Okay. I'm giving this a go, again. I originally wrote this fic four years ago. The completed version is still up here on FF, but I wasn't entirely happy with it upon its completion. Two years ago, when I moved away for Uni, I started working on it again. This story for some odd reason means a lot to me, Danica means a lot to me (hell, I have her tattooed to the back of my arm now).

So, I've grown up a little bit and I wanted to see how this goes. For the moment it's still incomplete, but I have nine chapters somewhat ready to post. I'll leave you all with this one for now. Let me know what you think. And if you read the original back when I was writing it - I told you I was going to come back! :)

Set S4, before 'Never Again'

Burning Snowflakes

…Part 1…

He found himself captivated, entrapped, and in awe. She caught his attention after a little while. Just a speck in the world laid out before him. She was merely a young girl who should not have held any significance at all, but she held his attention almost frightfully. It was the military styled pea green coat that covered her shoulders and little frame, that caught his eye, the white stockings that were starting to get mud stains and the little black shoes on her dainty feet. She looked out of place in a world that was falling down around her.

The snowflakes were burning. Snow fell and ash arose blood soaked and heavy with the extra burden. Hysteria rolled through the hidden little town as its occupants screams strangled the air. What he could believe was once a quiet village now had all of its serenity stolen, ripped right from its glass case.

Disaster struck and he had no idea what for, nor its cause. He didn't even know why he was there or who had sent him. Perhaps he had been sent to walk through his own grave. Surely not. A singular note had been taped to his desk in the early hours of the previous morning. At first he was hesitant to react, even his peculiar and curious mind told him to leave it be. Besides, the last time he was there Fox Mulder didn't have much luck with spying. But there he sat anyway, a vantage point hidden in forest foliage.

Concealed in-between mapped out lonely highways, hiking paths, hills and feral wildlife, life had found its end.

He was in Russia. The year, 1997, and a silent war was ragging. The world in this sleepy little town was coming to a painful end. People here were being kicked out of their homes and shot at point blank range on the street. It was like World War II had hit all over again. The devastation. The execution. There had to be a logical explanation. Yet, why was it that these people were being segregated against, compared to the rest of the world? What had these people done that others hadn't? Why were they out there being killed in the one place they should have felt safe? And why was she, the little girl, all alone in the mess of the world?

He watched her intensely, far too scared to look away in fear of losing track of her but scared to watch in fear of witnessing her last helpless moments. From where he hid, Mulder could see most things. He watched as she trembled, as the whole village screamed. He heard the crack as gunfire was released, again. This time people fell down around her; a man only a foot away from her side.

That could have been her.

A child.

An innocent.

Dead.

He exhaled a breath. It wasn't her.

With that motivation he pushed himself forward making a decision that he could not see himself regretting. Pushing up from the ground Mulder ran, his body catapulting down the hillside.

Mulder knew his plan was crazy. He knew it was dangerous and stupid but he hadn't really thought over how completely deadly it would be if he was caught. He ran. Unsure as to where he was going once he hit street level. He heard the chase music in his mind keeping time with his pounding heart and panting breaths. He watched as the street got closer, everything growing larger as his feet stamped against the damp earth. Surely he was stepping onto a movie set, hidden away in the mountains for privacy reasons. A director was sure to jump out at any minute, screaming 'cut!'

The world continued to end.

The sound of gunfire was still echoing in his ears, haunting shouts following his steps. He had lost sight of the girl once his body hit street level. She, along with the gun welding soldier had disappeared reminding the man that his time was limited. He had to find her before she was killed, before he himself was killed.

His feet slipped against the soggy ground as mug clung to the edges of his boots. Puddles formed in the grooves of small brick roads, causing his feet to splash softly as he walked. He moved through the small streets, unsure as to where the girl went but desperate to find her.

It was silence that followed him as his feet clipped against the brick and devastation called across the hills, it was in that noise he scolded himself on reckless stupidity. He hadn't thought it through, although Fox Mulder acknowledged it would be dangerous he had not thought of the consequences of his being caught.

Turning down another street his eyes scanned the scattered road in search for the little girl. She wasn't there. A chill ran down his spine and the rain seeped through his shoes. Mulder's heart was pounding undeniably now as he gasped for breath that only vaporised in the crisp air. He checked over his shoulder at every sound, terrified of being caught before he even had a chance to help the child who had caught his eye.

There was no one among the living on this street, only bodies scattering the front steps of closely kept buildings and the rickety road. He tried not to pay them mind in fear of overwhelming sorrow. Mulder could not help these people. He was powerless in what was happening here, but he could help that little girl. He could.

