Disturbing the Universe
By Kelly Keil
 
 
EMAIL:  klkeil@ameritech.net
 
WEBSITE:  http://grapefruithead.com/kellyfic
 
FEEDBACK: Is welcome and much appreciated.
 
CLASSIFICATION: S, MSR
 
RATING: R (language, generalized naughtiness)
 
SPOILERS: US5 and FTF
 
DISTRIBUTION:  You want it, you can have it, but please link it to my website.
 
DISCLAIMER:  Neither Mulder nor Scully belong to me.  I'm just using them 
shamelessly for my own fun.  In reality they belong to Fox, 1013, and Chris 
Carter.
 
SUMMARY:  A possible scenario for what could have happened in all that snow and 
ice during the movie.
 
AUTHOR’S NOTES: I was watching my brand new copy of FTF on DVD and I was 
inspired to write this. I know I'm not covering new ground here, folks, but I 
just had to add my own two cents, for what they're worth.  Thanks to Alicia K. 
for beta-reading.  She is a real trooper to put up with me.
 
 
 
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, T. S. Eliot
 
  
Yet another of those great moments of irony in my life has just occurred.  A 
spaceship--a goddamned UFO--has just flown over my head and I could not care 
less.  I should be filled with wonder and awe.  At the very least I should've 
brought a camera.   But no, I am not a planner, nor ever was.  Someone would've 
just stolen it later anyway.  They always do.  Besides, there are a great many 
other things that I should've brought on this little trek.  
 
Extra gas for the Snowcat, for instance.  That would've been nice.  
 
And boots for Scully.  I really regret the boots.  But let's face it--I can 
layer my clothing, but I only have one pair of feet.  Besides, my boots would be 
way too big for her anyway.
 
Exhausted, I fall back onto the ice and snow.  We're in a precarious place, my 
feet practically dangling over into the jagged abyss.  But who cares?  
Personally, I don't give a shit.  I am alive.  More importantly, SHE is alive.  
That's all that matters.  The rest of the world can just take a flying fuck.  
 
Amazingly, she gathers me into her arms.  To comfort me?  To reassure herself?  
For simple body warmth?  I don't know, and don't are to know the answer to this 
either.  I simply let myself be.   I am, and she is, and we are.  Nothing more.
 
 
"Mulder, damn you, wake up!"  
 
I hear her voice, far away, as if from the other end of a tunnel.  Then reality 
comes rushing in and I am suddenly, immediately awake.
 
"Shit.  We've got to get out of here.  How long have I been out of it?"
 
"Not long," she responds.  She has ice crystals on her eyelashes and her nose is 
red.  She looks, as always, enchanting.  Like the "Ice Queen" she's been 
unfairly dubbed.  Scully also looks like she's on the verge of frostbite.  "I 
let you rest for a little bit.  Mostly because I was too tired to move myself.  
The danger of hypothermia is outweighing my exhaustion, however, so I think we'd 
better get our butts in gear and get to some shelter."  
 
"There should be a Snowcat around here somewhere."  I squint, then point.  "That 
way, I'm pretty sure."
 
Scully struggles to her feet and stands there, barely, wobbling gently.  I sigh. 
 Exhausted as I am, at least I wasn't used as a guinea pig and nearly killed by 
an alien virus.   Scooping Scully up into my arms, I start trucking in what I 
hope is the general direction of the Snowcat.  I brace myself for some form of 
protest from Scully, even if it's token.  All I get from Scully, though, is 
silence.  I think she's asleep, lucky dog.  God, I hope I don't drop her.
 
 
Somehow we make it to the Snowcat without me dropping my partner on her ass.  It 
is a near thing, though.  She may be small and thin but I am going on nearly 
three days without any sleep at all, nightmare riddled or otherwise, and barely 
anything to eat.  Even iron G-men like me have our limits.  I dump her in the 
passenger seat then clomp around the 'cat and get in on the driver's side.    
Finally seated and out of the wind,  I slump gratefully, letting the tension 
that has sustained me flow out of my body.
 
What I really want to do is fall asleep for about three weeks, but I force my 
eyes open to look at my partner.  Scully is already asleep, I think, or close to 
it.  I am worried that she will go into shock.  I try never to underestimate 
her, but let's be realistic here.  Saying that the last few days have been hard 
on her is something of an understatement.  So I ignore my own aching body and 
instead tend to Scully.  Rooting in the back of the 'cat I locate the extra 
clothes and blankets that were provided with the vehicle.  Actually, the back is 
stuffed with all kinds of survival gear.  We may yet live through this.  Too bad 
no one thought to throw in some gas, too.
 
I dress Scully in half of the extra layers, reserving the other half for myself. 
 She swims in the clothing, but that doesn't matter. Loose layers are supposed 
to trap more heat.  Then I tuck one of the blankets around her and raise her 
feet into my lap.  It is her feet that I am most worried about.  Her face, also, 
but there is less I can do about that.
 
Scully's feet are icy cold and wet so I begin to massage life back into her numb 
toes.  She moans, probably with the pain of her feet reawakening, but I am 
ashamedly turned on.  
 
Dentists.  The IRS.  Flukemen.  Traffic on the Beltway.  Cancer Man.  Tooms.  
Paperwork.  
 
Inhale.
 
Exhale.
 
Okay.  I feel much more in control now.  This is Scully's frostbitten foot.  She 
is moaning with pain, not pleasure.    I can do this.
 
The first foot is now toasty, at least comparatively so, and I encase it in a 
warm sock absconded from the cache of emergency clothing.  Then I move onto the 
other foot.  She moans again.  I really wish she wouldn't do that.
 
"Scully," I say, struggling for equilibrium,  "I'm sorry that this hurts, but 
you know better than I do what will happen if I don't return the circulation to 
your feet."
 
She looks at me oddly, but simply mutters a throaty "I'm fine, Mulder."
 
She does not moan again.  I hope that is a good sign.
 
