From: Ophinea@aol.com Date: Fri, 5 Mar 1999 02:49:11 EST Subject: NEW: "Hell on Earth: Burn" [1/3] by Ophinea & L.A. Title: Hell on Earth Authors: Ophinea & L.A. E-mail: ophinea@aol.com or LAinNJ@aol.com Rating: PG-13 for language Category: SRA Spoilers: Itty bitty ones for seasons 1-5 and a couple tiny ones for FTF. Story takes place before the sixth season. Keywords: MSR Summary: After being kidnapped, beaten and discarded in the middle of nowhere, how do Mulder and Scully survive their own private hell on earth? Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully don't belong to us (although what we'd like to do with Mulder if...well, we won't go there, this isn't rated NC-17 now is it). They belong to FOX, Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and the amazing David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson who breathe the life into these wonderful characters. We're just borrowing them for a little bit, and promise to put them back when playtime is over :o) Dedication: This story goes out to all the writers out there who started a story that refused to end itself, also lovingly referred to as a story from hell. Well, it took us seven months, but with a little help we finally did it! Lots of thanks go out to Amanda and Lisa for making sure that Hell made sense. Hell on Earth by Ophinea and LA ------------------------- Hell on Earth: Burn Inky black fades into a foggy gray as I awake from an unconscious slumber. Where my body isn't aching, it's burning. Within moments I'm certain I've been dumped into a volcano. Lava bubbling up, ready to char anything that is in its path. Struggling to remember how I ended up here, one thought strikes me head on: Scully! Like a rubber band that's been held taut and suddenly let loose, my eyelids fly open. Only then do I realize that I am face down in a motherload of sand. Dragging my aching arms up beside me, I push up with all the strength I can manage, and yelp out in pain as my left hand collapses beneath me. Dumbly, I can't help but look down at the mangled and bruised mess that was once my hand and fingers. The soft groan from beside me instantly redirects my attention. Turning, I see one hell of a lot more desert, and the still form of Scully. She looks like Picasso had a field day with her face. All the wrong colors in all the wrong places...bumps and gouges where none were ever meant to be. xxx Too bright...four thousand megawatt bright. A blazing sun seeps through my swollen eyes threatening to consume me whole. Quickly, I bring my hand up in a pitiful attempt to block its onslaught. Taking a chance, I open one eye ever so slightly to look at Mulder. I can't pry the other one open to save my life. Damn fool that he is, Mulder is wide-eyed and searching my face for something. Anything. Why do I suddenly remember a time when Bill Jr. clocked me and I ended up with a shiner? Ahab was so mad. Boy, did he beat Bill's ass for that one. I can remember sitting on Ahab's lap, an ice bag to my eye to try and quell the knot that formed there. That was the day that Ahab told me he was going to teach me how to fight back, and then-- "Scully?" Mulder calls my name gently as he rubs his hand on my arm in a comforting motion. Something tells me I should be grateful that I could see him at all. Admittedly, I'd appreciate it if he weren't so blurred around the edges. Through the blur I can distinguish the purplish welts and angry red slashes that are blending together, battling for possession of his features. His face looks as bad as mine feels. "Scully, can you hear me?" Mulder's voice is hoarse, I note. I can attribute that to all the screaming that he had done...that we had both done. Not that it mattered in the long run. Whoever had deemed it necessary to beat us to a bloody pulp then dispose of us God knows where obviously didn't care if we yelled. "Scully!" Even a deaf man could hear the insistence in Mulder's voice. He's worried about me I realize hazily. I know I should try to answer him, but oh do I hurt. My jaw, my ribs, everything is aching. "I'm alright," I mumble. I swear someone dumped a bag full of marbles in my mouth. If that's not the case, it sure sounds like somebody did. I try to take a good look at Mulder, though in my condition that's a losing battle. I force myself to at least make mental note of the damage I can see and it doesn't inspire much hope. By the looks of him, I doubt he's feeling much better than I am. Mulder took several, severe blows, and many more when he protested our kidnapper's mistreatment of me. He assumed that if he diverted their attention away from me and towards himself, I'd be better off. Wrong time for chivalry, Mulder. As soon as they were done rearranging my ribs, they tap danced on your handsome face. That was NOT a smart move, partner. "I'm sorry, Scully," he tells me, as he lightly runs his hand across my battered cheek. If the market on apologies could be cornered, Mulder would be the man to do it. I swear he spends more time apologizing then any ten people I've known. Will he ever wise up? Not everything that goes wrong in our world is his fault. I open my eye again and attempt to form coherent words. "Are you okay?" I hear myself ask. He grins sickly at me. "Nothing a few shots of Jose wouldn't cure. I'm more concerned about you." He is still staring at me, now using his torn shirt cuff to wipe some of the blood encrusted sand off my face. I try to take a deep breath, and am hit with a coughing fit that would lead people to believe I