The Danville Series by Cadillac Red Disclaimer: The characters of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner, the Lone Gunmen, Teena Mulder 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: Triangle, Fight the Future Setting: Sixth Season Rating: PG. Discipline, no slash. Title: Special Agent in Charge Author: Cadillac Red Summary: Mulder suddenly decides he wants to be 'in charge' of his own life, and Skinner lets him have just enough rope to hang himself, and for the AD to reel him back in. Special Agent in Charge Assistant Director Walter Skinner hauled Special Agent Fox Mulder out of his hospital bed with a single motion, half-carrying, half-dragging the younger man across the room to a chair he'd positioned in the middle of the floor. "What are you doing?" Mulder gasped in shock. "I told you I was gonna kick your butt when you were better, Mulder," the AD said in his most no-nonsense tone. "And they tell me you're ready to be released so you must be all better." He sat down in the chair and pulled the fiercely struggling younger man over his knees, pinning him in place with a muscled left arm positioned firmly across his back. The hospital gown he was wearing opened in the back, leaving him no protection except the white cotton boxers he wore. And those Skinner pulled down to his knees in short order. "NO! What are you DOING?" Mulder screamed, fighting to free himself from the hold the other man had on him. "Not in front of. . . you CAN'T—" "Oh, yes, I can, Agent Mulder." (SMACK!) "And I will." (SMACK! SMACK!) Mulder looked up frantically into the surprised and annoyingly satisfied faces of his partner, Special Agent Dana Scully and the three Lone Gunmen. He was mortified that Skinner would spank him in front of the others; this was never part of their 'deal.' His face had gone immediately hot and red from the humiliation, not unlike the condition his butt was rapidly turning under the deluge of smacks the AD rained down upon it. (SMACK! SMACK!) Skinner readjusted his hold on the squirming younger agent and continued to lecture him, sparing him no slack because of their audience. "You brought these people into this, Mulder," he said firmly. "You had them – and me!-- (SMACK!) running all over creation looking for you! (SMACK!) YOU ran off without telling your partner where you were going (SMACK!) or what the hell you were doing! (SMACK! SMACK!) YOU had the immensely bad judgment to get yourself lost and injured in the BERMUDA TRIANGLE for crissake! Mulder—" "Mulder?" Assistant Director Walter Skinner gently shook the younger agent. "Wha- what the fuck? What are you doing?" Mulder spat out, recoiling from the A.D.'s touch. "It's okay, Mulder, you're just having some kind of a nightmare. . . " Skinner reassured him. "And it must have been a doozy, you've got these sheets all tangled up—" "What?" Mulder looked around frantically; he was hyperventilating and disoriented from the strange and frightening dream. "Where-- I mean . . . Oh, God!" He , dropping his head back down onto the pillow and closing his eyes momentarily. "Shit! That was a dream?. . . That was a dream!" Skinner readjusted the blankets on top of the finally still young man and grasped his shoulder. "I just came to tell you I'm leaving for D.C., Mulder. You're gonna be here another day or so and Agent Scully's going to stay with you. . . . " He smiled wryly. "Unfortunately, 'the boys' are coming with me—" "The Gunmen are flying home with you, sir?" Mulder asked, incredulously. "Thanks to you, Agent Mulder," Skinner sighed, "I seem to have picked up an entourage. . . . Yet another reason I'm gonna kick your butt when you get home . . . !" He grinned when he said it but the younger agent didn't seem to notice. Mulder gave him a weak smile, shaken by the nightmare images Skinner's remark brought screeching back to his consciousness. He shivered at the recollection. "Well, listen Mulder, you take care of yourself, okay? Don't rush out of the hospital like you always do. I'm sure Assistant Director Kersh is gonna have a few choice words for you when you return. You might as well get up your strength first." Mulder nodded, not wanting to contemplate his meeting with his new AD either. He felt Skinner squeeze his shoulder one more time. "I'll see you when you get back to Washington, Mulder. We'll 'discuss' your little side-trip then, okay?" The Assistant Director opened the hospital room door and the three Lone Gunmen practically tumbled in. "I'll arrange for a cab, gentlemen. Be downstairs in 5 minutes or I'm leaving without you." "Mulder, you majorly screwed up with this one," Langly commented, sauntering up to the bed. "Yeah, that guy's a lot bigger, and a long stronger, than I remembered," Frohike added. "I wouldn't want to piss him off." "Well, he's not my boss anymore so . . . I'm not too worried about it," Mulder grumbled, trying to get them off this topic, quickly. His nerves were still jumping from the powerful realism of his dream and he wanted to put it behind him as soon as possible. "Mulder, we've seen you through some pretty weird stuff," Byers finally interjected, "but as the enigmatic Dr. Scully said, this one was 'incredibly stupid.' And I think you've reached the limit of Skinner's patience, no matter how well he's pretending to take this. We saw him in the middle of it and if you hadn't already been unconscious, well, let's just say he would have helped you get there. Maybe it's a good thing you've got a new boss. . . " "And speaking of limited patience," Frohike butted in. "That's four and a half minutes. I don't want the guy pissed off at me." With that, the little man scurried out of the room calling over his shoulder, "Take care of yourself, Mulder!" Byers and Langly each gave him a wave and hustled after Frohike. As the door closed, Mulder found himself fighting off the overwhelming bout of anxiety his nightmare had dredged up. And he knew for sure he had to take the bull by the horns and take charge of his own life, once and for all. The Assistant Director finished placing his coffee order and waited for Mulder to do the same. They'd spent a pleasant hour or so over dinner, talking about topics that ranged from the younger agent's encounter with Assistant Director Kersh the day before to the chance of the NBA settling its labor dispute before the entire season was washed out. Skinner thought Mulder seemed a little nervous, jumpy even, but he had let it ride. Mulder had actually called and initiated this dinner, suggesting the place and insisting the meal was on him. This was not their usual pattern and the AD was immensely curious about the real reason for the invitation. He let the conversation die, hoping Mulder would finally get to whatever it was. The younger man was stirring his coffee and staring into the dark liquid as though it might hold the secret of the universe. Skinner saw him swallow hard, once, then again. Finally he could stand it no longer. "Mulder--" "What?" The young agent's head snapped up. "Something's bothering you. . . . Why don't you just spit it out." Mulder dropped his head and chewed on his lip for a few seconds, trying to find the right way to say it. No right way came to mind so he just plunged in. "I . . . I wanted to tell you. Well, first I wanted to tell you how much I appreciate--, I mean, how much I really appreciate everything you've done for me, sir. I know . . . what a pain in the ass I am sometimes--" Skinner laughed. "Most of the time, Mulder. But don't think I keep a scorecard!" Mulder smiled a little now, too. Skinner was doing everything he could do to ease this conversation, the younger man could see that. And he didn't even know what the conversation was leading up to. "I just wanted to say that I've . . . learned a lot from you, sir. About responsibility. And about accepting the consequences of my actions. About trust and honesty." He heard his voice crack and forced himself to take a deep breath and continue. "I just wanted you to know that I got it, sir. And now I think I'm ready to . . . . be in charge of my own life again, I guess. I mean, you don't have to feel responsible for me any more. . . ." Skinner listened without reaction. His mind was racing with the possible alternative scenarios this might represent. He lifted his coffee cup and took a slow sip, trying to buy time while he turned this new twist over in his head. "What brings you to this conclusion, Mulder?" he asked, finally. "If this is about what the Bureau wants, well, they may have the right to decide who I work with. But they sure as hell don't decide who my friends are! I thought I made that clear to you--" "You did, sir! It's not that. I just think it's time I started to be responsible for myself again, sir. I'm not being noble. I just . . . It's time we got back to an adult to adult relationship. . . . ." "Do you think I treat you like a child, Mulder?" Mulder's face went pink and he continued to stare into his coffee cup. "Well . . . sometimes-- You know what I mean. . . . I know you don't exactly use the same disciplinary methods on your other agents and I think I'm ready to go back to being treated like an FBI agent. . . " He nodded his head, then finally made eye contact with the other man. "I can handle being in charge of myself now, sir." Skinner watched his narration carefully. This didn't feel right to him, but . . . he also didn't doubt for a minute that Mulder was being honest and forthcoming with him. He found himself torn between what his own instincts told him to say and what he knew the young man was hoping to hear. With a small sigh, he chose to go Mulder's way. "All right, Mulder. If you want to . . . end our deal, that's up to you. You're sure about this, are you?" Mulder stared at him for a moment, then firmly shook his head. "I'm sure." Skinner reached across the table and extended his hand. "If you think you're ready to 'solo,' that's okay with me." The two men shook hands and Mulder breathed a giant sigh of relief that made Skinner laugh again. "I bet that was tough to say, huh, Mulder?" "You'll never know how tough, sir!" He signaled the waiter and asked for the check, insisting once again that he was paying. Skinner finally surrendered on that point as well, sensing this gesture was of importance to Mulder. "Just one more thing, sir. Will you . . . tell your father? About the change in our deal?" Skinner found himself grinning from ear to ear. "No, Mulder, you're a big boy now. I'll let you do that for yourself!" He watched as Mulder's smile faded and he bit his lower lip. Skinner didn't envy Mulder that conversation one bit. "I'm sure you'll find a right way to do it, Mulder. When the time is right." The younger man finally gave him a half-smile. "Yeah. I'll just wait until it feels right." The two men walked out into the parking lot together, firming up their plans for the upcoming weekend. Skinner's two brothers were coming to town for a Redskins game and dinner, a thank you for their assistance a while earlier when Mulder had tried to drown his sorrows in beer, with help from the AD Rain started falling as they reached the section of the lot where they needed to part, with Mulder's car on one side of the building and Skinner's jeep on the street around the corner. Skinner extended his hand once again. "Mulder," he started, then stumbled a little with what he wanted to say. "Good luck, kid." Mulder took his hand once again and felt a huge weight of worry slip off his shoulders and into thin air. He headed for his car, and his future, with a renewed sense of confidence and control over his own destiny. The following Saturday morning was cold and rainy, a typical December day in Washington. Skinner's brother Andy had arrived the night before from Chicago. Joe was the coach of a college football team that had