By Jake
nejake@tds.net
 

Rating: G (Yes, you read that right!)
Classification: S, MSR
Spoilers: Pre-Ep of sorts for "How the Ghosts Stole Christmas"

Summary: "Stalking-horse": anything serving to conceal one's
intentions.

Disclaimer: Do these characters really belong to Chris Carter,
FOX and 1013 Productions? If so, no copyright infringement
intended. Fun, yes. Profit, no.

Authors Notes: This story was written in response to Haven's
"Guilty Pleasures" fic challenge. Challenge elements are listed
at the end. To see the HTML version (with a illo of Scully's
gown) go to http://cindyet.xfilesfanfiction.com/~cindyet/gp1.htm.

Special thanks to my cyber-twin, mimic117, for quick beta.
 

~~~
 

THE CASE OF THE CHRISTMAS STALKING-HORSE
By Jake

FBI HEADQUARTERS
FBI BULLPEN
TUESDAY, DECEMBER 22, 1998
5:04 PM

"Mistletoe Ball? Mulder, you must be joking." Scully sat
ramrod straight, shoulder's squared, posture as taut as her
nerves. She was dreading the holidays. Every winking light,
ho-ho-ho and Silent Night reminded her of Emily's death a year
ago.

The bullpen hummed with last minute phone calls and paper
shuffling. Agents powered down their PCs, shrugged into their
winter coats, and bee-lined for the door, eager to abandon the
tedium of background checks.

Scut work. Bozo work. Mulder called it the FBI equivalent to
wearing an orange jumpsuit and picking up trash by the side of
the highway. His heart wasn't in their punitive assignment.
Her heart wasn't in it either, but for different reasons.

Hunched over the desk in front of hers, chin propped on his
left fist, Mulder hunted through his computer's directory,
opening folders and files, previewing images only to close
them again. He seemed in no hurry to leave the office,
although he complained regularly about Kersh and their
reassignment. "I'm serious, Scully. Tomorrow night, 8:00 p.m.
Grand Ballroom at the Watergate."

"I know when and where it is." Her fingers grazed her keyboard
as she proofed her December expense report, double-checking
her credit card figures and trying hard to concentrate on
anything but the impending anniversary of her daughter's
death. "I thought you hated black-tie affairs."

"I do. But there's something significant about this one." He
tilted his head ceiling-ward and inhaled deeply through his
nose. "Can you smell it, Scully? Eau de X-File."

As always, he was indefatigable, a bloodhound hot on the trail
of the paranormal.

She wished she shared his enthusiasm. Cocooned in her sorrow,
she smelled nothing, tasted nothing, felt nothing...nothing
but slivers of grief, needling her during work, after hours,
on weekends.

"We're off the X-Files, Mulder."

"I heard that rumor." He returned his attention to his
monitor.

Several desks away, a dedicated agent was bent over his
keyboard, intent on his end-of-the-day tasks. Although out of
earshot, Scully lowered her voice to ask, "Exactly how is the
Bureau's holiday dance an X-File, beyond the fact that you're
considering going?"

Mulder continued to browse his files. "You don't want to get
gussied up?"

"Gussied up? Mulder, what century are you living in?"

"Ah, here we are." Apparently finding the image he'd been
looking for, he sized it to fit his monitor and then leaned
back to give her an unobstructed view.

Two human-shaped silhouettes filled his screen, both as black
as Rorschach ink blots.

"What are those?" she asked, without any real interest.

"Shadow People."

"Shadow--?" Goosebumps sprouted on her arms. She leaned
forward to look more closely at the photo. There was something
repellent about the faceless human-like forms.

Mulder traced the outline of what could be a profile with his
index finger. "'Shadow People' -- or 'Shadow Beings' -- are
fast-moving entities that appear without warning. They're most
often seen out of the corner of the eye and only very briefly,
although a few witnesses have reported seeing them straight on
for longer periods. The entities are commonly described as
being featureless, but some have been said to have glowing red
eyes." He jabbed the shadow's non-existent eyes.

