-begin part 4 of 4-

TITLE: "The Road Not Taken 6: Typhoon"
AUTHOR: deejay
CLASSIFICATION:
S, R/A (Story, Romance/Angst· and I _do_ mean ANGST!)
RATING:
NC-17, for same-sexual situations and adult language.

QUICK & DIRTY DISCLAIMER:
What's CC/10-13/FoxTV's _belongs_ to CC/10-13/Fox TV. Everything else is
mine. You guys go your way, I'll go mine.

SEE TRNT6 Part 1 for full disclaimer and summary.

* * * * *

<<THE DAY BEFORE CHRISTMAS>>

Scully saved the document to hard disc and floppy, went to the pull-down
menu, and clicked on 'Print'. She checked her watch (*Three minutes to
spare,* she noted with satisfaction.) and looked up from her finished
report. Mulder was squinting at the screen as he laboriously typed, the
letters reflected in the wire-rim glasses he'd taken to wearing when he
worked at the computer. "Didn't they offer typing classes where you went to
high school," she asked dryly.

Mulder never took his eyes off the screen. "Sure they did," he smiled. "It
was a great place to meet girls."

Scully threw a raised eyebrow at him. "Which explains why you're typing with
two fingers, at approximately twenty words a minute."

"Some of the great writers of history were hunt-and-peck." Mulder said
placidly.

"Name three." She leaned back in her chair with her arms folded.

Mulder clicked on a typo and wiped it out with a touch of the 'Delete'
button. He was damned if he was going to backspace it away during this
conversation. "Stephen King. Admitted as much in an interview."

"That's one."

He thought a moment. "Morley Safer."

Her eyes became hooded. "The guy from '60 Minutes?'"

"He did a piece on the Orient Express years ago. They showed him typing copy
in his cabin. Two fingers, on a Royal typewriter. I joined the school
newspaper the next day."

"I hope you were better with deadlines back then," Scully commented.

"I _always_ meet my deadlines." Before Scully could hoot, he added, "And
then I wave at them as they go by."

Scully rolled her eyes. "Okay, I'll give that one to you. One more."

Mulder stopped typing, pondered a little bit more, then said, "Chaucer."

Now _both_ of Scully's eyebrows were reaching for the sky. "Chaucer?"

He Smirked at the screen as he began to type again. "Why do you think it
took so long to write 'The Canterbury Tales'? He got all those stories in a
long weekend. It just took years to pound 'em all out."

His partner was about to make an acerbic comment when Mulder's watch alarm
went off. He looked chagrined as he turned it off. "Time," Scully said, a
ghost of a smile on her face.

Mulder seemed inordinately interested in his watch. "Well, are you
 finished?"

Scully pointed at the humming laser printer. "What do you think's happening
over there? Are _you_ finished?"

He sat back in his chair and folded his hands on his stomach. "Define
'finished'."

"'Finished' means _my_ expense report was done before noon." She stood,
straightening her jacket as she did. "_Your_ expense report, on the other
hand, is still in the conceptual stage·"

"Good fiction takes time·"

"·which means _you're_ buying lunch. Let's go."

"I hear there's a great special at the cafeteria," Mulder said hopefully,
gnawing at his lip for a moment.

Scully would not be denied. "K Street Deli. Grilled Reuben, coleslaw and
fries, bottomless glasses of iced tea, and a dill pickle the size of a
zeppelin. I've been dieting three days for this. Come on, get your coat. The
line at the counter's probably out the door as it is."

Mulder sighed, saved what he'd accomplished, and closed the file. "Don't
they feed you on the shuttle?"

"Aren't you the one who said airports installed food courts so people could
have a chance of experiencing actual _food_ while traveling? Besides, the
flight's not long enough for anything but beverage cart service. A Diet Coke
and a bag of pretzels only goes so far."

"That's for sure." He opened the bottom drawer of his desk. "Well, before we
go, I'd like to get _this_ done first." He was smiling as he pulled out a
shopping bag, gaily decorated with holly and ivy.

Scully brightened for the first time in two weeks. They hadn't discussed
exchanging presents today, and Scully hoped to surprise Mulder at lunch. For
once, she was pleased he'd beaten her to the punch. She pulled a flat square
box out of her briefcase and presented it to him. A card was taped to the
red-and-gold wrapping paper. "You go first."

Mulder grinned exuberantly as he took the package from her. "Well, I guess
it's not 'The Complete Shakespeare.'"

"It could be on CD ROM," she pointed out, giving him a taste of his own
Smirk.

