Ruminations on Ice (MOVIE) 1/1 PG
Date: Thu, 25 Jun 1998
**********
SPOILER: The X-Files: Fight the Future (the movie, folks)
Summary: Fill in the blank story about what happened between
sitting next to the ice crater and talking to Agent What's Her Face
in DC.
Rating: PG
Category: V (just a real long one) some A some H and implied
MSR (but really mild--no more here than the movie)
Disclaimer: Make more! Make more! I want more movies! But
until then, I just have to fill in all those nice little 'gaps' you left and
make some sense of the leaps of logic you gave us. Just doin' my
job, sir. Still not getting paid for it, of course. This is merely a
public service. No copyright infringement intended or implied.
Archive: YES, please.
Thank yous: Turn about is fair play. Thank you to Susan and
Thank you to Donna. Both of you kept at me (while I was editing
your stuff) to get this one done and posted. You were a great help
in keeping me on task and finding my boo boos. Love you both!
Ruminations On Ice
by Vickie Moseley
"Mulder, wake up!"
His face is so cold. Even as I rub his cheeks, I'm not seeing a pink
flush any more. Just a pasty white that tells me that I need to get
him somewhere warm. Anywhere else on the planet, save possibly
the other end of it, would be better than this damned ice cliff
in--where the hell are we?
"Mulder, talk to me? Do we have any way to get home?"
Now there's a real stupid question. I stare around us. Snow and
snow covered mountains, as far as the eye can see. Oh, and this
nice crater we're perched next to. What, it must be half a mile
deep. Some steam jets keep blowing out of it, but I'm not going to
hazard our way down there, even if I could support Mulder's
weight. The whole thing could collapse on us and we'd be dead for
sure.
At least the sun is out. But that's not necessarily a good thing. It's
not providing any warmth to speak of, just brightness that sears into
the retinas of the eyes. Already my eyes are tired of the constant
glare off the snow field. I realize that before very long, I'll be snow
blind. To counteract that effect, I pull the parka hood over my
head and keep my face in the shadows. At least Mulder's eyes are
closed. Just in case, I pull him closer, so that his face is now
huddled in the folds of the parka. Damn good thing he takes an
extra large for his arm length. I don't think my petite size 6 parka
back in my closet would have gotten us very far.
Oh, Mulder. I can't even yell at you for not coming prepared this
time. You wore ski pants and ski vest, parka, thinsulate gloves.
And boots, with linings. You were prepared. My regular Boy
Scout. You just never expected to have to share. So now,
somehow, you're laying here in my arms, stripped down to your
Dockers and shirt sleeves, only the ski vest keeping any warmth in
your body. Well, that and what little I can provide by holding you
close. It worked one night not too long ago in Florida. Of course,
Florida has never had the temps dip to 30 degrees below zero, at
least not that I know of.
How in the world did your legs get so long? I can't possibly fold
them up and tuck them in this parka. They are left out, exposed to
the wind that has kicked up from the mountain range just behind us.
Your pant legs were wet from the water and the sweat. Now,
they're stiff with ice. I hope that at least your feet are dry and
warmer in the boots, but that might be too much to ask at this
point.
You did it again, didn't you, Partner?
Once again, you found me. Once again, you saved my life. I
remember nothing from passing out in the hallway at your
apartment to waking up in . . . Where ever we were. I still don't
think all the images I saw back there were real. There had to be
some fever dreams or hallucinations mixed in there. Green glowing
goo and . . . vicious teeth and jaws. Were those dreams, Mulder?
Was any of that real?
Those images in my mind might not have been real, but there was
danger back there. I have that on good authority. Your voice took
on that urgency that it gets in times of stress. And there is one
thing I do remember, when I could glance at your face. That look.
That look of panic. I've seen that too many times in the last couple
of days, Mulder.
Not to be too self righteous, but I'd like to not see it for a while.
If I hug you closer, will it keep us warmer? My mind is getting
foggy. The adrenaline is being replaced with a murky sort of
malaise. I know this is bad. The scientific, doctor part of my brain
is not so far gone that I don't recognize the symptoms of
hypothermia. You're more at risk than I am now. Not just because
of your lesser amount of protective clothing, but because you have
been afflicted with this injury too many times. The body
remembers, Mulder. I keep trying to tell this to you, each time you
go rushing off, only to be carried back on a stretcher.
And while we're on the subject, my fingers, back when I could feel
them, grazed the scab on your forehead. That's a bullet wound,
Mulder. I haven't been a pathologist all this time to be confused by
the symmetry of that wound. Not too deep, but it more than likely
resulted in a concussion. You were probably out for some time.
