A Traditional Mulder
Thanksgiving
By Mary Kleinsmith
(Buc252@adelphia.net)
Category: Holiday
Fic, borderline MSR, but should be safe for noromos as long as they believe in
Scully & Mulder’s friendship.
Rating: PG at worst.
Spoilers: Not much. Maybe minor mentions of general
mythology facts
Summary: When Scully is at loose ends on
Thanksgiving, Mulder treats her to a look at his past.
Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully (and Maggie, too!) don’t
belong to me. Only the plot is
mine. No infringement is intended –
this is just for fun.
Author’s notes: First and foremost, a HUGE thank you to
Laura and Sally for the betas. They
always keep me honest. I apologize for
the lateness of this. I’d actually
finished it at Thanksgiving, but then I was called out of town on business for
two weeks, smack dab in the middle of the holiday season, and things got away
from me quickly after that. It wasn’t
until just before New years that I realized I’d finished it! Anyway, it’s here now, and I hope you can
enjoy it. <g>
Feedback: Yes, please?
A Traditional Mulder
Thanksgiving
By Mary Kleinsmith
Fox Mulder glanced
across the room to where his partner was on the phone. It was not proving to be a fruitful
conversation.
“No, Mom. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” She twirled her hair, something she never
did and a sure sign she was struggling.
“Mom, I understand that you want us all to be together for Thanksgiving,
but I just can’t pick up and go to California for six weeks like you can.”
She looked up and
made a drinking motion, as if she were holding a mug. He didn’t have to have worked with Scully this long to tell what
that meant. He walked across the room
to get her some coffee.
“No, Mom! I’m not faulting you for going there. I’d do it, too, if I could. But I have a job, and they get a bit upset
if I don’t come to work at least a few times a week.”
Apparently, this new
tactic – genteel humor – was working.
Scully’s face relaxed, and she even managed a smile.
“Yes, Mom. Yes, I’ll call on the day, and I’ll see you
for Christmas.” She chuckled to
herself, obviously feeling better.
“Yes, I promise. I won’t be
alone on Thanksgiving. I’m sure I can
find somebody.”
Was he imagining
things, or did she just wink at him?
“Okay, Mom. Take care, and I’ll talk to you soon. Love you.
Bye.”
She hung up the
phone gently, noting that Mulder was at least pretending to give her some
privacy, but she knew him too well. He
surely heard every word.
“So, Mulder. You gonna make a liar out of me?”
“What do you mean,
Scully?” Mulder asked, playing dumb.
And he was just too damn smart to do it well. But calling him on it would just result in a debate.
“Have Thanksgiving
dinner with me? Please?” She begged him with her eyes, daring him to
say no.
“No,” he said
simply, and she could feel her face fall.
She couldn’t believe he’d do this to her. So distracted was she that she almost didn’t hear him when he
continued in a soft voice. “Scully, you
hate to cook! I couldn’t inflict an
entire Thanksgiving dinner on you.”
“We could have
pizza, then. I really don’t care what we eat.
That’s not the point,” she argued.
“Scully, I’m not
going to let you eat pizza for Thanksgiving either.” Scully opened her mouth to speak, but he interrupted before she
could get a word in edgewise. “Tell you
what. You come with me for Thanksgiving
weekend, and I promise, you’ll have a great time.”
“Thanksgiving
weekend?”
“Yeah, Scully. Wednesday afternoon at five until Sunday
evening at eight. Plenty of time to get
ready to come back to work the next day.”
“And you’ll make all
the arrangements?”
“I’ll make all the
arrangements. All you have to do is
show up Wednesday morning with a packed bag and trust me.”
“You know there’s
nobody else I’d trust. But where are we
going?”
He ran his forefinger
and thumb across his lips. “My lips are
zipped – it’s a surprise.”
“But I have to know
what to pack!” Despite her frustrated
tone, her eyes sparkled. She was going
to enjoy this, she knew. Betting they
were going to end up in New England, she asked, “should I pack sweaters and
jeans?”
