Out of the Cold
by Vickie Sapers
rockns@gte.net 
DISCLAIMER: Mulder and Scully belong to Chris Carter, 1013
Productions, and/or Fox Studios. No infringement is
intended, and believe me, I'm not making any money
off this.

CATEGORY: S, R
RATING: NC-17
SPOILERS: None
WARNINGS: Lots of MSR, some angst, so if you don't like that
stuff, turn back now!

SUMMARY: Mulder leaves Scully 'out in the cold', literally, and
has to warm her up. Let your imagination take it from
there.

REQUEST: I love any and all comments and suggestions for
improvement. I have some ideas for a sequel, so if
you liked it, just ask, maybe I'll work on one. Reply to
rockns@gte.net



Just keep moving, he thought. Don't stop. Don't think about it. One foot
in front of the other. Fox Mulder's arms ached with the strain, but he
blocked the pain from his mind. Funny, he'd never thought of his partner
as heavy before, she was so small, the top of her red head falling a
full inch short of his chin, even that only when she wore heels. Then
again, he'd never carried her three miles over rough terrain in the
bitter cold before, either.

As usual, he'd left her behind, stranded 40 miles from nowhere, to go
running off after the bad guys. Only it had been a ruse. While he chased
wild geese, Dana Scully had confronted the real enemy, and been left
tied to a tree for 8 hours in near-zero temperatures until her
thick-headed partner figured out something was wrong and came back for
her.

It was his fault; he shouldn't have left her. His chest heaved with the
physical effort and with the guilt threatening to sap even more of his
dwindling strength. He squashed the emotion like a bug under his shoe.
There would be time for that later, when Scully was safe. For now, he
just had to keep moving. Each breath exploded from his burning lungs in
a cloud of icy condensation

His heavy parka, which he'd wrapped around his still partner when he'd
found her semi-conscious and huddled against the trunk of an old growth
tree providing some shelter from the north wind, slipped off her
shoulder. He stopped a moment and adusted her in his arms, lifting one
thigh against her bottom to balance her, freeing his right hand to pull
the parka back tightly under her chin. He tottered slightly, but
regained his balance, and took a precious moment to catch his breath
while he looked around.

They should be almost there, and he prayed he wasn't lost. The tall
pines and cedars surrounding him all looked the same. Towering over him,
the trees made it difficult to see enough of the sky to accurately sight
his direction. Hell, he'd never been very good with directions anyway.

Right above him, a group of winter-hardy birds chattered noisily and
scattered at the intrusion of some small animal, probably a squirrel.
They didn't sound bothered by his predicament. His intelligience was
supposed to be so superior to them, and yet they never seemed to have
any trouble finding their ways back to their own trees at the end of a
long nut-hunting day. Shaking his head, he sucked in a great breath of
tangy forest air, and started forward again. Right direction or wrong,
standing here worrying about it wasn't going to do him any good.

As he forced himself the last step up a steep rise, the breath whoosed
from his chest in relief. The car, thank God. He hardly noticed the pins
and needles in his thighs, calves, and biceps as he crossed the last 100
yards and sat Scully down, leaning her back against the wheel for
support. The stiffness of his fingers made it difficult to dig the keys
out of his jeans' pocket, and he cursed at his fumbling fingers when he
finally retrieved the keys only to drop them in the snow drifted next to
the car. After only a few hours exposed to this weather, he thought he
might never feel his fingertips or toes again. He looked at his partner,
a worried look etched into his features; she had been out in it much
longer than he had.

With the car running and the heater blasting on high, he settled his
partner in the front passenger seat. Her head lolled to the right as he
eased the shoulder belt over her chest. Her face was so pale her skin
looked translucent, like fine-quality pearls. Icy crystals on her thick
lashes turned soft, warmed into wet droplets by the rush of hot air from
the vents, all of which Mulder had turned to blow directly on her.

She was so still, for a moment he panicked, afraid she wasn't breathing.
Slowly, watching her parted lips intently, he leaned close to feel her
shallow breath on his own frost-bitten cheek...

...and jumped back so suddenly he hit his head soundly on the rim of the
car door when her eyes, crystal clear and blue as the deep ice of an
arctic glacier, snapped open.