played the night before so he had driven down from Pennsylvania first thing in the morning. By 10 o'clock, Mulder had arrived at the A.D.'s apartment and the four of them had breakfast while they finalized their plans. Joe was a history professor at the college, ('that's my day job!'), and he planned to spend the afternoon at the national archives; Skinner had a case going to court the following week and he needed a few hours in the office to make certain everything was in order. It wasn't a case Mulder had been involved in but the younger agent knew it would be in order, Skinner didn't tolerate anything less. But he was also a perfectionist when it came to seeing cases from his division through prosecution. It was the reason his departments had the highest conviction rate in the Bureau. "You can ride into the district with me, Joe," Skinner told his brother as he used his last bite of toast to soak up the remaining egg yolk on the plate before popping it into his mouth. "Mulder, you and Andy will just have to find some way to amuse yourselves for a few hours. We've got dinner reservations at Canestelli's at 6 o'clock. You can meet us there." "Andy and I are going Christmas shopping," Mulder interjected. "We're hitting the mall. And personally, I can't wait . . . . I haven't had a chance to delve into any alternate realities lately . . . This oughta do it!" They all laughed, knowing exactly what he meant. By 11 o'clock, they'd gone their separate ways. Mulder and Andy did a little window shopping first, then settled on a jewelry store where Skinner's brother decided to purchase a necklace and earrings for his wife, Eileen. Mulder killed some time looking in the jewelry cases, pausing several times over the diamond solitaires but shaking his head when a sales clerk asked if she could show him something. "No, I-- I'm just waiting for my friend," he answered quickly, nodding his head in Andy's direction. Deciding it would be a good idea to move to another section, he found himself idly looking at bracelets until one popped out at him. It was silver, with tiny yellow gold X's over the slender silver band. He stared at it for a few minutes until the same sales clerk walked over and asked, again, if she could help him. "I'd like to see that," he answered, pointing to the bracelet. When she gave it to him, he held it as though it were fragile, then made an impulsive decision. "I'll take it," he said firmly. "Do you want to know how much it is?" the woman asked him, surprised. "Oh, yeah," he laughed. It turned out to be way more than he'd ever spent on a present for Scully, or anyone else, but it was perfect. "I'll take it," he said again. "Can you have it wrapped?" After making their purchases, Andy and Mulder pressed on, first to a toy store where they went a little crazy buying things Santa would bring to Andy's five year old son and three year old daughter. Then they headed into a department store, where they bought gifts for Andy's two brothers and his parents. Finally, they found themselves in the electronics department sometime around 3 o'clock. Andy was looking for a CD player for his niece Amanda and Mulder decided to take a rest. Finding a wall to lean against, he pulled a pack of sunflower seeds out of his jacket pocket and checked the bank of televisions, hoping for a sporting event or an old sci-fi movie. Failing on both counts, his focus settled on a couple of TV's that were turned to CNN. They were running something over a banner that said "Breaking News." "The helicopter, a Channel 8 news chopper, apparently crashed into the river after it nearly hit by something unidentified. Something witnesses describe as 'a huge bright light streaking across the sky.' One witness said it was like a scene from a science fiction movie--" Mulder's heart was racing as he listened to this report. The helicopter had gone down in an estuary of the Potomac River, just outside the town of Leesburgh, Virginia. It was just over an hour away-- "What's up, Mulder?" Andy called over. "You look like you're about to split a gut!" Mulder pulled his phone out of the other pocket in his leather jacket and pressed the memory button for Scully. "This just happened. I know this sounds crazy, but it looks like this helicopter was sideswiped by a UFO. I have to get Scully and--" "Scully's in Pennsylvania, Mulder. She and Mrs. Scully are spending the weekend at that outlet mega-mall with my Mom and Jean and Nora." "Oh, shit! I forgot about that," he fumed. "Well, I'll just have to go alone--" Andy gave him an incredulous look. "You're joking, right? You think I'm letting you strand me in a mall while you go looking for a UFO? Right. That'll happen. . . " He had already grabbed his bags and was heading for the escalator. "Are you with me, Mulder?" Mulder tried to dissuade him all the way to the parking lot, reminding Andy of what had happened the last time the two of them went chasing after a supposed UFO. They'd headed to the Eastern Shore of Maryland in a major snowstorm last winter and found nothing. All it had bought the two young men was a sound strapping from the Assistant Director when the State Police brought their sorry asses back. "What's your point, Mulder? I mean, if you're saying you're not going after this thing--" "I didn't say that," Mulder protested. "I just don't think you should go." "Drive, Mulder," Andy said, crossing his arms and giving the younger man a look that reminded the FBI agent of his older brother. Mulder stared at the dashboard clock for a moment as it clicked to 3:17. Every moment they lost put him further away from finding the truth. Sighing, he put the car in gear and tore out of the parking lot. Mulder flashed his badge at the Virginia State Troopers who were trying to keep people away from the crash site. The pilot and reporter had been removed, both injured but not badly. They'd been taken to the Leesburgh Medical Center. Mulder jumped out of the car and headed for the wreckage, looking for some hard evidence of whatever it had met up with. He was examining the helicopter while Andy began asking people questions about what they had seen. Both men had been accepted by the local police as part of the investigation once Mulder showed his FBI badge and ID. They all assumed Andy was his partner, apparently and the two men were able to move freely about the scene as a result. At one point a CNN cameraman and reporter had stopped Mulder and asked about the FBI's interest in this case. "The FBI doesn't generally investigate aviation accidents, does it, Mr. Mulder. Is it the UFO connection that brings you here? Does the FBI follow up on flying saucer sightings?" Mulder was startled that she knew his name and looked around to see which of the local cops had tipped the reporter off to his presence. Andy was standing behind him and she jammed the microphone into his face next. "And you are Agent. . . ?" "Uh, uh, Andrews," Andy responded automatically, not sure what revealing his lack of official status would do to their ability to stay at the scene. "We have no comment at this time," Mulder interjected, finally getting his voice back. "But this is an official FBI investigation? Will there be a press conference--" The two men hurried off without answering her. After they were out of earshot, Mulder grinned at Andy. "That was close! Let's not hang around for her to come looking for us. I want to interview the pilot and reporter anyway." At the Leesburgh Medical Center, however, they were refused admittance to the two Channel 8 employees and that got Mulder's curiosity turned up another notch. He decided to speak to the one man's wife, to see if she knew what had happened. And if she would get him in to see her husband. Beth Hanley was impressed with the fact that the FBI had come, "and so quickly" and she agreed to escort Mulder and Andy in to see her husband. But when they got there, two other men, in military uniforms, were with him. "These men are here from the FBI, John," she said to her husband. "They're investigating whatever it was that almost hit you." "Do you have ID?" one of the military types stepped in front of Mulder and Andy, blocking their view of John Hanley. Mulder pulled out his badge and held it up for the man to see. "Do you have ID?" he asked sarcastically in return. The other man ignored his request. "What is your business here, Agent Mulder?" he asked pointedly. "The FBI was not called in on this case--" "Oh, and how would you know that? What's your jurisdiction?" Mulder retorted instantly, his voice rising with every syllable. A nurse and a doctor sped in from the hallway. "What's going on here?" the Doctor asked angrily. "This man should not be having visitors, let alone a brawl in his room!" The military man and Mulder continued to square off for another few seconds. "I just wanted to ask Mr. Hanley some questions, Doctor," Mulder finally said, taking a step back. "It will only take a minute or two." "Well, you're all going to have to wait until we've finished treating Mr. Hanley," the physician said, exasperation underscoring his words. "This is not a three-ring circus!" Mulder and Andy were escorted out and told there was a designated waiting area. They watched the military types leave by another door and Andy offered to follow them. But Mulder's main interest at this point was in talking with the survivors of the crash and he decided they should go to the waiting room, hoping to try to sweet-talk Mrs. Hanley into letting him back in to see her husband. The 'designated waiting area' was full of press, though. TV cameras, radio reporters and print journalists and photographers were all waiting for a hint of real news on this story. When Andy and Mulder entered the room, the young men were the closest thing they had to a break and they encircled the two like sharks in a feeding frenzy. "What is the FBI's interest in this case?" "Agent Mulder! Agent Andrews!" the woman from CNN broke in. "What did you learn from interviewing the Channel 8 reporter and the pilot?" "Well, we haven't completed our interviews yet," Mulder said, trying to back away from the cameras and the microphones. "We have nothing to say yet--" "And what about you, Agent Andrews?" a pretty young woman with a microphone that read 'Channel 3' asked Andy. "Do you think this was an incident with an alien spacecraft of some kind? Should people in Virginia be worried about a possible invasion?" Andy's eyes widened; suddenly he understood the stunning implications of their showing up on television in this case and he wanted to get himself, and Mulder, out of there quickly. And erase every inch of tape with their faces on it. "We've . . . gotta go!" he said, pulling the other man along with him. Mulder had also processed the PR fiasco their foray into this investigation would likely cause, and he was nearly paralyzed with second guessing his decision to come to Leesburgh. When they were safely in the car, Mulder hit the automatic door locks and laid his head on the steering wheel. "Shit, shit, shit!" Andy looked at him, then slowly put his own head back on the headrest and stared at the ceiling of Mulder's car. "I couldn't agree with you more," he said grimly. At just before 6 p.m., Walter Skinner and his brother Joe sat down at the bar in Canastelli's and ordered a couple of beers. "I'm a little surprised Andy and Mulder aren't already here," the AD said looking around. "I really doubt Mulder has the patience to spend an entire day shopping. . . . And Andy's attention span's not much better!" He took a handful of peanuts from a bowl on the bar and scooped them into his mouth. Joe didn't reply and the bartender came back with their beers at that point. Skinner was a regular here and he and the bartender got into a conversation about the man's son, who was completing his education