Warning: This series of stories is being written out of order. "Blizzard" is someplace around #5 of 9 stories -- at least, that's how it's working out so far. So there's more in the front, folks, and MUCH more after it. Those of you who have looked at "Transfers" for me know what I mean. Another Warning: If you don't want to see the progression of the Relationship, then you might not want to bother reading this. But at the same time, if you're looking for Red Hot Sex, don't look for it here. The Relationship hasn't progressed THAT far....yet. My version of the standard disclaimer is to bow profoundly in Chris Carter's direction. He thought these characters up, Ten Thirteen owns them, and FOX does something with them (but I'm not sure of the legalities). I'm borrowing Mr. Carter's characters and am trying to keep them as true to his vision as I can. Of course, he doesn't want them to be romantically involved, but I'm just going to ignore that little temporary aberrance for the time being. He'll come to his senses eventually. :) Please don't distribute this without my permission (I'll probably give it if you ask and say pretty please with sugar and whipped cream and a cherry on top). And, as every other author does, I'm looking for comments -- good and bad -- about the story and whether you want to know what happens before and next (say next because that's what I've got). On with the snow...I mean show. BLIZZARD part 4 by L.C. Brown (LCBX5ME@aol.com) Dim memories swirled around him like the water in which he was immersed. A painting on a wall. Diamonds winking on the ceiling. Holding her tightly to keep the storm from taking her away from him. 'Did you come back because of me?' A waiting room. Waiting to die. Wanting to live. Holding her tightly, kissing her until he was dizzy. 'Feel more alive now?' Spraying the doorway with orange paint. The light was so beautiful, so warm. The snow was so cold. They were dying. She was freezing in his arms as he held her. Scully.... "His eyes are open." Were they? He hadn't noticed. "Mr. Mulder, can you hear me?" He lifted his gaze from the water in front of him with an effort. A woman he didn't know was looking down at him. Wading his way through the confusing memories, he felt them beginning to slip away as he focused his concentration on the present with an effort of will. He knew that clinical, assessing look. A doctor. "Can you hear me?" she repeated. His lips and tongue worked to form a word. "Yeah," he croaked, then cleared his throat with an effort. They'd had him on a respirator. He could feel the residual tightness in his chest and the invisible hand clenched around his throat that he associated with it. Becoming more aware of his surroundings, he could feel the pain, now. His body was on fire. That was his first halfway coherent thought, the scalding pain in his hands and feet making him gasp involuntarily. His second thought, when he could push the pain to the back of his mind, was that he was in water. Water? A metal tub of some kind? The water felt boiling hot after the coldness of that long fall.... No, not a fall, he frowned. They hadn't fallen. It was the storm. They'd been trapped in a blizzard. Why did he think he had fallen? Slowly, he became conscious of other things. Low-voiced conversation, orders and responses. Movement around him. Subliminal whirs and clicks and beeps of machines. The soft sound and feel of the water lapping around him, nearly up to his chin. "Core body temp ninety-eight, doctor," said another voice from somewhere behind him.. "Okay, he's stable for now. Let's get him out of the tub. Move him up to moderate care and begin frostbite therapy. Monitor vitals--" "Wait," he managed to get out as he was lifted, the air on his wet skin cooling the false sense of heat in his extremities. "Scully -- my partner. Where's Scully?" He was ignored for a moment as he was wrapped warmly, transferred to a gurney, and covered by a heated blanket. "Where's Scully?" he repeated, trying and failing to inject authority into his hoarse voice. The dark-haired nurse strapping him in securely smiled reassuringly at him and tilted her head briefly toward the other side of the large, professionally cluttered trauma room. "Don't worry, she's over there." "...She...Is she okay?" "Her core temperature isn't rising as fast as yours did. They're working to stabilize her now." When they turned his gurney slightly to navigate it out of the trauma room, he caught a quick glimpse of his partner's face above the metal sides of the tub she was in. She looked bloodless, whiter than the snow that had nearly killed them, her lips forced open by the respirator tube. He had seen her like that once before, her life dependent on the technology around her, and he hadn't liked it then, either. It didn't seem right that someone who wanted to be in control of her life so much should be so helpless, or that someone so full of life should look so lifeless. She had needed him to get her back. Back from the cold? Or back from.... He frowned as the gurney paused for the nurse to murmur something to a colleague. Back from....? He groped desperately for the fading memories. There had been a room, he remembered. A waiting room. And Scully's body had been warm -- not cold -- against his as she promised to come back with him. Where was she now? he wondered, feeling suddenly cold -- cold that had nothing to do with his physical temperature -- mentally picturing her lost between worlds, unable to come back. What would he do if she didn't.... His thought, his imagination, couldn't progress any further. Even as he was being maneuvered out of the doorway, though, his attention was caught by a harsh gasp against the rhythm of the respirator and when he turned his head to look, he saw that the orchestrated movement around