From: RaValliano@aol.com
Date: Tue, 24 Nov 1998 01:39:41 EST
Subject: My Way or the Highway (1/11) by Rachel Anton


Title: My Way or the Highway (1/11)
Author: Rachel Anton
E-Mail: RaValliano@aol.com
Rating: NC-17 
Disclaimers: None of these messed up people belong to me.
I love them but I'm not the loony who invented them. Oh, I
stole a bunch of songs in this one too. Apologies to all the
musicians quoted here without consent. 
Keywords: Scully angst, Mulder angst, Krycek angst, even a
little Diana angst! 
Category: S
Summary: The shortest distance between two points is a
straight line.
Author's notes: Apologies in advance to anyone who saw
my name and said "Oh boy, MSR smut!". This isn't really
that kind of story. 

Thanks to Laura for encouraging me, helping me with yet
another title, and for endless hours of dialogue
brainstorming. Oh, and for being Mrs. Howell too :) And
thanks to Amy for reading at least part of this even though
it made her tummy hurt. That's a true friend!




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.

xxxxxx

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. 

xxxxxx

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.


End Part One

Title: My Way or the Highway (2/11)
Author: Rachel Anton

 

"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." 

xxxxxx

"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?"

xxxxxx

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.

xxxxxx

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. 

xxxxxx

*Mandy, you're a fine girl
what a good wife you would be
But my life, my love and my lady
is the sea*

"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.

xxxxxx

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. 

xxxxxx

"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. 


End Part Two

Title: My Way or the Highway (3/11)
Author: Rachel Anton



*I'm still here cause I got nothing else to do
You're an asshole but I'm 
Getting used to you*


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?

xxxxxx

*If the divine master son is perfection
Maybe next I'll give Judas a try
Trusting my soul to the ice-cream assassin
Here, here, here...*


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."

xxxxxx

"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.

xxxxxx

*We passed the stores, passed the hotels,
filled our car with gas and then,
We drove that night, I saw the moon
almost got us in an accident,
Then at the rest stop, when that woman
tried to steal my wallet,
Felt like an adventure, isn't that what you would call it?
Well isn't that what you would call it?*


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."

xxxxxx

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." 

End Part Three

Title: My Way or the Highway (4/11)
Author: Rachel Anton



"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.

xxxxxx

"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.

xxxxxx

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." 

xxxxxx

"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. 

xxxxxx

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. 

xxxxxx

*Crazy
I'm crazy for feelin' so lonely
I'm crazy
Crazy for feelin' so blue
I knew you'd love me as long as you wanted
And then someday
You'd leave me for somebody new

Worry
Why do I let myself worry
Wonderin' what in the world did I do

Oh Crazy
For thinkin' that my love could hold you
I'm crazy for tryin' and crazy for cryin'
And I'm crazy for loving you*


"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 Four

Title: My Way or the Highway (5/11)
Author: Rachel Anton


"Scully? Scully where are you?"

I can't believe this. I can't fucking believe this. Was it
something I said? Who's fucking idea was it to start drinking
anyway? Emotional release is one thing but this woman is
having a fucking mental breakdown. 

I scan the parking lot frantically, praying that she hasn't run
back into the road or something, and finally spot her across
the way next to the Pinto. She's kicking it. Great. She's
probably gonna put a fucking hole in the door to top off our
troubles. 

I approach her slowly, in much the same way I would a
dying wild animal. 

"Scully, hey Scully."

She looks up when I am a couple feet away. She's crying in
a way that I haven't let myself cry since I was a little kid.
Heaving sobs and flowing tears and she's hunched over
clutching her stomach. I don't know what the fuck I'm
supposed to do here. 

"Scully, Scully, you've gotta relax, calm down Scully."

I reach out to touch her shoulder in a lame attempt at
comfort and she straightens and jerks away.

"Don't touch me! Don't fucking touch me! Just leave me
alone."

What happened to the calm, cool and collected woman I
kidnapped? This is too fucking weird. This is not Dana
Scully. 

"Scully, I don't know what's wrong but whatever it is, this
isn't gonna help. Why don't you come back to the room with
me and go to sleep."

"Fuck you!"

Okay, bad idea I guess. God, I am so crappy at this. I don't
even remember the last time I saw someone cry. 

"Scully, come here."

I put myself between her and the car, a dangerous place to
be, and reach out for her. She pulls back but she's so trashed
she doesn't stand a chance. I grab her by the arms and pull
her to me and squeeze her as tight as I can.

