Mulder placed a hand on Scully's stomach, trying to still her frantic movements. It was meant to be a gesture of reassurance, but also of necessity, to stop her from hurting herself as she instinctively tried to pull away. His touch felt hollow, and the weight of what he was doing pressed down on him like lead.
As he pressed the first tentative kiss to her sex, he felt her body go limp beneath him, all the fight draining out of her. The sight of her surrender hit him hard, making his heart sink with a sickening thud. What had he expected? That she'd respond, that this could be anything other than twisted and wrong? His stomach churned with revulsion, not at her, but at the situation they had been forced into. The helplessness of it all threatened to consume him.
The distant roar of chainsaws cut through his thoughts, sharp and grating, a constant reminder of the threat hanging over them. He couldn't fully block out the noise, no matter how hard he tried to focus on his grim task. His mind felt hazy, likely from whatever drug had been pumped into his system, but he clung to the hope that if he did this, if he made it look good enough, maybe—just maybe—they would let Scully go.
But every kiss, every forced touch felt like betrayal, not just of her but of the bond they shared. He had never wanted this—never wanted to be the source of her pain. Yet here he was, reduced to a puppet in this twisted game, and the bitterness of it was almost too much to bear. He couldn't stop thinking how utterly wrong it all was, how he was failing her in the worst possible way.
To Mulder, what should have been a beautiful, intimate moment between him and Scully stretched on painfully, far longer than it should have. Each second felt like a betrayal, a distortion of something that could have been sacred. His every move, meant to protect her, felt twisted under the cruel eyes of their captors. By the time he was finally yanked away from her, a wave of relief crashed over him, so powerful it nearly left him dizzy. But the weight of what had just happened lingered, heavy and suffocating.
"Agent Ice Queen is impossible to get to cum, isn't she? A lot of firsts for her today, you know—being naked and handcuffed, you going down on her..." One of their captors sneered, voice dripping with mockery. Mulder's eyes shot to Scully, his heart sinking. Despite the terror of their situation, the real impact of their captor's taunt hit her like a physical blow. She didn't meet his gaze, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
Mulder's drug-hazed mind struggled to process the weight of those words. Her first experience with something so intimate? The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. This should have been shared in the safety of his apartment or hers—somewhere private, somewhere safe, somewhere where she could feel cared for. Not here. Not under the cruel gaze of armed strangers, in the midst of this twisted nightmare. The wrongness of it all gnawed at him, the guilt cutting through the drug-induced fog.
His heart shattered as he saw her lying there, exposed and humiliated. The look on her face, a mix of violation and deep embarrassment, was unbearable. All Mulder wanted was to get her out of there, to shield her from this nightmare. He ached to make her feel safe again, to somehow erase the horror of this moment from her mind, to undo what should have never happened.
Mulder's breath caught in his throat as the captor's words echoed through the cold, dimly lit room. "Agent Scully can't relax because you're still dressed. She hates it when she's naked before her partner. Get naked, Mulder."
For a moment, everything froze. The weight of the command was suffocating. He looked down at Scully, who was already trembling under the strain of this unbearable situation. Her discomfort radiated from her, her body taut, her breathing shallow. Her face was turned away, avoiding his gaze, but Mulder could feel the humiliation rising off her in waves. This was breaking her, and he felt powerless to stop it.
Mulder swallowed hard, his hands trembling as he moved to unbutton his shirt. Every movement felt like a betrayal, not just to himself but to her. She didn't deserve this. He knew her well enough to understand that what was happening would haunt her far more than it ever would him. He wanted to protect her from every second of it, to tell her it would be okay, but he couldn't stop what was happening. He had to play along, if only to keep the situation from spiraling into something even worse.
With each button, his mind screamed at him to stop, to fight, to find another way, but there was none. His shirt fell to the floor with a soft thud, and still, Scully refused to look at him. Her eyes remained fixed somewhere else, anywhere but at him. Mulder felt the tightening in his chest—the helplessness of knowing that he couldn't comfort her, that this wasn't how things should have been between them. Not like this.
When the captor pushed again, urging him to strip completely, Mulder's hands moved to his belt. The metallic sound of the buckle echoed in the otherwise silent room. His skin prickled with shame as he undressed, not from embarrassment, but from the deep disgust he felt at the entire situation. Every inch of fabric he removed only seemed to deepen the chasm between them, a chasm that he feared they might never bridge again.
