Tegan awoke late. She could hear the housekeeping cart rolling along in the hallway and knew that it was mid-morning. She sat up to be greeted by a subtle yet unpleasant throbbing in her head. She needed coffee and a hot shower.

She had coffee sent to her room and found it waiting when she emerged from the bathroom fifteen minutes later. She poured coffee into her cup then sat in one of the deep, soft chairs near the window to gaze outside. A few guests and employees walked by. She watched a gardener work at rather savagely chopping the top layer of leaves off of a hedge, then shifted her attention to a couple who stood a few meters away. The woman was gesturing with her hands, and the man was shaking his head. Of course Tegan could not hear their words through the thick glass, but she could clearly see that they were arguing.

She turned her head away. Watching a fight was the last thing she wanted to do. She recalled that she had promised herself a long walk today, so she finished her coffee and dressed. Her stomach felt tight with hunger, but she decided to wait until lunch to eat. She would never lose those chocolate and wine pounds if she continued to consume the rich breads and pastries provided for the morning meal.

When Tegan stepped out of her room into the portico, the brightness of the sun seemed to bore through her eyes and straight into her skull. The coffee had not helped her headache. She rubbed at her temples for a moment then continued down the walkway.

"Tegan."

She looked over her shoulder to see Turlough coming toward her.

"Are you just going to breakfast now?" he asked, then before she could reply, he added, "Your date must have gone on quite late. Just getting up, are you?"

His tone was a bit too sarcastic for her taste, especially when her head was throbbing. "It's none of your business," she said shortly.

"No, I suppose not." He looked past her in apparent boredom. "But the Doctor was rather surprised to hear about your boyfriend."

Tegan scowled. "I told you yesterday, he's not my boyfriend! He's just a friend."

Turlough shrugged. "Whatever you say."

"And when did you see the Doctor?"

"I had dinner with him last night."

"Oh. I didn't know he'd been back here."

"Well, you were busy. I'm sure he didn't want to disturb you." Turlough began to walk away.

Tegan did not say good-bye. After he had walked off, she permitted her feet to lead her along the nearest pathway, wandering along without really attending to where she was going. Her head still hurt, and she felt sluggish and thick. The day was not beginning particularly well for her.

When Turlough returned to his room, the masseur stood in the hallway. He had set his basket of oils on the ground and was tapping his fingers rather impatiently against the wall. The moment he saw Turlough he frowned.

"I thought we had an appointment," the man said. "We agreed yesterday that I'd return today at this time."

"Oh, sorry, I forgot."

"Forgot? I see. Well, let's go inside," he said rather impatiently.

Turlough felt self-conscious with the man waiting for him. He remembered feeling the same way yesterday as the masseur finished the session.

"Look," Turlough said, "my neck's feeling fine. I don't need a massage today, but thanks anyway." He stepped past the masseur and unlocked the door.

The man's large hand pushed the door fully open. "Since I'm here, I might as well do this."

Turlough turned back. "No, it's all right, really—"

The masseur stepped inside and closed the door. "We made an appointment yesterday. I'm here to give you a massage." He set the oils on the dresser and retrieved the folded table from the corner, deftly opening it up. "Come on," he said rather sharply, "take off your clothes and get up here. You're not my only client today, you know."

"Then why don't you get to the others? I really don't need it—"

The masseur patted the table firmly. "Just let me do this." His tone was anything but soothing, and Turlough felt a vague sense of threat.

"I—I'd rather not. I think you should leave."

The man closed his eyes for a moment as if to compose himself. "I'm sorry, sir," he said contritely. "I didn't mean to upset you. It's just that if you cancel the massage the manager will question me about it—it will seem as though I did something wrong. This job—being here at Sanadia-3—is very important to me. Without it I'd be—I wouldn't have these opportunities. If I were to lose this job, I'd have nothing left to do."

Turlough listened but remained motionless near the door.

