The Danville Series by Cadillac Red Disclaimer: The characters of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner and Maggie Scully 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: Fight the Future, The Beginning, Drive Setting: Early sixth season, follows previous story "Words & Meaning" Rating: PG. Discipline, no slash, significant R-rated language. Title: The Name Game Author: Cadillac Red Summary: Following his reassignment to another Assistant Director and the loss of the X-files, Mulder falls into a depressed and angry state. Skinner, with the help of his family, tries to pull him back from the precipice. The Name Game "Mulder!" Assistant Director Walter Skinner yelled, banging on the door to Apartment 42. "I know you're in there! And I'm gonna break this door in if you don't open it!" Skinner waited in the hall with bated breath. He knew Mulder was at home, his gut told him so. And Mulder's partner, Special Agent Dana Scully had said he let her in earlier in the day when she stopped by to see him. She told Skinner that he had not shown up for work that day after storming out of a meeting with Assistant Director Kersh the day before. She'd 'covered' for him by using his e-mail account to request a vacation day. But now he was ignoring Skinner's demand. And Scully had said he was 'depressed and angry.' Who knew what Mulder in that state might do? "Mulder, I'm counting to three. If this door isn't open, I'm breaking it down! . . . And then I'm gonna turn my attention to you! One! . . . Two! . . . Thr--" The door opened suddenly and Skinner's voice ground to a halt. His eyes fell on the object of his concern, Special Agent Fox Mulder. Mulder looked like hell, like he'd stopped eating and sleeping and been staring at a computer for days. Skinner entered and closed the door behind him, surveying the room for evidence to support his quickly developed theory. And he found what he expected. An over-sized computer monitor sat atop the desk by the window, running a program Skinner knew would reconstruct files from the ashes of a fire -- specifically from the ashes of the fire that burned the X-files' basement office several months earlier. His stomach churned pure acid as he realized what Mulder had been doing, spending every spare moment trying to reconstruct these files, trying to resurrect some remnant of the work to which he'd devoted more than six years of his life. Despite orders to the contrary. Despite the fact he'd been removed from the X-files division and reassigned to an anti-terrorism unit . . . and another Assistant Director. Skinner watched him pad back to the living room and sit back down in the desk chair, turning his attention back to whatever minute detail he was currently piecing back together. He squinted at the screen and sighed. "What brings you here, sir?" he asked as though Skinner was stopping by to borrow a cup of sugar. "I left you a message canceling for this weekend." "Yes, you did. And I know you called my folks and told them you weren't coming. But we're not taking 'no' for an answer, Mulder. You made a commitment to them and you're coming home with me--" "I wouldn't be fit company . . . sir," he said evenly. But the implication was that he was not going anywhere with the Assistant Director; his anger was so apparent it was like a third presence in the room. Skinner decided to postpone the inevitable confrontation that was coming. He strode into Mulder's kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He shook his head at the contents -- or lack thereof. A carton of Chinese take-out, a bottle of ketchup and an almost empty gallon container of orange juice. Sighing, he removed the OJ and opened it. Then he opened a kitchen cabinet, removed a glass and poured the remainder of the juice into it. Walking back into the living room, he tapped Mulder on the shoulder and handed him the glass. "When was the last time you ate, Mulder?" he asked the younger man when he looked up at him. "I don't want it," Mulder spat out, turning back to the computer screen. "Drink it!" Skinner said in his most commanding tone. Now Mulder shook his head but decided this was not the battle he wanted to fight. With a shrug of resignation, he took the glass and downed its contents in a single swallow. "Happy now?" he asked sarcastically. "No, not really," Skinner replied calmly, grabbing his left arm and pulling him up from the chair. He had the element of surprise on his side, that and the fact the younger agent was probably in a weakened state from hunger, dehydration and lack of sleep. With minimal effort, he got Mulder standing and strong-armed him over to his couch, where he promptly pushed him down and stood over him. "No, I'm not at all happy, Agent Mulder." Mulder blinked at him for a second or two, then he closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "Well, I guess I don't have to worry about that any more, sir. The Bureau says I work for Assistant Director Kersh now--" He stopped himself before his voice betrayed him. "And that's where you'd be wrong, Agent Mulder," Skinner said to him as calmly as he could. "You may work for someone else, but I'm still a fact of life for you. And I know you skipped work today--" "Why should you care?" Skinner paused before responding, biting back the answer that sprang to his tongue. Mulder had been through a lot in the last couple of months and the AD was determined to give him some slack. He removed his suit jacket and threw it over the back of the desk chair while he considered his answer. Taking a seat on the coffee table in front of the younger agent, he leaned forward. "I care, Mulder," he said simply. "You know I--" "I know you voted against me!" Mulder shot back, his voice rising. "I know you VOTED to have me removed from the X-files!" "And I told you why--" "Yeah, you told me," Mulder shouted, rising from the couch and walking into the middle of the living room. There he turned back, his hands planted on his hips. "You have to stand with the majority! Forget backing me up, forget showing a little support when I needed it most! Well, fuck you, Skinner!" The Assistant Director took a deep breath and tried to remain calm. But he felt his jaw clench at the willfully bitter misreading of his actions. Skinner rose, taking another breath in an attempt to hold back his anger, trying to remember that Mulder was emotionally devastated and clearly overwrought. "Mulder. Listen to me. I am no good to you if they think I can't be objective. And that's what they think right now, after I tipped you off about that incident at the power plant--" "Oh, so that's my fault too, right? Every fucking thing that goes wrong at the Bureau is my fault. Buildings blowing up, people being shot, mysterious viruses! It's all my fucking fault!" Skinner saw Mulder was far down the road into self-pity and bitterness. Like a man riding a vicious roller coaster, one that wouldn't stop long enough for him to get off. He was pacing his living room now, shouting and looking like he just wanted to hurt something, or someone. "And it's not like you fought to keep me with you, is it? I'm sure when THAT vote came, you just rolled over and cast yours with the majority, right sir? Wouldn't want to get out there on a limb with me, would you, Skinner? Put your goddam career in the fucking toilet with mine and Scully's! Maybe you'd end up accompanying us as we chase down another truckload of cow shit!" Skinner was stunned by the depth of his anger and although he was trying to focus on all the reasonable explanations for