“Yes, some. But pack something nice, too. And,” his eyes gleamed back at her, “I don’t
want to see a single business suit.”
Scully laughed
aloud, finally putting herself into his hands.
“Okay, Mulder. You win! I’ll trust you to make the
arrangements.” She raised a
finely-manicured fingernail. “But don’t
make me regret it.”
“Oh, you won’t,
Scully. You won’t.”
XxXxXxXxXxX
Mulder tried to hail
a taxi outside of the Hoover building, Scully beside him and luggage tightly
gripped in their hands.
“Excited, Scully?”
he asked with a grin.
“Nervous is more
like it, Mulder. I really wish you’d
tell me where you’re taking me.”
“Spoil sport,” he
said with a smile. “C’mon, Scully. Just trust me and go with it.”
Shrugging but not
responding, she shifted her smaller carry-on bag so it rested more comfortably
on her shoulder. Just then, a cab
pulled up in response to Mulder’s wave.
Getting out, the cab
driver reached for Scully’s bags. “Why
don’t you get inside, ma’am. I’m sure
we can handle this.”
For once, she
accepted the gallantry and climbed into the heated car. It hadn’t been this cold in November in
years.
Mulder and the cab
driver loaded the luggage into the trunk, and Mulder joined her in the back
seat. The driver rubbed his hands
together to warm them. “Jeez, it’s cold
out there.” He fastened his seatbelt
and turned on the meter. “Where to,
folks?”
“Hudson Field,
please,” Mulder said stonily.
“Hudson Field is a
private airfield! Why are we going
there?”
“Two words, Scully:
Charter flight.”
“We’re taking a
private airplane?”
“I don’t know that
I’d call it private. More ‘for
hire.’ And it was cheaper than a
last-minute flight, believe it or not.”
Scully didn’t know
what to say, so she just said nothing.
The cab took them to
a small airport, barely large enough to be officially recognized. She only knew of it because they’d helped
arrest some would-be terrorists who were flying in and out of there a few years
back when the X-Files had been closed down.
Three companies now shared the buildings and landing strip, and she was
surprised to see that one of them housed a respectable-sized personal jet.
“There’s our ride,
Scully,” he said, pointing to the plane.
“Not exactly Santa’s sleigh, but then, this is his busy season.”
Mulder directed the
cabbie to pull up beside the aircraft, where she could see as they circled
around a man in a pilot’s uniform was waiting.
Her partner never ceased to amaze her, she thought. How had he managed all this?
“Hey, Jim,” Mulder
said as they climbed from the cab, reaching out to shake the man’s hand. “Thanks again for the favor.”
“Anything for an old
friend,” the pilot smiled, a handsome silver-haired man of about 40 years. “And who might this be?”
In another life or
time, Scully would have been enticed by the man’s friendliness, but he was a
friend of Mulder’s, and in this life, he was her partner, best friend, and
maybe more.
“Jim, this is my
partner, Dana Scully. Scully, this is
the best skyjock around, Jim Holland.”
She shook his hand and noted the long, graceful fingers.
“Nice to meet you,
Captain Holland.” She wondered how far
she could push him. “I don’t suppose
you’ll tell me where we’re going.”
“I’d really love to,
Miss Scully, but Mulder here would kill me if I did that.” He stepped aside, motioning to the
stairway. “Now, if you’d like to board,
we’ll be on our way.”
She climbed into the
fuselage, feeling Mulder’s presence close behind her. The interior was, to say the least, nice. Nine plush first-class-style seats filled
the passenger compartment, four rows of two and one extra at the rear of the
plane across from what appeared to be the lavatory. Further towards the tail from there looked to be a small
kitchenette with a microwave, a sink, and what may have been a refrigerator.
“Make yourself at
home,” Jim said as he moved toward the cockpit. “No others on this flight, so the place is all yours. There’s food and beverages back there once
we’ve leveled off, but we’ll only be in the air an hour or so. Stow your bags under the seats and get
buckled in. We’ll be taking off as soon
as my copilot arrives.”
