Title: Strength to Fight the Future Author: Diandra Hollman E-Mail: diandrahollman@yahoo.com Website: http://agenthollman.topcities.com/main/index.html Date Finished: 9/11/2002 Rating: NC-17 for brief, angsty sex Classification: S R Keywords: MSR (*gasp* Yes! I finally managed to write one!), Mulder Torture, Mulder Angst, Scully Angst Spoilers: The Truth Disclaimer: If they had belonged to me the show would have gone for at least another year. Obviously, they don't. ;P Archive: I'll take care of MiJ, SWLD, XFMU, Gossamer and Ephemeral. Anybody else, just ask! :) Summary: "As much as it breaks my heart to see Mulder cry, I almost wish he would do just that now. At least it would prove to me that he is really in there - that the events of the last two years haven't sent him down the proverbial rabbit hole never to return." Dedication: To Lisa, who puts up with all my half-ass, may- never-actually-be-finished stories even if they are in a genre she's not particularly a fan of. And to all of those readers out there who put up with me even though I straddle just about every fence in the fandom. :) Author's Notes: This is my version of therapy. Please don't flame me. Please note that Doggett and Reyes will have minor roles in this story and I REFUSE to treat these characters with anything less than complete respect. I can't stand it when certain fans (and you know who you are) insist on slamming them just because Chris Carter dared to *create* them. If you already hate me for even *mentioning* them, then please take your thumb out of your mouth and click on the "back" button. Thank you. Strength to Fight the Future By Diandra Hollman "Maybe there's hope." Yeah. Right. Hope for what, a quick, painless death? Who am I kidding? We've been fighting these bastards for years and we've only managed to alter their plans slightly. And now they're creating invincible aliens that are perfect clones of humans. What the hell kind of hope does that leave for the human race? Scully sighs - now fast asleep - and shifts in my arms, seemingly attempting to crawl inside my body. I can't help but marvel at our relationship. How can two people be so close to each other and yet, at the same time, so far apart? The prosecutor asked Scully if it was true that we were lovers and William was our "love child". I'm sure there are plenty of rumors about 'Mr. and Mrs. Spooky' flying around the bureau for that to be the natural assumption, but it was only true in a very loose sense. Were we lovers? Well...I think we have been in love with each other for a long time, but if, by lovers, you mean "were we sleeping together" then no. Was William our "love child"? Well, I guess that depends on how you view the answer to the first question. He was...*is* our child, yes. But he certainly wasn't conceived by any natural means. I mean, you don't really think a barren woman could possibly become pregnant through good, old fashioned sex, do you? I'm still not too sure how that happened...maybe the IVF took an abnormally long time to take and the doctors missed it. Apparently it had something to do with the chip in Scully's neck, but I'm not sure what the connection is yet. Why am I telling you all of this? What do you care? Ah, well...I guess it saves on psychiatric bills... I'm tired of it all. I'm tired of this dance Scully and I have been doing - trying not to ruin our friendship by letting ourselves get too involved. I'm tired of trying to outsmart conspirators who would use our relationship against us. I'm tired of fighting. And right now, I'm just plain dead-on-my- ass tired. No, scratch that. I'd rather not think about death right now... Suddenly a bright light is shining in my face. Was I asleep? I certainly couldn't have been asleep for long... "Get up!" I try to focus on the man standing above me. What the hell is going on? And where's Scully? I look around the room frantically, trying to locate her. Not only is there no Scully, there is no bed, no tables, no furniture of any kind. Nothing except four walls...four very familiar walls... I look down at my clothes. I'm wearing the same orange uniform I changed out of several hours ago. Didn't I? I feel my stomach flip over as a horrifying though enters my mind. What if I didn't? What if I never left? What if Doggett and Skinner never did rescue me? Oh shit... "I said get up!" The guard pulls me roughly to my feet. He sneers at me before grabbing me by the collar and thrusting me towards the cell door. "Now walk!" I walk towards another guard standing just outside the door and with one on each side of me I make my way down the hall. They guide me into a room that consists of a single piece of furniture: a metal table similar to the ones I've seen in morgues. But this one is equipped with leather restraints. A window occupies almost one entire wall of the room. There are four people on the other side. Scully - eyes red and puffy from tears - stands in the center. Doggett and Reyes stand on either side of her, lending silent support. Skinner stands behind them. I don't have to be a mind reader to see that both Doggett and Skinner feel guilty for not being able to defend me - even though there was nothing more they could have done. The whole trial was a joke. Fire still seems to burn from Reyes' eyes. She's angry that she couldn't make these people listen to reason. I haven't known her for that long, but I can see a lot of myself in her. I just hope she will realize sooner than I did that there *is* no reasoning with these people. Maybe she will be able to save herself before it's too late. Two more men have entered the room behind me. Out of the corner of my eye I can see that one of them is