The Danville Series by Cadillac Red Disclaimer: The characters of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner, Jana Cassidy, Alvin Kersh, Diana Fowley and Jeffrey Spender do not belong to me; they belong to Chris Carter and Fox. No money will be made from their use. Spoilers: Multiple. Setting: Sixth Season. Immediately follows prior story "Resolutions" and I suggest you read that first. Also references several other prior stories Rating: PG. Discipline, no slash. Title: The Gift Author: Cadillac Red Summary: Mulder's return to work is quickly derailed by his temper and Skinner has to take him in hand (yet again!) to get him back on track. The Gift FBI Headquarters Washington, DC Special Agent Fox Mulder slammed the door to the conference room open and stalked inside looking as if might explode momentarily. He slammed the door shut behind him so hard, it popped back open. "Oh, for crissake--" he muttered, going back to slam it again. Special Agent Dana Scully sat placidly in a chair at the end of the conference table, watching him without expression. Her blue eyes followed his every move as he angrily strode all the way across the room and kicked the trash can a couple of times, crushing it into something almost unrecognizable and decidedly unusable. She made a mental note to pick up another one at Wal-Mart. She did not want to explain to the Purchasing agent how they managed to destroy another wastebasket. One that wasn't even officially assigned to them. Finally, he heaved a giant sigh. "Fuck!" she heard him mutter under his breath before sighing again and, finally, turning toward her. He didn't make eye contact, though; he just continued to stare at the floor for a few seconds before heading for the other side of the table and throwing his body violently into a chair. "Where have you been, Mulder?" she asked him quietly. Today was his first day back from medical leave and he'd had a meeting with Assistant Director Kersh at 9 am, and that was 45 minutes ago. A meeting Scully knew from the office grapevine lasted about 10 minutes and "reached decibel levels that could shatter an eardrum, if you got too close." At least that's what Scully had heard from AD Skinner's assistant Kim, who sat just down the hall from Kersh's office. "Walking," he replied tersely. "Outside? It's 20 degrees, Mulder." And he was wearing only a suit jacket. "Well I'm plenty hot under the collar, so don't you worry about it." She bit her lip to keep from remarking about his piss-poor attitude. He already had enough trouble with Kersh and she knew he was merely venting his anger in her direction, not directly at her. But she just had to know what the end result of his meeting had been. If he'd been fired, surely he'd have told her by now? "Well, you'll be happy to know I'll be out of your hair for another few days, Scully," he said bitterly. "I'm suspended for a week. Without pay." "No, Mulder, I'm not happy to hear that," she replied coolly, gesturing toward the piles of background check folders on the table. "That leaves me to do all these reference checks alone. . . . That doesn't make me happy at all." He sighed again and finally smiled ruefully. "I'm being totally honest here, Scully. Missing background checks, that's the only part of this suspension I'm up for!" She gave him a relieved smile in return and rose, walking up beside him and laying a hand on his shoulder. "Would it have killed you to call Kersh and tell him your theory on the "Congressional Killer" case, Mulder? Or send him an e-mail? Telling AD Cassidy and letting Kersh find out about it in her report . . . . I mean Skinner would have skinned you alive if you showed him up like that. What did you expect?" "Skinner--" he started to defend his former AD forcefully but his cell phone began to trill insistently at that moment. Pulling it out of his pocket, he flipped it open and gave Scully a quick wink. "Hold that thought. Mulder." "What the hell is wrong with you, Agent Mulder?" an angry voice responded. A voice Mulder had no trouble recognizing as that of his former boss. "You should know better than to engage in a shouting match with your AD! What did we just talk about Sunday? About you playing it smarter?" "Sir, I--" he began, shocked and a little scared by the other man's fury. "How--, I mean, when--" "Don't talk, Mulder," Skinner cut him off. "Just listen. I know you've been suspended. Leave the building immediately. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. Go directly to jail. I'm sure you've figured out where that is. I'll deal with you tonight." He was gone before Mulder could manage to spit out another syllable. "How the hell would Skinner know about my meeting with Kersh?" he asked Scully accusingly, as if she'd been in touch with the AD telepathically or something. "Everyone in the building knows, Mulder," she answered in exasperation. "The entire floor heard every word from what I was told. And don't think Kersh won't hold that against you, too." "Yeah, well Kersh can kiss my a--" He looked up suddenly as the conference room door opened into the room. Several people were entering, evidently expecting the room to be empty. At the head of the group was Special Agent Jeffrey Spender, with Special Agent Diana Fowley close behind. "We booked this room," Spender said, obviously surprised by their presence. "I sent a memo around last week, telling everyone we were taking it over for a few days." Mulder gave him a look that sent chills down the younger agent's spine, but Spender thrust his chin out and tried futilely to return the withering stare. There was an awkward silence for a moment, as all their gazes seemed to fall at once on the piles of background check folders stacked on the table. Files that would normally be routed to the Bureau's newest, greenest agents. "Well, I meant to read your memo, I did, " Mulder finally told him rising from the chair and heading for the door. "I took it home so I could read it real carefully. . . But then I ran out of toilet paper and . . . well, need I say more?" He left the room, and they could hear him whistling as he headed down the hall. Scully felt the color rise in her cheeks and she began gathering up the files, but it was more than one person could hold at once and finally, one of the other agents in the group spoke up. "Don't worry about that, Agent Scully," Ed Carney said quietly. "We can have someone from the mailroom pick them up and deliver them to your desk." Scully gave him a nod that spoke volumes of gratitude. "Thank you," she said as she left with the files she'd already grabbed. A little while later, she was pacing Pennsylvania Avenue, trying to walk off her anger at Mulder, and the entire situation. Fighting back tears of frustration, she pulled her coat tighter around her and began the circuit again. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Assistant Director Skinner come out of the building and head for a waiting sedan. Ducking her head, she turned quickly in the other direction but it was too late. In a few seconds, he was walking beside her. "Are you all right, Agent Scully?" he asked her. "It's a little cold to be hanging out in front of the building." "I'm fine, sir," she said quickly, stepping off the curb and continuing along Pennsylvania Avenue away from the Hoover building. "Thanks for asking." She thought he'd take the hint and head back to his waiting car. But he didn't. "What's wrong, Scully?" he asked, easily staying abreast but letting only his words reach out to her. She was clearly distressed, and now his kindness was reactivating the tears she'd been trying to hold back. Skinner walked with her another half-block, then steered her into a coffee shop in the basement of an office building. It was mid-morning and they were unlikely to be seen by anyone from the Bureau. With the temperature dipping into the teens, no one would be leaving the warm confines of the Hoover building to get a cup of coffee, when the stuff the FBI labeled coffee was readily available, free, on every floor. She finally relented and let him order her a cup of tea. And told him about what had happened, how Mulder had reacted, how he'd left her there to deal with the files and the situation in the conference room. Yet again. Skinner knew she was angry for Mulder, as much as she was angry at him. "I know you and Mulder have gotten to be . . . friends," Scully said, dropping her voice to a whisper. "And that's made a big difference to him. He was a lot better than he used to be, calmer, more . . . stable. And I think that's your influence, sir. But lately. . . . Ever since we were reassigned to AD Kersh, it's like he's gone back to ground zero. And now he's heading into negative numbers. . . !" She finally smiled, and gave Skinner a tight smile. "Okay. Maybe I'm overreacting!" "Did I say that, Scully?" he agreed amiably. "I'm glad you're getting a little more perspective, though. Mulder's a strange one. He makes progress, but it's an entirely non-linear process. One step up, two steps back, a short run into left field . . . a couple of trips around the block. . . !" He grinned at her laughter. "I'll have a talk with him while he's out this week, okay? And I'll trust you to keep that to yourself, Agent Scully." She nodded her head, guessing that from Mulder's viewpoint their talk would be more of a talking-to. And that prospect didn't dismay her in the least. Skinner's sedan pulled up outside his Crystal City high-rise and he told the driver to wait. He'd already called ahead to push his lunch appointment back an hour, telling them something had come up. Heading up to his apartment, he felt his anger at Fox Mulder refresh itself without effort. He'd been furious to hear how Mulder had acted with Kersh earlier. His assistant Kim had given him a play-by-play description