"Dana?" he said, rubbing the rapidly rising bump on the back of his
head. "Are you all right?" His eyes searched hers, hazel meeting blue,
looking for signs of recognition, of lucidity.

When she didn't answer he swallowed the painful lump in his throat and
grabbed her shoulders, rubbing them and shaking gently. He forced more
confidence than he had into his voice as he tried to talk her back to
awareness. "Don't worry. You're safe. I'm going to get you to the
hospital. I'm sorry, Scully. I'm so sorry."

Ever so slowly Dana Scully, M.D., M.E. Special Agent of the FBI, once
again became who she was. She put a hand over Mulder's and grimaced,
then smiled curiously at his apology. "No, Mulder, I'm fine." She patted
his hand and he jerked it away quickly. For a moment he lowered his
eyes, unable to meet her stare. He'd done it to her again. But his
intense gaze locked back to hers as her body was gripped in a violent
shaking convulsion. Still squatting on the ground next to the open car
door, he squeezed her shoulders, helping her ride out the shivers. As
abruptly as it had begun, it ended, and she smiled weakly in relief. She
gave Mulder's hand a gentle squeeze. "I'll be okay. Just get me
somewhere warm," she said. Please, her eyes added.

Mulder wasn't sure he was buying it, but she was the doctor, as she told
him repeatedly when he pulled the car out onto the country highway, so
he did as she asked. Back at the squat dingy building misguidedly
calling itself a motel, Mulder hurried around the car to open the door
for Scully. For once, she waited for his help. Probably a bad sign,
Mulder couldn't help thinking. Before she could leverage herself out of
the blue Taurus, he reached in and scooped her into his arms, giving her
a look meant to immediately snuff any argument.

"Mulderrrrrr," she protested anyway, but her teeth chattered, drawing
out the last syllable and ruining the effect. She gave up and rested her
cheek on his strong shoulder.

After he'd shoved the door open with his shoulder and carried Scully
into his room, Mulder turned and kicked it shut with his foot. The
earlier abuse of his arms and shoulders was taking it's toll. They
screamed for relief until he lowered Scully carefully to the sagging
mattress. Mulder clicked the locks on the door and then crossed to the
combination window heat/air conditioning unit. After studying it only a
moment, he turned the knob all the way to the right toward heat and
stabbed at the "Fan - High" button.

On the bed, Dana curled on to her side, drawing her knees up and pulling
the corner of the bedspread over her fully clothed body. Her things had
to be damp, Mulder thought. He couldn't leave her like that. Hell, he
couldn't leave her at all, this was his hotel room.

He eased himself down on the edge of the bed and pushed a few errant
strands of silky hair off her cheek, tucking it behind her ear in her
own familiar gesture. Her only response was another round of trembling,
beginning at the tip of her toes and working itself all the way up and
out of her body to her tightly pursed red lips.

When she turned her face into the pillow at his touch, his gut
constricted like she had kicked him. Not yet, he thought, crushing the
guilt back into the depths of his heart. Gently he pried the covers out
of her fists and slipped her out of his parka, then her sweater.

Her lethargy worried him. He'd expected at least a token resistance when
he reached for the snap at the waist of her jeans, but instead she
lifted her hips to help him slide off the stiff denim.

He got a white T-shirt from his suitcase and brought it back to the bed.
She'd covered herself with the bedspread again but his mind still saw
her creamy skin, the curve of her breasts. Damn, he was making this
harder than it had to be. She was sick, and going to get sicker if he
didn't get her into something clean and dry. She'd seem him numerous
times, when he was hurt, and done what she had to without embarrassment,
or other...distracting...thoughts.

He steeled himself and put an arm behind her shoulders to help her sit
up. Once the T-shirt had been eased over her head, he took a deep breath
and slid his hands underneath to the clasp of her bra. She flinched a
little, but didn't pull away. Somehow he couldn't ever remember having
so much trouble taking off a woman's underclothes. By the time his
trembling fingers finally figured out the clasp was in front and he had
successfully unhooked it, his body was doing more than just trembling.
Traitor, he thought, looking at his lap.

