Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. Fox and 1013 own Dana Scully and Alliance owns everyone else. I intend no infringement.
Note: Written for a "worst-case scenario challenge on Live Journal September 2005 -- How to Stop A Car with No Brakes.

Feedback: mab49@earthlink.net

As she negotiated the twists and turns of a country lane, Scully reveled in being behind the wheel for once. Mulder would occasionally let her drive, but not often. Aside from one memorable confrontation on the issue, Scully didn't really mind. Mulder was a good driver and, unlike herself, could actually drive and talk at the same time without precipitating an accident. That didn't mean she was altogether happy whenever he took his eyes off the road to make eye contact during an enthusiastic discussion, but they had survived this long. Besides, driving forced Mulder to divide his attention and that slight edge worked to her advantage at times.

Taking a consulting assignment in upper Wisconsin had seemed like a good idea at the time. Mulder was sidelined with two broken ribs and a badly wrenched knee and was not only restless but increasingly testy about being confined to desk duty. Personally, Scully thought that he was lucky he was alive. Most people don't bounce when they are shoved off a ladder two flights up; Mulder wasn't most people as she'd come to realize. Of course, the fact that he'd taken the perp down with him and somehow managed to land on him probably had something to do with the fact that the perp was still in the hospital with multiple fractures and Mulder was mobile. After a week of enduring a grumpy Mulder, Scully leapt at the chance to fly several hundred miles away to provide assistance to a badly over-loaded state crime lab.

She would never admit it to Mulder's face, but she'd missed his sardonic, outrageous take on the cases. For four years she'd complained that Mulder always put a paranormal spin on cases that could be easily explained by science only to find in the past week that normal cases bored her. Not a single alien, werewolf, or even a liver-eating mutant disturbed the routine cases she'd helped prep for prosecution. She found herself pondering if Mulder was somehow infectious. His penchant for seeing the paranormal turned the most routine cases into intellectual sparring matches. It wouldn't be good for him to know that she had begun to secretly enjoy their jaunts into the strange and weird. Best to continue acting as the sane and logical one while hoping that he never stopped pushing the envelope. If she ever retired to write her memoirs, she'd make a fortune in the Sci-Fi market, she thought with a laugh.

The air rushing past her face was filled with the scent of new-mown hay and the teasing hint of rain. There were heavy clouds off to the west bearing down ahead of a rapidly freshening wind. Aside from a few crows and a cow or two, Scully had the countryside to herself. She wondered if an X-File lurked among the scattered hay rolls and shorn cornfields. If Mulder were here, she would lay odds that he'd find one. One day she intended to prepare a proper statistical report on the number of X-Files cases that occurred in rural or remote areas far from decent motels. She pondered the thesis that there was a direct relationship between the proximity of a one-star motel and paranormal events.

A sharp curve broke her reverie and she immediately turned her full attention back to the road. She could see a series of low hills up ahead that offered tantalizing glimpses of rolling fields and ponds sparkling with sunlight breaking through the clouds. The sky was a golden haze reflecting the sun off heavy thunderclouds giving an eerie cast to the countryside.

"All I need now is an X-File." Scully found the idea amusing. X-Files found her partner as if he had a homing beacon stitched into his chest. They avoided her like the plague. Maybe you see what you want to see, she admitted to herself regretfully.

Before she had time to dwell on the fact that strict rationalism was occasionally boring, she noticed a car coming down the hill towards her in an extremely erratic fashion.

"Idiot." Scully carefully slowed down, prepared to head for the shoulder if the moron in the other car decided to take his half out of the middle of the road. It was only 3 p.m.; far too early for the drunks to be out. Apparently, this one had decided to start celebrating the weekend early.

As the car approached, Scully pulled out her badge and prepared to give the hapless driver a good look at the gold badge in the hopes that the shock of seeing a cop might scare him sober. True, she had no jurisdiction, but she didn't intend to actually pull him over; just get him to slow down before he ran himself, or someone else, off the road. Raising her hand to flash the badge as the car passed by, Scully braked suddenly as her brain frantically tried to unscramble the message her eyes were transmitting.

