Vampire Series by DiAnn One hour later, a visibly shaken Walter Skinner came in the room to be greeted by languid hazel eyes watching him closely. Mulder's hands were still tied to the bed and he seemed to be pulling at the restraints without conscious thought. "Oh Mulder, I am so glad you're awake. I've never had anything like this happen in my life. My Dad in downstairs but he . . . he only has one leg and . . . and he's so . . . so bitter. And my brothers . . . they're are all dead here. We have to get out of this place, Mulder, we have to get back where we belong." He moved to untie his agent, rubbing the raw bruised wrists. Mulder grabbed his arm, "I told you, Walter, you have to give this up. You tried to save me and we didn't make it. Now you have to forget about me and stay here with your family. As soon as it gets dark, I'm going to sneak out of here. I . . . I want you to know that even though we haven't known each other long, I . . . I well, I love you, Walter, and I always will. I have no regrets about what happened between us and don't you be letting it eat away at you either. You're the only man I've ever . . . ever been with like that. It just happened, it wasn't your fault or mine. It was this damned war. We took what comfort we could, where we could. No sin in that. Now it's time for you to find yourself a nice girl and settle down here. If I make it back to Washington in one piece, I'll find a way to let you know." Skinner got a vice grip on his chin, pulling his face around, boring his eyes with his own furious brown ones. "You listen to me, Mulder. You will not sneak out of here and take off on your own. I may not know what the hell is going on here but this is no time for you to pull one of your world famous ditches. Do you understand me, Mister?" Walter let go and scrubbed his face as Mulder blinked at him with wide befuddled eyes. "Listen Mulder, I know that you don't . . . what I mean is . . . Mulder, do you trust me?" "Of course I do. With my life." "Good. Now is not the time for you to disobey my orders like you usually do." He stared pointedly at his confused agent. "You have to do exactly what I say, when I say it. And that means you do not leave this house without me. Oh, and don't talk to anyone either? If you do have to talk . . . fake a southern accent or something." Mulder gave him a raised eyebrow and a lopsided grin but remained silent. "You heard me and I mean it. I am going to find a way out for us but you have to behave for once. Krycek is downstairs, he's ...Krycek is the overseer here and he's....Hell Fox, everyone here hates the Yankees and you....you just...when you talk...I'm not ..." Skinner took a deep breath and leaned down with a hand on each side of Mulder's head, "You just listen to me Fox Mulder, I may not know where the woodshed is around here but I bet they've got one. If you don't follow my orders to the letter, you and I are going to be spending some quality time there. You got that?" Mulder just stared at him for a few stunned moments before he finally found his voice. "Walter, I know you're a little older than I am but not that much." Mulder still had one dark eyebrow raised high over his eye. It was a very Scully-ish look. Oh damn, Scully, he had forgotten about her. Where the hell did she fit in this nightmare they were living. "Old enough Mulder, and big enough, too. Just make sure you don't make me angry enough. Now you stay right here and rest. I'm going to go see what the hell is going on in this looney bin. I mean it about that woodshed, you step one foot out of this room and I'll tan your hide but good." Mulder was still laughing as Walter left the room. As night fell, Walter had made no progress with finding a way back to his own century. Mulder's fever rose sharply and he once again thrashed on his sweat soaked bed and called for Scully. Skinner stayed in the room with him throughout the long night, praying that he would not die. Sometime near daybreak, Mulder quieted and drifted off into an uneasy sleep. At full light, Walter left Mulder's room and hurried downstairs. He needed to talk with his mother. She seems to be an island of sanity in this otherwise lunatic world. He managed to avoid his dad. So much for sanity. His mother informed him that she wanted nothing to do with Mulder. He really couldn't blame her. She did think she had lost three of her sons and a husband to the war. It was hard to imagine a war where a good man like Mulder was the enemy just because he had been born north of the Mason Dixon Line. Every generation had seen it's own brand of insanity. He spent most of the day in Mulder's room. Washing down his feverish body. Making sure his mother did not do more harm than good with her basket of evil smelling herbs. And holding Mulder, both while he screamed in pain as the poultices were laid on his torn flesh and as he thrashed and cried out in fever dreams. Dreams where he lost Dana Scully and where Walter Skinner betrayed and hurt him. Walter thought the torturous day would never end. Toward mid afternoon, the fever finally broke and Mulder slept soundly until the next afternoon. When he awakened, he was almost his old self. Eyes bright with intelligence instead of fever. He steadily improved for the rest of the day. Once on the road to recovery, his recuperation was almost miraculous to watch. He quickly became an exasperating force to be reckoned with once more. He was more determined than ever to by heading north on his own. After dinner, Mulder was so restless that he was driving Walter mad. He decided to take him out for some fresh air. They ended up in the stables. They sat in a well hidden stall, on some fresh smelling hay, talking about what Walter thought was going on. Instead of being intrigued, as Mulder should have been, the agent was sure his presence was driving Walter into dementia. He adamantly insisted that it was time for him to leave. Walter became so incensed, he grabbed the stubborn Mulder and pulled him forward until they were nose to nose, fully intending to set him straight once and for all. The next thing he knew they were kissing. They made love on an old blanket laid on the pile of fragrant hay. Skinner had wanted to wait until Mulder was stronger but Fox was anxious to feel really alive again. It had not been their most robust bout of lovemaking but it had been a celebration of life and love for both of them. Afterwards, Walter had tried to get his brilliant young agent's view on their current situation. Mulder kept insisting that he was, indeed, a Yankee spy and that he was taking Walter down with