The Danville Series by Cadillac Red Disclaimer: The characters of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and Walter Skinner belong to 1013 Productions and I and will make no money from their use. Spoilers: None. Setting: Sixth Season. Many details and characters come from previous stories in this series. Rating: PG. Discipline, no slash. Title: The Persistence of Memory Author: Cadillac Red Summary: Mulder messes up a case he'd been ordered to drop and decides to 'catch' amnesia till he figures out how to avoid a certain AD till it all blows over. Author's Note: I have no special talent for titles and was stumped on this one. So I owe a debt of thanks to Brown-Eyed Girl for one that is both poetic and right on target! The Persistence of Memory Trinity Medical Center St. Louis, Missouri Monday morning Special Agent Fox Mulder floated in the netherworld between consciousness and unconsciousness. He could hear voices around him, strange voices. But they were kindly. He couldn't see them because it was dark. A stray thought flitted through his brain, telling him that the fact his eyes were closed might be a contributing factor. But somehow, he couldn't quite gain the strength to open them and he continued to float there, gathering as much information as he could. "Dr. Quincy says he should be waking up any time now," one voice said as gentle hands ministered to him, checking something on his arm. From the sensation, he guessed he was hooked up to an IV. "They say he's an FBI agent," another voice, younger and evidently impressed with his job. "Yes, he is, Sarah," the older voice responded. "That's how he was injured, apparently. In a car chase or something." Mulder could hear her doing something else but he couldn't tell what because his eyes were still tightly closed. "And who are those people who've been waiting?" Sarah asked. "Is that his wife? And who's the man? He looks a little . . . scary." "No, the redhead is his partner, apparently. Although I've never seen a wife so distraught, or so attentive. She's a doctor, too. She and Dr. Quincy have been conferring a lot," older and wiser replied. "And the man? He's been here the whole time, too." "I think that's his boss. And you're right, Sarah. He looks angry. I don't think I'd want to be in our patient's shoes when he wakes up, that's for sure," she said with a smile he could hear without seeing it. "Let's finish up here and--" Mulder's lids fluttered open and the light in the hospital room assaulted his hazel eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut again, waiting for them to adjust. "Oh! Betty! He's awake," Sarah exclaimed. "Yes, he is. Go get Dr. Quincy, Sarah," Betty replied, all business now. She turned her attention to the patient. "And I want you to stay with us, Mr. Mulder. We've been waiting for you to wake up since yesterday, hon." Mulder blinked at her. The events that led to him being in this hospital bed came racing back, flooding his senses. Over his strong protests, he'd been ordered to drop a case that appeared to be a non-starter. Reluctantly, he and Scully had returned to Washington from St. Louis last Thursday. Where Mulder was explicitly told by Skinner not to continue the investigation. Period. When he received another piece of information from a source, he'd failed to notify the AD, knowing the additional shred of evidence would not be enough to convince him to reopen the case. Mulder didn't bother to tell Scully he was returning to Missouri. It was Saturday, no point ruining her weekend with a tip that might not pan out. He'd flown back, rented a car and returned to the St. Louis field office, where he'd lied to the Bureau Chief and told him the investigation had been reopened. SAC Adler seemed skeptical but he assigned a couple of agents to do some further research. One of them was kind of green and actually took the half-hearted order seriously. Unfortunately, one thing Mulder didn't know was that Adler had worked for Skinner years before. According to office scuttlebutt he picked up just a tad too late, Adler had been Skinner's protégé, and the Assistant Director's strong support had gotten Adler the St. Louis SAC assignment at a surprisingly young age. Mulder's luck, generally bad, was running true to form. By Saturday evening, he had been asked into the SAC's office where he received an angry phone call from the man himself, ordering him back to D.C., once again. "Get on the next plane, Agent Mulder," Skinner had growled menacingly. "And come straight to my place when you land." Mulder had been planning to comply, despite the infuriating smirk Adler gave him while he was being bawled out by Skinner over the telephone line. But as he was leaving, the young agent doing the computer research turned up a possible location for the suspect. So Mulder had decided to race out to Glendale before catching his flight, just to check it out. The roads were rain-slicked and he'd been speeding. He skidded out, and flipped the car. . . . That was the last thing he remembered, until he'd woke up in this hospital bed and heard Betty and Sarah talking about him. "Mr. Mulder," Betty said to him quietly. "Can you hear me?" He blinked at her uncomprehendingly, stalling for time. Trying to figure out how he would, could, avoid seeing Skinner until his boss had cooled down. An attractive blonde woman in a white jacket raced in. "Well, hello," she said, immediately pulling out a pen light to check his pupils. "We wondered when you'd get back, Mr. Mulder. I'm Dr. Quincy. Do you know where you are?" He didn't answer. "Mr. Mulder? Do you remember how you got here?" He didn't want to discuss that right now, not with Skinner obviously nearby. He shook his head slightly. "Do you know your name?" she asked, an edge of worry in her voice now. Special Agent Scully appeared in the doorway