The Danville Series by Cadillac Red Disclaimer: The characters of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner and Jana Cassidy 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: Folie a Deux and Pine Bluff Variant (big-time!), Patient X, Fight the Future Setting: Fifth Season. Takes place during and after Folie a Deux (this is a follow-up to two previous stories, Life Goes On and Punishment Tour which should probably be read first for context and continuity). Rating: PG. Discipline, no slash, some R-rated language. Title: Off Track Author: Cadillac Red Summary: Skinner's uncharacteristic behavior drives Mulder far off track until some stern advice from the A.D.'s father points them both in the right direction. Off Track Office of AD Skinner FBI Headquarters "Monsters. . . . I'm your boy," Mulder muttered, insolence dripping from every syllable. Assistant Director Skinner's eyes snapped to Mulder's instantly and he had to work hard to keep from saying what immediately sprang to mind. That Mulder's attitude would bring him trouble -- and he knew exactly what kind of trouble the AD meant. But Special Agent Scully sat in the guest chair next to her partner. She, too, seemed surprised by the tone of his response to their new assignment. Skinner thought for a split second that Mulder was daring him to respond but he decided to call an end to their meeting instead. He briefly considered asking Mulder to stay so he could read him the riot act, but he chose to let the incident pass, to wait and see whether it was an aberration or the start of another trip off the track for Special Agent Mulder. Skinner sighed at the thought; he knew he wasn't ready to deal with another Mulder incident. The Assistant Director went back to whatever was on his planned schedule and gave no more thought to his most troublesome agent until he got the call from the Chicago field office. Mulder had actually gone there alone, it seems, having countermanded Skinner's assignment of the case to him and Scully. And now he was being held hostage by a gunman in the building of the company that requested the threat assessment. As always, Fox Mulder had found trouble. Or trouble had found him, Skinner thought angrily. Whichever way it went, the end result was always the same. Skinner followed the incident from Washington, overriding all the gut instincts that told him to get on a plane and go out there. Waiting for word on Mulder, he thought back over the last few days, even the past several weeks and realized the young agent had been exhibiting some strange behavior, strange even for Mulder. Skinner had been out of Washington a good part of the time for the last month, the quarterly management conference had been in Phoenix, he'd had to oversee a quality control review in the San Francisco bureau office and he'd taken a few days of vacation in between. In addition, a case run out of the Dallas office had required the A.D.'s personal attention because of political overtones. As a result, he'd seen Mulder only a few times in weeks and each time, it seemed, the younger agent had grown more surly and unpredictable. They'd had to interface over work only once in the month, when Mulder was requested to work undercover on something that was outside the scope of the X-files, but which came into the Bureau through one of Mulder's questionable outside activities. This time it was a conference where he'd spun a tale of conspiracy in the U.S. government, conspiracy against the American people, for the purpose of hiding something, Skinner truly didn't know what. Skinner had been asked to 'speak to Agent Mulder' about it, but he'd chosen to ignore that directive. Mulder was passionate about everything he believed and Skinner knew intuitively that calling him on exercising his right of free speech would only push him to exercise it more and louder than ever before. And push the AD into having to deal with his defiance. Skinner chose, instead, to ignore it and wait for Mulder's next 'phase.' And he shuddered to think what that might be. Skinner discarded the thought angrily, choosing not to dwell on the worst case scenario that kept popping into his head. He paced his office, leaving the open line to Chicago on his speaker phone. Kimberly had stuck her head in a while back to see if he wanted lunch brought in and he'd shook his head. His body language was frightening and she'd scurried out of the office, gotten right on the phone to his afternoon appointments and canceled them all, warning them that he was 'in a rotten mood, you don't want to see him today!' The ASAC on the scene in Chicago came back on the line to inform him that Agent Scully had arrived. Skinner didn't want to interfere with what Agent Nixon was doing and Scully being there gave him a little extra confidence, but none of it tempered the worry he felt. He sat back down in his chair, removed his glasses and bowed his head, willing this situation to turn out all right. Skinner was a man for whom losing an agent in the line of duty was unthinkable. It had only happened a few times in his career and each time had been like having skin ripped off, tremendously painful and it left behind scar tissue that never completely healed. A knock on the office door wrenched him out of his solitary worrying. "Come in," he said quickly, thinking it was Kim and that he owed her an apology. "Walter?" Assistant Director Jana Cassidy said softly, entering and closing the door behind her. She was the new AD in charge of the Office for Professional Review, and Skinner's old partner. "I just heard about Agent Mulder. Have you had any news?" He shook his head, not wanting to discuss any of this with her, of all people. She disliked Mulder, loathed his style and had even suggested to him that Mulder's continued presence on his staff scuttled any hope of further career growth for Skinner. "What's the status?" she asked. He grimaced, opening his mouth to speak when Agent Nixon came back on the speaker phone. "Shots have been fired inside the plant, sir!" "Who's been shot?" Skinner asked quickly. "Find out who's been shot, Nixon!" Scully came on the line now. "We can't tell anything, sir! We tried to contact Mulder on his cell phone, the suspect answered and a minute later there were shots from inside the building!" Confusion apparently reigned on site and Skinner took a deep breath, forcing his blood pressure down by sheer willpower, trying to find the strength to trust in the agents on the scene. And he wished, almost more than anything, that Cassidy would leave. In light of the situation, the ASAC in Chicago apparently decided to go with his back-up plan, to gas the suspect and hostages, then batter down a wall in the building. Skinner and Cassidy waited while they pulled this plan together. Skinner knew they were moving as fast as humanly possible. Still, from where he was sitting, it seemed like an eternity. "Walter, I know you think I don't like Mulder," Cassidy said suddenly. "And the truth is, I don't like his way of doing things. But I hope you know I want him to be all right." Skinner nodded. He knew that was true. Cassidy was militantly 'by the book' but she was not cruel or unfeeling. She had minimal tolerance for Mulder's attitude and it got in the way of her seeing anything of value in the younger agent. A crashing sound and shouts emanated from the speaker phone now, multiple voices, yelling back and forth. Skinner tensed, waiting for someone to give him some word of what had happened, some information about the fate of his agent. "Sir!" Scully yelled. "He's all right! The suspect's been hit and he apparently shot a hostage before, but everyone else is all right!" Skinner exhaled fully for the first time in what seemed like hours. He sat back in his chair and picked up his glasses, putting them back in place. He felt drained and exhausted, even though he hadn't left his office during the entire ordeal. Shaking it off quickly, he stood and walked around the desk to Assistant Director Cassidy. "Thank God," she said, giving him a tight smile. "I . . . I was remembering Johansson, Walter. When we lost him. I remember how hard that was for you." Skinner blinked, remembering the incident to which she was referring. He'd been assigned as ASAC on a case, for only the second time in his career. Johansson was taken hostage and they'd negotiated for hours with the suspect, run through their bag of tricks. And finally, out of the blue, the suspect had shot Johansson to death, then turned the gun