Disclaimers: Don't own Relic Hunter. I'm a penniless writer but, hell, I'm happy!

This is my two shot repose to challenges set by Aryea to write a stories about 'Sydney and singing' and one about 'Nigel, Simon Lagerfeld (the bloke who fancied Nigel on 'Nine Lives'), shoes, ice-cream and a shower.' Hell, if you just want the silly stuff and Nigel naked just skip to chapter 2, but I had rather a lot of fun with this first bit too…

Therapy

by Katy

Part one: Sydney Sings

'Okay Nige!' started Sydney. 'The collar of Charles I's spaniel is hidden somewhere in this building and I'm not leaving without it! Stewie Harper is not going to get his hands on this one… well, if he does, I'll throttle him with it!'

Nigel looked up in dismay at the huge and apparently late Victorian manor house that loomed up at them at the end of the driveway: 'The house has obviously been extensively modified since the 1640's, when the king hid here with his dog. It looks like the whole place is a health spa now. How do we even know the chamber where he hid from the parliamentarian troops still exists?'

'I can just feel it,' grinned Sydney, buzzing with the joys of the hunt.

'Lovely. I'm sure you can all but hear the ghost of little 'Rogue' yapping.'

'Don't be so negative, Nigel,' she scolded mildly. 'When have I been wrong before? And besides…' She pulled out a large sheet of paper from her satchel. 'According to these plans, several rooms still retain the original 17th-century paneling: these treatment rooms…' - here she pointed to a series of small rooms in the west wing of the house -
'…and the men's changing rooms.'

Without quite knowing why, Nigel's heart sank further. 'The men's changing rooms? I suppose that means I'm going to have to check those out alone.'

'Not necessarily,' shrugged Sydney, not entirely adverse to the prospect of taking on the men's changing rooms herself. 'We'll go with the flow on this one… although I thought you might be a little more comfortable there, than in the treatment rooms. It's all going to be women, having massages, face-packs, mudbaths that sort of thing. To be honest, I think you might attract a little more attention there.'

'Great! So you get to go for a nice massage or something, and I have to hang out in the men's changing rooms looking dodgy. '

'You never look dodgy, Nigel.' She smiled sweetly. 'And even though it is a changing room, it doesn't mean that you'll have to take your clothes off.'

'Yes, at least this isn't another nudist spa… I couldn't go through that again!'

'Oh, come on! Despite the presence of Stewie, there were aspects of that hunt I quite enjoyed.' She fluttered her eyelashes lasciviously as Nigel stared intently at the plans of the house, pursing his lips.

'The changing rooms do look small,' he observed, changing the subject. 'I suppose they won't take long to have a look at.'

'That's settled then,' confirmed Sydney, although she was mildly disappointed - for several reasons - he hadn't insisted she came too. 'You take the changing rooms, I'll take the treatment rooms… and we'll meet back here in an hour!'

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Blagging her way past the woman at the desk wasn't a trouble for Sydney. Neither was locating the series of little treatment rooms in the west wing of the house. The trouble only started when she realised that all the doors were locked - and that most of the rooms were occupied with people having various 'treatments'. After a bit of surreptitious listening at the doors, however, she realised that one was empty.

'It's a start,' she muttered, wondering if she was going to have to break in after the spa had closed to have a decent look at the rest. She had just put her shoulder to the door and was just about to burst in, however, when a mousy little women, with light brown, strawlike hair and twig-like arms, suddenly appeared behind her and asked:

'Are you here for the therapy?'

Sydney, who had nearly jumped when she became aware of the woman's abrupt presence, favoured her with an ingratiating, openmouthed smile. 'Uh, well…'

'Oh, please say you are!' cried the little woman, grasping Sydney's hands in an entreating fashion. I'm not sure I could go through with it alone, and if there was two of us… it would make all the difference. '

'Uh, okay,' replied Sydney uncertainly. 'I'm here for the therapy. You don't, err, happen to have a key to this room, do you?'

'No, but Marjorie will have one. Oh, here she is. Please, you mustn't go now… it would be awful!'

'I'm sure it can't be that bad,' replied Sydney, increasingly wondering what she just let herself in for. Treatments at health spas were normally supposed to be relaxing experiences, although the word 'therapy' did have mildly negative connotations. Images of a chiropractor jumping up and down on her back or electric shock treatment filtered through her mind. Still, she could handle that - although she'd rather just check out the room and get out of there…

A kindly looking woman in a white coat was now unlocking the door, and looking at her clipboard at the same time.

'I only have one client listed for this session, Vera Watkins,' she cooed in a calming, therapeutic voice. 'Are you both sure you've come to the right place?'

