Chapter Text
Untitled Xfiles Fic
by Eve
He was waiting in the corner of the crowded bar, sitting in a booth big enough for six people. He wasn't drinking, wasn't eating, wasn't even smoking. Just sitting, waiting for someone. He was betrayed by the impatient drum roll his fingers made on the tabletop and the stolen glances at his wrist. The women had stopped approaching him after no less than half a dozen had been turned away with a few brusque words. Even the waitress had stopped going over to him. Everyone left him alone. Nobody was even paying attention to him anymore.
Except for her.
She was sitting at the bar, drinking a beer. She could see his reflection in the mirror, among the bottles of Jack Daniel's and Jim Beam. The smoke wafting in the air and the hazy layer of grime turned him into nothing but a shadow, an insubstantial figure in the darkness. She'd never seen him before, but she knew his eyes were a fierce, blazing green.
She took a long pull on the bottle, relishing the warmth spreading throughout her body. It wouldn't last. It never did. Yet here she was, on her fifth beer hoping it and the music would drown out the din in her head. But one kind of din had gradually been traded in for another. Instead of the rattle of a thousand voices, stray thoughts, and emotions, her mind was consumed by one.
His blazing essence enveloped her, wrapping tightly around her brain and zinging throughout her nerves. His mind was like a supernova in the black hole of her consciousness. She was like two people at that moment, feeling her own tiredness and fascination, then determination mixed with desperation, underlined by a subtle thread of fear.
No matter how often it happened, she was sure she'd never get used to the feeling of having another mind inside her body. It was always slightly disconcerting, fascinating. And disturbing.
Absently, she motioned for another beer, not noticing the look of concern the bartender gave her. Her eyes were locked on the mirror. She wanted to get up and leave, escape to the quiet of her apartment, but something was holding her here. After a few moments of though she realized what it was.
Day after day she sensed the minds of the people around her. Money problems. Work problems. Love problems. That was the narrow world of worry where almost everyone lived. In him she sensed someone like herself. Someone who'd been tested, gone through the fire and come out alive. Gone insane, but lived through it to put the pieces back together, more or less.
Except his psyche was still mending. She could sense it--like a shattered mirror, a broken vase carefully glued back together but still missing a few pieces.
Blazing with life. Cursed with survival. Wracked with guilt yet feeling justified in the things he'd done. The many conflicting emotions threatened to suck her into a whirlpool of oblivion. She had to get her feet under her. This was all too strong, especially coming from a complete stranger. She pointed on last glance at the man in the mirror, then threw down some money on the countertop.
She heaved herself off the stool but quickly grabbed onto it when it was clear her brain and her legs weren't working in sync. When the dizziness passed, she found the bartender frowning at her.
"You need a cab?"
Hearing his voice, her mind cleared somewhat. She could hear the people around her again, sense their thoughts. The bartender was thinking about the time he'd almost lost his license when he let some drunk guy leave who then strolled out on the street and caused an accident. The guy next to her thought she was a nice piece of ass. And drunk enough to let him cop a feel. She felt his hand on her thigh.
"I'm not drunk!" she said, jerking away and losing her balance again. Hell, maybe she was. Drunk on brain waves. Another stumble found her in the arms of a young man with lightning reflexes. He looked out of place in his business suit, obviously uncomfortable with the attention of the people around him. When she looked straight into his face, time stood still. It came to her in flashes, her face paling with every thought she received.
A trap. Can't believe he's still here. Losing his edge. Sitting duck in the corner. Dad's gonna owe me big for this. Trap. Waiting for me to give the signal. Get rid of him. Trap.
Trap.
He must have sensed something in her face, in the tremble of her hands on his arms. He let her go a bit roughly and she stepped back, unable to look away.
Trap.
She knew better than to ignore her mind when it was screaming at her, no matter the consequences.
Trap.
She watched the young man walk past her, knowing he had a gun. Knowing there were more with guns. The word 'trap' transformed itself in her mind. She lunged forward, unintentionally knocking the young man out of the way. Her eyes only took a nanosecond to find him in the exact same spot, sequestered in he corner, unknowing of the danger that awaited.
"Run!" she yelled. To her ears it had been no more than a whisper, but his head snapped up and she was staring into the green eyes she'd pictured moments ago. When she blinked he was gone, and Mr. Business Suit was glaring at her.
