Empty Spaces by Samantha H. 6-17-98 Warning/Rating: NC-17 ...There's no doubt in my mind whatsoever. Summary: This takes place 3 months after Mulder's recovery from the events of Desert Places. Mulder's isolated himself and the paranoia is eating him alive. Unbeknownst to him, Mulder has certain memories that, if recovered, could bring down the Consortium. The Consortium has plans of their own for Mulder. Torture and all that it entails can be found here... In *great* detail. Disclaimer: Don't sue. I'm just a liddle kid. No infringement is intended. You know the rest. MUCH Thanks to Rebecca, my beta reader, a.k.a. the ass kicker, for sticking by me all these months. Katherine and Madame Butterfly, you guys know why. And all of you who responded with feedback on Desert Places. This of course, is for you. Oh, and Madame, I want to dedicate this to that unfortunate customer at Walmart by the balls in toys. Archive: Sure. Just ask me. Comments: I'm serious folks. This is not Mulder's falls down, breaks a leg, and Scully comes to the rescue (Although there's nothing wrong with that, you just won't find it here). Disturbing content lies ahead. No broken bones, but sexual/child abuse, electrocution and other means of interrogation are included. NOTE: Below is a short description of the events of Desert Places for those of you who haven't read or don't remember what happened. Mulder went to an arranged meeting w/ someone from the Consortium. He was abducted by CSM and taken to the Mulder's summer house. There, he was force fed drugs, sexually abused and beaten in attempt to evoke/recover certain memories etc. etc. You get the point. AND since the reader has a tendency to get lost in my stories here are some helpful hints: Scenes dealing with Mulder as a child that are told in third person is him actually remembering these events. Also, scenes dealing with Mulder as a child that are told in first person is him actually telling somebody about them...only seen from his mind's perspective. Get it? Good. But hurry, please, we've got some much time and so little to see... Wait a minute. Scratch that, reverse it. Now. Hats, coats, galoshes, over here. Thank you. Hold it. Little surprises around every corner but nothing dangerous. Don't be alarmed. Oh. And you can't get out backwards. You gotta go forwards to go back... ~~~~~~~ Son of man, you cannot say, or guess, For you know only a heap of broken images, Where the sun beats and the dead tree gives No shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water. Only There is shadow under this red rock, (Come in under the shadow of this red rock), And I will show you something different from either Your shadow at morning striding behind you Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust. --The Waste Land ~~~~~~~ It was late. At least in a normal sense. Normal. He wasn't normal. Never had been. It was true. He knew that now. Dana Scully had left hours ago, parting with only a worried glance. He had mumbled something after her but didn't recall any indication that she had heard him. Now he was alone. Alone. The word was death to him but he thought it ironic that this was how he wanted it, needed it to be. The light in the corner was dim. So thin and frail it almost seemed fake. Unreal. He sat there on the edge of his desk, not moving. Utterly still. He use to run himself in circles, pacing back and forth, oblivious to a quiet moment in stillness. He found himself straining, holding his breath for a few terrifying seconds before exhaling slowly. It would have been inaudible to anyone standing next to him. The compact walls of their small office would not distinguish the sounds he made, if they had the presence of mind to do so. His behavior was hard to discern. He covered it well. He sat there. Head bowed, large dark eyes slanted downward, studying the ground in earnest, not particularly looking at anything. Just what was there. Or not. His rhythmic breaths came slowly. In. Out. In. Out. A tingle of warmth shot up his spine, gathering at the base of his neck where it pulsed in low dull throbs. With incomprehensible speed it covered the distance to his chest and face. Rigid became his back as tension gathered behind his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to close them, shutdown the images that played over and over in his mind with an uncanny clearness, but did not. They were locked in their own gaze dancing with colored images below him. The edge of the desk where he sat pressed hard into his lower back, almost painfully. A dull ache radiated from the pressure he was putting on to that one spot of his body. The position was uncomfortable at best. He leaned into it harder, anchoring himself with the dolorous sensation. His body slowly becoming paralyzed to the brutally cold warmth that was everywhere, slowly climbing around and inside him. The memory of smoke, so strong, burning at the intake of air and eyes watering. Cruel laughter. His chest constricted in rhythmic spasms, threatening to drop him to the floor. In that moment his heart quickly fluttered as his posture slumped and his head fell to his trembling hands. The wetness he felt on his finger tips was real. The memory was real. It would not be forgotten. It would not be shrugged _off_ and away. Inhaling deeply, knowing it would come back out a large ugly rasp. A lump crawled its way up his throat haphazardly. He tried swallowing it but that was of no use. It loitered for the moment, leisurely taking its time. Waiting, slowly luring his determined, shame tinged thoughts out of him, giving them physical form. The words had been exhaled in an excited whisper. Spoken from thin nicotine coated lips that had peeled back into a corpse grin, perhaps thinking of future possibilities. He ground his teeth back and forth in anger. Though, it was just a disguise. The anger was just a figment but the pain, oh yes the pain. It was strung together in a tight fist centered in his chest. Immense and unbearable, it sat. Weighted down like a rock at the bottom of the sea. It wasn't going anywhere. The tears dried quickly creating annoying crusts around his puffy eyes. They ached with displeasure when he shifted their position. The light refracted pained him as he blinked hard. Once. Twice. Third time was a charm. He swallowed convulsively. He just needed to breath and everything would be fine. Great. Grand. Wonderful. Spooky was invincible. Even when reason decided to take a wild swing, Spooky never went down. His jaw clenched involuntarily, the muscles pumping fiercely in time to each grit. A hard breath exhaled through the nose making the only distinguishable sound over the electric din of the computers. The tip of his tongue darted out to his lips for a brief moment before returning back to his dry mouth. Standing, fists clenched at the sides. He grabbed his things, flicked the light off with an angry hand and left. His brisk, unsure footsteps echoing loudly in the deserted basement hallway. ~~~~~~~ - Three months earlier - Scully's eyes darted to the silent occupant beside her in the passenger seat. Hands drawn up into his lap cradling each other. His eyes were obscured somewhat as they stared directly ahead at nothing. He looked tired, so lost. She opened her mouth, hesitating slightly.... ...and quickly shut it. Scully clamped down on an anguished breath that would have surely deviated to a sob had she given it the chance. She exhaled hard through her nose, producing a sharp sting in her nasal cavity. Fingernails digging into the worn familiar tread of the steering wheel. Harder. Cuticles bending in an opposed direction. Sinking further into flaccid leather. Intolerable pressure. ~~~~~~~ Between them the harsh silence beat out a slow mellow hum. Her worried stare was a deafening shout in Mulder's sensitive ears. He would not chance a glance at her. Silent eyes drunkenly roaming from directly ahead to the passenger side window. Anywhere but to his immediate left. That area was deemed off limits. He was going home. He would have driven himself had the doctor not forced an indiscriminate amount of Haldol into him for the ride to his apartment. The doctor had also graciously given Scully a small package of needles along with his medication just in case he got out of hand. Behind green eyes that held flecks of gray and red, unwanted memories flourished. Thriving waves of images assaulted him. An unending disorderly stream of uncontrollable dissonance. He furrowed his brow in an attempt not to make any rash movements or sounds. He just sat there and took it until they past. A tortured whimper died behind gritted teeth. He lowered his eyes to his hands