Title: NIGHTMARES I & II Author: aka "Jake" Rating: Strong R (Language, Violence, Adult Situations) Classification: V, Post Ep for Requiem Spoilers: This vignette continues the mytharc storyline and contains references or quotations from The Erlenmeyer Flask, Memento Mori, Patient X, The Red and The Black, Fight the Future, One Son, Amor Fati and of course Requiem. Small nods to Tooms, Revelations, The Unnatural and Millennium. Perhaps others. Summary: The Navajo code-talker words for "Secret" and "Exchange" are "Bah-has-tkih" and "Alh-nahl-yah" -- and might easily be the basis for two nightmares. After all, some experiences are so unbearable, one can only pray they are no more than bad dreams. Disclaimer: The characters Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner, Margaret Scully, Alex Krycek, the Lone Gunmen and CGB Spender are the property of Chris Carter, FOX and 1013 Productions. No copyright infringement intended. This is for fun, not profit. NIGHTMARES I & II (1/1) By aka "Jake" NIGHTMARE I: BAH-HAS-TKIH (SECRET) Location Unknown Summer, 2000 A tangle of corridors wound and twisted and doubled back, looping round and round to places that looked just like this one. Dark, oily, humid chambers. Crowded and cloying and endless. No clean spot on which to rest red-rimmed eyes or bone-weary limbs. Alien in every sense of the word. Despite the countless testimonials to the contrary gleaned from almost two decades of interviews with purported alien abductees, Mulder understood spaceships were not silvery-white, bright and smooth, clean and barren. He'd learned first-hand in Antarctica that extraterrestrial crafts were organic and muggy and unknowably foreign. To stand in one overloaded the senses. Breathing became nearly impossible, had to be concentrated on, not because the air was so goddamn thick it felt like molasses pouring down your gullet, but because to contemplate such a place stalled your lungs. When Mulder stepped from the Bellefleur woods to stand at the spaceship's yawning entrance, the vessel's smell was the first thing he recognized; his polar cap rescue of Scully had introduced him to the stench. Sickly sweet, the odor adhered to his sinuses, clung to the back of his throat. Syrupy. Stomach-turning. It coated his tongue. Settled into his pores. Saturated his hair. He would carry it with him for a long time. Stumbling open-mouthed into the ship's gargantuan antechamber, Mulder gaped at the strangeness of his surroundings. The sight of the high-arching room splitting into barrel-shaped tunnels that snaked away like splayed fingers caused his stomach to roll. Buttresses rising rib-like overhead unbalanced him and he swayed on unsteady feet. The walls dripped with a glossy ooze that made him think he stood in the steaming belly of a freshly gutted carcass. Beside him, the familiar form of the Bounty Hunter transformed the moment they stepped across the threshold, morphing into its more natural state. Gray. Hairless. As wide-eyed as Mulder felt. It all but ignored him and the other abductees, clearly assuming the hapless humans would follow. After all, what choice did they have? Nervous smiles pasted to their faces, the group from Bellefleur shuffled forward, trailing the Bounty Hunter-turned-Alien Rebel down a cave-like hall. Herded along the narrowing corridor, Mulder wondered if his human companions were victims or volunteers. He wasn't even sure of his own role. Had he really made a conscious decision to come here? Or had the choice been made for him? No matter, he now felt like one of the rats led through Hamlin by the Pied Piper. All around, aliens appeared and vanished, scuttling from one place to the next, hurried but methodical. Busy. The sheer number of them shocked Mulder. Humans were the minority here; the ship housed thousands of extraterrestrials. Their profusion made him feel as though he were the interloper, the alien invader. A foreigner among these peculiar strangers. The Bounty Hunter led the group into a DeCon Unit where more aliens waited, suited in aprons and gloves and masks, protecting themselves from direct contact with their human captives. They took the humans' clothes. They wanted the cross Mulder wore around his neck. Scully's cross. "Nooo!" He threw a right and toppled a demanding Gray. Two others grabbed his arms but he shook them off. Before they paralyzed him, he knocked away three more and destroyed several large unidentifiable pieces of equipment, startling the other humans and leaving the DeCon Unit in a shambles. For the time being, the aliens let him keep the cross. Subdued, Mulder and the other abductees