Mulder just chuckled as he tore open the package. The head of a demonic
clown cackled at him from the top of a hurtling ice cream truck. Mulder's
grin doubled in strength as he turned the jewel case over in his hands.
"'Twisted Metal 2,'" he said, his voice almost reverent.

"The salesperson at CompUSA insists this version's better than the
 original." Her tone was dry, but her smile was genuine as she sat on the
edge of his desk. "I thought a man with your driving habits ought to have
the game."

"So I can keep my skills polished?"

"So you can work them out in a virtual environment. It'll save the taxpayers
the cost of all those crumpled rent-a-cars. Are you going to open the card?"

"One thing at a time," Mulder admonished her. "Don't tell me you _never_
opened a present without reading the card first."

"Not in front of the person who gave it to me," she returned, unmoved by his
argument.

Mulder laughed quietly as he tore open the beige envelope. The card was had
a Monet print on the front ö a snow scene, with a crow sitting on the fence
of a farmhouse. Mulder opened the card to read the inscription; two pieces
of hard rectangular paper fell into his lap. When he picked them up and saw
what they were, his grin went beyond boyish. "Knicks-Wizards tickets?"

Scully smiled, pleased at how much he was pleased. "I tried to get tickets
for the Bulls, but those games apparently sell out approximately two minutes
after they go on sale." Mulder picked up the other ticket, examining them
both like they were made of platinum. Scully nodded at them. "They're up a
little high, but I've been assured they're center court."

Mulder opened his mouth to speak, then grabbed the card with his other hand
and read the inscription, written in Scully's always-perfect penmanship:

*I can't count the times you've puzzled me, angered me, infuriated me, made
me feel like the world is a place that's yet to be defined. But without this
partnership, my life would be a drive across Nebraska ö never changing, ever
boring. Thank you ö For your support, for your friendship, and for teaching
me that Chinese take-out is one of the four basic food groups. Merry
Christmas! Scully.*

Mulder bit his lip as he smiled. *I may have to install a fireplace in the
apartment, so I have a mantle to display this.* "Thank _you_," he said,
looking up at her with great warmth. Scully just smiled back at him; she
didn't need to say anything else. He pushed the bag forward. "Your turn."

Scully pulled it towards her and looked inside it. She frowned. "_Three_
presents?"

"The rectangular box is for Max," he explained.

Her left eyebrow took the express elevator. "Really?"

"I think she'll like it," he said, smiling shyly. "It's a subject we both
enjoy."

Scully took note of the shape of the box. "You're not sharing your video
collection with her, are you?"

"Not the part _you're_ thinking of," Mulder chided her. "It's a tape of Game
6 of the '75 World Series. SportsChannel played it during the strike."

"If the Red Sox are in it, I know she'll love it." She touched the wrapped
videotape with her fingertips. "I'm really glad you two like each other."

Mulder leaned back and stretched. "Hey, she's the kid brother I never had."
Scully started to give him the Fish Eye, but he quickly added, "And she
cares for you. That goes a long way with me." Her expression softened, her
smile touched with gratitude. He nodded at the bag. "Go on. Open _your_
stuff."

She looked at him a moment more before she put her hand in the bag, pulled
the bright red envelope off the biggest gift, and opened it as slowly as she
could. Mulder looked amused at the display, but did not comment. As Scully
expected, it was a Far Side Christmas card; he made sure to give her one on
Christmas and birthdays. The cartoon strip was one of her secret vices, and
Mulder knew what she thought about the state of the Comics page since Gary
Larsen retired. She beamed at the familiar image and opened the card. Mulder
's handwriting was not nearly as neat as hers was; she considered it a major
victory she even knew how to decipher it:

*At heart, I'm lazy as hell. I only work hard on things I like to do. But
you make me work more, think more, and go that extra mile. You said you've
become a better agent working with me. That goes both ways. I owe you for
that, and for so much more. Have yourself a merry little Christmas. No one
deserves it more than you do. Cheers! Mulder.*

"I come out of this office with red eyes," she said huskily, "and people are
going to talk."

"They're _already_ talking," Mulder said, feigning unconcern. "You just have
to look at it from a philosophical standpoint."

She snorted. "And your philosophy is?"

"'Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke.'"

Even though she knew he took "the Never Ending Rumor" more seriously than he
let on, Scully couldn't help but giggle. She reached into the bag again and
pulled out the biggest package. It was light but bulky, and poorly wrapped
to boot. The thought of Mulder wrapping Christmas presents rocked her with
silent mirth. *Maybe he could get the Gunmen to help next year,* she thought
as she opened the package carefully. *If I videotape it, I could market it
as 'The Four Stooges Do Christmas'·*

The wrapping wasn't even close to perfect, but the oversized black T-shirt
inside the wrapping was folded quite neatly. "I'M SORRY, DID I BREAK YOUR
CONCENTRATION?" was written on the back in white silk-screened letters. The
logo for 'Pulp Fiction' was on the front, just about where a breast pocket
might have been sewn.

