Title: COLD ON ICE
Author: jesse (jesse.bee@mailcity.com)
Rating: R
Category: A, MS UST (?)
Spoilers: FTF, Pilot, Deep Throat, Max, Red & Black, Blessing Way,
One Breath
Summary: Mulder discovers again what it's like to die...
(companion to BLUE ON BLACK)

Disclaimer: 20th Century Fox, Chris Carter, and 1013 Productions own
the rights to THE X-FILES. No copyright infringement is intended.
Disclaimer #2: The religious views expressed within this story ain't
necessarily those of the author. If the subject makes you widgy,
bail now.
Archive: If you like the thing that much--sure! Go for it. Just
let me know when and where.
Feedback: PLEASE. It reminds me I'm alive. If ya like it, if ya
hate it--talk to me!
**This really is a companion rather than a sequel. While I was working
on BLUE ON BLACK I kept wondering what the view looked like from Mulder's
side of the fence...**
___________________________________

COLD ON ICE (1/2)
jesse012699

blue on black, tears on a river
push on shove--it don't mean much.
joker on jack, match on a fire,
cold on ice, a dead man's touch.
whisper on a scream, doesn't change a thing--
doesn't bring you back....
blue on black.
(K. W. Shepherd)
------------------------------------------------------


Three months.

THREE MONTHS.

Three months of my life are gone. Missing. Stolen from me almost
without a trace.

Mind you, it's not as though I've never been missing time before.
Hell, no. Nine minutes here, nine minutes there. A rainy highway in
northeast Oregon, a military base in Idaho, somewhere between
Syracuse and D.C. at 30,000 feet, back of a truck on Wiekamp AFB.
One horrible night in 1973, and a week after that. Time hasn't been
a universal invariant in my personal zip code since I was twelve
years old.

But this is different.

Before this, the bastards were satisfied with removing just key
pieces. Things that would undoubtedly go a long way toward finally
learning the truth and up our chances of bringing them to justice, to
some sort of accounting. An accounting for Samantha, and Melissa.
My father. Scully.

For a guy with a photographic memory, I've got quite a number of
gaps. And though I'll never stop looking for the reasons why,
I've learned to live with it.

This is different. Way different.

They have robbed me of three months of Scully. Three months of
watching her compact form and her neat precise movements, and the
sunlight on her hair. Three months of trying to make her laugh.
Three months of sparring with that keen mind, and the tingle in my
groin when she's off on a roll and proves to me *yet again* how her
smart is so sexy. Three months of invading her personal space so I
can smell her. Three months of that unrelenting rationalism that
pisses me off and turns me on, usually simultaneously. Three months
of elevator eyebrows and blue eyes snapping at the latest theory I've
tossed out that she thinks is outrageous. Three months of touching
her when I get any sort of excuse at all and when I finally can't
resist anymore. Three months of being hopelessly in love with a
woman I don't deserve and who certainly has no reason on this earth
to love me--but who just might. If I'm not deluding myself
completely.

I said almost without a trace. I do have some bits and pieces, here
and there. But how much of it was real? I met Scully on the bridge-
-I KNOW that was real, although she hasn't said anything about it.
But I'm going to ask her. Soon. I know they bound me like a spider
does a fly and nearly sucked the life out of me. They would have,
except that Scully saved me. Again. And at the end they tossed me
back to her just before I died.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was and it wasn't like the last time I was dead. Although every
time I've died it's been a little different. This is the fourth
time, and I really DO NOT WANT to do it again for at least another
fifty years. Again, I'd love to know the reasons why. It's almost
enough to make a guy think somebody's trying to tell him something.

You know, it's funny. Religion and death, heaven and hell; these
are things that Scully and I don't really discuss in anything but
third person terms. Of course Scully and I don't talk much about
*real* things anyway, only about work. I suppose after five years
joined at the hip she figures she pretty much knows my opinions and
beliefs on just about everything. But she might be surprised.

