My Way or the Highway by Rachel Anton

My Way or the Highway cover

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My Way or the Highway by Rachel Anton

My Way or the Highway cover

Title: My Way or the Highway
Author: Rachel Anton
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!


My Way or the Highway (1/11) by Rachel Anton

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.


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.


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.


My Way or the Highway (2/11) by Rachel Anton

“Who did this? Dammit, who the hell did this?”

Diana sighed and squinted at the monitor. It was so dark in Scully’s room and the film was not the best quality. Not to mention the fact that her captor was wearing a Richard Nixon mask. How the hell was she supposed to know who it was?

“Sir, I can’t really say with any certainty who this is.”

The man behind her grumbled and took a long drag from his ubiquitous cigarette.

“I don’t like this. I don’t like it at all. Why wasn’t I informed?”

Diana shrugged. Again, how the hell was she supposed to know. And who was to say this abduction had anything to do with anything? Could just be a stroke of luck. Maybe it was some crazed stalker who saw her at the Quickie Mart and decided he wanted a piece.

“Have this section enlarged and analyzed Fowley. And for God’s sake, find her before Mulder does.”


“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?”


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.


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.


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…


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.


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?”


“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.


“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.


My Way or the Highway (3/11) by Rachel Anton

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

If my station locating abilities were limited to cheesy 70’s rock, Scully’s seem to be centered around angry woman music. I think she’s sending off psychic waves or something. In the past ten hours since she started driving I think we’ve heard the entire repertoires of Ani DiFranco, Liz Phair, Tori Amos and freakin Billie Holiday. I’m about ready to shoot myself in the head. Or at least take over the wheel again.

The point of her driving was supposed to be for me to catch up on some sleep. But the combination of angsty estrogen wailing and Scully’s abysmal driving has kept me more or less awake. I’m afraid if I close my eyes for too long I’ll end up waking in a ditch. Or Mexico.

I wish it wasn’t night time again. I wish I had some speed. Or at least some goddamn espresso. I wish we could fly the rest of the way. I wish I could step foot into an airport on US soil without the fear of being shot, arrested or evicted from the country. Oh well. Beggars can’t be choosers. At least we have a car.

And what a car it’s turned out to be. The little bugger really has surprised me with its endurance. I’m not sure what state we’re in right now or how many hours, days, we’ve been driving but it’s longer than I expected to last in this thing.

And speaking of surprises, little miss Scully sure is turning out to be one. It’s strange to think of but this is really the first time in all these years that I’ve been alone with her. It’s not at all the way I thought it would be. From what I knew of her from the tapes and our limited interaction I figured she’d be calm, distant, somewhat cold, VERY clinical and detached. And she is…sort of. But there’s a lot more there. A lot more right under the surface that you can just feel being near her. Weirdest of all being, she’s actually kind of fun. I haven’t laughed so much in a long time. She’s also really good at stealing from candy vending machines, an extremely useful skill in our current situation.

Have I mentioned that her driving sucks?

“Scully, I think the speed limit here is 65.”

“Speed limits are for inexperienced drivers.”

“You gonna tell that to Smokey when we get pulled over?”

“Smokey? Who are you, Burt Reynolds?”

Our speed increases further causing the car to shake precariously and I decide in this as in other areas, arguing only goads her on. You’d think Mulder would have figured this out by now. Tell her one thing and she’ll immediately take the opposing view. She’s the most contrary person I’ve ever met. Must have come from growing up Catholic. All those damn rules can really get to a person.

“You went to Catholic school didn’t you Scully?”

She turns and quirks her eyebrow at me curiously.

“That’s a completely odd and random question.”

“But you did. Right?”

She nods and (thank you Jesus) slows down. Distraction. That’s the key.

“Sucked didn’t it?”

She looks quizzically at me again and shrugs.

“I dunno, it was school. It was Catholic. I don’t know what else to say about it.”

“Did the nuns at yours hit you with rulers?”

“Not me personally no. I was a good student.”

Why do I find that so very hard to believe. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure she was smart as hell unlike me but well behaved, I dunno about that.

“What do you know about it anyway Krycek? Don’t tell me you went to Catholic school.”

“And just what would be so far fetched about that scenario Scully?”

“Well, I don’t know. I just never really considered it about you Krycek. You never struck me as terribly religious.”

“Just because I went to Catholic school that doesn’t mean I’m religious. And just because you think I’m a scum bag that doesn’t mean I’m not.”

She shakes her head slightly and I can see the struggle going on in her brain. I can almost feel it. Is it possible for her to reconcile what she knows of me with a person who believes in God? Or at least who was raised to believe that way? Her lips purse in a frown and I think that it might be too much for her. It might be too close to her own experience.

“Well, anyway, I did go to Catholic School. I was even an alter boy. It was hell.”

The corners of that frown start to twitch and her fingers tighten on the steering wheel. She starts laughing through her nose despite obvious efforts to the contrary.

“You find that amusing?”

She starts giggling out loud so I guess she must.

“Look here Missy, I was a damn good alter boy.”

“I’ll just bet. Lemme guess, stealing from the collection plate?”

“Only on Sundays.”

This gets another laugh out of her and she’s finally driving the speed limit.

“What about you Scully? You couldn’t have been good all the time.”

A sudden and vivid image of a young, petulant Dana Scully in a plaid skirt, starched white shirt and tight little vest, leaning against the back door of a church with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth pops into my head.

Shit. Why did I start this conversation again?


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.”


“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?


“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.


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.



“Why did we stop moving?”

“I think…now this is just a guess, but I think that the car is dead Scully.”


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.”


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”

“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.


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

My Way or the Highway (4/11) by Rachel Anton

“Fox, are you all right?”

Diana surveyed Mulder’s office and Mulder’s appearance with dismay. The place was a wreck and so was he. He looked like he hadn’t slept in over a week.

He looked up from his desk where he was frantically leafing through a pile of papers and frowned.


“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.


“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.”


“Ah reckon ev’r man needs some a’ compneh in the shar from time teh time maw.”

“I was talking about the roaches Joey.”


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.”


“About fifty trucks just pulled into the parking lot.”


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.


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.


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.”


“I found her.”

Diana’s heart skipped a beat and she smiled into the phone.


“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.


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.”


“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.


*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.


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?

My Way or the Highway (5/11) by Rachel Anton

“Scully? Scully where are you?”

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

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

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

“Scully, hey Scully.”

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

“Scully, Scully, you’ve gotta relax, calm down Scully.”

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

“Don’t touch me! Don’t fucking touch me! Just leave me alone.”

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

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

“Fuck you!”

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

“Scully, come here.”

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

“Let me go, let me go you fucker, you fucking fuck!”

“Shh, potty mouth. Just relax Scully. Relax.”

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

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

“You’re fine Scully. Everything’s fine.”

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

“Remind me never to get you drunk again missy.”

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

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


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.



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.


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.


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?”


“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.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh well.

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


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.


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.”


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.


My Way or the Highway (6/11) by Rachel Anton

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?”


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.”


“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.


“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.”


“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.


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.


“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.”


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.


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 Klein’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.


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?


My Way or the Highway (7/11) by Rachel Anton

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.”


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.”


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

“Thanks. Again.”

“Just promise me one thing okay?”

“Well, you’ve gotta tell me what it is first.”

“Keep the dress.”



Diana knocked a little harder on the hotel door, hoping that he hadn’t shot himself in the head. As she’d expected, Krycek and Scully were no longer residing at Bub’s. They were in Vegas now and she and Mulder were headed there in the morning. She’d managed to convince him that they’d been stupid enough to tell their waitress where they were going and that said waitress had spilled the beans to her. He believed without question.

Such a fool where Scully was concerned. It was actually very sad. He was so desperate and distracted it hadn’t even occurred to him that Diana was figuring things out in a rather unlikely and speedy manner. His dementia was working to her advantage in some ways. But in others…

“Fox, are you in there?”


“Can I come in?”

“Yeah yeah.”

Don’t sound so excited.

He was sitting on the bed, staring at that damn picture. The one with his dick. Pathetic. He turned it over and put it down on the bedside table when she came in. He didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge her at all. She sat next to him and nudged his shoulder with her own.

“You okay?”