behind the doctor now. She had a huge smile on her face, obviously elated to see him awake and relatively alert. Assistant Director Skinner loomed behind her, the relief on his face beginning to mutate into what Mulder could easily recognize as anger. "Do you remember anything?" Dr. Quincy asked again. He processed it all, every shred of information he had at his disposal and made a decision. "No," he said tentatively. "How did I get here? And who are all of you?" ******************************************************************* Trinity Medical Center St. Louis Missouri Monday afternoon Assistant Director Skinner and Special Agent Scully sat in the hospital waiting room with Dr. Anne Quincy. She was armed with the results of all the tests they'd run on Agent Mulder in the past 24 hours and was filling them in, at a greater level of detail than she normally would have because of Dana Scully's medical knowledge. Skinner just listened, and watched Scully's reactions, letting them guide his internal responses. "Physically, he's fine," Quincy was saying. "A concussion. A few bruises. He was very lucky, indeed, that he was wearing a seatbelt. And the car had airbags." She shook her head. "But the memory loss is a little worrisome." Skinner finally spoke. "Amnesia. Only Mulder would manage to get himself a . . . soap opera diagnosis!" Scully nodded her head firmly. "But if you think about some of the things he's had over the years, it's like a script from a bad sci-fi movie, so . . . . he is consistent." Skinner grimaced in response. Quincy smiled at the AD and tucked a stray lock of blonde hair behind her left ear. "I understand your reactions. But memory loss is a fairly common side effect of a concussion. It's just that, generally, it's not so total. A patient might not remember the events leading up to an accident. Or might lose the entire day. With Mr. Mulder, his memory loss is more puzzling. He's forgotten who he is, what he does for a living, both of you . . . ." Scully pursed her lips. "You believe this is temporary, though. . . . " Quincy nodded her head thoughtfully. "Generally, that would be my prediction. But, frankly, this is the most puzzling case of memory loss I've ever seen. He remembers many current events. He's paying attention to sports scores and seems to remember various teams' current records even. He spoke to one of the aides about a movie he saw recently. It's like he has . . . pockets of memory. Everything personal's been wiped out. It's highly unusual . . . " Skinner sat back and sighed. "Dr. Quincy, almost everything about Mulder is . . . . unusual." ********************************************************************** Trinity Medical Center St. Louis, Missouri Tuesday afternoon Mulder sat in his room, watching television. Scully had been there all day, fawning over him and making certain he wasn't uncomfortable, wasn't thirsty, wasn't hungry, wasn't sleepy. And Skinner had come in a couple of hours ago, after spending a few hours at the local office. And while he wasn't fawning, he was closely observing Mulder with concern and that was about to drive the younger agent nuts, too. More than once he'd been close to snapping at them in frustration, but then he remembered that would be 'in character' and right now, he supposedly wasn't himself. It was a strain, pretending he didn't remember anything. He knew he'd already slipped up some, letting on that he was familiar with current news stories. The psychologist in him knew that was unlikely, that if he had total amnesia, he'd probably be ignorant of the fact that the Knicks beat the Bulls by ten last weekend. But he thought he'd managed to slip that one by the nurse with an endearing smile and a request for some Jell-O. Seeing him choke down the green stuff alone had been enough to convince Scully he was not in full possession of his faculties. Now, he was desperate to start remembering, officially. But Skinner was still here, and Mulder thought he picked up a simmering anger, under the A.D.'s calm exterior. He'd tried to question Mulder about the accident twice, each time betraying his underlying annoyance at the young FBI agent's complete disregard for orders and regulations, not to mention his own safety. It didn't take Mulder long to figure out he was in for it. His only hope was for Skinner to leave town, return to D.C. and give Mulder a week to mend. By then, the younger man thought, he could fake getting his memory back, slowly. By the time he was 'all better,' the AD would have long forgotten this entire incident. The phone rang, startling Mulder out of his silent brooding. The AD marched over to the phone and picked it up for him. "Hello? Oh, hi, Mom! Your timing was perfect." He listened for a moment. "He's doing fine. His memory's not back yet but the doctor say he's okay, physically. They're gonna hold him a few more days, just to make certain." He was looking at Mulder as he spoke. "Yeah, the doctor says it might help for him to talk to people he knows. Hold on." Skinner put the phone on his shoulder and sat down on the edge of Mulder's bed. "It's my mother, Mulder," he said quietly. "She wants to talk to you, to make certain you're really okay. I told her you won't remember her but maybe . . . this will help jog your memory. Do you want to speak to her?" Mulder's heart was racing with the prospect of speaking to Rachel Skinner, of lying to her about his condition. He hadn't really thought through all the people he'd have to lie to, to pull this off. And the last person he wanted to deceive, or worry, was the A.D.'s mother. Trying not to betray his roiling emotions, he shrugged and let the AD hand him the phone. "Hello?" "Oh, Fox, honey! I was so worried when Walter told me about your accident! Are you really all right, sweetheart?" "Yes, ma'am," he replied softly, trying