When did that happen? And who was the idiot who let you leave
the hospital when the wound is obviously recent?
Maybe you better not answer that one. I've got a few suspicions
and I really don't want to waste the time planning any murders right
now.
As I hug you closer, I notice a few more lumps than usual. What
the hell are you carrying around, Mulder? A flashlight, I'm proud
of you! You hung on to the damned thing. One less flashlight to
account for to the Bureau. Bravo! And a geodirectional finder?
Great little tool. I smell the Lone Gunmen at work here, and I'm
not just referring to Frohike's aftershave.
But unfortunately, unless someone is looking for us, this thing is
totally worthless. I _know_ where we are. Now, thanks to this
little gizmo and Ahab's charts that I used to love to look at, I know
that we are smack dab somewhere on the continent of Antarctica.
Oh, and one small point. We are stranded in the middle of an ice
field. We can't walk out of here, neither of us are in any condition.
And this doesn't look to be on any mass transit routes. Mulder,
please tell me that for once in your life, you didn't run off without
telling any one where you were headed.
As I'm putting the items back in your pockets my hand gets tangled
in something else. As I pull out the thin gold strand, my heart skips
a beat.
My cross. Mulder, you found my cross! Judging from my state of
undress when I came awake back there, I figured I would never see
any of my clothes again. But you found my cross. You kept it with
you. Thank you.
I supposed the silk blouse was too much to ask for, huh?
Sorry. Just a little gallows humor.
Oh, Mulder, I can't let myself think down these paths. Not yet. I
won't give up on us, even out here in the middle of nothing.
No, let's think of other more dangerous pathways.
You were going to kiss me in the hallway, weren't you, Mulder? I
mean, I could see the smokiness in your eyes and I could feel your
hold on my arms heat to a level I don't ever remember and you
were going to kiss me. Not Eddie Van Blunhdt. Not a kiss of
greeting and friendship. You were going to really kiss me and I
was going to kiss you back.
Goddamn bee.
But in a way, that's all right. What you said to me was almost as
good as the kiss promised to be. I needed to hear what you had to
say in the hallway, Mulder. You probably think this is stupid,
considering all the ways you tell me on a daily basis how much you
need my help. You have always treated me as an equal, more than
anyone else I've ever known. I value that, more than I could ever
tell you.
But you've gone beyond that recently, and I have to tell you . . . I
like it. You've taken to giving voice to the looks you've been
giving me for five years. Yes, we have unspoken communication,
and I am constantly amazed and grateful for that ability, that gift.
But sometimes, no Mulder, not just sometimes. All the time, it's
nice to hear the words.
"I love you, too, Mulder."
I hope you can still hear me. I hope that on some level, those
words can reach through to the consciousness that I know is hidden
behind the cold and the pain.
I hope you know.
But I want to have the chance to tell you. I just hope we both get
that chance.
*************
"Base, this is Tango Zebra. There is a hellava big hole here. What
the hell happened?" The voice from the chopper pilot was loud and
clear in her ear.
"Tango Zebra, we picked up some seismic activity about an hour
ago. Have you spotted our targets?" she asked anxiously.
"Negative, base. At the moment, I'm not picking up anything.
That quake might have messed with the signals . . . no! Wait! I'm
getting something. Yeah, on the far side of this sink hole. Hell,
they're on the edge of the damned crater. I found them, base. I'm
going down. Will radio back ETA, but we'll probably need a
medical team assembled."
"Roger that, Tango Zebra. We'll have a welcoming committee all
set up. Let us know when the party starts."
The young Naval aviator was used to rescue operations. He'd
worked several far outposts in his short career. But this was the
first time he'd found civilians, and civilians in this state.
A man and a woman. The woman was better protected than the
man, she was wearing a parka a couple of sizes too big and ski
pants that came almost to her chin. And socks. Admittedly they
looked like good wool socks, but socks none the less.
Oh, well, he'd been told to expect the unusual. That now seemed
like an understatement. He turned to his partner.
"Get the stretchers. They're alive, but neither of them are
conscious. And he looks like he's in pretty bad shape. You can
start an IV on 'em when we're in the air."
His companion nodded wordlessly and went to work. It took a few
minutes to extricate the man from the woman's grasp. She was
holding on to him for dear life, by all appearances. The fingers of
her hand were almost frozen in the spiky strands of his hair.
Whatever they were to each other, the young aviator was pretty
sure they belonged together.
Second Lieutenant Emily Baker was in constant radio contact with
the chopper pilot, as she had been during the entire flight, so she
didn't need to be notified the moment the chopper arrived at the
pad. She had long since logged off her computer and hurried down
to the tunnels to make her way over to the infirmary. It wasn't
exactly a full-fledged hospital, but when all there was to deal with
was hypothermia, they knew their stuff.
