Date: Fri, 18 Sep 1998

Title- Survivor's Guilt
Author- Munchie14
Catagory- Lots of angst! And some MulderTorture thrown in for
good measure.
Rating- PG-13
Feedback- Pretty please with Mulders on top? ;)
Summary- Well, here's the challenge- Write a story with Scully or
Mulder's point of view, then write the exact same scene with a minor
character's point of view.

Disclaimer- Nope, don't own 'em, and probably never will!

Author's Note- The first part is written from a supporting character's
POV, and the second part is in Scully's POV. Many thanks to Emily for
posting this challenge! ;)

PART I

I gave them a choice. "Choose who will die." I said. "Me,"
they simultaneously responded. I saw the look they gave
each other. I saw the silent battle being fought between
them. I once had a connection like that with someone. I
*had*. Before they threw her in jail. Before I saw her
gassed out of existence by the same people who stood
before me. Well, not exactly the same people, but the same
*people*. You know. Government. Law enforcement. FBI.
They will pay for their sins.

The guy. What a gentleman. He's gonna sacrifice himself
for the red-head. But it doesn't matter. They're both gonna
suffer, and in the end, both will die.

I set a chair, the back flush against the wall. I tie the red-
head to it, making sure her legs and arms are immobile, and
then I gag her. I get another chair and do the exact same
thing on the other side of the room. I drag the guy over, all
the while he's kicking and screaming about how I'm gonna
die if I ever touch his partner. Yeah, right, whatever. I get
out some barbed wire and tie it around his wrists, ankles,
and around his chest. Tight. The blood oozes out from the
punctures, and dribbles down in mesmerizing patterns. I
shake my head. No time for that now. I double check the
makeshift restraints, and make sure there's no way he was
gonna escape. Then, I begin.

I spit in his face and he reflexively pulls back, his head
impacting the concrete wall with a smack. I slide my pocket
knife out, and ponder which I should use this time. Knife.
Definitely a knife. I pull out my weapon of choice and test it
on a piece of paper. Slides through it like water. I watch in
amusement as the lady's eyes widen and she leans forward
against the restraints. The guy just sits there and tries to
suppress his squirming. I lay the tip of the blade on his knee
cap. He looks at the knife, as if he could move it by the
intensity of his gaze. But I push it in, slowly, dragging it
down the bone of his shin, stopping right above the ankle.
Blood trickles out of the cut, running in a stream down his
leg. To his credit, he doesn't cry out. Doesn't even make a
sound. So I do it again, and again, and again. He never
once screams out loud, but the extreme pain shows in his
eyes.

I glance at the red-head. Her eyes shoot daggers at me, her
raw anger mingling with the tears which threaten to spill
over. Good. She now understands. She knows what it
feels like to watch your only love die before you. To see
their suffering without being able to do a thing. She knows.
But there is more.

I once again concentrate on my handy pocket knife, this
time extracting the corkscrew. I lift up his shirt to expose his
flat, sculpted torso. I rest the point of the corkscrew on his
flat stomach, push in, and twist. His skin resists and
dimples before the sharp tip punctures the flesh. This time
he cries out, his face twisting with pain. Another glance at
the red-head shows that she can feel it too. Her face
reflects agony, and... something else. Guilt. She feels it
now. She knows what I felt. My job is done. I quickly pull
out the knife blade again, and stab it deep into the man's
chest, aimed straight for his heart. I no longer need him, so
I put him out of his misery. He falls limp, his head falling
onto his chest. I can hear her gasp, even with the gag on.

Now, it is my turn. She is crying, tears streaming down her
face, only to be sopped up by the cloth which is tied around
her mouth. She gasps for breath but I ignore it. A quick
look into her eyes simply confirm what I'm about to do. She
wants to join her partner. She won't have to wait long. I
untie her right hand, leaving the left one tied to the chair. I
grab the two guns which I confiscated off the red-head and
the guy, and cock them. I stick one into her hand and keep
the other one for myself. "On three" I tell her. Recognition
dawns in her eyes, and they soften as she accepts what she
is about to do. She wants the same thing as I. We want to
join our loved ones. We take careful aim at each other's
head. Soon, I will be at peace. "One," I count out loud. "T-"
I see her finger tightening on the trigger and at the last
moment I realize that I misread her. She doesn't want to
die.

Those are my last thoughts as gray fades to black.

PART II

I slowly feel the thick haze of unawareness lift from my
mind. Why am I sitting upright? In a rush, today's events
run back into my memory, violently jerking me out of my
stupor. As I awake, my hands try to escape from behind my
back, to no avail. My hands and legs are tied tightly against
the hard wood of the chair. Mulder sits across from me,
gagged and tied with barbed wire. I can only imagine how
painful that is. The man looks at me and then back at
Mulder. He spits in Mulder's face and he involuntarily pulls
his head back, right in the cement wall. I wince. The man
then pulls a pocket knife from his pocket and tests on the
piece of paper he had with him. It slices cleanly through,
that knife is *sharp*. The man rests the tip of the knife on
Mulder's knee. I see Mulder's muscles tense as he tries not
to jerk away. Slowly, as if enjoying the sight of Mulder's
pain, the man drags the knife down the length of his shin.
Mulder flinches, but doesn't cry out. The man does it over
and over again, and I can't bare to watch. I concentrate on
trying to get free. I lunge against the restraints, desperately
trying to get free. I foolishly feel anger towards Mulder.
Why did that bastard volunteer to be killed!? Each silent
word is punctuated by a jerk against my bindings.

He looks at me. Not Mulder, the other guy. He stares at me
like he's peering into my soul. I look back at him, and I see
red as the anger builds up inside me. That bastard hurt
Mulder. Tears of frustration threaten to overflow, and I
struggle to keep them at bay. I look over at Mulder and his
eyes glisten with tears of pain. But I read the expression.
"Don't worry Scully, I'm fine." If only his real hurts could be
rid of that easily.

The guy slowly pushes in the blade of his pocket knife, and
pulls out another apparatus. A corkscrew. My imagination
comes up with 101 things he could do with that. He pulls up
Mulder's shirt, exposing his stomach. He presses the point
into his pale skin and twists. Mulder screams in agony and I
force myself to detach from the situation. I can't handle it.
Mulder's gonna die... there's nothing I can do about it... why
him and not me? The madman looks me in the eye and
seems to come to a decision. Without preamble his pulls
out the knife and thrusts it straight into Mulder's chest. I'm
in shock for a split second and then the floodgate open. I
cry. Gut-wrenching sobs for my best friend whom I'll never
see again.

I feel my hand being untied. My right hand. I don't
understand. But I'm pass the point of caring. Mulder's
dead. The fact repeats itself over and over in my mind. I
feel something being pressed into my palm. I look down.
It's Mulder's gun. Half-heartedly I make eye contact with the
murderer who stands before me. I understand what he
wants me to do. And I want it too.

"On three... one." Time moves in slow motion. I've
accepted the fact that I'm gonna die. But not after killing the
man who killed Mulder. In cold-blood. I'll see you soon
Mulder. I hear his voice echoing in my head. I can't hear
Mulder's words, but I somehow I hear the message. My
finger tightens on the trigger. "T-" The man is cut off from
his counting as a bullet enters his head.

Mutely, I manage to untie myself using my right hand. I
scoot over to Mulder's body. For some strange reason, I
need to know that Mulder's actually dead. I know enough
not to hope, but I can't help myself. I place my hands on
Mulder's neck, and feel for a pulse. I feel a faint beat
beneath my fingertips. I collapse to the floor, this time
sobbing tears of relief, as the door is kicked in and FBI
agents and paramedics flood the room.