Title: Let's Get This Show on the Road
Author: Virtie
E-Mail: virtuesandvices@aol.com
Website: http://www.geocities.com/fanficcorner/
Rating: NC-17
Category: SRA - Story/Romance/Angst
Classification: MSR, Angst, Mild Violence, Post-ep
Spoilers: Pusher
Archive: You bet...but let me know first, please. And keep
my name with it.
Summery: A follow up to one of the X-Files' greatest
episodes (in my humble opinion) "Pusher".
Disclaimer: Repeat after me: I do not own these characters,
or the first part of this story. But, since I'm not making
any money off either, why should it bother anyone?
Author's Note: This story was inspired by a statement in the
book X-Treme Possibilities, written by Paul Cornell, Martin
Day and Keith Topping about the end of the episode: "...they
hold hands at the end, playing with each other's fingers. If
they were ever close to going home and shagging like
bunnies, this is the point." Yeah, baby!
Dedication: You know, I haven't dedicated one story to the
two people that are probably the most instrumental in making
me want to write. David and Gillian, I know you'll never
read this, but thanks for eight (and maybe more?) wonderful
years.

*****

Fairfax Mercy Hospital
Fairfax County, Virginia

Special Agent Dana Scully had been in more than a few
dangerous positions in her five years in the FBI, but rarely
had she been this nervous. Her partner was in trouble, and
she was going in alone to try and help him...if he wasn't
already dead. She quickly wiped that possibility from her
mind, and continued down the hall, her low heels softly
clicking on the slightly scuffed linoleum floor. She looked
in the open door off to her left, only to see one of the
endangered patients sleeping soundly in his bed. The steady
beeping coming from the machines at his side was almost
comforting.

She continued on to the next door, which was partially
closed. Carefully, she reached out her arm to slowly push it
open. The weight of her flak jacket seemed to increase as
she noted one of its mates lying on the floor, tangled up
with the Eyes and Ears equipment Lieutenant Brophy had
helped Mulder don not 20 minutes ago outside in the
surveillance van. She lifted her eyes to see that the
patient in this room was also still sleeping...or in a coma.
She pushed the door open further, her heart beating wildly. 

She almost fainted with relief when she saw Mulder. He was
sitting at a table with his arms resting on its top, staring
blankly ahead of him. "Mulder!" she said as she shoved the
door open further, then she stopped in shocked surprise as
she saw Modell sitting directly across from her partner.
They were staring at each other. And between Modell's hands
sat the revolver he had taken from a now dead security
guard.

With her mind swirling, Scully cautiously entered the room,
first looking at Mulder, then at Modell, then back at
Mulder. Why wasn't he moving? Why was neither of them
moving? Her attention was on Modell again when he finally
spoke.

"Thanks for joining us," he said softly, his eyes never
leaving Mulder's. Scully realized what was going on.
Somehow, some way, Modell had control of Mulder's mind. Her
partner couldn't move; Modell wouldn't let him. But, in
order to keep control of the FBI agent, Modell couldn't risk
having his concentration broken.

Slowly, Scully made her way closer to the table. "We've got
a dozen law enforcement officers outside in the hall," she
said, her voice low. "Another thirty in the parking lot."

"Regular convention," Modell commented jokingly. But, his
voice was strained, and Scully noticed for the first time
the sweat that was literally dripping down the man's face
and neck. He was working incredibly hard to keep control of
the man sitting across from him, and the strain was showing,
not only in his face, but in the tenseness of his body as
well. 

She glanced at Mulder and saw that his face was also covered
in sweat, and the muscles in his bare arms trembled
slightly, as if they were pushing against a wall, even
though they lay flat on the table, palms down. His eyes were
burning with hatred. 

Scully continued. "So whatever you've got planned, it's not
going to work out the way you want it to."

Angrily, Modell growled, "You don't know what I got
planned."

