Title: Take him

Take Him
by Gail
*****

I walk down the corridor to Clay's office. He called and told me to get in here, so I'm coming. I don't disobey Clay at work. Maybe he wants to play. That could be fun. It's been a while since we had sex here, and it's late enough not to need to worry about anyone else as long as we shut the blinds.

The door's shut, so I knock. When Clay tells me to enter, I open it and go in. I don't smile or say anything smart, because there are two guys there I don't know. Damn. It's work after all.

"Take him."

Which one does he want me to take? I go to move to take them both, to be sure, but I can't move. The two men have me by the arms, and one jerks my wrists behind me and cuffs them.

"What the hell's going on?" I don't get this. Why is Clay letting this happen? We're partners. But he is letting it happen. Is this a test, and I failed? Shit.

He doesn't answer me, just keeps talking to the two men in a cool, businesslike voice. "The full treatment. We need all the information he can give us."

"What fucking information?" Information on the DSD? I don't have anything else he doesn't already know.

He smiles at me with an intensity I haven't seen directed at me before. "Do what it takes. But don't kill him before you get the information."

"Dammit, I'll tell you what you want to know. Just let me go!" I will. I can't stand the look in his eyes. Why didn't he ask? He doesn't need to do this.

Clay stands and comes around the desk to face me. I strain toward him and beg with my eyes. He has to let me go. But he doesn't do a thing, just stares at me with a coldness that makes me want to hit the floor and beg for forgiveness. After a few moments of this, he laughs.

"Really. You like life that much, Clark? No, wait, you like *me* that much. I can't trust you, and I'm tired of you in bed. You're not as good as you think you are. Take him away."

Jesus fucking god. What happened to him? Was he playing with me all along?

"And when we have the information, Mr. Webb?"

"I don't expect he'll survive the questioning. Do I make myself clear?"

Not survive? Fuck! I'm not going off to death just like that, not even for Clay, not a Clay like this. I try to jerk myself out of the guys' grips, but I can't. It's like my body isn't even under my control, and the way Clay's looking at me and talking to me makes me wonder if I want to live...

*****

"Clark. Clark, wake up. You're all right. It's not real; it's over; I'm here. Wake up."

The low voice goes on, and I blink and focus on the figure next to me. Clay, in his gray pajamas and tousled head, reassuringly familiar and there. A dream. It was a dream. It didn't happen. Clay wouldn't do that to me.

"I'll tell you anything," I whisper and hear the trembling in my voice. I have to shut up, but I can't. That was too damned real for my comfort. "Anything, Clay, just ask. You want DSD secrets? You don't have to hurt me. I'll tell you."

"Clark. Wake up, please." Clay's arms are around me, and I shiver even more as the warmth of his body shows me how cold mine is. "You're scaring the hell out of me."

Can't do that. Have to get under control. Some grown-up I am. One bad dream, and I start babbling like a kid. I've had bad dreams; I know how to handle them. I'll get a drink and think about something else. "Sorry. Go back to sleep."

I try to pull away from him, but his arms tighten around me, not letting me go. "No. Tell me why you thought I was going to hurt you if you didn't tell me secrets. Please, Clark."

I swallow. Tell him? Hell, no. But this is Clay, whose arms are around me, whose hair is falling in his face, making me want to keep him in bed all the time so nobody else sees how damned cute he is, so maybe it's all right. But it'll upset him, so no way.

"It was a bad dream. You know how those go. Hell, you have them." He doesn't talk about his bad dreams, so why should I have to?

"A very bad dream. You were screaming."

Ah, shit. I'm going to lose this one if I'm not careful. But Clay's not the enemy, unless he keeps pushing me. No, not even then. Dammit, this is Clay, not Springer or Flagg. Never them.

"You've been having a lot of bad dreams lately, Clark. I wish you'd talk to me about them."

I pull away at that one. "No." Out of the question. No way Clay's going to want me around if he heard what I've got to say. I'll get over this, dammit. I just need some time. But Clay's still looking at me with concern, so I try a smile. "Go back to sleep and don't worry so damned much."

"I know this has to be about the DSD. Isn't it?"

He thinks everything is about the DSD. But maybe he's right this time. He sure as hell was acting DSD in the dream. A mention or two of Korea and those damned doctors who gave him trouble, and he'd have been Flagg. Christ, I hated having him use me. But I survived.

