Title: Pressure 4: Sabotage
Author: Grey
Fandom: XF
Pairing: Mulder/Skinner
Rating: NC-17, SEE WARNING
Status: New/Complete
Archive: Yes
Email: Grey853@aol.com
Series/Sequel: Pressure
Website: http://grey.ravenshadow.net

Notes: Thanks to XFreak for proofing and being so supportive. Any mistakes made afterwards are my own.

Disclaimer: Not mine, but might as well be.

Summary: Mulder suffers after being captured and detained by Commander Henderson from "Fallen Angel".

WARNING: There are scenes of physical and sexual violence. If that bothers you, don't read this part of the story. This one isn't a cozy episode.

Pressure 4: Sabotage
by Grey
Grey853@aol.com

His bones ached like an old man's as he turned over, his body shifting away to avoid waking Mulder. He shouldn't have bothered. Long arms and legs wrapped around his chest and waist and pulled him back as a mouth closed on the hollow of his neck and kissed him, a tongue bathing his skin gently and completely. Shudders and tingles thrilled him, his body loving the heat, the capture by the man whose lips could do magic.

Rising up over him, straddling his groin, Mulder stared down and met his eyes, his face more serious than playful. His hands massaged his nipples and played patterns around his chest as he spoke, his voice still husky from extended quiet. "You groaned in your sleep all night. You okay?"

"I'm fine." Running his own hands up Mulder's arms, he drank in the delicious weight, the intensity of morning connection as his lover watched him. "Honest."

Still unconvinced, Mulder slid to the side and lay tucked in beside him, one leg still resting up over his thighs. His hand lazily wandered over his chest, brushing the hair as he talked. "You'd tell me if you were still feeling bad, right?"

"I promise, Mulder. I'll tell you." Raising the wanton hand to his lips, he kissed the palm, his lover's eyes following his movements. "You worry too much."

"Yeah, well, coming from you, that's a hell of a joke."

Moving his own hand down between them, he found his target, Mulder's cock still erect and paying attention. The eager flesh singed his skin as it grew even harder at his touch, the twitching matched to the catches in breathing as Mulder fell back and closed his eyes. Spreading his legs, his hips pumping up to match Walter's rhythm, he pleaded, "Fuck me."

He leaned over, his mouth covering Mulder's, his tongue probing in to catch and savor the whimpers. Still stroking, Walter noted the straining stretch of his torso, the balls drawing up as his lover suddenly climaxed, his quiet scream swallowed down like sweet candy.

God, that was quick even for Mulder.

Reaching to the side table, he grabbed some wipes and cleaned his hand as well as the still shaking Mulder. He pushed back the hair, strands sticking to the sweaty skin. "You with me?"

"I'm sorry."

"For?"

"For being selfish."

"Selfish?"

"I needed that."

"I could tell." He kissed his forehead and then drew him in. "It's okay, Mulder. A quick morning session is not being selfish."

"It is when you didn't even have time to get hard."

Stiffening, he shrugged, his mind denying what he didn't want to deal with. "It's not a problem."

"You sure?"

"Mulder, when you're my age, a morning hard on is a pleasant surprise, not a given." He gave him a reassuring squeeze and then released him before moving to the edge of the bed. "I'm going to shower and then fix some coffee. You want eggs for breakfast?"

A hand touched his back, fingers fanning out as he sat up. "No, but I'll fix it while you shower."

Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw the bright concerned eyes, the fear just behind the hazel. Turning, he caressed his face, the beard stubble adding a warm scrape of realness to the touch. "I'm okay, Mulder. Believe me."

"I'm trying, Walter. It's just..."

"Just what?"

"Nothing." As he watched, Mulder did his chameleon special, his face suddenly masked, the anxiety pushed away. Sitting up quickly, he got out of bed, pulled on his sweat pants and saluted. "Coffee and eggs? You've got it."

As Mulder raced down the stairs, Walter shook his head. The only way to convince his lover of his health was to keep living. He just wondered if that would ever be enough for Mulder.

