Title : Then What of Our Nightmares? 1/?
Author : Kelly Moreland
Archive :Anywhere, just let me know.
Spoilers : None really..
Rating : NC-17 for disturbing images.
Category : SAngst/MT
Summary : Post Colonization.. It's gritty. Be warned.
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, then what of
our nightmares? -- Thanks to Jemirah! Don't know what I'd do
witout ya!


Then what of our nightmares?
by Kelly Moreland



I weep at night. Everyone pretends they don't notice, but they
do. I appreciate the pretending though.

Skinner can always tell. He never says a word, not even in
private, but his eyes tell me he knows. They also tell me not to
give up hope. Hope endures, he once told me. I laughed and said
the only reason hope had survived, was because the human race
hasn't figured out how to kill it yet. He didn't find that funny.

I've grown cynical over the past two years. Cynical and bitter.
But who wouldn't?

Two years, four months, and nineteen days.

That's when the world stopped. That's when *they* came. If I had
to do it all over again...

I would have never left him. I wouldn't have let myself be lead
away, even at his insistence. I would have stayed by his side and
fought. If he fought.

The problem is not knowing. We never found Mulder's body. We
don't know that he's dead. My heart tells me he's alive.

I want to believe.

Frohike, Byers, and Langly pulled, no, dragged me away from
Mulder's apartment that night. He said he'd join us.

He never did. 

Langly and Frohike snuck back to his apartment once, they
said it was a wreck. No blood though. No body. I can't imagine
*they* would take time to bury him. So I hang on to that one
small fact. Mulder's alive. He has to be.

Somewhere.

We're a nomadic group now. We have a caravan of thirty six
people. We've established nine safe houses to date. We have a
stockpile of weapons any third world country would envy. Well,
would have envied.

We blow those green, oozing sons of bitches straight to hell
every chance we get. I've come to enjoy it. More than any good
doctor should.

Skinner is our fearless leader. He won't admit it, but he's happy
in that position. Once a marine, always a marine. Frohike is his
second in command. They've formed a friendship that is amusing
and baffling at the same time. If I wasn't absolutely sure of
their sexual orientation, I'd really have to wonder about them.

Right now, they sit hunched over opposite sides of a chess board.
Their only conversation is occasional grunts, snorts, or
chuckles. And they understand each other perfectly. That's really
frightening.

Mulder would laugh till he hurt himself over it.

I wish he were here.

Every installation we get a lead on, every one we stumble across,
we look for him. For any sign of him.

We've found four others, but not him. Not yet.

Hope endures.

Even if I don't think I will endure, my hope does.

Tomorrow we hit the 'alleged' installation in Athens, Georgia.

Another day, another chance.

I hope, and I pray. 

I have to believe.

-DKS, 2/26/04



"Report." Skinner calls out to us. He gave up trying to keep me
out of things a long time ago. My will is as strong as his. I
won't be protected by him, or any of them.
"Section A, clear." I hear Byers call over the headset.
"Section B, clear." I answer.
There is a long pause.
"Section C calling for secured channel!" Langly sounds
panicked, he's practically screaming.

His call for a secured channel alerts me immediately. Something
is up. I pull out my map, and track the quickest route to his
check-in point. I might not have known Langly's designated
secure channel, but I did know his check-in location.

Five minutes later, I'm there. He's standing outside a doorway
with Skinner and Frohike.

When Skinner steps in front of me, blocking my path, I know
something is wrong.

"What is it?" I ask him.
"Dana. Go back to your post." He continually sidesteps, keeping
me from the doorway.

Frohike steps up.
"Go back Scully. Please." His face is grim.

Suddenly I know, and I go berserk.

I fight against both of them, and I'm not fair about it. Skinner
might never reproduce, by the time I break from his hold. Langly
wisely decides to keep clear.

I pull up short at the door, and there he is.

It's Mulder. His hair is long and shaggy. His naked body thin to
the point of emaciation. He's huddled against the far wall in
this stark, bare room, his cheek pressed flat against it.

"Mulder!" I feel faint. My heart is pounding as I run to him.

I lay my hand on his shoulder, and he screams as if I've
burned him. I recoil in shock. I catch a glimpse of his face
then. There is no recognition in his eyes. He doesn't know me.

I slowly move around into his field of vision. He back peddles
away from me in a crouch.

"Jesus Mulder." I'm crying in shock and horror. "What have they
done to you?"

