******************************************************
From "Indifference" by Pearl Jam:

I will hold the candle 'til it burns up my arm
I'll keep taking punches until their will grows tired
I will stare the sun down until my eyes go blind
I won't change direction, and I won't change my mind

How much difference does it make?

*******************************************************

Livid
Obfusc8er

*******************************************************

Here it comes again. The cold rush. The feeling of dread. Strange,
disjointed sensations that somehow seem familiar, then disappear
and leave him small and alone. He lingers here for a while,
stunned. Empty time is passing, but this doesn't concern him.
Then, the vision starts. He sees a light surrounded by nothing.
Loud, harsh sounds reach his ears but not his brain. He knows he
must get to the light.

It means everything, and it blinds him as he approaches. Just as
he begins to reach out his hand, he falls away from the light. His
velocity increases, and he can feel a squeezing pain in his chest.
The light is gone now, leaving him falling, twisting, spinning,
accelerating. He opens his mouth, but the wind rips his scream
away. The vice in his chest continues to tighten until....

The ground. He can feel a cold surface beneath him. Mulder can't
believe that he's alive, for a moment, until he realizes that it
was all a dream. Next, he is aware of the frantic pumping of his
own lungs. Slowly, his cramped stomach, cotton-dry mouth, swollen
tongue, aching muscles, and the reassuringly steady thumping of
his heart each make their presence known. He remains still until
his breathing evens and feeling spreads to his fingers and toes.

Shaky muscles turn him over, then bring him to his hands and
knees. Mulder stays in this position for several minutes, eyes
closed. His stomach begins to tighten more, then convulse. Soon,
his mouth hangs open, a string of saliva running from his lower
lip to the small puddle of bile on the floor. He coughs and shakes
his head. After the vertigo passes, he raises himself to a
kneeling position. He feels much better. It's time, Mulder
reasons, to examine the surroundings.

The wall in front of him is white and smooth. As Mulder swivels
his head from left to right, up and down, all he sees are white,
smooth, flat, calm surfaces. This irritates him. The ceiling is
luminous. He puts a hand on one knee, takes a deep breath, and
pushes himself to a bent-over standing position. He straightens up
slowly and sways for a few seconds. Turning in a small circle, he
sees that the wall behind him is identical to the others with one
exception. It contains the outline of a door. Not a functional
door, to him, since there appears to be no way to open it.

His eyebrows rise as he tries to remember how he got here. Mulder
scans the room again. Nothing new. Nothing helpful. His
frustration grows. He decides to make the most of his upright
position by getting as far away from his mess as possible. Mulder
wraps his arms around his abdomen. He steps carefully to the rear
left corner, flattens his back against the wall, and slides to the
ground.

Mulder presses his cheek against his knee. The softness of the
clean, white fabric there is comforting. Then he realizes that the
clothes he wears are not familiar. They are not his. He frowns.
Mulder can't think of anything that is his. Trying as hard as he
might, he can't remember anything before the black, consuming
nightmare. He concentrates, rocking back and forth slightly.
Surely there was a life before this. He knows he is called Mulder.
The last time he heard that... A deep voice. Bass so low it is felt
rather than heard. The word comes from a vague face. Not human,
but terrifyingly distorted. The eyes grow into large, black pools
as the memory clarifies. The skin is green and glistens with light
from an unseen source.

Hate. He wishes nothing more than to hear it scream in pain. He
tries to push this image aside, but it lingers. It will not allow
him to escape. Now he remembers the futility and quickening rage
building as he reflexively attempts to lunge at the creature. Why
can't he move? He shrinks in on himself at the image of his limbs
skewered through and dripping on the metal chair. He is shivering
now.

Mulder hears the whine of a saw. He sees its mindlessly spinning
blade approach. Other faces surround the creature's impassive
visage, but they are still in shadow. An audience watching his
vulnerable form squirm feebly. He doesn't know why this happens,
why the beings wish to flay his body open.