Sun glare, she thought as she shook her head. She could have sworn that the driver of the car hurtling down the hill wasn't human. It wasn't one of Mulder's aliens, but in some ways Scully wished she had seen a gray-skinned, big-eyed extra-terrestrial being. After four years with Mulder, at least that would make some sense. Her brain simply refused to acknowledge that what she saw was a very large white dog, or rather wolf as her scientific side pointed out, behind the wheel of the car. Its paws were on the steering wheel giving a credible impression that it was actually trying to steer the car.

Hallucinations were Mulder's department, not hers, she insisted even as a second look confirmed that there was a runaway car being driven by a wolf. Scully carefully pulled over to the side of the road and tried to think logically. It was remotely possible that she was still back at the Madison hotel fast asleep and enjoying a very vivid dream. She didn't feel asleep and as far as she knew, she hadn't ingested any hallucinogenic drugs lately. If Mulder were here, she could at least blame his uncanny ability to attract the unusual.

Chiding herself for being foolish, Scully very carefully checked her surroundings for rabbit holes or trans-dimensional gates. She'd never admit it to Mulder, but she had been addicted to the Twilight Zone as a teenager. Any moment now she expected to hear Rod Serling do a voice-over.

As she sat in the idling car trying to decide if a wolf driving a car fell under the FBI's jurisdiction, she looked up the hill to see a man running towards her. It didn't take a trained investigator to deduce that he was chasing the car that had just rolled past her. The car had a head start, but the man was closing the distance with a ground-eating stride. As she stared at the figure drawing closer she realized that he was dressed in a bright red uniform.

At this point, Scully felt her jar drop. The afternoon had just turned into an X-File. She finally had her very own X-File and Mulder was no-where around to appreciate the irony, or even to hazard a guess as to why a Canadian Mountie would be chasing a car on foot through the Wisconsin countryside.

As the Mountie drew up even with her car, she noticed that he was barely breathing hard. Then she realized that he was drop-dead handsome; a recruiting poster come to life. Scully wondered if the Red Queen would be the next one down the hill. If she had crossed over into fantasy land, she might put in a request for Ilya Kuryakin to show up.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am. I hope that Diefenbaker didn't startle you. He's ordinarily quite reliable," the Mountie said as he paused to run in place beside her car window.

Numbly, Scully shook her head. Logic simply failed her in making any sense out of the situation. She got the feeling that logic was hiding under the bed and refusing to come back out.

The Mountie looked down at the badge in Scully's hand. He gave her a rueful look.

"I'm Constable Benton Fraser, Agent . . . Scully," Fraser said politely as he leaned in slightly to read the name on the badge.

"I assure you that I will speak very sharply to Diefenbaker about this incident. Now, if you'll excuse me."

Peering out the window, Scully looked back down the road where she could see the car leave the road and roll into a nearby hay bale with a loud thump and a cloud of dust.

"Ah, good, he remembered. I hope Detective Vecchio's car survived intact." With a respectful nod of his head, Fraser turned and resumed running down the hill towards the now stationary car.

Scully was still sitting in her idling car trying to decide if she really wanted to know what was going on when she saw another figure top the hill and start running down it towards her.

Finally giving into the impulse to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, Scully decided that even if it meant missing her plane, she was going to have to find out what was going on. For the first time since she walked into medical school, she decided to do something completely and irrationally spontaneous.

Mulder would be proud. With that thought, Scully turned off the engine and stepped out of the car, carefully timing her exit so that she would intersect the man running down the hill. It was difficult to make a precise estimate of the man's height, but she guessed that he was a little shorter than Constable Fraser. As he drew closer, she took in the sight of an ordinary-looking man with spiky blond hair and decided that if Fraser was a model for a recruiting poster, Detective Vecchio was the epitome of an overworked cop who'd spent one too many twenty-four hour work days.

