From: cassandr@m4.sprynet.com (Cassandra)
Date: Sat, 24 Oct 1998 15:44:53 -0700 (PDT)
Subject: Getting Warmer (1/1) by Cassandra


Getting Warmer (1/1)
by Cassandra (cassandr@m4.sprynet.com)

Movie-fic (spoilers for the movie, natch)
PG-13 (maybe skirting R) for a couple of naughty movie-type words
V (Series of Vignettes)
Shipper-friendly, but no overt romance
Summary: What happened between Mulder & Scully's final two scenes in the XF
movie, with emphasis on the Mulder-introspection

Disclaimer: This may come as a shock to you, but Mulder and Scully aren't
mine. Really. I'm only borrowing them because the Muse made me fill in some
gaps in the movie.



** DO NOT FORWARD TO ATXC!! **



Wilkes Land, Antarctica

     Scully cradled Mulder in her lap, clasping him to her fiercely in the
wide expanse of nothingness. She bent her head over his and kissed his cold
forehead, desperate to express her gratitude and relief and love and
*everything* to him. Her fingers brushed against the thick line of dried
blood at his hairline, and she wondered what he had gone through to get
here, to find her. She was exhausted, disoriented, sore, freezing, dizzy;
she wanted nothing more than to curl up beside him and go to sleep.
     But she couldn't, of course. They had to get to shelter as quickly as
possible or they would die of exposure; even in her groggy state, she
recognized that fact.
     As much as she wanted to let Mulder rest, she knew he had to be
awakened. Running her hand down his stubbled face, she shook him slightly
and tried to speak his name. Her voice barely made a sound. She grabbed a
handful of snow and swallowed it. Then she shook him harder, trying to push
her voice through her raw throat.
     "Mulder!" This time, at least, she managed a low croak. "Mulder, you
have to wake up!"
     Finally, his eyelids fluttered. "Scully ... did you ...?" he whispered.
     "Mulder, it's time to go. Can't stay here. Have to get warm. How did
you get here?"
     He opened his eyes fully and struggled to sit up. "Sno-Cat. Parked it
over that ridge."
     Thank God it hadn't been close enough to have been swallowed up in the
giant hole beside them, the giant hole that the alien craft ... whatever
... had left. Think about that later. "Can you walk?"
     "Yes." His unsteadiness as he got to his feet, pulling her with him,
cast serious doubt on the veracity of his reply. "Can you?"
     "Yes." He put one arm around her, and the two of them staggered off
through the snow, holding each other up.


* * * * *

     "Thank God it's still here," he whispered as they finally reached the
Sno-Cat.
     "Mmmm-hmmm," she responded faintly. Then, as if a thought had suddenly
struck her: "Mulder, where are we?"
     "Antarctica."
     She nodded, as if this were not unusual. "I thought it might be Hoth."
     He stared at her a moment before her joke sank in. He really needed
some sleep. But that was hours and hundreds of miles away.
     "Needs more gas." He saw the fear in Scully's eyes. "No, there's
another can in the back. Just have to pour it in."
     He helped Scully climb into the cab, and then stumbled to the back of
the Sno-Cat. It took him about three times as long as it should have to get
the cap off the gas can, his fingers were so numb from the cold. He
supposed his gloves were getting the ride of their lives somewhere past
Mars by now. Finally, he was beside Scully in the cab; it was warmer there,
if only by comparison to the outside. Scully immediately huddled against
him, almost before he had gotten the engine started.
     "Good thing the roads aren't crowded today," he muttered, the small
smile that played about her chapped lips as gratifying as laughter. "Hope
there aren't any cops. I may be driving erratically."
     She pushed herself away from him and struggled to a sitting position.
"I can drive."
     He sighed. "I think I may take you up on that offer in a little while.
It's a long way to the base. Rest for now, though. I'll wake you when I
can't go anymore."
     "Promise. I mean it."
     "I know you do. So do I." He reached out to put one arm around her
shoulders and pull her back to him.
     He drove with his arm around her for a long time. Then he woke her up.