He shrugged noncommittally and rubbed his fist in his eye. Diana barely managed to suppress a groan. He was crying. Again.

She wondered what the hell it would take. This woman was fucking his enemy for God’s sake and he was still getting teary eyed over her. She’d treated him a hundred times better and she didn’t think he’d ever shed a tear for her. Even when she’d left. Even when she’d walked out on him. He never cried. In fact until recently, Diana had been convinced that Fox Mulder never, ever cried. She hated Scully for making him cry. She hated him for letting her do that to him. She hated herself for never having had that kind of power over him.

“Fox…why do you need to find them so badly? Why can’t you just let her go?”

He stared at the wall in leui of a response.


“I just have to know Diana. I have to know everything. I just…I can’t believe that it’s as simple as it seems.”

She knew that nothing was ever as simple as it seemed. In this case of course, if all went according to plan, he would never know that. If all went according to plan, Scully wouldn’t have anything to show him to convince him that she’d had any considerations at all apart from fucking Krycek.

“You really want to kill him don’t you.”

“Among other things.”

Diana couldn’t quite figure how that would affect things just yet. Krycek’s death would cause a few glitches but it could end up being for the best. Her orders had been to keep him alive, to bring him back, but she wasn’t sure if it was going to be possible.

“Scully and I stayed in this hotel once.”

Yeah, we’ve all stayed at Best Westerns Fox. He fingered the blanket between them and she thought it might be a good opportunity to grab his hand. She reached for it but he pulled it away before she got there, apparently oblivious to the gesture.

“We were investigating this guy who thought that he was possessed. It rained on him everywhere he went. Even inside.”

“Wow, that sounds really interesting.”

“I thought it was. Scully said that we should call Al Roker and go home.”

He laughed at the memory and Diana was forced to look away so that he wouldn’t see her rolling her eyes.

“So, what did it turn out to be?”

“Huh? Oh, I don’t remember. His midget brother or something…”

“Fox, do you ever wonder…I mean, do you ever ask yourself where you’d be if we had stayed together? If I’d been here working with you on the X-files all this time?”

He looked blankly at her for several minutes. Guess not. Then he looked suddenly stricken.

“Oh my God.”

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“That’s what…that’s why…the last time I…she thought…oh God. What have I done?”

This made little sense to Diana but she could tell it had him drastically upset. She reached out for his shoulder and he stood up and started pacing frantically, running his fingers through his hair.

“Fox, are you al…”

She jumped when he kicked the small metal garbage can clear across the room.

“How could she think…how could I…oh God…”

He ran to the bathroom and she heard the telltale sounds of vomiting. She tried not to follow his example when she got back to her own room.


Ever heard the expression, all dressed up and no place to go?

No, I’m not talking about our non date. I’m talking about our brand spanking new black burglary clothes, our 200 dollars worth of ammo, our devices and identification and everything else I risked my mucho retarded ass to get my hands on. I’m talking about a five mile hike in the deep dark of night. I’m talking about the adrenaline rush, the chattering nerves, the misery.

I’m talking about the fact that there is NOTHING HERE. The facility, the soldiers, the electrical fence, the rabid dogs, everything that I’d spent time and money preparing for and the goods inside, gone. Gone. Just fucking gone. They must have known we were coming.


Oh Jesus. Fucking-A. I am so dead.

“They uh…they must have known…”

I turn to her with my most hapless expression, praying that this woman still has a compassionate bone left in her body. The two of us are standing on a hill, looking down at…well, nothing. A big, gigantic, empty space. Lots and lots of sand. She looks from the vast expanse of nothing over to my face and then back again. Shit. She’s fucking armed. Why did I give her that stupid gun?

“It was here Scully. Honestly. I…”

Run Krycek. Run now while you’ve still got legs.

“I’m sorry Scully.”

She’s so still. I don’t even think she’s breathing. Just staring out into the nothing with unblinking eyes and an expressionless line of a mouth.



Uh oh.

“It was here Scully. I swear to G..”

“Shuttup. Don’t talk. You don’t deserve to talk.”

Reflexively I put my hand in the general vicinity of my gun.

“So this is the big thing huh? This is it?”

“It was…”

“You snuck into my home, knocked me on the head, dragged me across the fucking country in a goddamn PINTO, deprived me of a good night’s sleep for over a week, made me wear that stupid fucking hat, almost gave me a nervous breakdown, and very likely ruined my relationship with Mulder for THIS?”

“Well, it was kind of fun wasn’t it?”

She turns on her heel and gapes at me. Oh man, I didn’t even notice her eyes. She’s deranged.

“You are a sick fuck.”

“You like that though, don’t you?”

If you ever wanna know how far is too far to push somebody just ask me. I’m the master. I don’t even see her coming until she’s on me like a flying squirrel with rabies. I swear to God. She FLEW.

She must have put all her force in it because, I’m somewhat embarrassed to say, she knocked me flat on my ass. Before I can react her tiny fists are everywhere, pounding into my chest, my face, her legs kicking at me, limbs flying in every direction. The dust is rising in a cloud around us. And all the while she’s screaming like a fucking banshee, calling me names I’ve never even heard before. Her nails scrape at me, rake over my cheeks and I taste blood in my mouth. She straddles me to get better leverage and gets a really good belt in right to the bridge of my nose.

Goddamn woman, how can something that hurts so bad feel so fucking good? I should really get her off me before she does some serious cosmetic damage to my features. My face is just about the only thing I’ve got going for me these days. But I can’t bring myself to do it.

How can I when this is probably the last chance I’ll get to have her riding my fucking lap in those tight black jeans? Instead of pulling away or forcing her away, I find myself pressing upwards, straining to be even closer to her rotating hips and her punching fists.

“Goddamn you Krycek! You stupid fucking lying piece of fucking shit…”

Yadda yadda. I’ve heard it all before. The lying thing really does hurt this time though. I haven’t lied to her. Not even once. And it’s been over a week. That’s like a record for me or something. She oughtta be impressed.

I push up with my weight and roll over so that I’m pinning her to the ground. She’s still scratching at my face so I grab her wrists and slam her hands down. How did I end up back between her legs?

She’s panting and writhing under me, trying to get loose so she can beat me up some more, and I milk whatever enjoyment I can out of the moment. Her hair is a wild, knotted, rat’s nest and her mouth is pulled back into a tooth baring grimace. The heat of the Southwestern night is causing sweat to break out over her anger flushed cheeks and forehead. Dirt and dust are sticking to her skin and her T-shirt is ripping at the shoulder. Fucking animal. Beautiful, wild, fucking animal.

“I wasn’t lying. It was here Scully. I haven’t lied to you. Not once.”

“Not once huh? Your whole fucking life is a lie you little SHIT!”

I press down harder against her in a restraint/friction combo and she spits in my face. The glob of mucus stings my eye but strangely enough, increases my arousal. I feel her heels pounding at the backs of my knees in a lame attempt to escape but all it’s doing is bringing us in closer contact, causing me to almost bounce up and down on her.

“Let me go motherfucker!”

“Not until you calm down Scully. Ripping my face off isn’t gonna help this situation any.”

“I’m gonna kill you, you cocksucker!”

I feel her trying to slip her leg under mine, perhaps so that she can knee me in the groin, and I press down harder against her with all my weight. We’re both sweating now and I can feel her nipples through the damp cotton of our shirts.

“Get off me you goddamn pervert.”

I grind against her purposefully this time and she bites her lip. Oh yeah. Who’s the pervert Scully? I do it again and I feel her body respond against her will as she shivers and bucks up towards me uncontrollably.

I sneer at her victoriously and she spits in my face again. All the phlegm in the world isn’t gonna change the simple fact that I make you hot, Dana Scully. Maybe not as hot as your real lover would make you, but hotter than you wanna be right now.

We stare at each other for a brief, panting moment and all I can think about is the way her lips tasted the other night. She probably wouldn’t have that same vodka coated sweetness tonight. Tonight she would probably taste bitter and tangy, more like her cunt. God, it’s time to go.

“Scully, we have to get out of here. It’s not safe.”

“Well then get the fuck OFF ME!”

“I can’t unless I’m sure you’re gonna be good. Are you gonna be good Scully? Huh?”

“I can’t believe you have a fucking hard on now,” she says with a smirk and an eye roll.

