TITLE: The Gift
AUTHOR: SubRosa (subrosa31@hotmail.com)
DISTRIBUTION: As you wish, but please let me know.
RATING: Hard NC-17
WARNING: Contains graphic, non-consensual sex (no violence.)
Do NOT read if you may be offended.
CATEGORY: SA, MSR (in a way).
SPOILERS: Vague conspiracy arc and very slight "Three."
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully sex. Mulder POV
DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder and Dana Scully belong to Chris Carter,
Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century FOX Broadcasting,
and to the actors who portray them. No copyright
infringement is intended.
SUMMARY: Smutty and plotless, yet angsty. Mulder is forced to
make a difficult decision.
DEDICATION: To a figure who has apparently left the fic
community, and is greatly missed. Spookychick, if you
read this, it's for you.
THANKS: To those who read this on the mailing lists and
encouraged me to archive it. Special thanks to Denise for
her beta work. All remaining mistakes, of course, are mine.
FEEDBACK: Welcomed at subrosa31@hotmail.com. Flames discarded
with a mocking laugh.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Please reread the warning. This story is, as my
beta said, "dark, dark, dark, dark." It is a work of fiction that
contains coerced sexual contact. Please do NOT read if you may
be offended. I have deliberately left the timeline on this story
open, but I picture it as falling between the movie and "Two
Fathers/One Son," which was the last time I had a clue about the
conspiracy arc.
 
 

********************

Nineteen hours.

We've been missing for nineteen hours. *She's* been missing for
nineteen hours, I can't do a damn thing to find her, and no one
will notice that we're missing for another forty-eight. I pace,
trying not to think about where I am, what I've found, and what
it might mean.

**********************

We'd gone down to Tennessee on one of those cases that seem to
get routed to us automatically now. Missing teenager, alleged
bright lights in the sky, unexplained scorch marks. A cursory
look at the file told me that I could have phoned this one in,
and in retrospect I should have. The missing kid had recently
been arguing with his step-father and racking up absences from
school, the scorch marks in the file photo were obviously a
campfire, and I was sure that a little combing in the woods would
find illicit substances that had transformed ordinary headlights
into menacing, otherworldly searchlights in the minds of his
stoner buddies. There was no real reason to call in the FBI at
all. I suspected that the town's police were avoiding the case
because of some local politics too petty for me to care about,
but I didn't even bother to ask who pulled in what member of
Congress to solicit the FBI's help. All I saw was a case that
could be wrapped up in twenty-four hours, leaving Scully and me
in the Smokey Mountains for what was supposed to be a gorgeous
weekend. I figured that we deserved it, and her unexpected
agreement to the case suggested that she must have, in what
passes for self-indulgence in Scully, thought the same thing.

Look where it got us.

We left DC Wednesday afternoon in my car. It would require a
little more time and paperwork, but if I could convince Scully to
stay the weekend, there'd be no plane tickets or Bureau car logs
to raise questions. Thursday morning we met with the unimpressive
local police, Thursday afternoon turned up the expected campfire
and joints, and a couple interviews Friday morning strongly
suggested that this was a simple runaway case--the kid's car was
missing, for God's sake. And people say *my* office is a waste of
the taxpayers' money.

Friday afternoon brought the return of the prodigal son himself.
He claimed no memory of the time between walking away from the
fire to take a leak Monday evening and waking up in his car in a
West Virginia campground Friday morning, but it seemed obvious at
the time that he had just taken off on his own. Now, of course, I
wonder, because my own memories of what happened next aren't too
clear.

I remember that we checked out of the motel and called in to
report that the kid had returned. It was too late for us to reach
DC before evening and there was no urgency about the case, so I
said we'd get our written report in Monday. That was in the car
driving out of town. My next goal was to convince Scully to spend
the remainder of the weekend in the mountains with me.

I'd been thinking a lot about our partnership, finally admitting
to myself that I didn't just love her, I was *in* love with her,
and that I wanted to make love to her so badly that I was going
to explode if I didn't. A nice weekend of stunning scenery and
fresh mountain air seemed like a good setting for cautiously
feeling out her thoughts on our partnership and, I fervently
hoped, taking it to the next level. I think Scully was toying
with the same idea; at least, I hope she was. I know that when I
suggested as innocently as I could that she pack some extra
clothes and hiking boots, she gave me an arched brow and a long,
assessing look, then nodded without a word. I figured that the
lack of questions or protest was a promising start.

Even if we weren't going to come together this weekend I thought
we both deserved a couple days away from the city and the sordid
deceit that makes up so much of our working lives. With the case
wrapped up, all I had to do was talk Scully into it without
tipping my hand too early. I remember marshalling my arguments
while she bent over the map...

And then I woke up here, alone. Here being a cabin that seems to
have been built as a weekend getaway. It's small--one large room
with the minimum furniture you'd need for a short stay of getting
back to nature. There's a very small kitchen separated from the
main room by a breakfast bar and some tall chairs, a bathroom,
and some windows with a view of a nice conifer forest. The
windows are securely barred; the door is locked in some less
visible but equally impassable way. A search revealed no phone,
which I expected, nor did I find any surveillance equipment.
Less expected and much more unsettling is what I did find. The
kitchen is stocked, the bathroom has towels, the bed has clean
sheets, and the chest-of-drawers contains the largest collection
of sex toys I have ever seen outside a commercial establishment.

I've been poring over these facts since I woke up. They left my
watch, so I know that I awakened Saturday morning and that it is
now almost noon. Nineteen hours since we left our assignment,
nineteen hours that Scully has been gone, presumably in the hands
of the owner of the cabin and the sex toys. So far I've put my
fist through a wall, damaging both but neither seriously, and
alternately paced and tried, futilely, to loosen a bar from a
window.

As I'm making another half-hearted attempt at the window there's
a sudden, loud click from the cabin door, and it swings open.
Cursing myself for not waiting in ambush, I wheel around only to
stop short as an armed man, obviously a henchman, enters. He
keeps me covered with a much larger handgun than the situation
warrants while a heavy-set man in a business suit enters. I've
never seen him before.

I glare at him with every bit of pent-up rage I've been harboring
since I woke up here alone. "What the fuck do you want, and where
is Scully?"

He smiles thinly. "That tone is entirely unnecessary, Mr. Mulder.
Surely you have no complaints about the accommodations." He has
a faint, lisping accent that I can't place, and I'm too pissed to
engage in his banter.

"I said, what do you want and where is Scully?"

He shakes his head, apparently offended by my uncouth American
rejection of common courtesy. "What I want is very simple, Mr.
Mulder. I am here to give you a gift. As for Miss Scully, she is
right here." He gestures to someone outside, and what I wanted
most and least to see appears.

Scully is standing in the doorway. I can see a man behind her,
presumably with a gun to her back, but that isn't what makes fear
knife through me. Scully is absolutely, beautifully, and
terrifyingly nude. She's not visibly injured, but she has a dazed
expression that kicks my fear to an even higher level. At a
muttered command from behind her, she steps into the cabin.

"What did you do to her?" She looks exhausted, swaying a bit, her
shadowed eyes focusing on nothing. I shove back my fear and call
her name softly. "Scully!" The vagueness in her eyes as she turns
to me is as frightening as the gun at her back.

No one moves toward either of us, but I don't want her standing
there between them. "Scully!" Her eyes seem to focus on me a bit.
Speaking slowly and as gently as I can, I command, "Scully, come
stand behind me."

She shudders a bit and shuffles toward me without any of the
normal surety in her stride. She's cold: though I quickly drag my
eyes away, I can see that her nipples are erect.

Once she is in relative safety behind me I turn my attention back
to our portly adversary, unbuttoning my shirt as I speak. "What
the hell did you do to her, and what do you want?"

That goddamn smile is still pasted on his face. "Miss Scully has
been undergoing some...behavior modification. Nothing, I assure
you, that should upset you."

I remove my shirt and hand it back to Scully, keeping my focus on
him and on the guns. She doesn't take it and they don't move, so
I chance turning my back on them to look at her. She's just
standing there, still swaying, her eyes cast down. I shield her
from their view with my body as I drape the shirt over her
shoulders.

"Did they hurt you?" She shakes her head once, slowly, not
meeting my eyes. "Behavior modification" is circling through my
brain. "Scully, did they touch you?" Again a single shake of her
copper head, so I turn back to face the suit. "You know you can't
keep us here."

He chuckles at my naivete. "Of course we can, but that is not
what we want. As I told you, our only intention is to give you a
gift."

When I don't respond he continues, apparently realizing that I'm
not going to play along with his game. "The door will be unlocked
at noon tomorrow. When it opens, you will wait ten full minutes
before leaving. You will find your automobile, weapons, and other
belongings outside. Miss Scully can explain the rest to you.
Until then, do enjoy yourself."

He turns and leaves, followed by his guards, who keep me covered
with unstudied professionalism until they have backed out and the
door has clicked shut.

********************

I turn to Scully, who is still standing with her eyes lowered and
my shirt draped around her shoulders. I want to wrap her up in
it, I want her to tell me what he meant by the gift, I want her
to tell me precisely what they did to her so I know how slowly to
kill them, but above all I don't want to worsen this state that
she is in, so I have to tread lightly. I touch her face gently.
She shivers again but turns her cheek into my hand, not away. I
take that as a good sign.

"Are you hurt at all? Did they touch you?" She shakes her head
again, but as I lightly, experimentally lift her chin, her eyes
meet mine. I keep my voice as low and soothing as possible.

