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Title: What Are You Doing New Year's Eve?
~~ New Year's Eve, 2001 ~~ In the far distance he can hear firecrackers popping faintly, somewhere. The night sky is murky with the forecast of snow. The fireplace feels warm and comforting on his face and bare toes. He glances at his watch; forty minutes to go, until midnight. Those firecrackers - probably Roman candles, too - are jumping the gun a little; well, it's easy enough to get anxious for that glittery ball to drop, signifying a sort of permission to reach out and kiss someone. God knows, he's spent enough New Year eves without someone to hold, and to kiss - and the solitary countdowns of those numerous events always found him nursing a beer or a glass of something potent, watching Times Square freak out. He looks into the fire and sips at his beer, and remembers...
~~ New Year's Eve, 1993 ~~ "Maybe it's much too early in the game, Three times, my hand reached for the phone - three times I failed to connect. Seven o'clock in the evening, and I was just now actually attempting to call her - What a jerk I was. She said she was fine, earlier in the week when we spoke in the office. Of course, I knew she wasn't. How could she be? She'd just lost her father. Jesus... of all the times of the year to lose someone, the Christmas/New Year's holiday was not it. How could you even begin to truly heal? The memory of that terrible day would forever be compounded by the knowledge that while you remembered, while you grieved... all around you a holiday was playing out. Of course Scully wasn't fine. I'd asked if she would stay with her mother during the remainder of the holidays. She'd regarded me oddly but her reply was mild enough. "No, Mulder... I'm not going to Mom's. She flew out early this morning, to spend a week at my brother Bill's." I watched her fidget with the space key on her laptop, finally closing the lid. Her eyes met mine and for an instant I saw such depth of sadness there... and yet when I gently insisted after her state of mind her equally-gentle, "I'm fine, Mulder," was as firmly placid as ever. Stupidly, I let it go. I wasn't sure I understood Scully's need to be alone. She had a wonderful relationship with her mother and I had always assumed in the face of a tragedy the Scullys would want to be together, to support each other. I knew the bond between Scully and her father was especially strong and although Scully felt he'd never completely approved of her decision to join the FBI, still I imagined she would know how proud of her he'd been. I didn't know until years later that some of the emotional baggage Scully carried had everything to do with thinking her Ahab had been disappointed in her, right up until his death. Still... a grieving person needs to be with the ones who loved her, I thought - or at the very least an understanding friend, at a time like this. But Scully said 'no' - and I didn't push it. I should have - but I didn't. So here I sat in my darkened living room, watching a big sparkling ball drop down on 1994 - and worrying. Wondering how Scully was doing, all alone across the city from me. Wishing I'd hung tough with her and made her come over. Or go out. Didn't matter which; the point was to get her mind off her grieving, and help her to heal more quickly. Our first year together, and so much had happened already. I had discovered that I worried about my partner, as I knew she worried about me - and I realized that I wanted to take care of her. As I knew damn well she would never truly let me do... And as the numbers '1994' lit up and filled my television screen, I wished like hell I'd insisted, made her come over, or else gone over there - made her accept whatever comfort I could offer... because there we were, both alone on New Year's Eve. Both of us could have benefited so much, from the company, however casual, of each other. Both... and yet neither - because I didn't call back after she said she was 'fine...
~~ New Year's Eve, 2001 ~~ She cuddles her son close and peers out of the window. The snow had stopped falling yesterday but the dark sky above is still heavy with clouds. She glances at the little boy in her arms as his tiny fingers toy with the gold cross around her neck. Just before her son's birth, she had looked ahead to the holidays and had imagined a much different New Year's Eve than this one. Then again, she cannot remember a time in the recent past when New Year's Eve turned out as she had hoped or planned...
