Taming The Unicorn 12: Happily Ever After

"...And that's the way it was for your father and I," Dana Scully said, gazing across the front seat of the car to the girl -- no, she thought, with mingled pride and sadness, young woman -- seated beside her.

She had her mother's bright, incisive eyes, highlighted by raccoon-dark eyeliner that her mother would never have worn; she had her father's dark hair, accented by a bold dyed-pink streak; she wore the uniform of her generation, regurgitated from the punk-rock 80s and reborn as a 'brand- new' trend -- and somehow managed to make the entire facade look stylish and mature. "Wow," Lacy said thoughtfully. "I knew Daddy was a saint, putting up with us kids, but I never knew he was that much of a saint."

"Your father," said Scully, "is a very special man," and a secret smile crossed her lips, remembering how it had been last night -- and myriad nights before that: over fifteen years' worth of days and nights, now. And still, every time was like the first time, as miraculous and joyous as their honeymoon had been...

She banished those thoughts, to attend to the matter at hand; she met her daughter's eyes, with the same level honesty she'd always granted her children. "You're a young woman, now," she said, "and old enough to make your own decisions, whether I like them or not. I know you well enough to know that your decisions are your own, not prompted by peer pressure. I also know that virginity isn't exactly fashionable these days, and hasn't been for a great many years. If you feel you're ready for birth control, Lacy, I'll make sure that you have what you need. But I want you to know how special it can be, when you wait for the right person. When you know that the person you're with is the one you'll spend the rest of your life with. It doesn't always work out that way for everyone," she said candidly, "but when it does, it's incredible."

"So you're glad you waited?" Lacy pressed.

"Yes," her mother answered, without hesitation; and again that faint, mysterious smile lit her face from within, for just a moment.

The younger woman considered, for a moment. "You and Dad are still together," she mused, "after all this time; I don't know anyone else in my school who still have the same two parents they started with."

"Lifelong commitment isn't exactly fashionable these days, either," said Scully ruefully. "Many people find it simpler to shop for a new mate than to make things work with the one they've got." Days and nights of stress, transitions, adjustments, arguments and reconciliations... two fiercely independent people, building a life together; it hadn't been an easy road, for either of them.

But it had been worth it.

"There were times," she said slowly, "that I felt left out, as if I was missing something; times when I felt as if I was waiting in vain, that I'd never find 'the right one'. But in the end, I realized that if I hadn't waited, I would have missed out on far more."

Lacy nodded. "I'll think about it, Mom," and though her tone held an edge of impatience, Scully knew her daughter well enough to know that it wasn't a dismissal, or an idle promise. "But, y'know, Joey's supposed to call me, and I don't want to miss out on that... and I'll bet the ice cream's melting, too."

"You're probably right," Scully agreed. "Let's get these groceries inside, shall we?"

The family room was aglow when she stepped inside. There was the Christmas tree, resplendent in its glory, decorated with fifteen years' worth of keepsake ornaments and at least two more strings of lights than were actually needed. There was the array of stockings, 'hung by the chimney with care', over a dozen of them: one for each of the kids and their parents and the people who constituted their extended family, each one bearing a name in bright silver glitter. There was the heirloom menorah on the mantel, waiting for the time when its candles would be lit. There was the solstice display that Lacy had fashioned, holly and mistletoe and a simplified altar; a yearly tradition ever since their eldest child had declared herself pagan on her eleventh birthday. And there was the television, which was lit up and howling with the shoot-em-up game that the twins were avidly playing on the video-game system that they occasionally managed to wrench away from their father...

"Save your game and come help me with the shopping," Scully called out; and, "Right, Mom," came the chorused reply, in perfect unison, as the boys set aside their gamepads and scurried out the door to obey: two freckled redheads so alike that even their parents had trouble telling them apart.

"Hi, Mommy," piped up a small voice from the sofa; a little girl in a white nightgown, all but hidden beneath the crocheted afghan on which she'd been conceived, so many years ago.

