JAKE AND FOX JOIN THE CLUB (1/25)
by Windsinger@aol.com (Wind)
Completed 5/31/99

Rating: NC/17 (at least), M/M (with extenuating circumstances),
MSR, Muldertorture, Scullyangst. X-over with Jake of Red Shoes
Diaries and my earlier novel 'Jake's Luck'. 

Synopsis: Jake Simmons has joined a secluded, erotic sex club,
though you could very definitely say that 'His demon made him do
it.' While trying to deal with all this he runs into an old
friend who needs his help very badly. Time to return a favor,
Jake. Takes place between FTF and the sixth season.

Disclaimer: No, none of the 'good guys' portrayed here belong to
me. Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and Walter Skinner belong to Chris
Carter and 1014 Productions. Jake belongs to Zalman King and Red
Shoes Diaries and Lisa and Elliot Slater belong to Anne Rice.

Author's Notes: At last I found sequel material for my novella,
Jake's Luck (Jake of Red Shoes Diaries). This is also a cross
over with the Anne Rice's erotic book, Exit to Eden, and is thus
very NC/17 but not X-rated. As for whether I would call it
'slash' I would not say that it was about gays any more than it
is about straights. Let's just say that these people are very
ecumenical about their preferences. It is also about as much a
'buddy' story as a rescue story, as a Jake redemption story, as
it is a sexual fantasy. Scully fans beware, she doesn't appear
here much until the end though she is missed terribly. Also, if
you can't stand the thought of Mulder being willing to get it on
with anyone else but Scully, even when he's not quite himself,
then pass this by.

Background Material:
"Welcome to the Club." For those of you who have read Anne
Renald's, (AKA Anne Rice's) erotic sado-masochistic fantasy EXIT
TO EDEN, you'll recognize the phrase and know what the Club is.
Amazingly enough, I found the book in the public library.
Elsewhere I had seen a reference that Anne Rice wrote soft porn
under that pseudonym. As I was gazing through the electronic card
catalog looking for a sequel to the Servant of the Bones (Now
there's an X-File), I saw that, impossibly, pre-X-File co-star
Gillian Anderson was co-reader on a recorded book of Exit to
Eden. Impossibly still, my branch had a copy and it was in!
(Abridged, but what the heck!)

     This is not Gillian Anderson as you have ever heard her.
THIS is bad girl Gillian. Leather and cigarette and lace and a
throaty voice like fine liqueur. Since anywhere out of a big city
you are unlikely to find either the book, Exit to Eden, or the
tape (our system had one copy of the book which has much more S&M
details than the recording), I'll give a synopsis here. As a
review, let me say first that the book promises a lot at the
beginning but doesn't deliver as much as it promises. It is,
however, fine, fine fuel for those of us with depraved
imaginations. I think many will say that my story also promises
more than it delivers. Certainly in terms of blatant descriptions
of sexual acts it falls in that respect - I just can't write that
stuff - but I believe it will be more than sufficient to ignite
your own imagination and I'll let you all take it from there.

     Exit to Eden: Summary. (Anne Rice, forgive me.)
     The handsome, young war photographer, Elliot Slater, just
can't find satisfaction. His father raises him to enjoy the taste
of exotic prostitutes, both male and female. A daredevil in his
work, he finds his sexual niche within an S&M house. Unable to
get enough, he indentures himself for two years of abject
servitude to the Club, an exclusive tropical resort island where
S&M rules. As a slave he owns nothing and has no rights. His
personal trainer is Lisa, the Perfectionist, who is going through
a crisis of her own. Unlimited casual sex, no matter how erotic,
is just lacking that certain something. She and Elliot find what
each is lacking in each other and eventually marry. Oddly enough,
they don't leave the Club. Content, Lisa continues as head
trainer and Elliot sheds his slave status for the joys of
management and all the perks that come with it. This arrangement
is just fine with everyone.


     Jake's Luck by Windsinger@aol.com (Wind): Summary (XFF X-
over with Red Shoes Diaries)
     Brilliant young architect Jake Simmons' fianc‚e, Alex,
committed suicide 2 years before this story opens. He has been
suffering from severe depression ever since. To try to understand
her betrayal of their relationship and her suicide, he has
requested that people share their broken love stories with him by
sending them to a post box under the name 'Red Shoes'. This is
the plot of Red Shoes Diaries (what plot there is). When 'Jake's
Luck' opens he has recovered enough to come to Washington to an
architectural convention. He is mistaken for Mulder by some of
his enemies and kidnapped. The kidnappers send their victim's
picture to the FBI where, after some confusion, it becomes
obvious that the kidnap victim is not Mulder. Though forced off
the case for his own safety and for that of the victim, Mulder
tracks the kidnapper to where Jake is being held. He switches
places, thus sending a much-damaged Jake off into the seedier
side of D.C. to find Scully to come rescue him. While being held
captive in the gutted ruins of an old furnace, Mulder is visited
by the ghost of Alex who has been silently haunting Jake since
her death. Alex has a pretty strange and healthy sexual appetite
for a dead person. To make it short, Jake delivers the message,
Alex holds off the bad guys until the FBI can charge in with the
cavalry and Jake returns to the West Coast. There is a new twist,
however. Alex's ghost, now that she has wetted her sexual
appetite with Mulder, is not as quiet as she was before.


JAKE AND FOX JOIN THE CLUB (1/25)
By Wind (Windsinger@aol.com) (alias Sue Esty)

Chapter 1

     Rudi, supervising attendant for the second shift, looked up
from his packing as the outer door signal chimed its distinctive
three-note motif. Five individuals were ushered in by one of the
airstrip's welcoming staff. Four of the five, three men and one
woman, looked very much like any other group of business people
Rudi greeted and served during his day. All four wore power
suits. All had that stiff air of wealth and authority. 

     On any other day, Rudi would have zeroed in on the blond man
that walked side by side with the woman. The man had that
unmistakable look of one of Rudi's ilk. The blond man, however,
had all the mannerisms of the hard, control type. Not Rudi's
fruit of choice. 

     It was to the fifth member that Rudi directed his attention.
The man was the youngest of the group though not all that young -
clearly somewhere in his thirties. He was dressed in tailored
slacks and wore a stylish silk shirt. Both were wrinkled as
though he'd slept quite some time in them. His dark hair was
tousled. There was no sense of power about this one. He simply
looked tired. There were dark patches about his drooping, half-
closed eyes. Stumbling over the rough 'stone' floor, he was
steadied by the largest of the suited men. Momentarily distracted
from the younger man by this hulking companion, Rudi took note of
the thick neck and small eyes. 

     'Bodyguard,' came immediately to Rudi's mind and didn't give
the hulk another thought. This Neanderthal was not his type
either. The man was probably not anyone's type. Besides, nearly
all of the Cavern's patrons had at least one bodyguard in tow.
These were money people, after all. Big money. 

     Rudi's eyes would have returned to the lean and tired
younger man but the woman in the group began speaking. She didn't
look half-bad herself. Out of habit, Rudi peeled her tailored
business suit away in his mind. What he found was more than
acceptable for a woman her age.

     "I'm Natasha Haley and we're Johnson Forsyth's party," she
announced pleasantly.

     Rudi nodded, his surfer mop of sun-bleached hair, bobbing in
time. "Yes, we've been expecting you, though we had your arrival
scheduled for eleven a.m." He looked down at his computer console
and began hunting about with mouse and keys for the record he
wanted.

     "We were delayed by weather coming out of the Philippines,"
the woman replied casually. As Rudi worked, she nodded towards
the half-full cardboard box sitting next to his computer and
asked conversationally, "Going somewhere?"

     "My last day," Rudi answered, absently, still hunting.

     "You didn't like it here?"

     "On the contrary, I love it here. I came in with the
standard two-year contract and they let me extend it month to
month while I looked for a job Stateside. I've been here almost
an additional year. I wasn't even looking very hard when my old
gym in San Francisco called unexpectedly and offered me a good
position on their staff, a _very_ good position." Though his eyes
were still on the computer, Rudi exhibited his very expensive and
practiced smile. "Here it is. I see that Sherman has already sent
in the necessary paperwork - vital statistics, references,
medical history, experience, special needs, talents," Rudi's eye
brows rose in appreciation at this last item.

     "About his 'special needs,'" Natasha Haley began, "Mr.
Forsyth was assured that they would not be a problem."

     Rudi raised his smoothly tanned hands in a gesture of peace.
The movement made every perfect muscle in his torso ripple. "Most
of the Cavern guests have special requirements or they wouldn't
be here. They'd be," he inclined his head towards the door, "out
on the main grounds, mingling with our regular clientele and
being worked by our regular staff."

     Her lavender eyes twinkled. "But Cavern residents retain
their privacy, which is why their patrons pay such exorbitant
prices for your services."

     Rudi acknowledged with a nod. "True." Typing expertly, Rudi
asked, "Has Mr. Forsyth provided you with any schedule of when he
plans to visit? A general idea will do, just so the staff can
prepare."
 
     "Mr. Forsyth and a party of from three to five plan to come
in every Friday and leave sometime on Sunday. Your people will be
responsible for Isaac's care the rest of the week. Is that
acceptable?"

     "Mr. Forsyth's agreement with management is for unlimited
use of the facilities and food and lodging for the equivalent of
ten visitors a week - in addition to Isaac's contact, of course."
Rudi's eyes had found an excuse to return to the new member of
the Cavern's household, odd sort of household as it may be.
Noting that the woman followed his gaze, Rudi returned to his
original train of thought. "Mr. Forsyth may use his ten days any
way he wishes: ten persons on one day, five persons for two days.
More than that and the fee is five hundred per person per day. We
only ask for some notice for the kitchens and housekeeping." 

     "Not a problem." The woman followed Rudi's gaze. Her next
words were tinged with something like sympathy but with a false
ring to it. "We've been assured that Isaac won't be bothered
during the week. He's been through some significant psychological
trauma. He and Mr. Forsyth have mutually decided that peace and
quiet is what he needs."

     Rudi glanced over at 'Isaac' again. The younger man had
folded into a chair that was designed to look like a rock and was
just about as comfortable. People who came to the Caverns didn't
spend their time sitting around lobbies. He was leaning over,
head in hands. Rudi assessed the shoulders, the long back and
narrow waist and very much liked what he saw. Remembering the
face, he liked that, too, a unique, sensitive face and as pretty
as a man can be and still be completely masculine. The exquisite
features had been gray with fatigue, however. No, Rudi thought.
Mr. Forsyth's 'companion' was more out-of-it than tired.

     "We would like to get settled as soon as possible," Natasha
hinted, gently breaking into Rudi's leisurely evaluation.

     "Oh, sorry. As I said, we have Sherman's excellent
references - and his is the very best House in the Bay Area - but
we do require that each new guest take part in a short interview
and exam upon arrival. How our residents want to spend their time
once they're here, as long as they allow the Club to fulfill its
end of the agreement with their patrons, is entirely their own
affair. For the Club's own protection, however, we are required
to make absolutely certain that all are placing themselves under
contract by their own volition." Isaac was still leaning wearily
over his knees. "Are you certain he's well?" Rudi asked. "Is he
up to this now?"

     Haley raised her chin and turned in a smooth, fluid motion
towards the men of her group. "Up to it? Well, no, maybe not that
at the moment. It was, after all, a very long and boring plane
ride and with the delays..." Rudi noticed that the men all looked
a little smug at that and the same satisfied arc could be seen on
the woman's lips as she turned back to Rudi. "So, yes, he is
understandably tired at the moment. Perhaps if you could show us
Mr. Forsyth's suite and allow Isaac to lie down for a few
minutes? He'll be better able to answer your question after a
short rest."

     Disappointed at missing a chance to get to know the Cavern's
newest piece of ass, Rudi frowned a little, an unusual expression
on his strong, handsome face. "It's not standard procedure, but I
think we can accommodate such a reasonable request. Come, I'll
show you the way. My shift ends in twenty minutes, but Ingrid,
the third shift attendant, can perform the interview just as
easily as I could when she arrives."

     Like the employee of any good hotel, Rudi came around the
desk to lead the way with an outstretched arm. Most hotel
employees, however, lacked Rudi's compact, muscular physique that
was in full view for the first time. Except for a narrow strip of
flesh-toned Speedo, Rudi was indeed in full view, from the edge
of his light sandals to the top of his sun-bleached head. Natasha
dropped in beside him, leaving the men of her party to follow
behind. It was the oldest member of the group, a gaunt, gray-
haired man, who raised Isaac to his feet. The bodyguard trailed
at the end of the line. Rudi's body language indicated that he
would have preferred to walk with Isaac himself. Before he could
change his position in line, however, a middle-aged man with a
family resemblance to the woman took up the space at Rudi's left
side. 

     "My brother and Mr. Forsyth's private secretary, Keith
Haley," the woman introduced as they began walking.

     The Cavern's foyer was huge, rising ten to twelve stories.
Its designer had intended for it to look like it had blasted from
the inside of a mountain, all rough stone and indirect, recessed
lighting. Las Vegas or a perverted Disney 'Imagineer' could not
have done better. A ramp curved up and around the inside of the
cavern. Recesses spaced along the rising ramp marked the
entrances to the suites.

     "So this is your last day?" the man, Keith, asked, his
directed friendliness, distracting Rudi's continued interest in
Isaac. "Are you unhappy about leaving? Most would consider this
place the ultimate fantasy. To actually work here... Leaving must
be hard."

     Rudi's smile was genuine. "It is the ultimate fantasy island
and my time here has been an experience I'll always remember, but
after a while it becomes just a job. Hard to believe, but true.
When it ceases being a fantasy and starts being routine, that's
when it's time to leave. Still..." As they arrived at one of the
recesses, Rudi's eyes drifted back towards the new arrival. The
attendant's tender expression indicated that he would be more
than willing to relieve the weariness in that tired body with its
bowed shoulders and not find the task at all routine.
  
     Pale light began to glow as they entered the recess. Before
the visitors there seemed to be only another stone wall, though
one smoother than most of the others. Rudi waved his hand over a
section of the stone. The section began glowing faintly red. As
if by magic, a panel slid open exposing the keypad for an
electronic lock. "Here is your temporary combination," Rudi said,
smoothly keying in a series of numbers. "Our facilities people
will come by in a little while and show you how the in-house
computer works. The computer controls just about everything. You
can change the combination as you wish, though as our contract
with Mr. Forsyth clearly states that the establishment has the
right to override at need."

     "Understood," Natasha said, then her cool expression opened
to one of wonder as the 'solid' back wall of the recess opened
along an invisible seam. After passing a short hall with
branching corridors leading off to other parts of the apartment,
the entryway opened onto the apartment's huge main room.    

     Heavy drapes the same stone-gray color as the walls were
pulled back to reveal a panorama that rivaled few others. Every
eye was caught by that view except for Isaac's which were still
directed at the floor. 

     "Naturally, I read Forsyth's brochures but this is amazing!"
the habitually restrained Keith exclaimed excitedly.

     Rudi's expression was all smug pride. "It's one of our best
views. Mr. Forsyth spared no expense. Isaac will be very
comfortable here, as will Mr. Forsyth and his guests when they
come to visit." Almost eagerly, Rudi turned to where the older
man was assisting Isaac to sit on the edge of the room's low
central dais which with its thick padding and strewn as it was
with pillows was nothing more or less than a huge bed.

     "Isaac, if there is anything I can do..." Rudi offered,
striding forward. The vulnerable, bowed head did not lift.
Intercepting the attendant with what once must have been
exceptional litheness, Keith spoke, "You know, Rudi, I'd like to
finish getting settled. Why don't you walk with me back down to
the foyer and point me towards the plane. I'll go out and direct
our luggage."

     "Sir, I will take care of that," Rudi interposed.

     "'Sir,'" Keith repeated with a frown, draping his arm around
the attendant's muscular shoulders, "makes me feel old. I'm not
as old as all that. It's a beautiful day and I want to wander a
bit. Besides, this being your last day you must have a million
more important things to do than coordinate the delivery of our
luggage."

     Rudi hesitated. "I do, as a matter of fact. Still..." He
made an attempt to move towards the drooping form of Isaac who
had been told to take off his shoes and who was fumbling with the
task. Before Rudi could complete one step, however, Keith had the
attendant by the arm in a firm but friendly grip and was
propelling him towards the door. "Don't worry. Dr. Stein is Mr.
Forsyth's personal physician. He'll see that Isaac's taken care
of. He just needs a little rest so he'll be ready for Ingrid. You
did say that it would be Ingrid who would be interviewing him, is
that right?"

     "Hmmm? Oh, yes." To Isaac, he said over his shoulder as
Keith led him out, "I hope you enjoy your time here..." 

     Rudi never got a truly close look at the new resident's face
so he never saw the lost soul that sought vainly to stare out of
the nearly lifeless eyes.

     
     Talking easily and having mentioned that she wanted to look
at the activity calendar she'd seen displayed near the desk in
the lobby, Natasha accompanied Keith and Rudi. The three talked
amiably as they moved down the ramp. Before they made it back to
the desk, however, there sounded the familiar trill of a cellular
phone. Rudi's. With an apologetic glance at the brother and
sister, the attendant deftly removed the tiny instrument from the
abbreviated leather holster he wore - which was just about all he
wore besides the Speedo and matching sandals - and took the call.

     He was frowning slightly as he returned the instrument to
its pouch. "One of the other residents has a question about their
financial status with the island. Must be a computer error." He
shrugged. "I'll have to go deal with it."

     "No problem," Keith said, smoothly. "Besides, I think I can
find the airstrip from here. It's a very big plane." With a
slight bow, Rudi trotted back up the ramp, his muscles flowing
easily under his skin as Keith and Natasha watched. 

     "Yes, they certainly do have some fine views around here,"
Natasha noted appreciatively, and clearly Keith thought the same
though he didn't allow himself to be distracted for only long.
With swift, silent steps he moved towards Rudi's desk, an intense
expression on his face. By the time he had seated himself before
the computer there was a compact disk in his hand which he
smoothly fitted in the CD drive on Rudi's PC. A few clicks from
the mouse as it crossed the screen and the program Keith had
brought loaded soundlessly. A few more clicks and a sly smile
brightened Keith's features. "Whatever you paid for this, it was
worth it," he whispered towards where Natasha stood and kept
watch. "It's just what we wanted. Rudi's report of his interview
with 'Isaac' is now right where it should be. A simple
description of an extremely shy and slightly depressed male of
thirty-five all stored under Rudi's password and in Rudi's style.
It even includes some of Rudi's most common misspellings. No one
would guess he didn't type it himself as one of his last official
duties."

     Natasha made a circling motion in the air with one hand,
indicating a need for haste. "All right already," came her soft
voice. "You've successfully managed to separate 'Isaac' and
Forsyth, just as you planned. Put the screen back where it was
and get out of there. Rudi may be back any minute."
     
     But it was the attendant Ingrid who strolled into the foyer
less than a minute later. Her blond hair nearly covered her high,
firm breasts whose fullness were supported by the skimpiest of
halters. The little ballet skirt barely brushed the bottom of her
buttocks. An outfit that concealed less than it revealed. Keith
found himself surprisingly flustered for a man with his appetite.

     Natasha did the talking.


     Ten minutes later she breezed into Forsyth's assigned
'Cave', her eyes glittering. 

     "Perfect, everyone, perfect!" The bodyguard, Sam, appeared
from an alcove. Keith paused in his search for more cubbyholes
hidden cleanly away behind the 'stone' walls. Stein looked up
from where he was examining the Welcome Basket that had been left
in the room. Only 'Isaac' made no move that he had heard - if he
had heard. He remained curled defensively on his side on the
dais.

     "Dr. Stein," Natasha said to the tall, thin physician, "your
call came right on time. When Rudi got back from his wild goose
chase with scant minutes left to catch his plane, Ingrid
generously informed him that I had introduced myself and filled
her in on Isaac and everything relating to his care. Of course,
Rudi thinks that Ingrid will be handling Isaac's interview and
Ingrid believes that Rudi is a prince and left her with no loose
ends to tidy up."

     "There is one," Stein said, pulling an empty plastic vial
from the Welcome Basket. "As part of the interview, Rudi would
have gotten a urine sample from the new resident. They don't care
what legal or illegal mind-blowing junk their guests use once
they're here, but the Club's management is strict about their
guests being relatively clean and sober for their interview." He
inclined his head towards the dark-haired man curled on the bed.
"In his present state, anything from that one would light up
their mass spectrometer like a Christmas tree." 

     Natasha snatched up the cup. "But Rudi did get the urine
sample. In his rush to answer his page, he just forgot to take it
with him. Keith, you can forge his handwriting by now, can't you?
The label needs to be authenticated by a Club employee. Now..."
She looked around at the three men. "Stein," she purred, "want to
volunteer?"
     
     The older man shrugged helplessly. "I just went."

     With a slight frown, Natasha turned to her brother. "You on
your regular poison, darling?" she asked with a curled lip. An
unapologetic nod confirmed her suspicions. Her frown deepened to
a menacing grimace as she turned to the last man in the group.
"Sam? You'd better be pristine or it's your job." The bodyguard
looked up blankly. "You on anything?" she repeated. "Even cough
medicine?"

     The bodyguard grunted and reluctantly took the little vial
in his huge paw before trudging off into one of the shadowed
alcoves to find a bathroom.

     "Throw it in the kitchen freezer for a minute or two before
you take it downstairs," Stein called out. "Can't have it warm,"
he explained to the others.

     Natasha was smiling again. "Anything else? Then there's
nothing left for us to do now is there and we still have twenty-
four hours before Forsyth expects us back." She had strolled over
towards the dais, allowing her hand to drift over Isaac's unkempt
hair. His only response was to shudder at her touch and burrow
deeper into the cushions. 

     Stein held up a gleaming bracelet that he'd also pulled from
the Welcome Basket. "Might as well get this over with," he said,
dropping it into Natasha's palm. "Left wrist."

     With some effort the two of them pulled Isaac's left arm
free from where he had curled it protectively close to his body.
His entire form trembled as Natasha fastened the green and gold
chain around his wrist. On the bracelet's nameplate, the single
word, 'Isaac', was etched as well as a barcode. On the reverse
was inscribed the name of his patron, 'Forsyth'. The metal
glittered in the recessed lighting.

     At that moment Keith uttered a long, low whistle of
amazement. "You still looking for something to do to pass the
time?" Keith asked. "I know what I'd like to do." He had found
another of the almost imperceptible protrusions on the rough,
'rock' wall and pressed it. A section of the wall had opened to
reveal a long, tall cupboard. He was standing and staring at the
contents. 

     "Now Mama didn't birth no fool, but take a look at this and
tell me I'm not dreaming!" Eagerly, Natasha joined him and she
wasn't disappointed. "Talk about your adult toy stores!" Keith
exclaimed. 

     Natasha reached into the cabinet that greeted her with that
sweet, unmistakable scent of leather. There were also other
scents, some flowery, other s thick and musky. From the enticing
selection of objects, she pulled out a set of padded cuffs joined
with a chain and let them swing seductively from his slender
hand. 

     "Hmmm, there are certainly possibilities here."

     "Wouldn't you say that we've done well, Nate? The old man
wouldn't begrudge his hardworking employees a little reward,
would he?"

     Clearly aware of where this conversation was leading, Dr.
Stein reached for his black bag and pulled out a syringe and a
bottle of fluid that gleamed so bright in the dim light that it
might as well have been liquid gold. 
     
     "How much?" he asked, indifferently.

     "Oh, a full dose this time, I think," Natasha replied,
pulling out of the cabinet cuffs and chains, a gag, an
incomprehensible leather harness and a slender whip. "Let's see
what government men are really capable of. After all, he'll have
all week to recover here in his pretty and oh-so-expensive cage
before Forsyth drops in for his first visit. And we really should
invite Ingrid up to join the games once they're well underway. It
wouldn't hurt for her to see 'Isaac' here displaying his
considerable talents just in case we slipped up somewhere and she
finds that the admitting procedure were not handled perfectly."

     "Besides," Keith remarked, with a smirk in Natasha's
direction as he threw his suit coat over a chair, "I'll bet the
lovely Natasha can show you a thing or two."

     Shrugging her elegant shoulder, Natasha slid out of her own
jacket and let it fall on the floor. Even Sam, who had returned
from his errand, began loosening his tie. "Order some food from
the kitchen, before we get too involved, won't you, Keith? You
have such good taste. A feast. Strenuous activity always makes me
hungry. It's all on Forsyth's tab anyway."

     Stein was already kneeling on the dais, syringe primed. He
had rolled the Club's brand new resident onto his back and was
attempting to unbutton the sweaty and expensive silk shirt. Once
again Isaac was holding his arms close to his body in a vain
attempt to protect himself. His feeble efforts to prevent the
doctor from having success with the buttons was thwarted by
Natasha who easily pinned one arm while Stein restrained the
other.  The shirt soon disappeared. The syringe was in Isaac's
field of vision now and for the first time since the group had
arrived on the island, the eyes focused. Body bucking now, back
arching, clawed fingers raking the bed's acre of black spread, it
took the addition of Sam's massive hands to hold down the
terrified, thrashing man.

     For all its fury, the battle was brief. There was, after
all, no hope of his winning. 

     "Now, now, my stubborn one," Natasha cooed, voice of silk
wrapped steel. "What's all the fuss? It's just a little stick and
you know how much you enjoy what follows. Besides, you are so
good at it. At this point it would be almost a shame if you did
talk." 

     As she and Stein worked to get the needle into the much-
abused vein on the leanly muscular arm, neither looked at their
victim's face. Sweat had broken out on the pale skin, and the
hollows in which his eyes sat appeared even more darkly bruised
than before. As for the hazel eyes themselves, they were no
longer empty. When not obscured by tears, sorrow and a soul-deep
despair burned out of their infinite depths.

End of Chapter 1
JAKE AND FOX JOIN THE CLUB (2/25)
by Wind (Windsinger@aol.com)                 

Disclaimer: See chapter 1 
                                             
Chapter 2

     Voices. There were times when he felt his universe was
little more than voices. Murmuring, biting, rumbling, shouting,
cursing, scornfully laughing voices, but very few recognizable
words. Either he was too drugged to make out the words, too
stubborn to listen or too close to unconsciousness to care. Most
of the weeks - or had it been months? - he had spent as their
prisoner had been filled with such voices. 

     Mostly the voices floated up as if from under water. Once
reaching him, however, they hung around like fat black crows,
endlessly circling above his prone body. Because he was prone
almost all the time, it was a wonder he didn't have bed sores.
Maybe he did but just didn't know it.

     There were times when the world wasn't so muddy. They'd
inject potion Number Two into his arm and catapult him up out of
Potion Number One's gray stupor and into a blaze of unnatural
light and sound. At those times everything was too harsh, too
bright. Then the words came at him clear and sharp as knives.
Then he couldn't keep the voices out of his head. They tumbled
over each other, intertwining like mating snakes. The topic was
always information and if the information they wanted was
something a madman might possess, then they may just get it in
the end. While the faceless, nameless voices behind the lights
yelled and cajoled, he was busy ignoring them, quietly and
effectively dissociating into a few dozen itty-bitty pieces. 

     He was slowly losing his mind and there was nothing he could
do. Months before when his innate obstinacy had first broken
down, he had talked but they hadn't seemed the least bit
interested in what he had to say. Maybe that was because he
really didn't possess the kind of secrets anyone wanted to listen
to. 

     The only events that stood out from this period were the few
instances when they were late with his medication. Then he had
actually been able to feel the poisons sweating out of his pours,
leeching out of his system. He actually saw his tiny cell then:
six white surfaces broken only by a commode in the corner and a
tiny sink. This was his universe - these and the white iron cot
complete with the manacle for his ankle and its chain. During
those few minutes he had at least been able to put enough
thoughts together to at least contemplate escape. There had never
been very much time for that, however. Try as he might to act as
if his brain were still just a ball of fuzz in the hope that
they'd forget, some staff person always remembered. A little man
in a white steward's coat like on a cruise ship would come
scurrying in at the last minute with his blunt little needle and
down Mulder would go in a cloud of Haldol or whatever it was they
used to drag him under. 
 
     Such times, however, were the exception. Most of the time
nothing mattered. Around and around, up and down, no time in the
rational center, nothing of the man he had been remained. There
was just existence from one swell to the next. The interrogations
had become almost routine for both sides and no one forgot his
medication any more or if they did, he didn't notice. Once when
Stein was lazily snapping on the rubber tourniquet one more time,
a coherent thought managed to writhe its way out of the fog:
Would they someday let him go just from sheer boredom? No, but
out of that boredom his chief tormentor decided to try a new kind
of physical torture and found to his black-hearted delight that
he liked the way Fox Mulder could be made to squirm. Mulder took
pain in stride as his due in life, but Forsyth's idea of fun bit
deep.  

     Over time, the interrogations continued as frequently as
before, but they lessened in length and intensity. It was as if
what always came after - like dessert - had taken on the greater
significance. Certainly Forsyth's choice of dessert lengthened
and diversified even though all he could touch at that point was
flesh, a shell without much of a mind.

     Then had come Potion Number Three, an experiment suggested
by Dr. Stein who kept a professional eye on the development of
such creative chemistry, and everything had changed. 

     The gods help him if they ever worked themselves up to
Potion Number Nine.

     So it had gone. Even with the arrival of Stein's molten
gold, most of Mulder's days were still spent in communion with
drug Number One and its hours of vacuumed nothingness. At those
times sight and hearing and the connections to his body were
blurry and out of focus, his thoughts barely bumping into each
other. Then came Potion Two that spiraled him up into the mind-
burning and body-bruising brightness of the interrogations. These
sessions always concluded now with Dr. Stein's golden cocktail,
the explosion of his own private volcano and oblivion, only to
rise out of the ooze hours or days later back at stage one - as
insubstantial and helpless as a petal blown about on the wind. 

     Around and around and around. World without beginning or
end.

     Finally, blessedly, a change in routine. Barely able to
walk, two men and helped him outside, into the air and onto... a
plane. Still in la-la land, the disjointed images of metal and
cloth and stair had been slow to congeal and make any sense to
his drug-soaked brain. His body, however, had registered the feel
and the vibration of the engines and the exhilarating surge of
the take off through the seat they had strapped him in. Soon
after take off, he had been taken to a hard, narrow bunk in the
rear of the private jet and held down while Stein did something
to his leg that burned like fire. All in all, the operation had
come and gone quickly enough and hadn't taken up much of the long
flight time. What had been left was more boredom for the group
and so they had reached for, as usual, their favorite victim and
a little of Poison Number Two to bring him up and little of
Number Three to send him flying. At least they hadn't used much
of Number Three, they didn't have that much time and the hard,
closed confines of the plane didn't make an extended session
practical.

     What this meant was that when they landed, he had some of
the stimulant still in his system. This only happened rarely now
and only in that narrow window between the interrogations and Dr.
Stein's arrival with his special recipe. During these times,
Mulder could almost hear things and see things normally. Those
few moments of clarity were almost worth the pain that came
before and the hell that came after. 

     They had to lift him from the plane because his coordination
still wasn't up to handling stairs but, once they had reached the
ground they had allowed him to walk some distance across tarmac
and walkway and grass on his own. The bodyguard's big fist had
been wrapped around his arm but other than that, he was without
manacles for longer than he could remember! Too battered and
dazed to question, he had given himself up to just absorbing the
warm sun and balmy tropical breeze on his pale skin. You can't
disguise sun like that and air like that even from a man who has
been drugged to the gills for who knew how many weeks. He didn't
fight or try to escape. He'd learned with bruises and imaginable
pain how futile that was. 

     He became aware of their voice again only after he was led
inside someplace dark and cool. Just that short walk and so
tired. He found something hard and uncomfortable to sit on and
nobody stopped him. He sat and tried to concentrate. He should be
able to, but nothing came. Not one clear thought. Someone took
his arm and led him up a path that curved up and on and on. The
floor was not completely smooth either. When he stumbled, he was
pulled upright. At least whoever his attendant was this time, he
was more thoughtful then most. He didn't just let his charge
fall. Finally, they entered some dark, enclosed space, enclosed
but still enormous compared to the four low walls of his tiny,
white cell. 

     Someone pushed him down onto a soft surface then ordered him
with tones close to his ear to remove his shoes. He did try,
though bending over that far made him dizzy. If he at least
tried, however, they usually left him alone. Somehow he managed,
though the activity exhausted him further. He then curled up on
the bed hoping to sleep but wasn't allowed to for long. First
they pulled at his arm and put something cold around his wrist
that was surprisingly lighter than the heavy metal of a handcuff
ring. A few minutes later they began to unbutton his shirt. That
was when a little surge of panic managed to make its way through
the fog. No... not again. They easily batted his protesting hands
away. Now the shirt was gone. They pushed him down flat against
the mattress. His insides began to writhe. He wondered if it
showed, if it pleased them? Titillating? He wished he could stop
the fear or at least his reaction to it though it was good to
feel something again, even fear. 

     There was another voice now and it was close. The words
slammed into him like blows. Someone on his left side, forced his
bent arm straight to get to the vein. All the strength and will
under his control, which wasn't much, went into fighting what
they would do next. There was always more than one of them,
however. How they laughed at this point, amazed that he meekly
accepted the stimulant that was given before interrogations but
fought this.

     He didn't fight from choice; he fought because the invasion
struck at the core of his concept of Self. He loathed the madness
this particular potion brought.

     But was that true? Didn't he hate most the small part of
himself that enjoyed what he would do now? It did release the
raging, desperate animal that had been kept far too long in its
tiny cage. That was a good thing, wasn't it? Like the fear, at
least under the bright drug's fire he could feel and fight and
hate in some way even if it were the way an animal fights and
hates. Better than no feeling at all. Better than being always
dead and alone inside.

                         * * * * * * * *

The Club
Twelve Weeks Later

     The tall, beautiful woman snapped the leather strap back
onto her belt. Slowly, like a wilted plant coming to life again,
Jake let his breath trickle out. It was over then, the scourge of
leather against his skin. Not hard, not at first, but again and
again and again. It stimulated the nerve endings, brought all the
blood to the surface, gave him wings. Something soft etched his
right cheek - the one below his waist not the one above - and it
could have been a feather or a knife or a burning brand. It all
felt the same in his current hypersensitized state. He swayed,
letting his wrists wrapped in their soft padded cuffs take more
of his weight. 

     The touch became a slap, a hard one that woke him fully. 

     "Ah, no, Jacob. By now you should know better than that.
Stand straight, stand tall and take it. You can take it, can't
you precious?" 

     He smiled. Though not perfectly symmetrical, it was an
angelic smile and a little mischievous. 

     "You're incorrigible, do you know that?" she asked in that
husky, throaty siren voice of hers.

     "As you say, Lisa."

     "I say."  She began running her fingertips over his skin.
The blood rushed back and forth, back and forth like the surf
when the sea is running high. The electricity began at the soles
of his feet and the crown of his head and met in that very
special place in between like a star poised just on the brink of
going nova. But Jake must control, he couldn't allow the nearly
bursting star to explode. Not until she told you that you could.
It was sheer bliss, it was sheer torture, today more than ever. 

     Lisa had 'worked' his body for more than two hours and given
him no release. Incredible. When he'd arrived ten weeks before,
thinking himself so worldly and experienced, he had not been able
to last five minutes with Lisa without embarrassing himself. That
would never do, Lisa had told him that second day while she
pushed something unmentionable up into his body and told what to
do with it. 

     Lisa, 'The Perfectionist', was a pro and she owed it to him
and to the members of the Club - to his future 'clients' - to see
that both sides got their money's worth. And Lisa knew her job.
She was, after all, the best trainer the Club had. She could whip
an initiate into shape in no time flat.

     No pun intended. 

     You learned patience with Lisa. You learned to love and fear
how she could make your body feel. You learned to desire how she
could make skin and bone and muscle and hair turn to fire and
jelly at the same time. And you learned that you would do
anything she asked you to do... anything... if only she could
make you feel that way just one more time.

     The tension was so incredible this time that there was a
puddle of his sweat where his feet barely touched the floor. He
was light headed from the loss of that sweat and the heat and the
blood that had run down from his arms and down from his head to
make its own pool center stage.

     Like a sensuous alleycat, Lisa began to lick at his sweat.
She was not only tall; she was what people called 'statuesque'.
Even hung by his wrists as he was, she could lick his shoulders
with no problem. She did that now, her breasts framed in their
leather and lace brushing his flaming skin. The tip of a tongue
touched one nipple. Jake gasped, clutched his teeth harder than
he thought possible and forced down the mad animal in his groin
that raged against the bars of its prison. Tears began to roll
uncontrolled down his face as his body began slowly to convulse.

     She touched one tear with the tip of a perfect finger and
licked it, then she put her arms around him. At first she only
rested her head against his chest listening to the frantic
drumming of his heart. Finally, she reached up and unclasped the
cuffs around his wrists and stepped back. Like soft butter, his
body sank boneless into a quivering mass on the floor, one with
his pool of sweat. The returning surge of blood into his brain
brought bright, dark sparkles dancing before his eyes. For a long
moment all was darkness. When the dazzling island sunlight of the
room returned, Jake found Lisa missing. Where?

     "Congratulations, Jacob," came that rich, crooning voice.
>From a hand she dangled a red and gold metal bracelet. The Prize.
"Yes, very impressive. Elliot has taught you well."

     She was up on the bed, all that black shiny leather and
white lace backlit by the clouds of white comforters. She made no
motion, granted no boon. He stayed nailed on the floor unable to
stand. He began to shake again with too much adrenaline and
nothing to burn it on but muscle and sinew and nerves. He allowed
his eyes to touch hers just for a second before he cast them down
again. He hoped she had seen what she had wanted to see in his
eyes.

     Clearly she had. The summons came, a barely audible purr
from deep in her chest. He crawled to the bed like a spider on
hands and feet, his legs awkward and too long. Muscles quivering
so that they could barely hold his weight, he finally made it to
the begging place. Now he could kneel. Subservient as he was
taught always to be before trainers and clients, he lowered his
head and exposed his bare mottled back to her. He waited a long,
long time, or so it seemed. Only her breathing in the room and
his and the rustle of the palm fronds outside her window made any
sound. He dare not speak. Only when spoken to. Those were the
rules.  

     A slave followed rules.... always... or a slave was
punished. Maybe he cleaned bathrooms on his hands and knees, bare
butt in the air, a target for all. Maybe he'd be assigned to only
new clients for a week, the awkward ones, the rough ones, the
ones who hadn't learned that the exquisite pleasure in their
relationship with any slave in this place was that the giving and
the taking had to go both ways. Worst of all, maybe he'd be given
to the new handlers as their training toy, forced to feign
resistance over and over again and again so that the transgressee
could be brutally 'restrained' just as many times. At the end of
the day more fun; the handlers had a lot of pent up energy to
expend and their practice slaves were ripe for the picking.

     Jake knew he should get into the habit of thinking 'Thrall'
and not 'Slave'. The Island had gone Politically Correct. 'Slave'
was not acceptable by some though the terms were used
interchangeably by most. 'Slave' was certainly the more demeaning
term and always used when a thrall showed any resistance to a
command. That was really the difference, the acceptance of the
thrall's chain was voluntary; when you were forced, that was
slavery. On the island, when you worked for the Club they assumed
that you wanted to be forced and so the difference between the
two became blurred to the point that there was no difference at
all.

     Elliot Slater, Lisa's 'mate' - their relationship was too
weird to be called a marriage - had pushed the term 'thrall' and
had it accepted. 'Thrall' was a medieval, barbaric term, the root
of 'enthrall'. 

     "What could be more appropriate?" Elliot had asked. After
all the point of the Club was for slaves to enthrall their
clients and for clients to become enthralled by their slaves.
That was the game. A thrall did whatever was asked of him by any
paying member of the Club - anything - but a thrall was also a
precious thing, treated as if they were a cross between a super
model and a champion greyhound. Exquisite food, baths and saunas
and massages were their due. Their bodies were oiled and
exercised to bring out their beauty. Then there were those, like
Lisa, who trained them and studied them. What turned each of them
on? That was the easy part. But what humiliation turned them
wild, helped them transcend the simple animal pleasure of the
masses to something glorious? _That_ was what the trainers
watched for and honed to a fine rare edge. For the thralls who
signed their lives away for three months to two years were
clients themselves as much as were the paying customers who flew
down to the five-star resort in their Lear jets for a weekend of
Club golf and sunset colored drinks. Oh, yes, and with the
exorbitant price of their rooms came the personal attention that
only the Club's rainbow of beautiful, naked slaves could provide.

     As his body cooled, Jake's bent back began to ache. He could
feel every welt stinking as the air touched them. Cramps crawled
along his leg muscles and all the while the supernova was still
eating him up from the inside. A finger raised his chin. Lisa's
heart-breakingly beautiful face was turned towards him, its
expression languid and slightly disdainful. She seemed as casual
as always, but her eyes this time were over-bright. 

     "You may speak, Jacob. Tell me what you want?"

     She could barely make out his words they were so soft, so
penitent. "Whatever Lisa desires."

     She could have strung him along, worse than the hours spent
hung by the hook in the ceiling. She could have made him clean
her room while she watched, requested that he reach high to dust
the non-existent cobwebs from the corners so she could watch his
muscles ripple and gaze upon that one straining muscle, her eyes
on it as cruel as any maddening caress. Instead, incredibly, she
moved back into the center of the bed and patted the space
between her spread knees with her beautiful hand, a hand capable
of bringing so much pleasure and so much pain - usually at the
same time.

     Having lowered his eyes after his request, he kept them
lowered as he crawled, belly down, up onto the bed. She reached
out and patted his dark head as he lay between her legs like a
large, damp pet.

     "You are a pleasure, Jacob. Unfortunately, Elliot and I
can't legitimately keep you with us any longer. You've graduated,
earned your Red Band. Out into the world full time for you."

     His head raised and he stared at the red and gold bracelet
that swung before his eyes. He'd nearly forgotten. The color
meant he was no longer a postulant. He raised his left hand for
her to remove the plain copper bracelet and replace it with the
red-gold one. It was cold on his overheated skin but nevertheless
threatened to burn. The Red Band meant that his partners would no
longer be picked for him in order to be assured that he
experienced the total range of available techniques and
sensations. He would be given a job around the Club where he
could be seen and admired and desired and some wealthy matron or
jet-setting businessman could pick him out and wand in his
number, thus requesting his services. He could be asked to serve
drinks, to play a set of tennis ('au naturale', of course), or to
wash their back. Maybe they just wanted a servant to paw at will
as they ate their caviar and drank their Mimosas around a pool.
Probably his services would be requested for the night, maybe
two. 

     Exciting this unknown? Most definitely. Dangerous? Not any
worse than driving the streets around any large city. Elsewhere,
yes. Deadly. But not at the Club. You don't mistreat your
expensive, pampered pets and the thralls are clean and well
trained and all yours. The clients, too, were clean, as clean as
any medical test yet devised by Man could make them, and they
followed the Club's own set of rules for their behavior or they
were shown the door. Everyone also conveniently forgot what they
saw and did at the Club. That would cause too much publicity, the
wrong kind of attention. It would close the place down and no one
wanted that - not the owners, not the trainers, not the clients
and certainly not the thralls.

     Lisa groaned. Occupied as he was, Jacob smiled. He'd been
busy during his musings once the bracelet had been fastened
irrevocably about his wrist, and he'd surprised her. He had a few
tricks up his sleeve Miss Perfection didn't know about, or he
would have had some if he were wearing any - sleeves, that is. So
he was years older than any of the other postulants. There were
advantages to advanced years that the beautiful Lisa was now
going to learn.

End of Chapter 2
JAKE AND FOX JOIN THE CLUB (3/25)
by Wind (Windsinger@aol.com)  

Disclaimer: See chapter 1 

Chapter 3 

Five days later

     "How are you feeling today, Jake?" The voice, a soft
baritone, was genuinely concerned.  

     Jake's brain swam out of the fog left over from the
painkillers. His skin rasped painfully against the soft sheets
but he didn't cry out as he had the day before. His joints and
muscles complained but would work if he asked them to. Jake
didn't ask them to, choosing to remain on his stomach. 
     
     "Better, Elliot," Jake answered truthfully, turning his head
so his cheek rather than his chin was against the mattress.

     Elliot pulled up a chair. He had already raised the hospital
bed to a comfortable level so that the patient didn't have to
move his head very far to see him. The Club kept a well-supplied
and staffed medical center. Keeping your slaves healthy was
serious business. They _were_ the Club's most important resources
after all. Other resorts had golf courses with 'greens' tended to
a billiard table smoothness. Other resorts had sea and sun and
crystal pools and gourmet meals. Only at the Club could the guest
enjoy in the open air, in the light of day, what other resorts
could only provide under the table, after hours, in darkened
rooms or at small private parties.  

     "I know I said this the night you were brought in," Elliot
repeated, "but I'll say it again. Lisa and I, the entire
management team, are really sorry that this happened. It's
unforgivable. You are supposed to be protected here from this
sort of thing. And its not like you didn't give the signal to
stop. I've reviewed the tapes."

     Acutely awake now, Jake raised startled eyes. "You tape what
goes on here? You watch? If the guests knew..."

     "Don't be obtuse. Of course, we do. In the main resort
anyway. Our private patrons wouldn't stand for such invasive
tactics but we do here. The tapes help the trainers to see other
sides to their novices. Mostly though, it's for security. You
don't think we need to watch that sort of thing for fun, do you?
Besides, we're discrete - we have to be - but we do have a
reputation to uphold. This is supposed to be a fantasy. A safe,
wild fantasy. No one gets hurt: that's the number one rule. You
have our word, that creep won't get in here again or into any
other reputable establishment despite his millions. You may have
been gagged - nothing unusual about that - but we have six
different signals for 'Stop' and you gave - or attempted to give
if you hadn't been restrained - every one. That - " Elliot used a
word for 'creep' in a language Jake didn't know but the meaning
was clear enough - "blatantly ignored every one."

     Jake let his head fall back onto the clean, white sheets and
closed his eyes, a little lingering nausea twisting his stomach.
If Elliot asked at that moment, he'd have to say that he
remembered very little of that night, that afternoon even.
Everything was a blank since the time he'd been taken by one of
the handlers to the big blond executive's room in blindfold and
gag and leather collar and chains as the guest had requested. It
was the client's prerogative.  

     All part of the game. 

     As with all the other times, Jake had felt a little sick, a
lot expectant, very aroused. It was like stage fright except for
the arousal part. His demon, however, had been particularly alive
that day and, as always, he'd been eager to give her her fix so
she would leave him in peace. What had she done this time? Gone
too far? But he had given the 'Stop' signals. All of them. 
Elliot had a tape. Jake hadn't known until now that she had
access to the level of his brain where he stored such knowledge.
At least she'd tried to keep him from harm. That was some
consolation.
 
     "You know that this incident nullifies you're contract,
don't you?" Elliot was saying. "You can check out right now and
go home. I truly wanted to see how you were but I'm also here to
bring you the paperwork - if that's what you want to do." Elliot,
just on the near side of fifty and in perfect shape. In body type
he was a cross between Harrison Ford and Mel Gibson only better
looking. Now he gestured towards an expensive leather brief case
sitting on the floor. In his white linen collarless shirt and
cool linen slacks, Elliot had looked odd carrying the dark thing
into this white, sun-filled room. 

     "Jake -" 

     Jake noted that the older man used Jake's real name and not
his official Club name.

     "- Lisa and I, we really hope you decide not to go. You've
been here what - ten weeks? You know we were hesitant to accept
your application because of your age - a decade beyond most of
our staff - but once she'd met you, Lisa insisted." A hand came
up and with great tenderness Elliot smoothed the spiky, sleep-
damp hair on Jake's brow. "I'm so glad I went with her instincts
on that. You've done magnificently." 

     Almost with reluctance Elliot leaned back in his chair to
open a pocket computer. Across the sensor, he scanned the barcode
on the back of the nearly new red-banded ID bracelet that
encircled Jake's wrist, the one with 'Jacob' embossed in scarlet
letters. "Did you know that you've only been red-banded for only
five days and your dance card is filled practically to the last
day of your contact? You've gotten quite a reputation is a very
short time." 

     Jake felt the intensity of the man's deep blue eyes. Not an
inch of Jake's skin escaped Elliot's notice. Not the curve of a
cheek or curl of an eye lash. Lisa and Elliot were two of the
most overtly sensual people Jake had ever met and you didn't have
to be in physical contact with either one for your body to
respond to their 'touch' as Jake's was responding most pleasantly
to now. 

     "This female persona you take on sometimes when you're
'working' ...," Elliot mused. "I think that that's a big part of
your appeal. I don't know where it comes from, there was nothing
in your application or psychological evaluation to indicate
that."

     Jake felt whatever was in his upset stomach congeal in the
sudden cold. "Is that... objectionable?"

     "Not at all. It's hard to find anything objectionable here
except for what that -" there was that word again "- did to you.
The affect is enchanting actually. Funny, Lisa's never seen it. I
think she's jealous." Elliot was leaning over, breathing the next
words softly into Jake's ear. "I have though, lots of time."
Elliot's hand had returned to Jake's body and he was tracing the
sensitive purple strips from the hard end of the heavy whip that
covered Jake's back. These were not the little red welts Lisa
bestowed that faded in hours. These were truly painful, but
Elliot knew how to be gentle. What had begun as a familiar, warm
glow was fanning quickly into a considerable blaze under Elliot's
expert fingers.

     'Don't start this unless you intend to finish it,' Jake
mused but a slave doesn't voice those sorts of thoughts to anyone
on the island, especially not to a trainer. Jake, however, needed
to know some things. He'd begun to panic in his private way and
that and his infirmity had made him short-tempered. Elliot had
told him that Jacob would have to wait another forty-eight hours
before he could be seen, before he could 'work' again. Forty-
eight hours without that pure, overwhelming distraction? In this
place, after what he had been doing or thinking about all day,
every day, for more than two months - eight months longer if you
counted the time before his arrival here - sounded like a prison
sentence.

     Jake rolled with some difficulty onto his bruised back.
Elliot's expert hands never lost contact but shifted to trace
similar welts cris-crossing Jake's shoulders and encircling his
ribs. Jake knew the older man could feel him shiver. 

     "Do you like it when I... change?" Jake asked. He'd never
spoken so freely of 'Her' before to anyone. 

     "It's not you," Elliot responded, retreating from his
seduction for a moment to consider his response. "It's like
another person, another being. Very hungry. Starving. Almost out
of control. Almost aggressive, not like a thrall is supposed to
be."

     "Almost."

     "Yes, and, therefore, not over the line... not yet. I'm just
warning you to be careful." Thinking back, Elliot frowned then, a
real frown, which was unusual on the incredibly handsome face of
this gracious, intelligent man. 

     Elliot Slater had come here as a slave himself back when
they were really called slaves. He came having signed a two-year
contract. Long, long before the two years were up, however, Lisa
had broken all the rules with him and then married him. It was
unheard of for one of the trainers - especially one of the elite
- to lose their objectivity that way. 

     It was difficult thinking of Elliot on his knees, a
supplicant. But then there were times... when they were alone,
truly alone.... The things Elliot asked Jake to do; the things
that they did to each other, in the dark, in the light. Then Jake
could believe anything. 

     Elliot still had that far-way look in his eyes as he
considered Jake's question. Did he like the affect of 'Her'? 

     "Sometimes I lose myself in you, Jake. It's like being with
no one else, not even Lisa. I don't even remember what has
happened sometimes. It's like being in a storm of weird,
disjointed sensation. It's almost as if the hungry lioness were
not you, but had instead become part of me. Stalking and
attacking while I can only watch and feel and let it all happen.
Weird. Maybe that's what some of the others feel, maybe that's
where your reputation is coming from. Undiscovered country even
for us here." 

     Elliot shook himself from his reverie. Jake continued to
stare intently at this older man who was, even more than Lisa,
his mentor.

     "But enough of that for now," Elliot said. The first
question of the day is, do you want out or are you going to stay
with us?"

     Jake answered without hesitation. "I honor my contacts. I'm
not going anywhere." 

     With my burden? Where would I go?

     Those blue, piecing eyes again. "But do you want to stay?" 

     If he could trust his limbs to move with any grace, Jake
knew what he would do. They had trained the responses deep in his
bones over these incredible weeks and in the S&M houses in LA he
had frequented before then. He would kneel before Elliot, head
bowed, and beg most humbly. Now he could only lie there, his only
tools his voice and his own eyes. He tried to make his voice
light but there was no amusement in his eyes. "Unless I know
longer please, I want to stay."

     Elliot smiled slowly, beautifully, the warmth in his eyes
adding fuel to the small blaze in Jake. He was, even at his age,
still an incredibly handsome man. What he must have been like
thirty years before nearly took Jake's breath away.

     "Oh, you please. Lisa even wants me to start putting the
pressure on you to extend your contact, to offer you a fifty
percent bonus, which is as much as we ever offer anyone, but I
told her this was not the best time." Elliot's hand again,
running down Jake's naked thigh. Jake didn't move, only shivered
welcomingly. "So that's settled for the time being. Good. Next is
what do we do with you for the next two or three days. We can't
have you wandering about with your back and your arms and your
legs looking like someone's done a very poor job of tattooing a
rainbow on your skin. That's bad advertising. Dangerous, too, in
that it might start giving the more extreme clients ideas."

     "Can I at least be up and about?" There was a twinge of
pleading in Jake's voice that he wished wasn't there, but he
dreaded being left in this white room all alone for three days.
Certain 'demons' would get very angry, very restless. 

     "Of course you can," Elliot said, approaching the bed again
with those eyes of his alight. "We just have to discuss how." 

                                

     Their discussion lasted hours. It was a leisurely and
incredibly satisfying exchange for both and largely, though not
always, silent. Even Jake's she-demon seemed to recognize that
the vessel which was Jake was not up to her normal appetite and,
though far from absent, laid back to let him catch his breath
which at times was hard to do.   

     Most arousing was when Elliot, skin gleaming with sweat, had
gone down on one knee. Taking the heavy, gold bracelet from his
own wrist, he'd locked it around Jake's right one, opposite
Jake's own red-band. Jake felt a trembling of movement in his
groin like a warm, wild, furtive animal. The nameplate on the new
bracelet bore no name but was instead deeply etched with the
Club's logo and with, of course, the ever-present bar code.
Everything was scanned here - to gain admittance to various
buildings or locations on the grounds - to pay for your room,
your drinks, your tee time - to reserve your thrall or thralls
for the day. With the pure gold bracelet, Elliot had, in essence,
bestowed upon Jake the keys to the kingdom. Until he was
physically fit to assume his former duties, Jake could go
anywhere on the island, could do anything.

     "Before you let this go to your head and start in on the
four-hundred-dollar-a-bottle wine, I'm giving you this so that
everyone will know that you are acting in my stead. I have some
administrative duties I just haven't had a chance to get to. You
don't think I can run this place flat on _my_ back do you?"

     With one finger Jake traced the stubbled cheek of the hard,
damp body squeezed in beside him on his wide hospital bed.
"Considering that's where you are now..."

     With surprising speed Elliot let a pillow fall, though not
with any force. "Behave. I need to outline your first job and
then I've got to get back to the office. I've dallied long enough
with you, you fox."
     
     As always since his nearly disastrous adventure in
Washington D.C. nearly a year before, Jake smiled at the
reference to that sly and graceful animal, though Elliot would
never know why.
 
     "All right, I'm listening. What do you wish of me, Master?"
     
     With a grin and a final pat to Jake's flat stomach, Elliot
rolled off the bed in one smooth motion and headed for the room's
small bathroom only feet away. "There's an area of the island
called the Caverns."

     "I've seen it. It's looks like a volcano from here?"

     "In a theme park sort of way, yes." The shower started and
Elliot raised his voice above it as he washed. "That's a private
enclave. A few years ago some extremely wealthy clients came to
us and asked if the Club would be willing to provide and maintain
some exclusive, luxury suites - at a price. The price would
include the housing and care of special 'companions' who would
live here full time even though their patrons would come and go.
Most of these clients - both men and women, I'll have you know -
are jet-setting business types who practically live on their
personal planes so coming here for the weekend or on an
occasional layover is not an inconvenience. Some are very public
figures and for personal reasons wanted to keep their special
bedwarmers out of the media's eye. We agreed - for a price. There
is a clause in all the contracts, however. If the Club finds
itself in need of some extra 'resources', we have the right to
enlist the services of these pampered pets."

     "You have a need now?"

     Elliot emerged from the bathroom, drying his amazingly fit
body with a thick champagne-colored towel. "Yes. The powers that
be - not me - have booked a very large convention for the end of
the month. I fear it will strain our current resources. I've
invited some former staff to return for that week but I need to
know what others I can call in at need. I want you to take a look
at what we have over there."
     
     Jake mused. "I sense you haven't made use of this clause
much in the past. May I ask why?"

     With a few quick strokes, Elliot dried his still thick, fair
hair. "A business decision. Weŝre a conservative lot, as you
know. We recruit, select and train our staff with great care. We
have physical and psychological standards to maintain. For these
private companions, the host clients don't have to be so picky.
Also, their tastes - " Elliot paused in his dressing. "Let's just
say they can be bizarre. Feel free to pass by anything too weird
without a second thought. I'm giving you this job, Jake, because
I trust you and because you're a mature, intelligent individual.
You have nothing to prove here. You're a professional in the
outside world and so you appreciate the needs of business. If you
don't find anything that would be suitable, nothing you feel that
Lisa and I would allow out roaming on the main grounds, then so
be it. We'll manage without." 

     "Gee thanks, Elliot," Jake said without enthusiasm, as if he
didn't have enough kinkiness in his life. "Sounds like so much
fun."

     "Oh, it can be fun. Probably will stretch even your
horizons. Take your time. Sample the goods. Don't laugh, I'm
serious. I want a _thorough_ inspection and I expect you to have
first hand experience with each resource you recommend. As I
said, this is business."

     At that, damp but dressed, Elliot planted a light kiss over
a particularly bad bruise on Jake's bare left shoulder and
breezed out of the room.

     Interesting work if you can get it, Jake thought, amused as
he crawled slowly and painfully out of the bed, heading for the
shower himself. The next time, however, that his tax form asked
for his occupation, he wondered if he could still write in
'architect' with good conscience.

     The she-demon preened and shivered in anticipation within
that good-sized chunk of his soul that he had staked out as her
own.

End of Chapter 3
JAKE AND FOX JOIN THE CLUB (4/25)
by Wind (Windsinger@aol.com)

Disclaimer: See chapter 1 

Chapter 4

     Clumsily settling his robes around his lean frame, Jake
stumbled out of Cavern Suite Nine, grateful to hear the slight
hiss as the automatic doors breathed closed behind him. A sex
maniac that one. There had to be a psychological term for that
creature but his brain wasn't functioning clearly enough for him
to bring it to mind. And he thought _his_ demon was insatiable
and demanding. 

     Limbs and insides still in near spasms with that odd mixture
of disgust and delight, Jake flopped down on one of the benches
that were spaced intermittently along the ramp that wound up and
around the inside of the Cavern's volcano-like atrium. Not for
the first time he was grateful for the loose Bedouin robes that
flowed gracefully around his body. The faux stone benches could
be cold!  The robes also hid those bruises that Elliot had been
worried about. It was a good disguise for other reasons. Arabs in
native dress were not an uncommon sight on the island. Made of
light-colored, lightweight fabric, the loose, ankle-length pants
and long-sleeved robe were practical for the sunny, often hot
climate. They were also romantically enticing, concealing only to
reveal, requiring only a stronger than normal breeze to disrupt
the folds. The exotic Arab headcovering and sunglasses added to
Jake's new persona - agent of the management, man of mystery,
possessor of the keys to the kingdom that Jake wore in the form
of Elliotŝs bracelet that dangled from his right wrist.

     Flipping open the obviously expensive notebook computer
Elliot had sent him, Jake checked to see that no one was around
before removing his dark glasses. He had a hard enough time
seeing in the Cavern's subdued lighting without them. Then Jake
began to record his observations of the resident 'pet' in Suite
Nine. He surprised even himself when he found his fingers typing
the formal, concise phrasing he had used when writing contracts
or responding to proposals back in the real world.

     The real world. How far away that seemed. He had been a good
architect. Very good. Brilliant and driven. Until, that is, his
life had splintered into a thousand pieces of chaos and ashes.
Eighteen months later he had finally pulled himself out of it and
was doing some good work again. Then he had attended that ill-
fated conference in Washington. The unforeseen consequences of
that had never left him. Oh, he was still driven, only the
obsession had changed, and that obsession had driven him here.

