From: Date: Tue, 9 Jun 1998 12:21:55 EDT Subject: Bound and Determined M/Sk Slash NC-17 Title: Bound and Determined Author: Grey Email: Grey853@aol.com Rating: NC-17 for explicit m/m sex and violence Category: SA Spoilers: None to speak of KeyWords: Mulder/Skinner Slash, Rape, Krycek Summary: This is the sequel to "Consent". Mulder tries to recover from being raped and to get on with his life with Walter Skinner, but along come complications. Disclaimer: These characters belong to CC, but I'm borrowing them. CC is a hell of a lot nicer than I am. ARCHIVE: YES to MSSS/ MulderTorture/ and any other place where "Consent" is also Archived. WEBSITE: http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dimension/3837/index2.html Author's Note: Lines introduced and ended with a double slash // are internal and not spoken out loud by the characters. Date: June 8, 1998 WARNING: This story deals with disturbing content. It deals with incest, child molestation, rape, sexual slavery, and the aftermath such brutality fosters. This is a dark tale stemming from a darker reality. If any of that bothers you past reason and control, DON'T READ THIS STORY. Sadly, I never have to make anything up. I just read the papers and the pieces are there to be stitched together, pain the thread that binds each victim, misery the fabric of their souls. Bound and Determined by Grey Federal Building Wednesday 10:30 AM "Mulder, what the hell are you doing here?" "I work here, Scully. It hasn't been that long has it?" Mulder stood behind his desk, holding a contraband folder, scanning and studying the pages as quickly as he could. Dana Scully walked over and snatched it from his hands. She put it back on her desk, and then stationed herself right beside him before she spoke. "You've only been out of the hospital two weeks, Mulder. You're on medical leave for godsakes. You shouldn't even be out running around yet, much less coming into work. Does Skinner know you're here?" "He's not my keeper, Scully." His voice dripped petulance. "Mulder, he's your boss, plus he cares about what happens to you. I thought you two came to some kind of understanding." "Yeah, his. I'm not going to talk about him right now, okay?" "Okay." She didn't mention how upset she knew Skinner would be when he found out what Mulder was up to in the basement. Scully knew better than to push. Turning away, not wanting to even deal with his personal relationship with the boss, Mulder walked over to his partner's desk. The file beckoned him. He licked his lips. "Come on, Scully, just let me have a peek at that one file." "No, Mulder." "Just one itty bitty peek and I'll go home." "Mulder, one peek is all you need with eidetic memory. How many pages do you already have memorized?" Grinning like a child caught with the neighbor's spoiled birthday cake, Mulder lifted his hands. "Busted, huh? Actually, I only need to see the last two pages." She shook her head both in frustration and relief. He sounded almost back to normal, at least what passed for normal for Mulder. Despite the weight loss, he certainly looked better than he had a few weeks ago right after the assault. The physical bruises and scars no longer made an obvious appearance. But as a doctor, she knew that the worst wounds were hidden from the start. Mulder certainly did a great tap dance and put on a convincing show. Now, if he could only slow down and learn to get real, he might even be able to end up surviving. "I'm telling you, Mulder, if Skinner finds out you're here, we're both going to be in trouble." "Come on, Scully, how's he going to know? I came in the back way." A husky, full-throated voice boomed in the doorway. "I'd think as a federal agent you'd realize there are cameras even in the back way, Agent Mulder." Everybody froze. Scully watched the two men lock eyes in the first step of a major power play. "Mulder, you're on your own here. Sir, if you'll excuse me, I'll let you two work this out." "Agent Scully, in the future I expect you to call immediately if your partner shows up and tries to be an ass." Smiling slightly, both at Mulder's sudden pinkish hue and her boss's new approach to the language of discipline, she shook her head. "Sir, with all due respect, I don't think I could stay on the phone that long. Neither one of us would get any work done." "Point taken." Skinner found he liked Scully more and more. No wonder Mulder loved her so much. "Hey, you two, it's not fair to gang up on a guy." "Then don't give us a reason, Mulder." Scully moved past Skinner in the door way, but then came right back. She snatched up the tempting file on her desk, registered Mulder's disappointment, and tucked it under her arm. "Sir, if you need back up, I'll be down in forensics." "Thanks, Agent Scully." As soon as she left, Skinner moved inside the room and shut the door. Mulder stood studying his shoes with a hell of a lot more interest than they deserved. "Okay, you want to tell me what you're playing at here?" "How did you know I was in the building so fast?" "I'm the Assistant Director, Mulder. I know things." "Yeah? Well, I'll bet you ordered Randy to call if I showed up. Am I right?" "Bribed is more like." Skinner shrugged, but didn't feel the least bit guilty. "I can't believe you're keeping tabs on me like that. Where's the trust?" Walter looked at Mulder and gave a short laugh. "Trust? You're standing here after I told you specifically not to be. It's hard to trust you when you do things like this." "I never promised I wouldn't come in." "No, but you knew you weren't supposed to and you did it anyway. You did it using subterfuge and now you're trying to make me feel guilty for catching you at it." "Damn, you're good." Mulder let himself smile just a small smile. "That's why I'm the boss. Now, tell me why you're here." Satisfied that Walter was more concerned, than angry, Mulder settled into a rhythmic pace, stepping back and forth in the cramped space. His energy spiked and made his skin itchy. He needed to move, stay busy. //Monsters can't bite your ass when you keep moving.// "I just wanted something to do. I told you last night I can't stand sitting around with nothing to do." "And I told you that you can't come back to work yet, not until Dr. Harris releases you. Besides, you should either be resting or catching up on some reading. You're still on medication for your kidneys. You should not be sneaking in the back way trying to see how far you can push this rebel business." Mulder lifted his head and snapped, "Fuck all this convalescence shit. I hate sitting on my ass doing nothing. I'm fine. I need to work, not waste my time waiting for Dr. Harris or anybody else to tell me what to do." "And that anybody else would be me, right?" Walter stepped closer, but not so close that he invaded personal space. He didn't need Mulder to bolt on him now. "I just get tired of all this shit. Why can't people just leave it alone and let me get on with my life?" "Maybe because we're afraid." "Afraid of what?" Honest confusion played across his face, his eyes softening after the burst of anger. "Afraid that you might get into a case so deep and not be able to get out. I mean, you've gone through a rough time. I don't want to risk losing you because you rushed back to work before you were ready." "But I feel ready, Walter." "Do you?" "Yes. I mean, sure, we both know that I'm going to have some rough patches, but, hell, that's nothing new. I just need to be working, not sitting around thinking all the time. //Too fucking dangerous to think all the time. Too many holes to fall into. Too many demons to feed.// Skinner took a deep breath before speaking. He wanted to select his words carefully, to make a point without slashing his own throat. "Mulder, last night you had a panic attack because you couldn't find a science fiction video." Mulder whirled around. "I did NOT have a fucking panic attack. I just got pissed. I mean I know I have THE THING on tape somewhere, both versions, Walter. It's like someone came in and moved all my stuff. I keep losing things and I hate that. It makes me wonder." "Wonder what?" "If it's safe." //Like it ever was for christsakes.// "Mulder, what are you talking about?" "Walter, someone came into my apartment. I mean, after I was attacked by Turner, he brought me back home. Now, I have no memory of that.....but I mean....I mean, it just pisses me off that he touched everything, you know. He just came in and moved stuff around. Did things. There's no telling what else is missing." //Part of me is missing. I'm fucking lost here.// Looking up, suddenly aware he'd said more than he meant to, he switched back to the original defense. "But I did NOT have a panic attack. That is such bullshit and there's no way you should use that against me." His chest ached knowing that Mulder still felt so unsafe, so violated. He wanted more than anything to change all that. Keeping his voice calm and very even, Skinner spoke softly. "Mulder, I'm not using that or anything else against you. I'm just pointing out that sometimes you get really upset. That's understandable, but you can't be on the job like that. You're not ready yet. There's too much risk. Given a little bit more time, you can learn to control yourself better." "I can control myself now." "Can you?" "Sure. I'm controlling a terrible desire to smack you in the jaw even as we speak." Startled, Skinner asked, "You want to hit me?" "Well, actually I've done that before, so I'd really rather kiss you. The thing is I've learned to control those impulses. See, I'm better, right?" Noting the lightning swift change of his moods, a slightly more flushed Skinner just shook his head. "Mulder, you can't go around saying stuff like that while we're at work." Looking only a little sheepish, Mulder sat down behind his desk and templed his fingers. //God, I love it when his eyes sparkle.