From: eponine119 Date: 14 Dec 1998 01:01:23 GMT Subject: NEW: Shut Up and Drive 1/1 ... Disclaimer: The X Files belong to Chris Carter, 1013, Fox and me but only when they "borrow" stuff I've written and posted. ;) ... Summary/Class/Ramblings: This story is about Scully and Krycek. I wouldn't call it a romance, exactly. I started this story as a Scully/Mulder but then Krycek just begged me to let him play, so I did. I think it's more fun this way. There are no spoilers of any kind in this story. Discriminating readers may notice some slight resemblance to Jessica Taylor's "Imbroglio," [which I highly recommend] but they are unintentional. ... Comments appreciated. ........................................ Shut Up and Drive by eponine119 eponine119@att.net November 22, 1998 ....................................... Nothing seemed amiss as Scully got into the car that morning to go to work. She fiddled with the radio and checked her lipstick in the mirror before starting the car. The dark purple circles under her eyes made her pause, her fingers lingering on the ignition key. Before she could shove it into the slot, she felt cold metal press against her occipital lobe, painful behind her ear. She knew it was a gun instantly, and her mouth opened - to protest? - she wasn't certain. "Shut up and drive." The low voice made her stomach turn over. Her eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror. "Do it," he ordered, pushing the barrel of the gun harder into her skull. She winced and moved slightly to pull away, but the gun followed. Her hands turned slick with persperation. "Don't do this," she whispered, hearing more desperation in her voice than she was proud of. "Put the key in and start the damned car, Scully. Now. Don't make me kill you." Her fingertips had turned blunt and she struggled to fit the key into the ignition. Her hands were trembling as well and her breathing was fast and harsh. Almost as harsh as the breath she could feel on her hair as he leaned over the front seat to continue to threaten her. The car started beautifully and with her foot on the brake, she eased it out of park into reverse. "Where are we going?" she asked. "Just drive." "I have to turn around to back up," she informed him cautiously, not wanting to surprise him and have him blow her face off. She didn't want to believe he'd kill her, but the eyes in the mirror were terrified and she wasn't taking any chances. Gunshot wounds to the head weren't always fatal and with her luck, she'd end up disfigured and disabled. Her stomach revolted as she was unable to stop the vision of her own blood spattering the windshield in front of her. "Use the mirror," he ordered, not relenting. "Turn around and you're dead. I don't want you to look at me." "Why not?" Her question went unanswered. His face was blocking most of her view in the mirror and she gingerly pressed the gas, waiting for the side-impact collision to come. "Get into an accident and you're dead. And the people who you hit, will be dead too. Think of it, Scully, innocent people dead and it'll be your fault." "Why don't you shut up so I can drive?" He chuckled. She glanced furiously in the mirror and saw his eyes laughing at her, then jammed the gear into drive, flooring the gas pedal and trying to think of a way to get away from him, out of this situation. Nothing came to mind. He'd lowered the gun but she could still feel it, digging into her back through the cloth seat. Spinal injury, peritonitis, loss of kidney, she categorized. At point blank range, she really didn't want to be shot by him. Besides, if Alex Krycek's only goal was to kill her, he'd had plenty of opportunities before. He looked desperate now, which was worrisome, but she knew she could handle this situation. She was calm, she was practical, she knew him. She pulled into traffic, making decisions at every turn, thinking of more questions she wasn't certain she wanted the answer to. "Do you want to head for town or -?" she began, waiting at the light that would decide which freeway to get onto. She already knew she wasn't going to make it to work. Would Mulder worry and call out the troops? She wasn't certain red and blue flashing lights trailing her car would aid the situation. "Away," he said, his voice strained. She looked in the mirror and found him watching her as he leaned between the seats. She could still hear him breathing, fast and tense. With barely a nod, she made a turn and got onto the roadway. Traffic was light without the commuters and she sped lightly, manuevering over to the fast lane. "Where are we going?" she asked again. There was no answer. "What are you running from?" "I don't want to talk to you," he told her, and the gun left her spine for the first time as he sat back against the seat. When she glanced back, she saw him looking out the window. She started to turn to get a better look at him, but the gun returned even though he didn't move. "Don't," he warned. "So we're just driving," she stated. "Yeah." "How long do you think this will go on?" she asked. "Shut up," he suggested. "I need more information," Scully told him. "You always think you need information, but you don't. I know about people like you." "What do you know about people like me?" she asked, mildly curious, but more encouraged by keeping him talking. "Nosy