The Danville Series
by Cadillac Red

Disclaimer: The characters of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and Walter 
Skinner 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: Multiple minor ones.

Setting: Sixth Season, after reassignment to the X-files.

Rating: PG. Some discipline, no slash.

Title: Hostage to the Future 

Author: Cadillac Red

Summary: When Scully's sick, Skinner accompanies Mulder on a case that 
eerily resembles the younger agent's life story. As they get closer to 
the truth, Mulder spins out of control and Skinner must try to pull 
him back before it's too late.




Hostage to the Future


The Hoover Building
Washington, D.C.
Monday, February 15

Assistant Director Walter Skinner had removed his glasses and they lay 
on the desk in front of him. He rubbed the bridge of his nose as he 
listened to his friend Chuck Talbot tell him the reason for his urgent 
call.

"It's not that the local office isn't doing a good job, Walter," Chuck 
was saying. "I think they're doing fine, under the circumstances. But 
there's a kid missing and I just keep thinking that, the longer she's 
gone, the colder this trail is getting. . . "

"I hear you, Chuck," Skinner interrupted his attorney friend. "But you 
know, the potential for 'conflict of interest' is written all over 
this. You're representing the parents. Why they've hired counsel at 
this point, I don't know--"

"They just wanted help, in case suspicion fell on them. Which it has, 
at least the local police department has questioned them a couple of 
times, implying they think the parents have something to do with it."

"So you see my point, Chuck," Walter calmly replied. "The fact is, 
when a child is murdered in this country, it's usually by someone they 
know, a parent or family member. If this child turns up dead, your 
clients will be suspects, I guarantee it. My getting involved in this 
at your request--"

"I understand you can't tell me anything, Walter," he replied quickly. 
"You know I wouldn't ask you to compromise yourself in any way. But we 
don't know this child is dead! She's gone missing, in a very unusual 
way. I'm just asking you to send in the varsity on this. . . . At 
least, look into it yourself, Walt. These parents are distraught. The 
local police have been ham-handed in dealing with them. They took days 
before calling in the local Bureau office. . . . And you know, the 
longer the girl is missing, the less likely it is she'll ever be 
found."

Skinner sighed. He was perplexed for two reasons. His long friendship 
with Chuck Talbot, stemming from their service in the Marines more 
than 25 years before, made this request problematic because Chuck was 
an attorney, representing potential suspects. And Skinner's "A team" 
for this particular case was another problem. His gut told him the 
best hope this child had was Mulder and Scully. But this case would 
touch every raw nerve in Mulder's body, the facts he'd heard so far 
were just too coincidentally close to the most traumatic event in 
Mulder's own childhood.

"Okay, Chuck," he finally said. Once he reached a decision, he was all 
business again. "Let me look into it. That's the best I can promise 
right now."

His friend was grateful and hung up immediately so the AD could get to 
work. Skinner buzzed his assistant, Kim, and asked her to get the 
Boston office SAC on the phone and then call Agents Mulder and Scully 
to come to his office.

He was speaking with the Special Agent in Charge of the Boston field 
office, Karen Dylan, when Special Agent Fox Mulder knocked on his 
office door and stuck his head in, a quizzical expression on his face. 
Skinner silently motioned for him to come in and take a seat. Then he 
interrupted Dylan for a moment to tell her he was putting the call on 
his speaker phone.

"Special Agent Mulder just joined us," he explained by way of 
introduction. "Agent Mulder, Karen Dylan is the SAC in Boston. She's 
filling me in on a case I may want you to look into." Mulder nodded 
and waited for her to continue. Skinner noted that Agent Scully had 
not arrived yet as Dylan began a concise wrap-up of the situation.

"As I was telling the AD, we don't know what we've got here," her 
voice came from the speaker phone box. "We were called in by the 
Brookline police when this child was missing for a week . The victim's 
a 7-year-old girl, Amanda Daniels. There's been no contact from a 
kidnapper, no ransom demand, no sign of forced entry into the home. 
The family and the Brookline cops pretty much trampled over the house 
for a week before we got there, so we got nothing in the way of trace 
evidence there. The older brother, Brett Daniels, age 11, was with her 
when she disappeared. He remembers nothing out of the ordinary. They 
watched TV, the girl went to bed. He followed a couple of hours later. 
When the parents arrived home at 1:30 a.m., the boy was asleep, and 
the girl was missing. There's no evidence of foul play, no contact 
from a kidnapper, no body. . . . Frankly, we haven't opened up one 
line of inquiry that's turned into anything yet." Her frustration was 
palpable.

Skinner had watched Mulder turn pale as he listened to this 
recitation. *Where the hell is Scully? I knew this would be like 
ripping off an old scab for him. He can't do this alone.*

"How. ." Mulder's voice cracked, then he visibly struggled to get a 
grip on himself. "How long has she been missing now?" he asked again, 
his voice stronger but still not a normal pitch, at least to Skinner's 
ear.

"It's been twelve days now," Karen Dylan sighed. "Every day makes it 
less likely we'll find her, alive . . . or at all."

Skinner broke in. "Thanks for the report, Agent Dylan," he said 
evenly. "If you don't mind, I'd like to see whatever you've got. We . 
. . may be able to offer some assistance."

"I don't mind in the least," she said quickly. "Any assistance that 
helps us find this kid is appreciated. But I don't think we've missed 
anything, sir--"

"I'm not implying that you have," Skinner assured her, keeping his 
eyes on Mulder. "But we have some additional, specialized resources 
here. Let's just take a look and see if they turn up any options to 
pursue."

He disconnected the call and Mulder was already on his feet. "I'll 
catch a plane to Boston, sir," he began.

"Mulder, sit down! That's premature at this point. The file will be 
faxed here in a little while, we'll take a look at what they've got 
and then determine whether we have anything to offer. . . . Where's 
Agent Scully, anyway?"

"She went home with the flu a couple of hours ago, sir," he said 
distractedly, hardly able to remain seated. "I really think it would 
be better if I just went to Boston now--"

"She's been missing twelve days already, Agent Mulder," Skinner said, 
quickly trying to figure out how to pull him back. Without Scully's 
presence as a grounding force, he knew sending Mulder up there would 
be one hell of a lousy idea. Skinner could see he was already 
personalizing this. "An hour one way or another won't make a 
difference. And I still don't know whether your involvement will be 
needed. . . . " 

He held up his hand and gave Mulder his most intimidating AD glare to 
stem his protest. When the younger agent wisely put the brakes on his 
retort, Skinner proceeded to fill him in on the impetus for his 
inquiry into the case in Boston. Mulder knew Skinner's buddy, Chuck 
Talbot well, and he immediately grasped the potential conflict of 
interest. But his compassion for the family was overriding all other 
concerns at this point. 

"I'll call you when I get the file, Mulder," Skinner said, suddenly 
feeling the need to be very explicit with his agent. "I'll expect you 
to be in your office when I call. Is that clear?" Skinner planned to 
use the time to try to come up with a good reason not to send Mulder 
to Boston. The recent reopening of the X-files might be a good excuse, 
he thought. Mulder had plenty to catch up on since Agents Spender and 
Foully had accomplished nothing on their watch. And Spender's death 
was an open item that had Mulder's full attention until an hour ago. 

But when the file arrived, the Assistant Director scanned it quickly 
and recognized that Mulder's involvement might be helpful. This case 
was a mess, there was minimal data, most of it conflicting, the 
interviews with the family conducted by the police were limited in 
value and, at the end of the day, a child was missing under very odd 
circumstances. He reluctantly concluded he had to send Mulder to 
Boston. But not alone.

He buzzed Kim. "Call Agent Mulder and have him come up right away," he 
told her. "And then cancel everything on my calendar for the rest of 
the week. Agent Mulder and I are going to Boston."

The two men met up at Reagan National Airport for the 3 p.m. shuttle 
flight. Mulder had vehemently protested Skinner accompanying him, 
angrily pointing out he didn't need a baby-sitter. They'd argued for 
several minutes until Skinner finally laid down the law. "You have two 
choices, Agent Mulder," he'd said. "You can go now, with me. Or you 
can wait until Agent Scully is well enough to accompany you. And I'm 
guessing that's next week." Knowing Mulder would not be willing to 
lose a week, he watched him finally conclude that he had no choice and 
leave to pick up his things. Now they were settled on the plane, 
reviewing what had been faxed to the A.D.'s office earlier.

"The fact that the locals treated it like a runaway case for the first 
week doesn't help. Like 7-year-old girls routinely run away from home 
-- and stay away for days!" Mulder complained, shaking his head. "The 
family and some of their friends were all over the house, searching, 
for the first couple of days, then the local cops trampled the scene. 
There'll be no finger prints, or trace evidence of any use." He sifted 
through the material a little more.

"Agent Mulder, the locals had no reason to suspect anything other than 
that the child had run away," Skinner said, trying to keep Mulder from 
taking an accusatory stand with the police when they got there. The AD 
knew that would not be a productive approach to the local law 
enforcement people. Mulder appeared not to notice.

"And these interviews, they're useless," he continued. "We'll have to 
talk to everyone again. . ."

"Mulder, you're right. But let me handle the liaison work. You pissing 
off the locals, or the Boston field agents, or anybody else won't 
help." The younger agent kept sifting through the material in the 
file, lost in thought, barely listening. 

Skinner watched him for a moment. *This is gonna be ugly. Chuck's 
gonna owe me big time for this!* Then he AD sighed and prepared 
himself for a long siege of holding Mulder on a very short leash.

**********************************************************************

Boston Field Office
Monday, February 15
5:03 p.m.

SAC, Karen Dylan and Agents Mike Cangialosi and Stacy Gannon were 
waiting for them. The two agents had met Mulder briefly once before 
and they greeted him warmly. With barely a nod in return, Mulder began 
listing the things he'd need to get started, instructing them to set 
up interviews with the parents and the brother for first thing in the 
morning. Skinner watched Dylan bristle at his tone, but she admirably 
kept her resentment out of her voice as she told her agents to give 
him everything he asked for. Even Skinner thought some of his requests 
were odd but he'd seen Mulder work enough to know there was always a 
method to his madness. Skinner requisitioned an office for them to use 
and diplomatically tried to steer Mulder into it, away from the 
others. He'd long known Agent Scully played buffer for her partner as 
well and he knew instinctively he wouldn't be as good at it as she 
was. For one thing, he didn't have as much patience as Dana Scully 
obviously had, to work closely with Mulder for the past six years. 

"Agent Mulder, let me repeat myself once again," he began when they 
were alone. But Mulder's head was buried in the additional material he 
had requested. He raised the volume. "Mulder! Look at me when I'm 
talking to you!"

The younger agent's head snapped up at his tone and he looked 
confused.

"That's better. Now what did I say to you on the plane, Mulder?" No 
response came and it was clear Mulder had not heard one word Skinner 
had said to him in flight. "All right. Let me say it again, then. DO 
NOT piss off the personnel here in the Boston office. DO NOT take an 
adversarial stand with the local police. And don't, under any 
circumstances, try to ditch me the way you routinely do with Agent 
Scully. I don't think I have to remind you, I'm a whole lot less 
tolerant than she is, Agent Mulder."

Mulder listened in silence, then nodded his head. *This is gonna be 
ugly! I have to convince him I can do this alone-- fast! He has to 
head back to D.C. soon or he's gonna be in my way. . . !* "Yes, sir," 
he replied meekly.

Skinner watched his performance without reaction. *Well, if this FBI 
gig doesn't work out for you, Mulder, you might want to consider a 
career in Hollywood!* "Good," he said simply and picked up the phone 
to call Chuck Talbot.

**********************************************************************

Gallagher's Steakhouse
Boston, Massachusetts
8:17 p.m.

Skinner, Mulder and Talbot had barely finished placing their dinner 
orders when Mulder launched into his stream of questions. They had met 
a few minutes earlier at a restaurant near Talbot's office. After 
reviewing the information from the Boston field office and the local 
police, and talking to Gannon and Cangialosi extensively, they both 
sensed there was more to be learned from Chuck. 

"The Daniels are ready to meet you first thing in the morning," he 
told them. "I spoke to them earlier."

"I still think it's a strange thing for the parents to do, hire a 
lawyer," Skinner asked him before Mulder could. "I mean, a private 
detective I could understand, if they thought the police weren't 
giving it enough attention--"

"Don't be so skeptical, Walter," Talbot told him. "Hiring a lawyer is 
not an admission of guilt. You may have been in law enforcement too 
long!"

"But you have to admit, it's unusual," Mulder broke in. "It doesn't 
seem like it would be the first thing that would come to the parents' 
minds. . . "

"Well, in this case, they were upset by some of the things the police 
asked them," Chuck replied quickly. "Once the cops realized Amanda 
probably had not run away, they immediately started questioning the 
parents as though they were suspects. I know Carl Daniels from a 
business organization we both belong to. He asked me for help, that's 
all."

"And you don't think they're involved?" Mulder asked pointedly.

"I have no reason to believe they are," Chuck said smoothly. "But 
that's your job, to find out, right?"

