Title:  My Way or the Highway

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


"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

*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


"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


"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 myleg.  

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


I wish I could know for certain that she wasn't in any 
danger.  If I knew that for sure I would be able to explain 
this feeling knawing away at my gut.  This feeling of 
loneliness and betrayal.  This anger.

This is so different than the other times.  Times when I've 
almost lost her because of outside interference, other 
people's agendas, the evil we face daily.  In a way those 
times were almost easier.

There is no logical reason for my immediate conclusion that 
Scully chose this.  I've seen and heard nothing to prove it.  
And a part of me is still terrified that she's in trouble, 
that she's hurt, or worse.  And that part of me is still 
looking for her with tenacity bordering on insanity.  But I 
think that part is in denial.  The rest of me has become so 
aware of the reality of this situation that it's becoming 
almost impossible to ignore.  Scully ditched me.

I don't think that she's gone for good, although that was my 
first panicked assumption.  I think that she's just found 
something else.  Something that she can't or won't share 
with me.  Why is that so much more painful than thinking 
she's been abducted by spacelings and taken off to some 
flying motherwheel, as Spender would say.

God I need a shower.  Running doesn't get rid of the knawing 
feeling anymore.  It just makes me sweaty and more angry.  
And even less motivated to function in the world.  I can't 
even try to get off my couch right now.  What's the fucking 
point?

When did I lose everything?  When did Scully become part of 
everything and not the only thing?  Is this my fault 
somehow?

These questions haunt my waking hours and since I don't 
really sleep anymore that's pretty much all my hours.  I've 
been over the weeks before she left so many times that my 
brain is numb from thinking about it.  I miss her.  I miss 
the closeness we had not so long ago.  Why did we run from 
it?  Is that my fault too?

"Is it?"  I ask the fishies.  As usual they don't have an 
answer for me.  In fact I think one of them just died.  I 
don't even have the energy to scoop it out with the net.

A knock at the door jolts me out of this trance like state 
and for a brief moment I am sure that it's Scully.  She 
wouldn't knock though.  Not anymore.  We moved past the 
knocking stage about 4 years ago.  Is that why she left?  
Because I don't knock before I come in anymore?

"Come in," I call out, utterly unconcerned with who it is.  
Maybe it will be a band of thugs deposed to shoot me.  Put 
me out of my misery.  I might do it myself if I had the 
energy.

I hear heels clacking on the wooden floor and turn around 
with a new false hope which is immediately dashed.  It's 
Diana.

"Hello Fox," she says standing over me with the most putrid 
look of pity I've ever seen on anyone's face in my life.  I 
just wave.  She's holding a manila envelope, clutching it to 
her chest and she sits down next to me.

"Fox I've got something to...to show you."

Oh shit.  She sounds REALLY worried about me now.  Panic and 
hope rise in my chest.

"What is it?  Did you find her?"

"Fox I...sort of.  Somebody slipped this under the door of 
my office last night.  I...Fox you better prepare yourself."

Oh my God.  No.

"What is it?  Is she all right?"

My voice is so high I sound like I've been sucking helium.

"Oh, I'm sorry.  Yes she's fine Fox, that's...that's not 
it."

She's still clutching the damn folder to her chest like a 
fucking shield and I rip it out of her hands and start 
tearing at the flap.

"Fox I'm serious.  You're not going to like this..."

I empty the contents of the folder onto my lap.  It's a pile 
of about 5 or 6 pictures.  I hold them up with only the top 
one visible and peer at it confused.  It's a woman and a 
car.  A butt ugly orange car.  The woman is hunched over 
against the door clutching her stomach.  She's wearing red 
sweatpants and a black tank top and a backwards baseball 
cap.  The picture is taken from far away so it's a little 
difficult to make out her face.  But the more I look at it 
the clearer it gets.

It's her.  Oh my God it's her.  And she looks so sad, like 
she's crying hysterically.  Crying in a dusty parking lot 
all by herself.  God Scully, where are you?  What's 
happening?  There's nothing in the picture to reveal the 
surroundings as far as I can tell.  It looks like it might 
be a motel parking lot.  There's part of a semi in the 
picture with Louisiana license plates but that doesn't mean 
anything.  Those trucks go everywhere.

