He must have lost consciousness somewhere in the terror of it, to wake
in daylight in this shabby little room. He didn't know who they were,
and he tried to keep the fear at bay, by thinking of something, anything
else. The latest baseball game he had seen, the details of his last few
cases, the latest political infighting in the office. It hadn't worked.
The moment the door to the little room had opened, the fear had come
rushing back. Who were they? What did they want? Why did they have to
kidnap him?
"What the hell do you want?" Asking the question. Trying not to provoke
them, but still not thinking clearly. There was no reply, which was in
its own way, more terrifying. Shouting it then, unable to keep the edge
of fear out of his voice.
"Listen, I'm in the F.B.I. It'll cause you a lot of trouble to keep me
here, my colleagues will be looking for me". Trying to reason with them,
like trying to raise the dead. No response. Three big goons, just
staring at him. His face constricted in fear. Then one of them grinned.
As if on cue they moved in on him. He tried to shrink back, away from
them, useless. He kicked out at them with all his strength, swung his
free arm in a desperate arc. He felt the satisfactory thud as he caught
the nearest heavy, a blonde crewcut, in the stomach with his foot. But
then the other two were on him, pinning him down. With a savage look of
satisfaction, the heavy drove a fist into his stomach, and he doubled
over in pain. One of the others, a dark haired soldier type barked
something at his attacker, and the man subsided with a glance of hatred.
Then the nightmare began. The soldier type pulled something from his
pocket, pulled the protective plastic cover off, and plunged the needle
he had uncovered into a small bottle filled with a white solution. He
drew off a syringe full, and the blonde grinned nastily. Mulder knew
then that this was going to be bad.
He struggled, uselessly , of course. Tried to get away. Tried to throw
off the strong arms holding him still. In the end, he needn't have
bothered. The conclusion of his little rebellion was inevitable. A hand
pulling up his sleeve while one man sat on him to hold him down, and the
other held his arm immobile. The sharp sting of the needle going in. The
heavy feeling of the drug being pushed under his skin. The momentary
ache as the needle was withdrawn. Dizziness began to descend on him. He
shook his head, trying to focus again. A curious lassitude seemed to be
surging through his veins. He was floating, hearing distant laughter.
The world seemed to be taking on brilliant colours that whispered on the
edge of his perception. Then the rush hit his system. He was surging
high into the air. Nothing was impossible. Such glorious feeling, like a
thousand fireworks going off in his skull. Some part of him knew it was
the drug they had given him, but nothing seemed to matter any more
except that brilliant emotion flowing through his veins.
He would never know how long the hit lasted, but coming down afterwards
was a descent into hell. The wild emotional high began to subside,
replaced by incredible lethargy. A dull ache began in his head. A
thousand needles pricking his skin A wave of nausea hit his system,
incredibly violent stomach cramps that doubled him over, until he was
puking his guts out on the floor. Pain making him sob in agony as if his
arms and legs had suddenly had their circulation restored after a week
of imprisonment. In all, the hit must have lasted less than an hour, but
the aftermath had the effect of crippling his body for at least six
hours, of utter hell and torment.
He lay huddled on the narrow bunk shaking as if he had a fever. He
couldn't seem to get warm, and the fear was back. At least during his
ordeal, he hadn't been able to think coherently. Now a thousand
different speculations filled his mind. He clung to the thought of
rescue with a foolish, desperate hope.
The next event of any significance was the return of the dark haired
heavy. He looked in disgust at the vomit, evidence that Mulder's body
had betrayed him. The agent couldn't have moved against him, not when he
felt so dizzy and cramped, but all three watched him while the mess was
cleaned up. A jug of water and a plate of some sort of stew were left
for him, though at the moment he could barely lift his head. He drifted
into an uneasy sleep, then managed to eat some of the vile congealed
food, tried to clean himself in the small sink that the cuff allowed him
to reach. Fortunately, the toilet features were also accessible, though
his body had to be positioned awquardly to use it.
It was morning, he could tell because there was a small skylight in the
roof. The door opened and the grinning blonde and his companions came in
again. He lifted his head warily, tried to move away, instinctively
afraid.
"Time for your daily dose Agent Mulder!". The blonde was enjoying this
Oh god. Not again. Please. Not again.
