New York

The cellphone sitting on the passenger seat beside Wade had been going off every five minutes for the past half hour. At first he was able to completely ignore it, but eventually it got on his nerves to the point that he could no longer sing along to the car's stereo. When traffic finally crawled to a standstill, he picked it up. "What?"

All his life he'd heard about how southerners couldn't cope with a little snow, and the smug, condescending tones to northern voices that said that sort of thing implied that everyone north of the Mason-Dixon line was a maverick at snowy driving. Three inches of snow and horribly stop-and-go traffic was beginning to convince him that no one was really good at driving in the snow. He idly watched someone skid a couple of yards down the road when they dared to pick up the pace to 15mph.

"Wade, you're an idiot," Lemon announced instead of saying hello, as if that was something he didn't already feel.

"And you're bossy," he remarked. She harrumphed indignantly. "What? I thought we were pointing out each other's flaws."

"My cellphone plan doesn't have enough minutes to point out all your flaws."

"I thought you had an unlimited plan."

"I do," she said acidly.

"Well, this has been fun, but-" Wade watched as a the car in front of him crept forward approximately two and a half inches before the brake lights came on again.

"Do you honestly think Zoe's going to respond to your ambush in a positive manner?" Lemon asked him.

He shrugged. "According to romantic comedies, this sort of thing is romantic."

"Wade, grow up."

Traffic finally began to pick up. "I'll take that under advisement," he said tightly, almost as tightly as his right hand gripped the steering wheel.

"Wade…" Lemon sighed. "You might have to just accept the fact that she's not coming back. Dad finally has. He's beginning to look for a new partner."

He had to bite back an oath. Brick had seemed to have the same faith that he did that Zoe would eventually find their way back to them – after all, he'd gone without a partner at his office for six months, so he had to think she'd be back. But if he was now looking for someone to fill her tiny designer shoes… that meant he was the only one who still believed.

"I'm going to talk to her," Wade insisted. "And I'm not going to let her tell me she's never coming back."

There was a long pause instead of an instant insult. That left him feeling a little nervous. Or more nervous than driving in the snow already had him feeling. "Well, good luck with that."

"Thank you," he replied, suspicious of her motives.

"Who knows, maybe you'll succeed. She's always been even more irrational about you than is typical of her."

Wade realized he should probably say something in Zoe's defense given he knew that Lemon thought she was the least rational person she knew, but he just couldn't muster up the will to do so. "I will," he promised instead.

"I guess we'll see." She hung up then, not bothering to say goodbye.

He didn't mind that, driving was going to require his full attention now that it seemed like they might get somewhere.

Meanwhile…

Traveling along the same highway, Mulder cursed the slow moving traffic. He had hoped to get to arrive in Maine in about four more hours, but there was no way that was going to happen. He didn't groan and complain about it, mostly because Scully was silently staring out of the passenger side window.

He wondered what she was thinking about, but he was also afraid that he knew. Back when he'd been in hiding and his idiotic younger brother had given William a non-sanctioned shot, she'd been convinced that the only way she could keep their son safe would be to give him away…but if the boy in the photo really was their child, then she had failed. Years had been sacrificed, but in the end the boy had still had an attempt on his life, resulting in the loss of the people that he surely considered his mother and father.

It wasn't something he wanted to ask Scully about, but he certainly felt guilt that two people had died just because they'd been kind enough to give their son their love. The phrase 'cannon fodder' kept floating up in his mind, making him feel worse.

Just as they finally got up to speed again, the car began to drive in a drastically wrong way.

"What's that?" Scully asked, speaking for the first time in at least an hour.

Mulder glanced at her, then pulled the car off the road. "I think we got a flat," he said, unbuckling his seatbelt.

"Great." She slumped back in her seat.

"I know-"

Mulder had been about to get out of the car and look the tire over when something happened that made him glad that he didn't open the door: a pickup behind them hit a patch of black ice, and the truck's trajectory didn't mind getting interrupted by Mulder's car.

Scully was fortunately still wearing her seatbelt so she was only rocked as the pickup truck slammed into the back of their car. Mulder was less fortunate considering he'd been about to get out of the car, and the arm he threw up defensively smashed into the driver-side window and the top of the steering wheel with an auditable snap. He thought in a daze that it was lucky that the window was safety glass so he wasn't cut up too.

Within a few seconds a man jumped out of the pickup truck and jogged over to them. If he hadn't been in so much pain, Mulder probably would have rolled down the window and yelled to him to come around to the passenger side, not the driver's side. Hadn't the guy ever gotten into a car accident before? He was practically asking to be run down.

He knocked on the driver's side window, then pulled the door open. "Are you all right?" he asked breathlessly.

"We'll live," Mulder said sourly, holding onto his injured arm. "But you might not if you don't get farther away from traffic."

The younger man looked startled as he turned his head to watch cars fly by them. Then he pressed close against the side of the car as he peered in at them. "God, you're hurt."

Scully looked at him, studying his arm with interest. "I think it's broken, Mulder."

"Mulder?" the guy asked blankly. "I've heard you all have strange names up here, but that's not one I've ever heard of."

It slowly filtered through Mulder's thoughts that the person who had hit them was southern. Part of him wanted to blame the accident on the guy's inexperience with winter driving, but there were plenty of experienced drivers sliding down the highway too now that the snow had picked up considerably.

"I think you're right?" Mulder asked, confused by how strange his arm looked. "Scully, you should probably drive," he added, waiting for the other driver to remark on her name too. He didn't.

"Uh…" the guy said instead. "I should drive. This car isn't going anywhere."

Mulder blinked, then realized that the other driver had seen the damage to their car, even though they hadn't.

The man went on, peering into the backseat. "Is that your luggage?"

"Yeah."

"Well, that's good. You're not getting anything out of the trunk."

"Oh."

"Come on, let's get out of here," the guy said nervously, making Mulder worry a lot more about the damage to the car.

"You afraid it's going to blow up?" Scully asked quietly.

"I…I don't know," he admitted.

Instead of arguing, Mulder just said, "Let's go" and let the younger man help him out of the car.

"It's unlocked," he told Scully, reaching back into the rear of the car for their bags. "Anything else you need?" he asked, looking back at her. She shook her head.

"Okay, then." The three of them waded through the deeper snow on the shoulder to his truck. He must have backed up after the impact because the vehicles were several more yards apart than Mulder would have guessed. One look at the back end of the car fully explained why the other guy had volunteered to drive them to the hospital. There was zero chance that they could drive it to a garage given Mulder was pretty sure at least one of the axles had been snapped.

Fortunately, there was a lot of room inside the truck. "Do you have a phone?" Scully asked after they'd all climbed in, looking at the other driver. "Mine got smashed."

"Oh, sure," he mumbled, picking up a phone and handing it to her.

Beside him, Scully pulled her wallet out of her purse, obviously looking for her triple A card. She didn't have much luck, and he could practically feel her tension. The driver obviously caught on, because he said, "I think AAA can look you up by name if you don't have your policy number handy."

"Oh," she muttered, then put in the call. Mulder leaned back against the seat, hoping the young man who'd hit their car really did know the way to a hospital. His accent didn't leave him very hopeful - he was very clearly not from around there.