Title: Comrades Under The Gun (1/2) Author: Sue E-Mail: susieqla@yahoo.com Website: None. Category: General Rating: PG-13 (Language) Archive: Anywhere, fine. Spoilers: WARNING: Provenance Disclaimer: All the X-Files characters and references are property of C. Carter, 10-13 Productions and FOX. No infringement. Notes: Missing scene. This will be continued. Comrades Under The Gun (1/?) The cockiness in the sound of the voice was unmistakable. "Who else was she gonna call?" Frohike asked the rhetorical quietly, as the miracle infant nestled within his arms tried plugging up his right nostril with his little fingers. No sooner had the eldest Gunman gently but firmly worked the infant's 'wrigglers' out, William stuck his thumb up Frohike's left. "Us, that's who--the only ones left *they* trust." From behind the battered microbus' weathered steering wheel, Langly piped up again, "It was just a matter of time. They're runnin' outta options." Recalling the edge in Mulder's voice the last time he'd contacted them, Langly adjusted the rearview mirror, then checked his watch, and followed that up by scoping out the immediate environs of the filthy alley. He was nervous, and unlike most times, he wasn't concerned about his being unable to mask it. These five additional minutes of waiting felt like an eternity. Byers nimbly reached for the oversized bottle and diaper bag, judging that William's sudden display of being out of sorts had its roots in hunger. After unzipping the carrier, he selected one of the still relatively warm bottles containing Scully's breast milk. He uncapped the brand new glass bottle, hiked up his suit sleeve, and sprinkled some spots unto the underside of his exposed wrist. "Ah, this'll do. Frohike, here," he said, tapping his chum's shoulder lightly. "Take it." Melvin leveled his fingerless gloved left hand back in Byers' general direction, anticipating for the bottle to be fitted into it. When he was holding it, he jauntily remarked, "Gimme a good old-fashioned glass bottle over that stupid contraption Yves made me strap, 'cos she wasn't about to, to my chest that last time we pulled babysitting duty, any day a the week." "Stupidest thing you ever told us you did, ever," Langly complained, timing the remaining seconds of the last minute they had. "You ain't got the build for tits." "Unlike you, punkass. Now shut-up an' get ready to drive like you've never driven in your life to get our asses to ol' Virginnie--minus your usual smart lip." Langly huffed, "Yeah, yeah, I'm about to be on it." The edgy blond took a deep steadying breath. Suffering from a bad case of the shakes, his hand sought the ignition. Frohike eyed him uncertainly. "It's all gonna be cool." Even before he'd finished saying it, he wished he believed it. His stomach was a new configuration of knots. Byers frowned, which Langly caught in the rearview. "What's up with the evil eye, Byers, man? You see somethin'?" Langly reconnoitored around their vehicle, in apprehension. "Before we get on ninety-five, I think it'd be a good idea to stop at the first pharmacy we spy," he stipulated, breaking off his inventory of the pale blue carry-all. "In all likelihood, in Scully's haste--" "Not to mention the tyke's near-death experience," Langly irritably inserted while reaching over to straighten William's Cerulean blue cap before it snowballed down the front of Frohike's mail of leather. The day that Langly stopped cutting him off like that would be the day they'd never have to explain to Jimmy what buffers were. "He's going to need a lot more disposables than the ones here, for his stay at the bunker. How many Drug-Rites in our neck of the woods?" "Good idea, John," Frohike awarded, giving the cap another battening down pat. If only getting William to take the bottle into his mouth was as easy. The kid was fussy, or just missing his mom. The poor, little trooper. The missing-in-action stepfather of two sighed in regret of paternal missed opportunities of his own. What sort of future would this wide-eyed innocent have? His father, although the jury was still out on that one, in Frohike's view, a persistently hounded fugitive...his mother beset by one adversity after another. A fine start to life... "Melvin, want me to take him?" Byers offered, seeing how much trouble Frohike was having, feeding the squirming boy. "He's like jelly missing the peanut butter, swaddled in a blanket of ball bearings," Frohike vented, already hoisting the carseat back to Byers with the bottle precariously positioned in the baby's lap. "I give up." "Maybe the idea of eating with your ugly mug simperin' down at his doesn't appeal to him," Langly badgered. "Shut-up, Langly," Frohike hotly let loose, but was careful not to let go of the carseat until Byers had it safely within his hands. "Get us outta here, pronto 'fore we're made." Byers beamed into the baby's cherubic face, and nipped a rosy cheek between the digital knuckles of his fore- and middle fingers. There was no doubt about it, that was Mulder's nose, in miniature, if ever there was one. "We're gone." The interior of the trusty van filled with discontent within seconds. "Dammit," Langly swore, but softly at the sluggish gearshift then, keeping the child's presence in mind as though the other cuss words he'd uttered in the space of time between their getting into the van up until this moment didn't count. "We are, soon as I can get this antique on wheels ta rev." He pitched Frohike a disgusted sidelong look. "Quit complainin'. At least it's all paid fo--" Breaking off, Frohike squinted hard at what he couldn't quite make out at the opposite end of the dim, squalid alley. It looked like an SUV that had come screeching to a halt; silvery, but he wasn't able to tag its make or model if his life depended on it. "What the hell is this?" Spouting apropros dialogue from 'Star Wars,' Langly chuffed, "I've got a really bad feelin' about this," not craving any answer that spelled danger. The understated had been spoken in a wisp. Repeating alarms were going off in Byers' head; loud, clamorous ones, coupled with the churning in his agitated stomach as he glanced up from the drooling infant entrusted into their care. "What the hell's what?" he barked, straining to see what had his friends baffled, and sounding over the edge. Not squandering another precious moment of borrowed time, Langly had 'Gilgamesh' lurching convulsively forward. At the precise second of his maddeningly flooring the whining, spluttering collector's item again, a hail of shots in triplicate rang out which ravaged the microbus' balled tires. "What the FUCK!" Langly railed, sickened because in that very instant, he knew he was losing control of the van. Frohike made a mad grab for the steering wheel, but was violently thrown back against his seat when the microbus' careening, forward momentum was violently halted upon impact with the onrushing pole, jutting up from the concrete like a stanchion from hell. Byers, his body badly jolted, threw himself over the baby, and the words he and his comrades had promised Scully he repeated as a litany to the little one who had begun to whimper. Were they about to fail her? In the front seats, he heard the belabored groans of misery and grievous moanings of his friends. His mind convulvsed over how badly they were hurt for their not wearing seatbelts. He wasn't that bad off, he realized, amazed, only badly shaken up, for not having buckled up for safety. What happened, however, in the next jumble of confused moments, played out like a dream sequence; a very bad one. The sound of the sliding door being pulled open, and the brutal jab of a gun muzzle jammed up against his throbbing temple. In the blowsy woman's eyes he saw nothing, and for the first time in his life, he knew what it felt like to see his life flash before his own eyes which were welling up with tears. This was different from the time Timmy had held that gun on him in Vegas. This time he was bombarded with the point of diminishing returns of the situation. When he could finally speak, he didn't recognize his own frail voice, faltering, begging for time. He knew what this soulless creature, bereft of pity of any kind, wanted, but the promise made to Scully was the mandate decreeing it must come down to this... With the muzzle gouging his flesh, Byers heard the faint click of the trigger thunder in his ears only to echo instead of fading away. His trembling bordered on uncontrollable. "Oh, dear God," he stammered, but unflinchingly, staunchly refusing to abandon the gurgling baby's flank, he mustered, "it's not ending like this. Hell no--not over William's dead body, nor mine..." To be continued.