It took only seconds to slide the straps down her arms, throw the
trouble-making scrap of lace and silk across the room and slide her body
back under all the covers, but it seemed like days. He cursed himself
and his lack of control as he tucked the covers up around her chin and
spun away from the bed, breathing raggedly.

While she slept, Mulder paced the room, corner to corner. Each time he
passed the foot of the bed he stopped, took a step toward her, then
wrenched himself back to his original path, raking a hand through his
toussled hair.

Finally, he sank into the hard wooden chair next to the peeling pine
veneer nightstand -- the only other furniture in the hovel that passed
for a room. His head fell into his hands. As her small body shook again
on the bed, the covers barely trembling over her hips and shoulders, his
hands clenched to fists at his temples, denying the long-buried feelings
threatening to surface.

She was all right, she had told him so. He couldn't do anything more for
her. He had to do something for her. A whimper escaped in her sleep, a
small frightened sound that tugged at his already taught nerves.

With a sigh of surrender he succumbed. Against his better judgement he
stripped out of his hiking boots and jeans and slipped into the bed
next to Scully. With his arms around her middle, the soft weight of her
breasts on his forearms, he pulled her back tightly against his chest.
Only his T-shirts, the one on him and the one on her, separated them.
God, she was still so cold. He slipped a leg between hers, sharing as
much of his body heat as he could. The light lacy edge of her panties
tickled his thigh, raising goosflesh. Fervently, Mulder prayed that's
all it raised and focused on thoughts of other things: the worst of the
mutants they had chased together, her mother, the shadow government
which conspired against them. But each time, his thoughts circled right
around to one thing--- the woman in his arms.

Only a whisper of silver moonlight filtered into the room, peeking
around the corners of the curtain where they didn't quite meet the edges
of the scarred windowsill. It was enough to glance off her soft auburn
hair where it fluttered each time he exhaled, touched by his breath. He
began to let himself feel his own exhaustion, and eventually the
rythymic rise and fall of her chest under his palms gradually lulled him
into a sweet, dreamless sleep.

There was no way to tell how long he had been out. He woke in the same
position, curled around Scully like a child around a cherished teddy
bear, but something was different. He was sweating, and heat radiated
from Dana's body, too. A fever? No. His mind registered the whine of the
window unit behind him. He'd fallen asleep with the heater on high, and
it had pumped enough dry scorching air into the room to change it to a
desert. Grudgingly, he loosened his grip on Scully and went to turn it
off.

Now fully awake, Mulder stood staring at his partner. Even in the dim
light, he could see the color had returned to her cheeks. Her breathing
was slow and regular and deep. She didn't need him any more, but he
wanted to crawl back into the bed anyway. After a few hours of lying
beside her, these few seconds of separation left him feeling incomplete.
He wasn't sure he could ever let her go again.

The pull was just too strong. It crumbled the defenses he had spent
years perfecting. He didn't remember getting back into bed with her,
pulling her close. He never consciously decided to put his lips on her
neck, or graze her earlobe with his teeth.

His heart beat so hard in his chest he thought it might wake her where
it thumped against her back. As if his thoughts had come true, Scully
murmured softly and reached a hand back to rest on his hip, but then
she lay still. Breathing harder, he slid his own hand from her waist
down her thigh, around then back down to the juncture between her legs.
Her hand slid off his thigh and touched him intimately, stroking his
rock-hard shaft where it pressed into the small of her back.

It wasn't until she touched him there that Mulder realized what he was
doing, and just how aroused he was. His body was betraying him, his
actions denying his honorable intentions. One more sin he would have to
apologize for in the morning.

The mattress pitched and heaved with his labored breathing as he tried
to disentangle his limbs from hers. When he drew back, she turned and
rolled with him. Her hair brushed his shoulder where her head tilted,
her face just inches from his own. And he realized just how aroused she
was.

Her blue eyes smoldered chalky gray, like the last embers of a fire. She
snaked a hand up to touch his throat, outlining his jaw, and he thought
he would suffocate for not being able get his lungs to function
properly.

"Mulder," she whispered, "why did you stop?" Her breath was coming as
rapidly as his own when her hand dropped from his jaw to thread the fine
hairs high on his chest. The room had cooled off, but he was still
sweating. Slowly he reached up, his eyes never leaving hers, and put his
hand behind her head, drawing it down those last few inches to his own.