// "I know, but I'm a rogue, don't you know. Besides, Scully's great about keeping up with her little bug sweep. You wouldn't believe the shit we say to each other. I guess that's part of what I miss." "Scully?" "Yeah. Jealous?" He glanced up, hopeful. "She's not your type, Mulder." "And you know my type?" "Intimately." "You know my hand that well, eh?" Skinner shook his head at the naughty remark and then frowned. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have started that." Mulder studied the man he'd allowed into his life, surprised at the embarrassed reaction. "Why not?" "A lot of reasons. Mainly because we're at work. Listen. You have to go home. Have your session with Harris later today and then I'll bring dinner and see you tonight. We'll talk then." "You're so damn bossy, Walter." "I know. Don't worry about it. You'll either get used to it or just keep on getting caught." "And if I get caught, what happens?" The tease in his voice made Skinner's muscles tighten, his groin to sit up and take notice. "Mulder, don't start that here. You're going home." "You know what, Walter?" "What?" "I'm beginning to like this game. You look pretty damn cute with a blush." ************** Dr. Harris's Office, Wednesday 2 PM "Well, you certainly seem more energetic than yesterday. What's going on?" Mulder paced the confines of the office, repeatedly moving from chair to window, loose energy vibrating from every nerve. Sitting would bring on an immediate blast. "Same thing as yesterday. I'm bored out of my skull. When can I go back to work?" "Mulder, we've talked about that." "You mean you've talked and I've had to listen. Your arguments are shit. I need to work. Things will settle down when I'm on the job." "Things?" "You know what I mean." Mulder stopped behind the chair opposite of his psychiatrist and braced his arms against the back. He did a pre-running stretching move to help release the stinging energy burning though his muscles, building in up in his bones. "Dr. Boysen has me on antibiotics for a few more weeks to make sure the kidneys are okay, but frankly I'm feeling pretty good, no problems in that area." "No problems at all?" Harris watched the frenetic movements. He could see the air practically sparkle with extra charges. "Mulder, try sitting down for a minute." Mulder's head jerked up, his expression defiant. "I could if I wanted to, but I don't. I've been sitting around on my ass too long as it is." "Tell you what, Mulder. Sit for just five minutes without moving and I'll let you go back to work this very day." Anger and understanding reared behind the intense hazel eyes. "You don't think I can do it." It wasn't a question. "Prove me wrong and you'll have your ticket to what you want. Sounds like a good deal to me. Try it." An anxious hand ran through his dark hair, pushing the stubborn front strands back away from his face. He paced two more times and then sat down, his right leg bouncing, his hands digging into both thighs. "Try not moving at all." After a few more seconds Mulder came up out of the seat, stepping to the window, his long arms wrapped tightly around his chest. His tongue worked hard, running back and forth along the inside lower lip. Standing there, he shifted foot to foot, never still. Two full minutes passed before Harris asked, "Are you okay, Mulder?" "Obviously not, you son of a bitch." "Mulder, you're having an anxiety reaction, a post traumatic response to what's happened. You recognize it, but deny it. We have to work on that." "I like that we part, Doc. Makes me feel all cozy to know I'm part of a crowd of two." The pacing started again, chair to window and back. "So, did you do your list?" "No." His voice, still tight, swung the word like a slap. "Why not?" "Two reasons. One I told you before I hate behavior modification techniques and two it would've been a really short list." "So, you're saying you couldn't think of many things you like about yourself?" Frustrated to the point of exploding, Mulder breathed deeply to ward off another flash fire at the back of his thoughts. "Look, we're here to deal with recent events, not the long term. My self-esteem, or lack of it, isn't the issue. I just want to do what I have to so I can go back to doing my job." "Then why not work with me? I mean, if it's such a short list why couldn't you just go along and write it down? Why make an issue of it?" "Jesus, you're a stubborn bastard." "Considering my patient, don't you think I need to be?" Bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet, arms still crossed, Mulder finally nodded. "Yeah, I guess. I just don't want to be patronized. I don't like lists. I really don't like writing about myself much." "I know that. Let's shelf the lists for awhile and just talk." "Okay. I can do that." Mulder stared out the window, longing desperately to be back in his basement office, back to Scully, back to Walter and what he knew. "So, have you thought anymore about starting medication?" "I told you before, I don't want to do that." "I know you don't want to take medication, Mulder, just like you don't want to be here right now. Even so, sometimes you have to do things you don't like for conditions to get better." Mulder turned and faced off, his arms crossed like steel bars around his chest, his feet still bouncing. "And what's going to get better? Sure, I can take some pills that are supposed to ease the depression or the anxiety, but it's still there. I'm the one who has to deal with it and I will. I always have. What pisses me off if this attitude that a pill is supposed to solve all these problems." Dr. Harris put his pad down on the table and leaned back as he watched the constant movements. Pure energy couldn't move faster. "Mulder, no one's saying the medication solves the problems. It just allows you to relax and be more comfortable, maybe even sleep so you can feel better." "I'll feel better when everybody gets the fuck out of my life and lets me get on with things. Going over all this shit doesn't change any of it, and while intellectually I know all the theories behind the techniques, I also know that it doesn't work for me. Believe me, Doc, it's all been tried before." "You've taken medication for depression before?" Shrugging, Mulder nodded. Looking puzzled, Harris asked, "Why isn't that in your records?" "Because I did it on my own." Sitting up straight, totally focused, Harris forced his voice to remain calm. "Explain that to me, Mulder. You're saying you medicated yourself with antidepressants even though you can't write a prescription?" Mulder raised his arms above his head, locked his hands, and stretched while he spoke. "There's nothing you can't get on the streets, Doc, even psych drugs." "And why would you do that instead of just getting it legally?" Bending over, Mulder started to do repeated exercises, first the touch to toes, then the turns right and left. "I didn't want it in my record that I was doing meds. As it turned out, they didn't help, though they did make me feel disconnected and lazy." "Disconnected?" "Yeah. My mind didn't want to work right. Everything seemed distant and unclear, like I didn't give a fuck about any of it." "When was this?" "It was way back when I was with Patterson." The mention of the name made Mulder stand up straight, hiding the internal cringe. //Fuck. Go away. Not Bill. Not now. I can't do that now.// Focusing his mind on a vague memory, he banished the image of his ex-boss and his unwelcome touches to a distant mental cage. He crossed his arms again while he paced. "I remember one case where I actually stood over a corpse and thought, what an unlucky fuck, and so what? I stopped taking the pills that night. I couldn't work that way. How was I supposed to get inside anybody's head if I couldn't even get inside my own, if I couldn't control my own thoughts?" Dr. Harris forced himself not to judge openly or start in on what a stupid thing Mulder had done. Instead, he asked, "There are all kinds of meds, Mulder, with different effects. What exactly did you take and for how long?" "Prozac. It was the easiest to get. I took it at a little above therapeutic levels for three months. The only thing it did was make me a zombie at work. It didn't even faze the nightmares." Harris brought a hand to his face to rub his chin. He wanted to select his words carefully. "Mulder, as a law enforcement officer, you realize you've just told me you broke the law." "I realize that." "So, this is your idea of a test, right?" Mulder smiled for the first time in the session. "Yeah, sort of. So, you going to turn me in?" "Well, if I did, you'd certainly have reason enough to get another therapist. Is that what you want?" Mulder stopped dancing for the briefest of moments. "No. I haven't finished breaking you in yet." "Is that the plan?" "What?" "To break me in, to gradually reveal all your secrets wondering which one will be the last straw, which one will send me hunting for the commitment papers or the cuffs?" Mulder's face flushed and a quick anger rocked through his voice. "My secrets are my own. If I tell you something, it's because it's my choice, not yours, not Walter's, not Scully's. That's the fucking point, Harris. I hate being put in this position, but by god if I do have to be here, it's going to be on my terms. No more fucking mind games or meds or anything else that you want to shove down my throat." As soon as the last words finished, Mulder flashed on another time, a belt around his throat, his mouth forced open, huge hands immobilizing his head. He jerked forward suddenly. "Shit." Slamming his fist into his thigh, he shut down the torturous scene as he started to choke. Mulder grabbed his stomach in misery. Desperately he dashed for the trash can by the side of Harris's desk and fell on his knees. Heaving the acrid coffee- donut mix into the container, he gagged helplessly, pulling at all the muscles in his chest and gut. By the time he'd finished, Harris stood beside him, holding out a damp cloth. "Here, Mulder, use this." Wiping his mouth, his words muffled, he spoke weakly. "Thanks." "Do you need any help?" "No. Give me a minute." Squeezing his