Scully's Catholicism is important to her, even more in the last year
or two. I honestly *do* try not to tread much on her toes about it
because, regardless of my opinions, it gives her comfort. Which is
something Scully needs and doesn't have much of, particularly
since...Emily. God knows I want to offer her comfort, but why would
she want to accept it from me? It is things she's been exposed to
*because of me* which are the reasons for her needing it.

In a sorry-ass life full of regrets, this is about the worst.

People have thrown the label "agnostic" over me like it's some sort
of curse, but it doesn't completely fit. An agnostic believes that
nothing can be known about the existence of God or of anything except
material things, so says the Oxford American Dictionary. As far as
my beliefs go, I suppose that's about half right. I think that man's
religions are just that--man's--and as such are a load of crap.
Nothing can be known about the existence of God except what God is
willing to say about it, and I don't think S/He's talking. Not now,
and not several thousand years ago either.

So what would I say if Scully asked me? Do I think there's a God?
Jury's still out on that one. Do I think there's a heaven and/or
hell? Considering my life and the things I've seen in thirty-seven
years I might be tempted to say yes on the "hell" part. But ask the
question a different way.

Do I think there's an afterlife?

Damn straight I do.

There's an after-"something"--I'm as sure of that as I am of my own
name. Why? For reasons that would probably make my beloved skeptic
roll her eyes at me. I'm sure because I've *seen* it. I'm sure
because I've *been* there. Several times now. Of course, *me*
seeing something doesn't exactly count as empirical evidence,
particularly with Scully.

But I was telling you what it was like *this* time, wasn't I?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was among the stars again and drifting this time, a gentle current
pulling me further out to where all the answers are. I knew "they"
were there too, watching. I couldn't see them this time but I knew
they wouldn't look like they had in New Mexico.

There was a bump suddenly, and a change, and a different smell. Salt
and fish and sand. The smells of my childhood; an island in the
Atlantic and happier times. The stars were still there but they were
different; they were--in the ocean. I was sitting on an enormous
rock surrounded by the muttering sea. Gulls called overhead and a
harbor bell sounded in the distance. Stars above me to the horizon,
and stars below me washing slowly with the water. Turning, I could
see the rocky shore not too far off, but far enough to be out of
reach.

But I felt no urge to reach it. It was blessedly peaceful just to
sit on that rock and watch the tide, and wonder if it was going in or
out. If the tide receded, there was a narrow land bridge that I knew
would appear, and I could simply walk back to the shore. But if the
tide came in, it would cover the rock. I'd be swimming in stars
again. And I could just duck my head and down I'd go, down where all
the answers are...

The water slapped the rock and the gulls cried, but there was another
sound now too. A voice. Someone calling from the shore. Calling
me. I turned my head again and I could see her, red hair shining in
the strange light. I could hear her words but they made no sense,
confused by the soft roar of the ocean. So I waited and rested, and
listened to the sea and to her.

Some time later I realized that the tide was going out, and
eventually the bridge would appear. And I'd get up and go back to
her. I always did. I had to. I had no say in the matter, really.
She was simply more important.

Her voice was getting louder now, and the ocean softer as it receded,
taking the stars with it. I was sad to see them go, but I had to get
back to her. If it was a choice between her and the stars--well--it
wasn't a choice. I wanted to call and tell her that it was all
right--I'd be coming back in just a little while--but I found that I
had no voice. So that would have to wait. I wished I could tell
her--she worried too damn much about me as it was.

Although I gotta say it's really nice to have the woman you love
actually give a rat's ass whether you live or die.

It was getting lighter, and the bridge closer.

Eventually it did appear, draped with sea wrack and little crabs, and
I climbed to my feet and started across. But as I did, things
started to change. The gulls began to sound less like birds and more
like mechanical beeping things. And I wasn't walking anymore; I was
lying down on something soft. And that was fine because Scully was
there, her warm hand entwined with my colder one, and her voice was
starting to make sense--"...we are again. Wake up, partner. I
need you to wake up for me now. Come on, you know the drill..."

