TITLE: Coldest
Comfort
NAME: Mik
E-MAIL: ccmcdoc@hotmail.com
CATEGORY: M/K
RATING: NC-17. M/K. This story contains slash i.e. m/m sex. Not
suitable for children, Baptists or Republicans.
SUMMARY: Mulder and Krycek take the cold war on the road.
ARCHIVE: This story belongs to Bertina. Ask her.
FEEDBACK: Feedback? Well, yes, if you insist.
TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: Shortly after Ascension
KEYWORDS: story slash angst Mulder Krycek NC-17
DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Alex Krycek, and all other X-Files characters
belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and
20th Century Fox Broadcasting. No
copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from
their use. I personally think Chris Carter, et al, should just give
them to me, since they're not using them anymore, and anyway, I treat
them much, much better, but there you are.
Author's notes: This story was commissioned by Bertina, who made a donation to the Red Cross Katrina Disaster Relief Fund. Thank you.
Coldest Comfort by Mik
"Well?"
I twisted around to look at him. His green eyes were shining with an eagerness that seemed less than appropriate given the circumstances. His face was flushed, and he appeared to struggle with a grin. He reminded me of a kid producing a shiny apple to a teacher in the middle of Columbine. "Yeah," I hissed, "you were right."
"I told-"
"Hush." I used my elbows to pull myself up higher on the ridge to peer down into the complex. Five troop carriers with ten Jeeps buzzing around them, and one tractor-trailer which was being loaded with coffin shaped boxes, while men stood with automatic weapons at the ready. I shook my head and slid down again. "A lot of firepower for a few bodies. How good are your-"
"Good," he interrupted confidently. "Unimpeachable."
"Nothing's unimpeachable," I told him. A rock was digging into my knee and I rolled over. "And they lose cover where?"
He pointed beyond me. "When they come over that bridge. There is a weight restriction on the trestle. They can't have any other vehicles on it when the tractor-trailer comes through. We can board it there."
The idea of standing on a narrow wooden bridge over a river on a dark night while waiting to board a heavily guarded truck was somehow less than thrilling to me. But I had to know. I looked up at him again. I didn't trust him. This could be a huge trap. He was wholly too eager to get me into that refrigerated box. But I still had to know. "Okay." I pushed myself to my feet.
He rose with me and pressed up close as we skidded down the gravel covered berm. "Careful. Quiet," he'd mutter occasionally as we crept down toward the bridge.
Once on the road at the mouth of the ancient wooden structure, I shouldered my backpack, and the metal of the tools within rustled and clinked loudly. Well, it sounded loud in the darkness.
"What have you got in there?" he complained in a roughened whisper.
"Crowbar, hammer, chisel, flashlight-"
"We don't need all that. Leave it here." He pointed to an outcropping of rocks.
"How do you propose we open those crates without them?" I argued, adjusting it more securely on my back.
"Open them!" He seemed horrified at the notion. "Who said anything about opening them?"
"How else are we going to find out?" I resisted an urge to cuff the back of his head. "Do you really think they're going to stencil Dana K. Scully on the outside of the box?"
"Oh … yeah." He winced. "But suppose there's contamination or...or something?"
"Why?" I demanded suspiciously. "What do you know?"
"Nothing." He put his hands up defensively, as if I'd threatened him with the crowbar, hammer and chisel. "But...why else would there be such secrecy. There's got to be something wrong with them."
"Yeah," I agreed, feeling something rise up into my throat, "they're dead." I shifted on my feet. "I've got masks and gloves as well. I want to know how-"
"Shh." He grabbed my arm. "Listen. They're moving."
I didn't hear anything over the sound of the river rushing below us, but I turned to listen just the same. On the opposite side of the bridge I could see, barely, the trail of headlights start to move, arcing in our direction. "Okay, let's go."
Standing on a sort of a road on a sort of a bridge in total blackness isn't as easy as it sounds. There were gaps where the wooden cover didn't meet the wooden flooring and we could see the whiteness of rough water below us. Falling through wouldn't be fatal, but swept down river hitting rocks like a pinball game would give us a hell of a headache.
"Here they come," he whispered sharply.
We backed up as tight against the wooden walls as we could, staring at the place we thought the other was. There was no temptation to put my weight against the archaic wooden wall. I just held my breath and tried to stand still as the caravan crept onto the bridge, which creaked and groaned in protest.
