From: "Copper Ashley" Date: Fri, 23 May 2003 13:52:41 +0000 Subject: Angel Eyes By Copper Ashley Source: direct Author: Copper Ashley E-mail:copperashley@hotmail.com Title: Angel Eyes Rating: NC-17 (language, sexual situations and violence including rape) Disclaimer: Scully and Mulder are not mine and never will be, they belong to the tremendous imagination of Chris Carter etc. Category: Mulder/Scully POV alternating, angst Spoilers: So small you'll probably miss them Archive: ANYWHERE but please keep my name and e-mail attached Summary: This is a test, a test of faith. Trust and suffer, embrace and be absolved. Author's Note: This story contains a semi-graphic description of rape that may be distressing. Please if this kind of material offends you DO NOT read this story. You have been warned. This was first born about two years ago but through a set of unfortunate circumstances was never posted -- until now! Special thanks to my personal UKC crisis management group (Basil, Anna, Larry, Kingston and Suz) for all your help, love and support and all those midnight trips to casualty! Love you all very much ;-) Special Dedication: To Elizebeth (you should know who you are)for bringing my inspiration home, keep up the good work honey. Hugs! **************************************************** Thou hast made me endless, such is thy pleasure. This frail vessel thou emptiest again and again, and fillest it ever with fresh life. This little fruit of a reed thou hast carried over the hills and dales, and hast breathed through its melodies eternally new. At the immortal touch of thy hands my little heart loses its limits in joy and gives birth to utterance ineffable. Thy infinite gifts come to me only on these very small hands of mine. Ages pass, and still thou pourest, and still there is room to fill. Rabindranath Tagore Gitanjali Angel Eyes 1/6 Two Thousand years ago a saviour was sent from the stars, a child who grew to be a man who would cleanse mankind of their sins. This man was called the Messiah, the prophet, and the avenging angel of God. Those who believed in him were rewarded, those who doubted were blinded by the power of his countenance. Around his head, a ring of radiant light, his hands gave healing touch and his words laden with the power to perform miracles. This man had one purpose, he was to be divine proof of the higher power under which mankind was subservient. A myth, a legend or truth undeniable that we are indeed not alone, a question that played on the strings of my consciousness until I concluded that such tales were little more than instruments of social regimentation, wielded by those who had power. That was my belief for so many years, until I witnessed the splendour of a miracle. I was shown an angel in all its blazing glory, a heavenly mirage descended from heaven encased by a ring of fire. As Christ made his sacrifice to save our souls, so too did my angel lay down her wings and graced me, by her own benefaction, a miracle of my own. My angel saved me from the burning pit of self-made hell. She saved me from myself, and as I watched her that day I witnessed the release of a soul who shall ever sit at the right hand of the Father. Her place assured by the most precious of gifts. ****************************************************** Holy Father I repent of all my sins and beg for absolution. Do not desert me when the hour comes but give me strength to face the flames. Lord I ask not to be spared the pain, I know I must be judged, I only ask to walk with you when this is over. Lord; in your mercy hear my prayer.... ******************************************************* Monday, July 8th J. Edgar Hoover Building, 7.15am I knew something was wrong as soon as the phone rang. I know, I'm paranoid, so sue me. But there was something about the sky that morning it was mottled grey, oppressive, frightening. I stepped out of my building and immediately felt the light dusting of rain that just served to validate what I already knew. What I didn't know, what I never would have dared to dream is just how accurate my assessment would turn out to be. I entered the conference suite to be met by a host of empty looking faces seated around the large oval table. Giving the perfunctory nod I took a seat and waited for enlightenment. The quiet hum of conversation halted abruptly as Assistant Director Skinner positioned himself at the head of the table, fixated on me, and began the brief. "At 5.25am convicted murderer and rapist Benjamin Lewis escaped from the State penitentiary. How he was able to do this has yet to be established. The only information we have is that he was accounted for at the 4.30am bed check and was gone forty minutes later. Prior to his escape Lewis had spent several weeks on suicide watch, according to the prison psychiatrist he had become convinced that he was some sort of Oracle and could not be detained from fulfilling his Prophetic duty." Turning to the slide projector and signalling someone behind me to hit the lights I watched, overcome with a sinking feeling in my stomach, as the images that were so familiar to me abused my senses yet again. She was naked. Her body displayed openly but robbed of its former beauty. Her head hung forward, as if in prayer, straining against her restraints. Each wrist was anointed with a nail, her upper arms bound by rope to the stake behind her. Across the open expanse of her breast, carved by hot metal, her skin was adorned with one word 'Pure.' The irony was not lost on me then, nor was it now. As the silence in the room uttered a prayer of its own I found myself lost in a place I thought long dead. This girl, Lucy Price, had been pure. So pure, so young, her innocence only adding to the sense of injustice. But now, in this space, projected above us she was tainted. Stripped of the vitality and naivety of youth to be 'saved' by a madman. Maybe now she was safe, in a better place, but what a price to pay to find peace. At the time I often found myself thanking an unknown power for her death, I could not imagine how she could live with such emotional scars. I could not live every day in fear, I doubt anyone could. But now I question the reality of such a belief. After everything I've seen, the times I've come so close to losing Scully, I realise that death is never preferable to life. Maybe my disbelief in a following, my uncertainty in an afterlife and an omnipotent God stopped me from affirming that death is merely transitional, that it is not an ultimate end. Whatever the reason I wish I could have truly saved her. A second image crossed the screen and pulled me from my reverie. This was a note, a threat or a warning, a taunt. My mind vaguely registered Skinner's voice. "At the time the discovery was made this message was observed scratched into the stone on Lewis' cell wall. We have yet to identify the exact passage, but given his history we are certain that this is a biblical reference, to all intents and purposes a statement of his intention from which we have to gauge his mind set and indeed, if he has one, his plan." The words rang out bold and resonant to me, like a song only I could hear. I knew this man and I knew what he wanted. I should have been surprised, but I was not. Forcefully carved into the stone he spoke to me with precision and fluency: "The Deliverer will come from Zion, he will turn godliness away from Jacob. And this is my covenant with them when I take away their sins" That was the thing about Lewis. At his trial he spoke of a higher power against which he had been tested. According to Lewis he heard a voice, a coarse and chilling voice of a demon spirit that challenged him to prove his righteousness before God, to cast out the spirit and free himself. Lewis then believed the only way to freedom was to exorcise this demon, but as he pushed the demon pushed back harder in its defence. Lewis held steadfast to the belief that this demon merged with his soul to take hold of his body and used it to twist religious prophecy into hideous acts of violence and wickedness. Lewis argued that he was completely at its mercy, twice attempting suicide and twice failing. Dying was apparently too easy. I remember as he was lead away after the judge passed sentence he gave me a warning, telling me to embrace the holy spirit, to change or else I would fall from grace. I already thought I was hanging onto grace by a very thin thread as it was, but Lewis was a madman, of that I was certain. Plagued by illusions of grandeur in a desperate attempt to bring meaning and purpose to his life. So I forgot about him as best I could, and after a while it became easier to block him out. Until now that is. I was startled when Skinner addressed me directly. "Agent Mulder, you profiled this man in the original investigation so I want everything you've got on him and more. I want to know where he'll go, whom he's likely to speak to more importantly I want to know exactly what it is that he wants. A manhunt has been launched and I expect him to be apprehended sooner rather than later." He paused, I'm guessing for some sort of dramatic effect, but there was no real need. "Daylight's burning agents." Papers rustled, chairs scraped the floor, and I was struck with an indescribable sense of foreboding that I could not explain, save as to say the setting for this new scene was equally as grim. Scully was not in the office when I eventually arrived down there. I was surprised that she had not been called to the briefing. Understandably my involvement was necessary, like I say I have the unfortunate pleasure of knowing him. Part of me was glad her assistance had gone unrequested, his was a world that nobody should have to suffer, but the other part knew, without hesitation, that she would not take to being sidelined gladly. Throwing my suite jacket across the back of my chair I sat down heavily, kicking my feet up onto the table top and reclining in contemplation as I waited for the delivery of the original case file from VCS. The oppressive feeling I woke with still refused to lift, probably the result of the crappy weather, but I couldn't place the exact nature of the sensation. I just felt wrong. Thirty minutes waiting and a sizeable intake of caffeine heralded the arrival of the file along with the external post. Anna, one of the few post clerks that cared for conversation stood squarely in the doorframe baring her offerings and an enormous smile that proved to be contagious. "Good Morning Agent Mulder," she said with a sprightly tone. "Hey Anna, how's the wedding plans coming?" "Oh, you're only asking to be polite, I know you love me really Fox you don't have to hide it!" I laughed, I couldn't help it. Maybe in another life, at another time, she would have been right but not now. "Yeah, life's a bitch ain't it?" Crossing the room she placed the letters in front of me and curtly strutted back the way she came throwing a glance over her shoulder and paying me a leaving warning. "Don't keep that heart of yours all to your self for too much longer Fox, be happy for once, God knows you and Dana deserve it!" There was a slight tease in her voice but I knew from her face that she was being sincere. She gave me no time to respond before she disappeared from view. I wished, rather whimsically, that it really were that easy. But this was Scully and I and nothing about us was ever easy. I resigned myself to the fact that my love for Scully would never be requited in anything than a sisterly affection a long time ago, but I have only just come to accept the gravity of what that means. Not wanting to get distracted I pushed those thoughts aside and finally opened the mail. What I was confronted with chilled me. A note, hand-written in black ink stared at me. I suddenly became conscious of an uneasy feeling rising up from the depths of my bowels, lodging just below my throat. Somewhere I registered that my breathing had become laboured and sweat had broken out on my hairline. I knew what this was, and I knew what it meant before I'd even read it. 'Jehovah buried, Satan dead, do fearers worship Much and Quick; badness not being felt as bad, itself thinks goodness what is meek; obey says toc, submit says tic, Eternity's a Five Year Plan: if joy with pain shall hang in hock who dares to call himself a man?' That was where it started; God alone knew where it would end. ********************************************************* Thursday, July 11th John the Baptist Church "Do you think you're a child of God? You were perhaps, long ago before sin found you. So beautiful." Harsh laughter bounced off the walls engulfing the room. Benjamin Lewis sat on his knees staring into the tear-glazed eyes of my partner. The whole thing had gone to hell. I got sucked into his mind maze and now I was paying the price. He addresses her as 'beautiful,' an apt description I agree, but a mix of reverence and disdain present in his tone that seemed unnatural, forced. I always believed that he took his religious faith seriously but here, in this instance, his tone seemed self-deprecating, a mockery of all the things he held sacred. Prison can do strange things to some people. I thought I knew him, I thought I'd planned this all so perfectly but the moment I set foot in the church he changed the rules. This game was no longer about delivering the message, it was about primal punishment. Reprimand for my unwillingness to believe. My refusal, six years old, my view unchanged by time and circumstance. He preached the acceptance of the spirit, but what form this spirit took I could only imagine. This was not a man of God. He was what he so desperately strives to eliminate, he was a fallen child of Babylon, betrayed by the Great Whore who sits on the beast. There was no way I could wilfully accept his gospel as it stank of a vileness so rancid it made my stomach lurch. But that was his goal. His ultimate end, I would believe or I would be punished. ********************************************************* July, Wednesday 10th Assistant Director Skinner's Office "You're doing what?" The frustration that had been bubbling for the past twenty hours finally erupted in a display of misdirected hostility. Scully was officially missing, last contact being a sleep addled phone call from me at 1.15am on Monday morning. I had endured another nightmare and found myself cowering in the corner of my bedroom trying to fend off unknown forces with nothing more than a plea for mercy. I never asked her if she minded my nightly intrusions, guess I never had the presence of mind to pay her that courtesy and took it for granted that she would always be there to comfort me. But she never arrived at the office that day. My subconscious made the connections before I was able to process all the information. The note from Lewis sparked a synaptic fit inside my skull and my body knew before I did the true gravity of what was being presented. "You're off the investigation, you're way too close to this to be objective. Agent Mulder, are you listening to me?" "Sir, I can't step away from this, it's me he wants, he considers there to be 'unfinished business' between us. The sooner I get to him the sooner he'll release her." Pinching the bridge of his nose he eyed me warily. I think he was well aware of my resilience on this matter but felt he had to try. "VCS are all over this, and I'm pulling every available agent in for the field, but if what you say is true then placing yourself in the line of fire is the last thing you should do." I attempted to interject but was promptly denied the privilege, my jaw hanging redundantly as he continued his tirade. "You are off this, and you'll stay off it if you value your life, and hers for that matter. Do I make myself clear?" I remained mute, "Agent?" "Yes, Sir. Crystal." I left then I never looked back. I sensed his presence and gave an involuntary shiver at the vision it invoked. She was surrounded by nothingness, swamped