"Tell me about the boy," Mulder probed.

"Brett seems like a good kid to me, bright, articulate for his age. 
He's 11-years-old, appears to be in shock. His mother told me today 
she's had him in therapy for a couple of years. He's been diagnosed 
with an Attachment Disorder--"

"What?" Mulder blurted out. "She told you that today? Has she told 
anyone else?"

Skinner and Talbot were surprised at his outburst. Their drinks 
arrived as he said this and all three of them waited impatiently for 
the waiter to drop the beers and leave. Skinner could see Mulder was 
processing this new information, lining it up in some fashion with the 
other information catalogued in his brain about the case.

"What exactly does that mean, Mulder?" Skinner asked him. "Why is that 
significant?"

"Well, first of all, it's a grossly overdiagnosed syndrome," Mulder 
said testily. "You know, nowadays if a kid has trouble sitting still, 
he's got "Attention Deficit Syndrome." Kid can't stand his mother, 
it's an "Attachment Disorder." 

Skinner could see he was seriously disturbed by the implications of 
this news. "But if he does have this, Mulder," he pressed, "what would 
that mean?

The color rose in Mulder's face and he hesitated before answering. "If 
he did have some kind of attachment disorder, it would mean he doesn't 
form caring relationships, he would have no empathy, no response to 
anyone else's pain. . . . I don't think we should jump to the 
conclusion that's a legitimate diagnosis--" 

"But if it is, Mulder?" Skinner pushed him. "What's the likelihood 
that a kid with this syndrome could hurt, or kill, his little sister?" 
Chuck Talbot's eyes nearly popped out of his head watching this 
dialogue between the two FBI agents. Mulder hesitated a long moment, 
then looked directly at Skinner.

"If a kid really had this," he said quietly, "it's possible something 
like that could happen." Mulder looked like he was going to be ill; 
he'd turned pale and shaky in the last two minutes. Skinner knew he 
was already over-identifying with Brett Daniels. And he hadn't even 
met the kid yet.

"But where would an 11-year-old hide a body?" Skinner asked, wanting 
to dismiss this possibility, at least for now. "There's been no 
evidence to indicate the girl's been harmed. . . " Neither of the 
other men responded, for very different reasons, and he continued 
chewing on this line of inquiry. Something was niggling at the AD, 
though, and finally he voiced it. "Chuck, how did this information 
come up today?" he asked his friend.

"Just came out of the blue," Talbot replied after swallowing half his 
beer to calm his nerves. "We were talking about you guys coming to 
town and how I thought you'd be able to get the investigation back on 
track. Her husband was the one who first brought up the therapist, 
then she mentioned the diagnosis--"

"They just suddenly remembered that the kid supposedly has this 
thing?" Skinner responded. "Seems strange to me. These parents have 
one child missing, and they're busy pointing the finger at the other 
one, as a possible suspect? Not exactly Ozzie and Harriet, are they?"

Talbot didn't respond, but Mulder gave Skinner a curious look. He was 
taken aback by how quickly Skinner had reached this conclusion, one he 
himself hadn't fully formed yet. The Assistant Director gave him a 
look that signaled him not to say anything further and they finished 
their meal over small-talk and some tentative plans to return to 
Chuck's Nantucket vacation place over the summer. 

**********************************************************************

The Fairview Hotel
Boston, Massachusetts
Room 512 & 514

Once they were checked into their rooms, Skinner immediately picked up 
the phone, simultaneously knocking on the connecting door to Mulder's 
room as he waited for the call to go through. Mulder pulled the door 
open and started to speak but Skinner held up a hand to silence him.

"Chief Dylan, I'm sorry to disturb you so late but I want to get 
someone started on something. We need a full check run on the Daniels' 
family background, where they've lived, do they have a vacation place, 
travel anywhere regularly? Then we need all the hospitals in the areas 
they frequent checked out, specifically we want admissions or 
emergency room visits for the Daniels kids, anything you can find'--"

Mulder advanced into Skinner's room. "We need a recommendation for a 
top-notch child psychologist, too, sir. To assess Brett Daniels. 
Probably someone at Mass General, they have an excellent program."

Skinner relayed this and added that the boy should be given a full 
physical as part of the evaluation. "Check for old injuries, any kind 
of physical trauma."

Dylan quickly understood where they were going. "The parents may not 
allow us that much access, not if they think he might be a suspect," 
she interjected.

"We'll speak to them tomorrow, try to sell them on it," Skinner told 
her. "In the meantime, just line up the medical professionals so we 
can move quickly if we do get permission. I have a gut feeling they'll 
let us do the psych screen. We may have to bury the physical as part 
of that process."

Mulder had already returned to his room and was sitting on his bed, 
surrounded by sections of the Daniels file. He was staring at a photo 
of the two children. Skinner watched him for a moment then walked over 
to the bed. He started to gather up the material and Mulder protested 
immediately. 

"I'm taking the file with me, Mulder," Skinner told them. "It's almost 
11 o'clock. You need a good night's sleep. We'll begin again first 
thing in the morning." He bade his agent good night and closed the 
connecting door.

When he knocked on the door the next morning, though, there was no 
answer. Entering the room, he saw the bed had not been slept in. 
*Goddammit, Mulder! What did I tell you about ditching?* He was even 
more disturbed to see their rental car gone. He called the local 
Bureau office and asked if Mulder was there but he was not, so Skinner 
asked them to send a car for him. Then he paced his room, waiting and 
considering where Mulder might have gone. Finally it hit him.

*********************************************************************

Brookline, Massachusetts
7:13 a.m.

Special Agent Mulder was sitting in the rental car, parked across the 
street from the Daniels' home. He'd been watching the place all night 
and now he desperately needed a cup of coffee and a hot shower. And 
probably a body guard when Skinner caught up with him. But he'd 
realized as soon as the AD mentioned the time last night that Amanda 
Daniels disappeared sometime between 9:30 p.m. and 1:30 a.m. And it 
would help him to see what went on in their neighborhood during those 
hours. He'd made it there by 11:30 but nothing of note came to his 
attention. So he proceeded to spend the rest of the night, hoping 
something would happen that might produce a lead or a potential 
witness.

RAP! RAP!

His head jerked at the sudden noise and he looked over at the 
passenger window to see Skinner's scowling face peering in at him. 
Startled, he hastily reached for the controls on his door, to unlock 
the passenger side for the AD But he first hit the button that rolled 
down the back window, then accidentally hit the button to lock all the 
doors. Skinner tried the passenger door and it wouldn't open and his 
scowl grew deeper. "Open it, Agent Mulder!" he growled in the open 
back window. 

"I'm trying," he muttered, accidentally hitting the horn with his 
elbow as he reached for the controls on the unfamiliar door panel 
again. Losing patience, Skinner reached in the back window and 
unlocked the door manually before Mulder could locate the right 
button. The Assistant Director climbed in and handed him a cup of 
coffee, then slowly took the top off his own cup and took a sip before 
speaking.

"What did I tell you about ditching, Agent Mulder?" he said quietly.

Mulder swallowed hard, staring at the lid on his coffee cup. "Not to," 
he replied, just as quietly.

"And I think I also told you to go to bed last night, didn't I?" 

"Sir, I needed to see--"

"What goes on here at night, I can figure that out, Mulder. But the 
girl disappeared on Tuesday night, that's tonight. And we should 
surveil the place during all the hours that she might have gone 
missing, which includes several hours before you even got here last 
night. And Bureau procedures require we cover both ends of the street, 
which you certainly couldn't do alone."

Mulder hung his head and bit his lip, knowing where this was going and 
recognizing he couldn't stop this train wreck if he tried. "So you 
lost a night's sleep, disobeyed two direct orders and . . . DITCHED 
ME. And accomplished nothing. Have I got that about right?" Skinner 
finished and waited for a response from the chastened young man beside 
him. When none was forthcoming, he continued.

"Not to mention, we have an appointment with the Daniels family in 
less than one hour and you look like someone who's missed a night's 
sleep and could use a shower and a shave at the least. Not exactly the 
image the FBI wants to project. . . . Now get this car moving. As it 
is, we'll have to postpone the meeting. We can't get back here in 50 
minutes."

They were back in an hour and a half, though, with Mulder's hair still 
wet from the shower he'd practically run through. The drive to their 
hotel and back had been tense, with Mulder expecting Skinner to lay 
into him at any moment but it didn't happen. *God, I hate waiting! Why 
can't he just bawl me out and be done with it? 'Cause he's waiting 
till we get back to the hotel and he's gonna let me have it, that's 
why!* Back at the hotel, Mulder danced carefully around the Assistant 
Director, managing to circle the massive presence in his room as he 
showered and dressed without getting his butt smacked once. Truth be 
told, Skinner didn't even make an attempt to let him have it, much to 
Mulder's surprise. Today, as every other day, Skinner was playing by 
his own rules, the younger agent realized and he wouldn't be pushed by 
Mulder, or anyone else.

They entered the Daniels home a few moments later, ushered into the 
living room by Beth Daniels, the mother of the missing girl. She 
explained that her husband had been called away on 'urgent business,' 
in Washington, D.C. "He's been under a lot of pressure lately," she 
added gratuitously. "His job with the State Department is very 
demanding."

"Your husband works for the State Department?" Mulder blurted out 
immediately. "In what capacity?"

Mrs. Daniels blinked and sat back in her chair, obviously surprised by 
his strong reaction. Skinner recognized her discomfort and Mulder's 
astonishment at this further similarity to his own life. He gave 
Mulder a warning look and turned to the woman.

"Mrs. Daniels," he said smoothly, "we realize you've probably told 
your story to many people at this point. And we've read all of their 
notes. But there are some holes in their accounts, some areas they may 
not have explored fully, that may help us locate your daughter. . . . 
Perhaps if you just start at the beginning, tell us what happened. . . 
."

When she finished her story, it was clear there were details the 
police and the Boston FBI agents had not uncovered, mostly because 
they would not be apparent to anyone who had no previous knowledge of 
another child's abduction. Mulder, of course, had first-hand knowledge 
and more importantly, had spent the last five years of his career 
focusing on exactly these kinds of disappearances. "Could we speak to 
your son now?" Mulder finally asked. "And we'll need your permission 
to put him under hypnosis--"

"Hypnosis! What-- why would you--" Mrs. Daniels sputtered. "What in 
heaven's name--"

Skinner realized his warning to Mulder had 'worn off' in the younger 
man's mind and he stepped in again to try to allay the fear his 
request had created in the mother's mind. "I think that may be a 
little premature, Agent Mulder," he said, his voice smooth but firm. 
Turning to Beth Daniels he spoke casually. "Sometimes hypnosis helps 
people remember details they may be too shocked to recall consciously, 
details that could help us find Amanda. But we don't know that yet," 
he said pointedly. "We do need to talk with Brett now. . . "

She seemed a little mollified but there was still suspicion in her 
eyes. "I . . I don't know what my husband would say about hypnosis. 
Perhaps we should wait until he's back before you speak with Brett."

Both Mulder and Skinner knew she had been prepared to let them speak 
with Brett before Mulder's ill-timed request to hypnotize the boy. The 
younger agent looked to Skinner for help, recognizing he'd pushed the 
mother too hard, too fast. A look passed between the two men that 
communicated more than any words could. The Assistant Director knew 
waiting would be problematic for many reasons; they needed to speak to 
the boy, and soon. Who knew whether the father would agree to the 
request when he returned?

"Mrs. Daniels, I promise you, we only want to hear Brett's story, we 
won't pressure him or do anything you're not comfortable with. And you 
can be there the whole time, if you'd like."

She seemed reassured by this statement but still hesitant. Finally 
Mulder broke in. "Mrs. Daniels, your son may be the best hope we have 
of getting your daughter back." He looked so honestly concerned, so 
deeply worried about the possibility of not finding Amanda, the woman 
finally relented. 

"He's in his room upstairs," she said, her eyes filling with tears. 
"He hardly comes out at all any more . . . It's the first room on the 
left." She let them go alone, as if she were afraid to hear his story 
yet again.

Mulder knocked on the bedroom door but there was no answer. He looked 
at Skinner, and the AD could see lines of worry etched in his face 
already. He wondered yet again if letting Mulder interview the boy was 
a mistake. If letting him work on this case was a mistake. Finally, a 
voice answered tentatively, telling them to come in.

The room was a typical young boy's room, all plaid and deep colors, 
although curiously devoid of the kinds of mementos Skinner remembered 
collecting as a kid. No baseball cards, no rocks or sports trophies, 
just one lonely poster for a musical group Skinner didn't recognize, 
and a bunch of books sitting neatly on bookshelves above the bed. 
Brett Daniels was lying on the bed, his arms crossed under his head, 
staring at them as if they carried a communicable disease. 

"Brett, I'm Fox Mulder and this is Assistant Director Skinner. We're 
from the FBI, from Washington, D.C. We'd like to talk to you, if 
that's all right."

The boy stared, unresponsive, for a few seconds, then he shrugged. 
"I've already told everyone else everything I know," he said 
resignedly. "You could just read their reports, couldn't you?"

