Grandma was run over by a reindeer
Coming home from our house Christmas Eve;
Some folks say they don't believe in Santa
But as for me and Grandpa, we believe!

• The Irish Rovers

The cooling mid-December winds came early to Washington, D.C. this year.  The cold fronts were bearing down from the north; like armies on the march; they were intent on taking no prisoners. Everyone in the capital was taken by surprise. Everyone, including a certain intrepid special agent with the FBI, and sundry others caught up in the rush occasioned by the late date showing on the calendar.
    Light snow flurries were drifting down on the streets like a scene from a child's Christmas toy. A dark man—a tall dark man—dressed in a full-length trench coat, head unprotected, was tearing down the street at a full bore.  All the other pedestrians were parting for him like the waters did for Moses. Whether they did this out of respect for a fellow shopper or out of fear for their very lives, no one could say.
    "Humbug! Humbug, I say," the dark man was chanting to himself.  "If I hear another chorus of 'Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas', I'm going to hurl!"
    He was turning his head from side to side now, as though looking for something specific. "Great, there it is!" he said aloud. When he saw the name of a well-known clothing store he entered.  Again, as though from some strange alchemy, the shoppers parted for him.  The sales associate noticed him coming and quietly steeled herself for the encounter.
    "Red head, thirty-ish, five foot nothing, about this big."  At this point Mulder held out his hands in an absurd attempt to convey Scully's approximate dimensions. The sales lady was well acquainted with this sort of behaviour from stressed out husbands caught far too late in December for their forays into this strange world of shopping.
    "Something nice," he pleaded.
    "Your wife, sir?" The associate asked, politely.
    The dark man looked at her as though she had two heads and was a recent visitor from Jupiter, just dropped off for the weekend.  When he spoke the exasperation was evident in his voice.
    "No!  My partner."
    The sales lady misunderstood.
    "No! Not that kind of partner.  I work with her."
    "Oh, I am sorry." The sales associate stood sufficiently corrected.  "I think we have something suitable over here."
    Mulder joined her at another counter and looked at her choice.  He was suitably impressed. "Yes, that will be fine, Scully will like this."
    "Shall I wrap it for you, sir?" the clerk asked innocently.
    "Yes, please."
    The gift having been wrapped and the currency exchanged, Mulder turned to leave.
    "And a Merry Christmas to you, sir."  Mulder's single word reply was one which people of gentle breeding rarely apply to one another with any great deal of affection.

Ding, Dong Merry on High...
Scully had always loved Christmas.  Even as a little girl she loved it.  She liked the small, fuzzy feeling she got in the pit of her belly this time of year.  Peace on earth, goodwill to all men—that sort of thing. Growing up in the bosom of a loving family saw to that.  She liked everything about it: the food; the presents—especially the presents; the family coming together; and attending Midnight Mass—that was her all-time favorite.  She paused momentarily from her conversation to brush a small lock of her hair from the phone she had glued to her ear.
    "No, Mom. . . Mom! Mulder won't be joining us this year...he has other plans." Oh, she hated lying to her mother—even these little white ones. "Mom. . .Mom, no, I don't know what his plans are.  No, I don't think he is seeing his mother this year.  He just has plans, that's all I know."  The look on her face said it all about this particular deception—been there, done that.
    "Yes, Mom, I will be there Christmas Eve, late, I think.  Want me to bring anything?" Scully paused for a moment, bringing one brightly painted fingernail to her eye, staring at it intently as though looking for some slight imperfection there.
    "No, you sure? Okay, I look forward to it...see you then. Gotta' go.  Have to get Mulder's gift before tomorrow."
    Scully turns her eyes to the kitchen, scanning the wallpaper in a vain attempt to count the dusky rose petals on it. Her other hand stifles back a yawn as she returns her attention to her mother.
    "A tie!  You've got to be kidding me.  If I got him one with purple polka dots on it, maybe he would wear it—just maybe.  You know how loud he is; I couldn't bring myself to buy something like that.  I don't know what I will get him, yet."
    She rang off quite resigned to her fate.  No, that's unfair.  She was looking forward to her holidays with her mother.  She had, with a stroke of some luck, been able to arrange with old Stone Face to get six days.  Her brother—with his wife and children—would be there; she would enjoy that.
    "So much to do and so little time," she said aloud. "Better get to it, I guess."
