Date: Mon, 1 Jun 1998
Blackwood and Blackwood II by Susan Garrity

Please post with my name and e-address: Suemkg113@aol.com

DISCLAIMER: Have to have it, I guess, so here it is: They're not mine, and I
wouldn't want the responsibility anyway.
SPOILERS: All the way up to the movie.
CLASSIFICATION: XRA
RATING: NC-17 (Language, Mulder/Scully sex)
SUMMARY: An important section of the upcoming movie, from the author's point of
view.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I actually started this months ago, after preview shots and
rumors of various scenes in the movie became available. A lot of it is fantasy
that I would never expect Mr. Carter would actually allow our heroes to fulfill.
But when I saw the previews for the movie after the final episode of season 5, I
was amazed at how close some of my fantasy predictions were. If the movie ends
up anything like this fanfic writing, I will pass out. Oh, one more note: With
the addition of the Diana/wife angle introduced late into the season, I updated
this writing just before posting it. I decided to address that aspect directly
in a separate post entitled "Blackwood II". Look for it on an archive near you.

The title "Blackwood" was taken from the rumored original screenplay title for
the movie.

BLACKWOOD
by Susan Garrity

Every time he drew a breath, the icy fingers of the arctic air reached into his
mouth and tried to snatch it back. Jack Frost wasn't nipping at his nose - he
was snapping at it, the hairs inside frozen into tiny daggers. His heavily
balmed lips felt disgusting, and he purposely kept them apart and endured the
shock of breathing the frigid air through his mouth rather than have them stick
together. Between that and the ache in his legs, this jaunt through the
northern woodlands had become an altogether unpleasant experience.

He raised his eyes from the spot immediately in front of his moving feet, where
his gaze had remained for the last several minutes of trudging through the snow,
to take stock of his surroundings. The trail ahead stretched on, unmarked, but
clearly visible as an open area through the sparse woods. It was still only
late morning, and the sun bounced off the snowpack in a blinding brilliance.
The extra money he'd spent on his polarized, UV-blocking snow goggles had been
well worth the expense.

If it wasn't so fucking cold, this place would be beautiful, he thought for the
thousandth time.

He continued on, his thoughts wandering as they had been throughout the morning
trek, completely separate from the automated forward-moving actions of his body.
The relentless up and down motion of his legs as he lifted them out of the snow
just to put them back down again focused his unconscious on the lower half of
his body, and he imagined a beautiful, naked woman straddling his thighs, her
warm hands traveling up and down his chest and hips as she lowered herself
slowly and luxuriously onto his hard, eager cock. The idea of being buried to
his balls in that moist heat made the image just that much more appealing. He
thought about how her breasts would feel in his hands, and how he would caress
and fondle them, roll the nipples around under his fingertips. He imagined
taking the warm, turgid peaks into his mouth, gripping her firm ass as he sucked
on them. He'd had this same fantasy many times over the course of the morning,
and each time, as he pulled away from his fantasy woman's breasts to look up at
her face, it was always Dana Scully that was straddling him, driving him with
her touch and movements and voice and expressions to the very edge of sensual
sanity. He'd given up long ago trying to replace her with some other woman,
because even if he started with someone else, it was always Scully who was there
to share in his climax. It was inevitable, he rationalized, at least in his
fantasies, so he enjoyed them unashamedly as he plowed on in the brilliant snow.

Just as it had done before, a cough made by the person behind him immediately
slowed his pace. He shortened his stride considerably but kept moving, and
looked over his shoulder at his companion. She had her head down, in the same
distracted, automated gait that he'd adopted for the extended hike that had
started hours before. She seemed to be moving well, so he lengthened his stride
again and brought his gaze forward.

But a series of short, hard coughs nearly halted him altogether. The woman's
stride faltered as she fought through her bought of coughing. He paused long
enough to allow her to move up beside him, but he didn't touch her, or offer any
assistance.

The fit soon subsided, and as she was clearing her throat, she became aware of
his gaze on her, and looked up at him. He made a quick, but practiced, study of
her face, slightly annoyed that the dark snow goggles she also wore made a view
of her eyes impossible. But even so, he could tell immediately how fatigued she
was. Expressionless, he inclined his head toward a grouping of nearby boulders.
She looked in the direction he indicated, then back at his face, hesitant. The
corner of his mouth twitched up in a sardonic half-smile, and the corners of her
full lips twitched in response. Then they both made their way to the boulders.

The rocks were dark and free from snow, and she leaned her hip against one as
though to test its sturdiness. He knew that she was making her movements in
stages, and waited until she finally shifted and lifted herself up to rest
completely on the smooth crest of the rock. A little sigh escaped her, and he
lifted his boot and placed it on the rock next to where she sat, so that she
could rest her weight against his leg if she wished. He shifted the submachine
gun around from where he'd slung it across his shoulder to cradle it in one arm,
his elbow propped on his raised knee. He continuously scanned their
surroundings, alert and aware, his actions uncharacteristically militant. He
was taking this assignment very seriously.

He listened to her labored breathing as it gradually slowed to normal. The hike
they were making was challenging even to someone in excellent shape, never mind
someone who was still recovering from the aftereffects of chemotherapy and
radiation treatment for cancer. The cancer itself had weakened her considerably
even before the treatments decimated her immune system. Although her remission
was miraculous, it had only marked the beginning of her crawl toward recovery.
It had been several months since she was declared cancer-free, but she was still
gaining back the strength and endurance she had lost. He could tell every time
he looked at her that she was still a little too thin, still shy of filling out
those curves her tiny, but voluptuous, body used to sport. Yet through it all
she had remained stunningly beautiful to him, and the desire for a little more
roundness to her cheek only served to further cement his devotion to her and to
their partnership.

She gave another little sigh and leaned heavily against his leg. He shifted his
elbow so that she could rest her head on his knee, which she did. He smiled a
little to himself as he lightly touched the hood of her parka, as though
stroking her hair, but the touch was brief, and he went back to his sentry
duties, a warmth spreading out from deep in his gut at the feel of her body
against his leg.

He thought about how things had changed between them since she had agreed to
cover for him to Blevins and the subcommittee. How as little as a year ago a
situation such as this one would have played so differently... Back then, a
rest like this would have been the perfect time for her to say something like
"Tell me again why we're doing this, Mulder," or "What do you hope to find when
we get there, Mulder?" How any concern he may have displayed or help he would
have offered would have been met with a movement away from his touch and a firm,
"I'm fine, Mulder." How there was a time when he more than likely would have
left her behind and done this completely on his own.

But these days doing anything without her by his side was not even an option.
Something had happened during those long days of grief and adrenaline that
preceded the diagnosis of her remission - he had come to peace with the idea of
accepting her completely into his life. And she seemed to have done the same.
Now there was a unity between them that superseded even the silent communication
that they had developed through the years of working together; a comfort and
serenity and acceptance of each other that he had always longed for. With her
by his side, he was whole. He was greater than the sum of them both. He was
invincible. He was a human being.

Sometimes he missed the old days, when she wasn't so willing to acquiesce. He
had become very reliant on her to keep him mentally sharp and focused on his
goals - their battle of wits and her constant questioning of his motives had
been maddening, but ultimately useful. Her professionalism had helped protect
her against his passions, both the ones he let her see and the ones he didn't.
Her standards had been so solid that he'd often thrown himself bodily upon them
when he'd felt his own weaken and turn to jello. He hadn't realized just how
essential that part of her been to him until Diana had questioned her methods in
the last investigation.

What he couldn't explain, to Diana or anyone else, was that there was so much
more to his partnership with this woman than the professional debates on theory
and methodology. Like the way she would speak to him when they were alone, in
that low voice that was now so warm and gentle; or the way she would smile a
little at his flirtations; or the way she would sta=
nd so close to him for no reason at all; or the way she would hold his hand,
giving him total support with no spoken word; or the way she would look at him
with her blue eyes all soft around the edges, and listen to his theories and
subjecture and nod and then go to the phone and arrange all the things that
needed arranging so that they could continue on unabated - and he knew deep
inside that this was the best that it had ever been with anyone in his entire
life. If he had to pick her up and carry her in his arms to their destination,
he would do it, because he never again wanted to face anything of importance
without her.

