SPOILER: The X-Files: Fight the Future (the movie, folks) Summary: Fill in the blank story about what happened between sitting next to the ice crater and talking to Agent What's Her Face in DC. Rating: PG Category: V (just a real long one) some A some H and implied MSR (but really mild--no more here than the movie) Disclaimer: Make more! Make more! I want more movies! But until then, I just have to fill in all those nice little 'gaps' you left and make some sense of the leaps of logic you gave us. Just doin' my job, sir. Still not getting paid for it, of course. This is merely a public service. No copyright infringement intended or implied. Archive: YES, please. Thank yous: Turn about is fair play. Thank you to Susan and Thank you to Donna. Both of you kept at me (while I was editing your stuff) to get this one done and posted. You were a great help in keeping me on task and finding my boo boos. Love you both! Ruminations On Ice by Vickie Moseley vmoseley@fgi.net "Mulder, wake up!" His face is so cold. Even as I rub his cheeks, I'm not seeing a pink flush any more. Just a pasty white that tells me that I need to get him somewhere warm. Anywhere else on the planet, save possibly the other end of it, would be better than this damned ice cliff in--where the hell are we? "Mulder, talk to me? Do we have any way to get home?" Now there's a real stupid question. I stare around us. Snow and snow covered mountains, as far as the eye can see. Oh, and this nice crater we're perched next to. What, it must be half a mile deep. Some steam jets keep blowing out of it, but I'm not going to hazard our way down there, even if I could support Mulder's weight. The whole thing could collapse on us and we'd be dead for sure. At least the sun is out. But that's not necessarily a good thing. It's not providing any warmth to speak of, just brightness that sears into the retinas of the eyes. Already my eyes are tired of the constant glare off the snow field. I realize that before very long, I'll be snow blind. To counteract that effect, I pull the parka hood over my head and keep my face in the shadows. At least Mulder's eyes are closed. Just in case, I pull him closer, so that his face is now huddled in the folds of the parka. Damn good thing he takes an extra large for his arm length. I don't think my petite size 6 parka back in my closet would have gotten us very far. Oh, Mulder. I can't even yell at you for not coming prepared this time. You wore ski pants and ski vest, parka, thinsulate gloves. And boots, with linings. You were prepared. My regular Boy Scout. You just never expected to have to share. So now, somehow, you're laying here in my arms, stripped down to your Dockers and shirt sleeves, only the ski vest keeping any warmth in your body. Well, that and what little I can provide by holding you close. It worked one night not too long ago in Florida. Of course, Florida has never had the temps dip to 30 degrees below zero, at least not that I know of. How in the world did your legs get so long? I can't possibly fold them up and tuck them in this parka. They are left out, exposed to the wind that has kicked up from the mountain range just behind us. Your pant legs were wet from the water and the sweat. Now, they're stiff with ice. I hope that at least your feet are dry and warmer in the boots, but that might be too much to ask at this point. You did it again, didn't you, Partner? Once again, you found me. Once again, you saved my life. I remember nothing from passing out in the hallway at your apartment to waking up in . . . Where ever we were. I still don't think all the images I saw back there were real. There had to be some fever dreams or hallucinations mixed in there. Green glowing goo and . . . vicious teeth and jaws. Were those dreams, Mulder? Was any of that real? Those images in my mind might not have been real, but there was danger back there. I have that on good authority. Your voice took on that urgency that it gets in times of stress. And there is one thing I do remember, when I could glance at your face. That look. That look of panic. I've seen that too many times in the last couple of days, Mulder. Not to be too self righteous, but I'd like to not see it for a while. If I hug you closer, will it keep us warmer? My mind is getting foggy. The adrenaline is being replaced with a murky sort of malaise. I know this is bad. The scientific, doctor part of my brain is not so far gone that I don't recognize the symptoms of hypothermia. You're more at risk than I am now. Not just because of your lesser amount of protective clothing, but because you have been afflicted with this injury too many times. The body remembers, Mulder. I keep trying to tell this to you, each time you go rushing off, only to be carried back on a stretcher. And while we're on the subject, my fingers, back when I could feel them, grazed the scab on your forehead. That's a bullet wound, Mulder. I haven't been a pathologist all this time to be confused by the symmetry of that wound. Not too deep, but it more than likely resulted in a concussion. You were probably out for some time. When did that happen? And who was the idiot who let you leave the hospital