"Hey, Spooky! You going down to the office Christmas
party?"

I shake my head, not even bothering to glance up from
the papers spread out on my desk.

"Aw, c'mon," Colton urges. "You might get to catch one of the secretaries under the mistletoe."

"Like Mildred?" I ask with a grin. Mildred is my
secretary. She's in her late 50s and somewhat
overweight. I like her - she's competent and
kindhearted - but anyone who tried to corner her under the mistletoe would definitely have knocked back one eggnog too many.

"No, not Mildred," Colton says with exasperation. "One of the pretty ones."

"None of them are as pretty as Scully," I point out.
Which is true. The only one who even comes close is
Kimberly, Skinner's secretary. The only reason I think she's kind of pretty is because she looks a lot like Scully; she's several years younger and a couple of inches taller but, from the back and from a distance, I once mistook her for my wife.

"I give up," Colton says, "you're just too married."

***

By avoiding the party, I manage to slip out of
headquarters a few minutes after three. It's Christmas Eve and I'm anxious to be home with Dana and Melissa, our beautiful baby daughter. She's six weeks old.

I pull into the garage and enter the house quietly.
Melissa still hasn't settled down to any kind of
predictable schedule. I never know when she and Dana
may be napping.

I find them by the Christmas tree in the living room,
my daughter gazing up at the lights on the tree and
her mother gazing down at her.

"You look beautiful," I whisper to Scully. "Like a
Madonna."

"Thank you," she whispers back, kissing me softly.

***

"You look beautiful," I repeat again, a few hours
later, when Scully emerges from the bathroom ready to
attend Christmas Eve Mass.

"You don't look bad yourself, Fox," she murmurs. I'm
wearing my gray suit, which she prefers over my black
or navy blue ones. She is wearing a green velvet dress and Melissa is attired in a matching red one. Our daughter's hair - what there is of it - is dark like mine, not red like Scully's.

"I thought you didn't like to wear green," I point
out. "You once said that green clothing with your red
hair makes you look like a Christmas tree."

"It does," she agrees. "But, just for tonight, I think that's appropriate, don't you?"

I nod.

***

Later that night, we sneak down to the living room and fill the stocking - hand-embroidered with Melissa's name by her doting Grandma - with small presents. We realize how absurd this is; Melissa's not even two months old yet. Still, we enjoy it, establishing a ritual that we'll continue for years to come.

Then Scully and I walk upstairs and climb into bed,
where we cuddle up. I resist the urge to ask her how
long it will be until we can do more than just cuddle. When she's ready, and the doctor has told her it's okay, I'm sure she'll let me know. I don't want to push her.

"What was your favorite Christmas ever?" Scully asks
me sleepily.

"This one."

"Before this one, silly."

"Last year."

"Mul-der! Last year we were at my brother's house for
Christmas. He made us sleep on a fold-out couch in the middle of the living room!"

"I got to fall asleep with you in my arms, sweetheart, and wake up with you the next morning. That made it my favorite."

"Okay, other than those two.

"When we went to the Haunted House together and saw
the ghosts."

"We didn't really see ghosts, we just imagined them!"

"Scul-lee!" I start to whine about her refusal to
accept the existance of real, live (or, rather, dead)
ghosts that we saw with our own eyes. But then I
decide to drop it. Who cares, really? I mean, I care,
but not enough to start an argument about it on
Christmas Eve with my wife. Scully is usually pretty
even-keeled but she suffers occasional bouts of mild
postpartum depression and tends to burst into tears at the drop of a hat lately. "Okay, fine. When we went to the UNhaunted house and imagined we saw ghosts."

"Do all your favorite Christmases involve me?"

"Yeah."

"What's your favorite Christmas from before we knew
each other."

I'm silent for a moment, searching my memories. "Some
when I was real little, I guess. Before Samantha was
taken. Usually my grandparents would come and spend
the holidays with us. That was fun."

"Poor Fox," Scully says, cuddling closer to me.
"Didn't you have any Merry Christmases between
Samantha and me?"

