Title: Becoming Judas
Author: darkstar (clone347@aol.com)
Rating: pg-13 violence
Classification: msr, angst, post-colonization
Disclaimer: inserted here is the obligatory "not mine, never were and i'm not making any money" speech for the benefit of all those greedy Fox executives, *none* of which will be on *my* Christmas card list. :)
Note: a world of thanX to Suzanna, Christine, and LixyQ Ziut for their patience, encouragment, and words of wisdomon this. you guys are awesome!
Summary: In the nightmarish realm of earth after colonization, Mulder is offered everything he wants if he betrays everything he has ever believed.

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becoming judas 1/12
darkstar
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Two thin bracelets of blood adorned his wrists, only slightly less garish than the tight metal handcuffs that bit into his flesh. He shoved the pain they caused in the same place he stowed the rest of the agony drowing his body. His teeth sank into the soft skin inside his lip, trying to keep from crying out as his captor jerked him forward, embedding the steel even deeper into his wrists. Another slant and it would be fatal. He found the thought oddly pleasant.

Quick, painless death would be a sweet mercy compared to the horror waiting for him behind the unmarked door at the end of the hall.

The Chamber. The place where they took you when you weren't coming back. The place where you could scream all you wanted but relief never came. Evil radiated from that room. Like it radiated from the man dragging him inch by inch into the darkness.

"No...please mister...I haven't done anything wrong...." His fear doused the dying embers of heroism and he began to blubber like a baby. "Please m-mister...i'm just thirteen... !Please!"

The man might as well be deaf. The dull thud of his boots on the cement floor never quickened, never slowed, each step multiplying the boy's terror a hundred fold. His captor wore the flesh and blood mantle of a man, but humanity was one trait long dead to the flat hazel eyes staring so intently into space.

The boy bowed his head, a film of tears that he could not wipe away filling his eyes. They blurred his vision, like he was looking at the world through a water drop, until they escaped in hot rivers down his cheeks. He may be old enough to hold a rifle and fight in the Resistance but he was too young to die. Too young...

They paused a moment at the door, just long enough for the man to punch in a four digit acess code. The metal panel slid open. The boy wished he had enough food in his belly to throw up, to purge the bitter taint of terror from the back of his throat. He wished his lungs would unfreeze so he could scream or breathe or cry or even pray....

His captor let go of his shackles and shoved him into the room. The boy half-ran, half-stumbled a few stepsbefore collapsing to his knees, retching violently. His eyes rolled back, wide with terror, reeling around the room in a drunken arch. Actual human beings were in the room...old men in suits staring at him in frigid detachment, devoid of any sympathy for another of their race. Other "humans" began to mutate reveal hideous creatures with smooth grey skin lined with a thin layer of slime and huge obsidian black eyes. Eyes that seemed to suck in all the light in the room.

Then one of them moved. His brain shrieked for him to run, to flee, to escape the pure menace of the eyes and the alien behind them. His body refused to move, transfixed with utter horror as four inch claws slid out on the creature's fingertips, glinting in the dim light. His pulse beat faster and faster and faster until all he could hear was the thunder of his heart echoing through his brain as the thing slit it's own wrist, holding it so the blood fell on him.

The boy tried to squirm away, but there was no way to avoid the oily black liquid that splattered his shirt. It was cold...slick...*alive*. He realized in horror that it was moving, pooling over his rib cage. Then it melted into his skin.

A searing pain ripped up from his gut like a bolt of lightening before exiting his body in a shriek more animal than human. He could feel...*them*...a thousand tiny worms crawling through his body. He saw them burrowing under his skin...up his arms....into his brain....

The boy's screaming was cut short as the virus invaded his brain, rendering him a twitching heap of flesh and bone on the floor. The alien cocked his head in mild curiosity then his face resolved back into his human form and he rejoined his comrades.

From the shadows of a corner the man watched the nightmare from behind the chiseled stone mask of one who had grown accustomed to horror. It wasn't until after the medics came in, loading the body onto a cryolitter for transportation to any one of the many gestation facilities that he stepped into the light.

"I believe you owe me something." he said, his voice soft like the whisper of a dagger along satin and just as dangerous. One of the humans, a pasty old man smoking his third cigarette of the meeting, nodded, a smile of vague satisfaction creasing his worn face. "Indeed we do." He inhaled smoke from his cigarette and let it trail in gray tendrils out his nose.

