Fox and the Howned Series 
by K. D. Enriquez





The Fox and the Howned V: A Howned's Bark (1/1)
by SciNut@aol.com (K.Enriquez)
3/4/98

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 
nervous that this one sucks. I could really use some... 
feedback?... Please...Story six is in the works so no worries. 
Howned shall return.



The Fox and the Howned V: A Howned's Bark (1/1)



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 fact, 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.