not to choke up. "I'm fine, really." He tried to maintain a neutral facial expression, as though he were talking to someone he didn't know at all. "Dad and I want to fly out and see you," she said, "but Walter thinks you may be out of the hospital and home within a couple of days. So we'll meet you in Washington later in the week instead. I wanted you to come here to recover but Walter said the doctor thinks you should be in places that are very familiar to you." Mulder found himself thinking that the Skinner home in Danville was about as familiar a place as his own apartment nowadays but he didn't say it, of course. "I wouldn't want to put you to any trouble," he responded, as noncommittally as possible. He was having difficulty determining how to play this one. "It's no trouble at all, dear. We would do the same for any of our kids, you know that. Or . . . you used to know it," she said, a little distractedly. Mulder could hear her tearing up on the other side of the phone, and was struggling mightily against doing the same thing. "I'm sure you'll start remembering soon. Now you get some rest, okay? We love you, Fox." As much as he wanted to, Mulder wasn't able to hang up immediately, though, because Walter, Sr. just had to get on the phone for a minute, to assure himself that Mulder was really all right. He kept the conversation short and sweet, but ended with the same "I love you," message. And that was enough to make Mulder feel about two inches tall. Scully saw he was upset and wondered if it was too much stimulation, asking him to try to remember so many people at once. She gave Skinner a look that signaled her sense that maybe they'd pushed Mulder too far and needed to give him more time. For his part, though, Skinner was uneasy for different reasons. He hadn't wanted to alert Scully yet but he'd spoken with the nurse with whom Mulder had traded basketball stories. She'd told him the patient had a prodigious memory for scores and league records. That was true, as the older man knew well. The young nurse's aide was even more helpful. She seemed to have a little crush on Mulder and had spent quite a lot of time with him, discussing things on the news, and his opinion of current musical groups. Skinner had overheard him having the same discussion with the A.D.'s nephew Mike a while back. His opinions had apparently not changed an iota. Finally, the aide had mentioned that he'd asked to have his telephone turned on. That was enough to get Skinner really suspicious. Who would a man with no memory call? He'd asked the hospital for a record of calls made from that line. He hadn't gotten it yet but . . . his gut was telling him something was rotten in St. Louis. Some time later, the AD was in the waiting area, using the pay telephone to call his office. Kim was keeping things under control there, only sending the most critical decisions and issues his way. While he was speaking to her, the charge nurse handed him the telephone usage report for Mulder's extension. Only a couple of calls had been made. One was to a St. Louis phone number he recognized as the main switchboard of the hotel where he and Scully were staying. He'd placed the call himself this afternoon. The other, earlier call was to a phone number in Virginia. He quickly hung up on Kim and dialed the phone number. "Hi, leave a message. Maybe we'll call" an answering machine responded. He recognized the voice immediately. It was Langly, one of the Lone Gunmen, three slightly odd friends of the almost equally strange Agent Mulder. He hung up the phone without leaving a message. "Gotcha," he said out loud to the vacant waiting room. Part of him was tremendously relieved that the young man was indeed all right and wanted to go envelop Mulder in the longest, hardest bear hug in history. And another part of him wanted to storm into that hospital room and paddle his errant agent's bottom until he could heat his own bath water. Not certain which reaction would be more appropriate right now, the AD decided to sit on both, and see how Mulder would continue to play this charade. That evening, Scully was keeping Mulder company after dinner, making occasional small talk but mostly just watching the news on the television. She had been with him all day long, almost to the point that he wished she'd go take a break, and give him a little one, too. She watched what he ate like a hawk and he went out of his way to eat some things he didn't normally ingest, just to keep up the pretense. Now the broccoli was sitting in his stomach, threatening to reappear any minute. And Skinner hadn't been back all evening. Nor had the AD said good-bye, so Mulder wasn't certain if he had returned to Washington or not. Finally, he could stand the uncertainty no longer. "Where's . . . um, the other guy? Mr. Skinner?" he asked tentatively. Scully's heart sank at his question. He was clearly making no progress toward remembering. "He's having dinner with the SAC of the St. Louis field office, Mulder. Do you remember him, Tony Adler? He used to work for Skinner and they're still close friends. I think they were going to a basketball game. . . . Or maybe it was hockey. You know I'm not much on sports." Mulder blinked at this news, taken aback by the idea that Skinner was out having dinner, and taking in a game, with Tony Adler. While he was in the hospital! He found his emotions were suddenly raw and his mood was rapidly turning sour. Scully didn't take note of his change in demeanor and continued, trying to use the opening to stroke his memory. "I'm a little surprised he hasn't called to check up on you, though, Mulder. Lately, the AD has been especially . . . concerned with your welfare. In the last few years, our 'tough as nails boss' has grown fond of you, partner. And kind of made you a member of his family, in a way. Do you