to be an old pro at this shit, remember?

Two hours later, we’re into the third quarter of the game – and our fourth beers. I have relaxed myself to the point of actually kicking off my boots and propping my feet up on the coffee table next to Mulder’s. Since half time, we haven’t paid all that much attention to the game, instead chatting about a myriad of subjects from family (the lack thereof), to work, to his relationship with Scully. I find myself downright comfortable, and to my surprise, I am having a very good time.

"Mulder, what do you think of Christmas," I ask him, watching his expression change from carefree to thoughtful. He thinks for several moments before he replies, suddenly serious.

"Well, I think that Christmas is an idea that has been lost on a lot of people, Walter. I mean, it’s supposed to be this huge celebration of the birth of a King from hundreds of years ago. It’s been pumped into this massive commercialization of commerce, and frankly, I’m just fed up with it. I mean, I’m alone, Walter. It’s not like I’m going to run out and get some huge ass tree to decorate, or spend hours in the mall buying presents for my tons of friends and family." He stops then, looking somber and a little lost, his eyes a little fogged over as he continues, "I don’t really have very many friends, Walter, you know," he says, looking to me for a reaction. I nod at him and motion for him to go on, which he does, "I mean, do you honestly think that the water-cooler crowd is going to invite ‘Spooky Mulder’ to their Christmas party? How about inviting the badass Assistant Director in charge of the X-Files? It just doesn’t happen," he finishes, sipping the last of his beer and setting the empty bottle on the table in front of us.

"Mulder, we’re in a class all our own," I tell him, finishing the last of my current drink as well, "You are a brilliant fucking agent. You are an asset to the Bureau, and no matter how many people call you ‘Spooky’ or put you down, it’s only because they’re jealous of you. They’re jealous of your passion for your work, and they’re jealous for your relationship – no - your autonomy with Scully. If all of the agents in the Bureau worked as well together as you and Scully – if they all had your solve rate – I’d be the Deputy Director and you and Scully would be co-chairs," I laugh to him, making him smile that brilliant full-toothed smile once more. I find myself smiling back at him just as brightly, and suddenly I see a flash of something in his eyes. It’s something that I can’t describe; it’s nearly admiration, but what about…it couldn’t be…adoration? I shiver involuntarily, and he asks me if I’m cold.

"No, no, I’m fine. I think I need the men’s room though," I tell him as I stand up and run my palm over my scalp.

"Well, you know where it is by now," he jokes, getting up himself and heading towards the kitchen once more. "I’ll get us a couple more beers while you’re doing that," he calls out.

I look at myself in the mirror over his sink after I’m done relieving my bladder. I stare deep into my own eyes, as far as I can see, and try to figure out just what in the hell I’m really doing here. Why is it that I even agreed to come here? Why am I sitting here spilling my guts out to this man, and why is he even listening? Why is it that I was so nervous to begin with, and why in God’s name am I worrying about ANY of this? I look into my own chocolate brown depths searching for an answer that refuses to surface, wondering why his smile is affecting me in such an awkward manner; he NEVER smiles at me at work. Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile before now. Never MIND the fact that I’ve watched him walk away from me each time he’s gone to get us another beer and wondered – STOP IT, I tell myself. I close my eyes, effectively shutting off my self-analysis, but unable to shut off my brain.

I have no idea how long I stand there and berate myself, question myself, and basically talk myself out of whatever it MIGHT be that I’m feeling, but when I open the bathroom door, Mulder is right there with his hand in the air, ready to knock. "Are you alright," he asks me, concern evident in his gaze, "You’ve been in there awhile, Walter."

"Nuh-no, I’m fine, Mulder. Sorry. Just a little buzzed, I guess." His face is so close to mine that I feel the need to take a couple of steps back, compromising with myself at the last minute and just taking one step back. His eyes…God, they’ve got tiny gold flecks in them. I’m sure it’s just the bathroom light reflecting in them, but they look almost otherworldly and I find myself panicking that I’m even noticing. I have to get out of here, NOW, before…before…I allow myself to realize what my problem really is. "I…I need to get going, Mulder. I’m sure the snow is getting worse, and-" he cuts me off in mid-sentence.

