The Danville Series
by Cadillac Red

Disclaimer: The characters of Fox Mulder and Walter Skinner belong to 
1013 Productions and I and will make no money from their use.

Spoilers: Minor ones for the show. 

Setting: Sixth Season. Many details and characters come from previous 
stories in this series.

Rating: PG. Discipline, no slash.

Title: Footsteps to Follow

Author: Cadillac Red

Summary: When a snowstorm traps Mulder and Skinner in Pennsylvania, 
the AD finally accepts the truth about his relationship with the 
younger agent, with help from his father.




Footsteps to Follow


The Skinner Residence
Danville, Pennsylvania
Saturday, March 13

Fox Mulder stood at the window, watching the snow fall. It always left 
him in awe, the snow. Something so simple and natural, and yet it 
turned the landscape into an alien place, for a little while. And this 
scene was breathtaking. There had been an ice storm the day before 
that left the trees looking like massive crystal objet d'art. Then 
last night, it had begun to snow, huge, dense flakes that had 
continued for more than 12 hours, leaving the ground covered with 
almost a foot of snow. He stood at the window and found himself 
smiling a little, recalling the snowstorms of his New England 
childhood.

"Can I interest you in a cup of hot chocolate, Fox?" Rachel Skinner 
asked him softly. He was startled to find her standing not more than a 
foot away, holding a mug of hot cocoa. He looked a little abashed to 
be found this way. 

"I guess I was daydreaming," he said as he accepted the mug. His smile 
widened when he saw the marshmallows floating in the creamy liquid. He 
put the mug to his lips and took a sip. "This reminds me so much of 
when I was a kid. Not that we had a lot of snow on the Vineyard but 
there were a few major storms like this. And I still get excited when 
I see snow. Must be latent memories of not having to go to school!"

"Well, here in Danville, they hardly ever closed the school, Mulder," 
Assistant Director Skinner laughed as he entered the family room. He 
walked up to where his mother and Mulder were standing at the picture 
window, looking out at the snowy scene around the Skinner home. "And 
if school was open, the Skinner kids went! I remember one storm when I 
was in second grade. There was about a foot and a half of snow when I 
woke up and it was still blowing! I was certain the school would be 
closed. But when we listened to the radio, sure enough, the Danville 
schools were open!"

"How'd you even get there, in a blizzard?" Mulder asked, curious.

Skinner gave his mother a smile that told of the depth of their shared 
history without a single word. "My Dad got me all bundled up. He had a 
plan, he said. It's about a mile and a half to the school. He was 
gonna walk ahead of me, and I'd follow, walking in his footsteps. 
Except he was six foot two and I was all of three and a half feet at 
the time, I think. So his strides were a little hard to reach! But 
somehow we got there. There was one, lone car in the parking lot. It 
belonged to the one teacher who'd made it. And she was stuck, couldn't 
move the car at all. So we dug her out, and got her on her way. Then 
we walked all the way back, a mile and half in a raging snowstorm! My 
Dad blocking the wind all the way. And as I was freezing my little 
butt off all the way home, he kept telling me, 'no one will ever say 
you don't honor your commitments, Walter! And you did a good deed, 
too! That's something to be proud of!" The AD shook his head, laughing 
at the memory. Then he spotted what Mulder had in his hands. "Hey," he 
said in mock distress. "Did Mulder get the last of the marshmallows?"

His mother smiled and patted his shoulder as she passed, heading for 
the kitchen. "I have a whole new bag in the pantry. I'll go get it."

Mulder had listened to the story and watched the body language 
carefully. He was continually surprised and touched by the 
relationship Skinner had with his family. Even the Andy Hardy stories 
Mulder used to think were just corny had become fodder for his growing 
attachment to the whole Skinner clan. He gave the AD a shy smile and 
turned to look out again. "I know this sounds crazy, but, if it slows 
down a bit, you wanna go out for a while? Just go for a walk in the 
snow?" 

"Mulder, that is crazy!" Skinner replied as he headed for the kitchen 
and his own cup of cocoa. "Walking in the snow! What's gotten into 
you? . . . . I think there's a couple of old Flexible Flyers in the 
garage, though. . . . "

"And that big hill in back of the house!" Mulder answered hurriedly. 
"Just say the word! I'm there!"

Skinner continued to chuckle as he left. "Soon, Mulder," he called 
back over his shoulder. "The weather channel says it's gonna let up 
soon!"

But it didn't let up. The weather forecast was dead wrong and the 
storm turned and dumped another four inches in less than three hours. 
By mid-afternoon, the temperature had dropped again and the wind had 
picked up, creating drifts of more than three feet in some places. 

Skinner and Mulder had come to Danville for Mr. Skinner's 75th 
birthday on Friday. The family had all been there for the party but 
Andy and his wife and kids had flown back to Chicago on Saturday, just 
before the storm hit. Skinner decided to stay for the weekend, to 
visit and also to help dig out after the expected storm. Shoveling 
snow was not good for a man his Dad's age and, although his son Joe 
and two grandsons lived within 20 minutes, no one thought he'd wait 
for someone to come over to get started. Mulder had been a required 
guest for the birthday party and he had decided to stay with the AD 
Besides, they'd taken Mulder's car, since Skinner's jeep was in for 
repairs.

Now, though, Mulder was starting to get bored. Mr. Skinner and his son 
were watching the weather channel closely, but Mulder had lost 
interest in tracking the storm's progress. He was becoming antsy, so 
he decided to pull out his laptop computer and check his e-mail. He'd 
gone to the study and gotten it, then brought it down to the family 
room and plugged in. Mulder lived alone and thought he liked it but, 
surprisingly, when he was with Skinner or his family, he found he had 
a drive to be with people, even if he wasn't actually engaged in any 
activity with them.

"You've got mail," his computer told him, bringing a smile from 
Skinner on the other side of the room. 

"Anything interesting, Mulder?"

"Well, let's see. The Gunmen say there's only been a minimal amount of 
snow in the D.C. area so far. They think there's a secret weapon 
that's shielding the city . . ." Mr. Skinner's head turned toward 
Mulder quizzically and the young FBI agent gave him a lopsided grin. 
"They're a little . . . . strange."

"That's a major understatement, Dad," Skinner told him reassuringly. 
"Believe me, if the government had a weapon that kept snow out of 
Washington, they'd have the Super Bowl at Jack Kent Cooke stadium at 
least once in a while!"

He turned back to hear the latest on the storm and Mulder went back to 
reading his e-mail. There were a couple of junk mails from some porn 
sites he immediately deleted, and an e-mail from Will Harley telling 
him he'd been accepted to the University of Virginia. Mulder passed 
the good news along to Skinner. Will was the son of Jim Harley, one of 
Skinner's old Marine buddies. Jim was a mechanic, who had never 
attended college. Somehow Mulder had found himself accompanying Will 
on his college site visits and Skinner was immensely pleased to see 
him keeping in touch with the kid. The AD was pleased by anything that 
connected Mulder to people. He was too solitary, and too likely to get 
in trouble on his own, as far as the other man was concerned.

Mr. Skinner yawned and stretched. "You know what the best thing about 
being 75 is?" he asked the two younger men as he rose from his 
recliner. "I can take a nap in the middle of the afternoon and no one 
will think it's 'cause I'm just plain lazy!" He excused himself and 
headed up the back stairs. 

Skinner was sitting in the other recliner and he decided to surf 
through the TV channels and see if there was any other news beside the 
storm watch. "After a while, I start to feel like Mark Twain," he said 
idly. "Why keep talking about the weather if nobody's gonna do 
anything about it?"

"Well, the Gunmen--" Mulder began.

"Don't even go there, Mulder."

The younger man smiled and returned to his e-mail. He hadn't checked 
it since Thursday morning and there were literally dozens in each of 
his accounts, the official Bureau one, and the personal one. He 
continued scanning, finding an interesting tidbit about a sea monster 
sighting that he filed for follow up and another one about vampires 
that looked promising, until he realized it had come from Skinner's 
brother Andy. He knew that, not from the address (because Andy seemed 
to be able to access an infinite number of people's e-mail accounts, a 
trick he taught Mulder a while back) but because the vampire in 
question was described as 'wearing a big cowboy hat and speaking with 
a Texas drawl." And said vampire apparently also had a serious fetish 
for petite redheads, according to the source.

"Very funny, Andy," he tapped out in reply. "Now you'll never hear the 
story about how breadsticks saved my life . . . "

Mulder continued scanning, his eyes lighting upon something else from 
an address he didn't recognize. "Andy again! Does he have nothing to 
do?" he muttered, before realizing he was doing exactly the same thing 
in the middle of a snowy Saturday afternoon.

Skinner looked over absently. "What's that about Andy?"

Mulder swallowed and thought quickly. The last thing he wanted to do 
was bust Andy to his big brother. Skinner had punished his younger 
brother soundly the year before for hacking and made him promise not 
to do it anymore. And as harmless as the e-mail thing was, Mulder knew 
it would rile Skinner and get Andy in trouble. "Oh, nothing. He just 
sent me a very long e-mail," he replied as he downloaded the 
attachments on Andy's latest missive.

