*Chapter XXIX*


12:20 P.M., Prosperity Avenue, Fairfax, Virginia
The bright sun hurt the Smoking Man's eyes. The fluorescent gloom 
of Washington's hallways left him ill-adapted for the icy, crystalline 
brilliance of this December day. The yellow nicotine stain on the 
windows tinted the pale gray federal saltbox that stood well back 
behind boxwood hedges, the bare twigs of lilacs and dogwood stark 
against its fresh paint. 

In the hour that he'd sat watching there had been a brief motion at 
one window, but nothing more overt. Even so, when the phone in 
his pocket buzzed against his chest, he smiled but didn't jump. 
Leisurely fingers drew the little thing out and pulled the antenna up. 

"If you don't get away from my property, I will call the police," said 
the gruff voice on the other end.

The Smoking Man felt his smile unfurl. "Walter, really. How 
embarrassing for an assistant director to report such a petty thing 
when this nation's lawmen are so overworked."

"I'm not going with you."

The smoker glanced at his watch. He could afford to torment 
Skinner for a few more minutes. "You still have time to reconsider." 

"I'm not going to be your fall-boy on this." 

"You misunderstand me." The Smoker drew on his cigarette. 
"You're doing your man an injus--" The dial tone cut him off. He 
waited, finishing his cigarette and watching the house. Waited until 
a flash of blue and white in his rear view mirror bore out the AD's 
threat. Sighing, the Smoking Man started his car and pulled away 
from the curb.

The patrol car played escort until he was well away from the old 
trees and homes and driving through the newer carbon-copy 
housing tracts homes that lay to the west. They rolled out in 
seemingly endless stretches from the Washington epicenter, 
sheltering bureaucrats and civil servants in egalitarian comfort. 
Their Xeroxed cars parked in ranks on parking pads and overflowed 
onto streets, shining in the cold. The road was clear, free for a while 
of the rush-hour gridlock that had plagued Northern Virginia for 
decades. 

Strip malls and office parks crept into the interstices between 
developments. Gradually, the houses gave way to rings of bigger 
buildings. The monoliths of Tyson's Corner came and went, and as 
he headed toward Leesburg, the subdivisions grew farther apart, the 
trees more predominant, and soon he navigated roads where his 
radar detector was silent while cops sipped their coffee from white 
styrofoam cups. Huge featureless cubes of brick or vinyl clabbered 
siding studded the hills, now sharing the one-hundred acres of old 
farmhouses that squatted far back behind grassy land and fields. 
The radio spluttered as he moved beyond his station's range, and he 
dialed up and down to find more news, passing the wasted spaces 
devoted to music. 

The road twisted, running through bare-branch maples and oaks. 
When the car crested small hills it lent a vertigo-thrill. Far ahead 
now, bobbing into view as hills coincided, he could see the carapace 
of a glossy limousine. The Smoker worked his shoulders a moment, 
and put his foot down harder to catch up. 

Clear, winter sun cut the shapes of white fences and against the 
crystalline blue of a Virginia sky. Gray eyes looked through the 
smoke-stained windows to find a graveled drive that ran and ran 
over rolling hills to where a graceful roofline was etched against 
trees and clear air. The cigarette lighter rattled in its housing as he 
turned the wheel, following the limo onto the clattering roadway 
that wound between fenced fields. Horses grazed in the weak 
morning sun; they watched, curious or indolent, as the limo, the 
Smoking Man's Ford, and a Mercedes kicked up chalky dust. 

Stones rattled against metal undercarriages as the cars came up to a 
red brick colonial mansion. The limo now sat on the circular 
driveway with its engine ticking over. The Mercedes rolled to a stop 
as the Smoker shut off his Ford. In the Mercedes, a fashionably 
slender man turned to look at him through designer sunglasses. In 
the backseat, a stockier man, with slicked-back thinning hair and a 
wool suit, glanced impatiently at the house's front door. When both 
alighted, the older, heavy man plodded ahead, while the younger 
retrieved a case from the trunk. The Smoker drew the taste of 
tobacco over his tongue and moved to join them.

White columns vaulted up toward the blue sky, where a bell roof 
arched, a teardrop of light dangling from its projection. The Elder 
smiled thinly at the Smoker. Nicotine-stained lips pulled into an 
answering smile as the young man nodded in turn and said, 
"Bonjour." When he removed his sunglasses, his black eyes were 
sly.

"I see you were not able to convince Mr. Skinner to join us," the 
Elder commented.

The Smoker paused as a gaudy Rolls Royce grumbled around the 
drive and onto grass. Two men with Asian features stepped out, 
slamming doors behind them. "No. I wasn't."

Out by the duty-green of a boxwood hedge, a chauffeur held the 
limo's door for a precise, gray-haired man. He drew himself up, his 
back military-stiff, and scanned the vehicles and his assembled 
associates with a lack of expression. The Smoker turned and 
pressed the doorbell, shoulders hunched inside his coat. In the glass 
flanking the tall door he watched the reflections of two Asians and 
the immaculately tailored Caucasian. The greeted each other with 
formal stiffness and moved to join the others on the porch. 

The woman who opened the door paused, her wide brown eyes 
curious and reserved. The merest hesitation and a tiny frown 
between glossy black eyebrows marred her smiling demeanor. One 
hand rested on the doorknob; the other smoothed a many-colored 
broomstick shirt. "Good afternoon, gentlemen. Was the Doctor 
expecting you?" 

The Elder spoke in precise tones, "No. However he is looking into a 
certain matter for us. If you would announce us?" Her nod was so 
gracious that the hesitation seemed to be manners rather than 
reluctance. The Smoker hung back, studying the house, the woman. 
His eyes scanned rich surfaces that gave nothing back. Her graceful 
gesture of welcome was one more ornament in a house full of them. 

The sitting room's ceiling was too high for the small fire on the 
hearth. "Please be seated. I will inform the Doctor that you are 
here," her voice rang from the champagne walls. The Smoker drew 
long and deep on his tobacco, ignoring the ashtray on one table but 
finding a comfortable spot by the fire. A rich, dark portrait in oils 
glowered down at them: a man in a powdered wig and red coat 
holding gloves and a crop, a field highlighted with a few vivid, 
brilliant flares of color as a background. Behind him, the Smoker 
heard the refined creak of springs and wood as his colleagues staked 
out territory.

A mirror over a long, inlaid table doubled the light and space of the 
room. In its silver, the Smoker studied his colleagues. The Elder's 
aid toyed with a statuette, face set with an anxious disdain. The two 
Japanese sat in quiet discussion with the gray-haired man-- another 
Englishman. But this one was invited to Ascot, unlike the pretender 
who owned this mansion. The Elder filled his chair completely, and 
dowerly sulked.

When boots rang on wood, the Smoker turned. The man standing in 
the arched doorway scanned them--not really meeting anyone's 
eyes. He smelled faintly of horses, and his English boots were hazy 
with dust. "Gentlemen? May I help you?" his politely inquisitive 
tones barely gilded the edged suspicion in his eyes. 

The elegant, gray-haired aristocrat stood. He straightened the 
creases of his jacket and drew an edgy smile over his lips. His voice 
was as formal, deceptively polite. "Doctor. A pleasure to see you. 
Please forgive us for arriving unannounced. You understand the 
exigencies of our schedules, I'm sure." The answering nod didn't so 
much agree as compliment the delivery. "You can understand, too, 
that we have a great concern with the...assignment you are 
undertaking for us." 

