He hadn't expected to be so afraid. The humiliating terror utterly obliterated his fabled passion for the truth and made him want to beg for release, to offer his tormentors whatever they might ask in exchange for an end to the pain and the fear. He is sickened by the knowledge of what he would have done to save himself. But he was never given the chance. There had been no one to ask.

He can feel it now, the soul-deep, suffocating panic that seized him when he opened his eyes for the first time. He hadn't remembered closing them. It seemed that he had gone from standing in blinding white light to lying in murky dimness in the space of a heartbeat with no sense of how the change had occurred.

The restraints had been applied sometime before he awoke, no doubt to avoid the inconvenience of having to drive bolts through thrashing limbs or lace wires through a face twisting in horror. He quickly learned the consequences of even the slightest voluntary movement.

Involuntary movement was another matter. He remembers pulling against the restraints, oblivious to their meager contribution to a pain he could never have imagined and would never be able to forget. His fingertips drift unconsciously over the scars, tangible proof of the unimaginable. After the first time, all he had wanted was for it to stop. He would have done anything to get away. Anything. The waiting between tests was nearly as bad as the tests themselves. Silent, sweating terror. Then he would hear the mechanical whine that signaled another session and every muscle and nerve in his body would tense in anticipation. Whatever illusions he had harbored about being brave and stoic evaporated in the first minute of the first test.

He remembers dying. Drifting on the edge of consciousness, he had had a vision of Scully. He was looking up at her from the bottom of a deep, narrow pit. She was smiling down at him, her arm around the waist of a man he didn't recognize. They looked... content. Then Scully bent down and picked up a handful of soil from a pile next to the pit. The man with her did the same and they held their hands over the hole, letting the soil fall between their fingers. Particles fell into his eyes, blinding him. When he was able to see again, they were gone. The next test began a few minutes later and he simply gave in to the darkness. There was nothing left to hang on to.

"Mulder? Are you okay?"

Her voice startles him and he quickly dons the neutral expression that has been his armor. He pushes himself up carefully from the chair.

"Yeah, for a guy who was in a coffin not too long ago, I'd say I'm doing pretty damn good." He tests his balance for a moment before crossing to his bed. "I don't quite have my legs under me... yet."

She's here with the doctor to tell him the good news. He's going to be fine, even the scars are healing and will soon be invisible. The doctor asks him how he feels and he gives a standard smartass response. The doctor is puzzled and Scully smiles uncertainly. After a few more awkward moments, the doctor leaves them alone.

"Mulder, I can take you home this afternoon if you feel up to it. All you need now is rest and you can get that at home more easily than here."

She's trying so hard that it makes him want to weep. He smiles instead.

"Ready when you are, partner." She isn't his partner anymore, not in any sense of the word, but old habits die hard.

"I brought you some clothes, Mulder. Do you want to get dressed now?" She holds out the duffle bag he always kept in his trunk for emergencies. Like those nights he stayed at her apartment after working late on a case, nights that had begun to include mornings in her bed. He pushes the memories away, shaking his head in a way that brings a puzzled frown to her face.

"Mulder? Is something wrong?"

He barks out a humorless laugh. "You do have a gift for understatement."

"Mulder, I can't begin to imagine what you're going through but you know I'll do anything I can to help you if you'll just let me in." The tears are back in her voice though not yet in her eyes. He hates her tears. They remind him how much she has changed, how little he knows about her now.

"I'm in perfect health, remember?" He doesn't mean that to sound like an accusation but that's exactly the way it comes out. He watches her eyes as the barb finds its mark, dislodging a single fat teardrop which she quickly brushes away.

"I'll be back to pick you up in an hour." She's almost whispering, eyes on the floor. As she turns to leave he reaches out to touch her shoulder then changes his mind, but not before she sees his gesture. It makes her pause for a moment, her hand on the doorknob, waiting. When he remains still and silent, she turns back to face him.

She searches his face and parts her lips to say something but he interrupts before she can speak. He can't ask the questions and he's afraid she's about to volunteer the answers.

"I'll be ready." He turns his back to her and begins to go through the duffle, silently begging her to leave him now. He doesn't think he can hold it in much longer and wants desperately for her to get away from him.

He turns as he hears the door close softly behind her. The aching emptiness is more pronounced when she's with him than when he's alone and he feels it ease a bit now. Slow deep breaths lessen the tightness in his chest and push back the darkness one more time. He pulls his clothing out of the bag and begins to dress.

He's going home.

***

end