Well Scully, if not now when?

“You really are a sick fuck.”

“This isn’t improving your chances.”

“Fine Krycek. Whatever. I’ll be good. I won’t kill you. Yet. Just get the fuck off me.”

With a twinge of regret I stand up and pull her with me. Despite the temperature my body feels suddenly cold without hers pressed against it.

We start quickly retracing our steps back to the Pinto and I let her lead the way this time. It’s a long hike and I really don’t want my back turned to her at this point. Besides, this way I can look at her ass.


My Way or the Highway (8/11) by Rachel Anton

Getting there is half the fun
Come share it with me…

I’ve never felt homicidal tendencies towards a fuzzy, singing frog before. Another new and exciting experience. This hotel has lots of channels with plenty to choose from but I’m almost enjoying the twisted masochism involved in watching the Muppet Movie for the umpteenth time.

Krycek used our remaining cash to rent us two rooms in a nondescript Holiday Inn somewhere near Los Angeles. The rooms are on different floors as per my request.

I tried to get the fuck out of here tonight but there were no flights available until tomorrow. I made a reservation for a 9:45 flight out of LAX tomorrow morning. I should be in DC by nightfall. I don’t know where Krycek’s going. He hasn’t told me and God knows I haven’t asked.

I’ve been shaking for the past 3 hours. Just sitting on this bed in a pair of flannel pajamas with the thermostat set at 78 degrees, shaking like a leaf. I would think maybe shock, except for the fact that I’m not really shocked at all.

Why should I be shocked? Why should I even be moderately surprised? When have I ever been even a half a step ahead, even for a minute?

I should be used to crushing disappointment by now. I should be used to coming up empty at the end. Every single time.

I’m not really sure what the worst part of all this is. There are so many horrific aspects to choose from. The one that I can’t escape at the moment is the utter and complete humiliation of having to return to Mulder empty handed. Not even empty, negative. I think I actually have_less_ than I started with when I left. I don’t even have the moral highground anymore. I can believe whatever I want to believe about Diana, about how he’s being played for a fool, about how his lack of unconditional faith in anything but his blessed aliens is ruining us but the truth is, I’ve got no proof to back up any of it. I still don’t know anything other than the meager scraps of information Krycek has dished out and who knows the truth from the lies with that…that…fucker. For all I know this entire trip could have been nothing more than an amusing little diversion for him. Stupid fucker. I’ve been just as big a fool in trusting him as Mulder has been in trusting Diana. No, even bigger. At least Mulder has a reason, a precedent.

At least Mulder didn’t throw himself at Diana in a drunken, miserable frenzy. Not as far as I know anyway. How in God’s name did we end up here Mulder? How do we get back?

I guess I know a good way to start.

My fingers are trembling violently as punch the numbers I know so well into the phone beside the bed. Please Mulder, don’t hate me. Please try to understand. Please try to accept me as I am, with nothing to offer other than myself. Please…


My throat constricts and I am temporarily mute.

“Hello? Is there someone there?”

“I…is Mulder there?”

“Oh my God! Scully is that you?”

“Can I…Can I talk to Mulder please.”

“He’s um…he’s in the shower Scully.”

“Will you…will you tell him I’m all right please?”

“Of course. Of course I will. Can I tell him where you are Scully?”

“How could you when I haven’t told you yet?”

“Well, I just meant…”

“Tell him I’m fine. Tell him I’ll see him tomorrow. Goodbye Diana.”

I hang up the phone with an almost preternatural calm. And I feel eerily like I am being watched, listened to, analyzed. I feel as though the tethers holding me to reality, to this planet, are almost worn through, that I’m going to float away at any moment. Is this what a nervous break down feels like?

Just when I think things couldn’t possibly get any worse there’s a knock at my door. It could only be one person.

“Go away.”

“Aw, come on Scully. Don’t be like that.”

“Fuck off.”

“Scully, it’s our last night. Be nice.”

Be nice. Be nice? NICE?

“Go to hell.”

“I’m not leaving until you let me in.”

“Well then I hope you brought a blanket cause you’re gonna be sleeping out there tonight.”

“You think I can’t get through this lock in less than five minutes Scully?”

“Shut the hell up!”

I think that was my neighbor. God, it must be almost two in the morning.

“Go to hell!”

Oh brother. If I don’t let him in we’re gonna have an international incident on our hands.

I throw open the door to his idiotic, grinning face and he saunters past me and parks his ass in the chair by the window.

“What the hell do you want Krycek?”

“I dunno Scully, some sympathy maybe.”

“Call Oprah.”

“Scully come on, you think I’m happy about this? You think this is the way I wanted things to turn out? I was trying to help you. Do you have any idea what I risked in all this? Jesus Scully, I’ll probably be dead within a week.”

“Is that supposed to make me cry?”

Sadly enough though, I think it would. I crawl back onto the bed and draw my knees up to my chest, wondering why it’s so much easier to forgive people when you’ve got nothing left to lose.

“It wasn’t a total waste Scully. You got a new dress anyway.”

“Krycek…God, where did you come from?”

I don’t really know what I mean by that. I guess it was kind of hypothetical. But he answers, “Queens” and I smile. He smiles back and reaches into the pocket of his jeans. He takes out a little plastic bag filled with what looks like about ten joints. He puts the bag on the table and takes one of them out.

“Where did you…nevermind. I don’t wanna know.”

“No, you definitely don’t.”

He brings the marijuana cigarette to his lips and lights it and I get up and open the window. Then I go to the bathroom and get a bunch of towels to stuff under the door. He watches me with a bemused smirk and I shrug.

“Paranoid much Scully?”

“Yeah well, the last thing we need is to get busted for possession and hauled off to the LA County Jail.”

I sit down across from him at the round, reading table and watch him take a long, deep hit. The last time I did this was probably in my fucking dorm room at the University. I’ve never really felt the need since then. Tonight it seems disturbingly appropriate. I already feel like I’m tripping for Christ’s sake. What’s a little pot gonna do?

He doesn’t seem to get the picture though, just keeps taking hits and staring out the window somewhat despondently.

“Well are you gonna offer me some of that or should I start my own?” I ask, already reaching for the plastic bag. He smacks my hand away and passes me the joint.

“I never would have thought, Special Agent, Doctor Scully. This is still against the law for some reason ya know.”

“Krycek, I wouldn’t be surprised if being in the same room with you was against the law.”

“It’s against your law isn’t it Scully? In fact it violates every principle you thought you had doesn’t it?”

Principle? Who needs a principle when you lose the whole fucking school? This strikes me as stupendously deep and meaningful, a sure sign that the first hit was enough to send me right into stoner-hell.

“Are you really from Queens?”

I can’t help but snort even as I ask. It seems like such a mundane place for Alex Krycek, International Man of Mystery, to have been born.

“Yeah, wasso’ funny about dat lady?”

Wow, he does that better than he should. Better than he would if he hadn’t at least visited Queens. Well, you’ve gotta search for the kernel’s of truth sometimes.

“Seriously, you did? I mean were? I mean…wait, what did I ask you again?”

Fuck. I’m a goner.

“I’m from Queens Scully. I was born there. I grew up there. That’s what you asked me.” He leans over and knocks on my head with his prosthetic hand. “Anybody in there?”

I swat it away because it seems very disturbing.

“Krycek, what was your mother like?”

“My mother Scully?” He laughs and takes another hit. When he passes it back to me I almost decline. But hey, if I’m gonna go down, why not go in style?

“My mother is a saint Scully.”

“She’s still alive?”

I can’t help the fact that my jaw is gaping open at this revelation. Krycek just always seemed like an orphan to me.

“Of course she’s still alive. If she wasn’t then they wouldn’t have anything…I mean, it’s not like I worry about myself too much anymore.”

Oh Jesus. Those motherfuckers.

“She raised me pretty much on her own. My dad was in the military and we didn’t see him too often. It was…well, you know what that’s like.”

In the military? I seem to remember Mulder telling me something about Krycek’s parents being Cold War immigrants from Russia. I can’t really imagine the US military letting a Russian into the ranks in the middle of the Cold War. Even I am coherent enough to see the inconsistencies in that story. Two tales told, both catered to please the person listening. Which is the lie? Both?

