Title: Partaker of Sufferings (2/?) Author: lyn89 E-Mail: secretagentcomradesteve@yahoo.com Feedback: Yes please! It'll encourage me to write more...or not. Archive: Sure, just let me know. Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. Let's skip this broken record. Rating: PG13 (violence, maybe) Category: T/A Spoilers: None (as far as I know) Keywords: MulderTorture, MulderAngst, ScullyAngst, Mulder/Scully Friendship Author's Note: This is my first fic so be gentle. I'll try and post the next chapter soon. (depends on the feedback *wink*) I forgot to thank my beta dender_filia, so apologies and thanks are in order. There is a passage spoken that is meant to be Greek, but obviously I couldn't put it in so I spelt it phonetically, sorry if it confuses anyone. Also, I realize this story may offend some people so I'll say this, please discontinue reading if you feel offended. I apologize if I have done so, I wrote this for enjoyment. Summary: A near-death experience causes Mulder to question his faith in everything. -x- There is a beginning and there is an end, but must it come now? What is it to not exist; what does it mean? To 'be' and then no longer not. I've been here before, but now it's different. How? //You are.// What? //You 'are.' You are not 'not.'// Am I? I am what? //You 'are.' Open your eyes...Mulder.// But- //Mulder.// Wait- //Mulder. Please wake up.// Scully? "Mulder? Mulder?" Her voice was soft, and he imagined her face before he saw it. His vision slowly returned. Fuzzy then less fuzzy until she was more than just an aura of hazy light but- "Scully?" He slowly curled his fingers against the thin white sheet. A testament that he was still alive. //He placed the nail in the center of his left palm and struck.// Mulder gasped at the memory, or was it a dream? Glancing down at his hands he saw the evidence that this memory was real. Streams of medical gauze were wrapped tightly around his hands, clumped together and stained with his blood. He brought his right hand close to his face, examining the damage that had been done. "They, uh-" He placed his hand down and focused his attention on her. "-patched them up but they, uh, the wounds reopened. Your feet too." He glanced at the lumps at the end of the bed. "Where am I?" "Georgetown University Hospital." She leaned closer and gently placed the tips of her fingers on his bandaged hands. Her fingernails gently picked and prodded the outermost layer of the gauze. Still Scully; still the concerned doctor. "How long have I been here?" As if in a daze, she finally jolted back away from his injuries. "Huh? Oh, well you were missing for seventeen days." He nodded slowly, allowing the dates and numbers to sink into his head. "And you've been unconscious for three." "Three?" "Yes." Her reply had almost been one of pure silence, out of a need to preserve her strength and hide her fear. "When we found you-" She began, focusing her attention on his hands. "-we, we thought you were dead." His reaction was slack; it was too soon for emotion to overtake him. He allowed the psychologist-part of him to take in and analyze what had just happened. Given all that had occurred he should have been in hysterics or asking questions such as where his captors were and what else had they done to him. But he was at peace. With himself and all of his surroundings. Amazing. Still he worried about her. Scully. Her voice, as she spoke to him, was rough and raspy. She had been crying or screaming, or perhaps even both. Over him, it was all for him. He gave a genuine smile meant for her, not him. "Well I'm alright now." -x- 2 days later -x- "How are you feeling?" Mulder turned to face the small petite carrying an overnight gym bag into his apartment. Nearly sliding into the doorframe. "Much better if you'd let me carry that." He reached for the bag nearly getting it from her death grip. "No." And she dropped it onto the hardwood floor. "You need to rest. I'm still debating over whether you should even be on your feet." They both looked down at his tennis shoes. "Yeah, well...hey, I'm feeling up for some pizza. You want some?" "Hmm...I don't know. I feel there's something bad about three week old pizza." He moved to the freezer and pulled out the box. "C'mon Scully it's a frozen pizza. What do you take me for?" His smile was all too charming, all too Mulderesque. "Sure." She watched him move back into the kitchen with an ensemble of clanging of certain metal utensils. //For God's sake Mulder what are you making Anthrax?