The first thing Walter Skinner noticed when he entered his apartment was the picture of the two of them that Scully had taken last summer. Oddly enough, it was framed and prominently displayed on his convenient gun table next to the door. Tied to the back of the frame was a gold satin cord. Shucking off both trench coat and suit jacket, he hung them over the eight ball on the coat rack, remembering how Mulder had insisted he keep the odd piece of furniture, claiming that he didn’t want it turning into some frat boy love nest accessory like the rest of his apartment had.

Skinner didn’t press for details.

His eyes tracked the cord from the back of the frame, down the side of the table and across the carpet to the bookshelf. From there, the rope snaked up the shelf and was double wrapped around the fish tank, almost obscuring the tetras’ view of the Christmas tree in the far corner of the room.

It was Christmas Eve, and Fox Mulder had apparently gone mad.

An exhausting day of too much coffee, too much paperwork, too many meetings and not enough rest just so he could take Christmas day off had Skinner simply shrugging and opting to go along with whatever odd flight of fancy had taken his lover this time.

Careful not to trip over the cord, Skinner carried the picture over to the fish tank, liking the way the shiny satin felt on his fingertips. Only after he had set the frame down on the shelf did he see that the cord continued its journey beyond the fish.

Intrigued now, Skinner tracked the satin rope over to the small bar next to the dark green Christmas tree decorated with small red lights and gold and white ornaments, and found the next knot was around a stuffed sheep, sitting suspiciously next to a tumbler with two fingers of scotch poured into it.

Skinner found himself grinning foolishly as he drank the scotch and squeezed the plush animal just hard enough to trip the mechanism inside it; A sped up music box version of “We Wish You A Merry Christmas” came out of the lamb.

And the cord carried on its odd path through the room.

Skinner finished his drink, stepped carefully over the cord, and followed its progress up the stairs.

On the landing, the cord was knotted tightly around a small pink plastic horse with an impossibly long mane and huge ‘I’m cute gotta love me’ eyes.

Skinner hadn’t risen to his position in the FBI on good looks alone—a skilled investigator, he was beginning to piece together the clues.

A half table next to the bedroom door, the twin to the one at the front door, held the next items, also attached to the cord, and Skinner paused here, frowning and curious. 

Two of the ugliest creatures Ty had ever created for their Beanie collection were tied to the cord by their feet. Skinner had seen them once before, on one of his fruitless hunts for the ever-elusive Ty Beanie Fox with Brown Tummy, and he had thought they might be sandpipers, or roadrunners, or maybe even kiwis. He had never investigated the matter further.

Just as he was about to chuck his current theory, he noticed that Mulder had conveniently left a pocket Audubon guide next to the birds. A page was book marked with the menu from their favorite Chinese take out restaurant. 

As he opened the book and removed the menu, he remembered the fortune he’d received in his cookie last time they’d ordered in; “May you live in interesting times.” Then he remembered how the salty taste of soy sauce had mingled with the flavor of his lover, and another grin creased his lips, making this two in one evening, and he chalked it up to holiday spirit.

The book told him all about the nesting habits of egrets, and the cord continued under the closed bedroom door.

Hesitating only for a fraction of a second, Skinner eased the door open.

He didn’t care where Mulder had found a life sized fake moose head. He didn’t take time to examine it closer. He didn’t want to know if the antlers were authentic. He simply moved the Beanie birds down to number two on the ugliest list, and offered up his third smile of the night to Fox Mulder.

His lover was lying on his side on the bed, the shaded soft light from the nightstand making his bare skin glow like burnished gold and his hair shine with soft cinnamon highlights. There was a gleam in his eyes, and a jaunty red Santa cap on his head.

“And a hippo gnu deer,” he said, holding his arms out to Skinner.

The End.

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