By Nerys
nerys@smartania.com

Classification: Missing Scene/Challenge Fic
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Duane Barry/Ascension
Summary: Missing scene from Ascension/Scully in the trunk
Feedback: Yes, to above addy
Flames: Smoke if ya got 'em
Disclaimer: I own nothing, they own everything. They get the big
bucks accordingly.
Author's notes: missing scene challenge fic, special thanks to Snark and
her detailed and nifty episode reviews and synopsis
[http://www.smartania.com/snark ] for the little details I would have
forgotten.
------------
'And I been on this road for so long I couldn't tell you where the road
stops and the sky begins. I'm starting to think that there is no separation
and that they are both one. Road and sky. Life and death. Darkness and
light. It might seem a little poetic to you now, but after hours in this car
you get to feeling that surrealism and poetry are the norm and reality
just took a flying leap in front of the tires. Check the road a piece back.
You'll find it lying there like road kill. Come to think of it, it ain't
pretty. Then again, reality never is.'
----------

I'm not panicking. I've been trained to handle diversity and have been
educated to realize that fear is nothing more than a game the mind plays
with itself. All of which, since it's just you and I at the moment, is
steaming load of crap. I think the fact that I'm holding a one sided
conversation with you right now testifies to my state of mind rather
well, Mulder. I'm in a trunk, the damned duct tape is killing me, and if I
ever come face to face with the DJ of classic rock 101.5 I may put my
gun right to the bastard's head. I could take the Bowie and the Stones,
but was the extended version of 'Riders on the Storm' really necessary?
Come to think of it, it's a good thing Morrison is dead because right
now I could gleefully kill him too.

Between you and me, Mulder, I am panicking. I've been in the trunk of
this car for hours judging by the endless stream of classic guitar riffs. I
have no idea where he's taking me, but I think I know why. I don't
believe it, but I admit there's enough strangeness to it to really make me
terrified. Have you ever had a moment of clarity in a supermarket,
Mulder? I have to tell you, it wasn't my choice for dark epiphanies.
There I was, amid the issues of TV Guide and the Enquirer, nearly
gagging on both the muzaak and the smell of ammonia, and everything
that I thought was real and wasn't real was just instantly held suspect.
By what? A bar code, Mulder. A silly, harmless, every day bar code.
The source, of course, wasn't so ordinary and the results were far from
it. What's so funny, in a purely bitterly ironic sense if I may add, was
the checkout girl's response to me. I ran Duane Barry's implant across
the Supermarket checkout scanner and it went insane. I don't mean a
few beeps and whirs, Mulder. I mean just right, stinking insane. The
string of numbers was shocking and eerie in a way. What they meant? I
have no clue, but I suspect that someone does. Someone human before
you say it.

'What did you do?' the girl asked me. Good question. Oh, Dana, what
the hell did you do, indeed. Did I set off an alarm? Possibly, though I
doubt anything inside of the grocery store was tripped. I must be
panicking because now I'm starting to think like you. Oh, how very
droll. Who knew that all it would take for me to agree with you was a
few hours in the trunk of a car? Let's just be glad we had no idea before
because I've smelled your gym socks, Mulder and I know good and
well you toss that gym bag in the trunk and forget about it for a couple
of months. I can't tell you how grateful that I am that I'm in the trunk of
my car. At least it's odor free. I have to tell you though, I'm beginning
to develop a deep and unabiding loathing for the tire iron under my
back.

Now, what's left of the more rational part of my mind is staunchly
reminding me that it's nothing less than egocentric to assume that I'm
the target of some grand government conspiracy here. All of which
makes me feel just awful, as frightened as I'm not admitting that I am,
because I know that is the first thing that's going to creep into that
lovely and brilliant mind of yours. 'Scully's been abducted. *They* led
Duane Barry to her and it's my fault because I was getting too close to
the truth.' Have you had that thought yet, Mulder? I suspect that you
have and without me there to tell you what a load of crap that is, I fear
you'll be drowning yourself in guilt before too long. Mulder, it's a load
of crap. Strange, that statement just doesn't hold the kind of power
when I think it and of course, you're not here to hear me say it. There's
also the little matter of the duct tape. God, I would give my eyes just to
be able to lick my lips right now. It is a load of crap though. Yes, yes, I
know. Duane Barry was on the receiving end of some things that I can't
quite explain and yes again, that bar code was enough to unsettle me. I
know you think you have the answers to that, but since I'm the one
stuck in this damned trunk, let's just leave aliens out of it, thank you so
much.

Mulder, it's not your fault. It's not aliens and I'm not going to be
subjected to the usual rigmarole of abduction fantasies. Regardless of
whatever else he may be and what's happened to him, please do
remember that Duane Barry is a severely disturbed individual. He's
living out his self-created delusions of overcoming his demons, aliens
in this case, and I'm just the tool for that. I have a scenario for what will
happen and since I have nothing else to do, here it is. He's going to take
me to some claimed-to-be-abduction site and then nothing will happen.
He's got my gun so I'm sure that will be the most dangerous aspect of it.
In fact, that's what has me so worried. Not only does a seriously
disturbed man have a weapon, but I fear what he may do to me or
anyone who gets in his way with it. The longer we wait and the longer
it is that nothing happens, I fear he may finally snap all together. If he
hasn't already done so, of course. What happens when this armed and
crazed man doesn't find the little aliens he's so certain he can trade me
in for? I'm not sure, but I'm guessing it will involve some gunfire. Note
to self, start grocery shopping with a bulletproof vest next time.