    I wish Mulder was closer to his mother; it's going to be another lonely holiday for him. Her face brightened somewhat.  She suddenly got an idea.  A perfectly marvelous idea.  A perfectly mischievous idea.
 

On a similar street in a different town, another special agent with the FBI was walking fast, only this time it was a red-head and the trench coat was of a lighter shade.  She walked with a determined gait as though she knew exactly what she was doing here, and knew exactly what she was looking for.   Her eyes scanned the name of each shop she passed until she finally saw the one she was looking for.
    Yes! That's it exactly. Susie's House of Joy is what the sign said.  She stopped and entered the shop.

The Next Afternoon, Mulder and Scully's Office
"Mulder, I wish you would call your mother this Christmas."  She looked around at the drab surroundings. No decorations are evident. No sign of the season could be seen at all.  Well, almost nothing.  On Mulder's "I Want to Believe" poster someone had drawn a picture of Santa sitting on the flying saucer and they had attached his reindeer to it.  Of course, Scully had pleaded the 5th to the charge when Mulder had accused her.  He was not convinced.  In her silent heart she was glad someone here had a sense of humour.
    "Scully!"
    "Well, Mulder, you're going to be alone again this year." That long-suffering note was evident in her voice again.
    "Our families are different.  You must see this by now.  Our Christmases went missing with Samantha, simple as that; case closed.  And who says I am going to be alone?" Mulder loved to tease her and saw the expectant look in her eyes, but said nothing more.
    "OH!"
    "My lips are sealed, Scully."
    "Well, anyway, I wish you would call. Who knows?  If you make the first move."  The look in his eyes told Scully that this topic of conversation was closed, in no uncertain terms.
    "Okay, fine.  At least we have this get-together with Skinner tonight—that annual Christmas bore.
    He looked at her with a bemused smile on his face. That smile, to her, spoke volumes—more than his words could.
    "Mulder! We're under orders.  Orders from Headquarters.  Mulder, be there.  I won't be responsible for the state of your sorry ass if you're not."
    "Okay, well, I can take the heat."
    "Oh, I'm sure!" She wasn't convinced.
    "Before you go, I have a little something for you—for the holidays."  He pulled out a very tastefully wrapped package from the bottom of his desk drawer and handed it to her.  Like a child her eyes lit up.
    "Thanks Mulder!  You wrap this?"
    He just laughed. "Yeah, sure."
    She placed the small package into the larger bag she had brought with her to the office that morning.
    "This is for you, Mulder."  She passed him one wrapped package, about a foot long, along with another, much smaller one.  "The only thing is, I want you to promise me that you won't open this until you get home tonight, okay?"
    Mulder was sure that she was blushing.  Hard to tell on a person with such a pinkish complexion—they always look like they're blushing.
    "Okay, sure Scully."
    "I'll see you then...at the office party tonight?"
    He didn't answer.

A Downtown Alexandria Hotel, later that evening
Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner was not good at these sorts of functions.  Give him serial killers, hostage situations, irate members of Congress or the Senate—he could handle that. But this—people he worked with, people at whom he was expected to smile, people with whom he was expected to carry on an inane conversation—this was something different, entirely different. One part of his job that he absolutely hated. Hated with a wonderful passion.  Well, at least, he was sure that someone here tonight would help him out.  He had a very good idea of who that would be.  His two favorite agents were expected, weren't they?  Agents Mulder and Scully, he was sure, would be able to handle this—Agent Scully, especially.
    He was not overjoyed when the female agent made her entrance.  Alone. Very alone.
    She was, as usual, a vision—a look that would brighten up any room.  Even the Assistant Director could hear his other guests whispering.  Whispering about her.  Whispering about Agent Mulder.  Whispering about their possible relationship.  He was sure that Scully expected this, and that was why she dressed like that. Give them some ammunition, so to speak.
    Since Sharon left him, these functions left him with a bad taste in his mouth.  This was her milieu—not his.  Scully sensed his discomfort.  As if in answer to his unspoken silent, prayer she started playing the room—keeping his guests occupied. She was acting as the perfect hostess—talking to each person in turn, and making sure that all the guests were talking with each other.  Talking shop, no doubt.
    Skinner took another Scotch.