"Let me go, let me go you fucker, you fucking fuck!"

"Shh, potty mouth. Just relax Scully. Relax." 

She's squirming in my arms and smacking at my chest for
awhile but eventually the effort of fighting me and sobbing
at the same time becomes too much and she collapses into
me. 

"Shhh, it's okay. You're gonna be fine," I whisper into her
hair, trying to convince myself more than her. She's
clutching the front of my shirt and I can feel her tears
leaking through the material. I start rubbing the part of her
back that's covered by her tank top and I feel her body
loosen.

"You're fine Scully. Everything's fine."

I think I could be whispering Russian and it would have the
same effect as these inadequate words. But she seems to be
getting calmer and calmer. Her sobs quiet to whimpers and
sniffles and she's shaking a little less. 

"Remind me never to get you drunk again missy."

She doesn't laugh but she doesn't scream FUCK YOU either
so I guess it wasn't a totally stupid thing to say. 

I hold her for awhile longer, stroking her back and
whispering ridiculous platitudes and eventually she stops
crying completely. Eventually she lets go of my shirt and her
arms come around my back. Eventually I start to feel like
it's time to stop hugging her because she's okay and this is
really odd. 

"Okay?"

She nods and sniffs and I know that it's time. Time to let go.
Any old day now. 

Okay, maybe odd wasn't the right word. Or maybe it wasn't
the only word. I'd have to add really really nice to that. And
when I feel her hands slowly start to move over the muscles
in my back I decide I should probably add surprisingly
comforting. When she sighs and snuggles up closer to me I
start to add things I really don't want to add. 

"Scully?"

"Mmm..."

Oh boy. This is not good. Something's different. Something
in her body, in the way she's moving, God I can almost
smell it. This is not a comfort hug anymore. How did that
happen?

And how did my hand move to the part of her back that's
_not_ covered by her tank top. The upper part of her back
and then over the nape of her neck and then her breath, her
breath on the side of my neck and her lips, oh Jesus. Oh
SHIT. 

She starts placing tiny kisses on my neck, working slowly
up to my ear and I moan and pull her closer without even
considering what the fuck I'm doing. It just feels so good,
so different. I'm hard as a fucking rock. When did that
happen? My hand tangles in her hair and when I feel her
tongue tracing over the outside of my ear I lean against the
door of the Pinto and pull her with me. I can't even support
my own fucking weight right now. 

Pretty soon her tongue is inside my ear and her hands are
moving faster, pulling at my T-shirt, sliding underneath it.
Oh God. What the fuck is happening? Where the hell are
we? I think she drove us into the Twilight Zone.

"I want you so bad Krycek."

Oh fuck. Oh fucking fuck. No you don't Scully. No you
don't. But I can't bring myself to say that. Not when her
body is pressing against me like that and she's touching me
like that and licking my fucking neck. No, my reaction is to
kneel down and grab her by the thighs, lift her up and turn,
slamming her against the car and burying myself between
her legs. 

She gasps and her eyes shoot open. For a second I'm sure
she's gonna spit in my face. Then she smiles. She fucking
smiles. And she wraps her legs around my waist and grinds
against my already painfully throbbing cock and clutches my
hair in her hands and pulls my face to hers. And she kisses
me. Dana Scully kisses the shit out of me against a 1976
Pinto in the dusty parking lot of Bub's Bar, Hotel, Grocery
and Post Office. 

There is no finesse in this kiss whatsoever. Just the knashing
of the teeth and the tongues of two desperate souls with too
much vodka and too little sense. She tastes better than I
ever would have imagined. Not that I ever would have
imagined in the first place. My tongue in Dana Scully's salty,
sultry mouth is not something I ever would have imagined
in a million years. But there it is. And right now I wouldn't
change it for the world. 

Pretty soon we're actually biting and she's pulling so hard on
my hair that I'm pretty sure chunks of it are going to be
embedded in her fingernails and she's groaning and grinding
and I can't help but start thrusting against her hungrily. Very
hungrily. Almost savagely. This is so fucking weird. 

She stops kissing my mouth and moves her lips and tongue
sloppily over my chin and cheek, back to my ear. I pull her
hair away from her neck and start sucking on the skin there.
Her skin tastes even better than her mouth. I wonder how
good she tastes everywhere else.

I grab at her hips and then a little higher and when I look
down and see her nipples, hardened and huge, poking
against the material of her shirt, I have to touch them. I
have to bite them.