His relationship with Diana had never even come close to this.

His companion lifted her head from his knee and straightened stiffly. She was
ready to move on. He dropped his foot to the ground and offered her his hand,
which she automatically took. He helped her off the rock, and gave her a
silent, questioning look. She nodded in answer, and he reshifted the gun sling
back to its original position around his shoulders, and started off along the
snow-covered trail. A quick look at his watch and a mental calculation put them
at the camp in about an hour and a half. At that point, they would have about
10 hours to find what they were looking for and to make their retreat before the
occupants returned.

The trail quickly leveled out and the going became much easier. They were
halfway through a stand of pines when they noticed that the clearing on the
other side was artificially enormous. They had reached the camp. Operating on
training and instinct, they simultaneously began a skulking approach, using the
tree trunks as cover. They moved in fits and spurts to the edge of the stand,
then surveyed as much of the clearing as they could while camouflaged by the
pines.

About 200 yards to their right was a large building with 3 huge loading dock-
type doors. Parked perpendicular to the building were 2 gigantic snow-cats,
outfitted with cargo beds that could easily accommodate 60 fully-equipped
soldiers, or any large-scale equipment necessary for an operation of this
magnitude. There were lower, more control-oriented buildings beyond the big
one, their roofs bristling with antennae. The majority of the clearing,
however, was obscured by a snow-covered rise directly in front of them. They
would have to expose themselves if they wanted to properly assess the situation.

Swinging himself and his pack completely behind the tree, he unslung his
submachine gun and cocked it. Looking over at his companion's position behind
the neighboring tree, he patted the gun lightly, then pointed at her. She knew
instantly what he was asking, and shook her head no; she then reached into her
parka, and withdrew her handgun, and cocked it as well. He shrugged a little.
He knew that she was fully capable of handling the automatic weapon, but he also
knew how deadly she was with her Sig. If she felt more comfortable with that,
then he would gladly take the firepower the machine gun afforded them.

At his nod, he started a countdown on his fingers, and as he lowered the last
one, they crouched and moved fluently out of the sanctuary of the trees and up
the slope of the rise. As they approached the crest, they dropped to their
stomachs and crawled the rest of the way, creeping the last few feet with their
faces in the snow. As one, they threw back the hoods of their parkas, and
cautiously lifted their heads to peer over the top of the rise.

The view was almost disappointing. All that was visible was a large, shallow
depression in the clearing, covering several acres. The snow that blanketed the
clearing softened the outline of the depression to the point where it was
impossible to tell exactly what the level-bottomed depression actually was.
Snow-covered lumps could be seen at various points inside the depression. She
produced a small pair of field glasses from inside her parka and spent several
minutes examining each feature in the clearing. He shaded his eyes and peered
around as well as he could without magnification.

Finally she whispered, "I don't see any activity anywhere. It appears
deserted."

He nodded. "Our information was good in that respect, at least," he whispered
back. "What do you make of those mounds?"

She examined the lumps more closely. "I can't make them out. They appear
irregular. Could they be the pumps?"

"Could be. I suppose we could take a look."

She lowered the glasses and ducked her head back down, following his lead. They
slid back down the rise, standing when they reached the bottom. Taking stock of
themselves and each other, they then started their stealthy move out from behind
the rise and across the clearing toward the large building. Their crouched run
took them across the deep tracks left behind by the snowcats. As they
approached the vehicles, it became obvious that there had been a third one
parked next to the other two, and it had been recently driven away. They hid
themselves between the remaining monsters.

Gulping down the frigid air, they took a few minutes to reorient themselves.
The depression with its strange lumps was only a few dozen feet away. They
would be hopelessly visible out there in the open, but it was necessary if they
wanted to get what they came for.

She scanned the clearing and buildings again, zooming in on the windows of the
smaller compound. "I still don't see anyone," she whispered. "I'm not sure I
like this. It's almost too easy."

"Nothing is as easy as it looks," he retorted, holding his hand out for the
glasses. She wordlessly passed them on, and he made his own evaluation of the
clearing. Minutes later, he returned them with a shrug. "Let's not waste any
more time. Do you feel up to checking out that nearest mound while I cover
you?"

She gave him a sharp look that reminded him suddenly of the old days, and he
just smiled at her. The look softened immediately, and she nodded. He reached
out and squeezed the arm of her parka, noting that it took a while before he
could feel her actual flesh under the material. "Let's go," he whispered, and
they stood and cautiously moved out from behind the safety of the snowcats.

He dropped back and took a low, cautionary stance while she moved rabbit-like -
zigzagging, in bursts of speed punctuated by crouching stops - to the edge of
the depression, holding her handgun at the ready. She surveyed the path from
her feet to the nearest lump, then gingerly reached down with her foot to test
the surface. Her boot sank into the snow up to her shin, then stopped. She put
some weight on it. The surface underneath felt solid. Very slowly, she put the
rest of her weight on that leg, then lowered all of herself into the depression.

The mound of snow was about forty feet away. She tried to damp down her sudden
feeling of trepidation as her eyes raked over her surroundings. The whole camp
area was so very silent, the normal outside noises muffled by the fresh layer of
snow that had fallen the night before. Aside from the snowcat tracks and
footprints around where the third one had been, there was no evidence of recent
habitation. It was unsettling.

A soft sound behind her reminded her suddenly that he was there, strong and
vigilant. She felt better immediately. It was just this nagging
apprehension...

To the task at hand. She moved toward the mound, slowly, testing the ground
with each step before applying full weight. In no time at all she was there,
and she started gently sweeping the snow away from whatever was underneath. It
was a fluffy snow, and it fell away mostly of its own accord, revealing large,
convoluted piping and control boxes with keyhole security. She looked it over
carefully as she dug out a small hand mic and receiver from her pocket, and
quietly spoke into it.

"It looks like it could be part of a flushing or ventilation system, possibly
for a pumping mechanism larger than what we originally thought. There's nothing
here to indicate that it's what we came for."

He took his handset away from his ear and replied into it, "Okay, come on back
and we'll check out the warehouse."

"Wait," she countered. "There are control boxes here. Let me open one and take
a look."

"Hurry. I don't like you out there where everyone can see you."

She smiled at his concern and tucked the handset away. From another pocket came
a compact, multipurpose tool kit. Selecting a slender pick, she made short work
of one of the keyholes and popped the box open. The switches and buttons and
indicator lights inside were unremarkable and unlabeled. One tiny green light
kept going on and off in long, slow blinks.

She went to close the box when she noticed that the green light suddenly went
off and a red light next to it lit up like a neon sign. She stared at it for a
few seconds, puzzled and suddenly very worried. Then, under the soles of her
boots, she felt a rumble, low and coming from somewhere very deep. The box in
her hands started to vibrate and hum. The snow blanketing the piping developed
sudden caverns as heat radiated from the metal, sending rivulets of water
running downward. Her eyes followed the dripping, and in a flash of dread, she
pawed away the snow from the base of the pipes. She paused when she saw what
the snow had been hiding.

Ice. Ice which was rapidly melting from around the piping, revealing the
ripples of concussion waves in dark green water.

Shit. She was standing on a large, frozen lake.

Panic gripped her for an instant, then she mentally shook herself. She could
feel the handset in her pocket vibrate as he tried to contact her. She knew
that he noticed her strange body movements and was worried. Her biggest concern
at that moment was not to make any sudden movements which might put her through
the presumably weakened ice around her and the piping, which was now putting out
so much heat that the metal was changing color.

Slowly, slowly, she lowered her body and spread herself out in the snow to
dissipate her weight, then started moving back the way she had come. She dared
not stop. The rumbling deep beneath her continued - she could feel it in her
belly and thighs. It might have actually been pleasant if not for the current
situation. When she was about halfway, she dared to lift her head and look for
him. He was standing at the edge of the depression, every fiber in his body
silently screaming his desperate concern. She was heartened, and finally stood
to make the rest of the way back quickly on foot.

