The Danville Series by Cadillac Red Disclaimer: The characters of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner, et al do not belong to me; they belong to Chris Carter and Fox. I mean no harm and will make no money from their use. Spoilers: None to speak of (although some reference to Anasazi) Setting: Somewhere in the fourth season. Rating: PG. Some discipline, no slash. Title: Facing Consequences Author: Cadillac Red Summary: Mulder pushes the edge of the FBI's tolerance to the breaking point and Skinner is forced to come up with an unorthodox way to save his butt -- or at least his career! Facing Consequences FBI Headquarters Office of the X-Files Fox Mulder swallowed down the bile in his throat, pushing back on the anger, and fear, that drove it up his esophagus. He stalked the basement office like a rabid animal. He ran his hands through his hair until it threatened to come out of his head and felt the acid hot ball of rage and fear in his stomach rise up again. Without a conscious thought, he balled his right hand into a fist and drove it into the wall, immediately opening up a hole in the old plaster. Searing pain shot up from his hand, momentarily stealing the spotlight from his roiling stomach. "Did you break it?" he heard a voice behind him ask softly. He nearly jumped out of his skin before answering. "The wall? Yeah," he replied bitterly. Dana Scully entered their office and advanced on him, taking his hand between her two smaller ones. Ignoring his usual "I'm fine, just leave it," she opened his fingers and manipulated the hand to see if it was indeed broken. Satisfied that he had only bruised it, she released his hand and walked out of their office. "I'll be right back," she called over her shoulder. Mulder sat down in his chair and felt yet another wave of uncontrolled rage overcome him. With his uninjured hand, he swept across his desk, knocking everything to the floor. Piles of paper, newspaper clippings, files, magazines and assorted scraps of paper flew in all directions and were finally settling to the floor in disarray as Scully returned. She took note of the further destruction without a word and handed him a cold can of iced tea. "I'm not thirsty," he spat out, placing the can on his desk. "It's the only cold thing I could find," she said, more patiently than she thought possible. "Hold it in your hand." She gave it back to him, and took the other can, a Diet Sprite, and held it over the back of his fingers. Silence descended on the basement office. Mulder waited for her to start up on him about what he'd done. But Scully remained silent, not even raising her eyes to his face. "I don't want to talk about it," he finally said, hoping that would get her started. The waiting was starting to scare him. She pressed her lips together and turned the Sprite can over on his hand to keep the cold on it as long as possible. His swollen hand had already warmed the other side. She mentally went over all the things she wanted to say, about running off without her, without back-up, without authorization. The conversation she had overheard ahead of her at the employee's entrance this morning was foremost in her mind. "Did you hear about Spooky?" that jerk from White Collar Crimes had said to the two people in front of him. "He's finally gone and done it. We've got a pool going. You can put your money on immediate dismissal or, if you want a real long-shot, what back-water field office will they bury him in to finish out the rest of his career?" The three of them laughed uproariously and all three apparently ante'd up the 20 bucks to get in on the fun. She was shaking with rage at them, but more so at him. How many times did he think he could get away with this kind of thing? How could such a brilliant man be so damn dense? She wanted to shake him, but at the same time, she knew this time was probably the "proverbial straw." What could she say that would make a difference? Why add to his pain? "I guess there isn't really anything to say, Mulder," she replied, finally looking into his eyes. "I imagine Skinner will say it all. . . . When do you see him?" He felt his skin go cold as he looked into the sadness in her eyes. He had hoped she would find some silver lining, some shred of hope, the way she always did. He pulled his hand away suddenly and dropped the now warm iced tea on his desk. Pulling his eyes away from her, he said simply, "10 o'clock." Involuntarily his eyes sought his watch and he started the mental countdown to what, his execution? He tried to focus on what was now his last hope, Assistant Director Walter Skinner. If Scully couldn't find a way to put a better spin on this disaster, then Skinner would come through, wouldn't