// Her gaze moved around his room, significantly cleaner than usual. She had of course played housekeeper while he was gone. Gone. But he wasn't gone anymore; he was here. She grounded herself against the couch. He was home and everything would be fine now. Her smile faded as her gaze lowered to the hardwood floor. The bloody hardwood floor. The realization was paired with the large crash in the kitchen of what had to be pots and pans. "Mulder?!" She walked slowly into the kitchen, preparing herself for anything. A mere slip or maybe something that was overlooked in the hospital. Needless to say she was not prepared for what she saw. Her partner stood dumbfounded, his attention fixed on his hands. Blood had collected on the white tiled floor. It flowed from his patched palms and down his arms. There it continued to seep down to his thin elbows and poured like ripples onto the cold tiles. Her mouth refused to close at the sight that lay before her. The blood was thick, dark, and all over Mulder. How could there be so much? Mulder looked up at her momentarily, his eyes were a mixture of bewilderment and worry. He tilted his head slightly and positioned his hands so that she could see the point of injury. She quickly moved to grab him, but his body jerked. It wasn't a statement of independence or a sign that he did not desire to be touched, but something else. "Mulder?!" He collapsed onto his knees and his body began to shake. "Ugh!" His body weak, he fell onto her as she struggled to grasp and calm him. With each attempt to hold him, he threw out another rapid shake and groaned. What was it? A seizure as a result of his injuries? She gently took his cheek and tried to get him to look at her. His eyes, his face, would they show signs of what was happening to him? "Muld-" His right hand shot out and grasped her throat. Wrapping tighter and tighter. Her gasps were both habitual and of fright. She mouthed his name as a mantra and prayed that he would release her. Desperation had not yet entered her mind, for the hopeful result of this scene didn't appear to be her death. His hand had grasped her throat, although forcefully, as a means to give instruction. To correct her apparent mistake. Which had been what? Never in her life had she felt submissive to her partner, but what was she feeling now? She wouldn't harm him, not now, not again. Still she feared his strength and his mental state. He had been through so much and now this. He was holding her. It lasted only for moments but it felt like years. He was trying to communicate with her. He had a message that he trusted her to have. His eyes told as much, they had changed. No longer the deep and insightful mixture of green and gold to form that once illustrious hue that had served as the window to his beautiful and sadly twisted soul. No. They had become darkened. It was as if blood had somehow fallen into his eyes and stained them to a wretched crimson. "Kruphate apo prosopou tou kathemenou epi tou Thronou kai apo tes orges tou arviou, oti elthen e emera e megale tes orges auton, kai tis dunatai stathenai?" He jerked once again, loosened his grip and fell into her lap. Scully stood frozen, replaying in her head all that had just happened. The language was familiar, old, but familiar. Had her previous assumption been wrong? What was she expected to gain from this? No, his words had purpose; if they were even his own words. But why now? Why was he speaking like this and what was the cause? The injuries? No...it was impossible. He slowly lifted his head and pulled away from her. His eyes were normal. But once they were both able to look at each other, Mulder yet again did something Scully was not prepared for. With his hands still bloody he placed them on her check, gently stroking her face. Then he began rubbing his long stained fingers through her red hair. "Oh my God-" "Mulder..." "Oh my God!" "Mulder!" "Red! It's red!" Red collided with red. Both from different sources, yet they flowed together and became one. It became undistinguishable where the blood began and her hair ended. His fingers ran through and he clumped her hair pulling it closer to his face. His eyes were widened in fascination. Blood clotted in her hair and began to dry on her face as he continued to cling to the red strands. She was speechless. Dr. Dana Katherine Scully of the FBI, a pathologist, a scientist, a woman who held science above all could not utter a single syllable. His blood was on her face, it was streaming through her hair. She was bathing in her partner's blood. Hands shaking he held her only centimeters away from his eyes. "Red..." Finally he collapsed and allowed the darkness to take over him. Red. Mulder was red-green colorblind. Was...but he saw her hair. His blood. What did it mean? -x- "I'm not sure what to make of it, to be honest." Mulder looked down at his hands. Aside from two quarter-sized holes, they appeared normal. "His scars appear to be healing wonderfully." Continued the physician. "In fact, he's ahead of schedule. I don't see how he could have accumulated that much blood loss. There's no indication that he's lost any." Scully continued to glare at him, her arms crossed tightly around her chest, waiting for him to say something promising. "His wounds show no sign of reopening or tearing. Are-are you sure it was his blood?" Her eyes widened with rage. As if he had the audacity to ask! As if he had assumed she was mentally unsound, and unfit as a doctor herself to determine whose blood it had been. "I'm well aware of whose blood it was, it was Agent Mulder's." He turned to the man sitting on examination table. He seemed fine. "He looks alright to me. Doctor Scully, I appreciate your concern but we've run every test we can think of. There was no internal hemorrhaging, no exterior damage, I think this is a case of an error in judgment." Error in judgment. An