It wasn't exactly the fact that her coat was green that drew the man to the little girl. He was red-green colour blind, which made it stand out. The colour in his eye wasn't right. Her coat looked like a dark mustard yellow, a colour the man associated with what was supposed to be green. He was seeing it again, the dark mustard but only a small sliver of it and not in the form of the girl's coat. He stepped forward slowly, moving from the middle of the street to the long row of housing apartments. It was on the steps of one where a woman lay in a crumbled, limp, lifeless heap. Blood pooled around the dead woman, seeping into her clothes but the thing that caught his eye, the item she was holding onto was clutched in a hand strewn above her head.

Leaning down, Mulder took the knitted hat softly from her still warm hand before stepping back onto the street. It was the same colour as the little girl's coat, he knew it and he'd just pried it from her mother's dead hands.

It was a child's hat, too small to fit the head of a grown adult. The soft fabric was unscathed by the silent war, a little damp from the falling snow but the mud, blood and destruction did not slither its way into the child's innocent hat. He assessed it with course, rough fingers until the grooves of his hand found a groove on the beanie. He read the hand stitched bumps blind at first before he turned the tiny piece of clothing over in his hands. On the inside, in hand sown cursive was the name of a little girl, the little girl, Mulder assumed. It was simple and sweet and he could envision it on that child perfectly:

'Danica'.

A shout hit his ears causing Mulder's heart to pound faster. He saw the slightest flash of the wrong colour an alley across the street. Mulder didn't think as he leapt forward, his feet clapping against the brick as he moved for the alley, the flash of colour and the shouting voice. The colour stopped as the girl who was wearing it appeared in front of him, her cheeks red with the force of her running. She had found herself in a dead end. Mulder could see the panic as the girl checked over her shoulder, her sable hair flying with the movement.

The girl turned back to him, frightened as she surveyed her surroundings and realised what her face was already displaying. She was a fox caught in a bear trap. He crouched, his mind miles ahead of his actual thoughts. 'Danica.' He whispered, unsure of the pronunciation as he used his hands to gesture her forward. Checking over her shoulder for a second time, the little girl lunged forward throwing herself into the strange man's arms.

She was so lucky, he thought, that his intentions were to save her, not cause harm.

Mulder's arms locked around her tiny body instantly as he heard the clipping of a soldier's boots getting nearer. Without a second thought he stood, turned, and ran. Girl in his arms, hat in his hand.

He was running with this malnourished little child in his arms, her own clinging tightly to him like a Koala clung to a tree. He made it through the street he'd come down, still no living person in sight as he ran for the hill, for his vantage point and their escape.

When he reached the woods, Mulder crouched again in order to place the girl on her own two feet. She was reluctant at first, her hands clasped behind his neck refusing to unlock. He encouraged her with soft words and his hands rubbing at her sides in hope of comforting the girl. She watched him with large blue eyes when she pulled back. He was startled when her blue eyes stared up at him, trusting him, believing in him in the same shade that had been sceptical for four years. This little girl had Dana Scully's eyes. He was sure of it.

The girl, Danica, shivered and instead of questioning her there Mulder decided it was best they get as far away from this place as possible. He had a rented car waiting on the edge of the forest that had hidden this place and knew it was the first thing he should head for. Scooping the girl up again, Mulder started to move, slower than his run but fast enough he wasn't walking.

Her warm tears were still sitting on his neck when the little girl again tucked her head into his shoulder as her body became heavy with exhaustion. The realisation that he didn't even know this girl swam around Mulder's head. Not only did he not know her, the man himself had no understanding towards what was transpiring in that sleepy little town, or her involvement. In rescuing a child he could be potentially exposing cities to something dangerously unknown. He thought about leaving her, about putting her on her feet and not turning back, perhaps leaving her outside the police station in the city, but he couldn't do that. She was so small, so fragile, so in need of help that his mind was already picturing them both on a plane to America. He didn't even know if she'd been on a plane before.

Knowing the woods were clear when he had passed through before, Mulder walked at a calm pace as his hand absentmindedly rubbed at the little girl's back - Danica - he reminded himself realising he would have to become comfortable with the name if he wanted his sudden plan to work.

If he was smart, if he was truly very clever, Mulder believed he could walk both himself and Danica through every gate, door and security check before he stepped through the doors of Dulles International Airport and Danica took her first breath of American air. He thought, if they could make it work, that the little girl could pass for his daughter. Mulder wasn't below flashing a picture of Scully if the need to prove the girl's biological relation came up. His partner would kill him if she knew but there was enough genetic muster there to make the whole thing work.