His lips pulled at hers. He sucked gently, first on her thin upper lip,
then on the fuller lower one until she sighed against his mouth and
parted her lips for easier access.

On cue, his tongue plunged in, seeking first the hidden recesses, then
withdrawing to lap at the corners of her seductive smile.

While she returned the favor, he gripped her waist and rolled them until
he lay fully on top of her. He crushed her breasts against his chest and
she arched her back, grinding her hips against his erection. Gulping, he
pulled back long enough to work them both out of their T-shirts, then
fell back to her.

"God, Dana." His voice was strangled. It was difficult to find the
breath to speak. "I've wanted you for so long."

With hands and lips they expored each other's bodies. Their roaming
becoming more erratic, more urgent, with each kiss, each sigh, each
touch. Dana shifted her hips again, this time with his hand helping lift
and tugging at the panties blocking his goal.

His mind reeled with the intensity of it. Stopping was no longer an
option. There would be ramifications, he knew, but they would wait until
tomorrow.

Divested of his boxers, he entered her in one sure, strong thrust. She
gasped, a little hiccup at the back of her throat. Afraid that he'd hurt
her, or worse, that she didn't want this, he froze. On trembling arms he
held himself above her, waiting. In a moment she sucked in a deep breath
and opened her eyes. He was stunned. They had turned a dark violet, like
a storm brewing on the sea's horizon. He'd never seen anything more
beautiful.

She began to move, rocking her hips up and down against his weight,
urging him into his own rythym. And he answered her, sliding slightly
side to side to increase the sensation. They rolled together as waves
rippling to the beach, each swell growing in power and intensity as the
storm in her eyes moved ashore. They finished together in a final roar
of tumbling white water and thunder, unlike anything Mulder had ever
experienced. Too soon after, as he held the love of his life in his
arms, the riptide pulled them beneath the surface of reality into the
quiet darkness of sated slumber.

When Mulder woke again, the silver slivers of moonlight had given way to
the pink rays of dawn's light.His arms were still around Dana's waist
and he nuzzled her hair, which hung like a curtain in his face. The
fresh pine scent from the forest mingled with the apple aroma of her
shampoo. He lay still a few moments, revelling in the sensations, until
he remembered. Remembered exactly where he was, who he was, who she was,
and what he had done.

He screwed his eyes shut, willing the memories to go away, but it didn't
work. His conscience screamed at him. She's your partner, it said. She's
never been anything but good to you, even when you treated her like shit
and didn't trust her.

In horror, he slid slowly out of the bed, stopping only to pull the
covers back up to her shoulders. He doubled over in the chair, hating
himself. He had had these feelings for Scully for years, there was no
sense denying it. But she didn't feel the same way. She insisted on a
professional relationship. They were partners, and nothing more. Well,
maybe friends, too, but that was it.

Now he'd not only put her life in danger once again, but had taken
advantage of her when she was weak and in shock as a result of it. She
would never forgive him. He couldn't blame her. He'd be lucky if she
didn't...Christ...technically he was her supervising agent, even if they
had never actually worked that way. If she reported this to the bureau
it would mean his job. No, she wouldn't do that. Well, it would depend
how mad she was. But even if she didn't, he knew she'd find some other
excuse not to work with him anymore.

His mind was busy applying its considerable abilities to imagining the
worst, a future without Scully, when she woke up. She sat up, rubbing a
fine-boned hand over her sleepy face. He kept his eyes fixed on floor.
He knew she was looking at him, but he didn't have the courage to look
back. Mutants, aliens, men in black, those he could face. But not her,
not after this.

"Mulder?" she called quietly. The silence stretched the tension between
them like a child experimenting with a rubber band. Her voice was more
firm this time. "Mulder." Almost impatient sounding. "What are you doing
over there?"

As hard as anything he had ever done, he slowly lifted his head. "I'm
sorry, Scully. I..."

"Oh, God." She cut him off, falling back to the pillow behind her.
"Mulder, you're not..." She raised back up, leaning on one elbow. "You
are, aren't you?"

Mulder couldn't figure out what she was trying to say.

