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

Chapter 4
**********************

Mulder's apartment
4:49 a.m.
Jan. 17
***********************

The choking tightness in his chest was unbearable as Mulder tried to take in what he was now sure had occurred. Walter was dead...dead on the kitchen floor a few feet away from where Mulder now lay. The terror of discovering Patterson in the apartment was nothing in magnitude to the shock, grief, and guilt Mulder was experiencing. But Mulder vowed to himself that he was not going to break down in front of his captor; he refused to give the animal that satisfaction, although Mulder desperately needed to express his immense feeling of loss.

Mulder's grief, however, was disrupted by the sound of the intruder circling the table where Mulder lay helpless. He could feel Patterson's gaze bore into his nakedness, as if the older man was imagining all he would do to take advantage of the situation. But why the sense of hesitancy, Mulder began to wonder, his mind fighting through the haze of panic and shock.

Patterson's entire soul was screaming for him to take Mulder then and there...to fuck the ingrate's insides until the boy begged for mercy and forgiveness for ever leaving his side. He could hardly believe fate had given him such a gift as this. He ran his hand slowly, possessively along Mulder's naked body, eliciting a sharp gasp of surprise and revulsion...as well as bringing on more frantic struggling.

/Huh. He'll know who's still in charge real soon./ Patterson smiled at the thought of how well Mulder would learn his lesson this time.

The hand read the fear inheirent in the skin below as it made its way from one end to the other, laying claim to every pore and muscle. It soaked up the helpless response in the body, beginning from the nape of Mulder's neck and continuing to his shoulders...trailing down the spine to the sweet, twitching flesh of his buttocks. Patterson took his time.

But no, Patterson's driven mind realized suddenly, exploring fingers stopping to clutch a handful of sensitive skin at Mulder's inner thigh. /No...not now!/ The hand pulled from its prize's soft skin as if burned by hot iron. That caress, that possessive touch, was too much temptation if he were going to carry out his plan.

/This isn't how I wanted it to be!/ The older man stepped back, looking at Mulder's struggling form with an attempt at dispassion. Taking a deep breath, he gathered himself to last a while longer. To wait for the planned moment. /I have to stay in control. That's the whole point....showing him I'm in control./ Deftly unstrapping him, Patterson used the laces of Mulder's wrist cuffs to secure his hands to the back of the waist harness, the tethers of his ankle shackles to wrap his feet tightly together. He watched amusedly as Mulder's body language and muffled attempts at vocalization registered surprise at the unexpected actions.

"We're going to play this on *my* turf, not dear old Walter's," Patterson informed his charge.

Although Mulder continued to squirm and grunt in protest, Patterson managed to wrestle the lanky man's frame to the ground with the added help of the leather handholds, dumping him unceremoniously face down on the carpet.

His legs no longer spread wide, the presence of the large plug inside him - a presence which had been undeniable from the moment his lover had inserted it - became an agony that brought Mulder close to unconsciousness as muscles were forced to tighten around the intrusion.

Still gagged and bound but no longer held fast to the wood surface, fighting off waves of faintness, Mulder strained to keep his head up so he could watch as Patterson moved throughout the apartment.

Patterson looked to be preparing to leave, gathering items together - including, Mulder noticed with dread, the large duffel. The bag filled with items he had purchased or fashioned himself, for himself, never imagining they would ever be used against him.

As Patterson made these preparations, the older man continued to confusedly ramble on about, as Mulder interpreted it, his own skewed version of various events during Mulder's career at the ISU. Of how Mulder had deliberately left on bad terms with the man who had, as Patterson described, "discovered and nurtured" him when no one else had seen his talent.

Patterson finally stopped his pacing and packing and ranting and came to the patch of carpet directly in front of where Mulder lay. He squatted down to gently trail his fingers through Mulder's hair, lowering his voice to a semblance of calm at last as he talked. "We're going to do it all over this time; and this time you'll see that *I'm* what you need..." he nodded with disdain toward the entrance to the kitchen,"...not him." Patterson made sure Mulder gave him eye contact as he affectionately stroked the curve of the younger man's ear with his thumb.

