The Danville Series
by Cadillac Red

Disclaimer: The characters of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner, 
et al 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: None

Setting: Somewhere in the middle of the fourth season.

Rating: PG. Some discipline, no slash.

Title: Too Good To Be True

Author: Cadillac Red

Summary: The evidence would indicate that Mulder has been a model FBI 
agent, since Skinner helped him start "Facing Consequences." But not 
everything is as it seems . . . 





Too Good To Be True

Crystal City, Virginia

Walter Skinner strode out of the modern high-rise he called home and 
headed for the parking lot to begin his morning commute. He walked 
purposefully, as always, but his gait had an unusual ease and he 
whistled softly to himself. It was a beautiful Spring morning, he had 
no appointments before 11, and, anyway, it was just barely 6:30 a.m. 
Very few others would even be in the office for another hour after he 
arrived. Enough time for a cup of coffee and a unhurried review of the 
quarterly reports. He knew they would look good. 

Skinner's agents were always near the top of effectiveness and solve 
rate reports, although his budget results were usually blown out of 
the water by some outlandish X-file case, and he normally tried not to 
even think about the "missing reports" list that traditionally had Fox 
Mulder's name printed right on the form. (Another Assistant Director's 
idea of a joke -- one that never made Skinner even crack a smile.) 

But things had changed and even the budget and closed case paperwork 
report from his departments were unbelievably good. At the end of the 
last quarter things had begun an upturn; this quarter, he knew the 
numbers would put him and his agents at the top of the Bureau's highly 
competitive results. Skinner actually chuckled out loud considering 
the unlikely turn of events that sparked his uncharacteristically 
lighthearted mood. 

Some 20 minutes later he steered his car past the security guard and 
headed down the ramp into the FBI's underground parking garage. 
Skinner had always like his job; he knew it was important, necessary 
work. But lately, he found himself actually enjoying it. Fox Mulder, 
former "Bad Boy of the FBI" was behaving himself and all was right 
with Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner's world.

<I can't believe you didn't think of this before, Walt, he told 
himself for the hundredth time as he grabbed his briefcase and locked 
up the car. Think of the hair loss you could have avoided had you just 
realized the Mulder problem could be solved the same way Dad solved 
behavior problems in the Skinner household years ago -- with a leather 
belt applied definitively to a bare bottom!>

Yet, that's exactly what had finally happened, and for the past four 
months, Fox Mulder had been practically angelic. Cases solved (whether 
they were generated in or out of the X-files division!), reports on 
time, budgets adhered to. At the Management Conference last month, 
Skinner had been cited by the Deputy Director for having gotten "the 
Mulder kid" back on track. After years of putting up with remarks from 
the other AD's about his "problem child," it was gratifying at the 
least. But more satisfying for Skinner was the fact that Mulder really 
seemed to have turned himself, and his career, around. The truth was, 
the fact that he'd stopped taking unnecessary risks and running off 
half-cocked at the mention of a "UFO " or "Bigfoot sighting" was the 
real victory in Skinner's mind.

He bounded up the stairs toward the lobby level, still reveling in the 
feeling of accomplishment he momentarily allowed himself. Mulder had 
not only put his nose to the proverbial grindstone, he'd distinguished 
himself on several FBI and inter-agency efforts in the past months, 
even being requested as ASAC on a case several weeks before that 
involved nothing more paranormal than a would-be televangelist who 
Mulder quickly brought down on mail fraud charges. It was almost too 
good to be true, Skinner smiled to himself.

Entering the lobby from the garage entrance, he was startled to see 
the subject of his mental reverie exiting the FBI building through the 
Employee's entrance directly across from him. Skinner glanced at his 
watch; it was almost 7 a.m., but this was an unusual time for one of 
his agents to be in, let alone an agent who was decidedly between 
cases. And it was a very odd time for anyone to be LEAVING the 
building.