Warm beads of sweat run down his forehead as he recalls the heat
radiating from the saw, less than an inch from his skin. It seems
to pause there, tickling the hairs on his still chest before it
plunges in. His eyes water now. The only sound is the air rushing
through his nose and mouth. He wants the memory to stop, but he
cannot control it. Bits of his flesh and drops of blood spray on
his legs. A suffocating pressure, then a loud crack as his sternum
splits in two. The sound echoes in Mulder's ears. His breath
hitches. It can't be true. No one can survive this, much less
watch it happen to himself, but it is too vivid to be a nightmare.

There is nothing else. When he tries to think of another moment,
the whine of the saw drowns it out. His arms wrap around his
folded legs. His knuckles whiten with a death grip on the clean,
white fabric covering his shins. Mulder shivers again. A few tears
fall, and the memory finally begins to recede, releasing its hold.
He is exhausted, making no motion except for his glazed eyes
sweeping back and forth. Suddenly, he is aware of a terrible
thirst. Thirst is a welcome distraction. Thirst commands him to
move. He unfolds and gingerly crawls to the doorway. He places an
ear against the seam. No sound can be detected other than the
white-noise hiss of a ventilation system.

"Hey!" Not as loud as he had hoped, but it should reach anyone
nearby. A pause. No answer. Someone must know he is here.

"Water." A hard swallow, then louder, "I need water!"

His voice splits. This is counterproductive. Mulder lies stomach-
down and closes his eyes, but he fights off sleep. He does not
want the nightmare to return. His eyelids are drifting shut when a
soft clicking sound stirs him. It sounds like an electronic
device. His eyes are drawn to an upper corner of the room. He
can't believe that he had not seen the small black lens before.
That means they're watching. The color drains from his face as he
begins to speculate the motives of the beings controlling that
camera.

No. It can't happen. They're going to return. They're going to
take him back to the dark, metal laboratory and repeat his bloody
nightmare again. He can't let it happen. The adrenaline starts to
flow. Mulder is fueled with a strength born of panic.

Eyes scanning the small room, Mulder goes to crouch beneath the
camera. Perhaps it has a blind spot. The idea of those creatures
watching him causes him to seethe. Suddenly a shrill, unreasonably
loud sound comes from above, where they've installed some sort of
speaker below the camera. He holds his hands over his ears, and he
can hear his heartbeat thumping away.

The sound pierces his brain and his eyes squint shut. Soon he is
bent over with his forehead against the floor. Mulder feels that
his ears will surely begin to bleed, and the only thought in his
mind is how much he hates the creatures. He wants to kill them.
The shrill sound starts to recede as his body tilts to the right,
his muscles giving out. For a second, the noise stops. Then, a
familiar whine grows from the darkness encompassing him.

There's a vague sensation of hands in the background, many of
them, roughly wrapping around his limbs. All that matters is the
growing whine. He sweats as it seems to come closer. He begins to
struggle, desiring to flee. He can almost see the silver edge of
the blade emerging from the black.

A strong punch to his stomach obliterates the image and the sound
of the blade. Mulder gags as he tries to suck in a breath. He can
see several shapes surrounding him, still obscured by swimming
black spots. They have him, and they're going to bleed him again.
He struggles, but weakly. The creatures do not seem to notice.

Mulder's arms are twisted behind his back as they pull him through
the door. He allows his feet to drag, the most resistance he can
offer. Someone grabs his hair and shoves his head down, forcing
him to stare at the floor. They stop, talking curiously to each
other for some time. Perhaps they are deciding whether or not his
presence is still required. Mulder starts to panic, but he hangs
limply from their hands and watches the clawed feet circle around
him. A pair of feet approach from the front. The hand clutches his
hair and raises his head up. He can see one of the creatures
before him, gesturing angrily and hissing at the other loathsome
forms. It leans over closer to him, and he can see his reflection
in its eyes. Its hand closes over his throat and lifts up against
his jawbone. It turns his head slowly from side to side, examining
his face.