dressed as a doctor and the other is just another guard, but I can't take my eyes off Scully. /Scully, I'm so sorry./ The guards push me onto the table and buckle the restraints around my legs, arms and chest. They pull the straps too tight, but after the last few weeks I wouldn't expect anything else from these brutes. Scully's lower lip begins to tremble. She presses her hand over her mouth, either to stop it or just hide it from me. A guard steps into the edges of my line of sight and begins to speak. "Fox Mulder, you have been sentenced to death by a military tribunal of law for the murder of a military man. Do you have any last words?" Suddenly the reality of the situation hits me. I'm going to die. "No," I whisper as I feel my panic rise. The guard moves away. "No, don't." I pull against the restraints. "Don't," I say louder. "Don't do this." As brave as I felt earlier, I realize that I don't want to die. Not like this. Not by the hands of the government in an attempt to bury a massive conspiracy that will cost thousands - no *millions* - of human lives. My death will mean nothing. William will remember his father as a murderer. Brought to justice by the 'good guys'. I pull against the restraints with all the strength I have as the guards move around the room. I know they are getting ready. I begin shouting as the doctor searches for a vein in my left arm, finally turning my head away from the window. "Goddamnit! You can't do this! Stop! Fuck! Don'tdoityoufuckingsonofabitchdon'tIsweartoGod. SCULLY!" I turn back to the window to see Scully's eyes close. She turns to Doggett, burying her face in his shoulder, no longer able to watch. He wraps his arms around her protectively and closes his own eyes, his expression pained. A lone tear slides down Reyes' cheek. She swipes at it viciously. Skinner is looking at the floor. The needle pierces my skin. I arch my back against the straps, trying desperately to escape it, and scream at the ceiling for all I'm worth. One of the guards pushes his way into my line of sight and slaps me across the face. The blow is not as forceful as I would have expected, but since I *didn't* expect it, it stuns me into silence. "Mulder," he shouts in my face. "Open your eyes!" When did my eyes close? And why is the guard speaking in Scully's voice? I try to drag my eyes open, but they feel like they're attached to weights. It must be the drugs taking effect...oh God...this is it. I'm dying. A hand is stroking my face. Scully's. I know it's a hallucination now, but I don't care. Why is this taking so long? "Mulder," Scully murmurs, her lips brushing my ear. I can hear somebody whimpering. Who is that? "Oh, Mulder," Scully whispers. She sounds so sad... "It's okay...it's okay." No, it's not, Scully, but there's no point in arguing with you anymore, is there? "Mulder, please." She sounds desperate now, but I know it's too late. Why am I not dead yet? "Come on, sweetheart." Sweetheart? No, that's not right. Scully has never called me by any pet name - unless you count "partner". What's going on here? I finally pry my eyes open to find her hovering above me. Her eyes - which had finally stopped looking puffy and red - are filling with tears again. Her hand strokes my hair. "That's it," she encourages. "Come on back." What is she talking about? Back from where? "It's just a dream, Mulder. You're okay." I reach my hand up to touch her face. She's real. She's really here with me. Wait...if I can move my arm, then the restraints... I am sitting up before I can even finish the thought. I have to get out of here! I'll ask questions later. Scully grabs me before I can stand up, practically sitting in my lap to stop me. Why Scully? I thought you were on my side... "Mulder," she shouts in my face. "Goddamn it, listen to me! It's not real!" I look around the room frantically, trying to find a way out. Where am I? What happened to the guards? I feel a sudden shift. The room wavers into focus. The comfortable, if somewhat drab, hotel room. The realization comes slowly to my sluggish brain. It was a dream. I wrap my arms around Scully, nearly crushing her small frame as relief sweeps through me in a tidal wave. I bury my face in the blessedly cool hollow between her neck and shoulder as she holds me tightly, rubbing my back and whispering in my ear. I can't understand what she's saying, but I don't care. I'm alive. ********* SCULLY As much as it breaks my heart to see Mulder cry, I almost wish he would do just that now. At least it would prove to me that he is really in there - that the events of the last two years haven't sent him down the proverbial rabbit hole never to return. He's been so distant lately...I can't help but wonder what those military guards did to him to make him so docile. But he stubbornly refuses to shed a tear. So I cry for him - something I've been doing far too much of lately. When his bruising grip loosens, I pull back and cup his face between my hands, lifting his chin until his eyes meet mine. The fear is gone from his eyes and his expression has become frustratingly blank. "Talk to me, Mulder," I plead. "Let me help you." Instead, he leans forward to capture my lips with his, swallowing my surprised gasp. It certainly isn't the first time Mulder and I have kissed - far from it - but it's the first time that he has kissed me like *this*. He is almost violent in his approach, attacking my lips until I think he might actually draw blood. His tongue plunges into my mouth desperately, demandingly. "Mulder," I gasp when he finally stops to take a breath. My protest is cut off as he clamps his hand over my mouth. My eyes question him, but he simply shakes his head and continues