"Someone just put this under your door?  No note or 
anything?"

"No, just the envelope."

"God, she looks so upset.  What the fuck happened?"

"Fox..."

Oh right.  There are other pictures.

I put the first one next to me carefully on the couch.  I'm 
gonna need to bring it to the lab to make sure it's real and 
to look for clues.

The next one is also taken from a distance and it's 
basically the same picture except that there's a man in it.  
A man standing next to Scully.  He's touching her shoulder 
and her face is twisted up.  Fucking Christ.  It's Krycek.

"Oh my God, Diana.  We need to find her right away.  This 
man is dangerous.  She's in trouble..."

My heart is beating so fast I feel like I'm gonna keel over.  
What the fuck does he want with her?  I'm gonna kill that 
fucking bastard this time.

"You...you _know_ him?"

"Yeah I know him.  He's a fucking scumbag.  A murderer and a 
lying piece of shit."

Her eyes open wider and she frowns deeply.

"Oh Fox, I didn't realize you knew him.  I...I'm sorry."

What the fuck is she talking about?  I put this picture with 
the other one.  The next one is closer, probably shot with a 
zoom lens.  It's the two of them against the car hugging.  
HUGGING.  They're fucking hugging.  What the fuck is that?  
His fucking hand is on her back.  Her hands are on his 
shoulders.  Her face is buried in his chest and his nose is 
in her fucking hair.  Her hat is lying on the ground next to 
them.  This can't be Scully.  It must be some other woman.  
Maybe a clone.  Maybe a clone who kidnapped Scully with
Krycek and they're dressing alike to confuse people.  Or 
maybe it is Scully and she's just fooling him, making him 
think he's safe so she can kick him in the balls and escape.

The next picture is even closer and obliterates any hope of 
the second scenario being accurate.  It also obliterates any 
trace of credibility to these pictures.  They're kissing.  
He's got her pressed up against the car with her legs 
wrapped around his waist and her hands in his hair and their 
mouths are open and I can see their fucking tongues.

"These aren't real."

"Fox..."

"They're not real.  This...this isn't...they're not...it's 
fake."

I can hear the desperation in my own voice and so can she.  
She just shakes her head and puts her hand on my knee.

"I'm sorry Fox but I don't think so.  I took them to the lab 
and..."

"You took this to the LAB?"

I'm not sure why this infuriates me so.  It's just so 
fucking humiliating.

"Not that one but the first two."

"Well, maybe those are real but not this one.  Not this 
one."

"Fox, why would someone..."

"I don't know Diana.  Why do they do anything?  To ruin me."

"Fox I think you need to maybe face the fact that she's just 
found someone else."

"Someone else?  Someone else??  This isn't someone else 
Diana.  This...man...this fucker killed my father and 
probably her sister too.  This can't be real.  What are the 
other ones?"

"Fox, maybe you shouldn't..."

I toss the kiss picture onto the coffee table.  The next one 
is worse.  He's biting her nipple through her T-shirt.  I 
can see his fucking teeth.  She's grabbing at his ass and 
her head is thrown back against the car, her mouth open and 
her eyes closed, the way I used to imagine....God she looks 
like she's having a fucking orgasm.  And he's looking up at 
her with this deranged look in his eye.

"She wouldn't...she couldn't...this..."

The next and last is the absolute worst.  It's the most vile 
and offensive thing I've ever laid eyes on.  His hand is up 
her shirt and his head is thrown back.  His face is 
tightened into a grimace of ecstasy.  Because her hand is 
between them clutching his disgusting, heinous, living 
disease factory of a dick.  Her eyes are open in this one 
and she's looking down at it with her lips parted and a look 
of dumbstruck awe on her fucking traitorous face.

"Fox?"

"We have to find them."

"Fox I don't know if that's..."

"We have to find them so I can rip the rest of this 
motherfucker's limbs off and shove them down his throat."

"Fox..."

