DARK SUNSET by Mort

 Book Two: Part One

Night was drawing in with terrifying rapidity. Dark clouds had already obscured most of the sunlight in the wake of the Albrecx explosions, as far-off cities disintegrated into black dust and showered the atmosphere with their cremation ashes, but now the coldness of genuine night was threaded through the creeping shadows and its teeth were sharp and savage against naked flesh.

Other than the occasional far off explosion, heralding the death of another icon of civilization, they were cocooned in eerie silence.  There were no bird calls or animal cries. Walter didn't know whether they were muted from fear or whether the alien virus was fatal to all animal life. If it were the latter, the earlier strong winds had undoubtedly already carried the weapons' message of death to their vicinity.

Even the river they were following was oddly subdued, so swelled by torrential rain that it had burst its banks and spread flat and wide along several meters of the adjoining countryside. Although it was flowing, the moving currents seemed deep beneath the surface and only an occasional piece of driftwood  broke the water's illusion of stillness.  Barefooted, they followed the river but skirted the edge of the water itself. They were cold and wet enough already without deliberately adding to their misery by splashing through river water.

The hovering, ominous shadows of the vast motherships had long since departed but the effects of the alien weapons had only just begun. Some time mid-afternoon, when the cloud cover had still been thin enough for distant vision, they'd seen the unmistakable mushroom cloud of a nuclear explosion far to the east. Not the direct result of a bomb itself but simply a consequence. Most probably a nuclear power plant overheating because no one remained alive to tend it.

They'd been lucky. A savage wind had moved the radioactive gases in the opposite direction and Skinner was reasonably certain they were far enough from the explosion site to escape fallout. Yet the same vicious wind was as potentially dangerous as the radiation it drove away.  The planet was still struggling to regain its equilibrium from the decimation of Australasia.  Although the climatic changes were less rapid than those he had experienced before his capture, the weather was still erratic. In the few hours since their return to the surface they had been subjected to both torrential rain and skin-breaking hail and, after a far too short respite, the wind was slowly rising again, sending the chill of their wet limbs deep into their bones.

Without clothes or shelter they wouldn't survive the night and, carrying the still substantial weight of Mulder in his arms, Walter was struggling to make any headway towards any signs of civilization.

Mulder was awake now, but that was more curse than blessing. It just meant that he was conscious to suffer the wetness of the rain, the pain of the hail and the chill of the wind. It didn't mean that he was capable of independent action.  He lay in Skinner's arms and shivered his reaction to the elements without complaint or comprehension, just a glazed, confused sadness as though he was incapable of understanding why Walter was letting him suffer.

There was no recognition in his eyes, no sense that his mind still remained intact beneath the shell of his external flesh. His gaze had a horrendous vacancy as though his sanity had been left behind in the horrors of the milking dorm. He had a child-like passivity so alien to the Mulder that he knew that Walter was terrified that Jax's rescue had been too late.

Only he couldn't afford to believe that. He had to assume that Mulder was going to pull himself together and be okay because the alternative was unthinkable.

Mulder was shell-shocked, Walter decided. That was all. If he could just get some food and warmth into the thin, trembling body then he was sure some trace of sanity would spark in the flat, dull eyes that just blinked at him in silent reproach every time he lowered Mulder's feet to the floor and tried to convince him to walk by himself.

It was his silence that bothered Skinner the most.  Mulder seemed as unwilling to test the ability of his newly restored tongue as he was clearly unable to make his restored legs take his weight.  Several times, over the last few hours, Skinner had eased him to the ground, placing him carefully on his feet and prodding him gently in the back to encourage movement.  All Mulder had done was collapse onto his hands and knees, automatically folding his body into the position that his harness had previously enforced, and then he'd rocked silently, his eyes blank and unseeing. 

Many of the others had gone on without them, too desperate to find warmth and shelter to keep themselves to the slow pace of a man carrying such a heavy and uncooperative burden.  He didn't blame them. He too was guilty of leaving people behind. He'd given up on the survivors who had been too stunned by their unexpected rescue to do more than sit down on the ground where they had materialized and stare in bewilderment at the explosions that burst like fireworks over the distant horizon.

He known, even as he left them, that he was probably leaving them to their deaths. Without food, clothes or shelter, none of them would survive the night. The old Walter Skinner wouldn't have taken no for an answer. He'd have forced them to their feet with a combination of threats and pleas. He would have gathered the rag tag band of men together and led them to safety with or without their permission. 