by nothing but her own fear. If he held true to form she would be afraid, she would be vulnerable, she would be suffering. ********************************************************* Thursday, July 11th John the Baptist Church Six months ago Lewis began taking a computer course. Today, prison is no longer a place of solitary reflection and contemplation but strives to recreate the mistakes of nature, to put a sticking plaster over the social wounds and generate a new wave of sociably viable criminal hybrids. In prison one can acquire new skills, further ones education and emerge a far superior breed of criminal than when one enters. This had been the case with Lewis. He used the facilities to his advantage, having ample time on his hands in which to learn, and became a master at deciphering the Internet search engines. That's what he did to us. Records indicate that Lewis had been running his own form of profile on me, over the course of which he evidently came across my enigmatic partner. He studied me so thoroughly, his intrusion so pronounced, that there would be no doubt of the accuracy of the execution of his plan. The objective was never in question. I had to believe or else he would fail. The message would wither and die, and along with it his purpose for living. This is how I got here, to this room of spiritual rehabilitation. This is why he took her, to make me believe and to purify her soul. And so here we are seated on opposite sides of the room watching each other as we wait for divine sanctification. I watch as his hand gently brushes her cheek. The delicate skin now shamefully marred with fierce violet bruises. Her upper lip smeared with crimson blood. Around her wrists heavy set iron cuffs that secure her to the ground. Her powder blue shirt smudged with a mixture of dirt and dry blood, one sleeve torn at the cuff, the other hangs loosely at her shoulder exposing the tender skin beneath. She is bare legged, her skirt rising half way up her thigh as she sits uncomfortably, knees drawn in to one side. He lays a gentle hand against her face, undeterred by her reflexive flinch, probing the delicate contours of the mess he has created. He continues on his exploration touching her hair, running it between his fingers, fiery strands of spun silk that I wish so badly were reserved for me alone. He is close, too close as she tries in earnest to pull away from his scrutiny he catches her chin with his forefinger, a gesture I've performed so many times with nothing but affection, but which now too he has tainted. He leans in to her and my heart constricts as I hear a gasp as again she recoils. He speaks softly to her but with a passion that conveys his intent stronger than were he to shout it from full lungs. "To the pure, all things are pure, but to those who are corrupted and do not believe, nothing is pure." He pauses, turning to me and catching my eyes; "They are detestable, disobedient and unfit for doing anything good. Wouldn't you agree Fox?" ***************************************************** He said he was having car trouble, which subsequently meant that I was blocked in and not going anywhere for the foreseeable future. I never saw it coming. I turned my back on him to retrieve my cell phone from the seat of my car and then it hit me, like a ball of fire, the searing pain and a brilliant white light and then there was nothing but darkness. When I opened my eyes he was there, sitting beside me, a stained washcloth in his hand that I quickly deduced was covered in my blood. I tried to sit but was knocked down by a wave of nausea pushing at the edges of my control. I heard him then whispering to me with a soothing tone, so sweet it was sickly, "Hush beautiful, he is coming for you." Fighting against the torrent of rippling pain across my shoulders I pushed myself onto my elbows to confront him. "Who are you, what the hell do you want?" I had no time to react as a forceful hand swept across my cheek knocking me off balance, my arms giving way beneath me to send me flat on my back. "Shit!" My right eye began to throb, the steady pulse beating in my ears. Cautiously I turned to face him again to find him looking down at me pitifully. "That's not a very Christian attitude, especially seen as how I've cared for you so nicely." "You did this to me!" "You struggled." His curtness a mechanism by which to further justify his actions to me, as if I really cared. His tone changed to just above patronising as he continued. "I think it's very unattractive to hear a woman curse, don't you?" He gave me no time to respond, "So just to be sure we understand each other," I heard the click of my gun being loaded and lost control of my reserve in a fit of panic. "Please, who are you, what do you want from me?" All other sensations faded on the impact of the butt as it slammed across the other side of my face in answer. A thin trickle of fluid run from my lip to my chin. Sucking my lip the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, dancing tauntingly on my tongue. That's all I remember. When consciousness returned to me he is there, Mulder, sitting opposite me a terrifying sadness in his eyes. His hands are bound together by a chain that is rooted in the stone of the floor. His back pressed against the wall behind him in an attempt to stay upright. He looks tired, dejected, apologetic. He says nothing merely looks at me through frosted eyes that call for hope, and inspiration. A call that goes unanswered. I am on the floor, bound by chains, but I am alive. My body feels strangely numb as I assess myself as best I can. Cuts and bruises that I can not account for coat my skin, a dull ache runs down my spine from the base of my skull and I testingly move my head from side to side. With slight protest from my muscles it moves. I am relieved. My vision is hazy and fades in and out of focus but I am brought back to reality abruptly as his face appears in front of me. I want to speak but I have no voice. I am suddenly aware of his close proximity and feel the burning desire to retch. He stares at me, pupils dark and feral. He speaks, but the sounds are blurred and distant, the ache in my skull becoming more prominent. I think he called me beautiful. He descends on me again coming closer, reaching out a sturdy hand to graze my face. His touch is so gentle, so slight, but it burns through my flesh scolding the bone beneath. Graceful fingers stroke me over and over again and I am hit with a sudden rush of revulsion at such a gesture. So intimate an act when performed by the right person but used here as a weapon against me, and an insult to Mulder. A blatant display of maleness and territorial domination. He has power over me and he knows it. He becomes entranced by my hair and has to touch it. Permission will not be granted if he asks, but I am conscious now that his is not the practice of asking but that of getting. As he caresses my hair with a look of adoration on his face I am again disgusted. I can feel his breath against the skin of my neck and it chills me. I am surrounded by his scent, so noisome and feted, a warmer likeness of death that is too much to bear and I try to remove myself from it only to be sucked even further into its realm. His index finger slides quickly under my chin bringing my eyes back up to meet him as I try again to dislodge myself but to no avail. His features radiate the torrent of emotion that writhes within and I am paralysed by its ferocity as he brushes my hair aside and leans his lips against my ear. My surprise escapes in a burst of air before I can contain it, and then I hear him in my head as my eyes fall shut and I begin a silent prayer. ******************************************************* Her eyes fall closed and I am thankful that they shield her from the devil who invades her. I know this is merely a temporary respite. I am aware that his image, in all it's hideous array, is now permanently imprinted on her brain, every inch carefully detailed etched firmly within her. He stands and makes a slight retreat and my heart heaves a sigh of relief at the distance he places between them. I want to kill him. I don't think I have ever felt the desire to kill quite as strongly as I do in this moment. I want to rip his fucking heart out and feed it to him, washed down with a glass of his own blood. If he lays another hand on her I will not be responsible for my actions. It's lucky for him that I am restrained, although I eerily ponder the possibility that he anticipated this. I look at her, my ethereal Scully, and see his hand print etched on her cheek and all I can think about is how it would feel to gauge out his eyes as punishment for even daring to look in her direction. I never considered myself a territorial man, although I do remember Scully making that very accusation of me once, but here and now the only thoughts I have are that she is mine, and he will pay for this offence. Now he faces me, the hollowness behind his eyes boring into the depths of my soul. I hear a voice scream loudly inside my head, confirming what I already know that this is not a man but the devil incarnate. His address is soft, a plea rather than a reprimand and I cringe internally as he reminisces over our past. "I warned you Fox. I tried to show you then so that you could stop, so you could change. I wanted you to see what I see, to realise that it wasn't too late. I tried to save you Fox, you know I did." "The same way you saved Lucy Price?" He stiffened then, his spine straightened as he stepped towards me. "What do you believe Fox? I didn't take you for a traditionalist, never thought you'd be one to buy into all that 'good people go to heaven' philosophy. Do you honestly believe that she was redeemed? Do you honestly think she paid for her transgressions and the Lord had mercy on her soul and he lifted her up with a gentle hand and placed her among the angels?" The cadence of his voice replaced by a kind of self-assuredness from which he attempted to grant himself vindication. "You killed her and you have no excuse you fucked up piece of shit!" "I don't need an excuse. Don't you understand? How can you still be so naïve Fox, after everything I've told you?" "I believe you murdered that girl, you planned it all in your sick fuck mind and got off on hearing her beg of mercy. She was never going to get it though, was she? Maybe the question you can answer Lewis is why?" He sighs audibly, shoulders slumping forward in defeat. Slowly he moves to lean against the stone wall, his body unable to hold the weight of his condition by its own fruition. Crossing his arms in front of his chest he studies his shoes absent-mindedly toeing circles in the dirt. "The Lord needed her." He laughs mirthlessly. "LIAR!" another laugh assaults my ears, louder and more perturbing than the last. "Isn't that what people say about premature death? I've never understood it myself, romantic illusions of a peaceful afterlife, meant to comfort those left behind. Do they comfort you Fox?" I choose not to answer, but I know somehow that I do not need to. This man stands before me and presents me with every question I've ever asked myself in a way that makes me think he's reading my mind. It is unnerving and invasive, darkly magnificent. "You're right though, the Lord didn't take her. She was long taken by the time he heard the screams" he tells me matter-of-factly. I now am braced with the need to know the reason why we are here, what expectations he has of me and whether I can fulfil them quickly and bring an end to this charade. I chance a glance at my partner, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to her for fear of arousing his interest. I am caught by her piercing stare and realise that she has no knowledge of this man. She does not know his name, nor his crimes and yet he brought her here knowing I would follow. This makes me uneasy and I must tread lightly from here on in. Choosing my words carefully I bring him back to me, wanting all of his attention, deflecting it away from the thorn which he has so masterfully impaled in my side. "What do you want Lewis? The message, what I couldn't hear, am I here to listen now?" He eyes me wearily, his face a mask, until I see the corners of his mouth rise forming the slightest of smiles. I now know that there is to be no easy way out. His focus shifts again, his head tilting marginally to one side as his eyes rake my partner's body, up and down, slowly cataloguing every fine detail of her form. I close my eyes not wanting to do her the greater indignity of joining him, but under my skin I feel my blood begin to grown hot. Moments pass but his eyes never leave her, his mind now fully fixed and spinning with unbridled emotion. In a bitter whisper he replies "You don't get off that easy Fox. The time for listening is dead and gone. The only hope for you now is to see." I am jarred by the powerful undercurrent of his statement. To see, I am to be shown what Lucy Price saw as she waited to die. I am now afraid. ********************************************* The man is speaking to me again, I don't recall when he moved to sit next to me but he is there, close to me. My hearing has returned to near normal, the ringing sensation finally departed but on reflection part of me wishes it would return to soften the blow of his words. "There beautiful, there sits a proud man. Look at him." His finger presses firmly against the side of my chin and he turns me to look at Mulder who has slumped even further down the wall. I am shocked by the coldness of his skin, a trait that did not register on my brain before. "I see a man who embraces life," I reply flatly. He seems disappointed by my response, his finger pushing harder against my jaw as he slides it down my chin, grazing my throat. "Is that all you see beautiful? Look harder and tell me you don't see a man proud of his achievements, proud of what he perceives to be his own capabilities. He is a proud man isn't he?" I am uncertain of our course so again try to abate him. "Having pride in oneself is not characteristically detrimental if kept private and not in excess." I turn then of my own accord back to face him. He looks to be musing over the sentiment, as if allowing it an audience with his consciousness, but then collects himself. "But it is written that pride is a sin. Doesn't the Lord decree it, therefore isn't it so?" "When used in a derogatory manner it is." I realise my mistake as the words leave my mouth, sensing Mulder flinch. He smiles wickedly at me and then I feel, before I see, a forceful hand against my face, propelling my head back with such speed that on impact with the wall a resonating crunch encircles my ears. I feel tears well in my eyes as the sound of flesh against flesh echoes mercilessly around the chamber. A shrill cry drowns the sound of my groan as Mulder vents his frustration at our captor. I know how he feels, but I also know now that such provocation will bring no rewards. Mulder curses him, Lewis, calling him all manner of expletives and my eyes open slowly, against the bitter protest of my swollen skin to look at him. Now I see, and a sense of certainty washes over my like a calming stream. My nerves detect the presence, and it is a presence here with us in this room. It feels both light and dark, heavy and weightless, frightening yet familiar. I am drawn to the light and it comforts me. It embraces me and plays out a scene worthy of any horror film before my minds eye. Although horrified by what I see I am not afraid, anxious and confused, but not afraid and I can't decide why. I should be afraid, I should, by rights, be a quivering mess and begging for release to evade the inevitable. But I am not. I will not. I can not. This is just for me. This is my revelation. I do not know this creature, its mind or its crimes, if indeed it has them, but I know now its intention and I am offered two paths. One will destroy my