My Way or the Highway: Part One

by Rachel Anton

I wonder what your mother is like.  I wonder what kind of woman raises her son to treat another woman like this.  Did she spoil you Mulder?  She must have.  That pathetic stage of early puberty, when you blame Mommy for the fact that you have to get braces and you're growing hair that you don't like and nobody picks you first in kickball, where you tell her you hate her on a daily basis because there is no one else you can say it to who will stick around and pick up your dirty socks afterwards, you're still there aren't you Mulder?  She never slapped you and told you that acting like that might get you in trouble.  I'll bet she never told you not to accept the easy answers either.

I used to think you were smart.  Smarter than me anyway.  We've both been looking for the same thing but I've always been sure you had a far greater chance of success than I could ever dream of.  But as I stand here and watch your noble quest turn into childish self-absorption, as I watch you disavow your greatest resource and only true ally, I can't help but think that even I could do better.

Don't you understand what's at stake here?  Human beings are very volatile and fragile creatures.  The wrong word at the wrong moment can turn friend to enemy and potential lover into potential murderer.  I suppose mom never told you that either.

Are you so foolish to believe that because you saw something, because you think you understand what it is, that this will be enough.  For her?  For anyone?  Are your beliefs so fragile that they cannot stand up to critical analysis?  Are you so paranoid that an attempt to strengthen your position is seen as a betrayal, an attack?

You can't build a house out of straw Mulder.  Someone's bound to come and blow it down.  Someone who hates you.  And if you insist on building that way, it's not the best policy to thank the person who brings you more straw and spit on the ones who try to hand you concrete, to help you build a foundation.

Not that any of it matters anyway.  You seem to think that this conversation is private, that your juvenile lashing is for her eyes only.  You don't seem to grasp the fact that you are never alone.  Someone is always watching.  Someone is always ten steps ahead of you.  Someone besides me is watching this conversation, this disintegration, and smiling.

From what I hear you used to be a brilliant profiler, able to penetrate the most impenetrable, deranged minds in the world.  What happened to those people skills?  Don't those tricks you learned in Psych.  101 work on women?  Don't you know what it does to a woman to compare her to another woman?  To tell her that she comes up short even when it's obvious that you don't think that?  Can't you see what you're doing?

You're throwing it all away Mulder.  You're doing it so fast and so furiously that when it's gone you won't have a clue where it went or why it's not there anymore.  And you're doing it just the way they want you to.

A broken spirit.  That's what they want of you and you are handing it over on a silver platter.  These men aren't fools.  They've been watching you for even longer than I have.  They know what it would take to destroy you as a man and you're making it so fucking painfully easy.  Losing the work was only the beginning.  You feel broken now?  You feel lost?  Have you forgotten already how it would feel to lose her as well?

I suppose you have known unconditional love.  I never have and I'm glad.  If you've never known it you don't expect it.  You're more careful.  You don't beg to be left.

You used to be a more open minded person Mulder.  You used to want to learn, to find the answers.  When did you become so enamored with hearing your own thoughts coming from someone else's mouth?  When did you shut down?

She's leaving now, walking out the door.  If she had any sense she would never come back.  But they are counting on her not having any sense.  They are counting on her hopeless devotion because without it, the further tortures they have waiting for you would be meaningless.

It needs to stop.  It needs to stop before you turn into a pile of useless mush blubbering on the floor about the fact that she hates you and you don't understand why.  If I thought there was a way to get through to you I would try.  I would slap you senseless and tell you that sweet words are meaningless, that people who agree with you too fast and without question are dangerous and that the only way you are going to come close to winning this thing is with her at your side.  But the thing is, it wouldn't work.  You obviously have no regard for any kind of proof unless it tells you what you want to hear so nothing I could show you would mean anything to you.  She is the only way.  She will listen.  Not at first but soon.  Because I have the proof.  And because it IS what she wants to hear.

She didn't realize until she closed the door to her apartment, until she was completely certain that she was alone, how truly angry she was.  It was the kind of anger that crept up on you slowly.  In retrospect Scully knew that the seeds had been planted days ago at that committee meeting.  The gestation period had encompassed the crime scene violation, the blatant disregard for her attempt at a connection, and the ditch to end all ditches.  This latest conversational offense had brought on what was perhaps the most overdue labor in history.  She was giving birth to an anger so beyond what she normally allowed herself to feel that the pain was actually more physical than emotional.  It was deep and sharp and filled with bile.  It left the worst taste imaginable in her mouth.

She tried to maintain some degree of control.  She walked slowly and without malice across the living room floor, pausing briefly to turn on the light, to remove her coat and place it gingerly on the coat rack.  She ran her fingers through her hair and kicked off her shoes.  She opened the refrigerator door and took out a can of Diet Coke.  She looked at the can, at the red and silver, the drops of condensation on the side and for some reason it caused her water to break.

"Damn you Mulder!"

She hurled the still unopened can across the room and it hit the kitchen wall with a dull thud.

"Why do I bother?  Why do I try?  What the fuck is the point?"

He was a liar.  She knew this now.  The words he had supposedly spoken from his heart, words she had cherished, they were lies.  Lies to make her stay, to convince her that she was giving him something valuable.  Lies that had convinced her that he needed her the way she was and she better damn well stay that way come hell or high water.

"Is it my fucking fault that the facts don't validate you?  Like it would have made a damn bit of difference if they had anyway.  Dumb fuck."

She took a deep breath and looked at her reflection in the toaster.  Her eyes were red.  She'd been crying and hadn't even realized it.  And talking to herself to boot.  She was losing it.  And she hated him.  In that moment she hated him for making her hate herself.  For making her wish she had the stomach to be what he really wanted her to be; his parrot.

She walked to her bedroom, needing to shed the clothing she would forever associate with the day her heart officially splintered into a million pieces.  As she removed her blouse, her stockings and her skirt and replaced them with sweatpants, a tank top and her running shoes in preparation for the jog of a lifetime, her usually acute sensibilities were dulled.  So dulled that she did not sense the presence of another person in the room with her.

The man didn't want to watch her undress.  That wasn't why he was there, hiding behind the door in the dark.  That hadn't been in the plan.  She was supposed to have walked in front of him so that he could hit her on the head with the butt of his gun before any of this happened.  He wasn't sure why he felt so guilty about seeing her like this.  It certainly wasn't the first time.  They had all seen her like this time and again.  There were hundreds of hours of videotaped footage floating around containing nothing but Dana Scully getting naked.  But this time was different.  Maybe because he was so close, so personal.  Maybe because he could smell her.  Maybe because knowing he was in the same room with her like this was distracting him in a very inappropriate and misplaced way.

"Stupid fuck!"

She said it so loudly that for a moment he thought she had seen him and that he was the stupid fuck in question.  Then he realized she was just continuing her diatribe against Mulder.  She wiped her cheek furiously with the back of her hand and he felt for her.  He was a stupid fuck.  And she was headed his way.  Soon things would be better.  For all of them.

Stupid fuck.  It was her last coherent thought before Scully's world went black.

Have I become so jaded, so used to living in constant peril, that my first thoughts upon waking up with my hands cuffed behind my back and my face buried in the upholstery of the back seat of a rapidly moving vehicle are "Hmm, wonder where I'm going"?