Not that he had a lot of choice. His struggles were weaker today, it was
easier for them to complete their task. They were barely out of the door
before the rush hit him, this time. His body was becoming accustomed to
the drug already. And the rush was just as good, the hell afterwards
just as much of a nightmare.
For a week the same routine was imposed upon him. A daily dose of the
drug, food and sleep. And each day the terror deep inside him seemed to
increase. A part of him was beginning to crave the high that the
injections brought. His body was becoming accustomed to it, in fact. And
the aftermath became that much more painful, the spasms that racked his
body seeming to increase in intensity. Most of the day after he had come
down, his brain refused to work properly, he seemed to exist in a fog of
pain and lethargy.
After a week, the routine that he had become used to changed. They began
to give it to him twice a day. Sometimes he feebly tried to fight it,
but his body had lost most of its coordination, he could barely even
manage to use the head. His days were becoming a drug fogged haze of
pain and pleasure alternating. And by the third week, the doses they
gave him were no longer enough to satisfy the craving for that high. So
the dosage was increased. He had few lucid moments now. No curiosity
now to know why they were doing this. There was only the dark pain, and
the terrible gut clenching, nauseating craving for the drug. When he
began to beg for more, he wasn't sure, but it was given to him. Until
the day of hell when he fell into the abyss that had been so carefully
engineered for him.
He waited, doubled up on the dirty mattress, the need a bright hot spike
inside him longing for the glorious moment when it would be given to
him, his saviour, his strength, his glory his monster. And waited, and
waited. At some point, the craving became something darker, not just a
twisting inside him, but a burning white hot compulsion. His body began
to shake uncontrollably, the shudders almost convulsions as withdrawal
began to claim his body. He heard himself screaming, begging, crying,
desperately sobbing, pleading with them to bring back that bright glory
that his body craved so much. The pain went on and on and on. His body
was alternately racked by shivers and gut clenching nausea. Bright
mirror shards tearing at his flesh from the inside. An intense itching
feeling all over his skin, so that his own fingernails carved tracks
across his body, trying to stop the insects from running around under
his skin. He began to hallucinate, vast shimmering monsters wound their
way round the walls of his cell, lights and stars swirling round him. A
figure moved in the dream, gently brushed the hair back from his sticky,
sweat lined forehead. The C.S.M.
"It seems you have a little problem, Agent Mulder". Again that touch. "I
have something you want very much. The question is, how much are you
willing to pay to get it?"
Anything. Please. Anything. Just give it to me. Please
More injections, maintaining the addiction in his body. Occasionally
withdrawing the drug, until he had satisfied their requirements. Again
and again, until reality and dream worlds were fused beyond his ability
to separate them.
Alex had been watching the C.S.M. for some time now, a prudent move on
his part, as the black lunged bastard's secrets could one day save his
life. For instance, he knew that there were visits two or three times a
week to the warehouse near the airport freight district. Natural
curiosity, and a desire to find something useful to use against him were
the main motivating factors behind his decision to break in to the
factory. He staked out the place and it was soon evident that three
goons were the C.S.M.'s men on the site. Most of the time, at least two
were present, but on Friday nights, that usually went down to only one.
Picking the lock carefully, he sneaked in through the side door, and
down a long corridor, lined with doors. He checked out several, finding
empty rooms or dusty offices. The last thing he expected to find was a
body huddled on a cot, naked and shivering. A low moan came from the
figure in the gloom. Alex felt a twinge of pity for the C.S.M.'s latest
victim, he'd been there, done that. Then with a pathetic whimper, Mulder
turned to face him. The first thing he felt was shock. The agent's face
was streaked with tears. He looked thinner and his face was shadowed
with pain. Then a racking spasm hit his former partner, and the lean
body doubled up in agony. He screamed then, a shocking sound from
someone Alex had always thought of as strong.
"Please! Oh please! I need it! Please".
The door clicked open behind Alex, he whirled to face the blonde army
type who he had seen coming on duty. Instantly Krycek reacted, kicking
his leg out sideways to smash into the man's knee, bringing him down
with the unexpected move. Then a quick blow with the butt of his gun and
Alex had knocked him senseless. He quickly bent and searched the goon,
finding several items of interest. A key to the cuff on Mulder's wrist.