him. And, to make matters worse, he was throughly convinced that he would be discovered and killed by the angry southerners. It was, he said, only a matter of time. He begged Skinner to shoot him if it looked like he was going to be caught and hanged. He was terrified of hanging. Oh, and to please get word to Dana Scully that he was sorry and that he loved her. Walter became so frustrated with the hardheaded young man that he had eventually lost control, pulling Mulder carefully over his knees and delivering several sharp, stinging slaps to his unprotected backside. Mulder had gasped and wiggled but had not avoided having his butt throughly reddened by an angry and determined Skinner. Walter had then dragged a wide eyed and stunned Mulder back to the house and put him to bed. Evidently this Mulder wasn't used to Skinner's unusual disciplinary measures. Walter had, however, been successful in extracting a promise that Fox would not leave the property on his own. It seemed that a few well placed smacks got Mulder's attention and grudging cooperation in any time period. He had later apologized to Mulder for losing his temper but the young man seemed to still be in shock from the impromptu spanking he had received. Good! Maybe it would shake him up enough to keep him in line for a few days. With Mulder, a few days could make all the difference in the world. For the first time since this had fiasco begun, Skinner got a good nights sleep. Mulder, exhausted from his illness and their romp in the hay, had not awakened, or even moved once from his position on Walter's shoulder. The next morning, Skinner had just cleared the back door when he was greeted by Alex Krycek. That insolent sneer still very much evident on his handsome face. There were two other men standing behind him. Two large African Americans in tattered pants who eyed Skinner with obvious animosity. "Good to have you back, Walter." Krycek smiled at him. "Is that a fact, Krycek. I'm glad you think so. It seems Dad is putting a lot of faith in you these days. I hope whatever you're doing is for the good of the family." "I hope whatever your doing is for their good too, Walter. Old Man Feeney stopped by. Said you brought some wounded home with you. Yankee wounded. That wouldn't be true now would it, Walter Old Boy?" Skinner grabbed the front of Krycek's shirt and watched the men behind him tense, "Leave Mulder alone, Krycek." Krycek pulled Skinner's hands away from his shirt, "I wouldn't think of messing with your boyfriend, Walt. By the way, you might want to head out toward the cookhouse. Tom Colton is out there pestering your mama to sell out to him again." **************** Krycek stood in the open doorway and surveyed their new guest. Mulder lay quietly on the bed, his eyes closed, long dark lashes resting on his flushed cheeks. His shoulder had been freshly bandaged, it looked very white against his skin. "Well, well, well. Look what we have here. Walter always did have good taste." Mulder's eyes popped open, startled to see a dangerous looking stranger standing over the bed, smiling at him in a way that caused the hair to stand up on the back of his neck. "Are you a Yankee, Boy? Old Man Fleeney say's you're a Yankee for sure." Mulder looked around wildly. Shit, what should he do now? "Wh...where's Walter. Who are you?" Krycek's smile widened, "Whoo-he! Boys come in here and look at this. I done captured me a Yankee and a pretty one at that. Big Joe, take this boy down to the woodshed and let's show him how we feel about slutty little northern boys corrupting our big brave war heroes." Big Joe and another equally large man stepped into the room and reached for Mulder who was now scrambling frantically to get off the bed before they reached him. He soon realized that he was too weak to put up the kind of fight he needed to protect himself from these men. He was easily hauled to his feet, only managing one good punch to Big Joe before Krycek's fist met his jaw. Big Joe threw the unconscious man over his shoulder and headed for the woodshed. As they passed the door, Charles Skinner called from the library, "What's going on? Who's out there?" "It's Alex Krycek, Mr. Skinner, Sir. We found a Yankee skulking round here. I'll take care of him, don't you worry none." "A Yankee, on White Oaks?! You take care of him, Alex, you take care of him good." "Oh, I will Mr. Skinner. I will." Mulder regained consciousness to find himself in a small shed. It smelled strongly of freshly cut wood. He was bent over a rough wooden bench of some sort, his feet were several inches off the floor. His sore ribs were supporting most of his weight and he was finding it difficult to breathe properly. He figured the worst was still yet to come. Alex Krycek stepped around in front of him and rubbed his hand through Mulder's thick hair and down his smooth back. "So tell me, Yankee Boy, are you and old Walter real close? Bet a pretty boy like you can keep a man real warm on a cold night. Did you keep Walter warm, Boy?' He leaned down to stare into Mulder's eyes, "Did you use that beautiful mouth of yours to make him real hot?" Mulder spit in his face. "Damn it! You're going to regret that, Yankee. You're going to regret it real bad." Krycek took a dirty rag out of his pocket and stuffed it in Mulder's mouth. "I'd prefer to hear you scream but I don't want Walter down here putting his nose in my business." He slapped the back of Mulder's head, "When I get done with you boy, you'll be begging to do anything I ask you to do. Henry, hand me one of those hickory switchs you cut." Mulder felt his pants being stripped from his body. He was totally naked and defenseless. Come on Walter, showing up right now would be really good. The first lash of the slender switch burned across his shoulders like fire, taking the rest of the air from his lungs. The switch bit again, this time across his butt. An agonizing stripe of pure pain. He screamed around his gag as he bucked furiously. "Bet you never thought, when you were eating roasted hickory nuts up north, that someday you would feel the fire of a hickory switch on your naked butt. Now did you, Pretty Fox?" The third stroke was even harder, running diagonally from left shoulder to the middle of his right buttock. The tip of the flexible switch bit into his flesh fiercely. He felt something hot and wet run down his ass right before the next lash struck. For Mulder, the time passed in a blur of agonizing white-hot pain and Krycek's lascivious threats as to what he intended to do to Mulder once he had worn out his sturdy little hickory switch. White Oaks