he? He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes to wait out the last 12 minutes and fear took the lead over anger in his belly. *************************************************************** Office of AD Skinner At 9:59 and 45 seconds, Mulder walked through the door to Skinner's outer office. Kimberly looked up at him, then motioned to the couch. "He's on the phone, Agent Mulder," she said. "He'll just be another minute or so. He's been waiting for you." Mulder looked again at his watch. It was exactly 10 o'clock, he wasn’t even a second late. And Skinner had been waiting for him? This was not a good sign. He sat down on the couch, then bounced back up and started pacing. Passing Kim's desk, he noticed the open accordion file in her in-box. It was one of the ones marked "Confidential" that they used to carry personnel files around in. He had a gut feeling he'd see the file marked "Fox W. Mulder" on Skinner's desk when-- "Agent Mulder," he heard, though he hadn't noticed the door opening. He stopped pacing and turned to see AD Skinner standing in his doorway. "Come in, Mulder," he said grimly. Not making eye contact as he passed Skinner, the first thing he noticed was his open personnel file on the desk. This mental rationalization started to make him angry again. Fueled by this train of thought he threw himself down in one of Skinner's guest chairs in a position that, had he been a statue, could only be titled "Belligerent Adolescence." Assistant Director Walter Skinner sat down in his desk chair and turned to face his most troublesome agent. He was startled by the metamorphosis that had suddenly taken place. He was prepared to break the news to Mulder that this one would probably end his career -- and Skinner had been up all night trying to figure out how to help Mulder avoid that. He'd been in the office since 6 a.m., poring over Mulder's personnel file, looking for something on which to build a case for leniency -- again! Skinner had expected a little remorse, not the defensive posture he saw in front of him. "This sucks, sir!" Mulder began. "I gave the task force everything they needed to close this case. And they did, based on the leads I identified. I really don't see what the problem is here--" "You don't see the problem?" Skinner roared. He flew out of his chair and leaned far across his desk. "You don't see the problem! You were loaned to the task force by ME, you were reporting to an ASAC who was reporting to the Director himself. You left your assignment without word to ANYONE, without back-up, without permission. You took a Bureau vehicle that was needed the next day--" "Oh come on! This is about the car? They had more than enough cars to go around--" "You followed the instructions of an informant you didn't know, you failed to report contact with said informant, you lost your weapon and wrecked the aforementioned car-- "So this IS about the car!" Skinner rose up to his full height and angrily stalked over to the window. He needed to get control of himself. Every instinct in his body was screaming at him to deal with the insolent young agent in his office exactly the way his father had dealt with willful disrespect. Walter Skinner ran his hands over his nearly bald head and thought for the ten thousandth time that he had hair before he met Fox Mulder. "So what's the bottom line, sir? Am I suspended?" Mulder's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Just tell me so I can make plans. . . . The Knicks are playing the Lakers next week and I'd like to get tickets if I've got some time off coming." Mulder was still not certain that a strong offense was the best defense in this particular instance but . . . . what the hell, he didn't have another plan. Skinner fought down his urge to grab Mulder and pound him senseless. "Do you not get it, Mulder?" he said. "This is the end of the line." He gestured toward the file on his desk. "Do you know how many reprimands and suspensions are already in your file? You hold a Bureau record, not that it's one you should be proud of. The Office for Professional Review is asking me to recommend action, or they're going to initiate a review board. We're talking demotion and reassignment at the least, and probably dismissal." "How can you let them do that?," Mulder shouted. "How can you do that?" He was grasping at straws now and his mind searched wildly for another tactic. "Aren't most of those reprimands from you anyway? You've never been on my side --" "Don't go there, Mulder," Skinner said guardedly. "I've supported you more times than I can count. Maybe to the detriment of my own career. This isn't about what they're doing to you or what I'm doing to you. This is about your actions. And your lack of forethought about the consequences. You