The Fox and the Howned V: A Howned's Bark (1/1)
by SciNut@aol.com (K.Enriquez)

Rating: R
Category: A
Disclaimer: The X-Files property of CC, 1013, FOX yadda,
yadda, yadda
Summary: An epilogue, of a sort, to "F&H4: Howneded". Mulder
recovers, sort of.
Keywords: MulderAngst, SMT

Other stuff: Okay, so I hope this isn't too disappointing
compared to the last one. I had a couple people telling me
I'd better write some kind of recovery cause not even
Mulder can walk away from that. So, this is really like an
epilogue only it didn't do what I wanted it to do so I'm a bit
nervious that this one sucks. I could really use some...
feedback?... Please...Story six is in the works so no worries.
Howned shall return.

Pain. It crawled like ants across his palms and poked
continuously at his side. They had taken the bandages off
but he wasn't ready for this yet.. The sight of his own torn
and mutilated hands had caused him to hide them
whenever possible. He had used the sheets of his bed last
night and now he hid them under the table at which he now
sat.

On the table, a neon pink tennis ball mocked him. He was
supposed to pick it up but the echoing thump of its green
partner as it bounced along the floor still taunted. So
instead, he tucked his hands between his legs, waiting for
the throbbing pain to pass and wrestling with his frayed
temper.

He shouted at everyone now. Every conversation became a
confrontation. Simple tasks ended in tears of frustration.
The same tears he was blinking away this very moment so
the therapist wouldn't see when she came in.

Damn Howned and his psychosis. Damn him for fucking
with his life.

He closed his eyes and began to breathe methodically in a
long, deep rhythm. The skin around the gash across his
chest tugged stiffly against the stitches. But the anger
grew. Lately, none of his attempts at control worked.

Behind him, the door opened.

"Well, Mr. Mulder it looks like you decided to start without
me." The soft, lilting Asian accent of Kelly Mathis, his
physical therapist, drifted over his shoulder.

He took a deep breath and tried not to growl at her. "I
dropped it anyway."

"Mr. Mulder, it just takes a bit of time and some hard
work."

He looked up to find Kelly's soft oval face looking down at
him expectantly. He would have considered her an
attractive Vietnamese woman if she didn't annoy him so
much. Nothing against her personally, it was just that
everyone annoyed him or angered him in some way, even
Scully.

Mulder slumped a bit further down in his chair as the
argument from last night surfaced in his mind. She had
only come to visit and he'd blown up at her. She hadn't
even really said anything that would have normally set him
off, but she had come in just after they'd taken the bandages
off his hands and no amount of coaxing and reassuring
could have convinced him they would ever be the same.

The doctors had said he would regain full use of his hands
with rigorous physical therapy. They said the scarring
would be minimal, but their words were hollow comfort
compared to the actual visual condition of his hands.
Purple and swollen, with black stitches keeping the jagged
holes closed, he could barely move his fingers without
pain. His fingertips constantly tingled from damaged
nerves, though he was also assured those would heal in
time. He had only seen the damage, remembered the
horror of what he had suffered and wanted to die.

It was at this point that Scully had come in, asked how he
was feeling...

Mulder cut off the memory with a violent sigh. The anger
was boiling up again.

"Are you ready to continue?" Kelly's voice drifted to him
softly and she crossed her arms across her chest. "Or are
you going to be uncooperative again?"

Mulder looked away sullenly and tried desperately to
contain himself. The last thing he needed to do was shout
at Kelly... again, but her patronizing tone was making this
difficult.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'." He sighed and she continued,
"Now, I don't want you trying to pick the ball up yet, your
muscles are still far too weak. Just put your hand on it and
squeeze. *Gently*, you do it too hard and you'll damage the
stitches. We just want to work on strength training."

Mulder didn't move.

"Mister Mulder... if you don't try you will *never* be able
to pick up or hold *anything*."

He looked at the floor, trying to ignore the numb lumps of
flesh that used to be his hands, wishing Kelly would just
disappear before he lost his temper again.

"Mister Mulder.... Fox..."