"I'm delighted to see you, of course, but I'm afraid that no, I don't 
understand that you might have any concerns. Have you ever had 
complaints in the past?"

"Oh no, no, of course not. But we are aware that this is a 
particularly...challenging account."

Their host's pale blue eyes scanned the room again, returned to the 
tall, well-groomed man standing before him, "I can appreciate that, 
though I'm not sure what you believe you'll learn today. I did not 
expect to see you until the end of next week." The riding crop in the 
man's hand tapped tapped tapped his palm as he studied the floor, 
then looked back up at the calm, too-reserved faces of his guests. "I 
can offer you refreshment on the verandah, and then we can discuss 
what brought you early. Please follow Marta, gentlemen. I'll join 
you shortly." He turned away, leaving them to the small dark 
woman who had admitted them. She nodded in deference to her 
master, then to them, and turned, walking softly, leading them 
away. 

Glass walls protected the sunny back porch of the house, creating a 
bubble of tropical warmth and foliage overlooking a long, 
immaculate lawn and white barns that shone against muted, 
dormant fields too graceful to have grown that way by nature. Just 
like the thoroughbred horses that wandered in the fields, this view 
had known long care and shaping. The woman who served them 
showed the same care and crafting. The Smoking Man admired the 
silent, unobtrusive way in which an ashtray appeared next to him, 
and the oblivious elegance as the small creature served each hard-
eyed man in turn. He nodded when she set his drink on the table 
next to where he stood. The wall behind him was warm from the 
sun, and he could see every seat without turning his head. 

Their drinks were being refreshed when their host rejoined them, 
dressed in clean, pressed blue jeans and a silk shirt that would have 
been casual on any other wearer. Its subtle, burgundy color and fit 
complimented the striking gray hair and trim frame of the man who 
wore it. He didn't even look at the woman-- Marta, the Doctor had 
called her-- just held his hand up to have it met perfectly by a small 
glass of sherry. Sipping deliberately, the Doctor studied each of 
them at more length. Finally, he sat back and narrowed his eyes 
slightly, breaking the silence of careful ease. 

"Forgive my surprise and lack of preparation. I had been under the 
impression that we still had ten days before you wanted to interview 
the patient." 

The Elder turned to study the house's master. Next to him, his aide 
tensed, buffed fingernails on suitcloth. "We want to see our 
investment. We want to see what you are doing to earn your fee," 
said the Elder, ever blunt.

The frown flickered over the smooth, drawn face, gone almost 
before it registered. "Mr. Mulder has barely been with me four full 
days. Our lesson strategy is still being refined, and the results are 
not marked as yet. I have no doubt he'll respond well, but there's 
very little to see at this point," the Doctor paused, studying the 
amber liquid in his glass. "You've never been displeased with my 
results before. I don't grasp the nature of the problem now. 
Wouldn't the arranged time have been adequate?" 

"Ten days from now is irrelevant. We want to see what you are 
doing." The Elder leaned forward. "We pay a high fee for your 
expertise. We are asking to review your progress with a particularly 
sensitive investment. We have been put to a great deal of trouble by 
this particular asset and are taking a personal interest in the 
management of the account." 

The Doctor's back was straight, shoulders held in a high, tight 
tension. "I dislike being interfered with. I handle my patients by my 
own judgment." 

"Doctor, your patient has caused us a great deal of loss and 
difficulty in the past. We are taking a direct interest in his education 
with you. If you are unwilling to allow us to investigate a matter 
integral to our interests, we can place this account with other, more 
accommodating professionals." 

The Doctor blinked slowly, then put down his glass and gestured. 
From the corner of his eye, the Smoker saw a young blond man step 
past him to leaning close to his master. A few whispered comments 
and the young man stood, nodded. "Yes, Sir." His black leather 
boots rapped away across the glossy wooden floor. 

The man glared at his guests, turned his head to catch the Smoker, 
too. "All right. I'll have him brought up for you. Let you see your--" 

The Elder was shaking his head. "No. We did not come here to 
share drinks with you and your student. We wish to interview him 
and test his progress ourselves." His dark eyes tracked to the 
Smoker, whose lips tightened around the filter of his cigarette. 
"Your patient is not the only issue in question here." 

The Doctor still sat straight, but his back was stiff with something 
other than indignation now. His voice pitched low and urgent. "Mr. 
Mulder's not ready for an intensive interview with you, gentlemen! 
It is very unwise; he's in a very delicate state right now. He's not 
ready to perform. You'll find him very resistant to any impositions 
on your part." 

"He's been here four days. There should be some progress by now, 
and we want to see it." 

"He's not ready." A trickle of sweat darkened the silk between the 
trainer's shoulder blades. The Japanese leaned together to speak as 
the Elder locked eyes with the trainer in silent argument. The 
English patrician watched and gauged his colleagues with an almost 
rapt attention. The Smoker leaned against the wall, withdrawn from 
the currents of power and authority in front of him, and watched 
them all through the haze of tobacco. Finally, he looked to his right, 
where the Elder's young aide was also watching, his smile lightly 
mocking. Bright eyes met the Smoker's and the smile widened. 

Their host glanced around his circle of unwelcome guests. "You 
will be disappointed. Mr. Mulder simply has not been here long 
enough. He's not ready." 

The Elder leaned back, eyes cold. "I hope you underestimate your 
patient's progress." 

Motion caught the Smoker's eyes, drawing them away from the 
battle of wills. It was the young aide stepping up to the Smoker's 
side. Meanwhile, the Doctor had taken a long breath to expound, 
"As you know, the patient is a remarkably intelligent and stubborn 
man. And his history makes a rapid turnaround all-but-impossible. 
He is responding and will continue to do so, but the techniques I'm 
using with him are neither quick nor dramatic. He will submit if you 
allow my training to run its course, but your interference now could 
have wildly unpredictable results." 

The dark young man next to the Smoker laughed softly. His voice 
was low, for the Smoker's ears, "Dominants squirm so gracelessly. 
Your Skinner is just like this one, whining when he can't be on top." 

"Is that what you think Skinner did?" 

Teeth shone in a hard smile as the assistant locked eyes with the 
Smoker. "You let the bureaucrat whine his way out. No matter. He 
shouldn't miss much." Cool, soft-palmed hands took the Smoker's 
and wrapped his fingers around a compact little box. "You know 
how to use a video camera?" The Smoker coughed and nodded, 
freeing his hand from the slightly clammy grasp. The aide smiled 
more widely, turned and nodded to the Elder.

The Doctor saw his opponent's gaze lift, turned to follow it and 
stared at the video camera, eyes narrowed and speculative, then up 
to study the fashionable young aide holding the empty case. 
Something that he saw widened his eyes for an instant then 
narrowed them. He turned back to glare at the Elder. "This is very 
unwise. It will cause great damage to our chances of success." 

The voice that cut him off was smug. "Your client is not the only 
one who can learn a lesson from this." 

"I am very close to securing Mr. Mulder's trust. What you're 
demanding to see now instead of later, and to film, could very well 
destroy the bond that I am building with--" 

"Mr. Mulder is not here to learn to be your toy! He is here to learn 
to submit to us. To obey us. We hired you to break this man. You 
will bring him to us and we will see how well he is learning to 
obey!" 

"This is not a simple process! And you can't just snap this one like a 
twig. He's not like the others. What you are doing could undo all my 
progress with--" 

"If you have made any progress, he will be learning to submit. I am 
not here to watch you coddle him or demonstrate how he responds 
to small punishments. We have been through that with him and it 
has failed. That is why this man is with you. To be completely 
curbed. I will see what I came to see. You will show me." 