Plantation One Hour Later Mulder was right. Tom Colton was an asshole, in this time period, or any other. He had found the man wheedling his mother to tears about selling this property. The man had not been pleased when her son came on the scene, very much alive. He had evidently thought all the Skinner boys were dead and buried. From the look on Colton's face he was trying to think of a way to make that a reality. Walter made a mental note to keep a close eye on Mr. Colton. Walter walked into Mulder's room to find an empty bed. He felt his temper boil up in his chest, "I was not joking about that woodshed, Mulder. When I find you . . . " He went flying down the stairs two at a time, "Mom! Mom, what happened to Mulder. Where is he?" Mrs. Scully met him at the bottom of the stairs. "What's wrong, Dear?" "Have you seen Mulder? He isn't up there." "I tended his shoulder earlier, he really should take it easy for a few more days. I told you that boy was trouble. Don't worry, Walter. He probably just went on back home. He'll be fine." Skinner searched frantically. Mulder was not in the house, he had looked there first, from top to bottom. He had also already gone through most of the out building. "If he's taken out on his own, I'll beat him senseless. He'll wish he'd never . . . " Something caught his eye, he bent down to inspect the ground on a well worn path from the stables into the forest. Fresh blood. He didn't need the FBI crime labs to tell him it was Mulder's. Who else's could it be. Shit! Shit! Shit! Snaker's Cabin Grover's Woods Mulder came to this time with his cheek pressed against rough wood. He slowly raised his head, it seemed to be some sort of cabin, in bad repair and sparsely furnished. He rose up a little further and almost blacked out again from the wave of pain that radiated from his back. Whipped! The south was just not a safe place for a boy from the Vineyards. He crawled carefully to his feet, the skin on his back, from shoulders to knees, pulling tightly and sparking with white-hot hurt. Shit! He found some filthy clothes lying on the floor and carefully pulled them on. He had to get out of here, away from that pervert Krycek, and not back to Walter either. If he stayed with him much longer they would both be killed. He didn't want that. He didn't want anything to happen to Walter. Unlike Walter, he didn't have any family left. His sister had been missing for years, taken from her home when she was just eight years old and never heard from again, she was now presumed dead. Both parents had died soon after of a broken heart. Mulder always thought they blamed him. That he should have watched his baby sister closer. Maybe they were right. He shoved the thought away, he didn't have time for guilt right now. Actually, truth be known, he didn't want to die either. He still had his beautiful Dana waiting for him and he still had his work. With the war over, maybe he could get back to his real job. Personal bodyguard for President Lincoln. He admired the man's integrity and keen intellect greatly and he was determined that the President should have ample time to reunite the country. And maybe, just maybe, he might find his sister some day. He hadn't been able to find any boots in the cabin, so he had wrapped his feet in rags. He hoped the snakes would find him as unappealing as the rest of the inhabitants of Georgia did. The door had been locked but Mulder had picked up a few tricks in his years as a special agent for his country. Once outside, he swayed on his feet, the landscape around him going in and out of focus. He gave himself only a few moments to gain some semblance of balance and then he set off in what he sincerely hoped was north. If his superiors had known about his terrible sense of direction, he would never have been allowed to perform as a secret courier. He would, no doubt, have been kept safely in Washington. Dana had tried everything in her power to make that happen, as it was. Even to enlisting the help of her well placed and powerful father. But Mulder had been determined. A spy with a terrible sense of direction, just another little Mulder secret, like his love for another man. A man wearing a gray uniform, who had found him hurt and bleeding, in a rain soaked field in Alabama. Mulder had been sure he was going to shoot him but he had rescued him instead. Skinner had saved his life in more ways than one. Skinner was a man he would die for. A man he would leave Georgia, on his own, to protect. White Oaks Plantation Late Afternoon Walter sat on the steps leading into the house with his head in his hands. He didn't know where else to look for his lost agent. "Hey, Walt." He looked up to see Tom Colton seated on a tired looking horse. "What do you want now, Colton?" "There's a Yankee been sighted out in Grover Woods. We're all going to hunt him down. You should come along. Time you became one of us again, Walter." Skinner stood up. "What do you mean by ? Which way was he headed?" "Well now, that's the strange thing. He seems to be moving in circles. You know those northen boys haven't got very big brains. Probably lost. It'll make the hunt a little boring but still be fun to watch the hanging." "Shit! Yeah, stay right here. I'll be right with you. Don't leave." Skinner ran for the stables. It had been years since he had been on a horse, he only hoped he didn't make a complete fool of himself. Snaker Cabin Grover Woods Mulder stood unsteadily and looked around. All these damned trees looked alike but that big rock looked much too familiar. Shit! He needed a good place. Just the right place. He was tired. So damned tired, he shivered, and cold, too. Perspiration ran into his eyes and he swiped a mud caked hand across them, making his vision even more fuzzy. Finally he spotted an area that looked inviting, protected on three sides by huge pines, with just enough room for him to curl up under a fallen log. Perfect! Curling himself into the cozy place, he pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around himself. He was shaking hard now. Funny, he had always heard that the south was warm but he was so damned cold. He patted the ground weakly. He had found it, a good place to die. He didn't want to hang. He had seen a hanging once and it had horrified him. If he had a gun, he would just take care of this quickly. Maybe he would get lucky for once in his life and die before they found him out here. He drifted off to sleep thinking of Dana Scully. She was going to be so angry that he had gone and gotten himself killed. He heard not the slightest sound to announce Walter's arrival. He