The new Walter Skinner had done none of those things. The man in his arms was his priority. No. More than his priority. The man in his arms was his own only reason to want to survive.

Perhaps, if he were honest with himself, he identified a little too much with the men who had stayed behind. He too understood the possible futility of even attempting to survive in this new, nightmare world.

Life as they had all known it was irrevocably over.

The Albrecx had slaughtered the best of the population, consigning most of the young men to the living death of the milking dorms and slaughtering a large proportion of the older men. The women who had survived the culls had been gathered in internment camps as potential breeders, Internment camps that had undoubtedly been destroyed by the aliens' bombs, and anyone who had sought shelter in the ruins of the cities were also dead.

What was left?  Small bands of resistance scattered around the country and perhaps a few tens of thousands who had successfully hidden from the culls, but the discontinuation of general small pox inoculations in 1972 meant that it was unlikely that anyone under thirty would survive the alien airborne infections.

Somehow they were going to have to start again with barely any women and no children to grow up and replace the generation that had been wiped out by the aliens.

He really wished that Mulder would speak to him. He needed Mulder's insight, he needed that rapier brain to make sense of the terrible thoughts that were swirling around his head.  Suddenly everything *seemed* to make sense to him, everything that Mulder had uncovered during his years with the X-files, and the picture forming in his brain was so unpalatable that he wanted someone to tell him he was wrong, that he was crazy, that the truth he could now see was just the figment of an exhausted and abused mind.

If the Government had known about the threat of the Albrecx, then everything made sense. The meticulous keeping of the smallpox vaccination records. The stealing and storing of women's ova. The experiments with cloning and artificial reproduction. 

It made sense if you could believe that the Government had decided that their only chance of winning against the Albrecx was to allow the culls and work on ways to repopulate after the invasion rather than attempting to defend against it happening in the first place.

And that didn't make sense at all. Did it?

He didn't want to believe that the answer was that simple and horrendous. If it was, why the hell had the vaccination program been halted? Could it really be possible that the people in power had decided that it would be easier to rebuild a world from scratch than try to gather bands of scattered survivors together? But then, according to Mulder, there had always been a shadow Government. One working hard to allow the invasion. Were *they* the ones responsible for allowing the slaughter of the children?

He thought his head would explode if he couldn't talk it through with someone. With Mulder. He certainly had no intention of voicing his thoughts to his other companions.

There were only five of them now. Himself, Mulder and three strangers who were tied to them only by virtue of their shared nightmare. Three strangers who had chosen to set their pace to his instead of following the others.  He didn't fool himself that they were doing so out of any feelings of comradeship.  Mulder was the lure that kept them close. 

Unlike the others, who had seemed almost indecently determined to put a distance between themselves and a living reminder of the sexual depravities they had been forced to commit to survive, these three stared at Mulder with hunger in their eyes.

If he'd had a weapon, he suspected he would have shot them the moment he recognized their cunning expressions of speculative lust. As it was, he knew that if he challenged them he'd be lucky to survive the encounter. All three were as tall and muscular as himself and at least a decade younger. They were what the Albrecx had considered prime 'studs' and it was clear from the way they were eyeing Mulder that they had found their roles to their liking.

Or perhaps that was unfair. Perhaps they had simply been so well brain-washed by the aliens that they couldn't help the way they were reacting to the proximity of an available Producer.  Which still didn't prevent his whole-hearted desire to put a bullet through their brains but somehow it was easier to see them as victims than as predators.  Easier to face the fact that they would undoubtedly get the opportunity to slake their lust  unless he could somehow find a weapon before it became necessary to 'milk' Mulder.

So perhaps it was cruel of him to try and wake Mulder from his haze of bewildered shock. It would be better, when the need to be milked took over his body, if Mulder were unaware and uncaring of who serviced him.  If Jax had told him the truth, Skinner would have twelve hours after that first milking to find a way to lose his three shadows. Permanently.

Assuming, of course, that they didn't all die of exposure in the meantime.

Mulder was already hot and feverish in his arms, beginning to moan and writhe against him so that the already burning ache in his shoulders was becoming unbearable.  Slack lipped and hazel eyes unfocused, Mulder jerked and twisted with instinctive need. His balls, although thankfully far smaller now than their previous ungainly proportions, were swollen and engorged, the skin shining and taut as it stretched over the plump, full sacs, his now unplugged cockhead weeping freely over his stomach as tears of pre-come bubbled excitedly out of his rigid, engorged cock.