"I'm telling you--" 

"No. I am telling you! You will do what I have asked or my 
colleagues and I will find someone who can achieve this assignment 
without the resistance that you seem determined to show." The 
Elder's words were fast and angry. " I think that you are not, 
perhaps, working as diligently as you could. Perhaps you enjoy 
Agent Mulder more than most? I can quite understand. It is 
regrettable that others we have sent you don't appeal to your 
discerning tastes, but we have other priorities than your pleasure. 
You will show us what we want to see." 

The Doctor's jaw worked. After a moment, he called back his blond 
assistant and issued more orders in a furious undertone, finally 
nodding and sending the youth off with a complex hand gesture. 
Then he drank his sherry quickly and held the glass up. Marta took 
it before he'd lifted his hand all the way, and placed a fresh glass 
against his palm. Her brown eyes were nervous, flickering from her 
master to the other powerful presences around her. 

Cool fingers took the cigarette from the Smoker's nicotine-stained 
fingertips, and he looked up to see the aide take a long drag. "They 
will interview Mr. Mulder. You are to film it."

The smoke-gray man nodded, looking down at the little camera in 
his hand. "So I gather." 

Dark mirth bubbled in the assistant's eyes. "There is a tripod for the 
camera. Do you need any instruction using it?" 

"I know how to use it." The Smoker took a fresh cigarette from his 
pack and tucked it between his lips, lighting it with slow 
deliberation. "Why give it to me though, if you're so good with it?" 

"I believe that I will be too busy." 

"Really?" The Smoker studied him, taking in the twitchy excitement 
and the flush in the sallow skin. 

The young man looked up when the Doctor's servant walked in. The 
blond nodded and whispered in quick conference with his master, 
who got up and gestured that they should follow him. Their steps 
echoed on golden maple boards as they passed more oil paintings 
pristine against white plaster walls. An innocuous door at the end of 
a hall opened onto broad, unfinished wooden stairs that led lead 
down, then turned, to finally deliver them all to the roomy cold of 
an old cellar. Walls of whitewashed plaster were solid, cracked in 
places by the weight of the house above them. Ceiling beams, black 
with soot and age, were revealed by the harsh glare of electric light 
from bare bulbs; doors with gleaming, clean brass hinges marked 
rooms that spanned the width of the mansion above them. 

The Doctor pushed open one of the doors on the left side of the hall, 
showing them into a room so dark that at first the small crowd 
milled just inside the entry, clustered in the spill of illumination 
from the hall. Then there were repeated loud snaps and the Smoker 
blinked at the violent glow of six big, standing spotlights.

Dust motes sparkled in the glare as the Doctor's blond boy led them 
past the steel lightstands to comfortably upholstered wooden 
armchairs arranged in a semicircle arching in from the far wall. 
Wooden feet scraped on stone and concrete as the men pulled their 
chairs around for a better view, but the aide tapped the Smoker on 
the shoulder and beckoned him to the center of the room. 

The white enamel of a heavy, steel table burned under the lights. 
Hinged leaves and straps were vivid in the beams of the lamps 
hunched over the surface. The Smoker looked up to find bright, 
polished mirrors that showed the surface of the table in 
uncompromising detail. A stocky man, bearded and dark-haired, 
stood sweating in the heat of the lights, studying the way the 
mirrors hung suspended from chains bolted into the heavy beams. 
He climbed up on the table and worked with the chains, shifting the 
mirrors and crouching to check their positions. 

Conversation burbled incomprehensibly, bouncing from the walls, 
as the rich cold-eyed men speculated between themselves. The aide 
was looking up at the mirrors. The Smoker joined him, studying the 
camera's viewfinder and light meter. The big, silvery surfaces above 
reflected the table perfectly.

The Doctor stood beyond the flood, at the edge of the shadow, 
watching the aide and the Smoking Man for a long moment before 
he turned back to a sideboard. He was laying out objects, opening 
and shutting drawers. The aide moved from the light into the murk 
to stand next to the Doctor.

A scuffle in the hall focused eyes and appetites on the door. 
Silhouettes blocked the hall's light. The Smoker recognized Fox 
Mulder's lean frame, then another figure shoved him through the 
door and into the darkness. His skin was a white gleam on the far 
side of the lights, and the dark hair on his head and groin drew the 
eyes by contrast. Dark hair and, when he stumbled and half fell, 
dark stripes across his back and buttocks and thighs and a dark band 
around his throat. 

Mulder caught himself, stood swaying and staring. In the 
viewfinder, he squinted painfully into the glare. In the dark beyond 
the table, someone shifted and a faint, amused sound echoed from 
stone walls. Mulder's head snapped up, eyes searching. He stood 
still, ribs heaving as he tried to catch his breath, and then he was a 
pale blur in the darkness beyond that splash of light, slamming 
himself into the blond aide. His shouts of fury rang off the stone 
walls, as did the curses of the Doctor's assistant as he went down. 
Silk gleamed as his master lunged across the room. Mulder had 
crouched, and the stocky man fell back from an elbow driven into 
his belly. 

"You bastards! No! Not again! You--" Mulder's words broke off in 
a sudden gasp, his head snapping back. In the viewfinder, the 
Smoker saw the clear image of the Doctor with his hand wrapped 
around a heavy black leash hooked to a collar around the naked 
man's throat. The burly dark assistant grabbed Mulder's ankles, 
yanking them out from under him in a quick move that left the 
struggling man breathless while the blond locked Mulder's wrists up 
behind him. The two of them lifted him, half dragging and half 
carrying him into the room.

In short order they'd heaved him onto the table, and the Doctor had 
one of Mulder's wrists pulled up above his head and buckled into a 
cuff. No shouts now, only wordless snarls as Mulder fought to pull 
his other wrist free of their grasp, but he was flagging, losing the 
strength of panic and rage that had nearly let him slip away. 

His other wrist was now strapped to the table. When his legs were 
yanked straight and pinned by the dark-haired young man, it pulled 
his body taut. The Doctor moved to fasten another strap tightly 
across his hips. Before the buckle was threaded, the emotion that 
had fueled Mulder collapsed in on itself, leaving him lying there 
limp, resistance gone. His eyes were slitted and staring dully up at 
the mirror showed him the men who watched him. Mulder, 
reflected in the mirror, was almost as white as the enamel of the 
table. Vivid shadows marked his frame where ribs and hips were 
cast into relief by the lights.

The Smoker drew a quick, tarry breath through the nearly forgotten 
cigarette dangling from his lips. In the viewfinder, Mulder's eyes 
reflected two red gleams as he recognized the Smoking Man and the 
camera in the same instant. 

"You sonofabitch," Mulder turned his face away, squeezing his eyes 
shut. His lips moved in a whisper, skin pulled tight across his 
cheekbones. Muscles flexed under shock-pale skin. "Mother-
fucking sonofabitch...." 

"Look at me." The aide was standing over Mulder. He moved to the 
Smoker's side of the table so the Elder could spectate clearly. "I 
want to see your eyes, Mr. Mulder. Look at me." 

The Smoker jumped as a firm hand pushed him to one side. The 
Doctor's modulated British voice spoke over Mulder's panting 
breaths and the tiny, sneaking sounds of people shifting in their 
seats. "These men have come a long way to see you, lad. You will 
look at them. After the trouble they've taken to come here, you owe 
them the courtesy of paying attention to them." 