on himself. He and Cassidy were partners in those days. He'd nearly quit the Bureau following that case, the closest he'd come in more than 20 years of service. Cassidy laid a hand on his arm. "I would never want to see you go through that again, Walter." "Thank you, Jana," he said evenly. "But, you know, you get perspective as you go along. I never want to lose an agent, any agent. . . . . But you also learn not to get too close, don't you? That's one of the lessons you pick up along the way." He gave her a reassuring nod and watched her leave. Then he called Kim on the intercom. "Where's my next appointment? They're over an hour late!" Skinner didn't get a chance to follow up with Mulder when he and Scully first returned from Chicago. Having been out of the office for the better part of the month, he was backed up and, honestly, he was just too fed up with Mulder to deal with agent's defiance in going to Chicago alone, without his partner, without back-up. Perhaps the outcome of that bad decision would be enough to finally teach him they gave him a partner for a reason. The AD went home with an armload of work, including the report Mulder had finally filed on his undercover assignment of a few weeks earlier. Skinner had been part of Mulder's debriefing, where Mulder had given them the essentials but his written report was shocking. Skinner had not fully grasped how close the young man came to dying, to being executed on that case. On his knees, in the dirt, with an automatic weapon jammed against the back of his head, hearing the trigger being pulled back. The Assistant Director slammed the file closed and tossed it onto his coffee table angrily, watching it slide across the wood surface and sail off the other side onto the floor. He got up from the couch and stalked over to his liquor cabinet, pouring himself a glass of scotch, without water or ice. He drank down half in a single swallow, welcoming the burning in his throat, waiting for the alcohol to kick in and deaden his frayed nerves. He aimed this mental tirade at the missing agent, delivering a tongue-lashing that would have left the younger agent stinging, had he only been there to hear it. But, of course, he wasn't. Finally, Skinner pushed the entire Mulder situation out of his head, for about the hundredth time in recent weeks. He was tired of struggling with how to solve the Mulder problem. He still had no answers; he'd been trying for well over a year to get the younger agent on track to no avail. Mulder took a step forward and then two steps back, over and over. With a depressed sigh, the Assistant Director realized he'd had no real impact on his agent, on his self-destructive streak, or on his willful, defiant behavior. He'd been wrestling with this reality for weeks now. And he finally decided to just give up. At just past 8 p.m. the next evening, though, the Mulder problem landed smack in the middle of his lap yet again. Having just arrived home from work, Skinner was changing into sweats when his phone rang. It was the Bureau Chief in the Chicago Field office. "Walter, I have a problem with one of your agents," Jeff Carlisle told him succinctly. "I think he's lot it completely." "One of my people is out there, Jeff?" Skinner asked, running through the assignments list he always had in his head. The last one of his agents in Chicago had been Mulder but he had returned the night before. "It's Mulder, he got back here this morning. He ran my guy Nixon around all afternoon, tailing the manager of that telemarketing company. And tonight, he broke into one of their employee's homes!" Skinner was incensed; Mulder had been told that case was closed and had come home last night. What the hell was he doing back in Chicago? "How bad is it, Jeff?" he asked. "He was arrested by the local PD. Our guys are on the scene and the cops are deferring, at least for now," Carlyle told him. "But the lady whose house he broke into is pretty distraught and she and this guy Pincus are threatening to file charges. And, Walter, Mulder's acting crazy." "I'm coming out there," Skinner said shortly as he pulled his sweat shirt back over his head and started to get dressed again. "Jeff, get someone make me a reservation on the next plane out of National. And sit on Mulder until I get there!" The trip from Crystal City to National Airport takes 15 minutes and Skinner made the next plane to Chicago just before they closed the plane door. He refused the beverage service, knowing that he needed to be clear headed to deal with whatever mess Mulder had gotten himself into now. He'd brought some reading with him, quarterly reports on his departments, but he couldn't concentrate on them. Instead, he found himself staring out the window into the dark sky, running the Mulder situation over in his head again and again. The young man was brilliant, but . . . 'damaged,' Skinner thought. The profile he'd done on himself, the one Skinner had demanded as part of a recent punishment, was a revelation to the Assistant Director. Skinner had been stunned by the details of his life, by the amount of anger, guilt and shame he kept bottled up inside him. Mulder was a brilliant profiler, and he'd cut himself no slack in his self-analysis. He'd detailed his self-destructive streak and his inability to trust people in general, and authority figures in particular. He covered his personal guilt over the loss of his sister and betrayed little self-pity as he chronicled how his parents had blamed him as well. On reading it, Skinner recognized that, on some level, Mulder still thought they'd been right to blame him. He'd spent several pages on his relationship with Skinner, the dichotomy between the Mulder who was eager to please the older man and the one who continually courted his anger and disappointment, pushing to see when he, too, would walk away, like everyone else in his life. And how, to avoid that outcome, he occasionally sought out any kind of attention, even punishment, over the indifference and inattention he'd mostly gotten from his parents over the years. Skinner had hoped this exercise in introspection would help him see how erroneous some of his personal beliefs were, and perhaps lead to some positive changes. And he thought for a short while that Mulder had taken a few steps in that direction. But he'd been wrong. Mulder had also used his talents to put his boss under the profiler's microscope, this time on his own volition. Skinner was discomfited, and taken aback by some of his observations. He thought Mulder had put too much weight on the loss of his younger brother, Jeremy when Skinner was a teenager. As a psychologist, Mulder should have known better than to fall into the trap of thinking a single, traumatic event could set the course of a man's life. He could agree with Mulder's take on his strong sense of duty and responsibility for things, even things outside his control. And his overprotectiveness; Skinner recognized it and tried to overcome it but, in truth, he didn't feel it was a serious character flaw at all. But the emotional detachment and fear of intimacy Mulder had ascribed to Skinner's guilt over Jeremy's death were overstated, the other man's interpretation of personality traits, in the A.D.'s mind. Mulder hadn't said as much, but Skinner suspected the younger man had come to think he was a surrogate for Jeremy to his boss. But Jeremy had been dead nearly 30 years; he no longer had a place in the adult Walter Skinner's life. To Skinner, he existed only as a memory of the 17-year-old the Assistant Director had once been. Skinner sighed heavily as the pilot's voice came over the intercom, telling the flight attendants to prepare for landing. Once on the ground at Midway, the Assistant Director was still so angry and preoccupied, he nearly missed Jeff Carlyle waiting when he exited the plane. The much shorter Bureau Chief had to run to catch up with the long-legged Skinner's stride through the airport toward the taxi stand. But he finally managed to get Skinner's attention and they headed to the car Carlyle had left in a police stand just outside the terminal. "Fill me in on the details, Jeff," Skinner said to him as they exited the airport. He wanted Carlisle to do the talking, to give him time to put his feelings back into their assigned places. His mind was a swirling cloud of conflicting thoughts and emotions and he needed to impose some order on them to be effective when they got where they were going. But the scene in Pincus' office deteriorated