"Don't call me that!" Mulder shouted as he leapt up from
the table, his tenuous control slipping away. "How many
times do I have to tell you that! Don't you ever listen?"

"I'm sorry," Kelly offered, taking a step backward. "Mister
Mulder, please.. you have to try, at least."

Mulder thrust his hands out at her, shouting, "How am I
supposed to try when they look like this? They're not going
to get better!"

"The doctors..."

"Fuck the doctors!" He was being illogical, he knew that,
but lately only the anger mattered.

"Mulder."

The quite voice of his partner startled him and he jumped.
Turning, he could only hold her gaze briefly before looking
away. She was dressed in the standard dark suit but he
found himself focusing on her left foot. He had not been
able to maintain eye contact since the basement. Every
time he tried the entire ordeal stared back at him. Crossing
his arms, he tucked his hands deeply under his arms.

"I'll leave you alone for a bit to visit," Kelly said, making a
strategic exit.

"Thank you, Kelly," Scully replied as she walked past her
to the door.

A minute of strained silence passed before Mulder spoke.

"How long have you been standing there?" He winced as it
came out an accusation.

"Long enough," she answered. The compassion in her
voice pierced through the anger.

"I didn't hear the door open," he whispered back.

"I know."

He focused on her other foot.

"If you don't do the PT you won't be able to return to work,
Mulder."

His control was slipping again but anger wasn't the emotion
bubbling up. It was self pity. "Why should it matter? It's not
going to heal this time."

"Are you talking about your hands, Mulder? Or your soul?"

Startled, he met her eyes briefly, but again looked away
from their compassionate depths.

"Let me see your hands," she said after several moments of
silence passed. When he made no move to comply she
strode slowly up to him and tugged lightly at his elbow.
"Please?"

Scully watched him anxiously as his eyes focused on a far
corner. His unwillingness to maintain eye contact with her
was becoming disturbing. He seemed to shrink further and
further from her as each day passed and yet the staff had
been telling her about his short temper and violent
outbursts.

The only outburst she'd witnessed until now had been last
night as he'd ranted on about how he "felt". It had not lasted
long until he realized she was still in the room. Then he had
fallen so silent, so fast it was as if the sterile walls had
stolen his voice. He'd met her gaze then, briefly, with such
self hatred lurking in their depths she nearly wept openly
before his eyes dropped back to the floor.

He would speak to her shoes or the walls but his eyes
infrequently traveled higher than her collar and only then
when she said something to take him by surprise. The act
spoke of submission and the more she saw him do it, the
more it worried her.

Maybe a different approach would be necessary, she
thought, as he made no movement to expose his hands.

"Since you don't trust your doctor's opinion, I thought that
I'd take a look. You trust my medical opinion, don't you?"

The question was irrelevant, she knew, as she watched him
flinch from her as if struck, but she needed to break down
his walls.

Silently, she congratulated herself as she felt the muscles of
his arm relax, tentatively surrendering, for her inspection,
the body part in question. His face was lined with barely
hidden anxiety. Did he think she would reject him on the
condition of his hands?

Schooling her features into a mask of clinical detachment,
she glanced down at the appendage he now obediently held
before her, and she was still forced to stifle a gasp of shock.

It was swollen due to the removal of the bandages the night
before and while the worst of it had decreased, his skin was
a mottled white-red from his fingers to half way up his
forearms. The purple areas around the nail puncture
wounds still glistened with antibiotic ointments. Fine,
black rows of stitches criss-crossed the holes and jagged
gaps where the nails had torn through his flesh, the very
edges of which had tinged a pale green.

And suddenly, Scully found herself again on the floor of
that basement, the horrible squealing of nails prying from
wood and the tearing of flesh filling her ears. All she could
do was watch as Mulder, caught in a blind rage, threw
himself at Todd Howned.

Dana blinked, bringing herself back to the present. She'd
always know there was a violent rage buried somewhere in
him. She could see its glimmer in the depths of his eyes but
never had she thought she would see it.

The first time, a year ago, it had scared her that he had
turned to attack her as she tried to stop his assault on
Howned at the pier. She'd managed to overpower him
because his anger had slowed his responses, though when
he did move it was with blinding speed. He had also been
injured and she didn't like to think about what the outcome
would have been had that not been the case.