eyes shut, he fought back the waves of nausea rolling through him. Slowly, the world settled to a stationery state, and he managed to get himself up and to the chair while Harris carried the trash and its stench to another room. He returned and handed Mulder a glass of water. "Drink this." "I don't want it." "Do you need to go to the restroom to rinse out your mouth?" "No. I'll be all right." Reluctantly he reached up and took the offered glass. After a few sips, he finished the whole thing. "Are you okay now?" The doctor's voice traveled a great distance to be heard. "I'm fine." Cold sweat layered his skin, his calves and forearms twitched. "You certainly don't look fine. You want to tell me what just happened?" "Sorry about that." Mulder shook his head, embarrassed, and avoided the dark eyes still studying him intently. "It must be the antibiotics. They're hard on the stomach." "The antibiotics?" "Yeah. Plus that second pot of coffee didn't help." "Second pot? Jesus, Mulder. You're wired enough. You need to cut back. Your system can't handle that right now. That much caffeine on your kidneys is just asking for trouble." "I know." Mulder rubbed his hands along his thighs, the spasms vibrating up through his palms. "Mulder, are you sure what just happened wasn't about something else? If you had a flashback, I need to know. What exactly did you remember?" Taking a deep breath, Mulder concentrated his efforts to tame his wild, unruly tongue. "Doctor, listen. You know my stomach is a terror. It's nothing. Now, isn't our time up yet? Nothing personal, but I feel like I've been here forever." "Actually we still have a few minutes left. If you don't want to talk about taking medication, why don't we talk about you and your relationship with your boss?" Another round of defenses rallied around his mind. He lowered his head and rubbed his weary eyes with the ball of each hand. "What's going on there isn't coming into this office." "Mulder, you've already told me that the two of you are more than just a subordinate and a superior." "Sub and dom? Sounds kinky, doc." The psychiatrist ignored the attempt at humorous deflection. "Is it?" Weary, Mulder shook his head. "You're not going to give up on this one, are you?" "I can't afford to, Mulder, and neither can you. I'm not here to judge or make decisions for you." "Well, that's a hell of a comfort." "I'm sure you've both considered the underlying, innate problems in starting a relationship between the two of you even under the best conditions." "You mean the fact that we're both men and in the FBI?" "And that it could be perceived as an abuse of power on AD Skinner's part?" "Yeah, that, too." "And that you're really in no emotional state to be starting any kind of new relationship?" Mulder smiled grimly and looked at the serious face watching him. "Jesus, doc, don't hold back. Tell me what you really think." "Frankly, it doesn't matter what I think." "And I think that's about the first thing you've said that I totally agree with, Harris." "Then let's stop on a high note." "Sounds good to me." As Mulder stood to leave, Dr. Harris added, "Before tomorrow, I want you to make a list of all the reasons why you want to be with Walter Skinner." Shaking his head, Mulder couldn't help but smile. If the good doctor wanted a list, he'd give him a fucking list. He wondered if he could make Harris blush. Bet he could, and then he felt the fire of his own heated skin. Trembling, he thought of asking Walter if he wanted to help with his homework later that night. In fact, the distraction of trying to walk, despite the heaviness growing between his legs, kept him from noticing the watchful pair of watery blue eyes that observed his awkward departure. He never even heard the low chuckle or the slightest whisper of his first name, a whisper from a voice that would've sent him tumbling into an abyss of absolute despair. ************** Mulder's apartment Wednesday 8:30 PM Walter Skinner puttered around the kitchen like he owned the place, setting the table, stocking the cabinets, basically taking over. Mulder's feelings on the matter divided into two opposing camps. On the one hand, he loved the idea of being pampered, of having a handsome man like Walter stepping into help. On the other, it pissed him off no end. Who the hell did he think he was coming in and invading his territory like that? It made for a permanent twist and nagging pull at his gut. "Mulder, you want ginger ale or root beer?" "I want tea." "No tea. Too much caffeine." Walter set the glasses on the table as he watched Mulder flip nervously through another magazine. "Then how about a beer? That doesn't have caffeine." He tossed the book carelessly on the floor beside the couch. "No beer with the antibiotics." "Damn it, Walter, if I want a fucking beer, I'll have one." He stormed over to the table, his fists balled up beside him, the strain of control pumping through his arms. "Mulder, if you want a beer that badly, drink it, but I don't really think this is about that, do you?" The tone dripped so much patience, Mulder wanted to scream and rant and kick in the calm face staring him down. His throat hurt at the birth of words. "Jesus, Walter. Why does everything have to be so fucking hard with you?" "It's only hard if you want it to be, Mulder." "And why would I want it to be hard?" "Because it's what you do. It's what you know." The clarity of the statement floored him. //Jesus, Walter. You know too damn much.// His earlier rush of temper wavered and he sat down at the table, drained. "I guess root beer will be okay." His hand shook as it wrapped around the glass Walter handed him. "I'm sorry about that. I didn't mean to blow up." "I know. Apology accepted. Now, do you want to the sesame chicken or the Mongolian beef?" "We have both?" For the first time in weeks, his appetite kicked in. Walter smiled at the greedy expression. "Well, that answers that question. I'll put them both out and you help yourself." He brought the bowls to the table and placed them in the center. "Where'd you get the new dishes?" Mulder scooped out the rice and a little of each of the side meals. "I got tired of using plastic." Walter sat down next to his young agent and grinned at the satisfaction of finally witnessing an inkling of hunger. "But plastic doesn't break." "And that's good because?" "It doesn't matter." Mulder savored the rich sauces and chewed in delight. "Man, this is really good." It'd been too long since he actually cared about eating, cared about anything much at all. After a few minutes he glanced up, suddenly aware of the quiet man beside him. He muttered between chews. "What?" "It just nice to see you eat for a change." "I eat." He stuffed another plump piece chicken into his mouth, a brown glaze dripping down his chin. "Well, it just good to see." Swallowing hard, Mulder smiled shyly back while he speared another bite while wiping off his face. "I see you got the mild sauce on this." "Yeah, I thought I'd hold off on the hot stuff until your stomach could handle it." "Normally a statement like that would probably piss me off." "Why's that?" Walter puzzled at the sight of Mulder pointing the chicken-donned fork in his direction. "Because once again you're making my decisions for me." The older man shook his head and picked up his own fork. "It's just Chinese take-out, Mulder. It's not like I'm deciding a major life choice." "I know. That's why I'm not going to argue about it. Next time though, get the extra hot if that's what you usually get. I don't want you making changes to fit around me." After a few moments, Walter spoke softly. "What if that's what I want to do, Mulder?" "What?" "Make changes to fit around you? I mean, let's be honest here. I'm not doing this as your boss. I'm not even doing it because I consider myself a friend." "Then why are you doing it?" "Because I love you." Mulder stopped mid-chew. He put his fork down and refused to make eye contact while he pushed back from the table. Walking to the other side of the room, he stood there facing the wall, totally quiet. Bringing a hand to his mouth, he touched and hated the slight tremor of his lips. Finally, he whispered, "I'm sorry, Walter. I just can't talk about that. I can't say it." "I know. I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry it's so hard for you to hear someone say those words. It hurts to know that you can't accept the possibility that someone can actually feel that deeply about you." "It'd be a lot easier if all you wanted to do was fuck me." Walter Skinner stood up and walked over to the couch. He stepped no closer, but he wanted to be heard over any demons that might mute his words. "Mulder, that isn't what I want. If we get together physically, I'll make love to you, but it will never just be some quick fuck. I don't fuck the person I love. Do you understand that?" Shutting down the terror flaming through his mind, Mulder pushed back. "But what if all I want is a quick fuck?" "Then we'll have a problem." Turning, Mulder fought to keep his distance, the blaze of passion in those dark brown eyes drawing him. Instead, he threw out another verbal assault. "Damn it, Walter, I never promised you anything. You sound like you want to go out and buy rings and a goddamn house or something just as crazy." "I never said that. I know you're nowhere near talking about anything like that for now." "Then you really have considered a permanent relationship?" "Yes." Walter's voice never wavered, not even a catch. "Jesus." Mulder edged his way to the sofa and sagged down. "I don't think I can handle this." "I know it's too soon, Mulder. I just didn't want you to even question my feelings for you. You can question every fucking thing in the universe, but don't ever doubt that no matter how hard you try to shut down or push me away, nothing will change the fact that I'm hopelessly connected to you." "Well, at least you've got the hopeless part right." After a brief pause, Walter sat down beside the young agent, but