"Hi, sweetie," Scully answered, kneeling beside the couch to hug her youngest child. "Feeling better, now?"

"All better!" Emmy declared -- the effect was marred by her stuffed nose; but still, she looked far better than she had last night, when she'd awakened her parents with her hoarse cough. Scully placed one hand on her daughter's forehead, and was satisfied by the reduction of the fever.

Sound of a basketball bouncing against the concrete patio, then the sliding door opening, and a voice laced with excitement: "Hi, Moms, guess what? I got picked for first- string!"

"Congratulations," said her mother, smiling, reaching out to tousle the short, shaggy dark-blonde hair of her second- eldest. "Does your father know?"

"Oh, yeah," said Thea, spinning the basketball effortlessly on one finger, then catching it, "Pop's stoked to the max, fit to bust!"

"I suppose that's a good thing," said Scully wryly. "Could you go help your brothers with the groceries?"

"Sure, Ma," and Thea bounced out the door, propelled by the same relentless energy she'd always possessed.

Scully let her purse fall onto the easy chair next to her daughter's basketball, shed her coat and left that in a crumpled heap on the chair's arm, then picked up her shopping bags and headed for the kitchen.

The radio on top of the refrigerator was set to the same blues-rock station as always; 'Thou Shalt Not Meddle With Daddy's Radio' was one of the Fifteen Family Commandments, immortalized on a piece of orange construction paper taped to the wall. A wonderful aroma filled the kitchen, as steam rose from a giant pot on the stove: a recipe of his own devising, involving meat and potatoes and vegetables and an array of spices that he steadfastly refused to divulge. Every Thursday night was Stew Night, and not coincidentally, the contingent of drop-in dinner guests on Thursdays was generally a large number.

He was standing by the stove, stirring the stew with a wooden spoon, humming along to the song on the radio; and for a moment she simply stood there, looking at him. He'd aged, of course, as she had; not quite as slender as he'd been once, hair greying and thinning -- and he was every bit as handsome as he'd ever been, in her estimation, if not more so.

"Hey," she said finally, and he glanced up, startled; he hadn't heard her come in -- but then, his hearing wasn't as acute as it had once been, either: not since the unfortunate incident with the twins and the M-80 firecrackers, several Fourth-of-Julys ago.

But his smile hadn't changed: and she loved the way it lit up his whole face, eyes sparkling as brightly as any fireworks. "Hey, Scully," he said, and held out one arm to her; she went to him, wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight.

She felt her body react to his warmth, his strength, his scent, and reflected to herself that some things would never change. Love, for example. Friendship. The intensity of their partnership: a unity that had begun with their first meeting, and had continued unabated through all the years since. Desire...

"Good day at the office, Doctor Scully?" he murmured, into her hair.

"Not too bad, considering the season. Colds, flu, viruses. The Henderson kid threw up on me. Same old thing." She tilted her head upward to look at him. "You?"

"As per usual. Finished up that article I was working on, and sent it off to the Journal; express-mail, so I should just make the deadline. The twins' teacher sent another letter home -- we're supposed to go in for another meeting next Tuesday. And I got a new recipe for meatloaf off one of the PBS cooking shows. I think I'll try it out tomorrow." His grin broadened. "Thea made first-string, did she mention?"

"She did," Scully confirmed. "You must be floating on air."

"Pretty much, yeah. I don't think I've been this proud of our kids since they hacked into the Bureau's computers. Speaking of which, we're having guests for dinner..."

"I assumed as much. After all, it is Stew Night." She grinned. "'Uncle Skinner' and who else?"

"Callahan and Rodriguez, probably; they rarely miss a Thursday, when they're in town. And the Lone Gunclan, naturally." In the intervening years, the 'boys' had increased their ranks, gaining two self-proclaimed 'Lone Gunchicks' -- the arrangement was more than simply a matter of shared interests and mutual paranoia; there was some sort of rotating sleeping arrangement that neither Scully nor Mulder had ever cared to delve into... for numerous reasons.