Before long, they
were ascending into the wild blue yonder, and shortly thereafter, Captain
Holland informed them that they could get up if they wanted.
“Hey, you hungry?”
Mulder asked.
Scully thought about
it for a few seconds before nodding her head.
“I could go for a little snack.
Nothing bigger than a sandwich, though.”
“I’ll check it out,”
he said, unbuckling his seatbelt and rising.
“While you’re doing
that, I’m going to use the restroom. Be
back in a minute.”
By the time she’d
finished up in the tiny bathroom and washed her hands, he had a paper plate
full of crackers, cheese, and fresh grapes on the table between their
seats.
“Your snack,
m’lady,” he said as she sat. “And to
drink,” he produced two cans from behind his back, “iced tea or root beer. Sorry, there was only one of each.”
“You know root
beer’s my favorite,” she said, taking the matching can. “And I also know iced tea is yours.”
“Chalk one up to
being predictable,” Mulder said with a chuckle. They ate and chatted, but no matter how hard she tried, she
wasn’t able to get him to tip his hand.
No, their destination was a guarded secret and was apparently going to
stay that way. Her partner stood,
discarded the remainder of their snack, and reached into his jacket pocket.
The red, satiny
object he extracted was revealed to be a blindfold – the kind you buy at
Spencer’s Gifts as a joke in the “adult” section. “When the pilot announces our descent, this goes on,” Mulder
said. “And it stays on until I say
so. Okay?”
Scully smiled,
enjoying the game. “You do realize that
I could probably just look out the window and figure out where we are.”
“Yeah, but I also
know you don’t like flying enough to do that.”
She shook her head but didn’t deny it.
“If this is going to be a surprise, it has to be revealed at just the right
moment. So do you let me put the
blindfold on you, or do I tell the pilot to turn around and take us home?”
Scully laughed. It sounded like he was a father disciplining
an unruly child. What would it hurt to
indulge him?
“Okay, we’ll do it
your way,” she agreed with a dramatic, put-upon sigh. “I don’t know why I let you talk me into these things.”
So she wore the
blindfold, wondering if she was being stared at when he led her from the plane
and for a considerable amount of time while they moved from there to a building
and then to a cab. “Mulder, the last time
I rode in a car conscious and blindfolded, I was twelve, and it had a very
unfortunate result. If I start to feel
nauseous . . .”
“Don’t worry,
Scully. You give me a sign and we’ll be
sure nothing embarrassing happens.” He
sounded like he was smiling, which she was glad to hear he was. He had too little cause to smile in his
life, so if she could do that, what was a little nausea?
“Just for the
record,” she said as she felt the cab pulling into traffic, “how much longer do
I have to wear this thing?”
“As soon as we get
out of the cab, I’ll take it off.
You’re going to be so surprised!”
“At this point,
anything would be a surprise,” she responded.
As their chariot
took them further and further from the place where their plane had landed, the
sounds around them increased as well.
Car engines, footsteps, more and more voices speaking in varying
languages and honking horns told her nothing except that they were in a city,
and when she reached up to the window, it was bone-chilling cold to the
touch. The city in which they were was
in the beginning stages of a frigid winter.
Finally, she heard
Mulder tell the driver, “pull over here, please.” The cabbie responded immediately, pulling the vehicle to an
abrupt stop and cutting the engine.
“Stay right here,”
he said from his place on the left rear seat, and moments later, she heard his
door open, and then close again.
Suddenly, hands were extricating her from the back seat. “Watch your step,” Mulder’s voice said in
her ear, and then she was standing erect, listening to the car pulling away.
“Mulder, please?”
she asked, totally aware that he would know what she was asking.
“Okay, Scully. It’s time.”
“Thank God,” she
sighed, feeling the soft cloth slide against her skin as he pulled it from her
face. It took several blinks before she
could bring her vision into focus.