error, made on her part. A miscalculation of what she saw and what really happened. An error in judgment. "Well" She breathed heavily, gathering her thoughts. "If that's all that this was then I suppose there's nothing left to be done here." -x- The drive back to his apartment had been awkward. Neither wished to say anything, neither desired to ask the other what was going on. Mulder had shown no indication that he was aware of the events that had transpired the night before, and Scully made no gesture to show that she had remembered what had happened. She stopped at his apartment complex. "You sure you don't wanna come up?" "Nah, I can't. I've um, got some work I need to do. If you need anything, you call okay." "Oh yes Doctor Scully!" There was a library a block from here. She watched him enter the building. Once she felt confident that he would be all right by himself for a while she drove herself to the nearest library. She had to know. -x- Mulder walked over to the mail drop-off boxes. Apparently nearly three weeks of absence meant a lot of overdue bills and a few Ms. November articles that had yet to be read. As he turned the key and retrieved his mail he looked back into the stream of his mind. He had seen red. Red. Such a beautiful color. It was painful to realize that he had missed it his entire life, but not now. Still, his pleading ignorance to Scully in response to the situation was, in his mind, a better avenue to follow. He was humiliated with himself, over how he had reacted. But how could he explain this to her, how could she possibly understand? Red. It was like being deprived of food his entire life. Knowing it was there, always wanting it but never being able to receive it. And now that he had, what else could he have done but taken it and marveled at it? Savoring every moment. He was seeing everything for the first time. Sure he had seen people and places before but it was never fully accurate. Like looking out into the fog, knowing there was 'something' out there, but that 'something' had always remained undefined. Now everything was crisp and fresh. It was new, he felt new...and revitalized. What had changed in him? What allowed his senses to become whole again? It had to be-no! Could it? A miracle? His thoughts swam rapidly though his mind, refusing to remain contained and complacent. Yet they roamed and searched for the answers. Scully. He would have to explain himself, if he could figure it all out that is. His mind was jumbled and assorted into fragments. Much like a crappy movie shown at a grind house, his memories had been reedited with some even being removed for no apparent reason except to confuse and torture his psyche. But Scully was his rock, his credibility as a human. He could not deny her his memories and thoughts about what had occurred earlier. What he remembered of if anyway. His reaction had frightened her, of course it had. Any normal person would be dismayed at his reaction. Still, there was something else that had disturbed her. But what? -x- //Kruphate apo// Greek, 'hide from.' Hide from what? Unfortunately that was the only part of Mulder's lovely little speech Scully was able to commit to memory. It would have to do. -x- He grabbed his mail and proceeded towards the stairs. An elderly woman bumped into him sending her bag of assorted fruits across the marble floor. "Oh ma'am! Oh, I'm so sorry!" He scrambled to and fro to claim her escaped citrus. He was on the last orange when it happened. "Oh son, you've hurt yourself." He looked down at the blood drenched orange. Blood oranges, surely this was not what the old woman had in mind. "Oh-" -x- "-my God!" The passage streamed across the screen. It was Greek all right, from the New Testament; Revelations to be exact. She read it in its entirety. But Revelations had always frightened her as a young child. //Hide from the face of the one seated on the throne and from the wrath of the Lamb; for the great day of their wrath has come, and who is able to stand?// -x- "Dear you're hurt! Here, let me help you." Her twisted and deformed hands approached him and gently grabbed his hand. The orange plummeted to the marble surface and it rolled leaving only a bloody trail behind. The joints of each finger were swollen and appeared to almost bulge from the surface of the skin itself. Her fingers had twisted outwards, making the simplest tasks a chore. As she held his hand, he watched as the swelling subsided and her skin shrunk back to its original size. Her fingers turned and twisted back to their rightful place. "My God! My hands! He's-he's healed my hands!" The old woman screamed and lifted her hands for anyone present to see. Mulder stepped back away from the woman who was now brought to tears by what had happened. "No it wasn't-" She grabbed him and pulled against his sweater to attract more attention. "He did it! He healed me! My hands! My hands!" He shook his head and breathed a soft 'no' then charged up the stairs, forgetting his bills and his beloved 'Hustler.' Locking the deadbolt of his door, he breathed a sigh of relief. He pulled his hands to his face, seeing blood but no opening, no apparent injury. "What's happening to me?" -x- end (2/?)