Date: Mon, 17 Aug 1998 02:31:10 -0400 From: Fiducia Nessuno Subject: NEW: THUNDER ROAD - H PG-13 Title: Thunder Road Author: Fiducia "I'm In Florida?!?" Nessuno Rating: PG-13 (language) Category: H, V Keywords: Mulder/Scully UST Archive: Yes! Just tell me so I can alert the kinfolk! Summary: Scully and Mulder on the Florida highway. Frog death. DISCLAIMER: I don't own Mulder and Scully but I do own Chris Carter. I won him in a poker game. Make best offer. Lyrics to 'It's the End of the World As We Know It' by REM used without permission but Stipe owes me. :-P The title is Springsteen. BROOOOOOCE. I toyed with this idea a bit and I've decided it has to be done, if only for my own sanity (and something to do when I'm procrastinating on 'Jersey Girl'). This is the first in a series of short vignettes revolving around Mulder and Scully roadtrips. It's based loosely on my own adventures touring the country last year, where I became extremely intimate with bad diners, iffy motels and just about every traumatic travel experience imaginable. This first bit is about my first trip to Florida, which was a learning experience in that I learned not to go back to Florida. :) Props to Jenrose, who actually gave me the idea to do this in a roundabout way - she took her little notes and reminded me that I actually have useful M&S knowledge and thus inspired me to capitalise upon it. Thanks, J. :) K.L., who is not reading this and may never, inspired the Mulder you will see in this. Yet, he is no Mulder. :-P I'd certainly love feedback on this, to know if anyone's actually interested in my keeping up this series. :) This is dedicated to the frog population of eastern Florida. Thunder Road By Fiducia "Nebraska" Nessuno 1-95 Somewhere in Florida --------- He'd taken control of the radio back in Jacksonville and wouldn't let her at it. He'd brought a cassette tape with him, she assumed for his Walkman when he went running, and as soon as they'd gotten into the small Toyota he'd jammed the tape into the deck and turned the volume up to ear-bleeding. Scully squeezed her eyes shut against the droning sound of the Cure, the tape was on its second revolution and her migraine was on its third hour. Her headache wasn't from the music. It was from the impromptu, four-hour drum solo that Mulder insisted on tapping away against the steering wheel with a pair of chopsticks swiped from Wok 'n' Roll in Daytona Beach. He would drive using his knees, drawn up to touch the bottom of the wheel, while slapping the sticks against it and the dashboard. He would make cymbal-noises with his mouth. He rarely spoke except to tell her to 'listen to this part, Scully, it's incredible!' Why, oh why, had their flight been cancelled? They had to be in Miami the next day. The suspect in a ritualistic series of homicides they'd been investigating had shown up at the Delano Hotel in South Beach, and had taken an entire floor of guests hostage. They were to fly out from Jacksonville, site of the most recent murder, immediately but a sudden storm had forced their plane grounded. Renting a car and driving was Mulder's idea, he figured they could get there by morning if they drove without stopping. So far, they hadn't stopped for more than a quick tuck-in of Chinese food and occasional pee-breaks. The car they were in made funny noises, which was to be expected from a 1992 rust-colored Tercel. It smelled funny, as well, because the rain had decided to follow them down the interstate and leaked in through the windows, making the interior reek of sweat socks and mayonnaise. Mayonnaise? Scully's eyes flew open and her hand reached out toward the stereo. She snapped it off with a quick flick of the wrist. Mulder froze in mid-solo. "What did you do that for?" "I'm sick of that noise." "It's not noise. It's the Cure." "It's not the kind of music I'd suspect you of listening to, Mulder." "My roommate at Oxford gave me one of their singles. It spoke to me." "Remind me to hurt him should we ever cross paths." "Come on, Scully, lemme turn it back o-" "Any part of your anatomy that touches that stereo, you're not getting back." Scully sat up and stretched her short legs out in front of her. "Where the hell are we, anyway?" "Near Melbourne." "Melbourne?" She peered out of the rain-slicked window. Lush vegetation rushed past her in a blur of black and green. A glance at her watch