From: risamy@epix.net (Amy Schatz) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: Joyeux Noel - part 1/3 Date: 24 Dec 1995 16:17:45 GMT Hello! When I first had the idea for this story, I never imagined it would become what it has, or that it would help to create more stories. But, it has. I sent this story to my friend, Michelle Hiley, and after some comments on it, we decided to write some sequels to it. So, this is the first story in what we are calling our "Christmas Trilogy." This story is rated PG or General and is crammed full of Mulder-angst. This trilogy is also a M/S romance, though it may not appear to be so in this story until the end. So, really anyone could read this and be happy. It does have a few third season spoilers, so beware. The other two stories in this trilogy are "Peace On Earth" and "Season's Greetings." "Peace on Earth" is most definitely NC-17, so if you don't like that kind of thing, Michelle and I suggest you begin with this one, and skip right to "Season's Greetings" and you won't be too confused. I want to thank Anik for correcting my spelling of the title! I don't know who wrote the song "Little Altar Boy", but I do know that Andy Williams sings it, and it's not mine. :) As usual, the characters in this story do not belong to me. They are the property of CC, 1013, and FOX. Comments are appreciated, read with excitement, answered and wanted! My address is: risamy@epix.net ____________________________________________ Joyeux Noel by Amy Schatz _____________________________ Catch the foxes, the little foxes, before they ruin our vineyard in bloom. Song of Songs 2:15 _____________________________ He sat in the lonely church, in the third pew from the front, alone. Normally, he didn't frequent places such as this one, but tonight, especially tonight, he had felt compelled to come here. For some reason, he had needed to come to this place, and perhaps find some solace. Some peace with himself. Around him the church gleamed with polished gold and wood, and echoed with the sweet but melancholy voices of a choir. They stood in the front of the church, their red robes accentuating the mood of the song they sang. The smell of candles drifted to him and he breathed in deeply. He raised his head and looked up at the choir. Each member had a smile and was singing happily. His hazel eyes strayed to the small children who sat in the choir box, awaiting their turn to sing. One of them, a young girl with long dark hair, sat in the first row, her eyes sparkling with the warmth of the season. It was a warmth that he hadn't felt for about 22 years. Looking at the little girl with the long dark hair and the smiling face, he felt his heart twist in agony. He didn't know how the pain was still so fresh after so long, he only knew that it was. His head lowered again and he closed his eyes as tears slipped down his cheeks. He supposed that the pain was so strong at this time of year because she had been taken before he could spend one last Christmas with her. One last time to see her excited face as she tore at the presents. One last time to give her something special that she would treasure. One last night to eat the cookies and drink the milk she had left for Santa, so they would be gone in the morning and she would believe. Believe. Now there was an interesting word. What *did* he believe? What did he think in his true heart? Did he still believe that she was alive; that he would find her one day? Slowly shaking his head in bottomless sorrow, he let a few more tears escape, as he realized that he didn't know. One thing he did know, however, was that if he hadn't let his fear rule him that night, she would still be with him. It was his fault that she had been taken. He should have been able to save her. He knew, and had always known, that his parents, and his father especially, blamed him. He could see the accusation whenever he looked into his father's dark eyes. He had seen it for twenty-two years, and he expected to always see it. On the day of his high school graduation, he had seen it as his father looked at him. When he told his parents that he had been accepted at Oxford, it was there. The day that he came home from England, with his degree in Psychology, it was burning in his father's eyes. When he had told them of his decision to join the FBI, he saw it. Then, for a while, the fervor of blame had died down in his father's eyes, and he had been able to feel a little pride in his accomplishments at the Bureau. Then the woman claiming to be Samantha came into their lives. When he exchanged her for Scully, and lost her soon after, he knew he would have to tell his father. And he knew that his father would never forgive him, and that the blame would awaken, once again. And he had been right. The choir ended their song and the first notes of a new one floated through the church. He raised his head again, and the gleam from the gold caught the streaks of tears on his face. He looked behind him and saw only three other people in the church. It didn't surprise him. After all, it *was* Christmas Eve, and this was a church that didn't see many parishioners on normal Sundays. It was out of the way, and seemed only to attract the lost souls of the city. Normal, happy people didn't come here. It was a shelter for those who had lost much, and hoped to gain little. Which was exactly why he liked it so much. As the choir began to sing, his gaze was pulled back to the front of the church, and he simply listened. Little altar boy, I wonder could you pray for me? Little altar boy, for I have gone astray What must I do, to be holy like you? Little altar boy, oh let me hear you pray Little altar boy, I wonder could you ask our Lord Ask him altar boy, to take my sins away Oh, what must I do, to be holy like you? Little altar boy, oh let me hear you pray Lift up your voice And send a prayer above Help me rejoice And fill that prayer with love I know my love has been all wrong Lift up your voice and help the sinner be strong As the meaning of the words entered his mind, he felt himself going deeper and deeper into that place of darkness that he so often frequented. Melissa had once commented on that place that he kept hidden deep inside. It seemed he had ended up in that dark place yet again, but this time, there was no one to urge him to come into the light. And this time, there was no one waiting there for him. There was no reason to fight, and no reason not to give in to the all-consuming pain that plagued him. He was lost. Little altar boy, I wonder could you pray for me? Could you tell our Lord, I'm gonna change today? Oh what must I do, to be holy like you? Little altar boy, oh let me hear you pray Oh, let me hear you pray But there was no one who *would* pray