He stole a glance at Scully. She hadn't moved, hadn't acknowledged him, and it broke his heart. He knew she wasn't just physically retreating, she was mentally pulling away too, shutting down to survive what was happening. Her tension, the way her body seemed to recoil in on itself, spoke volumes. She was battling her own demons in this moment, demons he wasn't sure he could reach.
Mulder tried to send her an unspoken message: *This isn't us. This isn't real. I'm still here for you.* But he wasn't sure if she could even hear him through the fog of trauma clouding her mind. He felt helpless, more helpless than he ever had in his life. This wasn't about them anymore. It was about control, and their captors had it.
His clothes now lay in a pile on the floor, and he stood there, exposed, vulnerable, and full of rage. Not at Scully, never at her—but at the situation, at their captors. His mind raced with every possible scenario, every regret, every ounce of pain she must have been feeling. He wanted to tell her it wasn't her fault, that none of this was her fault, that she didn't have to be ashamed, but the words stuck in his throat. All he could do was comply, hoping that somehow, they would survive this together.
Scully shifted slightly, her shoulders tense, her breathing shallow. Mulder knew this wasn't just about the physical humiliation. This was something far deeper. Something was breaking inside her, something that went beyond what was happening now. He could feel it. And it killed him that he couldn't fix it, not right now. Not like this.
Inside, Mulder burned with shame, rage, and guilt. Not for what he was doing, but for what he couldn't do—stop this, protect her, comfort her in the way he knew she needed. His thoughts circled back to one thing: survival. Getting through this. Making sure they both walked out of here, no matter what it took.
But as he looked at Scully, as he saw the anguish she was silently carrying, he wondered how much damage would be left behind once this nightmare ended—and if they would ever be the same again.
The captor's voice was dripping with malice as he spoke, "Looks like the little Agent Mulder needs some help." His steps echoed against the cold floor as he approached Scully, unlocking one of her handcuffs with a cruel smile.
Mulder's stomach twisted, his mind racing with every possible outcome. The situation was spiraling into something even darker. He saw the moment Scully stiffened, her gaze still unfocused, lost somewhere deep within herself. She barely reacted as the captor grabbed her hand, forcing it towards him.
"Your turn, Agent Scully," the captor sneered, pushing Mulder towards her while grabbing her wrist and placing it against him.
Mulder's breath hitched as he felt the coldness in her touch, the absence of any warmth or willingness. He didn't flinch, but his mind was screaming. He searched her face, desperate to find her in this moment, to see some part of the Scully he knew. But all he found was pain, confusion, and something much worse—detachment.
His hands remained still at his sides. He didn't dare move, didn't dare react. The touch between them was unnatural, forced, and deeply wrong. Mulder knew that she wasn't doing this; she wasn't choosing this. This was their captor's sick game, and now they were both pawns in it.
Scully's hand stayed where it was placed, but she wasn't participating. Her eyes were distant, refusing to meet his. She was somewhere far away, somewhere she needed to go in order to survive this. Mulder felt his chest tighten with helplessness, his mind racing with ways to get them out of this nightmare. His heart ached for her, for the woman who had been his partner, his equal, his friend—and now, she was being broken in front of him.
"Stop," Mulder finally whispered, his voice hoarse with desperation. He wasn't even sure if he was speaking to Scully or their captor. Maybe both. "Please... stop this."
The captor laughed, a low, sinister sound that grated against Mulder's nerves. He pushed Scully's hand more forcefully against him, the violation deepening. Mulder's eyes closed for a brief second, trying to block out the twisted reality they were trapped in.
But when he opened them again, his focus shifted entirely to Scully. *This isn't her* he told himself. *She's not here right now. She's doing what she has to do to survive.* And as much as that realization tore him apart, it was the truth. He needed to get them through this, no matter what it took. He had to hold on to that thought, to believe that there would be an "after" where they could heal.
"Scully…" he whispered her name, not as a plea, but as a lifeline. He wanted her to know that he was still with her, that this wasn't them, and that he didn't blame her for any of it.
But she didn't respond. Her hand was limp in the captor's grip, her expression blank. Mulder's heart broke a little more with each passing second, but he had to keep it together. He couldn't fall apart. Not now. Not when she needed him to be strong.
Inside, though, he was shattered. This wasn't about the physical violation—it was about the destruction of trust, the unspoken bond they had shared for years. And now, under the cruelty of their captor, it was being torn apart piece by piece.