By the time she arrived, the two stretchers had been brought in and
the occupants were in the process of having the last of their frozen
clothing removed. Not being a medical personnel, she was a little
uncomfortable, but a promise was a promise and this was one she
intended to keep.
"How are they doing?" she asked, just loud enough to attract
attention. She recognized one of the nurses, and directed the
comment to her.
"Male has a core temp of 90. Other than a healing wound to the
head, some abrasions on his hands and cuts and abrasions around
the right ankle, maybe some muscle damage in a shoulder, he's
holding his own. Female is in better shape, generally. She was kept
a little warmer, she was wearing the only coat."
"What?" Emily gasped, not sure she'd heard that last statement
correctly.
"I said, she was wearing the only coat they had between them. A
lined parka. With matching ski pants. Probably bought it in some
ski shop, but it was way too big. Would'a fit the guy better, if you
ask me."
Emily stared in horror. "So, ummm, what was 'he' wearing?" she
asked in a dull stage whisper.
"Oh, the usual Eddie Bauer, I'm sure. Dark blue twill pants, a real
nice gray polartec pullover, a ski vest that matched her parka and
boots. No socks, of course."
"No, I think we found those on _her_ feet," a second nurse chimed
in. "Unless she likes to wear men's size 13 socks as a rule."
"Hey, some chicks are kinky that way. 'Course, most of them wear
shoes to hide it," a orderly leered and the room chuckled.
The first nurse finally turned her attention fully to Emily. "It's this
way, Lieutenant. She was probably buck naked at one point, as far
as we can tell. She has some substance all over her torso--it was
sticking to the inside of the coat and pants. Viscous stuff, but no
smell. Like Vaseline, but I don't think that was it. Anyway, we
scrubbed it of her. I figure he gave her the better part of his
protective gear. Of course, that leaves the question of how in the
hell she got out in the middle of Wilkes Land in the first place, since
she sure didn't come through McMurdo looking like Lady
Godiva!"
"Russian experiment in cold weather survival?" the orderly again
joined the discussion. All eyes turned and stared at him with
varying degrees of amusement and disregard. "Well, it was a
guess," he defended himself.
"A lousy one at that," Emily informed him. "They're American.
FBI agents, as a matter of fact."
"You're kidding!" nurse number two exclaimed. "Damned glad I
don't work for Freeh!" That brought another round of chuckles.
"Well, their vitals are good, we're going to put them in the tubs and
warm 'em up a bit. Then take them down to a room. They'll
probably be out for the rest of the night. At least it was some
excitement, hey, guys?" said the doctor of the bunch as he finally
looked up from his patients and entered into the fray of
conversation. Vigorous nods gave him his response. "Lieutenant,
if you know the identities of these two, I'd appreciate if you made
the call stateside. I've got enough to do around here without the
paper work hassle that one will involve."
***********
The little pins and needles in her feet woke her up first. She was in
that sleepy state when she was certain she had at least five more
minutes left before the alarm went off. Or before Mulder called and
told her she was due on a plane in 30 minutes.
Mulder!
She opened her eyes quickly, lifting her shoulders off the bed and
searching frantically around her. Her gaze fell on the sleeping
patient next to her. The face was turned away from her, but she
would have recognized the back of that head anywhere. Her heart
started beating again just as the nurse gently pushed her back into
her pillow.
"Now, now, you're not ready to get up, yet. Just lie back. You've
had quite some time lately," the older woman clucked in Scully's
ear.
Scully never took her eyes off the other bed. "Mulder?" she called
out softly, but he didn't move a muscle. "How is he?" she quickly
demanded of the nurse. "What are his vitals?"
The nurse's eyebrow rose into her salt and pepper hairline. "Well,
his 'vitals' are all strong. He's gained nicely on his temp, he's at 97
now. Heart rate strong, blood pressure well within normal ranges.
The concussion had us a little worried. You know, a person
shouldn't go running around that soon after a craniotomy," she
added with a silent 'tsk, tsk' toward the other bed.
"Crani- . . . how did he . . .? Oh, never mind," Scully mused, more
to herself than the nurse. "Umm, where are we, exactly?"
You're at the Navel Air Station in McMurdo. On the Antarctic
'Riveria' as we call it," she chuckled at an old joke. "Lucky thing
the Lieutenant sent that chopper out to find you. You had no real
protection to speak of and a nasty blizzard blew up right after you
were loaded for the ride back here. They probably would have
never found you. Of course, you must be made of luck--surviving
that quake and right next to the sink hole it caused," the nurse said
with amazement and admiration in her eyes.
