Lie Down In Darkness

Part One

"I want you to do something for me, Alex." He says while holding me on the edge of release for what has felt like hours, bringing me to the edge only topull back cruelly at the critical moment, over and over. He knows how to torment me, torture me like this for as long as he pleases, safe in the knowledge that I would do anything, obey his every wish and darkest fantasies in order to please him.

"Anything you want, just please let me come...please Derek..."

My lover, no, Master would better describe him, just laughs and once again tightens the solid silver choke collar around my neck until everything turns gray and foggy. His hand furiously pumps my bruised, tender cock, rock-hard from long sessions in his expert grip, broken only by short intervals when he takes me deep into his throat. He has come multiple times in the last few hours, but never gives me the same pleasure. I am under no illusion as to my role in this very one-sided relationship. I am only alive to serve him, never to expect anything in return or ask for anything beyond what I can do to please him. If my death brings him pleasure thenso be it. I'm just grateful that he seems more interested in keeping me alive for now, though how long it will last I have no idea.

I come awake sometime later, not sure how much time has elapsed. My back and ass are on fire and I can feel the blood and semen trickling down my legs from the fresh welts and thorough ass-fucking he inflicted after drugging me into oblivion.

There's a few deep scratch marks on my arms, chest and thighs, obviously made with that woman's ridiculously long manicured fingernails, but there is no sign of her now. A trace of expensive perfume hangs in the air, Chanel No.5 or something similar. It's not the first time there have been hints of a third-party involved in our fucking sessions. I'm curious as to who she might be but have no real inclination to ask Derek about her. It obviously makes Derek happy to have her with us and what makes my Master happy makes me happy, not that I really think Derek cares all that much about my feelings any more.

In the early days and weeks of our relationship I thought he cared a great deal about me and genuinely wanted to rescue me from the streets and out of the garbage-filled gutter I had called home since fleeing the smoker's clutches. But that all changed when she arrived and things haven't been the same since. Occasionally I still glimpse the old Derek, the kind-hearted stranger with the phoney British accent who had climbed out of his warm, dry limousine into a raging blizzard and wrapped his fur-lined coat around my feverish, rag-covered body, drawing me into the warmth of the leather interior, not minding the mud and vomit-scented odor that dirtied the seats and tainted the pot-filled air. But those glimpses are now few and very far between, her sadomasochistic tendencies influencing his behavior and treatment of me even when she isn't in the country, let alone in his house and sharing his bed with me relegated to my life-long role of plaything and abuse victim.

I never dreamt that I could ever feel that safe and protected, not after the hellish childhoodI had endured at the hands of an alcoholic, wife-bashing father and especially not after spending just 6 months as the smoker's bed-warmer and errand boy. I remember running full-steam into the wrinkled, nicotine stained hands of my prayed-for savoir and his associates, certain that I had escaped a life not even the scariest of horror writers could have imagined, only to endup trapped in an existence that would scare the horns off the devil himself.

Offered entry into Quantico, something I knew that my father's background as a Cold-War subversive should have ruled out, I jumped at the chance to get as far away from the hell-on-earth thatwas my home and bruised and battered family as was possible. I accepted the package the smoker offered without questioning what the fine print might entail. Even now I have no idea what truly lies beneath the surface of aNew York men's Club made up of faceless, nameless men of numerous nationalities where the air was thick with smoke and the conversations heavy with ominous sounding warnings about the future of mankind and some kind of mysterious merchandise.

I can't recall the exact time when I knew I had to get away from the smoker and his Project, I just knew that I would rather die than carry out the deeds he ordered me to perform. It wasn't my duties in his bed and the beds of others he lent me out to that turned my stomach and had me buying anti-nausea medicine by the carton. My bodyhad never truly been my own, only something that other people had used and abused without regard to my wants and needs and you can't miss what you never had, right?

Perhaps if he hadn't pulled strings to get me assigned to that sleep-deprivation case as Mulder's partner, things may have turned out differently. Maybe I would have climbed the ladder in the Project toa safe height, out of reach of the wandering hands and ancient cocks of the smoker and his cronies. But his command of seduction and surveillance of Mulder, who during my training at the Academy grew from unknown to crack-pot (he believed in UFO's and little green men, for Christ's sake) to leading-man in my nightly jerk-off fantasies (all the more desirable because he was straight, or at least I thought he was, but still whispered about by both male and female cadets) was the beginning of the end, I suppose. The final straw was the smoker's reaction when he found out that I had failed to engineer Mulder's death-fall from the gondola as he valiantly tried to get to his partner before she could be whisked away from the top of Skyland Mountain.

He was calm and in control that morning when he summoned me to my car in the dark undercover parking lot and I tried to pump him for information without it appearing too obvious.

"Skinner's expecting my report on the Duane Barry incident. What do I tell him?" I had asked him after he stubbed out an ever-present cigarette and pushed the butt into the formerly spotless ashtray. I tried not to stare at the scrap of evidence that I could leave behind for Mulder for fear of showing my traitorous intentions. I had wanted to disappear as soon as this meeting was over, not wanting to stay in the company of monsters I detested even more than myself, though not by much at that point. But I knew that I could not vanish without giving Mulder some tiny chance at finding Scully and the men behind her abduction. In all likelihood, he would blame me for what happened to Scully and I couldn't really blame him for coming to that conclusion. I did pass on Scully's location to Duane Barry and I did my level best to stop Mulder from following and rescuing her. But only because I was scared shitless about what would happen to Mulder should Ihave disobeyed my masters and sabotaged their plans.

"The truth."

The truth??? He wouldn't know the truth if it came up and bit him on the ass. I'd pity anything that would have to come that close to any part of that man's anatomy. Unfortunately, I speak from personal experience, way too personal for my liking.

"What do you mean?"

"Confirm Mulder's version of events. You've earned his trust, the object now is to preserve it."

"For how much longer?" Had I misread the smoker's plans for Mulder? Had he not been in mortal danger at all? Then why kidnap Scully, especially in a way that fed into Mulder's worst nightmares and paranoia about alien abduction? I had read the dossier on Mulder and knew all about his sister vanishing without a trace when they were both kids and for the first time realized that I wasn't the only one to have had a fucked-up childhood.

"Until your assignment is complete."

And what would completion entail in this case, I had wondered? Some how I didn't think it would end up with me and Mulder walking off into the sunset hand-in-hand. More likely my assignment would end with a funeral, either mine or his or perhaps both. That thought sent a chill down my spine and I knew then that I would get out no matter what. I had just needed to confirm Mulder's role in all this.

"If Mulder is such a threat, why not eliminate him?"

"That's not policy."

It was policy according to the gentlemen in that smoky New York club when I had been told to prevent Mulder reaching Scully no matter what method I chose to use. None of this "stop him, but don't kill him" that old Smokey was spouting.

I had to make sure I was hearing him correctly. I had a feeling that there was dissension in the ranks of the Organization, that Smokey's policy was not Project policy, that he was not the leader but rather just another spoke in the wheel, just like me but much closerto the central hub of power.

"It's not? After what you had me do?"

"Kill Mulder and you risk turning one man's religion into a crusade."

Aha, that's what he's afraid of then. That Mulder in death would become even more powerful than he is alive. It sounded like he thought Mulder was the next Jesus Christ and that his death would have people mourning in the streets and wearing sackcloth and ashes.

"What about Scully?" I had been determined to get as much information as possible to pass on to Mulder, though I hadn't yet figured out how I would accomplish that miracle for I was as watched as Mulder was, perhaps more so.

"We've taken care of that."

Christ! Getting information out of the old geezer was worse than pulling teeth, again speaking from personal experience and no you don't want to know any more. Trust me.

"How?"

"We tell you only what you need to know."

That had been a standard answer to many of my questions. Why had I thought that he would open up then and tell me the secrets of the universe according to Smokey? Nevertheless I pushed ahead, knowing that I risked further punishment for behaving above and beyond my place in the scheme of things.

"I think I have a right to know."

"You have no rights, only orders to be carried out. If you have a problem with that, we'll make other arrangements."

Of course I had no rights. People and even animals have rights, but not me. I was merely property, his property, to be used at his whim, to be programmed and execute said programs according to his wishes. I was well aware of what "other arrangements" meant and I was not willing to screw up my one last chance at freedom just for a bit of information about Scully that Mulder could uncover any way with that spooky brain of his running at even half pace, which was a damn sight faster than most. He would need something to occupy his time, a mystery to solve, a reason to live. I had seen him between cases, bored and almost lifeless, like a finely honed thoroughbred put out to pasture because of injury. And that was when he still had Scully around to meet clandestinely in dark garages and park benches.

Back in the present again and sticky cum congeals on the satin sheet below my now limp cock, my once swollen balls feeling lighter, almost empty. Derek had finally given me the relief I had begged for, but only after making sure I wasn't in any state to enjoy it. To make her happy, I suppose. Looking around I see him sitting alone in his favorite chair,a massive black leather Chesterfield in front of an open fire, his feet perched on an ottoman the color of blood. The large screen TV is on and he is engrossed in the images it displays, a glass of vodka in one hand,the remote control in the other. He seems to be watching a short scene over and over, becoming ever more aroused.

Derek must have sensed my movementas I turn over to sit up and without taking his eyes off the screen, commandsme to join him with a click of his fingers. I roll off the low bed and walk over to him, kneeling by his slipper-clad feet, trying to ignore the pain that accompanies even the slightest movement. I know better than to raise my head; instead I remove his velvet slippers and begin massaging his feet, placing satin soft kisses from heel to nail combined with long licks that envelop his sensitive toes.

"I want you to bring me something, Alex." He says in a soft, husky voice, his right hand ruffling my hair, almost patting me as one would a pet, which is what I am to him.

"What do you need? A fresh drink? Something to eat?"

His next words cause me to gag and I accidentally suck one of his toes too hard. I pray I haven't left teeth marks, not that he needs any reason to flog me.

"I want you to bring me him," he replies, grabbing a handful of hair and tilting my head up, forcing me to stare at the TV. What I see takes my breath away and for the first time since I began serving him, I want to decline, to say no and suffer the consequences.

Fox Mulder is frozen on the screen, only a slight flicker of the image telling me that Derek has paused the tape. Mulder stands by a pool, his svelte, muscular body dripping water onto the ground, dressed only in red Speedos, a white towel and goggles around his neck. The date stamp on the video reveals it is only a couple of days old and he is looking even more magnificent than I remember. A certain part of me is very aroused by the fact that I won't have to rely on my fading memories any longer, that I'll have the flesh and blood version in my grasp and in my bed (if I had one) very soon. I don't even consider that Derekmost probably has less than altruistic motives for wanting Mulder in his household. It doesn't even cross my mind that he may be planning to hand my Fox over to the bitch-from-hell, even though she receives everything she demands from Derek whilst I have to beg for every scrap of food, clothing and even affection. In my post-coital madness, I am sure that Fox is to be mine; a pet of my own, to be tamed and trained to my needs and desires and fantasies.

The video footage evokes very pleasant memories of watching him swim laps in the FBI gym, his sleek, toned form gliding effortlessly through the crystal clear water. Admiring him as he pulled himself out of the pool, wishing I had a camera or his renowned eidetic memory to preserve the sight for eternity. I knew I had a message to deliver, one that would ultimately lead to his worst nightmare becoming true. I did not want to deliver it, but I knew the consequences too well to disobey.

Derek's voice brings me once more back to the present.

"I want him here tomorrow. You will collect him for me." His hand moves down to my mouth and I openit automatically to allow his long fingers access, sucking and licking them, knowing what he likes.

After a few minutes he withdraws his hand and walks over to the bed, shedding his black silk robe.

"I thought you were going back home soon. That we were going together..." I ask as he lies back on the bed and beckons me over.

"We are. You will bring Fox to me and together we will go to Fonthill."

Fonthill. It is a word that stirs up a hundred and one images, a hundred and one fantasies and more than a few nightmares. It is spoken with such reverence and awe by the many servants that Derek has in his employ that I had often wondered if it did indeed exist. From what I have heard, it sounds like a place that belongs in a fairytale, in a time and place far more sweet and innocent that this harsh, violent world that is my life. A world where time doesn't exist once you pass beneath Entrance Lodge and enter into its splendid gardens and magnificent buildings.

Derek has an oil painting of the former Abbey in his den that he has shown me numerous times. He toldme beautiful stories of his idyllic childhood, something I could never relate to. He also told me that based only on the mutterings of an old Gypsy woman his eccentric ancestor bequeathed his estate to any future descendent who could meet certain criteria. Derek never did reveal what that criteria was, lending even more mystique to my lover and his shadowy past.

I knew that William Beckford's diaries and journals were an enormous influence in Derek's life. Within a week of arriving, I knew more about Beckford than I did about my own father. I recall Derek's lengthy lectures as he showed me around his estate, pointing out features that he had created to mirror the real Fonthill Manor that stands in ruins in the English countryside and that he claimed as his life's work to restore to all its former glory.

"Few men attained greater celebrity during the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries than William Beckford, the wealthiest man in England. With enormous wealth as his Aladdin's lamp, he decided to make his Arabian dreams come true. By the time he died at the venerable age of 84, he had built the loftiest domestic residence in the world, had assembled a virtual harem of boys, had his own militia to protect his Fonthill estate of 6,000 acres, had written the first Oriental-Gothic horror novel in English literature, and had become the most scandalous connoisseur of hedonism in the modern world. His society bemusedly tolerated most eccentrics, even nouveau riche ones but they chose to ostracize this remarkable personality, dubbing him 'The Fool of Fonthill.'

"One day it will be restored and we will live there as William lived, in our own world, without a care for the narrow-minded bigots that turn their noses at our chosen lifestyle," Derek promised me.

I had thought of reminding him that my role inhis life, and the lives of all of my abusers before him, and even my sexuality was hardly chosen voluntarily, but he laid me down beneath a giant oak tree and made love to me so tenderly that I would have swam across the Atlantic ocean just to be by his side when he claimed Fonthill Manor as his birthright. I had even envisioned being named his heir and inheriting his vast wealth and, most cherished of all, my freedom upon his death.

Derek's thick cock penetrating my still-sore backside gets my attention, tearing me away from memories of how he used to actually make love to me rather than just fuck me. The speed and force of his thrusts could wake the dead but I'm used to it by now and it's a novel experience to actually be conscious whilst he's fucking me. I'm almost certain that he won't let me come. Twice in one day on top of the good news about my pet's imminent arrival would be way too much to hope for.

"But Mulder hates me. He'll shoot me as soon as I poke a toe inside his door." I begin to cover his chest and throat with feather-light kisses, concentrating on his nipples, working to bring them to life beneath my tongue. I can't tell him that I would give my left arm just to be in the same room as my former partner. I know never to show too much eagerness for anything I want as that only means I have to hand over more of my body and soul to get it, even if hedoes own every square inch of me already.

"I don't care how you do it, Alex, just as long as you get him here."

He comes explosively, pulls out and turns away from me, dismissing me without a word or second glance. I stand up and hurry to my room where I shower and dress quickly, already formulating a plan. I take a hypo and two small vials from Derek's private pharmacy, nothing deadly, just something to subdu e my prey, making him easier to handle, to transport to his new home. I am already having visions of training and taming my wild Fox, bending and breaking his body and will to MY specifications, not those of my Master and his bitch.

Yes! There is a God!!

Author Notes: The dialogue between Krycek and CSM is from Ascension with my interpretations of Krycek's actions and motives.

William Beckford is a real historical figure. The lecture Derek gives Krycek is quoted from a website and more information about Beckford and Fonthill Manor can be found at:
http://www.infopt.demon.co.uk/beckfor1.html
Rictor Norton, "William Beckford: The Fool of Fonthill", The Great Queens of History, updated 16 Nov. 1999

Part Two

I leave the elevator and walk tiredly to my apartment, barely able to keep my eyes open. I unlock and open the door and find myself face to face with a hypodermic needle. A gloved hand covers my mouth before I can protest and I'm pulled inside with barely a whimper. My assailant soon reveals himself, though he keeps me in a tight grip, with the point of the needle against my jugular.