his agent's tantrum, the A.D.'s fuse was rapidly burning down. "Okay, Agent Mulder, that's enough," he said quietly. "NO, this is my apartment. If you don't want to hear what I have to say, I suggest you fucking leave, you son of a bitch!" he railed. He was starting to shake from the uncontrolled stream of venom that was working its way up from the bottom of his being. "Agent Mulder, I suggest YOU calm down and listen to me--" "Fuck off! You, that piece of shit Kersh, the goddam motherfuckers on that fucking Review Board--" "AGENT MULDER! WATCH YOUR MOUTH!" "Does my language bother you, sir? TOO FUCKING BAD! Welcome to the shitstorm of my life--" His words abruptly cut off as Skinner reached out and grabbed him around the waist and began dragging him across the room. "That's it, Agent Mulder. I warned you," the Assistant Director said as he muscled him into the bathroom and over to the sink. His eyes searched momentarily until he found what he was looking for, a container of store brand soft soap on the countertop. Mulder was still struggling, not sure what was happening but certain he wanted no part of whatever it was. Skinner used one muscled arm to hold the wriggling young man around the waist and reached out with the other, cupping his hand under the spout and pressing the lever with his thumb. When he had a handful of soap, he turned back to Mulder, who'd figured it out and was now wide-eyed with fear and indignation. Skinner shoved his hand in the young agent's mouth, using his fingers to rub the soap off on his teeth. Then he grabbed the back of Mulder's head and bent him forward toward the sink. Turning on the water, Skinner used his hand to scoop some water into his mouth, then he held the younger man's chin to keep his mouth closed and the soapy mess inside. "That's what happens when you call people names like that, Agent Mulder. Are we clear on that?" he asked angrily. Mulder wrested his face to the side, sputtering and spitting the soap back at the Assistant Director. The soapy residue dribbled down his unshaved chin and he glared defiantly back at the older man. "Fuck you, asshole!" The AD felt the muscles in his neck and jaw clench mercilessly. Shaking his head at the young man's stupendously bad judgment, he reached over to the soap dispenser and promptly repeated the mouthwashing. Mulder tried to clamp his jaw shut but the AD released his hold on the younger man's waist long enough to issue a sharp slap to his backside. When his mouth opened in shock, Skinner shoved another handful of soap in. This time some of the soap slipped down his throat and he found himself gagging and coughing but he had stopped fighting. Now tears of anger and humiliation threatened to replace the angry posture of a moment earlier. "Are you through, Mulder?" Skinner asked him. "Or do we do it again?" Mulder fought off the pending tears and struggled not to say the angry, hurtful things that sprang to his mind at that moment. He shook his head wordlessly. "Good. Now get inside." Skinner waited for him to move out of the bathroom and back into the living room. He saw the younger man's eyes flick longingly at the sink and knew he wanted more than anything to rinse the soap out of his mouth. But the young agent didn't ask and Skinner didn't offer. "All right. If you can keep a civil tongue in your mouth now, Mulder, we have things to talk about," Skinner said as the other man threw himself onto the couch. "Like you blowing off work today. And leaving your assignment without permission. And walking out of a meeting with AD Kersh before you were dismissed--" "And who told you about that?" Mulder turned, angrier than ever. "Not that prick Kersh! It was Scully, wasn't it? I should have known not to trust her! Or you! Not one of you is on my side--" "STOP IT, MULDER!" "No, I understand it now. You're protecting your career. Diana's protecting hers. And Scully, she's trying to protect her position by sucking up to you now. AND the Review Board, telling them she 'can't remember much!' And I'm swinging in the wind, all by myself, right?" Mulder was building back up to near hysteria again. Skinner watched it happen, frantically trying to assess how to put an end to this self-destructive treadmill on which the younger agent was trapped. He lowered his voice, hoping a calm, soothing tone would produce a similar response. "Mulder, you're just angry. And depressed--" "So where'd you get your fucking psychology degree, huh?" Skinner pressed his lips together, fighting back the words that were sitting on the tip of his tongue. With everything that had gone on recently, it had been several months since he'd punished Mulder. He just hadn't had the heart to give the young man any more trouble. Redoubling his effort to stay calm, he decided to try again. "I know you're angry. And scared. The truth is, so am I--" "Scared of what? That your close association with me might finally scuttle your cushy career as a desk jockey? That you might actually be called on to take a stand?" His voice was raw with emotion and Skinner saw he was close to losing control again. The Assistant Director suddenly knew that if he was going to made any headway with Mulder tonight, he had to end this tantrum for good -- and now. Sitting down on the couch next to the overwrought young man, the AD reached over and jerked him across his knees. Planting his left hand firmly on Mulder's back, he used his right hand to pull down his sweats and gray cotton shorts. "No! Get the hell away from me!" the young man yelled, reaching back to protect his now bare bottom. Skinner grasped his wrist with his left hand and firmly anchored it at the small of his back. "Oh, yes, Agent Mulder," he said evenly. "You've been asking for this all night--" "NO! Leave me alone--" (SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!) "Owwww!" (SMACK!) "Do you want to tell me (SMACK!) what this spanking is for, (SMACK!) Agent Mulder?" Skinner asked him, issuing yet another smack. "No! I'm not playing this stupid game! OUCHHHH! OWWWWW!" Skinner pounded his butt ten more times before speaking again. "Let's try this one more time, Mulder," he said. (SMACK!) "What are you being spanked for?" (SMACK!) The young man was crying hard now, and his bottom was literally steaming. "I . . . I . . . don't want to--" (SMACK! SMACK!) "This isn't about what you want, Agent Mulder," Skinner said reasonably. "And I guarantee you, (SMACK!) I can hold out longer than you can. (SMACK!) Now, what's this spanking for?" All the fight went out of the younger man suddenly and he began hiccuping as he answered. "For-- for mouthing off to you, sir!" he sobbed miserably. "And for saying-- for saying . . . . everything I said." His breathing was ragged and uneven and his words were interrupted by intermittent hitches as he continued to try to answer Skinner's question. "For--I don't know. . . for skipping work and uh . . . " He was shaking his head and crying disconsolately. The Assistant Director's heart was close to breaking as he realized Mulder's emotional state left him incapable of answering the simple question; he literally couldn't form a coherent sentence. Skinner pulled his agent's sweats and shorts back up, then he gathered the young man up into a reassuring hug. Mulder immediately put his head into the A.D.'s shoulder and sobbed again, with such soul-deep misery that Skinner was afraid for him. He held him firmly and felt his whole body tremble. "When was the last time you ate, Agent Mulder?" he asked him gently and felt the young man shake his head. "I don't