Burning Snow Flakes

Part 1

… Three weeks earlier …

He'd watched her for a while, simply innocently. Not enough that one would deem him a stalker. That he wasn't. He'd only caught a glimpse of her a second ago, besides he didn't even know her name.

She was merely a young girl who'd caught his eye. From his distance he could see her red hair and detected the paleness of her flesh. He'd hoped her eyes were blue, it'd be perfect if they were. It wasn't her complexion nor her hair that'd initially caught his eye. It was the pea green coat she wore and the white stockings that covered her legs and the dainty black shoes. She looked so small from this distance and he'd assumed he was possibly right in believing she was incredibly young.

The snowflakes seemed to be burning. Snow fell, yet, ash arose blood soaked and heavy with the extra burden. Hysteria rolled through this hidden little town just like its occupants screams strangled the air. What he could have once believed to be a quiet little village, now had all of its serenity stolen, ripped right from its glass case.

Disaster had stuck and he had no idea what for and its cause.

He had no logical reason as to why he should be there.

A singular note was left 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 he didn't have the best of luck with spying.

But there he sat, a vantage point hidden by foliage and back up a small gathering of trees. Enough that you could walk through it quickly and not get lost, and enough to hide the fact that he had a car waiting on the side of a lonely road.

Hidden 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 raging. The world in this sleepy little town was coming to a painful end. People here were being kicked out of their homes by the look of it, 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 where they out here being killed in the one placed they lived?

It didn't seem far and yet again in some way, this whole thing came back to him. Why else would he be out there?

Nothing much was said in the note left specifically for him. GPS coordinated were jotted down with two simple words - "Be safe" – paired off with today's date.

So there he found himself – Special Agent Fox William Mulder, stuck innocently witnessing people be persecuted in the middle of nowheresville Russia. It was here that he saw her. The young girl.

He watched her so intensely, far too scared to look away yet frightened of the end result. Shots were being fired into the street and the caused hysteria had her shaking, noticeable even from his distance. As a bullet just missed her and hit a man running past, he made a decision, one that could make him as dead as everyone else in this little hidden away town.

One thing he picked up on most; she was alone in all this panic.

From where he lay, hidden in bushes he could see everything, people running, then falling as the loud crack of a rifle or pistol filled the air. He couldn't help but flinch every time his eyes had caught another being fall dead to the ground, there'd been far too many that morning.

Where the hell are her parents? He wondered, not being able to take his mind off of it. Amongst the hysteria perhaps, seeking a safe haven and the little girl ran off, maybe. But, still, why is she alone? She looked as panicked as the adults around her and horrifically frightened, yet, no one stopped to help her, to ask about her parents.

His mind continued upon the same question as he got up and started to move.

Why was she alone?

Over and over, around and 'round. His heart pounded, his mind span. It was a singular question, but it was so simple. Why would someone leave their child alone?

Especially at a time like this?

He pushed himself up off the ground and ran, his body catapulting down the hill. He wasn't worried about being caught, it was a quick decent with plenty of places to hide.

The streets were worse that what he'd imagined when he got down to that level. Baggage and bodies covered the ground, paper and clothes, photographs and heirlooms; things people couldn't part with. But in the end found them useless in saving their lives.

He knew his plan was crazy. He knew it was dangerous, but he hadn't really thought over how completely deadly it would be if he was caught, questioned or stopped.

He ran, not sure on where he was going now that he was on street level. He looked for the girl, knowing that there was a chance he might not find her in time. His heart was pounding in his ears. He was as terrified as everyone else.

The screams were louder on the street than what they were from his forest hill. Instead they were real, in your face and far more painful to experience as yet another living soul joined the dead.

He wandered the streets, checking over his shoulder like the paranoid man he was. Those that were still living sat on the street crying over those that were dead. A small pea green beanie caught his eye. It was clutched in the hand of a dead woman, her body lying still warm on the cold ground. But she was holding a child's beanie. The same pea green as the little girl's coat. He felt bad taking the item, but he knew if he found the girl, it would help.

The soft fabric was unscathed by this silent war a little damp from the snow and soft rain but it was clean from mud and blood. Running his rough fingers along the hem he came across an embroidered name. It was simple and sweet and he envisioned it on this child perfectly. 'Danica'.

