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It was the worst winter storm in twenty years. The District was at a standstill. The power had been out for an entire day, while the wind howled outside. Branches rattled and fell, and snow and ice pellets battered the windows.
Scully poked at the dwindling fire in her fireplace, annoyed at herself for not getting more wood last week. But they’d had a case, and she’d barely noticed the forecast, more important things on her mind.
The room was mostly dark. Her shadow flickered lazily on the far wall. She sighed, sitting cross-legged on the floor, pulling a fleece blanket around her shoulders. She wondered what Mulder was up to. She’d call him, but her cell was dead, and the phone lines were down. She chewed her lip, knowing that he was ill-prepared for a storm. He rarely had anything edible in his kitchen, and certainly couldn’t withstand days trapped there.
A large thump startled her. She turned toward her door just as she heard a timid knock. She knew who it was, rising to let him in.
***
Mulder had woken suddenly to the simultaneous buzz and click of the power going out. He sat up quickly, disoriented, fearing an ambush. Papers scattered as he frantically searched for his gun. Then he heard the storm.
“Fuck.”
He rose, looking outside. The street was a dark blur. He stared at the swirling snow for a minute, thinking. He’d been so engrossed in their case, and last night had combed through files, committing details to memory. He’d had no idea it would snow.
Regardless, he thought, it’s here now, and I have to deal with it. He took a shower and dressed. Then he checked the fridge. Out of date orange juice, questionable leftover Thai, some beer, and a box of baking soda.
Frustrated, he paced the floor. He bounced the basketball absently, forming a plan.
An hour later, he left his building. He wore his Antarctic gear and a backpack. Shoveling his car out as well as he could, he slowly pulled from the space. He immediately fishtailed, cursing.
He skidded into an open Wal-Mart. It took no time to find what he needed, the store empty. Soon, he was on the road again, but once he passed the Capitol, slowed to a crawl. The bridge over the Potomac was a graveyard of cars. Hazard lights flashed weakly in the snow. Mulder pulled over near the Pentagon. He ditched the car and began to walk. He managed to hail a lone cab. After an indeterminate and nerve-wracking amount of time, the cab dropped him in front of Scully’s building. Mulder paid the driver with a $100 bill and trudged inside just as it was getting dark.
***
Scully answered.
“Mulder!” she exclaimed, “Mulder, oh my God.”
He was drenched, feeling ridiculous and a little sheepish.
“Hey, Scully,” he said.
“Get in here,” She ushered him inside.
He entered, dropping his backpack and a bundle of firewood in her entryway.
“I thought you’d like some company.”
She helped him out of his coat. “I would, but how in the hell did you get here? It’s treacherous out there!”
“If I could get to Antarctica, I can get to Arlington, Scully.” He smiled, eyes flashing. “I’ll tell you all about it. But first, I come bearing gifts.”
He took his backpack to the dining room, pouring its contents on to the table. He had several cans of stew, a cast-iron saucepan, a dozen candles, a loaf of bread, and a bottle of brandy.
“Mulder, you didn’t have to do all this,” she said, obviously pleased.
“Of course I did,” he said, “I don’t want to spend the snow-pocalypse with anyone else.”
She took the candles, placing them around the living room. She lit them one by one, and the room glowed warmly. She closed her eyes, breathing in appreciatively.
“I love beeswax candles. They just smell warm.”
He went to the fireplace, adding wood to the fire. He gestured for her to join him. She sat, warming her hands. He leaned against her, relaxing. She sighed contently, settling into his chest. They sat quietly for some minutes, enjoying the firelight around them. Mulder’s stomach growled.
“Shit, sorry,” he said, “I haven’t eaten all day.”
She smiled. “Well, you had an epic journey. Let me make you some dinner.”
She shook some stew into the pan, cooking it on the fire.
Mulder watched her prepare, moving with her usual smooth grace. The candlelight made her features glow, accenting the red of her hair and lips. A snippet of song flitted through his head- “Oh, the weather outside is frightful…” He smiled.
“Let it snow,” he murmured.
She met his gaze, a questioning half-smile on her face. He shrugged.
They ate on the hearth. He regaled her with his earlier adventure, exaggerating for effect. She laughed, cheeks blooming with color. He took in the room, warm and glowing. Shadows danced on the walls. Cold chaos screamed outside, but in the light of the flames, they were warm and safe.
She had grown silent, watching him lost in thought. Light danced across his face. Their eyes met. He reached up to stroke her cheek. She put her hand on his thigh, rising to kiss him. Soft at first, the kiss deepened. He lowered her to the floor, the storm forgotten.