that sat in his lap. The joints ached from lack of movement but he made no move to alleviate it. There were still bruises on his wrists. The cuts had healed weeks ago. The bruises were new. The hospital staff had developed a systematical way of dealing with him. They didn't even give him a chance to calm down when he woke up. When he had nightmares. Tying him down and drugging him up to the eyeballs was, ostensibly, a much easier and less time consuming option. Scully had fought them but she couldn't calm him down fast enough. No one could. But she stayed with him. Even when his mind was one large incapacitated mass of tissue and cells, she had stayed, rambling sentences that he couldn't distinguish. He hadn't let her near him when he was awake and lucid. Never. Those first few convoluted weeks had been a confused conglomeration of pain and drugs intertwined with hoarse demands that she and these fucking doctors leave him alone. Those times of lucidity had been few and far between. The chances of him coming out of this without some kind of drug dependency seemed slim to nil. Mulder unsuccessfully suppressed a yawn and concentrated on the intricate rivulets of rain that ran chaotically down his window. It was coming hard and fast with a force only god could have mustered. His eyes felt dead--so tired. They were half-lidded, hypnotically studying the cold liquid drops splay patterns of nothing. The monotonous thumping noise rose and fell each time they escaped from under a dark cumulus cloud then proceeded back under another one. An unfair paralysis crept around inside him. He blinked slowly as his head came to rest against the cold glass. Images blossomed in short spastic bursts of painful light. Rendering him observer by force. The loud smack of rain against his ear snapped his head up, as quick as one might expect a small waking child to. Mulder gulped as he stared dully out at the space in front of him. "Scully?" Slurred but recognizable Scully breathed a sigh of relief and fear in one breath. "Do you need to throw up?" He shouldn't have to, she knew, but the words were just spoken to fill space. Mulder's brow furrowed while his lower lip protruded in a pseudo pout. "I never had a dog when I was a kid." A child proclaiming innocence. She cocked an eyebrow to his remark. This wasn't him. It was the drugs speaking on his bewildered behalf. Surprising her, he continued. "He knew I didn't have one but he said I did anyway." This was the longest conversation she had with him since his disappearance. "Who's _he_ Mulder?" He acted somewhat distressed and annoyed but only for a moment. "Him!" His voice caught as he breathed a low tremulous, "Dad." "Dad told me to clean the dog shit off his lawn before the neighbors saw it." "Mulder--" but she was interrupted before she could finish. "I told him I didn't have a dog. He smacked me and told me to go clean it up. I said no, he dragged me out of the house and dropped me down right in front of the pile of shit." He took a shallow lazy breath. "He told me to pick it up but I wouldn't. He shoved my head down, real close to it. I could smell it really good. It was really hot out that day too." A silent giggle devoid of humor fell from his dry parted lips. "He shouted in my ear but I still refused." He kept his eyes on the road ahead. "He pushed my face down in it and tried to make me eat it. I ate some, at least before I vomited it back up on the lawn. I got really sick after that." Tenuously smiling down at his lap. "It was the neighbors... We... I didn't have a dog..." Tears inched forward and down his cheeks as he returned his head to the cold solid glass and wept. Instantly falling asleep to the thrumming sound of the rain in his ear. ~~~~~~~ "The group is very disturbed. You did not acquire the information that was to be retrieved." The words were formed concisely. Smoke was unleashed again, pervading through the thick congealed air of the large office space. He flashed a cold smile at his associates back. The cigarette came back to his lips unconsciously as he inhaled long and slow before he spoke. "There was no information to be retrieved at the time. Consciously, he knows nothing." The other man gazed out at the overlaying landscape. The sun perished behind dark clouds as the peripheral edges of heaven displayed a horizon containing too many colors for the eyes to comprehend in one glance. He sighed, thinking this over. Below, people were rushing back and forth across the crowded streets. Unending movements back and forth, mindlessly absorbed in the minutiae of their day, believing their lives, their fate, were in their hands. He snapped his eyes level and squinted back out at the sky. "Unconsciously?" Cancerman's mouth curved up in a congruous smirk aimed at the back of the man at the window as his eyes softened for a moment around their cold edges. "So much more than we could have imagined." ~~~~~~~ Mulder violently jerked the keys out of the ignition. With nervous, angry haste he stepped out onto the sidewalk and slammed the door shut with much more force than was needed. He held his briefcase with an iron grip in his left hand, right hand free if needed. He looked across the street and back again as he jogged to his apartment building. Once safely on the apartment steps he glanced back down the street again. No one was there. The paranoia was eating Fox Mulder alive. And he knew it. He had done his little incumbent dance around the bureau psychologist for two months playing possum and denying everything. The first session with Bennings had been a cake walk. From then on, Mulder had the guy fucking pinned to the wall, bypassing each question with one of his own. Giving false accounts, he finished his treatment with a clean bill of health and everyone was happy. He climbed into the elevator and leaned back against the trembling inner wall as the doors closed with a soft descant ding. Graphic images raced behind his closed eyes as his head rested still on the wall behind him. A pattern of movements developed under his eyelids as his eyes skittered back and forth beneath them. Another soft chime broke him out of the state. He strode abruptly down the hallway. The soles of his shoes scraping along the floor, sounding too loud in a space so confined and quiet. He retrieved the keys he had been digging through his pockets for. Quickly, he unlocked the door and stepped inside, forcefully yanking the key out of the lock as he did so. Not even feeling the nail of his index finger being ripped off. His foot connected with the back of the door sending it crashing back into its frame. He collapsed to all fours in a heap, tears glistening off his eye lashes as his head sagged between his shoulders. The apartment was dark, containing too many creeping shadows of black and not enough crystal reflections of transparent light from the street. The first crack of his knuckle against the hardwood floor beneath him was sickeningly dull. The next swing downward was completed at full momentum shooting icy shivers of pain up and down his arm and back. The third and final swing was weak but determined as it crashed down, smearing blood across the wood when he dragged it back underneath him to support his weight. He wiped away the tears with his forearm but made no move to get up. The oppressive red indicator light of his answering machine pulsed with ostentation. He sat and waited. ~~~~~~~ The apartment lay wasted with darkness, splayed with obnoxious patterns of blaring light flashing intermediately from the muted television pushed up against the wall. She lay silently stretched out on the living room couch. Phone clasped in the sweaty palm of her right hand, resting on her chest as it delicately rose and fell. Every fiber in her body was frozen still, focused on the small sounds escaping her mouth. Lost in thought. Bennings was a joke. Mulder had run circles around the guy. Around the bureau. They actually believed he was alright. Healthy. His behavior was not alright. No nervous twitches or manic gun waving in the air. They were little things. Little things only she could notice. At times, she would catch him just staring off into space, eyes glazed over, transfixed in an undescribable state of remembrance. Or pain. It was hard to tell. He was working so hard. Asking him how he was doing was ultimately always rewarded with a weak smile, no teeth, and an award winning "I'm fine." Occasionally, after he caught her staring, he would throw a wise crack at her about bureau policy involving male and female agents consorting while on duty. Although these ostensibly lacked the usual follow up of his devious smile. She dialed