TITLE:		GATEWAY TO THE HEART
AUTHOR:	Pebbles
RATING:	G.  Swear to God.
ARCHIVE:	Gossamer, Ephemeral, Spooky site.  Anywhere else, 
please ask first so I'll know.
DISCLAIMER:	Not mine.  They belong to CC, 1013, Fox, DD and 
GA.
SPOILERS:	Maybe Amor Fati, although if you hadn't seen it  you 
wouldn't know it was a spoiler
CATEGORY:	UST, DAL, holiday fic
THANKS TO:	Brandon, Brynna, Robbie - my heroes
FEEDBACK:	Make Pebbles smile by feeding her at 
pebblesb@earthlink.net


GATEWAY TO THE HEART
by Pebbles


Three nights before Christmas, he came to her.

And if ever she needed a pick-me-up, tonight was one of those nights.

For several days she had been in a bad mood, had grown downright 
surly in the last twelve hours or so.  A surly Scully was no fun to be 
around.  This she realized, and she'd made a concerted effort to keep to 
herself that afternoon, finding one excuse after another to stay away 
from the basement office and not subject her partner to her sour 
disposition.

She could have blamed her state of mind on the time of month, but she 
was tired of finding excuses for her behavior in her menstrual cycle.  
She could have blamed it on the holiday season, and the sad history of 
memories that lay in this period, but she was tired of feeling sorry for 
herself.  She could have blamed it on loneliness being a choice, but she 
was tired of pretending that solitude was the path she had chosen.

She had nearly lost Mulder, again, and in a most heinous manner, and 
the memory of that time still cut her to the quick.  While he lay ill she 
had counted every minute as precious, not knowing whether it would 
be his last.  She had prayed every second of that time, to an entity she 
no longer knew by name, but prayed to as a Higher Power, which 
certainly had more control over the outcome than she did.  And, finally, 
once she'd accepted the notion that she could do nothing more than 
pray, and gotten down on her knees with the ghost of a shaman, her 
guide in this transition, Scully had awakened to find the key that would 
enable her to not only find her partner, but also to bring him back.

Mulder had recovered, and they had grown increasingly close as the 
weeks passed.  She found that her natural reserve tended to crumble 
whenever he was around, which was often and intense.  That she 
sensed the shift in his emotions as well was heartening, though in weak 
moments she was tempted to interpret their new emotional intimacy as 
simple relief at having survived the ordeal.

But then she would remember the look in his eyes when she'd kissed 
his forehead, how they had shimmered as she ran her hands gently 
down his face, her fingertips lightly caressing his lips.   Planting her 
troth. 

They both knew what the gesture meant.  And as the days passed they 
were each very much aware of where all this was leading.  All the little 
touches, lingering gazes, the softening of their manner with each other.  

So when he showed up at her door bearing an armload of wood in 
assorted branches and boughs, she greeted him with a genuine smile.  
He beamed back at her from behind a bright green barrier of fragrant 
pine needles and tiny cones, with some holly sprigs tossed into the mix.

"Mulder!" she laughed, pleasantly surprised, opening the door wide so 
he could enter.  "What in the world do you have there?"

"You'll see," he said, stepping over the threshold and into the living 
room, moving toward the fireplace.  He bent over to deposit his load, 
causing his pants to stretch tightly across his backside -- and Scully 
found herself giving in to temptation.

"That's a nice piece of ash, Mulder," she observed, her brow arching.  
He straightened up and turned to look at her, his own brow raised in 
surprise and apparent delight.  "The log, Mulder.  I'm talking about the 
log."

The grin returned and the tips of his ears reddened ever so slightly.  She 
loved that about him.  But she'd never tell him that.

"Oak, Scully," he corrected, toeing the piece of wood with his booted 
foot.  "Sturdy oak.  Although ash and even beech are acceptable, a 
proper Yule log should be made of oak, as a symbol of the waxing 
year."

She closed the door and bolted it, turned back to him and watched as he 
pulled off his gloves and shoved them into his jacket pocket.  She 
folded her arms across her chest and crossed the room to stand beside 
him   "Is that what this is all about, Mulder?  A Yule log?"