But the attachments were not a joke, nor were they or the e-mail from 
Andy, Mulder realized as soon as he scanned them. They were photos of 
a UFO, clear as a bell. Whatever it was had been photographed in Idaho 
by multiple people. And from the varying quality of the photos, it was 
clear the pictures had been taken by more than a few people. Mulder 
felt his heart begin to race as he scanned the photographic evidence 
and the information it had come with. The writer was not a member of 
MUFON, but they were familiar with the group and named several people 
within that organization as character references. Mulder started 
tapping on his keyboard, trying to access his address book to get 
e-mail addresses for two of those people he knew fairly well. 

"Mulder?" the AD inquired, having noticed the sudden change in 
intensity and demeanor. "Mulder!"

"What?" he asked, as his head shot up.

"What's got you so excited? And it better not be X-rated e-mail!"

"N-no, sir," he replied, still typing. "I got an e-mail from someone 
who claims there's been a UFO hovering over part of Idaho for the past 
24 hours. It appears over and over again, over the same part of the 
state. And they sent photos. too. I'm trying to confirm who this is 
and whether they're reliable or not." He sent off the e-mail to the 
three individuals he knew, hoping one of them was on-line and would 
get right back to him.

"Mulder, as a general rule, people who claim to have seen UFO's are 
not reliable," Skinner said dryly. "Present company excepted."

Mulder nodded, not wanting to get into an argument with the AD until 
he knew whether it would be worth it. He waited impatiently for the 
"You've Got Mail" message as he scanned the photos again. He had seen 
enough fake photos to be fairly certain these were the real thing, or 
the work of someone with significant technological resources. Either 
way, the e-mail interested him.

He got a reply almost immediately from the head of MUFON in Chicago. 
"I know Glenn Thomas," it read. "And he's a reliable scientist. If he 
says he saw something, it's worth checking out," the e-mail said. 
"I'll get to my contacts in Idaho and get back to you."

A second e-mail arrived, saying virtually the same thing about Glenn 
Thomas. Mulder's heart was now nearly beating out of his chest. "I 
have to go to Idaho," he said with no further explanation. He was 
closing down his computer as he spoke.

"What?" Skinner looked at him incredulously. "Mulder, there's more 
than a foot of snow out there! And a raging blizzard! You can't go 
anywhere now."

"I have to get there," he said simply. "I've missed too many chances 
like this -- "

"Mulder, stop!" Skinner said firmly. "First of all, this is the second 
time you've been informed about a UFO sighting in a major snowstorm! 
Don't you think that's a strange coincidence? I wouldn't have expected 
aliens to be powder hounds!" He was referring to an incident a year 
earlier when Mulder and Andy had chased after a UFO in a blizzard that 
shut down the Eastern seaboard. 

"Well, sir, they parked their spaceship in Antarctica! Maybe that's 
not a coincidence, maybe it's a pattern," he said as he headed for the 
stairs. 

Skinner grabbed his arm. "How do you think you're gonna get to Idaho 
anyway? The airports are closed--"

"I just checked BWI On-Line," Mulder said quickly, referring to the 
Baltimore-Washington International Airport a couple of hours south of 
where they were. "They've only had a couple of inches so far and 
they're still operating on time."

Skinner was exasperated. "I find that hard to believe, Mulder. You and 
I have both traveled enough to know airports rarely give you the real 
story -- and they've had six inches of snow already in D.C., so BWI 
has to have had at least as much." He clicked the remote back to the 
weather channel as they spoke. "And lastly, how are you going to get 
there? The roads here are almost impassable! And you don't have a 
four-wheel drive, or chains on your car--"

"I can make it," he said insistently. "I just have to go." He headed 
up the back stairs to pack a few things. He was back in a minute, 
wearing his ski jacket and carrying his computer bag and his weekend 
duffel bag. "Please tell your folks I said good-bye. And that I'm 
sorry about running like this--"

"Mulder, this is crazy," Skinner told him one more time. "I'm asking 
you not to go out there--"

The younger man was surprised and grateful that the AD refrained from 
issuing an order. He wanted to get out before Skinner changed his mind 
and made it more than a request. "I'll call you when I get to BWI," he 
said as he headed for the door. "I promise."

Skinner accompanied him to the back door, fighting an internal war 
with himself between treating Mulder like a responsible adult and 
grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and locking him in his room 
until he gave up this foolish notion. <And smacking his butt every 
step of the way to the study!> The 'like an adult' option was ahead as 
the younger man opened the back door and headed out into the storm. 
"Be careful, Mulder," he called over the raging wind. "Call me every 
hour from the car. So I know you're okay." Skinner watched him brush 
the snow off the car and head down the driveway.

An hour later, the phone rang and Skinner nearly jumped out of his 
skin, answering it before the first ring ended. "Mulder?"

"Yeah, it's me," a voice responded. The connection was static-filled 
and distant. 

"Where are you?" Skinner asked him anxiously. 

"I'm just entering Hopewell," he replied. 

"Mulder, that's a 15 minute drive! You've been gone an hour. And the 
snow south of here is getting worse so you're driving into the worst 
part of the storm. I want you to come back right now!"

"I can't, sir. I . . . have to get to Idaho! Whoa!"

Skinner's heart nearly stopped as Mulder's panic-stricken voice cut 
off conversation. "What's happening?"

Mulder was breathing heavy and didn't answer at first. But then he 
sighed in relief. "It's okay. I just . . . fishtailed a bit there--"

"That's it, Mulder. Turn the car around very carefully and start 
driving back. Right now! Consider that an order!" There was silence on 
the other end of the line and Skinner was suddenly worried he'd lost 
the connection, that Mulder had not heard his order. But then he heard 
breathing and knew the younger man was just stalling for time, trying 
to think of an argument that would work. "You're not getting a flight 
out, even if you get to BWI, trust me. Whatever they say, that airport 
will be shut down by the time you get there. If you get there!" 
Skinner knew for certain now he should have stopped the younger man 
before he left. <What the hell was I thinking?>

"I . . . what did you say, sir? I can't hear you very well! This 
connection is --"

"Mulder! Don't even try to pull this! Turn around and come back -- 
NOW!" The connection severed as soon as he got the word 'now' out. 
Skinner hung up and began to dial Mulder's cell phone number.

"What's going on, Walter?" Mr. Skinner asked as he entered the family 
room. "Who are you shouting at?"

Skinner punched the number in and waited for it to connect to Mulder's 
cell phone. "I was talking to Mulder," he replied impatiently. "He's 
trying to drive to Baltimore--"

"What? In a blizzard? Has that boy lost all sense?" his father asked 
immediately. 

Skinner nodded, then grimaced when he got the canned message that the 
'cellular customer you are trying to reach' yada, yada, yada. He hung 
up angrily, then got up and started to pace. He knew intuitively 
Mulder had turned the phone off after their last exchange.

"How did he sneak out?" his father demanded. "When he gets back here, 
I've got a good mind to warm his seat for him--"

Skinner stopped and looked at his father, debating how his father 
would react to the truth. But it was the truth. And it was his father, 
after all.

"Well, he didn't sneak out, Dad," the AD said slowly. "He told me he 
was going and I told him it was a bad idea--"

"But you didn't try to stop him?" his father asked, surprised. "You 
just let him do something stupid and dangerous like that?" The older 
man took a seat on the couch and waited for his son's answer.

Skinner suddenly realized how it must look. He took a seat in the 
chair opposite his Dad and leaned forward, to try to explain what he'd 
done and why. "Dad, remember when I called you last week? When Mulder 
and I were in Massachusetts? I told you he . . . accused me of 
treating him like a child. And even you agreed that . . . I've become 
kind of a father figure to him. But he's not a child, he's a grown 
man. Who can make his own decisions. We're on personal time here, it's 
a weekend . . . I thought I needed to give him the benefit of the 
doubt, let him know I think of him as an adult, that I trust his 
judgment and respect his opinions. Do you know what I mean?"

His father listened impassively, then shook his head. "No, I don't, 
son. I guess I don't get your . . . reluctance to play a paternal role 
in his life. It's confusing because I see you do it all the time. Why 
do you have so much trouble accepting it for what it is?"

Skinner blinked in shock. This was not the reaction he'd anticipated. 
His father didn't seem to understand what he'd been saying at all. 
"That's not what I mean--"

"I understand what think you mean, Walter. But I don't think you have 
a real handle on whatever's going on inside you. Why is it so hard for 
you to admit that Fox looks to you to be a surrogate father?"

The A.D.'s head was pounding suddenly, with aggravation and the sense 
that this conversation was spinning out of his control. "I . . . just 
don't-- I'm not even old enough to be his father," he said with a 
hollow laugh. "And you of all people should know that--"

"Oh, come on, son. This is not an age thing. It's about loving someone 
enough to take a tough stand to keep them safe. To risk the fact that 
they may hate you temporarily when you have to say no. Or when you 
need to straighten them out. Or when you have to punish them in order 
to teach a lesson that will serve them well later in life. You know 
all of these things. . . . You wouldn't have made the same choice 
today if it was Andy. Or Doug or Mike. Why is this such a problem for 
you with Fox?"