rapidly once Skinner arrived. Pincus was waiting outside the office with the woman whose home Mulder had broken into. Jeff Carlisle greeted him and introduced the Assistant Director. Offering his apologies for the inconvenience, Skinner suggested they reconvene in the office. They found Mulder standing at the window when they entered. He crossed his arms and gave Skinner a look that would give most men chills. Skinner returned his glare and cocked his head toward a chair, indicating that Mulder should park himself in it. The younger agent hesitated for a moment before realizing that he had no real choice in the matter. He threw his torso into the chair and proceeded to sulk. Skinner gave him a warning look. "Now I'd like to know just exactly what happened here," Skinner tried to open a dialogue, leaning on the desk. Pincus began his narrative, paying particular attention to the part where Mulder broke into his employee's home through the window, terrifying her. This set Mulder right off. He started bellowing that he 'knew what Pincus was up to' and Skinner warned him more than once to be quiet or else. But the young agent continued to berate Pincus for 'what he was doing to these people,' yelling loudly at Skinner for 'not seeing what's going on here!' Skinner bellowed at him to stop. Suddenly Mulder pulled his gun and Skinner had to wrestle him to the floor to keep him from shooting Pincus. "Stop it, Mulder!" he said forcefully. "I said stop it!" The younger man's face telegraphed his rage for another second, then reflected his confusion and fear, finally settling into what appeared to be resignation. Skinner's heart nearly broke watching the emotions run over his agent's face as he let his weapon drop and he was truly afraid for Mulder, afraid that he had indeed lost the tenuous hold he had on reality. Skinner called for medical assistance to keep him subdued and phoned the Bureau's Staff Psychologist for help. And so they found themselves at Calumet Mercy Hospital, in the psych ward, where Mulder was admitted for 72 hours of observation. And where his erratic behavior and seemingly crazed assertions promptly convinced the admitting psychiatrist that he needed to be physically restrained. Assistant Director Walter Skinner sat in the waiting area outside Mulder's room; he'd removed his glasses and was rubbing the area above his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, trying to ease the pounding headache that had settled in for the duration. He didn't want to see Mulder, couldn't face seeing him actually. The young man had been violently resistant to the restraints and he'd fixed his boss with an expression that left no doubt about his anger, his shock and his deep sense of betrayal. "How can you let them do this?" he'd yelled at the top of his lungs. "How can you do this to me?" Skinner had no choice but to accept the doctor's assessment and certainly nothing he'd seen in the last several hours did anything to contradict the man's medical diagnosis, that Mulder had experienced 'a psychotic break' of some kind. "Has he had any traumatic experiences of late?" the physician had asked Skinner. Skinner told him about Mulder being held hostage a couple of days earlier. And about his near-execution several weeks before that. "Either incident could trigger psychosis," Dr. Caldwell had said. "Two incidents of that magnitude, in such a short time, it's a wonder he didn't do any actual harm, to himself or someone else." "Hey, big brother," someone said softly, jostling him out of his silent reflection. He glanced up and was surprised to see his youngest brother. "Andy," Skinner said, releasing the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "How did you know I was here?" "Eileen's sister works in the Hospital P.R. department," the younger man answered. "She was informed that the FBI had an agent admitted who was involved in that hostage thing yesterday because she's handling the press calls this week. Then she heard you were here, too. . . . So she called me. How's Mulder?" Skinner would normally have called his brother and his sister-in-law when he was in town, just to say hello, or maybe have dinner. But in this case, he hadn't contacted them, hadn't even thought of it. They knew Mulder from last Thanksgiving, when Skinner had taken the younger agent home to Pennsylvania for the holiday dinner. Now Mulder was known by the entire Skinner family and the AD found himself regretting that spur of the moment invitation to his subordinate. Of course his family would want to know how he was, and they'd want to help, if they could. "I don't really know how he is, Andy," Skinner sighed. "I'm waiting for Agent Scully, his partner, to get here. She's an M.D., and she knows Mulder better than anyone. The doctors here think he's having some kind of psychotic episode." "Well, the docs here are really good but . . . I hope they're wrong this time," Andy said sincerely, taking the seat next to his brother. "Have you had anything to eat? Eileen said to bring you home for dinner." Skinner shook his head and thanked his brother for the invitation. "I've got to get back to D.C. as soon as Scully arrives," he said. "I'm booked on the 1 p.m. flight." Skinner rose as he finished the words, recognizing Agent Scully as she came off the elevator down the long hallway. She picked up her pace when she saw him, covering the distance at a record clip, just this side of a full-out run. "How is he, sir?" she asked him before she reached him. "He's a little quieter now, they gave him some kind of sedative," Skinner told him. "The attending psychiatrist is named Caldwell. I told him you'd want to speak to him as soon as you got here." "I know Don Caldwell," Andy said, "I'll go find him for you." He left the AD and Scully together and Skinner took the opportunity to fill her in on all of it, Mulder's strange actions, his violent, inexplicable behavior. When Dr. Caldwell appeared a few minutes later, he gave Scully a concise summary of his initial findings and listed the medications they'd started him on. She seemed to grow more worried the more she heard. "I have to see him," she said suddenly, worry and fear illuminating her pale face. "Where is he?" "He's in Room 328, right across the hall," Skinner told her. "I've got to get going, Agent Scully. I have a flight back to D.C. at 1 o'clock." "You're leaving?" she asked, surprised. Then she thought better of her remark, perceiving that Skinner might take it as a criticism. "I mean, of course you must have to get back. Do you want to say good-bye?" "No," he shook his head. "I . . . don't think Mulder would really want to see me right now. I think it's clear he . . . blames me for his being here." "Oh, sir! He's obviously not himself--" "No, it's all right. I completely understand," the AD said quickly, sensing her unease. "I . . . can't really blame him. I just wish it hadn't come to this. . . ." She nodded, then said good-bye to Skinner, heading quickly across the hall to Room 328. Skinner watched her go, saw her enter the room and watched the door swing to a silent close behind her. "Are you sure you can't take a later flight, Walter?" Andy asked him, pulling him from his solitary thoughts. He shook himself out of his funk. "I promise I'll spend some time on my next visit," the Assistant Director said. "Give my love to Eileen and the kids--" "I'll stop in and see Mulder tomorrow, if they let me," Andy offered. "Oh, you don't have to, Andy," Skinner interrupted him. "They'll keep the Bureau informed of his condition. . . . But thanks anyway." He gave his younger brother a big hug, one the younger man returned full force. Andy was surprised by his answer though. "I don't mind," he said. "I spent some time with Mulder over Thanksgiving, and I really liked the guy." He gave his older brother an embarrassed smile. "He reminds me a little of Jeremy, don't you think? Anyway, I know how hard it is when something like this happens to a friend--" Skinner shook his head quickly. "Mulder's one of my best agents, I'll track his progress closely," he said. "You're right, it is hard. . . . This is the reason I never get too close to people who work for me." He gave Andy's shoulder a squeeze, then threw his overcoat over his arm and headed down the hall to the elevators. Andy watched his retreating form for a few seconds. "Too late, big brother," he said softly. "Whatever you may think. . . ." Skinner made it back to the office by 4 o'clock and worked until after 10. He thought Scully