Spoilers: Through "Home Again", so everything worth being spoiled for.
She's dimly aware of the cold as she creeps toward consciousness, icy fingers wrapping themselves around her lungs as she takes a deep breath. There's a weight in her lap, her legs shot through with pins and needles, her back hunched against the wind, hair damp and clinging to her cheeks.
Cold. So cold.
Her eyes flutter open to white snow and his face pressed to hers. He's not moving, his lips are tinged blue, chapped. How long have they been like this?
"Mulder?" her throat is wretched, carved from stone, she can barely hear herself over the roar of the wind. She can't feel her fingers, her toes. Frostbite, she thinks. Hypothermia. Where are they?
"Mulder," she croaks, louder this time. She's dimly aware of her arms cradling him, his body heavy against her chest. Even if she could move him, her fingers are too numb to find a pulse.
He flinches, the faintest twitch of his jaw, but otherwise doesn't stir.
"Mulder," she whispers, curling around him, pulling him closer. "Mulder, please."
It comes back to her in a flood of memory and adrenaline. He'd been the face on the other side of the glass, distorted as she'd stood, frozen, in her casket. She'd stared into his frantic eyes as he'd pulled the umbilicus from her lips, waited for her first words outside the alien womb.
Cold.
"Mulder," she tries again, jaw aching with the effort. "Wake up."
He does, then, ice crystal lashes blinking open to reveal muddy hazel eyes. His lips form her name, a soundless whisper cast into the storm, received by mutual telepathy.
His face hovering over hers, pleading with her to breathe, Scully, breathe, just breathe. Then, liquid bubbling up her throat in a ragged cough.
I had you big time.
"Scully," he says, and this time he smiles. Tears prick her eyes, freezing in the corners. Her lips graze his forehead in thanks.
"Mulder," she says, her throat aching. "Mulder, we have to get up."
He turns, struggling to stand, and she immediately misses the scant warmth of his body. He's babbling now, a stream of desperate words that don't make sense to her muddled brain.
"The vaccine…there was a ship…"
The creak of the ice beneath them is a harsh reminder of the precarious situation in which they find themselves. Ten feet to the left and they'd be dead at the bottom of a crevasse. She shudders.
"Mulder—"
"There was…it was a ship, Scully, I saw it. It was there…you were…" He squints into the darkening sky, fists clenched at his sides. "It was there," he says, so softly she can barely hear him over the roar of the wind.
"Mulder, please."
His shoulders sag as he turns back, meeting her eyes. Like the ice plates that shift restlessly beneath them, their endless journey bringing them one step closer to the avalanche, something has changed. They'll find their answers, but not here. Not today.
"C'mon, Scully," he whispers, his voice rough, relief in his eyes. "Let's get out of here."
He offers a hand, helping her to her feet, one arm anchored around her waist, and he doesn't let go until they're safe in the belly of the Snowcat.