remember any of that?" Mulder fought hard to stave off the tears that burned his eyes as Scully attempted to help him remember his close relationship with Skinner and his family. Scully thought Mulder looked like he'd grown tired all of a sudden. She rose from the armchair. "I'll just let you get some rest now, Mulder. Maybe tomorrow this will all start coming back to you." She took his right hand in hers and gave it a squeeze, and with her other hand she gently pushed a stray lock of hair off his forehead. "Get some sleep. Things will look better in the morning." But after Scully left, he found he was unable to sleep. He was hardly able to stay in the bed, so great was his anxiety. He used the remote to flip through the TV channels, finding the hockey game the AD was attending and skipping immediately past it. Then he ran through the channels in the other direction, stopping briefly once again on the Blues game, before running the stations down and starting the sequence again. This time, he paused for a few minutes to watch the game taking place at the Kiel Center. It was the Tampa Bay Lightning against the St. Louis Blues and from the sound of the crowd, it was an exciting game. They scanned the cheering fans several times, particularly the good seats and Mulder watched closely when they did. Anger welling up inside him, he unthinkingly launched the remote at the TV screen, shattering it into about a million pieces. He thought about calling someone about the TV, but then decided he'd be better off trying to go to sleep and letting them think he had no idea what the hell happened to his television set. ********************************************************************** Trinity Medical Center St. Louis, Missouri Wednesday morning Skinner and Scully were with Dr. Quincy once again, getting an update on Mulder's condition. "He says he doesn't know how the television was destroyed," she concluded. "But I suspect his frustration at not remembering anything may have gotten the best of him. It's not an unusual thing, for someone to lash out violently under the circumstances." "And it's not exactly out of character for Mulder," Scully admitted. "He sometimes has . . . difficulty channeling his anger appropriately." "Is his memory getting any better, Doctor?" Skinner broke in. "Are you seeing any improvement at all?" "Well, actually, it's just as sporadic as ever. He still says he doesn't recall anything at all. In casual conversation, he seems to be able to recall a lot of current events and . . . an amazing amount of trivia. But when we test him , he seems less aware and less able to remember things. Maybe the pressure of being tested gets to him." "That would be unusual for the old Mulder," Skinner responded. "He's got a graduate degree from Oxford, for God's sake. He's taken a test or two in his life -- and generally excelled." "Well, if his memory doesn't start coming back soon, it will be more and more likely that he might never recover his memory completely. I want to be certain you understand that." Scully paled at this news and Skinner's heart went out to her. He suddenly felt he had to push this a little farther. "Is it possible he might be . . . faking amnesia, Doctor?" Scully turned to him in shock and Dr. Quincy's eyebrows rose precipitously. "Why . . . why would he do that?" "I just have a gut feeling he may remember more than he's letting on." "I ask again, why would he do that? I had a case once where a criminal pretended to have amnesia because he thought it might keep him from being prosecuted if he had no recollection of the crime. But why would an FBI agent want to fake memory loss?" Skinner saw that Scully was processing this information and coming to the logical conclusion. Agent Mulder, like the criminal Dr. Quincy had treated previously, might well fake amnesia to try to escape certain punishment. "Well, it was just a thought, Doctor. A longshot, if you will. I'll be going back to Washington this evening. Agent Scully will stay here with Mulder for now." Dr. Quincy also rose and began to walk with them to the door of her office. "His physical condition has improved rapidly and I think we'll probably release him in a day or two," she offered. Scully thought she appeared to be hoping the Assistant Director might change his mind and decide to stay, if Mulder's hospitalization was of short duration. But the AD merely nodded and held the door for Scully to exit ahead of him. "Thank you for all your assistance, Doctor," Skinner said as they left. "You really think he's faking, don't you, sir?" Scully said as soon as the door closed behind him. He nodded and filled her in on the evidence. "I hate to leave you with this, Scully, but I do believe Mulder won't 'miraculously' regain his memory until I'm out of town. I think Mulder may have cooked this up as a means to avoid a . . . reprimand." He left it at that, but he knew Scully was well aware how the AD had been reprimanding her partner of late, when he needed it. Scully was nodding at him, angry at herself for not noticing. And furious with Mulder for putting her through this. Not to mention Skinner. And his parents. And the rest of his family, and her mother. She was seething by the time she came to the end of the list. "Scully, you're going to have to play the same game he's playing. You know nothing. Let's see how this goes, okay?" Skinner was looking down at her, waiting for agreement. She finally nodded, knowing she'd get her chance to read Mulder the riot act once this was over. They both went to Mulder's room next. He was not in his bed and they were concerned until they heard water running in the bathroom and realized he must have been allowed up to shower. They gave him another few minutes, then returned to the room to find Mulder back in bed, flipping through a magazine someone, probably