by L.C. Brown
LCBX5ME@aol.com
 
 

My  version of the standard disclaimer is to bow profoundly in Chris
Carter's direction.  He thought these characters up, Ten Thirteen owns
them, and FOX does something with them (but I'm not sure of the
legalities).  I'm borrowing Mr. Carter's characters and am trying to keep
them as true to his vision as I can.  Of course, he doesn't want them to
be romantically involved, but I'm just going to ignore that little
temporary aberrance for the time being.  He'll come to his senses
eventually.   :)

Please don't distribute this without my permission (I'll probably give it
if you ask and say pretty please with sugar and whipped cream and a cherry
on top).  And, as every other author does, I'm looking for comments --
good and bad -- about the story and whether you want to know what happens
before and next (say next because that's what I've got).

On with the snow...I mean show.
 
 
 

BLIZZARD part 1

by L.C. Brown (LCBX5ME@aol.com)
 

 The snow was falling faster now, thicker every minute.  Glancing
up briefly, hoping for a glimpse of sky, all Scully got was another
faceful of surprisingly weighty snowflakes that clung to her eyelashes and
stung her cheeks.  She pulled the fur-lined hood of her parka a little
closer around her face.  In Aspen, this weather would be great.  But this
wasn't Aspen.

 Her boots weren't high enough and with every step she could feel
the snow packing around the top where her jeans were tucked down into the
fur lining.  These boots were supposed to be weatherproof, but she had a
feeling they hadn't been made for this type of extreme condition.

 "You want to play the Your Fault game, Mulder?" she asked,
deceptively calm, plowing doggedly on through the knee-deep snow.

 "If it'll make you feel better, sure," came the immediate response
from the tall man beside her.  "I'll even let you go first."

 "Oh, good."  She knew there was an edge to her voice and didn't
care.  "It's your fault, Mulder, because you're the one who accepted this
stupid Bigfoot assignment in the back of freezing nowhere.  Assistant
Director Skinner said we didn't have to go if we didn't want to."

 Mulder shook his head.  "It's your fault for missing the first
plane.  We'd have been holed up at the ranger station three hours ago if
it wasn't for that."

 Scully hoped he couldn't hear her teeth grating together over the
racket they were making as they crunched and crashed through the deepening
snow and drifts.  "It's your fault," she said finally, "for picking the
rental car that broke down."

 She couldn't see his face inside the hood of the navy blue parka
he was wearing, but his voice sounded tart when he answered her after a
moment's pause.  "Well, it's your fault for suggesting that I  keep trying
to restart the damn rental car when it quit."

 "I told you I could hear something wrong in the engine and if you
had listened to me in the first place...."

 "Hey, stick to the game," he protested, putting out a hand to keep
her upright as she stumbled into a deeper drift.

 "Sorry," Scully apologized somewhat breathlessly.  The footing was
getting increasingly unstable here, and she was so tired now that it was
hard to keep moving without staggering.  "Okay, then, it's your fault for
opening the hood when I told you not to.  I told you there was smoke
coming from the engine and you didn't believe me."

 Mulder took a deep breath of the frigid air and puffed it out
again in a chilly cloud.  "It's your fault for not letting me put the
engine fire out.  If I had, at least we'd have had the car to shelter in,
even if the motor didn't run."

 "It's your fault for wanting to walk the rest of the way to the
ranger station.  We could have stayed with the burned out car."

 "You didn't have to agree to come," Mulder pointed out, then
stopped as Scully's next step took her hip-deep into a hidden hole.
Watching her flailing arms as she struggled to free herself, he schooled
his face to lose even the hint of a grin before he stepped around in front
of her to help.

 She looked up into his face suspiciously before finally reaching
up a mittened hand.  He obligingly hoisted her out, holding onto her for a
minute so she could get her feet under her again while he looked around,
trying to get his bearings on where they were.  With his arm around her,
steadying her, he could feel her trembling with fatigue.  He was tired,
too, but it was clear that Scully couldn't go on much further.

 There were no landmarks.  The woods were quiet except for the
insidious whisper of the snow as it continued to fall.  An occasional
breeze swirled the snow into eddies and lifted the heavy evergreen
branches in a gentle wave.

 Scully sighed finally.  "You know something?  I think it's my
fault for not ditching the FBI recruiter and becoming a wealthy and
respected plastic surgeon to the stars."

 Letting her go, Mulder rubbed an impatient hand across his eyes to
clear the snow from his brows and lashes, turning slowly around in a full
circle to survey the area.  "It's actually my fault for joining the Bureau
to profile serial killers instead of becoming a serial killer.  I'd
probably have gotten more respect."

 "No doubt," Scully said dryly.  "But you're right.  It is your
fault."

 He shot a quick look at her, then grinned and shrugged.
"Whatever.  Anyway, I don't think we're on the main road anymore."

 Scully nodded.  "I think we've been off it for ten minutes or so.
The snow feels different here, not as well packed or something.  Maybe
this is a logging road we're on now."

 "And you didn't want to say anything?"

 "No point.  You wouldn't have believed me anyway.  Ten minutes ago
you were still too mad about the car to listen to anything I had to say."

 His silence was tacit acceptance of her reasoning.

 "Mulder, how far was it to the ranger station from where we broke
down?"

 "A little less than three miles, according to the map."

 "Well, I think we've covered nearly a mile, and we've taken our
sweet time about doing it.  This snow is getting worse."

 "I know," he nodded.  "And we're off the main road now.  Ergo,
we're not going to make it to the ranger station."

 They both turned around and looked at the tracks where they'd
blundered through the snow and then both looked up at where the sky should
have been.  The ceiling was low and heavy with snow, and the sun was going
down fast.  Under the trees it was already twilight.

 "Should we try making it back to the car?" Scully wondered out
loud when the silence had gone on too long.

 "It'll be too dark to see before we get halfway back," Mulder told
her truthfully.  It wouldn't help to point out that Scully would never
make it that far with the snow getting deeper all the time.  She already
knew it.  "I think it would be safer to stay here for the night and work
our way back to the car in the morning."

 Scully didn't bother suggesting that he go back without her and
direct help to her from there when it came.  She didn't believe in wasting
her breath.

 While Mulder cut evergreen branches with his utility knife, she
walked a wide circle around the area he'd chosen for their shelter, noting
its physical features automatically while she tried once more to find a
way to get her cellular phone signal out of the dead air pocket of these
mountains.

 "Still no luck with the phone," she reported at last, coming back
to the large, low-branched evergreen beside which Mulder was piling cut
boughs.  "And the wind's changing, I think."

 Her partner didn't say anything, just shifted the pile of boughs
to a different location beside the tree, where they'd be sheltered from
the wind if it picked up during the night.

 Scully ducked under the low branches, snow powdering down on the
hood and shoulders of her white parka as she brushed against the laden
branches, and reached out a hand for an evergreen bough.  Mulder was too
tall to stand up inside the branches of the tree so, with him passing
branches in to her, she did her best to construct their shelter, keeping
it as small as possible for heat conservation, weaving cut branches
vertically with live branches to form a windbreak and what might loosely
pass for a roof.

 "It'll keep the snow out for the most part," she said as she
crawled out some time later, shaking clinging needles off her mittens,
"but my Girl Scout leader would not be impressed."

 "Neither would mine," agreed Mulder, on his hands and knees as he
scooped and shoved and packed down snow over the base of their construct
to strengthen and insulate it.  "Good thing they'll never know."

 "You afraid of losing your survival skills badge?"

 "No.  My Homemaking pin."

 Scully smiled faintly and bent to look inside the opening of the
shelter.  "We're going to need more branch ends for flooring in there,
something between us and the snow to minimize heat conduction."

 Straightening, she watched Mulder take out his knife again and
look ruefully at the blade in the near darkness.  "It's never going to be
the same again.  These branches are as tough as old roots."

 "I'll get you a new one," she promised.

 "You gave me this one last Christmas," Mulder reminded her,
crunching off into the trees to begin hacking at branches.

 "So this time I'll think ahead and give you a machete.  Or would
you prefer a sword - the samurai kind, maybe, like that Highlander guy on
television?"

 "No, thanks.  Too big to carry easily."

 Scully smiled.  "Well, you could keep it wherever he keeps it,"
she suggested.

 "I don't think so," he grimaced over his shoulder at her.  "I
figure that carrying a concealed sword around is the reason he can't have
kids."

 By the time Mulder was back with an armful of branch tips, she'd
put their backpacks safely inside the shelter, up against the trunk of the
tree to make a headrest.  She'd also packed down the snow floor as much as
possible, and was satisfied when the addition of the branch ends softened
the hardness of the floor and hoped the new resin-scented additions would
keep their body heat from being leeched away into the ground.

 The problem was that the shelter was almost invisible from the
outside.  The only indications of their presence was the trampled snow and
the scars on the trees where low branches had been stripped away.  Search
and Rescue wouldn't be able to make it up here until tomorrow, though, she
reasoned.  Time enough to worry about making themselves more visible
tomorrow.  Right now her legs were shaking so badly that she could hardly
stand up.

 It was dark enough now that she barely saw Mulder's old-world
gesture at the shelter.  "Ladies first."

 "It's going to be tight quarters in there, Mulder," she warned,
easing herself inside.

 "I'm counting on it."

 "What?" came her muffled question.