know. . . yesterday? I'm not hungry--" he answered, his voice heavy with spent tears. "Well, it's a good thing 'cause you have no food here, Mulder," Skinner said, breaking into a small smile. "But I'm starving. And I want company for dinner. So go wash your face. And rinse out your mouth! I'm buying." "I couldn't eat anything, sir," he replied, his voice small and unsure. "You . . . go ahead without me." "No. We're having dinner. And then we're both gonna get shit-faced," Skinner said matter-of-factly. He smiled at the younger agent's reaction. "Sometimes it's the only appropriate response. And I think this is one of those times, Agent Mulder!" Mulder spent close to twenty minutes in the bathroom, rinsing his face and his mouth several times over. Even brushing his teeth didn't completely kill the taste of the soap but gargling twice with mouthwash helped a little. Then he shaved and splashed some more cold water over his face; his image in the mirror scared even him. He knew Skinner was not going to go without him so he wanted to get to a point where his condition wouldn't attract attention. Skinner used the time to gather some clothes for his agent and to pack him a weekend bag. They'd been invited to Skinner's parents for the long Columbus Day weekend. While he packed, he called Dana Scully and told her that Mulder was all right and that he and Mulder would be leaving for Danville tomorrow, Friday. "Can you get into his e-mail and put in a request for another vacation day, Agent Scully?" he asked her. "I think he just needs to be out of the office for a few days." "I couldn't agree more, sir," she answered. "I'm afraid he's a hair's breadth away from being fired now. One more thing is all it's gonna take--" "I know, Scully. That's why I want him out of sight. Until he gets a little more . . . control. Tomorrow's Friday. Monday's a holiday. And maybe this weekend will let him get a little more perspective on things . . . " "I hope so, sir," she answered with minimal confidence. "I hope so." "See you Sunday, Scully," he told her. Then he dialed another number. "Joe? It's me. I need a favor--" he told his brother. It was a big favor but Skinner's middle brother was the solid rock on which you could always depend. Not unlike the AD himself. He listened to his older brother's request and didn't even bother to consent. "I'll see you in a couple of hours, Walter," he said as he disconnected. They went to Mulligan's, a beer pub next door to Skinner's high-rise in Crystal City. Starting with a couple of beers and some appetizers, they moved on to Mulligan's famous half-pound burger platters. All washed down with a continuous stream of frosty mugs of the local micro-brew. Mulder relaxed a little finally but he was still adamant about canceling the weekend plans. "I really wouldn't be good company, sir," he said beseechingly. "Please apologize to your parents. . . . I just can't--" Skinner tried to convince him the weekend away would be the best thing for him but he had recognized earlier in the evening it was a losing battle. Finally, he gave up and turned the conversation to Mulder's self-destructive behavior of the past week. "You can't keep pushing Kersh, Mulder," he told him. "He's looking for an excuse to fire you--" "He's looking to make me quit!" Mulder responded, starting to warm to his topic. "The guy's a major asshole, sir. His plan is to make me so miserable, to humiliate me to the point I'll walk. I don't think he will fire me--" "Mulder, that's a dangerous bluff to play. You're on probation now--" But Mulder wasn't listening. He continued, shaking his head. "If it was just me, I wouldn't be so mad. I mean, humiliation and the scorn of my peers are routine to me now. But it's killing Scully. I don't know how much longer she can take it, sir--" Skinner glanced at him in surprise. He had had a similar conversation with Scully earlier in the day, only in her version, it was Mulder on the verge of cracking. And that seemed closer to the truth in the A.D.'s mind. Scully was angry but her anger was controlled and channeled toward a specific outcome, getting back her outstanding performance rating and recapturing the X-files. And keeping Mulder from losing it. With Mulder, it was a different story. He was, in fact, the more vulnerable of the two of them and Skinner believed Scully was not wrong to be worried. He decided to try again to help his agent manage his reaction to the dramatic downslide his career, and his life, had taken recently. He signaled the bartender and asked for a couple of malt whiskeys and two more beers to chase them. Mulder eyed him with interest. "You were really serious about getting 'shit-faced,' weren't you?" Skinner laughed. "Mulder, I told you, sometimes it's the only rational response to an irrational world. . . . And your world. . . . let me rephrase, 'our world' gives new meaning to the phrase 'irrational!'" He sighed heavily, not wanting to get into his own dark fears with Mulder tonight, his outrage and complete disillusionment with the agency to which he'd devoted more than twenty years. But he put that conversation aside, for another time. When Mulder was thinking clearly again and Skinner could pick his brain for a clue to what the hell was really going on. By 1 p.m., they were both the worse for wear. Mulder was not a real drinker anyway and he'd started to show the effects of their consumption early, despite the food the AD had practically forced into him. At one point, the bartender had wanted to cut the young man off, but the AD flashed his badge and gave him a very bare bones briefing. The bartender, an Irishman from County Kerry, understood immediately. "Ah, yes," he responded. "The kind of drinkin' that clears the cobwebs out of ye brain, and puts you back on the path of righteousness, is that it? Well, he's your boy. I leave it up to you!" At 1:30, Mulder's head hit the bar and Skinner himself was feeling seriously wobbly. He pulled out his credit card and asked for a check just as his brother Joe tapped him on the shoulder. "How ya holding up, Walter?" he asked, eyeing the sleeping form of Fox Mulder draped across the bar next to him. "Joe, your timing is perfect," Skinner said, realizing he couldn't see the numbers clearly on the bill. "Do me a favor, total this bill and leave a hefty tip for this saint of a bartender. And watch Mulder while I visit the facilities." Joe followed his brother's retreating form to make sure he could still walk, then he turned to the aforementioned bartender. "Watch him do what? I don't think there's any likelihood he's moving anywhere without help, do you?" And Joe's assessment was correct. It took both brothers to hold him up and walk him out; his legs moved occasionally but he never actually woke up. They deposited him in the back seat of Joe's car. Then they drove to Skinner's place, where he picked up a weekend bag while Joe and the slumbering young agent waited in the car. "Joe, I just want to say thanks for driving up here and picking us up. I knew I wouldn't be in any condition to drive," Skinner said to his brother, yawning broadly. "And I'm afraid I'm not in any condition to keep you company either. . . " "Tell me something I don't know, Walter!" his brother said, easing the car out onto Jefferson Davis Parkway. "I'll wake you when we get there." Joe killed the lights on the Blazer as he turned into the driveway of the Skinner home in an effort not to wake the household. It was just past 5 a.m. on Friday morning when he pulled up to the back porch and jostled his brother