One of the Gunchicks called herself Sunflower; her dizzy- blonde facade concealed a sharp mind and sharper intuition, and she had a knack for making computers sit up and beg... in addition to other, more mysterious talents, which 'the boys' occasionally alluded to with veiled innuendoes. The other Gunchick was generally known by the name Kelly Leibowitz -- formerly an investigative journalist, she'd stumbled across one inconsistency too many, and had begun her own independent search for the Truth, one that had eventually led her to cross the Lone Gunmen's path. Kelly had told them her own convoluted tale of woe: adopted, she'd been haunted for the duration of her youth by half- realized memories of another family, another life, another name, until finally she'd undergone hypnotic regression to try to remember her past...

And even with all the data right in front of them, even with all the clues staring them straight in the face, it had taken everyone a ridiculous length of time to realize that Kelly Leibowitz was in actuality Samantha Mulder.

It was a happy ending, of sorts; one of life's little ironies was the fact that Mulder and 'Kelly' didn't particularly get along -- and the very thought of his sister sleeping with any of the Lone Gunmen, let alone all of them in turns, tended to make him cringe. But she was alive, and well, and close at hand -- and those facts had brought Mulder the inner peace he'd lacked, at long last.

"I wonder who's sleeping with who this week," Scully speculated, straight-faced teasing; and felt her husband shudder.

"Don't take me there, sweetheart, 'cause I don't wanna go." She felt his lips plant a gentle kiss on the top of her head. "I swear, if Kel starts snuggling with Frohike on our sofa, I'm going to vomit."

"Not on me, okay? I've done that today, already," and he laughed and kissed her again: this time, on the lips, and more than casually.

"Ewww, mushy stuff," said one of the twins -- William or Walter; there was no telling which, not without closely checking the pattern of freckles. The kids were bringing in the bags of groceries, now; and Scully moved to release her husband from the embrace... and discovered that she couldn't. It was like that, sometimes; even now, after fifteen years of marriage, there were still moments when she was helpless before the intensity of her love for this man. And she liked it that way: other couples grew bored, discontented, the relationship becoming stale and colorless -- but not theirs; not them.

"Grow up," said Thea scornfully, to the boys; she set down the bags she was carrying, rummaged through one and withdrew a dripping carton. "Ma, the ice cream's melting," she complained.

"If you don't like it," said her mother, finally disentangling herself from Mulder -- not without difficulty, because he didn't seem to want to let go, either -- "you do the shopping."

"I would, if you'd let me drive!" retorted the blonde.

"Thea, you're thirteen," Mulder pointed out reasonably, "and we've discussed this already." He pointed to the orange construction paper taped to the wall. "Thou Shalt Not Drive Without A License, remember?"

"It was only that once," she grumbled, stowing the ice cream in the freezer, and licking the melted stuff from her fingers.

"Only the once that I found out about, you mean," her father said mildly. "You can get your permit when you're sixteen, and then we'll talk."

"I'll be in the NBA before you let me drive," Thea grumbled.

"Kewl! Frosty Chocos!" exclaimed one of the twins, pulling a box of breakfast cereal from another grocery bag.

"I'm getting the prize, it's my turn," protested the other twin, struggling to extract the box from his brother's grasp, meeting resistance along the way.

"Cut it out, boys," said Scully, automatically, grabbing an armful of Noodle-Roni boxes and handing them to Thea. "Put these in the pantry, please..."

The phone rang. "That's for me!" Lacy shouted, dropping her grocery bags on the table unceremoniously as she raced for the receiver -- Scully winced at the sound of eggs cracking.

A small angelic shape in white padded into the kitchen, dragging her stuffed bunny rabbit by one foot. "I'm thirsty," she murmured.

Her father picked her up, carried her over to one of the cabinets. "Which one?" he asked her, and Emmy pointed at the bright yellow box that held the honey-lemon tea. "Good choice," said Mulder approvingly, "it'll make that sore throat all better," kissing her too-warm forehead.