partner in his entirety, the other may see him spared his life. It is not a hard choice. I am resigned, I know what I must do and despite the bleakness of our current situation my fear has waned. The light is a comfort that only I seem blessed with. ***************************************************** If there were windows in this room I'm sure it would be dark outside. I have no idea how long we have been here, sitting at his feet as he continues to unleash the host of emotional turmoil that plagues him. He goes on about the destructiveness of pride and neither Scully or I dare to contradict him, she's a fast learner my Scully. My mind wonders to distant reaches as I try to locate the exact time and place where I began to think of her as mine. She is not mine, and never will be, but she is so much a part of me that it feels natural to possess her. I want to possess her, all of her, whatever she will give me. I want to savour each morsel however meagre with a passion that only she can ignite within me. This is a loving passion, a romantic illusion. I crave her as I crave air and I am no longer ashamed of that. She is, by my own definition, my life's blood constantly pumping through my system providing me with everything I could possibly need. A vision of his hands on her strikes me squarely and am too slow to catch the guttural groan that thunders up from my chest and escapes my mouth. I see him clearly then. He is no longer speaking but watching me with an intensity that I can not describe. My eyes flicker to my partner and she too holds me with a penetrating gaze, but hers poses a question asking if I am injured or suffering. It never ceases to amaze me how she can remain so selfless, that's what makes her special, that's what makes me want to keep her selfishly locked away from the rest of the world so that only I can know her. God Fox, GET A GRIP! Possessiveness is not going to help her now. I try to reassure her but am uncertain that she read my thoughts the way I intended them to be displayed. It strikes me suddenly, the searing pain behind my eyes that circles round and round my skull, weaving its way in and out of my thoughts which are sent into disarray. The room spins stirring and jumbling my memories and I clutch my head reflexively in a vain attempt to find relief. But just as quickly as it found me, it is gone. My vision returns and still I am being watched with prying eyes. As if being thrown into some sort of warp he goes back to his sermon, but this time I am forced to listen as he speaks to me, daring me to answer him. "I like her," he says gesturing with a shrug of his shoulder in Scully's direction. "She is everything you want to be, has everything you don't. She isn't arrogant about her beliefs, she doesn't think herself more worthy than she is. But she's got a quick tongue on her hasn't she Fox? I bet she could eat you for breakfast if the mood took her, couldn't she?" He's smiling again, and it's sickening. He's enjoying this too much. "Hot tempered I'll bet, that's what they say about redheads isn't it? Passionate, yeah you can see that just by looking at her. She ever directed it at you Fox?" I say nothing, trying to look through him rather than at him. "Do you want some of that thrown in your direction? Maybe you should ask her, she might just surprise you." He moves then making his way slowly back to my partner and I see him mentally groping her, enjoying the arousal his analysis has created within him. I can't help but find affiliation with his account of her. I have often found myself captured by the image of her, open and raw with emotion her desire untamed, wild like fire. Her inner soul captivating me, holding me, devouring me completely as I become a slave to my obsession. Her spiritual fervour is majestically awesome in its capacity for compassion, yet ruthless and unforgiving when in pursuit of its goal. I imagine her in her heavenly entirety in so many ways, but though they differ in time and circumstance her love remains aggressively eager, its strength is thus that I am brought to my knees before her. She is the Goddess of my idolatry. Bridging the remaining gap between them he kneels as a hand caresses her shoulder through the torn fabric of her shirt. My body tenses at his presumptuousness, my soul screams as his fingers capture the black satin strap of her bra tracing the faint imprint it has left on her skin. Absently, as if talking to himself he continues. "She's fiery I'll give her that, but you know what Fox, she doesn't fool me. She's not perfect, not even close, no matter how much credit you give her." I remain mute, not wanting to feed into his delusion. Abruptly he releases the strap and it snaps back against her flesh with an audible crack. She winces briefly but makes no sound. "So what do you think Foxy, shall we put her to the test?" "No. You'll do well to leave her alone Lewis." I know it's weak, but nothing but the overwhelming desire to have her protected registers in my fog-filled brain so I speak impulsively, unintentionally giving him an opening. "What's the matter Fox, don't want to see her true colours, don't you like fireworks?" "I don't know what you're talking about." "No you don't do you? But she does," he turns on his heel to face Scully who is sitting bolt upright with a strange expression on her face that I can't define. He walks over to her and bends down to look directly into her eyes. Speaking quietly he engages her and I suddenly feel very isolated and alone. "You know don't you angel? You've already guessed." She hesitates momentarily then replies. "Yes, I know." "So angel, how righteous do you think you are?" This time she says nothing, but she does not back down, she doesn't cower away, she keeps staring at him, her eyes so intense I wonder if she's looking at him or through him. I fail to understand his point but I understand enough to know that Something is going to happen here tonight, and I will be forced to confront myself and my many imperfections. I know he is aware of my propensity for harbouring guilt and I somehow sense that this will be his platform. But in order to make me feel guilt he must do one of two things. He must revisit the past and we will play out the scenes over and over again until I believe that it was I who branded Lucy Price, nailed her to a makeshift cross and watched her struggle to draw breath as her blood cascaded, like a divine fountain to the floor. But then why is Scully here? There is no need for her attendance if this is his intention. Therefore I accept with a disgusted certainty that she has a role to play. An act for my benefit at her expense. She will be used to show me all the things I despise about myself and I will be paralysed for the rest of my life. She is the one thing that could break me, and I am sure now that under his manipulation she will. I have learnt to live with guilt, but I feel that this is where my resolve will die, in a filth ridden room with no windows as I watch unable to do more. Note: The Biblical quote Lewis refers to can be found in Titus 1: 15,16 ************************************************** Author: Copper Ashley E-mail: copperashley@hotmail.com Title: Angel Eyes Rating: NC-17 (language, sexual situations and violence including rape) Disclaimer: Scully and Mulder are not mine and never will be, they belong to the tremendous imagination of Chris Carter etc. Category: Mulder/Scully POV alternating, angst, MSR Spoilers: So small you'll probably miss them Archive: ANYWHERE but please keep my name and e-mail attached Summary: This is a test, a test of faith. Trust and suffer, embrace and be absolved. Note: <<>> represents internal dialogue just in case you were wondering! 'No man, if men are gods; but if gods must be men, the sometimes only man is this (most common, for each anguish is his grief; and, for his joy is more than joy most rare) A fiend; if fiends speak truth; if angels burn By their own generous completely light, an angel; or (as various worlds he'll spurn rather than fail immeasurable fate) coward, clown, traitor, idiot, dreamer, beast- Such was a poet and shall be and is - who'll solve the depths of horror to defend a sunbeam's architecture with his life: and carve immortal jungles of despair to hold a mountain's heartbeat in his hand.' E. E Cummings Angel Eyes 2/6 He has yet to realise what I have. He doesn't know that this thing that stands before us is not a man. This is an abomination. I wondered how it could be that its eyes held no sign of life; it did not seem possible to me that anyone could be so desolate. But it is. This creature is the very definition of all that is veil and callus. This thing has no soul, no conscience, the only thing human about it is the body in which it has taken residence. I have no knowledge of how or why this thing came to be I only know that its reason for being is to take away that which is rightly mine. It is here to test me and believes I will fail like the countless mortals that have gone before me. I will fail and it will win, claiming its prize with the same nefarious smile that adorns its lips. What it has yet to realise is that I have already seen and therefore I am prepared. This is a test that was destined to be, a test of faith. I have a certainty that the day has come for me to be judged, my strength will be verified, my resolve certified and my belief taken to the brink. I do not know how I am conscious of these things but somewhere the gentle tongue speaks and I listen with a foreign clarity for instruction. <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> I tremble at the soothing power, I am in awe of the heavenly light that eclipses the room, but I am fearful of what may lie ahead. ***************************************************** Minutes tick past in silent tribute to the death of the sun. I sit, a passive observer to the scene being played out before me. She is engaging him, willingly following him towards the path of her own destruction. I want to intervene, I want to shout with all the force of my lungs to get her to stop. But I can't. Something is stopping me. I can not describe what it is, but there is a weight on my chest, purposefully restraining my lungs from drawing breath to scream. The picture I observe enchants me. The whole scene is being played in glorious technicolour, the dullness of our surroundings suddenly ablaze with light and vivid colours of every shade and hue. I sit transfixed on Scully who emits a dazzling aura, manifested in a flaming glow. She the deepest, purest crimson encrusted with magnificent gold. Around her heart her decedent passion displayed in a haze of violet heat, all encased by the purest white celestial luminescence. She is a vision, an inspiration, the physical manifestation of strength and valour against which her adversary appears muted, yet ominously dark. Swirling shades of ebony and ash outline his form, his centre a mass of sapphire and azure, frozen yet chillingly wondrous. Nothing exists outside of them. They are fixated on each other, totally focused. Their eyes, the windows to the soul, wide engaged in a cerebral war. A war of the mind over the body, whereby the body may be battered but victory can only be claimed when the soul is destroyed. This is a stand-off, the beginning of the spiritual apocalypse. Around them the colours bleed, shifting fluidly like water. They mix and tumble and from their union they bear new fruit that quickly follows the same path. Bleed, merge, birth, die. How ironic the simple symbolism imbedded in the chaos. It touches me then, a forceful hand, reaching into my chest with swift brutality. Its fingers move with frenzied haste searching, penetrating both muscle and bone until it finds what it wants. Then it begins to squeeze and I feel my heart start to bleed. Please Scully, help me. The menacing hand is taking my soul. ******************************************** I try to look past it, to see Mulder. I heard him groan And hoarsely whisper something, the words dying on his lips and I am overcome with a new kind of pathetic helplessness as I pull hard at the chains that restrain me. With energy I thought I did not possess I pull again, harder this time, the fire in my wrists overshadowed by the urgency of my actions. My desire to reach him fuelled more by the look of satisfaction our captors face, apparent smugness at his success. He has driven a wedge between us that neither one of us has the capacity to overcome physically, but I hold tight to the belief that together we are stronger spirited than this, a facet that may save us if I can reach out and find him. At my persistence the thing speaks. "You really are going to hurt yourself like that." I look at it blankly before relying "And you would care about that because..?" My comment elicits a sinister chuckle that may have been unnerving had it not been for my rising anger. "Don't misunderstand me angel, I don't care, but you're no good to me in pieces." I shift on the floor, bringing my knees further into my body, disgruntled by his insinuation. He continues, "the vessel must be complete. Although the very fact that you and I are not alone allows me a little bit of creative license. If you break angel, there's always him." It's eyes flicker from me to Mulder and I am filled with a new sense of courage that leaks into my system blocking all the cracks caused by doubt and consternation. I am so confident, so self-assured that I almost feel impenetrable, so I dare to push a little harder. "It was always him though wasn't it?" I have stunned it and feel ridiculously proud of myself. That is until it confirms my greatest fear. "I need him. Besides, he's easy. Look at him, guilt-ridden whore loving Bastard. Did you know that angel, do you know what he does at night? I've seen it angel, I've seen what he does and I'll gladly share it with you for a price." "I'm not interested in anything you could fabricate," I spit out vehemently. "Oh, feisty aren't you angel. You better control that temper of yours or you're gonna make me far too excited!" "FUCK YOU!" I scream with as much hostility as I can muster, but again I fail to placate it. "Angel, is that an offer?" It speaks with an audible leer and I recognise my mistake and mentally chide myself for providing it with an opening. "I would love to fuck you angel, right here, right now. Can you imagine it angel can you see it?" I am repulsed and sickened at his audacity. Looking past him I try to capture Mulder's eyes but he refuses to meet me. I know he senses my need to connect with him, if only to ease the tide of emotion welling within. I need to refocus, to regroup and find a sense of calm that only he can give me. But still, despite my mental pleas I can not find him. I wonder what thoughts plague his beautiful mind and I am pulled towards the dark. I never really thought about what Mulder may or may not do when we are apart, and I am filled with a deep sense of loss, as if this realisation somehow changes me, changes what he is to me. I prided myself in knowing him so well, as much as anyone could know a person without physically wearing their skin, and although I can read every emotion, witness every epiphany as it occurs behind his eyes the simplest of things still eludes me. Dark hands touch me and I elicit a shudder. "Angel, how can you care about something as pathetic as him? He's so gutless. If he were any kind of a man he wouldn't spend his nights alone, sitting with his dick in his hand begging you to love him. Did you know that angel, that he beats himself off thinking of you, screaming your name as he fucks himself? He's perverse, but then you're not adverse to a bit of perversion now are you angel?" This is very dangerous territory. I am paralysed as I feel it probe me once again, the pain is gone now, eclipsed by shame as it finds another memory to use against me. Again, I try to seek him out, but Mulder is stubborn in his refusal