"Well Fox, welcome home." Krycek whispers, his voice as smooth as honey and twice as sweet.

My overnight bag is ripped from my hand and my holster relieved of its weapon before he uses my own handcuffs to secure my wrists behind my back. The needle never moves an inch during the procedure, which is completed in under a minute.

"I'll have to demand a refund from the pest controllers. They said they had exterminated all of the rats." I try to put as much force and hatred into my voice, it being the only weapon I have left.

Krycek just laughs and pulls something out of the pocket of his leather jacket. It's red and slightly shiny and very familiar.

"I brought you a homecoming present," he says, throwing the item at my feet.

It's a red Speedo... my red Speedos. I recognize the repaired elastic, tied in a knot in the back. They had gone missing about six months ago from the change rooms at the Hoover gym. After searching my locker, office and apartment without success, I had bought a new pair, but they were never as comfortable as the old ones. It had been on the day I had met Duane Barry, an event I'm never likely to forget. In a hurry to get to the crime scene, I must've left the bathers in the shower. I hadn't thought about them when I returned to D.C, having other, more serious, issues on my mind, like finding my abducted partner.

Having them turn up in Krycek's possession isn't too much of a surprise.I remember the look in his eyes as I climbed out of the pool, how they traveled up and down my body blazing with lust and carnal desire. I had suspicions fromthe first time we met on that sleep-deprivation case that he was gay and that he wanted to get to know me better. He was and still is in good shape althoughhis dress-sense was atrocious back then. I know now the cheap suit and bad haircut was all part of the disguise of the greenest-of- green agents straight out of Quantico. Eager young Alex Krycek, believer in extreme possibilities and defender of Spooky Mulder. Black leather and tight denim jeans are a much better look on him, not that he'll ever hear a compliment from these lips. But I just wasn't interested in either a new partner or a lover at that stage.

"What exactly do you want, Krycek?"

"A strip show would be great," he leers as he pushes me towards the couch. "But unfortunately time is short and we have places to go, people to see."

He injects the contents of the hypo straight through my sweatshirt into my upper arm and then shoves me backwards onto the worn leather. I feel the burn of the liquid as it enters my bloodstream, wondering what the hell he just pumped into me.

"What the fuck was that?" I manage to get out before my whole body begins to tingle then go numb. Whatever it is it's fast acting. A minute later, I'm paralyzed. My body is frozen but it doesn't seem to be affecting my abilityto think, see or hear.

"That was a nerve block, just a little something to calm you down." I feel anything but calm at the moment but have no way of communicating that with him. He kneels at my feet and removes my running shoes and then unzips my jeans. They're quickly removed along with my boxers, leaving me exposed and helpless. He places the red briefs around my ankles and pulls them up, his hands never loosing contact with my immobile legs.

You can add feeling to the list of things this drug doesn't affect. I can feel his leather-covered fingers stroking my skin, slowly and sensuously, reveling in the power and absolute control he has over my body. Krycek looks me in the eye the whole time, his arousal and lust clearly showing in his emerald eyes and swollen crotch.

He leans forward to raise my hips so he can slide the Speedo into position, covering my slightly parted lips with his own, his fleshy tongue exploring the inside of my mouth, his dexterous hands fondling my balls and cock (thank god it's as unresponsive as the rest of me) under the disguise of settling themin the bathing suit. If I had any mobility left, I'd bite his fuckin' tongue off, but I can only lie here as his hands and mouth caress my body.

A beeper quietly buzzes. Krycek pulls back and licks his lips. He replaces my jeans quickly, after removing the key to the cuffs from the front pocket, before pulling another needle out of his pocket. Christ, does he have a fucking drug-store in there, I wonder as he once again injects something into me.

"Just a little wake-up juice, Fox. The second dose has to be administered within 30 minutes to counteract the nerve toxin. As long as you're a good boy and co-operate, we'll be where we need to be in plenty of time."

I can feel my body slowly coming back to life but with a heaviness that makes even the smallest movement difficult. He certainly has this little escapadewell planned, giving me the illusion of control that's totally false. For all I know he could take me somewhere remote and just dump me. The remaining nerve toxin will probably ensure I can't call out or even crawl for help. But somehow Iknow that's not his objective, that he has something else planned and there's not a damned thing I can do to stop him.

As he's pulling me to my feet, my phone rings, cutting through the silence that had descended on my dark apartment. After three or four rings, the answering machine kicks in, my voice echoing in the room.

"This is Fox Mulder. Please leave a message."

My hopes rise a little when I hear the caller, only to plummet when I hear his message.

"Mulder, this is Walter. Just ringing to let you know I won't be able tomake it tonight. Blevins wants to go over budget reports in the morning and I'm way behind. I guess I'll see you Friday night at our usual place. Love you."

He hangs up, the note of regret in his deep voice unmistakable. I had totally forgotten about our date,(if you can call two guys watching a ballgame and eating pizza a date) the exhaustion from mine and Scully's latest case making me wish for nothing more than a hot shower and twelve hours uninterrupted sleep.

Skinner and I had become closer during the months that Scully was missing, closer than was safe for either of us. I had tried my best to remain detached and distant, pouring all my energy and time into searching for Scully. I didn't want anyone else to become a target for Them to use against me like they did Scully. I avoided Skinner as best I could, using any case, no matter how trivial, just to get away from the Hoover building and away from his warm, chocolate-brown eyes, so full of concern for me and my dilemma.

Sure, he had probably disobeyed his superiors when he re-opened the X-Files, but with that cigarette smoking bastard having taken up residence in Skinner's office, I couldn't be certain whose agenda Skinner was following. I so much wanted and needed someone to trust, someone to confide in, but all I could see around me were either potential betrayers or potential victims. I couldn't decide whether Skinner was the former, latter or possibly both.

I think Skinner leant more to my side of the fence by the end of that meeting, especially after he discovered that Krycek was AWOL. I tried my last card, asking what he could do about it after he told me I should let it go.Let the bastards who had abducted Scully go free and unpunished? I would have rather died than let that happen and I did my best to convey that to him, not really thinking he would go as far as giving me back my beloved files. He not onlydid but also gave me the emotional support I was too afraid (or maybe just too stubborn) to ask for in the next three months.

It started out just two men hanging out, shooting pool and playing one-on-one at the Y. I'm pretty sure Skinner's intentions were pure and noble in the extreme-- beat my ass on the court to take my mind off my problems and recharge my batteries. And that's how it went for the first few weeks until a particularly nasty fall twisted my ankle and he ended up dragging me up the stairs of a tiny motel into a rent-by-the-hour room and fucking me senseless. How that fall lead to the most mind-blowing orgasms of my life, I'm still not sure and, to be perfectly honest, I don't care. All I know is that he savedmy sanity if not my life by not letting me pull my usual Houdini routine from the emotional and physical intimacy he was offering.

I just hope the enormous risk he took and still takes is not in vain, that this short message (that I'm playing over and over already in my mind) won't be the last time I ever hear his voice.

Friday is three days away. Will I be missed before then? I don't think so. Scully's taking a much needed vacation to visit her brother and his new wife in San Diego and will be gone for two weeks.

I had told Walter I would be taking a few days off myself. He had lookedat me and asked if I was sick or anything. He knows I'm not one for vacations,with no close family or friends to spend my down-time with. I replied that an old college friend had called me about mysterious messages that were appearing on his computer. He lives in Salem, Massachusetts, in a house that had been built before the infamous witch-trials of 1692. Being a professor of English Literature he recognized the syntax and sentence structure as reminiscent of late 17th/ early 18th century English. He was almost positive it was a prank by one or more of his students, but as he knew of my interest in the paranormal wanted my thoughts on how the students could access his personal computer without his knowledge. The writer, Lukas, claimed to be living in Ken's house and writing on a strange glowing screen that had been delivered by someone or something called 2109. Ken played along with the joke for a while, replyingto the many questions Lukas asked. Then strange chalk messages began appearingon the stone floor of the living room that Ken was in the middle of renovating, scaring the living daylights out of him and his girlfriend. Anyway, I needed a break so I told him I'd drive down Wednesday morning but had to be back in DC by Friday afternoon. When I don't show up in Salem tomorrow, Ken will probably assume I got called away on an urgent case. I don't think he will raise any alarms. I've had to cancel previous visits on very short notice, sometimes not calling to apologize until days after.

So Walter won't be expecting to see me until the truck-stop that is our meeting place on Friday night. He will probably phone me after waiting halfan hour or so. He should then either drive up to his cabin, thinking I might have gone up there early or drive back to Alexandria to see if I'm still at home. There will be nothing for him see at the apartment anyway. Krycek picked the lock to gain access, there's no visible sign of any struggle and he wore expensive looking leather gloves, so no prints will be found. That won't stop Walter going over every nook and cranny with a fine tooth comb, bless his heart.

By the time I realize that I'm in deep shit with no hope of a quick rescue, Krycek has me out of the building and into a car, an old Ford I think. He lays me down on the wide back seat, my face towards the back, the smell of old vinyl and dust thick and suffocating. He secures my cuffed hands to a seatbelt with rope and ties my bare feet to the handle of the door behind the driver's seat. He affectionately ruffles my hair, places a quick kiss on my sweat-covered cheek and covers me with a smelly old blanket. I'm hidden from view with no way of seeing where he is taking me or alerting anyone that I've just been kidnapped.

Author's Note: The case Mulder talks about involving messages appearing on computers in based on a real event that took place in the mid-80's in Walesand is detailed in the book "THE VERTICAL PLANE" by Ken Webster.

Part Three

Well, mission accomplished. I'm rather surprised at the ease with which I subdued Mulder, not that I gave him much chance to resist. I'm very glad that I didn't have to hurt him, because I don't dare deliver damaged goods to my Master. I want to make sure I'm in a position to take full advantage of any opportunities that Derek lets me have with my new pet, not bruised and bloody and hardly able to stand as punishment for failing to do my job properly. I'm sure that there'll be pain-a-plenty for Mulder in the very near future and I hope that Derek allows me to watch, maybe even participate. Something tellsme that this could be my chance to show Derek that I have more to offer him than just my body and good looks. If my predictions are correct and Derek plans on expanding his stable, then he's gonna need someone to help break in the new blood and get them used to the bit and the whip.

I steal a quick glance in the cracked rear-view mirror, but all I can see is a dark shape. He's struggling a little, probably testing the tightness of his restraints. After a few minutes he goes still, obviously aware that he can't free himself, saving his energy for later.

I had been tempted when preparing the knock-out concoction earlier to add a little something extra, a couple of drops of liquid Viagra that Derek kept in his bathroom. But I knew I was on a tight deadline and didn't have time to indulge a fantasy that I'd had for almost a year now. I knew that if I started fucking him I wouldn't be able to stop.

The phone call from Skinner answered my question as to who sent the hamper containing a six-pack of expensive imported beer, Old Spice aftershave and a signed New York Knicks basketball but no card. I had never picked Skinner as the type to celebrate Valentine's, then again I hadn't picked him as bisexual either and I can usually sniff 'em out miles away. I wonder if he sent the female equivalent of the hamper to his wife of sixteen years or whether she received the more traditional flowers and chocolates.

I had my suspicions that Mulder was seeing someone, but hadn't been ableto discover the identity or even gender of the mystery lover. They should get a gold medal for keeping their relationship a secret, considering the amount of covert monitoring both were and probably still are subjected to.

I hadn't found any of the cameras or bugs I had placed in Mulder's apartment before we met, so I figure he was paranoid enough to have it swept regularly by the Geeks-Are-Us trio.

I had rooted through his tiny bedroom while waiting for him to arrive and found things I had seen advertised in the skin mags that he had scattered around the cluttered unit. A pair of velvet lined cuffs hanging from one of the bedposts, a basket on the bed-side table filled with condoms, lube--KY, some exotic but ghastly tasting stuff-- and various sized and shaped plugs, somethat looked more at home in a torture chamber. In the closet, tucked away in theback corner was a large Marine-issue duffel bag. Poking out at an angle were familiar looking packages, whips and crops, good quality by what I could see of the brand names on the unopened plastic wrapped items. I had been about to get down on hands and knees to investigate the kinks of my future pet further when a flash of light through the window alerted me to his imminent arrival. Who was this mysterious person who had obviously captured Mulder's heart? There were birthday and Christmas cards along with a heart-shaped Valentine stuck on a dusty mirror above the dresser, all with the same simple message--- To Fox, with all my love, W.

The ringing of my cell phone brings me out of the past and I reach into my pocket to extract it.

"Hello Master." It wouldn't have been anyone else. He's the only one whohas this number. He doesn't require me to call him that outside of his estate and his company but I figure that Mulder is listening for any clue as to what's going on and I can't resist messing with his mind a little.

"You have acquired him." No beating around the bush for my Master. Not a question, either, just a statement of fact.

"Yes, Sir. Safe and sound." As snug as a bug in a rug, I'm tempted to say but the tone of Derek's voice tells me he's not in the mood for jokes. "We should be there in about twenty minutes."

"Good boy." I hear the approval in his voice; almost feel his hand stroking my head and neck as he always does when I please him. My cock stirs at his imagined touch and I long to take my left hand off the wheel to touch myself, the usual need for release that his voice never fails to evoke. The car starts to drift across the lane and I bite my lip to get my mind, and the vehicle,back on track.

Derek's still talking, issuing orders without explanation.

"Before you get here, I want you to blindfold him. Can he see where you are going?"

"No, Master." A little louder, just in case Mulder didn't catch it the first time. Another quick glance and I can see that he has renewed his struggles,all to no avail, of course. He's also starting to curse me, I think, (the blanket, engine noise and residual nerve toxin means his voice is little more than a scratchy whisper)but falling short of begging or pleading. That will come soon enough. "He's restrained on the back seat under a blanket."

"Pull over right now and blindfold him. And do it properly, boy. I can guarantee you won't like the punishment if it comes loose."

I pull over immediately, causing some ass-hole biker tailgating me to slam on his brakes. He swerves around me on a beat-up old Harley giving me the one-finger salute as he speeds by.

I lift the trunk and look inside for something to secure over Mulder's head. All I can find is an old dark blue pillow case, stained with oil and containing an assortment of tools, wrenches, screwdrivers, a pair of needlenosed pliers and a crowbar. I dump them in the trunk and take the case around to the passenger side of the car. A brief glimpse up and down the road to confirm it's presently deserted and I open the door, the creak of unoiled hinges loud in the still night air.

Mulder stirs at the sound and lifts his head, a movement that is clearly difficult due to the nerve block still in his system. The blanket slides down and he spots the make-shift hood in my hand along with a large handkerchiefI found in the glovebox and length of rope. I can almost hear the gears turning in that brilliant mind of his. He's assessing the available evidence and deducing the probable outcome, every bit the master profiler that I admired and daresay even worshipped at Qu antico.

"No, Krycek. Don't." He still doesn't plead, although I know he's fighting not to panic. He thinks he can talk to me calmly, to discuss alternatives, to come to some sort of compromise. I see the flash of fear that darkens his gorgeous hazel/green eyes. I could never work out their exact shade as it would change with his mood.

"I'm sorry, Fox. It's not my decision. I'm just following my Master's orders." A third time, just for luck. And I am genuinely sorry. I was so caught up in the need to please my Master that I didn't realize the effect Mulder would have on me. I thought that being in such an exaggerated position of power would insulate me from feeling his distress and fear. I mean Derek seems to be able to turn his emotions on and off like a tap, cold and sadistic one minute, warmand loving the next. Can I really go through with this if just a look or sigh from Fox has me melting into a sappy puddle? A simple blindfold and hood is nothing compared to what Fox faces in the coming weeks and months and I'm already having sympathetic thoughts about my victim and doubts about my ability to remain immune from his feelings.