At that moment, a deep, muffled BOOM resonated under her feet, bouncing back and
forth from shore to shore beneath the ice. Immediately after, a sharp,
sickening crack!, like the report of a gunshot, traveled up her legs and echoed
in her chest. Her heart stopped. She lifted her eyes to lock with his. Help
me, they pleaded.

He was frozen in place, his mind racing to comprehend what was going on. When
he saw her lay face down in the snow and start crawling back toward him, he knew
something had gone terribly wrong. He'd reached the edge of the depression at
the same time that she'd stood up, and then there were those noises, so surreal,
like from a subterranean doomsday machine, raising the hair on his neck. He'd
looked around him wildly, prepared for some sort of attack, when the sound like
a gunshot honed him right back to her. The last thing he saw was her lifting
her arms out to him, her eyes wide in horror. Then she was gone, swallowed by a
dark, wet hole which had suddenly appeared directly where she had been standing.

"Scully!! NOOO!!!"

The scream erupted from his throat before he could stop himself. If anyone
hadn't noticed their presence before, they were sure to be aware of it now. But
the consequences of blowing their cover was the last thing on his mind. He
ditched his backpack and gun, and jumped down onto the surface of the
depression. He took two steps and then fully realized exactly=
what had happened. This was a frozen lake. She had fallen through the ice.
Why wasn't she popping back up to the surface? Please, God, bring her back up!

He shuffled forward as gingerly as he could force his body to move, his eyes
riveted on the dark green water lapping at the jagged edges of the ice. How
deep was it? Was there a current? Could she have bobbed back up just shy of
the hole and was now clawing frantically at the ice from underneath? The
thought was like a knife deep in his gut, twisting... He fell to his knees,
then to all fours, crawling steadily toward the hole, desperately sweeping the
snow away in front of him, trying to see through the ice for a glimpse of her.
It had been too long. Why the hell wasn't she popping back up?!!

A soft swooshing sound forced his eyes back to the hole. Something was there
that hadn't been there before, grotesquely shaped, pale against black and dark
red, bobbing.

Jesus Christ!

She bobbed upright in the frigid green water, the trapped air in her parka
ballooning around her and helping to keep her afloat, at least for the moment.
Her hair was plastered to her face, obscuring her eyes; but the thing that made
his heart jump was the fact that she had her mouth wide open, and she was trying
to gulp down lungfulls of air. Her hands fluttered weakly on top of the water,
her head tilted crazily to one side. Her lips were moving.

He spread his body fully on the ice and pulled himself to the edge of the hole.
As he got closer, he could hear soft gasps coming from her mouth as she tried
desperately to breathe. He realized that the shock of the cold water had
probably caused her diaphram to contract or go into spasm, and that she was
working against it just to draw breath.

"Scully," he said, trying to remain calm, "Scully, I'm here."

Her lips were still moving. The ice immediately around the hole was brittle,
and spiderweb cracks appeared as he edged his body closer. The soft gasping she
was making carried a word that he couldn't quite make out.

"Scully," he said again, "Scully, it's me. Listen. I'm here. Reach for me.
I'm going to pull you out. Can you help me?"

She was oblivious to his presence. He moved out so far that his chin was in the
icy water with her. He stretched out his arm as far as he could. She bobbed
just slightly out of his reach, her face turned away from him, gasping, trying
to speak.

"Scully!" His voice was strained and frightened. Every second she spent in
that water was a second closer to death. If he stretched any further he would
fall in with her. "Scully!"

"...help..."

He finally made out the word.

He inched still further, risking everything. Anger rose in him, and he directed
it at her in his frustration. "Dammit, Scully! I'm here! Take my hand!"

Something in his voice made it's way through to her, because her head finally
moved, swiveling toward him. The hair in her eyes still blinded her, but she
picked up her hand and partially extended it toward the sound of his voice. It
was just enough. He grabbed her wrist, then the sleeve of her parka, and pulled
her toward him. As he pulled, the trapped air in her parka started to bubble
out, and she began to sink.

"Scully," he grunted with the effort of trying to keep her from sinking and
pulling him in with her, "you've got to help me get you out. Grab hold of me.
Pull yourself up. Now, Scully. Do it!"

She obeyed, wheezing, moving like an autotron. She gripped him like a lifeline,
weakly crawling over his body as he grabbed handfuls of her sodden clothing and
hauled her up for all he was worth. He frantically dug the toes of his boots
into the ice and pulled himself back from the edge of the hole, hauling her with
him as best he could.

When she was completely out of the water, they both lay on the ice, exhausted
and soaked. It was the loud chattering of her teeth that forced him to keep
moving. Still on his stomach, he grabbed her by the shoulder of her parka and
dragged her after him as he crawled back toward the shore. When they were
nearly there, he rose to his feet and hooked his arms under hers, dragging her
off the ice and over the edge of the depression. He deposited her on the snow
for the moment it took to grab up the backpack and gun, then he bent back over
her, swung her arm over his shoulders, and lifted her to her feet, supporting
her with his other arm around her waist.

"Walk, Scully," he commanded. "We've got to get you somewhere warm. You've got
to walk. It'll help, and we'll get there faster. Can you hear me? Help me,
Scully."

She nodded, still wheezing, her body trembling uncontrollably. He took a step
forward, and she clumsily imitated him, almost stumbling. She leaned heavily on
him and took another step. His shoulders and arms screamed in pain, but he
managed to keep them both upright as they made their way to the giant warehouse
nearby.

Once there, he propped her up against the wall as he tried the handle of a man-
sized entrance next to the huge loading doors. To his surprise and relief, it
was unlocked, and swung open easily to the inside. Gathering her back up, he
took them both inside and kicked the door shut behind them.

The interior was unlit and dark, save for the thin breaths of light that
whistled in with the hard wind between the edges of the huge doors. It had the
feeling of being empty, and therefore immense. He paused several paces inside
and looked around, his eyes not fully adjusted. It was still too cold in here.
He needed somewhere warm, and he needed it now. Scully swung from his
shoulders, her legs trembling to the point of convulsions and unable to support
her weight.

A concentrated pinpoint of light caught his attention in the opposite corner of
the building. It had the reddish glow of an artificial origin. Summoning up a
bit more strength, he urged her on, half-stumbling, half dragging her. He made
out an office-type structure looming in the darkness, boxed outward from the
interior wall. The door was open, and the light was coming from inside. With a
heave, he took the two of them into the structure, and promptly collapsed to his
knees on a thinly carpeted floor. He laid Scully down as gently as he could,
and fell on all fours, his head hanging, sucking air into his lungs. He allowed
himself only a few deep breaths before reaching over to check on his partner.
He pushed her wet, heavy hair away from her face, but couldn't see her well in
the dim light. Her skin was cold. Her body convulsed to the point of seizures.
Her had to do something or she was going to die from hypothermia.

He rose shakily to his feet and looked around. The light he saw was coming from
a small gooseneck lamp on a desk against the wall. There were whiteboards and
pegboards adorning the walls, covered with papers and engineering diagrams.
None of it interested him. His eyes fell on a low structure in the other
corner, and he made his way to it, just to make sure it was what he thought it
was. A bed. A cot, really, fashioned from wood with a thin mattress, and only
enough room for one person. He nodded to himself. No blanket, though.

Another structure caught his attention. A locker. He ripped it open. He
couldn't make out it's contents, so he just reached inside and started pulling
out everything he touched, throwing it on the floor. Toiletry articles.
Jumpsuits. Magazines. Extra cold weather outer clothing. That would come in
handy, but he was really looking for...

His hand came in contact with a plump, nylon-covered mound. He yanked it out
and stared at it in disbelief. A sleeping bag, made especially for sub-zero
conditions. Unbelievable. "Wow," he breathed. He inspected it quickly,
unzipped it. Yes. Perfect. He spread it out on the cot, then turned back to
his partner.

Scully was lying very still.