Ever so slowly, each vehicle moved onto the bridge. Ever so slowly, each one rolled by us, the occupants seemingly unaware that we were watching, close enough to reach out and pull off someone's cap, if we wanted. Once in a while a vehicle would hit a bump that would jostle the bridge, which would jostle me, which would, in turn, jostle the tools in my backpack, but no one heard. Finally, when the last of the troop carriers and Jeeps had moved across, a soldier hopped out of one of the Jeeps, walked the edge of the bridge and flashed his light around. Krycek and I pulled back tight against the walls, each of us praying, in our own way, that the light would not fall on us.
With a rumble that made the entire bridge shudder, the tractor trailer came to life. I actually felt the bridge drop an inch or two as the first tires rolled onto the rickety wooden road. It moved in agonizingly slow increments, creeping along millimeter by millimeter. Sweat dripped down my sides as I stood, rigid, in the darkness, waiting for it to get near enough that we could mount the rear railing and pry open the trailer doors.
Occasionally a shift in the tractor's suspension would cause the beam from a headlight to flicker over one of us. Krycek was standing unyielding, his body twisted slightly, as if poised to run...not toward the truck, but away from it. I felt my guts knot. It was a trap. I knew I shouldn't have trusted the little weasel. Another flicker of light and he was facing me, his eyes wide, his lips parted, panting. I wanted to believe I saw fear in that fraction of a second, but it wasn't fear, it was excitement. Rat fucking bastard.
I should have run then...but where could I go? The direction they were going? The direction they'd come? Should I shoot him before or leave him behind to face the consequences? I couldn't decide, I didn't run. Not because I was incapable of making the decision but because something deep down inside me, something foolish and beyond the reach of reason wanted to believe I'd have the answers if I could wait a few minutes more.
The truck creaked and bobbled and rocked forward. My heart was climbing up into my mouth, to swim with the bile which had been gathering there ever since we'd first discussed opening the crates. Was I really prepared for what I might find in one of those boxes? Could I look into the lifeless face of my partner? Could I bear to see any signs of abuse, torture or unholy experiments? Which would be worse? To look at her battered body, or to see her in peaceful albeit final repose?
I wasn't ashamed of my selfishness. Yes, there were other bodies there, the lost loved ones of others, but they were immaterial to me if Scully was among them. She was my personal tragedy, and as much as I could grieve on a grand scale at the utter wrongness of what Krycek had told me about this place, the reality was, it was for Scully that I'd seek answers, it was Scully's death I'd want to avenge.
The truck moved beyond us as last. The driver's cab was outside the bridge's cover. Without being able to see if Krycek was moving, I moved, scrambling awkwardly, delicately over what might be rotting boards ready to give way. I reached the back of the trailer a second before Krycek. He had a mini mag in his hand and he flipped the tiny beam around the doors, looking for the lever.
"It's not locked," I protested. Why wasn't it locked? I grabbed his arm. "It's a trap."
"No. Up to this point and every point after they will have someone behind them." Krycek yanked the lever down, and I reached to my back for my weapon. "Come on," he called faintly, hoisting himself upward and inside.
I held back, clinging to the edge of the door.
He looked down at me, exasperated. "Do you want to find out or not?"
I pulled myself up behind him and let him maneuver the heavy door shut behind us. The truck rolled and I put out a hand blindly, to steady myself. He caught my hand and held still. "I'm okay." I jerked my hand away.
He sent the light around again. I pulled my mini mag from my pocket and did the same. Approximately thirty plain pine boxes of the right dimensions to be coffins. "No identifying marks that I can see," he called, inching his way down a narrow row between the stacks. His breath was coming out in white puffs.
"There must be," I insisted, taking time to examine one of the nearest boxes. "The Army labels everything."
The truck stopped swaying. We looked at one another. I thought for a moment I'd kill him before we were caught. He gestured frantically at me.
"I'm very certain, Sir." An almost strident male voice seemed to be right on top of us. "I saw a light at the back of the truck."
I forced my way between two stacks and grabbed Krycek's arm again just as the door was opened. I sank backward, pulling him down on top of me, both of us landing on my backpack. I swore hotly, under my breath, as the edge of the crowbar jabbed my ribs like a shiv.
Even with the door open there was practically no light, save two small beams that darted here and there around the crates. Yet in that darkness I could see Krycek's face above me. He looked scared, yet determined. That apple for the teacher grin was starting to dance around his mouth again. The light skipped dangerously near us and then away. And then was gone.
"Nothing, Sir."
"Well, lock it up, just to be sure."
