Title : Then What of Our Nightmares? 2/?
Author : Kelly Moreland
Archive :Anywhere, just let me know.
Spoilers : None that come to mind.
Rating : NC-17 for disturbing content
Category : Sangst/MT
Summary : Post colonization. Part one was gritty. This one gets
worse. Be warned. It's not a pretty picture.
Feedback : is what keeps me writing. k_a_moreland@hotmail.com
Disclaimer : In the big inning, CC created M & S, and the fans
saw that it was good. Then CC proclaimed 'Let them have any fun,
and I will sue you!' And the fans saw that this was bad, and did
it anyway! ;-)
Authors note : -- And if sometimes dreams come true, the what of
our nightmares? -- Thanks to Jade and Jemirah for beta work.



Then What of Our Nightmares?
by Kelly Moreland



I woke up cold that morning, because Mulder had stolen the
blanket.

He sat with it wrapped tightly around him, his back to me.

"How are you this morning?" I spoke softly, not wanting to
startle him.

"I don't have any clothes. I need some clothes Scully." His voice
was still a shadow of what I remember, but it sounded wonderful
to my ears.

"We'll get you some clothes. First thing this morning. OK?" I sat
up and touched his shoulder. He flinched, not once but three or
four times in succession.

It was almost as bad as if he'd pulled away. I took a deep breath
and told myself not to expect too much, too soon. I still had no
idea what he'd been through.

"I'll go see what I can find." I stood up, a little concerned
that he wouldn't look at me. Too bad, I thought. Time to push the
issue a little.

I walked around and knealt in front of him. He averted his eyes
from me. Staring at the wall instead. His face looked gaunt, I
hadn't noticed it last night. His cheek bones stood out
grotesquely, his skin a sallow, yellowish color. I wondered when
he'd last seen the sun.

"I'll be back. I'll bring you some breakfast too, OK?"

He nodded, still not looking at me.

I left him alone this time.

The hallway was empty, but the sleeping bags and other gear gave
evidence to the fact that at least two people had slept out there
last night. I knew it was Skinner and Frohike. They watched over
me as much as possible. It was endearing and annoying at the same
time.

I found them in one of the long corridors that ran east to west
in the building. It was a psychiatric facility, or had been at
one time. The hallway where they were had been converted into a
mess hall. Everyone in our group was making the most of the break
in travel.

There was a low din of laughter, conversation, and even music.
Frohike and Skinner were engaged in their on-going chess
war.

"How is he this morning?" Frohike asked.
"Not great, but better than he was." I shrugged.
"We saved breakfast for both of you." Byers sat down next to me
at the table.
"Thanks." I smiled at him. 

Byers had become a source of wonder to me. Over the last two
years, through all we had seen, and all we had been forced to do,
I'd only seen his calm demeanor break once. And his hadn't been
the only one to break in that circumstance.

We had found twenty children at one of the installations *they*
held. For whatever reason, all of them been crudely lobotomized.
Shaved heads and blank staring eyes. None of them older than
eight, I'd guessed.

We couldn't care for them. We couldn't leave them to starve. We
couldn't do anything for them, so we made a grim decision. Byers
had carried it out. He'd gently put a patch on each child's arm.
Morphine, six hundred milligrams per patch. They went to sleep an
hour later, and never woke up.

But he'd cried his own tears for many nights after that.

Sometimes true strength comes from the most unlikely places.

"I need some clothes that will fit him." I spoke, breaking myself
from my reverie.

"Well that lets me out." Frohike laughed.
"He can probably wear some of mine." Langly said from behind me.
"They might be a little loose though."
"That'll be great." I nodded. 
"When do you think we'll be able to talk to him?" Skinner asked.
"I don't think today would be good." I remembered the way he
wouldn't face me.
"It's going to take a while. He's been through a lot." I felt
ridiculous, stating the obvious, but it was also the truth.

I got up and fixed two plates. Oatmeal, toast, and coffee.
Langly donated a pair of sweats and a tee shirt, which I slung
over my shoulder. I went back to Mulder's room.

"Hungry?" I ask, noticing that he hasn't moved from his position.

"Yeah." His voice is still ragged. 

I cross the room to him.

"Got you some clothes, compliments of one Ringo Langly." I'm
hoping for a smile, but I'm disappointed.

He reaches for the clothes, ignoring the food for the moment.

He turns his back to me again, and drops the blanket. As he slips
into the sweats, I'm struck again by how rail thin he is. When he
bends over, I can clearly see every vertebrae in his spine. He
has absolutely no body fat, and next to no muscle tone.

If it weren't for his face, and the scars I knew so well, I
wouldn't have believed it was him.

Miraculously, the clothes fit. Shoes we'll have to worry about
later. At least for now he's dressed.

He sits back down in front of me, still avoiding my face. I hand
him a plate. At least this time he uses the spoon.

I let him eat in silence for a minute, his gaze held fast to his
plate.

"All right Mulder. Enough of this. Why won't you look at me?" I
finally ask, out of frustration.