that sent his blood pressure through the roof. But Scully's story had pushed him over the edge. How the hell could Mulder ignore everything and everybody, and think he could get away with it indefinitely? How long did he think Scully would hang around and be treated like this, especially with both their careers on the ropes? And how long did he think he could push the Bureau's tolerance, and Kersh's, before he ended up out on his ass? Picking up a head of steam, he angrily let himself into his apartment and found-- no one. "Where the hell are you, Mulder?" he said out loud, pulling his cell phone out of his coat pocket and hitting the speed dial setting for Mulder. The object of his fury was furious himself, angrily marching up and down his apartment, grabbing things he might need for a day or more at Skinner's place. One by one he threw things into an overnight bag, in no particular order. Mulder jumped when his phone rang, immediately concluding it was probably Scully. And he owed her a big apology. "Mulder." "Skinner. Where are you right now, Agent Mulder?" He thought frantically, recognizing that the AD had told him to go directly to the Crystal City apartment . . . and he'd disobeyed him. But how would Skinner know where he was? He'd called on his cell phone, Mulder could be anywhere as far as the Assistant Director knew. He knew better than to tell the other man an outright lie, though. "You told me to go directly to your place. Where do you think I am, sir?" he asked, trying to keep a belligerent tone out of his response and just missing. "I see. You're at my place." Skinner eyed his own apartment from his spot in the middle of the living room. "Which room are you in, Agent Mulder?" "Well, what room do you want me in, sir? It's not that big a place, I can get anywhere in a matter of seconds." "How long will it take you to get to the living room? 'Cause that's where I am, and I was expecting to find you somewhere in the vicinity." Mulder felt his heart drop to his knees. "What-- what are you doing home in the middle of the day, sir?" was all he could come up with in response. "How many seconds do you think it will take for you to get here, Agent Mulder?" Skinner asked him, refusing to let him wiggle off the hook he'd skewered himself on. "I'm at my place," he said dully. "I-- I can be there in 20 minutes, sir." "Make it 25, Mulder. I don't want you to exceed the speed limit on the way over." Skinner disconnected. Mulder stared at his phone for a few seconds, then he slammed it into the overnight bag on top of his clothes and zipped it up. Some 20 minutes later, Mulder used his own key to let himself into 17th floor apartment. Dropping his bag in the foyer, he stepped into the living room, into reach of the A.D.'s fury. The other man was sitting in the brown leather armchair by the window, simply staring at him, like a caged tiger waiting to spring. Mulder felt his knees turn to jelly and he wished he had something to hold onto, in case his legs actually went out from under him. He crossed his hands behind his back and looked at Skinner briefly, and in one fleeting instant, was so overcome with shame and fear, he found he couldn't manage to maintain eye contact. Like a man pulling away from the blinding glare of the sun, he dropped his eyes and waited for the firestorm. Skinner watched him closely. He'd come to know this young man well in the past few years. He was furious at his behavior, at how quickly he'd reverted to form after their last talk and Mulder's resolutions for the New Year. And for a millisecond in time, he considered giving up on him, on the deal they'd made more than two years earlier. But watching him now, the remorseful posture, the slight tremble, Skinner found himself making an instant course change. He stood and approached Mulder. "You didn't even make it through the first morning, kid," he said quietly. "What happened?" Mulder's head shot up immediately and he had to bite down on his lower lip to keep tears at bay. "I-," he swallowed hard, trying to bring his voice into a normal range. "I don't know, sir. Kersh was yelling at me for not following the chain of command and I- I just lost it. I don't know why. . . " He hung his head again, unable to explain why he'd escalated a reprimand into an act of insubordination that cost him a week's suspension. "Mulder, over the years, how many times do you think I yelled at you? It's not like this kind of thing has never happened before." "Yes, but when you yelled at me, it was different! You never . . . " he hesitated, unable to put it into words, unwilling to open his heart and soul so fully, even to this man, even to himself. "I can't explain it, sir." Skinner looked up at the ceiling for a moment, silently pleading for the wisdom to do the right thing. "Listen to me, Mulder. I don't want you to think I'm not angry. Because I am. But I'm also confused. . . and I'm very disappointed in you." He noticed that the young agent reacted to the last part of the statement as though he'd been physically slapped and he bit down even harder on his lower lip. Worried he was going to draw blood, Skinner reached out and enveloped him into an embrace. He felt Mulder lay his head on his left shoulder and sob quietly. The AD waited for him to calm down a little before continuing. "I'll be home around 7 o'clock tonight. I don't want you to leave the apartment. There's a pad in the drawer in the kitchen, you know where it is. I want you to write me an explanation for this morning, Mulder, for all of it," he said meaningfully. "Think it through carefully. " He rubbed the back of Mulder's head, then pushed him back, and looked directly into his eyes. "But before I decide how you'll be punished, I want to know why you misbehaved so badly today." Mulder nodded. "Will you accept "I'm having a really bad day" as an explanation?" Skinner's response was completely nonverbal. He slapped Mulder hard on the butt as he passed him and headed out the door. "I guess that's a 'no,'" the young man sighed and headed for the kitchen. But that evening, after the two men shared a dinner of take-out chicken and assorted side dishes, Mulder was unsure whether what he'd written would appease the other man. And he knew punishment was a certainty. He rose and mechanically began clearing the cardboard and plastic containers their dinner had arrived in. Skinner rinsed the few real dishes and glasses they'd used and put them in the dishwasher. Closing it, his hands went to his hips and he turned to faced his nervous young guest. "So, do you have something for me to read, Mulder?" he asked him calmly. Mulder nodded and walked into the living room, followed by the older man. He continued into the bedroom and returned with a sheaf of papers, covered with his neat, unusual handwriting. As Mulder handed it to him, Skinner saw immediately it was a combination of printed words and script, like all of Mulder's handwritten work for the Assistant Director over the years. Skinner had come to recognize that the printed, block letters represented the cerebral output, the theories, observations and information he spewed at a rapid pace from the vast storehouse of his eidetic memory. The script portions were what came from his intuition, his heart, his soul, and it flowed out in jumbles of insight and leaps of faith. At first glance, Skinner thought he'd gotten more of the former in this document. "I'll-- I'll wait in the bedroom, is that okay?" Mulder asked him, evidently more nervous than Skinner had guessed. The AD nodded at him from his place on the couch and began to read. He heard Mulder clear his throat again. "Can I put the television on?" Skinner fought to contain the smile that wanted to escape. "That would be fine," he said as he watched Mulder finally retreat to the spare bedroom. Then he spent the next 30 minutes reading and found his decision about how to handle Mulder's latest misbehavior alter completely. He'd started out at mid-day thinking this was so serious, and so blatant, he'd reintroduce the young man's backside to that cane stored on the top shelf in his hall closet. Mulder had not only been disrespectful and out of line with Kersh, and Spender, he'd been selfish and self-centered in his treatment of Scully. Then he'd capped all of that off by disobeying Skinner's direct order, and then lying to him to boot. Mulder's demeanor tonight was penitent, though that could be written off to fear of what was to come, and a kernel of hope that a show of remorse might convince Skinner to go easier on him. But the written words were the deciding factor to the AD Mulder was an eloquent speaker but his spoken words rarely broke the surface veneer he showed the world; he was not a man who put his feelings into words well, or often. But forced to put them on paper, it appeared the walls were more porous. He started out telling Skinner the facts, what he'd done, what he'd said, when and where. But scrupulously avoided the why. Then his writing turned to script and he inserted a note to the AD into the middle of one page: --"I know you're disappointed in me. I'm disappointed in me, too. I can't explain what happened between Sunday and today to make me so totally forget the resolutions. I guess I wasn't completely honest with you about why I don't make resolutions. It may be as much because I can't seem to keep them as anything else. And adding more failures to my tally on an annual basis isn't all that appealing a prospect"-- Finally, Mulder got to a little self-analysis but Skinner could see it was somewhat perfunctory, textbook stuff. Not nearly the depth or sophistication of one of his profiles. An exercise in avoidance followed by another personal note. --"I'm not sure why Scully puts up with me. I treated her abominably today. I guess I do that more than I care to admit. It's just she's so strong and sometimes I'm not strong at all, just a bundle of nerve endings covering a gut filled with rage. And when I'm feeling like that, it's just so much easier to hand it over to her to deal with whatever's going on. Because she always deals with it, like the 'consummate professional' you said she was. And she keeps forgiving me. But I can't count on that forever. Eventually she'll give up on me too, won't she?"