Disclaimer: Copyrighted property of Alliance Television and 1013 Productions. This is a PG rated (sorry) PWP written for the X-Files/Due South crossover challenge on DSX, and takes place after the close of Due South proper. God only knows how it fits into the X-Files universe. Yes, PG means no sex, but it's romance between two women, and surely *that's* not fit for family consumption. My True Love Gave to Me by Hth hth29@hotmail.com "Just one. Please?" Her girlfriend's look was stern, in that sky-and-cream way that only the Celts could manage. "It's not fair. My family used to open all our presents on Christmas Eve.: "Not until tomorrow, Francesca." Scully settled on the arm of the couch, her fingertips massaging Francesca's temples. "Look, it's still snowing outside. Look how pretty the ice is on the trees." She sighed with operatic feeling. "It's pretty. Don't listen to me; I'm just bloated and fat and cranky, and I'm being a prima rosa on Christmas." "Donna, honey. Prima donna." "Prima donna and child." Francesca folded her hands on top of her round belly. "What if I had the baby on Christmas Eve? Wouldn't that be -- weird?" "Very weird," Scully agreed, and only the tightening of her full lips betrayed how distasteful the idea was to her. Immaculate conceptions in her off hours, in her own home, were bad enough; she didn't need life with Francesca to take on any more messianic overtones than it already had. Scully put the headphones on Francesca's stomach, the sounds of Handel's Messiah ringing tinny and distant through the room. She couldn't help but fuss; it was such a -- a miracle. A baby, after all Scully had been through. Frannie, in that loopy, scattershot, crazily generous way she had, got pregnant out of sheer wanting to have adorable little black-eyed Vecchio babies to share with Scully. Every time she thought of the baby, their baby, Scully was swamped by the urge to nest -- no, the need to make things perfect for poor, bloated, fat, cranky, divine, beautiful Frannie Vecchio. She brought the tray of bell-shaped sugar cookies to the coffee table where Frannie could reach them, wrapped the quilt around Francesca's shoulders, turned off all the lights except the tree and the runners around the window, and settled in against her girlfriend's side, drawing her own feet up and tucking them between the cushions of the sofa. Francesca patted Scully's knee where her expensive white silk robe parted to expose her leg. "Thanks for putting up with me. It's so weird, having the whole family in Florida over Christmas." "We could have gone, you know." "What? And have my baby born in some tacky bowling alley and get flamencos and mouse ears for gifts?" "Flamingos, honey." "Flamingos! My baby is going to be born in Chicago like a regular American. It's just -- this is my first Christmas without Ma, you know? And it's going to be the first Christmas with Ray married, and--" Gently, Scully turned Frannie's head and met her lips in a moist, lingering touch that was more the suggestion of a kiss than a kiss. "It's different, isn't it?" She smoothed down the lace on the collar of Frannie's red flannel nightgown, motivated by a fussy, pre-maternal need for neatness, but a wave of sheer affection made her ache to pet Francesca, and she gave in to the urge. She had been the most angelicly, daintily, exuberantly feminine thing Scully had ever seen, right from the beginning, and yet now Frannie was nothing short of a goddess, disheveled but luminous, wide-eyed but serene and confident, modest and homey in her flannel, but lush with childbearing curves that overflowed Scully's capable but small hands as she felt along them. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she kissed Frannie again, their tongues pressing and parting until Scully couldn't have seen if she had wanted to. When their lips parted, Scully knew she was smiling, half giddy and half smug, with Frannie's red lipstick on her mouth. "Maybe just one present." "You pick one for me and I'll pick one for you." Even at nine months pregnant, Francesca could move with sprightly energy when she tried, and she was on her knees rooting around under the tree before the words were out of her mouth. "Here -- you open this." Without even looking at the names scrawled on the black-and-silver plaid wrapping paper ("Scully Mulder Xmas" it said, rather inarticulately), she knew from the half-hearted wrap job whose it was. She shook it once, listening as though for forensic evidence on a wiretap. Sounded like videotapes, two of them, which didn't bode very well for anyone. But when all was revealed, the gift turned out to be not only benign, but rather charming -- the whole first season of Blake's 7 on tape, courtesy of Mulder's English friends. "What is it?" Frannie asked dubiously. "It's a British science-fiction show. Hard to find in the U.S. I know this is the one you're dying for, Frannie. Go ahead." She took the box from Scully with exaggerated care, as if she could clutch at a brown-paper-wrapped box that had come all the way from the Northwest Territories and shatter it. There was a handmade card, which Frannie read aloud while Scully went for scissors to cut the twine on the box. "The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life. Season's greetings to our dear sister Francesca & family, from Benton and Ray." They bent together over the package, and with identical motions pushed hair off their faces in concentration. Scully snipped the twine, and Francesca tore hungrily through the paper. "Oh, my God." Scully's first, pragmatic thought was that it was old, and probably valuable. The doll's clay features were indistinct, but in perfect condition, and the painted black eyes glistened cleanly. Francesca exhaled reverently, touching its dress. "I think it's deerskin." "The painting on it looks like it was done by hand. This is really beautiful, Francesca. I'd love to know where it came from; there's probably a really interesting story--" Frannie rolled her eyes. "Trust me, there is. When Fraser finds something, there's *always* a story." She was already cradling the doll in one arm, just like a mother. "You know...I used to be in love with him." Lightly, Scully passed the heel of her hand over Frannie's cheek, watching those snapping black eyes go soft-focus and tender. "If that's a confession, I'm not shocked." "You were in love with Mulder, weren't you?" "Let's put it this way: I would have done a lot for him, but I don't think I would have gotten out of bed at two in the morning just to drive ten miles for bean sprouts and cranberry mustard." She gave Scully the smile that Scully was seeing more and more out of Frannie lately, less girlish, more grounded. "I love you, too, Dana. What are we going to do with Fraser's doll if the baby is a boy?" "I don't see why that makes any difference. There's nothing wrong with boys having dolls." "You don't think he'll have a problem with gender indemnity?" "I think gender identity is overrated. If we have a boy who plays with dolls, he'll just grow up to be a man who's good with babies, right? He'll be a catch." Frannie leaned in, pressing her forehead to Scully's. "You're a catch." Chuckling, Scully pulled Francesca to her feet. "Santa only visits little girls who are in bed, Frannie." "Ma makes Belgian waffles every Christmas morning," Frannie sighed softly. "Well, I'm sorry, honey. I make Pop Tarts." Long years with Mulder had taught her to hide her amusement, and Francesca couldn't see the humor behind Scully's grave eyes as she thought of the waffle iron under the tree tagged with Frannie's name. Francesca kissed her in the soft light of golden bulbs reflected off of snow, her press-on nails caressing the back of Scully's neck. It all ran together in Scully's mind -- the suppressed tears of happiness she'd felt pricking her eyes earlier in the evening as she took Frannie's arm to help her to her knees at Mass, the first snowfall starring Frannie's impossibly soft hair with glitter, cutting the twine so Frannie could open her gift, Frannie with that maternal glow rocking an antique doll from the Yukon, prima rosa and child under the electric star weighing down the top of the tree -- and became one image, richly layered but cohesive, of love and Christmas presents. Hth hth29@hotmail.com http://members.tripod.com/HthW