He looks at me with the feral eyes of a rabid animal. He makes no
sound. Just watches me wearily.

I slowly extend my left hand to him again, and sinks his teeth
into it, just below my pinky.

I gasp, but don't cry out. I can feel his teeth deep in my
flesh. It's excruciating.

Skinner is suddenly beside me.

"Mulder!" He bellows so loudly that it makes my ears ring,
but Mulder lets go of my hand and backs into the corner. His eyes
roll wildly around the room.

"Goddamn it!" Skinner mutters, wrapping a bandanna around my
bleeding hand.

"He's completely mad." Langly mutters sadly.

Frohike steps a few feet from Mulder.

"Mulder? Hey buddy?" He smiles jovially. "It's OK. You're safe
now."

Mulder's eyes roll toward the sound of his voice, and his teeth,
still covered in my blood, gnash angrily. Frohike steps back.

"He doesn't know any of us." I say, cradling my hand to my chest.
"Everybody back out. Give him some space." I strengthen my voice,
making it an order.

"It's not safe for you to be in here alone Dana." Skinner
objects.

"It's Mulder. Try to take me from this room, and one of us will
be seriously hurt." The threat is genuine, and he recognizes it.

"We'll leave the door open. Yell. We'll be in here if you do." 

I nod. "Have someone set my pack inside the door."

He grunts, and I take that as a yes. Before he turns to leave, I
unsling my carbine and hand it to him. Along with my back up
pistol. He doesn't like it, but he takes them with him.

Mulders eyes watch me as I move in front of him. He suddenly
flattens himself against the wall again. Hugging tightly against
it.

"Mulder, you're the psychologist here. What would you do?" I
speak softly to him. I don't think my words even register in his
mind. I hope my voice does at least.

I see Frohike out of the corner of my eye, setting my pack in the
door as I asked.

I back all the way to the other corner, then move along the wall
to my pack. I get out my canteen, a couple of power bars. I
retrace my path back to him, keeping myself a few feet away from
him. I very slowly set down the canteen, and the bars. I nudge
them along the wall an inch at a time. His eyes flit between my
approaching hand, and the food and water.

My arm is out as far as I can extend it. I shift slightly, his
wild eyes settle on me. I hear a low growl rumbling in his chest.
I use my foot to nudge them closer to where he is. When I can
reach no further, I back up a couple of feet, and stay still.

He's hungry. He's lost at least forty pounds since the last time
I saw him. My throat closes as I remember that night.

This is the same man who kissed me. Who said, "Go Scully, so I
know you're safe. I'll be there soon. I will find you."

He's moving. So slow it's almost imperceptible. He lunges forward
and grabs the canteen, then backs into his corner again. As I
watch him struggle with the top, I wish I'd thought to uncap it.
He actually bites it with his teeth, twisting it with his hands
to open it.

I notice his gnarled, crooked fingers.

"Oh Mulder." I'm crying again. I can't help it. Two of his
fingers have been broken, and not set. They've healed badly.

He suddenly looks at me as I speak. For a moment I think I see a
glimmer in his eyes, but then it's gone.

He upends the canteen, keeping his eyes on me the whole time. The
distrust I see breaks my heart. Trust was the only thing we had
for so long.

Now we don't even have that.

He drains the canteen in huge gulps.

"Easy Mulder. You'll make yourself sick." I whisper to him. He
doesn't even spare me a glance. He clutches the empty canteen to
his chest and takes the offered food.

Again he uses his teeth to open the wrappers, and wolfs them down
greedily. As he swallows, I watch his Adams apple bob. I can
count every rib on his sides. I can see scars crisscrossing his
arms and his back. To say he's been through hell would be the
understatement of the century.

His knees are huge knobs in the middle of his thin legs. His arms
are stringy, wiry at best.

"Dana?" I hear Skinner call from the doorway.

I turn slightly to look at him from the corner of my eye.

"We're setting up camp. We'll stay here till he's ready to
travel." He keeps his voice quiet.

I nod at him. When I look back, Mulder nods at me.

I don't know if it is a genuine gesture, or simply mimicry of my
behavior. His eyes are locked on me. But I still can't be sure if
he recognizes me.

I gingerly stretch out my arm, inching my fingers along the
wall, to test my theory. He does the same. His palm flattens
against the cold concrete wall, and his fingers inch toward mine.

When our fingertips touch, tears spill from my eyes again.