in the seat beside him. "Wake up, Sleeping Beauty." Skinner came to full consciousness immediately. "How's Mulder doing?" he asked, looking over the back seat as he tried to stretch the kinks out of his neck. "Hasn't moved a muscle or uttered a sound," Joe said opening the back door and starting to pull the nearly comatose young man out. The back door opened just then and the youngest Skinner brother, Andy, appeared in sweats and a tee shirt. "Need a hand?" Walter and Joe each took Mulder by an arm and easily half-carried him up the stairs and into the kitchen. As if on cue, they went directly through and into the family room where they laid him on the couch. Skinner grabbed a pillow that Andy must have been using and pushed it under Mulder's head. His most troublesome agent still had not approached consciousness. "I just put some coffee on," Andy said quietly. "I'll stay with Mulder if you want to head home, Joe. And Walter, no offense, you look dead on your feet." Skinner gave his brother a wry smile. "None taken. If that's true, I must look whole lot better than I feel!" He took a mug from a cabinet and poured himself a cup "I'll stay with him a while -- until he's ready to go to bed. But Joe, you go ahead home. I really appreciate your coming down." "Nah, I'm awake now. I'll crash this afternoon, if I need it. After practice." He helped himself to a cup of coffee as well, opening the refrigerator and taking out the makings for sandwiches. The middle Skinner brother had the same muscular build as Walter and Andy; he was the head of the History department at the local college and coached their football team. His amazing energy level, at least during football season, had earned him the nickname "Non-stop Skinner" from his players. "I don't know if you're gonna make it, though. Why don't you let Andy and I handle things from here?" Skinner shook his head and turned his attention to Andy. "I didn't know you'd be here already," he questioned his youngest brother as he surrendered to the munchies and starting to make himself a ham and cheese sandwich. "What time did you get in?" "This afternoon. I had a meeting in Philadelphia and Eileen and the kids decided to fly with me last night and come directly here. Brian and Haley have been keeping Grandma and Grandpa busy all day." "I guess that explains why nobody woke up when we came in," Skinner commented, thinking that his 5 year-old nephew and nearly 3-year-old niece could tire out people decades younger than his parents. "Eileen sleeps like the dead," Andy laughed. "I've seen her sleep through a hurricane! It's the strangest thing, though, she wakes up immediately at even the slightest sound from one of the kids--" "That's a 'mother thing,' Rachel Skinner chuckled as she entered the kitchen in her bathrobe. "We always know when our kids aren't sleeping!" She gave Joe, then Walter a kiss on the cheek and a hug and then clucked at the make-shift sandwiches they were assembling. "I'll make breakfast--" "No, Mom, we didn't mean to get you up at this hour," Walter protested. "We're just waiting for Mulder--" "I know. I raised three teenage boys," she replied calmly getting out her frying pan. "I saw him passed out in the family room when I came by. You smell like a brewery, too, but at least you're still standing. I can imagine the shape Fox must be in!" She made a breakfast of bacon and eggs for her three sons and brewed another pot of coffee before they heard the first sign that Mulder was returning from the dead. "Oh, God! Where am I?" he gasped in the next room. Joe and Walter made it to the family room before he finished the sentence, with Andy close on their heels. Mulder was staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, clutching the seat cushion with his one hand. He looked up at Skinner and the AD thought he actually looked green. "Where. . . where--" "You're at my folks' place, Mulder," Skinner reassured him quietly, watching him closely. The younger man closed his eyes, momentarily stunned by the volume of the A.D.'s voice. But closing his eyes was a mistake. They opened immediately, and terror illuminated his features. "Oh, God!" Walter and Joe each grabbed an arm and hauled him toward the hall bathroom where he proceeded to drop to his knees and vomit up the contents of his stomach. Andy wet a towel with cool water and he handed it to his oldest brother who waited until Mulder seemed to be finished, for now. Then he crouched next to the young man and used the towel to mop his face. "It's okay, Mulder," he said gently. Mulder was taking huge gulps of air in an effort to settle his stomach. He looked at the AD and then at the other two men and found himself wishing the floor would open up and swallow him. "I'm s-sorry," he gasped, looking back to the AD "I'm so sorry!" "Nothing to be sorry about, Mulder," Skinner assured him, rubbing his back. "We've been through this with Andy lots of times!" "Like I'm the ONLY one this has ever happened to," Andy interjected indignantly. Mulder turned to Andy in a virtual stupor; he was hearing words but they were failing to connect to actual meaning in his head. Andy misread the look and proceeded to commiserate with the younger man on his knees in front of the toilet. "It's not over 'til that spinning stops. You know, when you close your eyes and the room starts turning. Then it starts turning faster and--" "Oh, no!" Mulder gasped, as another wave of nausea hit him before he had time to turn back. Andy, the floor and Mulder's shirt took the brunt before Skinner grabbed his head and positioned it over the toilet bowl. This bout lasted another minute or so and by the time it passed, he'd given up everything in his stomach. He was completely mortified now and starting to break into chills. Skinner waited for him to lean back on his haunches before wiping his face with another wet towel. Joe had stepped out to the kitchen a moment earlier and returned with a glass of orange juice and a handful of multi-vitamins and aspirins that he handed to Walter. "See if you can swallow these," Skinner instructed Mulder. Mulder blinked at him uncomprehendingly. "Just take one, then a small swallow of juice. See if you can keep it down," he instructed him. He watched as Mulder took two aspirin and drank some juice. Then he waited a minute and did it again with a couple of vitamins. Nothing came back up and Skinner nodded for him to finish the rest of the juice. "We don't want you getting dehydrated, Mulder," he said. "That makes for the nastiest kind of hangover. . . . And you're already due for a killer!" He watched his young agent's eyes blink and then start to close. "We'll take you upstairs now, Mulder," he said, helping the younger man to his feet with help from Joe. Mulder's eyes opened again, then flooded with tears. "I'm sorry, sir," he whispered as he allowed them to take his shirt off. Andy had removed his as well and took both to the laundry room next to the kitchen. In the meantime, Mulder allowed himself to be led out of the bathroom into the hallway where he stopped suddenly, his face losing all expression. Recognizing what would come next, Joe stepped in front of him and dropped his shoulder, and Mulder passed out as he was lifted by the A.D.'s middle brother. "Better let me handle this, Walter," Joe told him stepping toward the stairs. "You can barely carry yourself right now." He carried Mulder up the stairs fireman style and between the three brothers they got him undressed and into bed in the small study. The Assistant Director pulled the covers up over