-- Skinner recognized the deep pain that prompted the question. And that Mulder was hoping for an answer from Skinner on that issue. Another personal note was inserted halfway down the next page. --"I can't really explain why I act the way I do with Kersh. I think it's partly not his fault. He represents what they did to us, to all of us. And I hate it. I hate reporting to him but I should be able to suck it up and just go on about my business, like you said. But I can't seem to get past the fact that he's not you. No matter how mad you got at me, you never made me feel worthless, not ever. When I was a kid, I had nightmares. I'd wake up and think I was the only one left in the world. And I'd be terrified. But then I'd hear my father in the study. I knew he was there because I'd hear him cracking sunflower seeds. And somehow that would be enough to reassure me. Now, in this nightmare, I'm terrified again. And for years now you've been my security in the dark. And you were always there. No matter how strange or unexplainable the X-file, I knew I could come back to the Hoover building and you'd be there. Chewing me out. Yelling at me. Occasionally telling me I did a good job, or that I'd figured something out that no one else could. However it went, you were the touchstone, the safety net. And now, in the worst trouble I've ever faced, I'm not even officially allowed to talk to you--" Mulder had ended abruptly, on that note. As though getting it out exhausted him. And Skinner sensed it probably had. The Assistant Director removed his glasses and stared into space, trying to determine exactly what punishment would be appropriate. Finally, he rose and went to the spare bedroom. "Mulder," he said as he knocked on the door. "Come-- come in, sir," a voice answered. Mulder was rising from his prone position on the bed as he entered the room. Skinner was surprised to see the television had not been turned on at all, apparently. "Don't get up, Mulder," he said, waving the young man back to the bed. The AD seated himself in an armchair nearby. "You did a good job with that explanation. I . . . appreciate how tough that must have been for you." Mulder merely nodded in response. He looked at the other man and waited for the rest. "When I was a kid," Skinner began, then he stopped and gave Mulder a slight smile. "Growing up in Skinnerville. . . " That brought an embarrassed smile to the younger man's face. He'd made several derogatory remarks about where Skinner had come from over the years, before he knew and had grown to love the Skinner family. And wish with all his heart they were his own family. "Anyway, Mulder, my Dad had this rule. If we got punished in school, we got punished at home. No excuses. No exceptions." He leaned back in his chair and smiled at Mulder. "One time, when I was about 15, some of the guys I played football with decided to play hooky. We cut school and went to the amusement park in Hershey, Pennsylvania for the day. It was just before the park closed for the winter, late September probably. We got caught coming back for football practice and the coach was furious. We were the heart of his back line and he needed us. But he knew we needed to know cutting class would not be tolerated. So he suspended us from the team, which meant we couldn't play on Saturday and the team would certainly lose. And then he paddled all of our butts with his sneaker, just to make sure we got the message." He grimaced, the memory was obviously still a sore one. "Well, I was devastated, Mulder. I was always competitive, and just giving a game away didn't sit well with me. But mostly I was worried about going home and telling my Dad what I'd done, and that I'd been punished. I guess I hung around the locker room a little longer than the rest of the guys and Coach Russell saw me on his way out. I finally told him why I was reluctant to head home and he laughed and said he was sure I was wrong. That my Dad would understand I'd already been sufficiently punished." "I bet that didn't turn out to be the case, right, sir?" "Oh, Mulder, we're gonna have to make you an honorary Skinner," the AD replied with a grin. "Not hardly. The next day when I showed up for school I wasn't sitting too comfortably. Let's just say the Persuader and I had a "close encounter of the worst kind" that night. But ultimately, I think I got into a whole lot less trouble than most of my friends because of my Dad's rules. And I recognize now that there was a level of security in knowing that both parts of my life would always be in sync, you know what I mean? I'm beginning to recognize the importance of that kind of security, Mulder." Skinner leaned forward and crossed his arms over his knees. "So here's what I propose. You're not working for me right now. And we can't do anything about that, at least not in the foreseeable future. But you need the security of knowing that you've got boundaries and limits and when you blow past them, you need to know someone's there to set you straight. Someone who's on your side, who respects you and loves you enough to give you what you deserve. Am I right?" Mulder blinked and turned a light pink. He was embarrassed to hear it put so simply. But he knew in his heart, the AD was right on target. He swallowed and nodded almost imperceptibly. "Okay. You're gonna spend this week of suspension with me, Mulder. A modified punishment tour, if you will. With everything you've done today, you can't disagree that you deserve one. And starting immediately, I'm adding a new rule to our deal. From now on, I expect to hear from you daily. I'm generally home after 8. Call me on my cell phone and if I'm out of town or unreachable, I'll call you. Most nights it'll just be a check-in call but when you do something wrong, at work, in your personal life, whenever, I'll expect you to tell me. And take whatever punishment you have coming. Is that understood, Mulder?" Mulder was rocked by what the AD had just said. He knew he deserved to be punished for today but Skinner was talking about putting him on a leash, and a very short one at that. "How. . . how am I supposed to determine what you consider wrong?" "Agent Mulder, you have a very highly developed sense of right and wrong. Don't try to tell me you don't know it when you do it." Mulder nodded unconsciously, letting the whole idea sink in a little deeper. He'd have to be in touch with Skinner every day. He was loathe to admit it to anyone, but he missed the AD a lot when they were not in touch for more than a few days, it was like a hole in the fabric of his life. "And Mulder, I will expect you to be completely honest with me. Some things, like with Kersh today, I'll likely hear about. Some things only you will know. But either way, I expect you to tell me when you screw up. Because if you don't and I find out, I'll double the punishment. Is that clear?" Mulder swallowed hard and nodded. "That's clear, sir." "Good, then let's deal with today." The Assistant Director moved to the bed and sat down. "You acted like a spoiled brat, Mulder. Childish, disregarding of other people's feelings, acting out your frustration and anger instead of dealing with it like an adult. And I think you know how I deal with spoiled brats. . . ." Mulder felt his face go red with embarrassment. With tears already beginning to pool in his eyes, he stood and pushed down his sweats and boxers. Kneeling beside the A.D.'s long legs, he bent forward and let Skinner pull him over his knees and into position. A small sob escaped. Skinner tightened his jaw in an effort to harden his heart against the instinct to go easy on the younger man. "What's this spanking for, Mulder?" SMACK! SMACK! He gave the young man a half dozen hard slaps before he finally responded. "Owwww! F-for treating Scully like shit!" he spit out, self-loathing underscoring every word. Skinner delivered another ten smacks as he waited for the rest of his response. "What else, Mulder?" "For disobeying you. Ahhhhh! And for l- OWWWW! for lying to you, sir!" he sobbed mournfully. Skinner continued his assault on Mulder's rapidly reddening backside, waiting for him to continue to list his sins. "You're not nearly finished, son," he said firmly. "What else are you being spanked for?" Mulder clamped his jaw shut, refusing to include the final items he knew Skinner was waiting for. "Owwwww! Ouccchhhhhh! Aaaahhhhnnn!" "Oucccchhhh!!" Skinner knew Mulder was fighting him on the rest of it, despite the sound spanking he was getting. The AD had stopped counting at 50 smacks and was still going and the young man was wriggling and writhing in his strong grasp. "Come on, son. I'm waiting! And I can hold out a whole lot longer than you can, you know that!" SMACK! SMACK! "Oh, God! I can't-- I can't--" he sobbed disconsolately, giving up the fight. "FOR BEING DISRESPECTFUL TO KERSH! AND INSULTING SPENDER!" he ground out finally, going limp over the Assistant Director's knees. "That's it. That's all I wanted to hear, Mulder," Skinner told him soothingly, running his hand over the back of Mulder's head to calm him. "You know that was wrong. You knew it all along. . . ." He gave the young agent another minute to calm himself, then he slipped him gently off his knees and onto the floor, pulling him up into a firm hug. Mulder sobbed into Skinner's shoulder until his sobs turned to ragged breathing. The AD reached over to the