"Your favorite film," she commented, trying not to sound too sarcastic.

"Not my _favorite_ film," he corrected her. "My favorite film is my favorite
Christmas film."

She cocked her head. "And that is?"

He looked at her like the answer was obvious. "_Lethal Weapon_."

Scully closed her eyes and shook her head. "Boy, it's fun working with
 kids."

"Come on, W.C.," he laughed, nodding at the bag. "Open your other present."

Scully draped the shirt over her left shoulder and pulled the smaller
package out of the bag. This one was in a different paper, obviously
professionally wrapped. Inside was a white unmarked gift box, and it had
decent weight. She gasped when she opened it and moved the white tissue
paper aside. The cranberry glass candleholder wasn't very ornate, but the
simple etching on the side showed great care. She took even greater care
taking it out of the box. Even though it was wrapped in cellophane, she
caught a faint scent of vanilla from the candle inside it.

Mulder focused on her expression, holding his breath. *Did I call it? Does
she _really_ like it?* "I thought it might look good on your dining table,"
he said off-handedly.

"Mulder, this is beautiful," she said softly, holding it up to eye level.
"Where did you get it?"

"Store in one of the malls in Alexandria," he told her, letting the breath
out quietly. "Pearl Gram Something-or-other."

Scully had a flash-quick Roger Rabbit Moment. "Pearl Grant Richman? How do
_you_ know about that store?"

"A little research, and a little skullduggery." He looked excessively
pleased with himself. "I ran into Holly from Information Systems in the
cafeteria last week. I told her I was having problems finding a gift for my
cousin in Nantucket. She suggested the store."

She gave him a low-level Fish Eye. "'Ran into her?'"

He bobbed his head sheepishly. "Well, maybe it could be called a 'calculated
near-miss.'" He shrugged. "Hey, she sat with me for lunch. That's a start."

She shook her head again. *There are days when I don't have to wonder what
he was like in high school.* "Better be careful you don't get a high heel in
the head."

"I'm a lot more charming than Skinner," he purred.

"If you insist," she deadpanned. He put out his lower lip in an act of hurt.
She reached down and took his hand, squeezing it gently. "Thank you," she
said, her voice just as gentle.

He squeezed back and smiled. "Merry Christmas, Scully." She was about to
answer him when she ducked her head and looked away. "What," he asked,
concerned.

"I'm sorry," she rasped, putting down the candleholder to wipe away a tear.
"I promised myself I wasn't going to do this."

Mulder wanted to hug her, so he got up and did it. She returned the embrace
loosely, sniffling against his chest. "You're reacting naturally. You said
you've never been away from home for Christmas, even when you were at
Maryland and the rest of the family was in California."

She nodded, then shook her head. "You know what's funny," she said into his
MFA tie. "_You_ still could have gone." Her tone clearly said it wasn't
funny at all.

"I think your mom was just being a good hostess by telling me the invitation
was still open." Her partner shook his head. "I wasn't going to go, anyway.
No matter what I think of their behavior, getting in a fistfight with your
brothers is not my idea of a holly jolly Christmas."

Scully laughed once, and very softly. "That _would_ tend to put a damper on
things."

He kissed her forehead, let her go, and went back to his desk. His suit
jacket was draped over his chair. "Besides, I do passive-aggressive pretty
well myself. I've already told her I support you. If I do this, too, maybe
it'll put the point across a little more."

Scully picked up her presents and put them back in the bag, including the
wrapping paper. "So you didn't tell her you weren't coming because of me?"

"Not straight out, though I know she got the subtext. I told her some old
friends from out of town were visiting me, and we were going to do Christmas
together." He put on the gray jacket, not bothering to button it. "It's
_technically_ true. Glenn and Claudia Thompson _are_ in town, spending the
holidays at her parents' house in Williamsburg. I've seen Glenn once in
three years, and I haven't seen Claudia since their wedding. We're meeting
for drinks and general merriment Christmas Night."