She cries out loud enough for the truckers inside Bub's to
hear and digs her nails into my scalp. Her fucking T-shirt
tastes good. I snake my hand under the fabric and touch her
bare stomach. And then a little higher again. I run my thumb
over the tip of the breast not currently between my teeth
and her whole body trembles violently. I squeeze it between
my thumb and forefinger and she throws her head back
against the car. 

"God, yeah. Do it harder."

She's so fucking beautiful.  

"Fuck me Krycek. Right here. Right now."

"Oh God...Scully...God," I whimper, just about helpless at
this point. I can't even remember the reasons that this is
wrong. So wrong. How am I supposed to tell her?

I can't fuck her. I know that I can't. God, I can't. But I can't
stop either. It just feels so good rubbing against her like this,
back and forth and up and down, mimicking the action but
still fully clothed. Does this count as sex? Is this gonna fuck
things up just as badly? 

I don't think it matters because I couldn't escape even if I
wanted to. She's got me clamped against her in a vice grip
with her thighs. Damn that woman has some strong thighs. 

She moans into my ear and her hands slide down my back to
clutch my ass, her fingers kneading the flesh, pulling me
impossibly closer to her. I can feel her heat even through
those silly red sweatpants and the thick jeans I've got on.
God I wanna be in her so bad, I can't even imagine how
fucking amazing it would be. I can barely remember my
name from just this frenzied grinding. 

Suddenly her head slams against the car with a thump and
she starts rotating her hips insanely. Her face...God, I know
that face. That's her almost there face. Oh Scully please,
please don't say Mulder. Just this once.

She gasps and her body tenses and then shudders violently.

"Jesus....God....KRYCEK!"

Oh thank you. Thank you thank you thank you.

She shakes for a little bit and wraps her arms tight around
my neck and then her legs slide down and on to the ground.
I kiss her again and I can feel her smiling big against me. It's
been a long time hasn't it Scully? 

I run a trail of kisses down her neck and start to pull my
lower body away from hers. My erection is still pressed
against her stomach and it's really starting to become a
troublesome matter. But she won't let me go still. Her hands
grab at my backside again and she licks the inside of my ear.
 
"I want you inside me. I want you to fuck me against this
car."

She reaches down and strokes me through my jeans and I
could fucking scream like a little girl it feels so good. Then
her fingers start tugging at the buttons on the fly and before
I know it her hand is inside my pants, wrapped around my
dick. 

"You want it too. You're so big and hard for me. I know
you want it. Give it to me Krycek." 

Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit. I think it's my turn to cry. I don't
know what the fuck my problem is but I don't think that I
can do this.

"Scully...I...ugh..." 

Oh man. I don't think I can stop it at this point either. I don't
know how but she knows exactly how to touch me. I could
probably come right now in her hand if I let myself. 

But I can't. Fucking Christ. I just can't. 

I grab her hand and pull it away. Then I back away.

"Scully...we can't."

She stands there for a minute with her mouth hanging open.
I start to button up my pants. 

"We can't. We can't." 

I wish I could fucking breathe.

"Excuse me?"

Great. She sounds pissed. 

"We can't. We can't."

Very articulate as always.

She frowns and looks down at the ground. Then she looks
back at me. Her eyes are wide and confused and watery. Oh
shit. Shit.

"What the fuck Krycek? Am I that goddamn repulsive?"

"Oh God, Scully, Scully no. No."

"Well what the fuck?"

She's crying again. Nice comfort there buddy. 

"Scully...Scully look at me. It's me. It's Krycek. Remember.
Murderer, thief, liar, traitor, idiot, remember? You don't
want me Scully. You don't."

I want to take her by the shoulders and shake some sense
into her but I'm terrified to touch her again. I think even the
briefest contact would be enough to send me over the edge.
I can't stop fucking shaking myself.

"You think you know so much about me? About what I
want? You don't know SHIT!"

"Scully, think about what will happen if we do this."

"What? What will happen? Will the Earth stop turning on its
axis? Will the heavens fall?"

"Maybe."

"Fuck you." 

She turns on her heel and starts stalking back to the room. I
follow her like a fucking fool. 

"Scully, think about it. You're drunk, you're upset, you're
not seeing things clearly."

"What happened to follow your feelings Scully? What the
fuck happened to that?"

She throws open the door and we both go inside. Why am I
still planning on sleeping in this room tonight? I must have
fucking brain damage.

"I don't think you're really listening to what your feelings are
telling you right now though. I don't think you're doing this
because you have feelings for me. I think you're doing this
because of some fucked up, unresolved issues between you
and Mulder and I don't wanna be a fucking surrogate
Scully."