was just suddenly at his side, pulling on his arm. "Come on, Mulder, time to go. We have to get out of these woods." "Walter . . . go home!" Mulder was sure he was yelling but Walter had to lean closer to even hear him. The agent patted the soft pine needles in front of him, "See, Walter? Good place." "Good place? Good place for what?" Skinner was still pulling on his arm and Mulder was starting to get annoyed. "Walter . . . go back . . . to family. I found . . . found good place to die. I don't . . . don't want to hang. Scared." Skinner pulled Mulder over to lie on his back blinking up at the sun filtered through the trees. His eyes were glassy green and fever bright again. Walter sighed and pulled him up to a shaky sitting position. "Damn it, Mulder! When I get you back to DC, you won't be able to sit down for a month," Skinner's angry voice hissed. "Now keep quiet. Can you walk?" A wide-eyed Mulder nodded but Walter was not all that encouraged as he listed drunkenly to the left. Mulder tried to focus on Walter's face. He had certainly seen a new side to the man since coming to White Oaks. His superiors back in Washington, whom he constantly irritated, would find this whole wood shed thing uproariously funny. Mulder was a little less enthralled with the idea but this was, after all, Walter. And as far as Mulder was concerned if Walter wanted to beat him seven ways from Sunday, he'd let the man do it. He owed him his life. "Now you listen to me, Mulder, we are going to move in that direction." He pointed over his shoulder, "You stay so close behind me that I can feel you against me. And I'm telling you right now, wonder off like you sometimes do. Don't think about anything, except keeping yourself glued to my back. You have to stay focused, Kiddo. Now let's go." It took them most of the day to crawl slowly out of the thick underbrush, careful to avoid search parties. As dusk settled, the weary lynch mob gave up. Resigning themselves to the disappointment of no hanging and went home for supper. It was well past dark before Skinner dared carry an exhausted and semi-conscious Mulder into the stables and up into the loft. He helped him to lie on a pile of straw. Mulder immediately rolled over onto his stomach with a distressed, pain-filled groan. "What's wrong, Mulder?" Skinner gently pulled at his agent's shirt, noticing for the first time the dark stains that covered it. He gasped when he saw the condition of Mulder's bloodied back. "Who . . . who did this to you?" "Krycek . . . it could have been . . . been worse. He was going to rape me but I think I must have passed out on him. Bet he wishes he hadn't . . . waited now." "That Son of a . . . " Skinner covered the agent with a ratty old blanket he had found in one of the stalls. When he got his hands on Krycek, he was going to kill him, pure and simple. And he sincerely hoped Krycek appreciated the favor, he could turn him over to Dana Scully instead. "Listen to me, Mulder. I've been giving this some thought while we waited for it to get dark and I think I may have solved this thing. When we left that old barn it was Sunday the twenty-sixth. We've spent one night in the woods and three here at White Oaks, that makes tomorrow Thursday. We have to be back at that barn on Saturday, to get Scully. Which gives us only two more days that we have to keep you hidden here." Mulder was looking up and blinking at him again. was back , very cute but totally exasperating. If this Mulder held true to form, he would not agree to anything when he was the least bit confused about what was going on. Shit! "Walter, you need to save yourself. Let me go, I can take care of myself. I can . . . " Skinner grabbed his chin, forcing his face up until they were eye to eye. "Mulder do you care about me?" "You . . . you know I do." "Do you trust me?" "You saved my life." "I did?" Mulder cocked his head to one side, "Yeah, when that guy got me in the shoulder with his bayonet and left me for dead. Remember? I thought you were going to finish me off but you picked me up instead." The agent flinched in surprise when Skinner growled at him, "Then you listen to me, Mulder. You have to remember that I love you and that you can trust me. I am not going to leave you and I am not going to let you die. It would hurt me too much and besides that, Scully would kill me anyway. I do not want Dana Scully to kill me, she will make it hurt too much. So you . . . Are. Not. Going. To. Die. Any questions?" "Yeah just one," Mulder slurred, his head swimming from exhaustion, "How do you know Dana Scully well enough to be afraid of her?" "You'll find out soon enough, at least I hope so. Now for two days you stay hidden and I mean it. On Friday night, as soon as it gets dark, we'll head north and try to find that barn again. Right now I'm going to go find you some food, which you eat. You had better be here when I get back, or else." "Yes, Sir." Walter didn't bat an eye at that form of address, although he knew Mulder meant it sarcastically. He just carefully climbed down the ladder and made his way to the cookhouse. Mulder really wanted to stay awake and try to get his thoughts in order but he was just too damned tired. He was asleep before Skinner was out the door. Snaker's Cabin Grover's Woods Alex Krycek threw the rickety chair against the wall and watched it splinter into a thousand pieces. Shit, how could that Yankee kid have gotten out of here. He had underestimated that innocent looking face. Well never again. Next time he would be ready for the sneaky little fox. He kicked out at the table leg, sending if toppling over onto the floor. He should have taken him when he had the chance. He thought he would be able to come back here and take his time, enjoy the pretty boy all night if he wanted. Make him cry, make him scream, make him beg to be used any way Krycek saw fit. Well, he would just have to find him. He could not have gotten far. Krycek hadn't given him a lot of lashes, he had wanted him alert. But he had hurt him enough to slow him down. He would find the pretty boy and then he would make him pay. White Oaks Plantation Thursday, 11:00 a.m. Krycek had watched as Walter Skinner repaired the chicken house. The man had his shirt off and Alex had to say, the man was in good shape. But he preferred slender, pretty men. Dark-haired men with pouty mouths and big innocent eyes. Walter had given nothing away by word or deed as to where he had the Fox hidden. But Krycek was sure the man knew exactly where he was. He had watched Skinner's frantic search yesterday. If Mulder were still lost, Skinner would