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randomfoggytiger · 5 months

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Eight Nights of Mulder: Day 6, Dreidel

Perhaps a Part II to "Something Approaching a Normal Life".

*****

“Yes, Mom, yes, I will-- what? You… what? Yes, yes I-- yes, Mom, I got it. Yes, I’ll tell him. Mom, Mulder’s here I have to go--”

Mulder wandered in, sun-tanned and healthy and wonderfully free of an earful of Maggie Scully itinerary. “How’s your mom doing?”

“Planning a surprise for you.”

His eyebrows flew up-- for me? she interpreted-- and he shook his head, incredulous and disbelieving.

“For me?” Bingo.

“She said she wants to celebrate us getting the files back.”

“But that was months ago.”

“I know-- and apparently, she’s been planning this for months. Though what she’s planned is beyond me.” Scully sighed, decided against pinching her nose, crossed her arms instead. “The party’s at five next week.”

She looked up and had to bite down a grin: Mulder was flummoxed-- there was no other word for it. His mouth flapped once, twice; his eyes widened; and his eyebrows still migrated north. Finally, he lifted a hesitant hand to scrunch then smooth down the back of his hair.

“I… tell her thanks. From me.”

*****

Scully, for all her impeccable punctuality, arrived late: snow and traffic she excused to herself, ignoring her nervous breaths and shaky hands. Mulder’s car was already pulled up on the curb-- and Bill’s, she acknowledged with (what she was horrified to realize was) a shudder. Now thoroughly riled up at her cowardice, she slammed the door and crunched across the white lawn with as much dignity as her expensive boots would allow.

Of all people, her partner answered the door.

“Happy Hanukkah!” he crowed, grin positively Grinchy while watching Scully’s world grind to a halt.

“Oh, there you are, honey-- welcome home!” Maggie swept under Mulder’s arm with a benevolent hug, an upbeat, infectious party sprite undeterred by her daughter's ramrod posture. “Happy Hanukkah!”

“Mom, I didn’t know you celebrated.…” Scully began, eyes darting between both of them as they shooed her through the hall to the coat rack.

“Don’t be silly, Dana, you know we’re Catholic.”

Mulder clucked his tongue rebukingly.

“Then what’s this about?” Whirling around, hat suddenly gone and coat pulled half off, Scully clutched at Maggie’s arm-- or Mulder’s-- and held on, demanding answers.

“We’re celebrating Hanukkah, Scully. You almost didn’t make it in time for the light show.”

And Mulder-- this incomprehensible, insensible version of him, anyway-- gave her a good-hearted nudge towards the living room.

“I… you’re Jewish?” Though Scully tried not to let it, the fact that Mulder had told her mother about this part of himself before her… stung. “If I had known--”

“Oh, I’m not. Or I might be. Hard to say.” Mulder vague-speak: an outright challenge. And he had the cheek to look endearingly smug about it.

She, as always, rose to the bait.

“Mulder.”

To her surprise, it was Maggie who coughed up an answer: “Dana, leave the poor man alone. I had a dream about him a few months back.”

Another grinding halt: immediately pivoting, she locked eyes with her mother, aghast. “Mo--”

“I know you don’t believe in them, but it was real and it happened. Since then, I’ve been planning out this event for the both of you-- and I won’t hear any arguments.” And she scuttled off to the beeping oven before Scully could get a word in edgewise.

Mulder was having much too fun snacking on fried foods and peeking between her and the decorative menorah resting on a nearby side table. It would almost be amusing if it weren’t so tragic.

“Mulder, I’m sorry. Mom meant well--”

“Scully, it’s okay-- I’m having a great time. Your mom’s been teaching me all the customs and proper words; and I, I even met a few of your relatives who knew more about Hanukkah than I did.” He chuckled, really pleased.

Wonder of wonders.

“Mulder, are you really Jewish?”

She watched him tilt his head mid-chew, watched his jaw grind back and forth between ideas. “I don’t really know, Scully. I think my mother was. Culturally, if not religiously. I have a few memories of her mother, fewer of her father; but… but, yeah, they served these potato pancakes--” he waved one of his snacks for emphasis “--when we dropped in for morning cartoons. Sam and I were always more interested in reruns than talking with ‘the old people’.”

In the stretch of silence that followed, lengthened, she watched regret bloom behind his eyes. “And maybe that was wrong of us. If I’d known…” we’d lose touch filled the gap, unspoken, “then I think I would have wanted to know more about them. We stopped going right… before. I guess we got so used to being Mulders we forgot how to be Kuipers.”

Scully nodded, grabbed a potato. Decided to join Mulder in whatever this was for him.

*****

It wouldn’t pass for the laxest definition of Hanukkah-- all eight nights crammed into one, Maggie and Mulder repeating phrases and rituals back to each other, a nameless relative handing out dreidels and no one caring in the least they were for children's games-- but the celebration was, in its own way, a success. Though the crowd was small (not a lot of stricter family members wanted to attend) and the food a little hit or miss, everyone was determined to have a good time; and that determination carried the night.