"Walter, you can’t go. The news just came on and said that the storm has been upgraded to a blizzard, and all traffic is advised to get off the roads immediately. I just checked out the window and I didn’t see a car for blocks; not that I could see all that much through the snow, mind you," he says, "But they said the police will be issuing tickets to any drivers caught out in the storm, it’s that bad. Please, Walter, you can stay on the couch, or better yet, you can take my waterbed and I’ll take the couch. I’d worry about you…and besides…fourth quarter just kicked off," he smiles at me and hands me a fresh beer; Goddammit, haven’t we finished these off YET?

"Mulder, I can’t stay the night here. It’s preposterous. I mean, the very idea of me being snowed in at your home," I tell him nervously, hoping that he’ll acquiesce. No such luck. He shakes his head at me and grabs my arm, that goddamn smile lighting up his face again.

"Come on, Walter, I’ll make you breakfast in the morning, and I PROMISE I’ll still respect you," he finishes dryly. I glare at him angrily, causing his smile to fade into something a little less gleeful as he releases his grip on me. "Sorry, I was just joking…sir," he says as he drops his gaze to the floor and turns to walk back into the living room. Oh, that’s just fucking wonderful, Walter. You’ve hurt his goddamn feelings, AND you’ve managed to alienate the one person in the universe who just might want to be your friend. Bravo.

I walk into the living room and find Mulder pouting in front of the game, not so much as batting an eyelash as I sit down on the couch next to him. Funny how we began this evening at opposite ends of the sofa, and as the hours passed and the beers went down and we talked, we ended up next to one another. Absolutely hilarious, I think to myself as I struggle to come up with something non-offensive to say to him - something just short of an apology. Screw it. Here goes nothing.

"I’m sorry, Mulder," I tell him after I’ve taken a sip of my new ice-cold brew, "I didn’t mean to offend you. I haven’t had a sense of humor for so long, I guess I just sort of…Hell, I’m sorry, alright?" I tell him uneasily, actually watching his face for some sign of forgiveness. None is forthcoming, so I find myself clenching my jaw and straightening back up to my stance of when I first arrived here this evening. I’m tense all over now, and pissed off that I’ve pissed HIM off, and angry at the weather, and –

"It’s okay, Walter. I understand. I can see it in your face; you’re afraid of me. You think I’m ‘spooky’, just like everyone else does. I’m sorry. I think I over-estimated your ability to let loose and have a little fun." He turns to face me, and I see tears in his eyes. Tears that go straight to my heart, wrenching it just a little bit from its previous place in my chest. I can’t believe that I’ve hurt him this much, but thinking about it, I suppose it’s quite possible that I gave him that impression. "I just wanted to…I don’t know…hang out, show you that I was a real person too, you know? I mean, Scully’s gone from now until the day after Christmas, and she’s my only REAL friend, and I don’t have anyone, and I just figured that maybe," he practically sobs, "Maybe you’d want to spend the holiday with me. I’m sorry, sir," he says, a solitary tear finding its way out of his right eye and down his cheek.

Before I’m even aware that I’m doing it, I reach out and wipe the tear from his face with my right thumb, shivering when my flesh comes into contact with his. We look at each other for a long time after that, eyes searching for some kind of mutual understanding, trying to make sense of everything that’s transpired here tonight. Especially trying to make sense of what’s transpired in the last five minutes. No clue, I think to myself as I lean towards his face, those pouty lips just begging for some kind of contact, wondering what in God’s name has come over me to do this…and I press my lips to his - simple as that. No tongue, no drooling going on, but I press my lips to his and feel him press back against me, and it’s like some kind of electrical current has been awakened in my body.

I pull away from him a moment later, and his eyes tell me the entire story. I do believe that Fox Mulder wants me. Much as that disturbs me, I think that it’s quite possible that I want him, too. I thought that this was just going to be a nice guy’s night in, watching football and drinking beers. Instead, it’s been elevated to a whole new level – a level that I’m not certain that I am ready to move to just yet. Is he? Apparently so, I think as he leans towards my face once again – but I pull away before he can make contact. "No, Mulder, please…I can’t…I’m not…" I trail off weakly, his face losing all semblance of emotion as he pulls away and stands up, walking around the coffee table and turning off the television that we’ve been ignoring for the last couple of hours.