"Well, they may have missed something. Or they might not have known 
the right things to ask," Mulder answered him, taking a seat on the 
end of his bed. Skinner pulled a chair out from the desk and took a 
seat also. He thought Mulder would spend a few minutes just getting 
the kid comfortable so he was surprised when the younger agent pressed 
the boy right away. "Why don't you just tell us what happened, in your 
own words?"

The boy took a deep breath, then he fixed his eyes on a point on the 
ceiling. "I was watching Mandy. It was the night of teacher 
conferences at school and my parents both went this time. And then 
they were going to have dinner and go to a movie. They told me Mandy 
should go to bed at 8 o'clock, then I should go to bed at 9:30. They 
called at 9:30 to remind me. . . . And they asked me to check on 
Mandy, to make sure she was asleep. Then I went to bed--"

"Did you check on Mandy then, Brett?" Skinner asked him, sensing 
Mulder was going to let this point slide. The boy looked directly at 
him for a split second, then his focus returned to the ceiling. 

"I told you they told me to. . . " he replied, as if the answer were 
obvious. But Skinner and Mulder both recognized this attempted sleight 
of hand.

"But you didn't actually check, did you, Brett?" Mulder asked him 
gently. "It's important because we need to establish when Mandy might 
have disappeared. And that means it might have been a few hours 
earlier than the police originally thought."

The boy's eyes filled with something, fear or guilt, Skinner couldn't 
tell. Mulder reached out and laid a hand on his leg. "It wouldn't have 
made any difference, Brett," he said quietly. "You can't blame 
yourself. . . . But you need to tell us everything you can remember, 
exactly the way it happened. That's our best chance of finding Mandy."

"But if I did check, maybe I could have stopped them--"

"Them?" Mulder responded immediately. "What makes you think it was 
more than one . . person?"

"I don't know, I just keep thinking . . . maybe I heard some voices, 
after I went to sleep." He spoke dully with little emotion or concern. 
"I . . . I can't exactly remember. . . . I don't know why. I can 
usually remember everything! I don't know what's wrong with me! My Mom 
and Dad said I was old enough to watch Mandy alone for a little while. 
And I lost her. . . . And now they think. . . I swear, I don't know 
how it happened. . . ." Skinner watched the boy' recitation and 
Mulder's reaction; he could see the younger agent was expecting an 
outburst of some kind, but the boy remained deathly calm, even matter 
of fact as he discussed the aftermath of his sister's disappearance. 
Mulder seemed mystified by the boy's monotone narrative.

Skinner wanted to refocus attention on some details that were still 
bothering him. "Was this the first time you watched Mandy for your 
folks?" he asked, thinking it was odd that the parents would choose to 
stay away so long when they entrusted their child with this 
responsibility. Mulder appeared surprised by this question too but he 
didn't follow up on it as Skinner expected. Instead the younger agent 
seemed to become lost in his own thoughts. Skinner was growing 
concerned, and frustrated, trying to track both sets of responses 
throughout this interview. 

Finally, the boy nodded, confirming that it was his first time 
baby-sitting for his sister. Skinner proceeded to ask him if anyone 
came to the door, or called, or if he noticed any activity in the 
street that night. The boy had nothing more to offer in this vein so 
Skinner then focused on general questions about him, his sister, his 
family, looking for some inconsistency that would provide a lead. In a 
little while, Mulder seemed to resurface and asked him about the 
therapist he'd been seeing.

"Dr. Kleinschmidt," the boy nodded. "Mandy and I started seeing her 
when we moved here. I'm not really sure why we go there, but my Dad 
thought it was a good idea. I think she works with him--"

"She works for the State Department, too?" Mulder asked him, trying 
not to appear too stunned by this piece of information. "What does 
your Dad do for the State Department?"

"I don't exactly know," the boy replied. "He never talks about it. But 
I heard him talking on the phone once, about 'experiments.' I think he 
works on experiments."

This might seem logically complete to an 11-year-old, Skinner thought 
to himself, but it was woefully suspicious to both him and to Mulder, 
he knew that without looking at the other man. This story got stranger 
all the time. The door to the boy's room opened suddenly.

"Mr. Skinner? Mr. Mulder?" his mother interrupted them. "Can I see you 
downstairs, please?"

They told the boy they'd be back in a few minutes and followed Mrs. 
Daniels down the stairs. She turned on them the moment they were back 
in the living room.

"I just spoke to my husband," she said. "He doesn't want anyone 
talking to Brett, until he's back here. I . . . I think he's right. We 
just don't want him to be upset any more than necessary."

Mulder immediately began to argue with her decision. "But we need to 
learn what he knows, Mrs. Daniels," he pressed her. "He was the only 
one present when she disappeared--"

"Can't you see he's been through enough? My husband is right. One of 
us needs to be with him when you speak to him--"

"We offered to let you be there, Mrs. Daniels," Mulder interjected 
angrily. "You chose to stay down here--"

She blinked at his implication and Skinner stepped between Mulder and 
the woman, attempting to defuse the escalating confrontation. "Mrs. 
Daniels, I understand your concern," he said evenly. "And we don't 
want to do anything to upset your son, or you and your husband. But we 
would like to have Brett seen by a child psychologist, someone who 
might help us . . . determine the best way to work with him, to get at 
whatever memories he may have locked away in his subconscious. Would 
that be all right?"

She relaxed a little at his tone and his words. Still, she hesitated, 
not sure whether to agree. "I think that sounds all right," she said, 
"but I'd like to discuss it with Carl. He'll be home tonight--"

Mulder was angry at the delay and had begun to protest before a glare 
from the AD stopped him. Skinner pressed his lips together and took a 
deep breath before speaking to Beth Daniels.

"Mrs. Daniels, we want you and your husband to be comfortable with the 
process. But we also can't afford to lose too much more time. Every 
day your daughter is gone means the trail is colder. . . and the 
likelihood of getting her back is more remote. I'm sorry to be so 
blunt, but we need you and your husband to give us your full 
cooperation, if we're going to be able to help you."

Her eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill over any second. 
"I want to cooperate . . . " she said softly. "Please, I'll speak to 
my husband tonight and we'll let you see Brett tomorrow."

Sensing they'd get no further today, the two FBI agents returned to 
their car, and began the drive to the field office in Boston. They had 
barely hit the road when Mulder erupted, banging his hand on the 
steering wheel. "Fuck! 'Attachment Disorder' my ass! We need to get 
him to a child psychologist, now! This whole story stinks! Daniels is 
in this up to his eyeballs--"

"Calm down, Mulder," his boss told him angrily. "You practically 
pushed that woman into cutting off all access to the boy already!"

"She's involved in this somehow, sir! She knows more than she's 
saying--"

"Mulder! Listen to me!" The younger agent continued his tirade and the 
Assistant Director finally bellowed at him in the small confines of 
the car. "I said SHUT UP!"

Mulder stopped in mid-sentence and closed his mouth, but it was more a 
result of shock than an act of obedience, Skinner knew.

"That's better. Now stay quiet and listen to me. You have already 
personalized this case way too much. I should be shipping your ass 
back to D.C. on the next plane," Skinner said firmly. He fixed Mulder 
with a glare that would make most men quiver; in this case, it got the 
younger man to hold his tongue a little longer. "I said 'should.' I'm 
gonna let you stay with this, against my better judgment, Mulder. But 
you better get a grip on yourself. AND . . . I will not tolerate any 
further disobedience, do you hear me?"

Mulder looked away from the AD, checking the side-view mirror on the 
driver's side to see if he could move the car into the left-turn lane. 
He used the moment to collect himself, knowing he'd have to appear 
suitably contrite and cooperative to keep Skinner from taking any 
further action following his screw-up this morning . . . and last 
night. And he had screwed up, badly.

"Yes, sir," he said quietly, looking briefly at the man in the 
passenger seat. "I hear you. And I'm sorry I fucked up that interview 
this morning. If I hadn't pushed her--"

"We don't know what would have happened, Mulder," Skinner said calmly. 
"I seriously doubt she would have let us take the boy today anyway, 
with the husband out of town. . . . And I keep thinking that's 
strange, Mulder, that he suddenly goes out of town, with his daughter 
missing, and us coming to interview them this morning. . . . I want to 
check on Carl Daniels. . . "

The rest of the day passed with both men buried in the minutiae of an 
ongoing investigation. Mulder had requested schedules and reports for 
all the agencies that patrol the neighborhood the Daniels live in, 
private and public; all of the delivery organizations whether Federal 
Express, UPS or the US Post Office; the weather and traffic 
helicopters from the local TV and radio stations; reports from the 
Coast Guard. Air Force and Naval facilities within 300 miles. Reports 
from MUFON about UFO activity in New England on that date. Massive 
amounts of data were working their way into the "War Room" that had 
been set up for this project inside the Boston bureau office. It was 
unusual for an Assistant Director to participate in an investigation 
at this level, and Karen Dylan and her staff were quick to jump on any 
requests he made; The AD was suitably impressed with the office she 
ran, and her agents. At 6 p.m., Skinner had someone send out for pizza 
and he decided to bring Mulder a slice and a coke a little while 
later, having watched the younger agent head off to a solitary post 
earlier in the day, after antagonizing the Bureau Chief and several 
local agents with his odd and impatient requests for information. The 
AD was sure Mulder had not gotten any lunch. He, himself, had settled 
for a bag of pretzels and a Snickers bar from the vending machine in 
the basement.

"Eat something, Mulder," he told the young man as he took a seat 
beside him. "You've had a half-dozen cups of coffee and nothing with 
any nutritional value all day, as far as I could see."

"I'm not hungry," he replied, already impatient at the interruption. 
"I'm in the middle of--"

"I don't care, Agent Mulder," Skinner told him sternly. "Eat this or 
else."

The AD watched him eat, pressing Mulder to fill him in on what little 
usable information he'd been able to glean from all these reports in 
between huge bites. Swallowing the last of the crust, he picked up the 
coke can and downed the rest of the drink, then gave Skinner a look 
that said 'Satisfied now?' and perhaps something else to which the 
Assistant Director chose not to respond. Skinner glowered at him and 
got up to return to his work. *And this is just Day 2! I don't have 
the patience to put up with this crap. It's a good thing for him I 
usually only get the Reader's Digest version of this stuff!*

Mulder immediately withdrew his cell phone and hit the memory dial for 
Scully. 

"Hello?" she answered. From the sound of her voice, she must have been 
asleep.

"It's me," he said without further preamble. "Are you better yet?"

"Mulder," she sighed. "I've been sleeping for two days straight so, 
yeah, I'm a little better. Thanks. How are you doing with your new 
partner?"

"Very funny. As you might expect, he's driving me crazy. And I just 
can't work like this. Are you well enough to come to Boston?"

"I've got the flu, Mulder," she said patiently. "It seems to be a mild 
strain but you don't get over it in two days."

"It's been three and a half days, Scully, counting Sunday when you 
said you were already not feeling well," he responded, slipping into a 
whine. "And if you don't come to Boston, they're gonna be shipping one 
of our bodies home in a plastic bag for you to autopsy. And somehow, I 
don't think it's gonna be Skinner's."

"Mulder, please try not to be so dramatic. I'm sure it's not that 
bad--"

"No, actually, it's worse. Since this might be our final 
communication, I just wanna say . . . have a nice life, Scully." With 
that he hung up the phone and turned it off.

At just past 10 p.m., Skinner forced him out of the office and they 
returned to their hotel rooms, both men taking additional work with 
them. Skinner was well aware of Mulder's propensity for immersing 
himself in an investigation, to the exclusion of all else, including 
food, sleep, bureau procedures and the need to keep his partner and 
other colleagues informed of his actions. But he'd made his mind up 
that was not going to happen this time. *I'm too damn old to go 
through it -- and it's not a productive thing for him either. It stops 
right here, right now!* 

At 11 p.m., the AD knocked on the connecting door between their two 
rooms and, without waiting for a response, entered Mulder's room. It 
was strewn with clothes and the bed was covered with files and piles 
of paper and photographs. Mulder was sitting on a chair with his feet 
propped up on the bed; he'd changed into sweats and a T-shirt, and he 
was staring at some aerial photos and chewing on a sunflower seed.

"Is something wrong, sir?" he asked, glancing up at the other man. 
Mulder was obviously annoyed by the intrusion; he always became 
solitary and reclusive when he was in the middle of a case. Not to 
mention the inevitable insomnia that took hold of him when he was 
working like this. But he believed in his heart it was the price he 
paid for the work he did and did well.

"No, Mulder, nothing's wrong, at least not right now. But we do have 
some things to deal with, your 'inappropriate behavior' today not the 
least of them. And then we both need to get some sleep. But first, I 
want this place cleaned up--and I want the files packed up for the 
night."

Mulder stared at him in outright shock. *Dammit! I thought he'd 
forgotten about . . . Shit! I can't work like this, I fucking can't!* 
He made no move to obey and Skinner walked up to him and knocked his 
feet off the bed with a single move. The young agent's feet dropped to 
the floor with a thud and he nearly tumbled out of the chair.