think just because you're brilliant, we'll all put up with whatever crap you pull. Whatever rules you want to break, we'll all look the other way because, after all, it's Mulder we're talking about." Mulder blinked at this sudden change of tone and the words he never thought he'd hear. Had Skinner really put his own career on the line for him? Did he really come off the way the AD was describing him? His intuition told him there was truth to be found here but his ego kept brushing it aside. Skinner came over and half-sat on his desk in front of Mulder. "I've been wrestling with this all night," he said quietly. "Part of me knows I should issue the official reprimand and let the chips fall where they will. It might be best for your own safety, and certainly for Agent Scully's safety. . . ." "No!" Mulder shook his head violently. "No, there has to be another way. I can't lose the X-files, sir! You can't let them do this!" "Mulder, it really might be the best thing. I can't believe I'm saying this myself, but . . . No matter how good an agent you are--and I think you're the best I've ever seen-- your recklessness is a danger to you and everyone who works with you. Your inability to see the consequences of your actions, to take any personal responsibility for the situation you're in, it's gonna get you or someone else killed eventually. . . . And I won't be a party to that any longer." Skinner sighed and stood, realizing he'd come to his decision. He walked back around his desk and stood across it from Mulder. "I'm recommending dismissal," he said finally. "I'm sorry, Fox. . . ." He looked at the young man slumped in the chair before him. "I really am sorry but . . . . it's for your own good. Some day you'll thank me for this." Skinner was struck by the tenor of the conversation. He had no kids but somehow he'd turned into his own father anyway! Here he was mouthing the same platitudes his Dad had used when he had to punish his errant son. Only, of course, this was completely different. Lost in this train of thought, he failed to see that Mulder had not moved a muscle and was certainly not making any move to leave the AD’s office. "Mulder," he said finally, "you should go now." Mulder lifted his head and the Assistant Director saw tears pooled in his hazel eyes. "Isn't there something else you can do?" he whispered. "Anything . . . . If I could just have one last chance . . . ." Walter Skinner knew the answer was no. He shook his head and tried to come up with the right way to break this young man's heart. That's what it amounted to -- dammit. But something else reared up inside him. Over the years, he'd grown to respect and value Fox Mulder as an Agent under his command. But somehow, despite all his resolve to keep an appropriate distance between himself and his subordinates, he'd grown especially fond of this one and his partner. Mulder and Scully were usually at the bottom of his problems but -- their passionate pursuit of the truth, without regard to personal costs, had touched him deeply. And Mulder, who wore his heart on his sleeve despite an outward veneer of sarcasm and hardheaded independence, was someone Skinner cared about. A substitute son, or younger brother, perhaps-- Of course, if he'd been a younger brother, Walter Skinner Senior would have long ago put an end to that attitude and the irresponsible behavior, Skinner noted ironically . . . . He looked up at Mulder who was studying him gravely. Skinner momentarily thought that Mulder must be reading his mind but dismissed it immediately. "Okay. . . . I'll probably regret this but-- maybe there's one more thing we can try." He watched Mulder's tears dry up immediately and the young agent sat straight up in the chair. "Anything. Just tell me what we can do." "This won't be an official action, Mulder. This is more of an 'off-line solution,' in my book. But I'm willing to try it, if you are." "I told you, I'll do anything," Mulder nodded, already agreeing to the unknown. But what he said was the following. "When I was a kid, my father was what they called 'strict,' Mulder. He loved us and he made sure we knew it. But he also had high expectations and he made sure we knew that, too. And when we failed to meet those expectations, well, let's just say he made sure we were painfully aware of it." Mulder was listening actively, nodding his head at every sentence. But it was clear his comprehension was not yet complete. "My Dad had an old-fashioned approach to child-rearing. He was the law in our house, no disrespect or mouthing off was tolerated. Not like the show you put on here earlier, Mulder," Skinner said meaningfully. He paused, waiting for a reaction from the young man. None came and he continued. "And he made sure we knew we were accountable for our actions. Bad choices had consequences, painful ones, Mulder." Mulder's mouth had gone dry and, though his face betrayed nothing, his stomach had started to tumble with fear again. "I don't know much about your childhood, Mulder, beyond the fact that your sister was lost and your parents split up. But it appears to me they didn't do their job for you -- somehow you got to be an adult without learning the fundamental lessons that my Dad taught us -- usually over his knee! So what I propose is, we go back and see if you can learn them now. . . . 