"Can you talk to me?" At her nod, I continue. "Okay, Scully,
that's good. Let's go sit down and we can talk, all right?" She
trembles yet again, but doesn't protest. I manage to put her arms
through the sleeves of my shirt, dressing her almost like a doll.
She looks almost like a doll, tiny and fragile in the oversized
garment. I guide her over to the bed, not at all certain that she
can remain standing for long. Once she's seated I crouch down
before her, letting her choose to look at me or not. "If you can,
Scully, please tell me what happened to you."

She is still trembling. "I don't remember it all. I woke up and
you weren't there. There were men there. I didn't recognize them.
They..." her voice trails off. I squeeze her hands gently and she
continues. "They...they gave me some injections, and they kept
talking to me. They were...they were inside my head. Oh, Mulder,
I was so scared!"

Her admission of fear is the clearest sign yet that something is
terribly wrong. I give her hands another reassuring squeeze,
trying to stay calm for her sake, and murmur gently, "I know you
were, Scully, it's okay. What did they give you?"

Her head lolls a bit and she goes on. "They said they were
experimenting with a drug to make subjects..." another shiver
"...receptive to orders. God, Mulder, they kept talking to me and
talking to me and I couldn't move and I couldn't get away!"

I'm shaking too now, and wondering how much further to push her,
but I need to know and she seems to be all right if I keep
talking to her. "You're doing so well, Scully. Keep going. What
were they saying to you?"

She finally looks directly at me, and I notice that her pupils
are dilated and her face is flushed. Concerned, I touch her face
again and she moans softly, rubbing her cheek against my hand.
"They said...mmm...they said they were giving me to you...oh,
Mulder, please!"

Flushed face, a gift, "behavior modification," and drugs--the
pieces fall together with chilling precision. "Scully, do you
mean they're giving you to me...sexually?" She nods, and now I
can identify the look in her eyes: anger, some fear, but overall
something I see from Scully only in my dreams: naked desire. I
clamp down ruthlessly on the automatic response it evokes from
me. "Scully, please, tell me exactly what they told you to do."

The added firmness in my voice seems to do the trick. She takes a
deep breath and responds clearly and steadily. "They said that I
have to have sex with you, Mulder, and I have to do whatever you
tell me. I *want* to do whatever you tell me. I'm supposed to
pleasure you, and I'm so excited, Mulder, I'll do anything you
want. They said I have to obey you to be satisfied. Please, tell
me what you want."

Rage eclipses the lust that sprang up at her first revelation.
Twenty-four hours in a locked cabin stocked to meet all our
needs--with Scully completing the collection of sex toys. Why the
hell are they doing this to us? I turn my eyes back to Scully,
who is still gazing at me with her lips parted and her breathing
rapid and shallow. Studiously ignoring my own arousal, I try to
gather all the information that I can.

"Scully, do you think this will wear off when the drugs are out
of your system?" She nods and waits expectantly for my next
question. I'm guessing this compound isn't going to be found in
the Physician's Desk Reference, but perhaps she has an idea if it
might have other effects. "Do you think you are in any danger
from the drugs?" A negative shake. Makes sense--whatever they're
developing this drug for, they probably want fully operational
puppets. I can only come up with one other question. "Scully,
what happens if you don't, um, obey a command?"

She tilts her head, and I can see the side of her that isn't
overcome by the drugs pondering the question. Finally, she shakes
her head again. "I don't know."

Well, there's one way to find out. After a moment's thought, I
stand and back away from the bed about ten feet. Keeping my eyes
on hers and using the firm voice that she responded to before, I
order, "Scully, come over here."

Her body jerks upward before she checks herself. She nods
slightly, acknowledging that I have given her the choice to test
this control placed upon her. She grips the edge of the bed and
remains seated, her eyes still locked on mine. After a few
moments, she starts to tremble. Her eyes close, her head falls
back, and she begins to whimper softly. She lifts her eyes to
mine again, her face an open study in need, and I see submission
in her eyes the instant she gives in to my command.

But when she tries to stand, her body doesn't obey her. Shock
crosses her face as she strains forward, to no avail. It is clear
that her desire is still growing. Glancing down her body, I see
that her chest is flushed and her legs are parted before I tear
my eyes back up to her face. She's moaning aloud now, her body
beginning to writhe and desperation on her features. She looks at
me pleadingly, but I have no idea what to do. Gasping, she forces
the words from her mouth.

"Mulder," she begs, "please let me come to you."

What the hell did they do to her? There's nothing for me to do
but repeat my demand that she approach me. Something indefinable
flashes across her face before she leaps up and comes to stand in
front of me, almost touching me. I expect her to calm down, but
she doesn't. Her moans are constant now, I can smell her
desperate arousal, and her eyes are pleading for something
unknown to me. Well, so far she's been able to tell me what she
needs, so I ask.

Her response is nearly incoherent, punctuated by gasps and even
little yelps of desire. "Please...oh! please don't punish me
more! Just let me, Mulder...oh, God!"

Baffled, I cup her cheek in the gesture that comforts us both and
try to ease her distress. "It's okay, Scully, go ahead. It's
okay."

At once I see what I have given her permission to do. She goes
stiff for a moment and her voice chokes off, her lips still
parted in her frantic pleas. Then a sound emerges that I
recognize at once, although it has been a long time since I heard
it live. As I watch in amazement her chest flushes scarlet, her
body shudders rhythmically, and her voice returns in the
unmistakable moans of a woman in orgasm. Through it all her gaze
remains helplessly on my face, and with a sinking feeling I see
shame mingled with the ecstasy of release. Without warning she
begins to collapse. I catch her clumsily, only to rouse a shriek
from her as she bumps again my erection. I carry her back to the
bed and hold her on my lap until she calms.

"Scully, what happened?"

She keeps her face tucked into my shoulder as she responds. "I
was able to control the urge to go to you for a little bit. But
that was all I could think about, and I kept getting so excited
that finally I had to do it, but then I couldn't. All I wanted in
the world was to walk over to you, and I couldn't without your
permission."

For a moment I just hold her and inhale the scent of her shampoo.
"What happened then?"

She shifts a bit. "The desire got so intense that I thought I
would do anything you asked, if you'd just let me come to you.
Anything, Mulder. It's funny..." Her voice trails off.

"Go on."

She heaves another breath. "I felt like I'd have to earn the
privilege of approaching you after I'd disobeyed you. When you
ordered me again there was no thought of disobeying, but part of
me was disappointed, I guess, that I didn't have to show you how
sorry I was. Then when I reached you I felt so *good,* but not
satisfied. The need kept building and building and I didn't know
what to do. Couldn't do anything, because you hadn't told me to.
You know the rest."

The rest being that she'd begged for release and come on my
command, without anything more than a touch on her face. I rock
her gently and mull over what we've discovered. Clearly more had
been done to Scully than the injection of some unknown chemical.
In the time she was missing she must have undergone some
psychological conditioning as well. The implications are obvious:
Scully is my gift, mine to do with as I please until the drugs
wear off.

What is the point of the conditioning that our little experiment
just revealed? Unbidden, my mind flits to the possibilities.
Scully writhing mindlessly beneath me, climaxing repeatedly at my
command. Scully on her knees before me, all resistance gone, her
pleas for her own satisfaction muffled as she eagerly works me
with her mouth. My mind recoils from other, darker thoughts of
Scully begging to do what she had initially resisted, frantically
aroused by an act that she had wanted to refuse. With the
accoutrements I found in the dresser, I could act out every
fantasy imaginable with a partner as willing or unwilling as each
scenario demanded.

That, clearly, is the point. Someone assumed, no doubt based on
his own proclivities, that given the opportunity I would use
Scully however I wanted--and that the next morning, violated and
repulsed, she would leave me for good. That explains why her body
remained untouched while she was in their control: at the end of
the weekend, the only one who hurt her was supposed to be me.
Fury wells up in me, each thought bringing a fresh wave of rage.
How dare they violate Scully like this? How dare they pollute a
dream that I finally hoped to realize? At that thought, my mouth
goes dry. I don't know what happened to me in their custody. Was
I also drugged, and did I reveal my desires for Scully? Was this
my fault? On the heels of that thought comes another rush of
anger. If they truly believe that I would use this opportunity
to subjugate or humiliate Scully, they have misread me badly. It
wouldn't be the first time, but still I'm pissed.

I turn my attention back to Scully, still nestled in my arms:
that in itself testimony to how deeply the drugs are affecting
her. We need a plan.

"Scully?"

"Mm-hmm?" She looks up at me.

Stroking her hair, I murmur, "We need to decide what to do."
When she merely continues to look at me, I ask, "How do you
feel?"

Her gaze is direct, but the intelligence, reserve, and compassion
that are the essence of Scully aren't there. "I'm ready to do
what you want."

I realize that her lucidity of a moment ago is gone, and that she
is waiting for me to make use of her as our "host" has planned.
On her own she isn't going to come up with another idea, but if I
push in the right directions, perhaps she can help me find a
solution.

"We need to find a way out of this, all right?" Her gaze
sharpens, and I can see her try to regain control of herself. "I
want you to set aside what they told you. You're not here to"--my
voice cracks--"pleasure me. You don't have to obey me."

That solution seems too obvious, and my hopes for it are dashed
when she stiffens and something akin to terror crosses her face.
"You don't want me?" she squeaks, shaking violently. She begins
to hyperventilate, gasping out, "No, Mulder, please, I'll be
good! Please, I need it, I need you to fuck me, I need you to use
me!"

