From: Jusinski Date: Tue, 07 Sep 1999 18:25:39 -0400 Subject: story submission Source: direct TITLE- Faster, Faster AUTHOR- Charlotte Jusinski charlotte@mulder.com RATING- G CLASSIFICATION- S SPOILERS- n/a KEYWORDS- Mulder/Scully UST SUMMARY- What would have happened had Scully never joined the FBI? DATE WRITTEN- 8/3/99 WEBSITE: http://people.csnet.net/jusinski/charlotte/charlottewritefanfic.html AUTHOR'S NOTES: Set to the Bree Sharp song "Faster, Faster"- lyrics at the end. DISCLAIMER: Hey homeys, I never said dat Mulder and Scully and all dem homeys were mine. Hell, for all dat I know, they could belong to some guy called Chris Carter or a FOX, yo. Get off my back, jiggys, wha da dillyo. Peace. (talking like a rapper is fun!) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ FASTER, FASTER X-Files fanfiction by Charlotte Jusinski comments can be sent to charlotte@mulder.com 8/3/99 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Fox sat in the dusty southwestern bar. He rubbed his fingers lightly against the shot glass of whiskey in front of him. He looked around him and studied the characters to either side of him. One was a big, surly man who looked no more than thirty- seven, but his hands, callused and dusty, showed more than his years in experience in the cruel deserts of Arizona, where the bar sat on a highway traveled mainly by lost souls trying to find their way to civilization. It was the watering hole of the dazed and confused. To Fox's right sat a small, thin man with a bushy mustache. He had been nursing the same shot of Scotch for forty-five minutes; he seemed to be staring into the alcohol and therein turning the keys which unlocked the secrets of his own soul. He wore a faded red and black flannel shirt and a blue baseball cap, the logo on which was worn away. His jeans were white at the knees from hours of work. Fox noticed that many men had that sign of labor. And then, there was Fox Mulder. God-forsaken Fox Mulder. He sat at the bar in his gray t-shirt that he had managed to recycle for five years. His shoes, leather loafers that he sometimes believed were older than he was, were worn in and comfortable to the feet that had been walking and searching for months for a place to stay, never able to find it. His jeans were the ones he'd been wearing for two weeks. His hair was brown and slightly wavy, with the faintest lighter highlights from the hours spent in the sun. His hazel eyes today reflected his forlorn and tired mood; they showed a dull gray. But who knows- tomorrow when he looked in the mirror, if he could find one, they could be green or brown or different colors. His eyes set the mood for his life. And today they were a dusty gray. Just like the day. Fox looked up to the TV in the corner. It showed a re-run of The Jeffersons; the only reasonable program on the only reasonable station that the bar in the middle of nowhere could get clearly. A waitress behind the counter, a young girl of twenty or twenty-three, came up to him with a pot of coffee in her hand. She was blond and dressed in clothes as lazy as the countryside. She put her elbows on the bar and rested her head in her hands, mimicking Fox. He looked up and tried to hide his easily called upon annoyance. He didn't want to be toyed with on a day like today. "What can I do for you?" she asked. "Depends on what kind of girl you are," Fox said as he sat up straight in his chair and looked at her with his eyes which weren't coming alive yet, but still had the spark in them that told her that he _was_ thinking what she was thinking. "I'm a waitress, if that tells you anything," she said, half playfully and half professionally; Fox was impressed. She knew her game well, she knew what the bartending job called for. And she had it. Fox raised the whiskey in a toast to her, and swallowed it in one gulp. "Whiskey," he said, placing the glass back on the table with a satisfying tap. "Coming up," she said, turning around and placing the coffee back in the coffee maker. She went to the wine rack and pulled out a bottle. She walked over to Fox and as she poured she said, "What brings you to these parts?" "My car," he said in a husky, sleep-deprived voice. He picked up the shot glass and swallowed it in one trip again. After allowing a polite amount of silence pass, the waitress tried again. "What feeds you?" "Used to be in the FBI," Fox said, recognizing the local lingo for what he does for a living. He looked to the waitress, whose nametag read Debby. "Quit." She got the message that that was as far as the man was going to go with the story. "How long you been out?" "A year. Two. I lost track." Debby tried some more. "Why'd you leave?" "Creative differences," Fox said in a throaty voice. _Yeah... differences. You can only sleep with your partner for so long,_ he thought ruefully. _Diana was nothing but one big mistake._ Debby only said a wordless "Hmm" before she went and put the bottle back on the rack. Fox heard the door open. He looked over and watched as a woman stood in the doorway. She immediately attracted his attention. She was dressed completely in black leather. It had silver rivets just about everywhere she could fit them; chains hung at her waist and gloves with the fingers cut at the knuckles fitted her hands. As she peeled the leather jacket off, she wore a skimpy black tank top and had a strand of barbed wire of ink carved into her arm. She looked like something straight out of a crappy 80's movie, but something about the way she was made it real. She was subtlely beautiful, but who knows what hid under the dry skin which had a layer of desert dust on it. She was thin, shapely; the spaghetti-strap tank and fitting leather pants told him and the rest of the bar that she had it and was flaunting it. She knew how to get peoples' attention; heads turned in the bar to the pretty redhead in the doorway, yet she either didn't notice or pretended not to. As she hung her jacket on the coat rack by the door, she looked around the bar as if she were