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: Bad Blood Setting: Fifth Season, follows earlier stories Life Goes On, Punishment Tour, Coming Home & Double Trouble Rating: PG. Discipline, no slash, some R-rated language. Title: Words and Meaning Author: Cadillac Red Summary: Mulder willfully pushes the Assistant Director to the limit of his patience, to the point that both men consider calling off their deal. Words and Meanings Walter Skinner’s Apartment Building Crystal City, Virginia Assistant Director Walter Skinner pulled his jeep angrily into his reserved parking space with a screech. He turned the car off and opened his door, swinging his long legs out onto the pavement and practically flinging himself out of the vehicle. He started to slam the door closed, then he noticed his passenger had not moved a muscle to exit the car. He leaned back into the open door. "Get out of the car, Mulder," he snarled. Mulder swallowed down the fear that was rising into his throat and tried to comply. He heard the driver's side door slam shut; it practically rattled the windows out. A moment later the passenger side door opened and a large hand reached in and grabbed his right arm and he was physically hauled out of the car. The AD pulled him upright and plopped him on his feet before speaking again. "Are you going to walk yourself in, or am I gonna have to drag you through the lobby, Agent Mulder?" "NO! . . No, sir, I can walk," he replied hastily, having already scanned the parking lot to make certain no one had seen any of the humiliating interaction between them so far. "I just thought. . . that is, I think we should talk about this before. . . I mean, you haven't heard my side--" "Don't think, Mulder. MOVE!" With that, the Assistant Director stalked off toward his building and the younger agent had to hurry to catch up to him. He followed Skinner into his building where the AD calmly greeted his doorman, Carlos and exchanged pleasantries about the weather. Then he picked up his mail while Mulder cooled his heels in the lobby, waiting for him to make the next move. "Hi, Carlos," Mulder nodded to the doorman he'd met many times before. "Nice to see you again, Mr. Mulder," Carlos replied. "You and Mr. Skinner going to another game tonight?" Skinner startled him by responding before he had a chance to think up a lie. "No, Mulder's apartment's being painted, Carlos. He's staying here for the week." Mulder had to work hard to keep himself from throwing up all over the marble lobby floor. Skinner wished Carlos a pleasant night and headed for the elevator. Confused and nauseous, the younger man followed, his legs heavy with fear for what would come next. Once in the apartment, Skinner barked at him once again. "Go to your room and wait for me, Mulder." Mulder thought he should make one more attempt to try to mitigate this situation, before the AD worked himself into an even bigger rage. After all, he hadn't done anything on Bureau time, he checked something out on Saturday morning, for Crissake! And nothing bad had happened, except that the AD had showed up before he made contact with his . . . 'contact.' 'Informant' sounded too official, and he was definitely gonna play this as a personal errand of sorts, that would be his best hope. "I'd like to talk about this, sir," he began. This earned him a glare that would melt lead but he forged ahead anyway. "I don't know what you think was going on but. . . . I was merely going to meet with someone who may have information about . . . cloning. That's all it was. I didn't tell you or Scully or anyone because it was just a personal contact, of sorts, someone I've corresponded with by e-mail and wanted to meet in person. . . ." Skinner watched his performance with interest, letting him dig the hole deeper and wider. Finally, after his explanation had begun to sound like a Saturday afternoon stroll in the park, a chance to stop and smell the roses, Skinner decided he'd had enough. He walked over to his desk and picked up an envelope, the one that had been mysteriously slipped under his door that morning. Handing it to Mulder, he took a seat on the couch and nodded for the young man to open the envelope. He began reading and within seconds, all color drained from his face. It was in fact, copies of all of the e-mail correspondence with this informant, down to the details of an alleged human cloning operation near the Canadian border, specific references to the writer's assertion that Mulder's sister had been there at one time, and several digitized photos of a girl and a woman whom the informant claimed was Samantha at different ages. The informant instructed Mulder to share this information with no one, and obviously, he hadn't. Or else Scully, or the Lone Gunmen, or Skinner himself would have been at that park with him today. The last piece of correspondence was something Mulder had not seen before. It was a letter to Skinner from another informant, apparently the Englishman Mulder, and Skinner, had run up against before, detailing Mulder's planned meeting and also informing him that this was a trap laid by members of some 'Consortium' to trap the FBI agent and 'remove him from further involvement with our plans.' It ended with a warning to Skinner to 'rein him in -- or see him die.' Mulder finished reading the last page, then he dropped his hands to his sides and most of the papers fell to the floor. He didn't seem to notice, he was so angry with himself for getting used again, so embarrassed to have the AD know he'd been fooled once more . . . and so frightened of what his boss would do to him next. He kept his eyes on the floor and waited. "If you're finished spinning those lies, Mulder," Skinner said quietly, placing extra emphasis on the word 'lies,' "I'd suggest you do what I told you. I'll be there in a couple of minutes." Barely breathing, the young man headed to the spare bedroom and sat down on the bed to wait. In the other room, the Assistant Director was pacing, trying to walk off a little of the violent rage he felt at Mulder's actions. He'd really hoped that the last time, when Mulder had run up against the Brit and his damned cane, would have finally taught him. . . . The stranger had marked the young man's backside nicely with that cane, so much so that Skinner had gone easy on him after, opting for a plain old over-the knee spanking just to make sure Mulder understood he'd never get a pass from his boss on this kind of foolish behavior. But apparently that punishment hadn't been enough. Well, this time Skinner would see the lesson was learned -- for good. coming to a decision, he strode over to his hall closet and removed the brown paper bag the Englishman had given him; from the bag, he removed the cane. Skinner had not really thought he'd ever have occasion to use it; he'd been appalled at the nasty welts it left on Mulder's backside. But this time the young man had pushed him to the limit of his tolerance. He headed for the spare bedroom, the one he'd come to think of as Mulder's because the younger agent had cause to use it more than anyone else. Without knocking, he opened the door and entered. Mulder's eyes immediately sought out Skinner's and the AD read the anxiety there; but it was anxiety borne of fear for what kind of punishment he could expect as much as remorse for his inexcusable actions of the day. Then he saw Mulder's eyes fall on the cane he held in his right hand, and true terror rose up in his eyes. "No!" he said quickly, coming to a standing position and backing away from the AD "No, please! Don't use that . . . thing! I don't, I don't--" "This was a present from your English friend, Agent Mulder," Skinner said, closing the bedroom door behind him. "He gave it to me when I ran into him that time. Remember, I told you about that. I may have forgotten to mention he gave me this." Mulder had backed up as far as he could go now, hitting up against the night table next to the bed. He looked around wildly, trying to find some means of escape. But the only access from the room was the door and Skinner was between him and