She went over to the coat rack and got her trenchcoat. "Mulder, if I find
out you spent Christmas Day in front of the TV, eating peanut butter
sandwiches and playing Playstation·"

"First, I won't spend _all_ day playing Playstation." Beat. "There's a bowl
game or two I want to watch." He ignored the wilting look she threw at him
over his shoulder as he came over to retrieve his own trenchcoat. "And as
for the festive board, I've got a reservation for the one-o'clock sitting at
the Parkwood in Arlington. All-you-can-eat buffet with turkey and all the
trimmings, $15.95."

Scully pursed her lips. "Maybe I'd better call them. Warn them about the
oncoming locust swarm·"

"It's in their ad ö 'All you can eat.'" He made a helpless gesture, Smirking
all the while. "It's a legal contract. Don't let anyone tell you different."

"Be sure to mention that to the paramedics on the way to the hospital."

He slipped into his trenchcoat. "Don't forget your presents."

She stepped over to the desk, picked up the bag, and nodded at the tickets
and the video game. "What about yours?"

Mulder held the door for her. "They can stay. I've got to come back and
churn out more fiction."

***

<<CHRISTMAS EVE>>

The fire hadn't burned down, but it was starting to abate by the time Billy
came back into the den with an armful of logs. He put his burden in the
carrier by the fireplace, pulled the screen back, and tossed three logs on
top of the glowing remains. The wood was quite dry, so it only took a little
work to get the flames roaring again.

Karen Scully watched her brother-in-law from the other side of the room. Her
eldest son Daniel and youngest son Pete sat on either side of her; they were
too engrossed in "How The Grinch Stole Christmas" to care about what their
uncle was doing. Tara Scully watched Billy prod the burning logs with a
poker. She always watched whatever Billy did, usually with the rapt
expression Navy wives were supposed to master. Karen thought Tara looked a
little too much like Nancy Reagan at these times.

"I know you guys live in California now," Karen cracked. "But your blood
_can't_ have thinned out _that_ much yet."

Billy smiled into the fire. "A good ship's captain has to be cold-blooded."

Karen tried not to roll her eyes. "I didn't know Mom's den doubled as a dry
steam room."

Billy replaced the screen and stood up. He still stared at the flames. "We
always have a fire on Christmas Eve," he said, as if that settled
everything.

"Looks great, babe," Tara said approvingly. Karen smiled thinly but said
nothing. She threw a glance at the doorway. Her middle son Steven wasn't
back from the bathroom yet.

Billy turned and grinned at his wife. "Thanks, hon." His gaze flicked over
to Karen. She wasn't her usual bubbly self. He knew why, but he kept to the
Rules of Engagement. *Or No Engagement, in this case.* "Where's Charlie?"

Karen watched the Grinch stuff the Christmas tree up the chimney. "Putting
Caroline down."

The Scully Raised Eyebrow had been inherited across the board. "Really?"

Karen fixed him with a steady gaze ö not quite a glare, but within shouting
distance of one. "He _likes_ to do it, Billy. Ever since he came back from
the Med, he's tried to do it as much as he can."

If Billy's smile wasn't condescending, it sure did a good imitation. "I'll
have to get some pointers from him, so I can help Tara when _our_ son comes
along."

"You'll be great, Billy," Tara said from the reclining chair. She held out a
hand to him. "I know you will."

Again, Karen refrained from comment. Although they were usually a little
stiff, she liked her in-laws. She'd been an only child, so being part of a
big family was a joy to her. *Except when they start being asinine. Like
this Christmas. _Help_ Tara. Oh, you're gonna be a _great_ dad·*

Billy squeezed his wife's hand. "I don't know about you," he said to the
room at large, "But building a fire is thirsty work. Can I get anything for
anyone while I'm up?"

"I'll take a cup of cheer," Tara said immediately. "A _weak_ cup," she added
quietly.

"Aye aye." He turned back to Karen. "How about you, sis-in-law?"

Karen had moved her attention back to the television. "No, thank you,
 Billy."

Her two boys either hadn't heard him or didn't care. "That guy's taking all
the presents," Daniel informed the room, an aghast expression on his face.

"He _is_, isn't he," Karen said, feigning great disbelief.

"Better lock th' doors t'night," Pete said levelly, his head against his mom
's side. The adults all laughed, and Karen gave her son a big squeeze.

There were always two containers of eggnog in the Scully house on
Christmas ö Strong and Weak. Both were pre-mixed and kept in separate,
well-marked, easy-to-monitor containers. The Weak was your typical eggnog,
doctored with cinnamon and vanilla extract. The Strong ö also known as
Seaman's Eggnog ö was four parts eggnog and one part Jim Beam. "Goes down
like an enemy warship," Billy had heard his father say one Christmas Eve.
Billy got his first glass of Seaman's Eggnog on his first Christmas home
from the Academy.