And of course I do. I can't refuse her anything when she's using
*that* voice and she's *touching* me. If she ever figures this out
and uses it, I'm sunk. Dead meat. I'll never be able to hold
together long enough to win another argument with her.

Besides, she said the magic words.

I need you.

My body felt decidedly odd, like a new hotel room--familiar and not
quite right. My skin was much too heavy; my muscles weak and a
little rusted, like they hadn't moved properly for a bit too long. A
once well-oiled machine that now needed something of a kick-start to
get going again.

Scully squeezes my hand.

Yeah. That'll do it.

Takes me a second to find the right connections but--do the fingers
move? Good.

"Mulder?" Her voice is closer, above me.

Let's try the vocal cords now, shall we? Ugh--not good.

The--bed?--I was on tilted a little as her slight weight settled by
my hip, close and warm. "Hey. Rise and shine." Her fingers touched
my face, the hair by my temple. "Come on, Mulder. Time to wake up."
Her *fingers* were in my *hair*. "You gonna sleep all day?"

And miss this? I may be crazy but I am *not* stupid.

Okay, she asked a question. Let's give this another shot.

"Can't. Y're too noisy."

Jesus!

How the hell long had it been since I'd spoken? I was
getting a bad notion that it had been a while. My throat felt like
I'd been running in the Mojave without water, just some nice broken
glass to chew on. My eyelids weighed at least a ton but I had to see
her--there. My eyes stung like hell despite the low light. At first
she was just a variegated blur, but after a moment she resolved out
into her component colors: blue eyes, white skin, red hair. I tried
for a smile but my face just wasn't cooperating yet. She was a
fabulous sight--what I wouldn't give to wake up to that every single
morning.

And her hand is still touching my face.

Oh God. All my feelings for her that I normally suppress for my own
dubious peace of mind roared in, and my little mental censors were
nowhere to be found. I managed to say her name before my throat
closed up completely. Exhaustion was already rapping on my skull,
and my eyes still stung and I couldn't keep them open, and
instinctively I turned toward her touch to keep me anchored in
wherever the here and now was while I rested for the next attempt.

She let her hand stay there, palm against my cheek.

Ah, Scully. Christ.

If only I could tell you. How your warmth feels to me; what the
scent of your body does to me. How your touch changes
everything...wait. Wait, wait, wait. Hadn't I been on my way to do
just that...?

Something wet and warm plipped onto my neck.

I got my eyes back open to a truly unusual sight. Scully was crying.
A few big tears were tracking silently down her face, and she tried
to smile at me but it looked shaky, like that night in my apartment
hallway.

Whoa. I don't hardly believe this. This is just *not* something
Scully does, or not over me anyway. Not even the other times
I...died.

I manage to get the gears engaged--where is this sudden strength
coming from?--and get a hand up to touch her cheek, make sure I'm not
dreaming. Her face is wet. God, Scully--you have no clue how
precious a gift this is, this evidence of your caring about me. But
Scully you've got to stop crying. You're going to hate yourself in a
minute--I know you. You will. And then you'll turn away from me and
I really couldn't bear that just now--shit, Mulder--say something,
anything. Divert this--

"Hey...miss me?"

Not a good choice.

Her face crumpled against my fingertips, and she ducked her head and
savaged her bottom lip. Scully...! I reached around her neck
and...and down she came. Just collapsed forward across my chest and
buried her face in my pillow and sobbed.

End part 1 of 2

COLD ON ICE (2/2)
jesse012699


I didn't have the energy to move again, but this was Scully--so
I moved. Got my arm around and resting on her shoulders so that
I was holding her, sort of, as she soaked the pillow and me and
shook like sea oats in a high wind.

Nothing like your ultimate-in-composure partner breaking down in
your arms to really get your attention.

I turned my lips into her hair and made what I hoped were soothing
noises, and tried to breathe around the ache in my chest that just
got worse with her every muted sob. Adrenaline surge had shocked my
mind clear and I was fully awake for what I realized was the first
time in a long time. A long LONG time.