Mulder pulled his head away from Patterson's touch, grunting as he tried to roll away from his former boss. Patterson's gentle hand grew rough as he firmly grasped the back of his captive's neck. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a syringe.

Patterson leaned in closer to bring his lips beside the upturned ear. "Shh, Mulder. You'll see," he whispered, still clutching the other man's head so he could not move away. Giving Mulder a chaste kiss on the cheekbone, Patterson leaned back on his heels to plunge the needle into Mulder's arm.

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

Alexandria outskirts
5:22 a.m.
************************

Duke Ellington led his orchestra in their tune about taking the "A" Train as William Patterson took the BMW down I-95, his cargo safely drugged into blind oblivion and sealed inside the trunk. Dawn was breaking, and Patterson was grateful he had gotten out of the apartment and on his way while it was still dark. He had seen no one in the building or on the streets as he had wrestled Mulder and the bag of goodies down the stairs and into the car; no one in their right mind would be out in the pre-dawn hours in that cold.

It would have been much easier to carry out his plan in the apartment, he knew, instead of heading back to the office he had prepared. In fact, Patterson had been sorely tempted to fuck Mulder senseless as soon as he had him alone on the table. Mulder was like a Christmas present nestled under the tree on Christmas morning - all wrapped up and waiting to be torn into. But no, Patterson decided; he had planned this day for a long time, had made all the preparations, and he was going to have Mulder on *his* terms.

So, quite stoically, he judged, he had denied himself the pleasure of ramming Mulder's still-pink ass (Patterson wished he had arrived in time to witness the spanking that had brought on that color, although he would have been tempted to rip the paddle out of Skinner's hands and do the job himself, blowing his whole scheme) as the agent was so fortuitously spread out for him. He could have easily gratified the raging erection that had burgeoned as soon as he discovered what Mulder and Skinner had been up to in the pre-dawn hours in the apartment. But that would have been too easy, and it would not be his doing. It had to be *his* will that made it possible, or it wouldn't mean anything.

Patterson had decided to follow through in its original design with what he had dreamed of almost continually since Mulder had caused Patterson's confinement.

The BMW passed the 123 turnoff. The road to Quantico was open now, with no obstructions to get in the way.

It was a shame what he had been forced to do to Walter Skinner. He had never expected to find the man there, and had especially not expected to find him naked and probably, by virtue of their activities, looking for a can of Crisco cooking oil in the kitchen pantry.

The A.D. had Patterson's respect; although he had never really had the chance to know Skinner, other than by reputation, he had always thought the man was probably much like him. Having broken into the apartment when he did, finding the A.D. and the agent in the midst of this awesome display, Patterson was shocked to realize just how much of a kinship Skinner and himself shared.

The car's shocks got a workout as it passed over a series of rough bumps in the highway, and Patterson's thoughts went to the bundle nestled in the compartment behind him. Shot up with enough tranquilizer stolen from St. Elizabeth's supply to tame a good-sized leopard, tied and wrapped in the blood-soaked kitchen rug his "boyfriend" (Patterson balked at the thought of any other man touching Mulder, now that his reward was so close) had so thoughtlessly ruined.

Yes, Patterson thought, this prize was worth the effort he had made to obtain it. The prize he had striven for over the past two years - two years exactly today. The brilliant "Spooky" Mulder, frustratingly rebellious, seemingly oblivious to his Adonis-like beauty, the man for whom he'd done all of this. The ungrateful young man who had ruined his life.

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

ISU offices
Quantico, VA
9:37 a.m.
************************

Mulder awoke to find himself in a time warp. Seated at his desk from nearly a decade earlier, the office around him looked as if he had just opened his eyes from a nap stolen at work years ago. A modern-day Rip Van Winkle. The difference, he immediately noticed, was that this time he was tied down to his chair.

A quip about what a slave driver some bosses could be came briefly to his mind, but he wasn't much in the mood for joking.

The trip down memory lane was further triggered by the sight of his former mentor, who should have still been safely behind locked doors at St. Elizabeth's, standing in front of his desk.