Skinner was growing more and more uncomfortable with the way this was 
going. His gut instinct was to end the conversation and head for the 
hills. Or his old bedroom. But ending a heart-to-heart talk with his 
father was not that easy. A lifetime of experience had taught him they 
ended when his Dad said they did. So he just shook his head, hoping 
the older man would give up.

But Walter, Sr. was nothing if not direct. "I asked you a question, 
Walter. You're a smart man. I know you must know the answer."

Skinner sighed and answered to the best of his ability. "I'm Andy's 
brother, and that's a role I've played my whole life, Dad. And Doug 
and Mike are my nephews. I'm perfectly comfortable being an uncle. But 
Mulder. . . . I guess I know he thinks of me as a father figure. 
That's become more and more clear--"

"But why is that a problem, Walter? You would have made a wonderful 
father. And I don't say that because you're so much like me!" His Dad 
smiled, trying to relieve a little of the tension in the room.

Skinner drew in a breath and was startled to hear that it sounded 
shaky. He ran a hand over his head, trying to collect his thoughts and 
organize them into some comprehensible response. "I don't know, Dad. I 
. . . I always thought Sharon and I would have kids. And when she 
couldn't, I thought we'd adopt. But she didn't want to do that. And 
over the years. . . ." He got up and went to the window, thinking it 
might be easier to get this out if he wasn't looking at the other man. 
"Over the years, I started to think that . . . . I'm not sure I'm 
gonna explain this in a way that makes sense--"

"Just say it. I promise I'll try to follow it."

The Assistant Director smiled sadly. "I was more worried about me than 
you, Dad!" He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned back toward 
his father. He stared at his own feet for a few seconds before 
beginning again. He spoke quietly but with conviction. 

"I don't go to church regularly, but I have a strong faith in God, 
Dad. I got that from you and Mom. And I believe He has a plan, that 
when your prayers don't get answered, it's because what you thought 
you wanted was never meant to be. And over the years, I realized that 
maybe He didn't give me kids because. . . I wouldn't have been a very 
good father. I'm a good brother and a good uncle--"

Walter Skinner, Sr. felt a lump form in his throat as he listened to 
his oldest son's confession. He knew how hard it was for him to talk 
about his deepest feelings and this clearly went to the very core of 
his being so the older man let him continue until he got to the end.

''--but . . . Mulder seems to want-- and need-- more than I know how 
to give." He was still staring at his feet so he didn't see his father 
get up and cross the room until he was standing in front of him. Until 
the older man began to speak.

"I was always sorry that you and Sharon couldn't have children because 
I believe with all my heart you would have been a wonderful father.," 
Mr. Skinner said softly. "And if you had chosen to adopt, your Mother 
and I would have welcomed those children as part of our family as 
wholeheartedly as any of our other grandchildren. But neither of those 
things happened and maybe that was part of His plan. So did it ever 
occur to you that maybe God didn't bless you with children because you 
were meant to be here for Fox when he needed you? That perhaps that's 
the 'father' role God intended for you?"

The Assistant Director's eyes filled with tears as he listened to his 
father's words. It had never occurred to him and now that oversight 
looked as large as . . . as the state of Idaho. He shook his head and 
felt the older man's arms enfold him in an embrace. Skinner's arms 
circled his father and he rested his head on the older man's shoulder 
for a moment while he regained his composure. "How'd you get so smart, 
huh?" he asked when he was sure his voice would not break.

His father gave him another squeeze before pulling back. "Oh, 
Volodya," he said lovingly, using a nickname from Skinner's childhood. 
"I wasn't always a steelworker, you know! Now, how are we going to get 
Fox back here?"

Skinner laughed and ran a hand over his face. "WE are not getting him 
back. I'm going after him," he said, heading for the mud room where 
he'd left his ski jacket earlier. "I'm gonna take the Blazer, if you 
don't mind. Mulder took his car but, with road conditions, I'm not 
gonna get anywhere without 4-wheel-drive!" He grabbed the keys off a 
hook in the kitchen and pocketed his cell phone. "I'll stay in touch. 
And Dad? Thanks!"

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

County Road 18
Just outside Danville, Pennsylvania

At the same moment, Fox Mulder was frantically trying to regain 
traction on a slick patch of black ice covered by fresh snow. He eased 
off the gas and tried to steer into the slide, just as the driving 
manuals say but the car continued to skid sideways onto the shoulder 
and down the embankment toward the river. It flipped once, twice, then 
righted itself, leaving the vehicle tilted perilously. Mulder was too 
dazed to react in the split second before the car started to slide 
again, coming to a stop with the passenger side immersed in the icy 
cold water of the river. Water began to seep in but the young man was 
momentarily stunned and unable to respond at first. Somewhere in the 
previous minute his head had pounded into the steering wheel and he 
reached up and realized he was bleeding. And that his airbag had not 
deployed. <Why the fuck didn't it inflate? If I live through this, I'm 
gonna give that dealer a piece of my mind!> As he raged about the 
inconsequential, though, the cold water reached his legs and focused 
his attention squarely on the dangerous here and now. Struggling to 
shake off confusion, he unhooked his seatbelt and silently blessed the 
fact that Skinner, and Scully, had berated him into developing the 
habit of always buckling up. He knew in his gut that was all that had 
saved him from being seriously injured. 

But the driver side door wouldn't open. And he knew the passenger side 
was not a good option. The frigid water seeping in was already a 
problem, going for a full swim was not an appealing alternative. He 
crawled over the seat and into the back of the car, praying the back 
door would open. <Yes! Thank you, God!> He tumbled out of the car into 
the nearly blinding snowstorm and tried to decide where to go next. He 
hadn't seen another car except for the Sheriff's jeep and that was 
back a ways, at a service station. He didn't think he could walk that 
far in this weather, especially not the way he was dressed. He'd worn 
his ski jacket but he was wearing jeans that were now wet and his 
sneakers were soaked. And he had no hat. His gloves were back in the 
now nearly submerged car -- along with his cell phone!

"Son of a bitch!" he muttered, zippering his jacket up all the way and 
pulling the collar up as high as he could. "You're a fucking moron, 
Mulder!" Stomping his feet to try to create a little body heat, he 
looked around, hoping to see lights somewhere. He tried desperately to 
remember the landscape in the area. He'd driven there enough times, 
with and without Skinner, to know there were homes along the river at 
certain points. But which way was the closest one? He couldn't recall 
seeing anything behind him for quite a while, so forward seemed the 
only possible choice. Stumbling in the nearly knee-high snow, he 
pushed onward.

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

County Road 18
Hopewell, Pennsylvania

The Assistant Director made it to Hopewell in about 30 minutes, 
roughly half the time it had taken Mulder to make the same drive. And 
weather conditions had worsened significantly, so Skinner was feeling 
confident he'd be able to catch up with the younger agent eventually. 
But the roads were abominable, a foot of snow over several inches of 
ice. He began to worry that Mulder, driving the car, might have an 
accident or be stranded before the AD overtook him. There was a gas 
station at the outer edge of the town of Hopewell and a jeep from the 
Hopewell Sheriff's department sat there with its lights on. Skinner's 
nephew Doug was a Deputy in the department and he decided to see if 
the jeep's occupant was Doug. And if he had seen Mulder go by.

But it turned out to be Sheriff Sam Cole, not Doug Dawson, in the 
jeep. He rolled down his window and greeted Skinner. "Hi, Walt! None 
of you city folk take these road hazard warnings seriously, do you?"

Skinner knew immediately that Cole must have bumped into Mulder 
somewhere. He got out of the Blazer and loped around the front of the 
jeep quickly, getting in the passenger side. "Where'd you see Mulder, 
Sam?" he asked once inside.

"He's a strange one, Walt, I gotta tell you," the Sheriff chuckled. "I 
found him in his car -- no chains on the tires, by the way, despite 
all the warnings that no one without four-wheel-drive or tire chains 
should be on the road! He was sitting here in the station, car 
running, banging his head on the steering wheel. I thought I had me a 
real psycho. Imagine my surprise when I knocked on the window and 
found an FBI agent! You guys must have relaxed the hiring standards a 
bit over the years, huh?"

Skinner smiled. He recognized that Cole's comment was meant in good 
humor, even if it did belie a lack of faith in Mulder's abilities. The 
AD had sent Mulder and Scully to Hopewell when Sheriff Cole asked for 
help with an investigation a couple of years earlier. And 
unfortunately, Mulder had not acquitted himself all that well. "You 
haven't exactly seen him at his best, Sam," he answered truthfully. 
"Where did he head when he left?"

"Well, he said he was going 'home' and he turned the car around and 
headed back to Danville. I'm surprised you didn't pass him on the 
road."