Skinner couldn't help it, he shifted immediately into investigative 
mode, checking the off hours sign in log as soon as he cleared the 
security check-point. Agent Mulder had signed in at 6:15 and out again 
at 6:50. He had a niggling feeling about this but he brushed it aside. 
Mulder had been so well-behaved of late, Skinner reasoned, he had 
certainly earned a little trust. He tucked the entire episode in the 
back of his mind and headed for his office.

A few minutes before 9 a.m., Kimberly stuck her head in his office to 
say "good morning" and he leaned back in his chair as she entered the 
office to go over his schedule. He had been right about the reports; 
the departments he led topped the results list for the last quarter. 
He gave Kim an uncharacteristic smile and asked her to call Mulder and 
Scully to come up to his office. Their results were outstanding and 
had driven the rest of the teams to the top. He wanted to commend them 
both.

"I can get Agent Scully," Kim said. "But Agent Mulder called in a sick 
day today. . . . Or do you want me to call him at home?"

At this news, the niggling in the back of Skinner's head became a 
jackhammer. <Tell me this is not what I think it is! his brain 
screamed.> Externally, though, he was the picture of composure. All he 
said was, "No need, Kim. I'll just speak with Agent Scully." He sat 
back and waited for her to respond to Kim's summons.

Special Agent Dana Scully entered Assistant Director Skinner's office 
some minutes later. He was finishing up a phone call but Skinner 
motioned for her to sit. She looked calm and unconcerned, the very 
picture of a successful professional woman. He studied her relaxed 
posture out of the corner of his eye as he replaced the phone and 
turned to address her.

"Thank you for coming so quickly, Agent Scully," he said.

"Is everything all right, sir?" she queried immediately. "I was about 
to leave for Quantico but Kim said you needed to see me first. You 
remember that I'm filling in for Jane Kelley this week?"

Skinner immediately recalled that Scully was covering the last week of 
the forensics rotation at the FBI academy for a colleague who left 
early on maternity leave the week before. Scully had been requested on 
an emergency basis by the AD in charge of Quantico. Skinner had been 
impressed by the fact that Mulder didn't even make a face when 
informed them she was needed to finish out the class schedule.

<Why, I believe you even complimented him on being such a team player, 
Walter!>

"How is Agent Kelley's baby," he asked calmly. 

"Oh, fine, I think. After classes end today, I'm planning to go see 
her and the baby, I'm staying down in Quantico for the rest of the 
week," she replied, then focused her attention on the issue at hand. 
"What was it you wanted to see me about, sir?"

"I just had a look at the quarterlies, Agent Scully and our results 
are at the top of all of them," he replied, leaning forward over his 
desk. "Your work, and Agent Mulder's, has been outstanding and I 
wanted to tell you both it hasn't gone unnoticed. But I understand 
he's out ill today."

Dana Scully glowed and she quickly replied that she wished her partner 
was here to share the praise. "He's been unbelievable the past few 
months, sir. Like another person . . . . I wondered about it at first 
but . . . . it just seems like he's turned over a new leaf or 
something. And people are getting to see how good he really is." She 
blushed a little now, at the personal nature of her response but 
Skinner could see she was immensely proud of her partner.

"Yes," he replied. "Almost too good to be true. Perhaps I'll give him 
a call and share the good news with him." He was probing for her 
reaction.

"I'm sure that'd make him feel a lot better," she said. She looked at 
her watch and suddenly realized she had to make a move or she'd be 
late for her class. "He left me a voice message this morning that he 
ate something bad and had been sick all night. He said he was turning 
off his phone and going to sleep. That was around 6:45, according to 
the time on the voice-mail. But I'm sure he'll check in when he wakes 
up."

Skinner had watched Scully carefully throughout this recitation and he 
was certain that she was telling it to him the way she knew it. Scully 
was not an especially good liar, he thought. Not like that partner of 
hers. Skinner knew in his gut that a check of the phone logs would 
show that call to Scully's voice-mail had been dialed from the 
basement office. He didn't want to jump to any conclusions but. . . . 
things were not looking good for Agent Mulder at the moment. 