Apparently so.  Or maybe the anger is still overriding the fear I might normally be experiencing.  At least I can thank Mulder for that much.  I twist around so that I am laying on my side.  Maybe I can eventually maneuver myself to a seated position.  Admitting you have a problem is the first step Dana.

I open my eyes and see that I am surrounded by leather colored in that hideous tannish orange.  That color you saw everywhere in 1976 but happily thought had faded into oblivion, it's still here.  In the torn upholstery of cars from 1976.  God, I think I'm in the backseat of a Pinto.  Boy Mulder would get a hearty belly laugh out of this one.

There's music playing on the car radio.  The fucking Doobie Brothers.  "Without love, where would you be now?"  they ask me.  I'm gonna take a guess here and say not handcuffed in the back of a 1976 Pinto.

Okay, now I'm faced with the hostage dilemma.  Do I let my captor know that I am awake?  Do I try to talk to him?  To reason?  Or do I just sit back and enjoy the ride through 70's hell, grateful for something besides Mulder to think about?   That last choice is probably the best but the thing is, I just have to know who orchestrated this half-assed kidnapping.  I have to know who couldn't afford a better get away car than A 1976 PINTO!  The curiosity is just too great.

I twist around some more and soon I am sitting up behind the passenger seat and peering around to take a look at the driver.  He seemed to hear me rustling and he turns around at that moment and goddamn if he doesn't smile at me before turning back to the road.

"Morning sleepy head."

This is the worst joke I've ever lived.  If someone told it to me in a bar I wouldn't even crack a smirk.  I should have known.  I should have smelled the ineptitude a mile away.  I roll my eyes and lean my head back against the seat, every minuscule trace of fear completely obliterated.

"What the hell are you doing Krycek?  Isn't this the kind of crap you usually pull with Mulder?"

He laughs and shakes his head.

"Mulder's got his head so far up his rectum right now he wouldn't even notice if I kidnapped him."

Am I a bad person if that made me smile?

Seriously though, this is more than a little annoying.  I might not have as much to do with my life as I once did but I certainly have better things to do than this.

"What do you want Krycek?  If you're looking for some kind of ransom or a trade or something with Mulder you picked the wrong woman to steal."

"Scully, come on.  Don't you have more confidence in yourself than that?"

I guess he's been out of town for awhile so his ignorance is partially understandable.

"Seriously, don't you think someone could kidnap you for yourself rather than to get to Mulder?"

I don't even know what the hell that's supposed to mean.  But this is getting more irritating by the second.

"This is stupid Krycek.  You're gonna get caught in about fifteen minutes.  And Mulder will kill you out of pride if nothing else."

"Fifteen minutes huh?  Scully do you have any idea what time it is?  How long we've been driving?  What state we're in for Christ's sake?"

It's dark out.  I suppose it's night time.  It was night time when he took me.  It could have been a couple hours.  It could have been a couple minutes.  I really don't know.

"It's almost 5 am Scully.  We've been driving for about ten hours.  All back roads pretty much.  Ever been to Georgia Scully?  It's real nice this time of year.  Maybe when the sun comes up we can drive through Atlanta."

Georgia.  He got me all the way to Georgia?  Motherfucker.  Goddamn you Mulder.  Four months ago he couldn't have gotten me out of the DC metropolitan area without you noticing.  I'll bet he still hasn't noticed.  I'll bet he's still right where I left him in that damned office trying to put together the burnt-out puzzle pieces of his project.

"Let me out of this goddamn car Krycek.  The humor in this situation is dwindling rapidly."

"Awfully cranky when you wake up huh?"

Maybe.  Maybe that's why I feel like ripping that goddamn prosthetic arm out of its socket and shoving it up your ass.  If I were Mulder I suppose I would have said that out loud.

"Come on Scully, you should really be thanking me.  I'm doing you a favor here."

Ah, of course, a favor.

"Oh I'm most terribly sorry.  I must have forgotten my manners.  Sometimes getting cold cocked and dragged out of my apartment in the middle of the night will do that.  Thank you Krycek.  Thank you so very much.  And not just for kidnapping me.  For helping Duane Barry send me into outer space, for killing Mulder's father, for being a general all around pain in the ass, really you've done so much for me."

God the more I think about it the more my problems can be traced back to that smarmy son of a bitch.

"Okay so now that the pleasantries are out of the way…"

"Who are you working for now?  Who's paying you for this Krycek?"

"Paying?  Nobody's paying me.  This is me, you and me.  It's not about anybody else."

Oh man, this is just getting weirder and weirder.  Please tell me this sick son of a bitch isn't taking me to some backwoods Appalachian town to be his hostage bride and bear his young'uns.  Of course, as I'm sure he is aware, I am incapable of bearing young'uns.  Another thing that can be traced indirectly right back to him.

Shit.  I can't get out of these handcuffs.  I can't jump out of the car because he's driving too damn fast.  I can't hit him on the head because then he would lose control of the car and we would both end up dead.  And Mulder doesn't even know I'm gone.  Maybe I should be scared.  At least a little.  I have no idea what the hell he wants from me.  And I have no idea how to get the hell out of here.

"Who did this?  Dammit, who the hell did this?"

Diana sighed and squinted at the monitor.  It was so dark in Scully's room and the film was not the best quality.  Not to mention the fact that her captor was wearing a Richard Nixon mask.  How the hell was she supposed to know who it was?

"Sir, I can't really say with any certainty who this is."

The man behind her grumbled and took a long drag from his ubiquitous cigarette.

"I don't like this.  I don't like it at all.  Why wasn't I informed?"

Diana shrugged.  Again, how the hell was she supposed to know.  And who was to say this abduction had anything to do with anything?  Could just be a stroke of luck.  Maybe it was some crazed stalker who saw her at the Quickie Mart and decided he wanted a piece.

"Have this section enlarged and analyzed Fowley.  And for God's sake, find her before Mulder does."

"I didn't kill Mulder's father ya know."

I'd like to get the odds on her believing me in Vegas sometime.  But hey, it's worth a shot.  She is a smart woman, and probably psychic too.  Maybe she'll just sense that I'm telling her the truth.  Anyway, I feel like I've got to say something.  She's just been sitting back there since sunrise in some kind of obstinate silence and it's making me nervous.  She stopped demanding to be released a couple hours ago and I'm starting to think that she's planning something back there.

I wait about five minutes for any kind of response at all.  I turn to face her briefly and she is staring out her window looking somewhat zombie like.  I wonder what she's thinking about.

"I know Mulder thinks that I did but you've gotta remember he was tripping on acid at the time.  His recollections might be a little fuzzy."

I look back again, strangely desperate for some kind of acknowledgment.  Her icy glare shifts to me and I swear to God I feel my testicles shriveling to the size of dinner peas.   Maybe I liked her better when she was staring out the window.

"It doesn't matter if you did or not.  The more pressing matter is the fact that you're a traitor, a thief, a coward and an idiot and I am handcuffed in the backseat of your pathetic excuse for a car."

Well okay then.  The lady's got a point.  But I think she believes me.  I really do.

"You have something against Pintos?"

"Well at least it's not something flashy.  That would be even stupider.  But really, how far do you think this heap of crap is going to get you?"