it. "Okay, Mulder, you know the drill. Jeans down, now!" Skinner barked at him, having come to stop about 3 feet away from the young man. "No, please!" he pleaded. "Not that, please don't use that--" "Mulder, today's escapade goes far beyond the hairbrush, or even the belt. And I don't feel like driving to my parents for the razor strop. Not to mention you and I have a busy week next week, with that peer review, so I can't put you on a punishment tour. So I'm just gonna have to be creative. . . Take down your jeans and get over here!" He snapped his fingers and pointed at a spot right in front of him, giving the young man a look that allowed for no further discussion. Mulder felt faint. Mulder was barely breathing as he unbuttoned his jeans and stepped over to the AD, stopping at the point he'd indicated in front of him. Purposely avoiding eye contact, he pushed down his jeans below his knees and stared at a point in the middle of the other man's chest. He immediately felt Skinner reach out and grab him, bending him over and tucking his body under a massive left arm. Held firmly in place, he felt Skinner hook a finger into the waistband of his cotton shorts and they were pulled down as well. Mulder felt the muscles in his backside tense involuntarily, waiting for the expected pain. "What's this punishment for, Agent Mulder," Skinner asked him as the first stroke came down across his butt. It burned immediately and he felt a sob escape his quivering lips. "Owwwwww!" Skinner waited a second, then delivered a second stroke. "I asked you a question, Agent Mulder" "Ahhhh! For, for . . . for meeting an informant without back-up!" he cried as a third stroke hit its mark. 'Unnnnhhhh!" "What else?" Skinner lifted the cane and brought it down once again. "Owwwwwww!" he sobbed, then a fifth and sixth stroke burned the meatiest part of his backside. "For lying to you, sir!" A seventh, eighth and ninth fiery stroke followed; Skinner was making sure he understood lies would never be tolerated. "And just in case you failed to get that one, what happens when you lie to me, Agent Mulder?" Skinner asked him angrily, issuing a tenth and eleventh stroke as he waited for his answer. "This happens, sir!" he screamed, wracking sobs coming in uncontrollable waves now. The young man attempted to squirm out of Skinner's grasp but the older man had the advantage of weight, muscle and position and he wrestled him back into place before giving him a final, burning stroke across the 'sit spot.' Then he let the weeping young man go and watched him drop onto the bed and bury his face in his arms. Skinner took a deep breath to calm himself; his anger at this reckless young man had still not fully receded. Knowing he needed to put some distance between them, the AD headed for the door. Turning the handle and opening it, he stopped for a moment, trying to ignore the heartbreaking sobs that came freely from his young agent. "Get yourself together, Mulder," he said quietly, "then come outside. We need to talk." Skinner went to the kitchen and got himself a large glass of ice water, drinking it down in one motion. Then he refilled the glass and another one, bringing both into the living room. The AD took a seat on the couch and put his head back, willing the headache he'd developed from getting any worse. He thought about getting up for some aspirin but the act seemed beyond his capabilities at this moment. "You wanted to see me?" Skinner's head jerked up and he found himself staring into the swollen, red eyes of his most troublesome subordinate. And someone who was much more than an employee to the older man. Skinner had fought hard not to let himself develop personal feelings for Mulder; God knows, he already had two younger brothers and a couple of nephews who tried his patience at different times, in different ways. And Mulder was by far the most reckless and trying of them all; not since Jeremy had anyone been able to push his buttons so completely and so effortlessly-- He shook off the train of thought that had gotten him thinking about leniency. For leniency might be the one thing this young man didn't need, at this point in time. Today's actions had very nearly cost him his life. Skinner could see he'd washed his face and had gotten dressed again. The AD was surprised he hadn't changed into the sweats and other loose clothing available in the spare bedroom. His curiosity was apparent to the other man. "I'd like to go home after we . . . talk," Mulder ground out between clenched teeth. Skinner took a deep breath. "Perhaps you didn't hear me before, Agent Mulder. You're staying here with me, until I'm certain you've learned this lesson for good--" "I think I've got it, sir," he replied stiffly. "I don't need it beaten into me" "Well, we seem to have a difference of opinion on that, Mulder," Skinner retorted. "And in this case, it's my opinion that counts." He watched the young man's mask slip for a moment, anger and fear crossing his face in tandem. "But I really want to go home--" he began, betraying his deepest feelings before regaining control of himself. "You are home, for now, Mulder," Skinner told him. "And for the next week at least. Now let me tell you what that means. . . . You're restricted to the bedroom for the rest of today, is that clear? I'll call you for dinner. Tomorrow will depend on your behavior for the rest of today. You have to be at work every day next week. We have that peer review and I just know the review team will want to review some of your cases.!" Mulder blinked, remembering the inter-office review that was about to start and recognizing they were certain to choose some of his files during the process. And since they were checking for adherence to policies and procedures, it was likely to be an ugly week for Agent Mulder. He groaned audibly. "Yes, my thoughts exactly. But back to today's debacle. . . " Skinner continued. "Every night when we get home, you'll get another session with the cane. Four strokes, unless you've really tried my patience that day and then we'll just have to see." He continued despite the stunned look the young man sent his way. "And I don't expect this to be a battle every night, Mulder. I expect you to take what you have coming without argument, is that clear?" The younger agent glared at him, and Skinner could see he was seething with anger. He wondered whether he would erupt at this point, but as he watched, Mulder appeared to get a grip on himself and his emotions. He took a deep breath and nodded his head, tears coming to his eyes as he contemplated the week ahead. But he didn't give in to the rebellion Skinner knew must be fighting a hellish battle inside him. "Okay, then, you can go back to your room. I'll call you for dinner later." The young man nodded again and turned to go back to the bedroom. "And don't even think of turning that TV on, Mulder!" Skinner called after him. Several hours later, Mulder was wakened by a knock on the door and the AD sticking his head into the room. "Dinner's ready, Mulder," he said pleasantly. "Get it while it's hot!" Mulder gasped as he absent-mindedly turned over onto his painful posterior. Flipping back over, he came to his knees and backed off the bed, silently cursing the cane and the man who'd wielded it earlier. He continued to rant to himself as he checked the clock on the nightstand. Only 6:15! How the hell am I gonna get through the rest of the night? Not to mention the week! He'd already exhausted the A.D.'s supply of magazines; they ranged from "Deep Sea Fishing" to "National Geographic" to "Outdoor Life." Mulder had read everything cover to cover. Even he recognized he was deep into unchecked self-pity now but it felt so good, he didn't want to stop. Skinner had set the table in his dining area and Mulder stood next to one of the places, waiting for further instruction. "Sit down, Mulder," he was told and he complied, throwing himself into one of the hard wood chairs, then bouncing back up when his tender butt protested. Skinner watched his routine and bit the inside of his mouth to keep from laughing. "Why don't you get a pillow from the bedroom, Agent Mulder," he said, placing the rest of the food on the table. Mulder stalked off, doing a passing imitation of a rebellious adolescent and returned a moment later with a large, fluffy pillow. He threw it on the chair and reseated himself more carefully this time. Still, he had not said a word to the AD "This is my mother's meat loaf, Mulder," Skinner said, ignoring his silence. "I'm not gonna make you eat my cooking. I think that could be considered cruel and unusual punishment!" Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Mulder rolling his eyes but he ignored it, nonchalantly helping himself to the meat loaf, a baked potato and some corn on the cob and creamed spinach. He watched Mulder do the same, though with considerably less enthusiasm. They both had a glass of iced tea and Skinner watched the younger man pick his up and drain more than half in a single swallow. He still hadn't touched his food, though and the Assistant Director finally caught his eye and signaled him to begin eating. He continued to converse casually with the younger agent throughout the meal, ignoring the fact that he never once responded, although he did clean his plate, the AD noted with satisfaction. Finally, they finished eating and Skinner sat back and looked at the recalcitrant young man on the other side of the table. Mulder looked uncomfortably back at him, waiting for the shoe to drop, but he still didn't utter a word. "Okay," Skinner said evenly, "I was gonna let you watch the game tonight, but I think this little performance is all the evidence I need to know you should hit the sack, now. Maybe tomorrow you'll be a little less cranky." Mulder's face reflected the sudden realization that there was a game on tonight, the Knicks and the Bulls. "No, I don't want to go to bed!" he beseeched the AD, recognizing that he sounded like a 4-year-old the minute the words left his mouth. "I mean, I'll behave, I will. I'm sorry about just now--" "Too late, Mulder. I have a date tonight so I'll be leaving in a little while. I want you in bed before I go." "You're going out?" "Yes, I had plans to attend a concert at the Kennedy Center tonight with a friend from the U.S. Attorney's office. It's something classical -- she likes that stuff. I'm leaving you here on your own recognizance, Agent Mulder," he said sternly. "Don't disappoint me." Before leaving 20 minutes later, he made one final check on his inmate. The lights were out in the bedroom and Mulder was lying on the bed, sulking. He looked up at the Assistant Director when the door opened. "Okay, Mulder. This is your chance to show me you have a little self-discipline. . . Good night." "Good night," his houseguest responded, sullenly. Skinner closed the door quietly and headed out. Mulder turned over and tried to force himself to sleep, to no avail. Every moment after the game's start time was excruciatingly long and painful to him as he watched the digital display on the radio alarm clock slowly change. Finally, overcome with curiosity, he turned the radio on low, to try to catch the score on the all-sports station. And he did, enough to hear it was a close squeaker of a game, with both Jordan and Ewing at the top of their form. Checking the time and reasoning that the Assistant Director would not be back for hours, he crept into the living room to try to catch the rest of the game on the wide-screen TV there. It was an exciting game, the score tipping back and forth between the two teams for most of the night. After a while, Mulder began feeling a little cocky, knowing he'd get away with this; he decided to have a beer to celebrate getting over on the Assistant Director. Then he had another one to celebrate the Knicks certain victory as they pulled ten points ahead of the Bulls. Relaxing further, he picked up the phone and dialed the Lone Gunmen, wondering if they were watching the game as well. They were and he continued watching, enjoying the company until the final moments of the game when Michael Jordan tossed a couple of 3-pointers into the basket, pushing the Bulls ahead by one point. Watching intently, Mulder almost didn't hear the sound of keys jangling in the hallway. "Gotta go, Frohike!" he said quickly as he disconnected the phone and clicked off the television. He looked frantically around for a place to put the empty beer bottles, finally opting to push them down behind the seat cushion on the couch. He'd retrieve them tomorrow when Skinner wasn't looking. Then he ran full out toward the bedroom, getting the door closed just as the AD opened the front one. Breathing a sigh of relief, he couldn't help smiling to himself in the dark. The Assistant Director walked into the living room shrugging off his suit jacket, and sat down on his couch. He liked this woman, but their taste in music was not similar at all. An evening of chamber music was not his idea of a good time and he'd been glad when she mentioned an early flight to Germany. Plus, the Mulder problem had been weighing on his mind all night. He was startled when his phone rang, and he immediately glanced at his watch <11:30. Who's calling at this hour?> "Hell-" "Mulder! Why'd you hang up like that? Good thing we got this 'call back' feature. Actually, Langly hacked into the telephone system and got it free. Could you believe that last shot? That was fucking unbelievable! Where the hell are you anyway?" Skinner searched his brain, trying to remember this funny little guy's name. "Frohike!" he finally spat out. "This is Assistant Director Skinner--" "Uh, sorry, wrong number!" Click. "Mulder! Front and center!" Skinner bellowed. In the bedroom, the younger man nearly fell out of bed trying to respond to the summons as fast as humanly possible. He stumbled into the living room, pretending to be half asleep. "What? What's wrong?" he asked, his heart racing. Skinner gave him a long, hard look, then he walked over to the television and felt it. It was warm from recent use. He watched Mulder's reaction; guilt was written all over him. The Assistant Director sat down and picked up his portable phone. "I just got the strangest call, from your friend Frohike," he said evenly. "Actually, it was a 'call back,' as I understand it." Mulder's heart sank to his gut, and he hung his head, trying to think of some reasonable excuse to give the other man. Before he could get his tongue to respond, Skinner's face took on a pained look. "What the hell is this?" he muttered, realizing something was sticking up from between the cushion and the back of his sofa. Reaching down, he came up with one, then two, empty beer bottles. "Okay, that's it." He rose and walked up to the stunned young man, putting a finger under his chin and raising his eyes to meet the Assistant Director's angry ones. "You've outdone yourself tonight, Mulder, he said shortly. "Go get the cane." Mulder's eyes widened with fear and he opened his mouth to protest. "Don't, Mulder," Skinner told him fiercely. "Just get it!" Recognizing the futility of his position, he went to the bedroom and returned with the dreaded implement. Handing it to Skinner, Mulder was embarrassed to find he was already starting to choke up. He couldn't recall anything as painful and frightening as being punished with that thing. And he was certain the AD knew his feelings -- and was purposely disregarding them. Skinner watched his young agent's misery and had to fight off a sudden impulse to go easy on the frightened young man. Despite the fact he'd brought this on himself, he looked so completely forlorn and so scared. . . "You know what to do, Mulder," he said quickly, wanting to get this over with even more than the younger agent probably did. "Drop 'em." When he had complied, Skinner bent him over under his arm. "Why are you being punished this time?" he asked him and a sniffled reply came back. "For disobeying you--Owwwww! For not going to bed! "Aaahhhhhh!" Skinner delivered four more licks as he continued his list, then he pulled the sobbing young man upright and let him readjust his clothes. Giving him a very brief