Scully looked up in surprise as he entered the office. "Morning, sir. Good to have you back."

"Thanks, Scully." Suddenly embarrassed by her knowing gaze, he glanced around the empty room. "Where's Mulder?"

Tilting her head, her face puzzled, she shrugged. "I haven't seen him yet, but he's not on a strict schedule while he's still on desk duty."

The warning chill buzzed through him. "Damn."

"What?"

"He left early. Said he wanted to follow up on some leads in the Casey case."

"What leads?"

"I was afraid you were going to say that."

Remembering the grace of the easy lie from Mulder's lips twisted his gut. He hated thinking of the broken trust, the time it would take to fix this latest breach, a breach that might prove too wide to manage no matter how much he loved him.

He stepped to her desk and shook his head, the desire to punch out the wall almost too strong to resist. "You call those three characters he hangs out with and find out if they sent him anything special. I'll be in my office making some calls."

Standing, still keeping her voice steady, Scully argued. "We don't know for sure he's ditched us."

"No, but he hates being tied down. Let's face it, we both knew this was coming."

"Damn."

"Yeah."

She touched a hand to his sleeve. "We'll find him, Walter."

"Let's just hope it's before the bomb goes off."

"What bomb?"

"The bomb he set to sabotage our lives."

They caught him before he even got a hundred yards beyond the fence. No shouted warning preceded the attack as the four men came out of nowhere and surrounded him, their guns raised as clubs. The first three blows took him efficiently in the side, stomach, and kidney. The next one cracked the cast on his left wrist as he blocked the rifle butt to his face. The pain screamed along his arm, the rattle of his damaged bones squeezing his stomach into one giant heaving.

As he tried to roll into a protective ball, Mulder heard the metallic slide as someone got ready to fire. The explosion brought not the sting of a bullet, but of a dart, the stab like pure ice numbing his throat, his breathing caught between dust and swimming darkness. He couldn't breathe, couldn't take in enough air to even beg for mercy as hands grabbed him up, strapped his crippled body on the transport gurney, and slid him into the back of the truck.

The world swam with raging colors, the frozen streams of red and gold stealing the air, stilling it before spinning into slender threads of green stitching through his paralyzed vision. Sharp stabs behind his eyeballs sliced through to the back of his head, his skull chiseled to jagged points, tiny dots of pure blackness.

Nothing worked, his body a traitor. The world swirled silent around him, the motion a dizzy wildness storming the air. He couldn't move even to swallow, the fear of choking growing as rough hands forced his mouth open, the plastic tubing gagging as it cut a path down his throat, the pressure like terror crushing his lungs. A general sickness waved through him, the tube snaking its way to his stomach, his body clenching beyond his control. An icy flood took over, the swarm of darkness taking him under, the tube still in place and dragging his insides, his jaw locked open.

Waking took time, awareness still afraid of the pain on the other side of light. Swollen thoughts settled uneasy and ground down into a dim vague shadow, nothing clear as he opened his eyes to the cold. Naked, he lay on his side on the low cot, his throat rebellious to even wheeze in thin air. A spasm clamped down his spine as he shifted, the warning clicking in the memories of capture and violation.

"Shit."

The raspy word burned as he brought a hand to his neck, rubbing hard just to feel it. Drawing his legs up took time, but curling up reduced the persistent throb in his back while he lessened his exposure to the surveillance camera in the corner. God, he was freezing.

The door slammed open with an order. "Sit up, Agent Mulder."

The familiar voice brought on an involuntary shiver. "Commander Henderson. I should've figured."

"I said sit up."

Biting his lower lip to keep from groaning, he followed the order despite his body's urgent plea to stay still. The cold grit on the floor sanded his bare feet as he steadied himself, his hands over his groin. "I'm a federal agent. You know that."

"I know who the fuck you are, Agent Mulder. You have no idea how much trouble you caused last time. This time I don't plan to let you keep me from doing whatever I have to in order to save this mission."

"Your mission is bogus. There's no downed craft here."