Horrified, I cover her mouth before she says more. My reaction
startles me--I've never manhandled Scully--but she actually
relaxes just a bit, perhaps because I've reasserted dominance
over her. Clearly they planned for this contingency, and her
staring, frightened eyes are tearing at my heart. "Okay, then,
Scully, okay. Calm down. It's all right. Relax." All tension
floods from her body the moment I finish speaking, and she is
looking at me with dreamy expectation again.

I modify my approach. "Scully, I want you to do something for
me." She looks at me hopefully. "I want you to take all that
desire and need and obedience, and I just want you to put it
aside for a couple minutes." At the flash of panic on her face, I
move to counteract it. "Do as I tell you, Scully. Just for a
couple minutes. Just set aside what they told you, and be who you
were yesterday morning. Can you do that for me?" She nods
experimentally, and her eyes focus. "That's good. Now tell me how
you feel."

For the first time since she entered the room, I'm really talking
to Scully. "I'm still really turned on, but I can handle it.
God, Mulder, I'm so ashamed."

"No!" I reply, more harshly than I'd intended. "This isn't your
fault, Scully. Don't be ashamed." I didn't mean it as a command
but she takes it as such. Her face relaxes marginally and she
nods. I gentle my voice again. I need more information, and now
is no time for delicacy. "Did they specify sex? Or can you please
me by ironing my shirts?"

She's alert enough to give me the look that comment deserved,
then shakes her head. "Sex, Mulder. They said...I can't even
think about anything else."

"Scully, you know we're being manipulated here. I don't want to
take advantage of you. This is wrong."

"I don't think there's a choice. The panic attack I had a minute
ago"—-she shudders--"there's more." She clutches my hands.
"Please, that was worse than anything you would do to me." Her
mood shifts, and she squirms. "I want you to fuck me so bad,
Mulder, I can't think. Tell me what you want."

It's still jarring to hear those words from her mouth, but now I
know how to soothe her anxiety. "A few more minutes, Scully. Do
as you're told." She nods again, and as my eyes follow the sweep
of her hair down, I see the peaks of her nipples standing proudly
beneath my shirt. In a flash of insight, I realize that from the
moment she entered the cabin, each command I have given her has
evoked an immediate, erotic response.

Her eyes may be clear for the moment, but mine have just gone
glassy. "Scully, I have to tell you, this is affecting me. God,
I'm trying to control myself, but I don't know what's going to
happen or what you'll need..."

Fortunately, her reason still has the upper hand. "It's all
right, Mulder, I trust you. I think we have to do this."

Well. So. It looks like I'll get my romantic weekend in the
mountains with Scully after all. I can do this: she needs me.
I'll be gentle, considerate, and maybe it won't all go to hell
tomorrow. Right.

Choking back bile, I sit with her for just a moment, holding her,
trying to make one peaceful memory for her before it all falls
apart. Then, tentatively as a teenager in the back seat of a
Buick on prom night, I lift my hand to cup her breast.

She shifts her head on my shoulder and gives a contented sigh. I
begin to stroke her through the fabric of the shirt, running my
palm over her stiffened nipple. She arches her back to press her
breast more firmly into my hand. The movement lifts her head from
my shoulder and I can't resist kissing the smooth column of her
neck. Then I shift her from my lap and lay her on the bed,
kneeling beside her. My former plans for the weekend now seem
ludicrous. How could I have hoped for this? She is too beautiful
for me to touch.

I can't stop staring at her, trying to memorize every curve,
every shadow. But her restless movements tell me that she wants
more. I part the shirt and bring my hands back to her breasts,
squeezing the nipples gently, touching her with all the reverence
that she deserves. She shifts again.

"Scully, you're so beautiful." I lie on my side next to her,
keeping one hand busy on her breast. "Is this all right?"

Her eyes are half-closed, her voice a thready whisper. "More."

More. I can do more. I slide my hand from her breast to her
sternum. I'm fascinated by the motion of my hand down the line of
her body, unable to believe that I can touch her like this. Down
the smooth skin of her abdomen, down past her navel, over the
wiry curls of her mons until I reach her hot, soft labia.

This is going to change everything between us. I hold her eyes
with my own, trying to show her the love I'd wanted to express to
her, as my fingers slowly part her folds. She is wet, very wet,
and I moan with her as I slip my finger carefully into her
vagina. My cock throbs as I nibble at her neck again and move my
wet finger up to stroke her clit.

Her eyes are fully closed now, and her breasts bob as her hips
undulate with her movements. I prop myself at her side with my
free arm. Unable to resist, I lean forward and kiss her breast,
moving down to her nipple. She moans gently, so I draw the nipple
into my mouth, stroking it with my tongue. I'm lost in her, in
the flavor of her skin, the pebbled texture of her nipple, the
clinging heat as I slide my finger into her body again. Sucking
harder, I realize I am becoming dangerously aroused myself,
grinding my cock into...Oh, God, into her leg! I'm pulsing my
hips in time with hers, rubbing against her firm thigh. I pull my
hips back and suddenly worry-lines appear on her forehead.

"Scully, what is it? Is this too much?"

She shakes her head, a few sweat-dampened strands of hair
clinging to her forehead. She's panting now. "Supposed...oh...I'm
supposed to please *you*."

Those bastards didn't miss a thing, did they? I'm surprised that
any of them has the humanity left to think of the finer details
of sexual submission. Well, she can damn well please me by
enjoying this.

Careful not to show my anger to her, I put my lips back to her
ear. "Hush, don't think. Just feel my hands and lips on your
body. This is what I want to do." I swear I feel her get wetter
as I speak the words. I have to think of something besides my own
need, so I focus on winding her up even more. My hand plays with
her until I find just the motion that she likes on her clit. Her
eyes close again as a long groan escapes her. I bring my mouth
back into the act, finding that in counterpoint to the light
circles on her clit, she likes pressure on her nipples.

Her hips start to pump frantically as I worry her right nipple
with my teeth. It won't be long now, I think desperately. But she
keeps going, building to climax but not reaching it. A sharp nip
of my teeth brings a soft scream and she loses her rhythm for a
few seconds, but then goes on unsatisfied. I slow my hand and
lift my head. She's staring at the ceiling, beginning to gasp.
Sensing my gaze she turns to look at me, wearing the same
expression that she did when pleading to be allowed to come. I
curse myself for not realizing that sooner. The point is to force
me to dominate Scully--what better way than to let her orgasm
only on command?

Her brow furrows and I realize she thinks I am angry with her. I
smile to reassure her. "You've been so good, Scully." Another
gush of wetness between her legs. "But you're getting tired?"

She nods. "Please, Mulder." Her eyes are becoming desperate. I
have to make that go away.

"Shh, shh, relax a little." I slow down even more and soothe her
with my voice until her brow clears. "That's good. Just feel. I
want you to feel wonderful." Her eyes don't waver from mine as I
speed my hand up again. "That's right. You're doing fine." I coax
her along with my voice and hand until we're back at a rapid
pace. "Are you ready?" There's no doubt that she is. "Then come
for me. Come now!"

It is all I can do to control myself at the sight of her in
climax. Her back arches, emphasizing her tight breasts, her hips
move arhythmically as she brings herself off against my hand, and
keening cries emerge from her throat in time with the spasms I
can feel. The orgasm seems to go on a long time, but I keep my
hand there for as long as she rubs herself against it, until she
slows and finally stops. She gives me a dazed, sated smile and I
stroke her forehead, not recalling until it is too late that that
hand is still damp with her fluids. She's too far gone to care,
though. Her eyes close as I gather her close, comforting myself
with the soft weight of her body.

********************

As Scully sleeps I think, willing my throbbing erection to
subside. I know of another way to get rid of it, but the signals
Scully has been giving off make me afraid that sooner or later
her conditioning will force the issue of me having sex with her.
So I ruminate over what I've learned about what was done to her.

It is clear that Scully feels compelled to service me sexually.
What I don't know is how long that need will last or how far it
extends. The thought of simply receiving pleasure seemed to
induce anxiety, and I want above all else to avoid another panic
attack like the one instigated by my effort to free her of the
demands placed upon her. It is also clear that she became
intensely aroused by following my commands, and responded to my
voice as much as to my touch. But I had also observed that if she
was excited enough, she would forget what she was supposed to be
doing to me.

I think I can use that, and it shouldn't be too difficult.
Except for one stupid, desperate fuck when Scully was missing,
I've always prided myself on being attentive to my sexual
partner's needs. If I enjoy satisfying a casual lover, how much
more could I do for her?

Squelching those thoughts, I chastise myself for thinking of
Scully as a lover. No matter how badly I want it, that isn't
what's happening here. The rational side of my brain isn't having
much luck convincing the inner caveman of that, though. No
matter how I try to keep my mind off it, I keep coming back to
the image of her writhing in orgasm.

As I savor the memory my lips form the words again: "Scully, come
for me." I'm stunned when her sleeping body jerks and she grunts
softly. Did I say that aloud? She turns her head to me, awake
now. Her face is calm; her body shows none of the obvious signs
of arousal indicating her need earlier. I back up a bit so that I
am not touching her at all. Experimentally, quietly, I repeat,
"Scully, come for me." Her eyes flutter closed and she whimpers
lightly, her hips moving gently. As I stare, her eyes open again
and she looks to me for further commands. I have none.

"It's okay," I tell her. "You can go back to sleep." She frowns
and her eyes flick to my prominent erection, convinced that it is
her responsibility. I make my voice firmer. "I'm planning what to
do with you. You'll know when I'm ready." Her nipples, soft after
her previous orgasm, tighten again and she wriggles in
anticipation.

