From: nullipara@gmail.com   
      
   Title: Everywhere In the Dark   
   Author: tree   
   E-mail address: nullipara@gmail.com   
   Distribution: I'll send to gossamer myself; anywhere else,   
   please just let me know so I can visit.   
      
   Spoilers: Pilot, Ice, Lazarus   
   Rating: R for sexual situations   
   Category: VA   
   Keywords: Mulder/Scully UST, Scully Angst   
   Summary: A missing scene from Ice.  What happened between   
   saying goodnight and Mulder finding Murphy?  This is one   
   possibility.   
      
   Author's Notes:   
      
   This was inspired by and written as a present for the folks at   
   eyeinfbi.  I hope you ladies (do we have any gents?) like it.   
      
   Special thanks to:   
      
   Helen for answering my questions about 'science-y stuff'; any   
   realistic medical information in this story is entirely her doing.   
      
   Wendy for beta services, checking my American spelling, and   
   asking important questions.   
      
   Zellie for spotting that last typo.   
      
   *   
      
   Everywhere In the Dark   
      
   *   
      
   Scully hasn't been this afraid of the dark since she was a little   
   girl, not even after Eugene Tooms.  With her back braced   
   against the wall, she knows she's being irrational.  Adrenaline   
   and sleep deprivation have mixed a dangerous cocktail in her   
   brain; her sympathetic nervous system is in overdrive.  She   
   closes her eyes and tries to regulate her breathing, to focus on   
   slow and even inhalation and exhalation.   
      
   The worst part of their current situation is the isolation.  If they   
   were almost anywhere else she could set up proper quarantine   
   procedures.  There would be lab equipment capable of   
   analyzing the samples they've collected.  There would be other   
   people on whom to rely, to trust.   
      
   This not knowing is making her jittery.  Hodges' hostility, along   
   with her own fears, has combined to make her question herself   
   relentlessly.  What was it Mulder had said?  "We're either   
   brilliant or expendable."  Right now she is not feeling particularly   
   brilliant.  Her mind buzzes tiredly, incessantly questioning: how   
   is the parasite contracted?  How can they prevent further   
   infection?  Most importantly, how can they kill it?   
      
   No matter what Mulder may believe, Scully is convinced that   
   destruction of the threat is the only viable option.  She cannot   
   bear to think of she and Mulder ending up like Richter and   
   Campbell.  They've been here less than 48 hours and already   
   one man is dead.  The parasite's ability to cross-contaminate   
   between species and the rapid onset of symptoms of infection   
   are terrifying.  None of them may have much time to debate   
   this.   
      
   Scully leans her head back against the wall and stretches her   
   legs out in front of her.  Her eyes feel gritty and her feet are   
   cold inside her boots.  She knows her heart rate and blood   
   pressure are up.  What she wouldn't give for a hot bath and her   
   own bed.  To be sitting next to Mulder in a plane, or a car,   
   while he eats sunflower seeds and makes bad jokes.   
      
   She thinks of the relief on DaSilva's face when she confirmed   
   that the other woman was free of the black nodules.  Of her own   
   relief when the same was confirmed for her.  And then Mulder's   
   destruction of even that small piece of collective hope: "Don't   
   forget, the spots on the dog went away."   
      
   From the floor, the narrow bed seems acres away, and yet she   
   knows she's too wound up for sleep.  There's an ache in her left   
   hip where a bruise is beginning to form.  Hodges' acerbic words   
   come back to her, "in the event that something was missed,   
   Agent Scully."  Perhaps she should examine the bodies one   
   more time.  Perhaps there's a clue that she's missed.   
      
   Standing is a distressingly difficult activity.  She suddenly has   
   an idea of what it might be like to get old.  Pushing the dresser   
   away from the door, she tries to conquer the sudden nausea   
   and dizziness that overtake her.  Perhaps another examination   
   isn't the best idea after all.  She's probably more of a danger to   
   herself than anything else.   
      
   In the dim light of the desk lamp, the tiny room feels   
   claustrophobic, tomb-like.  Scully wonders how a man,   
   physically larger than herself, managed to live in this confined   
   space for so many months.  She runs a hand along the   
   wrapped gift on the desk, a present for a birthday he'll now   
   never celebrate; the calendar on the wrong date.  The posters   
   of women in bikinis amuse her, remind her of the things her   
   brothers thought they kept so secret growing up.   
      
   She wonders if there are similar posters in Mulder's room, if   
   they amuse him too.  She wonders if he's still awake.  There's a   
   heaviness in her chest that's too much for her to lift alone.  For   
   a moment, Scully rests her hand on the doorknob, indecisive.   
   Then she turns it, pulling the door open to the faint hallway   
   light.  She crosses quietly to Mulder's door and taps.   
      
   "Mulder?" she calls softly.  "Are you awake?"   
      
   The door opens as she's half turned back to her own room.  In   
   front of her is her partner, barefooted and shirtless, and she   
   blinks in surprise.   
      
   "Scully, is something wrong?"   
      
   "Uh, no," she blinks again.  "I just couldn't sleep.  And I thought,   
   if you were awake too, maybe we could keep each other   
   company."   
      
   He nods and moves to let her in.  Sitting on the bed, he   
   indicates the desk chair.  "We can tell ghost stories."   
      
   That earns him a small smile, and she feels the restriction in her   
   chest ease a little.  "How can you be so calm, Mulder?" she   
   asks him, leaning forward to brace her elbows on her knees.   
   "We're trapped in the middle of a storm, with no way out, and a   
   parasite whose transmission we don't how to prevent.  Doesn't   
   that make you just a little uneasy?"   
      
   "Scully, I'm just as scared as you are," he tells her seriously.   
   "But this is the first real, conclusive proof we've had of the   
   existence of life on other planets.  It's lived in that ice for a   
   quarter of a million years.  Who knows how many others like it   
   are still down there?  We've got to study it. I would think you, as   
   a scientist, would be excited about this."   
      
   He is so earnest, she thinks, so pure in his vision.  "Under   
   normal circumstances Mulder, I'd agree with you.  But not in this   
   situation.  Richter died because one of those creatures had   
   migrated into his brain, and there was at least one more of its   
   larvae present in his blood.  These things are hermaphroditic -   
   it would only take one to kill us all and lay dormant to affect   
   someone else when we're discovered.  We have no idea how   
   long they can live once the host is dead."   
      
   "So you're determined to kill it."  His voice is soft, but it isn't   
   a question.  He's mirroring her posture on the bed and their knees   
   almost touch in the narrow confines of the room.   
      
   Scully nods.  "It's the only chance we have now.  We don't have   
   the facilities or equipment to set up a proper quarantine.  I'm   
   sorry, Mulder."  She reaches out and brushes his fingers with   
   her own.   
      
   "Jesus, Scully, your hands are freezing."  He grabs the closest   
   one and chafes it between his own.  It's only then that she   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)