women. Looking for control. You hate not being in control. Well, get used to it," he suggested. "If this is an exercise in personal therapy for me -" she half-joked, amazed that she could. "This isn't about you," he snarled and let out a groan as he shifted position in the back seat. Scully heard the pain in his tone and it made her jump. She changed lanes, moving right, without signalling, skidding into the exit ramp. "What the hell are you doing?" Krycek demanded as she braked to a rough stop in a gas station parking lot just off the freeway. "You're hurt," she said, turning around in her seat and reaching for him. He raised the gun, but when she pushed his hand away, he let her. His other arm was clutching his stomach. When she pried it away, she saw that his flannel shirt was sticky and stained with blood. "God, what happened to you?" she demanded, pulling at the shirt and making him gasp. "You're still bleeding," she diagnosed, noting his pale, sweating skin and feverish eyes. "You're in shock." "Shut up," he insisted, shaking his head. "Drive. I'll be okay." "You won't be okay. You're bleeding to death, Krycek. We have to get you to a hospital." "No hospital," he insisted. "You're going to die," she cried, trying to make him understand. "That was kind of the point," he explained ironically, almost managing a laugh. She watched as his eyes dipped closed and he shook himself out of it. "You're a doctor," he said when he forced the lids open, his hazel eyes locking on her. "That's why you came to me," she murmured, but he didn't reply. She knew about people like him, too. He pretended he didn't need anyone. Sometimes, though, he couldn't help it. "Where were you thinking we could go?" she asked, but answered her own question. "You weren't thinking." "Shut up, you stupid bitch, start the fucking car and drive!" He pushed the gun into her face and she turned around woodenly, her shoulder blades feeling frozen. "Drive!" His voice broke and she thought she heard him crying as she restarted the car and pulled out into the street, steering away from the highway. "It hurts, doesn't it?" she asked blandly, trying to coax him back into conversation. "Where are you going?" he asked. She swerved into the driveway of a Motel 6, answering his question. "I'll get us a room," she said. "How many men have heard you say that?" Krycek joked and suddenly she wondered if he was badly hurt at all, if he could still joke, and if he wasn't hurt, she was doing the wrong thing. Maybe she should call for help. He didn't raise the gun and she let the question go unanswered as she headed inside. Not enough men, she was thinking, because Krycek was a killer and he could easily kill her too, probably without a moment's thought. Maybe he just wanted to rape her and kill her to get back at Mulder. She could defend herself, she decided. Her committment as a doctor was to try to heal her patient. "Can you walk?" she asked, opening the back door of the car, parked around the back of the motel out of the manager's eyes. She reached for Krycek's arms, to lift him out of the car. His moan was terrible and for a second, his eyes rolled back and his weight was dead-heavy. She managed to pull him out of the car and he regained consciousness as his feet hit the ground. He leaned heavily against her and she could smell blood and hair gel as she walked him into the room. The bed springs creaked under his weight and he didn't move. "You're strong," he said in that cracked voice as she closed and locked the door, drawing the curtains quickly and turning on the light. She moved toward him quickly, holding his shoulders back against the mattress with one hand as she leaned over him and pulled the flannel shirt off. A deep slice cut through the smoothly muscled chest. Mulder didn't have biceps like that under his dress shirts, she thought, staring at the knife wound. "Who were you fighting with?" she asked. "No one, mom," he teased. "I'm not your mom," she snapped, tearing away and into the bathroom, running the tap water hot until it steamed and soaking the white towels in them. A glance in the mirror showed she didn't look much like herself. Her mussed hair was beginning to curl and her eyes were wild. "Touched a nerve?" Krycek asked, ice in his eyes as he lay back and watched her. She slapped the hot towel against his belly. He bucked but didn't scream as she'd expected him to. "Fuck you," she said casually, reaching for the towel. He'd curled into a fetal ball on his side and kicked at her to try to keep her away from him. He was moaning slightly and she saw that he was sweating again. "Lie still, damn it, and let me see you," she ordered, shoving at him and trying to hold him against the bed. His foot connected with her left forearm and she stumbled backward, painful tears stinging her eyes. There were a lot of power in those legs. "I'm sorry," he said instantly, half sitting, but the word meant nothing to her. She glared at him, holding her arm. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please help me." She looked at him and saw that his eyes were sincere. He reached out for her and she couldn't help responding to that. It stirred something inside her that hadn't been touched in a long time. She'd become a doctor and an FBI agent to help people. "Lie still," she said. "I know it hurts." She pulled the towel away and examined the wound. It was deep. "I think you need stitches, Krycek, and you should go to the hospital." "Alex," he corrected, but she ignored him. "No hospital." "Who did this to you?" she asked again. No answer. "There aren't enough butterfly bandages on earth to heal this," she informed him. "I've got a sewing kit in my bag but I'm not going to -" "Then just sit with me." His forehead was furrowed with pain and against her better judgement, she did as he said. He grasped her hand with the weakness of a newborn. "Your hands are like ice," she said, pulling his hand against her chest, her only thought to warm it. "You're in shock..." "Who wouldn't be," he said. "You're human, who knew." Delirious, she told herself, but she knew he was right. She didn't let her emotions show. In her job, how could she? She pulled the blanket close around his body and sat next to him, her hip against his side, holding his hand. "Talk to me," Krycek requested. "It'd be more interesting if you told me what happened to you," she told him. "Too tired to talk," he said. "You talk." There was silence. "What do you want me to talk about?" she asked. "Tell me about passion." "Haven't you ever felt passion, Krycek?" she asked, her lips quirking in an ironic grin, sarcastic. "Wasn't sure you had." "What's it to you?" she asked, aware of how wooden her voice sounded to her own ears. "You should. In life..." He adjusted his grip on her hand and closed his eyes. For a moment she expected him to stop breathing. There was no way to gauge how much blood he'd lost. Infection was unquestionable. This was insane, she thought, he needed a hospital desperately. She shouldn't be humoring him. "Passion," he prompted and she obliged him. "It's been a while," she admitted, remembering the hot, drunken kiss from Ed Jerse, the crush she'd had on Mulder, on Willis, on so many other authority figures. Maybe there had been a lack of passion in her life. She loved her life, was grateful for it. "When I recovered from my cancer, I was determined to change my life, but somehow..." She trailed off, shaking her head, her eyes falling on him again. "But my passion for life, for learning, for helping -" "What about men?" he asked, watching her carefully, almost studying her movements. "I should have known you were only interested in the sordid details," she said, trying to joke, but it collapsed without humor. "Sordid?" he asked. She just shook her head. "Let me kiss you, Scully." "No." Her body tightened and she moved away from him, dropping his hand. He grabbed at it again. "What are you afraid of?" he demanded, sitting up and wincing. She was at his side immediately, her hand pressing against his stomach. It had stopped bleeding. Maybe there was no more blood to flow. His eyes looked haunting. "Please. Let me kiss you," he said softly, his hand feathering through her hair with such softness. It had been years if she had ever heard a request like that one. His eyes caught hers and she couldn't look away. She leaned in, thinking she was granting a wish to a dying man who wouldn't let her save him. His lips were gentle at first and she closed her eyes instinctively, surrendering to the sweetness of the kiss. As soon as she let her guard down, it turned passionate. His hands tore through her hair and she felt her heart pound as he moved over her body. Had he ever been injured at all? His hips ground against her thighs and she pushed at him. He groaned and fell back, clutching his stomach again. She sat there staring at him, amazed that this...killer...could make her blood hum this way. He rolled back on the bed and she frowned. "You're bleeding again," she said and heard her voice tremble. She reached for him with gentle fingers and he moved away. "Leave me alone," he ordered. They were back to square one. "Krycek, let me see." "Get the hell away from me." He sounded like he might be crying again as he crawled away from her, up toward the head of the bed. "Alex, let me help you." He turned in her direction and she thought she'd reached him until she saw the motel telephone in his hand. She jumped back, but he was faster and stronger, even in his weakened condition. The phone rang from the force of hitting her temple and everything turned black. ... When she opened her eyes, there was a lot of pain. Her mouth was dry and she smelled blood. A hand came up to wipe her nose and found it crusted. The room swam and she saw that she was alone. The motel bedspread was covered with blood and some of it was hers. The phone was ripped out of the wall and thrown on the floor, next to the bloodied towel. Scully staggered to her feet, feeling sick to her stomach, and opened the door. Her car was gone. She didn't even have the energy to curse him, just picked up her bag - which he seemed to have left untouched - and left the motel room. It felt cold outside and she wrapped her arms around herself, feeling her head throb. Her fingers located her cell phone and she dialed Mulder's number. What to say to him? She had two rings to decide. "Mulder, it's me..." the end. comments welcome. -- eponine119 eponine119@att.net "I'm sorry, did I just hear you advocate passion overriding analytical resolve? Scully, are you suddenly believing in aliens?" Trevor to Claire, "Cupid"