"It'll get us where we need to go."

"Keep dreaming Krycek."

"Are you hungry?  I've got some rolls up here and some peanut butter."

"Fabulous.  What a culinary delight.  But I've got a question for you Krycek.  How am I supposed to eat with my hands behind my back?"

"Like in a pie eating contest.  I'll toss it on the seat next to you and you can lean down and knaw on it."

She's silent again.  Thinking about it I suppose.  Trying to decide which option is more repulsive; living with the overwhelming hunger she is inevitably feeling or doing something so utterly humiliating.  Poor Scully.

"Or hey, I could feed it to you."

An exasperated sigh and then a resigned, "toss one back here."

I manage to smear some peanut butter on top of the roll and place it on the seat while simultaneously maintaining control of the car.  Not bad for a one armed man.

Out of some unexpected feeling of respect I don't watch her scarfing the bread off the leather.  Not even in the rearview mirror.

She eats and I gaze at the open road ahead.  Finally we're headed West.  And I feel good.  I feel a little bit safer.  I also feel like a man who hasn't slept in 48 hours.  The lines on the pavement are starting to jiggle and the sun seems to have reproduced.  I wonder what made me think it was possible to drive from Washington DC to California without stopping.

"So Scully, aren't you ever gonna ask me where we're going?"

"I'm assuming we're going to some top secret military facility where you plan on showing me something terribly relevant and then skulking off into the shadows when the shit starts to hit the fan.  After you leave I suppose I'll probably get arrested and all evidence of whatever occurred will be obliterated.  That's just a guess though."

"Try again."

"Oh, are we going to Disney World?"

Man, now I know where Mulder gets his fucking wise ass mouth from.

"Scully, what do you know about Diana Fowley?"

As if my hackles weren't up already.  I'd really almost forgotten about her for two minutes.  Bet that bitch has never had to eat crumbs off of car upholstery.

"Why do you ask?"  I say with extreme care, hoping that he will not be able to read my feelings from that short question alone.  I think the topic of Diana is the only thing in the world that makes me lose composure so quickly, so easily.  Just saying her name leaves me open and raw for any slackjawed onlooker to peer at.  My heart, my guts, everything in my soul is laid bare every time I talk about her.  And damn if I'm gonna let Krycek see my bloody emotional innards.

"I ask because she's the reason you're here.  Well part of the reason anyway."

Great.  It figures.  It fucking figures.  Big whopping surprise.  The strangest thing here is that I'm not sure who I'm most disgusted with; Diana for being the backstabbing bitch I thought she was, myself for being a tiny bit glad to have my opinion validated or Krycek for being another fucking man entranced.

"How long have you been working with her?"

The accusatory note in my voice is my answer.  Him.  I'm actually most disgusted with HIM.  That is so far and beyond the most fucked up thing I have ever felt that I can't even feel my tongue anymore.

"Working with her?  Please Scully.  Give me a little more credit than that.  I don't work with Diana, for Diana or even in the same vicinity as Diana if I can help it.  But I know who she does work with, I know who's paying her bills Scully and I know why."

Oh brother.  Is it that obvious that I am just dying to hear this?  Can everyone in the world see it?  Resist Dana, RESIST.  It's Krycek for God's sake.  The man's first word as a baby was probably "lie".

"Am I supposed to care?"

"You should.  She's got something that belongs to you Scully.  Don't you want it back?"

He's a bastard.

"Um, I was actually talking about the X-files but that'll work just as well."

Oh my God.  Did I say that out loud?  He must have put crack in the Skippy.

"Anyway, after I show you what I know, you'll probably be able to get them both back."

When did I become so possessive of both Mulder and the X-files that just hearing that is enough to make me drool?  Both of them back.  The way it was before.  Well, not entirely the way it was before.  Maybe even better.

Trust no one Dana.  And certainly don't trust Krycek.  God, that topic should have a saying all its own.  Don't accept something because it's what you want to hear either.  Especially when your needs and wants are as transparent as greasy wax paper.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because I have to.  Mulder and you have to have the X-files.  Mulder has to be a functional human being."

"That's asking a lot."

I don't know if Mulder has ever been a completely functional human being.  He puts the funk in disfunction.

"Scully, they're trying to destroy him.  Not just his reputation or his work.  Him.  As a person, as a man.  And he's letting them do it.  He's walking right into it.  And I need to stop it."

Boy, that's a hoot.

"Am I supposed to believe that you care about Mulder, that you don't want to see him hurt?  Is that why you're kidnapping me?"

"You may find this impossible to believe but I do care about Mulder in a way.  That's not why I'm doing this though.  I'm doing it for purely selfish reasons.  Because I have an interest in seeing that his work continues."

"So why all this handcuff crap?  Why didn't you just come to me and tell me this?"

"Would you have come along Scully?  If I stopped by your apartment and said hey, there's some stuff that you need to see in the desert of Southern California.  Why don't you just hop in my stolen Pinto so we can drive down and check it out?  Would you have come?  Somehow I seriously doubt it.  I think you would have had me cuffed and on the way to the nearest penitentiary in five seconds flat."

Southern California?  Good God.  That's a four day drive at least.  How the hell does he expect to get away with this?

Wait, just because he told you that's where he's going it doesn't mean that is where he's going.  Why am I even talking to him?  I cannot, will not believe a word he says.

"Believe what you want to believe for now Scully but I guarantee you'll be thanking me in the future."

His eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror and I see something there that frightens me.  Something I don't think I've ever seen in his eyes before.  Honesty.  And pain.

So far she had a shoe.  A black leather boot to be exact, probably a size 10.  Terribly helpful.  Based on that evidence the kidnapper could have been Mulder himself for God's sake.  And actually, if she hadn't been certain that he'd spent that entire night in his office, certain he was still there right now, she might have actually considered that as a possibility.  He was just crazy enough to do it.

But it wasn't him.  And it had almost been two full days.  He was bound to come up for air and figure out that she was missing soon.  Her window of opportunity was shrinking every hour.  If she didn't come up with something substantial in a very short period of time she was going to have to employ plan B.

Not that she had a problem with plan B.  There was just a lot more risk involved.  And a lot more acting.  She'd have to practice in the mirror.

"I'm so sorry this happened Fox.  Let me help you.  Let me help you find her."

Yeah plan B would require a lot more out and out deception.  But the rewards would be greater.  It didn't take a rocket scientist to realize that running all over the country with Fox Mulder would be a hell of a lot more fun than sitting at this damn computer and looking at a boot for 8 hours straight.

Of course the best possible outcome was the success of both plans.  If she could find Scully first and then go to Mulder the favorable possibilities were endless.

"How are you managing to find the cheesiest radio stations in every single city we pass through?"

Man, what a whiner.  You think she'd be happy we have a radio at all.

"Sorry Madame but this radio only seems capable of picking up music created before the Reagan administration."

"Don't you have a tape deck or something?"

"Look I'll make sure that the next car I steal is equipped with a state of the art stereo system and CD player, then we can stop at Sam Goody and pick up the latest hits okay?"

"I have to go to the bathroom."

Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later.  And she's not alone.  Not to mention the fact that we're almost out of gas again.  I stopped once when she was still unconscious (ah, the good old days) but that was a long time ago.  I didn't really plan for all of this.  I kind of thought she'd be a willing prisoner by now and that I wouldn't have to worry about how to keep her from escaping while we took a piss break.

"Krycek you're almost out of gas.  And if you keep driving you're gonna kill us."

"What's your point?"

"My point is that this is the most ill-conceived, poorly planned kidnapping of all time.  You could have at least stuffed me in the trunk or something."

"Don't give me any ideas."

"Really though, I'm curious, what ARE your plans?"

Dammit.  Fuck if I know.  I suppose I could pull over to the side of the road and let her pee at gun point.  Then maybe let her drive for awhile the same way.  I really could use a break.  That would mean taking the cuffs off though.  The minute I do that it's all over.  And that doesn't solve the gas problem either.  Besides, at gunpoint is meaningless when she knows damn well that I'm not going to shoot her even if she tries to get away.  What the hell would be the point?

I'm trying to help here.

Maybe if I knock her out again after I let her pee…

"Krycek…"

She sighs and I look in the mirror again.  Her eyes are closed and she's biting her lip.  God she is really fucking pretty.  What the fuck?  If she wasn't so damned taken and so damned annoying…

Her eyes pop open and make contact with mine again and she shrugs.

"I'm not going anywhere okay.  You've got me.  I wanna know.  I want the proof."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Why should I believe you?"

I guess the answer is simple.  We've both got very little left to lose.

This is ridiculous.  This is insane.  This is the most reckless, thoughtless, STUPID thing I have ever done.

I am now officially unbound.  Look ma, no cuffs.  Krycek is nowhere in sight.  I am alone in a public restroom.  I could go anywhere.  I could do anything.  I could call Mulder.

So why am I planning on grabbing some honey roasted peanuts and stale coffee at this dilapidated Texaco in the backwoods of Florida and hopping right back in that fucking Pinto?

Because you are pathetic Dana, a voice in what's left of my brain cries out.   Because you will subject yourself to the most heinous nightmare imaginable, a road trip with Krycek, to prove to yourself and to Mulder that you are right.  You're just as bad as he is.  No, you're worse.

I have a feeling I'll be recounting this whole experience to a therapist very soon.

Either that or I'll be lying on a metal slab getting probed by little gray government officials.  Yeah, I still have my doubts about Krycek's motives.  I still have that much sense.  Honestly though, if he wanted to hurt me he could have.  Very easily.  And if he were doing this for someone else I probably would be in the trunk right now.

I glance at myself in the cracked mirror over the sink and wince.  Still in that beautiful sweatpant/tanktop ensemble and my face is as pale as a piece of computer paper.  There are saucer shaped purple spots under my eyes and my lips are chapped.  That's not even taking into account the ridiculous "I'm with Stupid" baseball cap Krycek forced me to wear.  I suppose he thinks it's some kind of touristy disguise but it's actually the most honest thing about me right now.

It's fucking cold.  It's night time again.  How did that happen so fast?  Damn daylight savings.  Stupid farmers.  Note to self, next time you get kidnapped in the middle of November try to put on a sweatshirt first.

I splash some warm water on my face and rinse my mouth out.  Doesn't get rid of the foul taste of anger and bad humor though.

When I step back into the fluorescent lit convenience store I spot Stupid immediately.  With the thought he put into my attire one would think he'd be at least moderately careful about himself.  He sticks out like a sore thumb in that black leather jacket, black jeans, black T-shirt, Christ I wonder if he owns anything with an actual color on it.

He's at the counter buying what looks like a pile of food and some more clothes.  I grab my peanuts and coffee and add them to the purchases.

After he's paid for our survival collection he swipes something out before the cashier can bag it and hands it to me.  It's a white sweatshirt with a row of fluorescent pink flamingos on the front.  It says "Florida is Cool".  I wrinkle my nose helplessly.

"You're cold."

Yes I am.  And beggars can't be choosers.  I suppose I'm lucky this dump had clothing in the first place.  I pull it over my head and wonder if it's possible to die of fashion humiliation.

When we get back to the car I get behind the wheel and he sits in the passenger seat.  I'm in control now.  His gun is in the glovebox.  How did this happen?

"Krycek how come you get to look like the Marlboro man in black and I have to look like Aunt Gertrude on her way back to the TourAmerica bus?"

"Huh?"

"We don't match."

I point from myself to him and he smirks.  He reaches into the bag and pulls out, yes that's right, another flamingo sweatshirt.  His is turquoise and something I thought to be impossible: uglier than mine.

"All we need is a Winnebago Scully and we'll be set."

"Put it on."

He blinks and stares back at me for a few seconds.

"Excuse me?"

"Put it on now."

I don't know why this is important to me but for some ungodly reason it is.  For some reason I can't feel completely at ease until he puts the damned sweatshirt on.

He shrugs and pulls his leather jacket off.  I try not to stare at his now partially bare arms.  The fake one really doesn't look that bad.  It almost looks real.  Almost.

He pulls the atrocity in aquamarine over his head and sticks his arms through the sleeves with slight difficulty.  The ceiling in the car is a little low.  But eventually it's on.

It's on Alex Krycek.  A turquoise sweatshirt with pink flamingos that says Florida is cool is on Alex Krycek.  Shit, I'm going to laugh in a minute.  And I don't think I'm going to be able to stop for a very long time.

He beats me to the punch.

Unbelievably we are laughing together.  This has got to be either the most surreal and bizarre dream I've ever had or the most fucked up thing that's ever happened.

"Scully, if you're home pick up.  I need to talk to you about something.  Scully?"

Just a little bit to the right and then, presto.  Magic.  It was back.  Almost as good as new.  A whole page.  And it had only taken…

Mulder glanced at his watch and realized that the numbers were meaningless.  7 o'clock.  AM or PM?  What day was it again?

"Scully?  Are you there?  I want you to come take a look at this.  If you're there pick up."

Where the hell was she?  He could barely remember the last time he'd seen her.  She'd been here recently though hadn't she?  They'd had that conversation.  That conversation where they'd both been mad enough to spit.

"Scully if you get this tonight come on down to the office okay?  I really want you to take a look at this."

He hung up the phone with a resigned sigh.  She was probably ignoring him.  She was probably still mad.  But that was okay.  He was still mad too.

If my station locating abilities were limited to cheesy 70's rock, Scully's seem to be centered around angry woman music.  I think she's sending off psychic waves or something.  In the past ten hours since she started driving I think we've heard the entire repertoires of Ani DiFranco, Liz Phair, Tori Amos and freakin Billie Holiday.  I'm about ready to shoot myself in the head.  Or at least take over the wheel again.

The point of her driving was supposed to be for me to catch  up on some sleep.  But the combination of angsty estrogen wailing and Scully's abysmal driving has kept me more or less awake.  I'm afraid if I close my eyes for too long I'll end up waking in a ditch.  Or Mexico.

I wish it wasn't night time again.  I wish I had some speed.  Or at least some goddamn espresso.  I wish we could fly the rest of the way.  I wish I could step foot into an airport on US soil without the fear of being shot, arrested or evicted from the country.  Oh well.  Beggars can't be choosers.  At least we have a car.