Mulder feels the hand behind him release his hair. He jerks his
head back, then angles it down and bites into the creature's hand.
It screams as he tastes its bitter blood. Mulder yanks his arms
from the guards' grasp and regains his footing. He bites down
harder for good measure before releasing the hand. He scrambles
forward, tackling the injured creature and running over him. The
others behind him yell. He begins sprinting down the hallway. He
can hear their pounding footsteps pursue him. Mulder closes in on
a double door at the end of the hall.

As he slams through, a terribly bright light blinds him. He slides
on the smooth metal floor, and pushes off of the opposite wall. He
turns right and scrambles into a wide room. He sees a creature
standing guard against the wall to his left. It extends its hand
and gestures frantically. He turns to look where its arm was
pointing just in time to see the blur arcing toward him. With a
crack, another creature's weapon connects with his face. Mulder's
head snaps back and he spins, his momentum throwing him against
the edge of a doorway. His attacker watches him collapse flat-out,
like a felled tree. The body twitches once, then lies still.

*******************************************************

A deep, almost imperceptible sound. Mulder slowly becomes aware of
bass emanating from somewhere in the darkness. At first it is
fuzzy...one long persistent hum. Then it increases in volume until
it makes Mulder feel uncomfortable and nervous. As the sound gets
louder, he can perceive a regular rhythm in it. His mind feels
like a thick slurry while he tries to figure out why it sounds so
familiar. The thrumming continues to grow louder as he realizes
that he is hearing his own heart.

The sound turns to sensation. With each pulse of blood shot
through his body, pain slowly spreads from his head to his torso
to his limbs. Every beat makes him feel as if his arteries will
surely burst. His muscles feel too tight and his heart seems too
large for his chest. He almost wishes it would quit pumping just
to stop the awful pressure. Suddenly, he feels a sharp pain in his
leg and a swishing, roaring sound replaces the throb of his
heartbeat in his ears.

As it slowly subsides, he hears a cacophony of voices drifting
around him. He tries to open his eyes, but something is wrong with
them. He tries again, and the right one opens slightly. A
creature's blurry form is leaning over him, removing a few
bandages from his body. He cannot tell exactly where because his
skin is numb. Another one is disconnecting several different leads
and wires from his torso area. It comes closer to reach toward his
face when it notices that he is conscious.

He tries to move. The creatures immediately grab his limbs. He
sees his own arms rise and hands flex, but he cannot feel them at
all. He can see a small cylinder being pressed against him lower
right arm. Gradually, tingling and pain spread from the site to
Mulder's fingertips, then back up to his shoulder and throughout
his body. The pain shocks him for a few seconds, and the creatures
use the opportunity to easily bind his hands. They lift Mulder
into a sitting position, and he struggles. One locks its arms
around Mulder's neck and shoulders long enough for a blindfold to
be tied around his head.

The darkness disorients him. He is pulled to the edge of the
table. He bucks as they try to get his feet on the floor. He feels
his knee connect with something hard, then they let him roll off
and crash to the ground. Two creatures flank Mulder and lift him
to his feet. They pin his elbows behind his back so that he cannot
move. He feels something cold against his chest. Then a sudden
yank as his shirt is cut away. He yells at them and tries to kick
out. They catch his feet and suspend him in mid-air. When he feels
fingers close around the waistband of his slacks, he becomes
enraged.

Mulder thrashes frantically, throwing some of the creatures off-
balance. His left side dips toward the floor, but soon even more
hands and arms are wrapped around him. He has no leverage now. He
anticipates the worst. If only they could feel his anger toward
them now, he thinks they would surely die. His head cannot contain
his fiery hate, and he feels warm tears tracking away from his
eyes. His jaw is clenched shut and one small drop of blood runs
down his jaw line. The hand now pulls his slacks down to his
knees. Then, as the last clothing is removed, the creatures drop
his feet.

Mulder shakes his head from side to side and tries to back away.
He wonders if the memories of the blade were only part of what
they've done, and the thought mortifies him. He is shoved forward,
still well-flanked by the creatures. His legs feel weak, and he
stumbles. But he walks. The sensation of their rough hides against
him makes his skin crawl. He walks silently on the smooth metal
floor with his head bowed slightly for several minutes.