 
There is one sleeping bag in the back of the Snowcat.  One!  Oh well.  At least 
one of us will be warm. I enfold a sleepy Scully into the sleeping bag with a 
minimum of fuss and muss.  Then I root some more.  Maybe there is some food back 
here.
 
Army rations.  I suppose that qualifies.  At least there is drinking water, even 
if it is a little slushy with ice.  I take a swig, grateful that Scully is 
asleep.  Somehow I think that she would be the type to yell at a guy for 
drinking straight from the carton.  Or in this case, jug.  
 
Guiltily, I glance Scully's way but she is fast asleep.  Good.
 
I continue my search and hit the mother lode: a two-way radio.  Thank you, God!  
I try each frequency, frantically hoping for a response, or hell, even a 
baseball game.  Finally I get one.  A response, not a baseball game.  And, 
miracle of miracles, the right one.
 
"US research base 5.  Please identify yourself."
 
"This is Special Agent Fox Mulder with the FBI.  The Snowcat I borrowed from you 
has run out of gas and I'm stranded out here."  I hesitate to mention Scully.  
She'll be hard enough to explain in person.  Still, the research bases must have 
known something about what was going on out here.  I doubt they will ask too 
many questions.  Asking too many questions can be dangerous.  Take it from a man 
who knows.
 
"Roger that.  You must've gone further than we authorized you to go.  You were 
warned that the coordinates you wished to reach were beyond the capability of 
'cat's range."
 
Nag, nag, nag.  "Point taken.  Could we be rescued, please?"
 
"We?  Identify your passenger."
 
Oops.  I had neglected to tell the research team exactly why I had needed to get 
to my set of coordinates.  At the time it seemed too hard to explain that my 
partner was being held by an alien life form at the behest of shadowy government 
figures.  Then again, most of my life is hard to explain.  I like to think that 
I've become enigmatic as a result.  It's much more flattering than blithering 
idiot.  "I picked up a hitchhiker.  Special Agent Dana Scully."  As an 
afterthought, "My partner."
 
There is silence on the other end.  Hmm.  This could be bad for the home team.  
 
"Affirmed," comes the response.  Affirmed? What the hell is that supposed to 
mean?  "We'll dispatch a helicopter team for you as soon as the weather 
permits."
 
"What?"  I ask.  Here it is cloudy but very still.  
        
"A windstorm is in our area.  At your current coordinates, it'll likely by-pass 
you but we'll keep monitoring the storm.  In the meantime, we can't send off a 
helicopter in this weather.  It'd be suicide."
 
I sigh.  It looks like we're going to have to eat those army rations after all.  

 
"Thanks.  Do you have any idea how long it'll be before you can come get us?"
 
"I would estimate forty-eight to seventy-two hours based on the satellite 
information we're receiving.  I'll keep you posted."
 
Hmm. That'll give whomever escaped from the base at the alien craft site plenty 
of time to skeddadle.  Convenient.  Or am I too cynical?  Nah.
 
"Sure.  No problem."
 
"Keep your radio turned on so I can contact you.  The batteries should last for 
about a week, as well as the food and water.  We'll get you out of there as soon 
as we can.  Over."
 
He's gone, and we're all alone once more.  
 
I had thought to stay awake while Scully sleeps but I don't think this will be 
feasible.  My eyes are already closing.  I gather the blankets that Scully's not 
using and wrap myself in them.  I'm as warm as I'm going to get.  It'll have to 
do.  Effortlessly, I slip into unconsciousness.
 
 
"Mulder, wake up."
 
No.  Don't wanna.  Can't make me.
 
"Wake up!"
 
Didn't you hear me the first time?  Go away.
 
"Please, wake up.  Please."
 
Oh, all right.  If I must.
 
Blearily, I open my eyes to see Scully's face peering into mine.  Her expression 
is one of worry, concern, and relief.  
 
"Thank God.  I was afraid that I wasn't going to be able to wake you up.  You 
were sleeping too deeply.  I was worried that you'd succumbed to hypothermia and 
had gone into a coma."
 
"Nope, still here, bigger'n life and twice as ugly," I say.  "Not to mention 
three times as stupid.  Trust me to rush after you without thinking about how 
I'd get us home."  
 
Scully sighs. "I don't suppose you'd care to tell me what the hell is going on?"
 
Briefly, I relate to her our imminent rescue. She exhales gratefully.
 
"Say, Mulder, is there anything to eat in this hunk of junk?"
 
"Define food."
 
We eat one army ration apiece.  The food's awful but is saved from being truly 
disgusting by our extreme appetites and the addition to each ration of a healthy 
sized Hershey bar.  Both of us are so hungry that I think we'd eat dog food if 
it was the only thing available.  The rations are better than dog food, but only 
just.  Both of us save the chocolate for last, and savor each bite.
 
We rest after eating in companionable silence, lost in our own thoughts.  Scully 
sits, nestled in her sleeping bag cocoon, drowsing but not asleep.  I am, as 
always, awed by her beauty, her poise, her strength.  There she sits, all 
bundled up in ill fitting clothing and a down sleeping bag, looking for all the 
world like a queen after a long, hard day of reigning--tired, bored, but not 
down for the count. I understand a little of that which drives her ever onward 
relentlessly, despite obstacles put in her path.  I have my own demons that 
drive me, and they're old companions.  Still, I envy Scully's composure.  She's 
able to endlessly endure without complaint.  That I don't understand, and can 
only admire the trait, while simultaneously cursing  her seeming inability to 
accept help or aid from anyone.  My wonderful, frustrating, stoic Scully.  I 
wish I could penetrate her defenses and breach the walls she's erected to 
protect herself.  Of course, that would mean letting my own walls down.  Fat 
chance of that happening.   
        