And what a car it's turned out to be.  The little bugger really has surprised me with its endurance.  I'm not sure what state we're in right now or how many hours, days, we've been driving but it's longer than I expected to last in this thing.

And speaking of surprises, little miss Scully sure is turning out to be one.  It's strange to think of but this is really the first time in all these years that I've been alone with her.  It's not at all the way I thought it would be.  From what I knew of her from the tapes and our limited interaction I figured she'd be calm, distant, somewhat cold, VERY clinical and detached.  And she is…sort of.  But there's a lot more there.  A lot more right under the surface that you can just feel being near her.  Weirdest of all being, she's actually kind of fun.  I haven't laughed so much in a long time.  She's also really good at stealing from candy vending machines, an extremely useful skill in our current situation.

Have I mentioned that her driving sucks?

"Scully, I think the speed limit here is 65."

"Speed limits are for inexperienced drivers."

"You gonna tell that to Smokey when we get pulled over?"

"Smokey?  Who are you, Burt Reynolds?"

Our speed increases further causing the car to shake precariously and I decide in this as in other areas, arguing only goads her on.  You'd think Mulder would have figured this out by now.  Tell her one thing and she'll immediately take the opposing view.  She's the most contrary person I've ever met.  Must have come from growing up Catholic.  All those damn rules can really get to a person.

"You went to Catholic school didn't you Scully?"

She turns and quirks her eyebrow at me curiously.

"That's a completely odd and random question."

"But you did.  Right?"

She nods and (thank you Jesus) slows down.  Distraction.  That's the key.

"Sucked didn't it?"

She looks quizzically at me again and shrugs.

"I dunno, it was school.  It was Catholic.  I don't know what else to say about it."

"Did the nuns at yours hit you with rulers?"

"Not me personally no.  I was a good student."

Why do I find that so very hard to believe.  Don't get me wrong, I'm sure she was smart as hell unlike me but well behaved, I dunno about that.

"What do you know about it anyway Krycek?  Don't tell me you went to Catholic school."

"And just what would be so far fetched about that scenario Scully?"

"Well, I don't know.  I just never really considered it about you Krycek.  You never struck me as terribly religious."

"Just because I went to Catholic school that doesn't mean I'm religious.  And just because you think I'm a scum bag that doesn't mean I'm not."

She shakes her head slightly and I can see the struggle going on in her brain.  I can almost feel it.  Is it possible for her to reconcile what she knows of me with a person who believes in God?  Or at least who was raised to believe that way?  Her lips purse in a frown and I think that it might be too much for her.  It might be too close to her own experience.

"Well, anyway, I did go to Catholic School.  I was even an alter boy.  It was hell."

The corners of that frown start to twitch and her fingers tighten on the steering wheel.  She starts laughing through her nose despite obvious efforts to the contrary.

"You find that amusing?"

She starts giggling out loud so I guess she must.

"Look here Missy, I was a damn good alter boy."

"I'll just bet.  Lemme guess, stealing from the collection plate?"

"Only on Sundays."

This gets another laugh out of her and she's finally driving the speed limit.

"What about you Scully?  You couldn't have been good all the time."

A sudden and vivid image of a young, petulant Dana Scully in a plaid skirt, starched white shirt and tight little vest, leaning against the back door of a church with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth pops into my head.

Shit.  Why did I start this conversation again?

Why is it that every man I meet wants to know something about my past?  It's the most aggravating thing about speaking with anyone but Mulder because all it does is remind me that Mulder never asks me about squat.  Unless it relates directly back to him and his concerns he doesn't want to hear it.  Goddamn him.  Why does he haunt me even when he's not here?

"I used to get drunk off the leftover Communion wine, the concecrated stuff.  And one time I sprinkled red pepper on the host wafers."

He chuckles at that and I smile myself at the memory of the faces on the members of the congregation, trying to swallow the body of Christ and wondering why it tasted like a fajita.

"That's cute.  It can't be the worst thing you did though."

"Well, it's the worst thing I ever did at Catholic school anyway.  Those nuns were not women you wanted to mess with.  They could be brutal when you crossed them.  That's not even to mention what my father would have done to me."

"One time I pulled Sister Mary Catherine's habit off in the middle of a service.  She was the meanest nun around."

"What did she do to punish you?"

"Whacked my ass with a paddle."

Yikes.  Krycek's nuns were even meaner than mine.

"When I was seventeen I gave Billy Venuti a blow job in the confessional."

Oh my God.  Why did I just say that?  It must be something about the combination of no sleep and endless driving.  It's making me feel like there is no one else in the entire world outside of this fucking car.  It's making me feel like I could tell this bastard anything.

God Dana, shut your mouth.  It's Krycek.  Don't forget that.  He's laughing though.  He's laughing and blushing and he's not leering or making rude disgusting comments.

"Well…that's…that's something Scully.  You must have been a very…interesting kid."

"I think…"  I pause for a minute to consider this.  What do I think?  What kind of kid was I anyway?  "I think I was a little angry.  I don't think I knew why though and I don't think I knew what to do about it."

"And what about now?  Have you figured out what to do about it yet?"

"What makes you think I'm still angry?"

He shrugs and glances out the window nervously.

"Just a hunch."

"And what about you?"

"I was hoping you could tell me.  What to do about it I mean.  Cause I don't have a fucking clue."

"Agent Mulder, do you have any knowledge concerning the whereabouts of your partner?"

Mulder stared blankly at the screen in front of him and scratched his head, wondering what the hell this was about.  Why would Kersh be calling him to ask about Scully?

"Sir?"

"I have an assignment for the two of you sitting here on my desk.  I've been trying to contact Agent Scully for the past twenty-four hours to discuss it with her and she seems to have vanished off the face of the Earth.  Since you seem to be an expert in that area I figured I'd ask you: where the hell is she?"

Vanished off the face of the Earth?  Scully?  She was just here.

"Have you tried her cell phone sir?"

"Gee, I hadn't thought of that.  What the hell kind of idiot do you take me for?  Of course I did."

Scully's gone.  Oh God.  Scully's gone.

"I…I don't…Have you…"

Shit.  He'd tried to call her a couple times in the past few days but he'd assumed she was just avoiding him because of the idiotic way he was starting to realize he'd been behaving.  But this was different.  It wasn't like Scully to ignore her boss.  Something was wrong.  Something was very wrong.

"Agent Mulder if you know where she is I suggest you tell her to report to my office at once and if you don't know, I suggest that you find her before this matter becomes more serious."

She left me.  Oh God.  She finally left me.

Shit.  This is not sounding good.  I think I jinxed us talking  about how well the stupid car was doing.  It sounds like the fucking bottom is about to fall right out.  It's so loud that it woke me out of the first pseudo sleep I've had in days.

I open my eyes and glance at Scully who is frowning and driving about 10 miles per hour.

"Where are we?"

She shrugs and looks at me helplessly.  It's dark out again.  Why is it always so fucking dark?

"We're in Texas finally but I'm not sure what town.  In fact I'm not sure this is a town.  I pulled off the main road because there was a sign for a gas station.  I thought maybe they'd be able to help us with the car.  That was quite a while ago though.  It's been about fifteen miles."