"Quake? Oh, right, the hole," Scully trailed off. She was so tired,
she could hardly think. A hole, a giant hole. But there had been
something under the ice. Something big, huge, and . . . glowing
green? She couldn't organize her thoughts in any logical manner.
They always kept coming back to one central theme. They were
safe. They were both alive and safe. But something the nurse said
picked at her curiosity.
"Lieutenant? What Lieutenant?" Scully asked, but her eyes had
betrayed her already and had closed of their own weight.
"She'll be by to see you soon. Right now, you just rest. You need
that more than answers right now."
******
Mulder.
You've been asleep for 23 hours.
Not that I can say much, since I've been asleep for 21 and a half.
The last one and a half have been interminably long, though. Just
sitting here. Watching you sleep.
I've been reading your monitors. I know that on some level I'm
invading your privacy, but damn it, Mulder, since I end up being
you primary physician more times than the guy you named on your
health insurance forms, I think I have some rights in this area.
You're doing well, by the way. They did an ct scan when we came
in because of the graze on your temple. No new bleeding, but they
could see where the surgery took place. My God, Mulder, who the
hell let you out of the hospital so soon after being shot in the head?
Again, maybe you better not answer that.
There is a mysterious Lieutenant would apparently came to our
rescue. I haven't met her yet, but I wonder how she knew we
existed, much less where to find us. Who did you tell, Mulder?
Well, since I keep peeking at your monitors, I might as well clue
you in on mine. I'm fine, Mulder. No ill effects from the bee sting
at all. The . . . yellow goop that was covering me when you were
stuffing me in your clothes is gone. I asked the nurse if they kept
any to analyse. She gave me a look and double checked my temp.
Obviously not the curious type. But I would have loved to have a
little of it to examine.
Maybe some is still in your pants.
Don't go there, Starbuck.
I'm sorry. You're lying there, unconscious, recently thawed out
from another bout of extreme hypothermia, and I'm laying here
making dirty jokes at your expense.
You deserve it, you know. Every joke, every comment. Wake up
and toss a few lewd and lascivious remarks my direction.
If we're both lucky, it might start raining sleeping bags, Mulder.
But then, who needs sleeping bags when we have two perfectly
good hospital beds we can push together.
We have so much to talk about when we get out of here. And
about 24 hours on planes to do it in.
But somehow, I bet we both just sleep.
*****************
His hands itched. Horribly. Like the bout of poison ivy when he
went to camp the summer after fifth grade. But it was a sound that
woke him up.
Breathing. No, that wasn't right, either. More like . . . sighing.
Like the wind. But in a tone and a voice he was very familiar with.
It took all his strength to open his eyes, move his head the fraction
of an inch just before the lashes separated so he could see in the
direction of the sigh.
Scully.
Oh God, thank you! Scully.
The view was much, much, _much_ better than the last time he'd
come around under similar conditions.
Her face was a little sunburned. Or snow burned, if he allowed his
mind to think about their situation when he'd 'left' the scene. But
amazingly enough, she looked damned good, sitting in that hospital
bed, staring over in his direction.
She must have been thinking, because it took her a moment to
realize he was staring back.
"Hey," she whispered, her face breaking into a smile bright enough
to blind him.
"Hey," he croaked, a little disturbed that his voice had been replace
with a box of rocks and rusty nails.
"There's a glass of water on the tray over to your left. Be careful,
you're hands are still very sensitive. You avoided severe frostbite,
but your extremities are still susceptible to damage, so go easy."
Always the doctor, his partner.
After drinking about half the water in the glass, he put it back down
and gave her a long look. "How are you?"
She smirked a little, then remembered that he was probably very
serious in his concern. "I'm fine, Mulder. And stop worrying,
because I mean it. The doctors gave me a good going over. No
signs of the bee sting or the allergic reaction. No ill effects of my
kidnapping. Aside from some skin irritation and hypothermia, I
could hop a plane right now and head home. You're the one we've
been worried about." Her eyes narrowed to suspicious slits.
"How's your checkbook balance," she said, the words dripping
with sarcasm.
He rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "The hospital bill," he moaned. "I
checked out against advice," he admitted. "But Scully, there were
extenuating circumstances!"
"Mulder, I owe you my life, _again_ so this is going to sound
extremely ungrateful, but hospitals are NOT courts of law! They
don't take into account when a person has to run off to the ends of
the earth, literally, to save another person. They just see that you
didn't get a release from any doctor, that you checked yourself out
against medical advice _again_, and they tell the insurance
company, who already have you on their shit list and boom! You
get stuck with the bill. I hate to tell you, but brain surgery
following a bullet wound to the head is not cheap."