Mulder can hear other creatures passing them in the hallway, and
crude nature of his transfer makes him angrier. He clinches his
fists and continues walking, mostly because being dragged, naked
and beaten, through the structure would be even more humiliating.
Finally, they come to a stop.

He can hear a door being opened. They remove the blindfold and
shove him through. He slides up against a slick wall on an equally
slick floor. He struggles to get up, suddenly feeling very cold
and afraid. The bound hands make it difficult, but he manages. The
door slams shut. There is a clicking noise followed by a pause.
Mulder stands partially crouched with his back to the wall and
listens very carefully.

Mulder notices a black panel on the wall next to the door. They
are watching him again. The veins stand out on his forehead and he
stands up straight. They are toying with him, making him wait, and
he will not cower in front of them now. He hears a hissing noise
and looks up.

A warm foam falls on him and the entire floor. He tries to back
away, but his heel hits the wall. He wipes the foam away from his
eyes. The hissing stops, although the foam slowly continues to
drip. He knows that he will not like what is coming next. A low
growl escapes. He steps away from the wall carefully. The floor is
almost too slick to walk on now.

He wants to see through the black panel....glare into their empty
eyes and let them know that he is still alive inside and that they
have failed. Mulder stops inches away from the panel and stares
into it. There are no creatures visible behind it, but he smiles
because he knows they don't like what he's doing. He presses his
hands up against the smooth surface, steps back slightly, and
spits a large wad of saliva and mucus onto their perfectly smooth
panel. He carefully backs away to admire his work when the wave
hits him.

A large jet of water shoots out from below the oozing panel,
hitting him in the chest with the force of a well-planted kick.
Mulder is propelled against the far wall. The stream pins him
against it with smothering power. His skin begins to turn red, as
if sand-blasted. Unintelligible sounds gurgle from him and
disappear into the gushing of the icy water. Mulder side-steps,
and the jet follows him. It pounds against his arms, shoulders,
and occasionally his face. His eyes are disturbed by the pressure,
so he squeezes them shut. When he feels the water start to move
down his torso, he throws himself to the floor and turns toward
the wall. His back is blasted by the solid force from top to
bottom. He shakes badly, losing body heat rapidly now. He can feel
his muscles weakening.

Suddenly the water stops. He hears only a dripping sound. Five,
ten, fifteen drips, then Mulder hears the door open. He turns over
to look. Three large creatures draped in a slick, translucent film
step toward him silently. Their feet have traction despite the
soapy grime. They grab his limbs as he scrambles helplessly on the
smooth floor. His arms and legs are fully drawn out. He twists
slightly, but that is all the motion he can manage.

The creatures turn him toward the jet source. He can see their
hands move from his involuntary shivers. The creatures holding
his ankles part them to shoulder width. The jet rushes against
Mulder where it left off, on his abdomen. His body bows slightly,
and the creatures have trouble holding onto him for a moment. They
adjust to the burden and pull him out nearly straight again.

He bits the inside of his lip, allowing blood to trickle down the
side of his face as the blasting water hits him in the groin. He
cries out after a few seconds. The water causes great pain to his
already sore body. Each of his legs is raked by the cold jet, then
it turns off again. The creatures look at each other, now shedding
water from their clear coverings, and let go of his extremities.
Mulder's body hits the floor with a smack, and he yells again. He
lies still, eyelids fluttering and breath coming in gasps. One of
the creatures goes to the door and returns with three weapons.
They stand in a semi-circle around him. They're waiting for him to
get up. He cannot stop shaking, and it becomes more violent as the
cool air leaches heat away from his wet skin. He coughs and expels
some blood from his mouth.

Slowly, Mulder pulls himself up onto his hands and knees. His head
hangs down. He fights off a bout of nausea. He tries to look up at
the guards, but gray spots still swim before his swollen eyes.
Mulder is starting to stand up when the vertigo hits. The guards
see his confused eyes sweep back and forth, trying to comply with
the mixed signals sent from his body.

They take Mulder's arms before he sinks back to the floor. His
hair is plastered to his ashen face and blood continues to run
slowly from his mouth. Mulder staggers along between two of them
while the third follows. He is barely aware of their presence. One
of the creatures glances at him as his teeth begin to chatter.