again. After four rings his answering machine clicked on again. His direct voice slipped into her ear with. "This is Mulder. Leave a message." Her eyes traveled along the ceiling. She rambled into the receiver for the second time that night before hanging up and resting it back down on her chest. Several months of his sudden need to run to the nearest bathroom to retch his guts out, to cry, had been enough. This was going to get settled. Immediately. Even if that meant Mulder going back to the hospital....Involuntarily. He needed help. ~~~~~~~ The desk lamp was the only source of light in the entire room. The surrounding darkness was a warm blanket of familiarity as he sat hunched over, absorbed only in the small notebook he held in his hands. He read softly in low mumblings to himself. The handwriting was small and negligent, occasionally drifting below the guide line of the paper. At times it was hard to ignore though the contents made such inklings seem petty. He sorely craved a cigarette but continued further, examining the drunken scrawl, searching for something he wasn't quite sure of. The date at the top of this particular page read "11-25-75" This night had not been an especially pleasant one for Fox, he thought with a quick, wry smile. Bill Mulder knew how to draw his readers in. Intricate details described the sound of the belt as it hit his son's shoulders, over and over again until the metal clasp had broken under the strain of the downward force. He unwillingly skimmed the rest until he came upon the passage he had been hoping to find. Although, disappointingly, it was brief. He had gotten careless. Too drunk. In a period of vicissitude the repugnant idea of penitence had appealed to Bill. He had mentioned things to Fox. Things he should not have mentioned. In some cases they were small slips of the mouth. Though, for the majority, they were not. Fortunately, the boy had no clear recollection of hearing such things. Perhaps an after affect of PTSD. Although there was the inevitable conclusion that such memories could be retrieved if given the right circumstances. The simple pharmaceutical approach in combination with the natural physical environment had failed. Licking his lips in a slow sinuous movement. The only option left was to bring him in. He flipped back to the first page and began reading intently. Wide eyes swimming while his mouth lay slack, breathing in and out heavily. ~~~~~~~ By this grace dissolved in space What is this face, less clear and clearer The pulse in the arm, less strong and stronger -- Given or lent? more distant than stars and nearer than the eye Whispers and small laughter between leaves and hurrying feet Under sleep, where all waters meet. --Marina ~~~~~~~ Salty tang of the sudden sting, hot water made worse. Face turned slightly into the coarse torrent of silky liquid. Water rolling meanderingly down the sinewy smooth skin in a confluence before corrugating over scarred tissue in chance streams. Bloody knuckles nestled tightly against slick condensed water tiles. Eyes turned down, head bowed, spent in submission to the pounding current that poured down unending. The sonorous unrhythmic drum of the water compounded in his ears as it slipped down the long slide of gravity and broke with violent force against the floor, splitting and doubling its numbers. Slowly, each hand came up to cover each ear. Long delicate fingers pushed slightly into the soaked mat of his hair. Applying tiny bits of pressure to sore spots, each hand trying to shut out the noise. The pain. The rasp of water faded, wasting away in the form of a dull refraining echo, beating down steadily. The world, everything, everyone, was out there and he was safe inside. The sharp pricks of water slapping against his skin in unbroken columns was not real. Skin numbed over from pressured vibrations. Water trickling down his face to the corners of his mouth. Lips segmented just a fraction tasting the familiar salty mixture. Small desperate gasps of air sucked in trying to fill the small constricted space that was his chest. The expedient heel of his palm dug into his face, rubbing away at grit encrusted eyelids. Gut clenching repulsively, uncoiling and recoiling in frigid convulsions of too many things to name. It came so suddenly. Cold bursts of air gravitated from the violent roaring swells crested with white. Almost looking like a swirl of cream in a cup of black coffee. Among the tall dark stalks of grass, almost taller than her, waiting, muscles tensed in anticipation. Her face held strict determination and a mischievous smile, eyes dancing back and forth from his face to the horizon ahead. The wind whistled passed them, lifting tufts of his short hair into anarchy while hers whipped sharply, rising and falling with the wind. "Don't cheat, Fox. It's not fair if you cheat." He gave her an earnest smirk. "What do you mean? You always win." "You let me win. You cheat. Don't cheat me this time." He glanced back at her simple round face, dark eyes honest, unevading. He slowly nodded, aware of her sincerity. The salty tang of the air brushed them both. Squinting ahead, avoiding the tiny particles of sand that rolled off the dunes, unavoidably locked in turmoil, she counted. He got a better foothold in the uprooted sand, smiling. Sam wanted a race. She would get one. "GO!" The command a keen shrill. She took off ahead of him. The counter always had the advantage at the start. He waited before gaining the yard she had on him, watching the hood of her vibrant red sweat jacket bounce crazily up and down against her back. He took his place beside her, muscles pumping in time as he glanced at her. An immutable stare forward and lines of resolution etched her face. He quickened his pace breathing in short terse bursts of air. Obstinately she kept up with him. She was fast, like him. He furrowed his brow with effort as he took the lead. Sand swirled in tiny cyclones as they raced along the beach, lazily kicking bits of grit into streams of wind that carried them off. He let his lead fall, giving her a chance to match him stride for stride. To his surprise, she took the opportunity and raced ahead. Biting his lower lip, his feet struck the ground with incomparable speed and retook the lead at the last leg of the race. He could see their bikes, toppled over atop a large sand dune, slightly hidden in the tall blades of sea grass. A pang of guilt struck his chest as he glanced back to see Sam still charging on with reckless abandon. His eyes turned back forward about to lessen his pace when she appeared right beside him. An evil placid grin gracing her features. She gave him a little nudge with her elbow as she passed him at the finish line, a small trail of shiny stones gathered from the shore. They both leaned over, hands clasped on each knee, puffing for oxygen. He finally choked out, "Sorry." She looked up from the ground, just inches away from his face. Gasping, "For what?" He wavered, still trying to control his chaotic breathing pattern. "I cheated. . ." Sucking in more air then dispelling it back out with haste. "I...I let you win." A smirk not unlike his own appeared on her face, lips curved up in a impish grin. "No you didn't." She stood upright and started trudging her way up the dune to their bikes. He stared after her, eyes shining, a reflection of the gray clouds above, muttering a silent, "Smart ass," before he took off after her. He trembled cold and disquiet as he took in his surroundings with a brief glance up from the floor. He inarticulately held the encompassing wisps of sea breeze for as long as humanly possible until they finally left his senses completely. Leaving the small space bare as the once hot water bubbled down in tepid shifts. He remained stoic, standing up straight, breathing in deep before his guts twisted as if clutched in a rotating fist. A hand snapped up and shut the water off while his knees felt like buckling underneath him, threatening his stability on the slick porcelain. Soft squeaks from beneath his feet sounded as he moved to get out and away from the confined space. Naked. The rush of cold air across his back was to much and he heaved dryly, hands balanced familiarly on his knees. This thought brought more bile, burning coarsely up his throat as it rose. He stumbled to the sink and eagerly lowered his head to the facet. Simplistic icy water cascaded down over his dry lips and down his throat. He stood there, leaning over the sink, gulping furiously. He stopped for a moment long enough to glance over to his right at the small paper cup sitting harmlessly on top of the toilet. He took a second to study the simple pink and