Title: Under The Influence
Author: White Star 2 (hila-p@barak-online.net)
Rating: PG-13
Category: S
Spoilers: Wetwired
Summary: Scully takes off from the hotel after shooting four
bullets through the door, or so said the official incident
reports. But later she finds that more than four bullets are
missing from the gun's clip. What happened in those missing
hours?
Disclaimer: They all belong to Fox and Ten Thirteen. But just in
case anyone asks, deny everything. Apology is policy.
Author's notes: I wrote this one for the COX March, 2001 fanfic
challenge. It didn't win. But I still like it. Thanks to Hagar
for the idea and the details and the encouragement. And thanks
to Aris for proofreading. As usual. :)
---
"How do you feel?" he asks, and I reply, "Ashamed." He even
smiles a little. He thinks he knows what I'm thinking. He thinks
I'm ashamed because of how I treated him. Because I fired four
shots at him. Because I held him at gunpoint and accused him of
such horrible things. But he doesn't know. He'll never know.
He wasn't thorough enough - he didn't want to be. And I'm glad
he wasn't. He should've counted the rounds I had left, but he
didn't. And he doesn't know. I wish I hadn't. I wish I hadn't
popped out the clip. I could've just kept thinking it was some
nightmare induced by whatever it was that made me act the way I
had.
I'd fired shots at him, through the door of the motel. They
echoed strangely in my ears and I'd lost track of how many times
I'd pulled the trigger. Then out through the back, and off on
foot, trying to find someplace safe. I just had to find
someplace safe. I ran the first few blocks then stopped, not
sure why. The black asphalt of the road danced in lines that
blurred my vision and I grabbed for something to hold on to.
"Are you okay? Ma'am?" asked what I had grabbed for support. He
was a short man with black hair and a receding hairline.
"I..." I staggered and removed my hand. I could see better and I
could stand. I straightened up before uttering the meaningless
words, "I'm fine," that were meant as a signal to leave me
alone.
"Are you sure?" he persisted. I almost growled. I pulled my hand
out of the raincoat's pocket and held it up in a gesture of
cessation. The raincoat fell at gravity's pull and the gun in
the pocket, the one I had my hand wrapped tightly around,
slammed against my thigh. I tensed.
He pushed a button on his keychain and the lights of a black car
parked against the curb flashed twice. Classy car. Rich man.
"I'm going to Baltimore," he said, getting in. "Can I drop you
off someplace on the way?"
I could've slapped myself for having been so stupid! Baltimore!
Mom! I'd be safe at Mom's! Mom would never hurt me. Mom would
protect me from *him*. "Yeah," I muttered. "Thanks." And I got
in the car.
He tried to make conversation. Maybe he was just trying to be
nice. I couldn't really tell at the moment. All I could think of
is how much I wished he'd just shut up and leave me alone. And
eventually he did.
I leaned back in the passenger seat. I wouldn't have taken it -
I didn't trust him and I felt almost scared to sit next to him.
But the car was a sports car with not much of a back seat. I
closed my eyes and tried to relax a little. I couldn't.
His cell phone rang and I let out a gasp which I tried to
disguise as a yawn. It seemed to succeed. I caught sight of the
car's clock. Almost an hour had passed, and we were turning off
the highway into Baltimore. I'd fallen asleep! How could I let
myself off my guard like this?!
He answered his phone, and I closed my eyes, pretending to still
be asleep, hoping I hadn't given it away. "Hello?" he asked
softly, probably in an attempt not to wake me.
"Yes," he said a second later, his voice more formal. "Yes,
she's here..." I started to panic but fought against my
reflexes. "She's asleep."
There was an unclear murmur through the phone and as hard as I
strained I couldn't make out words. But I did, after a few
seconds, recognize the voice. Mulder.
My heart raced. He was on to me. My palms started to sweat and I
couldn't hold still any longer. I fidgeted. "I'll be there in
twenty minutes," he said and snapped his phone shut. Where?