him and was about to turn out the light. "I say he doesn't surface for ten hours," Joe volunteered, casting an appraising eye on the sleeping young man. Skinner smiled at his brother. "Twenty bucks says it's twelve!" Andy was standing in the door frame and he wanted a piece of this action. With a final glance at Mulder, he weighed the situation and then added his two cents. "Tuesday!" he said, chuckling as he headed back to bed. Mulder actually woke once about eight hours later. As if on auto pilot, he found his way to the upstairs hall bathroom and made use of it. Then he returned to the study, finally noticing a pitcher of ice water and a glass on the nightstand. He poured himself a glass and drank it down. Next he noticed two aspirin tablets on a napkin the glass had been sitting on. He laid back down and slept for another four hours. When he finally reached a state of real consciousness, the memory of the night before overwhelmed him with remorse . . . and embarrassment. He couldn't remember much past finishing dinner with Skinner until he was throwing up all over the Skinner family's bathroom. He didn't remember going to bed so he knew he must have passed out at some point. The study door opened quietly and Rachel Skinner looked in. Mulder thought about closing his eyes so she'd think he was still sleeping, but it was too late by the time his fuzzy brain cells processed the situation. "Fox! You're awake, honey," she said very softly. "How are you feeling?" His face turned pink. "I'm . . . I'm okay." Rachel sat down on the side of the bed, trying not to rock it. She brushed the hair off his forehead then put a cool hand on it to see if he was running a fever. "You've been sleeping a long time. I hope it was long enough to sleep through the hangover!" "I don't think so. But it's nowhere near as bad as I expected. I don't think I've ever actually had a real hangover before. . . I'm not much of a drinker--: "No kidding, Mulder," Walter Skinner laughed from the doorway. "It took two of us to carry you out of Mulligan's!" "Well, I don't think introducing Fox to the real meaning of a hangover is something to be proud of, Walter," his mother said reprovingly, standing and heading for the door. "I'll expect you both for dinner in half an hour." She gave her son a wink and a smile as she walked out into the hallway. "Oh, God. Now I got you in trouble with your mother," Mulder sighed. Skinner chuckled. "Don't worry, Mulder. Mom's the original old softy. She can't stay angry with anyone. Now my Dad, that's another story. Pissing him off still scares me a little--" "Really?" Mulder asked, wide-eyed. "It scares me a lot!" Mulder didn't want to go down to dinner, not because he wasn't hungry but just to postpone the inevitable embarrassment. But to a person the Skinner family overlooked his obvious discomfort and went about their business eating and carrying on about six different conversations at once. Skinner's sister Jean and her husband had come for dinner and Andy, his wife Eileen and their two kids, Brian and Haley were staying over. With the AD and Mulder, there were ten people for dinner. At the Mulder family house, that would constitute a major dinner party. Here it was just another family meal, apparently. "Andy, what's this project you're working on in Philly?" Walter asked his brother, helping himself to a serving of roast beef. "If you're gonna be there regularly, feel free to crash at my place whenever you can. It's less than a two hour drive--" "I'm designing a security system for an insurance company--" "Mommy!" Haley broke in. "I don't like these potatoes. They got lumps!" "Those are REAL potatoes, Haley," Eileen reassured her with a smile. "She's used to the ones that come in the box," she explained to her mother-in-law. "Not the real thing!" "How's kindergarten, Brian?" Jean asked the five-year-old next to her. "Are you learning a lot?" "I already know everything," the child replied matter-of-factly. "Everything?" Walter laughed, giving his brother Andy an amused look. "Well, everything they're covering now," Andy explained quietly. "Let's just say he's a little ahead of the curve. They sent home a certificate the other day. All the kids made them. It said 'Brian can count to ten.' Brian gave it to me and said they told him to make it. Then he said, 'Dad, I told them I can count to ten in five languages but they didn't let me put that on the certificate!" "That's my godson," Walter chuckled. "He's gonna be a handful!" Mulder listened to the conversation swirl around him. His head was still mushy but he was struck with the knowledge that this was how real people lived. And depressed at the thought he wasn't really a part of this family, except for the A.D.'s sense of duty, and his family's sense of pity. He felt a lump form in his throat and reached for his iced tea and took a gulp to help swallow it down. "I'm having a birfday," Haley said to him suddenly. "You are?" he asked. "How old are you going to be?" She held up a hand and attempted to get three fingers to stay up and two to stay down. "Free!" "Well, that's a big birthday," he replied, smiling. "It's actually not until next week," Eileen told him. "But we're celebrating Sunday since we're here for the weekend. She doesn't get to celebrate her birthday with the whole family often." Mulder listened to the rest of the meal's conversations with half an ear, still focusing on the growing sense of detachment that had come over him. He knew he needed to leave but he wasn't actually certain how he and Skinner had gotten here so he had trouble coming up with a plan. He was certain he hadn't driven. And with Skinner's strong feelings about drunk driving, he was certain the other man didn't drive last night. Finally, the conversation veered toward the fact that Joe wasn't there because he was exhausted from being up all night the night before, driving down to D.C. "All right, all right," Skinner finally conceded with a huge grin. "I already planned to get some Redskins tickets and invite Joe and Andy down for the weekend to thank them for their help last night. You can all stop trying to 'guilt' me into it! . . . And Mulder will buy dinner!" The younger agent looked up at him, surprised to be included in the invitation. "Y-- yeah," he replied quickly. "It's the least I can do--" "If you guys are springing for dinner and a 'Skins game," Andy said, reaching for a second helping of potatoes, "well, you can puke on me anytime, Mulder!" "Andrew Nikolai, please!" his mother admonished him. "People are eating!" Mulder went back to bed just past nine o'clock and woke at 4 a.m., unable to shake the sense of depression that had started to encroach on him at dinner. He lay there for the better part of an hour, hoping to see the glimmer of light on the horizon outside the window. But it was still dark and it looked like rain was threatening when he got up and got dressed at 5 o'clock. He stopped once to write a short note to the Assistant Director. He'd had numerous painful 'discussions' with Skinner about running off without explanation in the past and, at least for today, it was a lesson he didn't want repeated. He scribbled the note on a pad he found in the study, then folded it over and slipped it under the door to the A.D.'s room before he tiptoed down the stairs in just his socks. Stopping on the back porch, he quickly put on his sneakers and started around the house to the driveway that led to the road. He knew if he walked a half mile or so, he'd come to a major highway and could hitch a ride back to