Margaret Scully was sitting at the kitchen table when Billy came in from the
den. The stereo in the living room was on loud enough so you could just
barely hear Nat King Cole croon 'The Christmas Song.' She had a glass of red
wine in front of her. Her expression was neither happy nor sad.

"No eggnog," he asked, striving to sound light.

She gave him an unconvincing smile. "I think it's a little too powerful this
year."

"Really?" Billy frowned. He always tried to do things as well as his father.
"I can make you a glass of your own·"

"That's all right, Billy," she assured him, picking up her wine. "This is
fine."

Billy nodded, though he was disappointed he couldn't do that small task for
his mother. Christmas had been quieter since his father died, despite Billy'
s best efforts to keep the traditions going. This Christmas was the
toughest, even tougher than the first Christmas without Melissa, and he was
not pleased about it. Charlie had been all right, and the kids were
terrific, now that they all knew about Christmas. But Mother was obviously
depressed, and Karen had been barely polite with him. Any other time, he
would have called her on it, but Charlie had given him a heads-up and a
request: "Don't make waves."

They hadn't fought, exactly, but the conversation that followed was
remarkably tense. "Who's in command down there, Charlie," Billy had asked
sharply at one point.

"Just don't get into a surface battle with her while we're at Mom's,"
Charlie had asked him, ignoring Billy's barb. "I've asked Karen to hold
fire, too. You two want to butt heads about Dana, fine. But do it after the
holiday. For the kid's sake, and for Mom's. Okay? Please?"

Billy's mouth was in a tight line as he pulled both of the eggnog bottles
out of the refrigerator and poured two glasses ö Strong for himself, Weak
for Tara. He didn't like family battles. It was one of the reasons why he
loved Tara. Except for their seeming inability to make a grandchild, their
marriage had been strife-free. He felt she'd done right by telling him what
Mom had told her, even if it was said in confidence. Dana's behavior could
not be allowed. It was as simple as that. Billy had made a decision, one
that he thought Charles had made, too, and one he didn't feel he had to
defend, to his sister-in-law or anyone else. And by God, he was going to
stick to that decision, no matter what she felt about the matter.

He remembered his father's advice, given a long time ago during one of those
great conversations they had about being in the Navy. *"A commander has to
make difficult decisions, son. Some of them can hurt feelings. Some can lose
friends. Some can even cost lives. But _whatever_ decision you make, never
look back and say, "What if·" Because it's already happened. "What if·"
doesn't matter worth a damn."*

He put the eggnog away and picked up the glasses. When he turned back, he
saw his mother looking at the phone on the wall. His mouth tightened even
further. "If she wants to call, she'll call," he said, attempting to sound
gentle.

Margaret didn't look at him. "I know. She said she'd call on Christmas."
*Christmas _Night_. After you've gone.*

"Then that's when she'll call." Billy wanted to comfort her, but like so
many times before, he just didn't know how. "She made her own choice,
Mother. If she wanted to be here, she'd be here." *Instead, she's with· God,
I don't even want to _think_ about it·*

His mother's tone started to harden. "She didn't want there to be any
battles."

"Like I said," Billy said, resolute. "That was up to her. She knows she has
a decision to make." Then he added, "It's for her own good."

Margaret got up slowly and turned to her eldest son. If he hadn't been
standing next to the counter, he would have backed up. His mother kept her
voice low, but her eyes were pure fury. "Is that why you told her she couldn
't be part of this family if she· continued the way she is? Because it was
for her own good?"

"Mother·"

She stopped him before he started. "Billy, I love you very much. I know you
thought you had the family's best interest at heart. But I am _still_ _your_
_mother_," she said, deadly quiet. "I am _still_ the head of this family.
And if·" She paused, then sighed. "If a decision like that _has_ to be made·
then _I_ will make it. It will not be made _for_ me, without even asking me
a question. Is that understood?"

"Mother·" *Don't whine, damn it·*

"_Is_ _that_ _understood_, William?"

Whenever she called him 'William', Billy felt about two feet tall. His eyes
dropped to the parquet floor. "Yes, ma'am."

Margaret stared at Billy. She had never hit her children, agreeing with her
husband that a firm word did more than a quick slap. When her children did
something wrong, they knew it, and their parents' disappointment was more
than enough reprimand. She always wanted to hug her children after
disciplining them, but soon learned that this was counter-productive to the
exercise. She felt no urge to hug her child now.

"So _there_ you are," Karen's voice floated in from the living room. "And
what do you think _you're_ doing, young man?"