I'm caught in a prison of my own making.  I've become my quest, burning away all 
aspects of myself and my life that do not conform to the ideals of The Search 
for the Truth.  I'm plagued with nightmares that are horrible beyond belief.  
I'm alone, by choice and by nature, with the specters of my own making:  
Samantha, my father, Melissa, Kristen, Emily, and other diverse spooks to 
numerous to mention.  I don't think I could realistically face living with the 
ghost of Scully as well.  She's the anchor that keeps me from drifting into 
insanity.  And just by knowing me she's in constant danger from which I am 
incapable of sheltering her, even if she'd let me.  The line, "I should have 
been a pair of claws scuttling across the floors of silent seas" seems apt.   
 
"Mulder, what are you thinking?"
 
My head snaps up.  "Nothing."
 
Scully nods.  "I'm sure.  Nothing's the reason why you look like someone just 
ran over your dog."
        
"No, really, I..."
 
"Shush.  Listen, Mulder.  I think it's your turn in the bag."
 
"But..."
 
"No, I insist."  She unzips the bag and gets out of it.  "The way I look at it, 
Mulder, either you get in the bag and give me those blankets, or we both sit 
here and freeze.  Choose."
 
She can be very stubborn when she wants to be.  Acquiescing, I get into the 
sleeping bag and zip it up all the way.  It's still warm and smells like her.  
Surely I have died and gone to heaven.  
 
"Scully....are you sure you want to do this?  I was okay with just the 
blankets."  But I'm ecstatic with the sleeping bag.
 
"No.  I'll be fine, Mulder.  Besides, it'll be my turn again later."
 
Grateful to her, I settle into sleep again, vaguely aware that Scully's still 
watching me.  For the first time in a long while I sleep and dream pleasant 
dreams.
 
 
I wake to hear coughing.  Scully?  I open my eyes and find her convulsed in her 
seat, bent double and coughing so hard I'm surprised she has not hacked up a 
lung.  She sounds like a seal barking.
 
"Scully!  What's up?  Are you okay?"
 
She motions me away with her hand and leans back in her seat, fighting for 
breath.  She's breathing shallowly, wheezing painfully.  When she breathes, I 
can practically hear her gurgle.  I struggle to unzip the sleeping bag.  When 
I'm free I feel her forehead for fever.  I am convinced she must have gotten 
pneumonia somehow and I have never been more scared in my life.  Her brow is 
blessedly cool, however.  
 
"Scully, what's the matter?"
 
She sighs, a horrible wet sound.  "It's bronchitis, Mulder.  I've had it since I 
was a kid.  It'll stay away for years at a time and then flare up again when 
something triggers it.  It's just the cold.  It'll get better when I warm up."  
She shrugs.  "I haven't had an attack in a long time.  I'd forgotten what a pain 
in the ass it is."
 
I shove the sleeping bag her way.  Gratefully she snuggles down into it.  I look 
at the sky.  It seems the radio attendant at research base 5 was misinformed.  
Outside the 'cat one hell of a storm is brewing.  The clouds look ugly and the 
wind's howling fiercely.  I wonder why he has not radioed us.  Just under the 
shrieking of the wind I can hear the whistle of Scully's breathing.  Damn.  This 
has got to be the worst week ever.
 
"I can radio the base.  Maybe they can..."
 
Scully shakes her head and just points out the windshield.  
 
"I know but..."
 
"I'll be fine, Mulder.  Just fine."
 
Maybe, but will I be fine?  If I've got to hear her whistling while she breathes 
all night I'll go insane.
 
"Stop worrying, Mulder.  You know, for such a hot shot FBI agent, you can sure 
be an old mother hen."
 
"It must be the Jewish mother in me.  I can't help it."  Suddenly mimicking my 
Aunt Rachel, I sigh loudly.  "Oh, look at you!  So thin...too thin!  You don't 
eat enough...here...eat, eat!"  I wave half a Hershey bar under her nose and 
Scully grabs it and proceeds to munch it hungrily.  I guess even bronchitis 
doesn't dim the appeal of chocolate to Scully.  "It does my heart good to see 
you eat."  I lean over to give her cheek a matronly pat.  "Such a pretty face.  
Such a pretty girl!"
 
Scully gives me a wet chuckle and continues to wolf her chocolate bar.
 
"Are you sure there isn't something I can do for you, Scully?"
 
"You can keep feeding me chocolate."
 
"Whatever it takes."  Suddenly unable to help myself, I stroke her hair.  It's 
stiff from the alien goo that dried on it and from not being washed in a few 
days.  This doesn't faze me.  Nothing's softer than Scully's hair, even stiff 
with alien goo.  Of course, I'm probably not an impartial judge.  "You had me 
very worried, Scully.  What would I do without you?"
 
"You'd go on, as you always have.  To find Samantha.  You'd go on for her."  
Scully gives me a brave smile from the depths of the sleeping bag.  She leans 
her head against my hand and smiles sadly.  "If anything ever happens to me, 
Mulder, you have to go on.  Otherwise they win, and every sacrifice we've made 
will mean jack shit.  Besides, Mulder, with a guardian angel like you, nothing 
will ever happen to me."  The words are very sweet, but spoken with a slight 
grimace.  Maybe part of Scully resents having her butt saved by yours truly, 
although damned if I know why.
 
I push back the fold of the bag and peer into her large, china-blue eyes.  They 
seem infinitely sad to me, but determined and resolute.  I realize all that she 
has lost and know that much of it can be lain at my doorstep.  Her sister 
Melissa's death.  Her abduction.  Her cancer.  Her infertility.  Hell, her lack 
of a social life.  Why does she stay?  What compels her? I open my mouth and the 
words come out of their own volition. 
 
"Why do you stay with me?"
 
"Well, Mulder, if I remember correctly, I tried to leave you."  She smiles and 
reaches to grab my hand and hold it.  "You wouldn't let me."
 
I shake my head.  "No, Scully.  I've thought about this.  Hell, I've had lots of 
time to think in the last few days.  Mostly about you.   What a nightmare my 
life would become without you.   I've also thought about that last day.  What 
you said,  what I said, what we..."  I frown.  Don't go there, Mulder.  Not yet. 
 "More than anything else, I thought about you leaving the Bureau.  Leaving me.  
It hurt.  It hurt like hell.  But a part of me understood.  It was never your 
quest to begin with.  And I still can't figure that part out.  One thing I do 
know, though.  You never intended to leave."
 