“Which military?”

“Excuse me?”

“Which military Krycek?”

“Ours Scully. US Army. A general in fact. He had really high expectations for me. Really drummed the old patriot tune into my head. Wanted me to be a freedom fighter or some shit. I did a good job huh?”

“Stop lying.”

Damn him. Damn him to hell.

“I’m telling you the truth Scully.”

“Shut up.”


“Just stop it! I don’t wanna hear anymore.”

“What is it about this that bothers you so much Scully? Is it the fact that you’re not sure whether I’m telling you the truth or is it the fact that you’re pretty sure I am telling the truth and that scares you? Does it scare you Scully? Does it frighten you that you could be me?”

“I could never be you. I could never sell my soul the way you have.”

He snickers.

“Haven’t you Scully? Didn’t you do that a long time ago? You think you’re fighting the good fight Scully? Well I’ll tell you something, sometimes you are, and sometimes you aren’t. No matter what you’re always playing their game. The only way out of that one is death. So while you’re sitting there scoffing at my lack of morals just ask yourself what you might have been if they had planned things differently for you. You got lucky Scully. You got to be the martyr. You got to be his savior and his downfall. It could have been so different.”

The brutality and the truth of his words seeps into my bones and I shudder. It doesn’t matter if his parents were Russian emigrants, Brooklyn military generals or ma and pa Kettle. He wanted to serve his country. I’m beginning to think that’s one of the worst morals a parent can teach a child. Oh Dad, I’m trying. So hard.

“So Scully, what don’t I know about you? Now that you know the truth about me.”

“That’s the truth about you Krycek? Pretty short story.”

“Well it’s a beginning anyway. I’m not gonna spill all the beans before you tell me anything.”

“What do you want to know exactly?”

“I dunno, anything that I don’t know already.”

“I don’t think there is anything like that. You already know it all. You and your buddies…”

“I don’t have any “buddies” and I sure as hell don’t know everything Scully. Come on, there must be something you’ve kept from me, from everyone.”

What constitutes a secret to a man whose fucking name is probably a secret?

“Well I already told you about Billy Venuti and the confessional blow job. What more could you want to know?”

“Alright then, lemme ask you something, give you a scenario. Would you rather…”

“Oh not this game Krycek.”

He starts giggling a little bit and I notice his eyes getting redder and more dilated. He must be even more far gone than me if he wants to play this shit. And did I mention that he’s GIGGLING now? Talk about bipolar.

“Come on Scully, it’ll be fun.”

“Alright. Would I rather…play this game with you or pull my eyebrows out one by one? Hmmm….”

“Scully, come on.”

“Whatever. Ask away. Better than listening to your sorry life story.”

I feel so light. Just floating away…

“Would you rather stand naked on the mall singing the theme song to Oklahoma or blow Walter Skinner?”


My Way or the Highway (9/11) by Rachel Anton

I expect her to punch me. Or at least blush. But she just rolls her eyes.

“Oh please. Is that supposed to be a difficult choice?”

“I just want your honest answer Scully.”

She goes to bring the joint to her lips but it’s burnt down to almost nothing. I grab it from her fingers and it takes her a minute to realize it’s not there. When she does she looks momentarily panicked until I light a new one and place it in her hand.

“So, what’s the verdict?”

“Huh? Oh, we’re still on that stupid question? Alright, Skinner then.”


Bleck. A not so pretty image just popped into my head and I’m just stoned enough that it almost seems real.

“Yeah of course, I mean come on.”

“You’d really?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

An even worse mental image appears.

“But Scully he’s so…”

“It’d be over in like fifteen seconds. The naked thing would take forever and I’d be really cold.”

“But Scully…”

“Jesus, I’ve touched plenty worse things with my mouth before Krycek. Those forks at Bub’s, where do you think they’ve been?”

“God Scully, I’m almost sorry I asked you that question.”

Make it go away Mommy. I’m getting the heebie geebies. God, I can’t believe that choice was so fucking easy for her.

“Sorry? Well it was your stupid idea.”

“Yeah. But now…I dunno Scully, as beautiful as it would be to see you giving head, this Skinner thing is not an image I particularly wanted to conger. Especially in this state.”

“Well, just put somebody more attractive on the head. That’s what I’d do.”

“Well, it sounds like you’ve got some experience in this area, giving pointers and all.”

Whose head would you give him Scully? Do I even want to think about it?

“Pointers? I was just trying to make the picture prettier for you.”

Prettier. Yeah, someone more attractive. Hey, here’s a thought. How about me Scully? Yeah, that’s a much better picture. Oh Jesus. Much better.

Shit. I thought this was over for the night. How many times have I jerked off since we got back to the hotel now?

“Scully, that just brings up another problem…”

“But if you want some pointers Krycek, I can give you those too, although I trust if the situation ever came up, you’d know what to do.”

“Yes,” I nod absently, barely hearing the words she speaks. All I can see right now is that flaming halo bobbing up and down in my lap. Then I realize what she just said.

“Hey wait. What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Krycek, if you want the God’s honest truth, I think you’d be able to fuck the life out of just about anyone to get something you wanted.”

Well, I guess there’s no point in playing this game with her. She knows me damn well enough already.

“But that’s another story for another day. Now, what were you saying about your picture problem?”

What’s that look? Why is she looking at me like that? Oh Christ, I’ve gotta get out of here.

“There’s more problems than just a picture Scully. But that’s another story for another day too.”

“No, that’s today’s story!” she announces loudly and starts laughing for some unknown reason.


What is she talking about? Is she talking about what I’m thinking about? Is she thinking about it too? Is she propositioning me?

“Would you rather have Skinner or Spender fuck you up the ass Alex? Would you rather talk about that or your problem?”

What the fuck is she talking about? What does that even mean? Is she trying to turn me off now? Was she trying to turn me on in the first place or was it all an accident? Christ, I hate smoking dope. Why do I always forget how paranoid it makes me? Paranoid and confused.

“Uhhh…” is all I can muster in way of a response. Uhhh and uhhh and uhhh some more. I don’t even know what she’s asking me anymore.

“Aren’t you glad we decided to play this game Krycek?”

What does that mean?? I can’t read her face at all. It’s partially obscured by smoke for one thing. And for another thing…

Yeah, well, anyway.

“Uhh, Scully, I don’t…I don’t know what…”

“Stay with me here Krycek.”

She snaps her fingers in front of my face. God she’s sitting so close to me. This table is so small. I can smell her.

“What…what are you suggesting? I mean…are you? I mean…”

“Krycek what the hell are you babbling about? I’m not suggesting anything. It’s a question. Do you want to talk about your picture problem or do you wanna answer the question? Which would you rather do?”

“I think I’m gonna…go now.”

Air. I need air. And a nice safe fist. My fist doesn’t love anybody but me.

“Krycek, you’re a lame ass. This was your stupid idea and now you don’t even wanna play.”

“It’s not that exactly. I…I need…you don’t…”

Shit. I can’t even really stand up. Those lips, her lips come into focus finally and she is frowning in a bewildered way. I can see them, wet and swollen, wrapped around my cock…

“Well, what the fuck Krycek? Are you gonna barf or something? Why is your face flushed? God, you look ill.”

“I should go.”

“I’m sorry. Stop picturing Skinner buttfucking you okay. It’s all a dream. Not real.”

She waves her hands around and goes doodle doodle doodle, like on Wayne’s World. Yeah Scully, that’s just what I’m thinking about too.

“Scully are you fucking blind or are you just screwing with my head?”

“What? What the hell is your problem?”

Jesus fucking Christ. I can’t take it anymore. I grab her hand in mid air and ram it under the table and right onto my dick.

“This. This is my fucking problem you fucking psycho!”

Oh man. I should not have done that either. I shove her hand away before the urge to rut into her palm becomes completely overwhelming. She squeezes the same hand into a fist and then releases the fingers one by one, staring at the whole process, completely entranced. Why did I get pot? What the hell is wrong with Vodka, Alex? Or coke? God, anything but pot.

“Krycek, I don’t understand. You were so skeeved out before…”

“Not once I put myself in Skinner’s place Scully.”