"Have you passed any signs of civilization at all?"  I glance out the window into the pitch black nothingness, already knowing the answer.

"No, there aren't even any street signs here."

"Scully maybe we should head back to the main road.  I feel like I'm about to get a starring role in the remake of Deliverance."

"What about the ca…"

Sputter, clunk, silence.  And so ends the long life of our beloved Pinto.

"Krycek?"

"Yeah?"

"Why did we stop moving?"

"I think…now this is just a guess, but I think that the car is dead Scully."

"Oh."

Yeah, oh.  Not much more to say about that.  I open the door and step out into the night.  It's actually quite warm but that's no comfort at the moment.  It's so dark, so empty.  The road we are on is not even paved and there don't seem to be any lights in any direction.  And the bugs, Christ almighty, they're as big as rodents.

"Any ideas?"  she asks me.  God, I have none.  Zero.  What the fuck was I thinking?

"I guess we need to push it."

"Push it where?"

"Well you've been going straight on this road right?  And the sign said there was a gas station in this direction right?  So, we just push it straight."

I think that eyebrow of hers is somewhere near her hairline.

"Krycek, that sign could have been a hundred years old.  There might not be anything this way but the desert.  We need to push it back to the main road."

"But Scully, you said yourself, the main road is almost 15 miles away.  What if we're only like a mile from the gas station?"

"What if there is no gas station?  At least if we go back to the main road we know we'll get to some civilization eventually."

"Scully, how the hell are we gonna push this thing for 15 miles anyway?"

I don't want to point out the obvious to her but the car weighs about a ton, she probably weighs 100 pounds and I only have one arm.

"I say we push it as far as we can in the direction of the gas station and when we get too tired we just leave it and walk the rest of the way."

Even as the words are leaving my mouth I realize how ridiculous they sound.

"Dammit Scully why'd you get off the main road anyway?"

"I told you.  I wanted to check the car.  It was making noises."

"Well it wouldn't have been making noises if you hadn't been driving like we were in the fucking Indianapolis 500."

"I wouldn't have been driving at all if you hadn't KIDNAPPED me!"

Okay, point taken.  This is all pretty much my fault.  She kicks a rock in the sand and it goes flying into the distance.  Nothing out here for it to hit.  I swear to God I think I hear a coyote howling.

She sticks her head into the car and puts it into neutral and then moves behind it.

"Alright, let's push then."

"Which way?"

"The way you said.  But Krycek I swear, if I die out here in the desert, you're gonna owe my family billions."

This is not going very well.  Pushing a car down a dirt road with only the moon as a light source and with nobody behind the wheel is even more difficult than it sounds.

I don't know how far we've gotten, only that it's too late to turn back.  I can't remember what it feels like to not be pushing this car.  Damn me for listening to Krycek.  And damn Texas for being Texas.  Why do I ever come to this state?

"Goddammit!"  Krycek stops pushing and curses.  He turns and leans against the back of the car, wiping the sweat from his brow.  At least we're warm enough now that we don't need the sweatshirts anymore.

"This is fucking pointless.  I say we leave it and find another one."

That might be a workable idea if one of these flying rodents could support our weight on its back.  Other than that, there are no other transportation options readily visible at this point.

"Find another one huh?  Where Krycek?  WHERE?"

"I don't know.  Jesus, you're a pain in the ass."

"I'm a pain in the ass??  God, I can't believe I'm even here.  I should have run away as soon as you took those goddamn cuffs off me."

This can all be traced back to Mulder ultimately.  I wish he was here so I could punch him in the face.  And so I would know we were going to be all right in the end.

"Looks like y'all have a problem."

We both jump visibly at the sound of a voice other than our own and look around frantically to find the source.  A figure steps out of the shadows and into the moonlight.  Well, not so much a figure as a walking stereotype.  He's one of these grizzled looking southern men who could be anywhere from forty to seventy, grayish hair tucked into a grease covered red cap, overalls and a plaid flannel, straw, yes STRAW, hanging out the side of his mouth.  I don't know whether to laugh or cry.  Or run.  He's just standing there staring at us with this creepy look on his face.

"Our car broke down," Krycek offers lamely.  I think that's pretty obvious.

"Yyyup," the man responds even more lamely.  He doesn't look like his long term plans include more than staring at us.

"We're trying to push it into um…town."

"Yyyup."  The man nods this time.  It seems like it takes every bit of effort he's got.

"So…are we going in the right direction?  I mean is there a town this way?"  God Krycek, just give it up already.

"Yyyup."

He smiles at me as if this is some sort of benediction.  As if the guy might have said something other than yup.  Then he turns back to the car and starts pushing again.  I feel obliged to assist.  Apparently our new friend does not.  He also doesn't seem to want to leave.  As soon as we start moving he starts following alongside us.  This lasts for about 2 minutes before Krycek finally stops and turns to the guy, completely aggravated.

"So do you think you might wanna help or something?"

For a moment all I can see is Krycek's sodomized body under this guy's dinner table and his head stuffed and hanging over the mantle.  Please don't get us killed Krycek.  Please.

But surprisingly, or actually not so surprisingly, the guy nods and says, well, you can probably guess what he says.   He gets behind the car next to me and leans over to talk to Krycek.

"Yah might wanna have yer wife get in the car."

Oh brother.  I don't even wanna see his stupid smirk over that one.  I just nod and get behind the wheel.

For a few moments they push and I drive and things actually seem to be working out for once.  Then suddenly the pushing stops.

"Ya know what might make this even eas'er?  If ah git ma trailer an' haul y'all down to Bub's."

"Your TRAILER?"  Krycek asks, obviously disgusted no one mentioned this sooner.

"Who's Bub?  Is he a mechanic?"  I ask, frightened of the answer.

"He fixes me and maw's truck on 'cassion."

"Well is he any good?"

"Well ma'am, he's the only one who works on auto-mo-beels in these parts so I don't sees that y'all have much choice in th' matter."

"Fox, are you all right?"

Diana surveyed Mulder's office and Mulder's appearance with dismay.  The place was a wreck and so was he.  He looked like he hadn't slept in over a week.

He looked up from his desk where he was frantically leafing through a pile of papers and frowned.

"Diana."

"Fox, I heard about Scully."

Too damned late, she'd been too damned late.  She'd screwed everything up.  Royally.  What the hell did they expect when all she'd had to work with was a damn boot?  Now Mulder was a man possessed.  Again.  Nothing else mattered but finding Scully when he got into this frame of existence.  It was not where he was supposed to be right now.

"Something's happened.  Something's wrong.  I need…I have to find her."

That said he looked back down at his papers.  Was there something there that would lead him to her?  She snuck a little closer to the desk and tried to take a look.  In the process she placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Fox, if there's anything I can do to help, don't hesitate to…"

"Can you bring this down to the lab and have it analyzed?  I found it in her apartment yesterday."

He handed her a size 5 black pump.  The heel was broken.  More with the trail of shoes.  She sighed and took it, irritated at Fox's pathetic state but relieved he had even less than she did.

"So what's the verdict Scully?"

"Well, if we don't touch the sides of the tub we might just get clean."

Ah, clean.  I can't remember the last time I had a shower.  It's going to feel fan-fucking-tastic.