were sprayed with antiseptic -- or perhaps it was pesticide. Whatever the decontaminant, it left behind a sticky residue that burned the sinuses and stung the eyes. After being dowsed, Mulder was separated from the others and given a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt. "What, no underwear?" he shouted, only to find he'd been left alone in a small room. Using the clothes as a pillow, he lay naked on the slick floor and slept. * * * Mulder's room was tiny, a mere cell without doors or windows. A pod about four foot square, except that it wasn't square. It was tall enough for Mulder to stand, but just barely. He had no idea how the aliens managed to get him in or out of the thing, although they did so often. One minute he'd be there inside his little room and the next he'd be sitting in a strange chair-like apparatus, held in place by restraints while they collected bits and pieces of him. The first time he awoke in their Chair of Horrors, he hoped to find out that the numerous accounts of bodily harm he'd heard about over the years from countless self-proclaimed alien abductees were as false as their descriptions of the alien craft. He'd just as soon skip any teeth drilling or anal probes, always described in too-gruesome yet strikingly similar detail. He guessed it would be better to remain ignorant of the aliens' procedures than to know ahead of time what brutality they had in store for him. As it turned out, he often wasn't conscious when the aliens conducted their experiments, investigating his body inside and out. He would discover the telltale signs later, after-the-fact: a missing bit of flesh here, a fresh scar there, an ache he hadn't felt before. Sometimes he'd hurt so badly he'd have to curl into a ball and moan until the pain lessened. Other times he could do nothing but cry. But even that was better than being awake when they sliced and diced, carving into him like one of Scully's cadavers. Here they autopsied the living. Many times, he remained awake for the tests and was forced to watch and listen while they worked on him. Shaking uncontrollably, he'd overhear them discuss the fifth and sixth genome, base pairs by definition extraterrestrial. Purity Control. He understood their interest in his rather unique genetic structure, DNA that allowed him his short-lived ability to read minds, anticipate unasked questions, foresee future events. Like Gibson Praise. He tried to tune out their endless, repetitive discussions by replaying his favorite past conversations with Scully in his head. **Mulder, I wouldn't put myself on the line for anybody but you.** **You're the only one I trust, Mulder.** **Shut up, Mulder. I'm playing baseball.** He thought of her written words as well, penned in a journal he was never supposed to read. The only occasion when she expressed the depth of her feelings for him. **That you should know my heart, look into it, finding there the memory and experience that belong to you, that are you, is a comfort to me now as I feel the tethers loosen and the prospects darken for the continuance of a journey that began not so long ago...** "Forgive me, Scully. Forgive *me* for not making the rest of the journey with you." Sometimes other voices would rise unbidden from his memory, surely sparked by the aliens' words. He'd hear Krycek or Diana or CGB. **Hear this, Agent Mulder...listen very carefully because what I'm telling you is deadly serious. There is a war raging, and unless you pull your head out of the sand, you and I and about five billion other people are going to go the way of the dinosaur. I'm talking planned invasion. The colonization of this planet by an extraterrestrial race.** "Resist or serve, Krycek? Too late. Our progenitors were alien; our genesis was alien; we're here because of them; they put us here. My choices have already been made. At least if I'm here with them, Scully is safe. I can be their goddamn guinea pig this time, not her." **There's no need to prove what you are, to prove what's inside you. It's been known for so long.** "What? Diana? Who's known? Smokey? How long? How long!?" **A father has high hopes for his son but he never dreams his boy's going to change the world.