Her eyes widen and I know that I've hit the nail on the head.  "How...?" she 
asks.
 
"You'd have never come and seen me if you really intended to leave me.  Nothing 
could keep me from following you if you left.  I would go halfway around the 
world if I had to.  The only way to try and ditch me would be to completely pull 
up stakes, leave no forwarding address, and probably join the witness relocation 
program.  And even then I wouldn't give up until I found you."
 
"That's kinda creepy, Mulder.  Flattering, but creepy."
 
"Yeah, well, that's why they call me 'Spooky'.  But it doesn't answer my 
question.  Why do you stay?"
 
"Fear of being hunted down like a dog?"
 
I snort  "Hardly."
 
"Then what do you want me to say?"
 
"The truth, Scully.  All I ever want is the truth."
 
I see many emotions battling for supremacy on her face.  Anger, hurt, 
uncertainty, hope, doubt, fear, and maybe longing.   Finally she says, "Well, 
Mulder, if I am your other half--the other part that makes you a whole person, 
then what do you think that makes you in relation to me?"  She turns her head 
and stares out the passenger side window into the swirling wind.
 
I am stunned by her admission.  I can almost see the dust settle as one of 
Scully's walls--an outer one to be sure, but still an honest to God wall--comes 
tumbling down.  I can't believe that Scully has more or less admitted to me that 
I am a necessary part of her life.  That she, in effect, might need me.  I don't 
know what to say.  I'd like to give this some thought but Scully doesn't give me 
a chance.
 
"That said," she says, turning away from the window to face me again.  "Why 
don't you bring your half of our body over here and warm me up?  We're stuck 
here together, you might as well be useful."
 
I gape at her.  I can't even manage a smart-ass remark.  
 
"Don't look at me like that," she snaps.  "It's a perfectly valid medical fact 
that we will be warmer in contact with each other.  Besides, this sleeping bag 
is huge.  We can both fit."
 
"'A perfectly valid medical fact'," I parrot sarcastically and attempt the 
patented Scully eyebrow lift.  Not my wittiest remark, I know, but Scully has 
caught me off guard and I'm at a loss for anything better to say.
 
I'm beginning to sweat.  I didn't know that it was even possible to sweat in sub 
zero temperatures.  Maybe I should write up this phenomenon for the New England 
Journal of Medicine.  On second thought, maybe not.  I'd hate to horn in on 
Scully's territory.  She might get it in her head to start chasing after ghosts 
and little gray men without me.  We can't have that, can we?
 
"Um, sure, Scully.  You're the doctor."  I make no move toward her whatsoever.  
For all intents and purposes, I might as well have been turned to stone.
 
"Oh, come on, Mulder.  I won't bite.  Not even if you ask nicely.  Stop being 
such a stick in the mud."
 
A stick in the mud?  Moi?  Now that's the pot calling the kettle black. What the 
hell is Scully up to?  I wish I could think clearly.  Unfortunately the blood in 
my body has traveled from my head to points south.  Which probably means that 
I'm going to end up in the sleeping bag even if I'm pretty sure that this is not 
a good idea.  
 
Somehow, I find myself being molded by Scully, like I am some great, big lump of 
modeling clay, into position in the sleeping bag.  Then Scully crawls onto my 
lap, facing me, her knees on either side of my thighs.  She reaches down to zip 
up the bag, lays her head against my chest, and seems about as content as a pig 
in mud.
 
Oh my God.  
 
I really hope she can't feel my erection through the layers of clothing. This is 
torture.  Fucking torture.  How the hell did I let myself get into this 
position?  Please, Scully, just a little to the left.  Oh yes.  There is a God.
 
Little by little I let the tension out of my body, unclenching one muscle group 
at a time.  I'm certainly not going to get any sleep but if I don't relax I'll 
be one massive cramp in a few hours.  
 
I notice Scully is snuffling softly.  I think she's fallen asleep.  She's 
drooling on my chest, completely unconcerned about my current state of sexual 
frustration.  This is probably revenge for all those times I've woken her up in 
the middle of the night.  I most likely deserve this, although that's cold 
comfort right now.
 
Knowing I'm not going to sleep, I lay my cheek against her hair and close my 
eyes just for a few seconds.  I just want to savor this moment while I can.
 
 
I awaken with a start when Scully's head knocks hard on my chin.
 
"Ow, dammit!  Scully, if I haven't mentioned it before, you've got one hell of a 
hard little head."    I guess I fell asleep after all.  Mr. Happy, on the other 
hand, is still raring to go.  I tell myself it's just morning wood but my penis 
is cheerfully denying the allegations, stating to any organ system that will 
listen that he wants to fuck something right now.
 
Down boy!
 
Scully yawns hugely.  I notice that she's breathing much easier.  "Well, 
Mulder," she says. "If I haven't mentioned it before, you reek.  When is the 
last time you had a bath?"
 
"Probably about the same time you had your last shower," I reply, with a pointed 
sniff at her neck.
 
Which is a mistake.  Scully smells way better than she has any right to smell.  
Mr. Happy surges in response to this.  I may be crazy but I swear that Scully 
shifts her hips provocatively in response.  Please, Scully, stop it.  Or don't 
ever stop.  I just can't decide.  
 
"Well, being abducted by aliens does put a damper on regular hygiene."  Scully 
sounds rather chipper.  Downright happy, in fact.  She's never happy in the 
morning.  Not until she's consumed massive amounts of caffeine.  Hell, not even 
then.
        
"Well, if my odor offends, I guess I can stop being your personal hot water 
bottle."
 
"Not on your life, G-man.  This is the warmest I've felt in ages.  I am a little 
stiff, though."  She pauses and blushes hotly.  "And I have to use the 
facilities."
 
I laugh.  "What facilities?"  Although, now that she has brought it up, I have 
to "use the facilities" also.
 
"Something tells me that is going to be awkward," she muses out loud. 
 