They were in a city,
that much was certain, but she wasn’t immediately certain which city. Until, that is, her eyes skimmed the
Broadway and West 42nd Street signs and she saw the giant beacon two
blocks south from where they stood.
Macy’s
“Mulder, are we in
New York?” She turned to him, her eyes
wide.
“Yes, but there’s
more. C’mon.” He took her arm and led her to the corner building, nodding to a
uniformed man as he opened the door for them.
It was obvious that
Mulder wasn’t going to tell his story until they were at their final
destination. They went up to the tenth
floor of the building, making their way down nicely decorated hallways to a
rich wooden door with a shiny silver lock, into which Mulder inserted a key.
The apartment was
beautiful, yet not ostentatious. The
furniture was overstuffed and comfortable, Asian rugs covering rich wooden
floors in the living room and a formal dining room with a table and matching chairs.
Speaking for the
first time, Scully spun in a circle, taking it all in. “Mulder, it’s beautiful. Who lives here?”
“Well, my dear Agent
Scully,” he said, drawing her over to the far wall where a pair of sliding
glass doors opened out onto a balcony overlooking the street below. “This is where I tell you my story.”
He gazed out the
doors to the hustle and the bustle of the city below, his eyes losing
focus. “When I was young, my parents
had a friend named Larry. I don’t think
I knew his last name until a couple decades later, but when he’d come to visit
my parents, he was just “Larry.” Larry
didn’t have a wife or a girlfriend any time we saw him, but I remember Mom and
Dad just said that he liked to ‘play the field,’ although I had no idea what
that meant when I was six. When I was
older, I came to understand that he was something of a playboy, definitely not
the marrying kind.
“Anyway, he had
family on the West coast, and used to spend the holidays with them, although my
parents invited him to spend it with us if he ever decided he couldn’t make it
cross country. He never took us up on
it, but when I was about five, he invited us to spend Thanksgiving at his
apartment in New York. Mom never was
much of a cook,” he chuckled sardonically, “but there were plenty of
restaurants in the area that would cater a family dinner for four. Samantha was too young that first year to
have any turkey, but she had her first taste of turkey gravy in this very room. But first . . .”
“Yes?” she asked,
enraptured by his tale.
“But first, I got
the biggest treat a boy could have.”
“And what’s that?”
“This balcony, and
the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade that passes right by here. After that, we came here every Thanksgiving,
and I got to see the parade and the balloons close up. And if I reached out, reached out with all
my strength and wished hard enough, sometimes,” and Mulder now reached out his
hand, brushing the window, “sometimes I’d get lucky and a breeze would come up,
and I’d get to just barely touch Snoopy, or Bullwinkle, or Popeye.
“When Samantha was
old enough, she’d reach out until he’d nearly fall off, but she could never
reach a balloon, and I wished I could give that to her. It would have made her so happy,” he said
wistfully. “It became an annual trip we
looked forward to all through the years.
Until . . .” He grew silent, and
she stepped even closer.
“Until what?” she
whispered, afraid to disturb the silence.
He continued, almost
as if he hadn’t heard her speak. “I
remember that year so clearly. Smokey
the Bear and Mickey Mouse were two of the new balloons in the parade. And Sam swore she’d gotten to touch Dino the
Dinosaur’s tail when he went by, but I teased her that she was dreaming. We were looking forward to the entire
Christmas season; I was excited because there was supposed to be a new version
of Miracle on 34th Street, and Sam was jumping around waiting for
the new Charlie Brown cartoon to be on TV that night. It was the first year for the Thanksgiving special.
“A week later, she
was gone. And we never came back here
again. I didn’t see the parade live
again until after I graduated and was able to make my own way back to New York,
but even then, something just wasn’t the same.
I couldn’t convince my mother to come with me, and I didn’t have a
girlfriend at the time. Looking back, I
know what I was missing was someone to share it with.”
Finally, he turned
to her, his eyes focusing once more.
“You’re the first person I’ve ever felt I could, or wanted to, share
this with.”