His head picked up in panic as his ears detected that of a man shouting in what he assumed to be Russian. His head turned, his mind curious. There in the alleyway stood the same pea green that he held at his fingertips. The tiny girl stood between two small apartment blocks, trembling as a soldier pointed a gun in her face.

Instinct kicked in over practicality. He was running towards her calling out her name and begging in the tiny amount of Russian he knew. He knew he shouldn't have done it, that it was a risky game to play. But his mouth set into motion before his mind could completely protest. He was only a few steps away from the girl when he dropped to his knees and looked at her as though she actually was his missing daughter.

He wasn't a praying man but in that moment he was praying, literally on his knees. He was begging for the girl to go along with it and for the solider to believe them related. Luckily, she understood him immediately. Either that or just saw protection and went for it. She moved for his arms, slowly watching the solider as she did so. She cowered into his arms, instantly enjoying the warmth and safety coming from this stranger.

The soldier made a quick gesture with his hand, the universal sign for 'shoo'. It didn't take long for Mulder to think about it and make his decision. In one smooth motion he stood with the girl tucked into his arms, turned and then started to move.

He was running with this tiny being, her face hidden in his neck, warm tears sliding down his bare flesh. He couldn't believe what he was doing. Yet his mind focused on how incredibly tiny she was. Malnourished and young, she barely weighed a thing. He tried to guess her age, but couldn't really place it at anything.

When they made it into the thick woods she relaxed in his arms, her body lagged as exhaustion pushed in with what he would probably pair with hunger. He was surprized that she relaxed so readily and raised her head as his pace slowed from a run to a calm walk. He was a stranger, had her parents not taught her the dangerous possibilities of large men doing "kind" things?

Luckily for her, he was genuinely trying to help.

Now, he wouldn't be Fox Mulder if he didn't get caught. Especially in Russia.

His car wasn't alone as he and Danica made it through the woods. She flinched and dug her fingers into the back of his neck as the Russian shouting started again, and the slamming of car doors assaulted her tiny frightened ears. Her world was starting to shake once again as violence and terror loomed, hauntingly above her.

He wondered, if they made it out of this alive. If counselling would help her as she got older, if it'd help her deal a little better. Everyone was different and he hoped so desperately he could help fix this shattered glass of a life. He squeezed her tiny body to him tighter and whispered English promises of protection into her hair. He was unsure if she understood him or even heard him with her head buried in his neck, but he continued to tell her he'd protect her no matter what as the soldiers lurked closer.

The soldier raised his gun as they approached; his voice shouting things Mulder didn't understand. It made it harder to communicate with an extra body wrapped around the left side of his being. "American." He said softly, calmly and slowly. "We're American." He used his free hand to point between both himself and Danica as he explained, not knowing if it'd do them any good. Maybe he should've started counting his prayers again. "Do you speak English?" The soldier nodded at his question, leaving Mulder to let out a large sigh of relief.

"Where are your papers?" The soldier asked, his accent thick. He watched them both carefully, well aware of what could be found on the other side of the woods. This wasn't the first time that day he'd caught someone and killed them because of their escape, he wasn't about ready to believe any fool who thought they could lie to him.

"My daughter, she needed to go to the bathroom." He started to explain as he added that his papers were in the vehicle. He was hoping upon a belief far greater than himself that the soldier wouldn't ask for the girls' paperwork as well. So far he'd been doing well in keeping them both alive, even if it had only been forty minutes.

Danica refused to be put down when he tried to put her beside the car. She didn't make a noise as he crouched to put her beside the passenger door. Instead she locked her arms around his neck and didn't show any signs of letting go.

He had to put her down, if not beside the car at least in it. His back was starting to ache and his muscles weren't used to carrying the extra weight. He let her know silently, really without the words that he was optioning to putting her in the backseat and buckling her in. She obliged, but at the same time looked him dead in the eye her own about ready for tears. Clicking the seatbelt in, he kissed the top of her head softly, unaware where the soft action itself had come from. He told her, again in English that she'd be alright as he pulled her green beanie over the top of her sweet red hair.