at the University of Virginia and hoped to enter the FBI Academy on his graduation the following summer. Joe listened with half an ear and focused the other half of his attention on a breaking story CNN was covering. . . . "Walter." Skinner gave him a quick glance, then continued his conversation with the bartender. "Walter," Joe said more insistently. "Just a sec--" "No, I think you're gonna want to see this now," Joe said, arching his eyebrows and gesturing toward the TV screen. Fox Mulder and Andy Skinner were inspecting the wreckage of a downed helicopter. "What the--" Skinner grimaced. "What the hell are they up to now?" He got the gist of the story quickly, the helicopter was forced out of the air after nearly being hit by a light streaking through the sky around mid-day. Witnesses thought it was a UFO 'Agent Mulder of the FBI was investigating' along with 'his partner, Agent Andrews' Skinner pulled his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and slammed his forefinger down on the memory button programmed with Mulder's cell phone number. It rang a half dozen times before a voice answered, somewhat tentatively. "Mulder." "Agent Mulder, what the hell are you doing?" Skinner roared. "Sir, I can explain--" "I seriously doubt that, Mulder," Skinner retorted. "Where are you?" "We're about halfway back from Leesburgh--" Then I'll see you and Andy back at my place in about 30 minutes. And drive carefully, Mulder. I don't want anyone hurt BEFORE I see you!" Skinner and Joe canceled their reservation and headed back to the A.D.'s Crystal City high-rise to await the arrival of the others. Joe picked up the remote and turned the TV on to CNN, which was showing yet another snippet of their 'interviews' with the two FBI Agents investigating the crash. He heard his brother exhale forcefully behind him. "Is this gonna bother you?" he asked. "'Cause if it is. . ." His older brother just shook his head angrily. Joe decided to try again to get him to calm him down a little. "Well we still gotta have dinner. After you deal with Andy and Mulder. Maybe there's a stand-up lunch counter around here somewhere. . . .!" Skinner finally gave him a wry smile. "Very funny," he replied, trying to ease the tension in his neck by rotating his head a couple of times. "Actually, only Andy has to worry about it. Mulder and I . . . have a new deal." "What do you mean?" Joe asked. "He decided he wanted to go back to being 'in charge' of himself, or something like that. He said he wanted to be treated like an adult--" Joe snorted and picked up his beer mug, saluting the other man. "Big brother, I hate to be the one to tell you this but, you've been conned!" "No, I think he was sincere, Joe. I may not have agreed with it but I don't think it was a ruse to get out of being punished--" "Right, Walter. I had the same discussion with Mike a while back, when he turned 16," he said, chuckling as he recounted a conversation with his son. "It was almost word for word the one I had with Dad years ago. The 'I'm too big to be spanked' speech!" The Assistant Director looked at his brother sharply. "No, that's not what he was saying, Joe--" "Uh-huh. He wants to be 'in charge of his own life.' The answer is, he's already in charge of his own behavior. You act like an adult, you get treated like an adult. You act like a stupid kid, you get treated like one." Joe shook his head and gave his brother a sympathetic smile. "You've been conned." Skinner was struck by the truth of Joe's philosophy; it was one he shared. But he still didn't believe Mulder had 'conned' him; he knew the younger man well enough to know he was not duplicitous by nature. And he trusted him enough to know he'd never bring that level of dishonesty between them. So, despite his growing regret over having agreed to Mulder's request, he knew he had no choice but to honor their new agreement . . . . Andy, however, was another story. The front door of the apartment opened and both Andy and Mulder stood in the door frame, looking sheepish and worried. "What the hell were you two thinking?" Skinner yelled as he approached them. They both backed up just a little at his angry approach. "We were just . . . Oh, hell! What does it matter?" Andy finally replied. "Just shoot me now!" Skinner turned to Mulder. He struggled to get a grip on his anger and forced himself to lower his voice. "Mulder, you're going to have to explain this to Assistant Director Kersh," he said. "I need to . . . 'talk' to Andy. We'll see you in the morning, okay? We have to leave for the game by 10 to beat the traffic. . . ." Mulder's head shot up in surprise, and Andy's snapped toward his brother, conveying his shock as well. Skinner laid a hand on Mulder's shoulder. "I wouldn't want to be in your shoes when Al Kersh gets wind of this, Mulder," he said. "I'm a little surprised he hasn't called you yet." Mulder finally found his tongue. "I don't think he'll call me over the weekend. He usually has his assistant call me and set up an appointment. . . " "Well, that'll give you the weekend to come up with a good explanation, then," Skinner said. "We'll see you in the morning, Mulder. Come by earlier for breakfast if you want." Mulder automatically began backing out of the apartment into the hallway, catching Andy's eye for a brief moment and seeing the shocked and curious look there. As Skinner closed the door, he saw the AD turn to his younger brother. "Now, Andy, let's you and I 'discuss' impersonating a federal agent. . . . " Skinner's phone rang at just past 1 a.m. He woke with a start and grabbed it before the second ring was finished. "Skinner," he said gruffly. "Sir?" a voice responded. "It's me." "Mulder. What's wrong?" Skinner asked him, coming fully awake. "Nothing. I . . . I just wanted to tell you I'm not gonna make it to the game tomorrow." Mulder's voice sounded strange, as though he had a cold and was congested. "Are you sick, Mulder?" "No. I just . . . I wouldn't feel right, under the circumstances--" Skinner reached for the light on the night table and turned it on, rising onto one elbow. "Mulder, listen to me. There's no reason why you shouldn't come--" "Andy probably hates me--" "No, he doesn't. Andy's fine. We sent Joe out for pizza and a couple of six-packs after . . . after our 'talk,' Mulder. He and Joe and I all want you to come to the game." "I just can't--" "Yes you can," the AD said gently. "If you're not here by 10 o'clock, we're gonna drive down to get you. And that will delay us an hour and put us in the worst game day traffic so . . . . if you don't want to ruin our day, you'll be here by 9:45, okay Mulder?" He said good night to his troublesome ex-agent and laid back, staring at the ceiling and wondering how in the world to correct the mistake he'd made in agreeing to Mulder's suggestion a few days earlier. Mulder did arrive at 9:50 and he took a serving of hot cakes from Joe but he barely made a dent in the stack. They made it to Jack Kent Cooke Stadium in good time thanks to an especially light game-day crowd. It was unseasonably cold for December, dipping into the low-teens and many people had elected to watch the game between the Redskins and the Giants from their warm dens, apparently. Skinner, Joe and Andy were dressed appropriately for the frigid conditions but Mulder had merely thrown his winter jacket over a shirt and jeans. He bought a Redskins sweatshirt to layer on under the jacket, grumbling about having to spend $50 on a sweatshirt that would probably fall apart in the first wash. But even with it, his teeth were chattering all day, despite a steady stream of coffees and hot chocolates the Skinner brothers kept buying him. At half-time, he and Andy headed inside to the concession stand for more coffee and some hot dogs. "This is what you get for not heeding the Walter Skinner 'Dress in Layers' lecture," Andy laughed at him. "Joe and I were betting about how many times he was gonna remind us all week. You know, it's like he thinks we can't dress ourselves! But now I'm kinda glad he told me to 'wear multiple thin layers and bring thermal underwear! And a hat and gloves' . . . !" Mulder gave him a weak smile but didn't answer. He hadn't gotten any nagging phone calls about how to dress for the game. He continued to rub his arms, hoping the friction would generate a little heat. He'd been trying to find an opening to talk to Andy about the night before and thought this might be it. "Andy, I just want to say I'm sorry about yesterday," he began. Andy laughed easily. "Yeah, I'm kinda sorry myself!" "No, I mean about you getting punished," Mulder said, dropping his voice and leaning in toward his companion. "I never thought . . . ." "Don't worry about it. Although, you will have to tell me how you managed to pull off getting out of it yourself!" Mulder was surprised Skinner had not filled Andy in already and he haltingly told the A.D.'s younger brother about the change in their deal. Andy whistled his appreciation and laughed again. "I can't believe Walter went along with that, Mulder. You must be a lot more persuasive than me or Joe!" Mulder still felt bad about the radically different outcomes they'd experienced for their bad judgment the day before though and he attempted to apologize again. "Don't worry about it, Mulder!" Andy assured him, laughing. "Growing up in my house, this wasn't exactly unusual. Whenever I got in trouble with a friend, I was always the one who got the worst punishment. My Dad was universally recognized as the strictest father in Danville! Although, in hindsight, I don't know if that's true. My Dad was tough, but it was always over fast. And then he made sure we knew it was over. With other kids, their fathers would sometimes hold a grudge, or not talk to them for days. . . . I actually think that's worse!" Mulder nodded, having experienced that kind of treatment for most of his life from his own father, the kind that lingered and festered. He knew he should be relieved that Andy was so quick to forgive and forget, like his Dad. And like his oldest brother. The game ended in record time. Apparently even the players wanted to get in out of the cold and the three Skinner brothers and Mulder decided to get a bite to eat near the stadium before Andy and Joe headed home. Andy had changed his flight to one from BWI because Joe had to pass the Baltimore airport on his way to home to Pennsylvania. They had taken two cars in anticipation of their planned routes home so Mulder and Skinner said good-bye to Andy and Joe in the restaurant after dinner and began the drive back to northern Virginia. At that hour on a Sunday, two hours after the game ended, it was a short trip and they mostly drove in silence, listening to the radio. They'd taken Skinner's jeep and when he parked, Skinner accompanied Mulder to his car because it was on the way to the building's main entrance. "I'm glad you decided to come, Mulder," he said quietly. Mulder nodded his agreement, although he hadn't actually felt all that comfortable the entire day. He'd found himself wondering what was wrong at different times throughout the afternoon but he couldn't pinpoint it. Except for the incident the day before, with Andy. And that he didn't want to dwell on. The silence between the two men was awkward and finally Skinner could stand it no longer. "It's getting even colder, Mulder. You better get home and try to warm up, before you catch pneumonia." He smiled as he extended his hand to Mulder. "Sorry! Don't mean to tell you what to do or anything! . . . Good night, Mulder." "Good night, sir," the younger man said quickly, returning the handshake and immediately opening his car door. Skinner was right, it was colder than it had been all day as he got in and he knew it would take about 20 minutes for the heat to get up to full blast, about