     With a shudder, Jake turned his mind back to his current
task and found himself automatically reviewing the fifteen
residents he had visited so far over the last two days. No wonder
Elliot procrastinated coming here. Oh, there was beauty enough to
behold. Most of the residents were as lovely as gods and
goddesses but there was always something a little twisted in mind
or body. No, not twisted, 'lacking' was a better word, that or
'incomplete'. There had to be or most would be modeling swimwear
or acting in soap operas. 

     The Cavern's residents fell into three categories. 

     The majority were socially inept in some way, usually
horribly shy or panicked in crowds, or had some irritating habit
such as the black-haired goddess who talked incessantly. When
performing her required function for her patron she was gagged
most of the time or so Jake deduced from the numerous gags and
muzzles hanging from various hooks all about the suite.

     The second group was made up of those who were physically -
exceptional. One twenty-nine year old woman could have passed
anywhere for twelve. Some hormonal defect. The state
representative who owned her contract had a thing for little
girls but his conscience wouldn't allow him to admit that fact
even to himself and certainly not to his constituency. The
compromise he had come up with was preferable to actually 'doing
it' with the forbidden ones but not much. And that was only one
example. Behind these identical doors there could be found giants
and giantesses, one sad-eyed troll and two fragile, angel-like
midgets. So far Jake had seen only two castratee, two eternally
beautiful boys. He had somehow expected more. All were well
trained to provide the personal attention their patrons and their
patron's guests liked best.

     The last category was comprised of surprisingly normal
people, at least normal by Club definition. These thralls were
not so much different from those that roamed the cafes and tennis
courts, beaches and bedrooms around the main resort. One handsome
ex-football player was recovering from double knee surgery by
writing a book. He was fortunate that his 'sugar Mommy' had the
money to send her boy toy to a really nice place to recuperate.
She flew in weekly with his physical therapist to check up on his
progress - among other things. One TV evangelist hid his
beautiful ex-altar boy here just to keep him as far away from
muck-racking journalists as possible. Most were just 'kept' boys
and girls sent here on extended vacations as if to a health spa
in an attempt to keep in shape and stave off the years, a
necessity in their profession. 

     The services the Club promised to provide had to be top
quality, five star and beyond. For that reason when Jake wrote
his final report, the thralls in this last group - minus the
football hero with the bad knees - would be the only ones he
planned to recommend to Elliot as being able to mingle with the
clientele at the main resort. 

     Jake rubbed his temples and wondered what time it was. It
must be late afternoon. There were few clocks on the island and
no sun to be seen here in the cave-like lobby. He was tired,
physically and mentally. Most of the residents Jake had visited
had been more than willing to demonstrate their skills for this
mysterious Arab, and more often than not, Jake had accepted. All
of this explained why it had taken him two full days to see only
fifteen of the residents. At this rate he would need another full
day to finish and only then if his energy and certain parts of
his anatomy held out. 

     What troubled Jake more and more was that he no longer
understood why he responded so readily to such advances. He had
come to the Club to satisfy his demon's appetite and thus to find
a few moments of peace once she was satiated. In the disastrous
beginning weeks of his strange new life, Jake had told himself
that he would be the one choosing whose arms and whose bed he
would visit because then he retained at least some control. That
plan had failed so often that he had signed on at the Club. At
least when things went wrong here he was less likely to end up
dead. He didn't even consider giving it up entirely.

     Not only was forbidden fruit addictive but _she_ could get
rough, really rough.  
     
     Saving the file and shutting the notebook, Jake rose and
stretched. He was ready to call it a day. It was a leisurely
thirty minute stroll back down the beach to his little room in
the thrall's dormitory and the weather was, as ever on the
island, perfect. He didn't mind that the room was small, almost a
closet. It didn't need to be large or fancy. Thralls owned hardly
any clothes and few other possessions. Besides, after his second
week he had seldom needed its hard, narrow bed. Too weirded out
by the residents of the Cavern, he had slept in it the night
before, however, which had also been the first night the doctors
had allowed him out of the clinic. How surprisingly empty that
night had seemed.  

     As if looking for an excuse not to return to that lonely
place, Jake decided that he could use a massage. The nearly seven
foot tall Amazon in Suite Ten had felt the need to stretch some
muscles and in the process had stretched Jake's. Muscles he
hadn't known he had. He could go to the gym that the Club had
placed at the disposal of its staff, however, the new supplicants
always jabbered on so. In the years since Alex's death, Jake had
learned to appreciate solitude and even here craved it when he
could. For this reason he had always gotten along better with
trainers and handlers than his fellow slaves. Neither they nor
the clients liked thralls who talked too much.

     Flipping open the notebook computer once more, Jake scanned
the profile belonging to the next resident on his list. Number
Eight was a German, blond and blue-eyed, who tended to dwell a
bit too heavily on the glories of the old Nazi days. Jake decided
that it was too late in the day for that level of excitement
considering his own ethnic background. All right then, who was
next. 

     Number Seven just might do. A male in his mid-thirties.
Mature, then, and experienced and yet lacking the raging hormones
of youth. Very withdrawn, the profile said. Good, he wouldn't
want to talk very much either. If the man was a body servant of
any quality, he should be able to provide a halfway decent
message. That was all Jake was interested in at the moment. 

     As always before entering one of the private suites, Jake
checked in with the concierge. The attendant on duty at this hour
was a tall, buxom blond. 'Ingrid' flashed from the nameplate on
her blue-banded bracelet. Blue, and, therefore, a trainer in
training. She looked so bright, so healthy, no _normal_ after all
that Jake had seen over the past two days that he smiled broadly
despite the fact that such a smile did not go with the dark
glasses and the Arab headdress. It probably made him look all the
more like a genuine used camel salesman.

     "Finished for the day, Mr. Simmons?"
 
     Simmons... his last name. It sounded so odd after more than
ten weeks of 'Jacob' or 'Jake' or 'honey'. Ten weeks in a world
so different from the outside that it might as well have been ten
months or ten years. Being addressed as 'Mr. Simmons' came from
acting on behalf of Elliot and Lisa. Supplicants didn't have last
names.

     "One more, I think. Suite Seven. Is he alone now?"

     "Him? Always. The others drift back and forth between rooms
when their patrons aren't visiting - chess tournaments, dinner
parties, other kinds of parties. I haven't seen that pretty one
out of his room except when one of us drags him out and hulls his
ass to the gym or the spa."

     Jake frowned. "I don't understand."

     Ingrid took a deep breath. It make her full beasts strain
against their nearly invisible halter top. "I'm sorry, that
wasn't very kind. Life styles are private here and if his patron
allows him to live stoned three days out of seven, to fly higher
than the moon on weekends and then lie comatose for the first two
days of the week, that's his business. It's hard on us here,
however. Monday we play damage control from the weekend. They
trash the place. At least _he's_ completely out of it and out of
our way. Tuesdays he's much the same. The rest of the week we
just have to see that he drinks and eats something, stays clean
and gets some exercise. Otherwise he just lies about from Sunday
night to Friday afternoon." Her blue eyes weren't anywhere near
as biting as her words. She was entirely serious when he added,
"A pity, a real pity."

     "He doesn't sound like anyone Lisa and Elliot would be
interested in but just so my report will be complete I have to
look in on him. I guess that might as well be now."

     "As you wish," said Ingrid. "Let me know if you need any
help."

     Jake felt a shudder run through him as he walked back up the
ramp he had just come down. Ingrid's reports had spiked his
interest. Drugs. Drugs weren't used at the Club nearly as much as
people might think considering that nothing was forbidden here.
Frowned upon, yes. Illegal? No. There was no need when everyone
on the island, from the wealthiest client to the greenest
supplicant, had everything they could possibly want. Jake noted
that it was Tuesday. If the pattern held, Number Seven would
probably not be interested in extra-curricular activities, but
then Jake wasn't interested in putting out that much effort
either. He had considered going the drug route once to escape
from his demon. Didn't work. At the worst this visit would allow
him to scratch one more inspection off his list for the next day.

     A set of chimes toned gently to announce him as he entered.
The pattern of the chimes indicated the status the caller held in
the island's hierarchy, not that it mattered greatly since the
room's only inhabitant was a slave. Thralls had no right of
refusal, not in access to their rooms, any more than in access to
their bodies. Jake stood in the entryway letting his eyes adjust
to the dim light just as the doors to Suite Seven slid closed
behind him. The light in the foyer was pleasantly dim but
compared to this was more like full day. The decor of all the
suites followed through with the barbaric Cavern theme but Suite
Seven was the gloomiest Jake had visited so far. 
     
     The heavy drapes were closed tight, blocking out all but the
merest crack of the glorious island sunshine. Only one of the
electric sconces that lined the room's walls at regular intervals
was lit. Jake had to remove his sunglasses to even make out the
vague outlines of the furniture. Though he knew there were more
rooms beyond - bedrooms and baths, a kitchen - this was the
suite's center. It was a huge, stark room appearing barren
because of its size, the height of its ceiling and the scantiness
of its furnishings. Not a living room, but what they called in
the business a 'great room'. As his eyes adjusted to the low
light, Jake made out the huge central platform bed that most of
the main rooms in the Cavern suites were equipped with. There was
a conversation pit in one corner by the window which consisted of
a couch, a few good, deep chairs and couple of low tables. On the
other side was a formal dining room table that could seat eight
easily. In testified to the size of the room that there was
enough furniture here to fill a good size living room, dining
room and master bedroom and yet this room felt empty.

     Hesitantly, Jake took a few steps inside. He would have
called the occupant's name but he didn't remember it from the
profile. 

     "Excuse me?" He called. Silence. "Hello, but I've come from
the management. May I have a few minutes of your time?" That
certainly sounded inane, like Jake had come to read the gas
meter. Tele-marketers had better opening lines. Not that it
mattered. Still no answer. That was when Jake noticed the figure
curled in a ball in the center of the huge bed, its long limbs
entangled in black satin sheets. His eyes rapidly adjusting, Jake
stepped to the bedside. The man was out of it - either deeply
asleep or stoned. One slender, long-fingered hand lay stretched
out on the mattress, fingers curled uncomfortably like talons. He
shifted ever so slightly. Jerky, spastic motions.

     His dreams were not pleasant ones.
     
     Deciding he would try back the next day, Jake turned to go
then changed his mind. Instead he returned to lean over the
sleeping form. Unable to read the name on the simple gold and
green nameplate, Jake activated another of the torch-like
sconces.

     In this additional pale light the name was clearer. Isaac.
The name hit Jake like a blow to the chest. 

     Isaac and Jacob. 

     Just a coincidence, had to be, but his brain reeled out the
details automatically. The story went that God asked Jacob to
bind his son, place him on an altar, and sacrifice him. Luckily,
the hand of that same God in the form of an angel stayed the
knife. Just a little test of loyalty, however, the binding and
the Isaac's submission - that was too much like the games played
in this place.

     Jake more than shivered; he felt as if someone had just
opened the door to the world's largest deep freeze. On the whole
Jake didn't believe in premonitions but if he did, he'd have
sworn that something really, really big had just slithered over
his grave.
     
     Now seemed like a very good time to retreat only Jake
couldn't take his eyes from the tangle of limbs. Long, lean
limbs. A muscular shoulder. Firm stomach. A hint of a strong male
jaw from under the arm that otherwise hid his face. A flaw marred
the smooth skin by the shoulder. A scar. A round neat scar. 

     The blood in his veins turning to ice water, Jake touched
one knee. The figure didn't move. With more pressure Jake was
able to move the left leg to see the inner thigh. Another scar.
Much larger and puckered. With trembling hands Jake moved the arm
which hid Isaac's features.

     He didn't know how his weakening legs managed to keep him
upright, but they did. He knew this sad face. His strength
failing him completely, Jake dropped down to sit on the side of
the bed. Better than falling on the floor. He knew this face but
not because he saw it in the mirror every day. It was other
people who said they looked alike, like brothers, like twins,
identical twins. Eight months before two men had tortured and
planned to kill Jake for that likeness. During the brief,
explosively intense time Jake had known this man, they had never
seemed so alike to Jake.

     Maybe it was because most people carry this self-image in
their heads which has nothing to do with what they see in the
mirror. Or maybe you see in the mirror what you expect to see,
the countenance you saw when you were twelve and fifteen and
twenty-five. He saw something entirely unique when he looked at
this man. He saw maturity and stubbornness; male beauty,
determination and honor; professionalism... and pain.

     A woman had once searched Jake's broken body, her
physician's hands searching for that round shoulder scar and that
long one on the thigh. Only when she hadn't found them had she
believed the truth. The Jake was not the one.

     This figure had those things and, therefore, this was
without a doubt Fox Mulder. In his shock and consternation,
Jake's skin pebbled with gooseflesh under its thin Arab robes. 

     "Mulder? What in hell are you doing here?" Deaf in his deep
slumber, the figure kept on dreaming his unhappy dreams.
 
     Undercover was Jake's first thought. He had first met the
man when the agent had crawled into the blackened hole of a
ancient gutted furnace where Jake was being held prisoner. Mulder
had been dressed as a one-eyed vet in street-weary fatigues. He
had come to trade places with the man who had been mistaken for
him. He came to force Jake to assume his disguise and let Jake go
free to bring back help.

     Jake had only barely managed that. They would have come too
late if Fox had not had the aid of a certain female ghost.

     Undercover this time, too? No, not in this place which was,
in essence, a harem. Only rich men's very special, very secret
companions lived at the Caverns, hiding their beauty or their
specialness or their loneliness from a scary world. Why would
Mulder want to hide? 

     One thought came immediately to mind. By some terrible
tragedy had a certain red-haired dynamo been taken from him? 

     "Is it Scully, Mulder? Is Scully dead? Is that why you're
here?"

     No, Mulder would have used a bullet or a bottle to escape
from that kind of tragedy. This was too far, too complicated of a
hiding hole for that. 

     What other reason? Mulder had enemies - many, nasty enemies.
A couple of those Jake had come to know _very_ well. Could he be
hiding from some of them? Certainly no one would think to look
for the grim, FBI agent in such a place.

     And certainty not acting the way Ingrid reported that the
resident of Suite Seven did. 

     Fear escalating, Jake reversed his earlier premise.
Companions did not come here to hide. Most could not afford it.
Companions were _hidden_ here. Placed by others. 

     "Mulder..." Jake said again, his voice louder this time. He
shook the unresponsive shoulder. "Mulder! Wake up! Wake up damn
you!" 

     Nothing. Mulder was on his back now, naked limbs
outstretched, his breathing barely changed. He could be moved as
easily as a very large rag doll. Jake shook the broad shoulders,
shouted in his ear, slapped at the bare skin of chest and
shoulder and cheek. A little grunt of air was the only response. 

     Sprinting for one of the bathroom, Jake came back with a
dripping bath towel. The cold water did the trick. The sleeping
man moaned and tried to push the heavy wetness away. Mulder was
drugged. No one woke with this much difficulty. Jake hadn't even
needed to see the tracks on the man's arms to be certain of that.
The Fox Mulder Jake knew would not live such a dull, purposeless,
loveless existence without being drugged to the gills.

     Finally, the eyes opened. They may just as well have stayed
closed. They were that flat and lifeless.

End of Chapter 4
JAKE AND FOX JOIN THE CLUB (5/25)
By Wind (Windsinger@aol.com)

For Disclaimer see chapter 1.

Chapter 5

     Panicking, Jake fled the bed where this nearly mindless
thing lay unmoving and ran for the door, stumbling on the
threshold. His mind reeled as he descended the ramp towards the
concierge's desk. Could that still be Ingrid's blond-haired head
down there? In the last few minutes, Jake had felt his fantasy
life ripped apart and scattered before the cold doors of hell.
Though neither of them came from at normal world of nuclear
family, little league games, a house in the suburbs and shopping
malls, Mulder's life was nothing like Jake's. Mulder came from a
world of violence. Mulder had been put here, locked away. A
velvet prison. This Jake knew in his bones.

     As Jake drew nearer, Ingrid's smiling countenance began to
droop in apprehension. What did his own face reveal? Agitation,
yes, but anything else? Quite a bit actually. For the first time
he wasn't wearing his glasses before any of the Cavern's
attendants. She must know the resident in Suite Seven. Would she
see the resemblance? How could she now? Should he try to explain
that? He'd never understood it himself. What should he say? As
little as possible until he had this figured out. Did Mulder have
enemies here? Jake couldn't believe that Lisa and Elliot could be
involved. Elliot had sent him here, had trusted him to do a
simple job for him. He had to have been unaware of what Jake
would find in this place. And yet inadvertently, just by making a
call to this Forsyth, who was 'Isaac's' patron, any one of the
well-meaning people at the Club could cause serious harm. 

     Rouse Mulder, Jake decided. Mulder would know what needed to
be done, who to trust.

     Hurriedly, Jake replaced his sunglasses, hoping that Ingrid
hadn't gotten a good look at his face and adjusted his fallen
headdress and disheveled robes. Slowing his pace and his
breathing was hardest of all. 

     Ingrid was still alarmed. "Is something wrong, sir?"

     He would have to have some explanation for the temporary
loss of his cool demeanor. "Sorry, I was just startled. The man
in Suite Seven -" Jake grappled in his swirling brain for the
name he'd read on the green bracelet "- Isaac. Looking at him, I
suddenly realized that I knew him years agoŝ on the outside. It
was just a shock to see him here the way he is. The man I knew
didn't take drugs. I hope you don't mind my asking but does the
staff have instructions to give him any regular medication?
Something special, his patron may have prescribed for him?"

     "Absolutely not, sir!" Ingrid replied, emphatically. "Many
of our residents do take regular medication - insulin, anti-
depressants, one with a history for epilepsy takes anti-
convulsants, it's in their medical history - but they're required
to administer anything they need themselves. It's a firm rule. If
we did, it might be misconstrued..." Ingrid didn't go any further
but the rational for the rule was clear enough. The management of
the Club was many things but not stupid.

     You could hold someone here against their will that way.

     Ingrid must still be reading his face and imagined he was
not completely satisfied with her response. "The medical center
will fill their prescriptions and supply any... recreational
drugs they may desire - that's just one of our services - but we
won't administer anything."

     Cold... Jake was so cold. It was as if the desolate wind
Jake had felt up in that room was blowing against the back of his
neck. When he began speaking again his voice was not steady. 
     
     "May I ask what you've supplied Suite Seven with since his
arrival?" Ingrid went to her computer without hesitation. By
contract, the Cavern residents were not much different than any
other Club staff and so like any other thrall were afforded no
privacy as far as their records were concerned, certainly not to
someone wearing Elliot Slater's gold bracelet.

     "No, sir, nothing. Mr. Forsyth must bring Isaac's supply
with him on the weekends. That's allowed. Sir, could you please
tell me what's wrong? Is there anything I can do? We have done
our best. Is there any indication that Isaac has not been well
taken care of?"

     'Oh, he's been well taken care of, all right,' Jake thought.
'His body is a thing of beauty; it's only his brain that's gone.'
It was all Jake could do to keep standing there when what he
wanted to be was upstairs, but he needed to know everything he
could first.
     
     "I didn't mean to question the care provided by you and the
other attendants. It's just... he's so changed. As I remember,
you require that all residents pass an examination before they're
admitted."

     Ingrid relaxed. This was something she could handle.
Finger's flying she accessed the computer, swinging the screen
around for Jake to see. "Here's his health history. Anti-
depressants but, as I said, he must administer those himself."

     "I think he needs to have the levels adjusted. He's in a
stupor."

     Reluctantly, Ingrid agreed. "That's what we've reported,
too, but his patron assures us that this is normal for Isaac. As
I said before, a pity."

     To this strong and healthy young woman it must seem a pity
to look like Isaac did and dream your life away. 

     Then Jake remembered something from his own entrance exam.
"When he first came here, what were the results of his
urinalysis?"

     She scrolled through the record a little farther. "Clean."

     "But shouldn't the anti-depressants have showed up?"

     She shrugged. "Maybe he hadn't been taking them regularly.
Maybe if he has this kind of reaction to his medication normally,
he laid off them before he got here so he could be clear headed
for the interview."

     Or maybe the urine wasn't his. Easy to do, especially in
this trusting place.

     Still trying to be helpful, Ingrid added, "The interview
results are also normal for his type."

     And what is his type? Kidnapped FBI agent. Honey, you have
no idea what you have up there. The records were tampered with.
Jake was certain of that now. 

     "This says Johnson Forsyth is his patron. Do you know
anything about him?"

     A shrug of slender, bare shoulders. "Older man. Nearly
sixty. Comes every Friday afternoon with his bodyguard, his
niece, his secretary, or a couple of friends. Has lots of money."

     "They _all_ have lots of money," Jake thought, grimly, "or
they couldn't afford to keep their secrets here." Quickly, Jake
scanned the entry interview.  The report said 'Isaac' was quiet
but aware. No one could describe that figure lying nearly
senseless on the bed in Suite Seven as aware of anything. "What
about this Rudi, the attendant who interviewed him on his
arrival. I'd like to speak to him."

     "Sorry, Rudi's not here. Took a job on the mainland at just
about that time."

     Of course. Very neatly done. 

     "Is something wrong, sir?" Ingrid asked again into Jake's
sudden silence. 

     No alarms, Jake decided. Keep this quiet until he knew more.
There may be informants about. Forsyth would want to keep an eye
on his prize. Probably his contact had no idea of the danger they
could do.

     "Oh, no, probably just what it says here. A bout of
depression and maybe his medication is a little strong. I would
like you to do a couple of things for me, though, if you would.
Please have some food and hot coffee sent up from the kitchens.
Strong coffee and lots of it and the food should be easily
digestible and healthy but full of calories. Also, please contact
Mistress Lisa and Master Elliot and tell them that I'll be
spending the night and to please come by in the morning.

     At the mention of the names of the Thrall Master and
Mistress, Lisa's eyes went very wide but not frightened. "Yes,
sir. No problem."

     On legs not sure they could bear his weight, Jake returned
to Suite Seven. 
     
     Except for the fact that the eyes had closed again, the form
in the bed hadn't moved. No one limp muscle.

     First, Jake decided, get rid of the drug in Mulder's system.
But where was Mulder getting it if the staff didn't administer
it? Jake searched the suite top to bottom. The task didn't take
long. The computer terminal told him where all the hidden
cabinets were and his security code gave him access to all of
them, even the safe and the one storage compartment that Forsyth
had coded for his own.

     It was in the coded compartment in the great room that Jake
found Isaac's 'works'- a stash of needles and syringes and some
other medical items in a battered old doctor's black bag. 

     "Yes," Ingrid confirmed when Jake phoned down. The
housekeeping staff found a fair number of used syringes and
empty, unmarked vials in the trash on weekends but only on the
weekends. No, they didn't have any of them left from the previous
weekend. Everything would have been incinerated by now.

     Lips pursed, Jake slumped for a moment in defeat then dived
into the bag of medical supplies again. This time he found one
vial that must have slipped unnoticed down to the bottom. It was
only partially filled but Jake didn't need a lab to identify the
contents even in the darkened room. It was like holding liquid
gold in his hands. It actually glowed. 

     Aswan Gold. It was as if a hand clutched at Jake's heart, as
if a booted foot slammed into his stomach. Jake had been places
before the Club. Bad places. Aswan Gold was new stuff. A very,
very special aphrodisiac. It would have to be to transform
passive 'Isaac' into the insatiable creature that screamed and
played in Suite Seven non-stop with Johnson Forsyth and his
friends for an entire weekend, only to lie comatose for the rest
of the week.

     For Mulder's sake, Jake felt a wave of nausea. As he
rearranged the sheets to cover his friend's naked body, tears
came to his eyes. During their early weeks at the Club, novices
surrendered any pretense of hiding their emotions. That wasn't
what the clients wanted to see. They wanted to know when they
hurt you. Jake hurt, like nothing that had happened to him here
had ever hurt. And so in his anger and helplessness he cried and
then he screamed. He screamed until his throat ached. A little
screaming would be overlooked in a place like this. Even a lot of
screaming would be overlooked. No one would report a disturbance
even if they could hear through the sound-proofed walls. Pain and
pleasure were first cousins after all.

     When he rage left him, Jake was sitting on the floor beside
the dais, his head in his hands. Mulder, of course, had heard not
a bit of Jake's tantrum. He still lay like something dead whose
heart just happened to be still turning over. With his hand Jake
wiped the tears from his eyes and then reached down deep inside
himself - something he never, _ever_, did any more.

     "Well, help me, damn you!" he swore. "You've got all this
goddamn power so tell me how I can help him? So they shoot him up
with Gold on the weekend? What is he on now and how do they get
it into him?"

     But was it drugs? What if they had damaged Mulder's mind.
Something permanent. Maybe this was all he was now. Could Jake be
wrong? Had Mulder been sent here out of pity? Better than a
nursing home where he would vegetate. Here he was cared for,
pampered like a treasured pet...

     Violently, Jake shook his head. No... he refused to believe
that. Not yet anyway. That would be the last thing he would
believe because hope was dead that way.

     While that horrible scenario had been considered and
rejected, Jake realized that his body had begun to move on its
own. Though colored with the distaste Jake always felt when _she_
took control, what Jake felt most acutely was relief. So she had
acquiesced and would lend a hand after all. With effort, Jake
suppressed what was always his initial impulse - to resist. Let
it happened this time. Let her show him, if she could. His/her
hand passed over Mulder's body. The motions seemed aimless at
first. Desperately, Jake tried to float his mind above it all.
How many dozens of times had he escaped that way at the beginning
when the knowledge of what she was doing with his body had been
unbearable.

     One learns to bear even the unbearable. Damn her and damn
himself. One even learns to lie back and enjoy it.

     The wavering hand steadied, its course becoming more sure.
Jake saw rather than felt it pause near Mulder's groin then lift
the black satin sheet. It was all he could do to keep from
screaming at her for her selfish, insane games, but the hand did
not fondle what Jake had assumed it would. Instead it drifted
lower to hover above the upper left thigh. There it settled to
tenderly touch that scarred flesh, that sign that so completely
marked Mulder as Mulder and not Jake. 

     Even as the cool numbness flowed gently away from his limbs
restoring sensation and control, Jake had to ask, "Here?" He
stared at that field of intersecting scars, one long crooked one
and several smaller ones, and the small white points where the
surgeons had put in the sutures. Jake studied. He changed
position so that the inadequate light came first from one
direction then from the other. He turned on all the lights.
Finally he saw it, a slit, the tiniest bit of a cut that was a
fresher wound than the others. Under the scar tissue at that
point, imbedded in the muscle, his fingertips sensed an object
that was harder than the thickened skin. Something about an inch
long and unnatural. Maybe more than one.

     Jake pounced on the doctor's bag of needles and bright
instruments and that one glittering bottle of liquid sex and
found, ironically, just what he needed - a little professional
scalpel with tiny, razor-sharp disposable blades and even a pair
of long, slender forceps. 
     
     Doing what the movies always told you to do, Jake scrubbed
his hands and placed the instruments in water he'd boiled on the
kitchen stove. Lastly, he dipped them in vodka from the well-
stocked liquor cabinet.

     Working quickly in order to keep from thinking about what he
was about to do, Jake held his breath, bit his lip, steadied the
scalpel and made the shallowest of cuts over the newest scab. It
was just a little cut, but the blood that welled up made Jake's
stomach flop over and shrink into a tiny, hard lump. By feel
rather than sight, Jake pulled one and then a second thin ampule
out from under the flap of skin. Ignoring an acute wave of
dizziness, Jake wiped off the worse of the blood and stared at
the first of them. Some women had things like this implanted.
They released a constant level of contraceptive slowly over a
considerable time. They certainly could be designed to deliver a
far different kind of drug. Whatever that was, Jake was certain
that it was this that had kept Mulder mindless and passive for at
least three months. Even on the weekends when the genie from the
golden bottle ruled, that which was Mulder would have remained
trapped and senseless in his drugged never-never-land. Did
Forsyth have a way to counteract the sedative or hallucinogen or
whatever it was? For there to be torture, Mulder would have to
know what was happening to him, so Forsyth probably did.
Unfortunately, Jake couldn't find any in the suite.
     
     Clean water, a dash of vodka and a bandage and the little
incision Jake had made was taken care of. The operation had not
awakened the Mulder of old, however, like an enchanted prince
with his lover's kiss. Jake really hadn't expected him too. The
drug was still in his system and it would take hours at the very
least for the levels to go down. Mulder remained as he was, limp
on his back. His eyes had opened again at some point during the
operation, probably when the scalpel made contact. That had
lightened Jake's heart but only briefly. He soon realized that
what was behind those eyes was still so devoid of life that they
might as well have still been closed.

     The room suddenly spinning again, Jake drug his exhausted
body towards the door to suite's balcony. The ocean breeze on his
damp skin was like a cooling salve. The view was also fabulous;
the sun was just setting in a salmon sky above an azure sea. The
incongruity between this glorious beauty and the drugged prison
of his mind that Mulder had been living in for who knew how long
before he was even brought to the island was not lost on Jake. He
realized his hands were shaking. How he longed for a cigarette.
Though he had quit ten years before he still felt the urge swell
up in him every once in a while when extremely bored or stressed.

     Bored and stressed did not being to describe the emotions
ripping at Jake's insides. Still, a stimulant would probably be
beneficial for them both. Food and coffee to start. 

     As Ingrid had promised, a healthy repast for two had been
sent up the dumb waiter from the Cavern's main kitchen. The
delicious smells from the Club's excellent cooks, made Jake's
remember how long it had been since his own last meal and he'd
had a busy day. 

     Shocked into a travesty of wakefulness with another
administration of the cold, wet bathtowel, Mulder actually drank
the coffee Jake forced upon him but without either protest or
enthusiasm. He ate the soft food though automatically. Like a
robot on an assembly line, he was silent and passive, but place a
task that he knew before him and he would do the work, mindlessly
and without joy.

     "Where are you, Fox? What plane of existence? Hell, what
planet?"

     Jake didn't receive a reply. Not even a blink. By the time
they had both finished eating, the cups and cups of black coffee
had been able to achieve something. Mulder now sat up against a
pile of the bed's huge pillows and eyed his visitor warily like
some severely injured wild animal that would like to run but
knows he can't. For his part Jake talked. He repeated Mulder's
name again and again, spoke of the lovely, loyal Scully and about
how the three had met. Mulder didn't appear to hear or, if he
heard, the words didn't make sense.

     Past midnight. Exhausted, mouth dry, Jake extinguished most
of the lighted sconces. Mulder had slumped onto his side, not
even a glimmer shining out from under his closed lids. Jake
covered him with the satin sheet and a blanket, then taking
another blanket, huddled down on the huge bed at a distance from
Mulder but still within arm's reach if he was needed. 

     Jake meant to stay awake but considering what all he had
been through that day knew that would never happen. Better to get
a few hours sleep in order to be better prepared for whatever
would come. What Jake feared was that pulling out the drug or
drugs all at once had not been the brightest thing he could have
done. What if the drugs were addictive? Certainly they must be.
Too late now. Putting the ampules back would only be begging for
a good systemic infection.

     As his brain spun slowly down into sleep, Jake considered
calling up one of the Club's doctors. Maybe the one who had
competently tended his own injuries. His instincts, however, told
him to tell as few people as possible about this. There was still
danger here - for Mulder, for himself, and for certain people at
the Club whom, Jake realized with surprise, he had come to care
for very much.

                         * * * * * * * *
     
     It was a lovely dream. Hands on his body. Strong, sensitive,
expert hands. The only question was - Whose? Teeth nipped
sensitive skin, lips kissed. Warm lips. A man's. A man's scent,
too. Jake sighed relaxed into the mattress. Man or woman, it
didn't matter to Jake, not any more. Not that they were the same.
Men could just be as different from one another as men and women
were different. The sex itself was what mattered. The game, the
fantasy. A hand went between his legs just as teeth bit a nipple
a little more sharply than before. With a squirm and a yelp,
Jake's eyes flew open to see the top of a brown head. The head
lifted.

     "Shit!!!"

     Jake leaped from the bed or would have if Mulder's strength
hadn't held him down, a strength not surprisingly equal to Jake's
own. There was an inhuman heat radiating from the body that lay
over him as well as from the glazed hazel eyes that threatened to
mesmerize him like a bug with their golden sheen. Jake had missed
that glitter before when there had been more light. In the dark
it was unmistakable. Jake couldn't blame Mulder's sudden appetite
on his she-demon, not this time. This heat came from a bottle.
The drug that had stolen Mulder's will wasn't the only chemical
still circulating in those veins. Lowering the level of the one
had just allowed what was left of the other to surface.

     "Mulder, no." 

     This couldn't happen. If Mulder kept any memories and if
this went where the drug was obviously leading, then Mulder may
never be able to look Jake in the eye again. That was the last
thing Jake wanted. Mulder was a friend and Jake had few enough of
those anymore. True, an odd sort of friend and also someone whom
chance and genetics had made much more than a friend. Most
important of all, someone who, until recently, had been removed
from Jake's strange new life and the Club.

     Shame flooded Jake with the blood that rushed to his face.
Here was a degree of mortification such that Jake had not felt in
months. He was all too aware at that moment of what the world
outside thought of this place, those few who knew it existed and
weren't already members. Disgusting, obscene, vulgar, sinful.
Jake did not want Mulder to associate him with that.

     Lips came down to touch his lips. Jake raised his hands to
push those shoulders away. His hands didn't move and it was not
because Mulder had him pinned now. Jake realized with dread that
the "Mulder, no," he had also been repeating over and over had
been going on only in his head. Since the moment when he had
realized who was doing such an excellent job of seduction, the
beautiful sensations themselves had numbed and faded. Jake's
limbs felt cold. At least to Jake they had. Someone else was
enjoying what was being done to his body.

     Or rather - something was.
 
     'Damn you! You bitch! Hasn't he suffered enough? Let me stop
this!'

     His demon didn't reply in words. It didn't work that way.
She either obeyed, which was seldom, or did what she damned well
pleased, which was most of the time. If he fought her too hard,
she would just send him away, leaving him with nothing but a
dreamless sleep - and the bruises and aches when he woke up. She
did that now. He felt as if he were being removed farther and
farther from the action as if smothered under a half dozen thick
down comforters. She had not relented. She had not been amused by
his outburst.

     "Wait, please. I'll calm down, I'll go along..." But she was
impatient and maybe unwilling to share this time. In his mind it
was as if he were staring into a mirror only the harder he looked
the more he became aware that the two male bodies that had begun
to slide and writhe around each other on the bed weren't the
reflection.

     It was too late. Jake's body, Mulder, and the bed were
moving away now, moving beyond the mirror's view. Much farther
and the reflection would cease to exist. And who was that
reflection?

     Jake was the reflection. 

     Stop... please, stop...

     Like the other times when he had resisted her, she had
stolen his body and it would obey her. She had, after all, taught
it well and now she and poor, confused, spaced-out Mulder would
have a quite glorious time while Jake.... Jake would just be
nowhere for a time, just a blank space in an empty mirror that
could do nothing at all.

End of Chapter 5
FOX AND JAKE JOIN THE CLUB (6/25)
By Wind (Windsinger@aol.com)
 
For disclaimer see chapter 1.

Chapter 6

     Mulder was sick; he could not remember the last time he had
ever been so sick. Of course his thoughts were about as clear as
mush so that didn't count for much, but ill he most certainly
was. He had that shivery, dizzy, body aching, just-kill-me-now
quality about it that said 'flu'. He didn't want to be awake, he
wanted to be seriously unconscious until the acute phase had
passed but his rolling, gurgling intestines and his flip-flopping
stomach had other ideas - unfortunately they were in different
directions. He may be on death's door but he had to find a toilet
and quickly. Unfortunately, his limping mind was plagued with too
many questions. Basic, important questions but irritating
questions nevertheless. Questions like "Where in the hell am I?"
and "Where is the nearest f'in' bathroom?" and which end should
he stick in the toilet first. Maybe if he were lucky he could sit
down and still stick his head in the sink. 

     He rolled off the bed onto his knees. Fortunately, the bed
was low so there wasn't far to fall - and it was such an
amazingly large bed. Standing took almost more gut control than
he had at the moment. An incredibly long distance away he found a
wall and clung to it with clawed fingers until the worst of the
nausea and dizziness passed. Only slowly did he realize how very
rough the surface was, more like stone, but try as he might, he
couldn't see it clearly. The room was quite dark and his eyes
were not focusing well in what light there was. 

     Blinking, his sight cleared a little and so did his brain. A
shiver ran up his body but it had nothing to do with the room's
temperature and only partially to do with the fact that he was
naked. The room may be cool but with his current fever he'd never
know it. No, the shiver and the series of convulsive shudders
that followed came from pure fear. Most frightening of all was
that he couldn't remember what he should be afraid of.

     Almost his last coherent thought was that he'd been taken
from his little cube of a room and brought here by plane by that
weasel Keith, his ice cube of a sister, Dr. Mengela, and
Forsyth's man of action and few brains, Sam. At least Forsyth and
his smug smile hadn't been along. He'd come after, however, on
numerous occasions, but those semi-memories had been merely
moments, just sound bites, rain drops in an ocean of gray
interrupted at regular intervals by hurricane force storms.
Mulder had no picture of the whole. 

     Wait. Stand still. Naked back and ass against the stone
wall, he forced his eyes to strain into the dim light and his
brain to concentrate. His own breathing and the occasional
gurgling in his gut were the only sounds. Only one thing was for
certain: he had lived in this room for a very long time. He had
raved and wept and screamed in this room where there had been no
friend to hear. He hadn't even been able to hear his own tortured
voice except somewhere deep in his mind. He had been trapped in
an eternal hell but he had not been alone. There had been the
hands of enemies, sometimes far too many, and then long stretches
where he was been so alone he had felt like weeping. At times a
feeding tube had been forced down his throat. Then there were the
needles and the burning in his veins as they pumped in the
poison. More often than not the needle released the beast, savage
and feral. The beast turned him inside out, not just once but
over and over for - weeks? Months? All he knew was that he had
been helpless to stop it.

     The monster in control of his body had done - things.
Loathsome, impulsive, bestial acts. Now certain aches deep in his
body sense.

     Mulder knew that he had only to shut his eyes and blank his
mind and his feet would take him unerringly to the bathroom he
needed so badly. He had lived here that long. He had been _kept_
here.

     A wave of pure revulsion worked as well as a blank mind and
his body quickly found the commode in a tiny powder room near the
kitchen. The fact that he didn't quite make it in time didn't
bother him in the least. Inside he felt so filthy that it didn't
matter what was going on on the outside at all.

                                

     Jake's own groan woke him. It wasn't fair, it really wasn't.
She had had all the fun while he'd been left to suffer the
consequences and the consequences were not insignificant. The
psychedelic from the ampules Jake had pulled from Mulder's leg
may still have had a hold over Mulder's conscious mind but it had
metabolized sufficiently for his subconscious to finally burst
out in justifiable rage. Add that to a brain still seeped in the
remnants of the aphrodisiac, and Mulder's body had lashed out in
the granddaddy of all sexual firestorms and Jake's body had been
the target. He'd been worked over but good and Jake's recent
experience in these areas was not inconsiderable. Unfortunately,
Jake himself had not been a participant. As he cautiously
stretched stiff back muscles, he realized with a self-deprecating
smile that he was profoundly jealous.


     
     Turning over, he winced and felt muscles pull as he flailing
arm searched the acre of black-sheeted mattress beside him. No
Mulder. Initially frantic, Jake found him out on the balcony of
all places, dawn just coming up brilliant and glorious on this
side of the island. Mulder, however, looked anything but golden
and glorious. White hands clutched spasmodically at the plush,
white bath sheets that he'd wrapped around his shivering body.
Sweat and tears streaked his pale face. By the smell he'd been
sick, too, and in more ways than one. He had collapsed into the
chair nearest the door as if he had gotten so far and no farther.


     Mulder was so sick that it took considerable time for his
red-rimmed eyes to even notice that he had a visitor and a
considerable time later before the significance of his visitor's
appearance made any inroads into his benumbed brain. Jake would
have done just about anything to save Mulder the shock that
followed. The man was traumatized enough already. At least Jake
had slipped on a robe before beginning his search but that was
equivalent to a single tear in this ocean. When the image coming
into Mulder's exhausted eyes finally made it to his brain, the
only sound the sick man was able to make was something like a
whimper. 

     "No, Fox, you're not going crazy. It's Jake. Jake Simmons,
remember? Under normal circumstances it's unlikely that you could
forget if you tried... but then things haven't been very normal
for you for a long time, have they?"

     Even the first and easiest part of Jake's speech seemed to
take a very long time to sink into that despairing mind. As the
eternal seconds ticked by, Jake's apprehension rose. Did Mulder
have any hold on reality at all? Coming down off of either drug
would be bad, but both? Jake had been stupid to leave the door to
the balcony unlocked after he had gone out for air the evening
before. The edge was too close and it was a long way down to a
flagstone portico. An easy way to peaceful silence for a soul in
the kind of turmoil Mulder's must be going through.

     "It's going to be all right. You're feeling like you've just
won an all-expenses-paid vacation to hell right now, but that's
going to pass," Jake said, soothingly.

     From his few discrete inquiries to the medical center staff,
Jake knew Mulder should start feeling physically better in a few
hours. Mental improvement may take longer, however; a lot longer.

     As if approaching a wary animal, Jake crouched and reached
out his hand as if in friendship though he didn't attempt to make
actual contact. Mulder made no attempt whatsoever to return the
gesture. His eyes with their few remaining gold flecks traveled
back and forth between the proffered hand and Jake's face, but
other than that not a single frozen muscle moved. Finally the
mouth did, though his jaw was so rigid that the words came out in
pieces and were hard to understand.

     "You mean... I haven't gone over into the really deep end
this time?"

     "No, you haven't. It is me; it is I. You can touch me if you
want to just to see that I'm real."

     Mulder's lip trembled and his eyes gleamed with that liquid
sort of luster which men don't see often in other men's eyes. The
voice that limped out, however, was without a trace of emotion.
"I have this hazy sort of memory that I already have. Should I
ask what I did? Should I ask what we did?"

     "Probably not." Jake rubbed the bridge of his nose as if he
felt a headache coming on. "I was afraid you'd remember
something. That's a long, complicated story. I was hoping you'd
ask the simpler and obvious questions first: - Where am I? How
did I get here? How did you find me?"

     "I'll get around to those," Mulder remarked with achingly
slow syllables. "One earth shattering revelation at a time." 

     The weak voice was quavering with sickness but there was
feeling now, too. Most of all, Jake was relieved that at least
some of Mulder's old humor was back. He was going to need time to
feel better physically - as sick as he was, absorbing all this
was going to be pretty brutal - but there was no use putting it
off. Mulder obviously remembered enough.

     "The last question first: How I found you. 'When' is easier.
I found you here only yesterday and it was entirely by accident.
It was a shock for me, too. You have no idea." Jake reached out
to touch Mulder's right arm as if he still wasn't quite certain
himself that the phantom was real.

     Mulder clutched the towel again as he pulled away. "Careful,
I wouldn't want you to catch anything."

     Ignoring the other man's concern, Jake extended his hand and
succeeded this time.  The limb trembled as he touched the too-
warm flesh. There was no resistance when he turned it over to
show the angry tracks. 

     "I'm not surprised you're sick, but it's not something I can
catch. You're going through withdrawal from at least one of the
nasty concoctions they were giving you if not more." Jake reached
into his pocket and pulled out the plastic bag with the two
ampules. "I found these imbedded in the inner muscle of your
thigh. You may feel like shit now but you were in zombie-ville
before I took these out. None of this was your choice."

     Mulder fingers closed stiffly over the small packet. He
squinted as if he were having trouble seeing its contents
clearly. When he lifted his eyes they were glazed over in pain.
"It's like a nightmare, but I remember being a pretty active
participant."

     Firmly but still gentle, Jake turned Mulder's arm over
again. "You were, but not willingly. Another aphrodisiac called
'Aswan Gold' has recently appeared on the streets. Heard of it?" 

     The look of horror in Mulder's eyes as he stared at the
bruised red tracks indicated that he had. Calling Aswan Gold an
aphrodisiac is like comparing a full therapeutic dose of Demerol
to an aspirin. 

     Jake was suddenly curious about where Mulder had heard about
the Gold. "I don't suppose that you'd be willing to tell me
whether you gained that knowledge through professional or private
channels? The stuff is very new."

     Mulder's jaw was set. In fact it was the only part of his
body not actively shivering. "No, I don't think so."

     "Okaaaay," Jake said slowly, "though I think that tells me a
lot about interests you may have - I'm talking about those of a
highly personal nature. If they run to the exotic the way I think
they do, then have you heard of the Club?"

     There was a delay, after all Mulder's brain wasn't
processing information with its normal efficiency, but the name
eventually brought him half-rising out of his chair to stare over
the balcony rail at the picture postcard scene of sun-drenched
dawn on grass and sand and ocean. 

     So he had heard of the place and knew what Aswan Gold could
do. Jake realized that that was going to make explaining a lot
easier. It also meant that if Mulder had come upon that knowledge
as part of certain hobbies or extra-curricular activities then he
may not be so against having to continue with the charade. The
thought made Jake sick at his stomach but was the only way Jake
could think of at the moment to keep Mulder safe until they could
call for help.

     "Before we continue," Jake said, "I think we could both use
some coffee and some food. Stay here and take about a hundred
deep breaths, I'll be right back." He was about to head back into
the apartment then hesitated. "I hope you're not considering
doing something stupid. Things are not nearly so bleak as you're
thinking right now. Give it time." Only after receiving a vague
nod of numb acquiescence from the figure again huddled in the
chair, did Jake walk swiftly into the kitchen.


     He had just poured the coffee when Mulder shuffled in. His
hair was like the unruly mane of wild animal. It had grown
considerably since Jake had last seen him. He had wrapped one of
his towels around his waist and still clutched the other around
his shoulders. He moved slowly, holding onto the walls or
countertops to help his balance. His expression hadn't changed
much. He was sick, wary, closed, frightened.

     "Do you remember anything of how you got mixed up with these
people and how you got here?" Jake asked. "The Club keeps records
but there are a lot of holes. I can only guess." 

     Mulder thought so hard then that his brow furrowed into
canyon rifts. His forehead broke out with new beads of sweat
before his shoulders sagged in defeat. 

     "I can't remember, not clearly. Nothing except that they
wanted information. They wanted it very badly. They would
question me, they would beat me, I would drift for a while then
they'd beat me, then they'd question me. It just all blurs after
a while. That went on for... weeks." Mulder shrugged, the action
causing a shadow of pain to cross his lined face "Then I was told
that it was about time that I starting earning my keep." The
challenge in the blood-shot eyes told Jake he'd better not ask
for any particulars, but Jake could guess. "That went on for -" a
weary shrug - "too long. Then one day they gave me the first dose
of... it must have been the Gold. I didn't know what it was at
the time, but I knew how it made me feel." A breath came out long
and slow. "What it made me do."

     Jake had personal experience with what the stuff felt like
burning in your veins and your brain, but everyone reacted
differently. For himself he'd been mostly sick, and way out of it
like on LSD. Mulder? A rutting stag from the attendant's reports.
Mulder's eyes still glowed slightly golden in the dim kitchen
light from the few flakes that lingered.

     "That _was_ you the last time, wasn't it?"

     Jake suddenly found slicing a bagel took all his attention.

     Mulder's voice was hollow and shook. "It's better I know. It
was scarier than the other times. I was more aware but
couldn't... s-stop. I thought I'd totally lost it."

     "You were coming down off the hypnotic or whatever the stuff
they put in your leg was. You just came down off that faster than
the Gold. What could I do? Leave you here alone?"

     A long pause. Mulder reached shakily for a glass of water
Jake put in front of him but his mouth was still dry when he
asked, "Did I...?" The apology in those red eyes filled in the
rest.

     Jake threw up his head, almost laughing. "Force me? Hell,
no, but that's a long story, too. 

     There was no reading Mulder's expression but he seemed
willing to accept all he was being told, at least for now.
 
     "Things have changed since we met last," Jake explained.

     Mulder raised a hand towards the head of the palm tree
outside the kitchen window and then to their mutual lack of
attire. "Just a little."

     Not having anything immediate to say to that, Jake set a
plate of bagels and cream cheese between where they stood staring
at each other from opposite sides of the suite's kitchen counter.
Mulder's eyes shifted first. He was looking for something. A
phone as it turned out.

     "I have to call Scully," Mulder said suddenly and not
unexpectedly. 

     Jake was surprised that he'd waited this long to ask. "She's
okay as far as you know then? I'm glad you hear it. I had no way
of knowing the circumstances of your kidnapping."

     Another vague look. "Running very early in the morning, I
think. Couldn't sleep. This out-of-state limo just drove slow and
then stopped as if the driver had a question. All the visitors to
D.C. ask for directions. What's the date?"

     "October 15."

     The sweaty pale face, paled further. "Oh, Scully... Oh,
Dana... More than four months. She must think I'm dead."  

     "We'll get her a message as soon as we can," Jake assured
him, "but as far as the call goes, that's not easy. Considering
your status here, you don't have access to any of the phones."
     
     Mulder's eyes lowered, nearly extinguishing the light that
had kindled at the thought of Scully. "My status? Which is what?
Prisoner? How does that work with the Club? Isn't this place just
some sort of ultra-exclusive S & M resort?"

     Briefly, Jake explained about the public areas that Mulder
had heard of where each thrall was meat for The Club's wealthy
clientele, available to be bought by the hour or the day. Then he
explained about the Caverns, the very closed enclave for the
private patrons and their even more private companions. Mulder
stared about him. Even the kitchen equipped with every modern
appliance had a barbaric look to it.

     "Most of the Cavern's permanent residents are those who
can't manage in the real world, who can't even manage in the
public areas of The Club. I have no idea how you got here. I was
performing an - ah - inventory as a favor for the management.
Some of them are friends of mine. That's how I happened to find
you."

     Mulder's body had found a little life but it was in the form
of barely suppressed rage. "Who? Who put me here? Who claims to
_own_ me?" he snapped.

     "Someone named Forsyth, though that may not be the name you
know him under and it's not 'owning'. That's illegal even here.
No, it's much more complicated than that. You're under contract.
More like the indentured servants in medieval times. The thralls
here enslave themselves. It's completely voluntarily - except
clearly in your case. That's what puts the 'M' in S & M. A legal
fiction but still slavery of a sort for the length of the
contract."

     Eyes blazing with indignation even though his pallor had
shifted even more towards the green side than before, Mulder
collapsed into a kitchen chair and crossed his arms. Distracted,
he forgot about the towel around his shoulders that slipped
unnoticed to the floor. "Which is?"

     "One year," Jake replied. He saw Mulder swallow. "It's the
standard length for most of the Cavern residents." 

     The coffee began to drip out of the machine into the pot.
Both men focused on it. Such an unexpectedly normal sound.

     Mulder's anger seemed to be dying as if it and the weird
turn his life had taken had eaten most of his remaining strength.
There was, after all, only one all encompassing, overpowering
need. " None of this makes sense and none of this matters either.
What matters is that I get word to Scully. She has to know."

     "Believe me, Mulder, I understand. We'll find a way, but
even I don't have access to lines that go off island. These
people like to protect their privacy. Even the clients who come
here want to be unavailable. More importantly, you really should
think about this before you take action of any kind. You could be
putting her in danger. You could be putting yourself in even
worse jeopardy than you are already."  

     Mulder slumped a little lower in his chair, his lower lip
out in a sulky pout. Jake profoundly wished that the man wouldn't
do that. It was distracting.

     "What if Forsyth shows up before Scully can get here? I'm
for screaming that I'd been kidnapped."
  
     "I wouldn't suggest it. The staff here are very efficient at
their job and part of their job is to see that Cavern resident
'Isaac', property of Mr. Money Bags Forsyth, remains healthy and
secure despite his fantasies. This may not be a prison but it's
still yours."

     Mulder's mouth twisted in a sneer. "Don't you mean a..."

     Jake knew the word. "Harem? A harem of one? Yes, Mr.
Forsyth's dirty little secret."

     Mulder shivered and hunted on the floor for the towel that
had fallen. He looked like he was going to be sick again. "If
this place is as legit as I've heard - and ethical if only to its
own internal logic and anything goes between consenting adults -
then how did I come to be here? I didn't consent to anything."

     "It's true. The Club checks into the backgrounds of all the
private clients and they have a system to make certain that their
personal slaves are here only by their own free will. In your
case that system broke down - or, to put the blame where it lies
- Forsyth's people broke it. I will say they were clever about
it. All the paper work is in order and there are no witnesses.
The summary of your arrival interview states that you were clear-
headed and drug-free the day you arrived and that you did
consent."
     
     "I never -"

     "I know that. The records must have been doctored."

     Mulder stared at the four walls as if even a kitchen can
look sinister if the lighting is wrong. 

     "You're really out of the way here and drugged as you were
Forsyth didn't even need to hire a guard or a nurse, it's all
part of the package. The records show that he visited only on
weekends, Friday evening to Sunday, regular as clockwork. And
when he didn't come he sent representatives. During the week you
were someone else's problem. The attendants are paid to feed and
wash you, if feed and wash you is what is required. Your care is
what he's paid for and the Club knows how to keep its stable in
topnotch condition. Somehow they managed in spite of the drugs.
They exercised you, gave you massages, set you up for sessions in
the tanning booth. They must have because for all you've been
through, you're in great shape, my friend."

     Oh, yes....

     "And what do you suggest we do?" Mulder asked, eyes narrowed
against a rising headache.

     "I'm scare of Forsyth. You should be too. For all its veneer
of sophistication, this place has a current of barbarism that
runs through it that you don't want to come up against. Today is
Wednesday. You're safe until the weekend but only if you keep it
quiet and don't rock any boats, which means you have to obey the
rules, take care of yourself, and conduct yourself like a proper
little thrall. If you do, there will be no reason for management
to inform Forsyth that your status has changed. Until we know
whom we can trust and who we can't, I'd say your story should be
that you just got tired of being stoned all the time. The staff
here already assumes that was your choice. Happens all the time.
My being here over night may have triggered suspicion already but
I don't think so."

     Mulder's grin was sickly. "The people here don't creep
around telling tales?"

     "About that sort of thing? Lord, no. No one tells any tales
here. If they did what's to stop someone from telling on them.
It's an honorable sort of pact that way but you must not - under
any circumstances - alarm them enough for them to start thinking
about calling Forsyth. That would cause real trouble."

     "And what if Forsyth shows up before Scully can get here?
I'm still for screaming I've been kidnapped."

     "And held prisoner for three months drugged to the teeth? Do
you have any what a common fantasy that is? Get this though your
head - As far as these people are concerned you're just another
piece of ass that has willingly entered into a contract to play
the game. And what kind of game do these people play? S & M, my
friend. They're first assumption will be that you were getting a
little bored and are setting up a scene. Laying off your chosen
poison would be an expected first step. Now you want a little
punishment, a lot of punishment, and they like dishing it out as
much as they believe you want it. And fresh meat that you are,
you won't believe how inventive these handlers can be.
'Rebellious slave' is one of the top five most popular categories
of entertainment around here."

     For the first time Mulder looked scared. "I have rights."

     "You signed away your rights."

     "Under the terms of this contract - which I supposedly
signed - I have no rights? You can't sign away your rights."

     "In the United States you can't, but this isn't the United
States. It's its own country. Oh, you're a U.S. citizen but
there's no consulate as far as I know. This is an apolitical
jurisdiction. You could take the matter to court and easily prove
that you were kidnapped. The records were falsified but first you
have to convince someone that you're serious and even with my
help that would take time and raise a lot of questions which
Forsyth would certainly be consulted about.

     "Mulder, your brains are still scrambled. Think about it.
Forsyth is due back Friday evening, less than three days from
now. Worse, remember that the staff here knows you. You've been
nothing but a dead weight for them over the week and a tiger for
Forsyth on the weekends. You're being awake and aware is going to
be shock enough. You start exhibiting non-thrall like behavior
and you can bet someone will call your patron."
     
     Jake learned forward, desperate to draw some sign from that
pale, stony face that Mulder understood.

     "Do you want to risk their getting here before Scully even
if we do manage to contact her? Forsyth has an 'in' with these
people in the form of a seven digit yearly rent on this place and
your upkeep all of which is paid in full for six months, by the
way. Scully will have to work through some pretty unusual
channels to make it through this place's security and this place
has security the Pentagon can only dream about. Let the FBI in
willingly? Not a chance. Much more likely is that you'll be found
acting too weird and Forsyth will order you sedated and put away
someplace quiet where even I can't get to you until he arrives to
wisk you away."

     The last sentence did it. Forsyth take him back? Mulder
began to shake and fresh sweat broke out on his body. 

      "I see you're beginning to get the picture now of how
vulnerable your position is? Who are these people most likely to
believe - a wealthy patron or a disenchanted, chronically
depressed thrall who has spent the last three months lying in a
stupor of his own making?"

     Mulder picked up the fallen towel and huddled under it for
warmth even though feverish was what he was. The picture was
becoming all too clear. "What about the employee who supposedly
interviewed me? It shouldn't take that long to get to the truth."

     "Rudi was conveniently offered a job on the mainland. He
left immediately after logging your 'interview', at least that's
how your records read. If you're lucky he may even be still alive
which will help your case when and if you ever get anyone to
raise the question. Excuse me, though, if I'm a bit dubious that
Rudi is living a well and happy life. Remember, I'm well
acquainted by how ruthless your enemies can be."

     Mulder laid his head down in his arms as if it ached, which
it probably did. "Enough, I just can't think right now. I just
want to call Scully. There must be a way to do so quietly."
Mulder turned his red-rimmed eyes hopefully on Jake. Jake did not
look hopeful. "So I can't call," Mulder begrudgingly admitted.
"But you must be able to. Maybe all we need to do is go to these
management friends of yours, lay out the facts and appeal to
reason." Mulder smiled bleakly at the words he had just spoken.
"I really must be sick. I can't believe I just said that."

     Jake frowned to hide the real emotion that was surging
within. Mulder assumed he was just another client, out for some
kinky sex and Jake just realized how ashamed he was to admit his
own status - that the conditions Mulder was imprisoned under,
Jake had embraced voluntarily.

     Jake brought the untouched plate of bagels over to the
kitchen table. "I'll think about how we can manage the message.
Meanwhile, you eat something before you fall down. Then you're
going to take a bath. It won't help your case if you try meeting
the management smelling like a sewer."

End of Chapter 6

JAKE AND FOX JOIN THE CLUB (7/25)
by Wind (Windsinger@aol.com)

See disclaimer in Chapter 1.

Chapter 7

     The bath would have been large by the standards of any
mansion. The architecture boasted straight, pure lines but the
decoration was rich in jewel-like colors. The thick, fur-like rug
was antique gold, the fixtures deep red, the tile azure blue, and
the drapes and lush towels of a kind of green that is only found
deep in forests where no man has trod for generations, if ever. The
drapes along one wall were closed so the only light came from
skylights slanting in from the side, which were possible because of
the sloping of the Cavern's volcano-like outer walls. All was
reflected back in a crystal mirror that spanned the length of one
entire wall.

     After one glance at his own stooped posture and sickly pallor
Mulder avoided the mirror. Instead he stared at the pool at his
feet. He couldn't for a moment think of it as bathtub. Its blood-
red shell was set like a ruby below the level of the thick golden
rug. Floating, even with arms stretched out, he could not hope to
touch the sides.  

     "Yes, it 'jacuzz-es'," Jake said answering the unasked
question, "and you can have it with or without minerals though I've
chosen it with none and, as the water circulates, it's not only
warmed but cleaned. Ten people could bath here over a day and the
water would never be dirty or get cold. The technology is state of
the art. The most ways the island is rich but its fresh water
supply is not unlimited." 

     Mulder was clearly hesitant about entering the bath. It wasn't
that he didn't feel there was a need. He was all too aware of his
own foul odor. It was the mechanics of getting in without breaking
his neck. Even with the railing, the steps were slippery and his
balance none too good. After trying every other way to lend a hand,
Jake finally gave up and dropped the short robe he had worn
carelessly since their meeting on the balcony and stepped into the
steaming, fragrant water to help Mulder in. The warmth felt
wonderful and Jake had to admit that after Alex's middle-of-the-
night party, he needed a wash nearly as much as Mulder did. It was
almost as much of a pleasure for Jake to watch Mulder's face as he
sank up to his neck. Considering the aches and pains of withdrawal
he must be suffering and the fact that he had risen from his bed
far too soon, the sudden comfort was going to turn his brain to
mush very quickly. Unfortunately, Mulder's ability to keep a grip
on the soap proved no better than his balance. After diving under
to retrieve the slippery object for the tenth time, Jake finally
gave up and began to vigorously scrub the sick man himself. 