The somber party passes through the door and turns right down the
hallway, leaving a wet trail. The walls twist and warp around
Mulder as he progresses toward another room. This is a narrow
holding chamber with two entrances, and the one behind them hisses
shut. The creatures sit him down on a bench. Then they divest
themselves of the rainwear.

It is very warm and dry in this room, and the drastic temperature
change slips Mulder into a nonresponsive shock state. He groans to
himself, largely unaware of his current circumstances. He is still
shuddering slightly as the creatures examine his eyes and mouth.
They look at his other wounds, assured that no permanent physical
damage was done. Another creature enters the room and hovers in
front of Mulder's face. He can feel his mouth being pulled open,
and something cool and sticky is applied to the bite wound in his
lip.

The creature replaces the bandages on his ribs and chest where
slamming into the sharp corner split and bruised the flesh. The
medic then applies a stiff bandage around Mulder's ribs to support
the damaged bones. Mulder can feel his face throbbing, especially
around his eyes. He winces and groans again. The medic looks at
him closely, converses with the guards, and places a wrap over
Mulder's eyes. It actually helps the pain, and Mulder is too dazed
to fully comprehend this new disadvantage.

There is a pause. Mulder sways slightly. Then, something cold rubs
against his hip. This is followed by a sharp jabbing pain. Mulder
can feel the warm, stinging injection spread deeper into his body.
His arms are seized by hands and lifted straight up. He's not sure
what to do. He's having trouble processing what's happening.
Mulder squirms slightly as cool fabric falls down over him.
Someone tugs on the shirt, adjusting it. Mulder reaches forward
with a shaky arm, trying to regain his bearings.

The hands reach under his armpits. He is being hauled to his feet.
Someone is holding him upright. His abused muscles cannot support
the weight of his body. Mulder begins to feel queasy and
disconnected. His feet are lifted up and stuffed through pant
cuffs. The heat in the room seems overpowering, as if the air
itself is growing thicker. Mulder feels the pants being pulled up
to his waist.

His lungs seem ineffective in the heat, feebly sucking in burning
air. He hates the sensation of his body shutting down, sinking
inward, but he can't stop it. Mulder slumps sideways and bumps
against a surface that gives. The surface grunts at him, but he
doesn't care. Saliva slides down his chin as the drug begins to
take effect.

Mulder notices that he is being picked up bodily and
lain on a gurney. His muscles feel very warm and extremely relaxed
now. He can feel a distant pain, and isn't concerned by it. The
motion of the gurney causes a sickening whirling sensation. He
feels as if he is about to float off its surface. Noises are
mashed together in his head, and a knot forms in his stomach. Just
as the dizzying feeling becomes unbearable, he sinks into
unconsciousness.

*******************************************************

Mulder sits up with a start. He's not sure if this darkened room
is the set of his nightmare, or if he's even really awake. There's
a pounding in his head, but mostly he feels numb. He's not sure
if it's due to injury, or if his brain is just too tired to
process anything. He is not bound this time. He is free to wander
his cell, but doesn't bother. The cell is barely longer than
Mulder is tall. He looks around, noticing a toilet in the corner
and a thick, padded area against one wall. His left side is stiff,
and he wonders why he wasn't lying on the cushioned part of the
floor.

Mulder realizes that the relative darkness in his room is not
meant to obscure but to provide a sleeping environment. He does
not feel at all like sleeping. He examines the entrance. It has a
small, square window facing an empty wall. It seals completely,
and no sounds can be heard through it. Mulder knows the time is
coming soon. They will take him to their sanguinarium and dissect
him alive. His stomach growls, and his throat is dry. They are
neglecting him, but he doesn't want their attention. He wants
their utter destruction.