his assault on my mouth while he tugs at my shirt until he has ripped open the front, scattering buttons all over the bed and part of the floor. Everything happens so fast that my brain barely has time to process it. One second I'm kneeling beside him, and the next I'm flat on my back, naked from the waist down, my shirt wide open, my bra pushed up, with Mulder's mouth wrapped around my right nipple. I know I should be pushing him away - stopping him before he goes too far - but I can't bring myself to do it. For years, I've wanted to take my relationship with Mulder to this level, but I've been too afraid to make the first step. Despite what I've told Agent Doggett, there are times when I'm not willing to take a leap. I guess neither of us have anything to lose anymore. The future is so uncertain...who knows if we'll ever get another chance? My logical side tells me that I'm not thinking rationally - that I'm under the influence of stress, the residual fear of nearly losing Mulder and the heat of the New Mexico desert. But still, I don't try to stop him. I can't even begin to understand why I'm doing this, but I don't particularly want to try. He pushes two fingers into me and I flinch. Not because he hurt me, but because if feels so strange. It's difficult to explain, but it's almost...impersonal. His mouth leaves my right breast to deliver a similar attack on the left as his fingers pump roughly inside me, his thumb moving in tight circles on the small nerve bundle above. I weave my hands in his hair. "Mulder, please. Slow down." Either he doesn't hear me or he chooses to ignore me. The foreplay, of course, does not last long. He's too far gone to really care about playing the romantic prince charming for me. To be honest, I don't need him to be Mr. Perfect, I just need him to be *Mulder*. But I'm not entirely sure if he's even doing that. He fumbles with his jeans, almost catching himself in the zipper in his urgency. I try to help him, but he just bats my hands away with a low growl and widens the opening of his boxers with a loud ripping noise. And that's all the warning I get before he plunges deep inside me. I yelp at the discomfort. I am wet, but not as much as I would have liked and the friction is just bordering on the wrong side of painful. Add to that the fact that those muscles haven't gotten this much of a workout in years and I am *definitely* in for a rough ride - literally. Mulder doesn't even notice. He just starts thrusting so brutally that I know I will not be able to sit down tomorrow. At least not comfortably. His eyes are closed. That - of all things - is the part that really bothers me. "Mulder," I call softly, cupping his face between my hands again. "Mulder, look at me." He grunts - the sound more resembling a wild animal than a man - but doesn't even break his rhythm. "Mulder," I say a little louder, more demanding. "Open your eyes!" No response. I don't have time to debate my options before impulsivity takes hold. I slap him. Hard. For the second time tonight. He comes to an abrupt stop. I watch in silence - shocked by what I just did - as his eyes open. His eyes are wide - he looks like a child who doesn't understand why he's being punished. And now I wonder if he is even aware of anything he's done in the last several minutes... I wait for it to all come back to him. His arms begin to tremble. His breath catches in his throat. "Scully," he asks, as if he thought maybe I was somebody else. "Yes," I say gently. "It's me." He responds in a way I didn't exactly anticipate. He mutters a quiet, "Shit," and rolls away from me to lay curled on the opposite side of the bed with his back facing me. I wince as I feel muscles scream at being so suddenly forced to return to active duty only to be abandoned shortly thereafter. I lie still for a while, staring up at the ceiling and wondering what just happened. I've always known that Mulder never does things by the book, but I have still held on to those romantic visions of what our first time together would be like. My favorite has always involved a playful seduction, a lengthy period of foreplay and then slow, sweet lovemaking by candlelight or on the floor by the fireplace. But even though my fantasy has just been shot to hell, I realize that I don't care. I never needed any of those things to make it a special experience for me. I just needed Mulder. I roll on my side, ignoring my screaming muscles, and shift as close to him as I can without actually touching him. I decide to test the waters. "Mulder," I call softly. "I'm sorry," he mumbles pitifully. "It's okay," I reassure him quickly. "You didn't hurt me." "I shouldn't..." He buries his face in the pillow, unable to finish. "No, you shouldn't have done that," I agree. "And I shouldn't have let you." He tightens his arms around his chest and I sense him retreating further inside himself. "But I can't just pretend that it didn't happen," I continue. "I'm sure you can't either." He doesn't answer - doesn't give any sort of indication that he even hears me. "Mulder?" He gives a small shake of his head and reaches one hand behind him in a silent plea. I take it - threading my own fingers through his and hear the faint sigh of relief that he tries to stifle. I stroke his hand for a minute, listening to him breathe. "Mulder, look at me." He hesitates. I can feel the tension in him - almost as if he is afraid to face me. As if he thinks I'll reject him - leave him once and for all. Or maybe he just doesn't want to face the emotional consequences of everything that has happened so far tonight. "Please," I add hopefully. He rolls over onto his back slowly and I have to scoot back a little