Fear and horror having distracted him back at his apartment enough to not look at the man in detail, Mulder noticed in this familiar setting that Patterson was dressed much like he had been the last time he had seen him: in a three-piece gray suit, a conservative blue and gray tie, and a black, thick wool overcoat. Clothes a bit ill-fitting and body about twenty pounds heavier, Mulder guessed, but otherwise looking exactly the same.

Stranger still, Mulder found that he was no longer naked, and no longer wore the harness and leather cuffs he had let Skinner adorn him with. Patterson had even removed his anal plug, cock ring and ball straps, Mulder realized somewhat thankfully; he would be in far worse shape than he was if they were still on. It was almost like his time with Skinner had never been.

Patterson had dressed him in typical Bureau dress code attire - except, he noticed, he had found one of Mulder's dress-code-deviant neckties to put around his neck. Apparently, Mulder surmised, Patterson wanted everything to be as he remembered it from Mulder's day as one of his underlings.

In place of the thick leather restraints Skinner had put him in hours earlier, his wrists and ankles were now enclosed in steel cuffs. The standard police-issue hardware was joined together by hobble chains that pulled his four limbs under and behind the chair, feet off the ground and arms stretched down to nearly meet them, putting him in a seated hog-tied position. Two thick rubber bungee cords hooked around him at his waist and chest to keep his back flush against the chair.

Patterson also must have taken the gag out of his mouth while he was unconscious, Mulder realized as he came further out of his drugged lethargy, swallowing painfully.

Patterson went to hang his overcoat on the coat tree near the door as Mulder tried to think, through the remaining fog in his brain, of what he was going to do to get out of this alive. Then he considered that maybe he didn't really want to survive whatever Patterson had in store.

"What the hell are you doing, Patterson?" Mulder shot out, his voice raspy and hoarse. "What idiot let you out, and what do you want with me?"

"Mulder, I expected something more original out of you," came the reply from the former chief of investigations, walking forward to lean one hip heavily on the front edge of the desk, the other foot planted on the floor.

Mulder stared at the man in front of him, then looked down to hide his emotion.

"You killed him, you motherfucker," he accused quietly. Then his voice strengthened, his vehemence growing inside him again. "You killed him, didn't you?" Mulder dared to look up at the man in front of him, angry challenge and indignation in his eyes. This was the kind of monster he had been chasing all his adult life, and he was impotent to stop it.

Patterson ignored the question, but not the opportunity to further torment his former subordinate. "Goodness, such language!" he exclaimed in false surprise, then got up to walk around the desk to stand behind Mulder, holding on to the swivel chair and turning it around to face him. To lean forward and look his prize directly in the eye. "Not a motherfucker, young man. No; but I do plan to do some Mulderfucking today."

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

Mulder's apartment
same time
************************

"Mulder!" Dana Scully called as she knocked on the door again, louder this time. "Mulder, you've had your phone off the hook!"

Scully had been informed earlier that morning that Bill Patterson had escaped from St. Elizabeth's the night before; according to the FBI operator, both Skinner and Mulder had been unreachable - no answer at Skinner's all night, and busy signals on both Mulder's home phone and his cellular each time he was called. When Scully continued to get a busy signal trying to reach Mulder, too, she headed over to his apartment to let him know the developments.

Mulder should have been at home. She knew it was Skinner's weekend here, and she knew that they were in the habit of sleeping in on Saturdays. Skinner's settling influence on Mulder's life had made her formerly elusive partner much easier to track down, but this morning it was apparently making him one hell of a pain in the butt to rouse.

Scully jiggled the doorknob and was worried to find it unlocked. /Those two should know enough to be more careful,/ she thought, drawing her gun and cautiously entering the apartment. Far too many times, a situation like this with Mulder had been actual evidence of foul play. And with Patterson on the loose...it seemed like too much of a coincidence. She told herself that she was probably unnecessarily concerned, but she didn't really believe her own reassurances.

