*XXXIII*


9:40 A.M.
Someone was touching him. There 
was a hand on his head petting 
his hair, pushing his face 
against something flat and 
covered in cloth. The stroking 
flared the pain deep inside his 
skull. Mulder tried to shift but 
his body hurt so fucking bad that 
he gasped. The hand on his head 
went still. "So. Back with us 
again, lad?"

Mulder shied from the voice, 
turned from it. A hand pushed 
under his cheek and pulled his 
face to the side again. "Mr. 
Mulder? Answer me." 

He cringed and tried to pull in 
but hands around his wrists and 
ankles held him tight. No, not 
hands, he realized, suddenly 
understanding what controlled 
him. Restraints. His face twisted 
with despair as fingers flickered 
over his beard-stubbled cheek.

"Open your eyes again, Fox. Look 
at me." But he couldn't, just 
couldn't. "Mr. Mulder, look at 
me."

His words felt dull and sticky. 
"Lea' me alone."

"No, you must look at me. Do it 
now." The little downward drop in 
the Master's tone was enough. 
Imagining more and harsher pain, 
Mulder struggled to look at the 
Master through lashes that were 
stuck together with the glue of 
old tears and unnatural sleep. 
"Good. Good," his captor cooed. 
"Let me help you to obey me."

A damp cloth was pressed to 
Mulder's face, warm and rough and 
momentarily suffocating, washing 
away the grit until he could 
fully open his eyes. The Master 
was leaning over him, too fucking 
close. Mulder tried to burrow 
down. "Stay still, lad. Don't 
bring on more discomfort. We 
don't want that." Mulder just 
blinked, glad they both agreed on 
something. "William, get me that 
cup of ice. He's going to be 
foggy for a good while yet." 

The wet cold on his lips felt 
nearly miraculous. The Master's 
finger's held the cube for 
Mulder, rubbing it over his 
swollen, scabbed lip then slipped 
it fully into Mulder's mouth. The 
hand went back to petting as 
Mulder sucked on the ice, the 
fingers residually cool on his 
temples as they began each 
careful sweep down over the sore 
wounds on the back of Mulder's 
head. "Good, good. Just take it 
slowly. Take your time."

Mulder shifted the sliver of ice 
in his mouth. "I 
nee't'turn'over."

"No. We'll undo the restraints 
when I'm sure you can control 
yourself." 

"I neet'breathe. Please."

"Fox. Not yet. And you can't lie 
on your back in the state it's 
in."

Mulder narrowed his eyes to 
pierce the haze in his head, to 
think through the pain of a way 
to convince his captor. Water 
dribbled out of the corner of his 
mouth as he tried to reason, 
"Jus'lemme have one hand'nfoot. 
Lemme turn on my side." The 
Master looked down at him 
uncertainly then shook his head.

"I won'be bad-- won'be trouble." 
Mulder couldn't believe he'd just 
whined like a child, but he was 
desperate for a full breath. And 
desperate for comfort, too. What 
had happened (yesterday? Last 
night? When...?) was a grinning 
madman behind a curtain, and the 
Master was right--the show would 
go on.

"Are you saying you'll obey me?" 
the Englishman asked. Mulder 
grunted, not wanting to admit it, 
but the cold blue eyes came down 
low and stared into his own. 
"Will. You. Obey. Me?"

Mulder shivered and whispered, 
"yes."

"And if you feel panic or 
hysteria coming on, you'll try to 
warn me first?" Mulder agreed 
with a tacit dip of his chin that 
he hoped the Master would 
recognize. No such luck. "Answer 
me with words, boy."

Fuck. "God," Mulder heard the 
keening edge in his voice again, 
"Just lemme breathe. I'll try--
try t'tell you..."

"All right. Don't disappoint me." 
The Englishman gave Mulder's head 
one final firmer caress. 
"William, release one of his 
ankles and give the other more 
play."

Mulder closed his eyes as their 
hands partially freed him. He 
kept his eyelids closed, 
scrunched them tighter when hands 
gripped him by the shoulder and 
hip then twisted him onto his 
right side. When the pain and his 
hoarse cry subsided, Mulder 
looked up, blinking. The Master 
was reaching to take a small 
pillow from his Aryan Poster Boy 
then he bent down to arrange the 
cushion between Mulder's head and 
arm. It felt so soft and smelled 
so clean, erasing the scent of 
the torture chamber that was 
still caught in his nose. This 
unexpected mercy loosed a first 
sob. "It's--I--" A Mulder tried 
to warn him as he'd promised but 
it was too late.

"I know. You've had a terrible 
time of it. Go on and cry." The 
Master resumed stroking Mulder's 
hair, only interfering with his 
prisoner's grief by producing a 
handkerchief and ordering him to 
blow. Mulder'd had to do so 
several times when the Englishman 
began to coax, "Ssshhh, enough 
now. You're wearing yourself 
out," "You must calm down now," 
and "Come, Fox. It's time to get 
control."