After Scully left, Skinner reviewed a number of reports and then took 
his 11 o'clock meeting with another pair of agents. After that, he had 
a scheduled lunch with the Section Chief. More praise about the 
quarterly results and, of course, the amazing turnaround Special Agent 
Mulder had made. Skinner thought his sandwich tasted like straw and he 
felt like a fraud listening to the Chief verbally pat him on the back, 
knowing something was just not as it seemed. He begged off as early as 
he could and headed down to the basement to have a look around 
Mulder's office. There must be some clue as to what Mulder had been 
doing there that morning. He had tried to call the missing agent 
several times but, as Scully thought, his phone was turned off.

Mulder's desk was the same jumble it always was but now Skinner 
recognized that it was systemized chaos -- everything in a pile and 
every pile in its place. The younger agent's mind was the same mass of 
information stored every which way but, as with the piles, he could 
always find what he needed. It was an amazing thing to watch him work, 
Skinner thought. But now he was trying to re-enact what Mulder had 
done that morning and he found, unfortunately, that his own mind 
didn't work the same way. He was stumped.

He had just given up and was leaving when he noticed a single sheet of 
paper in the wastebasket next to the fax machine. The cleaning crew 
would have been in at the end of the day yesterday so the fax had been 
received since then. He leaned over and retrieved it, noting that it 
was something that had not printed correctly the first time; the image 
was half off the page. But he could clearly make out a logo that said 
"Lone Gunmen" and a handwritten note to Mulder that read: "not 
something you'll be able to investigate "officially." Get away from 
the suits and---" That was all there was but it was enough to give 
Skinner the beginning of a Mulder size headache. It had been months 
since he'd had one, but he recognized it right away.

With a little research <you were a pretty good field agent once, 
Walter> he was able to ascertain that the "Lone Gunmen" were three 
wacko's who published a newsletter that was a mixture of 
anti-government ravings and paranoid interpretations of everything 
from satellite television to fluoridated water and <of course!) UFO 
cover-ups. He also recognized from several issues he was able to get 
hold of that they were probably deep cover contacts Mulder had 
"worked" for some time. Their newsletter included articles on several 
things that were suspiciously familiar to the AD, things Mulder had 
investigated or stumbled into at one time or another. 

A little more digging and Skinner turned up an address. He canceled 
the rest of his afternoon schedule and grabbed a cab to the warehouse 
in suburban Maryland the newsletter listed as its headquarters for its 
not-for-profit tax status filing. <Do they think they could MAKE a 
profit with this stuff, he marveled!> 

Sure enough, Mulder's car was parked down the street. Skinner paid off 
the taxi and entered the building. There was no listing for the "Lone 
Gunmen," <big surprise!> He decided to do a floor by floor canvass 
and, on the third floor, it paid off. An open door down the hallway 
and voices, one of them definitely Mulder's.

"Get in here, Frohike," Mulder badgered someone, "and close the door. 
I'm not supposed to be here, you know. I called in sick this morning."

A little elf of a man was standing in the hall, his back to Skinner. 
He was attempting to push a large box into the room from which 
Mulder's voice had come. "This would be a whole lot easier if someone 
helped me," he whined.

"Oh come on, Melvin," Mulder said impatiently, emerging from the room 
to help this "Frohike" with the box. "Let's get it in here NOW! I 
can't take a chance on being seen. Bureau policy says, if you call in 
sick, you have to stay home unless you go to see your doctor. And 
sometimes they check up on you. Not that I think that'll happen, given 
my recent performance, but if someone did-- well, you don't know the 
shit I'd get."

"That's what we like about you, Mulder," another voice called from 
inside the room. "Your ego's untouchable, and your level of paranoia's 
even higher than ours!"

"Very funny, Langly," Mulder retorted, moving behind the box to give 
it a final shove. Skinner took a position just down the hall, leaning 
against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. 

Mulder continued his monologue. "I'm not saying it'll happen. Let's 
just say I'm--" <Oh, shit!> 

". . . . busted." Mulder's voice dropped precipitously and in a 
heartbeat, he had turned sheet white. He reflexively stood straight 
up, dropping his side of the box, causing Frohike to topple over.