"Yes, Sir." And there was the grating sound of chains being drawn through the door handles and falling, with a thud, into place.
Krycek and I looked at each other, knowing the other's expression even in the blackness. Locked inside a refrigerated trailer with thirty or more bodies. Well, order pizza and get out the porn, it's party night.
The truck began to move again. Swaying and bumping. Krycek's body swayed and bumped against mine. It was annoying. It was...erotic. I gave him a shove. "Get off."
Krycek tumbled back, hitting his head on a box and barely stifling a yelp of pain. "Easy, will ya?" he complained, dragging himself upward. "Well? Where do we start?"
I stood and looked over the top of the crate next to me. "Let's start at that end." I pointed toward the sound of the reefer motor whining and whirring to my left. I grabbed the backpack and sidled after him.
I had chosen that end because in my very brief reconnoiter before the truck stopped, I had noticed there was one crate which had been left on its own. It would prove so much simpler to be able to find the answers we wanted in that box. I knelt beside it and, mini mag in my mouth, fumbled through my backpack for tools.
"It's cold," Krycek complained, rubbing his hands together.
"This'll warm you up," I said around the flashlight, and shoved the crowbar at him. "Start prying this lid up."
He pulled his hands away from me. "Wait! Wait. Give me a mask and gloves, first."
I tilted my head up so that the light was right in his eyes. "Just what do you know about this?"
"Nothing, I swear. I just don't believe in being foolish. You said you had masks and gloves. Let me use them."
With an impatient sigh that sent a cloud of whiteness around my face, I dug out surgical masks and gloves. "Here." The familiar sound of the gloves snapping over his hands made me ache a little. Please...let him be wrong, I thought. Then again, after weeks of not knowing...please, let him be right. I picked up the hammer and chisel.
"This sounds funny," he said, muffled behind the mask.
"You sound funny," I corrected him, setting the chisel against the lid of the box.
"No. Listen." He tapped the crowbar against the side of the box. "Doesn't it sound empty to you?"
I tapped the hammer against the chisel. "We're about to find out."
A couple of good sharp blows and a wake the dead creak, and we were able to lift the lid up. For a moment, I couldn't make myself look.
"Oh," I heard him say, sounding kind of sickened.
I steadied myself and peered over the lid.
It was empty.
Just a big, empty crate made from recycled lumber. The old labels could still be read on some of the slats. "Damn it." I dropped the lid. "Let's try another one." I started for the nearest stack.
"There's an easier way, isn't there?" he insisted, shifting around carefully to get to my side of the box.
"Isn't that just like you? Always looking for the easy way out?" I jeered, tapping the chisel against another lid.
"And isn't it just like you to make everything as difficult as possible?" he shot back. "Listen." He tapped the side of the container with the crowbar. "Empty." He tapped the one below it. "Empty." And the one on the bottom. "Ah...here. I think there might be something in here. Help me move these two."
It took some work moving those big boxes around in that confined space, enough work that for a moment we were both actually perspiring. And then the perspiration chilled and clung to our skins, making us both shiver as we tried to pry the lid up on the bottom box.
This one was on more securely than the others. We really had to work to open it. Only after much struggle did we realize this lid was screwed into place and wasn't coming up without a fight. Yet, when we did get the lid pulled up, we didn't find a body, anybody's body. Just packing material and some very odd looking tools. They were bent into convoluted loops and angles, made of a material that might have been steel, might have been something else … matted so it wasn't shiny, but smooth to the touch. "What the hell is this?"
Krycek peeled off his now tattered glove and ran his palm over one. "I haven't a clue." He sounded mystified, as if he truly hadn't expected to find anything like that.
I sank back on my haunches, an odd half hammer, half corkscrew in my hands. It was fascinating, and frightening, but it wasn't Dana Scully. I looked up at him and he looked down at me. I wanted to hit him with the ...thing in my hands. I wanted to howl in my frustration.
He leaned over the box and slid his bare, icy fingers over my cheek. "We'll find her," he promised roughly. "We will." He spun away from me and started tapping boxes.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"Nothing."
Thank you for stating the obvious, Agent Krycek, I thought bitterly, scanning the thin beam of the mini mag back up the length of the trailer. We'd ended up prying open every single box … and I had miscounted, there were thirty four. Only one had contained anything, the bizarre tools we'd discovered. Every other crate was empty.
"Doesn't make sense," he added.
"No." I pulled a lid up over a box and sank down, defeated. "But nothing has made sense to me for years. I feel right at home." I rubbed my arms. After the sweat, the refrigeration was almost unbearable. Almost as unbearable as my disappointment.
