Title: The Night Before Christmas

Author: Vickie Moseley

Summary: Another Christmas Story inspired by the Amy Grant song of the same name and correcting part of Season 8. Religious overtones, but nothing too heavy.

Spoiler: 'Without' (but no new characters appear)

Category: A, A, and more A. MSR

Rating: G

Disclaimer: It's Christmas, Carter, so I guess I'll cut you some slack. Thank you for the show from Sept. 1993 to May 2000. I won't make any money off this.

Archive: yes

Finished: December 22, 2000

WARNINGS: Major TISSUE WARNING in effect (but trust me not to do anything rash) and this is a DOGGETT-FREE ZONE

Happy Hanukkah, Evil Twin, thank you Mary!, and Merry Christmas to everyone

The Night Before Christmas

By Vickie Moseley

Comments to vickiemoseley1978@yahoo.com

Fox Mulder was dying.

Mulder's death sentence was not given in a courtroom, but in a hospital doctor's office. Just three short months after he returned from his abduction, the fifth neurologist calmly gave the same prognosis as the last four. Mulder was dying of a brain tumor and had only days to live.

His partner of seven years, wife of mere days, sat by his side, holding his hand in an iron grip. No tears on either face, they took the news with little surprise. It had been a futile hope, at best, and even Mulder had come to put little faith in futile hopes.

Now, on the 24th of December, on the very eve of a new Millennium, Mulder waited for death.

Scully had been restless all day. She moved slowly, in deference to her condition. Now almost 9 months into her pregnancy, her once lithe body had grown awkward and cumbersome. She no longer sat back in a chair when there was no one around to help her out of it and had taken to perching on the edge of Mulder's bed, running her fingers over his hands and arms, adjusting his pillows when he grew uncomfortable. Watching him sleep, knowing that each time he closed his eyes might be the very last time she would see those hazel depths.

Her heart ached deep in her chest. She had never once believed that he wouldn't be found after his abduction. Never once allowed herself to think that she might never see him again. And that faith had been rewarded just as the autumn leaves started to fall. Their joyous reunion had been short lived, however, when Mulder began to experience headaches and double vision. Only then did he reveal to her the illness he'd been struggling against since the fall of the year before. Only then did he finally confide in her the details of the treatments he'd been receiving for a tumor of unknown origin that was slowly destroying his brain.

It wasn't cancer; all the tests came back negative for any sign of carcinoma. In its initial location, it had proven to be inoperative. Radiation was found to be totally ineffective, as had several types of chemotherapy. Scully quickly exhausted the group of neurosurgeons and neurologists who could even begin to understand the illness, much less cure it. In the end, pain control had been the only course left to them.

They had talked for hours back at the end of October, when it appeared that the chances of survival were dimming with each doctor visit. They had skirted the issue of the baby in Scully's womb, not because they didn't want to discuss it, but because Scully refused to allow it to be brought up. She was totally focused on finding a cure and didn't want to cloud the discussion with the inevitable decisions of how this child would affect their relationship, a relationship that had just begun to flourish before Mulder's abduction. But after the fourth neurologist had given them the dire news, Mulder refused to be put off any longer.

"It's my child, Scully. You know that, I know that. And I'm sure that whatever 'powers that be' know that as well. So why can't this baby have my name?"

Scully was a little stunned at his vehemence. "Mulder, I intend to list you as the father on the birth certificate," she assured him. "It will be your child, your son. Don't ever doubt for a moment . . ."

He cut her off with a fierce glare and a wave of his hand. "But you don't want to be tied to me, is that it?"

Again, she was shocked at his anger, and his words. She'd spend every waking hour searching for a cure, spent countless days sitting in doctor's offices waiting for more bad news. Not to mention the fact that Mulder was now living at her apartment. Most days he was able to function normally, even though the headaches and the vision problems put him on medical disability almost before he'd had a chance to look at any possible return to work.