"You can pick up the bounty at the door, *Agent* Mulder." Mockery was a privilege belonging to the victors. And he had, after all, defeated his nemesis, turned the bloodhound into a lap dog running forth at beck and call.

Mulder nodded in deference then turned and silently left the room, blind to the child's blood smearing the floor behind him.

*************

Ten months earlier:

The room was filled with the sticky-sweet odor of sweat, dust, and stale air as old as the building itself. Sunlight filtered in through numerous cracks and chinks in the walls and flooded in from the windows, transforming the room into a tawny landscape of golden light and gray-brown shadow. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of her face as she divided her attention between the street and the gun she was cleaning.

The sun outside burned her eyes and the metal burned her fingertips, but by now she was used to both. This was her ritual, one of the only things she made routine anymore. The simple act of rubbing away dust then reloading was valuable far beyond the better protection a well-cared for weapon would bring. The feel of her gun in her hand was a constant reminder that Dana Scully could still control something in her life.

Outside the noon sun poured out its wrath on the scarred face of a dying world, leeching to color from the landscape until all that remained was the tan of dried out soil and the sickly blackish-green of trees that had gone far too long without rain. The sky was an unforgiving blue, and cloudless, giving the illusion of peace when there was none to be found.

The little town was trapped somewhere between the brown and the blue, a dusty collection of buildings as worn as the rest of the landscape. A paved road reminiscent of a time long passed away snaked towards it then curved away at the last moment, as if to avoid the town if possible. The whole scene looked like a cut out from an old Western movie. Maybe they were out west. All the terrain looked the same nowadays.

The people mirrored the buildings- weather-beaten and tired. Even the young looked old, and the old seemed ancient. She knew that all but the youngest children would bear the memories of a time short eternities ago when each of them had better lives- real jobs, plenty of food, clean water. Those memories were something like fairy tales now, told at night to wide-eyed toddlers who couldn't imagine such luxury. There were other stories as well. Stories of the silver craft that swooped down from the heavens, of the swarms of bees spreading a new Black Death over the face of the earth, of the nightmares that rose from the very bodies of anyone who became ill. Of highly sophisticated methods of genocide, aided by some who even dared to call themselves human. Of near extinction, prevented only by complete and unconditional surrender.

She knew these were stories the children did not hear. Life was bleak enough for them the way it was. They did not hear that half of them would be taken to laboratories or sold as slaves before they reached the age of twelve. Nor were they told about Earth's growing attempts at covert resistance, for it might plant seeds of free thought in their minds. Horror of horrors, she thought to herself, the bitterness in her mind never disturbing the mask of calm over her face. Free thought was dangerous not only for the individual but for the entire community. The very fact that the town was still in existence meant that the people had sacrificed much to survive, too much to cash it all in on some hollow dream of freedom. Not to mention that any aid to "counter-revolutionaries" would result in the annhilation of every man, woman and child without mercy.

That was the very reason she read suspicion and downright hostility on those who noticed her watching them. Scully didn't suppose she could blame them. If it was her family on the line she'd be wary of strangers too. But then all the family she had left was the resistance. Her sole baby was the Sig Sauer 9 mm her fingers caressed so lovingly. She could hollow out a nickel from five hundred yards easily. She considered herself a good mother.

Counter-revolutionaries. Such a nice, positive sounding way to condemn thousands of dissidents to any one of a hundred deaths. And most of them merely perceived threats slated to be weeded out just to be cautious. Not like her. She was a real threat, or at least the Colonists seemed to think so, and as a result there was not a place in the whole planet safe for her. Not even this little town, as sleepy as it seemed.

She turned away from the street, finished with her task for today, to see a chipped mirror. The view startled her, and her reflection jumped when she did. Had it been three months since she had last seen a mirror, or four ? Not, she thought to herself, that there was much of anything to see.

Dulled hair, falling just to the bottom of her shoulder blades, dyed brown and pinned away from her face with two somber black barrettes. Paper thin skin that had long ago lost it's ivory pale to the sun and sand and wind. A simple charcoal gray dress barely managing to hang onto a gaunt frame that bordered skeletal. Eyes the color of faded blue satin. It was like a stranger had inhabited her body. Only her eyes remained the same, and yet even they were different, haunted by the years of one who has seen too much too soon.

She rolled onto her stomach, burying her face in the musty maroon quilt, and emptied the contents of her lungs in a long, slow sigh. For her, life after colonization was something of an let down. It had taken so long to arrive and then it was over so fast she found herself wondering exactly when her life had collapsed into this depressing montone of existence. When Mulder came to get her from her apartment, at the very beginning of things, with a story that she didn't want to believe? When it turned out he was right, and they could never go home because of the price on both their head ?

