The arena is settling down again.
Helpers are clearing the last boxes and cones from the ice; the PA system crackles, then settles down, and the lighting shifts to cooler tones with a touch too much ambition. The French team has not quite disappeared from view yet; Great Britain is already standing by the boards again in orderly frustration, and hanging over it all is the expectation that the real evening is only just beginning.
The commentator from the local editorial team sounds as though someone has finally promised him a match he has been talking himself into his whole life.
COMMENTATOR (VO)
Ladies and gentlemen – now for the match that many of you have probably been secretly waiting for for seventy years: the Soviet Union versus the United States.
Applause. Significantly louder than during the first match. Not uniform, but more electric.
The Russian team takes to the ice.
No unnecessary exuberance. No show. They spread out across the rink with the quiet precision of a team that has decided to treat the Americans’ noise level simply as another weather phenomenon.
Ilya doesn’t skate out first, but when he does so last, the air seems to grow thicker for a moment. He doesn’t look like someone putting on a show. More like someone who doesn’t believe he should be disturbed whilst doing it.
The American team follows.
More pace, more noise, more body language. Sticks tapping against the boards, a few circles too fast whilst warming up, brief shouts that nobody in the crowd understands but are still meant to convey confidence.
Shane comes out last.
Not as a showman. Just as someone who needs no help to be seen as the centre of attention. He does a quick lap, stops abruptly in front of the boards and looks over at the Russians as if the game had already begun for him before anyone had even dropped the puck.
Jonathan crosses his arms.
JONATHAN
Ah. Finally, the match where everyone will pretend it’s just about sport.
SCULLY
And it isn’t?
JONATHAN
It’s always about pride, heritage, childhoods, sponsors, headlines and men who were praised too often in their youth simply for holding their sticks in the right direction.
Jennifer takes a sip from her glass.
JENNIFER
Jonathan likes to describe ice hockey as if it were a side show to world history. In truth, it’s often the more honest archive of it.
Mulder nods, without taking his eyes off the ice.
MULDER
I like that.
SCULLY
Of course.
The first line-up change. The captains gather for the face-off.
Shane and Ilya face each other in the centre.
From a distance, it’s the usual geometry of an ice hockey match. Up close, it would be something else: two men observing each other with such controlled attention that any genuine indifference would immediately seem ridiculous.
The linesman steps in between them, explaining something neither of them really needs to hear.
Shane leans forward ever so slightly.
SHANE
You’re late.
Ilya doesn’t look directly at him, only at the space between them.
ILYA
And you still confuse volume with tactics.
The puck drops.
Immediate movement.
The US wins the opening face-off and pushes the play hard into the Russian zone. Not elegantly. Deliberately not. A shot from the blue line, deflected; the Russian goalkeeper has to push the puck away with his pad.
The atmosphere in the arena is instantly different from before: more shouts, more reaction to every physical contact, every push, every stop against the boards.
Scully watches the first hard challenge behind the goal.
SCULLY
That’s far less civilised.
JONATHAN
Yes. That’s why it seems more honest.
The Soviet Union doesn’t respond with physicality, but with space. A quick pass through the middle, another diagonally into the run, and suddenly the US is chasing a system that just a moment ago didn’t seem to be there at all.
Ilya takes the puck whilst gliding forward, keeps it close to his body, feints a pass, keeps it after all, and forces two US players in exactly the wrong direction.
Mulder watches as Shane, moving backwards, immediately swings towards him. No hesitation, no glance at the rest of the rink, straight at Ilya.
MULDER
That’s not just game intelligence.
SCULLY
What is it then?
MULDER
It’s habit. He reacts too quickly to him.
Jennifer hears it and says nothing. Only her gaze lingers on Shane for a moment.
The Soviet Union is getting really dangerous for the first time. Ilya drives to the right circle and then, at the last second, plays a cross-ice pass; a Russian forward is free for a shot — just wide.