Damn it!!

Why couldn't Derek have sent me out to collect some anonymous pretty-boy stranger? Someone who I haven't lusted after from first sight, whom hasn't fuelled my dreams and fantasies, banishing the nightmares caused by Derek's games if only for a few minutes at a time? Someone I don't give a fuck about and can treat like the piece of meat that Derek considers me to be?

I'm figuring that this assignment is his way of fucking with MY mind; a test of my true submission and loyalty. He knows about my desire for my former partner just as he knows about every other aspect of my life no matter how personal or seemingly inconsequential. I, on the other hand, know next to nothing about the man who controls my life, who holds my very existence in the palm of his hands. I don't know what he does for a living, assuming he lives off the proceeds of his inheritance from William Beckford. I don't know when his birthdate is and, if I did, couldn't buy him anything as I have no money ofmy own.

"Fuck!" Didn't I swear to myself after escaping from Smokey that I would rather kill myself than become just another person's accessory in return for a warm bed and regular meals? Where did that Alex Krycek go or did he ever really exist in the first place?

I can see from Mulder's shocked expression that I said some of that out loud and decide I'd better keep my mouth shut and just do it, before I really say something I'll regret. I also can't ignore the very real possibility that the car is bugged and that Derek is listening and maybe even watching what is going on.

I take a deep breath, having made up my mind that there is no turning back and that there never really was.

I can't and won't allow my feelings for Mulder to affect my judgment and treatment of him. I can't be any of help to him if Derek terminates me for becoming too attached. So I have no choice but to obey my Master's commandsand try to block Mulder's silent pleas from my eyes and his fear from my heart.

Part Four

I feel the car lurch violently to one side and come to a sudden stop. If not for the ropes binding my wrists and ankles to seatbelt and door handle, I would have been flung forward, colliding with the back of the front seat. I didn't think enough time had lapsed to have reached our destination. As far as I can tell only about15 minutes has passed since we left Alexandria, but then Krycek could have lied about the time restriction.

I'd heard him talking on a phone but the soundproofing of the blanket and the noise of the untuned engine combined to make the conversation just a mumbling ramble. I couldn't pick up any clues as to who he was talking to or where we were going apart from oneword that sounded a lot like master, but that could just be my natural paranoia surfacing, so I'm doing my best not to let it affect me or interfere with my goal of planning my escape. I've had numerous scenarios running non-stop through my mind since this nightmare began, but have had to reject each and every one as either too dangerous (somehow distracting Krycek and causing an accident; and it's not my death or Krycek's but that of innocents that kills that idea) or too implausible (Krycek speeding or running a red light and getting pulled over by a cop who discovers me drugged and bound on the back seat of a car that probably ain't even road-worthy). I'm certain that whatever I can come up with has already occurred to Krycek leading him to come up with counter- measures foreach and every one.

Once the car screeches to a tire-burning stop, he turns the engine off and I can hear more clearly but am still no better informed about Krycek's intentions and our destination. I hear him walk around the back of the car and open the trunk. The clang of metal on metal follows before he slams the trunk shut. Did he have a puncture? A blown tire could possibly account for the sudden interruption of our journey. He's probably just changing the flat. He can't afford to attract any attention to the vehicle or it's cargo.

The door next to my head opens with an agonizing groan that confirms the car is lacking even basic mechanical care. Somehow I manage to lift my head a couple of inches and turn towardthe sound. It leaves me with a pounding headache and blurred vision.

Krycek stands beside the open door, a dark cloth bag of some sort in one hand, a checked bandanna and length of rope in the other. It takes me all of five seconds to deduce what he plans to do with the items. I feel the panic begin, my breath quickening and sweat forming on my hot face. I try to get it all under control and I think Imay have succeeded. I'm kinda pleased with my non-desperate sounding request for my kidnapper not to take away my sight. I don't want to accept how close I am to offering him my first-born, should I ever have kids. I've been in worse situations than this. The case involving toxic, green alien bloodand monkey pee immediately comes to mind. At least my eyes, throat and lungs aren't burning like they've been doused in acid.

"No, Krycek. Don't."

I need to profile him, work out his motives and likely actions and reactions. Put those years of study and all- nighters under the hounding of teachers like Patterson and mentors like Purdue to good use. I also need to treat him like the hostage-taker he is, speak calmly and rationally, to try to reason with him. Honesty, containment, conciliation. The fundamentals of hostage negotiation. To earn his trust...

Hell! Who the fuck am I kidding? He holds all the cards. He's in the pilot's seat with the control over whether I live or die at his fingertips. Just as I'm resigned to the fact that there's nothing I can do to stop him tying the black bandanna around my head, he throws me a curve-ball. "Fuck." He curses then starts mumbling to himself, his eyes glazing over and getting a far-away look in those forest- green depths.

My heart and hopes leap at the thought that maybe he is having second thoughts over what he is being ordered to do, that neither of us has any say in our destiny. I can visualize the strings that this mysterious master holds and Krycek is clearly fighting the instructions, commands, whatever that the person or persons holding them has given him.

I'm not sure if I can speak loud enough to try to sway his opinion, to fuel his rebellion against his master's wishes. But I'm gonna give it my best shot. I've got nothing left to lose.

"Kry..Krycek." He doesn't react and no wonder. My voice is scratchy and almost non-existent, thanks to the paralyzing drug still in my bloodstream. I'm about to clear my throat and try again when he focuses once more on me and, without hesitation, wraps the bandanna tightly around my head, covering my eyes. He ties a complicated knot at the back of my head, demolishing my slim hopes of changing the course of events to my advantage.

A sliver of light remains at the very bottom of the blindfold, giving me some hope of still being able to see something. But I'm going to be denied even that scrap of comfort. Krycek cradles my head in his gloved hands, gently, like he's holding a new-born child.

I had detected a hint of regret inhis dark eyes and a slight tremble in his voice when he told me he was just following orders. I file that meager piece of information away, in the hope that I can use it in the very near future to aid my escape or at the least lessen the danger I might face in the meantime. I truly think he may be willing to protect me from serious harm because of the feelings he obviously has for me and my body. And you can bet I'm gonna milk those feelings for everything they're worth to secure my freedom.

He places the pillow-case (it's one those hideous, fleecy lined things that leaves balls of fluff in the wash if you don't sort the laundry properly, it's heavy and stinks of motor oiland grime) over my head, his hands caressing my face, wiping hair off my brow, trying to stop me panicking.

Before he lowers it into place he covers my mouth with his, tongue pressing against my lips. To my surprise, he doesn't demand access but waits till I invite him in. He's not rough, not like that first kiss back in my apartment, merely impatient as if he knows he's wasting time he doesn't have.

I open my mouth to take a much-needed breath (my nose is covered by his stubbled cheek, a strange sensation as Walter never goes longer than a day without shaving) and he takes that as his invitation, pushing his tongue inside. I try to pull back, to retreat but his nimble fingers tangle in my hair, his strong hands holding me immobile. I want to bite down, to sever the unwanted flesh that's forcing its way towards the back of my throat, but damn it, Alex is one hell of a good kisser. He doesn't just lock mouths with you, he invades you, devours you, not content 'til he possesses your body as if it's his own. There's not an inch of my mouth that isn't getting thoroughly explored by him, my teeth and gums, the extra-sensitive skin on the inside of my cheeks, my tonsils. I respond without thinking, matching his movements with hesitant touches of my own. He tastes amazing; a smorgasbord of red meat and beer with a hint of salty cum underneath. I smell his scent, not something manufactured in a sterile laboratory, but his odor, his essence. Just as I'm beginning to relax he withdraws, the cold night air icy sharp on my exposed face.

A drop of water hits my cheek and runs into my open mouth. Is it raining? No. As it touches my tongue I can taste the salt and minerals in it. A tear...Is Alex crying?? I must have shedone of my own for I feel a leather clad thumb wipe moisture from the bottomof the blindfold, then it's in my mouth and I'm suckling on it, nuzzling it like a plump breast, tasting myself. Then it's gone, the heavy material is rolled down over my chin and secured firmly at my throat with more intricate knotcraft. I won't choke but there's no way the hood can be removed without untying the rope.

I sense Alex still standing above me (Alex? When did he stop being Krycek, when did he cease to be my abductor???) watching me, tears glistening in his eyes. A final soft touch on myneck and then the door is closed, quietly as if he doesn't want to frighten me. He walks around the car, his army-style boots crunching the road-side gravel, gets in and resumes our journey to God knows where. I thought he might be having doubts, second-thoughts about his actions but something's stopping him from disobeying the orders he has been given. If I can find out who's holding his leash, I might be able to get out of this.

Part Five

We arrive at Derek's house twenty-five minutes later. It's large and Elizabethan in style, the dark brown of the framework standing out against the whitewashed walls that peek through thick layers of ivy. The three-story mansion sits wellback from the road with access through an elaborate wrought iron gate, down a long winding drive lined with tall pines on either side. The estate looks ancient but it has the most high-tech security system I have ever seen. Cameras (normal, night-vision and infrared) keep a constant electronic watch over the grounds. Heat and motion detectors are scattered throughout the elaborate, well kept gardens. Invisible laser beams randomly criss-cross the driveway, a special encrypted code from the sensor in my car allowing me to approach without setting off the alarms. The sensor alerts the guardhouse to my arrival and I proceed down the torch lit drive.

I'm worried about the tightness ofmy jeans and hope Derek won't notice my present state of arousal. At least there's no incriminating stain. He has me well trained and I can't have an orgasm without his permission even if my life depends on it.

I'm met at the curved drive at thefront of the house by Derek's chauffeur, Miles, a distinguished looking gentleman in his early seventies, his hair gray(almost white) and his face and hands lined with wrinkles. Even at midnight he is dressed in full uniform, a black suit and top-hat with a crisply starched white shirt and spotless white gloves. He opens my door, not sparing even a brief glance at the covered body in the back seat. I could have a box of books in therefor all the interest he shows. Derek is very big on his employees knowing only what they need to fulfill their various duties. There's very little unnecessary interaction between members of the household and definitelyno gossiping.

"Sir requests you take the packagedirectly to the second- floor guest-room. He is waiting for you in the parlor." Guest room? The last thing I expect Derek to treat Mulder like is a guest. But then again He is the Master and i'm just his humble slave.

Miles opens the rear door without realizing the "package" is secured to it. Nodding my understanding of Derek's instructions, I squat down to cut the ropes with my Swiss Army knife. Mulder tenses at my touch and instinctively kicks out as soon as his feet are free. He connects with my stomach, sending me rolling back onto the ground, winded but unharmed. I should have expected it but my reflexes seem to be elsewhere at the moment. Oh well, no harm done, I think to myself as I rise and dust myself off.

I climb into the back seat, my full weight on top of him as I loosen the ropes around the seatbelt and his hands. He's still struggling but the paralyzing toxin hasn't completely worn off yet so there's not much he can do. Okay you're probably wondering about the antidote I told him had to be injected within half an hour. I confess. I lied. There is no antidote. The nerve toxin breaks down pretty quickly with no lasting side-effects. The second injection was nothing more than sterile saline solution. I needed him to think he would die a slow, painful death if he didn't co-operate. Derek would be most displeased if I deliver Mulder to him with even the smallest scratch or bruise.

I check that the hood is still firmly in place and then lift him so that he's sitting with his bare feet on the cold pebble-covered drive. With a hand on his head so he doesn't hit the doorframe, I pull him upright. My other hand is tight around his upper arm right over the injection sight, knowing that it will hurt if he resists, which he does, and I tighten my grip as a warning to obey. He settles straight away, a fast learner.

"Come on," I say as I steer him towards the front door. My voice is rough and short. I don't want to betray my true feelings in front of Miles or the camera that covers the entry. I can't show Mulder any sort of kindness or affection for I know that Derek is watching my every move.

"Take it easy here. There's five steps leading upwards." He's shuffling along at my side, not trusting that I won't let him collide with one of the massive stone lions that sit on either side of the steps. He pokes his left foot forward, feeling for the step, preferring to trust his sense of touch rather than me. Once he locates the first step, he takes the rest with the sort of confidence I've always admired in him. Without knocking, the massive front door is opened and we move inside, the night butler closing it behind us and then walking off without a word to resume his duties. Mulder flinches when his bare feet hit the cold marble of the entry and I wrap one arm around his waist in support. We move quickly up the curved staircase to our left, one of two that lead out of the foyer. The other leads downward to places I hope I only ever visit again in my nightmares.

The door to a small bedroom is open off the hallway to our right and I snatch the note taped to it as I guide Mulder inside and over to the queen-size four-poster that takes up most ofthe space. I gesture for him to sit with a firm push on his shoulder and he does. I'm pleased that he is still obeying me and silently pray that he continues to do so. He sits still as if he knows it's useless to try to discern anything about his location with most of his senses out of commission.

The note is in Derek's distinctively English script, all curved letters drawn from the ink of an expensive fountain pen.

Alex, Use your imagination to prepare Fox. You know what pleases me. But he is to remain hooded and in restraints. Then join me in the parlor to discuss your reward.

My cock tingles in anticipation and I rush to prepare Mulder for my Master's pleasure (for OUR pleasure, I'm hoping). His note doesn't leave me much room but I'm sure I can come up with something. I look up into the corner of the room where I know the camera is located and smile. My Master is pleased with me. He will reward me well. I'm sure of it.

I strip Mulder quickly down to hisSpeedo, cutting away his sweatshirt so that I don't have to uncuff him. He shivers at my touch -- more so once he is almost naked due to the fan switched on medium speed hanging from the ceiling above the bed.

The sight of him standing in frontof me, dressed in only skintight bathers, his arms pulled behind his back emphasizing his well-toned abs and firm biceps, the pillowcase covering his head which is held high, not slumped in submission and defeat, almost causes me to faint. So much beauty and strength and desire in one amazing body. I circle him once, taking in the smooth, unblemished back, the narrow hips, the perfectly shaped ass. Inspiration strikes and I part his firm buttocks with my left hand and pull the lycra of the Speedo tight against his crack so that it disappears into him, is devoured by the plump cheeks of his backside.

Instant G-string.

All of a sudden he whirls around, sweeping outwards with one leg trying to knock me off my feet. I react quickly and grab the leg on its downward arc. He loses his balance and falls heavily to the floor, his head connecting with the hard polished boards. Another inch to the left and he would have landed on a thick rug that lies between the bed and door. I guess it really isn't Mulder's lucky day. He's not moving and I'm scared shitless that he's badly injured or worse. The hood would have afforded him absolutely no protection at all.

I roll him over and feel at his throat for a pulse, a wave of relief flooding me when I find a strong and steady beat under my shaking fingers. I know I should remove the hood and checkfor a head wound but Derek was explicit in his orders. Mulder is to remain hooded and bound until further notice. There's no blood on the floor and none on the hood that I can see so he should be okay.

I lift him onto the bed and settlehim on his side, a pillow behind his back so he doesn't roll onto his shackled hands. He'll wake up with a hell of a headache, but it was his fault. He shouldn't have attacked me, even if it was in defense of his virtue. I know Derek won't tolerate such an outburst, so Mulder might as well begin learning that there is no place for defiance in this household.

I clear away his clothes and leavethe room, the door locking automatically behind me. Only Derek knows the combination needed to open the electronic lock, so there's no way Mulder can escape. But I know he'll try and some deep, dark part of me wants to see him attempt Mission Impossible, well aware of the punishment that Derek would swiftly dish out.

I detour to my own room down the hall to freshen up and change into something more comfortable. Ten minutes later I'm heading down the stairs dressed in loose gray sweatpants and a tight muscle shirt that I know Derek likes to see me in, the key to Mulder's cuffs in one hand. I've cleaned up, inside and out, lubed and plugged myself in eager anticipation of a night of mind-blowing sex at the hands of my Master.

