Title - No Name 2:Role Reversal
Author - Steven M. Wagner
E-Mail address - wagnersm@mindspring.com
Finished - 12 March 1998
Revised - 23 March 1998 (New ending scene)
Rating - NR
Category - SA
Keywords - Alternate Universe
Spoiler - None
Summary - Scully buys Mulder to save him.

Disclaimer - This is a fiction story based on the characters
created by Chris Carter. No infringement of copyrights held by
10/13 Productions, Twentieth Century Productions, or Fox
Broadcasting is intended. All unrecognized characters and plot-
lines belong to me. Names, characters, and places exist solely
within my imagination, or are used fictitiously. No connection
to any person, living or dead, is intended, and any resemblance
is entirely coincidental. Feel free to distribute, but please
keep me as the author.

Author's note - This is a story where some fairly nasty ideas are
considered. Slavery, rape, assault, are events referenced, but
nothing is seen or described. The reader is forwarned..
----------------------------------------------------------------

No Name #2 - Role Reversal
by
Steve Wagner

"Miss Leone," a woman's low voice intruded on Dana Scully's
thoughts. Scully looked over at the brunette and nodded.
"Follow me then."

Scully kept her eyes open at the sights around her as she and her
bodyguard was led to their seats. The room looked like an
elegant 40's nightclub, right out of an old Film Noir. Soft,
shadowless lighting illuminated two levels of small tables and
chairs. The people sitting and standing were equally elegant,
dressed, like Scully, in long cocktail gowns and tuxedos. And
in front a stage just like the nightclub, but she knew that there
would be no touch singer in a sequined dress singing for their
entrainment there tonight.

"Your table," the brunette said. Scully sat down and ordered a
split of champagne.

"Cigars, Cigarettes, Cigars, Cigarettes," a tenor voice was
heard. Scully turned and looked. And smiled, despite the
situation. Her parents had taken her and Missy to a European
club where they still had the gowned woman selling tobacco, gum,
and other small items. But with a difference, instead of a young
woman with a tray, it is a man clad in nothing but a loin cloth.
Waving him over, she bought a pack, and shook one out.

"A light," a smooth voice said.

Scully looked over at the voice. <Bingo,> she thought. It was a
man called only the 'Salesman'. She had seen a few grainy
pictures of the man, now she was going to meet him in person. He
made quite a good living selling slaves. And now he was to sell
her partner.

"Miss Leone, I have not seen you here," he said bending down to
light Scully's cigarette.

"My first time, Mister. . .?" she asked blowing out a stream of
smoke.

"Quisling. Vidkun Quisling." He bent his head to the Zippo
flame lighting a corona. "Comfortable, my dear?" he asked,
puffing the cigar to life.

"Very, Mr Quisling. I'm just waiting for the auction."

"Ah," he said, taking a glance at the bodyguard. "Adding a stud
to your harem?"

<No, just rescuing a friend,> Scully thought. Her mind went for
a second, thinking of the pleasure she would have doing a autopsy
on this man. One while he was still breathing and aware. "No,"
she said, her eyes looking at his over the rim of her champagne
glass. "I broke my toy, so I came to by a new one," she said,
her tongue coming out just enough to moisten her lips.

"And tall, dark, and handsome here?" Quisling asked, eyes
glancing over at Scully's tuxedoed companion.

"A body guard, you know how dangerous the streets can be." <Or
the strong arm if we need to hijack Mulder if somebody else buys
him,> she thought. And at the Quisling's unspoken question, "I
don't mix business with pleasure. Handsome is a bodyguard."
Scully didn't have to see Charles Farragut's smile to know how
cold it was. Quisling's nervous throat clearing told her all
she needed to know.

"Err. That's always a sound policy. Enjoy the auction, we have
some beauties tonight," Quisling said, standing straight.

"I am certain that I shall. And that I'll come back soon."
<Yea, come back and watch you die.> A brief bow, and he left.

Farragut took a second to think how disemboweling Quisling would
improve Farragut's opinion of the slaver. Dana had came to the
ex-FBI Section Chief asking him for help to rescue Mulder. He
was fine with that. He had always liked Mulder and Scully and
was willing to help out an old lover. And he knew that if Mulder
could get sold, anybody could. If her plan went bad, he'd rather
put a bullet in Dana's head, than let her go on the block.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Bang! The gavel came down. "Lot number 1121. 35 year old male,"
the auctioneer said.