Kleenex box on the nightstand and grabbed a handful of tissues, handing them to Mulder and instructing him to 'blow.' Then he helped the emotionally exhausted young man get ready for bed. The AD helped him under the covers and watched him promptly turn onto his stomach and close his eyes. Skinner sat down on the edge of the bed and spoke to him quietly. "One more thing. While you're here on this punishment tour, Mulder, you'll get a spanking every night before bed--" "What?" his eyes blinked open. "Not like tonight. Just a little daily reminder, kid. Of what you can expect if you step out of line. Or you can consider it punishment for all the things you've done over the years that I never even found out about!" He smiled and patted Mulder on the head. "Good night, son." Mulder slept until Skinner woke him for breakfast at 6:30 in the morning. The Assistant Director was already showered and dressed and he had breakfast on the table when Mulder stumbled into the kitchen and carefully took a seat at the table. Skinner placed a bowl of oatmeal in front of his place and one in front of his own, then he poured Mulder a glass of orange juice before settling down and starting his own breakfast. "You're not to leave the apartment without me, Mulder. I want to make sure you hear that. I've listed a bunch of things for you to do today while I'm gone. I called my cleaning lady and told her not to come this week to make sure there's enough to keep you busy!" "Gee, thanks, sir," he replied morosely, his heart sinking as he read through the list. "Do you expect me to do all this in one day?" "No, you've got all week, do it in whatever order you like, Mulder," Skinner told him amiably. "But I do expect this to be finished by the end of the week." The younger agent sighed audibly and stared at the steaming bowl of oatmeal before him. Skinner watched him for a few seconds, then spoke succinctly. "Mulder," he said, and the young man's eyes snapped to the A.D.'s face. He pointed at the oatmeal. "Eat." His guest nodded meekly and picked up a spoon. "You should have all the supplies you need here, Mulder, but if you're missing anything, you can call the grocery store and have it delivered. I'll leave money on the table in the foyer. . . . Speaking of which," the AD said quietly. "Do you need any money, Mulder? I mean, most people can't afford to lose a week's pay without feeling it. If you're short of cash, just ask--" "No, sir," he replied quickly. "I-I'll be fine. I have a little savings. I was the beneficiary on a small insurance policy my father had . . . The house and everything else he left to my mother. . . . A final slap at me for my lack of responsibility, I guess. . . ." His voice trailed off but he was touched by the A.D.'s concern. The kind of concern for his welfare he'd rarely experienced in his life. Skinner rose and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Well, if you change your mind, just let me know, Mulder," he said easily, putting his bowl and coffee cup in the dishwasher. "I'll be home around 7 tonight. Order something for dinner, okay?" He started out of the kitchen to go to work then stopped at the doorway. "And Mulder? You sometimes act irresponsibly. You are not an irresponsible person." He departed, leaving the young man close to tears. Around mid-morning Mulder heard his cell phone ringing in the bedroom and rushed to grab it. "Mulder, it's me," Scully said. "I just wanted to see how you're doing." "I'm okay, Scully, really. And before I forget . . . I'm sorry. For acting the way I did yesterday. And for leaving you to deal with Spender and Diana. I-- I'm sorry I was such a weasel." She was taken aback by his apology. He rarely admitted he was wrong, let alone apologized. He always communicated remorse, but it was a subtle thing she'd learned to pick up from long years of studying his idiosyncrasies and nonverbal signals. She suspected Skinner had cornered him and given him a giant piece of his mind. "Why, Mulder," she exclaimed. "If I didn't know better, I might think I was actually talking to a shape-shifting alien disguised as you!" "Nah," he grinned. "They're not nearly as well-mannered as me!" "Well, that's a low hurdle, Mulder," she laughed. "Ooh, Scully! Let me turn around so you can stick that knife in the back now, too!" She'd offered to stop by his place and see him and he had to think fast. Crossing his fingers, he told her he'd gotten out of town "to clear my mind," and that he'd give her a call when he got back. If he got back before he had to report to work on the following Tuesday. As he hung up, he wondered if he had to confess to Skinner tonight that he'd lied to Scully. By 5 p.m., he'd cleaned both baths top to bottom, scrubbing the tiles and fixtures down as instructed. He was surprised to see how much satisfaction could come from completing a job like that and seeing the gleaming result. And crossing it off Skinner's list. After finishing that chore, he'd begun to tackle the bookshelves, a task that would probably have to be spaced out over several days. Skinner wanted the wood polished, every shelf, nook and cranny, which required the removal of all of the books. And the man had a lot of books. All hard covers, some first editions, a lot of reference books, a ton of history books (the Civil War was a particular interest) and a lot of technical reading on criminal behavior and the justice system. Mulder had spent time at the A.D.'s place before but he'd never really spent much time studying the book collection. And it was a window on the man's heart and soul, Mulder thought. He picked up a thick tome on Civil War battles and started to leaf through it. It was dog-eared, probably a favorite of the Assistant Director's and Mulder decided to look it over more carefully. He sat down on the couch for a few minutes, then grew so engrossed, he found himself pulling over a throw pillow and propping it up, taking a familiar and comforting prone position on the sofa and losing himself in the text. Some time in the next hour, the exertions of the day caught up with him, and he fell sound asleep, so soundly he didn't hear the A.D.'s key in the door and continued to snooze. Skinner dropped his keys on the table in the foyer and shirked off his overcoat, hanging it in the closet. He could smell ammonia and lemon wax so he knew Mulder had been busy. Coming fully into the living room, he found his quarry, sleeping peacefully and snoring lightly. Skinner smiled at him fondly. He knew Mulder was a troubled sleeper, but somehow at Skinner's place, he seemed to sleep like a baby. The Assistant Director cleared his throat once and watched Mulder stir, but he merely turned on his side and fell back into a deep slumber. Skinner debated with himself about waking him and decided he should, or the younger man might be walking the floors of his apartment all night long. He walked over and shook him gently. "Wha-what?" Mulder woke with a start. "I-I, sir! I must have fallen asleep, I'm-- I'm sorry." "It's okay. I just wanted to see if you want to come with me to the gym before supper, Mulder. I thought you might like to get out of the apartment. And maybe expend a little pent-up energy," the AD told him as he headed into the master bedroom to change. Mulder stretched, attempting to work a kink out of his back. "Yeah. That sounds good. But I forgot to order something for dinner. . . " The AD laughed in the other room. "No kidding. I figured that, unless we're having something in a lemon & ammonia wine sauce! We'll pick something up on the way back." Mulder agreed eagerly and headed for his bedroom to change into workout clothes. They spent 90 minutes at Skinner's gym, Mulder swimming and running, and the AD lifting weights and working out with the heavy bag. Then they stopped and ate at the local Mexican place and got back to the apartment just before 10 o'clock. Mulder was feeling pleasantly sated and he headed into the living room to watch some television. "No, Mulder," Skinner told him evenly. "Bedtime for you. It's late." "Late? It's not even 10 o'clock," he began to protest. "And you're being punished. That makes 10 o'clock very generous of me, Mulder. Go. Now." Mulder rolled his eyes, then sighed loudly and stomped off to the bedroom muttering under his breath. "Just having a good time and HE goes and ruins it. . . . King of fucking mixed messages . . ." The AD came into the bedroom ten minutes later as Mulder was just getting into bed. "Not yet, Mulder," he said crisply. "What? You said I should go to bed. Or did you change your mind again?" "I haven't changed my mind at all. You're forgetting something. Your bedtime spanking," Skinner told him, coming to stand next to the bed. Mulder closed his eyes, an expression of pained impatience crossing his face. "You're not serious about that? Come on--" "I'm very serious. It was going to be an easy one tonight, Agent Mulder. You were so well behaved all day. But in the last 10 minutes, your attitude has earned you a real blistering. Don't make it any worse." Mulder swallowed hard and got right up from the bed. He stood there while Skinner seated himself and motioned for him to get in position. The younger man was wearing only boxers and a tee shirt so there was no need to for him to undress. He knelt next to the other man's knees and Skinner pulled him over his legs into position. Then the older man hooked a finger in his underwear and smoothly pulled them down almost to his knees. He smacked his rebellious young charge's backside smartly. Mulder clamped his mouth shut tightly, willing himself to take the spanking without tears. (SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!) "This was just going to be a quick reminder tonight, Mulder, but your poor attitude turned it into real punishment. What's this spanking for?" the AD