The moans were becoming whimpers now, a mindless sobbing that increased in volume with each violent, desperate jerk of Mulder's hips and although his expression remained remote and detached, Mulder's eyes sparkled with tears of  bewilderment and pain.

"It's okay, honey," Walter whispered, his voice heavy with despair. "Soon, Fox. Soon, I promise. Just try to hold on a little longer."

He was so cold and exhausted that he doubted he could even help Mulder under these circumstances. His dick was hanging limp and shriveled between his thighs, too miserable and cold to react to Mulder's shivering need even if he *could* bring himself to throw Mulder down in the mud and take him as though they were a pair of rutting dogs. He was worried that his companions wouldn't have the same compunctions.

Walter was reasonably sure that Zack was the least threatening of the three. He was a blond, buff man in his mid-thirties who only spoke when he had something pertinent to say. It had been Zack's idea that they followed the river rather than cutting across country and he was leading them  with a grace and surety that suggested he had experience of survival tactics. He hadn't volunteered any details of his past but Walter suspected he'd been in the forces.  Under other circumstances Walter might have appreciated his quiet presence but he'd seen the hot interest whenever the blond's eyes had lingered on Mulder's body.  Zack didn't seem the type to initiate a gang rape but Walter wasn't sure that he'd refuse to participate in one.

Rodriguez and Locklear, on the other hand, were like a pair of slavering wolves, neither making any attempt to hide their interest in Mulder. Where Zack seemed almost embarrassed to show his attraction, the other two had made it perfectly obvious that they viewed Mulder as 'fair game'. 

Walter suspected that Rodriguez was insane.  He alternated between brooding silence and bursts of maniacal laughter. Several times, when Walter had been forced to lay Mulder down and rest his aching arms, he'd looked up to see Rodriguez staring at them both, his eyes flat and emotionless but his tongue licking his lower lip and his hands shamelessly stroking his substantial cock. A few minutes later he'd shake his head, crack a joke, and wander off as though the incident hadn't even happened. 

But Locklear was the truly dangerous one. He was a living caricature of every red-blooded, muscle-bound, mentally deficient cop that Walter had ever met. He was the kind of man who called blacks 'niggers', gays 'faggots' and all women other than his mother 'whores'.  Until he'd finally run out of breath, he'd spent the afternoon spouting an endless stream of profanities and curses against the Albrecx, the Government, God and 'pansy-assed faggots like your boyfriend' and boasting that he was going to show Mulder what it was like to be fucked by a *real* man.

When he'd pointed out that wanting to fuck a 'faggot' put Locklear's own sexuality into question, the moron had roared with laughter rather than offence. "A cunt's a cunt, Skinner, and if it squeals like a girl when I fuck it that's good enough for me."

He'd been tempted to put Mulder down and wipe the smirk off Locklear's face. He'd only kept his cool because he was too wary that it was exactly what the three guys wanted him to do. They weren't going to risk hurting their potential sex toy by attacking him while Mulder was in his arms. 

Or maybe he was reading them wrong. Perhaps Locklear was just being an asshole because he *was* an asshole and they were all prepared to 'share' Mulder's favors as long as Walter was prepared to do the hard work of carrying him.

The real problem was that he couldn't see a way not to 'share'.  He was too damned exhausted to fight all three of them and attempting to defend Mulder's 'honor' would just get him killed. God only knew what would happen to his lover if he himself died. 

Though it was probably a moot point anyway. All five of them were probably going to be dead before morning.

He blinked back tears of tiredness and defeat and stared blindly into the darkness ahead, praying for some form of inspiration. It was impossible that he and Mulder had survived the Albrecx mothership only to die of exposure back on Earth. Then he stopped walking and narrowed his eyes, reluctantly grateful that the alien vet had corrected his defective vision.

"What is it, Skinner?" Zack asked.

"There's something ahead. A darker shadow. Something big, like a house maybe," he answered.

"I can't see nothin'," Locklear said, but he charged forward through the undergrowth with obvious excitement and disappeared from view.  A few minutes later they heard his holler of excitement. "Hot damn. It *is* a fucking house!"

Zack and Rodriguez broke into a trot and chased after Locklear's voice. The best Walter could manage, with Mulder in his arms, was a fast walk and he trailed behind them, torn between relief and dread.  Shelter meant survival but it also meant an immediate threat to Mulder.  