didn't touch him. Leaning back, he waited for Mulder to make the next move. "Walter?" "What?" "This scares the shit out of me." "Yeah. I figured that much out. Besides, I'm a scary guy, right?" Mulder cracked a reluctant grin. Turning, he scanned over the teasing features. "Man, you've got everybody so damn fooled it isn't even funny." "Well, not everybody." "Who's not scared of Walter Skinner?" "Well, Scully for one." "Yeah, but Scully's fearless. She doesn't count." Testing a hand on Mulder's back, the slightest flinch settled as he massaged up and down his spine. "You're wrong about Scully." Comforted by the strong, persistent fingers, Mulder closed his eyes letting his muscles thicken with fatigue. "How's that?" "She's afraid for you sometimes." He stiffened slightly at the sad reality behind the words, but let himself relax against both the hands now kneading his shoulders. "She worries too much. She needs to take a lover." "You think that would do it for her?" "Sure. Why not?" "You tell her that?" "What? You think I'm that crazy? Not hardly. Besides, she's been too busy taking care of me to find anybody." Walter leaned his forehead against Mulder's back and then drew him into his arms. "Maybe we can change that. Maybe we can give the lady a break." Turning, his head cradled against a broad chest, Mulder lazily stroked the arm wrapped around him. "How?" "Let me take care of you for awhile." Drowsy and strangely at home, the heart beat lulled him to a comfortable place somewhere between total awareness and sleep. Before he could guard himself, he smiled. "That sounds nice, Walter." "Yes, it does." A firm hand petted dark hair as Mulder's breathing lengthened and evened out. After a few minutes, Walter Skinner sat there worried, but content, the man he loved nestled in his supporting arms. ************ Gulls called low from the ground as a brisk wind bit and stung his cheek. Pulling himself up from his stomach, Mulder scanned the dark beach where he lay dressed only in wet jeans and T-shirt. All around him rocks rippled the incoming tide and sea grass bent flat in surrender, slapped by storm air rising. Sand-covered palms came up to rub heat back into frozen arms, scratching tender skin. He spat out the gritty shells coating dusted lips before he discovered his voice didn't work. No words formed and when he tried to stand, his legs failed to move. "Fox?" Samantha's voice called to him, but he couldn't answer. His chest ached, the air shredding his lungs. "Fox, it's okay. Just lie back down and listen." His vision blurred to grey smears, cloudy film all around, as a small gentle hand pushed him back against the sand. He lost all strength, every cell heavy as a single cold stone. His whole body refused to function and slowly iced over. Drifting down into a foamy darkness, he heard the simple voice. "You can't forget, Fox. You can't forget." His mind gibbered into the black yawn of forever and nothing echoed back. Salt water bathed him into numbness and slowly covered his feeble breaths. *********** Jerking up, Mulder awoke fighting for air. Coughing wildly, he tried desperately to recover his reality. Strong arms held him tight and slowly the homing voice of Walter Skinner broke through the paralyzing screams of his own terror. "Mulder, it's okay. You're safe. Wake up." Slowly he saw the dark brown eyes and the color of living flesh. Reaching out a testing hand, he rubbed a thumb over the tired cheek of the man holding him at his chest. "Jesus, Walter." "You awake?" "I sure as hell hope so. Damn." Slumping forward, he let his pounding head rest on soft knit of undershirt. Bringing up his palm, he placed it over the loud heart beating just above the left nipple. Feeling safe, he leaned in and kissed the nub beneath the cloth, pleased to hear the slight hitch in the broad chest. "Mulder, what the hell?" "It's okay, Walter, I'm just glad you're here." He nuzzled his head for a few moments more and then moved away. Pushing his hair back out of his eyes and tried to swallow, but found himself incredibly dry. He coughed a few more times. Walter stood up, walked over to the kitchen, and returned quickly with a glass of water. "Thanks." "You okay now?" The worry curved the words. "Yeah. It's just another nightmare. You should be used to them by now." "I'll never be used to them, Mulder." While the young man straightened his legs around and sat up, Walter settled beside him on the couch. "How long have these things been going on?" "What, the nightmares?" Mulder finished off the water and put the empty glass on the table. "You can't tell me that this is happening all of a sudden. You're just too good at dismissing them." "You're right. They've been going on all my life. Sometimes they're really bad, sometimes they're not." "Shit, Mulder. How do you ever get any sleep?" Nervous at the topic and still a bit shaky, he just shrugged. "Like I said, you get used to it. Besides, I'm lucky. I've never needed much sleep." "Some kind of lucky." As Mulder tried to get up, he found his wrist wrapped in a larger hand. "Wait. You want to talk about this?" "Not particularly. I have to go to the bathroom." "Mulder, you need to talk about it. What were you dreaming? You were choking in your sleep for godsakes." He shook off the restraint and stood up. "I dreamed I was drowning. I woke up. It's no big deal." "No big deal?" "That's right. Now lighten up." He escaped to the bathroom, locking the door behind him, and leaned heavily against the coolness of the sink and tiles. Quickly he relieved himself and then closed the lid to sit for a few minutes. His sweat pants still down, he found himself rubbing the thin scars running up the inside of his leg. A few lines freshly pink reminded him of the most recent cuts. //God, just one slice would do it. Just one.// Biting his lip, he traced his finger along the puckers, testimony to his own control over pain. A sudden knock brought him back from that comfort zone in his head. "Mulder, open the door." "Walter, I'm okay. Just give me a minute." "If you're not out in a minute, I'm breaking down the goddamn door." "Come on, Walter. Don't be stupid. I'm going to the bathroom for godsakes." "You'd better be sure that's all you're doing." Shit. Standing, he pulled up his pants and flushed the toilet. Running the water an annoyingly long time, he washed his hands, imagining a stream of blood filling the sink, a stream he'd put there if he could be alone for just a few more minutes. Pulling the door open with more force than he intended, he found himself face to face with a worried Walter Skinner. "Calm down. I didn't cut myself." "But you thought about it." "Well, hell, Walter, I always think about it." Pushing past the older man, Mulder made his way to the kitchen. He reached into the refrigerator and brought out a beer. Holding it up to the disapproving scowl, he shook his head as he removed the cap. "Consider it a compromise. A beer instead of a cut." "Jesus, Mulder." "I know. I'm fucked up. You can say it. It's not like I haven't heard it before." Walter sat down at the table without saying anything. He watched as Mulder drank half the beer in one long pull. Finally, he spoke softly. "It's three in the morning. You should at least try to go back to sleep for a little while." "You've stayed over enough to know that's not going to happen." After he finished the bottle, he dropped it into the trash. Turning away, he braced himself against the edge of the kitchen sink. "I'm sorry, Walter." "About what?" "About everything. You shouldn't have to take care of this whole mess." "And you should? Listen to me. You don't deserve to have to deal with all this alone. None of this is your fault. I'm not going to sit here and listen to that kind of bullshit." "Then you need to go home." "I'm not leaving, so don't even suggest it." "God, you're a stubborn bastard, Walter Skinner." "You bet. Now, if you won't talk to me about how you're feeling, I'm goi= ng to try to get some more sleep. I'd like you to at least lie down with me, but if not, I'll understand. What I won't understand is if you sneak around and cut yourself. That would really piss me off." "I know that." "Then know this. If you ever hurt yourself on purpose, you're going to have to do it with me watching. You think you could do that?" Mulder's head jerked up in surprise. "What?" "You heard me. I'm not ever going to condone that kind of behavior. I think you know that. So, if you decide to do it after you've promised to stop, then you'd damn well better have the balls to do it in my face and not behind a fucking locked door." Ashamed, he stared down at his hands, totally impotent to stop the complete humiliation raving like lunatics racing through his chest. His words stuttered in his throat. "You don't understand." "You're right. And I'm never going to, Mulder. I mean, I've read the psych reports. I know that self-mutilation comes from a need to control and externalize pain, but, shit, that's in a book. You want me to sit here and accept that you need to slice open your leg to feel better? Forget about it. You're going to have to find a different way. I'm not going to let you hurt yourself anymore." Anger's roar and thunder rushed through his ears and then turned to flash red lightning across his eyes. He could barely breathe. He hissed the words. "Won't fucking let me? Who the hell do you think you are anyway?" "I'm a man who loves a man who finds it impossible to love himself." Energy drained away, Mulder's whole body sagged. "Then you're a fool. You need to go home, Walter. You're fighting a losing battle here." Moving closer, standing at arm's length, Walter whispered, "It's both our battles, Mulder. It's a battle I don't plan to lose." Biting his lip, struggling to hold back the sting of tears, Mulder shook his head. "It's all too hard. I don't want to do this anymore." "Let me help you." "God, Walter." Standing beside him, the older man placed a gentle hand on the trembling back. Slowly, he drew Mulder into his arms and let the man he loved shed scalding tears that branded his back with a wet wealth of pain. ************** Mulder's apartment Thursday 7:30 AM Turning on his side, Mulder huddled down deeper under the blanket. He heard the toilet flush and realized once again that he wasn't alone. Footsteps brought a shadow to stand near his head. He closed his swollen eyelids and feigned sleep. "Mulder, I know you're awake. You feeling any better?" //No, I feel like shit, thank you very much.