"Would you prefer the bed or the couch, sir," he asks me coldly. I shudder once again as I tell him that the couch will be fine. "I’ll get you a pillow and a blanket," he tells me numbly as he leaves the room and returns several minutes later with the promised items, tossing them onto the sofa beside me. He bids me a curt goodnight and goes into his bedroom, shutting the door rather forcefully behind him. I sigh heavily as I pull off my Henley and jeans, clad only in my briefs as I pull the thick black fleece blanket over me, getting as comfortable as I possibly can on the leather sofa that’s just a few inches too short to accommodate my entire body.

I lie in the dark of Fox Mulder’s living room and berate myself for what feels like hours, beating myself up over and over again for reacting to him in the manner that I did; both when he cried AND when he attempted to follow-up by returning my sentiment. What in the fuck was I thinking? Have I lost my mind? There have been plenty of nights in my past when I’ve ‘gone out with the guys’, and never ONCE did I try to kiss one of them! Christ! Am I really THAT lonely, I ask myself…or am I really THAT attracted to…no. NO. It can’t be. But at the same time that I’m telling myself that it can’t be, my heart is betraying my cool exterior and yearning to see that spiky dark brown hair. That too-big smile that I never get at the office. That cute ass in those jeans. Those hazel eyes with the golden flecks in them that I never noticed before. And that kiss; that one moment where our lips met in a tender and tentative moment; God, I find myself wanting more.

I hear something coming from beyond his closed bedroom door as I’m wallowing in my thoughts; something that sounds suspiciously like a nightmare…I strain my ears to listen more carefully, and it’s then that I hear Mulder cry out, "Scully, NO! NO, SCULLY, DON’T DO IT!" I wait a moment longer, his voice still echoing out in the quiet apartment, before I get up and struggle to make my way blindly to his room. My glasses are on the coffee table, and useless in the dark anyway; I find his door with my outstretched hands, grasp the doorknob and turn it to let myself in. He appears to be caught up in the covers, tossing and turning in his dream state; the entire bed is rocking with his movements, and I sit on the padded railing and try to rouse him with my voice.

"Mulder…Mulder, it’s okay, you’re just dreaming," I tell him, waiting for him to open his eyes, to no avail. He continues his torment, crying out for Scully in desperation that might as well be lucid, arms flailing in the air, legs kicking out against some unseen nemesis. "Mulder, wake up," I tell him more loudly, hoping that the urgency in my tone will snap him out of it, "Mulder, you’re dreaming." There is no indication that he has heard me, and he continues his self-induced nightmarish assault. I decide that the only way to get through to him is physically…I roll onto the waterbed and land beside his restless form, taking him into my arms and holding him tightly to me.

His body is burning up, bathed in sweat, soaked through from his tee shirt and boxers to the sheets. I wrap my arms and legs around his flailing body to try and hold him still, attempting to calm him with my own body as best as I can. I find his ear with my mouth in the darkened room and whisper soothing words to him; telling him that Scully is fine, she’s off with her mother, explaining that I am here and won’t let anything happen to him. After several moments of fighting me, Mulder finally relaxes in my arms, wrapping his own arms around me and whispering, "Thank you," against my chest. I barely hear his gratuitous response, catching it only by the vibration of his lips against my flesh. I wonder how in the hell I will ever manage to look at Fox Mulder in the same way again as I drift off to sleep with him in my arms. The slightest of smiles decorates my face as I realize that this is what has been missing in my life; but is this what’s missing in his?

"Mulder," I say aloud after clearing my throat extremely loudly, "Hey, Mulder. Are you awake?" I ask him, praying that he is as awake as I am and stewing over the same issues.

"Yeah, I’m up," he murmurs, stretching out beside me with practically no care given to the fact that we are in bed together. "How’d you sleep?" He asks me with a sleepy slur, looking over at me casually, as though he wakes up next to his boss every morning. His hair is sticking out in every possible direction, and I bite my bottom lip to keep from laughing at the sight. He’s actually sort of…cute. I didn’t just think that, did I? And why am I still lying here next to him in his bed? And why can’t I stop talking to myself?

"I slept better than you did, Mulder," I tell him, "Do you have nightmares like that often?" He props himself up on one elbow so he can look down at me and gives me a lazy grin, "I don’t know, Walter. I sleep alone, and there usually isn’t anyone snowed in with me to let me know that I disturbed them. I just know that I generally don’t sleep very well at all, and I slept the sleep of the dead last night. Thank you," he tells me as he rolls over and gets out of the bed, pulling his jeans on over his boxers and walking to the bathroom. I would be lying if I said I didn’t notice his morning erection, and I would be lying even further if I said that it didn’t make mine throb a little harder than usual. I have to get out of here; surely the roads have been plowed by now, I think as I get out of the warm bed and head for the living room – and my clothes.