I slam the door and realize that I am suddenly very very
angry. And that I am starting to _hate_ Fox Mulder.

"You wanna know what's gonna happen if we do this?
Maybe the Earth won't stop spinning Scully, but I'll fall in
love with you and you'll wake up hating me for taking
advantage of you and for not being Mulder and you'll
probably tell Mulder out of some misplaced sense of guilt
and he'll kill me with his bare hands and then shoot himself
in the head. Is that what you want?"

You can stop screaming anytime now Alex. Deep breath. In
and out. 

"You love Mulder, whether or not he deserves you. And
fucking me isn't gonna change that." 

She stares at me for a minute with her hands on her hips and
then runs to the bathroom. She moves to slam the door and
then realizes there isn't one. I watch her look at herself in
the mirror and then back at me. 

"What if I don't want to love Mulder? What if it hurts too
much and I can't stand it anymore?"

"Scully we can't choose who we love. I'm sorry that it's
hurting you but think about how much worse you'll feel if
you sleep with me, if you try to make yourself love me and
see that it doesn't work." 

"You don't know that."

"Yes I do. I've done it before Scully. I've been where you
are. And I've spent my life fucking all the wrong people for
all the wrong reasons. It doesn't help Scully. It doesn't make
it hurt any less." 

She sways a little bit and then turns away from me. Then
she falls to her knees and starts heaving into the toilet. I run
into the bathroom and kneel down behind her, pulling her
hair away from her face and stroking her back as she expels
a double cheeseburger, about 200 French fries and onion
rings, a bag of pork rhinds and over half a bottle of vodka
from her stomach. 

When she's done I help her up and flush the toilet. She sits
down on the lid and I run water over a wash cloth and bring
it to her face. 

"Scully, if I had it my way I'd say fuck it all. Fuck this whole
stupid life and I'd take you off to some strange tropical
paradise where no one speaks English or knows what an
EBE is. But that's not our life. And you wouldn't want it to
be." 

"I think...I think I need to lie down."

We walk back to the bedroom and I stand by the window,
not sure what I'm supposed to do now. Then she starts
pulling her shirt off. Shit. What the hell is she trying to do to
me here? I should turn away but I can't. And after the shirt
goes the shoes and the socks and finally the sweatpants and
she's standing there in her underwear. The erection that
finally disappeared when she started vomiting has returned
with a vengeance. 

She crawls under the covers and turns on her side, away
from me.

"Goodnight Krycek." 

Um, okay. 

"Good...goodnight Scully." 

She turns off the bedside lamp and I lay down on top of the
covers next to her. Pretty soon I hear her start to snore and
I relax a little. Maybe I'll be able to sleep eventually too. I
think I might have to head back to the Pinto first though. I
just hope I can manage to see somebody else's face when I
make myself come tonight. 

xxxxxx

The last time I woke up with a headache like this it was
because of chemotherapy. I'm also extremely dehydrated
and confused.

Getting drunk is such a very strange thing. When you're
there you feel like it's the last night of your life, like nothing
you do or say will have any effect whatsoever and you
might as well go with whatever impulse strikes you. You
also tend to feel like the entire world is either out to get you
or thinks you are the queen of the universe. Usually both at
one point or another. You get reckless, you get stupid and
you think that you're having fun but you're not entirely sure.
Eventually though, the fun and the misery stop and you fall
asleep. And then you wake up.

My companion is still passed out on top of the bedsheets,
fully clothed except for shoes but I am awake. Awake and
in my underwear. And I think something's crawling up my
leg. 

I slip out from under the blankets and hurry into the
bathroom to gulp down some tap water and hop into the
shower. The hot water makes me feel like I might live after
all. 

God, what the fuck am I gonna do now? What was I
thinking getting drunk like that? Feeling the way I did, it
was bound to cause problems. Problems. Nice
understatement. Throwing yourself at Alex Krycek in a
parking lot is a problem. Getting _rejected_ by the man who
would probably fuck his own mother if he thought he could
get something for it is worse than a problem. And having to
face him when he wakes up after crying like a fucking
lunatic all night is something closer to a catastrophe. 

At least he did turn me down though. I wonder how I
would be feeling if he hadn't. The memories of last night's
insanity start to crystallize in my mind and I remember some
of the things he said to me. Much as it galls me to admit it, a
lot of it was true. I probably would have woken up hating
him and myself. I probably didn't really want him at all. As
usual, it was all about Mulder. Damn circles.