"Don't fucking Fox me!  Are you gonna help me or not?"

"Of course.  Of course I'll help.  Whatever you need."

There's only one thing in the world I need any more.  A 
rusty knife to cut off Alex Krycek's fucking dick.

xxxxxx

*I guess this is our last goodbye
And you don't care
So I won't cry*


I'm not sure if Bub was an actual mechanic in the strictest 
sense of the word but whatever he did, it worked.  The Pinto 
was up and running before lunch time on our second day in 
Texas.  The bill was "whatever yeh got" which, I was 
somewhat alarmed to find, consisted of 76 dollars cash, a 
Commemorative Canadian coin, a couple toothbrushes, the two 
or three changes of clothes I brought, and Scully's package 
of cotton underwear.  Bub only seemed interested in the 
cash.  Go figure.

I kept 30 of the dollars a secret from him so somehow we 
managed to get what probably amounted to 500 dollars in 
parts and labor for 46 dollars.  Gotta love a hick.  However 
this didn't solve the problem that we were left with 30 
dollars to make it all the way to California.  Now that 
we've finally escaped the barren wasteland of Texas and 
zipped through such wonders of nature as the Painted Desert 
and the Hopi Mesa, we're just about broke.  We're going to 
have to break into Scully's wallet soon and I really didn't 
want to do that.

"Where the hell are we now?"

Sleeping beauty awakens.  She's always so cheerful after a 
nap.

"Nevada."

"Ugh, still?"

"Buck up, we're almost in Las Vegas."  Where I hope to turn 
3 dollars in quarters into 300 dollars real fucking fast.

"We're not...stopping there are we?"

"Aren't you hungry?  It's almost dinner time.  I thought we 
could grab a bite and check out a couple casinos."

"What happened to our big hurry?  A few days ago you didn't 
even wanna stop and let me pee, now you wanna go 
sightseeing?"

She's got a point I guess.  Where did this desire to prolong 
our journey indefinitely come from?  When did I start 
wishing the car would break down again?  When did I start 
fantasizing about pretending it had?  When did I start 
preferring this reality to any other and stop caring about 
the end result of what I'm trying to do?  Gee Krycek, ya 
think it might have been when she stuck her hands down your 
pants?  Or maybe when you saw her gorgeous face twisting 
into an orgasmic grimace?

God what a dumb fuck I am.  I wonder if I'll ever stop 
kicking myself in the ass.  How many men get an opportunity 
like that?  I wish we were all normal people.  I wish there 
wasn't so damn much at stake.  Not that it would make that 
much difference.  She would love him no matter what.

"Well Scully, we have to eat somewhere.  I'm starving.  And 
we need some cash quick.  In fact, open the glove box 
wouldja?"

She sighs and pulls it open and then she stares inside, 
shaking her head.

"You little thief."

"Open it up and see how much cash you've got in there."

"Unbelievable."

She looks through the billfold and announces forlornly, 
"nine dollars and twenty-four cents".

"Geez Scully, the FBI doesn't pay the way they used to."

"Well excuse me.  Next time you rob me I'll be sure to be 
more prepared."

"Right well, anyway, it's not enough.  We can't use your 
credit cards obviously so it's gonna have to be Vegas."

"You actually expect to _win_ money in Vegas?"

"I know I will.  Trust me."

"Whatever Krycek.  Just make it fast all right.  I really 
wanna get this over with."

Right.  Of course.  So you can go home and show Mulder how 
clever and resourceful you've been, how you've saved the X-
files and his ass yet again.  Isn't that the plan?  Isn't 
that what we both wanted?

Fuck.  This wasn't supposed to happen.  She's right.  I 
might as well have slept with her.

xxxxxx

Mulder, you would love Las Vegas.  I think the whole place 
is a goddamn X-file.  It's gotta be because our luck is 
actually _good_ here.  Yep, we went a-gambling.  At a place 
called, of all things, Circus Circus.  It was...well it was 
a circus.  A huge 400 floor megalopolis containing a hotel, 
4 casinos, 14 restaurants, an indoor theme park complete 
with rollercoasters and a carousel, 3 convenience stores, 10 
or 50 gift shops and yes, live circus acts every half an 
hour.  They even had their own television station.  And a 
monorail.  Can't forget the monorail.

