Title: Dark Edges of the Mind

Author: Christina

Rating: NC-17

Category: V, A, MSR, Mulder POV

Spoilers: "Three Words" and general Season 8

Archive: Anywhere, just let me know if possible so I can visit.

Summary: Caught in a mindset that has trapped his feelings of loss and betrayal, Mulder seeks release.

Disclaimer: The X-Files and its characters belong to CC, 1013 Productions, and Fox. No infringement intended.

Thank you to Gina Rain for her continued support. Extra special thanks to beta!Extraordinaire Triton. Without you, I'm nothing.

Feedback: cherished and answered at christinalynne1227@yahoo.com

CONTENT WARNING: Dark subject matter ahead, might be offensive to some, read at your own risk.

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Dark Edges of the Mind

by Christina

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She opens the door at my insistent knocking; her hair mussed, eyes sleepy, robe drawn around her distended belly.

"Mulder, it's late. What's wrong?" she mumbles as she tries to see me, my face shadowed by the harsh hallway lights.

I shoulder past her, taking care not to bump her belly. I grunt noncommittally and stride to her kitchen.

Reaching into the cabinet next to the sink, I pull out a short glass, setting it down too hard on the counter top, the sound of the thick glass too loud in the semi-darkness. I move to the cabinet over the stove and grab the first bottle I see with an amber liquid inside. Scully is standing in the kitchen doorway as I slam back the bitter drink. The heat of the liquor should burn as it passes down my throat, but I feel nothing. I pour a couple more fingers' worth.

"Mulder?" Concern, maybe something else in those bottomless, blue eyes. Her voice is guarded, soft enough to soothe, if that was what I wanted. It isn't, and her tone grates on me like sandpaper.

"Was it a nightmare?" Sympathy and concern coat her words. Fuck, I don't need this. I can play my own fucking shrink. I need...

Pushing away from the counter, glass still in hand, I shrug past her again and head out to her living room. I sit on her couch, only to jump back up, running my free hand through my hair.

She has followed me, standing quietly, hugging herself. Is she cold? I can't tell; my senses are still wacky and I wish I could feel, feel something other than anger and fear.

Pacing back and forth in the small space between her couch and coffee table, I gulp the remainder my drink and with a growl, slam the glass on the table. I crumple onto the couch again, head in my hands. I can feel the edges of my mind unraveling.

I sense Scully hovering near by. It doesn't take a mind reader to know what she's thinking.

<Mulder's losing it.>

Don't do it, Scully, I think. Don't sit down next to me, don't reach for me, don't look at me with those eyes. I groan when I feel her weight sink into the couch next to me.

"Mulder, what's wrong?"

<Don't touch me, please, don't touch me.>

"Nothing," I spit out. I refuse to look up. "Everything."

I feel her small, cold hand on my arm, and I stifle the involuntary flinch. I think she can tell, though, and she moves her hand back quickly.

"Mulder," she says softly, "can you tell me about it?"

I laugh harshly, an ugly sound that grates on my nerves. Defiant, angry, I turn to look at her. She looks so small and defenseless, a girl-woman, a child carrying a child. Her eyes are filling with tears and hatred suddenly fills my body.

I grasp onto it for dear life, the smooth, dark edges of rage slipping over me. I know this feeling; it has kept me company many a time. It protects me when nothing else can.

"What do you want to know, Scully?" I ask harshly. "Do you want to hear about how I wake up screaming at night, drenched in sweat, and how I cry myself to sleep afterward? Or what about how worthless and inadequate I feel, how helpless I am?"

Shaking, I rise from the couch, moving away from her. I'm trying not to shout, but my voice is rising anyway. "Or maybe you'd find it interesting that I alternate between trying to sleep with every light in the house on and sitting in the dark with my gun to my head. Are these the things you want me to share with you, Scully? Are they?"

Silent tears slip down her cheeks, her bottom lip begins to quiver.

"Stop it!" I roar. "Don't cry for me, Scully, I'm not worth it! I'm dead and gone, you just have yet to see it. You should've left me buried, Scully, you should've just gotten on with your life."