"You're looking well, Agent Mulder," Skinner said cheerily. "You must 
have made a miraculous recovery."

He turned to the elf who was looking up over the box from his position 
on the floor, then nodded to the two heads that stuck themselves out 
of the doorway. "These must be your physicians," he continued 
pleasantly. "Dr's Moe, Larry and Curly, I presume."

The ride back from Maryland was a study in tension. Mulder drove, as 
carefully as he knew how. He stopped at every light before it turned 
red, and even used his blinkers to signal lane changes, something he 
hadn't actually done since passing his road test back in high school! 
<No need to give Skinner one shred of additional ammunition, Mulder.>

He tried desperately to come up with a non-controversial topic to 
break the silence but failed miserably. He finally sank into resigned 
silence and waited for the storm.

Skinner finally broke the spell. "Turn here," he said, indicating that 
Mulder should exit onto Jefferson Davis Highway. <One question 
answered, Mulder, he sighed internally. We're going to Skinner's 
apartment. . . . > Mulder clung desperately to the hope that Skinner 
just wanted to be dropped off.

Taking the break in silence as a GOOD sign, Mulder decided to go on 
the offensive. <Just not as offensive as the last time, he cautioned 
himself, remembering the fiasco of four months earlier.>

"I'd just like to say, sir. . . . I mean I'd like to point out—not 
that you need my help remembering this . . . .," he stammered.

Skinner's eyebrows shot up to the top of his head but Mulder had his 
eyes on the road and didn't pick up the non-verbal cue. He started 
again.

"I mean, I just want to remind you that, well, this is the FIRST time 
in four months that I . . . ." He turned his head briefly to see 
whether there was a response from the Assistant Director and looked 
into what could only be described as "cold fury." Mulder shut right up 
and turned 100% of his attention back to the road before him. He was 
busy memorizing the license plates of every other car on the street 
when Skinner finally spoke.

"What that tells me, Agent Mulder," he said evenly, "is that you 
actually DO know the difference between what you do and what you 
SHOULD do. The past four months are proof that you CAN follow the 
rules when you have to. Hell, if you put your mind to it, Mulder, you 
could be the FBI's poster child for model behavior. . . . We could put 
you on the recruiting posters!" 

The stress level in Skinner's voice escalated with each word and 
Mulder intuitively understood that no response would help his cause. 
He held his tongue, and swallowed hard. <Just get him to his building 
and drop him off, Mulder. And don't do anything to aggravate the 
situation, he cautioned himself. Another couple of minutes is all it's 
gonna take.>

He willed himself not to press his foot harder on the gas pedal. No 
matter how bad he wanted this trip to be over, speeding would not 
help, he reasoned. In another minute they were pulling up beside 
Skinner's high-rise and Mulder steered the car into the "No Standing" 
zone outside the front door. <Please, please, PLEASE! he bargained 
silently with God. Let him get out and tell me to report to his office 
tomorrow. I'll take all the yelling and screaming he can dish out 
tomorrow, if you'll just make him decide to deal with this later. And 
I'll never do anything like this again, God, if you just -- >

Skinner sighed deeply and pulled on the door handle. <Yes! Mulder 
exulted. Thank you, God!> He tried valiantly not to let his relief 
show as Skinner opened the door and swung his long legs out of the 
car. From a standing position, he put his hand on the door to close it 
<Oh, yes!> then leaned down to say good night, Mulder imagined.

"Park the car and come up, Agent Mulder," he said. <What? What did he 
say?>

Skinner slammed the door hard. Fox Mulder's head immediately dropped 
to the steering wheel. 

He was uncertain how long he had stayed there when a loud HONK! HONK! 
from behind him startled him back to reality. In his rear view mirror 
he saw a blue-haired old lady smiling and waving for him to move his 
car. <All right, ALL RIGHT! he muttered furiously, pulling his car 
directly into an open parking space> He didn't know how much time he'd 
lost – a sensation not unfamiliar to Fox Mulder, but always before 
under decidedly different circumstances. On legs of lead, he entered 
the building.