"I'm just _looking,_ Mom," Steven's raspy voice answered.

Margaret and Billy came out of the kitchen. Karen was kneeling in front of
the Christmas tree with Stephen. Wrapped presents of all shapes and sizes
were clustered around it. There would be more presents tomorrow, and that
made Margaret Scully smile. Christmas was better when Santa Claus was
involved in the equation.

"Better be careful," Billy said solemnly. "You don't want Santa to find out
you're peeking at your presents."

"He's left the North Pole already," Stephen informed him, in that tone
children get that says, *Don't you know _anything_?*

"He could have a satellite uplink in his sled," Billy pointed out. "He's a
high-tech guy."

"And even if he doesn't," Margaret added, "he can still _see_ you." *Billy's
being cute, but Santa's better if he has some magic.*

Stephen looked unsure about these two divergent concepts. Since he didn't
understand either of them, he changed the subject. "Mom, I found presents
from Aunt Dana!"

Billy felt his mother stiffen beside her. Dana had dropped them off the day
she left for Boston, along with a present for Margaret from Mulder and a
hastily scribbled note. She had been at the store when Dana came by, and
found the presents in a bag on the porch. Margaret cried harder reading that
note than she did when her daughter informed her of her revised holiday
plans, and of Bill's attempt at Tough Love.

"Well, of course," Karen told her son. "You don't think she'd forget to give
you guys presents, do you?"

"No· But· how come she's not here? We got presents for _her_."

An awkward silence would have dropped on the room if Billy hadn't spoken his
mind. "Your Aunt Dana's very sick."

Karen's head whipped around. "Jesus, Billy," she hissed, forgetting her rule
about swearing in front of her children. Margaret held her tongue, but the
look she gave her son was withering.

"Oh," said Stephen. He turned to his mother. "Can we bring her chicken soup?
You give that to me when _I'm_ sick."

Karen Scully hugged her son hard. "You are so great, Stevie." Stephen couldn
't understand why Mom was crying, why Grandma left the room so fast, and why
Uncle Billy had that weird look on his face. *Mom's hugging me, though, so I
guess it's all right.*

***

<<CHRISTMAS EVE NIGHT>>

The night air was clean and crisp as the crowd bubbled out of Sanders
Theatre. They were a true cross-section of Boston: Men and women, young and
old, rich and poor, student and professional, Brahmin and Boomer. They were
children and parents and grandparents, strangers and lovers and friends,
gathered together to call out the words that signaled Christmas in Boston,
and anywhere else the Revels were held: "WELCOME, YULE!"

The Coven's seats were in the next-to-last row of the balcony, so they were
some of the last people to make their way out of the Harvard landmark. Rose
and her children were in the lead, Scully & Max bringing up the rear. The
group was like everyone else who had attended the Christmas tradition ö
smiling, laughing, a spring in their step, a tune in their heads.

Scully knew Max could make her smile, but when she got on her shuttle flight
earlier in the day, she still felt low enough to believe laughing would not
be an option on this trip. She had been proven wrong in spectacular
fashion ö first at a rowdy Christmas Eve dinner with the Coven and Neesie's
new husband Chris, then with the Revels. Celtic music rang in her ears as
she stepped into the chill. "That was _far_ too much fun," she enthused,
buttoning her coat.

"Wasn't it just?" The marble steps tended to be slick in the cold, so it
looked perfectly natural for Max to take Scully's arm. "I've gone every year
since I was three. Turned these guys on to it as soon as I could."

"_I_ knew about it before," Neesie admonished her friend. "They do it in New
York City."

"They do it in DC, too," Scully added. "Every year at Lisner Auditorium."

"Did you ever _go_," Max asked them, using the tone she saved for a perp who
'd made a mistake during an interrogation.

"No," Neesie said after a moment, adding quickly, "But I heard about it."

Scully ducked her head, mildly chagrined. "I've always _wanted_ to go, but I
either had other plans or was too busy with work to get tickets."

"You snooze, you lose," Max said sagely. "We take turns standing on line the
morning the tickets go on sale. It's the only way you can get seats for
Christmas Eve."

"'Take turns,'" K.C. whooped, blowing on her ungloved hands. "That's a
laugh! I've done it three years in a row!"

Rose kept her eye on her kids as the group walked toward Harvard Garage.
"Serves you right for getting the short straw every time. Harry, don't run!
Stay close, please!"

"Yes, Mom," her eldest son groaned.

"Did you think last year's show was better, Max," Chris asked over his
shoulder.

Max considered. "Well, the cast was better this year. Last year was the
original show, though, so that kind of gave it a historical push."