am a smoker. Not since high school I'm afraid. I wish it was a smoker's cough; that couldn't possibly hurt this bad. Not to mention I wouldn't have to hide the severity of my injuries to Mulder. I can taste blood in my mouth, swirling across my tongue. If I tell him that now, he'll likely go into another outbreak of self- blame and 'I'm sorrys' and I just don't have the strength to smack some sense into him. Not at the moment, at least. I can't help but grimace as a wave of nausea hits me hard. Struggling to sit up, I resolutely ignore the adamant protest that my ribs are making with every move. When you have to throw up, you have to throw up. I hear Mulder grunt in a swallowed utterance of agony as he helps me to my knees. If it were any other time than now, I would insist upon examining the injury that caused that sound. However, I'm too busy retching for what seems like forever. Finally, my stomach's violent onslaught subsides. Leaning back against a jagged rock, I glance over at Mulder and try to catch my breath. What I see doesn't make me feel much better. The hand he just used to help me up, is swollen, bruised, and cradled against his side. I should be upset with him for endangering his life, even if it was on my behalf. Their abuse of me is what brought him to it. I know that in my heart. Yet, my pride is wounded. Part of me can't help but wonder if he thought I couldn't take the pressure they put on me. I want to be angry with him for that, but I find that I can't. I can no more stay angry with him for trying to protect me than I could direct my anger at him for breathing. It's second nature for him. I knew that a long time ago. "Scully," he gently murmurs my name, almost like a lover's caress. At a different time, maybe, but the idea of sweet nothings right now flips my stomach again. "Yeah," I mutter though gritted teeth. "You gonna be okay?" he asks, his face creased with worry. xxx Scully mumbles a reply. A promise or a prayer, I'm not sure which. I can tell it's hard for her to speak. Reaching out towards me she takes hold of my good hand and looks up at me. I see her fears and mine reflecting back at me in stark clarity. We both know that our chances of surviving out here are slim to none, even in top condition. I brush the sweat soaked hair from Scully's face, and put my arm around her. As the blistering sun cooks the raw skin on my face I become further convinced that we've been dumped in hell. Trying to get our bearings, I notice a large rock formation out in the distance, the only source of shade and protection to be seen for miles. It's not the Ritz, but it will have to do. I just don't know how we are going to make it that far. I look down at her, trying to surmise how badly she's been injured. She is watching me watch her. "Can you--" "I can walk," she tells me. And they call me spooky. xxx I have come to the basic conclusion that this will go much better if I lie to him. That's the ticket, Scully. Lie to him. "I can walk," I hear myself say. 'I CAN walk, I CAN walk,' I repeat the words over in my mind. If I can stand, I can walk, I assure myself. In the next instant, I am falling over to my side, my ribs howling in protest as I strike the uneven ground. In an instant Mulder is next to me, his useless hand still tucked protectively across his stomach. I am an idiot, and his hand is obviously broken. He gingerly helps me to a sitting position, placing his good hand on the back of my neck to try and keep the angry sun off it. I tentatively reach forward and take his injured hand. He yelps when I touch it, and pulls away. It reminds me of when he ended up with a broken pinky. This time though, there is no miracle first aid kit. "Mulder, let me see it," I say, willing my jaw to work. It's a losing battle. He gets this look on his face...how can I describe it...he looks like a little boy playing a grown up. I can tell the injury is bad enough, that if he could, he'd sit himself down and bawl his eyes out. The man in him tells him he should tough it out. At least in front of me. "Mulder," his name rolls of my tongue plaintively. "Let me help you." He looks at me, reaching to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. "It's fine, Scully, really. Besides, we've got to get out of this sun." After a brief pause, he tilts his head in my direction, giving me a lopsided grin. "Want to give that walking thing another shot? " I signal with my hand for him to help me up. He pulls, and soon I'm standing, albeit rather unsteadily, on my feet. If there were a breeze in this godforsaken desert, I'd be over in a second. xxx Scully's determination is indomitable. She looks like she's ready to fall over face-first, and yet somehow, she manages to stay upright. I wrap my arm around her waist, and we begin our trek forward in silence. One foot in front of the other. We can make it. One in front of the other. It is my mantra now, and I use it to try and drown out the howling complaints that my body is bombarding me with. Including my ankle. I haven't mentioned that to her yet. For now, it is supporting my weight, but it feels like a spike is being driven through it with every move. Grin and bear it, I tell myself. I look over at Scully and notice that she is watching my feet. Without warning, she stops. At most we might be about half a mile from where we started. I figure she needs a well-deserved rest, and I too am grateful for the momentary reprieve. That is until she looks up at me, one blue eye shooting fiery arrows in my direction "Damn