Title- Survivor's Guilt Author- Munchie Catagory- Lots of angst! And some MulderTorture thrown in for good measure. Feedback- Pretty please with Mulders on top? ;) munchie14@hotmail.com Summary- Well, here's the challenge- "Write a story with Scully or Mulder's point of view, then write the exact same scene from a minor character's point of view." Disclaimer- I don't own 'em and I never will! Author's Note- The first part is written from a supporting character's POV, and the second part is in Scully's POV. Many thanks to Emily for posting this challenge on the Youth Fic mailing list! ;) ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ I gave them a choice. "Choose who will die." I said. "Me," they simultaneously responded. I saw the look they gave each other. I saw the silent battle being fought between them. I once had a connection like that with someone. I *had*. Before they threw her in jail. Before I saw her gassed out of existence by the same people who stood before me. Well, not exactly the same people, but the same *people*. You know. Government. Law enforcement. FBI. They will pay for their sins. The guy. What a gentleman. He's gonna sacrifice himself for the red-head. But it doesn't matter. They're both gonna suffer, and in the end, both will die. I set a chair, the back flush against the wall. I tie the red- head to it, making sure her legs and arms are immobile, and then I gag her. I get another chair and do the exact same thing on the other side of the room. I drag the guy over, all the while he's kicking and screaming about how I'm gonna die if I ever touch his partner. Yeah, right, whatever. I get out some barbed wire and tie it around his wrists, ankles, and around his chest. Tight. The blood oozes out from the punctures, and dribbles down in mesmerizing patterns. I shake my head. No time for that now. I double check the makeshift restraints, and make sure there's no way he was gonna escape. Then, I begin. I spit in his face and he reflexively pulls back, his head impacting the concrete wall with a smack. I slide my pocket knife out, and ponder which I should use this time. Knife. Definitely a knife. I pull out my weapon of choice and test it on a piece of paper. Slides through it like water. I watch in amusement as the lady's eyes widen and she leans forward against the restraints. The guy just sits there and tries to suppress his squirming. I lay the tip of the blade on his knee cap. He looks at the knife, as if he could move it by the intensity of his gaze. But I push it in, slowly, dragging it down the bone of his shin, stopping right above the ankle. Blood trickles out of the cut, running in a stream down his leg. To his credit, he doesn't cry out. Doesn't even make a sound. So I do it again, and again, and again. He never once screams out loud, but the extreme pain shows in his eyes. I glance at the red-head. Her eyes shoot daggers at me, her raw anger mingling with the tears which threaten to spill over. Good. She now understands. She knows what it feels like to watch your only love die before you. To see their suffering without being able to do a thing. She knows. But there is more. I once again concentrate on my handy pocket knife, this time extracting the corkscrew. I lift up his shirt to expose his flat, sculpted torso. I rest the point of the corkscrew on his flat stomach, push in, and twist. His skin resists and dimples before the sharp tip punctures the flesh. This time he cries out, his face twisting with pain. Another glance at the red-head shows that she can feel it too. Her face reflects agony, and... something else. Guilt. She feels it now. She knows what I felt. My job is done. I quickly pull out the knife blade again, and stab it deep into the man's chest, aimed straight for his heart. I no longer need him, so I put him out of his misery. He falls limp, his head falling onto his chest. I can hear her gasp, even with the gag on. Now, it is my turn. She is crying, tears streaming down her face, only to be sopped up by the cloth which is tied around her mouth. She gasps for breath but I ignore it. A quick look into her eyes simply confirm what I'm about to do. She wants to join her partner. She won't have to wait long. I untie her right hand, leaving the left one tied to the chair. I grab the two guns which I confiscated off the red-head and the guy, and cock them. I stick one into her hand and keep the other one for myself. "On three" I tell her. Recognition dawns in her eyes, and they soften as she accepts what she is about to do. She wants the same thing as I. We want to join our loved ones. We take careful aim at each other's head. Soon, I will be at peace. "One," I count out loud. "T-" I see her finger tightening on the trigger and at the last moment I realize that I misread her. She doesn't want to die. Those are my last thoughts as gray fades to black. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ I slowly feel the thick haze of unawareness lift from my mind. Why am I sitting upright? In a rush, today's events run back into my memory, violently jerking me out of my stupor. As I awake, my hands try to escape from behind my back, to no avail. My hands and legs are tied tightly against the hard wood of the chair. Mulder sits across from me, gagged and tied with barbed wire. I can only imagine how painful that is. The man looks at me and then back at Mulder. He spits in Mulder's face and he involuntarily pulls his head back, right in the cement wall. I wince. The man then pulls a pocket knife from his pocket and tests on the piece of paper he had with him. It slices cleanly through, that knife is *sharp*. The man rests the tip of the knife on Mulder's knee. I see Mulder's muscles tense as he tries not to jerk away. Slowly, as if enjoying the sight of Mulder's pain, the man drags the knife down the length of his shin. Mulder flinches, but doesn't cry out. The man does it over and over again, and I can't bare to watch. I concentrate on trying to get free. I lunge against the restraints, desperately trying to release myself. I foolishly feel anger towards Mulder. Why did that bastard volunteer to be killed!? Each silent word is punctuated by a jerk against my bindings. He looks at me. Not Mulder, the other guy. He stares at me like he's peering into my soul. I look back at him, and I see red as the anger builds up inside me. That bastard hurt Mulder. Tears of frustration threaten to overflow, and I struggle to keep them at bay. I look over at Mulder and his eyes glisten with tears of pain. But I read the expression. "Don't worry Scully, I'm fine." If only his real hurts could be rid of that easily. The guy slowly pushes in the blade of his pocket knife, and pulls out another apparatus. A corkscrew. My imagination comes up with 101 things he could do with that. He pulls up Mulder's shirt, exposing his stomach. He presses the point into his pale skin and twists. Mulder screams in agony and I force myself to detach from the situation. I can't handle it. Mulder's gonna die... there's nothing I can do about it... why him and not me? The madman looks me in the eye and seems to come to a decision. Without preamble his pulls out the knife and thrusts it straight into Mulder's chest. I'm in shock for a split second and then the floodgate opens. I cry. Gut-wrenching sobs for my best friend whom I'll never see again. I feel my hand being untied. My right hand. I don't understand. But I'm pass the point of caring. Mulder's dead. The fact repeats itself over and over in my mind. I feel something being pressed into my palm. I look down. It's Mulder's gun. Half-heartedly I make eye contact with the murderer who stands before me. I understand what he wants me to do. And I want it too. "On three... one." Time moves in slow motion. I've accepted the fact that I'm gonna die. But not after killing the man who killed Mulder. In cold-blood. I'll see you soon Mulder. I hear his voice echoing in my head. I can't hear Mulder's words, but I somehow I hear the message. My finger tightens on the trigger. "T-" The man is cut off from his counting as a bullet enters his head. Mutely, I manage to untie myself using my right hand. I scoot over to Mulder's body. For some strange reason, I need to know that Mulder's actually dead. I know enough not to hope, but I can't help myself. I place my hands on Mulder's neck, and feel for a pulse. I feel a faint beat beneath my fingertips. I collapse to the floor, this time sobbing tears of relief, as the door is kicked in and FBI agents and paramedics flood the room.