 Mulder shouldered his way carefully through the doorway and
stretched out full length beside her on the bed of evergreen branches,
careful not to disturb the construction of the sides or roof.  "I said I'm
counting on it being tight quarters to keep warm.  I don't think we'll
freeze to death tonight, but the temperature may drop tomorrow if the
storm doesn't blow itself out tonight.  Do you have room to sit up?"

 "I think so," Scully said, suiting action to the words.

 "Can you prop those branches outside over the doorway?  We need to
keep out as much weather as possible."

 Scully maneuvered her way past him as he made himself as small as
he could.  The entrance effectively protected, she made her way back and
eased herself down beside him again.  The darkness inside the shelter was
almost tangible now.

 "So, Mulder, did you bring any food?"

 "Sunflower seeds?" he offered.

 "Not food," she said decisively.  "I brought trail mix, raisins, a
couple of apples and a candy bar...."

 "Chocolate, Scully?"  He raised his eyebrows.  "Is that for
medicinal purposes?"

 She ignored him.  "And I brought a bottle of Evian."

 "Anything else?"

 "A peanut butter sandwich."

 "What, no caviar?"

 "All right, Mulder, what did you bring?"

 "A banana, a box of raisins, and a bottle of water.  How come all
the food, Scully?  You packed like you knew this was going to happen."

 He couldn't see her at all in the dark, but he could feel the
briefest hesitation before she answered.

 "Mulder, when I go into the forest with you, I've learned to
prepare for the worst."  Her voice sounded deliberately light.  "So what
now?"

 "You hungry?"

 Not really, just cold and tired."

 "Me, too.  Then we'll wait to savor that sandwich until tomorrow.
In the meantime, unzip your parka.  I want to feel the zipper mechanism."

 Scully heard the twin sound of her zipper descending and in a
moment she felt Mulder's hands at her parka opening and heard his
satisfied grunt.

 "Compatible?" she ventured.

 "Yeah.  Let's get our arms out of the sleeves.  Then get closer
and hold still a minute."

 Scully obediently performed the necessary contortions in the
restricted space to free herself from the parka, leaned toward him, then
held still while Mulder zipped their parkas together.  When he was
finished, he drew her hood well up around her face, pulled her close to
him, and relaxed with a sigh, his arms around her.

 "Okay?" he asked.

 "Yeah, I think so."

 "You should feel better soon.  Right now, it's like holding onto a
popsicle," he complained, but his voice was smiling.

 "I know.  I'm frozen." A shiver ran through her as some of the
snow packed in the top of one of her boots melted in an icy trickle down
her ankle.  "But you're warm," she commented in some surprise, hugging him
a little tighter in an appreciative embrace.  "Feels nice."

 Mulder frowned into the darkness, his hands absently moving up and
down her back, trying to rub some warmth back into her.  She shouldn't be
this cold.

 "Scully, what are you wearing under your sweater?" he asked
finally after a few minutes.

 "Hmm?"  She sounded half asleep.  "Um...a flannel shirt, a
T-shirt, and a bra.  Why?"

 "And no pantyhose or long underwear under your jeans?"

 "No.  Why?"

 "Because I think you're losing too much body heat.  You brought
plenty of food but you didn't wear enough layers.  You should be okay
tonight with me, but tomorrow...."  He hesitated.

 "Yes?" she prompted sleepily after a moment when he didn't go on.

 "Tomorrow we'll work something out," he promised, holding her a
little closer when he felt her shiver again.

 They'd have to get out of here tomorrow, he thought grimly.
Scully wasn't standing up to the cold well, and without a thermal shirt
next to her skin to wick away the perspiration from their trek through the
snow, she had undoubtedly taken a chill.  How much more snow were they
going to get tonight? he wondered.

 His hands tightened unconsciously against her back and she turned
her head slightly, pillowing her cheek against his shoulder.  "You okay,
Mulder?" she murmured, automatically checking to make sure he was all
right.

 "Yeah, Scully, I'm fine," he said quietly, reassuring her.
"Feeling warmer?"

 "Mmmhmm."

 He smiled at the lie.  "Go on to sleep."

 He spent a few minutes silently reviewing their options - and
there weren't many - until he was sure that she was asleep.  Shifting his
weight to a more comfortable position evoked no response from her, so his
hands moved down her back to her hips and pulled her even closer into a
more intimate embrace, letting her natural, unconscious motion complete
the movement by pushing her leg easily between his.

 Their closeness was both comfortable and uncomfortable for him,
Mulder realized wryly, and his hold on her relaxed a little as she
burrowed her face into his throat in her sleep, still seeking more warmth.
 In the past he had deliberately tried to avoid thinking of Scully in a
sexual way, not wanting to wreck their friendship, their partnership, with
sex.  He hadn't always succeeded in keeping his mind away from the
physical, he had to concede, uneasily remembering a dream or two he'd had,
but he had kept working at it.

 At the moment, though, he was too tired and too cold to be stirred
by anyone or anything.  But he had to admit privately that she felt very
good in his arms, lying so closely.

 She sighed against his throat, her hold on him tightening briefly
before she relaxed once more.  This time the movement of his hands as they
stroked her back was less warming than it was caressing, comforting.
After a moment, her breath came evenly again and he let his hands rest
against the small of her back.

 With her body so close to his, he was reminded anew of how small
his partner was.  He could almost enfold her and make her disappear in his
arms, he thought, but when they were working he rarely noticed her size.
Her competent, professional, unemotional demeanor encouraged one to forget
her size and sex.  He wondered sometimes about what price a woman like
Scully had to pay in order to be taken seriously as a federal agent, the
equal of any male agent.  He wondered sometimes if the price was too high.

 He had firsthand experience of the strength in her that he had
relied on, trusted in, and sometimes taken for granted during their
partnership.  Scully worked hard to be a partner to him, in every way an
equal.  He knew that she didn't want him to have to feel that she needed
to be protected.  He agreed that she could definitely take care of
herself, didn't need his help; he didn't have to worry about her more than
any other agent.  And although he had been there for her a few times, he
always felt that his support had been somehow lacking. But he had the
feeling that because she was a woman working in what was essentially a
man's world, she would never let herself appear more vulnerable than she
could help.  She wanted some kind of control of whatever situation she was
in and always wanted complete control of herself and her emotions.  He
knew she hated being vulnerable in front of him or any other man.

 And yet she'd supported him so many times that he'd lost count.
She just didn't want his support in return. He felt like Scully was always
giving and he was always taking.

 Didn't want his support, he wondered sleepily, or was afraid of
it?  Was she afraid of what would happen if she dropped her guard?  Afraid
of what would happen professionally - or personally?

 He smiled to himself in the dark and rested his cheek against the
top of her head, inhaling the scent of her.  Scully would have some pretty
sharp remarks to make if she knew the direction of his thoughts.  Still,
he wanted to be able to give more to her, and not just physical support -
that was always easy for a man to give - but a more difficult kind of
support.  Something she would be willing to accept.  Maybe more verbal...?

 Mulder shrugged mentally and closed his eyes.  He didn't have the
answers to the question of his relationship with Scully.  He wasn't even
sure there was a question.  He was more concerned with what to do about
their situation in the morning, and whether she would be able to make it
out of here with him.  He was tired and tomorrow's problems were all too
close.  Sleep would help.  He hoped.

***

 Scully woke once in the night, like rising out of deep water, not
sure where she was, her mind cobwebbed and confused.  It was too dark to
see anything, but she knew that the scent in her nostrils, the even
breathing near her ear, and the arms around her were Mulder's.  She didn't
know why these things were, had only a dim feeling of being cold now, but
she knew Mulder was there holding her.

 She was content to let the waters close over her head again.

***
 
 
 
 

 When she woke again it was with a start out of a half-remembered
dream.

 "Scully?"  Mulder's voice in her ear was husky with sleep.
"Scully, what is it?"

 "Nothing.  Just a dream," she murmured after a moment, the memory
of their problem seeping back into her mind slowly.  Just for a second she
didn't want to move from where she was.  She knew the necessity of their
sleeping so intimately close, but she felt a secret, guilty pleasure at
the weight and warmth of his body against hers, even with so many layers
between them.  She didn't want to lift her head from where it was tucked
under his chin, her face buried warmly against his neck....

 These were dangerous thoughts, she told herself sternly, opening
her eyes and turning her face away from him resolutely.  Nothing would be
gained by dwelling on them.  She had already decided that, hadn't she?

 When she glanced up at him, Mulder was looking at her
thoughtfully, his face only inches away.  Scully kept her expression
neutral, as if being this close was no big thing, just part of a need to
survive.

 "It's light outside," she commented, noting the daylight seeping
into the dimness of the shelter.

 He apparently accepted her comment at face value.  He merely said,
"Hold on a second."

 They withdrew from each other slightly and Mulder unzipped their
parkas, then they both hastily thrust their arms into their respective
sleeves, zipping up again.

 Scully sat up stiffly and crawled over Mulder's legs to get to the
shelter entrance.  The covering branches were heavy with snow when she
pushed them aside, and she stared out, blinking at the whiteness, unable
to find words.

 It was beautiful, white and smooth as the icing on a wedding cake.
 Heavily frosted branches festooned the level surface of the deep snow,
and some of the smaller trees were bent and bowed by cloaks of white.
Their tracks were gone as if they'd never existed.  The forest was silent
and gave no hint of which way the path lay.  Every direction looked alike
now.