as long as his drive home. Mulder found himself unable to decide what to do, wait for the heat to come up, or try to drive without it, despite the bone-numbing chill that was nearly overwhelming him. He slammed his hand on the steering wheel, hard. "Damn!" he said before realizing he'd hurt himself with the angry gesture. He grabbed his hand and tried to squeeze out the pain as tears ran down his checks. "Damn it," he whispered, annoyed and irritated at himself, and not really sure why he was suddenly depressed and fighting off tears. Stifling a sob, he rested his head on the steering wheel and tried to regain some measure of control. "Anything wrong, Mr. Skinner?" Carlos asked. The Assistant Director had entered the lobby, then paused to gaze back at the parking area. He'd been standing there for several minutes now and the night doorman finally decided to see if he needed help. "Hmm?" Skinner asked, startled. "Oh, Carlos, no. I'm just watching . . . for a friend. But thanks anyway." Skinner watched another full minute, waiting for the car's back-up lights to come on but they never did. He had noticed Mulder was distracted and not himself all day and he'd wanted to probe the situation. In fact, he'd had to fight his gut instincts several times to keep from prying into the reason for Mulder's aloofness. But now he was torn between honoring their new 'deal,' and hauling the younger man out of the car and up to his apartment to get him a warm drink and put him to bed. Finally, he sighed heavily and headed for the elevator. The next several days passed without the AD having any contact with Mulder. They'd passed in the hall once on Monday morning but, as per Bureau orders, they made no contact with each other. Mulder saw Skinner going into the conference room for his monthly department heads' meeting. The Assistant Director held them regularly and, though Mulder was technically a department head when he'd reported to him, the younger man rarely attended these meetings. Only when his former AD insisted, actually. But today as he passed Skinner and Ed Carney and several others heading into the conference room, he was a little envious, and saddened by the fact that, even if he wanted to attend, he couldn't. And he'd never be able to again most likely. On Skinner's part, his lack of contact with Mulder didn't keep him from thinking about the situation constantly, whether he wanted to or not. The young man was suddenly the object of many people's concern, it seems. First Rachel Skinner weighed in with a call to her son on Monday afternoon. "I'm worried about Fox," she said succinctly. "We haven't been hearing from him very often the last few weeks. He hasn't returned a call all week. And Joe said he wasn't quite himself over the weekend--" Although the Assistant Director recognized that his mother had probably badgered her middle son for some insight and Joe, trying to be diplomatic probably fell into the 'not quite himself' thing, it didn't keep him from having a passing desire to strangle Joe anyway. "Mom, Mulder's going through a rough time, you know that. He'll be okay." "Well, unless you've developed an ability to predict the future you never had before, Walter, you can't be certain of that," his mother had replied. "And I'm still going to worry, until I hear from him." Then on Tuesday, Special Agent Dana Scully accosted him in the parking lot on the way home. "Sir?" she called, quietly. "I need to speak to you." "Agent Scully, you know this is not a good idea-" he'd begun to caution her. "Sir, I wouldn't be taking a chance if I didn't think it was important," she'd replied indignantly. "I'm worried about Agent Mulder." "Scully, when are you not worried about Mulder?" "That's not fair, sir. He's been rather well-behaved over the long haul for years now," she returned. "But this is different. This is . . . . completely different." Skinner had felt a wave of fear pass through him at her words. Scully had seen Mulder through every strange and frightening thing he'd encountered in the past six years. What could be 'completely different?' and of such concern to her that she'd risk her career, and the A.D.'s, to contact him like this? He took only another second to make a decision. "There's a restaurant on "I" Street, the 'Russian Samovar," he said quietly, looking around the garage to be certain they were not seen. "Meet me there in 20 minutes." Skinner saw Scully at a table when he entered the restaurant. He was a long-time regular in the place but it was not on the 'A' list for government officials. It was a homey place run by Russian immigrants that served the kind of food Skinner had grown up on. He spoke momentarily to the owner, a man called Dmitri, then made his way over to Scully and sat down. "I didn't know you speak Russian," Scully asked him. "There are a lot of things you don't know about me," Skinner told her, giving the waiter an order for a honey vodka for himself and looking at Scully for her request. "That's sounds fine," she said, and Skinner told the waiter to bring two. "Now tell me why you're so concerned about Mulder, Agent Scully." "Well. . . . I know this won't seem so strange, at least not to most people. But you and I know him better than most people . . . " She paused while the waiter gave them their drinks and menus. Scully looked at Skinner and smiled. "I have no idea what to order here so . . . " He chuckled and gave the waiter an order for both of them, from memory. Then he handed both menus back to the older man and motioned for Scully to continue. "He's taken a leave, sir. He requested an indefinite leave from AD Kersh on Monday--" "Mulder has more banked vacation time than anyone in the Bureau, Scully," Skinner said. "That's hardly a sign he's in trouble. Actually, it's taken years to get him to actually make a request for vacation leave in advance of going--" "That's exactly my point, sir," she said, with a hint of desperation. "When he runs off after an X-file, he's so excited, he doesn't even think about the formalities. He didn't request leave to pursue the thing in the Bermuda Triangle. . . . And he hasn't gone on vacation. I don't know where he is, and he's not answering his phone or keeping in touch with me. All he did was copy me on the leave request . . . ." Skinner swallowed down the rest of his vodka and made eye contact with the owner. "Dmitri, another, please," he said. When he got it, he turned back to Scully. "I understand what you're saying, I do. But maybe he's just taking time off to come to terms with things. And maybe AD Kersh managed what I was never able to do, to get Mulder to follow at least some of the rules--" "No, sir!" she replied vehemently. "He wouldn't respond to anything Kersh wanted! The man rides in him a way that's. . . that's just plain intolerable.! He treats Mulder like . . . well, like he's a complete screw-up, like he's just taking up space at the Bureau and has nothing to offer--" Tears sprang to her eyes and Skinner reached out and grabbed one of her hands. "Dana, listen to me. I understand what you're saying. And I'm a little worried about what you've just told me, too. But maybe we need to trust Mulder to handle this . . . crisis his own way. He's a big boy--" "Sir, I know that. But I also know he's not himself right now. He's . . . struggling and not turning to any of us for help. And I'm scared to death of what he might do. . . " Her voice trailed off as she fought to keep from breaking into tears. "Okay, Scully. Let's just have dinner, okay? We'll have a good meal, you look like you could use one! And later, I'll drive by Mulder's and see if I can find him, okay? I can't promise I'll do anything, he's allowed to make his own decisions about his life, you know. But I'll try to find him and make sure he's okay, all right?" She flashed him a relieved smile and squeezed his hand to indicate her gratitude. They finished their dinner and went their separate ways, Scully home to Georgetown and Skinner to Mulder's place in Alexandria. He spent the driving time thinking about Scully and Mulder and he wondered if Mulder knew the depth of Scully's love for him. Skinner had long guessed Mulder loved his partner but he had never been able to pinpoint Scully's feelings, until tonight. Her unflagging support of Mulder, and her violent indignation at the way he was being treated, these were the reactions of a woman in love. And Skinner thought Mulder must not know; a man lucky enough to be loved that much by a woman like Scully would not let a little thing like a career set-back push him so far into the depths of despair. He let himself into Mulder's place with a key the younger agent had given him a year before. It was dark and empty and Skinner turned the lights on and sighed, trying to decide where to begin, and what he had been hoping to find. He went to the desk and found nothing out of order, or more accurately, everything in disarray but with Mulder, that was the order you'd expect. He leafed through several things and found nothing to give him a hint of where the young man might have gone. On the coffee table, there was a box, from a local jewelry store, and torn wrapping paper and ribbon. Mulder had obviously opened something, a gift from someone? Skinner picked it up and opened it himself. It was a bracelet, small and delicate, made of silver or platinum, with tiny gold "X's" spaced out across it. He knew immediately it was something Mulder must have bought for Scully. And then unwrapped himself. Why would he do that? He also found a pile of other things, on the floor next to the coffee table. A tie, something slightly less weird than Mulder's usual style, something that would look good with a blue or gray suit. When you looked closely, the pattern was actually tiny flying saucers. He smiled, knowing it was probably something the younger man had intended for Skinner. It had also been unwrapped. There was a history book about D-Day, the subject of his brother Joe's current research for a book he was planning. Mulder had obviously made a bigger dent in his Christmas shopping than the AD had to date. Skinner checked his closet and saw that most of the luggage was there. Wherever he'd gone, he hadn't taken much with him. With a growing sense of worry, Skinner locked Mulder's apartment back up and headed for home. "Mr. Skinner," his doorman greeted him as he entered his building. "You have visitors." Carlos crooked his head toward the seating area at the other end of the lobby. Skinner glanced in that direction-- and saw Mulder's three friends, collectively known as "The Lone Gunmen" rising and coming over to him. Sighing, he decided to meet them halfway. "What's up, gentlemen?" he asked. "Something's wrong with Mulder," Frohike told him authoritatively. "Is he sick? Or hurt?" Skinner asked quickly. "No, it's not that," Langly interrupted. "He's been acting real weird, man. Weirder than usual, way weird." Skinner felt the tension in his jaw increase for the third time that day. "Why don't you guys come up," he said finally. "And tell me what 'way weird' means." It turned out 'way weird' for Mulder was just what most people were most of the time. He was apparently indifferent to a potential X-file they'd sent his way, telling them he had more important things to worry about right now. And he'd been 'totally rude,' in Langly's words, despite the fact the three other men had helped save his life a couple of weeks earlier in the Bermuda Triangle. That concerned Skinner more than anything else. Mulder could be arrogant and even biting occasionally, but he was not a 'dog-kicker' and he always immediately felt bad about hurting someone, at least as soon as it was pointed out to him that he had done it. But in this case, Byers said, he just continued to be disparaging and dismissive, as though he were