to look at me, his body purposefully turned away whether to avoid my gaze or to spare himself some embarrassment as he continues to shake uncontrollably. Perhaps for the first time I am stunned at his apathy as it cuts me deep and quick. "He won't save you angel, sorry sack of shit that he is, I told you. He's dying on the inside, if fact, he's as good as dead already, you know it and I know it." I find myself unable to look at either of them. The accusation in its voice strikes a chord in my abused heart and I begin to wonder at the truth in what it speaks. Don't leave me here Mulder, please, I need you so badly if I am going to get through this. "You're wondering aren't you, wondering if what I say is true, if he would abandon you here with me? Do you believe it angel, that he's dying?" "What?" "Well, my sweet angel, I have no proof. So what are you going to do, concur with my assessment or demand to see the evidence?" its voice drops an octave as if to punctuate the conundrum. I have no answer at hand. If I agree I may place Mulder in greater danger, I do not I may get to see the proof I so revile. I have no answer. I try to communicate this to Mulder, to ask him for help. Please Mulder, what do I say? He is lying on the floor now, writhing, battling the demons that plague him. Please God, help me. My desperation increases and so too does Mulder's agony, my hesitancy inflicting a blow, each second harder than the one before. Then I am rocked as Mulder, my beautiful Mulder, screams with a deathly ferocity as I watch, paralysed by my own guilt. It speaks softly to me, "Tick tock angel, what's it going to be?" *********************************************** It hurts. Oh God it hurts. I am not conscious of anything but the torturous agony violently pounding through every cell of my body. It stings, it burns, as each bolt hits me like a charge of electricity scorching the point of impact. I can smell my singed flesh. I have no control over anything my body does, but I can feel every movement. I know when I start to convulse, I feel the jarring motions that serve to spark new waves of lightening which hit me and boil my blood. Every muscle achieving simultaneous spasm, locking my joints as I continue to fight against them. I am hot, the sweat runs from my hair and stings my eyes so I close them against the intrusion. But not only that. I can see her madly straining against her metal prison. I see the blood start to seep from each wrist as her relentless struggle leaves them raw. I want her to stop, but I know she will not. Her eyes are full of unshed tears, they threaten to spill like a broken dam, but I know she will hold on to the thin strand of self control that still lives and refuse to let them fall. She chants my name repeatedly, as if to invoke some mystical force to drive the devil from me. The gentle cadence of her expression brings comfort to my withered soul. She is still fighting, and she will not stop until the game is won. She is living, breathing, fighting and doing it all for me. ************************************************* It sits, perched against the table, the only piece of furniture in the room. Its expression is neutral as it studies its palms, ignoring the torrent of howling misery that continues to resonate around us. I look desperately to him, hoping to get a glimpse of compassion that I know it does not possess. Then I betray us both by stepping up to play the game. "Please, Please," my heartfelt sobs cracking my previous steadiness, "You're killing him. STOP!" With calm and clarity he speaks, "Angel, I'm not doing anything." "PLEASE!" "He does it all to himself." "Please, stop." My voice drops to barely above a whisper. He fixes me with a death stare and I know that whatever he asks I have no choice but to comply, the life of my soul mate dependent on it. Casually he observes us, shifting from one to the other, analysing with precision to find the weakest point on which to strike. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Mulder's blistering screams ripping at my consciousness he replies. "Prid Pro Quo?" I am in no position to argue and so with heavy heart I agree. "Yes, please." It does nothing, makes no attempt to move, but to my relief the room falls silent except for the sound of weeping, Mulder's and my own. His body relaxes visibly as his tremors die, the only sign of life the rapid rise and fall of his chest. His eyes stay closed and I thank God for sparing his life. Through my tears I see the light return, not blinding as it was before, but still tremendous in its radiance. And it comes, the soothing voice returns to me, but this time it offers no comfort. <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> I am left alone with my thoughts, until it seeks me out. "How can you deny me now angel, with the power I have shown you?" "What do you want?" I feel my resolve hardening again, my determination compressed and confounded by this revelation and I know I must look within for answers. "I want a host angel." "Then take me." "Oh Angel, that is a tempting offer. I'd like to take you, really I would, but it's no fun if things are just given to you is it?" He continues to muse over the situation. "I want to know you angel, I want to know where your strength comes from. I want to know everything about you, to know you more completely than you know yourself." "Why?" The corners of his mouth turn upward in the slightest of smiles. "So that I can take it all away." ******************************************************** Author: Copper Ashley E-mail:copperashley@hotmail.com Title: My Angel cries Rating: NC-17 (language, sexual situations and violence including rape) Disclaimer: Scully and Mulder are not mine and never will be, they belong to the tremendous imagination of Chris Carter etc. Category: Mulder/Scully POV alternating, angst, MSR Spoilers: So small you'll probably miss them Archive: ANYWHERE but please keep my name and e-mail attached Summary: This is a test, a test of faith. Trust and suffer, embrace and be absolved. "It was I" said the prisoner, "who forged this chain very carefully. I thought my invincible power would hold the world captive leaving me in freedom undisturbed. Thus night and day I worked at the chain with huge fires and cruel hard strokes. When at last the work was done and the links were complete and unbreakable, I found that it held me in it's grip." Gitanjali Angel Eyes 3/6 I can feel my limbs again, but I ache in places I forgot existed. I am tired, completely drained and all I want to do is sleep and never wake up. The smell of stale air greets my nostrils and I open my eyes against my own better judgement to be met by stone and dust. I remember where I am and draw a deep shaky breath inhaling a mouthful of dirt and promptly expelling it in a violent sneeze attracting some very unwanted attention. "Nice to see you're back with us Foxy. Angel here and I have been waiting for you." He sits on the mite-ridden table, feet suspended above the floor. I eye him wearily and my focus falls on the solid lump of plastic and metal he holds in his hand. Throughout this whole of this ordeal I had not considered the possibility that our fate would be much less elaborate than those Lewis is renowned for engineering. Ours could be far simpler and less dramatic, a bullet in the head expelled by the trigger of our own weapons. There is something almost poetic in that, it seems a fitting end to such a tragic fucked up situation. I want to laugh but think better of it as I find my partner in the gloom. Her colours remain the same but their intensity has waned. I wonder if she is tired, in fact I know she is. Her face, an angry mixture of indigo, violet and black shows faint signs of defeat that only I would recognise. Her eyes are no longer wide, a trait that most would attribute to her swollen eye, but which to me speaks of a form of fatalism. Her posture again is defeatist. She lies at the foot of the wall her shoulders slumped forward, her knees drawn up, arms wrapped tightly into her chest. She has closed herself up and I wonder what I missed in my unconsciousness. What could have been said, or worse, done while I was unable to see. Anger rises from the pit of my stomach as again I am assaulted with images of him touching her, lovingly caressing the gentle swell of her breast. God I am just as sick as him. I know that my presence would have made little difference, my bonds too heavy and tight to breach, but... I notice then I am no longer bound. My wrists are free their confines, as I lay palms down on the floor. I gingerly make a self-assessment slowly rotating one wrist, then the other. They both respond, so cautiously I begin to right myself under his watchful scrutiny. When I am upright he speaks to me. "Do you see now Fox? Do you understand what I was trying to tell you?" I cough once to rid my throat of dust, lest I choke when I try to speak. My words sound strangled as they leave my mouth. "Bastard!" His laughter is abrasive to my ears as it bounces from floor to ceiling and back. Mockingly he persists. "Oh, look at this Foxy's riled now! But tell me, did you feel it, did you feel me?" I spring to my feet with an agility I was sure would evade me but the barrel of a gun stares back at me so I make no other move, just watch him waiting for an instant. Then in a fluid motion, the gun lands at Scully's temple and I am invaded by dizziness. I feel the sway of my unsteady legs as I hear her voice. "Mulder, sit down before you hurt yourself, please." I have never heard her beg anything of anyone but the undercurrent of her tone is a plea, not a command as she intended. The realisation of this rocks me as another piece of me withers and dies. Only she could do that to me, she and she alone. Through my daze I hear him and my legs finally give way sending me crashing unceremoniously to the ground. I feel violated, but this is only the beginning. His smooth tongue licking the lobe of her ear as he ends his discourse, "So then angel, let's play," and silence falls on us all. **************************************** It does not speak with an audible voice but I hear it, the pounding in my brain returns with a potency more grossly pronounced than before. Gone is the comforting sweetness of the light replaced by a vast expanse of a putrescent wilderness. I am cold, touched to the very core of my being by unwelcome hands that work to steal from me all the things I have kept sacred, the memories, the precious gifts which have shaped and guided me throughout the course of my life. But I refuse to be broken. I will not become a victim to this unearthly malfeasance. Yet despite my hardened resolve I am plagued by the shadow of doubt, questioning my ability to defeat an enemy I neither know nor fully understand. I am lost in a place where no mortal may find me and suddenly I realise the significance of this desolation. I am at the mercy of Satan, my only hope that a greater power may descend upon us and protect me from my own undoing. I am consumed by an overwhelming need to find strength, and as such I do what I should have done long ago, I pray. I plead with my God and his defenders, silently hoping my pain will not fall of deaf ears. "Glorious St. Michael, Prince of the heavenly hosts, who standest always ready to give assistance to the people of God; who didst fight with the dragon, the old serpent, and didst cast him out of heaven, and now valiantly defendest the Church of God that the gates of hell may never prevail against her, I earnestly entreat thee to assist me also, in the painful and dangerous conflict which I have to sustain against the same formidable foe. Be with me, O mighty Prince! that I may courageously fight and wholly vanquish that proud spirit, whom thou hast by the Divine Power, so gloriously overthrown, and whom our powerful King, Jesus Christ, has, in our nature, so completely overcome; to the end that having triumphed over the enemy of my salvation, I may with thee and the holy angels, praise the clemency of God who, having refused mercy to the rebellious angels after their fall, has granted repentance and forgiveness to fallen man. Amen." It fixes me with a death stare, its eyes empty and dark yet hollow enough to make me fearful of its strength. The temperature plummets and somewhere amidst my tethered strands of awareness I am conscious that Mulder senses it too. I want to talk to him, to re-establish our connection before I am completely consumed by the feeling of loneliness. By its own volition my body surges with life and I am engulfed by need. The need to soothe him, to comfort him, to reassure him that I will fight with all that I have. He seems so distant from me now, the ten feet between us lying open like a self-dug grave, an invisible barrier which cannot be breached. I am brought back to reality abruptly as a wave of nausea washes over me. <> My head aches, my stomach rolls and cold sweat appears on my skin. I close my eyes against the harshness of the dull light as I desperately try to regain control of my laboured breathing that sounds hollow to my ears, but I am given no respite. My symptoms magnified as I hear it clearly within me. <> I cannot allow myself to be drawn into its mind games. If I am to succeed I must follow the message and stay on the outside. The pressure around my brain increases as my pulse speeds rapidly sending me toward oblivion. The blood hammers around its enclosure the rush making my giddy. I clutch my temples instinctively in a vain effort to ease the pain. Through the raging rush of blood I hear my name being called reverberating around this pit of hell, the sounds merging and blending until they are indistinguishable. Mulder feels further from me than before, although I know he has not moved. I have a vision of him hastily weighing the potential consequences of coming to my side. I know he wants to, but he is afraid for my life if he does. I do not blame him for keeping his distance, the gun is cool against my skin. It hits me again, harder this time, and I bite my tongue to kill the moan that desperately wants release. Instead I whimper hopelessly praying that neither man nor beast can hear it. My prayer continues as I mentally recite words long unspoken to any God that cares to listen, hoping to find renewed strength and courage from my Lord. So many times I have called on him, and so many times I have betrayed him. I would not be surprised if this time he lets me burn. < Glorious Prince of the heavenly hosts and victor over rebellious spirits, be mindful of me who am so weak and sinful and yet so prone to pride and ambition....