 And the snow was still coming down.  And what sky she could see
was still heavy with it.

 "Oh, God," she breathed fervently.

 "Scully?"

 She glanced over her shoulder at him, her face pale and her eyes
huge, then wriggled her way out of the shelter, knowing that he would be
right behind her.

 Her feet felt like blocks of wood.  She didn't think that she
would be able to feel them anymore, but she bit her lip with the pain when
she finally stood up.  She thrust the pain away from her as much as
possible and used her arms to push the drifted snow away from the entrance
so that they could stand.  She had cleared a small space when Mulder
exited the shelter feet first.

 He was silent when he saw how much it had snowed during the night,
and reached out to rest his gloved hands on her shoulders, drawing her
back against him, as if he would keep her from plowing out mindlessly
through the deadly snow.

 "They'll find the car," he said at last.  "Someone should have
spotted the smoke from the fire."

 "Yes," agreed Scully, but she knew she was echoing his conviction
to try to convince herself.  "The ranger station knew we were coming, too.
 They'll have notified the local Search and Rescue team."

 His hands tightened on her shoulders.  "Even without tracks,
they'll figure out where we are," he reassured her.  "Stay here a minute."

 It took a little while for him to wade through the snow, thigh
deep on him, to clear an easier way for his smaller partner to a spot of
relative privacy behind an evergreen.  When he came trudging stiff-legged
back down his path, pushing snow to the side with his boots, he waved to
her to go on.

 "Make it quick," he said briefly.  "And call me if you need help,"
he added, watching as she moved down the path, her steps uncertain and
obviously painful.    He knew that she wouldn't ask for help.  And he knew
that she wouldn't be able to hike out of here.  And he wouldn't leave
without her.  They were effectively trapped.

 While she was gone, he quickly stripped off his parka, then his
oversize sweatshirt, his flannel shirt, and the turtleneck under that.
The cold-weather long-sleeved thermal silk undershirt came off, then,
leaving him with his white T-shirt.  Rolling the silk undershirt up, he
held it between his knees while he put the rest of his layers back on, the
cold cutting through him as he lost most of his accumulated warmth.

 He was zipping his parka again, shivering, when Scully came
stumbling back down the path he'd cleared.

 "Here."  He put the rolled shirt into her hands.  "Go inside and
put that on, over your T-shirt, under your flannel shirt."

 "But, Mulder --"

 "Don't argue with me, Scully.  Please.  I wore more layers than
you did.  So either you put it on, or I'll put it on for you."

 "Mulder...."

 "Please, Scully."

 His partner's gaze was very blue in this light as she looked at
him from under her hood, but after a moment she turned and dropped to her
knees, pushing her way back into the shelter.

 He hunched his shoulders inside his parka and looked around their
campsite.  It was still snowing in a sluggish sort of way, enough to
prevent a rescue; anyway, the trees grew too closely for anyone to see
them from the air.  When rescue came, it would come from the main road.

 The logging road in.  Where was it?

 Mulder closed his eyes for a second, visualizing the scene from
yesterday, seeing his position, Scully's position....  He turned slowly to
his left, his eyes still closed.  When the movement and the scene in his
mind came together, he opened his eyes, and found himself looking at a gap
between the trees that looked like half a dozen such gaps around their
shelter.

 He took his glove off, feeling the cold bite at his bare hand
before he shoved it in his pocket and brought out a small can of
fluorescent orange spray paint.  Don't leave home without it, he thought
wryly, turning to the entrance and moving the can in an arching sweep as
he marked their location for the searchers.

 "Scully?"

 "Yeah?" she responded after a moment, her voice muffled,
apparently by his shirt as she pulled it over her head.

 "Break out some food, will you?  I'll be right back."

 "Mulder, don't go out of sight of the shelter," she said sharply.

 "I won't.  I just want to mark as much of the trail as I can see."

 He sprayed as many of the trees as possible with an arrow pointing
in their direction before the increasing snowfall and the cold drove him
back to the shelter.  He was careful to brush as much of the snow from
himself as he could before he insinuated himself inside once more.

 Scully was dressed again, her hood tied tightly around her face,
hiding the brightness of her hair.  She silently offered half a sandwich
and an apple to her partner when he had finished settling himself beside
her.

 "Everything's marked," he commented, starting on the sandwich.
"They shouldn't have any trouble finding us."

 Scully made a noncommittal noise and bit into her apple, her eyes
on his face.

 She didn't say anything, but he saw her gaze drifting thoughtfully
over his face.  Frostbite, he thought, the answer coming to him suddenly.
She was looking for the telltale whitening of nose and cheeks.

 "Not yet," he answered her unformed question.  "We slept too close
last night for facial frostbite, and we weren't out long enough just now.
But our feet...."  He paused.

 She nodded, nibbling her apple core, trying to appear at ease.
"The biggest danger is thawing then refreezing," she told him.  "And
swelling.  So we shouldn't take our boots off even to check."

 There was silence for a few minutes, each of them busy with
thoughts of what would happen if they weren't found soon.

 "The temperature's falling again, isn't it," she said finally.

 Mulder nodded, finishing his own apple core.

 "More snow coming?"

 He nodded again, looking at her steadily in the dim light inside
the shelter.

 "Any chance of making a fire?"

 "I looked for wood while I was spray painting the trees.  The
snow's too deep and what downed branches there are look too green and too
wet."

 Her gaze met his and didn't waver, refusing to admit to fear.

 She took a deep breath.  "Want to help me work a logic problem?"
she asked at last.  "It'll give us something to do."

 Mulder's eyes shifted to her pack as she delved into it and
extracted a tattered puzzle book, a pencil, and a flashlight.  He knew she
was wanting to distract herself, to keep their minds occupied as long as
she could, before the effects of the cold sapped their energy, their
ability to think clearly.

 "Even here I can't escape," he said aloud, mock hollowly.

 "I'm up to level three," Scully assured him lightly, pressing the
book into his hands with a smile that warmed him more than a fire would
have.

 Mulder looked down at the turned-back page in the light of the
flashlight she held and read aloud.  "'Ten friends, each of whom has moved
to a different city --'  Scully, come on...."

 "Go on, Mulder."

 He sighed and continued.  "'Five of them sent e-mail messages to
the other five.  The first five are three men and two women, the second
five are three women and two men.  Determine from the six clues given the
senders, the recipients, and the city for each.'  Scully, if the cold
doesn't kill me, the boredom will."

 "The first clue," she began, ignoring his grumble, "is 'Rebecca,
who sent a message to a man, isn't the one who sent a message to Reno,
Nevada.'"

***

 The day passed slowly, with Mulder doggedly working his way
through the puzzle book with her, letting Scully enjoy herself by prodding
him onward.  They had made it to level four before they stopped for the
night.

 Though she was disinclined to go out into the storm, he ventured
out briefly to make sure that his paint wasn't being covered by the
blowing snow.  This had to be the height of the storm, he decided
optimistically.  It couldn't go on much longer.

 They couldn't go on much longer.

 When he crawled back inside the shelter, he dug the candy bar out
of her pack and gave it to her wordlessly, his expression in the reflected
light of the flashlight warning her not to argue about eating it.  She ate
it without protest, blinking slowly to hold off sleep, looking up at the
crystalline ceiling of their shelter.  Their breath had frozen on the
branches laced above them and the accumulated frost glittered like tiny
diamonds before he switched off the flashlight.

 "I don't feel as cold as I did," she told him matter-of-factly,
knowing what it meant.

 He nodded, still silent, and helped her get her arms out of her
parka's sleeves before he shrugged out of his own and zipped their parkas
together for the night.  This time he tucked her hands and forearms under
the front of his sweatshirt, sandwiching her hands between their bodies
when he pulled her to him.  She was asleep almost before he finished
fitting their bodies together to share as much warmth as possible.

 Without being taxed for it, his photographic memory was busily
bringing up various bits of pertinent information to disturb him.

 'Frostbite is the body's way of preserving heat by shutting down
circulation to an extremity.  Unfortunately, as you develop frostbite you
might not even know you have it because of the numbness.'

 'The mildest stage of hypothermia begins at a body temperature of
about 96 degrees.  Symptoms include shivering, lethargy, slow pulse and a
general decrease in alertness.'

 Mulder held her close throughout the night, the wind keeping him
awake as it whined and occasionally howled through the trees.  It sounded
like the storm was alive, like it was looking for them.  He was afraid
that it had found Scully.
 

***

 He had a hard time waking her in the morning.  When he finally
dragged her back to consciousness, he didn't bother trying to make the
attempt to get out of the shelter.  He knew that they weren't physically
capable of it any longer.

 Instead, to keep her awake and as alert as possible, he worked
more logic problems with her, sharing the trail mix until it was gone, and
the hours crept by.  They were up to level six when he finally stopped,
his gloved hands too numb to hold the pencil any longer, and he looked
down at Scully lying beside him.

 Her eyes were still open, still blinking, but her responses to his
questions had been forced since noontime, and for the past hour she had
been answering him in non-sequiters, when she answered him at all.

