''Xmas'' ''Xmas''
It was that time of year again; a time of joy, cheer and "goodwill toward men". And, most importantly, a time for parties! Christmas. So, on Christmas Eve, the annual FBI Christmas do was being held at the HQ. Strangely, though, nobody seemed to recall any parties in previous years.
The invitations had arrived early that morning (5am precisely), each individually hand-typed on an old fashioned manual type-writer. There were no spelling mistakes; each was perfect. The edges were smoothly trimmed with a guillotine, and no photocopier had been used. Also, as an added detail, the top right hand corners were decorated with an elaborate filigree design, hand-painted on each.. Whoever had sent the invitations had obviously had a lot of spare time. The greetings read: "You are invited to the annual FBI Christmas party. 8-? Casual wear/everyday wear is acceptable attire. Takes place in J.Edgar Hoover Building, Washington DC. (Beverages free if you arrive in twos!)" The sender of the mysterious invitations was unknown, but several people in high power noticed the unmistakable nicotine-stained edges...
The recipients were seemingly random, but every guest arrived. They were too scared not to, or so it appeared.
So, the party was in full swing, at around about ten. Or eleven. In the darkest corner of the room, sat two familiar faces - special agents Mulder and Scully. Exactly how the latter was persuaded into going was a mystery in itself, a mystery nobody would fathom. But, nevertheless, there she was. Apparently, the offer of free drinks had appealed to most of the guests, as many were continually arriving or leaving with their 'dates' - in general, the first other FBI agent or specialist they found.
This was mostly true for our heroes. True, they bumped into each other (literally) at the door at precisely 7:58pm, but neither of them were originally going to go. Fate? Of course not - that would be irrational! The truth is, agent Mulder was bored, so decided to kill time driving around the city. it was then that he found the invitation, its strange message subconsciously ordering him to attend, or face the consequences. Agent Scully, however, was blackmailed. She could either spend an "interesting and informative" evening with the Lone Gunmen editors, Frohike, Langly and Byers, or she could go to the party with Pendrell. She'd chosen Option Two, but at the last minute, Pendrell called to say he'd "fallen ill". (In truth, the idea of actually going somewhere with her was a little too overwhelming, and he'd chickened out.) Scully went to the party anyway, and so, the partners met, and decided to be a 'two'.
It was pointless trying to have a conversation, though; the pounding music blasting through the poky room was just too loud. They managed a 'chat' on a piece of paper for about twenty minutes, and there isn't really a lot one can discuss in depth on a chocolate wrapper, no matter how small one's writing is. So, it worked, at least until the paper ran out. They conceded defeat in the end, sitting quietly, and both secretly wishing the other knew sign language...
§ - ¥ - § - ¥ - §
At roughly midnight, practically all of the free drinks had been consumed by practically every guest. (Except for a strange cocktail, which looked so bizarre that no-one would even try it!) All of the guests, that is, except for Mulder and Scully. Even the disc-jockey had an empty bottle in his hand. Naturally, the guests were drunk. So drunk, in fact, that nobody complained or commented when the DJ found, somewhere in the murky depths of his tacky record collection, a slow waltz. Their reaction was quite the opposite: the 'twos' left their groups and hurried to the impossibly small dance floor. Except for the 'two' in the darkest corner, who sat and inconspicuously watched. But, as with all groups, they (or, more honestly, Mulder) began to feel left out, and he quietly asked Scully if she wanted to dance. She quickly looked around to check she didn't know anybody, double checked, and, amazingly accepted the offer. Typically, as soon as they reached the floor, the music ended and everybody returned to their seats, leaving Mulder and Scully alone in the middle of the floor. They were surrounded by a circle of multi-coloured lights. Scully noticed the 'audience' were whispering to each other and pointing upwards. Instinctively, she looked up , and alerted Mulder to the sprig of mistletoe above their heads, caught in one of the spotlights.
Scully, unfortunately, had misjudged the amount of people she supposed didn't know her. Somebody reminded her that it was Christmas, and that she should find her "Christmas Spirit". Humbug, she thought, not really meaning it. When she looked back at Mulder, he had a strangely wistful expression on his face, which unnerved her. The crowd were still whispering, and at the same split second, both Mulder and Scully thought same thing: What the Hell! It's Christmas!
They heard somebody say something about seizing the moment, and Scully mentally reminded herself to have a 'chat' with that person later in the week. Neither of them could be bothered to resist the anticipating audience, and decided to follow advice and 'seize the moment'.
They looked around, looked at each other, looked up at the offending mistletoe and looked at each other again. They edged closer, as the DJ set the circle of spotlights moving. They edged closer,
and closer,
and closer still.
The whispers increased.
When there was roughly an inch between them, the Assistant Director burst in, and ordered them to go to his office immediately. The moment ruined, Mulder ran after Skinner. Scully remained, shrugged and followed, leaving after her a 'maybe-next-year' air in the room.
The reason for Skinner's calling them in was never determined; another unsolved mystery, though many believed the sender of the invitations may have been responsible. A man in higher power than Assistant Director or Director. A man who was out to stop our heroes from finding the truth...or true love...
T
HE END
(Aww.)