"Well, for you, maybe.  For me it's just gonna be chilly."  I grin at her, 
knowing that I am egging her on and not able to help myself.  It is just too 
much fun to get Scully's goat.  Maybe if she weren't so reserved I wouldn't be 
so tempted to make her lose her temper.  That, and she's so damn cute when she 
is angry.  I just can't help myself.  I could just lean forward and kiss her, 
she's so cute.  I won't, but I could.
 
"You know, Mulder?" she asks, still fairly cheerful.  Damn.  I must be losing my 
touch.  Maybe I should have kissed her.  I've got to try harder next time.  
Although I think I kind of like the cheerful Scully better than the scowling 
Scully.  So maybe I should just try to play it cool for once.  
 
"What?"  I ask warily.
 
"There are times that I do wish I was a man."
 
"Well if you were a man, our current..." I search for a word.
 
"Position?"  Scully supplies helpfully.  She squirms a little as if to 
illustrate her point.  That's okay, Scully.  I understood you the first time, 
but thanks for the lap dance anyway.
 
"Thanks.  Yeah, our current position would be hard to explain."  
 
"Well, Mulder, there have been rumors," says Scully with a grin. "You would be 
surprised what a girl hears about her partner when she's in a stall in the FBI 
bathroom and no one knows she's there.  Quite a few women at the Bureau wonder 
how such a good-looking guy could possibly be single unless he's...well, you 
know.  Not interested in women."
 
I growl at Scully.  "I. Am. Not. Gay."  What the hell is she trying to do to me? 
 
 
Scully just grins at me. "I know that.  I've seen some of your illicit video 
collection hidden away in that bottom drawer of you desk--"
 
"Those aren't mine.  They're...um...evidence."
 
"Yeah, right.  Besides, there's been Phoebe, and Diana..."
 
"Scully..."
 
"Look, Mulder, it's pretty obvious to me that you and Diana Fowley have shared 
more in the past beyond the X-files.  I saw how she looked at you."  Scully 
takes a deep breath.  A deep, mostly clear breath, I am happy to hear.  "I 
noticed how you looked at her.  You two have a shared past.  Not that it's my 
business," she continues.  She leaves the sentence hanging, obviously waiting 
for me to jump in and spill my guts.
 
Anxious to change the subject, I unzip the sleeping bag.  "As warm and toasty as 
I am, Scully, I've got to get outside.  Now."
 
"Coward."  Laughing, she gets off of my lap and stretches.  Now that is a sight. 
 I don't even try to look away.  She points out the window.  "Look, Mulder.  
It's clear again.  Maybe they'll come get us soon."
 
"Hopefully," I reply.  Before I do something I regret.
 
 
As I urinate on the Snowcat's front tire, I wonder if Scully would be impressed 
if I could write her name in the snow.
 
Probably not.
 
Oh well, another hidden talent gone to waste.
 
Finished, I do some much needed stretching.  It feels like I have cramps in 
places where I didn't even know I had muscles.  I'd love to soak in a hot tub 
for about a week.  I get back into the 'cat, hoping that one day my back and 
legs will forgive this torture.  Warily, I eye the sleeping bag.   I hope Scully 
does not expect me to get back into that thing.  While being that close to 
Scully was admittedly enjoyable, it's also the most dangerous place I've ever 
been.  I think that retiring to our respective corners for a while would be a 
good idea. Besides, I would like a chance to stretch my legs. I hand Scully my 
boots and she puts them on then hops outside.  
 
It's not very long before Scully joins me.  I notice that she also looks at the 
bag askance.  Nevertheless, her short time in the cold has brought her 
bronchitis back with a vengeance.  She has another coughing fit, which leaves me 
as drained as her, I think.  For my sake as well as her own I gesture towards 
the sleeping bag with my head.  "Suit up, kiddo."
 
Scully looks mutinous.  Probably the "kiddo" remark.  I should learn to keep my 
big mouth under control.  Like that's ever going to happen.
 
"Don't tell me what to do, Fox."
 
Ouch.  Okay, point taken.  "Sorry, Scully.  But I meant it.  Get in the bag."  
She still looks mutinous, but less so.  "Listen, Scully.  If you're good, I'll 
tell you a story."  A story?  What the hell am I getting myself into now?
 
Now she looks dubious.  "What kind of story?  If it involves aliens, gray, 
green, or otherwise, I'm not interested."  She does get in the sleeping bag 
though.  She may be contrary (a trait she would no doubt deny), but she is not 
stupid.
 
"What kind of story do you want?"
 
"Tell me something about your life before the X-files.  You know, Mulder, I've 
known you for over five years but I know next to nothing about your past beyond 
Samantha's disappearance.  Like when you were at Oxford.  What was it like in 
England?"
 
"Cold and rainy."
 
"Very funny.  Come on.  I want some juicy details."
 
"What about you?"
 
"What about me?"
 
"Don't I get some juicy details from you in return?"
 
"We'll see, Mulder.  I thought the deal was that I got a story in return for 
getting into this smelly sleeping bag.  Don't tell me you've led me on with 
false promises.  Besides, what else have you got on your agenda?  It's not like 
there's much else we could do but talk."
 
I can think of a few things we could do.  Oh well.
 
"Sorry.  Next time I rescue you I will not only remember to bring extra gas and 
boots for you, I'll also bring travel games and a TV."
 
"Nah," she says.  "Out here we would get terrible reception.  Besides, if you 
had brought extra gas we wouldn't even need the TV.  Now give me my story, and 
make it good."
        
I am not sure what to tell Scully.  My past is not something I try to dwell on 
too much.  There is only so much self-flagellation that even a man like me can 
take.  But this important to Scully, as is evident from her half-eager, 
half-doubtful expression.  Dana Scully is probably the only person I can think 
of for whom I would bare my soul.  Still, I am not sure I want to do this.  
Standing naked in front of someone, even someone you trust your life with, is 
uncomfortable at best.  I suppose the question is really whether I trust more 
than my life with Scully.  Do I trust her with my soul?  I don't suppose I have 
much choice about that at this point.  Scully has the power to crush me under 
the soles those suede pumps I love so much. But best not to dwell on thoughts of 
being squished.  Give her what she wants, or thinks she wants, and get on with 
my sad excuse for a life.
 