I can't handle this yet. "You'll need your rest. Go back to sleep
now." Her eyes shut again and she begins breathing evenly, but
her beautiful breasts still show her excitement. I put my lips to
her ear. "Deeper, Scully. You can wake up when you feel more
refreshed." Her body relaxes entirely and I see her eyelids
twitching with the signs of REM sleep.

I stand up and move away from her, amazed at what complete
control I have over her body and appalled at how quickly I've
come to abuse it. Suddenly this trap that was laid for me seems
less avoidable. Nothing would make me bind Scully with the cuffs
I found in the drawer or penetrate her yielding body with the
implements lying next to them, but is what I just did to her any
different?

I look at my watch. It's late afternoon and we won't be released,
if our captor told the truth, until around noon tomorrow. Twenty
hours with Scully's desperate need inciting my own. Will I be
able to resist the growing urge to push myself into her, and once
I'm there in her beautiful, helpless, pliant body, will I be able
to control myself? I imagine how her orgasm would feel around my
aching cock. Would I be able to stop myself from demanding it of
her again and again, knowing how badly she wants it?

I shove those thoughts away violently. I will *not* abuse her
vulnerability, her terrible susceptibility to suggestion.

Her susceptibility...I muse over her complete acceptance of my
commands. Maybe there is a way to turn that to our advantage.

Luckily Scully sleeps for nearly two hours. When she wakes, I
have a plan.

********************

When Scully rouses she rolls her head toward me. Instead of the
satisfied expression I was hoping for, she looks anxious but
intent. I remember she sometimes wore that face very early in our
partnership, never in the field but sometimes back in the motel
after we'd closed a case, and only when she was too focused on
her laptop to notice I was watching her. She sometimes looked
that way when she was preparing to begin a report that needed to
explain one of our more fantastic experiences in a way that
reflected well on our work but also met the expectations of those
who were going to read it. It was the look that said she wasn't
sure she could successfully accomplish an unpleasant task, but
that no Scully has ever shirked a duty.

I don't think it's a good thing that she's wearing it now.

Her hands go to my belt buckle, which instantly causes me to lose
all higher brain functions. She has the buckle unfastened by the
time I catch her hands and pull them away.

"Scully, stop!"

Rather than showing relief, her expression simply becomes more
anxious. "Don't you want me?"

I lift her limp hands to my lips and press a kiss to them. Then I
duck the question. "That was beautiful, Scully. *You* were
beautiful."

She is not soothed. I'm learning to recognize her signs of
distress, and I try to head off another panic attack. "You've
done very well." That relaxes her face a bit. I urge her to sit
up. "Now you need to do something else for me, what you did
before. Just put it aside all your need for a minute and talk to
me."

"Okay," she murmurs, "but it's getting worse."

My stomach sinks at that. "I need to know how you're doing,
Scully. Was that all right? Was it what you needed?"

She shakes her head. "I need to..."

"Don't be embarrassed. Tell me."

She can't resist the direct command. I know I'm exploiting her
condition, but I don't see a way around it. I'm not willing to
stumble into another pitfall like the one we already discovered.

The part of her that is still Scully must be raging against her
answer. "I need to ensure your gratification."

I burn as I think of some faceless stranger, posturing in a
goddamned lab coat, implanting those things in her fiercely
independent mind. "Do you think that what you did for me wasn't
enough?" She nods. "It was, you know. It was more than I ever
dreamed of to touch you like that."

No go. She's becoming agitated again, and I recall what she said
earlier: "I need you to use me." Of course. I'm trying to make
this the weekend that I had hoped for, but that isn't in the
cards. The conditioning she suffered is stronger than my weak
romanticism. She doesn't want softness and seduction and the
worship that she deserves. She wants demands and domination.

Asking her to make decisions has only upset her, but this is one
step I can't take for her. I grasp her face in my hands.
"Scully, I need you to keep it together for just a few more
minutes."

That fretful look returns, but I'm prepared to deal with it now.
While she was sleeping I realized that the firmer I was with her,
the more at ease she was--not just her sexual responses, but also
her freedom from the anxiety that's lurking just beneath the
surface. Much as I hate to follow even this much of our captors'
plans, I can do it if it will contain her distress.

I put some starch into my voice, but carefully avoid a direct
command. "Scully, listen to me. I need to be sure you understand
where this is going to lead. This means that we're going to do
things we've never talked about, and I can't do that. What
you're telling me is that we're going to...make love. You can't
possibly consent to that right now."

I think that shame colors her face more than lust, but she gives
me the same answer she did when I tried to avoid this before. "I
don't think there is a choice. I want it so badly I can't stand
it. God, Mulder, I'm so sorry, but please, make love to me."

"Don't be sorry, Scully. This isn't your fault. Do you
understand?" She relaxes, but I can't keep inflicting on her the
anxiety that drawing this out is causing. There is no escaping
the basic plan, that I am going to perform sex acts with a
partner who cannot consent to them, but I can try to minimize the
damage. It's time to test my solution.

I lock my eyes on hers. "Scully, I'm going to try to give you
what you need now, but I want you to understand. Nothing that we
do is intended to demean you, or hurt you, or punish you. I just
want to make sure that we both get out of here okay."

She nods. The sick feeling in my gut has been assuaged a little,
but I don't kid myself. This isn't consent. At least, however, I
can try to give her some control over what's going to happen, and
to avoid pushing her into something she finds abhorrent.

"You're doing very well. One more question, and then you can let
go." The wild lust is creeping into her eyes again, but she
patiently awaits my question. "Is there anything that you don't
want to do? Is there anything that you don't like, that would
upset you in the morning?"

She pauses to consider. The answers I anticipate are born from
too many movies, I guess. I'm expecting "don't make me go down on
you," or perhaps the hooker-movie classic, "don't ask me to kiss
you." So her response is initially a surprise, but makes complete
sense for Scully. "You can touch me however you want, Mulder.
Just--I just don't want you to hear me saying those things."

"Scully, you don't have to say anything you don't want to." She
looks up at me sadly, and I realize that she's hardly capable of
sorting her words under these circumstances. "Do you want me to
order you not to speak at all?" She nods decisively, but she's
starting to shake again. For the rest of our captivity it is my
role to make decisions, not hers.

I make one last effort to protect her from the worst of what
could happen here. "It's very important that you remember this,
Scully. If you get scared at any point, if what we do upsets you,
give my hand two hard squeezes and I'll stop, okay?" I can't
believe that I'm giving Dana Scully a safe-signal, and we haven't
even kissed yet. Nor will we here. That's an intimacy I'll save
until she's ready to give it.

I am relieved when she nods; apparently that's a trick that
slipped under their radar. "All right. Is there anything else I
need to know?" She shakes her head, her face once again void of
anything but need. At least the trepidation in her eyes is gone.

The reprieve is over, but I have concocted a plan that I think
will work. I've been putting together every bit of information
that I've gleaned since this whole bizarre encounter began and
found two things that I might be able to manipulate: first, while
Scully feels compelled to service me sexually, I am to decide how
that is to be done, and second, she is as aroused by commands as
by touch, if not more so. I guess that orgasmic obedience would
do it for men who plot world conquest in smoky rooms, but
domination has never been my particular kink. I'm still seething
at how badly they've misread me, but I think that I can turn that
to our advantage.

See, they knew that the only way I would take her body like this
is if they convinced her mind that she needed it. But I'm pretty
sure that the conditioning they tried to implant will allow me to
trick her into thinking that she's giving me what they want. The
question is: what will it take to pull that off?

Time to find out.

The key, I know, is going to be that tone of command that she
responds to. I've never been much good at giving or receiving
commands, so I'm at a bit of a loss. Casting about for
inspiration, my mind calls up Skinner in full "I don't take this
shit from you, Mulder" mode.

I push the image away with a shudder. I *never* want to have that
thought in this context again. If this context ever happens
again.

I'll just improvise.

"All right, then, Scully. Close your eyes now. I don't want you
to talk. Just listen and feel. All that matters is my voice and
touch." She shuts her eyes obediently, but she's sitting ramrod
straight and tense. I try to make it easier for her.

"Relax, Scully. It's going to be all right. Tomorrow you'll be
yourself again, strong and in control, but tonight you're going
to lay that aside and do as I tell you. You don't have to think
anymore." The next part is sawdust in my mouth, but she needs to
hear it. "You're mine now, baby." Yes, that's much better than
using her name, and from her soft moan she thinks so too. "I'm
going to do whatever I want with you."

I take another minute to collect my thoughts and to prepare to
say things that I never imagined saying to Scully.

"I love to look at your body. Your breasts are so pretty-—I could
play with them for hours. I'm going to start touching them
lightly, like this..." As my voice trails off her nipples crinkle
up in response. I catch my breath--this might work. "Do you like
that?" She nods eagerly, so I up the verbal pressure, keeping one
hand joined with hers and the other in my lap. "I'm squeezing
your nipples harder now, rolling them between my fingers. I know
that you love it. You love me playing with them."

She's flushing and panting now, so I test the point upon which my
plan rests. Is her vulnerability to command so great that she
will believe what I tell her in spite of evidence to the
contrary?

I lower the pitch of my voice. "I'm using my mouth on you now.
I'm sucking your right nipple into my mouth." She looks puzzled,
as if deep in her mind she realizes that I can't be doing that
and talking to her at the same time. I add a little sensation to
tip the balance to what I want her to believe, touching her for
the first time and pinching the nipple in question. "My teeth are
on you now. It's making you more excited." Her face relaxes but
still shows some confusion, even as her breathing deepens. I play
my last card. "You're excited, baby, because you know that your
body is mine to play with. I'm going to work you up until you
come just from me playing with your gorgeous breasts."