not be this calm today. Oh Yeah, he had him all right. All Alex had to do was be patient and stay alert. Both Alex and Walter looked up as several men road into the yard. "Morning, Walter. Glad to see that you made it home safe." "Thanks. It's nice to be back." Walter had no idea who these people were. He was not going to let down his guard until he was sure they were not a threat to either Mulder or himself. He checked, out of the corner of his eye, for the shotgun that he had nearby. He kept it handy now at all times. "We heard you had a Yankee here, Walter. We want to have ourselves a little talk with the boy. Maybe take him off your hands." "You're mistaken. There are no Yankee soldiers at White Oaks. I brought someone back with me but he was a man under my command. He left already, went on home I guess." "You sure about that, Walter?" "Are you calling me a liar?" Alex Krycek walked up behind Skinner. "What's the problem, Lem?" Lem swallowed hard as he looked at the dangerous looking man addressing him, "No problem, Mr. Krycek. Just don't like Yankees that's all." "Well, I can understand that but we don't have no Yankee Boys here and if we did, I'd know exactly what to do with them." Skinner trembled with anger as Krycek gave him an evil smile. "Well, guess Old Man Feeney was mistaken then. We'll just be goin' on home now. You see any damned Yankees, you just let us know." The dozen or so men rode out of the yard, kicking up dust as they went. It settled on Kate Skinner's freshly washed sheets that were hanging on the line. Walter watched them leave, deep in thought. He had to get Mulder out of here, the sooner, the better. He heard Krycek's voice slither into his ear, "Better fix that henhouse real strong, Walter. I heard there might be a Fox still hidin' out around these parts. Be a shame to have to kill something that pretty." "He's gone, Krycek." "Sure he is, Walter, sure he is." Krycek ambled off, leaving Skinner even more determined to get Mulder off the plantation and out of Georgia. Stable Loft Friday, 2:30 a.m. Mulder paced in the stuffy confines of the hayloft. He felt like a trapped animal now that his fever was all but gone. He needed to get out of here. If he could just figure out which way to go but Walter had refused to see reason about him leaving alone. Mulder knew that if he traveled by day he could head north by the sun but that would be foolishly dangerous, even for him. And if he traveled alone at night, chances were he would just go in circles until he starved to death or was eaten by some wild animal. At least that would be better than at the end of a rope. Mulder shivered at that thought. As he paced, the anxiety he was feeling built to an overpowering urge to get out of that barn, if only for a few minutes. Walter would not be happy but the man seldom smiled now anyway. Mulder walked carefully to the hayloft door and peered between the cracks. Not a soul in sight and no lights burning in the house or in the servants quarters. He carefully eased himself down the ladder to the floor of the stable. Just a little walk, not to far. He would stay in sight of the house but he just had to stretch his legs a little. He eased the door open, looked out again, and then moved carefully out into the dark yard. And right into a solid right cross from Alex Krycek. Krycek threw the unconscious man over his shoulder and started for his cabin. "So easy, Little Fox. How did you ever survive the war? Good thing you hooked up with Skinner or I don't think I'd be anticipating such an entertaining night. Maybe I should send Ol' Walter a thank-you note for keeping you alive for me." White Oaks Friday, 6:30 a.m. "Shit! Shit! Shit!" Walter kicked at the abandoned blanket lying in the nest of straw. "Where the hell is he now. I swear when I get my hands on him, he's going to fully understand the concept of a woodshed. I have had it with him. No matter what century," Walter kicked the wall, "no matter what the danger," he kicked at a particularly defiant looking pile of straw, "that man cannot . . . will not . . . follow my orders! I am going to . . . " "Walter, Dear is everything all right up there?" Skinner looked over the edge of the loft to see his mother looking up with a great deal of concern on her face. Probably thought he was nuts. Hell, he was nuts. Anyone who associated with Fox Mulder for more than two hours was no doubt considered certifiable. "I'm fine, Mom. Just . . . uh . . . stubbed my toe." "Walter where did you pick up that word. Did you get it from that atrocious little Yankee boy? It really sounds most disrespectful, Son." "Sorry, Mo . . . uh, I mean, Sorry Mother." "You're forgiven, Dear. Why don't you come in and have some breakfast with your father. I know he would like to speak with you about taking over the running of the plantation." "I can't right now, Mo . . . Mother. I have something I'm finishing up. I ll speak with him later today." "All right, Walter. But you must remember, you can't fix everything in one day. It will take years to get this plantation back to it's original glory." Walter shook his head, wondering if the Walter Skinner from this century was lying in some forgotten battlefield grave, rotting. What would his mother do then? Suddenly Walter realized what he had just been thinking. He gone as crazy as Mulder. This was not real. This was some dream or something and he was going to wake up any minute in his own bed with Mulder and Scully and a hell of a hangover. Snaker's Cabin Grover's Woods Mulder heard a low moan and opened his eyes, only to find he had been the one moaning. He thought he might be back in that dirty little shack, only this time it was worse. Much, much worse. He was naked again, only this time he was on the filthy cot, splayed across the filthy rolled up straw mattress, his head resting against the rope frame. His legs where about eighteen inches apart, his ass the highest point of his body and his genitals on full display. And, he was tied firmly in this humiliatingly obscene position. He heard a sharp whistle and then a streak of pure fire landed across his butt. Unprepared for the assault, Mulder screamed. Clamping his teeth down on his lip to stifle any further outbursts. He heard another whistle and another blazing stripe was laid across his tender buttocks. He had not had time to fully recover from his last meeting with Alex's hickory switch. He tried to look over his shoulder but he was tied too tightly. He gritted his teeth as he heard the whistle again and felt the agonizing sting rip across his flesh. He drew in a sharp hissing breath. "What