D.C. from there. "'Morning, Fox," a voice startled him as he came around the side of the house. Walter Skinner, Sr. was sitting on the front porch, in his bathrobe. "Oh, sir! I . . . I didn't mean to wake anyone!" "No, I expect you didn't," the older man nodded. "The stairs in this house all creak. It's how Rachel could track the comings and goings of our kids over the years. She heard you get up. Then she woke me when you headed down the stairs. Where are you going at this ungodly hour?" "I was . . . I was going for a walk." "A walk? In the dark?" He appeared to be mulling that idea over in his head. "I guess that's something you could do at this hour in the city. But out here. . . well, it's just too dark to walk anywhere at this hour." "I . . . guess you're right. I don't know what I was thinking," Mulder replied, deciding on another tactic. "I couldn't sleep. I think I'll just sit here on the porch for a while and get some air, though, before I go back to bed. Please go back to sleep, sir. I already feel guilty for getting you up at this hour." He gave the older man what he hoped looked like a sincere smile. The senior Skinner smiled back at him. "I will, son. But first, I think I'll accompany you on that walk you wanted to take." Mulder was perplexed and worried now. "Sir? I . . . that's not necessary--" Walter Sr. rose and started down the steps from the porch. As he walked, he slipped a piece of paper out from the pocket of his plaid bathrobe. Mulder immediately recognized it as the note he'd slipped under the Assistant Director's door. "Well make it a short walk, Fox. Just down to the woodshed," the older man said grasping the young man by his shoulders and turning him in the direction of the aforementioned structure. "Let's go." Mulder was in shock now. The A.D.'s father had paddled him once before, for disobedience. In the months since then, he'd almost forgotten the incident but at this moment, the entire, humiliating episode was foremost in his mind. He tried to think of a way to open a dialogue with the Assistant Director's father. They reached the woodshed a minute later and the older man opened the door and turned on the overhead light. Then he went to the side wall and took down the leather strop. Mulder's heart rate rose to the point he thought the thing would beat right out of his chest. He was growing more fearful and confused. "What . . . what did I do?" he asked desperately. "I don't understand. . . " Mr. Skinner's eyebrows rose. "You don't understand what you did wrong?" he asked. "You're standing there telling me you don't understand why you're being punished?" Mulder was running over the entire scenario in his head at a frantic pace. He shook his head. Finally, the other man handed him his note back. "Read it," Mr. Skinner said evenly. I had to get back to D.C. Sorry about not telling you before. Please thank your family for me. Mulder Mulder finished reading and looked at him, still confused. The older man decided to prompt him a little more. "And what story did you tell me, Fox? About what you were doing up this morning?" Realization hit the younger man like a brick. "Oh, I . . . I just . . . I was . . . " "Lying, Fox. We call that 'lying.' And it's one thing I absolutely won't tolerate." Mulder wanted to give him a good rationalization for the fib he'd told but he was struck suddenly by the simple truth of what the older man said. He had lied. And he hadn't even considered it a lie, until Skinner's Dad called him on it. "Take down your pants, Fox," Mr. Skinner told him, pulling a wood bench into the middle of the floor. "And your shorts." He watched the younger man comply, tears already pooling in his hazel eyes as he pushed down his jeans and shorts and positioned himself over the bench. "What's this punishment for, Fox?" The elder Skinner issued the first stinging lick. (SMACK!) "Aaahh! For lying to you, sir! Owwww!" "Are you ever gonna lie to me again?" (SMACK!) "No, sir! Unnnhhh! Owwwww!" "And why will you never lie to me again, Fox?" (SMACK!) "BECAUSE! Because . . . I'll get punished, sir! Owwww! Ouccchhh!" Mr. Skinner was surprised and a little concerned by his answer. Fear of punishment was a deterrent but it wasn't a reason for honesty in his mind. "Why else, Fox?" (SMACK!) Now Mulder was more confused than ever. He was crying softly and biting down on his lower lip to hold back the sobs that were on the verge of overwhelming him. His mind raced, trying to come up with another reason. "Aaahhhh! Because it makes you mad? Because, um, because lying is wrong?" Mr. Skinner decided to end the strapping quickly; it was clear this young man was confused and had had a lifetime of mixed messages about simple things like the truth and how to be part of a family. He walked over and hung the strop back on its hook, giving Mulder a moment to collect himself. When he didn't move off the bench, Walter Sr. finally tapped the back of his head and spoke to him. "Get up now, Fox. I want to talk to you." Mulder tried to get a hold on himself quickly but he was so ashamed, it was a struggle just to get up and readjust his clothes. Mr. Skinner immediately put his arms around him, rubbing his back and caressing the back of his head. He gave Mulder another minute to calm down, then he pushed him back until their eyes met and he started to speak to younger man quietly. "Lying IS wrong, Fox," he said. "You were right about that. But the thing that's unacceptable is lying to your family. To people who love you. It violates the bond of trust that holds a family together. That's the reason I never tolerated lies from my kids, Fox. And that's the reason I won't tolerate them from you. Do you understand me?" Mulder felt a rush of something, an emotion so strong his knees almost buckled beneath him. Tears sprang to his eyes and he lost the battle to hold back the body-shaking sobs that were rising to the surface. "I . . . I under. . stand," he whispered, his voice breaking before he completed the words. Mr. Skinner pulled him back into a tight embrace once again and he returned the heartfelt hug wholeheartedly. "I'm glad, Fox," the other man told him. "I want you to hear me, though. I don't expect you to go running off this weekend now. That's not the kind of behavior I expect from my boys. Are we clear on that, son?" Mulder nodded into his shoulder. "Okay, then, I think it's time for us to finish our 'walk,' don't you?" They headed back to the house just as the first rays of light were peeking over the horizon. Mulder showed up for breakfast with the rest of the Skinner family about two hours later. He'd fallen back to sleep after his 'walk' with the A.D.'s father, but once Brian and Haley were fully awake, the entire household was awake, too. At 8:30, they all sat down for a breakfast of home-made waffles, served with fresh fruit compote Mrs. Skinner had put up over the summer. Skinner saw Mulder make a careful effort to sit down and one eyebrow shot up. Andy had noticed as well and caught his older brother's eye with a questioning look. Their father came over with a pitcher of O.J. and placed it in the center of the table before circling halfway around to take his seat at the head of the table. He cuffed Mulder on the back of the head as he went by and got a tentative smile in return. The AD was certain now there was a story to learn here somewhere. And he'd get it from his Dad later – or Mulder, whichever one seemed the most forthcoming. Giving Andy a knowing glance, he turned his attention back to his breakfast and attacked it with gusto. The entire