"I. . . I'm sorry about this morning, sir" Mulder said contritely, 
trying to talk his way out of trouble and get the other man to return 
to his own room. At least it was worth a try. "And last night. It 
won't happen again, I promise--"

"No, it won't, not if I have anything to say about it, Agent Mulder," 
Skinner replied smoothly. "You have five minutes to get this place 
cleaned up. I'll be back." With that, he disappeared into the 
adjoining room, leaving the stunned young man to find a way to comply 
with his directive. Mulder hastily grabbed the files on the bed and 
the ones on the table and shoved them into an accordion folder he'd 
brought from the Boston field office. Then he gathered up the photos 
stacked on the bed and a bunch of others on the floor and the chairs. 
Trying not to get them out of order, he put them in a large envelope 
and stacked it with the other things. Finally, he scooped up all of 
his clothes and stuffed them in his bag, choosing to hang only the 
suit jacket and trousers that had fallen in a heap off the back of the 
desk chair. He was just finishing when Skinner returned.

Skinner surveyed the room and nodded his approval. "Let's see if you 
can keep it in this condition, Mulder," he said, pulling the chair out 
from the desk and placing it in the center of the room. He took a seat 
and motioned for the younger agent to seat himself on the bed in front 
of him. His mouth dry, Mulder sat tentatively on the bed.

Skinner looked at him for a long moment, seeming to be torn about what 
to say next. But once he decided, he didn't give himself time for 
second thoughts. "When my brother Jeremy died, I . . . felt 
responsible. Hell, I knew I was responsible, at least partly. If I had 
just pulled him off the railing one more time . . ." his voice trailed 
off momentarily. Then he looked at Mulder and went on, stronger and 
surer. "I was at loose ends about just about everything. My schoolwork 
started slipping. I started getting in trouble, getting in fights with 
people, even my closest friends. I was angry at the world and I guess 
I just wanted to make certain the world knew it."

Mulder was nodding but his eyes betrayed his confusion. *I can't 
imagine you acting out, under any circumstances. It just doesn't fit 
the profile!*

"Looking back on it, I was like a car that goes into a skid. Only 
instead of easing off the brake and working myself out of it, I was 
alternately hitting the gas and slamming on the brakes. And making the 
skid worse. Heading toward a wall and not able to get any traction to 
stop, or turn away from the inevitable crash." He stopped, waiting for 
some sign of comprehension but Mulder was watching him warily. "As you 
can imagine, my folks did everything they could to help me cope, to 
alleviate my guilt. They were supportive and loving . . . and 
forgiving. But finally, my Dad realized all the comfort in the world 
wasn't doing the trick."

Skinner leaned forward, clasping his hands between his knees and 
gazing directly into the younger agent's eyes. "And he decided I 
needed to be reminded of the . . . behavioral boundaries we'd 
established when I was growing up. That despite this traumatic event, 
I was still expected to behave in an acceptable manner. That Jeremy's 
death was a tragedy, but not an excuse for going crazy. And Mulder, 
you know my Dad well enough to guess how he reestablished those 
boundaries." 

Mulder's face telegraphed his sudden fear that he knew exactly where 
this was going. He immediately thought back to his conversation with 
Scully earlier in the day. *I was right, Scully! You'll see! And 
you'll be sorry you didn't listen to me. . . * Another voice in his 
head countered. *But not as sorry as you're gonna be, Mulder!*

"So, Mulder, I think you're in a skid, right now, one that's gonna 
have you crashing into a wall any time now. And that's not something 
I'm prepared to allow. Running off last night, disobeying my direct 
orders, blowing that interview with Mrs. Daniels because you were 
thinking with your emotions instead of your head, pissing off your 
colleagues in the local office. . . all those things tell me that 
you're out of control right now. This case is resonating for you in 
all kinds of ways--"

"Sir, I said I was sorry about all that. And it won't happen again--"

"Oh, but Agent Mulder, I think it will happen again, unless you learn 
that whatever traumas you've experienced in your life, and I'm not 
minimizing them, they don't excuse this kind of behavior. And I 
promise you, I'm gonna remind you every time you start to step out of 
line--"

"What?" Mulder blurted, rising from the bed and stalking toward the 
door before turning back and glaring at the Assistant Director. Hands 
on his hips, he yelled, "All right, if you think I deserve to be 
punished for last night and today, well, okay, I guess I agree. What 
choice do I have? But you're gonna punish me every time I do something 
you don't like? How's that fair? And how the hell am I supposed to 
work under that kind of pressure?"

"If you don't do anything to deserve punishment for the rest of this 
case, Agent Mulder," he said agreeably, "and I seriously doubt that 
will happen having watched you work today-- but if it does, then 
you'll have nothing to worry about."

Mulder shook his head angrily, not wanting to get into a debate about 
whether he could stay within the bounds of what Skinner thought was 
'acceptable behavior' for any length of time; he wanted to argue that 
he could but, then again, he hated to lose. And never in his career 
had he had Skinner at his side throughout an investigation. He was 
relatively certain he wouldn't cut it under that kind of scrutiny. He 
decided to try another appeal.

"Look, I get what you're saying. And I . . . appreciate the analogy. 
But you were a kid, sir. And your Dad is your . . . well, he's your 
Dad. This is completely different. Our 'deal' is different. You're my 
boss and . . . and I'm not a kid."

"No, you're just acting like one, Agent Mulder," Skinner said firmly, 
putting an end to further discussion. "We're gonna give my Dad's 
methods a try. I'm not discussing it any further. Go get me your 
belt."

Mulder resisted his order for a few seconds, shaking his head and 
coming damn near stamping his foot in frustration. But he'd gotten 
into a battle of wills with Skinner over this exact request once 
before and come out on the sorry end of that struggle. Swallowing down 
the acid taste of fear in his throat, he went over to the closet and 
slipped his belt out of his trousers. Still frantically trying to come 
up with some way to avoid what was coming, he failed to realize how 
long he was taking.

"Agent Mulder! Don't make me come get you," Skinner yelled, and the 
young man nearly jumped a foot in the air. Breathing shallowly, he 
dragged himself over to Skinner, his eyes on his feet as he handed him 
the belt. 

"Okay, drop your sweats and get over my lap," Skinner instructed him. 
His voice was calm and even, and Mulder didn't get a hint of anger 
from the older man. He knew for sure he'd earned this punishment, but 
that didn't make it any easier to take. *Over his knee AND using his 
belt! This is just to make sure the point hits home, isn't it, 
Skinner? . . . . And it's working!* Sighing and biting his lower lip 
to keep from whimpering, he pushed his sweat pants down and let the AD 
guide him across his legs. He felt his cotton boxers come down next 
and then heard the question. "What's this punishment for, Agent 
Mulder?"

Biting back an angry retort, he squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation 
of the first lick (SMACK!) and ground out, "For disobeying you and 
going to the Daniels place last night!" (SMACK!) "And for messing up 
on that interview this morning!" (SMACK!) He was determined not to 
give Skinner the satisfaction of making him cry and as the strap came 
down over and over again, he fought valiantly to maintain his resolve. 
But it was a losing battle and by the fifteenth stroke, his bottom was 
burning and the first gasping sob had escaped. At twenty, he was 
crying miserably and by the time the AD finished, with a twenty-fifth 
hard lick, he had passed the point of fighting it and was bawling like 
a baby.

"Okay, Mulder," Skinner said quietly, pushing him onto his knees after 
letting him cry for another minute. "I want you to get in bed now, and 
don't even think about getting up until I call for you in the morning, 
do you understand me?" He pulled the younger man into a warm hug and 
rubbed his back gently for a moment.

"I won't be able to sleep," Mulder complained between hiccuping sobs. 
"I can never sleep when I'm in the middle of a case like this--"

"Well, we'll see about that," Skinner said soothingly. "Good night, 
Mulder." He watched the young man climb into bed and punch a pillow 
into a balled-up position under his head. *A pillow that probably has 
my face on it!* Then he watched the younger man drift immediately off 
to sleep before turning off the light and closing the connecting door. 
Thinking better of it, he pushed the door back open a few inches and 
went to bed.

At 6:30, Skinner's wake-up call rang through and he grabbed it before 
the first ring ended. Bounding out of bed, he opened the connecting 
door a few more inches and was relieved to hear Mulder's steady, 
rhythmic breathing in the next room. He decided to let the younger man 
sleep a while longer while Skinner went through his morning routine of 
sit-ups and push-ups, a habit that had stayed with him from his days 
in the Corps. Then he showered and ordered breakfast for the both of 
them before rapping on Mulder's door at 7:15. "Rise and shine, 
Mulder," he called pleasantly. "Daylight's burning."

"Wha-wha-what the fuck?" he muttered, jerking out of a sound sleep. 
"What?"

"Time to get up, Mulder. Jump in the shower, breakfast should be here 
in about ten minutes."

Mulder was still confused; he rarely slept soundly through the night 
and he never woke to an early morning reception from 'Sergeant 
Sunshine' when he was in the middle of a case. He sat up and 
immediately felt the dull soreness in his hind quarters, a reminder of 
his last contact with the AD the night before. He thought better of 
protesting the other man's irritating morning patter and headed for 
the shower.

When he exited the bathroom half-dressed, the connecting door was 
fully open and Skinner had breakfast set up in the other room. He'd 
ordered some kind of cereal and fruit, juice, milk and coffee. Mulder 
rarely had anything for breakfast other than a cup of coffee and 
occasionally a donut and his stomach rebelled immediately. "I don't 
want any," he said.

Skinner was reading the morning paper that had come with their 
breakfast. He looked up momentarily, then pointed at the chair across 
the table. Mulder sighed, and sat down, gingerly. He stared at the 
bowl of cereal without moving. Skinner reached over and picked up the 
remaining glass of milk, then dumped it on the bowl of cereal in front 
of the young man. "Eat," he growled, returning his attention to the 
newspaper in his other hand.

"Could I at least have the sports section?" Mulder asked plaintively. 
It was handed to him in silence and he settled down to eat his 
breakfast, despite his belief that he'd never swallow the vile stuff 
the AD had ordered. Except with the sliced bananas, it actually turned 
out to be good. Before he knew it, he'd finished the cereal, a glass 
of juice and two cups of coffee.

Satisfied they were both sufficiently nourished, Skinner told Mulder 
they were expected at the Daniels' home in an hour. With morning 
traffic, they'd just about make it. Mulder didn't know that Skinner 
had spoken to Chuck Talbot the day before at length, trying to get him 
to advise his clients that letting them speak to Brett, and letting 
them have him assessed by the child psychologist at Mass General, 
would be the best hope for finding Amanda. Talbot had been concerned 
about the possibility of hypnosis, he'd heard about it from Beth 
Daniels, but Skinner assured him that would require the parent's 
permission. Once reassured, he agreed to speak to Carl and Beth, to 
obtain their cooperation, again.

This time, their interviews went more smoothly. Carl Daniels explained 
he was a minor functionary in the State Department, "processing visas 
mostly," he'd told them. Skinner thought their home was a little rich 
for someone at that level of government service, and both he and 
Mulder knew the family had lived in London and Tunisia in the past ten 
years, not locations to which the State Department sent 'paper 
pushers' but they both kept their suspicions to themselves. Daniels 
seemed to develop an immediate dislike of Mulder, at least that's how 
it appeared to Skinner, but he finally agreed to let Brett meet with 
Dr. Keller at Mass General the next day. Feeling like they were making 
some progress, albeit slow, the two FBI agents returned to the office. 
Skinner had renewed confidence but Mulder seemed lost in his own 
world. The AD tried to get him to talk but without success. When they 
arrived downtown, they found the local office had been doing its part 
as well. 

"We found several visits for the Daniels' kids at emergency rooms," 
Agent Stacy Gannon told them. "Nothing too out of the ordinary for 
Amanda, but Brett seems to be . . . well, 'accident prone,' you might 
say. "A broken collar bone, a shoulder pulled out of its socket, a 
broken nose, a couple of broken ribs. All of that over the past two 
years. Before that, they lived abroad."

"Why didn't the emergency room staff report any suspicions they might 
have?" Skinner asked her, knowing there were strict requirements for 
medical professionals who suspected child abuse. 

"These were all at different hospitals, sir," she responded. "And one 
was at a hospital near the family's vacation house in Maine. And they 
didn't report all of them to their insurance carrier either. So no one 
would be able to find a pattern unless they were looking, like we 
were."

"I knew it," Mulder broke in. "That kid doesn't have any kind of 
attachment disorder! He's just plain terrified! And I've been thinking 
about his behavior yesterday, his lack of response may be the result 
of drugs. We've gotta get him out of there, sir--"

"Hold on, Mulder," Skinner said quickly. "We don't have anything more 
to go on than a few accidents. And kids have accidents--"

Mulder began to argue with him but he was immediately stopped by a 
hard stare. 

