when we are three by beduini Rating: G or PG Category: Christmas fic. MSR, some angst, some faith, some hope Spoilers: Through "Within/Without" Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I am not making any money from this. In the spirit of the season, let's not forget to be happy and count our blessings. Merry Christmas, from me to you. December 12, 2000 *X* Ten minutes to midnight, and they still fill an entire row. Six Scullys in their Sunday best, literally, at least for ten more minutes. She had wanted to sit on the end just in case she needed to make a quick trip to the restroom, but Bill had urged her into the pew after her mother, daring her to continue their argument from their mother's house, earlier in the evening. He was making sure she didn't escape away, giving her the same disappointed look he'd bestowed on her the last four Christmases since Missy had gone. Where's your Christmas spirit, Dana...you're being selfish again, Dana...suck it in and let the rest of us enjoy our holiday for once, Dana. An unborn child, a missing partner and a lonely emptiness of arctic proportions inside of her, but no Christmas spirit. She'd shopped for presents, wrapped, and even contemplated putting up a tree, but in the end, she couldn't. No sparkling packages, no amount of eggnog and holiday cheer could light the spirit within her this year. She'd only come to mass this Christmas Eve out of conditioned obligation to both the church and her family. Her mother reaches out, resting one of her own hands over the hand she keeps on her swelling abdomen. Maggie's eyebrows raise in question at her daughter, her expression both seeking and reassuring, even though she doesn't really understand the loneliness eating at Dana's soul. For years her husband sailed away and left her alone with four children for months at a time, but it was a fact of life. You dealt with it. And, he always came home. Dana shakes her head slightly, returning her mother's smile with a polite turn of her lips. No, she isn't feeling ill. Tired, but not ill - unless you want to take into account the fact that she is all alone in the world with a baby on the way and the baby's father abducted by aliens, tortured, dying, if not already dead. Who'd have guessed she'd end up this way...alone, possibly, but not by choice - by circumstance. "I'm fine, Mom." Her mother moves her hand, turning to face the altar with a frown. She doesn't care what other people think, or how her brother Bill dealt with the embarrassment when her situation came up in conversation during the Christmas party at the officer's club earlier that evening. His youngest sister Dana? Yes, the cancer is in remission. Now she's knocked up by her alien-chasing FBI partner, unmarried and on the short side of forty. "How are you gonna raise this kid, Dana?" Bill asked when he arrived at their mother's house, "Working for the FBI, putting yourself in danger over and over again, chasing little green men all over God's creation?" "That's my decision to make, Bill," she spat back at him. "Mine. Not yours, or anyone else's." "And what about Mom? How do you think she feels about all of this? What would Dad say if he were here right now?" The final blow had been delivered, but it wasn't as powerful as it once might have been. She knew what her dad would say. She also knew that he had loved her, no matter what. Just like Mulder. She is a grown woman, and her life is hers. Her family had only been a peripheral part of it for the last decade. Bill doesn't know Mulder. He doesn't know her anymore, for that matter. He doesn't know the things that she knows, nor has he seen the things that she has seen. He doesn't understand how much she misses Mulder, and how useless she feels in her inability to find him and bring him home. He doesn't understand how much it hurts to be without. They'd all suffered loss, but in her mind no one understands her particular loss. In the pew behind them, a family shuffles in around the kneeler. One of men is wearing the same cologne Mulder had worn on occasion. She closes her eyes, swallowing the lump rising in her throat. The scent brings to mind another night, nearly the same hour, the two of them sitting on Mulder's leather sofa with a bowl of popcorn and bottled beer. Neither of them watched the movie as closely as they watched each other, and when he finally leaned down to kiss her she could smell the light scent on his skin, his face smooth and freshly shaven. He'd kissed her so gently ? so thoroughly, that when they'd finally pulled apart she felt bereft, intoxicated and addicted to the feel, taste and smell of him. He powered off the television and rose from the sofa, holding his hand out to her with a soft smile on his lips and a warm glow in his eyes. She took his hand and he led her through the apartment slowly, passing from room to room as he turned off the lights. He didn't rush, the act almost ceremonial in its significance. He performed the task with a great amount of intent, turning to offer her the same pleased smile as each switch was flicked. When he finally led her into his bedroom he placed his hands on her hips