to give him room. He never lets go of my hand, instead bringing our joined hands around to lay on his chest, his grip tightening as if to prevent me from running away. His eyes are open, but he does not look at me. I stroke the soft hair at his temple with the fingers of my free hand. "Mulder, please. Look at me." It takes a while, but finally, reluctantly, his eyes meet mine. His eyes are dark pools of unshed tears. They reflect everything from fear and helplessness to hope and adulation. "It's okay to cry," I say gently. He shakes his head firmly. I can barely repress a sigh. "You were there," he blurts suddenly. "In my dream. You were there." "I know," I whisper. He had called out to me in his sleep, pleading with me to help him, save him. "You were back in the prison, weren't you," I ask. He nods. "They were," he pauses, struggling to find the words he needs. "Carrying out my sentence," he finishes, as if he can make it sound less personal by using the legal description. I bite my lip. I've cried too much already. Now it's time for me to be strong again. I don't tell him what Marita told me. That his "sentence" was just a formality. That their actual plan had been to murder him in his cell and make it look like suicide. I will eventually tell him, I'm sure, but he doesn't need to know about that now. "It's okay," I murmur. "It was just a dream. You're safe now." That gets me an ironic smile. "None of us are safe." This time, I don't even try to hold back my sigh of frustration. I know that, in a way, he's right. The military's intentions aside, he is still a wanted man. Our enemies have used us against each other before - they know that the easiest way to get to Mulder is to get to me first. And then there's Doggett and Reyes. They took our truck. Did the helicopters fire at them thinking they were us? No, that can't be right. They are my closest friends. I would just *know* if something happened to them. But what about Skinner? He's put himself on the line so many times for us. Could this time have finally been the last? And Kersh... If they discover that he helped Mulder escape... I can't think about this now. I *will not* allow myself to give up hope. But I'm afraid that for Mulder that ship has already sailed. "Don't say that," I say stubbornly. "We can't just sit back and let them win. We have to keep fighting." "What is there left to fight *for*," he spits dejectedly. I don't know how to respond to that convincingly. So I just kiss him, tenderly but insistently, throwing all of my energy into making him *feel* just how much he has to fight - and live - for. The need for air forces me to pull back. I look down into his questioning eyes for a moment, then I press my cheek to his, letting my lips brush his ear, and whisper the one thing I've wanted to say for a long time but been too afraid to. "I love you." I hear his breathing hitch. "I love you," I repeat, softer this time. I press a gentle kiss to the tender skin beneath his earlobe. I hear a sniffle and shift slightly so I can wrap my arms around him without moving my head from its place. He clutches me tightly as he finally opens up and allows himself to cry in my arms. "It's okay," I murmur as I stroke his back. "We'll get through this." When he finally settles a bit, we maneuver ourselves into a more comfortable position - me on my back and Mulder curled against my side with his arms wrapped loosely around my waist. We never even bother to fix the mess we've made out of our clothes. I run my fingers through his hair languidly. We don't speak for a long time - neither one of us feeling the need to anymore. "Why," he finally asks. "After everything that's happened to you since you were assigned to the X-Files...your sister...the cancer...William." He almost chokes on his son's name. "Why have you stayed?" I've asked myself the same question many times. And every time I come up with the same answer. "Because I've come to believe in fate. I think maybe - as painful as the journey may be - it's worth making. I think it's made me a stronger person - a better person than I was. And I haven't had to do it alone. I've had some very loyal friends along the way." I pause to drop a kiss in his hair. "And most importantly, it brought me to you." He considers this quietly for a moment. Then he reaches for my hand and brings it to his mouth for a gentle kiss that coaxes a small smile out of me. "Go back to sleep," I whisper. "It's okay. I've got you." I don't realize the double meaning of that statement until after I've said it. I listen to his breathing as it evens out and deepens in sleep. His body grows heavy in my arms and I welcome the weight gladly. But I don't follow him right away. I lie awake for a long time, thinking. The world as we know it is "scheduled" to end ten years from now. Is that, too, an unchangeable act of fate? Can we only fail in our attempt to stop it from happening? Or is there some way - some loophole in fate's plan - that will allow us to escape our destiny? And can we find the way out before it's too late? I can't think about this now. I'll make myself crazy with all the "what ifs". They can wait until morning. And with that thought, I wrap my arms securely around Mulder and follow him into a dreamless sleep. THE END More Author's Notes: Call me crazy, but I started writing this story with the intentions writing a "shippy" story and, at the same time, railing against everything the shippers have come to believe in. I hope it worked out for the best. :) Praises and *constructive* critisism can be sent to the address in the header. Flames will be ignored. Flames from rabid Doggett and Reyes haters will be returned to sender. ;P