revealed it to be half-past-three in the morning. They'd been driving for almost five hours. "I'm hungry." "You just ate." "That was in Daytona. And it was awful." "You ate ten crab rangoons." "They were horrible. And small." She yawned. "Stop at the next place that's open." "Like what? There's nothing here but-" A loud chugging noise drowned him out and the car suddenly lurched, dropping speed rapidly. "What's going on?" Mulder looked around, frantically. "I don't know, I- Oh, shit." "What?" Scully followed his gaze to the gas gauge. The needle sat firmly below the E. "We're out of gas? Mulder, how the hell could you forget to fill up?" "It never warned me we were low!" Mulder threw on the blinkers and quickly slid out of the center lane to the shoulder. The car died, then, and rolled to a neat stop. After a few tries to restart the engine, Mulder gave up and slammed his hands against the wheel in frustration. The only sounds were the rain on the roof and the cars roaring past. Wordlessly, Scully reached into her bag and pulled out her cel. She punched a button and waited. She waited. She frowned and looked at her phone. "It's not working," she said. "Try yours." Mulder did as he was told and got the same results. Before he could share a puzzled look with his partner, lightning illuminated the road, chased by a loud crack of thunder. "Storm," they said, in unison. Mulder unbuckled. "You stay here," he said. "I'm going to walk to the gas station." "How far is it?" Scully asked. Mulder winced. "About a mile back," he said. Scully unbuckled. "I'm going too." "No. Why?" "Because I am not going to sit here in a car without gas on a highway in Florida at four in the morning." "You're armed," Mulder said, pointedly. "And it's raining." Scully got out of the car, slamming the door against Mulder's protests, and was instantly drenched. She flapped her arms out of frustration, hating the way her suit turned into a heavy, wet mass stuck to her body. Mulder appeared beside her after a moment, hair plastered to his head like a swim-cap. He grimaced at her. "You shouldn't be out in this." "Am I made of sugar? Am I the Wicked Witch of the West? I will not melt, Mulder. Let's go." Without another word she started off north, back toward the exit they had passed. Mulder caught up and walked alongside her, hands resolutely jammed into his soggy pockets. Scully walked swiftly, trying to avoid the little rocks scattered across the ground that crunched under her shoes. Mulder loped, eyeballing the bushes along the road, looking for gators. "Think of this as an adventure, Mulder," she said after a moment. A large truck passed, showering them with a cloud of mist from the road surface. "It could be worse. We only have to walk a highway in the rain. At least we don't have to wade hip-deep through bogs." "Or sewers," remarked Mulder with a sneer. He took another step and felt something against the sole of his shoe. "What the-" He lifted his foot and squatted down to look. Scully walked on, stopped, and looked back. "What?" "You do not want to know." Scully walked up to him and crouched down. At first she couldn't see anything. Then, in the headlights of a passing car, she saw the remains of a tiny, squashed frog. She stood up and looked around at the ground as a horrible realisation came to her. Those weren't rocks. Rocks don't hop. The entire ground was littered with little frogs. Scully made an odd squawking noise and jumped back a little, squishing something in the process. She yelped again and proceeded to do a strange ballet, avoiding the little creatures that gathered at her feet. Mulder stood, and together they started off again, dancing madly to avoid them. "Grab my hand, Scully." Mulder guided his partner through some mud and used her equilibrium to keep from plunging into it. "What was that about an adventure?" "I am going to shoot you, Mulder." Scully wheezed, slightly, winded from their mad little jig. "I am going to shoot you several times, in odd places, and it's going to STING." She sputtered as a misplaced foot sent another frog to Valhalla. "Because of you I am committing mass frog homicide on a freeway in East Rathead, Florida." "I'm sure you'll be aquitted, Scully," Mulder replied. "My uncle has a white Bronco you can borrow. I'll drive you down the Beltway. I'll get Frohike to say you went to Taco Bell that night." Scully