cutting his ties to the three of them for good. Skinner listened and thought back to the days when he'd have been glad to have Mulder break contact with the 'Three Stooges' as he'd thought of them. But he'd seen them pull Mulder's nuts out of the fire several times now and he'd developed a grudging respect for the three of them, if not their politics. "What do you think I can do about it?" Skinner finally asked them. "You're the only one with any real influence over Mulder," Frohike replied as though it were so obvious, his question was unnecessary. "Someone needs to pull that boy back into line, that's all there is to it." "He doesn't work for me anymore--" "Yeah, yeah, we know that," Langly replied quickly. "But that jerk Kersh certainly has no influence. And he doesn't exactly have Mulder's best interests at heart either! He couldn't convince Mulder to step away from a live grenade! Mulder says he's a senseless bureaucrat--" Skinner couldn't help but wonder what Mulder must have told these guys about him in the early days. And how much they obviously knew about the inner workings of the FBI. "I understand that," he said. "But I don't know what I can do here. Mulder is a grown man, he's entitled to make his own decisions about how to live his life, whether we agree with them or not--" They'd argued a few more minutes and finally Skinner agreed to keep pursuing Mulder, quietly and outside Bureau channels, just to get the three of them to go home and leave him in peace. They offered all their resources for the task and Skinner found himself thinking as he closed his apartment door behind them that they might actually have better and more reliable resources than the FBI, if Mulder's experience was any indication. He tried to stretch the tension out of his neck and back, then wearily headed off to bed. On Wednesday morning, he received yet another phone call about Fox Mulder, this one from an unexpected source. His assistant, Kim, buzzed him as he was reviewing reports for his weekly meeting with the Deputy Director. "Sir," she said, speaking in a tone barely more than a whisper. "I don't know if you want to take this or not. . . . It's Agent Mulder's mother, sir." He told her to put it through immediately. "Mrs. Mulder," he answered. "This is Assistant Director Skinner. Is anything wrong?" "Well, I don't really know," Teena Mulder answered him. "I've been trying to reach Fox and haven't been able to. And his office phone just goes to voice-mail. He. . . WE had an argument last week over the phone and, well, I'm worried, that's all. It's not like him not to call me back when we . . . end a conversation like that. Oh, I don't know, perhaps I shouldn't have called you. But Fox speaks so fondly of you--" "He . . . doesn't report to me any more, Mrs. Mulder," the Assistant Director said simply. "I don't know where he is right now." "I didn't know that! Fox never mentioned it. We don't speak that often, actually. . . . " Her voice faltered. "If you don't mind my asking, ma'am, what did you argue about?" "Well, I don't mind. It's just that I'm not sure, really. He was asking me some questions about his father. And he started to sound like he was criticizing Bill, and me! For the way he was raised. Actually, he was more than critical, he was being . . . . rude and unnecessarily cruel. I guess I just got defensive, Mr. Skinner. You know, we did the best we could, his father and I . . . . When we got married, I don't think either of us had a clue how . . . complicated and . . . . strange our lives would be. . . ." Her voice trailed off into a whisper. "No one could have known. . . ." Skinner sensed the pain and fear that must have motivated this phone call. He'd always found Mulder's mother to be aloof and uncaring when it came to her son. Perhaps she, like her son, erected the walls for protection after all. "Mrs. Mulder, I can't promise anything but-- I will try to find him. And I'll try to get him to give you a call." "I'd appreciate that," Teena Mulder said, her voice reviving. "And if you can't get him to call, well, will you just call me and let me know he's all right?" Skinner sensed there was a lifetime of missing phone calls and angry silence between Mulder and this woman, just as he suspected there'd been with Mulder's father. He promised her he would be in touch with her, one way or another. He made it through his schedule on Wednesday on automatic pilot, slipping out of the building once to call the Lone Gunmen and ask them to try to get Mulder's cell phone records for the past week or so and to track his credit card and ATM usage. Then he called Scully from the same pay phone and asked her to access Mulder's e-mail. Somewhere there must be a clue to where he was, and what he was doing. By day's end, though, there was no further information of use. Mulder had not been using his cell phone and Scully said he had "a ton of e-mail, none of which has even been opened in the past two or three weeks." And everything before that was either from the Gunmen, Scully or Bureau correspondence. As he was packing up to go home, he was approached by yet another person worried about Agent Mulder, this one as unexpected as the call from Teena Mulder. "Walter?" Jana Cassidy queried, sticking her head into his office. "Do you have a moment?" "Come on in, Jana," he answered, gesturing toward a guest chair and reseating himself in his desk chair once she took one. "What can I do for you?" "I wanted to see if you have any idea what's going on with Agent Mulder," she said quietly. "He requested an indefinite leave, apparently . . . . " Skinner was taken aback by her question, and immediately began weighing the likelihood that she was fishing for some proof that he and Mulder and Scully had continued to have contact, despite orders to the contrary. But Skinner knew Cassidy a long time, and his gut told him she would not be used to set him up, no matter where the orders came from. Still, he decided to play it close to the vest. "Agent Mulder doesn't report to me anymore, Jana," he answered. "Perhaps Al Kersh--" "Walter, when it comes to Mulder, Kersh hasn't got a clue, and he never will. He's someone's front, I just don't know who. And the idea of giving him Mulder, I don't know where that came from. But it's like giving a Stradivarius to someone who's tone deaf. They can pluck the strings, but they'll never make music. " Skinner was startled by the vehemence of her response, and the substance as well. He immediately recognized that this conversation needed to be taken outside the Hoover building and he suggested as much, telling Jana to meet him at the Ambassador Grill in 15 minutes. She was there and they spent no time on pleasantries. "Why are you, of all people, interested in Mulder's welfare, Jana?" he asked her pointedly. "Walter, I may have a problem with Mulder's style, and his disregard of Bureau policies and rules. But I also recognize that what you told me is true, he's a gifted investigator, being wasted on scut work. And that can't be good for the Bureau, period." "But it was an OPR Board that reassigned him--" "And I was mysteriously called out of town just before that Board was assembled," Jana complained. "I heard about it after the fact. That makes me wonder, too, Walter." Skinner was surprised to hear this, although he had noted that Jana was not on the Review Board when the question of Mulder and Scully's reassignment was suddenly pushed to the front of the queue. And when he was told to cease all contact with the two of them. He listened to Jana's perspective and catalogued it for future reference. Skinner finally made it home with a monstrous headache, and headed straight for the medicine cabinet - and a handful of aspirin. Shaking three out into his hand, he turned on the water and filled a glass. As he popped the tablets into his mouth, he found himself idly wondering what county would be heard from next just as his phone rang. Thinking it might be Mulder, he strode quickly into the other room and reached for the portable. "Hello?" "Walter, what the hell's going on with Fox?" Skinner recalled his thoughts a moment earlier. "Hi, Dad." "Don't 'Hi Dad' me, Walter. Your mother's very upset and frankly so am I. Joe told me about this nonsense, you telling Fox he could go off on his own--" "That's not exactly how it went, Dad--" "Andy told me Fox told him a similar story. Where did you get the idea being part of a family is something you just turn on and turn off, at will? Certainly not from me!" his father said angrily. "You have a responsibility for that young man that doesn't end just because he decides 'it's time!' If that's how it worked, I would have been able to walk away from my responsibility to you boys years ago!" "Dad, will you just listen for a second? That's not exactly what happened. Mulder just decided he . . . needed to be responsible for himself. I couldn't argue with that--" "Oh, that's ridiculous. I certainly argued the point with you and your brothers a few times over the years, Walter. I have just one question. If Joe or Andy had hit you with the same proposal, would you have agreed?" Skinner was struck by the wisdom of his father's words and he found himself speechless. "I asked you a question, Walter--" "Yes, sir. I mean, no sir, I would not have agreed--" "Ah ha! I rest my case then, son." "But Dad, there is a difference. Fox. . . I mean, Mulder, CHOSE this deal. He wasn't born into it. And if I keep hauling him back in every time he steps out of line, without his . . . personal buy-in, I'm just afraid it will never effect any real change in his behavior, Dad. I don't know if I'm explaining it right but. . . I think he has to choose to come back. I know everyone else seems to agree with you but . . . I know I'm right about this--" There was silence on the other end of the line for a good ten seconds. The older man sighed audibly. "All right then, son. I trust your judgment. And I pray you are right." "Thanks, Dad," Skinner said, fighting off a wave of second thoughts. "I love you." "I love you, Walter. And I love Fox, too. Bring him home soon." They disconnected, with Skinner staring at the phone for another few seconds. "I'll try, Dad. I'll try." Thursday came and went, with an additional phone call from Andy and another from his mother but Skinner still had no idea how to track down Mulder. He called the Lone Gunmen in the afternoon from his cell phone and they could tell him that Mulder had gone to Martha's Vineyard; he apparently used his credit card for a ferry ride over, and then another return trip several hours later. He used an ATM machine in Rhode Island the next day but he hadn't checked into a hotel at any point. Skinner suspected he might have gone to visit his mother in Connecticut but when he called Teena Mulder she immediately asked him if he'd heard from Fox, so he scuttled that avenue of inquiry. Scully called him in his car on the way home to report that all her leads had come up dry as well. "I'm getting more worried all the time, sir," she said needlessly. "He's been depressed off and on for months, with everything going on. And after the Triangle thing, he just wasn't himself. First he was saying things that didn't make sense, then he was suddenly pissed off and angry at everything. . . ." The Assistant Director had tried once more to reassure her, but he himself was becoming fearful. He went to bed that night with another patented Mulder headache and slept fitfully until almost 4 a.m. Rrriiiiinnnnggg! Skinner came to full alert status immediately, grabbing the phone from its place on the nightstand. "Hello." He was met with silence, except for some background street noise and light breathing. "Hello. Who is it?" "Sir?" a tentative voice responded. "Mulder! Where are you?" "I. . . " he drew in a ragged breath. "Are