Scully had increased. Then his gurney was through the doorway and his view was cut off. But he had seen enough. Scully had found her way back, he smiled to himself, relief flooding through him. The gurney continued moving and he closed his eyes against the overhead lights that shone down mercilessly, letting himself drift. It was too much effort to hold onto the memories right now. There was no need. Scully would be all right, he assured himself tiredly. That was what was important. She was going to be fine. They both would. *** "If the doctors and nurses would leave me the hell alone, I'd feel better faster." "Quit complaining, Mulder," Scully said unsympathetically, watching her partner sit on the side of his hospital bed and rotate his ankles in the precise, even movements prescribed in their physical therapy. It was not an interesting or inspiring sight. "At least we're alive. And we're going to keep our toes, even if we're not enjoying the process of frostbite reversal." Almost against her will, her gaze was drawn back to the curtained window that made a frame for the beautiful view of the mountains, green frosted with bridal white, just touched with lavender shadows as new storm clouds moved in gradually to dim the pale sunlight. They had barely survived the last storm, and the new one would erase all traces of their presence from the mountain, she thought. As if they'd never been there. As if it had never happened. Mulder lifted his eyes, watching her with the sense of unease, uncertainty, that had been wrapped around him like a garment since he'd awoken, fully conscious and aware, in this hospital room four days before. Scully was too quiet, too distracted. And she'd been strangely elusive during their recovery, not spending any more time with him than necessary. Something had happened out there on the mountain. He knew that. He couldn't drag the specifics out of his uncharacteristically uncooperative memory, but he could feel the tension between them. And that hurt almost more than the damned frostbite did. "They don't leave you alone," he reiterated, knowing that his voice was too sharp, but wanting to make some kind of impression on her. Anything to make her the Scully he knew again. "They wake you up in the middle of the night to find out whether you're sleeping okay. They..." "They do it in my room, too," she reminded him, turning away from her contemplation of the scene outside. "Look, we've only got a couple of more days here. Just put up with it for a little longer. Have you heard anything about the assignment we were on? Has anyone else been put on it?" Mulder sighed, suppressing a wince as he began flexing his toes as best he could. He was in a rotten mood and bitching at her wasn't going to make him feel any better; it would just piss her off and drive her back to her room, leaving him by himself again. And he didn't want her to leave him. Mulder," she tried again, her voice just a little softer. "If something's bothering you, tell me what it is. Maybe I can help. Is it the case?" He looked over at her thoughtfully. She was sitting on the empty bed opposite, her head slightly tilted, waiting for his response. She always listened to him, no matter how "out there" his theories were, no matter how painful the memories, she was always there to listen to him. He owed her better than silence after half-killing her in the snow. "You're more likely to kill me than help me," he told her finally. She was not going to like what he had to say. "I got a call from the local field office," he continued. "The missing kid we were after turned up again -- he'd been staying with a friend in Seattle after an argument with his father. And those two rangers who said they saw something in the forest? Well, now they're disagreeing on exactly what they saw. A bear. No, a mountain lion. Or maybe it was just the weird shadow from some bush or something." For a moment, she couldn't think. She could only feel. For one brief moment, she wasn't an FBI agent, she was just a woman -- and for just a second she wanted to wrap her hands around Mulder's neck and squeeze until he was an attractive shade of blue. He'd hauled them out here into a blizzard for nothing. They'd almost died over his stubborn insistence -- She pulled herself together after a long minute, thrusting the fantasy of violence against her partner back into the little closet that it peeked out of once in a while, and shook her head. She had chosen to come with him on this wild goose chase. Wild beast chase, she corrected herself with a mental smile. It wasn't entirely his fault. Scully let the wry smile work its way out to curve her lips. "So what you're trying to tell me is that we came all the way out here and nearly froze to death...for nothing. No missing kid. No Bigfoot. Just us on ice." "That pretty much covers it." He looked down at his feet, absently curling his toes. "Scully, I'm sorry. Really. There wasn't enough evidence to justify us coming all the way out here and my temper nearly got you killed. I let emotion win out over professionalism and this is what comes of it. And I'm mad at myself for screwing up so badly this time." He fell silent, waiting for the stinging response that he felt sure was coming...and that he deserved. "Guess I win the Your Fault game, then," she shrugged, still smiling as he glanced up, surprised, then shook her head. "No, Mulder, that's not true. It was my fault as much as yours for coming with you, for giving validity to a case that I knew didn't have enough evidence to begin with. If I'd protested strongly enough, made my case well enough to you -- or to Skinner -- then we wouldn't be here." "You are supposed to kind of keep me in line, aren't you," Mulder agreed, relaxing a little, a smile of his own beginning to tug at the corners of