She shook her head. "People often think they see things that
aren't really there. Their minds are just playing tricks on
them." She had thought she'd seen Emily during the Kernof
case. Sometimes she thought she heard her daughter's voice
calling out to her, too. "The human eye and mind are easily
fooled."

"But not the camera." He rapped the monitor with his knuckles.
"Photos don't lie, Scully."

"I'm guessing those were real shadows caused by an ambient
light source."

"That's one opinion. There are others." He pushed away from
his desk and rode his chair backward until he bumped into her
desk. "Ghosts, demons, other spirit entities. Time travelers,
interdimentional beings, aliens."

"You think those shadows are aliens?"

"No, *I* think they're astral bodies, the essences of people
who are having out-of-body experiences. Their shadowy spirits
wander the earth while their hosts sleep."

She massaged the bridge of her nose, feeling as if she were
having an out-of-body experience right now and had been having
one for the last twelve months. Numbed from the inside out,
disconnected from her physical body, she could be one of
Mulder's insubstantial Shadow People.

"They're rarely photographed, Scully. This picture," -- he
nodded at the monitor -- "was given to me by Chester Nutt,
who--"

"Excuse me? Chester Nutt? Is that his real name?"

"I don't think he'd use it if it weren't." He gave her a
sidelong glance. "Chester Nutt is a night custodian at the
Watergate Hotel."

"Which is where the Bureau's Mistletoe Ball is being held. I
think I see where this is going."

The beginning of a smile nudged his right cheek. "It'll be the
perfect cover for our investigation."

"Kersh will have our heads."

"He doesn't have to know."

"Muld--"

"Just let me give you a few details before you make up your
mind." He leaned back in her chair and waited for her full
attention, not realizing she gave nothing her full attention
these days.

She tried to feign interest in what he was saying. "Fine. Give
me the details."

"Chester Nutt--" He stopped speaking when the lingering agent
suddenly rose from his chair.

The agent gave them a cheerful wave. "G'night," he said.

Scully returned his wave. "Was he listening?" she asked when
he was out of earshot.

"I don't think so," Mulder answered, but waited until the
agent was out the door before he continued. "Chester Nutt
claims to have seen Shadow People at the Watergate on six
separate occasions over the last five months. He says they
come out only at night, in the ballroom, during crowded social
events. He took that photo," -- Mulder hooked his thumb at the
picture on his computer monitor -- "during the Veteran's Day
dance last month. He's convinced the Shadow People will make
an appearance during the Mistletoe Ball. And we're gonna be
there to see them."

Fatigue pressed at her eyes and her disinterest grew with each
passing second. In contrast, Mulder was exhibiting his usual
exuberance, oblivious to her ennui.

"I'm not going." She powered down her computer. "Ask someone
else."

"Ask...?" He blinked at her. "Such as...?"

"I don't know. I don't really care. Take a date."

"I can't take a date." His brow buckled with disbelief. "This
is a case, Scully."

"Then go by yourself."

"To a formal dance? You're my cover. I need you with me."

"You don't need me. And this is not a case because we are
officially off the X-Files."

"But that's the best part. A mischievous glint brightened his
eyes. "Going against orders right under Kersh's nose adds to
our fun."

She was in no mood to play Mulder's rebellious games. "Why did
you wait until now to tell me about Chester Nutt and
these...Shadow People?"

"I just found out about them. Mr. Nutt emailed me only this
morning."

"Mulder, I have Christmas shopping to do--"

He pushed his chair back to his own desk and shrugged as if to
say, "Is that my fault?" Shutting off his computer, he said,
"There are still two whole shopping days left before
Christmas." He sounded irritated. "But there's only one chance
to witness this phenomenon."

"I have a lot of presents to buy--"

"So skip mine."

"You don't want to exchange gifts this year?"