you all right, Mulder?" the Assistant Director said quietly, moving into a sitting position on the side of the bed. "Yeah. I'm okay," he responded slowly. His voice was heavy with emotion and exhaustion. "I just w-want to know if . . . " A long moment of silence followed. "You want to know what?" Skinner probed, as gently as he could. He was afraid the younger man would just hang up and from the sound of his voice, this might be the only chance he had to reach him. "I w-want to know if . . . " his voice trailed off into a stifled sob. "Mulder, where are you? I'm coming to get you," the Assistant Director said forcefully, rising and grabbing a pair of sweat pants off the chair he'd thrown them on earlier. "Just tell me where you are—" " . . . in your parking lot." "You're downstairs? You've been traveling for four days and you got as far as my parking lot, Mulder?" The AD suddenly realized that might sound critical, or angry. "Don't worry about it, Mulder. I'm coming down—" "I can come up, sir," he answered, his voice a little stronger. "I'll meet you at the elevator." Skinner pulled on his sweats and waited at his apartment door, watching for the elevator door to open. When it did, its sole occupant looked like he'd been through the proverbial wringer. Gaunt and exhausted, his unshaved face looked haunted, like he'd been out of touch with his physical self for some time. Skinner waited for him to approach, then stepped aside as he came to the door, allowing him room to enter. Closing the door behind them, Skinner leaned against it and waited. Mulder looked at his feet, at the wall beside Skinner, at his hands and at the ceiling. The only place he didn't look was directly at the AD His fear was palpable and Skinner found himself overwhelmed by a desire to hug him, or shake him until his teeth rattled. But he struggled against all his instincts and waited for Mulder to make the first move. The young man finally looked up directly at Skinner, making eye contact for the first time. Silent tears ran down his cheeks and he made no attempt to wipe them away, as if unaware of their presence. "I know I fucked it up," he began. "There's no reason why you should want me back. . . I know that. But I've been everywhere in the last few days. The Vineyard. Rhode Island. Danville. I went to Greenwich but I couldn't make myself go up to my Mother's front door. I even went to Scully's place but . . . I couldn't just show up like this. I wouldn't want her to see—" He sobbed mournfully, and looked down at the floor. "What do you want, Mulder?" Skinner finally asked him, hoping he would hear something that would let him help the young man out of his misery. Mulder swallowed hard and fought off the terrifying thought that he'd made a mistake, that Skinner was not willing to take him back. He found himself unable to speak, he was so afraid that anything he said would tip the balance away from what he hoped for. "Mulder, just say it . . . ." Skinner offered him a verbal hand, trying to lead him just a little. He seemed so lost and unable to decide what to say next. Finally, Mulder nodded and stopped fighting the storm of emotion that he'd been keeping at bay. His body shook visibly and he sobbed out loud. "Can I come back?" he whispered. "Please? . . . I just want to come home—" His words were muffled now by the A.D.'s wide shoulder and Mulder instinctively buried his head in the other man's fierce embrace. Skinner enveloped him as he continued to speak, almost to himself. "I just want to . . . come home, sir. I'm sorry. I just want to come home now. . . ." Skinner continued to hold onto him, until his muttering stopped and he had control of his emotions, at least a little. He rubbed the back of his head gently, letting him come out of it at his own pace. When the younger man seemed calm, Skinner went into full AD mode. "I want you to go get ready for bed, Mulder," he told the younger man. "I'm gonna make you something to eat-- Don't argue with me." he added before the younger man could even make an attempt. "Just go!" He made a grilled cheese sandwich and a cup of hot cocoa and brought them into the spare bedroom. Mulder had changed into sweats and a tee shirt and he was just sitting on the side of the bed, staring at his own feet. Skinner stood over him as he swallowed the sandwich in a couple of bites and downed the mug of cocoa. Then he pulled back the covers and watched the young man slide under and into an instant sleep. Sighing, he realized he needed to call Scully, no matter what the time and let her know Mulder was safe and sound. And in a little while his parents would be up and he could call them. And Teena Mulder. Sighing again, Skinner realized he'd had as much of a night's sleep as he was getting tonight. Taking one more look at the slumbering younger agent, he smiled and thought he'd lost sleep over less important things in his life. Mulder slept until mid-afternoon, then woke to find a note from Skinner telling him to 'stay put.' He hadn't slept in several days so he got up and had something to eat, then laid down on the couch with the TV on and fell asleep again for a few hours. He woke in time for the evening news, which was followed by the arrival of the AD with a pizza. They adjoined to the kitchen and made small talk over a couple of slices and cokes. But finally, Skinner spoke about the issue that was weighing on both their minds. "Mulder, last night you said you wanted to 'come home,' that you wanted to come back. I hope you know everything that comes with that." The younger man nodded solemnly. "It means the deal's back on, is that what you mean?" Skinner watched him appraisingly. "That's what it means. . . But I know you're . . . struggling with feeling out of control, right Mulder? You want to be 'in charge'. . . ." He reached behind him and pulled q pencil a kitchen drawer, removing a pad and a pencil. "I think I've got a remedy for that--" Mulder watched the other man warily. He'd spent time with that pad once before, having to come up with 57 things he could do with his spare time at work. Skinner ignored the anxious look on his face and continued. "I want you to list all the things you should be punished for here in the first column," he said, drawing a vertical line about a third of the way across the page. "Then in the second column, I want you to tell me what you should be punished with." He draw a second line about two-thirds of the way across the page. "And in the last column, you tell me how many strokes--" "Wait a minute--" Mulder began to protest, appalled that Skinner was dumping these decisions in his lap. "I don't want--" "What? You don't want to be in charge, Mulder? I know you do, you told me so yourself." He stood and pushed the pad and pencil in front of the younger man. "I have some work to do. I'll be in the living room, whenever you're finished. Then we'll get it over with. I know you hate to delay punishment so. . . . Remember, you're in charge now." Mulder watched the older man leave the kitchen then he looked down at the blank piece of paper before him. He sat there for 15 minutes before finally deciding the best course of action was probably to just go along. He knew Skinner knew about the Triangle thing; he'd list that. "1. Went off to Bermuda Triangle without back-up or permission." But he was unable to even begin to recommend what punishment he deserved for that, so he opted to list all the things first, then circle back to the punishment phase. "2. Worried Scully and Skinner for the past few days by going off and not telling them where I was going, etc." He got up and went into the living room with the pad. "I just want to make sure I've got this," he said evenly, handing the pad to the Assistant Director. "Is this what you want?" Skinner recognized this game and he had to fight hard not to smile. "Yeah, that's a good start, Mulder," he replied, handing the pad back. "But don't forget to tell me what punishment you deserve for each of those things." Mulder sighed and headed back into the kitchen. He'd hoped Skinner would just pick it up from there but . . . . "Oh, and Mulder," Skinner called after him. "Don't forget stuff like not calling my parents back. That was unacceptable. And being rude and condescending to the Lone Gunmen. . . . and not calling your mother back after being disrespectful and cruel to her on the phone. . . . " Mulder nearly dropped in his tracks. He threw himself in a chair in the kitchen and laid his head down on the pad, staying that way for a good ten minutes until the AD came in for a cup of coffee. Mulder picked the pencil up and pretended to be writing something, covering the page with his hand so Skinner wouldn't be tempted to look over his shoulder. "Don't worry, Mulder. I can wait as long as you can," the other man told him as he exited the kitchen. "You're in charge." He sighed theatrically and turned back to the pad of paper in front of him, listing the other offenses the AD obviously knew about. Then he started to get serious, trying to decide what Skinner would want him to list in the other columns. He knew the Triangle thing was the kind of misstep that always earned him a strapping so . . . . He wrote the word 'belt' in the second column next to item 1 and '10' in the third. Then he thought about what might happen if the AD thought he was too soft on himself and erased the '10' and replaced it with '20.' Trying to put himself in Skinner's head, he sighed heavily, then erased that and wrote '30.' Feeling a sense of accomplishment mixed with dread of the pending event, he moved on to the second item. Worrying Skinner and Scully, not calling them to let them know he was all right or where he was. This was the kind of thing the older man hated, Mulder knew. But it was also not an act of disobedience, or dishonesty so he didn't think it would earn him as much punishment as the first offense. And glancing at the rest of the list, he knew he was in for a tough evening, either way. Opting to try something that would be a little easier on his butt, he wrote 'corner' in the second column and '30 minutes' in the third. Moving on to the third offense, not calling the Skinners back when they left multiple messages for him, at home and at work. He knew they must be angry at him; that was disrespectful and intolerable. And they must have given their son an earful. Mulder understood how the Assistant Director was fully apprised of that aspect of his behavior over the past week or so. His head ached with remorse, and guilt, and anxiety over that and the punishment he deserved for treating those good people so badly. With a firm hand, he wrote 'hairbrush' in column two and '30' in column three. He hated the hairbrush and he knew Skinner knew it. Moving on, he got to number 4, treating the Gunmen badly. Truth be told, he did feel bad about how he'd acted with them recently, it had been unacceptable. But he never expected to be punished for it. He thought eventually the guys would just forget and they'd all go back to the way it was before. Just like always. . . . Sighing again, he wrote 'ruler' in column two next to that offense. Then he struggled for a minute over how many smacks to give himself; after all, there were three of them. Skinner could possibly think he deserved to be punished separately for being mean to each of the guys and triple whatever he wrote. Smiling crookedly, he wrote "3 x 10 = 30' in the third column. But this one was perhaps the most difficult of all. Mulder shook his head, unable to make the connections in his mind that would put the Assistant Director and his mother together, in any reality, alternate or not! Finally deciding he'd never puzzle it out, he turned back to the task at hand. What would Skinner think he deserved for the way he'd spoke to his mother? Sighing, he