Hmm, yeah. Oh. We stare at each other for a few silent moments until the tension starts to feel like a thick layer of cotton, hanging over us, threatening to suffocate. I’ve really gotta go now.

“Yeah, I guess I should have known when I said someone more attractive that you’d immediately think of yourself.”

“You’re such a fucking bitch.”

God, she really is. Like nails on the blackboard of my soul. Wow, I should write that down.

“Krycek don’t feel too bad. It would only be what, 10, 15 seconds of pleasure and then it would be over. What would be the point?”


Okay, now I’m starting to get offended.

“Are you saying I’d only beat Skinner by a lousy 10 seconds?”

“Actually I think Skinner might beat you out now that I think about it. He’s a lot older. Stamina increases with age up to a point.”

This from the woman who came from five minutes of making out in a parking lot.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about woman.”

“What are you Krycek? 26? 27? You’d probably blow your load before I even got it in my mouth.”

Oh God. Got it in my mouth? Way to take a conversation too far Scully. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get that phrase out of my head.

“I give you two minutes at the absolute most. You’d probably be crying by then if you weren’t finished yet.”

“Crying Scully? What the hell makes you think you’re so good at it anyway? You’d probably start complaining about your fucking jaw before then anyway.”

I mean really. Crying? I’ve gotten sucked off by people who probably went to school for it for crying out loud.

“Experience. Plus I like it which always makes it better. And anyway, it’s not so much the fact that I’m good at it as the fact that you’re a spaz.”

“A what? A sp…”

“And don’t flatter yourself about my jaw Krycek, I’ve seen it and ya know, well…let’s just say I’m pretty sure I could handle it.”


She laughs out loud. Way out loud. And slams her hand on the table. A regular riot huh? I’ll show you a spaz you fucking tease. Jesus.

“Alright Scully, you wanna put your money where your mouth is?”

“Oh man. Booooo.” She gives two thumbs down and shakes her head violently. “Booooo hssssss, where are my rotten tomatoes? Get this guy off the stage!”

“I’m serious Scully. I can go at least ten minutes.”

“Wait, I’m still recovering from the pun. Oh my God. You ARE serious aren’t you. You’re a real fuck head Krycek. What is this like a bet?”

“Yeah. A bet. A test of endurance.”

She’s biting her lip and it looks like she’s actually considering it. I shouldn’t be surprised. Scully would never back down from a challenge. I shouldn’t be but I am. And more than a little thrilled. The reasoning behind my stopping her the other night just don’t apply here. A blow job is something in a class by itself. This situation isn’t likely to engender any feelings beyond an almost sibling like rivalry in her. And as for me, I’m so beyond where I wanted to be, it’s not like it’s gonna make a difference.

“I’ve heard of some pathetic ways to get a blow job Krycek. This takes the cake.”

“It’s not about the blow job Scully. It’s the principals involved.”

She raises both eyebrows at that one. Wow, a double arch. Like MacDonalds. Mmmm, MacDonalds. We’re gonna have to get some chow after this.

“Anyway, you’ve wanted to for awhile now. Here’s your chance. No strings attached and nobody has to know.”

“Krycek, the ego, the sheer gall of that statement is astounding.”

“True though huh?”

Yeah, she’s turning red. I think. God, I hope so. It’s getting more and more difficult to tell what’s real, what I’m actually saying as opposed to just thinking, what she’s really saying as opposed to what I wish she would say. I really hope this shit isn’t laced with acid or something cause if I wake up and find out this was all a hallucination, I’m gonna be pissed.

“Okay Scully, last chance. If you back down now, I win.”

“Win what? What’s the bet? If I say no am I gonna find my car missing when I get back to DC or what?”

“I guess you’ll just have to take that chance huh. You never know what I might be capable of.”

Alright, does this constitute coercion? Blackmail? Psychological rape? Surely she knows it’s all in good fun.

“You’re a sick fuck.”

She stands up and walks away from the table, to the door. She locks the deadbolt and turns around to face me. I pull the chair out from under the desk and turn myself directly towards her, spreading my legs so that she can see what’s waiting for her.

“Alright Krycek, you last longer than five minutes and you win. Less than five minutes and I win. Exactly five and it’s a draw.”

Jesus, she’s taking off her watch and setting the timer.

“Starting from the first moment my lips touch your dick, ending with the first ejaculatory spurt.”

Motherfucker. She’s done this before. I feel like a slab of meat. Not that I’m complaining or anything but…Christ, she’s scary.

“There are some rules you’ll have to follow.” She starts walking towards me and ticking them off on her fingers. “Number one; No forcing me away to avoid orgasm, no hair pulling, no pushing, kicking etcetera. Number two; no distraction techniques, for example, telling a really bad joke so I’ll laugh and have to spit you out for a second. No asking questions. Number three; there will be absolutely no swallowing. When you’re gonna come you damn well let me know. I don’t know where the fuck you’ve been and I don’t want your fluids mixing with mine.”

I fall against the back of the chair and clutch my heart dramatically. “You’re such a romantic Dana darling.”

She holds her hand up to her face and starts giggling, kind of ruining the whole effect she was going for.

“Now get over here and suck my cock.”

“Oh, you know all the right things to say, don’t you.”

She stands in front of me, still holding that damn watch, looking at my face with a disgust bordering on lust. I want to kiss her again. Even worse than before. I want to pull her into my lap and kiss her for hours, to throw her on top of this table and bury my head between her legs for hours after that, to fuck her until she faints. I guess some might call me an ingrate. A blow job is great and all. Again, I’m not complaining. I just wish it could be more. But I know if I even made a move to kiss her, even to touch her at all really, she would recoil and this whole thing would be over. I gave up my chance to do that already.

“You’re really deranged aren’t you Krycek?”

Those are her last words before she kneels on the floor between my legs. She starts popping open the buttons on my fly and finally I feel the cool air hitting my claustrophobic dick. She pulls my jeans down around my ankles and the relative intimacy of the act surprises me. I would have thought she’d have wanted me to keep my pants on. I guess she did it out of courtesy more than anything else. No swallowing means messy Krycek and who wants semen crusted jeans.

Jesus. She’s really gonna do this.

I feel her hand on my leg, her thumb tracing small circles on my inner thigh and bite back a moan. Gotta be cool here. Let her know who’s boss. Right.

“Scully are you running the timer now?”

“I haven’t started yet Krycek. Sheesh.”

“Yeah but…”

I hear a beep as she presses the start button on her watch at exactly the same moment as I feel the tip of her tongue run lightly up the underside of my cock. Just a whisper of a touch but enough to make me slump down in the chair with a groan. She licks me again, from the base all the way up the shaft, over the ridge and the head, with the flat of her tongue this time. A more solid, powerful touch. I bite the inside of my mouth and grip the two back legs of the chair.

How many minutes is that? Shit.

When she swirls her tongue around the the head and takes the very tip between her lips, I have to look down. I watch her fat lips sliding down, down, down, so achingly slow, and it’s almost too much already. She’s really fucking doing this!


My Way or the Highway (10/11) by Rachel Anton

Okay, I have to admit, I feel more than a little vindicated right now. Once I start to really get going I just have to watch him. I look up and see that he’s looking right back down, his eyes wide and mouth agape as he stares at me in shock. His breath is already catching in his throat and I feel his body tensing up. Yeah, this is gonna be over real soon.

This is really fucked up. I’ve done this for a lot of odd reasons but never quite this odd. It all just seems so far away, like I’m watching it happen on television or something. The only reality I can feel is a desperate need to prove myself. To who? Krycek? I doubt it. Myself? Probably. But honestly, the person I’m really trying to impress isn’t even here.

Yeah Dana, you’re such a rebel, so cool, so sexy, you really know how to drive them crazy right?

Well, apparently at least one person thinks so.

“Oh fuck, yeah,” he grunts as he jerks into my mouth. His knuckles are turning white. I start to move a little faster, up and down, in and out, and put my hands on his thighs again. I run my thumbs lightly over his balls and he whimpers and squeezes his eyes shut.

So far I’ve only been letting him about 3/4 of the way in but I think it’s time to go for broke. I relax my throat and on the next downward stroke, take all of him. I stop moving for a second and tighten around him.

“Jesus, your mouth is so hot.”

Like the caverns of hell Alex.

