Reflections on Ice by Barbara Barnett (movie spoilers)
Date: Mon, 29 Jun 1998

Reflections on Ice
(flikfic)
by Barbara Barnett (Barbara462@aol.com)
VA--MSR (but completely in keeping with the lovely MSR that was the movie)
Movie spoilers galore
Disclaimer: These wonderful characters and story do not not belong to me.
This simply provides a little bit of between the lines subtext. A little
exercise. I would not change one line or one scene of what, to me was a
beautifuly layered thriller, interlaced with a love story of great passion and
depth. Thank you to CC, DD, GA and Co. for providing us with a lovely summer
diversion. No profit intended, sought or accepted.
Summary: A fill-in-the blank mood piece from FTF
Feel free to archive (but let me know)

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He was lost in the memory. A summer picnic on the Vinyard. A different time.
A different life, so very long ago. The familiar face peered back at him
from the faded color shot, younger then, but an unmistakeable familiarity. It
was him. Why was Mulder not surprised. His father, a "fellow traveller" of
this crackpot. Kurtzweil.

Mulder supposed that it was easy to blame the old guy. But what had he done,
really? Kurzweil was not what was bothering Mulder. Not now. Not at this
moment in time.

Scully. Mulder sighed heavily. She hadn't phoned. He glanced at his watch:
4:30. The OPR meeting was long over. But she hadn't called. Good news or
bad? Would she do it, he wondered? Would she quit? Leave? Not that he
would blame her. But the thought, even the suggestion, brought to his mouth
the sour taste of bile. He forced the idea from his mind, focussing again on
the photo album.

A knock. Before he could answer, Scully stepped through the door. Mulder's
heart jumped into his throat as he took in her form. Devestated. It was the
only word that came to his mind. Her face, streaked with tears, her clothes,
the same suit she'd worn to Texas, wrinkled, disheveled. He peered at her a
moment. "Scully, what's wrong?"

"Salt Lake City. Transfer effective immediately. I've already given Skinner
my letter of resignation." The words were laced with defeat, exhaustion.
Mulder looked away, overwhelmed by the seeming finality of the situation. He
fought for the right words. To say anything. Anything that would make her
reconsider. He already felt her absence like a weight on his chest,
constricting his breathing.
"You can't quit now, Scully." A plea. A prayer. Mulder fought for
control. He was losing by strides.

"I can. I have. It's done. Mulder please..." Her words were broken.
"Please don't do this to me." Scully fought equally for control over her own
emotions.

She knew her resolve was weak. The exhaustion. Mulder. She knew suddenly
that it was a mistake to come here at all. But she had to know. He had to
know.

"We are close to something, here. We are on the verge..." A plea, now
evermore desperate. A warning. He still could not meet her eyes. To look
into her face. His voice cracked as he forced the words around the the lump
that had taken residence in his throat. His heart fought with his mind for
the words...any words to make this not happen.

"*You* are on the verge, Mulder." The words sounded harsh to Mulder, but
there was such profuound sorrow in Scully's voice, Mulder dismissed the
harshness.

Scully was suddenly struck by something. A revelation that told her, finally,
that this was, really, the right thing to do. Mulder had been right about so
much of what they'd experienced. And she was pained to realize that he would
now be so much farther along to his goal, his redemption, his healing, if not
for her medling, her interference, her constant questioning. Somehow Mulder
had been duped (yet again) by the illusion that she was help to him. And, no
matter how painful to her, she needed to break that. Hard as that may be.
Free him, finally, from herself. It was the only gift she could think to give
him now, in the aftermath of Dallas. It had been she who had forced him out
of the building, led to their being easy scapegoats.

And now, this need to give him this gift of freedom was all-consuming. He had
given her so much, she now knew. She'd thought of nothing else as she walked
around his block for an hour before she'd gotten up the courage to actually
come up.