I manage to get my jeans on, pulling my shirt over my head as he comes into the living room whistling ‘Jingle Bells’, of all things. "What do you want for breakfast, Walter?" He asks me as he walks into the kitchen and opens the refrigerator door, "Eggs and ham? Or bacon? Maybe an omelet?" I try not to notice his ass while he reads off the inventory, and fail miserably. I have GOT to get out of here.

"Uh, Mulder, I’m just going to take off, okay? I have some work that I have to catch up on today. Thank you for, uh, letting me stay here, with the storm and all," I finish as I sit down on the sofa and pull my boots on. Out of the corner of my eye I see him close the fridge door and lean against the wall with his arms crossed, head cocked to one side as he watches me finish tying my laces.

"Are you sure I can’t get you something, Walter? Coffee, maybe? Tea? I did promise to make you breakfast, you know," he says sadly. I look up at his face and take in his stance, knowing that something irreversible has happened here in the last 15 hours. I want to tell him that what I want is not in his refrigerator, and I find myself blushing at my own admittance. What in the hell has happened to me? I need to go home; I have to think about what is going on, reassess my feelings, organize my thoughts. It’s impossible for me to think clearly while he’s standing there giving me that beaten puppy dog look, his bottom lip sticking out just a bit more than usual. Suddenly I remember how that lip felt against mine last night, and the slight twitch that my cock gives me is the last damned straw. I stand up and get my jacket from where it’s hanging by the front door, glancing back at him and offering the closest thing to a smile that I can muster, "Thanks again, Mulder. I’ll uh…see you Monday," I tell him, opening his front door to leave.

"Monday, sir," he echoes, his voice barely audible to me as I close the door behind me. I stand there for several moments, guilt washing over me in so many waves that I don’t hear the door open behind me. I should have let him fix me breakfast. I should have talked to him about his nightmare. I should have tried to explain my feelings, even though I can’t seem to grasp them myself. I feel a hand on my shoulder and I wheel around defensively, hand pulled back into a fist ready to strike whomever is intruding upon my musings. Fox quickly takes a step back, visibly wincing as he reaches his right hand out to me and opens his loosely held fist to reveal my wirerims. "You left them on the table. Have a nice weekend, Walter," he tells me, handing me the glasses before stepping back into his apartment and closing the door. "You too Mulder," I tell the door before I head down the hall to the elevator, my mind racing with all of the events of last night and this morning.

3:20 PM

I brought these goddamn files home with every intention of working on them. I have been staring at them blindly for the past two hours; every time I try to concentrate, I find myself thinking about Fox Mulder instead. I think about that grin, the one that shows all of his straight white teeth set in the frame of his full lips. I think about sitting on the couch next to him, tossing back beers and talking about everything and nothing as if we’ve known each other for years. Well, that’s a point, come to think of it – we HAVE known each other for years…we just haven’t REALLY known each other. Now I’m afraid we know a little too much about one another – but why should I be afraid of it if it’s something that he wants, too? But what do I want? I thought I was straight; I was married for seventeen years, for God’s sake. Not that it was much of a marriage for the last seven of those years…right around the time Mulder came into my life at the Bureau, actually. Oh my God. Some fucking revelation THAT is. I never thought about it before. It can’t be…he couldn’t have been the reason for my breakup with Sharon…although I did become a lot more involved with my job around the time Fox showed up. Sharon and I did have a lot of arguments about my job, wherein I was extremely defensive of my position…could it be that Mulder was the reason for that? Could it actually be that I sabotaged my own marriage as a way to be with HIM? Subconsciously, of course, because I would never EVER admit to having feelings for another man…until now, I remind myself.