He leapt past her and slammed the door shut. With strength born from panic and
determination, he leaned down and grabbed her by the front of her parka, lifted
her off the floor, and brought her to the cot. He set her on the floor and
propped her up against its frame. Her head lolled to her shoulder at a crazy
angle. The light from the lamp on the desk illuminated her face. It was
deathly pale. Her lips and the skin around her eyes were blue.

"Shit!" He felt her neck for a pulse. It fluttered against his fingertips.
"Scully!" He grabbed her chin and moved her head so she faced him. "Scully,
wake up!" He let go, and her head lolled away from him again. "Shit!" His
hands tore at her parka, unzipping it clumsily. He pulled her against him to
work it over and off her leaden arms. It was completely soaked and weighed a
ton, and when he heaved it into a corner it landed in a heap and immediately
started to freeze.

As he worked the sodden wool sweater over her head and arms, he started talking
to her, trying to calm himself. "This really sucks, you know, Scully? Mothmen,
flukemen, little gray men, G-men - oops!" He caught her before her freed body
fell back against the frame of the cot. Gently he eased her back until she
rested there, then proceeded to rip the buttons off her fleece workshirt.
"You've faced them all, looked them straight in the eye, and not once did I see
you flinch. You're my hero, Scully." He pulled her against him again to work
off the shirt. She was like a rag doll in his arms. His throat started to
tighten as he felt tears pushing behind his eyes. "I wish you'd wake up and
help me, Scully. I don't make a habit of undressing unconscious women. I'm not
very good at this."

Freed of the workshirt, he grabbed the silk undershirt she wore next to her skin
and tried to rip it down from the back of the neckline. The strength of wet
silk became immediately apparent to him, and he swore and once again drew it
clumsily over her head and arms. He grabbed her to him as he freed her of it to
keep her from falling back, and his hands grazed over the back of her bra. He
hesitated. He hadn't taken the time to think about this before he started -
he'd only known what he had to do. The internal struggle took only a second or
two, and he determinedly unhooked her bra, slipped it off her shoulders, and
deposited in upon the mound of her sodden clothes.

Hugging her to him, he lifted her onto the cot, and laid her down on the opened
sleeping bag. His eyes took in her naked torso, her innocently revealed
breasts, and a stab of guilt hit him as he felt his cock automatically surge.
He pulled a section of sleeping bag over her nakedness, as much to cover her as
to keep her warm, and set about to relieve her of the bottom half of her wet
clothing.

The boots and socks were soaked, but yanked off easily. "You really should
consider another line of work, Scully," he continued, grunting at the effort of
pulling off her waterlogged snowpants. "You don't tend to meet the best guys
running around with someone like me." Water seemingly poured out of the
lightweight fleece tights he peeled off next, and he whisked it off the sleeping
bag with a sweep of his hand. "I've been thinking about it, you know. Going
into something else. It's getting so that I can't even take a pretty lady for a
walk in the woods without something happening to her." Long silk underwear. He
tried not to notice how cold and pale her skin was as he rolled them down her
legs like pantyhose. Her feet were ice as he worked them over them. He
hesitated again at the thought of pulling off her underwear, the last scrap of
clothing she had left. But they were wet, and they had to come off, so he
gritted his teeth against the emotions rolling in his gut and pulled them off
her precious body.

Before he could allow himself the sight of her naked before him, he grabbed up a
jumpsuit from the floor and rubbed it briskly over her, drying her as best he
could. Tossing it away from him, he then quickly folded the sleeping bag over
her and zipped it up to her chin. He stepped away, breathing heavily, and
stared down at his handiwork.

She was unconscious, her breathing shallow and irregular. Her lips and eyelids
were still blue. She was obviously not going to make it without some help. He
rubbed his hands over his face wearily, then suddenly noticed his own shivering.
In his efforts to look after Scully, he had forgotten completely that he was
also wet from the waist up from pulling her out of the water. He took off his
parka and hung it over the chair that accompanied the desk. A sudden bout of
shivering overtook him, and he hunched over, burying his frozen hands in his
armpits. He was starting to really feel the pain of exposure to this cold. It
struck him that neither one of them might make it out of here alive - if they
didn't succumb to the hypothermia, the camp's occupants would make short work of
them when they returned. They still had about 8 hours, according to their
information. He snorted to himself. How reliable could that source be, when
even their aerial recognizance couldn't determine that the depression was
actually a body of water under the snow? He suddenly felt very isolated and
alone... and cold.

Something under the desk caught his eye from his hunched-over vantage point. He
quickly moved the chair away and peered into the cavity. An electric heater!
It was plugged into an outlet under the desk. He flicked a switch, and a hum
filled the room, followed soon after by a glow at the ends of the elements. He
closed his eyes in a silent prayer of thanks. Flicking it off, he unplugged it,
and took it to the cot. His hands scanned the dark wall next to it, searching
for an outlet. A heartfelt, "Yes," escaped his lips as he found one and plugged
the heater in. A few seconds later, the little heater was gamely trying to
fight off the refrigerator-like cold that gripped the room. It seemed to be
succeeding, but only for the few feet directly in front of it. It might be good
for drying the clothes, he thought grimly, but it wasn't going to help him or
Scully.

He peeled off his wet fleece and thermal shirts, and wrapped one of the extra
jackets from the locker around himself. He sat on the edge of the c=
ot and gravely looked down on her face. He thought it somewhat tragic that he
could still think of her as beautiful no matter how she looked. He traced the
outline of her cheek with his finger, his heart breaking. With everything they
had been through, all the brushes and handshakes with the most exotic of deaths,
it was horrible to think that he should lose her to something as ordinary as
hypothermia. It was inconceivable to think of losing her at all. He wanted to
hold her in his arms and tell her what was in his heart...

He sat upright. A memory of a night in the forest flashed through his mind.
Jesus, why didn't he think of that before? He stood and stripped off the
jacket, his boots, the remainder of his clothes, unzipped the sleeping bag, and
climbed on top of her still form, awkwardly zipping the bag up after him.

In a morbid kind of way, this was a fantasy come true. Yet out of all the
reactions he'd imagined his naked body having laying on top of a naked Dana
Scully, recoiling in horror wasn't one of them. It was like being trapped in a
coffin with a corpse. Her pale skin was clammy and cold, so very cold,
everywhere his body touched hers. He could barely feel her heartbeat against
his chest. He had to grit his teeth and fight his body's natural reaction to
climb out of that sleeping bag as quickly as possible. He closed his eyes, and
concentrated on the fact that this was the most important person in his life,
someone he loved more than himself, someone to whom he owed his life, many times
over. He snaked his arms around her and gathered her still closer to his chest,
his belly, rolling over on his side so that he wouldn't crush her. He wrapped
one long leg over=
and around hers, trapping her cold little feet between his calves. With one
hand he positioned her head so that it was pillowed on his arm, drawing her face
close to him so that she would breathe air warmed by his body. His hand rested
there, against her cheek, and he shivered as he felt the heat being drained from
him, sucked away by the lovely heat sink he so willingly held against his heart.

He tried to let his mind wander, to force himself to think about anything except
his shivering, and how very cold she felt in his arms. Perhaps thoughts of
exercise could distract him, help make him feel warmer, maybe even have a
psycho-physiological affect and elevate his body temperature. The first thing
that came to mind was his passion, swimming. Immediately he dismissed it. Too
close to the reality at hand. Running. He loved to run, especially when he was
stressed, and it was a close second to a good swim. He closed his eyes and
pictured himself thrumming along a dirt country road at the height of summer,
dressed only in his running shorts and footwear, the sweat dripping off his
hair. He concentrated on the burn he'd feel in his legs, the heat coming off
his body in waves that trailed after him like smoke. The air would be warm,
warm in his mouth, warm in his lungs. Even the breeze hitting his skin would be
warm. And the run would be effortless, like running through space, and he would
run forever. He'd pass homes with families outside, doing family things, and
he'd wave. He'd pass farms with animals, and imagined the tang that the smell
of animals added to the air. He'd pass endless fields of flowers, seas of
colors and fragrance, and hear bees and crickets and cicadas and birds and some
lonesome dog calling for him far, far down the road...