"Let's see what else we've got," Skinner said, turning to Agent 
Cangialosi and Agent Gannon. They'd staked out the Daniels home the 
night before with a team of agents. The rest of the morning passed 
quickly as they continued to compile information about the Daniels 
family and their friends and acquaintances.

Skinner took a conference call from the D.C. office in the afternoon 
that lasted a couple of hours. At five o'clock he emerged from the 
private office he'd been given to find the team on this case still 
busily at work. Surveying the crowd in the bullpen, he immediately 
realized Mulder was nowhere to be seen. He crossed over to Chief 
Dylan, who was conferring with several agents about information they'd 
received from the State Department about Carl Daniels' career.

"Where's Agent Mulder?" Skinner asked her, trying not to betray the 
depth of his concern.

"He left a couple of hours ago, sir," she replied. "He didn't say 
where he was going."

Skinner nodded, then walked away, pulling his cell phone out of his 
pocket as he went. He hit the memory button that corresponded to 
Mulder's number but before the call went through, his phone was 
ringing with an incoming call. He recognized the number immediately.

"Chuck?" he answered.

"Walter, what the hell are you people doing? Where did you take 
Brett?" Chuck Talbot asked him angrily.

Skinner's heart nearly stopped at the question; he immediately knew 
Mulder was involved up to his eyeballs. "I don't know what you're 
talking about," he answered his friend, trying to buy time. "Is the 
boy missing?"

"Yes, he's missing. The kids at school saw him leave with someone who 
sounds like Mulder. Are you saying you don't know about it?"

Skinner had to think quickly. "I . . I've been on a conference call 
all afternoon, until just a moment ago. Let me check and I'll get 
right back to you." He disconnected even as Chuck was asking another 
question and immediately hit the memory button for Mulder's cell 
phone.

"Mulder."

"Mulder! What the hell do you think you're doing?" He was so furious 
with the younger agent, he couldn't see straight. 

"I . . . What do you mean, sir?"

Skinner wanted to raise his voice to a roar but he was still within 
earshot of the agents in the bullpen. Heading down the hall to the 
private office he'd vacated a few minutes earlier, he ground out his 
next sentence. "Don't bullshit me, Mulder. I know you have Brett 
Daniels."

There was a moment of silence on the other end and Skinner was briefly 
worried that Mulder would just hang up. "I had to do something, sir," 
he replied evenly, quietly, as though the boy were probably with him. 
"I couldn't let the . . . situation continue."

"Where are you now, Mulder?" Skinner asked him pointedly. "And don't 
even think of lying to me!"

"We're at a restaurant near the hotel, sir. It's called "Burger 
Heaven." Brett said they have the best burgers in the world and . . 
he's right!" He could tell Mulder was smiling at the kid, trying to 
keep him at ease.

"Don't go anywhere, Mulder," he cautioned him. "I'll be there in a 
little while."

Skinner got a car and driver and sped over to the restaurant, the 
"Home of Boston's Biggest Burgers." He was relieved to see Mulder and 
the boy still sitting at a table not far from the door. Mulder's 
mostly uneaten meal lay before him but the kid had devoured most of 
what must have been a huge sandwich. Mulder spotted the AD and stood, 
looking a little embarrassed. Skinner couldn't tell if it was because 
of his actions, or the fact that he'd been caught so quickly. Mulder 
walked over to Skinner and waited, sneaking a peek back at the kid 
every few seconds.

"I know you're angry, sir--"

"You don't know the half of it, Mulder," Skinner replied succinctly. 
"But believe me, you will."

"We have to get him tested, sir," he said firmly, ignoring the 
implications of Skinner's previous statement. "I don't believe the 
parents would have surrendered him for medical testing tomorrow--"

"Oh, so you're psychic now, are you, Mulder?" Skinner felt a migraine 
the size of New England blossom but he pushed it aside and focused his 
attention on the unrepentant young man in front of him. "They agreed 
to cooperate when we spoke earlier--"

"So I just pushed the timetable up, that's all," Mulder replied 
heatedly. "I'm sure these 'cooperative' parents won't have a problem 
with that, sir."

Skinner knew this conversation was counterproductive to be having in 
front of the child, and in a public restaurant, so he clamped down his 
next response and walked over to the table. "Hi, Brett," he said with 
a smile. "Agent Mulder tells me you ate a burger the size of Boston!"

The boy smiled, a little tentatively. He had seen the angry clash 
between Mulder and Skinner and accurately read the body language. He 
knew Mulder was in trouble. 

"Do you want to go home now, Brett?" the Assistant Director asked him, 
sitting down to get to his eye level. He threw Mulder a look that 
instantly quelled his protest. "We can take you home. Or we could take 
you to see a doctor you're supposed to see tomorrow anyway. As long as 
you're out with us. What do you think?"

Brett licked his lips and looked from one FBI agent to the other, 
obviously trying to gauge their preferences. Finally, he nodded his 
head. "Well, if you think the doctor's there now, I guess I might as 
well get it over with," he replied slowly. "I really hate doctors."

Mulder laughed. "You and me both, kid! I promise you, this won't hurt 
at all!"

They gathered the boy's things and began to leave. "I won't make any 
such promises to you, Mulder," Skinner whispered in his ear as they 
headed for the door.

**********************************************************************

Massachusetts General Hospital
Boston, Massachusetts
10:47 p.m.

Mulder and Skinner sat in the waiting room with Chuck Talbot and Carl 
and Beth Daniels. The parents had arrived with Talbot a couple of 
hours earlier and given permission for the hospital to do a 
psychological screening of their son. They were less enthused about 
the physical examination, Mulder thought but were finally convinced by 
Skinner and Talbot that it was all part and parcel of the psych exam. 
Carl Daniels had left to make a phone call and Mulder tried to follow 
him but Skinner caught his attention as he was leaving. 

"I told you to park yourself in that chair, Agent Mulder," he said, 
his jaw still clenched with fury, his arms crossed tightly over his 
chest. 

"I have to go to the men's room, sir," he answered, just as angrily. 

"Well, all right then. I'm sure you won't mind if I accompany you."

Mulder blinked in surprise. "I-- I can go by myself. . . sir."

"No, I don't think so, Mulder," the AD replied.

Mulder stopped in mid-step, debating whether to continue the charade. 
"Never mind. I guess I don't have to go after all."

Skinner crooked his head in the direction of the chair Mulder had been 
occupying until a minute ago, indicating he should return to it. "I 
thought not."

At just before 11 o'clock, Daniels came back in and spoke quietly to 
his wife, then Talbot. It appeared the couple were going home for the 
night. They didn't bother to look in on their son before they left, 
something Skinner and Mulder both took note of. Once they had gone, 
Skinner picked up his cell phone and hit one of his speed dial 
numbers. Someone answered and he barked some orders.

"I want two armed guards posted on Brett Daniels' room for the rest of 
the night, with a third man at the nurse's station. No one comes or 
goes out of that room." He listened for a moment, then nodded and 
stood up, grabbing his coat. "We'll be there in a little while. Let's 
go, Mulder."

Mulder was momentarily stumped by where they were going but he was so 
overjoyed to see that Skinner obviously didn't trust the Daniels 
couple, or their story, he didn't even question it. The AD took the 
driver's seat and in a few minutes Mulder knew they were headed to the 
FBI office in Boston.

"You know it's still going on, sir," he said quietly, as they pulled 
into the parking area. "The experiments. Cassandra Spender. Scully. My 
sister Samantha. . . . Amanda Daniels is just another lab rat to these 
. . . people. And her father's in it up to his eyeballs."

Skinner nodded thoughtfully. "We're not jumping to any conclusions, 
Agent Mulder," he cautioned the younger man. "But there's something 
more going on here than they want us to know. Whoever 'they' are."

When they reached the conference room, they found SAC Dylan and her 
people waiting, with a tape machine. "Wait 'til you hear this, sir," 
she said, smiling and hitting the 'Play' button. Carl Daniels' voice 
could be heard immediately.

"Don't say anything. Just get him. Now."

A voice on the other end of the line responded. "He's in a meeting--"

"This is an emergency! They've taken Brett. Everything's falling 
apart--" Daniels' voice was tinged with fury and real terror.

"Calm down, Daniels. We'll call you back." The call disconnected, but 
the people on the other end obviously had a call back feature on their 
phone, because a second call began to play.

"Yes!" Daniels had frantically picked on the first ring.

"Mr. Daniels, I understand you've been trying to reach me." Mulder and 
Skinner's blood ran cold. They both recognized the voice. The speaker 
could be heard taking a drag on a cigarette before continuing. "What 
exactly is the emergency?"

"The FBI has Brett. In a hospital! They're doing tests--"

"Please try to restrain yourself, Daniels. What is it you're worried 
they'll find?" CGB Spender asked him calmly.

"You have to get my wife and I out of here! And Brett! I've done 
everything you bastards asked," Daniels whispered frantically. "God 
help me, I let you take. . . . I'm not losing my son, too!"

There was silence on the other end of the phone for a moment, another 
drag on a cigarette. Finally, the Cigarette Smoking Man replied. "We 
all have sacrifices to make, Daniels. Go home. Now. I'll take care of 
things, as I always do." The call disconnected.

"We have to get protection for the Daniels!" Mulder was on his feet. 
"He's going to kill them!"

Skinner watched him make this leap of faith and recognized it was just 
that. But it rang true. He turned to SAC Dylan. "We've got a car 
posted outside the house. Change their orders. They're to stay with 
the Daniels until we arrive. Hold them at gunpoint, if necessary." He 
and Mulder headed for the exit, with Skinner calling back. "We'll need 
a full team out there!"

"Done, sir," she called, a phone already in her hand.

They arrived to find a stand-off at the Daniels home. The agents who 
had been there when Skinner's order came through were at the front 
door, but Carl Daniels had refused them admittance.

"What the hell is going on here?" he screamed at Skinner and Mulder 
when they approached the house. "Have you people lost your senses 
completely?"

"We know you're involved! We know all about the 'experiments,' Mulder 
began, his voice already taut, the volume near deafening. Skinner 
grabbed his arm and physically jerked him back. 

"Mr. Daniels, if we can just come in, we have information you will 
want to hear," he said calmly but with authority. Daniels responded as 
a trained bureaucrat.

He hesitated for a moment, and glanced back at his wife, then nodded 
and admitted them silently. Skinner told the rest of the team to stay 
outside, then with a warning glance at Mulder, the two of them 
followed Daniels into the living room. As Mulder laid out his 
knowledge of the entire conspiracy, Beth Daniels appeared to go into 
shock but her husband's reaction was harder to peg. He listened to 
Mulder's story guardedly, watching the young agent's every move with 
what appeared to be suspicion, to Skinner's eye.

As Mulder finished, Daniels put his arm around his wife. "That's a 
wonderful story. I'm certain they'll be interested in Hollywood--"

Mulder rose and exploded before Skinner could rein him back. "Don't 
pretend you don't know what's happening! You're involved! You've been 
involved for years--"

Beth Daniels recoiled physically at his words and her husband threw 
his other arm around her protectively, and started to move her out of 
the room and toward the stairs. "Please! My wife has been through too 
much already! She doesn't need--"

Skinner interjected, loudly. "Agent Mulder!"

"She needs to know what you are!" Mulder yelled even as Skinner threw 
his body between him and the Daniels couple, pushing him back. "The 
kind of man who'd give his own daughter up for alien hybridization 
experiments! Who'd leave his son swinging in the wind, feeling 
responsible--"

"Agent Mulder! That's enough!" Skinner pushed him down into the chair 
he'd just jumped up from. "I said that's enough!"

Mulder stopped yelling, but he was breathing hard and there was fire 
in his eyes. Skinner sensed he was acting on anger he'd kept banked 
for years, decades even. But he couldn't let Mulder's personal crisis 
interfere with accomplishing what they'd come here for. 

"Wait outside, Mulder," he ground out, trying not to let his own anger 
get in the way of achieving their goal. 

The younger agent's eyes flared with anger and disbelief. "You're 
gonna let him get away with that? He knows more than he's saying! He 
might even know how to get Amanda back--"

"And he's not telling us anything now, is he, Mulder? Not after that 
little scene of yours!"

"I had to push him, to see what he really knows--"

"No, Mulder. You had to exorcise some personal demon of your own, 
whether it advanced this case or not! That's what you were doing. 
Don't pretend otherwise," Skinner came back at him. He took a deep 
breath and lowered his voice measurably. "We'll discuss it later. 
Right now, I want you to wait outside--"

"But--," Mulder began to protest vehemently, only to be physically 
restrained by the larger man looming above him.

"I said, WAIT OUTSIDE." Skinner hauled him to a standing position and 
muscled him toward the front door. "I'm gonna see whether I can repair 
some of this damage. Then I'll deal with you. Is that clear?"

Mulder blinked in fear but almost immediately regained control of his 
reaction. Inside his stomach churned and he felt like throwing up, but 
a mask of indifference descended on his face. He shook off Skinner's 
hold and left the house, slamming the door behind him. The Assistant 
Director sighed and paced, waiting for Carl Daniels to return from 
upstairs.