Where was he going to take me?
As soon as my eyes were fully open, my gaze darted around the
small car. Surveillance. There must be electronic surveillance
everywhere! He wouldn't let me go without it. The glove
compartment. The gearshift. I eyed the door handle. I had to get
out. The driver stepped on the gas.
He'd managed to do it again. My heart pounded against my ribs.
He'd had me abducted again. I couldn't take it. Not again!
"Where--" the driver began asking just as I yelled, "Stop the
car!"
He pulled over and kept the engine running and his hands on the
wheel. He was ready to take off again. Just to let him know
better, I pulled out my gun. I had an awkward grip on it in the
small, confined space.
"Who was on the phone?" I demanded.
"My wife," he answered in a tone that was anything but
convincing.
"Wrong answer!" I shouted. "It was Fox Mulder. What did he
want?!"
"Who?" he stuttered.
"Answer the question," I screamed. "What did he want?!" His lips
parted and closed a few times. "Where did he tell you to take
me?! Answer the damn question!"
He didn't say anything. My hand clenched, half in anger, half by
conscious decision. A bullet shot out and the gun recoiled.
There was a hole in the driver's side window. And there was a
hole in the man's forehead.
His head fell to the steering wheel and stayed there. I was
safe. For now.
No, not safe. Not while I was anywhere near this car. There was
still surveillance equipment. He was watching me. I could feel
it. So I did the only thing I could - I got up and ran. I ran as
fast as I could, with no sense of direction or purpose. Only a
few blocks later, with my lungs burning, I realized I was going
the wrong direction.
But to get to Mom's, I'd have to go back by that car. I couldn't
risk it. He'd find me and take me. In all likelihood, he just
wanted to kill me. But why?
Because he'd gone over to the other side. Because I was in his
way now. Killing me was the easy way out. I couldn't go anywhere
near that car or he'd find me. I took a detour.
In the silence and the dark of the night I got lost. My heart
raced and beads of sweat slid down my face, burning my eyes,
pushing down the tears of betrayal that threatened to well up. I
found myself in areas of Baltimore that I didn't know existed
and ones that I just didn't want to think of.
It was a long, hard march and my feet began to blister. Carrying
my shoes in one hand slowed me down too much, so I bit the
bullet and put them back on.
There was a flicker in the darkness. A man sneaking across the
street. But this was another relatively quiet part of town.
He'd found me. How could he have found me? The implant in my
neck? But if he could use it to track me... that could only mean
he was the one who put it there. He *was* coming to kill me!
My vision suddenly went wild again. This time I managed to keep
my balance despite my quick walking pace and the darkness. So
this time I paid more attention to it. It looked almost like
static lines. Parts of my vision - the street, some buildings -
danced around, and others remained steady.
That was no natural effect. They were causing this. They were
doing this to me to slow me down. They were coming to get me.
"Excuse me, Ma'am," a voice said from the edge of the sidewalk.
There was a body there, wrapped in rags and leaning against the
building. I couldn't see much of the face, only the mouth that
moved to say, "Can you spare some change?" I leaned closer and
moved aside some of the rags covering the face, and jumped back.
"Can you help Duane Barry?"
I stared in horror at the face I had so long thought dead. A
wave of panic surged through me. He'd found me. He was going to
take me, right now. My heart was in my throat and I swallowed
hard to push it down. His face twisted into an evil smile.
"He wants you back. He told Duane Barry to bring you back. He'll
kill you instead of Duane Barry."
Before I knew it, I'd pulled the trigger. For a split second I
was shocked. I was shocked that I could, completely
involuntarily, pull out my gun, take aim, and shoot. Then the
shock passed and anger rose. I pulled the trigger again.
The wall he was leaning on was splattered with blood. I couldn't
let them take me. Not again. Never again. But the sun was rising
and I need somewhere to hide.
I found myself in a gas station restroom, looking in the mirror.