An audible gasp goes through the arena.
Jonathan grimaces.
JONATHAN
That was definitely not an American instructional video.
JENNIFER
No. American instructional videos tend to believe in strength through propaganda — and popcorn.
SCULLY
And Russian ones?
Jennifer follows Ilya across the ice.
JENNIFER
In size as a weapon.
Next change. The game is getting rougher.
The US team applies more physical pressure, trying to pin the Soviet Union against the boards earlier, close down the line to the centre, and turn every elegant move into a physical battle.
Shane checks a Russian defender against the boards cleanly, hard, and with just enough restraint to avoid a penalty. The crowd reacts immediately.
Ilya, two seconds later, picks up the same puck and skates right through the gap that check opened up in the American defence.
As he passes Shane, their shoulders brush briefly.
Not an accident. Not quite.
SHANE
Was that your whole plan?
ILYA
No. That was just your mistake.
Shane turns on a dime, following him immediately.
Scully doesn’t notice the tone of voice, but the speed with which the two lock horns again.
SCULLY
It almost looks choreographed.
MULDER
I told you, it’s more than rivalry. What if it were about match-fixing?
SCULLY
You say a lot of things. But this is about donations, not betting. No matter who wins.
MULDER
And I’m often right enough to be a nuisance. I want to believe!
The game remains open.
The US gets a good chance after a rebound. Shane manoeuvres the puck around a Russian’s stick right in front of the goal, almost lifts it, but the goalkeeper just manages to get his glove up.
Part of the crowd is already half on their feet.
Jonathan almost does the same.
JONATHAN
Now I see it. Now I understand why people freeze for this sport.
Jennifer smiles briefly. She isn’t looking at Shane, but at the philanthropist.
The old man claps at the right moments. Yet his gaze doesn’t follow the game. He’s watching specific players.
Shane.
Ilya.
Then briefly the doctor.
Then Shane again.
Mulder notices it at the same moment.
MULDER
He’s not watching like a sponsor. More like a man who’s dissatisfied with various investments at the same time.
SCULLY
Unreliable. Is he the fraudster or the one being defrauded? Or even an alien in human disguise working for the government.
MULDER
I don’t know.
SCULLY
Just so we keep up with tradition.
The game picks up pace.
The Soviet Union takes the lead first.
Not by chance. Through patience. A wide build-up, the US is pushed out wide, thinks it has the situation under control, and at that very moment Ilya opens up the line. A quick move inside, a pass to the boards, a return into the slot — goal.
The Russian bench cheers in a controlled manner. The Americans react immediately with physicality, not emotion: sticks against the boards, brief shouts, more pressure.
At the next face-off, Shane charges in as hard as if he wanted to erase the deficit through sheer force of will.
He wins the puck. The US responds faster, more directly, more impatiently. And precisely because of that, more dangerously.
Two shifts later, the equaliser comes. A rather scrappy goal, close to the net, lots of traffic in front of it, the puck somehow slips in, and that is precisely why the Americans cheer louder.
Shane barely raises his arms. His first glance is not towards the crowd, not towards the bench, but towards Ilya.
Ilya is already back in position, as if he’d decided not to let the whole incident stir any emotion. Only his mouth has tightened slightly.
JENNIFER
That’s interesting.
Mulder looks at her.
MULDER
What?
JENNIFER
No one on this ice reacts to the game as quickly to a single opponent as these two react to each other.
Scully keeps watching.
SCULLY
That might be normal at this level. Both are born leaders; they’ve earned their positions honestly, not through marriage or inheritance.
Jennifer shakes her head almost imperceptibly.
JENNIFER
Not with that intensity.
Mulder smiles faintly. He always likes confirmation, especially from Jennifer.
SCULLY
Don’t enjoy that so obviously.
MULDER
I’m just enjoying the fact that I’m not the only one who’s paranoid.
He whispers to Scully
MULDER
And you seem a bit jealous today. 
