Title : Chase The Cold Away
Author : Shawne
E-Mail : shawne@shawnex.freeservers.com
Rating : PG-13
Category: SRA, very mild H
Spoilers : tiniest reference to FTF, set Season Six pre "One Son"
Keywords : MSR
Summary : Scully walks alone on a night misty with rain, and unconsciously
succumbs to a coldness that only Mulder can chase away.
Archive : As you wish... but please tell me where. Also, I would prefer it
if it could be archived with the other parts in this 'trilogy' ("Eyes On
You" and "Can You Smell The Rain?").
Disclaimers : Alright, we know all this stuff already. Theirs, not mine,
never will be, sob sob, Mulder and Scully property of CC and 1013, too bad
for me etc. etc.

Author's Notes : This story has a direct prequel which I posted some weeks
ago, "Can You Smell The Rain?", which was from Mulder's POV. I tried to make
this a stand-alone piece (I really did!), but don't think I succeeded
entirely. The ending might be a bit cryptic if you haven't read the story's
prequel. It would be nice (though not necessary) to have read "Eyes On You"
as well, which is the prequel to the prequel of this story. :) Are we
confused yet? Anyway, both parts can hopefully still be found on Ephemeral
or Dejanews, but if they can't, you can always come by my webpage for them.

http://www.shawnex.freeservers.com

===========================================================

A light new rain sliced through the thin canopy of trees, and I shivered
without meaning to. The cold water fell gently on my head, caressing me, and
as my hair grew heavier and more matted, I pulled my coat more tightly
around myself.

It was a beautiful night, no doubt about that. Walking alone through the
quiet streets of a sleeping town had been a pleasant, calming experience.
Everyone was asleep, oblivious to the magic of the rain that had covered
everything I could see, and I was awake. I hugged this selfish knowledge of
possession to myself, even as my feet sped up, covering more ground.

Beautiful or not, though, I could still feel the cold seeping into me
through my skin, wending its way into my flesh and starting to mesh with my
bones. If I didn't get out of this drizzle soon, I would catch my death of
cold.

I sniffled, and frowned, counting off the blocks in my head. Just two left,
and then I'd be home, wrapped in a comfortable fluffy blanket. Preferably
with a nice steaming mug of coffee.

As much as I loved the quiet mystery which the rain always lent to a world
too caught up in violence and pain, I knew that I wasn't really in the mood
for appreciating it right now. The silent ethereal charm that the rain
usually held for me was beginning to wear away, as reality knocked on my
mind's door and made itself at home.

I was beginning to regret that, early this morning, I had actually given in
to my impulsive side for once. Instead of doing the sensible, Scully thing,
I had made the decision to jump out of bed at half past one in the morning,
and had barely hesitated to venture out into this night so laden with the
memories of rain.

Now, I was wearing my pajamas, the royal blue set, which were comfortable
but not quite warm enough to protect me from the decided chill in the air. I
also had my trench coat on, and I half-smiled at the ridiculous sight I must
be presenting to the world now. I decided to push away these feelings of
annoyance and instead just be glad that no one else was awake to see me like
this.

My hair had plastered itself against my cheek, and I swiped at it
absentmindedly. I wiped some water off my face, and sniffed again.

Almost home. For some reason, I could smell the rain more intensely here,
and I paused in my movement to breathe in the deep earthy scent that always
reminded me of home and my father.

As a child, my family had moved constantly, because of Ahab's job. I never
got to stay in one place long enough for really intense memories to form.
But there was one thing which followed me through every new house and town
we moved into, and that was the beautiful smell of the rain.

When we were younger, Melissa and I would sometimes sneak out into the
beauty of a rain-filled night, giggling at our daring as we splashed boldly
through the puddles. The next day, over breakfast, we'd always smile
conspiratorially at each other, hoping that our secret outings would remain
just that - our secrets, and that Mom would not find our damp clothes from
the night before.