Derek is sitting in his armchair in front of the ever- burning fire, a half-filled brandy balloon in one hand. He doesn't look my way as I enter so I stand just inside the doorway awaiting further instructions. He's watching the TV, much the same as he was yesterday when he gave me my assignment with the same detachment as if he was sending me to the local market. From my position I can't see what's showing on the screen, but I can tell by his body language that he doesn't like what he sees.

One click of his fingers and I'm by his side in an instant, kneeling at his feet. I reach out to slide his right foot free of its velvet slipper, when what feels like a brick connects with the side of my face. My head whips sideways, blood and a tooth flying in opposite directions. Before I can even think about recovering, another slap comes from the opposite direction, sending me crashing to the floor. He grabs my hair, lifting me to my knees and turns my swelling, bloodyface to the TV. A five-second scene is playing over and over, in a never-ending loop of black and white pixels. Fox losing his balance and his head hitting the floor with enough force to cause it to bounce about a quarter inch off the wooden boards. Over and over and over, until I'm certain I'll see that scene every time I close my eyes for the rest of my now shortened life.

My Master rings a little bell and before I know what's happening, two of his bodyguards, who look like rejects from World Series Wrestling, have me sandwiched between them and we're following Derek out into the foyer and towards the stairs that lead down to the....

"No Master! Please!" I shout out in a desperate plea for mercy. I struggle between my twin captors, all to no avail. Knowing what lies at the bottom of the stairs only separated by a short hallway makes my blood freeze to absolute zero. Two chambers of horror, the only difference being the level of technology contained within as instruments of torture. On the left is the Spanish Inquisition and Salem Witchtrials combined into one. On the right is a room straight out of a Billy Gibson novel by way of the Marathon Man that Darth Vader would be at home in.

"SILENCE!!" The sound of his command echoes throughout the house, rattling windows and shaking doors. Even his bodyguards flinch at the sound. I have never heard such anger in his voice in the five months of serving him. Sure he's lost his temper before, but he's never raised his voice as he did just then.

I'm dragged down the narrow staircase that is lit only with small black candles. He stops before the solid oak door on the left end of the corridor and punches a five-digit code into thepad on the side. His thugs shove me through the doorway and I'm in the dark stone chamber for the second time.

One lets me go and moves to the corner to light a torch, the bright orange flame dancing in the dark, creating shadows, highlighting things I don't want to see and keeping other items hidden in the inky darkness. A second torch is lit and placed in a rusty iron holder on the far wall. The room is still half in shadow and I canonly imagine some of the things that are hiding there.

Torch-lighter returns and I'm taken to the wooden frame that stands silent and empty in the middle of the room. Without a word from Derek my handlers grab my arms, stretching them above my head and securing my wrists in cold iron shackles, my feet soon receiving the same attention. They know the routine. I'm sure I'm not the first to feel the effect of Derek's wrath and I don't think I'll be the last.

The bodyguards are dismissed, moving to each side of the room out of my line of sight. Derek is behind me. I can smell the hundred-year-old brandy on his breath as he leans in close. His hands are on my waist, light as a feather. He slides my sweats down, uncovering my ass and legs, dragging a nail against my thigh hard enough to draw blood. My cock is at attention, hard and ready, already leaking milky colored droplets onto my balls and the floor. One thick finger pushes against my anus, forcing the plug deeper inside me. He twists it in me, pressing it against my prostate, sending shivers of sweet pleasure surging through my body. God, if this is his idea of punishment, then maybe I should misbehave more often.

As I'm riding a wave of arousal that feels a hundred feet high, a sharp biting crack across the back of my legs brings me crashing back to earth. The pain is indescribable, the exact opposite of the ecstasy I was feeling just seconds before. If not for the restraints I would fall. I tense up, waiting for the next blow but it never comes.

Derek has moved around in front ofme. I want to be able to touch him, to have him take away the pain and the shame from having failed him. But he remains teasingly just out of reach.He lifts my slumped head with the end of the crop and I can see drops of bright red blood on its surface. My blood... shed because I sinned... shed because I failed to carry out my duties to my Master's liking. I look him in the eye, pleading forgiveness, knowing that I don't deserve it but silently asking anyway.

He wipes a solitary tear off my reddened cheek with a touch of his thumb that is completely gentle, almost maternal in its nature. He then places his thumb in my mouth in an exact recreation of my actions with Mulder earlier.

Then it hits me.

He did see what I did in the car. He saw me touching something that wasn't mine to touch. That is why he is punishing me, not for allowing his goods to be damaged, but for touching those goods in the first place without his permission.

When I look at him, he is smiling,secure in the knowledge that I realize the source of his displeasure. He raises the crop to my swollen lips and I lick it clean of my blood and sweat with quick swipes of my tongue.

"Now, Alex. I want you to think about what you did wrong tonight and how you might appease me in the morning." He turns and walks away toward the door. He presses a button on the wall and the stone floor beneath me drops away, revealing a deep, dark pit. The frame I'm bound to is being lowered into it, like a slice of fresh bread into a toaster.

"Please, Derek. No!" I'm begging him not to do this, like I've never begged anyone before. "You promised! You swore you wouldn't..."

"Alex, you've left me no alternative." My Master's voice is calm and controlled and utterly emotionless, without feeling and I know there will be no escape from this. "You need to be reminded of your place in this house and how to fulfill your duties to my satisfaction."

A gut wrenching feeling of fear immediately envelops me. He knows my phobia of tight, dark places and has threatened me with it before, but I never thought I would anger him enough that he would actually use it as a punishment.

The slot in the floor is so narrowI can feel the cold, moss covered stone against my back and chest, the slimy algae clinging to my arms and legs. I can already feel the panic start and this is going to be the mother-of-all-panic attacks. Then the floor, which is now the roof of my prison, slides back into place, rubber seals stopping even one photon of light from slipping in around the heavy chains. I hear Derek's voice before he leaves me alone in my own private Hades; something he swore he would never do to me. He's rescued me once beforeand I want to believe he will come to my rescue again.

I need to believe.

Otherwise I fear that he will be releasing an empty body, alive and breathing but vacant of mind and soul.

"Just remember that you love me, Alex. That I'm all you need."

"NO! I trusted you, you bastard. You gave me your fucking word!"

My words echo around me, over and over in a never-ending loop and I can still hear them even after they have faded beneath normal hearing range. I vow to remember them for the rest of my life, never to forget this ultimate betrayal from the one person I willingly trusted with my life.

I have no way of keeping track of how quickly or slowly time and the world above is passing me by. Time has stopped as far as I can tell. My throat is raw, my voice hoarse from my phobia-fuelled screams and I expect the roof to slide back and the frame to rise, taking me out of this hellhole any second now. I can feel thick, warm blood mixing with cooling sweat and dripping down my arms from a futile attempt to pull my wrists out of the manacles.

I close my eyes in a useless attempt to relax. My heart is thumping in my chest at a million miles an hour and I'm finding it almost impossible to breathe. I know if I can just get abit of control over my fear, then I've won half the current battle and will survive another day to fight the next one.

My mother taught me to imagine a nice, safe place to go to in my mind during the many times my bastard-of-a-father locked me in my bedroom closet as punishment for crying and waking my sisters when he would come to my bed and then, in later years, to stop me protecting my sisters when he went to their beds. She knew she could not stop our father abusing us, so she did her best to limit the impact by teaching us games to play to take our young, impressionable minds off the things he did.

I can hear her soft, lilting voice, so quiet that I have to strain to hear it over my thumping heart. I can almost feel her tiny hands and nimble fingers stroking my face, calming and soothing me like she did when I was a child, when I was her little Andre, her brave little boy. I'm not feeling very brave right now, though. She's counting to me, her voice sweet and melodic in the native tongue of her homeland. My father forbid her to speak French in his house, even English was not good enough for his children. But she secretly taught my sisters and I when she could and that is what I'm hearing now. It's almost making me cry.

"Un."

"Deux."

"Trois."

By three I'm back in my childhood home, in the kitchen while my mother is making pastry and baking bread. The twins are chasing our puppy around the dining area. Mother's favourite opera is playing and music and laughter fills the house as it always did when Papa was away with his comrades, planning god-knows-what to help stop the decline of his beloved Russia into western decadence.

"Quatre."

By four my heart rate and breathing have slowed to the point that I think I will survive this ordeal with at least some of my sanity intact.

"Cinq."

On the count of five, I swear on my mother's grave that I will no longer be Derek's lap-boy, his willing, submissive slave eager to please and serve him. The trust I had in him is destroyed, his oath of protection not worth a dime.

All the previous times he has betrayed that trust and I forgave him come rushing back to me in a deluge of memories and emotions. The coping mechanisms my mother taught me are no defense against the flood that is starting to overwhelm me.

One stands out in particular, an experience that I thought I had managed to block from my mind permanently. There's nothing I can do but go along for a ride to hell.

Part Six

I'm not sure what wakes me first, the bright beam of light directed into my left eye or the delicate touch of a finger that holds the eyelid open, firm and gentle at the same time. I can't see anything past the light, just a fuzzy shadow that could be anything. After a few seconds the light is withdrawn, though I continue to see it as an afterimage even after I close my eyes.

I try to turn onto my side to escape the bright light and probing fingers, only to discover that my arms are secured above my head with leather-covered manacles that burn as I struggle to free myself. My legs are similarly secured, the leather stiff and unforgiving.

"Krycek? What the hell's going on?" I lift my throbbing head and turn it towards the light source. I feel the blindfold around my throat and thehood still covering most of my head. Sweat running down my face suggests it has only just been removed.

It's not Krycek who answers my plea. A woman in a white lab coat hovers over me, her straight, reddish blonde hair held in a braid that lies over one shoulder, reaching almost to her waist. A few strands have come free and fall around her face. Behind simple, rimless glasses are clear blue eyes and long lashes.

"Who are you? Where's Krycek? Where am I?"

"Sshhhh. Be quiet or he will hear you." She removes the hood completely and runs her slender fingers through my hair, her face an unreadable mask that confirms my suspicion that she is a doctor or at least a nurse, though I'd lean towards the former at this stage because of the spotless white coat. "Do you have a headache or double vision?"

I ignore her questions, having too many of my own that I want answered.

"Good because there are a few things I want to say to him."

It's as she's running her hands over my chest and arms that I realize I'm naked or almost so except for the scrap of red Lycra at my groin that doesn't feel right somehow.

Her touch is totally professional and clinical, but still stirs up the typical feelings and reactions that have plagued men since the dawn of civilization when being touched so intimately by the opposite sex. I feel myself getting hard and accept the fact that there is no way I can hide my growing erection from her clinical eyes. I need not be concerned however for she just continues her examination, the expression on her face unchanged, giving me no clues as to what she is thinking.

"It's not Alex you have to be concerned about now. Besides he's tiedup at the moment and if it's any consolation I can assure you he's not enjoying it at all."

"Oh, that makes it all better then doesn't it?" I ask sarcastically,not even trying to hide the bitterness in my voice. I regret my tone but not my words almost immediately as she pulls back and turns away from me. Whatthe hell am I doing? Alienating someone who might be able to help me, someone who might just realize that I am here, chained to a bed dressed only in a pair of bathers, against my will.

I recall a voice from last night? The night before? Don't know how long I've been out but it's still dark in the room except for the light froma small lamp on a table next to the bed.

... "Sir requests you take the package directly to the second-floor guest-room. He is waiting for you in the parlor."...

I remember the man's icy cold tone and utter lack of concern. How many handcuffed and hooded people have been delivered to this place? It musthave been something that occurred frequently or was it just the sign of a trusted and long-time servant to only perform those duties specific to his position, to not question those around or above him, to just follow orders.

It was as much an attack on my kidnapper as a non-verbal cry for help when I kicked out at Krycek at the first opportunity. The fact that no one came to my aid was just another nail in my coffin. I realize I can relyon no one but myself to get out of this. I know then that I can't just passively accept my captivity 'til Skinner notices I'm missing and comes to rescue me. On the other hand, I know how much it will devastate Walter if he rescues a corpse. He'll blame himself for not putting the pieces together quickly enough, for not divining my whereabouts instantaneously the second he discovers that I'm gone. Somehow I have to either make a clean escape or leave no clues that could earn me punishment and quite possibly death if I fail an attempt.

The woman faces me once again and I now see pity and concern on her face, but I fear she is just as immune to my plight as everyone else around me. She opens her mouth to say something and then closes it without uttering a word. She pulls the blindfold up over my eyes, retying it and I'm once again plunged into almost total darkness.

I can't help a desperate "Please. No." escaping my dry lips.

I feel a slight breeze against one ear and have to strain to hear her hurried whisper.

"I'll try to help. Just hang on."

I hear her words but I don't dare believe them. Would she really be here if she didn't condone the actions of her employer?

But she's a doctor or a nurse and they take an oath to preserve and protect life, don't they?

Maybe she's only here to prevent me from dying, not for my benefit but because I'm no good dead to whomever she works for?

Would you prefer to have no one on your side just so...

"How is Fox doing?"

This back and forth arguing inside my mind is interrupted by the entrance of yet another player into this drama and if I loathed him before for orchestrating my kidnapping (don't ask me how I know he's the boss, I just do) I positively detest him now.

I turn my face toward his voice and feel the cloth over my eyes shift a little, giving me hope that I might be able to dislodge it without the use of my hands.

My captor's voice is deep and accented. It's not a natural accent like one gained in childhood, but something only recently learnt and not yet mastered. It's definitely British, a touch snobbish but beyond that I can't narrow it down any further.

I sense him move closer, the woman by his side. Her breathing has quickened slightly and it sounds like a hurricane in the otherwise perfectly silent room. I pray he doesn't detect anything out of the ordinary thatmay cause her to be replaced by someone less concerned with keeping me alive.

"The patient is doing as well as can be expected. No sign of concussion or head trauma that I can detect."

"Splendid."

The bed dips as he sits beside me and I soon feel an obviously male hand stroke the side of my face starting at the blindfold and not stopping 'til he reaches the only other piece of material. I'd shift away from him but the shackles allow me no escape.

"I have waited so long for this moment I can hardly believe it is real." A thumb and finger trace the outline of my erection, obviously giving him the idea that I'm turned on by being chained up and molested by a person I can't see and don't know from Adam. "I see you have missed me as much as I have missed you."

Just as I'm about to launch into a barrage of curses that would makea sailor blush, he covers my mouth with his. I expect the attack to be hard and brutal, but it's the exact opposite, light and almost chaste and, thank God, very brief.

"That will be all, Doctor. I'll need you to check on Alex in the morning." He may be addressing her but I know he is staring at me for Ifeel his eyes caressing my body just as I feel his hand cup my groin.

"Listen, you sick fuck. I don't know who the hell you are but..."

"Of course you know me, Fox. You never forget your first lover."

How much more delusional can this guy get?

I twist and squirm in an effort to get away from him and his sick fantasies. I can't escape of course, but that doesn't stop him from gripping my arms tight enough to really hurt and slapping me across the face as if I'm hysterical and need to be brought to my senses. Well, I'm not hysterical yet, but soon will be if this bastard doesn't get the hell away from me.

"Can I offer some professional advice?" Never have I been so glad to listen to anything a doctor says. She could recite Gray's Anatomy in Latin if it'll get this guy's attention on her and off me.

Her tone reveals that she is going to give it whether he wants to hear it or not. Go, Doc!

"Of course." His grip loosens but he doesn't let go completely and I relax only slightly, knowing I'm far from being safe.

"I suggest you restrain the patient better, perhaps four point but definitely in softer straps. When he fully wakes up he is going to be quite disorientated and very distressed, more so because of the blindfold. Inhis confusion he could injure himself quite badly."

She slightly emphasizes the "fully" part for what I'm sure is my benefit. A warning? A subtle suggestion to act in a certain way? Decoding her words takes my mind off the hand that is fondling my balls. I also detect discomfort verging on disgust.

And all the pieces fall into place. Her boss is molesting her injured, defenseless patient right in front of her and she knows there is nothing she can do to stop it. She wants me to play dead or at least unconscious inthe hopes that this will stop him ripping my Speedo off and raping me.