    It was times such as these that he missed Sharon the most.  He wouldn't say that he still loved her, but he did miss her.  Missed her at Christmas, missed her at home at night when he came in late from work. They had hardly talked much—hell, they had hardly spoken at all—but he'd always felt her presence in the apartment.  The sex—what sex, they hadn't even been sleeping in the same bed for the last six months of their marriage—he could live without; he wasn't happy about it, but he could live with it.
    He chose this strange time to remember one of their last fights, before the separation.
    "Walt?"
    "Sharon?"
    "Tell me, is there anyone besides Fox Mulder working at the FBI? Walt, it's Fox Mulder this, Fox Mulder that, Fox Mulder the other thing.  I think I know him better than I know you."
    Even to this day, when the A.D. thought of this conversation, he saw red. Funny, but he couldn't remember the rest of the fight. He learned a lot from Sharon's statement: he never spoke of Fox Mulder again, to anyone.
    He drained his Scotch and ordered another.  The gold in the glass felt cool on his tongue and soothed his constricted throat, relaxing his mind —just a little.
    He grabbed another from the tray of a passing waiter.
    He watched Scully work the room, his admiration for her growing by the minute.  When he saw she was alone, he strode over to her; his eyebrows were compressed and his face was in full scowl mode.
    "Where's Mulder?" His tone of voice was just barely noticeably above normal, but Scully could hear the anger there, as well as see the fury in his eyes.
    "Sir, I don't know.  Didn't he show up?" Okay Dana, play innocent, if nothing else. She put on her best 'I Know Nothing' face for the A.D.
    "No, Agent Scully, he did not!  I assume you both read my memo."
    "Yes, sir, we did."  Innocent, she could play the part well. "I'm sure something important must have come up, I'm sure of it, sir."
    He didn't look convinced.
    "Well, Scully, for his sake, he'd better be dealing with another virgin birth, a host of singing angels, and a few hysterical shepherds—let me tell you."
    That vision struck her as funny—she could see Mulder doing that—and she smiled.
    Skinner was a little shaky on his feet now—the effect of too much Scotch on an empty stomach.
    "Well sir, I have to be on the road early in the morning, so I think I'll be leaving.  Enjoyed the party."
    "Humph," was Skinner's only reply.
"Can I drop you somewhere, sir? I don't think you are in any condition to drive."
    "No, that's allright Scully, I came by taxi.  I'll just give my 'best of the season' speech and I think I will be leaving too."
    "Okay, sir, Merry Christmas."  She turned then and was gone.
 

The cold December winds whistled mercilessly, whipping up the few dead leaves still lying on the street into a torrent of excited activity.  The dust mixing with the air-borne leaves and the light flurry of snow falling from the sky gave the street a freakish film noir quality.
    Shrouded in a nearby doorway, a solitary watcher was barely noticeable under the inadequate yellow glow of an adjacent street lamp.  Dressed only in a short leather jacket—head unprotected—he was fanning his arm in a vain attempt to keep warm.
    Mulder, if you only knew how many men in this city keep tabs on you, you wouldn't sleep nights—as if you do now.  He laughed quietly. Alex Krycek, self-appointed guardian angel, looked up at the apartment building across the street, searching for the window which should have been bathed with a soft light by this time at night, but wasn't.
    Worry was etched into his smooth, young face.  "Why do you do this to yourself, night after night?" He thought, but no answer was forthcoming. It's not that some night he's going to come down, slap me on the back, and say 'How ya doin, Alex? Where ya been?' and invite me up for a beer.
    But Alex knew better than to pose these same existential questions to himself night after lonely night. He just had to keep to the task at hand and wait for the light—wait for that assurance that Mulder was safe for one more night, at least.
    And presently that assurance came.  He allowed himself one more glance at the window, pulled his jacket closer to his body for warmth, and stepped out onto the sidewalk.
 

Fox approached his apartment door wearily, for he knew that even paranoids have enemies, and he seemed to have his fair share of them. As he passed on the street below he thought he noticed a young man, in a leather jacket, shrouded in a doorway; looked like Alex Krycek—no it couldn't be, but it did make him feel slightly nervous.
    There were days when he found many surprises in this apartment, many of them unpleasant, but this wasn't one of them. Once he'd switched on the light he could see all was clear and safe for once: no shape-shifting aliens, no doppelgangers, no triple Russian agents, no malcontents of any kind; he breathed an audible sigh of relief.