I'll never be able to forget what it was like walking into 
the surreal sensory overload that was Circus Circus after 7 
days of travel on the most deserted, dark and empty back 
roads in America.  I never thought it was possible to see 
too many colors at once.  And the constant cha ching of the 
slot machines, the depressing sight of hordes of ancient 
women anatomically connected to the money devouring things 
into the wee hours of the night, the monster sized quarter 
cups clutched to the chest of every single person in this 
town, well, let's just say it's been an interesting study in 
greed as a vice.  Every other interest seems to take a back 
seat here.  It's the only city I've been to where the good 
old fashioned dollar is valued over sex, liquor, food and 
violence.  These people are too distracted to even get 
wasted.

It's actually pretty contagious.  Okay, maybe it wouldn't 
have been if I'd been alone, jamming quarters into the slots 
and watching my hard earned paycheck disappear into 
oblivion.  I probably would have grown disgusted in about 10 
minutes.  But I'm not here alone.  I'm here with the most 
dishonest, sneaky, two-timing, back-stabbing guy I know.  Or 
thought I knew.  Anyway, I shouldn't have been surprised 
that he conned Las Vegas out of a wad of cash.  I was wrong 
Mulder.  The house doesn't always win.  Sometimes the 
criminals do.  I wonder if he could beat death too.  I can 
see him now, distracting the grim reaper while he picks 
Satan's pockets...

But I digress.  The point is, Vegas is a weird fucking 
place.  And it seems to have captured us in its snare.  When 
Krycek out jacked the black jack dealer and dumped all those 
pretty chips into our bag I have to admit I was just about 
jumping up and down.  Of course that was before I realized 
that those white ones were hundreds.  When I realized that I 
almost had a coronary attack.  I wonder what he was planning 
to do if we had lost.

Our sudden encounter with good fortune left both of us in a 
state of delirium, so much so that the urgency of reaching 
our destination has dissipated yet again.  We put aside 300 
dollars for the remainder of the trip, quite generous 
considering we only have a day or two left, and decided to 
give the rest back to the money sucking monster.  We're 
spending it here the way most of the luckiest gamblers do.  
Okay, maybe the house _does_ always win.

Krycek rented us two deluxe rooms at the Palace for the 
night.  Driving that pathetic fucking orange car up to the 
valet at this snooty assed place is another moment I won't 
soon forget.  The valet's disgusted shock shifted to elated 
ass kissing pretty quick when Krycek stuffed three fifty's 
into his pocket for a tip.

I'm completely alone for the first time really since this 
whole bizarre escapade began, submerged in the best bubble 
bath of my life with plenty of time to think about what the 
hell I think I'm doing.  This place is so swanky they've got 
a radio in the bathroom and I'm finally listening to some 
nice classical music.  Unfortunately, there's also a goddamn 
phone in here.  It seems to almost be staring at me, 
speaking to me.  Dana, phone home.

I can't bring myself to do it yet.  This is the first real 
vacation I've had in five fucking years.  And I'm also 
afraid at this point.  It's like when I used to stay out all 
night without calling mom and dad.  Every hour that passed 
it grew more and more impossible to call them.  When did I 
start thinking of Mulder as another father again?  Are we 
really going backwards?  Do we have to in order to go 
forwards?

Anyway at this point I am 100% certain that the call would 
be traced.  That Mulder would be in Vegas within a few hours 
and that we would never make it to our destination.

I can't even think about it anymore.  Not now.  Not tonight.  
Tomorrow.  And the day after that.  And every day after that 
for the rest of my life.  But not tonight.

I get out of the tub since all the bubbles finally popped 
and I'm turning into a pickled grape and I wrap myself in 
the cozy Palace issue bathrobe to dry off.  I wander into 
the palatial bedroom and bury my toes in the thick 
carpeting.  As I'm considering the contents of the minibar a 
flash of red catches me eye.  I stare at it curiously for a 
moment, wondering how it got there, if some magic fairy 
snuck into my room and left it for me.  But when I approach 
it I can see who my fairy is.  And I'm so sure he'd love to 
hear that one.