** "You black-lunged son-of-a-bitch! What do you know? What the hell have you been keeping secret?" The aliens blinked at his questions, shouted aloud. His desperation didn't stop their work. No matter how hard he tried, it was impossible to ignore the aliens' drills and blades and needles. No voices from his past could block out the stabbing and cutting, the exploring and harvesting, the pain and the unrelenting fear. Preferable to be in the pod. Womb-like and quiet and alone. No rubbery hands sputtering painfully across his scoured flesh. No jolts, pricks, tubes, buzzers. No them, them, them. The pod was by far the lesser of two evils. But the pod was not without its discomforts either. Despite the decontamination procedure endured his first day on board the ship, he shared his cramped quarters with a variety of vermin, most of which he didn't recognize. The sludgy walls of his cell swam with minute balloon-like creatures that stung when they bit him and had an unquenchable thirst for his blood. No matter how many he killed, squashing them with perverse pleasure in his fists, there were always more to take the place of their deceased brothers. The surviving insects suffered more enemies than his stubborn revenge. Tiny flying creatures similar to bats occasionally swooped and fluttered through his cell, gobbling up the balloon bugs. When the flying things weren't feeding, they roosted somewhere above Mulder's head, clinging to a crevice in the pod's slippery ceiling. One day he found a spider. "The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the water spout," he repeated the child's verse over and over again, allowing the panicky arachnid to crawl down his arm and onto his hand. He was careful not to crush it. The creature was terrestrial. Something from home. "Guess we're in this together. Just call me Miss Muffet," he told the spider as it circled his palm for the umpteenth time. "Wanna share my curds and whey?" Beside him on the floor sat an unfinished saucer of food, the only type of food they ever gave him. A thick, liquidy, honey-like substance. It smelled like the ship. It smelled like them. He hated it. * * * **Now is a time of war and stress among the alien nations.** The voice of Cassandra Spender. Was he dreaming? Or simply remembering his first conversation with her when he knew her as Patient X. Maybe she was on board the ship now, communicating telepathically, like Gibson. "Maybe I'm hallucinating." Mulder licked dry lips. **The...the different races -- they're in upheaval. I will be summoned to a place, just like Duane Barry.** "Cassandra?" he called, tipping his head. She sounded so close, so real. But he was alone in the pod. Except for the balloon bugs, the flying things, and the spider. **There is no doubt, Mr. Mulder. I know what I've experienced. I...I have been through the terror and the tests more times than I can count.** "Sorry I didn't believe you the first time we met." **I've had an unborn fetus taken from me.** "Okay, so that's one thing they haven't tried on me. Yet." **I've had an unborn fetus taken from me.** "I heard you." **An unborn fetus.** "I said I--" Mulder sat up straighter. "What does that have to do with me?" **The fetus was implanted into another woman. She raised him as her son, but he was mine first.** "Cassandra?" This was never part of his earlier conversation with her. He hadn't heard this before. **My baby was part of The Project even before he was born, just as I was part of The Project. You see, Mr. Mulder, I wasn't the first successful human/alien hybrid after all. My unborn baby was. That's why they took him. They let me keep Jeffrey but they abducted my first son.** "Your first son?" **Yes. Do you understand what I'm saying?** "No, no I don't." **Why do you think you were brought here, Mr. Mulder? Why do you think you were taken with the other abductees?** "I don't know. I've never been abducted before." **I've had an unborn fetus taken from me. The fetus was implanted into another woman. She raised him as her son, but he was mine first. The first human/alien hybrid. My husband knew. He knew all Their secrets. Don't you see, Mr. Mulder? That baby was *you*.** NIGHTMARE II: ALH-NAHL-YAH (EXCHANGE) Scully's Apartment September 19, 2000 5:14 PM Keys jangling, Scully let herself into her apartment. She dropped an armload of file folders onto the coffee table before shrugging out of her coat. The stack of folders tipped and slid, skidding across the table and spilling onto the floor before Scully could extricate herself from her coat sleeves to stop the avalanche. "Damn." She flung the coat in the general direction of the sofa and stooped to retrieve the fallen folders. Her pregnant belly protested at her sudden movement; the increased size of her growing abdomen insisted she slow down. A fluttering kick reminded her to bend cautiously and so she eased herself onto her knees, putting aside her impatience at the lack of mobility her condition demanded. She carefully scooped file folders out from beneath the table. The