But this was the second time she had seen this violence
unleashed, and as she quietly stole a glance at his face,
watching him as he silently seethed, she wondered if
maybe that anger had not yet been fully reined once more.

"Well, I can see why you'd think it was hopeless, Mulder,"
she began trying to meet his eyes. As he turned his gaze
from her, she sighed. "They look bad... but that's all it is,
Mulder. Looks. They should heal fine and the doctor did a
wonderful job with these stitches. If you don't tear them out
too often, I doubt there will be any scars on your hands."
Your heart is another matter, she added quietly.

For the first time since their ordeal, Mulder's eyes
tentatively met her own. A silent question burned in them.

"All things heal Mulder, with time," she added, but she was
flooded with disappointment as he glanced away again,
resuming his submissiveness.

She sighed and gently led him back to the table with an
equally gentle but firm grip around his wrist. "Come on, I'll
stay for your PT, okay?"

He nodded meekly and sat.

Scully glanced to the door and Kelly re-entered. "Kelly,
your timing is suspiciously impeccable," she greeted again,
smiling.

"Yeah, blame the ENT." Kelly grinned back. "So, do you
want to start the session over, Mr. Mulder?"

His eyes flickered up towards Scully before finding a
particularly interesting spot on the speckled surface of the
table. Slowly, he nodded.

"Well, that's an improvement. You sure you don't want a
job here, Ms. Scully? You have a wonderful talent." Kelly
grinned up at Dana but was shocked to see her brows
knitting in frustration.

Shaking her head, she cocked it slightly in a gesture
towards Mulder who was beginning to tense. Lines of anger
were etching themselves along his face.

"Can we just get on with this?" Mulder growled out before
either of the women could speak. He hesitated for only a
moment before reaching for the pink tennis ball. His right
hand closed over it and squeezed.

Fire exploded along his palm and lanced up his arm. He
grunted in pain and quickly brought his hand protectively
against his chest. Sweat beaded along his brow and he
doubled over, laying his head against the surface of the
table. The excruciating tingling in his fingertips intensified
as his hand began to throb.

"Mulder?" He felt her arm around his shoulders. "Come on,
Mulder. Your face is turning purple, breathe." He took a
great shuddering breath and the pain faded into an ache.
"There you go. Didn't he get his meds this morning?"

"Yes," Kelly answered. "But these are severe injuries
complicated with nerve damage. Physical therapy will be
painful, even with medication. Mister Mulder, you have to
start off slowly and gently or this is going to be the result
every time."

Mulder continued breathing... long, deep, slow... ignoring
Kelly altogether. The woman just didn't get the hint that he
really didn't want to listen to her. He left his head lying
atop the table as the pain slowly subsided.

"How are you doing, Mulder?" Scully's concerned voice
washed over him but he couldn't answer her. He felt
horribly unworthy of her friendship. He had only ever lost
control three times in his life and she had been witness to
two of them. Two times he had promised, a lifetime ago it
seemed, would never happen.

=You control youself.=This never happens again.=Do you
understand me?=Give your word!=You promise this will
never happen again!=

Like the angry voices that followed him, the broken
promise haunted.

"Mulder?" Scully's gentle touch chased away the memory
before it had an opportunity to begin. When he did not
respond she called to him again, her tone changing to
frustrated worry.

He knew she would not leave him alone until he made
some type of response, so he lifted a shoulder in a half
shrug before slowly straightening. Fighting the urge to look
at her, he denied himself the comfort he knew he would
find in her eyes.

"Ready to try it again?" Scully asked.

He nodded and noticed that Kelly had moved back to a
corner of the room, assuming the role of an observer.
Maybe she might have finally caught a clue.

But for no particular reason he could find, even this action
angered him somehow and he fought to contain the
rollercoaster his emotions had become. Scully seemed to
recognize the signs. She moved away under the guise of
retrieving the green tennis ball he had abused earlier. It
gave him the space he needed to bring himself back under
control.

She set the bright green ball in front of him on the table
easily within his reach and then sat across from him where
it was difficult to avoid her gaze. "Let's try it again
Mulder."