family planned to attend Joe's team's football game that afternoon. The AD and Mulder hit the local mall first, looking for an appropriate gift for a 3-year-old girl. They knew immediately they should have taken Jean, or Skinner's Mom with them and finally decided to throw themselves on the mercy of a lovely woman in the children's department who picked out a few things she was sure Haley 'would absolutely love.' They had them wrapped in the store, stopped for a take-out lunch then headed over to the college for the game. The Wolverines extended their unbroken winning streak and the whole family and Mulder joined Joe and his team for their traditional celebration dinner at his home. "Hi, Nora!" Skinner gave his sister-in-law a big kiss. "You're cooking for 50 again tonight, huh?" Nora laughed, then whispered, "If they don't lose soon, we may have to file bankruptcy before the season is over. These boys are eating me out of house and home!" She gave Mulder a big hug and invited them in. Mulder was struck once again at the simple hominess of their house and the fact they seemed to have 25 college kids there on a regular basis. Joe had an easy, caring relationship with his players, kind of like the one he had with his own kids. The young FBI agent found himself thinking that, if not for a few minor turns in the road, the AD would be just like his brother, surrounded by wife and kids, and an extended family too numerous to name. It was in his nature, too, but life had pulled him in other directions. And Mulder truly understood for the first time that he was really part of Skinner's extended family, just like the other man had told him. And he knew if he shared that analysis with Skinner, he'd hear it was true – only he was a lot more trouble than an entire college football team. So he decided to keep it to himself. At that moment, Skinner appeared beside him and handed him a bottle of beer, tipping his long-necked bottle to tap Mulder's. "A little 'hair of the dog,' Mulder," he said. "Just don't overdo it, okay?" "Who me?" he replied, smiling. "I don't drink much. I just have this friend who's a bad influence on me— " He ducked away from the friendly punch the Assistant Director aimed at his arm. They finally all arrived back at the Skinner house in Danville at just past 10 o'clock. Skinner and his brother carried the sleeping Haley and Brian in and Eileen settled them in bed while everyone else watched the late news. By 11 o'clock the entire household had retired and Mulder found himself drifting off to the thought that a day could make a big difference. He'd started the day off trying to figure out how to make a run for it. And now he thought maybe he never wanted the weekend to end, this place was such a sheltering haven from the reality of his life. On Sunday morning the family had breakfast and the elder Skinners and Andy and his family were planning to attend services at St. Basil's. When Mulder visited before, they sometimes went to church on Sunday morning but today for some reason they all insisted he accompany them. Mulder wasn't religious, in fact, he hadn't practiced any religion at all since he was a child. And even then, his family's attendance at Sunday services was sporadic and half-hearted. But he was not willing to offend Mr. and Mrs. Skinner so he threw on a pair of slacks and a navy blue cashmere sweater the AD had packed for him and went off to church with the whole Skinner clan. Pulling up to St. Basil's, though, was a revelation of sorts. Skinner had driven his parent's car; he and Mulder sat in front and Mr. and Mrs. Skinner were in the back with Brian, who had insisted on riding with Uncle Walter. They pulled into the parking lot of a beautiful old church with onion domes and ornate stained glass windows, and parked next to Joe and Nora's car. As the elder Skinners and Brian exited from the back, Mulder leaned over to the Assistant Director. "Russian Orthodox, sir?" "Does that surprise you, Mulder?" Skinner asked, giving him a strange look. Mulder had no real answer to that question; he just continued to look perplexed. Finally he said, "Well. . . . there must be a story here somewhere." "Yeah, there is. And someday, if you're really good, maybe I'll tell it to you," Skinner replied, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening his door. "So basically, you're saying you're never gonna tell me, right?" Mulder shot back, unbuckling his own seatbelt. Skinner just chuckled as he slammed his door shut and followed the rest of the family. Mulder thought the service was beautiful and exotic and he found himself actually pleased to be there with the large Skinner family. They were well-known in the congregation, having apparently belonged to St. Basil's for nearly half a century, it seemed. He was introduced to what seemed like a hundred people, including some distant relatives of Walter, Sr. and the priest that married the A.D.'s parents almost 50 years earlier. Mulder's own roots were not deep anywhere and this was a new and touching experience for him. After church, though, Rachel and Walter Sr. went home with the rest of the family but Mulder and Skinner stayed in town to run some errands. Skinner suggested they get something cold to drink first and they spent almost an hour hanging out at the local tavern, a place where the AD apparently spent the better part of his youth, at least if you listened to the bartender. They munched on some bar food before finally heading out to do the 'errands.' It turned out Mrs. Skinner needed ice for the family get-together later and there was a birthday cake for Haley to be picked up at the bakery. Mulder went into the local grocery and bought the ice while the AD stopped at the bakery. They met back at the car and started the drive home, taking the long way, the one that paralleled the river. Mulder thought it was strange, considering the fact they were carrying ice but he didn't spend much time worrying about it, instead using the car time to pump the AD about the 'Russian connection.' "So what's Joe's middle name?" he asked the other man suddenly. Skinner shot him a look of amusement. "Why do you want to know?" "Well, Walter Sergei, Andrew Nikolai. . . . I'm just trying to pin down a pattern, that's all." "Uh huh." "So? What is his middle name?" "Why don't you ask Joe?" the AD replied calmly. "Well, 'cause I'm asking you! Jeez, what is it, a state secret?" "Joseph 'A State Secret' Skinner. No, I don't think that's right." Mulder exhaled in exasperation. "Okay, fine. I'll just ask Joe. . . . What about Jean?" "What about her?" Skinner asked, turning onto the road that led to the family house. "What's her middle name?" "If I tell you that, she'll kill me." "It's worse than 'Sergei?" Skinner pulled the car into the driveway, threw it into 'Park' and turned to his passenger. Trying to keep from laughing, he said as seriously as he could manage, "I'd be real careful about making fun of other people's names. . . . Fox." Mulder sighed. "Okay, I'll just have to find out some other way," he said amiably opening his door and getting out. He opened the back door and pulled out the ice while Skinner was taking the sheet cake off the back seat through the opposite door. Standing, Mulder noticed all the cars in the driveway and realized the whole family must have come out for Haley's birthday. His eyes fell on one car, though, that seemed especially familiar to him. "Sir? That's Scully's mother's car!" he said, nodding toward a green Buick parked by the side of the house. "I recognize the license