Summary: Byers is out funky poaching on his own. Byers/Susanne.

THE MEETING by Alison


Email: xalison@excite.com
Category: Response to challenge
Disclaimer: Not mine, etc
Archive: Wherever you like!
Summary: This is in response to the February Topica challenge: Byers
is out funky poaching on his own.


12.30 AM



It was a long, low, two-storey building set a little way back from the
road, almost indistinguishable from the rest of the office buildings
and
warehouses of the area, behind a narrow belt of trees that did little
to
protect it from the constant roar of traffic on the freeway even at
this
time of night. Byers stood under one of the trees, just another shadow
indistinguishable from all the others, and watched the building
carefully.

He had checked it out twice already that evening, driving past once
while it was still light enough to identify it from the description he
had been given, and again only half an hour ago. After that he had
parked his car in the corner of the empty parking lot of an office
building a mile down the road and walked back in the dark, invisible in
his black clothing. Now he stood and waited until the time was right.

Half past midnight, and nearly all the windows were dark now. The
brightest light was in the reception area, where a TV flickered and a
security guard lounged with his feet up on the desk. Byers checked his
watch again, took a deep breath and started to move cautiously towards
the side of the building. He felt the familiar ripple of apprehension
start in his gut and his heart beat faster. He would never, never get
accustomed to this. No matter how many times, whether with the other
guys or like now, alone, the fear that was his old friend, his constant
companion, stalked close behind him. He felt the sweat prickle under
his arms and down his spine.

He swallowed. Concentrate ... take one step at a time. Don't lose it.
Careful ...

With frequent pauses, slipping in and out of the shadows, moving
cautiously and carefully over the uneven ground, he covered the
distance
between the road and the side of the building, heading for the back and
the fire exit he had been assured was there. Gradually, habit and
practice took over and he relaxed, confidence returning, and like a
hunting cat reclaiming its territory, he moved smoothly and silently
through the dark towards the corner of the building. His eyes now
fully
adapted to the night, he could see every bump and hollow and rough
place
in the ground, and as he reached the corner he saw a narrow concrete
path leading along the side wall towards the back.

Following the path, ears straining for any unexpected noise, he reached
the far corner and flattened himself against the wall before taking a
quick look round the corner, seeing only a deserted parking lot and the
back of another office building fifty yards away. All clear, and
twenty
yards along the back wall of the building was a dark rectangular
shadow.
The fire exit. Now if all went according to plan, and his contact had
been there before him, that door should be unlocked.

He had a momentary flutter of returning apprehension as his fingers
encountered the rough peeling paint on the door. He pushed gently, but
nothing happened.

Biting his lip, he leaned his weight against the door and it gave
slowly, agonisingly slowly, scraping softly against the concrete floor.
His heart was hammering wildly again in case anyone heard. No-one
had
followed him, he was sure, but if anyone had followed his contact ....
if anyone else had got here first ....

The thought of what might have happened nearly made him lose it, but he
had a sudden flashback to himself and Mulder at the Insitute. You got
out of that one, John. So did Mulder. And no-one's shooting at you
yet.

He pushed the door just wide enough to admit his slim body and squeezed
past, finding himself in a dank, unlit stairwell with a flight of metal
steps going up. Producing a tiny flashlight, just enough to illuminate
the steps in front of him, he began to climb, slowly, placing one foot
after another infinitely carefully on each tread. Up to the turning
and
back the other way, and now he could see a dim light above him on the
second floor level. As he got closer he could see it was shining
through a small window in the fire door into the second floor corridor.

Reaching the door he ducked below the window before looking cautiously
first one way, then the other through the window. He could see a dimly
lit corridor stretching away to the right, and several closed doors.

A few minutes' work with a lock pick and the door handle turned
smoothly
in his hand, and the door opened soundlessly. He smiled for the first
time that night. Mulder or Scully or Doggett, or even Langly and
Frohike, would not have recognised that exultant smile; it was a John
Byers none of them had ever seen, confident, almost arrogant. When
he
stepped into the corridor, shutting the door soundlessly behind him, he
walked down the corridor with the sureness of a man who had every right
to be there. Pausing in front of a door towards the end of the
corridor, he pulled a key out of his pocket.

The key turned easily in his hand, and the door opened into darkness.
He slipped through and shut it behind him, standing without fear in the
absolute darkness. He had succeeded; nothing could stop him now.

He felt for the light switch beside the door and switched it on.

A comfortably furnished room; a bed, a wardrobe, a table and chairs.
A
hotel room like any other, except for one other thing.

She stood up from where she had been waiting, curled in one of the
armchairs.

"John"

And he moved forward and took Susanne into his arms.

END