stepped on his foot. "Ow!" "Now we're even. You have frog guts on your lovely Eddie Bauers." -- They'd been walking for what felt like hours, but was actually only about fifteen minutes, when a car pulled over in front of them. It was a Cadillac, gunmetal gray, probably older than both of them. They approached cautiously, one hand on their badges and the other on their guns. "Need a lift?" The elderly man in the driver's seat smiled at them through the lowered window. "You both look a little damp." "Our car ran out of gas about half-a-mile back." "I saw it, I figured you'd be heading this way so I turned around. Glad I caught you, it's supposed to turn monsoon on us in a few. Get in." Mulder motioned for Scully to get in the backseat. She did, wincing as the rain poured off of her into the upholstery. Mulder sat in the front with an audible 'squish'. "So, where you folks heading tonight?" asked the stranger as they drove off. "Miami." "Ah. Too bad the weather ain't agreein' with you. You'd be better off going to Key West, they're supposed to stay nice and dry down there for a while." "We have business in South Beach," Scully piped up. The man nodded. "I thought y'all looked like Amway salesmen. What's up, a convention?" Mulder started to respond but Scully flicked water from her fingers at him. "Yes," she said, as he wiped his eye. "Randolph here is the keynote speaker." The man nodded again and Mulder shot her a dirty look. "But Babs," he said, twinkling with mischief, "Don't sell yourself short." He smiled at the man. "She's our spokesmodel of the year." Scully glared at him and said nothing more as the man exited the freeway and pulled up at a small service station. "Go in and get yer gas, there, young man. I'll wait." Mulder nodded and hopped out. Scully sat silently with the old man, waiting. "Where y'all from?" he asked her. Scully thought for a second and smiled. "I'm from Jersey," she said. "Randolph is from San Francisco." "Kinda far from home, he is?" "Yes. That's why we have to get to Miami quickly and then get him back home to Armando." "Armando?" "Yeah, but we call him Mandy." The man was silent when Mulder returned with five gallons of gas in a small plastic jug. Scully couldn't help smirking; she caught the sidelong glances the old man shot at her partner. She leaned back against the seat smiling like the cat that ate the canary. They reached their car, a forlorn little beacon in the darkness. They both got out, and Mulder tried to offer the man something for his trouble. The old gentleman waved it away. "No no, don't take nothing for helping people in need." "Thank you sir, we appreciate it." "You drive safe, y'hear." The man put the car into gear. "Give my best to Mandy." Scully cackled merrily as Mulder stared after the retreating vehicle with confusion. He directed his gaze at her. "What did you tell him?" "Nothing. Randolph." Mulder grunted and busied himself putting the gas into the tank. Scully crawled into the car and dug some dry clothes out of her bag. After a considerable struggle, she managed to change clothes sitting in the front seat, and deposited her wet things on the back in a soggy heap. She pulled her hair back and finger-combed it, until she figured she once again resembled something approximating a human. Mulder got into the driver's seat, smelling of gas and rain. "Want me to get you some clothes?" "Nah," he said. "I'll change when we go fill up." Mulder started the car and, after a moment, slipped back onto the freeway. "I'll even let you watch," he leered. "Why would I want to do that?" "It's only fair," he said. "Considering the show I got when you changed up here." Scully sniffed, and her hand shot out at the stereo again. She ejected the cursed cassette tape and lowered her window enough to toss it outside before Mulder could even blink. "You! How could you? I've had that tape since 86!" "Oh, that's not all, dear boy." Scully twinkled. "I am now going to sing for you every REM song I remember from college." "Oh no." Scully began to sing. "That's great it starts with an earthquake, birds snakes and aeroplanes, Lenny Bruce is not afraid..." "Next exit, Scully, you are gator bait." "ITS THE END OF THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT AND I FEEL FIIIIIIINE..." [Fini] Feedback causes spontaneous orgasm. Flames cause Naomi Campbell to release another album.