"Mr. Skinner said to send you right up," the smiling doorman greeted 
him. Mulder nodded and headed to the elevator. It was waiting open. 
<Is there no justice? he wondered testily. A parking space by the 
front door, and a waiting elevator – just when you least want them.> 
Mulder hit "16" and began the ascent to hell.

<This cannot be happening!> The young man muttered to himself and 
raged internally as the elevator sped upward. <This just plain sucks. 
I'm a grown man, an adult for God's sake. And I'm just not standing 
for this kind of treatment again! He has all kinds of Bureau 
sanctioned punishments to choose from. And I'll accept that 
discipline. I'll even admit I deserve it! But I'm not doing this 
again!> He had worked himself into a frenzy by the time the elevator 
reached the 16th floor. The door slid open and Mulder looked toward 
Skinner's closed door. <No! This is not gonna happen!> He decided to 
refuse to participate and angrily hit the "Lobby" button. The doors 
closed quietly and he began the ride down.

Second thoughts immediately welled within him. <Shit! He's pissed now, 
what's gonna happen when I don't show up? I mean, does he give up on 
me completely?> The fact was, the past four months had been kind of 
nice in a lot of ways. Mulder actually found he enjoyed not being at 
the epicenter of trouble all the time and even started to appreciate 
being included in some of the Bureau's more mainstream activities. And 
he really liked the look of pride that occasionally passed over the 
AD's face, and Scully's too, when he was impressing the hell out of 
the "suits." The doors silently opened on the lobby and the doorman 
looked inside quizzically, at the young man quietly pounding his head 
on the elevator wall. After another moment's hesitation, he resignedly 
slammed his hand on the number "16" and the doors closed once again.

About a minute later, Mulder knocked hesitantly on Walter Skinner's 
front door. It was unlocked and cracked open at his touch; Mulder 
stepped nervously inside to find Assistant Director Skinner sitting in 
his living room, staring at the doorway. Mulder closed the door behind 
him and walked into the lion's den.

"Twenty-seven minutes, Mulder," Skinner growled. "Where did you park? 
Pittsburgh?"

Mulder thought the sarcasm was uncalled for, but he wisely decided not 
to mention it. Instead he focused his sight on Skinner sitting in the 
brown, leather chair he remembered so well from the last time he'd 
been here. The AD had changed into sweat pants and a gray tee-shirt 
that made it impossible to miss the massive, muscled arms that turned 
Mulder's blood cold on sight. He fought off a wave of fear.

"Okay, we don't need to talk about why you're here, do we Mulder? I 
would think that's clear even to you at this point. You've made some 
bad choices today, Agent Mulder, and now it's time to face the 
consequences of those errors in judgment." 

Mulder was finding it hard to make eye contact with Skinner and he 
fixed his attention on a spot about six inches to the left of 
Skinner's head. <Here it comes, he thought, overriding his feeling of 
fear and rushing headlong into misplaced anger. Why's he talking to me 
like I was twelve?>

"My belt is on the bed inside, Agent Mulder. Go get it," Skinner said 
evenly.

<He wants me to go get it? GO GET IT! What the hell kind of mind game 
is this? He's gonna whip my butt and I'm supposed to obediently go off 
and get the belt for him? Not a chance!> His legs stayed rooted in 
their spot and he shook his head. First hesitantly, then more 
forcefully.

"Don't make me tell you again, Mulder," Skinner said threateningly. 
"I'm in no mood for your crap! And you do NOT want to push me right 
now! GO GET THE BELT!"

<Well, you don't wanna push me either, Skinner. 'Cause I'm not gonna 
stay here and be treated like a goddam child.> Mulder hardened his 
stance, and the set of his jaw. <I am not getting a belt for you to 
use on me. I'm not. No fucking way!>

Walter Skinner's head shot up and he looked daggers at the rebellious 
young agent before him. "What did you say?" he bellowed.