"I'm screwed," he sighed, closing his eyes and burrowing under the
covers. He peeked one eye open to regard her. "You know about
the head thing, too? And they call _me_ 'Spooky'."
She sat there, thinking about all he'd just been through for her and
regretted tearing into him. "Hey, if they hit you with the bill, I'll
figure out a way to fight it," she offered. The smile was back,
maybe not as bright as when he first looked over at her, but there
all the same.
"You'd do that for me, Scully?" he asked, half in wonder, half in
jest.
"I think it's the _least_ I can do, Mulder," she shot back.
"Where are we? I mean, I can see we're in another hospital, but
where on the planet?" he asked, decided it was a good time to
change subjects.
"McMurdo, Antarctica. A couple hundred miles from where we
were found."
"Scully, there was a ship," he spilled out, the wonder of that sight
still burned into his mind. "It was enormous and deep gray, almost
black. It formed it's own weather system, Scully," he rushed to
add.
"Which started a blizzard that would have killed us, Mulder," she
interjected. "And the crater we were sitting next to caused a
seismic effect. McMurdo registers tremors of almost three on the
scale."
"But you didn't see it," Mulder whispered sadly. "I wish you could
have seen it."
The look on her face went from clinical to something much softer in
a split second. "But I'm glad you did, Mulder. You needed that
more than I did."
The two shared a look that spoke volumes of mutual support and
respect which was broken by a knock on the door.
"Skinner's never going to believe this report," Mulder shot over to
her as Scully called out a greeting to whoever was entering the
room.
"Depends on who you have for corroborating testimony, I'd say,"
answered the young woman in dress blues who stood in the
doorway. "Hi, we haven't been formally introduced, but I'm Lt.
Emily Baker. I'm the person responsible for your being here. Or at
least, on this end of the operation." Gingerly, both agents shook
her hand.
"You're the Lieutenant the nurses keep talking about?" Scully
asked.
"Do we know you?" Mulder asked, his eyes narrowing a bit in
concern.
"Not directly, but someone I hold very dear knows you all too well,
I'm afraid. Walter Skinner is my uncle." At their upraised eyes,
she continued. "He called me five days ago, probably about the
same time you were getting on a plane in DC, Agent Mulder. He
told me to keep an eye out for you."
Scully turned to her partner with a look of pure amazement. "You
told Skinner where you were going?"
"I had to Scully. And the guys. They knew because I took
Frohike's geodirectional finder," he admitted sheepishly.
"You ran off to Alaska three years ago without telling _me_ and
you told FOUR people that you were coming to Antarctica?!"
Scully demanded, her voice taking an edge of steel.
"Scully, this was an entirely different situation!" he yelped in
defense. "That time it was a personal vendetta. This time, if
something happened to me, I wanted someone able to find you
anyway. Geez! I finally arrange for backup, something you are
_always_ busting my chops for, and you're giving me grief?"
The discussion ground to a halt at the sound of a throat being
cleared. It might have been feminine, but it sounded very familiar
to both of them.
"If you two are finished," Lt. Baker said brusquely. "Your AD
would like an update. I've told him what I know, but the rest is up
to you. It sounds like it's going to be a real work of art, and I
really hate to miss it, but I have other duties to attend to right
now."
"Umm, thank you, Lieutenant. We owe you our lives," Scully held
out her hand to shake Emily's.
"Don't give it a second thought, Agent Scully. Most excitement
we've had down here in months. And besides, Uncle Walter would
miss you two, I can tell. You keep him on his toes." She smiled
and shook Mulder's hand, then left the room.
"Well, we're back to this. What are we going to tell Skinner?"
"The truth, like always," Mulder answered. "Scully, this is proof if
there ever was any. And we still have the little bastard who stung
you in the hallway. Frohike has it under lock and key at the office."
"We have the bee?" she asked excitedly. "We can analyze any
residue, we can examine it's genetic make up, we can . . ."
"Do all of that after a phone call. We really do need to talk to
Skinner. And after that, I'm taking a nap," he told her in no
uncertain terms.
"I like that idea. A nap, to prepare us for the trip home." She
sounded almost wistful as she said the word again, just under her
voice. "home."
"Yeah, now, if we just knew whether we have jobs when we get
back," he muttered.
"We will, Mulder. Or we'll figure something out. But one thing is
certain. After that time on that ice field . . . I am NOT going to Salt
Lake City without you. No way, no how."
the end
Vickie
"If you listen closely, you can hear all the Star Trek fans falling off
their perch on the top of the 'nerd food chain'."
The Daily Show on _The X-Files Movie: Fight the Future_ and it's number one
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