Ok. I can play my part as I'm pretty certain I haven't given any clues as to how awake and aware I really am. My words and actions so far could be attributed to my head injury. At least I hope that's how he'll interpret my struggles and denial. Disorientation and temporary amnesia can be symptoms of concussion and without the proper equipment to check, the doctor can't be certain that I'm not in worse shape.

Please, God. Don't let this bastard be one of those sick necrophiliacs. My stomach heaves just thinking that, but luckily doesn't go any further, though I would love nothing better than to throw up all over the fucking bastard. At least he might leave me alone to change his expensive clothes. I know the feel of fine cloth that covers my abuser; silk and satin, what all the best-dressed sexual predators are wearing around town these days.

I allow my body to go limp and jello-like in his arms and concentrate on slowing down my breathing. It's a meditation technique that Dr Werber taught me. It allows me to put my body into a deep state of relaxation while leaving me fully aware of my surroundings.

It must be working because he drops me like a hot potato and in a tone just short of panic turns on the doctor.

"What's wrong with him?"

She gestures him aside with a very convincing, "I don't know. He was fine before you came in." She basically accuses him of being responsible formy sudden relapse.

"God, I love this woman." I scream in my mind.

She takes my pulse and listens to my heart, before making a half-hearted attempt to remove my blindfold.

"Leave that on him."

This guy is a freak. He wants the Doc to find out what's wrong with me but won't let her uncover my eyes to do so.

"Give him something to wake him up." He orders her, his voice getting even deeper, the angrier he gets.

"I can't. It could do more damage. Besides I don't know what your delivery-boy injected him with to transport him. It could put him in a coma, perhaps even kill him."

I sense her standing guard over me, protecting me with a body not much bigger than Scully's. She is one brave and gutsy lady and I just hope we both survive so that I can tell her that some day.

"I have waited ten years to be with him again and I won't wait another day."

Ten years? Again? I don't know this creep from a bar of soap and yethe knows me or thinks he knows me, that we were lovers for Christ's sake. This could be even worse than I imagined to begin with. My mind is flooding with horror stories from Quantico and VCS about psychopaths getting out of prison, tracking down the agents who sent them there and then doing unmentionable things to them. I had nightmares for a month after a visit to the Academy from John Douglas, the pioneer and master of profiling. The tales he told of monsters disguised as humans and his own physical and mental breakdown that lead to his retirement had most of the trainees sprinting to the toilets before class was over.

I frantically search my memories for any clue as to who this guy might be, but come up blank when I realize that 10 years ago I was at Oxford studying, not investigating and putting away one sicko after another, my desk just a conveyor belt of past and present case-files.

I had no close friends or acquaintances during that time, except for Phoebe, but she didn't fit into either category. I was merely an accessory for her to show off, less valuable than her Rolls convertible from Daddy or her fox-fur coat. I'm sure if she could have skinned me to sling aroundher shoulders to ward off the bitterly cold English winter, she wouldn't have wasted a second doing so.

So while I have no idea who my captor is or how he knows me, I am only too clear about how he wishes to celebrate our apparent reunion.

"How long until he wakes, Doctor?"

"It's impossible to say. Given that his eyes reacted properly to light stimulus earlier, I would hope that he regains consciousness within in the next 12 hours or so."

This seems to lessen his anger and I feel his weight rise from the bed and move away.

"I hope for his sake and yours that your prognosis proves correct." The threat in his voice is unmistakable and I vow here and now to be personally responsible for removing this piece of scum from the face of the earth.It's a real effort to maintain this illusion of sleep when all I want to do is break the chains that bind me and rip him to shreds.

I sense them moving towards the door and yet the panic and fear doesn't subside. Drawers are opening and closing in different locations around the room and I don't want to imagine what sort of items are being extracted.

I can feel genuine drowsiness over taking me now and it's a fight tostay alert enough to hear what is being said.

"I'll consider your advice, Doctor. Good evening." The Doc's dismissal is final and direct and I know my angel is walking out the door even though I can't hear her footsteps due to a thick Persian rug on the floor of my prison. I remember it underfoot when Krycek was leading me inside here.The investigator in me is automatically saving every scrap of information, no matter how minute, that may aid my escape.

His words are the last I hear before giving into my body and mind's need to rest, to recharge the batteries for the long fight for freedom that lies ahead.

"Welcome home, Billy. Welcome home, my love."

Part Seven

The door opens behind me and I hear the tap-tap of stiletto heels on stone. I'm back to the first time I was brought to this chamber. I would gladly have my left arm hacked off with a blunt knife and no anesthesiathan relive even a second of what she put me through and what he allowed herto put me through but the images, the fear and terror can't be stopped.

The bitch has only been in the same room as me whilst I was conscious once but I still can't describe her. All I know about her, if it is thesame woman (and I use that term very, very loosely) each time, is that she has a British accent, (a very high-class British accent) and inch long blood-red nails. About a month after I arrived, we were all in thisvery room where I learned that not all punishment is painful and not all play is fun.

I was on the frame, naked and spread-eagled. My back was towards theonly door so I didn't see her enter, just heard the sound of her stilettos on the stone floor. Derek was standing in front of me, a triangular piece of black silk in his hand, flicking it over my face and chest, drawing it slowly over my hard, sensitive nipples down to drape it over my erect cock. He looked over my shoulder at her entrance, something between a smile and a frown forming on his tanned face. His silk covered hand grasped my cock lightly as he pumped it once, twice, three times. It should have been enough to send me over the edge but a cock ring kept me from shooting my semen all over Derek and the floor.

Our visitor came up behind me and I turned my head, hoping to get a glimpse of her mysterious face, only to earn a stinging slap from Derek. He didn't have to say anything to tell me that I was to stand still and not move unless ordered otherwise. Derek leant against me, crushing my painfully hard cock against the belt of his pants. The woman was pressed against my back, and with me caught in the middle, they embraced, theirarms around my waist, their mouths meeting over my right shoulder. Their combined breathes tickled my ear, his smelling of tobacco and whiskey, hers of curry and red wine. They kissed each other deeply, both of their chins at one time digging painfully into my collarbone. Derek is one hell of a great kisser and I could tell exactly what he was doing to her just by the sounds she was making. Moans and groans, even a tiny choking one ashe forced his tongue as far down her throat as it would reach.

Their hands roamed my body, his on top of hers as he guided them over my skin. He was teaching her my most sensitive zones of which there were plenty, the curve of my hips, the fold where thigh met buttocks, the backs of my knees. They broke apart only to continue the lesson with their tongues and teeth. Him attacking my chest and nipples and throat while she nipped and nuzzled and licked my shoulder blades, back and the nape of my neck. The lesson did not include my ass or cock and balls. These were ignored but not for long as I was to find out in the coming hours. I was grateful for the padded shackles that held me upright for without them I would have collapsed in a jellied, boneless heap when they finally released me from the double embrace after what seemed like hours but was probably only ten or fifteen mind- blowing minutes.

Derek and the woman moved off to the side, out of my vision, where I heard the clink of glasses and the fizz of champagne. They were talkingin normal tones, but I was already well trained not to eavesdrop on my master's private conversation, whether he was on the phone in bed still buried deep inside me or sitting at the table for dinner parties with business associates with me kneeling at his feet naked except for diamond and emerald encrusted collar and cuffs.

A few minutes later, twin footsteps announced their return, Derek standing once more in front of me, the woman at my back, still unseen by my exhausted eyes. The silk still covered my cock, which was still as hardas ever. I felt Derek place his right hand between my parted legs, his eyes locked on the face of our guest, his left holding my swollen balls. After a moment he pulled his right hand back but now it was a fist, holding her smaller hand in his larger, rougher one. He placed her hand over the silk on my cock, wrapping her slim fingers around one corner as he tightened his own grip on the fabric.

With a nod, the cool silk was drawn back between my legs maintaining constant contact with my balls and perineum. Sharp nails parted my cheeks and the cloth was dragged deep between them, back and forth, quick and slow, over and over. I was so aroused and ready I was sure I was going to explode, the cock-ring flying off my cock to land halfway across the cold chamber. But it held tight and agonizing despite the enormous pressure that had built up.

One finger, the index one I think, pushed up into me without warning, without lube or hesitation. I grimaced at the pain, moving forward towards Derek, away from my tormentor. Derek simply dropped his end of the cloth and placed his hands on my hips, holding me immobile, pushing my ass back so that I was impaled further on her finger which was soon joined by another and then a third. Derek had always taken time to prepare me, to stretch my anus even when he sedated me before fucking me. This penetration was painful in the extreme, the rough nap of the silk irritating my inner passage, the fingers thrusting in and out, soft flesh ripped by sharp, curved claws. Her teeth bit the soft skin of my throat, drew blood, which she quickly swallowed, the suction of her lips created more pain, more humiliation. I cried out, feeling the tears streaming down my cheeks. I couldn't believe Derek would allow me to be treated this way, just for the pleasure and gratification of a woman. When I looked up at him, he was smiling at us both, his joy filled eyes flicking between me and her.

"Shush, Alex. I'll let you come soon, sweetheart. I promise." He crooned, stroking my sweat-damp hair, his fingers wiping the wetness away. "Justa little bit longer. You can hold on until then, can't you?" It was a statement not a question. Even if he had asked my opinion I had no breath to give one, all my energy focused on enduring the pain and pleasing my Master. I just nodded, resting my tired head on his broad shoulder.

"Answer me Alex. You want to please me, to please her?" He commanded, raising my head by the power of his voice alone.

"Yes, Master." I said as her probing fingers withdrew from my ass. Isaw those fingers, those invaders, briefly as she placed the silk cloth over my eyes, felt them tie the blindfold tightly behind my head, a few strandsof hair catching painfully in the knot.

"Good boy."

His voice was a lifeline in the darkness that surrounded me, one I grabbed onto again and again over the next few hours. In contrast was her voice, a cultured anchor, weighted with blue-blooded breeding and an education from the finest private schools, that wrapped itself around my mind as the wet lashes of the whips wrapped around my battered body, pulling me so deep down into the murky pain-filled depths that at times I was sure I would drown.

But my Master was there the whole time, even when he was following her instructions and inflicting the pain himself, I knew he would not let me drown. He let me stop breathing a few times, of that I'm certain. But I would always find myself floating up towards consciousness, feel his strong arms around me, wiping away the blood and sweat and tears, soothingthe burns and welts. He would support me, whispering comforting words in myear, holding me as I recovered enough so she could continue.

He even released me from the frame for a short while, lying me on a thick fur rug on the floor and made the sweetest love to me that I had ever experienced. I had dimly heard the heavy door open and close just before he unlocked the shackles around my wrists and ankles and removed the blindfold. I guessed that she had left the room and prayed that she wouldn't return. I begged him not to let her back in, that I couldn't take any more of her sadistic games.

"It's okay, Alex. She just gets carried away sometimes. She's never actually killed anyone."

Gee, that made me feel so much better.

Not.

He nuzzled my neck, kissing each bite and burn and scar that they had left on my previously unmarked flesh. "You won't suffer any permanent damage. I'll protect you." He removed the cock-ring and jerked me off with only two strokes, the pleasure of finally coming taking the edge off the pain that had enveloped my entire body. "I promised you the day I took you off the streets that I would not allow anyone to hurt you ever again. I won't break that promise now or in the future."

"But she is hurting me," I pleaded. I loathed him a little and hatedher a lot that day. "And you are letting her."

"You have no concept of what she can and would do if I was not here to keep some of her darker fantasies in check."

He sounded almost hypnotized, as if he were still under her evil spell, under her control, spouting words of her choosing like a ventriloquist's dummy. His deep blue eyes were glazed over and dreamy-looking. He continued to stroke and kiss and pet me, but it was without feeling or emotion.

"She can take your deepest, most terrifying fears, even those you aren't aware of and make them frighteningly real. She is immune to your screams and pain. They are food to her; they sustain her as oxygen sustains us. Andthe more you give her, the more you beg and plead and scream, the more she takes and the hungrier she becomes."

The tone of his voice left me in no doubt that he had at least witnessed her in action perhaps even having actual personal experience of what hewas describing to me.

"I would rather kill us both than let her use your fears to satisfy herself. I made that mistake with Billy and lost him."

He seemed to regain his focus and he covered my mouth with his in a lengthy kiss that was hard and brutal and yet, somehow soft and sensualat the same time. He gazed deep into my eyes, drawing me deep into his andI sensed that he was maybe saying goodbye, taking one last look at me.

Footsteps on the stairs signaled her return and Derek fitted the metal ring once more over my still swollen shaft, lifted me upright and guided me back over to the frame. I thought of resisting but I had barely enough energy left to stand, let alone escape. His arm around my waist kept mefrom falling as he secured the iron manacles around my bruised and bloodied wrists and ankles. A leather belt around my waist was connected with strong heavy chain to the frame, with a choke-chain snug around my throat ensured I couldn't move more than half an inch in any direction if I didn't want to choke myself to death.

Just before the door opened, Derek whispered to me. "Only a little while longer. She'll be gone in the morning. Just remember that you love me, Alex. And I love you."

That was the one and so far only time he has said that to me. I don't expect ever to hear it again.

The door closed and I could hear him talking to her, his voice worried and harsh, hers petulant and stubborn.

"You've gone too far. He's not ready for this sort of treatment." Derek said, real concern for my welfare flooding his words. Or maybe he was just worried that I'd be out of action for too long, leaving him without his current plaything. In my heart I hoped it was the former, but my mind and cold logic told me it was the latter driving him. I'd only just recovered enough from my ordeal on the streets of D.C to serve him in bed. I had been under no illusion as to what was required of me in return for the food and shelter I'd had so little of for the previous three months and I was more than willing to comply.

"I know what I'm doing, Derek. He'll live. He'll feel a little sore and sorry for himself for a few days but he won't suffer any permanent damage," she snarled, flinging his own words back in his face, letting him know that she overheard his reassurances. "You always did have a soft spot for pretty young men. There are plenty more like him out there. Can I help it if the prettiest ones are also the most tasty?" Her voice had softened to a sensual purr and I could imagine her rubbing up against him like a cat.No. Like a bitch in heat. "Don't I always deliver the best to you? Wasn't Billy the most exquisite specimen, so fresh, so innocent on the surface? But a goldmine of fear and darkest despair on the inside. Truly a one-of-a-kind feast, not the pitiful snacks you've served up lately."

I didn't have to see her to know who she was referring to.

"At least let me make it a little easier for him. Please?" She grunted once, her disgust at Derek's "softness" clearly evident.

"If you haven't the stomach, then leave."

"I promised him I would stay. You know I don't share your passion for this sort of thing."

"How do you propose to make things easier for him?"

She had moved close behind me and her hands were playing with the choker around my throat, pulling it tighter and tighter until I was sure I was going to pass out.

"I'll lower him down but I will not, under any circumstances, close the opening."

The chain loosened as he removed her hands and I could breathe againand concentrate fully on what was being planned for me. I started to panic and thrash in my restraints, begging and pleading for mercy.

"Alex. Be still!" It was an order I had no choice but to obey. Resistance would only cause him to relent even further to her desires in order to demonstrate his control over me. I could only trust that he would keep his word and not totally enclose me in darkness.

He promised me, no he *SWORE* to me, that he would not inflict my most dreaded, terrifying nightmare on me, no matter what I might do that displeased him and especially no matter what that bitch wanted him to do just for a little fun.

"Just being down there will generate all the fear you want. No need to destroy the boy's mind and the opportunity for future sessions."

My Master's voice grew deeper and more seductive as he bargained formy sanity. I could see him just out of the corner of my eye. The movement of his hands suggesting he was undressing her and I could picture the restof his seduction in my mind's eye. His caresses would grow softer as his cock grew harder, his lips and hands worshipping her flesh as he uncovered it inch by inch.