She looked incredulous. Her lips were fixed in a grim line. She punched
the pillow and pulled it over to her lap, folding her arms across it.
"Mulder, you are the only man I know who could take something as
wonderful as what happened last night and manage to feel guilty about
it."

Wonderful, did she say wonderful? He stood up, shaking his head and
began to pace again. Self reproach welled up inside him, heedless of her
words. "Scully, you were in no shape to have a say in the matter, if I
had even bothered to ask, which I didn't."

"Well that's funny, Mulder, because I seem to remember being very much
aware of what was happening. In fact, I'd say I was a more than willing
participant."

He turned his back to her and paced the other direction.

When he reached the corner and headed back her direction, her face
twisted into that really angry look he had learned meant big trouble.
She lurched off the bed, wrapping the sheet around her, and stalked over
to stand in his path. "Fox William Mulder..."

She sounded like his mother. Check that, she sounded like her mother.

"You are not getting out of this that easy."

Here it comes, she was going to let him have it now. Nothing less than
he deserved, though.

"Mulder, look at me." He stared at her forehead, and she put her hand on
his chin, tipping his head down until his eyes met hers. Her voice was
softer now. It wafted on the air like a classic oldies tune from an
antique radio."Did you mean it, Mulder?"

He didn't know what she was asking. She made that impatient sound again,
like last night, and he nearly wilted from the heat of the flashback
that emerged in his mind.

"Okay, I'll spell it out for you. You said you had wanted me for a long
time. Did you mean it?"

After everything that had happened, the last thing he could do was lie
to her. "Yes," he whispered.

She exhaled a long breath and licked her lips. Putting her arms around
his rigid neck and shoulders, she said, "Then you have nothing to feel
guilty about. You just happen to be the one who worked up the courage to
say it first."

As Scully massaged his neck, he realized what she had implied. His eyes
narrowed. "Scully, are you saying what I think you're saying?"

She grinned wickedly. "Uh Huh."

He rolled his head back to stare at the ceiling, a littany of silent
curses running through his head. He finally lowered his gaze back to
her, a drab expression his face. "And I've been standing here like an
idiot thinking I'd ruined everything between us."

Her grin turned into a full-fledged smile. "Uh Huh," she repeated.

He leaned down so that his forehead rested on hers. Her breath mixed
with his while they held each other, not quite knowing where to go from
here. She stood on her toes to caress his neck with her mouth and
murmured, "Why don't you come back to bed?"

He chuckled and hooked a fingertip under the top of the sheet wrapped
around her chest, tugging it out just a bit and leering at the sight
underneath. "I would, but you seem to be hogging all the covers."

Without a word, the sheet fell to the floor.

Mulder had thought last night was incredible-- an experience to be
cherished and savored forever in his mind during quiet moments---but
this morning surpassed the unsurpassable. A fully recovered Dana Scully
proved to be the kind of lover most men only dreamed about. She was
vivacious and exciting. She approached making love with the same
curiosity, open-mindedness, and attention to detail she showed in her
work. In short, she gave as good as she got.

By the time they fell asleep a second time, they knew every inch of each
others' bodies, knew what pleased them and what drove them insane, and
knew the expression on their lover's face that only comes from one
thing. If the sun never rose again, it wouldn't matter.

All too quickly, the sun did rise again. When Mulder turned toward the
window in his sleep, he had to scrunch his eyes shut to block out the
light. He hadn't had nearly enough sleep to face the day yet. Still too
bright, he put the pillow over his head and groaned, but nothing worked.
With a resigned sigh, he slid out of bed.

Shrugging back into the clothes he had discarded last night, he decided
to surprise Scully with some coffee.

When he returned, he found his partner, now much more than that to him,
sitting on the bed with her knees drawn up to her chest, crying into a
pillow. He dropped the bags he was carrying, slammed the door shut, and
rushed to her side.

Somewhere between the door and the bed she realized he was back and
lifted her head. Sniffling, she wiped her nose on the sleeve of his
T-shirt. Before she could get a word out, he was beside her with his
arms around her.

"Scully, what's wrong?" His hands were shaking as the rubbed her back.
"Scully?"

She looked up at him with wide liquid eyes and an embarrassed little
grin. "Mulder, I...when I woke up and you were gone, I thought, well,
you had changed your mind. Maybe you didn't really want this, and I
pushed you..."