"Detective Vecchio, I presume," she said cheerfully as the man approached. Unlike Constable Fraser, Vecchio was breathing hard, but he was also managing a very credible sprint. Not in Fraser's class, perhaps, but he didn't seem to be on the edge of collapse. However, from the way his lips were moving, Scully suspected that he was wasting his breath swearing. If that was his car that had passed by, she could sympathize.

Vecchio halted abruptly at the sound of her voice. He looked surprised to see her.

"Ma'am?" he replied cautiously between deep breaths and an anxious look down to the bottom of the hill. Absently, he tugged down the sleeves of the jacket he was wearing, but not before she saw that he was wearing a copper bracelet on his right wrist. Scully wondered if he believed in the dubious therapeutic properties of copper. It would seem that Fraser and Vecchio were a study in opposites.

Sort of like Mulder and me. Scully found the comparison amusing. This detour was rapidly becoming the high point of her trip. She wasn't sure how, or even if, she was going to explain this to Mulder.

"If you're chasing a car, it rolled into a field off the turn at the bottom of the hill." Scully carefully kept her expression neutral. Vecchio looked like a cop who was having a very bad day. She didn't want to make it worse by laughing.

"Damn mechanics. They said they'd fixed that f . . . , pardon me, damn brake," Vecchio said, stumbling over his words in an obvious effort to censor his more profane speech. Scully felt oddly complimented. Usually she resented it when male cops tried to gentrify their profanities.

"I'm Special Agent Dana Scully. Obviously, this doesn't fall under the jurisdiction of the FBI, but I have to know: what is a Mountie doing in full dress in Wisconsin?" Scully felt a smile attempt to break through and mentally glared at it until it subsided.

"Shit. Oh, hell, I mean . . . " Vecchio stopped, took several very deep breaths, then tore his eyes away from the small dust cloud floating over the road at the bottom of the hill.

"Some Canadian big shot got himself in trouble in a small town about fifteen miles from here and squawked for help from the Consulate in Chicago. Fraser got the job of smoothing ruffled feathers and dickering for the man's release from jail. I got the job of driving him down here. There's a gas station just over the crest of that hill I just ran down. Damn parking brake slipped out while Fraser and I were arguing over who was going to buy gas."

Scully nodded. It always amazed her how seemingly extraordinary events usually had a completely mundane explanation. Vecchio's story sounded simple. It didn't explain how a wolf got behind the wheel of the car, though.

"Agent Scully, do you mind if I get down there and make sure I still have a car that works?" Vecchio asked as he cast nervous eyes down the road.

"Hop in, Detective. I came into this story in the middle and now that you've given me the beginning, I would really like to see the end of it." Scully turned back to her car. After a moment, she heard Vecchio's footsteps follow her.

"I'm certain there's also a very simple explanation for why a wolf was behind the wheel?" she prompted as she deftly turned the car around and headed back down the way she'd come.

"Nothing about Dief is simple, Agent Scully," Vecchio replied. Scully waited for an explanation, but Vecchio didn't elaborate.

With an expert turn of the wheel, Scully made a U-turn and headed back down the hill. Vecchio sat stiffly in the seat and craned his head out the window in an effort to assess the damage to his car. From what Scully could see through the settling dust cloud, the car appeared to be intact. As she pulled off the road at the point where Vecchio's car had left the road, Scully pursed her lips in a silent whistle. She found it impossible to believe that a wolf could steer a car, but either her assumption was in error or Vecchio's guardian angel was working overtime. The car was buried up to the windshield in a hay roll that sat in between a large pond and a parked threshing machine.

Almost before her car came to a complete stop, Vecchio bolted out the door and made a beeline for his car. Scully carefully turned off her car and set the parking brake. The road made a gentle curve about ten feet ahead, but she recalled that the curve sloped down into a sharper curve before plunging down another steep incline. That Vecchio's car went off the road at this opportune spot was pure chance, she reminded herself sternly.

Wolves don't drive cars. Scully refused to listen to a small voice in the back of her head that suggested that this particular chance was stretching the odds. The voice sounded a lot like Mulder.

Smothering a smile, Scully carefully picked her way over the tangled remains of a barbed-wire fence. The ground was uneven, but at least it was dry. A tow truck should be able to rescue the car with a minimum of fuss unless somehow Vecchio's luck held and he could manage to back the car out of the field.