I search my memories again. "There was one Christmas,
when I was at Oxford, that I didn't come back to
America for the holidays. I went to a friend's house
for a few days instead. That was kind of nice, I
guess."

"Phoebe?" Scully asks, her voice muffled.

I laugh softly. "No, not Phoebe. She was an atheist, I think. This was David, my roommate. His father was a minister and he had this huge family. He was the
oldest and they were all boys except for a little girl of about five. She still believed in Santa Claus  or Father Christmas or whatever they called him - and all of us boys got to sneak down and put presents in her stocking. I enjoyed that."

"Mmm!" says Scully, sleepily.

***

The next morning, we are up before dawn. This, of
course, has nothing to do with it being Christmas.
With a baby in the house, we're always up before dawn. I put on a pot of coffee and slide a pan of
heat-and-serve cinnamon rolls into the oven while
Scullly nurses Melissa. Then we gather under the tree
to open our presents.

We take turns opening Melissa's presents for her. Most of them, of course, she won't be able to use for
months - maybe even years  - yet. Books and toys and
things like that.

Scully's bought me several nice things - shirts,
books, CDs - but my favorite present is the one that
says "To Daddy, from Melissa" on it. I open it to find a framed picture of Dana and Melissa, wearing the same dresses they had on yesterday evening. "It's
beautiful. I'll put it on my desk," I say.

I bought Scully several presents, too. And even put
"To Mommy, from Melissa" on one of the bottles of
perfume. But the one I'm nervous about is a tiny one
that's almost buried under the rest of the boxes. One
thing I've developed a real compulsion about since our marriage is buying jewelry for Dana. I'm not talking costume jewelry, either. Really nice, top-of-the line stuff. I figure I can afford it; not only do I make a decent salary as an F.B.I. agent, my parents left me loads of assets. Sometimes, though, Scully seems to feel I'm going overboard.

When Scully reaches for the tiny box, she smiles. "A
small box from my Fox," she says. "That means it's
either more jewelry or another key ring." She pops it
open and gazes at the ring inside. It's a large opal,
surrounded by tiny, glittering diamonds.
 
I thought," I say softly, "that since I never bought
you an engagement ring. . ."

"Mulder," she points out, "when you bought me the
pearl earrings on our honeymoon, you said  *THOSE*
were because you'd never bought me an engagement
ring." Then she smiles and kisses me softly on the
mouth. "Thank you. It's beautiful."

***

Soon, our Christmas guests begin to arrive. Maggie
actually shows up while we are still in our pajamas,
but that's okay; she's family. The reason Maggie is
here so early is the result of an agreement she and
Dana made. We had a big Thanksgiving dinner at
Maggie's house; Bill and his family were there, but
Charles was still at sea. Maggie wanted us to come to
her house for Christmas dinner, as well, but Dana
wanted to do that one at our house. They compromised
on having it here, and us buying all the ingredients,
but Maggie doing most of the actual cooking.

Around noon, Langley shows up. He looks strangely
bereft without his partners in geekdom. But Byers has
gone home to Pennsylvania for a week and Frohike is
spending the day with his elderly father and aunt in
Virginia. "Don't you have a family, dear?" Maggie asks him. This is a question for which - despite our years of friendship and some F.B.I. computer-assisted
snooping - I've never been able to get a straight
answer on. However, Maggie succeeds where high-tech
failed.

Langley shakes his head. "Nope. My mother died while I was in college. It was only ever my mother and me the whole time I was growing up. She was a single mother; my father left before she even knew I was on the way. Her parents kicked her out once they knew."

"How sad," murmurs Maggie. I know that Maggie, despite her belief in the importance of saving sex for marriage, would never have abandonded one of her
daughters in their hour of greatest need.

Shortly afterwards, our final guest arrives. It's
Skinner.

