***DISCLAIMER***: All "X-Files" elements and references
in this story belong to Fox Broadcasting, Chris Carter,
and 1013 Productions, and I am making no money from it.

ARCHIVING: Link only, please!

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Childlike
by shannono
shannono@iname.com


Vignette, Mulder first person, Mulder/Scully UST

Rated PG

Spoilers through "How the Ghosts Stole Christmas"

Summary: Everyone should be a child at Christmas

Author's notes: I realized that, after all the angst I'd
written during 1998, I had a few dregs left in the schmoop
bottle. I managed stretch it out with a little angst and 
introspection to make a vignette out of it.

Thanks: To Stacey, the best editor in the world, with a
New Years' resolution just for you -- to finish some of
those WIPs I keep bugging you with! :)

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Childlike
by shannono


Everyone should be a child at Christmas.

That's a hard thing for most people to remember as they get
older. They start out as believers, but then they grow up, 
and they lose Santa -- along with the Easter Bunny, and the 
Tooth Fairy, and all those other childish things.

But when they lose their belief, they lose a piece of the 
wonder that makes it Christmas.

As I sit here today, I feel Christmas for perhaps the first
time in my life.

It's not a religous thing. It makes no difference to me right
now how the holiday got its name, or why most people celebrate
it. Or, at least, why it's supposed to be celebrated; somehow,
that belief has gotten lost right along with all the others.

But Christmas, in its secular form, is a day for joy, and
laughter, and life, and love. Things I've been missing for 
much too long.

Right now, I have all of those. And every bit of it is thanks
to the woman at my side.

We're acting like kids at this very moment, tearing into wrapped
packages with unabashed glee. It's probably the most happiness 
either of us has ever displayed in front of the other, and it 
makes me want to freeze-frame the scene, preserve it under glass
and keep it as a talisman against the gloom and despair that 
always seem to lurk just around the corners of our lives.

And so I do the best I can and force myself to slow down a
little, turning my attention from my own gift to focus in on
her reaction to hers. I am rewarded for my restraint by the 
childlike grin that spreads across her face, the delicate laugh
that escapes her mouth -- and then by the dancing blue eyes 
that turn to meet my gaze.

She doesn't have to say a word. That look is all the thanks
I'll ever need.

And she doesn't say anything. She just grins at me some more, 
and then nudges me in the side with her elbow. "You gonna finish
yours?" she asks teasingly. "Or you want me to do it for you?"

I love this woman.

As I turn my attention back to my gift, I make a silent vow to
us both. Call it a New Year's resolution. I'm going to make 
sure we spend less time being all serious and grown-up, and 
more time acting like kids.  We need to play more, and smile 
more, and laugh more. For ourselves, and for each other.

The paper finally falls from my gift, and I feel a face-cracking
smile spread across my face. I turn back to meet her laughing 
eyes again, and without my conscious knowledge, my arm goes 
around her shoulder and pulls her into a hug, which she returns
without reservation.

As I place my gift on the coffee table and bring my other arm
around her to complete the hug, I realize that, for first time
I can remember ... I'm actually looking forward to a new year.

I want to say it out loud, to tell her what she's done for
me ... but when I open my mouth, all I can manage is three
words:

"Merry Christmas, Scully."

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