hug, he then took him by the shoulders and turned him toward the bedroom. "Go. Now. Before I have a chance to change my mind!" Mulder ran for the bedroom and sobbed himself into a deep, dreamless sleep. One that lasted until the middle of Sunday morning. Waking, he stretched and got a dull reminder of his run-ins with Skinner the day before. And he sighed disconsolately, thinking that there were still six days left in the week. . . . and the AD didn't seem to be enjoying this any more than he was. With a heavy heart he realized he'd seen it coming for some time now, the end of Skinner's patience with him. Fighting back tears, he admitted to himself it had always been just a matter of time. Running his hands over his face, he got up and headed into the hall bathroom. Sneaking a peek into the kitchen he saw the AD had already had breakfast and he was on the phone with someone now. "I don't know, Joe," he overheard him and Mulder realized immediately he was speaking with his brother. "I just don't get it--and obviously you don't either. Normally I'd call Dad with this kind of thing. He picked a fine week to take Mom on a cruise for their anniversary!" he added, feigning irritation. "Well, you know maybe it's just the difference in how we were raised, Walter," his brother said, circling back to the subject of the call. "Maybe Mulder's just chafing under the 'Skinner reign of terror.' "Is that how you see it?" Skinner asked quickly. "No, 'cause Andy and I are used to it," Joe laughed in return. "But to someone who was probably raised a lot different, well, no offense but you can be a little overbearing, big brother!" "Remind me to respond to that when I see you this weekend!" Skinner responded wryly. Mulder heard him mumble a couple of 'uh-huh's" and then he spoke again. "Well, thanks for the ear, Joe, and the advice. I love you, too. Give everybody a hug from me." Mulder saw him disconnect and pick up his coffee cup, staring out the kitchen window. The young agent quickly backed away from the kitchen door and made for the bathroom, not wanting the AD to think he'd been eavesdropping. . . which he had. Skinner heard the noise from the hall bath and waited a few minutes for Mulder to get dressed before knocking on the bedroom door. "Good morning, breakfast's ready," he called before heading into the kitchen. He poured Mulder a cup of coffee and dished out the remainder of the scrambled eggs and bacon he'd prepared for himself. Seeing the condition of his guest as he shuffled into the kitchen and carefully sat down, he pulled a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator and poured him a tall glass. Placing it in front of the younger man, the AD reseated himself on a stool on the other side of the counter while he waited for Mulder to eat. Mulder stared dully at the food, thinking he'd never be able to eat a bite. He shook his head almost imperceptibly as he considered how angry the other man must still be. Skinner surveyed his lack of enthusiasm. "Get a move on, Agent Mulder," he said testily. "We're going out." "Out? Where?" Mulder asked, surprised. "I planned to spend a few hours at the gym today, Mulder. And after last night, I'm certainly not leaving you alone here. So we're going together." He exited the kitchen and left the younger man to swallow his food, untasted, in solitude. They reached the gym an hour later. Skinner was apparently well known here and the head trainer greeted him with a warm handshake. "Prepared to do some heavy bag work today, Walt?" he asked him before he noticed that the AD had a guest. "Hi, I'm Ken Tanner." "This is Mulder," Skinner answered for him. "He works with me. I think he may want to hit the pool instead of the gym, though." Turning to Mulder he informed him the lap pool was one level down. "I'll be here a couple of hours so take your time. Come back whenever you're through." Mulder watched him and Ken head over to the workout room where they were greeted by a couple of other guys, all of whom did some heavy lifting, Mulder could see. Turning toward the stairs, Mulder headed for the pool and spent the next hour in continuous, solitary laps. When his energy was spent, he changed back into sweats and returned to the gym to look for Skinner. The Assistant Director was in the middle of his weight routine, apparently and Mulder stood against a wall and watched him lift and press more weight than the younger man could manage with help from two friends. He was impressed and when Skinner finally spotted him, he nodded to show it. The Assistant Director gave him a half smile and gestured for him to come over. "Ever work with weights, Mulder?" he asked him as he reduced the weight on the bench press. "No, I run, I swim. That's about it." "Well, I find it's a good way to expend excess energy," Skinner said meaningfully. He gave Mulder a crooked smile. "The kind of excess energy that gets you in trouble. Give it a try, I'll spot you." Mulder laid down on the bench as instructed and the other man stood above him, guiding the weight bar into his hands and then helping him maintain the proper form as he pressed the bar upward twelve times. By the twelfth rep a light sheen of sweat had broken out on his face and he was grateful when Skinner lifted the bar from him and set it back in its place. "Very good, Mulder," he said. "Take a minute and then let's do it again." But he wouldn't let on that he didn't think he was up to it and before long the Assistant Director had run him through an entire circuit and another 10 minutes with the heavy bag. He was exhausted and drenched when they left the gym and had a grudging new respect for the older man's physical condition. They stopped for a quick bite of lunch at a diner near Skinner's building then headed back to the apartment and a shower. Mulder's muscles were already beginning to ache and he spent more than 30 minutes letting the hot water run over them before finally emerging refreshed and clean. Skinner was sitting in his living room, watching the football pre-game show and he looked up to see Mulder standing there, waiting for something. "Looking for an invitation or something, Mulder?" he asked. "Have a seat." They passed the rest of the afternoon watching back-to-back football games. As the second game was drawing to an end, Skinner got up and went to the kitchen, returning with a stack of take-out menus he dropped in Mulder's lap. "Your choice tonight, Mulder," he said, popping the top off a light beer he'd brought for himself. Mulder perused them, then settled on fried chicken and they called their order in in the final minutes of the game. As the credits rolled, Skinner polished off the remainder of his beer and looked at the younger man. "Let's get this over with, Mulder," he said simply. Sensing an argument coming, he leaned forward and looked him right in the eye. "Remember what I told you, no battles over this. Go get the cane." Mulder was torn between protesting the unfairness of this turn of events and not wanting to betray his gut-wrenching fear of that thing, that cane! As though in a trance, he got up woodenly and went to the bedroom to retrieve it. Returning, he handed it to Skinner. Then, without prompting, he unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans before pushing them down below his buttocks. Skinner quickly bent him over. He was unnerved to see the younger man's welted backside, though and delivered the four stinging strokes, in less than thirty seconds, although it seemed like an eternity to Mulder, and not much less to Skinner. Finishing the last one, the AD let him back up and reached up to tousle the back of his hair. "Good boy," he said quietly. Then he dropped the cane on the desk and stepped into the kitchen to prepare for dinner. Mulder pulled his jeans up and attempted to compose himself but he was beginning to lose control, partly from the stinging soreness but even more from the looming specter of five more days to go. As the doorbell rang, he headed for the hall bathroom, to splash some cold water on his face and try to pull himself together. In the