files were X-Files. Twenty more dredged from Mulder's endless supply of first-hand accounts of alien abductees. Since Mulder's disappearance in Bellefleur, Scully had methodically combed the details of her lost partner's files, searching for any clues as to his whereabouts. So far, she'd found nothing to lead her any closer to him. The reports told her little beyond the cruelties he might be suffering. The experiments. The pain. His fear. No hints as to his location or how she might find him and bring him home. Forcing herself to once more read through a familiar litany of atrocities, she settled on the carpet and opened the first folder. "Sc-scully?" The rasp of his voice stopped her breath. She lifted her eyes to the corner of the room where a shadow swayed in the kitchen doorway. The familiar silhouette shuffled into a beam of late afternoon sunlight flooding across the livingroom floor. The glare exposed his hollowed eyes, moist with tears. "Oh, my God." Scully struggled to her feet, cursing her new clumsiness. "Mulder!" He waited for her to come to him, too tired to move beyond the threshold. Like a life preserver thrown to a drowning man, her arms wrapped around his waist and he sank into her embrace, his weight nearly toppling her. She held him, kept him upright, listened to the ragged breath hissing from his lungs. His jaw settled on the crown of her head and he rubbed his rough cheek against her hair like a satisfied cat. "Miss me?" "Jesus," the word huffed from her lungs. "Sit down, Mulder, before you knock us both over." She jostled him toward the couch, tugging and steering him as he labored to stay upright on unsteady legs. He dropped onto the couch the moment his calves hit the cushion, relief sighing from his chest. Tilting his head back, he closed his eyes, so cavernous and tired his soft lashes all but disappeared into the reddened crease of his lids. His cheeks were sunken, his skin grayish and unhealthy. He smelled sickly sweet. Wearing only a filthy t-shirt and jeans, his feet were bare and black with grime. "How did you get here?" Scully sat beside him and took an unclean hand into her lap. "Curbside delivery," he murmured, eyes still closed. "Sorry, Scully, gotta sleep." His words skated from dried lips as his jaw went slack. His breathing slowed and Scully stared at the even rise and fall of his chest. Gripping his hand, she tried to convince herself that he really sat beside her. * * * "Yes, sir. He was here when I arrived home," Scully cradled the phone against her neck while she studied Mulder's sleeping form. "How did he get there?" Skinner's impatience crackled through the line. "I don't know, sir. He's sleeping right now. He...he's exhausted. He hasn't said anything about what happened to him." "Is he hurt?" "A few bruises. He needs a bath." "Could be worse then." "I'm going to let him sleep for a while. I'll call you when he's ready to talk." "Good. And Agent Scully, let me know immediately if you need my help." Skinner's offer was sincere, she knew. For more than five months he had been burdened with the guilt of Mulder's abduction and it would be no small relief to learn his missing agent had returned. Saying goodbye, Scully hung up the phone. She had other calls to make, to her mom and the Gunmen. They'd be full of questions she couldn't answer yet. They'd want to come over to see Mulder for themselves, but she'd have to put them off for a while despite their desire to welcome Mulder home. Right now she needed to do what was best for him, even if it meant disappointing Frohike, Byers and Langly. And her mom. She dialed the phone. * * * "Scully?" Mulder stirred for the first time in four hours. "Here." "I...I need a shower." He sat forward and rubbed the heels of his hands into his tired eyes. "Hungry, too." "Food first?" He stared at his black hands and shook his head. "Got to clean off their stink." "I'll make something to eat while you wash." "S'deal." He rose to his feet and teetered dizzily. "Anything in particular appeal to you?" she asked, watching him to make sure he didn't fall. "Anything as long as it isn't sweet. Make lots." He lurched toward her bathroom, stumbling around the coffee table before leaning breathless against the closest chair. "Mulder, let me help." Scully lifted his arm over her shoulder and carefully edged him down the hall toward the bathroom. "You gonna draw my bath, Scully?" His expression showed no sign of the mischievous innuendo she expected. Instead he appeared only grateful. "Maybe I should go away more often." "Forget it. Sit." She propelled him toward the toilet. Elbows on his knees he sat