"Sleep, Clay."

"No." He's glaring at me, that determination I see all the time at the CIA in his eyes. "I've had enough of this. I want to know."

I don't say anything. I can outwait Clayton Webb. After a few moments he sighs.

"Right. Pushing Clark Palmer gets me nowhere."

I almost grin at the wry resignation in his voice, but then the memory of him telling those bastards to take me away comes back. I throw back the covers and stand up. I'll be fine with some time to myself.

"Go back to sleep, Clay. I can't yet."

I think for a moment he's going to insist we talk more, but instead he nods. "All right. But don't stay up too long." He touches my hand. "I don't sleep that well without you."

I swallow. He keeps doing that, keeps opening up to me, and I can't take it now. I'll start talking if I stay here. "Yeah. Just a few minutes." I hope that's all I need.

I escape this time, and end up on the couch with a glass of vodka. The couch we sit on to watch the X-Files, the couch we read on together, the couch I bent over when Clay fucked me. Nice couch.

I sip the vodka. Bad dream. Clay's right, I've been having a lot of them lately. Wish I hadn't seen that guy the other day who looked like Springer. It wasn't him; I made sure of that, but damn, it brought back memories. Too many memories. And just when I thought I was over the memories, I started with these dreams. I don't like them, and I don't like that Clay knows about them. I have to get rid of them, but I don't know how.

I know what Clay would say: talk to him. And he's right, in a way. If I talked to him, I might stop having the dreams. But then he might not want me, once he learned just what I did to survive in the DSD. A lot of the dreams are about that. I did a hell of a lot of things I don't want to do again.

*****

"Good of you to drop by, Flagg," the cool voice says as I struggle not to throw up or worse, bite down on the cock in my mouth. I don't want to get beaten. "I can use the help with Palmer."

There's an all-too-damned-familiar laugh. "He's being a problem? That kind always are."

That kind. Like I'm just one more in a long list of trainees he's seen. I'm not just one more. I'm Clark Palmer.

"Sit down. I'm not having much luck with him. Maybe you'd like him next."

Mr. Springer's cock in my mouth, and Colonel Flagg watching. Goddammit. This is humiliating, especially when they talk about me like I wasn't there.

"I'd like that."

Fucking Flagg. Someday I'm going to run into him in a dark alley, and when I do, I'm the only one coming out. Every time we meet in the hall, and we do all the damned time, he looks at me like I'm all his, but screw that. I belong to myself. And nobody fucks with me.

Mr. Springer thrusts, and I choke. All right, so they're fucking with me. But that will have to stop when I graduate next year. I can handle it that long. "He'll have to be better, or he won't make it through training."

I'm not an idiot. I know that. But the other guys pair off with each other, and they get to take it slow. Why the hell do I end up in a room with two senior agents? Because I have potential. Because they can get away with it. Because that's how the DSD works. You do what you're told, and if you're smart, you learn to like it.

I'm not that smart. I don't think I'll ever be. But I've got to find a way to use this, make it good for me.

I try to relax my throat and take more. This isn't the first time I've sucked cock, but no matter how many times I end up at Mr. Springer's feet, I never do it well enough for him. I hate not being good enough.

Mr. Springer's hands tighten in my hair, and he starts fucking my mouth, so I work on keeping my teeth covered and not moving. I wish I could stop thinking, but I'm no good at that. I talked to Reynolds about sucking cock, and he told me the trick was to just do it and not think, but I can't do that. No wonder I'm no good at this.

He spurts down my throat, and I swallow. God, it tastes rotten. I want some coffee or a shot, but I'll bet I won't get anything. I haven't yet, and I know better than to ask unless I feel like having them laugh at me even more.

"Come here, Palmer." Flagg's soft voice now, and when I look at him, he's already got his cock out. Christ, he's hard. Yeah, he likes watching.

I get up and go over to him, and he shoves his cock in my mouth as soon as I'm on my knees. I hate this. Someday I'm going to get everyone who's used me. But until then, I'll do what I'm told, and I'll do it better than anyone.

*****

I pick up the glass of vodka again. The ice cubes are melted, and instead of drinking any I stare at the glass. The light from the street shines off it. Pretty.