~~ New Year's Eve, 1995 ~~ "Wonder whose arms will hold you good and tight, When it's exactly twelve o'clock at night..." I had planned it so differently. This year, I had vowed in an early resolution, this year I would take control and stop allowing outside forces to dictate the course of my life. I would stop waiting for life to come to me and instead I would go out and take what I wanted from it. At least, that's what I told myself. Every morning I would stumble into the bathroom and as I brushed my teeth, I gave myself a pep talk. "He's your best friend, Dana," I mumbled around a frothy mouthful of toothpaste. "Maybe he feels the same way about you as you do about him." Rinsing my mouth and spitting into the sink, I lifted my head and studied my face in the mirror. "You'll never know unless you ask," I told myself. Armed with such sage advice, I strode confidently into the basement office each morning, only to find my steps faltering when confronted by the sight of him poring over a file or popping sunflower seeds into his mouth. He would glance up to find me frozen in the doorway and his mouth would curve upward in a smile. Mesmerized by the generous fullness of his mouth and the beauty of his smile, I retreated and hid behind a steaming mug of coffee, relaxing only when he began to fill me in on the details of the day awaiting us. And I would let the moment slip away from me. "Tomorrow," I would vow silently... fiercely. And each day, tomorrow came and went without my having said a word until suddenly New Year's Eve was upon me and once again, I found myself alone in my apartment. The beautiful dress I had envisioned myself wearing remained only a dream and instead I was dressed in a pair of shapeless, flannel pajamas and making a new resolution to stop living in a dream world. Long before midnight arrived, I stood in the bathroom, studying my reflection under the harsh fluorescent lighting. "Be glad you never asked him," I told the woman in the mirror. "You saved yourself from an embarrassing situation and from damaging your partnership." The face in the mirror didn't seem interested in sharing my hearty congratulations. Her eyes were big and blue and sad. Freckles stood out in sharp relief against her pale skin and her red hair was caught back and secured with a large barrette. The loose pajamas overwhelmed her tiny frame and a body that I had to admit would never stop traffic. With a sigh, I flicked off the bathroom lights, banishing the sadfaced woman from my sight before I turned toward my bedroom. I crawled into bed and pulled the covers over my head and closed my eyes, determined to ignore the revelers already gathering in the street below. But behind my closed eyes I saw her... Dr. Berenbaum... Bambi... Brunette hair curling gently around her face; dark lashes fringing wide, gray eyes; long legs encased in tight black jeans and boots; full breasts swelling above the neckline of the scooped tank top under her camp shirt... and I remembered the phone call. "Gotta go," Mulder's suddenly distracted voice had murmured in my ear before he disconnected the phone. "Not now." His voice was rushed and I was stunned a second time by the abrupt sound of a dial tone in my ear. "I can't sleep," he told me confidentially when he finally returned my frantic calls. "Bambi says..." Shouts of laughter and honking horns filtered into my bedroom from the street below my apartment. I burrowed under the covers, desperately trying to block out the sounds as another year slipped away. "Gotta go... not now... gotta go... not now..." The voices whispered and taunted me as I tumbled into any uneasy sleep. "Gotta go... not now..." If not now, I wondered hazily... when?
~~ New Year's Eve, 2001 ~~ He comes in from the kitchen with a fresh beer in his hand and takes a long pull from the bottle as he walks to the window and stares out into the still-murky night sky. The faint sound of firecrackers has continued; occasionally he sees a flash in the distance. When he was a child he would set off firecrackers and cherry bombs in the back yard, his father overseeing the actual lighting and Samantha squirming in their mother's grip a safe distance away, demanding to be let down so she could get in on the action. He would always admonish her, "Sam, it's not safe. Fire is dangerous," while his father nodded approvingly and his mother whispered to her that she was still too young, just wait a few more years... Maybe if they'd known Samantha didn't have a few more years... maybe he would have let her light that Roman candle, and watch the excitement in her little-girl eyes as it zoomed up to the stars maybe he would have defied his father and disobeyed his mother, and let his baby sister have her moment. On the TV the sound of New Year's Eve partying in Times Square has gotten louder. The picture is fuzzy and a little snowy, but that's all right. He's used to it. He sits back down in front of the fire, pulls the worn blanket from the back of the sofa and wraps it around his feet. He could go in and get a pair of socks, but he's loath to move. It's warm and safe, here in this moment as one year drains out and another prepares to fill. He doesn't want to move except to sip at his beer and think of other late-Decembers, when old acquaintances were not forgotten. When he would have given everything to alter the way he pushed, thinking he was doing the right thing. Even though thirty minutes to midnight is a bad time to be regretting, he does just that; he regrets that his stupidity set him back, almost too far...