Scully didn’t know
what to say in response to his words.
She knew they were close. Hell,
he was her best friend. But they’d
always had their walls, more figurative than literal. Places they didn’t go, things they didn’t talk about, and things
they most definitely didn’t do together.
The man standing before her surely didn’t look like he had any walls up
now, and she loved how that made her feel.
“Thank you,” she
said simply, stepping into him and surrounding him with her arms. She rested her cheek against his chest,
hugging him tightly. She stayed there
until eyes she hadn’t realized were moist dried, then stepped back.
“Besides,” Mulder
said with a smile, obviously pulling away from the moment. “Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is
to go to a Broadway show alone?
Especially if you’re a guy?
Having you on my arm will keep away the vultures.”
Scully was
surprised. “Are we seeing a show,
Mulder? When? Which one?” She’d quickly
moved from surprised to excited. It
made her partner laugh.
“When is ‘Friday
night’, and which one is ‘it’s a surprise.’
But first, you have to decide for tonight. Do you want to eat a late dinner here, or go out?”
“Are you kidding?”
she laughed. “We’re in the City that
Never Sleeps! Let’s go out.”
“Go put on something
nice, and I’ll make a reservation,” he said.
“It always takes you longer anyway.”
“I don’t get to pick
restaurants?”
“Not this time. Maybe Friday.”
As she disappeared
into what she assumed was the bedroom with her suitcase, she called behind
her. “Wear the charcoal Armani,
Mulder. I might feel like going dancing
afterwards.”
And Mulder found
that he couldn’t possibly object.
XxXxXxXxXxX
The joy in Scully’s
face – rarely so expressive – was all the reward Mulder needed as they stood on
the balcony and watched the parade pass by.
His partner, the mature, adult Dana Scully, looked like a little girl.
“Mulder, I can’t
believe how colorful it all is. It
never looks like this on television.”
“Scully, I do
believe you’re glowing.”
She swatted at him
warmly. “I’ve been watching this parade
every single year, all three hours, all my life. I’ve never missed one, for as long as I can remember. Some years, I had to battle Missy or my
brothers over which parades to watch, but I never missed it. But seeing it in person . . . Mulder, it’s amazing!”
“You look like
you’re five again,” he laughed.
“You think this is
silly, don’t you?” she said, her adult mask slipping back into place.
“What can I
say? You’ve been quiet while you watched
me yell and scream at the television during the basketball finals. I’m just
glad you’re enjoying it.”
“It’s like nothing
I’ve ever experienced,” she said, turning back to the parade. “Hey, look!
I think I see Santa!”
Mulder found all he
could do was chuckle and shake his head.
And wonder how she’d react if he took her and sat her on the jolly man’s
lap.
The parade drew to a
close all too soon for either of their preferences, and they returned to the
warmth of the apartment, where they made soup and sandwiches from groceries
that they’d bought at a corner market earlier that morning. They purposefully ate a small meal, since
Mulder had assured her that dinner was going to be a feast.
He knew she was
presuming they would go out for their Thanksgiving dinner, and he let her
believe it, staying silent on the subject of their evening meal and instead
suggesting they watch a movie on the apartment’s newly-acquired large-screen
television. Instead, Scully suggested
they play a game.
Mulder rifled through
the closet. “This is where he always
used to keep the board games. Let me
see what’s in here.” His hand closed
around a box, and he drew it out to read the lid. “How about Monopoly?”
“I’m not that into
real estate,” she commented. “What else
has he got?”
He quickly added
Yahtzee, Parcheesi, and Life to the reject pile before he found one he knew
she’d like. “How about Scrabble?”
Scully merely
smiled.
“Triple letter
score!” Mulder called quite some time later, writing on the score pad. “And extra points for getting rid of all my
tiles. Which means that . . .” He smiled deviously at Scully.
“Meaning that you
win,” she said, finishing his sentence.
“Would it have killed you to let me win even one?”