"What ever's going on here is none of your business. You're a security risk, plain and simple."

"I want my clothes and a phone call to the Bureau." It hurt to talk, his throat still too sore to flex without complaining.

"You don't seem to understand your position here, Agent Mulder. Let me explain it more clearly." With a nod of his head, the two guards came to either side and pulled him up, his arms forced behind his back. Henderson stepped closer, his face only a few inches from Mulder, his voice a low hiss. "You're in my territory now. No soft-hearted son of a bitch can help save your sorry ass. I own you." Still looking directly at Mulder, he smiled and added, "Take him to room two."

Without question, the men jostled him out the door, down the hall, and into a larger room. Henderson moved in right behind him, shoving him forward. "Hold him."

They pulled him across the edge of a wide table, his stomach braced against the solid wood surface, both his arms held to the other side by the silent guards. They watched and held him down without reaction, their faces stolid and passive. Kicking his legs apart, Henderson threw him off balance and laughed. "Do you have any idea how much of a pain in the ass you've been? I think it's about time I returned the favor."

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"Where is it?"

"Where's what?" Mulder turned his head at the familiar sound of latex gloves snapping in place, his gut going even colder. Henderson smoothed the material between his fingers, taking his time as he picked up the tube of KY Jelly. Shit. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm sure you don't, but for security reasons, I'm required to be sure you don't have it hidden on your person."

"Fuck. You can't do this." Struggling only hurt more, his arms too tense, his breathing caught and hiding. His whole body trembled against his will, his muscles refusing to listen and acting on pure running instinct.

"I can and I'm going to enjoy it. We checked your stomach, now it's time for the other most likely spot. Let's see just how full of shit you really are." Squeezing a load of lubricant on his hand, he moved in behind him. "Believe me, Agent Mulder, this is going to feel like justice before I'm finished."

Spreading his asscheeks, a rough two fingers pushed in, his sphincter puckered tight and unyielding. "Fighting just makes it better." Leaning forward, he licked his ear while the husky whisper promised terror. "Your ass is mine now. Let's see how it feels."

He pumped a few times before adding another finger, his effort like fire shoved into his ass, his belly cramping with each forward force as Henderson's other hand wrapped around him, grabbing his balls under the table. He squeezed hard several times and then secured his cock, tightening his grip and jerking hard for his own pleasure. He punched most of his hand inside him, the stretch searing up through his gut, his legs buckling beneath him. Nausea rolled over him in thick waves as he heaved bile across the table and then retched nothing but dry air. The rhythmic intrusion became an obscene parody of fucking and continued past when his legs held him, his body slack and rocking to Henderson's attack.

His mind blanked out, the pain coupled with grotesque flashes, haunting memories running screaming from their cages. Swallowing his own silent cries fueled his surrender to a safer place away from the storms of his past, a sanctuary away from being beaten, and betrayed, and humiliated beyond his endurance.

Regaining consciousness huddled under a blanket counted for something, but so did the incredible agony of just waking. The foul taste of vomit coated his tongue and his stomach echoed with cramps that crippled his thinking. Stretching out his right leg, he groaned as the spasm spiked his lower back. Slowly, he opened his eyes to find himself returned to his cell, no Henderson or guards, alone and alive, but barely caring.

Wetting his lips, he took several long breaths to clear his head, his mind battling between retreat and going crazy. Gradually, he worked himself into a sitting position, his whole body shaking, his backside one pure burning reminder of cruel reality.

Reaching out he found the jumpsuit and got dressed, his movements deliberate as he blocked out the rage, refused to listen to the maniac wanting to run his body into the concrete walls around him. Zipping up, he walked to the table and poured himself water into the plastic cup. He lifted the drink in a mock toast and tipped it back, briefly defiant. Bastard wouldn't get the satisfaction of breaking him. Others tried and failed, and Henderson would be no different. Sorry son on of a bitch would never have the pleasure. Never.

Suddenly floaty, Mulder caught himself on the table's edge before he dropped down, the abyss shorter than his own dark despair. His head fell forward, his whole body suddenly no longer willing or able to do much more than keep breathing.