his mouth. Scully wasn't mad. She had every right to cut him into little pieces, but she wasn't mad. "I'd need a whip and a chair to keep you in line," she told him dryly, getting up, easing her weight onto her feet carefully. "Leaving so soon?" he asked, something in his chest tightening at the thought. "I've got a chair, and I can arrange for a whip. Might be fun," he forced a grin. "I've had enough fun with you for a while, thanks. I'd better get back to my room. Lunch will be arriving soon." "Or what passes for it." Scully hesitated. Mulder didn't want to be alone; she could feel it. And she couldn't stop herself from wanting to stop whatever it was that was disturbing him so. Maybe she could coax it out of him.... Keep it casual, she told herself. "You could always join me for lunch," she suggested after a moment. As much as he didn't want her to leave, he was half afraid to be with her. He didn't know why, but memories moved sluggishly in his mind, just out of his grasp, fueling his uneasiness. "No, thanks," he managed to respond, equally casual. "I'm waiting to see if that candy-striper took me up on the bribe I offered her for bringing me a couple of hot dogs." "Suit yourself." He was scared, Scully thought. "If you change your mind, you know where I am. The lunch cart's coming," she finished, heading for the doorway slowly. "Yeah, be sure not to miss it," Mulder agreed sardonically, not looking forward to being alone with his thoughts after she left, yet oddly unsettled with her in the room with him. He didn't like this sense of fear he'd been experiencing, along with flashes about the cold, about a warm light. And ever-present was that lurking, nagging fear. Fear of losing Scully. But she was here, he argued with himself. She was warm and alive and HERE. He could see that. He shouldn't be wanting to take her hand, just to make sure she was okay. The urge to reach out for her baffled him. His need for her frightened him. Mulder watched his partner shuffle across the floor to the doorway. Her progress looked painful and he knew from personal experience that it was. It felt like walking on hot coals, sometimes. Wouldn't that be what he would be doing with Scully now? Walking on coals? He didn't want her to see how he felt-- Reaching the doorway, she paused, half turning to say something to him, but Mulder never heard her words. The sight of her silhouetted against the light of the hallway brought him off the bed and halfway across the room before the pain of his half-healed feet caught up with him. "Scully...." Mulder stopped, stumbling, hesitating. His memories were patchy, disjointed at best. By no stretch of his excellent imagination could he call them coherent. But the door in his mind had opened for him and he just...knew. He remembered the waiting room. He remembered how she felt in his arms, how her mouth tasted. She waited, standing in the doorway, her eyebrows raised enquiringly at the sudden note of urgency in his voice. He stood barefoot, in hospital-issued pajamas and robe, in the middle of the floor, his face intense, his eyes on hers, but his sight focused on something inside himself. Maybe it had been an hallucination, he cautioned himself. Maybe he had conjured her up out of his own subconscious, projecting his own repressed thoughts and desires onto the simulacrum. What if it hadn't been real? What if he had experienced it...and she hadn't? He had to ask. He had to know. "After we passed out in the shelter," he finally said slowly, licking dry lips, "while you were unconscious, did you...dream...or something?" Scully pushed her hands into her robe pockets and leaned a shoulder against the door jamb. "Or something," she agreed cautiously after a long minute. As the silence between them stretched further and further, becoming nearly tangible, a third party in the room. He needed to know, he thought fiercely. He had to know if.... He couldn't put it into words, even in his mind. "What...what do you remember?" he asked finally, simply, hating the edge of uncertainty in his voice. He watched as Scully hesitated for a long moment, that distant look back in her eyes. He reminded himself to breathe, wondering what he would do if she remembered what he did, if she verbalized it. If she remembered, would it change their partnership as it currently existed, possibly put an unbearable strain on their friendship? Maybe some truths weren't meant to be spoken out loud, he thought, feeling suddenly cold. Not yet. "What do you...." His throat closed and he couldn't continue. But Scully was smiling faintly, now, one hand pushing the hair back from her face. "I remember enough, Mulder." He nodded slowly, his eyes on her face, and said nothing when she turned and disappeared down the hallway, beginning the short shuffle toward her room. Shutting his eyes, he could feel the tension melting out of his shoulders, his neck. Her words had eased the tightness in his chest. So today wouldn't be the day that they made the giant leap, he smiled a little whimsically. A small step was more than enough. With the way he felt about Scully, it was all he could handle right now. Until they both needed more. Until they were ready to take another step. Or two. Feeling suddenly better -- and hungry -- Mulder opened his eyes, looking around at the spartan room, noting the lunch tray that someone had left for him -- oh, great, while he had been standing there in the middle of the floor, eyes closed, smiling to himself. Psych evaluation, here I come, he grimaced, retrieving the tray. His own company in this cheerless room was less appealing now. Lunch with Scully -- even the hospital's food -- was sounding better and better. Mulder was smiling again as he began his own shuffle down the hall to his partner's room. (end) Story #5 of 9 Blizzard 1 1/11/96