 His movements too controlled, Mulder put away the puzzle book and
pencil, and his mouth was tight with anger at their helplessness as he
pulled his arms out of his coat sleeves with restrained violence.  Scully
didn't respond , didn't try to help him, when he eased her out of her
parka and zipped their coats together for what he knew would be last time.

 His hands were gentle as he drew her into an intimate embrace once
more, trying to soothe the periodic tremors that shook her.  He knew he
wasn't far from that state himself; he had stopped feeling the cold, too.

 They weren't going to be found in time.  He knew that, now.

 And all of this over a Bigfoot sighting by two park rangers, he
thought bitterly.  Even he only half believed in Bigfoot.  Most of the
physical evidence was non-persuasive and nearly all of the photographic
evidence was flatly unconvincing and obviously faked.

 So why had he dragged Scully into the back of freezing nowhere, as
she had so poetically put it, to investigate a phenomenon that he didn't
believe and a teenage boy's disappearance that had the classic hallmarks
of a family spat or a kid's prank?  Because one of the rangers had a
brother in the local Bureau field office who had requested Mulder by name,
which had made Skinner snide, which in turn had pissed Mulder off.

 Scully was right.  It was his fault, Mulder admitted.

 He lifted his head for a moment to look down at her in the murky
light of the shelter.  Her face was very pale, the veins blue beneath the
translucent skin at her temples and eyelids.  She looked like she was made
of cold, white marble.

 He tucked her face into his neck and tightened his arms around
her, holding her closely, protectively, as if the storm outside could
physically pull them apart.  He accepted that the intimacy of their
embrace was as much emotional now as physical.  But it was coming too
late; she couldn't feel it.

 There were things that he wished he had been able to say to her.
He was sorry he hadn't been able to verbalize them, but he hoped that she
knew what they were.  Scully had always been so good at second guessing
him.  He hoped she knew.

 He wasn't thinking any too clearly himself, he thought, smiling
faintly, his mouth touching her hair.

 As he felt himself drifting off to sleep, he wondered if this
overwhelming feeling of helplessness and impotent rage was what Scully had
felt on the ship in the North Sea as she watched him fall asleep, knowing
that he wouldn't wake, and there wasn't a thing she could do to help.

***
 
 
 

 There was light on his closed eyelids.  Diffused light, he
realized dimly, and knew that he should wake, but he was warm and
sleep was too comfortable to leave just yet.

 "You okay, Mulder?" Scully's voice wanted to know, a hint of a
smile in her tone.

 His eyes snapped open.  "Yeah, I'm fine," he said
automatically, not really believing it yet.

 He was sitting upright on a comfortable couch with Scully
beside him in what looked like a hospital waiting room.  It was clean,
impersonal, with no windows, and a source of light that he couldn't
pinpoint.  The open door showed a long, empty hallway that disappeared
into dimness.  There was a scattering of chairs, tables and couches
around the spacious room.  But he and Scully were the only people
there: no doctors, no nurses, no patients, no waiting family - not in
the room, not in the hallway.  From the lack of activity, it must be
the middle of the night, he thought vaguely.

 Memory of the storm returned with a suddenness that surprised
him and he got up quickly, flexing his fingers and taking a tentative
step or two.  He didn't feel cold or numb.  In fact, he felt pretty
good.  He wasn't hungry, he wasn't tired, he wasn't....  His natural
caution kicked in, then.  Why did he feel this good after almost
freezing to death? he wondered.  There should be aftereffects even if
they'd been rescued shortly after he passed out.  He looked around the
room, but his parka and gloves were nowhere to be seen, and when he
pushed back his sleeve to check his watch for the time and date, it
was gone.

 "My watch is missing, too," Scully offered.  "I woke up here a
little while ago.  You were here on the couch with me but you were so
deeply asleep that I couldn't wake you up.  No one responded when I
called out, and I didn't want to leave you to check out that hallway."

 Mulder looked down at her thoughtfully.  In her heavy cotton
sweater, jeans and boots, she was only missing her parka and her
mittens to look just as he'd seen her...how long ago?  Her pallor was
also missing, he realized, replaced by a healthy, blooming color, and
the unvoiced fear in her eyes had disappeared, too.  She looked calm
and a little amused at his bemusement.

 "Okay, I'll bite," he said finally.  "Where are we?  What
happened?"

 "I'm not sure what happened, and I only have a vague idea of
where we are."  She hesitated before going on.  "I've been somewhere
that had a similar feel to it.  After my abduction, when I almost
died.  I think this is some kind of a waiting room, Mulder."

 He didn't say anything for a moment, trying to remember that
he was the one who believed the unbelievable.  "You think we're dead?"
he asked finally.

 "I don't think so," she answered slowly, sounding uncertain.
"Not yet.  On the threshold, though, hence the waiting room."

 Mulder considered this, his eyes on her face without really
seeing it as he thought the situation over.  "So you think we've gone
into a hypothermic coma and it's just a matter of time until we're
actually dead, non-recoverable."

 "As far as I can tell," she nodded.  "I can't come up with a
more plausible explanation."

 "Hmmm.  So this is a near death experience, then," he mused,
looking around with more interest.  "I've read a lot about it, but
this experience -- a waiting room of sorts -- isn't documented in
anything I've read.  There are mostly out-of-body sensations and
experiences, a bright light to move toward, encounters with loved ones
-- those sorts of things."  He turned his attention back to her again,
his gaze sharpening as he eyed her.  "I've always wondered what you
might have experienced when you were unconscious all that time.  Just
now you said you were someplace that had a similar feel.  What did you
see, Scully?"

 "I don't remember all that well," she said evasively, shifting
her position on the couch and taking the opportunity to look away from
him.  She was reluctant to tell him any more, but there wasn't any
reason to keep it from him now, was there?  Wherever she had been
before, she was there again.  Only this time Mulder was with her.

 "What things do you remember?" he asked patiently.  "A light?
Being outside your body in the ICU?"

 "Like I said, I don't remember much," she responded with equal
patience.  "I felt very disconnected from everything.  I can remember
a light, but it wasn't the classic bright light at the end of a
tunnel, just a light shining down on me and making me warm.  And I
know my father was there with me.  And then I woke up."  The images
had started to fade almost immediately, she remembered.  It was an
effort now to conjure up anything at all.  And she knew that there
were other things that she had heard and seen that she couldn't
remember after she woke up.

 "So you did experience a light and encountered a loved one,"
he frowned thoughtfully.  "Then why aren't we having that same sort of
experience?  And why are we experiencing whatever this is together
instead of separately?"

 Scully shrugged.  "I have no idea, Mulder.  I'm not an
authority, despite some slight familiarity with the subject."

 "It's possible," he said slowly, "that this has happened to
other people, but they don't remember it when they wake up."

 "Maybe they don't wake up," she pointed out.  "Maybe they just
go on from here."

 He looked at her for a moment, then began to prowl the room,
explore, feeling the seamless walls carefully.  "I don't think so.  I
think there's still a possibility that we can go back."

 "How?  If you can think of a way to get our bodies out of that
damned snow and thawed out safely, just let me know, Mulder."  She
paused, waiting for a response, but he was silent.  "I don't think
we're going to be rescued in time.  Our bodies are going to die.
There's no sense in going back when there's nothing to go back to."

 "We don't know that," he said stubbornly.  "People have
survived worse conditions...."

 "Yes," she agreed.  "But they make the headlines because there
are so few that survive."

 Her partner came back to the couch slowly and sat down again,
a crease between his brows.

 "There's nothing back there for us, Mulder," she continued
gently.

"Other people will take our places, do our work, follow your leads.
Life will go on.  So will we.  Just someplace else."

 He pushed his fingers through his hair impatiently, not
wanting to hear her talk like that, but it made sense.  He didn't know
how to get out of here.  They were as trapped here as they had been in
the snowstorm.  But he didn't feel ready to die.  He wasn't ready to
go on.

 "I don't feel dead," he said out loud.  "I still feel alive."

 "So?"

 "So I think I'd feel...different...if I were going to die."

 "Did somebody fax you information from the Great Beyond when I
wasn't looking?" she asked, smiling.  "Mulder, you don't know any more
about an afterlife than any of the rest of living humanity.  We can't
possibly know what to expect."

 "Maybe not.  But there are certain things that I had
expectations about," he said stubbornly.

 "Like what?"

 "Just certain things."  It was his turn to be evasive, he
figured.  He didn't think that now was the time to discuss comparative
theologies or concepts of life after death, with or without religious
connotations.  But life -- if it could be called that -- in this
waiting room was different from what he had expected an out-of-body
experience to be.  For one thing, he could still feel his body.  He
could feel his own weight shifting as he walked.  He breathed.  He
blinked.  He could feel muscles tightening when he clenched his fist.
He was experiencing too much sensation to be dead, even nearly dead.

 And he most certainly was not ready to give up on life.  There
were too many things that he still wanted out of life to passively
accept what this waiting room seemed to mean.  And it wasn't his work
that he wanted to go back for.  He knew that without having to think
twice about it.  It wasn't even Samantha that kept him from accepting
this situation, and that surprised him a little.  The need to find
Samantha had lost its urgency here.  His obsession with her, with his
work, had disappeared as if it had never existed.  It was pointless to
worry about those things when there was something of much more concern
for him to think about.

 But what that something was was hovering just beyond his
mental grasp.  He could feel its importance, even feel anxious about
it, but he couldn't quite....