But on his bad days, he was bedridden, either in extreme pain or lethargic from the heavy narcotics that kept that pain at bay. And all those times, it was Scully who cared for him, made sure he ate and drank, assisted with his most basic bodily functions. It was Scully who brought him music to listen to, who read to him to get his mind off the pain. Who held his body when he shook with the tremors of the illness. Who wiped the tears from his face.

"Mulder, you're talking nonsense! What do you think this is? That I'm just your nursemaid? That I'm just with you out of some sense of loyalty to a co-worker?" she shot back, too tired to curb her own anger.

"No, I think you're afraid to make a commitment to a life that we could have lived, Scully. I think you're afraid to be my wife, even if it's only for a few weeks!" He had been having a good day, was sitting at the dining room table over an empty plate of scrambled eggs and at that moment, she had a hard time remembering that he was terminally ill.

She was ready to kill him herself.

She swallowed down her anger, and thought for a moment before speaking. "What are you saying, Mulder? Because if you're accusing me of running away from my feelings, I suggest you go look in the mirror!"

He paled at her words, and she almost wished she'd never uttered them. But her Irish temper would not let it end with just that, and her unending love for him would not let them turn this into a battle. "We've both been running away from each other for far too long, Fox Mulder. If either of us is to blame for that, I suggest it's both of us." By the look in his face, his eyes clouded with a pain that was not physical, she thought she'd gone too far. But in the next breath, his eyes cleared from his shock and he got up from his chair. Bending down on one knee, he took her left hand in both of his own.

"Dana Scully, would you do me the very great pleasure of being my wife, for as long as we have together?"

Joy, fear, hope and anguish all warred with in her, but her voice didn't betray any of those emotions as she locked her gaze with his. "I'll love you for all eternity, Mulder, if you will do the same. And I'll be your wife for as long as our souls exist."

They were married in a small ceremony on Thanksgiving Day

That had been one month before. Three days after Thanksgiving, the headaches grew in intensity, leaving him blind for long periods of time. Shortly thereafter, his breathing had begun to suffer as his brain was no longer sending adequate signals to his lungs and heart. He was hospitalized for most of December, but as Christmas approached, he begged her to take him home. They both knew it would be for the last time.

He was sitting up in their bed, covered with a wedding present--one of her mother's quilts covered him from feet to just below his arms. In the corner of the room, a six foot artificial tree twinkled merrily, a gift from the Gunmen which had magically appeared in the apartment upon their arrival home from the hospital.

"Penny for your thoughts," he said quietly, and she turned from her unfocused gaze at the lights of the tree to see him smiling at her from under his dark lashes.

She blinked and smiled back. "I was just thinking, we haven't managed to come up with a name for the baby," she said, hoping she could keep the tears from her voice. In reality, she'd dreaded bringing up the subject, since most likely, any name her husband would give his son would be bestowed after his passing. The opening lines of Charles Dickens' David Copperfield kept rerunning in her mind.

He nodded and his eyes softened. He drew in a breath and fumbled with the edge of the blanket. "I'm been thinking of that. For some time, actually. I have a suggestion, but of course, it's open to debate."

She raised one eyebrow, their longstanding signal that she was ready to hear his suggestion. It never meant she would agree, just that she was willing to hear him out.

"Nathan," he said in a voice just above a whisper. "It means . . ."

"A gift," she finished his sentence. Her smile was bright as she stilled his restless hand and brought it to her lips for a tender kiss. "I love that name. I was thinking of that one, too."

His face almost couldn't hold his grin. "Wow, Scully, you mean we finally agree on something?" he asked in mock amazement.

Her smile transformed to something more bittersweet. "We agree on most things, Mulder. We've just argued over the details."

"But not the really important stuff," he said, nodding in acceptance.

"Not the fact that I love you, and that you love me and that we both love little Nathan," she said, kissing his hand with each declaration.

"Never that," he answered and pulled her hand to his own lips to place a kiss on her knuckles. He looked at her again, and his eyes darkened slightly. "Scully, I've been meaning to talk to you about something, too," he said seriously.