'Quite sure!' replied Sydney confidently, pushing past the woman as she switched on the lights of the chamber. She was surprised by its size and content - the room was several metres long, surely the largest of the treatment rooms, with all its windows covered and lit only by a series of ceiling mounted spotlights giving it the air of a small theatre or performance room. There certainly didn't seem to be any sort of couch or beauticians tools. Nevertheless, the walls were wood paneled and clearly 17th-century. Shooting her company an awkward smile, Sydney began to run her fingers over the panels, looking for signs of the secret compartment where Charles I and his spaniel had hidden.

'Ah,' observed Marjorie. 'I can see what we're dealing with here already. You're very nervous about your environment, aren't you, dear?'

Sydney did not even realize that the therapist was talking to her until she felt the gentle hand on her shoulder. 'I can help you, young woman. Help you build the confidence you need, and make you feel more comfortable with the world. '

Sydney smiled. 'Look, I think it's time I came clean with you. I'm not really here for the therapy…'

'Oh!!!!' Vera's cry was heartrending. 'Please don't say that, I can't go through with this alone!'

Marjorie smiled sweetly. 'I think the sooner we get started the better. Singing will help you both unleash your inner confidence and make you feel more at one with the world. It's a lovely way to express oneself!'

Vera squeaked with terror; Sydney couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. She was in a singing therapy session?

'No, really, I don't think you want me to do this…' she protested. Marjorie locked the door and turned the lights down so that only two spotlights remained: clamped on Sydney and Vera.

'Of course you want to do it, my dear! Now after me… do re me fa so la tea do!!!'

Marjorie warbled the scale in a strong mezzosoprano. Vera still looked petrified. Sydney gawped like a goldfish.

'Okay,' started Sydney, raising her hands to indicate that enough was enough. 'I really should be in this session, and you really don't want me to sing.'

'But I do, dear, I do!' coaxed Marjorie from the gloom. 'I won't be turning the lights off or letting anybody out till they've liberated the music in their souls.'

'But…'

'No buts!'

Sydney made an executive decision. Of course, she could shove her way out of there easily enough… but it seemed a little unnecessary and Vera already looked as if her nerves were torn to shreds. Yes. The best way to get out of there quickly and still be allowed back in at the end of the session without any breaking and entering would be to do exactly what was required of her. Sing.

Sydney opened her mouth. It hovered open for a few second in the style of a hungry basking shark before she bounced her tongue off the top of her mouth and unleashed the power of her lungs.

'Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!'

A loud, deep and slightly hoarse wail resonated around the small chamber. Marjorie took two steps back.

'Dear God,' the therapist thought to herself. 'The woman sounds like a walrus giving birth!'

Marjorie gritted her teeth and wished she'd inserted her earplugs: 'That was lovely, dear. Now let's have it again. You too this time, Vera!'

Sydney couldn't quite believe she'd been asked for an encore. She rolled her eyes and repeated the little performance, this time raising slightly up the scale. Unfortunately, to the trained ear, there were semitones where they should've been tones, and sharps where there should've been flats. There was also an interesting, grating quality to her voice - somewhat reminiscent of nails being torn down a chalky blackboard.

'Louder, louder,' entreated Marjorie, backing further into the dark so she could enfold her aching head in her hands. It was then that Sydney saw Vera. She couldn't see hear the tiny little woman but, somewhere beneath the foghorn that was Sydney Fox's voice, Vera was wailing away, singing her heart out. Rather than nervous and timid, she looked liberated and happy - and about twenty years younger.

Sydney suddenly felt unexpectedly revitalised herself and began to take a real interest in what she was doing. She went up and down the scale several times, each time getting louder and louder.

'Boy, this feels great!' she thought to herself. 'Let's see how high I can go…'

She closed her eyes tightly. With a vocal rush that could not have been bettered if she was being chased by the spirit of Supay himself, she ascended up the scale, right the way to 'Doooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!'

Into that note she poured the inimitable spirit of Sydney Fox. 'Hey, maybe I'm not so bad after all?' she thought, as the voluminous timbres of her voice resounded, apparently majestically, in her ears.

She held the note as long as she could - quite a considerable time - before her breath trailed off. The sound faded way into an ominous silence and was broken only by a soft whimpering.

She opened her eyes. For a moment it was pitch black then she heard the fumbling of a key, the door opened and light flooded in from the corridor. Vera sprinted out faster than a deer who had heard gunshot, obviously highly traumatised.

'You…you shattered all the lights!' stuttered Marjorie, who looked pretty shaken herself, her hand on her heart. 'And…and… I think one of the windows broke too, on the other side of the shutters!'

Sydney winced with embarrassment: 'Sorry…I'll, uh, pay for any damage, honest. But I tried to tell you, I'm not here for the therapy.'

'Probably all for the best,' conceded Marjorie. 'I think I'll be needing some after this. But dear, you could have a future in therapy. Once you've taken people by surprise with your singing voice, I'm sure all other phobias will fade into nothingness!'

'I'll bear that in mind,' replied Sydney, her words dripping with sarcasm. Then she dashed off to see how Nigel was getting on.

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Thanks for reading, please review.

Okay, onto part two!