“Would you really
have wanted me to throw a game? I think
I know you better than that.”
“Well, maybe
not. But still. I wasn’t the one who went to Oxford. Next time, you’re giving me a handicap.”
“You’re on,” he
said, collecting all the tiles into the bag and shaking them. “Go again?”
Just then, the
doorbell rang, and Mulder’s eyes raced to the grandfather clock along the
wall. “Oh! Be right back!” And he
was up and out of the living room before she could ask him what was happening.
She could hear him
speaking in low whispers to whoever was at the door, and some shuffling noises,
but they were obviously trying to be as silent as possible. Shortly, Mulder returned to the room and
went back to the game as if nothing had happened. But shuffling in the other room told her the visitors were still
there.
“Mulder, what’s
going on?”
“Nothing,
Scully. Now how many points do you want
me to spot you?”
She knew the look on
his face, and knew he wasn’t about to tell her anything about their mysterious
visitor. That meant she could do one of
two things: she could get up and go see what was going on, thereby spoiling yet
another of her partner’s surprises, or she could play the game and pretend that
nothing was going on until he was ready to reveal himself to her.
One thing she knew
about herself, she’d never be able to concentrate with the sounds seeping into
the living room. “How about fifty
points, and you put some Christmas music on the player?”
“You got a deal,” he
said, jumping up and picking out a Andy Williams CD. Soon, the strains of “The Most Wonderful Time of the Year” were
accompanying their latest competition.
As much as Mulder
wanted to hide what was happening, the jig was up some time later when the
smells began to permeate the room.
Somebody was bringing food into the apartment, but why was it taking so
long?
Before she could ask
the question, there was the sound of sleigh bells and then the quiet click of
the door. Mulder jumped up with the
energy and dexterity of a man half his age.
“Dinner’s ready!”
He pulled her to her
feet, but kept hold of her hand. “Close
your eyes,” he instructed, and this time, she was more than happy to
oblige. He drew her to a halt where the
smells were stronger, and asked, “ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,”
she answered.
“Okay, open ‘em.”
She opened her eyes
and couldn’t believe the beauty of what she saw. The dining room table had been covered in an antique tablecloth,
and two places were set on the table where bowls and plates of food shared
space with nearly a dozen lit candles.
Crystal water goblets held ice water and expensive-looking china cups
awaited filling with coffee. With the
lights turned low, it was breathtaking.
“Mulder,” she
sighed. “It’s beautiful.”
“Let’s hope it’s as
delicious, right?” he chuckled, sounding a bit self-conscious.
“I can tell you it
is, just from the smell,” she said, taking a long sniff. “But how could you do this? Or, more so, why?”
“Because I’m
grateful for you, Scully.” At this
point, he actually blushed. “When I sit
down and try to think of all the things in my life I have to be thankful for,
you’re the biggest one. And I just
wanted to . . .”
“Wanted to what?”
“Wanted to say
‘thank you.’ Thanks, Scully.” He led her to the table, pulling out her chair for her.
“Thank you,
Mulder.” She waited until he came
around so she could look into his eyes again.
“I know you think that I have so much in my life, and it’s true that
I’ve been blessed, but you should know that I consider having you as my partner
and my friend is one of the biggest blessings I’ve got.”
“But . . .”
“But nothing. I know you, and I know you think that you’re
not somebody who people care for, but I do.
And while I may not be the only one,” she said as she watched him look away
and laid a hand on his cheek to bring his gaze back to hers, “and while I may
not be the only one, I’m definitely the biggest one. So thank you, Mulder. And
thank you for this wonderful dinner.”
He was still
blushing and silent. He wasn’t good at
the sentimental things, and she knew it.
“So now that the
serious part of this dinner is completed, what do you say we dig in?” she
asked, smiling at him warmly.
“Everything smells great!”
“Yeah, it does,” he
said, coming back to himself again.
Once more he was the sardonic man she’d come to love.
He stood at his
place, picking up a carving knife. “So
what would you like, white meat or dark?”
The End