when the wound is obviously recent? Maybe you better not answer that one. I've got a few suspicions and I really don't want to waste the time planning any murders right now. As I hug you closer, I notice a few more lumps than usual. What the hell are you carrying around, Mulder? A flashlight, I'm proud of you! You hung on to the damned thing. One less flashlight to account for to the Bureau. Bravo! And a geodirectional finder? Great little tool. I smell the Lone Gunmen at work here, and I'm not just referring to Frohike's aftershave. But unfortunately, unless someone is looking for us, this thing is totally worthless. I _know_ where we are. Now, thanks to this little gizmo and Ahab's charts that I used to love to look at, I know that we are smack dab somewhere on the continent of Antarctica. Oh, and one small point. We are stranded in the middle of an ice field. We can't walk out of here, neither of us are in any condition. And this doesn't look to be on any mass transit routes. Mulder, please tell me that for once in your life, you didn't run off without telling any one where you were headed. As I'm putting the items back in your pockets my hand gets tangled in something else. As I pull out the thin gold strand, my heart skips a beat. My cross. Mulder, you found my cross! Judging from my state of undress when I came awake back there, I figured I would never see any of my clothes again. But you found my cross. You kept it with you. Thank you. I supposed the silk blouse was too much to ask for, huh? Sorry. Just a little gallows humor. Oh, Mulder, I can't let myself think down these paths. Not yet. I won't give up on us, even out here in the middle of nothing. No, let's think of other more dangerous pathways. You were going to kiss me in the hallway, weren't you, Mulder? I mean, I could see the smokiness in your eyes and I could feel your hold on my arms heat to a level I don't ever remember and you were going to kiss me. Not Eddie Van Blunhdt. Not a kiss of greeting and friendship. You were going to really kiss me and I was going to kiss you back. Goddamn bee. But in a way, that's all right. What you said to me was almost as good as the kiss promised to be. I needed to hear what you had to say in the hallway, Mulder. You probably think this is stupid, considering all the ways you tell me on a daily basis how much you need my help. You have always treated me as an equal, more than anyone else I've ever known. I value that, more than I could ever tell you. But you've gone beyond that recently, and I have to tell you . . . I like it. You've taken to giving voice to the looks you've been giving me for five years. Yes, we have unspoken communication, and I am constantly amazed and grateful for that ability, that gift. But sometimes, no Mulder, not just sometimes. All the time, it's nice to hear the words. "I love you, too, Mulder." I hope you can still hear me. I hope that on some level, those words can reach through to the consciousness that I know is hidden behind the cold and the pain. I hope you know. But I want to have the chance to tell you. I just hope we both get that chance. ************* "Base, this is Tango Zebra. There is a hellava big hole here. What the hell happened?" The voice from the chopper pilot was loud and clear in her ear. "Tango Zebra, we picked up some seismic activity about an hour ago. Have you spotted our targets?" she asked anxiously. "Negative, base. At the moment, I'm not picking up anything. That quake might have messed with the signals . . . no! Wait! I'm getting something. Yeah, on the far side of this sink hole. Hell, they're on the edge of the damned crater. I found them, base. I'm going down. Will radio back ETA, but we'll probably need a medical team assembled." "Roger that, Tango Zebra. We'll have a welcoming committee all set up. Let us know when the party starts." The young Naval aviator was used to rescue operations. He'd worked several far outposts in his short career. But this was the first time he'd found civilians, and civilians in this state. A man and a woman. The woman was better protected than the man, she was wearing a parka a couple of sizes too big and ski pants that came almost to her chin. And socks. Admittedly they looked like good wool socks, but socks none the less. Oh, well, he'd been told to expect the unusual. That now seemed like an understatement. He turned to his partner. "Get the stretchers. They're alive, but neither of them are conscious. And he looks like he's in pretty bad shape. You can start an IV on 'em when we're in the air." His companion nodded wordlessly and went to work. It took a few minutes to extricate the man from the woman's grasp. She was holding on to him for dear life, by all appearances. The fingers of her hand were almost frozen in the spiky strands of his hair. Whatever they were to each other, the young aviator was pretty sure they belonged together. Second Lieutenant Emily Baker was in constant radio contact with the chopper pilot, as she had been during the entire flight, so she didn't need to be notified the moment the chopper arrived at the pad. She had long since logged off her computer and hurried down to the tunnels to make her