Skinner frowned, trying to recall whether he'd passed any other 
vehicle on the entire stretch of interstate between here and the 
turnoff to his folks' house. But he was sure he had not. There was an 
alternative route, a back road. But it would be even more impassable 
than the main highway, so he was certain Mulder wouldn't have driven 
that way, even if he remembered it. Now he was becoming worried.

"What are you doing sitting here, Sam?" he asked, trying to ascertain 
whether he could ask Cole for help in locating Mulder.

"I'm going to escort an ambulance to the hospital in Harrisburg. Old 
Man Garner was having some difficulty breathing. Should be along any 
time now," he replied.

<That settles it. That's more important than searching for Mulder, who 
may just be back at my parent's place anyway!> "Thanks for the 
information, Sam. And try to stay warm!" Skinner told him as he got 
out of the car and headed for his own. He had left it running so it 
was warm inside when he got in. He circled around and headed back out 
onto the road, toward Danville. He drove slowly and watched for any 
sign of a car turning, or worse, sliding off the road. The highway 
paralleled the river a good part of the way and it was not unknown for 
cars to end up in the raging water below.

Skinner pulled out his cell phone and dialed his parents' number. 
"Mom? It's me. Has Mulder gotten back there yet?" he asked as soon as 
someone answered. The connection was terrible and he didn't want to 
risk it going out completely before he got an answer.

"No, dear," she replied. "Is he . . . way? Will you . . . . soon?" Her 
voice was breaking up as they spoke and Skinner recognized that the 
storm was interfering badly with the transmission.

"If he gets there, make sure he stays," he enunciated clearly. "I'll 
be home as soon as I can. I love you."

The connection failed then, and he slapped the "End" button and stuck 
the phone back in his pocket. Skinner's jaw and neck were tightening 
up as the stress of trying to drive in these conditions, and keep an 
eye out for signs of Mulder, began to take its toll. From Sheriff 
Cole's story, he had quickly figured out that Mulder must have driven 
on another 20 or 30 minutes after the phone call in which Skinner had 
ordered him to turn around before actually complying with that 
directive. He found himself idly hoping Mulder made it home to 
Danville soon . . . . and that the elder Skinner 'warmed his seat' but 
good! Despite the fact he'd been complicit in Mulder's leaving, 
Skinner was not averse to thinking the older man might have a 
different read on it. And if he did, well. . . . <Who am I to argue 
with you, Dad?>

Fox Mulder was colder than he'd ever been in his life, he mused. 
Probably colder than he'd been that time in Alaska. And colder even 
than Antarctica. . . . A part of his brain knew the fact he was 
wasting energy on this kind of reflection indicated he was probably 
going into shock but no part of his brain was coming up with a plan to 
rectify the situation. He had pulled his arms up into the sleeves of 
his jacket to keep them from freezing. There was nothing he could do 
about his feet and his legs, in cold, wet sneakers and jeans. He 
recognized that the wet material in his jeans had actually frozen from 
the cold. He stopped and leaned against a tree, thinking he couldn't 
possibly go another step. He was just too cold and too exhausted. 
<Maybe if I just rest a few minutes. . . > But another part of his 
mind argued the point. <No! If you stop now, you die here, asshole! 
Keep moving!> He painfully lifted one foot in front of the other and 
kept moving. 

About ten minutes later, he was about to give up for good, unable to 
move another foot, when a building appeared up ahead in the storm. He 
was terrified it was a hallucination but, hallucination or not, he was 
determined to get there. Nearly crawling and numb with the cold, he 
stumbled on until he reached it. It was nothing more than a tool shed, 
but it felt like a palace as he pushed in the door and collapsed on 
the floor. The structure was unheated and not a whole lot of 
protection but it was the only hope he had of surviving. He curled up 
on the floor and fell into an exhausted sleep.

Conditions were worsening quickly and, between the wind and the heavy 
snow, there was almost zero visibility. Skinner was driving at a 
crawl, and could barely see beyond the windshield. Worse yet, the 
windows were fogging up on the inside, the defroster unequal to the 
job at hand. Cursing out loud, Skinner began to be disheartened. He'd 
tried his parents' number again and failed to reach them. Cellular 
service was obviously cut off by the storm. Pounding on the steering 
wheel, he berated Mulder for his foolhardiness and himself for 
condoning it. Suddenly, he noticed tire tracks that ran off the road 
just ahead. Pulling the jeep up to them, he pulled on a wool hat and 
heavy gloves and pulled up the hood on the parka he'd worn. Then he 
got out of the car and started down the hill to the river. In a 
moment, he could see the very top of a car submerged in the raging, 
icy water. <Oh, Christ! Don't let him be in the car! Please, God! 
Please!> 

Skinner rushed down the bank, sliding about half the way. He was about 
to jump into the water when tracks in the snow caught his attention. 
They were nearly covered over by additional snow and the wind but they 
were definitely footprints. And they clearly led from where the car 
had been! <He got out of the car! Thank you, God! . . . Now where the 
hell did he go?. . . . Uh, don't take that the wrong way, God. I could 
still use a little help here finding the kid!> He kept up his running 
dialogue with the Almighty as he began to track the footprints in the 
snow. At one point they disappeared completely but Skinner recognized 
it was an area where the wind blew freely across an open area. The 
tracks had probably been covered up almost as soon as Mulder passed. 
He took a guess that the younger agent would keep following the same 
path and struggled on. 

The wind was cutting and, even walking, visibility was nearly nil. 
After ploughing on a few more minutes, though, he saw a shed up ahead 
and found himself praying once again. <Please let him be there!> He 
pushed in the door and uttered an audible prayer of thanks at the 
sight of Mulder, huddled on the floor, asleep. Skinner fell to his 
knees next to him and shook him awake.

"Mulder!" he said anxiously. "Wake up, Mulder!" He immediately noted 
that the younger man was wet and cold, and improperly dressed for a 
walk in this kind of weather. He looked around for a blanket or 
something to wrap Mulder in but the best he could come up with was a 
plastic sheet thrown over some garden equipment. 

"Mulder!" he shouted this time, pulling the young man to a sitting 
position and finally seeing his eyes open. They widened in fear at 
first.

"Sir! I-- I-- what are you doing here?" he mumbled, not too out of it 
to recognize that Skinner was probably not happy to have had to come 
after him. 

"I was looking for you, kid," the AD told him matter-of-factly as he 
wrapped him in the plastic sheet and felt his forehead and neck. He 
wasn't a doctor, but Skinner knew instinctively the younger agent was 
suffering from hypothermia. "I've gotta get you warmed up," he said as 
he rubbed Mulder's arms briskly and thought about exactly where they 
were. <I know this shed! Why do I know it?> Suddenly it hit him.

"Get up, Mulder," he said firmly. "We're leaving."

"I don't want to g-go back out there," Mulder told him, pulling back 
and beginning to tear up. "I'm c-cold-"

"I know you're cold," Skinner told him gently, recognizing he was 
probably in shock from the long exposure to the elements and from his 
head injury. "I have to get you someplace warmer than here. There's a 
house not too far from here. Come on, I'll help you." 

He took the wool hat he was wearing and put it on Mulder, then he took 
his own gloves and jammed them on the other man's hands. Mulder didn't 
protest, not did he help. He seemed to be too out of it to respond. 
Putting an arm around the younger man's waist, he pulled him out into 
the storm and toward the house he knew was just ahead. They struggled 
in the wind and both of them tumbled a couple of times. Mulder was 
usually physically agile and well coordinated but the shock and the 
cold, not to mention whatever injuries he might have, worked together 
to put him off balance. Skinner was the sole engine driving the team 
forward but eventually they made it to the front door of the house. It 
was locked, of course, but the AD lost no time breaking a window pane 
in the door and reaching in.

"That's breaking and entering," Mulder told him, with a frown of 
confusion. 

"No, kidding, Mulder," Skinner replied, becoming more worried about 
the younger man's mental state as time went on. He had to get him 
inside and get him warm. He knew the Patterson's were retired now, and 
his parents had mentioned they spent the winters in Florida. So he 
wasn't surprised to see the house locked up tight. He parked Mulder on 
a couch and ran upstairs to get some blankets and dry clothes. 
Rummaging through a closet in the master bedroom, he found some things 
and brought them right down. 

Mulder had not moved an inch, he noted when he got back. "Get those 
wet clothes off, Mulder," he said in his sternest tone. Mulder's head 
popped up but he made no move to comply. Sighing, the AD unzipped his 
jacket and pulled it off. He stripped off the rest of his clothes in 
short order, replacing them with the dry clothes he'd brought from 
upstairs. Dry underwear and undershirt, a wool flannel workshirt and 
sweat pants. He pulled a sweater over Mulder's head and down over the 
flannel shirt. Then he put a pair of thick socks on the younger 
agent's feet. Finally, he wrapped him in a blanket and left him 
huddled on the couch while he checked the heat. Skinner had flipped it 
on when they came in but the radiators were still freezing cold and he 
ran down into the basement to see what was wrong. The oil burner was 
off completely, and Skinner surmised the pipes in the house must have 
frozen at some point during the recent ice storm. The Pattersons would 
have a serious repair job when they returned, he knew. Cursing 
silently, he returned to the living room and found Mulder dozing. 