blue flower embroidery. The trademark "Dixie" name with a flower inserted in the spelling where the "x" should have been. Terror coalesced with his stomach. The water that had rushed down his sore throat so quickly came back up with almost the same speed as he retched. Fingers grasped the edges of the sink with an unequal force until the heaves came less frequently and he could manage to breath some what. Eyes blinked back the resonating colors assaulting his every move. Enclosing him. He sank to the floor when he was finished, eyes barely open, arms at his sides, limp with ache. He brought his knees up to his chest slowly as if reading instructions on how to preform the task. Once accomplished, he lowered his head to his chest, eyes half hidden behind wet tendrils of hair and began rocking. To and fro. ~~~~~~~ No lights. He hadn't used the phone. Simple. Patience. They would wait. ~~~~~~~ A broken refrain lost, drifting slowly in at the most inopportune time. Once important in the little ones eye, committed to memory long ago. Head on the cold floor, cocked at an irregular angle, view tilted and unfocused. The horrible scrape of expensive rubber soles atop the dirty concrete. Stripped down to the bare skin. Metallic sweetness lined the corners of his mouth. Serene red, everywhere, slipping down his delicate back and smeared across the floor. Small whispers containing unintelligible pleas for forgiveness. "They made me, Fox. They took her away from us for a reason. She's special, Fox. Just like you. She's special. . . ." Breath scorched with his favorite drink. Dad was up above, somewhere, walking in slow circles around his broken body, voice fading in and out. The heat was slowly seeping from his body. Cracked whispers dying soon after they were forced from his split bloody lips. "Dad. . .da. ndth..." Swollen tongue slipping sideways, unable to function correctly. "Shhh. Be still. I'm going to tell you some things, Fox...a secret..." Mulder tensed and inhaled the soft smell of leather, belly thrust up against the give of the cushions. Eyes flying open, frantically searching the room in panic. Heart stopping with the shrill ring of the phone loud in his ears. He raised himself by the arms, drenched in sweat. Shaking off remnants of the past. A small pool of spit lay smeared on the leather were his mouth had ground into the cushion. Somehow he had managed to pull on a pair of baggy navy blue sweats and a plain white t-shirt. He carefully sat up, hand almost immediately reaching for the lamp to his left. He snatched it back at the last second as if afraid it held some evil intent or purpose. A slow glance into the surrounding darkness made him shudder. An ill ease quickly settled deep within in his bowels, lurking. Elbows resting on his knees, head held in his hands. He gave a short breathless laugh, shaking his head as he brought it up from his hands to look forward. Lost. The next ring sharply broke him out of the stare. He reached forward, gun and phone lay side by side, so temptingly close. His hand hovered. Decidedly he maneuvered his hand over the phone and slipped a palm around its smooth plastic frame. Another ring. Grasping the phone firmly, he winced, not fully anticipating the sharp clang in his ears as it resounded there. He knew who it was. He would stand a better chance at not breaking down over the phone than face to face. He had to answer. He jabbed a button vehemently and shifted the phone to an ear. "Mulder." Voice rough around the edges from sleep. "Mulder, where have you been?" The voice held deep rooted worry covered with a thin sweet coating of chocolatey anger. He flinched as lights from traffic outside danced around on the ceiling, watching them intently as he spoke up. "Jesus, Scully." Dulled and tired, so tired. "It's two a.m." He paused and let the realization of how odd their role reversals seemed sink in for a moment. "I went jogging and went to bed. Why?" Ridicule and sarcasm were clear and precise. It sounded not nearly as convincing as he thought it would have. The anger that had bubbled out was unjust. All that was needed was a little coaxing on Scully's part and.... He could almost hear her grasping frantically for words in the air and coming up with nothing. "Are you okay?" She fell back, as usual, on the old reliable question that _always_ failed. Filling space was something of a duty for Agent Scully. "I'm okay, Scully. Really, I'm fine." He was about to add just super but figured that would be pushing it. He heard a sharp intake of breath as if she was tensing. "Scully?" "Did you ever own a dog when you were a kid?" The words hit with blunt force almost doubling him over. Her voice was hard to hear. It was so soft and fragile, so calm. "Please don't give me anymore bullshit. Please, I'm tired. No more bullshit." In a last ditch effort, "What are...I have...no.." He made no move to recover knowing his efforts would have been utterly useless. His voice became so small. "How did you know?" "In the car, on the way home from the hospital. You were so out of it, you started talking and--" "Why didn't you tell me?" Silence rode out the minute with a small symphony of static and heavy breathing. "Why didn't you tell me." The force with which it was said did not require a questioning tone. "I thought it was the drugs. I thought you would be okay if...after counseling..." Another sigh. "Mulder, you need help." The tenuous hold he had on his anger slipped an inch. "Why? So you and those doctors can fucking tie me down and pump narcotics into me till I can't even see straight? Until I can just barely breath on my own?" It wasn't loud. It was incredibly small, a whisper almost. "It won't be like that again. I'll--" "No." It was out with a sharp flick of the tongue. "This isn't about you. It isn't your fault. _It's_ fine. _I'm_ fine. I don't need any help..." "I've dealt with it for a long time. I can handle this. It's nothing new." He hadn't noticed his voice had become heavy, counterbalanced with an even shake. The tears that had formed in his eyes didn't fall. "Don't make me force you into this. . ." She hadn't meant for it to sound like a threat. They fell. His head sagged between his shoulders, letting the tiny drops fall to the cheap rug beneath his bare feet. It was suddenly too cold in his apartment. Too empty, so quiet. The smooth hands of pain were all over his body, undulating unforgivingly as he trembled from head to toe. He breathed into the receiver. "You know I can't." "It doesn't have to be like that." "But it will be." He was right and she knew it. A long interminable silence became a blanket of security for both. "Talk." He could see the incredulous quirk of her brow before she even said anything. "Please. I dream and..." "You'll get help?" Barely perceptible in the silence of his apartment, she didn't know how much he was giving up. For her. "Yes." She waited a long minute before he heard the shuffling of feet and the small flip of crisp paper. Mulder listened intently with his eyes closed, taking deep breaths while counting to ten. He swung his feet back up onto the cushions and spread himself out comfortably on the couch. She cleared her throat loudly into the phone, so much so that Mulder pulled the phone away from his ear in hurt. A coarse giggle hitched in his chest momentarily as she spoke. "I read this when I was seven. I found it flipping through books that nobody looked at in the back section of the library. In the "w's." The sound, although everyday, was already producing a slowness within him. He whispered softly, urging her on. "Okay." Her voice was uneven and trembling, but oh so sweet in his ears. "We caught the tread of dancing feet, We loitered down the moonlit street. . ." His breaths were already slow and shallow as his eyes awkwardly disengaged. "Inside, above the din and fray, We heard the loud musicians play. . ." The phone, entangled between his long, elegant fingers, slipped an inch or two away from his ear. "Then suddenly the tune went false, The dancers weared of the waltz, The shadows ceased to wheel and whirl." The author was obvious yet he couldn't place the name. "And down the long silent street," "The dawn, with silver-sandalled feet," "Crept like a frightened girl." Lost. The soft gentle fingers of sleep caressed his eyelids down for good. Sending him backward into the sweep of silence where dreams were but figments of wild imaginations. ~~~~~~~ She could hear soft shallow breathing somewhere off in the background. She whispered, not wanting to wake him if he was asleep. "Mulder?" A soft snort confirmed her assumption. She caught herself breathing in time to his own breaths. Eyes