When she had found what was left of her family's bodies and together with Mulder killed the monsters that had gestated from them?

The thrill was definitely gone and now even the jagged arrows of reality failed to penetrate her defenses. Or at least never enough where she'd let it show.

There was a creak of wood and a blast of hotter air as the door opened and footsteps padded across the floor. Her fingers curled around her gun, bringing to up dead level with the intruder's chest as the rest of her body twisted around to see who it was. A breath later, the tension in her eyes drained away and she dropped the gun beside her.

"Mulder...." His name fell from her lips as a sigh more weary than she had ever wanted. Truth be told, she was bone tired. Tired of running and hiding, and pretending to be someone she wasn't just because there was a price on her head. Tired of town after dirty town, night after night spent on the ground or in cheap motels. So tired but he didn't have to know.

"Aw c'mon Scully." White teeth flashed out of the stubble covering his chin as he tossed her a smile. "You don't have to sound *that* happy to see me."

She smiled in return but it barely reached her lips. Mulder watched her out of the corner of his vision as he set the brown paper bag that held dinner on the table. It was still strange to see her like this, a long-haired brunette, but the disguise was necessary. Up until now he had thought it was working. They had been running so long, and he could feel more than see her weariness. She wasn't the only one that wanted to stop. He had nutured the tiniest of hopes that this time, this town. they could find a resting place, if only for a little while. His face fell into a grimace as he studied the piece of white paper in his hands. That hope was gone.

"What is it Mulder?" Her voice pentrated his thoughts, already sensing something was wrong. She knew him too well for either of their goods at times.

"When I went out to get supplies I found this posted in the town square." Without turning around he handed her the paper, unable to face her reaction to the fact that the hunters had caught up with them once again.

Scully's first impluse was to scream, then to bolt for the door and never stop running. She didn't move. Or make a sound, as her eyes studied the black lines of print with a practiced detachment.

WANTED FOR HIGH TREASON AGAINST THE STATE !!!

The headline shouted the words out like a medieval herald in tall, bold lettering. Underneath was two names, and two sketches of the crimnals. Dana Scully was on the left side. Fox Mulder was on the right. Anger at the injustice of it all closed her fist around the sign, crumpling it into a little ball. Mulder was waiting, back turned, for her answer.

"Sketch artists these days." She shook her head and tried to infuse a casualness that wasn't there into her words. "I look at least twenty pounds heavier than I am and did you see what they did to your nose?"

It was like a heavy weight had been lifted off the room, and he turned around, smiling wryly. "It can't be much of an exaggeration there."

Scully laughed out loud just to prove to herself that she could. The sound tinkled like broken glass across the air then shattered into silence. She took a deep breath and freed a nagging question from her mind.

"When do we leave ?"

"Tomorrow." Mulder hated himself for having to break the news, but better him than a Colonist Bounty Hunter. "It's too dangerous to stay here long. I tore down all the posters I could find but I might have missed one. Someone could ID us." "I thought we'd be safe here." Scully heard herself accuse him but it wasn't him she was angry with. It was the faceless men who dangled her life on a very short chain.

He stopped unpacking as her words cut straight to his bone. "I thought we were."

She stood to her feet and crossed the room to stand beside him, the floor warm on her bare feet. "Where to this time?" She rearragned the ration containers into a little pyramid as she talked, an old trick she had learned to avoid full impact of a situation. You take your mind off it by little meaningless things that don't require thought. Not thinking can be a good thing.

"South, I think. Try and make the border. The Colonists have much less of a presence in South America."

It was a good idea. The thinking part of her brain quickly dissected it and found no fault. "How close are they this time?"

He shrugged. "I'm not sure. I'm betting they still don't know we're here or we'd be sweating bullets right now. Could be they're just fishing for leads. I mean, you have to admit, your disguise has worked everywhere so far."

"Huh." Scully half-smiled. "I've almost fooled myself." A little voice in her head reminded her again that the situation at hand needed to be dealt with, and she sank into a chair. "So we leave tonight." Personally she hated the thought of spending another night running through the desert, but survival came with a price and this was just one part of it. "As soon as it's dark."

