Title: A SIMPLE THING
Author: X-Phylia
Disclaimer: They *are* ours, so sue us all if you dare! 
:) 
Category: MSR, angst
Spoilers: Within/Without, Deadalive
Rate: PG13
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Shrine.
Summary: A tormented, paranoid Mulder finds comfort in a 
simple thing.


"A simple thing"
by X-Phylia

Mulder stirs in the bed, moaning and whimpering in his 
sleep; plagued with visions he wishes were just 
nightmares and not memories. But dreams don't have the 
right to be so real, and the pain they evoke shouldn't 
make his muscles twitch in agony. He screams, he reaches 
out, but he cannot move; his arms and legs are 
immobilized against a hard metal chair, the soft skin of 
his face is torn every time he tries to change his 
uncomfortable position. The bright, blinding light hurts 
his eyes adjusted to the dark and all he can see are 
blurry figures around him. He feels so exposed, so 
humiliated. He is poked, probed, hurt by rough inhuman 
hands and there's nothing he can do to prevent it; he 
trembles from the cold and trepidation of what they are 
going to do next. Over time, pain and fear had replaced 
all other sensations or emotions, wiped-out an otherwise 
perfect memory. He's going to die soon and he knows it.

Scully tries hard, but she cannot comfort him. Mulder 
continues to scream with such desperation that her heart 
aches, and she thinks it's so unfair that she feels so 
powerless once again. After all those months of 
impotence, of not knowing what else to do to find him, 
where else to look... he's right beside her now, 
suffering, and she still can't help him. Sometimes 
Scully believes only his body came back, the Mulder she 
knew was left behind either in the ship or in his grave. 
This man struggles to re-locate himself in the world of 
the living, but something's missing, something vital, 
and she can't make out what it is.

Mulder wakes up drenched in sweat, his throat sore from 
the screaming, his eyes swollen with tears. He gets up 
automatically and rushes to the bathroom, he knows he's 
going to be sick the next minute. This has become a 
routine after he was released from the hospital and the 
numbing effect of the drugs wore out. He is disgustingly 
healthy now so there's no excuse to be admitted again, 
even though there are times he misses having sedatives 
fed up his veins, making him oblivious to a painful 
reality he isn't ready to face yet. He wonders if he 
should ask Scully for something to help him sleep, but 
he's afraid of how she might react to that request. 

His breathing slowly goes back to normal and he washes 
his face, wincing at the burn of recently healed scars 
on his hands and cheeks. He bends over so he won't have 
to see his reflection in the mirror, he's too afraid of 
what he might see. It takes all the self restraint he 
has left not to smash the offending object into shards. 
As he walks back to his room, Mulder wants to remember a 
time when he found comfort and peace in the arms of the 
woman lying on his bed. It's so unfair that he feels so 
lonely once again. After all those months of crying out 
for her, of wishing she were there to take away the 
pain, Scully is right by his side, waiting, and he 
couldn't go to her. His life previous to the abduction 
feels like somebody else's. In his most paranoid times, 
Mulder imagines himself still a prisoner in the spaceship, 
his naked body covered with wires and sensors, and his 
skull penetrated by electrodes sending impulses to his 
brain. What he calls life is nothing but a distorted 
perception of it, realistic but not real. So many things 
don't add up, he feels like a zombie; a living dead 
walking around in search of his soul.

He lays himself back on the border of the bed, as far 
from Scully as he can manage, and she notices his intent 
to stay away. He cries quietly, as if not wanting to 
disturb her sleep, not realizing she's wide awake and 
watching him. Scully begins to think it was a mistake to 
try to force intimacy when Mulder is still so 
emotionally raw, but she has to do something before he 
is lost in his depression forever. It would be the 
mother of all ironies, Mulder alive and physically 
healthy, but irremediably lost to her due to a mental 
illness. An irresistible yearn to hold him and protect 
him fills her whole being, making up her mind.

She crawls closer to him and tentatively calls his name. 
Experience has taught her not to initiate contact 
without warning, he can barely handle being touched at 
all. She finds that so heartbreaking, the things they 
must have done to him to make him so scared even of her 
caresses. Her eyes fill with tears when she remembers 
Mulder snuggling against her after making love, all that 
warm, naked skin for her to adore, and his contented 
sighs as her hands roamed all over it. Now he sleeps 
curled up and fully dressed; socks, sweatpants and long-
sleeved t-shirts. He has become extremely self-conscious 
of his body, he can't stand the sight of the scars left 
by the alien torture. Clothes give him a sense of 
security he didn't have for a long time.

The sound of his name in her lips brings a litany of 
bittersweet memories. It once meant everything to him, 
he couldn't bear the thought of being away from her... 
until it happened. He didn't think he could survive the 
separation... and here he was, alive. He never imagined 
*she* could move on so easily without him... but she is 
eight months pregnant. He needs her to understand how he 
feels, and yet he can't speak about what happened to 
him, there are no words to describe such horror. Mulder 
doesn't remember being 'dead', just like he never 
remembered being in a coma, but he knows he spent three 
months in a coffin buried six feet under and the thought 
terrifies him. What if he had woken up down there? He 
likes to think he would have died immediately of a heart 
attack. Or maybe he would have used the cell phone 
Frohike claims he left in the coffin, because "With you, 
Mulder, you never know. I'm starting to think you're a 
Highlander." He never told Frohike how much comfort he 
takes from that joke. 