He refused to look me in the eye as he operated the controls that lowered the frame into the dark, narrow crevice. He chose instead to take her in his arms, covering her skin with kisses and whispering terms of endearment to her, when I was the one in desperate need of his touch and reassurance.

The panic attack began before my knees reached the level of the stone floor and was in full swing by the time I was underground. I was sweating profusely and hyperventilating. He had loosened the collar enough so that I could tilt my head back and see the rectangular opening above me that was the only thing stopping me from descending into total madness.

I could hear them fucking each other, with my screams as a soundtrack, seemingly urging them on to fuck faster, harder and louder. After the longest half-hour of my life Derek raised the frame and released me. He eased me to the floor and held onto me for hours, rocking my trembling body and trying to sooth my terror-filled mind with soft kisses and gentle words. The bitch had taken one look at us and stormed out in disgust atsuch a pitiful sight. I was a basket case for days after; terrified of beingleft alone, having to sleep with bright lights burning all night. I was useless to my employer, unable to carry out the most basic tasks. Why he didn't dump me back on the streets I don't know. I obviously still had some talent or skill that made me worthwhile.

She has returned since but Derek has always given me the safety net of drugs whenever she decides she wants to play with me. I'm only ever left with the marks on my body as clues as to the games she likes to play. Derek told me the frame-slot no longer turns her on as it's no fun when the victim isn't conscious and aware of being tortured. She only tolerates Derek tranquilizing me as she knows that is the only way he will allow her to have access to my body. My mind is off limits to her and that totally pisses her off.

I never thought he had the guts to stand up to her, to defy her demands. I'd like to think that he hadn't had anyone worth standing up for before me, but I had heard snatches of conversations as I come out of drugged slumber. Mentions of Billy, and how she was to blame for hurting him so badly that he fled the country. Clearly evident in Derek's voice was his guilt of not protecting his cherished Billy, of letting her sink her claws into him.

All of a sudden I snap out of the flashback. Nothing has changed. I'm still entombed in suffocating silence and darkness. But now I have plans of escape and revenge to occupy my mind until Derek decides to end my punishment. My target is not only Derek and his betrayal, but also the one whose careless action sentenced me to this torture.

Now that Derek has done that which he promised never to do, I can never trust him again and that's what hurts most of all. Another thing that Mulder is to blame for, even if he is here against his will. And to think thatjust hours ago I thought having Mulder back in my life (and hopefully in my bed) was the best thing that could ever happen; that it could only strengthen my relationship with Derek perhaps even elevate me to his lover rather than just his slave and fuck-toy.

I trusted Derek with my life before this but that protective shell has cracked. And it was our "guest" who landed the blow that shattered the once unbreakable bond between a Master and his slave.

I did my job as instructed, delivered the package undamaged and was in the process of gift wrapping it for my Master's pleasure when Mulder kicked out at me and lost his balance. He was the one who did wrong, who deserved to be punished, not me.

But no. He gets the soft mattress and expensive furnishings and medical attention while I, who did nothing wrong, who was only following orders, am banished to a dark, claustrophobic pit. He gets my lover, my Master, pawing and drooling over him while I'm left alone down here in the silencewith only my fear and nightmares for company.

Finally sheer exhaustion overtakes me and I awake an unknown time later to the noise of stone sliding apart and the mechanism that lowered the frame rumbling to life. I'm lifted slowly out of my tomb and laid, frame and all, on the cold stone floor.

Silky soft hair brushes my face, but I just don't have the energy toopen my eyes to confirm the identity of my rescuer. My numb and bloody wrists and ankles are freed from the shackles. I wake a little more when cool, stinging alcohol is wiped across the lacerations and they are wrapped in soft cloth.

My arms are placed by my side and as blood rushes back into them, feeling returns beginning as a tingling sensation that quickly becomes uncomfortable verging on agonizing. I cry out and try to move in a useless effort to escape the pain. Someone begins massaging my limbs and the pain slowly eases.

"Water." I'm not even aware of speaking but obviously my body knows what it needs to begin healing.

A stiff straw is pushed between my cracked, bleeding lips and precious liquid flows down my ravaged throat. It's withdrawn before my thirst is satisfied and I reach in vain for it as I open my eyes for the first time since my prayers were answered.

The sight that I see makes me wonder if I'm still trapped underground, still hallucinating the comforting presence of my beloved mother.

"Mama?"

"It's Dr Conway, Alex. Derek's physician."

She lets a little more water trickle down my throat as she helps me sit up, supporting my trembling body.

I realize I'm still in the stone walled room and one of Derek's thugs is standing guard at the open doorway.

I retreat into the safety of the doctor's arms, terrified that he ishere to lower me back into hell. This must just be a temporary reprieve, a brief respite of my punishment and that I have yet to satisfy Derek that I have learnt my lesson.

"Don't... please don't let him...back down... Won't survive any more." I'm scooting backwards, trying to put as much distance between him and me as is possible in the small chamber.

"It's ok, Alex. He's here to help you upstairs, that's all." She hasn't released her hold on me. I feel her rubbing my back with gentle circular motions and her voice is quiet and soothing. She keeps this up until I'm able to struggle to my feet, my body still weak, my mind still in shockand denial that my ordeal really is over.

"Sam will help you shower and dress. Derek wants to see you at breakfast."

If she thinks knowing the thug's name will make us instant best friends then she is more in the dark about what happened down here than I thought. She may not even be aware that I just spent the last few hours in a dark, claustrophobic pit so narrow I could have licked the moisture of the slimy walls with my tongue had I thought to do so. I'm guessing she wasn't let into the room until I had been retrieved from the pit. I don't ever recall her being very concerned about my well-being. I'm just someone she patches up occasionally so that our employer isn't inconvenienced. I didn't even know her name until just now.

She gestures for me to step over the frame lying on the floor and all of a sudden pure rage explodes out of me and I'm kicking at the solid woodand trying to tear it apart with my bare hands. I shove the doctor away from me and am so totally focused on my task of destruction that I barely hear her tell the bodyguard to let me be, that I need to get it out of my system, that she is in no danger.

As quickly as it arrived, the adrenaline-rush runs out and I collapse to the floor in a sobbing, exhausted heap. My knuckles are sore and bloodyand I've torn a few fingernails, perhaps even busted a toe or two. But I feel no pain except that of a broken heart and battered soul. I don't resist as I'm guided to my feet and escorted (practically carried) up the two flights of stairs to my Spartan quarters.

Sam strips me and holds me upright under the steaming shower, then dries and dresses me, adding the necessary accessories so that I can resume my duties and serve my Master once more. He is surprisingly gentle as he shaves my cock and balls then cleans me out and lubes me before carefully inserting the butt plug. I am sort of grateful for the help as it leaves my mind free to begin repairing itself in anticipation of gaining my freedom and control of my life.

I know I'm in no shape (either physical or mental) to fight back yetand so will have to play the willing, submissive companion my Master is expecting for a few more days, but I know now that I will escape this place or die trying.

Part Eight

The music weaves its way into my brain, its tentacles creeping into my consciousness, beforethe physical soundwave reaches my ears. It washes over me like a gentle wave, cradling me, lifting me upwards into wakefulness. I take a deep breath, an oxygen-rich yawn to fill my lungs and a second sensation registers, a musky perfume wafting into my nose, teasing the fine hairs, stirring up crystal-clear memories. Memories that didn't exist before Ifell asleep are now invading my consciousness and I don't like them. I don't like them one bit.

I'm well aware that sounds, smellsand other sensations can unlock long-forgotten memories and traumatic experiences. It can be a single trigger or a combination of factors that brings the memory out from deep within the subconscious mind. In this case the initial key was a word, a name that I had hoped never to be called, let alone hear again. A name that I grew to hate even more than Fox. I know that's hard to believe but it's the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

When I heard it last night just asI succumbed to sleep, I thought it merely another indication that my captor had mistaken me for someone else. It didn't have any personal connotations beyond wishing my parents had been less inventive when naming their first-born.

Billy. A simple name, a child's name. A name reluctantly spoken by the parents of a boy who refused to answer to the more outlandish given name of Fox. A name never uttered by a braided-haired little sister no matter the bribes or treats offered. A name to be left behind as the boy enters puberty on his way to becominga man, to becoming Bill or perhaps William or, in my case, Mulder.

I had dismissed my abductor and his assertions that we have been acquaintances of a very intimate nature asthe delusional ramblings of a madman and my kidnapping as one of mistaken identity or just random victim selection.

How Krycek figures into all this Ihave no idea. Could he be the mastermind behind this and the creep with the wandering hands is just his way of fucking with my mind, of getting me off balance and confused? I wouldn't put it pass him, but something tells me that this isn't his style, isn't his modus operandi. I had theorized earlier when Krycek hesitated before blindfolding me that he was merely a cog in a larger machine; that someone else was issuing the orders and now I know who that person is. This knowledge does nothing to make me feel safer or hope that I might gain my freedom any time soon -- if at all.

Any of the three triggers of name,scent or sound could have just been a co-incidence. All three are common and well- known things. Items that I have encountered throughout my lifeand even since the end of my relationship with Derek and yet none of them has brought these memories to the surface.

I hear the music occasionally around the streets of DC playing from ice-cream trucks as they do their rounds of the suburbs. The magical strains of Mozart's Greensleeves urging children to pester their parents for pocket money and spare change so they can racedown to the sidewalk and buy icy treats from the truck's drivers.

The floral scent is even more familiar, as the rose is one of Scully's favorite flowers. Her apartment is always filled with vases overflowing with the blooms and its perfume seems to seep into her clothes and hair and therefore into our basement office.

It took the combination of all three to break the barrier my mind erected. Or maybe it wasn't my mind at all, maybe it was some form of hypnosis that Derek devised for some unknown reason, setting it up so that only he could open the door behind which these memories lay buried so deep.

Warning bells should have gone offwhen I told him that I would be returning to the States after graduation. He just embraced me in his strong, loving arms. He stroked his slender fingers through my shoulder-length hair and assured

me we would only be apart temporarily. He whispered that he would send for me when our future home was ready to be inhabited. I tried to explain that if I was accepted by the FBI I wouldn't be coming back to England. He dismissed it as just a foolish fantasy and kept telling me what our future together would be like oncethe Abbey had been restored and we could take up residence. He rationalizedmy trip home as merely a vacation to visit my parents. He was very calm and rational about my leaving, too calm and rational, in fact.

It was the total opposite of how Ihad expected him to react given his obsessiveness about dominating me and controlling every aspect of my life while we were lovers, from how I dressed to what I ate when he took me out to the finest restaurantsand exclusive parties. And yet I accepted his best wishes for a safe flighthome and quick return as I had my mother's when I left the States years before. Where was my paranoia and mantra of "Trust No-One"?? Was I really that naive and innocent when it came to discerning people's true motivesand intentions?? If so, why was the Bureau interested in recruiting me as a future profiler? Maybe the hypnosis and the "passwords" was his way of calling me to heel when he decided it was time for me to be his again. He could be very persuasive and I rarely questioned him or the decisions he made about how we spent our time. Being with him was like being in a trance or mesmerized. He told me when we first met that he would be in controland I submitted with minimal resistance.

Dr Werber acknowledged that I was a very suitable candidate for hypnosis, able to slip into deep meditative and very suggestible states with ease. Derek obviously used this to his advantage and without me being aware of what was happening. All I knew was that Iwas immensely happy when we were together and miserably lonely when we were apart, which wasn't very often, usually only when I was attending tutorials or studying for exams.

Phoebe introduced me to him, a fellow American living in England to research his family tree. He was obsessedwith an eccentric great uncle or something, who lived in an abbey and kept a harem of boys a couple of centuries ago. He was positive he was the sole surviving heir to some massive fortune and had plans to restore his ancestor's home to all its former glory.

The last time I saw him was at Heathrow when I was flying back to the States. He had offered to drive me to the airport and spent the whole trip trying to convince me to stay in England. He even offered to set me up in my own psych practice once his inheritance was finalized. He couldn't return to America because of a clause in the will stating that any potential heirs had to reside in England for five years and he needed the money to fulfill his wish of recreating his uncle's estate down to the tiniest detail. He said he was doing it all for me and our future together.

I knew we had no future together, especially after what happened the previous week. Sure he apologized profusely for what he did and swore that he wouldn't ever do it again, but my trust in him was shattered and I was glad to be going home to the other side of the world to get away from him. Nothing he could have said or done would have made up for the brutal whipping he gave me because not only did I get my hair cut, but I dared to have it done without asking his permission. I had let it grow during my time at Oxford but had become sick of sweeping my long bangs back out of my eyes and the back fell a couple of inches below my shoulders. I had also heard from my father that the FBI was showing interest in my potential as a behavioral profiler, so I knew I would have to get it cut before I met with the Bureau recruiters.

Derek was furious with the more conservative style and no amount of explanation or pleas for understanding would deter him from dishing out the punishment he felt fitted my horrendous crime. It didn't bother him that he had a room full of guests dressed in tuxedos and evening gowns. He attacked me as soon as I walked in the door, grabbing my wrist so hard I was sure the bones would snap and slapping me across the face. After an apology for the disturbance to his guests, he dragged me upstairs to the master bedroom and threw me on the canopied four-poster bed that dominated the large room. Still in shock from his very public over- reaction, I lay dazed and confused as he locked the door and stalked toward me, a look of pure rage on his face. I never gave up trying to explain why I had my hair cut, even as he flippedme on my stomach and secured my wrists and ankles into the sheep-skin lined leather cuffs that were attached to the frame around the bed with thick chain and large, sturdy bolts.

I suffered the first few lashes instubborn silence before the agonizing pain won out and I began to scream. He hadn't bothered to strip me and soon my NY Knicks t-shirt was in shreds and being soaked with my blood. He stopped momentarily to gag me so his guests wouldn't be disturbed by my cries for help and then continued whipping me until I passed out.

When I awoke it was to the same music and scents that I'm hearing and smelling right now and he was untying my bindings and helping me sit upright. I had tried to break away but his grip was too strong. He was telling me it was all over and that I had to get ready to join our guests downstairs in the lavish ball-room.

I was in no state to go anywhere. All I wanted to do was lie down and die. But, as usual, I had no say and could offer no resistance as he pulled me to my feet and led me towards the bathroom where he bathed me gently and medicated my wounds. I caught sight of myself in the mirror and wondered who the zombie was that stared back at me with vacant, sunken eyes and tear-streaked cheeks.

I obediently held out my arm so that Derek could inject a favorite little potion of his, a combination of speed and aphrodisiac that soon had me buzzing, horny as could be and almost instantly rock-hard. He dressed me in an expensive tailored tux and escorted me down the sweeping staircase and into the ballroom of waiting people.He paraded me around the room, introducing me as Billy to Earls and Dukes and Counts. The tux didn't stay on me long, quickly stripped off and left in a heap by a large spa in one corner. I was soon entertaining our guestsand Derek was being praised for his mastery of the whip and half-heartedly berated for not disciplining me in full view of the assembled dignitaries as part of the evening's festivities.

I wonder if the MIBs at Ellen's Air Base are still in the mind-wiping business. I'd pay every last cent I have to have these unwanted memories erased totally and permanently from my mind. Something tells me that Derek won't do me the favor of blocking them again like he did on the drive from Oxford to Heathrow all those years ago.

I still haven't opened my eyes. I know the hood and blindfold have been removed and for that I'm grateful. It also seems that Derek has heeded the Doc's advice and my arms are now restrained at my sides with soft velcro straps. I know what I'll see so why bother?

A single white rose, a half open bud, will be lying next to my cheek on the soft, down-filled pillow; a pale blue comforter covers the queen size bed on which I'm laying, goosefeather of the finest quality, contrasting with the royal blue of the pillow-casesand heavy velvet drapes that block out the morning sun. Highly polished floorboards covered in places with expensive hand woven Persian rugs. Antique lamps and a marble and granite hearth provide light and warmth. Dresser, wardrobe and roll-top desk from the reign of Queen Anne, complete the furnishings, if my recollections are accurate. It makes sense that if Derek can't take me to his restored home yet (hopefully if at all) then he would re-create the place where we spent so much of our time together---his bedroom in his home in Bath, another of his ancestor's former residences.