"I keep promising myself I'll try out," Chris said. "But the time commitment
is a bitch."

"You can _try out_ for this," Scully asked, surprised.

"Oh yeah," Max nodded. "The only difference between the Revels and regular
Community Theater is the public radio broadcast."

"I couldn't do it," Rose declared. "I'd take one look at that crowd and melt
into the stage."

"Rose," K.C. cried, "your choir just did 'The Messiah' three days ago, and
there wasn't an empty pew in the church!"

"That's different," Rose insisted. "_That_ wasn't Sanders Theatre, and I was
hiding behind the rest of the alto section. There's no place to hide on that
little stage. The audience is practically on top of you."

The cars were parked on a side street within half a block of each other, the
Boston equivalent of a Christmas miracle. After a long round of hugs and
kisses, Scully & Max followed K.C. to her Volkswagen while Rose piled her
kids into Neesie's Volvo station wagon. "You can tell we're getting old,"
Max cracked. "We've got to break up the car pool into two groups."

The convertible top of K.C.'s Cabriolet had been patched twice with duct
tape, but the makeshift repairs didn't stop the drafty conditions that
prevailed thruought the winter. Scully & Max piled in the back while K.C.
got behind the wheel and started the engine, bringing the radio to
unfortunate life:

"Grandma got run over by a·"

The three women screamed as one. "NO!"

K.C.'s hand shot over to the radio and switched off the offending noise.
"Serves me right for having Christmas songs on when we parked."

"It's better than the Barking Dogs," Scully said firmly.

"That's like saying Michael Bolton's better than Neil Diamond," K.C. said
derisively.

"We're just lucky we're not riding with Rose," Max laughed. "Her kids love
_both_ those songs!"

"They'd have an alibi if Mulder was in the car," Scully said, snuggling
close to Max to ward off the chill of the car. "It's his favorite Christmas
song.

"Maybe you don't want to meet this guy after all, K.C.." Max took Scully's
hand with both of hers and rubbed it to get it warm.

K.C. revved the engine in an effort to get the heater going. "Much as I love
Danny and Harry, I still say cats are better than kids. Cats don't outgrow
clothes. Cats don't crack up your car. Cats won't turn on you when they
become teenagers. And cats·"

"Always want to snuggle with you, no matter _how_ bad you look," Max chimed
in. She'd heard this rap before. "Meanwhile, your apartment smells like a
litter box, and your furniture looks like the Tasmanian Devil's been
snacking on it."

"A small price to pay," K.C. maintained. She put the Volkswagen in gear and
moved off.

"You're gearing up to be one of those weird old neighborhood ladies, K.C.,"
Max kidded her. "Lives in this beat-up house with eighteen cats. The grass
hasn't been mowed in who knows when, and there's two years worth of
newspapers stacked up in the living room."

"Better be the Globe. I'll need something to line the litter box." The staff
photographer for the Boston Herald American drowned out further debate by
turning the radio back on and pushing a cassette into the tape deck, filling
the car with the techno beat of Republika.

Max' street was only a few minutes' drive from the Harvard campus. K.C.
pulled up in front of it and turned back to her passengers. "Okay, when
should I expect you?"

"Mom says we should get there about eleven," Max told her. "Figure on us
knocking on the door about· ten thirty?"

"Works for me." Max and K.C. exchanged a hug and a kiss. K.C. took Scully's
hand as Max got out of the car. "I'm really happy you're here, Dana."

Scully smiled and nodded. "I am, too."

The former BU women's basketball player's eyes shone in the Cabriolet's
interior lights. "Anything I can do, even if you just need another ear, you
call. Yes?"

The FBI agent bit her lower lip. *These women haven't known me more than two
months, and they're treating me like a long-lost relative. I'd forgotten
what it was like to have more than Mulder as a friend.* "Yes. Thank you."
Each gave the other a kiss on the cheek. "See you tomorrow."

"Wouldn't miss it," K.C. enthused. She looked out the open back door as
Scully climbed out of the car. "Later, Max!"

"Drive friendly, sweetheart," Max called out. Scully closed the door and
K.C. sped off towards Mass Ave.

Scully waved at the receding taillights. "She's great."

"Always has been," Max agreed.

"Does she always come to Christmas dinner?"

"Ever since junior year," Max informed her. "Mom kind of adopted her."

Scully lowered her arm. "Am I being adopted, Max," she asked quietly.

Max' mind was fast on its feet. "No chance," she said lightly. "You have to
_sleep_ your way to the top in _this_ town, sister!"