That was the magic phrase. She surrenders totally to me, lost in
the spell I'm weaving around her, feeling only what I tell her.
She doesn't even notice that I'm still holding one of her hands,
but at my last sentence she got that needy look that I'm coming
to know very well. I go back to my script, pushing aside the
mental image of Svengali as a phone-sex operator.

"You're doing great, baby. Just what I need to get warmed up.
I'm going to have so much fun with you. Your nipples are aching
now; very soon you're going to have an orgasm just from me
touching them. Have you ever felt that before?"

She shakes her head. I haven't made anyone feel that either. I
think it's a myth, but what matters is that she thinks it's
possible right now. She's making odd sounds in the back of her
throat, her lips tightly sealed, and I remember that I enjoined
her to silence. I tell myself that I need some signs from her to
gauge how she feels, but deep inside I really want to hear her
moan.

"You can make noise if you want to. You can moan, or scream, or
gasp--you just can't talk, okay?" Her loud moan is my answer. I
slide my hand from hers, laying her hand on my forearm so that I
can use both my hands. "Remember that if you get scared, squeeze
twice, and I'll stop, okay?" Her head dips into a nod but stays
down as her body is overcome by another false sensation that her
brain sends when I squeeze both nipples. Time to bring this
inning to a close.

"You feel so excited, baby, so turned on. You feel every last bit
of that need in your pretty, pink nipples." Frankly, I want to
see what happens now. "I'm sucking on them harder now, baby. You
feel your orgasm coming. It's building now, sweetheart, very
close. You don't need to be told--you'll know when it happens."

I stop my patter, curious whether her addled brain can finish her
off. She is arching her back to thrust her breasts toward me,
making little cries as I squeeze them. I pick up the pace and the
pressure a little bit, until her posture tells me that she's
reached the plateau. I pause for a moment, and when she pulls in
a ragged breath, I pinch hard.

This time she screams. I squeeze and release, squeeze and
release, imitating vaginal contractions. I don't know how her
brain is processing this, but her cries ebb and fall in response
to the pressure. It's a real orgasm, stronger than the two my
little experiments produced as she slept. As I ease off her gasps
become softer until she finally slumps back bonelessly on the
bed.
 

********************

Sooner than I'd expected she rouses, and I encourage her to sit
up. I'm pretty confident now that my plan will work, but I want
first to be sure that her other needs are met.

"Do you feel all right?"

She nods, then pouts as I pull my shirt closed around her and
button it. I will not take advantage of her more than I have to.
I tell her to go into the bathroom and refresh herself however
she needs, using the time to pull some cheese, fruit, and bread
from the refrigerator. When she returns I sit down with her at
the breakfast bar and tell her to eat or drink whatever she
wants. She handles that autonomy all right, appearing to dine
normally, but she's becoming restless by the time we finish. I
abandon my hopes of using the meal as a further delaying tactic.

After we eat, I give her a couple pointless directions: I have
her wash up again and ask her to hand me things as I clean up
after our meal. She's squirming by the time we're done, becoming
excited more quickly than she had previously. I wonder again at
what she was given; an injected drug normally won't last as long
as our captivity is supposed to. It's possible that she was made
to swallow some in a time-release capsule. I hope that the effect
is peaking rather than growing, but either way I need to get
started on the next round. I think quickly as she sits on the
chair next to me, swinging her legs idly and watching my face.

What's key to my plan is my speculation that her responses aren't
solely a result of the intervention of our captors. The time that
they had her was an eternity for me, but I think too brief to
have implanted such a complete system of needs and responses in
her. While I have no doubt that everything she repeated to me
came from them, I suspect that their plan happened to tap into
fantasies that Scully herself harbors, and that is what allows
her to be wholly consumed by this scenario.

I don't know where their programming ends and her fantasies
begin, and that bothers me. It reminds me that Scully's kept so
much hidden from me even after all the time we've known each
other--not that I would expect her to share her sexual fantasies,
but I want to know all of her, not just the face that she shows
professionally. But what's more important right now is that I
don't want to make love to Scully by someone else's script. So
I'm going to watch every hint, every clue, every nuance that
tells me what *she* likes, what features in her dreams and makes
her melt in her fantasies.

The problem is that the deeper I delve into her world, the more
consumed I become with my supposed role in this. I can reject the
sexual encounter that our captors planned without a second
thought, but by playing into her fantasies I'm afraid I'll get so
caught up that I'll forget to protect her from myself, and that
just isn't an option. Looking at her open, trusting face, I
resolve that this isn't going to be about getting me off. This is
about making sure that Dana Scully experiences the full capacity
for sexual bliss that her altered state seems to have given her.

I send her over to the bed and join her after a concerted but
futile effort to bring my own body under control. When I approach
her she stares pointedly at my erection, but now I know how to
circumvent her need to serve me. All I have to do is take charge,
to make her think that I plan to control when and how she pleases
me.

"I've been savoring the pleasure, sweetheart. A man my age has to
pace himself. Are you ready for me now?" She nods eagerly. Time
for round two. I pull her to her feet none too gently, stand
behind her, and put my lips to her ear.

"This is the main event, baby. I'm going to drive you crazy, I'm
going to make you come again and again, and I'm going to sate
myself on your beautiful body." I run my hands down her sides and
back up again, ending with my hands lightly cupping her breasts.
She eagerly arches her back. I start flicking her nipples and she
gasps. I keep pouring the words into her yielding brain, trying
to walk the line between dominating her and demeaning her, all
the while pinching and rolling her nipples.

"This little body belongs to me. It responds to my every command,
it meets my every need, and that makes you feel so good. You
feel safe, sweetheart, you feel cherished and desired and
beautiful. You're going to feel so satisfied when I'm done with
you, because you are going to obey me without thought. You'll
know that you pleased me because you didn't have any choice."

She's moaning now, struggling to hold her head up. Her hands rub
up and down my outer thighs. As my own hands make another pass
over her body, I realize that there is no way I'll be able to
control myself for another session. Better make a quick
modification to the plan.

"You're doing very well, baby. I want you to just think for a few
minutes. Imagine what's going to happen to you; visualize what
I'm going to do to you. Think about every detail: every touch,
every squeeze, every kiss."

The instant she seems lost in her thoughts I rush to the small
bathroom, unzip my pants, and start to take care of my problem.
Try as I might to focus on *any* image other than Scully, I
can't. I come with a few hard strokes and the picture of her
orgasmic face burned into my retinas.

When I clean myself up and return to the main room, I find that
Scully has not been inactive in my absence. She's discarded the
shirt that she's worn, however loosely, throughout this ordeal,
and she's lying face-down on the bed, her hands clutching the
rungs of the headboard and her legs spread wide. I'm treated to
the unforgettable sight of her muscles flexing as she thrusts her
hips down, retreats, and thrusts again, her back arching to give
a remarkable view of her lush buttocks.

I'd always speculated that Scully's sexual repertoire would be
varied and uninhibited. This confirmation of my suspicions brings
back the fantasies I'd created when planning this weekend, and I
feel a new stirring in my cock.

I sit on the bed next to her. As my weight presses down the
mattress she turns her face in my direction and sighs happily.
Her movements slow as I run my hands over her silky skin. I'm so
lost in the feel of her that it is several moments before I
remember to speak.

"Were you thinking of me? Of what I'm going to do to you? Is that
what made you so turned on?" Her languid nod is both gratifying
and reassuring--I think that I've found how to give her what she
needs without taking advantage of her. Well, without taking
advantage of her too much. The pull of what I've wanted for so
long is too compelling to resist entirely, and I'm finding that
the more I spin these illusions for her, the more caught up in
them I become.

I watch her alabaster body still making those sinuous movements.
"Poetry in motion" is a much-overused cliche, but Scully's body
truly is. Each feature is its own verse: her toned legs, her
supple arms, her magnificent ass--I tend to be a breast man, but
Scully's ass could convert me. But the point is that anyone can
write a pretty verse or two, but only a poet can craft them into
something that both pleases the ear and stirs the soul. Scully's
body truly is a poem. Each of her features is lovely, but it is
her fierce yet contained spirit that melds them into a form that
is beautiful whether she's wielding a scalpel, taking aim with a
gun, bending over a computer, or writhing naked in my bed.

No! Not in my bed. Maybe someday, if I don't screw this up, she
will be and I can whisper those words into her ear and hear her
respond in kind. But now is time for a seduction of a darker
sort.

I run both hands over her shoulders before tracing the curve of
her waist and moving on down to stroke her thighs. Then, lying on
my side next to her, I place my left hand over hers while I draw
circles on her inner thighs with my right, and lean in to speak
to her again.

"I'm going to take you now, sweetheart. I'm going to make love to
you long and hard, for as long as I want." She wriggles happily
and I move to reestablish our ground rules. "Remember that you
can make noise, but I don't want to hear you speak." Her neck
beckons to me and I break off to press open-mouthed kisses to it.
When she sighs I continue, punctuating my commands with caresses
as my hand inches higher up her thigh.

"Show me what you are supposed to do if you get frightened." She
gives my hand two firm squeezes. I reward her by running my
fingers along the wet cleft between her legs. "That's very good.
I want you to do that if you become upset, or if anything hurts."
I don't even want to think about what twisted thing they might
have told her about having pain inflicted on her, so I move to
counter it. "You belong to me now, and I take care of what's
mine."

Her lips curve into a smile as I probe between her legs. I stroke
her clit in the motion she liked before, then slide two fingers
back to her vagina. She lifts her hips to invite me into her damp
heat. She's doing beautifully.