Am I really sitting here, in my condo, having some sort of epiphany about my sexual preference? My God, I think I am. I know I am. I know that I was watching his ass, and I know that it touched my heart when he looked at me last night with tears in his eyes, and I know that I kissed him. I kissed him. I can’t be gay. I’ve been around for nearly 49 years already, and I think I would know it if I were gay. Wouldn’t I? But it’s not like I have been attracted to a man before Mulder…I mean, not to the point where I would actually consider doing something about it. Dear lord, I think as I close the file on the desk in front of me and stand up so I can stretch. It’s snowing again, I see as I look out the window, which I walk over to so I can watch the weather. Swirling snow, blowing and circling around in the wind, the sky one huge gray cloud with no hint of sunshine behind it. I find myself whistling ‘Winter Wonderland’, and Mulder appears in my mind once again, this time whistling ‘Jingle Bells’ as he did this morning when he came into the living room. "This place is too quiet," I say aloud to no one, grabbing my phone and dialing Mulder’s number before I’m even aware that I’m doing it. I didn’t even know I had it memorized…another clue that perhaps I’ve been in denial longer than I thought.

"Hello?" the familiar voice answers on the other end. I hold my breath for a moment, trying to figure out just what the hell I should say. "Hello?" He says again, a hint of impatience in his tone, and finally I manage to untie my tongue and speak.

"Hello, Mulder. It’s me, Skin…Walter," I tell him, smiling to myself at his sharp and sudden intake of breath. I know, I think to myself, and you think you’re in shock…just you wait, Fox. "I was um, wondering what you were doing this evening." Whew, there, I got it out. He’s not laughing at me, and he’s still on the line although it’s gone very quiet on his end. "Mulder?" I ask, "Are you there? Look, I’m sorry about this morning – I didn’t mean to offend you by – okay, I should have let you cook for me, I mean us, and I shouldn’t have run out like that – goddammit," I mutter aloud, cursing at myself for not being able to utter an intelligent sentence.

"Nothing, sir," he replies while I’m trying to regroup. "What?" I ask him, unsure as to whether he’s answering me or commenting on how much sense I’ve made so far. He clarifies his response for me a moment later, "I’m not doing anything this evening, sir. Same as usual."

"Oh, good," I reply, quickly following it with, "I don’t mean that it’s good that you’re not usually doing anything, I meant that it’s good that…oh hell Mulder, do you want to come over and sit in front of the fireplace and take in another game tonight? And when I say game, I don’t mean…I meant football, do you want to come over and watch a football game?" The sweat is dripping down my brow, and I have to clench my jaw to keep my teeth from clicking with nervousness. There is absolutely no doubt about my offer…this would definitely, beyond a shadow of a doubt, qualify as a date.

"Sure," he says – was that a snicker I just heard coming from his end, "Yes sir, I would like to come over and watch a game with you. Did you know that it’s snowing outside again? I mean, what if we get ten more inches of snow and I can’t leave when the game is over?" He asks me point blank.

"Well, I hadn’t thought about that, but I suppose it is a poss-" he cuts me off with a bark of laughter, "I was just kidding, sir. It’s supposed to taper off anytime now. What should I bring?" He asks me, his voice having perked up considerably since the beginning of our conversation.

"Uh, just yourself, Mulder. I have beer and wine here already, and I can fix us something to eat if you’re hungry," I babble on, realizing that not only have I now invited him over for football and beers, I have thrown dinner in. Just like a real – gulp – date.

"What time, sir?" he asks me in a voice so calm and collected that it makes me realize all too clearly that I have been reduced to a bumbling idiot by the mere idea of him coming over here.

"The game starts at six…why don’t you come over as soon as you’re ready? I have an idea," I tell him, smiling to myself at my cleverness. Suddenly, I’m feeling 500% more jolly than I can remember feeling in the last several…well…EVER.

"I’m ready now, sir. It might take me a while in this weather. I’ll be there soon," he tells me, and I almost say goodbye to him before I realize that he has called me ‘sir’ the entire time we’ve been on the phone.

"And Mulder?" I ask him, no longer nervous or apprehensive at all, "It’s Walter. I’ll see you in a while." I tell him, smiling when I hear him say goodbye with what is surely a smile on his own face. I hang up the phone and realize that I miss that smile already, that face splitting grin that I had never seen before last night. I wonder as I head for the shower how I’ll make it through a day from here on out without that all-encompassing grin – and will I have to? I shake my head at my own train of thought as I strip and head for the bathroom, a spring in my step that hasn’t resided there in years. About seven, to be exact.

"Hi," he says with a grin, holding out two poinsettia plants to me, "I got you these," he smiles at me. I smile back at him, nervous as hell but actually enjoying the goddamn critters that are currently doing somersaults in my stomach.