<Shit! Did I say that out loud? Mulder panicked. Fuck, fuck, fuck!> 
But he was in a self-destructive spiral he couldn't seem to pull out 
of. And what he actually said next was, "I said 'NO.' I'm not getting 
your belt for you! Go get it yourself!"

Walter Skinner called on every shred of self-control he could muster 
fighting the urge to smash Mulder right in the face. Instead, he stood 
quietly and walked into the bedroom. Returning, Mulder saw the belt in 
question doubled over in his right hand and a shiver ran quickly down 
his spine. Skinner walked up next to him. Speaking quietly, he 
instructed Mulder to take down his jeans and his shorts. Having defied 
him already, Mulder thought better of taking it any further and he 
unbuttoned, unzipped and pushed down the clothing in question. 
Skinner's left arm went behind Mulder's back and he was quickly bent 
over under Skinner's massive arm. Without delay, he felt the belt come 
down hard on his bare backside. Skinner made no sound, and neither did 
Mulder except for the occasional reluctant gasp. After ten strokes, 
Skinner stopped and let him up. <That was it? Mulder thought 
gratefully. I put up that fuss over ten licks? Jeez, I should have let 
him get it over with and I could have been halfway through a beer at 
O'Neill's by now!>

Skinner headed for the bedroom, then immediately returned without the 
belt. He sat back down in the overstuffed leather chair. Mulder 
started to pull up his pants, sighing with relief that the whole thing 
was over.

"Don't do that," Skinner said quietly. "Let's try this again now. Go 
get the belt, Agent Mulder."

"Wh- Wh-Why?" he stammered. "You just p- punished me!"

"That was for disobeying my direct order just now. Don't mistake my 
leniency over that issue for a reprieve, Mulder," he said. "Go get the 
belt."

<Leniency! You don't even know the meaning of the word. I'm standing 
here with my pants around my knees and a boss who wants to take his 
belt to me (and already has!) I don't exactly feel like someone 
experiencing the benefits of LENIENCY!>

His stubborn streak of self-destructiveness took over again and he 
firmly shook his head. "No," he said.

"I'm not telling you again, Agent Mulder. You know what to do."

"No!"

Skinner stood and made the trip to the bedroom, again. Mulder closed 
his eyes, trying to will this all to be a bad dream. He was startled 
back to reality by a strong arm pushing on his back, bending him over 
once more. CRAACKK! The belt came down on his already striped bottom. 

"Oww!," he gasped, unable to contain his reaction any longer. Tears 
welled up in his eyes but he firmly pressed his lips together, willing 
the tears back from whence they came. <I will not give him the 
satisfaction.> The belt came down, again and again, fifteen more 
strokes in all. Mulder's backside was a deep, burning red now and he 
would have been squirming mightily were he not held firmly in 
Skinner's iron grasp.

It ended as quietly as it began. Skinner made the trek into his 
bedroom and returned empty-handed to the brown leather chair. He 
watched Mulder for a moment. The young agent was rubbing hard at his 
eyes, angrily brushing aside the tears that were running down his 
cheeks. 

<Please don't make me do this again, Mulder, Skinner silently 
beseeched the young man.> This was taking a toll on both of them, and 
Skinner knew he now understood the meaning of that old cliché his 
father sometimes used about this "hurting me more than you." <Only in 
different parts of the anatomy, of course!>

"Agent Mulder," he said evenly. "I'm going to tell you one more time 
and I think it's time you obeyed me. . . . Go get the belt."

Mulder swayed a little but didn't quite take a step in the direction 
of the bedroom. It looked to Skinner like he was unable to make the 
decision to surrender his position in this battle of wills. Skinner 
recognized the critical juncture they had reached. If he couldn't 
break this willful, mistrustful streak, he was afraid there was no 
hope for this brilliant, troubled young man. He stood up.

"No!" Mulder cried. "I was gonna go, I . . . I was just gonna go," he 
said tearfully, taking a hesitant step toward the bedroom. 