Haven't thought of Flagg in quite a while. He died five years after I graduated training. I should make sure he's dead. Maybe a nice stake in his heart, or I could dig up the body and burn it.
That should do it. I'd enjoy seeing him burn about as much he loved seeing me on my knees and struggling to take his cock down my throat.

I stand up and take the glass into the kitchen, then dump the vodka and water down the drain. I don't want anything more to drink. I want Clay. I need Clay.

I make my way back to the bedroom. Clay's awake. I see his eyes follow me over to the bed.

"I was wondering how long you'd stay up."

He pulls himself up, and I sit next to him. "It was only an hour."

He doesn't answer, just puts his hand on my leg, and the warmth shows me how cold I am. Should get under the covers and try to get some sleep.

"You can't sleep either?" Damn. Clay needs his sleep.

"You're upset. I can't seem to help. That's not conducive to sleep."

The damned honesty in his voice gets me every time. "You do help. It's my problem. I'll handle it."

"You don't have to handle it alone!" I think he's as surprised as I am at the intensity of his answer. "You don't have to handle anything alone," he says more quietly. "I thought you knew that by now."

This is different, Clay. This could get you to throw me out, and I'll do anything to stop that from happening. But I can't tell you that. "I know that, but I don't need your help."

"I needed your help with my memories of David Stoner. It took me a while to know that, but I thought you'd be smarter than me."

I could try a smart answer, but it probably wouldn't get me anywhere, so I keep quiet. I know I'm pissing him off enough by not talking. I don't want to make things worse.

"You blackmailed me to get me to listen to you and face my fears."

I don't like where this is going. He said he was going to blackmail me, but it hasn't come up again. He couldn't blackmail me. I'm not ashamed of anything I've done. Well, a few things, but he couldn't know about them.

"Yeah. I said I'd never do it again."

"I know you wouldn't, and I don't want to do that to you. Please tell me what's going on."

"Some bad dreams. Nothing big. I'll be fine."

No, he doesn't believe me. Damn. I used to be a hell of a liar, but I'm not getting anywhere lying to Clay tonight. Maybe I don't want him to believe me. Great.

He meets my eyes with his steady ones. "Do you mind a question?"

Yeah, but I can't say that. It would tell him too much. "Ask."

"Do your nightmares have any connection to your training by the DSD?"

He's too damned smart, but I knew that. I grin. "Why would they? Those were some of the best times of my life."

"So you won't talk about the DSD because the memories are so good? I don't believe that." I don't answer, and he sighs. "All right, Clark. I've got something I want you to see, and then we'll talk."

He stands, and I stand, too. This sounds bad. What could he have found? It has to be an attempt to blackmail me into talking, but it won't work.

We go into his home office, and he pulls out a folder from his briefcase and hands it to me. I stare at it. It's a DSD folder, or a damned good imitation of one.

"25-62-03-07-38." Clay's voice is quiet. "Your trainee number. Correct?"

"Yeah." I wish I'd drunk the rest of the vodka now, wish I'd drunk the whole damned bottle. "How did you get this?" Thick file, which fits with the few times I saw it. I was told it was destroyed when I finished training. They lied to me. I shouldn't be surprised, but I am. The DSD was my family, my home, even though they did things I hated. I belonged there. They shouldn't
have lied to me.

"We seized the DSD's records when we shut them down. Some of them have vanished, but we were able to keep these safe. It took some doing to figure out which was yours."

"Who talked?"

"No one. We decoded some encrypted files."

With someone's help, but Clay's not going to tell me. I'll find out for myself. "Right. You've read it."

"You seem to have impressed Mr. Springer and Mr. Flagg to a considerable extent."

Of course Flagg wrote reports on me. All the people who interacted with trainees had to write reports. I sit down in Clay's chair and open the folder. He sits on the desk and watches me. I flip through the standard reports, then find one from Flagg. Jesus god. The bastard. It's full of details about how I suck cock, how I looked doing it, how he taught me to like it, how he liked forcing me, how I looked when I didn't like it, what worked on me. Pages of gloating detail. I want to burn this, but I close the folder instead and shrug.

"Sure I did. I impressed everybody."

"If he weren't already dead, I'd kill him myself." Clay sounds like he means it.

I toss the folder on the desk. This is bad. Looking at a DSD file without authorization used to be enough to get you killed, and I'll bet there are some DSD people who still hold to that view. If they find out about this, Clay's going to be in danger. I've got to get him to stop looking into the DSD.