Scully held back in the crowd, her red hair and blue eyes hidden
by hair dye and contacts. She didn't want to push her luck and
be found out. She might end up on the block herself. The
Consortium had framed Mulder and had him sentenced to involuntary
servitude, slavery in other words. And Scully was there to buy
him. Then take him out of the country far away from all this.

A hush went over the crowd as Lot number 1121 was led out. It
was Mulder all right. He looked all right considering the months
of captivity, she thought. The bidding started, and a few
seconds latter, Scully now owned one Fox William Mulder, late of
the FBI.

"Wait here," a staff member told Scully. "I'll go collect your
purchase." Scully shuddered for a moment, <Purchase. . . Well, I
now own his lousy butt.> She briefly smiled, <No more stupid
ties. Then again, what will a six foot male sex slave that
really has little use of clothes do with a neck tie.> A brief
sound, and she turned.

There was the man who had been her partner. Still looked good,
still a head taller than she. "Miss Tea Leone, here is your
purchase. Greet your new Mistress," the staff member told
Mulder.

He bowed and said, "Mistress."

Farragut looked at the two burly guards with Mulder. "I'll take
it from here," he stated, moving to separate Mulder from his
captors. <Better get him home and start straightening things
out. God only knows what personality they have installed in that
head of his.>

<So this is the new Mistress,> Mulder thought following the
woman. A brief whiff of lavender came to his nose. When he
stumbled, the man with her grabbed his arms and steadying him.
<Lavender . . . Scully,> his mind reeled. It made sense,
lavender was Scully's favorite scent. And the new Mistress, 4
inch fuck-me-pumps not withstanding, was about the right size.

Scully could feel Mulder's eyes drilling into her back. <He's
worried what will be needed of him. He's wondered if he's going
to be hurt.>

A doorman opened the back door of luxury Lincoln limousine.
Scully got in, then Mulder, then Farragut. The door closed and
they were off. Alone finally, the silence was deafening, each
lost in their own thoughts.

Mulder didn't know whether to be elated or horrified, Scully was
his friend, unless she had ulterior motives, she was here to
rescue him. But could he be rescued? His doctorate in
psychology was a curse this time. He knew each psychological and
physical technique they put to use each minute to break the
convicts. And exactly which book of Jung, Freud, or de Sade it
came from. But did he want to be rescued? He had broke, given
the slave masters exactly what they wanted. He was ashamed to be
seen by Scully like this.

Scully looked at Mulder when he first sat down, then looked away.
<What sort of man is he? What is left of his intelligence?> she
wondered. It wasn't Mulder, of that she was certain. There
wasn't anything left of the victim's personality after a
mindwipe. And then make them into a sex toy. Scully wasn't
certain if she wouldn't prefer a nice clean death to having
somebody else walking around in her skin. And when the Lone
Gunman discovered what horrors awaited the 'trainees', they
didn't first want to tell her, to protect her for the horror.
She hung her head for a moment, morning the loss of her friend
one more time.

The sound of the tires hitting gravel awoke both from the
reverie. A moment, the driver was opening the door and Scully
and Mulder climbed out. Mulder only half heard the instructions
she gave the driver, didn't see the quick hug she gave the
tuxedoed bodyguard. But noticed when the car left then and
turned right when it hit the street.

"Come along," Scully told Mulder. Then led him through the front
door and to a sitting room. After instructing him to sit, Scully
looked into the hazel eyes of the man. She grimaced, not knowing
where to start, how to explain to this person that she had known
the person who had lived inside that mortal shell that he
inhabited.

Mulder spoke, "Why did you . . ." Scully could see the tension in
his face as he tried to break training. "If the slave may ask,
why did the Mistress take an interest in the slave," he finally
said.

"You remind me of a man I once knew. He was my friend .... my
best friend. He got into trouble and I was too late to save him.
But I will try to make your life as comfortable and pleasant as I
can for his sake." She looked directly into the eyes she had
known so well, trying to extrude as much empathy and sincerity as
she could. She was willing to devote the rest of her life if
that is what it took.

Again a look that mixed pain, fear, and uncertainty stole across
his face. "Scully . . .I . . . am . . . still . . . Mulder," he
choked out.

"Mulder," she cried out. She reached out to touch him, a gesture
she had done dozens of times before. But jerked her hand back
when she saw the look of arousal mixed with fear in his eyes.

Mulder felt his eyes darken and his tongue slip out to moisten
his lips at her touch. He couldn't help it, he was a trained
seal, trained to respond to his owner's touch.

She sat back. This changed everything. They had expected that
he would have been mindwiped, everybody else was.