"Okay, we have no heat here either, Mulder," he said as though the 
other man were participating in the conversation. "We're gonna have to 
improvise." Suddenly he remembered something. "There's a fireplace in 
the den, Mulder. Come on, get up. I want you to come with me. I'll get 
a fire going. That's gonna have to suffice."

He moved the younger man into the back room where the fireplace was 
just where he remembered it. "Stay there," he commanded as he went to 
the back door and looked around for firewood. Finding some on the back 
porch, he noted that much of it was wet and would not burn well. But 
he pulled in everything that looked like it might ignite. Then he 
rummaged around the kitchen for matches and something to accelerate 
the fire. Not finding any kindling, or even newspapers, he looked 
under the counters for something, anything. Finding the telephone 
books, he decided they would have to do and brought them into the den. 
He placed the wood on the grate, then he started pulling pages out of 
the telephone books and scrunching them into balls. Placing them 
strategically, he lit them and watched to see if the wood would catch. 
When it did, he closed the fire screen but not the glass doors and 
turned to check on Mulder. 

"How ya doing, kid?" he asked quietly. Mulder's eyes were closed but 
they opened when he was addressed. 

"C-c-cold," he replied softly. 

"Come over here close to the fire, then," Skinner told him, pulling 
him off the couch and depositing him, still wrapped in the blanket on 
the floor next to the hearth. He rubbed the younger man's arms briskly 
again, trying to generate some more body heat but Mulder was still in 
a state of half-consciousness. The AD felt his face again and it was 
still cold to the touch. Skinner was growing seriously worried now 
that Mulder's body temperature had dropped dangerously low. And the 
minimal heat coming off the fireplace didn't seem like it would be 
enough to do the trick. "I'm gonna try to make something hot to drink. 
You just stay right here." Before he left, he pulled a few pillows off 
the sofa and propped them up behind Mulder.

The kitchen stove was electric, thank God, so it was still working. 
There was no running water because of the pipes but there was plenty 
of snow to melt. Skinner made short work of heating the water and made 
tea. There was no milk, of course. But there was food in the pantry, 
canned goods and other non-perishables. He also checked the phone to 
see if he could call for help, or let his parents know he and Mulder 
were okay. As expected though, the phone service had been turned off 
for the months the Pattersons were away. Skinner returned to the den 
with the tea and tried to hand one mug to Mulder. Unfortunately, 
Mulder's coordination was nowhere near normal and he immediately 
dropped the cup of hot liquid, soaking the front of his sweater and 
the sweat pants he was wearing. Tears sprang to the younger man's eyes 
but he made no move to get up, or dry himself.

Now Skinner was more than worried. He didn't need a medical degree to 
recognize that Mulder was suffering from severe hypothermia and it 
wasn't getting better. He swallowed the rest of his own tea fast, then 
knelt next to Mulder. He was down to the last resort now, but Mulder's 
survival was all that mattered. 

Skinner pulled the wet sweater off over the younger man's head, then 
he did the same thing with the flannel shirt. It took a little more 
work to get the soaked sweatpants off his young charge but he managed 
that as well. Then Skinner stripped off his own shirt and jeans, 
getting down to the long thermals he'd put on that morning. Unlike 
Mulder, Skinner was well versed in dressing for this kind of weather. 
He continued speaking to Mulder throughout. "We've just got to get you 
warmed up, kid. You'll feel better as soon as we get your body temp 
up." He gently pulled the younger man into his arms, then used one arm 
to wrap both blankets around the both of them. Mulder still seemed to 
be shocky, he thought. Skinner knew prolonged hypothermia could be 
dangerous and he was afraid that the young agent was not reviving as 
fast as he ought. Mulder was stiff in his arms, either because his 
body temperature was still perilously low or because he was 
embarrassed to find himself in this situation.

"It's okay, Mulder," the AD told him softly, in his most reassuring 
tone, and was gratified to feel the younger man finally relax into his 
chest and lay his head against his shoulder. In another few minutes, 
Mulder started to protest and pull away but the Assistant Director cut 
him off.

"Shhh. We have to get you warmed up, Mulder," he said gently, pulling 
him back in and rubbing his arms and torso. "Your body temp's got to 
be dangerously low still. And you may be in shock."

"I'm okay," Mulder replied, yawning. He leaned back into the other 
man's chest, relaxing and snuggling further into the blanket he was 
wrapped in. "I just need to sleep."

"I know you want to sleep, Mulder," Skinner told him, "but I don't 
think that's a good idea yet. That head injury worries me, you could 
have a concussion. And you may be in shock. I want you to try to stay 
awake a while, just till I'm sure you're not gonna fall into a coma on 
me."

"I don't want to stay awake," he yawned again. "I want to sleep. . . 
."

"Well, tough. This one's my call, Mulder. You already got a choice 
today and it was a lousy one."

Mulder's eyes snapped open. <I knew it! He is mad!> He roused himself 
a little and made an effort to stay awake. "What do you want to do 
while we stay awake, sir?"

Skinner smiled behind him, out of his line of sight. <Oh, you are 
worried! I wondered . . . ! > "I don't know, Mulder. Why don't we just 
talk?"

"About what?"

"Whatever you want." The AD settled back and felt Mulder relax again 
into his chest. He tightened his hold on the younger man and tried to 
will his body heat to transfer at a faster rate.

"How did you know this house was here, sir? And that they had a 
fireplace in the den?"

Skinner smiled. He was pleased to see Mulder's keen attention to 
detail revive. "This house belongs to the Pattersons," he said. "I 
dated their daughter, Tess, all through high school. I know that 
fireplace well! Her parents spend the winters in Florida now. And, 
before you ask, Tess is married and lives in . . . Nevada, I think. 
Her husband owns car dealerships or something."

"So you must have spent a lot of time here as a kid," Mulder replied, 
yawning again. "What happened? How come you didn't . . . stay with 
her?"

"Oh, you know how it is with high school romances, Mulder," Skinner 
laughed. "They're about discovery and fantasies about what life is 
going to be in the future. They rarely survive the realities of 
adulthood."

Mulder nodded, although he didn't really know from experience. He'd 
had dates in high school but nothing that rose to the level of a high 
school romance. None of his relationship survived long enough to 
qualify. 

"But it was fun while it lasted. And she was the first . . . ."

This caught the younger man's attention. He turned and looked up at 
Skinner. "First what?"

"Not what you're thinking, Mulder," Skinner laughed. "It was the 
sixties--"

"And the sixties was what? The decade of "free love?" The birth of the 
counter-culture? Hippies and Flower Children--"

"The sixties in a small town in Pennsylvania was an entirely different 
thing, Mulder," he chuckled. "Remember, I volunteered for Vietnam. We 
weren't exactly a breeding ground for the counter-culture out here!"

"So Tess was the first . . . " the younger man prodded.

"My first love. First girl I ever kissed. We may have necked some--"

"May have?" Mulder questioned him immediately. 

"MAY have. I know whether we did or not, Mulder. I'm just not telling 
you!"

Mulder found Skinner's sense of honor about protecting the reputation 
of some woman Mulder didn't even know a little old-fashioned, and 
decidedly Skinnerish. He sighed and fell silent as the other man did 
as well.

The AD let the lull in conversation go on for another minute before 
nudging the younger man once again. "Still awake, Mulder?" he asked.

"Yo! I'm . . . awake!" he replied, trying to smother a yawn and 
confirming Skinner's suspicion that he'd dozed off again. 

"Yeah, you do 'awake' very well, Mulder," Skinner chuckled. He knew he 
had to keep him talking or risk

losing him to unconsciousness. "What else do you want to talk about?"

Mulder sighed and bit his lip, trying to decide whether this was the 
time to talk about what was really on his mind. <Let's face it, idiot. 
There's no real GOOD time. . . > "Well, I guess you might as well know 
something. I . . . didn't turn back when you told me to, sir. In the 
car? When we spoke on the phone? I pretended I couldn't hear you and 
turned off my phone. Then I drove another half hour or so--"

Skinner smiled behind him. "I know," he said quietly.

Mulder's head turned to look at him again. "You know? How do you 
know?"

"You told me you were approaching Hopewell when you called. And I ran 
into Sam Cole later and he told me he saw you at the service station 
on the other side of Hopewell, trying to decide what to do. So I 
figured you had to have kept going another 20 or 30 minutes. I was 
just waiting to see how long it would take you to tell me."

Mulder sat back in consternation. He'd been struggling with the 
decision about whether to confess his disobedience ever since his head 
started to clear. "You knew? And you were, what? Waiting to see if I 
'fessed up? Waiting to bust me if I didn't?"