There was a splatter of blood on my right cheek and I stood a
while and stared at it before I carefully washed it off. It was
the first time since I'd left the motel that I'd given what I'd
done more than a split second of contemplation.
I'd killed them. Both of them. But I still wasn't safe. And now
they had something new to find me by - an evidence trail of
bullets. The police wouldn't be able to tell him anything - my
gun's ballistics data was not on file. But he'd piece it
together. He'd find me. He'd kill me.
When I walked out of there, the sun was up, halfway to high
noon. I couldn't begin to guess how long I had spent in that
restroom, standing in front of the mirror. Still, it seemed to
give me some perspective on things. I knew what I had to do
next. I had to get to Mom's as soon as I could. I'd be safe
there.
I risked it and took a cab. My feet were so sore and blistered I
could barely stand. Too long after, we were there. I dug through
my pockets for money and managed to scrape together just enough
for the fare.
I checked around for anyone who could be following me. Nothing.
No strange cars parked in the street, either. No Mulder. I
knocked on the door. As soon as it opened, no greeting, I ran in
and checked the house, room after room, for strange men in black
outfits waiting to kill me or smoking men in suits waiting to
take me away.
Nothing. No surveillance, no strangers. No Mulder.
I was safe.
"How are you feeling?" he asks.
"Ashamed," I reply, my expression composed. "I was so sure,
Mulder. I saw things and I heard things and..." and I did
things. "It was just like the world was turned upside down." And
Mulder, like his usual self, goes on with his theories and a
reassuring joke. For him it's over and put behind him.
Maybe I was mistaken. Maybe it was all a hallucination. Maybe
I'd fired more shots at the door and they just hadn't found the
slugs. And it was possible that I didn't go with a full
magazine. Sure, it was careless, but it was possible.
Or maybe it was all part of the hallucination. When I'd opened
the clip, I was still at my mother's house. I could have
hallucinated something consistent with what I believed happened
earlier. I was still under the influence of those broadcasts.
It's possible that none of that happened the way I remember it.
Or that it just didn't happen at all.
It's possible.
---
Author: White Star 2 (hila-p@barak-online.net)
Rating: PG-13
Category: S
Spoilers: Wetwired
Summary: Scully takes off from the hotel after shooting four
bullets through the door, or so said the official incident
reports. But later she finds that more than four bullets are
missing from the gun's clip. What happened in those missing
hours?
Disclaimer: They all belong to Fox and Ten Thirteen. But just in
case anyone asks, deny everything. Apology is policy.
Author's notes: I wrote this one for the COX March, 2001 fanfic
challenge. It didn't win. But I still like it. Thanks to Hagar
for the idea and the details and the encouragement. And thanks
to Aris for proofreading. As usual. :)
---
"How do you feel?" he asks, and I reply, "Ashamed." He even
smiles a little. He thinks he knows what I'm thinking. He thinks
I'm ashamed because of how I treated him. Because I fired four
shots at him. Because I held him at gunpoint and accused him of
such horrible things. But he doesn't know. He'll never know.
He wasn't thorough enough - he didn't want to be. And I'm glad
he wasn't. He should've counted the rounds I had left, but he
didn't. And he doesn't know. I wish I hadn't. I wish I hadn't
popped out the clip. I could've just kept thinking it was some
nightmare induced by whatever it was that made me act the way I
had.
I'd fired shots at him, through the door of the motel. They
echoed strangely in my ears and I'd lost track of how many times
I'd pulled the trigger. Then out through the back, and off on
foot, trying to find someplace safe. I just had to find
someplace safe. I ran the first few blocks then stopped, not
sure why. The black asphalt of the road danced in lines that
blurred my vision and I grabbed for something to hold on to.
"Are you okay? Ma'am?" asked what I had grabbed for support. He
was a short man with black hair and a receding hairline.
"I..." I staggered and removed my hand. I could see better and I
could stand. I straightened up before uttering the meaningless
words, "I'm fine," that were meant as a signal to leave me
alone.