"Wow, thank you," I tell him, moving aside so he can come in. I usher him into my home, a festive red and green plant in each of my hands so he can take off his coat. I hand the plants back to him and grab his coat, hanging it up in the closet and taking one of the plants back from him. "Where should w—I put them?" I ask him, taking in his rosy cheeks and nose as I wait for his opinion. He’s wearing a navy blue turtleneck sweater and blue jeans, that crazy hair of his bearing some still-melting snowflakes. He looks…good, I think to myself. Healthy, and there’s that damned glow back in his eyes again; the lighting in here can’t possibly be that bright…

"Um, how about one by the fireplace," he tells me, setting his plant down on the hearth a safe distance from the flaming and crackling logs, "It’s your house, Walter, where do you want to put it?" Oh. He just asked me a question. I am completely and totally guilty of taking in the entire package that has just arrived here, and have missed every single syllable he has uttered since ‘hi’.

"Coffee table," I reply, hardly able to take my eyes off of him while I walk to said destination, nearly falling over the end of my couch in my trek. He laughs a bit and covers his mouth with the back of his right hand, struggling to maintain his composure when mine is so obviously already gone. Sorry, the train carrying my composure left the station about five minutes ago, I think to myself, and there is no way in hell it’s coming back any time soon. Goddammit Walter, get a grip. It’s just dinner and a football game, for heaven’s sake. Yeah and maybe later we can play spin the bottle and make out in the closet…BAD thought. I’d rather not think about closets at the moment, my resolve and inner monologue once again getting the best of me while Fox just stands and looks at me with something that borders on a mixture of confusion and amusement.

I shake my head as if to clear the traffic there, finally getting my wits back and pointing to the sofa, motioning for him to sit down while I ask, "Can I get you a beer, or a glass of wine? Are you hungry? I can turn the heat up if it’s chilly in here," I ramble on, stopping when he takes the few steps necessary in order to close the distance between us and grabs my shoulders with his hands, "Walter. Beer, please. It’s a bit early for dinner. The fireplace is absolutely roaring, so I don’t think that heat is in order. I do, however, think that you should relax." He releases my shoulders when he’s finished answering my diatribe and steps back so that he can sit down on the couch, his gaze never leaving mine. I feel like a complete and total idiot – and what a coincidence – I’m acting like one, too!

I smile nervously at him and walk into my kitchen, my jaw clenched tightly so that I don’t spit out the myriad of obscenities that are currently attempting to escape. I grab two beers from the fridge and open the freezer so I can stick my head in it for a moment to try and cool down. Christ, I feel like I’m sixteen on my first date all over again, only this time it’s not with the high-school girl of my dreams. Nope, this time it’s one Fox William Mulder and he is actually more calm and in control than I am. There is a first time for everything, isn’t there? Yes, well I suppose that I am well on my way to proving THAT point beyond all – I hear footsteps come into the kitchen behind me and I try to shut the freezer door before he catches me. No such luck; busted again. DAMMIT!

"Walter, is everything alright?" He asks me, genuine concern plastered across his features, his eyes full of compassion for me. It’s almost as if…as if he’s been here before in this exact situation. Like it’s nothing out of the ordinary for him to find a grown man talking to himself in his own freezer.

"NO," I blurt out before I can stop myself, "I mean yes, everything’s fine Mulder," I finish weakly, dropping my gaze to the floor. Suddenly, my shoes are more interesting than I had ever previously realized. Fox walks over to me and puts his right index finger under my chin, tilting my face back up so he can look me in the eye. Those golden flecks…how does he do that, anyway?

"Walter, look. I’m going to make this very simple for you." He pauses then, waiting for me to nod, or reply, or give some sign so he knows that it’s alright for him to continue. Meeting his gaze, I nod once at him to let him know that I understand, and he continues. "Last night, something happened between us. I wasn’t sure when I invited you over if you felt it too, but I have a pretty good feeling that if your behavior in the last ten minutes is any indication, you are aware that it wasn’t just a ‘guy’s night in’." I nod at him once more and he continues on as calmly as if he were talking about a case that he’d just wrapped up, "I am not going to lie to you, Walter. I am attracted to you. I have been for some time. I don’t consider myself homosexual, but I am bi-curious, and I have a sneaking suspicion that you might feel the same way. I’ve never, how shall I put this…dated a man before. I’ve been attracted to other men, but never this strongly. I don’t know if it’s your hard-ass no-nonsense persona that you exude so perfectly at work, or if it’s last night’s events. Most likely, it’s a combination of both. I know that last night made it clear to me that I had to at least talk to you about it. I enjoyed that kiss, Walter. I’d like to kiss you again. Right now, if that’s okay with you."