Remembering that praise seemed to turn her on before, I try
again. "That's very good, sweetheart. I'm proud of you." That
evokes a sharp moan and even more wetness. "Yeah, you've been a
good girl," yields the most erotic shudder I have ever seen.

My poor Scully. Has praise been so rare in your life that you
crave it even now? Or did you decide that wanting approval was a
weakness, and tamped down your need for it until it became a
forbidden pleasure? Either way, I'm glad for it right now,
because I can excite you with praise rather than punishment.

"Close your eyes now. I don't want you to think of anything but
my voice and my touch." I withdraw from her body to heighten the
next illusion as her eyes flutter and close.

"You're very excited now, baby. You want me inside you so
badly..." I let her squirm for a moment before continuing.
"Yeah, I think you're ready for me now. You can feel me pushing
into you"--I press two fingers slowly into her--"you can feel me
filling you"--I begin thrusting gently but firmly--"and you can
feel me moving in and out of you. I'm going to use your pretty
body until I come, and you are going to love every second of it."

I fall silent as she writhes and moans, letting her mind do the
work. For long moments the only sounds are her sweet sighs and
gasps and the wet sounds of my fingers fucking her. I keep the
pace steady and deliberate, mentally trying to calculate how long
this should go on. I don't want to make her sore, but I also want
to show some staying power.

After a little more time passes I increase the speed of my
thrusts and the urgency of my whispers, preparing her for what I
hope will be even greater excitement. The last time I was in a
relationship that allowed for extended bouts of lovemaking and
leisurely explorations of lovers' bodies, the G-spot was not yet
making its regular appearance in women's magazines, so I need to
wing the next step.

I pause our movements long enough to lift her hips and place a
pillow under them, raising them to give me better access. Then I
carefully slide my fingers up the front wall of her vagina until
I find the slight rise in her flesh that indicates I've found the
right spot, and thrust hard.

Her back arches as she grunts, inviting me further in. I repeat
the action again and again, slowly at first but gradually
building speed. Her hips keep pace with my thrusts even as her
legs remain spread and her hands keep their place on the
headboard. In fact, she hasn't moved from that position since I
came out of the bathroom. I wonder if, in her mind, she's bound
there, restrained and offered up for my use.

That leads to another thought: Scully is expecting me to reach
orgasm this time as well. That poses a problem. I need to
convince her that she's satisfied me, and I don't quite know how
to do that. I ponder it as her cries grow more urgent. How do
women fake it when they're with other men?

The only thing to do is what has worked before: turn her focus so
deeply on herself that she isn't fully aware of what I'm doing.
I draw on everything I have learned about her so far.

"Do you like this, baby? Do you want to come?" She nods
frantically, making choked moans. Her whole body is tense now--
even her delicate toes have curled up. "I'm going to let you come
very soon. Do you know why?" She shakes her head. "Because I'm
going to come, and I want to feel you coming around me, squeezing
me. That's how I'm going to wring every last bit of pleasure from
your body. Do you understand?"

Only Scully could make a grunt sound so affirmative. Another
inspiration strikes me.

"If you make me feel good enough, I'll reward you. Would you like
that?" Yes, she would. "All right, then, sweetheart. I'm getting
very close. Just a little bit more"--a few more thrusts--"Come
now!"

She thrashes on the bed, sobbing aloud. I continue to thrust,
reveling in the feel of her inner muscles gently squeezing and
releasing my fingers.

She quiets slowly, her cries softening to sighs. I lower my body
down, letting some of my weight rest on her but carefully keeping
my fully recovered cock pressed to the mattress. She looks tired.
I stroke her shoulders as I try to guess at how much sleep she's
gotten in the past twenty-four hours, and how much our activity
has taken its toll on her. My chest puffs when I recall how many
orgasms she's had since she entered the room, but it's false
vanity. Skilled as I am and passionate as Scully may be, this has
to be the effects of the drugs, and while I want to wear her out
so that she'll sleep them off, I don't want to push her to
exhaustion.

Her eyes open at my urging and I brush her hair back from her
face. "Do you feel all right?" She nods, but she still looks
fatigued. "That was very good, sweetheart. You pleased me very
much, and I'm going to reward you, but I want you to rest first.
Okay?"

Not having been given any choice in the matter, she lets her eyes
drift closed. I indulge myself by running my hands over her body
again, trying to fix the sight of her nude form forever in my
memory. Then I stretch out next to her and, against all odds,
fall asleep myself.

********************

When I awaken about an hour later Scully has turned on her side.
Her face reminds me of a dozing cat: her eyes are slightly open
but she still seems to be dreaming. As I stir she comes fully
awake, looking up at me alertly. Catching my eye she gives me an
impish grin and stretches luxuriantly. She knows damn well, I'm
sure, that I can't keep my eyes from roaming down her body.

"Feeling pretty good about yourself, aren't you?" I stroke her
side in a proprietary manner. "You should. I'm very pleased with
you, and I'm going to reward you."

I tell her to get up and refresh herself in whatever way she
needs. When she returns I am sitting in the middle of the bed,
leaning against the headboard. She needs no coaxing to sit
between my legs with her back to my chest and the scent of her
hair just below my nose. This is it: I want to satisfy her so
deeply that she sleeps until morning.

"I'm going to reward you for being so good now, sweetheart. But
I'm going to play with you first. You're going to be more aroused
then you ever have been before."

Her smile fades to a languid curve of her lips as her muscles
relax into a loose, open pose that invites my touch. It's not my
touch she'll be getting just yet, though. I'm going to make sure
I get this one exactly right. I trace the lines of her delicate
collarbones, moving up to stroke her throat as I continue
speaking.

"You like being mine, don't you? It feels so sweet that your mind
and body yield to my every wish." When her body jerks I'm afraid
my last suggestion was too much, but a glance at her face not
only reassures me: it captivates me. She looks open, expectant,
enthralled. I watch her intently as I continue, gauging her
reaction to every stroke, every word.

"That's right. It's so good to let go, to submit to me." So far
I've carefully avoided using that word, not wanting to embrace
what was done to her, but she doesn't seem to mind--quite the
opposite. Her nipples are tight and erect again, but there's no
urgency on her face now. An expression of sublime peace smoothes
her features. Again her reaction seems too profound to be simply
a result of her violation at the hands of our captors. This, I'm
sure, is a secret, cherished fantasy of hers. I'm going to
fulfill it beyond anything she has imagined.

"You're doing so well now, baby. Keep listening to my voice. You
don't need to think. My words are your thoughts. You feel what I
say you feel. Every cell in your body is perfectly tuned to my
wishes, my commands."

I am humbled beyond measure by the bliss on her face. My Scully
has always been strong, so strong that she's never shown me the
slightest wish to lay aside the pains and burdens that have
fallen on her so heavily since she joined me, but sometimes they
must become too much. For at least a little while I'm going to
lift them all, to take the creature of pleasure that she is now
and suffuse her entire being with ecstasy.

I smooth both hands over her body, caressing her belly and
weighing her breasts. It feels like I am molding her form.
Perhaps I am. I stroke her silky inner thighs, trace her curves
upward, caress her throat.

"You're soft, now, sweetheart, totally pliable." On the last word
my hand presses gently on her high forehead. Her muscles seem to
slacken a bit, but putting her to sleep isn't the plan just yet.
"Your body is so soft, except for *here*"--I tweak both nipples
firmly--"and *here*"--I press her hard little clit. She gasps.
As I look at her flushed faced and parted lips, somehow I know
that she has now yielded entirely to my will.

Savoring the feeling of her body pressed against mine, I start to
gather the last bits of information that I need. "I know you're
very aroused now, baby. You need to do something about it. I'm
not here with you--you're at home, alone, and you're so excited
that you have to pleasure yourself right now."

Scully reacts without the slightest hesitation. She parts her
legs wider, hooking them over mine, although she seems unaware
that she's still leaning against me. Her hands run from her inner
thighs up her body until they reach her breasts. She cups them
only briefly before zeroing in on her nipples, which she pinches
and rolls for a few moments. She's squeezing them quite firmly--
it looks like I don't have to worry about getting too rough with
her there.

Her hips are moving slightly now, setting their own rhythm. She
slides her right hand back down her body, over her inner thighs
again, and then straight between her legs. I'm enthralled by her
pale little hand running over her cleft, gathering moisture with
her fingers. She then starts to make circles over her clit. Her
motions, of course, are tight and precise. She stimulates her
breasts and clit alternately for a few moments, and then her
right hand settles in between her legs while her left continues
toying with her nipples. I lightly rest my right hand over hers
so that I can feel exactly how she likes to be touched. I'm
startled when she suddenly jerks her hand away from mine.

I'm trying to figure out what I did wrong when Scully repeats the
motion she began with--both hands run over her inner thighs,
stroke her belly, and squeeze her nipples. Then, as before, her
right hand dips between her legs as she stimulates her clit.
After a moment, she stops again and starts the process over.

Ah. I believe I get it. Scully likes to be *teased*. Well, it so
happens that I like to tease. I'm looking forward to this.

As Scully's hand travels southward again mine goes along for the
ride. I notice that as she gets more aroused, her movements
become less precise. The next time she moves her hand away, she
doesn't repeat the whole process again. Rather, her hand hovers a
few inches over her hot mound, keeping its distance even as her
hips involuntarily surge upward. Her other hand tweaks her
nipples more fiercely, and she's starting to pant. As her hand
dips down again, I notice the little crease in her brow that
means she's concentrating hard, and I see that the beautifully
defined muscles in her legs have tensed.