Mulder's lips pressed together as tightly as his lids, signaling a 
digging-in. The aide opened his mouth but a single, hard glare from 
the Doctor secured a pouting silence. The Doctor stood back and 
sighed. "Fox, you will look at your guests or I will use the crop." 
The sound of leather slapping the Doctor's palm brought a flinch 
from Mulder. When he heard the slap again, he opened his eyes and 
stared blankly at his captor. 

"Good boy." The Doctor moved down to the foot of the table. "Mr. 
Mulder, pull your legs up for me. Just like the last time." 

The Smoker leaned down next to Mulder's shoulder, the camera 
aimed to catch the length of the man's pale body. Mulder's public 
hair was seal brown and glossy around the rounded shape of his 
flaccid cock. His knees were sharp white bumps. The Doctor's shirt 
glowed red, and his grim face pulled into a frown. The dark-haired 
assistant let go of Mulder's ankles, revealing blue marks over bone, 
fading against muscle. The camera showed Mulder's chest rising 
and falling panicky-fast, but he made no other motion.

"Are you going to make me tell you again, Fox? I'd rather we didn't 
have a scene." The Doctor's words were low, but crisp, and they 
carried clearly. Mulder moved slowly, muscles visibly flexing in his 
legs and abdomen. The Smoker lowered himself to shoot along 
Mulder's length, catching the way his body flexed with slow 
bending of knees, the way the captured right hand balled into a fist. 
He could hear Mulder's heels drag on the table as the naked man 
pulled them up against his buttocks. He could hear Mulder swallow, 
see his Adam's apple move against the collar. 

The blond was on one side of the table now and the darker, shorter 
man on the opposite. They reached beneath the surface to pull away 
bolts that dropped the foot of the table. The Smoker straightened, 
keeping the camera on Fox Mulder's face. A barely perceptible 
tremor shook the victim's lips until he again pinched them tight 
together. Then Mulder startled a little, tracking the Smoker as he 
carried his camera to the foot of the table. A pitch shadow on the 
white enamel outlined the man's thin body.

In a pleasant, firmly authoritative tone, the Doctor told Mulder to 
spread his legs. The prone man blinked up at the light but stayed 
frozen with his heels tight against his buttocks. "Spread your legs 
apart, Mr. Mulder. You know what I expect of you." 

"I--" Mulder didn't even get a second word out before the Doctor 
was there, and a finger was laid across his lips. 

"Don't tempt me, boy. Don't antagonize. Not here, not now." 

Mulder's voice was a low rasp. "Is this how you keep your 
promises? You said--" 

The Doctor clamped the prisoner's moving mouth with his palm. 
"The unexpected is always difficult, Mr. Mulder." 

The Elder's laugh drew the Doctor's eyes beyond the border of the 
light while below him, Mulder's eyes closed above his flaring 
nostrils, above the hand that gagged him. "You are soft, Doctor--
trying to negotiate like a mother with her child. This is not how you 
break men. Guillaume will show you." 

When the aide stepped under the lamps, his wool suit and linen shirt 
shone, the textures vivid against naked skin as he laid his hand on 
Mulder's chest, took a nipple between his fingertips. He played for a 
moment, then twisted sharply until Mulder gasped and twisted, 
pulling his knees up reflexively. One tanned hand grabbed a bare 
ankle and pulled it to the side of the table. The Doctor's blond 
assistant was quick to buckle on the leather cuff that waited there. 

Guillaume circled to the foot of the table, stopped, and reached out 
to idly stroke Mulder's penis-- tugging at it until the prone man 
kicked out with his free leg. The aide did not try to catch the ankle. 
Instead, he ran a finger over Mulder's cock, overhead brilliance 
reflecting from a manicured nail. Then he caressed the soft skin of 
Mulder's scrotum until Mulder lashed out again. The aide grabbed 
the left ankle and tethered it.

When he'd done, the Doctor's blonde assistant pulled on a chain that 
ran from the cuffs through guides on either side of the table, forcing 
Mulder's heels toward his hips until the tendons and ligaments 
along the insides of his thighs were starkly outlined from tension. 
Mulder's hips spasmed ineffectually against the strap that kept them 
locked to the table, and for the first time, the Smoker heard a 
whimper.

The Doctor had so far watched, but now he glared up into the 
mirror at the Elder and then pulled his sleek assistant away from 
Mulder. "Enough. I've allowed you and your aide unusual leeway. I 
do not, as a rule, permit interference with my patient."

"You will not tell me what I do or don't do," the Elder responded. 
"I've seen nothing to convince me that you have made progress, or 
that you can fulfill this contract. You will let Guillaume continue. If 
you have done what you were contracted to do, then Mr. Mulder 
will comply. If not, then there are others who have a surer hand at 
training."

The aide had stepped back out of the light. In the shadows by the 
sideboard, a drawer squeaked. The Smoker blew out a final cloud 
and dropped his spent cigarette to the ground. He walked to the far 
wall, finding the tripod the aide had left by a rack of long, braided, 
leather whips. The metal clanked as he fastened the camera to its 
stand.

When he heard latex snap, the Smoker looked up, feeling his pupils 
contract as he stared into the brightness. He patted blindly at his 
pockets to find his pack of cigarettes as he watched the aide return, 
one hand now ghostly white in latex. The unlit cigarette dangling 
between his lips, the Smoking Man hurried to place the camera at 
the foot of the table and focus on Mulder's exposed genitals. 

When done, the Smoker found his lighter in his pocket and the tiny 
flame flashed. Mulder lifted his head, eyes moving between the 
cigarette's ember and the red bead of the camera's recording light. 
He growled and twisted, straps digging into his wrists and ankles. 
The Smoker saw him look to the Doctor. When the man remained 
still and expressionless, Mulder's face twisted in bitter disgust.

The aide stood a little off-center, between Mulder's legs, his shape 
through the camera a silhouette against the brilliantly lit body on the 
table. Mulder jumped when the aide put the latex-sheathed hand on 
his knee. The Smoker lifted the camera and carried it closer, 
moving to shoot the past the aide, who looked toward the Doctor 
and told him, "You will see. I'll take good care of the pet." 

Light flashed off clear gel as the man squeezed it from a tube onto 
his fingers and smoothed it into the cleft of Mulder's ass, fingering 
the dark pucker of his anus. Mulder's pale skin instantly stippled 
with gooseflesh. The Smoker felt his face heat as he stared into the 
viewfinder as one slickened finger invaded Mulder's anus up to its 
base knuckle. Muscular buttocks clenched as a second and third 
finger pushed in, expanding the opening. The Smoker focused on 
the shining fingers as they probed. He heard wet sounds as the 
Elder's aide drove his fingers in and out, and he heard more small 
whimpers, too.

Mulder's tendons flexed, tugging his balls in rhythm as the muscles 
of his thighs and buttocks worked, trying to push the intruder out. 
The Smoker panned the camera down for a moment to catch an 
ankle twisting in snug, stained leather straps as Mulder instinctively 
tried to free himself. 

The aide was breathing faster, flushed with exertion and arousal. 
The Smoker stepped back, lifting his camera to film the way the 
aide's shoulders and arms flexed as he pumped in and out. He drew 
hard on his cigarette, forcing the smoke out his nose, the plumes 
glowing blue in the lights. Then he carried the camera away, back 
up to the head of the table. 