>> It reaches into me, pinning my mind and I freeze not able to pull the divine words to the front. His eyes bore holes in the sickly carcass I now inhabit and I feel the power and presence of the sinful beast. <> I busy myself in finding the next words, but they escape me, to be replaced by a crushing sensation beneath my ribs. My chest tightens to the point of agony, my attempts to draw breath fall short as slowly the world begins to fade in and out. One thing remains clear, the one thing I despise. <> I have no breath to reply, but my mind forms my desired response and I am shocked when its release on my loosens. <> <> <> <> <> <> Suddenly the scene appears before my eyes, a cruel reminder of a youth misspent. I burn with shame as the memory comes to life. Large hands splayed wide against my back, encircling my waist, anchor me to my mate. The steady rhythmic smack of muscular thighs slapping against my own. Small beads of masculine sweat fall against ignited skin mingling with the essence of my physical desire. A firm hand slides under me to begin a tender caress, stroking my abdomen and snaking teasingly along my inner thigh purposefully ignoring my pleas to find my centre and quell the maddening ache that has begun to build inside. I begin to beg and plead with him to give me my release my breath coming in ragged gasps that mirror the pace of his thrusts. As he hits me harder and faster I scream his name as he pulls me upright onto my knees, pushing himself deeper into me, burying himself to the hilt. Roaming hands stroke me and whispered words inflame me until I can take it no longer, my desperation rewarded with a harsh squeeze of my nipple before his fingers frantically work me. I break apart around him as I feel his hot seed wash my insides, his raging hardness surging and pulsing within its human sheath, as the evidence of our passion seeps out around him coating my thighs. My skin tingles as the image pricks at my barren sex causing it to ache with longing. I try to quash it, but the urge is too strong, and my arousal climbs against my will. If I could relive that night I would play it out a thousand times over. He played me gracefully and well, our symphony to be heard by no other. The eroticism of that night I hold secretly with fondness, the innocence of youth mixed with the hormonal rush that comes with new found freedom. But here, now, I am ashamed of myself. I am both excited and repulsed by my body's betrayal. "Scully?" The strained, timid voice of my partner brings me crashing down to earth. I do not recall when my eyes slid shut, although I am thankful for the reflex that I might be spared the humiliation and disgust that would come if Mulder could see the extent of my desire. I open them and the vision before me triggers a reaction so severe that I am left completely at its mercy. It stands before me, a languid grin on its face as a hand firmly rubs the all too obvious erection it sports through the fabric of its clothes. My stomach lurches and I only have time to turn my head as bile thunders up my throat, scolding the tissue with its acidity, pouring out of my mouth onto the floor beside me. ********************************************* I am completely absorbed by wrath. I watch as she clutches her temples in a vain attempt to find comfort amidst the pain. My brain can not, or will not, process what my eyes are observing. Despite her obvious discomfort caused by this gross intrusion she remains immune to the agony inflicted on me. I sit, fascinated by her, drinking in the serenity of her appearance. Her eyes flutter closed as her breathing becomes deeper yet more erratic her chest rising and falling in double time. Although her face is badly bruised the bare ivory skin of her neck and the dip of her shirt at her chest flushes to a deeper shade of blossom. She looks heavenly her mind seemingly disconnected from the sight of its grief. She is entranced in a divine state of ecstasy stark contrast the reality of the ravaging tortures which her body endures. I hear her begin to gasp, quietly but surely and I want so badly to be inside her head, to see what it is that could create such a breath-taking reaction. She is divine yet languid, as if being caught in a vivid dream. As the scene unfolds before me my nerves again are heightened. He stands before her, his gaze boring into her, tearing through flesh and bone until it reaches her essence and as he shares this experience with her his arousal becomes visible. I am sick and seething. Unashamedly he begins to rub himself, roughly, purposefully, his erection straining his jeans. As if sensing my disgust his head snaps round to face me, and as he continues to relieve himself he speaks, his voice hoarse and low. "Fox, if you could see her the way I see her you'd grab her pretty ass and fuck her till your gut aches." I say nothing, there is no worthy retort to be found. To spare me the dilemma he continues. "Oh yeah, Fox she's good, better than you ever dreamed, better than your average whore. You know why Fox, why I'd have her before any other pretty cunt?" He pauses, I am shocked that he could possibly want me to offer an answer. I do not. "Fox, she likes it. You could fuck her like a whore and not feel guilty, she'd scream for it over and over till you got nothin' left to give her. You're a fool to pass her up Fox, you really are pitiful." Her eyes open their brightness coated in a glassy sheen. The full flush in her chest is quick to subside as she makes the same conscious discovery inflicted upon me and pales, a deathly white. I slam my own eyes shut as I sense her imminent reaction and the sepulchral retch assaults my ears. She heaves once, twice and coughs as if to punctuate the sentence. And this is a sentence. My heart aches, fogged by the overwhelming sense of uselessness that invades every pore of my skin and seeps into each and every crevice of my lame form. Scully, I'm so sorry. Forgive me Scully, please forgive me. The hand that bares the gun never falters throughout this hideous episode and I know that this is more a taunt to me than it is a threat to her. Somehow I feel that she is aware of it too. She does not seem fazed by the fully loaded Sig. aimed directly at her head, nor does she seem moved by the repellent monster that stands before her. She remains ever stoic, grounded. When was the last time I praised her for her outstanding courage? I can't remember and this troubles me. As I ruminate I am forced upon myself, to look upon the vast expanse of short comings that have shaped my life. As I stagger unwillingly down the path of my creation I am greeted at the door to my anguish by my life long friend, her name is guilt. She smiles at me warmly but I know the gesture is false and then she invites me in and I, being weak, follow her dutifully. I have never told her she is important to me. I have never explained what her presence means to me, how she makes the darkness clear and less daunting. Not once have I thanked her for her whole-hearted devotion to a cause that is so selfishly mine. I have not acknowledged the depth of her conviction, and it is endlessly deep, to remain true to me and to our work in the face of all that it has taken from her. I provided modest comfort in the wake of Melissa's death, offering promises of justice that I knew, we both knew, I could never keep. On the rare occasions she opened herself fully to my beliefs I ridiculed her, and in the face of her own convictions I proceeded to dispute the existence of the one thing she truly holds dear. I am not a religious man, never have been, and as such I am opposed to the idea of a higher power. I heard the parables, the Gospels, the tales of Jesus and his miracles and each left me cold and unfulfilled. Then six years ago I was blessed, in spite of my disbelief I was given the gift of her. She that is everything I have ever dreamed of and more. Her that encapsulates the very essence of human perfection. Scully, Dana. She was thrown into my life and I resented her immediately, ignoring the wealth of pure humanity that she delivered to me. She became my sanity in an otherwise insane world, my meaning in the cycle of meaningless occurrences, my faith and self belief. She is me, but I gave her nothing in return. I am selfish beyond reason, that I should think for a moment that she would need me the way I need her. And now, as I play audience to the theatre recited before me I see it more than ever. She is battered, worn yet completely alive. She is a survivor and a fighter, a healer and confessor and yet I could not, have not, found the strength within myself to confess to her the one thing that is rightfully hers to lay claim to, the one unfaltering truth she deserves to know. The only thing I have to offer her that she does not already, albeit unknowingly, possess. Why can't I do it? <> There is no other explanation, I am nothing without her. ************************************************ It left us alone. I have no idea where it went or why it left but now I feel nothing but overwhelming relief. My body is tired and old as I sit beside my own vomit and contemplate what I know is fast approaching. The light remains, alive yet subdued and I am comforted in the midst of my heaviness. <> The words spin like a mantra inside my head, the voice tender yet commanding as I find myself wanting to believe with the harshest passion. Startled by his presence I feel strong loving arms embrace me and the heavenly scent of safety surrounds me. Mulder holds me, gently stroking my hair and whispering apologies sweetly to my ear. I revel in the feeling he creates within me, it is warmth, waves of unrelenting heat rolling off him and passing straight through my armour into my heart. I want to tell him, I want to cry and reveal the extent of my fear but I know that if I am to make him understand, to make him comply, then I must remain strong. If I falter he will refuse to leave and he will die. Gently he rocks us back and forth, still muttering heart felt pleas for forgiveness which make my heart sing but my mind cry. He is doing it again, internalising all the guilt. He would never accept that this was meant to be. If I told him my Lord has directed me here he would refuse to give it credence. But I have to try and make him understand, this may my only opportunity. "Mulder," my voice is little more than a whisper. "I'm sorry, so sorry Scully. Please forgive me, please don't hate me. I'm so sorry." "Mulder, listen to me." His eyes meet mine as tears cascade down his exquisite face. His eyes tell me so much, his pain, his fear, his guilt. "Mulder you have to help me." He says nothing but continues to stare into my soul. "Something is going to happen here Mulder and I need you to stay strong for me." "What is it Scully?" "A test." Confusion spreads across his features as he processes this information. "He's testing me, I know, he said he would last time we met." "No Mulder. This is not meant for you, this is for me." Again my words are met with confusion so I dare to elaborate in the hope that he will understand, that he can find it within himself to believe in me. "I will be tested Mulder, and you must leave me when it asks." "What? I'm not going anywhere without you Scully. We're getting out of here, and we're going together you hear me?" "Mulder please!" My imploring tone betrays my cool exterior and I know he sees it clearly. "It will offer me an ultimatum, my life for yours, and when it does you must accept what I tell you and go. For me, please, you must promise me you'll go!" "NO!" "MULDER PLEASE! FOR GOD'S SAKE AND YOUR OWN, BELIEVE IN ME JUST ONCE!" Did I just shout that? The hurt look on his face confirms that I did but I will not apologise, I'm doing this to save his life and therefore anything goes. My implication was clear and I know that it will cut deep, maybe too deep, but no matter he has to acknowledge what I say to be true or both of us will be damned. "Scully I..." "Mulder, I beg you," I have never begged him for anything and I pray that this alone will ensure his compliance. I hate myself with vengeance for manipulating him in this way but I can see no other alternative, "don't stay. Go find help, do whatever you must but don't stay." He says nothing, his hand entwined in my hair stills its rhythmic caress and I long for its return to soothe the demons of my heart. The door flies open revealing it's demonic form yet again. *********************************************** "It's time angel. I like you, you know I do, and that's why I'm giving you a choice." It pauses as if it expects some words of thanks, but when none are forthcoming it continues. "I wanted Foxy there, you know that, I wanted him because he was easy to get to, easy to break. But you angel are a challenge, and I love a good challenge." He leers at her with no sense of shame and I feel my body start to shake. "I see something in you that I want even more." "What would that be?" Her voice, no longer timid and pleading but strong and defiant, I marvel at how she transforms to circumstance with such seemliness and grace as he continues to outline the bargain. "Passion angel, I want to feel what you feel." The lump in my throat just expanded as I watch her make a deal with the devil. I can not leave, I know she wants me to, begged me to but I can't. If I left I could not live with myself. She will be crushed by my refusal, but I feel him looking at her with pure lust in his eyes and I know, with a frightful certainty, what will happen here if she is left with him alone. His voice cuts through the muddy blur of emotion I feel as the deal is laid bare. "I'll take him angel, I'll take him and break him and you can watch as I do it. Or I'll let him go. He can walk out of here alive and reasonably unharmed and you will have the knowledge and surety that his life is spared on the condition that I have you." Don't do it Scully, please don't do this for me, he's right I am a sorry sack of shit but you, you have so much more to give than I. The world needs you in it Scully or it will be left incomplete. Don't do it Scully don't sell your soul. But she does. *************************************** Author: Copper Ashley E-mail: copperashley@hotmail.com Title: Angel Eyes Rating: NC-17 (language, sexual situations and violence including rape) Disclaimer: Scully and Mulder are not mine and never will be, they belong to the tremendous imagination of Chris Carter etc. Category: Mulder/Scully POV alternating, angst, MSR Spoilers: So small you'll probably miss them Archive: ANYWHERE but please keep my name and e-mail attached Summary: This is a test, a test of faith. Trust and suffer, embrace and be absolved. Congratulations for getting this far, hope the rest holds your interest just as well! Author's Note: This story contains a semi-graphic description of rape that may be distressing. Please if this kind of material offends you DO NOT read this story. You have been warned. This was first born about two years ago but through a set of unfortunate circumstances was never posted -- until now! Special thanks to my personal UKC crisis management group (Basil, Anna, Larry, Kingston and Suz) for all your help, love and support and all those midnight trips to casualty! Love you all very much ;-) Special Dedication: To Elizebeth (you should know who you are)for bringing my inspiration home, keep up the good work honey. Hugs! 