// "Yeah, I'm fine. So, I guess I was able to go back to sleep, huh?" "Eventually. It was a rough night. You need anything before I leave?" //A sharp knife would be nice.// "No." The slight rustle of cloth alerted him to the shifting position of the man beside him. He opened his eyes to stare directly into Walter's lenses, dark brown pools floating behind them. Kneeling beside the couch, Walter stroked his mussed hair and whispered, "Are you sure?" "I'm okay, Walter. I promise to be good." "I wish I could stay, but I've got a meeting at 8:30." "It's okay. Tell Scully hi for me." "I will. Your meds are on the table. Don't forget to take them and your meeting with Harris is at noon today." Grumbling down in his chest, the heavy weight of movement almost too much to bear, Mulder closed his eyes and kept them that way to avoid the offending light. "Walter, go to work. You're making me tired already." A gentle wetness touched his forehead and Mulder jerked back, confused for the briefest moment. "Stop. Shit, what was that?" "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. It was just a kiss." Settling back, his heartbeat slowly eased down to double speed. //Fucking calm down. Jesus, I'm so stupid.// "I'm sorry. You just startled me." "No, I'm the one who's sorry. I didn't think. Try to go back to sleep. You need it. I'll call you this afternoon." Moments later the door opened and shut, the lock turning with a loud clicking of the lock. His limbs too heavy to lift, Mulder gave in to the urgent need to turn off his brain for awhile. Energy-abandoned, he lay there drifting, praying to stay away from even the most simple dream. He just wanted to sleep and forget about all the terrible screams that never gave up. Escape would be so easy if he could just sleep forever, just never wake up and he'd be free. ************** Dr. Harris's Office Thursday 12:15 PM Mulder walked in, his shoulders slumped and his hair uncombed. Suit and tie gone, he dressed in sweats and a T-shirt, his black leather jacket and sneakers. Dark circles surrounded blood-shot eyes and stubble sprouted unchallenged on his cheeks. His voice traveled flat and tired through the air, no emotion to flavor the words. "Sorry, I'm late." //Not really, asshole, but I'm here. Let's get this farce over with.// Taking in the appearance, Harris asked, "What's going on, Mulder?" "Nothing. I'm just running late." "That's not what I'm talking about. Did you forget to take a shower and shave this morning?" //Who the fuck cares?// "I told you I didn't have time." "You want to tell me why?" //Not really.// "I dropped off after Walter left for work and I overslept." "Is that because you didn't sleep last night?" "Damn it, why are you making a federal case out of this? I overslept. Fucking get over it." The anger scorched the words with too much passion. He regretted the slip immediately when he saw Dr. Harris direct him to his chair, a mask of concern staring his way. //Oh, shit.// "Look, I'm sorry. I'm just a little out of it today." "You want to tell me why?" //Hell, no, you bastard. I don't want to tell you another fucking thing// "No, not really." "Try." //Damn, I hate this shit.// "I had a bad night." "You can do better than that, Mulder. Did you have a nightmare?" "Yeah, but it wasn't that bad. I just hated that Walter saw it." "Walter's been staying overnight?" //Man, make your fucking point. I know you hate him. Too bad, he's sticking around, why I don't have a clue, but he's there. Don't even try to run him down.// "Yeah. You got a problem with that?" "Are you two intimate?" Mulder came out of the chair so fast, that Harris barely recognized the fact that he had a fist grabbing his shirt front. "Is that what you think? That he just wants to fuck me? Is it, you bastard?" His voice a practiced calm, Harris spoke evenly, but clearly. "Let go and sit down, Mulder." His heartbeat racing and his breathing almost a roar, Mulder finally realized where he stood. The doctor repeated himself before the hand released its hold and the young man settled back down in his chair. //Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. What a stupid freak.// "I'm sorry." The words quivered against resistant air. "I don't know what made me do that." "Don't you?" "Jesus, don't start with that question for every question shit. I'm sorry, okay?" "You still didn't answer my question." "Which one?" //Hell, I know which one.// "Are you and Skinner sleeping together?" "Why do you want to know? What difference does it make anyway?" //I don't want to talk about this. Let it alone.// "Mulder, you're a rape survivor. I don't have to tell you what problems could occur if you move into a new sexual partnership too soon." "You don't know dick, Harris." "That's an interesting choice of wording considering the circumstances." "Don't be a fucking smart ass." //Leave it the fuck alone.// "I'm not trying to be. I'm just concerned. You know as well as I do, that sometimes rape and abuse survivors go after inappropriate sexual experiences." "I know. The slut response." "It's not called that." "Not in the text book maybe, but you know the term. The victim becomes promiscuous or sexually aggressive to prove how fucking worthless he or she is. I'm not doing that. Walter cares about me." "I'm not saying he doesn't." //You damn well better not be, asshole.// "Then what are you saying?" "I just want you to go slow and be sure that when you get into bed with somebody, it's for the right reasons." //Humiliation, control, fear, punishment, take your pick.// "And that would be what, true love or during some candlelit happily ever after kind of moment? Get real, doctor. Romance is a fucking joke. If and when I decide to sleep with Walter Skinner, it'll be between us. Why we do it or how we do it is none of your goddamn business." Harris kept his voice neutral and non-threatening. Even so, his words and purpose came across crystal clear. "It is my business if it sets you up for an emotional crisis. Mulder, you still haven't even talked about your assault yet and it's been almost a month. You haven't come to terms with any aspect of it." //Shit, no way I'm doing that today. No fucking way. Please stop me.// Mulder stood up and started pacing again, this time his fists balled and strike- ready, anger burning in his chest like a raging, all-consuming heat. "What do you want me to say? Talking about it doesn't fix anything. I know I got raped. Big fuck. So what? Happens every few minutes in this great land of ours. Boys and girls get raped by their fathers every day. Everybody knows, but nobody does a fucking thing to stop it. Mothers look the other way. So what? Wives and babies and, hell, even federal agents get beaten and screwed. Again, so what? I'm not so special. If I want to forget about the assholes who raped me, why won't you let me? They're dead. It's over." The tense shiver of the air pushed Dr. Harris back into his chair. Fearfully, he waited for Mulder to stop slamming fist to palm, to stop shaking with every breath. Finally, the young man deliberately placed both hands against the wall to steady himself into stillness. He leaned there, head bowed, trying just to keep on being alive without vanishing like fragile fog from the surface of the earth. Harris spoke softly, "Mulder?" "What?" He stood there, still bracing himself, still keeping his eyes squeezed shut. "Who are they?" "They who?" "You said they're dead, not he's dead. Who are they?" //Shit.// "I meant he's dead." "Mulder, who were you talking about? What boy got raped and nobody stopped it? Who's mother turned away?" "God. Please stop asking me that. I was just talking." "About yourself?" //Oh, shit.// "Fuck this. I'm out of here." Mulder grabbed for the door, but before he could open it, Harris stood by his side. "You're upset. You shouldn't leave yet." "Get away from me, motherfucker." Air in his lungs turned to barbed hooks snagged in flesh, more bloody with each word. "Please stay, Mulder. We'll talk about something else." "No." //You talked enough, you bastard. I've talked enough.// Before he could stop him, Mulder slammed open the door and stomped away, taking the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. Dr. Harris turned quickly to dial a number he unfortunately knew by heart. **************** AD Skinner's office Thursday 12:45 PM "Sir, we have a problem." Agent Dana Scully barged through his door, coming into his office unannounced. Her flushed face and taut features brought Skinner to his feet. "What's going on?" He walked over, motioned to Kim to get back to work, and closed the door. "Dr. Harris just called. He's worried about Mulder." //Shit. I shouldn't have left him alone.