lost as she stared into space, caught in a trance listening to the small childish noises he made as he slept. She hadn't needed the book. The poem had been ingrained in to her memory since she encountered it one day wandering. Not knowing what the poem really meant nor did she care at the time. The first and last lines were her's. The book just comforted her. The slick cover and intricate design of it. A soft murmur broke her train of thought as she realized she hadn't hung up. She uttered a gentle, "Sweet dreams, Mulder." Before shutting off the phone. ~~~~~~~ The dial tone sung loudly beside him. Overemphasized by the dank silence that clouded the apartment. The three figures about the room closed in. One turning on the television and increasing the volume till it blared. Mulder jolted awake, sweaty and out of breath. A harsh gasp of air when he realized he wasn't alone. A pair of hands grabbed his wrists and forced them up behind his back, pushing his face down into the soft cushion, harsh metal grating against his skin. He screamed into the suffocating leather, terrified. Kicking and twisting harder when he felt another pair of greedy hands rip down his sweats past his hip. A cool breath against his neck. "This might sting a little." He felt the sharp prick of the needle and bucked upwards, rewarded with a dull snap and a singing pain that radiated up and down his thigh. "Fuck." A sharp knee was forcefully thrust into his lower back, crushing the air out of him. A hand clutched a fistful of his hair, pushing his head down further until he couldn't breath anymore. Still squirming beneath the intolerable weight. Silent whispers he couldn't make out. His body was reduced to one uncontrollable mass of panic, bucking and fidgeting until the paralysis broke out, spreading through his body. Face hidden deep within the sweaty leather, crying out, his last attempts muffled. He jerked and twisted. A gentle tremor shook through his body before it gave in, relaxing against his wishes. Fox Mulder lay still. ~~~~~~~ Shift. Clink. Drowning in a sea of black crescendo. Swing. Clink. Wondering as if a lost child in a sea of faceless others, on his tiptoes, peering over heads too tall for him to see over. Sway. Clink. Aimlessly drifting, caught between the listless current and crimson tide. Each struggling to pull him from each others grasp. Clink. Crusted eyelids struggling open while the back of his mind firmly said no. Head heavy, chin on his chest, toes swaying a mere three inches off the ground. Eyes uncomprehending stared downwards shifting about studying the ground in confusion. A wiggle of the fingers above his head brought hot needles of pain up and down his arms. A strict finger gently placed below the hollow of his chin urged him to lift his gaze. They followed the aesthetic hand, a musicians, up past the arm to warm blue eyes wrinkled around the edges with age, a grandfather perhaps. He focused into them. They were brilliant. Cold. A sharp breeze slipped down his bare back. He shifted his eyes back down. The musicians hand roughly grasped his chin and snapped his head up quick. A bright light shone directly into his eyes then the hands were gone. Black spots preformed disoriented swirls in front of his tired eyes. Ashes gracefully danced to the barren floor. He kept his head down, slowly comprehending the situation. Polished leather shoes stepped into view and he tilted his head back up. Mulder tried flinching back but found his muscles would have none of it, his blood still coursing with the narcotic. As Mulder's eyes grew wide, Cancerman brought a hand up to Mulder's bare belly, caressing the navel in small slow circles with his thumb. He screwed his eyes shut, suppressing a sob as memories raced through him in a fury and tears burned his eyes. Cancerman's eyes were transfixed on his thumb, circling lazily. "I'm sorry our time was cut so short." Mulder's gut clenched tight as he turned his head away in disgust, pleading with his body to react somehow. An index finger joined in on the assault and slowly descended to the waist band of his sweats that were just barely hanging from his narrow hips. For a moment, they traced lines back and forth just above the cotton, before dipping down inside, then quickly returning back to his navel, all in one agonizingly slow movement. Mulder's stomach turned again as he clenched his jaw tightly, pleading with his body _not_ to react to the calloused fingers sliding down his waist. Suddenly, Cancerman was on top of him, breathing humid warmth into his ear as he tried to lean back. The cuffs holding him groaned but held strong. "He touched you like this didn't he?" Mulder whipped his head around looking through screwed up eyes. Growling low and fierce. "Fuck you." Cancerman's lips curved up slightly, genuine. Walking behind him, he came up close to his ear again, whispering. "I own you, Fox. You're mine." Those strangler hands resting on his hips slightly tugging down at his sweats. "I let him, Fox. I told him he could have you. . . .for a--" "No." Tense. Eyes clenched shut as the words sunk in. One hand was sliding past his hip over his stomach to rest, rubbing, fingertips just below the waistband of his underwear. "--He told me things about you. So many things...You're so...responsive." The hand moved down, feeling along the way with slow intent. Mulder reared back away from the hand shoved firmly down his sweats and screamed. Lifting his body, elbows interlocked, muscles straining furiously against the metal sinking into his wrists. The blood trickled down along his arms, gaining momentum as it rolled down his back and pooled at the base of his spine. Desperate and useless. "No!" Still fighting, violently yanking at the cuffs in a blind panic, ignoring the sharp fire that was eagerly spreading down his arms and back. He didn't notice the butt end of a 9 millimeter swinging towards his brow. The shock of the ominous black was incomprehensible. Clink. The body swung lifelessly. The cuffs creaking in time to each swing. Clink... Cancerman spoke wordlessly to the doctor, who produced a small syringe and went profoundly to work. ~~~~~~~ Nov. 31, 1975 His tender round face lay nestled deep within the soft cotton pillow. Arms drawn up tightly beside his chest. Small supple lips murmured soft whimpers while he watched again in horror with muddled clarity. The dark corridors of his conscious brought back the sounds and sights all in one exhausting second. ~~~ Nov. 23, 1974 Suddenly black. "Fox!" Blinding lights. Too many to count focused in on them. Heart pounding in his small chest, grasping the cold metal of his father's gun in his tiny shaking hands. His eyes grew huge as the white hit him with physical force... ~~~ Nov. 31, 1975 A hungry whisper in his ear translating into sticky warmth reeled him back from sleep. "I told you what would have to be done if you didn't keep your god damn mouth shut when I'm trying to sleep." Fox blinked his eyes slowly, eyelashes brushing against the soft pillow producing a strange grating noise in his ears. He tried to bring his hand round to rub the sleep away from his eyes but found he couldn't. A labored breath in his ear snapped his head up quick Sanguine. Heavy breathing. "Dad?" The pressure straddling his legs told him different. That certain sound of nothing, holding the room in upheaval, was unbearable. The calm steadiness of his thoughts turned frantic as he realized why he couldn't move his arms. They lay strapped tightly together, grating, bone on bone, tethered by the thick leather of a belt to one of the beds head posts. "Dad!