Screwed up again. But this time he wasn't going to take the blame.
Thanks but no thanks, she thought, high-tailing it out of the bar. There would be other men like him outside, but not knowing who she was they wouldn't stop her. With the green eyed man gone, her head was nearly clear when she stumbled into the night air. She had several choices. Run for all she was worth and possibly arise suspicion. Act like nothing was wrong until she found a dark alley to hide in and possibly be caught. Or...
She glanced over her shoulder. The Suit was right behind her, reaching out. His fingers just inches away, she made her decision.
Or, she could make a mad dash for the taxi that had just pulled up, and hope like hell the driver was acquainted with the phrase 'step on it.'
Ignoring the shouts behind her, she wrenched open the door and flung herself across the backseat. Before she could move they were off, weaving dangerously through the late night traffic. She peeked out the back window, but they'd already taken several turns.
Nobody appeared to be following them. It was then that she realized she hadn't yet spoken to the driver. And that golden haze was settling over her again.
Without thinking, she reached over the front seat and ripped the turban off the driver's head. Seconds later she felt the cold metal of a gun barrel under her chin, tilting her head back, making it hard to swallow. His green eyes watched her in the rearview mirror.
"Who are you?"
She felt his anger and confusion. It was pummeling her like storm waves, temporarily blocking out her own fear. And without fear, she only had one thing to fall back on. Her training.
How likely was she to survive if she tried to disarm him? She'd already seen two examples of his reflexes, and the ensuing struggle might cause the car to go out of control. Not that they weren't already out of control. He seemed to be having trouble with the steering wheel. Or rather, with the arm that was holding the steering wheel.
He was cursing it in his head. Just more proof of the inadequacies in his life. She didn't have time to decipher the meaning behind it, so she jumped on his problem.
"Our getaway would be a lot smoother if you had both hands on the wheel."
They came dangerously close to sideswiping a parked police cruiser. He knew she was right, and eased his fool off the gas. The taxi went from 80 to 50. Warehouses and stockyards soon sped by, indicating they were a long way from the hustle and bustle of the downtown bar.
Her jaw was starting to ache from the press of the gun. She shifted, but it only made him press harder. So this is what I get for saving your life? She listened as he considered his options but threw them out just as quickly.
Kill her.
Knock her unconscious. Leave her for somebody to find.
Deliver her to that pissant Spender.
Use her as some sort of bargaining tool against...well, against anyone who wanted her back.
But it all came back to one thing. She had saved his life. And exposed herself in the process. And if Spender wanted her-if any Spender wanted her, why that was reason enough to keep her. Besides, he added as an afterthought, she's a fine looking woman.
"Decided what to do with me yet?"
His eyes narrowed, washing the smug expression off his face. Shit. She was being too cocky, and he looked almost suspicious. Right, like you have 'mind reader' stamped across your forehead. His foot eased off the gas pedal again and she felt the gun waver slightly. She glanced around, hoping her intentions weren't obvious. She finally saw what she was looking for. A small gap between two warehouses. Big enough for her to run through, but not big enough for a car. Providing she got a good enough head start, it would work. All she needed was a distraction.
"Look out!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, scaring both of them. His eyes diverted from the rearview mirror to the road. Now was her chance. She jerked her head back and grabbed his wrist, digging her nails into the pressure points. She twisted the gun out of his hand and helped along with the force of the sudden stop, reached up with her other hand and slammed his face into the steering wheel. Then she was out and running, tucking the gun into the waistband of her jeans. She looked back when she reached the mouth of the alley. The airbag was inflating around his prone figure. Before her guilt could catch up with her she sprinted down the narrow alley. Near the end was a ladder, and she made her way up, running back to the front to check on the car. The light wasn't very good, but she could make out his slumped figure right where she'd left him.
She was unsure what to do now. She'd escaped, that much was obvious. Now it was her turn to weigh her options.
Killing him was out of the question.
He was already unconscious, so she could just leave him for someone else to find. His injuries weren't life threatening. A concussion, few cuts and bruises, maybe a broken nose.
She couldn't take him to Spender seeing as she had no idea who Spender was.
As for a bargaining tool, he might get her a few thousand at the organ donor chop shop, but that went back to her original decision: no killing.
So she sat herself on the edge of the building to watch and wait.
Should I write more? Let me know.