JENNIFER
Oh, I’m not paranoid, Mr Mulder. I’m socially savvy.
The final minutes of the match begin.
Meanwhile, the French team watches intently from the boards. Moreau stands calmly, Mercer a little way off, both like men who are officially just waiting for their next item on the agenda and unofficially counting every mistake of the evening.
Philanthrop speaks briefly with the tournament doctor, just over the local MP’s head. A sentence, a nod. From a distance, nothing out of the ordinary. Yet again, his gaze does not return to the ice in general, but to the captains.
Shane.
Ilya.
Luc.
Daniel.
Too many lines on a face.
Scully sees it this time too.
SCULLY
He’s sorting something out.
Mulder turns his head towards her. That’s more than she usually allows him at such an early stage. He whispers,
MULDER
Yes. And how are you sorting out your feelings towards the dazzling queen of the evening? You’re not concentrating on the ice.
On the ice, everything is building up to the final change.
Shane wins the face-off hard. An American pass across the neutral zone. Speed. Pressure. Noise.
Ilya reads the line.
He doesn’t intercept the puck spectacularly. That’s precisely why it seems almost more frightening. As if he’d already known the American move before the Americans themselves fully understood it.
He accelerates, leaves one man in his wake, then another, cuts towards the centre where any ordinary player would pass, but holds onto the puck for a breath too long and then shoots himself.
The puck goes in.
Silence.
For just a blink of an eye.
Then the arena erupts.
The Soviet Union cheers. The US curses. France applauds with genuine sporting respect. Great Britain reacts as if to a natural disaster, one that is both regrettable and clean.
Ilya raises his stick only slightly. No triumphant posturing. More a brief acknowledgement that something inevitable has occurred.
Shane is still reeling from the last missed tackle.
His gaze meets Ilya’s.
Not for long.
The final whistle.
The Soviet Union wins.
The teams skate off. The arena applauds more quietly, more uneasily, more restrainedly than after the first game. Now the veneer of goodwill has finally worn thin. It is no longer just about scholarships, but about pride, images, and what narrative the evening will convey to the outside world.
The commentator is almost tripping over his words.
ANNOUNCER (VO)
A narrow, fortuitous victory for the Russian team in a match that could scarcely have been more tense. Rarely have our American heroes on skates played so well, yet life likes to play cat and mouse with you. This arena has never seen anything like this in the last seventy years. Nor will it see anything quite like this again in the next seventy years.
Jonathan mutters:
JONATHAN
They could give him fewer words and more oxygen. When the arena is demolished next summer, it won’t see a thing in a year’s time.
Jennifer ignores him. Her gaze is already following the changes at the edge of the ice.
Helpers bring out the old challenge cup. In this light, the heavy silver trophy seems almost too large to be merely decorative. Beside it, the scholarship students are being directed to the front again. The formal proceedings draw to a close.
Moreau looks at the philanthropist.
Mercer does too.
The philanthropist rises slowly.
Again, nothing that outsiders would need to notice.
But Mulder registers the sequence of glances. Scully, the old man’s overly smooth face. Jennifer, the fact that Jonathan has, for once, fallen silent.
MULDER
Now it’s getting interesting.
SCULLY
You’ve been saying that ever since we saw the car park. But I can see how the Hart couple seem to be paying for everything here, yet are now letting the local VIPs take centre stage. Is that modesty or a ruse? 
MULDER
Are you in favour of the Soviet Union? Or just against this arena?
On the ice, Ilya lines up for the medal ceremony. Shane stays with the Americans a few metres away. Enough distance for the space. Not enough for what’s resonating between them right now.
The music swells again. The lighting is made warmer, as if to conceal for a few minutes what has long been stirring beneath the surface of this evening.
The Soviet Union has won.
The US has lost.
France and Great Britain have watched on.
And somewhere between the sponsor, the doctor, the players and the history of the arena, something seems to be waiting for its moment.