kitchen, Skinner was almost as shaken and he'd opened and downed half of another beer to try to bring his nerves under control. When the doorbell rang for the second time, he realized Mulder wasn't getting it. He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket as he approached the door, then paid for their dinner and took it into the kitchen. They ate in relative silence and Mulder headed to bed, exhausted from the physical activity as well as the emotional stress of the day. Not to mention the looming depression that continued to box him in, depression he didn't even attempt to fight off. Monday proved to be as bad as they both anticipated. The peer review team was operating under the direction of the Office for Professional Review, and the AD in charge of OPR had Mulder under a microscope on the best of days. The committee chose four X-files to review, the most of any division or unit under Skinner's command. Walter Skinner was not generally a betting man but he was willing to bet the ranch Jana Cassidy had steered the committee's choices, at least in this regard. He tried to remember the details of the four they'd chosen and was relatively certain he'd kept Mulder honest and in line in at least three of them. The fourth was the stuff of his nightmares, though. Mulder and Scully and a trailer park full of vampires. The review team would have a field day with that one. But as Monday ended, the team had only asked for details on one of those cases and fortuitously, not the vampire one. Mulder and Scully had been called in to a meeting with the head of the team and they'd explained their actions and answered questions easily. And they'd stayed relatively close to procedures on this one, at least, that's the way the file read. It didn't mention how many times Skinner had to straighten Mulder out on what those procedures were and how they should be followed every time. It certainly didn't detail the knock-down, drag-out fight they'd had in the A.D.'s office before Mulder had finally capitulated and done it by the book, or at least as close as he ever got to the book. Still, Skinner was just glad this was one of the cases chosen. It read as close to 'text book' as anything Mulder had ever done, he was certain. And he knew he and Scully deserved most of the credit for that. Finally, following a first-day wrap up meeting with the head of the review team, Skinner headed home, wondering whether he'd actually find Agent Mulder there. To his great surprise, the younger man was there, waiting. He'd arrived more than an hour earlier and had second thoughts the moment he walked into the living room and saw the cane sitting in the middle of Skinner's desk. But, somehow, he'd found the wherewithal to stay, and wait. He raided the A.D.'s refrigerator and made himself a meat loaf sandwich with the leftovers from the weekend. Then he sat down to await his boss's arrival. Skinner arrived and gave him a quick smile to communicate his surprise, and appreciation, of his obedience. He'd been mentally preparing himself for Mulder not to be there and he was pleased and a little proud of his most troublesome agent. < Perhaps . . . . no, better not get overconfident, it's Mulder we're talking about!> "We've got some business to attend to," he told the young man as he picked up the cane and headed for the spare bedroom. He heard Mulder draw a deep breath and follow him. Following the routine they'd established the night before, Mulder prepared himself and the Assistant Director gave him four strokes, delivered to an already red and welt-marked rump. In a few minutes they were both back in the living room, with Skinner filling the obviously shaken younger man in on the status of the review. "One of your files has been cleared already, Mulder," he told him reassuringly. "Of course, they haven't gotten to the vampires yet!" Mulder sniffled. "It's Assistant Director Cassidy, sir," he said petulantly, "I think she's got it in for me!" "Jana's got you on her radar screen, Mulder, but that's not a problem, unless you do something to make it a problem. Two of the other three cases are fine, I went over those files myself. And the vampire thing, well, we'll just have to see how they play it." Monday night football came on then, and Skinner immediately turned his attention to the television. The two men spent the rest of the evening surfing between football and basketball before turning in for the night. Tuesday the review committee didn't even touch an X-file and Skinner found himself answering questions that pertained solely to expense reports and utilization issues. It had been a few years since his departments had come under a review and he'd forgotten what a complete waste of time they were. But he tried not to betray this viewpoint to the OPR staff who spent their careers on exactly this kind of activity. By the end of the day, he had a headache, but it was a manageable one; it had nothing to do with Special Agent Fox Mulder. Entering Skinner's apartment that night, Mulder was surprised he arrived ahead of the AD once again. He'd come from chasing a dead end into a small town in southern Virginia; it turned out the doctor he and Scully had been tipped off about had actually been dead for the better part of a year. The ride home with Agent Scully had been chilly indeed. He thought he might actually have contracted a case of freezer burn. Depressed, and resigned to his fate, he helped himself to a coke from the A.D.'s refrigerator and sat down to wait. He winced slightly as he sat, thinking that it had been tough not to let Scully see how hard the long car ride was for him -- a question he was prepared to die before discussing with her! Shaking off that train of thought, he wondered how much longer he and his butt could take this nightly punishment. Skinner had said a week 'at least.' Mulder was fairly certain he couldn't hold out that long. He didn't dwell on that, though; his emotions were decidedly confused on that point. The A.D.'s key clicked in the door and he entered, carrying a briefcase full of work. "I brought Chinese, if you're hungry, Mulder," Skinner told him, holding up a brown paper bag. "I never got any lunch today." "Yeah, I'm hungry, too," he responded. "Scully and I stopped for something at noon but that's over eight hours ago now. And I didn't want to stop on the way back. She was mad at me anyway, I didn't want to drag the ride out a minute longer than necessary." Skinner chuckled. "This must be your week for pissing people off, huh, Mulder?" he asked, then he realized who he was talking about. "Okay, so that's not so different than every other week. . . " The young man frowned in response. He took the bag from Skinner and put it in the kitchen, returning to the living room as the AD finished hanging his coat and took off his suit jacket. Loosening his tie, Skinner headed for the master bedroom where he dropped off the coat and tie and then immediately returned, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. "Okay, Mulder, let's get this over with," he said simply. The younger agent nodded and headed into the spare bedroom where they went through the same routine from the two previous nights. Mulder dropped his pants and the AD bent him over under his arm, then pulled his cotton boxers down and began. One stroke found its mark on the already pink and tender flesh. Then a second, a third. Mulder tried hard not to let the tears turn to sobs but it was a losing battle. At the fourth stroke, he was crying miserably. Almost immediately, he found himself pulled upright then into a quick hug from Skinner. "You're doing fine, Mulder," he said quietly. "Only a couple of days to go." With a quick pat on the back of the head, the AD was gone, heading for the kitchen to get some dinner. Mulder tried to compose himself quickly, but it was getting harder and harder to do so. His backside was terribly sore and his heart was heavy, wanting something more from Skinner but not getting it, and not knowing how to ask. On Wednesday, the Peer Review team took up two more of Mulder's cases, finding nit-picky things to question and find fault with. Why was this form dated after the case was finished, not during the case, when the authorization was actually needed? Why didn't you take the cheaper flight with a three hour stopover in Atlanta instead of a direct flight costing twice as much? 