As Melissa grew older, and I matured, our outings became less regular, and
most of the time, we would just stay in the bedroom, talking quietly as the
rain fell outside, comforting and familiar. The rain was the one thing that
kept constant company with me, seeing me through our frequent relocations,
and through all my moods.

Sometimes, when I was happy, it would rain, and sometimes, when I was sad,
it would rain too. I realised a long time ago that the idea of rain
signifying melancholy was just a literary stereotype. For me, it was just
always there, in the background, an unassuming reminder of the times the
heavens had joined me in weeping, but also a suggestion that tears from the
sky weren't always tears of misery.

That idea withered and fell away from me when Ahab died. Stereotype or not,
I had expected a thunderstorm to engulf my world. I wanted everything to be
crying, I wanted everything I saw to be shrouded in tears... because I
refused to cry myself. Ahab would not have wanted me to remember him with
grief. So I kept it inside, and hoped fervently that the rain would come and
express it for me, that it would provide me some kind of outlet. It never
did.

I believed, for a while, that it had forsaken me. I told myself, firmly,
that my childhood ideas of the rain being my friend were silly, unfounded
and unscientific. I had pursued a lifetime of rationality in my education
and career, but I still subconsciously held on to some of my youthful
romantic ideals, and I decided it was a really stupid thing to keep doing.
So I stopped enjoying the rain.

Whenever it rained, I stopped looking out of the window and thinking of
companionship and familiarity. Instead, I looked out and thought of
disappointment. When Melissa died, I thought of the rain as cruel. I would
remember our nights out together, admiring the dewy crystallisation on the
trees and cars... and I would try hard to stop the sad icy rain raging
inside me from invading my face.

Tonight, the rain seeped relentlessly into my clothes, and I trembled
violently, shaking off my gloomy thoughts. When did I start loving the rain
again? Perhaps it was when I stood alone in front of Ahab's grave a few
years after his death, the rain falling silently around me, crying on my
behalf. I was at last ready to let go of the pain and to cherish the
memories, and the rain had come to help me wash everything away. Maybe I
fell in love with it again that day.

Suddenly, I sneezed. And frowned again. I decided that I was being
excessively irrational, standing here getting increasingly wet as depressing
memories and thoughts drifted through my consciousness. I started to run the
last block to my apartment, mildly enjoying the feel of the puddles
splashing up against the thin material of my pajama pants... reminding me of
so many nights before this one.

Why not?

I stopped abruptly, and looked down at my feet. I'd been out here so long
anyway - a few more minutes wouldn't hurt. And Melissa would have wanted me
to do this. To hell with being sensible.

Tentatively, I selected a puddle that had pooled on the sidewalk nearby,
and walked towards it. A smile spread foolishly over my face as I kicked
into it, meekly at first, then with more delight.

It's been years, decades, since I last played in the rain.

If only Mulder could see me now, I thought idly, aiming my foot right for
the deepest section of the puddle. What would he think? I watched proudly as
a tiny river of crystal arced into the sky and fell gently back down to the
pavement. His always reasonable, always immaculately-coiffed partner,
Special Agent Dana Scully, M.D., cavorting and splashing around in the rain,
soaked to the skin and looking much like a drowned rat.

I laughed out loud, thrilling in the alien sound as it mixed with the
patter of raindrops against leaves. Turning my face to the dark night sky, I
kept smiling, and spun lazily in a circle, arms outstretched.

Where was all this energy coming from? It was two in the morning, maybe a
little later than that, and I had spent the whole of yesterday tracking down
more manure in Idaho. On top of that, I had been forced to listen to Mulder
whine and watch Mulder sulk. I should be tired, wiped out, exhausted. Yet, I
wasn't, not at all. Instead, I was outside my apartment building, twirling
on the pavement like a clown... not to mention facilitating the onslaught of
pneumonia.

It must have been because of the nap I had taken on the plane trip back to
Washington. It hadn't been intentional, but I had fallen asleep against
Mulder's shoulder, snuggling into him and finding a warmth and comfort I had
long since forgotten about... which was odd, given the difficulty I usually
found in getting to sleep, even in my own bed. Not to mention in a cramped
car or airplane.