// "What happened?" "He wouldn't say what they were talking about, but he said Mulder got extremely agitated and left. He said he was afraid he might not be thinking clearly." "Did he think he might hurt himself?" "He didn't come right out and say that, but I think he's worried that he might do something impulsive, possibly dangerous." Skinner picked up his phone and dialed Mulder's number directly. Letting it ring, he turned back to Scully. "Why didn't Harris call me?" "I don't know." Scully watched the AD's frown deepen. She took in his haggard features, the fatigue darkening his face. "There's no answer, just the machine." He put the phone down. "Where do you think he'd go?" "Normally, he'd probably come to the office or go running, but he can't do that right now. I'm not sure where he'd go. I've tried my place and the Lone Gunman, but he's not there. Do you think he'd go to your place?" "He never has before, so, no I doubt it. Are these Lone Gun people reliable?" "Yes. They'll call if he shows up, plus they're searching on their own." Skinner turned, his face pinched and tight. He fought down the desperate urge to panic, falling back on years of training. Even so, his stomach hurt from the effort. "Should I put out an APB?" "Well, if you do and he shows up okay, he's going to be really pissed." "True, but if I don't and he does something stupid, well, I don't even want to think about it." "I know. I'm worried, too." Skinner turned around and focused on Mulder's partner, the narrow shoulders squared and determined. "I'll put a watch order on his apartment and give him a couple of hours. After that, he can be pissed all he wants as long as I find him safe." "That sounds reasonable, sir." "Nothing's reasonable these days when it comes to Mulder, Scully." //About time you figured that out, sir. And, it's only going to get worse.// ****************** Paddy's Pub Thursday 2PM Mulder hated cigarette smoke, but at the moment he could've cared less if the whole world lit up. He sat in the dark corner sipping the fourth shot of scotch and wondered if his stomach would make it through a fifth. He needed the fuzzy relief from reality alcohol would give him. He didn't use it often, but when he did, by god, he wanted it to do its damn job and be done with it. He craved oblivion as a refuge from the hateful place banging to be reckoned with inside his head. //Just Shut the Fuck up. I am NOT listening to anymore shit.// He drank some more and then rubbed the small of his back. He'd forgotten his antibiotics and the alcohol strained his kidneys more than he cared to admit. Dismissing the growing ache as stress, he finished off the drink and started to get up for another. Alex Krycek settled like a nightmare apparition in the chair across from him. "Hello, Mulder." //Shit. Trouble on a stick.// "What the fuck are you doing here, Krycek?" "Just passing through." "Fucking liar." Mulder focused on the man across from him. Long dark bangs fell carelessly across his forehead while intense sea green eyes stared back. Only his right hand rested on the table. Mulder's mind flashed on the amputated left and an empty sleeve along with the whispered touch of silky fine lips pressed to his cheek. He glanced away quickly, his face flushed with shame and lustful memory. "Want some coffee?" "Does it look like I want any fucking coffee?" "Another drink then?" His groin tightened his jeans as the words, low and gravely, tickled his ear with a dangerous desire. He wondered what Walter would do when he found out he'd had a drink with his worst enemy, the man who'd killed his father, a man he should never trust. "Sure, why the hell not? I'm having scotch." "I know. You've had four already. In less than an hour, I might add." Krycek motioned for a waitress and then ordered quickly. As soon as the young girl left, Mulder leaned in, his words a hoarse hissing. "You've been following me?" "Hell, Mulder, the whole world's following you these days, though I'd say you've been a little too preoccupied and careless to notice." Falling back, Mulder fought to contain the wide sweep of anger. The ratbastard knew, everybody knew. //Fuck.// "Tell me what you're talking about, you son of a bitch." "Now, now, Mulder. No need to get testy. I'm actually on your side on this one. This whole Turner business has been a fucking disaster from the start." Just as Mulder started to speak, the waitress brought another scotch and a beer. Krycek paid and flirted and then she went away. Seething and impatient, Mulder growled. "Tell me." "Aaron Turner was an obsessive psychopath. Everybody knew the freak was kinked beyond all reason, but nobody stopped him until he'd already done the damage. By the way, I'm sorry I wasn't in town for that." "You motherfucker." Mulder stood, ready to lurch away from the table, but Krycek raised his one good hand. "I'm sorry. That didn't come out right." The younger man ran an anxious hand through his hair and wiped the light sheen of sweat from his face. "Jesus, Mulder, I just meant I'm sorry. I'm really sorry I couldn't do anything before it happened, you know." Mulder settled back down and picked up his drink. His fingertips pushed numbly across the rounded top edge. He could barely feel anything, nothing fazed him. If only he could squeeze hard enough, he'd break the glass and slice open the palm, let the blood ooze along a thin straight line. Clarity mocked him from a distance as he mumbled, "Doesn't matter." He sipped slowly, liquid fire burning his throat. "Sure it does, Mulder. What's the matter with you anyway? It's not like you to give up." "I haven't given up. I just don't give a shit anymore. Never did, really, but you'd know about not giving a shit, wouldn't you, Alex?" "You're drunk, Mulder." "Yep. You got a problem with that?" "I've got no problem. Doesn't matter to me if you pickle your beautiful brain in 100 proof. Your body still looks pretty damn delicious though." "Shut up, Alex. I'm tired. Tell me why you're here." "Turner's actions weren't sanctioned. You knew about the bullet in the head, right?" Visualizing the black and white photograph of his tormentor's corpse, he nodded. "Damn pretty sight. A shame I couldn't have done it myself though." "I understand that." Mulder's eyes locked with Krycek's, the anger blazing just beneath a muted festival of gold and green. "Do you?" "Yes, Mulder, I do." A moment of knowing silence passed between them. "Why are you here, Krycek? Run out of secrets to sell? No more fathers to kill?" "Shut up, Mulder. I didn't come here to fight. I want to help you since you're obviously in no shape to help yourself." "I don't need your help." The shot glass shook in his uplifted hand. "No? What? You think your man Skinner has a clue about what's going on?" "Don't bring him into this." "Why not? He's your old man now, right?" //Never my old man, you motherfucker. Never that.// "Leave him out of this. Tell me what you want." His sluggish tongue worked too hard to form the words. They sounded mushy and slurred even to his own ears. "Mulder, you're a mess. You need somebody to take care of you until this thing with Turner is over." "What are you talking about, Krycek? Turner's dead. Your old boss saw to that. Scully autopsied the body." "Aaron Turner may be dead, but his crazy ass brother isn't. Derik Turner blames you for his brother's death. At last count, he's already killed the two guys and the driver that did the contract and now he's out to finish the job by doing you." "Shit." "Yes, I'd say that about covers it." Seeing Mulder's eyelids droop as he lowered his head down with a loose thump onto crossed arms, Krycek moaned. "Damn, Mulder, I sure hope I don't have to carry your drunk ass out of here." He reached over and gave the limp shoulder a shove. "Mulder? Well, shit." ************ AD Skinner's office Thursday 4 PM The phone rang through to Skinner's direct line. He snatched up the receiver, hopeful. "Mulder?" "Nope, try again." The vague familiarity startled him. "Krycek?" "Pretty good ear for an old man." "How did you get this number?" "A better question might be why Mulder has it set as a speed dial on his cell phone." //Fuck.// Skinner sat down in his chair, straining to keep his voice level. "Is he okay?" "Not really, but then you probably already know what a mess he is. The point is that he's in trouble. Right now he's safe and I'm doing what I can to keep him that way." "What's your game in this, Krycek?" "My game? Listen, all you need to know is that for now he's protected. What you have to do is visit our mutual nemesis and ask him about Derik Turner. And, Skinner, you'd better hurry. The time's running out on this one. We both know Mulder's on self-destruct." Before he could say anything else, the phone clicked off. "Shit." //You hurt him and you're a dead man.// Seconds later he used the phone to put out an order to pull all records concerning a Derik Turner and then left to find the devil, the devil who just wouldn't die. ************* 10 PM Thursday at a location unknown Mulder swam up from a swirling darkness, head spinning and his stomach ready to clutch broken glass. He swallowed a sour dryness before he could speak. "Shit." As he turned over, he flashed on another time when his hand refused to move. Pulling at his arm, he finally centered his sight on the cuff restraining him to the wooden headboard. Panic screamed and razored through all reason. Blood welled up around his right wrist before, Krycek could push him back down. "Jesus, Mulder, hold up. What the fuck's wrong with you?" Still struggling, the taller man continued to scream and kick, uselessly trying to free himself from the absolute hold of anguished memory. "Stop it, goddamn it." Krycek stretched his body across the terrified man. He tried desperately to connect, to find some semblance of lucidity hiding behind those clouded eyes. Finally, Mulder stopped moving, but low, pitiful moans sang with whimpers. "Jesus, what the fuck did he do to you, man?" He carefully eased himself up, all the while watching for awareness to return. Kneeling by the bed, he waited. Finally, he heard a whisper. "Get them off me, Alex. Please." "You're scaring the shit out of me, Mulder." "The cuffs. Get them off." He lay there, his eyes still squeezed shut, his breathing ragged, on the verge of another sprinting frenzy. "Not unless you promise not to fight or run. You've got to stay here until we can take care of Turner." "I promise. Just get them off or shoot me. I don't really care which." Krycek stood up and, as gently as he could, unlocked the bloody silver bracelet. "Damn it, Mulder. I think you broke your wrist." Drawing the hand down, Mulder curled up on his side, cradling the damaged arm to his chest. He remained silent on the bed, his mind still foggy and unsure. Fire and ice jumped spot to spot all over