Slowly, Scully made her way to the third chair, carefully
lowering herself into it. Modell picked up the gun as Scully
sat, as if making sure she wouldn't try and make a grab for
it. Scully watched it for a moment, then glanced at Mulder
again. She saw him swallow, and the movement in his throat
caused a couple of drops of sweat to speed down his neck,
but no other part of him moved.

Modell opened the chamber of the weapon in his hand, and
casually began to talk. "Two warriors of equal skill fight
to the death. One is a student of Japanese budo... the way
of war." He began to spin the chamber, and Scully's mind
jumped to a horrible, impossible thought. He wasn't...?
"Budo teaches the warrior to leave himself outside of the
battle. In other words..." he snapped the chamber shut. "To
disregard his own death."

Turning the revolver around so the butt was facing Mulder,
Modell set the gun down onto the table. "Because of that,
the budo warrior always wins," he continued, his voice
getting stronger, more confident. "I am that warrior. I
don't fear my death." He carefully slid the gun across the
table toward Mulder. "So I'm going to give you," he
swallowed, "one pull of the trigger against me."

Scully had to stifle a gasp. He was. He was playing Russian
roulette. And he was making Mulder pull the trigger. She
looked at her partner, hoping to grab his attention. But as
before, Mulder's eyes never left Modell's. And the hatred
she saw in them frightened her.

"One in six chance," Modell quipped.

Mulder finally moved for the first time since Scully had
entered the room. He brought his right hand forward and
placed it on the handle of the gun. But, before he could
pick the weapon up, Modell slapped his own hand down on top
of his adversary's.

"One..." he stuttered. "One pull." For a moment, Scully
thought Mulder might have regained control. And maybe, for
one moment, he had. But Modell had it back now. He lifted
his hand away from Mulder's and sat back.
 
Mulder lifted the weapon, placing his finger on the trigger,
and aimed it at Modell.

"Wait!" Scully said sharply, trying hard to keep her fear
and desperation out of her voice. "Mulder, look... there's
pure oxygen in this room," she said, trying to use logic to
get through to both her partner and Modell. She heard the
chamber turn as Mulder cocked the weapon. "There's no
telling what could happen if you pull that trigger--"

Mulder pulled the trigger anyway. No hesitation. No fear.
Scully gasped aloud. The chamber was empty.

To her left, Modell exhaled heavily and his shoulders sagged
slightly. He smirked. "Piece of cake," he mumbled. "Your
turn."

The meaning of his words hit Scully straight in the gut. She
looked to her right. Mulder showed no signs of refusing
Modell's 'order'. "Mulder, no," she said firmly, praying her
voice could get through whatever force was holding her
partner down.

"Mulder, yes," Modell countered without hesitation. But, the
words were once again strained. He was 'pushing' hard, now.
Maybe Mulder could hear her after all. But, it didn't
matter. If she didn't do something soon...

"Go." The word was solid. Forceful.

"Mulder, listen to me. Give me the gun." Scully could hear
her fear seeping into her voice. And she could smell it, the
horrible aroma intermingling with the smell of the sweat
emanating from the two combatants. "We can stop this thing
right now," she continued. "You and I can walk out of this
room--"

She never finished. In one fluid motion, Mulder cocked the
gun, tilted his head, and pointed it at his temple. Wincing,
he pulled the trigger. 

Scully felt her heart stop as she jumped up from her chair,
barely registering that this chamber had also been empty.
"No!" she screamed, pounding her hands on the table. "Damn
you! You bastard!" she yelled at Modell, fighting the tears
that had suddenly filled her eyes. She boldly reached for
the weapon in her partner's hand. "Mulder, hand me the g--"

Mulder jerked his body straight and slapped her away from
him. His venomous gaze landed on Modell and he aimed the gun
at the man in front of him. Scully stood tense, refusing to
blink for fear of making her water filled eyes blur. 

With a soft, pain-filled exhalation, Mulder swung his arm
around to point the gun at Scully. 