Mulder's jaw clenched, his eyes never leaving Scully's face. He wouldn't let the captor win. He wouldn't let this moment define them. He would hold on to the hope that when this was over, they could find their way back to each other. Even if it took time. Even if it was hard. He just had to believe it was possible.
But right now, all he could do was endure. For her. For them.
The captor's eyes gleamed with sick amusement as he watched the scene unfold. His voice cut through the air, sharp and mocking. "Looks like Agent Mulder has the hots for his partner." He gestured down toward Mulder, highlighting the involuntary physiological reaction. Mulder's face burned with shame, not from desire, but from the cruelty of the situation.
The captor leaned closer, his grin widening. "Or it could just be the drugs we gave you." His words were laced with venom, meant to humiliate, to tear down what little dignity Mulder had left.
Mulder felt his chest tighten, a knot of revulsion twisting inside him. He hadn't asked for this—none of it. His body's response wasn't his, and every fiber of his being rebelled against the captor's twisted insinuations. He stole a glance at Scully, her eyes still distant, her expression unreadable. She was barely here, and that broke him even more.
The captor wasn't done, though. He moved closer, his presence looming over them like a dark shadow. "Don't believe this will be over fast, Agent Mulder." His voice was almost casual, as if they weren't in the middle of a nightmare. "We're just getting started."
Mulder's mind raced, struggling to hold on to his sanity amidst the torment. He wanted to scream, to fight back, to protect Scully from this unimaginable cruelty. But he was powerless, trapped in this moment, forced to endure the sick game their captors had devised.
The drugs. They were doing more than clouding his mind—they were making everything worse, distorting his body's reactions in ways he couldn't control. But he didn't want Scully to think this was him, that this was his choice, or his desire. He needed her to know that this wasn't who he was—that he wasn't some animal, that he wasn't doing this to her.
His throat felt tight, dry, as if the words were choking him. He could barely bring himself to speak, but he forced the words out, low and broken. "Scully... it's not me. It's not real. None of this is real."
She didn't respond. She couldn't. He knew that. But his heart still ached with the need for her to understand, to believe him, even in this horrifying situation.
The captor stepped back slightly, satisfied with the devastation he had wrought. "Take your time," he taunted. "You're going to need it."
Mulder's jaw clenched, his body rigid with helpless anger. All he could do was endure, to survive this, for Scully's sake. Even if his body betrayed him, even if the captor twisted this moment into something vile, he had to hold on to the truth that this wasn't them. This wasn't who they were.
They would survive. And somehow, they would find their way back to each other after this nightmare was over. But for now, he had to endure—one torturous second at a time.
The captor's mocking voice sent a chill down Mulder's spine as he clamped the cuff back on Scully's wrist, the metallic click ringing in the air. The cruel edge in his tone was unmistakable. "Now, Agent Mulder, it's time for some lovemaking," he sneered, stepping closer, his presence oppressive.
Mulder's stomach churned at the words. He shook his head instinctively, his eyes pleading with the captor, his heart pounding in his chest. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. Not like this.
But the captor's twisted grin only widened. "Oh yes," he continued, a sick excitement creeping into his voice. He stepped to Scully's side, his hand gripping the chainsaw. He revved it just enough for the menacing roar to fill the room, then lowered it close to Scully's head. Her breathing hitched, her body tensing beneath Mulder as she recoiled from the sound. The sheer brutality of the scene made Mulder's heart clench with helpless rage.
The captor's eyes gleamed as he held the chainsaw just inches from Scully's face, the threat implicit and overwhelming. "You see, Agent Ice Queen here has imagined this too. Don't think I don't know. You both have."
Mulder shook his head harder, his voice hoarse as he rasped, "No... No, we haven't..." His chest ached with the weight of the lie, because yes, he had imagined being close to Scully, holding her, loving her—but never like this. Never in violence. Never in pain.
The captor seemed almost amused by Mulder's protest, and with a sickeningly casual shove, one of the guards pushed Mulder down on top of Scully, forcing their bodies together. Scully's wide, terrified eyes met his, and the pain there was unbearable. She was trapped, just as he was. But worse, because he was supposed to protect her, and now he was the weapon being used against her.
Mulder's hands trembled as he tried to pull away, to distance himself from the horror of what was being forced upon them. But the captor's cold voice cut through the air, louder, more menacing. "You make a move to stop this, and Agent Scully's head comes off. I don't think either of you wants that."