"Did you know that I met Phoebe at a cricket match?"
 
"Nope."  She pushes a strand of her hair behind her ear and continues, "But 
then, you haven't told me much of anything about Phoebe."
 
"I'm trying to now.  Do you want to hear this or not?"
 
"Sorry.  Go on, go on."
 
"Do you know anything about cricket?"
 
Scully wrinkles her nose.  "Not much.  As far as I can tell it's some sort of 
weird combination of baseball and croquet."
 
"Close enough, I guess.  Except for the addition of great heaping helpings of 
tedium.  Boring as in doing your taxes is preferable.  Worse than a senate 
subcommittee meeting..."
 
"Okay, Mulder.  I get the point.  Quit stalling."
 
"Well, let's just say you get to know the person sitting next to you really well 
before the game is over.  Guess who was sitting next to me."
 
"Let me guess...Phoebe?"
 
"Bingo.  Phoebe completely bowled me over.  She was beautiful, intelligent, and 
actually interested in what I had to say.  She was captivating."
 
"I'll bet," says Scully.  She sounds grumpy.
 
"You were the one who wanted to hear this," I remind her.
 
"Oh, go on, Mulder.  Forget I said anything."
 
"Looking back, I now realize that I revealed everything to Phoebe while learning 
virtually nothing about her.  I was flattered by her interest, her questions.  
We did everything together, went everywhere together.  I thought she loved me.  
Who knows?  Maybe she did, in as much as she was able to love anything but 
herself."
 
"Poor Mulder.  Did you love her?"  
 
"I was infatuated with her.  I certainly thought I was in love with her.  I 
wanted to be with her forever.  I think I was just obsessed with her.  I 
desperately wanted love from someone.  Anyone.  My father was always distant.  
As for my mother...well, she made it pretty plain that Samantha had been her 
favorite and that I was an inferior substitute.  I think, Scully, that she 
wishes it had been me...that she can't look at me without thinking that it 
should have been me that was taken.  When I met Phoebe I thought that she would 
save me."
 
"Save you from what?  Loneliness?"
 
"Nah."  I smile at her and shake my head.  "Loneliness doesn't bother me.  I've 
gotten used to it.  I was certainly used to it by the time I met Phoebe.  Nope.  
I was just hoping she'd make the nightmares go away."
 
"Oh, Mulder."  There's a world of emotion in those two words that I do not want 
to examine.  One demon at a time, thank you.
 
"Instead, Phoebe became a nightmare of her own.  A waking nightmare, which is 
worse, because I didn't know it was going on.  I was miserable all the time and 
had no idea she was the cause.  I was such an idiot!  I thought she would make 
everything better and each time I turned to her for solace she poured salt in my 
wounds.  Then she would expect me to thank her for the salt.  And the process 
would repeat itself, ad infinitum, as far as she was concerned.  
 
"It started out small.  Little remarks here and there that were mostly innocuous 
but calculated to hurt me.  Like I was too thin.  And she had heard fellow 
students discussing me but that she had stuck up for me.  She would remark that 
it was such a pity that I received such little mail from home. Stuff like that.  
But she wasn't like that all time.  She could be a lot of fun.  We had some very 
good times.  But I think that was just part of her carrot-and-stick routine.
 
"Eventually things escalated.  I caught her with another man.  One of my 
professors.  She told me that I drove her to it.  That my obsessive jealousy was 
smothering her.  So I turned a blind eye and she promised never to do it again.  
But she did.  Over and over.  And it was always someone I knew.  My teachers, my 
friends, my classmates.  And there were the things she made me do and the things 
she did to me.  As far as I can tell, she was trying to see how much more she 
could hurt me each time and still make me want her.  It was one big game to her. 
 I was her favorite toy."
 
I laugh, and the sound is harsh even to my ears.  "I once threatened to kill 
myself.  She just laughed at me and told me that I didn't have the guts.  Then 
she fucked my brains out, reminded me that no one but her could ever love me, 
could even tolerate me, and sent me on my merry way.  I thought about it the 
whole way home."
 
"What?  Killing yourself?  I've a hard time believing you would kill yourself, 
Mulder."
 
I smile at Scully.  A mean, sardonic smile.  "What, Scully, not man enough?"
 
She looks about to say something, then closes her mouth and sighs.  "No, Mulder. 
 I can see you sacrificing yourself for someone else, but not taking your own 
life.  Mostly because you're not a quitter.  I'm not sure the words 'give up' 
are even in your vocabulary."
 
I let out a breath that I wasn't even aware I was holding.  I knew that was what 
Scully would say. Knew it deep down on a molecular level.  Still, I had to hear 
her say it.  Had to hear it like I have to breathe.
 
Taking in a deep breath I go on.  "As I'm still here, obviously I didn't go 
through with it.  I went home and found that I had been accepted at the FBI 
academy.  Suddenly, I had a lifeline away from Phoebe.  I finished up my degree, 
seeing Phoebe as little as she would let me get away with.  I was weaning 
myself, you see.  When it was time to go, I got on a plane and never said 
good-bye.  I couldn't. I was half afraid that she would find a way to make me 
stay with her and half afraid that she would dismiss me out of hand without so 
much as a backward glance.  I'm not sure which one would have been harder to 
take.  I didn't see her again until she came to me with that case about the 
burnings."
 
Scully makes a face.  "I remember."  She is silent for a few moments, then asks, 
"Did you sleep with her, Mulder?  When she came here.  I know it's not my 
business, but..."
 
I can't believe that I am telling this to Scully but somehow I can't seem to 
shut up.  "Yes, I did.  Which just goes to show you--there's no fool like an old 
fool.  Afterwards, I went into the bathroom and threw up.  Thank God she went 
back to England.  I'm not sure what would have happened if she hadn't left.  I 
sure know how to pick them, don't I?"  
 