Mulder had taught her to question her own assumptions, to not have so much
faith in conventional wisdom, in the paradigm-du-jour. He'd given her other
things, too. Only her life. Many times over. She remembered their first
case and how she had said that nothing else mattered to him but being reunited
with Samantha, yet how many times had he forsaken that goal when it was in his
grasp (or thought so, anyway) for her. In any number of terrible choices to
make, Mulder had always chosen her, not Sam.

Yes, Mulder was stubborn, but mostly it was a constructive stubbornness. He
never gave up on her. Ever. Even when she refused to let him in. Hurt
him...badly...by her own tight control. How could he not have been hurt. Her
cancer, how he'd rushed to her side when she called, but gave her room to use
his support only as she had seen fit. He was just somehow *there*. She
brought him into her confidence then, at the begining of it, only to push him
away, and cruelly so. But still he didn't give up.

If he had, she would be dead now. He didn't care how it had looked, proposing
to re-implant the chip. He knew what her brother's reaction would be. He
must have been certain that she, herself would laugh at the folly of it. But
he pushed and pressed, fought for her life in every way he could. Yes, she
had to give him his freedom. Finally.

"I need you on this." Mulder's voice thick, desperate.

"Mulder you have never needed me. I have only held you back...I....I have to
go." She turned and ran from his apartment, her last ounce of composure
leaving with her.

For a moment he stood there in the late afternoon shadow of his apartment.
Stunned. Dumbfounded. Paralyzed. The sudden realization of her departure gave
him the courage needed. Needed to say it. Say what he had known for a long
time, but had never articulated. To her or anyone--not even himself. He knew
only one thing: that he could not let her walk out of his life. He found
himself, in that moment, staring into the future, a future without Scully at
his side. It was a future he could barely fathom. A future in which he could
not--dare not--exist. She *was* his life. She had been for a long time. He
took a half a second to wonder when she had become his other, his better,
half. If she left, half his soul would flee with her, half his heart. Of
this, he was certain.

"You look pretty good for a dead man, Agent Mulder." Skinner's voice came
back to him, incongruously.

"I'm only half dead," he'd replied. Yeah, half. The half that is her. Had
that been when the realization hit him? At that single moment when he was
certain he'd lost her finally? That he'd run out time and luck? That he'd
been too late?

Mulder snapped back to the present, running, his heart in his throat, calling
to her in the deserted hallway. "If that's what you have to tell yourself so
that you can quit with a clear conscience, then fine. But you're wrong."
Mulder's voice cracked with the effort to force the words around the lump in
his throat. The words stopped Scully in her tracks. She was angry with him
for running after her, refusing her a graceful departure. Angry that they
would have this final confrontation in the very public hallway. She didn't
want it to end badly, but he was forcing the issue. But something stopped
her, forced her to turn and face him. Then she saw his eyes and was undone as
they sought hers.

"You've saved me." His voice was a harsh whisper. But his eyes, such a
sadness in them. A sorrow she'd never seen before.

No. No. You have it wrong. So wrong, Agent Mulder. She tried to tell him.
That was not her job...to save him. Her job was to discredit him. And now
she'd done it. How could he look at her so forgivingly...so lovingly. But
from deep inside, far away from the pragmatism of her brain, her heart called
out to his to plead with her, to find a reason for her to stay. Speak to her
mind, tell it what her heart already knew.

She barely heard his words, lost, drowning in the beautiful sadness of his
darkened eyes, half closed in silent confession.

"...You make me a whole person. I owe you everything. Scully, you owe me
nothing..."

Oh, Mulder. Her eyes filled with tears of understanding. Of final clarity.
A connection reformed, stronger for the pain it had endured. She approached
him, closing the small space between them, burying her face in his shoulder,
not wanting him to see her tears. His arms enfolded her, a cocoon. She felt
one with him then, a part of him, essential to him as he was to her. His arms
tightened around her back as he rocked her, gentle, calming.