There was a tearing sound, as the box of sugared breakfast cereal split in two, showering the kitchen floor with Frosty Chocos; and all at once, the kitchen was silent.

"Uh-oh," Emmy said dolefully, from her daddy's arms.

"Now look what you've done," agreed their father.

"Clean that up, right now," their mother directed.

"And now neither of you is getting the prize," Mulder added, "so there."

"Awww, Dad...!" came the inevitable protest, in stereo.

Scully raised her voice to be heard over the whines. "Clean it up!" she commanded, in her best 'don't-mess-with- me' tone left over from her days in the Bureau; and grumbling, the twins went to fetch broom and dustpan and mini-vac.

"Little brats," Thea muttered.

"Don't talk that way about the little brats," Mulder told her. He leaned over and picked up the plastic-wrapped object of the twins' contention. "Hey, look, Scully, it's a secret decoder ring."

"Decode this, Mulder," Scully said tiredly, carefully stepping around the Frosty Chocos strewn over the linoleum on her way to the fridge.

Lacy stomped into the kitchen, crushing breakfast cereal underfoot. "It's for you," she said, thrusting the cordless phone at her mother. "Don't stay on too long, 'kay? I'm expecting a call." As she departed, her complaints lingered behind her: "...don't see why we can't get another phone line in this crummy house..."

"Because we already have three modem lines, that's why," called her father after her.

"Teenagers," said Scully under her breath, as if it were an epithet; then, into the receiver: "Hello?"

"I'm on my way over," said the familiar voice on the other end of the line, "and I was wondering if you needed anything. Pistachio ice cream, perhaps...?"

She laughed as she took a seat at the kitchen table. "I just got back from the store," she told him, "and yes, if you don't mind; we could use a double carton of eggs," surveying the wet, soggy bag that had once contained twenty-four intact ovoid units, before Lacy's mad dash for the phone. "And a box of Frosty Chocos." Her eyes strayed to the pair of red-headed boys crawling around on the kitchen floor. "And a pair of leashes."

A soft chuckle met her statement. "The boys are giving you trouble again," said their 'uncle', not as a question. "Want me to take them off your hands for the weekend?"

Scully hesitated, but only for a moment. "If you don't mind," she said, mostly from reflex; he never minded. Since retirement, he'd had a lot of time on his hands -- and their family was the only family he had.

It had begun more or less by accident: she'd been pregnant with Lacy, and overdue, and Mulder had just left for the QuickieMart to pick up the pistachio ice cream she craved, when Skinner had dropped by to say hello. Of course, her contractions had begun; and of course, the electric company had picked that exact moment to have a systemwide blackout; and of course, they'd gotten stuck in a massive traffic jam on the highway... Mulder had been stuck in the same traffic jam, about a mile behind them; after frantic coordination via cellphone, he'd raced down the highway shoulder to their location, had gotten there just as the baby crowned. But it had been Skinner who'd delivered the baby, sweating rivers and managing to maintain a facade of calm control by the barest of threads, in the back seat of his car halfway between Exits 11 and 12.

One of Scully's most treasured memories: gazing at her newborn infant, wrapped in Skinner's suit jacket in lieu of a blanket, holding her for the first time, aching and happy; and Mulder standing atop the hood of the car shouting, "It's a GIRL!" at the top of his lungs, while all around them car horns blared congratulations; and Skinner half-collapsed in the passenger seat, leaning over the backrest and gazing at her, shaking his head and smiling. "Only you two," he'd said, and hadn't bothered to finish the sentence, reaching out to touch one infinitesimal hand of the life he'd just helped bring into the world.

Since then, he'd been a part of the family, as much so as any blood relation might be; and it was a standing joke between them that he always called first to see if they needed anything from the store.

"I'll take them out to the cabin by the lake," said their old friend, "let them expend some of that energy playing in the snow, and keep them out of your hair for a few days."