She felt her eyes widen, and her stalled heart began to beat
again, much too quickly. For the first time since she had
entered this room, she met her partner's eyes. Instead of
the terrible anger she had seen in them when his gaze had
been directed at Modell, she saw fear. Complete, undiluted
fear. 

For her.

"Mulder, you don't have to do this," she whispered, praying
her voice would give him strength. Strength to fight Modell.
"You're stronger than this."

"Your turn, Scully," Modell said, his voice angry. "Gotta
play by the rules. Pull the trigger, Mulder."

Scully never looked away from her partner. "Mulder, fight
him," she demanded, trying to counter Modell's command. She
felt her left eye overflow, and she knew Mulder saw the tear
run down her cheek. "You can fight this."

Modell must have feared he was losing some control, because
he continued to speak. "Come on! Pull the trigger, Mulder."
It was obvious by his voice that Modell wanted Mulder to do
as he said *now*. But Mulder hadn't pulled the trigger, yet.
"She shot you. I read it in her file. Payback time. Shoot
the little spy!"

Scully knew Mulder was fighting Modell as hard as he could,
and that it would be a battle he would soon lose. She had to
do something. If Mulder killed her now, there was no doubt
in her mind he would willingly, without Modell's help, kill
himself later. She looked up, noticing their reflection in
the mirror directly across from where she stood. The red
fire alarm was clearly visible over her shoulder in the
hallway behind her. If she could just get to that...

"I'm going to kill you, Modell!" Mulder's growl caused her
to look at him once more. Though he was still looking at
her, his eyes had filled with the same hate she had heard in
his voice. Directed toward Modell.

"Yeah!" Modell cheered, seemingly unfazed by Mulder's words.
"Pull the trigger, you get another crack at me!" If Scully
didn't 'win' the bullet, that is. Slowly, she began to back
out of the room.

Mulder's eyes focused on Scully again. His brow furrowed,
and pain filled his face. "Scully, run!" he demanded. Then
his expression became pleading. "Scully..." he whispered,
his torture apparent. He drew his lower lip into his mouth,
almost biting it hard enough to bleed. His finger was
squeezing the trigger. The chamber was beginning to turn.
She met his eyes one last time, then she turned and ran to
the alarm, pulling it, fully expecting to die with a bullet
to the back of the head. Mulder was an expert shot. He
wouldn't miss.

The alarm blared. Scully turned sharply to face the men
behind her. She saw Modell look at her with shock. She saw
Mulder look at him with anger. Modell gasped and his eyes
widened as Mulder pointed the gun at him. Without
hesitation, Mulder pulled the trigger.

Modell was slammed backward in his chair, then he slumped to
the floor. Mulder stood, grabbing the table in front of him
and throwing it over on its side so he could see the fallen
man. Raising the gun once more, he continued to pull the
trigger, even though all the chambers were now empty.
*CLICK*CLICK*CLICK* Scully barely noticed the SWAT members
racing down the hall toward her as she walked stiffly back
into the room, watching Mulder with morbid fascination. The
clicking of the empty gun resounded throughout the room,
despite the shouts coming from Brophy and his men.

"Federal Agents!" the Lieutenant yelled, unaware of what was
going on in the room. "Get down! Get down! Get down!" The
agents swept into the room, immediately lowering their
weapons when they saw Modell on the floor.

Scully never took her eyes off her partner. She watched as
he seemed to gradually come back to himself. His body went
limp, and he slowly fell back into his chair. Without
looking up, he reached behind him and handed the gun to
Scully. Gently, she took it from him, then stood watch as he
put his face in his hands, his elbows on his knees, his body
shaking with reaction.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the fire
alarm. Soon, even that went dead.