But yesterday? Yesterday, I had slipped easily into a deliciously deep and
peaceful slumber - maybe because, even while asleep, I had somehow managed
to sense his arm tightening around me and keeping me close to him,
protecting me. He kept his eyes on me, just as I've always kept mine on him.

I spun around one last time, enjoying the giddy lightness of my body and
head, then slowed down. Enough. I really should be getting home. Pushing the
soaked clumps of hair off my face, I turned towards my apartment building
and prepared to return to reality again.

And then I saw him. My heart somersaulted into my stomach, and I clapped a
shocked hand over my open mouth.

Oh my God.


"Mulder!" I mumbled through the inadequate veil of my fingers, embarrassed,
confused. "Mulder, you..." My voice trailed off uncertainly, painfully, and
I watched him with mortified eyes. He must have seen everything I was doing,
all the way up the street!

Illogically, I wanted to cry and scream and laugh all at the same time.
What the hell was he doing here, at this hour of the morning?

"Scully." He was sprawled languorously on the bench facing my apartment
building, and I groaned inwardly. A mischievous smile was creeping over his
face, one I could just barely make out in the misty glow of a nearby
street-lamp. He stretched blissfully, and I kept watching him, agonised.
"Good morning."

"Uh..." was the only thing which came out of my mouth, and I decided that I
would rather remain mute than risk trying to explain my previous antics. It
had seemed so innocent at the time, my giving in to my inner child for once.
Now, my inner adult was smirking gleefully at me, pointing out the irony in
my wondering earlier what Mulder might have thought if he could have seen me
then.

"Taking a walk?" He got up gracefully, and I immediately resented the fact
that he seemed so put-together, so calm and rational and adult. I noticed
that he was wet too, and a fleeting thought echoed through my mind - what
was he doing here?

As he walked toward me, closing the distance between us, I swallowed and
tried to think of a plausible explanation. I drew a blank.

"Mulder, you..." I paused, helpless, and took a step back, almost crying as
I heard the revolting squelch of my shoe against cement. This wasn't
romantic, or funny, or nostalgic anymore. This was just plain stupid. I had
been a complete idiot today, dancing around in the rain, and this was my
retribution. "You're going to get sick here. Come upstairs."

The words tumbled out easily, and I was instantly glad that I had bought
some kind of temporary respite with them. He shrugged, and smiled, then
followed me into the heated lobby of my building. It was only in the
elevator, as I stood silently in the opposite corner from him, trembling and
wet, that I realised what I should have done. I should have just made him go
home, or completely ignored him... anything but invite him upstairs.

Sooner or later, he was going to ask questions. I should have forestalled
them. If I had sent him away, I could have had the time to think of
something. Or at least, I would have had the time to leave town. Instead, my
once loyal brain cells had betrayed me completely. Utterly.

My hand shook uncontrollably as I struggled to stick my key into the lock
on the front door, and I began to hate the feel of wet cotton gluing itself
to my skin. I could feel him behind me, watching, breathing, smiling. Once
again, my key scraped uselessly past the little hole and cut across the wood
of the door. I just couldn't seem to get this to work.

I felt hot tears threatening to swarm into my eyes, and I almost gave in to
them. But suddenly I felt his warm strong hand close around mine, his body
moving to just barely hint at touching mine, and his mouth came dangerously
close to my ear. "Let me," he whispered thickly, as he guided my hand
confidently. I felt the key slip effortlessly into the lock even as I tried
to keep my fingers from going into spasms of excitement.

His other hand reached around me, touching solid wood, closing me into his
arms, and I stopped breathing. My eyes slid shut, and I could feel him
pressing softly against me, familiar and real. I was almost beginning to
relax against his chest when I felt myself being pushed gently forward, and
realised that he had turned the knob and was escorting me into my apartment.

"God, Scully," he murmured, still leaning his head toward mine, his hand
lightly resting on the small of my back. "You're shivering like crazy."