checking for someone, anything, that she was familiar with. She seemed to find nothing, and she moved closer to Fox Mulder. As she eased her way onto the stool next to Fox that the skinny man with the mustache had given up only minutes before, she looked to the waitress. "As big a gin as you can get." She took off the gloves and folded her hands in front of her. She sensed Fox looking at her. She turned, her red hair falling into her face. "What the hell are you looking at?" she asked in a silky voice, not seeming to fit her exterior. "You," Fox said boldly. He drank half of the refilled shot in front of him. The woman seemed surprised at his response. She jerked her head to the side and the hair flew out of her eyes. "Dana." Fox noticed that the word was her form of an introduction. "Fox," he said, outstretching his hand to be shaken. Dana looked at it like it was a foreign greeting that she had no desire to practice. Still, she grabbed his hand with a firm grip and shook it. "What brings you here?" she asked as she glanced to teh waitress as thanks as Debby placed the drink in front of her. "Business. If you want to call it that," Fox said. "Was bored and figured I'd see where my car felt like taking me." "Works for me," Dana said. She took a swig of the drink and licked her lips in approval. She set the drink on the bar again. "I had to get away. Got on the Harley and sped out." "Away from what?" Fox said as he looked to her. "A guy. A son of a bitch." She looked to him. "That's all there is to say, really." She looked to the TV, and was apparently not a fan of The Jeffersons either. "Came from Virginia," she said. "Came from DC," Fox said. "Ah, so you're a Fed," Dana said after she finished the gin. "Used to be." "I was thinking about doing something like that. Wanted to be a doctor, too. But then that bastard came and swept me off my feet and royally screwed me. I just have to make sure he doesn't find me. God knows what he'll do." Dana looked to Debby and pointed to the glass. Debby cautiously, as if Dana were a bomb that could trigger any moment, took the glass and skittered away to refill it. "Shame," Fox said. Debby returned with Dana's drink in a moment and asked Fox, "Any more?" "Nah, I wanna be able to get out of here when I want," he said as he felt himself slightly swaying. He didn't want to get drunk so he could make a fast getaway in case this chick turned out to be a psycho. "What feeds you?" Fox asked. "My hands," Dana said. She didn't say anything for a moment. "I get money where I can." Dana sensed Fox's eyes on her. She turned to him. The woman looked at him with bright, telltale blue eyes. They were sad, get vengeful; she was thirsty, and she was looking for blood. When she couldn't get blood, she got alcohol. "Sometimes I wonder about fate," Dana said as she caressed the glass with her fingertips. She seemed to yank her own gaze away from his. "I mean, what would have happened if I'd actually gone and been a doctor. If I'd joined the FBI or something. What I'd be doing, who I'd be. Who I'd know." She took a mouthful. "I'd sure as hell never be here." Her voice sounded almost sad, almost longing for the life that she could have had. The tone in her voice hardly matched the woman. "But what's been done has been done. I got involved in the wrong guy, and that's the end of that." She stared ahead into nothing. "I still wonder, though." Fox was now the one to say the wordless "Hmm" as he stared at the chipped wood of the bar. "I wonder what would have happened had I stopped at the last bar," Fox said. There was a moment of silence as the two simultaneously looked to the television. Dana then looked back to Fox. At the sound of her voice, he whipped his head to her. "Well, I'm glad you stopped at this one, cutie," Dana said as she stood up. She threw a twenty-dollar bill on the bar. She, more quickly than Fox could think, leaned to him and kissed him, a stronger kiss than Fox had ever felt in his life. She curled her lips around his, and ran her tongue over his teeth. She pulled away after a moment, and wiped the side of her mouth lightly with an index finger. She then pulled the gloves back on and looked at a shocked, bewildered Fox Mulder. "Be seeing ya, Fox," she said coolly as she stepped away from the bar. She went to the door, took her jacket and, without looking back, stepped out the door. Fox watched without seeing her as he heard the loud revving of the motorcycle and the engine roaring as it drove out of the parking lot. He could almost see it as it vanished into the waves of heat rising from the asphalt. Fox looked to Debby. "As big a gin as you can get." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ FASTER, FASTER Bree Sharp The leather boots I was born in Are tattered, torn out and worn in My skin is cracked as the desert ground The dusty road that's ahead will Be my board and my bed till What I am looking for is found And yesterday is right behind me like a loaded gun So I'm racing towards the horizon Faster, faster, I'm a trashy motorcycle beauty The road is all I've ever known Faster, faster, I'm the star in this disaster movie And in the end I ride alone Ride alone I dig my heels in the gravel I rig my gear up for travel I swig a taste of my whiskey or gin I met a sucker on Sunday I took his wallet on Monday Then I was on the road again And yesterday is right behind me like a loaded gun So I'm racing towards the horizon Faster, faster, I'm a trashy motorcycle beauty The road is all I've ever known Faster, faster, I'm the star in this disaster movie And in the end I ride alone Ride alone And yesterday is right behind me like a loaded gun So I'm racing towards the horizon Faster, faster, I'm a trashy motorcycle beauty You know my heart is paved in stone Faster, faster, I'm the star in this disaster movie And in the end I ride alone Ride alone, ride alone Ride alone, ride alone Ride alone -------- Like it? Hate it? Think I should just go back to singing? My inbox is always open. charlotte@mulder.com