It's a dress.  A gown really.  Deep, intense red, strapless 
with a huge slit in the back.  It's velvet.  And it's 
hanging from a hook on my door.  There's a note attached to 
the hanger.
[
Put this on and meet me in the lobby at 8.  I reckon it'll 
make ya look purty.
-Joey
]
Whoo boy.  What the hell is THIS?   God this dress must have 
cost a fortune.  I wonder if we've got enough left for 
dinner.  Yeah probably.  Daddy Warbucks has enough to open 
his own freaking bank.

I take the oddity off its hanger and peer inside at the tag.  
Size ONE?!  I guess I should be flattered but really, I'm 
just horrified.  The last thing I want to be forced to do is 
bring this thing back to him and tell him I couldn't fit my 
ass into it.  Maybe if I don't wear any underwear...

I take off my robe, unzip the dress and step into it with 
nothing underneath.  I pull it up over my breasts and reach 
around back to attempt a rezip.  After a struggle matched 
only by my girlhood attempts to squirm into a pair of size 
zero Calvin Clein's, the thing closes.  I walk, not an easy 
task, to the full length mirror and take a gander.  Holy 
Mary Mother of God.  Pray for me.  I'm a sinner.

I notice the red velvet pumps on the floor for the first 
time and slip them on my feet.  They fit perfectly.  Slutty 
Cinderella.

Krycek bought this whole get up.  He actually went into a 
women's clothing store and picked this out for me 
specifically.  In the past two hours.  It's absolutely the 
most confounding and surreal thing to happen on this trip.  
And that's saying a lot.

Is this a date I wonder.  If this situation were at all 
normal I would consider it a date.  I would probably be 
sitting here debating the merits of taking him to bed 
tonight.  Pro's: sexy, good kisser, can create spontaneous 
orgasms out of thin air, probably fucks like his life 
depends on it.  Con's: untrustworthy, potentially violent, 
probably a murderer, stole my wallet.  We are _so_ not 
normal.

xxxxxx

Eddie van Blunht apparently has nothing on Alex Krycek.  
It's funny because I thought that the image of that fucker 
in my body attacking my Scully had been pretty much banished 
to the nether regions of my brain.  Cause I mean hey, the 
whole problem with that was how come he got her to that 
point and I couldn't?  What was it about him that made it so 
fucking easy.  But I did get her to that point finally.  
That exact point.  Kissus interruptus.  I thought that was a 
pretty big fucking deal.  Now I've gotta say once again, 
what the fuck is wrong with ME?

Diana managed somehow to pinpoint, through that first wide 
angled photograph, the exact location of the event.  Don't 
ask me how.  She took it off to the lab again and came back 
with a fucking latitude and longitude.  Texas.  Of course it 
would be in fucking Texas.

Anyway, we're now sitting on an airplane which is going to 
deliver us to Dallas soon and for the first time in forty 
eight hours I am not looking at those pictures.  And I'm so 
pleased to know that I don't even need to have them in front 
of me to be able to conjure the images.  They are burned 
into my memory for life.

I'll never forget her face.  She was coming.  She was 
definitely coming.  I studied that damn picture for 10 hours 
straight the other night.  Well, 10 hours off and on.  The 
studying was interspersed with barfing.

It's been a particularly vile couple of days.  Even by my 
standards.  I think the lowest moment might have been taking 
my erect dick out of my pants and holding it up to that damn 
picture, trying to figure out if his was bigger, better, 
something, estimating the size of Scully's hand in relation 
to mine and trying to figure out the circumference.  Yeah, 
it was a particularly pathetic night on the Mulder scale.  
I'll give it a 10, Dick.  It's got a funky beat and you can 
sob to it.

Sobbing, there's something I haven't done in awhile.  What's 
it been, fifteen minutes?