'Because we're the FBI, not the US Postal Service,' he'd apparently replied. 'Although if this was the post office, I could probably get my hands on an AK-47 right now.' Skinner wasn't there for the interview but he got a play-by-play description from the Review team leader at the end of the day. Mulder had apparently been in fine form, fielding questions with one sarcastic answer after another. <'Guy's got a death wish, doesn't he Walter?' Paul Jensen said to him after. 'I'm surprised you haven't just killed him and hidden the body. Who the hell would miss him?'> Skinner listened without reaction, trying not to let on to Jensen how angry he was at the way Mulder played it. And the Review team still hadn't dealt with the vampire thing. There was no doubt now, they were gonna crucify him on the vampire thing! Skinner built up a head of steam on his drive home that night. And when he got there, no Agent Mulder. . . and no message from him either. The Assistant Director could tell he'd been there, his suit and shirt and tie were lying on the bed in the spare bedroom. Guessing the younger agent had gone for a run, he headed into the kitchen for a cold soda. He'd just popped the top off a coke when his phone rang. Thinking it must be Mulder, he answered tersely. "Skinner." "Uncle Walter?" a voice asked, surprised. "It's me, Mike." Skinner changed his tone immediately. "Hey, Mike, I thought it was someone else. What's up, buddy?" "Oh, nothing. Except my Dad told me about the tickets for the Redskins game on Sunday. And I just wanted to call and make sure it was still on." Skinner laughed out loud at his 16-year-old nephew. "When'd you turn into such a worrier, Mike? Of course it's still on. Four seats, right on the 45-yard-line." "That's what my Dad said, but I wanted to hear it myself," the boy responded excitedly. "We're driving down on Saturday afternoon and my Dad says we're gonna stay with you-" Skinner heard the apartment door open and close as he finished up his conversation with his nephew. "Yeah, we'll figure out who gets the couch on Saturday, Mikey. . . The smart money says it's you!" "No problem, Uncle Walter. I'd sleep on the floor for seats on the 45-yard-line!" "I don't think that'll be necessary. But I'll keep it in mind!" he laughed. "Bring a warm jacket, Mike, and tell your Dad too. The weather report says it may drop into the 20's on Sunday. Which means the Redskins may actually have an advantage over Tampa Bay! . . . . Listen, I gotta go. Say hi to everyone for me, and I'll see you Saturday. Love ya, Mikey!" Mulder had overheard enough of the conversation to know Skinner was talking to his brother Joe's son, Mike. And that they were going to the Redskins game on Sunday; Skinner had mentioned earlier in the week that he'd gotten four great seats for the game. Drenched from his run, Mulder decided to head right for the shower instead of stopping in to say hello to the AD Skinner was surprised when he heard the bathroom door shut with a bang and the shower turn on. He angrily made a ham and cheese sandwich for himself and sat down in front of the television to wait for Mulder to emerge from the shower. He'd finished his sandwich and a soda before the younger man emerged from the shower and headed into the spare bedroom. When he hadn't come out of the bedroom fifteen minutes later, Skinner finally erupted. He stalked over to the bedroom and opened the door. "Don't think this gets you out of it, Mulder," he said calmly. "I was a field agent long enough to be able to find you, in the next room!" Mulder glared at him and the Assistant Director felt his blood pressure rise precipitously. "Get over here," he snapped to the younger agent, grabbing the cane off the dresser where he'd left it the night before. "Today was not a good day, was it, Agent Mulder?" he asked as he bent him over under his left arm. "I asked you a question, Agent Mulder!" "I guess that's your call, sir!" he responded insolently and Skinner raised the cane and brought it crashing down on his bottom. The welts from the previous nights were in various stages of healing but Skinner knew he was already in discomfort from the way he bucked at the first stroke. He delivered a second, then a third burning stroke and the young man was choking back tears already. "Was today a good day, Agent Mulder?" he asked again, adding a fourth, fifth and sixth blow as he waited for an answer. The Assistant Director was powerfully built but it took every ounce of strength he had to hold his errant young agent in place. Finally, he felt Mulder relent and cease fighting him. "No! No, sir," he choked out, as a seventh stroke burned across his backside. "NO! Today was NOT a good day! Owwwwwwww!" Skinner was still angry, but he struggled mightily to get a handle on his rage. Delivering one more stroke, he released his hold on the young man and strode out of the room, furiously tossing the cane on the coffee table in the living room, then throwing himself into the overstuffed armchair by the window. Taking several deep breaths, he struggled to get a handle on his roiling emotions. It never ceased to amaze him how Mulder could push his buttons. More than an hour passed and Mulder still had not emerged from the bedroom. Guessing his brother, Joe had been right and he needed his space, or he was still too angry at Skinner to face him, the AD finally headed off to bed, with a huge "Mulder headache" and a bottle of aspirin. On Thursday morning, Mulder left the apartment before Skinner awoke and the Assistant Director found himself wondering whether he'd remember the Peer Review team still had his vampire case in their hot little hands. Today was the last day of the process. On Friday, the team traditionally wrote its reports, then delivered a verbal report to the Assistant Director and Deputy Director with responsibility for the departments under review. And, of course, the AD in charge of the Office for Professional Review generally attended that conference as well. Skinner’s stomach was already kicking up at the thought of that prospect. Once in the office, he told his assistant, Kim, to locate Agent Mulder and make certain he was 'standing by' for the call from the Peer Review team. He was in the middle of another meeting when she knocked and signaled for his attention several hours later. He was surprised at the interruption and excused himself to investigate. "Mr. Skinner, I'm sorry to disturb you," she began, but--" "That's all right, Kim. What's wrong?" "Nothing's wrong exactly. It's just that Mr. Jensen wants to go over a case with Agent Mulder and I can't find him. Agent Scully is available but . . . the questions aren't about her report--" "No, of course they're not," he replied, feeling his jaw clench. "Does Agent Scully know where he is?" "I've been calling since first thing this morning. He hasn't been in. And we can't reach him on his cell phone," she told him, looking like she considered it a personal failure. "Well, don't worry about it, Kim. I know you did your best. And tell Agent Scully to stay by the phone in case I need her. I'll try to handle Jensen. . . ." He went back into his office briefly and ended his unfinished meeting with apologies to all. Then he headed out to try to put a reasonable spin on Agent Mulder's visit to Chaney, Texas. A town full of vampires. Vampires who lived in trailers. Trailers they suspiciously relocated to God knows where when Mulder showed up! . . . . Hours later, the Assistant Director was back in his office, still angry at his most troublesome subordinate. And angrier still that the rebellious young agent had not shown up for work, or called to say where he was. He knew Dana Scully must have heard from him because some time in the early afternoon her face lost the look of strain and fear for his welfare she'd