    Throwing the gifts that Scully had given him earlier on the couch, he walked into the kitchenette and pulled a beer from the fridge.  Popping the top he slowly walked into the living room.  He could hear the incessant pinging of the radiators telling him just how cold it was outside. Too quiet in here. Taking his first deep swallow of the beer, he took off his jacket and tossed it onto a chair—it landed just next to the towel he had used that morning. He loosened his tie, removed it, and placed it on top of his jacket.
He opened the top few buttons of his white shirt, revealing the smallest traces of dark chest hair, and walked to his TV. What to watch? He looked at his impressive video collection. Someday I'm going to have to catalogue these! He chose his favorite: "Mission School Girls". He turned the volume up to a comfortable level and sat on the couch next to the bag containing Scully's gifts.
    His mind wasn't really paying any attention to the movie—it didn't have to, he'd seen this one so often he could probably repeat the whole script, word for word, if there were any script, that is.
    He took the two brightly colored packages from the bag—one quite small, and the other measurably larger.  He chose the smaller—he'd always liked to save the best for last.
    Savagely he ripped the Christmas wrap from the gift and saw what was inside. Scully, you minx! He wouldn't have believed it possible that Scully would give him this—so out of character for her.  He took out the small box and opened it. Inside was what appeared to be an elastic garment of some sort. Basically, black straps, no more than a quarter inch wide.  In two places, on what he assumes was the front, there was a Velcro-like material, though harder.
    He quickly removed his shirt and placed the garment on.  And as the crankily bits touched his nipples, he felt it. "Oh! Talk about your thousand points of light," he groans aloud.  Not paying any attention to the TV at all, he placed one finger along the material covering one nipple and felt it harden immediately. Oh! God He took the other finger and rubbed it against the opposite nipple, feeling that one harden—the dual points of sensation sending a trail of information to his groin.
    Scully, how did you know what I wanted for Christmas? And all I got you was a scarf.  He finally tore his hands away from this chest, but the feeling didn't lessen—it left him thoroughly and completely aroused.  He could see, as well as feel, the slight bulge in his pants.  As he rubbed that bulge he felt the sensations flying north and then south—he felt that he was in heaven.
    He brought his attention to the other package, kind of curious as to what it could be.  It was about a foot long and wrapped as elegantly as was the first package.  He couldn't imagine what else Scully would have got him, but his curiosity was getting the better of him.
    If he was surprised at the first gift, the second one was noting short of amazing.  When he opened the box he found a ten-inch dildo, made of malleable, flesh-colored plastic, with a space at the bottom for batteries.  And yes, Scully remembered them too.
    A smile curved it way onto his lips and his eyes slightly glazed over from the sensations from his nipples. The bulge in his pants was growing more uncomfortable by the minute.  He opened his belt, undid the snap of his pants, and lowered his zipper; down it came with an audible hiss.  Reaching below the elastic of his boxers, he found his prize.  He was amazed that he was almost totally erect.
    He grabbed his cock at its base and gave it a pull upward; his other hand found his balls and gave them a loving caress.  This felt wonderful.  His eyes were unfocused and the look on his face could only be described as goofy.  He grabbed the dildo and would never have thought that it could feel so real.
    He took the dildo by the base and slowly ran the head across the material covering each nipple, in turn.  The sensations made him even harder.  He continued in a southward exploration of his own body, inch by inch.  Feeling a riot of sensation at each point the faux cock touched.
    He finally reached the band of his boxers; he slid the head of the dildo in to caress his cock. His breathing suddenly quickened, and he slid the head of it to encounter his balls.  He head was swaying back and forward in its own dance of pleasure.
    He decided that the pants had to go and in one swift movement the pants and shorts jointed their partners on the chair.  He was now gloriously naked save for the small band of elastic around his chest.
    With the dildo caressing his cock and his other hand playing with his balls, he looked as decadent and as lovely as could possibly be imagined; his groans now rivaling those of the "Mission Girls" coming from the unwatched TV.
 

Outside Mulder's apartment, the cold December winds were whipping themselves up into a whirling dervish. The only sight that could be seen were the two pin points of light coming from an approaching car.  Stopping in front of Mulder's apartment, the A.D. stepped out, pulling the collar of his coat up around his neck in a useless attempt to keep out the cold, he looked up to see Mulder's windows ablaze with light. He pulled his hat lover over his brow, but he didn't look happy; the permanent scowl was even more evident than usual.