And a small drug bottle with a hypodermic case.
Mulder stopped screaming. In fact he was staring at Alex with such an
intense desire that the younger man reddened, looking flustered.
"Mulder? What's wrong?", for it was obvious that something wasn't right
with his honest, straight, former partner.
"Give it to me", he whispered, "Please. Give it to me". And Alex
realised that Mulder wasn't looking at him at all, but at the little
bottle he held in his hand. He stared in shock. And when he didn't
automatically move to comply, the agent sighed softly. A desperate look
came into his eyes.
"Please Alex! I know how to do things that you'll like. Please give it
to me". Then in a despairing voice, "You can do it to me if you like,
Alex. Just give me it'. Do you want me to beg. I can do nice things for
you. Do you want me to do that?"
Alex stared at Mulder, a sick feeling twisting his insides as he
listened to the man beg and plead with him. Slowly he took the drug out
of his pocket and reluctantly filled the syringe. Then drove the needle
into Mulder's arm. He fell back in ecstasy, as Alex stared at the dozens
of needle tracks across Mulder's arms. For some reason that he couldn't
have named, the sight made tears prickle at the back of his eyes.
This was stupid, crazy, he didn't need the risk it would bring, so why
was he unlocking Mulder's wrist, pulling the agents body towards his
car, and driving, driving far away to his cabin hideout in the woods.
That black lunged bastard had a lot to answer for this time.
Mulder was beginning to come out of his drug induced high, by the time
they came to the isolated cabin. Alex still had to drag the limp body
into shelter though, his legs wouldn't seem to work properly and he was
beginning to shiver uncontrollably as withdrawal hit. He moaned
feverishly, then unexpectedly, his body doubled over as the cramps hit.
He began to scream again as white hot knives seemed to drive their way
into his stomach. At some point he vomited helplessly. Alex stared in
disbelief at the wreck his former partner had become. The spasms were
convulsing his body now alternating with great wracking sobs. Then with
a gentleness he had never suspected lay inside him, the younger man
began to clean up Mulder's mess. He pulled the shuddering body onto his
bed after he had done his best to wash the dirt from the haggard face
and body. Then he sank down onto the side of the bed next to Mulder,
staring at him in pity and more than a little regret.
Mulder's movements woke him from a light doze. Fingers sliding over his
body, digging in to his pockets. "Where is it?", he said fiercely.
"Where have you put it Alex? I need it Alex, give me it. Please". His
voice took on almost a whining note. Alex pulled away from the questing
hands, moved off the bed. Helplessly, unable to coordinate his movements
properly, Mulder tried to grab at him. Then the sobs began again.
"Damn you Mulder", Alex began to shout at him then. "Why the hell did
you let them do that to you?". Hazel eyes watched him, pleading
silently, but at the same time Alex saw the sly addicts' expression come
across the haunted face. He couldn't trust Mulder then. The man would do
anything to satisfy his craving now. He was a danger to himself and his
rescuer.
Damn! Did I think this was going to be easy then? I guess I thought he
would want to give it up
Reluctantly, he knew what he would have to do. He pulled out a pair of
handcuffs and reaching down, clipped one on Mulder's wrist. Mulder was
incapable of resisting at that moment. He forced himself to ignore the
desperate look of terror and vulnerability that crossed Mulder's face,
and clipped the cuff to the wrought iron bedhead.
The next few hours were , as he had anticipated, total hell for both of
them. Mulder screaming at him, fighting to free himself like some
trapped wild animal. Shouting obscenities that Alex would never have
associated with the Mulder he had known before. Begging and pleading
with him. And the withdrawal symptoms taking him, convulsing the lean
body. The agonising tormenting pains that shot through his skin, so that
Alex had to sit on him to stop himself scratching at his skin in
torment. It was then that he cuffed the other arm. The hallucinations
that came and went. Mulder at one point seemed to be having a
conversation with his kidnappers, offering them anything in return for a
fix. Something about the way he said that made the hairs stand up on the
back of Krycek' neck. Finally, he could stand it no longer, and went
outside. He found himself chopping half a Winter's worth of wood, taking
out his anger and frustration, and yes, his anguish, on the wood.