No matter how worthless or dirty he felt, Mulder could not
deny that tone in her voice. The one that said that, even
though what she was asking was in your best interest, if you
won't do it for yourself, then please, do it for her. He
imagined she used to coax wounded animals to her when
she was little with that tone.

Reluctantly, he reached for the ball with his left hand, now
that the right was still numb. Clumsily but gently, his hand
closed around the sphere and he slowly squeezed. Once
again pain lanced up his arm but no where near the extent
or intensity as it had before. He increased the pressure of
his hand until the pain was almost unbearable. Behind him,
Kelly was offering instructions on maintaining pressure for
sustained periods and as she droned on his temper rose yet
again.

"I do know all this, you know." Mulder snapped. "I have
had physical therapy before. If you'd read my chart, like
every other person in this place, you would know that."

A full minute of silence settled in the room.

"Kelly, I apologize for Mulder's behavior." Scully finally
said. Mulder could feel the weight of her stare.

"No need," Kelly answered, her tone flat. "However, since
Agent Mulder is aware already of his techniques I'll move
on to my next appointment and leave him in your capable
hands."

Silence fell between the two partners once more while
Mulder seethed. They always talked as if he weren't there.

"That was uncalled for Mulder."

He concentrated on his exercises, welcoming the pain it
caused.

"Mulder..."

He shrugged. "What, you want me to apologize to her?"

She lifted an eyebrow in response which almost said,
"Yeah, it wouldn't hurt" by itself.

"Apologies don't mean much to me Scully, you know that.
You can't change what was said or done or if it hurt
anyone. One five letter word doesn't make it all better. It
never will. You forgive it or you don't and move on with
life." He glanced at her. She stared at him as if he had
revealed some great mystery and it disturbed him to no end.
"Besides, everyone *has* read my chart. Even the damn
volunteers! Whatever happened to patient confidentiality?"

"I'll talk to your doctor and don't change the subject."

"I wasn't aware that I had."

"Mulder..." She sighed. "Look around you. It's just you and
me now so drop the evasiveness."

Her tone surprised him and he met her firm yet
compassionate gaze. He didn't want to do this now, but it
was obvious that she wasn't going to let him run away.

Once again, however, he found that looking at her for too
long brought the very memories he didn't want to discuss.
Suddenly, he was back in that basement, the pain in his
hands an agonizing fire. The exercise ball slipped from his
fingers as the memory washed over him. The rhythmic
pounding pain of the hammer as it struck over and over,
driving the nails further and further through his palms. The
reverberations of the wood causing its own form of agony.
It had gone on and on in never-ending torment that would
last weeks afterwards.

=Guess that hurts, does it?= Howned's voice echoed. Every
nuance of glee and hatred was etched perfectly into
memory. =Let's try over here... bet that's an even better
spot...=

"Mulder!" Scully's voice jolted him out of memory once
more.

He found he'd doubled over in the chair, curled almost
fetal. His breath came in short frightened bursts and he
looked frantically for a phantom who was no longer there.

"Hey," Scully asked as she brushed at the tears on his
cheeks. "What was that?"

He shrugged, trying to blow it away as nothing.
"Flashback... you get used to 'em."

"Have you told the staff psychologist about them yet?" she
asked worriedly.

He shook his head, gaze shifting back to the floor.

"Have you even talked to a staff psychologist yet?"

"Yeah..."

"And?"

Busted... "I told him I didn't want to talk about it."

"Mulder..." Scully sighed in frustration.

"I still don't," he added, working a small measure of
indignation into his voice.

"I do."

It was another surprising admission that was rewarded with
his eyes meeting hers. It was so unlike her. Emotional
confrontation between them had always been avoided as
much as possible, usually leaving him frustrated, confused
and a little hurt. Now it only angered him. After four years
the rules could not just change overnight. It was too much.

"You talk to a therapist then," he snapped before standing
and moving away.

He was nearly to the door when her response froze him
where he stood.

"I have." She said it matter of factly, making it sound far
less important than it was. "Still am actually."