asked him. Mulder gasped, but forced himself not to cry through sheer willpower. "For-for mouthing off to you, sir," he ground out. "And-- ow!, and for forgetting you were going to spank me! Ouccchhh!" "Forgetting's not a crime, Mulder," Skinner told him, continuing to smack his rapidly reddening backside. (SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!) "But that wise-ass attitude always gets you in trouble. You're a bright young man. You think you'd learn by now!" (SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!) Mulder lost the battle to hold back tears. He began sniffling, then full, racking sobs followed as the Assistant Director continued his assault on the young man's rump. "I-- I'm sorry! I'm sorry, sir! I- I won't do it again," he finally pleaded, willing to promise anything to put an end to the roasting his bottom was receiving. "Okay, that's better," Skinner said, issuing one more hard smack before ending the spanking. He let Mulder hang limply for a minute, rubbing his back gently. Then the AD pushed him off his knees and onto the floor. Standing, he pulled the younger agent up and took him into his arms, giving him a firm hug. "It's okay, now. It's okay, kid." Mulder began to calm down and finally, the Assistant Director turned and pulled the comforter back while Mulder pulled his shorts up. The young man slid under his arm and into the bed, letting Skinner tuck the cover in around him. Then the AD sat on the edge of the bed and looked into his eyes. "Mulder, I want you to listen to me. This is important," he said quietly, pushing the younger man's sweaty hair off his forehead as he spoke. "This is the second time this week you've done this. First with Kersh. You let your mouth turn what would have been a simple reprimand, one that probably wouldn't even have gone into your file, into a charge of insubordination and a week's suspension. Now tonight, your mouth earned you a sound spanking and a sore butt. When all you would have gotten was a couple of smacks before bed. Why do you do that?" Mulder felt fat tears rolling down his cheeks as he listened to the A.D.'s words. He shook his head at the question, opening his mouth to respond, then realizing he had no answer. So he just squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head again. "Well, it's something you'll want to figure out, Mulder. If you know what's good for you, kid." Skinner patted his shoulder then stood and turned the light on the night table off. "See you in the morning, Mulder." Mulder watched him close the door behind him, then he felt a wave of shame roll over him and fresh tears sprang to his eyes. Turning onto his stomach, he buried his head in his pillow and cried himself to sleep. The next few days passed in similar fashion, only the young FBI agent managed to avoid another show of rebellion. So the nightly spanking ritual was limited to a half dozen or so smacks each evening, just to be certain he didn't lose sight of the fact that he was being punished. He made such fast progress on the chores list, the AD was hard pressed to come up with more things to add to it. But he managed to do it all the same. On Friday morning, Skinner informed Mulder his brothers, Joe and Andy, were coming to D.C. for the weekend. The Assistant Director was immensely pleased by the giant smile that news brought to the younger man's face. "When do they get here?" he asked eagerly. "Tomorrow morning. Andy's wife Eileen is in Arizona with the kids, visiting her parents. Andy's been working in Philadelphia, but he has a late meeting on Friday and an early one on Monday, so it didn't make sense for him to fly out to Phoenix. So Joe decided to pick him up and bring him down so we can all spend a couple of days together. I got tickets for the Caps game Saturday night. And we can spend Sunday watching the football playoff games. We haven't all been together for the playoffs in years." Mulder could see Skinner was excited, too. The day flew by for Mulder as he completed every task left on his list and called the grocery store to stock up for the weekend. Plenty of beer, chips & pretzels, hot dogs and chili. The Skinner men were far from gourmets. He spoke with Scully again and was pleased to hear that she'd been reassigned for a few days to Quantico. He thought Skinner must have engineered it somehow. And that Kersh must have agreed only because Mulder was on suspension. A nagging voice in his head countered that only one of them really needed a dose of humility. And it wasn't Scully. He and the Assistant Director hit the gym in the evening and brought back pizza for dinner. At 9 o'clock, Skinner sent him to bed and, despite the early hour, he went without argument and took his spanking in a similar fashion. He fell asleep thinking how far he'd come in accepting his deal with Skinner. And wondering why he still couldn't find a way to apply all these lessons to the rest of his life. Andy and Joe arrived just before 9 in the morning. They all had a cup of coffee and some bagels the guys had picked up on the way into town while they laid out their plan for the day. The AD had to go to the office for a few hours and Joe wanted to hit the National Archive. He was still researching something he planned to publish. Andy and Mulder had gotten themselves into trouble the last time they'd been together so Walter and Joe both thought that, this time, it would be a good idea for them to accompany Joe. Mulder approached the Assistant Director in the kitchen once Joe and Andy had gone off to call their families and let them know they'd arrived safely. "Sir?" he asked tentatively. "I . . . I just want to make sure it's okay for me to go out today . . . " Skinner grinned and crossed his arms over his chest. "Mulder, it's fine. I haven't forgotten I told you you couldn't go out without me. But you can't come to the Hoover building while you're suspended. And certainly not with me. So Joe'll be my surrogate today. Is that okay with you?" "Yes, sir. That's all I needed to know," he replied enthusiastically, heading right out of the kitchen to get ready to go. The three men spent the afternoon in the archives, with Joe and Mulder losing themselves in some of the material there. Andy, on the other hand, viewed the public exhibits then parked himself in a chair with a magazine. "Bored, Andy?" Mulder asked him after a couple of hours had lapsed. "This academic stuff never turned me on. You and Joe are like ducks in water here. I'm gonna take a walk, do some sight-seeing and come back in an hour or so." He left and Mulder walked back to the table where Joe was engrossed in reading some documents from World War II. They spent another 90 minutes reading dispatches from Washington and London in the weeks following the D-Day invasion. Mulder felt like he was actually living in 1944, his adrenaline level jumped as the cables documented the invasion force working its way across Europe. Finally Joe laughed and sat back in his chair, looking at the younger man. "Mulder, you remind me of me! No one else in my family appreciates this like we do. Andy basically thinks it's a waste to read any of this stuff if you already know how it turns out!" Mulder laughed and sat back also. "Well, the AD is a history buff. He's got a ton of books on the Civil War!" "Yeah, that's a special interest of his, always has been. But it's just that particular era for him. And it's because we went to Gettysburg a lot when we were kids. He got interested and just stayed with it. And he's like a dog with a bone, you know. If he gets interested in something, he's got to know everything about it. You, on the other hand, are more like me. Anything of historical interest can get you going." Mulder nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, I always loved history, and you're right, just about any era. . . . Actually, I liked almost every subject. I really liked school as a kid. It was always easy for me . . . . and it got me away from-- It got me out of the house, you know how it goes," he finished lamely, trying to gloss over a subject that had grown uncomfortable for him. Joe watched his mood shift and made light of it. "Yeah, it was easy for me. Andy on the other hand was smart but couldn't, or wouldn't, apply it to anything conventional or traditional. He didn't come into his own until college." "And what about the AD? I can't even imagine him as a school kid!" Joe smiled. "Yeah, I can see why. But actually, Walter was an excellent student. He was a tough act to follow. Jean and I were always being compared to him. I was lucky 'cause I excelled, and I didn't have to work at it. But it came so easy, sometimes I got sloppy, or tried to take the easy way out. With Walter, it didn't come as easily, he had to work for everything. And he did, 'cause he was always driven to succeed. So ultimately, he's gotten a lot further than me." "I don't think he'd see it that way, Joe," Mulder assured him. "I think he's really proud of you. And Andy. I can see it whenever he talks about you guys." Joe spotted Andy waving from the doorway. He waved back and he and Mulder began gathering up their things to leave. "Yeah, I know he is. And Mulder? He's proud of you, too, you know. . . . I just want to make sure you realize that." Mulder found himself swallowing down a wave of emotion as he returned their materials to the check-out desk and followed Joe out of the room. They headed over to O'Neill's Pub. Skinner had told them to meet him there for an early dinner before the hockey game but he hadn't arrived by the time they got there. So they ordered up a few beers and headed over to the dartboard to kill some time. The AD arrived in the middle of a heated discussion about who had actually won the last game, with Andy accusing Mulder of cheating and Mulder arguing it was Andy who