Mulder regarded her carefully before he answered. They had been on the run for nearly a year, but the past month had been the hardest yet. Most of the time they had ran at night and slept during the day, on foot because the few cars left attracted unwanted notice. Sometimes capture had seemed inevitable but they had always escaped. Not once had he heard Scully even say she was tried. He should have known that was a sign that the strain was catching up with her, that she was becoming exhausted. Mulder kicked himself for not noticing it earlier. Of all their enemies, exhaustion was one of the most deadly because not only did it sap your strength, it drained your mind and made you lose focus. Losing focus led to mistakes. Mistakes led down a one way road to the prison camps.

"No." he said, noticing the surprise arch in her eyebrows. "We can leave tomorrow morning. It'll give us both time to rest up."

Nothing changed about her expression, except a subtle shift in her eyes, the color melting from light blue to sapphire for one instant. She liked the idea. "Fine with me." A shadow of worry crossed her forehead. "What if a bounty hunter shows up in the mean time?"

He smiled as he pulled his sawed-off shotgun from out of the shopping bag and checked to see if it was loaded. "We'll be ready." It was his new weapon of choice, although Scully preferred to stick with her Bureau-issue handgun. His gun was harder to conceal, but it made up for it by the raw firepower. He could keep her safe this time, with this gun. Setting the weapon carefully on the table, he picked up one of the ration boxes and tossed it to Scully.

"So, what do you want for dinner- beans, beans, or beans?"

*************

Boss Gordon was the Marlboro Man aged a couple years
past billboard prime. His hair remained jet black, but the
stubble of his beard was salt-and-pepper gray. His skin was
weathered until it was like leather or the hide of one of the deer
he sometimes killed. There was no mistaking the intelligence
glinting in his sharp black eyes, or the strength in the muscles
rippling his skin. The man watched his face carefully,
looking for any reaction to the wanted poster he had handed
him a moment ago.

"The man, he is familiar, but the woman could be anyone."
Gordon drawled, his hand running up and down the length of
his shot gun at the same time. It was an action no doubt designed
to make strangers nervous but the man had been around guns
longer than he could remember and it was more amusing than
disturbing. "We've had some strangers here recently, but I
can't rightly say they fit this here description."

"Then you'll be doubly interested in what I have to say.
Both are here. Staying in that motel right across the street."
The man gestured to the boarding house. "And we both know
how serious that could be for your town."

If the news shocked Gordon at all, he recovered before it
showed, more angry than afraid. He picked up his shot gun
and clicked the safety off it. "Why don't we just go see about
that ?" he growled. "If you're right, us locals will take care of
them fine. No need to bring your people in on it. We're
law-abiding, loyal citizens. We have our own ways of taking
care of trouble."

The man laid one hand on Gordon's shoulder in a gesture
meant to show comraderie. "I don't see the need to work it any
other way." He smiled broadly. "Think of this as nothing more
than advice from a friend. But as a friend, I say wait until night.
She shoots like a sniper and he has eyes like one. If they so
much as get a hint you're coming, you'll be faced with a small
battle trying to bring either of them in alive." The man glanced
over at the boarding house. "Chances are he'll be picking your
men off through the window while she'll be running out the
back, if he can convince her to leave- which isn't likely.
The two of them have taken down more than their share of
strike teams."

"You talk like you have personal experience."

"Let's just say I have had some scores to settle with both for
quite some time."

Gordon forced himself to relax and regarded the man in
new eyes.He was near six feet, with eyes that shifted between
almond and coal black, like a jungle cat. Gordon decided that's
what the man was, a predator long used to the thrill of the chase.
But the hunt had cost him something, so he noticed.
The hand that held his shoulder was real enough but the
other was shiny like plastic.

Krycek noticed Gordon's scrutiny and released his
shoulder to pull the glove tighter over his prothestic hand. He
turned to find the cantina and a pretty girl. The hard part of his
job was over. Now all he had to do was sit back and watch the
fireworks.

*************

The night was restless, hot and too silent for either of their
tastes. Scully lay in the bed, pretending to attempt sleep, but
instead watched Mulder as he paced back and forth across the
room, the moonlight slipping through the blinds to paint stripes
across him. She could see his face twisted into the familiar
grimace of deep thought, his teeth pulling at the skin of his
lower lip as the wheels of his mind raced at warp speed. The
muscles in his arms and shoulders were tensed. He was worrying
again, for her, for both of them. Once he got started, he'd be at it
all night.