"Watch that tone, young man," Skinner warned him with a look that 
brooked no argument. "I didn't think this was the time, or the place, 
to deal with your disobedience. And I still don't."

Mulder blinked, immediately clear that he'd crossed a line and not 
even sure why it had happened. <Maybe I did hit my head too hard!> He 
shifted to lean on his elbow, angling himself away from the AD 
"Sorry," he mumbled, hoping he looked sufficiently contrite. "I just . 
. . I was worried about it and I guess I let my mouth get out ahead of 
my brain for a minute."

"Not like that's never happened before, Mulder," Skinner replied with 
a hint of a smile. He wanted to signal that he'd overlook that 
misstep, but only once. He watched the younger man carefully, checking 
to see if he interpreted the gesture correctly. But Mulder was chewing 
on his lower lip, lost in thought.

"I'm sorry," he began, only to be cut off by the other man.

"It's okay, Mulder. Don't worry about it," Skinner assured him, 
reaching out to pull him into a hug. 

"No, it's not okay, sir," he answered agitatedly. "If I wasn't such a 
. . . fuck-up, you wouldn't be here. You'd be safe and warm, back at 
your folks' place. Having a nice, home-cooked dinner--"

"Stop it, Mulder!" Skinner said firmly. "This is not entirely your 
fault--"

"Yes, it is! I'm the one who wouldn't listen when you said the weather 
was too bad to get to Baltimore! I'm the one who kept driving, even 
after you told me to come home! I'm the one whose car ended up in the 
goddam river--"

"I said stop, Mulder!" Skinner thundered, finally breaking the younger 
man's monologue. 

Mulder looked at him and Skinner could see tears streaming down his 
cheeks. He was shaking his head and muttering under his breath but the 
AD couldn't make out the words. He needed to arrest the younger man's 
sudden descent into self-recrimination and anxiety, and fast.

"Mulder, you're bleeding," he said, noticing a trickle of blood coming 
from the cut on his head. His body temperature must be up if it's 
starting to bleed, Skinner thought. "Let me get something for that." 
The AD rose and pulled on his jeans and shirt, then he headed for the 
stairs. He suspected that the Pattersons probably kept most of their 
first aid supplies in the master bath since their kids moved out of 
the house years ago. He returned in a minute, to find Mulder missing 
from the den, the blanket laying in a heap next to the fireplace. 
"Mulder!"

He was quickly reassured by the sound of a toilet flushing and the 
object of his concern stepped out of the lavatory off the kitchen, 
closing the light behind him. But as he passed Skinner, the AD noticed 
his teeth were chattering and he quickly guided Mulder back to the 
fireplace and sat him next to the fire. It was starting to wane, so 
Skinner took another piece of wood from where he'd put it to dry near 
the fire and moved it onto the grate. Then he stuffed some more paper 
in and played with the positioning until the wood began to burn. He 
got up and washed his hands, then returned, intent on treating the cut 
on Mulder's head. He sat down next to Mulder. "Let me look at that," 
he said gently. Relieved it didn't seem to require stitches, Skinner 
cleaned it with the only disinfectant he could find. "This is gonna 
sting," he warned the younger agent and watched as Mulder's eyes 
teared in confirmation. Then he quickly put a butterfly bandage on it. 
"All done. How's your head feeling, anyway?"

"Aside from a headache, okay," Mulder replied morosely. He hadn't 
bounced back from their slight altercation a few minutes earlier. 
Instead, Skinner thought, he seemed to be sinking deeper into guilt 
and self-blame.

"Okay, stop it right now," the AD said firmly as he cleared the first 
aid supplies and put them aside. He looked around the room and noticed 
that, aside from the flickering fire, it had grown almost completely 
dark in the last few minutes. "I'm not spending the night watching you 
beat yourself up. So snap out of it! And we need to throw a little 
light on the subject. . . " He began to rise but just then a lamp on 
the other side of the room blinked on.

Mulder's head snapped to where the light had gone on. "How'd you do 
that?" he asked wondrously.

Skinner did a quick double-take, then sat back down, laughing. "How 
hard did you hit your head anyway, Mulder?" he asked between gasps of 
amusement. "Obviously the light's are on a timer. . . !"

Mulder grinned sheepishly. That fact had occurred to him but, 
unfortunately, after he'd already asked the question. He touched the 
dressing on his head and winced. "Harder than I originally, thought, I 
guess."

Skinner sighed and stood up. The laugh had done him good but it seemed 
to have helped Mulder even more. He climbed the stairs to the second 
floor once again, this time to pull a mattress off a bed in one of the 
bedrooms. The second floor was freezing and there was no place to 
sleep in the room where the fireplace was, so he'd decided to resolve 
that problem by bringing a makeshift bed to the warmth. He dragged the 
full-size mattress down the staircase and into the den, placing it on 
the floor, up against the brickfront of the fire place. He'd also 
brought two bed pillows with him and tossed them on the mattress.

"This'll be a little more comfortable than the floor, Mulder," he 
said, watching the younger man ease himself onto the mattress. He had 
wrapped himself up in one of the blankets again but he was still 
shivering. "I'll see if I can come up with some food. You just try to 
stay warm . . . and awake, okay?"

Skinner returned ten minutes later and found Mulder staring into the 
fire, his face illuminated by the flickering firelight. He was lost in 
thought and the AD found himself wondering how to distract him from 
his solitary thoughts. He'd brought two mugs of hot soup. "We only had 
two choices, Mulder," Skinner told him as he handed him one. "Chicken 
noodle and split pea--"

Mulder made a face at the mention of the latter and Skinner laughed 
out loud. "Yeah, I figured you probably saw "The Exorcist" too many 
times to ever eat pea soup so . . . chicken noodle, it is!" He put a 
sleeve of Saltine crackers on the coffee table and watched in 
satisfaction as his young charge began to eat as if he'd been starving 
for weeks. Knowing that was a good sign, Skinner attacked his own soup 
with dispatch. Once they'd both eaten, the AD cleared the dishes and 
stepped outside to the back porch with his cell phone, to try one more 
time to reach his parents. Having no luck, he stepped back inside to 
find Mulder standing in the kitchen, watching him.

"They're probably worried sick, sir," he said. "And it's all my 
fault--"

"Mulder," Skinner sighed, "I thought I told you to stop that. It's not 
all your fault. We got stuck in a storm. Period. And my parents raised 
four kids. It's not like they've never had a kid 'missing in action' 
before." He put both hands on Mulder's shoulders and propelled him 
back into the den, the only half-way warm room in the house.

"I'm sure that's not true, sir," Mulder countered, shaking his head. 
"And it wouldn't be true now, if it wasn't for me! I'm probably more 
trouble than your whole family was, put together! Your parents 
probably hate me--"

"Enough! No one hates you, Mulder. You are part of our family, and 
they love you. Despite the fact you can be a whole lot of trouble -- 
and a major pain in the butt! Which you're being right this very 
minute!"

He steered the chilled younger man to the mattress and forced him 
down, wrapping him once again in a blanket. Then he put another piece 
of wood on the fire and poked it until it started to ignite. Finally, 
Skinner closed the fire screen and picked up the other blanket. 
Pulling a couple of the sofa pillows over, he positioned them on the 
other side of the mattress and stretched out on his back, with his 
head propped up he could maintain eye contact with Mulder. He looked 
at the anxious young man and debated once again whether to do what 
he'd been considering. Mulder was staring back at him, his eyes filled 
with guilt and self-recrimination. They were enough to make his 
decision for him.

"Mulder, you are not the only one who's ever made bad choices. You're 
just like everybody else. You make mistakes. And hopefully, with . . . 
proper guidance, you learn from them. That's how everybody learns, 
kid. There's one thing my Dad taught me that always stayed with me. He 
said, 'You get good judgment from experience. Unfortunately, 
experience comes from bad judgment . . . '"

Mulder blinked in surprise. Then he snorted. "Somehow you and bad 
judgment don't seem to be a match, sir."

"Well, thanks. But if I have good judgment now, it's only because my 
Dad and I worked through my forays into the realm of bad judgment when 
I was a lot younger!" He paused, trying to decide how much to share 
with Mulder. And he realized he was comfortable sharing just about 
anything with him, a revelation in itself. There were few people in 
the world about whom Skinner could say that. His brothers and his 
father . . . and that was about it. "Did I ever tell you I went to the 
Woodstock Festival, Mulder?"

This time Mulder's face registered serious shock. "You went to 
Woodstock?" he snorted incredulously, looking at Skinner as if he'd 
never actually seen him before. "You're an Assistant Director of the 
FBI! I can't even imagine . . . ."

"Mulder, I wasn't an AD when I was 17!" Skinner replied huffily. "And 
I wasn't bald either!"

Mulder recognized he'd let a little too much surprise show and 
regrouped. This was interesting, and he wanted to hear more. "Sorry, 
sir. It's just so . . . out of character, I guess I was a little 
shocked. Not that I should be." He laid his head on a pillow and 
folded his hands underneath it. Relaxing, he prodded the older man to 
tell him more. "What was it like?"