    As he approached Mulder's door he could her the noise.  He thought that it sounded like an orgy was in full swing as he pounded on the door. He pounded and he pounded, not taking a no for an answer.
    Inside, Mulder was in a world of his own, lost to the pleasure he was giving himself. But all good things, too, must pass, and slowly his mind registered the noise coming from his front door. Shit! I don't need this right now.
    He looked around wildly for something to cover his nakedness, but seeing the size of his erection he realized that it would have to be something loose.  Noticing the towel he had discarded that morning he tied it around his waist, completely forgetting the apparatus strapped to his shoulders and lightly covering his chest.
    Uncharacteristically, he walked to the door without the usual protection of his gun. He tore open the door; the annoyance he felt at this disturbance to his joy was evident on his face.
    He was not prepared for the sight that greeted him.  He had to smirk at the sight of the A.D.—slightly drunk, and his wire frames perched precariously on the tip of his nose.
    "Walter, what are you doing here?"
    The Assistant Director's eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed in anger. "What am I doing here?. . .What are you dong here?" he barked.
    "I.. ."
    "That's a great look for you Mulder," he said as a lecherous grin spread across his face.  He reached out his finger and ran it over the material covering Mulder's nipples.  First one and then the other.  "I had no idea you liked these," he said as Mulder's eyes rolled back in his head from the sensation.
    The A.D. slowly trailed the pleasuring finger down Mulder's chest; finally stopping on the hem of the towel, which was barely covering Fox's renewed arousal.  Without warning, the offending finger dipped between towel and stomach and with one quick snap the towel landed on the hallway floor.
    Mulder was standing in his doorway, completely naked, open to view by any passerby who might be lucky enough to witness it.  The A.D. quickly grabbed his young agent's cock and gave it a few quick pulls, noticing the pleasure on Fox's face.  His other hand framed Mulder's chin and lifted it up so that he was looking into the A.D.'s eyes.
    "You've been a bad boy, Mulder. And Daddy is angry. . .very angry," he said teasingly.
    "Sir. . .I. . ." Mulder stammered.
    "Was it another virgin birth, Mulder?"
    Fox didn't answer.
    "How about a group of hysterical shepherds, Fox?  Was that it?"  The A.D.'s eyes were sparkling. Skinner's palm was caressing the head of Mulder's penis, rubbing the collecting moisture into the glans. Understandably, Fox was speechless and a little unsteady on his feet.
    "You promised to be there, Mulder—I even sent you a memo!—so those are the only excuses I would accept. You have been a selfish, stubborn boy, Fox, and now Daddy is going to have to punish you!"
    Even the "Mission Girls" had the good sense to be quiet—as the tape had run out, replaced only by a barely audible hiss.
    "Walter. . ." Mulder stuttered.
    Skinner's hand tightened, almost painfully, around Fox's cock and pulled him into the apartment using it as a leash, kicking the door shut behind him.
    Having no choice, Mulder simply followed. They stopped at the couch and Skinner noticed the dildo and picked it up.  "What's this?  Where'd you get it?"
    "It's a Christmas gift from Scully, sir."  Mulder wasn't quite sure what he was getting into, but found it very exciting, nonetheless.  It had been a very long time since he and Skinner had played like this.
    Skinner raised it to his nose and sniffed. "Smells like you, lover.  Has this been places usually reserved for me?"  Skinner popped the head of the dildo into his mouth and sucked it erotically.  "It tastes like you too, Fox."
    The younger man turned scarlet, having no idea what to say.
    "Couch, Mulder, on your back. Now!"
    Mulder flew to the couch and followed Daddy's orders to the letter.
    Skinner quickly shucked his coat and hat, which joined his lover's clothes on the chair.  Swiftly loosening his tie, he stripped to the waist quickly.
    Fox never lost the opportunity of admiring his lover's finely muscled chest and deep chiseled muscular abs. He especially liked the fine dusting of grey hair covering his pecs.
    Walter lifted the dildo to his own nipples and caressed them with it, bringing them to an immediate hardness.
    He knelt down beside the couch and used one finger to uncover one of Mulder's nipples.  Without hesitation, he took the whole of Mulder's breast into his mouth, driving the younger man's middle completely off the couch in estacy.  He licked and suckled until Fox couldn't take anymore.
    "Walter, please."
    "On your knees, boy! And raise that ass in the air."