He turned to look at her with pleading eyes. "If you're giving
me a choice, I'd rather you come with me tomorrow night."

She had run out of energy to argue and she supposed it didn't
really matter where she spent tomorrow evening. Whether she was
Christmas shopping at the mall or investigating a non-case with
Mulder, she would still be thinking about Emily.

"Fine. I'll go with you. But I'm taking tomorrow off."

"Sure. Shop 'til you drop, Scully."

Shop 'til-- Damn it, she realized she now needed to buy an
evening gown. She was about to tell him she'd changed her mind,
when he rose from his chair and said, "You won't regret it,
Scully."

He looked so pleased she resisted her urge to renege.

She stood, too. "I hope not." She already had all the regrets
she could handle.

-x-x-x-x-

SHRUM'S FORMAL WEAR
BALTIMORE, MARYLAND
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 23
1:24 PM

"How about this one?" Maggie pointed to a gaunt mannequin
dressed in a black lace shift with a beaded bodice. Several
dozen small bows decorated each glittery sleeve.

"Too fussy. I need something plain," Scully said.

She trailed her mother through Shrum's, scarcely looking at the
festive displays. They'd been browsing for only ten minutes and
she was ready to give up, call Mulder and tell him she couldn't
make it, he was on his own.

The First Noel began to play on the store's PA system and she
found herself imagining how different this Christmas would have
been if Emily had lived and she'd been able to adopt her. She
would be shopping for dolls and picture books, instead of
accompanying Mulder on another one of his wild ghost chases.

"Have you finished your shopping yet?" Maggie asked, eyes
focused on the next gown.

To be honest, she hadn't even begun. "I have a few more people
to buy for."

"Tomorrow's Christmas Eve, sweetheart. And you know we're
expecting you at the house by 6:00 a.m. Christmas morning," her
mother reminded her. She stopped in front of a billowy scarlet
taffeta and fingered the material. "How about this one? It's
pretty."

"It's red." Scully waggled a lock of coppery hair at her
mother.

"I know, but maybe they have it in blue or green." She moved
on, humming along with the store's music.

In some respects, Scully regretted inviting her mother to come
with her. Their tastes were nothing alike. But she knew her mom
would enjoy their time together and, more importantly, she knew
Maggie wouldn't let her back out of her obligation to Mulder.
The temptation to call him and cancel was becoming almost
intolerable.

"Do you like this gold one?"

"Mom, can we take a break? Maybe get some coffee or something?"

"Dana, we've barely begun and you don't have time to dawdle.
Didn't you say the dance was at 8:00?"

"I can be late."

"Late? For heaven's sake, what will your date think?"

"This isn't a date, Mom. I told you, it's work related...a
case... I'm going with Mulder."

Maggie paused to admire the next dress, a low-cut clingy peach-
colored gown. Scully imagined how she would look and feel in
it...completely naked.

"A little too, uh, showy, Mom," she said. "I need something
more professional."

"You've got such a nice figure, Dana, yet you never show it
off."

"I don't want to show it off. I'm going to be working. With
Mulder."

Maggie gave her a disapproving frown before abandoning the
dress and continuing their search.

"What?" Scully asked.

"Dana, you've been partners with Fox for years. He's a nice
man."

"He's my partner."

"He likes you."

"Of course he likes me. I like him. We're friends." Although,
now that she was thinking about it, she hadn't confided any of
her feelings about Emily to him, not in all the months since
her death. Wouldn't you tell a friend something like that? And
wouldn't a friend...a really good friend...remember the
anniversary of your child's death? Wouldn't he understand that
you might be feeling distracted by your loss? That you might
not care about demon fetal harvests and weather-controlling
meteorologists and Shadow People?

Maybe she'd grown to rely on Mulder too much. He was paid to
watch her back, not coddle her.

Hoping to end her mother's well-intentioned meddling, she said,
"I'm not interested in becoming romantically involved with
anyone right now."