He stood there, stunned, for several seconds maintaining
that ever important eye contact. She felt like rejoicing.

"Why?"

"It was a traumatic experience for the both of us, Mulder.
What he did to you..." He moved away from her to a
corner, effectively cutting her off. Scully sighed, "You may
not want to talk about it, hoping you can forget by ignoring
that it ever happened, but that doesn't work, Mulder. You
know it doesn't."

He shrugged. Not really an answer but there was no answer
to give her. She said nothing further, just watched him,
waiting for him to make the next move.

He looked down at his feet encased in his well-worn
running shoes. He could say nothing and go back to his
physical therapy. Continue on just as he had been by
ignoring that this conversation ever took place. Move on
with a fragile temper. Maybe he could get back to the place
he'd been before all this had happened.

His instincts told him to say nothing. He had spent most of
his adult life dealing with situations like this alone. He had
managed just fine so far. But his training told him
otherwise. As an educated behavioral psychologist, he
knew that everything he had been taught and everything he
had learned said this path would only lead further into
darkness.

He sighed and looked towards the window and the bright
blue sky of early afternoon. "We had pork chops the other
night for dinner here." The words popped out softly before
he had a chance to think it over further.

"What?" Scully asked. Her voice only slightly betrayed her
surprise. She did not think he would speak so soon and this
certainly wasn't what she was expecting.

"I barely made it to the bathroom... I could barely even
stand the smell." Disgust laced his tone.

"I don't understand. Why?"

"It tasted like..." his voice faltered. "It reminded me of
what I did."

He glanced briefly at her only to see the pain he had seen in
her eyes that same night. Quickly, he looked away. The
phantom tang on his tongue began to make him ill.

"What happened, Mulder... what he made you do... you
didn't have a choice."

"I had a choice," Mulder said, but the words lacked
conviction.

Scully just shook her head, bemused at his attempt but
compassionate with understanding. "You were trying to
protect me. I know that's not a choice for you."

She was being remarkably open today, he thought as he
held her gaze once more.

This time, she was the one to break the moment. "He used
me against you and I feel guilty for that, Mulder." A look of
utter terror crossed his features and she jumped to reassure
him. She crossed the room to him, taking hold of his biceps
and holding him at arms length, looking him directly in the
eye, forcing him to look at her. "It's one of the reasons I
went to a therapist, Mulder. You need me to be here, not
tied up inside my own head."

He felt like he was crumbling inside under the honesty of
her words and eyes. Flaking away like dust under her
generosity. He felt more unworthy of her now than he did
before. How do you accept an open gesture after you've
done something that not even *animals* do unless mad
with hunger or just plain insane? How could she be here,
unafraid of the rage that threatened?

As if she could hear his confusion she continued, "I was
there with you, Mulder. We got through it alive together.
We can get through rest of this together too. I'm here for
you."

He just stared at her before a smile tugged at his lips. "That
must be one hell of a doctor."

Scully practically beamed in response to his effort. It had
barely upturned the corners of his mouth but his eyes had
twinkled briefly. "Something like that, yes."

"Do you think..."

"I'm sure she could find time, Mulder."

For the first time in weeks, the silence was comfortable.

A knock at the door brought the moment to an end.

Walter Skinner entered, the relaxed poses of both his
agents giving him a moment of relief from the knot of
dread that had formed in his stomach.

"If I may say, you both are looking far better than the last
time I saw you." Mulder had still been unconscious and
Scully had been in shock.

"Thank you, Sir." Scully answered for them both. A wary
expression had begun to form on Mulder's face.

"Unfortunately," he continued, trying not to look at Mulder
directly. "I have some disturbing news. Todd Howned
never arrived at Maryland State Penitentiary."

"What?" Scully replied, stunned.

"He was processed at the 4th precinct and then transferred.
However, when I called to check that all procedures were
being followed, he was reported to have never arrived. The
precinct house officers are sure they put him on the prison
transport but the driver doesn't remember having picked
Howned up. He wasn't even listed on the manifest."

"You mean he's escaped again?" Mulder asked, his voice
tight.

"I mean," Skinner answered. "We have no idea what
happened to him."

end.