failed to total the points accurately. Joe threw up his hands as he saw Walter enter and signaled the bartender to bring them all another round and get them a table. "Before the Third World War breaks out right here!" They had a pleasant dinner, then watched the Washington Capitals lose a heartbreaker to the Montreal Canadiens at the MCI Center. At just past 11 o'clock, they arrived back at Skinner's Crystal City apartment. "Mulder and Joe, you get the spare bedroom," Skinner announced once everyone had gotten their coats off. He pointed at the couch. "And Andy, you're here." Mulder protested immediately. "I can sleep on the couch. I'm used to it--" "No, Mulder," Skinner replied quickly. "You get the roll-away in the bedroom. I'll be in in a minute--" "No, really. I don't mind sleeping on the couch--" "Mulder. Don't argue with me. You're in the bedroom. Go ahead. I'll be in in a couple of minutes." Mulder was confused and taken aback. "I'm not tired yet," he began. "It's only 11 o'clock--" Skinner gave him a look that would curdle milk, but the younger man was not reading the signal. "What? It makes more sense for me to sleep here anyway--" "What makes sense is for you to listen to me. Go get ready for bed. Now." Realization finally dawned and Mulder was mortified. . . . and furious. "You can't be serious," he spat out. "You think-- you're gonna-- No fucking way!" Skinner stood up to his full height and attempted to face the rebellious young man down. "Don't tell me no, Mulder," he said quietly but with an edge of steel. "This is the last time I'm going to tell you." "NO!" he ground out, taking a firm stance in the middle of the living room. "I--" He faltered when the AD fixed him with a fearsome glare, suddenly not sure which way to go with this and unable to find a route to back down. He looked frantically at Joe and Andy, who were watching the action with morbid curiosity. "I don't want to--" "What you want is not the issue here, Mulder," Skinner replied slowly, enunciating every syllable carefully. He looked at his two brothers. "Why don't you guys watch the news. Mulder and I need a few minutes." With that, he strode toward the young FBI agent, whose eyes widened as he closed the distance between them. When Skinner was within reaching distance, Mulder backed up and turned, sprinting toward the bedroom with the Assistant Director hard on his heels. Once they were behind the closed door, Skinner leaned on it and crossed his arms. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he barked. Mulder had grown increasingly fearful of what he'd started, but he still couldn't believe the AD would spank him, with his brothers there. And even if Skinner would, there was no way Mulder was gonna let that happen. No way. "Joe and Andy are here," he threw out by way of explanation for his behavior. "And your point is?" Skinner asked him tersely. "Well. . . sir. My point is. . . my point is that . . . I don't want you to--" he lowered his voice to a whisper. "I don't want you to .. . spank me, sir. With Joe and Andy right out there." Skinner smiled. "Oh! Is that it? Well, don't worry about it, Mulder. I'm not going to spank you." "You're not?" Mulder nearly cried with relief. "Oh. I thought-- Well. Never mind, I must have been confused--" "Yes, you were definitely confused, Mulder," Skinner assured him as he began to unbuckle his belt. "I was going to spank you. But that little scene earned you another strapping. You never seem to learn to leave well enough alone, do you, son?" Mulder felt his heart race at this sudden and unexpected turn of the worm. He backed up further into the bedroom until his calves and the back of his knees made painful contact with the nightstand next to the bed. "Please! Please don't-- I won't do it again. . . " "Mulder. Has pleading ever gotten you out of a punishment?" he asked the young man as he crossed over and sat on the bed. He didn't get a response, but none was really necessary. So he answered his own question. "No, it never has. So cut the crap and get over here." He pointed at his lap. "I-- Please," Mulder whimpered, unable to make his body respond to the order. "Joe and Andy will hear--" "Something you think they haven't heard before, Mulder? And anyway, they're watching television. Now don't make me come get you. You know that only gets you in worse trouble." Mulder swallowed down a ball of fear and humiliation that was burning his throat and moved over next to the AD as instructed. He unbuttoned his jeans and unzipped them but could force himself to comply no further. The Assistant Director quickly pulled him down to his knees and then into position over his long legs. Then he pulled the young man's jeans and shorts down below his butt and spoke to him. "What's this punishment for, Mulder?" he asked as he laid the first burning lick across the young agent's backside. "Owww! For- for . . . defying you, sir," he responded, trying to keep his voice at a whisper. "Ouccchhh! Aowwww! And for. . . um, for . . . disobeying you! Oucchhh! Ahhhhnnn! Unnhhhhh!" He bit down hard on his lower lip, trying to muffle his instinctive reaction. Silent tears ran down his face but he tried desperately not to make any further noise, despite the additional licks the AD was delivering to his burning backside. "One more thing, Mulder," Skinner said, stopping for a moment. "What were you originally being punished for tonight? Before you escalated a quick spanking into another strapping!" Skinner administered three more stinging strokes and waited again. "What? I don't know. . . ! Oh, just-- just to remind me I'm still being punished!" he exclaimed, before finally breaking down at the realization he'd done it again, taken a simple reprimand and turned it into severe punishment. Skinner gave him one more lick, then dropped the belt on the bed and waited for him to cry out his frustration. He rubbed his back for a minute, before pushing him to his knees and enveloping him in a bear hug. "Mulder, you don't know how much I wish you'd just get this, once and for all," he said as he caressed the back of the sobbing young man's head. Mulder sniffled into his shoulder. "Sir," he said as his sobbing diminished, "I don't think you could possibly wish it more than me." The AD laughed and gave him a quick squeeze before releasing him. "Time for bed, Mulder," he said reverting to his most no-nonsense tone. "You're sleeping on the roll-away tonight. You've got 10 minutes to get washed up and into bed." The young agent watched him leave the room, shutting the door behind him. Then he quickly changed into sweats and a tee shirt. Keeping his head down, he slipped quietly out of the bedroom and into the hall bath, washed up as instructed and slunk back without speaking to anyone in the living room. Then he climbed into the roll-away and pretended to be asleep when Skinner looked in on him a few minutes later. And again when Joe came to bed about an hour after that. He lay awake, a mass of conflicting emotions, for half the night. He was angry and disappointed with himself and, despite knowing he'd pushed Skinner into giving him a strapping, he was angry at the AD for punishing him while Andy and Joe were there. He was embarrassed, and obsessing about what he'd say to Joe and Andy tomorrow, and what they might say to him. Eventually the emotional exhaustion and worry overtook him and he sank into a restless sleep only a few hours before dawn. At 9:30, he awoke in an empty bedroom. Joe was an early riser, like the Assistant Director and he'd probably been up for hours, Mulder thought. He lay there for another 15 minutes or so, listening to see if anyone was moving around the apartment, trying to figure out how to avoid seeing anyone. But eventually, nature could not be put off and he rose and headed for the hall bathroom. Coming out, he heard quiet voices in the kitchen. Mulder stopped in his tracks, unsure whether to just go in or to go back to the bedroom when Andy stuck his head out and greeted him. "'Morning, Mulder," he said cheerfully. "We've got fresh coffee -- and Walter's gone out for donuts! With Nora and Eileen not here, Joe and I are going wild with sugar, cholesterol and caffeine! And you have to promise to take that to your grave!" He waited for the FBI agent to start for the kitchen before turning and heading for the coffee pot on the counter across the room. When Mulder entered, Joe smiled and wished him good morning, then returned to the Washington Post laid out on the kitchen table. "I've got the sports section, Mulder," Joe told him. "And Andy's been standing there reading over my shoulder, so you can probably have it next." "I read one headline," Andy countered. "And you've been hogging it for a half hour!" He handed Mulder a mug of coffee and sat down. Mulder stood there, unsure what to do next. "Sit down, Mulder," Joe told him without looking up. "I'm not having one more person loom over me while I try to read." The younger man sat down carefully, and listened to Joe and Andy banter a little further but never felt comfortable enough to join in. He just sat there, mutely watching their easy conversation of half-sentences and good-natured barbs, letting his coffee get cold without touching it. Finally Joe folded the paper up and sat back in his chair. He looked at the young FBI agent briefly, then spoke, his voice an eerie near-replica of the A.D.'s. "Knock it off, Mulder," he said as he rose and went to get the coffee pot. Mulder looked up, perplexed. "What?" "You heard me. Knock it off. The sulking, or pouting, or whatever it is you're doing." The younger man's face reddened considerably. "I don't know what--" "Yes you do. It's annoying, Mulder. And it doesn't suit you," Joe said as he poured himself and Andy another cup of coffee and then freshened Mulder's now lukewarm mug. Mulder