nothing to say, Yankee Boy? No begging. No offers that might be more appealing to me tanning the hide off your pretty ass?" "Go to he . . . hell . . . Augh-h-h-h-h!" "Let's try this again, shall we? Now what can you offer me that would stop this razor strop from ripping your flesh to shreds. Come on Pretty Fox, think hard." Krycek brought the strop down at a diagonal from right to left and quickly followed with another from left to right. A perfect X, overlapping his previous perfectly spaced stripes. Krycek smiled proudly, no one could wield a strap like Alex Krycek and no one enjoyed doing it more either. Mulder jerked his backside and gasped for breath. The old cot under him rocked but it was built sturdy oak and double braided hemp rope. Mulder was effectively snared in a trap that offered him up for Krycek's use. Krycek struck again, this time low where buttock met thigh, then two in quick secession across the top of each thigh. The solid leather strap wrapping around to bite the inside of each leg. Mulder screamed again and jerked frantically on the ropes that held him. He felt Krycek touch his tortured flesh. "You're bleeding a little, Fox. Why don't you tell me what to do instead of welding this strap." Another stripe of pure agony across his butt. "Ah-h-h-h, Please, what . . . what do you want?" He felt Krycek's fingers trailing over his sizzling flesh and shivered with hurt and revulsion. "You know Fox, this old razor strop belonged to my Daddy. He was a mean Son of Bitch, too." "What. Do. You. Want?!" "I only want what you give that rich son of a bitch, Skinner. I want you, Fox." "Wh . . . what? Augh-h-h-h--h!" Krycek lashed the strap down from right to left, then backhanded right to left, then reversed the stripe once more. He was becomes painfully aroused from watching his captive, now glistening with sweat and tears, bucking and crying out in pain. Krycek laid his hand on the scorched flesh of the trembling man in front of him. He was really enjoying this but if he continued much longer, the man would pass out and he did not want that to happen just yet. "So Fox, have you always preferred sex with men, rather than women?" Mulder did not want to have this conversation, especially not with this man, but he didn't have the will left to resist and earn more strokes of that horrible strap. "No . . . no, I like women. I have a fiancee back in Washington. Ah-h-h-h-h!" "But you like men too. I know you do, Pretty Fox. I've seen the way you.look at that big Sugar Daddy of yours." "Only . . . only like . . . Walter. Oh-h-h-h! Augh-h-h-h! Pl . . . please!" Krycek looked down at the distraught man, straining against the ropes holding him to the cot. His once flawless backside was now covered with angry red welts. A jew drops of bright red blood could be seen where the stripes overlapped each other. Mulder felt Krycek's fingers, slippery with something greasy and foul smelling enter him roughly. In a few minutes, you won't be able to say anymore, Pretty Boy. Now arch your back and offer yourself up to me. You are about to find out what a real man feels like." Mulder felt the rough fingers leave him and something larger and harder enter him in one agonizing stoke. He screamed as darkness closed in on all sides. Krycek held very still, buried in the hot depths of the unwilling man. Mulder was disappointed when the blackness receded. He would have much preferred unconsciousness. White Oaks Plantation Friday, 9:00 a.m. Walter Skinner held the pitchfork against the jugular vein of the huge man known as Big Joe. The man's ever present partner, Henry, was no where to be seen and Walter was anxious to find out where Mulder was before help arrived for Big Joe. "I...I kaint tell ya', Surh. Mr. Krycek would kill me." " going to kill you, Joe. Make no mistake about it. If you don't tell me where Krycek took Mulder, you are a dead man." He buried the sharp prong just a little deeper into the man's throat. A small trickle of blood ran down his ebony skin. Walter meant business and he wanted to make sure this man knew just how serious he was. One more jab of the fork and another small tickle of blood ran down Big Joe's throat. "Please, Mr. Waltah, Surh . . . " "Tell me, Big Joe and no one need ever know how I found out." Big Joe's eyes made contact with Walter's and Joe saw his own death reflected back at him. He hadn't liked the idea of stealing the Yankee anyway. No man should be forced to have sex with another man unless he wanted to. Big Joe knew all about being forced. "Snaker's Shack, south of Grover's Woods. Follow the path." Skinner threw down his pitch fork, "Wise decision, Joe." Snaker's Cabin Grover's Woods Mulder regained consciousness slowly aware only that his fever was back and that he hurt all over. He tried to remain quiet but the welts on his butt were pulling and it felt like his flesh was being torn from his bones. He realized that someone had hold of his arm and was trying to drag him to a standing position. "Come on, get up! I'm not going to carry you and we need to get out of here. Too many people know about this place. I have something better in mind for you, Love. Somewhere nice and private, so we can spend a long time getting to know each other better. I know that's just what you want, Pretty Boy, I'm going to give you what exactly what you want . . . every day." When Mulder was unsteadily on his feet, Krycek pulled the ratty old pants back on him, caring little about the pain caused by his rough treatment. He threaded a section of rope through the loops on the pants and tied it off leaving a long piece hanging from Mulder's waist. When he was satisfied with his work, he picked up the end of the rope and pulled his captive to stagger behind him and out of the cabin. The sharp sticks and stones of the forest floor cut into Mulder's feet making him feel slightly lightheaded from exhaustion and the added pain. All of a sudden, he became aware that the forest floor was rushing up to meet his face. He had collapsed, face first, hitting his head on a protruding root. "Get up!" Krycek prodded him with the toe of his boot, "I said get up, you piece of Yankee Shit. Come on, move." He applied a vicious kick to the downed man's ribs. Mulder moaned and managed to drag himself up onto his hands and knees, swaying precariously. Krycek reached down to drag the man to his feet, when he heard the sound of voices off to his right. He hunkered down by Mulder trying to see through the gathering darkness. "Shit! Can't I get a break with this? Come on Yankee Boy, we have to move or that rope you're wearing will be around