"Sweetie, you're 35 years old. I know children aren't an issue
for you, but--"

"Mom, please... I can't...I can't have this conversation right
now. Please." Tears came unbidden, stinging her eyes. Her empty
heart ached to hold her daughter once more.

"I'm sorry." Maggie squeezed her arm. "I didn't mean to upset
you." Eager to put things back on a more pleasant path, she
returned her attention to the dresses. "Oh! How about this
one?"

She indicated a lovely off-the-shoulder gown with a velvet top
and an A-line skirt. The bodice was moss green and the skirt
matte satin, in a slightly lighter shade.

Simple, classy, professional...and very beautiful.

A cheery sales clerk approached and asked, "Find something you
like?"

"Try it on," Maggie urged.

Minutes later they were in the dressing room, Maggie sitting
on an upholstered bench, while Scully undressed in front of a
three-sided mirror. The clerk held onto the gown until Scully
was ready to slip it over her head. Together they pulled it
into place.

"Oh, Dana, it's lovely. You're lovely," Maggie said, pride in
her voice and tears glossing her eyes.

Scully pivoted to study herself in the mirror. The gown was
the right size and the style flattered her figure.

"I'm not sure," she said, eyeing her bare shoulders and the
form-fitting stretch-velvet bodice. Was it too...sexy?

The clerk plucked at the neckline and fussed with the skirt.
"The color is perfect with your hair," she said.

"She'll take it," her mother said.

The smiling clerk looked to Scully for confirmation.

The gown was a little revealing, but no more than any of the
others her mother had pointed out. Rejecting it would mean
starting all over, looking for another.

"Sure, I'll take it."

-x-x-x-x-

WATERGATE GRAND BALLROOM
WASHINGTON DC
9:02 PM

The click of Scully's heels ricocheted off the Watergate's
black and white marble floor as she hurried toward the
ballroom. She was more than an hour late.

She'd been soaking in the tub when Mulder phoned earlier to say
he was on his way to pick her up. The water had gone tepid, the
suds gray. Dashed dreams and year-old memories fogged her mind
like steam on the bathroom mirror. Rather than taking the time
to explain to Mulder why she was still not dressed, she'd put
him off by telling him to go ahead without her, promising to be
along shortly.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she said, managing to control the tremor in her
voice.

"You are coming tonight, right?"

"I'll be there. I'm just running a little late."

His next words sounded clipped with disappointment; he ended
their conversation with "See you soon."

Strains of Deck the Halls eddied down the corridor from the
ballroom, sounding tinny and frantic. She followed the music,
passing rows of ficus trees decked with miniature white lights.
Their winking glow reflected in the windows, mirroring the
sparkle of the Georgetown skyline beyond the glass. Displays of
crimson poinsettias vied for her attention, but her focus was
on the far end of the hall, already searching for Mulder's
familiar silhouette.

She spotted him slouched against a pilaster near the ballroom's
entrance, looking uncomfortable but handsome in his tux. His
face lit up when he saw her. Pushing off the wall, he headed
toward her.

He surprised her with a peck on the cheek when they met.

"You clean up pretty nice, Scully," he said, corralling her
with one arm and steering her toward the ballroom.

"You don't look too shabby yourself, G-Man."

As a matter of fact, he looked exceptionally handsome and at
first she attributed it to the tux, until she noticed that it
was his smile that was holding her attention. Not one of his
usual fleeting half-smiles, but a dazzling grin that made her
realize how seldom he laughed when they were together. Funny,
she hadn't expected him to be so relaxed at a formal Bureau
function.

"Mulder, have you been drinking?"

"No," he said, chuffing with good-humored indignation. Then, as
if suddenly remembering his manners, he asked, "Did you want a
drink?"

"No, of course not. We're working."

"Right."

He reached past her to grab two petit fours from the tray of a
passing waiter.

"You gotta try these," he said, holding one out to her and
popping the other in his mouth.

She waved him off. "I'm not really hungry."