Bub's has turned out to be quite a bustling metropolis.  On top of being a gas station/auto repair joint, it's also home to the town's only convenience store, post office, bar, laundry, hair salon and motel.  Apparently Bub doesn't work on cars after 3 in the afternoon  so we've been forced to spend the night here.  Despite the time we're losing I have to say it's a relief to have some comforts.  Running water, food, and a bed.  A fucking bed.

Our new friend, his name turned out to be Jed which really didn't surprise me a bit, asked Hildy at the desk if she could spare a room for Joey (that's me) and his wife (that's Scully).  When she heard our sob story about getting lost and the car breaking down she offered us a room for free for tonight.  I almost kissed her.  I don't think she had lips though.

I sink into the mattress and sigh.  No mattress has ever felt so good.

"Yeah, I think this is do-able," Scully calls from the bathroom.  "Though I can't say as you'll be alone in here."

Well.

"Ah reckon ev'r man needs some a' compneh in the shar from time teh time maw."

"I was talking about the roaches Joey."

Oh.

Of course.  Wake up dumb ass.  This is Dana Scully here.

"Well they can't be worse than the vampire mosquitoes outside."

"You think those were mosquitoes?"

"Maybe mosquitoes with elaphantitis.  Either way I got eaten alive."

"Oh, please don't talk about eating.  I'm ready to eat Jed's mule right now."

"Well maw, we can always explore the local eateries."

"Oh yes, why don't you read to me from the local restaurant guide."

Smart ass.

"Well I reckon there's at least some pork rhinds to be found in this town."

"Strangely enough, my mouth is watering."

"Mine too.  Scully, what have we become?"

"Desperate, pathetic perhaps."

"No, I've always been desperate and pathetic and I've never wanted pork rhinds before."

"Oh my God."

She sounds completely revolted and for a moment I wonder if she's found a decomposing corpse in our bathroom.  I don't care if she did.  There is nothing that's going to make me abandon this room.  I kick off my shoes to emphasize the point.

"What is it?"

"I can't even believe it."

"What?"  Now I actually am curious and I stand up to investigate.  If Scully can't believe it it must be good.

"There's no door.  What kind of a bathroom doesn't have a door?"

"Wow, just like prison."  Happy happy memories.  Of course I've never had a cell mate who looked like Scully.  "Is there a shower curtain at least?"

"Um, I think it used to be…"

I can't help but laugh when I see her trying hopelessly to hang the tattered piece of cloth back on its hooks.

"I think the cockroaches ate most of it Scully."

"I think a Gilla monster got it."

After some struggling we manage to get the damn thing back in place and it looks like it might offer a modicum of privacy for her.

"Well, look at it this way Scully, you're seeing the world."

She sighs and I leave the bathroom and head for the window.  There's a rickety old fold out chair for admiring the view.  A deserted parking lot.  I hear her turn on the water and call out, "At least it's clear."

"Well, don't drink it anyway."

Bub's bar is across the parking lot and I notice the flashing neon Jack Daniels sign in the window for the first time.  It looks like a real bonafide saloon, swinging cowboy doors and everything.  God, I could really go for a fucking drink.

Apparently I'm not alone.  Suddenly out of the clear blue sky a line of semi's begins to pull into the parking lot and several large men in overalls head towards the whiskey beacon.  Goddamn, they just keep coming.  Where the hell did all these PEOPLE come from?  It's a freaking convoy.

"Hey Scully, I think Bub's having a party."

"Huh?"

"About fifty trucks just pulled into the parking lot."

"What?"

Jesus Christ.  I walk back towards the bathroom so that she can hear me.

"I said a bunch of trucks are in the…"

Oh shit.  At least she fixed the shower curtain.  I've got to start remembering that she is a WOMAN.  I'm standing in the doorway of the bathroom and her clothes are scattered all over the place, her bra and panties hanging over the side of the sink and just looking at the damn things is getting me hard.  They're not even lacy or anything, just plain pink cotton.  I bought them for her myself at fucking Wal Mart the other day.  God do I need to get laid.

"In the what?"

"Uh…parking lot.  In the parking lot."

She's naked in there.  The image of her naked body flashes through my mind completely without my consent.  In her apartment when I took her.  And other times.  Other things I've seen.  God the things I've seen.  The things those bastards have taped her doing.  I'm sorry Scully, so sorry I saw.  So sorry they violate you like that.  And so beyond sorry that thinking about the way you look when you make yourself come is turning me on right now.

I turn quickly away and go back to the window.  Got to remember who I'm dealing with here.  This woman is not mine.  Not even remotely.  Remember who's name she calls out when she comes jack ass.  Not yours.  She's Mulder's, whether he deserves her or not and that's the way it needs to be.  For everybody's sake.  And I've got to remember that he would probably kill me just for seeing her fucking underpants.

God, I haven't been clean in so long.  It feels amazing.  I'm still wearing that damn tank top and sweatpants but thanks to the bargain 12 packs at Wal Mart I've got clean undies at least.  And clean skin and hair.

Of course sitting in this rundown dive bar is going to get me unclean real fast.  Oh well, I can take another shower in the morning.  It's really the small things that count.

Bub's sure is an entertaining place.  I've never seen so much dirty denim in my life.  There are a bunch of small round tables, a long bar on the back wall, a few booths, a jukebox, pool table, darts and believe it or not, a mechanical bull.  The floor is covered in saw dust and it smells like horses sleep here at night.  It's a place.  A place larger than the interior of that damn car.  A place with people besides me and Krycek.  The strange thing is, when I look around this bar, this town, I am struck by how much Krycek and I seem alike.  At least on a superficial level.  I feel like I can relate to him more than I could to anyone else here.  Of course I didn't just spend 5 days in a Pinto with anyone else here.

"Here ya go kids.  Enjoy."

Our decrepit waitress has brought a regular festival of culinary delight to our booth.  Bub's bar also has a kitchen.  We ordered two deluxe bacon cheeseburger plates, a large basket of fries, a large basket of onion rings, and a bag of pork rhinds.  Most of it is hot.  I haven't eaten hot food in so long.  The first bite of juicy, greasy, artery clogging meat is ecstasy.

Krycek also took the liberty of ordering a bottle of Russian Vodka for the table.  Or maybe just for himself, I think as he opens it up and takes an excessively large swig.

"Try this when you come up for air.  It's good for what ails you."

I smile and nod, my mouth too full of fried confections to speak.  Good for what ails me.  Why do I find that hard to believe?  Somehow all the vodka in the world doesn't seem enough to drown it all.

I wonder what Mulder is doing, if he's discovered that I'm gone.  I'm starting to feel a nagging guilt about not calling him to at least let him know that I'm all right.  As much of a jerk as he's been I do know that he cares, that if he thinks I'm in danger he will drop everything to find me.  I do know that.  The distance from our last pathetic attempt at communication has given me some much needed perspective on that much.  I should call him.  But if I do he will want to know where I am, what I am doing, and I cannot tell him that yet.  Not until I know for sure that I'm even doing the right thing.  As soon as he heard I was with Krycek he would hunt us down.  I would never get the chance to find out what I need to know.