With a jolt, I discovered that what he was saying was true. The cold had
slipped completely into my bones, coiling itself firmly around inside me. I
hadn't noticed it, not till he mentioned it. The intense heat of the
building must have provided such a stark contrast to the temperature outside
that I was going into some kind of shock.

  "I'm cold, Mulder," I managed, and found that my teeth were chattering
against each other, so hard that my words came out somewhat garbled.

It didn't seem to matter anymore, that he had seen me at my most
unrestrained just a few minutes ago. The rain was still floating down from
the skies, and I was seized by a particularly violent shudder as I
remembered walking in it for what now seemed like hours.

"What were you doing out there without an umbrella, Scully?" he scolded me
kindly, expertly steering me to my sofa. He didn't seem to be feeling the
cold at all, and was hardly affected by how wet he was. I dropped thankfully
onto the cushions, and curled my legs up to my chest, trying to get warm
again. Water stains be damned.

"I... I don't know," I managed through gritted teeth. "The same thing you
were doing, I guess."

A wry smile lit his eyes for a moment, as he studied me intently. "Somehow,
I don't think so," he mumbled, then moved quickly out of the living room
into my bedroom. "Where do you keep your blankets, Scully?" he called.

"In... in the cupboard on the... the left, Mulder," I replied, and twisted
myself into a tighter ball. Cold. So cold. Hurry, Mulder.

It seemed as if years of icy loneliness had passed before he returned with
a stack of blankets and two towels. By then, I had fallen into a foetal
position on the couch, hugging my knees and wishing that he would hurry up
and bring some kind of warmth back into the room.

"Come on, Scully, get up." Carefully, he sat down next to me, and pulled me
up and into his arms. "We've got to get you dry." I shivered painfully
against his chest, and whimpered pitifully, hating the sound even as I made
it. What was wrong with me? This was Washington, and it was only rain. Hell,
I'd lived through miles of snow in Antarctica, not to mention sub-zero
temperatures, dressed only in Mulder's outer clothing!

"You're going into shock," he continued, forcing a towel into my tired
hands and watching as I listlessly began to rub it against myself. "Whatever
you were doing out there, Scully, don't you dare do it again."

A hint of anger flared inside me for a moment, and I was tempted to make a
scathing retort that would have him running a three-minute mile out the
door. What right did he have to tell me what I should or should not be
doing?

Turning to face him, I opened my mouth to snap at him. I lifted my eyes to
his, and stopped short. I couldn't do it. Something in those hazel eyes took
my desire to lash out at him, and melted it away.

"Let me," he said again, softly, and took the towel from my quaking hand.
He began to vigorously rub my hair dry, and I sat obediently next to him,
starting to feel more like myself again. I could feel his warmth stealing
through my sticky clothes and into me, and I leaned against him, grateful
that he'd been...

"Hey, Mulder?" I grabbed his hand, and shifted so I could look into his
face. "What were you doing outside my apartment?"

He blushed, a honest to goodness blush, and his eyes immediately took on a
furtive look. They darted guiltily away from me, wandering to the coffee
table, then down to his feet, back to me, and up to the ceiling. "Uh..." he
stammered helplessly, and I suddenly noticed that his arm had somehow
settled around me. Now, it tightened unconsciously, for the briefest of
moments, then fell away limply to hang behind the couch.

"Taking a walk," he finally admitted. I glanced at him, and noticed that
his face was screwed up tightly, his eyes closed, as if he were waiting for
me to start yelling at him. I briefly considered doing so. How had his
'walk' taken him so many blocks out of his way? How had he managed to end up
in front of my apartment? And why had he been sitting on that bench,
watching me?

Impulsively, I decided to let it go. It didn't really matter, as long as he
didn't tease me about what I'd been doing out there myself. "Thanks,
Mulder." Pulling away a bit reluctantly, I moved to the edge of the couch.
"I'm going to change into something warmer. And drier."

He nodded jerkily, blindly, his eyes concentrated on some invisible spot on
the floor. His face had turned hard, miserable, and I was so tempted to
touch it, kiss it... hold it and make it mine. But I couldn't, and the
moment slipped away.