     Drooping with exhaustion, physical and mental, Mulder's
protest that he wasn't a child and could wash himself was half-
hearted at best so Jake just worked to finish the job as quickly as
he could. 

     'Where Mulder needs to be is in bed,' Jake told himself though
he knew the real reason for his haste. At any moment a storm of a
very unique nature could announce itself. Over the last few
minutes, the tension in the room had risen like unheard thunder on
the horizon. How she would manifest herself this time, Jake
couldn't predict - her tactics were infinitely variable - but they
were always subtle. She'd become an expert at sneaking in under his
guard.

     As he worked, Jake found himself marveling once again at the
body between his hands. How was it possible that two strangers
could be so alike? As he shampooed the fine hair, Jake noted that
it was definitely longer than Agent Mulder would wear it, though it
was the same texture as his own. The scars were different, of
course, and there was that difference in the shade of green about
the eyes. Other than that, they had the same length of arm and
breadth of hand, the same slender musician's fingers, the same
width across the shoulders, the same flat, hard stomach, and
slender hips. And then there was that smoothness of skin on the
barely furred chest...
      
     Jake's hands had slowed, begun to take their time. Mulder
seemed to be more than half asleep, his dreamy eyes closed. He
didn't seem bothered by any of this exploration. As Jake's fingers
inched forward to eventually circle a rosy nipples in enthralled
fascination, Mulder moaned but didn't pull away, On the contrary,
he shifted more closely so more of his skin made contact with
Jake's. Jake's smiled like a cat that had just mesmerized its prey.


     This was going to be _so_ easy.

     Yes, so easy... for Her.

     Jake shook himself violently as if trying to wake. With an
oath he took the other man by the shoulder and harshly spun him
around. On Mulder's face was an insipid, child-like expression, one
Jake had seen too often before on her victims' faces.

     "Damn you, stop it!" Even as he swore, Jake's hands flew up as
he propelled himself backwards causing a great wave that sloshed
out onto the expensive carpeting. He had thrown himself away from
Mulder as if the agent's skin burned or one of them had the plague. 
Slipping and staggering, Jake fought his way through the pool to
the edge. Not even bothering to find the steps, he threw himself
out to land writhing and convulsing like some huge fish out of
water. Working closely with the crews on construction sites, Jake
had learned to curse effectively in a variety of languages. He did
so now and with fury between clenched teeth.

     "He's suffered enough!"
     
     Jake's abrupt, rough handling and unexpected departure had
roused Mulder from his dream though it was a slow waking. Both
stunned and curious, he drifted to the steps and climbed two of
them all the time moving in slow motion. Unconscious of his
nakedness and dripping, he stood and looked down at Jake. This odd
twin of his was lying on the fur rug, curled on his side, his body
jerking in small convulsions. Even as he cursed, Jake's hands were
moving over his own body in the most erotic fashion as if those
hands had a life of their own. On his face was livid hate but it
flickered quickly to be replaced one minute with sensuous pleasure
and the next with hopeless despair. All the while, tears ran down
from the corners of his eyes to mingle with remaining droplets of
pool water on his skin.

     As Mulder stared, his face quickly lost that enchanted
blankness. The sight at his feet stirred a long-forgotten reaction,
not physical but mental. His expression showed no small amount of
distress as if it was hard to think back three months of his own
hell to when such a spectacle would have meant one thing and one
thing only. Here was an investigation to begin, a mystery to solve,
a case to file, a report to write. Here was an X-File. His brain
was already categorizing what he was seeing before him. It seemed
to be a classic example of demonic possession, in this case most
likely a succubus...

     As quickly as it came, the detachment vanished. This wasn't
just another X-File. This was Jake and a lifetime before when he'd
first met Jake strange things had happened. Strange... personal...
things.
     
     Even in the damp, warm room Mulder's skin broke out in
gooseflesh, his blood going as cold as that time he had nearly
frozen to death above the Arctic Circle.

     "Alex..." he whispered and staggered up the remaining steps on
numb feet to drop to his knees at Jake's side. As he attempted to
reach out, Jake rolled frantically away even as he right hand
continued to jerk at his engorged cock. There was no pleasure on
his face, however, only disgust. 

     "Don't... Get out of here... Run.. as fast as you can...
Anywhere..."

     Mulder started as at that moment a livid red mark appeared on
Jake's chest. It was like a burning hand had just tried to pluck
out his heart. Jake's back arched in agony, his scream largely
swallowed in his rigid throat.

     "Jake, it's Alex, isn't it? Isn't it?"

     The tortured face only relaxed for the briefest moment,
allowing him to look for that instant again like the Jake Mulder
knew. This time, however, it was a pleading Jake. 

     "Go..." came the strangled cry.

     "Is she why you came here? She forces you do to this doesn't
she? All these strangers.... All this... Jake, do you think you can
bargain with the devil? You can't. I know I've tried. "

     "Don't... pity... me," Jake snarled, the tone and the words
incongruous with another spasm of mixed ecstasy and torment. As
Mulder remained stubbornly by, making no move to 'get away', Jake's
face gradually relaxed just a little. The smile he turned on Mulder
was agony to look upon. Part seduction, part pleasure, part pain.

     And only a small part was Jake.
      
     With effort he rolled over so he was on his side, still curled
but facing Mulder this time. For the moment at least, he lay still
and panting. A reprieve. 

     "You never asked what I was doing here." His voice was barely
a whisper, hard to understand. "You assumed I was a guest, one of
the clients, grazing these fertile pastures at my leisure." Jake
reached out with his left arm to snag Mulder's. He held them both
up, red bracelet and green. "You never noticed, but then maybe you
don't even know what yours means. Mulder, I'm not that different
from you." From his throat came a short but horrible laugh. "The
only difference is I enslaved myself, legal contract and all. And
anyone of those rich, fat clients can have me anytime they want.
And they want - oh, how they want. Alex has seen to that. I'm very
popular." His lip curled in a brittle smile. "That's why I can't
just pick up a phone and call Scully. I didn't lie to you, Fox.
Thralls don't have those kind of rights."

     The speech had been as bitter as the gall that rose in
Mulder's throat as more and more of the blotches appeared on Jake's
wet, naked skin. He writhed as each area reddened and stayed livid.

     "Alex, stop it!" Mulder demanded, staring left, right, above. 

     Jake rolled over onto his back, his mouth open as if he would
laugh again but at that moment an unseen mouth closed over his
right nipple. By the way the skin distended, something was sucking
as if it would drain away his very life. Helplessly, Mulder's hands
clasped and unclasped. He already knew that telling Alex to stop
was like shouting to a meteor the size of Texas that was falling
right at you to move. 

     She would have what she would have... or something just as
good.

     "Mulder..." It was Jake but the sound was barely a word as
though there was scant air in his lungs. "I said go! Out of this
room, out of this apartment, anywhere. Lock yourself in one of the
bedrooms but go!"

     Mulder's reply was unimaginably reasonable. "No. Do you think
I would honestly leave you like this? Why didn't you call after
Washington and let me know. She was passive, a voyeur, before our
little time together in Washington. You didn't even know you were
being haunted until then. Even though it wasn't intentional, I'm
the one who let genie know it was safe to come out of the bottle,
and so, no, I won't run, not from this." Mulder's lips produced a
smile to match Jake's fragile one as Mulder stretched out his hand.
"Alex, leave him alone. You've done enough."

     Jake wanted to scream at this idiot, but he was rapidly losing
his own battle. He was so tired of fighting her. Besides, he had
went face to face with Agent Mulder once before about what a fool
thing the man wanted to do out of honor and guilt and Mulder had
won then by sheer stubbornness - and a good deal of trickery. Jake
would lose this one, too. It was inevitable.

     Alex would have her will in the end.

     Mulder's eyes drifted to the bathpool and back, remembering.
Something more than pleasure had had been transferred to him from
Jake's hands. It had only been for a moment just before Jake pulled
away and Mulder had been lulled nearly to sleep, but now it made
sense. 

     "Is it me she wants?" 

     Jake's lips drew back, tight like something feral. "Oh, yes,
Like a cat with a bird she can torture she wants you... But you
can't -"

     "Why not? Remember Alex and I have been together before. A
really erotic wet dream, that's all I thought it was at first."

     "And she killed two people. Now you want to invite her in."

     Mulder rolled his eyes. "All right. She's disturbed, but if
you've stood it for all these months I can bear up under it once.
Besides, she literally saved my ass then, probably my life. I guess
I feel I owe her for that."

      Inside, what was left of Jake's reason vainly shook its head
back and forth. Stupid, stupid. This was not going to be like the
last time - Alex had grown considerably more aggressive and
inventive since then - but Mulder would never believe that.
Wearily, Jake sighed, denial useless. He had control enough now to
at least make that little sound on his own. Since Mulder had made
his decision to go along Alex had grown quiet, but Jake knew all
too well that such quiet was an illusion. The storm loomed over
them now, charged and dangerous. Alex was that cat again, crouched
with tail twitching, prepared to pounce as soon as her prey came
within range. 

     "You're a romantic and noble and all that, Fox, but you're
also an idiot."

     "So Scully tells me, not in so few words... in many, many
words... but the sentiment is the same." Mulder has admitted this
as he slowly reached forward with both hands to touch, to open the
door and invite the devil to tea, to bare his soul to the storm and
the claws of that sensual predator. 

     Contact was not electric, neither a shock nor hot as Mulder
expected but rather like easing your hands into soft, warm water,
in many ways imperceivable until the sensation had eased up past
his fingertips and across his palms. By then a growing fear of
things happening to his body, a very physical invasion, had already
told Mulder what Jake had known. This would be nothing like that
long ago wet dream. 

     At the wrists that invisible, rising tide began to cool
slightly and a taste had already come into his mouth that was cool
and salty like a tropical sea at night under the moon. Not that it
mattered - it was far too late for that - but he was no longer
touching Jake. Only his eyes, however, could tell him that. Eyes
closed, he would have sworn that he still held Jake between his
hands. As the sensation rose higher, past his elbows, the shaking
began as if the rest of his body had begun to physically recognize
that something was wrong with his lower arms. By the time the
cooling tide had reached his shoulders that wrongness had become
something foreign and terrible. He was standing now, though he
didn't remember doing so. Did he think he could run? Had he ever
been able to?

     When it reached his chest, there was a tightness that
shouldn't be there as if the distance across his shoulders was too
large, that there was just too much of him everywhere, and cold
scalpels were already at work quietly cutting him down to size. As
his lungs began to fill, his eyes opened involuntarily as if, like
Jake's fish-out-of-water, he could somehow take in more air that
way. The icy stabbing pain in his chest carved deep, deeper than
his lungs as if she were burning away his heart or his soul with
her cold touch. 

     Burning... burning... 

     Someone... help... please....
     
     But his mouth made no sound, his lips didn't even move,
because his mouth wasn't his any more. The cool flood had closed it
with an icy fog. The same flowed into his nostrils and down the
back of his throat, spicy now and salty and sweet. In his head the
scent was as acrid as acid and as sickly fragrant as an orchard of
apple blossoms on a hot spring day.

     So distracted had he been by the smells and tastes of her,
that the ice had crept unnoticed down from his heart, twisting and
weaving about his innermost center, hugging him so tight around the
waist it caught his breath. At the hips it suddenly flared, soft
and full and ripe with tantalizing promise. Leaving a warm kernel
glowing somewhere deep inside, the tide move on down his legs, the
eddies tracing limbs even more slender than his own, smooth skin,
delicate ankles, tiny toes...

     Cold, cold, I'm so cold. Except for that growing warmth in his
belly, except for that.

     His head turned towards the mirrored wall, but he wasn't the
one who turned it. His eyes remained open when he would have closed
them, thinking, like a child, that what he did not see could not be
real.

     The reflection of a figure stood in the glass bright as a
flame. The glowing column was a silver goddess, naked as Aphrodite
and as insubstantial as the sea foam from which she'd sprung. And
yet she wore like a rich barbarian's cloak a man's bronzed skin
against which her smaller essence blazed.

     Even when he moved as little as to breath, the features of the
face flickered like a child's toy that is a picture of a dog if you
hold it one way and the picture of a cat the other. Or it may be a
bird and a bee, or an angel and a devil. In this case the visage
was that of a woman's unearthly beauty one moment and his own
frozen terror-stricken features the next. ('Scully, you know that
face I showed you?  Well, I'm making it again.')

     Arms reached up... slowly... slowly.... taking their time to
make every stolen muscle ripple, modeling them as she set about
transforming each one from his form to hers, from his will to hers.
The hands wove like dancing serpents behind his neck to flip the
mounds of thick black ghost hair up until it flowed like a river
over his arms, down his back and across his bare skin. Still the
arms stretched higher, arching the slender lower back, pulling taut
the two vaporous swelling on his chest he could sense but refused
to look at. 

     Other eyes did watch however. Hazel eyes more brown than green
set in a facsimile of the face Mulder saw every morning in the
mirror in his apartment's tiny bathroom. Jake was still on the
floor, his reflection also in the mirror. Jake's face, however, did
not move and shift into her image as did his own. 

     He wanted his own back! Like a cry in the night from a
frightened child, he wanted his own face only his mouth was closed,
full of vapor and taste and scent. And so he clung to those hazel
eyes more brown than green which understood and which met and held
the fear at bay more tightly than the clasp of a hand in his hand. 

     But there was something else in those eyes - a hunger and
desire Mulder had known before, close up and very personal. The
warmth began to spread from the kernel she had placed in his
center. The wave was like the tide from the surging sea, rising and
falling, each surge delicious and becoming more so. It was so
different from what a man feels that did not recognize it at first
for what it was. When he did, the wonder of it nearly eclipsed the
fear. 

     His mouth, no longer filled with his silent screams, moved
like a rusty gate, slow at first and sounding far... far away in
his ears.

     "That sort of a memory I have about our 'doing it'... that
wasn't a sick nightmare, was it? That happened."

     The image of the figure to the right of his own oh-so-altered
reflection in the mirror flushed. "Yes, but it was what was left of
the 'Gold' and Alex, not me. In fact I fought her and she pushed me
out. So you see, you don't have to be aware of any of this. You can
leave if you want to. Just - go away. The only thing certain is
that Alex will win."

     A long moment passed where Jake could almost see lines of
force radiating from the creature standing before the mirror, the
thing that glowed like that silver goddess bonded to Mulder's skin.
Only the eyes were totally Mulder's still and in them a battle was
most assuredly raging which argued volumes about cultural taboos
and commitments elsewhere but unspoken. It wasn't a question of
whether something was going to happen here, only whether Mulder was
going to be aware of it or not. Jake rose to his feet and drifted
over to the mirror. His skin with its golden tan shone with the
lingering drops of bathwater and sweat. In the mirror they were
still the same height but other than that no one would have thought
them twins any longer.

     Mulder pulled his eyes away from the mind-reeling sight. "What
about you? She wants you to be part of this - you know that. I
wouldn't want you to... just out of a sense of obligation -"

     A finger stopped his lips, but whether the mouth it touched
was Alex's or his own Mulder couldn't tell and it really didn't
matter any longer. 

     "What would you do without me?" Jake asked. "Alex is no wall
flower. She'd take you out and find - someone. Better me, don't you
think?"

     Mulder honestly didn't know. Thinking wasn't anything he had
much control over anymore. "But only if you want -"

     "Drop your eyes and take a look. I want. Though really, I have
the same choices as you. I'm no more alone here than you are. She
likes orchestrating all the parts of these little dramas." Jake
took a step closer, took the long, slender hand. Mulder's breath
caught, held, and only slowly released. "Though if it makes you
feel any better about this, I think I would want to anyway." 

     Mulder's eyes widened and Jake gave him a little half smile.
 
     "Maybe that wasn't the most reassuring thing I could have said
right now."

     "I don't think I'm in a position to make any kind of judgement
about cultural norms at the moment." Mulder's voice was tight. That
delicious feeling in the core of his being had been roused to a
burning pitch. He was clearly feeling sensations from the touch of
Jake's hand that were sending him places only Alex's 'men' had gone
before.

     Then Jake's free hand, the one that didn't hold Mulder's,
raised. The movement wasn't smooth but almost jerky as if drawn by
puppet strings. Almost apologetically, he reached to stroke the
ghostly curve of one ethereal breast. Though he was still inches
from the agent's actual skin, Mulder purred in response, the
vibration coming from deep in his throat.

     With that purr, the resolve of two wavering consciences
dissolved a good deal farther. 

     Jake tugged at the hand he held, feeling both the feverish
warmth of Mulder's skin and cool moor-fog of Alex, and Fox came,
drawn by a power that had driven the human race, the entire animal
kingdom, for eons upon eons. 

     It was the oddness of the body that moved under him that
snapped Mulder back into his own mind if only for a brief time.
Such small feet, such limber hips and shoulders - the sort of which
a man will never have. It was a lighter body than his own, lighter
and possessing a dancer's fluid grace. 
     
     "You're beautiful," Jake whispered close by. "Sorry, Fox, if
you're still in there. I meant Alex was beautiful."

     Mulder affirmed that he was with the slightest spastic jerk of
his head. "I'm here." The gesture and the words were hard, however.
No, not 'hard' but difficult; he didn't even want to think about
'hard' at the moment. The words that his mouth tried to form were
"You're beautiful, too," but he wouldn't. Still, at the very
thought something twisted at his core producing the subtlest of
gestures, a seductive sway of slender shoulders and full, soft hips
and transmitted the same message more clearly than any words.

     Shakily, he murmured, "I'm supposed to go looking for X-Files.
I guess, this one came looking for me." 

     In sympathy, Jake increased the pressure on the bones in the
hand he held, and Mulder felt the warm sea surge up, only it was
more like a fountain this time, touching places a man didn't even
own. Alex's essence was clearly more then surface deep. How much
more of him was she capable of changing? At the implications Mulder
threw back his head, Alex's long hair moving over his bare shoulder
and across his back. The laugh that burst from his ample chest was
higher than his own, a woman's laugh. At its quality and the
unexpected force, it cut off short into ragged sob-like breaths. 

     Jake put his arms around his friend and forced the head down
onto his shoulder to calm the rising hysteria. Neither presence
resisted. After a few minutes of letting his hands and his lips run
over the soft, warm skin of the body in his arms, Jake gently
lowered the exquisite creation down onto the huge bed in the great
room. Somehow they had managed to get as far across the great room
as that.

     Jake stared down, knowing that his eyes could not hide his
arousal. Below him he could see them both as clearly as the merged
creature they had become. 

     "Alex's lovers had never been so desirable as this." It was
the mixture of Alex's passion and the Fox's fear and innocence that
Jake, and any man or woman, found so appealing. Alex was shameless,
eager. Mulder was terrified, but at the same time bashfully
curious.  Jake felt his own breath coming in short, hungry pants
like a dog. If he didn't get a grip soon, he'd be drooling.

     For the last time Mulder looked completely out of his own eyes
and even though one corner of that luscious mouth turned up in a
wavering smile, he couldn't hide the dread which was ravaging his
body in its own way. "Sounds crazy, but in a lot of ways this is
like my first time. You will be gentle, won't you?"

     Jake had an urge to reply with, "As gentle as you were with me
last night," but decided this was not the time to bring up that
complication. Besides he didn't want to break the fragile mood.
Instead he knelt down beside the bed and began using his expressive
hands to play the creature before him. "Relax. I'll be careful. At
least no broken bones. This can be an experience you'll never
forget if you just don't fight it."
 
     Mulder's eyes closely contentedly as his body writhed. It
wouldn't be long now before he would slid over the edge to where
sensation swallowed fear.

     "This..." Mulder began then lost self to a wave of pleasure
and had to wait for a lull before he could come back one last time.
"This is one I don't think I'm going to tell Scully about."

End of Chapter 7
JAKE AND FOX JOIN THE CLUB (8/25)
by Wind (Windsinger@aol.com)

Disclaimer: See chapter 1 

Chapter 8

     "May we join you?"

     They had been wrestling to see who would be on top the next
time. A glorious puppy play of muscle against muscle and bone
against bone that was unnaturally equal. The words cut Mulder off
in mid-pounce so abruptly that he fell off the bed onto his sore
ass and just sat and stared open-mouthed. Aroused and blissfully
happy, Jake just propped his head up on one elbow and grinned. 

     "As you will, my lady, my lord." The words were said with an
insolence that would have earned the supplicant, Jacob, a sharp
rebuff. Instead their two visitors were too busy recovering from
their shock. 

     Someone had pulled open the drapes and in the pale gray light
of the new day, Lisa could be seen dressed for work in all her
leather and laces. Her selection of straps hung from her belt. She
quickly covered her surprise with that radiant, professional cool
she had. Too early to get up, she had probably not gone to bed yet.
The same was probably true of Elliot who was looking like a Norse
god today in oiled skin, a short leather breechcloth, and a
simulated wolf pelt. Only his expression didn't match his costume.
He was grinning in positive delight.

     Trying to understand the meaning of the two visitors' opening
words, Mulder stared from one to the other and back at Jake. Jake
winked. The sane part of him deep inside knew he should be more
sympathetic to Mulder's confusion but he was having too good a time
and the possibilities for the next few hours had suddenly taken a
turn to the macabre. Besides he'd seen the fire that still glowed
in Fox's eyes. Even though Alex wasn't visible to either of them
any more - ghosts after all, were invisible in the full light of
day - she was still in residence, sunk deep into blood and bone.
Mulder, therefore, didn't have a snowcone's chance in hell of
avoiding the next few hours though there would probably be some
argument later whether he would have wanted to anyway. Fox, the
all-male part of him, was helplessly caught like a fly in amber by
the wild, female magnificence that was Lisa. The part of Mulder
that was still Alex leaped with joyful lust at the sight of Elliot,
one of her favorite paragons of male perfection.

     Both were going to have a truly exquisite experience, the only
question was, who first?

     Alex, feeling satiated and particularly playful, made that
decision. Rising the body she still wore to its best advantage, she
moved with a leopard's grace from the place of Mulder's ignominious
fall, to drape herself languidly across the head of the great
room's huge bed.
 
     "He's mine!" Lisa growled, knowing a challenge when she saw
one.

     Alex stared out of Mulder's eyes at her intended victim,
haughtily daring.

     Sighing long and longingly, Lisa reached moved forward even as
she reached for the strap at her belt. "Definitely mine."

     Elliot laughed gently and threw himself down next to the
grinning Jake. "You are Jacob, aren't you?" the older man asked,
reaching for one arm and then the other to check the bracelets.

     Jacob snatched both wrists away still grinning like a cat
wallowing in cream. "Try me and find out."

                         * * * * * * * *

     He woke in a woman's arms; that was the only thing he was
certain of. His mind felt like cotton candy. Thoughts when they did
manage to pop up got snagged in the sticky goo and never connected.
The woman sighed and snuggled, her fingers weaving about his hair -
 not the hair on his head but his pubic hair. There had been other
Firsts with this woman. She had wanted total control and he had
allowed himself to be directed by her. He must have done it right
because she had been well satisfied with him. Another first was
that he didn't remember her name. This would have alarmed him more
if he had been able to remember his own. Wondering where he was
brought up only images of a dark room but he knew there was sand
and sea and sun outside. When? He had no concept of an external
calendar - no day, no month, no year. Internally, he felt about
nineteen though he knew he was older. Many rivers had passed over
that bridge since that awkward boy-man age but it was as if someone
had locked those years away someplace.

     "Jacob, a little something to gnosh on, eh?" Whose warm
baritone was that? Another man murmured a reply and Fox felt the
vibrations as that someone's movements traveled through the
mattress to where he lay with the woman. All of them together? Here
was another something that didn't make sense. He wanted to drift
back to sleep, hoping that when he woke up everything would make
more sense but someone touched his arm. 

     "Duty calls, cousin."  

     Cousin? That made no sense but the voice was one he knew.
Opening his eyes, he blinked. He knew the face that drifted over
his, knew that body. With very little hesitation he moved to the
edge of the bed and was relieved when the woman released her very
possessive hold. She didn't even miss him. As his bare feet found
the rich carpet only a short distance from the low mattress, he
turned back and saw the woman roll languidly across the expanse of
shining black sheets to embrace a fine-looking older man who lay on
her other side. The bed was immense, the largest he had ever seen
but one he knew he had seen before. 

     A hand on his elbow moved him away from the sleepers and
across the huge room, a room so large that the bed did not look so
very odd in it. They passed through a doorway and down a short
hallway to a kitchen. This also was familiar in a numb sort of way.
The man who had awakened him looked deeply and with concern into
his eyes.

     "What's your name?" When there was no response he asked again.
"Do you remember your name?"

     Name? He had many. None of which described all of him. This
elemental part of him without civilization, without a history or a
future, he thought of that part of himself with the name hated but
it was the one he had been given.

     "Fox."

     "Well, that's something. Sit here, I'll get the 'petite-
dejeuner' for the Master and Mistress."  There was humor in the
voice as if there was a joke there someplace. They were just words
to Fox.

     So he sat on the cold kitchen chair and let the thoughts buzz
helplessly around in his sticky brain like flies in a jar while the
familiar man who had stared into his eyes made noises about the
kitchen. When he was given a tray with tea and croissants to take
to the woman, Fox carried it as carefully as a six-year-old boy who
has been given a great responsibility. Then there was that guiding
hand on his elbow again and he was led to the very end of the bed
that was as impossibly long as it was wide. He was even handed a
croissant and a mug of tea of his own on a chipped plastic plate,
not on the fine china the man and woman snuggled at the head of the
bed had been given. In time he followed the example of his 'cousin'
who sat beside him and ate a few bites of the roll and drank the
tea. The tea he found he was desperate for. He was very thirsty and
his mouth was full of a musky taste.

     He became aware of the 'Master' and 'Mistress' again. They had
eaten and drank their tea and put aside their trays. Now they
lounged with their heads together though they frequently glanced up
together as if to reassure themselves that the two identical men
sitting on the end of their bed hadn't disappeared. They were
whispering and plotting and softly giggling like children.

     Lisa finally rolled to sit on her edge of the bed, indicating
as she did so for the two to come to her. Jacob rose as lithely as
a cat to comply. "Both of you," she ordered, a touch of annoyance
in her voice. After some hesitation, Fox followed, mimicking the
other for he had no idea of what else he should do. They both
crouched down before her on the floor like two well-trained hounds
and Lisa proceeded to stroke their identical bowed heads and trace
the lines of their cheek bones and jaws with her perfect fingers.
The older man, who Fox managed to remember was called Elliot,
joined her and soon they were murmuring together as they compared
ears and fingers, even lengths of toes and the count of scars. Both
laughed to find their hazel eyes so different, Jacob's more brown
than green, and Isaac's more green than brown. 

     Like a well-contented cat Jacob closed his eyes. This petting
appealed to him. In time, however, he managed to detach himself
enough to note how 'Isaac' was faring. Still dazed, Fox was not
doing badly, though he was not limp with contentment as Jacob was.
He was tense and there was a fine sheen of sweat on his skin. When
Elliot stroked a rounded buttock, gooseflesh broke out to mingle
with the sweat. 

     After this had been going on for far longer than Fox was
comfortable, Elliot flopped back onto the bed as if falling
backwards into a great, shiny-black pool. Stretching strong arms
and legs, he rolled back to his original place. Head propped up on
one hand, he raised the sheet beside him. 

     "Come," he said. Jacob raised his head, the muscles on his
haunches bunching to reply. "No, not you this time, Jacob, and
don't sulk. I'm talking to your friend."

     "The very sweaty one," Lisa added with a smile, lying back
against her own pile of pillows and raising the sheet on her own
side for Jacob. With a look from Lisa to Elliot and then a
meaningful one to the nearly catatonic Fox, Jake slipped into the
sheets beside his Mistress. Her body was soft and cool and supple
just as he knew Elliot's was hot and hard and strong. Jake had been
their mutual plaything often enough to be well aware of the
difference. Mulder would find this out, too, if he ever got his
body into gear and got over there.

     All eyes were on Fox now. His brain, swimming in a very
personal confusion, was working even less well than before. It was
his body that responded to Jacob's fierce eyes and moved to the
only place being offered to him. It was embarrassing after Jacob's
smooth movements how awkward his body moved and how long the trip
around to the far side of the bed took, though his dragging feet
made it longer.

     Elliot's blue eyes were confused when 'Isaac' finally reached
his side. It was clear he was weary and more than a little
perturbed at having had to hold open the sheet for so long. For his
age his naked body was firm and tan and magnificent. Not
unaffected, Fox actually began to tremble, which rooted his feet
again to the floor. Elliot shook his head wondering, an amused
smile coming to his lips. 

     "Jacob, tell this creature I don't bite." Lisa allowed Jake to
raise his head from where he was already expertly engaged in
pleasuring her. His eyes were dreamy, his flesh was already
flushed, his lips swollen from their work. 

     "But you do."

     Elliot laughed. "All right. I won't bite for at least five
minutes and then very gently. Please?" More hesitation. "You'd
think he was a nervous virgin though he was anything but with Lisa.
He's beginning to try even my patience."

     Fighting Lisa's distracting advances, Jake forced
concentration. "Isaac's nearly the perpetual virgin," he replied
warming up to the lie. "He doesn't swing by nature. It takes him a
while to adjust. Most of his partners find that irresistible. It's
one of his gifts. Besides, he's always been a bit of a recluse."

     Elliot made a small humming sound as he considered then and
slid over, giving the newcomer a little more space. "I'll be
gentle, I promise, my beautiful one. I do want you, very badly.
Come on now."

     The words didn't mean anything to poor dazed Fox though the
tone of the voice did. It was not only deep but loving and
paternal, and Fox felt cold standing alone on the outside while
everyone else had their place. And here this god was offering him
a place, too.

     Cramped muscles bent and Fox slipped between the silky black
sheets, his body stiffening again as Elliot's arms came around him
and drew him close. The man's hands were not a woman's hands, not
in any way. His own body did not fit against the man's as it did
against a woman's body and yet it was not unpleasant. 

     "Relax, relax. Just lay back and think of England," Elliot
advised in true BBC British tones.

     That was all it took. The absurdity of that remark cut through
the fog, and Fox felt the last of his defenses begin to crumble. He
found his muscles, all but one, relaxing as the big hands stroked
his back and tucked his head against his own muscular shoulder. 

     'I've gone mad,' Fox thought. 'No, I'm a shade, as
insubstantial as smoke, as crazy as this crazy place.' The sun was
peeking though open places in the thick, dark curtains and throwing
little golden beams here and there. A stripe of Elliot's skin was
bronze in one beam. 'His cousin' was not so far away making the
woman moan. And there was another and her name was Alex and she was
like a cloak covering them all. Though invisible, she brought a
rich kind of life with her.
     
     She was not the pale wraith here.

     Fox was the pale one, the odd man out, and he didn't like the
feeling.

     Tentatively, he initiated a little exploring expedition,
running his fingers along a long, firm flank. The touch of the
hard, male muscle reminded him of another's. It stirred a memory of
Jake. In a nightmare? Not entirely, there were far worse nightmares
he chose to forget about. And then there was that time in college
long, long ago. He had been so young.

     It's a refined taste the young professor had said at the time.
Poison probably, Fox thought, and the memory had always been mildly
disturbing and thus wholly erotic. What he had done recently - a
time of violent upheaval and a rutting mindlessness - was not the
same in any way. Considering its reaction to the man's hands, his
body wanted this, wanted this more than anything - to be touched,
to be held close, to lose itself in another who was larger,
stronger, older, wiser. His confused mind wasn't complaining
either. To feel wanted and protected, to feel safe, was everything.
And then Alex was always there to make this easier. She gave him
the excuse that this desire wasn't truly his. Yes, she was there,
laughing and watching as he slid his foot over the line.

     She was still part of him... wasn't she? This was all her
idea... right?
                         * * * * * * * *

     They played like Olympian gods, then slept like the dead.
Stumbling into consciousness, the four ate like starved rats, and
then matter-of-factly soaked off the worst of the sweat and other
bodily fluids in the communal pool. Three of the four did anyway.
Fox woke dazed but that quickly cleared. He did eat well but washed
in private in one of the bedroom baths and took his time about it.
When he emerged, the sharp, intense glare that gazed out of the
somewhat swollen eyes told Jake that Fox had disappeared just as
Alex had. Mulder had returned.



     It was nearly eleven in the morning before they were all
assembled in the 'conversation' section of the great room. The
heavy drapes had been pulled back to reveal the magnificent view of
midday sun on sparkling sea. The light also revealed the condition
of the central part of the room, which quite literally looked like
a tiny cyclone, had visited. Besides the scattered sheets and
pillows, every toy in the closet had been snatched out and used in
some fashion. It would take the maids hours to clean and put away
each very interesting object.  

     The three had mugs in their hands and wore robes draped
loosely about their bodies, careless about what they hid or
revealed. Lisa and Elliot's intent in dressing even this much was
a signal, its message simple, "Enough of the carnal for now; time
for business." The fourth member of the party wore the closest
thing he could find to running shorts in addition to the short
robe. Unlike the others, his was belted. He sat slouched on his
tailbone in a director's chair in the corner, embarrassed,
affronted, unhappy and silent while the others conversed. If he had
realized that his 'rebel without a cause' make him all the more
delectable to Lisa and Elliot's evaluating eyes, he would have made
at least a minimal attempt to be more agreeable.

     The fact was, however, he was down. Down, down, down. Alex had
disappeared for certain with the first blast of the ice cold shower
and she hadn't returned. Perhaps they'd finally satisfied her
unique hunger though Mulder suspected that she had just dissipated
among the group as a whole. There had been some weird shit going
on. What did it matter - how? Alex was gone. Mulder, however, felt
no relief. He was too sore, too wrung out from the deepest, secret
part of him to the tips of this fingers and toes. There was also
shame, shame that he felt empty without Alex's hunger inside him,
no wind in his sails, becalmed in a dead sea. And lonely? Heart-
achingly lonely. In his whole life he had rarely missed Scully - or
the dream of someone even vaguely Scully-like - more. 
          
     For better or worse, he remembered everything now - all that
Jake had explained about the island and their situation before Alex
decided to make herself known and most of everything since. Mulder
could tell by the worried look in Jake's eyes as be sat trying to
calmly drink coffee with these two 'S & M' masters, that Jake knew
he remembered. 

End of Chapter 8
JAKE AND FOX JOIN THE CLUB (9/25)
by Wind (Windsinger@aol.com)

Disclaimer: See chapter 1 

Chapter 9

     Jake had already described how 'Isaac' was his cousin.

     "Your 'cousin'?" Lisa asked, studying Isaac as if still not
able to believe what she was seeing. "And you didn't know he was
here?"

     Mulder kept silent but simply crossed his legs, folded his
arms, and glowered. Classic passive resistance mode.

     Jake shrugged. "We lost touch. I was as surprised to find him
here as he was to be found." Jake sipped at his espresso to all
appearances entirely at his ease. "I'm glad you came by this
morning because there is a family problem I hope you can help us
with."

     "Such as?" Elliot asked. "You know we'll help if we can but
the charter is very strict -"

     "Yes, I know, but this shouldn't bend the rules at all." Jake
leaned over and handed Elliot a small plastic sandwich bag
containing the two ampules. "As his medical records indicate, Isaac
has suffered from depression on and off for some years. He has been
wearing these under his skin. It's his anti-depression medication.
His own doctor inserted them the day he arrived which was about
four weeks ago. Isaac thinks the dose is too strong which is why
he's been so lethargic - the attendants here can testify to that.
He asked me to take them out for him. We'd like his doctor on the
mainland to have them analyzed."

     "Our clinical center can do that," Lisa offered.

     "It's an experimental drug," Mulder murmured grudgingly. If
Jake was going to leave plot holes, he guessed he'd have to fill
them in at least until he could see where his 'cousin' was going
with this. 

     "Uh, that's right," Jake agreed, one eyebrow raised in
Mulder's direction.

     Elliot was staring with interest at the slender rods in the
bag. "Then we'll send them to Mr. Forsyth, Isaac's sponsor, no
problem."

     "That is the problem," Jake said. "Isaac had a private
agreement with his employer not to take them out while he was here.
Isaac could lose his position and what a disaster that would be." 

     Mulder nearly gagged but stifled it behind a cough.

     "But for medical purposes -" Elliot began.

     "Mr. Forsyth is not the most reasonable of individuals." It
was 'Isaac' who spoke, his voice as tight as a bowstring. Mulder
was staring into space somewhere to Jake's left where he could just
see a corner of the bed where he had spent so much of the last
three hellish. The spell was broken when a shudder ran through his
body.

     Clearing his throat, Jake turned quickly back to the business
of explaining his plan. "If we can send these to Isaac's doctor by
way of _my_ lawyer, then Mr. Forsyth doesn't have to know until the
problem is resolved."

     "We'll also need to send a blood sample," Mulder added, "to
determine current therapeutic levels. Of course, for the test to be
valid the sample would need to be sent overnight express." 

     Jake nearly spilled his espresso down his bare chest where the
robe gaped. Mulder must be desperate. Jake remembered from their
stay together at the hospital after the affair in Washington how
the man hated needles. He also noted how some useful medical
terminology had obviously rubbed off after the years of listening
to the lovely Dr. Scully.

     Elliot glanced over at Lisa for agreement with Jacob's
request. "Seems reasonable, especially when a resident's health is
in question. Marshall's on duty here now and he had some EMT
training back in the world as I remember. He can draw the sample
and we can take it with us this morning."

     "It's afternoon, darling," Lisa corrected with a lazy smile,
"and I agree." One long, shapely, bare leg was draped over the arm
of the chair and swung casually back and forth. Her favorite
leather strap swung similarly from her relaxed hand. She was
clearly oblivious to what showed and what didn't though none of the
men, not even Mulder, missed a swing. "My only concern is how
you'll manage, Isaac. Without your medication, I mean. I imagine
that the analysis and getting replacements for these will take a
few days."

     Jake replied before Mulder could. "Yes, I suppose you've
noticed that he's a little under the weather right now, but if you
give leave for Isaac and I to spend as much of the next few days
together as possible, I'll do my best to help him derail any
emotional episodes."

     Mulder glowered as if he didn't need any emotional episodes
derailed. "A certain level does remain in the blood," he countered
in slow, extremely precise tone

     Looking from one to the other Elliot's smile lit his eyes with
a cagey light. "Of course you'll want to stay close, we understand
completely - considering how long you've been out of touch, I mean.
That arrangement would be acceptable to me."

     Lisa's laugh was low, its throaty alto ringing like a deep
golden bell though certainly Mulder was slow to grasp what she
found so amusing. "More than acceptable. In fact, I'll make that an
order. We've had twins before but never any like..." she gestured
at the two lean, dark-haired, beautiful men as she turned her
elegant head to her husband. "They're perfect together, Elliot.
What a sight they'll make especially with the big conference here
and then there's the competition tomorrow morning..." She let the
tip of her tongue glide slowly over her lower lip, her eyes alight.
"The two of them, a matched pair. I want them." 

     Desperately, Jake tried to catch Mulder's eye in an attempt to
sidetrack one of those emotional outbursts Mulder didn't think he
was going to have. One of truly gargantuan proportions was building
though Mulder was managing to hold it together. He had flushed a
deep scarlet. Good thing he was backlit by the light or they would
have been able to tell exactly how much her attention had disturbed
him. And not all the emotion rising to the surface was anger,
either. 

     His consternation was covered by the arrival of Marshall, the
attendant with EMT training, who drew two tubes of blood, labeled
them, wrapped them gauze, placed them in a Styrofoam container and
handed them to Elliot. Mulder had managed to limit his reaction to
a sibilant hiss as the blood was drawn. If the attendant noticed
the considerable number of needle marks that marred the inside of
both of Mulder's arms, he said nothing.

     During the operation Mulder's eyes had never left those vials
until they were no longer visible. Jake was almost certain that he
knew what was going on behind those eyes. If their plan worked,
Mulder was thinking of the other hands that would hopefully be
touching those same tubes sometime during the next forty-eight
hours. His unnaturally bronze tan paler than before, 'Isaac' rose
and without obeisance or even a polite request to withdraw,
wandered as if sleepwalking out onto the balcony.   

     His own sitting position semi-formal as was the correct
posture for a servant before his betters even at this relaxed
'after' time when the barriers of class were thin, Jake felt his
hair lift in the balmy breeze that blew in through the open balcony
door. Despite his 'cousin's' lack of manners, he tried to appear
nonchalant. Hard to do with Mulder out on the balcony, hugging his
arms tight to his chest as if he were freezing and Jake's own brain
spinning as he tried to decide how to present the second part of
his plan.

     "There is something else," he said.

     Elliot lifted an eyebrow and Jake knew he was pushing their
tenuous and forbidden friendship. They weren't equals here, not in
the least, but Jake forged ahead anyway.

     "We'd like you to find us a private buyer for our contracts."

     Lisa exchanged glances with Elliot. They were both
unbelievably beautiful people, and if written down their sexual
histories would not have been believed, but above all they were
business people.
 
     "Together," Jake added with emphasis. "As I said before, we've
spent too much time apart over the years." Elliot's eyebrows lifted
higher, a naughty little smile on his lips. So that was what the
knowing light had been in his eyes before. Considering what the
master trainer and Lisa had seen when they first entered the
apartment, Jake knew what they were thinking. Let them. It made his
request all the more reasonable.  

     "I have only a few weeks left on my contract; but Jake has
nearly nine months."

     "I thought you were eager to keep in Mr. Forsyth's good
graces?"

     "We are, but it wouldn't help negotiations for it to be known
that Isaac had broken his current contract even if some of the
restrictions were unreasonable."

     Lisa nodded thoughtfully. 

     "I take it you're not interested in our approaching Forsyth to
buy yours?" Elliot asked.

     Mulder must have been listening. Even from where he sat, Jake
could see the muscles of Mulder's back spasm even through the
fabric of the robe he'd belted tight around his body.

     "Not Forsyth. Isaac has not found that situation satisfactory
but neither could he afford to buy himself free nor did he wish to
lose his position outright. As you know, a companion can get a bad
reputation in the profession if he does that. That one of the
reasons I'm willing to go in with him. Together we should fetch a
higher price, enough to pay off both our current contracts and
leave a nice nest egg for him when that runs out."

     As Mulder came to stand by the open door, clearly listening
now though with his emotions impossible to read, Elliot gave Lisa
a meaningful look that Jake found encouraging. 

     "Do you think you can find a buyer?" Jake asked, thrall-
humble, eyes downcast. For any trainer other than Lisa and Elliot
he would have been on his knees at this point. "After all, we are
nearly forty. We can't fetch the high prices indefinitely."

     Lisa laughed her golden laugh. "Oh, give us a break, Jacob.
False modesty does not become you. Forty.... If only more of them
were forty. Save me from all these hyperactive, narcissistic
children! You know that we'd buy your contract ourselves in a
second but as trainers we're not allowed private thralls. That
would show favoritism."

     "There are already grumblings about how much time the two of
us spend together," Elliot remarked. "A real pity," he added in a
softer voice that perhaps only Jake who sat closest was meant to
hear. 

     "Do you seriously think that there would be a problem finding
a buyer who would pay the kind of money you're talking about?" Lisa
asked rhetorically. "The only problem I see is protecting ourselves
from the stampede. Not that there aren't obstacles, you understand.
Jacob, you know we would never stand in your way if you really
wanted to go - you have only a few weeks left here anyway, as
you've said - but Isaac's owner may have different ideas. He
doesn't have to sell."

     "Which is why we don't want you to got to Forsyth now. We want
to have identified a buyer first so we have a offer to set before
him."

     "Yes, that strategy usually works best," Lisa, the 
businesswoman, mused. Suddenly stretching with that incredible
grace of hers, she rose and began picking up the pieces of the
original costume she'd been wearing when she and Elliot had
arrived. Something Grecian, Jake remembered. 

     "We have to go now, I'm already a no-show for four sessions
this morning. I can just see it - novices wandering about
aimlessly." She smiled in Mulder's direction. "But your little
surprise was certainly worthwhile. Elliot and I will see to these -
 " Lisa raised the package with the ampules and blood sample.
"We'll also give the matter of your contracts some thought. As for
you two, take the rest of the day off." She raised her voice.
"Isaac, let Jacob show you around the grounds. All the grounds.
You've been hidden away here long enough. But tomorrow morning,
Jacob -" her voice had changed to one that was accustomed to giving
commends and having them followed without question, "- I expect to
see both of you at our villa by ten a.m. and suitably attired for
the races. Am I understood, Jacob?"

     Automatically, Jake had risen when she had, his posture
becoming more formal along with the tone of her voice. "As you
wish, Lisa," he replied inclining his head.

     Lisa's eyes fixed unhesitatingly on 'Isaac', who had not moved
from his stand by the balcony's open door. "And what about you,
Isaac? Will you do as I wish? I expect great things from you. Ask
Jacob, he'll tell you. I'll put you through your paces, have no
doubt about that."
     
     No acknowledgement at all from 'Isaac' who seemed more stunned
than anything. With all the deference and formal words of a good
butler, it was Jake who showed the two out leaving he and Mulder -
and Alex - alone once more.
 
                        * * * * * * * * 

     Immediately after Elliot and Lisa had left to return to their
duties - after all, someone had to whip and bend all those young
postulate bodies and minds into shape - Jake joined Mulder who
stood once again at the balcony rail. It was a gorgeous day as all
days on the island were gorgeous and yet Mulder seemed shadowed
under his own personal rain cloud. He spun on Jake before the other
could even begin to comment on his dangerously un-thrall-like
behavior.

     "So this is your plan?" Mulder asked, bitterly. "What do you
think you're doing? You're going to _sell_ us? How does that help?
We won't own ourselves anymore after than before."

     "I have no intention of our contracts being bought by anyone.
It's just a smoke screen, a delaying tactic. We'll be so hot around
here that even if Forsyth does get wind of your recovery, he won't
dare try any funny business. That will give Ms. Scully time to come
to your rescue."
 
     A significant clearing of the storm on Mulder's brow showed
how diverting even the mention of his partner's name could be.

     "That's fine except for what if I'm not anxious to be 'hot'
around here. What if I'd rather find a nice, dark hole to hide in
until Scully comes. Besides, you've made a case for my medication
problems. Why can't we just say that I'm emotionally fragile and
that I need a little more acclimation time."

     "We're already on thin ice here. If we begin raising doubts,
they'll contact Forsyth so fast... Besides, the intent of the games
around here is to keep the slaves in a continuous state of
emotional vulnerability. No, that's not an excuse we can use. If it
were allowed, you have no idea how many of the new thralls would 
use that argument to bow out every time a session got a little
rough. With what you've been through, you must have gotten the idea
by now that only when you're pushed beyond your limits does sex
really start to get interesting. The Club feels that it would be
doing a disservice not only to their members but also to the
thralls themselves to allow them to fold over such a minor
complaint. No, the only way a slave can get out is if he were to do
violence to a client, though its more likely that for the first
couple in incidents that would only earn you some extra heavy
punishment to pull you into line."

     They had both been standing at the rail. An almost inaudible
growl rumbled from Mulder's throat. He was taut as a bowstring. The
question was - would he harness that energy and rise to the
challenge or would he fly? And if he flew, where to?

     "Do you have a better solution?" Jake demanded.

     Mulder's breath was coming ragged in his frustration. "You
know I don't," he snarled. "I can barely put one thought in front
of another. What I'd like to know is how much of this plan was
actually yours."

     Jake turned his head sharply towards Mulder, but the agent
continued to gaze towards the sea. So Mulder had loosed his arrow
but it was Jake it had struck. He had a point. All Jake's sensible
arguments... How many of the words were his own? 

     Jake gripped the balcony rail as if suddenly dizzy. No, not
that way. He dare not start doubting himself. He had to be strong
and certain of their path because there were pitfalls in this
place. A tightrope to walk along. Keep it light, live on the
surface, be beautiful and pleasant and obey the rules and don't
allow Mulder to push the system. You had to watch your step. There
were a few dark, hungry pits here that had nothing to do with Alex.
Over the edge stuff that in no way was Mulder ready for.

     Mulder must have sensed Jake's eyes on him and was by now well
aware of the seeds of doubt his words had planted.

     We are both caught in the spider's web and he knows it.

     "I'm sorry," Mulder said more himself than he had seemed all
morning. "I never thanked you for finding me and getting that drug
out of my system, even if you did drag me through some X-rated hell
since."

     Jake felt the morning breeze on his face, it was going to be
a warm day. The guilt was hot in him, too. "I owed you one. You
risked your life for me once."

     "You don't owe me anything. Your only problem was that you
were born with my face."

     That muscle in his jaw twitching, Jake seized the opportunity
Mulder had just dropped in his lap. That was another way to gain
Mulder's cooperation. Under normal circumstances, Jake would never
have asked, but these weren't normal.

     "In that case, what if I wanted a favor? Though it's not just
for myself."

     Mulder's brows came together. 

     "I promise it's not illegal - at least I don't think it is."

     "I'll try... do I get to know what it is before I agree?"
     
     "All the reasons I've given you already for lying low and
going along with life here are valid. I believe - as well as I can
believe - that that's the best way to keep you safe until help
comes. There's another reason, too. I want to keep this quiet to
protect The Club itself. This place doesn't need any publicity. If
you want to call my reason for being here 'possession' and everyone
else's a social 'disease' then so be it, but don't take away their
safe haven. You have no idea what the alternative is like. At
first, Alex took me to those places, unnatural places. The inner
city, slums and tenements, abandoned buildings filled with
unimaginable filth. A urine covered mattress on the floor if I was
lucky." 

     "You forget what I do for a living," Mulder replied with a
haunted look. "I've seen those places."

     Jake shrugged. "Yes, I suppose you have, wearing your white
hat and your FBI-correct dark suit, brandishing your sword of
justice. You didn't see them from your belly looking up though, did
you? You weren't there begging for any willing stranger to hurt
you, to ravish you, to satisfy for just a few hours this demon
who's eating you up from the inside. I just know that I don't ever
want to go to places like that again. I don't want anyone who's
driven for whatever reason to that sort of life style to feel they
have to seek out those sorts of places. Alex may be a devil but
that was hell." 

     Jake raised his arms, encompassing all about him. "In
comparison this is heaven. Believe it or not, but on the whole
these are good people. And it's not only a place for the rich - the
thralls themselves can be as poor as dirt, can come from the
lowliest backgrounds. Some are not even that beautiful of face,
they just have to have that spark, that need to be desired. There
is many an ugly duckling turned swan who would do anything for that
kind of attention."

     Staring out over the jewel-like grounds and the handsome
bodies that sauntered along the beach, Mulder saw below the
surface, he saw more. "What about disease, Jake. You say everyone
is clean. There is no way to be absolutely certain."

     "When are any of us ever absolutely certain about anything?
Call it an extreme sport then, a little dangerous, a lot dangerous.
I'm not asking you to understand. I'm only asking you to put your
moral outrage on hold for a day or two until Scully can get here,
until we can work this out quietly." 

     No answer from Mulder one way or the other but he was
listening. 

     Jake rested his elbows on the top of the balcony rail and
sighed. "Just think about it, Fox."

     If Jake had observed his companion at that moment he would
have seen just how seriously Mulder was 'thinking about it'. "I
must be crazy, but I'll try to keep your secret. Still, if this
place is so idyllic -"

     "Why all the subterfuge? Why am I being so cautious? This
place is like life anywhere, good and bad, as challenging as a
person wants to make it for those who embrace its basic premise.
But this place is quicksand for you. It has its own rules, its own
language and you don't know a damned thing. As I've said, any
protests from you will just be misconstrued, and the consequences
of raising the alarm? Not an experience you would enjoy, not one
your mind of your psyche is ready for." 

     Mulder was silent, watching and, yes, listening. 

     "As long as you're here," Jake said, "you're just going to
have to trust me."
     
     Inexplicably, at least to Jake, Mulder chuckled, eyes almost
hysterically bright. "'Trust'. Scully and I go around and around
about that. I appreciate your trying to lay it all out for me in
words of two syllables. I get a sense of what you're saying and I
believe absolutely in what you describe as quicksand. This place
scares me in ways I don't even want to have nightmares about. But
much as I want to trust you there's always Alex and how she may be
nudging you one way or the other. So don't be insulted if I find
the trusting part hard. You don't know me, not really. I'm
skeptical about everything that seems to be laid out precisely for
me. That doesn't mean I won't take a look but I'm usually aware of
the dumb shit I'm walking in on. Scully swears that I'm paranoid
and that the whole world isn't really out to get me."

     "From what I've seen, only three-quarters of it," Jake
quipped.

     Mulder actually smiled. "At least that. On the other hand I
believe any weird thing I dig up is possible. It's a crazy see-saw
way to live, so trust is hard."

     "Reserved for Scully," Jake deduced. "I understand better than
you think." 

End of Chapter 9
JAKE AND FOX JOIN THE CLUB (10/25)
by Wind (Windsinger@aol.com)

See disclaimer in Chapter 1.

Chapter 10

     They both looked off towards the sea. At that moment a group
of runners came by, bare feet pounding the sand along the shore not
that far from their balcony. Novices, Jake knew. New thralls being
exercised. They were all naked or as a near as they could be and be
able to run comfortably. There were handlers with them, dressed in
short leather bits of this and that. They carried the ever-present
leather straps and whips. They pushed their charges, shouted
orders. The orders didn't have to make sense. Only teaching these
new ones to obey without question. 

     One young man in the herd suddenly turned angry words on one
of the handlers. He had broken stride. Maybe a whip had kissed too
sharply. The handlers stopped the runners. The offending member was
surrounded by three of the handlers. There was a scuffle. The young
man was pinned to the sand, face down, and things were done to him.
Touching. A little screaming the kind of screaming that is a pain
of a kind, and yet not all pain.

     Mulder's fingers had dug grooves into the railing by the time
they group moved on. The young victim straggled after the others,
head lowered and silent this time. Clearly, he was going to
remember not to complain again or at least he'd know what to expect
if he did. 

     "You're right," Mulder said. "This is a strange, strange world
and no one's given me a roadmap."

     Jake listened to the words and thought he heard an underlying
tone. A little hesitation and a... wistfulness? It was enough for
a start.

     "Be honest, Fox. What are you feeling? What did that last
scene stir in you?" Jake jostled Mulder's shoulder in a friendly
man-to-man sort of way. "And don't try to tell me that you found
yourself full of that moral outrage. I saw your face."

     Mulder shifted uncomfortably.

     "I think I know. You can't put that sort of thing in words.
That young man wasn't hurt. He's here to play the game like all the
others. He gets what he asks for. He asked for that. A little
attention. Heightened awareness, like a high. You're a sexual
creature, Fox. I've seen that. The Gold has to have something to
work with... aptitude... something. Something to dredge out of your
soul. Back in the world, what were your fantasies? Did you look at
the magazines, watch those pathetic videos? In your mind was there
always the need for more, for better?

     Jake didn't expect an answer and didn't get one. 

     "You're here. I can't think of anyway to get you out of this
quickly and you haven't come up with anything better. I've afraid
by presenting your case to Lisa and Elliot I've rather pulled your
safety net out from under you. I tried to prove you were competent
and reasonably healthy. That was the only way I could think of at
the time to keep them from calling Forsyth. That means you can't
just stay here and hide in the corner and pretend you're still
druggie Isaac. Then they _would_ call Forsyth and that would
destroy our reputation with Elliot and Lisa and we need their good
will for when Scully arrives." Jake sent Mulder a small smile full
of sympathy. "Besides, conscious, you wouldn't like Isaac's life
much. The attendants would feel compelled to come in to feed and
water you, to bathe you, to take you to the gym. And you'd be alone
because there wouldn't be any reason for them to allow me to stay
with you."

     It was Fox who stared out and down the beach. Just over the
palms he could see the edges of tall, white, modern buildings.
There is was... the huge sensual palace his little group of
bookish, sexually frustrated Oxford Freshman had fantasized so
about.  

     "You're saying I have no choice, that I have to go with you,
down there."

     Jake put hand on Mulder's shoulder. The muscles underneath his
hand were tight, too tight. The skin damp with sweat. "Try not to
think of it as an ordeal. You said you like to embrace new things.
Remember those long, lonely nights when it was just you and your
videos and your good right hand. Embrace this life. It's just for
twenty-four hours, maybe forty-eight. No one need ever know, not
even Dr. Dana. Remember, they believe in privacy here. Not even
your real name is known."

     Mulder's lips pursed, the possibilities just beginning to
creep in. "What about the quicksand?" he asked.

     "I'm not saying that there isn't danger - that's part of the
high - but I'll be there. Just follow my lead. Besides, I thought
you were big, strong FBI and that you liked investigating the
weird. You won't get a lot weirder than this."    

     Considering, Mulder stared out again over the balcony rail,
watching as a new group strolled into view along the beach. They
were older people, but still beautiful and graceful, and they wore
casual expensive clothes. Clients. Lovely lords and ladies and they
had caught sight of he and Jake on their balcony and were gesturing
and talking excitedly to one another. Two of the woman beckoned for
them to come down. All their smiles was bright, their manners all
relaxed and friendly. Jake raised his arms showing the group
crossed wrists. Showing obvious disappointment, the group wandered
off further down the beach.

     "And that's the signal for being 'previously engaged'?" Mulder
surmised, lip curling.

     "Being 'tied up', you mean?" Jake smiled, with sunny
brightness. "Every subculture has its little 'in' jokes." 

     Jake stepped closer then, whispering softly, "Once in a
lifetime, Fox," came his warm breath. "You won't get this kind of
chance again. You'll always wonder on those cold nights when you're
fifty or sixty even if you're lucky enough to have lovely Scully at
your side... What would it have been like?"
 
     Jake could almost feel the shivers break out on Mulder's body.
Good shivers, expectant shivers. 

     A dozen priceless bodies jogged by. Half were naked. A mixture
of clients and their paid companions. Guess which ones the naked
ones were? Jake almost chuckled as Mulder's head involuntarily
moved to follow them. 

     "I can't do this," Mulder swore, but who was he trying to
convince.

     "'Can't' or 'shouldn't', Fox? You can. It will be over in a
day or two at the most. And you will enjoy it if you would only
leave your 'duty' and your New England Puritan morals behind for a
little while."

     Mulder's eyes were as naturally bright as Jake had yet seen
them. Was this Alex exerting pressure, or was this Fox, the
emotionally younger and less civilized part of Mulder who watched
his favorite videos on those lonely Saturday nights as Jake had
guessed and opened the brown paper-wrapped magazines that came in
the mail. Jake saw the moment when Agent Mulder and civilization
won - temporarily at least.

     "There's got to be another way," Mulder said, back in his own
skin, but the hold was tenuous. A little desperately, he asked,
"What about publicity? The media would love a good white slavery
story. There must be reporters here. Undercover. Break the news?
We'd get as much attention as your plan."

     "Do you want to walk back into the Bureau after news like that
comes out. Sure, you could make a big deal out of this but Forsyth
would slip through your fingers for sure and who would be hurt? You
and a lot of other people whose careers would be ruined. Mine for
one. Believe it or not I have one I care about. Fox, this is a
shared _fantasy_. A mutual admiration society but only if you don't
put people in the position where they have to start pointing
fingers to save themselves. Then it would get ugly. The world at
large is just not ready for what we do here."

     Like his eyes Mulder's face was no longer a blank. It too
clearly revealed  that Fox was stirring and Mulder wished it wasn't
so. "I just can't... indulge. I have things to do. 'Forsyth'? The
name means nothing to me. I need to find the people who put me
here."

     "You will. There must be clues in your file. A contact. You
can get a copy. All correspondence, electronic and otherwise. But
we have to maneuver ourselves where we're in a better position to
ask for those kinds of favors. We can turn this place on its ear.
We can get the attention of all those bored, rich clients. We can
be a minor sensation and that's a very rare commodity here. Money
and influence talk just like it does everywhere. But to hold
something new in the palm of your hand? That's the real power. Once
you get that power, even if it's in your person rather than your
bank account, then you can get the evidence you need, then you can
get out quick and get out quiet. Then you can choose your own time
and place to confront Forsyth.

     "Fox, this is my world, or at least one of them, and this is
how I suggest that we do it. What isn't an option in your sulking
in these rooms . To make this work we have to get out, both of us.
We have to leave the Caverns and be seen. Join the cast. This has
got to be a better part than the old drunken bum you played to save
my life before. So you expose your body for a few hours on a balmy
tropical day to crowd of strangers. They'll never remember or
refuse to admit that they do. That's got to be better than spending
one hour in that hell hole of a gutted furnace with that monster
Lawrence and his buddy."
 