*****

Fairfax Mercy Hospital
Fairfax County, Virginia

Mulder stood looking down at the man in the bed, trying
vainly to control the disgust that filled him. Disgust at
the man hooked up to the respirator. Disgust at himself for
putting the man there. Disgust at himself for not making
sure the man was in the morgue instead. And, most of all,
disgust at what he had almost done to his partner.
He had almost shot Scully. He had almost killed the only
thing in his life that had any real meaning anymore. Not
only did he fear a life without Scully by his side, but to
be the one responsible... He had been so close to pulling
that trigger. She must hate him. Or at least fear him. He
wouldn't blame her for either. He hated and feared himself
right now.

He felt her enter the room behind him and turned to look at
her. She glanced at him, but then glanced away quickly, as
if she was unable to meet his eyes. She looked at Modell
instead. He tried to read the expression in her eyes, but
couldn't. He watched her, his heart aching. Had he lost her
forever?

"There's no telling how long he'll hang on," she said
softly. He wondered if she was talking that way out of
respect for the man in the hospital bed, or if she was doing
it for fear of setting him off. After all, it wasn't more
than three hours ago, in this very hospital, that he had
nearly killed her. "But he'll never regain consciousness,"
she continued, completely unaware of the thoughts running
through his mind.

She looked at him, expecting a response, so he nodded
slightly. Best to stay professional, he thought. Maybe there
was still a chance they could still work together. "You
know," he told her, changing the subject in his mind. "We
thought he was undergoing treatment. We were wrong."
 
"What do you mean?" Scully asked, facing him now. There was
no fear or anger in her blue eyes. Just genuine curiosity.
"Read his chart," Mulder told her. "The M.R.I.s were a way
to gauge how much life he had left, but he consistently
refused treatment." He looked at the man in the bed, feeling
his hatred for Modell heat up again. "The tumor remained
operable right up until the end, but he refused to have it
removed."

"Why?" Scully's voice sounded shaky.

"I think it was like you said," Mulder told her. "He was
always such a... little man." He shrugged. "This was finally
something that made him feel big." He heard the loathing
that dripped from his voice. The bastard. Despite the fact
that he was dying in a hospital bed, he had won. He had
defeated Mulder. Mulder's whole body stiffened in anger.
Never had he felt such hatred for a human before.

Suddenly, he felt Scully's hand, cool and soft, gently grasp
his. He looked down at her in surprise, and felt warmth
flood through him at the look in her unwavering gaze.
Concern. Pride. Love? No, he was imagining that.

"I say we don't let him take up another minute of our time,"
she said softly, squeezing his fingers slightly. He let his
own fingers close around hers, the simple contact doing more
for his psyche than any words ever could.

She released him suddenly, and turned to leave. With one
last glare at Modell, Mulder turned and followed her.

She was waiting for him at the entrance, her eyes searching
his face. He didn't know what exactly she was looking for,
but when the worry didn't leave her eyes, he guessed she
hadn't found it. With a grimace, he reached past her and
opened the door, tentatively placing his hand at her back to
urge her through. Her body was stiff, and he felt his heart
sink. But, then she turned to face him, her eyes unusually
bright.
 
"Mulder," she said quickly. "Come over to my place tonight.
I'll make you dinner."

That was the last thing he had expected her to say. "What?"

She smiled slightly. "I know you're probably not very
hungry, but I don't think either of us has eaten all day,
and we need to." She reached up and touched his shoulder. He
swore he could feel the heat of her hand through both his
suit and coat. "Please?"

He stood silent for a moment. Then, he nodded. "Okay. Let me
go shower and change, then I'll meet you at your place."

Her smile was astonishingly bright. It shocked him into
speechlessness. Which was okay, seeing as she didn't expect
him to speak. "Great. I'll see you in a bit."

She turned and walked away toward her car, leaving an
astounded and confused Mulder in her wake.

*****

Dana Scully's Apartment
7:30 P.M.

Scully looked at herself critically in the mirror above her
bathroom sink. Should she change? Should she put on makeup?
Should she...?