"Ssshhh, Scully." He rocked her and kept rubbing her back. "That's not
true. I love you."

She blinked the tears back in surprise. "You love me?" Even in the
passion of their love-making he had not said those words. She grabbed
him in a bear hug and started crying all over. "I love you too."

When she let him go, he wiped her eyes dry with his thumbs. "Where did
you go?" she asked.

"Breakfast," he said, looking at the spilled bags by the door. The
coffee was soaking through one of them and staining the carpet. "I
brought you breakfast."

With one last hug he got up and retrieved what was salvageable of the
donuts and coffee. Quietly, he took a smaller package out and laid it on
the nightstand, behind his gun. "Well, the donuts aren't too much the
worse for wear, and the lids on the cups were tight-- there's about a
half left in each."

He carried the goodies back to the bed and settled himself beside Scully
to enjoy them. They got powdered sugar all over their mouths and
fingers, then had a great time licking it off. Amid the laughing and
touching, Mulder suddenly turned serious. "Scully, we have to talk about
this."

"I know. Things are going to change. But it doesn't mean some things
can't be the same."

Mulder nodded. "I know we can still work together--this, us, won't
interfere. But we can't be together all the time, Scully. It would be
too obvious. The bureau may be changing, slowly, but they're not ready
for this. They'll split us up. And you know their are others who would
use it against us in much worse ways." He held her hand, massaging her
palm.

"Then we'll just have to take what we can get. A few days at your place,
a few at mine. It can't possibly make our lives more complicated than
they already are."

He harumphed. "I think it'll make things a lot more simple-- no more
hiding our feelings from each other, at least in private."

Her smile was enough to brighten his day, every day. This new-found
truth between them was uncharted territory, but he was anxious to
explore its terrain.

"Then it's all settled. We'll keep going pretty much as we have, for
now. On the bureau's time, we're still who we were-- no exceptions-- but
on our own..." she leaned forward and kissed him sensously, her tongue
pushing at his lips until he granted access.

Breaking it off to catch a breath, Scully winked at him and started to
roll across the bed pulling him down with her. Mulder kept his grasp on
her hand, pulling her back up. "Scully, there's one more thing we need
to talk about."

She looked at him, waiting, trusting. He cleared his throat and lifted
his chin. "Last night," he said, "we didn't use any, um, protection."

Her face settled into that expression he so fondly thought of as doctor
mode. "We've both had physicals in the last six months, and I assume
nothing was found either of us should know about. Have you had
unprotected sex since then?"

He smiled at her bluntness. "No."

She flashed him a wry grin. "Good."

He returned it. "You?"

She snorted. "Not even close."

She started to pull him down again, and again he stopped her. "That's
all good to know, Scully, but , uh, actually that's not what I was
worried about."

It took her a moment, but she finally caught his drift. She put a
reassuring hand on his arm, mentally calculating. "It's okay." She shook
her head,. "The timing is way off."

He sighed in relief, but didn't completely relax. That method had proven
unreliable many times.

"When we get back to D.C., I'll get a prescription." She tugged on his
T-shirt. When he resisted, she looked annoyed.

"What else?" she asked in exasperation.

"You'd tell me Scully, wouldn't you? If you were wrong."

She hesitated just a second too long. He frowned. "Yes, Mulder, I would
tell you."

As he fell back, Scully was already working his T-shirt out of the
waistband of his jeans. His mouth met hers, but his hand was distracted,
fumbling around on the nightstand until his gun dropped off to the
floor.

"Mulder, who are you going to shoot?" Scully asked.

He took the opportunity to raise his head so he could see the little
table, and grabbed the box that teetered on the edge.

Her eyes laughed at him as he ripped it open and retrieved one of the
foil packages. "Oooh, a whole box. You did go shopping this morning."

"There was a drugstore next to the donut shop," he replied, grinning.

She lowered he hand to the crotch of his jeans, rubbing her palm on the
plainly outlined bulge, cupping him underneath. Her eyes twinkled.
"Outstanding, Agent Mulder. Outstanding."

Then Scully stole the breath from his mouth, and neither of them needed
any more words.


the end