"There you are." I whisper to him, smiling slightly.

This he doesn't mimic, but his eyes are focused on mine for a
moment. Then they glaze over again, as distant as the stars.

"Talk to me Mulder." I whisper softly. "I need to hear your
voice."

He just looks at me, not exactly a blank look, but not very far
from it.

My hand is throbbing, I know I need to disinfect it, so I creep
over to my pack. I take out a bottle of betadine, and pop it
open.

Mulder begins to scream. I stare at him, dumbfounded.

The empty canteen thumps the wall, an inch from where I am. He's
wild eyed and flailing in the corner.

The doorway is filled by Skinner, Frohike, Langly, and now Byers.

"What is it? What happened?" They all yell in unison. This makes
Mulder even worse. His screams turn in to howls of outright
terror.

"Get out!" I yell at them collectively. They drift from the
doorway quietly.

I pour the betadine over my hand quickly and re-bandage it. As
soon as the bottle disappears he stops. The silence is deafening
by comparison.

Any progress I actually made with him is gone. I can tell that as
I crawl back over to the wall, and he scoots away from me again.
I cover my mouth with my good hand, and break down.

Mulder, what happened to you? I wonder silently. How do I reach
you? How do I get you back?

He still huddles in his corner, his arms wrapped around his bony
knees. Watching me with baleful eyes.

When my tears run their course, I sigh and start all over again.

I get as close to him as I can, without a violent reaction, and
then just stay there.

It's all I know to do.

I lean my head against the wall and watch him, watching me.



A couple of hours later, Byers comes in with a fresh canteen, and
two plates of food.

"Eat, Scully." He whispers to me, setting them by the door. He
looks at Mulder, studying him for a few minutes.

"Christ, look at him. PTSD?" He whispers, as I creep my way over
to him.

Mulder has settled into his corner, seeming to relax a bit. I
don't want anything to disturb that. He still watches us closely.

"Outright torture, by the look of it." I whisper back. I pick up
the plates of stew, and realize I'm starving. It smells like
rabbit, something I've learned to love the past couple of years.
I crawl back to my corner, opposite of Mulder.

Byers quietly backs out the door, leaving us alone.

I'm halfway through my dinner, when I realize I'm being watched
intently.

Mulder is sniffing the air, scenting it like a dog, or a coyote
would.

"I'm not bringing it to you this time." I tell him. "You have to
come get it." I point to the plate sitting next to me. I see him
lick his lips. I know he's starving still, and though it may seem
cruel, I have to reach him somehow. Maybe food is a start. It
worked a little before.

His wild eyes flit between me and the plate.

"You used to trust me. You also used to eat with me. All the
time. Do you remember?" I've slowed down now, savoring each bite.
Making a show of it. I hear his stomach growl from across the
room.

"C'mon Mulder. It's good." I can see the hollows of his flanks,
as he moves forward, crawling across the floor on his hands and
knees.

He reaches the plate, and forgoes the spoon entirely, cramming
the meat and vegetables into his mouth quickly.

This is the closest he's been to me yet. To my surprise, he
didn't grab the plate and dash away with it. He's eating from it
where it sits, not six inches from my hip.

I could reach out and run my hand along his knobby spine, and as
much as I ache to touch him, I don't dare.

I carefully remove the lid from the canteen, and take a long
drink from it. He's finished his plate, even licked it clean.
I slowly hold the canteen out to him, and with a wariness that
hurts my soul, he cautiously takes it from my hand. He drinks
from it, keeping one eye on me the entire time, ready for
something bad to happen.

When nothing does, he pushes it toward me, his hands trembling
slightly. I keep my movements agonizingly slow, and accept it.

"Why don't you stay here with me a while?" I set my empty plate
on the floor, speaking softly. His eyes are actually searching
mine now.

I say nothing else, waiting for his reaction. He slowly sinks to
the floor, curling up tight, his back against the wall.

He's so close, it's all I can do not to reach out and touch him.
I dig my fingernails into my palms, to fight the urge.

Within minutes he's asleep, breathing evenly. I don't know if
it's from a thread of trust, or pure exhaustion, but he's
sleeping next to me. At this point, I'll take whatever I can get.

Once I'm sure he won't wake, I move slowly to the door, carrying
the two empty plates.

Skinner and the Gunmen are just outside, along with a couple of
others.

I walk out the door, and breathe a heavy sigh. Langly takes the
plates from my hand, as I sit down heavily on a camp stool there
in the hallway.

