Title: A Merry Little Xmas.
Archiving: Please let me know where.
Rating: G slightly slashy/schmoop
Summary: Spender surprises Pendrell at Xmas.
Website: The Ferret Cage
Notes: Written during a Ferretcage Chat. We were discussing coffee and Christmas . . . and one thing led to another.
Jeffrey Spender stumbled down the creaky stairs of the old house he shared with his partner and hobbled half-blind into the kitchen, pulling his robe tight over his Scottish plaid pajamas as he went. It was morning, early morning -- Jeffrey hated mornings.
He yawned, scratched impolitely and breathed in the wonderful aroma of coffee that filled the small kitchen. There it was, hot and strong, dark as pitch and twice as thick. He poured a cup and sipped. . . perfect.
A noise, familiar, expected and yet surprising, or maybe charming, drew his attention. It was the rustle of wrapping paper from the living room. *Someone*, actually a very specific someone, had gotten up early to investigate the Christmas presents.
He peeked around the corner, Brian Sean Pendrell, Special Agent of the FBI was industriously, though carefully and quietly, interrogating each and every package. He'd tossed his robe to one side and was hopping about in his Spiderman pajamas.
"Underwear," Pendrell sighed as he squeezed one package.
Spender sipped his coffee. Bingo, though he doubted Pendrell really expected Superman underoos.
He'd had them specially made . . . the seamstress had given him one odd look, shrugged, took his money and patterns.
"Socks, shirts . . . ," Pendrell murmured as he went about his task.
Spender grinned . . . Electric hunter-socks specially adapted by the Lone Gunmen to light up and chime. The shirts were Pendrell's favorite, XXX-Large, T's, big enough to swallow the man whole.
Finally, with apparent dismay, Pendrell sat down at the edge of the pile of packages and sighed.
"Merry Christmas Pen," Spender said from the doorway. "Why so glum? It's Christmas."
"Oh, it's nothing, just being sentimental and silly, I guess . . . This being our first Christmas together, I thought maybe . . you know . . maybe you'd surprise me."
"I see . . . like what Pen?" Spender sat his cup down and crouched down next to the red-haired agent.
"I don't know something . . different . . not store bought, you know?"
"Something not so commercial you mean?"
"Yeah, that's it."
Spender stood and walked back to the doorway and picked up his cup. As Pendrell sat dejectedly on the floor Spender pressed a button on a small control in his robe pocket.
Keeping the machinery hidden from the astute G-Man had been a task. But Skinner had been kind enough to run Pendrell ragged over the last two weeks, away from home on one assignment or another.
The Lone Gunmen, Mulder, even Scully had pitched in to complete the job before he returned home. Pendrell was so engrossed in his own misery he failed to notice the closet doors swing open behind him. Nor did he notice the faint electric hum as the new elevator settled into place.
"Hey .. mopey." Spender said pointing behind Pendrell.
The startled agent sprang to his feet and walked slowly toward the closet. What had once been a dumping ground for boots and winter coats had been replaced by a round platform, with a gleaming chrome pipe as a guardrail.
"Lost in Space motif," Spender said as Pendrrell ran his hands over the chrome. "you like?"
Pendrell turned toward him, "Where the hell does it go?"
Spender joined him on the platform and pressed a second button. "Let's find out."
It was a short ride to the basement, or what had been the basement. Where once piles of boxes, old furniture and general clutter had sat, there was a gleaming new facility. Beakers and flasks, banks of computers, even something that looked like it had been stolen off the set of a Frankenstein movie (Spender still wasn't sure what, if anything it did. The Lone Gunmen had simply snickered and run off cackling after they installed it).
"Jesus Pete," Pendrell swore gently. His eyes were wide, a broad grin plastered on his face. He leaped off the platform and began darting through the setup like a wild ferret.
"A DNA sequencer? Where the hell did you get a DNA sequencer?" Pendrell demanded looking up from an obscure piece of equipment.
"Lone Gunman Special, " Spender replied. "They don't tell and I don't ask."
"A Xenon-quad system?" Pendrell shouted, suddenly from another corner. "We can't afford a computer like this!"
"FBI clearance, they had a sale"
Around and around the startled and bewildered G-man ran. Each new piece of equipment or bit of data-tech brought another exclamation of disbelief.
Finally, apparently overcome, he joined Spender on the platform, slumping down in exhaustion.
"Merry Christmas Pen." Spender said as he kneeled down.
Pendrell's stunned expression suddenly gave way to excitement.
"Wait, wait here." He shouted as he bounded up the stairs, exhaustion forgotten. Spender heard him charging through the house and tossing packaged left and right before nearly killing himself tumbling back down the elevator shaft.
He proudly held out a small carefully wrapped package.
"Here, open it." He said, his eyes and voice beaming.
Spender struggled with the package for a bit. Pendrell was a wonder in the lab . . .and other places . . . but he wrapped presents like a 5 year old -- leave nothing tape free was apparently his philosophy.
Finally Spender pulled the paper loose and shook the sticky bundle off his hand and looked at the present.
"Oh God," he whispered, and grabbed the handrail for support.
"You like?" Pendrell asked, practically doing a dance of excitement.
"It's . . it's . .perfect, it's beautiful."
Took me a month to find it . . Skinner sent me go to every toy store and toy auction in 5 states looking for it.
Spender held up the model car . . A Corgi Classic . . . The Spender Ford Sierra . . . In mint, unopened, unmolested condition. He'd been looking for one for years, lots of years.
"Merry Christmas Jay."
Spender hugged the other man tight.
"Merry Christmas Pen."
Note: The Corgi Spender Ford Sierra is a model of a car from a British TV series 'Spender'. It's not as rare as this story makes it out to be.