"They're great. Here. Try it." He held the confection to her
lips.

Reluctantly she nibbled a bit of chocolate-covered cocoanut
from its edge before shaking her head to the rest.

"You don't like it?"

To be honest, she could barely taste it. "I haven't had much of
an appetite lately."

"Oh." He finished it off and wiped his hands on his trousers.
"You, uh...you wanna dance?"

The band was playing Winter Wonderland and the dance floor was
swarming with revelers, dressed to the nines, dancing,
laughing, drinking.

"Uh...sure. I guess so."

He dovetailed his fingers with hers and drew her into the
swirling throng. When he found a vacant patch of floor, he
turned to face her and posed for a waltz. She took his hand and
slid into his embrace.

"Where's your source?" she asked, glancing past his shoulder.
The room was dimly lit. She wondered how they would be able to
distinguish Mulder's shadow entities from all the real shadows.

"My source?" He stiffened and missed a step; a chevron of
confusion ridged his brow.

"Chester Nutt?"

"Oh! Him." His smile returned. "He's around somewhere. It's
still early."

He moved with fluid confidence, holding her lightly, keeping a
gentlemanly distance between them.

"You're not a bad dancer," she said, surprised to find herself
relaxing in his easy embrace.

"I had a lot of practice at debutante balls on the Vineyard."
He waggled his brows. "What about you? Where did you learn?"

"My father taught me. He claimed it was an essential skill for
every officer's wife."

"Ah, he had traditional hopes for your future."

"I suppose, although he always supported my decision to go into
medicine." Winter Wonderland transitioned into Let It Snow.
Mulder never missed a beat and she let him lead her backward,
swaying gently to the music. "Dad was proud of my
accomplishments..."

"Do I hear a 'but'?"

"I think there was always a part of him that wanted me to marry
a Navy man and become a homemaker and mother."

Nodding, he drew her a fraction of an inch closer.

The fabric of his coat tickled her arm where she held his
shoulder. She thought she caught a whiff of his aftershave when
he suddenly sidestepped around an encroaching couple. The
intruders turned out to be Kersh and a lab assistant from
forensics.

Kersh nodded politely. "Agents."

"Sir." Mulder veered away to put some space between them.

Scully kept her eye on Kersh. "He's watching us."

"You're imagining it."

"No, I'm not. He's looking at us right now."

Mulder surreptitiously twirled them, swapping positions so that
he faced Kersh. "Nope. You're wrong. He's staring at Skinner's
secretary's ass. Actually, I think he's staring at Skinner's
ass."

She smiled in spite of herself, until she spotted another set
of prying eyes. "Isn't that the agent who was in the bullpen at
the end of the day yesterday?"

"Where?"

"Dancing with Jennifer from accounting."

"Who's Jennifer from accounting?"

"The leggy blonde with the tight red dress and the fake beauty
mark."

"Oh." He nodded when he finally spotted her. "What about her?"

"Nothing about her. The guy with her. Wasn't he the agent who
was listening to us talk about our case, which isn't really a
case because we don't work on the X-Files anymore?"

Mulder chuckled. "Scully, no one is watching us, particularly
that guy with whoever-from-accounting."

"But...aren't you worried about Kersh finding out--"

"Kersh doesn't know why we're really here. No one does. Just
enjoy the dance, Scully."

Mulder began humming It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like
Christmas, although the band was now playing Silver Bells. The
disparity muddled Scully's thinking. Or maybe it was his
proximity that had her missing steps. He was holding her closer
than before and she was certain she could smell his aftershave
now. It had a spicy, masculine scent, and it was making her
feel a bit dizzy.

"Shouldn't we be looking for Shadow People?" she asked, trying
to focus on business.

"I forgot to tell you, they don't come out until midnight."

"Midnight?" She drew back to scowl at him. "That's almost three
hours from now."

"And your point is...?"

"Why are we here so early?"

