DEBT By Kipler @aol.com (in response to XFFSciNut's challenge!) 11/27/95 .......................................................................... ............................................................ Mulder and Scully characters belong to Chris Carter and Ten-Thirteen Productions. No copyright infringement is intended. Please do not distribute without asking permission from the author. .......................................................................... ............................................................ Cold. It was so cold, and she was tired. She hadn't realized it, until the job was over. But now she felt ice creeping into her feet, an ache of fatigue sliding over her arms and shoulders. She closed her eyes and wished that she could rest. "Ma'am..." came a voice in her ear, "Ma'am, you've got to get off the river, too. The girl will be fine. There's no reason to worry about her." Scully shook her head slightly, and didn't meet the eyes of the man. She would rather stay here - rather be cold and tired here than have to go find him. But there was no choice. She walked in her wet shoes, stuggling to see in the dim glow of the paramedics' flashlights. It had seemed so long, getting out here, but now the way back seemed so short. A bright flashing light met her eyes. An ambulance. They had taken Amy out a long time ago. This must be the second ambulance. It grazed by her. She was left in its exhaust. She glanced around the driveway. Where was he? It was so dark, now. There was a crowd. How did people hear about these things? How did they always know where to come, so quickly? There, off to the side. He was so tall that she picked him out easily. He stood out of the glare of lights, near a circle of fir trees. She started toward him. At first she couldn't tell which way he was facing. But then she saw that he was turned away. She saw the upturned collar of his coat. Cold. He must be so cold. He was soaked through. He was silent. She touched his arm, but he didn't move. No response. She moved her hand down to feel his; it was like ice. "Mulder," she said. "We've got to get into some dry clothes. We're going to get sick out here." "You should go." His voice came, deep and quiet, as if it were straining from his throat. He didn't turn to meet her gaze. She moved around to face him, but it did no good. His figure was backlit by the glow of police headlights and flashers. She could see only his outline. It was as if the rest of him fell away, into the darkness. "Mulder," she said, feeling her voice rising against her will. "Come with me. You can't do anything here. Come back to town." He didn't move. She thought of the slap of his arms against her wrists, at the water's edge - his struggle to break contact with her. She thought of his eyes, deep-set and distant. She had seen those eyes before - that early morning on the bridge, over the cold water of another river. He had startled her, that time. Frightened her, with his aloneness, with the way that he hadn't needed her there. His eyes had been so far away, so deep inside himself. He turned now, to move out of her sight, but she moved with him. He was facing the light. He closed his eyes. His face was shiny, wet. So far away. Scully sighed. The ghost of a memory flitted through her mind. A dark night. A decision that she had made. To break contact. To go. The image was strained, taut. She couldn't hold it. She had struggled for so long to forget. But the debt remained. It was old, now, and deep inside her. The debt of a long night spent in senseless hope, the debt of a hand on hers. She reached out and touched Mulder's icy hand. He didn't pull away. They stood there a long time, until Scully couldn't tell where her own cold broke from the cold of Mulder. Lights dimmed; cars drove away. At last Mulder's weight shifted. His lifted his face. He shook his head. His eyes were huge, glassy. But they were here. "Let's go," Scully said. Mulder took a step.