and watched her fill the tub. His eyes followed her hand as she swirled it through the running water, testing the temperature. "Scully? You have something to tell me?" She looked up from the fresh bar of soap she unwrapped and discovered him staring at her bulging stomach. "Oh!" She smiled, unexpectedly shy. "I...I found out the day you left. I'm pregnant, Mulder." "So I see. Did I play any role in this?" Grim-faced he reached out a finger but stopped before he touched her swollen belly. "I think you know better than to ask that question. You're the baby's father, Mulder." Nodding, he let his fingers skim across her stomach. "Let me see," he whispered. "Mulder--" "Let me see," he demanded, plucking at the top button of her blouse, his dirty fingers leaving smudges on the white silk. "All...alright." Standing before him, she slipped one button after the next from their holes until her blouse fell open, exposing the distended ivory swell of her stomach, stretched by the six-month-old fetus in her womb. He splayed his fingers and laid his hand lightly on her skin, his palm hot against the curve of her belly. "When...when will he be born?" he asked, still not smiling but stroking her. Deferential. Reverent. "January. The beginning of January." Mulder sighed and let his hand drop away. Without further comment he yanked his t-shirt over his head, exposing a variety of bruises and scars. "Mulder!" Now it was Scully's turn to explore his flesh with her fingers. Her hands danced delicately over his pocked skin. "We've got to clean these wounds. There's infection." She pulled him upright. His thinness brought tears to her eyes. Fumbling at the fly of his jeans, she unfastened his pants and slid them from the jutting bones of his hips. He wore nothing underneath. She gaped at the dozens of needle marks dotting his flanks and the purple-black bruises painting his thighs and buttocks. He shivered despite the steamy air of the bath. "Come on, get in," she urged him toward the tub. With her help, he managed to climb into the bath and ease himself beneath the hot water. Scully ignored her open blouse while she concentrated on gently soaping Mulder's shoulders, back and arms. He closed his eyes and allowed her to wash him. Tears threatened to spill over her lashes at the discovery of each new cruelty etched into his flesh. His hide was a map of transgressions. Her anger flared at the recklessness with which he had been treated, causing her to stroke him with unrestrained compassion. "Mulder, where's my cross?" She touched his neck. "They took it." * * * "Is there more?" Mulder asked, glancing at the refrigerator. "I could order a pizza." "Could you?" "Mulder, you just ate three help..." she stopped. "I'll order a pizza. What do you want on it?" "Everything." * * * Spooned together, mimicking the last time they lay side-by-side, he held her in her own bed and she savored his naked skin heating the length of her back. He had wanted to make love but fussed about hurting the baby. She suggested this position. Easier for him to control the depth of his penetration. There had been no need to worry; he came in fewer than half a dozen thrusts. But he seemed satisfied to be with her again, to hold her, and she was amazed he had the energy to make love at all. One arm draped protectively around her waist, he drew lazy circles on her swollen belly. "They have a plan, Scully," he whispered into her ear. "Who?" "The aliens." "What's their plan?" "It's all gonna end." "What's going to end, Mulder?" "This." * * * Again he slept. She lay beside him, watching him in the dark. He was changed. Of course he was changed. How could he be the same? **See Scully? The world didn't end.** His New Year's proclamation contradicted his more recent prediction. She hoped he was wrong. Running her hand over her belly, she considered how much they had to live for. The world couldn't end now, could it? Mulder appeared to sleep without dreaming, motionless. He lay so still, she felt the need to check his pulse and make sure he was actually alive. She found a faint rhythm beating beneath her fingers, echoing her own heartbeat and she held onto him with relief. The muscles of his arm fluttered beneath her hand, unexpectedly vibrating her skin like fingernails on a chalkboard. She pulled away and watched his flesh shudder. Tremble. Lurch and slide. Shift. His skin turned gray. Hairless. His eyes opened. His features blurred, returned and blurred once more, flowing into a new form. Her world was ending. A terrible exchange had been made. The alien Bounty Hunter stared at her from across the bed. To Be Continued...