that pretty neck of yours." Krycek had said the magic words and to his surprise, Mulder surged to his feet and started off with new found strength. He was going in the wrong direction, right toward the lynch party, but at least he was moving. Alex jerked on his rope and took off in the opposite direction with Mulder stumbling along behind him. "Over here, Mr. Krycek's got him!" "Shit!" Alex looked around frantically but saw no way to escape with his prize. "Shit! Shit! Shit!" He felt Mulder pulling frantically at the robe that bound him to Krycek. Alex could see he was terrified of the mob catching up with him. Alex looked into frightened hazel eyes and smiled evilly. "Sorry, Pretty Boy. Looks like the end of the line . . . or maybe I should say rope, for you." Mulder tugged at the rope, desperate with panic. He could hear Krycek chuckling to himself. "Over here boys, where have you all been. I've been looking for you for over an hour." Mulder gave the rope another frantic tug, just as Krycek let go, sending the agent to the forest floor with a bone jarring crash. Then the mob was on him. Several vicious kicks to his back left Mulder fighting to take in a good breath as he was dragged to an upright position, hanging between two men. "Hold him just like that." A fist landed in his mid section followed closely by one to his jaw. Either of the punches would have brought him to his knees had it not been for the all too helping hands of the men holding him in position. "Don't kill him, Jud. He needs to know when we hang him, right and proper." One more punch and Mulder hung limply, blood dripping on the ground in front of him. "Jamison's barn is just around the bend, lets hang him there. I gotta' get home to the missus some time tonight. " A semi conscious Mulder was dragged a short distance and tied, arms above his head to a beam extending above the door of the sturdy red barn. He toes barely scraped the ground. He had to fight for balance and to relieve the terrible pull on his arms and shoulders. "This is for all your murdering Yankee brothers, Boy." And a whip lashed across his shoulders. The air hissed from Mulder's cut lips as the evil leather landed again slightly lower. After the first six lashes, Mulder was screaming. What difference did it make? These people wouldn't think he was brave for suffering in silence, they would just hurt him more for it. He was never going to see Dana again. That made his heart ache. But she would find someone new. Dana was a beautiful woman. And Walter would be furious with his neighbors but he supposed he would get over it eventually. Walter was a good man, his neighbors would appreciate that in the troubled times that were ahead for them. A little weasel of a man, with foul-smelling breath, suddenly appeared in Mulder's line of sight. Even in his weakened condition, Mulder flinched at the sight of the knife the man carried. Oh, please God no. Don't let them do that to me. Don't let Walter have to find me like that. The man grinned at him, knowing what he was thinking. "I don't do that to no man, Yankee or no." And he slowly pushed the knife into Mulder's side. It slipped easily between his ribs, going in only about an inch and a half before it stopped. As Mulder screamed and gasped for air, he could feel the hot gush of blood running down over his stomach and soaking his pants. Meanwhile, Walter Skinner was frantic. Mulder had not been at the cabin when Walter had finally located it but there had been more blood. Now he was aimlessly wondering the deep woods without much hope of finding his lost agent. He froze, holding his breath. There, he had heard it again. Off in the distance, the sound of shouting men and someone screaming in pain. Mulder! He raced in the direction of the sound, his powerful legs pumping as he ate up ground in the blackened forest. The sight he came upon was something from his worst nightmare. Mulder handing listlessly from a bean while a man was using some kind of whip on his heavily welted and bleeding back. Walter ran into the clearing. "No, stop this . . . now!" To his surprise, his arms were grabbed and twisted painfully behind his back. He let out a roar of anger and panic but the three men holding him were too much for even his strength. "The Yankee Boy a friend of yours, Skinner?" Krycek smirked at him. Walter opened his mouth but Mulder raised his bruised and bloody face to look directly at Walter. "No! He's just some . . . dumb Reb . . . that . . . that I tricked into help . . . helping me. Pl . . . played the fool." "I think he's ready for a few more licks o' that buggy whip, Sam." And the merciless beating resumed. After another six or so agonizing strokes, the Weasel was back and pushed the knife in another inch bringing forth fresh screams and a fresh flow of bright red blood. More strokes of the buggy whip followed. Walter fought his captors, finally reduced to frantically begging them not to hurt Mulder anymore. But everyone ignored him as if he weren't even there. He felt terror rise another level in his chest. If he didn't do something quickly, Mulder was going to die here. As the beating stopped and the knife welding man stepped up to Mulder, the agent turned his head and looked directly at his boss. What Walter saw in his eyes caused his heart to skip a beat. Mulder was saying goodbye. As the man began to push the knife in further, Mulder planted his toes in the dirt below him and threw himself forward, imbedding the blade further into his chest, almost to the hilt. The man yelled and quickly let go of the knife. "No-o-o-o-o!" Walter almost sobbed from his helpless position. "No, you don't, Boy. You kain't die yet, you got a hangin' to attend." The man pulled the knife out of the agent's body. Mulder didn't even scream as he went completely limp, hanging from the ropes that held him upright. "Gol Darn it, Luther. You knowed we wanted him alive for the hangin'. You are always gettin' carried away with that blasted knife of yourn." Luther had the good graces to look sheepish as he wiped the blood-covered blade on his pants. "Sorry." "Now what are we gonna' do. He kain't even sit a horse like that." "Here, I got an idear!" ******** The group of blood thirsty men surrounded two men on horseback. The rider was a tall, thin man with a heavy black beard but the man sitting behind him had all of Walter's attention. Mulder. Mulder was blessedly unconscious, laying heavily against the back of the scraggly rider, hands tied behind him. There was a thick rope around his neck that was now thrown over the same large beam. Just as Walter started