plate. Something must be wrong!" "No, that can't be right, Mulder," Skinner told him calmly. "I think that's Nora's car--" "With a Maryland license plate?" Skinner realized he hadn't thought fast enough and decided to simply gloss over it. To his great surprise, it appeared Mulder was still clueless. It always amazed him how intuitive and insightful this man was about his work, and how dense he could be about his own life. "I don't know. Let's just go in and see, then," Skinner finally told the other man heading for the porch. Since he had both hands full with the giant sheet cake, he let Mulder open the front door. "Happy Birthday!" a chorus of voices greeted them as he swung it open. Mulder was immediately confused, first looking to see where 3-year-old Haley was. She was in her father's arms just behind the door and she reached out and gave Mulder a hug and a kiss. "Happy birfday to us!" she exulted. "See our sign?" Mulder followed the direction in which she was pointing and nearly panicked himself into unconsciousness when he saw the banner someone had printed from their computer. "Happy Birthday Fox & Haley" it read. He looked frantically around the room, finding all of Skinner's family, his nieces and nephews, his brothers and his sister, his parents and Scully and her mother -- and he didn't have a clue what to do next. Sensing how rattled he was, Rachel Skinner swooped down on him immediately, taking the bag of ice from his hands and handing it to her husband to put in the kitchen. Then she instructed Joe to take the cake from Walter also. Relieved of his burden, Skinner put an arm around Mulder's shoulder and pulled him aside. "You okay, Mulder?" he asked quietly. "You didn't really forget it's your birthday, too, did you?" Finally finding his voice, he replied, "I- I guess I did," as Dana and Maggie Scully came over to them. "Five years working together, Mulder," Scully said, laughing, "and I don't think I've ever seen you speechless before today! Happy birthday!" She gave him a hug. "Happy birthday, Fox," Mrs. Scully told him as she stepped up to hug him as well. "I guess this really was a surprise!" "I can't believe you both drove all this way--" he began. "Nonsense, Fox," Maggie Scully interrupted him. "It's less than a two-hour drive from Annapolis. And we wouldn't have missed it for the world. I'm so glad the Skinners invited us!" Dinner was served buffet style, given the size of the group and afterward most of the men and the younger people congregated in the family room to watch the football games while the older crowd took over the living room for coffee and cake. Skinner was engrossed in the game when he suddenly realized Mulder was nowhere in sight. At the next commercial he got up and wandered into the kitchen, where he found Dana Scully engrossed in a conversation with his two sisters-in-law, Eileen and Nora. In the living room, his parents and his aunt and uncle were chatting with Maggie Scully and he distinctly heard his mother say something about wanting to give 'that woman" a piece of her mind. He knew immediately she was relating her conversation with Mulder's mother, the one in which Teena Mulder declined to attend her son's birthday party because it was the weekend of the local bridge tournament she entered every year. He continued his search, walking through the upstairs and finding only his 14-year-old niece Amanda watching over Brian and Haley, who were testing out some of the toys Haley had received for her birthday. He came down the back stairs with a growing state of concern. He gave Scully a half-smile so as not to worry her as he came through the kitchen, then he noticed someone outside. Breathing a sigh of relief, he recognized a familiar head outside the back door, sitting on the porch steps. Skinner poured two mugs of hot coffee and stepped out and stood over him. "Mind company?" he asked. "No, sir. Have a seat.. It's a little cold but I needed some fresh air." He took the cup of coffee gratefully, scooting over to the side of the step so Skinner could sit down. "I just wanted to assure you I had nothing to do with that sign, Mulder," the AD told him, referring to the fact it had said "Happy Birthday, Fox" not Mulder. The younger man graced him with a huge grin. "That's okay, I'm over it now. Walter Sergei!" "Keep it up and I'll never tell you Jean's middle name," Skinner retorted. They sat in companionable silence for a minute or two, watching the last light fade over the western horizon. Once the sun was down, the evening chill set in and they were both glad for the hot coffee. "Sir, I just want to tell you again how sorry I am about-- about all the things I said to you the other night. I didn't mean any of them. . . " "Mulder, I know that. You were angry. And you have every right to be angry. This whole thing stinks to high heaven . . . . But you can't let it poison everything in your life. That's what they want, I think. Whoever 'they' are!" Mulder nodded solemnly. He was unused to having anything else so this was truly a new experience, balancing his work and his personal lives. "Do you think we'll ever figure out who they are?" "Oh, yeah. I think we'll find out," Skinner said firmly. "And we'll kick their collective asses out of the Bureau. If I didn't believe that, I would have submitted that resignation letter I wrote last week." Mulder looked up at him in shock, nearly dropping the mug out of his hands. "You were gonna quit? Because of me?" "Not just because of you, Mulder. Because of the total miscarriage of justice that took place. Because someone was clearly manipulating the system, someone inside or outside the Bureau, I'm not sure," he sighed, shaking his head. "But I finally decided the only way to fight it was from the inside. And that goes for you. I'll help you all I can but you need to find a way to stay the course, until we figure this out. And get things back to normal. . . . Or as close to normal as things around you ever get!" Mulder nodded silently, feeling a couple of tears slide down his cheeks. He was suddenly very glad for the darkness that had settled over them in the last several minutes. "You know what you told me . . . that time a couple of months ago. At your place, the last time you had to punish me. You know, that you . . . " his voice trailed off and he shook his head, afraid he was never gonna get the words out. The Assistant Director nodded; he knew exactly what Mulder was referring to and he didn't want to make whatever this was any harder on the young man beside him. 'I love you, kid,' the AD had told him, realizing it was not something Mulder had heard much in his life, if ever. And how hard it was for him to believe. Mulder sighed, and began staring at his feet. This was a lot harder than he even imagined. "I just wanted to say. . . ." He bit his lower lip, finding himself tongue-tied and shaky. "I know, Mulder," Skinner finally said, pulling him into a hug and squeezing him hard. His own eyes clouded as he felt the younger man tighten his arms around the A.D.'s broad back. As hard as it was to see how they would find their way through the intricate maze of conspiracy and deception that trapped them, Skinner believed with renewed certainty that they would make it. "Ludmilla," he said quietly over Mulder's shoulder as he gave him one final squeeze. "What, sir?" "Ludmilla. That's Jean's middle name. And I'm trusting you to keep that to yourself!" the AD told him again, as he headed for the back door. "Ludmilla?" the young man blurted out. "Jeez! And I thought I had problems!" THE END