When the other man reappeared a few minutes later, Skinner had to use 
every ounce of diplomacy he ever claimed to get Daniels to listen to 
him. But eventually, the other man relented, on Skinner's promise that 
Mulder would not return. Daniels immediately relaxed and Skinner noted 
again, what appeared to be his underlying suspicion and distrust of 
the younger agent. Certainly his behavior here earlier was less than 
confidence-inspiring, the AD thought, but this reaction seemed to 
predate and overwhelm that interaction.

"We only want to try to get your daughter back," Skinner began. "I'm 
not excusing Agent Mulder's actions here tonight. But I assure you, 
his only interest here is seeing your daughter returned safely. And 
your family together again."

Daniels' eyes betrayed his complete lack of faith in that statement 
and Skinner sensed he needed to probe that reaction. "I know you 
couldn't possibly know this, but Agent Mulder lost a sister in a 
similar way. Twenty-five years ago. That's why he . . . takes this all 
so personally--"

"I believe you sincerely want to help," Daniels told Skinner suddenly. 
"But that man, Mulder. . . is on THEIR side! He's one of them!"

Skinner looked at Daniels incredulously. "Perhaps you need to explain 
that to me. . . . "

When Skinner exited the house an hour later, he told the ASAC to keep 
the house under armed surveillance until further orders from him. Then 
he asked where Agent Mulder was.

"He left, sir," the Boston agent told him. "About an hour ago."

Skinner fought off a reaction that would let this team of agents know 
how angry he was. "Did he take our car?" he asked evenly. On hearing 
Mulder had, he then asked for an agent to drive him to the hotel, 
where he hoped to catch up with the ever disobedient Agent Fox Mulder. 
The sun was just coming up when he arrived but Mulder was not to be 
found. Skinner showered and changed quickly after calling the Boston 
field office and the hospital and hearing that no one had seen Mulder. 
He left a note on the bed in Mulder's room. 'M- STAY HERE UNTIL YOU 
HEAR FROM ME! Consider that an order! - WSS' it read in large, dark 
block letters.

He arrived at the Boston office just before 10 o'clock in the morning. 
Karen Dylan and Agent Gannon were waiting, with news. 

"We've done some further checking on Carl Daniels," Dylan told him. 
"He is employed by the State Department, but he's been on a leave of 
absence for more than 10 years. Assigned to some quasi-government 
project that the Department of Agriculture is supposedly running. 
Except DOA has no record of him, or this project, at least not 
officially. And the other day, when he supposedly went to Washington 
on the spur of the moment? He took a shuttle to New York, sir. Never 
set foot in D.C., as far as we can tell."

Skinner thanked them for the information. It wasn't really news to 
him, but it confirmed all of his and Mulder's suspicions. He asked 
Dylan if anyone had heard from Mulder but they had not so Skinner 
decided to try his cell phone again. Again, no response. It was 
apparently turned off. The Assistant Director found his blood pressure 
building as he went on with the investigation, wondering what the hell 
Mulder was doing. And whether his decision to let Mulder pursue this 
case, was disastrously wrongheaded.

**********************************************************************

Logan International Airport
Boston, Massachusetts
1:30 p.m.

Mulder anxiously scanned the passengers exiting the just arrived US 
Air shuttle from Washington, D.C. He relaxed visibly when he saw the 
man he'd been expecting.

"Thank you for coming so quickly," he greeted the other man. 

"I'm glad you called me," Dr. Heitz Werber answered him. "Your story 
was compelling. And your renewed faith in the work, well, I can't tell 
you how pleased I am to hear it."

"The truth is anything but pleasing, Doctor," Mulder told him as he 
ushered him toward the exit. "But I know now that everything you 
helped me remember is true. And it happened again just a couple of 
weeks ago. . . ."

**********************************************************************

The Fairview Hotel
Boston, Massachusetts
3:12 p.m.

Special Agent Dana Scully dropped her bag on the floor of room 516. In 
their usual habit, she'd asked for the one on the other side of 
Mulder's room, and asked the maid to unlock the connecting door. She'd 
had to flash her FBI badge but that worked like a charm. It always 
did.

When she and Mulder were working on a case, the work spilled over into 
all hours of the day and night for her partner and she sensed from his 
phone calls that this case was hitting closer to home than most. His 
call earlier today had sounded almost desperate and, despite the fact 
she was not fully recovered, her long years of reading him told her 
she was needed. If only to provide a buffer between him and Skinner. 
It appeared their partnership was doomed from the start, according to 
Mulder. And the note lying on the bed in Mulder's room told her things 
were deteriorating rapidly. *You ditched the AD! How stupid is that, 
Mulder?* 

After telling him that morning that she would try to get there by the 
end of the week, and experiencing the brunt of his disappointment, 
Scully had hung up and immediately had second thoughts. She no longer 
had a fever. And Mulder had flat out said if she just showed up, 
Skinner would probably head back to D.C. Which appeared to be all he 
wanted from her, at least at this point. So she packed a bag and took 
the Boston shuttle that arrived at 2:30 p.m. The effort had tired her 
more than she anticipated though. After trying the Boston field 
office, and finding neither Mulder nor Skinner there, she decided to 
lie down for a little while before trying their cell phone numbers. 
She immediately fell into an exhausted sleep.

**********************************************************************

Massachusetts General Hospital
Boston, Massachusetts
4:19 p.m.

Dr. Heitz Werber was surprised at how quickly and easily Brett Daniels 
went under. He found children were often highly susceptible to 
hypnosis but this boy was different. Werber knew without a doubt that 
he'd been hypnotized before. He glanced at Mulder and saw he had 
reached the same conclusion.

"I want you to back to the night Mandy disappeared, Brett. You're 
there again, but nothing can harm you or Mandy. Tell me what you see."

"She's floating away. I can't move to help her. I want to help her, to 
try to get her back. But I can't--"

The hospital room door opened and Assistant Director Walter Skinner 
appeared. The look on his face was ominous but he merely surveyed the 
room and the situation and silently beckoned Mulder and Werber to the 
hallway. Werber looked startled by the interruption and he issued a 
suggestion to Brett that he go to sleep now, trying to ease him out of 
the trance as gently and as quickly as possible. Then he made his way 
to the hallway, followed by Mulder.

"What the hell is going on here?" Skinner asked them as soon as the 
hospital room door closed.

"We are conducting a hypnotic regression," Werber replied indignantly. 
"One that should not be disturbed in process--"

"Did Agent Mulder tell you the parents gave permission for you to 
hypnotize the boy?" Skinner asked pointedly, his eyes glued to Mulder.

"Well, of course they gave permission. I wouldn't--" Werber responded 
heatedly before noting the look on Mulder's face and realizing he'd 
been misled. 

"That's what I thought," Skinner spat out. "Thank you for your 
assistance, Doctor. But unfortunately, we have to let the parents have 
the final say here."

"You don't get it, do you?" Mulder exploded. "This boy's been a test 
subject too! He's been hypnotized before! Ask Dr. Werber--"

"I don't care, Agent Mulder. We do not subject children to tests their 
parents have not given permission for!"

"Agent Mulder is right about one thing. This boy has obviously 
undergone a great deal of hypnosis. I won't continue this session, of 
course. You are correct about needing parental permission. But it is 
important information, given the . . . circumstances. There is more 
here than meets the eye." Dr. Werber nodded at Skinner and Mulder, 
then returned to the room to check on the boy and gather his things.

"Don't even think of trying to lose me, Mulder," Skinner growled at 
the rebellious young man next to him. 

Mulder swallowed hard and crossed his arms, staring defiantly off at 
something down the hallway, anything to avoid eye contact with the 
other man. Skinner opened the door to Brett's room and waited for Dr. 
Werber to exit and head toward the elevator. Then he reissued orders 
to the agents on duty in the hallway that 'no one is to enter this 
room except the medical personnel we've already cleared without my 
prior notification. Is that clear, Agents?' They nodded mutely and 
watched the very angry AD leave with Mulder in tow. 

"I wouldn't want to be that guy for all the tea in China," one said to 
the other as they watched the elevator doors close behind Mulder.

**********************************************************************

The Fairview Hotel
Boston, Massachusetts
6:47 p.m.

After stopping at the Boston office and getting an update on the 
investigation that had been proceeding without Mulder, the Assistant 
Director and the younger agent drove to their hotel in angry silence. 
Skinner was working hard to keep a lid on his fury at the young man 
beside him, trying to convince himself he should allow some slack for 
the personal chord this case must strike for Mulder. But he kept 
coming back to their discussion less than 36 hours earlier, and the 
very specific orders he'd issued subsequently. The orders Mulder had 
flouted and ignored, without exception.

For his part, the younger man was caught in an emotional cross-current 
that left him feeling like a drowning man. He knew he'd disobeyed 
multiple direct orders from the Assistant Director, and violated 
several FBI regs to boot. *But dammit, we're so fucking close! So 
close to the answers! Why can't he see that? That any means to the end 
is justified now?* But even as he thought it, his own conscience 
refused to agree. And that made him angry at himself, too. *So it's 
unanimous! I hate the whole fucking world!*

They parked and entered the lobby in silence. Rode the elevator in 
silence. By now, Mulder was thinking frantically, trying to decide how 
to approach the AD, to try to mitigate the situation with whatever 
excuses he could concoct. Only none came to mind. At least, none he 
thought would work. They took out their card keys and opened their 
rooms separately. Mulder pulled off his suit jacket and threw himself 
on the bed. He optimistically noted the connecting door was closed and 
let himself hope against hope that --

The door swung open and his heart sank. The AD stalked into the room 
and took a position directly across from him, leaning on the desk, his 
arms crossed angrily over his muscled chest. Mulder noted he'd removed 
his jacket as well, and rolled up his sleeves. *This is not exactly a 
good sign. You should have updated your will, asshole!) He waited for 
Skinner to speak. And waited a little longer. Finally, his nerves got 
the better of him.

"I know you're mad," he began. "And you have every right to be! I 
fucked up, sir. I know that--" He got up and began to pace, working 
himself into a frenzy over the fact that Skinner still had not spoken. 
Feeling compelled to fill the silence, Mulder babbled on.

"And I know I disobeyed you. More times than you can probably count! I 
don't have any excuse. . . . except we're so damn close! After all 
these years, it's within reach but I can't . . . I just can't seem to 
get it!" He slammed the heel of his hand into his own forehead 
angrily.

"Stop it, Mulder,' the AD finally said, concerned at his sudden turn 
into self-recrimination. This was more than remorse at his actions of 
today. Skinner sensed this was a lifetime of self-blame and guilt 
rising to the surface. And he was not about to let this young man sink 
further into that morass. "We're here to deal with today, Mulder. Your 
actions and your disobedience today. Everything else is water under 
the bridge. . . "

"How can you say that?" Mulder shouted suddenly. "Everything leading 
up to this, everything that's happened. All leads back to me! To my 
inability to see it for what it was and stop it. . . before more 
people die, or get taken against their will!"

Skinner raised his own voice now. "No, I'm not letting you go there, 
Mulder," he said forcefully. "What we're facing, God help us, is a 
potential global catastrophe! You are not responsible for any of this. 
You are not solely responsible for ending it. That's the entire crux 
of your problem, Mulder. You act like you're in it alone. You don't 
use the help that's there for you. You don't keep us informed about 
what you're doing. Even Scully is always running to catch up with you! 
You're the best hope we've got, Mulder. I believe that with all my 
heart. But you can't do it alone. And I'm not going to let you go on 
thinking that you have to. . . . And I'll take a strap to your butt 
every day if that's what it takes to get it through your thick skull!"

Mulder stared at him, seeming not to comprehend for a moment, then his 
shoulders dropped and his chin sunk to his chest. Skinner's heart went 
out to him, but he knew Mulder needed him to be his backstop now. To 
pull him out of the skid, once again. He reached for his belt and 
began to unbuckle it. Mulder's head shot up as he caught the motion in 
his peripheral vision but he didn't try to protest, or plead for a 
reprieve. Skinner was surprised and a little relieved. 

"All right, Mulder," he spoke sternly, knowing that a no-nonsense tone 
was the best way to get the younger man through the next few minutes. 
"Take down your pants and get over here." The AD took a seat on the 
bed and waited while Mulder did as instructed. Then the younger agent 
dropped to his knees next to the AD and leaned forward. In one swift 
move, Skinner quickly pulled him over his legs and pulled his cotton 
boxers down to mid-thigh. "What is this punishment for, Agent Mulder?" 
he asked him as he laid the first burning stroke across his bottom.

In the next room, Scully had awakened a few minutes earlier, still 
groggy from her earlier exertion. Finding it dark, she reached for the 
bedside lamp and realized there were raised voices in the room next 
door. At first she was confused, unable to remember exactly where she 
was. But then the voices became familiar. It was Mulder and Skinner, 
shouting at each other. *Oh, God. This is worse than I thought!* She 
sat up, trying to decide whether to intrude on their argument. Neither 
man was expecting her, and she thought it would be better to let them 
get whatever it was settled before knocking on the connecting door. 
Their voices quieted a minute later and she gave it another minute, 
then went to the door, prepared to knock. 