"Please, sir, allow me to give you a massage. I know you enjoyed the others, and this one will be even better. Just give me one more chance. If you aren't satisfied I won't return. I'll even send someone else if you like. Please?"

Turlough's neck had, in fact, felt a bit tight since he awoke. His hand snaked up to rub at it.

"You see," the masseur said, "you do need this." He went into the bathroom and returned with a towel, which he handed to Turlough. "Whenever you're ready, sir."

Reluctantly Turlough took the towel and walked to the bathroom to undress. When he returned the masseur gestured toward the table, and Turlough settled upon his stomach. He still felt slightly ill at ease, but his neck was starting to ache more, so he supposed it was good that the man had returned and urged him to accept the massage.

The strong hands began moving over Turlough's lower back, pushing upward in circular motions as the oil and friction warmed his skin. Once again the Trion had to admit to himself that this felt good—wonderful, if the truth were told. Turlough began to relax.

Suddenly he felt a bit of cool air brush over his hip. He rose up slightly to glance back. The towel had slipped downward to his thigh. The masseur was fiddling with the gold band at his wrist as Turlough grasped the towel and pulled it up toward his waist.

"I'm sorry, sir," the masseur offered. "My bracelet caught on the towel."

Turlough had gripped the towel firmly and tucked the edges together. His face felt warm. "Just try to be careful," he said, his voice rough with embarrassment.

The masseur placed a hand on Turlough's shoulder and pushed him gently down. "It was an accident."

Turlough turned his head and began to push himself up again. "Look, why don't we just call it a day. I've really had enough—"

"Just let me finish." The hands pressed into his shoulders, kneading deeply.

"No, really, I'd rather stop—"

The fingers moved up to his neck, pressing into the muscles, touching the bruises. Turlough winced.

"Hey!" he cried, "that hurts! Stop it—"

"I'm going to finish." The man's voice was firm, and his hands seemed to squeeze Turlough's neck for a moment. Then the pressure lessened, and the fingers moved more gently over the sore spot.

"Just relax, sir. This is a deeper technique, and you'll be a little sore at first, but in a couple of hours you'll feel much better."

The memory of the Black Guardian's hand around his throat had rushed back at Turlough as soon as he felt the masseur's rougher touch. He was at this man's mercy; this man could easily overpower him, and with one twist of his hand he could—

Turlough stopped himself. His thoughts were ludicrous. The man was a trained masseur, and he had been quite clear in his intent to please Turlough so that his job would not be threatened. Really, Turlough had power over him.

"You see," the masseur was saying, "it is better if you relax and just let me do my work."

Turlough lay still until the masseur finished. He listened while the man packed up the supplies then finally sat up when he heard the door latch.

"Same time tomorrow?" the masseur asked.

"I don' t know. I've made some plans with my friend—"

The masseur frowned. "But you weren't dissatisfied?"

"No. It was fine."

"And you'll request me again if you want another massage?"

Turlough nodded blankly.

"Thank you, sir." He stepped out the door.

Turlough sat for nearly a minute without moving. His heart was pounding, and he felt frightened, though there was no rational reason to be. The masseur had done nothing to him, with the possible exception of giving him a more vigorous massage than the previous two. He tilted his head to the side and grimaced. He decided immediately that the rougher technique was not for him. He would definitely not request that masseur, or any others for that matter, again.

Tegan had wandered along the pathways for some time. She finally gave in to the gnawing in her stomach, however, and returned to the resort. She slipped into the nearest restaurant and ordered a salad. As she finished her second glass of cool, lemon-infused water, she realized that her headache had diminished. With a bit of food to sustain her, she felt much better.

As she was leaving the restaurant, she saw Kol walking across the grounds. Another man, some years older than he was, walked next to him. He waved a clipboard in front of Kol, who shook his head then grabbed the board and stalked away. The other man hurried back into the closest building.

Kol finally looked up. His face was dark for a moment, but when he spotted Tegan his features softened and he smiled.