Dammit Scully, what did I ever do to you?  What the fuck?  
What the fucking fuck?

I found that rusty knife.  Even managed to get it past 
airport security.  Being an FBI agent still has its 
advantages for now.  But the more I think about it, the more 
it seems like too kind a punishment.  I've had a lot of sick 
thoughts in my day but this is the first time I've ever 
seriously considering raping someone.  Maybe I'll do both.   
Sexual humiliation AND mutilation definitely seems like the 
way to go on this one.

And then what?  Well, so far my little fantasy hasn't 
evolved past this point.  What will I say to Scully when she 
sees her boyfriend, dickless and sodomized, all the blood 
slowly leaking from his shriveling body?  I wish I knew.  I 
wish I had a fucking clue what I could say to her at this 
point.  I suppose why would be a start.  Why him?  Why not 
me?  Why?  Why does he get what I've spent five years 
working for?  Why Scully?  Why?


End Part 6


You know, for a couple hours I actually had myself talked 
into believing that I was a nice guy.  A gentleman.  Trying 
to do something nice for a woman who sorely deserves it.  I 
must have been wrong because upon seeing Dana Scully 
floating into my vision in the dress I oh so selflessly 
purchased for her all I can think for about five straight 
minutes is "nice fucking rack".  I guess if I were a _real_ 
gentleman I might have gotten her something demure and 
chiffon.  Oh well.

After the initial shock of seeing her perfect breasts 
squeezed in and pushed out the top of that bodice sucking 
thing passes I take a gander at the rest of her.  She's 
standing by the elevator, standing on her toes to look for 
me through the crowd.  She must have gone to the drug store 
and gotten some makeup and hair stuff; crimson lipstick and 
black mascara and something to curl her hair and tie it up 
with.  She's got these little wavy tendrils hanging down 
from her bun and they frame her face perfectly.  No jewelry 
but that's fine.  It would only be a distraction anyway.

She spots me and her mouth drops open about a foot.  As she 
walks towards me she starts to laugh.  I guess it is pretty 
funny.  I can't remember the last time I wore a tux.  Might 
have been my junior prom.  About two thousand years ago.  
And the last time I shaved is an even greater mystery to 
ponder.  Tonight I did both.  Why?  Don't fucking ask me.  
Please.  I don't know what the point of any of this is 
supposed to be.

Well, I know what part of it is.  To make Scully feel like 
the hottest woman on the planet.  She deserves to see that 
in herself.  I'd really like it if she got at least that 
much out of this.  As for me, my only plans tonight seem to 
involve a variety of masochistic activities ranging from 
staring across the table at that face and those tits and 
knowing they are both forever out of my reach to talking to 
the brain attached to the body and letting her personality 
drip like acid into my empty shell of a heart.  When I do 
self-emmolation, I do it right.

I wonder if Mulder's ever seen her dressed like this.  Not 
bloody likely.  I don't think their relationship would be so 
pathetically unconsummated if he had.  Say what you will 
about Mulder, underneath it all he IS a guy.  He might have 
more self control, or self hatred depending on how you see 
it, than most of us but he's gotta have testicles somewhere 
or other.

"Love the monkey suit," she tells me through the giggles.

"It's Hugo Boss."

"Oh a big shot then huh."

"Scully, you look..."  God, are there even words?

"Like a prostitute?  Who picked out this dress Krycek?  You 
or Larry Flint?"

"A little cleavage does not a prostitute make Scully."

"A little?"

"Well whatever.  You look amazing."

"Thanks.  So...what is all this Krycek?"

"It's dinner Scully.  Dinner."

And a chance to be normal people maybe.  Just for a couple 
hours.  Some time with you Scully, just for me, before I 
have to say goodbye.  A few shared, enjoyed moments.  Maybe 
a little temporary forgetfulness.  She offered me her body 
the other night.  I doubt another such offer will ever be 
forthcoming and for that I'm grateful.  I don't have the 
strength to refuse again.  But tonight, tonight I'm yearning 
for an offer of her mind, her full attention.  I wonder if 
she can give me that.  I wonder if it's possible to spend 
even two hours with Dana Scully and not have the ghost of 
Mulder hanging over us.  I guess she wouldn't be Scully if 
that were even a remote possibility.  I guess a lot of what 
makes her so desirable is a lot of what makes her so 
untouchable.  But anyway, at this point anything's worth a 
shot right.  How many more times am I gonna get an 
opportunity like this?

