From: Bbtreehaus@aol.com Date: Fri, 31 Oct 2003 23:26:21 EST Subject: Haven of Ice Source: direct Title: Haven of Ice Author: B. F. Simon Rating: PG for mild language Spoilers: "The X-Files: Fight the Future" Disclaimer: I don't own 'em. Never did. But if I could afford the lawyers, I'd have sued for custody years ago. Archive: Just about anywhere, but please let me know! Feedback: Yes, thank you! Bbtreehaus@AOL.com Keywords: Mulder/Scully romance. Scully POV. Category: VR Summary: Mulder and Scully quietly reflect on their remarkable survival in the Antarctic. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* I dream of the snow. Layer upon layer of it. An endless white mantle, stretching to the infinite horizon. Its particles appear unbidden, materializing from an impossibly clear, crystal-blue sky to fall on the frozen ground. They cover my clothes and cling to my naked head. I'm smothered in cold. It permeates me, cruel and relentless, penetrating every pore of my body with claws of ice. And then I'm sheltered by a surprising warmth. I'm cradled in his arms, his larger physique shielding me from the brutal elements. He imparts the heat of his body to me, staving off the attack of the wind and an unfathomable winter storm. My eyelids begin to flutter. In a blink, the dream fades away. I awaken once more to find myself lying on the small, narrow cot, buried under a heap of wool blankets. It's a kind gesture, if an overly protective one; it's agreeably warm in here. At the sound of my stirring, my partner springs instantly alert, coming to kneel beside my makeshift bed. He observes my full wakefulness and smiles. "Hey, Scully," he greets me softly. "Mulder." I somehow find the strength to smile back at him. "How are you feeling?" "Better." "You look better." He leans over and bends close to me, resting his forearms on either side of me. His fingers tenderly brush the hair back from my face. "You had us all pretty worried." "I guess your vaccine agrees with me then." He smiles and nods. Now, as I think back on it, I only vaguely remember the prick of the injection. But it started to take effect immediately, destroying the unknown viral organism that had been spreading inside of me. I barely repress a shudder at the thought of it. I still can't be sure if it's the aftereffects of the virus, the cryogenic suspension or simply the deep cold that took such a heavy toll on me. I do remember falling off the side of something immense that rose up out of the ground. Moments later, I heard Mulder's voice calling out to me...and I marveled at the oblong blur that flew away and vanished into the distant clouds. Then Mulder succumbed to the cold and to sheer exhaustion. I gathered his limp form in my arms and held him tightly. The snow started falling heavily, and the wind lashed us in biting waves. The ferocity of the blizzard soon roused him. Upon seeing the rapidly deteriorating weather conditions, he pulled a folded sheet of plastic from his vest pocket and spread it over us. Then he pulled me snugly against him and shifted us around until his back was braced against the wind, our limbs tightly entwined as if in a lovers' embrace. I've been flitting in and out of consciousness since then, gliding between the real world and the one in my dreams. The first time I awakened here, someone was holding my head as leaned over the edge of the cot and retched. Later I awoke again and asked for water, and a cup was raised to my dry, cracked lips. And the last time I awakened, someone held me up while I sipped a little bit of broth and hot tea, satisfying my first cravings for food. Afterward, I hazily recall being led out to the latrine. I caught my reflection as I passed a crude mirror, noting my dull, disheveled hair, my dim, glassy eyes ringed with dark circles, and my fair skin blanched as white as the glacial snow. Small wonder they'd been so worried. I'd caught a glimpse of Mulder right around then and observed an uncharacteristic weariness, his expression unusually grim and haggard. Looking at him now, he seems well-rested. The tightly drawn lines have eased into the softer expression of a smile, one that is full of relief and gratitude. He still hasn't managed to find a razor, though, and sports several days' growth of beard. It lends his handsome features a rugged look. I have so many questions I need to ask. I begin with the obvious: "Where are we?" "We're at Miller Station. It's a small science research outpost. They picked up some unusual seismic readings and went out to investigate. It led them right to the crater." I frown, not recognizing the outpost's name. "I've never heard of it. Are we in the Yukon?" Mulder laughs, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Scully, but you're way off. In fact, you're at the wrong end of the world entirely." The wrong end of the world? What the hell is he talking about? Finally the stark realization hits me and my eyes open wide with incredulity. "We're in the Antarctic?" "Wilkes Land, to be exact. And a particularly remote and isolated area at that." I close my eyes, trying to take it all in. Antarctica. The bottom of the world. They'd infected me with a deadly pathogen and carted me away to the ends of the earth where it could incubate unimpeded. "Oh my God," I whisper. I abruptly realize that