She reaches out for me, taking a tentative step forward. I can see her eyes pleading with me, but I have no fucking clue as to what she wants from me.

I back away, brushing off her attempt to reach me, disgusted with her, with myself. I feel sick.

In Scully's bathroom, I don't bother to close the door as I run the cold water in the sink. Pulling up on the drain lever, I stare into the mirror as the sink fills with water.

I don't recognize the face in the mirror. I see someone who is ugly, damaged, with lifeless, dull eyes. I can't stand this person, this person who lives in fear and anger.

Wrenching the water off, I scoop the cold water into my cupped hands and splash my face repeatedly. The cold is almost painful, and I welcome it. Pain I understand, better than anything else.

Scully is beside me, passing me a hand towel. I take it wordlessly and rub the towel vigorously across my face, relishing the pain the towel causes my still healing face.

"Mulder, let me help you," she pleads softly. Damn the woman is persistent. Either that, or she's just plain crazy and stupid.

I turn to her, hands balled into fists at my side. With two long strides, I'm towering over her, breathing heavily, invading her space. She looks up at me, hesitant, cautious. Her eyes have the glassy look of a deer in the headlights of an oncoming car. You'd better watch out, Scully, I'm going to run you over.

My nostrils flare as I take in the scent of Scully's hair. As messed up as my sense of smell is, I can still smell the soap on her skin, the scent of her shampoo. Maybe my brain just remembers the smell, the numerous times I've nuzzled her neck, licked at her earlobe, bitten at the thin skin of her throat...

My hands shoot out to grab Scully's upper arms. I have a second to register the shock and hurt on her face before I am crushing her mouth under mine.

Scully starts to struggle in my arms as I invade her mouth. My tongue is relentless, she gives in to my onslaught and begins kissing me back in earnest. As I feel her relax in my arms, I release her, trailing my hands up and down her back. Damn, she has too many layers on.

I hook the collar of her bathrobe with my thumbs, pulling it off her shoulders, and it falls easily to the floor. Scully breaks the kiss, breathing heavily. "Mulder...wait..."

I do not wait. My mouth is at her throat; it remembers this part of her, knows the exact spots to send Scully reeling. She sags against me, little moans escaping her.

I begin walking her out of the bathroom backwards. It's awkward, me bent nearly in half at the waist to reach her neck, she with her belly between us, acting as a buffer. Scully is clutching at my head, my neck, whispering my name. I whimper in frustration as we get caught in the doorway.

I get her to the bedroom, finally, and rush us to the bed. She reaches for the hem of my T-shirt, but I bat her hands away. I kiss her hard, then pull away, reaching for the fly of my jeans.

My cock is straining in my pants, the constriction painful. She wants to help me, but I push her away, with enough force to make her fall back on the bed. Her eyes widen in surprise but she says nothing. I think she knows what is coming.

My cock is out, I stroke it a few times as my partner watches me. She says nothing, but her shaky breathing and slight trembling gives her away. I don't even bother to slide my jeans down past my hips as I'm upon her.

It only takes a second to realize I can't lay on top of her, so I roll to my side, pulling her as close as possible. My hands roam her body, taking in the curves, new curves I've yet to experience. She's wearing some sort of maternity/nursing gown. There are two long slits, hidden in the pleats of the bodice, perfect for a newborn babe's nursing or a crazy, returned-from-the-grave man's too large hands.

My hands are in her gown, cupping the heaviness of Scully's breasts. Scully had beautiful breasts before, but this is what men raised on pornos dream of. I push them together, kneading, my thumbs flicking over the huge nipples. Scully gasps when I pinch them simultaneously.

<Mulder, let me help you.>

I reach down between us and roughly pull her gown up to her waist. I notice that she's not wearing maternity underwear, she seems to be wearing her same bikini style panties, just pushed down below her belly. My hand snakes under the silky damp fabric, past her wet curls, into her folds. Her hips jerk as my fingers slide up and down, circling her clit. Her panting is matching my own.