Walter Skinner took another step toward Mulder, who was now sobbing 
pitifully, his head hanging down. Skinner took Mulder's chin in his 
large hand and lifted his head until his eyes met the Assistant 
Director's head on. 

"That's a good choice, Agent Mulder," was all he said, but relief 
flooded the tear-filled hazel eyes before him. "I'll wait here."

Mulder hobbled into the bedroom and found the leather belt that 
Skinner had violently thrown on the bed a few moments earlier. He 
picked it up, swallowing hard, and headed back to the living room. 
Without lifting his head, he handed the strip of leather to the 
Assistant Director. Sighing, he felt a momentary rush of relief come 
over him. <There! It's done. How hard was that, Fox?>

A similar thought was going through Skinner's head. But he hardened 
his resolve to get through the next part. Mulder had broken more rules 
today than most Agents manage to break in their entire careers. <If 
this is going to make a permanent impact, I've got to remain firm, he 
knew.> Overriding every instinct pushing him toward leniency, he gave 
Mulder another moment to collect himself before proceeding.

"All right, you remember the drill," Skinner said, taking the younger 
man by the arm and pushing him toward the back of the chair.

"What are you doing," Mulder asked fearfully. "Haven't I been punished 
enough already?"

"That was for your defiance here tonight, Agent Mulder. Now we're 
finally getting to the punishment you bought yourself with that stunt 
you pulled today," he said. He tried to get Mulder over the chair 
back, but the young man stopped cold in his tracks. Skinner knew he 
could muscle him into position, but he decided to give Mulder his 
head, and see what happened next.

"I . . . I . . . can't . . . , " he whispered. "Please, no more. . ." 
He looked beseechingly at the AD "I know I deserve it but . . . ."

Skinner watched him conduct some inner dialogue with himself; a fierce 
struggle played out in his eyes, and on his face. Unspoken 
communication occurred between the two of them, Skinner thought, 
although he had to admit he didn't quite understand how that worked. 
<We're straying into MulderWorld here, Walter!>

Mulder closed his eyes momentarily, and took a deep, calming breath. 
When he opened his eyes, he looked at the AD and nodded, as though 
answering a question Skinner had not posed. Then he walked to the back 
of the chair and bent forward over it. Walter Skinner was nearly 
choked with emotion; such a simple act of trust, and faith in his 
judgment was something he didn't expect to see from this troubled 
young man on this occasion. Skinner reached down and ruffled the hair 
on the back of Mulder's head. "It'll all be over in a few minutes, 
Fox," he said gently.

Taking a deep breath himself, he raised his voice to normal volume. 
"What is this punishment for, Agent Mulder?" he asked. Hard as it was 
this time, he wanted Mulder to know that they would stick with the 
ritual they had established the first time Skinner took a belt to him. 
The Skinner family tradition would be upheld and Mulder would have no 
doubt what had earned him this strapping.

"For calling in a sick day when I wasn't sick," Mulder said firmly, as 
the strap came down on his already burning buttocks. "AAAhhh!"

Another lick. "And for lying to you—owwww!" Choking sobs came quickly, 
followed by a hiccup.

Skinner paused for a second to let him catch his breath. Then he 
continued because he wanted to get this over with almost as bad as 
Mulder did. CRRAACCCK!

"What else, Mulder?"

"For lying to Scully," he said tearfully, trying to remember the rest 
of it. The day seemed so long ago now, he was having trouble recalling 
all the details.

"And what else, Agent Mulder?" Skinner asked, bringing the belt down 
yet again.

"For lying to Kim!" 

Skinner was brought up short by this one and he nearly missed his 
target with the belt. A small smile passed briefly over his face. It 
was clear Mulder was having trouble concentrating on the litany of his 
sins. 

"That's roughly the same as lying to me, Agent Mulder," he said dryly. 
"Let's not forget sharing confidential Bureau documents with 
civilians." The strap smacked loudly on the young agent's blistered 
backside and he let out a convulsive sob. 