"I don't want to see pity." He mumbles back.
"You won't. You didn't last night, did you?"
"It was dark last night. It's not dark now."
"You might see a lot of things, relief will definitely be one of
them. But I promise you, won't see pity." I hope my words reach
him. They do, and he faces me for the first time that day.
His eyes search mine, and I don't try to mask any emotion I feel.
It soothes him, I think.

"Hi." He says it with absolute innocence. As if we'd just bumped
into each other on the street. Not as though we'd just spent a
night sleeping curled up together, after being apart for over two
years. It surprises me into a smile.
"Hi Yourself."
He does it then. He breaks into a smile. The 'ok, I know I've
just done something really stupid', smile. I can't remember the
last time I saw it. It was a lifetime ago.

We eat the rest of our breakfast in a companionable silence.

When we are done, he scoots over next to me. Leaning back against
the wall like I am. His hand reaches for mine, and I hold it
gently. It's the hand of an eighty year old man. It trembles
slightly in my grasp, and his skin feels as thin as tissue paper.

"Mulder, when was the last time you were out of this room?" I ask
after a few minutes have passed.

His face darkens, making me regret the question.

"I've never been out of this room. Not since the first time they
put me in it."
"The door has been open since we found you, but you've never
tried to leave."
He doesn't answer for so long, that I begin to think he won't.
"I don't know what's out there." His voice is down to a low
whisper again.
"Your friends are out there. People that would like to see you.
To talk to you, to know that you're ok."
"I don't want anyone to see me." He looks down at his legs,
stretched out in front of him. "Not like this. I don't even like
you seeing me right now."
"It doesn't matter to any of us what you look like." I point out.
"Do you know how good it is to just see you? To know that you are
alive?"
He looks at me. Not just a glance, but looks me over from head to
toe.
"Don't let them see me yet, Scully, ok?" His voice wavers. "Not
yet. I'm not ready."
"OK. Another day then. Skinner won't move us out till you are
ready to travel. That might be a few days."
"Skinner." He says his name with a mixture of nostalgia, remorse,
and even fear.
"He wants to talk to you. He asked about you a few minutes ago."
"He brought in the blanket last night." His voice held
realization. "I thought I'd dreamed it."
"No. He's here. He's the leader of our resistance."
"You're hurting them bad."
"Yeah, how did you know?"
"I heard a few things." He looks distant again, his eyes clouded.
"Anything we should know?"
His head turns, and his eyes focus on me.
"I can't go with you." His voice is sad beyond reason.
"What? Why not?" I sputter in surprise.
He doesn't speak, he takes my hand and places it to the back of
his neck, underneath his hair. I feel a small scar marring his
skin. It soft and pliable, it's not an old scar.

I'm on my knees in an instant, and he bends forward to let me
look at it.

"Oh God." I gasp.
"They weren't real careful about anesthesia. I woke up during
that one, and a few others. I think it's a tag, or a marker.
Maybe a tracking device."
"We have to find out."
"I know." He says simply.
"Mulder, what else did they do to you?"
He shakes his head repeatedly, but says nothing.
"Did they rape you?" Just asking the question makes my stomach
knot.
"Not like you are thinking. But they did things." His eyes are
haunted by memories.
The weight of his words drag me down into despair. I pull him to
me as I start to cry, and he welcomes my embrace. I feel his arms
encircle me. His lips press against my shoulder, and I kiss the
top of his head in return.

We hold each other for a long time. It's not the first time we've
cried together.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


I looked at the small chip in my hand. It wasn't exactly the same
as the one we'd found in my neck, but I feared the consequences
of removing it. For that reason I'd kept it.

I'd removed it just this morning, the third day. Mulder was
paranoid about being put to sleep, so I gave him a local
anesthetic and took it out.

I was afraid to do it, as weakened as he is, but he insisted.

"They've taken enough of me. I won't be anyone's puppet, or
lapdog, or spy. I don't even know who I am anymore Scully. I'm
almost afraid to find out. I can't try to be me, if they are
under my skin."
"Mulder, what happens if taking it out gives you cancer, like it
did me?" I couldn't stand the thought of anything else happening
to him now. He'd been through so much already.
"I'll take that chance. If it does, you can put it back in."
I eventually gave in to him.

The Gunmen had gone over it as thoroughly as they could, but
couldn't determine exactly what it's purpose was. It didn't
appear to be a transmitter, and it didn't appear to be the same
as mine. It was still a mystery.

I placed it carefully in glass vial, and stored it in my medical
bag.

He was starting to look better. We'd walk the hallway sometimes,
as long as I made sure no one was around. He still refused to
talk to or see anyone but me. He tired very easily, but
he was trying to regain his strength.

He still wouldn't talk about what they'd done to him.

All I could do was give him time.

I cut his hair. He insisted on it. I secretly liked it, but did
as he asked. I have to admit that he looked more like himself
afterward.

I also talked him into moving to a different room. One a little
closer to the rest of the group. Skinner and the guys found a
couple of beds, a table and chairs to go in it. It was a lot more
comfortable than the bare, cell-like one he'd been in.


Frohike got tired of waiting, and appeared in the doorway on the
fifth morning. He didn't cross the threshold, but waited to be
noticed.