Pushing myself up on weak arms, I stumbled on jelly legs into my room, and
changed into a clean T-shirt and my most well-worn pair of jeans. As the dry
material moved around me to enclose my skin, I could feel the ice inside me
melting some more, but slowly. Too slowly. I needed more warmth. I needed
Mulder's warmth.

I went back into the living room, pulling my fingers through my tangled
hair. He was dully wiping himself dry with the other towel, and I saw for
the first time that he was dressed casually in a black T-shirt and jeans.
His dress jacket, which had absorbed most of the rain, lay in a damp heap at
his feet. My breath caught in my throat as I realised that his T-shirt was
clinging to him, slightly damp but not wet enough to really affect him too
much.

"Want some coffee?" I asked, trying not to think about how odd this was,
having Mulder in my apartment at half past two in the morning. Moving into
the kitchen, I began pulling down cups and saucers from the cupboards,
running the water and looking for the espresso mix.

"Sure, thanks," he answered, his voice muffled.

When I finally brought two steaming cups into the living room, Mulder was
standing by the window, looking out at the summer rain which still etched
itself across the night sky. "Coffee," I announced, setting them both down
on the living room table. He turned, and acknowledged my entrance with a
welcoming smile.

The hardness was gone from his face, I was glad to note. He seemed happier
now, more collected. I sat back down on the couch, and waited for him to
join me. As he moved nearer, he scooped up two of the blankets he'd placed
on the armchair next to the window, and brought them over. He draped one
reverently around my shoulders, and I looked questioningly at him.

"Keep warm, Scully." He settled down next to me, and the cushions shifted
comfortably under our combined weight. "I wouldn't want you to get sick."  I
smiled at him. He smiled back, before winding the other blanket around
himself.

We sat in silence for a while, wrapped in our respective blankets and
thoughts, sipping the strong black coffee. Warmth was moving back into my
body, but I couldn't be sure if it was because of the dry clothes, the
blanket, the coffee... or simply because Mulder was sitting less than two
inches away from me.

"Scully," he began, then faltered. He fell silent for a moment, and closed
his eyes, almost as if he were trying to steel himself against the impact of
his next words. "I... I saw you, just now."

I tensed, involuntarily, instinctively. I had suspected that he'd seen me
make a complete fool of myself just now. I had expected it. Heck, I'd known
it. But I hadn't thought he would bring it up. Not now, not when we were so
relaxed. Nervously, I began shifting away from him, the coffee cup in my
right hand starting to clatter imperceptibly against the saucer in my left.

"Don't move away from me, Scully."

"What do you want me to do then, Mulder?" I fired back immediately. I knew
I was being overtly defensive.

"Stay here." His words were forceful, but his voice was begging, pleading
with me. "Don't ever move away."

"You know I won't, Mulder." My fingers tightened bloodlessly around the
handle of my cup and I put my mouth to the edge. I bit down, tasting ceramic
clay and coffee, and tried to think of something else to say. I didn't have
to.

"I watched you kick those puddles, Scully," he added, and I felt my blood
turn arctic cold as it rushed to my cheeks. "And I saw you spinning, and
turning your face to the sky, and..." I could feel hot tears battling with
the icy blush in my face, and I wondered which would win out. "And I saw you
loving the rain."

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him. His cup had been returned
gently to its saucer on the table, and his hands were playing restlessly
with the edges of his T-shirt. He was watching me, and there was a dreamy
smile on his face, as well as a host of emotions shielding whatever he was
thinking from my eyes.

"You know what?" he asked. I shook my head, and felt the cold flush of
embarrassment starting to fade. "I don't think I've ever seen anything more
beautiful than that."

I almost dropped my cup then, but somehow managed to keep a marginally firm
grip on it. No more tears, I discovered. There were no more tears. Only a
blush that was now flaming hot, fuelled by the warmth Mulder kept
channelling in my direction.