Shutting the back door on her he proceeded to the front seat shifting things that had accumulated there over the day trying desperately to find his passport before the solider grew bored and shot him just for his speed.

"Her mother moved away." He started talking again, hoping to buy himself sometime and very possibly, freedom. "It's been so long since I've seen her. We're both a little reluctant to let the other go." He tried so hard to make up a story to look innocent enough to be allowed to pass through. He handed over the small passport as he continued to spin his story. A man whose ex-wife had taken his daughter away and he'd fought tooth and nail to get her back for the weekend. He liked the sound of it. It sounded raw enough for someone to take pity on him.

"No seat for child," The solider asked his accent rough as he used his free hand to point towards the car and Danica. He paused momentarily, his eyes scanning the passport trying to find his name. "Mr. Mulder?" He shook his head, his brilliant mind running for an excuse.

"It's a friend's car. In all honesty, I didn't think I'd get Danni. Viktoria's very stubborn when she has something to use against me. And well, she's it." He pointed to the car where Danica watched quietly from the window.

The solider nodded his head with understanding. He scoffed openly through his next word with another shake of his head. "Women." He sighed handing back the passport. "You go." He shooed with his hand. "Take your daughter to America. Don't bring back." Mulder nodded, it were almost as though he was being shown a sign. His intentions were being spoken out loud through this man, a solider no doubt, someone who could very well stop him right there.

… Don't bring her back …

What would be left to bring her back to anyway? And even if there was something, what good would it do her? They were killing those people for a reason, who's to say in two weeks, months or years they wouldn't try to do the same if he brought her back.

Being given the all clear Mulder wasted no time in getting back in the car. He smiled and waved graciously at the solider who spared their lives unknowingly, before pulling out onto the road and taking no time in leaving that ruined little nowheresville town behind.

"Danica?" He asked, watching her small face in the rear-view mirror. She looked up, her brilliant blue eyes questioning the back of his head as her hands picked at her coat. "Do you know any English?" She looked up at the mirror blankly and he didn't have to think about it very hard before taking that as a 'No'.

Maybe he should have asked her that question earlier. The language barrier might make his plans a little rough, and a larger struggle to communicate with her, but he was Fox Mulder after all, he could handle it. But, first he needed to get them both out of there. Saint Petersburg wasn't that far from the area, only a couple of hours, but even that was far too close. His next open city was Moscow and that alone could take them easily half the day, if not the whole thing.

He just didn't want to be too close to where he found her. Besides last he heard James Pearson was hiding out in Moscow, and he happened to be the one man Mulder needed.

James Pearson was Europe's computer hacker extraordinaire, he could find people, he could hide people and all 'round recreate and entire human beings life. He was a genius and the only reason MI7 wouldn't have him – he was rouge and hated the government. Which was a win win situation, depending on who you were.

They would have to stop over in the next town for him to make the phone call, but after that Mulder believed it to be smooth sailing. She needed a car seat; that was first priority. He watched her in the rear view mirror every now and then as her sweet face absorbed the passing world as it flew by. He'd catch her finger trailing condensation down the heated glass, contrasting the cold outside.

He wondered what games her mind played, he was curious to know how much of her childhood had been stripped of her. Was she watching the water drip down the curvature of the glass because she'd made a race of it or was it because she was purely bored?

Surely children didn't need to know how to play in order to make up their own games. But either way it fascinated him. She stared at the clear water so intently almost as though she could evaporate it with her mind. He sincerely wondered if she could, maybe that's why she was hidden so far away.

He was sure that the girl would have laughed if she could hear what he was thinking let alone understand his language. Scully would have laughed, and maybe that was enough. He was itching for that smile when he saw her with Danica in tow. He could barely concentrate on the road as he heard her voice and watched her face panic as he started to explain.

She'd call him crazy. Nothing had changed there. She'd laugh at him and tell him they – the both of them. Not just him alone – would have to fess up. Tell someone what he'd done in order to find the proper place for this child.

He'd argue with her, tell her that she was in fact the crazy one. He'd debate and pull down every single aspect of her argument until he was the right one.

And at the end of the day, while the little girl slept protected in between the arguing adults. Scully would agree.

And you know about the little box.

Reviews, alerts and so on are appreciated.

Annaliese.