"That would be... quite a holiday gift; thank you, Walter," she told him sincerely. Mulder glanced at her inquiringly, and she made a vague hand-motion toward the kids and the door; he grinned, and pantomimed wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

"Not a problem. I like the little monsters. They keep me on my toes. Eggs and Frosty Chocos, is that all you need?"

There was a click, as the extension phone was lifted; "Mommmmm," moaned Lacy.

"Show some respect, young lady," warned her 'uncle', "you're not too old to spank."

"Oh, yeah, right," said Lacy affectionately, "as if you ever would. You're coming over, right?"

"Sure am," said Skinner, "if I can finish up this conversation with your mother in peace."

"Yes, sir; but I'm expecting a call, okay? so hurry up, pleeeeease," and Lacy hung up the phone.

"Teenagers," muttered Scully. "Don't linger at the store, Walter; I think dinner is almost ready," she estimated, from the aroma that filled the kitchen.

"It's been ready for the last half-hour, actually," Mulder said in the background, as the kettle began to whistle; he turned off the flame, poured Emmy's tea into the Winnie-The-Pooh cup that Byers had given the girl for her last birthday. "Tell him to get his ass over here before I feed his share to the garbage disposal."

"Tell him I heard that," Skinner said. "See you in a few."

"Right," said Scully, and heard the telltale beep of the call being terminated from the other end.

One of the twins lifted his head curiously. "We get to hang out with Uncle Skinner?"

"Kewl!" exclaimed the other, and they high-fived.

"Clean that up," Scully reminded them; and smiles turned into scowls as the boys returned to their labor.

Again, the phone rang. "I'LL GET IT!" resounded through the house, as Lacy scrambled for the upstairs phone. A moment later: "THEA, IT'S FOR YOU, AND YOU'D BETTER KEEP IT SHORT, DWEEB!"

"Zark off, twitbreath!" Thea yelled back, taking the cordless unit from the kitchen table and disappearing with the phone.

"I see she's been reading Hitchhikers," Mulder observed. He dipped a spoon into the bowl of stew, blew on it to cool it off, and brought it over to Scully. "Here, taste this."

She eyed the spoon cautiously. "You got cooties all over it," she said dryly.

"You like my cooties," he countered.

Scully grinned, tasted the stew. "Last week's was better."

"You always say that," Mulder challenged.

"That's because the quality of your cooking is declining," she told him.

"Okay, then, you can make dinner from now on..."

"No, no, that's fine, the stew is wonderful, it's perfect, it's a chef's wet dream," Scully said quickly.

"Mommy, what's a wet dream?" Emmy piped up, from her seat at the table, where her father had deposited her some time before.

"It's when you dream about, um, rain, or snow," said her mother, thinking fast, "lots of snow, so you don't have to go to school; you know, a really good dream."

Mulder laughed. "Nice save," he commented. Rummaging through the freezer, he came up with an ice cube, which he dropped into the Pooh mug before setting the cup before Emmy. "Watch it, sweetie, it might be hot," and the little girl nodded gravely. "You want some?" he said to his wife.

She nodded. "Chamomile, please," and reached out to take his hand; their fingers entwined for a moment, then Mulder went off to make her tea.

Dinner was the usual chaos: five children, and twice that many adults, crowded around the oversized table. Conversation flowed -- half of it the normal ramblings of kids and parents, school and such; and the other half 'shop talk', as the latest discoveries and theories were debated. Agents Callahan and Rodriguez had uncovered a few interesting new wrinkles in the course of their latest X- Files investigation, and of course this was of interest to everyone else as well...

Scully and Mulder had left the Bureau well over a decade before, when Lacy was a little over a year old, and Thea was still a work-in-progress; the decision had been precipitated by a gunshot wound that should have crippled Mulder for life but miraculously hadn't ("...and I want to live long enough to see my kids grow up, Scully; let's get the hell out of this business before it kills us both..."). According to various sources, many many sighs of relief had been breathed when they'd resigned. And yet, if anything, the Quest was progressing more strongly than ever; their hand-picked successors were carrying the torch with skill and style, and their circle of contacts had grown instead of decreasing.