Alex must have injected the secondantidote last night after I knocked myself out trying to defend myself. If it weren't for the straps I'm sure I would have full mobility as I can't detect any of the heavy numbness that was evident during my journey here, whereverhere is. I realize I'm shivering and discover why when I finally open my eyes. A fan is rotating directly above me and I'm practically naked, only wearing the Speedo Ale.. *Krycek* took so much pleasure dressing me in.The tiny piece of material feels even smaller for some reason but it only takes a few seconds to remember Krycek parting my butt cheeks and forcing the swimsuit between them to make a G-string.

"Fucking pervert," I mutter as I try unsuccessfully to pull the material out of my ass. The straps are tight enough to restrict movement of my hands to only an inch or two, nowhere near enough to get any contact with the lycra so I'll have to put up with fashion from the House of Alex a little while longer.

Having tried and failed every attempt at loosening the straps, I lay back and close my eyes, relishing the silence, and what is sure to be my last few moments of privacy since the music has now stopped. No doubt there's a camera in the room, recording my every movement. As soon as he knows I'm awake he'll be up here again or he'llsend Krycek to take me to him and I know I should delay that meeting as longas I can.

However, I'm torn between wanting to confront Derek and demand my freedom and fearing what he has planned for me; what forms of punishment he will deem appropriate to cover anythingI might have done over the last decade that he would not approve of. I am certain that he will want to pick up exactly where we left off, with him in control of every aspect of my life and me having to ask his permission to do even the most basic tasks, like pissing and sleeping and of course cutting my hair. The last one is sure to provoke his ire as my hair is even shorter than just before I left Oxford and him.

I can't be submissive in this situation, I need to show him that I am not afraid, even though my stomach is doing somersaults, and my heart is beating too fast for my liking.

What if he uses the same hypnotic suggestions or mind- control on me now that so effectively subdued any rebellion from me in the past?

I'm guessing that is how he controls Krycek, not that he probably needed much incentive to kidnap and molestme. I could be a reward for him being a good little slave-boy. It wouldn't be the first time Derek handed me over for someone else's pleasure. He always was a very sharing guy.

Another piece of music fills the room, this one evoking memories of a different nature. It calms my mind as well as stirring my groin, heat building up in my cock and balls and I'm totally helpless to stop it.

I open my eyes again and take a long look around the room. Turning my head towards the door, I discover my assumptions about the room's décor was correct except for one small but terrifyingly significant detail--the flower on the pillow is a red rose in full bloom rather than a white half-open bud.

The sight of it is as shocking as if there was a still- beating heart sitting in its place and more unwanted memories and images flood my mind. Most mornings I would wake up with a single white rose at my cheek, sometimes he would still be inside me, claiming me, filling me, fucking me; other mornings I would be alone, him having already dressed and disappeared down stairs.

The other mornings, maybe a coupleeach week, he would leave roses of other colors as a signal of that night's festivities, usually in the form of his wife, sometimes other people. I didn't like her and her "games" but had no chance to object to her intrusion into our bed. She simply wanted to play with me, and what she wanted she usually got. Derek did set limits at the beginning but they were hardly ever adhered to and he soon gave up trying to contain her kinky desires. He never left me alone with her for which I'll always thank him. He blamed her for the flogging he gave me, saying that she thought I was becomingtoo independent and in need of proper discipline. I didn't care whethershe had held a gun to his head, it didn't excuse how he treated me that night. He had promised to keep me away from her but it was all too late. I had already made up my mind to get as far away from him and his abusive wife as I could.

I stare at the blood-red rose for a moment or two, hoping and praying it doesn't mean what I think it means. A quick glance at the Waterford vase on the dresser, full of rose buds, allpure white. He didn't make a mistake. He put the correctly-coded item on my pillow. A full bloom representing his wife, the color signifying I havedone something to displease him and that I need to be corrected. At least he is giving me a warning though it's a useless one. I can't escape and I doubt he will remove the restraints until he is certain I'm once again under his spell and hell will freeze over before I let that happen again if I've got any say in the matter. I guess this means he now agrees with her about me getting out of control and having to be brought back into line. I would much rather let Krycek fuck me than even be in the same house as her.

My eyes find the camera where I knew it would be and I stare straight into its single lens. With my hands restrained beside me I cannot wipe away the single tear that rolls down my cheek. I never could hide my emotions and feelings from him. If I tried he would smother me until I thought I would suffocate and probe me until I broke down, confessing whatever was making me upset. I kept no secrets from him. He knew about Samantha's disappearance and the emotional igloo thatmy house became afterwards. He knew of the night I spent in a burned-out house keeping looters away and my subsequent fear of fire. I confessed to himmy hatred of insects. I revealed things about myself that not even my parents knew, that Scully and Walter don't know. I soon regretted allowing him access to my fears and nightmares for his wife used every single one of them in her sadistic games designed purely to terrify me and sexually satisfy her.

I feel like a bear with its paw caught in a steel-toothed trap waiting for the hunters to come and deliver the fatal shot, to release it from such a barbaric misery that it would chew off its own wounded limb to escape.

I'm beginning to wonder what a peg-leg or a hook in place of a hand would be like when the door to my prison opens. I take a deep breath in preparation for what lies ahead and wonder if I will survive to see Walter and Dana again.

Part Nine

Derek is already seated at the table reading The Guardian when I'm brought into the dining room. Something seems out of place and it takes me a second to realize that he is not alone as is normal at breakfast. Seated around the large glass table are the rest of Derek's employees; Dr Conway, the chauffeur, bodyguard #2 and various other house and grounds staff. It's the first time I've seen so many of my fellow employees in the same room together.

Conway is the only one who looks up at me. Her soft blue eyes display professional concern for my health, but also something extra that I can't quite put my finger on. I give her a brief smile to let her know I appreciate her concern and turn my attention to my employer.

There is a place setting on Derek's left, but I'm unsure if it's for me as he usually requires that I kneel at his feet so I'm in easy reach for scraps of food as well as affection. I'm hoping that my punishment is over but I'm not going to make any assumptions.

I let the bodyguard steer me to Derek's side. The creep's hand slides down to cup my ass, safe in the knowledge that his boss can't see him taking liberties with his slave. The fact that I'm not at all worried about still another person touching me is, in itself, worrying as if that's the only reason for my existence. I've had so many unwanted hands and mouths on me and fingers and cocks in me, what's one more added to the tally?

Christ, snap out of the woe-is-me routine, I silently berate myself. From now until I escape this hell-hole, I've got to act the part, walk the walk and talk the talk.

Apparently Derek had given his delivery instructions to muscle-boy before sending him to release me from the frame. The only vacant chair is pulled out from the table and I seat myself. He moves away to take up his usual position just inside the doorway as the butler enters with a large silver tray.

Derek folds his paper and puts it to one side when the butler begins serving him. He hasn't said anything to me, hasn't even acknowledged my presence. He keeps glancing at his Rolex, at a small security monitor that sits on the sideboard and then at Conway as if she can affect what he is seeing on the monitor. It's obvious that he doesn't like what he sees.

I steal a glance of my own and see that it shows the guest room I took Mulder to last night. Our "guest" is either still unconscious or asleep, his long arms resting by his side, his slender fingers slightly curled. The hood and blindfold are gone and he looks very peaceful. His face, turned slightly towards the window, is bathed in the early morning sun, bringing out the highlights in his chestnut-brown hair. His swimsuit is filled nicely by his morning erection.

My mouth begins to water at the sight. The image of taking him deep in my throat, of feeling him buck and thrust, trying to bring himself off while I try to delay it as long as possible sends an electric shiver straight to my groin.

Fuck. He is absolutely, fucking gorgeous, and I can feel my cock beginning to swell in its harness. I'm glad for the large cloth napkin that covers the evidence of my arousal.

Derek finally grants me the pleasure of his attention and I quickly avoid his gaze, focussing instead on the breakfast before me; a meal I have absolutely no appetite for. My jaw is still bruised where he struck me and my throat raw from screaming.

He places his left hand over my right, stroking my skin softly from bandaged wrist to broken fingernails. I look up at him almost against my will and find myself nearly drowning in his deep blue eyes.

Don't get suckered in with soft touches and warm eyes, I warn myself. Remember his promise and never forget his betrayal.

I blink a couple of times to escape his magnetism and start to pick at the food.

"I think you've learnt your lesson, Alex, and I know you won't repeat your mistake," he says as Roger pours us both cups of strong, black tea. The other staff present have started eating and whispering quietly amongst themselves.

"Yes, Sir." I don't look at him, my eyes staying fixed on the plate in front of me. He briefly takes hold of my chin, raising my bowed head and forces me to look at him before he resumes stroking my hand.

"I know you are sorry, Alex. I regret having to take such drastic action."

I can't believe that a) he is apologizing for what he did and b) he is doing so in front of all his servants. His next words throw those outrageous ideas out the window.

"But you left me no alternative."

That's right, blame me, you bastard. It takes enormous effort not to shout those words out loud, not to rise from my seat, put my hands around his throat and squeeze every last drop of life out of him.

Just when I think that Derek can't sink any lower, he comes up with a statement that destroys any trace of respect I once had for him.

"You must learn not to touch things that don't belong to you."

I was so under his spell that I was willing to be treated like a possession in return for shelter, food and sex. I foolishly thought for the first time in my life that sex equalled love when I was taken in by Derek.

This sickening reference to Mulder as a *thing* he has ownership of is the final straw that breaks the leash between Master and slave. Even old Smokey had more humanity. At least his sins were committed with the intention of saving the human race.

I know Derek is waiting for a suitable reply so I slip into the familiar role of contrite slave ashamed at having failed his master.

I just know the rest of the staff, especially the muscle-boys, are enjoying seeing me debase myself in front of them. I can almost hear their sneers...

"'Bout time the cocky, arrogant whore was put back in his place."

"He thought he was so much better than the rest of us just because he's the boss's toy-boy slut."...

With the mask of humility firmly in place, I feel more confident of being able to recite the lines Derek is waiting to hear. I refuse to think of him as Master any longer, though I know I must continue to address him as such in order for my act to be believed.

"I'm sorry for letting you down, Master. I should have taken more care when handling your property."

I feel sick to my stomach at having to utter these disgusting words; forced to reduce one of the strongest, most independent men I have ever known down to the level of an object owned by another man. I pray to a god I stopped believing in long ago that Derek doesn't make me repeat those degrading words in Mulder's presence for I won't be responsible for my actions.

Those around me don't react to my vile confession. I might as well be apologizing for breaking a favourite vase. I doubt that Derek would have told them why I had been punished and they would have considered it none of their business. He could run naked up the main street of DC and none of his "slaves" would dare question his sanity. I know I wouldn't have, this time yesterday.

"I only wanted to please you." A single tear, shed for the hellish life I have delivered Mulder into but visible only to Derek, rolls slowly down my cheek.

I lift his hand to my lips and kiss each finger.

"Alex. Look at me, love. I want to see your beautiful green eyes."

I obediently raise my eyes.

"I want to see how sorry you are," he says, putting his fork down and placing his right hand on the belt of his robe. He unties it and the robe falls open, revealing his well-muscled torso with its smattering of dark hair.

I can guess where this is leading and flick a worried look at the other servants who are quietly watching the scene unfold. Derek has never made me perform in front of any of the house staff before. He probably thinks I still need to be taken down a peg to two. His words as he was lowering me into the pit last night come back to me.

..." You need to be reminded of your place in this house and how to fulfill your duties to my satisfaction."...

He plans on making this a demonstration and me an example to the others. He means to humiliate and demean me, to trample what little self-worth I've got left under his five-hundred buck designer slippers.

"Show me that you love me, boy. Show me that you wish to please me." His voice is low and menacing and I just know he won't hesitate to repeat last night's terrifying events if I fail to obey his commands.

I take a deep breath and rise. Derek, still holding my hand, guides me the couple of steps between our chairs. He parts his muscular legs and I can see his cock hanging limp between them.

I did mention that the table-top is made of glass, didn't I? Transparent glass? Usually, it's covered with an antique lace cloth that reaches almost to the floor. This very explicit act of submission is going to be very visible to everyone in the room, and I'm sure this is exactly what Derek intends.

Don't I arouse him any more? Is that why he had me collect Mulder, to bring a fresh, unexplored ass into his bed?

I no longer believe that I will be permitted to touch Mulder, at least not sexually, unless it's for Derek's pleasure. I was a fool to entertain such fanciful expectations in the first place. I'm just a stray mongrel he picked up from the streets. Why would he want me any more when he's got a pure-bred pedigree upstairs? He might even not bother searching for me should I manage to dig my way out of my kennel, but I know for sure that he would spare no expense in finding and reclaiming Mulder. I know I would if our situations were reversed.

I make up my mind to free Mulder as well as myself. I couldn't stand being free knowing the sort of life and treatment I left him behind to endure. Would he even want to come with me and, more importantly, stay with me once we make our break for freedom? After I broke into his home, bound and drugged him and then brought him here against his will? He did respond to my kiss just before I hooded him, but that was under very stressful conditions. As far as he knew I held his life in my hands and could snuff it out anytime I wished. Maybe he thought that, by not resisting, I would spare his life.

I'm still pissed that I got punished because of his actions, and looking back, I suppose I could have done things differently. I could have talked to him more, letting him know what I was doing so he wouldn't be startled when I touched him in a place reserved for only the closest of intimate acquaintances. It must have been as terrifying a situation for him, his hands bound behind his back, his head encased in a filthy pillow-case, as my night in the frame-slot.

But I have learnt well the lessons Derek has taught me. I was so aroused by the fantasy of Mulder belonging to me as I belong...*belonged* to my Master that I treated him the way I am treated; a piece of property with no say in how my body is used. I wouldn't be at all surprised if Mulder wants absolutely nothing to do with me *if* I can manage to get us out of Derek's clutches. All I can do to make amends is try to protect him from harm at the hands of the man I delivered him to.

Derek still hasn't moved his chair back, while I've been lost in my musings so I'll have to crawl partway under the table to position myself. With the skin-tight jeans I'm dressed in, even walking and sitting isn't comfortable. I'm likely to castrate myself when kneeling down on all fours. I make a move to undo the button on my Levi's but Derek halts me with a shake of his head.

"No, Alex. This is for my pleasure, not yours." He obviously thinks I want to free my cock so I can jerk myself off, when that thought never even crossed my mind.

He puts a hand on my shoulder, pushing me to my knees. The faded denim is drawn up between my buttocks, forcing the plug in my ass even deeper, causing it to scrape against my prostate. But it brings me only pain when combined with the pressure on my restrained cock and balls.

I'm sure my face is the same shade of crimson as Derek's robe as I crawl underneath the table and turn to face his crotch. His cock is still soft and limp and I know this ain't gonna be a speedy blowjob. As I raise my hand to grasp his shaft I hear his command.

"Give me your hands, Alex."

I obey and he holds them firmly on his thighs, leaving me to continue my task with only my mouth. He crosses his feet behind my back, trapping me. He still doesn't fully trust me not to try to escape.

His cock nudges my lips and I part them, extending my tongue, flicking it across the dry head, leaving drops of saliva on the tip.

I repeat this randomly all over his cock from the base to the crown then underneath to the softest, most sensitive areas. Soon it is coated in saliva and gradually getting hard, rising a little above his balls. I open my mouth and capture him, just the head for now. Maybe I can seduce my way back into his favor and then into his bed.