Walter Skinner hated hospitals, military hospitals in particular. Bloody memories of Nam flared for a moment before he pushed them away and walked down the corridor to face his old friend General Roger Davis. "I got your message. Thank you."

Extending a hand, the grey-haired officer nodded. "I'm sorry about this, Walter. Your man seems to have irritated the wrong people once too often."

"Fuck that. Just take me to him and tell me what happened."

A familiar hand landed on his shoulder, the anger lessened by the touch. "He went through some bad handling before I could get him out, but he's going to be fine. Just settle down and breathe, soldier."

Biting his lower lip, Walter fought for patience. "I'm breathing, but if your people have hurt him, I want to know why, and I want to know now."

Motioning for Walter to follow, he took him into a room and shut the door. "Now, listen to me on this. These were not my people. I would never have condoned what's gone on here. But this is a separate group, sanctioned by the highest level of the Pentagon, one with its own agenda. You know how that works."

"Just tell me."

"Your agent infiltrated a top secret military installation. He was detained and debriefed, and unfortunately the operation got a bit rough."

Fuck. "How rough?"

"Rough enough. Look, you don't need details. Besides, Henderson had the authority to do what he needed to do."

"Henderson? Calvin Henderson?"

"Yeah, you know him?"

"He and Mulder crossed paths before. What did he do to him?"

"Apparently a communications prototype went missing and he needed to find out if he had it."

Stunned for the moment, Walter pushed back his glasses, his words stalling before he forced the question. "What exactly are you telling me?"

"The Commander's personal efforts got a little too zealous. Your man was drugged and then collapsed from Henderson's efforts to find out what he had."

"Shit." He fell back against the wall, his arms around his middle. Looking up, he met his friend's concerned blue eyes before he spoke, his words just touching the air. "You know what you're telling me, Roger. We both know what happened. Henderson hurt him on purpose, assaulted him just to get even, not because of some fucking prototype."

"Maybe, but you can't prove that."

"I don't need to prove it. I know it. And so do you."

"It doesn't matter."

"Doesn't matter?" He stood straighter, his fists balled, his mind raging.

"Be realistic, Walter. Your man wouldn't press charges even if he could."

"It's not right and you know it."

"I'm not arguing, but you have to remember that Mulder committed a federal crime here, and not for the first time. He's got a long history, and I'm telling you, they'll prosecute if they have to. Your agent could go to prison, and I'm not talking about some cushy minimum security place either. I'm talking time in maximum security with hard-core felons. If he lets it go, they'll sign off and that won't happen."

Shoving down the roar of angry impulses, he leveled his words trying to maintain his own balance. "And what's he said about it?"

"Right now he's just demanding release."

"Is he fit to be released?"

"As long as he takes it easy for awhile, yeah." Leaning in, Davis spoke softly, the words a sharp contrast to his tough presence. "Look, Walter, the best thing for you to do is take your man home. He got off lucky this time."

"Lucky?"

"Henderson could've erased him and nothing would've been said. You know that."

He shook his head, his anger barely contained. "This isn't over, Roger."

"You're just asking for trouble with Henderson. He's got friends, powerful friends."

"So do I."

"But you've also got enemies. I don't know who you pissed off, but just being here and telling you this could get my balls sawed off."

The truth danced with fear in his friend's wary eyes, and it took a lot to scare an old war dog like Davis. Walter took a deep breath and patted the side of his face. "I appreciate you telling me, Roger, I really do."

"I owe you. I always pay my debts."

"Then I guess this makes us even. This means a lot to me. I tried everything to find him, but got nowhere until you called."

"I won't deny this operation took some hefty favors to pull off, but this doesn't touch it. When I've saved your life or I'm dead, then we'll be even, Walter."

Pausing, remembering the trek through the jungle carrying his friend's unconscious body to the evac center, he nodded grimly. "Right now, I just need to see Mulder."

