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. :)

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"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.

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