A voice in the back of his head was telling him to run in the opposite direction, to take the opportunity of the darkness to shake his companions now that they'd finally let him out of their sight. But without the shelter Mulder would die and although the pre-invasion Mulder might have preferred to take that chance it was ludicrous, in view of what had happened on the alien ship, to imagine that one more rape might be the difference between whether Mulder regained his sanity or not.

The truth was that Mulder was squirming and whimpering in his arms, desperate for relief, and probably wouldn't give a damn whose cock entered him at this moment as long as the pain was taken away. It was his own pride that screamed in offence at the idea of another man touching his lover, not Mulder's. He wasn't even sure that Mulder knew who *he* was anymore.

"I swear I'll protect you, Fox," he whispered. "Even if that means letting them touch you tonight. If I fight them, they'd kill me and then you'll have no one to look after you at all. I don't know if you can understand me, or if you'll ever forgive me for this, but I'm going to do whatever it takes to keep you alive. But they'll pay, Fox. I swear that too. If any of them hurt you, they *will* pay."  

He stumbled tiredly through the dark, treacherous undergrowth until the shadowy form of the building clarified and his ears once again picked up the voices of his unwelcome companions. 

"See," Zack's voice announced. "I told you if we followed the river we'd find a house."

"It's just a fucking barn," Locklear snarled. "A decrepit barn."

"It's shelter," Skinner interrupted, as he reached their side.

"Yeah," Rodriguez agreed, rubbing his goosepimpled arms enthusiastically. "What the fuck are we waiting for?"

"You three go check it's deserted," Walter said, in his best AD voice.

"Why us?" Locklear demanded.

Zack didn't wait for Walter to answer, he strode forward and felt his way around the building, cursing occasionally as he tripped over the discarded debris that littered the ground around the barn.

"I've found a door," he called out. "It's padlocked shut but the door's rotten. It should be easy to pry the hasp out."

"Why don't we just knock the fucking thing off its hinges if the wood's that rotten?" Rodriguez asked, as Zack began to search through the debris for something to use as a crowbar.

"Because there's no point having a shelter with a fucking great hole in," Locklear said, with a disgusted snarl.

"Got something," Zack announced, returning to the door with a short length of metal pipe.  He made short work of prying the hasp out of the wood, then he and Locklear hauled the heavy plank that secured the door out of its cradle and the door opened with a groan revealing the black, musty interior of the barn.

"I can't see a godamned thing," Rodriguez said, walking cautiously into the darkness and swearing loudly as he shined himself on a hulking metal shape. "It's some kind of tractor, I think."

"We need light and heat," Walter said. "If it's a tractor there might be diesel. Feel around and see if you can find any fabric. There might be grain sacks or something. We can wrap them around that metal bar and dip them into the tank to make a torch."

"Stupid me, I forgot my matches," Locklear growled.

"There's enough scrap metal outside for us to make a spark," Walter argued. "It might not be enough to light a fire but it would ignite fuel."

"He's right," Zack agreed. "Find some fabric while I pop the lid on this thing."

"What about faggot-boy?" Locklear complained. "You going to let him just stand there and shout orders?"

"His body is Mulder's only source of heat. You want him to put Mulder down and take the chance he dies?" Zack argued.

"Fuck," Locklear growled but began to edge his way around the interior of the barn in search of grain sacks.

With a sigh of relief, Walter let himself sink to the floor and cradled Mulder on his lap. The floor was bitterly cold and covered with scattered grain and straw that bit uncomfortably against his ass but his shoulders screamed with relief that they were no longer holding Mulder's weight and the almost feverish warmth of Mulder's body began to seep into his frozen chest and groin. He was so exhausted he had to struggle to keep his eyes open. Only Mulder's continuous whimpers of need and his own fear of their companions kept him awake.

Yet he drowsed enough to be barely aware of the occasional curses as Zack struggled with the ancient tractor and Rodriguez and Locklear stumbled through the darkness of the barn. He only snapped back to full awareness when Rodriguez shouted out in triumph.

"They fuckin' stink, but I've found a whole heap of old sacks. You want them all?"

"Just one for now," Zack replied. "No point moving them yet. We'll get some light first and then decide whether we can make some kind of clothing out of the rest." 