Uneasy, Davis opened the door and talked as they walked down the corridor together. "He's pretty busted up."

"Won't be the first time."

"And he was a little agitated when he woke up."

"What exactly are you trying to say?"

"We've got him sedated and in restraints."

Walter halted and rubbed his mouth, holding back the stream of curses. Years of training brought the words out much more calmly than the ones ranting in his head. "I wish you hadn't done that."

"We didn't have a choice. The doctors were afraid he'd hurt himself or attack one of the nurses."

"Yeah, right. The military's answer to everything, absolute submission, beatings or drugs, it doesn't matter."

"That's not fair, Walter."

"Fuck fair. I'm taking him out of here."

"If you can handle him."

"I can handle Mulder."

"I'm glad someone can. You didn't see him. He was wild and out of control even when we already had him out of there."

"You said yourself he was drugged."

"Yeah, maybe, but he thought we were all aliens and was screaming about no more tests or some such shit. Almost put him in the psych wing for evaluation." He touched his arm again and added with a confidential whisper. "I've read his file. He needs a short leash, Walter. A good shrink wouldn't hurt either. This happens again, he won't walk away so easily."

He avoided the eyes, couldn't listen to the advice at the moment, not until he saw Mulder and got him home safe. "Which room?"

"229. You've already been given clearance. I'll get the doctor."

"I don't need a doctor."

"No, but Mulder might."

He didn't want to admit his friend might be right, so he ignored him, focused instead on getting to the room without tearing out a brick wall with his bare hands first. Once past the guard, he saw Mulder's sleeping form, his skin red and swollen around his chin, his face whiskered and pale. Stepping to the edge of the bed, he leaned on the rail, noting the leather cuffs binding his arms to the side, the cast on his left wrist bright white and new again.

Gently he smoothed back the dark strands clinging to his lover's forehead before he closed his eyes against the sting of both relief and grief, his desire to destroy Henderson even stronger.

"Don't touch me. I can do it myself."

"You can hardly stand up."

"Then I'll fall on my ass. Now, just leave me alone while I get dressed." His hoarse voice broke, rough and raw as it fought to carry the warning.

Walter backed off and stood by the wall, his gut tight as Mulder struggled to pull on the fresh grey sweats delivered by the nurse, the mottled discolorations over his upper body swallowed up by thick cotton. His jerky movements didn't cover the shaking as he stood up, his stance unsteady, the drugs still in his system. Pants and shirt in place, he eased himself down on the nearby chair, his head bowed, his voice weak. "I need my shoes."

"They kept those along with your clothes."

"Fucking bastards."

"Mulder, we can stop and get some later. Meanwhile, just use the ones they brought."

"It doesn't matter." The voice sounded small, muffled from the being spoken as he bent over to put on the flimsy slippers. Looking up, he stared out the window, still avoiding his eyes. "Let's get out of here. I need a shower."

"I've got a small plane waiting. We should be home in a couple of hours. Scully's going to check you out at Washington General first and you can shower after that."

"I don't think so."

"What?"

"Scully's not checking me out and I'm not going to another damn hospital."

"Then another doctor."

"I said no. I just want to go home." He rubbed his new cast and spoke quietly, his body still trembling.

Stepping closer, he kneeled in front of Mulder, his hand reaching out to take his. Before he could speak, the younger man jerked away, his face suddenly frightened. He staggered to the far corner and just stood there, his arms wrapped around himself, his side pushed into the wall.

Shit.

"I said don't touch me. I mean it. I don't need you telling me what to do. I don't need Scully or anybody else. I just want to forget it. I fucked up and it's over."

Keeping his voice neutral, Walter stood back up, but kept his distance. "It's not as easy as that."

"Yes, it is."

"Mulder, listen to me. I don't trust these people. How can I believe you're okay just on their say so?" The slightest hesitation in his lover's face urged him on. "You trust Scully, right?"

"That's not the point."

"Sure it is. Let her check you out to be sure the drugs are out of your system and that you're not hurt worse than you think. Might x-ray that wrist again, too."

"No tests."