might call, but she didn't, so he called the hospital himself at 8 o'clock. The charge nurse told him Mulder was mildly sedated and sleeping, informing him haughtily that he could not speak to a patient at this hour. Skinner thought Mulder must be more than 'mildly sedated' to be asleep at 8 o'clock but he assured her he only wanted to check on his agent's condition and hung up. He made it home just after 11 p.m., to a ringing telephone. It was Agent Scully with a surprising twist in the situation. She'd been back to Quantico, where she performed another examination on the body Mulder had sent her the day before. The evidence he told her to look for, a bite on the back of the neck, was indeed there. Then she'd returned to Chicago on the last flight and gone back to the hospital, where she found an intruder in Mulder's room. She'd fired at it and, whoever or whatever it was, had escaped through the window, even though they were three flights up. Given the circumstances, and the fact that the hospital could not explain the intruder, and the charge nurse had disappeared at the same time, Scully had insisted they release Mulder and she had him checked into a hotel near the airport. They would return to Washington the next day. Skinner approved her actions and her plan and told her they should both take the next day off. Then he poured himself three fingers of whiskey and drank it down. He poured another round and took it into the bedroom where he used it to chase a handful of aspirins. Both Mulder and Scully returned to work a day later and began to prepare their reports. Skinner was scheduled to see them at 4 p.m. but only Scully showed up for the meeting, and only her report on the case was ready. Skinner had not seen nor heard from Agent Mulder since his return. In fairness, he had not called the young man either, having his assistant, Kim, phone to set up their meeting. He didn't comment to Scully on Mulder's absence, instead focusing on her report of the incident alone. When he asked for her explanation of the bizarre occurrences, she hesitated, then told him "Folie a deux, sir." Given the fact that Pincus and numerous others the shooter and Mulder had identified as 'zombies' had disappeared, he was reluctant to challenge her assertion. Neither of them was satisfied with the answer. Scully found Mulder standing in the hallway by the elevator when she exited Skinner's office. He asked her what she told their boss and Scully told him honestly, that she her best explanation was that it was a "madness shared by two." As the elevator doors closed, Mulder couldn't help asking her one more question. "Did he ask why I wasn't there?" "No," she told him. "He never mentioned it. . . . I guess you got lucky this time." Mulder stood beside her, expressionless. Two days later, Mulder was alone in the basement office occupied by the X-files unit. Scully had gone for the day at just past 5 p.m., telling him that he was driving her crazy. They were between active cases and his attention was scattered and unfocused, jumping from one fax or e-mail to another, then on to some stray information garnered from a journal or worse, a tabloid, then back to U.S. intelligence reports that contained a single line or phrase that he thought suspicious. "You have the attention span of a gnat lately, Mulder!" she had finally told him. Uncharacteristically, he had not responded to her attempt at banter, knowing she was right and reluctant to admit he was driving himself a little nuts too. Alone now, he leaned back in his chair and thought about what was really bothering him. He had not shared with her that he had been summoned to a meeting at the Office for Professional Review. They'd ordered him to report at 10 a.m. that morning for an initial inquiry into the events in Chicago; he'd ignored the request and so far, no one had appeared to notice. Skinner had still not spoken to him since his return from Chicago, not when he'd failed to show for his meeting with the AD, and not today after he blew off the OPR meeting. It was now past 7:30. He briefly thought about going up to see the Assistant Director but discarded the idea immediately. He picked up his suit jacket and overcoat and left the office, angrily slamming the door behind him. Several floors above, Assistant Director Skinner was still in his office, trying to finish some paperwork that he would normally have completed hours earlier. He found himself rereading things that should not have required a detail review the first time. Disgusted, he slammed a file closed and leaned back in his chair, trying to decide what to do next about the "Mulder problem." Around mid-day Jana Cassidy had come to see him, to inform him that his agent not only failed to show for an OPR inquiry, he failed to contact them to reschedule. "And he's in the building, Walter," she had said knowingly. "I checked the security log. He's been here all day." Skinner listened to her and found himself unable to come up with an excuse for Mulder's behavior. He didn't bother to tell her that the younger agent had skipped a meeting with him several days earlier, with no explanation or communication. When Skinner had seen the e-mail request to Mulder for a meeting with OPR, as Mulder's immediate supervisor he'd been copied on the correspondence, he thought it would bring Mulder storming into his office. And he'd been unsure how to handle the expected confrontation. But unexpectedly, Mulder had simply ignored it. And left Skinner to deal with a confrontation with Cassidy instead. "I don't know what to say, Jana," Skinner finally answered. "Perhaps he didn't receive the e-mail. . . ." She eyed him impatiently. "The system confirms receipt of e-mail. You know that," she said shortly. They'd argued back and forth for a few minutes about the situation until Cassidy finally lost her patience. "Here's the bottom line, Walter," she said, rising to leave. "If he's not in my office at 9 o'clock tomorrow, he'll be officially suspended. Pending a full review, subject to dismissal for insubordination and disobeying a direct order. I'll wait until 9:15 to issue the suspension order to give you time to do it first. . . . That would look better for you, of course." She shook her head and looked as though she had more to say. But she apparently decided differently and exited without another word. Skinner removed his glasses and ran his hand over his forehead; he'd had a headache for days now. He'd been in 'a humor' as his assistant Kim put it, for several weeks. He continued to turn the Mulder situation over in his head until he was interrupted by a phone call. Skinner," he answered curtly. " Walter, honey?" his mother's voice responded. "Are you all right? You sound angry." "No, Mom, I'm not angry. I'm just . . . a little overworked. How are you? Is everything all right?" "Everything here is fine," she answered, "I just wanted to see how Fox is doing." Skinner sighed before answering. "Andy called you, didn't he?" "Well, of course he called. He knew we'd want to know--" "Mulder's fine, Mom," Skinner said quickly, trying to end this line of inquiry. "It turned out to be a . . . 'false alarm.' He's as . . . sane as he's ever been." He hoped that slight wiggle around the truth would satisfy her and she'd drop it. But Rachel Skinner was the mother of five and as adept in her own way at ferreting out the truth as her son, who'd chosen it as a profession. She was not about to drop it. "I've been worried about him lately," she went on. "When I've spoken to him--" "When do you speak to him?" Skinner asked her, surprised. "When he calls, of course! About once a week ever since you brought him down to stay with us that time, you know, when he was behaving so badly. He usually calls over the weekend, just to say hi. Lately Fox has called more frequently than you, Walter." Skinner was shocked to hear Mulder had been in regular contact with his parents. The younger agent had spent a week with Skinner's folks a while back when Skinner needed to bring him up short and put him firmly back on track, yet again! Walter Jr. hadn't counted on the fact that Mulder would develop a permanent relationship with his family. "Anyway, your Dad and I got really worried when he was up here last week--" she tried to continue before being interrupted by her son yet again. "He was up there! Doing what?" "Well, remember that tree that was damaged in the last storm? Your Dad wanted to get it down before it fell on the house--" "Yes, and I told him I'd come up and