Or maybe it's just that I've finally really become a man.
Maybe I've finally achieved the coveted ability to separate
sex and love into two distinct compartments, locked away
forever, never the twain shall meet. Maybe I've become
Mulder.  

God, I don't think I've ever been so embarrassed in my life.
If it weren't for his promises of Fowley incriminating
evidence and a chance to get the X-files back I would be
out the door right now. But the need for those things still
burns in me. Despite my utter humiliation I need to carry
on. 

I wonder if this counts as a betrayal. We didn't fuck but I
would have. Does that mean the same thing it would if we
had? What would Mulder think? Would it destroy him to
know that I even considered touching another man? God I
hope not. I feel an errant tear escaping and wash it away
angrily. This is not a good time to start feeling...well,
anything. We can all see where feeling got me last night.

Luckily for everyone I suppose, Krycek's MORALS saved
the day. Or his utter lack of desire for me. Either way, I'm
still unsullied Scully. Celibate for five years and counting.  

But hey, I did have an orgasm now that I think of it. How
weird is that? He barely even touched me. God, it was a
pretty intense one too if I remember correctly. I don't even
remember the last time I came from grinding my crotch into
someone. Probably when I was a thirteen year old bag of
hormones capable of reaching orgasm at the mere
suggestion of a boy touching me. Of course the last time I
had an orgasm at all with another person present seems
almost as long ago. Before I met Mulder. That seems like
another lifetime. I kind of thought he'd be the one to break
the dry spell. In fact I kind of knew it. I used to kind of
know a lot of things.

 Anyway I can't help but wonder, if Krycek could do that to
me with our clothes on...

Oh well. 

I turn off the tap and wrap myself in one of the ratty hotel
towels. Once I'm dressed in my new team uniform, which
desperately needs a run through Bub's laundry before we
leave,  I head back to the bedroom. Krycek is still lying on
the bed but his eyes are open. 

"Morning."

I can only nod and look away. 

"How do you feel?" he asks me carefully. I'll bet he thinks I
was too wasted to even remember what happened. Sadly I
actually wasn't that far gone. Just far gone enough to
become a complete basket case. 

"I've got a headache."

He nods and stands up.

"Well, I'm gonna take a shower. We should get some
breakfast and see how Bub's doing on the car when I get
out." 

He walks past me and towards the bathroom and I realize
that maybe there was just a little bit more to my kamikaze
bone jumping than I thought. He looks really good in the
morning. 

"Krycek..."

He turns to face me and gives me a half hearted smile.

"Thanks. For last night. You....you did the right thing."

He nods kind of sadly and shrugs. 

"I kind of thought you'd think so. Don't turn me into a
gentleman just yet though. And don't start thinking I do
anything for purely selfless reasons." 

"No of course, wouldn't want to ruin your reputation."

"It was hard though Scully. It was really really hard."

"Yeah I saw, remember?"

He just sneers at my attempt to share the embarrassment. Of
course. Like anything could embarrass him. 

"Krycek...why exactly..."

"I told you why last night. Remember?"

"Mostly but, I mean is that all there is?"

Why I feel the need to ask him this is beyond me. Why
should I care if he finds me undesirable? He's certainly not
alone. But for some reason I really just want to hear him
admit it. For some reason I can't believe, no matter how
hard I try, that any man would turn an even remotely
attractive woman down out of concern for her well being
and given Krycek's questionable character the scenario
seems even less likely. I guess I just want to finally face the
truth about myself. 

"Cause sometimes Krycek, sometimes I start to wonder..."

"Wonder what?"

"About why I...why it's...forget it. Nevermind."

This is stupid. I never used to be like this. I never used to
care. I shake my head, utterly disgusted at the insecure mess
I've become and start to walk away. Is this what I turn into
when Mulder's not here? When I'm out of his presence and
less intent on keeping up a brave front, on not showing any
weakness, is this what comes out? I didn't realize this
neglected and ignored side of my self had grown and
festered to such an alarming size. 

"No, wait. What? What are you talking about?"

"It's not important. Go take a shower so we can get out of
here."

"It is important. Scully this isn't that thinking you're
repulsive thing again is it?"

I stare at the door to our room, hoping someone will break
it down and take me out of here really fast. Krycek comes
around from behind me and plants himself right in my face.

"It's not Scully, is it?"