the young nurse's aide, had given him in place of the destroyed television set. He nodded at both of them, gracing Scully with a smile but not giving Skinner more than the time of day. Skinner wasn't immediately clear why Mulder might be angry at him, either the Mulder with no memory, or the old Mulder. It worried him, but he decided to ignore it and press on with his and Scully's plan. "How are you feeling today, Agent Mulder?" he asked pleasantly. "I'm fine, thank you," he replied evenly. "Has any more of your memory come back, Mulder?" Scully asked him, a little more anxiously than Skinner thought necessary. But Mulder didn't seem to pick up on that at all. He shook his head. "I'll be going back to Washington today, Agent Mulder," Skinner said, eliciting a shocked look from Mulder. "You're in good hands here. I'll see you when you get back to work. And Agent Mulder, I want you to listen to the Doctor's orders this time. Don't try to come back to work until you're medically cleared, okay?" Mulder didn't respond, he just shot daggers at the other man with his eyes. He angrily thought that he didn't need a playbook to understand Skinner wasn't anxious for him to return to work. "What time is your flight, sir?" Scully asked him, just to fill the tense silence that seemed to have settled on the room. "Not until tonight, actually. SAC Adler asked me to spend the afternoon in the office, and do an informal office review as long as I'm here. They're due for one in the next month anyway, and this will save me another trip later." Mulder found himself growing angrier and wishing Skinner would just leave. Skinner noticed Mulder's rapid descent into some kind of peeve, and thought it was odd. Try as he might, he was never able to predict the younger man's mood swings or strange responses to things. Giving up on trying to analyze or understand it, he bade the two of them good-bye and left. As expected, Mulder's memory began to improve almost immediately. By evening, he was 'pretty sure' he remembered some things about his work with Scully and a few other tid-bits of information about his life. And by the next day, he'd regained his memories fully, and was able to repeat his badge number, social security number, address, all the schools he'd attended and a myriad of other trivia about one Special Agent Fox William Mulder. Dr. Quincy stopped in to see Scully in the waiting area in the late afternoon. "Well, I'm going to release him tomorrow morning," she said brightly. "There's no reason to keep him. And I'm beginning to think your Mr. Skinner may have been right about the amnesia. . . . " Scully smiled. "I'm sure he was right. It appears Agent Mulder may have been hoping our boss' sympathy for his memory loss would negate his irritation about how Mulder ended up in the hospital to begin with. But, if you don't mind, can I ask you not to make note of that in the medical record? The Assistant Director will . . . address it with Mulder, but we don't really want it to get into his official record." Scully had become so accustomed to helping Mulder cover his tracks, it was second nature to her now. Dr. Quincy smiled. "I work in a bureaucracy, too. I think I can appreciate your concern. It's not like I have a definitive diagnosis anyway." She pulled her business card out of the pocket of her white coat and handed it to Scully. "Just tell Mr. Skinner I'll keep it to myself. And tell him to give me a call if he's ever back in St. Louis. He can buy me dinner in appreciation." Scully nodded and accepted the card with a smile. She watched Dr. Quincy walk down the hall, all business once again. The trauma specialist was tall and lithe, with ash blonde hair framing a lovely face. Scully took her to be about 10 years older than herself, yet she headed the Department of Emergency Medicine at the hospital. ********************************************************************** The J. Edgar Hoover Building Washington, D.C. Friday afternoon Assistant Director Skinner was finishing up paperwork at the end of a long and less than exciting day. He'd sat through an interminable budget meeting that lasted through lunch, then spent the afternoon holding case reviews with one department head after another. The one exception has been the X-files unit. Skinner followed their case load pretty closely, and the entire department consisted of Mulder and Scully so his role in their lives was more of a first-line supervisor than Assistant Director. As a result, there was less need for department reviews and a much greater level of interface between the two agents and the head of their division. Except for the past few days, Skinner found himself thinking. He sighed audibly. Since Mulder had returned to work three days ago, he'd seen neither hide nor hair of the young man. Mulder had returned from St. Louis last weekend but since then, Skinner hadn't received a phone call to say he was back in town, nor a single nightly 'check-in' call. He and Mulder had reached an agreement some months earlier that they would speak daily, a chance for Skinner to make certain the younger agent was toeing the line, personally and professionally. He closed a file and sat back in his chair, his hands steepled in front of him. The headache that generally accompanied Mulder problems was just beginning to reach its peak when the phone rang. "Skinner." "Walter, honey?" his mother responded. "I'm so glad I caught you! How are you, dear?" "I'm fine, Mom," he replied. "Is everything all right? You and Dad, everyone else is okay?" "Yes, we're all fine here," she answered, laughing just a little at his predictable response. He always seemed so calm, but he was immensely protective of the people in his life. "Actually, your Dad and I were worried about Fox. Is he all right? Ever since he had that amnesia. . . . " Skinner winced, feeling