"Why all this security to ship a bunch of empty boxes and a few tools?" He kicked at the lid of another crate, rubbing his own arms restlessly. "Shit, is it cold."
"Is that a question?" I kicked the lid back at him. "The answer is shit, it is cold." Then something caught my eye. I tipped my head to look at it from another angle.
He noticed my movement and aped it. "What is it?"
I pointed with the crowbar. "Those markings. On the inside of the lid." I slid to my knees on the floor and peered inside. "And here. And over here." I twisted and pushed the lid off the box where I'd been sitting. "And here. And here. Shit." I stood and knocked another lid away. "And here's another one."
Krycek scrambled up next to me, pressed tight against me as the truck rolled and pitched. "What? What do you see?"
I shook my head. "They weren't shipping things." I pushed another lid away. "They were shipping a map to something." I glanced around, grabbed the lid I'd been sitting on and dragged it to the crate I'd most recently opened. "Here." I pressed my flashlight into his hands. "Look at this. Look at them together." I lined the edge of the lid against a marking inside the box. "This is a map. Look. Look! Numbers. Thirty one of four hundred eight." I looked around at the boxes around me. "Four hundred eight. Two, four, six … yeah … twelve boards per crate. Thirty four crates. Four hundred eight boards. This is a fucking map!" I grabbed his shoulders and shook hard. "And whatever this map leads to, they're going to need those tools to deal with it."
He grabbed my wrists to stop the shaking. "What are we going to do?"
I pulled my hands away. "Do?" I picked up the lid I had dropped. "We're going to go wherever they're going. We're going to find out what this map is for, what those tools are for. Help me put these back together."
He didn't move. The excitement that had flared in those glass green eyes dulled to concern. "What about Agent Scully?"
I stopped for a moment. "I believe," I began slowly, as I felt conviction grow in me, "that whatever this thing is, it will lead us to Scully." Euphoria was starting to spill out of me. Wherever we were going, she would be there. She had to be.
"How are we going to get in there? Just jump out of the truck when it stops and shout 'surprise!'?"
"That could work." I hammered the lid into place. "Or, we could hide in one of these crates and let them carry us in."
Krycek looked at another crate doubtfully. "Don't you think they'd notice? They were empty when they were loaded on the truck."
"We've been moving them around for hours and you haven't noticed that even empty they're fucking heavy?"
Krycek shuddered. "All I've noticed is that it's freezing in here."
"Help me put the lids back on," I offered, "that will warm you up."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"Well?"
"Not bad," I nodded approvingly. "I doubt anyone will notice anything amiss when they start unloading." I blew into my hands which were almost numb with cold.
Krycek inched his way back up between the stacks. "Listen."
I lifted my head. "What?" It was as silent as a tomb. "I don't hear anything."
"That's just it. The reefer unit's stopped." He put his hand against the wall. "Still cold, but it's not running. And the truck's stopped."
I stood up. "Where are the two crates we didn't seal?"
"Wait a minute, wait a minute." Krycek slid back along the path between stacks to the back of the trailer. I could hear the scraping of metal on metal. Then whispered curses in assorted languages.
"What is it?"
His voice was flat. "Come here and look for yourself."
He had pushed the doors open the few inches allowable before the chains through the handles went taut. It was enough for us to see out into the dim gloom. We were inside what appeared to be an aircraft hangar. There were very few lights, so few that it almost seemed darker than it really was. There were no visible vehicles or aircraft, no personnel. "Where the hell are we?"
"Let's find out. Give me the crowbar."
It took both of us putting full weight and our combined gift of swearing to break the chains wound through the door handles, and when it came down to it, we never did actually break the chain. We broke one of the handles off the back of the trailer door. At that point, we would take it. Krycek jumped down first, a heretofore unseen gun in his hand. I followed suit. The place was big, dark, musty and empty. And cold. I think it was warmer inside the refrigerated trailer.
A quick tour of the perimeter told us there was only one entrance, and therefore only one exit. Four story corrugated metal doors. After testing them, we came to the simultaneous conclusion that they were barred from the outside and we were unequivocally trapped. "Remind me to kill you," I snarled, backing away from the doors, rubbing my soon to be bruised shoulder.
"You won't kill me now," he answered, rubbing his own shoulder. "You need me for warmth."