glanced up at Andy for a split second to see if he could read the other brother's face. But Andy was just watching the action, telegraphing nothing more than a desire to see how it all came out. Mulder knew he was in this alone. He pressed his lips together and swallowed, trying to craft a response to Joe that wouldn't make him sound like a bratty 5-year-old. But nothing was coming to mind. "Really, Mulder," Joe continued. "You could have avoided that entire scene last night. Andy and I would probably never even have known you were being punished if you hadn't lit Walter's fuse!" Mulder blushed again. "I didn't do that on purpose--" "Well, you oughta know him well enough by now to know that kind of defiance will ensure an explosion. So you can't blame anyone else for the outcome, now can you?" Joe asked him, not about to let him avoid accepting responsibility for the situation he'd created the night before. "And by the way, if you're looking for us to feel sorry for you, give it up, Mulder. Andy and I have both been on the receiving end of a lot worse punishments, believe me!" Andy laughed and finally spoke. "Yeah, Mulder. I don't want to disappoint you, but you keep getting the light version of a punishment tour!" Mulder was a little stunned by their lack of sympathy for his plight, and seriously doubtful about their opinions. And not about to let them go on thinking he was getting off easy. "The first time, I spent hours working in the basement, and the garage, and doing yard work every day," he argued. "And this time, I've been spending all day every day working around the apartment. And then he just decides to punish me every night--" "Yeah, yeah," Joe laughed at him, good-naturedly. "We're feeling real bad for you, Mulder! Let me tell you how a real punishment tour works. Andy's right about you getting the junior version! We got chores to do all day, or all afternoon if it was a school day. If we finished up before supper, we had to stand in the corner of the living room until dinner was ready. If I'm not mistaken, they let you go to your room and write some report, right? Then we got sent to bed right after supper. Even if it was summertime and it was still light for hours, we'd be in bed at 7 o'clock. Oh, and the bedtime spanking thing? Walter's not that much of an original thinker, Mulder. That was how my Dad ended every day we were on a tour, over his knee, just to make certain you didn't forget you were being punished! So don't go thinking Walter made that up just to torture you." Mulder was stunned, he actually had thought the AD added that element just to make him miserable. The frown he'd been wearing since he woke disappeared and was replaced by a look of confusion. . . and surprise. His change in mood was not lost on the Skinner brothers. "Listen, Mulder," Joe said giving him a smile. "I'm not saying Walter's not tough on you. But believe me, it's nothing compared to my Dad in his hey-day. Did Walter ever tell you about the time all three of us got a punishment tour?" Andy broke in. "I told him about that, Joe. Remember, Mulder? When Joe and I played that joke on Jean that backfired, and Walter didn't stop us even though he knew what we were planning?" Mulder nodded but kept his focus on Joe; Andy had told him about this but that didn't mean he didn't want to hear more. "Well, stop me if you already know all the gory details. Jean was always the good one, you know? A real kiss-up as a kid. She never got in trouble. And as a teenager, especially after Walter went into the service, she kind of lorded it over me and Andy. So we thought we'd get back at her, just this once. But it blew up in our faces. And Walter found out what we were planning but he didn't try to dissuade us. I think he was kind of fed up with "Saint Jean" that summer, too!" Mulder was fascinated by the story for several reasons, not the least of which was that the four Skinner siblings were so close as adults. He waited for Andy to continue. "I already told Mulder how Dad hauled us all home and whipped our butts, Joe," Andy interjected, trying to move the story along. "Oh, well, that's not my point anyway," Joe told him. "The point I was getting to, before I was so rudely interrupted," he smiled fondly at his brother, "is that it was the middle of the summer. So we had hours of chores to do all day 'cause there was no school. Then every afternoon, all three of us would spend a couple of hours in our own corner of the living room waiting for supper to be ready. And Jean must have had every friend she'd ever known over that week, as I recall! And it was her birthday, too, and she had a party in the backyard one night. But Walter and Andy and I still got sent to bed right after supper. And my Dad still came up and spanked us that night, despite the fact the backyard was full of Jean's friends. And it was summer, so the windows were open. . . " He grimaced at the memory. "I for one was real glad they had the stereo going out there!" He and Andy laughed at the memory but Mulder's mouth had dropped open. Despite knowing the Skinners and their extremely old-fashioned approach to child-rearing, he was surprised to hear how easily Joe and Andy recalled, and joked, about the experience. He shook his head. Joe locked eyes with the young FBI agent now. "Anyway, my point-- and I do have one!-- is that we didn't get anything we didn't deserve. And as my Dad always said, if it's embarrassing, maybe it will make you think twice about doing it again! It's a hard lesson, but we all learned it. And I'm sure we're all better people as a result. That punishment tour put Walter on the fast track to everything, college, career. He was off his game for a while when he first got back from Vietnam but after that, he just snapped back to his old self." Andy chuckled. "It took me a little longer to really get it, unfortunately. But eventually it sunk in. And it will with you, too, Mulder. Just stop fighting it, okay?" "And quit feeling sorry for yourself," Joe added. "It's really irritating, Mulder--" They heard the key in the front door and, without exchanging a word, the three men shifted the conversation back to the sports page. "I'm telling you, the Broncos are gonna run away with it," Andy was telling Mulder who was arguing at a fevered pitch that the Jets would surprise everyone. "Let's hold it down to a dull roar, gentlemen," the AD yelled, to get their attention as he entered and placed a box of donuts on the table. "Don't make me start knocking heads together!" "Calm down, Walter," Joe said. "It's just a friendly difference of opinion. We agree on all the important stuff, right guys?" Skinner eyed the three of them with friendly suspicion. "I'll believe that when I see it! Now I got one of every jelly and cream-filled donut they had . . . " The four of them hit the gym to work of the calories from their sugar-laden breakfast, then returned in time for the first of the two play-off games on Sunday afternoon. After six solid hours of football (and an indoor picnic of hot dogs, chili almost every other junk food Mulder could think of,) Joe and Andy hit the road just after 7 o'clock. Mulder helped Skinner clean up the remnants of their day-long meal, then he yawned and told the other man he was heading off to bed. Skinner was a little surprised and glanced surreptitiously at the clock in the kitchen. It was not yet 8 o'clock. "All right, that's it. Who are you? And what did you do with Agent Mulder?" he asked, grinning. Mulder returned the grin. "Well, I figured I was starting to look like a slow learner, sir!" he replied as he exited the kitchen. "I'll come in in about ten minutes," Skinner called after him. Mulder was waiting for Skinner when he entered the bedroom. The young man had stripped to a tee shirt and boxers and was sitting on the bed, surfing through the channels on the small television set in the spare bedroom. He immediately clicked it off and stood. Skinner had been debating with himself for the entire ten minutes since Mulder had left to get ready for bed. He knew how hard it had to be for the young man to meekly accept punishment; he was so headstrong and stubborn, it was nearly impossible for him to get there. Yet here they were. The Assistant Director flirted briefly with the idea of skipping tonight's spanking, as a kind of pat on the back for Mulder's compliance. But he knew in his heart he had to stay with the original agreement. They'd been through this before. A show of leniency had never been a motivator of good behavior in the younger agent. Skinner seated himself on the bed and waited as Mulder came to his side and got in position. The AD pulled his underwear down to his thighs and quickly smacked his backside a half dozen times. Six smacks was all he'd given the young man on each of the other nights (excluding the days on which he'd misbehaved) but tonight he made a spur of the moment decision and added three more stinging whacks. "Owww! What-- what's that for?" Mulder blurted. "I didn't do anything today!" Skinner smiled to himself and delivered one final smack to the younger man's smarting backside, then he pulled his shorts back up and slipped him off his legs and onto the floor. "That's to hold you through tomorrow, Mulder," he told him breezily. "Now into bed with you." Mulder nodded and obeyed, sliding in under the covers the AD was holding up for him. Skinner sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at him, reaching up to brush the sweat-soaked hair off his forehead. "There's nothing left for you to do here tomorrow, so I want you to spend the day policing your own place, Mulder. God knows, it could use it." Mulder smiled. "Is that a suggestion? Or an order, sir?" "You decide, Mulder. But whatever you do, I want you to be ready to go back to work with a new attitude on Tuesday. We don't