I have no memory of what transpired after I collapsed in Mulder's hallway. Was that days ago? Or weeks, or even months? I have no sense of the passage of time. I'd been utterly, hopelessly lost. My eyes fly open, searching Mulder's face. "How did you find me?" "An unexpected ally," he answers. "It's a long story, Scully. We can talk about it later." But I have a seemingly endless string of questions, and my need for answers cannot wait. "Mulder," I press on. "How long were we out there on the ice?" "A long time," he replies cryptically, caressing my cheek. "How long?" I ask again, needing to know specifics. "Seven hours," he finally answers. "What?" "That's right, Scully. At least seven hours passed in between the seismograph doing the Macarena and their finding us out there. " "But Mulder, that's impossible! We'd have suffered exposure, frostbite--" I suddenly panic, twisting around on the bunk, trying to fling off all the blankets to see if all my limbs are still there. Mulder gently but firmly clasps my shoulders and holds me down. "Relax, Scully. You still have all your fingers and toes. We both do." I slowly lay my head back down, incredulous. "I don't understand, Mulder. How?--" "It was the snowstorm," he explained. "What?" "The falling snow. It covered us very rapidly, and it formed a protective layer over us. It insulated us." He grinned. "They almost didn't find us out there. We practically blended right into the landscape. We're just lucky that we happened to be lying on this side of the crater." So it wasn't just a dream, I mused. We must have gone into deep hypothermia, but the layer of snow and ice over us kept us alive. That, and the shared warmth of our own bodies. "The research team came upon a mound of snow," he continued. "They thought they were going to find frozen corpses underneath. Imagine their surprise when they pried off that heavy crust of snow and ice and found us under there--with positive vital signs." I lie here in shocked silence, trying to take it all in. What perfect irony, I think. The very thing that should have killed us actually sustained us instead. It's funny, but I've never cared much for snow. I spent my formative years in San Diego, so I'd never encountered much of the white stuff until going to college in the Northeast. And yet even after more than a decade of living there, I still haven't gotten used to it. But now... Mulder almost seems to be reading my thoughts. "Bet you'll never look at a snowstorm the same way from now on," he voices aloud. I shake my head, smiling. He continues to stroke my face tenderly, his thumb running lightly over the curve of my cheek. I marvel at the gentleness of his touch; it belies the great, latent strength within him. These same arms had the power to smash the walls of my prison and carry me to freedom from out of the bowels of Hell itself. I clasp onto those arms, embracing my rescuer. It's a small enough gesture to thank him for his heroics. Mulder is my hero, corny as that may sound. The emotional avowal he made to me in his apartment hallway had touched my heart; but he affirmed his oath when he braved unimaginable danger and journeyed to the very ends of the earth to find me. And now I have a declaration of my own to make. It doesn't require words. I reach up to him. His strong arms slide around me and pull me the rest of the way up, until my lips meet his. In spite of my fatigue, the whole of my heart is expressed in that kiss. My energy is faltering again, and with great care, Mulder lays me back down. My boundless love for him shines back at me, reflecting in his own eyes. He smiles for a long moment. Then he eases himself down until his head rests upon my breast. I smile as my eyes drift closed. I will sleep well, knowing my protector will never leave my side. THE END *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Author's Notes: I've always loved the entire Antarctica sequence in FTF. Yes, it's so far-fetched that it stretches into the unbelievable (the Antarctic winter has no sunlight, for one thing, and the average temperature is somewhere around 80 degrees below zero). But for me, there is something profoundly romantic in Mulder's selfless sojourn to the ends of the earth to rescue Scully from deep beneath the glacial ice. It hurt that the episode that followed, "The Beginning," was such a disappointment; all the deep emotion of FTF was seemingly forgotten. In all likelihood, no one would have lived through the events of FTF; and yet, stories abound about individuals surviving under incredible circumstances in the most inhospitable environments. The idea of Mulder and Scully sheltering beneath a protective layer of snow and ice came from a true story. In the book, "Northern Lighthouses," Bruce Roberts and Ray Jones write that in December of 1850, a young first mate and his intended bride were trapped aboard a disabled schooner just off Jameson Point, Maine. Lashed by the freezing spray of giant waves, they huddled under a blanket all night for protection and were soon buried under a heavy layer of ice. In the morning, a rescue party dug them out. Miraculously, they were still alive. Their unconscious bodies were carried to nearby Owl's Head Lighthouse, where they later revived. They both made a full recovery and married a few months afterward.