It was the tingling of the arm under Scully's head and the leg he was laying on
that brought him out of his daydream. Both limbs were falling asleep. Time to
shift. Tightening his grip on Scully's body, he rolled over on his back,
bringing her and the sleeping bag with him. Then he scooted both of them back
to the middle of the cot. He was about to roll them both over to his other side
when he stopped, realizing two things. First, his shivering had stopped. He
still didn't feel very warm, but then again, she didn't feel as cold as she had
either. They must have finally reached some sort of equilibrium in that
sleeping bag. And second. he really liked the feel of her, especially this way,
draped on top of him, her legs fallen open on either side of his. It was almost
as though she had fallen into a languid sleep there after an energetic bout of
lovemaking, her orgasms having been especially satisfying...

Stop, he admonished himself. Don't go there. As much as he lived for his
fantasies about them together, she was still his partner, and as much as he had
flirted with her these many years, she had never indicated that she cared for
him that way. And regardless, she was unconscious, and still near death, and
completely unaware of the earthquake she had innocently started in his groin
just by being quiet and naked and laying sprawled on his naked body in this
cramped sleeping bag.

Think of something else. What else could he think about? How about something
non-sexual. Think about this beautiful, naked woman in a non-sexual way. Let's
see. How about how amazing it was that her damp, auburn crown could be
completely tucked under his chin, her cheek against his chest, and her toes
didn't even reach his ankles, yet she still managed to fit so perfectly against
him. That her firm breasts pressed into his torso was sensitizing his skin
every time he took a breath, and his swiftly hardening cock was trapped between
the soft skin of their bellies, despite his efforts to think of the situation in
a non-sexual way. His hands were moving of their own accord, traveling lightly
over her back, noticing distractedly that her skin was soft even if not very
warm, and his fingertips were straying over and over again to the small of her
back where the swell of her tight ass began... He groaned and shut his eyes
tight, fighting to stay his hands. Jesus, how easy it would be... He could
just roll them both over and be right where he wanted, between those luscious
thighs, and he could slip right into paradise...

She took a sudden, sharp intake of breath, a gasp that made her body jump a
little on his chest. It put a shock right through him, scared the shit out of
him. Instantly he was tuned into her, his hands splayed over her back, waiting,
listening, feeling. Her breathing remained shallow, and as the adrenaline rush
began to subside, he started to think that he had imagined it. Then, suddenly,
she did it again, then again. It was a convulsive kind of breathing, and he
began to panic. Maybe she was going into cardiac arrest. Maybe she needed more
room to breathe. Should she be on her back? On her side? Should he move at
all? Wanting to do something, without even thinking, he rolled with her to the
side, pillowing her head, holding her, but not too tightly, and tried to lay her
so that her chest could have enough room to expand. It seemed to help. He
pulled away from her as much as he could so he could watch her face. She took a
few more convulsive gasps, then stopped. For too long a time she didn't breathe
at all, and he was just about to grab her and start mouth-to-mouth when she took
a long, deep, steady breath, her ribs expanding exquisitely, and let it out.
Her next breath was slightly less long and deep, as was the one after that, and
very soon she was breathing normally, over and over again.

He finally released the air that he'd been holding in his lungs since her first
gasp, and gathered her to his chest again, gently, tenderly. He buried his face
into her damp hair, and before he knew what was happening, his gut hitched and a
sob emptied from him into her hair. Another one followed, then another, and he
didn't understand why his body was giving itself over to this emotion at this
moment. All he knew was that he was relieved, that the blue was gone from her
face and that her body was getting warmer and she was breathing all right again;
and he was ashamed. Ashamed of his thoughts, of his opportunistic desires. He
was not worthy of this woman's trust. He wondered for the first time how she
would react when she regained consciousness and realized what had happened here.
Would she be mortified? Would she ever be able to look him in the eye again?
Or would she see it in a clinical, detached way, never allowing the awkwardness
of the situation register as anything other than the duty of one partner saving
the life of another? Somehow he doubted that. He could only hope that she
would know, on the level that she reserved for herself, and sometimes for him,
that it was more than that; that he did it out of love first, and duty second,
and she would choose to overlook and forgive the pervert in him that got a cheap
thrill out of imaging doing the unthinkable.

There were few tears to accompany his sobs, and soon he was drained, his
erection and fantasies long gone. All that was left was the feel of her against
him, and the comfort that time and the innate warmth of his body would bring her
back to him. The two of them, together, were going to be all right.

There were hands touching his body. Ascending out of his dark slumber he could
feel them, feather-light, soft and coaxing, stoking him from neck to knees. In
the surreal world of not-quite-awake, he was mesmerized by this sensation, a
slow tightening of all the chords in his cocooned body and the thrilling
reverberation as the fingertips plucked them. It felt so good, so infinitely
good, to be stroked this way, to feel the long, warm softness along the length
of him, to be wrapped in glorious heat and played like the strings of a
symphony. He became aware that his body was singing a quiet song of pleasure,
moving slightly toward each touch, and probably had been for quite a while. His
cock was only half hard, even though the hands did not neglect it or his balls
on their travels; but now that he was more aware, his semi-erection swiftly
became full and straining. The hands noticed the change, and lingered there,
softly tugging and juggling, and he arched his back and pulled back his head,
and made a little groan deep in his throat.

There was an answering moan against his chest, and he heard a light, husky
murmur. "You are beautiful." One hand moved to trail fingertips across his hip
while the other continued to stroke him. "I knew you'd be beautiful. So
soft... your skin... hot and soft, over steel..."

The pleasure was mounting exponentially. He twisted his head and groaned again,
deeper, and his grip tightened on the owner of the eloquent hands that were
making his body sing. The notion of warm curves and willing roundness and moist
cavities and what they actually were made no connection in his mind as his hands
determinedly scanned over her, memorizing her over and over and storing it away
in the primitive part of his brain, the part that handled breathing and whether
or not his heart beat. There was no plan, no conscious thought as he sought out
her breasts, her wonderfully reactive nipples, and as he stroked and touched and
rolled them under his fingers he licked his lips, imaging how exquisite they
would feel against his tongue. Her low murmurs roared in his ears and inflamed
him even more.

"You feel so good... so strong... so wonderful... I've waited so long to touch
you... to kiss you... ooooo, baby... yes... touch me..."

God. Oh, God. This was unbelievable. How could this be happening? Jesus, he
was ready to come right now. All she had to do was sigh the right way, or kiss
him right there again, or move her hip just a little, like THAT...

"Scully," he choked out, and brought his head back down to slide his lips over
her hair. "I need to taste you." He felt her lift her face slightly to his,
and his lips found the smooth of her forehead. A few kisses, and he wanted the
rest of her face. He scooted his body a little lower so he could reach her
easier, and explored the exquisite planes and curves of her features with his
lips, slowly, tenderly. She sighed, her eyes also closed, her full lips parted
and inviting.

"Oh... yess..." she whispered.

"God, Scully... you're so sweet..."

"Kiss me..."

His lips brushed over hers, quietly, gently. They breathed each other's breath
for an infinite second before he sealed his mouth over hers. The tip of his
tongue encountered the tip of hers right at the thin edge of her teeth, and she
sighed and opened her mouth to him. The invitation, the thought that she
actually wanted him to taste her, to caress her this intimately, sent a
lightning bolt down his spine. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, pressed
himself into her, moaning with the pain of his desire, the rocking pleasure her
soft willingness created in him. The kiss turned bruising and needy very
quickly, and went on forever. He could not stop tasting her.

"Sweet..." he gasped out once, when he briefly released her lips for elemental
oxygen. He was in awe. "Sweet..."

"Baby..." she whispered back, and he couldn't allow her lips to move unless they
were under his, so he claimed them again, in another infinite joining filled
with movement and feeling. Their hands battled for stroking space in the
confines of the sleeping bag, colliding with each other as they clung and dug,
then soothed, the hard and soft places found on each other's bodies.