and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her and enfolding her in his embrace. They rocked gently, breathing each other in, feeling they belonged there. And when they undressed and made love, there was still passion, but instead of the frantic need that accompanied their earlier encounters they were slow and deliberate, confident, reaffirming their faith and their commitment to each other. Choking back a sob and opening her eyes, she finds herself surrounded in darkness, the only sound the soft rustling of the congregation anticipating the procession of the officiating priests to the altar. Out of the darkness a deep voice recites from the Book of Luke proclaiming the birth of a babe in Bethlehem. And as she listens to the words, the miracle of that birth reminds her of the miracle of the life growing within her. Part her, part Mulder, something that they had created together. And yet, their child will be his or her own person. A whole new person. She is not alone. Light floods the cathedral, the pipe organ introducing the choir in "Joy to the World." Standing with the rest of the congregation, she bites her lip as the revelations begin to weave their truths into her consciousness. Mulder is not with her in body, but she knows that his spirit and his love are present in her heart and mind as much as in the life they created together, now residing in her womb. But more than that, there is something else inside her now, too. Hope. Clarity. A certainty that he will return. He will come home. Mulder is coming back. She knows this, believes it with as much faith as she ever believed in God or science. He is coming back to her, to their child and the new family that the three of them together create. Tears of joy well up in her eyes, and she adds her voice to the congregation, "And heaven and nature sing, and heaven and nature sing..." her mother smiling at her rough alto and linking arms with her. She is not alone. By the end of the mass, her cheeks are pink with a warm glow, and the joy of family, the Christmas spirit, faith and hope now fill some of the emptiness inside her. Her nephew Matthew is stretched across the pew, his thumb in his mouth as he sleepily asks about the arrival of Santa Claus while Bill sweeps him up in his arms to tote him out to the car. Dana pauses in the aisle, watching the large man carry the toddler effortlessly, her sister-in-law holding their second child against her chest in one arm and tucking a blanket around the boy with the other in an attempt to ward off the cold. Bill has his own family, as does she. Her mother picks up the empty baby carrier, standing near and watching her son with loving eyes before turning those loving eyes back to her daughter. "Dana?" Maggie asks with concern, the rest of the question "are you coming?" understood by both. Dana glances longingly toward the altar, and gives her mother a gentle smile. "In a minute, mom. There's something I want to do first." Maggie's face registers her uncertainty for only a moment, then she gives Dana's arm a squeeze, following her son, daughter-in-law and grandchildren out of the church. Dana waits until the church is nearly clear, then walks up the aisle in the other direction, crossing herself and giving a brief curtsy in front of the altar before turning to the left. Stopping in front of the rows of red glass votive candles, the individual lights flicker gently as they cast a muted glow on the painting of the Virgin hanging directly above. She raises her eyes to the image, as one mother to another. Then she picks up a long, thin match stick, catching a flame from one of the burning candles and transferring it to a new, unlit candle, holding it in place over the wick until the fire glows steady and strong. Staring intently at the light, she whispers, "Come home soon, Mulder," crossing herself for good measure. Tears well in her eyes again, and she sniffs them back, moving to extinguish the flame still burning on the match stick in her hand when she feels a presence looming behind her, hovering. She turns, looking up into the face of her older brother. He meets her gaze, taking the burning stick from her hand. Then placing a hand in the middle of her back, Bill turns toward the votives, lighting another pristine candle. "Godspeed, Mulder," he says in a low voice, extinguishing the flame on the stick and crossing himself. They are both silent for a long moment, two slow tears sliding down Dana's cheeks. "Merry Christmas, Bill," she says solemnly, her words sober and heartfelt. "Merry Christmas, Dana," he replies, offering her a peacemaking smile and reaching out to wipe away her tears. "You ready, or do you need some more time?" She smiles up at him gratefully, taking a deep, fortifying breath. "No, I'm okay." She means it, wiping the residual wetness from her cheeks, and smoothing a hand down over her bulging tummy. "Let's go home." He guides her away from the candles, a protective hand on her back as they walk down the aisle, toward the car and the family waiting for them there. Six Scullys. Next year, Mulder will be home. Next year, she will be with her own family. Next year, they will be three. fin beduini@justduckies.org