 "Mulder?"  She was looking at him curiously as he struggled
with his thoughts.

 "In a second," he said briefly, shaking his head, trying to
bring his thoughts back into line.

 It was something that he had been thinking about before, back
in the shelter during the blizzard.  He went over their time together
there carefully, sifting his memories for what had felt so important
then that now it even outweighed his obsession with finding his
sister.

 He shut his eyes in order to remember better, shutting out the
sterility of the waiting room in order to better feel the echo of the
cold, smell the resinous scent of the evergreen branches that formed
their shelter.  And he could feel....

 He opened his eyes suddenly and got up.  He knew what he had
felt then.  He could remember now what the unfamiliarity of their
present surroundings had temporarily driven from his memory.

 The warmth of that memory didn't fade, either.  Even here,
apparently away from his body, waiting to die, he could feel that
warmth.  His strongest memory was of holding Scully in his arms as
closely as he could, trying to warm her with his body, the fear that
she wouldn't survive focusing all his attention on her.  Despite the
life-threatening situation, he knew that part of him had enjoyed her
closeness to him, had enjoyed holding her.  And he remembered wanting
to give her back the support she had been giving him since their
partnership began.  And now he wanted to give her more than that.

 But they were here, waiting to die.  And that didn't seem to
concern her, he realized gradually.  She was ready to die?  That
wasn't like her at all.

 "Scully, why are you so quick to accept all this?" he asked
abruptly, turning to look down at her.  "Why don't you want to go
back?"

 She looked taken aback for a moment.  "Well...because I guess
there's nothing I really need to go back to.  I wish my mom didn't
have to go through all this again, but...."  She trailed off,
searching for words.

 "Back when the doctors had given up on you, when it seemed
certain that you'd die when they took you off the respirator, you kept
fighting to live.  You didn't give up then.  Why now?" he demanded.
"What's different about this situation?"

 "I...I'm not sure what you're getting at, Mulder.  There isn't
a way back...."

 "I'm not saying that there is a way back now.  I just want to
know why you came back then."

 "I don't know," she said uncertainly.  "Maybe it wasn't really
my time.  Maybe I wasn't ready.  I don't know."

 "Don't you?"

 "No," Scully told him more firmly, wondering where this was
taking them.  She was uneasily aware that she did know why she had
come back, she had thought about it quite a bit during her recovery.
She just didn't want to dwell on it.  And she definitely didn't want
to discuss it with her persistent partner.  "I don't see any point in
discussing it now," she added with finality.

 "Because it may have a bearing --"

 "Mulder, why can't you just leave it alone?" she wanted to
know, her voice sharp, getting up and walking away from him.  "We're
here.  We can't go back."

 "Can't or won't?" he asked.  "Or is it 'don't want to?'"

 Scully turned back to him quickly.  "What do you mean by
that?"

 "I mean that you don't want to go back.  Even if you could,
you don't want to go."

 She recovered her cool facade with an effort.  "And can I
infer from that that you do want to go back?" she asked as impassively
as she could.

 He thought about his answer for a moment, looking at her as
she worked to keep any emotion out of her expression and voice.  "Yes,
I want to go back," he told her finally.

 "But why, Mulder?  There's nothing there...."

 "Yes, there is," he nodded, his voice quiet.  "Or at least,
there was.  For me."

 Scully hesitated for a moment, her gaze held by his, then went
back to the couch to sit down.  Mulder let her avoid eye contact,
watched her put up more barriers.  Her arms were crossed across her
chest, her legs were crossed, her face was turned away from him.

 "I think that we..." he began, knowing that he wasn't going to
get far before she interrupted him.

 "Mulder, I don't think that I want to continue this
conversation," she broke in.  "We're going to have to agree to
disagree on this one, and I think we should drop it."

 "Drop what?"

 "This conversation, this topic."

 "What topic, Scully?"

 The look she gave him should have frozen him to the bone.  It
was one of her better efforts, he nodded mentally, except that he was
immune by now to those icy stares of hers.

 "Why don't you want to talk?" he persisted.  "We've always
been able to talk about anything and everything.  We've disagreed in
the past.  We've argued, we've been pissed, then we got over it.  But
we always talked."

 "I don't feel like talking."

 "How come?"

 "Because I don't think that the...the topic you're going to
bring up is something that we need to discuss.  Not anymore."

 "And what topic is that?"

 "I know and hate that particular psych game, Mulder," she said
evenly, "so put that technique away.  Why can't you just accept what's
happening here and go on?"

 "Because I don't want to go on.  And I don't think that you
do, either."

 Scully pressed her lips together against a retort and stayed
stubbornly silent.

 "Look," he offered, "if we're dead, then talking about it
won't matter.  Right?"

 She concentrated her gaze somewhere on the wall beyond him,
refusing to look at him.

 "Well, I'm going to talk," he shrugged.  "There's no place you
can go, so you have to listen."

 "Even if I don't want to hear it?" she asked bitterly.  "Don't
you care that I don't want to hear it?"

 "I want you to hear it because I care," he told her quietly,
sitting down on the couch again as she took a step or two away from
him, half turning away.  "Scully, I want to go back because of you.
You don't belong here.  You're not ready for this yet."

 "Who made you an authority on what I'm ready for?"

 He brushed aside her question.  "Why did you come back
before?"  he asked again, his voice very quiet in the stillness of the
room.  "When I sat beside your bed that night, you were dying.  I
could see it in your face.  It hurt so much to sit there and watch you
slipping away.  I couldn't hold onto you.  I couldn't bring you back."
She still had her back to him, her shoulders braced a little under her
sweater against his words.  "Why did you come back, Scully?  Did you
come back because of me?"

 His question was so quiet that it was almost a whisper, but
she heard it clearly anyway.  It was something that she hadn't wanted
to think about, hadn't wanted to answer even when she herself had
first posed the question.  Answering that question would open doors
that were better left closed.  For her own peace of mind, those doors
had to stay closed and locked.

 "I don't know why I came back," she said finally, hoping that
she sounded more convincing than she felt.  "Of course I enjoyed
working with you, Mulder, but I don't think that --"

 "Bullshit," he interrupted her abruptly.  "Don't lie to me
about this, Scully.  After everything we've been through, after all
the time we've been together -- working or whatever," he added
sarcastically, "I think I deserve the truth from you."

 She forced herself to face him again.  He was sitting on the
couch, leaning forward, watching her intently.

 "I don't know what the truth is," she said finally,
deliberately.  "Unless someone hands me a cosmic answer key to my
life's questions, I'll never know what 'the truth' is.  But for what
it's worth, I don't think that it was my time.  And just as I was
being made aware of that, I...I knew somehow that you were sitting
with me -- with my body.  I couldn't see you.  I could just feel you.
And I couldn't let you feel the kind of pain you were experiencing
because of me.  I knew that I needed to come back to stop that pain.
That's all.  I have a vague memory of waking up sometime later in the
ICU, but I don't remember anything else."  She stopped, looking away
from him at the lovely impressionist landscape print on the wall
behind the couch where he was sitting.  "So I guess the answer to your
question is that I did come back because of you."  Her gaze, still
impersonal, moved back to his face again.  "Is that what you wanted to
know?"

 "Yeah," he nodded, getting up.  "It answers another question
for me, too."

 "And what question is that?"

 "Why you're not wanting to go back now."

 Scully closed her eyes for a moment, gaining control of her
temper, then opened them again, taking a deep breath.  "Mulder, I'm
not going to talk about anything else of a personal nature.  And I'm
not going to listen to you any further.  This discussion is over."

 "What are you going to do?  Put your fingers in your ears?  I
want to know why you don't want to talk about anything personal."

 "Because there's no point," she said curtly.  "The personal
aspects of our lives were left back there.  That part's over."

 "I don't think it is.  We're not dead yet."

 She shrugged.  "Next door to it."

 Exasperated, he combed his fingers through his hair, beginning
to feel as if he'd like to start tearing it out.  His partner could be
maddeningly stubborn.  "Scully, don't you want to go back and have
some kind of a life?  A real life?  Something that you might have
imagined before you got buried up to your eyebrows in X-Files?"

 She shook her head, resigning herself to the inevitable.  He
just wasn't going to shut up.  If they stayed here for a hundred
years, he would pester her until she talked to him about these
personal matters.  At least, it might not actually be a hundred years;
it would just feel like it.  Maybe this wasn't a waiting room after
all, she reflected.  Maybe it was purgatory.

 "Don't you want a life, Scully?"

 She eyed him curiously.  "What kind of a life do you think
that might be, Mulder?  A nine-to-five husband, two point five
children and a house with a white picket fence?  Is that what you
imagine I want?  Well, I don't.  Maybe I thought about something along
those general lines at one time, but people change, you know.  I
changed," she shrugged.  "It might surprise you to know that I was
more or less happy with my life the way it was.

 "I don't know what kind of life I wanted for myself in the
future, but I know now that I'm too used to discussing cannibalism or
giant bloodsucking worms over meals eaten at four in the morning.  I'm
too used to picking up the phone and hearing your voice say, 'Scully,
it's me.'  I know that I don't want to talk insurance or diaper rash
over a normal meal at a civilized hour.  I know I don't want to anyone
else's voice on the phone saying, 'It's me.'  And I don't want to
disentangle myself from your bizarre, overcomplicated life.  And
work."  She looked up at him, smiling faintly.  "I'd be bored to tears
by any man who didn't know how to carry on an intelligent conversation
about mutants."