had when he checked in with her in the morning on his way back from speaking with the Peer Review team. Now she was only worried about his career -- that was a different kind of frown, Skinner noted. He'd learned to read all the faces she put on for the world where Mulder was concerned. The Assistant Director found he was secretly relieved that his agent was apparently all right. But Skinner knew that might not be any time soon. When Mulder went to ground, it was never easy finding him. He packed his briefcase for the night and headed home, bone-weary and depressed. He opened the door of his apartment and quickly shut it, dropping his briefcase on the floor and his keys on the table. Shrugging off his overcoat and suit jacket at once, he dropped them both on a chair in the foyer and decided to head straight for a long, hot shower. As he headed through the living room, though, he was startled by an unanticipated presence. Instinctively, he reached for his weapon and trained it on the intruder. "Mulder!" he spat out, lowering the gun immediately. "Are you trying to get yourself killed? Why didn't you say something?" "I didn't think you'd be surprised to find me here," the young man said from his spot at the far corner of the couch. "I've been here every night this week." Skinner exhaled forcefully, waiting for his adrenaline spike to abate. "Well every other night you had been at work during the day, Agent Mulder! Where the hell have you been all day anyway?" Mulder dropped his eyes to his hands. And those he was rubbing on his jeans, trying to dry his sweaty palms. "I . . . I needed to think. I went for a drive." "You went for a drive?" the AD exploded. "Without calling anyone to say you weren't coming to work? On a day when you knew you'd be needed to explain the Chaney, Texas case?. . . " Hands on his hips, he stared at the younger agent in shock. "Agent Mulder, this time you have truly outdone yourself." Mulder shrugged in response, a verbal signal Skinner had no trouble reading as 'I don't give a shit.' The older man's blood pressure shot through the roof. "Okay, if that's the way you want to play it, fine," he growled. "Where's that damn cane?" He looked around, sure he'd left it on the coffee table. Not finding it there, he continued searching the room with his eyes, trying to recall exactly where he'd left the thing. He knew he had been angry and distracted last night but he didn't think he'd been that mindless. Finally, he turned to Mulder. "Do you know where it is?" "No." "Well, get up and look, Agent Mulder. You check your room, maybe I left it there." He walked to the closet in the foyer and checked the shelf, although he was certain he hadn't returned the cane to the spot it had occupied there for the past weeks. Shaking his head, he decided to check his own bedroom. He'd been so pissed at Mulder last night, perhaps he'd absent-mindedly taken the thing with him when he turned in. He was searching in his closet when Mulder came to the bedroom door. "I couldn't find it," he said, as though he had been looking for the newspaper. Internally, the young man was fighting the irony of having to search for the implement that his boss wanted to use to beat his ass but he wasn't letting on to the AD about that. Skinner turned toward him. "Well, let's not waste any more time looking. I'll just have to make do with this," he said, reaching to unbuckle his belt. He slid it out of his trousers and doubled it over in his right hand. "Get over here, Agent Mulder." Skinner sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the young agent over his lap. Holding Mulder in place with his left hand, he used his right hand to pull down his sweats and his boxers. Raising the belt, he proceeded to issue ten stinging licks with no preliminaries, no questions about what the strapping was for. One after another, the belt stung the young man's already sore backside until he was gasping for air between gut-wrenching sobs. Pl-please!" Mulder pleaded. "Stop, please!. . . No more, please!" Skinner continued, delivering five more stinging slaps with the leather belt before he finally paused. "All right now, Agent Mulder," he said quietly, "do you want to tell me where you put the cane?" Mulder hung his head and continued to sob. "I'll tell you . . . I'll show you where it is--" Skinner released his hand from Mulder's back and let him push himself up from his position across the A.D.'s legs. He watched the other man gingerly pull his shorts and sweats up, wincing as the material crossed the burning flesh of his bottom. Then he followed Mulder out of the master bedroom and down the hall into the other bedroom, where he went to the bed and slipped the cane out from its hiding place between the mattress and the box spring. Wrestling with humiliation and fear, he held it out to Skinner without raising his head. The Assistant Director took it from him with a heavy sigh. He knew he needed to stay the course and give Mulder the four strokes he'd promised him each night. But the A.D.'s heart wasn't in it at this point. His young agent had already been severely punished tonight. And yet. . . . Not a man who was comfortable with ambiguity, or hesitation, he was stunned by the feeling of indecision that enveloped him. Finally, he reached out a hand and laid it on Mulder's shoulder-- and was stunned all the more when the young man shirked away at the touch. "I-- I want to go . . . home!" he said, his voice catching mid-sentence. Skinner nodded, then realized Mulder wasn't looking at him. "All right, Mulder, if that's what you want." He left the bedroom, determined to give the younger man the space he needed, and the time to compose himself before he left. Skinner went to the living room and took a seat in the overstuffed leather chair by the window. He planned to turn the TV on and make Mulder's exit as normal and easy as possible. But once there, he lost his train of thought and found himself staring, unseeing, out the window instead. Some 20 minutes passed before the younger man stepped into the living room. Without a word, Mulder headed for the apartment's front door, his sobs reduced to intermittent hitches as he crossed the living room. Skinner had turned the door lock when he came in, but not the dead bolt so, when Mulder turned both, he unlocked one and locked the other. Giving the door a hard pull, he was shocked when he was unable to open it. This time, he angrily threw both in the other direction, leaving the door still locked. He pulled it violently and it still didn't open. Tears of frustration sprang to his eyes. "What the fuck's wrong with this fucking door?" he muttered furiously, starting to reverse the process again. Suddenly he felt Skinner's presence behind him. "Let me get that for you, Agent Mulder," the AD said quietly. Turning the lock and leaving the deadbolt alone, he opened the door just a crack, then closed it again immediately. "Mulder," he asked suddenly, wondering if Joe's assessment was more on target than even he thought, "do you. . . do you want out of our deal?" Mulder thought his heart actually stopped momentarily, and a chill ran down his back as he stood, unmoving, staring at the door. "Mulder, is that what you want?" Without the benefit of a conscious decision he recognized, the young agent felt his head nod once, then again. "Yeah," he whispered to the back of the door. A long, silent moment passed with neither man moving, or even breathing. Then Mulder found a final shred of strength somewhere and he turned the door handle and pulled the apartment door open. Suddenly Skinner's hand reached over his head and slammed the door shut again. "Too late," he said firmly. "What the hell are you doing?" Mulder yelled, still not turning to face the AD He opened the door again and Skinner slammed it shut, again. "I said it's too late to end our deal, Mulder. We passed the last exit a long time ago. . . " Skinner said, shaking his head. "You're family now--" "No! That's not true!" the younger man shot back instantly, pulling the door open to flee. "It's not the same--" "What are you