"Just dinner huh?"  she asks with her arms crossed 
protectively over her breasts.

"Just dinner."

xxxxxx

I don't know how but Krycek has managed to find a _tasteful_ 
restaurant in Las Vegas.  Low lighting (a true rarity in 
this town), quiet and pleasant music, and good Italian food.  
Once again we stick out like a sore thumb but at least we 
match this time.  We are probably the only people under 
fifty in the entire place.  Most of the women are wearing 
necklines up to their earlobes and the men are in very 
traditional looking tuxedos and suits.  Well, except for the 
ones in bolero ties.  Krycek and I look like we just stopped 
in on the way back from the MTV Music Video Awards.

Despite the fact that we don't exactly fit in everyone's 
been extremely polite and the service is excellent.  Well, 
maybe not everyone.  Krycek has been staring at my breasts 
in a pretty rude manner for some time now.  At least the 
other men in this place look out of the corner of their 
eyes.  Honestly though, it doesn't bother me in the least.  
This is the first time I've felt anything close to sexy in a 
million years.

I wish Mulder were here to see me like this.  God, if 
Krycek's being rude, Mulder would be downright ridiculous.  
I can almost imagine the marinara sauce dripping down his 
chin like drool.  I giggle a little at the image and Krycek 
looks up at my face finally.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing I...I was just...nothing."

Okay, this is not good.  I feel guilty for thinking about 
Mulder when I'm sitting here with Krycek and I feel guilty 
sitting here with Krycek when I'm thinking about Mulder.

God, Mulder.   I think he'd be able to live with the sex.  I 
really do.  He knows how easy it can be to separate the acts 
of our bodies from the acts of our minds and hearts.  But 
this, this sitting together for a formal dinner, talking, 
sharing time, in a way I think this is the thing that would 
kill him.  I wish I could enjoy it despite that fact.

"Did you kill Mulder's father?"

He stares into my eyes, much less startled than I would have 
expected, and says "No, I didn't."

I nod and feel a tiny bit less guilty.  Not like it really 
matters.  Mulder will never believe anything other than what 
he wants to believe where this is concerned.

"You know you saved my life that night.  Remember?"

"I wasn't trying to save your life Krycek.  That was just an 
unfortunate side effect."

He laughs and takes a sip of wine.

"I know.  You were trying to save Mulder's life really.  And 
you did.  But regardless of your intentions, you DID rescue 
me.  I was grateful for that.  Believe it or not."

I want to ask him about Melissa.  No I don't.  I don't think 
I could stand to know.  No matter what the answer is.

I wonder if this is how Spender is going to end up.  Once 
he's been hung out to dry by Smokey and his henchmen will he 
become a one armed, triple agent, renegade?  I'd love to 
hear Mulder's take on that.

Okay, that's two strikes.  One more unwarranted Mulder 
thought and this game's gonna be over.  You know what the 
funniest and saddest thing about all of this is though?  
When you come right down to it, if I ever really developed 
actual feelings for Krycek, being in a relationship with him 
would be frighteningly similar to being in a relationship 
with Mulder.  Especially the bad parts.  In fact the bad 
parts would be even worse.  I guess he knows that.

"Scully are you all right?  You seem a little tense."

"I'm just...I'm kind of wondering what we're doing here 
Krycek."

He looks down at his plate and shakes his head.  I think he 
looks more sad than I've ever seen him.

"I don't really know Scully."

"I'm sorry.  I mean this is really nice but..."

"But you can't stop thinking about him and you know that 
this isn't really us."

"I just think..."

"You want to go.  You're getting anxious."

"Krycek..."

"We'll go after dinner okay?  It's only about a 12 or 14 
hour drive from here."

"Thanks.  Ag