"Do you think he'll be all right?" Frohike asks, breaking the
heavy silence.

"I don't know. He's been through shit, I don't even want to
imagine. I don't think he even recognizes me. But he's making a
little progress."

"Progress how?" Skinner asks, holding out a cup of coffee to
her.

I take the cup with a grateful smile.

"Well, after he ate, he fell asleep next to me. I take that as a
good sign."

"Has he told you anything at all?" Byers asked, his face pensive
with concern for his friend.

"He hasn't said a word. If it wasn't for the screaming, I'd
wonder if he'd been rendered mute." I laugh without humor.

"He looks like a concentration camp survivor." Langly grimaced.

"He's severely malnourished." I kept my feelings masked in front
of them. I wasn't about to let anyone see me fall apart. No
matter how bad it hurt to look at Mulder. No matter how badly I
ached for his suffering.

Before anyone could ask anymore questions, or voice anymore
comments, I stood up and grabbed my sleeping bag.

"Where are you going?" Skinner asked, eyeing me with a frown.

"To sleep. I'm tired, my hand hurts, and I.."

"You can't be serious." He cut me off, realizing what I
intended.

"Watch me." I replied, walking back into the room where Mulder
still slept.

As carefully as I could, I spread my sleeping bag out next to
him.

Two years, four months, and twenty days. 

I wasn't about to let him out of my sight now.

I still had to fight to keep from touching him. He looked so pale
and weak, laying on that bare cement floor.

The bastards could have at least given him a cot.

I dozed after a while.

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


"SCULLY!"

I leapt to my feet, grabbing for my pistol which wasn't there. I
was in the dark, and someone was screaming for me. It sounded
like Mulder.

A scuffle and a barrage of curses came from the hallway. Light
spilled into the room, from a lantern that someone held.

It was Mulder, I saw him huddled on the floor, thrashing and
crying out for me. It froze my heart in my chest.

"SCULLY!"

I didn't hesitate this time. I grabbed his shoulders and pulled
him across my lap.

"I'm here. I'm here Mulder. It's all right."

He stilled instantly. I waited for the screams and the recoil.

They didn't come.

He shivered on my lap, his despairingly thin body curled double.
The hard planes and angles of his form dug into my flesh, almost
as sharply as his teeth had.

"Shhh." I whispered to him. "It's OK. You are safe Mulder. I'm
here. Skinner is here. The Gunmen are here too. No one will hurt
you ever again. I swear it." My voice cracked with the weight of
my emotions. I had never meant anything more in my life.

"Promise." It was so soft, I thought I'd imagined it.

I felt his hand grip my thigh.

"Promise?" It was clearer this time, but it was unmistakably
Mulder.

"I swear it." I cried, my tears spilling over him. "I swear it."

He looked up at me then. His eyes clear, even in the gloom. He
sees me, and he *knows* me.

"How long?" He croaks, his voice a bit louder.

"Too long." I don't even try to stop the tears.

He lays his head down on my thigh, shivering slightly.

"Hey?" I call softly to him.

He raises his head.

"Let's get you off this floor." I smile, it's genuine. It's the
first real smile I've had in a long time.

He nods slowly, and I scoot out from under him.

I unzip the sleeping bag, laying it flat across the floor. He
lays down on one side, and as soon as I lie down on the other, he
curls close to me. I can feel his bony knees pressing against my
hip.

"Am I dreaming?" He asks, each time he speaks, his voice grows a
bit stronger.

"Not unless I am too." I roll to my side, facing him, and smile
again.

"If I am, I hope I never wake up." 
"Shhh. It's okay." I reach out slowly to touch him and he backs
away screaming.

Oh god. Not again.

"It's just me Mulder." I hear Skinners voice behind me.
"It's OK. I just brought you two a blanket. That's all."

Skinner is backing away slowly, having dropped the blanket on the
floor next to us.

Mulder has quieted, but his breathing is ragged and panicked.

"It's just Skinner." I whisper to him, picking up the blanket.
"Come on. Let's go back to sleep. It's all right."

It takes a few minutes, but he crawls back over to the spread-out
sleeping bag. He lays down again, watching the door. I cover us
up, and pull him close to me. He shivers at my touch, but allows
it.

I think I need the contact even more than he does.

I smooth his long hair, and stroke the back of his head, but it's
a long time before he sleeps again.


End part 1