--" A large fist came crashing down on his lower back and he suddenly couldn't breath. For the life of him he wanted to scream, wake the neighbors, he didn't care anymore. A rough hand shoved his shirt up to his shoulders, then that hot breath again on the bare skin of his back. "Lay still you little fuck." The words whispered breathlessly gave way to inchoate fear. Instantly, he began struggling vainly, twisting below the immense weight on top of him. Grunting, "God damn you." Another fist found itself buried in his exposed stomach. The abrupt lack of air and hot sting running up and down his side brought lassitude along with shame following not far behind. Unconsciously, he tried curling his legs up so he could lay in a ball but his father had other ideas. Blunt fingers clawed and dug into his hips, leaving no hope for escape, and shifted them so that his belly lay flat against the mattress again. His forehead rested on the mattress, dazed. The soft fuzz of the bed sheet tickled at his brow, dulling everything into a small, slow and steady hum of sensation. A calloused finger slowly traced a line down the curve of his spine, pausing every so often before continuing down the slope of his back. Another hand caressed his left hip in coarse little movements, while the finger at his waist teased itself, playing with the waistband of his pj's. Tears stung the sides of his cheeks as he kept his eyes screwed shut, welcoming the darkness that it brought. Both hands pushed the cumbersome clothing down around his thighs. Trembling, an anguished sob irrupted from his chest. A finger slid down and inside with ill practiced ease. The salty tang of blood filled his mouth as he realized he'd bitten his lip, and screamed for the one person he knew would not have came, even if she had been there. A warm hand clamped the back of his neck and applied pressure, quieting him down quickly and... ~~~ Nov. 23, 1974 The light stung his eyes, his skin, he had to turn away but couldn't. Staring into the light then down the long spiral steps of darkness where all was lost. Curled in a tiny ball on the living room floor, alone, in the dark. Sweat glistened his brow as his eyes lay glazed over, unmoving, digging holes into the ugly worn carpet beneath him. ~~~ Nov. 31, 1975 Blinking hard he was dully aware of the sharp sting licking up and down his back. Recognizing the unmistakable creak of leather being stretched and twisted and tightened around his father's knuckles in effort to get a better hold on the slick material. That split second where all that can be heard is the rapid progression of the belt, swinging down through the air. Then meeting soft peach skin with a hardy crack, left resounding in your ears, pulsing in time to each new throbbing welt. Swoosh. Crack. Swoosh. Crack. Swoosh. Crack. Scream. A deafening boom pulsed inside his head as the floors of consciousness crumbled beneath his feet. ~~~ Nov. 23, 1974 More lights filtered in through the window. He stiffened in fear waiting for the light, the one that stung. A door opened and closed somewhere off in the distance, then the tread of those expensive work shoes on the worn carpet floor. Someone was shouting in his face, in his ear. Shaking his limp body in rage. Then nothing.... ~~~ Nov. 31, 1975 He worked to open his eyes. It was still dark in his room. The hot fire that was his back throbbed against the cold wall he was pushed up against. Sitting on the floor he could make out the faint outline of his father, sitting on his bed, head down in his hands. He didn't dare move. Everything hurt. His skin was sticky with sweat and a little blood and he wished it wasn't so dark but didn't exactly care for the light that would banish it either. Somewhere in between lay comfort. The creak of the bed seemed far off in his ears as he diverted his attention to the floor, eyes barely peeking out over his knees. Suddenly, the face of his father was just a wary foot from his own. Trapped in a corner and there was no way out. Then a hand reached out slow and deliberate towards him. He flinched, not taking his eyes off the hand for a second as it neared him. It came to rest softly on his head, rubbing his sweat soaked hair before it slid down pressing against his cheek, caressing, nice and easy. His mind screamed crazily while he just sat there, frozen, looking back into his father's eyes in confusion. The grown man in front of him stuttered, voice wavering. "I'm...I-I'm...so..I..need to tell...I'm...forgive me..." Comprehension and confusion became one as everything slid back down into the silent drowning waters of black. ~~~~~~~ She sat at the farthest end of the couch, sinking down into the comfortable leather. Her eyes sat propped forward, disengaged, deadlocked on the spot where the floor met the wall. Dust sat there comfortably in little clumps. Mulder never had been one to be excessively tidy. The apartment was somewhat dark though light filtered in through the half closed blinds, casting the farthest reaches of the room in spurious inky blackness and the rest in awkwardly pale gray light. It was humid outside. Just like it always was in the spring time though the sun was blanketed with resourceful gray clouds that held no menace. Earlier, their presence in the sky had struck her as obscene. Now, their obscurity of light seemed to do the day justice. For some reason, she knew she would not have been able to handle the sparkling light that surely would have been present had the clouds not taken the brunt of it. Drinking it in would have made things terribly worse. It had only taken a split second for the day to come crashing down in one enormous heap. She had stood, refusing the AD's request that she sit down. He was about to sit, frozen hunched over as if unsure for a moment, then decided to stand also. Her jaw had been set with a mix of resolve and futile anger, eyes staring past Skinner and out the large picturesque window, tearing the god damned world down in a fury. Skinner's inquires were a dull rhythmic hum that she had not heard clearly. The roar in her ears had kept getting louder and angrier. Clenching her fist harder at her sides, her knuckles had become a pasty white. She spoke intermediately with an occasional, "Yes sir," and, "no sir," at times even a, "thank you sir." They came out cool, calm, under complete control. But the anger was there. In her eyes, just beneath that blank stare. She had not looked into Skinner's eyes. What she saw when he had stood from his chair to greet her told her enough. In the brief moment that she had made eye contact with his worn face and tired red eyes she had known. He had blinked hard twice, registering his intent in his eyes. They said, I'm sorry but they've decided to fuck with Mulder some more. I'm sorry, I know who took him, but I've done all I can do. I'm sorry, but I have no choice in the matter. I'm sorry, but I couldn't stop them. I'm sorry, but they said he would be returned. I'm sorry, but I'm stuck up shit creek without a paddle and have been for some time. I'm sorry, but there will be no lengthy formal investigation. I'm sorry, but you'll need to stay out of this. I'm sorry, but they need you over at Quantico. I'm sorry, but I've tried to negotiate. I'm sorry, but things cannot be changed. I'm sorry, but this is their way. I'm sorry, but... "Fuck sorry," she had almost screamed. "Fuck you. Fuck them. Fuck Quantico and fuck formal investigation." The voice in her head was weak, sounding too much like a bad impression of the parish priest she had known when she was younger. The filter of the fish tank hummed and gurgled softly. It was familiar and soothing though there were no neglected fish swimming around, preying on each others babies, looking for one final meal. The apartment had already been searched, analyzed and dusted. Nothing had been left out of place. The only indication that Mulder had struggled were a few cushions scattered on the floor and a small drop of blood smeared on the rug beside the couch. His gun had been left lying untouched on the coffee table just a few feet away from where he had slept. The rush of waiting burned through her head. Thoughts clouded her brain, overloading simultaneously, melting down and dulling her eyes. Things that needed to be said, to be screamed, would not be said today. Skinner had made sure of it. It would never be enough for them. Her hands were shaking but she held them in her lap, still staring at the point where the floor met the wall. Still staring into the dust. ~~~~~~~ The light above was sheer. Mulder moaned and blinked hard up at it, stinging his eyes and making them water. Bile rose in his throat as he watched shadows sway in and out of focus above him. Leaning and talking over him in sharp tones. Their voices seemed odd and uneven as if contorted in some kind of pseudo language. His hands were shaking underneath the thick leather that held them at his sides. Cold air played across his belly, sending slow nasty shivers up and down his body. The fine grain of latex was suddenly pressed against his skin, moving in a chaotic fashion, slipping and sliding. He arched in displeasure at their violation, the restraints creaking with his effort, holding him down so the shadows could play. The rubber sheathed hands were gone. The cold air replaced them, gliding across his abdomen. The skin there crawled and tightened. He squinted up and hissed at shadow number one on his right A steady beep of a monitor distracted him as a smooth surgical hand forced his head back down to the table. The small glint off a tray of shiny surgical instruments caught his eye and his lower lip began to quiver in antipathy. He slowly rolled his eyes to his left, trying to repress