That's assuming there is anything I need to know at the end of this journey.  If there isn't, I couldn't bear the shame of facing Mulder empty handed, of having him know I did all this for nothing, for the remote chance of being able to prove myself right for once.

"French fry for your thoughts."

"Are there even any left?"

I survey the wreckage of the table with amusement.  We ate just about every goddamn thing.

"No but I could order more."

I reach for the bottle and take my first shot.  It's actually quite good.  I'm surprised they have something of such quality at this place.  I would have thought Budweiser and Wild Turkey to be the only options.

"I was just thinking how this is probably really stupid of me."

"What?  Eating all that fried food?"

"No, this whole…thing, whatever."

"Oh, Dana and Alex's Excellent Adventure?"

"Yeah that."

"Well, you're probably right.  It's probably a mistake to ever listen to me.  I'm telling you the truth this time though Scully.  Honestly."

"I know that.  It's just…"

"You're thinking about Mulder.  What he would think of you.  Do you think you're letting him down or deceiving him in some way?"

God, what the fuck.  Am I so easy to read?

"Scully, what you're doing is going to help him, it's going to help both of you.  He needs to know what they want to do to you guys."

He needs to know what they've already done to us.  I wonder if he'll ever realize.

"Scully?"

I look up and into his eyes and see a very real concern there.  Why is he concerned?

Then I taste the salt of my own tear running into my mouth.

Dammit.  Fuck.  Why did we have to stop here.  I didn't want to have the time to think about these things.

He hands me a napkin which I use to wipe my stupid assed face and then he hands me the bottle again.

"Sometimes it makes it easier to forget."

"I found her."

Diana's heart skipped a beat and she smiled into the phone.

"Where?"

"Texas.  She's in a bar.  With Krycek."

"Is she there willingly?"

"It looks that way."

The smile grew.  In a bar with Krycek?  Not very clever Dana.  Not at all.  She was making this too damn easy.  She was doing Diana's work for her.  It looked like the story of betrayal was writing itself.

"What should I do?  Keep her until you get here?"

"No.  No, take pictures, be subtle, have them sent to me here in Washington.  And stay on their trail.  Don't let her out of your sight.  Keep me informed."

She set the phone down on the desk and let out the deep breath she'd been holding for five days.

Well, I have to say it, I'm impressed.  I figured Scully for a two shots and passing out in her chair kind of woman but once again she's surprising me.  We've already gotten half way through the bottle and I think she's actually had more to drink than I have (a rarity among men and women alike).  That's not to say that she's holding it terribly well.

"Krycek, have you ever loved someone who made you sick?"

This is the third personal and strange question she's asked me in the past ten minutes.  She's stretched out on her side of the booth, her legs on the bench and ankles crossed and she's leaning against the wall with the bottle in her hand.  Her head is rocking precariously back and forth, looking for all the world like it might be leaving her neck at any moment.

"Just myself Scully."

She slams the bottle down on the table and laughs out loud.

"That's really very funny.  I like that."

I shrug, not sure what to say.  I wasn't really joking.

"So, sickness aside, have you ever been in love with someone besides yourself?"

"Sure Scully.  I am a human being ya know."

"So is that what it means to be human?  Falling in love?  Is that like a requirement or something?"

She seems angry all of a sudden.  Drunk Scully is starting to frighten me.  There's no control there.  Everything I saw bubbling under her surface is coming to a boil and exploding in my face.  Not that that's a bad thing.  I hope it helps her actually.  I'm just a little scared of getting burned.

"Not necessarily but I think falling in love is a very human thing.  I think it's something most people experience at some point.  Whether or not it makes them happy, whether or not the love is returned, those things are really beside the point."

"But what IS the point if it doesn't make you happy and it's not returned?  I don't even think you can call that being in love.  In love implies being in something, involved in something.  If there's nothing from the other side you're not in anything.  You're just, I dunno, that's just pain, not love.  I mean isn't the point of love supposed to be that you're happy more often than you're sad?"

"Scully, I don't know anyone in the world who's happy more often than they're sad."

"That's very cynical."

"It's very true.  People might seem to be happy Scully but it's usually an act.  All you have to do is scratch at the surface for a minute and you'll see that most people are miserable most of the time.  I mean think about it, how many times have you been truly and genuinely happy?  I'll bet you can remember each time with vivid clarity because they probably are so few and far between.  And that's not just for you, I think that's true of everybody.  Being genuinely happy, even for five minutes, is an accomplishment Scully, and it doesn't necessarily have anything to do with love."

God, the morose drinker returns.  Why did she even get me started?

"So if it's not to be happy then what is the point of love?  That was my question in the first place."

I shrug and suck down an alarming amount of Vodka.

"I dunno Scully, I guess it just makes the highs higher and the lows lower."

"Like drinking."

"Exactly."

"I don't wanna be drunk anymore Krycek."

"I know, I…"

"I try to be objective, to look at things the way I would see them if I wasn't drunk but it's so hard.  Everything is so clouded and confused."

"You just have to go with your feelings Scully.  Always."

"What if my feelings are wrong though?  What if I'm blind because of my feelings?"

"Feelings are never wrong.  No matter how strong they are and how confusing it might seem, the core of what they are telling you is always right."

Her eyes squeeze shut and her hands come up to rub her temples.

"This conversation is confusing me right now.  I have to go to the bathroom."

She scoots out of the booth and heads for the door with the word "lassies" scrawled on top and I watch her carefully to make sure she doesn't fall down.  I also watch the other men in the place staring at her ass.  She's the only woman here besides our geriatric waitress and she's getting a lot of attention.  I really hope one of those 300 pound truckers doesn't start bothering her.  The last thing we need is to cause a scene.  We already look out of place enough.

"Did you put this song on?"

I nod and Krycek shakes his head.

"You've got the serious blues tonight woman."

"Crazy for cryin' and crazy for tryin'…"  I sing along, out of tune, out of order and just generally poorly and take another swig from the bottle.  Unfortunately nothing is in my mouth.

"I think it's all gone Scully.  All gone."

He rips the bottle from my hands when I keep tapping on the bottom, trying to drain whatever backwash might be at the bottom.

"Gone, no more, bye bye."  He turns it upside down on the table and nothing comes out.

"Why do I let myself worry…"

Goddamn you Patsy Cline.  I think I'm crying again.  And I don't even care.  Goddamn you Krycek and Texas and Vodka and Diana and MULDER.  Goddamn you MULDER.  How could you still not trust me?  How could you doubt my faith in you, question my loyalty?  How could you act like that little cunt is the one who threw away her whole damned life for your fucking files?  How could you tell me you love me for something and then turn around and tell me she's better because she doesn't have it?  How could I love you?  After all this, after everything, how could I love you?  It's not fucking fair.

"Scully?"

Oh God.  Krycek's staring at me.  He's looking at me with that Scully's falling apart and I'm scared look that all men get when they see something in me break.  I have to get out of here.  I can't stand that look.  Not now, not from him.  I can't fucking stand it.

"Scully where are you going?  What's wrong?"

He grabs my arm when I stand up.  His grip is tight.  I think it's the first time he's ever touched me.

"Let me go!"  I pull my arm away and order him shrilly.  Is that terror in my voice?  What the hell is happening to me?  What the hell is happening?

End Part One
Continued in Part Two.

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