He makes another pathetic sound and starts twitching anxiously so I start moving again. Faster this time and using my tongue to flick along his heated flesh as I go.

He’s stopped watching and now his head is against the back of the chair, tossing to and fro and I can almost hear his thoughts. Don’t come yet, not yet, not yet.

His legs are trembling under my hands and his balls are getting tighter and tighter as I continue to stroke them in gentle, smooth circles. His cock is throbbing and huge, seeming to grow with every second that passes.

I glance at the watch on the floor and smile around him. 2 and a half minutes. This thing is as good as won.

Competitive much Dana? I’m sure my shrink would have lots to say about this little wager.

Fuck her. I don’t care what it says about my mental state, I’m psyched.

“Shit….oh shit, Scully…”

Suddenly and pretty much randomly, in typical spaz fashion, his hands fly off the seat and clutch at the back of my head. At first I think he’s going to violate rule number one and try to hold me still in order to prolong orgasm. But he doesn’t. He actually slams me down farther and starts jerking into my mouth. No, we’re obviously going for rule number three.

I try to pull away but I can’t get out of his death grip and he pounds into me. I feel him expand further and he lets out a mighty bellow and then he’s spewing into my mouth. Fuck head.

I don’t swallow but I don’t spit it out either.

I hit the off button on the timer, a little bit too late but it’s still a winner. His arms finally go limp and drop to his sides. I slip him out of my mouth and pull back. He looks like a deflated balloon, collapsed in the chair, panting and sweaty.

I stand up and put my arms on the sides of the chair, leaning in towards him. His eyes pop open and he regards me curiously. Pucker up sweetie. A smile of recognition and excitement fades into an open mouthed invitation and I move in to accept. I almost feel bad. He really looked almost giddy about the prospect of kissing me again. Too bad he had to be such a shit.

Our lips meet for the briefest of moments before I spit the contents of my mouth directly into his.

I pull away and watch him gag and choke and drool his own spooge down his chin with a satisfied smirk.

“What the…what the fuh..fucking bitch.” He’s still panting and now that his mouth’s full too he seems to be having some difficulty speaking clearly.

“You broke the rules Alex. That wasn’t very nice.”

“Jesus. Bitch.”

“Well, now you know how you taste, maybe you’ll be a little more considerate towards the next unfortunate soul.”

He shakes his head and wipes his mouth with his sleeve.

“3 minutes 15 seconds.”


“3 minutes, 15 seconds.”

“Lemme see that.”

He grabs the watch out of my hand and regards it with disdain.

“I think you cheated. That was at least five minutes.”

“Please Alex, don’t be petty. It’s not very becoming. You know, it might have been five minutes if you hadn’t grabbed my head and started ramrodding me.”

“Yeah yeah. Look, I’m sorry okay. I just…it was just…God Scully, you really are good at that. You win okay. Take whatever you want.”

“First of all I want you to put your pants back on. Then I want you to order us a pizza. And then I’ll start thinking about my real prize.”

What in the world could I possibly ask of him? What could he possibly give me?

“Hey, if you don’t have any ideas…how about reciprocation?” he asks me with an annoying wink.

“No Krycek, I won, remember.”

“Ha ha. You’re funny. Seriously Scully, I’ll bet I could get you off in less than five minutes.”

“That’s not gonna work this time. Go get me a pizza while I think about this.”

He pulls his pants on and goes to the cabinet beside the bed to look for a phone book and I sit back in the chair I was in before. Nothing abnormal here right? What’s a little fallatio between friends after all.

I reach into the bag and take out what will be our fourth joint of the evening and light it.

“Want a hit?”

I hold it out to him and he wrinkles his nose in disgust.

“Scully, I can’t feel my fingers and toes after that. The last thing I need is more dope.”


He stands there and watches me light and inhale.

“He should know about you.”

“What? Who?”

“Mulder. He…God, if I were him I’d wanna know.”

Oh God, he’s gonna tell Mulder. He’s gonna tell Mulder I cheated on him. Cheated? That’s not really true. How is it possible to cheat when…God, the semantics don’t matter. It would kill him either way.

“You fucker! Don’t you fucking dare. I’ll kill you, you bastard, I swear to God.”

“Scully, hey, calm down. I’m not doing anything. All I mean is if I had a partner who could suck dick like that, I’d wanna know about it. That’s all. God, go take your meds or something.”

I take a deep breath and then let it out. Just a compliment. Well, sort of. Nothing to lose your shit about Dana. He wouldn’t tell Mulder about all this. Would he? Mulder wouldn’t understand. He would see it so differently than it is. You’d have to be completely around the bend to see it the way it is.

“Scully, don’t freak out okay. As far as I’m concerned this never happened. Any of it. I’m real good at keeping secrets.”

Secrets. More secrets. I don’t want to have secrets. Not from Mulder. God, I feel like crying again. When did I turn into such a twit?

Krycek orders us a pizza and I start to feel moderately better at the prospect of food. Then he sits back down in his chair and takes a hit.

“Scully, I’m sorry. This was a stupid idea.”

“No, no it’s fine.”

“It’s not. You’re face, you’re as white as a ghost. I’m sorry.”

Maybe we are the bipolar twins. Is this what comes out of growing up in a military family? Schizophrenia? Manic depressive disorder?

God I miss Mulder.

A sudden and quite loud noise causes us both to jump in our seats.

“Oh my God. Was that the door?”

“I think it’s too early for the pizza Scully.”

God, it’s getting louder. A pounding. In my head. It’s almost as if death itself, or maybe reality, was outside, trying to bust in on our little party. God, we’re going to die. I’m going to die.

“Krycek, what if it’s the cops. Narcs. Oh my God.”

Ridiculously I throw our lit joint out the window, grab the bag and shove the rest of the stuff under my ass. Throwing the whole bag out the window doesn’t occur to me for some unknown reason.

Pound, crash, bang. Make it stop. Oh please make it stop.

“Scully I’m gonna go get it. It’s probably just…”

“No!” I grab his arm and force him to remain seated. “Don’t go. It’s…no…stay here. It’ll go away. Just stay here.”

“Scully, you’re shaking. Jesus, calm dow…”

The door breaks open and all I see for a moment is a blinding white light. I had all but one lamp turned off in here and the flourescents from the hallway seem unnaturally strong. So much light. Maybe it’s not death. Maybe it’s God.

Slowly vision returns and a silhouette becomes clear in the doorway. Hand on the knob, holding the part of the door that broke off, looking for all the world like a deer caught in the headlights. It’s not Death. And it’s not God. It’s just Mulder.

I feel laughter bubbling in my chest. I know that it’s wrong, that laughing is the last thing I should be doing right now but there’s something unavoidably funny about the whole thing. Especially since Diana is standing there with him, looking back and forth between him and me.

Don’t laugh Scully, don’t laugh. But of course, I do. And once I start I just can’t stop. Tears fall into my eyes, blinding me. That’s how hard I laugh.

Until I look at his face. What I see there, it frightens me beyond anything I’ve ever felt. I stand on shaking legs and hold out my hands as some kind of surrender.


But it’s too late. He’s across the room before I can stop it. He’s too far gone to even here me call his name again when he tackles Krycek right out of that chair and up against the wall. He has Krycek’s shirt in his fists. It seems to be in slow motion but at the same time preternaturally fast.

Oh God. Oh my God. They’re both going to die.

“I’M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU MOTHERFUCKER!” Mulder hollars, validating my hypothesis. He’s shaking Krycek and Krycek looks pretty damn terrified. Mulder looks…Mulder looks really gone. His face is bright red and all the veins on his head are popping out. He broke the chair.


Please stop. Please stop. I need to stop them. But I can’t. I can’t even speak. I can’t move.

Krycek grabs Mulder’s arms and shoves him away.

“Get the fuck off me you psychopath!”


It’s so loud. It’s all so loud and I’m so very quiet. How do I get my voice back? I’m going to die.

“You don’t even know what’s going on here Mulder. Just calm the fuck down so we can…”

“You touched her didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU? ANSWER ME MOTHERFUCKER!”

“What the hell Mulder? I think she can speak for herself.”

No I can’t. I can’t say anything. I try to scream but nothing comes out.

“She’s not your property Mulder. She…”

Mulder’s fist makes a loud popping sound when it makes contact with Krycek’s jaw.