Holding Scully while she pleasures herself--this is a wet dream
to end all wet dreams. Her hand is moving much faster now, the
pressure firmer. She must be getting close, which means it's time
for me to reassert my role in this. I lean into her ear and
whisper, "That's enough, sweetheart. Stop."

Absolutely nothing has been funny since we left the hotel
yesterday, but the look on Scully's face almost pulls a laugh
from me before I clamp it down. It's priceless: her eyes and lips
both forming perfect O's of surprise, like a five-year-old
suddenly caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Speaking of
which, she's so startled that she hasn't thought to remove her
hand from between her legs. Well, I did tell her that I wasn't
here. I guess it shouldn't surprise me that she believed it.

And the expression is just *frozen* there, as if her mind is
entirely boggled by my sudden appearance. For once I'm able to
give her a natural smile as I lift our linked hands and kiss the
back of hers. Released from her frozen pose, she's starting to
squirm and blush, dropping her eyes. Bet I can guess what that's
about.

"Does it make you feel wicked to be caught playing with yourself?
Do you feel naughty?" She nods shyly. "I loved watching you be
naughty, baby. It makes you feel sexy, doesn't it?" Another nod,
but she's now peeking up at my face. I try for a smile that
blends reassuring and devilish.

"I think you're going to feel a little naughtier and a lot sexier
by the time *I'm* done playing with you." Her mouth forms a
little "O" again, but in anticipation more than embarrassment. I
cup her chin and turn her face firmly toward me.

"Keep looking at me. I want you to concentrate on whatever comes
to your mind when I talk to you now. You're not going to think.
I want to see your uncensored, natural response." As if she's
been able to censor anything since she entered the cabin, but the
important thing is that I'll see what she likes, not what she's
been told to like. I hope.

"I wonder what would turn you on the most, sweetheart. I know you
liked my hands on you"--a little sigh--"but I think you liked
getting fucked better." Her eyes are glassy now, but I know I can
do better. "But what I bet you'd like most would be me lying
between your legs, licking at you."

Her whole body quivers and tenses. Jackpot.

"Yeah, you like that? Think of my tongue running between your
legs, flicking at your clit. It's going to feel better than
anything you've felt before--once I'm ready to give it to you.
First you have to listen to me." That last command was
unnecessary--she's hanging on my every word.

"I think that you need to spend a little more time thinking about
it first, don't you? Think of how exciting it will be when I hold
you down spread-eagled on the bed and lick at your squirming
body, because you'll be so turned on that you won't be able to
hold still."

She can't stay still now, in fact. Her body is shifting
restlessly, but her eyes are still obediently trained on my face.
A very wicked idea strikes me.

"In fact, I think you want it so bad that just the words turn you
on. I think that every time you even *hear* the word 'lick,'
you're going to get more excited. It'll build and build until
you're crazy for it."

Okay, so that came from my porn collection. It's hackneyed, but
I'm running out of my own ideas. Besides, it's perfect for
teasing her.

"You know what? You look at little peaked. Let's get up and find
you something to eat. Too bad we can't make brownies. I love to
lick the bowl."

Scully had obediently begun to rise at my suggestion. She inhales
sharply when she hears the magic word, but continues on gamely to
the kitchen. I'm already there, poking around in the refrigerator
to see what else our Eurotrash captors left for us.

"Yogurt! You love yogurt. Sit down." I open the yogurt, stir it
up, and offer her a spoonful. "There you go. Be sure to lick the
spoon clean." I slowly feed her the rest of the yogurt in a
similar manner, enthralled by her little pink tongue wrapping
around the spoon. When she finishes she gives me a hopeful look,
but as far as I'm concerned the teasing has just begun. I do want
to move beyond the admonishments I've been giving her, though.
Intelligent conversation is what separates FBI agents from porn-
script writers.

"Did you know that we're not too far from one of the most
important archaeological sites in Tennessee? It's called
Bledsoe's Lick. 'Lick' being a salt lick, that is."

Never has Scully listened to me with such rapt attention. I
almost wish for a slide projector.

"They started out mostly as hunting sites, you know. Hunters
would know where the animals would be because they'd come to lick
at the salt veins."

She's starting to flush and wriggle uncomfortably in her chair,
but she's still waiting for each word as though her life depended
on it.

"That was actually such a good hunting technique, by the way,
that in some areas people would make artificial salt licks where
a lick didn't occur naturally. But licks weren't important just
to hunters."

Now she's leaning forward in her chair, her legs parted so widely
that they're on either side of the seat rather than in front of
her. After a quick, guilty stare I pull my eyes away and resume
my narrative as she begins to vocalize her desire.

"People need salt too, so you'd start to see settlements grow up
around salt licks. Mansker's Lick, for example. Drake's Lick."

I have to raise my voice to be heard over her moans, which have
been rising steadily in volume. I glance at her again and stop my
rambling, arrested by the sight of her. At this moment I would
swear that she is the only color in the room. Her copper head is
thrown back, emphasizing her milky white throat. The normally
pale skin of her chest is flushed, her nipples stand out dark
pink on her alabaster breasts, and further down the tawny hairs
between her legs lead my eyes to the rosy folds that they cover.
Never have I seen Scully exude such vitality.

Belatedly I resume my story. "And French Lick became a trading
post, but it started out, of course, on a salt lick, near where
the city of Nashville is now. Just think of that: the home of
country music and the Grand Ol' Opry started out as French Lick."

I am about to start pontificating on the historical significance
of Lick Creek, one of the boundaries of the Battle of Shiloh,
when I realize that she is no longer moaning. Her mouth is
opening and closing, her throat working frantically, but no words
are coming out.

"Do you want to say something?" She nods, tilting her head to
look up at me as I come forward to stand directly in front of
her. "Okay, you can go ahead. Your lips look a little dry, by the
way. You should lick them."

The word she had just begun chokes off into a shriek at my last
jab. She licks her lips and then tries again.

"Please..."

I bend closer to her, hovering, wanting to overwhelm her with my
presence. "Please what?"

She looks up at me with such pleading eyes that her soul is more
naked than her body. "Please stop teasing me. I'll do anything
you want. Please."

Guilt floods over me. This isn't a game for her--it's approaching
torture. And I just took away from her the one thing she asked of
me: to let her keep silent. Cursing my stupidity, I return to my
original plan: to give Scully the most fulfilling sexual
experience of her life.

"Shh, Scully, shh. You don't have to do anything except walk over
to that bed, lie down, spread your gorgeous legs, and let me eat
you out."

She obeys in a flash. I put my hands on her thighs and push them
a little wider apart, but it's just for show. Carefully I take
her hand again before building to what I hope will be the final
climax.

"Ah, you're so sweet, so compliant. It makes you feel so good to
obey. Just close your eyes now. Open yourself totally to me.
Remember that your body is mine to touch, to tease, to play with.
You love whatever I choose to do with it. And right now I choose
to reward you for being so good."

I indulge myself in one last, glorious exploration of her body.
Starting at the sweet spot where her jaw meets her throat, I kiss
my way down her body, sucking and nipping at both breasts before
moving down her abdomen. I stop just above her mons, desperately
wanting to give her what she desires but knowing I can't take
that intimacy without her conscious agreement. Instead, I dampen
my fingers in her wet heat and begin stroking her clit gently.

"There, doesn't it feel good when I lick you there? You don't
need to think; all you need to do is feel it. Your body is
completely relaxed. You don't feel any tension. I know exactly
what you like, I know what you need before you do, and I'm going
to make you feel very good for a very long time."

Sighing, she lets her tense muscles go slack. I continue to toy
gently with the little nub of flesh, whispering encouragements.

"That's good, sweetheart. I'm going to make you feel like you've
never felt before. Your mind is relaxed; your body is floating in
pleasure, so much pleasure from my tongue working you."

I play with her for some time before building up to the next
stage. Remembering how much she liked stimulation of her nipples,
I add that to the mix.

"Your body is so beautiful, baby, so responsive to every command,
every sensation. I'm licking you a little bit faster now,
sweetheart. Doesn't it feel good?" She groans faintly in assent.
"But I know what would make you feel better. You'd like me to
play with your nipples, wouldn't you? You'd like me to pinch them
in time with the licking on your clit."

"Mmmm..." is her only response. Good enough. Removing my hand
from between her legs, I take her hands in mine and gently move
them to her breasts.

"There, you can still feel my tongue on your clit, but now you
can feel my hands on your breasts too." I place her lax fingers
in position around her nipples, then cover them with my own
hands. "I'm licking a little faster again. You're getting more
excited, and your nipples ache. It feels so good when I squeeze
them like this--" and I match the words with action, pressing her
fingers so that they pinch her hard nipples. She groans. "There,
isn't that good? Over and over again." I keep up the motion and
the verbal encouragement until her fingers move on their own,
squeezing in the rhythm she likes best. Satisfied, I bring my
hand back to her clit.

"I'm increasing the pressure a little now, sweetheart. You're
getting more and more excited, aren't you? You still feel good,
but needy too."

Her forehead gets exactly the wrinkle that it had when she was
concentrating on pleasuring herself earlier, and she's working
her nipples more quickly.

"Yeah, you feel that need building hotter now. Your body responds
so completely to my voice, to my touch." She's whimpering now,
her body moving in time with my strokes. "When you come, you'll
feel it through your whole body. The tension's getting stronger
now...tighter...hotter...you've never been this excited before."

She's gasping, her fingers squeezing more rapidly. I shift my
gaze between my own hand, still stroking her quickly, and her
hands as she excites herself at my command. Both are erotic, but
what takes my breath away is the expectant attention on her face.
My voice is her whole world now, and she's hanging on my every
word.