I shut my eyes and start rifling through my memory slides, looking
for clues. Hallway. Antarctica. The trip back where we should have
discussed the hallway and didn't. Back in D.C. Recovering. Back to
work. Still haven't talked about the hallway. Why? Because I'm a
coward, that's why. Thinking it was just me, and then Scully starts
obliquely hinting that she wants to talk, and I realize that no, it
isn't just me. What a hopeful moment this is. Dancing around the
issue. Scully suggesting that I come over--how wild is this?
"Saturday night," she says, "I'll get the pizza, you bring the beer.
We'll...we'll watch the game. We'll...talk." And she looks at
me.

"Yeah," I say. "We'll talk."

Saturday, early afternoon.

Stomach's knotted, didn't sleep. Pacing like a caged bear. Okay, I
give--I gotta do something. I grab the phone and call, even though I
know she's out with her mom. She made a real point of telling me
this on Friday--what precisely does that mean, I wonder? I've got
enough of a grip left that I don't call her cell--I'll just leave a
message at home. "...I know you're out with your mom today...say hi
to her for me." I really do like Mrs. Scully and she says she likes
me too, God only knows why. When Scully was...I think I'd have gone
completely round the twist instead of only three-quarters if not for
her.

Stuttering something else into the phone and then it happens. This
hum starts somewhere and then it's loud, I mean *very* loud. Like
a 'chopper without the rhythm, bone-jarring, sounds like it's right
outside the damn window. And...

LIGHT. No. Oh GOD NO. I realize I'm still on the phone and try to
tell her what's happening but it's too late.

The window over my desk shatters with terrific force and something's
coming in--impossible to see what through the glare. I'm on the
floor from the force of the concussion, glass in my skin, and the
phone is gone somewhere. Hands on me now, jerking me to my feet and
I'm fighting back, think I even get in a hit or two...pain explodes
down around my kidneys and that's all she wrote.

Light. And sound. All there is in my existence now. Eyes open or
closed it doesn't matter--the light is blinding. The hum, the note
so deep it makes you sick, gets into you and shakes neurons apart and
tendon off of bone like an electronic cleaning device. I think my
skin is only held on by the tight restraints on my arms, legs, waist,
chest--I can't get enough air. I'm cold. I can't think straight. I
can't think at all and something is being sucked out of me and it's
icy cold and the hum is going to burst my eardrums...

Stars. Blessed, peaceful, silent stars, and I'm drifting
now...Scully! Scully--I need you...

Fuck.

How many times did this happen? She found me out there once, filled
me with the heat of her belief when I was nearly dead of the cold.
Saved my ass again, you did, Scully. But after that I couldn't find
her...

"They" took me.

Like they took Scully.

Jesus Fucking H Christ.

*How long was I gone!?*

Scully's tears had run down to hiccups, and she was going to try and
pull away in a minute, I knew it.

No, Scully--please. I need you--I need your heat. I need answers.
I need you to touch me and tell me the truth.

When she tried to move I managed to tighten up just enough to hold
her.

"Scully..."

"Yeah..." Partner, you sound worse than me now.

"I was gone...how long?"

She makes a curious little noise in her throat, sounds like a cross
between a groan and a giggle. Come on, Scully, you know what I'm
asking. Sorry I can't ask it any better than that--I'm down to real
short syllables just now.

"Three months."

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Breathe, Mulder, breathe. Don't pass out
on her now. "Jesus. Where am I?" Why am I asking, I know what
she's going to say...

"Georgetown. Four days ago."

Yeah. I knew that. Now to find where they put the implant, if they
did. X-rays, Scully, as soon as I've got the energy for it...

"The X-rays look clean."

Bravo, Scully. "Thank you." I squeeze her hand as best I can, and I
want to laugh. That's my cover-all-bases skeptic. "You're
goood..."

God, is that a true Scully-giggle?