for him. No one who would love him unconditionally. He fleetingly thought of Scully, then, but pushed her out of his mind. Yes, she cared for him. He knew that. But he would never let her get too close; never let her care too much. Because the minute she did, she would get hurt. He knew that as sure as he knew that she was with her family this night. She was where she was supposed to be. She had already been caused too much pain because of him, and he didn't intend for that to happen again. Because of him she had lost months of her life, had probably been experimented on, had lost her sister, and would forever wonder about what happened to her while she was missing. That was his fault, too. He wasn't there for her when she had needed him. It seemed that he only caused people pain and loss. He didn't know why Scully even bothered with him. Why didn't she ask for a transfer? Why didn't she get as far away from him as she could? He couldn't understand it. His head bowed again, as he willed his brain to be quiet. He just wanted to sit, and maybe ask God to forgive him for all the suffering and misery he had caused. It never occurred to him that none of it was his fault. The choir continued. Little altar boy, I wonder could you ask our Lord Ask him altar boy, to take my sins away Oh, what must I do, to be holy like you? Little altar boy, oh let me hear you pray Little altar boy, I wonder could you pray for me? Could you tell our Lord, I'm gonna change today? Oh what must I do, to be holy like you? Little altar boy, oh let me hear you pray Oh, let me hear you pray As the song ended, the tears returned and soon turned into silent, anguished sobs that people can feel even though they can't hear them. He felt all alone in the world. He saw no light at the end of the tunnel. He didn't want to. * * * She opened the large door of the forlorn looking church, and was slightly surprised at how strangely beautiful it was inside. The churches she had gone to as she grew up had always seemed to exude warmth. But this church was nothing like she had ever seen. Although it was decorated in gold and wood, and a small choir sung in the front, it seemed to her as if it was a mask. She knew that if that mask was stripped away, the true nature of this place would come through. And she knew that what would come through would be loneliness and sadness. He had to be here. Walking forward, she stepped into the main part of the church, and her eyes searched the pews, looking for him. Finally, her gaze came to rest on a bowed figure near the front of the church. She studied the man's jacket, but when she that unruly brown hair, she knew who it was. She walked down the aisle, and was soon standing beside him. It was then that she noticed how his shoulders shook, and heard a soft sound escape his lips. He was crying. Slowly, ever so slowly, she lowered her hand until it was gently resting on his shoulder. "Mulder," she said tenderly. At the sound of her voice, his head shot up and he drew away from her. It was as if he hadn't even felt her touch. She suppressed the hurt that threatened to rise in her, and sank down next to him. He was turned away from her, his arm stretched out along the back of the pew, and his head down. A silence descended upon them then, and she let it fall. She wanted Mulder to talk to her, but she wouldn't push him. Scully knew that if she made him talk, it would only make him withdraw further. Finally, she saw him wipe at his eyes, and he turned forward to face the choir again. "How did you find me?" His voice was so soft that had they not been in a church, she never would have heard him. He still hadn't looked at her, but at least he was talking. She wanted to reach out and take his hand, but she knew that she didn't dare. "I called your place to ask you to come with me to Christmas dinner tomorrow. After a while, I got worried. Finally, I called Frohike, and he said that you might be here." She turned to glance around the church, before it returned to Mulder. "Why *are* you here, Mulder? Why can't you talk to me?" He shook his head. "I *can't* talk to you about this, Scully." The hurt threatened once again, but she pushed it down. "Why not?" Another tear eased down his cheek. "Because, I don't want to burden you. I don't want to hurt you anymore. I only want you to be happy." Scully swore that the pain that filled her chest was her heart breaking; breaking for this man beside her. "Mulder, I am your best friend. I *want* to help you. The only way you will hurt me is if you shut me out. Why can't you let me in?" He started to tremble. "If I let you in here," he said as he pointed to his chest, "you'll be sorry. Only hurt can come of it. You've already been hurt enough, and I won't let it happen again." Scully reached out and took the hand that had pointed to his heart in hers, and placed it on her chest. "If you let me in, only love will come of it." At this remark, his head raised a little higher, and he dragged his eyes to hers. And when he did, she saw his pain so clearly, that she felt it herself. She came closer to him and smoothed his hair back from his forehead gently, and he closed his eyes because he had never felt such tenderness. "*Will* you let me inside?" she asked softly, as her hand slid down from his forehead to his cheek. "I want to, but I'm so afraid. I'm afraid that if I do, you won't like what you see, and I'll lose you." She moved closer and pulled him into an embrace. "I won't leave you, Mulder. You have to trust me. You have to believe me." Mulder suddenly realized that there was one thing that he believed, and that was that Scully was telling the truth. He tightened his arms around her a little. "I believe you, Scully." She smiled. "Will you talk to me and let me help you?" He nodded. "Yes." "Will you come home with me, Fox?" She felt him stiffen a little, but she surmised that it was more from surprise than from objection. "Is that what you really want?" "Yes. And I want you to come to Christmas dinner with me." A few moments passed before he sighed, and said, "Let's go home, Scully. After all, if you were desperate enough to call Frohike, I suppose you *do* care," he added with a smile. She smiled again, and stood up, still holding his hand. As they walked down the aisle to the exit, the words of the song the choir had been singing echoed through Mulder's mind. And it was then that Mulder understood what those words meant for him. He knew that all he had to do to was to let Dana Scully inside. All he had to do was to let her love him. And suddenly, this holiday looked a little brighter to him. As they walked outside, a fine white snow was falling. It promised of better days to come. THE END Please go on to the second story - Peace On Earth