"Mulder." Her voice was soft in the darkness, a whisper.
"C'mon and get some sleep." It had been awkward at
first, sharing a bed, but after about three weeks of taking
turns with floor shifts they had both decided it was the
easiest way. Besides, she trusted him where she wouldn't
trust any other man and knew that if anything besides
sleep was on his mind, he would keep it to himself.

He stopped to face her. "You're supposed to be asleep
Scully." His voice chided her gently.

"And you're not ?" She sat up in bed, her hair falling around
her face in a wave of tangled curls. Mulder was glad it was night
so she couldn't see him staring. *She is so....* Words were
elusive and hard to find. All that he knew was she looked like
a silver goddess in the moonlight, and he didn't know whether to
hold her or worship her. He settled on watching her, but it
wasn't nearly the same.

"No. One of us has to keep watch. It might as well be me."
His voice left no room for argument. She might as well
let him play the white knight....goodness knows her body
craved the rest.

His reply melted into the thick and heavy silence of a
dark summer night. She brushed a rebellious strand of hair
out of her face before she spoke again. "Do you ever get tired?"
she asked him. "Not sleep tired. Tired of the running and
the killing."

"Every day of my life."

"I always feel like I need to wash my hands." she said,
holding her hands out in front of her. "Like the blood won't
come off, even after it's gone." Scully looked up at him.
"In the past month I've killed more men than I ever did in my
whole FBI career. And the thing is, now I don't even know
why I'm killing them. For survival? For this?" She gestured
around the room. "Is it really worth the death?"

"Don't think of them as men, Scully." Mulder told her
quietly. "We do what we have to do to fight back. That's
what it's all about. Not just survival."

"Life has to be better than this somewhere, doesn't it?
Some place where we can be normal again." Normal. She
had only dim memories to remind her what the word even
meant.

"I don't know about you but I never did fit the normal
description all that well." Mulder sat down on the bed beside
her, easily covering her tiny hand in his. "I know what you
mean though." His voice was low and urgent, like honey
over gravel, the only "normal" thing left in her world. "And
we can find that place." It was not an idle wished breathed
into air. It was a solemn promise. "Far away from this
wasteland and this death. And you won't have to wash
away the blood."

"Sounds good to me." She smiled faintly. "Let me know
when you get there, okay?"

"Why can't you ever believe me?" Mulder asked her,
noting the wistful glow behind her eyes. "You want to, but
you don't."

<Where did he learn to read me like that?> The curves of
her lips flipped downward in a frown and she pulled her hand
away. "You're right. I want to, Mulder, but I find it a little
hard. We've had extremely good luck this long, and idle
dreams aren't going to keep us out of the camps." He started
to interrupt her, but she silenced him by placing one finger
on his lips. Her hand dug under her pillow until she found her
gun. Holding it up, she let the metal drink in the moonlight.

"This is our future Mulder. You can dress it up, and idealize
it, and pretend we're fighting for the greater good all
you want, but this is it. This is us. We will run and we will
fight and we will kill until we die and then it will be over.
Or even worse we'll be shipped off to one of those death
camps they scare children with rumors about. You'll be
executed and I'll be dissected. One lab rat, coming up." She
traced the metal edge with her finger. "Those who live by
the gun...." She placed the barrel against her temple. "Die
by the gun."

Mulder closed his hand around hers, lowering the
gun until it sat in her lap. "Point taken." She redefined stubborn,
and it hurt to see her falter under a world of burdens simply
because she insisted on carrying them all herself. "Scully." He
cupped the side of her face in his hand, knowing that the heat of
her words was not meant for him, but for the same people he
cursed in his nightmares. "Go to sleep. You're tired, and
you're angry, and it makes for a bad combination. Don't
even think about the camps. You aren't going there. I won't
let you."

The intense sincerity in his tone crumbled her walls just
enough for her body to remind her of the overwhelming urge
to sleep. Mulder was right. She could keep herself safe. And
if she ever faltered, he could keep her safe too. He always did.
She squeezed his hand one last time and then sank back
against the pillows.

"G'night Mulder." she murmured, already slipping into
dreamland. "Wake me...if you....tired." Her eyelids floated shut
and she was in oblivion.

He was loathe to leave her side. The empty half of the
bed beckoned him, making him keenly aware of how long
it'd been since he slept through the night. There was no one
else to keep watch, but if he just closed his eyes and rested
for fiteen minutes what harm could it do....Mulder was halfway
to the pillow when he jerked away, rubbing his eyes with
his hands.