"Mulder." I said softly, laying my hand over his. We'd been
playing cards. He looked at me and followed my gaze.

"Brought you a couple of presents buddy." Frohike said, still not
coming into the room. He had both hands behind his back. He sat
down a pair of sneakers.

Mulder looked tense, but nodded his thanks. I walked over and
picked them up. They were even his favorite brand name.

"And this." He held up a basketball, grinning.

Mulder actually smiled. He held his hands out, and Frohike tossed
it to him. He caught easily, and stared at it for a few minutes,
still smiling.

"Thanks Frohike."
"Good to have you back Mulder." He left it at that, and walked
away quietly.

Melvin Frohike was a lot smarter than he looked.

"Hey Scully, think I can find a hoop around here somewhere?" He
was Mulder again, at least for this moment. I relished it.
"I'm sure we could rig up something. I don't think you are up to
the play-offs yet though."
"A man's gotta have goals." He arched an eyebrow at me.
"Bad pun. Bad pun." I scolded.
He laughed openly. It was a beautiful sight. His face was filling
out, and his color was not that sickening yellow from the first
day. He was getting better, but slowly.

That night as we got into our beds, something happened. He began
to talk. The lights were out, and there was no sound other than
his voice. I propped on my elbow and listened, afraid to say
anything and interrupt him.

"Scully. I'm not sorry I made you leave that night." He began.
"I would do it all again, the exact same way. They got me coming
out of my apartment, about an hour after you had left with the
guys. I was in a hurry, I wasn't paying attention.
I didn't see them till they tackled me. They didn't bring me here
first. I was somewhere else for a while. I don't know where. I
know I was drugged a lot. I'd wake up groggy and disoriented.
Something they were putting in my food. When they came and took
me to the exam room, I was usually awake." He laughed harshly. "I
wish they'd have drugged me for some of that!"

I sat up quitely in the darkness, I wanted to go to him. To be
close to him, but I was afraid he'd retreat into his shell again.
So I stayed still for the moment.

"They would inject me with something. It wasn't always the same,
or at least it didn't have the same effect all the time. They
shot me up with something once, made my whole body swell up. It
felt like my skin was going to burst. Something else made me
bleed for days. God it hurt! I bled from my mouth, eyes, nose,
ears. Even from my rectum and penis. Every orifice in my
body. I eventually got sick of the smell of my own blood. I
couldn't eat for about a week after that little adventure." He
drew a shuddering sigh.

"I always put up a fight." There was another harsh laugh. "You
know me. But they had something like tazers. They'll take the
fight right out of you. Until the next time, at least. They're
what left the scars on my arms and back. Some of them anyway."

I couldn't stand it anymore. I crossed the short space between
our beds, and sat down next to him. His hand found mine, and he
went on.

"I wasn't the only one either. I'd hear screams sometimes. There
were men and women. Scully, that's a dark place where no person
should ever have to be." His hand squeezed mine, and I squeezed
back gently.

"They took something from you. Remember?"
"Yes." We both knew what they'd taken. My ova.
"They took something from me too. I think they harvested my
semen." I felt him shuttering, as he remembered.
"They.. They did a procedure once. I've got two scars on my
scrotum. I was awake, but I couldn't move. I was strapped down.
At first, I thought they were castrating me. That's what it felt
like. It hurt that bad. I screamed myself hoarse. My nuts were
swelled about four times their size for the next few days. What
did they do to me, Scully?"
"I don't know Mulder. I don't know." I was crying silently for
him. But he knew. He scooted back to the wall, and pulled me down
next to him. He spooned up against my back, and clung to me.
"I don't even know if I'm a man anymore." He whispered after a
time.
"I guess it depends on how you measure a man. You still are to
me."
"I never really understood how it made you feel. When they.. did
that to you. I do now. I'm sorry Scully. I'm so sorry."
"I wish you didn't know. I wish.."
"Let's not talk about it anymore. Not tonight." He interrupted
me, his voice urgent.
I nodded. I didn't want to hear anymore. I'd heard enough to give
me nightmares for months.

I'd tried several times to examine him. He wouldn't let me. Not
even a cursory exam. He got angry, almost to the point of
violence. He'd insisted he was fine, and no amount of arguing
would change his mind. I'd stopped mentioning it after a few
days.

"Let me examine you tomorrow." I said softly in the darkness.
"No." He was adamant.
"Mulder. We have to find out what they did. How else are we going
to do that?"
He didn't answer. He knew I was right.
"We have to know." I insisted.
"All right." He caved, but I could feel the tension in his body.
"It's just me Mulder. No one else will be there. OK?"
"Yeah." He was getting angry. 
I rolled to face him. I reached my arm over him, and stroked his
back.
"Don't baby me!' He snapped suddenly. I pulled my hand away
quickly.
"I feel like enough of a freak, as it is." His voice was a hiss.

I'd been expecting this. Mood shifts brought on by feelings of
helplessness, or defenselessness. It was a common side effect of
violent trauma.

Knowing that did little to sooth the pain of his tone however.

I slipped out of his bed, and returned to my own.

"Goodnight Mulder." It was a struggle to keep my voice even.

He didn't answer.



End part 2