his body, shimmering between sweat and a thin crusty glaze. His back throbbed unmercifully in a counter rhythm to the rising churn of his uneasy stomach. His head felt numb except for the pounding cadence of marching soldiers, booted warriors banded together to kick through his skull. He wanted to withdraw completely, go away. It didn't seem like such a huge thing to ask. "Mulder, come back to me here. Stop messing with my head." The sharp ache in his wrist along with the constant hum of Krycek's voice finally brought him into focus. Clearing his throat, his voice came out raspy. "I'm okay, Alex. You can stop babbling." "Babbling? Yeah, that's rich coming from you. What the hell happened to you, Mulder? I've never seen you act like that." "Nothing a little thorazine wouldn't cure. Don't worry about it. I'm okay as long as you don't try to restrain me." "Shit. Did Turner do that to you?" Blinking several times, Mulder skipped the question. "Where the hell are we?" Krycek shook his head. "You're in a safe house I use sometimes. Come on, Mulder. You need to sit up and I need to clean and wrap that wrist. Jesus, Skinner's going to kill me when he sees this." Sitting up too quickly, Mulder fell forward going into the direction of the spin. "Whoa, there. Don't fall off the bed for christsakes." As soon as he could speak, his words came out in a rush. "I need to call Walter." "I've already done that. He knows you're safe." "What? You called him? Shit, that hurts." He hissed as Krycek took his arm and dabbed at the blood still oozing from the wound around the bone jutting up through the skin. "Mulder, you've got a compound fracture here. A fine time to go nuts. There's no way I can get you to a hospital tonight." "I don't need a hospital." He gritted his teeth as Alex touched the wrist again. "I need to talk to Walter. He's going to think you kidnapped me or something. He trusts you less than I do. Hell, he hates your sorry Russian ass." "But he loves yours. I always thought there was something going on there, but I was never quite sure. He was always so damn proper, well, except for that time on the balcony. Then I knew the old man had a fire going." "Don't call him that." "What? Old man? Don't be so damn sensitive. Hell, he's the lucky fuck, so I'll make fun of him if I want to." Mulder found it difficult to concentrate. Light narrowed down as Krycek wrapped and tied a cloth around his arm. His rebellious stomach rolled north as ice froze tissue to his bones. "I think I'm going to be sick." "Shit. Hold on a minute." Krycek grabbed the trash and put it by the bed. After a few moments, the crisis passed. Reaching up a hand, Krycek touched his forehead. "Mulder, you're going into shock here. Maybe you should lie back down after all." "Okay." Weakly, Mulder let himself be eased flat on his back, his feet elevated with pillows. A warm blanket draped across him as he let himself drift for awhile in a grey murky comfort. Some time later, the chills lessened, his vision cleared. "Thanks, Alex." "Mulder, we have to talk." Mulder turned his attention on the strained features of the young man sitting at the end of the bed. "About?" "Skinner's working on finding Turner, but in case he doesn't get to him in time, we need a backup plan." "What did you have in mind?" "First, how come you don't have a gun, not even that little one you wear around your ankle?" Squirming to adjust his view, Mulder caught a quick breath as the movement jarred his arm. Finally he answered, "Walter, didn't want me to have a gun right now." Silent, Krycek nodded, taking in the full meaning behind the statement. "God, Mulder, they didn't tell me you were such a wreck." He saw no point in arguing, so he countered with a question. "Have you got a gun I can use?" "Well, I would have if you hadn't broken your right arm. Can you shoot with your left?" "If I have to, I can. Do you think he'll find us here?" "Turner's good, Mulder. I'm not going to bullshit you on that. If Skinner can stop him, we might have a chance, but otherwise, if he gets in here, shoot the bastard first. Don't wait around to count the bullets, my friend, because he's an evil piece of work. Makes Aaron look like a fucking priest." Mulder cringed involuntarily, but managed to control his tongue. "Then I guess you'd better get me a loaded gun, Alex, because I'll eat a bullet before I let another man touch me like that." "Come on, Mulder. Don't kid around." His voice tense, his lips barely moving. "You think I'm kidding?" The air sucked at the silence between them. "No, I don't guess you are." "Then get me the fucking gun." "Why don't we try to get you sitting up first?" "Picky bastard." ****************** A Washington office Friday 12AM "You surprise me, Mr. Skinner. You're to be commended. I never expected you could find me with such alacrity." The Smoking man sat in the shadow of the office, the desk light shining low over a small file on his desk. "Mulder's life is at stake here. You helped once. Now I need to know about Turner's brother." Impatience traced like restless bees buzzing across the top of his hands. "I assure you Mr. Turner is not one of ours any longer. He's acting completely on his own." "I don't give a rat's ass who he's acting for. I just need to know where to find him and how to stop him." Skinner stepped closer, his voice tight near growling, his teeth edged sharp against his lips. "If I may ask, how exactly did you hear about Mr. Turner?" "Krycek called me." "Alex Krycek?" The man puffed harder, the curls of smoke spinning up into the corners of the room. "He said that you could tell me where to find this Turner." "I find an occasional irony in life can certainly make for an interesting turn of events, don't you, Mr. Skinner?" "Cut the fucking riddles and tell me how I can stop this maniac before he catches up with Mulder." The desk chair swiveled around bringing the wrinkled face of evil halfway into the light. "Is Mr. Mulder with Krycek now?" "Yes, why?" "Then our Mr. Mulder is in even more trouble from the infamous Derik Turner." "What are you talking about?" Sweat dripped around the edges of Skinner's jaw as his neck pushed rebellious against the collar. "Agent Krycek was once Turner's, shall we say, companion. If he's stepped in to help Mulder now, well, that should lead to an even more complicated picture than we had before." Choking back his own fears, Skinner inched closer. He wanted to watch the bastard, to see the lies snaked between the truths. "Are you saying Krycek and Turner were lovers?" "I'm sure love was never an issue, Mr. Skinner." The sick twist of lechery turned Skinner's gut. "And now Turner's going to be even more pissed that Krycek is helping Mulder?" "Turner is known for his rather extreme forms of retribution. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that he would consider this an act of betrayal, especially in light of the fact that he blames Mulder for his brother's death." "Why hasn't he come after you?" "Probably because he knows I didn't actually give the order for his brother's termination. I didn't know anyone would alert Krycek, but since he's involved, it would make sense that he'd use one of the safe houses listed in the file. If you can get to the right one before Turner, you might be able to save your Agent Mulder's life. If not, at least you'll no doubt have the pleasure of knowing that Alex Krycek will also be dead. Truth be known, Derik Turner isn't noted for his mercy." Stomach twisting, his muscles barely under his command, Skinner reached for the folder. The bony hand grabbed his and held it there. "Get the fuck off." He released the hand with a leisurely withdrawal. "Save him, Mr. Skinner, and you could be greatly rewarded. Fail and the consequences will be extensive." "If Mulder's so important to your plans, why have you let this happen? Why didn't you stop the Turners before it went this far?" "Hindsight is a wonderful luxury for the objective party, Mr. Skinner. Why didn't you keep Agent Mulder safe yourself? I was under the distinct impression he was under your, shall we say, personal protection? We all have our limits, suffer setbacks from time to time. My connections were temporarily curtailed, but now you have a chance to be the hero. Isn't that what you've always played at? Surely you recognize the syndrome." "If he dies, I'll be back here." "Threats are of little value. We trade in the balance between truth and actions. If you want to be a player, win a game a few times first. Save Agent Mulder and I might be able to see a purpose in helping you in the future." "I don't need your kind of help." "Oh really? Then I suppose you won't need this after all then?" He reached for the file, but Skinner's hand slapped down hard. "No." He picked up the file and turned to leave. "Mr. Skinner, a word of advice. I'd take a rather large contingency of forces with you when you do go in to play your hero. Turner doesn't work for us full time now, but when he did, he was the very best at what he did." "And what exactly did he do?" "After terminating his targets? Whatever he pleased." ************* 3 AM Friday Safe House Mulder rode a swirl of visions, floating along deep glacial cliffs, shimmering crystals of frost coating his skin, lakes of near-freezing water leaching away all warmth. He remembered vaguely other times when he'd faced such icy prisons, but now he drifted once again in a space so devoid of heat that he knew nothing of the cruel and faceless sun. He rolled into another shivering embrace to spear himself on the sharp snapping of his own brittle bones. Opening his eyes slowly only exploded into more intense pain shooting up through his arm into his shoulder and neck. A piercing heat touched his chest. "Lie still, Mulder. You're burning up." Swallowing short and shallow wisps of frigid air, he worked to move a frost- bitten tongue. "I'm freezing." "You have a fever. It could be the arm, but it came on too fast for that." "Kidneys." "What are you talking about, Mulder? What