"Mulder..."

"I said no more tests. No more fucking exams. The arm's fine. I'm fine, or I will be when you can just get me the hell out of here."

"And if I make it an order?"

"Then you'll have to suspend me."

"I could do that anyway."

"Do what you have to, but nobody fucking touches me again. I'm fine."

The angry intensity of the hissed words made the case for just the opposite. It made him want to fold his lover in his arms and just hold him, keep him wrapped up and close until he really was okay again. Seeing the wild emotions play across Mulder's face, he knew that wouldn't happen anytime soon. Something else happened here, something he needed to know and that Mulder guarded and kept secret like so many parts of his life. They both had a long road ahead of them, and he just prayed they could walk it together and survive.

Taking a deep breath, the knotting gut hard to control, he nodded. "Let's go home then. We'll talk about it later."

"Not if I can help it, we won't."

"Look, you're upset now."

"No shit." Pushing away from the wall, Mulder braced himself as he suddenly faltered. He rejected any help and limped toward the door.

"What happened to your leg?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Mulder, just stop for one goddamn minute and tell me what happened. How badly were you beaten?"

Pausing at the doorway, he leaned his forehead against the wall, a sweaty sheen on his skin. "I can't deal with this right now. I need a few days."

"I understand that."

"No, you don't. I'm saying I need a few days alone, away from you and Scully and the Bureau. When we get back to Washington, I'll take some days. Personal leave, suspension, it doesn't much matter. I've got plenty of comp time piled up."

"Running away and hiding aren't the answer."

"I'm not doing that."

"It's exactly what you're doing."

"Listen, I've been through this before. This is the only thing that works."

"Really? You think this counts as working? You could've been killed here."

"Might have been better if I had been."

Stunned, the air left the room. "What the fuck are you talking about, better?"

"Nothing." His voice suddenly softened, his tongue almost too heavy to lift the words. "I'm sorry. I'm just too tired to make sense."

"You've got that right." Walter stepped closer, his body just inches away, his hands forced in his pockets to avoid touching Mulder. "But you're wrong if you think we're even remotely finished with this."

"Yeah, I kind of figured. But not now. I can't." He rubbed his face with his good hand and opened the door. "Let's just get out of here before they tie me down again, okay?"

"Sure. But we're not done here."

Mulder stayed quiet as they walked out together, his movements slow and deliberate, pain etching his face. Alarms went off, his instincts raving for him to pay attention. Watching his lover, he knew Mulder carried his secrets wrapped in all the bruises that covered his body, and like all hidden truths, they ambushed and destroyed without warning. Walter couldn't let that happen. Not now, not when he had a chance to actually love again. Call him a selfish bastard, but he'd save Mulder even if he had to fight the man down to the bare bones to do it.

Mulder sometimes dreamed of being a fish, a scaly orange creature trapped between glass, bright light always on, its narrow life on display to some parasitic species. The floating beauties of his apartment fluttered in the water, the fins like magic streams of their own, the creatures dependent and fragile. It would be so easy to end it. Change the temperature, forget the food, turn off the heat and filter, they could die in a matter of days, their mouths gaping for air beneath the surface of the world. Sometimes the temptation to put them out of their misery overwhelmed him.

God, he hated himself when he became such a morose son of bitch.

He lay on his back on the sofa, knees drawn up, his hand to his mouth. The steady hum of the pump matched the flow of bubbles, the constant noise almost soothing, the only thing calming him down. He focused on the tank, the darkness around him a cushion, a layer protecting from the reality just beyond his view. He couldn't let himself think of Walter or his own failure or of Henderson hurting him like so many others.

He missed Walter, spoiled by the closeness forged over the last few weeks. Gone, all of it. Ruined. Over. He couldn't afford the pleasure or the exposure. Alone like always, he held himself in, cut himself off before it all got out of hand. He just wanted to sleep, to block out all the terrors, to drift in a place safe from real life. But the dreams wouldn't let him, wouldn't let him have even one goddamn minute of peace. Fuck his subconscious. A lobotomy sounded sweet.