He shrugged charmingly and treated her to one of his shy little grins, as 
she had noticed he was wont to do when something meant a lot to him.  
"It's the night of the full moon, Scully," he explained.  "On a night 
when the Earth is closer to the moon than it's been in 133 years.  Not 
only that, but it's also the date of the traditional celebration of Yule, the 
winter solstice, the longest night of the year.  What better way to spend 
your last evening before you head to San Diego than making a Yule 
Log to burn on Christmas Day?"

Ah, so that was it, she realized.  He had a problem with her spending 
Christmas with her family cross- country, despite his assurances that he 
didn't.

"Mulder," she began carefully.  "Do you want to come to Bill and 
Tara's with me for Christmas?"

He drew back, as if offended by the very notion, as she had known he 
would be.  "*Hell* no!  Why would I want to do a stupid thing like 
that?"

She turned away, her nose ever so slightly tilted, and just a tad out of 
joint.  "Sorry I asked," she sniffed.

He touched her cheek with one hand and turned her face back toward 
him.  "If it were anyone but Bill, I'd do it, Scully.  You know I would."

"I know," she conceded with a sigh, unable to deny the warmth in his 
eyes, and in his voice.  "I just sort of hate to leave you alone at this time 
of year.  No telling what kind of trouble you could get yourself into, 
without me to talk you out of it."

He shook his head.  "Not to worry.  I'll keep my nose clean.  At least 
until you get back."  The grin returned as he reached into his inside 
jacket pocket and produced a small flask.  "Come on, Scully," he urged, 
pulling her down to the floor with him, both of them sitting cross 
legged amidst the branches and boughs.  "I brought some Christmas 
cheer.  Come help me decorate this Yule log and I'll tell you a story."

She perked up at his words.  "Story?  What kind of story?"

He uncapped the flask and handed it to her, watching with merry eyes 
as she raised it to her nose and sniffed, grinning as her face reflected 
her pleasure.  "Bailey's?  In a flask?"

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Scully," he warned.  She giggled 
before she could stop herself and to cover her embarrassment at doing 
such a girlish thing, she threw her head back and took a deep swig from 
the flask, savoring the liquor's richness, afterwards licking her lips in 
pure rapture.  When she looked back at her partner he was slack-jawed 
and loopy-eyed, watching with undisguised hunger as her tongue 
traversed her mouth, catching every last drop of the tasty treat.

"So tell me your story," she ordered, handing the flask back to him and 
returning to the assortment of greenery that lay before her.  Out of the 
corner of her eye she saw him take a swig before recapping the 
container and setting it on the floor behind him.  He took up a branch of 
holly and another of pine and swiftly went to work wrapping them 
around the log and securing them with the ivy he had brought in with 
his bundle.

"One reason for using oak for the Yule log is a spiritual one," he began.  
"The Gaelic word for oak is 'duir' from which we have made the word 
'door.'   The Celts looked at a door as both a gateway and a protection 
from outside influences.  The oak opens the door to a strong spiritual 
focus that is able to survive the tests and ordeals of time."

"Oak is sturdy.  Durable, " she said, her hands meeting his over the 
twining of the ivy.   She looked toward her own front door, thinking of 
the many times she had used it not as a gateway and not for protection, 
but as a barrier.  A barrier between her and the man who loved her.   
"Like us," she said on an impulse.

"Like us," he agreed, grinning up at her for a moment before returning 
to his work with his bits of this and that.  "The Yule log must never be 
bought," he continued.  "It must come from a tree on the householder's 
land, or given as a gift from a friend."


He raised his eyes to meet hers over the pine needles.  "Well, we've got 
that part covered," she reminded him gently.  "Go on."

She listened raptly to his tale of ways in which her ancestors may have 
celebrated the season, and she wanted to remember every word to share 
with her family on Christmas morning, when they would burn the Yule 
log in Bill's fireplace, so that Mulder could be with them in spirit, if not 
in person. 