~~ New Year's Eve, 1997 ~~ "Maybe I'm crazy to suppose I'd ever be the one you chose Out of the thousand invitations you'll receive..." I hung up the phone with one abrupt slam of the receiver, then celebrated my anger by flinging the entire thing across the floor with enough force to break it. Stomping into the kitchen, I yanked open the fridge and grabbed at a beer, twisting off the cap and bringing it to my lips to gulp half the contents. And I burped, very loudly and obnoxiously, into the silent kitchen. Well, why the fuck not? Nobody was there to bitch at me for acting like a slob... Maybe in a little while, after the aged hops and yeasty qualities went to work on me, I'd conjure up one hell of a fart, and christen my sofa with it. Way to spend a racy New Year's Eve, you asshole. I dropped myself onto the sofa cushions and let my feet fall onto the coffee table with a thud guaranteed to crack the wood veneer. On TV Dick Clark's smarmy face filled the screen, with ten thousand wild revelers whooping it up behind him. I'd dulled the sound an hour ago... after I'd hung up the phone that first time. Her voice, broken a little, tired and raspy and hurting so badly. I could still hear it. "For the last time, Mulder... I don't want you to come over. I don't want Bill or Mom to come, either. I need to be alone, right now. I need to find my own way to heal - and I can't do that with everyone hovering." Her words cut me. I stared at the receiver in my hand as if it had bitten me. In a way, it had - because the voice in my ear hadn't sounded like Scully. Of course, at that moment I wasn't speaking to my partner Dana Scully... I had been speaking to Dana the mother who had lost a child. I would never know that feeling, in my life because the instant that voice penetrated my ear I knew beyond a doubt that the only woman I'd ever want to bear my children had just lost her first-born. I knew she needed exactly what she claimed to need: time. Time away from me. Away from everything except her thoughts. It was the way Dana Scully healed her soul. And yet, I couldn't leave it alone. Couldn't leave her alone. I was convinced that I could make it all better, simply by being with her. "Scully, it's not good for you to be alone, especially on New Year's Eve -" That was as far as I got before her angry rumble cut me off. "What the hell does December thirty-first have to do with it? It's a day, same as any other. The day after I buried a child I never got to know. Never got to see healthy and happy and mischievous. Just got to hold her when she was so ill she could only lie in my arms like a broken little doll, with no strength to barely curl her hands around my neck and hug me. And I need to remember everything about her, Mulder - right now, this instant, before those memories fade and I have nothing left of her. And I need to do it alone. You can't help me. Mom can't help me." Her voice petered out into a tiny trickle of weary sound, and her added rasp of, "Goodnight, Mulder," echoed in my ear as I sat back on the sofa, and fumed. Damn her. She needed someone to comfort her. She needed someone to hold her and tell her everything was going to be all right because they loved her and they would make it all better. Scully needed it, I knew she did. Everyone needed it, didn't they? That's what friends were for; what parents and siblings were supposed to do. Comfort - love. Care for - and she needed it. She didn't understand, not yet... but she would. I picked up the phone and dialed again - "Goddammit, Mulder! Leave me the fuck alone!" The !click! in my ear actually hurt, that time. And when I threw the phone across the room I couldn't help but wonder if she needed the comfort - or I did... I sat on the sofa and drained yet another beer, watching the damn glitter-ball drop on 1998. I restrained from performing the monumental gastronomic toot I'd threatened, when I was in the kitchen and feeling sorry for myself. I wasn't feeling that way, any longer. Well, maybe I was. But not for me - for Scully. And I knew she'd hate it if she knew I felt that way... So. Another year - another X-File. Another reason to do everything in my power to show Scully that she was viable, both as a woman and a partner. Another beginning to another year of admitting to myself that I was hopelessly in love with her, and always would be. I would always want to be there for her, the way I knew my family should have been there for me and somehow never were. Family... Scully was all of that to me, and more. On New Year's Eve it's natural to want to be with the ones you love, and celebrate a new beginning. I would do it, one of these days... I would celebrate the ending of the old and the start of the new - and Scully would be in my arms when I did. I could wait for it...