way over to the infirmary. It wasn't exactly a full-fledged hospital, but when all there was to deal with was hypothermia, they knew their stuff. By the time she arrived, the two stretchers had been brought in and the occupants were in the process of having the last of their frozen clothing removed. Not being a medical personnel, she was a little uncomfortable, but a promise was a promise and this was one she intended to keep. "How are they doing?" she asked, just loud enough to attract attention. She recognized one of the nurses, and directed the comment to her. "Male has a core temp of 90. Other than a healing wound to the head, some abrasions on his hands and cuts and abrasions around the right ankle, maybe some muscle damage in a shoulder, he's holding his own. Female is in better shape, generally. She was kept a little warmer, she was wearing the only coat." "What?" Emily gasped, not sure she'd heard that last statement correctly. "I said, she was wearing the only coat they had between them. A lined parka. With matching ski pants. Probably bought it in some ski shop, but it was way too big. Would'a fit the guy better, if you ask me." Emily stared in horror. "So, ummm, what was 'he' wearing?" she asked in a dull stage whisper. "Oh, the usual Eddie Bauer, I'm sure. Dark blue twill pants, a real nice gray polartec pullover, a ski vest that matched her parka and boots. No socks, of course." "No, I think we found those on _her_ feet," a second nurse chimed in. "Unless she likes to wear men's size 13 socks as a rule." "Hey, some chicks are kinky that way. 'Course, most of them wear shoes to hide it," a orderly leered and the room chuckled. The first nurse finally turned her attention fully to Emily. "It's this way, Lieutenant. She was probably buck naked at one point, as far as we can tell. She has some substance all over her torso--it was sticking to the inside of the coat and pants. Viscous stuff, but no smell. Like Vaseline, but I don't think that was it. Anyway, we scrubbed it of her. I figure he gave her the better part of his protective gear. Of course, that leaves the question of how in the hell she got out in the middle of Wilkes Land in the first place, since she sure didn't come through McMurdo looking like Lady Godiva!" "Russian experiment in cold weather survival?" the orderly again joined the discussion. All eyes turned and stared at him with varying degrees of amusement and disregard. "Well, it was a guess," he defended himself. "A lousy one at that," Emily informed him. "They're American. FBI agents, as a matter of fact." "You're kidding!" nurse number two exclaimed. "Damned glad I don't work for Freeh!" That brought another round of chuckles. "Well, their vitals are good, we're going to put them in the tubs and warm 'em up a bit. Then take them down to a room. They'll probably be out for the rest of the night. At least it was some excitement, hey, guys?" said the doctor of the bunch as he finally looked up from his patients and entered into the fray of conversation. Vigorous nods gave him his response. "Lieutenant, if you know the identities of these two, I'd appreciate if you made the call stateside. I've got enough to do around here without the paper work hassle that one will involve." *********** The little pins and needles in her feet woke her up first. She was in that sleepy state when she was certain she had at least five more minutes left before the alarm went off. Or before Mulder called and told her she was due on a plane in 30 minutes. Mulder! She opened her eyes quickly, lifting her shoulders off the bed and searching frantically around her. Her gaze fell on the sleeping patient next to her. The face was turned away from her, but she would have recognized the back of that head anywhere. Her heart started beating again just as the nurse gently pushed her back into her pillow. "Now, now, you're not ready to get up, yet. Just lie back. You've had quite some time lately," the older woman clucked in Scully's ear. Scully never took her eyes off the other bed. "Mulder?" she called out softly, but he didn't move a muscle. "How is he?" she quickly demanded of the nurse. "What are his vitals?" The nurse's eyebrow rose into her salt and pepper hairline. "Well, his 'vitals' are all strong. He's gained nicely on his temp, he's at 97 now. Heart rate strong, blood pressure well within normal ranges. The concussion had us a little worried. You know, a person shouldn't go running around that soon after a craniotomy," she added with a silent 'tsk, tsk' toward the other bed. "Crani- . . . how did he . . .? Oh, never mind," Scully mused, more to herself than the nurse. "Umm, where are we, exactly?" You're at the Navel Air Station in McMurdo. On the Antarctic 'Riveria' as we call it," she chuckled at an old joke. "Lucky thing the Lieutenant sent that chopper out to find you. You had no real protection to speak of and a nasty blizzard blew up right after you were loaded for the ride back here. They probably would have never found you. Of course, you must be made of luck--surviving that quake and right next to the sink hole it caused," the nurse said with amazement and admiration in her eyes. "Quake? Oh, right, the