(SMACK!) (SMACK!) "Oucchhh! Aaahhhhhh!" 

Scully stopped, stunned by the sounds coming from the next room, 
Mulder's room. *What the hell is going on in there?* She could hear 
Mulder's voice, although she couldn't make out much of what he was 
saying between grunts and yelps. And she could hear Skinner's voice 
occasionally, its tone firm and insistent. But again, she couldn't 
make out any words. But she was certain she knew that other sound, 
leather striking bare skin. 

Overcome with fear and curiosity, she quietly cracked the connecting 
door open -- and was stunned by the scene in the next room. Skinner's 
back was to the door, but he clearly had Mulder over his knees, and he 
was applying a leather belt to the other agent's bare, reddening 
backside. Scully blinked in shock. As Skinner's right arm rose and 
fell with each stroke, Mulder squirmed and called out the answer to a 
question Scully hadn't heard.

"Owww! For ditching you at the Daniels house, sir! Unnnhhhh! And for 
lying to Dr. Werber about having permission to hyp-hypnotize Brett! 
Ouucchhhhh!"

"What else is this strapping for, Mulder?" Skinner asked as Scully 
pulled the door silently closed and walked back into the middle of her 
own room. She ran a shaking hand through her hair and went into the 
bathroom, to splash some water on her face. *Maybe this is a 
nightmare! I just have to wake up. This cannot be happening!* 

In Room 514, the Assistant Director was continuing his assault on 
Mulder's now flaming rump. He kept up a steady rhythm, laying stroke 
after stroke on the fleshiest part of the younger man's rump, 
determined this lesson would be one he would not soon forget.

(SMACK!) "Owwww! I'm sor-- I'm sorry! I won't (SMACK!) do it again," 
Mulder sobbed as the punishment continued. "I promise. . . !" (SMACK!)

Skinner laid one more burning lick right across the 'sit spot' before 
dropping the belt on the bed next to him and reaching up to tousle 
Mulder's hair, to reassure him that the strapping was over. He let the 
young man cry out his frustration and anger at himself another moment 
before forcing him to get moving. 

In the next room, Scully came to a decision. She walked out of the 
bathroom and headed for the connecting door, determined to put a stop 
to whatever was happening next door. But this time, she heard no 
further sounds of punishment. All she could hear was low murmuring, 
two voices speaking at quietly. She cracked the door open once more 
and saw Skinner holding a sobbing Fox Mulder in his arms, soothing 
him. 

"It's all right now, kid," he spoke quietly. "It's over. But this 
time, I want you to promise me, you'll remember, okay? It's not just 
'Fox Mulder Against the World' anymore. We're in this together--"

Mulder didn't reply but his head nodded into the Assistant Director's 
shoulder. Scully closed the door once more and went over to the bed. 
She sat down, stunned and unable to determine what she should do. Or 
could do. She needed to talk to Mulder, alone, that much she knew. So 
she waited and listened until she was sure Skinner had gone back into 
his room and decided to visit her partner. She knew he'd be awake. He 
never slept in the middle of a case. And from everything he'd told her 
in his phone calls, this case was as disturbing to him as any they'd 
ever encountered, it dredged up nearly every unresolved issue in his 
life. She could only imagine what a mess he was emotionally at this 
point. Even before Skinner . . . . She still couldn't bring herself to 
contemplate what she'd seen.

Scully knocked lightly on the door, not wanting the AD to overhear in 
the next room. But Mulder didn't answer as she expected and she gently 
pushed the door open. It was dark in the room but the light from her 
room gave her some visual acuity and she was surprised to see Mulder 
in bed, apparently asleep. His deep, rhythmic breathing told her that 
much. Shocked again, she found herself dissatisfied by this 
development. She had to talk to someone about this but waking Mulder 
from a deep sleep was not an option. He slept so poorly, she just 
couldn't bring herself to do it. But Skinner. . . ! *Even if he's 
asleep too, I'll sure as hell disturb him!* Advancing through the 
room, she knocked quietly on the next connecting door.

"Mulder! I thought you were asleep," Skinner's voice answered from the 
other side, then cut off suddenly when he saw who had knocked. "Agent 
Scully! What-- what are you doing here?" He instinctively looked into 
Mulder's room to assure himself that the young agent was still 
sleeping soundly. Then he took Scully by the arm and pulled her into 
his room, closing the connecting door gently. He was wearing sweat 
pants but was barechested so he grabbed a T-shirt off of a chair and 
threw it over his head, using the moment to collect his thoughts. 

"How are you feeling, Agent Scully?" Skinner asked her, a little 
tentatively. He was clearly uncomfortable with her presence in his 
room, and concerned about what had brought her there. And his concerns 
were justified by her first sentence.

"What did you do to Mulder?" she asked him directly. "I heard you. . . 
I can't believe it but . . . "

Skinner felt a bolt of tension lock his neck and jaw. He had never 
contemplated this eventuality and he had no idea what to say to her. 
"Scully. . . Dana. I-- I don't know what to say, except that my only 
concern is Mulder's welfare. And how he and I get there, well, that's 
between us. But I assure you, our 'deal' is not something I forced on 
him."

"Your 'deal?' It includes hitting him? I knew something was different 
in your relationship. I thought you had taken him in hand, sir. But 
this! I never dreamed. . . ." She plopped down on the bed and stared 
open mouthed at the Assistant Director.

Skinner thought fast, about all the ways this could play out. And 
decided on the course he thought would assure the best outcome. 
Pulling the desk chair out, he placed it in front of Scully and 
straddled it. "It's a long story, Dana, but if you have the time, I'll 
tell it to you."

"I've got all the time in the world, sir," she said guardedly. "And I 
can't wait to hear your explanation for . . . . what I just saw."

But by the time he finished, she had begun to come around to his way 
of thinking, to her great surprise. She had to admit, his methods 
seemed to work with Mulder. He'd related a few situations she 
recalled, when Mulder's behavior had miraculously changed for the 
better, due to nothing Scully could understand at the time. She'd 
actually put it down to his growing friendship with the AD, to the 
example Skinner set for him. Now she understood that more was 
involved, a lot more. But if it worked. . . . And now, with the entire 
conspiracy crashing down around their ears, with all the chaos and 
turmoil that would bring, she knew in her heart Mulder needed the 
stability and solid backing Skinner offered as much as he needed her. 
She took a deep breath and looked the older man in the eye.

"I see your point, sir. And anything that keeps him in check, that 
keeps him . . . alive. . . . Well, it's hard for me to be against 
anything that will keep Mulder from self-destructing. And I have to 
admit, as crazy as it sounds, this seems to work." She laughed, a 
sound that bordered on a giggle and warmed the A.D.'s heart. "With 
Mulder, crazy is actually normal, you know!"

He stood and she followed suit. "Unfortunately, I do know that!" 
Skinner sighed, his relief apparent. "I'm glad you came to speak to 
me, Scully. I . . . appreciate how hard that must have been. And I 
have one more favor to ask you. Don't tell Mulder you know. I don't 
think it would do him any good to know that. . . . I know it's asking 
a lot, for you to keep a secret from him. . . ."

She smiled again. "I think you're right, sir. And anyway, Mulder's 
kept a few secrets from me over the years . . . !" She stuck out her 
hand and Skinner grasped it. "It'll be our secret, sir." She let 
herself out through the connecting door, she and Skinner checking once 
again to see that Mulder was still sleeping peacefully. She opened the 
door to her own room and gave the AD a quick smile before closing it 
behind her and throwing the lock. 

Skinner yawned and closed his own door as well, finally free to fall 
into bed immediately. *I haven't slept in 36 hours either! And you're 
not as young as you used to be, Walt!* Then he remembered who was 
sleeping in the next room and pushed the connecting door open a few 
inches, just in case his troublesome young agent awoke during the 
night with another case of wanderlust. 

*********************************************************************

The Breakfast Nook Cafe
The Fairview Hotel
6:45 a.m.

Mulder was surprised and happy to see Scully sitting with Skinner when 
he arrived for breakfast. The smile that lit his face was not lost on 
either his partner or his boss.

"Scully! You look a lot better. When did you get here?" he asked as he 
took a seat and nodded yes to the waitress's offer of coffee. 

"Late last night," she told him, having fixed the cover story with the 
AD a moment before. "I figured you were both asleep and I was 
exhausted from the flight . . . "

"I was just saying we could use her help, Mulder," Skinner 
interjected, wanting to get them both up to speed on the latest 
information. "There is some information I didn't get a chance to share 
last night. . . ."

He proceeded to fill them in on the conversation he'd had with Carl 
Daniels, after Mulder left the day before. The younger agent had the 
grace to look grateful when Skinner glossed over the reason he left 
first, for Scully's benefit. But then the AD got to the point.

"Daniels knew your father, Mulder. He made contact with him a couple 
of years ago, just before your father was killed. Apparently, he'd 
heard that your Dad was not fully supportive of the Consortium's plan, 
that he'd fought giving up your sister. And Daniels thought your 
father could help him because he didn't want to give up a child 
either."

Their breakfasts arrived, but no one made a move to eat. Their full 
attention was captured by Skinner's story. "Your father told Daniels 
that he would get him help. That he knew someone who would find a way 
to save Brett and Amanda. His son at the FBI. He told Daniels that he 
would get you to come to the Vineyard and he'd tell you everything. 
That you knew a lot, but not everything. And once you knew it all, 
you'd find a way to protect them. Daniels said your father had 
complete faith in you, Mulder."

Both Scully and Skinner watched this information sink in. His eyes 
were the mirror of his heart and soul and a host of emotions passed 
through them in a matter of seconds. Then he nodded for Skinner to 
continue.

"Your father told Daniels you were coming and to be ready to move 
quickly. This was about three years ago, before a determination was 
made about which of the Daniels children would have to be sacrificed. 
All Daniels knew was that one of them would be taken, as a sign of his 
commitment." Skinner's voice betrayed his contempt for the kind of men 
who would bargain with the lives of their loved ones. "But your father 
never called again. And then Daniels heard the news report about his 
murder. He believed that you killed your father, Mulder. That's why he 
was so distrustful of you."

"But that speculation was never made public!" Scully interrupted 
immediately. "How would Daniels have heard such a thing?"

"From good old CGB Spender. Or one of his minions," Mulder replied 
tersely. "They must have known Daniels was talking to my father. And 
that he was going to tell me everything he knew. That's why they 
killed him."

"Yes. And that's why Carl Daniels was so reluctant to let you near 
Brett. He was convinced you were more dangerous than the Consortium."

"But who's left of the Consortium, sir?" Mulder asked, his brow 
furrowed with the frustration of being confused. "I keep thinking that 
something's not right here. The major players went up in smoke at that 
hangar a few weeks ago. The doctors conducting the experiments were 
torched before that. I understand the need to begin again, to restart 
the hybridization experiments. And that's why Amanda was supposedly 
taken. . . . Except it happened too fast. She was taken a day after 
the mass burning in the hangar! How could they move so fast?"

"What are you saying, Mulder?" Skinner stared at him, struck for the 
first time by the logic of his statement. "That you don't think she's 
been taken by the . . . aliens. Like Cassandra Spender and the 
others?"

Mulder shook his head slowly, an idea was forming in his head but it 
just wouldn't solidify. "If the moment of colonization had come, why 
would they need another child? Why wasn't the entire Daniels family at 
the hangar, waiting to be saved, like the others?"

"Because they weren't part of the group who was going to be saved," 
Scully replied. "Because the Consortium members discovered Daniels 
wasn't committed to their cause and they were leaving him behind. But 
with the plans in turmoil after the incident at the hangar, they 
suddenly needed Daniels again. And holding one of his kids hostage 
would be one sure way to assure his cooperation."

"Like your father, Mulder," Skinner concluded.

"Like my father. Except maybe this little girl can still be rescued." 
Mulder rose and headed for the exit. Skinner pulled a couple of bills 
out of his wallet for their untouched breakfasts and followed Scully, 
who was rushing to catch up with her partner's long strides. Suddenly 
Mulder stopped and turned back, waiting for the other two to catch up 
with him. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "Sometimes I forget it's not 
just 'Fox Mulder Against the World."

The look that passed between Scully and Skinner said it all. Whatever 
doubts she retained slipped away and Scully had to swallow hard to 
keep from choking up. *Well, now all I want to know is why didn't you 
think of this years ago, sir?*

They arrived at the Boston field office a few minutes later. Mulder 
ran for the conference room where all the documents and data gathered 
in the investigation were neatly labeled and stacked in piles, waiting 
to be useful. He started sifting, seemingly aimlessly but Skinner and 
Scully both realized he probably knew exactly what he was looking for. 
And approximately where to find it in the relative chaos of 
information and evidence.