* * * * *

     He was driving again when they finally got to McMurdo Station. He was
almost on top of the collection of low, weathered buildings before their
existence registered in his mind. He stopped the Sno-Cat in front of what
he thought was the place where he'd commandeered the vehicle. He more fell
than climbed down from the seat, then labored around to the other door,
leaning against the vehicle the entire way. He opened the door and tugged
on Scully's arm.
     "C'mon, Scully, we're here. I think there's a doctor, he can look at you."
     "Mulder, wha--?" Still half asleep, she simply followed his tugs,
falling out of the Sno-Cat into his arms. The impact sent them both
toppling into the snow in a tangled, clumsy heap. They started to try to
struggle upright, but then they heard voices and saw figures running toward
them. So they didn't bother.

* * * * *

McMurdo Station, Antarctica
Medical Dispensary
Ten hours later

     Scully stood (barely) at the foot of Mulder's bed. He was sleeping, as
was to be expected. An ambulance had brought them here from the Mechanical
Equipment Center; she had only the vaguest recollection of the trip. They
had been treated for exposure and dehydration, given antibiotics and then
been put to bed. She had expected to sleep for a week; instead, she had
woken up after only a few hours. She knew that she would not be able to
sleep until she knew that Mulder was OK, so she had climbed down from her
bed -- which had felt about 12 feet high -- and shuffled next door to
Mulder's room, which had seemed an inordinant distance to travel. Gauging
by his chart, he was more bruised and exhausted than anything else. He
would be fine.
     Taking a few steps forward, she reached out to brush his bangs off his
forehead, her gaze shimmering. Oh, Mulder....
     He stirred, and she jerked her hand away. He opened his eyes and
blinked at her a few times.
     "I'm sorry, Mulder, I didn't mean to wake you...."
     "Scully? Are you OK?"
     "I'm fine," she said, and then amended, "I will be."
     He smiled back at her wearily, and she sat down on the edge of his
bed, taking his hand gently in hers. Now that she knew he was fine, she
knew that there was one more thing that she needed to do before she could
rest any more.
     "Mulder, what you did for me...." She trailed off, dropping her gaze
to their clasped hands. She still had no idea how he had found her, what
strings he had pulled or force he had used to get here, or, really, what
the hell had happened to her. Those questions were for later, when she
could think; now, all that seemed to matter was that they were here,
together and alive and safe. "I can't even begin to tell you...."
     "Scully." He tugged her hand slightly toward him to draw her eyes back
to his. "You know I'd always follow you to the ends of the earth."
     His tone was partially flippant, partially something more, and she
felt the same flutter in her stomach that she had felt in his hallway as he
gazed at her with desire flickering in his eyes. Felt the same tilting of
her equilibrium as when his lips had descended toward hers, oh-so-close to
touching. It was muted somewhat by her weariness, but it was there. "Thank
you," she told him simply, giving him a rare smile. "Now I guess I do owe
you something."
     He shook his head. "No. You owe me nothing."
     She wanted to continue the conversation, but she was so sleepy. Her
eyelids drooped heavily.
     "Scully, you shouldn't have gotten up," he said softly, his own eyes
blinking tiredly. "You should stay in bed until we can get a flight out of
here. You need your rest."
     She sighed. "Mmmm. Had the energy to make it here. Didn't think about
getting back, though."
     Without a moment's hesitation, he scooted to one side of the bed and
tugged on her hand. "C'm'ere. Don't need all this space. Used to a sofa."
     She didn't have the energy or the inclination to resist and sank
gratefully down beside him. He put his arm around her as she nestled
herself against him, her head resting against his shoulder. They were both
asleep within the minute.
     The doctor let them stay that way.