~~ New Year's Eve, 2001 ~~ Her baby is a night owl when it suits him, just like his father. The New Year is creeping closer with every passing minute and he is wide-awake and ready to greet it with open arms. She glances down at the child and her heart clenches with love and a pang of regret for lost time - for despite his blue eyes and the hint of red in his dark hair, he looks achingly like his father. The little boy has stopped playing with her cross and now has two fingers in his mouth. This is usually a prelude to his slipping into sleep, but his eyes are wide and unblinking as he nestles contentedly in his mother's arms, blissfully unaware of the bittersweet nature of her silence. She brought him to the bedroom to nurse him and settle him into his bed, but she is distracted by wayward thoughts of the past and no lullaby crosses her lips. She listens to the distant whistle of bottle rockets and firecrackers and the tinny sound of the television playing softly in another room. She should take the baby out of this bedroom so they can watch the New Year being ushered in by the ball dropping in Times Square. Despite all that has happened in the world and in her life, some things stay the same and the human spirit refuses to be crushed. This is something she wants to teach her son and she smiles wryly at the thought that a glittering crystal ball sliding down a pole at an intersection in New York City could possibly be an emblem of the indomitable human spirit. Yet it is a symbol of constancy and of the hope that a new year equals a new start and another chance to get things right. She has always disliked New Year's Eve. To her it has always been an ending, not a beginning. Another year passed with seemingly little to show for it. But like the rest of the world, she would make plans every year to DO something... BE somewhere... SHARE it with someone special... and every year those plans had fallen apart. And then, one year, at the turn of the century and the passing of the millennium, she had done something, been somewhere and shared it with the most special person in her life. It was nothing like anything she had ever planned but for once, it was perfectly perfect for them...
~~ New Year's Eve, 1999 ~~ "Ah, but in case I stand one little chance, I parked in front of Mulder's apartment building and helped him out of the car. He swayed a little as he stood too fast and my arms quickly snaked around his waist, holding him up... supporting him. He smiled crookedly and dropped his good arm over my shoulder, leaning on me as he so often did. The air was cold and the wind biting and I guided him quickly toward the entrance of his building. I felt his eyes on me as he leaned against the wall of the elevator while it clanked noisily upward toward the fourth floor. I swiveled my head to look up at him. My eyes dropped away from his sleepy hazel gaze to his mouth and I found my tongue darting out to slick over my own lips, unconsciously seeking any remaining trace of his taste. He had kissed me. Kissed. Me. Sweet and chaste and unhurried, with eyes opened until the very last second, enjoying the anticipation... On New Year's Eve. It was a New Year's Eve unlike any I had ever planned and yet... It was a first kiss unlike any I had ever imagined we would share and yet... It was us. Mulder and me. His lips had settled on mine in the softest of kisses and then it was over and when my eyes had fluttered open, I found him studying me with a hesitant expression on his face. I felt a tiny smile tugging at the corner of my lips, in response. The world didn't come to an end... but mine had surely tipped on its axis... and judging by the expression on his face, so had his. The elevator lurched to a halt and the doors swished open to reveal the dimly lit hallway of the fourth floor. My arm slipped comfortably around his waist again as with my free hand I pulled my keys from my coat pocket. I pushed the door closed behind us with a kick of my foot and led him toward the bedroom. I took off my coat and eased Mulder's jacket from his shoulders, careful to avoid jarring his injured arm. He docilely allowed me to strip him down to his underwear and guide him under the blankets on his bed. He nestled his cheek into the soft pillow under his head and I sat on the edge of the mattress. Midnight had come and gone and outside I could hear a few straggling partygoers making their way home. In his bedroom, all was quiet... so quiet that I was sure he could hear my heart pounding in my chest. His eyes were sleepy and clouded from the painkillers he had received at the hospital. Despite the insanity of