'One last chance,' as you said earlier." "You want to . . . . hit me?," he whispered, his eyes focused firmly on the floor. "No, Mulder, I don't WANT to. . . . But I'm willing to try an unorthodox approach to discipline, if you think it might make a difference. I know it sounds extreme -- I can't really believe I'm proposing it myself. But I'm at my wit's end with you, and I can't see another way for me to let you continue with the Bureau." "The Bureau won't condone you beating me!" Mulder shouted, raising his voice threateningly. He stood up suddenly and glowered at the Assistant Director. "You're the one who's always on me about following 'procedures.' This is hardly Bureau procedure!" Skinner paused before answering; he stretched out his back and looked up at the ceiling for a few seconds before returning his gaze to Fox Mulder. "No, it's definitely not 'procedure,' Mulder. It's more along the lines of an "extreme possibility," wouldn't you say?" He waited for a response but none was forthcoming. "But I guess I can see your answer. It was just a thought, Mulder." "Well if that's the best 'thought' you have, who the hell needs you?" Mulder shouted at him. "I never really knew what your job was, other than hounding me about paperwork and budgets. You certainly found your niche, though, riding a desk and worrying about "procedures!" Walter Skinner took a deep breath and looked intently back at the angry, soon-to-be ex-FBI agent. He counted ten before speaking, not trusting his immediate response. "I'll draw up the dismissal paperwork, Mulder. But I won't submit it until tomorrow, in case you want to resign before you're fired." It was the least Skinner could do to let him save face. Mulder glared at him, then pounded his way to the door and stormed out, slamming it violently behind him. A commendation from the Attorney General had been hanging in a frame by the door and it fell off the wall, glass shattering in all directions. AD Skinner noted the damage but thought that three hearts would be shattered into as many pieces today. He sighed heavily and intercommed Kimberly to come in so he could dictate Mulder's dismissal memo. Mulder chose not return to the basement office. Knowing Scully was waiting for him there, he knew he couldn't face her with the news that he was being fired. A white hot rage fueled him as he barreled down the stairs to the parking garage and got in his car. The tires squealed when he pulled out of the garage onto the street and he ran half a dozen red lights and had two near-misses in the short drive home. **************************************************************** Fox Mulder’s Apartment Alexandria, Virginia Once home, he tried to get a grip on his emotions but was unsuccessful -- as always, Skinner would say, he thought bitterly. He began an internal dialogue with Skinner that was only missing the other participant. He imagined Skinner's responses and answered them all brilliantly. It was so much easier to win an argument with him when he wasn't there, Mulder thought suddenly, bringing himself up short. He was snapped out of his reverie when his phone rang and he grabbed it before the first ring ended. "Mulder, it's me," Dana Scully's voice came over the line. "I waited for you to come back but . . . Are you okay?" "Yeah, I'm fine," he said shortly. "What happened with Skinner? I asked Kimberly but she said Skinner said I should talk to you." He thought about what to tell her and couldn't come up with an answer. Was Skinner right, had he put her at risk needlessly? He always thought that his decisions were about saving her from harm but then, look how much jeopardy she'd been in in her years working with him. My God, she almost died several times! How many agents were that close to death so often? Was it all his fault? "Scully, I can't really talk right now. I . . . I just want to be alone." His voice softened, "I need to think and I need to do that alone. But I'm okay. And I'll see you tomorrow." "Mulder, whatever happens, I'm glad I had the chance to work with you. And you'll always be an important part of my life." She disconnected, and he knew that she had figured it out. There was no way to save his career at this point. And she THOUGHT he'd always be in her life but, the truth was, she'd get a new partner and her life would go off in other directions. And the most important relationship in his life would be lost. He stopped this train of thought immediately, angrily acknowledging that Scully -- and Skinner!