Chapter Eleven
Captivity

Free is breathing clearer this morning. The fever is gone, and the drug haze has almost faded from her eyes. She's weak, but all she needs is rest and care, and she'll be fine. Once she accepts things as they are, that is.

She wants to go back in her old room this morning. "But... but that's my room."

I have to explain things to her again. "This is our room now, Free. Lovers sleep together. I'll bring your things in later."

I let her use the bathroom, not leaving while she is on the toilet, but turning away to give her a little privacy. She mutters with pain, and I feel a little guilty. I didn't really want to start our relationship out like that, but she's so stubborn sometimes.

I unhandcuff her for a minute to let her put on an old T-shirt and shorts. She looks longingly toward the front door, but I touch the pocket of the robe I've donned. She's seen me slip my gun in the pocket, and she goes quietly back into the bedroom.

This time I have her put her hands behind her back. I cuff her, passing the cuffs around a post in the headboard, so that she's sitting upright with her hands behind her. I lie back down, putting my head in her lap, and just lie there for awhile. I feel so at peace.

"Dana?"

"Mm?"

"Dana... I won't tell, if you let me go."

"You won't tell anyway, Free. This was private, it's nothing anyone else needs to know."

"I mean I won't tell the police, or your work, or anybody. But you have to let me go."

I move quickly, kneeling up and straddling her legs. I take her face in a rough grip. "You're not leaving me! I told you that!"

"You can't keep me! It isn't right, Dana, it's sick."

I slap her, hard, and am immediately contrite. "Baby, don't say things like that." She's gasping, a dull red mark rising on her cheek. "Can't you see that makes me crazy? Just don't talk about leaving any more. We belong together."

"No." She jerks her legs, trying to throw me off.

I can't stand it. I finally have her, and she's trying to push me away. Not even just keeping the distance, like she did, but pushing me away.

I slap her again, and a third time. She wails, "Stop it! This is wrong."

I... I hurt her, then. I'm a doctor, and I know what will cause pain. I know the places where the right kind of touch will cause agony that doesn't leave permanent damage.

And I know this is wrong, because she's helpless, she can't defend herself. Not even to the pitiful extent she would have been able to, if her hands were loose. But I can't stop, because I have to get her under control. She has to realize that she belongs with me.

It doesn't take long to reduce her to racking sobs, then pleas.

"Who do you belong to, Free?"

"I don't... Dana, please."

I jerk her head to the side and fasten my mouth on her neck, and I suck and bite till she's again whimpering in pain, struggling. When I draw back there is a livid, wine dark patch. "Tell me who you belong to." She shakes her head, and I repeat the action on the other side, giving her a matching set. "Tell me. I can do this all over your body."

She draws in a sobbing breath. "You."

"Say it."

She squeezes her eyes shut. "You, Dana. I belong to you."

"And you'll stay with me."

"Yes, just don't hurt me anymore."

I stroke her face. "As long as you remember that, we'll be fine."

I get dressed and fix her a large breakfast. Sitting on the bed, I begin to feed it to her. "You need to eat all of this. I won't be able to come home at lunch to feed you."

She pulls back from the forkfull of eggs I'm offering, dismayed. "You're not going to uncuff me before you go?"

"I don't trust you that well yet."

"But what if I need to go to the bathroom?"

"Try not to. If you can't hold it... well, sheets wash." Her bottom lip trembles. Before, I would have fought the urge, but now I give in and kiss her, sucking it. She sits very still and stiff. I sigh. I hope some time soon she'll respond.

"What if the house catches on fire?"

"That's not going to happen. If you behave yourself, I'll give you run of the house again in a few days." She's looking miserably at her lap. I caress her face, dipping my head so I can see her. "You might try convincing me." She closes her eyes briefly, as if in pain. I shake my head. I have to be patient.

On the way to work, I stop at the store. The manager is working the cash register, no extra help in sight. The place is a pigsty. Trash barrels overflow, the floor is dusty and sticky with stains, the windows are streaked, trash litters the lot, the cooler looks half empty. My God, Free must've been keeping this place up practically single handedly.

The manager looks rumpled and distraught. When she sees me, her expression becomes wary, but hopeful. "She better?"

"She is. And she's no longer employed here. She quits."

The woman would have been less dismayed if a bomb had gone off. "What? She can't do that! She has to give at least two weeks notice."

"Bullshit. There's no law like that on the books. And don't think you're going to be able to guilt her into staying over. This place has seriously compromised her health, not to mention her sense of well being and sanity. I'd shoot her before I let her come back to work in this hellhole. You can mail her the final paycheck. And if you try to bother her over the phone, I will be very... very... displeased." She gapes after me as I leave. That felt good. I've been wanting to say something to that exploiting bitch for a long time.

At work, I find out that there's been another spontaneous combustion: the first victim's ex-husband. He bought it while taking a shower. Most of what was left of him got washed down the drain before someone thought to shut the water off. All that is left is a few handfuls of carbon, bone chips, some fillings, and a waterproof watch. The plastic shower curtain was unmelted.

Fox is having a field day cross referencing to try to sort through common factors. I'm worrying about Free. I'm feeling remorseful about that sheets remark earlier. But I'm also considering buying a rubber sheet, just in case I have to leave her cuffed longer than I hope. It's no wonder that I'm startled when Fox says, "So, how's Free?"

"What?" I look at him suspiciously.

He frowns. "Her cold, Dana. You were laying in enough meds to take a small town through an epidemic just the other day."

"Oh. She's much better. She'll need to convalesce for awhile."

His forehead puckers in concern. "It was that bad? Why didn't you get her to a hospital?"

"She's a stubborn woman."

"Maybe. But you're always pretty good at hauling stubborn butts in when it's for their own good."

"Look, Fox, she's alright. Give it a rest, would you?"

Trust Mulder not to leave well enough alone. At lunch he came to me, looking concerned. "Scully, I called your place, and no one answered. Maybe we should go check on Free."

I snap. "Christ, Mulder, she's probably just deeply asleep. She hasn't had proper sleep in ages, and there you go, trying to disturb her!"

"I just wanted to tell her hi, and hope she was well soon."

My voice is acid. "I'll convey your well wishes. Just please, don't bother her anymore. I'll let you know when she's well enough for a call or visit." *Which will be never. You don't think I'd risk her around you, do you? You're too damn charming when you want to be, and this relationship is still too new and fragile.*

On the way home, I buy a rubberized mattress pad. I also stop at an adult novelties store. I emerge with a set of leather, lambswool lined cuffs. I spent a long time looking at the lovely assortment of collars, but ultimately left without one. I may need it farther down the line, to reinforce my claim on her psyche, but I'm trying to avoid anything too extreme right now. I hope it won't be necessary. Though the image of a pretty stamped leather collar peeking through the fall of her curls is rather appealing.