Once upon a time, they had worried about the safety of their children, lest the shadowy figures decide to exact retribution in their most vulnerable area. But that had been before the memorable incident in which said children had displayed what they'd learned from their elders, extricating their parents and uncles and aunts from a life- or-death situation and demonstrating quite effectively that even the youngest members of the Scully-Mulder clan were formidable, and not to be trifled with... Since then, they'd carried on their work with relative impunity; even their most implacable foes left them alone.

To their neighbors, they were just another suburban couple: Scully, the family doctor to more than half the neighborhood, and Mulder, the house-husband who supplied much-coveted cookies for PTA bake sales and occasionally substitute-taught classes at the local elementary school. If they had only known how many government conspiracies and cover-ups were discussed at the dinner table, or how many secrets flowed through the desktop computer in the study...

The phone rang halfway through dinner; and although it was a long-standing family rule that Thou Shalt Not Interrupt Dinner For Anything Short Of Nuclear War, Lacy tensed, poised for flight. "Daddy, please..." she implored.

Mulder paused in the midst of interrogating Rodriguez about the case file, glanced sternly at his daughter -- then relented. "Just this once," and she dashed from the table, frantically diving for the phone.

Shortly thereafter, Lacy returned to the table -- floated, actually; her face was wreathed in blissful happiness. "He asked me out!" she crowed. "Finally, finally, finally, he asked me out!"

"Congratulations," said Agent Callahan, smiling; she and Lacy were close. "He's cute, I bet."

"Oh, he is so cute; he's the coolest guy in my class!" exclaimed the girl happily, taking her seat at the table.

"And just who is this 'he'?" Skinner wanted to know.

"Joey McCann," Lacy answered, pronouncing the name as if it were a prayer; beside her, Thea made an ostentatious gagging noise. "He's awesome..."

"He's bogus," countered her sister. "Jeez, Lace, I thought you had better taste," and Lacy glared at her hotly.

Before it could deteriorate into an argument, Skinner spoke. "I want to meet this young man," he declared ominously.

Lacy's face fell. "Oh, no," she groaned. "Daddy..."

"Don't look to me for support," said her father mildly. "I want to meet him, too." His eyes met Skinner's across the table, in silent conspiracy. "We have to make sure he's good enough for you, after all."

Caught between outrage and desperation, Lacy turned to her mother. "Mom..."

"You can have him pick you up here," Scully said placidly, "and we'll put him through the usual third degree, and then you can go out."

"Oh, please, please, don't scare him off," their daughter begged.

"They won't do that," Byers consoled her. "They'll just make sure he knows that both of your parents and your protective Uncle Skinner are licensed to carry concealed weapons, that's all."

Thea snickered; and Lacy moaned and buried her face in her hands. "Laugh it up, Thea," Kelly said to her namesake, vastly amused, "you'll be dating, next."

"You're getting your hair in your stew, Lace," one of the twins pointed out.

"I don't care. My life is ruined!" Lacy declared dramatically; she left the table and stormed off.

"Melissa!" her father called after her, annoyed; but Lacy was in one of her moods, and moments later, there came the sound of a bedroom door slamming ostentatiously.

"Why is Lacy mad?" Emmy wondered querulously.

"Because she's a teenager, honey," said Langly, wiping the little girl's mouth with the corner of a napkin. As a baby, Emmy had been infinitely fascinated with his eyeglasses; and ever since then, they'd been fast friends.

"It's hormones," said the other twin, with a self-satisfied grin. "Girls have too many hormones."

"You'll be glad of that, someday," Sunflower told him, with gleeful certainty.

"No way!" disputed one twin, and "Girls are gross," said the other, provoking smiles from the adults, who knew what sort of attitude-adjustments the years would bring.

"You want me to go talk to her?" Callahan asked, rising from the table.