Holy Christ…you just don’t get much more to the point than that. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I am unable to do anything except stand in front of the incredibly sexy man facing me and open and close my mouth like some goddamn fish out of water. After a moment I nod a final time and close my eyes, leaning towards him with a beer still in each of my hands, waiting for him to meet me the rest of the way and seal the deal - so to speak. Within seconds his warm, full lips come into contact with mine and I shiver so hard with emotion that I drop the beers to the floor. I ignore the mess for the moment while I take him in my arms and pull him closer, deepening the kiss at the same time. Bliss. Pure, unadulterated heaven is what I find in his arms, in his kiss. He holds me as closely to him as I hold him to me. It no longer matters to me that I’m kissing another man. I set aside the fact that not only is he my subordinate, he has been the thorn in my side since he came on board over seven years ago. I let go of my inhibitions as I slide my tongue into his mouth, goosebumps breaking out all over my entire body. He returns the kiss just as enthusiastically and I wonder if this is the sole reason I was put here on this planet. This moment in time, with this man, all the other things that have happened in both of our lives leading up to this single event.

He breaks the kiss first, panting for breath with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen on his face while my heart nearly beats out of my chest. Great, that’s all I need, I think as I smile back at him, have a fucking heart attack after your first kiss, Walt – perfect. But it’s no heart attack. It’s pure Mulder, his taste and warmth and heat still radiating from my body as I move to grab a towel and clean up the sea of beer that we’ve both been standing in for several minutes now. Miraculously neither bottle broke, so I dispose of them after I’m done mopping up the suds on the floor. Mulder has taken a seat at the kitchen table after offering to help me and being turned down, watching me intently as I finish wiping down the floor one final time, tossing the damp paper towels in the trash along with the bottles. I wash my hands at the sink and dry them on my own jeans as I turn to face him once more, unsure of what to say or do next. That’s not totally true, I tell myself. "Mulder, I have a confession to make," I tell him somberly.

"Go ahead, Walter. I’ve had more than enough time to speak tonight," he tells me as he laughs.

"Well, I sort of had…an ulterior motive when I invited you over today," I tell him, amazed that I have actually been able to finish a sentence without stuttering.

"Oh really? And what would that be, Walter?" He asks me as he looks up at me.

"Remember how we were talking last night about Christmas and how commercial the holidays have become?" He nods at me, his eyes never leaving mine, "Well, I was wondering if perhaps you wouldn’t mind joining me in getting a little commercialized. See, I really miss having a tree around the house and since…since you…well, you know," I say shyly, shuffling my feet in that ‘aw shucks’ kind of way that little kids do, "I just figured that maybe it would be fun if we got festive."

"I thought we were festive, Walter," Fox deadpans as he stands up and moves to stand next to me, taking my hand in his, "I would be honored to accompany you to get a tree. I suppose a trip to our local Super-Big-Obnoxiously Crowded-K-Mart is in order for decorations, as well?" I smile at him and nod in agreement, squeezing his hand a bit before I let it go and start to head for the living room. "I just have one question before we go," he says, stopping me in my proverbial tracks, my back still to him, "Who are you, and what have you done with the bastard that is my boss?"

I turn around and face him with a deathly serious look on my face, causing his smile to fade and what appears to be slight tremor to flare up in his hands as I reply, "Bastard?" I open my eyes wide at him while I wait for a smart-ass remark that doesn’t come, and a moment later I follow up with, "He’ll be at the office on Monday. Are you coming or not?" The smile and the color both return to his face as he follows me to the front door, both of us bundling up in our leather jackets and gloves, ready to face the madness of the holiday season – and the world – together.

Ho Ho Ho! Merry Christmas, and Happy Hanukkah, and Joyful Kwanzaa, and Happy Holidays, and all that holly-jolly crap! We will return to angst central after these joyful messages during the holiday season…tee hee hee. I can’t help it. I owe some of my angst-tired fans a respite, so here you go ladies and gents. Enjoy!

Taste of Life X – Vacation coming after Christmas!