It's dark in here, Mulder. Of course, it's the trunk of a car, but the
darkness is really quite complete and somewhere between Morrison
earning his death and Mick Jagger's surreal little testament about the
blackness of the world, I think I started to hallucinate ever so slightly. I
have no doubt about it, Mulder. I am panicking. I'm terrified. I want my
mother, my gun, you, my favorite pair of pajamas, and everything else
safe and normal in my life. Did I just insinuate that you were normal?
God, I must be losing it.

The darkness is so complete that my eyes or perhaps my brain is busily
trying to fill in the big blank for me. At first it was nothing more than
thousands of brightly colored dots. They started to coalesce right about
the time Mick was painting that red door black and for a while it was
nothing more than abstract shapes of color. Really, that was all right
and kind of soothing in its own you're-stuck-in-a-trunk-and-at-the-
mercy-of-a-madman kind of way.  When the color show began to lose
its abstract quality, I'm ashamed to say that I think I must have cursed
you at least a dozen times. Not for getting me into this mess, see
previous statements, this is not your fault. No, for giving my
imagination little aliens and alien environments to dream up, yep, I
cursed you big time, Mulder. You know, I really could have lived my
whole life just thinking of ET or the benevolent aliens ala Steven
Speilberg. Oh, wait. They were both Speilberg. As you well know, I
suspect.

You see? I'm rambling here because I can't stand the images I'm seeing
and closing my eyes is just the same as having them open at this point.
I'm trying to distract myself. If I wasn't deafened by right now by this
song about someone's red right hand, I think I'd be apt to try a couple of
run throughs of 'Henry the 8th, I am' or '100 Bottles of Beer on the
Wall'. Mulder, I'm scared. I'm scared of the next bump in the road. I'm
scared of this car stopping. I'm scared that it won't ever stop. I want out.
I want out of this damned trunk and I want out of this situation. I'm
scared that the illusions my mind is dreaming up might defy logic and
science and prove to have a basis in fact. I'm scared that this will end
on some secluded hilltop with a bullet in my head. I don't like not being
in control, that's no secret. This is more than that. This isn't a loss of
control, it's a loss of my will over my own fear. It's having no control
what so ever. It's being at the mercy of someone so far gone that he
thinks he can stop his own pain by giving me away in trade. Oh God,
Mulder, I---

We're slowing down. We're slowing down. Oh, God. Is this good or
bad? I'm going insane here, Mulder. My heart is palpitating. I'm
sweating and shivering. Could be shock or it could be insanity. I'd
argue both at this point. Please, oh, please, oh please. We're stopped
and he's turned down the radio. No more red right hand and I hear
voices, one of which is still, damn the luck, Duane Barry's. Oh, this
could be my salvation or someone else's damnation, but I hear voices
and I think, I hope, I pray---yes, yes. It's police. Highway patrol or
some local county law. I don't know. I don't care.

This is risky, but I think if I can make some noise here maybe said local
law will step off his white horse and help me out here. Duane could
start the car and take off. The patrolman could fire a couple of well
aimed shots at the trunk and inadvertently hit me, but maybe, just
maybe. I'm moving now as best I can, knocking my legs up, hitting the
roof of the trunk with my hands. If it weren't for this tape I'd just
scream. Please hear me. Please hear me. PleaseÖ

Oh, God. Oh God, oh God, oh God. There was a shot, Mulder. I'd like
to say that I have no idea who fired that shot, but this trunk is an
amplifier and the reverberation when Duane fired that gun, my gun,
made my teeth shake. As if I needed any further indication of what just
happened, I can hear him open the door now. I caused someone's death,
Mulder. Someone who had no part in either Duane Barry's insanity or
any of the far reaching conspiracies I know you're torturing yourself
with. Local law or no, someone that was an innocent bystander is dead
because I had to make some damned noise. I can tell myself that I have
no way of knowing that that they are indeed dead until I'm blue in the
face. It was a point blank shot or it would have been if the patrolman
was standing right next to the car door and I can only assume he was.

Mulder, I don't know what to do. He's coming this way. I can hear his
footsteps and any moment he's going to open the trunk. I can't decide if
it would be better if he just did away with me now or if I lived to be the
fulfillment of that man's warped delusions. All that I know is that I'm
scared out of my mind and that I desperately want to go home. The
only certainty that I have now is that I know you'll look for me. You'll
look in places no one else will think to and make the leaps in thinking
that no one else is capable of. I don't know how I'll be when you find
me, but I can't give up hope that you will. Please, Mulder. Before I lose
my mind or what's left of Duane Barry's snaps. Please. I can't think any
more now. He's close and while I'm not certain that he'll afford me the
chance to get away, if I could even get out of this trunk, I have to be
prepared to try.

Deep breath, Dana. Here he comes.
 

END