"Mulder, you don't have a monopoly on bad relationships.  I mean, how else do 
you explain Ed Jerse?"
        
"I don't know," I reply, thankful that the subject is finally off of me and onto 
another topic. Even if that topic is something of a sore spot.  "How do you 
explain Ed Jerse?  Not to mention the tattoo.  Which, I might add, I am dying to 
see in person."  I leer at her because it is expected but somehow the facial 
expression feels wrong.  What I really want to do is hold her tight and tell her 
that I love her and beg her to never leave me.  My mouth is silent for once, 
however, which is a mercy. 
 
Scully, of course, ignores my remark and my leer, which is not quite a leer.  
She's very good at ignoring such...wait.  Hold the phone.  She's not returning 
my leer with a studiously blank expression or even a frown of annoyance.  She 
is, if I am not delirious with cold (if one can even be delirious with cold) 
leering right back at me.  I blink hard at her to make sure.
 
"Well, if it weren't so cold in here, Mulder, maybe I'd show it to you." she 
says coyly.
 
"Damn," I make myself say.  I'm somewhat stunned, and trying not to show it. 
"It's always something.  Next time you'll say, 'If we weren't knee deep in alien 
slime,' or 'If it weren't for these pesky mutants chasing us,' or  'Drat those 
persistent vampires, I was just about to show Mulder my ass.'  I see how things 
are."
        
She laughs, and I'm suddenly aware of how rare that is.  And what a beautiful 
sound it makes.  She sobers, but with a smile still on her face remarks, "You 
know, Mulder, all you ever had to do to see my tattoo was ask.  Hell, you just 
had me naked at your disposal.  You could've looked then."
 
"I was too busy saving your ass to worry about inspecting it carefully."  What 
does she mean by 'all I had to do was ask'?   Is she deliberately baiting me, or 
am I nuts?  Could be both.
 
"Ah, yes.  My Prince Valiant."  She sounds mocking.
 
"I never asked for a 'thank you'."  But I had, hadn't I?
 
"Thank you."  And this time she sounds less mocking, more sincere.  
 
"Listen, Scully, it's not like you haven't saved my life about a hundred times 
over.  We're partners.  You save my ass, I save yours.  I couldn't let you die, 
not knowing that I could save you.  You would do the same for me."
 
"Yeah, I would.  But not just because you're my partner.   Mulder, I'm not sure 
if I can get this through your thick skull, but I'm going to try anyway.  You've 
got your sister as a goal in this infernal goose chase we're on.  And God knows 
I've got to admire a man who can search nearly twenty-five years for his sister 
without giving up hope.  But I don't have any lofty goal to obtain.  At best all 
I can receive is revenge for what's been done to me, what's been taken from me.  
Why do I keep slogging away at what is quite possibly the most thankless and 
hopelessly insane thing I've ever done?  Well, Mulder, because while that," and 
here she flings out a hand in the general direction of where the alien craft was 
lodged under the ice, "is the stick, you," and here she points at my chest, "are 
the carrot.  So there you go."
 
I am the carrot.  I let this sink in.  I'm not sure I want to be the carrot.  I 
mean, I do, but...
 
"Now wait, Mulder, before you say anything to louse this up.  I know that some 
part of you, probably a big part, is backpedaling like crazy.  I want you to 
tell that part of yourself to take a long jump off a short pier.  I'm sick and 
tired of going through hell with nothing to show for it.  I've tried everything 
I can think of to keep us from this point, but I've run out of options and 
ideas.  I've tried relationships with other men and we've seen where that's 
gotten me.  I've tried celibacy and I'm tired of it.  I just don't see myself as 
a lesbian.  So what's that leave me?  You, that's what.  Now get over here."
 
And with that, she reaches over, grabs a handful of the blankets surrounding me, 
and kisses me.
 
Her lips have barely touched mine when I hear squawking from the radio.
 
"Agents Mulder and Scully.  Do you copy?"
 
"Fuck!" This is from Scully.  I am still speechless.  Yet again.  This has got 
to be some sort of record.
 
"Can I take that as an affirmative?"
 
"Yes," I manage to say.  "We're still here.
 
"A helicopter's been dispatched to get you.  Expect it in approximately twenty 
minutes.  Any questions?"
 
"Nope.  And thanks again."
 
"No problem, Agent Mulder.  Just doing my job.  Out."
 
And the radio is silent once more.  Scully and I look at each other. 
 
Well, actually, I'm looking at Scully and she's glaring at me.
 
"You've got that look in your eyes."
 
"What look?"
 
"That passive-aggressive mulish look you get when you don't want to fight but 
are determined to get your way.  I can read you like a book, Mulder.  So talk to 
me."
 
Talking to Scully now is probably dangerous. And while we're on the subject of 
looks, Scully has that 'I'm going to get my way even if I have to take on the 
devil with my nail file' look in her eyes.  I've never won against that look.  
Kissing Scully in the heat of the moment is one thing.  Dealing with the 
aftermath is another.  If I lean over, as I want to, and kiss Scully back, 
everything will change.  I've always been an all or nothing kind of guy.  There 
is no way that Scully and I could go somewhere, fuck each other until neither 
one of us can walk properly, go home, then go on with our lives as if nothing 
had happened.  At least I couldn't.  
 
"Mulder, what's the problem?  I...if it's me..." she pauses and looks away from 
me, outside her window. "Well, then, I'm sorry for reading too much into those 
scorching looks you send my way."
 
"No, of course it's not you.  It's a lot of other things, though.  For one 
thing, I don't want to burn any bridges in our relationship.  You're my best 
friend.  I can't lose that."
 
"Mulder, I've got a news flash for you.  We blew up that bridge long ago.  Can 
you honestly tell me that you don't want me?"
 
I swallow hard.  I look at the ceiling of the Snowcat's cab. I'd like to be able 
to lie to her but I just can't.  "No," I croak.  I can't say any more, but it's 
not necessary anyway.
 