"And leaving your apartment on a sick day. But of course, that's 
related to not really being sick on a sick day, isn't it?" Skinner had 
lost the heart to continue. With his left arm, he grasped Mulder's 
shoulder, then rubbed his upper back until his sobbing began to 
subside. <Enough is enough, Walter, and this boy has had enough.>

Mulder made no attempt to get up, still weeping inconsolably. Finally 
Skinner forced the issue. "We're done now, Mulder," he said, pulling 
him to his feet. The young man stood and immediately buried his face 
in Skinner's right shoulder, still sobbing. Walter Skinner wrapped an 
arm around him and let him cry it out. As his tears finally dried, 
Mulder suddenly looked up at Assistant Director Skinner, looking for 
all the world like a hanged man who just remembered he was about to be 
shot, too.

"There's just one more thing, sir," he said. "When I told you today 
that this was the first time I went AWOL in the past four months?" 

Mulder was having trouble making eye contact again and Skinner held 
his breath waiting for this shoe to drop. 

Mulder closed his eyes and rushed on. "When I told you that, sir, 
well, that was a lie." He opened his eyes and blurted out the rest. 
"Last month, when you were at the Management Conference and Scully was 
visiting her brother--

Skinner stopped him before he could give any more details. The AD's 
blood pressure was just settling down and he was certain Mulder would 
say something to send it shooting back up.

"I think we'll bank that little incident for now, Agent Mulder," he 
said. "If we never need to do this again, well then you've got a pass 
on it. But if we do, I promise you, it'll cost you -- with interest 
applied! And I'll expect you to remind me about it. Deal?"

To his great relief, Fox Mulder gave him an exhausted smile, then his 
eyelids fluttered and almost closed. The Assistant Director could see 
he was nearly asleep on his feet. Skinner first attempted to put his 
clothes back in place, but just getting his boxers up set off a wave 
of shudders. <I remember a licking or two that left me unable to sit, 
or get dressed, he sympathized, wincing at the memory.> Walter Skinner 
had only pushed his own father once the way Mulder pushed Skinner 
tonight -- with nearly identical results. <I truly can relate, 
Mulder!>

"I know, I know it hurts, Mulder," he said gently. He led the 
chastened agent to the couch and helped him lie down on his stomach. 
He grabbed a throw pillow and put it under Mulder's head, then removed 
his shoes and jeans. Finally, he pulled a blanket out of a trunk next 
to the sofa and covered the now sleeping form. He looked down at his 
best, and most troublesome, agent and was struck by how young he 
looked in sleep. Skinner reached down and brushed a stray lock of hair 
off his forehead and Mulder murmured something unintelligible and 
snuggled down further under the blanket.

An hour later Walter Skinner sat once again in the overstuffed brown 
leather chair, the TV on very low. He had an open box of lo mein in 
one hand and chopsticks in the other and was making short order of the 
dinner "The Peking Palace" had delivered a few minutes earlier. He'd 
ordered enough for two, but it now appeared Mulder was down for the 
night. It was just as well, Skinner admitted. He doubted the young 
agent could sit long enough to eat, or drive himself home, and it was 
a hell of a long walk to Alexandria. His phone rang and he reached for 
it quickly, not wanting it to disturb the rest that had been hard 
earned by Mulder earlier in the evening.

"Sir?" Agent Dana Scully began. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I 
haven't been able to reach Mulder all day. Do you know if he's on 
assignment somewhere?"

"Yes, actually, he is currently "under cover," Agent Scully," Walter 
Skinner said, glancing at the prone form in deep, dreamless sleep on 
his couch. "Nothing to worry about, though, I think he'll be back in 
the saddle by the time you return from Quantico on Monday."

"All right, sir. As long as he's okay. I guess it's just an old habit, 
checking up on him. I know I don't need to anymore. He's been so good 
lately, it's just hard to get used to!" she smiled over the phone.

"Yes, too good to be true actually," Skinner told her. "But we're 
working on that. Good night, Agent Scully!"

THE END