the fear that was making him tremble. And soon scream. Another hand forced an eyelid open. He howled fiercely, straining against the leather biting into his wrists and ankles, dark eyes vitreous and watery with glaring rage. Latex pinched and gripped his skin. Then another held his chin and dug its bruising fingers into his jaw. He was breathing hard when he saw a dropper filled with a milky white fluid gravitating towards his eye. Latex fingers dug harder, daring him to move. A shadow leaned over him, carefully lowering the dropper to his left eye. Two fingers painfully peeled back his eyelid further, exposing his eye to its fullest. A barely perceptible whimper was wrenched from him as he watched the milky substance drip along the droppers edge and fall. He shook and strained against the hands that held him when he felt the wet liquid hit his exposed eye. Blunt fingers sharply peeled back the right eyelid he had managed to clench shut. He moaned low and quiet, "No." The slick fluid filled his eyes as he blinked hard once. He fought the slippery feel of it against the back of his eyelids. He fought the grinding hands that still cradled his head. He fought as his eyes rolled back and up. The edges of the dark were smooth and unconfined. He fought that too. ~~~~~~~ Memories and horrific nightmares chased each other round, back and forth, almost evenly paced with the movements under his fragile eyelids. Too many things raced in and out, passing him in a blur of movement before he could actually distinguish truth from fiction. He was sweating and breathing hard. Groaning and flinching back violently every so often until he screamed so loud he woke himself up. Dazed, he shifted quickly into a crouch, back up against the wall, still only clothed in his sweats. Immediately, his fingers came up to his eyes, rubbing and tearing at them until he was sure there was nothing there that wasn't suppose to be. He looked down at his hands, double checking before roaming the room from the corner of his eyes. The concrete was cold and hard beneath his bare feet, a small drain subjugated with what he hoped was decayed rust was centered in the middle of the floor. There was a tiny black camera in the corner of one of the white walls leaving its other three brothers bare to the touch. His teeth ground back and forth over each other as he slid slowly up the wall into a standing position. Images and sounds kept interrupting his thoughts, breaking the useful ones in two. The room was lit annoyingly bright, almost painfully so. He placed his hands along the cold wall behind him and pushed off with a little effort from his strained limbs. The room itself was small. He counted 3 paces to the other wall. He stood in the middle of the room, staring up in the camera's general direction as fear burned and itched his skin. He turned his back to it and uttered a small and resigned, "Fuck." Glancing to his left he saw the only immediate means of escape, a metal door with a small convenient window laced with chicken wire. Intertwining fear and anger urged him to bang hard on it, kick and scream and yell until somebody came and... He shook his head and walked towards the corner where he had awoken next to. He sat so his back was to one of the walls and he could rest his head on the adjacent one. The wave of sounds and images in his head crashed over him in a roar of white noise as he blinked and swore to Christ he wouldn't fall asleep. ~~~~~~~ Vinton spoke in a rigid tone. "I am afraid this may take some time." Cancerman glanced sideways and back into the doctors eyes, "Will the schedule keep?" He regarded Vinton scornfully, though highly aware of his abilities and success rate. The man had achieved a great many things in technology and interrogation tactics in Germany. Simply, the man knew how to fuck with people, mentally and physically. "I believe so," he paused for a moment glancing down at the video monitor. "The best results come after three days of episodic abuse. The more obstinate wills are slowly broken." Cancerman's words were sharp and acute. "How will we know he has actually remembered?" "I'm most certain he has. The implants show accelerated breathing patterns and his bp has increased remarkably. Retrieving the information you've requested will take time. His limits will be explored. If he does not comply, the stimulation process will be repeated." He closed his eyes, relishing the moment of a promise kept. This was only the beginning. ~~~~~~~ The overhead light reflected sharply off her hair as she stared at charred black flesh and curled limbs bent in an almost comical fashion. Its mouth lay agape, containing faint resemblances of teeth, blackened and ashe gray--as if to say, Surprise!' Scully's lips curled up for a second and a slight chuckle disguised as a cough echoed faintly off the walls before she coldly killed both. The stress was getting to her. She held a scalpel in a tight fist, hypnotized by the sharp squeak of rubber as it gripped slippery steel. It was on the table, waiting. Routine. The rigid structure of it and simple answers had forced her up against the wall and dulled her mind. Sea green surrounded her, complimented by bright florescent lights above. She stood staring at it on the table, not moving and barely breathing. Everyone was so sad to hear about Spooky. Some even used the nickname when giving her their regards, like he was dead. Like she-- The shrill ring of the phone made her flinch and gasp involuntarily. She hadn't noticed, but her legs ached from standing for so long. She calmly laid the scalpel down and ripped a glove off. Taking a deep breath, she walked over to the phone that was placed on the wall. "Pathology." Dead silence greeted her. "Hello?" The annoying dial tone stung her ears for a moment before she slammed the phone back down on the cradle. Walking back to the cadaver, "Prick." ~~~~~~~ Mulder's eyes shifted underneath his eyelids. Somewhere, shoes were scuffing noisily in a circle, pacing back and forth. He blinked and tried to turn his head unsuccessfully as he felt some strange object force its way into his mouth. It roughly scraped the sides of his cheek, then was gone. The pain inside his head shifted in lazy swirls as he examined his surroundings. The room was a mix of light and shadow swaying drunkenly in and out of focus. More scraping on his feet then a small clip of scissors when he finally distinguished the lab technician above him. He made a move to protest but his tongue seemed awkward and heavy. He flinched as he felt the soft touch of a latex sheathed hand and roaming fingers on his cock, moving in a slow pumping motion. Revulsion made his stomach clench and turn wickedly. An inarticulate growl that might have been the word no, escaped from the shallow depths of his throat. Though his body seemed to have other ideas as the hand began to enthrall his lower half. He blinked hard and struggled to find himself bound to a table as the fingers varied in their stroking method and increased their pace, egging his body on. Although his body was effete, he groaned low and fierce, in shame, as his hips tried to buck upwards toward the fist that he was fucking. Squirming and shifting, trying to escape its grasp. The straps held him down strictly as he stiffened and came into the ruthless hand that was still manipulating his cock, milking it until his body had nothing left to give. His fists were clenched in tight balls of anger and humiliation when he heard the soft snap of a lid. A satisfied grunt. Then empty receding steps echoing off barren walls. A thin black plastic belt was strapped tightly across his forehead, restricting his movements. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye. A pair of hands appeared and checked his eyes, but he couldn't quite distinguish a face before they left. He barred his teeth and exhaled shrilly at the sudden excruciating pain as he felt some kind of probe shoved up into his cock. Mulder's mind was going a mile a minute and was on the verge of breakdown when the hard set face of the old man leaned over him. "What do--" The old man cut him off. "--In time my boy. In time." His blue eyes were stone, marred by their animal quality. Vinton flicked a large needle with his finger before lowering it to Mulder's exposed arm. His voice was small and scared as he tried to watch from the corner of his eye as Vinton injected it, "What is that?" "A little something to sensitize the nerves," as if explaining to a small, unwitting child that monsters don't _really_ exist. Another face hovered up above Mulder. This man was young. Wide pale eyes, thin pressed lips, and short boyish hair that shot out every which way. The kind that didn't require any grooming or brushing. "Dr. Vinton?" The man was motioning to something he could not see. Mulder stared upward at Vinton, eyes confused and brow furrowed in anticipation. "Yes, finish him up." The young man tightened some of the black straps that held Mulder down. Clamping electrodes to the tip of his navel, inner thighs, and temple. Mulder's tongue flicked out and wet his lips. Vinton caught the nervous gesture out of the corner of his eye and leaned down closer to Mulder, placing a hand on his forehead, smiling contritely. "We haven't even begun and you're trembling?" He concentrated on Vinton with dusky eyes, producing a maniacal smile. It had been so long since his last display of defiance. "Shitty hand jobs tend to have that effect on me." Vinton produced a wicked smile of his own and nodded. A sudden brilliant red pain engulfed his entire being in a matter of moments. He screamed, eyes squeezed shut, body tensing and arching as the horrific shock ripped through him. His mind ceased, all thoughts halted, for a moment, along with his heart. He blinked hard, registering the fuzz that coated every sound he heard. His old friend fear came out to play again. Mulder lay dazed, unable to stop trembling. A constant stream of profanity was all that raced through his conscious as he opened his mouth. Out of breath, voice shaking, "W-what do you wa--." He choked on those words as Vinton nodded again, accordingly. His fists clenched. The screaming muted through gritted teeth, jaw locked down. Tiny sounds of anguish escaped from his throat as his body kept shaking even after the machine had been turned off. "It has been brought to my attention that you're..." he actually smiled, "...that you can be difficult. I'm going to help you learn, Fox. You lack discipline, but that will soon change. I'm going to teach you." Mulder's expression was feral, hate stemming from the pain. Rocking the balance of power fear had over him. "That's not what all the girls say." Almost regretfully, "I see." An incumbent nod. Mulder held his breath, clenching his eyes shut. White heat split his body in two, searing up his groin and strangling his heart. The idea of trying to breathe would have been hysterical had he been able to think of such a luxury. Vinton watched Mulder's body arch upward, straining impossibly with his bound hands and feet. Guttural sounds of torment were sent screaming through Mulder's clenched teeth and echoing off the walls. Through it all, Vinton could still distinguish that Mulder was yelling the word no. It had been a long time. Vinton noted the tears streaming from Mulder's eyes as he watched him try to catch his breath. "Fox." Mulder groaned, eyes painfully watching the bright colors recede and his body still twitching absently, remembering each shock as it passed through him. He was oblivious to everything else. "Fox!" Vinton gave a terse nod to the young man. Mulder's body no longer needed to indulge itself in remembrance. He bit clean through his lower lip, grunting in a determined effort not to scream which failed miserably as his body danced to the tune of the electric dissonance burning fiercely through him. "Listen to me. Fox, look at me." Mulder's eyes flicked right up to his face, he was learning so quickly. "I want the truth. You see, I'm a truth seeker, much like yourself." Mulder paled at the comparison and held back a hysteric giggle that pressed against the back of his teeth. He disregarded it. He was going to go insane if they kept this up, that much was undoubtably true. "I expect it and nothing less. I want it and I will see to it that you give it to me." Vinton paused almost for effect, drilling holes into Mulder's half conscious eyes. "Fox, this is only level one, the lowest current. Your choices are simple. You can give me the information that I need now or in a few days from now when you're half dead. I won't kill you, but I can make you wish I had, it's up to you." Mulder gave an impish grin and tried to nod, but the strap across his head prevented him from doing so. Vinton scowled in disapproval, nodding. Horrific heat surrounded him and buried him alive beneath its heavy layered surface, smothering him down into a dark cavernous twilight. Somewhere in between the polar opposites of pain and comfort, light and dark, life and death. The lines weren't clear cut as to where each one stopped and the other began but he felt himself slowly inching forwards towards the remitting darkness that looked oh so soft.... Vinton stabbed Mulder with a needle and pressed his eyelids up. Mulder blinked back the encumbering light and groaned low as the darkness receded, a chance of reprieve just beyond his fingertips. "I'm sorry my dear boy, that won't happen again. My assistant can...," his face was dour, almost apologetic, "...become a bit over zealous." He slowly whispered up, not particularly speaking to anyone. "I have that same problem every time I receive my new issue of Celebrity Skin." Vinton's eyes gleamed for a moment. The assistant spoke, "We can continue, the pulse is normal." Vinton's lips curved upward in a slight leer. "We'll take those matters up later, Fox. But let's get started shall we?" Mulder swallowed and tried to shrug absently, forgetting that he was strapped down like an animal. "What have you been remembering?" Mulder's brow furrowed, "What?" Vinton stared at him, grimacing. A slight nod. All Mulder got out was "No w--," before the stroking heat swept his body in upheaval. "Your father was quite the stickler for discipline wasn't he? You're remembering some of these incidents?" Mulder's mind reeled away from the mental pictures that assaulted him, he could still faintly smell his father's sweat on his skin. Anger flared. He yelled uselessly, "You sick fuck! I'm going to kill you! I'm going--." A cruel smile and a generous nod. His nerves were on fire, pain pulsing and flaring continuously. The lights dimmed but the light held him, leaving only black spots hovering in front of his eyes, mocking him. "Your father loved to write, you know. He was very good at it too, though not quite consistent with details." Mulder hardly heard a word of this. He could only cringe as he felt himself remembering his father's unendearing touch. He didn't bother answering, just closed his eyes, set his jaw with resolve and waited for the pain to rip through him again. Vinton watcher Mulder bear down and sighed. He let his hand travel down Mulder's abdomen and came to rest stroking the insides of his thighs. The metal probe was imbedded deep within his engorged cock. The crown a dark purple, puckered tight around the probe. Vinton flicked the end and was rewarded with a tiny gasp of pain. "This will do you no good. Why must you fight me every step of the way? This doesn't have to be painful. Just tell me what you remember and this will be all over. No more pain. I promise. Mulder breathed hard and fierce through his nose. The words echoed as he felt the hand stroking his thighs. That manic giggle pressing up against his lips again, begging for release. Tears slid down the side of his face, "Please, I don't remember. I can't--just--please don't do this." Vinton's hands thankfully stopped rubbing and left his skin. Vinton appeared on his right again, the assistant on his left, needle nose pliers in hand. "I need you to answer my questions." Vinton's eyes deviated from him to the assistant, then back again. "What do you remember?" Mulder stared hard at the pliers, swallowing hard and struggling to breath, "Nothing, I swear. Nothing!" The assistant grabbed his middle finger and bent it cruelly. Bracing the pliers, he clenched Mulder's fingernail with its two pinchers and pulled. Waves of agony spread up and down his arm. Gritting his teeth, he whimpered and forced his eyes to close sending another tear sliding down across his overworked jaw. The assistant had ripped his fingernail halfway out. "I need you to concentrate Fox, for your own sake." The assistant dutifully flicked his fingernail hard. A sob, "I don't know you crazy fuck! I don't remember!" The assistant twisted Mulder's finger again to get a better hold and pulled the nail out with one firm jerk. His shriek was fierce, followed by a small staccato of whimpers and hiccups. "What do you remember Fox?" The more things change, the more things say the same. He couldn't breath. Couldn't see. Could only feel. He whispered a few encouraging comments to the assistant who quickly turned on that quaint little machine that made him all tingly inside. Level four current was a straight shot into the inky black outer reaches of space. ~~~~~~~