* * * * *

     They held hands on the plane on the way to Christchurch. It was a
noisy, uncomfortable military transport, but it could have been the
Concorde for all that either of them noticed or cared. They were both
asleep almost before it had taken off, huddled against each other once
again in the dim chill of the fuselage. Somehow, it seemed imperative to
them that they be touching.
     In spite of his continued exhaustion, Mulder awoke a while later. He
had no idea how long they had been in the air, and, frankly, he could think
of no good reason to get up to ask the pilot. Turning his head slightly, he
stared down at Scully. She looked so small in her parka. They had given her
one of her own at the base, but it was still too big for her.
     So damn close, again, to losing her. And, once again, she had been
hurt and traumatized. He winced against the mental image of her in the
cryopod, suspended naked in that liquid, her eyes frozen open, that *thing*
stuck down her throat.
     I can't do this again, he thought. I can't lose her again. I can't
watch her be hurt, can't watch her die, can't watch them take anything else
from her.
     I have to let her go.
     Despair washed over him, its chill as biting as the Antarctic wind
that had left its angry marks on her cheeks. He closed his eyes, unable to
summon the energy to fight the tears that welled up and ran down his
cheeks. Everything went dark.
     It was the only answer. As long as he was in her life, she would be in
danger. She had cheated death so many times already; the odds were closing
in, and her life was far too precious to gamble with.
     Every needing, self-preserving part of him screamed out against the
thought of living without her, of ripping himself from her warmth and
protection. But the part of him that had grown to care for her far more
than himself seemed to have tripled, quadrupled in strength in only a few
days. It won.
     He clutched her against him tightly, hoarding the feel of her for the
time when she would be safe beyond his grasp. Just let me hold her now, he
bargained with whatever power might be listening, and I'll let her go when
we're back in D.C. I promise.

* * * * *

Washington, D.C.
Three days later

     Mulder sat in the bright sunlight, but gray clouds would have better
suited his mood. He felt his anger rise as he read each lie in the
newspaper article. Almost no one would notice this dry 10-inch story buried
low in the back pages, among the dry, desultory, just-here-to-be-filler
stories, and those that did would give it only a cursory thought.
     All that effort, everything they had gone through, the deaths and
pain, and what had they earned for all that wasted energy? Nothing but more
lies instead of the truth, more deception, more scars.
     No more, he thought. No more. The bitter bargain he had made with
himself on the flight back to D.C., the one born of desperation and fear,
was now sealed in anger. They were *not* going to use him anymore, they
were *not* going to take anything else from her. He was folding his hand
and walking away from the table; let them get some other fool to make
sucker bets with his life's savings. With her life.
     He saw her coming purposefully toward him. God, he loved it when she
walked with that Scully stride, the one that screamed, "I know where I'm
going so get the hell out of my way." The one that made him want to fall to
his knees in front of her like a groveling supplicant. He tried to memorize
it: the exact length of each step, the curve of her ankle in her high
heels, the way her skirt wrapped around her legs, the faint sway of her
hips, the glint of the sunlight off of her hair.
     Goddamn Them for making his life nothing but a fruitless farce.
Goddamn Them for brokering with his and Scully's lives, with the lives of
humanity. Goddamn Them for everything.
     Goddamn Them most of all for giving her to him and then forcing him to
let her go.

* * * * *

     But she wouldn't let him let go. She turned his own words back on him
-- "If I quit now, they win" -- took his hand in hers and looked up at him
with that tender determination ... and he was lost. With a few words and a
soft look, she completely undermined his defenses; he realized it had
always been a shaky promise built on vulnerable ground. His decision had
been only a small volley in a fight he had secretly hoped to lose.
     He could never be strong enough to let go of her; he realized that as
they walked back toward the Hoover building, her hand on his arm, so close
that her hip sometimes bumped against his thigh as they walked. That
knowledge both shamed and exhilarated him. He was pitiful to need her so
much that he couldn't put her safety before that need -- but, oh God, she
*wanted* to stay with him even knowing all the risks. She *chose* to stay
with him. After all that They had done to her, she wasn't defeated; if
anything, she was stronger after all that had happened. He was in awe of
her strength.
     They were *pledged* to this cause, to each other. And despite all the
pain and frustration and defeat of the past few days, he now felt somehow
stronger. Whole. Warmer.
     As if maybe, just maybe, they actually had a chance of winning
someday. As long as they were together.

Cassandra
Where am I going and what am I doing in this handbasket?

"Gratuitous effects take up the space and the energy and the emotion that
could be used for really important moments." -- Harrison Ford