immediately rephrased the question. He was embarrassed just remembering the argument they'd had, and how unforgiving and hypercritical he'd been of her and his father. How he'd compared them unfavorably to the Skinners. . . . And blamed them for the mess he'd made of his life. His face burning with shame at his childish and immature conduct, and the disrespectful language he'd used, Mulder picked up the pencil and wrote "Spanking" in the middle column and '30' in the last one. He hoped the AD would recognize that recommendation as an admission that he'd acted like a spoiled brat. Skinner had told him once before that's how his father 'dealt with spoiled brats' and he meant this one as a signal that he truly recognized that he'd been acting the part. Then he thought once more about the way he'd spoken to his mother and realized the other man would want that dealt with separately. Below the word 'spanking' he wrote 'mouthwashing' and put the number '1' in the third column. Now Mulder had a decision to make. This was everything the Assistant Director mentioned to him earlier. But there was one more thing. If he left it off and Skinner knew about it, he'd be in deep shit. That would be dishonesty on top of the bad judgment the last offense demonstrated. Weighing the likelihood that the other man knew, he began to develop a headache on top of the anxiety sitting like a stone in the pit of his stomach. Finally, he made his decision, coming down on the side of honesty, knowing it would really give him a fresh start with the AD, and wanting that more than the chance to avoid additional punishment. He wrote the number '6' and followed it with the words 'Got speeding ticket in Pennsylvania.' Then he wrote 'belt' in the second column and hesitated for just a moment before writing the number '20' in the last column. Mulder swallowed hard, looking at the page in front of him. This would be one of the worst punishments Skinner had ever given him and part of him wanted to tear the page up into a million pieces and flee the man's apartment, never to return. But he'd been in that place for the past few days, alone and lonely. And he knew for sure that was worse than facing up to the punishment he deserved, and the man who'd deliver it. Because after it was over, he wouldn't feel unloved or alone in the world. That experience over the past few days had been worse than anything the Assistant Director could do to him. Nodding his head, answering his internal question about what to do next, he rose and took the piece of paper into the next room. Skinner was sitting on the couch in the living room, balancing a file on his legs. He looked up at Mulder's approach, immediately putting his paperwork aside. "Are you ready?" Mulder nodded again, this time a tad more apprehensively than when he was alone in the kitchen. He handed over the paper and stood there, waiting. Skinner reviewed it quickly and was stunned by how hard the younger man had been on himself. Not wanting to let on that he didn't know about the speeding, he asked in his most intimidating tone. "And how fast were you going when you were caught speeding, Agent Mulder? You failed to note that--" Mulder swallowed hard. "Um. . . 95, sir," he replied tentatively. Skinner nodded and recognized that, given that tid-bit of information, he agreed with the 20 licks of the belt the younger man had dealt himself. Skinner rose and spoke. "Go get the hairbrush and the ruler, Mulder. You know where they are." He removed his belt as Mulder solemnly went off to comply. When the younger man returned, Skinner continued. "We'll take these in order, Agent Mulder. That way we don't lose track." He also knew that would let him space out some of the harsher measures the younger man had listed and that was a good thing. "Jeans down and over the chair. You know how it goes." Mulder unbuttoned his jeans as he stepped to the back of the brown leather chair he'd come to know so well. Pushing them down, along with the long-legged cotton briefs he always wore, he bent forward and felt the A.D.'s hand push him down and hold him firmly. "What's this strapping for, Agent Mulder?" Skinner asked him as he delivered the first lick, right across the sit spot. "Owwww! For going off alone to the Bermuda Triangle, sir! Aaaahhh! Ouccchhhh! And for not telling anyone! Ahhhh! Ohhhhh! Owwwww!" He tried valiantly not to cry, not wanting to give in to the tears so early in the process. But by the twenty-fifth stroke, he was already sobbing. At thirty, he was crying uncontrollably. Skinner had not held back on a single lick and Mulder's backside was hot and throbbing painfully. Skinner was having a similar internal dialogue. He glanced at the list on the table where he'd left it and noted that the next punishment Mulder had assigned himself was 30 minutes in the corner. Still wondering where that had come from, the AD decided it was a godsend anyway because the sobbing young agent needed time to recover before they proceeded. He helped Mulder up from the chair and propelled him into the corner behind the chair. "Stay there," he told him and strode off to his kitchen. He returned a moment later with a kitchen timer he'd owned for years and never used before. Setting it for 30 minutes, he asked the young man what he was being punished for now. Hearing the answer he wanted, he told Mulder not to move until he heard the timer ring. Then the older man settled himself back on the couch and returned to the file he'd put aside earlier. Struggling to keep his concentration on the work, he glanced once again at the list and found himself wondering if either of them would make it through. Ding! Mulder's head popped up in surprise when the time rang a half hour later. He'd been standing there thinking about nothing for the last 20 minutes or so, he realized, trying not to think at all about his sore hind quarters and the punishment still to come. Now, though, he had to face the consequence of more bad behavior, ignoring Mr. and Mrs. Skinner's phone calls. He waited in the corner, for Skinner to call him. "Mulder," the AD said finally. "Come here." He'd brought a chair from the dining area to the center of the living room. Seating himself, Skinner pointed at the floor beside him to indicate where he wanted the younger man. Mulder saw he had the hairbrush in his right hand. Sighing resignedly, he walked over to the chair and knelt beside it, allowing Skinner to pull him over his knees. "What's this spanking for, Agent Mulder?" "For not returning your parent's phone calls (SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!) "And why is that unacceptable, Mulder?" the AD asked him as he hit his backside three more times (SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!) "Because it's disrespectful! (SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!) And rude!" The younger man was squirming and sobbing again, and Skinner found himself pulling back just a little as he continued toward the thirty smacks the young man had suggested. Once again, the Assistant Director felt Mulder had been harder on himself than his boss would have been. At thirty, Skinner dropped the hairbrush onto the floor beside him and let Mulder calm down for a moment before gently sliding him off the older man's lap and onto the floor. Crying mournfully, he rested his head on the A.D.'s right leg and sobbed out an apology. "I'm sorry, sir," he said, "I'm really sorry. I would never w-want your p-parents to think I don't r-respect them. Or that I d-don't . . . love them." His voice trailed off into fresh tears. Skinner rubbed the back of his head gently, letting him get it out. "I know that, Mulder," he said quietly. "And they do too. But you can't forget that . . . having people care about you brings some responsibilities. They're there, when you want them and they're there when you don't. That's the 'double-edged sword' of being part of a family, kid." Mulder nodded his head into the side of Skinner's leg. "I know that n-now," he whispered. "Good. Then let's move on, Mulder. Let's talk about friends, now. How you treat friends is important, too. Especially friends who lay it on the line for you. God help me, I never thought I'd say this, but the Lone Gunmen are the best kind of friends, Mulder. They support you, and take you seriously even when others don't. And they know when to call in the cavalry. . . . something they have to do frequently in your case! How could you treat them the way you did?" "I was just . . . angry and frustrated. With everything. But mostly with myself. And. . . I don't know, it was just so . . . easy to take it out on them, I guess," he answered, not sparing himself any slack. He had been rude, and arrogant. And unnecessarily condescending with the guys. "Hand me the ruler, Agent Mulder," Skinner told him, pulling him from his foray into self-criticism. Mulder tried not to think ahead any further than that request. Reaching over to the coffee table, he picked up the ruler and gave it over to the AD Sighing heavily, he positioned himself back over the other man's knees and felt Skinner pull him forward just a little further, to get a better striking position, the younger man thought. "Owww! Ahhh! Ouccchhhh! "What's this punishment for, Agent Mulder." "Ouccchhh! Unnnhhhh! For being rude to the Lone Gunmen, sir! Ahhhh! Ohhhhh! For treating them like dirt . . . ! Owwww!" The ruler smacked the fleshiest part of his bottom about half the time, with the other 15 smacks alternating between his thighs and the spot where they met his cheeks. The AD wanted to give him what he'd recommended, but he also felt this penalty was too severe and he wanted to get through it and move on to what the older man felt were the more important offenses. He found himself counting out loud. "Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!" Mulder was sobbing uncontrollably and Skinner reached up and ran his left hand through the younger man's sweaty hair, trying to pull him out of his misery. "It's okay, Mulder," he said gently. "We're more than halfway through now." He let the remorseful young agent regain some control, then helped him slide off the A.D.'s knees and back onto his haunches. Once again, Mulder rested his head on Skinner's right knee and sobbed pitifully. His tears had soaked through the denim material of Skinner's jeans and the Assistant Director recognized Mulder needed another short break. He reached over his head and picked up the list from the coffee table. "I'm gonna go a little out of order now, Mulder," he said quietly. "Let's talk about the way you spoke to your mother. This is important and I want to make sure you understand why this one's so unacceptable." The younger man nodded his head and sobbed once again. "I . . . I know, sir. And I don't have any excuse. I guess . . . I was just angry-" He broke off and buried his face in Skinner's right thigh again. "And there are better ways to deal with your anger, Mulder," Skinner said quietly, rubbing his back. "You're all the family she has left now. And someday, she'll be gone and if you don't change some things, you're gonna inherit a ton of regrets. . . . And more guilt is the last thing you need, kid." He waited another moment, then grabbed Mulder under one arm and helped him to his feet. Shifting into 'command tone,' he instructed the younger man about how they would deal with the way he spoke to his mother. "I don't have any of that liquid soap, Mulder so we'll have to make do with the old-fashioned kind." "I don't have any of that stuff any more either," Mulder told him, very seriously, and the AD had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from laughing. Propelling him into the hall bathroom, the AD quickly wet a large bar of Ivory, then turned to his most troublesome charge. "Open," he told him