the day and the unbelievable things that I had seen... despite the fear that even now coiled low in my belly when I remembered the sight of him at the foot of those stairs, covered in his own blood... despite all of those things, I couldn't help but meet his drowsy smile with one of my own. Perched on the edge of the mattress, my hip pressed familiarly against his, I moved my head to the side when he raised a questioning hand to the scratches on my neck. His fingers rested heavily on my shoulder and his thumb swept lightly over the bright red slashes. "You okay?" he asked in rasping whisper. I nodded and covered his hand with my own. "I'm fine," I murmured and this time, I meant it. "How about you?" I ran gentle fingers over the bandage on his arm. "Any pain?" He shook his head and smiled sweetly. "Nope. I feel good!" I laughed, thinking the painkillers were working but the way his eyes were fixed on my mouth told me that the medication wasn't the only cause for his good mood. His expression was hesitant, hopeful and filled with pride all at the same time. "Not exactly a normal New Year's Eve." He struggled to stifle a yawn and his eyelids were growing heavy as the medication tried to pull him into a healing sleep. I tucked the covers around him. "No, not your textbook example of a New Year's Eve," I agreed. Bending forward, I brushed my lips over his forehead. "But at least we were together." His head lolled on the pillow as sleep finally overtook him. I stood and shrugged back into my coat. Unable to resist, I knelt beside the bed and pressed my lips to his. My name crossed his lips on a tiny sigh. "Scully..." Another kiss - our third, even if he wasn't awake to enjoy it - and I climbed to my feet. Standing in the doorway, I turned back for one last glimpse and a whispered vow. "Next year..."
~~ New Year's Eve, 2001 ~~ "Come on," she says to the baby in her arms as she stands and moves toward the doorway. "It's time to greet your first New Year." The sound of creaking stairs rouses him from a reverie better left alone, and hurriedly he rubs at his moist eyes and takes another pull at his beer. A soft baby-coo accompanies the creaking and his smile is wide and genuine when around the corner the two most important people in his life move toward him. Scully, dressed in baggy fleece pajamas the exact color of her eyes, and holding his son in her arms. William is wide-awake and waving one saliva-coated fist at him as they near the sofa. His father stretches his arms out and the baby gurgles happily as his mother hands him over. Mulder settles onto the sofa with William in one arm and Scully in the other, ten minutes to midnight. She leans a tired head on his shoulder. It's been a long day for both of them. They'd awakened early and the day had been spent chopping wood, shoveling snow and making some small but vital repairs to the outer front porch of the cabin. Later in the afternoon they'd made a passable recipe of eggnog, with eggs but no whipping cream. Even without the rich cream the nog was delicious, and they'd each had several glasses of it during the evening, before switching to beer for Mulder and fruit juice for Scully. The TV had been snowy and fuzzy, but neither of them really cared. What mattered was their time together with each other, and William. Now the TV is just about impossible to see; the bloating murk of the night skies finally giving up the snow that has threatened to fall for most of the evening. Mulder knows the collective snowfall has weighted down the ancient antenna on the roof - and he could care less about going out to clean it off. William fusses and Scully murmurs, "Late-night snack, huh, Willy? He didn't seem all that hungry when I had him upstairs. Give him over, Mulder - this shouldn't take long." She settles the baby against a bared breast and William snuffles as he roots, then latches onto his meal and begins suckling with babyish enthusiasm. Mulder cuddles his family close to him and they both watch their son consume his dinner. His voice is soft when he observes, "He's the greediest little thing I've ever seen!" Scully chuckles just as softly as she strokes William's downy head. "He's enjoying himself, Mulder..." And she smiles when his heartfelt, "I can understand why, Baby," rumbles next to her ear. There is silence in the room for a little while, as the child nurses and his parents watch him tenderly. Finally, little tummy stuffed with liquid chow, William emits a loud burp with very little coaxing. Scully wipes lingering traces of milk from his mouth, Mulder props the sleepy baby on his shoulder and sighs in satisfaction when tiny