do it as soon as I was back in town!" the AD said testily. " Well, your Dad was worried that tree would come down the next time there was a strong wind, and Fox was free last weekend so he came up on Saturday and they got it taken care of," his mother answered him. "You were in Colorado, or we would have told you." Skinner was angry but he didn't want to take it out on his mother. "Mom, I appreciate your call," he said quickly, "but I really have to go now. I'll come up and see you next weekend, I promise--" "Walter Skinner, Jr.!" she replied evenly. "Don't even think about hanging up until you tell me how Fox is! I'm not that easily distracted, no matter how old you think I am!" Skinner sighed heavily. "Mom, he's fine," he replied. "The doctors said he could be released so I guess he's okay. I love you. I'll see you and Dad next Saturday." He hung up before she could say anything else, then put his head in his hands as he wrestled with how to resolve this situation, the professional one and the personal one. Both, of course, revolved around Fox Mulder. He turned the situation over in his head for a few more minutes before deciding how to handle it. Guessing Mulder was not yet home, he called the younger man's home phone number. Reaching his answering machine, Skinner left him a message that he would be suspended if he didn't show up at 9 a.m. for a meeting with OPR. He kept the message short and business-like, then disconnected, hoping the threat of suspension and possible dismissal would be enough to get Mulder to make the right decision. Then he angrily got up from his desk, grabbed his suit jacket, overcoat and briefcase, and stalked out of his office to head home. Mulder arrived home a few minutes later. He was generally pissed off and had had a near collision exiting the Hoover building that put him in an even fouler humor. He went straight to the refrigerator and grabbed a beer before heading into the bedroom to change into sweats and a tee shirt. Barefoot and swallowing the dregs of his first beer, he stopped in the kitchen for a second beer before heading into the living room where he put the TV on and settled down on his couch. He finished off the second beer and was halfway through a third cold one when the blinking light on the answering machine caught his attention. He got up and went to the desk, hit the "Play" button and threw himself down on the couch again. Beeeep "Fox, honey, it's Rachel Skinner. I just wanted to see if you were feeling better. Andy told us about Chicago. . . . . Thank God you're all right! Give us a call when you get a chance. We'll be home all night. Call whenever you get this message. We'd both like to talk to you, dear" Mulder choked up a little on hearing the message, it was so warm, so filled with concern and . . . caring. He knew he should call immediately to forestall any further worry for the Skinners but a second message began playing. Beeeep "Agent Mulder. This is Assistant Director Skinner. . . . I know you failed to show for your appointment with OPR today. I want to inform you that if you're not there by 9 o'clock tomorrow morning, you will be suspended from the Bureau. It's highly probable that will lead to dismissal. I . . . urge you to consider your actions carefully now that you know the potential consequences." Now Mulder felt like he'd been slapped in the face. This was the first contact he'd had with Skinner since Chicago, one of only a few communications in more than a month. And this was the full extent of his advice? He got up and pounded into his kitchen, angrily opening the refrigerator and grabbing another cold one before stalking back across the apartment, gulping down the cold liquid, trying to walk off the rage that suddenly burst into full bloom inside him. He chased the beer with a couple of shots of vodka, sinking into an angry bout of depression tinged with outrage. He stormed around his apartment, feeling trapped but not knowing where to go or who to turn to. His emotions spun out of control, anger, rage, fear, and rejection fought with each other for supremacy until the next wave of emotion brought another one to the surface. Finally, after downing another beer and several more shots, his muddled brain constructed a plan. He put on his sneakers and grabbed a sweatshirt and headed out to confront Skinner. Walter Skinner had just walked in his front door when his phone began to ring. Shedding his overcoat as he walked across the apartment, he grabbed the portable phone. "Hello?" "Walter, what's going on down there?" his father asked him. Walter Sr. was the most direct person his son knew and he was not likely to change this far along in life. " What do you mean, Dad?" he asked. "You know exactly what I mean," his father answered tersely. "Your mother was upset about your conversation this afternoon. She said you appeared not to even care what was going on with Fox. What kind of way is that to treat a friend?" "How many times do I have to say Mulder is not a friend, he's an agent under my command--" "That's garbage, and you know it, son! You crossed that line a long time ago with this young man. And there's nothing wrong with that, he needed a friend desperately, from what I can tell--" No, Dad--" " Don't interrupt me!" the older man snapped. "I will say my piece!" Skinner bit back his next words. "Yes, sir," he said evenly. "Go right ahead." "Thank you!" Walter, Sr. said, taking a deep breath. "It seems to me you made a commitment to that young man, one you've honored for some time. And one that's made a difference to him--" "That's where you're wrong, Dad, it hasn't made any difference in his behavior, or his predilection for putting himself in danger--" he interrupted the older man. "I believe I was speaking!" T he AD took a deep breath himself. 'You're right, Dad, I'm sorry." "I think it has made a difference, Walter. From what Fox tells your mother and me, it's made a big difference to him that you care enough to pull him back into line when he needs it. . . . He hasn't had that experience much in his life. I know you, you don't let people get close too often. You've been like that since Jeremy--" " This is not about Jeremy, Dad! And I wish everyone would stop saying how much Mulder reminds them of Jeremy. We have no idea what he would have been like as an adult--" "No, but we can make some good assumptions," the older man sternly cut him off. "He was bright, overly enthusiastic, over-confident despite how much he was cautioned against things. Immensely curious, always open to new experiences. . .. And he looked up to you. If that doesn't sound like someone else--" "Dad, I appreciate where you're going with this, I do. But Mulder is an agent on my staff--" Stop it, Walter! . . . If you really believe that, then you're nowhere near as intelligent as I've always taken you to be!" Skinner was stung by his father's words. He dropped his head and closed his eyes. "Son, when you and Sharon separated, I knew it was because you had . . . 'pulled back' from your relationship, I guess because getting too close to someone means losing them will hurt too much. I wanted to say something then, but I thought it wasn't my place. But now you're doing it again, and you'll keep doing it, if you don't face up to the fact that letting people in is dangerous. But, son, keeping them all out, will make your life a misery." The AD was speechless. He wanted to tell his father he was completely wrong, but a part of him recognized there might be a kernel of truth in the older man's words. His headache had intensified, though, and he wanted to get off the phone, get some time to himself to think, to try to put all the pieces back in place. The older man continued. "Walter, the fact is, you can't protect the people you love at all times, from all dangers. But that's a really poor excuse not to love anyone at all." Skinner listened in silence, working his jaw back and forth to try to relieve the tension that had built up there. "I appreciate that, Dad," he said softly. "And I promise you, I'll give it some thought. I'll be up to see you next weekend. Give my love to Mom." He hung up the phone and stood, staring out the window into the dark night sky. The lights of Washington D.C. were glistening in a soft rain and he stood there for some time, trying to get a handle on his conflicting emotions. If he was honest with himself, he admitted, Mulder did remind him of Jeremy, always had. It just bothered him no end that it was so obvious to everyone else. And