He told her how the log would traditionally be dragged to the house, 
decorated with greenery, and doused in cider or ale.  How corn or 
wheat flower would be sprinkled on it before it was kindled with a 
piece from the previous year's fire.  And how it was then left in the 
householder's hearth and allowed to smolder for twelve days before 
being ceremonially put out.

An unburned portion of the log was attached to the plow to bless the 
Earth.  Farmers would carefully preserve the ashes to be mixed with 
seed for spring plantings, and mixed them in with the herd animals' 
water.  "It was thought that in this way the sun's power and radiance, 
symbolically embodied in the burning wood, would be spread 
throughout the land," he finished.

Mulder stopped for breath and brought the flask to his lips again, 
drinking deeply and handing it to her when he had finished.  She took it 
from him and enjoyed another healthy portion, enjoying the little glow 
that was taking up residence in her stomach, the warm flush in her 
cheeks.   She looked back at him as she finished and found that he was 
staring at her lips as her tongue made its circuit of them, licking away 
the cream.  His eyes looked very feline at that moment, as if at any 
instant he might pounce.

And she would welcome it, she realized.  Regardless of the 
consequences of such a turn in their relationship, she knew by now that 
it was inevitable, and the only question was when the turn would come.   
It could be this evening or it could be next week.  It could come before 
she left for San Diego or after her return.  Suddenly five days seemed 
like an incredibly long time to be away from Mulder.  How ever would 
she survive it?

"So what do you think?"  His voice cut through her sudden angst.

She brought herself back to the moment at hand, glad that she was here 
with him, now, and not clear across the country, as she would be by 
tomorrow night.  "I'm sorry, Mulder, what did you say?"

He inclined his head toward the newly dressed Yule log, resplendent in 
its seasonal best, wrapped with ivy and pine needles and dotted with 
bright red holly berries.  She smiled broadly, pleased that they had 
created this together, something she could take with her to her brother's 
house as a way of including Mulder in the celebration.

"It's lovely," she said softly, blinking back sudden tears.  "Thank you, 
Mulder.  You never cease to amaze me."

"I hope that's a good thing," he said, ducking his head and looking back 
up at her, his eyes a glittering green.

"Oh, it is," she hurried to assure him.  "It most certainly is."

His smile spread slowly across his face, his hands reaching to hold 
either side of her head as he leaned forward and down, pressing his lips 
in a lingering kiss upon her brow, just as she had done to him not so 
very long ago.

When he backed away she saw that his eyes had closed while he kissed 
her face, and his lips remained parted slightly, beckoning.  For a 
moment she considered giving in to the impulse to taste him, but 
thought better of it.  It wasn't time yet.  They would both know when it 
was.

"I'd better go and let you get packed," he said, smiling down at her, his 
eyes warm and loving.  "You've got a plane to catch tomorrow, don't 
you?"

She gathered her wits about her again and got to her feet, watching as 
he did the same and moved toward the door.  "Our flight leaves at 
7:30," she told him.  "Mom's catching a taxi to Dulles and I'm going to 
meet her there at 6:00."

They had now reached the front door and she found that she didn't want 
the moment to end, couldn't bear the thought of not seeing him again 
for an extended period of time.

"Would you let me take you to the airport?" he asked, his eyes hopeful, 
his hand finding hers and giving it a squeeze.

"I'd like that, Mulder" she answered truthfully, smiling now, her 
outlook brightened by his offer.  "I'd like that very much."

He grinned back at her, then, suddenly seeming shy, turned and opened 
the door, looking back at her over his shoulder as he stepped out into 
the hallway.  "When do you want me here?"

Always, she thought automatically.  Always and forever, but she 
answered, "I'll have coffee on at 5:00.  You bring the bagels."

Mulder winked at her before giving her a final, sweet smile in farewell.  
"You got it.  G'night, Scully."

He turned and began to walk slowly down the hallway.

"Goodnight, Mulder," she called softly.  "See you in the morning."

She stood in the doorway looking after him, long after he had gone, 
vowing to herself that when next he knocked upon her door, he would 
find not a barrier, but a gateway.

- END -