Mulder's head was thrown back, the collar in sharp relief against his 
throat as he drew in shallow, open-mouthed pants that increasingly 
ended in tiny, choked grunts of pain and horror. The Smoker kept 
the camera focused on the length of Mulder's body as aide leaned 
into the gap between spread knees. 

The wet sounds of penetration were loud, drowning out the rustle of 
the men watching. Sweat rolled down the sides of Mulder's face, 
darkening his hair, and he stank of arousal and fear. The Smoker 
could feel the fever-heat off Mulder's skin, could hear him gasping.  

Suddenly, the Doctor appeared in the viewfinder. His hand locked 
around the aide's wrist to slowly pull the lubricated fingers out of 
Mulder's anus. Guillaume's face was twisted in anger as he 
wrenched his wrist free, and he and the Doctor began to argue in 
machine-gun French-- the aide stripping the glove off his hand at 
one point, and throwing it down like a gauntlet. He looked to his 
superior for approval and turned away, his steps sounding in the 
dark until he reached the sideboard.

Mulder's faint, thin words were barely loud enough to hear. "Should 
have figured it out... " The Smoker looked down from the 
viewfinder to meet his son's glassy eyes. "God, it had to be you, you 
sonofabitch...." Fingers tightened on the camera as he made himself 
forget, made himself look back into the viewfinder.

The aide was searching a drawer, murmuring his satisfaction as he 
found toys that he liked. But the Doctor's face went tight with 
disapproval when he returned, exhibiting what he had selected. 

The image in the viewfinder was a jumble: leather straps dangled 
off a short rubber bar; a small, black box trailed long wires and 
banana clips. The Smoker lifted his head from the eyepiece to stare 
at the third item--a big, blunt, conical black latex shape with a 
flaring end, gleaming with copper strips. 

"No. I refuse to let you use that--" the Doctor began but the Elder 
drowned him out in voicing his approval. The aide smiled down at 
Mulder, and set the small box next to him on the white surface of 
the table. He held the copper-striped device up and waited for 
Mulder to focus on it. The prisoner swallowed, but the Smoker was 
unsure if Mulder understood what it was, what its use would cause. 
The aide glanced up to be sure the camera's red eye was on him, 
too. Assured that it was, he carefully and thoroughly slathered 
lubricant over the electric anal plug's surface. 

The aide leaned down, focused on Mulder's wet, friction-reddened 
anus. He held the blunt tip of the thing against the puckered opening 
and pushed slowly, working the plug in and out against the 
resistance of the sphincter muscle, pushing it in a bit deeper each 
time. Half an inch slid in first, then an inch, then two. The bound 
man squirmed, moaning. In the square field of the camera's eye, the 
Smoker could see Mulder strain and push, trying to force the plug 
back out each time the aide worked it in deeper. 

Mulder's legs trembled in tiny spasms as he was penetrated and 
released, penetrated and released. The men in their seats were silent 
and still, watching the mirrors as the aide forced the thick plug 
deeper into Mulder's body.

When the aide began to twist the plug as he pushed it in, Mulder 
lifted his head-- staring in horrified curiosity-- then fell back with a 
thump. A final harsh push and the plug vanished into Mulder's ass, 
and in the camera's close-up, his sphincter clenched around the 
narrow stem. Mulder moaned and his hips lifted a fraction when the 
gluteal muscles of his buttocks tightened, trying to shove the thing 
back out. 

The aide was carefully attaching the leads to the wide base of the 
plug. The other hand rested on Mulder's knee, then stroked down 
his bruised thigh. The aide's fingers looked dark and tanned when 
they splayed out across Mulder's abdomen, playing with a few curls 
of pubic hair and then tugging on the naked man's penis. Fabric 
rustled as the hand moved on, tracing flat muscles up and across the 
prisoner's chest. The aide walked slowly up the length of the table, 
drawing his fingertips over the pale skin and heaving chest to reach 
and trace Mulder's jawline. 

The prisoner twisted his face away until the Frenchman dug his 
fingers along the bone and dragged Mulder back to look up into the 
mirrors and lights. The Smoker, staring through the viewfinder, 
sighted between Mulder's legs and up his body to catch the way the 
aide dug his fingers in over the bone of Mulder's jaw. The skin went 
bloodless under those fingers, and Mulder's mouth was pried open, 
his teeth showing white.

Guillaume forced in a black rubber bar that propped apart Mulder's 
upper and lower jaw. Fingers knotted through Mulder's cowlick and 
jerked his head up, tucking his chin against his collarbone while the 
securing buckles were quickly fastened by the blond assistant. 
When released, Mulder looked up with narrow-eyed hatred. The 
aide finger-combed Mulder's dark hair and smiled.

The Smoker kept his eye to the viewfinder. In the image area, 
Mulder was blinking very fast as he stared up into the lights. The 
aide reached for the control box slowly twisted its knob. There was 
a faint, static tingle and the man on the table arched, his eyes 
widening with astonishment. He made low whine deep in his throat 
that turned into a high keen of agony. The Smoker watched 
Mulder's leg muscles jump in time to the waves of current. His cock 
jumped in time, too, not really hardening but twitching. The black 
collar bobbed as Mulder screamed.

The aide leaned down, ran his tongue over quivering lips separated 
by the rubber bar, then licked down over Mulder's chin to fix like a 
fiend on his vibrating throat. When the aide pulled back, the 
Smoker saw deep impressions of teeth on the white skin then little 
ruts filled with blood. Black glossy hair tickled across Mulder's 
chest as Guillaume's lips sought a nipple. He sucked, then pulled 
back and bit down lightly, catching the tip. His hand stroked his 
victim's groin while he tugged the nipple upward.

All the while, Mulder screamed. When the pain was finally lessened 
by a twist of his abuser's wrist, Mulder sagged back to the table and 
only his buttocks seized and clenched. His screams softened to 
whimpers in the pause while his nipples were toyed with-- rolled 
between the aide's thumbs and forefingers.

Guillaume upped the current again and Mulder arched, eyes fixed 
wide and staring into the mirror above him. His throat stretched 
back, Adam's apple bobbing above the black line of the collar. 
Sweat dripped freely down starkly shadowed ribs and his back 
curved impossibly high. Above his head, his fingers clawed as he 
strained against the leather bands. When the dial was twisted down, 
Mulder collapsed and lay panting.

The thwack of leather drew the Smoker's eyes away from the 
camera to where the Doctor simmered in the shadows, striking his 
own palm with the riding crop. When he looked back, the assistant 
was gently pushing Mulder's soaked hair off his forehead. "See? It 
is amazing, n'est-ce pas?" His fingers trailed down the prisoner's 
ashen face, caressed a bruised cheek. "Let the pain take you. It will 
make you hard and you will come." Mulder's eyes widened, a tiny 
wash of pink heightening his complexion, and he made a single 
head shake. "Oh, but you will. You will," the assistant taunted and 
leaned forward to reach the controls.

Mulder arched from expectation, his chest heaving quick, ragged 
breaths. The aide waited...waited... then gave the knob a quick twist 
to its upper limit. The pain hit its victim with visible brutality, 
spasming muscles all along Mulder's torso, groin, and legs. His 
tormentor pulled Mulder's head up and into another kiss, his tongue 
licking across the rubber bit. 

The camera's viewfinder was digging into the soft flesh around the 
Smoker's right eye while his left stayed shut tight. His shoulders 
hunched, holding himself and the camera still while the aide probed 
Mulder's screaming mouth with a dusky-pink tongue. The leather 
straps dug into the captive's wrists and ankles as he strained against 
them and the muscles of his groin and legs danced in a cruel parody 
of ecstasy. Mulder's balls bounced, his cock jumped again and 
again, then began to blush and thicken.