His spirit was soaring. The conditions weren't ideal, but he wasn't going to
pass up the opportunity to finally show this woman what she meant to him. For
an instant he wished that he had been better prepared for their first time
together; he had so wanted everything to be perfect, orchestrated just right, so
that by the time they had gotten to this part, she would know without a doubt
exactly how much her loved her, adored her, respected her, could never survive
without her. But nothing ever went according to plan in his life, and the
situation had innately allowed for this quickly escalating passion, passion
which had already carried him past the point of no return. He was making love
to Dana Scully, and his heart and soul were finally speaking to her through his
body, serenading her, singing an ancient, primal song of lust and promise and
joy.

He broke the kiss again and drew back just enough to gaze into her face. It was
flushed a healthy pink again, her closed eyelids making birdlike flutters
against her cheeks. He kissed them, and she sighed deliciously through her
full, parted lips.

"I want you..."

"Oh, God... Dana..."

He crushed her to him, kissing her fiercely. He was on fire. This was good,
too good, too fucking good...

He was holding her so tightly, his arms straining to press her physically into
his skin, that at first he didn't notice the slow lack of response. Then her
weight in his arms started feeling... wrong. She was not helping him hold her.
Her lips stopped moving under his. She went completely slack. He drew back
again, confused.

"Dana?"

He stared at her quiet face with myopic vision dulled by his need of her. It
was totally obvious that she had slipped into unconsciousness, yet it still took
several moments before the fact registered. He opened his mouth to say
something, realized that she couldn't possibly hear him, and closed it again.
He was helpless. Suddenly alone, swimming in desire, clutching his unconscious
lover in his arms, and utterly helpless.

His jaw worked, willing some words to come out that would bring her back to him.
Magic incantations, prayers... anything. Don't leave me, Dana, a voice inside
him cried out. And still his jaw worked. "Please," he finally managed, his
voice a croak. "Please, Dana."

He was just about to shake her when she murmured something unintelligible, and
her body came back to life. Just like that. Without opening her eyes she
lifted her face back to his, her lips seeking his out and finding them
immediately. The shock of feeling her warm, wanting mouth caressing his as
though not a thing had happened to interrupt them was eerie. His skin erupted
in goosebumps. He pulled away from her mouth, reluctantly, and it was her turn
to be confused.

"What?" she asked softly. "Don't you want me?"

He groaned. "Yes, yes, Jesus Scully, yes, I want you. I'm going to split down
the middle if I don't have you."

Her eyelids fluttered, opened only enough for her to gaze hungrily at his lips.
She whispered her command. "Then take me."

Again that lightning bolt shot down his spine. His electrified nerves made him
move, made his mouth jump forward to claim hers again, hungry, so hungry,
devouring and thirsty, and her tongue danced eagerly inside his mouth. God.
Oh, God. He grabbed her softly moving ass and thrust his hips roughly against
her, and she signaled her delight with a moan that nearly made him come right
then and there.

But there was still that niggling little thing about her falling in and out of
consciousness...

He tore his mouth from hers, unhooked his hands from her ass and forced himself
to look at her. Really look at her. He laid a hand gently along her face, his
thumb on her intoxicating lips, and took a deep breath to steady himself. "Look
at me, Dana."

She shook her head a little, as though to disengage his hand. She didn't look
at him.

"Listen to me," he said, trying very hard to sound authoritative. "As much as I
want this, I don't think this is a good idea right now." Jesus Christ, what was
he saying? Was he insane? Yes, he was definitely, certifiably insane. That,
and he was hopelessly in love with this woman, and the thought of perhaps
pushing himself on her while she was obviously not fully recovered from her
ordeal was the only thing he could think of right now that would be worse than
not making love to her. "You passed out for a few minutes just now. Did you
know that?"

Her head and body stopped moving, though her hands continued to stroke and
fondle him. He gritted his teeth at the pleasure of the distraction. He was
still humming, and didn't want her to stop. Dimly, he felt her shake her head
again slightly, as though saying "no". What did that mean? Was she answering
his question? Had she even heard him?

"Dana," he said again, firmly. "Look at me. Please."

Slowly, her eyes opened. The warm blue windows to her soul that he loved so
much gazed upon his face, cloudy, fuzzy, unfocused. She blinked, a long, slow,
torturous movement, and afterward her eyes were no clearer than before.

His heart sank. "Do you know where you are?" he asked softly.

She didn't answer. She just kept gazing at him. She blinked again, slowly. He
suddenly felt like crying. His beloved was probably delirious. It occurred to
him she may not even know him in the state she was in at the moment. That was a
particularly horrible thought. Who did this subconscious personna of Dana
Scully think she was making love with?

"Dana." His voice broke. "Scully. Do you know who I am?"

Her unfocused eyes flipped back and forth between the two of his, as though
searching for something in first one, and then the other. But she answered
without hesitation. "Mulder," she said clearly. She repeated herself, and he
could tell that it was to convince him, not herself. "Mulder."

His eyes filled with tears. It was him that she wanted, even if she wasn't
fully in reality at the moment. "I'm here with you," he said, as though to
affirm the impossible.

"Mulder," she said a third time, clear and firm, and he clutched her to him
again, so inexplicably happy, so high on her voice and touch and softness and
heat that he closed his eyes and kissed her hair where a tear had fallen from
his cheek.

"You're going to be all right," he crooned, rocking the two of them gently. He
had already made his decision. They would wait to make love. He would have his
chance to make it perfect, for her, for them, for once.

But she still seemed to have her own ideas, this gorgeous, naked woman in his
arms whose hands and body and lips just would not stop moving, softly, gently.
She touched her lips to his cheek, traveling slowly to his earlobe, which she
matter-of-factly took between her teeth and nipped, soothing the bite with her
tongue. "Mulder," she murmured again, her voice sultry and ripe with want. He
shivered. She was oblivious to everything but her desire, and it was pulling
him under again. He found it incredibly difficult to fight her innocent single-
mindedness. She wants me. She wants me...

"Dana." Her hand wrapped itself around his straining shaft. He gasped, tried
again. "Dana..." She stroked him, long and slow. He bucked against her, his
body betraying him joyously. She draped one silky thigh high over his hip,
taking his shaft and drawing the swollen head to her wet, hot core. She swept
it against her, slipping open her velvet lips with it, and rubbed the sensitive
glans against her clit. They both jumped at the shot of pleasure it gave them.

"Make love to me, Mulder," she growled into his ear.

His tenuous hold on control lasted just long enough for him to gasp, "Are you
sure?"

"Now. Now." She swept his throbbing head between her lips one more time. It
shattered him. With a small shout of surrender and triumph, he rolled smoothly
into the cradle of her hips, the head of his cock slipping effortlessly past her
lips and into the heat of her sheath. They paused, panting, poised on the edge,
and then he pulled his hips forward and in one long movement, sheathed himself
completely inside of her exquisite body.

His eyes squeezed shut, and his mouth opened in a silent scream of ecstasy. She
arched under him, her teeth clenched, the gleam of her throat the most brilliant
thing he'd ever seen. He pulled back, slowly, a moment of agony, and she
writhed at missing him, then he pushed all the way in again - how could that be
possible, that it could feel even better? Jesus, Jesus, he was going to come,
going to annihilate himself after only two strokes. She twisted her head
around, slowly, hissing from behind her clenched teeth, her body incredibly
tight, coiled under him. Her fingernails dug into the corded muscles of his
back, his ass, digging harder as he went to move out again, telling him to stay
put, to push deeper, harder. He listened to her hands and bore his strength
into her, moving deeper by fractions, but it was enough. A sound started from
somewhere down where his cock was buried, rising up through her, spilling from
her, a hybrid of a growl and a scream, and as it rolled from her throat he felt
her sheath wrap itself tightly around him in a twisting motion. Coming, she was
coming; his heart burst in his chest at the sensation of her shattering around
him. He pushed himself still deeper into her, reveling in how her hips bucked
up against his pressure, the way her body twitched and rolled, the stabs of
pleasure he felt as her animal voice broke repeatedly on his name. He was
absolutely certain that he had never in his life bore witness to a more soul-
rendering event.