"Are you sure?" he persisted. I almost growled. I pulled my hand
out of the raincoat's pocket and held it up in a gesture of
cessation. The raincoat fell at gravity's pull and the gun in
the pocket, the one I had my hand wrapped tightly around,
slammed against my thigh. I tensed.
He pushed a button on his keychain and the lights of a black car
parked against the curb flashed twice. Classy car. Rich man.
"I'm going to Baltimore," he said, getting in. "Can I drop you
off someplace on the way?"
I could've slapped myself for having been so stupid! Baltimore!
Mom! I'd be safe at Mom's! Mom would never hurt me. Mom would
protect me from *him*. "Yeah," I muttered. "Thanks." And I got
in the car.
He tried to make conversation. Maybe he was just trying to be
nice. I couldn't really tell at the moment. All I could think of
is how much I wished he'd just shut up and leave me alone. And
eventually he did.
I leaned back in the passenger seat. I wouldn't have taken it -
I didn't trust him and I felt almost scared to sit next to him.
But the car was a sports car with not much of a back seat. I
closed my eyes and tried to relax a little. I couldn't.
His cell phone rang and I let out a gasp which I tried to
disguise as a yawn. It seemed to succeed. I caught sight of the
car's clock. Almost an hour had passed, and we were turning off
the highway into Baltimore. I'd fallen asleep! How could I let
myself off my guard like this?!
He answered his phone, and I closed my eyes, pretending to still
be asleep, hoping I hadn't given it away. "Hello?" he asked
softly, probably in an attempt not to wake me.
"Yes," he said a second later, his voice more formal. "Yes,
she's here..." I started to panic but fought against my
reflexes. "She's asleep."
There was an unclear murmur through the phone and as hard as I
strained I couldn't make out words. But I did, after a few
seconds, recognize the voice. Mulder.
My heart raced. He was on to me. My palms started to sweat and I
couldn't hold still any longer. I fidgeted. "I'll be there in
twenty minutes," he said and snapped his phone shut. Where?
Where was he going to take me?
As soon as my eyes were fully open, my gaze darted around the
small car. Surveillance. There must be electronic surveillance
everywhere! He wouldn't let me go without it. The glove
compartment. The gearshift. I eyed the door handle. I had to get
out. The driver stepped on the gas.
He'd managed to do it again. My heart pounded against my ribs.
He'd had me abducted again. I couldn't take it. Not again!
"Where--" the driver began asking just as I yelled, "Stop the
car!"
He pulled over and kept the engine running and his hands on the
wheel. He was ready to take off again. Just to let him know
better, I pulled out my gun. I had an awkward grip on it in the
small, confined space.
"Who was on the phone?" I demanded.
"My wife," he answered in a tone that was anything but
convincing.
"Wrong answer!" I shouted. "It was Fox Mulder. What did he
want?!"
"Who?" he stuttered.
"Answer the question," I screamed. "What did he want?!" His lips
parted and closed a few times. "Where did he tell you to take
me?! Answer the damn question!"
He didn't say anything. My hand clenched, half in anger, half by
conscious decision. A bullet shot out and the gun recoiled.
There was a hole in the driver's side window. And there was a
hole in the man's forehead.
His head fell to the steering wheel and stayed there. I was
safe. For now.
No, not safe. Not while I was anywhere near this car. There was
still surveillance equipment. He was watching me. I could feel
it. So I did the only thing I could - I got up and ran. I ran as
fast as I could, with no sense of direction or purpose. Only a
few blocks later, with my lungs burning, I realized I was going
the wrong direction.
But to get to Mom's, I'd have to go back by that car. I couldn't
risk it. He'd find me and take me. In all likelihood, he just
wanted to kill me. But why?
Because he'd gone over to the other side. Because I was in his
way now. Killing me was the easy way out. I couldn't go anywhere
near that car or he'd find me. I took a detour.