 Mulder didn't say anything for a long minute, just looking at
her, then returned her smile wryly.  "I guess I've spoiled you, huh."

 She shrugged a little, wandering toward the hallway door,
standing just inside to look down its length.  "Maybe.  I don't know.
All I do know is that I'm not as unhappy with this situation as you
seem to be."  She glanced over her shoulder at him.  "What about you,
Mulder?  You needed to get a life worse than I did.  Is that why you
want to go back?  To try to get a life?  Sort of a second chance?"

 Shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, he shook his head
slowly.  "No, not really.  The way things were going, with the
background I had, I wasn't ever going to get a life.  In searching for
Samantha, I pretty much made a decision to sacrifice everything else
in my life.  Especially relationships.  I just didn't have time for
them.  Finding my sister and working on the X-Files were the only
important things in my life for a long time.  Nothing else mattered."
He paused, looking past her down the corridor to the darkness at the
far end.  "And then you were assigned to work with me.  As ticked as I
was at the time, it was the best thing that ever happened to me.  You
poked holes in my theories, questioned them, made me question them,
and generally grounded me in reality again.  I didn't always agree
with you," he added, smiling, "but I was never bored.

 "I've never been closer to anyone than I am to you, Scully.
You listen to me when no one else does.  You try to understand me when
no one else does.  I trust you when I don't even trust myself, much
less anyone else.  I rely on your judgment, your intuition, your
strength.  You fit into...into what passes for my life," his mouth
twisted a little, "as if you were a piece of me that I didn't know was
missing until it was taken away from me."

 She looked over at him when he fell silent.  They both knew
how important each was to the other, and had had good reasons for not
verbalizing it and acting on it in the past.  And, really, the words
had never been necessary.  They lived it every day.

 "We need to go back," he said at last, turning away from his
contemplation of the hallway to look down at her at his side.  "We
don't belong here."

 "How do you know that?  We're here, and there isn't a way
out," she reminded him wearily.  "We're all but dead.  I don't know
why you keep insisting that we need --"

 He interrupted her with a gesture, reaching out suddenly to
take her hand in a grip so tight it made her wince.  "Can you feel
that?"

 "Yes!  Mulder, that hurts!"

 His hold loosened, but he continued holding her hand.  "You
can feel that, Scully.  Feel it.  Once we're dead, that kind of
sensation will be gone forever.  We're not dead.  Not yet.  And we're
here together, not separately.  There must be a reason for that.
There has to still be a chance that we can make it back."

 Scully tried to pull her hand out of his but he refused to let
it go.  "Back to what?" she almost yelled, struggling to free her
hand.  "I thought we'd gone over this!  I don't want to go back!
There's nothing --"

 It happened so quickly.  A quick tug at her hand pulled her
off balance and, as she stumbled against him, he pulled her even
closer, his free hand cupping her cheek, tilting her chin up.  And
then he was kissing her, his mouth moving over hers hungrily,
demanding a response that she couldn't help giving any more than she
could stop breathing.  Her breath caught in her throat as his arms
tightened around her, and the pressure of his kiss coaxed her lips
apart.  Her eyes tightly closed, all she could feel was Mulder, all
she could taste was him.  Without conscious thought, her hands moved
up, over his shoulders, behind his neck, holding him there, not
wanting this to stop.

 She dimly heard her own faint moan of appreciation as he
explored her mouth thoroughly, taking his time, and could feel his
mouth curving against hers, feel his pleasure, as she held him closer
and began her own exploration of his.  His fingers were tangled in her
hair and they were both breathless by the time he reluctantly lifted
his head, ending the kiss for the moment.  He didn't release her,
though, and didn't show any inclination to do so, touching his lips to
the corner of her mouth briefly.

 "Feel more alive?" he wanted to know, his voice a little
hoarse.

 Scully nodded wordlessly.  She didn't think she could form a
coherent sentence, but she certainly did feel alive, a little too
alive for comfort, if the truth be told.

 "We're not dead, Scully," he whispered, his lips brushing her
ear.

"Not if we can feel all of this.  And if we're not dead, there's got
to be a way to go back."

 She cleared her throat, closing her eyes briefly in pleasure
at the sensations his mouth was stirring in her.  "Okay, let's say we
can find a way back.  Should we go back?"

 "What do you mean?"

 "I mean that, assuming we make it back, we either remember
this experience or we don't.  If we don't remember it, we're right
back where we started from, lack of a life and everything.  If we do
remember it, then that poses a whole new set of questions."

 "I hate to be trite, Scully, but questions are there to be
answered."

 "We might not like the answers," she said, suddenly serious,
gently pushing him away.

 Mulder straightened with a sigh and looked down at her,
reaching out to smooth her hair where his fingers had tumbled it.  "I
know what you mean."

 "What is it that we want?" she gestured helplessly.  "A
one-night stand?  A relationship?  A commitment?  And how will any of
those affect the way we work together?  Will getting involved with
each other affect our friendship?  Will it be worth it?"

 Mulder shrugged.  "I don't know, Scully.  I really don't.  But
although I may not know what the hell I want to do about us, I sure as
hell know it can't be done when we're dead," he reminded her
pointedly, breaking her gaze to look around the room, hoping for
inspiration, his eyes finally lighting on the big landscape print on
the wall behind the couch, for lack of a better focus.

 "I'd say there's no doubt about that," Scully agreed dryly.

 "Offhand -- and assuming that we remember any of this, and
despite how much I enjoyed what happened just now -- I'd say that we
shouldn't get physical too quickly.  I've seen a lot of friendships
wrecked by sex.  I don't think that's where we are right now."

 She nodded her agreement.  "Then the question becomes 'where
are we?'"

 "Right now?  Stuck in this damn waiting room," he answered
almost absently.

 "Mmm," she grimaced, looking up at him.

 But Mulder wasn't paying attention to her any longer.  His
eyes were fixed on a point behind her head.  When she turned, all she
could see was the framed landscape print, a garden of some sort done
in an excellent impressionist style, with a large, elaborate gate
pictured slightly off center.  A very nice picture, but nothing to
earn her partner's sudden interest.

 Frowning, Mulder pointed at the picture.  "Scully, look!"

 "At what?" she asked, looking obediently, if blankly.  "I
don't see anything.  Just a print."

 "No, no.  Look at the reflection in the glass."

 Scully refocused on the reflected light in the glass of the
picture.  It only looked like a reflection of themselves standing in
front of the painting, like a mirror, with the corridor behind them,
the bright light from the hallway overheads showing the two of them
almost silhouetted.

 "Do you see?" Mulder demanded.

 "See what?  I see us, the room, the hallway...."

 An arm around her shoulders, he turned them both suddenly to
face the hallway before she could complete her litany.

 The hall stretched out in front of them, only three or four
overheads relieving the darkness that crept nearer the waiting room
door.

 Mulder's hands released her and she half turned to look over
her shoulder at the reflection in the glass again.  Light.  She turned
her head to look at the hallway.  Dark.

 Light.  Dark.

 "It's not the same hallway," Scully said slowly.

 "This one," Mulder pointed at the print, "is the classic
light-at-the- end-of-the-tunnel hallway."

 "And this one," Scully gestured at the real hallway before
them, "is...what?  If that one is the corridor...onwards, let's
say...then you think this dark hallway is the road...back?"

 "Must be.  Has to be."

 "You really think we should try to go back?"  She felt oddly
reluctant to say those words, now that there was a real possibility
that they really could go back.

 "Don't you?" he asked, looking down at her.  "We might be able
to pick up where we left off," he reminded her, his arm around her
shoulders tightening a little, pulling her closer.

 It was a tempting thought, but Scully hesitated, glancing away
from Mulder to look at the reflected corridor, at the warmth of the
light that flowed down on her upturned face.  She had left it once
before, gone back to her world, gone back to Mulder.  But Mulder was
here and this time she didn't want to turn her back on that warm,
welcoming light.  It would welcome them both.  Warmth enfolded her at
the thought.  They'd be together here in the light, never have to be
separated again.  And it wasn't just white light, either, she saw, but
the most beautiful colors, delicate shades....
 
 

++++++++++++++++++++
 
 
 

 "Don't look at the light, Scully," his voice whispered
urgently in her ear, but dimly, as if he wasn't quite beside her any
more.

 But the light was so attractive....  He'd follow her.  She
knew he would.  And the warmth was reaching out for her....

 "Scully...."  His voice was further away.

 His voice?  Whose voice?

 "Scully....Scully!"

 She felt suddenly disoriented, confused, the brightness coming
and going...and his voice was louder, calling her name, calling her
back...to him?

 In some surprise she realized that Mulder's hands on her
shoulders were hurting her as he shook her hard, her head snapping
back on her neck.

 "Stop," she gasped.  "Stop it, Mulder.  You're hurting me."

 With a heartfelt, thankful sigh he hugged her close, holding
her face against his shoulder, away from the light.  "Oh, God.  Don't
do that to me, Scully.  Stay with me."  He ducked his head to look
into her face.  "Are you okay now?"

 Her head moved slightly against his shoulder. "No."