-- were the only two people in his life he could actually count on. And now they'd both be a part of his past. He'd already blown it with Skinner. . . . He threw his body onto the couch, burying his face in his folded arms, and felt bitter tears come up from the depths of his being. He mentally reviewed it all again and again, everything Skinner had said, and the truth of his words broke Mulder's heart. The things he'd said to Skinner came back to him, word by word, exactly the way he'd said them, and he felt ashamed. He remembered the struggle that played out on Skinner's face as he offered him the 'one last chance,' the chance he'd thrown back in his face before storming out of his office. Mulder cried until there were no tears left but shame and remorse quickly took their place. He wished with all his heart that he had behaved differently earlier in the day but he knew it was too late to rectify the situation. And his soul bled as he sank into a troubled sleep, lying on his couch, alone as always. "Fox! Fox, I have to speak to you," a voice called to him from a distance. "Fox, I have failed both my children terribly. You must give me this chance to repair a lifetime of damage." Mulder tried to shake off the effects of his restless sleep. Through the gray shadows of daybreak, he saw his father some distance away in the dark. But it was definitely his father . . . . He closed his eyes and tried again to shake off the vestiges of a fitful sleep. "Fox, I told you I was proud of you, son. Proud that you never "threw in," that your politics were your own. And I am proud of that. But I take no credit for that part of you, you gave yourself that strength of will." He thought that his father seemed to be floating and he was finding it difficult to follow his words, so confused was he by the whole bizarre situation. Mulder thought he remembered vaguely speaking with his father once before, after his death. He came to tell me to not give up, to choose life -- didn't he? "Fox, you are a smart and passionate boy. I hope I can take some credit for those parts of you. But I own a lot of blame as well. Because I failed to teach you some important things, things about needing people in your life and things about self-discipline and personal responsibility." "No, I haven't spoken to Walter Skinner--" He tried to move but his body refused to respond, as though it were still asleep. "But Walter Skinner is right. And you need to listen to him, let him finish the job I wasn't man enough to do. I love you, Fox, you're a good boy. But you have work to do and you can best do it if you stay with the FBI. And to do that, you have to let Walter Skinner help you. It's too late for me to help you, Fox. Don't pass up your last chance." The image was fading now, and the voice followed quickly. "You can still find Samantha, son. But not if you leave . . . ." Mulder woke with a start. The clock on his desk said 4:52 and he sat up quickly, trying to ground himself in the reality around him. He was alone, he was exactly where he was when he laid down the night before. Nothing had changed. But everything had changed. He stood up and ran to splash some water on his face, then grabbed his keys and ran out of the apartment building. He jumped in his car and tore out onto the parkway. Few people were awake in Northern Virginia at 5 a.m. and he barely saw another car as he made his way into the Capital District. Pulling up next to a high-rise, he jumped out of the car and ran into the lobby, waking a startled doorman out of a comfortable snooze. He pulled his badge out of the back pocket of his jeans and said, "I have to see Walter Skinner." The doorman blinked twice, looking at his watch. "Do you know what time--" "I do know what time it is, sir. But it's an emergency, I have to see him." "I don't know if it's okay to call at this hour--" "He's an early riser and, listen, I'll take responsibility if he's mad. . . . You can tell him that, Fox Mulder says he'll take personal responsibility for disturbing him." The confused doorman rang Skinner's apartment and repeated the phrase exactly, with just a little prompting from Mulder. He nodded to Mulder to take the elevator up. Walter Skinner was standing in the open door of his apartment, arms crossed, wearing sweat pants and a tee-shirt when the elevator door opened. He looked inquiringly as Mulder stepped out into the