Sleep was not an option, no matter how seductive. He picked
up his gun and resumed his path across the floor, not even
bothering to cover his yawn. It was going to be a long night.

*************

The air was clogged with smoke and fog and death, the
lining of his throat burning more and more with every stolen
breath. A wall of fire, worked it's way up the streets of downtown
Washington DC, devouring everything in it's path. Mulder was
running down the street as fast as he could, just one body in a
sea of panicked humans although he alone was pushing against
the flood, pushing toward the fire despite the fear that ate his
stomach like acid. Overhead, the stars fell to earth, taking the
form of spaceships. So much for the truth being *out there*. It
was here. And he didn't care. All he felt was fear of the fire,
but even that succumbed to concern for the woman whose
hand he had somehow lost in the confusion.

"Scully!!!" His cry was swallowed up by the roar of the
fire and the screaming of the crowd. Where was she? How
could she have slipped away so easily?

The waves of people parted before him as if by magic,
just enough so he could see her. She slumped unmoving on
the pavement even as the fire drew closer and closer. Mulder
shoved his way toward her with renewed intensity, desperate
to reach her. His throat clenched in horror as man came
walking out of an alley scarce feet away from the fire, his
attention focused solely on Scully. Mulder could only watch
as he lifted her helpless body into his arms, her blood soaking
his clothing. The man looked at Mulder, his face split in a
leering grim. It wasn't just any traitor. This Judas had a name,
had a face. "Leave her alone Krycek!" His curses, prayers,
and threats were lost in the pandimonium, but her scream
scraped against the burnt velvet of the sky to echo in his ears
as the crowd surged ahead, pushing him away from her.

"Mulder!"

The crack of a gunshot drowned her scream.

************

The sound bridged the void between his nightmares and reality, jolting him awake as the report of the gun shot slid like a bolt of lightening down his spine. His eyes flew open, adjusting to the darkness, even as his hand grasped for a gun that wasn't there. < !!Wasn't there!!>. In the murky black he could barely make out the shapes of strange bodies crowding the room, of a dark mass falling away from Scully, clutching his stomach as two came to take his place. The thunder of her gun spit bullets amid yellow sparks, but the larger of the two men grabbed her wrist and wrenched it away from her.

"Make the little witch pay !" a rough voice came from the darkness. "She killed Bernie and Tomas is wounded too."

The next thing Mulder heard was Scully's scream of rage as the goons rushed to follow orders, the guttural cry quickly changing into a sound of pain as her slight frame kicked and writhed against the larger men. Adrenaline mixed with the sudden fury of a typhoon cauterized his veins, propelling him through the hands that reached for him, onto the bed. Mulder let his momentum carry his foot full force into the solar plexus of the nearest enemy, deflating him like an oversized balloon.

He grasped Scully's shoulder's and pulled her close to him, barely managing to hang on as the second man slammed a meaty fist into his face. Shaking his head to sling the blood away from his eyes, he felt her fingernails sliding down his arms and realized they were trying to drag her away again. A torrent of words poured from her mouth, either cursing or praying. Probably both since he didn't recognize any of *those* adjectives from the Hail Mary. She screamed again, a cry born not of fear but of anger, and he found himself cursing too as her body slid against her will closer to the edge of the bed and the shadow strangers.

Their hands met in one last desperate effort, fingers lacing until the joints were white. Scully became the focal point for a human tug-of-war. Her face was turned toward him, whiter than the sheets beneath them, but her eyes shone for one instant with something beside anger. They glowed bright with one stab of terror that pierced him to the core as her fingers begin to slip away.

It was a heroic battle but one they had lost from the start. Strong hands surrounded him, pummeling his body like so many iron mallets as they pried his fingers loose. He was losing his grip....and in a heartbeat she was gone, wrenched away as a giant shadow hauled her off the bed by her ankles. There was an audible *thunk* as her head struck the wooden floor, followed by the sickening thud of a boot striking flesh.

"Take that, sow." Another thud, this time followed by her sharp gasp and a mangled curse hurled defiantly at the man.

Sheer hatred turned Mulder's blood to fire, and he lunged toward the tall brute that had kicked her, planning to crack his skull open and present his brain to Scully on a silver platter. He never made it. There were too many others, waiting to pin his arms behind him and shove him to the floor.