Mulder felt her body tremble, then relax in his embrace. His heart addressed
hers: "Never leave me. I would readily die for you; just as I would surely
die without you by my side. For you are, indeed, my other earthly self: my
other half." No words were spoken aloud. Scully pulled back slightly,
hearing, acknowleging Mulder's silent confession. Granting him absolution.
His head was bowed as if in prayer, his eyes hooded and smoky.

Moving her hands to caress his neck reassuringly, she gently kissed his
forehead: her lips barely grazing his skin. His eyes closed reflexively,
surrounded by the tenderness of her kiss, allowing himself the luxury of the
moment. Head still bowed, he caressed her forehead with his own, reluctant to
break away from the intimacy of the moment, oblivious to the public
surroundings, realizing the words he had spoken were so long in coming, so
hard to say. There was no going back. Now that she had replied in acceptance
of them.

Now Scully drew back slightly, her eyes wet with tears as she tried to smile
for him, to let him know...without the words that could not emerge from her
mouth. A single tear slid down her cheek. Now it was Mulder that was undone.
He was consumed by her, the sorrow, the sympathy in her clear blue eyes. His
first instinct was to run his thumb down her cheek, to wipe away her tears, to
make it somehow better. To kiss away the sorrow and the pain, replace it with
devotion and love. Almost unconsciously his hands drifted up her neck to cup
her face as he gazed deeply into her eyes and saw there the love that was
returned a thousandfold. As he drowned in the depths of her eyes, moving ever
closer to her, he was lost and then found as she drew him to her like a beacon
in the night.

The moment abruptly as she jerked away from him. Oh, God, he thought. What
have I done? Had he so misread her intentions. "I'm so..sorry. I..."

"No." She was trying to tell him something. Shame and embarassment gave way
to relief. A bee. He smiled. Only a bee. He sighed as he rubbed the spot
gently, moving his hand back to her hair, trying in an instant to regain the
broken intimacy that had only a moment ago, enfolded them.

"Mulder?"

"Hmm?" His voice was dreamy, infused with desire, tenderness as he drew her
back into an embrace.

"Something's wrong." Mulder's reverie was snapped in half. Suddenly alert,
wary. He bent on his knees, hands on her shoulders, so he could look directly
at her. All Hell broke loose as Scully slumped into his arms. Mulder's heart
pounded, knowing, yet not believing, what now began to unfold, as his life
began to unravel.

The next days were a blur, as the moment had gone from despair to delight to
horror, as once again she was taken from him. Not of her own volition, but
deliberately ripped from him. Oh, God, he whispered in the snow as he sought
her two days later, please let her still be alive. He would gladly have
sacrificed himself, his quest, even Samantha, just to let her be alright. It
could not end this way. Not now. Not like this.

That he found her at all was a miracle. Yes, a miracle. A fervent prayer
answered. The odds were against them getting out alive, however, as Scully
was barely alive. But they'd made it. And as Mulder slipped into
unconsciousness on the snow, he knew they would make it. Somehow. He was
cold. So cold. Had he really seen it? Was it some kind of delerium that
made a cloud into a spacecraft? He didn't really care at that moment. He
looked over to Scully as she slowly opened her eyes. He smiled broadly,
giddy, almost. Mulder slid toward her with his last ounce of strength,
drawing an arm about her, holding her as if to let go would be to lose her
again. And there on the snow, relief washed over him as his eyes slid shut.

Scully, now awaking as if from a dream, glanced over to Mulder and then down
at herself. She couldn't really clearly recall how she gotten in them, but
somehow she knew that it was Mulder's protective clothing she now wore. She
shook her head, tenderly admonishing him as she reached for him. She pulled
him into her lap, cradling his upper body against her own protectively. She
was grateful to God, in her newfound faith, for granting Mulder the
stubborness and persistence to find her. And to Mulder for his faith in her
that she would not leave him again. She drew her face into his hair, which
had begun to form tiny icicles. She kissed him as she rocked him, keeping
them both warm, sustaining them with her physical being and deep love for him.
They *would* survive. *Had* to survive. They had come much too far. In so
many ways.

end