Title: Strength to Fight the Future

Author: Diandra Hollman

E-Mail: diandrahollman@gmail.com

Website: http://diandrahollman.neocities.org/

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 it 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