Smiling ruefully at her reflection, she decided to leave
everything as it was. She had showered after arriving back
at her apartment, and as she dressed she had decided to
leave her 'mask' off; after all, it was just Mulder coming
over, not Brad Pitt. But then she had noticed the dark
circles under her eyes. The mole on her upper lip. The
paleness of her face. She sighed and shrugged. After all,
he'd seen her in much worse condition.

Her glance swept down to her clothing. She had changed into
sweats and a loose, knit T-shirt...with no bra. The clothing
was okay for a casual dinner with a friend, but maybe the
braless think wasn't a good idea. It wasn't that Scully
needed it for physical support...not yet, anyway...but it
offered mental support, too. Around Mulder. In college, she
had often gone without, even amongst her male friends, and
had never felt uncomfortable. Wasn't Mulder a friend? He
wouldn't care, would he? Would he even notice? Yes. She knew
he would. Mulder may treat her as a friend and trusted
partner, but he noticed her as a woman, too. Maybe...

The sound of a knock interrupted her thoughts. Well, too
late to change now. With another sigh, she left the
bathroom, passing through the kitchen to check on the
potatoes baking in the oven. Two steaks sat on the counter,
waiting to be cooked. Scully wasn't much of red-meat eater,
but Mulder was. And tonight was for him. She turned to the
door just as the impatient man on the other side gave
another knock.

"Scully?"

"Coming," she replied as she reached the door. Flipping the
bolt, she opened it to let him in. His face seemed even more
drawn than hers had been in the mirror and his eyes were
shadowed. He watched her for a moment, as if he was unsure
about entering. "Mulder?" She opened the door wider. "Are
you coming in?"

With a stiff nod, he stepped through. When she had last seen
him at the hospital, he had been in a suit and trench coat.
Like her, he had changed into more casual attire: jeans and
black T-shirt, boots and leather jacket. His hands were
stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, and he kept his head
down, almost as if he was a child afraid of getting yelled
at by his parents. It wasn't often she saw him so subdued.

She closed her door, automatically flipping the bolt, and
noticed how he seemed to tense at the sound. She stepped
toward him, concern filling her. "Mulder, are you all
right?"

He looked up at her. "Yeah. Sure." He shrugged. "Just a
little tired."

Scully folded her arms over her chest. "I know what you
mean." Glancing back toward her kitchen, she continued. "I
bought a couple of steaks. Maybe that will give you some
more energy." She turned back to him, a small smile on her
face, only to find him staring at her chest. Embarrassment
flooded through her. Yep. He noticed. Lowering her arms so
the material across her breasts would relax, she stepped
past him. "I'm no expert on steaks, but I've been told I'm
pretty good at preparing them. How do you want yours?"

His eyes had been tracking her across the room, but at her
question they widened and he met her gaze. "I'm sorry,
what?"

Still embarrassed, but now amused as well, Scully headed for
the kitchen. "Why don't you take your jacket off and come
help me get dinner ready?"

She heard him do as she asked behind her, then took note of
the cool kitchen floor underneath her bare feet. "Oh, and
Mulder?"

"Yeah?"

"Take those shoes off, please." She didn't like the idea of
getting her toes smushed as he helped her. 

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, his voice dry. She smiled and
placed the steaks on the waiting pan.

The next hour was spent just as she had hoped it would when
she had first invited him over. As Mulder made a salad and
Scully prepared the steaks, they talked about nothing in
particular. Mulder teased. She reciprocated mildly, which
seemed to please him to no end. He seemed to enjoy the meal
when they were finally able to sit down to it, and the
darkness that had followed him since that morning
dissipated. 

But the shadows remained in his eyes.

The clean-up was subdued, but comfortable. Scully knew that
her own exhaustion was nothing compared to Mulder's, and the
fact that he was still up and moving when she felt on the
verge of collapse amazed her. Finally, they settled on her
couch.