"Well, someone should," Scully sighed, "and I'm tired," and the younger woman nodded and exited, in the same direction Lacy had gone.

She looked up, to find Mulder's eyes resting on hers. "You had that little talk with her, I take it," he probed gently.

Scully nodded. "I did," she said, "and I think she may have even listened."

"Good," said Mulder, who had not been happy to hear that his 'little girl' had asked to go on the Pill; no, not happy at all.

"What talk?" Thea wanted to know.

"You'll find out in a year or two," Scully told her.

"Or five, or ten," Mulder added, "I hope."

Dinner continued, marred only slightly by the soda one of the twins spilled on the table ("You clean that up, William, and you apologize," directed Skinner, who somehow could always tell them apart, even when no one else could) and Lacy and Callahan returned in time for dessert: a sinfully rich chocolate cake that the Gunclan had contributed to the feast. Afterwards, it was homework time ("I can't wait for winter recess," was the general consensus among the younger set) and the kids clustered at the kitchen table while their elders headed off for the living room, and a semblance of peace and quiet.

Skinner settled comfortably into the easy chair that had been designated as his, and the Lone Gunclan took over the sofa, while the two FBI agents took the loveseat, resuming the dinner-table conversation -- and Mulder caught Scully's eye, snatched up the afghan from the arm of the couch, took his wife's hand with the other; and they slipped through the front door and outside, together.

It was cold out, but not too cold; tiny snowflakes fluttered through the air, though not enough to stick. She waited while Mulder settled himself into the porch swing, then took her usual place in his arms, and snuggled close as he drew the afghan over both of them. The porch swing had been a housewarming gift from her brother; she'd nursed all five of her kids in it, had spent evenings there waiting for Mulder to come home from one wild-goose-chase or another, had come home late to find him waiting there for her, and had spent uncountable hours just as she was now, enfolded in his arms... It wasn't the most comfortable spot in the world, but it was one of her favorites.

His arm extended, pointed upwards. "Look, Scully," he said, "it's a UFO."

She looked. "Mulder," she said, in the second half of the longtime ritual, "it's a helicopter," and he grinned and kissed the top of her head.

"What're we having for Christmas dinner?" she murmured, idly curious; feeling the fatigue of her day washing over her, feeling the utter contentment that always swept over her whenever they were this close.

"The usual five-ton turkey, I think, and the usual trimmings. Think I can impose on you to make that sweet- potato thing with the marshmallows?"

"Sure," Scully said sleepily, "I can cook once in a while." She yawned, and felt his hand come up to stroke her hair soothingly. "What about the Solstice?"

"It's Lacy's holiday; she can cook. And Kel's volunteered to cook for us over Hanukkah, matzoh-ball soup and the whole deal."

"That means eight days of Gun-folk underfoot," she pointed out.

"Eight days of live-in babysitters," he countered.

"Just keep 'em out of my computer," Scully acceded, "they screwed up all my files, last time," and yawned again.

"Sleepy, love?" and she felt herself go all warm and fuzzy at the tenderness in his voice. "You've had a long day; I should take you up to bed."

"You should," she agreed, letting her voice drop to a lower register, the sultry tone that never failed to turn him on.

She felt his lips brush against his forehead. "You're tired..."

"Not that tired," Scully said, and felt him smile without having to look.

Fifteen years, and nothing had changed; nothing important, anyway. Fifteen years, and it just kept getting better, with every passing day. Fifteen years... "I love you, Mulder," she said softly.

"I love you, Scully." Such simple words, that meant so much.

The front door opened. "Hate to intrude," Frohike's voice penetrated the darkness, "but I thought you might want to know that your boys just broke the cordless phone, and Lacy is threatening to rip out their intestines and strangle them with 'em. Just in case you're interested."

Scully blinked up at her husband; their eyes met, with a mixture of amusement, dismay and resignation. "Time to go back to work, partner," said Mulder.

"I guess so," she said, smiling despite herself.

And together, they went inside, to deal with their family.

...and they lived happily ever after.

The End

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