His bruises have started to fade, but they still hurt. Mulder goes
to sit on the cushion and think. He rubs the back of his hand
against his eyes, trying to relieve the pressure. His face is
rough with short stubble. It was already shaved smooth the last he
remembers, in the shower room. He's been in this room for a while.
They've been keeping him alive for some reason, and Mulder really
doesn't want to find out what it is. There must be a way he can
overcome them, perhaps even escape. They seem to have minimal
guards, but he never has a chance to regain his full strength.
They know the exact limits of his body and mind, and they push him
to the edge constantly to remain in control. He cannot tolerate
that. It is against his nature to bow to the will of others. He
realizes that they are using this fact to their advantage...

A clicking noise interrupts his thoughts. A rectangular tray with
rounded edges slides under the door. There is water in one
depression in the tray and some type of highly-processed food in
the other. He touches the food and decides against it based on the
rough, spongy texture. He isn't that hungry yet. The water,
however, is a necessity, and he slurps it up quickly. The slot in
the door promptly opens.

Mulder considers keeping the tray just to see if he can bait them
in, but decides against it. Instead, he slides the tray halfway
under the door. Something starts to pull it through, and he yanks
back on it. A satisfying thud results. He laughs quietly, despite
himself, and shoves the tray back through the slot. It seems like
he hasn't laughed in a very long time, even though he can't
remember much. The slot is slammed shut, and silence ensues.
Mulder begins to feel uncomfortable, knowing that they will be
coming for him soon, one way or another. He walks over to his
pallet again and lies down carefully with his back to the wall.

He is beginning to doze off when he notices the blur of a face
passing by the window. Another stops in front of it, staring at
him. The huge ebony eyes make him squirm. The door is opened.
Mulder scrambles up to a crouching position. He is ready for them.
Several guards are lined up on either side of the door, all
watching him. He returns the favor while they communicate with
each other.

Finally, one line parts to reveal a creature smaller than the
others. Its movements are lithe, but more disguised than the
others. He supposes that it must be the equivalent of a female, if
they indeed have separate sexes, or perhaps a different caste.

The guards point their weapons at him as the smaller one steps
slowly into his room. Mulder knows that it is trying not to
intimidate him, and that makes him all the more suspicious. The
creature stops when it is halfway to him. He begins to move
backward with each of its steps. He could take this one out
easily, but the others would quickly make him sorry for it.

Sweat begins to stand out on his forehead and his eyes burn. It is
trying to lead him to his torture. He continues to step back
slowly, crouched in a feral defensive position. The wall stops him
suddenly. He tilts his head down slightly, still staring at the
creature. His hands are up in front of him, ready to block an
attack. The creature's breathing puffs quickly and deeply like his
own. It stops barely within arm's reach of him.

Mulder recedes against the wall as far as possible. He is
terrified, and not sure whether to attempt to fight or run. The
creature senses his indecision and reaches forward slowly, making
small, quiet noises. The rough, clawed hand rests lightly on his
shoulder. He twitches a little, but resists the urge to attack.

Suddenly, the creature is in his mind. Its cruel intentions become
clear as his lost memories start flooding back. His vision is
filled with the image of a woman. His partner. Scully. Mulder
begins to relax, his mind clinging onto this one pleasant thing in
this world for him. He sees her smile at him. Nothing else is more
important now, and he doesn't want to lose her again.

He begins to feel his will slipping away, always secondary and
supportive to hers. But Scully's face is suddenly replaced with
the cold, evil visage of the creature before him. He cries
silently as he realizes that they are using his memories of her to
bait him. Twisting and warping love, respect, and caring into
weapons of betrayal. He is furious that they've raped his mind so
thoroughly. Even worse, they've insulted Scully's existence, and
it makes him lose control.

He knocks the creature's hand from his shoulder and launches
himself forward, tackling it squarely to the floor. Mulder jumps
up and rams the line of guards now stuck in the doorway. Two in
the back fall, while the rest lose their balance. He crushes his
knuckles against the tough face of the nearest creature, and it
slides to the floor. Another swings its weapon and he dodges,
adrenaline feeding split-second reactions. It looks surprised as
he knees it hard and smashes its throat with his elbow. Two others
jump on him, all three of them falling to the floor. Mulder rolls
quickly, throwing one off of him. He kicks the other one away and
gets to his feet.