     A dozen breaths moved with difficulty in and out of Mulder's
lungs. A group of women wolf-whistled in their direction. It was
getting way too crowded down there. Angrily, Mulder, pushed himself
away from the balustrade. "NO!"

     "Mulder, get a grip. I think I can protect you from the heavy 
stuff. Lisa and the others will understand that it may take time
for you to acclimate yourself to 'public' life. We can use that.
They are not monsters. They take their 'calling' very seriously.
They're professionals and, as they said, business people and they
are not stupid." With irritation Jake massaged his temples
struggling for some way to illustrate his point. "Lisa, for
example. Lisa doesn't believe that anyone, no matter how highly
recommended or talented, should be taken under contract if they are
under twenty-one. She doesn't believe that the young ones are up to
the stress."

     "Right up there with Mother Theresa," Mulder grumbled.

     "Fox, those of us who sign up do so willingly. We do this for
pleasure, my son."

     Anger fading as rapidly has it had come, Fox eyed Jake, the
emotion hard to pin down. "It's only that..." He wet his lips, the
words refusing to come.

     "Only what? Mulder, are you resisting because it just might be
fun? You have a lot of trouble with that, don't you?" 

     Hazel eyes that were more green than brown glittered, just a
little playfully. "Mulder doesn't have fun," Fox explained. "As
close as he can come is when he tells his sick jokes."

     Jake's eyes widened. "'He'?" Dramatically, he took a step
back, aghast. "Isn't speaking of yourself in a third person the
sign of something - serious? And you think we're weird."

     "I'm not judging you. This place is just wrong for me."

     "For who?" Jake pried.

     "For Mulder," came the reluctant reply.

     "But not for Fox. Does Fox know how to have fun?" 

     The sharp turn of the handsome head and the piercing eye
showed Jake that he had hit the matter square on the head. Turning
away his pale face, Fox stepped back to the rail.

     "It's been a very long time."

     Jake stayed absolutely still. He had been right. Unconsciously
he had been using 'Mulder' - both in his head and in his speech -
to refer to the FBI agent, the man of duty, the seeker after
strange and arcane knowledge. 'Fox' was the sexual animal who had
never quite grown up, whose only routine contribution to the whole
was the sense of fun with which he occasionally peppered Mulder's
world. 'Fox' in the extreme was the long-caged creature the Gold
had released. 

     And there was also a third. Scully had the sense of it, Jake
realized. Back in D.C. during that stay of his in the hospital, the
lovely Dr. Scully had allowed herself to be coaxed to answer Jake's
questions about her partner mostly because she admitted that Mulder
would never talk about himself. Jake had asked about the psychology
doctorate and Scully had briefly described Mulder's profiling years
with the Behavioral Science Unit. Though she related only facts,
her pride, even awe in his achievements, had come through clearly.
A cloud had fallen over her, however, when Jake asked why Mulder
didn't do this work any more.

     "Oh, he does, but not often. The other agents find 'Spooky'
unsettling. I think Mulder does, too."

     And that was all that she said but the comment had stuck in
Jake's mind. So there were three and only Fox even began to fit in
here.

     Another group of beautiful bodies came suddenly into view.
They were all equally dressed or undressed for swimming. They were
playing with a Frisbee and two couples were playing 'chicken' in
the gentle breakers, the girls on the guys shoulders, the girls
using soft boffer weapons to try to knock each other off. The sea
air was full of their good-natured cries as they called to one
another. There were screams and laughter as one of the girls
overbalanced and sent herself and her partner toppling into the
waves. 
     
There was only one sad face to be seen and that was Fox's as he
stared almost wistfully down on the group. 

     Mulder has lost his sister and his youth. In so doing, Fox had
been left behind, locked in a box with just a few air holes. Enough
to survive, but with no room to grow.

     Softly, Jake joined Fox at the rail and carefully placed his
hand on his shoulder. There was no tightness now and no attempt to
move away.

     Jake passed his free arm out over the glittering green and
white and blue of the fairyland spread before them. "You have to
admit, the atmosphere are better than that old furnace and they
even have decent room service."

     Fox kept his eyes on the sea and the group heading away from
them now, back towards the resort. Jake could almost hear what he
was thinking. 

     So beautiful, so unreal. This was his chance. No cases here.
No duties to perform. No responsibilities. And nothing done here
would ever be remembered by anyone.

     It was Fox's voice that spoke, though a little shaky with
Mulder's overtones. "So you think that there would be buyers for
our contacts? You really do?"

     Nimble and graceful and as pleased with himself as a cat, Jake
reclined on the wide railing and struck a blatantly seductive pose.
"A matched set like us? Oh, my beautiful one - as Elliot would say
- in a heart beat. And everyone will get what they want. You'll get
a little vacation - the type of which you never dreamed about. The
Club saves its reputation and makes a profit. The lovely Scully
gets a chance to come to the rescue and you're out nice and quiet
and in time in time to put the cuffs on Forsyth."

     Fox turned his head to catch his reflection in the glass of
the balcony door. He had to raise a hand to touch his cheek as if
to be to be certain which was the reflection. Again, Jake knew what
Fox was thinking. Their thoughts were frighteningly similar on
certain topics.

     They had never looked so good, not ever. It sent a chill up
one's spine. Such beauty is fleeting. The young don't understand;
that knowledge only comes with years. Still for this special moment
it made one feel powerful, strong, and eager to live.

     There were no more Mulder overtones the next time Fox spoke.
"There's another player we haven't mentioned in a while. What about
her? Where is she now? Is she here?" He didn't mean Scully. He
meant the 'She' who had been inside his blood and bones and who
might still be entwined about his veins and nerves just as they
were twined around Jake's. "Are we only just going through this for
her?"

     "If so then we're like fish on a line. She's letting us squirm
but all the debating in the world won't change a thing, we'll still
do what she wants. Yes, she is around somewhere - between us, over
us, under us, in us. I've never known where she goes when I'm not
physically aware of her like now. My guess is that we are free of
her for the time being. She should be well and truly satiated at
least for the moment."

     "But you're not sure of that, are you?" Fox asked, already
looking off down the beach towards the white buildings in the sun,
wondering what he would see there, what it would feel like to walk
with a friend down that beach. 

     Naked under the sky. 

     Scary as hell like a new lover's cool fingers trailing up your
spine.

     "This is life, Fox. Nothing is certain, especially here.
That's kind of exciting, don't you think?"

End of Chapter 10
JAKE AND FOX JOIN THE CLUB (11/25)
by Wind (Windsinger@aol.com)

See disclaimer in Chapter 1.

Chapter 11

     Getting Mulder out of the suite the next morning was like
trying to force a reluctant mule. No, Jake thought, chagrined as he
remembered the early morning hours of the day before Lisa and
Elliot's arrival, not like a mule. Definitely, not like a mule.
Being late, they trotted along the shell encrusted paths wearing
the sleek, low-cut footwear most of the island's inhabitants
favored and which was the only choice available for thralls for day
wear unless they had some special assignment. The 'mocs' gave
better arch support than thin canvas slip-on's and had a firm sole
and closed toes which made them practical for the island's sandy
soil and the landscape architect's prodigious use of the decorative
but painfully sharp oyster shells for walkways. In addition, they
were far less bulky than your typical athletic shoe and were
provided only in each thrall's own skin tone so that from any
distance a thrall appeared to be wearing nothing at all which was,
after all, the intended impression. 

     Besides the mocs, the only garment the two wore was a
specially constructed beech cloth which gave support where it was
needed and yet was oh-so-tantalizing. Even now Jake could feel the
butt panel flap high against the back of his thighs. He had become
used to it, but it was the wearing of this garment - and only this
garment - which had made Mulder bulk and forced Jake to repeat
nearly all his arguments from the day before.
     
     Once outside and with the first hundred yards of their jog
complete, Mulder took a reluctant and surly back seat to that side
of his personality that Jake had learned to identify as Fox. Fox
was less repressed, more outgoing, and clearly content, even
pleased, at how well his body moved. He ran with a strong, easy
grace. Considering what was in store for them this was fortunate.
Even as stoned as he was, the Cavern's attendant had clearly
exercised Forsyth's 'companion' well. 

     How had they managed that? Jake wondered. Had they strapped
the drugged man to a tread mill and hit him with straps or low
voltage cattle prods to make him run and then run faster? Jake
shuddered but that was, after all, what the attendants were hired
to do and what the clients expected. The residents had to be kept
in perfect, perfect condition. They'd used the tanning booth, too.
Inside Mulder had looked good after the shivers and the shakes from
withdrawal of the hallucinogenic had abated. Outside in the sun, he
was glorious. 

     I look like that, Jake marveled. Elliot and Lisa had actually
hesitated when they'd had to tell them apart and they knew 'Jacob'
inside and out. 

     Most of the time Jake closed his mind from thinking about how
he looked. So many of the other thralls were narcissistic about
their appearance, preening before the mirrors in the Green Room
after the room's attendants had prepared them for whatever role
they had been assigned to assume for the day. Jake always kept his
eyes averted. He wasn't on the island to indulge his ego but to
save some scrap of his sanity.

     Intrigued by Jake's arguments and descriptions of the island,
Fox had allowed himself to be taken on a tour of the main Staff
Complex the evening before. Jake took him first to the Dormitory
where he had his tiny Spartan room with its hard, narrow cot. Jake
did not mention that until his bruising which had taken him
temporarily out of circulation, he had spent less than a few hours
in that bed over the past weeks. He did, however, have to explain
its barrenness, that possession of personal property, like many
other rights, was denied this lowest, and yet most critical,
component of the Club's staff. They had also viewed one of the many
Green Rooms. The make up room of a large modern dance troop must
look much like one of these. A place to prepare the body as if it
were an 'object d'arte'.

     Fox had observed but made no comment on either of these. He
remained silent as they toured the physical therapy room which
would have done any college athletic program proud. He was
similarly taciturn as he viewed the clinic. Finally they came to a
large room furnished with long rows of identical white tables. Here
the special attendants massaged strained muscles and joints on
over-stressed thrall bodies. This last morgue-like room brought
Mulder's frown to the surface and a far-away look to sad eyes.

     Jake knew why he had showed Fox these things and not the
island's emerald hills, sapphire pools or crystal waterfalls. He
had been trying to add weight to his arguments that the slaves -
for slaves were what they were for all the emotional weight that
term carried - were well cared for.

     "Even the Mafia take their pedigreed dogs to the vet," Mulder
had summarized in flat tones. He'd meant for the comment to be more
of his dry humor, only the light never reached his eyes.

     Long before, Jake had decided not to show his 'cousin' the
gaming halls. These activities centered on placing bets on silly
contests that all seemed designed to test how much degradation a
human being could bear. At least, this was how Jake saw them. He
could take the physical sadism as long as it was done in private -
he'd even learned on a certain level to enjoy it as long as it was
Lisa or Elliot laying on the strokes - but public debasement? No,
that was the worst though he tried not to let his feelings show.
The trainers were quick to pick up on that sort of thing. What a
thrall didn't like was what they steered him or her towards. That
was what thralls supposedly signed up for - to push the edge of the
envelope, to discover their personal limitations of arousal and
then exceed those. 

     Appeasing one's own personal succubus was apparently not part
of the normal regime.

     That you weren't a person to the clients, just a toy, a prop,
an extra in their own personal erotic film, helped but not much.
The emotional stress made the sex that always followed that much
more intense. Jake always tried to downplay that part though he
always found himself responding, even actively participating. It's
Alex, he told himself, and even if it wasn't, Alex would just
punish him later for not providing her with the level of
entertainment she had learned to expect.


     Both men blew softly and shook out arm and leg muscles as they
slowed from their jog to a cooling walk. They had entered the quad
around which the dormitory and other staff buildings were located.
The Green Room was their day's first destination. It had all been
spelled out clearly on the island's computer system that morning -
Thralls Jacob and Isaac were ordered to report to booths nine and
ten of Green Room B, Main Complex at nine a.m.
     
     The continual surreal implications of their names had not
escaped Jake. Was this sacrifice of Mulder's integrity and pride on
this Bacchusian altar really necessary? Was there another way
around their dilemma which both of them had missed? 

     It always came around to the question how much of what was
going on was Alex's doing?

     Fox halted under a low-hanging cabbage palm to stare at the
utilitarian white building he had toured the night before. It was
nearly invisible behind the stone wall and riot of green foliage.
This was how 'back stage' at Disney World must look. No fancy
architecture here. Save that for the paying guests. Clean and
simple was sufficient.

     "You haven't said," Fox asked, his voice as emotionless as
only Mulder could manage, "what did Lisa mean yesterday by
'races'?"

     He had to be told sooner or later. "Chariot races. Theyŝre
Lisa's passion. She's chosen us to pull hers today. Run well;
she'll expect to win even though she usually doesn't. She tends to
choose beauty over brawn."

     "'Matched pair', " Fox remembered, the phrase making more
sense now.

     "Lisa's Miss Perfection around here. Top handler, The Club's
most demanding and skilled trainer. It's an honor."

     "Oh, I'm honored," Fox drawled, sarcastically.

     "Just run fast, which I know you can do, and don't complain no
matter what happens and you'll be fine. Just follow me. In fact,
don't talk at all once we leave the Complex grounds. There are no
talking beasts here, not unless you're given leave."

     With that Jake moved forward, not allowing himself to catch
the dismay on his companion's face. He didn't hear echoing
footsteps for the first few yards but by the time he had reached
the security checkpoint and was scanning in his bracelet, Fox was
behind him reluctantly holding out 'Isaac's' own wrist ID for the
scanner. Within seconds a door breathed open and with one final
glance at Fox's pale face, Jacob slipped into the cool interior and
his shadow followed. 

                         * * * * * * * *

     An hour after Jacob and Isaac had entered the white, sun-
washed quad of the Main Staff Complex, an aged attendant in a Greek
chitin unlocked an iron gate in a secluded corner of the Club's
public gardens. More than anything he made one think of Chiron,
Ferryman of the River Styx. Through the gate he allowed to pass two
tanned and lean male figures. The fancifully wrought nymphs and
satyrs that made up the majority of the gate's decoration caught
the eye of one of the two young men. Other than the way this one
stared wide-eyed at what the nymphs and satyrs were doing, no one
could say that one was taller than the other, or one leaner or less
muscular. No one could say that the darker one did this and the
fairer one did that or that the older walked first and the younger
last because in all these things they were identical. 

     Thanks to a little plastic skin and makeup, scars on both
sides were covered and both wore the same identical beauty mark on
his right cheek. Their skins glowed an identical reddish gold
thanks to the copious amounts of colored oils that had been rubbed
by experts into their skin. Both faces were a credit to the makeup
artist's craft, revealing strong sculptured planes and high
cheekbones that were both too beautifully stylized and yet too
completely animal to be real. Shadow and eyeliner as well as
heavily tinted contacts made both pair of eyes as huge and darkly
beautiful as the great eyes of wise stags.
     
     What did they wear? Embarrassingly little, at least for one.
Identical wigs draped a forelock of black hair between the wide
eyes, while behind manes flowed down like dark tides across
shoulders and backs. All they wore above their waists was a leather
strap studded with brass that encircled their chests. This was held
in place with shoulder straps. A heavy belt was slung low on their
hips and supported what those who wore them called a 'sling' which
was somehow a cross between a fig leaf and an athletic cup. What it
was called didn't matter. Both of the men were rather desperately
happy to have even that. It was the only protection delicate male
physiology had from the hazards of the outside world. 

     Only in two ways were the two not visibly identical. One of
them wore a red bracelet and his expression was that of long-
practiced calm. The other wore a green bracelet ('Green for your
patron's money,' he had been told by the first) and he openly
scowled once the distraction of the iron gate had passed. This one
stopped in the dense shade of an exotic tree over-flowing with red-
orange blossoms and looked back and down now at his tail that was
another way in which they were alike. Attached to the heavy belt,
the three feet of thick, genuine horsehair seemed to have a life of
its own. Its black river flicked erratically back and forth like
the real thing as if swatting invisible flies.

     "It's motor driven," 'Jacob' had whispered confidentially in
the Green Room as a very numb 'Isaac' had waited to be fitted.
"They have the action down to the 'T', don't you think? Not too
much movement, but enough, and almost all the weight is in the tail
itself."

     What Isaac thought was that, like the sling that protected all
the little Mulders in his future, the tail was damn irritating. It
flicked disturbingly across his bare calves, the backs of naked
thighs and other sensitive skin even higher up which wasn't
accustomed to seeing the light of day or the touch of a breeze. The
only good thing about the costume in Fox's estimation was that his
own mother wouldn't have recognized him. Oh, Scully might, who'd
seen more of his naked flesh than anyone since his pediatrician or
the guys at the gym, but other than that, no one had. Granted, when
Scully had seen him so he was usually unconscious and bleeding.

     "It's distracting."

     "It looks great. Very suggestive."

     "Yeah, of what?"

     "Just be glad that Lisa takes her racing seriously. She's
concentrating on speed. The things I've seen. The Europeans, for
example, are far more inventive than we are. I've seen carts pulled
by teams of six in full harness, bits and bridles and down on all
fours. This," Jake tossed his head to get the forelock to move
momentarily out of his Belladonna eyes, "this is Halloween stuff."

     "Not in my neighborhood," Fox quipped, sulking for effect.

     Jake grinned, the white teeth bright in the shade and against
the darkened skin. "Not in mine either, but what the hell. Prance
to it or we'll be late."

     "You enjoy this?"

     "Why not? This is one of the most becoming and comfortable
costumes I've been given since I've been here. Besides, I think we
have a real chance of winning."

     Isaac rolled his dark eyes and merely snorted in reply.

                         * * * * * * * *

     Lisa was overjoyed when they appeared at her door. She wore a
thin, diaphanous linen shift and mounds of gold and blue jewelry
such as you see in Egyptian tomb paintings. The fabric was so sheer
that she could have easily have been wearing nothing at all,
except, of course, the jewelry. Two house thralls brought round the
golden chariot that looked like a copy of the one Yul Brenner had
once stood upon just before the Red Sea devastated his armies.
Straps clipped the traces to their shoulder harness but those were
used only for holding the traces when the pair was standing still
or at most moving at a gentle walk. For going at any speed the two
either pushed on their side of a central T-bar or pulled the traces
like a rickshaw. Lisa then clipped on the reins that also attached
to the shoulder harness. With the reins she could at least pretend
to be driving her handsome pair. 

      Before twirling into the chariot's box, Lisa took time to run
her hands down their strong backs, tight buttocks and long legs as
if checking on the soundness of her beasts. Then with a practiced
snap of the reins and a flick of her sharp-tongued whip they were
off. Fox jumped at the first kiss of the whip. It was a little
thing, not meant to do any real damage, but it stung!


     The race was being run less than half a mile from the villa.
The course was laid out on the dense, packed sand right at the
ocean's edge. At the smell of sea and the sound of the breakers,
Fox almost forgot where he was which was just as well because his
presence predicament was so bizarre that he had nearly forgotten
_who_ he was. As they approached the large crowd of three hundred
or more milling about at the edge of the sand, however, he did feel
a ball of quite solid lead materialize in his stomach. 

     "Think of this as just a college frat prank," Jake suggested
as they had trotted towards the course. "Founder's day bed races
and toga parties." Fox managed to cling possessively to that
comparison but only until the first cluster of diamond strewn
matrons strolled over with their crystal wine glasses and score
cards to view the Mistress's new team close up. From the sweat
beading up on that oiled skin, Fox's anxiety was clearly growing
with every pace. 

     As Lisa steered them through the mob towards a less crowded
section of beach. Isaac yelped and jumped about two feet straight
into the air. Lisa merely laughed her deep, wild laugh and clucked
her tongue in an effort to move them along more quickly. 

     "Someone pinched me!" Fox hissed to his teammate. Jake grinned
or at least his eyes did, the rest of his face was busy assuming
that indifferent and mysterious model's expression, which Fox had
been told was the preferred one but which, so far, he had been
unable to maintain for more than two minutes at a time. A hybrid
between frustration and bewilderment probably best described his
general expression.

     Unfortunately, most of the crowd of older ladies followed
them. They were soon joined by some linen-suited businessmen with
sharply evaluating eyes. 
     
     "Be as angry as you want inside, only try not to show it,"
Jake warned, well aware that though Fox may predominate, Mulder
would have his say. "Your face just radiates that righteous
indignation of yours. These people don't care any more about your
feelings than they do about your brain. They only care about the
outside and whatever fantasy of theirs they can relate to that."
Jake's own features went suitably blank again. "Think the perfect
English butler. How they must have hated the upper class."

     Though somewhat appeased, Fox's frown seemed permanently
affixed to his face. "The perfect English butler didn't have his
butt hanging out for all the world to pinch a piece of."

     Jake sighed deeply in an attempt to hide a creeping smile.
"Just try."

     The muscles relaxed, just a little. Noting Jake's approving
nod, Fox hissed, "But if I hear 'Oh, Lisa, where did you ever get
them?' one more time as if we were a pair of collie puppies, I'm
going to kick someone."

     Jake kicked first, aiming at his teammate but not with as much
force as he could have. "None of that unless you want to have a bit
and bridle and blinders added to the ensemble. There are those here
who would like nothing better than to oblige." Jake then whispered
lower than low, "And no more Mr. Ed stuff either, not when there
are clients around. We're not supposed to be able to talk."

     Fox clamped his mouth shut after that and kept it shut even
when one Italian fellow who looked like the Godfather's brother
tried to look at his teeth. Good thing, too, or he would have
forgotten his kindergarten teacher's cardinal rule. 'Well brought
up boys and girls don't bite.'

     Then again, maybe being 'well brought up' didn't count here?
By then the man had moved away and Fox had missed his chance. Too
bad, the guy was an asshole.


     Despite Mulder's smoldering moral outrage and a few more ill
timed pinches, Fox found his spirits responding to the joviality of
the crowd, to the loud, good-natured betting and to the perfect
weather. He still burned with shame, but at least wearing the
disguise he also felt oddly invisible as if he really were someone
else for the time being and not even a 'someone'. Just a set piece
in the play, another soldier in the ranks, another ornament on the
tree, one of the steeds from the Mistress's racing stable for the
day. 

     There certainly were other teams attracting attention and, as
Jake had commented, the various fanciful harnesses they wore
certainly made their own look sedate by comparison. Fox could not
have found the words to express his relief that Lisa had
concentrated on showing off their physical uniqueness though there
were others as striking. There were several pairs of Blacks. One
was decked out in pounds of brilliant gold harness and one in red.
There was also a pair of genuine albinos in black harness who stood
blinking behind dark blinders. Most were male teams but there were
a few female ones - tall, strong, statuesque women who wore only as
little as comfort and protection demanded. Fox felt his mouth go
dry in their presence. 

     The call for the first race came quickly. In their first heat
Lisa's entry was matched against one of the pairs of muscular
males. They were as black as ebony with shaved heads. There was no
harness anywhere on these two and their teeth blazed as they
displayed brazen grins.  

     "Last season's champions," Jake murmured under his breath.
They did look strong, but to Fox's competitive eye, not fast. He'd
run track in high school and college and hadn't done badly. All
he'd needed to do to win was envision all the bad things that have
happened in his life running on his heels. That's a lot of
incentive. With this two, however, Fox didn't need any more
motivation than the haughty challenge in their black eyes.

     Caught up in the excitement surrounding the preparations for
the race, this new challenge, Jake's companionship and his own
escalating adrenaline high, it was easy to forget where he was and
what he had allowed himself to become. Maybe the blessed
forgetfulness would even last into tomorrow. By then surely... she
would come. 

     Please, oh ye Fates, Federal Express, and American Airlines,
please no later than that.

End of chapter 11
JAKE AND FOX JOIN THE CLUB (12/25)
by Wind (Windsinger@aol.com)

See chapter 1 for disclaimer.

Chapter 12

     Three teams ran in each heat. Lisa's team and their black
opponents had already been shooting testosterone bullets at each
other for longer than was good for them when the third team for
this first heat trotted up. Two blond bombshells. Two tall, strong,
incredible Bavarian beauties. Their golden manes reached to their
strong, slender waists and their matching golden tails nearly
brushed the ground. The two didn't look alike except that they were
of nearly the same height and build and wore identical expressions.
Disdain. Pure and simple. Oh, ye lowly male scum. 

     Once he comprehended this pair's obvious opinion of the male
of the species, Fox's competitive spirit spiked half a dozen
additional points.

     With minimal confusion, they lined up, three teams abreast on
the solid sand. Mulder felt a tugging on his shoulder harness from
behind as Lisa took a couple more wraps on the reins. Nearly too
late he realized that they needed tactics of their own. As he dug
his feet solidly into the hard sand, his palms felt damp. Better to
push on forward with the T-bar then risk his hands slipping on the
handles of the traces. 

     It was time, almost time. The loud, sizeable crowd grew
suddenly quiet. There was just the gentle and eternal crash of the
waves breaking on the shore.  

     A gun sounded somewhere, far too close for Fox. It triggered
a reaction in Mulder to crouch and reach for his weapon. He did
neither. What he did do was watch both the other chariots leap
ahead as he hesitated. Clamping down on his jaw and throwing out
his chin, he would have sprung forward in that instant if it
weren't for the graceful shield maidens. As they drew ahead, they
raised in unison their golden tails to reveal.... lovely asses....
oh, such lovely asses. Fox's mouth went bone dry at the same time
he was aware of a swift, uncomfortable tightness in the sling. He
finally stumbled forward but only because Jake dragged him and his
side of the cart the first twenty yards of the race. 

     In his stupor, Fox didn't even hear Lisa's good-natured oath
that accompanied her reference to dumb studs, but the sting of the
whip around his ears he certainly felt. Face hot with embarrassment
under its oiled, red-gold tan, he grasped his side of the T-bar,
bent his back and plowed forward, toes digging into the sand again
and again for traction, thigh muscles pumping. It wasn't a pretty
race and much harder than pulling the chariot on the island's
smooth roads, but it was Jake who was nearly dragged across the
finish line at the end by Fox's incredible sprint. As they stood
gasping, a triumphant grin broke Jake's correct, aloof demeanor.
They had won.

     The crowd had gone wild around them. The description was not
cliche. These rich, bored people acted as if the home team had just
hit a home run in the World Series with all bases loaded or that an
amazing 'Hail Mary' pass had won the Super Bowl. 

     Fox stood catching his own breath. Bent over, hands on knees,
his amazed eyes took in the festivities around him. He was
beginning to understand a few things. If this strange community had
royalty, they were Lisa and Elliot and it was good to see your
queen win, especially when the win was hard fought and Her Majesty
clearly wanted it so badly.  The fact that she won with this
striking new team and after such a dismal start, added to the
acclaim. To Fox's dismay, the win also focused even more attention
on them than there had been upon their arrival. 

     Lisa was down from the chariot's box now, accepting the
congratulations of the milling, cheering crowds. Coming around to
her team, she pulled Jacob's head down to give it a quick embrace
between her nearly naked and ample breasts. When she came to her
new beast's head, however, she merely tapped him good-naturedly on
the jaw with her closed hand as if to warn him to keep his mind on
business next time. When she passed behind him to walk back to the
chariot's box, she followed up the tap with an unexpected swat to
his buttocks that made Fox jump and the crowd laugh. Worse
indignity, as she was turning the chariot around, the cart drawn by
the two blond beauties passed directly across their bow. As if
these Brunhilda found him just one more example of unexceptional
breeding stock, the right hand member of the blond team stepped on
Fox's foot as they trotted back to the head of the line for their
next heat. As Fox swore, Jake raised his eyes heavenward towards
the impossible blue of the sky.

     The next heat was against two new opponents, another team of
amazons and two beautiful young men who seemed barely out of their
teens. The race's outcome was clear from the beginning. A strong,
pumping start and a solid pull through to the finish won Lisa's
team its second heat. No problem. There was less excitement this
time as if everyone was just waiting for the final.

     Back at the start waiting for the heat before theirs to
finish, one of the attendants brought round a wineskin and sent a
stream of water into their mouths and across their heated faces.
The fiction of their equine status seemed even stronger now that
everyone had race fever. No one spoke to any of the 'horses' as if
they really were nothing more than dumb beasts that just happened
to also be handsome running machines. The behavioral analyst in
Mulder found this fascinating, while the Fox in him was just damn
glad that this activity was not only minimally sexual so far, but 
was taking up such a good chunk of the day - the day that Mulder
had dreaded so completely. Being just another object and not Fox
Mulder, FBI representative and the most attractive man in a suit in
the room, provided its own anonymity. Their current disguise was
also better than many Fox's increasingly stimulated brain could
have thought of. And then there was Jake who could appear
magnificently at ease and proud as a peacock at the same time. It
was like having a big brother who had a varsity letter sewed to his
jacket and who was on the same relay team or in the same football
squad as Fox himself. The fact that Jake wasn't wearing anything he
could sew a letter on didn't significantly ruin the comparison.

     Before they ran the final everyone took a break - racing stock
included. On the assumption that Jacob and Isaac would want to be
'off duty' for a few minutes to trade war stories about the races
with their own kind, Lisa unclipped the traces from their harness
and sent them down the beach where there was a 'watering hole'. The
stallions and mares gathered there on race days to stock up on
juice and sandwiches. There were no geldings in this herd. Mulder
didn't hurry. Not only did he know better than to eat so soon
before a race but also there was only one person's companionship he
wanted besides Jake's at that moment and she was far away.

     Good thing too, he thought as his tail swished against his
calves.

     "How do you feel?" Jake asked, as they walked slowly along the
edge of the surf. He was in no more of a hurry to reach the others
than Fox was.

     There was a long pause during which a breeze stirred sending
a chill across all the bare inches of flesh on his body and there
was a lot of that. In all the excitement Fox had almost forgotten
how nearly naked he was. "A little wicked," he finally replied.

     "Only a little?" They walked on a few yards. "Maybe I
shouldn't tell you this but I saw you smiling when we won. Agent
Mulder was actually enjoying himself."

     Fox stopped dead, his feet sinking into the sand. 

     "Don't worry," Jake whispered, conspiratorially, before going
on alone, "We won't tell Scully about that either."

                         * * * * * * * *

     Jake's dizzying comment occupied Fox nearly until the final
heat was called. This race would be against the two finalists only.
The sudden quieting of the omnipresent roar from the crowd startled
Fox into wakefulness. A heretofore unseen pair of tall, muscular
men of some pacific lineage lined up beside them. They were
literally champing at their bits. They were taller than Lisa's pair
and had somewhat more muscle. Fox reconsidered the advantages of
strength. On the dragging sand, a little extra muscle was not such
a bad idea. The ache in his legs and his shoulders told him that he
wished he had worked out himself a bit more before this. It was a
testament to the shock he was still in that his brain refused to
think anywhere beyond the boundaries of this fantasy meet - not
before and not after. He never even questioned how he had come to
have achieved his current and not unsubstantial level of physical
conditioning. He was too busy sizing up his opponents.

     These were the first team that acted wild and certainly looked
wild and barbaric in their red and purple harness. They moved like
panthers. The whites of their eyes rolled and there were flecks of
foam on their lips. Their mahogany skins were running with sweat.
Their faces were not impersonal but filled with an icy aloofness
for their rivals. All in all they were pretty intimidating
opponents but Fox had run away from schoolyard bullies, Russian
gulag guards on horseback, American soldiers in Jeeps, an exploding
oil well, and a collapsing ice field. He had nothing to fear from
these two. He glanced over at Jake who was taking firmer grip on
his end of the T-bar and was pleased to see as much eager
determination in his teammate's face as Fox knew was on his own. 

     The gun went off. This time Agent Mulder's trained reactions
to the shot were nowhere in evidence. Fox planted his feet, threw
every ounce of his weight against the bar and flew. 

     This was a longer race and the red and purple team must have
watched Ben Hur a few hundred times to get all the dirty tricks
down. They lost only because Fox had seen the movie, too; Charlton
Heston - though he had first become exposed to him from watching
Planet of the Apes about a dozen times - had been one of young
Fox's matinee idols. Also, Fox and Jake just ran well in tandem.
They strides matched and they clearly took a real delight in each
other's speed and strength. 

     The longer race nearly got Jake, however, who didn't have
Fox's experience of going beyond his limits - not when it came to
running towards or away from nasties anyway. Feeling the pace of
the man at his side falter, Fox saw in a minisecond glance that
Jake had overextended. 'Run through it!' Fox shouted in his mind
towards the other even as they hit a patch of even softer sand that
snatched even more stubbornly at the chariot's wheels. As if
hearing, Jake hunkered down lower into the bar, face like stone,
and pushed on.

     They did win, a clear victory but only at the very end and
that made the winning feel all the sweeter.

                         * * * * * * * *

     Jake stumbled to a halt just after the finish line, thrown off
balance by Lisa hauling back on the reins. Damn Lisa and her games
and her little whip or Mulder would have pulled on for a bit to get
them out of the crowd and walk the lactic acid out of their
muscles. Jake hadn't been willing to go against Lisa's clear
desires, however. Besides, it was clear that Fox's teammate
wouldn't get too much farther anytime soon. He was gulping air like
a landed trout and his left hand was pressed firmly against what
was obviously a stitch in his side. Fox sympathized - Those hurt! -
 but the reaction of the crowd concerned him more.

     He shouldn't have worried. From her perch in her golden
chariot Lisa was happily receiving the accolades of her adoring
public and they were happy to supply them. Fine, let her, let them.
It meant they were leaving Jake and himself alone for the moment.
Both could certainly use the breathing time. As he analyzed the
inexplicable attention Lisa was getting, Mulder made a resolution
that the next time he watched the Kentucky Derby on television,
that he'd give some thought to the poor horse who had, after all,
done all the work. The media always surrounded the trainers and the
owners with their cameras and their microphones. All the poor horse
got was some hot and heavy blanket of flowers when what he really
wanted was a drink of water, a hot meal, and a day off in a pasture
with some mare ...

     No, Spooky, you do not want to go there.

     Lisa finally leaped from the box of the chariot, laughing and
waving. She embraced both of them this time, not minding if the oil
from their sweating skins stained her cobweb-thin dress. She even
ruffled the hair of their hot black wigs but her eyes barely met
their eyes, as if at the moment they were in fact no more than good
beasts that had pleased her. Fox didn't mind. He had run for
himself and for all the little league games with a brother he had
never had.
     
     "Hey, look at you," Lisa exclaimed, unexpectedly. She was
admiring how 'Isaac' was lifting his legs and how quickly his
breathing was returning to normal. "You on fire for another race,
my stiff-necked one?"

     'No, just on fire to...' but Fox managed to keep his murderous
thoughts to himself, in fact wouldn't even finish that thought even
to himself. All he knew was that his legs were going to cramp if he
didn't get moving soon which didn't look likely as the crowd had
them completely encircled.
     
     Salvation came in the form of Elliot who appeared out of
nowhere. He was also dressed in old Egyptian style, which meant
stripped to the waist and barelegged. He carried two towels that he
handed to each of them to wipe their sweating faces. Fox found that
his hands fumbled. He had almost forgotten that he had hands that
could do anything besides grasp the bar before him or the traces at
his sides. Elliot saw the hesitation and his knowing, cajoling eyes
reached out to touch them both not man-to-beast or even master-to-
slave but person-to-person. Fox was beginning to see why Jake loved
this man so. Elliot Slater played the game as hard as any, but on
some level he never forgot it was a game. He laughed at himself as
well as others. It was he who kept the surging crowd from getting
too close and too personal. It was he who unhooked them from the
cart, then took towels and rubbed their backs. To his credit he
didn't attempt anything even remotely rude even though he had a
perfect opportunity and the perfect right considering their
respective stations in this place. He merely gestured over to a
grove of trees and conveyed to Jake, almost apologetically, that
they could rest a bit but that then they needed to lay out lunch
soon. Jake bowed in acknowledgement; he knew what to do. Finally
Elliot faded into a crowd, probably in search of the celebrating
Lisa.

     The grass was deep under the trees and cool. Jake threw
himself down in a hallow and groaned. For the first time Fox
realized how completely his 'cousin' had pushed himself. Fox
walked, stretching overstrained muscles. Warily, he eyed the huge
hampers and coolers that were lined up next to piles of rolled rugs
and cushions. These people were certainly Victorian in their idea
of a picnic. Finally feeling that his muscles wouldn't freeze
anytime soon, Fox also lay down on his stomach on the springy
grass. It felt wonderful. His head pillowed by his arms and the
heavy tresses of the wig, he allowed his body, ever so slightly, to
relax. 

     The people's voices seemed just so much white noise now, like
the roar of the ocean on the Vineyard. The little bit of sun that
filtered through the trees was warm on his back. Why had he never
taken Scully anyplace like this? He didn't mean the race, he meant
to someplace warm and peaceful like this. Well, there was that one
time but that was years before, early in their partnership and for
some reason the memory was all rather fuzzy. (See Revelations 3:
The Vacation, fall 99.) She would like it here. If he closed his
eyes, he could dream she was beside him again in that pale green
swimsuit of hers. What a stunning little body she had. If he had
her here now, if he did....

     His tail, his dumb tail, took that moment to flick. It brought
him out of his near doze and the beautiful dream with a start and
a string of swear words. Still swearing, he leaped to his feet and
tried to find where the catch was for the damn belt, or maybe he'd
just pull the damn thing out by its roots. 

     Jake was instantly at his side, holding onto Fox's wrists with
all his strength, his warm body with its cooling sweat pressed up
warningly against the other man's skin. 

     "Stop it, Fox! Goddamn it, man, stop it!" he growled, sharply,
though its volume was scarcely above a stage whisper.

     For several long moment it was muscle against muscle and grief
against fear. Fox's grief against Jake's fear, fear of what that
grief would drive the agent to do. 

     A little echo of Mulder's sanity wondered if this was one of
those pools of quicksand Jake had worried about.

     "We're in a good position now," Jake warned, earnestly. "Don't
blow it. I know it hurts, I'm sorry it hurts. I thought you'd come
around to understand this place but if not then you'll just have to
endure. I have a feeling that you know all about that." Here in the
shade, it was hard to see clearly through the dark contacts, but
Fox's soul had seldom looked out of bleaker eyes. 

     "You were thinking of her, weren't you?" Jake surmised.
"She'll come. I know she'll come. Neither heaven nor hell would
keep her away." Jake's voice was steady because he realized that
Mulder had finally found an anchor there: his certainty that she
would come. She would sweep him up in her arms and bear her away to
someplace safe - and normal. The romance novel scenario - and its
twisted reversals - was so vivid that Mulder found himself leaning
weakly against Jake's restraining hands with his head thrown back
as he chuckled a little in a slightly hysterical way.

     Jake just shook his head, hands releasing the other man's
wrists. Finally, he stepped away and headed towards the mountain of
supplies. "You are one weird puppy, Fox. Come on, we have a picnic
to set up."

     Fox let out a deep sigh from somewhere deep inside and with it
went most of his anger. A picnic... "And you say I'm weird." In
command again, or as much as he could manage under the
circumstances, he came over to help. "Is there anything in there
for us?"

     Jake grinned. "You want something besides Lisa's undying
gratitude? That means a lot, by the way." He held out a small
wicker box. "Here's some oat bread and some apples and carrots. How
does that sound?"

     Fox grimaced and reached for a small apple. "Just as long as
we're not on the menu."

     "You never know," Jake responded and he wasn't smiling.

                         * * * * * * * *     

     The reception went on and on. Numbed by the crush of people
and the odd way they reacted to him, Fox was reminded of a family
reunion the Mulders had attended when he was about ten and Sam was
six. No, not a reunion, it was the gathering after a funeral for a
wealthy great aunt. Often the two occasions amount to the same
thing. His father had despised the event so completely that he had
immediately broken ties with that entire branch of the family as he
had all the others. They had never heard from any of them again.
The Mulders of Martha's Vineyard had been lonely group. From this
last family funeral, however, Fox did remember that the children
were expected to pass the hors d'oeuvres and desserts and fill the
glasses for the old folks in their somber black. It was an old New
England custom that the matriarchs used such occasions to put the
young folk on display and check their manners and their breeding.
All the old ladies ruffled his hair and went on about what a
handsome boy he would be if only he weren't quite so skinny and
quite so clumsy and assured him that he would probably grow into
his nose in time. Funny, he had never been sensitive about that
particular feature until then.

     This picnic and Fox's place in it was like that long ago day
only the old people weren't quite so old and not all of those
standing in judgement were women. Many were those men in linen
suits and by noon there wasn't one inch of his body that hadn't
been pinched, stroked or tickled by degrees. One red-faced, beefy
trucking tycoon had even tweaked his nose.

     Fox wanted a shower very, very badly.

     'Isaac' was called by Lisa to fill her glass only she held it
so low that he would have to lean down quite a long way to reach
it. Her diaphanous robe had gotten torn and barely covered anything
any more and there was nothing on underneath. Nothing.

     As he hesitated, she gazed boldly up at him, perfectly aware
of the affect she produced. In a voice only he could hear, she told
him in that particular tone of wicked sincerity she had, "I will
bend that stiff neck of yours yet, Isaac, and I won't let your
contract go until I do." To that he did bend. To reach her glass,
it was necessary. In response her laugh was like ice in crystal. 

     "Too easy. I was hoping for more of a challenge. We'll see if
you're as obedient in a more private situation."

     And here he was hoping to get home sometime before next
Christmas.

     As if she had caught his thought, she leaned back against her
pile of large pillows, cradling her glass. "Like Jacob, you're
tricky and you're smart. I like that. It means you're worth the
trouble I know you're going to cause me."     
       
     As if moving in a surreal dream, he bowed away from her
jeering smile and headed towards the coolers to obtain a fresh
bottle of champagne. Only one thought was uppermost in his mind. He
prayed that Scully also felt he was worth the trouble.

     Eventually, the party wound down though there was still twenty
people or more lingering about the grounds. Fox moved in a daze
now, shocked by the continual attack on his senses - an attack that
involved more than stray hands on his skin. Most of the clients had
thralls with them, some had been contestants though most had not.
The thralls performed - services - for their clients. 'Fetch a
glass, cut a sandwich,' was performed as readily as 'Come here and
be my bolster for me to lie against.' or the sharp command 'Down!'
at which the thrall got down on hands and knees so that the client
could sit. They also performed more personal services - and all in
public. There was the kind of fondling and the response to that
fondling that Fox had seen and heard only late at night when
playing his most multiple-X-rated of videos. It felt out of place
here, surreal, a twisted sunlit nightmare, but no one watched the
writhing clusters except in the most casual way.

     "Dawn...! Dusk...!" Fox was attempting to pour red wine and
resist the impulse to spill it over an executive's white suit when
he heard Elliot's voice raised above the murmur of the remaining
guests.

     The old pervert withdrew his hand from where it shouldn't have
been to poke Fox in the chest. "You're being called."

     Am I?  There was Elliot looking pharaoh-like beside a stand of
bamboo, champagne flute in hand. The thrall master was looking
directly at him and calling him 'Dusk'. Another name? How many was
he going to acquire here. One for each persona? More curious that
obedient, Fox went to where Jake already stood at proper
subservient 'parade rest'. Fox's position was not nearly proper but
at least it was respectful.

     "Dawn and Dusk," Elliot was saying, "that's how your names
will be recorded in the 'stud' book and your resumes will be
updated accordingly with your accomplishment today. He raised
Jacob's lowered chin with a forefinger. "'Dawn'," he repeated like
some high priest, "because of your amiable disposition - in public
at least," he added knowingly. Then he moved his focus to Isaac
whose head, as usual, was not lowered and so did not need his chin
lifted. Elliot was only slightly taller but he appeared to be
looking down his nose from a far greater height than that. "And
'Dusk' because of your gloomy one. I opted for 'Stormy' myself but
Lisa liked the alliteration." 

     'Dusk's expression must have accurately reflected his new name
because at that moment the Thrall Master flicked the whip he
carried like a small, leather pharaoh's flail. Its tails stung
across the front of Dusk's thighs. "You're going to have to change
that attitude of yours, my beauty, if you expect to make it out of
here," he warned good-naturedly. "But Lisa will cure you of that.
Oh, yes, she's told me. She's DYING to get started. Though," he
added with a wink and a shrug to them both, "she never was able to
cure me."

     Fox was confused by the remark until he remembered that Elliot
and Lisa had originally met when he, a proud new thrall, was being
led away for punishment. Captivated by him from the start, she had
the length of his humiliation shortened so he could report to her
for training all the sooner. They often joked about who was the
slave and who the master during those early sessions.

     'Dawn' and 'Dusk' were still standing before this Master now,
waiting to be dismissed to return to their duties. "Ah, I knew
there was another reason I had asked you over," Elliot said,
distractedly brushing a few cracker crumbs from his lightly-colored
but quite abundant pelt of chest hair. "Lisa and I have some
business at the Bayou which can't wait, so get the chariot, please.
That is, if you're recovered sufficiently to bear both of us." His
eyes were lit in challenge.

     'Dawn' didn't check with 'Dusk'. He merely inclined his head
indicating that they were, though his eyes also passed over the
remains of the picnic. The constant flow of guests had made a
rather terrible mess.

     "Oh, never mind that. I'll get some of the other teams to
clean that up. The consequences of being second best."

     'Dawn' moved away towards where the chariot was parked in a
place of honor. Since both of them weren't needed to retrieve the
cart, 'Dusk' hesitated, not knowing if he should follow. Elliot
turned his attention on him, challenge still in his eyes. 

     "If you're not recovered, I could commandeer another to team
with Jacob though Lisa would be disappointed. It would mean,
however, that you would be required to stay here and be useful and
I don't mean picking up napkins and empty wineglasses. There's a
long line of clients interested in engaging one or both of you in
other more strenuous activities." There was humor in the man's
voice considering the activities going on in the woods all around
them now that it was siesta time. He clearly found watching 'Dusk'
pale at the thought of being 'useful' for the rest of the afternoon
to be the most entertaining thing he had seen all day.

     By now Jake had returned with Lisa's chariot, and Elliot
shooed Dusk along with a smile. Fox stumbled away his mind in a
whirl.

     How odd. All the while the Thrall Master had been dressing him
down, Fox had been reminded of another and now his stomach was
queasy with homesickness. The content had certainly been different
but the tone had been identical to the many times Mulder had stood
at attention on the carpet before A.D. Skinner's desk. 

End of Chapter 12

JAKE AND FOX JOIN THE CLUB (13/25)
by Wind (Windsinger@aol.com)

See chapter 1 for disclaimer.

Chapter 13
                                   
     The next hour was actually pleasant and curiously
interesting. As they jogged along, Jake quietly explained that
The Bayou was another of those specialty enclaves like The
Caverns but located on the far side of the island. Slumbering in
the shadows between the island's only natural hills, the Disney-
primitive village was home to only a handful of staff but it was
a popular mood-altering spot after dark. 

     Mulder didn't ask how the mood altering was achieved - he
assumed he would find out before long. 
 
     The weather was perfect as it almost always was on the
island, as if that, too, were by design, but Fox hadn't been
conscious of it long enough to become jaded. At least they were
well away from the picnic crowd with their sticky hands, and Fox
was actually enjoying the long easy jog with Jake. As before
their paces matched perfectly and Elliot's added weight on the
cart was hardly noticeable on the island's smooth roads except on
the inclines that were few until the end when the land rose
steeply near the hills. At this point Fox just leaned into his
side of the T-bar and kept moving. At this Jake gave him a sharp
look. He would have slowed down but Fox would have none of it.
Maybe he just didn't want this pleasant unencumbered time to end. 
Maybe he just wanted to show the Master and Mistress where
discipline really mattered. The afternoon was warmer inland and
by the time they reached the first long house of bamboo and
thatch and weathered wood, both were heaving hoarsely for breath
and running with sweat. Jake was nearly at the point of collapse.

     As they slid to a stop, Elliot climbed sedately down from
the chariot's box shaking his head in mock dismay. Lisa stalked
off, furious. That devious and calculating cat's expression of
hers could turn nasty. She headed directly around to stand before
her pair, her hands on her hips, her chin tilted up so that she
was almost their height. Rapidly, she glared from one to the
other. Dawn's eyes were downcast as he stood and shook with
exhaustion but Dusk's were as defiant as ever.
     
     "You!" she declared sharply, for it was painfully obvious
who the instigator was, "are incorrigible." She planted a finger
squarely in the center of his sweating chest. "Do you think that
I want either of you lamed? You could have walked. _We_ could
have walked!" Abruptly, she released the traces and then
unbuckled the chaffing harness from around Fox's shoulders while
Elliot did the same for Jake on his right. The leather straps
were thrown haphazardly into the chariot's box. 

     "No more of this for today. We'll call for a cart to take us
back when we're ready." Tilting her head towards the dense
tropical forest that nestled in the dark cleft between the hills,
she gestured to Jake.

     "Get him to be sensible for once. Cool yourselves off
properly then stand under the waterfall to finish the job. Jacob,
you know where it is. It won't hurt either of you; you're both
beginning to smell a bit ripe.  Then _walk_ back to the dormitory
and get a few hours sleep. I'll order a room for you. I'll call
for you both this evening." She had begun to turn away, clearly
disgusted, when she abruptly focused on Jake again. "And since
you've agreed to be his keeper, you see that he walks or I'll
have you both hobbled for a day. We'll talk about this more
tonight. Tomorrow you can come back for the cart." For the first
time since she poked him in the chest, she turned on Fox - turned
'on' rather than 'to' in more ways than one. Her gaze was level,
with soul-raking directness and Fox felt a wave of apprehension
and a disturbing arousal. 

     "Tomorrow," she hissed, "you will appear at the villa at
eight a.m. ŝ alone - and we will review some basic rules, though
it appears that you may not have learned them to start with. In
any case we'll work together until I've bent those knees and that
back of yours. Do we understand each other? Otherwise, _stud_,
there will be no contract sale. We deal only in quality here."

     Too stunned to go quickly to one knee as he'd seen the other
thralls do when they did not please, Fox forced his eyes down.
Too late. He knew she saw the flash of dismay cross his face.
Shit! She had him now. She had a weapon. She knew what he wanted
above all else. Out of this place! 

     There was triumph in her wild eyes as she turned away to
precede Elliot into the Long House. The Thrall Master had
lingered in the doorway, clearly amused by the whole performance.

     "By the way," Elliot called over his shoulder, "leave those
lovely manes and tails on until you get back to the dorm - mostly
because Dusk doesn't like them, but also because you both look
simply splendid that way. And don't worry, the water won't hurt
them. They're drip dry - like you."
     
     With the poignant reminder of the order to rinse off if not
bathe, Jake led the way past what appeared to be the fanciful
reconstruction of some nineteenth century village maybe from
somewhere on the African or central American coast. There were
roofs of both thatch and tin. Supports were of bamboo and palm
trunks. The walls were either of woven mats, slender bamboo or
more old wood. There was not a soul in sight. 

     From the way Jake refused to look his way, Mulder knew Jake
was irritated by his stunt. He knew he was making Jake's life,
which was tough enough, tougher still, but what was he supposed
to do? Roll over and just take the abuse and the humiliation? The
part of him who had raced that morning would have managed. Where
had that lighter soul gone?

     Luckily, Jake cooled down quickly in more ways than one.
They were just passing the last of the village huts when he said,
"It's intended to be Haitian so I don't know why they call it the
'Bayou'. Probably because of the large number of island
immigrants who live around New Orleans."

     "Where is everyone?" Mulder asked curiously.

     "Oh, it's rather dead during the day but you should see it
after dark. It's a riveting place. On the other hand, since they
make a big show of conjuring up zombies in their ceremonies I
guess you could say it was rather dead at night as well."

     Mulder groaned, appreciating the joke. Even more he
appreciated Jake's attempt to take his mind of his troubles.

     "I hope you have a chance to see it," Jake went on. "Flaming
torches, masked and painted demons, bonfires and drums and
dancing, voodoo magic... and drugs. Lots of drugs. Purely
recreational, though when nothing's illegal, the line is pretty
thin. The Club has signed no international agreements, though
I've heard that the attendants here see that no one abuses the
privilege. That's where the people are now, those who are here
that is; in the huts, or in the clearings, dozing it off,
dreaming their dreams, and engaged in what sex they can under the
circumstances." The tone of Jake's voice was that of someone
providing information only; there was no trace of his taking a
stand on the morality of the issue one way or the other.
Considering what else went on on the island that wasn't too
surprising.

     They left the village behind to walk along well-marked paths
of shell or over bamboo bridges that spanned small streams. The
forest closed in, the hills grew closer. It was noticeably cooler
here. After all the sun and perfectly landscaped grounds around
the main resort, this unrestrained vegetation felt like a virgin
rain forest though Mulder assumed that this was as planned as the
other.

     Part of the perceived drop in temperature was due to the
cooling affects of the waterfall that they were already hearing
and soon saw. It was not large but fell in a shimmering sheet of
silver from the edge of a cliff fifty feet or more into a pool of
clean, waist-deep water. Mulder found that there was at least one
advantage to wearing minimal clothing. He had only to slip the
'mocs' from his feet and he was in that water and it was simply
perfect, cool but not too cold. Falling from the height it did,
its force was strong and stingingly refreshing on his poked and
prodded skin. 

     'Scully, oh Scully, how I'd love to show you this, too. What
I would give to see you sitting on that rock over there shaking
your head as I play the fool for you.' 

     'What _would_ I do?' he wondered. 'How far dare I go to
ensure that I see you again as soon as possible? I'm undoubtedly
going to find out tonight.'

     Jake had joined him under the falls by now and both were
soon splashing each other with abandon. Despite his very
'correct' attitude for most of the day Jake was clearly as
relieved as Fox to be rid of maddening crowd and the shoulder
harness. After a few minutes, they clambered up onto the mossy
bank to catch their breath. Their tails drooped forlornly as they
dripped. The motor in Fox's, silent before, ground a little as it
tried to swish. Matter-of-factly, Jake took the three feet of
horsehair in his hands and wrung out the worst of the water.
Feeling the weight drag on his butt, Fox begrudgingly did the
same.

     "I suppose we have to go back now."

     Jake's expression was sincerely apologetic. "You're going to
want to get some sleep before evening. I know I do." Unhappily,
Fox forced aching muscles to stand and started back the way they
had come. "Take the right hand path, I think it's a short cut."
     
     Short cuts can be dangerous things.

                                   

     Within two hundred yards they stumbled upon a clearing. A
dozen persons were scattered about the deep, shadowed glade. A
small fire was crackling among a circle of stones. That was all
that registered with Fox before he heard the voice, a woman's
voice, mellow as old wine and rich with the music of the islands.

     "Who is it?" she called. "Whoever it is, I don't bite. Come
out."
     
     Without hesitation Jake stepped through the last row of palm
fronds. Having lived all his life in a big city, Jake should have
known better. Maybe obedience could become a learned response
even in the not-so-young. Mulder would not have moved except for
an uneasy feeling he had that Jake somehow needed protection.

     As they emerged, Mulder expected some reaction from the
group around the fire but at most only three of the dozen persons
even acknowledged their presence. They were all reclining on rugs
or mats or on each other. Some were smoking from water pipes of
various shapes and sizes. By the dazed expressions on the faces
of those that weren't, they had clearly indulged earlier. A thin
woman, past middle age but far from ancient, rose at their
approach. Her skin was the color of coffee au lait and she was
dressed in a red and gold African print She had been crouched by
the fire cooking something in a small iron pot. She must have
been the one who spoke. Clearly, she was the only one in the
clearing who had a coherent thought about her.

     "At first I thought the animal gods had come for early tea.
Now I am not so sure. You must be water spirits."

     Jake had come to such a sudden standstill that Fox stepped
on his heel. "Mama Rosa?" he asked weakly or at least that is
what Fox thought he said.

     "'Mama Rosa?'" The woman inquired. Her face framed by its
turban was open and friendly. "Not I. I am Serena or so they call
me. Leader of this inadequate and blessedly temporary coven." Her
slender arms elegantly gestured about the circle. "But come. Sit.
Eat."

     Jake raised his left wrist, letting the red bracelet jangle.
He had reluctantly given up the gold one to Elliot that morning. 

     The old woman understood immediately. She probably had known
from the start. "And do you think I am too important a person to
eat with such as you?" She raised her own wrist on which hung a
silver bracelet. "And so I was also a slave, as were my
grandparents and their parents and their parents before them, so
I am just continuing an old family tradition. Now sit and eat and
talk. With only these useless converts to converse with I do get
weary of the sound of my own voice."  

     Fox hesitated, but Jake seemed mesmerized. Clearly, there
was something he needed to say badly and Fox was certainly in no
hurry to return to the resort and its clients and their whims.
Besides, he also felt drawn to this woman who spoke to them as if
they were real people once more.

     As they came forward to fold their long legs and seat
themselves where she indicated on the edge of the glade's large
central rug, Jake explained. "Mama Rosa was a woman I met once.
In Washington, D.C." He caught his companion's eye. "She helped
me when I was lost on the streets. I thought for a moment you
were she, but you aren't. She was much older. Just the accent."

     The rich voice laughed. "Yes, we old Black island women, we
all look alike to you." She cocked her head this way and that as
if seeing the two lean and handsome men for the first time. "Just
like you honkies all look alike to us."

     Jake threw back his head and nearly laughed. "Touch‚, Madam,
but are like my Mama Rosa." Jake seemed to shake himself and
turned to Mulder again. "The silver bracelet means Madam Serena
is on staff."

     "An attendant like those in the Green rooms?" Mulder asked.

     Jake and Serena shared a smile. "No, not quite," Jake said.
"Think of the title 'Madam' as it has been traditionally used for
the last few centuries."

     Mulder's mouth opened slightly in an 'Oh'.

     Jake turned to Serena. "Formally, I take it you're a
Guardian."

     "Camp Counselor better describes what I do." When she
smiled, the tiny wrinkles in her face didn't disappeared but one
failed to notice her age.

     "A Guardian's primary job is to see that all runs smoothly,"
Jake interpreted.
     
     She bent down to retrieve a plate filled with pieces of
fruit and sat cross-legged before them with the grace of a much
younger woman. In truth, she wasnŝt that old, but clearly her
life had not been an easy one. Fifty-five? Sixty? "When we get
too old they ask a few of us to become Guardians. So very
descriptive in my case, wouldn't you say?" She gestured to the
small bubbling pot she tended. "Guardians of the sacred flame.
Those who can no longer 'do', we prepare the stage for those who
can." She held out the plate of fruit. "Here, eat. You ran this
morning and, if the word I hear is true, you won."

     Jake dipped his head and took a piece of star fruit and
another of red-gold mango. "You're well informed."

      "My roots go deep," she replied. "Out here they must be."
The plate of fruit was offered to Mulder.

     "We can't stay long," Jake cautioned as his teammate took a
piece of Kiwi though Mulder didn't know if the information was
meant for Madam Serena or him.

     "They never stay," the woman said, sadly shaking her head.
"The Masters and Mistresses must be obeyed above all." She
gestured, encouraging Fox to take another piece and he also took
some of the mango that glistened fresh and sweet. It was.
     
     "Say that I detained you," she suggested. "Seniority has
some rights, even here. See, I even have thralls of my own." She
inclined her turban-wrapped head and for the first time they saw
two very young men who kept a watch of their own in the rear of
the group near a small hut that blended nearly invisibly with the
undergrowth.

     Mulder surveyed the prostrate bodies. "Your guests seem
hardly difficult to handle." 

     "These are not," she admitted, sadly, "but the mix varies."

     Fox didn't inquire if it was the mix of personalities or the
mixture of drugs in the water pipes that was sometimes difficult
to handle. Best not to ask. Being a federal officer he shouldn't
even be here, but considering how he was dressed, that seemed
hardly an issue at present. He took another piece of mango. It
was the best he had ever had and his stomach, once reminded about
how empty it was, had become demanding. It had been a long day
already and from Lisa's hints - or were they threats? ŝ it was
far from over.

     Mulder became aware that Madam Serena's dark eyes were fixed
on Jake who was also finding the fruits irresistible. The object
of her attention must have felt those eyes. "You're staring. Is
anything wrong?" Jake asked, absently wiping mango juice from his
chin.

     "Do you need to ask? You must find yourself being stared at
often in this place."

     "Not in the way you do." 

     She leaned over and selected a bit of apple, studying it
closely as if it were an oracle before she took a tiny bite. "The
women in my family can look into a man's soul and read all his
secrets. So it has always been." 

     Uncomfortable, Jake dropped his eyes as if he still found
the contents of the plate fascinating. "I have no secrets to
read."