But Mulder couldn't. He could 
hold still while he wept so that 
his privileges wouldn't be lost 
but his shame and sorrow and rage 
couldn't be quenched by this 
limited spill of tears. The 
Master's prodding only made him 
sob harder, frustrated that the 
right to let go and let it out 
had been offered and rescinded 
before it had really done him 
good.

The Master was frowning and 
Mulder felt the weight of his 
hand as it paused in midstroke. 
"Mr. Mulder, I know you're 
feeling horrid and you'll get a 
great deal of leeway from me 
right now but--" 

"You sonofabitch, hell if you 
give me any leeway. You didn't--
you watched them--they--oh god, 
nobody stopped them, you just let 
them--" He was almost relieved 
when the Master's palm muffled 
him. 

The Englishman bent low again and 
held Mulder's eyes as he spoke. 
"Listen to me. You knew you had 
powerful enemies who value human 
dignity very little. I did not 
arrange their visit and I would 
have stopped it if I could. I 
tried to stop the worst of it. 
You saw me try. Didn't you?" The 
Master lifted his hand to let 
Mulder answer but he didn't; he 
just cried.

"Listen to me, Fox. Listen 
carefully and think: Those men 
paid for you to come here. They 
can take you away and place you 
with someone far less gentle than 
I--someone who will really hurt 
you, perhaps mutilate or burn you 
just for sport. They might kill 
you slowly by torture. They _do_ 
employ men who could give you 
such a horrible death, Fox. To 
save yourself you must let what 
happened go and we must move on. 
I'll protect you as best I can. 
Now calm down. If you can do so, 
I'll take the restraints off and 
we'll get you fed. Let me help 
you, for god's sake."

"Go to hell." After he snapped 
the reply, Mulder felt sick 
inside knowing what must follow.

The Master's mouth had gone thin 
but then relaxed. He sighed and 
shrugged. "You are certainly the 
most cantankerous patient I've 
ever had."

Mulder's relief was short lived. 
"No!" he cried when the Master 
suddenly reached out to yank the 
blanket and sheet down to his 
knees. 

"No? Well, you really should have 
thought before you spoke, then, 
shouldn't you? Why are you doing 
this, boy? Look at you--" The 
Master poked the hot brittle scab 
that curled around the top of 
Mulder's shoulder bringing on a 
jerk and yelp. "But Fox Mulder 
still wants for punishment, eh? 
So be it."

When the Master's hand slapped 
down on his blistered ass, the 
agony stopped Mulder's breath. He 
rode out the reverberations, 
mute, tears spilling instead of 
cries. When he could speak again, 
his words sounded strangled. 
"How--how'd you...get that sample 
from Sam?" 

The Master nodded. "Very good, 
Mr. Mulder. You're regaining your 
self-control. Just calm yourself 
now. Calm down and we'll discuss 
what happens next." 

"Gave it t'you," Mulder rasped. 
"They needed t'convince me. They 
gave it t'you so you could l-lure 
me here."

The Englishman shook his head, 
lines deepening around his mouth 
and eyes. "Be still now. You need 
to rest after all that weeping." 

"I want the blanket up. I want--"

The Master glared him into 
silence then unexpectedly 
unfurled a Dr. Seuss smile. "You 
didn't say 'please.'"

Mulder swallowed. "Please. Please 
pull up the blanket." 

"I need to do something about 
your back first. Let's get you on 
your stomach again for a moment." 
He took away the pillow and 
gestured for Bill to help him.

"Turn over!" the blond thug 
barked as he tried to pressure 
Mulder into submission.

"William. Hush!" The Master 
ordered. His words to Mulder were 
softer and more compelling. "Not 
five minutes ago, you said you'd 
obey me and already I've had to 
punish you. Are you reneging? 
Don't you want some kindness, 
lad?"

Realizing again that he did want 
it, Mulder let himself go limp. 
Once more manhandled onto his 
stomach, short of breath, he 
watched the Master pull a tube 
out of one of the white cabinets 
along the wall. Mulder lost sight 
of the Englishman as he stepped 
up next to him. The Cold ointment 
that dribbled on his back made 
him hiss then the Master's hands 
were on him again, rubbing it 
into his skin.

Mulder cringed and writhed. 
"Please stop touching me. I don't 
wan'yout'touch me. I don'want 
anyone t'touch me." 

The sigh from above him was long 
and sad. "Yes, touch shall be 
harder for you to tolerate but 
I'll help you accept it." 

"I don'want yout'help, I just 
wan't'go home."

"I know that. And you know you 
can't. You have to finish your 
training. But don't be afraid. I 
shan't need to administer much 
pain, if any. You'll see. Our 
lessons will be pleasant." The 
Master's hands slid over Mulder's 
skin, down to the cleft of his 
buttocks.

"God, no--no!" Mulder cried as he 
riggled and clenched.

"This is antibiotic cream, not 
lubricant, Mr. Mulder. Hold 
still." But he couldn't and ended 
up earning a light swat on the 
ass. "You need this. Some of 
these wounds are septic. Those 
men left you quite a mess, my 
boy." 