His face collided with the floor in a solid smack, knocking the contents of his brain around. Under the bed he had a clear view to Scully, just in time to see the ogre pull her up by her hair onto her knees. His hand snaked out toward the edge of the bed, hoping to pull away, but a heavy bone crushed his effort and almost did the same to his fingers. The same boot or one much similar to it delivered a punishing kick to his ribs, emptying his lungs of air. Mulder abadoned all hope of resistance in favor of another breath of air, gasping as his arms were twisted back behind his back with such force the joints popped. Something rough like rope chagged the skin of his wrists, nearly cutting off the circulation, as a voice hissed in his ear.

"You want to see what's going on ? Fine. We can watch it together." The floor slid away underneath him as he was dragged past the edge of the bed, out to where he could see what the giant and his friends were doing.

The giant was taking his turn in the fun, and from what Mulder could see he had forced Scully to her knees in front of the man she shot. A large pool of blood was collecting on the man's chest, and her muscles quivered as she tried to resist the man's efforts to push her face in it.

"You see this? That man was my brother. He had a wife. And a kid." Even the moonlight couldn't soften the ugly hate written across the man's features. "You wanna take a good look at what you done? C'mon, a little blood never hurt anyone."

Scully turned her face to the side as the nauseating smell of warm blood hit her head on. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Mulder straining against no less than five men, could see dark lines of crimson begin to form around his wrists as the rope rubbed away his skin. She had to get out of this nightmare before the giant had her face in the blood.

She paused for a moment, gathering her strength, and then whipped her whole body to the side, out of the man's hold. Scully rolled to her left, snapping her leg out to catch the man in the stomach. He grunted, doubling over, and she used the opportunity to swipe his left leg out from under him, toppling him like an overgrown bush. Face down onto his brother's body. Shock of what she had done numbed her senses until she found herself on her feet, the joints in her arms screaming as two men bound her hands behind her back. The giant rose to his feet, blood dripping from his face and hands, then lunged at her with nothing less than murder in his eyes.

Out of the darkness the familiar shadow of Mulder's body appeared in front of her. She could see his muscles tense as the man's fist connected with his body, the force behind the punch sending them both onto the floor. Obviously certain members of the crowd were beginning to worry about the survival of their prisoners, because she found herself yanked to her feet once more and swiftly herded toward the door.

The rope around Mulder's wrists bit into his raw flesh as the men jerked him forward, the static electricity of pain doing little to clear his head. All that remained of consciousness was a cumbersome burden, a view of the world dominated by tiny red balls of pain dancing before his eyes. His lower lip was split in two by the giant's final punch, and now the metallic tang gagged him as he began to choke on his own blood. His feet began moving down the stais but the rest of his body wasn't as willing to please, his legs folding under him halfwar down. He didn't even have time to regain his beath before two hands clamped around his neck in a bruising grip and hauled him up.

"What's the matter *rebel*?" A voice sneered. "Can't take a little pain?"

<Rebel?> Mulder's mind staggered back a couple steps with the implications of the thoughts. So that's what this was about. They had been discovered. A cold chill started at the base of neck and slithered like icy tentacles down his spine. Rebels. The five letter word spelled their death sentence.

The door burst open under someone's foort and the part spilled out into the street. The glow of at least a hundred torches painted the dancing shadows of a mob on the walls of the buildings. A very angry mob. Even the faces of the children were twisted in hatred, as they shouted for the rebels to be murdered in ways that it shocked Mulder children even knew.

Something small and soft brushed against his arm. Scully. There was a cut on her forehead that dripped blood in crimson rivulets down her face. Her hands were tied behind her back. She met his gaze, residual anger simmering in her eyes. Mulder was amazed that she wasn't afraid. He hadn't been, until now. Now he was terrified because the reality was beginning to sink in that she was going to die in front of him and he could do nothing to save her. He only prayed that her death would be quick, painless. That they wouldn't make him watch.

"Scully, I'm sor-" His words were cut off as a rope collar landed around his neck, yanking him forward to his knees. An overripe tomato landed on the ground in front of him, splattering red goo all over his shirt and pants. The crowd cheered. A strangled cry cut under the noise and Scully landed on her side in front of him, chest heaving as she wrestled with the noose for breath. An egg sailed through the air and hit her head, oozing the contents down her hair and neck.

"Get up!" The vigilante on the other end of Mulder's rope demanded, pulling so that pressure began to build on his windpipe. Mulder scrambled to his feet, waiting for Scully to do the same. She didn't.