I sit up quickly, grasping her panties at either hip, and rip the flimsy fabric away. I stand at the side of the bed and grabbing her hips, I pull her to me, positioning her ass right at the edge of the bed.

As my cock is positioned at her opening, I look at her for the first time. Gown hiked up over her belly, her face flushed with passion, her eyes heavy with lust--and maybe something else?

<I'm sorry, Scully, I need this...>

I enter her in one quick thrust. She groans my name as I ease back out. I begin thrusting, over and over, pounding into her, feeling my cock pushing at her cervix. A far away part of my brain says maybe I should let up, she's fairly far along into the pregnancy, maybe I'm hurting her...

But the primal part of my brain takes over and I continue my onslaught. I hold onto her hips and try to lose myself in her. I feel my orgasm building.

<Mulder, can you tell me about it?>

Images come unbidden--a futuristic but medieval-looking chair, I'm strapped into it, naked, my cock erect as the pain of the experiments wash over my body, my mind threatening to break free, to float away...

The humiliation of unseen hands on me, milking my cock, taking my ejaculate...

My screams echoing in my head, screaming for Scully, Scully please help me, pleasepleaseplease...

"Pleasepleaseplease..."

Scully grabs onto my forearms, but I hardly notice she's there. "Mulder, it's okay, I'm here."

<No, Scully, you weren't there when I needed you.>

With a grunt, I pull out of her. I grab at her clumsily, trying to turn her over. She gets the idea and struggles to get into the position I want. As soon as her ass is exposed to me, I grab her by the waist and push her onto the bed.

One hand roughly parts her folds again while the other guides my cock to her. Inside her again, I pick up the pace.

<Mulder, what's wrong?>

I want...I want...

I'm puffing loudly now, my hips slamming into her ass, my balls smacking against her mound, but I still can't get the release I want so badly...

I want to...feel. I need to feel again. Anything but anger or fear.

Scully is squirming underneath me, trying to get her elbows beneath her, but I place my hand between her shoulder blades, pushing her back onto the bed. She grunts but doesn't say anything. It's as if she knows exactly what I need.

Just lie there, Scully, my mind chants. Just lie there and let me fuck you. I need this, Scully, I need this...

She makes a sound that almost sounds like a sob. Am I hurting you, Scully? You don't know what pain is.

My hands slide up her ribcage, fingers splayed, just under her armpits. I know I'll probably leave bruises, but I don't care. I want to leave my mark upon her, I want her to know I've been here, I want to take from her with no remorse.

I want her to taste the pain and anger, the pain and anger that are with me all the time now. I fuck her relentlessly, her small cries driving me on.

My orgasm is building again, gotta come, gotta come, I need this, I *need* this...

My balls tighten and I imagine I can feel the semen making its way through my vas deferens, shooting from my cock, deep within her uterus. With one final thrust, I push into her as deeply as I can and she cries out. As my semen spurts into her, I imagine in my fucked up way that I'm transferring my pain and anger to her. As her vaginal walls milk the last drops from my softening cock, I almost feel like I've given her all my experiences.

I collapse alongside her, nearly unconscious.

Scully's hands are on my face, wiping away the wetness trailing down my cheeks.

"Shh...shh," Scully coos as she caresses my face.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I whisper, my throat thick with tears.

"It's okay, Mulder, I'm here, I'm sorry, oh so sorry."

I curl into her, burying my face in her breast. I clutch at her like a drowning man with a life preserver. I sob, loud braying sobs that wrack my body. After a long, long time, my crying subsides to snuffling and hitches.

As I'm drifting off to a hopefully dreamless sleep, I hear Scully whisper in my hair, "You're going to be okay, Mulder. You're alive and I love you."

I feel something break away, a chunk of something dead and rotted, gangrenous, ready to consume all of me if left to its devices. A large chunk, almost too much, but I want to let it go--I need to.

I exhale loudly into Scully, feeling the rotting hate and anger rise up from the pit of my stomach, through my solar plexus, and get caught in my esophagus. I cough and it breaks free again. My throat expands to let it pass and suddenly I'm a billion times lighter.

"Love you, too," I whisper, and a peaceful darkness comes over me.

END

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