'No time ago or else a life walking in the dark I met Christ jesus) my heart flopped over and lay still while he passed (as close as I'm to you yes closer made of nothing except loneliness' E.E Cummings Angel Eyes 4/6 "Wise choice angel, I really don't think he's got what it takes to satisfy me. But you angel, sweetheart, you are special." "Let him go now, then we'll talk." It turns to Mulder, gun still in hand and signals toward the door. I find myself praying again, sending a silent cry to the heavens that he will not betray us both. But, to my dismay he stands still making no effort to move. I have to get him out, I have to reach him and make him understand but somehow, despite our unspoken connection he is closed off from me. Purposefully distancing himself from the hurt he knows he is inflicting upon me by his refusal. I want to scream at him, hit him, fall at his feet and tell him everything, but I do not as I know he will not believe me. Instead I do the only thing I can, I pick at the core of his soul in the hope that his guilt will outweigh his stubbornness. "Mulder, please go now." He stares at me blankly and I know he is not hearing me but I persist, my voice heightening in pitch and strength. "Mulder he's offering you the door, stop being a martyr and take it." "I'm not going Scully, not without you." "Don't do this Mulder, don't give it any more ammunition to use against us. Please go!" My words fall on deaf ears and I see with some clarity the intent of the heavenly words <> Mulder is destined to stay and I am destined to protect him. It moves in front of him looking directly into his eyes, but I know Mulder does not see him, he gazes at me as if in a silent apology that he feels obliged to offer but which lacks the sincerity it needs. He had no intention of leaving me. Part of me marvels at his courage, his fearless devotion to the cause, to me. How can a man disregard his own safety for that of their partner? I am forced to admit that now our bond is far deeper. We are no longer partners but he occupies a place in the centre of my soul. He is the guardian of my spirit and will overcome all darkness to protect it. But I wonder, is there something more? What I feel for him is beyond explanation. There are no words to convey the depth of my adoration or commitment, not to the work, but to him. I love him ardently, with a fire that is unquenchable and rages day in day out only to be stoked to greater fervour by the simplest of touches. His palm lying against my back, barely touching but speaking volumes, gentle fingers replacing a lock of wild hair that detracts from his perfect vision of my face, but more than that, a smile, that bloody contagious grin he bares when he is in the throws of sheer happiness. I wonder if that smile would change if I were to love him completely? My mind fades back to reality at hand as I watch the thing contemplate how to use this situation to its advantage. Slowly, calculating its hands fall to its hips and I feel the darkness grow ever closer. Passing fleeting glances between us it becomes inspired by new wickedness and fixes Mulder with a chilling expression. "How badly do you want her?" "What?" "I said, how badly do you want her?" "I don't know what you mean?" "Funny, you don't seem to know a lot do you Fox? It surprises me that you go on living with this denial when you could so easily put it behind you." "I'm not in denial!" "Oh, really? So tell me Fox why is your porn collection a homage to petite, feisty, redheaded whores?" His head lowers and I can not see his eyes. Is he ashamed of himself? God please don't let him be ashamed. Don't feel guilty about it Mulder, not about this. "I want to help you Fox, I know how it feels to have untouchable perfection within your reach. I'm going to show you Fox, and we'll both be satisfied." ******************************************************** I have never felt more ashamed. I'll admit that my obsession with my partner, my best friend, has reached new levels. There is not a moment in the day when she does not pass through my mind. If only I'd had the courage to just tell her what she is to me. If only I could have said the words out loud, enough for her to hear. I would have told her that she is my blood, my heart and my mind and then I would tell her that I love her more deeply and with an unrelenting desire that I have never known before in my life's entirety. She brought that to me. She freed me from the gargoyles of my past, opened me up to the possibility of trusting someone again. She showed me through her devotion, her compassion, her strength and her belief in me that has never faltered in all the days I have known her. The others are all dead and buried now. Their abuse has no hold on me in the here and now. I have learnt, through her tireless teaching, that real love is about trust, acceptance, and is given not to receive but as a gift of which there is no other comparable prize. Slowly the shadows lifted and one day I saw her for everything that she is, partner, friend, confident, teacher and a woman. She is beautiful, although I know she would be quick to rebuke my attempts to label her as perfection. So maybe she is not perfect, but she is perfect to me and for me. Two halves of a whole. I wonder at times what kind of lover she would be, if she would be languid and seductive or rampant and wild, either way she would emit the same loving aura and I would receive it's warm embrace with eager, hungry arms. Has she ever thought of me in that way? I dare not think it either way. But now I fear that her love for me, if indeed it exists, will be permanently marred. Her trust in me irreparably damaged. My insistence on staying to protect her may prove to be the knife which severs her from me and I hate myself vengefully for giving her no choice in the matter. Forgive me Scully, I know my justification is weak at best, unfounded at worst but I will live and die for you and this is no exception. ***************************************** The ghostly words reverberate around my head again and again <> My purpose here is to bring him back from the darkness, walk with him hand in hand until we reach the light. I will do this, I will not fail, consequences have little meaning to me now and with this acceptance comes a greater sense of calm. It looks at me conspiratorially and walks toward me in a slow, casual manner. Bending down it produces a key from some hidden crevice and releases the cuffs around my wrists. The blood has dried around the raw flesh and I gently rub a hand against the skin there only to feel it flinch at the contact. It looks at me then and I am shaken. No longer does it bare the resemblance of a man but it sports the face of evil who knows no bounds. It speaks to me, in a language only I can understand. <> <> <> I must look stricken as it smiles once again before disappearing from my view to be replaced with the image of its host. I look to Mulder for reassurance and comfort but what I see frightens me. He is not there. His eyes are glassy but his stare bores right through me, his jaw is clenched and his hands hang by his sides balled into tight fists that cause his knuckles to go white. His body begins to shake and my instinct is to run to him, but I do not, I can not. The colour drains from his face, making his sun kissed skin appear bloodless. His knees buckle slightly and he staggers forward seeking solace in the table that breaks his fall. Torn gurgling sounds pool at the base of his throat and I watch in horror he begins to slam his head against the surface with a force that I know will do damage but that he seems unaware of. As suddenly as the episode began it is over and he turns to face me. I reach out a shaky hand in the hope of finding a partner in his, but all I find is a new sense of crushing despair. Behind his eyes, those piercing green orbs that hold all the mysteries of the enigma that is the object of my affection, it looks back at me. My Mulder has left me after all. He moves, but his body lacks the youthful agility that I admire in him. "Mulder?" He does not answer, merely continues to stare at me with eyes that rock me. "Mulder, what's wrong?" I try to stand in order to meet him on more equal ground but my legs are heavy and lacking in blood from sitting in the same position for so long and I lose balance falling towards him and landing against his chest with a thud. Before I have time to remove myself I feel his fingers brush against the tender flesh of my exposed shoulder as he mindlessly toys with my bra strap in an action that mirrors that of our captor. It's evilness mingling with his purity, invading the most precious of minds and slaying it with a well tamed tongue. Now I see, I understand what I must do, God on high give me strength, do not let me fall. He is dying, slowly but surely, every second it possess him another part of him dies. I am losing him and the tears begin to seek the surface. *************************************************** He is with me, I feel him coursing through my blood, hurdling my helpless body towards what will imminently be the destruction of my world. Every pore of my being attempts to dispel the devil, sweat drips between my shoulder blades, bile churns in my stomach and I feel momentarily as if my bowels will drop from my body. Despite its best efforts my body can not exorcise this demon and submits to its advances, betraying me with its admission of defeat. The battle for control is whipped into a new hysteria as it taunts me with cruel truths, I am completely at its mercy. <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> The pain is indescribable, the bright light blinds me, all sound is lost amid the swirling howling of my soul trying to reach me. It pulses relentlessly through my system as if it were my life source, consuming me, devouring every inch of my self worth and belief painting a picture of myself that is both detestable and accurate and I find myself listening to its cruel synopsis of everything that is me. Nothing else exists in that moment except my consciousness and its voice. I am enraged and enthralled, terrified yet invigorated. <> I scream in my head as my body surges with liquid life, a streaming pool of hate and bitterness. My wrath eclipses all other conscious thought and suddenly she if before me, looking at me with poison eyes that reek of her manipulation and deceit. I thought she loved me, I served my heart up on a silver platter and she devoured it whole. I have been used and I have been shamed and now she must feel the product of her ministrations. Now and forever she will know. I can hear the sound of my own screaming inside my head, this is wrong, it is wrong, I am wrong. I am afraid of myself, of what it invokes in me and before I can stop myself I hear the words escape my mouth. "Strip." She blinks at me as if not understanding my simple demand. "Mulder?" "I said strip cunt." This is my voice, but not my words, my body but not my actions. The coarseness of its language leaves me empty and cold. I have failed her, my weakness the blade that slits her throat, the silver bullet that rips through her heart, the noose that snaps her delicate neck. I want to cry but it controls that too. I am damned. Broken and beguiled. My last wish is for a long and painful death. ************************************************** I am paralysed with fear. I have never been afraid of my soul mate, but here I am. I see with clarity that the man before me is not Mulder. I know instinctively that there is still time to find him. He is not dead, not yet, and he will not die whilst paying me this great indignity. I will not permit it. I scramble to my feet in vain hopes of acquiring some form of advantage, at least putting me at a slightly more equal footing. It leers at me again from Mulder's eyes in a way that causes an involuntary shudder to cascade along my spine, but I will not be defiled, I will not be a victim to its sordid mind games. Baring myself as tall as I can in the absence of my normal 3 three inch heels I meet its stare with equal ferocity, and then I begin. "Mulder I know you can hear me." "Mulder's dead angel." "NO! He is not. He is very much alive. Mulder, listen to me you have to fight it." Before I have time to react it lunges at me the force of the impact, Mulder's body against mine, propels me through the air to hit the wall behind me. My breath hitches as I struggle to fill my lungs. Pain shoots from my core along every muscle seeping into the heart of every bone, resonating within my mortal prison with deadening intentions. I hear a groan bounce from floor to ceiling and realise that it came from me. But this is all I am able to contemplate as it takes hold of me again. A large hand grips the frayed and tattered garment that once served as a blouse and ruthlessly tears it from my body. I hear fabric rip, buttons fly and hit the ground and the coolness of the room caresses my naked skin. I look into the face of my partner but can not find a trace of him there. "Mulder, please! You have to try. Fight it Mulder, please you're stronger than this!" I try in earnest to keep the waver from my voice when all I want to do is cry a river of bloody tears. I try again to right myself, to lift myself from the vomit stained floor. Pressing my back firmly against the offending wall I begin my slow ascent, trying to ignore the stabbing ache that has formed around my right shoulder. "Bitch!" It screeches in a rage filled tone, eyes blazing with dangerous fire. *************************************************** I watch mortified as she hurtles across the room and wince at the sound her body emits as she connects with the stone behind her. I hear her pleas, I can feel her faith in me rolling off her battered form in waves that break over me. But her precious music is swallowed whole by the noise that rings, with deafening precision, in my ears. I feel it and it moves me. I hate it and it smiles at me. The light grows dim as I see myself crowd her again and rob her of yet another strand of her dignity. I see her shaking as she tries to stand, visibly impaired by the ravages of evil hands, my hands. I hate what I have become, that I could do this to anyone, no least the woman I love. <> <> <> My soul begins to heave with heavy sobs that threaten to crack the fragile case in which they are entombed, but I know that my eyes are dry. I know she can not see the depth of my despair, nor hear my cries for help and forgiveness, for her this is me, it is I that scorns her. Her words provide little comfort, she believes in me, in my strength, but she is woefully mistaken. I am nothing but the vessel of evil's doing. ************************************************** Author: Copper Ashley E-mail: copperashley@hotmail.com Title: Angel Eyes Rating: NC-17 (language, sexual situations and violence including rape) Disclaimer: Scully and Mulder are not mine and never will be, they belong to the tremendous imagination of Chris Carter etc. Category: Mulder/Scully POV alternating, angst, MSR Spoilers: So small you'll probably miss them Archive: ANYWHERE but please keep my name and e-mail attached Summary: This is a test, a test of faith. Trust and suffer, embrace and be absolved. Angel Eyes 5/6 I am being lifted from my feet, my body feels like it is soaring, high above the stars in the ink blue sky of night. Tumbling through space away from the sun, away from its comforting warmth into the outer realm where all is frozen. Fingers grip my shoulders, digging into the sensitive skin and instinctively I strike out, my knee connecting with Mulder's crotch with a satisfying crunch. In my head I offer him an apology and pray for no permanent damage, but my reflex has allowed me more time to seek him out. "Mulder, you do not have to do this. This isn't you. I feel you Mulder, you're there just out of my reach. You have to try Mulder, use everything you have, please come back to me, don't let it win." My words come out in a long rush of air, so brief is the time to speak them. ************************************************* The fire in my groin is strangely soothing. It shows me that she has not given up on me, that she still has strength to fight. As the pain subsides I feel me body straighten and with words that drip with malice I hear it <> *************************************************** My heart pounds uncontrollably in my chest, hammering as if to free itself from my rib cage. My eyes travel to the door and I have to resist the urge to flea, to leave him here to be savaged by this invisible enemy. All the while the lifeless body of Benjamin Lewis observes us, unmoving as if glued by some unknown force to the spot on which he stands. His soul has long surrendered to the demands of this demonic entity. He must not have been as strong in spirit as Mulder. That will not he his fate. With frightening speed he is on me once again, arms locked around my waist, trapping my arms by my sides. I struggle against him but feel his grip tighten even more. Together we stumble, his large athletic form too great a match for my considerably lighter one, and despite my attempts to push back against him and free myself I become trapped between the table edge and the body that holds me firm. My mind spins as I feel fingers groping me, plunging with intent under the flimsy lace of my bra roughly kneading and squeezing my breasts to the point they go numb with pain. He mutters in my ear and I feel violated for the first time. "I'm going to make your wish come true angel, I'm going to fuck you till you bleed and beg for me to stop." I want to scream but it dies on route from my lungs and all that I muster is a small whimper to show my anguish. Using his weight as a restraint, his left hand