The Doctor suddenly made a fast striking motion, grabbed the 
control box, and shut the current off. "I forbid this! You'll ruin 
him!"

The aide grabbed the wires, trying to recapture the torturer's power. 
"This leaves no burns. He will take more until he comes!" 

"Idiot!" the Doctor's spat with disdain. "You're a brute who can only 
cause pain!" He glanced behind him, at Mulder, who had gone limp 
on the table, his eyes partly open to reveal only their whites. 
"Suffering alone cannot reshape a man's will." The aide glared as 
the Doctor finally yanked away the leads and walked off to toss the 
control box on the sideboard. 

The Doctor took a small towel from a drawer and returned to wipe 
the sweat off Mulder's gray face. As the Doctor carefully unfastened 
the buckles of the gag, his charge's eyes fully closed and then 
flickered open. "I'm here, Fox. I've stopped it," the Smoker heard 
him tell Mulder quietly. "I won't let him make you come like that." 
The bound man's body began to shake with what might have been 
very small, muffled sobs.

The Doctor threw the bit to the floor and moved toward the Smoker, 
to the foot of the table, his drawn angry face filling the viewfinder. 
Tendons in the Doctor's neck stood out with the effort of control as 
he pushed the Smoker aside and stepped past him.

Mulder lay shaking as the Doctor unfastened the electrical leads, 
but when he grasped the flared base of the anal plug, Mulder arched 
again in sudden panic. The Doctor spoke to him gently, "It's all 
right. Calm yourself, calm.... I'm going to take it out of you now. 
You'll feel me pulling it out, but that's all." 

Mulder's face was twisted in the tiny view of the camera, fighting to 
keep control. For a moment, the Smoker felt a strange pride, then 
the neglected cigarette between his lips burned painfully close and 
he spat it out, rubbing at his mouth. Mulder looked up at the sound, 
but the Smoker backed away, pulling the camera up between 
himself and the man bound to the table.

The image went dark a moment, then lightened to show the Doctor's 
intent features, first overexposed then coming back into balance as 
the light meter adjusted. He had worked his fingers between the 
base of the plug and Mulder's skin, and was drawing it out. The 
Smoker could see Mulder's anus stretching, saw the sphincter pulled 
outwards as though it tried to hold onto the object inside.

The man on the table cried out very softly, then bit down on his 
lower lip. Finally, the thickest part of the device, copper gleaming 
under the harsh lights, was relinquished by his anal muscles and 
popped free. The musk of fear and feces was heavy as the Doctor 
turned away, setting the plug in the shadows on top of the sideboard 
where Guillaume hovered, radiating anger. The Smoker's hands 
shook as he reached for another cigarette and lit it, looking down 
with great concentration until the tip of the stick glowed with heat.

The Doctor had returned to stand beside his charge's open legs, laid 
a possessive hand on Mulder's knee, and turned his head to face the 
audience. "Gentlemen, you baffle me. You say you've invested a 
great deal in this one, but you certainly don't act like it." 

The Elder responded with haughty indignation, "Remember your 
place, doctor. You are not of the Circle. We are well within our 
rights to test our property further." Mulder's eyes shut tightly and 
his head rolled back and forth in a silent no. 

"You are going to ruin him," the Doctor warned. "Or damage him 
permanently. I made him a promise about that and I don't plan to let 
you break it." 

"Promises are made between equals. I do not care what you 
promised him," the Elder scoffed. "I have seen nothing to persuade 
me that he's taken any of your training to heart. He's stubborn and 
argumentative. If I'd wanted to hear him argue or watch him flaunt 
authority I could have done so at the FBI." 

The Doctor's eyes narrowed. His jaw slid side to side before he 
answered. "If you insist on putting the patient through more, you 
will completely destroy any progress I've made. You must stop. 
You don't know how much harm this is doing." 

"You overstep the bounds of your authority.... Guillaume, attend 
me!" There was a quick waft of expensive cologne as the aide 
hurried past the Smoking Man. The Elder and his servant conversed 
in German, then younger man nodded and walked back around the 
table to the sideboard. Mulder's head turned to follow, but the 
Doctor kept his eyes fixed on the bulky man in the shadows. 

Behind the Smoker, there was rustling. He held the camera tightly 
in his hands while between his lips, the cigarette's coal grew 
brilliant with the air drawn over it.

When leather soles rapped on the concrete floor, Mulder visibly 
trembled and shut his eyes tight, the lids dark against his pallor. The 
aide's lips curved in a feral smile as he nonchalantly draped a 
leather harness across, then dropped a foot of thick, rigid black latex 
onto the naked man's abdomen. Mulder's eyes shot open, his pupils 
contracting to pinpoints as he lifted his head to look at the dildo. 
Mulder started to pant, almost hyperventilating, as the aide teased 
him by lifting the harness and letting its strap ends trail over 
Mulder's genitals. 

Guillaume gasped when an unexpected hand reached out to yank 
the leather harness away, and the Elder shouted, "Doctor Taylor!"

"Mr. Mulder's had enough! You've tested him enough." 

"Please. Oh god, please!"

Mulder's weak begging was ignored as the aide snarled, "You will 
give me that!" and his fingers snared the straps to reclaim the dildo 
harness from the Doctor's grasp.

The Smoker could see the pulse pounding in the Doctor's throat as 
he made a final attempt to reason with the Elder. "Don't do this to 
him. Please don't do this. You'll ruin any chance of reaching your 
goal." 

The Elder's voice was deliberate and cold. "We do what we wish. 
This man has been a constant thorn in our sides. It is time he 
learned the price of his actions. You will allow my colleague to 
continue. If you do not, we will take our property with us when we 
leave today." 

White-faced, the Doctor pinched his lips and signaled defeat by 
turning away from the Elder. The aide smiled, savoring the other 
man's loss while his quick hands fitted the long rubber dildo into the 
harness. When he'd finished and strapped it on, the phallus 
projected grotesquely from his hips.

Mulder's feet and hands twisted and the Smoker glimpsed the 
abrasions and bruises beneath the cuffs. "Don't let him do this, don't 
let him, oh god, please!" Whether the plea was to the Doctor or to 
all of them, the Smoker wasn't sure.

"Film this. Film all of it," the Elder decreed. "And make certain the 
intended party sees it."

"Of course," the Smoker nodded.

"Oh god, don't, don't!" Mulder's desperation was pitting him against 
the straps once more. Guillaume watched the naked man fight, his 
lips parted and eyes shining as he lubricated the black length that 
jutted out in front of him. 

The Doctor had crouched to speak softly in the struggling man's ear 
and the Smoker felt an unexpected sense of relief that Mulder had 
not been wholly abandoned. "Ssshh, you've got to be brave now. 
You've got to do what they tell you. It's going to hurt, but I'll take 
care of you when they're gone." 

"You bastard, oh god, I don't believe I won't believe--ah!" Mulder's 
voice keened up as the tip of the dildo touched his anus. The 
Smoker swallowed. In the camera's view, the glistening latex head 
probed slowly into the sphincter, spreading it open just a bit. The 
aide paused, watching Mulder, letting him feel the object nudging 
into his opening and enjoying his terrified panic. Then Guillaume 
leaned forward to steadily pushing the long, thick, solid rod into 
Mulder's body. The Doctor pressed a hand over Mulder's mouth, 
muffling the captive's cries, glaring at the Elder's assistant with a 
smoldering intensity. 