Away went Scully's melancholy. Every time it had tried to encroach on the
evening, it had been slapped away, and Max was usually the one wielding the
backhand. Scully took Max' hand. "Ooooh," she chortled. "Lucky me!"

They grinned at each other, and then Max pulled Scully into the middle of
the road. "Come on. Let's look at it again."

"If you insist," Scully said amiably, allowing herself be led across the
street. She wanted to see it again, too, but was glad Max said it.

They moved between parked cars, climbed over small snowdrifts, and stepped
onto the sidewalk. Max turned to face her building first, looking up with a
smile. "Ohhhhh yeah," she sighed.

Scully stood shoulder to shoulder with her lover. "Isn't that pretty?"

The tree stood on a table just below one of Max' living room windows. It was
only about three feet tall, which was why it needed a table to be visible,
but Max had loaded it with small white Christmas lights and strands of gold
stars. It gleamed out at the night from the darkened apartment, a vision of
holiday spirit.

"That is sohhhhhhhhhh cool," Max whispered. She put her arm around Scully's
waist.

Scully returned the gesture without hesitation. "Is that where you always
put your tree?"

"I guess," Max said, shrugging. "I've never had a tree in that apartment."

Scully's head turned in a flash. "_Never_?"

"Nope." Max shook her head.

"Why not?" *She goes to the Revels every year, but never had a tree in her
own apartment?*

"Well, for one thing, I didn't have any ornaments. The only ones Richard and
I had were his. Then after we divorced· Well, I just never had a reason to
get any for myself." She turned into Scully's grasp, got up on tiptoe, and
kissed Scully on the nose. "Until now."

Scully gave her a gentle buss on the forehead. "I'm glad I could give that
back to you," she said, putting her head on Max' shoulder.

They were hugging now, Max' gloved hand running through Scully's hair. "Are
you okay, Scully? I mean, really?"

Scully's hands ran down Max' back. "I won't deny I don't miss my family,
Max. I won't deny I'm sad they've· been the way they have." She raised her
head to look at her lover. "But I'm not sorry I'm here. Seeing the girls
again, being with you·" She still hadn't put on her gloves, so she could
feel how cold Max' skin was as she stroked her cheek. "I've had so many good
things, and I haven't even been here a day. It's like, every time I'm with
you·" She looked around, like she was searching for the proper words. "I
have another life. One that's warm, and safe, and full of love. It· It
reminds me what I've been missing in my life." Max closed her eyes as Scully
kissed her nose. "Until now."

Max kissed Scully's hand and pressed it to her cheek. "I'm glad I could give
that to _you_." They stared and smiled until Max looked up at the window
again. "You think the tree's too bare?"

"_Bare_?" Scully scofed. "Max, you've got about two hundred lights on a
three-foot tree! If you lived near the airport, you'd get a 747 through the
window!"

"Yeah, but there's no _ornaments_, you know? Shit, I was lucky to get
_white_ lights! The only other lights I saw were _amber_!" She stuck out her
tongue like she'd tasted something terrible.

"After Christmas Sales," Scully said promptly. "Ornaments for half-price. We
sleep in, go in the afternoon after the initial carnage has run its course.
Works every time."

Max grinned up at Scully, loving the energy coming from her. "That's what
you do, huh?"

"I used to decorate my dorm room, lights and everything. Drove my roommate
crazy. I had to throw out the old cardboard box I kept my ornaments in. The
duct tape wouldn't hold it together any more. They're all in this big purple
Tupperware thing about the size of K.C.'s car. If I ever have to move, I'll
need a fork lift to get it out of the building."

"You have a _big_ tree, right?"

"Six-foot Doug fir. I keep it up until February."

Max put her hands together, as if in prayer. "Teach me the ways of
after-Christmas ornament shopping, Obi-Wan Canoli!"

Scully laughed with delight, but she stopped when she saw Max' expression.
It had gone from joy to concern to near-horror in about three seconds flat.
"What's wrong?"

Max stepped away and took Scully's chin in her hand. "Put your head back,"
she said, pushing it back for her.

"Why? What's wrong?"

"You can't feel it? You _must_ be cold." She was searching through her
pockets. "Damn, I don't have any Kleenex. C'mon, let's get you inside." She
took Scully by the hand and led her over the snowbank.

"Max," Scully said, totally confused. "What is going on?"

"Girl, you've got a nosebleed."

<<PAUSE>>


Dana Scully will return in·

"THE ROAD NOT TAKEN 7: TSUNAMI."

Be there. Aloha. Questions, comments, flames and fan mail to
drjohn@wizvax.net.

-end part 4 of 4-