He just needed Danica to let it happen. He didn't know anything about the little girl, he didn't know if she would eventually realise he had taken her away from her home. If it worked, if the girl allowed it to happen, he knew there would be inside help, in Russia particularly, that could grant him the papers to make it all seem legal.

The leaves crunched under his feet, twigs and branches, homes of insects and fury woodland animals shook with the pressure of walking feet on top of their homes and as this happened the man, Fox Mulder, let his mind run wild as he planned how to protect this cold, shivering child. She was so small, but not exactly in the petite sense, she was petite, if he knew which age to go off, but she was also malnourished with fragile limbs. He couldn't believe how light she was as he carried her, the girl's breath chasing across his neck with every few exhales.

He didn't know her, but he wanted to protect her.

Mulder's car wasn't alone when he finally made it to the edge of the woods. Danica flinched, her fingers digging into the back of his neck as Russian shouting started again and the slamming of car doors assaulted her tiny and already frightened ears.

Her world was starting to shake once again as violence and terror loomed, hauntingly above her.

He squeezed her a little tighter as he whispered something against her ear. He knew she couldn't understand him, but he knew it was not for her, but for him. He felt the child tremble dramatically as a solider lurked closer, watching them both with interest as Mulder moved towards his car.

The soldier raised his gun when he noticed the man had not stopped. Mulder already didn't understand the dialect and with another body wrapped around the left side of his own, it made it harder still to communicate with the dangerous, gun wielding man.

'American.' Softly, Mulder spoke leaving his pronunciation to linger as the Russian man watched him, trying to make sense of the word. 'We're American.' He used his free hand to point between both himself and the hiding child.

The Russian soldier watched them, eyes trailing up and down, his stern face unwavering as he thought. Mulder wondered for a second if the man even understood English before the Russian spoke, 'Where are your papers?' He asked with a thick accent. He was not a stupid man, the soldier thought as he watched them. He had known exactly what was on the other side of the woods and this would not be the first time he had caught someone trying to escape.

Quick to lie as an aversion while he stalled, moving slow with the frightened child clinging like a baby animal, Mulder continued to talk. 'My daughter,' He stopped, eyes moving to the girl in his arms as he adjusted his hold on her. 'She needed to go to the bathroom.' Mulder was quick to add that the papers were in the vehicle as he inched closer to it, his body lagging with the girl's tight grip and heavy weight now that his arm had tired. He had managed to get them this far Fox Mulder would not disappointingly fail now.

He wondered for a split second if the girl's clinging to him would give them away. She was terrified and it didn't take much to notice ash in her hair and smearing her pale face. With his hand on the cool metal of the car Mulder almost blindly searched for the handle before he pulled the back door open and slipped the reluctant girl into the seat. Danica clung to him a little tighter, her legs locking around his waist as he lent forward. As much as Mulder wanted to comfort the girl, his back was starting to ache. Silently, he ran a hand over her back and whispered soothingly in her ear as his other hand moved to untangle her limbs from his body.

She slid down the seat, the minute her feet touched the fabric. Mulder clicked the girl in quickly, his hand affectionately tucking her hair behind her ear before he pressed a gentle, reassuring kiss to her forehead. He didn't know where the action came from, but didn't stop to think about it. Bowing out of the car, Mulder shut the door and stared at his reflection.

He wasn't a father. He didn't want children. He didn't want children in fear that he would turn into his father.

He hoped whatever he was doing, the actions, the story he was making up in his head, that it would work enough to save them.

Mulder was mumbling, talking, creating a story as he moved for the passenger side door and dug through the paperwork sitting on the seat. Carefully and rather quickly Mulder had created the story of a girl, taken away from her father by her mother. He told of this father's need to have his little girl back and the utter relief he felt when the child's mother handed her over freely. He turned the crusade to find Samantha into a falsified search to find his 'daughter'.

'No seat for child,' The soldier pointed out, with a shrug of his arm towards the little girl who watched fearfully through the backseat window. Mulder pursed his lips and shrugged softly as he handed the Russian soldier his passport. 'Mr. Mulder?' The Russian double checked as Mulder himself nodded in confirmation. He didn't speak as the solider looked over his passport, instead the man used the time to think over an excuse. In what case would a man, who had just collected his young child not have a car seat for her?

The story continued to formulate in his mind. Piece after piece fell into place, convincing the man himself that such situations did take place in his life. This girl was his daughter. He had to believe it. It had to work. 'I didn't think I would get the girl, her mother was adamant that I would never see her again. I tried my luck today, that's all. I wasn't prepared for this day to work in my favour.'