in a his most no nonsense tone of voice. Mulder sighed and opened wide and the soap was promptly shoved in and scraped on his teeth. "I want you to remember this the next time you're tempted to speak to your mother, or anyone else!, in a manner that's disrespectful or hurtful, Mulder. You slip into that too easily, son," he told him firmly. "And it's just not going to be tolerated, do you understand me?" With that, he removed the soap and looked straight into Mulder's tear-filled, hazel eyes. "Yes, sir," he said, his voice betraying his embarrassment at the state he found himself in. "I understand you, sir." "Good," Skinner told him, dropping the soap back into its dish. He quickly considered who might be in his bathroom in the next few days and require an explanation of the obvious teeth marks on the bar and picked it up again and tossed it in the trash. "Let keep going, Mulder," he said, watching as the humbled younger man made his way back into the living room for his spanking. Skinner knew the small break had been humiliating and effective, but it had also given Mulder a chance to recover for the last two punishments. He found himself wondering whether Mulder had figured all this out ahead of time. . . . Back in the living room, Mulder stood next to the chair as Skinner took another look at his list. "Just want to make certain we're on track, Mulder," he said quietly before reseating himself in the chair. He gave the younger man a sympathetic smile, then crooked his little finger to indicate it was time to get himself back in position. Mulder knelt and leaned forward over the other man's long legs and Skinner pulled him further over, getting him correctly balanced. "What is this spanking for, Agent Mulder?" he asked as he issued a stinging slap to the younger man's already tender bottom. "For mouthing off to my Mom!" he gasped as the fist smack landed. "I- I- I'll never do it again!" The Assistant Director kept up a steady rhythm, his large hand covering all of the sorry young agent's backside several times over with the thirty smacks Mulder had assigned himself for this infraction. Skinner knew how much Mulder hated the old-fashioned, over-the-knee spanking and the AD only used it when an object lesson was needed as well as punishment. He'd been shocked when Mulder had included it in today's punishment. He heard the younger man sobbing disconsolately and recognized this was a cathartic event for him, in a way. He started out a couple of weeks ago wanting to be treated like an adult; now he'd come around to the Skinner way of thinking. You get treated like a grown-up when you act like one. When you act like a spoiled kid, well. . . . ! Skinner gave him the twenty-ninth, hard smack and paused. "Are you clear on how I feel about disrespect, Mulder?" "Yes! Y-yes, sir! I'm very clear about it!" "And what are you going to do the next time you're tempted to sass your mother back, Mulder?" he asked him as the thirtieth smack landed right on the sit-spot. "I'll - I'll remember this spanking, sir!" he gasped out, reaching for the floor to steady himself. "Good answer, Mulder," the AD told him, allowing him a moment to recover his equilibrium, both physical and emotional. Then Skinner slid him off his knees and rose, stretching out the kinks in his back for a minute. Both men could see the finish line now and each thought he was the one most anxious to get there. Skinner reached down and tousled Mulder's hair. "Are you okay to continue, Mulder? We're almost done." The young agent nodded his head tentatively, then looked into the A.D.'s eyes and nodded again, this time with conviction. "I'm ready." Skinner picked his belt up from where he'd lain it on the coffee table and watched Mulder head toward the back of the leather chair. Following him closely, he squeezed his arm once before helping him into position over the chairback. "I can't believe we're dealing with reckless driving again, Mulder, after the near miss you had in New Jersey last year," he said. "And 95 miles an hour! You could have ended up in jail! Or dead! And you could have taken a lot of other people with you. . . " He raised the belt and brought it down on the younger man's upturned butt, hard. "OWWWW!" Mulder gasped with the force of the stroke and began to cry immediately. "I know! I-I- I'm sorry! I wasn't th-thinking! Unnnhhhh! AHHHHH!" On and on the Assistant Director went, laying at least one lick on every part of the other man's upturned behind, and leaving a couple of stinging stripes on the top of his thighs. He lectured him the entire time. "You're gonna have to go to court for this one, Mulder. And you may get your license suspended. That's all Kersh needs to hear! Just another thing he can hold over your head—" "I'm sorry! I'll never do it—OWWWW! I'LL NEVER DO IT AGAIN, SIR!" Finally, Skinner had delivered the 20th lick; he stopped and dropped his belt on the floor at Mulder's feet. He immediately began speaking in a hushed tone, trying to soothe the younger man's anguish, if not his discomfort. "That's it, now, Mulder," he said gently. "It's all over. We're finished. . . ." He waited a full minute before insisting that he get up and get moving. When the younger agent finally stood up, Skinner saw him wince as the material from his shirt tail fell over the tender skin on his blistered backside. "I know. You were pretty hard on yourself, Mulder," he said, pulling him into a heartfelt embrace. The younger man buried his head in Skinner's muscled shoulder and continued to sob. "Much tougher than I would have been, kid! Maybe you want to rethink your decision that you want to be 'in charge,' huh?" He smiled as he felt the head buried in his shoulder nod vigorously up and down. A muffled voice responded. "I don't think I ever want to be in charge of anything again, sir," it said. "Mulder, you've always been an extremist," Skinner told him as he caressed the back of his head. "I'm sure we can find some middle ground somewhere!" Skinner gave him another minute then helped him to bed. Mulder painfully pulled on a clean pair of underwear, then apparently thought better of trying it again with another article of clothing. He compliantly slid into the bed as the AD held the covers up, then flipped onto his stomach and bunched a pillow up with his arms. Barely able to keep his eyes open, he fought off the overwhelming urge to sink into sleep for another minute. "Sir," he said, stifling a yawn. "Yes?" "Thanks. . . for taking me back . . . and everything." "You're welcome, Mulder," the Assistant Director said as he turned out the light and shut the door. Morning came quickly for Skinner who was generally up at dawn, no matter what. He rose at 7 o'clock and put on coffee but Mulder slept another three hours, having lost several nights sleep and been through the punishment ordeal the night before. Which gave the AD time to get some phone calls in. When the younger agent woke and stumbled into the kitchen, Skinner was just finishing their French toast. He poured Mulder a large orange juice and watched him gingerly seat himself at the kitchen table. As they ate their breakfast, the Assistant Director did the talking. "I know you requested indefinite leave, Mulder," he said. "That's good. You're not going back to work next week." Mulder grimaced and hung his head. He nodded his head. "I-I was expecting this," he said as agreeably as he could manage. "You were?" Skinner asked him, surprised and incredulous. "What exactly where you expecting?" "A p-punishment tour, sir. I know it's what I deserve. . . " Skinner laughed, despite his best effort not to. He watched Mulder's head flick up, curiosity and trepidation lighting his hazel eyes. "Well, you're getting a tour, Mulder, but . . . Let me just explain it to you, okay? Agent Scully is expecting you today. She's been worried. And you will give her an apology. But mostly she just wants to see you're okay. Go do something, go Christmas shopping, or go see the decorations downtown. Then take her to dinner and a movie, okay? Do what normal people do, Mulder. That's an order!" Mulder face reflected his confusion but Skinner pressed on. "Come back as late as you want tonight, Mulder. You won't disturb me. Then tomorrow, the Gunmen are expecting you. I'm sure they'll also want an apology but they're not holding a grudge either. Go hang out, go out for . . . 'Astroburgers,' whatever you usually do with them." Now Mulder couldn't help it either, he laughed out loud. "Astroburgers? You watched too much of 'The Jetsons' when you were a kid, sir!" "Yeah, whatever. On Monday, my parents are expecting you. I told them you'd get there around lunch time. They're a little ticked at you not returning their phone calls but . . . . they never stay mad at any of us very long. Let them pamper you for a few days, okay? They want to do that. My Mom can't wait to feed you, Mulder! And on Wednesday, Joe has some kind of academic conference going on at the college. Something about World War II that he said you and he discussed when he and Andy were in town. I didn't know that was an interest of yours. . . Joe wants you to attend the conference." Mulder felt tears prick the back of his eyes as he listened to the plans Skinner had made for his week. He blinked to keep them from coming. "Then on Thursday, you're to drive to Greenwich, Mulder." The AD watched the look of shock and fear that crossed the younger man's face at those words. "Don't tell me no. Your Mom's expecting you. She was worried sick about you, Mulder. Not angry, frightened that something had happened to you. And scared that she was losing the only family she's got left. Don't get into any heavy discussions, don't press her for answers she may not be able to give you. Just apologize and . . . and BE with her. Some day it will be too late -- and you'll regret it, Mulder, believe me." Two fat tears worked their way down Mulder's face, one forging down each cheek. He stared at Skinner, unable to form the words that would convey what he felt at that moment. The older man recognized his distress and continued. "On Saturday, Chuck and Jim and Dave are coming to town," he said, mentioning some of the A.D.'s best friends from his Marine Corps days. Mulder knew them all well. "They're bringing Danny and Will. I've got tickets for the Capitols game Saturday night. I've got a ticket for you, too, Mulder, so try to be back by late afternoon so we can have dinner first. And then on Sunday . . . well, on Sunday, I've left you a day to yourself, before you go back to work on Monday. . . . Don't do anything foolish with it, okay?" Mulder had to laugh, despite his overwhelming sense of wonder at what the Assistant Director had just told him. He guessed he'd never really counted up all the people in his life who cared about him before. And it felt . . . good. "Now, go shower and get dressed, Mulder," Skinner told him. "You've kept Scully waiting far too long already." He watched as Mulder drank down the rest of his orange juice, then rose and headed for the kitchen door. Skinner lifted his coffee cup and took a satisfying sip. Suddenly, he sensed that Mulder had returned and looked inquiringly over his shoulder. The younger man was standing there, shifting from foot to foot and staring at the wall behind Skinner's head. "Something wrong, Mulder?" "No, sir. I just wanted to say . . . thank you . . . again. For letting me come . . . home," his voice trailed off for a moment. "And for putting me back on track again, like you always do. I just wanted you to know I appreciate it. . . " He turned to go again, then looked back over his shoulder. "I l-love you, sir. I- . . . I'm gonna go shower now." He disappeared down the hallway like the place was on fire. "I love you too, kid," Skinner said to the empty doorway. And then he smiled. THE END