it scared him to death that Mulder would go the same defiant, ultimately deadly route Jeremy had. He recalled every detail of his little brother's fatal accident, had replayed it in his head countless thousands of times over the years. Nine-year-old Jeremy had been a daredevil, he'd decided to walk across the top railing of the old wooden bridge near the Skinner home when 17-year-old Walter had taken him fishing. Walter had pulled him down once, twice. But the third time, the older boy refused to be manipulated, to teach Jeremy a lesson. "Go ahead, stay up there all night, see if I care," he'd said just before the boy slipped over the edge into the shallow, rocky river below. Just before he died. His phone rang again and he didn't answer. This time it was his mother and she left a message for him to call her. He watched the answering machine until she finished her message and hung up. Skinner shook his head violently. Grabbing his coat, he decided he had to get out of his apartment, had to get away from all of it. Whatever Mulder decided to do, would be his decision. The Assistant Director had done everything the Bureau said he should do, and much, much more for the confused young agent. Now it was in the younger man's hands. He got into his car and backed angrily out of his parking space, throwing the jeep into 'Drive' and hitting the gas, wanting to just get onto the open road and go, no particular destination in mind. He was turning to exit the parking lot when another car entering the lot made too wide a turn and the two vehicles collided, hard enough to pop Skinner's airbag. Momentarily stunned by the force with which it deployed, he quickly pulled himself together and jumped out of the car to see if the other driver was all right. His doorman had run out of the building to see what had happened as well. "Mr. Skinner!" he yelled through the rain. "Are you all right? Should I call 911?" Skinner called that he was all right and was about to instruct the doorman to make the call when he saw who had hit him. "Mulder!" he said resignedly. Telling the doorman not to bother to call anyone yet, he opened the other car door and reached in to see if his agent was all right. He immediately smelled alcohol and also saw that the younger man was stunned and out of it, but unhurt. Not wanting the doorman to come any closer, he told him there was no need to call anyone. "If you wouldn't mind, Carlos, just pull my car back into my space, if you can. The keys are in there." Telling Mulder to slide over, Skinner pulled the young man's car into a visitor space. Then he got Mulder out of the passenger seat and muscled him through the lobby so the doorman would not see he was 'under the influence.' Getting him upstairs, he angrily pushed him into a chair in the living room, then went off to brew some coffee and get an ice pack for the younger man. A bump on his forehead seemed to be the sole result of their accident, other than some front end damage to both cars. So far, they had not exchanged a word. Bringing a mug of coffee for Mulder into the living room, Skinner handed it to him, then stood over the younger agent as he drank some of the strong, black brew. Mulder watched him warily, waiting for some reaction. Any reaction. He dropped the ice pack on a side table. "That's gonna be a nasty bump," Skinner said finally. Mulder had no answer to that so he remained silent, taking another sip of coffee, willing his head to clear for whatever was coming next. "What are you doing here, Agent Mulder?" Skinner finally said. "I thought my message was clear and complete. . . ." "It was both," he replied shortly. "Except for not telling me why--" "Why what? Why you're in trouble?" Skinner snapped. "The same reasons you're always in trouble. Failure to follow orders. Failure to comply with regulations. Failure to use good judgment--" "No! Why you've given up on me, that's what I want to know!" Mulder spit out angrily. "This isn't about me, Agent Mulder--" Skinner retorted, raising his voice and standing over him with his arms crossed. Mulder rose now and went nose-to-nose with him, yelling back. "It IS about you! It's about you breaking your promise to me!" Skinner shook his head vehemently. "I never broke a promise to you, Agent Mulder--" Yes, you did! YES YOU DID!" he bellowed back at the older man, his voice choking with tears, tears that had begun running down his cheeks. "You said you'd stick with me as long as I didn't give up on myself! You said you'd. . . you said you'd be there! And now you're not! And I don't know why! . . . . I don't know what I did--" "What you did is what you always do, Mulder," Skinner yelled, his voice taut with stress. "You disregard your own safety, you don't listen to me! How long am I supposed to stand back and watch you walk on the edge of disaster, huh? How long before you slip over the edge--" He stopped suddenly and ran his hand over the top of his head, trying to get a grip on his own roiling emotions. The Assistant Director shook his head violently, trying to black out the images in his mind, Jeremy slipping off the railing, Mulder on his knees with a loaded pistol at his head. He strode over to the window and stood there with his back to the younger man, his hands on his hips as he stared into the pouring rain. It blocked out most of the lights of the city now but that was all right, he was looking at nothing anyway. He sensed Mulder walk up behind him. "With all due respect, sir," the younger agent said quietly, "I think it's you who hasn't been listening to me." Skinner shook his head. "I haven't been able to even talk to you for weeks," Mulder continued in a quiet monotone. "I know you were out of town a lot but . . . even when you were here, you weren't here for me. Ever since we got back from your folks' place. And since that undercover assignment a few weeks ago, you haven't spoken to me at all, except when it was absolutely necessary for the work. . . . And when I tried to tell you what was going on with Pincus. . . . you put me in the hospital. In restraints! . . . . And I don't know what I did to make you give up on me," he said sadly, his cheeks wet with silent tears. His recitation had been disjointed and incongruous but it hit home. Part of Skinner was honestly taken aback by the younger agent's assertions. He had been busy, the past month or more he'd hardly been in town. But he also knew that Mulder was right, even when he was around, he hadn't been in touch with Mulder. And the truth was, Walter, Sr. had been right as well. He had 'pulled back' on the younger man, it had all started to be too much, too . . . frightening. Starting with the way the way Mulder reminded him of Jeremy and then his agent's dead-on profile of the AD He hadn't realized he'd shared so much with Mulder until he'd fed it back to him, with laser-like analysis. And the young man's profile of himself shared things about his life that Skinner had never even imagined, more pain and guilt and alienation than Skinner thought one man could bear. Then had come Mulder's near death on that undercover job, that incident had shaken Skinner, if he was being honest with himself. And finally, another close call at the telemarketing company and what seemed like Mulder's complete breakdown in Chicago. All these things built up and drove the AD back from the emotional commitment he'd made to this young man. Not that it was an excuse, Skinner berated himself. But he'd let it happen nonetheless. Skinner nodded to himself, answering his own question definitively before turning to the confused young man behind him. "You're right, Mulder," he said finally. "You're right. I wasn't here for you. And I'm sorry about that. I was having a hard time dealing with some things. Not you, or anything you did. Just me." He thought it was irrelevant to mention the profile of Skinner the young man had done, no point in making him feel responsible for Skinner's temporary derailment. Instead, the AD placed his hands on the younger agent's shoulders and continued. "But now I'm back and I promise you, I'm not going anywhere again. I'll be here for you as long as you want me to be, deal?" Mulder's tears slowly came to a halt and he blinked several times. "I mean it, Mulder," the AD said, smiling for the first time in weeks, he thought. "This is your last chance to back away from our deal. . . . And Mulder, there's a whole lot of behavior over the last six weeks I'm gonna have to deal with, stuff I've been ignoring-- I'm sure you know