Mulder tilted back his desk chair, idly rubbed the scar above his eye while reflecting on yesterday's conversation. He could almost feel the stiff paper of the small bouquet in his hands, the slight tremble of Scully's elbow through her black wool sleeve.

He eyed tiny snowflakes as they joined the dirty crust lacing his window, forming a ghostly 'x' on one pane. Remembered another kind of snow in North Dakota. Mentally scratched Black Crow off his list of places to revisit.

In January it's so nice,
While slipping on the sliding ice.

The nonsense verse slipped into his head and rattled around until Mulder stood. He could sit here in the twilight of a Saturday's late afternoon, or he could do something. Something with Scully.

Drew his hand back even as it reached for the phone, the Scully litany of objections rattling like gunfire. //It's snowing//It's late//It's the weekend//I'm tired//

Scully had been tired a lot lately.

Nope. Best to show up with the patented Mulder smile and make the trip seem like a done deal.

Skates? He dusted off the black leather with his sleeve and propped them next to the door. Food? Nah, there's restaurants. Drink? Oh yeah, and he headed towards the kitchen.

His mother always had a thermos at the outdoor rink for him and Sam and another, smaller one, for herself. Mulder remembered as a child sneaking an exploratory gulp and coughing till snot ran out of his nose. He'd expected his mother to be angry, but she laughed.

"A nip against nippy weather," she'd explained. "Call it the adult version of hot cocoa."

The kettle boiled. He poured lemon tea laced with rum into a plaid metal thermos found at the back of a cupboard. Gloves, keys, an ancient knit hat, and he was good to go.

Shave-and-a-haircut knock and the door slowly opened, Scully blinking, her finger bookmarking a fat volume. Mulder held up his skates like a prize.

"Grab your woollies, Scully. I never got a chance to show you the Gunmen crime scene."

"Now?"

"Sure. It's open til eleven."

Scully shook her head no, but in a less-than-decisive way. Mulder was encouraged.

"I don't have ice skates."

"We're heading to Capital Ice, Maryland's Finest Skating Wonderland. Bound to be rental skates, even to fit your ti-"

"Watch it, Mulder."

"I was going to say, in whatever style and size you need."

"Sure you were."

Mulder snuck a peek at the book Scully laid on the table as she got ready to go. The Diagnostic Pathology of Schizophrenia Proteomics. He shook his head. He'd rescued her just in time.

He'd heard the story over cheese steaks, and exaggerated it even further as he narrated the Great Lone Gunmen Fiasco. Mulder was delighted to see Scully's shoulders relax by the time they pulled into Capital Ice parking. "Yeah, the caper went off like clockwork - if the clock had been pelted with handfuls of sand."

"And the tape was never found?"

"Not yet. However, I did find this fine ice skating establishment." He gestured to the chrysanthemum dome of smoky glass, banners whipping in the snowy breeze, the loudspeakers blaring something snappy.

Mulder settled on a long bench next to Scully, his tightened laces topped with a sloppy bow. Had to stop himself from smiling at Scully, who was precisely pulling the laces, one by one, ending in a regulation double knot.

"Done much skating, Scully?"

"Not for years."

Good, Mulder didn't say, hoping for some kind of steadying, of holding. But not like teen groping, more like a dignified support of one's partner. Sure. Mulder cleared his throat and stood, held out his hand and helped Scully to her feet. "Ready?"

Their progress was slow at first as they found their balance. Mulder sped up a bit and twirled, turning and facing Scully.

"What do you think?"

"I think," Scully smirked, "I'm remembering some smooth-" she sped around him, "-moves!"

Mulder laughed. And did his damnedest to keep up.

The music set their tempo. At times they swept off, listing together, making foot-across-foot turns in perfect synchrony. At times Mulder slowed, watching Scully weave long, expert circles around the crowd, her red cheeks and sparkling eyes transforming her into the brightest fairy in their icy fairyland.

Mulder eventually made his way over to the bench and pulled out the thermos tucked underneath. Scully skated close, dusting the ice with a line of crystals as she stopped.

"Time for a break?" she said. "Good idea."

He opened the thermos and handed Scully one of the nested cups. Poured a dollop for her and another for himself.

"Clink!" he toasted, plastic to plastic, his eyes crinkling at Scully's surprised swallow.

"You like?"

"This is better than I expected," she said. And smiled.

Mulder drank, warmed by the liquid and something more.

Better than expected was always a good thing.



***

Notes:

Many people helped me with the creation of the Chicken Soup Stories page. Thanks to Binah for her help with my original graphic idea and thanks to Circe Invidiosa for formatting the page, something that was far beyond my meager abilities. MaybeAmanda gets a special ice cream flavoured thank you (double scooped!) for both the creation of my Chicken Soup Stories logo and her sharp-eyed beta reading.

The rhyme -

"In January it's so nice,
While slipping on the sliding ice."

is by the inestimable Maurice Sendak. Chicken Soup with Rice (and, in fact, the entire Nutshell Library) is burned forever into my memory. My theory is that Mulder - with his much higher brain power - remembers it too.