She bit her lip. She hated talking about anything besides pleasant things, the here and now. She didn't want to talk about what would happen when he was gone and she was left behind with a small child and so many memories. But she knew he needed to say some things to her, find some peace for himself. Listening was the least she could do.

"When you tell Nathan about me, don't make me out to be some kind of heroic figure, all right? Tell him about the times I screwed up, the times I almost got us both killed. I don't want to be leaving behind any false impressions about me, especially to our son. I don't want him to have to live up to an icon. I don't think we ever discussed it, but my grandfather, my father's father, died in World War II. My Dad was pretty young and since his father had died a hero's death, I think it colored everything about the man. It made his life an unattainable goal, something my father could never reach. I think that's what left my Dad open to so many of the mistakes he made in his life. I don't want that for Nathan. I want him to be proud of me, but not to put me on a pedestal he can never reach."

She nodded, sensing how very important this was to him. "Only the truth, warts and all," she vowed, squeezing his hand still resting in hers.

"I have warts?" Mulder returned with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Just that one on your ass."

"Scully!" he cried out, laughing. Then he pulled her toward him, hugging her tightly. "I'm going to miss this. I'm going to miss holding you," he whispered in her ear. "But regardless of whatever happens, I will be watching you both, you know that?"

She nodded, unable to put her thoughts into words. Silently, she snuggled up next to him on the bed. "Hold me," she whispered. "Hold me all night."

He wrapped his arms around her once more, she placed her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. Only after she heard his breathing even out into sleep did she let the tears fall.

Crying silently was never her strong suit. She hated each hitch in her breath, afraid he would awaken and find her sobbing on his shoulder. She wiped angrily at her tears with the sleeve of her maternity sweater, not allowing a single drop to fall on his Knick's tee-shirt that he'd taken to wearing almost constantly since his first hospitalization.

She stared at the tree and a sudden, unquenchable hatred filled her heart. "Why, God, why?" she demanded in a hoarse whisper through gritted teeth. "Haven't we suffered enough? Haven't we been separated enough in our time? Haven't we done everything in our power to find the truth, to protect the innocent, to save lives? Why are you putting us through this? Why can't you just let us be happy for once?"

Her breathing was ragged and her vision was blurred with all the tears streaming from her eyes. She wiped at her eyes but it didn't really improve anything.

It appeared as a shimmer and she ignored it as simply being fuzz from her sweater caught in her eye. But the shimmer began to take form and substance, right there, just a foot or so from the tree.

"Weep no more," a voice said in the stillness.

She drew in a deep breath and wiped furiously at her eyes again.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

The vision before was that of a man with flowing golden hair. In his left hand was a shield, his right held a sword made of silver that sparkled with an unnatural light in the darkness of the room.

"You call me Michael. I come from the One you've cried to. I bring you . . ."

"Don't start with the 'tidings of Great Joy' crap," Scully said angrily, shaking her head. "Only one thing can bring me joy tonight. If you can't give me that, then be gone!"

"Do you believe?" asked Michael, his head tilted so that his hair appeared to glow in the lights of the tree.

Scully hesitated. Did she believe? Did she? It was the hardest thing to admit, but in reality, it was the truth. She wanted to believe. She desperately wanted to believe that an angel of God could come on this night and make her husband, her partner, her love, whole and well again. She grabbed on to that thought, that prayer and believed with all her heart. Swallowing the anger that was slowly dissipating on its own, she looked up into the heavenly face.

"Yes. I believe," she said with utmost sincerity.

Michael smiled. "Not one miracle, but two will be yours tonight. Do not doubt from whence they come. Your prayers have been answered."

Scully jerked awake. She'd fallen asleep in Mulder's arms. She could hear his quiet breathing and sighed in relief. His heart was still beating under her ear. Slowly, she became aware of a wetness under her.

"Scully, I haven't wet the bed since I was two. I think . . ." Even as he spoke the words, the first contraction hit, hard.