Scully let her eyes close as she rested her head on the back
of the sofa. She was drifting on a wonderful, soft cloud of
sleep when Mulder's voice, husky and deep, invaded her
unconscious. It was a welcome invader.

"We should do this more often."

Smiling, she turned her head toward him without opening her
eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, we should." Lazily, she lifted her
eyelids. 

He was staring at her in the same way he had been looking at
her in Modell's hospital room earlier tonight; with a
mixture of fear, pain and guilt. But this time, she thought
she recognized hope, as well. She opened her eyes wider and
sat up. "Thank you, Mulder."

His expression turning incredulous, Mulder leaned away from
her. "For what?!"

She sighed. "For so many things." She drew her leg up under
her so she could face him, resting her right arm on the back
of the couch. "For coming here tonight. For your concern and
affection for me." She ignored he snort of disbelief. "For
being my friend."

"Affection?" he asked her, anger growing in his eyes. Scully
felt her face heat. "You think that's all it is?"

Furrowing her brow, Scully asked, "What do you mean?"

Ignoring her, he continued. "Some friend I am," he growled.
He pushed himself off the couch and walked toward the
window. Scully couldn't help but notice that, despite his
weariness and anger, he still moved with an almost sensual
grace. 

Shaking her head to get rid of any irrelevant thoughts,
Scully stood and followed him. "Mulder, I know what happened
today was hard on you, but..."

He turned on her, and Scully was shocked to see the same
torture in his eyes that had been there when he had been
pointing a gun at her. She had hoped to never see that look
again.

"Hard?!" he practically shouted, making her jump. "Scully,
you have no clue!"

"Oh, really?" she said, raising her eyebrows as well as her
voice. "No clue that you're beating yourself up over this?
No clue that you're trying your best to hate yourself for
what almost happened? I know what I see in your eyes,
Mulder. And it scares me."

"You should be scared, Scully." He backed away from her.
"And I'm not trying to hate myself. I'm already there." 

His expression had gone blank, and this scared Scully more
than the pain and guilt she had seen earlier. "Why?" she
demanded. "Are you really feeling that bad about shooting
Modell?" She hoped to draw him out with the question,
knowing it wasn't true. He was pulling into himself, and she
had to stop it before it was too late.

"Are you kidding?!" Scully felt a spark of victory when she
saw the anger in his eyes return. "I wish I'd killed the
bastard!" She winced at the venom in his voice, but accepted
it.

"Then it's the fact that you almost shot me that's bothering
you?"

His lips tightened and he stood up tall, staring down at her
with what almost looked like contempt. Softly, in a voice so
low and dark it sent a shiver of apprehension up her back,
he said, "I *was* going to shoot you."

"But you didn't," she argued.

He closed his eyes tightly, and she could tell his jaw was
clenched just as tight; she could almost hear his teeth
grinding.

She stepped forward and touched him on the arm. His eyes
flew open and he swung his arm up and out of her grasp. With
a groan, he pushed past her. She let him go, watching as he
grabbed his boots off the floor by the door and kneeled down
to put them on. Slowly, she made her way over to him, her
arms folded. "Where are you going?" she asked softly.

Without looking at her, he said, "Home." Tying the last
lace, he stood again. Grabbing his jacket off the rack on
his right, he looked at her. "Thanks for dinner," he said,
but there was no gratitude in his voice. "Thanks for trying
to make things normal again." He shook his head. "But it's
not going to be the same ever again. It shouldn't be. I
almost killed you. For no other reason than that some man
told me to. How can you even stand to be in the same room
with me?"

"Mul--"

He interrupted her. "Don't make excuses for me, Scully.
You've been doing that for more than two years now. It's not
worth it." He glanced down her body again, his gaze
lingering on her chest, then met her eyes. The desolation
she saw there terrified her. "I'm not worth it."

With that, he released the bolt on her door, opened it, and
left.

*****

End 1/3

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