Walking forward to the living room, she had a sense that things were out of place. The table she'd never seen tipped her off, but maybe Mulder had picked it up recently and not found a place for it. A large smudge of blood on the carpet - not soaking the carpet, but covering the top of the fibers as if something soaked in blood had lain on top of it - was not visible until she had fully entered the room. Gasping at the discovery, she knew it was undeniable proof that something was seriously wrong.

Moving faster now, backing up and taking a left down the hallway, Scully first checked the bedroom. The bedding was lumped on the floor, and she was puzzled to see two long chains hanging from the bed's footboard. /Don't think too much about that, Dana,/ she told herself. An image entering her mind - Skinner and Mulder laughing and joking, happy together, the last time she had seen them off duty. She went to check the rest of the apartment.

Finally, she got to the kitchen. "Oh, my God," was all she could say before she reached for her own cell phone.

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

Quantico ISU offices
10:23 a.m.
************************

The last half hour had been reminiscent of Mulder's university days. "Lecture time with Bill," as Patterson held a private diatribe on Mulder's past transgressions of disrespect and disloyalty. Lecture and not discussion because the first time Mulder came to his own defense, trying a bit of reality testing on his former supervisor, Patterson would have none of it. He shoved and buckled the ball gag brought from the apartment back into Mulder's mouth.

Finally, Patterson's lesson in office etiquette came to a conclusion, and he gave his former student an ultimatum.

"I am willing to forgive what you have done," Patterson said, finally ending his pacing to stand inches from where Mulder still sat, "if you will make some simple concessions to me."

Patterson waited for some response from the man fastened to the chair below him.

Mulder only glared back.

The older man was annoyed at his former student's stubbornness. "Son, don't make this hard on yourself," he advised, finally pulling up a chair directly in front of Mulder and sitting forward, an air of paternal concern and camaraderie in his demeanor.

"I've always liked you, Mulder. You just..." he began, casting about for just the right words to express his frustration. Finally, he could no longer contain his irritation and raised his voice from its previous control. "You just need to LEARN SOME RESPECT!" Patterson shouted the final words.

The teacher stood up again, hands shaking, and turned his back on his strong-willed pupil. Hands on hips, he breathed deeply to regain his composure. He tried again. "I'm going to ask two things of you, Mulder, and then I will let you go." He turned back around to see Mulder's reaction.

Curious, but doubtful. Mulder was smart enough to know Patterson probably had no intention of keeping his end of the deal.

Patterson chose his words carefully, delivered them slowly. "You are going to willingly let me do what Skinner was doing last night to you," he explained, noting Mulder's unsurprised expression. "Freely and willingly, you're going to give yourself to me. And," he added quickly, "You're going to call me 'Sir.' Just like you said it to him. With respect."

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

The paramedics had come and gone. Skinner had adamantly refused to go to the hospital. A blow to the head had opened a large gash, now cleaned and bandaged, but Scully doubted he had anything as serious as a fractured skull. The injury seemed to be limited to a bad concussion. He had lost a great deal of blood; luckily, the head wound had clotted on its own - Scully assumed the curiously missing kitchen rug had aided in that - while he had been unconscious, or he might have bled to death.

After five years of working with both of them, and especially after getting to know Skinner much more personally over the last year, Scully knew that the A.D. was every bit as stubborn as Mulder. There was no swaying the ex-Marine from his mission: to go find Patterson and Mulder.

Although he had been taken totally by surprise when he entered the kitchen, Skinner had gotten a glimpse of Patterson as he went down after the man attacked him from behind. A well-placed blow with something very hard had knocked him out completely until Scully had arrived to shake him out of unconsciousness.

"Scully, it looks a lot worse than it is," Skinner said to convince her to let him come along as she got the search for Mulder underway. "I *am* your supervisor, you know. I am *not* going to go anywhere until Mulder is safe."

Scully was not going to waste precious time arguing. Despite the blood, the A.D. did seem out of any danger - no sign of faintness or lethargy that would indicate serious head trauma. She had always thought Skinner had a hard head, and here was proof that it was literally true. She could use his help, anyway, in organizing a search for Patterson and Mulder.

The question now was, where to start looking.

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

Continued in chapter 5.