"What are you afraid of, Mulder?  What Skinner would say?  He's no longer our 
boss.  There's no longer an X-files to be taken away from you.  They burned the 
office.  There's not really anymore they could do that they haven't already 
done.  We've already lived through the worst."  
 
"Don't say that, Scully.  It can always get worse."
 
"What do I have to do to convince you?  I'm alone.  You're alone.  For once in 
our lives let's be alone together.  I want to wake up for once with a man in my 
bed and be happy he's there.  I want that man to be you."
 
"Scully, you don't want me."
 
"Don't tell me what I do or don't want!"
 
"Listen to me.  I'm selfish, domineering, possessive, obsessed, easily 
distracted and a complete slob."
 
"I already know those things and they don't make a difference.  I just...I have 
to know."
 
"Know what?"
 
Her eyes bore right into mine.  "I have to know at least one time before I die 
what you feel like.  I want to know how you smell and taste.  I want to see you 
feel pleasure.  I want to hear you scream."
 
"Scu-scully..." I'm not sure how much more of this I can take.
 
"Every time one of us is nearly killed I've told myself that it's time to stop 
pretending that I feel nothing when you touch me or look at me that way..."
 
"What way?" my voice rasps out.
 
"The way you're looking at me right now.  It's like...it's like you're kissing 
me with your eyes."  She takes a deep breath.  "I'm not going to back down this 
time, Mulder."
 
Oh, shut up, Scully.  I give up.  You win.  Hell, I didn't even have a chance.  
I've belonged to you since the moment we met.  I just find it impossible to make 
anything easy.  And I just can't believe that I will ever deserve you, but I'm 
tired of fighting against something I want so much.  I need to reserve my energy 
for worthier battles.
 
I don't say a word, though.  I can't.  So I do the only thing I can do, under 
the circumstances.  I lean forward and brush my mouth against hers.   Our lips 
are chapped and neither one of us has had a chance to brush our teeth recently 
but I don't give a damn.  This is the sweetest, truest kiss I've ever 
experienced.  Then Scully opens her mouth and her tongue touches mine and what 
was sweet becomes carnal.  I devour her, she devours me.  We become lost in each 
other and our hearts begin to beat in one massive rhythm.  
 
 
Suddenly, Scully pulls her head away and I am bereft.  "It's the cavalry, 
Mulder."
 
"What?"
 
"The helicopter's here.  It's time to blow this pop stand."
 
She's right.  What I thought was our hearts beating was really the blades of the 
'copter.  So much for metaphysics.  I just hate it when something mystical turns 
out to be something mundane.  I always feel cheated.  Like in Scooby Doo when 
they pull off the mask of the swamp creature and find out it was old man 
Thompkins the whole time.  So I place a hand on Scully's heart and one on my own 
and am pleased to note that our hearts are beating as one after all.  I want to 
believe, I have to believe, in extreme possibilities.  Because Scully loving me 
has got to be the most unlikely thing I've ever encountered in my whole weird 
life.  I feel like my universe has shifted on its axis.   
 
"I love you, Scully."
 
I don't think she hears me over the massive beat of the helicopter blades 
because she doesn't respond.  That's okay.  There will be better times and 
places.  
 
 
EPILOGUE
 
"Dana?"  
 
"Yes, Mom?"  I know what's coming.  I can always tell.  Maybe it's a bit of what 
Melissa thought was ESP.  Probably I just know my mother too well.
 
"I know the perfect young man for you.  He's very handsome, very polite.  I 
think the two of you would hit it off.  He told me he has an extra ticket to the 
theater and would love to take you."  I wonder idly where she unearthed this 
one.  The supermarket?  The pharmacy?  
 
"Thanks, Mom, but I think I'll pass.  Mulder and I have to do paperwork tonight. 
 Endless, mountainous piles of paperwork.  I just don't think I'll be able to 
get away.  Maybe next time."
 
I'm trying very hard to keep my voice even.  It's not easy.
 
"Oh, all right, Dana.  I just don't think it's healthy to have no social life.  
You should have fun once in a while."
 
"Yes, Mom.  I promise."
 
"If nothing else, why don't you and Fox go to see a movie or something?  It 
would do you both good."
 
I can't believe that Mom is trying to fix me up with Mulder,  no, excuse me, 
Fox.  "I'll think about it.  I haven't seen a movie in a long time.  Not in a 
theater anyway.  I'll ask him.  But it's not a date, Mom."
 
"Of course not, Dana.  I love you, Sweetie.  See you on Saturday."
 
"Bye, Mom.  I love you too."
 
I hang up the phone and glare at Mulder.  "That would have been easier if you 
hadn't been making faces at me!"
 
"Is she trying to set you up again?" he growls at me.
 
His possessiveness occasionally gets on my nerves.  But I put up with him 
because he makes up for it in so many satisfying ways.
 
"Yeah, she was."  I grin.  "When I didn't fall for the bait she even suggested I 
go out with you."
 
"I've always maintained your mother has taste."
 
"You are so bad, Mulder.  Now finish what you started."  
 
Wordlessly he rolls so I am beneath him instead of lying on his chest. He enters 
me with no preamble, which is fine because none is needed.  I see stars behind 
my eyes and I tremble with the pleasure he makes me feel.  Any amount of secrecy 
that we are forced to maintain is worth this.  Any sacrifice is worth this.  
 
Mulder seems to touch me everywhere and I no longer know where he ends and I 
begin.  It is as if we actually are two halves of one person finally melded 
together.  I don't need a priest to tell me that I am flesh of his flesh and 
bone of his bone.
 
Powerless to stop them, the words fall from my lips.  "I...love you.  I love 
you."
 
"I know," he whispers into my hair.  "I know."
 
Everything around me contracts and expands, exploding into a myriad of bright 
lights.  Grinning at Mulder I say, "Did the earth move for you too?"
 
"No," he replies seriously.  "The universe."
                
                        
End
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