travels to my thigh pulling harshly at the material of my skirt. I try to lean into the table, to trap the fabric between us, but at that moment he pulls me roughly backwards, the arm around my waist winding me, allowing him room to lift the skirt above my ass. My back arches in response and my struggles are stilled as a puissant hand latches onto the lace of my bra, infracting my last barrier. Scratching and pulling with haste that echoes the image of vigorous sex but lacks the emotional attachment. An ironic thought skitters thorough my mind and I find myself thankful for wearing decent underwear, but I am brought back to earth with the feel of his hands squeezing each cheek of my ass, separating them the point of pain then releasing them to repeat the process. It hits me then full force, this is rape. The end is now inevitable. I have seen it, and although I did not want to believe it it is here. The scant lace of my panties is taken in hand and, like the blouse that lies in pieces, are torn gallingly from my body and I choke with a foreign sense of shame. My voice is weak, my vision blurred but I find from somewhere the reserve to try and reach him one final time before he hurts us both. In my haze of fear I remember the loving soothing words taught to me as a child. The words that are the deepest expression of love and devotion and my only hope of finding my Mulder. Softly I recite them to him hoping he can still hear me, praying that he has not abandoned me. "By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not. I will rise now, and go about the city in the streets, and in the broad ways I will seek him whom my soul loveth: I sought him, but I found him not..." **************************************************** I am disgusted at my betrayal. Her body, so slight against me writhes against the beast of our captivity. As our struggle is halted by the table I am sent into new depths of despair, the sound impact echoing around me and fading into the atmosphere. I watch mortified as my hands fight to free her from the confines of her clothing. The nights I have spent pondering the image of our fist coupling dancing happily before me as I take her with loving hands and give her all that I can are quashed by the reality of what I am about to do, what it is making me do. All the tenderness I sought to show her, the loving words of longing and desire whispered softly sweet into willing ears. The feeling of her silky skin under my hands, the heavy rise and fall of her breasts as her arousal climbs with the spiral of our mutual passion and the delicate sound of her pleasure as the wave of our adoration crashes around us, all lay slain by a violent hand and I am powerless against its grip. I imagined it all so perfectly, but my fear of holding an unrequited love outweighed the potential joy I would find from such a union. I told her none of this in the hope that she would remain with me, my constant, my touchstone. I could not live without her and so to dream was all I could afford. Sorrowfully I mourn the passing of the only thing that could have given me completion. I am a slave to its will. It moves me to handle her with aggression, my body seeks to restrain her while my hands, alive with demon blood pull and scratch, squeeze and slap and each groan or subdued sob inflames it further, maddening it to the point of frenzy. All the while my body responds as if this were a consensual act. I feel myself harden at her cries, the soft flesh of her thigh rubbing mercilessly against my groin as she attempts to break free. My balls feel heavy with my own semen and are thriving towards release. As I lean over her I smell the faint scent of perfume, long marred by the odour of stale vomit. She is so sweet, so pure. Involuntarily my hips begin to grind into her ass and my hands spread the peach-like cheeks wide to reveal her opening, the sight of which makes me crave entry. I am repulsed at my body's ability to move without my permission. Guilt, shame, fear, disgust all choosing the exact same moment to surface into my minds eye and I do the only thing I feel able, I beg. <> my internal voice trails off in defeat. My cock is harder than I ever remember it and I fight to restrain the impulse to vomit. Still my hips thrust against her, my arousal building with the friction caused by cotton and skin. I ache physically and the restrictions of my clothing provide a sensory overload that my body can not accommodate. I look down at her, her skirt pulled high on her waist, the delicate panties torn and thrown on the floor, bra ripped a deep pink nipple peaking over the frayed edge and I am consumed by wicked desire. Everything fades except the feel of her under me and I watch with horror as a wayward hand reaches between us in search of my fly. It is then that I hear her, the gentle words surround me. Beneath me I feel her grow still, her struggle turning from outward to inward. "The watchmen that go about the city found me: to whom I said, Saw ye him whom my soul loveth?" My spirit soars in response to her loving declaration but still my body ignores her. "It was but a little time passed from them, but I found him whom my soul loveth: I held him, and would not let him go, until I had brought him into my mothers house, and into the chamber of her that conceived me." My heart cracks and shatters as her words grow softer still and come laced with fear, pain and acceptance. I'm sorry Scully, I can't stop it. ************************************************* I try, I try with everything that I have but still he does not hear me. Was it speaking the truth, is my Mulder dead? If it is possible I think I felt my heart split open a little more, the prospect of losing him without ever really having him ways heavy on my weakened conscience. Could things have been different for us? Would he have accepted my advance or pushed me away? I may never know now. In the haze of my lament I hear the distinctive sound of a zipper being opened and gulp down the streams of fearful, angry words that are set to leave my tongue. This is not his fault, I need to keep reminding myself. But it is, it is his fault, he's not even trying. If he were truly trying surely he would hear me, and if he is dead to me then he made none of the effort I know him capable of. What am I thinking!? This is not him, it feels like him, looks like him, sounds like him. Oh Lord help me, please I can't do this I can't. I'm sorry for failing you. I feel him then and my head snaps up, back arches in a vain attempt to put some distance between us. I know it is futile but suddenly the repressed emotions that savage my mind leap on my lapse in faith and escape in a fit of pitiful crying. He touches me, one hand on the inside of my thigh, the other positioning himself at my entrance. He is hot and slightly wet, a stark contrast to the cold, dry expanse of my body. I freeze, unable to do anything else but admit defeat and succumb to my fate. Maybe my subservience will make the experience less uncomfortable. I no longer care. Every hope and belief I ever had in an omnipotent and loving God is erased at this moment as the full force of our sin is thrust strongly upon me, penetrating my body, ignorant of its resistance. Shameful and worn I scream long and loud knowing that the depth of this clamour will go unheard and unanswered. Lord, take me, I have lost the will to live. ********************************************************** My cock seeps with the beginning of my desire, coating my hand as it positions me. Her struggling has stopped, but I still feel the need to restrain her. Spreading her legs further apart I run my hand up her back and roughly grab the scruff of her neck, much like one would pick up a stray kitten. I push her head back to the table and automatically her back rises up giving me the access I require. I want to vomit. I want to curl in a corner and die, only I know that such a punishment would be an insult to her suffering. In my head I hear the unmistakable sound of love-making, the pants and moans that I have dreamed may one day come from her mouth in response to my touch. But these are not real, they are not hers. Still the image they create placates my sensitivity to such technicalities and on impulse I push forward. She is tight and dry, although my right mind yells that such an observation is mute. The voice in my head mocks me <> <> <> Rape, this is really rape. Oh God what am I doing. My hands continue their assault, holding her limp body firm as I thrust and pump myself at her expense. It feels good, so good but so sickeningly bad. She is tight, unbelievably snug as you would expect a virgin to be and on every inward thrust her muscles squeeze me deliciously. Her dryness serves to create more friction intensifying my pleasure and her misery simultaneously as my brain shrieks at my body to stop. Fire burns deep in my belly, scolding me with a hungry touch, driving me to the edge of my fragile sanity drowning her cries and pleas. I start a hopeless chant 'I am sick' thinking it over and over but to my horror I find it only arouses me more. What the hell has he done to me? I need more, I need to feel more of her so I slip an arm under her stomach and pull her more upright plunging my straining member into her until I am buried. She screams again as I bang hard against her cervix, god this must be agony for her. I want her to pass out, to fade into the blackness so she does not have to suffer any more but she remains very much aware if lacking in strength. She reminds me of a small child's doll limp and tattered. A toy that I play with now, not a woman with rights and dignity, pride and emotion. She is an object of a destructive lustful fixation. ************************************************ It hurts, like fire every movement burns and stings as he fills me, stretching my protesting muscles beyond their limits. I have never felt pain like this, nor have I been the subject of such brutality. He is brutal, fiercely demanding. Remember Dana, it's not him, this is not Mulder. I hear strained sounds coming from above me and with yet another wave of despair I realise they are coming from him. Evidence of his pleasure. NO! Not his, it's pleasure. Soft grunts echo each thrust as he drives relentlessly in search of his goal. I am hit with a wave of revulsion as I contemplate the way this will end. I do not want to feel his pleasure. I do not want to have his seed invade my body, the very thought of it makes me shudder. How many nights have I imagined the feeling of a sated embrace, of him gently slipping out of me and the warm stickiness our love produced seeping onto my thighs. I would often wonder how I could make it possible to stay there, like that with him forever, surrounded by the evidence of our passion. But not now. Now I want to die before I feel it. It will scold me, brand me and scar me for life. The hand around my waist pulls me back from my detachment lifting me upright and pinning my back to his chest. This time he drives with a new level of force that tears the delicate flesh around him as he pounds me with abandon. I release a guttural howl at the sensation of being ripped and slowly I feel the slight trickle of blood begin to descend from my core down my leg. An image crashes into view, my college lover and I wildly loving each other. I held that night in such high esteem, he was such a good man, so thoughtful yet demanding in his passion. It warned me it would take everything and now it has. The position so similar but the circumstance without comparison. I have lost my loving memories and I have lost Mulder, all that is left is the physical shell. Lord please give me strength. I pray then as I have nothing left to lose. "I salute thee, holy Angel who didst comfort my Jesus in His agony, and with thee I praise the most holy Trinity for having chosen thee from among all the holy Angels to comfort and strengthen Him who is the comfort and strength of all that are in affliction. By the honour thou didst enjoy and by the obedience, humility and love wherewith thou didst assist the sacred Humanity of Jesus, my Saviour, when He was fainting for very sorrow at seeing the sins of the world and especially my sins, I beseech thee to obtain for me perfect sorrow for my sins; deign to strengthen me In the afflictions that now overwhelm me, and in all the other trials, to which I shall be exposed henceforth and, in particular, when I find myself in my final agony. Amen." ************************************************** The pulsing in my body subsides and gives way to the sound of a heavenly voice. The softness of her tone speaks volumes of the commitment she has to the words she speaks. They are loving words, healing words laced with adoration and implicit trust. The kind of words I so long to hear her speak to me. I realise that she is praying. In a final act of betrayal my body surges in climax my hips jaggedly rutting against her as I empty myself inside her body. Her words become broken, punctuated by sobs as she accepts my essence against her will. I still my movements, wrap my arms around her waist and hold her tenderly against me breathing in the comforting scent of her hair, its soft tendrils bathing my face like a cooling balm. My fog lifts in the wake of my post coital daze, my eyes locking with his as he stares at me with a smile on his lips. Against my better judgement I look down and the ground disappears from under me. I am inside my partner, my semen leaking out around my rapidly deflating penis stained with a pinkish tinge that must be her blood. She is bitterly crying, her sobs wracking her body with force. I release my hold on her and extricate myself as gently as possible, not wanting to add more to her agony, and then I stand and stare as her legs buckle beneath her sending her into a pliant heap at my feet. Jesus Christ, what have I done? ************************************************ I look up at him, too tired to move, searching his eyes in the vain hope that this ordeal is not without meaning. He looks distraught, his skin pale with a greenish tinge, his mouth hanging open. He turns from my scrutiny then and I hear him readjusting himself for the sake of decency, the irony of his actions not lost on me despite my current condition. I have to know, need to reconnect, I feel so weak now without him yet the thought of him touching me in comfort sends waves of nausea from the pit of my stomach to my mouth and again, I find myself heaving uncontrollably relinquishing all that I have left. He watches me, not knowing what to do. Confused, frightened and hideously ashamed. I need to put him at ease while I am still able so ignoring the burning in my throat I implore him. "Mulder?" My voice is weak and hoarse from the bile and the crying. I have had no water for hours and now I am feeling the effects. "Scully?" He is timid and meek in his reply, I can almost smell his sorrow and guilt. He has said enough to allay my fears, Mulder is back from the precipice. I can now face death knowing I served my purpose. Slowly, quietly and without further communication I slip into sleep finding solace in my own synthetic night. ****************************************************** She can not look in my direction, and I do not blame her. From what I have seen and what I remember I have brutalised her beyond recognition. As I continue to stare at her she speaks my name. I reply in the only way I know how, but in doing so am filled with a new sense of remorse. Her name on my lips, so precious and powerful to me is a treasure I am no longer worthy of possessing. As I mourn the passing of us it speaks with Lewis' voice. "I can take away your pain Mr Mulder. I can give her the revenge and justice she rightfully deserves." "You did this!" "But does she see it that way? As far as she's concerned you did this to her. Do you think she can live knowing that you are alive and not