Walter let himself drift off slightly again, confident that Zack knew what he was doing. He remembered his earlier impression that the big blond was a useful companion and began to contemplate whether it might be possible to do a 'deal' with him. Unlike Rodriguez and Locklear, there was no evident cruelty or madness in Zack. He was only a threat because he wanted Mulder. 

Maybe...and okay it was unthinkable but then the whole damned situation was unthinkable...he could offer to 'share' Mulder with Zack in exchange for getting rid of the other two.  Realistically, he was a middle-aged man who no longer had the Albrecx drugs to help his libido. He might not even be capable of looking after Mulder by himself. 'Milking' Mulder twice a day while simultaneously keeping them alive might be more than he was physically capable of. Perhaps, until Mulder recovered enough to make his own choices, he was going to have to make some choices for him.

The thought made him sick to his stomach but it seemed the only possible solution to the dilemma they were in. He couldn't take on Rodriguez and Locklear by himself and he was damned if he was going to let them take his lover off him.  A deal with Zack was definitely the lesser of two evils.  He hoped.

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted as the barn door swung open once more and Zack strode in, proudly brandishing a lit torch, with Rodriguez scurrying at his heels.

"Now we can see what we're doing," Zack announced. "Damn, look at that. A ruddy great can of gasoline right next to the door. I skinned my knuckles on that fucking tractor for nothing."  He swung the torch in an arc so that they could see around the barn. Then he turned to Locklear.  "See that broom? Use it to clear the floor over there for a fire."

"We need ventilation," Walter pointed out quietly. "It would be better to build the fire nearer the door. We can leave it open just enough to let the smoke out."

Zack narrowed his eyes thoughtfully then nodded his assent. "Makes sense," he agreed. "There's a huge stack of old hay up in the loft. It'll make warm bedding. I'll  fetch some down while Rodriguez gathers wood for a fire.  Here," he handed Walter a sharp piece of metal. "I'll fetch those sacks first and you can cut head and arm holes in them. If we can find some string we might be able to make some make-shift shoes too."

Then he narrowed his eyes again as he looked at Mulder.  "He looks like he's burning up, Skinner. Is he okay?"

Walter took a deep breath to steady himself, then laid his cards on the table.

"He needs to be 'serviced', Zack. He's in pain and it's getting worse the longer I leave it."

"Then why the fuck don't you...oh, I see. You think we're all going to jump in on the action."

"Aren't you?" Walter demanded.

Zack tried to hold his eyes but failed, dropping his head to hide his blush. "It's hard, Skinner. I mean I'm not like that. I swear I'm not. I never even liked men that way but...hell, those bastards did something to me. I don't know if its brainwashing or something physical but I look at him and all I see is a 'producer' in pain and it's my *duty* to help him out. It's like its become an instinct. I...I don't know if I can swear I won't touch him, Skinner but I do swear I'd never hurt him. I know that's not enough, but it's all I can promise you." 

Walter rubbed his eyes tiredly, wanting to hate Zack but unsure whether he could. Despite his professional relationship with Mulder, he too had never believed he could feel this way about another man. Although he knew his love was sincere, he couldn't be certain that his attraction to Mulder was any different than Zack's. 

"I believe you wouldn't hurt him," he said. "But the question is whether you'll defend him, isn't it? Locklear and Rodriguez *will* hurt him, Zack. You know they will."

Zack was silent for a long time, then he gave a deep sigh and nodded. "Yeah," he agreed. "Rodriguez is crazy, I think, and Locklear's just a sadistic asshole."

"Will you help me?"

Zack shrugged slightly. "I don't think we can take them, Skinner. You're worn out and Locklear could wipe my ass with one hand. If you try to fight them, I reckon they'll kill you. I think they're just waiting for an excuse to get rid of you."

"I know. They're expecting me to go crazy if they touch Mulder. So I'm not going to."

"What?"

"I'm going to let them do it. God help me, but I'm deliberately letting Mulder get so desperate that he won't give a shit who fucks him tonight. It's the only way to make them complacent enough to relax and think I won't cause them any trouble."

"And then?"

"And then I'm going to kill the bastards in their sleep."

~#~#~#~

The sacks were musty and spotted with dark mold. They itched against their skin and left their arms and lower legs bare. But the warmth they provided was more than worth the discomfort of the rough fabric. Walter had sliced several sacks into strips that they had wound around their feet to form primitive shoes and he was currently trying to figure out a way to make the remaining sacks into skirts to cover their legs.  They hadn't managed to find any rope or twine and he was struggling to devise a way to tie the sacks around their waists.