"Well, it was pretty incredible, actually. We got there Saturday, in 
time to see Janis Joplin. And Santana. Creedence Clearwater. Then on 
Sunday The Band, Blood Sweat & Tears, Johnny Winter. It was an amazing 
experience. We stayed through Monday morning. Jimi Hendrix closed the 
thing . . . " 

Skinner realized he'd gotten off track on his story, though and reined 
in his enthusiasm for his recollections. "Anyway, my point is, I 
wasn't supposed to be there at all, Mulder. My father had absolutely 
forbidden me to go. And I was missing, out of touch, for three days. 
There were no pay phones at the farm where they held that thing. And 
of course, no cell phones in those days. So my folks had no idea if I 
was okay or not. . . "

Mulder was contemplating the implications of this story fast. "Wow," 
he breathed solemnly. "Your Dad must have been pissed when you got 
home."

Skinner snorted. "It gets worse. I didn't actually go home. I came 
here, to see Tess. I don't know exactly what I thought I was gonna do. 
My friend Coop and I-- you remember Coop, Mulder. You and he met on 
the road a while back when he picked you up on the highway near here."

Mulder nodded. He remembered Pete Cooper all too well. The guy was an 
old high school buddy of the A.D.'s who now drove a long-distance rig. 
He'd delivered a runaway Mulder directly to the arms of a very angry 
Skinner the year before. 

"Anyway, Coop and I went to the festival together. But his parents 
weren't quite as . . . strict as mine. So he went home as soon as we 
got back to Danville. I wasn't ready to face the music. I had some 
vague notion about never going back but no plan about where to go! So 
I came to see Tess and she told me my Dad had been here over the 
weekend, looking for me. And she said he looked angry. So she agreed 
to hide me out in their tool shed overnight. Only my Dad had spoken to 
Coop's father too. And when Coop got home, Mr. Cooper called him. 
Coop's a great guy, but he can't actually keep a secret under even the 
slightest pressure so . . . in a short while my Dad found his way to 
the shed, along with Mr. Patterson. Tess and I were . . . kind of . . 
. making out when the door flew open and there stood my Dad and hers. 
Neither of them looked especially pleased but my father looked like 
his head was gonna explode, Mulder. You have never seen anything that 
frightening in your life, believe me!"

Mulder thought better. He'd seen the AD look exactly like that, on 
several occasions. But he refrained from contradicting the other man, 
too intent on hearing the rest of the story. "What happened then?"

Skinner pressed his lips together for a moment, not certain how much 
of the details he wanted to share with Mulder. "Well, you can probably 
guess, Mulder--"

"Oh, come on!" Mulder looked like a kid who'd been given an ice cream 
cone only to have the scoop of ice cream fall in the dirt at his feet. 
Skinner smiled at his consternation.

"Okay. Well, I didn't mention one thing, Mulder. This was August of 
'69. About two months after Jeremy died. I think I told you I went 
into kind of a tailspin after that happened. And my parents were 
really . . . loving and supportive. And understanding. And somehow 
that just didn't pull me out of the spin. Well, this was the 'straw 
that broke the camel's back' for my Dad, I guess. He morphed right 
back into the guy who raised me the first 17 years. We left the 
Patterson's and went right to the woodshed. The Persuader got a major 
workout that night. I don't think I sat down for three days afterward. 
And I got a punishment tour that lasted the rest of the summer and 
through Labor Day as I recall. . . . " 

He stopped speaking and fixed the younger agent with a fond smile. 
"So, do you see my point? We all have to learn these lessons, kid. We 
just learn them at different times in our lives. And anyone who's had 
kids learns to live with the fact that there are gonna be moments of 
worry and fear. Thank God, most of the time, things turn out all 
right. My parents will be fine when we get back, Mulder. Although my 
Dad may have a thing or two to say to you about using good judgment!"

Mulder gave him a sheepish grin. "I heard somewhere that good judgment 
comes from experience, sir. And experience comes from--

"Bad judgment," they finished together. 

"All right, it's time for you to get some rest now, Mulder," Skinner 
said. "If you can remember that, your head must be okay!" He watched 
the younger man lay back and then the AD adjusted the blankets so he 
was fully covered. He felt Mulder's forehead one more time and was 
gratified to feel his skin seemed to be back to room temperature, 
despite the chilliness of the room. "You just go to sleep. I'll make 
sure the fire doesn't go out."

Skinner found a book to read and settled in on the couch for a couple 
of hours. But the events of the day had tired him almost as much as 
Mulder and he decided to turn in early, too. He turned off the light 
in the den. Then he put another piece of wood on the fire as quietly 
as possible, trying not to wake the peacefully slumbering Agent 
Mulder. 

Finally, he laid down on the other side of the mattress and adjusted 
the blankets so they covered both of them. Skinner left one hand 
outside the warm protection of the blankets, so that when the fire 
started to dwindle and the room grew cold, the AD would wake up first. 
His plan worked and he woke twice during the next 9 hours, each time 
rebuilding the fire. Each time he woke, he shook Mulder just to make 
certain he hadn't slipped into a coma. The exhausted young man came to 
consciousness quickly then fell back to sleep immediately each time. 
And each time the Assistant Director went back to sleep with peace of 
mind. At just past 7 a.m. the next morning, Skinner woke to find 
Mulder staring at him from about 18 inches away. 

"Woodstock, huh? Who would have ever thunk it!"

Skinner ran a hand over his stubbled chin as he turned onto his back 
and began to stretch out the kinks from his night's sleep. "Mulder. 
Don't make me regret telling you that story," he sighed. But he was 
secretly pleased to see the younger man so animated and obviously 
well.

Mulder smiled and sat up. "Give me your cell phone. I think it stopped 
snowing a while ago. Maybe we can get your parents now."

Skinner reached over to the table behind him to get the phone and 
began to hand it over. He stopped suddenly, refusing to give it up. 
"Where's your cell phone, Mulder?"

"I left it in the car," he replied matter-of-factly.

"The car at the bottom of the river?"

Mulder hesitated before answering, not sure where this was going to 
end up. "Yeah. That'd be the one."

Skinner closed his eyes before asking the next question. "And your 
computer?"

Mulder sighed audibly. "I left it with my cell phone," he said simply.

Skinner opened his eyes, nodding resignedly, and gave up the phone 
with a warning look that said he expected to get it back, in one, 
working piece. Then he rose and headed into the bathroom. When he 
returned, Mulder was still speaking to someone and Skinner guessed 
from the conversation it was his father. From what he could pick up, 
the conversation was drawing to a close. Mulder handed the phone to 
Skinner and went off to use the facilities himself. 

"Hi, Dad," Skinner said. "Hope you and Mom weren't too worried."

"We have faith in you, Walter. Although we both would probably have 
slept better if you'd been able to contact us! Fox says you're both 
okay, though. Is that the truth?"

"He's got a nasty cut on his head, and his car's submerged in the 
river. But other than that. . . "

"That's enough for almost anyone, Walter! I swear, that boy could find 
trouble in church. I told him I have half a mind to paddle his bottom 
but good when he gets back here--"

Skinner chuckled. "What'd he say to that, Dad?" he asked as he stood 
at the window, watching the new fallen snow glisten in the morning 
sun. 

Now it was his father's turn to chuckle. "He said I'd have to get in 
line behind you! Which I suspect is probably true, so I'll just let 
you take care of it. He's all yours, son."

Skinner felt a lump form in his throat as the subject of their 
conversation made his way past him and into the kitchen where he began 
to heat some water for tea. "Yes, he is, Dad. And thanks for helping 
me see that!"

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

Epilogue

They arrived back at the Skinner homestead just before lunch. They'd 
had to hike back to the Blazer, parked a half mile down the road from 
the Patterson home first. The vehicle required major clearing off and 
digging out -- and Mulder was glad Skinner had thought to bring a 
shovel from the Patterson's shed. They called the Sheriff's department 
and got someone out to see where Mulder's car was lying in the river. 
It would probably be the end of the day before the car was towed out 
of the water, the Deputy told them. Skinner was relatively certain the 
car was a total loss but Mulder chose to maintain some shred of hope 
that it would 'dry out' and he wouldn't have to report the accident. 
"I don't want to be classified a 'high risk' driver," he said at one 
point. "I already pay too much for insurance because of my moving 
violations."

"You've had more than one recently?" the AD asked him curiously. 
"Other than that speeding ticket on the Pennsylvania Pike last Fall?"

All color drained from the younger man's face as he realized he'd 
volunteered more information than he'd meant to. His mind raced 
furiously, trying to come up with a plausible meaning for what he'd 
said that didn't require revealing that he'd run a red light in 
Maryland a while back . . . and been clocked at 19 miles over the 
speed limit while doing it. Finally, he gave up the truth. And watched 
Skinner's eyebrows shoot up, while the color rose in his face. But he 
didn't say a word, probably because of the Deputy's presence, and 
Mulder was grateful. When they were finally ready to drive back to 
Danville, Mulder made the mistake of heading for the driver's door. 