The resistance of the bound man's rectum was pushing the dildo 
back, and Guillaume wrapped his hands around Mulder's 
perspiration-slicked hips to gain the advantage. The aide shoved his 
own hips forward in little thrusts, using his grip on Mulder to pull 
himself closer. Under the lights, the long muscles up the insides of 
Mulder's bare, beaten thighs flickered as they convulsed. 

The Smoker backed away, glancing at the viewfinder to assure his 
focus. In the center of the merciless glare, Mulder was again arched 
up from the white tabletop. The Doctor tried to gag Mulder's animal 
sounds as the aide shoved in the dildo the last few inches then 
ground the base against Mulder's flesh. 

"Let him scream, Doctor Taylor. We want to hear him," the Elder 
commanded, and the Doctor complied by lifting his hand with an 
angry flourish. "Film him!" the big man barked again as Mulder's 
cries were allowed to reach full volume.

The Smoker edged to the head of the table, setting the camera on its 
tripod next to Mulder's head. He focused on Guillaume, whose feet 
were braced as he slowly withdrew the length of the dildo. He thrust 
in again with his full weight to spear his victim, then drew out as 
quickly, while the man on the table shouted, thrashed, and 
screamed. In. Out. In. Out. Again and again as Mulder writhed and 
suffered.

The aide grunted as he drove in the phallus. A dozen more thrusts 
shoved Mulder's body up the table, against the anchoring strap 
around his hips. Under the lights, the ring of bloody lubricant 
around Mulder's abraded sphincter was the color of garnets; his 
cock was red, too-- hard and thick. Guillaume paused to sneer, 
"Ahhhh, you like what I am doing to you, don't you, little bitch? 
Don't worry. I won't stop until you produce for us."

"You have to come for them, Mr. Mulder."
The Doctor's mouth was next to the captive's ear. "Come for them. 
Do it. Don't fight." 

"Oh, he'll come-- he'll come and he'll--thank me for it." Guillaume 
resumed his hammering.

Mulder's scream became a sob, "Oh Jesus, no-- god!"

"Come for him, Agent Mulder," the Smoker barely recognized his 
own voice, was startled that he had moved from the camera to lean 
close to Mulder's face. "Get it over with. He isn't going to stop until 
you do."

"I can't...Oh god, I can't...." Mulder moaned.

"He won't stop!" the Smoker whispered fiercely. "This isn't a duel!" 
But Mulder turned his face away and sobbed deep in this throat. 

"He doesn't want me--to stop fucking him. The bitch should-- be 
thanking me!" The aide's reply, broken by his thrusts, brought a 
chuckle from the men watching. "Now thank me, bitch. Thank me 
for fucking you." 

"Do you want me to help you, Fox?" the Doctor demanded, his 
voice urgent. "I'll help you, but you need to yield to it. You must let 
me help you...."

"Thank me--Thank me for fucking you. Do it, bitch!" The Smoker 
looked to the foot of the table, where Guillaume was slamming his 
hips against Mulder's ass. His teeth were bared in triumph. "Thank 
me!"

"Thank him. Do what he tells you to do." The Doctor had his palm 
pressed down on Mulder's forehead, trying to hold him still, to 
reach him. The Smoker looked away from the victim's glassy eyes, 
turned back the camera and checked the image. 

"I said...thank...me!" Guillaume ordered. The Smoker watched as 
two full, harsh thrusts provide an underscore.

Mulder made a raw shout that turned to hysterical wail, and the 
Doctor grabbed one of Mulder's hands above a bound wrist, 
squeezing hard. "Do it, boy!" But the bound man couldn't stop 
sobbing, couldn't get a full breath.

"You've got to say it."

The strain of effort was plain as Mulder's lips formed a circle and he 
drew in air with desperate deliberateness. 
"Thankyouthankyouthankyou...." his words spilled out in a breathy 
flow. 

"Good little bitch," the aide lauded with a condescending sneer. 
"Now you're going to come for me, aren't you?" 

Mulder responded in a frantic whisper, "Can't-- I--god..."

"Then you will lay on this table for a long time today, until you 
learn to submit," Guillaume replied.

The Smoker noticed a sudden gleam enter the Doctor's eyes. The 
gray-haired man dragged Mulder's face toward him to peer into 
wide, dull eyes. "Can't or won't come, Fox? Can't or won't?"

"Gotohellsonofabitchoh god, I will, I'll come, stop jus' stop...."

The Doctor squeezed Mulder's hand again, called him "good boy," 
and let go. When he reached down to cup Mulder's balls, the aide 
didn't stop him. Guillaume was thrusting faster now, the 
penetrations shallower as he sped up.

The Doctor's callused fingers rolled Mulder's testicles and the 
trapped man bowed up high, head thrown back in a silent shout as 
the intensity blurred with the pain. The Doctor leaned in, ignoring 
the rich suit fabric covering the hips that thrust close to his face, and 
took Mulder's cock into his mouth.

"Oh god!" Mulder cried as the aide hammered impossibly fast into 
his rectum, not bothering to draw the dildo out, just slapping the 
base of it up against his buttocks while his fingers dug into Mulder's 
hips. The Smoker could see the Doctor's cheeks go hollow as he 
sucked and licked. Mulder tossed his head again, slinging sweat. He 
was painfully jolted by each relentless thrust until suddenly he 
spasmed and a long guttural shout tore from his throat. 

The Doctor had pulled back. His hand was pumping up and down 
the shaft of Mulder's cock, milking the cum in view of the watching 
men. It spurted in creamy shots across a sweaty stomach as 
Mulder's shout ended, and another weaker one began.

When his cry died out, there was slow, ironic applause, and the 
Smoker looked up to see the Elder nodding with his doughy face 
creased in a smile. Guillaume, braced above Mulder's hips, panting, 
looked behind him towards his master's bulk then to the Doctor. 
"See?" he smiled condescendingly. "Training this one is not so 
difficult as you seem to believe. You should find little resistance 
now." The aide unbuckled the harness and stepped back, letting the 
heavy base slowly pull the impaler free. The dildo landed on the 
floor with a thud.

The Smoker wiped his damp palms on his suit jacket and tried to 
hold an unlit cigarette steady enough to light it from the butt of the 
old one. There was the scrape of wood on concrete as men lifted 
themselves from their chairs. The Elder walked out, not even 
looking at the tortured man on the table. The two Asians followed 
him.

Mulder lay staring upward at his sweat-drenched, battered 
reflection. Muscles under his skin still twitched convulsively. When 
the mirror showed him the Elder's departure, his labored breathing 
slowed and the Smoker saw fists and curled toes begin to relax. 
Exhaustion dragged down Mulder's lids until the aristocratic 
Englishman stopped to examine the victim with an unreadable gaze.

"I did try to warn you."

Mulder's eyes opened, and he blinked with stunned slowness as he 
tried to focus on the patrician face. The manicured man shook his 
head regretfully. "I'd hoped you would be intelligent enough not to 
end up here, Mr. Mulder, but now that you are, consider your 
lessons carefully." Still shaking his head, the Englishman turned 
away and followed his colleagues. 

The Smoking Man backed away from the table. A cherry ember 
burned in the dark as he held the cigarette and watched. The aide 
was adjusting his suitjacket, smoothing the fabric down with his 
palms-- fixated on the wrinkles rather than the dark stains left by 
blood and lube and sweat. The Doctor was trying to unbuckle one 
of the wrist straps with an angry speed that made him careless. His 
dark, stocky assistant finally stepped up next to him and pushed his 
master's hands away to undo the remaining buckles.