"Tegan," he called, nearly running to her. "Just what I need to brighten my day."

"Bad day?" she asked.

"The manager." He rolled his eyes. "He doesn't understand how this place really works. He came from corporate with some high-brow education and degree, but he hasn't spent ten years here like I have." His voice grew louder. "He's only been here for six months, and I'm the one who taught him most of what he knows—I am. And now he has the balls to say I'm not doing my job—"

"Oh," Tegan interjected, "it's not because of me, is it?"

"You? Oh Tegan, of course not!"

"But he's upset because you're taking time away from your job to be with me, right?"

His gaze locked on her face for a moment, then he took her arm. "Come with me, Tegan."

"But you need to get back to work—"

His fingers tightened. "Let me decide that. Come on, I want to show you something."

He led her to one of the smaller buildings behind the resort complex. Like the larger property, it was attractively landscaped, though less lush. As Tegan skimmed the rows of doors and windows she had the sudden impression that this was some sort of dormitory or apartment building.

"What's in here?" she asked as he propelled her up a staircase, his grip on her arm even firmer.

"This is where I live. All of the employees live here or in the building over there. They get single rooms, but I'm management, so my place is larger."

"Look, Kol," she began, planting her feet firmly on the top stair. "I'm sure it's very nice, but I need to get back—"

"I just want you to see it, to see that I've worked my way up. That bastard doesn't even appreciate what I've done—"

"The manager?"

He pulled her up the last step then toward a door. "You'll really like it," he said eagerly, keeping his grip on her arm.

"Kol, you're hurting me." She tried to pull her arm away.

He released her with a hurt expression, then he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Come inside."

She glanced back at the staircase. There was no one else about. When she looked back at Kol's face, she saw that he smiled warmly. He had dropped his arm from her shoulder and taken her hand gently. He urged her inside.

"Come, Tegan, just for a minute, then I'll take you back to your room or wherever you'd like to go."

His voice was soft now. Slowly she stepped inside.

The apartment was simply yet attractively furnished. Several plants adorned the windowsills, and a large bouquet of fragrant flowers graced the dining table. She noticed immediately that a bottle of wine and two glasses sat upon the small table before the sofa. He led her to the sofa and sat, pulling her down with him.

Reaching for the bottle of wine, which had already been opened, he poured some into one of the glasses then offered it to her.

"Oh, no thanks," she said quickly. "I had a bit too much last night."

He frowned. "But you like wine."

"A little more than I should sometimes, I suppose. I need a break for a day or two."

He pressed the glass into her hand. "Just have one sip. I chose this especially for you—"

"No, really, I don't want to." She set the goblet on the table.

His eyes narrowed for a moment as they moved from the glass to her face, then he smiled again. "You are beautiful." He placed his hand on her cheek.

"Thanks," she said tonelessly, leaning back away from his hand.

"What's the matter?" he asked, obviously hurt by her subtle rebuff.

"Kol, you're really nice, and I've had a great time talking with you, but all this—"

"All what? All this that I did for you? Don't you like it?"

"It's… great, but I think you've misunderstood—"

Quickly he reached up to press his hands over her cheeks. He leaned in and kissed her.

Tegan slid her arms between his and pushed his hands away from her face. "Please, Kol, stop."

"Stop?" He expression hardened. "But this is what we both want."

"No, it's not." She began to rise, but he clamped his hand around her wrist and pulled her back down.

"Tegan, I've risked my job for you. Do you hear me? Do you have any idea how important this job is to me? What would happen if I were fired? I'd be sent back to—" He stopped and released her wrist.

"I don't want you to jeopardize your job," she said carefully, inching backward on the couch. "Maybe it's best if I just go back to my room now."

Kol folded his hands purposefully in his lap. "It's been a long time since I met anyone like you." His voice was gravelly and deep.

"And I appreciate all the nice things you've done for me." She stood and took a step toward the door. "But it's best if I go now."