"Why, hello, Walter," Maggie says. Her skin is
flushed, either from the heat of the kitchen or
holiday exuberance or. . .something else. Dana has a
theory that her Mom has a tiny bit of a crush on our
boss. At first I thought this was absurd - Maggie's a
good ten years older than he is - but lately I'm not
quite so sure. I don't even know, honestly, why I
should consider it absurd. After all, Diane Fowley was six years older than I am and she had not just a
crush, but an actual affair, with me when I was in my
late 20s and she was in  her mid-30s. Maybe it's just
the idea that a grandmother of three - Bill Junior's
two boys, in addition to Melissa - isn't supposed to
be a sexual creature. I realize that's ridiculous.
Thirty years from now, when Melissa's all grown up
with children of her own, I will undoubtedly still be
interested in doing the naked pretzel with Dana.

"We're very glad to have you join us," Scully says to
Skinner. "But I confess to being curious as to what
you usually do for the holidays.

Skinner shrugs. "For the last few years, usually
nothing. Early on in our marriage, Sharon and I got in the habit of spending Thanksgiving with my folks and Christmas with hers. I still spend Thanksgiving with my brother and his family in Wisconsin every year - food, football, hunting - it's great! They'd welcome me back again for Christmas, of course, but it always seems like too much of a hassle to go back barely a month after my last visit."

***

We sit down and eat a feast that would feed the entire F.B.I. The five of us barely make a dent in it.  Just as we are finishing, we hear Melissa begin to fuss over the intercom.

"I'll go up and get her changed and fed, then bring
her back down to open presents," Dana says. Scully's
still kind of modest about breastfeeding Melissa in
front of anyone other than Maggie and me, so I figure
it will be a while before she returns.

"Well, if everyone's finished, Fox and I will clear
off the table," Maggie says. "It's nice that you'll
have some leftovers." I think we'll probably be eating the leftovers from this meal 'til Melissa's in
kindergarten, but I don't mention that. Skinner and
Langley load the dishwasher while Maggie and I try to
get the remnants of dinner stuffed back into the
refrigerator.

Later, we all gather around the Christmas tree, with
everyone oohing and ahhing over Melissa. We open all
her presents first. Langley brought three teddy bears; one from him, one from Byers and one from Frohike. Maggie brought her clothes and Skinner brought her books.

We continue to open and exchange presents. Both
Langley and Skinner look faintly bemused at the fact
that we actually bought and wrapped presents for them. Finally, there is only one small box left under the tree. The tag reads: To Mulder and Scully From
Skinner. I hand it to Dana and she slowly unwraps it.
Inside is a cross identical to the one she's wearing
around her neck.

Skinner shrugs. "I figured you two ought to each have
your own. This way, you won't have to keep swapping
that one back and forth."

Dana laughs and leans over to give Skinner a kiss,
which seems to surprise him.

***

By early evening, all the guests have left. We managed to pawn a few leftovers off on Langley, although he assured us that Byers and Frohike always bring back enough leftovers to keep the three of them fed through New Year's. Melissa has been bathed and  changed for bed; now Dana is upstairs in the nursery, nursing and rocking her. I'm downstairs by the Christmas tree, feeling a bit melancholy. During my childhood, I always used to feel this way on Christmas night; everything was over for another year. For many years, I felt more a relief that it was finally over. Despite the tinge of sadness, I'm actually glad to have this feeling again.

Scully comes downstairs with a smile on her face. We
have a quilt on the back of the couch that we usually
put Melissa down on. She spreads it under the tree and smiles at me again, patting the spot beside her.

Oh, God, Scully! Don't do that! All she's done is
smile at me and I'm instantly rock hard. I know she
just gave birth a few weeks ago, that she's up at all
hours of the day and night with the baby, that we just hosted a Christmas dinner for six. . .in short, I know I'm a pig for wanting to jump her. But I've always had a fantasy about making love beneath a Christmas tree and I just love her so damned much...

As I sit down beside her, she reaches into the pocket
of her robe. "I have one more present for you, Fox. I
didn't want to give it you in front of anyone else.
Not even Melissa, although I realize that's silly;
she's just a baby and wouldn't understand."