Mulder wasn't helping his concentration. He was keening now, kneeling against his legs and humping in desperation to ease the strain in his groin. 

"What the hell are you waiting for," Zack hissed in his ear, as Locklear and Rodriguez sat on the opposite side of the fire and exchanged speculative glances.

"Lube," Walter said. "There's nothing we can use and his ass is tight as a virgin's again. I'd use spit and my finger but I'm filthy. I've got so much mold on my fingers I don't dare put them inside him."

"There's a river outside," Zack pointed out. "Go clean yourself up."

"Yeah, and the minute I step out of that door they'll be on him like a couple of jackals."

"They'll be on him anyway if you don't move your ass. He's driving *me* crazy."

"Then you'll have to do it."

"What?"

"If I leave him alone with you, they'll fight you for him and Locklear will win. I doubt he'll even care whether he rips Mulder's ass in two. He'll just ram inside. If I take the risk and start to open him up, I think Locklear will fight *me* for him.  But maybe if they see me let you fuck him without an argument, they'll figure it's just a matter of time before they get their own chance. Maybe that way I won't have to let them touch him at all."

"You could be right," Zack admitted. "On the other hand, watching me fuck him might just get them in the mood to jump in on the action."

"How rotten is the wood of that door?"

"Well it's not going to fall down by itself."

"Would it fall down if a couple of guys were throwing themselves at it?"

"Not easily, but given enough time it might. Why?"

"I've got an idea. I don't have time to explain. Work with me here and make sure to tell me to take the gasoline can outside," He raised his voice enough to carry through the barn. "The little slut's driving me crazy, Zack. I've carried him all day and now he expects me to fuck him too?"

"No sweat, Skinner. If you can't get it up I'm sure the rest of us will help you out."

"Yeah and next time I stick my cock in his ass I find it full of your come? I don't think so."

Zack frowned at him uncertainly, then his eyes flashed as he caught on. "Look, I'll clean him up when I've finished, okay?" He turned to Rodriguez and Locklear. "What about you guys?"

"Sure," Locklear leered, "I don't want your spunk on my cock either."

"Hey man, that's cool," Rodriguez agreed. "But I want to go next."

Locklear shrugged. "Yeah, you'd better, 'cos when I finish with him he'll be too fucking loose for your puny dick."

"He needs this," Walter said, as though it was an afterthought, and handed Zack the mobile milker. "For god's sake, don't forget to bring that out," he whispered, then raised his voice once more. "I'm going to see if I can find any rope for these sacks. There might be something outside."  He rose to his feet and ignored Mulder's whimper of loss as he stepped away.

"If you're going out, take that gasoline can with you and put it somewhere safe. I don't like the idea of it being in here with an open fire," Zack said.

"Anything else? Want me to move the tractor too while I'm at it?" Walter snarled, turning away, grabbing the torch, and stomping towards the gas can in an apparent huff.

As he stepped through the door into the night air he shivered with more than cold. He couldn't believe he was trusting Zack enough to leave Mulder alone with him like this, knowing that one of Zack's fingers was probably already breaching Mulder's ass, imagining Mulder writhing on the floor in excitement now that someone was answering his need.

But then he couldn't believe what he was about to do either.

He upended the gasoline can and walked around the perimeter of the  barn, splashing a thin trail on every solid panel and a heavier puddle wherever the wood seemed rotten and weak, forcing himself to ignore the raucous laughter inside as Mulder's keens turned to loud wails of ecstasy. His heart was thundering in his chest, his guts were twisting with jealousy, and although Mulder's cries reassured him that Zack was keeping his promise not to hurt his lover the sounds of pleasure ripped gouges in his own heart.

It's not his fault, he reminded himself. He's not being unfaithful to you. Fuck it, Skinner, you've just given a man permission to rape him so you have no fucking right to blame Mulder for enjoying it.

Yet it still hurt. Hurt so badly that he knew his irrational anger at Mulder was really just the protest of his own guilty conscience.

He returned to the door, carefully picked up the plank that had sealed the doors closed, and bit back his own wail as he heard Zack roar his completion.

"Fuck, I want some of that," Rodriguez said, his voice shaking with excitement. "Get out of the way, Zack. It's my turn."

"He's worn out. Look at him. He's about to collapse on his face. He's had enough for now."