"It's time, Mulder. I'll call the guys." She reached over and hit the speed dial. By previous arrangement, the Lone Gunmen had been 'on call'. Knowing Mulder couldn't drive and that Scully shouldn't be driving while in labor, they had volunteered to drive her to the hospital. She suspected they had started keeping surveillance in the block down the street from their apartment, so they could be nearby when needed. None of the three would admit anything when she had let them know her suspicions.

Scully got out of the bed, only to find that more amniotic fluid was leaking with each contraction, and the contractions were much harder than she'd ever imagined they would be. She doubled over near the foot of the bed.

"I'm coming with you," Mulder announced and threw back the covers.

Scully stared at him in amazement. "Mulder, are you crazy?" she yelled at him, but to her shock, he stood up and walked steadily to the dresser where he pulled out clean clothes and hastily changed into them. When he was finished, he stood up, a surprised look on his face.

"Mulder, are you all right?" she asked anxiously.

The surprised look was still very evident on his features. "I feel good, Scully. Really good."

Quickly, she glanced over to the tree, sparkling innocently near the window. A small smile played at her lips and she whispered a quiet 'thank you'. They both jumped at the pounding on the door.

"Hope you're decent, we're coming in!" shouted Langly, as he pushed the door to the bedroom open. The look of shock on his face was priceless and he stood frozen in place so that Byers and Frohike both bumped into him.

"Mulder, um, shouldn't you be in bed . . . or something?" Langly stammered.

"Get the bag, it's in the closet. She's having the contractions pretty close together, we have to leave now. Byers, call the hospital, tell them we're on the way," Mulder directed, taking Scully's arm and helping her toward the door. No one else was moving, they were all staring at him in awe. "Hey, let's get this show on the road, guys!" he shouted and it broke them out of their spell. All three started moving at once, bumping into each other again before they finally instinctively took up different tasks. Frohike pulled the keys out of his black leather jacket pocket and pushed his way in front of Mulder and Scully, but not before leaning up to whisper in Scully's ear.

"Is he all right. I mean, you know?" he said in a gruff whisper.

"He's fine," she said with a smile. The little man just nodded solemnly and sped down the hall to call the elevator.

Christmas morning

Daybreak

Scully smooth the dark hair back from her son's head, marveling at the long lashes resting against the pink cheeks.

"He's beautiful," came the whisper beside her.

She looked over at her husband, the man she was so sure she was going to lose this day. She smiled at him and with one hand pulled him closer to place a kiss on his lips. "So are you," she whispered in return.

"I think that's supposed to be my line," he chuckled before kissing her back. They were silent for a while, just holding each other and their new son. Finally, his curiosity wouldn't let it rest. "Scully, I'm not looking any gift horses in the mouth here, but what happened last night? I mean, when I fell asleep, I didn't, well, I wasn't sure I'd be waking up again," he said, his voice tight with unshed tears.

"We had a visitor," she said softly, turning from him to kiss the baby's head again. "A messenger, I guess you'd say."

"Anybody I should be concerned about?" he asked seriously.

She smiled, putting his fears to rest immediately. "No. Absolutely not. Let's not try to analyze this, Mulder. Let's just accept our miracles and go on with our lives."

He closed his eyes, relief and joy bursting forth when he opened them again. "Sounds like the best plan I've heard in a long time." He reached out and stroked the soft hair of his son. "I'm ready for some miracles, I guess."

"Me too," she agreed. "But about his name-I was thinking. I like Nathan but I wonder if you'd object to calling him Nathaniel instead?"

"Not much difference," he said with a shrug. Then a thought came to him and he smiled. "His name means 'Gift of God' then."

She nodded, wondering if that was too much for her agnostic partner to accept in one short night. She was overjoyed at his smile and nod.

"I think that fits him very well. Nathaniel. Welcome to our family."

The end

"You don't have to be an angel

To sing harmony

You don't have to be a child

To love the mystery

And you don't have to be a wise man

On bended knee,

The Night Before Christmas

Is in You and Me"

Amy Grant

Merry Christmas, Everyone!