"Hey, the stuff in this file is nothing. They did it to me, I did it to the trainees after me. I ever tell you how I got three guys in the class below me sucking my cock any time I snapped my fingers and pointed to the floor?" I didn't, but I can spin him a story he'll buy. "It was a rush. You do anything like that in your training?"

"No, and neither did you. Clark, they hurt you. It's all right to tell me about it."

If they find out I talked, they'll come after me. They are out there. I don't want them to find me. I don't want them to find Clay. But Clay wants to know, and dammit, I want to tell him.

I wait for him to say more, but he doesn't. He just takes the folder and holds it.

"Did you read everything?" I have to know.

"No, not much. More than enough to know I wish Flagg was alive, so I could kill him." He shuts up and looks grim.

Then he doesn't know everything. But he knows something about Flagg, and he can find out the rest any time he wants. Maybe I can't protect him. Maybe it was stupid to try. He is my partner,
and it looks like being a partner means to him what it does to me. I don't want to lose him.

"I won't read any more if you don't want me to. The folder's yours."

He hands it back to me. I look at it. Secrets from my training in one convenient package. All of them? Not likely. Probably not even the only copy, but I'm not going to worry about that now.
Clay's showing me he trusts me. I need to show him I trust him.

"Go ahead and read it." I hold it out to him, and he takes it after a long moment.

"I'll have questions." Which means, he'll expect me to talk. All right. I'll tell him what I can.

"Yeah. O.K." I drum my fingers on the desk. "In the dream." He doesn't say anything, just watches me. "You told two guys to take me and kill me after they got some kind of information from me. Said you were tired of me." Saying it helps.

"No wonder you were screaming. I'd scream if I had a dream like that."

"Yeah."

He puts the folder on the desk. "Come back to bed. Everything can wait until morning."

Yeah, it can wait. I might be able to sleep now.

"I won't hate you, Clark. No matter what I find out, I won't hate you."

Should have known he'd know what I was afraid of. "Yeah."

"I mean it."

I look into his serious eyes and know he's telling me the truth. I nod.

"Come to bed."

I follow him into the bedroom. Our bedroom, now. He told me I belonged here, made me believe it. Everything was going so damned well, and then the DSD stuff had to come back. I don't need this. That was then. This is now. They can't touch me if I'm careful.

I fall asleep telling myself that.

*****

"He'll hate you." Flagg, smiling down at me, so damned certain. "Webb's just like his father. He never understood what needed to be done. Give up now, Clark. Come back to me."

"Fuck you. I'm not yours. I never will be."

But it doesn't matter what I say, I'm on my knees, and his cock's in my mouth, and it's even worse than I remember. I can't get it out, my lips are bleeding, I can't breathe, but I can't stop...

*****

"Clark. Clark."

Goddammit, I can't take these dreams. I'm shaking, and Clay's got his arms around me again.

"It's all right. I'm here, you're safe now, it's all right."

I pull away from him. "You think I'm having a breakdown?" I'm not talking about this dream. *I* think I'm having a breakdown.

"I think you're having bad dreams," he says after a moment.

"The CIA's going to be thrilled to hear about that, aren't they?"

"They won't hear it from me."

All right. I can believe him.

"What do you want to know? What Flagg did to me? How much he fucking liked it? You want details?"

"I want to know what you need to say."

It takes me a moment to recover from that one. I know he means it. "If they find out I'm telling you DSD stuff, I'm dead." He has to know that.

"No one will ever know what you tell me, Clark. I swear it. This is between us. I'm not trying to find out DSD secrets, just what's giving you nightmares."

"Yeah. Thanks." I don't have a chance in hell of not telling him what's getting to me now. I can see that.

He looks away, at the clock. "It's almost six. I'll make some coffee and breakfast. You shower."

Yeah, I need a shower after that last nightmare, with all the sweat. "Thanks."

He smiles, gets up, and heads for the kitchen. I sit for another minute and do some breathing. I still don't think it's a good idea to talk to Clay about the nightmares and the DSD, but I gave my word, and I won't break that, not to Clay.

I get up and head to the bathroom. It's just another day, I tell myself, but I know better. It's a start, and it's with Clay.

The End