"He can fucking sleep through it for all I care. It's my turn."

"I need to clean him up first."

"Fuck that, Zack. I don't mind. Just scoot out of the way."

"I promised Skinner."

"Fuck Skinner."

"No, he's right," Locklear interrupted. "We don't need shit from Skinner. If we piss him off we'll have to kill him and that means we'd have to carry the freak ourselves. Let Zack take him out and dump his ass in the river. It'll wake him up.  A bit of that cold water and he'll be fucking glad to get a warm cock up his cunt again."

There was a seemingly endless delay between Locklear's crude comment and the soft creak of the door swinging open as Zack hurried through, Mulder in his arms and milking device in his right hand.

"Quickly but quietly," he whispered, as Skinner's torch-light flooded the entrance to the barn. 

Skinner pushed the door closed and slipped the plank through the first hasp, freezing in fear as it collided against the metal with a dull thud.  He waited for a seeming eternity, his ears straining to hear any sounds within the barn that would indicate the two men inside had realized they'd been trapped inside.

"This won't give us much of a head-start," Zack warned. "The side panels of the barn are pretty rotten too. They'll break out in less than twenty minutes and come looking for us. Even with these 'clothes' we're going to have to make camp until morning and they'll be able to find us easily enough if we light a fire anywhere."

"Haven't you figured out why I needed the gasoline yet? Or were you too 'busy' to give it any thought?" Walter growled.

He saw the sudden, sickened realization on Zack's face. "You can't," he protested. "Not like this."

"What do you want me to do? Wait for them to catch up with us so they can warm Mulder's 'cunt'?" 

Zack's face paled a little in the torch-light but he swallowed heavily and nodded. "You're right. They're bastards, both of them. They deserve it."

"I don't know whether deserve is the right word," Walter admitted, "but I'm past caring about right and wrong. All I care about is Mulder's safety."

As though the sound of his own name had finally broken through his haze, Mulder  struggled in Zack's arms and wailed plaintively.  

"What the fuck was that?" Locklear demanded, from inside the barn. 

"Sounded like Mulder.  Zack probably dropped him in the fucking river," Rodriguez replied, with a snigger.

"They're going to come out and check if he doesn't shut up," Zack hissed.

"Shush, Fox. Everything's alright," Walter crooned, stroking Mulder's cheek soothingly.

Instead of calming Mulder down, the touch of Walter's hand seemed to ignite his panic.

"W...W...Wal...Walter?" he wailed.

"Shush," Skinner urged desperately, then cringed at the look of fear on Mulder's face as he immediately bit down on his lower lip and began to tremble in Zack's arms as though expecting a blow.  He cursed whatever vengeful god had thought it would be amusing to let Mulder regain his ability to speak at the precise moment that silence was such a necessity. He had a sinking feeling that it would take a lot of coaxing before Mulder attempted to speak to him again.

"We're running out of time," Zack urged. "Either do it or let's start running now."

Walter nodded, and dipped the torch into the wet shadow of the gasoline.

Fire ripped around the barn, chasing the gasoline trail with the speed of a horizontal shooting star. Within seconds flames were racing vertically up the old, parched wood, turning the entire building into a crackling inferno of heat and smoke. They stepped back hurriedly, driven back by the heat of the flames and the angry choking screams of the men trapped inside. 

"Oh shit, I feel sick," Walter confessed.

"They'll suffocate, Skinner," Zack told him suddenly, his eyes dark with compassion. "There's no ventilation in the barn. The smoke will kill them before the flames even reach them. It's not so bad a death, really."

"It's not that," Walter admitted. "I've just murdered two men and the reason I feel sick is that I don't even feel sorry for them. I used to be an Assistant Director in the FBI, sworn to uphold the law at all costs, and now I've become a murderer and the really scary thing is that I don't even regret what I've just done."

"It's a new world, Skinner. A new and very dangerous world. Maybe there's no place here for our old ideals. It's going to be survival of the fittest now."

"You mean the most ruthless."

"Yeah, maybe I do."

They sank into uneasy silence, as the barn crackled and burned.

"I guess we won't need that campfire after all," Zack quipped.

"Warm," Mulder whispered hesitantly.

Skinner turned to him with a huge smile of relief. Yet again, Mulder had surprised him with his resilience. Then he laughed out loud. How could he have even imagined that Mulder might hesitate to speak again just because he'd told him to 'shush'?