guilty about not telling her what was going on with Mulder. He'd notified his folks immediately when Mulder 'regained' his memory, letting them know he was all right and there was no need for them to come down to D.C. They'd protested but finally agreed, as long as Skinner brought Mulder up to Danville for the following weekend. "He's seemed a little, I don't know, confused. I told him earlier in the week that we expected you both for the weekend. Today, he told me he can't make it, though," she told him. "And he sounded a little . . . strange, Walter. Are you sure he's completely recovered?" "Well, he's back at work. His doctor cleared him for full duty, so I . . . imagine that means he's fine," he replied, trying to skirt the edge of the truth. He didn't really want to let on that he and Mulder hadn't spoken since Skinner left St. Louis the week before. Skinner was waiting Mulder out, waiting for him to come forward and admit his deceit. But the AD didn't want Mulder to be in trouble with his folks. That was not part of the plan, and it would only serve to worry his parents more anyway. "I'd let you know if there was anything wrong with him, Mom," he said carefully. "Listen, I have to go. I promise I'll stop by and see Mulder before I leave tonight, see if I can talk him into coming up with me for the weekend, okay? If he's feeling up to it." They spoke another minute and he promised to call her from the road later to let her now whether to expect just him, or the both of them. Then he returned the phone to its cradle and leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh. As always, Mulder kept digging himself in deeper, instead of just coming clean. This was a pattern Skinner knew he had to help the younger man overcome, and soon. But he was stumped about how to get him to admit what he'd done. He'd expected that Mulder would do it the first time they were alone together. But now, it seemed Mulder was just avoiding him, and the inevitable. Pushing himself up from the desk, Skinner decided to take the bull by the horns and force the confrontation tonight. ****************************************************************** Fox Mulder's Apartment Alexandra, Virginia Friday evening Fox Mulder lay on the couch in his living room, flipping the channels on the TV set in frustration. He'd been home for several hours and this was as far as he'd gotten, three trips to the fridge for beer and about a hundred runs through the cable channels. He'd changed into sweat pants and a tee shirt, the only productive thing he'd accomplished. Two empty beer bottles sat on the coffee table, evidence of the overpowering unease and depression that had settled on him in the past few days. Every night it was the same thing, a six-pack of beer before he dropped into a restless sleep on his couch. He was just swallowing the dregs of the third when someone knocked on his door. Annoyed that someone would disturb his descent into self-pity and despair, he rose and went to the door, not bothering to check through the peephole. He was visibly startled, then, when Skinner's massive form filled the open door frame. "Uh, sir. Is there something I can do for you?" he asked, still standing in front of the door. Skinner fixed him with a silent glare and Mulder found himself stepping aside to let the other man in. The Assistant Director walked past him and into the living room where his eyes immediately took in the Playboy channel on the TV and the empty beer bottles on the table. "Is this what you had for dinner, Agent Mulder?" he asked evenly, hoping to subtly remind the younger man how he felt about not eating, and drinking heavily on an empty stomach. "Well, no. That's just the first three courses in my six-course meal. . . . Sir." Skinner felt his neck and jaw tighten at the tone and pointed disrespect in his response. Mulder ignored the clenched jaw and continued. "Actually, beer's made from hops and barley, you know. So it's really just liquid bread. . . . " The A.D.'s face remained suspiciously passive but he removed his coat and threw it over the back of the desk chair, taking a seat in an armchair in the corner. Mulder grew wary at this point and immediately decided to pull back on the attitude, not sure what was happening and where it would end up. "Are you planning to stay long?" "As long as it takes," Skinner replied noncommittally. Mulder took a deep breath. He thought briefly about asking the other man to leave, but he suspected it wouldn't work, and he knew for sure he couldn't wrestle Skinner to the door. "Well, then, would you like a beer? I'd be happy to share my dessert with you--" "Coffee, Mulder. For both of us," Skinner growled. His tone conveyed his unwillingness to argue the point and Mulder nodded convulsively and headed for the kitchen. He continued talking to himself this way as he prepared a pot of coffee and turned it on. He watched it begin to drip for a minute, trying to collect himself before going back in-- "Are you going to stand there and watch it brew?" Skinner's voice barked at him from the archway to the kitchen. "No!" he responded automatically, then caught himself. "I . . . was just making sure the coffee maker works. It hasn't gotten much use lately. Recently, I haven't spent much time at home." He walked past the AD as though his comment would be news to the other man, as though he hadn't been spending the bulk of his spare time at Skinner's place, or his parent's home for the last two years. Skinner had no trouble identifying his sub-text, but for the life of him he was still not sure what was driving Mulder to act out this way. Mulder tossed his lanky body onto the couch and Skinner followed, choosing the armchair again. Neither man spoke for about thirty seconds. Finally, Skinner took the first step. "How are you feeling?" he asked. "I