do your kidneys have to do with your being sick?" Krycek placed the damp cloth over the sweat-coated forehead, the raging body heat steaming the cooling liquid too quickly. "Injured. Attack." The words found a difficult path through chattering teeth. "Aaron injured your kidneys? Shit. That son of a bitch." Krycek tucked the cover back around the shaking shoulders and then rewet the cloth. Mulder tried to push away the cold, but found no energy to move. Closing glassy eyes, he prayed the heat of fever would blister away his misery and protect him from the blizzard of fear and growing numbness that blinded him. >From an even further distance he heard a crash. Krycek yelled a name and a plea. "Derik. No!" And then silence and darkness married in his brain. ************** 6:30 AM Friday Safe house Walter Skinner found it very difficult to breath with his heart permanently lodged in his throat. Nobody but Scully noticed that his voice only sounded half as loud as usual. A small hand rested on his shirt sleeve. "Sir, are you going to be okay?" "I'm fine. As soon as we find Mulder, I'll be even better." Another agent came up behind Skinner and spoke in a hush. "We're only tracking one person inside, sir. There's a young male down. He appears to be alive but seriously injured." "No one else?" "No, sir. Your orders?" "Everyone stay on full alert. I want alpha team in first. Fire only if necessary. That could be our man in there. Have the medics stand by." "Yes, sir." As the agent moved away, Scully moved closer. "Do you think it's Mulder?" "We'll know soon enough. Let's pray that we've found him." They didn't have long to wait. The all clear signal came quickly, not a shot fired. Moving as fast as he could, Skinner entered the room to find Krycek lying half naked on the end of the bed. While Scully made a cursory exam, he took in the scene. Large red stains seeped across the spread beneath him. Bruises purpled his back and a huge bite wound gaped at his shoulder. Swelling around his throat followed the pattern of belt marks to the base of his neck. His soiled jeans had been only half pulled back up, a mix of blood and semen smearing the cloth. "Shit. Get that medical team in here." Still silent, Scully moved away as Skinner stepped closer. Kneeling beside the injured man, he touched his bare stump, his prosthesis nowhere around. "Krycek, can you hear me? What happened here? Where's Mulder?" The groan signaled the slow return of consciousness. A brief flutter of eyelids and Skinner found himself staring into an intense green. "Krycek, where's Mulder?" The young man struggled to turn over, but managed only to hiss with his own pain. Finally he whispered, "Derik. Won't kill him right away though." "What? Where? Where did he take him?" "Got to find him." The words traveled in a low hush, more swallowed than spoken. Shaking his head, Krycek's eyes closed as his face fell forward. The medical team and stretcher moved in while Skinner backed away. Scully stood near the outer wall, her hands crossed around her chest, her face an angry, grim mask. He took her by the elbow and the two of them walked back outside. "He said Turner won't kill Mulder right away." Pushing his hands deep into his pockets, he worked hard to keep his voice even and unbroken. "Why didn't you tell me Krycek was involved?" Rage heated her words to pure, accusatory flame. "Agent Scully, I....." "You should've told me, sir. You had absolutely no right to keep that from me." "I didn't want to worry you any more than I had to, plus I knew how you felt about the man involved in killing your sister." "With all due respect, screw that, sir. I need to know everything about this case if I'm supposed to help find my partner. Is that understood?" "Yes, Agent Scully, it is. I should have told you. I guess I wasn't thinking too clearly." Her voice softened at the admission. "This is hard on everybody." She took a deep and calming breath. "Okay, at least tell me why the hell Krycek's in the middle of all this." "It's a long story." A weary pressure weighed against his lungs. He found it almost impossible to care about the passion Scully aimed his way. "Well, I need to hear it. Besides, from the looks of Krycek, we may have awhile to wait before we can question him. He's got some serious injuries." "Turner and he used to be lovers." "What? Well, that figures. One psychopath screws another." "Scully, Krycek was just a boy when he was sold to him." "Sold as in really sold? How could that happen?" Holding up a hand as if to cancel the question, she added, "No, don't tell me. I don't want to know. I don't want to feel sorry for the bastard." Shaking her head, she kicked the ground in frustration. "Well, shit." "I know. I thought the same thing. It explains a lot." Scully bit her bottom lip and then crossed her arms again, her earlier slip into weakness set to stone. "It's still hard to feel sorry for a man like Krycek. You're right. It does explain why he's so twisted and fucked up now, but that still doesn't explain what he was doing with Mulder. Was he helping Turner? Or maybe he was pretending to help Mulder so he could mess with his head again? I've never understood why Mulder's so easy when it comes to Krycek." "Whatever plan Krycek had, it didn't keep him from being attacked, too." "But he's still alive and from what little we know about Turner, there has to be a reason or Krycek would be just another dead Russian. Sir, do you think Turner left him alive because he helped him get to Mulder?" "Maybe. I don't know." Pulling off his glasses, the AD rubbed the bridge of his nose. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a full night's sleep. The pain of worry filtered up through his fingertips as he rubbed against the bristle on his chin. He needed some kind of starting point, some way to figure out what Turner was thinking. Just the thought of trying to enter such a grotesque world sent shivers though his toughest hardass bones. The image of Mulder in such a man's hands burned his eyes past seeing. A few minutes later, vision more cleared, he watched as the EMT's loaded Krycek's stretcher into the ambulance. He put a strangle-hold on his own impatience and fear before he finally spoke. "Come on, Scully. The only man who can tell us anything before it's too late has to be treated before he can help us. Whether we'd rather see him rot in hell instead isn't really a viable option." "Damn shame, too." "We can't let our personal feelings influence us on this." "Right, sir. You just keep saying that if it makes you feel better. Right now I've got a suspect to question. He'd damn well better not die on me either, because I plan to follow the ratbastard into hell if I have to. You with me, sir?" Putting his glasses back in place, Skinner nodded. "After you, Agent Scully." He almost felt sorry for Krycek, but not quite. If Mulder died, he'd kill the sorry son of a bitch himself, right after Turner and the smoking bastard each took one silver bullet in the head. ****************** Time and Place Unknown Mulder gulped, drowning in an airy consciousness just below the level of awareness. No longer freezing, warmth still had no meaning. He saw a layer of transparent colors, bubbles of pure light that refracted his vision into spirals within spirals turning into gossamer threads. Space twirled away, draping with gauze and lace, webs of vastness that sucked away his very essence. His reason made no sense. The swell of vacuum took him into his own darkness where he lay lost and spinning, undefined pain his only companion. Bones grew heavy and called to wake him. Slowly, his eyes, more foggy than clear, opened to see a muted light filtering in through thin white curtains of a bedroom somewhere unknown to him. Stiffly he tried to shift positions, but found his right hand too weighed down to lift. Turning his head slightly in the other direction he saw the IV tubing running up from his left arm. Despite that, he knew no hospital had brass beds. Carefully, he repositioned himself to try to sit up only to discover that his muscles refused to work on command. The slightest movement left him totally drained, his mind wasted on attempted thought. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, Fox." The voice sent a blade of terror slicing through his chest. //You're dead, motherfucker.// A body stepped forward and stood in his line of sight. The dangerous, purring voice sounded just like the hateful one he remembered, but the man's face sketched only a little like his brother's. The grey, peppered hair, the watery blue eyes, they were the same. The jaw, however, jutted lean with straight angles. Not an ounce of fat layered any part of that massive physique, the muscles in his arms bulging the pale blue knit of his shirt. Thin lips pulled back in a sneer and grinned down at him. "It's good to see that you finally decided to wake up. I wouldn't want all the medical supplies to be wasted." He lifted the casted right arm and ran a finger along the inside edge. "I can't believe you broke this. Alex said you didn't like to be restrained. Alex should have known that before he cuffed you. Don't worry, though. I punished him for his mistake. I hope you never force me to do something like that to you, Fox. I think punishment should be reserved for only truly special occasions." Words almost too dry to be formed sounded raspy and labored. "Why don't you just kill me?" "Kill you? Why would I want to kill you, Fox? My brother loved you enough to die for you. My young man Alex loves you enough to betray me. Even the Assistant Director of the FBI risks his life and his career for you= . Now it's my turn to find out why." His blood freezing in his veins, Mulder prayed for a mere few seconds with a loaded gun and the strength to use it. Just as he started to speak, a syringe pressed a sting into his hip, taking fickle light off to another land. Mulder faded into the empty space growing with abandon within the farthest reaches of his heart. **************