suffering?" I look at her again, so small and frail and realise the depth of this transgression. She deserves real justice, and I deserve the harshest of punishments. I have lost everything and now the end beckons. Forgive me Scully for I have sinned. Note: The beautiful poetry Scully uses is taken from the Song of Solomon, chapter 3 *************************************************** Author: Copper Ashley E-mail: copperashley@hotmail.com Title: Angel Eyes Rating: NC-17 (language, sexual situations and violence including rape) Disclaimer: Scully and Mulder are not mine and never will be, they belong to the tremendous imagination of Chris Carter etc. Category: Mulder/Scully POV alternating, angst, MSR Spoilers: So small you'll probably miss them Archive: ANYWHERE but please keep my name and e-mail attached Summary: This is a test, a test of faith. Trust and suffer, embrace and be absolved. Angel Eyes 6/6 So cold, so dark, so quiet. I can feel the putrid stick of sweat bathing my skin yet I shiver. I have no control over my body, not now. My mouth is dry but I can still taste the foul bile, the smell engulfs the room making the air stale and my lungs burn with every breath. I am blind but my ears have not failed me yet, little consolation as the only audible sound is the chattering of my teeth. I have lost all concept of time, my life feels like an eternity away, but my spatial awareness is pinching at the frayed edges of my consciousness. I am alone. Dirt stained and pitiful I lay cramped, caged by my own futile fear left to lament in my own heaviness. This is the moment in which I contemplate the path laid out before me. I am a living contradiction. My body screams, pulsing and throbbing in response to my sin. I am naked, my clothes mere remnants of their former self. My eyes adjust to the lack of light and a glint of something white catches my eye line. Fumbling forward on hands and knees, every muscle in spasm, I am hit by the distinctive smell of Mulder. Bringing the material to my nose I inhale deeply trying, but failing, to create an image of him that my mind can tolerate. But I can not. Instead I feel the garment and deduce that this is his shirt. Hastily I slip it over my exposed body, doing up buttons as best as I can. I don't know why I feel the need, but I refuse to let myself become any more vulnreable and clothing provides armour. I am ashamed, repulsed and disgraced at this betrayal, yet I have a distinct certainty that the next violation will bring with it the release I now so desperately seek. There is no going back from here, this precipice in front far more appealing than the hollowness behind. I am not, and never could be who I was my tears are evidence enough to that. Holy Father I repent of all my sins and beg for absolution. Do not desert me when the hour comes but give me strength to face the flames. Lord I ask not to be spared the pain, I know I must be judged, I only ask to walk with you when this is over. Lord; in your mercy hear my prayer.... *********************************************** I owe her more than I could ever hope to repay. She has given me everything, sacrificed with grace and shown me a completed portrait of myself. I am not worthy of her, nor am I worthy of the life my body houses. Knowing what I have done serves only to confirm what I must do now. Even if she could find it within herself to forgive me, I can not. My actions are without absolution. If I had my gun I would eat a bullet, but thankfully I do not as such a fate would be insulting to her suffering. I must suffer before my end. Slowly we walk into the dimly lit chapel. I left her to sleep, I briefly checked her injuries and concluded in my less than professional opinion that she would regain consciousness eventually, and when that happens I should be long gone. I could not bare to see myself mirrored in her eyes. Her vision of me made bitter and twisted by my own doing. I must be gone by then. I am no longer thinking, merely acting in automatic response to his words. I am weak, that I should allow it entry into my soul not once but twice but now I feel dead inside, hollow and empty so its intrusion is without consequence. I have nothing left to lose. In my hand a nail, eight inches in length and coated in rust, in its hand the hammer to deliver the final blow. Around me everything fades, the world ceases to exist save for the sound of the sands of time ebbing away. The nail rips through flesh, muscle and shatters the bone as blood cascades down my body soaking into the fabric of my underwear. It made me cast the first blow, I deserve it. My feet are bound together, mounted to my wooden tomb. It smiles again and speaks clearly above the noise of my screaming. "You need to be cleansed Fox, you need to suffer for what you have done. This is the most fitting tribute to the woman you love, she will understand the significance as I'm sure you do." With that the second nail tears at my vacant wrist and I howl at the sensation of breaking bone that ripples through my chest. I can not recall how I got here, why I made this deal with the devil. Well, the why is easy but the how is less than clear. It took me from the room, down a darkened passageway that opened into a candlelit chapel. The image of Christ's body on the Virgin's knee portrayed in vivid colours behind the altar. So here I am, bound by rope and nail in a frighteningly familiar tableau waiting for death's curtain to descend. ******************************************************* "Angel, it's time." I can not speak. I am lost. "Come with me angel, you need to witness this and set yourself free." Confused I have no choice but to be compliant. I stand gingerly and follow it. Absolution grows ever closer. ******************************************************** Friday 12th, July John the Baptist Church "Secure the perimeter, cover all exits including any cellar doors or passage way openings. This guy is not getting out of here without cuffs on, understand?" The SWAT team dispersed leaving AD Skinner alone with his thoughts. He hoped and prayed that they were correct in their evaluations. If they were wrong then valuable time would be wasted, and lives could be lost. Stealing himself against the bracing wind he ran towards the north door, ready to join the assault. *********************************************************** What lies before me devastates me. He is bound, blood stained and writhing in agony. Suspended against the heavenly backdrop Mulder is splayed open Christ-like and beautiful. Swathed in nothing but his underwear he hangs, magnificent and resplendent the crimson of his blood running freely like his spirit. Around him a ray of brilliant white light beams high into the rafters illuminating everything with a gentle glow, reaching out and touching my heart. He is alive, he is back and now I must finish what I have been destined to do. He looks at me, apology in his eyes, hoping that I can forgive him. I can, I will, but it may take time. In the here and now it talks "Why don't you finish it angel?" I feel cold, hard metal being placed into my hand and look down at the gold-handled spear-like dagger that rests there. It would only take one attempt, one precise thrust and his heart would cease to beat. But that is not what is meant to be. <> He is meant to come through this, and therefore my last stand ensures his safety. Grasping the handle I walk toward him trying to convey my intent with my expression. I am failing he looks terrified of me. I guess I can not blame him for that, I hold his life in my hands right now and any lesser person would have used that power to their advantage. But like I say, that is no meant for me. I stand beneath him looking up with loving eyes, wanting him to know that all that matters now is the wealth of our love. Needing him to know that I hold nothing against him, that I would do anything for him. He returns my gaze with tired, saddened eyes that speak of regret, shame and defeat. I am washed with a sadness that echoes his own as I see the extent of despair my majestic Fox now carries, the fresh wounds open for inspection on his body. Why would you do this Mulder, why would you sacrifice your life this way? My hands caress his feet, run lovingly up each leg and come to rest on his abdomen. He looks down, afraid and misunderstanding, and I smile back to allay his fears. <> I am sure he hears me as his eyes go wide in response. Softly I kiss the delicate flesh beneath my fingers and find I am not offended by it as I had anticipated. It is somehow a token of strength on which I hungrily feed for a few precious seconds. <> I hear the voice but do not feel the usual pain, either I am in shock, too numb to feel anything or I have been rescued. Either way I ignore it. I stand to full height and touch his blood with my fingers for the first time. It is warm, dark and rich. His breaths become shallow, the pressure in his chest too great to fill his lungs. Small gasps spring from his lips and tremors begin in his muscles and I know his body is weak. When I know I can wait no longer I draw the dagger up between us all the while conscious of his scrutiny. A final look conveys the scene of this our last act together. His eyes close, his head drops forward in a likeness of death and I run the blade across my wrist without a sound to portray my action. Blood spurts and spills freely soaking his shirt that I adorn and pooling at my feet. I must act before weakness consumes me so I lift my arm to his, wrapping my fingers around the protruding nail and pull with all that I have. His back arches against he pain his head snapping forcefully backwards, eyes clenched tight, jaw flexed as his piercing cry echoes around this house of God, small tribute to the suffering of my saviour. His clouded eyes lock with mine, tears streak his face which is distorted by his agony. As if mesmerised he follows my every move as I lift my gaping wrist to the site of his wound, entwine my fingers through his and pray as our blood merges, the droplets falling like morning dew as two halves finally become whole. This is my gift to you Mulder, the gift of life. ******************************************************** My agony is eclipsed suddenly by the overwhelming feeling of calm. I am amazed and afraid of her actions. The blood gushes from her open wound like a thundering waterfall, bathing my skin and mingling with my own essence. Her head gently rests against my side, our hands remain entwined as she continues to purge herself emptying into me, completing me. The calm transforms into a pulsing sense of vigorous life, my hollow form revived by the feeling of rebirth. In my haze I hear the faint sound of her voice and I strain my ear to catch the delicate words. Again she prays, with passion, dedication, commitment and reverence. Her belief unbreakable. She is asking for forgiveness, for absolution and acceptance. She is praying for release. I feel her within me, surging through my veins with speed, igniting my nerve endings, restoring my senses breathing fresh air into empty lungs and I breath her in greedily, eagerly and with loving thanks. She is me and with her I am reborn, graced and blessed to live again. Her blood continues to flow, cleansing me of all wrong- doing, spilling forward, pouring into me over and over and I lap up all I can, swallowing her entirely, not once spilling a drop. I drink until my parched throat is slick, my thirst quenched and when I look at her again she stares at me with nothing but compassion. She looks strangely sated, if a little drained, a small smile adorns her perfect lips that I am compelled to return. But mine is quick to fade as the silence is broken by the sound of shouting, pounding feet and raised voices. The cavalry has finally arrived to my relief. "A gift is blessed when the sacrifice of giving it has a mutual reward." Her voice is quiet and small as she speaks to me. Her body leaves mine and comes to rest in our spirit that pools at my feet. ************************************************* What I see before me is both shocking and strangely awe inspiring. We made our assault on the church, crashing through the silent sanctuary and all of us froze. Mulder is pinned against a celestial backdrop, covered in blood in a likeness of Christ. At his feet Scully stands, her body moulded against his as close as she can get, her hand holding his is a firm grip. They look angelic, almost peaceful were it not for the site of blood it would be almost tranquil to watch. I hear the gasps of horror from the team around me as we watch. Scully falls away from him then, hitting the ground, coming to rest at his feet like the Virgin mother on Calvary Hill. She is still and now the panic sets in. I hear feet shuffle, communication resumes as the paramedics begin their journey up the aisle to meet them, only to be halted by the appearance of a blinding light that eclipses everything but her fragile form. We all are paralysed and silence resumes its watch. ******************************************************** A sudden blaze of heated light blinds me as around her dying form the colours are painted fresh by a divine hand, the passionate tones set alight by dazzling white radiance. Hushed voices soothe and comfort her as invisible healers touch her. Then I witness the splendour of a miracle. I watch amazed as sacred hands lift her up before me leaving the shell of her body where it lies. Her soul is magnificent in its beauty a mass of vibrant swirling colours, each shade an emotion all blending and merging as the hands of God, etched by golden flecks soothing and caressing, take her pain away. The sound of men replaced by the sound of angel cries, like screaming, loud and harsh against my ears. The strength of the light surrounding her intensifies and I can no longer look at her directly. Dropping my head my skin is washed with a burning heat, hot and scorching like the sun and as the light subsides and I see her, my Scully flanked by angels who bring her home. I never thought that miracles were possible. I lost all faith in human kind and for that I found myself lost, with nothing real to believe in. But my angel saved me. She restored my faith, brought back my hope and gave me the greatest of gifts, she gave me back my life. I am eternally in her debt. As the light dies the real world returns, the noise and hustle of a crisis situation bangs like a drum inside my head. But I choose to ignore it as I watch them hover over her, dressing her wounds and checking for signs of life. She is alive, more so than she has ever been. She is alive and I am blessed. For the first time in my life I find myself praying, truly praying, to a God that I was sure did not exist asking for forgiveness, offering thanks and hoping against all that I am and all that I have that he can bring her soul back to me. Lord in your mercy, hear my prayer. End Well what did you think? As you may have guessed I am a big fan of both Cummings and Gitanjali, among other great spiritual and romantic poets and I know I am not alone, so any poetry fans out there feel free to drop me a line with your favourites. The first draft of this story was written a couple of years ago at a time when I really had no business writing anything at all. Needless to say now that things are looking somewhat brighter I thought it was time for a rewrite. I guess my inspiration came from realising the importance of maintaining faith when facing adversity (as cliché as it may sound) but it took the work of another very talented author to bring that particular point home -- I advise you read her stuff if your looking for inspiration look for 'foxhunter.' A big thank you to everyone one of you who battled through this with me, both the story and the real life drama, because without you this would not have been possible. You are all angels in your own right and I pray for you all every day. Thanks again for reading!