The Russian watched him, as he carefully extended his arm, handing back the passport. Contemplation ran across his face, deep in a shallow thought the next thing he did was scoff as he came to a conclusion and spoke one word first. 'Women.' Mulder shrugged again with a murky, sorrowful straight lipped frown. He was reaching desperation now, begging in his mind for the soldier to let them go. Mulder himself could only speak of false histories for so long before his mind short wired, he would trip up, ruin the story and with that, ruin their lives. Mulder let go of a breath he did not realise he was holding when the Russian shooed at him with the flick of his wrist. 'Take your daughter to America. Don't bring back.' Mulder nodded, thankful, he had asked so patiently, so kindly to a God he had not before believed in and his asking had not been left pointless.

Don't bring her back. That was his every intention. He was going to take this pumpkin haired girl with her pale skin and sky blue eyes and he was going to raise her. Love her. Protect her. He was not going to fail her.

What would there be, even after a few weeks, to bring her back to? His mind pondered for a moment. Surely she would ask one day; a woman fully grown, curious to her original origins. But there would be nothing left, not in a few weeks, nor months, definitely not years. He could imagine the foliage from the forest stretching out to the devastated town, stroking the bricks, snaking amongst them before the weeds, the bushes and the trees all found new homes. There would only be a forest to bring her back to, a forest full of ghosts where once upon a time, the snowflakes seemed to burn. It was there in that forest, he could one day tell her, that a fox saved a cub and kept her for his own.

Mulder gave the Russian a winning grin as he uncharacteristically bowed at the man before moving towards the car and climbed in. He smiled again, from his place inside the car, gracious towards the soldier who had spared their lives unknowingly, before he pulled out onto the road and left that ruined little nowheresville town behind.

'Danica?' Mulder asked as he watched her small face in the rear-view mirror, ash still smearing her cheeks and coating her hair. The girl looked up at the sound of her name, a good sign that he had actually found the right child. Her eyes questioned the back of his head as her delicate little hands picked at the seam on the end of her coat. 'Do you know any English?' She looked up at the mirror this time her face blank as she did so.

Mulder chuckled to himself as he shook his head and returned his eyes to the vacant road. Although he had thought about it, the Special Agent only then realised the difficulty of his plans working with a brash language barrier. He shrugged again, as the car heated up and warmth sunk back into his bones. He relaxed, for the first time in hours, allowing his fingers to drum against the steering wheel as he hummed to himself.

His fingers drummed to an imaginary beat as the landscape around them started to clear, revealing a large highway. From then on out Mulder knew it was only a number of hours before they would hit the outskirts of Saint Petersburg.

They would have to stop over at the next township to make an international phone call. Mulder needed help, he couldn't sneak a girl out of the country on his own. Calling The Lone Gunmen would grant him with access to contacts in or close to the city, people with enough knowhow to help. Danica also needed a car seat, stopping would eventually be inevitable to ensure he did not arouse suspicion with the child.

Mulder watched her as they drove, his eyes flicking to the rear-view mirror every so often. He watched as her young face absorbed the passing world as it flew by. He'd catch her finger tailing condensation down the heated glass as it mixed with the cold outside every so often as rain slowly fell against their vehicle.

Mulder wondered what games her mind played. He was curious to know how much of her childhood had been stripped of her in that place. Was she watching the water drip down the curvature drop of the glass because she had made a race of it or was it because she was purely bored? Surely children did not need to know how to play in order to make up their own games. But either way, it fascinated him. Danica stared at the clear water so intently it was almost as though she was willing it to fall faster with her mind. Mulder sincerely wondered if she could, perhaps revealing why she was hidden so far away.

He shook his head. The girl would have laughed had she understood his language or been capable to read his thoughts. Scully would have laughed, her mouth twitching in order to fight the urge but deep down he knew she would be in stitches while her face revealed disinterest and a roll of the eyes.

Scully was going to kill him. The thought dawned as he stared at the vast stretch of road. She wouldn't roll her eyes this time, instead she would strangle him, hit him over the head, smother him in his sleep. Mulder could practically hear the fury in her voice as he imagined telling her what he'd done. The colour drained from his face as his grip grew tight on the steering wheel. She was really going to kill him.

Mulder's mind started to race, while his heart started to pound. His own partner was going to kill him. Scully would call him mad first, completely out of his mind, but shortly after that she would kill him. The man shook his head, refusing this time to be terrified of his petite partner. He could prove to her that this was the right thing to do. Mulder, for once, could show Scully he was right. He hopped, he begged, he practically pleaded that a wall would come down at the sight of this little girl, that the warmth he knew Scully possessed would want to protect this child as much as he did.

He knew it.

He was sure of it.

They could make this work.