     "We all have secrets," the woman assured him in her musical
voice. "Some more than others. Tell me of yourself. Your
'brother' over there is as naive as a virgin, but you have been
on the island long enough to know the ways things work. Not too
long, though, or I would have seen you before." Her voice dropped
nearly to a whisper. "You I would have remembered meeting."

     Left out of the conversation, Mulder found his attention
waning. Just sleepy, he thought. They had made the mistake of
sitting down and it was so comfortable here and peaceful.
Regardless of the duties she performed that had won her the title
of 'Madam', the name Serena must have come from this affect that
she had on people and places. All were at their ease in her
company. The conversation went on around him, around and around
like bees on a warm summer day. He found his eyes drooping but
when he tried to wake himself, found his vision blurry. His limbs
felt weak, too. So tired, so heavy. 

     Something about the fruit... What? Drugged without a doubt
though he never came up with the word itself because his head was
full of too many other words. These words were like petals
falling in spring, like leaves drifting down in the fall, like
earth in a dirt devil, a helpless flower caught in a whirlpool.
What human sounds he heard were only disjointed syllables. They
wove all around him. Most were in Serena's slow, warm voice and
from time to time, Jake's slurred and weary one.

     As if in a dream, Mulder heard Serena ask in a voice far
deeper and more intent than before, "Where did you ever find her?
Or do I ask the wrong question? Where did she find you? Why has
she attached herself to you?" 

     Jake moaned in reply. Straining to hear and to remember,
Mulder realized that the same questions or variations thereof had
been asked again and again for some time. 

     "Hear me, Jacob," the wise woman repeated in her new stern
voice. "You're carrying a ghost with you like a hunchback bears
his hump. Did you know she was there? You must have. She is far
too - real - for you not to notice. She burns and she hungers.
She brought you here, didn't she? This is too perfect a place for
her. They have a name for her kind. What did you do to deserve
her?" The rich words spat out like thorns. "Did you jilt the girl
so that she died of grief? Was she mother or sister or lover whom
you beat in a rage? Or just some poor woman you ran over with
your big, fast car when you went driving drunk one night?"

     Jake moaned again. Nearly paralyzed in his own thick fog,
Mulder felt like doing the same. He should go to him, stop this,
whatever 'this' was but he couldn't move. Not a thing. Just
understanding the words that somehow drifted through the cotton
candy of his brain was hard enough. He did finally get the
weights on his eyelids to lift a little but only to find the
glade surprisingly dark. Jake was only a few feet away as if he
had collapsed trying to reach Mulder and yet he could barely be
seen. The only light came from the tiny fire. It had been dim
before, what with the place being in shadow and the sunglasses-
like affect of his dark contacts, but this was like night. Even
as Mulder strained into that night, Serena's two young thralls
came into view carrying flaming brands with which they lighted
standing torches that had been present but unlit before. Their
curious eyes never left their Mistress, but they stayed outside
of they circle, hovering in the shadows just beyond the
torchlight to be close at hand in case she needed them.

     Jake was still moaning, unable to speak and yet determined
to protest the woman's cruel words, even though not all the words
had been cruelly spoken. The woman just needed to know and would
do what was necessary to get it. Not entirely unlike Forsyth and
his kind, Mulder thought, finding that his anger of at the memory
helped him claw through the drugs that threatened to drown him.

     "Sto-p...i-t," Mulder managed though his voice had no
strength and he wondered if she heard. It was like being drunker
than he had ever been in his life and yet he was desperate to
make himself understood. 

     The woman had been crouched over Jake like some hungry bird.
Now she spun towards him, her garments fluttering like wings.
"What do you know about it, pretty one? He told you?"

     Mulder tried to swallow but his tongue felt numb and huge in
his mouth. "She was his fianc‚e... but it was she - she found
another and wanted them both. K-Killed herself."

      There - that was out. Exhausted by his effort Mulder's head
fell back. He could not bear that this stranger should think such
things about someone he had come to think of almost as a brother.
Jake had loved Alex, that much was certain, and in some sad,
pitiful way loved her still.

     By the time Mulder could force his eyes open again, the
woman had leaned back on her heels. She was murmuring to herself,
totally absorbed in what he had told her. Finally, she turned
back to Jake and just watched him for a long moment. He was
curled fetal on his side now, both hands spread over his face as
if his emotions were too many and too great to bear being seen.

     Pouring something from a pitcher into a cup, Serena brought
it, surprisingly, to Mulder's lips. When he fought it, though his
movements were weak and awkward, she clicked her tongue and
shushed him gently like a child. "It's just water. Drink."

     He didn't have much choice; she poured it over his lips. At
least it tasted like water, cool and clean. Then she took it to
Jake though she had to pry his hands away from his ravaged face
to get him to drink it. How long had she been questioning him and
what else had she said while Mulder had drifted in la-la land? He
had no idea. She crouched beside Jake, now, helping him with the
cup that his shaking hands could barely hold. She smoothed his
hair like a comforting mother, her face thoughtful. 

     "My mother sent me out into the dark alleys of the cities
and shack towns of my native country when I was barely ten," she
said but to which man or to both Mulder didn't know. "I survived
because even on my back I kept my eyes open and I learned. There
is much you can ask for when you have something they want to buy.
Over the years I saw many, many wonders. Powers from the farms
and the hills and forests crept into the towns as the people who
control them came into the crowded places to find work. Once
before I saw this kind of ghost, but that one didn't come to be
in the same way yours did. She was an avenging spirit. She craved
vengeance for the life that had been stolen from her."

     Serena touched Jake's hair again. "I am sorry, pretty one,
for the grief I brought you for surely you did not need more, but
the truth remains: you do not know what you bargain with. Do you
think you can feed her? There is no end to her hunger. What are
you doing to see her out of this world and to her proper place?
Nothing!" she spat.

     Mulder listened with growing wonder. Madam Serena, or
whatever name she had been born with, was right on the money
there. Jake didn't know what he had truly had in Alex nor had he
made any moves to rid himself of this tiger by the tail. Jake was
as much a prisoner as Mulder had been and both still were in many
ways. Both could only react. For Jake, Alex clearly called the
shots. Deeper and deeper she had dragged him into the life of her
desires. By luck and some God's mercy, Jake had stumbled upon The
Club. Though it was no paradise, without it he would now be
living in one of those places where Serena had lost her youth.
No, not living. People who aren't born to it, don't last long on
back streets and dark little rooms especially with Alex's kind of
appetite.

     Serena was crooning softly, still smoothing Jake's brow as
he lay back, quieter now. "What do you want? I can make her leave
you or at least I can try."

     Mulder found he was holding his breath. Could she really do
that? Jake had also gone still. Clearly, he had heard, but he
didn't speak.

     Jake, you want her gone, you know you do! Mulder shouted
even though it was only in his mind. Jake, however, remained
silent, numb and in shock.

     "It's been so... long," Mulder managed to tell her. "I doubt
he knows any more."

     Nodding as if she had come to the same conclusion, Serena
took Jake's face between her hands. "Son, she has stolen your
life and that will kill you in time. Even if that life no longer
matters to you then think about what you want for her. Where
should she be? Not here with you, with us, among the living. She
does not belong here, not any more, no matter how hard she tries.
Her being here upsets the order and there is order in this world,
of a kind." She placed both hands on his chest and raised her
head as if listening. "It is peace you both need. Allow her to
come to me if she will. Some say I have one foot in the spirit
world anyway. I'll introduce her to some proper ghosts and in
time maybe she'll find her way."  

     Jake's eyes were open now, as wide as huge black pearls, and
very afraid. His limbs visibly trembled and Mulder wondered if he
was in pain. Serena was poised over the fire now, arms extended
over a thickly rising, but surprisingly fragrant, smoke. Mulder
felt the air between the three of them begin to crawl about on
his skin. It was like a rising storm, which as yet cannot be
seen. He'd felt this tension before.

     Alex was coming.

End of Chapter 13
JAKE AND FOX JOIN THE CLUB (14/25)
by Wind (Windsinger@aol.com)  

Disclaimer: See chapter 1.

Chapter 14

     Like some dark priestess, Serena's gestures became more
sure, her posture taller. She knew. "Do nothing. At the very
least do not hold her back. Let her decide."

     And the woman closed her eyes and began to chant, swaying as
the beat became a solid things. Her hands moved constantly,
speaking with her own kind of sign language but her message was
clear enough, "Come..." But she didn't command. Rather she
seduced, like a lover.  

     Mulder found he was still holding his breath. He did not
have to hold it much longer. He knew this storm all too well. All
at once, Jake's body jerked, hard. His head was thrown back as
his back bent and only began to relax when his features began to
move like sluggish fluid, to flow and change, to become softer,
more beautiful.

     Mulder shuddered, his very bones remembering this
transformation. He expected Serena to be startled, amazed at the
very least. If she was, however, she hid it well. Then he
realized that she was pleased - and hid that just as well.

     "Her name is Alex," Mulder warned, but it was Alex who heard
for she turned her head with a cat-like quickness and looked out
of Jake's black-pearl eyes. She smiled at him so intently and
with such seduction on her mind that Mulder felt all his bones go
soft.

     Serena stopped her soft chanting long enough to coo, "Not
the man, girl. I called you."

     With a flash of irritation and yet curious, Alex glared at
this interfering personage.

     "I know you," Serena said simply, and then went on with her
chanting. Mulder was certain that Alex would lose interest and
begin to make mischief, but her reactions were surprisingly
restrained. It was as if Serena was painting a story in the air
that Alex could read and Mulder couldn't. The fact that the
mixture of drugged fruit, the hypnotizing chant and the cloying
smoke was pulling him towards sleep had something to do about
that. Alex was mesmerized and in her stillness the silvery vision
which glowed on the surface of Jake's skin had become more clear.
In response the whole glade was beginning to fill with a silvery
mist. When he could keep them open, Mulder shifted his eyes right
to left, then back. The vapor seemed to be rising from the earth
like ground fog on a sudden warm morning. Alex's expression
gradually changed. Before her hunger had always been for flesh
and passion. For the first time it was as if she had found other
food. Her spirit seemed to be drinking in this thick otherworldly
fog right through her very skin, and it calmed rather than
excited her.

     "So glad that you like this," Serena murmured gently in a
singsong voice like to a child. "I guessed that you had never
tasted its like before. You have been starving, trying to exist
by sucking the life of those that live. You will never find
satisfaction that way. The living have their own food - life -
and their spirits are sweet but thin things, mere echoes of what
they left behind before their births and where someday they will
return."

     Serena went back to chanting. As the mist grew even thicker,
it crept up Mulder's skin. It was surprisingly warm, that spirit
soup, noticeably thinner near Jake's indistinct form as Alex
greedily took in all that she could.

     "You don't have to stay with them, little parasite." Serena
raised her arms towards where Alex still reclined, wrapped around
and in and through the body of her lover. "I would welcome you.
Come to me, join with me." When there was no change in the
silvery form Serena merely dropped her arms and sighed. "You are
missing so much. A different kind of existence. You can't even
dream of its like. You've chosen such a weak vessel, did you know
that? Men! What do they know about being a woman." Serena bent
closer, her voice a seduction of her own kind. "If you would join
with me, I could teach you much. I am not so old. Ask them." And
she gestured to her two young men who, seeing her beckon, crept
closer on bent knees as docile as lapdogs and as beautiful as
angels. Dark Botticelli angels. There was no fear on their faces.
In fact, they seemed enchanted. "You young women, you let the
young stags control. There is much a woman of experience could
teach you. I would teach you." Serena bent low again, whispering
almost in Alex's silvery ear. "With me, everything be in the
right place - and everything works." At that Alex actually smiled
and with that new hunger the ghost body seemed to lift, to
actually hover over the host body than be absorbed into it. 

     "Come, daughter. You and I were of a kind once, so full of
lusts and passions. I would welcome the feel of those again." The
older hands reached out once more and waited, and waited and this
time there was a change. A thin tendril, like the head and body
of a slender searching snake, detached itself from the rest of
the silver form and drifted tentatively towards the outstretched
hands.

     It... touched. It flowed across the skin that had touched
the skins of so many others for so many years. It tasted that
life... and it liked the richness it found there, a richness so
different from Jake's worn, thin spirit. The tendril thickened,
becoming a stem or tube. Mulder could keep his amazed eyes open
with no trouble now. Fascinated, he could actually see that
shimmering vine disappearing into Serena's body. Quickly, the
tube broadened and began to flow faster. At first it was a
trickle, then became a stream and then a small river, a river of
milk and silver. Jake's face was nearly obscured by the swirling
spirit mist, which in its haste had lost all definition. Mulder
heard soft whimpers but there was no way of knowing if Jake cried
from joy, or grief, or the pure sensation of her passage through
him. 

     There was no doubt about what Serena felt. The woman threw
back her head as the glorious power infused her being, and she
was glad. Even before the transfer was complete she was on her
feet, leaping as lightly as a girl, her eyes brilliant. Only
whose eyes were they? Serena's? Alex's? Both? It didn't matter.
They were glad eyes that drunk in the sight of every blade of
grass, every spark from every flame and every strong feature of
every male form lying at her feet. Her twirling steps made the
fog dance. With a final whirl she reached into a string bag
Serena had tied to her hip and threw a handful of sparkling dust
onto the fire. In a burst of fire, a cloud of colored smoke
billowed up and began to drift up and over and then through the
remnants of the spirit fog. Mulder felt his eyes burn, then begin
to water. Then he felt a warmth begin spreading through his body
beginning in this lungs. 

     It was like trying to breathe under water.

     Panic rising, Mulder tried to move but had no better luck
than before. As the last milky strand left Jake's body, he gave a
last small cry and then crumpled. He was either unconscious,
asleep or succumbing again to the chemical magic in this place.
'Stoned' was the word that so painstakingly threatened to float
out of the top of Mulder's head. 

     For Mulder the glade was changing. It began to shift, to
melt into shapes and colors, none of which had names. Mulder saw
a slender and beautiful serpent the height of a woman take the
hands of two dark angels and lead them with a eager step toward
the little hut that slumbered beyond the torchlight. 

     Mulder did not remember anything more, or at least nothing
clear or sane, for a very long time.  

                         * * * * * * * *
     
     Dreams came and went. One he remembered later was of pink
submarines and purple clouds in an amber sky. Must have been his
sixties phase. Another was of swimming in a canary yellow sea.
All mango juice. In fact everything smelled of mango. In years to
come whenever he passed an overripe mango, Mulder would find
himself flashing back to the afternoon he spent stoned out of his
skull and all the fault of the exotic mango. 

     There was one particular part of the dreamy afternoon that
he did enjoy and, unlike most dreams he found he could linger
there, and he did... on and on. 


     Scully was in the dream. She was standing in Madame Serena's
glade waiting for him to climb down out of the purple clouds. She
sat beside the waterfall with his head in her lap and laughed at
his attempts to get his mouth to work right and be witty for her.
Then she would stop his vain attempts to make words out of the
incomprehensible sounds that came out of his throat by placing
chocolate after chocolate in his mouth - only they all had mango
centers. Finally he gave up trying to say all that overflowed his
heart and just smiled up inanely at her. She would come back with
that Scully smile of hers, only it was far more patient that
usual.

     There were other differences. For one, her hair was red but
an unnatural fire engine red. This Scully was also taller and
more sleekly muscular than the one he knew, like the Amazon
beauty who had stepped on his foot. There was no doubt she was
all Scully, but this one was also easily strong enough to lift
him up and carry him home if she wanted to. And she wore a little
red, female version of the 'sling' thing and nothing else, an
outfit he had particularly admired on one of the thrall girls
down on the beach.

     How he wanted to bury his body within the warm arms of this
Scully, but each time he tried she vanished in a puff of water
pipe smoke like 'I Dream of Genie'. The first time she
disappeared, he was left with a tearing emptiness where his soul
should be. This was how an unwanted child must feel. But then
there she was again to wipe away his tears. After that, he didn't
mind her disappearances as much because she always came back
ready to guard him against the hot, impersonal hands of the crowd
from the beach - and to feed him chocolates with mango cream
centers.

     With all this perfection, however, why was there someone,
somewhere, weeping softly in his voice?

                         * * * * * * * *

     Close up, Serena's dark angel was only slightly older than
he had looked from afar by torchlight. He certainly moved swiftly
enough to save his private parts from an impact with Mulder's
knee. Considering the young man's profession, that was a very
fortunate thing. Mulder had been rustled out of sleep too many
times by people who did not mean him well to wait to ask
questions. He had also taken to fighting dirtier since the time
he'd fractured his right hand trying to take out a linebacker-
sized opponent and was thus chained to a desk and weaponless for
six weeks. The angel's beautiful olive-colored face was very
definitely taken aback by the intensity of the agent's waking.

     "Hurry, Madam Serena says that you both must go now."

     Rolling to something like a sitting position, Mulder rubbed
his face brusquely with his hands, wishing for some black coffee
and lots of it. He was still drifting more than a little up in
those purple clouds, so much so that he looked around for Dana
Godiva and was genuinely disappointed not to find her. Groggily,
he crawled over to wake Jake who looked worse than he did or at
least Mulder certainly hoped so. The dream dust had given Mulder
some pretty nice visions and he still felt like shit. Jake looked
like death left out in the sun only slightly too long.

     The glade didn't appear much different than Mulder
remembered except that someone had definitely turned the lights
back on. The bodies of the indulging clients were in almost the
identical positions they had been in before Serena had performed
her - suicidal? - magic to coax out the succubus. Cute trick but
not one Mulder cared to learn. How much time had passed? For
about the hundredth time that day Mulder consulted his left
wrist. No watch, just the damn bracelet, the symbol of this
despised masquerade. No watch. How did the staff manage? It was
not as if time didn't matter. The island was run like a
corporation with blue chip stock and yet no one wore a watch. 

     It was Jake's inept attempts to get to his knees that pulled
Mulder's wandering thoughts back to immediate needs. The dark-
haired angel who had awakened Mulder waited nearby, clearly
anxious that they do what they were told and move along.
Impatiently, he looked from one to them to the other and then to
the hut and back again.

     "How's your Mistress?" Mulder asked. Considering his own
limbs were as weak as water, helping Jake to stand was a tricky
operation. 

     The angel's face lit. It wasn't a smile because thralls
don't smile in public as a rule, but there was definite pleasure
there and Mulder could have sworn that the boy was positively
smug about something. "More than well, but she does require that
you leave quickly. Your presence may be upsetting."

     "Upsetting to who? Alex?" Jake asked in a voice with no
strength whatsoever. Mulder honestly tried to read the emotions
on his 'cousin's' face and gave up. Was he that hard to read? His
sympathy for Scully rose significantly.

     "Your presence is confusing to the spirit and, thus,
unsettling to the bond," the boy angel was saying. "So, yes, go."

     "The bond must be temporary," a woman's light voice coming
to him from some distance explained, "and, therefore, unstable."

     From the hut a slender woman had emerged. She was escorted
by her second angel. By the red and gold African print she wore
and her size this had to be Serena, Mulder told himself, but then
wasn't so sure. No, this must be Serena's daughter. She was at
least twenty years younger than the conjurer had appeared to be,
though this was still a mature and striking woman. No, not a
daughter. Mulder's mind, which he had trained to accept so much
that was impossible, knew exactly who he was looking at. That
kind of wisdom only came with great age; that kind of passion
with youth.

     She walked like a queen as if all of the world were hers for
the taking and why shouldn't she? For an aging woman to suddenly
recover twenty years and all that comes with it, she must be
soaring inside. For Alex, who for almost three years had lived a
largely unwelcome and parasitic existence with Jake, to be
suddenly embraced, to be invited to dwell where she was wanted
and actually fit and could walk freely again in the world? The
feeling of satisfaction and power must be staggering. Even Aswan
Gold must pale in comparison in this being the two women had
created together. 

     And if what Serena's angel told them was true and they were
being allowed to leave, then leave they had better do before the
pleasant fire Mulder saw temporarily banked in the female
demigod's eyes began looking for new fuel. Jake, however, seemed
rooted and Mulder couldn't move him despite the fact that he was
already supporting a good deal of the other man's weight.

     At that moment the creature's eyes which had been taking in
the glade and the forest, the sky above and the bodies strewn at
her feet like offerings, turned to Jake, then Mulder. Jake took a
step neither towards her or away but to the side, separating
himself from Mulder to cling to the cutting bark of a cabbage
palm. As for Mulder, his body went instantly numb and about as
insensible as his mind under that inhuman gaze. The earth under
his feet and the breeze on his bare skin disappeared. There was
only she and she was drawing closely. Now he could smell her,
could taste her scent even on his tongue. And that soul. He had
seen that soul staring out of his own eyes. Even his bones
remembered how she had felt inside his body. 

     She raised her hand. He thought at first that it was in
farewell, but no. Gracefully, she placed one finger at the base
of his throat.
     
     It was like fire that lightest of pressure. It was a heat so
incredible he should have been turned to ash. His body did seem
to vaporize - no, it expanded in a whoosh as if she had just
added gasoline to the smoldering fire in his soul. And something
rose out of the inferno. High, high, and higher his secret
passion flew above the earth. How huge it was, how fierce and
wild. He knew this creature. The feel of the muscles across his
back and chest were easily strong enough to control the mighty,
leathery wings that stretched out horizon to horizon from his
shoulders. He was the serpent again like eight months before,
infinitely strong except for the chains that were stronger still
and with which she had bound him to the mountaintop. He screamed
as he had screamed then, a savage cry for release from this
captivity, and as before she waited and waited, drawing out his
agony. At last she released him, withdrawing the single point of
contact so that the chains shattered leaving him to fall. To fall
forever... 
    
     It was Jake who caught him before he crashed, burning all
the way to earth. It was Jake who gently eased him to the ground.
A better ending than the last time she had given him this
particular vision and he had thought he was all alone and falling
to his death. The beginning of that startling wet dream, however,
had been very similar. How so very Alex to remember all the
private little details.

     "Alex," Mulder heard Jake remonstrate as Mulder tried to
pull his wits and his soul back together after her little good-
bye gift, "no more." 

     She shrugged, coquettishly, a devilish smile on her face.
Alex always did have extreme views about what made good sex.
Mulder own videos and reading material paled to insignificance by
comparison. Then that face that was neither Serena's face nor
Alex's, but a merging of the two and too beautiful to be human,
turned her attention on Jake and those eyes went as soft as a
dove's, and as sad. Jake must have been as enthralled as Mulder
had been in the light of those eyes for he stopped moving, he
even stopped breathing as she took his face in her hands and for
a long moment they just stared into each other's eyes. 

     Their silent 'conversation' went on for a long time but
"...you were never a burden, not to me..." were the only words
Mulder heard Jake murmur aloud. With those words, Alex raised
herself on her toes and... 

     The kiss was chaste at first, a small brushing of the lips,
but then it deepened into something so intimate, so painful, so ŝ
final - that Mulder was embarrassed to even be present. He turned
his head away. For it was all there - the bond of years, joy
shared, plans made and never given the time to be, betrayal and
horror and grief borne. All broke away, strand by strand, as they
drew apart.

     Who had deepened that last kiss between these one-time
lovers? Who had moved first and whose spirit-wrenching sorrow had
brought the tears to the dark eyes of both before they drew
apart?  Mulder was not about to guess, he only wondered about a
love like that. Searching inside for anything similar, he only
found that the winds blew dry and lonely across the desert of his
soul.

                         * * * * * * * *

     Somehow Jake and Mulder found their way back to the staff
complex but neither remembered how. Half the distance, they
supported each other. They walked in a cloud of shadow and mist
while every blade of grass and stone around them was washed in
the golden afternoon sun. By its position in the sky it was as if
only a short time had passed since they had drawn Lisa's chariot
up to the heights. When they stumbled from the forest, their
manes and tails were still damp from the waterfall. There could
not have been any time for meeting Serena, for lying drugged and
dreaming in the glade, for leaving Alex behind. 

     Except that that was what they were doing.

     There was no making sense of it. It just was and Mulder
accepted. Besides, his brain felt weightless, without substance,
certainly without two coherent thoughts, and, if anything, Jake
was in worse shape. Mulder had to shake him on more than one
occasion just to ask directions. By the end they walked silent
and separate, feet dragging in their weariness. Even their tails
hung limply, from time to time, barely quivering.
 
     'Batteries probably giving out,' Mulder's brain filled in
automatically as the motor in his 'tail' faintly groaned. He was
leaning against a wall in the corridor of the dormitory, dead on
his feet and waiting for Jake to open the door to the room Lisa
had ordered for them. It took three tries before Jake was able to
successfully scan his bracelet into the lock. True to their word,
Lisa and Elliot had kept them together. Unfortunately, there was
only one bed and that only a standard full size one, which looked
incredibly small after the barge in the Cavern's great room. This
was also basic thrall quarters so there was no couch, not even a
chair, and the floor was cold, bare concrete. 

     At Mulder's surly request, Jake inquired and found that his
old room had already been let out to one of the extra staff that
had been hired for the convention.

     "Shit," Mulder swore, kicking a trashcan and regretting the
lack of his study wingtips.

     "What's wrong?" Jake snapped with less patience than Mulder
had seen him show so far. The last few hours had been brutal and
Jake's death-not-quite-warmed-over expression had improved only
slightly.

     "Don't I always brush my teeth?" he growled "Or do I snore?"

     "Jake, it's just -"

     "Just what? Let it go, Mulder, I'm tired. Just think puppies
- two of the same litter - and shut the hell up." 

     Without another word they helped each other to work the hook
that locked belts and tails and then took turns slipping into the
bathroom. With thralls never being certain which bed they would
end in each night and with few on the island wearing enough
clothes to even hide a toothbrush, each room was equipped with
the basics - towels, toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, shampoo,
disposable shaver, shaving cream, hairbrush. Contacts removed
from aching eyes, teeth brushed and the shortest of showers taken
to get rid of the worst of the oil and sand and sweat, Mulder
limped wearily from the bathroom to find the room nearly midnight
dark. Jake had pulled closed the heavy blackout curtains that
effectively blocked the intense afternoon sun. In the sudden dim
light, Mulder could barely make out the shape of the man lying on
his side on the far side of the bed. Mulder slid under the sheets
on his own side and soon they were lying back to back with forth-
eight hours of history blowing like a little piece of Antarctica
between them.

     Physically and emotionally exhausted as he was, Mulder found
it impossible to sleep. Instead he listened - to footsteps in the
hall, the motor of a distant plane, the breeze in the palms, and
his bedmate's uneven breathing. 

     Jake was as awake as he was. 

     Mulder had always found loneliness to be rather like a great
black hole. It was around you and over you and under you but it
was deepest and darkest inside and as impossible to escape. If
Mulder felt such incredible emptiness how much more must Jake
feel. For the first time since before the two had met, Alex was
truly gone. Worse, Jake had been spurned for the second time for
a more interesting sexual partner. A man can only take so much
rejection, that Mulder knew from experience. But compared to Jake
Simmons? Not a contest he had any desire to win.

     Slowly, Mulder rolled over. After a long moment's
hesitation,  Jake did the same. The shadowed face that met
Mulder's was sunken deep in grief and the tracks of silent tears
glittered in the dim light. Almost imperceivably, they shifted
closer together. Mulder offered his shoulder, but Jake merely
curled against the warm curve of his friend's body. 

     Within seconds they both slept.

End of Chapter 14
JAKE AND FOX JOIN THE CLUB (15/25)
by Wind (Windsinger@aol.com)  

Disclaimer: See chapter 1 

Chapter 15

     The lean, strong muscles of the broad back moved sleekly
under the skin as their owner contemplated his playthings - the
straps and buckles and muzzles and, yes, the more invasive toys.
The man turned with a wide dog collar in his hands, a long strap
and a pair of padded cuffs linked by a chain. The arrogant stance
the figure took before Jake was Alex's favorite. There was no
need to speak, Jake knew what was demanded of him and with his
own body beginning to glow in anticipation, he slid off the bed
and crawled belly to the floor, head bowed, to where the tall
figure waited. There he knelt. When the heavy collar was fastened
tight about his bowed neck, he felt both the shame and the
glorious excitement that came with being desired. When he raised
his wrists for the cuffs his head came up enough to see into the
too-familiar glowing face. Jake didn't even remember if this host
was male or female; Alex's aura predominated. Once known, one
couldn't miss that hunger. But there was always the other, the
blood and bone behind the mask, the man or woman frightened by
all of this which they could not possibly understand but who were
aroused and made strong by their fear. Sex was as good a way as
any to deal with fear, Jake thought as strong hands jerked at his
bound ones. Alex raised him to his feet and pushed him towards
the hook that hung on a chain from the ceiling. A strap came down
stinging across his shoulders. Let the games begin once more.

     But this was only a dream. The reality would never happen
again.

     Never.

                         * * * * * * * *

     It was nearly dark when the door to Jacob and Isaac's room
opened abruptly, revealing an unconscious tangle of two sets of
identical arms and legs. Of the two, however, only Jake heard the
intrusion. Roughly pulled from his dream, his face wet with his
tears for the third time in as many hours, Jake's distracted
brain at first made little sense of the paper that the messenger
delivered.
     
     It was from Lisa and Elliot. Standard orders just as it had
been ripped off the pad like a prescription. Jacob and Isaac were
wanted but so early? It wouldn't even be dark yet. Wiping his
face hastily on the sheet, Jake read the summons again, this time
looking for details. They would be called for at seven p.m. When
asked, the handler languidly reported that it was not quite six, 

     Sitting on the side of the bed, Jake read the note through a
third time and pondered. All was in order. The message bore
Lisa's coded scrawl and the preparations were simple, but Mulder
wouldn't like them one bit, which was just the sort of thing Lisa
excelled at. Obviously, she was making good on her threat to see
to the deficiencies in 'Isaac's' training. Fox's partially bowed
knee hadn't fooled her. There had been no real submission in the
action, only fear. Jake hoped that 'Fox' rather than 'Mulder'
would be in residence tonight. Fox would be difficult enough, if
Mulder... disaster.

     A fourth read. A handler would be sent for each of them.
Jake bit a fingernail. Did Lisa know more than Jake thought she
did about this 'cousin' of his? Probably the attention was just
ceremonial. Jake hoped it was. Certainly, Elliot and Lisa must
know that they could trust Jacob to see that 'Dawn' and 'Dusk'
got where they needed to be.

     "The word on the streets," rumbled the Cockney messenger low
in his throat as he headed for the door to wait in the corridor,
"is that there's hard feelings about. The Master and the Mistress
had over three dozen calls for the two of you tonight. Unheard
of. A second handler has been ordered to keep there from being
any unpleasant incidents."

     Jake stared in amazement almost as shocked at receiving
unasked for news from a handler as by the number of requests.
Three dozen! From long habit, multiple shivers raced up his
spine, and yet... and yet... the old excitement just wasn't
there. There was interest and curiosity, certainly, but no
eagerness. In the bathroom mirror he stared at his face, pale and
old under the harsh lights. Pretty bad but the attendants in the
Green Room could fix a lot. 

     They could disguise what was on the outside anyway. Their
area of expertise did not extend to what may be missing on the
inside.

     Jake shivered and switched off the light. For a moment he
stood in the little room barely large enough to hold the bed and
looked about him. His world had changed totally from last week,
from yesterday, and yet it hadn't. 

     'I'm just tired,' he told himself as he turned to roust a
sleepy Mulder from his nest.


     As they followed the messenger to the Green room, their
conversation was furtive even though they were still inside the
Complex where speech between them was allowed. During most of the
walk Jake found himself forcing a joviality he did not feel.

     "Enough," Mulder whispered firmly. He'd been glum since
waking. He knew he would have to face - something - most likely
an unpleasant something that evening. "What's going to happen?"

     Having begun the process of wrapping himself in his persona
of the detached and servile thrall, Jake's face was as bland as
milk behind his faint, humorless smile. "A private party. Show us
off. Lisa and Elliot and a few friends."

     "Just that?"

     "Why don't you just say the word? Yes, there will be sex.
There always is. That's rather the point. You will be expected to
serve. That's your purpose and you being fresh meat -"

     Mulder shouldered Jake abruptly. It might have been an
accident; it wasn't. If there hadn't been large and burly
handlers nearby with whips and chains, he would have thrown the
other man up against a wall. "I won't do it!" he hissed.

     It wasn't anger Jake felt radiating most strongly from the
other man, however; it was fear. Truth be told, he wasn't feeling
overly frisky himself. In fact, a small dark closet would suit
his mood tonight but they really had no choice. Acute remorse
settled over him as he looked across at Mulder's closed and angry
face. 

     What had gotten into him? How could he have been so wrong?
He had arranged this new torture for Mulder who had certainly
been through enough. True, there was Alex's influence, but he
should have fought harder. Had he rationalized his actions with
the simple argument that if he was doing it, it must not be so
bad. He had been so long with Alex curled inside him that only
now that she was gone was he beginning to realize the hour to
hour and minute to minute affect she had on his life? She had
directed the flow of his blood, the turn of his mind, his
reaction to every breath of wind. What lower form of life had he
descended to? 

     "Please tell me that it isn't too late to get out of this,"
Mulder begged, very quietly. No, 'Fox' had spoken, the young and
frightened one.

     "For tonight it is. At night there is always a special,
mindless passion. Any rationality to be found would only be found
in the light of day. If you rebelled now - if you tried to
explain the fairy tale truth of what had been done to you - no
one would listen."

     "And retribution would be swift and hard and very, very
painful," Fox repeated as if he'd learned the mantra by rote. 

     Jake nodded sympathetically. "Far worse than going through
with the evening," he said but could tell by the set of his
companion's shoulders that he hadn't convinced him.

     Ashamed, Jake realized that maybe pain and humiliation
weren't what Mulder was trying to get out of. It was only Fox who
was willing to trade surrender for that kind of degradation; not
Mulder. Mulder was too stubborn. Mulder would allow himself to be
dragged through hell for a year before he'd submit to one night
in purgatory just so that he could say that he had not
surrendered.

     That was it. Jake had finally gotten a hold on the problem.

     "Patience," Jake whispered. "I have an idea."

     "What?" Mulder asked suspiciously. "I think I've had enough
of your ideas."

     "It's not perfect but it solves the problem of Isaac being
the new boy in town - the one everyone will want to push to the
limit. Maybe I can even get Elliot to take Jacob aside for a
little 'special' time. Now that wouldn't be so bad."

     Mulder looked bewildered but followed almost meekly behind
his twin.

     They were in luck. The attendant in the Green room was one
Jake knew well, a big good-natured eunuch or if he wasn't he
could have fooled anyone. He was rubbing Jake down at the moment,
not with the heavy oil of the morning but a massage to wake up
the flesh, improve muscle definition and bring blood to the
surface for that healthy glow.

     "We want to play a little joke on Lisa and Elliot," Jake
said confidentially to the eunuch as he lay on his stomach. With
a wave of his hand he indicated himself and 'Isaac' who waited
uncomfortably but with slowly dawning enlightenment on the
adjacent bench. "We think it would be amusing to switch places.
This should be easy for you. Can you perform some of your magic?"


     The man was not too quick but a generous soul. He looked
from one to the other if only then realizing that they were
nearly identical already. Jake rolled on his side and showed the
white scar from the operation on his knee. With a tiny bit of
sweet hope finally stirring on the surface of his despair, Mulder
raised a leg to show the long scar on his inner thigh and then
pointed to the round white patch from the bullet hole on this
shoulder. The big man burst out with a laugh that Jake hastily
quieted with a finger to his lips. 

     "This is a secret, Ben. You know... secret..."

     "Secret," Ben grinned and swung open the cupboards of his
station. He could make scars, he could take them away. He could
even change mostly brown hazel eyes to mostly green and visa
versa. It was such a good joke the old attendant was even willing
to unlock the bracelet from Jacob's wrist and exchange it with
Isaac's. This was an act that carried such a high punishment it
was unheard of. Jake seriously hoped the man wouldn't get fired
for it, but he had already decided that he would take the blame
and the punishment for everything. It was the least he could do
for this friend whom he had so severely wronged.

     A credit to his craft, Ben did a remarkable job. The subtle
changes were executed perfectly. In stolen words here and there
Jake tried to coach Mulder on proper behavior. It would be far
easier for Jake to pretend a mild defiance, a certain ignorance
of the rules of the game then for Mulder to behave with Jacob's
practiced assurance.

     Nearly seven. They waited in the Green Room's front lobby.
Mulder was pacing nervously when their two handlers finally
appeared. The first approached Mulder in his guise of 'Jacob'. Or
was that 'Fox'? Jake wondered. Whoever it was was almost too
calm. Still, Jake watched with concern as the handler handed
'Jacob' a paper and then turned away with the second handler to
grab a quick juice from the well-stocked refrigerator. Jake
drifted to Fox's side and quickly scanned the note.

     "Damn her!" Jake breathed without thinking.

     "What?" Fox asked. Like a doctor's prescription, he'd been
unable to decipher the handwriting.

     "She's changed her mind."

     "She's what?"

     "Lisa, the fickle wench, has sold us for the evening. Dance
card filled. That's the way it works here sometimes. The highest
bidder."

     "No," Fox declared, dropping his bare bottom dramatically
down onto one of the room's plain metal folding chairs and
crossing his arms across his bare chest in a sulk. Lisa and
Elliot were bad enough but at least he knew them. Now Jake was
talking complete strangers.

     "It gets worse," Jake added, deciding to get all the bad
news out in open at once, "they're separating us."

     Mulder sprang to his feet, eyes blazing. 

     "This is not something we have any choice about," Jake
hissed, warningly. "This is what we're supposedly here for. This
says that Lisa tried to set up something where we could be
together but these clients aren't interested. How these two
particular clients came up on top, even over Lisa's plans, I have
no idea. Elliot and Lisa vouch for them, that's all I know and
that has been enough for me in the past."

     "I won't," Mulder snarled, his jaw hard set.

     "You will. Think, damn you," Jake hissed. "You saw those
poor sots in the public lavatory. Uppity thralls. Nothing
physical but try three days of scrubbing the floors in there on
your hands and knees stark naked - or do you prefer the role of
an attack dummy for the handlers?"

     All the hard-fought color drained from Mulder's face. "They
wouldn't."

     "We've been through this. It's in your contract. Want to
read it again?" Jake pulled Mulder back onto the cold chair and
crouched down close beside him until he was facing this odd
'brother' of his. His expression was deadly serious. "Tomorrow
we'll tell Elliot and Lisa everything. Tomorrow I promise. It was
wrong of me not to before and we can't get in touch with them
now. After all you've been through, can't you just forget that
this one night happened?"

     He shouldn't have reminded Fox of those long months of
helplessness and shadowy animal passion.

     Mulder's glowering eyes burned, but at least his color had
returned with his anger. 

     "Fox, I know the issue is your going only with this
voluntarily. If it's any consolation, Lisa's note indicates that
this will be just one person, not the zoo you've been exposed to
all day. Can't you turn off your brain and let it happen just
this once?"

     There was no change in Mulder's expression. "And you can't
be there."

     "I told you, I can't."

     Every fiber of Mulder's body screamed 'Resist!' but the
memory of what could happen if he did turned his stomach inside
out. Fox would have to handle this; with his history, Mulder
didn't dare.

     Their handlers were returning. They could have been just two
working men off to do a job except that they were dressed in
leather and iron and wore scarlet cloaks like Imperial Rome meets
Mad Max. In their hands they carried objects which not a person
on the island would have any problem recognizing. 

     No more time... No more time... Reluctantly, Fox let out a
long, long sigh. "What will I have to do?" he asked in a barely
audible croak into Jake's ear.

     Jake pulled up his weak-kneed companion as he rose from his
crouch. In the process he gave the muscular shoulder beside him a
sympathetic squeeze. "Whatever the customer desires."

End of Chapter 15
JAKE AND FOX JOIN THE CLUB (16/25)
by Wind (Windsinger@aol.com)
                                
See disclaimer: Chapter 1.

Chapter 16 

     It was when the handlers approached that Fox found out what
the customer desired in the way of 'costume'. It was no different
than what Lisa had ordered but there was no point in Jake going
into that. Upon hearing the handler describe the requirements,
Fox nearly bolted through the nearest window. Reading the dread
in his 'cousin's' body language, Jake neatly moved to block that
route of escape. The second grinning handler had already blocked
the other. In a harsh whisper Jake reminded Mulder that these two
very large men had a job to do and that job was to complete each
thrall's preparations and deliver them to those who had reserved
them for the night. 

     Deliver or else.

     Since speech between working thralls was discouraged from
this point on - and what Fox was thinking would be unprintable
just about anywhere anyway - he merely scowled fire at Jake.

     As such things were done at the Club, the remaining
preparations were simple enough. They had already been bathed and
oiled by the eunuch Ben. Soft padded cuffs were placed on their
wrists. Since hands cuffed in front or behind the body was not
specified, Jake indicated that both would take hands cuffed in
front since their everyday loin cloths would now be removed for a
much abbreviated version - ones practically useless for actually
hiding anything. The general fashion statement at the Club was
'conceal only to reveal'. Other than the collars and leashes that
were still draped in coils from their handler's belts that was
all that was called for - which was far too little even for Fox.

     He was doing more than frown now. His muscles went rigid as
steel as he watched Jake 'prepared'. It was when they brought the
cuffs and scanty square of buckskin in his direction that he
flipped out. The brawny duo didn't turn a hair. They heartily
enjoyed the challenge of a resistant thrall. They thought he
wanted to play and they were more than willing to go along. Once
the collar and cuffs were on, the exchange of loincloths went
somewhat more smoothly. There are parts of a man's body you just
don't want to mess around with.

     Only Jake saw the extent of the terror when Fox first saw
the cuffs. Mulder reappeared in one millisecond of pure panic.
Jake had not considered how Agent Mulder might feel about being
bound. It ceases to be fun when it's happened to you for real.
Jake had been truly imprisoned once but he had been in such bad
shape from the start that its memory had been delegated to that
place where bad nightmares go. But for Mulder this was infinitely
harder and for that Jake did all he could to get him through it.
He held those terror-stricken eyes with the gaze he once reserved
for hard negotiations with high rollers back when he was a full
partner in his architectural firm. When Jake Simmons actually
worked and created, it was not uncommon for the firm to be
awarded contracts for skyscrapers which would have impressed even
The Club's wealthier clients. Jake hoped that same dispassionate
intensity would lend Mulder strength. It seemed to help. With the
fear dimmed to manageable level, it was Fox who looked out of his
own eyes and he was looking very fine - proud and beautiful, wild
and desirable. When the red collar went on with its leash of
silver chain, that was when Jake felt his own heart begin to
pound and his mouth go dry. Maybe it wasn't all to do with Alex
after all.

     Now Jake regretted, truly regretted, that they would not be
going to the Villa. Lisa would have had them perform - together -
just so she could watch. The surge of arousal Jake felt at that
moment was the strongest he'd felt since Alex's departure.

     There was no time to think about that now. No time for
regrets either way. The leash was snapped to his own collar and
Jake was led out into the early evening air. Fox followed with
his own handler. The die was cast.

                         * * * * * * * *

     As they walked with their escorts, Jake wondered what Fox
was thinking. What Fox was thinking was whether he could hold
onto his sanity. Seeing the set of Jake's shoulders ahead, Fox
was reminded of the night before. After returning from their tour
of the staff complex, he and Jake had sat side by side with
glasses of wine on the beach. Hidden by the moonless night, they
had watched the starlight dance on the waves. During that brief
interlude, his delivery had seemed miraculous and the island's
night beautiful. Scully was coming and everything...  possible.

     Still in a daze from all that had happened in the past
twenty-four hours, Fox had talked, talked to Jake more than he
had ever talked to anyone before. They had discussed 'magazines'
and how certain pictures made them feel. They had laughed over
videos they had both seen and compared their favorites. They had
talked about the long dark hours alone while the rest of the
world slept warm two by two. Fox knew by the time the second
bottle of wine was empty that Jake knew just what a starved and
lonely soul he was dealing with. Of course, Jake had talked, too.
About Alex. About the things he had been trained to do here. And
Fox had found his pulse galloping. 

     "You're embarrassed by the way you feel."

     Fox had shrugged and looked for a dibble of wine in the last
bottle. 

     "You have no idea what a relief it was to come here," Jake
had said, wistfully. "I didn't have to worry about friends or
colleagues ever finding out. And it's been better than any
fantasy I ever had which, of course, is always limited to what
one can actually imagine. There's a release to giving in, letting
go, and allowing someone else to be in control. Heady stuff to
allow people who think like you do to do things _to_ you that you
have never even dreamed of doing to yourself. You should try it
once, in your right mind. Just once."

     Dare he? Fox wondered as he followed on the heels of his
handler, head bowed. First, did he have a choice? He did. He
could scream, he could fight, he could be locked away and
punished. It would hurt and there would no chance of anything
even disturbingly erotic happening. Just pain and humiliation.
Pointless.

     And Jake had promised; in the morning the real story would
come out. Then there would be no more need for games. This would
be the last chance now. There would be no excuse for Lisa's
'training'.

     'Excuse?' Fox found that his feet had come to a sudden halt
at the same time his mind did. A jerk on his collar got at least
his body started again. Here he was; nearly stark naked, his
hands were bound in the kind of cuffs they sell in sex shops
anywhere and one of the biggest and ugliest men he had ever seen
was leading him about by brass-studded dog collar. 

     He should be thinking shame and disgrace. He should be
thinking about the mystery client who had bought his services for
the next twelve to sixteen hours. He should be thinking about
what he would be asked to do. (No, not 'asked'. What would he be
told to do.) He should be thinking what would happen if Scully
should see him right now, if anyone he knew should see him right
now. But what was uppermost on his mind? That he was going to
miss the lovely Lisa going at his body the next day with who knew
what exquisite tortures. 

     And he was disappointed.

     What has happened to me! clamored so loudly through his mind
that he was surprised that the words didn't echo off the
buildings as he was led from the thrall complex, through the
nymph and satyr iron gate, and across the gardens by the largest
of the pools towards the Palm Hotel. At least he had this night. 

     One night, and no one need ever know.

     I am mad.


     They were led to a side door, a servant's entrance. How very
appropriate. In a small barren vestibule the handlers let their
charges stand while they went to have orders checked and to pick
up room numbers. The vestibule was far from empty and there was a
line the hotel was booked solid. 

     Fox's madness dimmed in light of his amazed curiosity. He'd
never seen so much brazenly bared flesh in one place before and
he suddenly realized how much easier that made his own nakedness.
It was like being at the pool. You wouldn't wear your 'Speedo' to
a business meeting but it was fine if you were lounging about
picking up a few 'rays' and everyone else was wearing not much
more. The shame of the collar and cuffs was pretty terrible, but
mild indeed and far more comfortable than the costumes many of
the other slaves wore who waited while their own handlers to
check in.
     
     There was low buzz of voices. Safe within the crowd you
could talk quietly to your neighbor. Mulder wondered what one
talked about with someone when you were dressed as a Rockette
chorus girl - and you happened to be very clearly male - or when
your neighbor resembled a peacock in full plumage. Baseball
scores? The weather? Bill Clinton's latest liaison? What was the
best remedy for jock itch?

     The whole circus was so bizarre, Fox felt his mood
definitely picking up. 

     They did this for _pleasure_, Jake had said. This is suppose
to be fun.

     Fox kept repeating this to himself. He wondered how long it
would take for him to believe it.

     Jake had momentarily disappeared, now he slid up to Fox's
side, eyes positively glowing until they reflected the green of
the brass studded collar he wore. They had been instructed to
remove their thin sandals as they entered this waiting room and
Jake's bare feet were nearly dancing.

     Clearly the man had news. "What's up?" Mulder whispered,
innocently. 

     "You - or at least I hope so very soon."

     "Pleeeease..."

     Jake's voice was low but clear. "I'm serious. There's an
attendant I know over there. He's worked for Lisa and Elliot for
years. Just like masters and servants, everyone talks in front of
thralls as if we were pieces of furniture. I just found out that
Lisa and Elliot had a couple of very curious visitors just a few
hours ago. And one was a woman, a very hot, very petite,
redheaded woman. They were talking about us, particularly about
you."

     Fox's world imploded.

     Shit! 

     Wait... he didn't really think that, did he?

     Jake went on, oblivious to the nuclear bomb he had just set
off in Mulder's brain. "Fox, this has been bothering the hell out
of me. Lisa wouldn't change her private dinner plans for just
anyone, not after her triumph today. She would only give that up
for something, or someone, extraordinarily special."

     Fox felt like reaching out for something to hold unto as if
he were suddenly standing on the business end of a wildly
swinging pendulum. He should be happy about this, shouldn't he?
It wasn't certain, of course, he told his alternately leaping and
sinking heart. There were a lot of small, good-looking, red-
haired women in the world. It was just, why now when he wearing
this.... or .... oh, god... not wearing this?

     During their walk with the handlers, Fox had shut his eyes
to the images of himself in all the mirrors and reflective
surfaces they had passed from pool to windowpanes to chrome
planters. Now he allowed himself a despairing and wavering view
in a last primping mirror, which the management had set up by
door that led to the elevators.

     He didn't look... bad. For once he was rid of that little
jowliness that had been creeping up with the years and those
'love handles' he'd been developing with too much office work.
The effect just wasn't right for Scully. But after four months...

     Maybe she'd be so happy to see him that she wouldn't notice.

     Yeah, sure. 

     Then look on the bright side. 

     Fox felt the furrow in his forehead deepen. In addition to
the not insignificant matter of being rescued, there had to be a
bright side. Maybe, she'd be so happy to see him that she'd take
advantage of the situation? 

     Sweat instantly broke out on his body. It had something to
do with the blood rushing to his face and the pounding of his
heart and all was confused with the king of all hard-on's, the
kind such as he had not had since he was sixteen. Jeeze!!! Jake
had said that they were going to be taken to different rooms.
What had first caused dismay had kindled to Fourth of July
fireworks in Fox's imagination. Maybe she already _knew_ and so
the change of plans.

     The sparkles dancing in his brain made it hard to think. 
     
     Calm down. Calm down. Luckily, both Fox and Mulder had
become expert at doing that. Not only was Scully's proximity
damned distracting - all it took was the faint scent of her
shampoo - but a man in Jake's current profession just had to have
some control over things like pure panic and arousal at
inappropriate times if he wanted to stay alive for long. 

     So would Scully join in with the spirit of the place? Maybe,
but unlikely. What was more likely? She'd be so furious with him
for worrying her that she would take advantage of his
helplessness and really ream his ass! If she took her anger out
literally, that may not even be so bad. Considering the way this
place had warped his brain and his reflexes, and considering the
'equipment' they kept in the rooms, _that_ might be the very best
outcome of all.

     Fox had abandoned current time and space until a rather
savage jerk on his leash brought him careening back. He was still
wavering between daydream and reality when a huge hand on his
shoulder spun him around and a voice laughed at his awkward
steps. From Jake, however, he had caught a covert wink and the
lifting of one corner of his mouth just before he was also turned
and directed to take the lead in their little procession. Clearly
having done this before, Jake led them out of the check-in area
and down a bare hallway to a bank of elevators. The reason for
the wink and the smirk became clearer when Mulder caught the
lingering traces of a besotted expression on his own face in the
bright metal inside the service car.

     Within ten seconds of exiting onto the fifth floor all
lingering fears Fox had of being conspicuous were laid
irrevocably to rest. Not only were the thralls in incredible
stages of dress - or undress as the case may be - but the clients
seemed to have gone to just as much trouble and expense with
their own fantastic creations - pirates, spacemen, deep-sea
divers, all variety of animals and animal tamers. Full punk and
uncomfortable Victorian high collars. It must have taken three
days to paint the exquisite and erotic tattoos on one young
woman's perfect body - unless they were real. 

     Was this all really about sex or was this just an excuse for
a little play-acting for adults? Was playing dress up for sex
acceptable while playing dress up just for fun, was not? Was what
he was seeing here really the twentieth century equivalent of the
Star Trek holosuite? Look at the rising popularity of Halloween
for adults. Did the stress of modern life require such outlets
for adults? Or had we so organized our children's lives that we
didn't allow enough playtime in childhood. Mulder's  behavioral
psychologist mind and Fox's quirky sense of humor were both so
enraptured at the thought that he momentarily forgot his own
situation - and his destination - and so was completely
unprepared for what happened next. 

     The corridor they were moving down was cross by another
corridor at right angles. At the junction of the two, a pair of
very well preserved female clients of sixty or so were seated in
a small lounge drinking cocktails. They were also appraising the
merchandize in the same way that a shopper might select fruit at
a supermarket. Fox was completely unaware of all this however.
All he knew was that for some reason his handler was coaxing him
over to the right side of the hall with the riding crop he
carried. This left Fox within easy reach of the women who were
obviously regulars at their own version of the Game. The woman
with the most unnatural shade of orange hair had only to reach
out to stroke a firm thrall butt at the same time that the other
twirled a ruff of dark pubic hair behind the flap of the very
inadequate loin cloth. Fox easily shied enough to evoke not only
an appreciative giggle from the women but to earn him another
slash with the strap across the back of his calves. You heard a
lot about dirty old men; they didn't hold a candle to dirty old
women. 

     "What's your name, honey?" one cooed. 

     Fox didn't hear the handler pass on the information. The
blood that had flooded to his face even left his ears burning. He
felt about three inches tall - well, except for a certain part of
his anatomy that was decidedly more than three inches. He thought
he had that all under control. Now he had to start all over
again. 

     Think of cold. Arctic winds and blowing snow. Brrrrr..

     Could humiliation really do this? It had when he was sixteen
but was it still possible? Obviously, the management of the Club
was onto something. 

     Alongside Mulder's musings, Fox had made his own decision.
He had learned his lesson. He had pushed the edge of the envelope
quite enough. His handler was having far too much fun. He made a
resolution not to give the man any more opportunities to practice
his craft. The sting of the strap and the jerking about of his
lease and the unwanted hands on his skin was getting really old.
He was tired of calling attention to himself. He'd follow Jake's
example and remember his proper place in the order of things
here. Silent, face forward, no expression, head properly bowed in
appropriate supplication. 

     It did take a few biting cuts with the whip end of the
riding crop for him to get that part right.

     Leaving the old women, they took another right turn and
there followed a space of comparative calm. Jake was in the lead,
then his handler, then Fox, then the brute with the riding crop
that followed him. Fox had give his brute - Baron was his name -
no cause to use that crop for at least twenty steps and the
sadist was probably seething, but at least Fox was able to think.

     Just then Jake's handler barked something unintelligible and
Jake stopped and turned obediently. It was a string of numbers
the man had called out. They were on the door Jake now faced.
While the man double-checked the digits on what looked very much
like a receipt, Jake dipped his head and cast a sidelong glance
in Fox's direction. Fox felt a renewed surge of unease. This was
where they parted company. Jake's hooded expression attempted to
be reassuring. 

     Buck up. 

     At that moment, though, Fox didn't want to 'buck up'. He
didn't want to go through these next few minutes alone. Even if
he were being taken to Scully, having Jake present wouldn't be so
bad. Scully liked Jake. Scully would be less likely to shoot him
if Jake were present. Besides, Jake's information could be wrong.
It might not be Scully who awaited him. It could be... anyone. 

     Or more than one. The client who had bought him probably had
friends. He and Jake had never discussed the many-to-one scenario
at the Club. Considering the months when it was just his body and
the Gold against - how many of Forsyth's closest buddies? -
Jake's skirting that subject was not surprising. Or was there a
rule about that sort of thing? Maybe it was like the licenses you
bought with software where you paid per installation. Maybe, but
that didn't mean that people didn't cheat.

     From his hiding place deep down, Mulder growled a warning.
Get a grip, Fox.

     Fox's legs felt weak. Even more frantically than before he
tried to think of a way for he and Jake to stay together. 

     Jake saw the panic rising. He shook his head just the
tiniest bit in warning just as his handler knocked on the door
and swung it open. Fox went against Jake's instructions; he
raised his head, he stared inside the room. 

     It was dim inside. Someone had drawn the drapes against the
intense pre-sunset sun. That was all he saw for soon the doorway
was filled with Jake's back. There was the tight collar like a
thick bright, green-spotted snake against the back of his bare
neck, then Jake's handler also filled the doorway, then the door
shut.

     Fox stood shock still. Something was wrong. Something more
wrong then his being alone for the first time since all the
strangeness began. 

     Jake's was wearing a green collar. He heard Jake's laughing
voice again, "Green for money, I guess." But green was Isaac's
color. Wildly, Fox stared down at his bound wrists. A bit of red
bracelet peeked out from under the wide, soft cuffs. Red for
Jacob.

     Just a harmless little joke for Lisa and Elliot. A little
masquerade to take some of pressure off Fox. After all, it was
Isaac who was the new boy in town. The allure of 'fresh meat'
again. But that had all changed and they had both forgotten! This
was no party for Lisa and Elliot. Green-collared Isaac was
supposed to be for....

     Scully.

End of Chapter 16
JAKE AND FOX JOIN THE CLUB (17/25)
by Wind (Windsinger@aol.com)  
  
Disclaimer: See chapter 1 

Chapter 17

     "No!"

     It had been so long that Mulder had spoken in something
approaching a normal speaking level that the ragged sound shocked
even him. He was given no time to say anything more. Even before
the shout, the handler had sensed something and he'd been more
than ready for an opportunity like this. Probably an order had
come from Lisa to be on watch. Isaac had signed a contract that
he wanted to be taught; Isaac would learn, whether he wanted to
anymore or not. Her command had probably been non-specific
assuming it would be 'Isaac' who would prove troublesome, not the
good thrall 'Jacob'.

     The handle end of the riding crop came down hard across
Mulder's back so unexpectedly that all the air rushed out of his
lungs. 

     "Silence!"

     Agent Mulder didn't take orders well when his adrenaline was
flowing. "But it's all wrong..."

     As swift as a striking snake, one of the handler's iron-
muscled arms had locked around Mulder's throat and under his
chin. He yanked Mulder's head back, the beefy forearm digging
into the collar, blocking the air. The other arm was wrapped like
a python around Mulder's struggling body.

     Pinned well and truly. 

     "Feeling a little frisky, are we pretty one?" The huge man's
excuse for a purr rumbled in his chest like an idling bulldozer
against Mulder's back. All this had taken mere seconds but long
enough for Jake's handler to reappear. The door to the room -
Scully's room? - must have opened and closed again but Mulder
never heard it. All he heard above the roar of frenzied blood in
his ears was a distinctive chuckle. 

     Shit! He'd just made the Baron a happy man again.

     With the added help, 'Jacob' was rudely and expertly gagged
and blindfolded. Just as swiftly his wrists were unbound, his
arms were wrenched behind his back, and then they were bound
again. Even the tiny loincloth was ripped away.

     A smoke-scented breath blew across his ear. "You don't like
it this way, do you? Feeling a little... exposed?" The crop swung
and connected just a little, like a kiss. It was just that its
target was so sensitive. Mulder had consistently kept his hands
low before, his only protection besides the little wisp of cloth.
Now nothing. Nothing _at all_. He was far more helpless now, too.
With hands in front he could have raised them at any point and
pulled at the thick pad of Velcro with his teeth. Now release was
impossible without help.

     The leash jerked. "Just because you can win races, don't
give you the right to forget your place. You're still just a
slave and I can have you if I want. Do you understand that,
teacher's pet?"

     Mulder should have suspected this. Jake was clearly Elliot's
favorite and shared some special place with Lisa. So resentment
and jealousy were evident even this place. He wondered if Jake
knew? 
     
     A sharp thrust of Baron's palm against the center of
Mulder's back sent him staggering forward. Blind and with no
hands to feel his way, his shoulder hit sharply against the
corridor wall. 

     "Clumsy, clumsy. Wouldn't want to bruise anything."

     "Need any help?" Jake's handler asked with undisguised
amusement. 

     "Nah, just feeling his oats. I can deal with this." And he
could. Mulder was about as defenseless as a man can be. By now
even Fox had given up all pretense of enjoying his one night in
XXX-rated paradise. He would have shouted "FBI" at the top of his
lungs if that had been possible. With the gag, however, he could
barely breath. There was no way to fight that would not result in
something worse for him in the end. 

     'The end' being the operative phrase here.

     He had no choice, therefore, but to allow Baron and his
riding crop to move him forward as a swineherd uses a stick to
drive his pigs. Tap on the right shoulder, or the right buttock,
move right. Poke on the left side, move left. In despair, every
dark, dragging step took him further from where Jake had been
delivered in his place.
     
     'In his place....' Mulder nearly choked on the brittle,
ironic laugh that struggled to burst out of its cage in his chest
with a flood of tears. He hoped Jake enjoyed his revenge. Jake
had been taken in Mulder's place before with far worse results.