hallway. "What are you here for, Mulder?" "I came to a decision, sir. . . . I . .I . . that is, I agree." "You agree to resign, Mulder?" Skinner asked, not sure what Mulder was trying to say. "I think that's a wise choice--" "No, no sir. I don't want to resign. . . . And I don't want to be fired. . . . I want. . . door number three!" His feeble attempt at a joke didn't turn Skinner's attention from the fact that the younger agent's face was now a bright red. Skinner didn't move a muscle and Mulder grew worried, glancing nervously around the hallway. "Can I come in, sir? I don't want to wake your neighbors, or you know, be overheard, or anything." Skinner stepped aside wordlessly and Mulder moved quickly past him. He came to a stop in the middle of the living room and turned back to face Walter Skinner. "I thought about what you said, what you . . . . offered. And I decided you're right. I do make bad choices. I lack self-discipline. I always thought I felt too much responsibility for things but now I see I don't take responsibility for the things that really are under my control. Like my own behavior and. . . and my . . . ." He hesitated before plunging ahead. "And my smart mouth, sir. I'm so sorry for what I said to you yesterday--" "That's enough, Mulder. I accept your apology. And I've had a night to rethink what we talked about." He took a seat in an overstuffed brown leather chair and wearily ran his hand over his eyes before fixing his gaze on Mulder. "I think we're better off leaving things as they are, I'm really not a man for "extreme solutions." That's more your territory." Mulder felt his arms go limp at his sides. He knew he should leave but he had to give it one more try. He squatted down next to the chair. "Please, sir. Please give me one more chance. I need your help or . . . . I'm afraid what will happen. Wherever I go, I'll still be me. . . . Only without you and Scully to keep me in check, I'm likely to end up killing myself . . . or somebody else. . . . I understand that now. . . ." Several tears spilled out of his eyes and ran down his cheeks but he made no attempt to stop them. He leaned forward and sank onto his knees, sitting back on his heels. "And anyway . . . . the truth is, I've got no place else to go. I don't belong anywhere, except here, with you and Scully. You're the only . . . . anchors . . . in my life." He hung his head and cried quietly. Walter Skinner watched Mulder for another moment, then reached out and ruffled his hair before moving down to grip his shoulder. "You know what you're asking for, Mulder?" he asked quietly. "I don't want there to be any mistake about what's coming." "I know, sir. And God help me, I'm here . . . asking you to punish me, however you see fit. I trust your judgment, sir." Skinner stood up and pulled Mulder to his feet. He took one last look in the young man's eyes to assure himself that he was indeed committed to this course of action. He then moved quickly into command mode, knowing it was the best way to get Mulder through it. "Give me your belt, Mulder," he said firmly, "and lower your jeans and shorts." Mulder complied quickly, sensing the change in Skinner's attitude and that the balance of power had shifted fully to the Assistant Director. He was afraid of what was to come, but not sick with fear the way he had been yesterday. Knowing Skinner was in charge took the edge off his fear and he realized suddenly the depth of the trust he had for this man. Skinner grasped his shoulder once again and firmly pushed him toward the back of the brown leather chair, positioning him over its back with his head toward the seat cushion and his legs swinging off the back. "Now before we begin, Mulder, my Dad had a little tradition. He always wanted to make certain that we knew exactly what we were being punished for and I think that's a tradition I want to keep. So tell me, what are you getting this strapping for?" With that, he brought the belt down on Mulder's upturned backside, leaving a crimson streak right where the young agent used to sit comfortably. With another stinging slap of the belt, he asked a little louder, "What are you being punished for, Agent Mulder?" "For leaving my assignment, sir!" Another lick, this time across the spot where his buttocks met his thighs. "And for ditching Scully, OW! and for ditching the task force, OUCH!" Another lick of the belt found its mark and now he was starting to feel tears come again. "What else, Agent Mulder?" Skinner asked a third time, punctuating the question with two more strokes. Mulder's tears quickly turned to sobs and he gasped for air to fuel his voice. "Aaah!" Another burning lick. "Ow, it hurts!" he cried involuntarily. "That's not what I asked, Mulder," the AD said