Title: In the neck of time Fox pushed the key into the lock and let himself into his apartment. His hands full of groceries, he was unable to prevent the heavy cloth from being pushed over his nose and mouth. Before he had time to do more than drop the bags to the floor, he was already feeling dizzy. Moments later, everything went black. """"""""""""""""" He came round slowly, trying to work out why he couldn’t move. Or see. Or breathe properly. He heard a woman’s voice. ‘Welcome, Slave. Do not be afraid. You will not be harmed.’ There was another click, then the sound of a key in a lock. Fox began to move, then realised two things. One, he was naked. Two, he was scared. The additional facts that he was handcuffed to a hot pipe which burned his skin if he moved too much and he couldn’t see or speak because both his eyes and mouth were covered in some sort of tape seemed somehow less important. """""""""""""""""""" The door opened again and, seconds later, the voice harder, louder this time. ‘You will spend this morning learning the five positions. This afternoon, I’ll be testing you on them. And punishing you if you make any mistakes. Now, let’s make a start, slave. You’ll find it easier to remember them if you get into the position as I describe them.’ Fox was released from the pipe, the handcuffs scraping against his soft flesh. He felt a sharp pain across his shoulders. ‘Move quickly or be punished, slave.’ He was pushed to the floor, the cane stroking the flesh between his shoulder blades. ‘Position one. On all fours, head down on the floor, bottom up.’ Fox moved slowly into the described position. Too slowly. The cane swiped across his thighs, making him cry out. The muffled sound he made earned him another stroke. ‘You will be silent at all times, slave. Now, position two. Lying face down.’ This time, Fox moved more quickly, desperate to avoid the stinging pain. The sound of mocking laughter came from the far corner of the room as the voice continued. ‘Position three, slave. Kneeling up, head and eyes down.’ Fox was concentrating on the voice, and avoiding the cane, and didn’t hear the door open, or realise he was alone. """"""""""""""""""""" Terrified and unsure what to do, Fox remained in the last position he had been told to get into. On his knees, sitting on his heels, his hands in the small of his back. The door opened and he was pulled to his feet. He heard the voice, more gentle again. ‘You have worked hard this morning slave. You have earned a reward.’ Fox’s brain registered the difference his feet could feel. They had moved from polished floor through soft carpet and now cold hard tiles. He heard the sound of running water; the volume increasing as he was pushed into what he guessed was the bathroom. He shivered as his thigh brushed against something cold. ‘Bath time, slave.’ The soft voice at his ear made him jump. He felt strands of hair against his cheek, and he climbed awkwardly into the bath, the hand on his arm steadying him. Moments later, his brain registered that something was wrong. The water was cold. Ice cold. He began to struggle, but he was subdued almost instantly by the stinging pain of the cane across his thighs. ‘Stand still slave.’ Desperate to escape the numbing cold, Fox struggled to get out of the water. It took only a handful of strokes before he was still again, shivering violently as he stood in the freezing water. The instruction was sharp. ‘Sit down slave.’ He hesitated, and the cane struck his shoulders. Slowly, grateful for the steadying hand on his arm, he lowered himself into the water, the ice cubes floating in it brushing his cold flesh. The end of the cane pressed into his chest and he tried to stop himself from going under the surface of the water, but with his hands underneath him, he slid down, struggling as he felt the water on his face. Moments later, he felt a hand under his arm, lifting him clear of the water. And heard the voice, harsh again. ‘Enough. Get out, slave.’ He struggled onto his knees and stood up. Without any help, eventually he managed to balance himself, and climbed out. Shivering, he stood uncertainly while the water dripped off him, forming a puddle at his feet. He flinched as the warm towel was wrapped around his cold flesh. As the towel rubbed his arms and shoulders the shivering lessened and he was almost warm by the time the towel moved down to his stomach and back. He tried to force himself to obey the voice as someone else dried him for the first time in many years. ‘Don’t move, slave.’ The voice cut into his thoughts. ‘You will be fed now slave. Walk forwards.’ Fox felt the tiles change to carpet. ‘Position three, slave.’ Shivering, Fox struggled to remember what that was. Moments later, the cane landed on his upper arm. Pressing into his shoulder, a hand pushed him to his knees. He heard a sigh. Then the tape again. ‘I am disappointed, slave. After you have eaten, you will be punished for your poor memory.’ The tape was peeled from his mouth, and, without thinking, he said desperately: ‘Please, I need to use the bathroom…I…’ Whatever else he was about to say was interrupted as he cried out at the pain of the swipe across his chest. The tape across his lips was replaced. ‘Silence slave. You may not speak.’ Seconds later, he was lifted to his feet. ‘Let’s see if you remember your way, slave.’ As he walked, he tried desperately to work out an escape route. But as he stumbled across a couple of low tables, the edges banging his shins, he concentrated on his now desperate need to find the bathroom. After a few more steps, he felt the tiles under his feet. ‘Hurry up.’ He was startled at the sound of the voice at his side, and he felt his cheeks flush as he realised she was watching him. He was almost grateful that she took his arm, guiding him back, sparing his bruised shins any further knocks on the way back. ‘Another sound, and you will go hungry, understand?’ ‘Open your mouth, slave.’ Warily, Fox did as he was told. The small piece of what tasted like chicken was pushed into his mouth and he pulled it from the fork. He was also fed potatoes and carrots. Thirsty, he drank whatever he was given. It had an unpleasant aftertaste, but he was past caring, and the sleepiness which had begun to overwhelm him dulled the memory of it. The last thing he remembered was the sound of a mobile phone ringing. Then nothing. """"""""""""""""""""""""""" He woke slowly, realised he was even more restrained than before. Lying on a table, straps across his upper chest, waist and thighs. The tape had been peeled from his eyes, but his mouth was still taped. Fox knew this wasn’t good. If the woman didn’t mind him seeing her, being able to identify her, it was unlikely she was planning on letting him go anytime soon. He tried to turn his head to watch what she was doing, but two large foam blocks either side of his head blocked his view. A rigid plastic collar at his neck prevented him from moving even a small amount. At last she turned and Fox saw a metal bowl in her hand. She saw his frightened eyes. ‘Just a little discomfort, slave. And the end result will be worth it, I promise.’ She lay the metal bowl on a trolley at her side and opened a sterile wipe. She stroked it gently across Fox’s nipple, ignoring his muffled cries and pointless struggles. ‘Shh, now. Keep still. There’s a long way to go, and I don’t want you hurting yourself on the straps.’ Fox’s scream, even muffled by the tape, was loud in the quiet room. As she adjusted the ring that she had pushed through the pierced flesh, Fox’s agonised cries continued. And as she walked around to the other side of the table, opening another wipe, Fox knew what was coming, and that seemed to make the second piercing more painful than the first. When she moved to stand between his spread legs, Fox began to struggle against the straps holding him down. Ignoring him, the woman stroked his soft flesh. To his horror, Fox felt himself becoming aroused. She scratched him gently, and he moaned quietly, aware he could do nothing to prevent what whatever was going to happen. After a few more seconds, the woman released her gentle grip. ‘Not today slave. Not today.’ The familiar cloth was pressed to his face, and oblivion followed almost immediately. ************ Later, although exactly how much later Fox had no idea, he woke as her fingers touched first one then the other of the small gold hoops. ‘You’re awake. Good. Now, it’s almost time for the party. If any of the guests has cause to complain about your behaviour this evening, you will regret it. Do I make myself clear?’ Fox realised he was in a cage. A small cage with metal bars above him and on all four sides. He tried to form coherent words through the large rubber ball-gag. ‘Please…’ But he was talking to himself. She had closed the door, leaving him alone. ************ The guests were intrigued by the woman’s latest acquisition. ‘How old do you think he is?’ ‘Is he trained?’ ‘Is he dangerous?’ The questions made Fox alternately angry and humiliated. But he was scared of the woman’s anger if he behaved badly, so spent most of the evening sitting in a corner of the cage trying to forget that he was handcuffed, naked, and that maybe a dozen or more people were staring at him. At last, the guests began to leave. A few had touched him, one or two had expressed an interest in seeing him out of the cage, but the woman had refused. ‘When he’s fully trained. Until then, he’s too unpredictable.’ There had been several disappointed faces are her refusal, but nothing more. They knew she understood the training process better than any of them, and trusted her judgement. ************ Out!’ Fox got up in response to the sharp command. He had little choice. She was holding a short metal rod. Fox imagined the pain that being hit with it could cause, and walked out of the cage. Her hand on his arm steadied him as he climbed down. ‘Stand still.’ Fox stood, head down, waiting until he saw that her attention was diverted by having to sort through a bunch of keys to find the one to lock the cage door. Fear gave him speed, and he was in the doorway before she had even looked up. He ran down the stairs and towards an open window. The woman sighed, continuing to try and work out which key fitted the cage’s small padlock. Fox heard the growl, low and menacing. Then he saw the dog. A Doberman. Its teeth were bared, and it stared at Fox as if daring him to come nearer. Turning, Fox saw another dog in front of him. He heard the woman’s tape. ‘Walk slowly into the room and sit down. If you run, they’ll bite.’ It was several minutes before he saw her in the doorway. ‘Boys, down!’ Her sharp command was obeyed instantly. The dogs lay on the floor, tails wagging, both whining for attention at the same time. ‘That was stupid. You were lucky. Don’t try anything like that again.’ Although he could, Fox chose not to move. He sat on the edge of the sofa, his eyes never leaving the floor. ‘Up.’ Fox got up and walked ahead of the woman. ‘I’m not sure you’re trying. Are you being deliberately difficult in the hope that I will simply give up and throw you out? Please believe me, that is not going to happen. All that will happen is that you will be punished.’ To reinforce her point, she touched the twin metal tips of the cattle prod to Fox’s thigh. The resulting shock made him scream, and he contemplated faking a faint, not for the first time, to avoid further pain. But the woman laughed. ‘Not tonight. I won’t tolerate your fainting trick. If you try it, you will wake up in the cellar with the rats and the spiders. Now get into bed.’ ************** It was several weeks before Fox finally gave up any hope of being allowed to leave, or being found by the police. In that time, he endured countless beatings and almost constant cold baths as punishment for failing to obey the woman’s strict rules. Eventually, he learned not to show any spark of resistance, for she seemed to know what he was thinking, and punished him if he showed any sign of rebellion against the rules or her training. He was fed well, eating healthily for the first time in years, but the knowledge that the woman could, at any time, simply stop feeding him remained. As did the knowledge that, with the dogs constantly nearby, and as his hands were always behind his back, trapped in soft rubber cuffs, he could do nothing for himself without her help. Date: 1980 Skinner looked at his watch, frowning. He was supposed to be meeting Frank and his new girlfriend at a restaurant. And he was stuck in a traffic jam. He scanned the road for a payphone or a place that was likely to have a payphone, but, stuck in the traffic jam, there seemed no option but to sit it out. He could picture Frank in the restaurant, telling the girl about his older friend. The girl, who, Skinner knew, would be pretty, and impressed that Frank was working on his second postgraduate degree. And unimpressed that Skinner was late. His friend, he knew, would be similarly unimpressed. But unsurprised. They rarely got on well, and the expectation of Frank’s inevitable sarcasm when Skinner eventually got to the restaurant left Skinner wishing he had simply declined Frank’s invitation as he had many others. At last, the traffic began to flow, and Skinner, like all the other frustrated drivers, stared at the tangled remains of the car and truck that had apparently collided, causing the tailback. Skinner pulled off the main road and stopped to check the directions Frank had given him. At last, he saw the place. A discreet sign he couldn’t read at that distance, but the correct number on the front of the building. He pulled into a space a few yards down the from the restaurant and climbed out of the car. He checked his watch. Only half an hour late. ‘Good evening sir. Are you a member?’ The doorman, dressed in an expensive suit stopped Skinner as soon as he entered. Skinner frowned. ‘No, I’m meeting someone.’ He saw Frank walking towards him. ‘Wisk. You’re late.’ The doorman’s expression changed, a smile replacing the previous bland disinterest. ‘Of course sir. May I take your coat?’ Skinner handed the man his overcoat and looked around the dimly lit foyer. ‘Sorry, I got stuck in traffic.’ For once, Frank seemed uninterested. ‘Never mind. You’re here. Come on.’ Skinner followed his younger friend through a door. He took a moment to adjust to the lower light level, then continued to make his way to the front of the room, sitting at a table Frank waved at. ‘I’ll just be a second. You wanna drink?’ Skinner nodded, wondering where the woman Frank had said he would be bringing was. ‘Whiskey. Ice.’ ‘Okay. Stay there.’ Skinner looked round the room, noticing that few of the tables were occupied by what he considered ‘couples’. Most were either all men or men with what his father would have called ‘trophies’ – younger women hanging on the every word of their older boyfriends – and he also noticed that the place was packed. The food must be good. He made a mental note to bring someone here another night. Frank slid into the seat opposite him and grinned. ‘You’re gonna love it here.’ Skinner looked round for a waiter, wanting a menu. But there seemed no waiting staff at all. ‘Frank, I’m starving. When do we eat?’ Frank laughed. ‘Later.’ He winked conspiratorially. ‘If we have the energy.’ Skinner sat back and waited, ignoring the empty feeling in his stomach. Suddenly, the lights dimmed even further, and the curtain at the end of the room opened. Frank turned quickly in his seat, his eyes bright. ‘Okay, here we go.’ Skinner watched in horror as the naked men and women began to dance in time to the awful music. He was sure Frank was playing a joke on him. Surely he knew this wasn’t something Skinner would enjoy? Watching Frank, it seemed he simply didn’t care. He was enjoying himself too much. Skinner got up quickly, walking towards the door he had come through. The man standing in front of it gave him an odd look but opened it for him and closed it after him. Skinner walked back to the entrance. ‘Where’s my coat?’ The doorman reached into a cupboard and pulled it out. ‘Something wrong, Sir?’ Skinner gave him a cold look. ‘I thought I was having dinner with my friend. I guess I was wrong.’ The doorman almost managed to suppress his smile. ‘Mr Harris is one of our regulars, Sir. I’m surprised he didn’t mention that this wasn’t a restaurant, Sir. Goodnight.’ As he went out into the chilly night, Skinner turned and walked to the brass plate on the railings by the entrance. ‘Private Club. Members only.’ Shaking his head, he walked back to the car. It was several minutes before Frank realised he was alone at the table. As the music re-started, he sat back, shaking his head at his friend’s old-fashioned attitude to the club. ‘Ron, who was that?’ ‘Mr Harris’s friend Mrs Miller.’ ‘And why did he leave?’ ‘He thought we were a restaurant Mrs Miller.’ Sarah Miller laughed quietly. The prudish ones were always the most fun when they finally did give in to their natural urges. This one would be back, she was sure. Although probably not with his friend. ************* After a few weeks, Sarah had to admit she had been wrong. Skinner never returned. ***************** Date: 1999 Skinner rubbed his neck, and his shoulders. But nothing made the slightest difference. Kim came up behind him. ‘Sir, you still in pain. You should get some help with that. I’ll give you the number of my Chiropractor. Dr Miller. She’s really good.’ ********** ‘Is this your first time here, Mr…Skinner?’ The receptionist read from the appointment book in front of her. Skinner nodded. ‘Yes. My assistant recommended Dr Miller.’ The receptionist smiled. ‘Okay, I just need you to fill in this questionnaire. Have a seat, and when you’re done, Dr Miller will call you in.’ Skinner filled in the easy questions first. Name, address, age, occupation. Any long-term health problems. No. Skinner had always been healthy, and was finding this frequent, nagging pain in his neck and shoulders really irritating. There was an outline picture of a person and Skinner drew a circle around the shoulders and neck to indicate where the pain was. Then he signed the form and got up. The receptionist looked up as Skinner stood in front of her. ‘All done? Okay, I’ll just take this in and Dr Miller will call you when she’s ready.’ Sarah Miller looked up as the new client came in. She shook his hand and indicated the chair at his side. ‘Take a seat. Now, Mr Skinner, I understand you’re a friend of Kimberley Cook?’ ‘I’m her boss.’ Skinner corrected. ‘Okay. So, tell me what the form doesn’t say. Why do you get tense?’ Skinner smiled. ‘My job.’ Glancing down at the form, Sarah smiled. ‘That’s what Kimberley says.’ **************** Skinner sat up and pulled his shirt on. He was sore from the doctor’s probing fingers, but he had to admit Kim had been right. The doctor obviously knew what she was doing. Her remarks as she had worked down his neck and shoulders indicated her understanding of the pain, and the effect it was having on his life. ‘Okay. Now, I want you to make an appointment for a weeks’ time, remembering what we talked about. You need to help your body. If you don’t, it won’t help you.’ Skinner nodded. ‘Okay.’ Sarah Miller got up and shook Skinners’ hand. ‘You know, I have the strangest feeling we’ve met.’ Skinner frowned. ‘Me too.’ ‘Oh well, it’s unlikely. I don’t often get invited to the Hoover Building.’ Skinner moved his head slowly. ‘Cure me, and you’ll be on the guest list for the next dinner.’ Sarah smiled. ‘Let’s not get too far ahead. There’s a lot of work to do on that neck of yours. Make an appointment with my receptionist.’ ************************ Skinner tried not to think too deeply about Sarah Miller’s former occupation. Tensing hurt his neck. She had told him to try and stay relaxed. ‘I still keep a trunkful of stuff Mr Skinner. I’ll get out my whip if you come here with knots that big again.’ The threat had made them both laugh. Consciously relaxing, Skinner decided he didn’t want to find out she was serious. Well, not with a whip, anyway. After a couple of sessions, they had both realised where they had first met. At the strip club Frank had bought Skinner to on the pretext of meeting new girlfriend. Sarah Miller had been the club’s owner. **************** Date: The Present ‘Mr Skinner?’ Sarah opened the door and smiled as she saw the man sitting in the waiting room. It was almost nine, and he was the only one of her clients she would see this late. But she understood the job he had meant he couldn’t make appointments during normal office hours. She had offered to see him weekends, but his few free hours each week were precious, and he had declined. Days later, in agony, he had called her office, hoping the answering machine he was expecting would give him an emergency number. She had been completing some paperwork and picked up the phone. Listening to the pain in his pleading tape, she had relented, and Skinner’s late-night appointments had become a regular thing. Skinner walked past Sarah as she held the door open for him. Closing the door, Sarah called: ‘Goodnight Katie.’ Her receptionist began to pack up, pleased that the man had been on time for once. Stifling a yawn, she got up. ‘Night Dr Miller.’ Sarah’s hand on Skinner’s shoulder made him flinch. She sighed, feeling the solid tension. ‘Mr Skinner, what the Hell have you been doing?’ He was contrite. ‘Er, I had a lot of meetings.’ Sarah understood that Skinner wouldn’t discuss his work with her. But the lie made her frown. Gently, she asked: ‘Want to get a little nearer the truth?’ ‘One of my Agents has gone missing. It’s been busy.’ Picturing Skinner hunched over a desk for hours, Sarah chided: ‘Did you remember to take breaks, to stretch out, as you said you would?’ Skinner looked up guiltily. ‘I meant to.’ Sarah shook her head. ‘Meaning to is all very well, Mr Skinner. Get on the table and I’ll do my best. You know, I’ve had to up the level of insurance on my hands. I’m frightened I’ll break a finger on your neck.’ He smiled, pulling his jacket off as she pulled the blinds closed and dimmed the lights. As he undid his tie, she walked to the door, locking it. ‘Now, I think I promised to break out some of my old props if you came here all tensed up. Where did I put that whip?’ Skinner stayed sitting on the edge of the leather couch until Sarah came across, a bowl of warm oil in her hand. He could see the door from where he sat. Just in case. She smiled at his nervousness. ‘Relax, Mr Skinner. I decided to give you one more chance.’ He smiled, rolling onto his stomach, his strangled gasps of pain giving way to deep breaths as Sarah’s expert hands and the warm oil combined to relax him for the first time in a week. ******************* The investigating staff gathered in Skinner’s Office. Skinner moved to close the door, then stood to one side. Skinner looked up as he made sure everyone had arrived. ‘Agent Mulder is alive. Or he was when this was made.’ After the tape clicked off Scully, who had been on the verge of tears for almost ten minutes, gave in to them. Everyone else just stood where they were, shocked into silence. ‘I know you’re doing their best, and at least we know Mulder is alive. For now.’ He lifted himself tiredly from his chair and looked round the stunned faces of the people who knew Fox best. And were horrified by what they had just heard. ‘Let’s get out there and find him people.’ He nodded to Kim who opened the door. Everyone walked slowly back to their offices, all closing the doors behind them. ******************* ‘Sarah, I need your help.’ Knowing why he was asking didn’t make it any easier. Sarah Miller looked up from her desk where she was writing her notes as Skinner got dressed. ‘Oh?’ ‘Mulder, the agent I told you about? He’s been missing almost a month. I was wondering if you knew anyone, er…’ ‘You mean you think your subordinate has been kidnapped and you want me to ask around in case any of my former acquaintances has acquired a young house guest recently?’ Skinner shook his head. ‘Sorry, forget it. I’m leaving now.’ Sarah’s sharp anger was replaced with an understanding of the level of desperation Skinner had obviously reached to make him ask the question. ‘I’ll see what I can do. What makes you think he’s being held against his will?’ Skinner reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small tape recorder. He laid it on Sarah’s desk, flicking the ‘play’ button. Sarah gasped as the agonised scream ended in a desperate question: ‘Why are you doing this to me? Please, no…’ Another scream and then a different voice. ‘Tell them. Tell them who you are.’ Skinner turned away, staring out of the window as the reply, interrupted by painful sobs, filled the room. ‘My name is…Fox Mulder. I’m an FBI agent.’ There was a quiet laugh. ‘And tell them, Mister Mulder, what I’m doing right now.’ Another scream, then a hurt whisper: ‘You’re punishing your slave.’ The voice again, an edge this time. ‘Tell them, precisely, if you please, how you’re being punished.’ Fox’s voice trembled. ‘I’m being…electrocuted.’ There was another scream, then, unable to bear it, Skinner snatched the tape recorder off the desk and stopped the tape. He got to the door when Sarah’s voice stopped him. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ Tears in his eyes, Skinner turned back. ‘Thank you.’ ***************** Being naked had become the norm rather than the exception. And Fox hardly noticed it now. Weeks, perhaps months, had gone by since the day he was snatched from his apartment. He had learned to obey the woman’s commands instantly, or suffer whatever punishment she decided. He could now be let out at parties, his collar attached to a chain, with his wrists in handcuffs. It was an improvement on hours of sitting on the wooden floor of the cage, and he knew the woman had given all her guests instructions that he was not to be touched. It was just as well. After the electric shocks he had suffered earlier that week, his skin was still covered in small burns where the tips of the electric prod had been touched to his skin. ****************** He was left alone until that evening. Brought down from his room, he was pulled into the centre of the room, the chain replaced with one only a couple of feet long. Holding him so he could be seen from all angles, the woman looked round the assembled guests. Fox looked good. Exercise and a strict diet had removed every ounce of fat from his body and workouts, swimming and running had toned his body to perfection. And he was obedient. She couldn’t remember the last time she had punished him for a transgression. Occasionally, she had done so simply to remind him of his place. But she had always given him the reason for his punishment, and it had been some time since the reason had been poor behaviour. A latecomer, seeing Fox in the middle of the room, rushed in, still wearing his coat and carrying a dripping umbrella. ‘Sorry, no taxis. Am I too late?’ The woman shook her head. She had been told to expect the new buyer. ‘We’re just about to get started.’ The tall man, middle-aged, good-looking, well dressed and well spoken said carefully: ‘I’ll double any bid. May I take him now? I have a taxi waiting.’ There were murmurs from several people around the room. Disappointment that there was going to be no auction. Greater disappointment that the young man was leaving. Not wanting to upset the man who Sarah had told her would buy the boy at any price, and almost certainly be back for another, she asked: ‘Do you want him dressed?’ The man held up a plastic bag. ‘Yes. I bought some things for him.’ The woman took Fox into the adjoining room and handed him the bag. She gave the two dogs a command and they stood either side of Fox as she unlocked his handcuffs. Fox’s arm muscles protested at the sudden movement, but he took the bag from her, looking inside. Underwear, socks, a sweatshirt, jeans and shoes. He couldn’t remember the last time he had worn shoes. She took a step back. ‘Come back next door when you’re dressed. Remember to walk slowly. Your new owner wouldn’t want you with bite marks.’ Dressed, Fox walked slowly into the room, eyes downcast, flanked by the two dogs, low growls emanating from their throats as they walked. His chin was lifted and he stared into the eyes of the man he would be leaving with. Despite his humiliation, Fox saw only kindness there. ‘Let’s go home.’ In the taxi, Fox sat quietly, staring out of the window. When the taxi stopped, Fox had to be helped out of the car and into the apartment. He was taken straight into the bedroom. His shoes were pulled off, then he was covered with a sheet, his other clothes left on. ‘Rest now. We’ll talk in the morning.’ In the sitting room, Sarah handed Skinner a large glass of whiskey. ‘Can Sarah Miller go back into retirement now?’ Skinner took the glass from her and placed it on the table at the side of the sofa. Leaning across, he kissed her gently. ‘Not just yet, Doctor Miller.’ Pulling away, Sarah said gently: ‘Call me Sarah.’ Smiling back, Skinner said: ‘Call me Walter.’ ‘Oh, I couldn’t do that Mister Skinner. You’re a patient. It wouldn’t be proper.’ Skinner began to unhook his tie. ‘I’m cured.’ As she reached for him, Sarah’s fingers pressed into Skinner’s shoulder. He hissed and she looked at him, eyebrows raised. ‘Really?’ End Home Return to the X-Files Fic Index Return to the West Wing Fic Index