'Sure. _Those_ men. Project the 
guilt onto someone else,' Mulder 
thought as tears hurt his eyes 
and his head throbbed. A bruised 
ache ran all through his ass and 
bowels as the Master smoothed in 
the cream. "Hurts...please," 
Mulder begged softly.

"I'm being as gentle as I can."

At last, the Master finished his 
ministrations, leaving Mulder 
spent and ready to fade. He was 
half gone when the Master and 
Bill rolled him back onto his 
side. The fresh pain burned away 
the fog and made him bite his 
lip.

The pillow was replaced but he 
was still bare, his ass toward 
Bill. "Covers," he groaned. 
"Please."

"In a moment. You need to eat 
now." 

"I can't." Mulder turned his head 
to see if the fucker was close 
enough--too close--but the Master 
pulled Mulder's chin around 
again. A mug with a long, plastic 
straw was suddenly big in his 
vision. His nose wrinkled from 
the salty, fatty smell.

"Here, put it between your lips," 
the master prodded.

"No." He bit down, tried to turn 
his face again but the Master 
held him still. Mulder could feel 
Bill looming behind him. "No! 
Don't!" the shout kinked and 
dwindled to a sob. Mulder 
squished up his eyes, remembering 
how he'd been dragged from bed 
and bent over the exam table, how 
his face had pressed against the 
icy metal surface and his legs 
kicked apart, how Bill's fingers 
had hunted Mulder's opening and 
pushed in the enema nozzle...

"Just a few sips," The Master was 
saying. "Not all of it." The hand 
under his face tensed as the 
straw pushed at his pursed lips. 
"Fox, you must yield. You _must_ 
let go. You don't have a choice. 
If you don't yield they'll--"

"No!"

"Fox!" The Master gripped the 
scruff of Mulder's neck.

"Get away from me! Get away!"

"Stop it." He shook Mulder's 
head--not forcefully, but enough 
to make his ears ring. "You want 
me to be gentle. I see it in your 
eyes, even when your mouth belies 
it. You want me to be gentle, 
don't you?" Another shake. "Don't 
you? Answer me!"

"Yes, I--"

"You do?"

"Yes, I do! Oh god, oh god--
please get him out of here! I 
want to eat but I can't with him 
behind me!"

Mulder watched the man look up at 
his assistant, saw his jaw 
slacken with dawning 
understanding. "Ah," he said. 
"William, leave us. I can handle 
Mr. Mulder alone."

There were heavy steps and Mulder 
winced as Bill's big shape 
retreated and the door closed 
with a thud.

"All right, lad." The Master 
knelt beside the cot, speaking in 
a purr, proffering the mug and 
straw. "He's gone. Now it's just 
you and me. Take a few sips and 
I'll reward you with the blanket. 
We'll see if you keep it down. If 
you do then you'll take a few 
more sips. Drink half of this cup 
and I will remove the other 
cuffs."

Mulder breathed hard for a 
moment, then let the Master slide 
the straw between his lips. The 
broth was luke-warm, the fat 
already clotting, but Mulder 
managed two swallows. The Master 
praised him as he lifted the 
sheet and wool blanket. As the 
covers protected and warmed him 
his breathing and heartbeat 
slowed. He felt his stomach cramp 
then gurgle as it came to life. 
When the Master offered him the 
straw again, he drank another 
three swallows.

"Good. Now I'll take the other 
restraints off, just as I 
promised."

When the cuff was loosened and 
dropped away, Mulder's flesh 
stung and then it felt so good 
that he groaned--did so again 
when the cuff around his ankle 
was released. The Master had the 
tube of ointment again, but 
Mulder stayed sedate as the man 
rubbed the cream on the raw 
places then covered them with 
gauze.

Mulder had taken another few sips 
of broth before he realized he'd 
done so without prodding. The 
Master smirked and Mulder 
frowned. "Come, come, you're 
doing so well. For every little 
step you take toward me, you'll 
get another mercy. Now, I want to 
run an IV. If you let me put the 
needle in with no fuss, I'll give 
you some Valium and Demerol. You 
can lie here unrestrained, 
beneath the blankets. Well?"

There was no hesitation when 
Mulder agreed. He hurt so badly 
in so many places that the sharp 
intrusion into a vein on the back 
of his hand was just an 
annoyance. The first rush of the 
Ringers was cold; when the drugs 
were shot in, his veins burned 
then everything began to melt 
into bliss. Mulder closed his 
eyes and let himself drift.

The Master was moving around, 
clunking something onto a nearby 
table. There was a click, the low 
roar of a crowd, a familiar 
voice. 'Oh god.' Mulder 
recognized it. 'WMAL baseball.'

"Listen to the radio, Fox, and 
rest. No one will hurt you and no 
one will fuck you. We're going 
down a different path now, you 
and I. Trust me and rest."

Mulder twitched when his captor's 
lips brushed his own, but 
otherwise lay quiet.