"Not repulsive per se. It's just...it's hard sometimes to think
of myself as a woman, a desirable woman. Sometimes I...I
don't know what I'm supposed to be. I feel so...so old
sometimes. Like I've aged about twenty years since I
graduated from Quantico. I think I've turned old Krycek.
Old, bitter and patently unattractive. I blame the
government."

"Scully, honestly, I think I know how you feel. It's hard to
think of yourself as attractive, as normal, even as human
when you live the kind of lives that we do. But the fact is
that you're one of the most beautiful women in the world.
You're brilliant, strong, sexy, and bitter yes but that's kind
of sexy too and maybe Mulder doesn't tell you that which
makes him a fucking idiot but I know that he thinks it." 

Oh God, how did we start talking about Mulder again? 
Why the hell did I even open my mouth again? Stop the self
pity train, I wanna get off! 

"I wasn't fishing for compliments Krycek."

"Well good cause I don't give them." 

"Fuck, why am I wondering if he remembered to eat
breakfast? Goddamn him."

"Because you _love_ him Scully. And I'm sure he didn't
because he's probably out of his mind wondering where you
are by now."

Why do I find that hard to believe? Why do I imagine that
he's still in his office with his fucking documents? 

"He's gonna kill you Krycek. You know that. You might as
well have slept with me. You've got nothing to lose." 

"That's not entirely true Scully. I'm not afraid of Mulder.
That's not why I stopped you..." He pauses and takes a deep
breath before continuing and I realize how stupid it would
be to even think that he would be afraid of Mulder. The man
had his arm cut off with no anesthesia. I can't imagine he'd
be afraid of much in the area of physical injury after that. 

"Scully, it would be so easy to fall in love with you. Too
easy. And I don't have room for that kind of shit right now.
I can't afford it. Especially not when I know how it would
make you feel. How badly it would screw everything up."

Alright, stop right there. The room is spinning.

"Wait, what did you just say? You said that last night too
didn't you? About falling in love with me? What does that
mean?"

He laughs and shakes his head.

"What does it mean? I dunno, do you want a treatise on the
definition Scully?" 

"No but I mean, you're not serious. I mean you're just
saying that...right?"

"Scully, why in God's name would I just say that? It's not a
particularly pleasant thing to say. And I wouldn't say it as a
compliment. In fact if I were you I would probably consider
it an insult." 

Oh my God. I am the shittiest person who ever lived. How
selfish and childish can you get? Mulder has got NOTHING
on me. He may have used Diana to get to me but at least
she wasn't there to see it. At least he treated HER decently.
Not that his words would have bothered her in the least
anyway. This is so much worse. 

"Oh Krycek, I...God, I am so sorry."

I feel like crying again. When did I turn into such a heartless
bitch? When did I start hurting every man I come into
contact with? Why the hell did he have to say that? This
wasn't supposed to have anything to do with love, with any
kind of feeling. This was a mistake. A drunken abhoration.
I'm starting to understand just how huge a mistake it might
have been.

"Sorry? For what?" 

He looks utterly confused.

"For what I did, for my...for you...for everything..."

"I've gotta say this is the first time a woman has apologized
for coming on to me Scully. Please, hurt me some more." 

"I wasn't even thinking about you. I was so wrapped up in
myself, God, I'm just really sorry." What the hell WAS I
thinking about? The best possible way to hurt myself,
Mulder, Krycek and every innocent bystander who happens
upon us? 

"Scully, you shouldn't think about me. You shouldn't have
to. You've got enough problems. Yet another reason that
the whole thing would have been a bad idea."

"Well, thank you anyway. For everything."

"Like I said, it was mostly in the interest of self
preservation. But don't think you'll be so lucky next time
Scully. I wouldn't try that twice." 

"Thanks."

I lean in and kiss his cheek and he gives me a hug. 

"Everything's gonna work out Scully. Honestly."

Right. Everything's gonna work out just fine. 
I smile into his chest and get a really strong sense of deja
vu. Haven't we been here before? I've really gotta get myself
together. Apparently the parallel isn't lost on Krycek either
because after a moment he pulls away abruptly.

"Alright, I've really gotta go."

"Yeah you do. Take a shower Krycek, you stink." 

"Hey you were pretty ripe yourself before."

"Fuck you Krycek." 

He laughs as he walks to the bathroom.

"Why do I never tire of hearing you say that? I'm gonna
have to teach you to swear in Russian before this trip is over
though. We have more ways of saying fuck than you can
even imagine."

I don't doubt it Krycek, I don't doubt it. 


End Part Five