"Because it would look kinda suspicious if we showed up at
11:55." Again he narrowed the gap between them. He leaned so
close she could no longer see his face. "Did I mention you look
nice?" he murmured.

"Uh...thank you...yes, you did...back at the--"

She felt his palm skim her back as he gently fingered the
velvety fabric of her gown. "I like this dress. What color
would you say it is?" he asked.

"Green."

"Hm. That's interesting," he said.

"Why is that interesting."

"A 'green gown' is a metaphor for a 'tousle in the new-mown
hay.' It means 'to go beyond the bounds of innocent
playfulness.'"

Leave it to Mulder to turn her choice of gown into an
innuendo. "According to whom?"

"The Canting Dictionary."

"The Canting Dictionary?"

"It's an archaic collection of thieving slang, used by
beggars, Gypsies, cheats, house-breakers, shop-lifters,
highwaymen, et cetera."

"Remind me never to play Scrabble with you."

Again he chuckled, waltzing her backward, hugging her to his
chest. Their bodies now connected from breastbone to knees, but
instead of feeling uncomfortable about it, she found herself
lulled by the warmth and sway of his body...and a little
excited by the friction of his leg nudging between hers. His
breath tickled her bare shoulder and his palm heated her
fingers where he held her hand. His other hand caressed the
small of her back in a most unprofessional but incredibly
hypnotic way. She found herself almost forgetting why they were
here, distracted by the attractive scent of Mulder's
aftershave, the faint taste of cocoanut and chocolate still on
her tongue and the incredible calm that was softly descending
on her like new fallen snow.

"Mulder, are you smelling me?" She pulled back and caught him
mid-sniff.

"You smell nice. Is that a new perfume?"

He wasn't acting like himself at all, but then neither was she.
"Mulder, what is with you?"

"T'is the season for magic and miracles, Scully. I've got the
Christmas spirit." As if to prove his point, he burst into
song. "Santa Claus is coming to town--"

"Please don't tell me you still believe in Santa Claus."

The band began to play O Come, All Ye Faithful, and Mulder
changed the rhythm of their dance. "You know me, Scully, I'll
believe almost anything. And you have to admit the legend of
Santa Claus is rife with paranormal phenomena. Think about it.
Flying reindeer. Magic sleigh. A portly man who can slide down
several million chimneys in one night quicker than Eugene
Tooms. You don't suppose he bilocates, do you?"

"Mulder--"

"Maybe his elves shape-shift into Santa look-alikes to help him
out."

"That's a creepy idea."

"I've never told anyone this, Scully," -- a playful glint lit
his eyes -- "but I was always a little creeped out by Santa's
elves. Not in an aliens-from-outer-space kind of way or even a
creepy-clown way, but in the small, pointy-eared men living
with an old fat guy at the North Pole kind of way. Know what I
mean?"

"Thank you so much for that image. I'd never really thought
about it in quite that way before." She leaned into him,
content to listen to his silly confessions while he rocked her
in his arms. "Since we're divulging our deepest, darkest
secrets, I always found the fable about Frosty the Snowman a
bit frightening."

"What do you mean 'fable'?" he said with mock horror. "You
don't believe Frosty's old, silk hat was magic?"

"Of course not. Magic is an illusion...nothing but sleight of
hand and parlor tricks."

"Grinch."

He suddenly whirled her, making her laugh. "I don't suppose
you'd be willing to entertain the notion that Frosty was
brought to life by the power of positive thinking?"

They slowed and she caught her breath.

"That's a nice idea, Mulder, but optimism, faith, wishful
thinking...they can't spark life where there is none."

An image of Emily rose unbidden and unwelcome in her mind. It
struck her that this was the first time she'd thought about her
daughter all evening.

"But the children say he could laugh and play just the same as
you and me." Mulder tucked her hand against his chest, placing
her right palm directly over his heart. "Feel that, Scully?
Thumpitty-thump-thump, thumpitty-thump-thump."