"Scully, I broke. They beat me, raped me, tortured me," he said,
head bowed, his eyes closed. "I tried to fight them, . . ."

"I know you did, and you did a good job of it," Scully jumped in,
shocked at what they had done to him.

"I withstood them until they started using drugs, LSD I think. I
couldn't be sure of who or where I was anymore. That's when I
broke," Mulder said, sobs starting to rack his body. "I just
broke," he whispered.

<That would be the deciding factor,> Scully thought. <Pain he
would just hide from in the back of his mind, the same way he
always has. But if he couldn't trust his mind . . .,> the
thought ended unhappily. It wasn't going to be easy, but she
owed her partner. She got up and knelt in front of him. "I'm
not happy to see you like this," she said, her blue eyes drilling
into his. "I am here to help you."

She got up and walked over to a sidetable and a doctor's black
bag. She planned to sedate him before they left, too much of
chance he had been programmed to raise a warning if anybody tried
to take him out of the country.

She braced herself against the table for a moment before opening
the bag and getting out a syringe and an ampule. A flick of the
finger to break the seal on the ampule, and she was drawing a
yellowish liquid up into the syringe.

"Trust me, partner?" she asked, the syringe in her hand.

A look of horror flashed in Mulder's eyes as he looked at the
syringe. There had been too many ampules and syringes and little
IV bags with red bordered labels for him not to be scared. He
looked up into her cerulean blue eyes, and felt hopeful for the
first time in months. "Always, Scully."

"Then we might just have a chance, partner."

Dunellen Municipal Airport
Dunellen Florida
3AM.
----------------

A lanky longhaired man stood still listening to the National Weather Service
weather broadcast out of TIA. "Low ceiling. Fog for 30 miles offshore. Bit
of a tail wind. Yes!! Great Flying Weather!!", he said smiling at Charles
Farragut.

"I'm glad. And thanks again for flying out the redhead and her friend."

"Hey, I'm cool. No cargo flying back. It'll be nice having somebody to
talk with other then square grouper. And, Hey, say hi to the kid for me."

"I'll be sure to do that," Charles answered, before leaving he cockpit of
the old DC-3 transport. He looked at a redhead standing bareheaded in the
mist, a trenchcoat wrapped around her trim frame.

"How does it look, Charles," Dana asked her ex-lover. She hated to do this
to him, but she didn't really have any other choice.

"Fine, if you don't mind flying with a pilot barely old enough to shave, in
an airplane his grandfather would have flown." Charles immediately thought
better of what he said. Looking down at Dana, he started to apologize,
"Dana. Sorry . . "

She placed a soft hand on his trenchcoat covered arm. "I'm ok, Charles. I
remember these old Gooney Birds at Naval Air Stations," she said looking up
into his gray eyes.

"You have to go, Dana. You need to take care of your partner," Charles said
looking over at Mulder, currently deep under the effect of a Mickey that
Dana had given him.

"I know," Scully said with a sigh.

"You'll be ok. This pilot should be able to get you to the Yucatan, then
your unspeaking troll of a friend has some plan for you."

"I know he does, but Frohike won't tell me either," Scully said with a grimice.

"Hey guys. It's time to book," the pilot called out of the cargo door of
the ancient airplane.

Skinner had been standing back, leaning against the car. He walked up and
helped manhandle Mulder into a seat. "You'll do ok, Agent Scully," he told
her. Looking up at Charles, "I'll wait by the car."

Scully's face split in a quick grin at Skinner's use of a title she had
resigned two years earlier. She gave the bear of a man, a quick hard hug
and a kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you latter."

Skinner gave her one of his rare smiles and walked back to the car.

The whine of the starter moter caught their attention. The throaty roar of
an unmuffled radial engine told them it was time to part. "Be good to him,
Dana," Charles told the petite redhead.

"Good by, Charles," Scully said into his ear, hoping he'd hear her over the
airplane engines. She stepped back for a moment, before launching herself
into his arms for one last kiss.

Skinner and Charles watched the Gooney Bird waddle to the end of the tarmac.
The airplane seemed to crouch, then the twin engines roared their defiance
to the earth. The plane rolled down the runway, slowly gaining speed before
parting ways with the ground. Charles watched the airplane's lights
disappear into the fog, quietly smoking a cigeratte. "Now what, Walter?" he
asked his balding companion.

"Heard you were thinking about renewing a relationship with a man in
Chi-town with a gold Zippo. Name of Quisling, I think."

Charles looked over at his old boss, seeing the smile on his face. "Let's go."

The End