to plead with the men to stop, the rider kicked the horse in the sides and rode away leaving Mulder dangling at the end of the rope. "No-o-o-o-o-o!" The arms holding him fell away and Walter Skinner made short work of the distance separating him from his agent. He grabbed Mulder around his thighs and pushed up, desperately trying to eliminate the strain on his throat. Skinner could feel hot tears running down his face. "Not this, oh please God, not this. Don't let him die like this." Then he felt Mulder drop heavily over his shoulder, as if the rope had been cut by some unseen force. Skinner looked around frantically. He had to get help. He had to make sure Mulder was still breathing. He had to . . . "If you don't stop carrying him like that every time he doesn't move fast enough to suit, you are going to seriously injure your back." "Wh . . . what?" Dana Scully, in a pristine navy blue suit and obligatory FBI issued trench-coat, stood a few feet away from him. "Dana! Oh, Dana. He's hurt. He's hurt badly. I couldn't save him. I wanted to . . . I tried . . . but they just kept going after him and now . . . now . . . " He felt something tapping him on his left shoulder. "Hey Walter, could you put me down now? You really need to work on those control issues, Big Guy." "Mulder?" Skinner turned to look behind him. He was met by a welcome pair of hazel eyes peering around at him from about his waistline. "Yeah. Who were you expecting? You don't use this illustrious carry on all your agents do you?" Skinner set Mulder on his feet and instantly grabbed his shoulders, pulling him forward and hugging him fiercely. "Are you...are you all right?" He felt the tears close to the surface again and choked them back. Mulder struggled for breath in this bear hug he was receiving, "Well yeah, I was before you broke all my ribs here. How did you know to follow me? I don't remember telling you about the tip I got." Skinner took a moment to look around. They were back at the dilapidated old barn where this nightmare had all begun. The bean suspended over the double door still looked sturdy and ominous. He pulled his errant agent away from his chest and looked him in the eyes, "Tip? You came out here on a tip? You . . . you ditched me!?!" Mulder suddenly looked leery, "Well, I wouldn't exactly call it a ditch, Sir. That's a very harsh term. I think it would be more like a. . . . " Skinner started shaking his wonderfully un-whipped, un-hanged, un-dead Mulder. "You are making me old before my time! When I get you home, I am going to . . . " Mulder froze. Literally. One minute Skinner was shaking him until he could hear his teeth rattling and the next the agent was immovable. Skinner glanced over at Scully, who also stood like a beautiful statue. What the hell? "Happy April Fool's Day, Mr. Skinner! You know, you really should stop doing that. You are going to hurt my Sugar Boy. I just don't understand you. You begged for me to help return him to you and now you are trying commit death by shaking. Really, Mr. Skinner!" Skinner dropped his hands. Now the scene was almost comical. Mulder stood on tip toe, shoulders scrunched together, eyes tightly closed, head thrown back and fingers clawed as if grasping at thin air. "Vince, shouldn't you let him relax or something?" "He'll be fine, Mr. Skinner. It's you that I want to apologize to. I usually don't have such violent fantasies but I was just so angry at my sweet little Sugar Boy," Vince didn't see the cringe that his endearing term for Mulder earned from Skinner, "And well . . . I'm afraid you paid the price. I just can't let him remember any of that. It would be just too frightening for him." "It . . . it was real?" Walter Skinner suddenly looked a little pale. "As real as the ground you now stand on, Mr. Skinner. Usually when I involve Fox in my little fantasies, and I always involve Fox, I let him experience all the pain. A few smacks to his backside always increases his libido, don't you think?" Skinner could only stare at the vampire. "Well anyway, this time, I went too far. After all, I am a little new at this and Giorgio tried to warn me to calm down first. So, anyway, I am going to make my darling Fox forget all of it. Every last minute. Which means he will think that he really did ditch you, so you are free to give him a good thrashing when you get home. And of course, you and Agent Scully will have to comfort him later, so he knows you still love him. He is so insecure you know. Good bye, Mr. Skinner. It has been a pleasure dealing with you." "How did you know that I would choose to take Mulder with me and not Scully?" "That was easy, Mr. Skinner. Mulder was hurt and in considerable danger. Agent Scully was not only uninjured but seemed to be well protected, as well. What your decision would be was no great mystery. Besides, I would never tell the lovely Dana, but you do have a rather large soft spot for Fox. Besides, Agent Scully was never really here. She just got back from London earlier today. I helped her find this location myself." "But . . . but . . . but . . ." "Mr. Skinner, save the dirty talk for Fox. He likes it so much. Well, it's been nice doing business with you. Call on me anytime." And the vampire vanished before Assistant Director Skinner's astonished eyes. Mulder fell into Skinner's arms as Dana Scully looked on with a thin lipped, no nonsense expression on her face. "Mulder, I'm not clear on just why you felt it was necessary to ditch Walter the minute my back was turned?" Mulder flinched as he saw Vince standing over Walter's shoulder, smirking at him. "Tell her you enjoy the thrill of ditching your boss." "It's you I'd like to ditch . . . permanently." Dana Scully turned an unhealthy shade of red, while Skinner gave him another hard shake. "Don't talk to your partner like that, she was worried about you." "You know, Sweet Boy, I think you should . . . " "I think you should mind your own business." "Wh . . . wh . . . wh . . . you ungrateful Little Shit. I can't believe that you are so self centered that you can't see that we are only trying to keep you from killing yourself or . . . " "Sweet Boy, I thought you looked to me for protection." "I'd be crazy to depend on you. I doubt you could save yourself from a mosquito bite." "Wh . . . wh . . . wh . . . " The next thing Mulder knew he was bent over an old split rail fence, the rough wood digging into his bare thighs as Walter tanned him with his leather belt. Through his pleas for mercy, Mulder tried desperately to figure out just what he had done that had made his boss so angry this time. The End 9 Continued 10