     The hotel was large and they must have left Jake off on the
far side from their destination. Had this been planned from the
start? Shuffling blind, toes scraping along the carpet, the walk
seemed to take an eternity. It didn't help that Baron was pleased
with himself and proceeded to shout ranty jokes at the top of his
lungs, most of them concerning various parts of his charge's
anatomy. There was no anonymity now. Every eye must be on them.
The blindness made it worse because Mulder had no way of knowing
if two pairs of eyes watched his ignoble passage, or twenty, or
none. All he knew was that his face behind the blindfold was
bright red. Sweat trickled down into the small of his back.

     Finally, Baron jerked back one last time sharply on the
lease. At least, Mulder thought, the walk and the waiting were
over. In the back of his mind he had been clinging to the forlorn
hope that the red-haired woman had been Scully and that she might
be waiting for him after all. That she had seen them together and
even from afar knew which was which. Red or green collars
wouldn't matter to her, only to the handlers, but body language
would. At least part of the time, however, he had been mimicking
Jake.

     Mulder, was so emotionally battered by this time that even
the panic that should have sprouted in his stomach was a sorry,
limp thing. Embarrassingly, other parts of his anatomy were not.

     Baron leaned forward to knock sharply on the door. What with
the surge of blood in his ears and the fabric of the blindfold
that muffled sound, Mulder didn't hear an answer but Baron must
have. He opened the door. The wilted panic in Fox's stomach
suddenly raised up like the man-eating plant in Little Shop of
Horrors. 
     
     'Get the hell out of here!' the newly pumping adrenaline
screamed. But then there was Fox's voice, the part of him that
stepped eagerly into dark places under the earth and haunted
houses. He was desperately urging that they 'Stay and find out
what happens.' Certain parts of his anatomy were going along with
that suggestion - insisting quite definitively - and the
insistence was coming very close to overloading Mulder's brain.
That was what shocked and horrified Mulder more than anything -
his body's betrayal. Actually, the betrayal belonged to the
comparatively young ŝFoxŝ who wanted very badly to experience
this. Was this the 'high' that drove supposedly sane young men
and women to indenture themselves. This incredible mixture of
terror and exhilaration and anticipation? 

     There was that seductive mixture again.
 
     It took two savage jerks on the leash to get the thrall
'Jacob' to uproot his feet and allow himself to be pushed inside.


     The carpet here was more lush than in the hallway and molded
between Mulder's toes. He was aware of a change in the air. It
was cooler, scented slightly from cleaning solvents, scented
soaps and a slight perfume though it could have easily have been
a man's cologne. 

     Abruptly, Baron's heavy hand came down on his shoulder
forcing him down on resisting knees, resisting only because he
wasn't oriented in space in any way. He could kneel and in the
process throw his face into a dresser. He didn't, however. Just
more of the thick carpet met his knees and nothing slammed into
his face. Meanwhile, the handler was making nice friendly noises
to the room's occupant - or occupants. 

     "Sorry about this. He's been a bit difficult but his kind
can be the most fun if you know how to handle them. I take it you
do know how? Oh, thank you, thank you." There had been the rustle
of paper money. The occupant had tipped the handler for his
delivery, probably compensated the handler extra for all his
'trouble'.

     Distantly, Mulder felt Baron relinquish control of the chain
to the room's occupant but before that could register, the
handler's big hand was on the back of Mulder's head again,
forcing him to bend at the waist. The movement tightened the
leash and tugged at the collar. Choking and with his face nearly
touching the floor, Mulder hear the Velcro fasteners behind his
head rip as Baron roughly removed the blindfold and gag. Mulder
coughed and shuddered as light stabbed into his unprepared eyes.

     "Now be good," Baron warned, good-naturedly. On his way out,
the handler couldn't resist a slap to the thrall's raised ass
with the remains of the blindfold and gag he still held. Eyes
still shut tight, face inches from the carpet, Fox heard the door
open, then close, and all was silence. No movement at all, just
the rustle from a palm tree that must be right outside an open
window. 

     At least he wouldn't being jumped on right away, but then
why should they? There was no need for hurry. He was 'bought' for
the evening. And how long into the night?

     In a better-late-than-never move towards self-preservation,
Mulder retreated again. It was Fox who opened their eyes though
he saw only pale blue carpet. From the movement of air and the
sounds of birds and rustling foliage, a window must be open. The
setting sun streamed in turning the blue to gold. At first he
only raised his eyes but his head was so far down all he saw was
part of the bed. By straightening his bent back he saw more. A
bit of wall, a suggestive picture. He was turned the wrong way.
The room's occupant was to his right. As no reproof was
forthcoming, he began unbending still further by slow degrees.
Now he saw a nightstand of white-stained wood trimmed in gold
leaf. So far, the room seemed no different than any other room in
any four star hotel.

     The leash swung as the person who held it shifted
impatiently. From the way the air moved, from the way the
floorboards sagged, Fox got an impression of size. This was a
large person. Mulder's stomach plummeted. He'd probably find it
down on the building's second floor when this was all over. There
had been such a small chance all along but he had allowed himself
to hope. With dread, Mulder slowly raised his head a few more
inches. Still receiving no rebuff, he raised it a little more and
saw two sandaled feet. Big feet. A man's feet. 

     Shit... not again. This place was going to seriously confuse
his sexual inclinations. 

     At least Fox's own twisted brand of fatalism had decided to
take over now that romanticism had failed him. Morbidly curious,
his eyes rose further. Well-formed male calves and thighs, small
but not skimpy teal-colored bathing trunks, the well-developed
torso of an active, mature man. No weak, desk-bound bureaucrat
this. Before Fox could raise his head far enough to see the face,
the man dropped the leash as if in disgust and made an abrupt
turn towards the bed. At first Fox thought he was expected to
follow but then he caught sight of the back of his customer's
head. He knew that gleaming skull better than he could currently
recall his own name.

     Fox vanished totally in a puff of reality. Mulder remained
on his knees, physically and psychologically unable to move a
single muscle at that moment. His exploding heart, though, was
certainly doing a damn good job of coloring his face scarlet. 

     God didn't make holes as deep as the one Mulder wanted to
hide in at that moment.

     There came the impossible sound of the spread being whipped
with the flourish from the bed and then of the sheet being ripped
off as well. 

     "Glad to see you looking so... fit, but I'm disappointed in
you. I thought that here would certainly be one place where you
couldn't cause any trouble." 

     The sheet fell down in waves around Mulder's bare shoulders.


     "Do try to cover yourself, Agent Mulder, and get up from
there if you can. You have a lot of explaining to do." Before
Mulder could force his stunned body to concede with either of
these requests Assistant Director Skinner spoke again. "And since
you seem to be all mine for the next few hours there is something
I have always wanted for us to do together."

                         * * * * * * * *

     His own handler had similarly pushed Jake down to his knees.
He hadn't needed the reminder, it was just the way the fantasy
was played. He should seem reluctant. It stoked the fires for
both parties. He also saw nothing but the sea of carpet until the
handler had slipped out of the room. He waited. Whoever was in
the room with him had not moved. He sensed the presence just a
few feet away, heard the breathing. A trembling hand set up a
vibration along the leash, which was transferred to the collar
about his neck, and from there to him. Around the Club such
trembling in a client was usually caused by anticipation. But if
they were new to the game apprehension and shame could be just as
powerful. The same emotions bounced around inside Jake. The heat
in the room raised a few more degrees.

     As if this were a test of wills to see who would flinch
first, the client made no movement for an eternity, at least it
would once have felt so to Jake. When they came to the Club,
supplicants learned patience first of all. Your client moved
first, always. The touch, the order, the summons, the sting of
the strap would come; you just never knew how or when. That was
part of the play. Meanwhile, the tension just built up and then
built up a little more. 

     All at once the chain leash dropped. Like a whip it struck
down the length of Jake's kneeling body from neck, down his chest
and belly, to graze his straining member before laying limp
against his thighs. His first reaction was that any supplicant
would feel. Stomach turned to lead in his belly. He had been
rejected. Then he reminded himself that the Club's game may not
the only game being played here. Against all his training he
began to raise his eyes. He found the woman's small feet in
sandals just where he thought he would. 

     As he waited, Jake had already deduced that this client was
female. The scent of her overlaid the ever-present signature of
hotel and not entirely sanitized sex. The fact alarmed him. It
shouldn't be. He had expected a man. If wrong about this then
what else had he been wrong about? He had been so sure from the
few words he had gleaned from Peter, Lisa and Elliot's favorite
handler. He had sent Mulder into this against his will only
because Mulder had trustingly believed that he would find his
heart's desire at the end of his leash.

     Leash? Collar, leash, bracelet... 

     Shit...

     Jake stared down at the slack chain lying limp down the
length of his chest and even touching Isaac's green bracelet on
Jake's left wrist. Maybe Mulder would have found her if he, Jake,
hasn't messed up royally once again.

     His eyes having raised as far as they could, Jake lifted his
head as Mulder would soon be doing. The leash slid along his
skin, even against that part of his anatomy that was erect no
longer. It had deflated as if by cold water. 

     She was backed up against the footboard of the canopied bed,
her white-knuckled hands on one of the four posts which was
clearly the only way she was staying upright. Her face was as
alabaster pale as her hands. The size of the lead lump in Jake's
stomach grew to monumental proportions as he recognized that
countenance even though it was not the cool, perfect face he had
seen last. It was gray underneath the current pallor and there
were lines from far too many months of fear. Dark circles
shadowed her eyes. A sickness of spirit had eroded her soul.
Hadn't he seen the signs in his own face for almost a year after
Alex's took her life? Here, too, was four months of built up
sorrow and desperation, sleepless weeks of searching and distress
and fear. Each nightmare scenario worse than the one before. She
had aged ten years since the last time he had seen her, not eight
months. A tiny gasp, the tip of her ocean of her pure pain
escaped when their eyes met and she saw the sorrow and apology in
his eyes. That was when she was certain of what she had already
suspected but did not want to admit.

     She didn't because to say the words would make them true.
This was not he.

     In the same instant, Jake realized just how wrong he had
been from the start. Wrong, wrong, WRONG! This was not the time
for Games. These were real people and theirs was real anguish and
he had played with their lives like some sadistic puppetmaster.
With his teeth he ripped at the Velcro of the cuffs, then his
hands came up and in no time found the clasp of the collar.
Within seconds it was dashed to the floor along with its chain
and he was on his feet and had enveloped the small quaking body
in his arms, had pulled the limp head with its lusterless, red
hair down onto his shoulder.

     "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he murmured over and over
trying to cover the sobs that were so heartbreaking to hear in
one so strong. But even the strong can break when hope has been
shattered as cruelly as he had shattered hers. 

     She hadn't been deceived, or, if she had, not for long. Her
hand touched his left shoulder and Jake glanced down. She had
found a loose flap of the spirit-gummed 'skin' that held his
'scar' in place. She probably hadn't even needed to find that.
She undoubtedly knew every centimeter of that scar. The night
before when Jake and Mulder had sat on the beach drinking wine
they had discussed much. At one point they compared war wounds
and Mulder had told him how that one had come to be. 

     The pride Mulder felt for his partner had flowed out of him
at that moment, a beautiful thing to see. And all the while
Jake's mind had been in the gutter trying to devise some way back
into Mulder's bed for the night. 

     He hadn't succeeded.

     As the torrent of tears slowed, Dana pushed herself away
from Jake's embrace. "Where is he?" she choked in both sorrow and
rage. "Is he even here?"

     "Oh, yes, Definitely here and he's well. A little confused
but well. Dana, this is my fault - everything that's gone wrong
has been my fault but this," he indicated the fake scar, "this at
least was honestly meant to divert attention from him. The new
boy in town was just too popular and he was taking it hard. I
wanted to take the heat for him for a while. At the time we
didn't know. We had no idea that we'd find you here so tonight."

     Impatiently, she waved his explanation aside. "What matters
now is where _is_ he? We -" Abruptly, Dana Scully sat down on the
king size bed. Jake was surprised that she'd even known where the
edge was. Her mouth gaped open. "Skinner... We set this up for
'Isaac' to be brought to me and 'Jacob' to be brought to -"

     "Skinner? Oh, shit. Like this?" Jake gestured down the
length of his might-as-well-be naked body and even stooped to
pick up the items he had been dressed in when he'd been brought
in.

     Scully nodded numbly then truly saw Jake for the first time
standing so... embarrassed... and so ... so... Well, there was
just so much of him.

     Imagining Mulder in her mind standing before Skinner, she
fell back onto the bed, her chest convulsing in a kind of
hysterical laughter. 

     "You have not idea what we went through just to get here,"
she managed to get out despite the dying giggles, "or how much it
cost or how many strings we had to pull to get you two for just
one night. It nearly broke the department's budget. When the man
asked how we wanted the two of you 'delivered', I didn't even
know what he was talking about. It was the 'concierge' we
arranged this with who made the suggestion. I thought it was a
pretty good idea at the time. Once I had him here I didn't want
that slippery devil getting away. I had not idea that she meant
that he would be dressed in _only_ cuffs, collar and leash. Poor
Mulder. I just wanted to get back at him just a little, for what
he put me through all these weeks."

     Jake was all too painfully aware that what Dana had just
described was how he was dressed. Around strangers who would
never seen him again, skin was the dress of the day, but around
Dana he suddenly felt his nakedness acutely. That was easily
remedied. From the bottom drawer of a chest near the suite's
bathroom he rummaged around until he found at least some minimal
attire. Shorts and a T-shirt would do well enough. A few sets of
clothes were kept in every room in case a customer wanted to take
his _companion_ out for breakfast or dinner and naked thralls
were not allowed in the resort's restaurants except _as_ thralls,
to serve the meals or to serve their customers in other ways. Not
to sit at table.   

     Dressed, Jake sat down on the opposite side of the bed.
Since the laughter had stopped, Dana hadn't moved. Her eyes were
fixed, staring at the ceiling. 

     "So now you're here," he said, "and he's down the hall
someplace and I assume by now that he's learned his lesson but
good about allowing himself to be kidnapped. So now what?"

     "I wasn't being cruel to Mulder; he would have appreciated
the irony better than any wild display of emotion on my part. And
Skinner expected you - the way you are. He wouldn't have been
shocked, except to find out who he really had."

     "Then what are we doing sitting here?" Jake asked. "Let's
go!"

     "Where?"

     "To Skinner's room, of course." Jake was off the bed heading
for the door, but Dana intercepted her. 

     Speedy little thing.
     
     "Jake, stop."

     "We can't, at least not right away. Skinner and I had a
signal. We have to wait for that. He wanted time to talk to you
and, of course," her eyes were positively huge, "I wanted time
alone with 'Isaac'. Besides, we can't just go walking the halls."

     "I don't understand. It's perfectly safe." For the first
time he really looked into the face of the woman blocking his
path. Her color had returned and at least some of the years had
lifted. More than that, there was steel now and cool reason. The
Agent Scully Jake had known in Washington was back. He wondered
if she had ever allowed Mulder/Fox to see her two sides.

     "You suspect trouble, that's it, isn't it? This Forsyth
character who kidnapped Mulder in the first place. Do you think
he's going to put in an appearance? Is that why you're even too
afraid to use the phone?" 

     "We're cautious, not afraid. Besides, we have our own ways
of sharing information just as we're certain Forsyth does."
Seeing she had his attention, she allowed her body to sag against
closed door. She was clearly exhausted. 

     "We only started getting serious about watching Forsyth
about two months ago. An informer overheard some conversation.
Before then he was only a suspect and we had so many others.
Mulder is not well liked in some circles. Before then we just
couldn't get any evidence on Forsyth and no sign of Mulder, of
course." Too tired to stay standing even with the wall for
support, she weaved her way back to the bed.

     "You've worried, haven't you?" he asked. "No, that was
stupid. Of course, you have."

     "'Worried' is not the word I would use. There is no word for
the way I've felt. Three months, almost four. Not a word, not a
clue. When we got the ampules and the blood samples from your
lawyer I think I stopped breathing. What with the cryptic message
you sent I immediately ordered extended blood typing on the
sample. When the typing agreed exactly with the one we have on
file for Mulder I must have cried for an hour. And where do I
find him? Cavorting around in a pleasure palace! Damn him!"

     She was near to tears again, probably had been all along.
Frustration and anger, fear and misery... 

     "Don't," Jake said. "Please, don't blame Mulder. It was my
fault. He asked for a phone to call you while he was still half-
delirious from withdrawal. Rules are very strict around here and
it isn't easy for lowly slaves like us to get access to even an
inner-island phone much less get a line to the mainland. Still it
could have been done. I said he needed to wait because I didn't
want him punished - after what he'd been through he didn't need
that - but mostly it was because I didn't want to rock the boat.
I'd pulled his tight little ass out of the fire and I called in
my chips. Everything since then has been my doing, never his. He
came out of the drugs in shock - mental and physical. I took
advantage of that. In fact he's still in shock. That I didn't
fully realize what I was doing until this moment is no excuse. I
see now what a terrible mistake I made."

     Her chin was still trembling. "Bet he didn't mind so much
though. I've seen materials from his little hobby."

     "What a person may enjoy in private as a way to ease the
loneliness can't be compared to what they're ready to engage in
in public. He despised it here."

     A little light had come back into her sad eyes. "Every
minute of it?"
     
     "Well, I hope not _every_ minute of it," Jake admitted with
a mischievous half smile. "I think he might have just a little.
He would have enjoyed it more but for you. He was well aware of
what you must be going through - within, that is, the ability of
the human male to hold any thought in his head for long under
certain circumstances. And there was other complications."

     Dana's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "What kind of
complications."

     "Whatever you're thinking it's not that. Alex."

     That got Dana's attention. She stared around the room
warily, as if she expected the ghost to materialize amidst all
the white, gilded furniture. Jake knew that Mulder had told his
partner about the ghost, something had to have killed the two ex-
cons who had tortured and had planned to kill, first Jake, and
then Mulder. Jake wondered, however, if Mulder had told Dana
about all of Alex's peculiarities.

     "Is she here now?"

     A shadow passed fleetingly over Jake's too-familiar
features. "We - ah - found her a new home. Just today. I know
that sounds crazy but it's true." Jake leaned towards Dana, his
tone earnest. "By helping me to exorcise myself from her, Mulder
saved my life - that makes twice now. I would never do anything
to hurt him and so believe me when I tell you that I know you
were never out of his thoughts for long. Forgive him. Go over to
Skinner's room and give the poor guy a break. He certainly needs
it." That crooked smile again. "I'll even offer to keep your boss
entertained for a while so you can try out that leash and
collar."

     Reaching for another tissue from the box at the bedside,
Dana sat up. Her sigh seemed to say 'If only...'. 

     "I know you mean well, but no. As I said, I can't break
security. This is too serious. Forsyth _does_ have wind of the
changes here, though we don't know how." She leaned over and
patted Jake's hand the way she never would have touched Mulder.
"You did right keeping him here, even if your motives weren't the
highest. If he tried to get on a plane before we were in place to
cover the airport, he may have been lost to us. And if you tried
to call? That would have been just as bad. Forsyth would have
known all the sooner."

     Jake just stared, his startled eyes questioning. "You're
sure?"

     "Absolutely." Her shoulders settled securely indicating her
certainty. "Though _I_ probably would have arranged his free time
a little differently. We'll all just have to wait until Skinner
checks with the rest of our people and gives the all clear."

     "How long will that take?"  

     "I have no idea. An hour, two, maybe more. My only
consolation is that Mulder is definitely not enjoying this
particular male bonding ritual with a certain FBI Assistant
Director."

End of Chapter 17
JAKE AND FOX JOIN THE CLUB (18/25)
by Wind (Windsinger@aol.com)  

Disclaimer: See chapter 1 

Chapter 18
     
     The resort suites at The Club catered to all tastes. As in
the private suites at the Caverns, there was a closet of adult
toys. When Skinner headed towards that closet, Mulder's blood,
already cold, turned to ice. He nearly fainted when Skinner
pulled out a chess set. 

     That was an hour ago. Since then he had sat hunched over the
chessboard, wrapped in his sheet, toga style, trying not to lose
his 'shirt'. He did lose quite a few of the anatomically
fantastical pieces before his heart rate returned to something
approaching normal. Skinner sat in his bathing trunks and a short
sleeved open shirt and played the game as if there was no place
else that he particularly needed to be at any time in the near
future. 

     They played on two levels. While one part of their brains
concentrated on the moves, they quickly brought each other up to
date on the events of the last four months. For Mulder's part
there wasn't much that he remembered until two days before.
Skinner's story was concise and to the point and did an excellent
job of driving a few dozen knives into various parts of Mulder's
body. What Scully had suffered... Skinner hadn't needed to spell
it out. Mulder could read between the lines very well indeed.

     Mulder took his hand from his knight and for the first time
that evening, was truly able to look Walter Skinner in the eye.

     "Sir... for staying with her through this... I can never
repay -"

     Skinner dismissed the emotion-laden speech with a wave of
his hand. "You are both my agents, my responsibility. It was my
job."

     "Bullshit," Mulder murmured nearly inaudibly as he returned
his eyes again to the board.

     There was a small awkward pause in the conversation. Skinner
lost a pawn to Mulder's knight. "This wasn't how this was
supposed to have happened, you know. You were supposed to have
been delivered to Scully. I think she had a little speech
prepared."

     Mulder shifted uncomfortably in his sheet, slumping as he
did so onto his tailbone. "I can imagine." After a discrete
interval he tentatively asked basically the same question Jake
had. "Sir, why are we here?" He indicated the room. "Why can't we
just 'switch partners' as was originally planned. I'd rather hear
this lecture she's spent so much time on sooner than later."

     "Get it over with?"

     Mulder shrugged. "Something like that."

     Skinner sighed, in no hurry. "Believe it or not, Agent
Mulder, they do have security here. It is focused on Agent
Scully's room at the moment where they expected you to be
delivered. 'Isaac' is the one in danger here, after all, which
means, because of your switch, that Jake is. We don't dare
confuse the issue any more than it is already. Give it some
time."

     So Mulder waited and fumed. He bit his lip nearly raw and
lost more pieces - two pawns, and a bishop. Skinner didn't need a
degree in either medicine or psychology to know that all was
still not right with Agent Mulder. When Skinner's knight with his
particularly outstanding 'blade' hit on Mulder's queen who bore a
striking resemblance to Lady Godiva, Mulder conceded defeat.

     Irritated, sheets fluttering like wings, he lurched over to
the delicate French doors that looked out onto the suite's
balcony. Pulling back the sheer curtain, Mulder stared out over
the lawn towards the sea, though Skinner doubted his agent saw
much. The older man put the pieces away into their velvet covered
box and went to stand at his agent's side.

     "It's amazing," he began, conversationally. "I didn't know
such places existed, not with this level of elegance. In a way
you were lucky, it could have been much worse. Physically, at
least, you seem to have been cared for very well." Mulder winced.
He had explained about his captivity, the Monday through Friday
afternoon part anyway. "Agent Scully says the drug in the ampule
is very potent. She rather thought that after three months or
more on that stuff that she'd have to carry you home on a
stretcher again. I think she was almost disappointed to hear you
were up and around." Mulder gave his boss and sidelong glance and
caught the faintest smile. Then Skinner lowered his eyes. From
where he was standing and with Mulder's current state of undress
and with the fact that he had sweated off most of the concealing
makeup, the tracks on Mulder's arms were all too obvious.

     "There was more, wasn't there?" Skinner asked softly. "More
than being nearly comatose for three months?"

     Mulder hadn't described Forsyth's weekend activities. He
would have to eventually, but not now. Suddenly, like a
flashback, he couldn't breath. Skinner noticed the color draining
from his agent's face and quickly opened the nearest French door.
The fresh, ocean breeze helped. In a moment the black spots had
disappeared from before Mulder's eyes and his lungs seemed
willing to work again. 

     "Are you going to be all right?" Skinner asked, his voice
was much gentler than Mulder had ever remembered hearing it. 

     "I will be, just give me a minute. You're right there was
more -" Mulder's voice cut off abruptly. Something was wrong. All
at once he could feel it. Suddenly he could feel it. Not the
flashback, not any sickness. A warning, danger. The tingling
numbness across his shoulders, almost paralyzing in their
intensity. He was immediately aware that they were both standing
in the open doorway to the balcony. They were on the fifth floor
but there was another building as high or higher just across the
exquisitely manicured courtyard and they were concerned that
Forsyth already knew... 

     Launching himself at Skinner, Mulder intended to knock them
both back into the comparative darkness and safety of the room. 

     The dart came silently. Mulder barely felt it hit him low on
the back where the sheet had slipped away with his lunge. It was
a swift acting potion. It raced up his spinal cord within
seconds, paralyzing his limbs, shutting down his brain before he
could get out a words. An alarmed and startled A.D. Skinner
caught the younger man in his strong arms as he fell. He didn't
have any idea what had happened until he felt the prick and
looked down at the dart that now protruded from his chest. By
then, of course, it was too late.

                        * * * * * * * * 

     Dana walked back and forth between the suite door and the
window for nearly fifteen minutes. If Mulder had been there he
would have told her, in his most irritatingly laconic New
Englandese, that he didn't know that the tenancy to pace was
catching. Mulder's absence, however, was the problem. 

     An hour had passed since Jake had been brought to Scully's
room in collar and cuffs and skin. For the past half-hour they
had spoken little. Jake found it ironic that here he was, alone
in a bedroom with a beautiful woman on an island of pure
Bacchusian excess, and he had absolutely no desire to snuggle up
to her in any way. If there was ever a 'taken' woman, Dana Scully
was one. 

     As they waited, Jake did his best to appear as little
Mulder-like as possible. Unfortunately, Jake had known Mulder in
the outside world only as the very proper professional FBI agent
or in his heroic mode in which he had looked and smelled very
much like the homeless man he had so successfully imitated. For
this reason Jake's choosing to spend most of the hour flat on his
back on the suite's couch in a white T-shirt and jogging shorts
only added a new level of haunted pain to Dana's too-thin face.
     
     At long last, a hesitant knock on the door. Jake rolled off
the couch just in time to come face to face with the small
concealed revolver that Dana had procured almost as if by magic
from a holster that road in the small of her back. The bathing
suit cover-up she wore over her camisole and shorts had certainly
hidden it well enough. Her tension was infectious. As Jake picked
himself up off the floor, he wished he had a weapon as well.

     Waving a compliant Jake behind her, Dana cracked the door
cautiously. When she recognized the round-faced, black-haired
man, she let the door swing open just enough to usher him in.

     "Well?" she asked when they were all safely inside and the
door closed again. "Is the building secure?"

     "Yes, Signora. Secure. We have seen no sign of Mr. Forsyth
or his associates." The man still looked distinctly uneasy,
however. Something was wrong.

     "How long have you known this?"

     "Thirty, forty minutes -"

     Dana's fair complexion darkened. "Then why - ?"

     "We have been trying to contact Director Skinner," the
security man apologized, and by the marked distress reflected on
the man's florid face it was obvious that he had. "He will not
open his door, however. For a while we assumed that he and the
young man were occupied - "

     Jake felt a sudden sickness in his stomach. Mulder and
Skinner? Never in a million years. But then, considering the sort
of activity this place was famous for, could he blame the
security man for thinking so?
      
     "We were told to report to Director Skinner first, but so
much time has passed. We became concerned. Under the
circumstances, therefore, we have come to you."

     Agent Scully was already out the door, her weapon held down
by her side, hidden as well as possible by the folds of her
flowing cover up. Jake was close behind. The little security man
rolled on at their heels.

     As Mulder had learned all too painfully, Skinner's room was
on the far side of the huge hotel from Dana's on the assumption
that two smaller targets would be harder to hit than one larger
one. Scully knocked quietly on Skinner's door. If there was a
pattern to the knocks, Jake thought, it was a subtle one. She
knocked a little louder and called Skinner's name though without
his title. Her voice was tight but not so tight as to be
unrecognizable. Still no answer.

     "Are you going to break down the door?" Jake asked, both
frightened and fascinated.

     Dana held up a room key. "That would be a little obvious,
don't you think?"

     All was quiet in the suite. Far too quiet. Jake's eyes had
gone to the bed first and was embarrassingly relieved to see that
though it had been stripped of bedspread and top sheet, the
bottom sheet was crisply white and unwrinkled except near the far
edge where someone may have laid down briefly. There was a box of
chessmen sitting on the table. A light breeze blew through the
room. 

     The French doors to the balcony were open. Even Jake knew
that couldn't be right.

     Dana was the first to fly around the end of the bed. It was
she who found Skinner's unconscious body and the first
tranquilizer dart. It was Jake who solemnly held up a second dart
that he'd found on the floor near the side of the bed with the
rumpled sheet. The security man found that the connecting door
between Skinner's suite and the one next door was unlocked. The
suite next door was empty. 

     There was no sign of Mulder except for a leash and an open
red collar. 

                          * * * * * * *

     Elliot drove the big electric car with a reckless lack of
concern for anything except speed. His white-knuckled grip on the
steering wheel and intense expression prompted Jake to remember
that the Club administrator had once been a photographer in
cheery, restful places like Cambodia and San Salvador and Bosnia.
In body type the car resembled a large golf cart but there all
comparison ended. Certainly the power of the engine was unlike
any Jake had encountered before in such a vehicle. As for himself
and the others - Lisa, Dana and Skinner - they held on any way
they could. Of those glumly taking part in the bumping, swaying,
jostling and totally unwanted fun house ride, Skinner clearly had
the worst of it.

     The A.D.'s face may be the color of pea soup but no one
could claim to have heard him utter a single word of complaint.
Dana's handy shot of stimulants had brought him reeling with
nausea and dizziness into semi-consciousness on the floor where
he had fallen. He hadn't been very coherent at first but soon was
able to acknowledge that, yes, he and Mulder had been alone in
the room. They'd been playing chess. 

     Jake's automatic response to that was 'what a waste!'.
Luckily, the words were drowned out by the engine noise for he
immediately recanted the crass tastelessness of the joke as a
miserable Skinner continued with his account. Mulder had been
shot with a similar tranquilizer. In fact, in an attempt to
execute a purely heroic, though thoroughly stupid move, Mulder
had been the first one hit.

     "But I don't understand," Jake exclaimed to a grim-faced
Agent Scully over the whine of the motor and the rush of whipping
palm fronds against the sides of the car. "How did they know to
attack Skinner's room? Mulder was supposed to have been in
yours."

     "Which was too heavily guarded. That's the point. They
weren't trying for Mulder," Dana explained, her face a frozen
mask. "They _meant_ to take you, Jake. Probably as a hostage."

     Events had happened so quickly that Jake hadn't put the
pieces together in that particular way before. How perfectly
ironic; Mulder had been mistaken for Jake Simmons this time. "And
instead of the fake they got the gold ring? Bet they were
surprised."

     He hadn't realized that he'd spoken aloud. If looks could
kill, Dana's chilly stare would have him six feet under the
Arctic tundra and still working his way through the permafrost
towards the warm place.

     
     Jake was relieved when Elliot and Lisa elected to remain
with the cart and the still recovering A.D. Skinner. All three
soon had cell phones to their ears, coordinating the search. Jake
walked quickly through the Disneyesque Haitian village, Dana only
a half step behind. He never knew what she thought of the place
because she didn't comment or even appear interested. Clearly,
her thoughts were far, far away.

     Since finding Skinner unconscious, they had been up all
night working on what could be done to find the fugitives before
they got their prize off the island. Elliot's minions were now in
place, searching. Jake was concerned that Dana had gone along
with his wild idea only because she had nothing else to do and a
body and mind that demanded that she still do something, but,
surprisingly, she hadn't scoffed at his suggestion. In fact, she
had accepted this avenue of investigation as, as likely to
succeed as any plan of the island's 'security' force and so here
they were. By the despair in her eyes, however, her hope for
Mulder's recovery by any method in the near future, wild or
otherwise, was nearly non-existent.
      
     After a few missteps on the only vaguely familiar paths,
Jake found the glade and his target. Madame Serena was
entertaining a group of enthralled clients with traditional
chanting and incense. This time the participants were also
required to partake of disgusting-looking, 'magical' foods that
resembled bleeding chicken hearts and dripping pig entrails. They
were, Jake knew, just fanciful concoctions from the Club's
inventive kitchens - or at least he hoped they were.

     "Madame Serena," Jake began bowing in ritual politeness,
though it was hard not to stare. The woman still appeared far
younger than her age though he sensed, with disappointment, that
there was no sign of Alex about her.

     She looked up from where she had been carving the 'chicken'
on a tree stump. Handing the gory knife to one of her attentive
'angels', she got gracefully to her feet and came to join Jake
and the ashen-faced, red-haired young woman who stood impatiently
at his side. Considering how firmly he and Mulder had been sent
away the last time he'd been there, he was relieved that the
woman's demeanor was so welcoming.
 
     As she approached, however, her smile faded as some of the
age and worry lines around her eyes reappeared. "You are
troubled," she said. "How can I help?"

     Jake's faint hope brightened ever so little. This had been
only a wild chance to begin with. With her offer of help maybe
this would work after all. 

     "How did you know? Did Alex tell you?"

     Serena shook her head, elaborately beaded deadlocks
swinging. "For those who would see, eyes are enough. Your other
self, the very sad and angry one, isn't with you and there is a
bond of grief and fear between you and this woman." Her eyes
fixed on Dana who was still as stone. "His absence is the reason
you are here. He is even more a part of her than he is of you.
His loss is like a wound."

      Jake's heart quickened. She had been able to read even more
than she had hoped. "You see clearly. Isaac, as he is known here,
has disappeared. No, worse than that; he's been taken, kidnapped,
by some serious and dangerous people. We're afraid for our
friend, for both his body and his soul." Jake stared into the
woman's face, still looking for some sign of Alex. "We've sent a
team out to search and guard the airstrip, others to the marinas,
but they've found nothing. They have a head start. Alex knew Fox
intimately - Fox is his real name. I hoped -" No one noted Dana
Scully shuddering at the 'intimately' part. "- I hope she can
help. I hope that she can touch him somehow and give us some clue
of where they're keeping him. At the very least, tell us how he
is."

     Serena's beautiful face lost some of its beauty as she
listened. He did not like the sadness he saw there. "If only I
could help, but I did not know him well enough. As far as asking
for Alexandra's assistance, you know her. Do you think that I can
command that one to do anything?"

     "Only yesterday you did."

     "Once, and only because it was her wish to come. She is free
now and stronger. She learned quickly."

     Jake grasped the woman's thin shoulders more roughly than
he'd intended. "Please. We have nothing - nothing! - and every
minute that passes takes him farther and farther from us."

     Though he must have been hurting her, she made not attempt
to move away. "Be calm. Anger helps no one. It is your fear that
makes you so. You know that I would help her if I could. I
repeat: Do you think that I can call her? Like a dog? Yes, she
came, curious for the new experience, but I've fed her on ghost
food since and revealed to her the gates to the spirit world that
she had failed to see for so long. That's where she is now,
communing with her brother dead and sister dead. She is coming to
realize that _these_ are her people and that their place her
place. That is what we both wanted, isn't it?"

     But not now! Jake thought in wild despair. Not this quickly.
 
     "Can you at least try?"

     As if there was nothing she could do and she meant to return
to her dreaming clients, the slender woman slid out from under
his hand. Only reluctantly did she pause, her eyes caught by the
sorrow on the faces of the two handsome young people before her.
One seldom saw such genuine emotion in this place.

     Her multi-colored robes rustled as she wavered. "Very well.
It will do very little good unless she's willing, but I can at
least try." 

     At that she raised her head and lifted her arms. In a very
short time, the forest began to stir. The high branches began to
bow and weave. For almost longer than Jake could bear, it was
like this and then the forest went back to sleep. Serena's thin,
bronzed arms dropped in weariness. 
     
     "She is far away and my ties to her are weak." Serena
examined Jake with a measured stare. "But she knew you long. She
knew the heights and the depths of you. You, she might listen
to." 

     His expression lightened at the possibility. 

     "But there is danger that way," she warned. "Both to you and
to her. She may not choose to bind with me when she comes, but
with you, and she may not be willing to leave next time. You take
the chance of her remaining with you forever and she is far
stronger and more formidable now than before. Certainly beyond my
skill to expel her if she does not wish to go. Having once tasted
spirit food and having nothing else, she may think your living
essence worth a taste. Do you think she was bound to you before?
Do you think you know what slavery is? With your spirit part of
hers, your body would become her puppet. There is a word for this
that you know but which Hollywood with its B-grade horror movies
have made almost a joke. That does not mean that it is not real.
That does not mean that it is not a dreadful thing. And her? She
would become a monster and not because her will is strong, but
because she is weak. Is this help you need worth the risk?"

     Pale, Jake glanced down at Dana at his side. Her head shook
very faintly. "Mulder doesn't think that I believe, but in my
five years with the X-Files I've seen so much that logic can't
explain. Don't try it, Jake. Mulder wouldn't want you to. Not for
him." 

     "Could I live with myself if I didn't? Besides, she never
hurt me before, at least not in any permanent way." Jake knew
that he spoke with more confidence that he felt. Considering the
empty way his heart had ached since Alex left him, he wasn't
certain about the no harm part. And would he have the will to let
her go the next time?

     Serena had suddenly gone still. Her head was raised as if
she were listening to a sound rising far off over the hills and
the roll of the sea. Her back stiffened. "It seems as though you
did not have to call for very long or try very hard." The woman's
rich voice was full of awe and more than a little fear. "She has
heard you already. She is coming."

     But to which one of us, Jake wondered, his lean body
suddenly tense and very cold. He watched Serena, waiting for some
sign from her or within himself. 

     Still he waited. 

     Then soft hands came around from behind him and covered his
eyes. Alex used to do that - when she lived.

End of Chapter 18
JAKE AND FOX JOIN THE CLUB (19/25)
by Wind (Windsinger@aol.com)  

Disclaimer: See chapter 1 

Chapter 19

     He whipped around which forced the soft hands from his face
and the blue eyes that sparkled at him were bright as stars. His
cry was like one an animal might make when it is mortally wounded
for no words could describe the revulsion he felt. He wasn't
repulsed by Alex who was, even now, only Alex - a selfish,
willful woman-child - but for what she had done. This strong,
fierce woman had had to bear too much already. Not this
sacrilege, too.

     Physically, there was very little of Alex in the beautiful
face before him except for the shining, seductive eyes. Without
Alex's influence they would never look on him the way they were.
And then, glowing on the surface of Dana's tired skin, there was
that radiance that came from neither sun nor moon. This was
Alex's will, Alex's desire. 

     Jake had seen Dana Scully glow with that energy only once
before. When he was still in Washington and recovering in the
hospital, Dana had come to visit and she was talking of Mulder
and for the first time since he had known her was neither 'on
duty' nor heartsick with worry over her partner's safety. She
must never have shown that side to Mulder or the man would have
bedded her long ago. So beautiful. That was how he knew that this
was Alex's doing. In her own mind, Dana would never shine this
way for Jake Simmons.

     Now with the island sun filtering fantasy-like through the
towering trees, Dana reached up to put her slim arms around
Jake's startled neck and draw him close into her warm embrace.
Swiftly, he thwarted the move, needing all his strength to trap
her arms at her sides.

     "Alex, no," he rebuffed, softly. "Not to her, not now. This
is not a part of the game."

     Dana leaned into him, sighing, the months of strain and
grief gone from her face. She was just a playful sex kitten who
would be more than willing to climb up into his lap. 

     She purred. "Fox is attracted to her. I thought you would
like her, too. He thought about her all the time back there when
we were together in that dark place. He cried for her to come to
save him but _I_ saved him."

     Jake struggled to breathe. Separating his head and his
friendship for Mulder from his heart and his hormones was going
to be hard. From the very first when he had woke nearly naked on
the examining table in the FBI clinic to find this woman
evaluating his injuries, he had been attracted to Dana Scully. At
the time he had yearned for her more than he thought he could be
attracted to any woman but Alex. But she had belonged to Mulder
then. Now, however, here she was. Pressed up against his body,
soft and warm between his hands, so eager...

     "No..." He forced himself to look into those eyes again to
find Alex there - and he succeeded. In fact, it was Alex who was
easy to see. Finding the terrified and revolted Dana Scully would
have been impossible if it had not been for the tears that began
to uncomprehendingly fill and spill over those shining, playful
eyes.

     "Alex, look at me. Look! This can't happen! Do you
understand!" He was so determined to get through that he actually
shook her. "Can you take just one moment from doing what _you_
want and pay attention to what's going on inside this poor woman.
She is in pain. She is grieving. Alex, Fox is gone, do you
understand! He's been taken from her, from all of us! That's why
we came - to ask for your help - not for this!" 

     From where he still had her arms trapped at her sides, a
hand slid along his flank, bare below the brief running short. 

     "Damn you, Alex!" he snarled, almost in tears himself. "Is
there any humanity left in you at all? Open your heart if not
your eyes!"

     Slowly... reluctantly... that damnedably irritating,
bewitching smile actually began to fade and even more
unbelievably, the slender form began to tremble in his hands.
Even aroused, Alex never trembled, she... undulated... but Alex
struggling with the unfettered hurricane of Dana's emotions
might.

     "I only wanted to please you," came the words in Dana's
voice but unlike any voice Jake had ever heard her use.

     Unexpectedly, they heard Serena's rich accent. "Then please
him. All Jake wants is for you to look within and feel this
woman's grief and then go out and find this Isaac, this Fox
Mulder whom you seem to know. Can you do that? Can you tell us
anything?"

     Time blurred. Dana's body was stiff at first and then she
slumped so completely that Jake had to catch her. At first she
only trembled and then she began to cry. Somehow, Jake found
himself on the ground with her wrapped in his arms and he was
comforting her, her crying like that of a lost child. There was
nothing left of Alex now, but there was also very little of the
Dana Scully he had known. Is was as if Agent Scully's thick
protective shell had been torn away and he were seeing this
woman's innermost self. He had expected to feel a frightened bird
in his arms, so fragile that his strength could crush her, but he
was wrong. He should have known. He should have expected that she
would be made of this silken steel. She could probably break his
arm in seconds if she tried. He'd have to remember not to make
this lady angry.

     She quieted and for a minute or more lay still in his arms
and that was when she began to cry again.

     "Shhh... what's wrong?"

     "Mulder... where is he?" 
     
     Confused, Jake answered, "I thought that what we were doing
here, to find out."

     She raised a tear-streaked face and went on as if she were
talking to someone far away. "Where have you taken him?" she
begged, softly. "Please, I'll give you anything." And other
murmurs, incomprehensible.

     She began to cry in earnest now, soon in great wrenching
sobs. Jake pulled her head down on his shoulder so he could
stroke her hair and rock her as if she were a lost child.
Suddenly though, she squirmed and broke out of his arms to crouch
just out of reach.

     "Who are you? You wear his face... but you aren't Mulder,
you never can be. Why are you here and he isn't?"

     Jake searched the fiery essence that huddled before him. He
tried to read the way she moved and the light in her eyes.
Despite the concern he felt there was also relief. No Alex. This
was just Dana Scully, then, her hidden soul turned inside out.

     "I almost had him back," she whimpered. "He must have been
just outside the door and I didn't know. I should have known."
Her hands reached out, empty. "Mulder... where.... Oh, my... h-
heart," the last word was almost a prayer. "What if I never see
him again? Are you all I'll have left of him, his shell?"

     Jake jerked as if she'd struck him. 'His shell?' As if he
were just a copy, a poor substitute, an image of no consequence
without a soul of his own.

     In that instant, without warning, she convulsed, going
rigid, those steel bands of well-turned muscle locking. Catching
her again, Jake noticed how huge and staring her eyes had become.
Was Alex returning from wherever she had been? Instead, Jake
found himself fighting a tiger for the woman had erupted like
some wild thing who had found some need to attack - or was she
reacting to _being_ attacked? But by who? He hadn't touched her.
     
     Jake rolled with her on the ground, trying to contain this
kicking, squirming fury for her own safety is not his own. At one
point they come far too close to the fire for his comfort. She
was clawing at him - in anger or for protection? 

     To protect his own face from her talons he found himself on
his knees, she under him on hers, his arms trapping hers again.
With a roar of anger she began to buck under him. Like an old
song known in the marrow of his bones, Jake was horrified to
recognize the rhythm of her struggles and the cry of genuine pain
that punctuated each surge of her locked muscles. 

     It was as if he were... And she was... 

     But he wasn't! He wasn't touching her at all like that!.

     As if she were on fire, he released her and scuttled away,
but her ancient dance didn't halt immediately as if she were
still being assaulted by unseen demons. Then just as if a door,
which had been open for a moment, had closed, she collapsed into
a small ball, her face in her dirt-stained hands. Just that
quickly she was that young child again sobbing out her broken
heart.

     He didn't hesitate to take her in her arms once more and
this time she didn't fight him. Instead she clung to him.
Unfortunately, he thought he knew what scene he had just
witnessed. He had had a taste of the phenomena himself. 

     When she had cried out the first flood of tears, he pushed
back a fall of damp red hair from her eyes. "Dana, listen. What
just happened... Was it like the attack I had on the ship when
Alex let me feel Mulder dying? Don't be afraid, tell me."

      "No." The word came out hard, in denial. "No. They
couldn't, they wouldn't, the animals... " She spat. 
     
     Jake shivered himself. "I think they did. I think they are.
Right now. What did you see, what did you feel?"

     His lips were tight for a long as if waiting for a wave of
pressure in his chest to subside "I didn't _see_ anything, but  I
_was_ him." Spasmodically, her fingers clutched at his T-shirt.
She'd been doing that. The thin fabric would probably have holes
by the time she was finished.

     "Whatever you remember, Dana, you have to tell us? It's all
we have."

     She spoke not to him but into the air as if she were still
'there'. Her eyes filled with tears again. "It hurt... so bad.
They've hurt him. You're right, they're hurting him still.
They've been coming at him for some time now, but he won't think
about that. His mind is his own for once. He almost wishes it
wasn't, but that's the way Forsyth wants it. A little punishment
for trying to escape them. He's thinking of - " Her eyes opened
wide in wonder. " - me. He's thinking of the first time we went
to the Antarctic. There was some creature, some worm, and one of
the team was infected and murdering the others and we thought it
was Mulder. We locked him in a storage room. No, _I_ locked him
in. He was so afraid, he thought it was possible. He thought he
could be the one. He was most afraid of what I would find when I
examined the back of his neck. We were relieved at my finding
nothing but that was not all he felt when I touched him. But he
never told me." Her lips arched in a uneven smile. "Instead, he
turned me around and examined _my_ neck. To touch me back. He
wanted to see if I was infected, but he also needed to see if
what he felt was real. He never told me about that either."

      Though she was much calmer, a tear rolled down her cheek.
It slowly followed the track so many others had taken. "He's also
trying to think of all the times I bandaged his hurts, and of the
time I bathed him when he had the fever and held him close in my
arms when he cried for his father. I didn't think he could
remember that. He's trying to keep from thinking of them touching
him the way they are by thinking of me."

     "Dana," Jake said urgently, "I understand how you want to be
with him, but the best way for you to help is for you to reach
out, not in. Do you have any clue of where he might be? In a
plane, in a cave? A tent? On a boat, near the shore? Did you hear
breakers? A jet engine? Boat engine? Did you notice the sound of
an air conditioning unit kicking in? He could still be in one of
the rooms of one of the hotels. Did you smell cut grass or the
sea or earth? Maybe that smell the beach has at low tide?"

     She was running her hands through her tangled hair, tangling
it further, senses focused on that other scene. "Oil? Diesel oil
and something else sweet and vile..." She jerked into alertness,
stabbing onto the memory. "That disinfectant they use in chemical
toilets!"

     Leave it to a forensic pathologist to get that detailed,
Jake mused.

     "And there are gulls..."

     Jake shook his head in frustration. On the island, there
were gulls everywhere. 

     "... and a rhythmic slapping... waves against the hull of a
boat? Yes, and the clink of the rigging. Now... and now.... and
now..." she chanted remembering.

     "A ship? Something with sails?" That hadn't been either
their first or second or third guess. Sailing ships were
comparatively slow. They had thought plane first, then someplace
still hidden on the island or a fast boat. "And do you sense only
a single boat? Not at a dock then? In the open ocean?"

     A jerk of her head. She was shivering again, convulsive
shudders running the length of that small body. The emotion of
the last few minutes had exhausted her remaining strength. She
was holding on now only by a thread. Her voice was so weak it was
almost like an echo. "F-Fog horn?"
 
     Jake tilted her chin to get her attention. "Foghorn? All
right, Dana, that's good. Now what can you see? Open your eyes."
     
     Sadly, she shook her head. "He won't open his. He doesn't
want to see or he can't..." she seemed to wilt right in his arms.
Jake didn't know what else to do. He couldn't bear to push the
poor woman any farther but would this be enough? "Dana, is that
all?"

     "Leave her be. It will have to be enough," concluded a deep
voice a few feet away. "A sailing ship and some sort of horn
nearby..." The voice trailed off.

     With a jerk, Jake stared up. He hadn't forgotten that they
were not alone, but he'd expected only Serena. Not Walter
Skinner. But there he was, looking more himself than on the trip
in the cart except for the eyes that seemed to have forgotten
what he had just said and were now wide and staring at something
over Jake's shoulder.


     Skinner was staring at Serena who was standing behind where
Jake sat. The bright cloth of her robes was billowing as if in a
wind though there was no wind. Her body had begun to swell, to
grow straighter, taller as it drew to itself a winding fog that
was coming up through the ground. Jake stared wildly around.
Without his noticing the glade had been plunged into a gloom like
that far after sunset. Meanwhile, Serena was turning as if in a
dance, stretching out strong arms. Placing Dana's slight, wounded
figure upright in Skinner's arms, Jake positioned himself between
them and this vision. The wind died and in the utter silence that
followed Jake stepped forward, a long-fingered hand stretched
tentatively forward to pluck at a dangling sleeve. Even he would
not touch that vaporous flesh. 

     The figure spun at his touch, the spin as light as air.
Mounds of dark hair spilled over strong, young shoulders. High,
firm breasts pushed against the thin woman's garments. And her
face... The face behind its mask of gray mist suggested great
beauty and passion, akin but totally different than what 'Dana'
had shown only minutes before.

     "Alex..." Jake murmured. 

     The figure smiled, a wild, unearthly smile, both carefree
and careless and cruel, and Jake found his eyes were altogether
hungry for the sight of her. Dana had been touched as if merely
veiled in the spirited ghost's nimbus. This, however, was all of
her - all he longed for so many months to be rid of but from
which he had found that he could not bear to part.
     
     
     Dana stirred. Within her she still held the precious memory
of Alex's terrible gift but it was fading like even nightmares
will. Soon she was standing on her own, her attention caught by
the man and woman slowly becoming wreathed in mist before her.
Instinctively, her hand reached down at her side to brush against
Mulder's hand - but she found only empty air. Then her heart
quickened in recognition at she looked more carefully at the man
before her. Though his back was to her she knew him. She knew the
width of those shoulders, the narrow waist and hips, the slender
strength of those long legs. It was the way he held his head,
however, that pierced the innermost part of her. And he was
moving toward rather than away from the woman's terrible, eternal
beauty like a moth to a flame. An image of Mulder walking into
danger, walking into wonder without her, filled her utterly.

     Then he turned and Dana felt her breath catch and hold.
There was no way she could rationalize the face of this man, so
filled with expectation and quiet joy, with the unbearable
torture she had felt coming from Mulder minutes before. At that
comparison all resemblance between the two vanished completely.
     
     This was Jake. Mulder was far away and moving farther from
her every second. But Mulder or not, this man still needed her
help. Someone, however, held her back as she unconsciously
stepped forward. 

     Confused, Dana looked up into the Skinner's strong face. It
was as calm and resolute as it was when he faced any crisis. The
fact that he was seeing a ghost, that he had witnessed and was
witnessing possession and an extreme form of paranormal 'sight',
didn't phase him in the least. But then Skinner had had more than
one experience with such things. On the battlefield, which is in
its way its own reality, he'd seen too many good and young men
die. He'd been critically wounded there, too, and been given an
all too-painful preview of his own passing on. That was also
where he had met his own succubus, now blessedly gone. So it was
possible - a man could rid himself of such things if he truly
wanted to.

     "Scully, wait. He needs to deal with this."


     Serena's bright garments seemed to have melted away, to
become no more than smoke. The image that was revealed was
exquisite. Jake found his skin drawn to that skin. His flesh
began to ache and then to burn in its desire to enwrap itself
within hers again. He had made that body sing once, moving under
his hand while it inflamed his mind and soul. He could do it
again. He could do it forever. Leave behind all the uncertainties
of life without her.

     Eagerly, the ghost opened its hungry arms wide to receive
him.

     "Don't, Jake," came Dana's voice. It was a living voice,
warm as a breeze. It even disturbed the curling, heavy fingers of
the mist. "We need you. Mulder needs you. Leave the dead for the
dead and the living for the living. It's not your time."

     He stiffened. Though his arms had been in the act of raising
to embrace his too-long dead lover, they slowly dropped to his
sides. Dazed, he stared from one pale woman to the other - one
living, one dead. Whose call was strongest? Instinct told him
that to walk within the circle of Alex's cold arms now would mean
the end of his existence as he currently knew it. He would be for
what was left of his life only her creature. Even what will he
had now would be gone. Afterwards, worn down, played out, having
been every man and woman's plaything even more than during these
weeks at the Club, then what? What happened to the husks of the
succubus' victims when their souls died? Would his body remain
bound to her as Serena had warned, a slave in fact as well as in
deed? 

     But if he understood Serena he wouldn't remember any of it
so at least there would be no pain. Not like now.

     Then there was Dana, her drawn, exhausted face, entreating
him to choose life. He knew why she cared. It was the physician
in her - life was her God - but for him was it worth it? She was
for Mulder and would always be, regardless of the outcome of
their search. Who was for Jake? Who was Jake anyway? Was it worth
the effort to reject Alex and find out? Did he really want to go
on alone?

     Alex's hand extended for him to clasp. 

     Just take it and be sucked into her for once and for all.
Jake looked from Alex's out-stretched hand to her face. It glowed
as bright as a star with eyes as seductive as a fairy queen's and
with a smile just that entrancing. She knew that at the moment he
was more than half inclined to join her. But how often had he
seen versions of that same face, on men and women, young and old,
even in his own mirror when she moved within him. She had not
been particularly selective.

     "Was it ever me you loved," he asked, "or was it only the
desire to be loved."

      And that was when she knew she had lost him. The eyes in
the borrowed face opened wide, became dark empty pools through
which one could see the stars if one so desired. At this moment,
however, they reflected only the most horrible sadness and fear.
He thought he heard a moan though it was more like a fading music
pushing against air than any real sound and her misty outline
glowed less brightly. So she was afraid of being alone, too.

     Dana's voice reached Jake again, gentle and calming and yet
as demanding of his attention as a blade. "Was she religious? She
fears hell. Some religions teach that suicides go to hell." 

     Dana addressed the faded spirit this time in a voice as
gentle as a spring rain. "Alex, there's no Hell to fear. Hell is
where you've been for the last two years," she explained
patiently. "It's time to move on now, that's all this is. And
it's not hard. I've been on the threshold once. Look around, do
you see a light? There is never any darkness there."

     The ghost seemed to hesitate. Certainly there was nothing
threatening about her now.

     "Go," Dana urged. "Don't be left outside alone again." 

     The figure swayed once again. It was hard to tell which of
the two was the most bereft.

     "What do you want, Alex? If you tell yourself that you are
staying for Jake, you are wrong. See where you have brought him.
He has nothing now, not even himself. Let him go free."

     Alex regarded the man but did move closer. Then her
attention went back to Dana. "I know it's hard," Dana said, the
understanding in her voice like balm. "You want to be with the
one you love yet sometimes it's impossible. I would give anything
to be with Mulder now, to prevent the agony you've shown me or at
least to share it, but I can't. So I have to let go and focus of
what is best for him, not what is best for me. All I can hope for
Mulder is that he have someone with him, someone who's on his
side, until I can get there. All you can hope for Jake is that he
finds someone else or, at the very least, find some peace within
himself." The two women regarded each other across versions of
reality that had as its common ground only love as eternal as the
sea. 

     But that was enough. 

     "That's really what love is," Dana said, "that despite what
you want, it is what is best for the other that counts. And
what's best for Jake, for you both, is that you move on."

     The wind began again. The tall coconut palms shook their
shaggy crowns. Serena's head didn't turn to look at Jake; but
Alex's did. They were truly separate now. Like a veil of finest
linen, the spirit's misty form lifted as if borne on wind from
the older woman's head and slender shoulders. For a moment it
hovered over where Jake stood.

     Eyes closed and without fear, Jake lifted his face to allow
one last vaporous tendril to brush his cheek. And then like dew
under a warm spring sun, the mist became fainter and fainter
until there was nothing left at all.

End of Chapter 19

JAKE AND FOX JOIN THE CLUB (20/25)
by Wind (Windsinger@aol.com)

See disclaimer in Chapter 1.

Chapter 20

     Mulder's breathing still wasn't back to normal. Certainly
his heart rate wasn't. After what he had just been through,
neither may ever be normal again.

     There was a term for what had been done to him, but even
rape was inadequate to describe this kind of violation of mind
and body and soul. He was still laid out on his stomach, his arms
stretched out and cuffed to the headboard. They hadn't tied his
ankles. There was no reason to. The stinking, sweating beasts who
had crawled up behind him one after another had trapped his legs
often enough. 

     With that disarmingly mild grin of his, Forsyth had begun
the proceedings by explaining how important it was that Mulder
meet each and every member of the yacht's all-male crew. After
all, Forsyth planned for them to be out of sight of land for
weeks and they'd all be running into each other so often. Even
though the "Ravish" was large for a sail-powered yacht, it was,
after all, just a ship. There would be no place to hide. It was
certainly a unique method of introduction considering that Mulder
saw little to none of their faces. It was easier to hide his own
in the thin pillow that reeked of the bile he had gagged up. That
way, they didn't see his either. 

     Now that he could finally catch his breath, Mulder
dispassionately searched within and with just as much detachment
noted that he felt no shame. This was torture, pure and simple
and Mulder had been tortured often enough in the past to know. It
was something you just endured and he had endured plenty - as Fox
the child and the adolescent and later Mulder, the professional,
had learned long ago.

     Of course, he could just be numb. It could all come back to
him later given the right trigger. That was certainly something
to look forward to.

     He noted that there was at least one significant difference
between the current party and the weeks he had spent at the
Caverns before Jake found him. He had been no kind of a
participant this time. No sparkling golden liquid. Is was also
too bad that the paralysis from the dart had worn off. Even
partial paralysis would have been welcome. There would have been
that much less of him that would have remembered being
'introduced' to Forsyth's crew. 

     Oh, he had tried. Part of the enduring torture was to
distance yourself and he'd managed to induce near catatonia until
Forsyth's physician, Dr. Stein, had intervened with one of his
stomach-churning potions. Not the Gold, just something to keep
him from regressing too far. Distraction then. Down to the
minutest detail, Mulder had relived every hopeless moment in his
life that had turned out to have a silver lining. More often than
not the 'silver' had red hair and cool, competent hands and the
quietness of silent, starry night about her.

     What depressed him the most was that in the future these
memories were all he would ever have of Scully. Smiling broadly
this time, Forsyth had made it clear that neither the combined
efforts of the FBI, nor some wandering long lost 'cousin', would
have the opportunity to pick up the pieces this time. Momentarily
clear-headed, Mulder had allowed himself an anger such as he had
seldom known before. He had seldom felt so alone, either, not in
his whole solitary life. Hard under those circumstances to keep
the anger from turning to despair. Such a fine sharp edge to
dance on. Luckily, Forsyth was there by the bedside through the
whole ordeal. He clearly wanted to see his Mulder's face as he
made the acquaintance of each new crewman. Of course, that meant
that Mulder saw Forsyth's as well which helped renew the rage
during the hours in which the man had processed one by one
through the cabin.

     Now they were alone again. Forsyth was sitting contentedly
on the edge of the bed, smoking his pipe. The sickeningly sweet
smoke was a cherry blend that Forsyth especially liked. Mulder
didn't remember many details from the 'before' time - before Jake
had raised him out of his drugged stupor - but he remembered that
Forsyth always smoked this blend, after he had played some
special attention to his favorite victim. 

     If he ever got free and even if he attended every rape
counseling course the FBI ordered, Mulder knew that it would be a
struggle not to commit serious mayhem if he ever caught anyone
smoking that particular blend in his presence ever again.