When he went back inside, Mulder lay quiet finally, deeply unconscious.
Sweat was pouring off his body and his forehead burned as if he had a
fever. Somehow he managed to drag the limp body into the shower and held
it there while cool water cascaded round them. And he admitted to
himself that he had always wanted Mulder in the shower with him. But not
like this. The coolness seemed to help the fever a little, and
afterwards the agent slept in exhaustion, Alex too, lost himself in
sleep.
He was woken early that morning by broken sobs from the bed. Mulder
stared at him, with such despair, it hurt just to look at him.
"Please!". A whispered plea. He shook his head firmly. One thing he
wasn't going to do was feed the addiction again. He wasn't ever letting
that bastard win Mulder again, not if he could help it.
"Mulder! Listen to me! I'm not giving you any. Do you hear me! You're
going to have to do without it. I'm not watching while you kill
yourself! So don't even bother to ask for it!". By the time the last
words came out of his mouth, he was shouting at the cowering man. Mulder
watched him for a moment, then the tears began to run down his face.
"Why are you angry at me Alex? I'll try and do what you want. I'll be
good. If you give me it, I can be so grateful". Alex listened to the
words in disbelief. He could guess now what the price was that Mulder
had paid, to satisfy his craving. He grabbed the agent's shoulders,
shook him roughly.
"Damn you Mulder! Why did you have to tell me that". Then he was crying
himself, at so many lost times, so many regrets. What he and this man
could have become, if only a certain bastard hadn't interfered in their
lives.
He tended Mulder silently over the next few long, miserable days. Never
stopping to wonder why it had become so important to him to win this
particular round of the great game. Mulder stopped pleading, his words
never stirring a response now in his new captor. He just stared with
anguished, suffering eyes at Alex, as the pain went on and on and on.
More cramps, hot spikes driving into his body, alternate burning and
freezing. Cool water sometimes quenching a vast thirst that seemed to
torment him. The world in a haze of pain, distant on the edge of
perception. Sweet hot drinks, filled with sugar, to get some
nourishment into his body. And once or twice when the torment became too
much even for Alex to bear, the temporary dangerous haven of a sleeping
pill, to take him away from the world of agony. And always, Alex was
there to cling to, when there was nothing else to keep him away from the
darkness.
He woke one morning, for the first time in an eternity, able to string
more than two thoughts together. It was hard to remember where he was,
or why he was handcuffed to an old bed. A vague memory of cruel
laughter, pain, the feel of a hard body hurting him as it'. As it'..
No he wouldn't think of that!
The door opened and Alex Krycek walked in. He stared, his eyes a mixture
of hatred and dread at the man who held him captive. For a moment the
younger man didn't realise the change in Mulder. He settled on the bed,
gently reached up to brush away the sweat dampened hair on Mulder's
forehead. Mulder jerked his head away, before the hand could touch him.
Alex's eyes widened, then something close to a grin crossed his face. It
made him look oddly young and vulnerable, for a moment.
"Do I take it you're back in the land of the living, Mulder?".
The words should have been mocking, but somehow the look in his eyes stopped
Mulder from making a smart arsed remark in return. Had he really seen
deep concern in Alex Krycek's eyes?
He settled on a glare at his nemesis. "Are you responsible for me being
trussed up like this Krycek?"
Again Krycek surprised him. His smile was gentle. "I guess so, Mulder".
"What the hell do you think you're doing with me?". A sigh.
"Don't you remember, Mulder?"
Yes. The burning need. The smell of smoke in his nostrils. The taste
of it in his mouth after he had'.
"No!" The abrupt look of panic and distress on the agent's face that
belied the denial.
"Tell me!" Alex's voice, merciless, implacable, rejecting all
concealment.
"He '.he made me do it to him. Suck him off. I wanted to do it. He was
going to be good to me".
Alex's voice again, cold as ice. "Was he good to you Mulder?"
"Yes! No! I don't know". Mulder was beginning to sob now.
"Tell me!".The steel in that voice.
"He gave me what I wanted'. Until the next time, when he'.. took more.