"Goodbye, little bitch," the aide tossed over his shoulder as he 
finally turned to go. "Enchante, Docteur."

"Je viendrai apres que vous," the Doctor replied. "Je vous 
pourchasserai." The felicitousness of the threat made the Smoker 
grin around his cigarette, made Guillaume pause in mid-step, his 
back suddenly stiff. Then, composure regained, the aide continued 
on his way without looking behind him.

The Doctor was mindfully gentle as he pushed an arm under 
Mulder's shoulders and lifted the naked man to sit on the edge of the 
table. When his full weight pressed on his ass and tailbone, 
Mulder's face twisted and he gasped and groaned. "I know it hurts. 
I'll give you something for the pain in just a moment," the Doctor 
promised.

Mulder coughed weakly. His eyes were unfocused and his bluish 
lips trembled as he shivered. The expression in the dazed, dark eyes 
made the Smoker's smile fade. He drew hard on his cigarette, heard 
the Doctor order, "William, James, take Mr. Mulder up to the 
infirmary now.... And William, you will not engage in any of your 
games."

When blond mumbled his response, Mulder looked up for a 
moment, then let his chin drop to his chest as the Doctor's eyes slid 
sideways to glare at his servant. "I can't hear you."

"Yes, sir," the young man said more loudly.

"Good.... James, give Mr. Mulder intramuscular Demerol and 
topical Lidocaine. I don't want him in any pain."

"Yes, sir." The smaller assistant had already slipped a sturdy arm 
around a bare waist and almost lifted Mulder off the table. The 
other one, the blond, pulled one of Mulder's arms across his own 
shoulders to keep the man upright.

"I'll be right up," The Doctor called after them as they helped a 
sagging Mulder out and up the stairs. The Doctor's posture sagged a 
bit, too, as the footsteps faded and he studied the smears of blood on 
the tabletop. "Get your camera and get the hell out of my house," he 
told the Smoker. "You could not have chosen a worse time for your 
little...display of superiority. I will need much, much longer. At 
that, I don't know if I can repair the damage you've done today."

The Smoker reached for the recording device on its tripod, began to 
fold the gawky legs. "I don't know if I can get you more time."

Two quick steps brought the Doctor's thin frame so close the 
Smoker could see the flecks of gray in his eyes. "I suggest that you 
try very hard. I was just beginning a new program to gain Fox's 
trust and I'd promised him no one would hurt him today. From his 
face, you saw he'd believed me. He'd taken his first step toward 
bonding with me. I don't know if I can ever repair the damage you 
lot have now done, and I certainly cannot do it in ten days. You had 
damned well better get me more time, or else you'll have to--" A 
scream and a crash cut him short.

"Sir! Come quickly!" It was the woman's voice, calling from above.

Another scream.

The Smoker could almost hear the trainer's teeth grind, see the 
bulges flex above the man's jaw. "Oh bloody hell," he finally cursed 
and took off.

The Smoker followed him up the basement stairs. Sunlight spilled 
through high windows and across golden floors. He chased after 
him toward the main wing when the Doctor suddenly veered right, 
down a plain hall bare of paintings and furniture. The Smoker saw 
crimson drops marking a trail down the center, and red was smeared 
on the white-painted interior of an open door where Marta hovered, 
wringing her hands. The Smoker heard loud thumps, furniture 
falling, shouts and shrieks. 

"Send that man on his way!" her master ordered as he brushed by 
her to go inside.

Marta dutifully tried to intercept the Smoker and drag him in the 
opposite direction, but he shook her off, dropping the tripod as he 
did so. Marta's heels were loud, running alongside him, but his legs 
were longer. The camera's red light was still blinking 'active' as he 
reached the doorway and stopped. 

The blond was on the floor, sprawled across an overturned table, 
gasping for air while his shorter partner tried to hold Mulder pinned 
to a wall that was blotched with red. The Doctor shifted from foot 
to foot, trying to find an opening, but his words and orders were 
overwhelmed by the thudding as, again and again, Mulder slammed 
his head against wall behind him, his face twisted by sobs. 

The Smoker held the camera forgotten in front of him as he 
watched-- could feel the vibration through the floor as Mulder 
threw himself back again, leaving another scarlet mark on the 
whitewash behind him. The Doctor made his move, tried to get a 
grip on the naked man's shoulders, but couldn't get past Mulder's 
braced arms. He looked down at the blond. "William, get up and get 
the drugs." Then he threw his own body up against his prisoner's 
with a force that bent Mulder's elbows and allowed him to flatten 
Mulder against the wall while James moved to grab and hold 
Mulder's head.

Mulder's voice was shrill and wild. "Getawayfrommegetaway! Get 
the fuck back away!" 

"It's over, Mr. Mulder. They're gone, they won't hurt you again...." 
the Doctor's voice was barely raised, trying to cut through the 
babble with tone instead of volume. "I'm right here with you and it's 
over. In just a moment I'll give you an injection and the pain will go 
as I promised. Shhhhhhhhh." 

"No, get awaygetaway!"

"No, no. Hang on, lad, and the pain will go. You don't need to give 
yourself a different pain to dull it." 

William was back, vaulting the furniture that Mulder must have 
toppled to hand a full syringe to the Doctor. A quick move and a 
howl and the needle went flying, but it was almost empty as it 
rolled across the floor. 
"Oh god, oh god!" Mulder sobbed.

"Fox, it's going to stop hurting now," James promised as Mulder 
slowly slumped to the floor between him and the Doctor. "See? It's 
working."

"That's right. It's working," the Doctor crooned, sinking down and 
wrapping his arms around the man on his knees to pull him against 
a silk-clad shoulder. "They're gone lad. They're gone and I'll take 
care of you. No one will hurt you now...."

Mulder was hiccuping, shaking in the Doctor's arms, trying to pull 
away from him. "Lemmeglemmego....oh god oh god oh god lemme 
go home...." 

"Ssshhhh, you'll go home. You'll go when it's time, you'll go 
home...." 

The sobs were fading, the words harder for the Smoker to hear. 
"...lied to me lied to me.... dunno anything...lied...lie...." As Mulder 
went under, the Doctor took his limp weight, supporting the long 
bruised body. The Doctor shifted Mulder across his lap when his 
patient was quiet and lolling, stroked gently through Mulder's dark 
wet hair and murmured soothing assurances that Mulder probably 
didn't hear.

When Mulder's mouth gaped in obvious sleep, the Doctor's icy blue 
eyes blinked rapidly, and he looked around to find the Smoking 
Man with the camera hanging, winking red, in his hands. "Turn that 
damned thing off," the man's furious disgust made the Smoker 
straighten up and stop the filming. "Marta will show you out," the 
Doctor said coldly.

The Smoker nodded. The show was truly over. He felt his own 
moist clothing cling to him and wanted nothing more than to be 
outside in the winter air. The Doctor made a noise that stopped him 
as he turned to reach that goal. "This-- this man that did not come 
here today--" 

"Yes?" the Smoker kept his voice a monotone. "What about him?" 

"He could have prevented some of this abuse?"

"Maybe. I suspect they would have had him take Guillaume's role." 

"Ah," the Doctor nodded. "You show him that tape. Make sure he 
watches it."

The Smoker nodded and left Mulder in the Doctor's arms.