Gentle fingers run through his scalp, and strangely 
enough, it doesn't startle him. It feels good, it brings 
nice memories. He used to love it when Scully fondled 
his hair. He recalls quiet evenings eating take-out 
Chinese, after dinner they'd sprawl on his couch and 
he'd lower his head to her lap to watch TV together. 
Scully's hands invariably ended up caressing him 
somehow. Mulder misses that kind of closeness, but feels 
largely inadequate to deserve it in any way these days. 
He's afraid of physical contact, he's been hurt too much 
and his skin is overly sensitive. But the pads of her 
fingers are so soft, so soothing... 

She whispers an old tune that sounds like a lullaby and 
indeed has that effect on him, it calms his frayed 
nerves. Her hand descends to his shoulder, her thumb 
draws small circles on the back of his neck. Mulder 
allows himself to relax a little, lulled by her actions. 
Maybe he is back into the real world after all, he's not 
being projected all this in his mind. Tenderness is not 
a concept the aliens would understand. 

It wasn't such a bad idea to let Scully stay for the 
night, after all. It's hard for him to admit that he 
doesn't need her as a lover, but as the figure that 
would redefine the meaning of life itself. He knows it's 
irrational, but he envies the baby inside her, safe in 
her womb, innocent and unknowing of the horrors in this 
world. His own innocence has been brutally raped and 
destroyed forever, he'd never feel safe again. The sight 
of the stars would always bring him grief and 
desolation, a permanent reminder of his failure.

Scully suffers at his all-too-evident pain. She wonders 
if there is hope for Mulder, if he'd ever get over all 
he went through. Tonight she sees him fighting the fear 
that chained him to the darkness, desperately trying to 
break free. But freedom can be scary after a long 
seclusion. As sad and lonely as he is, Mulder has 
learned to live like this. No one could blame him for 
being afraid of stepping out, he has paid a terrible 
price for the answer he spent his life looking for. He 
can't take any more hurt. When she considers this, 
Scully is immensely grateful for being able to touch him 
again, if only a little.

As she tucks him in, Mulder sighs relieved. She doesn't 
intend to take this farther than he can allow it, and 
her gentle caressing is slowly permeating the thick wall 
he has built around himself. It had taken her almost 
seven years to claw her way to him the first time, how 
long will it take this time? Mulder doesn't want to be 
alone, but will she understand what he needs? And what 
about what *she* needs? Certainly there isn't shortage 
of men willing to do whatever is necessary for her.

He wants to stretch his arms to her and burrow against 
her chest, but he has trouble letting go. So many times 
his mind had played tricks on him, in the ship he'd have 
these wonderful, vivid dreams of Scully's arms around 
him, saving him from the ongoing torture. Her voice was 
clear in his head, her touch warm and soft against his 
abused skin. The fake comfort usually ended with harsh 
lights blinding him; and yet another round of endless 
tests that warned him not to rely too much on his senses 
anymore. The aliens could fabricate very convincing 
perceptions, but in the end, the only thing that was 
real was the pain -both physical and emotional.

Scully senses Mulder's doubts and decides to take the 
first step. She intuits he needs her close, a touchstone 
to find his way back. It doesn't matter if he won't 
whisper beautiful words in her ear, or touch her the way 
he used to, driving her to ecstasy. Tonight is about re-
establishing contact, and there has to be something she 
can give him to lead him home. Still murmuring the words 
of an old song from her childhood, she carefully pulls 
Mulder's shoulder towards her and rolls him to his back. 

Their eyes cross for a fleeting second and Mulder 
immediately lowers his, unable to meet her gaze. Far 
from feeling rejected, she kisses the top of his head, 
accepting his insecurity. When he instinctively tries to 
curl up again, Scully restrains his long, slender legs 
with her own and draws him closer; gingerly guiding his 
head to her shoulder. Mulder jerks and whimpers for a 
while, but she doesn't let him go, and he doesn't try 
too hard. It's like his body is adjusting to a 
temperature shift, his arms are still tightly wrapped 
around his chest. Hers, on the contrary, are fully 
stretched to hug as much of him as she can. After a few 
minutes his agitation subsides and she hears him 
inhaling deeply into the crook of her neck. Scully holds 
back her tears as he nuzzles against her hair and 
relaxes in her embrace. She doesn't think she ever loved 
this man so much.

Mulder feels the fog starting to clear as he is claimed 
by exhaustion. His lips curve in a brief smile. Amongst 
the complexity of this life, of the previous one and of 
the frightening gap between them; a simple thing has 
changed the odds. The betrayal of his main senses has 
been redeemed by the one that hasn't been tampered with, 
that functions just like he remembers it. The first 
glimpse of reality he can really trust comes in the form 
of a smell. Mulder takes another deep breath and 
rejoices again in the unmistakable scent of Scully's 
shampoo, a distinct memory of nights spent in her arms, 
when they both thought nothing and no one could ever 
tear them apart. Her soft perfume acts like a balm on 
the rest of his senses, so basic and genuine that no 
alien electric impulse could possibly duplicate.

He cries now with sweet relief, not bitter angst. He 
feels her tears slide from her cheeks down to his own, 
close as they are. Maybe soon he'll recover enough to 
let her touch him -*really* touch him- but tonight he 
is contented with the smell of her comfort, something 
that had transcended the boundaries of torture and death 
intact, unblemished.

Such a simple thing.