"Welcome back," he said, reaching forward and pulling Mulder out of Zack's arms into his own embrace. "You won't believe this, considering how many times in our past I've complained about your ability to talk the hind leg off a donkey, but I have missed your voice, Fox. I've missed *you*."

Mulder offered him a tremulous, slightly bewildered smile.

"I know," Skinner agreed. "I don't expect you to just 'snap out of it'. You've been through hell, Fox and I know you're confused at the moment."

"I don't...I'm not sure what..." Mulder's voice trailed off and he shook his head as though he'd already forgotten what he was trying to say.

"How are you feeling?" Skinner asked gently.

"My ass hurts," Mulder replied finally, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment beneath eyes that were both confused and reproachful.

"I'm sorry," Skinner mumbled, his own cheeks darkening. "No one will hurt you again."

"He hurt me," Mulder cried, pointing his finger at Zack accusingly. 

"I swear I was as careful as I could be," Zack swore to Walter, his eyes wide with panic.  Then he looked Mulder in the face. "I'm sorry Mulder, I tried to be gentle as I could but you were just so damned desperate that you wouldn't let me take it slowly."

"You hurt me," Mulder repeated, glaring with an anger that swiftly faded into panic. "I...I  *wanted* you to hurt me," he whispered, his eyes widening with horror as the memories tumbled into his head. Himself on his knees, howling with pleasure as a stranger's cock thrust inside him, writhing with shameless sluttish desire as he rode the brutal invasion. He felt sick, disjointed, the memories spinning into his mind like nightmare still-shots of his own depravity. No Albrecx harness to subdue him. No milking rack to hold him in place. No threat of a fate worse than death to force his cooperation. No alien with whips to beat him into submission. No excuse. No excuse at all.  "I...oh...fuck, I was like an animal on heat. You drugged me. You must have drugged me."

"Mulder...Fox...we're free of the Albrecx and you're almost back to normal," Walter explained hesitantly, "but not completely. Not all of the changes could be reversed. You still have a *need* for regular sex."

"How regular?" Mulder demanded, his face twisted with panic.

"Just twice a day now, I swear."

"Just twice? Just fucking TWICE?" Mulder roared, struggling to get out of Walter's arms.

Walter lowered him gently to the floor but Mulder's legs folded under him and he collapsed into a kneeling position, breathing heavily. Walter put a tentative hand on his shoulder but Mulder angrily shook it off.

"What else, Walter? I assume there's more bad news."

"The Albrecx detonated their bombs and left. We have no way of knowing yet whether our transmission was successful but a cure to their virus was secretly incorporated into everyone's smallpox vaccinations so there's a good chance that a lot of the people who avoided the impact sites are still alive."

"What about me, Walter?"

"Your physiology has been changed," Walter confessed reluctantly. "You can't digest solid food any more."

"Not that we've found any food yet," Zack interrupted. "So at the moment it's irrelevant."

Walter glared at Zack and waited for Mulder to explode. Instead he wiped his hands over his face and huddled into himself.

"I'm tired, Walter," he mumbled.

"Then sleep," Walter suggested, sitting down next to him and pulling his now unresisting body into his arms.

"I can't. I'm scared of the dreams," he whispered, his voice as tremulous as a child's.

"What dreams?"

"Terrible dreams. I was on the ship and...and I got taken to the milking dorm. They cut off my arms, Walter, and my legs, and then they...then they....oh god, Walter. I don't want to dream that dream again."

Walter's face twisted with pain. "Then don't Fox. Think about good things. Close your eyes and imagine somewhere safe, somewhere you want to be. Close your eyes and let your dreams take you there. I'll hold you, Fox. I'll keep you safe."

"So tired."

"So sleep, Fox. You're in my arms. I'll protect you." 

Mulder sagged against him, his breathing changing rapidly to the slow rhythm of sleep.

"It wasn't a dream, was it?" Zack whispered.

Skinner shook his head sadly. "No, it wasn't a dream. It was just one too many horrors for his mind to absorb."

"I can't believe he's still sane."

"I don't think he is entirely, but he will be. He's not the kind of man who gives up."

"I really didn't hurt him, Skinner, I swear."

"I know," Walter agreed. "Otherwise I'd have killed you already."

Zack looked at Walter's stony glare and swallowed heavily.

"Message received loud and clear, Skinner."

"Good. Get some sleep yourself. It'll be morning soon and we need to find food and shelter for tonight."

TBC