haven't seen you since you got back." Mulder shrugged. "Okay. I've been busy writing my report, and filling out all the paperwork on the wrecked car. . . ." His voice trailed off. "I got your report through the interoffice mail," the AD said coolly. "It was . . . very detailed and complete. There was one item, though, that concerned me." Mulder blinked and rose, not wanting to get into the one item. He knew exactly what it was. "I think the coffee's ready," he said quickly. He went to the kitchen and returned a minute later, with two mugs, each prepared exactly the right way. He handed Skinner the one that was black, with sugar. The other man took a sip, then stopped and waited until Mulder did the same. "The thing that concerned me, Mulder. Do you know what that is?" "The wrecked car, sir? I took the collision insurance, like you always tell me to--" Skinner knew he was playing games now. "No," he said briskly. "That's not it. My CONCERN is the section about your amnesia, Mulder. Are you really willing to file an official report that says you had total amnesia, that you couldn't remember who you were, or Scully, or me?" Mulder swallowed hard, then reached for his mug of coffee and took a sip, stalling for time. He wrestled overwhelmingly conflicting feelings to the ground and finally, nodded his head. "If that's the truth, why wouldn't I put it in my report?" Skinner was stunned by Mulder blatantly lying to him, in the face of a direct question. "You're sticking with that story, Mulder?" "What do you mean, sir?" he responded smoothly. "Are you lying to me?" "Are you saying you think I'm lying, sir?" "Why do you keep answering my questions with questions, Agent?" Skinner ground out. He recognized the strategy as a typical Mulder ploy when he was looking for an opening through which to escape verbal capture. "Does that bother you, sir?" Skinner dropped his coffee mug angrily onto the side table and stood up. "I'll ask you one more time, Mulder. After all we've . . . been through, after everything . . . . we've talked about and all the things you know about how I feel about lying. . . . the least I have a right to expect from you is honesty. Did you have amnesia, Agent Mulder?" Every nerve in the younger man's body was jumping with indecision and fear. Conflicting impulses warred within him but some thread of pride, or insecurity, held him back, refused to let him surrender his losing position. He hesitated a few seconds, his eyes blinking involuntarily while he tried to insure that his voice would be strong and sure. "Yes. I had amnesia." Having gotten the words out, he felt his as if every last ounce of strength in his body had drained away. If he had to get up now, he was certain he could not. Skinner stared at him for what seemed like hours but probably amounted to less than a minute in real time. Finally, he took his overcoat off of the back of the desk chair. "All right," he said quietly. "That . . . . tells me everything I need to know. I'll sign your report Monday." He headed for the door, pausing briefly and turning his head back ever so slightly. "Good-bye, Mulder." He opened the door and departed, without another word. Mulder stared at the back of the closed door for several minutes, expecting it to open again, expecting Skinner to come back and tear into him, for lying, for disobeying his orders, for failing to consider his own safety. But the door never opened again. Not that he was truly surprised. He knew he'd been offered one last chance to banish the lie that stood between them . . . and threw it right back in the other man's face. Hot, silent tears soaked his cheeks as he sat there, wishing he could take back the last 20 minutes, the last few days, the last week and a half of his life. And knowing that because of them, the best two years of his life were over, never to be regained. Mulder laid down and cried until exhaustion overtook him and he fell into a disturbed and restless sleep. Skinner left the building, shaken by the way his meeting with Mulder had gone. He'd thought to force Mulder into a confession, if that's what it took. He never expected the younger man to choose the other option, to turn a lie meant to avoid punishment into a final, impenetrable wall between them. The Assistant Director sat in his car outside Mulder's apartment for a long time, trying to decide what to do, whether there was a way to repair their damaged relationship. Too stunned by the situation to think clearly, he put the car in gear and started to drive toward his apartment. He used the car phone to call his parents, to let them know he was not going to come for the weekend. "I stopped by Mulder's place. He's . . . not up to the trip," he told his father, not yet ready to discuss what really happened, not sure what actually HAD happened. "And I've been traveling a lot lately. I have a lot of errands and things that need doing here. I'll be up next weekend for sure, okay?" ********************************************************************* Fox Mulder's apartment Saturday morning 3 a.m. Mulder awoke, his heart pounding, his body wracked with an unnamed anxiety, his heart heavy with the knowledge that he'd turned his back on something important, something he needed and probably wouldn't survive without. Fear constricting his chest, he rose and went into the bathroom to splash some water on his face. In the mirror, his face looked haggard and almost unrecognizable to his mind. He wandered aimlessly around his apartment, stopping in the kitchen to empty the half pot of coffee left over from the A.D.'s visit. He walked into the living room and found himself idly looking at a photo on a shelf in the corner. Skinner and him on the island of Nantucket, where they'd spent a week the previous summer with Chuck Talbot and some other Marine buddies of the A.D.'s. Behind