As she approached, she saw the wolf sitting by the car looking rather bored as the Mountie delivered a stern lecture.

"Everything OK?" she asked.

"Diefenbaker would like to offer his apologies for this incident, Agent Scully, as would I," Fraser said gravely.

Scully looked at the wolf who didn't look remotely apologetic. She decided not to press the issue. Talking wolves fell under Mulder's province.

"Still, I am gratified that he remembered one of the basic rules for stopping a runaway car -- find something soft to run into. I suppose we will need to locate the owner of this field and offer recompense for the fence," Fraser mused as he stared at the trail plowed up by the car.

"I suppose pulling the emergency brake would be a bit beyond his abilities," Scully found herself saying to her surprise. She hadn't intended to play into this odd Mountie's belief that this wolf actually knew what he was doing.

"No thumbs. Perhaps I should suggest to Detective Vecchio that installing an emergency brake that pushes would be prudent?" Fraser didn't smile and Scully wasn't sure whether he was serious or joking. For sanity's sake, she decided that he shared Mulder's ability to joke while sounding and looking completely serious.

"Right. Can I offer you a lift to the gas station? I'm sure the owner will know who owns this field. Perhaps he can also arrange for a tow?" Scully offered.

A grinding sound following by a loud hiccup from the stranded car startled her. After a few more hiccups, the engine settled down into a comfortable roar. With a violent lurch, the car moved backwards several feet until Scully could see Vecchio through the windshield. She waved him to stop before he hit the barbed wire with his tires. One rear tire was already deflating and the second was sagging.

"Well, she runs," Vecchio said with a grin as he turned off the engine and clambered out of the driver's seat.

"Well done, Dief," he said, then carefully masked his grin with a stern glare at a gesture from Fraser.

"Oh, right. Bad wolf. Very bad," he said sternly while concealing a thumbs-up gesture that he carefully concealed from Fraser. An odd series of gestures followed that seemed to excite the wolf, who grinned.

"Ray, Agent Scully has graciously offered to convey us back up to the gas station." Fraser paused for a moment, looking at Dief then at Scully.

Scully wasn't sure she welcomed the idea of sharing her car with a wolf, but under the circumstances, she'd felt obliged to offer.

"Just tell him that I do the driving," she quipped. To her discomfort, Dief looked directly at her and seemed, just for a moment, to wink. Disturbing thoughts about wolves as back-seat drivers scurried across her mind.

Vecchio gave a laughing snort as he clambered across the ditch towards her car. Fraser gave the wolf a stern look. The wolf simply stared back for a moment, then stood up and trotted towards her car. For a moment, Scully was afraid she was going to be sharing the front seat with a wolf, but Fraser pointed to the back and the wolf obediently sat down and waited for Vecchio to open the door.

Once her passengers were safely deposited at the gas station, Scully remembered she had a plane to catch. She waved off Vecchio's offer of coffee. Fraser thanked her formally then marched off towards a phone. Scully wondered if he ever did anything informally. It had to be the dress uniform, she decided. Dief walked over to the shade of an old tree and plopped down.

"The wolf really didn't steer the car, did he?" she asked Vecchio as she stared at the wolf sprawled out on his side in the grass. For the first time in her life, she felt a reluctant sympathy for Alice and her improbable white rabbit. White wolves wouldn't be any easier to explain, she realized.

"I wouldn't bet against it," Vecchio replied with a grin and a shake of his head. "Now I gotta see a guy about a tow truck. Thanks for the lift."

Bemused by her unexpected encounter, Scully resumed her trip. Maybe Mulder's penchant for finding X-Files under every rock was contagious? Scully smiled at the thought. Better not tell Mulder, she decided. He needed her to be the scoffer in their partnership. They traded off the job occasionally, but she enjoyed poking holes in his theories if only to see how he hit the ball back into her court. Maybe one day, when they had run out of X-Files, she'd tell him about a strange wolf who drove past her one day.

The End.