"Retreat"
                                    by Pinky and The Brain
                                    
                                    Disclaimer: "The X-Files" is property of Chis Carter and 
                                    Fox Network.
                                    Rate: PG
                                    Category: MT, MA, Mulder POV
                                    Spoilers: Within
                                    Summary: Hanging onto sanity by a thread...
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                                    The restraints have continued to slice into my skin from 
                                    previous efforts at escape... or effecting relief. A 
                                    reflex not entirely of my conscious mind, but born of 
                                    claustrophobic desperation. Numbness at the tips of my 
                                    fingers burn in their intensity. I hope this sensation 
                                    will disperse to other regions where open wounds are 
                                    festering. But what does it matter now?  I slipped the 
                                    surly bonds of earth like all those childhood imaginings, 
                                    but just look at me. Trapped like a fly in amber in an 
                                    otherworldly horror. 
                                    
                                    After endless hours that I can no longer count, I have 
                                    found a retreat. 
                                    
                                    Into the far recesses of my mind where they cannot 
                                    penetrate, I am free. A leaden chamber locked in my mind 
                                    that secludes the last vestige of coherent awareness as I 
                                    lie here and await the next atrocity. Their incessant 
                                    probing may invade my physical being, but have not 
                                    permeated through the desperate walls of my mind. 
                                    
                                    They cannot pursue me there.  A mad laugh that could be 
                                    my own cannons around my skull, mocking them from my safe 
                                    harbor. Untouchable. 
                                    
                                    No matter what physical torment I endure, they have yet 
                                    to discover my secret illicit refuge. On my most desolate intervals I withdraw into 
                                    this niche where no pain is permitted. 
                                    
                                    It is where my memories exist. 
                                    
                                    They keep me sane in all the madness and delirium. 
                                    Through despair and agony, I have this. I hang onto this 
                                    with all ten talons of the desperate beast that is left 
                                    of my sanity. Out of the abyss, these are beacons to lead 
                                    me far from the suffering. One memory is so prominent 
                                    from rest of them all. 
                                    
                                    Scully. 
                                    
                                    I memorize the contours of her face, the way her brows 
                                    arch or crease out of skepticism or concern. The way her lips slowly curl into 
                                    a full-blown smile, very rare and just for me. I burn her 
                                    memory into my retinas, simultaneously with my heart. 
                                    Loud and heavy all through me like a metronome sinking in 
                                    molasses. My heart beat draws out the sound of her name 
                                    like a litany, a much needed mantra.    
                                    
                                    I can lose all mortality in this thought, slide into a 
                                    realm of euphoria. 
                                    
                                    With my memories I am not alone. I still feel connected, 
                                    united with her. 
                                    
                                    I can sense her near and yet unable to grasp, to convey 
                                    my location. 
                                    
                                    Until then I remain like an elemental, fetal in my 
                                    retreat. Alive only for her memory.
                                    
                                    Not so alone. 
                                    
                                    Denying the suffering. 
                                    
                                    Within my retreat.