pointedly. "And it's supposed to hurt, that's why it's called 'punishment.'" He gave Mulder's bottom two more licks while he waited for the rest of his answer but Mulder was crying so hard, he appeared to forget that he owed Skinner the other reasons why he found himself getting a bare-assed licking with his own belt. Another resounding smack and Skinner asked him again. "What ELSE are you being punished for, Mulder?" Mulder quickly spat out, "For ditching Scully!" as another stroke found a still unmarked section of his bottom. "You already said that, Mulder," Skinner said archly. "Although, for the number of times you've done it over the years, I guess an extra lick's not uncalled for." He brought the strap down once again. " What else, Agent Mulder?" Mulder thought wildly, what else? His amazing memory was failing him, so focused were all his senses on the stinging soreness in his hind quarters. "Oh yeah, for not getting permission to leave, OWWW! And for failing to inform you that I had been contacted by an informant, OWWWW! And for not getting back-up! OOOHHHH! And for losing my gun! AAAH! And for mouthing off to you yesterday! AAAAAHHH! And for wrecking a Bureau vehicle--" "This is NOT ABOUT THE CAR, MULDER!" Skinner bellowed, giving the young agent three more stinging licks with the belt before tossing it on the floor next to the chair. He waited a couple of minutes while Mulder's heartbreaking sobs settled into regular hitches, then assisted him to a standing position. He waited while Mulder carefully pulled up his jeans and boxers, sobbing once more as they moved over his tender backside. He glanced furtively up at Skinner, then quickly back down as he buttoned and zipped them up. When he finished, he didn't raise his head, afraid to meet the AD’s eyes, afraid what Skinner would think of his childish response to the punishment he had just received. Skinner recognized his discomfort (both kinds!) and put an arm around his shoulder, leading him into the kitchen. He filled a glass with ice, then ran cold water over it, giving it to Mulder. Then he put up a pot of coffee for himself before turning back to the younger man; he had drained the glass but he was still staring at the kitchen floor as if he expected it to make a break for the door. "Mulder, look at me," he said. "If this is how you think it ends, then we've wasted our time here this morning." Mulder looked up sharply, afraid of where this was leading. "I don't understand. I know you're angry with me but . . . I did everything you asked. I'm sorry I cried but . . . . but I had no idea how 'painful' the consequences would be! I don't know what more you want from me--" "It's not what I want from you, Mulder. It's what you take away from this. If you can't look me in the face, if you think I'm angry because you cried, then you didn't learn the most important thing. This is about your personal responsibility for your actions, and my personal responsibility for you. It's about the fact that actions have consequences and your actions, when they're badly thought out, will result in these kinds of consequences. But you have to be able to accept the consequences, and learn from them. Or this is a waste of both our time. This is not so much about punishment as about learning, and ongoing reinforcement when you need it. Do you understand me, Fox?" Mulder had been watching Skinner's face as he gave this speech. He had expected the kind of anger and blame he'd always seen in his father's face after he was punished as a boy. The . . . . loathing he imagined his father had for him when Fox had pushed him so far Bill Mulder had to lash out at his son in violence. But Skinner's face was filled with compassion and the sincere hope that Mulder had learned a real lesson today. He felt stinging tears come from his gut and spill out of his eyes and he nodded his head so hard he made himself dizzy. Walter Skinner smiled broadly and put his hand behind Mulder's head, pulling him into an embrace. Fox Mulder buried his head in Skinner's shoulder and cried out his fear and anger, his shame and remorse, and most importantly to the Assistant Director, his deep self-destructiveness. "It's okay, now, Mulder, it's okay," Skinner said soothingly. "My Dad had one more tradition I want to tell you about, Mulder. After punishing us, he always ended with a big hug, kind of a signal that 'all was forgiven.'" Mulder nodded his head. He took a deep breath, punctuated by a stifled sob. "I forgive you, sir," he said seriously. Walter Skinner couldn't help it, he laughed out loud. "Thank you, Mulder," he said, suppressing another chuckle. "And when we finish this part of the program, we're definitely gonna have to work on that ego of yours next!" THE END