it Mulder!" She spits my name out in a half holler. "What?" I ask, confused. "Look Scully, I'm sorry. I had no idea that our trip out here would land us in this hell they call a desert. I swear to you had I--" "Shut up," she says in a monotone voice. "Excuse me?!" "You're limping Mulder." "So?" "So why are you limping, and why the hell didn't you say something?" "I'm limping because getting repeatedly kicked in the ankle hurts like a son of a bitch and I didn't say anything because it doesn't matter." xxx "Mulder, it matters to me. You should have told me." "And what could you have done, Scully? Nothing. There is no sense arguing over a moot point, besides which, you're in worse shape than I am." He cringes as his eyes meet mine. THE look. Mulder knows it well. My eyebrow has managed to shoot towards the heavens, oblivious to the pain in my eye. "When I need your help, Mulder, I'll ask for it." I turn from him and attempt to walk away, defiant to the last. That would be a good trick if I could bear to stand alone for more than five seconds at a time. I stop, raise my hand to my face, and gingerly caress my jaw. Risking a glance back, I see him still standing where I left him, hurt evident in his eyes. It dawns on me that there is a part of him quietly pleading for me to need him. Slowly, I walk back to him. "I..." Who knew this was going to be so hard for me to say. "I...you're right Mulder. I...I can't do this alone." I pause again, forcing myself to allow the next words to pass my lips. "I need you." He doesn't say a word but I see an amazing transformation in him. The ache within him seems drain away. It's almost as if it was a tangible creature, one that in moment decided it would be left in the distance. We continue on in silence for quite a while before he whispers, just barely loud enough for me to hear, "Together." xxx I let her support the smallest possible amount of my weight and we continue onward as the sun beats down on us without mercy. I wipe the sweat from my brow and hers, continually. I'm surprised that she's allowing it. She falters and we slow for a moment, only to pick up the pace, double time. Her face is pale, and it worries me. In this heat she should be beet red, but even her lips are nearly white. This time it is I who insists we stop. She'll kill herself at this rate. Knowing her, it will all be because she feels she has to prove that she is not weak. xxx I can remember when we caught Kurt Crawford in Allentown. So long ago, it seems. My nose began to bleed and Mulder couldn't take his eyes off my face. I remember this well because I am using the same exact words on him now that I did then. "Quit staring at me, Mulder. I'm fine," I tell him, irritation distinct in my voice. The only difference between Allentown and now is that he refuses to look away from me. He shakes his head and his eyes bore into me. "Scully, if you were fine, you wouldn't look like a ghost." Admittedly, my retort was an attempt to piss him off, anything to distract him from his current focus: me. I can tell by looking at him that he has no intention of backing down, but it's worth one more shot. If he gets a close look at the shape I'm in he's going to be significantly more worried about me than I know he already is. "Mulder, I'm fine. Neither of us is in any condition to be traipsing across the desert, let alone any place else, but that doesn't change the fact that if we don't keep moving we'll die out here. Let's just go." "No." His response is simple, and so is the determination in his voice. Damn the man for having the tenacity of a pit bull. "I was going to wait until we got to the rocks but this needs done now," he says as he reaches for the buttons on my shirt. "That isn't necessary, Mulder. I'm fine." I'd rather die than let him know that with every step, my ribs are grating together mercilessly and that I haven't drawn a decent breath since we woke up out here. Weakly, I brush his hands away from my shirt only to have him grab both my wrists with his good hand. I try to pull away. He refuses to let go. Trying to scare him off, hoping that he'll back down, I look up at him defiantly. I'm stunned when I see the set of his jaw. Gone is gentle concern, only to be replaced by outright fire. "Dana Scully...you WILL sit there and you WILL let me check you out. You don't have a choice in the matter, so get used to the idea! Now sit your ass down and open up your goddamn shirt!" This would be comical coming from Mulder at any other time. We tend to push each other's buttons. It's a form of banter unique to our partnership, and at any other time I'd return the parry. This time is different though. This time, he is dead serious. As my skin gets clammier, I look up at him, and then bow my head. It isn't easy, but I admit my defeat. I ease myself down onto a small, flat rock, trying to avoid the burning sand. He kneels down behind me as I fumble with the buttons on my shirt. Silently, I thank god that I had the sense to choose a button-down when I last got dressed, however long ago that was. I try to take it off my shoulders, but can barely move in either direction. Mulder, seeing my struggle, gently pulls the silk down and away from my back. I hear his sharp intake of breath. So much for not burdening him. xxx "Jesus Christ, Scully!" Hot, arid air suddenly catches itself in my throat. The woman has balls to chastise me about my foot when her back looks as if it had been used for batting practice. "I'm sorry," she mumbles, wincing as my fingertips graze across her side. With a rib cage smeared in shades of Barney purple, I'm sure she is fighting to breathe, and yet not a word from her. Not one single god damned peep about it. In addition to the myriad bruises and cuts, there is the prominent mark of what can only be a boot, on her back. I think back to when it could have happened. Chances are it was while they were dragging me head-first across the room. I think back even further, to the first aid training that all new agents receive. 