He was so enthralled at experiencing her orgasm that he didn't realize the
extent of the stimulation that was assaulting his own body. Rising from the
depth of his groin he felt the answering surge that signaled the uncoiling of
his own release. It was still part of the astonishment that had washed over
him, that so little movement could produce so much ecstasy so quickly; and yet
it seemed almost fitting, right, natural. These were feelings he'd hoped for
but never expected. Just one more gift that loving this woman seemed to give
him.

Unable to control himself, he pulled back and thrust into her, quick, hard. She
gasped, still spasming around him.

"Scully!" He thrust into her again, again, his hands gripping her tightly, and
she moaned. He squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his face to her throat,
breathing her in, the whole universe focused on the overwhelming sense of her.
He thrust again, and again, his orgasm building rapidly, and a dim part of his
brain registered that she had relaxed under him, stopped moving... In fact, she
was too relaxed. There was suddenly no response at all. No fingernails on his
skin, no answering push to her hips, no convulsions around his cock. Nothing.

With incredible difficulty he stilled his movements, lifting his head to look
into her face. Her expression was smooth and quiet, her eyes closed peacefully.
She had fallen unconscious again.

A loud cry of disbelief and anguish poured out of him. He was seconds away from
orgasm. But he couldn't do it. Wouldn't do it. He gritted his teeth and
yanked himself out of her body, nearing screaming with the sudden loss of her.
Overcome with something akin to fury, he ripped open the sleeping bag and
scrambled out of it, nearly tripping and falling in his haste. Standing on
shaking legs next to the cot, he stared down on her, breathing in heavy pants,
his eyes wild. Some tender thread of emotion made his trembling hand pick up
the edge of the bag and gently cover her back up; and then the next second he
was barely supporting himself with one hand on the edge of the cot, his body
taut and straining, bowed backwards over her, his other hand gripping his cock
and pumping it furiously towards the sky.

He was so far gone it only took a couple of hard jerks before the thick white
jet of semen erupted from him, coating his hand and splattering his thighs. He
collapsed against the cot, his ass missing the edge and sliding down the side to
land, jarringly, on the floor. He sat there, sprawled bonelessly, his head
falling backwards onto the cot. The room was spinning. He couldn't catch his
breath. He felt wet, and cold. Lifting his head, he looked down at himself, at
the puddles of semen that peppered his lower body and covered his hand. He
lifted the hand, regarded the mess, and let it fall back. Steam rose from his
body in the cold air, and he closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. Only to
them. Something like this could only happen to them. At this moment he had no
idea if he wished her to remember any of this or not. He also had no idea what
he should be feeling right now. He supposed that he should be angry, or
humiliated; or perhaps he should be whipping himself for allowing the situation
to progress to this. He shook his head again, sighed. Shit. That's all he
felt. Like shit.

The piercing cold of the room air and the thinly covered concrete slab under his
butt refused to allow him much wallowing time. He reached for his still wet
thermal shirt off the pile of sodden clothes and wiped himself clean, wincing at
the iciness against his skin. He tossed the shirt away from him, and it landed
on the floor next to the other clothes. Start another pile, he thought
ruefully. The "Mulder and Scully can't get a break" pile.

It took a unique combination of uncoordinated movements to get himself off the
floor and sitting back on the edge of the cot. He reached down and=
retrieved his underwear and socks, but despite the cold he had no enthusiasm
for getting dressed. Turning slightly, he gazed down at Scully's face, his
clothes bunched in his lap. He knew now that no matter how lucid or warm she
felt to him in that bag, she still had suffered an immense trauma and was
nowhere near total recovery. Between the hike up here and the dunk in the
freezing water, in her weakened condition, following through on his (and her)
desires probably did her more harm than good. If she didn't survive this, there
would be no way he could ever forgive himself.

He shook off the familiar guilt that threatened to weigh him down and replaced
it with a sudden, almost viscous resolve. He quickly pulled on his socks and
underwear, then his thermal and snow pants. As he was fastening them around his
waist, he paused and leaned over his partner's still form to gently smooth her
tangled hair away from her sleeping eyes.

"I'm going to get you out of here, Scully," he promised softly. He continued to
smooth her hair back for several long moments, then stopped to tuck the edges of
the bag tightly around her shoulders. "I'm going to get you out of here." He
went back to smoothing her hair, then realized that he was actually trying to
calm himself, to gather his thoughts, to once again transform himself into the
crack FBI agent everyone imagined him to be. First things first, he decided.
Must have boots on to walk through snow. Find boots. Put on boots.

It was while he was tying the last double bow in his laces that he heard the
sound. Below the hum and rattle of the space heater he could barely make it
out. He stopped in his hunch over his boots, turned his head toward the door,
listened. There. The sound was accelerating, getting more pronounced.
Mechanical. In the distance. Like a motor. The snowcat? He quickly checked
his watch, swore harshly, and snatched up the spare winter parka he had found
earlier in the locker. Swinging it on, he searched for and found the submachine
gun he had left on the floor near the door. He ripped open the door, then
stopped and looked back at her laying unconscious on the cot. He knew what he
had to do. His resolve strengthened, he closed the door gently behind him, and
skulked his way quickly through the interior of the vast warehouse to the small
entrance door.

He flattened himself up against the wall by the side of the doorframe, the gun's
icy barrel pointed up and laid flush against his bare chest. He hadn't bothered
to zip up the parka, but he didn't even feel the cold. All his attention was
focused on trying to see through the door's small window at what was coming
towards them from the distance. The angle of the door to where the wide trail
started in the woods was all wrong, yet he was only assuming that that was where
the snowcat would appear, if it was the snowcat at all. The motor sound seemed
to fit what he imagined a snowcat would sound like, but there was also a deep
'whump - whump' accompaniment that tickled his mind with familiarity. It was as
though the two noises did not belong together.

He had a sudden, deep desire not to wait to find out what was making the noises.
He didn't want to be trapped in the warehouse once everyone had disembarked from
the snowcat and had conveniently surrounded the building. Cocking the gun, he
slowly opened the door, peeking out in quick moves to try and see what was going
on. The sun was much lower in the sky now, but it was still blindingly bright,
and his squinting didn't help much. The noises were louder, getting stronger,
closer. Gulping down his fear, he threw himself out the door and flattened
himself along the outside wall. He followed it in fits and spurts to the
corner, where he paused, catching his breath.

The sweat on his palms began to freeze his hands to the metal of his gun, and
for the first time he realized how foolish he'd been to run out of the warehouse
without the proper cold weather gear on. But it was too late now. Peering
around the corner carefully, he could see the top of the cab of the snowcat
emerging from the trees and coming over a small rise. The back was crowded with
nervous, heavily armed troops in white arctic survival gear, and they pointed
their weapons at the sky and started shooting. It appeared to him that they
were traveling exceptionally fast for such a huge, topheavy vehicle. And what
made it worse was that they were weaving as they traveled, so much so that the
troops were losing their balance in the open cargo area; yet they refused to sit
down, as they raised their weapons and shot, seemingly haphazardly, into the
blue sky.

Either they were all drunk and out for a joyride, he thought, or they were being
chased.

A split second later several attack helicopters burst out from behind the tree
canopy, confirming his suspicions. Two of them swooped down in front of the
snowcat, causing its driver to wrench the monster into a steep turn that
threatened to overturn it. Several troops tumbled out and fell headfirst into
the snow, but the vehicle kept going, and a follow-up strafe from a third
chopper quickly convinced the grounded troops to abandon their weapons and run
back to the trees for cover. The snowcat continued in its hasty retreat from
the helicopters, finding another path through the woods and away from the
compound. Two of the helicopters followed it, hovering above the trees like
eagles stalking prey.