hole," Scully trailed off. She was so tired, she could hardly think. A hole, a giant hole. But there had been something under the ice. Something big, huge, and . . . glowing green? She couldn't organize her thoughts in any logical manner. They always kept coming back to one central theme. They were safe. They were both alive and safe. But something the nurse said picked at her curiosity. "Lieutenant? What Lieutenant?" Scully asked, but her eyes had betrayed her already and had closed of their own weight. "She'll be by to see you soon. Right now, you just rest. You need that more than answers right now." ****** Mulder. You've been asleep for 23 hours. Not that I can say much, since I've been asleep for 21 and a half. The last one and a half have been interminably long, though. Just sitting here. Watching you sleep. I've been reading your monitors. I know that on some level I'm invading your privacy, but damn it, Mulder, since I end up being you primary physician more times than the guy you named on your health insurance forms, I think I have some rights in this area. You're doing well, by the way. They did an ct scan when we came in because of the graze on your temple. No new bleeding, but they could see where the surgery took place. My God, Mulder, who the hell let you out of the hospital so soon after being shot in the head? Again, maybe you better not answer that. There is a mysterious Lieutenant would apparently came to our rescue. I haven't met her yet, but I wonder how she knew we existed, much less where to find us. Who did you tell, Mulder? Well, since I keep peeking at your monitors, I might as well clue you in on mine. I'm fine, Mulder. No ill effects from the bee sting at all. The . . . yellow goop that was covering me when you were stuffing me in your clothes is gone. I asked the nurse if they kept any to analyse. She gave me a look and double checked my temp. Obviously not the curious type. But I would have loved to have a little of it to examine. Maybe some is still in your pants. Don't go there, Starbuck. I'm sorry. You're lying there, unconscious, recently thawed out from another bout of extreme hypothermia, and I'm laying here making dirty jokes at your expense. You deserve it, you know. Every joke, every comment. Wake up and toss a few lewd and lascivious remarks my direction. If we're both lucky, it might start raining sleeping bags, Mulder. But then, who needs sleeping bags when we have two perfectly good hospital beds we can push together. We have so much to talk about when we get out of here. And about 24 hours on planes to do it in. But somehow, I bet we both just sleep. ***************** His hands itched. Horribly. Like the bout of poison ivy when he went to camp the summer after fifth grade. But it was a sound that woke him up. Breathing. No, that wasn't right, either. More like . . . sighing. Like the wind. But in a tone and a voice he was very familiar with. It took all his strength to open his eyes, move his head the fraction of an inch just before the lashes separated so he could see in the direction of the sigh. Scully. Oh God, thank you! Scully. The view was much, much, _much_ better than the last time he'd come around under similar conditions. Her face was a little sunburned. Or snow burned, if he allowed his mind to think about their situation when he'd 'left' the scene. But amazingly enough, she looked damned good, sitting in that hospital bed, staring over in his direction. She must have been thinking, because it took her a moment to realize he was staring back. "Hey," she whispered, her face breaking into a smile bright enough to blind him. "Hey," he croaked, a little disturbed that his voice had been replace with a box of rocks and rusty nails. "There's a glass of water on the tray over to your left. Be careful, you're hands are still very sensitive. You avoided severe frostbite, but your extremities are still susceptible to damage, so go easy." Always the doctor, his partner. After drinking about half the water in the glass, he put it back down and gave her a long look. "How are you?" She smirked a little, then remembered that he was probably very serious in his concern. "I'm fine, Mulder. And stop worrying, because I mean it. The doctors gave me a good going over. No signs of the bee sting or the allergic reaction. No ill effects of my kidnapping. Aside from some skin irritation and hypothermia, I could hop a plane right now and head home. You're the one we've been worried about." Her eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. "How's your checkbook balance," she said, the words dripping with sarcasm. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "The hospital bill," he moaned. "I checked out against advice," he admitted. "But Scully, there were extenuating circumstances!" "Mulder, I owe you my life, _again_ so this is going to sound extremely ungrateful, but hospitals are NOT courts of law! They don't take into account when a person has to run off to the ends of the earth, literally, to save another person. They just see that you didn't get a release from any doctor, that you checked yourself out against medical advice _again_, and they tell the insurance company, who already have you on their shit list and boom! You get stuck with the bill. I hate to tell you, but brain surgery following a bullet wound to the head is not cheap." "I'm screwed," he sighed, closing his eyes and burrowing under the covers. He peeked one eye open to regard her. "You know about the head thing, too? And they call _me_ 'Spooky'." She sat there, thinking about all he'd just been through for her and regretted tearing into him. "Hey, if they hit you with the bill, I'll figure out a way to fight it," she offered. The smile was back, maybe not as bright as when he first looked over at her, but there all the same. "You'd do that for me, Scully?" he asked, half in wonder, half in jest. "I think it's the _least_ I can do, Mulder," she shot back. "Where are we? I mean, I can see we're in another hospital, but where on the planet?" he asked, decided it was a good time to change subjects. "McMurdo, Antarctica. A couple hundred miles from where we were found." "Scully, there was a ship," he spilled out, the wonder of that sight still burned into his mind. "It was enormous and deep gray, almost black. It formed it's own weather system, Scully," he rushed to add. "Which started a blizzard that would have killed us, Mulder," she interjected. "And the crater we were sitting next to caused a seismic effect. McMurdo registers tremors of almost three on the scale." "But you didn't see it," Mulder whispered sadly. "I wish you could have seen it." The look on her face went from clinical to something much softer in a split second. "But I'm glad you did, Mulder. You needed that more than I did." The two shared a look that spoke volumes of mutual support and respect which was broken by a knock on the door. "Skinner's never going to believe this report," Mulder shot over to her as Scully called out a greeting to whoever was entering the room. "Depends on who you have for corroborating testimony, I'd say," answered the young woman in dress blues who stood in the doorway. "Hi, we haven't been formally introduced, but I'm Lt. Emily Baker. I'm the person responsible for your being here. Or at least, on this end of the operation." Gingerly, both agents shook her hand. "You're the Lieutenant the nurses keep talking about?" Scully asked. "Do we know you?" Mulder asked, his eyes narrowing a bit in concern. "Not directly, but someone I hold very dear knows you all too well, I'm afraid. Walter Skinner is my uncle." At their upraised eyes, she continued. "He called me five days ago, probably about the same time you were getting on a plane in DC, Agent Mulder. He told me to keep an eye out for you." Scully turned to her partner with a look of pure amazement. "You told Skinner where you were going?" "I had to Scully. And the guys. They knew because I took Frohike's geodirectional finder," he admitted sheepishly. "You ran off to Alaska three years ago without telling _me_ and you told FOUR people that you were coming to Antarctica?!" Scully demanded, her voice taking an edge of steel. "Scully, this was an entirely different situation!" he yelped in defense. "That time it was a personal vendetta. This time, if something happened to me, I wanted someone able to find you anyway. Geez! I finally arrange for backup, something you are _always_ busting my chops for, and you're giving me grief?" The discussion ground to a halt at the sound of a throat being cleared. It might have been feminine, but it sounded very familiar to both of them. "If you two are finished," Lt. Baker said brusquely. "Your AD would like an update. I've told him what I know, but the rest is up to you. It sounds like it's going to be a real work of art, and I really hate to miss it, but I have other duties to attend to right now." "Umm, thank you, Lieutenant. We owe you our lives," Scully held out her hand to shake Emily's. "Don't give it a second thought, Agent Scully. Most excitement we've had down here in months. And besides, Uncle Walter would miss you two, I can tell. You keep him on his toes." She smiled and shook Mulder's hand, then left the room. "Well, we're back to this. What are we going to tell Skinner?" "The truth, like always," Mulder answered. "Scully, this is proof if there ever was any. And we still have the little bastard who stung you in the hallway. Frohike has it under lock and key at the office." "We have the bee?" she asked excitedly. "We can analyze any residue, we can examine it's genetic make up, we can . . ." "Do all of that after a phone call. We really do need to talk to Skinner. And after that, I'm taking a nap," he told her in no uncertain terms. "I like that idea. A nap, to prepare us for the trip home." She sounded almost wistful as she said the word again, just under her voice. "home." "Yeah, now, if we just knew whether we have jobs when we get back," he muttered. "We will, Mulder. Or we'll figure something out. But one thing is certain. After that time on that ice field . . . I am NOT going to Salt Lake City without you. No way, no how." the end Vickie "If you listen closely, you can hear all the Star Trek fans falling off their perch on the top of the 'nerd food chain'." 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