A/N: Oh wow...almost a year between updates. A personal record of procrastination. (Meanwhile, there's a small part of my brain insisting that this is NOT something to be proud of...). In my defense...
Uh...I got sucked into another fandom against my will? -sheepish- No? How about...uh...I realized that this story was narrated by a thinly veiled Mary-Sue and that most of the plot I had in mind for this has been poured into a Stargate/Lone Gunmen crossover?
Oh yeah, that you believe.
Well...either way, pickin' up where I left off now...mostly because I'm procrastinating on updating everything else that's in progress. My mind works in such strange ways...
The man beneath my boot smirked at me, "I don't believe we've had the pleasure."
I remained stationary, staring down the barrel of my gun at him menacingly, "Yeah well, your rep precedes you."
"Afraid I can't say the same." He motioned at the boot held firmly on his throat lazily, "If you would be so kind?"
"I don't think so, pal," I replied, keeping my aim directly between his eyes, "Before you even think about moving, I want to know why you're here."
"Then you'll let me up?"
"No, then I'll shoot you." I allowed myself the tiniest of sneers, "See, I had planned on looking for you, but you've saved me the trouble of hunting you down to kill you. Thanks for that."
"Somehow I doubt 'You're welcome' is an appropriate reply in this situation," he answered impatiently, "Put that gun away before you shoot yourself in the foot."
The smoking hole in the ground a hair's breadth to the left of Fletcher's head seemed to go a long way towards silencing him. "You were saying?"
For a moment, anyway…
He tsked at me, "Desecrating the gravesites of America's fallen heroes…shame, shame."
I started getting irritated, "Do you have a death wish?"
"I have a few misgivings about your desire to murder me being as genuine as you would have me believe." The smirk on his smarmy face widened, "Especially considering the information I've got that you'd find oh-so-very interesting concerning your…friends."
"The Gunmen, you mean…I already know the story, chum. I also know you had a hand in their untimely downfall. Hence why I'm so spirited when it comes to the subject of your demise…and my direct involvement with it."
Fletcher chuckled, "Revenge is a dish best served cold…" He leered at my soaked shirt, "Which is a requirement you seem to be meeting quite admirably."
I squeezed off another shot, this one to the right of the incurable letch's head.
"You're trying my patience. If you've got anything of worth to say--which I doubt--get it over with."
"So you can shoot me? I think not, girlie. I'm a veteran at the whole betrayal song and dance. I've got information…you obviously want to know what it is, otherwise you'd have killed me by now…way I see it, we should make a deal."
I considered for a moment, studying that simpering mug intently for any signs of deception before I made my decision.
"Fine. You tell me, and I won't shoot you in the head. You've got my solemn oath."
Removing my boot from his neck, I took two measured steps backward as he clumsily got to his feet and grabbed his lapels, giving his jacket a swift straightening. He tugged at his tie and smoothed his rumpled collar, "Well…now that we can talk like civilized adults…"
"Cut the small talk, Fletcher. If you've got any valid info, spill it before I change my mind about my solemn oath."
He snickered, "Please…I know your type. You're like them." He gestured at the three headstones, "You make a promise, you keep it…all part of your self imposed code of ethics."
The man had a point…
"But, in the interests of keeping the peace," he looked at me seriously, "Your three stooges aren't dead."
"And I'm supposed to believe you?"
"It's the truth."
"Uh huh…sure. Yeah. Right. A dealer in deception like you has decided, out of the goodness of his heart, to let me know that these three men--three men who I know for a fact are dead and buried--aren't?" I holstered my gun as I scoffed, " Next you'll have a bridge you want to sell me. I don't know what possessed me to think you had any useful information."
"Someone like you should know that not everything is black and white when it comes to things like this…faking a death is exceedingly simple. It's not like faking three is much harder."
"Someone like me? Buddy, you don't even know me. As for the faking of deaths…even if I were to consider that as a possibility--which I'm not--it's been five years. The Gunmen would have resurfaced by now in some capacity."
Fletcher looked at me as though I was being thickheaded "Ah, but you're thinking that they faked their own deaths."
"Oh and I suppose someone else did? Come on. To what end?"
"Think about it…having three of the world's most valuable hackers--men who have extensive knowledge of the X-Files and marketable skills--at your disposal is quite the incentive."
I narrowed my eyes at him suspiciously and he reacted accordingly.
Fletcher put his hands up in defeat, "Hey, believe me, don't. Doesn't really make any difference to me…just figured you'd want to know."
He turned then, as if to leave, and though every instinct I had was screaming at me to let him go, my curiosity was piqued to the point that I couldn't ignore it.
"Hold on a second, Fletcher."
He twisted his head to one side just far enough so that he could look at me over his shoulder, "Yes?"
He swore colorfully as he went down and I advanced on his fallen form.
"Bitch! You--you bitch! You--you said--"
"I never said anything about shooting you in the knee." I crouched down to stare at him, "And I can't have you in good shape if this is all a ruse, now can I? Last thing I need is you deciding to run out on me at a crucial moment and leave me holdin' the bag. Without a kneecap, you're a lot less likely to make any daring escape attempts."
I grabbed him by the collar and hauled him up off the ground with some difficulty, "See, Criminal Survival Tactics 101...a wounded hostage is always better than a healthy one."