She tried, she really did, struggling until she was on one knee, but it wasn't fast enough for them. A boot caught her in the shoulder from behind, sending her flying as far as the rope would allow. Mulder recognized the giant from upstairs as the man delivered a brutal kick to her stomach. This time, she didn't even move, just lay with her face pressed into the dust to muffle her groan. The blood from her forehead turned the dirt around her into scarlet mud.

"Leave her alone!" Mulder lunged forward only to be pulled back at the end of the length of rope. He tried again, throwing all his weight into it, until suddenly the man's grip was loose enough for him to pull free. He stumbled to her side, shielding her body with his own as he drew up to his full height and stared her tormentor dead in the eye.

It was not a request. It was an order. "Leave her alone."

The man cussed violently and spit in Mulder's face. "Don't make requests....the filth killed my brother!" The man punctuated his statment with a crushing blow to Mulder's already sore ribs. Mulder felt his knees weaken but forced himself to remain standing.

"Leave. her. alone." It took all of his energy to repeat just those three words, to continue defiance. He had faced men like these before, overgrown bullies drunk with power and fed by rage and he would not back down. The man's fist drew back again like a loaded gun and Mulder tensed for a blow that never came. Instead the man dropped his fist and stalked away.

"Let Boss Gordon decide how we gonna kill 'em." he growled.

Mulder allowed his lungs to breathe again. Boss Gordon, he remembered, was the leader of the town. A reasonable man, or so he hoped. Prehaps he could work a deal, persuade him to let Scully go. He had plunged willingly into this crusade, and dragged her along with him. She had never once wanted out. She had never quit. She of all people deserved anything but this.

He turned back toward her, watching her scramble to her feet as best she could, grating coughs wracking her body with each attempt at movement. Moving as close to her as possible, he supported her weight with his shoulders, pushing her up until she was standing, albeit leaning heavily on his shoulder.

"Are you all right?" That was all he had time to say. She nodded and then the ropes pulled them forward, straight into the thick of the crowd. Mulder took a deep breath and braced himself for the inevitable.

*************

Scully didn't know how much longer she could stay on her feet. It seemed every human being- she used the term quite loosely at this point- wanted a piece of the "criminals". Pieces of rotted fruit, eggs, and even stones pelted them from all angles. She heard curse words she didn't even think existed hurled in her direction. Some of the men, smiling lewdly, reached for her dress, tearing the cloth as she stumbled by, twisting to avoid their reach, too concerned about how she was going to walk to fight back. Every step jarred her body like she was on the rack. But once she hit the ground in this mob, Scully harbored no illusions that she would
be getting up again.

Mulder fought back for her, shoving his body in between hers and their hands, snarling curses and even spitting in their faces. His stand earned him more than his fair share of their abuse; his face was beginning to take on the color of a bruised melon. Scully felt both immensely guilty and intensely grateful. Every touch brought the bitter tang of bile to the back of her throat.

It was her fault- if she could just get the world to stop spinning she could tell him that she could take care of herself. She wanted to, but the simple truth was that for right now he was all that stood between her and the crowd. Both of them knew that, which was why he hovered around her like a misplaced guardian angel. Twice she stumbled, nearly falling. Twice he was right there under her to push her right back up. Her whole body was becoming numb, tired of the punishment and detaching itself from the pain. She only wanted to fall, to sink to the ground and never move again no matter how much they beat her.

He wouldn't let her give up. She owed it to him to keep going. She owed it to herself.

Scully pushed the crowd, the torches, the night out of her mind, and latched her gaze onto Mulder like a drowning woman clinging to a life line. One step. Another step. Life had gone from complex to simple in a matter of moments. It had ceased to be filled with the worry of how to escape, where to go, and become nothing more than the motion of putting one foot in front of the other. <If I ever find out who said simple was good I'll have a thing or two to tell them...>

It seemed one moment longer than eternity, but the crowd parted around them and they were standing on the edge of town. Beyond them for miles piled on endless miles stretched the desert, and a sky full of glittering stars. The moon was full. It was a beautiful night to die.

For one moment hope coursed through her veins, giving her new strength. Prehaps they were simply going to be beaten and then turned out into the desert. Alive. They knew how to survive...they'd done it before.

All hope was dashed when she saw Mulder's face, the unbridled horror bleeding from his eyes. She traced his gaze to the far outskirts of town, when two objects stood straight as sentinels against the night sky, surrounded by piles of dry grass and brushwood.

Two stakes. With flaming torches planted in the dirt on either side.

She closed her eyes and begged God to kill them now.

to be continued. . . part 2