 He eased her away from him slightly and his breath was warm on
her face as his lips touched hers gently.  "I can't make up your mind
for you, Dana -- but I can try.  I want you to stay with me.  I want
us to try going back.  Together.  But you've got to come willingly or
I don't think this will work."

 She didn't say anything for a moment, looking up at him.  He
smiled a little, his fingertip caressing her cheek for an instant
before pushing a tendril of hair away from her face.

 "I want to go home, Mulder," she said at last.  "Do you think
we'll make it?"

 "We can only try.  Just don't look at the light."

 He turned her carefully, keeping his back to the lit corridor
and his body between Scully and the warm light flowing from the print.
"You'll be ready for that someday," he promised her.  "Just not
today."

 "Why isn't it affecting you the way it is me?" she wanted to
know.

"Can you feel it?"

 "Oh, yes.  I'm not immune, Scully," he said feelingly.  "I'm
just concentrating on something else, that's all."

 "Oh?"

 "Yeah.  I keep thinking how good it felt to kiss you.  And I
keep thinking of how I want to be able to do it again.  And I keep
reminding myself that if I give in to the temptation to stay, all of
that will disappear."

 "But, Mulder, if we don't remember any of this --"

 "If we don't remember what happened here, I have faith that
our relationship will work itself out eventually," he said firmly, his
arm around her encouraging her to keep up her pace as he felt her
beginning to slow down.  "We can't ignore what we feel forever.  We'll
do something about it someday."  I hope, he added silently.

 The hallway seemed endless to Mulder as he shepherded Scully
into the darkness.  He could feel the warmth of the light on his back
and knew that Scully felt it more strongly, even though he was
shielding her from it as much as possible.  Her steps were still
slowing, beginning to drag.

 "What is it?" he asked.  "What's wrong?"

 "I think we're near the end of the hallway," she said faintly.

 "Why?"

 "I feel cold and I'm hurting.  I wasn't before."

 Mulder stopped, his hands on her arms.  "This will be your
last chance, Dana.  I don't want to offer you an out, but I have to.
Do you want to come back with me?  Is that what you really want?  Or
are you wanting to go back to the waiting room - and go on from
there?"

 She looked up at him, trying to see his face in the near
darkness.

"Why are you asking me that, Mulder?  I said I'd go back with you."

 "You've got to be sure.  If you're not really sure you want to
go back, I think that you might not make it back with me."

 "What makes you think that?"

 "Because I don't feel the cold you're feeling.  I'm not
hurting.  I think it's a barrier of some kind and it'll keep you from
making it back because you're not one hundred percent sure that you
want to go."

 Scully hesitated, turning slowly, deliberately, to look past
Mulder at the light at the far end of the hallway.  Mulder shifted,
his body blocking her view.  But the light flowed around him,
silhouetting him in its strength and warmth, forcing her to see both
her choices at once.

 She had no sense of time passing, but was startled out of her
continuing bemusement into a sudden sharp awareness of herself by the
fleeting touch of his mouth on hers.  And then, suddenly, she was
kissing him with a passion that was edged with desperation, her hands
holding onto him, anchoring herself to him.

 This was what she wanted, she realized finally.  She wanted
Mulder.  She wanted to argue with him, theorize with him, work with
him, laugh with him, be with him.  Love him.  The light wasn't an
option if Mulder wasn't going to be there with her.  Just like she had
before, she would go back because of him.  This time, hopefully, she
would come back with him, to him.

 She drew back a little from his embrace, finally, her lips
clinging to his for another second before she opened her eyes.  He was
smiling at her, that warm, special smile that she didn't often see.

 "Please tell me you're coming back with me."

 The light would always be there.  But Mulder needed her now.
And she needed him.

 "Scully?"

 "Let's go, Mulder.  I'm freezing standing here."

 His hands tightened on her shoulders and he kissed her once,
fiercely, briefly, before he straightened, taking her hand to lead her
on.

 "I want to make sure we don't get separated," he explained.

 "Don't worry," Scully smiled, holding his hand a little
tighter as a shield against the dark.  "I won't lose you that easily."

 And there was no warning.  One moment their feet were on solid
ground, the next moment they were falling.

 Scully couldn't feel Mulder's hand, if indeed she was still
holding it, and she couldn't tell if she cried out as she fell.  She
could see nothing, hear nothing, feel nothing.  Nothing except the
cold, and she closed her eyes against the piercing chill of it.

***
 
 

 Dim memories swirled around him like the water in which he was
immersed.  A painting on a wall.  Diamonds winking on the ceiling.
Holding her tightly to keep the storm from taking her away from him.  'Did
you come back because of me?'  A waiting room.  Waiting to die.  Wanting
to live.  Holding her tightly, kissing her until he was dizzy.  'Feel more
alive now?'  Spraying the doorway with orange paint.  The light was so
beautiful, so warm.  The snow was so cold.  They were dying.  She was
freezing in his arms as he held her.

 Scully....

 "His eyes are open."

 Were they?  He hadn't noticed.

 "Mr. Mulder, can you hear me?"

 He lifted his gaze from the water in front of him with an effort.
A woman he didn't know was looking down at him.  Wading his way through
the confusing memories, he felt them beginning to slip away as he focused
his concentration on the present with an effort of will.  He knew that
clinical, assessing look.  A doctor.

 "Can you hear me?" she repeated.

 His lips and tongue worked to form a word.  "Yeah," he croaked,
then cleared his throat with an effort.  They'd had him on a respirator.
He could feel the residual tightness in his chest and the invisible hand
clenched around his throat that he associated with it.

 Becoming more aware of his surroundings, he could feel the pain,
now.

 His body was on fire.  That was his first halfway coherent
thought, the scalding pain in his hands and feet making him gasp
involuntarily.  His second thought, when he could push the pain to the
back of his mind, was that he was in water.  Water?  A metal tub of some
kind?  The water felt boiling hot after the coldness of that long fall....
 No, not a fall, he frowned.  They hadn't fallen.  It was the storm.
They'd been trapped in a blizzard.  Why did he think he had fallen?

 Slowly, he became conscious of other things.  Low-voiced
conversation, orders and responses.  Movement around him.  Subliminal
whirs and clicks and beeps of machines.  The soft sound and feel of the
water lapping around him, nearly up to his chin.

 "Core body temp ninety-eight, doctor," said another voice from
somewhere behind him..

 "Okay, he's stable for now.  Let's get him out of the tub.  Move
him up to moderate care and begin frostbite therapy.  Monitor vitals--"

 "Wait," he managed to get out as he was lifted, the air on his wet
skin cooling the false sense of heat in his extremities.  "Scully -- my
partner.  Where's Scully?"  He was ignored for a moment as he was wrapped
warmly, transferred to a gurney, and covered by a heated blanket.
"Where's Scully?" he repeated, trying and failing to inject authority into
his hoarse voice.

 The dark-haired nurse strapping him in securely smiled
reassuringly at him and tilted her head briefly toward the other side of
the large, professionally cluttered trauma room.  "Don't worry, she's over
there."

 "...She...Is she okay?"

 "Her core temperature isn't rising as fast as yours did.  They're
working to stabilize her now."

 When they turned his gurney slightly to navigate it out of the
trauma room, he caught a quick glimpse of his partner's face above the
metal sides of the tub she was in.  She looked bloodless, whiter than the
snow that had nearly killed them, her lips forced open by the respirator
tube.  He had seen her like that once before, her life dependent on the
technology around her, and he hadn't liked it then, either.  It didn't
seem right that someone who wanted to be in control of her life so much
should be so helpless, or that someone so full of life should look so
lifeless.

 She had needed him to get her back.  Back from the cold?  Or back
from....  He frowned as the gurney paused for the nurse to murmur
something to a colleague.  Back from....?  He groped desperately for the
fading memories.  There had been a room, he remembered.  A waiting room.
And Scully's body had been warm -- not cold -- against his as she promised
to come back with him.  Where was she now? he wondered, feeling suddenly
cold -- cold that had nothing to do with his physical temperature --
mentally picturing her lost between worlds, unable to come back.  What
would he do if she didn't....  His thought, his imagination, couldn't
progress any further.

 Even as he was being maneuvered out of the doorway, though, his
attention was caught by a harsh gasp against the rhythm of the respirator
and when he turned his head to look, he saw that the orchestrated movement
around Scully had increased.  Then his gurney was through the doorway and
his view was cut off.

 But he had seen enough.  Scully had found her way back, he smiled
to himself, relief flooding through him.

 The gurney continued moving and he closed his eyes against the
overhead lights that shone down mercilessly, letting himself drift.  It
was too much effort to hold onto the memories right now.  There was  no
need.  Scully would be all right, he assured himself tiredly.  That was
what was important.  She was going to be fine.  They both would.

***

 "If the doctors and nurses would leave me the hell alone, I'd feel
better faster."

 "Quit complaining, Mulder," Scully said unsympathetically,
watching her partner sit on the side of his hospital bed and rotate his
ankles in the precise, even movements prescribed in their physical
therapy.  It was not an interesting or inspiring sight.  "At least we're
alive.  And we're going to keep our toes, even if we're not enjoying the
process of frostbite reversal."

 Almost against her will, her gaze was drawn back to the curtained
window that made a frame for the beautiful view of the mountains, green
frosted with bridal white, just touched with lavender shadows as new storm
clouds moved in gradually to dim the pale sunlight.  They had barely
survived the last storm, and the new one would erase all traces of their
presence from the mountain, she thought.  As if they'd never been there.
As if it had never happened.