“Shut up! Just shut up you fucker! Don’t even talk to me about her!”

And again. Again. Make it stop. I can’t make it stop. I look to the door for help. Maybe Diana can make them stop. She’s not even looking at them though. She’s looking right back at me. Oh God. What’s happening? What’s happening?

“Is this helping you Mulder? You feel any better? Easier than actually communicating?”

Krycek stop. Stop talking. Just stop.

“You had no right! NO RIGHT!!”

Mulder punches him again, in the gut this time, and I think he’s starting to cry.

“No fucking right! Not yours!”

He backs Krycek against the wall again and his hands work their way around his throat.


Not yours? Oh God, he’s finally really lost it. Krycek tries to pry Mulder’s arms off him but to no avail.

“She’s not a thing Mulder. Jesus!”

“Shut up! SHUT UP! God I hate you so much Krycek. I HATE YOU SO FUCKING MUCH!”

He’s turning blue. He’s going to die. Mulder. Mulder stop.

“Mmm…” is all I manage to get out. It’s so quiet that no one hears. I look to Diana again, desperate at this point. She’s gone though. Gone to die. We’re all going to die tonight.

Krycek finally gives up on talking and kicks Mulder in the gut. Mulder stumbles backwards and then lunges forwards. He knocks Krycek into the table which goes flying over and hits my leg. It should hurt. I think.

There are no more angry words now. Just flying fists and projectile furniture. My face is splattered with blood and tissue. I don’t know whose it is.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

“Stop. Stop. Stop. STOP IT! STOP! STOP!”

I sink to my knees and open my mouth as wide as I can. The scream starts in my gut and pushes through my larynx, finally, finally it comes out of me. A bloodcurdling, deafening scream. An endless scream.

I feel arms around me and I still scream. I feel a body around me, pulling me onto a lap, whispering into my hair.

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay Scully.”

I’m drowning, sinking, pulled into a swirling tidal mass. Under and under, further and further. I clutch at his shirt which is now torn and bloody.

“Don’t go. Don’t let me go. Don’t let me go!”

“I’m right here. You’re not going anywhere. Shhh.”

I feel his tears and his blood dripping onto my hair and my face.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Sorry…God…so sorry. I can’t…I can’t…”

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m right here.”

“God Mulder. Don’t let me go.”


I could have killed him. I could have taken the gun out of my jacket pocket and shot him in the back when he turned away from me. When he went to her. It would have been so easy.

Shit. Fucking shit.

I want to stay here. I want to be the one comforting her. I want to tell her I’m here, that I’m not going anywhere either. I want to at least stick around long enough to tell Mulder what I think of his sorry ass. But I don’t belong here. And if I stay here any longer, watching him cradle her in his lap and stroke her hair I’m gonna cry. And I do not cry. Ever.

So I stagger out of the room, closing what’s left of the door behind me and make my way to the elevator. I push the down button. I need to get the hell out of this hotel. Right now.

“Fucking idiot.”

I don’t know who I’m talking about. Mulder? Myself? Both of us. We’re both fucking idiots. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Dammit. It wasn’t.

The elevator has mirrored walls and I wince when I see myself. Broken nose. Great. I look like Mulder. Two black eyes now, one from Mulder and one from Scully from before. A fat lip. Torn clothing. And worst of all, tears. Running down my cheeks and mixing with the blood of a thousand wounds.

I lean against the wall for support and curse my own reflection. No one to blame but myself. I wish I could blame him. But I knew, I knew going in what I was dealing with.

“I’m sorry Scully.”

The elevator doors slide open and who should just happen to be standing in front of them, unharmed and armed? The total lack of justice in the fact that Diana is the only one without injury here is sickening.

“Any last words Krycek?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Tell her that Joey loved her.”


My Way or the Highway (11/11) by Rachel Anton

Life is a highway I suppose. At least mine seems to be.

Mulder is driving us to the airport. Gotta catch that old 9:45. His hands are white on the steering wheel. I told him what we were trying to do, why Krycek took me, last night. He didn’t give much of a response but I know he believes me. I woke up on his lap this morning. I told him about the flight. He just nodded and stood up. On his way out the door he turned to me and said, “You know something, I never expected to have to come running across the country looking for you. To end up having to drag you home like an errant child.” Then he left. All I could think was welcome to my life Mulder. He hasn’t spoken to me since then. There is no music playing.

I can’t stand the silence. I can’t stand the cold.

“Mulder, I don’t understand why you’re so angry,” I finally blurt out ridiculously. All I know is we need to start talking. Fast.

He doesn’t talk though. Still. He reaches behind my seat and gropes around for a minute, his eyes never leaving the road. When he finds what he’s looking for he drops it onto my lap. It’s a picture. A picture of my and Krycek. A picture of me grabbing Krycek’s dick. I turn it over quickly and open my window. I think I might throw up.

My mouth is dry and cracked. I don’t know if I can talk now either.

“Oh…Mulder, God I…how…where did you…”

“So they’re real.”


He nods and starts driving faster.

“I thought…I thought that maybe somebody was fucking with my head. Someone besides you that is.”

“Mulder I…I was drunk. Very, very drunk.” This is probably the lamest thing I have ever said. I don’t know how else to explain it though. It’s the truth.

“Oh that’s nice Scully. Really, great.”

“Alright then, you wanna know WHY I was drunk?”

“Lemme take a guess here and say that you had too much to drink.”

Goddamit. Why should I have to explain this to him anyway? What am I Mulder, your wife? Wife without conjugal privileges?

“Scully how…God, with…him. How could you?”

“I got drunk Mulder, because I was depressed, okay? I was thinking about you. As usual. About things that were said, things that weren’t said, the way things were so goddamn messed up between us and the fact that you didn’t seem to care and I was hurting. I know you don’t seem to think that’s possible but believe it or not Mulder, I am a human being with real life feelings.”

“Why HIM?” His voice is raising and he’s driving like a lunatic now.

“Because he was there Mulder. He listened to me. He wanted me.”

“God Scully, I can’t even believe you’d let yourself get into that kind of state with that…that…God. How could you do that? You might as well be fucking the whole goddamn consortium Scully.”

“Mulder nothing really happened. If that makes you feel any better. I mean we didn’t actually go through with it. He wouldn’t let me do that to myself.”

“Wait a minute. Wait. You’re saying that you WANTED to fuck him? That HE stopped YOU? Is that what you’re telling me here?”

It sounds pretty damned bad when he says it like that. But it’s the truth. I can’t even look at him anymore. I think I’m gonna fall to pieces. I stare out the window.

“That’s beautiful Scully. Really. Fucking choice. What a gentleman. Remind me to send him a Christmas card this year.”

“I don’t really know what you want me to say here.”


I jump at the level his voice has raised to. I don’t think he’s ever yelled at me like that. Ever.


His voice cracks and tears start flowing down his cheeks. He slams his fist against the steering wheel.

“Why not me Scully? Why does he get that? Why don’t I get that? What do I have to do? Kidnap you?”

“I told you why Mulder,” I practically whisper. “He wanted me. That’s more than I can say about most people I’ve known. More than I can say about you.”

“Jesus Scully! How can you say that? How can you THINK that?”

“Because I’m not her. You told me so yourself.”

“Oh Scully. Fucking Christ. Is that what this is about? One fucking stupid comment? You don’t believe anything else I say but you believe that shit?”

“Mulder it’s not just one comment…”

“I thought you made this choice Scully. I told you to leave me if you needed to. You chose me. YOU CHOSE ME!”

Holy mother of God. We’re gonna get into an accident.

“I chose to stay with you, to work beside you, as your equal. Not to be controlled by you. Not to just nod and smile at every crazy notion that flies out of your mouth. I believe in you, I believe in the work, that’s why I stayed. But I don’t think you believe in me anymore Mulder.”

“You know how I feel. You chose to stay knowing everything that’s inside me Scully. And now you wanna throw everything we’ve done and everything we have down the toilet because of one stupid conversation?”

Man, do we need communication therapy or what? It’s like two different languages. I can’t be here anymore.

“Stop the car Mulder.”


“Stop the car. I wanna get out.”