what I mean, right?" Mulder dropped his head momentarily, then he looked back up. "Couldn't we restart the deal from this moment, sir?" he asked hopefully. "No. Sorry. That's not how it works, Agent Mulder," Skinner said, shaking his head. He began to unbuckle his belt. "You know what to do." Mulder sighed and brushed the arm of his tee-shirt across his eyes as he walked over to the brown leather chair Skinner always put him over for a strapping. He saw the AD approach him, with the belt doubled over in his right hand. Skinner nodded for him to continue and he pushed down his sweat pants and boxers and leaned forward over the back of the overstuffed chair. The Assistant Director placed his hand on the younger man's back and spoke. "Let's see a demonstration of that amazing memory of yours, Agent Mulder," he said. "What's this punishment for?" He laid the first stroke of the belt across the younger man's unmarked bottom. "Owwww! For mouthing off to you, sir," he cried. "Several times!" Skinner issued two more stinging licks and smiled a little to himself. "What else, Agent Mulder," he said, delivering another lick. "Aaaaah! For disobeying orders!" "Specifically which ones, Agent Mulder?" Skinner asked, laying another few strokes across his quickly reddening buttocks. "Um . . . Owww! For going to Chicago alone when you gave the case to Scully and me! Unhhhhh! And for going back to Chicago without approval! Ahhhhhh! For continuing to investigate after the case was closed!" Skinner tousled his hair from behind, holding the next stroke. "But you did turn out to be right about that one, Agent Mulder," he said quietly. "I want you to know I have faith in your instincts. I just want you to talk to me about what you suspect in the future, okay?" Mulder was crying now, partly from the punishment he'd received and partly from the release of stress and tension he'd been carrying for weeks. He nodded his head, unable to answer. "Okay, then," Skinner said, "what else is this strapping for? Let's get to the important stuff now." "For skipping my meeting with you, sir!" Mulder said, "Ouccchhhh! Owwwww!" "NEVER do that again, Mulder," Skinner said forcefully, adding another lick. "Or I may come down to your office and let you have it right there, do you understand me?" "YES, SIR!" he yelled. "Owwwwww! I understand, sir!" "And what about missing your meeting with OPR today, Mulder?" He let the young man have another hard lick, followed immediately by another. " Aaaaahhhh! For that, too! Owwwwwww!" Skinner knew the young man was starting to falter now, his tears were coming fast and free and he was sobbing. His voice with heavy with tears and he was becoming stuffed up. And they still had not dealt with what Skinner considered the most serious offense. He decided to give the Mulder a short break. Skinner walked into his bathroom and grabbed some tissues. Reentering the living room, he saw Mulder had not moved, he was crying hard though and his backside was a deep red and probably stinging mightily. He helped his most troublesome agent up and gave Mulder the tissues, instructing him to 'blow.' Then the AD waited for him to calm himself a little. "We still have to deal with your drunk driving, Mulder," Skinner said to him very seriously. "And that's not something I'm willing to go easy about. You could have killed yourself, or someone else." " I know, sir," he nodded his head, his sobs reducing to intermittent hitches. "I just wasn't thinking. . ." " We have that meeting with OPR first thing tomorrow, Agent Mulder--" Skinner said. "We do?" Mulder interrupted him. "Yes, WE do, Agent Mulder," Skinner said more distinctly. "And I suspect we're going to have to sit through a very LONG session with Assistant Director Cassidy. So it's your choice, do we deal with the drunk driving tonight, or tomorrow night?" Mulder considered his options. He hated to wait for punishment. But he knew Skinner was right, tomorrow's meeting would be long, and painful in its own right. And if he was unable to sit still for the meeting, Cassidy would take that as a lack of respect for her office, and her. He really didn't have a choice. "If it's all the same to you, I guess tomorrow would be better," he said resignedly. Skinner gave his shoulder a squeeze. "I think that's a wise choice, Agent Mulder," he said, giving the young man time to readjust his clothing. Then he pulled him into a tight embrace, holding on to him as he buried his head in the A.D.'s right shoulder. He felt Mulder sigh heavily. "I missed you, sir," he said quietly, one final sob escaping. Skinner felt himself tear up, too. "I missed you too, kiddo!" he said gently. "I missed you, too!" ******************************************************** FBI Headquarters The next day As Skinner had predicted, their meeting with AD Cassidy and her two investigators was long. As Mulder had suspected, it was painful, with Cassidy hitting on the unlikely scenario Mulder reported with a ferocity that stunned the younger agent. "Monsters, Agent Mulder?" she asked him several times, several different ways. "And zombies? That's what you're putting in your official report?" But the case she made was that, even if the monsters and zombies existed, it still didn't excuse his countermanding Skinner's orders, going to Chicago without his partner for back-up, reinitiating a closed investigation without approval, authorizing an autopsy without the approval of the victim's family or evidence to support it, and so on. Mulder held his impatience in check and respectfully agreed that there was no excuse for his behavior but she refused to accept his concession, coming back again to the beginning and walking it through a second time, then a third. Finally, Skinner reached his limit. He stood. "I think we've gotten every last detail Agent Mulder can provide," he said diplomatically. "And what we come down to is an agent who made a few mistakes on a case, mistakes I've already dealt with as his immediate supervisor. In my judgment, nothing here rises to the level of an official review and I believe, after reviewing the minutes of this meeting, you'll agree. But if you disagree, please do whatever you think is appropriate. We will always comply with the requests of an official board of inquiry." His words were carefully chosen, to give Cassidy the ability to save face and to get him and Mulder the hell out of there now. "Agent Mulder," he said, startling the younger man who'd been closely following this scene, as had Cassidy's two 'henchmen.' "I believe we're expected at another meeting, with the Director, in a few minutes." Mulder's mouth opened in surprise and Skinner gave him a fast warning look. Then the AD turned back to Cassidy and her assistants. "Agent Mulder was on an undercover assignment a few weeks back. He was nearly killed stopping a terrorist threat that would have killed countless thousands of people. The Director wants to give him his commendation personally. We're expected in five minutes. I'm sure you understand." They exited the room. When the door closed behind them, Mulder turned to Skinner in a panic. "What if she checks, sir? I mean, this is easily checked!" "Agent Mulder, do you think I'd lie about something like this? We're due in the Director's office in 4 minutes!" The rest of the day passed in a haze for Agent Mulder. He'd met the Director before but this was different. He didn't know how Skinner had pulled this off, and so quickly, but he and the Director seemed to know each other well, and have a good relationship. Mulder had never really given much thought to where Skinner fit in the hierarchy but it appeared he was 'plugged in,' that's for sure. Scully had been invited to the presentation and a photographer had been there to take photos, for the Bureau newsletter apparently, as well as one for Mulder to post on his office wall. He really doubted he'd do that but didn't think this would be the time to mention it. By day's end, he was back in his office, watching Scully take yet another phone call from some friend in the Bureau who wanted to ask about her partner's commendation. He could see she was proud of him and that was the best part of the whole day, he thought to himself. His phone rang. "Mulder," he answered. "It's me," the AD said, "it's 5 o'clock. Go home and pack a bag, Agent Mulder. I want you at my place at 7:30. We still have to deal with your drunk driving. And I don't think you'll be in any condition to head home tonight." He hung up and Mulder's stomach found its