     Still facing his prisoner's bare and much-abused 'south'
end, the athletically built, white-haired man took a rather loud
and rather obnoxious puff and drawled, "Do you know why I like
you, Agent Mulder? You don't talk too much and yet you hate with
such pure abandon. Like the way you hate me now. If you had the
power to make me burst into flames and send my soul to hell, you
would do it. I don't even need to see it in your eyes or in the
set of that exquisite jaw of yours. It bleeds through your skin!
Did Agent Scully ever tell you how beautiful you are when you're
angry?" Forsyth paused while Mulder's eyes burned his effrontery.
With his arms still spread out towards the wall in their
restraints, it was hard to 'twist' his body around to glare at
this white-collar gangster. 'Twist' was not the first word that
came to mind. 
     
     Trying to think of a good retort, Mulder had to also reject
the first one of those to hover on his cut and bruised lips.
'Kiss my ass' would not have been the smartest of choices under
the present circumstances. A certain white-haired sadist would
undoubtedly take it as a come on and Mulder didn't want to give
that bastard any ideas. Mulder was weary to death of being
drugged and poked and whipped and invaded. His body bled inside
with such a deep and intimate, tearing pain. Could such a depth
of hurt ever heal?

     "No, I guess she never did tell you about how savagely
magnificent you can be. Pity. You two just never talked about the
important things in life, did you?"

     "Is this some new kind of torture? Talking a man to death?"
Mulder was shocked by the broken croak that was all that was left
of his voice. When had he screamed so? Considering the screaming
his body was doing now as he tried to move it even a little into
an less vulnerable position, he must have done quite a bit over
the last few hours and often.

      The cracked words came out slow but slightly stronger the
second time around. "I had a few minutes with A.D. Skinner before
we were so pointedly interrupted. He told me a little about this
crime that I was supposedly witness to. You have the wrong man, I
wasn't there. I can't tell you a thing, I never could."

     Forsyth took another puff on the pipe, even going so far as
to change his position so that the smoke drifted across his
prisoner's face. "Oh, we figured that out long ago."

     They knew?

     "Then why keep on? I was too drugged for any testimony of
mine to hold up in court. You never would have been convicted."

     "True, true." A well-manicured hand slid over firm buttocks.
A shiver a revulsion flowed over Mulder's muscles despite their
owner's commands to lie still. He didn't need Forsyth to
misinterpret such trembling as arousal. Too late. There was
amusement and satisfaction in the man's voice when he spoke
again. "We admit we made a mistake there but at the time the boys
needed practice in their interrogation techniques and you were
such a tough nut. Perfect. You were so angry and so delightful in
other ways. And that was even before the 'Gold'. Surprised us
there. You have the most amazing sensitivity to the stuff. I
cannot tell you how pleased my guests have been."

     Mulder let that pass without comment. What could he say? To
his regret, it was probably true. 

     "Why are you letting me see your people?"

     "Do you mean that now I'll have to kill you? Oh, what a
waste that would be. We are letting you see us now and we are
telling you what you've been told before - but which you've
obviously forgotten - in order to fuel that anger of yours. I
have a feeling that you're going to need hate over the next
couple of days - that is, if you want to live - and I do so want
you to live. I've bought an island of my own, did I tell you?
Half a world away. My own little pleasure palace where you are to
be the star. Your own ivory tower. 'Yours' meaning you'll be on
the inside. Always. And it won't be a public place like the Club.
I won't make that mistake again. Just my staff and a few special
clients of my own. And your friends will not find it. Not this
time. Not ever." 

     Reflectively, Forsyth rested his fine, slender white fingers
on his chin as he thought. "Bright jewel though you may be, I
think I'll need to expand the selection. Variety, you know. This
'cousin' of your, for example. Not a lot of variety there except
in quantity, of course, but very intriguing. And he's well-
trained or so I hear, unlike you, my angry one." 
     
     Mulder's legs were curled at the moment, allowing him to
make of himself an awkward, semi-protected ball of naked arms and
legs up against the headboard. He considered lashing out with
those legs and kicking the bastard, but he'd only be punished for
it. Forsyth seemed mild but he had a temper and there were
sufficient sharp objects around the room to do considerable
damage and Mulder hurt quite enough at the moment. 

     His own hesitation worried him. Was this just the beginning
of more compromises to come? If Forsyth had his way, maybe over
the months and years he had before the bastard grew tired of
tormenting him he'd become a right proper little mongrel. Would
he learn to come when called with his tail between his legs?

     Whip me again, Master. Fuck me again.

     Seriously frightened by the direction his tired mind had
turned, Mulder shook his head violently to clear it.

     None of that. No giving up. He couldn't be completely beyond
help. He had been unconscious only a few hours, a half-day at
most, and they were traveling on some large sail-rigged craft.
How many miles could such a ship travel in that kind of time,
even when as large as this elegant creation?

     Mulder wanted to ask about Skinner's fate... and Scully's...
and how they had gotten him out of the hotel once the dart hit.
But that wouldn't do any good since he could never believe the
answers. No, just cling to the belief that help was coming. Even
if it took three months or three years, he would never give up on
those two. And then there was Jake. Forsyth hadn't meant to allow
him any kind of hope but the slip that his 'cousin' was alive
meant much.

     There was one thing he could ask. "So are you going to tell
me why I'm going to need so much anger over the next few days?" 

     Forsyth raised an eyebrow and unwound himself with an agile
strength from the bed to move into Mulder's line-of-sight.
"You'll figure it out for yourself before so very long so I'll
tell you this much: Your friends are coming." Forsyth raised a
hand. "No, don't ask who, I won't tell you. You only need to know
that they seek to remove you from my loving care and I'd really
hate to lose you again. But we are on a boat, as you've probably
noticed, so my options on how to keep you safe are limited. I'm
afraid there will be some risk." 

     "Ever think of trying out for the part of the evil villain
in B-Grade movies?" Mulder snarled. "You've got the evil grin
part down flat. Do you have an insane laugh as well?"

     Forsyth's mouth stretched into a real grin. "I must remember
when this little crisis is over, not to keep you drugged so much
of the time. You have quite the artful tongue. Maybe I'll even
get the chance to wash it out with soap. That would be novel, but
there's no time now."

     Face masking over into something more serious, Forsyth
clicked his elegant fingers. There was a noise and movement
outside. In a few seconds, a muscular crewman appeared. He filled
the small cabin. Mulder did not like the knowing leer on his
face. A second man was hidden by the first. He came into view
now. Mulder knew that face, that affected, elegant posture. It
was fair-haired Keith, Forsyth's constant companion, his
secretary, and his aging "boy". The blond one had once been
slender but had begun to broaden with middle age. His expression
upon seeing Mulder was one of only thinly veiled hostility.

     "Take our new cabin boy up to the deck and get him ready.
I've had news. We're going to need to implement our little
contingency plan sooner than I expected.

     There was nothing Mulder wanted more than to fight, but he
didn't have a tenth the strength he would need to put up even a
laughable defense especially against the big brute. After the
restraints were removed and the muscle-bound crewman and Keith
hauled his limp body off the bed, he sagged to a humiliating
puddle on the floor, his only view that of three sets of
boatshoes. He was carried out of the cabin, slung like a sack of
grain between the two crewmen. Compared to the stench inside the
closed cabin, at least the air on deck was blessedly fresh and
clean. Only the all-invasive smell of diesel fuel for the backup
engine soured the affect. 

     The blond one carried his feet. As the tropical sun hit that
thinning hair and that scowl, Mulder felt a sick, stirring of
memory. Now he remembered where he'd seen both men before. They
are been part of the team who had accompanied him to the island
to start with. Dr. Stein had inserted the implants into the
muscle of his inner thigh on that memorable inbound flight. The
numbing drug that sapped his will had been is constant companion
for the next three months. A cool, efficient woman had
accompanied them on that trip as well. 

     Though his mind was hazy when it came to 'Gold' parties over
the following weeks, he remembered she had been present often
because she was the only woman he had seen other than the Cavern
staff. Surprisingly, she had been almost kind - when she wasn't
being watched. He also remembered her still, staring face. One
weekend a lot of drugs had flowed and not all into him. She had
O.D.'d. Without a second thought, Forsyth had had her wrapped in
a sheet and carried off to his private jet by two of the laughing
party-goers as if she were just some stupid, drunk broad. No
doubt her body was dumped over the ocean on the jet's way back to
the mainland. 

     That would likely be his fate when Forsyth became bored.
Like he with Samantha, Scully would never know.

     Mulder's dizzying passage across the deck suddenly stopped
and he was dropped quite unceremoniously. Since he was still
naked in every way, the deck paint, which was mixed with sand for
traction, scraped his skin. The big crewman disappeared and
returned momentarily with a black wetsuit. Instantly, Mulder had
images of a kind of play he'd only heard about and had no
interest in learning more. Leaning against the rail, the blue of
the ocean and gleaming brass of the railing making his pristine
tennis whites sparkle, Forsyth puffed on his pipe. His amused
smile indicated that he had read his victim's thoughts

     "I do like the way your mind turns, Agent Mulder, but
there's not time for that now. Maybe later."

     Snarling, Keith now approached with what looked like an
oxygen bottle and a mask - and the cuffs again. The crewman with
the wetsuit laid it out on the desk. Unzipping it, he stepped
back clearly impatient for Mulder to crawl in. 

     "Yes, that's for you. Get in now like the nice obedient
bitch you've been taught to be and don't make trouble. We are in
a hurry and if you don't comply Samuel here will have to force
you and may just break something in the process."

     Forsyth still leaned against the rail, his expression far
from playful now. The man meant business. Meanwhile, Keith and
Samuel went about making other preparations, but they were
clearly eager to provide any muscle Forsyth required.
Reluctantly, Mulder reached for the gleaming black garment.

     Wetsuits are hard enough for a healthy person to don and
Mulder's muscles were still weak as water. In the end he had to
accept help. To his surprise, Samuel possessed a reasonable level
of dexterity. He nearly unhinged Mulder's right elbow but that
was all. There were boots and a head covering and gloves all in
the same basic black. Very soon, every inch of Mulder's skin was
covered except for his face, but there was no sign of flippers or
the traditional facemask and regulator. His gloved hands were
cuffed behind his back. No one spoke to him. He waited.

     Whatever they were going to do, Mulder wished they would
hurry. The sun was hot and he was beginning to definitely wilt
from the heat. A third crewman brought him a sports bottle with a
flexible tube. The bottle was filled with some clear liquid.
Mulder refused.

     "It's just water and I'd advice that you drink as much as
you can hold," Forsyth said. "You may not get any more for some
time."

     Not liking the sound of that and deciding that he had more
to gain than lose, Mulder sucked on the tube and drank. Though
warm and flat, the wetness did feel good in his parched mouth and
going down his sore throat. As he drank, a cargo net was laid on
the deck and yet another member of the crew rolled forward a
large blue barrel and positioned it over the net. The ship came
equipped with a large swinging arm, which it probably used to
bring supplies up from the dock. It was swung over near the
barrel ready to pull up net and barrel, contents and all - and
place it where?

     The fear infusing every inch of Mulder's exhausted body did
a pretty good job of churning up the water in his stomach as if
it was being whipped by a typhoon.

     Hand to his ear, Forsyth was listening to someone over his 
cellphone. "Let's close it up, boys," he said at the end of the
call. "No more time."

     The top came off the barrel like the lid of an oatmeal box.
Keith and Samuel picked Mulder up as if they were huge children
and he just a toy they needed to put away. Mulder's long legs
went down into the barrel, but they had to be folded. While he
still sat upright, they strapped a full mask tightly over his
face. It covered from chin to eyebrows. Tubing ran from the mask
to the bottle compressed air. Both tubing and bottle were tossed
in onto Mulder's lap. Finally, they forced his head down just to
make certain there was room for the lid to close. Uncomfortable
did not begin to describe the condition of his twisted body;
terror did not begin to describe his surging helplessness. Like a
geyser capped by a stone, the pressure would have to go
somewhere, sometime. 
     
     Forsyth came to look down at him. There was another man at
his side. An older, gray man whose hands were coldly familiar.
Ah, yes, Dr. Stein. Forsyth dropped what looked like a radio into
the barrel. 

     "Homing beacon. Scrambled frequency. You'd better hope that
we're in a position in come back to pick you up or you're going
to be down there for a very long time. You're awareness of time,
however, will be finite. After about twelve hours you're going to
cease to care." Forsyth rested his elbows on the rim and smiled.
"You look like death already, Agent Mulder. Sweating a bit, are
we? Don't worry, I'll be back as soon as I can, if I can. Like I
said, I really don't want to lose you. You know the law, though,
so you understand about Habeas Corpus and can appreciate my
position. If there's no body, they can't prove a thing. Besides,
maybe you'll be more cooperative when we uncork you. Until then,
however, Dr. Stein here will give you something to occupy your
mind." Forsyth looked over at the older man at his side. "Give
him a nice big dose, John."

     Canyon-sized wrinkles on the sides of the doctor's mouth
deepened. "Hold him still," he murmured. 

     Mulder couldn't move but seeing the syringe coming his way
filled with the sparkling, golden liquid, he certainly tried.
Every muscle he had erupted in total panic but by then two pairs
of hard seaman's hands had reached in and were holding him down.
One hand lightly covered with red blond hair, roughly pulled his
head to the side, while the other stretched the neck of his hood
so that the doctor could get to one of the huge neck veins. 

     The needle must have been blunted. It felt like a knife
sliding under his skin. The fluid burned like fire. It was so bad
that Mulder didn't even notice when the hands disappeared. He did
notice, however, when the lid came down. In an instant he was
enfolded as totally in blackness as he was in pain. 

     At least he was finally had some privacy. The first he'd had
since Jake had awakened him back in the Caverns. Maybe too alone,
however. In addition to himself, his world contained only one
little green star in his world, the little green activation light
on the homing device that lay in his lap next to the oxygen
bottle. The little lime-green star blinked slowly on and off in
his personal light. 

                         * * * * * * * *

     Jake struggled with the map of the island as Elliot drove
like a mad man. Everyone clenched their teeth, said their prayers
and clung to their seats but no one told him to slow down.

     "Where's this lighthouse?" Skinner asked, his voice raised
to be heard over the noise of their passage.

     Elliot took his eyes off the narrow road just long enough to
point to a spot on the map out in the ocean. "There's a string of
small atolls in this area - shallow water and some reef. It's not
much of a lighthouse but there is a beacon to warn the ships. It
is right on the heading most of the cruise ships use when they
come from the mainland to the island. Yes, and they do have what
you Easterners would call a foghorn. They activate the thing
every time a ship of any size comes or goes. For those who have
been to the island before it's become a landmark. The sound sort
of gets the juices flowing."

     "And it's the only one like this?" Skinner asked.

     Elliot nodded. "The only one."
     
     "You've got your people on their way?"

     "Some are already there."

     "They'll wait for us though?"

     "Absolutely. They're tracking all the ships in the area for
us and they have a fast boat waiting for us. Forsyth won't get
away."

     Skinner glanced over at Scully. She was as white as a he'd
ever seen her. She took no comfort in Elliot Slater's words.
Things could go so wrong. Maybe Mulder had been taken off board
already. Sailboat owners often kept swift little powerboats
onboard or towed behind. Forsyth had sufficient resources that he
could call in a helicopter if he felt threatened. He could even
have leased a submarine complete with crew, what with the
Russians being desperate for American dollars. 

     Or maybe all he had to do was catch his prey up in his arms
and vanish back into hell where he came from.

End of Chapter 20
JAKE AND FOX JOIN THE CLUB (21/25)
by Wind (Windsinger@aol.com)

Disclaimer: See chapter 1 

Chapter 21

     The barrel floated. In fact it floated too well. It bobbed
like a cork, pitching and yawing and rolling on the restless sea.
In addition to all his other reasons for panic, Mulder came up
with a new one as he braced himself inside his bottle. What if he
got seasick and threw up into his facemask? With no use of his
hands he wouldnŝt be able to clear the mask. He could aspirate
the vomit. He could die pretty horribly. That was the tenth
pretty horrible death that had come to mind in the last five
minutes.

     Five minutes? It already felt like five hours. He'd
unconsciously learned to keep tell time by the blinking green
light, however, and it had been only five minutes.

     The movement had been bad enough when the boat's cargo arm
first hoisted the barrel up off the deck. Mulder had left his
stomach behind then. Still reeling from the terror of having
Stein's needle jabbed into his neck, the frightening jerk and
swing had come as a shock. Then the barrel had begun swinging in
its sling. That jerky flying must have happened when the cargo
arm swiveled out over the sea. That had been far worse. 

     Then the cargo net lowered and the barrel struck the rolling
surface of the sea. There was no mistaking air for water. Mulder
held his breath expecting to feel the gush of cold salty water.
With his luck the thing would leak, but as completely encased in
the wet suit as he was, he couldn't feel any wetness except for
the sweat running freely inside his suit. At least he couldn't
hear any trickling but then with all the noise from the slapping
of the water against the plastic sides of his barrel, he couldn't
have heard a kitchen faucet turned on full.

     At least in that respect, they had sealed his cask
correctly. Still, such things had been used as coffins before.
They used to bury primitive men in clay jars. 

     Mulder sometimes wished he was not so well read.

     A new sound. Something sliding over the top of what was
probably 'up' but because of the rolling was to Mulder closer to
being over his right shoulder. The rolling stopped. The up...
down... slide right... slide left... dip lessened significantly,
then lessened even more and finally stopped except for a gentle
sort of sway. A little while later and with his head feeling
tight, Mulder released his held breath. His ears popped. 

     Somehow they'd gotten the buoyant barrel to sink. They must
have attached weights to it somehow. That was a little detail
Mulder had hoped they had forgotten. It would have been hard to
miss a bright blue cask bobbing on the surface of the gray sea.
His stomach appreciated being below the raging top layer of
ocean, however. 

     The cask sank and sank. Then came a pause, then a shift to
the right, then a movement left and scratching sounds. Someone
was outside or more than one someone. Late in the preparations,
Keith and Samuel as well as two others had been moving about the
deck in diving gear. Mulder sensed them maneuvering his coffin
into place. They took their time. They had clearly wanted it just
so. 

     Finally, they must have had it where they wanted it because
all movement ceased. Mulder's barrel was anchored... somewhere.
By the pressure in his ears and in his chest, he wasn't too deep.
Thirty feet maybe. Maybe forty.

     Someone rapped on the side of the cask. What was that for?
To see if he was still alive? Did they really care? It was like
the tolling of a funeral bell. Mulder debated whether to signal
back but finally managed to use his knee to tap the tiny oxygen
cylinder very carefully against the side. It made a dead sound.
There came several more rapid taps from outside and then -
nothing except for the strong but erratic beat of his heart.

     Mulder waited, his body tense for - something. He had nearly
convinced himself during the descent that this was all just a
scare tactic of Forsyth's to get him to sit up and beg. If so it
was certainly effective. Mulder had already shed about a hundred
scruples about what he would or would not do to Forsyth when he
got the sadistic bastard alone. About half his fantasies involved
killing the slime in about the messiest, most agonizing way
Mulder could think of which at the moment was pretty bloody
nasty. 

     The other half involved doing exactly what Forsyth wanted
him to do, probably for the rest of his life, if only the monster
would let him out of here. Paralyzing terror can do that to a
person. Mulder licked his lips and tasted sweat and blood. When
had he bitten his lip or was he even now gnawing them raw?

     Was this all a method for demanding a little obedience or
was this just a particularly hellish way of committing murder?
Either reason seemed extreme 'to the max' but Mulder hoped it was
the former because despite the bleakness of his future, even if
it were Forsyth who came back to pull the cork on the bottle,
Mulder wanted to live. While there was life there was still hope
of escape. Perhaps even of rescue - again.

      Mulder lay on his side where he had finally come to rest.
As eternity in the absolute silence lumbered on. He counted the
little green light and tried to breathe very, very slowly. The
light seemed to blink every two seconds. After three hundred and
fifty blinks, without a sound, without a hint of movement, with
the combined mass of the water above and the earth below crushing
in on him, Mulder realized that this was no simple scare tactic.
Forsyth might have been telling the truth. It looked like they
weren't coming back, at least not until it was safe to do so. If
Skinner and Scully accosted Forsyth, Mulder realized that he
might as well not waste he energy worrying. They would come
sweeping down on Forsyth's ship and they wouldn't relent for such
a little thing as not actually finding his body. They certainly
wouldn't leave the man free to retrieve his blue barrel and all
it contained as he skipped out of town.

     I'm going to die here. 

     Forsyth would not be coming back, certainly not in time. In
his arrogance Forsyth was prepared to hide behind Habeas Corpus
but Skinner would find some charge to hold the millionaire on.
Scully would sit on the man's chest and claw out his throat with
her nails before she would let his ship go.

     Oh... Scully....

     The thought of her brought up another reason for Mulder to
stop worrying about Forsyth and dying. There was this other
distraction. His heart rate was no longer twice the beat of the
little green metronome; it was more like three times and rising.
His temperature was rising too, his skin beginning to burn and
itch like fire inside his black seal-like skin. The sweat poring
into his eyes felt like acid. His blood was boiling. They had put
him in the suit to keep him from freezing. Maybe it would grow
cold in here in time but it wasn't now.

     He was cooking. He had managed to ignore what the 'Gold' was
doing to his body when there had been so much going when, when he
had been compiling his twenty ways to die. Now with his options
much reduced - there it was. His very own personal devil. 

     Get ready to rock and roll, Fox.

     How? With whom? His crotch was already getting awfully
tight. He shouldn't have thought about Scully sitting on
Forsyth's chest ripping his throat out. That wasn't like her.
She'd just shoot the bastard in a painful and vital spot.

     No, the positioning had been the Gold's doing. Erotic
really. The next few minutes were going to be so very
interesting. After that he knew from experience that he wouldn't
remember much. Just as well. The problem was the 'Gold' demanded
that his body respond, that it do something that usually involved
ravishing other people or at the very least ravishing oneself.
The torture Forsyth had devised may just back fire. Encased in a
skintight wet suit, his hands bound, there was no room to move.
No way to release the sexual tension that was boiling up like a
volcano inside him.

     Ah, another reason not to waste his time worrying about his
future. Even if they did get around to opening the cask before he
died of hypoxia or hypothermia, they would most likely only
recover a madman. 

     Best then that they not bother to come at all. 

                         * * * * * * * *

     The rescue team boarded 'The Ravish' accompanied by six of
the Elliot's personal security guards. These were nothing like
the little man who had come to Dana's room with concerns over
being unable to rouse Skinner. These were commandos - young,
muscular, stern, and gorgeous men who wielded their rifles with
skill. The fact that they probably had other duties besides
playing Arnold Schwartzenager didn't mean that they didn't know
their job. They would have been an effective deterrent if Forsyth
and his crew had given any kind of resistance. Unfortunately for
Dana's strung out nerves, Forsyth gave them absolutely no excuse
for pulling out the rough stuff.  

     There was no immediate sign of Mulder either. 

     "Move!" Skinner barked to his temporary army, his voice
still weak from the paralysis but with command enough. "Search
this tug. I want Agent Mulder found. And God help you," Skinner
growled threateningly to Forsyth, "if that man dies, you'll
answer to _me_ and that's will be a hundred times worse than any
devil you can conjure up."

     Forsyth didn't flinch. He remained as calm and aloof the way
only the rich and powerful can. Clearly, he was confident that
they wouldn't find anything. 

     They didn't and they looked everywhere - cabins, closets,
the cargo hold, equipment lockers. They found nothing. In the
cargo hold there were two dozen large, blue, man-sized barrels
and each one was opened. About half contained the expected
supplies for a long voyage, tools and foodstuffs, second and
thirds of every one of the ship's critical parts. The other
half...

     Dana stared at a chandelier packed in red, silk sheets.
 
     Forsyth coughed behind her. "Household articles," he
explained, languidly. "I'm setting up a new place." If so, the
new place would have rich and gaudy furnishings indeed. Working
together, Jake and Elliot found a barrel of the adult 'toys' such
as were found in only the most elaborate Club rooms.

     "Definitely not your run of the mill little weekend vacation
cabin," Elliot murmured. The fact that they found four large
animal carriers in one of the staterooms also raised everyone's
blood pressure. Two housed huge, ferocious guard dogs. In the
third crate dozed a beautiful young woman with empty eyes. She
wore a sleek fake fur jump suit, with tail, and a thick
rhinestone dog collar. By her own admission she was not being
held against her will. Her cage could even be opened from the
inside. 

     Bile rising in his throat, Jake rushed to the fourth cage,
but it was empty. Empty, that is, except for a blindfold, cuffs,
and gag such as the Club used. Jake felt some huge indescribable
emotion hunker down to sit on his chest. He showed Skinner but
not Dana what he had found. It was bad enough that an unconscious
or semi-conscious Mulder had probably been brought onto the ship
at all. The only thing worse than being delivered on board in
such an ignominious fashion was the fact that Mulder was no
longer there. Without a word, Skinner taped the box in yellow
police tape. They might need trace evidence yet.

     After an hour of frantic searching revealed nothing, they
began again, only more meticulous this time. This time there was
a lot of measuring and looking for secret compartments. Skinner
even had the two huge dogs pulled out of their carriers to check
to see if either of the carriers had a false back. One did and
they wasted minutes only to find that it only contained dog food.
Forsyth shrugged innocently and went back to his Manhattan ice
tea. The compartment was probably quite an effective place for
passing illegal substances through customs but too small for
anything but a child. 

     It was hot on the deck of the schooner and Jake sweated, but
as one hour slipped into two and then passed, he realized that
there was something wrong that had nothing to do with the sun and
the heat. He was near the bow and had been searching around and
inside a half dozen of the blue plastic barrels that were being
stored near the two inflatable lifeboats. Over the last few
minutes he had felt some unexplainable anxiety settle over him.
It was as if he were being watched. Without any more warning than
that he began to feel ill. He flashed hot and then cold and then
both at once. There was an odd tightness in his chest and he
couldn't seem to catch his breath. And then there was this
overall jumpy, nervous feeling as if hundreds of restless bugs
were crawling about inside his skin. Like a ravaging flu, the
sickness spread so rapidly that he felt too awful, too quickly to
even ask for help and then it didn't matter. He really didn't
want anyone. As if he were some wounded animal, he just wanted to
be alone. Someone must have seen him seek the cool, private
darkness out of the sun, under the gangway; however, otherwise,
Dana would not have found him until much later.

     She called his name but he didn't respond. He just huddled
into a tighter ball in the corner, his arms limp at his sides and
his head on his raised knees. It felt as heavy as lead and he
found that he didn't have the strength to lift it. More
disturbing than the sweats and the chills and the weakness, there
was this breathing problem. He couldn't seem to be take in 
enough air, The harder and faster he tried, however, the worse he
felt. Dizzy now, too dizzy to stand and try to work out the
shakes. If he had been able to think, he might have wondered
where this illness had come from but thinking wasn't an option
given to him. It was all he could do just to endure the anxiety
and dread that burned through every aching nerve in his body.

     For some unexplainable reason he was dying. In the weeks
just before he had found the Club, he would not have minded
dying, but now he didnŝt have the luxury. This pale-faced woman
who leaned over him and placed her cool hand against his throat
to find a pulse needed him. And Fox, his strange other self,
needed him. It was all Jake's fault that Mulder had once more
been captured by his enemies.

     Those cool hands were on his forehead now, now rolling him
onto his side. A firm but gentle voice commanded him to relax but
it was as if his muscles had hardened into stone. All he could do
was stay curled like a terrified child, his sight darkening now,
sound fading away.

     He felt the footfalls through the deck against his back.
Running steps. Someone brought blankets. Their rough wool
scratched the bare skin of his arms and legs. They put a paper
bag over his nose and mouth and told him to go ahead and breath
now. Stupid, he was breathing! As if his very life depended on
it, he was breathing! He would have pushed the bag away but he
couldn't lift his arms. 

     "Jake, you have to calm down." The voice was so faint, so
far away. 

     Calm down? Between one breath and the next he was dying, how
could she expect him to calm down!

     Ever darker now. And quieter. And very cold. The hard deck
of the ship - gone. The roughness of the blankets - gone. Even
_she_ was far, far away. Unable to reach Mulder, unable to help
as Mulder had come to his aid, Jake's world focused down to just
the crying of the blood in his veins and the frantic, galloping
beat of his heart. Then there was the dark, the eternal night.
Black except for one tiny green light, his star, which blinked
with agonizing slowness on and off in the velvet cold.

     He didn't want to die, certainly not this way. Not gasping
and salivating like some rabid dog, every nerve burning with such
a searing heat that there should be flames, an inferno of flames,
but there was only that one tiny light... He shivered deep with
the cold. Maybe not burning as much as he had thought at first.
The thin air and the creeping cold had smothered most of the
heat.

     This was no the way to die. He had always believed that he
would die in battle, the solid weight of his raised weapon in his
hand as he guarded her sprint for cover from the corner of his
watchful eyes. That was when he would feel the red-hot iron tear
through his body; a heartbeat later, the ground flying up to
greet him. It would be that quick. Maybe a moment to say good-
bye, to know she was safe and regret all that had been left
unsaid. The feel of her loosening his fingers to remove at the
last the weapon from his senseless hand. 

     Blue eyes, pale face, leaning over him.

     Wait... His 'weapon'? Gun battles? Blue eyes filled with
tears... for him? And... a voice. Her voice?

     "Jake? You coming back to us, Jake?" 

     Like a jar full of sand suddenly broken at the base, the
terrible tension flowed out of him.
     
     He was sprawled on his back, limp as a rag doll now, the
sense of being 'bottled' in far too small a space - gone. The
stabbing cramps in his arms and legs, however, seemed worse. Bit
by bit the darkness and the cold were receding as were the
strangling tightness in his chest and the fire in the marrow of
his bones. Even his frantic heartbeat had slowed if only a
little.
     
     "I thought we had lost you." 

     Scully... Lucky Mulder to have her to wake up to.

     No, not Lucky Mulder. No, there was very little lucky about
that man. Cursed rather.

     Jake tried to rise, but her small, strong hand on his
forehead held him down. 
     
     "No, stay where you are. Have you ever had an anxiety attack
before? Or asthma?"

     All Jake could manage was to allow his head to lull slowly
back and forth on the hard desk of the ship. 

     Ship?

     Jerking upright despite her firm hand, he desperately sought
her wide eyes.

     "Anxiety, yes, but it wasn't mine. You don't want to know
whose."

     While she was taking this in, Jake staggered to his feet,
only managing to stay upright by clutching her slender, strong
shoulder. The sense of his torture was fading, becoming less and
less a part of his blood and bone. There remained, however, a
single thread of brightest gold that was attached to him still
and that stretched out, over and - finally in the far distance -
under the blue-gray sea. 


     
     A half-hour later, Dana was pacing the deck. She was still
wearing her shorts and T-shirt from earlier in the day, but
strapped to her back was an air tank and dangling from one
shoulder the hose and mouthpiece. Her flippers and mask were
piled near the deck waiting for her. The team wore no wet suits
because the water was warm and shallow here close to this reef
that the little lighthouse guarded. They didnŝt expect to be down
very long either. From what Jake had felt, there was simply too
little time remaining for a lengthy search. 

     Similarly attired, Jake was a lonely figure forty feet away
out on the bowsprit. The ship was silent except for the slap of
the waves against its hull as it plowed under full sail through
the waves. 

     In the same bathing trunks and muscle shirt he had worn when
he had first greeted Mulder, Skinner came to his agent's side, a
sheen of perspiration on his face. "Anything?"

     "Nothing yet except for lot of hand signals to the
steersman." Both gazed towards the solitary figure going through
who knew what up at the bow alone. 

     "Considering all you and Mulder have seen together, what do
you think?" 

     "I know only what Jake has reported. He says that his attack
was Alex sending him a sign. That she joined he and Mulder the
same way that she had joined Mulder and I this morning. I know
what I felt then, sir. It _was_ Mulder."  Dana knew that she had
spoken too quickly, that her voice had been too strident, but she
had long past given up caring how professional she sounded or
acted.

     "If equally true of Mr. Simmons..." Skinner began.

     Dana stared out over the hundreds of miles of featureless
gray ocean. "Then Mulder is dying out there somewhere."

     As if to give comfort, Skinner moved closer but still did
not touch her. She had worn armor for every minute of three
months. It had cracked for a few hours, a day, but now it was
back again. "Though it's clearly not a simple matter, Jake
Simmons thinks he can find the place." 

     "I know, and yet I can't help but ask: Are our hands so
empty that this is the only tool we have? Spiritualism?"

     "Would Agent Mulder put his trust in such methods to find
you? You know that he would."

     Skinner leaned his back against the rail and observed
Forsyth's men moving around the ship. Their eyes went often to
one or more of the machine guns that Elliot's men held at the
ready and in plain sight but their eyes also traveled elsewhere.
Restless. "There's definitely something here, Agent Scully.
There's no doubt in my mind that they had him. Ever since Simmons
began 'channeling' or whatever he's doing, they've been a twitchy
lot."

     "Seaman are traditionally superstitious."

     "In this case, how about just plain guilty."

     Elliot trotted up at that moment, face flushed with
excitement but hardly out of breath.

     No one our age, Skinner thought, has a right to look so
good.     

     "We have something," the Thrall Master announced. "Or rather
Lisa does."
     
     Skinner's manner, which had been eager for news, cooled.
Legally, he didn't know where he stood at all in this case. To
allow one of the suspects, even an eager one, to be 'tortured' by
Lisa and her craft - well, maybe if it got results he wasn't
going a quibble. He had decided months before that Mulder's life
and Dana Scully's sanity were worth a reprimand - or a career. He
hadn't had to risk either until now. They had never been close
enough.

     "What does she have, Mr. Slater?"

     "A confession. Oh, purely voluntary" Elliot added hastily.
"As Jake has said: They did put Isaac ŝ I mean, your Agent Mulder
- down into the sea in one of those barrels." He pointed to an
example sitting near the lifeboats. Dana's pale face went whiter
still. "They intended to come back for him after we left."

     Skinner let out a hiss. "But we didn't leave."

     "No. In his arrogance Forsyth miscalculated badly. He
thought he'd be able to wait us out. He knows that's not possible
now so is there's no way they're going back now whether we
pretend to leave or not. The lack of a body is one thing, to be
caught with a living or unliving one is quite another."

     A.D. Skinner didn't look in Agent Scully's direction. She
didn't need to have the situation sugar-coated for her. She had
thought the worst already about a hundred thousand times over the
last three months. 

     "All the man knows is that they got it down there using a
weighted net. The net's also camouflaged so I hope Jacob's radar
has a fine tuning knob. If it doesn't, then we may be looking a
very long time."

     To Dana, Elliot added apologetically, "I've contacted
everyone I know but it will take time for the Mexican government
to get help out here. Longer for our government to get
authorization. There's a dispute over whose water's these are."

     "How was Forsyth planning to pinpoint Mulder's location?"
Skinner asked.

     "Our pigeon thinks that the barrel was marked with a narrow
band homing signal of some kind, probably scrambled. There must
be a receiver of some kind on board but he doesn't know where it
is and so far we haven't been able to find it."

     Skinner stiffened and set off with a purposeful stride.
Finally something he could do. "We'll tear the place apart."

     But Dana didn't follow immediately. She was loath to be out
of sight of Jake. What if he needed her? What if he felt
something?

     She looked over to where two of the Club's commandos stood
with air tanks and masks. They were ready to go down with she and
Jake as soon as he gave the word.

     If he gave the word.

     Although her body didn't react one bit to the security men,
Dana's mind labeled them gorgeous hunks and automatically added
'shallow and stupid'. Rapidly she revised that. In her mind,
Mulder had been one of those gorgeous hunks even before he had
been dropped like something newly born into the Club's machine to
be 'made over', and he was anything but shallow and stupid. Dana
reconsidered. Elliot vouched for their competence and they
certainly were taking this seriously. Marine recruiting poster
material - that's what they reminded her of. She'd ask one of
them to spot for Jake. The other she'd take with her to begin
looking for whatever device Forsyth had hidden which connected
him to Mulder.

     Before she could take more than two steps, however, a cry
went up into the air. Jake was shouting for the sails to be
dropped. In a second he swooped down on Dana and the two Club
marines, grabbing up his flippers and mask as he ran.

     "Jake, wait," Dana said softly helping him with the straps
of his tank.
 
     "Can't wait. This is the place. I'm certain it is and it's
been nearly four hours and who knows how much longer before we
showed up."

     She didn't like the look of his skin. There were blotches,
some pale, some flushed. He was breathing too fast again, too,
and sweating. "Jake, can you do this? You've never been diving
before."

     "I have to, don't I? He's here, Dana, I know he is. Trust
me."

     One of the Club marines was already in the water, holding
onto the ladder because the ship still had some forward motion as
the sails came down like great billowing clouds. Jake followed
without an instant's hesitation, awkwardly jumping in the last
few feet as he'd been instructed.

     'I have to trust this,' Dana repeated to herself as she
struggled to calm her own breathing. Skinner had returned and was
spraying her mask with defogger one last time before he fitted it
over her face. 

     "If Jake's right," she told her boss at the top of the
ladder, "Mulder'll never stop gloating."

     "Can you live with that?" Skinner asked, from caution trying
to keep the optimism from creeping into his voice and failing.

     Yes, I can live with that, Dana told herself as the waves
closed over her head. The last thing she saw of the ship was
Skinner's familiar stern face high above her. The hands that
gripped the rail were so white with tension that she wondered if
he would crush it.

End of Chapter 21
JAKE AND FOX JOIN THE CLUB (22/25)
by Wind (Windsinger@aol.com)  

Disclaimer: See chapter 1 
                                
Chapter 22

     Jake hated the aqualung. He found it a great, noisy beast
that clung to his back and breathed hideously each time he did.
It encumbered his movements. He swam a great deal, as he was told
Mulder did, and always found it a quiet mystical time. Zen-like.
This was nothing like that. Worse, the distractions from the tank
and regulator meant he was having trouble sensing that golden
thread. It didn't help his concentration that Dana Scully was
swimming just off his left, relying on him to save Mulder's life
for her. 

     Being a conduit for a ghost, when a man's life literally
hung upon that fragile connection, was the kind of responsibility
Jake had never asked for and didn't want. 

     A hundred yards though the clear water, loomed a dark
mountain topped with the muted whites and yellows and greens of
the reef. Where they swam in the shadow of that mountain, the
water was only the palest gray. Here and there below them on the
barren floor of sand and rock were blacker pools, deeper pits.
One of those? If so, which one? There were so many. It was all
Jake could do not to panic. Mulder was close he knew and further
down, but in which direction? 

     Where are you, Fox?  Alex, please. So give me a sign,
already. A school of fish, a broken stalk of kelp, a trail of
breadcrumbs. Anything! 

     After long minutes of fruitless cris-crossing back and
forth, Jake finally stopped, closed his eyes and held his breath.
Now he could think. It wasn't as if sight was going to help them
much anyway if what the seaman who'd moaned imploringly to Lisa
at the height of his rapture knew what he was talking about.
Supposedly, they'd hidden their secret well. Eyes still closed,
Jake drifted to his right. He felt an unpleasant tickle in his
head. Reverse then. Better, but still an uneasiness under his
skin like ants. A little to his left? Maybe that. They swam for
about five minutes more, Jake with his eyes shut most of the time
to reduce distractions, the primary one being Dana Scully's
hopeful, hopeless eyes.

     Just when he had begun to despair, Jake sensed a change in
the temperature of the water itself. So did the others. It was
just a chill across their skin at first but as they approached,
it became a cold current as if the gates of Norse hell had
opened, spewing out upon the warm tropical sea its coldest
breath. Dana told Jake later that she saw him convulse then, and
that he actually lost his mouthpiece. He didn't remember any of
that until he felt the hard plastic thrust back into his mouth. 

     And there was the Dana's face. Faceplate to faceplate they
could have said a few words but there was no need. His eyes were
narrowed and the set of his mouth told her all.

     He was all right now and he knew.

     Camouflage netting had been used to cover one of the pits.
First, they had to remove the large rocks that held it down. What
was left was that hell's mouth, with its cold spring rising. One
by one the team members dropped inside, floating down but not
without apprehension. There was not a photon of light in the
hole. Their small headlamps, intended for exploring around reefs,
illuminated only small cones of gray. The toys were totally
insufficient for the black cavern they found themselves entering.
It was impossible to estimate the size of the space, but
certainly it was far, far larger than the slit at its entrance. 

     They searched for long minutes, bare skin slowly freezing.
Compared to the current that swirled warm and rich around the
reef, this place was a dead end full of dead water like the
airless cold inside a long-closed house. The four began taking
turns to retreat from time to time back into the open water
outside of the pit that was so much warmer. Dana tapped Jake on
the arm indicating that it was his turn. She didn't like the
stress lines she could see around his eyes and the darkening
around his lips. He had to get out of there at least for a few
minutes. Violently, Jake shook his head.

     They would have passed the place if Jake had not refused to
leave. He had been searching around a shelf of rock that jutted
part way out into the main cavern. When he reached behind and up
into what had looked like just another black cavity, he had felt
the unnaturally smooth curve of plastic even through the numb
skin of his hands. Like their informant had said it was one of
the damn blue barrels from the ship though it appeared only
faintly gray here. A sense of triumph filled his mind but still
that terrible urgency. Too much time had passed. Dana knew he had
found something without even needing to look at his face. She
could tell by the frantic, excited way his body moved as he swam
to reach her. As Jake helped the two security men to secure the
barrel with tethers so that it would not rise to the surface too
quickly, Dana just hovered, her hands running carefully, almost
lovingly, over its surface.


     The barrel only barely slid through the crack in what was
now the pit's ceiling. After that they were quickly back in the
tropical current. Especially for Jake who of the four swimmers
had been in the pit the longest without a break, the affect was
like being immersed in a hot bath. The four members of the rescue
team each held what was roughly a corner of the barrel, kicking
upwards as quickly as they dared and not jostle the barrel's
precious contents. By the time Jake raised his head into the pure
air and bright sun, he could actually feel his fingers and toes
again, not that that was important at the moment.

     They tred water as they waited for Forsyth's yacht. The
schooner had drifted with its sea anchor while they were down.
Facemasks raised onto the back of their heads, Dana caught Jake's
eye. Her hand still rested on the barrel as it had since they'd
found it though they were all trying to keep it from rolling in
the waves.

     "I don't know," his expression said, answering her unasked
question. "I just don't know."

     She hadn't asked in words and Jake hadn't needed any to
reply. They both knew what the other meant. It was obvious that
Jake no longer felt that silver connecting thread. What he didn't
want to reveal was that he longer felt anything at all that might
be from Mulder - not the cold nor the dark nor the strangling
tightness in his chest.
     
     The ship arrived. Skinner had the cargo arm and its net
ready. When Dana road along with their catch, no one dared
suggest that it might not be safe. On board, two of Elliot's
marines were ready with a variety of tools. Another stood by with
every medical supply they could find.

     The barrel came to rest on the deck on its side, which was
the attitude they had found it in and which they had maintained
unchanged as much as possible throughout the recovery. Thirty
seconds later the lid was off. Two everyone' relief less than two
liters of water trickled out. Elbowed to the rear of the crowd of
onlookers, Jake felt oddly helpless as Doctor/Agent Scully and AD
Skinner took charge. 'Wait,' he wanted to protest. 'Where were
you all those months he lay helpless in the caverns? Who found
that ampule in his leg and removed it? Who was there when he
finally woke so sick and confused?'

     The scent that rolled out of the cask in advance of the limp
seal-like body with its gray face, reminded Jack of that time -
sweat, vomit, that ammonia-urine smell. It occurred to Jake that
you don't get that kind of intimate earthy experience from
television or the movies. Mulder still wore his oxygen mask. Dark
lines remained imbedded on his skin when they took it off. 

     Those lines should have been pink or angry red. They were a
kind of bluish purple as were his lips and the bruises around his
eyes. Even while her expert small hands sought for a pulse and
took a temperature, Dana was calling for oxygen and for help in
removing the damn wet suit. 

     In the end they placed him on a blanket and slit the suit.
Mulder was naked as he lay on the deck, the warm sun on his blue
skin. Considering his own state of undress the last few months,
this shouldn't have bothered Jake but it did - profoundly. He
wanted to cover his friend, to hide him from prying eyes.

     "Someone bring more damn blankets!" he shouted. Dana took a
millisecond to send her thanks with her eyes.

     "What can I do?" Skinner asked. Silently, Jake was asking
the same thing.

     Dana continued working frantically. "I have a pulse but it's
faint. He's hypoxic and he's hypothermic. I'm giving him oxygen,
but we need to get him warm as soon as possible." For the first
time she looked up, purposely scanning the small knot of men
around her. Her eyes fixed first on Skinner but he was already
distracted and very shortly was striding off obviously on some
mission of his own. 

     "Jake," she called. "You're not doing anything. Come over
here and be useful."

     Jake started and came forward readily enough but clueless
about how he could be 'useful'.

     "It's bundling time," she said with a emotionless
practicality. "Hard to imagine in the subtropics, but it was
freezing in that pit and Mulder's system can't regulate its own
temperature right now so he needs help." She was shaking out the
folds of a dark blanket. Impatiently, she looked up into Jake's
confused face. "I mean get down here and snuggle. I'll cover you.
In a few minutes we'll transfer you both to the powerboat which
will get you to the clinic on the island faster that this ship
can but this will have to do for now. 

     Jake wasn't moving. "No. Dana, that's your place."

     She had been all professional intensity since they had
pulled her more-dead-than-alive partner from his prison - or had
Forsyth always intended for it to be Mulder's coffin? At Jake's
consternation and his offer, her stern mask shifted and all too
clearly he saw the misery underneath. 

     "You know I want to, but I need to be able to move and act
if Mulder needs additional medical attention."

     At that moment a frantic Forsyth came striding up, Skinner
at his heels trying to slow the millionaire. Clearly, Forsyth's
indignant arrival was what had distracted him before. 

     "Attempted murder!" Forsyth was protesting at the top of his
lungs. "Nonsense. The plan all along was to return and pick Fox
up safe and -"

     He never got the rest out for he was suddenly face to face
with the results of his 'safe' storage of Fox Mulder. Forsyth was
shocked and it was hard to fake that kind of pallor.

     "What's wrong with him?" he demanded staring at Dana. He
clearly knew who and what she was despite her shorts and camisole
top.

     Like a very angry lioness, Dana stood up, bristling.
"Attempted murder of a federal officer is too easy a charge by
half for what you tried to do," she hissed. "Whoever you had put
him down there chose one of the sink holes where the water was at
least twenty degrees colder than anywhere else around the reef.
There wasn't nearly enough air in that bottle you gave him,
either. Another few minutes and we wouldn't be talking
'attempted'. By slowing his metabolism, the hypothermia was all
that saved him." Like one other time, Dana thought silently.

     Jake felt relieved that he wasn't on the receiving end of
the look she gave Forsyth but then it did swing his way. 'Get
moving,' it seemed to say.

     With some hesitation Jake knelt on the pallet beside Mulder
and then laid down beside him, skin only barely touching skin.
Despite the sun, the man was so cold. Feeling ashamed under all
those eyes as he never had before, Jake found he had to wait
until Dana had covered them both with the blanket before he could
put his arms around that chilled flesh. Like a turtle he even
tucked his head down under the blanket up to the level of his
ears. Jake told himself that it didn't matter, getting Mulder
warm was what was important, but it was embarrassing, right out
on the deck the way they were. It was surreal, too, to hear the
conversation and accusations flying around above them.

     "Keith! Damn you!" Forsyth was shouting. A perfectly tanned
blond man appeared from around the main sail. Actually he was
pushed forward by one of Forsyth's largest crewman. Keith had a
boyish mop of hair, muscle shirt, and a prettily handsome but
frowning face. He was also at least a two decades older than he
obviously tried to appear. 'Gay' Jake knew, straight down the
middle. At the Club, sex was sex and 'Bi' was the generally
accepted sexual orientation, but Keith was gay, an aging, pouting
Boy afraid of losing his Man.

     "How did this happen?" Forsyth demanded, pointing down at
the still, blue, oxygen-masked face of Mulder and glaring
furiously. "They say he didn't have enough air. I left those
details to you!"

     "An accident, an oversight," was the excuse Keith gave and
he certainly didn't seem the least apologetic.  
 
     "And what about where they found him? Some sinkhole? Well,
it was obviously too damn cold. Those were not my instructions."

     A shrug. "It was a good hiding place."

     Forsyth was clearly astounded. "Keith, damn you, why?"

     When the aging blond man made no attempt to answer, the
large crewman who'd brought him forward hit him sharply between
the shoulder blades. 

     "We know, Mr. Forsyth. We all know. Mr. Keith was afraid of
being supplanted. In your affections, sir," the man added as if
looking at his employer's face he had thought that the
millionaire was too dim to quite caught the reference.

     But he had. Like a panther preparing to strike, Forsyth 
crouched ever so slightly, but what he was doing was reaching
under his loose linen pants at the ankle. It was a very tiny gun
but it was capable of making a very deadly hole in the middle of
Keith's forehead before Skinner wrestle the weapon away.

     Jake shuddered, shouldered the blanket up to cover more of
their faces and huddled more closely to Mulder's comatose body.
Maybe he wasn't so far removed from the violence of the sex and
the drug scene on the mainland as he had thought.

                         * * * * * * * *

     Unexplainably weak, Dana sagged against the outer wall of
the schooner's central cabin and watched Skinner lead a loudly
remonstrating Forsyth away. She had already pronounced Keith one
very dead and jealous companion. One of Elliot's men covered the
body. There were now two blanket-draped bundles at her feet,
Keith and the wider one of Mulder and Jake. 

     Mulder... She let her arms hang at her sides because she
didn't dare raise them. She knew she'd see her hands shaking if
she did. There was just too much happening here. They had fucked
up. Due to lack of manpower, they had given Elliot's men most of
the responsibility for searching Forsyth and his people and look
what had happened. An incredibly unnecessary death. And it wasn't
only a man's death. Disgruntled employees make the best witnesses
for the prosecution and Dana had wanted _so_ much to see Forsyth
put away - far, far away into a deep hole as cold and black and
airless as the one they had thrust Mulder in.

     Mulder... That was the real reason she dare not look at her
hands. She had touched him - for what? A total of five minutes
after three months, nearly four? Cold, nearly unyielding flesh.
She wanted her hands on him again but she didn't know if she
would be able to leave him again if she did. One of the hardest
things she had ever done was to order the disturbingly changed
Jake Simmons to be where she wished she were. She couldn't even
be with him now because clearly the ship hadn't been secured
properly. Instead, Elliot and Lisa were crouched beside Jake and
Mulder. The Lisa and Jake were talking softly and with some
intensity. Elliot had his cell phone out. He was probably making
arrangements for their arrival back on the island.

     At that moment Dana caught a meaningful glance from Jake. It
gave her all the excuse she needed and in five steps she was at
Mulder's side again. Elliot and Lisa scattered like birds as she
descended. Mulder was moving, not much but enough to raise her
hopes. A quick exam raised them even further even though he was
still far from conscious. Would she be able to talk to him soon,
look him in the eyes and let him know she was there? Would he
even understand her? Would he ever? After months of drugs,
interrogation, and the pleasure of Forsyth's company, Mulder had
thought himself free. He had even been playing chess with A.D.
Skinner - you can't be in safer company than that - when he had
been taken again and tortured. Now lack of oxygen, the solitude -
would she even know the man who emerged from all this?

     Jake, his skin flushed from his time under the wool blanket
and the tropical sun, had risen to join Lisa at the rail. Their
attention was pointedly fixed on Elliot who was still talking on
his cell phone so for the first time the partners were nearly
alone. Dana was gently finger-combing Mulder's hair, enjoying its
new longer length, when she heard her name called. Abruptly,
almost guiltily, she stood to see Skinner walking briskly towards
her. He was just placing his cell phone into his pocket. She
thought nothing about it at the time because Skinner was
negotiating with at least three countries and Interpol. Following
him were two of Elliot's men carrying the familiar man-sized
shape of the Stokes, the nearly universally accepted transfer
litter used by search and rescue teams. 

     "They're ready to load the boat and start back to the
island," Skinner announced. "What is Agent Mulder's condition."

     Dana's eyes drifted to the blanketed bundle and the group of
three who had returned to cluster around him. "Far better that I
would have expected at this time. His temperature is low but no
longer critically so, his color is much improved, his pulse is
stronger, nearly normal."

     "Then he'll live."

     "He will unless the trauma caused damage I can't detect - a
weakening of the heart, damage to the kidneys," she paused, "and
then I have to see how lucid he is when he wakes up." Dana had
not said "if" as she might have. Brain damage... madness... She
had no way of knowing. 

     Returning to a more optimistic vein for Skinner's sake, she
continued, "That's why I want to have him checked over at
island's clinic as soon as possible. I don't have the proper
equipment here and Mr. And Mrs. Slater assure me that their
medical facilities are first rate."

     Dana made a move in the direction of where they were loading
Mulder's limp body into the long basket-like Stokes but Skinner
stopped her with a touch. 

     "Agent Scully, we haven't discussed this, but we need to.
>From your report I take it that Agent Mulder is no longer in
critical condition and the trip to the island will take them less
than thirty minutes. The paramedics will be waiting. I know that
you planned to accompany him but you and I are the only
legitimate law enforcement personnel on the scene and we already
have problems with jurisdiction. We've also just been provided
with a tragic demonstration of why we can't just turn over
significant segments of this investigation to Elliot's staff. I
know that Elliot's people didn't intentionally overlook Forsyth's
deadly little toy but because of their other Club
'responsibilities' they are entirely too deferential when it
comes to Forsyth and his 'client' status."

     He saw the light dim in her eyes. "What would you like me to
see to first, Sir?" she asked. By the tone of her voice one would
have that that this was just a case, nothing special.  

     Skinner was never as proud of this diminutive agent then at
that moment. After three months she had been given less than ten
minutes with her beloved partner and now he was ripping them
apart again. If the situation had been different, he would have
just said 'Screw the legal precedents!' and let her be the only
place where he heart wanted to be at that moment. He honestly
needed this agent's help, however, and then there was the
disturbing complication Elliot had just phoned him about. That
Scully bit her lip nearly hard enough to draw blood to keep from
screaming out exactly what she thought of his order, showed the
depth of her respect for the Bureau and her duty and for him. He
hoped that when this was over, she still held him in such high
regard.

     "May I see him off, sir?" she asked, in a tone with as much
misery as bitterness. 

     "Briefly." He had to allow her that at least. "But we have
to search the cabins where we want to hold the prisoners again.
We can't afford any more surprises."

     With a curt nod and unreadable eyes, she turned on her heel
and went to join the group rigging the Stokes up to the cargo
hoist. Jake stood protectively at Mulder's side with Elliot
nearly. Lisa was already in the impressively fast speedboat ready
to receive.

     "Dana..." Jake began, obviously uncomfortable. His sidelong
glance to Elliot was worried.

     She waved down his concern, her attention was all for Mulder
who was moving slightly again. "As you can guess from that last
little exchange with Forsyth, I'm needed here, so I'm leaving
Mulder in your care... and if he dies, so help me God, so will
you. Only very slowly." Jake had no doubt that Dana Scully meant
every word. If she was angry with you, her glance alone could do
serious damage. "He means everything to me, do I make myself
clear?" But her eye weren't on Jake. They were all for Mulder.
She took his pulse and placed the back of her hand against a no
longer pale cheek. 

     "Jake, you must be a furnace. He's warm. Almost too warm."

     Jake shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. "It's the sun," he
explained. "And it was hot under that blanket."

     But Dana was not really listening except to Mulder whom she
was leaning over. "Mulder, it's Scully. Jake is going to go with
you back to the island now, to the clinic. Skinner and I have
work to do here but I'll be along soon. No one will hurt you. Do
you understand me?" No response, at least none to anything she
seemed to be saying. "If you can hear me, squeeze my hand."

     Jake stared and he actually saw the long hand that lay
outside the cover move. Whether Mulder had actually heard and
understood, didn't matter. Now she was trying to look into his
eyes though to do that she would have to remove the edge of the
blanket Jake was using to cover Mulder's face. 

     "I think the sun hurts his eyes," Jacob explained, managing
to keep those eyes in pretty deep shadow.

     Dana turned to find the sun. The man was right. Lying on
your back you do end up staring into the sun. The person looking
down usually failed to overlook that simple fact. "Thank you,
Jake, that's observant of you." At that point Dana had only
enough time left to stand back and allow the stokes to rise in
its sling. 

     Jake and Elliot watched her go and then moved towards the
ladder that ran down the side of the schooner to where the
smaller boat rocked.

     "Did she see anything?" Elliot asked, barely loud enough to
be heard above the gentle slap of the low waves against the hull.

     "She wouldn't have left if she had. No, he didn't open his
eyes while she was there. How did Skinner take the news, by the
way?"

     Elliot remembered that first call only a few minutes before.
The man had been standing in full view by the helm only fifty
feet away and so Elliot had actually been able to watch the
assistant director's frown deepening at Elliot's every word.
"Let's just say that Forsyth should consider himself fortunate
that Skinner's self control is iron-clad, otherwise Mr. Money
would be twenty feet down right now with an anchor chain wrapped
around his scrawny neck. Not that the SOB doesn't deserve it.
What he did to Mulder even if everything had gone as he had
originally planned, even Lisa at her worst wouldn't have
sanctioned." Elliot paused, glancing over at Jake's drawn face.
"But then you know something of what it was like for him."

     Remembering the 'vision' Alex had given him, Jake shuddered.
Strangling and freezing and burning all at once. Yes, he knew. It
just hadn't made sense before. 
     
     Both men had to brace themselves then as Lisa started the
motor with a roar. Tossing off the lines, the powerboat began to
move. It was smoother than Lisa's normal getaway Elliot noted
though they were soon roaring over the sea. Lisa loved her boats
the way Elliot did any kind of car.

     Exchanging a knowing smile with this magnificent creature
who had agreed to marry him, Elliot followed Jake aft to where
Mulder still lay in his cradle. Safer just to leave him lying
secure in the Stokes's cradling arms. He was moving even more now
than when Dana had seen him last. His hands clasped and unclasped
around the blanket. His legs had begun to move restlessly in the
little space he had and his head tossed from side to side as if
he had a fever. He did have a fever of a kind. 

     "He's recovering quickly," Jake observed, sadly. "We don't
have much time." Looking up, he stared off towards the white and
green jewel that had already appeared far out on the horizon. At
the speed Lisa was pushing the engines, Jake had probably over-
estimated the duration of their trip. "Where are we going by the
way?"

     "The docks at the Caverns, it's the closest landing. The
medical unit is waiting for us there."

     "The Caverns..." Jake mused, then raised to voice in order
to be heard over the straining engine.  "Do we still have access
to Forsyth's suite?"

     Elliotŝs expression showed that his own thoughts had already
covered this ground. "Yes, we do. Forsyth prepaid for six months
and he's not getting a refund."

     "That's good," Jake said. "Mulder's going to need some
privacy for the next twenty-four hours or so."

     "Then you agree no medical center? I will have the medics
give him the once over when we get to the dock though."
  
     Jake stared over the stern back to where the white sails of
the schooner were growing rapidly smaller. The wind from behind
whipped tendrils of hair against his face. "That should be
sufficient assuming they don't find anything we're not already
aware of. Dr. Scully only wanted Mulder checked over as
precaution anyway. What we have now is far more dangerous and
he's going to need watching."

     "It will be easier in an environment we can control," Elliot
agreed looking down into the cradle, all too aware that this was
no child.

      Jake's gaze followed the older man's. "We'd better let
Skinner know."

     Elliot looked up at his friend and gave him an odd half-
smile. "Who do you think made the suggestion in the first place?
Besides, it's not Skinner I'm worried about. What's going to
happen when _she_ finds out?"

     Jake lifted the edge of the blanket that was once again
covering Mulder's eyes. Mulder looked so much better, skin nearly
its deep bronze tan again, so many of the gaunt lines from the
shock had smoothed away. If he had been able to lie quiet, his
expression would have been almost serene. As if aware he was
being observed, the lids over Mulder's eyes opened slowly, not
far, but far enough to once again reveal their golden gleam.

End of Chapter 22
JAKE AND FOX JOIN THE CLUB (23/25)
by Wind (Windsinger@aol.com)  

Disclaimer: See chapter 1 
                                
Chapter 23

     Suite Seven was a somber place. It was as quiet as a
hospital, which was what it was in a lot of ways. Actually, detox
center would have described it better. Cold turkey all the way.