 Mulder lifted his eyes, watching her with the sense of unease,
uncertainty, that had been wrapped around him like a garment since he'd
awoken, fully conscious and aware, in this hospital room four days before.
 Scully was too quiet, too distracted.  And she'd been strangely elusive
during their recovery, not spending any more time with him than necessary.

 Something had happened out there on the mountain.  He knew that.
He couldn't drag the specifics out of his uncharacteristically
uncooperative memory, but he could feel the tension between them.  And
that hurt almost more than the damned frostbite did.

 "They don't leave you alone," he reiterated, knowing that his
voice was too sharp, but wanting to make some kind of impression on her.
Anything to make her the Scully he knew again.  "They wake you up in the
middle of the night to find out whether you're sleeping okay.  They..."

 "They do it in my room, too," she reminded him, turning away from
her contemplation of the scene outside.  "Look, we've only got a couple of
more days here.  Just put up with it for a little longer.  Have you heard
anything about the assignment we were on?  Has anyone else been put on
it?"

 Mulder sighed, suppressing a wince as he began flexing his toes as
best he could.  He was in a rotten mood and bitching at her wasn't going
to make him feel any better; it would just piss her off and drive her back
to her room, leaving him by himself again.  And he didn't want her to
leave him.

 Mulder," she tried again, her voice just a little softer.  "If
something's bothering you, tell me what it is.  Maybe I can help.  Is it
the case?"

 He looked over at her thoughtfully.  She was sitting on the empty
bed opposite, her head slightly tilted, waiting for his response.  She
always listened to him, no matter how "out there" his theories were, no
matter how painful the memories, she was always there to listen to him.
He owed her better than silence after half-killing her in the snow.

 "You're more likely to kill me than help me," he told her finally.
 She was not going to like what he had to say.  "I got a call from the
local field office," he continued.  "The missing kid we were after turned
up again -- he'd been staying with a friend in Seattle after an argument
with his father.  And those two rangers who said they saw something in the
forest?  Well, now they're disagreeing on exactly what they saw.  A bear.
No, a mountain lion.  Or maybe it was just the weird shadow from some bush
or something."

 For a moment, she couldn't think.  She could only feel.  For one
brief moment, she wasn't an FBI agent, she was just a woman -- and for
just a second she wanted to wrap her hands around Mulder's neck and
squeeze until he was an attractive shade of blue.  He'd hauled them out
here into a blizzard for nothing.  They'd almost died over his stubborn
insistence --

 She pulled herself together after a long minute, thrusting the
fantasy of violence against her partner back into the little closet that
it peeked out of once in a while,  and shook her head.  She had chosen to
come with him on this wild goose chase.  Wild beast chase, she corrected
herself with a mental smile.  It wasn't entirely his fault.

 Scully let the wry smile work its way out to curve her lips.  "So
what you're trying to tell me is that we came all the way out here and
nearly froze to death...for nothing.  No missing kid.  No Bigfoot.  Just
us on ice."

 "That pretty much covers it."  He looked down at his feet,
absently curling his toes.  "Scully, I'm sorry.  Really.  There wasn't
enough evidence to justify us coming all the way out here and my temper
nearly got you killed.  I let emotion win out over professionalism and
this is what comes of it.  And I'm mad at myself for screwing up so badly
this time."  He fell silent, waiting for the stinging response that he
felt sure was coming...and that he deserved.

 "Guess I win the Your Fault game, then," she shrugged, still
smiling as he glanced up, surprised, then shook her head.  "No, Mulder,
that's not true.  It was my fault as much as yours for coming with you,
for giving validity to a case that I knew didn't have enough evidence to
begin with.  If I'd protested strongly enough, made my case well enough to
you -- or to Skinner -- then we wouldn't be here."

 "You are supposed to kind of keep me in line, aren't you," Mulder
agreed, relaxing a little, a smile of his own beginning to tug at the
corners of his mouth.  Scully wasn't mad.  She had every right to cut him
into little pieces, but she wasn't mad.

 "I'd need a whip and a chair to keep you in line," she told him
dryly, getting up, easing her weight onto her feet carefully.

 "Leaving so soon?" he asked, something in his chest tightening at
the thought.  "I've got a chair, and I can arrange for a whip.  Might be
fun," he forced a grin.

 "I've had enough fun with you for a while, thanks. I'd better get
back to my room. Lunch will be arriving soon."

 "Or what passes for it."

 Scully hesitated.  Mulder didn't want to be alone; she could feel
it.  And she couldn't stop herself from wanting to stop whatever it was
that was disturbing him so.  Maybe she could coax it out of him....  Keep
it casual, she told herself.  "You could always join me for lunch," she
suggested after a moment.

 As much as he didn't want her to leave, he was half afraid to be
with her.  He didn't know why, but memories moved sluggishly in his mind,
just out of his grasp, fueling his uneasiness.

 "No, thanks," he managed to respond, equally casual.  "I'm waiting
to see if that candy-striper took me up on the bribe I offered her for
bringing me a couple of hot dogs."

 "Suit yourself."  He was scared, Scully thought.  "If you change
your mind, you know where I am.  The lunch cart's coming," she finished,
heading for the doorway slowly.

 "Yeah, be sure not to miss it," Mulder agreed sardonically, not
looking forward to being alone with his thoughts after she left, yet oddly
unsettled with her in the room with him.  He didn't like this sense of
fear he'd been experiencing, along with flashes about the cold, about a
warm light.  And ever-present was that lurking, nagging fear.

 Fear of losing Scully.

 But she was here, he argued with himself.  She was warm and alive
and HERE.  He could see that.  He shouldn't be wanting to take her hand,
just to make sure she was okay.  The urge to reach out for her baffled
him.  His need for her frightened him.

 Mulder watched his partner shuffle across the floor to the
doorway.  Her progress looked painful and he knew from personal experience
that it was.  It felt like walking on hot coals, sometimes.

 Wouldn't that be what he would be doing with Scully now?  Walking
on coals?  He didn't want her to see how he felt--

 Reaching the doorway, she paused, half turning to say something to
him, but Mulder never heard her words.  The sight of her silhouetted
against the light of the hallway brought him off the bed and halfway
across the room before the pain of his half-healed feet caught up with
him.

 "Scully...."  Mulder stopped, stumbling, hesitating.  His memories
were patchy, disjointed at best.  By no stretch of his excellent
imagination could he call them coherent.  But the door in his mind had
opened for him and he just...knew.  He remembered the waiting room.  He
remembered how she felt in his arms, how her mouth tasted.

 She waited, standing in the doorway, her eyebrows raised
enquiringly at the sudden note of urgency in his voice.

 He stood barefoot, in hospital-issued pajamas and robe, in the
middle of the floor, his face intense, his eyes on hers, but his sight
focused on something inside himself.

 Maybe it had been an hallucination, he cautioned himself.  Maybe
he had conjured her up out of his own subconscious, projecting his own
repressed thoughts and desires onto the simulacrum.  What if it hadn't
been real?  What if he had experienced it...and she hadn't?

 He had to ask.  He had to know.  "After we passed out in the
shelter," he finally said slowly, licking dry lips, "while you were
unconscious, did you...dream...or something?"

 Scully pushed her hands into her robe pockets and leaned a
shoulder against the door jamb.  "Or something," she agreed cautiously
after a long minute.

 As the silence between them stretched further and further,
becoming nearly tangible, a third party in the room.

 He needed to know, he thought fiercely.  He had to know if....  He
couldn't put it into words, even in his mind.

 "What...what do you remember?" he asked finally, simply, hating
the edge of uncertainty in his voice.

 He watched as Scully hesitated for a long moment, that distant
look back in her eyes.  He reminded himself to breathe, wondering what he
would do if she remembered what he did, if she verbalized it.  If she
remembered, would it change their partnership as it currently existed,
possibly put an unbearable strain on their friendship?  Maybe some truths
weren't meant to be spoken out loud, he thought, feeling suddenly cold.
Not yet.  "What do you...."  His throat closed and he couldn't continue.

 But Scully was smiling faintly, now, one hand pushing the hair
back from her face.  "I remember enough, Mulder."

 He nodded slowly, his eyes on her face, and said nothing when she
turned and disappeared down the hallway, beginning the short shuffle
toward her room.  Shutting his eyes, he could feel the tension melting out
of his shoulders, his neck.  Her words had eased the tightness in his
chest.

 So today wouldn't be the day that they made the giant leap, he
smiled a little whimsically.  A small step was more than enough.  With the
way he felt about Scully, it was all he could handle right now.

 Until they both needed more.  Until they were ready to take
another step.  Or two.

 Feeling suddenly better -- and hungry -- Mulder opened his eyes,
looking around at the spartan room, noting the lunch tray that someone had
left for him -- oh, great, while he had been standing there in the middle
of the floor, eyes closed, smiling to himself.  Psych evaluation, here I
come, he grimaced, retrieving the tray.

 His own company in this cheerless room was less appealing now.
Lunch with Scully -- even the hospital's food -- was sounding better and
better.

 Mulder was smiling again as he began his own shuffle down the hall
to his partner's room.

(end)
 
Blizzard  1/11/96

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