"There's an option." I glanced upward into the blackness. "I'll use you for firewood." How did I get to this place? Oh, yeah. Krycek had appeared at my door that evening as I returned from another empty, pointless, soulless day pretending I cared about anything but finding my missing partner. He had told me he had proof that Scully was dead and how we could find her body and give her a decent burial and closure for her family. Fuck her family. I needed the closure. And look where it had gotten me. Trapped in a hangar to freeze to death with a punk ass rat bastard.
It wasn't until that moment that I realized he had told me she was dead. Until that moment, I had refused to accept it. I had weighed the possibilities, tried to prepare myself to look at her body, but I hadn't admitted to myself that she would be gone, out of my reach for the rest of my life. I felt that howl fighting its way out of me. I tipped my head back, and waited for the grief to explode. And when I was through crying, I was going to break every bone in Krycek's body. Not only was she dead, I was trapped and would never be able to find her, and it was his fault.
Before the first sob shuddered through me, arms came around me tightly. "Don't." His breath was hot and harsh on my neck. "Don't do it. It's going to be okay."
I struggled. He wasn't letting go. "Get off me, you bastard. This is your fault."
"I know. I know," he promised. "Just don't lose it. Please. Mulder. Please." There was a thread of desperation under his fierceness. "If you lose it, then I will." His arms jerked tighter around my body. "So, don't."
I told myself I didn't break his neck right there because he was warm. Warm enough to thaw the icicles forming in my stomach. I drew a shaky breath. "Okay. I'm okay. Let go."
He didn't. I didn't really want him to. He was the last solid, real thing in my life. I suspected him. I might even fear him a little, but he was there and he was warm. His breath was sending waves of heat under my collar and his body, not for the first time that night, was pressed against mine...sort of...molded to me.
We stood still in the middle of that vast structure for a moment. There was no discussion. I'm not even aware there was a decision. Just a moment when a shiver rippled through his body where he was against mine. "It's cold," he said again. This time it was plaintive.
I nodded, staring out into the blackness. "Yeah."
"How cold do you think it is?" His arms shifted to wrap around me tighter still.
"Oh … twenty degrees, maybe. There's no moisture left in the air."
"Then let's get back in the truck." He tugged at me. "Reefer units have to keep to a rigid standard. Thirty two degrees."
"The unit's turned off," I reminded him. I wasn't trying to be arbitrary at that point. I wasn't trying to be anything. I was incapable. I was empty. The words were on autopilot now.
"It's still warmer in there than out here. Will be for a little while, at least." He tugged with his entire body. "Come on."
I followed, letting him direct me back to the trailer. I even let him help me up, even though his hand stayed around mine longer than necessary. He dragged me back closest to the unit, and made a space where we could sit, if we huddled close together.
Without even knowing he had offered or I had accepted, I found myself against him, my face buried against his neck, sobbing silently.
"I am so sorry," he whispered, stroking my neck. "I am so, so sorry."
"She's gone," I wept. "I'll never find her now. I'll never know what happened to her. If she's a … if she's alive I ca-can't save her."
"We'll find her," he promised, rubbing my shoulders. "You'll see. We can't have come this far to end like this. We can't. Something will happen." His cheek brushed against my brow. "Believe that, if you can believe in anything. We'll find her."
I wanted to believe. I wanted to believe that more than anything in my entire life. But I didn't. I felt such an incredible failure. I didn't save my sister, I can't save Scully. Hell, I couldn't even save myself.
"We will, Fox," he promised urgently, his mouth sliding lightly over my brow. "You'll see."
I was more stunned that he used my name than the fact that he kissed me. I lifted my head and searched the darkness for the place where his eyes must be. "Call me Mulder," I said stupidly.
"Mulder." He kissed my mouth.
He's kissing me, my brain shouted, do something! I thought about hitting him. I thought about shoving him away. I thought about slapping him 'til he cried like a little girl. I just sat there and let him kiss me. "What … do you think...you are do...ing?" I asked around his mouth.
"Kissing you," he whispered. "Aren't I?"
"Why?"
He gave me a gentle push and as I fell back, he followed me. "Because I..." he paused. "I don't know. You're the psychologist, you tell me."
"Fear of death." I slid my hands up 'til they met at the back of his neck and I held on there. "Our bodies sense death is imminent and they want to reproduce while they can." It wasn't so bad kissing him. He had a soft mouth like a woman, and a wicked tongue. And he was warm, and wriggling, pressing against my cold, tired body. "That's the theory, anyway."