In the silence and the dark of the night I got lost. My heart
raced and beads of sweat slid down my face, burning my eyes,
pushing down the tears of betrayal that threatened to well up. I
found myself in areas of Baltimore that I didn't know existed
and ones that I just didn't want to think of.
It was a long, hard march and my feet began to blister. Carrying
my shoes in one hand slowed me down too much, so I bit the
bullet and put them back on.
There was a flicker in the darkness. A man sneaking across the
street. But this was another relatively quiet part of town.
He'd found me. How could he have found me? The implant in my
neck? But if he could use it to track me... that could only mean
he was the one who put it there. He *was* coming to kill me!
My vision suddenly went wild again. This time I managed to keep
my balance despite my quick walking pace and the darkness. So
this time I paid more attention to it. It looked almost like
static lines. Parts of my vision - the street, some buildings -
danced around, and others remained steady.
That was no natural effect. They were causing this. They were
doing this to me to slow me down. They were coming to get me.
"Excuse me, Ma'am," a voice said from the edge of the sidewalk.
There was a body there, wrapped in rags and leaning against the
building. I couldn't see much of the face, only the mouth that
moved to say, "Can you spare some change?" I leaned closer and
moved aside some of the rags covering the face, and jumped back.
"Can you help Duane Barry?"
I stared in horror at the face I had so long thought dead. A
wave of panic surged through me. He'd found me. He was going to
take me, right now. My heart was in my throat and I swallowed
hard to push it down. His face twisted into an evil smile.
"He wants you back. He told Duane Barry to bring you back. He'll
kill you instead of Duane Barry."
Before I knew it, I'd pulled the trigger. For a split second I
was shocked. I was shocked that I could, completely
involuntarily, pull out my gun, take aim, and shoot. Then the
shock passed and anger rose. I pulled the trigger again.
The wall he was leaning on was splattered with blood. I couldn't
let them take me. Not again. Never again. But the sun was rising
and I need somewhere to hide.
I found myself in a gas station restroom, looking in the mirror.
There was a splatter of blood on my right cheek and I stood a
while and stared at it before I carefully washed it off. It was
the first time since I'd left the motel that I'd given what I'd
done more than a split second of contemplation.
I'd killed them. Both of them. But I still wasn't safe. And now
they had something new to find me by - an evidence trail of
bullets. The police wouldn't be able to tell him anything - my
gun's ballistics data was not on file. But he'd piece it
together. He'd find me. He'd kill me.
When I walked out of there, the sun was up, halfway to high
noon. I couldn't begin to guess how long I had spent in that
restroom, standing in front of the mirror. Still, it seemed to
give me some perspective on things. I knew what I had to do
next. I had to get to Mom's as soon as I could. I'd be safe
there.
I risked it and took a cab. My feet were so sore and blistered I
could barely stand. Too long after, we were there. I dug through
my pockets for money and managed to scrape together just enough
for the fare.
I checked around for anyone who could be following me. Nothing.
No strange cars parked in the street, either. No Mulder. I
knocked on the door. As soon as it opened, no greeting, I ran in
and checked the house, room after room, for strange men in black
outfits waiting to kill me or smoking men in suits waiting to
take me away.
Nothing. No surveillance, no strangers. No Mulder.
I was safe.
"How are you feeling?" he asks.
"Ashamed," I reply, my expression composed. "I was so sure,
Mulder. I saw things and I heard things and..." and I did
things. "It was just like the world was turned upside down." And
Mulder, like his usual self, goes on with his theories and a
reassuring joke. For him it's over and put behind him.
Maybe I was mistaken. Maybe it was all a hallucination. Maybe
I'd fired more shots at the door and they just hadn't found the
slugs. And it was possible that I didn't go with a full
magazine. Sure, it was careless, but it was possible.
Or maybe it was all part of the hallucination. When I'd opened
the clip, I was still at my mother's house. I could have
hallucinated something consistent with what I believed happened
earlier. I was still under the influence of those broadcasts.
It's possible that none of that happened the way I remember it.
Or that it just didn't happen at all.
It's possible.
---