"I'll drive," Skinner growled. "I want to get there in one piece!" The 
younger man turned immediately in the other direction, quickly 
circling the front of the Blazer and getting in the passenger side. 
Where he ceremoniously buckled up his seatbelt and sat, ram-rod 
straight, not touching anything or even breathing too loud. 

Skinner drove the short distance back to his parent's home in silence, 
letting Mulder worry a little. He knew from personal experience that 
the anticipation of punishment was usually worse than the punishment 
itself. And in this case, there was a lesson (or two!) to be learned 
and learned once and for all, he hoped. 

Rachel Skinner had a hot meal waiting on the table when they arrived. 
And, despite his anxiety, Mulder was starving. He and the AD had had 
soup, crackers and tea in the last 24 hours, not enough to keep either 
of them satisfied. The borscht and fresh black bread she'd prepared 
was something neither man could pass up, or even postpone. They ate 
with relish, filling Rachel and Walter, Sr. in on their experience as 
they accepted a second helping each. Mrs. Skinner had spent the past 
day baking, "it's what I do when I'm worried," she told Mulder 
smiling. And the lemon meringue pie was a perfect end to a perfect 
meal. 

"Thanks," Mulder told her appreciatively, as she loaded the dishwasher 
"I don't think food's ever tasted so good!"

"Let's change that dressing on your head, Mulder," Skinner interrupted 
him. "There's first aid stuff upstairs." He rose and headed up the 
back stairs, expecting Mulder to follow him.

Mulder didn't move at first, simply watching the AD disappear up the 
stairs, paralyzed by the fear of what was coming next. He was 
embarrassed to admit it, because he knew he deserved whatever Skinner 
was planning. <But . . . But I'm hurt!> It sounded like whining even 
inside his own head. He was startled when he turned back, to see Mr. 
Skinner watching him intently.

"It's always better to just get it over, Fox," he said quietly. 

Mulder swallowed hard, and chewed on his lower lip. "I know. It's just 
that, I don't want you and Mrs. Skinner to think . . . I'm more 
trouble than I'm worth. I don't want you to think your son is wasting 
his time on me--"

"Oh, Fox, that's the last thing we would think!' he replied fondly. 
"You are worth every moment he's invested in you -- and you are an 
important part of his life. And of this family. Don't ever doubt that, 
son--"

"Mulder! Did you hear me?" Skinner yelled from upstairs.

"--and don't ever test his patience like this! Now run along before he 
comes back for you!"

Mulder nodded and rose. "Thanks, sir," he threw back as he covered the 
distance to the stairs in a couple of strides and took the steps two 
at a time. He stepped out of the stairwell directly into the A.D.'s 
chest.

"MUL-- Oh, there you are. Get in here," Skinner instructed, taking him 
into the hall bath and indicating he should seat himself on the closed 
toilet seat. He made short work of removing the old bandage and 
cleaning the wound again. "It's healing already," he said, pleased. "I 
don't even think you're gonna have a scar." He put a bandage over the 
wound and stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest.

Mulder decided he'd wait for him to say something but in a moment, the 
silence got the better of the younger man. "I-- I know you're mad. . . 
"

"Dogs get mad, Mulder," Skinner cut him off.

"I mean angry. I know you're angry," he began again, looking at the 
other man for some confirmation. Receiving none, he blundered on. "I 
guess maybe . . . disappointed is a better word, sir. I know you must 
be disappointed in me. . . ." His voice trailed off. Skinner still 
didn't seem to be signaling agreement with anything Mulder was saying.

A long moment of silence passed between them, then Skinner spoke 
quietly. "I'm not angry, Mulder. Or disappointed in you. And I'm not 
mad either! What I am is . . . committed to you, to making sure you 
understand how important you are, to me, to my family. To a lot of 
people who care about you. And I'm committed to making certain you 
learn the 'life lessons' you somehow managed to sidestep up till now. 
And this one, about obedience, is important. And the one about looking 
out for your personal safety is even more important! I love you, kid. 
That's the truth. And if I had to spank you every day for the rest of 
my life to get that through your head, that's what I'd do."

Mulder found himself overwhelmed by Skinner's words and the plain 
affection with which he said them. With tears in his eyes, he 
struggled for something appropriate to say. "God, I hope it doesn't 
take that long," was what came out, to his chagrin.

But the AD laughed and reached out to pull him to a standing position. 
"Let's go," he said, draping an arm around the younger agent's 
shoulder. He escorted Mulder to the study that was his room whenever 
he stayed with Skinner's parents. Closing the door behind them, 
Skinner instructed him to take off his jeans. Mulder complied while 
the AD removed his belt and took a seat on the bed. Mulder stepped out 
of his jeans and stopped, wanting to ask a question that had been on 
his mind for some time now. "Sir?" he asked tentatively. "Can I ask 
you something?"

Skinner nodded, curious as to what would be so important it couldn't 
wait for later. 

"I just . . . I was wondering about why you . . . started putting me 
over your knee when you use the belt. I mean, you always used to make 
me bend over the chair in your living room. Or something like that. 
Only lately. . . . " his voice faded before he completed the thought.

Skinner was startled by the question, and the observation. "I don't -- 
are you sure, Mulder?"

Mulder nodded. "Oh, I'm sure. I have been paying attention. . . !" he 
said somewhat sheepishly.

Skinner shook his head, perplexed. "Well, I didn't make a conscious 
decision," he answered as honestly as he could. "But I guess it has to 
do with the fact that we've grown closer and . . . I want you to feel 
loved and . . . connected, even when you're being punished. Does that 
make sense, Mulder?"

Mulder had always hated it when his father or mother turned him over 
their knee. He'd always felt such punishment was humiliating as well 
as painful. Now, for the first time, he understood what Skinner was 
saying. And more importantly, he believed it, with every cell of his 
being. He still wasn't looking forward to this punishment, but . . . . 
He knew he'd get through it and be better for it, too.

"Can I ask you another question, sir?"

Skinner exhaled, a sigh that did nothing to cover his exasperation. 
"What is this, twenty questions? What else do you need to know right 
this very minute?"

Mulder looked at his sock-clad feet, debating whether to hold his 
final question. But Skinner was having none of that, now.

"Mulder?" the AD asked.

"Well, when I was leaving yesterday-- It was snowing and you said I 
probably wouldn't get a flight, and the roads were bad, and I 
shouldn't drive in those conditions. . . ."

"Yes, Mulder? What's the question?"

Mulder chewed on his lower lip another few seconds before finally 
blurting out what had been weighing on his mind from the moment he 
stepped out the front door the day before. "How come you let me go?"

Skinner found himself laughing, a moment filled with relief as much as 
amusement. "Well, Mulder, the truth is . . . it was an error in 
judgment on my part. One that won't happen again, believe me! Now get 
your butt over here," he said lightheartedly, pointing at the floor 
next to him. 

Mulder quickly did as instructed. Skinner looked at the young man 
kneeling on the floor beside him for a moment. Suddenly he reached out 
and touched the bandage on Mulder's head ,as though he was checking to 
be sure it was staying put. He sighed and pressed his lips together. 
"What it was not, Fox," he said quietly, "was an indication that I 
don't care what happens to you. I care. A lot." Mulder felt tears 
sting the back of his eyes as the AD pulled him quickly over his long 
legs and pulled his shorts down below his cheeks. He heard Skinner 
clear his throat as he laid the first stroke across the 'sit spot' and 
asked Mulder what he was being punished for.

"For ignoring your advice and going out yesterday," he answered, 
making it clear he'd given this a great deal of thought. "Owww! 
Ouccchhh! Ooooohhhh! For disobeying you and not coming right home when 
you told me to! Unnnnhhhh Owwwww!"

"And for not telling you about the speeding ticket. . . . and running 
that red light! Owwwww! Aahhhhhhh! Oucccchhhhh! I should have told you 
the day it happened, when I called to check in that night!" Skinner 
was pleased to hear the latter. He'd been planning to make exactly 
that point to Mulder on their ride home. Mulder had begun crying after 
the first few strokes and by the time Skinner finished with the 
twentieth burning lick, he was sobbing and promising he'd never do any 
of those things ever again, as long as he lived.

Skinner dropped the belt on the bed and pulled his shorts back up. 
Then he pulled the younger man into an embrace, letting him sob until 
his tears abated and he was sniffling into the older man's shoulder. 
The Assistant Director caressed the back of his head and spoke 
soothingly to the penitent young man. "I hope you never do any of 
those things again, Mulder. Ever. But I want you to know, if you can't 
manage that, I'm still gonna love you. And I'll still be here--"

"Letting me have it, for as long as it takes," Mulder finished for 
him. He snuffled once then gave the AD a lopsided grin. "I'll do my 
best to make sure you don't have to make good on that threat, sir!"

Skinner pulled him into a bear hug that threatened to squeeze the life 
out of him. "I'd like to think of it as more of a promise, son," he 
said gently.

THE END