way into his throat. His backside still smarted some from the night before. This would be worse, much worse. He told Scully he was going home and she was obviously surprised. "Wouldn't you like to go out for a beer, Mulder? To celebrate? It's Friday night," she said. I'm, uh, I can't tonight," he said. "I'm having dinner with Skinner. You know, he kind of engineered the commendation and all. . . " Luckily she understood why that took precedence. She congratulated him again and told him she'd call him over the weekend. "It's always good to get 'face time' with the boss, Mulder," she laughed as he left. He arrived on the dot of 7:30. Skinner's door was open when he knocked and he let himself in. He'd packed a few things for an overnight stay, knowing from past experience that if Skinner thought he deserved serious punishment, he would not be able to drive home tonight. And the AD had already said he thought 'driving under the influence of alcohol' was about as serious as it gets. Skinner came out of his bedroom, dressed in black sweat pants and a gray tee shirt. "I ordered some dinner, Chinese food," he said. "It should be here in a few minutes, then we'll get started. . . . I know how you feel about waiting, Mulder. We'll get this over with as soon as possible." The food arrived and Skinner paid for it, putting it in his kitchen before returning to his frightened young agent. "Give me your belt, Mulder," he said, then he pointed toward the leather chair. Mulder unbuckled his belt and handed it to the AD, then headed for the back of the chair. It had been a long while since he'd found himself in this situation two nights in a row. He unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, pushing them and his boxers down to his knees. With Skinner's help, he found himself positioned over the back of the chair and he felt the AD push his navy turtleneck shirt up onto his back. "What are you being punished for, Agent Mulder?" Skinner asked him sternly. "For driving drunk, sir! Owwww!" he said as the first of two dozen licks rained down on his bottom. Skinner proceeded to lecture him in between licks for the lack of judgment he'd showed in getting behind the wheel of a car after drinking. For the fact that he might have hurt someone, or many people. For the fact that his own safety was jeopardized. For the fact that, had he been arrested, his career would surely have been over. On and on, until his bottom was smarting painfully and he was sobbing and unable to form a coherent response to the A.D.'s comments. Finally, it stopped and Mulder thought that it was the worst punishment the Assistant Director had ever given him. Then Skinner helped him up and pulled him around to the front of the chair. Mulder wasn't sure what was happening, he was so overwrought from the discomfort and tears, not to mention the humiliation of knowing he deserved everything he'd gotten. Suddenly he saw Skinner pick something up from the side table. The hairbrush! "No, please!" he sobbed as Skinner took a seat in the chair and pulled him firmly over his knees. "Oh, yes, Agent Mulder," Skinner said forcefully. "I don't know why you didn't learn this lesson when you were a teenager but you're going to learn it now. And I don't expect to ever have to repeat it. Is that understood?" "Yes, sir!" he sobbed as Skinner smacked his backside with the back of the hairbrush. Instinctively he put his hand back to protect his burning flesh but the AD stopped. "Move your hand, Agent Mulder," he said angrily. "Now!" Mulder pulled his hand away and Skinner continued smacking his backside, issuing 30 whacks before he was satisfied that the young man was sufficiently punished for the immensely bad judgment he'd shown the night before. Whatever the provocation, there was no excuse in the Assistant Director's mind for drunk driving and he was making certain that lesson would not be forgotten. When he'd finished, he gave the younger agent a minute to calm down, then he pulled his boxers and jeans back up for him, not trying particularly hard to keep the action from stinging his abused bottom. Then he slid Mulder off his knees onto his own. The agent was still crying hard and he rested his head on Skinner's knee, sobbing. The Assistant Director let him cry for a minute longer, sensing his tears were as much a catharsis as a symptom of real pain. He caressed the back of the young man's head, soothing him quietly. "It's okay, Mulder," he told him. "It's over now." Finally, Skinner sensed it was time to get him moving. Pulling him to his feet, he enveloped the chastened young agent into a reassuring embrace and felt him settle down finally, resting his head on the A.D.'s shoulder. "I'm s-sorry," Mulder sniffled, returning the hug. "About everything." "I know you are," Skinner said. "And I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry you thought I wasn't there for you. And the truth is, I guess I wasn't for a while. But that will never happen again, Fox. You can come to me anytime, with anything and I'll be here and I'll listen to you and help you. Do you believe that?" He felt Mulder nod his head into his right shoulder. "Yes, sir. I believe," he whispered. Skinner smiled, satisfied. "Now I want you to go take a shower and I'll get dinner ready-" "I don't think I can eat, sir," Mulder started to say automatically. "You need some nourishment, neither of us had lunch today, Mulder," the AD said firmly. "Go shower!" A subdued but much calmer Mulder returned. His hair was damp from his shower and his eyes were still swollen and red. Skinner ignored that and both men ate the selection of Chinese food from the boxes it came in, standing at the kitchen counter making small talk. Skinner was glad to see the young man put the experience of the last few weeks behind him; he was glad he could find a way to do the same. He was especially pleased at the huge smile that lit his face when he told him he'd managed to secure two tickets for the Wizards game against the Knicks the next night. It had been a long while since the two of them had spent an evening off-duty together and Skinner thought that his young agent was as much pleased by that as the chance to see his beloved Knicks in action. After tossing the refuse from dinner back into the plastic bag, though, he could see Mulder begin to fade. The stress and tension of the last six weeks had taken a toll and Skinner doubted he'd been sleeping much at all. And he felt guilty for having contributed to any of that. "I think you should go to bed--" he began, putting his hand up against the automatic response he knew would come. "Don't argue with me, Mulder. This isn't punishment, you need some rest, you're practically dead on your feet!" He overrode the minimal protest Mulder offered and started to send him off to the spare bedroom. "Just one more thing, Mulder," Skinner said. "I really am sorry about being . . . missing in action lately. I know that made things harder on you than you deserved. That won't happen again. I will be paying attention in the future -- to the good stuff as well as the bad!" The last shred of anxiety melted within the younger man as he nodded his understanding. Skinner pulled him into a brief embrace, then the AD pushed him toward the bedroom. When he looked in on him a few minutes later, Mulder was already asleep, lying on his stomach, his breathing deep and regular. Skinner closed the door gently and was momentarily startled by his ringing telephone. "Hello," he said quietly, grabbing it before it could ring again. "Walter, it's Dad," his father said. "Why are you whispering?" "Mulder's asleep in my spare bedroom, I don't want to wake him," he replied, settling on the couch in his living room. "He's had a tough couple of nights." "Oh, is everything all right there then?" the older man asked. His son thought he could hear the older man smile, and he guessed he knew what Mulder's 'tough nights' had entailed. "Yes, it's fine. . . You were right, Dad," he admitted. "I was pushing him away. And it kind of derailed him, I guess." "Is he back on track now?" "I think so. . . I hope so. If I learned anything from growing up with you, it's that not much gets someone's full attention better than a bare bottom strapping! But however it goes, I'm gonna be there for him. It's the only thing I can do, I guess you were right about that." Skinner smiled now, too. "We're too far along to change it now." "I guess you both got back on track, then," Walter, Sr. replied. "I'm glad to hear it!" THE END