Fascinated by the spectacle, he was startled when an unknown, larger troop
helicopter settled in the clearing directly beside him and the warehouse. He
swung his gun around and pointed it at it, but before he could do more the doors
opened and ominously dressed soldiers poured out of the belly of the noisy beast
and scattered like insects all around him to secure the area. They took no
notice of him at all. They were outfitted all in black, from their arctic gear
to their equipment, and the crash helmet/face shield combos they wore covered
every part of the head and neck except their lips. He was not surprised to note
that there wasn't an organizational insignia in sight.

"Agent Mulder?"

Whipping toward the corner, he trained his gun on the black-draped soldier that
had suddenly materialized there. Despite being confronted with a dazed, half-
dressed man with a weapon leveled at his chest, the soldier simply stood there,
calm, unmoving, his own weapon at his side.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Mulder demanded.

The soldier's lips curved into a smile. Without the benefit of seeing his eyes,
Mulder was at a loss to evaluate its meaning. The flash of human teeth from the
technological gadgetry of his headgear only served to make the soldier look more
menacing, even less human.

"Compliments of your government, Agent Mulder," he replied in perfect, non-
accented English. At Mulder's confused frown, he grinned, gave a little salute,
then turned and trotted off back toward the troop helicopter.

Mulder took only a moment to consider the soldier's words. "Hey!" he called out
after him, but he was already too close to the helicopter to hear him. Mulder
broke into a run, waving his arms to get someone's attention. "HEY! I NEED A
STRETCHER!" he yelled into the din of the whirring motor. No one turned in his
direction. He ran up to the yawning doorway, and stuck his head inside. "HEY!"
he yelled at the shadowy figures moving in the bowels of the beast. "HEY!!"

A viselike hand gripped his shoulder the same instant a male voice shouted
"Agent Mulder!" in his ear. He whirled again to see a black-garbed Assistant
Director Skinner, his face, sans headgear, mere inches from his. Mulder blinked
at him. Just as Skinner opened his mouth to speak again, Mulder shook off his
hand and turned back to shout at the chopper's occupants, "I need help! A
stretcher! Now!"

"Where's Agent Scully?" Skinner demanded.

Mulder reached into the chopper to grab at the end of the stretcher that the
soldier was too slow in handing over. Mulder yanked on it. The soldier
stumbled and stifled a curse.

"You come too," Mulder directed the soldier. The young man looked at Skinner.
After a moment, Skinner nodded, and the soldier immediately gestured at his two
companions. The three of them hopped out of the chopper, grabbed up the
stretcher, and started running for the warehouse. Mulder followed, shouting
directions. Skinner was at his heels.

"Has something happened to Agent Scully?"

Mulder once again ignored him. He put on a burst of speed and got ahead of the
soldiers, slamming open the door to the warehouse and leading the way inside.
"Over here!" he shouted over his shoulder as he led the group at a run to the
little interior office. He barreled into the small structure, jumping to one
side to let the others in behind him. They followed without hesitation, slowing
and stopping only once they were all inside.

It was difficult to see the cot at first in the dim light, but one of the
soldiers zeroed in on it and walked over immediately, leaning over Scully's
still body. The other soldiers followed, surrounding the cot. Mulder stayed by
the door, and Skinner pulled up beside him.

"What the hell..." Skinner's eyes scanned the little room, missing nothing.
They rested for seconds on the piles of clothes, then on Scully in the bag, and
he sliced his gaze back to Mulder and his naked chest under the parka.
"Mulder..." he growled.

"NO!" Mulder jumped forward and shouldered a soldier bodily away from the cot,
forcing him to drop the corner of the sleeping bag that he was just about to
peel away from Scully. But it was too late. The bag fell open, revealing a
wide expanse of creamy naked shoulder and upper chest. He grabbed at the corner
and tucked it back under her chin, rezipping the bag, and muttered angrily, "She
has to stay covered... conserve body heat..."

"Mulder." Skinner was not pleased.

Mulder looked up just in time to see the smirks that the soldiers were
exchanging with each other. Enraged, he grabbed one by the front of his uniform
and yanked until their noses almost touched. "Do you have an issue with what
you see here, asshole?" he hissed.

The soldier raised his hands in mock surrender, but his expression did not
change.

"That's enough!" Skinner stepped forward and forcibly removed the soldier from
Mulder's grip. He pushed them apart and stepped between them, facing Mulder.
"What's going on here, Mulder? What's wrong with her?" he demanded.

"Hypothermia!" Mulder shouted. "She's suffering from acute hypothermia, and she
needs to get out of here NOW!"

Skinner took a second to stare down Mulder's insolence. Then he turned to the
soldiers and ordered, "Get blankets. Don't remove her from the bag. Wrap her
completely, move her to the stretcher, and get her in the chopper." He scanned
the soldiers' expressions, and his voice dropped to a menacing growl. "And wipe
those fucking smiles off your faces, or I'll do it for you. Now MOVE."

"Yes, sir," a few of them murmured, the smirks gone. One ran out the door to
get the blankets. The other two situated the stretcher near the cot. The next
several minutes were spent wrapping blankets around Scully and transferring her
to the stretcher. Mulder assisted, and as he was securing the straps that held
her in the stretcher, Skinner noticed his hands shaking.

A medic and two other soldiers found them inside the office just as they were
ready to move her to the chopper. The medic started to take her vital signs,
and suddenly there was no more room for Mulder. He tried, staying by her side
as they lifted the stretcher and jogged out of the office through the warehouse,
but Skinner took hold of his arm and he was forced to drop back, to slow down,
even though it was obvious that his attention was with the stretcher and its
cargo. He watched as they carried her out of the building, out of his sight,
and only then did he turn and look at his superior, who had been talking to him
the whole time.

"What? What were you saying?" He was panting from anxiety.

Skinner was at the end of his patience. "You have a lot of explaining to do,
Agent Mulder."

"Explaining? About what?"

"About why you didn't complete your mission. About exactly what happened... in
there." He pointed behind them at the office.

Mulder looked from him to the office and back again, not comprehending. With
the dawning of understanding came another surge of rage. Eyes flashing, he
advanced on Skinner.

"Explain? You want me to explain myself? How about some explanations from YOU,
sir? Where did you get the information about this place from? Huh? From
Krychek? The Cancer Man? Why was it conveniently left out that the hole out
there is actually a large frozen lake, through which Scully conveniently fell?!"

Mulder was so close to him and so worked up that spittle flew from his mouth and
splashed on Skinner's glasses. Skinner called on his training and forced
himself not to flinch. Mulder raised his arms high, and Skinner thought for a
moment that he was going to hit him.

"She should be used to this by now, sir, setting herself up for even more
physical and emotional abuse by working with me. It's one thing if I'm the one
who drags her around and she gets hurt, almost killed. But this time we trusted
YOU, sir. Both of us. And look what happened!"

Mulder was at the height of his rant. He balled up his raised hands into fists,
his body shaking.

"Hypothermia! Fucking hypothermia! She goes through cancer, our own government
kills her sister and daughter, she faces down every slimy, creepy, crawly
motherfuckin' mutant from this world and the next, and she may simply freeze to
death while we're standing here!!!!"

Mulder's fists came crashing to his sides. He stood there, his chest heaving,
his eyes wild and wet with frustration and anger. Skinner regarded him with
concern.

"She understands the risks, Mulder, of the job..." Skinner regretted the words
as soon as he said them.

Mulder dropped his head back on his neck and squeezed his eyes tight. "That may
be so, sir," he said, his voice husky from screaming. He looked at Skinner
again. The anger was gone - only depression remained. "But I can't take it
anymore."

Skinner frowned. "What do you mean?"

Mulder ran his hands through his hair, looking like he was about to pull it out.
"I can't watch her go through this anymore. She can't take much more of this
near-death stuff. And I can't watch her do it." He lifted and dropped his
hands again, shook his head helplessly. "I just can't."

Skinner stood silently, watching him. He sensed that there was nothing more to
be said. Mulder continued to mumble, "I can't do it, I can't," quietly and
mostly to himself. He seemed to have forgotten that Skinner was even there.
Skinner took his arm again, gently but firmly, and turned him toward the door
and the waiting chopper.

"Let's get the two of you home," he said, and led Mulder out into the last rays
of the sun.