"I know," she says in such a wonderfully *smug* tone that I'm
actually able to produce a chuckle from just sheer delight, I think.

She moves her head then and I can feel her nose on my skin right in
the corner of my neck and shoulder. Her slender body feels
indescribably good laying across mine and I don't want her to move.
Ever. Just stay here, Scully; right here. I'm so tired, and I want
to hold you and smell you and for just once drift off to sleep with
you in my arms...no, I take that back. I don't want to go to sleep.
I don't want to miss any of this, not one moment of the sensation of
your skin against mine and your warm breath on my neck.

But the adrenaline was fading and sleep was coming very soon.

Of course it couldn't last. She did move, and I felt my arm slip off
her shoulders and down. But she was still holding my hand.

"Mulder?"

"Tired..."

"Can you hang on for a few minutes? We need to let the doctors know
you're awake." I think maybe I nodded but I sure wouldn't swear to
it. I was holding onto consciousness with fingernails by then, but
that changed when I heard people entering the room. Because Scully
was letting go of my hand.

Scully, no--don't leave..."Scully..."

"I'll be right here, Mulder. Promise." Her voice was soothing but
hoarse from her tears, and it didn't stop the little surge of
unreasoning panic that got my eyes open again. Took me a second to
focus, then I watched her over by the window, digging in her coat.
She pulled out her cell and dialed somebody, but I couldn't
concentrate on her anymore. Two nurses and a doctor were demanding
what was left of my attention, poking and asking those silly
questions they use when they're trying to determine if you're all
there or if you came back a few cans short of the 12-pack. I don't
actually know if I made them happy or not because about ten seconds
later it all went away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next time I opened my eyes it was to muted daylight, real
sunlight from the real world. And a different Scully in the room.
Margaret Scully was sitting in the chair beside my bed, engaged in a
mysterious procedure that was turning a pile of yarn into a sweater
or something. Either I made a noise or that mother-radar thing of
hers extends to friends of her kids, too. She looked up and a
beautiful smile broke over her face.

"Good morning, Fox."

Margaret Scully's smiles look enough like Dana Scully's smiles that
they make my breath catch.

"Dana's off having a shower, but she should be back shortly. So
you'll just have to put up with me for the moment." Putting her work
aside and standing, she raised the head of the bed enough that I
wouldn't have trouble getting down the water she handed to me, and
watched me until I'd finished it.

I smiled back at her--my face was cooperating now, and my voice as
well. I felt a lot stronger all around, actually.

"You've put up with me enough, Mrs. Scully, and I'm still not sure
why. Thank you." We looked at each other, and I knew we were both
remembering years ago when she'd sat at the bedside of another who'd
been long missing. She laid her hand on my arm.

"Did Dana..." She hesitated, started again. "Do you know how long
you've been gone, Fox?"

"Yeah."

"Where have you been?"

"I wish I knew. I think whoever it was took her, took me; so..." I
wasn't about to lay out my theories on that to *Scully's mother.*

But that wasn't where she was going at all.

She studied me with a considering look and her eyes were seeing far
more than I was giving out, making me feel curiously transparent,
somehow. "That wasn't the only place you were. You've been
somewhere much much further out--across the line. Between two worlds.
And not for the first time."

'Poleaxed' possibly describes it.

All I could do was stare at her in stunned silence. I know my jaw
dropped; I can only imagine what my face looked like. An eternity
later I got my tongue unstuck. "How...?"

"Your eyes." Mrs. Scully took a deep breath, then leaned in close.
"Fox, my baby girl...died...before she came out of that coma. And
your eyes look now like Dana's did after she woke up. It's the same
way your eyes looked in the hospital when you had that virus, and
after you came back from New Mexico." She squeezed my arm. "There
must be a reason why, some purpose--something here you need to do,
that only you can do."

"Heaven keeps sending you back for a reason."

The door opened and in came Scully, with a smile that widened to show some actual teeth as she saw us talking. And as epiphany crashed down on my head I whispered to her mother, "She just walked in."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
finis