"Good theory." His icy fingers pulled the collar of my jacket away so his hot mouth could fasten there. After a moment of doing something that was sending alien signals to all manner of places inside me, he pulled back and murmured, "Have you ever …"
"No."
"Have you ever wanted to?"
I was bumping my hips upward to get more contact with him. "No."
"Then why?"
I pulled his mouth down to mine. "Fear of death," I said again, against his mouth. "If I can fuck you, I'm still alive."
He went still. "Fuck me?" he repeated, alarmed.
"Metaphorically speaking," I assured him. I locked my hands behind him and rolled sharply, putting me on top of him. I began to rub my body against his. "Feel that?"
"Uh huh."
"Good, we're both still alive."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
We used the masks and a piece of rag we'd found in one of the crates to clean ourselves. The heat had been intense between us for a few moments, but as our respiration began to slow, we began to cool down rapidly. Krycek had rolled into a ball of arms and legs and shivers, watching me while I bravely took my jeans down to wipe off my belly. I gave him a warning glance lest he feel compelled to make observations.
When I was done, I settled down beside him and wrapped myself over him tightly. It wasn't a romantic gesture. It wasn't sentimental. Just common sense. I pressed my nose into his back and listened to his teeth begin to chatter. "Can you hotwire a diesel truck?" I asked casually.
"What makes you think I can hotwire any kind of truck?" he mumbled, burying his face into his arms.
"Just had a feeling you'd done it once or twice." I shrugged. "Oh, well. It was just an idea."
He was quiet a moment. "You mean...to use the heater in the cab?"
"Well, that's one possibility." I pulled even closer. "Another is to get out of here."
"Out?" He squirmed and wriggled until he had broken the embrace and turned to look at me. "How? In case you forgot, there are some big fucking locked doors-"
"And this is a big fucking truck. Don't you think we could bust through them if we tried?" I tried to pull him back to me. Without the frantic movement of our bodies, it was colder than ever.
"Worth a try." That kid with an apple look of eagerness was coming back. "Yeah, worth a try."
Breaching the tractor itself was no great challenge. Even I knew how to break into a vehicle. While Krycek routed under the steering column looking for a way to send an electrical impulse to the engine, I was routing through the rest of the cab, looking for some indication of who was doing what, and why. I found a box of maps and paperwork and scanned it while I listened to him grunt, bump and swear. "We're in Kentucky, by the way."
He banged his head on the console. "Shit. How do you know?"
I held up a map. "X marks the spot."
He snorted. "You'd think the Army would be more original."
"You'd think."
"I don't know if I can do this, Mulder," he said a moment later. He sounded as if he'd just let a patient die on the table.
"Okay, let's try plan B." I held out something I'd found in the map box.
He reached up and took it from my hand. "You'd think the Army would be more clever."
"Yeah," I sat up and settled into the seat. "You'd think."
"Is it the right one?"
"We'll never know unless you stop asking stupid questions and try it."
He bumped his head again, but pulled himself into the driver's seat. "I've never driven a big rig like this."
"Neither have I."
He leaned down and worked the key into place. "It fits." The truck rumbled to life, like a dragon yawning after a nap. "About what happened...you know...earlier..."
I nodded sharply. I didn't want to talk about it. "Fear of death. Understood."
"No." He tested gears and pedals and the beast started to roll. "Fear of losing you."
I steeled every muscle in my body to keep from looking at him.
He was looking at me, though. I could feel it. "I...I..." he stopped and sighed. "I've wanted to know what it would be like with you since the first day I met you."
I remained rigid. It wasn't that I was repulsed or offended. It was that I was scared. It was easy to focus on a woman who would never have me. It protected me from myself. But a man...a man who wanted me...this man who wanted me...dangerous. Very dangerous. "Just drive," I said through clenched teeth. "We'll talk about it after we're out of here."
He nodded, and began, with lurches and stalls to turn the truck around and aim it toward the corrugated metal doors. "There might be guards posted out there."
I coughed a little to find my voice. "Might be. We won't know until we're out there. Or would you prefer to die in here?"
He amped up the engine, making it whine. "Thelma and Louise, huh?"
I made a face at him. "I prefer Butch and Sundance." When he responded with a blank stare I shook my head. "Before your time. Drive."
It wasn't very climactic or exciting. The corrugated doors buckled and fell on impact, and it was more like tearing through paper than metal. Outside it was dark, but the sky was clear and the road was open. For a moment we just looked at each other, exulting in freedom we thought we'd never see again. "Where to?" he asked, almost laughing.
I didn't laugh. I smiled. "Home."