Mulder's heart raced, his breath coming in short, frantic gasps. He was out of options. The chainsaw was still humming close to Scully, the threat unmistakable. He felt Scully's fingers brush his hand, a small, desperate touch in the chaos, and he wanted to cry out, to stop this madness, to make it end.
But he couldn't. He was paralyzed by the reality that any resistance, any attempt to save her, might kill her. The captor had made sure of that.
In the twisted silence that followed, Mulder's soul shattered a little more. He was trapped in this nightmare, forced to endure the unimaginable. Forced to hurt the person he loved the most, while powerless to stop the evil being inflicted on them both. All he could do was pray they would survive this—and somehow find a way back from the wreckage when it was over.
He tried to look at Scully again, his heart screaming at the injustice, at the cruelty of it all. But the captor's words echoed in his mind, chilling him to the bone.
This wasn't them. It would never be them.
Mulder took himself in hand, his heart pounding as he carefully guided himself toward Scully's entrance. He was acutely aware of the gravity of the moment, knowing this would be a delicate endeavor. He inched himself forward, moving slowly to allow her body time to adjust. As he met resistance, he paused, desperate to connect with her. He tried to make eye contact, but Scully kept her eyes tightly shut, lost in a world of her own. Leaning closer, he pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek—an unspoken apology for the intensity of what was to come.
With a deep breath, he pushed a little further, but when a cry escaped Scully's lips, his heart lurched. It felt as if the world around him shattered in that moment, and he nearly leapt back from the bed, panic flooding his veins.
"I'm hurting you. I'm hurting her. Please, make it stop," Mulder pleaded, desperation spilling from his voice as he turned to face his captors. "What do you want from us?"
"We don't want anything from you," their captor laughed, the sound chilling and detached. "We're just helping you finish what you started the other night."
Mulder's blood pounded in his ears, his mind reeling. How could they possibly know about that? How could they know something so private, so personal? The thought that these people had been watching them, invading their lives even before this moment, sent a wave of fury and helplessness crashing through him.
As the captor lowered the chainsaw dangerously close to Scully's neck, Mulder's resolve crumbled. He gave in, the roar of the chainsaw a constant, violent hum in the background. Even through the deafening noise, Scully's muffled cry of pain as he entered her cut through him like a knife. It was unbearable—knowing that the woman who had stood by his side through everything was now suffering because of him.
"I'm so sorry, Scully," he mumbled, voice cracking. But when he looked at her, her face had gone blank, her head turned away as if trying to escape what was happening. Her expression was void of life, and it nearly destroyed him. He prayed he wouldn't last long, that it would be over soon, so her torment could end.
Mulder's voice trembled with emotion as he repeated, almost like a mantra, "I am so sorry." His arms gently framed Scully, bracketing her body as he held her close. Every now and then, he leaned in, pressing soft, tender kisses to her cheeks, as if each one could somehow erase her tears, take away the pain. His breath brushed against her skin, warm and apologetic, but words seemed insufficient. All he could offer was his presence, his unwavering love, and the reassurance of his touch.
To Mulder, it felt like an eternity. He glanced at Scully, her face a mask of blankness, and his heart shattered as he realized she had dissociated from the moment, retreating somewhere far away to protect herself. The weight of what was happening bore down on him, a cruel understanding dawning that it was the drugs keeping him going, forcing them both to endure this for far too long.
Tears streamed down his face as he let go of any pretense of control. The pain of knowing he couldn't end this quickly—couldn't spare her more suffering—overwhelmed him. He could do nothing but let the silent sobs rack his body, his tears falling as an apology he could never fully voice.
As Mulder finally felt the first hints of his approaching release, a wave of guilt washed over him. How could he even allow himself this, under such cruel circumstances? Still, he forced a small, trembling smile, leaning closer to Scully. In a soft, cracked whisper, he said, "It's almost over, Scully. I'm so sorry... it's almost over." His voice broke on the last words, hoping she could hold on for just a little longer, praying for any sign that she could hear him, that she wasn't completely lost to the horror of it all.
As Mulder's release hit him, a wave of self-disgust flooded through him. He had known all along that physiological responses were normal, a survival mechanism under the extreme conditions they were in. But his heart couldn't reconcile the reality. How could he live with what just happened? The need to pull away from Scully, to get off of her as quickly as possible, consumed him. He shifted, but before he could move, a sharp, blinding pain exploded at the back of his head. The force knocked him forward, and darkness threatened to overtake his vision as he collapsed onto Scully, helpless and ashamed.