He watched her blankly for a moment. She took another few steps then turned to grasp the doorknob. In an instant he had shot up from the couch and dashed across the small room to grip her shoulders. She flinched at the strength of his grasp.

"I want you," he said huskily. "Tell me you want this, too." He leaned in again.

"No," she said firmly.

"You don't mean it—"

"I do." She placed her hand on the doorknob. "Please let me go."

He dropped his hands from her shoulders, and she began to open the door. She did not expect the sudden blow that he delivered. His hand struck her cheek and nose with a force that knocked her back into the wall. She felt her head thump against the rough stucco, and for an instant the lights seemed to dim. She blinked, automatically swiping at the blood that had begun to flow from her nose.

Kol was leaning toward her, reaching for her arm.

"Get away from me!" she cried, struggling to her feet.

"Tegan, I'm sorry."

He grabbed at her hand, and she stumbled back. She was only a meter from the sofa table. As his fingers closed around her wrist, she lunged for the wine bottle, grasping it and swinging it at his head. He clearly did not expect this action from her, and he was too slow in his attempts to dodge the impromptu weapon. She struck him on the side of his head. The bottle shattered, wine splashing over Tegan and the floor. Kol's mouth opened, then he dropped her wrist and fell to his knees.

Tegan ran for the door, ripping it open then sprinting for the stairs. She clattered down halfway, then her heel caught, and she sprawled forward, barely catching herself with one hand on the railing. Still, her knees collided with the edge of a stair, and she felt her wrist twist painfully as she struggled to keep herself from tumbling all the way down to the ground. Finally she regained her balance and clambered down to the pathway.

She glanced up once at Kol's door, but it remained closed. Her hands, she saw, were covered in blood, and she knew that her face was as well. She bent her head and ran back toward the resort, resisting the tears that welled in her eyes.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," she murmured, oddly comforted by the repeated word as she limped toward her room.

Turlough had just finished showering and dressing in his slacks and T-shirt when he heard the knock at his door. Hesitantly he walked forward, saying, "Yes?"

"Turlough, it's me."

He opened the door to see the Doctor standing with a box in his hand and a perturbed expression on his face. He stepped into the room.

"Make yourself right at home," Turlough said rather acerbically as the Time Lord sank into a chair.

"The resistors didn't work," he said peevishly.

"The ones you got yesterday?"

The Doctor nodded. "I was nearly certain they would. I don't think these will be much better—"

"So that's going to delay our departure even more?"

The Doctor sighed. "Perhaps. I'm not sure. There are other things that I can try—"

Turlough remained standing, rubbing at the distinct crick in the side of his neck. The hot shower had done nothing to alleviate the deep ache.

"I thought the massage made it feel better," the Doctor said rather testily, pointing at Turlough's moving hand.

"Oh, it did at first. Then he used some technique that he called 'deeper' today, and it feels worse than ever."

"But that's a different spot, isn't it?"

"Yes." Turlough shook his head. "I think he had something against me," he muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just talking to myself. Is there anything I can do to help with the TARDIS?"

"As a matter of fact, there may be. That's why I stopped here. I could use your assistance with some of the wiring. I've made enough repairs that a few of the connections are nearly ready."

"Of course."

"You don't mind leaving here? I thought you were enjoying yourself—"

Turlough glanced at the massage table and rubbed again at this neck. "Somehow it's lost most of its appeal."

"I suppose I should tell Tegan that you'll be with me. She may wonder where you've gone." He stood.

"You aren't going to ask for her help?" Turlough inquired archly.

The Doctor shook his head. "Believe me, Turlough, the best way she can help is to stay away from the TARDIS."

He left the room and walked down the pathway to Tegan's room. He knocked at the door. There was no response, and he stood for a moment wondering where she might be. Probably the pool, he decided, and turned to walk away. A small noise, however, stopped him. Someone was moving about inside. He leaned in to press his ear to the door.