"Here!" he crowed victoriously. "Dr. Katherine Kleinschmidt. The 
therapist. I asked for background on her the other day. She's a 
psychiatrist, a long-time consultant to the federal government. A 
refugee from Germany after the War. But she practices out of a clinic 
in . . . Barstow, Massachusetts. In the Berkshires." He closed the 
file he was reading and handed it to Scully. "Anyone for a drive into 
the mountains?"

*********************************************************************

Barstow Psychiatric Clinic
Barstow, Massachusetts
11:30 a.m.

The wrought iron gates outside the hospital were locked up tight when 
the car pulled up but there was no one at the security hut to let them 
in. They got out and looked around for someone but no one was in 
sight, and the buildings inside appeared deserted as well. Skinner 
walked into the guardhouse and came out with a hammer he used to pound 
the rusted lock open. Mulder and he swung the gate open far enough for 
the car to pass through and they got back in the car and drove up to 
the building.

"It looks deserted," Scully said unnecessarily as they all exited the 
car. "It looks like an abandoned facility."

"Well, we might as well search, as long as we're here," Skinner 
replied. "Shall we see if the front door is open?" He looked to 
Mulder, who was standing still, a look on his face that gave the other 
two a start.

"I've been here before," he said slowly. "I'm sure of it."

"When, Mulder?" Scully asked immediately.

"A long time ago. It was different then. Not overgrown and gone to 
seed. I was a kid. And my Dad brought me and Samantha here while we 
were on vacation."

"To a psychiatric clinic?" Skinner questioned. "On vacation? Mulder, 
that seems . . . unusual, even for you."

He gave the AD a sickly, half-smile. "Yeah," he admitted, "maybe I'm 
just not remembering it right. But I've been here. I'm sure of it."

They entered the building through the unlocked front door and Mulder 
was more certain than ever. "I was here. We were staying at a ski 
lodge and . . . and my Dad brought me and Sam here for . . . IQ tests. 
That's it! He said he was thinking about sending me to boarding school 
and we needed these tests. And as long as I was coming, Samantha could 
come too! I remember now! And the doctor who did the tests. . . she 
was an older lady--"

"Much older now, young man," a voice called from the second floor 
landing above the lobby. She retained a faint European accent but her 
voice was strong for her obviously advanced age. "But I remember you, 
too." The old woman began making her way down the stairs; it was 
quickly apparent she was not physically as strong as her voice made 
her seem.

"Dr. Kleinschmitt," Mulder said. "I was right. I was here."

"Yes. We tested you for an entire day. And Samantha. But you were by 
far the most . . . gifted test subject I ever saw," she sighed as she 
reached the last step and came to a stop. Despite being a step up, 
Mulder towered over the small, bent woman. "And the brightest. And . . 
. the most strong-willed. You were the ideal candidate. Which is why 
your father removed you from the . . . list."

"And put Samantha in my place? Is that what you mean?" Mulder asked 
her immediately. His voice was tight with fear and stress. "So he did 
choose. . . ."

Dr. Kleinschmitt stepped down to the floor and began to walk in the 
direction of the next room. It was an office of some kind. She 
unlocked a file cabinet and rummaged around as Mulder, Scully and 
Skinner filed in behind her and waited.

"For many years, we have been working here. I think perhaps you know 
about this, yes?" She didn't look up and no one answered at first 
until Skinner finally spoke for them. 

"Yes, we know . . . much of it. But not all," he said.

"The men who made the decisions, they decided it was necessary to give 
in to the demands of the aliens. THEY wanted assurances, you see. And 
we needed test subjects. All in all, it seemed to be the only bargain 
that could be made. The only way to stall for time. And perhaps find a 
way to . . . co-exist." She said this all with little emotion as she 
continued to search through the files. "One by one, the children and 
other family members came. To be tested. For suitability. For the 
attributes that would make them good candidates."

"And what makes a child a good candidate for abduction?" Scully spat 
out. "By aliens? Or for hybridization experiments?"

Dr. Kleinschmitt blinked but did not answer her question. "Here it 
is," she said quietly, pulling a brown file folder from the cabinet. 
"Fox William Mulder."

Mulder's face betrayed no emotion, but he had gone pale and shaky in 
the last minute or so. He watched the doctor open the file and adjust 
her glasses so she could read. "Subject is a 10-year-old male with 
unusually high IQ and stress tolerance. Bright, inquisitive, 
open-minded. Outstanding eye-hand coordination and physical strength 
for his age. Exceedingly strong-willed but proved to be highly 
susceptible to hypnosis. Showed high tolerance for ambiguity, 
uncertainty and physical pain. By far the best candidate seen to 
date."

"You were slated to go," Dr. Kleinschmitt said as she settled down 
into a chair behind the desk. "But your father, and some of the 
others, were not so . . . certain of the decisions that had been made. 
They argued that we were leaving ourselves too vulnerable, sending the 
best and the brightest of our own. Who would be left to fight them? 
Who would lead the charge if we weeded our own ranks of our best and 
most gifted? So they came to me and asked me to change the record. I . 
. . was not sure, you see, who was right and who was wrong. These 
decisions, these monumental choices. I didn't know then. I don't know 
any more now."

Silence descended on the room and the only sound that could be heard 
was the Doctor's labored breathing and a clock ticking on the 
mantelpiece. "I agreed, because it didn't seem any more wrong than . . 
. than anything else we were doing. As with all the others, I gave you 
and your sister a post-hypnotic suggestion that you would not remember 
any of this. She was much like you, a good candidate as well. I got to 
know her better in the weeks she was here, before--"

"She was here? When?" Mulder shot back at her, startling the older 
woman mightily.

"When she was being prepared to go, of course. They could not just be 
taken, you see. The stress, the fear of such a trip, would have killed 
too many of them. So we prepared them for the unknown, through 
hypnosis, through sensory deprivation--"

"Samantha was here, for weeks after she was taken? And my father knew 
that?" Mulder's voice was taut with stress and overwhelming emotions 
now but he fought to keep control.

"Yes, he knew," the old woman sighed. "But there was nothing he could 
do. It was their way of controlling him. He refused to give up one of 
you for a very long time, you know. But eventually, he was . . . 
overruled. And if he had fought them any more, well, they would have 
taken you, too, you see. There was no escape, once the deal with the 
devil had been made."

The silence that fell on the room was deafening, Skinner thought. 
Everyone was lost in their own thoughts. He took a good look at 
Mulder, trying to assess how he was holding up. He appeared fine, but 
Skinner knew he intuitively he was fighting a war inside himself, one 
the young man might not survive, if it went on much longer. And 
besides, they had come here for another reason. Finally, the AD knew 
he had to intervene.

"Doctor?" he said quietly. "There is another child we're searching 
for. Amanda Daniels."

She looked at him and nodded. "Yes. She is here. Upstairs. I was asked 
to . . . keep her here for a while. Another hostage to the future."

Skinner and Scully bolted for the door and up the stairs, leaving 
Mulder and Dr. Kleinschmitt in the office. 

They returned less than two minutes later, Skinner carrying a sleeping 
child in his arms. She was wearing a nightgown and they'd wrapped her 
in a blanket. Mulder was still standing where they had left him and 
Scully and Skinner exchanged a look of concern. He appeared to be okay 
but they both knew he had to be dissociating himself to achieve that, 
separating himself from the pain and horror of the doctor's 
revelations. Skinner shifted the child onto his left shoulder and 
placed his free right hand on the younger man's back. Mulder turned 
and looked blankly at him and Scully.

"She's fine, Mulder," Scully smiled at Mulder, trying to regain his 
attention to her and Skinner. "Sedated, I think, but otherwise 
unharmed."

Behind them, the doctor rose and went to the credenza on the side of 
the room. She poured herself a brandy and took a sip. "They believed, 
the men who are left, that her father was a danger to them, too. When 
everything fell apart a few weeks ago, those who were left became 
afraid that Carl Daniels would seize the chance to expose what was 
left of the plan. So they took her as insurance, you see. To guarantee 
his silence. But they didn't count on you, Fox. Or your father's 
foresight. The best and the brightest will be needed, he said. And he 
was right." Kleinschmidt threw some pills into her mouth and swallowed 
the rest of the brandy.

"No!" Mulder shouted as Scully raced forward to try to stop her as 
well. They'd guessed her plan, but not in time. 

"It's too late," the doctor smiled at them, easing herself into a wing 
chair by the window. "I have lived too long already. But I have lived 
long enough to see you, young man. And to know that my . . . 
assessment was correct. That is vindication enough for one lifetime."

**********************************************************************

Logan International Airport
Boston, Massachusetts
7:10 p.m.

Skinner and Mulder sat in the airport lounge, waiting for the shuttle 
to Washington, D.C. to be announced. It had been delayed by a weather 
system all along the Eastern Seaboard. Scully had just left to find 
the ladies room, promising to bring coffee for them on her return. 
Skinner was trying to read his newspaper, but he found he couldn't 
help but notice Mulder's eyes track Scully's departure anxiously. He 
smiled to himself.

"Did you ever give her the bracelet, Mulder?" he asked without looking 
up from his paper.

"What?"

"The bracelet. Silver, with gold X's on it. I saw it in your apartment 
when I was looking for you before Christmas. You'd . . . unwrapped it 
and I thought it must be a Christmas present for Scully," Skinner told 
him.

Mulder colored slightly and looked down at his hands. Suddenly his 
palms were feeling sweaty. "Um, no. I never did."

Skinner waited, sensing there was more to the story. And Mulder didn't 
disappoint him.

"I wrapped it up for Valentine's Day. . . . And then I unwrapped it 
again." Mulder sighed. "She's got a birthday coming up. I thought I'd 
try again. . . ."

A broad grin came to the A.D.'s face. "That's a good idea, Mulder. 
Only this time, why don't you let Scully unwrap it, okay?"

**********************************************************************

Crystal City, Virginia
February 23, 1999
6:30 p.m.

"Coming!" Walter Skinner yelled toward the front door of his 
apartment. Someone was knocking, an unusual event considering his 
doorman hadn't called to announce anyone.

"Mulder!" he exclaimed as he swung the door open. "Where's your key? 
And what are you doing here anyway? Aren't you having dinner with 
Scully tonight?"

"I left it home," the younger man replied as he walked past without 
waiting for an invitation. "And yes, I'm supposed to pick her up at 
7:30. I didn't think it would be a good idea to arrive an hour early." 

The Assistant Director cast an appraising eye on the younger man and 
thought he appeared a little nervous. And Skinner was an especially 
good judge of Mulder's moods, given his long experience dealing with 
them.

"No, arriving an hour early for a date is not usually a good idea," 
Skinner agreed. Without further comment he headed for his bedroom 
calling back over his shoulder. "Wait there."

"It's not a date," Mulder whispered once the other man was out of 
earshot. He wasn't sure who he was trying to convince but it made him 
feel a little better just to say it. Took some of the pressure off, at 
least. 

Skinner returned a moment later with two silk ties in muted shades of 
gray and blue. He held one up next to Mulder's impeccable charcoal 
gray suit and immediately decided it was the best choice. "What's the 
deal with that tie, Mulder? Do you choose these things so, in case you 
spill mustard on your tie, it won't be noticeable?"

"Very funny," Mulder answered him tightly. "I'm red-green color blind, 
okay?" He lifted his chin as Skinner began pulling the hideous thing 
around his neck to loosen it so he could take it off. Then he let the 
other man turn up his collar and position the new tie so he could knot 
it.

"No kidding? How could you pass the vision test for the Bureau then?"

"I was a psych major, remember? I just memorized all the color tests 
available. They were bound to use one of the usual battery. . . "

"I didn't hear that," Skinner told him succinctly as he finished 
knotting the tie and tightened it, just a little closer than 
comfortable.

"Ow!" Mulder exclaimed as the other man turned his collar back down 
and straightened the tie, pulling it just a little looser, so the 
younger agent could breathe easily again.

"That's better," Skinner told him with a smile. "Did you remember to 
bring the bracelet, Mulder?"

Mulder was looking in the mirror over the table in Skinner's foyer. 
The tie looked good, but not much different than the one he'd been 
wearing to his eye. *I'll just have to take your word for it, I 
guess!* "Yeah, I have it," he said, reaching into his pocket and 
pulling out a package wrapped in light blue paper, with dark blue 
ribbon tied in a bow. 

"Good." Skinner checked his watch and realized Mulder needed to get 
going soon. The evening rush hour was still going strong, and it would 
be even worse in Georgetown near Scully's place. He placed a hand on 
each of Mulder's shoulders and looked him in the eye. "Go, Mulder. 
Have a nice dinner. Give Scully her birthday present. For today at 
least, live like everything's right with the world. It's the only way 
to face the future, kid. One day at a time."

Mulder smiled. "Is that an order, sir?"

Skinner laughed and turned him toward the door. "Yes, Mulder, it is. 
And you know what happens when you disobey my orders," he said as he 
slapped the younger man on the butt to get him moving.

"Me? Disobey orders? You must be confusing me with somebody else," he 
called back over his shoulder as he disappeared toward the elevator.

Skinner shut the door behind him. *From your mouth, to God's ear, 
kid!*

THE END