Some Weird Sin

By Cameragrrrl

Disclaimer and some such:
I do not have the rights to use any characters 
officially associated with The X-Files/ Lone Gunmen 
television series. I am using these characters without the 
permission of FOX, 1013 Productions, Chris Carter, or 
any other copyright owners. Of course, this is intended for 
[non-profit] entertainment only, and no 
infringement on copyrights or trademarks 
was intended by the author.

Any similarities to people, places, and other works of
fanfiction are purely coincidental.

All other characters not officially associated with 
The X-Files/ Lone Gunmen (including, but not limited to, 
Smithee and Ellroy) are property of the author 
and should not be recycled into another story without

No animals were harmed during the making of this fanfic, 
except for two mosquitoes and one waterbug.

Cost of coffee drunk while writing this: $15.82
Cost of paper used to print out draft copies: $2.38
Cost of Anne Hawley's beta-reading skills: PRICELESS

The 'present' of this story takes place a few years 
before The Lone Gunmen series timeline.

* * *

We're driving along 275, my feet up on the 
dashboard. Surreal and uncomfortable. 
I look out of the window and then quickly look away. 
It's too different from DC, that's what it is. 

No. It's too familiar. 

Ellory's been trying to make friendly 
conversation. I can't deal with 
it; I don't even look at him when 
I answer, just stare out the window. 

"You know, you're a pain in the ass 
to get a hold of."

"Other people manage."

"How was the flight?" 


"You got tall, man. Last time I saw you, 
you were still a little shorter than me."

"Just six feet." 

"How's DC? Different then Nebraska, eh?"


"You still into computers? I bet you make 
a lot of money with that."

"Yeah, I wish."

"Well . . . could be worse. You could be here."

"I am here."

"True. Glad to be home?"

I snort. 

He starts veering the car toward the shoulder, 
then comes to a sudden stop. It's a good 
thing I have my seatbelt on - but my feet 
skid off the dash and slam right into the 
windshield. "Hey, man, easy on the brakes!"

Ellroy glares at me, then gets out of the car 
and slams the door shut. He just stands 
there, arms crossed, watching the traffic 
whiz by. I don't know what to do or what he 
wants me to do, so I get out and join him. 

Angry silence. Then, "Get over it, Richard." 

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He shakes his head. "It means that you don't 
have the right to come here and act like 
the world owes you a favor." 

"Wait a minute -"

"No, I want you to hear this. You know, 
after you left your dad got really 
depressed. He tried to kill himself a 
couple of years ago. You didn't know that, 
did you? I was the only person in the whole 
damn county that went to see him in the hospital.
When they released him, it was on the condition 
that I would have custodial responsibility. 
Do you know what that means? I had to visit 
him once a week and make sure he wasn't dead. 
Once a week, for two years. I wouldn't have 
done that for my own stepfather." 

I feel like he just punched me in the throat. 
"Well. Thanks," I mumble.

"I'm not telling you this so you can thank me. 
I want you to appreciate the situation - usually, 
that responsibility is given to the patient's 
children. But you weren't here. I couldn't find 
you. So I did it."

I can't even look at him anymore. I look at my 
Converse. My glasses keep sliding down my nose, 
and I keep pushing them up again. It's annoying - but
anything's easier than looking at Ellroy right now. 

"Whatever anger you have is your own problem. 
Deal with it however you need to. And I'm 
not saying you don't have a right to be 
angry. I know. Just don't be angry at me. 
You may not believe this, but I have never 
done anything but try to help you," he says earnestly. 

It's funny, I think, how many times have I had 
this conversation with Frohike? Same words, 
same pushing my glasses up while I stare at 
my feet, same feeling like the lowest form 
of Total Shit while Frohike makes his speech 
and gets to sound all high and mighty. 

Too many. 

Too many, to the point where I've stopped 
trying to defend myself: I'm always wrong, 
they're always right. Which is why I can't 
stop myself from blurting out, petulantly, 
"Like you 'help' my mother?"

He stares at the cars again. Then he says, 
after a while, "That's not fair. I loved 
your mother. She meant a lot to me."

I stop hearing him. Ellroy's still talking, 
but suddenly all I hear are these words: 
Loved. Meant. 

And it's not so much that he's talking in 
the past tense, but that look in his eyes. 
Vacant. Like something was stolen from him.

"Richard? Are you all right?" I dimly feel 
something tug at my arm. 

"She's dead." 

"Yeah, she -" he stops short. "Oh my god. 
You didn't know."

All the nausea from the plane comes slamming 
back. I'm on my knees before I know it, and 
there's nothing in my stomach but seltzer 
and Dramamine and some coffee I bought in 
the airport, and in between heaves all I 
can do is mumble, "It's not fair, it's not 
fucking fair."

If Frohike were here, he'd at least hold my 
hair back - well, probably. If he wasn't 
mad at me or anything. 

Ellroy just stands and watches. Thanks 
for the fucking help. 

* * *