"So good, sweetheart. A little faster now...a little firmer.
It's building, baby, building. You're so close, you want to come
so badly...NOW, baby, come for me now!"

"OOOHHH! Oh! Oh! Ooooohhhh!" Long, guttural moans are pulled from
her throat as her body jerks bolt upright. "Oh! Oh...oh!" The
orgasm goes on and on. She slumps backward, still moaning, her
chest heaving. I keep stroking. Gradually her moans fade to
whimpers, then gasps as her body stills. Finally, with a last
whimper, she goes limp. I slowly remove my hand from between her
legs and move up to check on her. She's out cold but breathing
peacefully.

I nearly run to the bathroom, tearing open my slacks as I go. I
try to calm myself as I shut the door and take myself in hand,
but the tightness in my balls tells me that it's futile. I close
my eyes and immerse myself in the images: my hand startlingly
dark between her pale thighs, her slim fingers pinching her tight
nipples, her body writhing in orgasm. My hand is moving
blindingly fast on my swollen cock. If I concentrate hard enough
I can hear her ecstatic moans--and I come in endless, gushing
spurts.

Then I strip, climb into the shower, and plan to stay there for a
long time.

********************

As it turns out, mountain retreats-turned-kinky-prisons don't
have particularly large hot-water tanks, and I have to end the
shower sooner than I'd like. I dry off, give my hair a half-
hearted toweling, and dress. Now there's nothing to keep me from
going back and facing Scully, facing what I did to her.

*Shit*! How could I be so stupid? Scully has regained
consciousness and still bound by my last command. Her head is
rolling back and forth frantically on the pillow, but her eyes
are firmly shut. Quiet, desperate whimpers are coming from her
closed lips, but what's worst of all, what shows what an
unbelievable bastard I've been, is her right hand clenching into
a fist, releasing, and clenching again. I've left her blind,
mute, and scared.

I rush over to her side. "God! Scully, I'm sorry. You can open
your eyes. Open your eyes and look at me." Her eyes pop open as I
cup her face in one hand and lift her spasming hand to my lips
with the other. "It's all right. I'm sorry I left you." Abruptly
I realize why she hasn't answered me. "You can speak, you can
speak. Are you all right?"

She nods shakily. "Yeah...yes." Something in her eyes doesn't
look right. "Do you need to get up? Are you hungry, thirsty, do
you need to use the bathroom?" She shakes her head. "Okay, okay.
Tell me what you want to do." She looks at me dully for a long
moment before responding. "Sleep. I just want to sleep."

I stroke her beautiful hair as I think of the right way to phrase
this next suggestion. "Okay. You can go to sleep in just a
minute. When you wake up you can get up, eat, shower, do whatever
you want, all right?" She nods, and I suddenly realize what I see
in her eyes: shame. God, anything but that. "Anything you want
except feel ashamed. I don't ever want you to feel ashamed,
understand?" She nods again. I give her cheek one last, lingering
caress. "Okay. Go to sleep now."

Her head rolls toward my hand as her eyes close and a soft puff
of air marks her descent into sleep. I lie down next to her, pull
her up against myself, and eventually drift off.

********************

I wake to an empty bed in a room fully lit by sunlight. Looking
around for Scully, I hear the sound of the shower running.
Pleased that she was able to take that initiative on her own, I
wait for her to emerge. Eventually the shower stops, but the door
remains closed. Growing concerned, I rap on it gently and call
out to her.

"Scully? Are you all right?"

After a pause comes her muted response. "Yes. I'll be out in a
minute." She sounds more like herself than she did last night.

Several minutes later the door opens and she emerges, her damp
hair clinging to her face. She's wearing my shirt again, now
buttoned fully down the front, and her face is schooled to
blankness. I'm pretty sure that the effects of the drugs have
worn off. This is what I'd hoped for, but I don't know what to do
next.

"Are you okay? The drugs...um..." I'm not sure how to finish that
sentence. "Are you still my sex slave?" doesn't seem quite right.

She knows what I mean, of course. "They've mostly worn off. I can
still feel them, but I can control it." She doesn't volunteer any
more information or look directly at my face.

I've got to tread carefully now: I have a feeling that how I
handle this could make or break our partnership. "Do you feel all
right? Do you need anything?"

She's still not meeting my eyes. "I'm a little thirsty."

Grateful to have something to do, I hurry into the kitchen and
pour her a glass of water. She hasn't moved any further into the
room. I hesitate, unsure what to do next.

"Um, would you like to sit down?"

She steps towards the breakfast bar and sits down cautiously. I
move toward her to give her the water, but she stiffens. I set
the glass down and back away slightly, watching as she drinks it
down in slow, careful sips. I try to engage in safe, non-
threatening conversation.

"Are you feeling any other aftereffects?"

Her voice is still carefully controlled. "My head feels cottony,
and there's some stiffness in my muscles. That's pretty much it."

She finishes her water and hands the glass back to me in response
to my questioning look. I fill it up again and use the excuse to
come a little closer to her. Although she doesn't flinch this
time, it looks like she remains stil only by exerting careful
control.

"Uh, Scully, I don't know what you remember from last night..."

She studies her glass carefully. "I think I remember everything."
She pauses, then offers the most unconvincing lie she's ever told
me. "It's all right."

Even though I know I shouldn't, I reach a hand toward her face.
I pull it back at once when she turns her head aside. I don't
want to push her, but it's terribly important to me that she
understand what happened.

"Scully, I'm not sure that you do remember what happened. We
didn't have intercourse..." I break off when she nods. At my
surprised look her lips twist into a wry and utterly humorless
half-smile.

"There are physical indications after a woman has had sex,
Mulder." Oh, yeah, I did know that. It really has been too long
since I've had sex. She continues, "Once I noticed they were
missing, I thought back and realized that..." Now it is her turn
to trail off.

"I did touch you, Scully, and I'm sorry for that. But mostly it
was an elaborate fantasy." I'm desperate for her to know that I
protected her the best I could. "I couldn't make love to you last
night. It wasn't possible for you to consent. I could never do
that to you."

My hope that this revelation would ease her tension is in vain.
If anything, her body goes stiffer, but her voice remains even.
"How did you know what to do?"

I try to keep my voice equally neutral. "Mostly I listened to you
and watched your reactions." She's staring fixedly at the counter
now, blinking back tears. I thought that she would be relieved.
What did I do wrong?

Gently, I take her hand. "Scully, please, could you look at me?"
Reluctantly she turns to face me. I am stunned by the raw, pained
expression on her face.

"It's all right, Mulder. I know you did what you thought best."
She squeezes my hand softly and turns her face away, her eyes
again damp.

That sounds as though I made the wrong decision. As she composes
herself I frantically try to put together the pieces. Why does it
upset her more that I seduced her mind with a fantasy than that I
took her body against her will?

My mind flashes back to the look on her face just before she
turned away to hide it. She looked so open, vulnerable...just the
expression she had when she was lying propped against my body,
waiting for my voice to enchant her and bring her to ecstasy.

Oh, God. That was it. I fucked up royally, screwed up so badly
that she may never trust me again.

"You can touch me however you want, Mulder. I just don't want you
to hear me saying those things."

Scully *did* give me permission to have sex with her. As a
doctor, a pathologist, she can distinguish between the body and
the person, and that's what she tried to do. In the last act of
volition that she had, she made her choice to give me her body
and to protect her mind and her soul. She didn't want to speak
because she didn't *want* me to know what fantasies she harbored,
how excited she was by submission. Odd as it sounds, she trusted
me to make love to her body and to protect her privacy.

Instead, I did just the opposite. I shielded her body from the
hot lust I felt by coldly, methodically stripping her soul of her
secrets.

She's turned toward me again. Her face tells me that she knows
exactly what I've figured out, and her cheeks flame with
embarrassment. God, I have no idea how to make this right.

I squeeze her hand, hoping it doesn't remind her of the last time
my hand covered hers. "Scully, the only people who should feel
shame are the ones who did this to you. There's nothing for you
to be embarrassed about. Lots of people enjoy sometimes turning
over control when they make love." She deserves complete honesty
from me now. "I can really get off on it myself."

Ever polite, she nods in acknowledgement, but we both know how
hollow my words are. We weren't playing a lovers' game, where
power is willingly ceded in mutual trust and respect. I stripped
her of power and violated her trust.

That was the fucking plan all along. The tacky props, her horror
of rejection, the exaggerated fear of disobedience they implanted
in her--they weren't meant to arouse lust in me. They were put
there to do exactly what they did: to make me want to guard her
from the wrong threat. I protected her body and raped her mind.
Son of a bitch.

When I'm finally able to meet her eyes, she's regained her
composure. Her face is calm, but her eyes are more guarded than I
have ever seen them, even more than when she first met me and
didn't trust me. All her walls are back up, and I might never get
behind them again.

"Scully, I..." I have no idea what I was about to say, but it
doesn't matter. She cuts me off with a gentle but firm shake of
her head.

"Mulder, please. I can't deal with this now. I just want to get
out of here, go home, and forget this ever happened."

What else can I do? I don't resist as she pulls her hand from
mine, her physical withdrawal matching the emotional distance
she's put between us. The loss tears at my soul, and there's
nothing I can do about it. I silently stare at nothing, fighting
down the grief that threatens to engulf me.

Unbidden, my mind dredges up a bit of trivia from my university
days, one that makes me wonder about the nationality of the man
who "gave" Scully to me.

In German, "gift" means "poison."

And with another loud click, the cabin door swings open.
 

********************

END