want a repeat of what happened last week with AD Kersh." "I hear you, sir," he nodded solemnly, then broke into a grin. "I'll do my patented imitation of contrition. That always works." Skinner leaned back and folded his arms, giving Mulder a hard stare. "Have I ever seen that imitation, Mulder?" he asked. "N-no, sir. You only see the real thing." Skinner watched him closely for another second, then flashed him a smile. "Okay, I'll accept that. For now. . . ! One more thing, Mulder. Call Agent Scully in the morning and see if she's free for dinner tomorrow night. Then you can catch up on what you missed last week and get her to help you . . . manage your reactions to Al Kersh. She knows when you're getting close to the edge and she can help you step back, if you let her. And you should let her." The Assistant Director stood. "I know you can do this, Mulder. Just remember the resolutions you made for the New Year. To get your career back on track. And to start recognizing you're not in it alone. Keep those two things in focus and I know you'll always do the right thing." He headed for the bedroom door and started out, then stopped suddenly. "I'll be leaving early tomorrow, Mulder, so I won't wake you. But I'll expect a check-in call tomorrow night, okay? Sleep well." He shut the light and closed the door behind him. Mulder lay there a few minutes, thinking. About nothing. And everything. Until sleep overcame his reverie and he slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep. ********************************************************************** * The following evening the Assistant Director was home alone. It was just past 10 o'clock and he had the television turned to CNN, more as background noise than anything else. His sock-clad feet were propped against the coffee table and a thick file folder was splayed against his legs as he paged through sheet after sheet of budget information. His departments were always at the top of the solved case reports and now, with the X-files unit under the control of Spender and Fowley, even that budget was in line. He sighed and wondered yet again how he'd gone from originally refusing to take on Mulder and the X-files to actually missing the young agent's decidedly disruptive presence in his work life. The AD put the file down and went to the entertainment unit, where he kept a few bottles of liquor in the bar set-up. He poured himself a vodka, then returned to the couch and picked the file back up, determined to get through it tonight. But his thoughts turned again to Mulder. The apartment always seemed larger and emptier when the younger man left after staying a few days. Skinner always expected to be pleased to get his place back to himself when the young agent finally left, but it always took him a day or two to reach that state. He sighed and picked up the TV remote, putting the volume up another notch. As he did, his cell phone rang and he reversed the action, reducing the sound to minimum as he reached for the phone and pressed "Send." "Skinner." "Hi, it's me," a familiar voice said. "I-I'm just checking in, sir. Like you asked." "I wondered when I'd hear from you. How'd your dinner go?" "Great. We went to Canastelli's. Turns out she'd never been there before. It was nice. Relaxing and . . . fun. Like normal people!" "Well, don't get over-confident, kid!" Skinner laughed at him. "I was wondering if-- if it would be okay. . . .if I could. . . ." Skinner was concerned about whatever it was that suddenly had Mulder tongue-tied. "What, Mulder? Just spit it out." "I mean, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to s-stay at your place again tonight. If it's okay with you--" "Well, of course it's okay. You should know that. Any time you need to be here, the spare bedroom's yours--" He stopped, his attention drawn by a key turning in the apartment door. Mulder opened it and stuck his head in, grinning. "I was hoping you'd say that, sir," he said into his cell phone just before he turned it off and clicked it shut. He walked into the living room carrying a suit bag slung over his shoulder and sighed audibly. "I just thought it would be safer if I stayed here one more night before seeing Kersh. I mean-- you know, I'll be less likely to screw up if I don't get too far from--" He turned a light pink and stumbled over the words. Finally Skinner decided to bail him out. "Well, this is closer to the Hoover building. You're certainly less likely to be late, is that what you mean, Mulder?" The young agent grinned. He knew Skinner knew what he really meant. "Yeah, that's exactly right, sir. I think I'll turn in now." Skinner grinned and shook his head as he left. He took another sip of his vodka and turned his full attention back to the budget reports. Somehow it was easier to concentrate knowing his most troublesome problem was safe in the spare bedroom, not getting into any kind of trouble. The next morning, the AD was up as always at just past dawn. He had coffee brewed and French toast waiting on the grill when Mulder made it to the kitchen a good hour later. His appointment with Kersh wasn't until 9 o'clock, so the younger agent didn't have to be at the Hoover building anywhere near as early as Skinner usually arrived. And they couldn't arrive together at any rate. "'Morning, sir," he said as he went to the cabinet for a mug and helped himself to a full cup of the strong brew. Skinner smiled and got up to get him some food, placing a full plate in front of him once he was seated. He watched Mulder proceed to drown it in butter and maple syrup. "Mulder, I . . . I have something for you," he said as the younger agent stuffed his mouth with the dripping French toast. He pulled a silver chain with some kind of medal on it out of his shirt pocket. "This belonged to my Grandfather. He gave it to my Dad and my Dad gave it to me when I was 19. Not long after I got back from Vietnam." Mulder stopped chewing and swallowed what was already in his mouth. Then he sat quietly, finding himself unable to move, not even sure he was continuing to breathe. "When I came back from 'Nam, I was a little out of it. Getting in some trouble. I think I told you I experimented a bit with some . . . things when I was there. I got into some trouble with Joe and Andy, and my Dad gave us all a punishment tour. I actually think mine was the longest one on record, but Andy might have squeaked by me at some point! Anyway, I won't go into the extraneous details. . . . " Andy and Joe had told him about that Summer and how something that happened during that punishment tour put their older brother back on track. Something they weren't quite sure of themselves. The AD looked a little distant, as though he were visualizing the situation, watching a flashback run through his head. "When I came back, I was kind of at a crossroads. I didn't know where I was going next. And I was . . . just paralyzed with fear, I guess is the best way to explain it. The road ahead looked dark and dangerous from my vantage point." "Kind of like the crossroad you're at, Mulder," he said, focusing on the young man listening to him raptly. "And my Dad gave me this, it's a medallion of a famous icon showing the return of the Prodigal Son. And it's meant to be a protection. I've worn it ever since but. . . but now I want to give it to you--" "Oh, no, sir!" Mulder interrupted. "I- I couldn't accept that. You-- you should give it to Joe or Andy. Or Doug or Mike or somebody in your family--" "I am giving it to somebody in my family, Mulder," the AD said forcefully. "You. I already talked to my Dad this morning and he thought it was about time I gave it to you, actually. Don't argue with me--" Mulder was nearly speechless, emotion tightening his throat and tears threatening to come at any moment. Finally, he found his voice long enough to protest again. "No, I couldn't take it. It belongs to a Skinner--" "And when you don't need it any more, you'll give it to whichever Skinner needs it next. Mike, Doug. . . Brian! He's only 5 now but I have no doubt he's gonna give Andy a run for his money eventually!" The Assistant Director smiled and reached over, opening Mulder's hand and placing it in his palm. "Take it, Mulder. And always remember what it stands for. The fact that you're not alone. That you are loved. There's a lot of protection and security in that. So whatever anyone says, or does, it can't affect your whole life. And, hopefully, that perspective will help you deal with setbacks and roadblocks a little better." He got up and took his own coffee mug to the sink where he rinsed it out and placed it in the dishwasher. Then he walked over to where Mulder was sitting. The young agent was just staring at the medal he'd placed in his hand, a couple of tears running down each cheek. "I can't--" he began again, then choked up and was unable to continue. "Nothing to get worked up over, Mulder," Skinner said airily. "I know you'll take good care of it. And put it to good use." He put an arm around Mulder's shoulder and the younger man turned and wrapped both arms around his waist, burying his head in the A.D.'s chest. "Just promise me you'll wear it today when you see Kersh. Then I can go to work knowing you'll be okay. . . " "I will, sir. And. . . thank you," he said, leaning back in his chair. "I'll wear it all the time. Until Brian grows up. You're right about him, that boy's gonna run Andy in circles!" "A feeling I'm not unacquainted with, Mulder," the AD laughed as he headed out of the kitchen. "Thanks to you. Good luck, kid," he added as he disappeared out the door. Mulder sat there for a few seconds, staring at the medal in his hand before he finally slipped it over his head and tucked it under his shirt. "I don't need luck, sir," he whispered to himself. "I've got something a whole lot better." THE END