'A precautionary measure,' they had informed us. What the hell did they say about broken ribs? Fractured jaws? Head injuries? God...now when I need my eidetic memory, it's taken a vacation. Figures. "Scully, can you take a deep breath for me?" I watch her closely as she struggles to do what I've asked. Finally, she gives in, letting her shoulders sag. Dana Scully...the brilliant Dana Scully...is daft. Granted, she may have degrees out the yin yang, but she's insane. She is nuts for staying with me after hearing my first psychotic ramblings the day we met, crazy for not going back into medicine after Antarctica, and absolutely fucking stupid for trudging almost two miles across the desert in this shape. She looks over at me, and I know that she has finally resigned herself to the situation. "No more beating around the bush, Mulder. I think I have two or three broken ribs, my jaw is killing me, and I can't seem to rid myself of the taste of blood that's in my mouth. I know I should have told you s--" "Damn straight you should have told me. Why do you do this? Why do you feel you have to prove yourself, to ME of all people? I KNOW what you can do, Scully. I KNOW what you are capable of...what you have achieved. I depend on it every day for Christ's sake. But by doing this," I point to her ribcage, "you aren't helping anyone, most especially not yourself!" My anger is quickly spent, and is directed as much at myself for getting us into this mess as it is at her for putting herself in greater danger by keeping silent about this. I begin ripping apart the inside of my suit pants from the hem up. Frustrated with the slow progress I'm making, I finally take them off to finish the job. Scully is looking at me as if I've completely lost my mind. "We've got to brace your ribs," I mumble with a mouth full of fabric as I try to rip through the soft lining of my slacks. For some reason I thought tearing these things apart would be simpler somehow. That's what I get for buying a decent suit. After a fair amount of work, I don my slacks minus most of the lining and return to her with several strips of the soft fabric. I begin wrapping her chest to the best of my untrained ability. The last strip tied around her midsection, I quietly watch from behind as she loosens the death-grip she's had on her pant legs since I began. Four crescent shaped imprints are left in each of her palms and I can feel each one dig into my heart. I move around to face her, taking a closer look at her bruised eye. xxx Damn his hazel eyes there are no two ways about it, the man is positively infuriating. Yet, I can't begin to imagine what my life would be like without him. Don't get me wrong, I'm not talking a cute little house and white picket fence. In all honesty, after my time with Mulder and the X- files I don't think I could stand to live that quiet, peaceful and in comparison staid existence. I accept the fact that my chance at that life is long gone, even embrace it, because what Mulder and I have together goes far beyond the ordinary. It doesn't mean that life between us is perfect. On occasion, it's quite the opposite, we can argue like an old married couple. What amazes me about our relationship is that somewhere along the line we became two halves of a whole that I don't think either of us fully comprehends. We work in instinctive tandem. Thoughts transferred by just a look or a touch. The ability to communicate those thoughts, sometimes before we realize we've had them. It can be an invaluable asset for us in the field, but it can also be maddening. There are times when it doesn't work at all, and there are other times, like now, when I wish I could turn it off. As he sits in front of me, assessing the damage to my face, I know exactly what is going through his mind. He may be looking at my eyes, but I'd bet my last dollar that he's a lot more focussed on how I'm breathing. What really gets to me, is the fact that he is probably right. "A lung is damaged, isn't it?" he asks me with what I swear is a superior air. I wonder how he can be so smug with me, but as I look in his eyes, I see something that makes me feel comfortable. Deep, genuine care. Mulder would do anything for me, and I know it. So why do I feel the hide things from him? "I'm really not sure," I admit. "Christ, Scully...you need a doctor. You shouldn't be out here, you shouldn't even be walking," he sighs. I can't seem to control the annoyance creeping into my voice. "No shit, Mulder. Neither of us should, but it doesn't change the facts." He lowers his eyes, and then looks back up at me. This time it is he who knows that I am right. Yes, both of us need medical attention, but first things first; we need to get to shelter soon. We rise to our feet and he takes hold of my hand as we head off towards our only hope of respite. -end part 1. "Hell on Earth: Burn" ------------------------- This is where we shamelessly beg for feedback. Loved it? Hated it? Let us know. It's amazing just how much two words of feedback will do for an author.