His hand fell away from his T-shirt, and reached for my cup, taking it and
placing it firmly on the table. Then it went around my shoulder, and pulled
me smoothly over the three inches separating us. I landed pleasantly against
him, fusing with his incredible warmth, and realised to my great dismay that
I had forgotten how to breathe.

Still, my head knew just where to go, and within seconds it had found the
perfect spot, the only spot, on his shoulder. Yesterday, on the plane, it
had found this same position. I sighed, happily, and closed my eyes.
Whatever had happened didn't matter anymore. I was just here, alive, feeling
him melt the ice inside me, allowing him to chase away the cold that kept
coming back in different guises and in different ways.

He hugged me to him, and his head dropped to rest on mine. We fit, I
thought idly, although I was no longer thinking in coherent sentences or
even in English. Just my body, and his, and we fit.

"I love the rain," I mumbled as I sunk blissfully into the high that came
from the drug that was Mulder. My words became slightly slurred as I almost
allowed myself to drift into a waking dream, but I struggled to continue.
"Can you smell it, Mulder?" I asked thickly. "Can you smell the rain?"

I heard his heart stop. Panicked, I lifted my head and looked up at him,
and he looked back down at me, into me, his eyes wide with surprise... and
something else. Was that elation I saw? Joy? I couldn't tell, because the
next moment, he pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, and I was falling into
heaven.

"Can you smell it, Scully?" he whispered into my hair, and I felt his sharp
intake of breath as he waited for my answer.

"Of course I can, Mulder. It's wonderful."

He made no reply to that, and after a while, I looked up again. I saw tears
lingering in his eyes, which he was struggling to wipe away with his free
hand. I had no idea what I'd said, but looking into those tear-filled eyes,
those tear-filled happy eyes, I knew that I must have said something right.

As a tear broke loose and began to carve its way down his face, I reached
up and dashed it away. "Hey, what's wrong?" I asked, and he shook his head
in response.

"Nothing, Scully." He smiled, and my heart constricted. This man was so
beautiful, so sensitive. So Mulder. "Everything's right."

Somehow, I knew what he meant, and moved easily back into his arms again.
We must have dozed off like that, bodies mingling and warmth shared, because
the next time I opened my eyes, the rain had stopped beating quietly against
the window. The sun was slanting into the room, and Mulder was still
sleeping soundly.

"Hey sleepyhead." I nudged him, and tried to move out of his arms, not that
I really wanted to. "It's a new day."

"Oh wow." He sniffled, and rubbed his hand across his eyes. Then he
sneezed. "We've got to be at work in..." He checked his watch, and groaned.
"...one hour."

Still clumsy under the lingering influence of sleep, our bodies untangled
themselves, and he became Mulder, and I became me again. I smiled at him,
tenderly, and got off the couch. "You should go home and get changed," I
pointed out. "And I should start getting ready for work myself."

"OK," he agreed. "Help me up." I grabbed his hands with my own, and pulled
him to his feet with some difficulty. He grinned at me, bent to retrieve his
jacket from the floor, and began to walk toward the door. "I'll see you in
the office later."

I watched him go, my hand clutching the blanket that had fallen off my
shoulders when I stood up. His warmth was still inside me.

"Hey, Scully?" He turned, just as his hand found the doorknob. "I didn't
mean to meet you yesterday." I nodded, understanding. Then he hesitated
before adding, shyly, "But I meant to watch you."

My feet brought me over to the door, and my hand took his. I squeezed it,
and found that there was no need for words. Unwillingly, he removed his hand
from mine, then began to walk down the corridor towards the elevator. My
eyes followed him.

"Oh, and Scully?" His words came floating back to me, and I caught them
eagerly. "Keep warm, OK? Don't catch a cold."

"Don't worry, Mulder," I called out after him, finding my voice at last. I
could still feel his warmth mixing with my own. "I don't think that will be
a problem for me today."

======end=====

feedback, please?? :)

======================================================

Added May 8, 1999

- Archived at Nacillia's Fanfiction Archive