He turns to run and sees ten more guards advancing with very
unhappy expressions directed toward him. Spinning around, he sees
more approaching from the other direction. He dashes back into the
cell, snagging the small creature in the process and pulling it
with him to act as a shield. The creature is shaking.

It has good reason to fear him, and the small revenge feels good
to Mulder. He is perfectly capable of snapping its neck, and the
other creatures know it. They maintain a respectable distance, but
he knows his time is limited. His hostage is shuddering now. He
finds it surprising that the creature does not resist. It seems to
yell frantically to the others, but they keep their weapons
trained on him. The creature looks up at him, gazing into the deep
hate swimming in his eyes.

A small hand touches his arm. Mulder is paralyzed as the vision of
Scully is conjured once again. He shakes his head, but it will not
go away. He is squeezing Scully's head between his hands, on the
verge of breaking her neck. It is only the creature. Only the
creature. But he cannot do it. He doesn't have the strength to
gamble on which consequence is the truer nightmare. His fingers
flex, tightening against the creature's head, but Scully's image
persists. They have broken him, and he knows it.

The adrenaline drains from his system, and he releases the
creature, falling to his knees. The guards immediately sweep in,
moving the small creature to the safety of the hallway. Scully's
face persists for a moment before him. He is stunned and does not
respond as the guards beat him down onto his stomach. The shreds
of the image finally scatter.

He lies quiet and still while his wrists and ankles are bound. The
guards kick him a few times for good measure. Mulder sees his own
blood spread on the ground and hears a couple of ribs crack, but
the memory overpowers it all. If Scully could only know how she
sustains him. He allows a few tears to run, knowing that he will
probably never get to tell her. But he will continue on. If he
should someday make his way back to her again, he will return with
his dignity intact. The creatures' blades cannot cut the support
line she has given him.

*******************************************************

She looks through the window, watching the scuffle inside. It
ruins her. Her throat burns and her voice gives out, but she has
no more tears left for Mulder. Not as he is now. Besides, it would
help neither of them. She wants desperately to help him somehow.

Before, Mulder would have toyed with the guards' minds while
answering just enough questions to keep himself alive. He would
have run forward to hold her and made some sort of self-
depreciating remark. She smiles a little. But now... now Mulder
behaves totally irrationally, with fear and confusion set
permanently in his eyes. He lashes out at everyone with physical
power unleashed, power that used to be refined and focused to
prevent violent encounters.

She knows fear is fueling him. He is thinner than he should be,
his face is devoid of healthy color, and he often appears to have
abrasions and contusions on what surfaces she can see. She knows
some of the injuries are undoubtedly due to Mulder's bouts of
rage. Scully feels herself turn cold with the knowledge that some
of the wounds were put there by combat boots, and she wonders what
else they've done to him. His eyes stare through her, the elusive
gaze of a wild animal. But for just a moment inside his cell, she
thought she saw something else. Something familiar.

Scully presses one hand against the glass, the other in a tight
fist at her side. In the chaos, she sees a boot connect with his
face, spilling crimson from his nose. Scully shakes with anger.
She can barely hold back her fury. The guards are trussing him up
in a straight-jacket, something she fears he will become quite
familiar with. He doesn't seem to notice them, even though he was
deathly afraid just minutes ago. She can still feel the pressure
where his fingertips had pushed against her head. He looked so
happy for a moment. So normal. And then he had glared at her,
making a guttural noise, with a look of total betrayal on his
face. She knew when she entered his cell that it could be
dangerous. This was the first time. This was their last resort.

Since Mulder had been returned, it was obvious to Scully that the
military was desperate to find out what he saw, what he
experienced. She recalls the interview, where they told her that
he had been recovered alive. They told her they were going to keep
him quarantined for safety reasons, and that they may need her to
help him "readjust". Sure. But something terrible had happened to
him there. They admitted that no one was entirely sure what sort
of inhumane treatment he was subjected to, but he had definitely
sustained both physical and psychological damage. Now they have
run out of options. She knows that they want to keep him in their
custody, but their barbaric guards have only hidden the
information they seek deeper inside of him.