Scully holds out a brightly wrapped box. It's about
the size and shape of the boxes toothpaste comes in. I wonder if she's trying to gently tell me I have bad
breath or if it's got something to do with the fact
that I always squeeze the tube in the middle. I open
it to find a box of K-Y Jelly. I glance up at Scully
with a grin on my face to see that she's actually
blushing!

"When I went to the doctor for my checkup a couple of
days ago, she said we could resume. . .marital
relations. But she said as long as I'm breastfeeding
Melissa, my natural lubricaton might not be enough."

"Dana," I murmur, dropping a trail of kisses along her jaw and down her neck, "I'll be happy to let you put that stuff on me if you want. But I can think of a *MUCH* better way to make sure you're wet enough."

I push open her robe and discover, to my delight, that she's naked beneath it. I continue kissing her - down the valley between her breasts and her soft belly - till I can nuzzle my nose into her riot of red curls. Then I begin to lick her slowly, flicking my tongue in and out. Despite the delicious dinner Maggie cooked, this is far and away my favorite taste treat of the day.

When I lift my mouth to smile at her, she whispers,
"Lay down."

I comply and she slides her hand down my chest and
skims it back up my thigh. She reaches for the jelly
and squirts some in her palms, then begins working her hands up and down my erection.

This actually feels pretty good. The lubricant allows
her hands to glide easily up and down me.

"Fox?" she whispers.

"Mmm?"

"I'm a little nervous."

"Me, too," I agree. "I'm worried I'll hurt you. So. .
.just let me know, okay, sweetheart? If I need to go
slower - or even stop completely - I will. Did you
want to be on top?"

"No, you. And there's one other thing my doctor told
me that I need to make sure you know."

"What?" I ask, my voice growing ragged. I want to hear this, I really do. God knows, I don't want this to be an uncomfortable or unpleasant experience for Dana. But it's been three months since I was last inside her and my control is wearing thin.

"She said, as long as I'm breastfeeding, I might not
be able to climax. The important thing is, you have to realize that it's just a hormonal thing; if I don't. . .it won't be like you're doing anything wrong."

"Okay," I whisper. "I love you, Scully."

"I love you, too, Mulder" she replies.

I rise above her and she gently guides me so that the
tip of my cock rests against her entrance. I mean to
go slow but, unexpectedly, she tightens her legs
around my hips, forcing me all the way in with one
quick thrust. My eyes go wide with wonder and the
sensation.

"Oh, God, Scully," I whisper.

"What?"

"You feel. . .different. It's like," I pause to gather my thoughts and try to explain the feelings rocking through me, "before you were smooth inside. Hot and tight and wet but. . .slick. Now it's. . .like there are ridges inside you. I didn't think anything could be better than making love with you had been before, but this. . .it's simply unbelievable." I pull out slightly and push back in slowly, to feel the sensation again.

Scully smiles up at me, a sexy relaxed smile. "That
feels good."

I manage to keep going for a long time, gliding in and out with slow strokes. Eventually, however, she begins to urge me to go more quickly. Thinking maybe the stimulation is beginning to get uncomfortable, I pick up my pace. Usually Scully comes first, but maybe she's not going to this time. However, just as I climax, I feel her tighten around me and sigh out my name.

When we can speak again, she leans up to smile at me.
"That was wonderful, Fox," she whispers. "I didn't
think I was going to come, so I didn't try to push it. I was just enjoying the closeness, the sense of unity; but then, right there near the end, I just. . .oh, wow!"

"I'm glad you enjoyed it, Dana," I murmur. "I always
have more fun if I know you're having fun, too."

"Mulder, you know the phrase the twelve days of
Christmas?"

"Sure."

"Well, despite what most people seem to think, it
doesn't mean the twelve days *BEFORE* Christmas, with
this being the last one. In the Catholic liturgical
calendar, this is actually the first day of the
Christmas season."

"Mmm?" I ask. This is interesting enough, I suppose,
but I'm not really in the mood for a church history
lesson at the moment.

"Mulder," she whispers with a teasing lilt to her
voice, "I think it's very important that we celebrate
every night of the Christmas season; don't you?"

I give her a grin. "Sounds like a plan, sweetheart."