Date: 28 Jul 1998 20:18:29 GMT
Subject: **NEW**"The Ice Queen"--by Krystine

TITLE:"The Ice Queen"	
AUTHOR:Krystine
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Hell yeah!  As long as everything says in tact
with my name and address on it.
E-MAIL/FEEDBACK: The_IceQueen@hotmail.com	
DISCLAIMER:You know the drill......
NOTE: Okay guys, this story was written in a time of slight
depression...this is my first story using the first person POV, so this
is just a test run.  Alot of the feeling related in the story, I feel
personally and have just worked them into this stand-alone piece.  Now
with out further adieu..........


I *AM* the "Ice Queen".  There, I've admitted it.  I absolutely *refuse*
to cry in anyone's presence.  Okay, so that's not entirely true.  I've
cried in from of my mother countless times.  I've even cried in front of
Mulder...twice, I think.  Those times were few and far between, and I'd
like to keep it that way.  As I walk into the J. Edgar Hoover building,
I can hear the snide remarks behind my back.  Most of which stem from
Jack Willis.  That bastard.  We were so happy the first few months.  I
even lost my virginity to him.  Then when I told him I didn't want to
see him anymore, he went ballistic.  I shudder just thinking about it
now.  After the break-up, he started spreading rumors about me.  Saying
he never really loved the, "Ice Queen".  But, as I usually do, I
repressed and tried to forget it.  After Jack's death, the names because
much more prevalent than they were.  

"Frigid bitch," I hear as I walk past the lounge.  Ooh, try a new one
Buddy, that one is old.  I feel like lashing out at all the assholes who
have ever called me names or caused me to suffer, but that would be
"Un-Scullylike," and not to mention, take a hell of a lot of time and
energy.  I've reached our office door.  Oh, stop kidding yourself,
Dana.  It's not *our* office, it's *his*.  After five years I still
don't even have a goddamn *desk*.  I push that thought aside and open
the door.  Mulder is already sitting at his desk.  I mumble an
incoherent greeting and peel off my trench coat.  My coffee mug is
conveniently on Mulder's desk.  As I grab it, his eyes catch mine. 
Damnit, he's got that "Iknowthisisgoingtopissyouoffbut..." look in his
eyes.  Shit.  *PLEASE* dont' tell me we have another case that will
result in quarantine/hospitalization/extensive pain.  I read his eyes
and know that I am right.  Fuck.  On the albeit rare occasion that I'm
right, I'm screwed.  Mulder makes an attempt to speak but I raise my
hand to silence him.  

"Not until after I've had my first cup," I say as I grab my mug.  Mulder
sits back and reads the file his has in his hand.  After I finish my
coffee, I'm prepared to hear about the newest case, at least I hope I
am.  Mulder begins to speak but I am only half-heartedly paying
attention.  I am snapped out of my reverie by the word, 'autopsy'. 
Good.  Clinical detachment.  Iciness.  Something I have down to a
capital "T".  I should have it down to a capital "T".  After all, I *AM*
the Ice Queen.  That much I'll admit to.