My tongue explores every spot on the sensitized tip, wrapping itself around the now-rigid member, licking the first drops of fluid from the slit. He hasn't made a sound, but I feel him grip my hands tighter, so I assume I'm pleasing him. I decide to speed things up a bit and scrape my teeth lightly across the surface as I slowly suck him into my mouth. This has the desired effect and he bucks once, twice in search for more stimulation. I trace the length of his shaft from balls to the flared head, varying the amount of suction and pressure I apply, knowing from hundreds of previous blowjobs what he likes and what he doesn't.

When he's as hard as he's gonna get I cease all movement, holding him immobile, refusing to continue even as his nails dig into the flesh of my hands. He lets me know I've overstepped the boundary of who is in control when he suddenly thrusts his hips forward, driving his cock to the back of my throat, activating my gag reflex. I instinctively relax my jaw and throat muscles, accepting his considerable length easily. He's still pushing deeper, not stopping until I can feel his hairy balls on my stretched lips.

I clench my fists once, twice. A desperate gagging sound escapes as I struggle to breathe. He releases my hands (knowing I won't move them and I don't) and grabs my hair, holding my head in place as he fucks my mouth even faster and harder. He thrusts forward again and again, his heavy, swollen balls slapping against my chin. I don't think he'll last much longer, which is good because I'm on the verge of passing out from oxygen starvation. I'm choking now, trying to pull back, needing to break the suction that binds us as one entity.

I feel the signs of his approaching orgasm as his cock begins to convulse in my mouth and his legs tremble uncontrollably. His balls pulsate against my chin and I try to prepare for the flood of semen that is about to fill my throat. I open my mouth wider as he comes without making a sound, but with my throat filled with his cock, there's nowhere for the semen to go except outwards and within seconds his balls and thighs are drenched in the creamy fluid. He waits for the final spasms to end before pulling out and pushing me away in disgust.

He slumps back in his chair, and I unconsciously lean forward to lick him clean, paying special attention to his balls as I know how uncomfortable dried sticky semen in conjunction with pubic hair can be. Derek shaved my pubes the night he brought me home, not out of any concern for my comfort but because he doesn't like hair in his mouth on the very infrequent times he sucks me off.

I'm once again only too aware of my audience as I rest back on my haunches and try to get my breath back. I try to ignore the bitterness of the semen in my mouth, a taste I've never really liked and like even less now.

An impatient poke from Derek's foot alerts me that I haven't finished my task. There's absolutely no way I can re-tie his belt without the use of my hands, which he hasn't given me permission to use. He has come to the same conclusion and reluctantly nods his approval.

I hurry to cover him up, tying the neatest bow I can, making sure it's symmetrical and perfect.

I feel my hair being ruffled and I can finally relax, knowing that my act of contrition has been accepted.

He summons me from under the table with a typical click of his fingers and I'm by his side in a second. With a loving smile, he motions me to take my seat and breakfast continues as if the last few minutes had never occurred.

Derek discusses security measures at his home in England with his two bodyguards, then turns to his private pilot and asks about flight plans for our impending trip overseas.

I'm as invisible to him now as I was when I came into the room. He continues to pet me, though, more out of habit than anything else.

Conway catches my eye and that emotion I saw earlier but couldn't identify is now as clear as the glass table. It's pity, pure and simple. There's no disgust or horror at what she just witnessed. She's sincerely sorry for me and my situation. Her eyes have been well and truly opened in the last hour or so about the sort of man she works for and how he treats those he considers beneath himself, which is everyone.

Breakfast is over and the staff start to leave the room, intent on carrying out their various duties. Soon there is just me, Derek and the doctor left. Roger comes in and begins to clear the table.

"I'd better go and check on my patient. He should be waking soon and I have to check his vitals." Conway addresses Derek with a tone of authority I've never heard anyone use in his presence before.

"That won't be necessary, Doctor. I'll be going to see him shortly. I'll summon you if there is any need for your assistance." Derek is staring once again at the monitor and his face lights up.

Mulder has begun to stir and I grin as I see that he has noticed my little fashion statement from last night. He's trying to set the Speedo right, but the restraints on his wrists don't allow him enough movement and he soon gives up.

I'm relieved that he doesn't appear to have suffered any serious damage from his fall and wonder if his condition is the reason Derek hasn't been to see him yet.

My boss isn't the type to let a little unconsciousness stop him from fucking your brains out. In fact, he prefers to have his pets completely passive and unresisting, as I have found out on numerous occasions.

Why should he treat Mulder any different? Because he considers Mulder as something more special than a pet.

He's never raised an eyebrow when I'm groped by anyone else. If anything he seems to enjoy sharing me around with various business associates and other acquaintances. At the many lavish dinner parties he's hosted since my arrival, I've been on the menu as dessert too many times to count. I had never complained because, with the exception of the bitch-from-Hell, I was always treated well and made to feel special and I was happy to please my Master.

"Is Mulder all right?" I ask Derek, not having to fake the concern in my voice. "Maybe I shouldn't have left him last night after he hit his head."

Conway looks at me and then glares at Derek as if she didn't know how Mulder was injured.

Don't ask, Doc, I silently warn her. There are many things that happen in this house right under your nose that you don't wanna know about. The less you know the safer you'll be. Just do your job and don't interfere.

"Why didn't you tell me he had a head injury? He could be suffering from concussion or worse." Her tone is urgent and full of worry. She's pushing her chair back to leave when Derek's hand flashes out of nowhere and latches onto her wrist with a vice-like grip.

"I said your help is not needed. Fox has woken up and he will be fine." Derek says.

"I can't do my job properly if I don't have all the details."

"I tell you what you need to know. If you are not satisfied with that then we can discuss terminating your contract."

It's a threat disguised as a compromise. I'm well aware of what would be terminated and it won't just be an employment contract.

Conway seems to have realized the same thing and she sits back down. She is genuinely frightened now and she has good reason to be. There is no way Derek would let her leave this house alive after the things she has witnessed and, by association, participated in. Administering drugs against a person's will and treating wounds that could have only been caused by severe maltreatment verging on torture are just some of the many things she has done that could have her arrested as an accessory.

Welcome to the club, Doc. She is now a fellow victim, but I'm hoping she may also be a possible ally. With her knowledge and access to the wide range of drugs kept on the premises, she may be the key to getting both Mulder and myself out of here.

"I am only concerned for the well being of my patient. I apologize for over-stepping the line, Mr Benedict."

"Thankyou, Doctor. I'm glad we agree on who's in charge here." Derek accepts the Doc's words and releases her arm. I can see the reddened flesh from where I sit and I sympathise with the pain she must be feeling. "Now, did you order the necessary items for the flight home? Fox is terribly afraid of flying and will need to be sedated for the duration."

This is news to me. Mulder and I weren't partners for very long but on the couple of flights we took, he was the poster-boy for calmness and relaxation. Whilst the plane was still taxiing, he would have his laptop or case file open, studying its contents, a constant flow of sunflower seeds being sucked between plump lips, empty husks spat out seconds later. I would be next to him, nervous as anything and as white as a ghost. My fingers would be digging into the arm-rests and the belt would be as tight as I could make it.

He asked me on our first flight together why I joined the Bureau if I was afraid of flying, knowing the amount of travel the work entailed. I came up with some glib reply about having seen the movie The Untouchables and growing up wanting to be Eliot Ness. He smiled and told me that I should start a support group at the Hoover building for agents with the same problem and that Scully would be the first to sign up.

Conway is replying, her flash of rebellion well and truly gone.

"Yes, that has all been taken care of. I really should see his medical history to check for allergic reactions and..."

"Fox has had them prescribed before and they are perfectly safe." Derek cuts her off and places his napkin on the table.

How the hell does he know what drugs Mulder has been prescribed and whether they are safe or not? Has he had him under surveillance? Has he had someone hack into his private life, find out his weaknesses and vulnerability? I wonder how long he has had Mulder in his sights, just waiting for the opportunity to snatch him. It's even possible that he may have had prior contact with Mulder, a scorned lover perhaps. Maybe he met Mulder somewhere, made a pass that was ignored and decided not to take no for an answer.

In the first weeks after he took me off the streets, he grilled me constantly about my life and who I associated with. He said that he wanted to get to know me better, that he didn't want me keeping any secrets from him and I responded. He was especially interested in my time in the FBI. I don't recall telling him specifically about Mulder and I don't think he asked me his name. I told him about my first partner who fell from grace when he turned his back on a promising career as a profiler to investigate UFO's and ghosts; how some of his superiors considered losing him to the basement a waste of rare talent and a fine Oxford education.

I had thought he would return the favor and tell me about his life and those he cared about, but he never did. All I ever heard about was his precious, bloody abbey and his plans for the future.

He stands up and walks out of the room after taking one last look at the monitor. A very contented look is on his face and I know that he is headed up to the guest room and to Mulder. I also know that he won't be wanting any company so I don't even bother following him.

Instead I focus on Mulder. He's staring at an item on the pillow next to his cheek. I can't tell what he is thinking but there is shock and a trace of fear in his eyes. The object is affecting him and not in a good way.

He scans the room and sees something out of camera range that only increases his apprehension. A few seconds later, he stares directly into the hidden camera lens as if he knew exactly where it was and a single tear rolls down one cheek.

I desperately want to race upstairs, break the solid door down and wipe that tear away as I did in the car. To free him from the straps that hold him captive, take him in my arms, out of this house and as far away as possible.

A question from Conway interrupts my heroic fantasizing.

"...he? What does Derek want with him?"

I'm at a loss as to how to reply. Do I tell her that he had me kidnap Mulder and that I obeyed because I've wanted to shove my cock up Mulder's ass since the first day I saw him? That he plans on taking Mulder to his bed as his partner, as his lover, whether Mulder is willing or not?

If I want to enlist her help, I have to get her to trust me, to see that I was just following orders, just like her. I'm going to have to take a gamble that her concern for Mulder is genuine and not just a smokescreen constructed out of fear of our employer.

"I was told to bring Mulder here and I did. I think Derek may have had his eye on him for a while. You know how he likes to collect things, rare and beautiful things?"

She nods her head slowly as if she knows what I'm saying but doesn't want to believe it.

"Well, he has just added my ex-partner to his collection. As to what he wants with him? It won't be as public as me on my knees under the table, but the basic idea is the same." I try to make my answer as nonchalant as possible, but I'm as afraid for Mulder now as I ever was when we were partners and he was in danger.

"Ex-partner? Were you and Fox lovers?" She asks me as we make our way outside and hopefully away from anyone who would report our conversation to Derek in hope of currying favor.

"Lovers? No." I reply. I'm sure she can hear the disappointment in my voice. "We were partners at work for a short time. We weren't close but I did respect and admire him." I don't add that I also loved him. It's something I've never admitted to anyone and never will.

"So Fox is truly here against his will?" It's a rhetorical question and she doesn't pause to let me answer. "I was so shocked when I went to check on him last night and found him chained to the bed, a filthy hood covering his head."

I automatically lower my head in shame at how I actively participated in mistreating Mulder and how much of a buzz it gave me to see him so utterly helpless and at my mercy.

Conway squeezes my arm softly, drawing my eyes to hers.

"Oh, Alex. He made you do it, didn't he?"

I nod.

"And he punished you because Fox got hurt."

Another nod. I can't speak for fear of breaking down and crying. No-one has spoken to me with such tenderness since I was a boy when my mother would sooth me as I recovered from one of my father's frequent beatings.

We stop under a giant oak tree, the same one where Derek once made love to me under its huge canopy of branches and leaves. She wraps her arms around me, her head fitting comfortably under my chin because of her small stature. This unexpected (and undeserved) kindness breaks down my defences and I begin to sob, slowly at first. It's when she begins to rub my back, just like Mama, that the dam gives way and all the hurt and pain and betrayal pour out in a flood of tears and anguished howls.

I curse and condemn to hell all the bastards and bitches who have ever laid a hand on me, have touched, groped and fondled me, have fucked me and sucked me. And those who have stood by and watched me being abused, have held me down so I could be raped and whipped. All those who tied the ropes and locked the shackles so that I couldn't defend myself, couldn't protect myself from being their whipping-boy and punching-bag.

She can't support my weight and we collapse together to the damp, leaf-covered ground. I don't know how long she holds me in her arms, rocking me and whispering meaningless but soothing words into my ear as she strokes my hair. Her sweater is a sodden, wrinkled mess when my tears finally start to ease and I sit up, snot running from my nose and down my throat.

She presses a lacy handkerchief into my hand without a word and I clean myself up, thankful that she didn't try to blow my nose for me as all mothers, real and substitute, are biologically trained to do.

"Mulder wouldn't be here if I had the guts to stand up to Derek."

"It's okay, Alex. Derek is not the type of person one stands up to without suffering the consequences."

She's trying her best to ease my conscience, to console me and it's helping a little, but not enough.

"I'll do whatever I can to help. I promised the same thing to Fox last night. Derek couldn't keep his hands off him and would have done a lot worse if Fox hadn't feigned unconsciousness. I managed to convince him to let him be but we both know that Derek won't leave him alone for much longer."

We both look up at the window on the second floor. The drapes have been pushed aside and Derek is visible through the security bars and safety glass. From his position, I can tell he is near the head of the bed and closer to Mulder than I want him to be.

I hope that Mulder doesn't draw his anger by resisting him but at the same time I don't want Mulder to submit to Derek's desires. I don't want him infected by Derek and his touches, his caresses and kisses.

"How will Fox react, do you think?" She doesn't have to say more. I know what she's referring to. "He didn't seem to know him last night, but I put that down to distress and the drug still in his system."

"I honestly don't know. He's a trained profiler, he'll be trying to get inside Derek's head, work out what to say or not to say, what to do and not to do. He needs to anticipate the subject's reactions and be ready to react himself." The few classes we had at the Academy covering behavioural profiling were brief, but I learnt enough to know at least some of what will be going through Mulder's mind as he battles Derek.

"Derek was adamant that they knew each other, that he was Fox's first lover. Fox didn't say much but I got a very strong feeling that he really didn't know who Derek was."

We are sitting side by side now, our fingers entwined in a totally platonic way. It's a means of support that I badly need and will need in the coming days. I just hope that by confiding in the doctor, I'm not handing her a death sentence. Maybe Mulder can arrange some sort of protection for her if we succeed in escaping and exposing Derek's crimes.

"They may in fact know each other and Derek may be right about what their relationship was. Mulder may not remember him."

Conway looks at me questioningly, her eyes asking me to explain.

"About eighteen months ago, Mulder trespassed onto a government military base and was caught. He had been investigating the disappearance of an Air Force pilot and what he considered was a conspiracy and cover-up involving our government, the military and another organization. It was decided by the leaders of that organization that he was too close and had seen things that weren't meant to be seen. They couldn't let him leave with that knowledge so the top boss ordered that those memories be removed. I don't know all the details, but I do know that the mind-wipe, as it was called, worked and those memories were successfully erased. And from what you say happened last night, I'm guessing that he lost a few others as well."

I finish my tale and expect to be met with disbelief, but the doctor just shakes her head a couple of times. It's my turn now to ask for an explanation.

"After my internship, I worked in emergency at a hospital in Harlem. I saw some pretty nasty injuries, gunshots, knife wounds, limbs hacked off with machetes, people deliberately set on fire. I thought I had seen all the ways humans can hurt each other, but I guess I was wrong. What sort of person would steal another's memories, erase them as if they were simply files on a computer? We don't really know exactly what memories are or how they are created and stored. How can someone fool around with something so precious and unknown, oblivious to the potential danger?"

She looks up at me as if I've got all the answers. I just shrug and pull her close.

"The sort of person with the appropriate technology and maybe just the power to save the planet and every living being on it."

I stand up, ending our conversation with that cryptic reply and help to her feet.

I glance at the window and see Derek step back and remove his robe, his intention perfectly clear and my heart misses a few beats. Knowing I can't stop what is about to happen, I send up a silent prayer that Derek is gentle with Mulder, that maybe Mulder will remember him and will welcome his advances and his body.

Be strong and brave, Fox. I will rescue you as soon as I can and I will make amends for what I've done even if it takes the rest of my life.