She remembers looking at the MRIs. Parts of his brain had been
altered. Later, they discovered that it had been manipulated on
the genetic level. Also, scar tissue had formed in odd places.
Places, such as his brain, his thoracic cavity, his spine, that
would normally result in permanent physical or fatal injuries. For
weeks Mulder never made a sound. He just sat in the corner of his
cell. If someone tried to approach him, he would urinate on
himself and back away. Mulder had seemed slightly calmer when he
could see her through the Plexiglas, but he always frantically
evaded any direct human contact. Scully knows that his threatening
behavior is probably an improvement, but it still frightens her.

She waits at the cell window, watching and being there for him as
long as possible, even though she is sore and bruised. She makes
herself believe that somehow her presence makes life a little
better for him. Someday he will return to himself, and she will be
there to help. For now, though, she distances her feelings from
the hollow reflection of Mulder staring through her. It hurts her
too much.

She knows she cannot judge Mulder by his impaired actions. His
attention is stolen by the grunts in fatigues manhandling him now.
She isn't afraid to judge them. The wrath she cultivates for
anyone who draws Mulder's blood is carefully held in check. Scully
cannot stand the thought of leaving him at the base every time.
His life is protected by the potentially vital information that
the aliens locked inside his head, but his quality of life is not.
She won't tolerate the abuse inflicted by his guards. Mulder's
erratic behavior has been trying their patience, and she knows
that their aggravation and violence will only intensify. However,
she knows that she must patiently wait for the right time and
setting to retaliate on his behalf. Causing a scene here would
likely have even more hazardous consequences for Mulder.

Scully knows she must do something for him, because no one else
will. For all of Mulder's hard work and sacrifice, he has earned
no guardian angel. It's left to her save him. She sometimes feels
too insignificant to fill this role, but she can't afford to fail.

She knows that soon the guards will drag his struggling form down
the hall to the larger holding cell. He will essentially be alone
for another three days, until she can visit him again. The Defense
of Department authorized her regular visits to him on a
probationary basis. She decides to continue reporting some gradual
progress. She can buy herself the time to do some anonymous
informing. She knows how to get the DOD's attention, and she knows
some senators that may be able to give them a swift kick in the
wallet. At least she can be sure that he won't be swept under the
rug.

She feels a hard knot forming in her throat. She knows that
watching his rough transfer will steal the rest of her composure,
so with one last look, she turns away from the window and starts
walking toward the exit. For now she will work to help him. She
plans already to call in every favor and consult everyone she
knows who could possibly wrest Mulder from their control. One day,
perhaps she will be able to see the Mulder she knows again, and
introduce him to the son he's never met.

In her dreams, when she needs to escape the ugliness sometimes
exhibited by this life, she watches with peace as Mulder gently
scoops up his son in his arms. He smiles down at the face that
looks so much like his, and her world is brought back to order.
Everything the way it should be. Someday, she hopes, that can be
reality.

*******************************************************

Mulder watches the small one's face hover behind the window until
it disappears. He grunts as the guards pull his arms tightly
behind his back in the long white sleeves. A medic enters the room
with a syringe and jabs Mulder in the arm. The creatures shove
Mulder toward the door. He limps slightly, but obeys. The thought
that Scully might be somewhere waiting for him to return gives him
enough energy to keep going.

The bumpy scales of the guards' hides surround him, and he can
hear their claws click on the smooth floor. They throw him into
the room he remembers originally waking in. But the drug is taking
effect already, and he feels himself shutting down, ready to
sleep.

He lies down, blinking slowly. As he dozes off, the image, the
memory of Scully is lost again. The altered portion of his brain
exerts control as he sleeps, and his own identity dissolves. He
feels cold, sees a familiar light, and falls, twisting, into the
bloody nightmare.

*******************************************************


The End


Thanks for reading!

Note: This fanfiction was greatly inspired by the video for Dave Matthews
Band's "So Much to Say", as well as XF "Within/Without", of
course, and Pearl Jam's "Indifference".

The X-Files and related entities belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox. I write only for the profit of feedback, not money.