    Mulder did as he was instructed, feeling the first hot flash of pain as Walter's palm made harsh contact with his ass.  The vermilion mark that appeared there was a nice compliment to the season, Walter thought.  He bent down and gently licked the mark he had caused. His victim groaned loudly.  Skinner continued to lick and suck the spot, making it even redder, if that were possible, bringing Mulder's blood to the surface of the skin to serve as his mark of ownership.
    Mulder's face was buried in the soft cushion of the leather couch and he was making sounds known only to the demonically possessed.  Skinner deftly replaced the material over Fox's nipple that he had removed earlier. His fingers lingered there rubbing and then prodding the nipple through the material.
    Mulder couldn't see straight at the moment, let alone think. Walter leaned his head in and took his lover's ear completely into his mouth, ravishing it. It was impossible to tell, at the moment, whose moans were the louder. Skinner's other hand was gently caressing Mulder's flanks, his thighs, and then his cock and balls.
    He pulled his mouth from Fox's ear. "You've been a bad, willful boy, Fox.  How am I going to punish you?" he said in a choked whisper.
    Mulder couldn't answer.
    Skinner got up from his knees, slowly placing himself behind Mulder.  Both hands firmly grasping each cheek of his lover's ass, revealing the puckered organ there.  He bent his head and licked, sending paroxysms of pleasure through the younger man's body.  Mulder in turn was pushing his head harder and harder into the arm of the couch from effects of the tongue bath he was receiving. Walter quickly darted his tongue in the organ, opening it further.  Tasting the young man's unique musk.
    Quickly moving up again to the end of the couch, he roughly grabbed Mulder's hair and forced his face to look at him.  He took the agent's mouth in a bruising kiss, letting him taste his own funky essence.  Mulder groaned wildly, taking Walter's tongue deeply into his mouth.
    Out of the corner of his eye, Skinner noticed the dildo on the table where he had placed it.  He quickly moved to the small table where he knew they kept the lube.
    Fox was listening to his own heartbeat, waiting for the moment, which he was sure would soon come, when his heart would erupt from his chest.  But when he felt the cool, slimy essence of the lube encircle his rectum he felt his heart re-double its speed and he almost passed out.
When Skinner's digit penetrated him his coherent mind abandoned him completely.  Primal urges forced his ass up to meet the sweet invader.  Soon two fingers were in and forcing Mulder apart and spiraling him forward into a rapturous bliss.
    The A.D.'s hand was continuously playing with his partner's cock and balls and the other swiftly took the dildo and pressed it to Fox's waiting receptacle. The swift stroking of his cock and the pressure of the faux member entering him snapped Mulder's mind back to reality.  His eyes flew open in a panic, and a wordless question refused to leave his lips.
    Incessant pressure on the dildo caused it to enter him, inch by glorious inch. The streams of pleasure flowing from his cock to his ass and back again were something known only to God.  Skinner angled the dildo and hit something inside him, which made him break out into a sweat.
    "Come for me, Fox! Come for Daddy.  Come for me. . .I want to see you come."
    His tormentor's hand was fairly flying over his cock, matching the rhythm set by the dildo—and Mulder was on the verge, the very precipice of oblivion.  And when Skinner flipped the on switch the vibrations hit his prostate and he thought he had actually died.
    With the shout of his lover's name on his lips, he felt his own warm, sticky essence spay on his stomach and chest and his lover's hand; he felt totally owned by this man—body and soul.
    Fox was coming down quickly.  Skinner gently removed the pleasure stick from Mulder's ass and gently lifted him up so that he could slide beneath him.  Gently placing the younger man's body over his own, he too sighed.
    Skinner grabbed his lover's face and brought it to his own in anticipation of the kiss he had been looking forward to all night.  Gently his whispered, "There, now you've been punished."
    Fox smiled broadly and returned the kiss with gusto. "Walter, that was wonderful," he said, grasping him in a crushing bear hug and pushing his groin against that of his lover.  He could feel the stickiness slowly spreading over the cloth covering his lover's jewels.  And he was ecstatically happy to realize that he could do this to Walter, without even touching him.
    "Why did we never think of this before?"
    "I don't know Mulder. . .but we have to be open to extreme. . .possibilities.  He laughed a hearty belly laugh that only large men can accomplish.
    "We have to do this again. . . soon!" Mulder chimed.
    "Well there is a New Year's party. . .miss that one and you know what you are in for," Walter laughed. 

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