     Elliot, Lisa and Jake had set Mulder up in the master
bedroom. From what Mulder had described to Jake, the great room
clearly held too many wicked memories. Before Mulder began to
truly emerge from his stupor, they managed to wash away the worst
of the sweat and get the liter of fluid into him by way of the IV
that the medic had started.

     Once in the master suite with the heavy drapes closed, the
three friends compared notes. Solemnly, Lisa and Elliot informed
Jake that they had never seen eyes affected by Aswan Gold more
than these were. Glow in the dark eyes. Drugged to the gills,
poor sot. Mulder, however, was more than some druggie to Jake and
so more than that to Lisa and Elliot. 

     It was Jake who went to Mulder first when it became clear
just how quickly the man was being overwhelmed by the Gold's
cravings. He held and reassured the familiar, feverish body the
way he could no longer reassure the poor confused mind. Of
course, things developed quickly into more than comfort given and
received. Jake was just relieved that the first assault had time
to pass and that he, Jake, had time to extract himself from those
strong arms before Dana Scully - outraged partner, physician and
sometimes lover - appeared on the scene.

     Afterwards, with Mulder relegated to Lisa's surprisingly
maternal care, Jake sought the big chair in a quiet corner of the
huge master bedroom. Awash in his own afterglow, the smooth
damask covering was cool against his overheated skin. He was
drifting on his own golden ocean when he became aware that he may
not be entirely alone and a surge of welcome fountained up from
the innermost part of him.

     'I hope you didn't mind my staying around this last time?'
The whisper was like the slightest of breezes in his ear. How odd
that she had found her voice after all these years.

     'Mulder's in no shape to complain and besides he owes you.
We all do. We never would have found him in time without you, if
ever.'

     Silence. Alex? Reticent?  

     'Owe me? You don't owe me anything, Jake. You didn't ask to
be pulled through hell with me.'

     Jake leaned back in the big chair drowsily, wondering how
much of this conversation was real. Did it matter? What did he
really want? Alex back or to put all his ghosts to rest? 

     'Why are you here, Alex? I thought you were moving on.'

     'You gave me a mission and so did she.'

     'And you more than fulfilled it. You led us to Mulder more
than once.' He didn't comment about her methods, which had been
uncomfortable for both he and Dana, but he couldn't complain
about the results.

      She breathed wistfully into his ear so softly that only a
few tousled hairs moved. 'Maybe for once in my life I wanted to
see one thing through to the end. It's something I need practice
at, I hear.'

     'Now you're being modest. You have my thanks - and his - and
hers.' 

     The puff of invisible air on his face was like that that
from a small laugh. 'It was something I _could_ do. When I still
lived I was never good about thinking of others. That's obvious.
Maybe if I learn, they'll let me come back and try again.'

     Half-asleep and wondering if he was dreaming, Jake smiled to
himself. 'Do they do that?'

     'I think anything is possible, if you are strong enough, if
you are worthy. I want to be worthy, I have a lot to make up for
- mostly what I did to you, Jake, both while I was alive - and
after.' A pause. A very long pause. Jake felt the contentment
draining out of him at the thought that she had left. He was just
resigning himself to the emptiness when her presence returned
with a vengeance.

     '_She's_ coming!' The sudden surge of indescribable emotion
nearly drove Jake from his chair. 'She's at the door and she's
mad as hell.' In that instant Jake felt this wild, flighty joy.
This was Alex as she had been living - during her upswings at
least - deliriously amused with the world.

     Jake groaned and tensed himself for the onslaught. 'I
suppose that just when I could use a nice supernatural
distraction, you're going to leave?'

     Her presence did seem to be drifting again. 'Charm her. You
charmed me long ago while I still lived and before I made the
mistake of not trusting the wonderful thing I had found in you.
You haven't lost your touch; you charm me still. Now my guides
are here and they are stern. I'm still attracted far too much to
you and to this world. I think they're afraid that I'll go back
on the plan.' Her voice strengthened again, just for a moment.
'And I would. You have only to say the word -'

     For a moment, just for a moment, he was sorely tempted to
cry 'Stay!' He didn't. That time had passed. 'No, love, it's time
for us both to move on. Past time. We've been stuck in neutral.
That's fine for healing but it's no place for anyone to be for
long.'

     'Then now...now is the time.' Her voice grew fainter still,
gentler like a little child. 'I wonder... Maybe I won't be
beautiful next time. Maybe I'll just be ordinary. Maybe even
ugly.'

     'No, you won't and even if you are, you'll always be young
and beautiful to me even when I am old and women don't turn when
I pass any longer.'

     'Or the men,' came that silent laugh again. Lips seemed to
brush his brow, a breeze rustled his hair again where there was
no breeze, and then.... cool finger ran down his chest all the
way to his cock, arousing him like old times.

     One last time.

     A trembling in the air. Only that. 'You'll never grow old
for me either... you'll always be... Jake.'

     Even fainter. 'Find love... my love.'

     And then she was gone.

                         * * * * * * * *     

     Jake barely had time to inhale one bittersweet breath before
the tornado arrived.

     Dana Scully erupted into the suite. Even three rooms away
and with the excellent sound proofing the Club was famous for,
her arrival was obvious to everyone who had taken up residence in
the master bedroom - everyone, that is, with the exception of
Mulder. Mulder's Gold-driven hormones had been already on the
upswing when Jake still lounged lethargic from their last very
close encounter. At least he had been lethargic until Alex had
said her good-byes.

     Snatching at a robe, Jake moved quickly to glide out the
door of the Master bedroom before Dana found them and got an
eyeful of Mulder's single-minded infatuation with the curves of
Lisa's bare shoulders and back.

     He made it to the door of the kitchen before Dana had
crossed the length of the great room. At the sight of him, she
nearly tripped over the step up from the sunken 'conversation'
pit. Skinner, who was nearly running at her heels, caught her
physically even as she caught herself mentally. Jake could almost
see that fleet mind churning as she once again took in the sight
of him from long bare feet to the unruly mop of brown hair on the
top of his head. It had only taken seconds for her to know whom
she was facing even with the robe that hid the scar patterns, but
the recognition had had to be a painfully conscious effort. How
Jake hated the effect his appearance had on this long-suffering
woman.

     "Where he is!" she demanded in a voice nearly shrill with
hysteria. "Why didn't you take him to the med center? I trusted
you!"

     "He's here, he's safe, and we did have the EMT's check him
over. He's as well as he can be... under the circumstances."

     Her eyes had raced over the huge central room in two
seconds. Luckily, he was standing in the doorway to the hall
leading in the suite's east wing or she would have pushed past
him.

     "Don't go..." he told her as gently as he could, his hand
coming up to cover hers. Dana stared from his hand to his face as
if startled to find that his touch and the expression on that
familiar face no longer produced the heat it once had. Jake no
longer 'felt' like Mulder to her. 

     "What do you mean, 'don't go'?" she asked, astonished. "How
can you say that?"

     Jake appealed to Skinner.

     "She already knows what the bastards did," Skinner
explained. "When she found he wasn't at the med center I had to
tell her. She guessed you'd come here. I didn't tell her, but I
would have. You have to let her see him."

     Jake looked down at the exhausted woman by his side who was
still prepared to stiff-arm him out of the way the moment he
moved an inch. Hell, considering her training, she could do him
serious damage whether he moved or not. There was pleading in
those blue eyes, which under normal circumstances she would never
have shown the world. How alike the two partners were. Would they
ever be able to both lower their impressive defenses at the same
time and actually get somewhere in their relationship?

     "Dana, please. He wouldn't want you to see him this way."

     "I know. But I've seen him just about every other way. This
can't be worse."

     Want to bet? Jake thought. Having elicited a reluctant
agreement to give him time to prepare the 'patient', Jake slid
back to the room to see how bad it was going to be. Within thirty
seconds with Lisa and Elliot's help, Jake was able to prop Mulder
up with pillows at his back against the headboard of the king-
sized bed. From the chest down they covered him with the
bedspread. Lisa and Elliot were stationed on either side. Both
were at least minimally clothed, from the waist up at least, and
both were ready to act if Mulder should go feral during the
visit.

     A brief visit, Jake prayed.

     Dana had calmed considerably by the time Jake motioned for
her to enter. As much as he knew of this woman, her ability to
project such calm under the current conditions was nearly
miraculous. 

     She nearly crept to the bedside, coming to sit at her
partner's side so lightly that she hardly made a dent on the
mattress. Mulder had been lying back against the pillows, looking
away from the doorway and towards the light streaming in from the
tall, elegant windows. Without alarm, he turned his head towards
her. The smile resembled more than anything a drunken leer but at
least there was some recognition. Jake privately concluded that
Mulder would have smiled at Sadam Hussein at that moment as long
as the leader was in possession of a warm, functioning body.

      As if afraid to disturb some tenuous balance, Dana slowly
stretched out her hand to smooth the tousled hair from his
forehead. Like a great collie dog, he moved his head against her
hand.

     "What tangle have you gotten yourself in this time, Mulder?"
>From her tone she didn't expect a response. 

     Dana Scully was one bright woman. She saw no one she knew in
that flushed, sweat-streaked face, those sex-swollen lips or
golden eyes that glowed so brightly that there was hardly a pupil
to be seen. So beautiful, so desirable, but not her Mulder. With
an almost physical effort she pulled her own eyes away from the
satyr's face and went into doctor-mode. Pulse, temperature...
Thank Bacchus, Mulder responded very little, his attention being
distracted elsewhere. Jake guessed that it had something to do
with what Lisa's hand was doing under the blanket to keep him
calm.
 
     Dana probably could too.

     "See, a bit wired but all in one piece," Jake said, trying
to be reassuring. "Unless the doctors have an antidote for what
Forsyth gave him - which they don't - a hospital isn't what he
needs now." Jake had crouched down beside the bed and the
silently distressed woman who was only able to hold herself
together by going through the familiar mantra of her profession.
"He needs time and he needs people to help him through this and
keep him safe but that doesn't have to be you. In fact, there are
a lot of good reasons for it _not_ to be you, not right now. "

     "No." The sound came out in a dreadful whisper. "There is
another way. I can keep him sedated till it passes."

     "In his current state? Do you know what mixing drugs like
that will do? I've seen some bad ju-ju. Aswan Gold doesn't
exactly come with warnings issued by the FDA. Do you really want
to see him strapped down in five point restraints in a psyche
ward for the next twenty hours and let him suffer in torment
alone in his head? Or are you the straight jacket and a padded
room kind? I'm sure the island has one of those. An interesting
fantasy."

     "Stop it," Dana growled low in her throat.

     "I'm not an expert, I don't think anyone is, but my
suggestion is to let him burn the poison out of his system in its
own way." 
     
     "No!"

     "Why? Do you think we get some thrill over seeing him like
this? We," by this Jake meant he and Elliot and Lisa, "care about
Mulder. The island bans shit like this for a reason. You can't
probe your humanity at the bottom of this glass. There's no
physical, intellectual or psychological challenge. All of us here
are well aware that sex is mainly a head game, but on this stuff
Mulder's not going to be delving into his soul looking for
insight into the universe." Gently, Jake touched the dark head
and delicious shiver went through the long, slightly feverish
body. The eyes which had closed, contented, like some great cat
being petted, opened and there was indeed nothing human in there.
"He's all animal, Dana. On and off over the next day or so,
depending on how quickly his batteries recharge, he'll be not
much more than a rutting stag, a wolf smelling the perfume of a
dozen bitches in heat. Let his body do what it needs to."

     Dana's head was shaking slowly from side to side. Her lips
moved but no sound came out. She tried again. "This can't be
right... I should be the one." Her disappointment and exhaustion
touched Jake so deeply that he nearly went back on his resolve. 

     But, no...

     "What would he want? There's nothing to be gained from your
having those kinds of memories to carry around for the rest of
your life. You know him better than anyone. If you have a better
suggestion, I'd like to hear it." 

     Dana shuddered and with one hand rubbed aching eyes. "How
will this be any different than what Forsyth did to him all those
months?"

     "There is no comparison. We care for Mulder and that goes a
long way. Also, this is only one dose though a pretty massive one
from what we convinced Forsyth's witch doctor to tell us, the
bastard. When Mulder was here before, they would shoot him up
four, five times over a weekend. He must have been a raving
maniac most of the time. No wonder he collapsed for forty-eight
hours after and with the other drugs in his system he never came
back to himself." 

     Dana stared up into Skinner's eyes for help. He had followed
her in and stood alert and watching just inside the door. She
found comfort in his strength but no real help, no condemnation
for Jake's plan, either. And Skinner was a healthy male.
Certainly he knew more than Dana could what torture Mulder would
suffer if she followed her purely medical instincts.

     Medical or personal?

     Just then Mulder ached upward in a long, languorous stretch.
His face had this look to it that screamed trouble to Jake, Lisa
and Elliot others - and soon. Luckily, Dana was so shocked by the
transformation that she allowed Jake lead from the room with
minimal resistance. He sat her down at a small table in the
kitchen - a nice, non-threatening, domestic atmosphere. Her face
was deathly pale.

     "Stay with me here, Dana. Eight months ago when we first met
in D.C. I got the very distinct impression that you and Mulder
were very special to each other. Something, complex but
wonderful. Something that would last. Am I right?"

     Dana blushed. It should have been impossible under the
circumstances, but she did. 
          
     "You know that that's not Mulder in there. Not the one you
know. His tastes will be quite indiscriminate I can assure you.
In the years to come, how will he feel knowing you've been
witness to this? Am I making sense?"

     He was. In a crazy way he was and was trying so hard for
both her and Mulder. It was almost sweet. "It's not like we've
never...."

     Eyebrows rose above Jake's hazel-green eyes? "Oh, dear, then
things _have_ changed in the universe in the last eight months?"

     Dana blushed again. "Just twice," she protested, though she
couldn't comprehend what she had to apologize about. "Once after
Antarctica. That was a disaster -"

     "Antarctica or your first time?" Jack asked, with a crooked
wry smile that was too achingly like Mulder's. 

      "Both actually. We don't count that time. Neither of us was
at our best. We just had some unfinished business we had to
attend to. The other time was after we heard they had reinstated
the X-Files. Neither of us were quite sober either as I remember.
Now they are reconsidering again, but that's another story."

     "The important part is that you've never really had a
_first_ time. Not a planned, romantic evening. You don't need
this then, Dana. He doesn't need to know you've been part of
this."

     "Then who - ?"

     "Elliot and Lisa and I."

     "Three of you!"

     "We've just gotten started here and from what I've heard
about this stuff and his reaction to it, we'll be lucky if we're
enough even though Lisa and Elliot are professionals."

     If he were willing to admit it, so was Jake since Alex had
transformed him over the past months.

     Dana was staring off into space. Her unhappiness was so
acute that Jake didn't know what to do or say.

     "Did he get anything to eat?" she asked as if not knowing
where else to begin.

     "Of course, a couple of those vitamin and mineral health
drinks and a couple of power bars. Ah, we washed him up, too. He
rather needed that."

     She almost smiled. "Thank you. Yes, he did."

     Jake didn't describe, however, that Mulder had come out of
the physical shock of being nearly asphyxiated and definitely
hypothermic only very slowly. That as his body recovered it had
alternately curled and convulsed around his own aroused center,
sweat streaming from his body. Or that he had thrashed about
widely golden-eyed and clawed at the sheets, his body and
instincts not in sync enough for him to realize what the drug was
requiring him to do. That had been a painful few hours for all.
He had clung to Jake's hand while Lisa and Elliot had washed him
in a way that had sent Jake's own blood pressure soaring.

     "Jake, I understand that you're just trying to be kind but I
just can't abandon him."

     "I'm not asking you to. Just leave him to us for now. We'll
give him all the 'exercise' he needs and try to burn some of the
madness out of his system. When he comes back to himself, when he
can hold onto some sense of self for more than a few minutes,
that's when he'll need you. That's the really bad time - when he
is beginning to understand what is happening to him and yet he
still loses control. Believe me, you'll have plenty of
opportunity for 'quality time'. He'll waver back and forth for
hours after that. That's when he'll want you and only you."

     Dana's face lit up like a Christmas tree, a rather sad,
drooping Christmas tree, but far brighter than she had looked all
day. 

     "I've explained this all backwards, haven't I?" Jake moaned.
"The intention was never to keep you two apart but first of all
to ensure his health and then protect his privacy. It was too
much to explain to you about the 'Gold' on the boat. Skinner
needed you. It just wasn't the time or the place for long
explanations."

     "Not to mention that I would have murdered Forsyth and his
Dr. Mengela on the spot."

     "There is that."

     Her eyes strayed in the direction of the master bedroom.
"How long do you think it will be before he starts to come out of
it?" she asked, anxious and eager at the same time."

     Helplessly, Jake shrugged. "Depends on the size of the dose
he got for one, which was extreme or so we've been told. Then his
metabolism was pretty non-existent for a while, so a good chunk
of the time that already passed probably doesn't count. There's
also his sensitivity to the stuff. As I've said, from what I'm
told he's very sensitive. I'm sorry, Dana, my guess is eighteen
to twenty-four hours."

     Blue eyes closed as if that helped keep the shaky armor
intact. She sighed. "You seem to know a lot about this drug. I've
only heard rumors about it."

     Jake's voice was not steady. "It was tried on me once -
against my will. Not here," he added quickly, "but before, when a
certain someone drove me out into some shady parts of the
underworld. Believe me, you do not want to know any more about
that. Let's just say that I was out of my head most of the time
and at the end I wished that I still was. My mind came back
before my body. Talk about your uncontrollable urges." Jake's
face, however, did not match words. There was no making light of
this memory. When he spoke again, his voice was very soft and
distant. "I woke in a tiny, filthy room full of sweaty, stinking
bodies and yet there was no one I knew. I would have sold my soul
for a friend just then." 

     Self-conscious, Dana looked away. Jake had never looked more
like Mulder than at that moment. But even as her heart went out
to this man, she realized that she had been unconsciously
listening for any sound from beyond the kitchen. Nothing. The
rooms did have impressive soundproofing. Just then she heard a
door open. Rising, she looked down the hall to see Skinner emerge
from the master bedroom, opening the door just enough to let
himself out and closing it as quickly. Suddenly weak, Dana sagged
against the jam. She had been granted her wish and she'd heard
enough - low moans, animal growls deep in a man's chest and a
woman's comforting response. Lisa. 

     What Dana wanted more than anything at that moment was to
scream. Maybe she would but only during a long, hot shower in a
distant part of the suite that would undoubtedly have its own
excellent soundproofing. She realized then that Skinner had her
by the elbow and was leading her back to the table where Jake
sat.

     "It's getting - intense - in there," Skinner reported, his
face as inscrutable as any marine's.

     "I don't think I've quite convinced her," Jake said to the
older man.

     "You two have discussed this?" Dana asked, shocked.

     "Agent Mulder is my responsibility," Skinner explained. "I
had to know what to expect. He didn't do this to himself. It's
like that heroin he was shot up with -" Skinner stopped. 

     Dana's eyes narrowed. "What heroin?"

     "Before your time," Skinner admitted, waving his hand as if
it was nothing but realizing at the same time that he shouldn't
have brought the incident up. "Mulder's not had an easy life. You
know that. He was taken hostage before for a few weeks and shot
up pretty heavily with heroine as a reward. Purdue, his partner
at the time, and I were old friends. Purdue sat with him for days
while he sweated and screamed and puked his guts out. I came in
to spell Reggie once. Mulder was not a pretty sight. That's why I
agree with Jake about this. This is going to be a long process.
You can't help him now, Agent Scully. What you need is rest. I'll
stay with him for you for now."

     Unbelievably, Dana almost giggled. Skinner was so serious
and the situation so painfully bizarre. "You're going to
chaperone and protect his virtue?"

     That evoked a tiny smile from Skinner, which his agents
certainly didn't see often. "Hardly his virtue, but then remember
I was in 'Nam and I saw things during R&R that would make this
look like a school dance."

     Jake's smug response - which wasn't meant for either of them
to see - was to smile knowingly as if to say, 'As the hours go
on, we'll just see about that.' 

     "So don't worry, too much," A.D. Skinner advised. "Just get
some sleep."

     "Sleep!" another almost hysterical laugh. 

     "Have you taken a look at yourself lately, Dana," Skinner
said sternly, the use of her first name cutting through where
little else would, "You're exhausted. Be honest. When was the
last time you slept well? We both know. About three months ago,
the night before Mulder was taken. Prescribe some sleeping pills
for yourself and eat so you'll be ready for him. That's my
recommendation."

     "It's not an order?" she scowled.

     "First of all Agent Mulder is a human being, a human being
who, exasperating as he may be sometimes, I respect. Officially,
I consider this a work related injury and the next few days as
treatment."

     "But I'm his doctor."

     "Only when I consider you capable. You're too tired now.
Sleep. He'll need your strength later."

     Hesitantly, Dana picked up her black doctor bag and took a
few small steps towards the lesser but still luxurious bedrooms
on the west wing of the suite. "You'll call me if he needs
anything, if it's something - medical."

     "You know we will," Jake assured her.

     "And he'll be burning up a lot of calories. He's thin
enough. You'll see that he eats?"

     Skinner took her arm and led her further along the hall she
had started down.

     "Ask room service for want he likes best and I'll see he
eats it. _That_ I'll make an order for you both."

End of Chapter 23
JAKE AND FOX JOIN THE CLUB (24/25)
by Wind (Windsinger@aol.com)  

Disclaimer: See chapter 1 

Chapter 24
                                
     The shower was forceful and very hot and Dana didn't really
care how good the soundproofing was. She only knew that she did
scream. She also took the pills Skinner suggested - a double
dose. The sheets were cool and expensive against her hot skin.
Still she lay awake listening into the deadened silence at her
own screams for a very long time.

     The chemical drowsiness had just begun to feather the edges
of her consciousness when the door to the bedroom she had chosen
opened quietly. There was no light but there was a scent in the
darkness. Something familiar. Dana felt her blood pressure begin
to soar. 

     Mulder. 

     No, not quite, or at least not only Mulder. Also, a woman.

     Remembering Mulder when she had last seen him and who he'd
been more than close to since, Dana felt her heart shrivel to
something small and wrinkled and lonely.

     Lisa.

     "I'm sorry, Dana. Did I wake you?" came the woman's sultry,
lyrical alto from the dark.

     "Not really. Is there a problem?" Dana asked. 

     "No problem. Elliot -" Lisa seemed to realize what she was
about to say. Too late now

     "Elliot's with him?" Dana guessed. She sensed the tall woman
nodding from where she still stood by the door. Despite the
warmth of the room, gooseflesh broke out of Dana's skin. "He...
he's a good man, your husband?"

      "He's the best _person_ I know." Lisa had moved closer to
the bed. Dana could still barely see her but the movement left a
trail of scent Dana could have done without. "You've probably
noticed that a person's sex doesn't mean much to a lot of us on
the island."

     "Hmmm, I noticed."
 
     "It's who we are that counts," Lisa explained. "Anyway, I
was thinking ... You've been through so much... I thought I'd
offer something to help you to sleep."

     She had come closer. Dana could almost feel the heat of her
body. She must be naked otherwise how could there be so much
heat. And Mulder, the smell of him, so close. How she missed him.
_So_   long. She knew instinctively what Lisa was offering. It
would be almost like being with him.

     But no. Even in the dark, even not touching... it would not
be the same at all.

     "I don't think so, Lisa. I'm - I'm sorry."

     As the figure moved away, the scent thinned, becoming little
more than a memory.

     "I'm sorry, too. I thought you should at least have a
choice."

     "Thank you... for the choice."

     Lisa left. Quiet again. A few more pills but not too many. 

     There was a breeze outside her window. The rustle of palms.
A warm, mooonlit night. In the distance the serene restless
movement of the sea.

     Only one person on the island slept alone that night.

                         * * * * * * * *

     Eighteen hours later, Dana stood at the door to Suite Seven
to see the weary foursome off. Lisa and Elliot moved down the
curving ramp cozily arm in arm. Skinner's eyes were bloodshot,
his suit rumpled, and he'd mislaid his tie somewhere. 

     "I've been gone long enough, Agent Scully. Time to get back.
Are you certain you and Agent Mulder will be all right?"

     "We'll be fine, sir. The laboratory staff had been
surprisingly competent and sympathetic. Another six to ten hours
and the 'Gold' will be totally metabolized. Then I think he'll
need some down time, if you catch my meaning."

     "Yes, I think I do." He hadn't even blinked at her Mulder-
like sick joke, which said something about how tired he was.
"Elliot says you can stay here for up to two weeks if you want.
The room is paid for after all. I'd rather you weren't away that
long, but take whatever time you both need."

     "I wouldn't be surprised if we weren't at least back in D.C.
in a few day, sir." Dana stared up at the dark cavern walls as if
they were closing in on her. "This place is too gloomy. Mulder
should definitely get out of here as soon as he's able."

     Skinner nodded in agreement. "Don't come back too soon but
when you're ready Lisa or Elliot will put a plane at your
disposal to take you to the mainland. Just call the
Transportation Office when you get there and they'll issue you
tickets back. Oh, and all this," he gestured to include the
island as well as the Cavern, "it never happened. Agent Mulder
was kidnapped and drugged, interrogated and tortured. As for the
other? Downplay what you need to in your report. Mulder had
problems enough. He doesn't need news of this sort of thing
getting around."

     Before he headed off down the ramp, the A.D. gave Dana a
look that was so similar to one her father often used that Dana
felt a tightening in her chest. "Neither of you are to officially
report for work, however, until you've been cleared by Psych. We
don't need to include the gritty details in his official record,
but the physical and psychological affects of the Gold will need
to be recorded - and encrypted - in the psychologist's official
notes, but that's the only place. As far as what you two decide
in terms of your relationship after you get back to D.C. - all I
can say is - be discrete."

     Before Dana could respond to this last bombshell - though
she didn't know what she would have said anyway - Skinner had
turned and headed down the ramp towards his waiting plane. 

     Dana was staring, dumbfounded, at the retreating image of
her superior's broad back, when Jake came from the apartment.
When he placed his hand lightly low on her back, she no longer
shied, only tensed slightly. With Mulder so close now and safe,
she could accept the touch as it was meant, as a friendly gesture
and nothing more.

     "What was that all about?" Jake asked, inclining his head
towards Skinner.

     "I think he just gave us his blessing." She smiled
wistfully. "Mulder and I, I mean."
 
     The muscles of Jake's torso rippled as he chuckled silently.
"He's okay, your Mr. Skinner." Jake looked back towards the door
to Forsyth's suite. Just one person - one severely traumatized
person - remained in those cavernous rooms. "Are you ready?"

     Dana inhaled long and deep. "I'd better be. It's just the
two of us now." 

     Dana noticed that Jake's exhaustion seemed far greater than
the others had. Had he slept at all? She knew his conscience
troubled him greatly. So here was another way in which her two
men were astonishingly similar. 

     Dana wondered when she had started thinking of Jake as one
of her 'men'. Almost, like family. 

     "Fox kept his sense of self through the entire last cycle,"
Jake was saying, encouragingly. "Knowing that he can't fight his
body's impulses, this phase has its own problems. Still, the
worst is definitely over."

     Uneasily, Dana asked, "How was it? I mean - Well, you know
what I mean."

     "He was fine. He was remarkable, actually. It may be crude
of me, but I won't say I didn't enjoy parts of it." He shrugged.
"Of course, my tastes are warped. After all, I sold my soul to
this place, didn't I?" His voice surprising touched with
bitterness, Jake gestured with outstretched arms to encompassing
the entire island.

     Biting her lip just a little, Dana looked down the ramp
again in the direction Skinner had gone. "Skinner looked wrung
out. He ... uh... didn't, did he?" 

     Jake leaned bare skin against the wall of the entryway,
smiling in that small way which she had seen so often on Mulder's
face. "You can't be serious? Mr. Marine? What he may do when
there aren't witnesses, I don't know, but he remained straight
the whole time. However, what was going on in there could hardly
remain a spectator sport."

     "But I thought you said..."

     "I just meant that he didn't do anything with our wild man
or with Elliot or me, though we did offer. Lisa, however,
certainly showed him a thing or two his 'Nam girls never did."

     The vision that comment induced was so unexpected and so
right that Dana threw back her head in a silent laugh. She
suddenly felt - lighter. The mere thought of Skinner and Lisa
exploring possibilities made her surprisingly eager to explore a
few of her own.
 
     She edged towards the door to the suite. "He wanted a little
time alone, but it's been long enough. I'd better go."

     Jake remained leaning against his wall and studied her. He
noted the tension. She wanted to go and yet was afraid of what
she might find - and he understood. Oh, how well, he understood.
He wanted to be with her - to be with them both - but that was no
longer his place. And never would be again. 

     "Yes, I think you'd better. He has only a little time before
his hormones peak again and you two need to talk." 

     Jake pushed away from the wall. "I think what I'm supposed
to say now is I hope when life gets back to normal that you'll
both be very happy."
 
     "It's the 'when life gets back to normal part' that's hard,
but we'll try," Dana said. "What about you? What will you do
now?" Here she was on the threshold to the suite where Mulder
waited and where they soon would be together - and Jake? Dana
suddenly felt terribly guilty as if she had just ejected this
lonely man from his home. It was almost as if she were doing this
to Mulder himself.

     "What will I do?" Jake shrugged and for a well-conditioned
man who wore the equivalent of two handkerchiefs, a shrug can
ripple a lot of muscles. "I have no choice. Go back to the main
complex. Re-adjust. Merge back into the queue. Work." Jake held
up his own red-braceleted wrist.

     Dana was appalled. "How could you? Certainly not after -"

     "I still have a contract to fulfill. I've always take
contracts seriously - like my word."

     A shudder slithered up Dana's spine. "Then give me your
word, that you'll stop doing this to yourself."

     He looked over at her with a sad, lost kind of smile then
turned to start slowly down the ramp.

     She raised her voice. "Mulder will want to talk to you again
before we leave. How can we get in touch?"

     Barely turning, he replied simply, "Any of the attendants
can find me. My every movement is tracked in the computer and all
my appointments."

     Then he was gone, his beautiful, healthy body easily moving
down the ramp despite the fact that there was no spring in his
step.



     As she entered the apartment, Dana noted that before he left
Jake had opened the thick drapes that covered the windows in the
great room. The huge expanse of glass opened onto a view of blue
sky and palm trees, white sand and green grass and sparkling
ocean. A figure was sitting by that window, huddled in a blanket
and staring out. He looked drawn out, thinned. His hair was still
wet from the bath Jake and Elliot had run him through just before
they left. That was for her sake, Dana knew. If the heavy, musky
scent of sweat and sex that lingered in the bedroom they had used
was any indication, Mulder had certainly needed it.

     She went to his side, dropping down to sit at his feet and
rest her head on his knee. She had been careful not to walk
quietly. She hadn't wanted to startle him and she hadn't. She
doubted that a nuclear bomb would have. He seemed far, far away. 
Considering the private man that he was, this didnŝt surprise
her. His defenses must be in tatters. His face was that of an
ancient and yet very young man - defenseless and frightened under
a crumbling shell. He did lean slightly towards her, however, not
rejecting her, and that was enough.

     Dana waited for him to talk but after ten minutes and still
no word she began to worry. The clock was their enemy. Once the
hormone level built up again then the drug would begin exerting
its compulsive influence again. She desperately needed these few
minutes with Mulder as Mulder.

     "This is the first time we've been alone," she said, her
voice coming out a little hoarse at first.

     "Is it?" He shook himself like a weary animal. "Sorry, I
didn't mean that the way it sounded. I just don't remember."

     "You have every right to be bitter. I wasn't expecting Mr.
Sunshine."

     "That's fortunate, because he's nowhere to be found except
maybe out there." He inclined his head towards the window and
paused again. "This is going to..." His tired mind was clearly
searching for the words. "Scully, this is going to take a while.
None of my responses seem to be my own. It's hard to know which
to trust."

     "Trust me."

     His right hand released its death grip on the blanket and
came to settle on his knee near her hair. A finger curled gently
around one curl. "You know I do."

     "It's still good to hear you say it." She hoped her voice
was steady. A warmth had spread out from that lightest of touches
on her hair. "You must hate them," she said, "the men who did
this to you. I know I do."

     "I suppose. What I mean is, I suppose I will when I can feel
anything again." A breath came out, long and low. "They did do me
one favor they didn't realize. By shooting me up just before they
sealed me in, they probably saved my sanity. I don't remember
much when I'm on the 'stuff'. If I had been left to actually
_think_ about being down there..."

     Dana knew it hadn't been even as easy as he tried to make it
sound, but she let it pass for the moment. "I hope you're not
saying that just to make me feel better about these past two
days, about how our security plans - Skinner's and mine - caused
so much of this."
     
     Mulder smiled that tired, bitter smile of his. "That seems
to be the hand I've been dealt. Never easy. Never expected. Never
dull." He winced. "Not your fault."

     More silence. She felt his hand begin to stroke her hair
now. It felt _so_ good. When his fingers began to trace down her
neck and then her back, she nearly purred as the heat became
tingles that were doing some pretty wonderful things to her
insides. Suddenly, he pulled away, even going so far as to lurch
abruptly to his feet. Dana nearly groaned as he withdrew. 

     "It's all right, Mulder," she said without moving so she
wouldn't startle him. "Let it happen. It will happen anyway."

     "I want it to be me," he hissed, angrily, "not some drug.
The problem is I don't know what is me any more."

     "I know."
     
     Pale, he looked down on where she still sat on the floor
though she had turned so they could see each other easily. She
hoped the ache and acceptance in her eyes was able to convince
him when words could not. He was trembling, afraid to touch her,
terrified. She understood. He had been through far too much and
when under this much stress his immediate reaction was always to
move away, not to come together. Forces greater than his
instincts and his pride wouldn't allow that to happen this time,
however. For herself, Dana knew only that to be separated from
him for even one more moment would be unbearable. She shifted her
eyes to ease the tension between them and patted the floor beside
her. "Come here."

     He didn't move. 

     Taking a deep breath she lowered the pitch of her voice so
that it would out sophisticated-sultry the way Lisa's did. "I
said, 'Come here.' You've been a thrall so you should know how to
behave." That got his attention. His head reared up and the
blanket slipped and _that_ got Dana's attention. "It's a simple
thing, Mulder. I want you." No amount of playacting could
disguise the tears in her voice now. "I have missed you so." 

     He came flowing down to her side as gracefully as a heron
coming into land on a still, cool pond. She had opened her arms
and he crept inside like a tired, lost child coming home, his
feverish, quivering body melting into hers. She laid his head on
her shoulder. He sighed, peace descending over him even as the
breath flowed out. She rocked him gently and neither spoke, nor
moved, nor wanted to.


     Their peace did not last long. A few minutes. A shudder
passed through him and his back arched involuntarily. The
movement brought him out of her arms. There was more color in his
face now, a dark wildness.

     "Time for you to leave," he said, scrambling urgently to his
feet, but she had never let go so he lifted her up at the same
time.

     "Mulder, stop. I'm not leaving." 

     She pulled him to her, not abruptly, but with a slow steady
pressure. It required all her strength but she finally had him
close enough so she could clasp him around the waist. Her chin
was just about level with his collarbone and such a lovely
collarbone it was, too, even though the body underneath trembled.
Still it was just right for brushing her lips against. That
brought his shivering to a dead stop. Tilting her head, she
licked the smooth skin under his jaw. While she held him in her
spell, she unbuttoned her shirt one handed. She wasn't wearing
anything under the shirt, a fact that his round, startled eyes
were quick to notice.

     "S-Scully... what are you doing?" came his unsteady voice.

     "Getting the drop on the drug. What if I'm the one
influencing your behavior and not it?" A gentle rake of her
fingers across his flat stomach sent a ripple through every
muscle in his body. "What do you think of my plan?"

     "You expect me to think?" 

     Her mouth came down on a nipple that instantly hardened. His
breath came out long and low. "Scully... stop." 

     Then there was what her free hand was doing, the one not
around his waist and holding him close against her. An easy trick
with the blanket gone. And then she didn't need to physically
hold him prisoner any longer. He wasn't going anywhere.

     He moaned.

     "No... don't stop."

     Dana raised her head and cupping her hand behind his brought
his face to hers. His skin was hot, his eyes definitely so and
preternaturally bright from the drug, but he wasn't anyone she
didn't know. She covered his hungry mouth with her starving one.
His lips trembled at first then solidly closed over hers. 

     In the end she came up for air first. She was the one who
had to catch her breath and try to keep her head from spinning.
Still she managed, "Do you still want me to leave?"

     "Too late," he murmured just before Dana found herself in
the air as he effortlessly swung her up into his arms and began
to bear her towards the huge bed in the center of the room with
astonishing speed. It felt so good to be in his arms and to be
borne towards the acre of black satin she'd been privately
fantasizing about since the moment she'd first seen it wasn't bad
either.

      Her body leaned wonderingly into the lean, hard muscle of
his. "You've been working out," she marveled.

     "So they tell me."

     Suddenly they were together on the bed. Dana had had no
sense of his placing her down first. They were just there - skin
to skin. His kiss this time was not wild but full of all the
loneliness and despair of four months and the real terror of so
many more that had nearly come to pass. She returned in kind, her
grief, her raw anger over what had been done to him - done to
them both - fueling her response. The salt of their two personal
oceans mingled as their tears ran down cheeks and chin and jaw.

     Events moved as quickly as hands would touch and explore and
be reassured, and legs could open and intertwine. Unable to wait
longer, wanting him to be as much a part of her as soon as
possible as if that made him more real, she pulled him into her
and he went willingly. It was like comets colliding. Later,
curled together, they listened to the quieting beat of each
other's heart.

     "Was that different from the other times?" She asked.

     Sleepily, he nuzzled that made-for place between her
shoulder and her neck. "Oh, yes..."

     "How different?"

     "Better."

     "How better?"

     He settled her more comfortably against him. "The other
times - those I remember with Lisa and Elliot and Jake, which I
can't believe I did by the way - was like diving off a cliff.
It's exhilarating but you know you're going to fall eventually
and fall hard."

     "And what was this like?"

     "Like diving off a cliff - and flying - and I don't think
I'll ever fall."
 
     "We all fall. Though if you do, you know I'll be there."

     "I know... to pick up the pieces as you always do."

     Another kiss and it was gentle and deep and if he were
promising to 'take it slow' this time. While she was still
climbing her mountain, however, she felt his body stiffen against
hers and make a move as if to try to leave her again.

     "Don't you dare." She put her arms around his neck to keep
him with her. 

     "Don't you understand? It's coming back," he mourned in
despair.

     "And do you think that matters to me? It will be okay. It
will always be okay."

End of Chapter 24
JAKE AND FOX JOIN THE CLUB (25/25)
by Wind (Windsinger@aol.com)  

Disclaimer: See chapter 1 
 
Chapter 25
                                
     Two days later, Jake was making like a lizard and dozing in
the sun in the sun-heated sand. He was nearly asleep when he was
hailed by a familiar voice raised over the soft murmur of the sea
breaking gently on the shore. Mulder approached from across the
grass from the pool. His strides were purposeful but easy, and
there was a genuine smile on his face.

     "There you are. Elliot said you had some free time. I didn't
think thralls had free time."

     Jake grimaced. "We do have a bit. Enough to catch our
breath." Jake stretched, hoping the carelessly languid movement
did not look as faked as it felt. In truth he was all-too-acutely
aware of his nakedness. Mulder had completely covered his body in
European cut slacks and a loose, collarless, long-sleeved shirt. 

     "So your bags are packed and you're ready to go?"

     "I didn't exactly have anything to pack but, yes, the flight
crew is assembling. I do have a few minutes." His movements
supple, Mulder lowered himself to sit down on the dry sand beside
Jake. That he could move so well, like a dancer, didn't surprise
Jake; Mulder had certainly had enough exercise lately. 

     "Those clothes look familiar," Jake noted, with a curving
lip.

     "They should; they're yours. Elliot took the liberty of
borrowing them from the clothes you have here in storage. I'll
mail them back."

     "No keep them, I have enough to get home on. Besides, they
look good on you. Give Scully a thrill. There is more to life
then FBI power suits."

     "Such as this place?" The question didn't seem to require a
response and Jake didn't give one. Mulder squinted into the sun.
"When you arrive, they really do lock away your possessions?"

     "We've dumped down here naked as they day we're born.
Nothing to remind us of our old life. What you see is what we are
- indentured servants for the length of our contract, bound to do
the bidding of our masters. Nothing more."  

     Mulder shivered visibly but made no comment.

     Jake was immediately aware of the other's reaction. "I'll
always regret that I roped you into all that. I took advantage
when your defenses were _way_ down. I should have said the hell
with the Club's anonymity and let you call Scully that first
day."

     "You weren't yourself either."

     Jake's eyebrows raised. "You think Alex -?"

     Mulder's lips pursed together in a thin line. "Alex.
Remember I had her in me more than once and I don't mean only
when she took total control. I think that after you found me that
she began influencing my actions as well as yours. She didn't
want me to leave any more than she wanted you to."

     "Nice of you to be willing to let me off the hook. So now
with Alex cavorting on the other side trying everything Lisa
taught her on saints and archangels, and you're on your way home
to track down bad guys with the lovely Scully, you're probably
wondering why I'm still here."

     "The thought did cross my mind." 

     Jake leaned back on his hands and crossed his legs
enticingly at the ankle. Mulder blushed slightly and shifted
uncomfortably. "Sorry, habit," Jake apologized. "I wanted to see
if I could still get a rise out of you."

     "Unlike what Scully may have thought the first five years of
our partnership, I'm not made of stone. I took enough cold
showers to float the Queen Elizabeth II. Being here, being with
you, has shown me the another side of myself. Not the dominant
side, but still a part of what I am which I have to learn to
respect."

     Jake wished that Mulder had been looking at him at that
moment so he could remember and treasure the expression in the
other's eyes, but the agent was gazing off into the sun again. In
seemed to be his way of dealing with difficult subjects. 

     "Alex was with me in my watery grave. Did you know that?"
Mulder asked without moving.

     "I suspected as much."

     "You don't mind?"

     "Mind? That you weren't alone? Why should I mind?"

     Mulder's eyes unfocused a bit. "It was like when you're in
the hospital and you're about to go under the knife. You are in
total panic because you don't know whether the doctors are going
to be able to bring you out of it or not and all the while the
drugs are stealing your mind. You don't really feel the panic and
yet you know its there." His broad shoulders visibly relaxed.
"And then, completely out of the blue, there's this hand holding
yours."

     "I'm sorry. I only wish I could have arranged for Dana to be
there to hold your hand."

     Without changing his expression, which was more thoughtful
than anything, Mulder turned his head enough to observe his
'cousin'. "Certain you weren't the one who you wanted to be doing
the handholding?"  

     Jake looked flustered at the words and then - blushed.
Mulder didn't think that was possible.

     "Do you want to know the truth?" Mulder asked. "I wouldn't
have minded. Really. I would actually have preferred that to
Scully. What you and Skinner did here - keeping us apart during
the worst - that was the right thing to do."

     "Dana didn't think so at the time."
     
     "No, she didn't. I think she contemplated putting ground
glass in your soup but she came around."

     Mulder picked up small seashell, a little curving couch
shell. An edge had chipped on the open lip but you still couldn't
see inside. With an effort he threw it far down the beach where
perhaps a passing couple would find it and maybe it would remind
them that inside each of us there is so much that we don't know
and that we are, none of us, perfect. 

     "So why are you still here?" Mulder asked. "Seems a waste."

     The affected pose Jake had assumed smoothed away. Suddenly
he was not Jacob, sex slave to the rich and the famous. He was
just  a man - true, a naked man - but just this guy. He reached
for a pair of damp swimming trunks and slipped them on. 

     "Is this better?" Jake asked when he was 'dressed'. "Don't
look so shocked. No, I do not swim naked. There are minnows and
jelly fish and worse down there and there are places I'd like to
protect, thank you very much."

     Mulder laughed, genuinely more comfortable with Jake than
Jacob. "No more evasions. What will you do now?"     

     "I'm not evading. I'm just having trouble finding my balance
right now." Jake sighed from somewhere deep inside. "Since Alex
left me and our little rescue broke up, I've felt at loose ends."

     "Just a little trouble?"

     Those FBI eyes bored in Jake's. Jake turned away, squinting
into the sun. "What do you want me to say? That this place
doesn't work for me anymore? With Elliot, with Lisa... with
you... " he added after some hesitation, "I still could and would
do anything. But with strangers -" 

     Mulder could see that the conversation was painful but that
it was also critical to see it through. "'With strangers' what?'"
For the longest time Mulder's gaze continued, focused and
unblinking. 

     Jake's insides felt as if a nest of crawling things had
taken up housekeeping. "Shit, Mulder, do you do that to all your
suspects? You must extract confessions left, right and center.
What do you want from me? To see the tears? Do you want me to
show you how I can sob into a pillow so silently that my client
never knows? It's worse than things being a little uncomfortable.
After Alex's inner-city appetite, the Club was such a relief.
Paradise. I enjoyed being picked out of the crowd, being wanted
and desired. Or I thought I did. Now I hate it. I hate being
handed over to be some stranger's dish for the night. I hate
their hands touching me."

     "But you do it. There's a word for that, you know."

     As if shot, Jake launched himself to his feet scattering the
sand. "And I know what it is. I didn't use to care."

     "Now you care. So stop. Leave."

     "I have a bloody contract," Jake hissed, "and I wasn't
kidding about what I said they do here to the rebellious types.
Unfortunately, they believe that a thrall rebels because they
desire to be punished, to get that kind of masochistic attention.
Well, I don't want that kind of attention. I never did." Jake
wrapped his arms around his chest and shivered. 

     Like any good clinical psychologist Mulder continued to sit
quietly - observant and dispassionate. Inside, however, he felt
deeply for Jake. The man wasn't just reluctant to take on the
Club's punishment. He was terrified. For months, blindfolded, he
had been driven relentlessly to the top of a very high and scary
place. Now the blindfold was off and he was teetering on the
edge.
 
     Mulder's eyes softened. "As afraid as you are to stay,
you're also afraid to go back, aren't you? It's been a lonely
couple of years since Alex's death. Now you don't even have her
ghost with you." 

     Jake had turned his face away. Mulder rose and found himself
placing an arm casually around those bowed shoulders. Funny, he
couldn't have done that before this time on the island with Jake.
Now this simple comforting contact man-to-man felt right and not
at all threatening. 

     "Before Scully, I knew what loneliness was. None better. Why
do you think I've gone so slowly with her? I don't dare mess this
up. It may be my only chance. From what little I know, I'd say
Alex was a wreck to start with. I had a woman like that once. It
was good for her but not for me. So I'd say you haven't found
your one and only yet. You need to keep looking." Mulder glanced
around the perfectly beautiful, perfectly artificial resort. "But
I doubt that you'll find her - or him - here." 
 
     Jake let his weight rest comfortably against Mulder for a
few moments more, then gently stepped away. "Her or him? See what
a mess I am? I'm not even sure of what my sexual orientation is
any more." He squared his shoulders. "But I won't find those kind
of answers here either, will I? What's the truth? On one hand I
want out of Paradise. I want to go home and work, to be creative
again. I want to run in the park and play Frisbee with Stella, my
dog. I want to be free and be no man's plaything and no woman's
either, living or dead. On the other hand," Jake continued as he
paced faster and faster back and forth, his feet sinking into the
soft, white sand, "I like Elliot and Lisa, both of them. Well,
Elliot I thought once I could love but there's no future there.
Let's just say that I don't want to lose them as friends. I have
so few left."

     Mulder certainly knew where the man was coming form there.

     "I'll never be the person I was before Alex," Jake
continued, "and I don't want to be the person I've been for the
nearly three years since, but is there anything of the old Jake
left? I know I'm not going to find him here."

     "So why don't you leave?"

     "Because I've still got three more damn weeks left on my
contract!" Miserable, Jake threw his head back and stared at the
endless, imprisoning gray sea. "And I have to keep playing the
game because if I don't I'll be punished and punishment -
terrible as it is - doesn't even count towards your contract
time."

     Mulder sat back down on the sand. If he could, he'd get Jake
to do that, too. Anchor himself somehow. "Go to Elliot and Lisa,"
he suggested to Jake's bowed back. "Tell them the truth."

     "And they're going to believe that a ghost made me do it?"
Jake replied, his voice bitterly sarcastic. 

     A voice came from the direction of a stand of ornamental
bamboo. "How do you know what we'd believe, if we're never given
the chance?"

     Elliot and Lisa in 'normal' clothes - normal at least for
the island - emerged from behind the bamboo. Jake stared at them
then shot Mulder a searing glance. "You set this up."

     Mulder smiled in all innocence. "It's the sort of thing that
is frowned upon in my line of work, but I always wanted to do
it."

     "I'm glad he told us," Elliot declared, "and Sister Serena
confirmed the 'wild tale' though I would have believed you if you
had just asked me to. I have come to trust you, Jake. Certainly
you know that."

     'Jake', not 'Jacob'.

     Lisa draped herself on a decorative rock. "I'm not so
certain that I believe it all, but Elliot has convinced me that
he saw stranger things when he was in El Salvador and Cambodia."
Her eyes rested fondly on her mate. "And I trust Elliot and so
there's no more that need be said about that."

     "Except," Elliot said, crossing the last few feet of grass
to stop close to Jake in the sand, "that it has been a tremendous
blow to my ego to think that you were only attracted to me
because you were possessed."

     "Elliot, I didn't mean..." Jake raised his head, his eyes
swirling. Clearly he didn't know what he meant.

     If he hadn't been so agitated, Jake might have noticed the
genuine regret that passed over Elliot's strong, handsome face,
but Mulder saw it, as did Lisa.  

     Elliot raised his hand to reach for a tanned, leanly
muscular shoulder but left the hand hanging. "May I still touch
you?"

     Jake didn't move away but his spine stiffened. "You are the
Thrall Master; I belong to you. You can do anything you want."

     Anger blazed in Elliot's eyes. This Jake saw and it only
confused him all the more because he hadn't seen the pain before.


     Lisa rose from her rock and stalked over to the two of them
the ever-present strap swinging from its loop around her wrist.
"Males!" she swore. Without hesitation she flicked them both
across the front of their thighs, husband and slave both.
     
     Startled, Elliot's irritation dissolved as suddenly as it
had come. He raised an eyebrow in Jake's direction. "Don't you
just love her when she's angry."

     Conspicuously ignoring her mate, Lisa declared, "Jacob,
raise your left hand."

     Steeling himself for another blow, Jake did as he was
commanded. 

     "That's the last whipping the Jacob will ever receive from
any staff on this island. What Jake might desire, however, either
Elliot or I or both would be happy to dispense." With that she
took out a little key like a tiny golden Allen wrench and removed
the red bracelet from his wrist. She dropped it into his started,
open palm. "I hope you keep it as a souvenir of your time with us
and don't think of us too harshly." 

     When he continued to stare at her dumbfounded, she
explained. "Do you think we would really keep people here against
their will? Granted, understanding what each person's 'will' is,
is sometimes hard to fathom, but that's why each novice is
assigned a trainer who gets to know that slave inside and out.
That's so we know what we're dealing with. We've come to know you
Jake and so over the last two days we listened to the reports
about you and we worried. We knew you were unhappy, that
something was wrong, but we thought it was just taking you time
to get over everything that happened. We assumed that you trusted
us and would come to us if you needed help."

     Jake was still staring at his bare wrist. "You're going to
get into trouble over this. You already let Elliot off years
ago."

     "And others since," Elliot broke in. "We just don't
publicize. People come here to be pushed to their limits, but not
to destroy their souls. There's nothing worse than bad sex, Jake.
That's not what this place is about. As for 'trouble'? This
incident with 'Isaac' was nearly disastrous. It's forcing us to
rethink the entire concept of the Caverns."

     Jake was distracted from Elliot's recounting of his business
problems by the intense way Lisa was studying him. She clearly
wasn't listening either. Was she regretting the rash act of his
emancipation.

     "Jake," she said in her old tone. "Come over her and kiss
me."

     His eyebrows rose, his eyes flashed, and he didn't move.

     Lisa rolled her eyes in Elliot's direction. "Give them an
inch... Very well." Before Jake's eyes, Lisa transformed. Her
clothes didn't change, neither her hair nor her height nor her
eye color, but suddenly everything was different. She was just
this tall, dark-haired, beautiful woman and not the terrifying
'Perfectionist'.

     "Jake Simmons, would you _Please_ come over her and kiss
me."

     He did, as much to see if he could and to see how it felt,
then because she had asked him. 

     As kisses went at The Club it was chaste, but then he was
testing. She smelled of vanilla of all things, and lavender. Her
lips were soft as was her body in his arms. He found he liked the
way she touched him in those few seconds. Something stirred
within him, something sweet and clear. So he wasn't all dead
inside.

     He came up for air to find Elliot waiting expectantly,
almost shyly.

     Very well, Jake thought. Why not?

     Elliot was hard and alive, strong and protective. A safe
home. Something definitely stirred within Jake, but he came away
just as confused as he had been before.

     "Well?" Elliot asked? "Better or worse?"
     
     Jake had to take a little time before answering.
"Different?"

     Elliot smiled with relief. "Yes, I've always felt that way,
too."

     Lisa meanwhile was rolling the remnants of their kiss around
in her mouth like a fine wine. "Not bad but you weren't so
virtuous the other night when we were working the sex maniac
there," she nodded in Mulder's direction.

     Jake had wondered about that himself. "I was running on
adrenaline," he explained, "or you could say 'on fumes'. Alex's
fumes."

     Still musing over the kiss, she said, "Well, it's a start,"
and made a move to turn back towards Elliot but not without first
skipping her finger tips down Jake's naked chest. 

     "Some of Jacob must still be in there. He'd better be; it
would be a pity to lose all that potential. Come back to the
villa," she whispered in that sultry alto of hers, "and we'll
have brunch and talk about what you can do to work off the rest
of your contact."

     Alarmed, Jake switched his attention back to Elliot to find
the older man's eyes alight with laughter. 

     "Lisa's just trying to scare you. She's good at that. What I
was going to say before we were all so delightfully distracted by
Lisa's little experiment was that we thought you might be willing
to help us with some paperwork for a couple of weeks if you don't
mind. Strain your brain for once. The other members of the Board
are going to require that we investigate all the contracts of all
the private clients and their resident companions in depth. You
know the lingo and the residents. We thought you could help with
that."

     "And maybe," Lisa said most casually, "we can play a hand or
two or three of strip poker after dinner?"

     Jake's eyebrows twitched and with an amused expression on
his face looked down at his lack of attire. "I feel I'm at a
distinct disadvantage there, especially at the moment."

     With a laugh, Elliot took a bundle from under his arm.
"Shorts and a muscle shirt. I wouldn't want to hide _all_ that
beauty. Come along when you're ready. We'll have your things
brought up from storage and you can stay with us at the villa for
the next few weeks - in the guest room if you prefer." With a
wink to Jake and a nod to the FBI agent sitting relaxed with legs
outstretched in the sand, Elliott took Lisa's arm and they
started back towards the resort together.

     Jake made a move to put the clothes on but before he could
Mulder rose from his hollow in the warm sand to help him brush
the sand off his legs and back. Rather more aggressively than he
needed to, Jake helped brush the sand from Mulder's butt through
his clothes. For a moment it looked like there was going to be a
wrestling match right across the beach and into the surf.
Instead, they both broke off, laughing. Straightening, they found
themselves staring into each other's eyes. There was no
embarrassment; it was just an acknowledgement that neither had
forgotten what had happened between them. 

     Jake dressed quickly, pulling the shorts on over his skimpy
dry suit. Clothes again. To Mulder's eyes his smile was blissful
as if a hundred burdens had dropped from his shoulders.

     Without comment they began following the path Elliot and
Lisa had made across the perfect lawn. "They lay a good table,"
Jake said to Mulder.

     "You're actually going?" Mulder asked, unbelieving.

     Jake gave a knowing smile. "Do you think I was a prude
before Alex?"
     
     "So I take it you agree with how things have worked out."

     "About as well as they can. No personal service is required
and I'll be able to fulfill my contact. That's important to me.
They used to have a word for that - honor. It might even be -
fun." He winked impishly at Mulder. "Certain you don't want to
come along, have brunch, lose a hand or two or three? I'm certain
Lisa cheats."

     A voice drifted to them both over the tropical air. From the
direction of the airfield, Scully was waving at them from the top
of the gentle rise.

     "What a selfish, ungrateful wretch I am. You spent the last
half hour psychoanalyzing me and I haven't even asked how you're
holding together."

     A shadow passed over Mulder's bright eyes. "Together - with
duct tape and spit but together. I'll manage. I always do." 

     "Dana looks wonderful," Jake commented, inclining his head.
"Glowing. Have you two been getting sufficient rest and
relaxation these last couple of days?"

     It was Mulder's turn to blush. "That and exercise. I didn't
think I could. I didn't think I'd want to."

     Jake's smile broadened. "Then I'd say it's not about sex any
longer."

     "Do you mean... it's about...?" Dramatically, Mulder made it
appear as if the word was caught in his throat.

     "The 'L' word?" Jake asked, grinning.

     Mulder sobered. "Oh, it's been about that for a long time."
     
     They had reached the edge of the sapphire pool. The white
shell walk to the right would take Jake towards the villa. Scully
was waving from their left urging Mulder to hurry. It was time
that the two men go their separate ways. 

     "Don't be a stranger," Mulder said. "I want to know how
you're doing. I really do, but if that's too hard considering how
you feel..."

     Jake put his hands in his pockets. Blessed pockets! "I was
afraid it would be you who would rather not hear from me again. I
can take the rejection if you can forget the unpleasant parts." 
     
     "'Unpleasant' is your word not mine. Did I ever complain?
Actually, Scully has said in the past that I'm pretty reserved -"

     "Repressed," Jake corrected. "At least that's what she told
me back in Washington."

     "Did she? I don't think she'd say that now. On the subject
of prudishness, I haven't told you everything about my wild youth
either. Seriously, I don't have that many friends - or family
either - that I can afford to lose any, any more than you can.
Besides our friendship could prove useful. I've never had a twin
I could pull all those fun twin tricks with."

     "If you want to try it with Dana, I'm game."

     "In your dreams."

     They were still standing where the path diverged. "What will
you do after you leave here?" Mulder asked,

     "Work... architect-type work if the firm will have me back,"
Jake clarified. "And I'm going to seriously keep an eye out for a
life companion. This being responsibility free just doesn't make
it any more. And no more lurking in on other people's lives.
Maybe I'll come back here for vacation. It's a really nice
place," he defended to Mulder's amazement, "though they may not
let me come if I become too fat and successful to be appealing
any longer. There are standards even for clients."

     "If you find the right person who loves you for yourself,
they won't see what the years do, then you never have to worry
about being unappealing."

     They both heard Scully call again, a light song on the wind.

     Now that the moment of parting had come, both found it
difficult and yet unavoidable. Life went on. Mulder made the
first move again. He had to because Jake wouldn't, afraid that
anything from him would be misconstrued. He pulled Jake into a
brief, rough embrace. 

     Alone, Jake went a little way up the shell path towards the
villa, marveling on how _clean_ he felt. Pausing, he looked back
and saw that Mulder's stride had lengthened. He was nearly
running. Dana Scully was standing at the top of the walk, tapping
her foot as she waited. Her arms were crossed, but her smile was
radiant. 

     Jake turned away rather than witness their meeting.

     Alex had never loved him that way. She had loved only Alex,
had seen only the world by how it touched her. Elliot, however,
did love him, Elliot who was a color blind to sex as anyone Jake
had ever known. Love was love. Just that. 

     What had Elliot told him once? Everyone had many sides. Alex
and now Lisa appealed to Jake's male side, Elliot to his female
side.  Some day, some muscle-bound surfer might appeal to
another. Who knew, maybe even an ex-nun in time. Mulder and
Scully loved him, too, but in a different way. Somewhere there
must be someone who could - if not love all the sides of him - at
least understand them all. One special person; one who would
stay.       

     Out there on that priceless night before the races when they
had sat on the sand and just talked, Mulder had hinted that he
was on some mysterious quest and from day to day didn't always
know where it would take him, where he was going. Maybe not, but
at least he had his Scully, his light, to make his path a little
easier to follow. 

     Someday, Jake knew, he would find his light and he would
shout the news to Elliot and Lisa and Mulder and Scully and they
would be happy for him. For now that would have to do.
     
The End (Now I can finally get back to REVELATIONS 3: The
vacation.)