Maggie sent her guests home with leftovers and a little party bag of chocolate coins-- “Gelt!” she repeated, over and over, while Mulder licked tasty smears from his eager fingers-- but whisked the cleaned menorah and dreidels away to her holiday storage, before anyone had even left (cleanliness and promptness still wound tight into her military wife gears.)

The tromp back through the snow was peaceful. Scully took advantage of the moment to slow their walk, gaze fixed on the white winter moon. They paused in front of her car, his enthusiasm and her absorption meeting somewhere in the middle.

“Well, Mulder? Do you feel celebrated?”

He nodded, tossed another gelt into his cavernous mouth, smacked twice, loudly, then cleared his throat. “I’ve been to two of your mom’s parties now, Scully, and I think they get better and better.”

“That’s only because Bill wasn’t there,” she teased, watching him shift his left boot in the snowdrift. He’d made a little angel, unawares.

“Yes, he was.”

What? “What? No, he couldn’t have been.”

“Scully, his car’s just over there.”

In a flash, she remembered-- yes, Bill’s car was there, had been there before she’d even arrived. “But… but I didn’t even notice him.”

Mulder snorted. “That’s because your mother kept him hopped up on fried food. He was happy as a clam and didn’t want to come over and bother me.”

“Mulder, of course he wanted to bother you. He probably didn’t think it would look good to bully the Jewish boy on his special day.”

Her partner shrugged; and the silence pushed her more upright to study him closely.

“Sometimes I… I can’t help but wonder if I’m misremembering things, Scully. Mom never spoke Yiddish, or practiced cultural holidays, or mentioned Temple; but it didn’t… she doesn’t seem to be avoiding her roots out of shame. And maybe she doesn’t tie herself to being Jewish. Or maybe… what if I made it up in my head, only recalled bits and pieces of my childhood rationalizations and blew them up into a separate identity out of another sense of having been wronged? I’m a Mulder, but….”

But in light of his mother’s denial and rebuke and slap, being a Mulder was shaky ground at present; and escape with a new or reclaimed sense of identity would seem a beautiful salvation to a man scrabbling for any purchase from sheer desperation.

Scully never weighed in on his family matters-- he hadn’t wanted her too-- but the pieces only fit one way, logically. Rationally nothing else made sense. But as easily as she dismissed the more insidious insinuations of old Spender’s relationship with the Mulders, she also sympathized with her partner’s continual doubts on the subject. Confused by yet another topic Tena complicated by her silence, Mulder was left to drift, clinging to her support and her unflinching, scientific reasoning for reassurance.

And my family’s open arms and toddled-out traditions.

“Mulder, at some point a part of us will be lost to time. No one can trace their lineage without it cracking apart under the faults and frailties of common humanity; but more importantly, the common element in all of us is what binds us beyond who we are and what we have chosen to define ourselves by. In one generation, identity can change completely, be it biological or environmental factors. Human wars upend lives and redefine boundaries; and, when a few more wrongs are made right, those lines dividing people collapse, leaving whoever is left to face each other with more in common than not.”

He was nodding along, mulling over her words. Time to narrow the scope by throwing in a personal illustration.

“Although my family prides itself on its Irish roots, only the very old ones can speak Gaelic; and I’ve learned more about Irish myths and traditions from working with you than I have from an Aunt Olive or a second cousin Seymour. I and my brothers and Melissa were raised Catholic, but only Bill and I chose to remain in the faith. Charlie’s children will turn into different men than Bill’s son, and all three will continue that cycle as they grow up and move out and start families of their own.

“In short, Mulder,” she said, winding back the spool of her thoughts with a self-deprecating grin, “you’re you. And if that means you enjoy celebrating Hanukkah in the Scully family style, then….”

She slowed and stopped, puzzled, as he nudged a chocolate from his coin stash at her. “What?”

“A gelt for your thoughts. I figured you more than earned it.” The expression in his eyes-- starstruck humility and gentle persistence-- undercut Mulder’s flippancy; and brooked no argument. I owe you everything and you owe me nothing, they reminded. It’s the least I can do, they insisted.

If eating a piece of candy was what Mulder needed from her, then Scully was determined to do it and do it right. She ripped the foil off, popped it in her mouth, and chewed and swished vigorously until every last bite was gone. I do it all for you, Mulder, she thought, this proof and my words and even who I have become.

Scully watched his eyes twinkle, thankful, before he turned, parting ways after a promise to compare leftovers on Monday.

*****

She was back in the car, back on the road, almost to her apartment, this time clutching the gelt wrapper like a talisman, swishing her thumb back and forth across the crinkles during the long red lights.

Scully made a mental note to thank her mother. Whatever tonight was, Mulder had needed it.

*****

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

(Tagging @today-in-fic~)

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