rosebud lips press into his neck as his son snuggles close, seeking his father's warmth. Scully draws the blanket over all three of them and they listen to the now completely un-viewable TV as it announces three more minutes to go. "Mulder..." He stirs a bit and shifts William more comfortably; presses a kiss into her soft hair. "What, Baby?" He can feel her smiling against his chest, at the term 'Baby'. He now knows she loves to be addressed that way "What were you doing on New Year's Eve... that first year we were partners?" Curious words, and so odd that only half an hour ago he was remembering that very night - he smiles in response and hugs her close. "Well, I was thinking about you, Scully. All that lonely evening I was sitting in my equally-lonely apartment, thinking about you grieving over your father and wishing like hell I was with you, to comfort you. Maybe we could have snuggled a little, like this -" He rests his cheek on her hair and his arms tighten - "Maybe we could have even kissed at midnight." He raises his head, puts a finger under her chin and lifts her face to receive a gentle kiss. She returns it with a warm mouth and a sigh that slips between his lips and lodges in his throat. And she whispers to him, causing a smile to curve against her mouth. "If we'd kissed then it couldn't have been nearly as sweet as it feels, now..." He is in full agreement. William is immediately moved to a safer location, this time between them on the sofa, and as Mulder turns his woman to face him, the sleeping baby is none the wiser for the display of love now being played out right over his head. It's one minute to midnight and there is nothing to stop them from starting the New Year a bit early, setting up one hell of a smooch... Rosy lips under his, their tempting fullness opening up to his tongue. The slippery cling of them, against his - nothing ever felt so wonderful. They are the perfect shape and width to fit his mouth, it would seem - and it took them so many years to discover this amazing fact. If only they'd known... they could have been kissing all of these years. But the kiss they share now is all the more precious for the waiting of it, and they celebrate it as surely as they celebrate the coming of the New Year. His fingers tunnel through her hair, tilt her head, press into her scalp as he dives in for kiss number two. Her tiny moan is swallowed in the heat they create against each other's tongues, brushing along teeth and curling around gums; stroking the insides of cheeks. Wet... hot... tender-fierce-gentle-rough. All this and more, the kiss they share that rings in the year Two thousand two. It's the very first time they have ever kissed with real passion at midnight, New Year's Eve - and suddenly Mulder is so damn happy they waited, so to speak. Two years ago they shared a millennium kiss of sweetness and of a kind of hope. This year their passion, what makes up such a mammoth part of their love - it explodes between them as they kiss. Mulder slips the loose neckline of the fleecy pajamas down over Scully's shoulders, baring skin as baby-soft as William's. Breaking the long kiss, he gulps in a deep much-needed breath and continues his worship by running a moist and heated mouth along the silky skin of her neck. Trailing lips over a collarbone and across a rounded breast - while his son sleeps securely and his woman sighs and moans in his arms... Mulder celebrates. Outside the snow falls faster and faster. In this part of Canada who knows how long winter will last? Maybe they'll stay until the summer; maybe they'll dig themselves out and leave in the spring. Maybe - just maybe - those faceless unknowns who seek them have gotten bored with their quest, and have decided to leave well enough alone. It doesn't matter. It's New Year's morning, exactly two minutes past midnight... and this is the very best celebration either of them has ever had. They don't need funny hats; Mulder would hate to see Scully's glorious hair covered by some gaudy piece of cardboard. They don't need noisemakers; their pounding hearts are louder than any horns or little metal cranks. They don't need champagne... for the intensity between them is more potent than any sort of bubbly they could imbibe. Everything they need for a proper celebration they can find right there, in the comfort of a small cabin hidden in the hills - and it's their first New Year together. But by no means their last. It's a wordless promise they make to each other and to their son, who sleeps contentedly while his parents ring in two thousand and two. End
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