Too many flashes intruded, the memories of Henderson's hands inside his body and on his cock, it all swelled up, out of control, a swirl of greasy smoke.

Gagging, he rushed to the bathroom only to dry heave until the spasms eased enough to let him breathe. He sat on the toilet, his ass and head throbbing. Disgust flanked him and threatened his very survival.

Standing up, he stripped off and turned on the shower.

Again.

Scalding water braced his skin, the heated sting coupled with soap useless to remove the filth, his slimy insides still writhing and slick. Nothing touched the grime he carried, the dirt caked over his shame. The reality of the violation festered and grew, joining with the other times impotence kept him prisoner to another man's violence.

Slamming his fist into the tiles, he did it over and over, watching the blood slick the walls before the water washed it down the drain, the pain meaning nothing special, added to the list of things he hated about living.

By the time the water cooled, he shook in his own skin, still not clean, his plaster cast like a softened scab that refused to fall off. He reached for a towel and nearly fell, only catching himself on the edge of the toilet. His bloody right hand left a trail of bright red on the white ceramic.

Blinking several times, the dizzy spin of the room blurred his vision, the nausea doing an encore. After a few moments, he risked moving again, but very slowly. He avoided the mirror and didn't dare go near a razor. Too tempting to forego whiskers for an exposed and vulnerable artery.

Walking naked into the bedroom, he rummaged around the drawer and pulled out a pair of clean sweats. By the time he dressed, he slumped down on the bed, his head in his hands. He remembered the scrape of smooth steel to his temple, the rub down his jaw as he held the gun there before. A quick shiver came with the memory of the despair and rage as he rushed upstairs to shoot the spy who robbed him of even that private moment.

He squeezed his hand, the phantom whisper of holding the gun almost real again, a tear branding his cheek. Henderson took his service weapons, stole even that option. Mulder didn't know whether to be pissed or relieved, the decision more weight than he could bear at the moment. The world pressed too hard and he rolled onto his side, curled up and just worked at breathing, knowing full well it didn't much matter without Walter.

Three days and no word from Mulder brought Walter to the limits of his patience. He knocked on the door again, waiting just a few minutes before he used his own key. Walking into the dark apartment, he steeled his mind against what he might find. "Mulder?" Going through to the bedroom, he stopped and shook his head. "Jesus."

Mulder lay on his side under the covers, his face bearded, but pale, his hair a wild shadow on his pillows. Keeping his eyes closed, the younger man spoke in a raspy croak. "I've been thinking about you."

"You look like shit. Are you okay?"

"I'm sorry."

"For?"

"For lying, for fucking up, for being a miserable bastard. Pick one and then save the others for later." He shivered and held the covers more tightly around his neck.

Walter stepped closer, kneeling by the bed, his face lined up with Mulder's. Caressing his lover's cheek, he whispered, "It's okay. I know you're sorry." He didn't answer, but cupped Walter's hand with his own, the knuckles swollen and crusted with blood. "What the hell did you do to your hand?"

"Lost a fight with a wall."

"Damn it, you're going to keep on until I really get pissed off."

"Just don't hit me. I don't think I could duck right now."

He shuddered at the words, the casual tone so telling. Biting back his own hurt, he kept his voice even. "You know I'd never hit you, Mulder. I love you."

"I know."

"Then act like it. Tell me what's going on. I've seen you down, but not like this."

Greenish brown eyes finally opened to meet his, the usual intensity dull and unfocused. "I'll be okay. I'm always okay."

"Yeah, right." Petting back the hair, he whispered, "Have you eaten?"

"I'm not hungry."

"When was the last time you ate?"

Mulder stiffened, his eyes closing again before he coughed. After a few moments, he managed to speak quietly. "They pumped my stomach."

"Fuck."

"Used a tube and a lavage kit. Thought I'd choke to death before it was over."

"Mulder, that was three days ago. Are you saying you haven't eaten since before you were captured?"

"Why bother? I can't keep anything down."