talking about? The same as what?" Skinner asked him anxiously, slamming it closed one more time. Mulder rested his head on the back of the door, his voice bordering on hysteria. "The same as with your family! It's not the same, I know it's not. I've heard you. . . ." "Heard me say what, Mulder? Tell me!" Skinner reached out a hand to grab the young man's shoulder, to turn him around but Mulder fought him off. "I hear you on the phone, with Mike and Joe and Doug," he spat out. "And I heard you that night with Andy, when you p-punished us both. Don't tell me it's the same!" He jerked away from the A.D.'s touch and stormed into the living room, facing the windows, his arms tightly crossed over his chest, sobbing mournfully. Skinner frantically thought back to the night he mentioned, when the AD had soundly strapped his youngest brother and Mulder for taking a foolhardy walk on the wild side in a dangerous snowstorm. They'd both gotten the same treatment from him; in fact, Andy had gotten punished a little worse because he was the older of the two and therefore expected to be more responsible. He'd given both young men a forgiving hug afterward and sent them to bed. He ran over it all in his head at lightning speed, thinking back over the entire incident. What had he said to Andy that was different than what he'd said to Mulder? "It's been a long while, Andy. I guess you were due," he'd said, pulling his sobbing younger brother into an embrace. "Yeah, I guess so. I'm s-sorry, Walter" "It's all right," Skinner had replied, caressing the back of his brother's head. "Let's just try to make this the last time, though!. I love you, kid.--" Skinner shook his head and took a couple of steps toward the young agent, who still trying to regain control in the middle of his living room. "Mulder, this isn't about a couple of words, is it?" He saw the young man stiffen and take another step away, toward the window, before apparently deciding he had to get out of the A.D.'s apartment, now. He turned suddenly and tried to circle Skinner, scrupulously avoiding any eye contact at all. The Assistant Director took a step to the left to block him, trying to grab his shoulders. Mulder stepped to the right but the older man had the advantage on him. "I was a defensive tackle, Mulder," he said matter-of-factly, referring to his high school and college football career. "You're not getting past me." Mulder stopped suddenly and looked at him, his eyes wild with anger. "You can't hold me here against my will!" he yelled. "It's-- it's a violation of federal law!" Skinner couldn't help it, a laugh burst out before he could stop it. "No kidding, Agent Mulder," he chuckled. "You learn something every day, don't you?" His attempt at defusing the tension only made the younger man more angry and hysterical though. Now he tried to barrel past the AD, only to be caught, strong hands holding his shoulders firmly and practically shaking him for his attention. "Listen to me, Mulder," Skinner insisted, shaking him for real now. "LISTEN TO ME!" The younger agent stopped at the sound of the A.D.'s raised voice, as though he'd been slapped. He stared at the floor, fresh tears running down his cheeks. Angrily, he swiped his hands across his face but he finally accepted that he was not getting out of there until Skinner let him leave. Taking a slow, deep breath, the Assistant Director began to speak to him in low, soothing tones. "You above all people should be able to weigh the evidence here, Mulder," he said to the distraught young man. "Think about it. My family invites you to every holiday now. My parents have you up there on weekends when I'm out of town! You have a room here-- and you practically live out of my refrigerator. You are family now -- and we . . . love you like family, Mulder--" Mulder shook his head, biting down on his lower lip to keep another sob from escaping. Skinner continued anyway. "I don't know exactly when it happened myself. . . . But, wherever you go now, in the Bureau, out of the Bureau. . . You're still gonna be part of my family. Don't shake your head, Mulder! It's exactly the same, just like Joe, just like Andy. I'm sorry if I haven't made that clear before now. . . . I guess I thought you knew--" Suddenly, with the shock of revelation, the older man was struck by the underlying truth, the one that Mulder hid so deeply, the painful reality that drove him to this confrontation tonight. In a flash of insight, Skinner knew with certainty that no one had ever said the words to him. Mulder had stopped shaking his head finally but he gave no further indication he'd even heard Skinner's words. Without another second of hesitation, the Assistant Director pulled him into a hug that threatened to squeeze the breath out of him. "I love you, kid," he said quietly, caressing the back of his head. "Just like Joe or Andy -- only you're a whole lot more trouble!" The tension in the younger man's body melted instantly and he began to sob quietly into the A.D.'s shoulder. Skinner continued to hold him, letting him cry out a lifetime of pain and neglect, until his tears finally subsided for good. Giving him another firm squeeze, Skinner smiled to himself over his agent's shoulder,. "Does that about do it, Mulder?" he asked gently. "Yeah," Mulder said, releasing a deep, tear-soaked breath. "Only you could have skipped the part about being a whole lot more trouble." The Assistant Director snorted. "You wouldn't want me to start lying to you now, would you, Mulder?" A short while later, Skinner finished making the grilled cheese sandwiches they were having for dinner. At this hour, sending out didn't make much sense and Skinner's culinary repertoire was limited to burgers and sandwiches and things he could unfreeze and nuke in his microwave. He'd fried some bacon and cut some tomato slices. Mulder padded in a moment later. He'd gone to splash some cold water on his face and regain some composure. He didn't comment on the bedroom pillow placed on his chair but he was deeply grateful, nonetheless. Wanting to keep the conversation as normal as possible, Skinner spoke to him. "I want you to stay here tonight, Mulder," he said lightly, "but you can head back to your place tomorrow, if you want. Joe and Mike will be here Saturday night anyway. You're welcome to stay over but you're gonna get the rollaway, I guarantee it. Joe's not as easygoing as Andy! . . . Mike'll sleep anywhere, the couch, the floor--" "No, I'll go home tomorrow," Mulder said quietly. Skinner nodded, putting a sandwich on the plate in front of him, then dropping his own on the other plate and settling into his chair. "If you're free, I'd like you to have dinner with us Saturday night, Mulder. But if not, I understand. Just be here by 10 on Sunday morning -- and bring a warm jacket, it's gonna be cold at the game--" "I'm invited?" Mulder looked up, surprised. Skinner stopped in mid-chew. "What do you mean, you're invited? I told you about this days ago--" "You said you had tickets, and Joe and Mike were coming," Mulder responded, shaking his head. "You never said who the fourth ticket was for." Skinner sat back, a look of exasperation played over his features. "Come on now, Mulder. Do you really think I'd wave 45-yard-line seats under your nose just to torture you? Does that seem like something I would do?" "Well . . . you never said--" "Mulder, there's something I just have to know. That Psych degree you've got. . . it was a mail-order thing, wasn't it?" Mulder looked stricken for a moment but the Assistant Director continued, giving in to the smile that gave him away. "It was the 'Oxford Correspondence School,' right? You can tell me the truth!" Now Mulder smiled and took a large bite out of his grilled cheese sandwich. "Well . . . don't tell anyone but, the application was on the back of a matchbook cover," he joked back. Skinner snorted, relieved to see his agent smile for what seemed like the first time in days. "Don't worry, Mulder," he said, deeply aware of the affection he felt for this trying, complicated young man. "Your secret's safe with me." THE END