She did feel it, a soft pulse beneath his starched shirtfront.

My God, she could feel...and smell...and taste. It was as if
she were waking from a year-long sleep to find her senses
finally restored, like the essences of Mulder's Shadow People,
returned from their dark wanderings to the bodies where they
belonged.

Teetering on a tightrope of emotion, she paused to take a deep
breath. She didn't usually confide in Mulder this way.
"Mulder...this year has been hard for me--"

"I know."

"I can't help thinking back to last Christmas--"

"I know."

"When Emily was--"

"Scully, I *know*."

She looked up to find him gazing at her with sorrow-filled
eyes.

"I know what it's like to lose someone close to you," -- his
voice wavered -- "someone you love."

She nodded. Of course he did. He'd been living with the grief
of his sister's abduction for decades.

His head dipped and she felt his cheek graze her ear.

"I once lost you," he murmured. "Remember?"

Her breath stalled. He hadn't been referring to Sam. He'd been
talking about her.

The band began to play The Christmas Song and the lyrics
rolled through her mind -- Chestnuts roasting on an open
fire...

That's when she realized something else, too: Mulder had
arranged this evening for her sake.

"There never really was a Chester Nutt, was there? You made him
up."

"I did," he admitted, looking contrite.

"You couldn't think of a better name than that?"

"Sometimes the most ridiculous lies are the most believable."

"But why did you feel you had to lie at all?" she asked,
squeezing his hand. "Why didn't you just ask me to the dance?"

"Would you have said yes?"

"Probably not."

He put his lips to her ear and whispered, "Well, there you go."
Wrapping both of his arms around her, he rested his chin on
the crown of her head. His words vibrated against her brow
when he spoke. "I-I couldn't think of an appropriate gift to
give you this year, Scully. Everything seemed so trite
compared to...to all you've lost. So I thought maybe I could
give you a little peace of mind, if only for an hour or two."

"Oh, Mulder." Tears of appreciation welled up in her eyes.

He'd given her much more than he realized. His thoughtful
gesture had helped her regain her lost sense of self and she
could feel her spirits lifting for the first time in weeks.
Suddenly she was eager to tackle her Christmas shopping and
celebrate the holidays with her family. Maybe she would buy
him a gift, too, to hell with their earlier agreement.

She snaked both arms around his waist, not caring who might
see her display of affection. "Do *not* call me tomorrow with
another bogus case. I've got shopping to do."

"Bogus case?" He kissed her hair. "Admit it. Chasing shadows
is preferable to running from them."

Yes, it was. She nestled into his embrace, grateful beyond
words for his friendship.

"Merry Christmas, Mulder."

"Merry Christmas, Scully."
 

THE END
 

Author's notes:

This story was written in response to Haven's "Guilty
Pleasures" November fic challenge.

Elements:

- A voyeur or an act of being voyeuristic (Was Kersh watching
them?)
- A search for something, someone, or a telling of a search --
in honor of all the people searching for fic (searching for
Chester Nutt's photo, Shadow People, Scully's gown, and her
lost sense of self)
- A fear of clowns (and aliens and elves and Frosty the
Snowman)
- A stalker -- again can be of something, someone, or a
telling of a stalker -- in honor of the stalkers of course
(the title of the fic: The Case of the Christmas Stalking-
Horse)

I consider "The Case of the Christmas Stalking-Horse" a pre-ep
to "How the Ghosts Stole Christmas." Remember the scene at the
end of that ep when Mulder says to Scully, "Now, um...I know
we said that we weren't going to exchange gifts but, uh...I
got you...a little something." Lots of authors have written
fics about the mystery gifts that our heroes exchanged and
opened with such childlike enthusiasm. But as far as I know,
no one has written about the moment when Mulder and Scully
agreed not to exchange gifts in the first place. Sooooo...this
was my take.

Feedback, good or bad, is welcome on this or any of my stories.
Send comments to nejake@tds.net.