"What about fluids?"

"I keep trying."

"Shit." Standing, Walter rubbed his face with both hands, the anger firing up through his skin, his flesh on fire. Several deep breaths later, he settled on his plan. "Come on, Mulder. You need to get up. We're going home."

"I'm already home."

"Our home, Mulder. Not here in this hell hole where you can waste away in the dark, but some place where I can take care of you, where you can take care of yourself."

Before the younger man could protest, Walter leaned over and pulled him up, the resistance he expected not there. Shifting his long legs off the side of the bed, he sat down beside him and pulled him close, his head cradled against his chest. "You scare me, Mulder."

"Don't feel special. I scare myself, too."

"Can you make it to the car?"

"On one condition."

"What?"

"Promise not to ask me about what happened."

"You need to talk about it."

"Promise."

Reluctantly, Walter nodded, his arms still holding on to Mulder. "I promise. You ready?"

The body in his arms sagged suddenly, his breathing wet and choked. "God, Walter, I'm so tired."

He fought his own tears as he gently rocked the man he loved in his arms, the sudden soft cries drowning his heart.

"Feeling better?"

"Some. The chicken soup helped."

"Made from scratch."

"Really?"

"Yeah, in a Chinese fast food kitchen." The faintest of smiles rewarded his efforts and Walter settled down beside his lover on the bed. "You think you can sleep a little bit now?"

"I doubt it." Mulder ran a hand through his hair, his body tense again. "I think I'll take a shower."

"You just had a shower."

"I know, but it didn't help."

Studying the tight face, the eyes staring off at the window, Walter spoke softly. "You've had six showers since you got home this afternoon."

"So?"

"So, nothing. I'm just wondering why."

"It's stupid."

"What?"

"I mean, in my head, I know it's crazy, but everything itches, feels like it needs to be cleaned. No matter how hard I scrub, I can't wash it off."

"Wash what off?"

"Nothing."

Frustrated, Walter pushed a little harder. "Mulder, it's not nothing. What is it that you can't wash off?"

Turning away, his lover scooted down to lie on his side. "You promised not to ask."

"I'm not asking. I'm just trying to understand."

"Just leave it alone. A little sleep and I'll be fine."

"But you're not sleeping." Carefully he ran his hand along Mulder's arm, the muscles flinching under his touch. "I know what it's like to be afraid of closing your eyes. I'm no stranger to nightmares."

"I know." Rolling back over, his body facing Walter, Mulder stared up at him, his face more calm. "Must have been really bad for you to break down and go to a clinic."

"It was. It's better now though." Using the back of his hand, he stroked the side of Mulder's cheek. "It helps to talk about things sometimes, especially dreams. You're a psychologist. You know that."

Scooting closer, Mulder rested his head on Walter's chest, his ear over his heart as his arms wrapped around his middle. "It won't help. My dreams replay the worst parts of my life, only they seem even more real than when it first happened."

"It?"

"Samantha and all the other shit afterwards."

"Like when your father broke your arm?"

"Yeah, and other things. Things I can't talk about now." The body shook in his arms, Mulder's face rubbing his chest, his breathing a little faster than before. "I just can't. Don't ask me."

Massaging his back, Walter cuddled in closer, the sorrow at his lover's pain a fist pounding his heart. "It's okay, Mulder. Just know that whenever you want to talk, I'm here to listen."

"Thanks."

"I love you."

A short pause introduced the words, his voice hushed. "You don't have to keep saying that."

"I like saying it. Does it bother you?"

"A little."

"Why?"

"I don't know. It shouldn't. I mean, on the one hand, it feels good, but on the other, I want to say, what the hell is he thinking?"

"He's thinking you need to hear it more often."

Mulder didn't answer, but gave a quick hug before relaxing. Stretching his neck, he kissed his bruised temple and sang softly with a deep throaty sway, "I love you." The lullaby drifted between them as Mulder finally slept, his battered soul guarded as Walter swore to deserve his trust and make Mulder finally believe in true love that could last forever.

The End