“Scully, we’re on the highway…”


He swerves out of the lane and onto the grassy divider angrily. He slams on the breaks and throws the car into park and I open my door and step out into the cool morning air. And then I start walking. Maybe I’ll never come back.


“Scully! Jesus what are you doing?”

She’s walking towards the fucking road without a care in the world and I run towards her and grab her shoulders. I spin her around to face me. I feel like shaking her, like begging her to tell me who the hell she is and what she did with Dana Scully.

“What the hell are you doing? Trying to kill yourself? To punish me?”

“God Mulder! I told you once that not everything is about you. It’s not. I’m my own person. Not just an extension of you. I’ve got my own thoughts and my own ideas and they’re mine! Mine dammit!”

“I know that Scully. I know that. And I wouldn’t want you any other way. I told you that. I thought you knew that Scully.”

A huge semi rolls by and the wind gust is enough to cause her to sway. She looks like she’s gonna blow right over. I wish she’d just come back to the car with me at least.

“I knew it once. Or thought I did.”

“Scully, God, is this really about what I said at the office? Was that enough to contradict everything you know about me?”

She pulls her shoulders out of my grasp and walks away from the side of the road. She sits down on the hood of the car and buries her head in her hands. Oh Scully. How did we get to this awful place? How do we go back? How do we go forward?

“Scully, I’m sorry. So sorry. It was mean and thoughtless and obviously more damaging than I ever imagined. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I wasn’t thinking at all. I just…sometimes I just want you to believe me so badly…I can’t even think straight.”

I sit down next to her and sigh. I wish someone had taught me how to deal with women at some point or another in my life. Not that Scully is your typical garden variety woman. No, she’s even more complicated and difficult to comprehend.

“Mulder…I want…I…”

Oh my God. Is she actually going to tell me? What she wants? What she really and truly wants? That might make this whole fucking thing worthwhile. I pull her hands from her face and look into her eyes. They’re as red and sad as mine probably are.

“What? What do you want Scully? Tell me. Please.”

“I just…I wanna know that…God, I can’t…”

“Know what? Please Scully. Please help me out here. I’m just a stupid guy ya know. You’ve gotta spell it out for me. Please.”

“I just…I’m so pathetic Mulder. Do you trust me Mulder?”

“Of course I do Scully. God, you KNOW that. I mean…”

I thought she did. How could she not know that?

“I can’t say that I know what to expect from you anymore but yes, I trust you with everything Scully. More than I’ve ever trusted anyone.”

Yep, after everything I still trust her with my heart even. Even though it’s broken into a million shards at the moment.

“Do you want me Mulder?”

“Y….yes. I…I thought that was pretty apparent.”

Guess I was wrong again. She sighs and shakes her head at me.

“Do you love me Mulder?”

Jesus Scully. You’re the one that cheated on me. Shouldn’t I be asking you these questions?

Cheated. That’s a good one Mulder.

“I thought that was pretty apparent as well.”

“Just me Mulder?”

“Just you Scully. Well, you and my mother. And Frohike on his good days.”

She rolls her eyes heavenward but she smiles a little. Just a little but it’s enough to make me feel like we might not break.

“I hate you Mulder.”

Oh. Well okay then. Always nice to hear.

“I hate you for the way you make me feel. I hate you for the fact that I took this stupid trip with Krycek. I hate you because I got drunk and almost fucked the man you hate most in the world.”

“Scully, this is starting to make less and less sense to me. Can I ask you something now?”

“I hate you because I followed that fuckhead all the way to California and now I’m sitting here on a highway median and…what Mulder? What do you need to know?”

“Do you have…feelings for him?”

I feel nauseous just asking that question. God, it makes me want to kill.

“Sure. Don’t you?”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

She looks at me and smiles and I feel like shaking her again.

“I don’t love him Mulder,” she says as I simultaneously ask, “Do you love him Scully?”

We both let out a sigh of relief. Thank you for small favors, Jesus Christ.

“Okay…okay so…do you trust me Scully? Or want me? Or lo…love me? I’ll take any of the three. Multiple choice here.”

She smiles at me with tears in her eyes.

“I mean I…I got the hate thing Scully. Loud and clear. But…”

“Mulder I think you can safely assume that you got the girl in this scenario. You always had her in fact. Whether that’s what you wanted or not.”

“So…so what does that mean exactly?”

She takes my hands in hers and brings them to her face, to cup her cheeks. I run my thumb over her skin where the tears have fallen.

“It means I’m here. It means that I can still give you those three things if you still want them. It means that even though we’re both so scared of our feelings that we act like shits most of the time that in the end, it’s always worth it to me.”

I feel her beautiful and true love shining through her face and it works it’s way into my heart, starts to repair the jagged shards and work them back into a whole. It hurts like hell. And it’s going to for a very long time.

I wrap my arms around her and pull her against my chest and she settles into me with a sigh.

“We’ve got a long way to go don’t we Mulder?”

“We’ve got a hell of a long way.”

We sit in the middle of that highway divider, holding each other and crying. I see a plane fly over our head and check my watch. 9:45. I guess we missed it. Oh well. We’ve got a decent rental car. And a lot of traveling together ahead.


It’s our anniversary. Six months ago today I kidnapped you. It seems somehow appropriate that it would happen tonight.

I took you because I wanted the work to continue. I might have failed abysmally in what I planned but in the end, I got what I wanted originally. You returned with a dogged determination the likes of which I have never seen, a fierce loyalty to Mulder, to the work, and to your beliefs. I sure as hell know that the renewed strength of your partnership with him has nothing to do with me but I like to think that you learned at least a little bit about yourself during our time together.

I’ve been thinking lately about the fact that you never claimed your prize from me. You never even decided what you wanted. But watching you now I think I realize why. There’s nothing I could have given you. All I have to offer is myself and that is something you never would have taken.

I feel guilty watching you like this, more than ever before. Tonight is a big night though. Everybody’s watching. I wish there was a way I could give you the privacy that I know you would want.

He’s so gentle with you Scully. You seem to like that a lot. Can you see the worship in his eyes as clearly as I can? Can you feel it when he slips your shirt off and kneels before you, kissing your beautiful body? Do you know now Scully? Do you see what you are?

God, that lucky fuck. I know that you’ve been working towards this Scully, I know that it’s what you’ve wanted. I just hope he deserves it. I hope he makes you happy finally.

I’m glad that he took you somewhere nice, although I wish he’d been more careful about surveillance. I wish they couldn’t see. I wish I couldn’t see.

Your fingers glide down his torso with delicate elegance, with love and lust and a million other things I will never know from you. Your bodies glow in an almost unearthly way when you embrace, naked now and finally together.

I feel my stomach twisting into an unwelcome knot and the burn of tears gathering in my throat. I bite down on the inside of my cheek and close my eyes. I can’t let these bastards see me cry.

God Scully, what is it about you? You’re one woman, one among billions in the world. What is it about you that makes it possible, unavoidable, for me to cry?

He lays you down on the bed, tells you that you are the most beautiful woman in the world, that there is no one else like you, no one could ever give him what you have and I see in your eyes that you finally believe him. And that the feeling is mutual. I guess that’s what it is Scully. There really is no one like you.

You tell him that he makes you feel loved, special. That he is, whether he believes it or not, the most wonderful gift you’ve ever been given.

I’m glad I didn’t let myself fuck you Scully. You don’t deserve to be fucked. You deserve to be made love to, with reverence and kindness, with understanding and passion, with all the desire and most of all, the love, that a man can feel. But most importantly, you deserve all that from the man you cherish. Not just the man who happened to be there when you had a nervous breakdown.

He enters you, whispering that he is the luckiest man in the world and I nod in agreement without even realizing it. I’m happy for you Scully. Really I am. And I have to leave now.

I can’t watch anymore. Not when I know what a violation you would consider it. Not when I have to stand with men who watch only to gain better knowledge of how to plot your ultimate demise. Not when seeing you move with him, become one with him, fills me with the deepest, darkest envy I’ve ever experienced. Not when I’m about to cry Scully.

I turn my back on the monitor and leave the room, leave you to your life, your destiny, your prize. Yes, you got your prize tonight Scully. The only prize you’ve ever wanted or needed. Now you go and you show him everything that you are. Show him everything that he’s won tonight.



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