Oh god! Alex! Help me! He raped me!". Then he was held as he wept
brokenly. And distantly, he heard Alex sob too.
"I know. Oh Mulder, I know". And Fox Mulder never doubted that he did.
When Mulder slid into a haunted restless sleep. Alex undid the cuffs on
his wrists, gently cared for the bruised wrists, and then let himself
sleep, his head pillowed on the bed near Mulder. The movement of the bed
as Mulder began to stir, woke him. Eyes opened, a sleepy smile into
green eyes. Then memory returned. A grimace of anguish crossed his face.
"Alex. Tell me what's been going on. I think a few things got left out
last night. I remember the C.S.M'." He paused, and his fists clenched as
a momentary tremor ran through his body. Alex reached out his hand and
gently drew back the sleeve on the old jumper he had given Mulder. The
agent's breath hissed as he saw the marks on his arms.
"I got you out", Alex said quietly, "but it's taken you two weeks to
come down from whatever that shit was, that they pumped into you. You're
not even free of it yet! You'll be feeling its effects for a long time".
He saw the shock and wretchedness on Mulder's face "Why do you care Alex?". The voice filled with sudden despair.
"Damn you Fox Mulder! Don't you know I've always cared about you!". The
angry words, when they came out, were as great a shock to Alex as they
were to Mulder. It must have shown in his face, for Mulder gave a hoarse
laugh.
"We're both fucked up then, Alex!". He began to laugh too.
Then Mulder's face twisted in agony. He screamed as another withdrawal spasm
shook his body. Somehow, though it was a far weaker reaction than the
convulsions that had arrived straight after withdrawal, it was worse
this time. Now a conscious and fully aware Mulder stared at him in
bewilderment, as his body betrayed him again.
The NEED. The bright and shining sharpness of the NEED
Somehow Alex was on the bed beside him drawing the terrified agent into
his arms, soothing the pain as best he could. Rubbing the aching
muscles. And Mulder gripped his shoulders painfully as he rode the pain
as best he could.
Mulder huddled against Alex, lost in a haze of misery. The pain began to
ease a little. It terrified him that in those long minutes, he had been
out of control. The pain had driven him. Even the thought of that agony
brought a fresh sob from him. It seemed like he could remember being
held like this before, as his body rebelled. He lifted his eyes to his
former partner's face, and found himself staring into green, green eyes,
so filled with concern and love.
"Shhh Mulder, I won't leave you. I promise".
Twice more that night, the pains hit, and it was no easier to bear.
Though the pain came less often , and its intensity was decreasing, he
still felt his sanity beginning to fray. There was only one support in
the misery his life had become. A pair of strong arms and those eyes.
Mulder clung to him as the sobs rocked his body. Even after the spasms
had passed, he wouldn't let go of Alex. The terror in his eyes. Alex
held him like a child, whispering gentle reassurance in his ear. He drew
Mulder's head down until it was resting on his chest
"Shhh love. You know I won't abandon you". Mulder clung to him
desperately. Alex was warm and safe.
Finally, the shock and confusion seemed to leave his face.
But instead of drawing back, he buried his face in the crook of Alex's
neck, and sighed softly. He felt Alex tense against him, and lifted his
eyes to look into green pools of light.
"When did I start needing you Alex? I think it was when I was in hell,
and you wouldn't come down into it with me. I can remember more now.
Like offering you whatever part of me you wanted, if only you'd give me
the drug". He reached up a hand and traced it along Alex's jawline.
"I never wanted you like that!". The voice was fierce, protective. Like
a lion protecting cubs.
Mulder leaned forward and kissed him then. "Don't ever leave me, Alex!". Half afraid, half hungry for the strength of loving arms around him.
"Fox. My Fox!". And the fire of his kisses were only surpassed by their
gentleness, as he tenderly kissed Mulder's face.
It was the first time Fox Mulder had felt hope in a long time.
Finis
Withdrawal
by Megaera
The first time they came, he tried to fight, tried not to let them near
him. He had woken, groggy and aching, lying on the hard mattress of a
bunk, his hand cuffed to the wall. Sometime in the previous night, they
had taken him from his apartment, too many of them to fight. Given him
something to keep him quiet during the long drive. They weren't gentle
in their handling of him.