it was a photo of him, with Skinner, Joe and Andy, taken at one of Joe's son Mike's football games. The four of them were smiling at Joe's wife Nora, who was the photographer, and the A.D.'s arms were draped casually over Andy and Mulder's shoulders. Another photo near that one showed the whole Skinner clan at Mulder's last birthday, a surprise party in Danville. Dana Scully and her mother were part of the large group gathered for that picture. Mulder had thought he'd drained himself of a year's worth of tears earlier in the evening, but he found fresh ones sprang to his eyes anyway, wetting his cheeks and running down his face. He sobbed involuntarily and sat down on the couch, dropping his head into his hands. "Oh, God," he whispered. "What did I do?" He'd willfully pushed the AD away, for no purpose other than to escape a well deserved punishment. And suddenly that decision seemed as ill-conceived and pitiful as it really was. And something else rose in his heart, something that surprised him because it was so unexpected. It was shaky, but it was there. Skinner had told him, on several occasions, that nothing Mulder could do would ever make the other man stop loving him. And Mulder was shocked now to find that a piece of his heart held a wisp of faith that that was true. The Assistant Director had never lied to him so it had to be true, didn't it? He stood and wiped his face on his tee shirt, then ran to the bathroom to shower and shave. He packed a bag faster than he ever had in his life, and raced out to his car, to drive to Danville and find out. ******************************************************************* Walter Skinner's apartment Saturday morning 5:58 a.m. Rrrriiinnnng! Rrrriiiiiinnng! "Hello, Skinner." He was immediately alert, despite the fact he'd only been asleep a few hours. "Walter? It's Dad." Skinner swung his legs onto the floor as his eyes strayed anxiously to the digital clock on the nightstand. "What's wrong, Dad?" he asked. It was barely 6 a.m. and, while the older man was an early riser like his son, he never called this early on a Saturday morning. "Nothing's wrong, son. Well, not seriously wrong. But Fox just arrived here." "He's there? I thought . . . What's he doing there?" Skinner was confused at this unexpected turn of events. "He's looking for you. And he's somewhat agitated, Walter. I think he was drinking earlier in the evening but he's not drunk. And I don't think he's slept much. He's babbling a bit, about how he did something he has to tell you about right away. And he keeps insisting that you're supposed to be here." "I never told him I changed my mind about coming up for the weekend, Dad," Skinner told him as he walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. "I'll be there in a couple of hours. See if you can get him to lie down. If you get him down, he'll probably go to sleep. And I'll . . . handle this when I get there." "There's more to this story than you told me earlier, isn't there, son?" "Yeah, Dad. I hoped to tell you in person. And I also hoped to have it resolved before I told you but. . . . Mulder faked the amnesia. Because he thought he was going to get punished. Hell, he was going to get punished. So he lied and thought that would help him avoid it. But you know how that goes--" "Yes, I do. You have to keep telling more lies, to shore up the earlier ones," his father sighed. "And I'm guessing he just kept going when you tried to get him to confess." "Exactly. So calm him down as much as you can and get him in a prone position. Nature will do the rest. And then I'll take it from there, Dad. And you might want to let Mom feed him first--" "Oh, don't worry, Walter. She's already cooking!" ********************************************************************* The Skinner Home Danville, Pennsylvania 6 a.m. But unfortunately, the elder Skinners soon discovered the Fox Mulder who turned up at their door that morning was not as easy to deal with as the one they'd always seen before. "No, thank you. I really can't stay. I- I have to go back to-" "You are staying, Fox," Mr. Skinner said firmly. "Walter's on his way. He'll be here in a couple of hours. You said you wanted to see him. And you're in no condition to drive--" "I'm fine, really," he replied hastily, suddenly embarrassed by his rash decision to just rush up here in the middle of the night. "I can drive--" "NO, YOU CANNOT!" Walter, Sr. told him firmly, sounding uncannily like his son. "Mom will make you something to eat, then you'll get some sleep. I don't want to hear another word, young man." But Mulder was too far down the road to turn back now. "No! I appreciate it, but I have to go. Tell the AD I couldn't wait." He grabbed his jacket and started for the back door. But the older man was a lot quicker than he looked, and stronger as well. He grabbed Mulder by the arm, taking his jacket out of his hands and giving it to Mrs. Skinner. Then he muscled Mulder toward the stairs and, before the young FBI agent knew it, they were in the study. "You seem to have forgotten what it means when I tell you to do something, young man," he said ominously. "Now, I'm willing to overlook that scene in the kitchen. But hear me. I want you to get in that bed and get some sleep. Is that clear?" Mulder was chagrined by what had just happened. He was angry at himself for letting the situation get out of control, and even angrier that he'd let a 75-year-old man bully him up the stairs and into this room. "I don't want to sound disrespectful, sir," he said, adopting his most persuasive tone, "but you don't know the whole story. My coming here was a mistake. And now I have to leave. . . ." "You seem to have made a number of mistakes recently, Fox," Mr. Skinner said, looking straight at him and not the least bit fooled by the ploy. "One of which is to continue to willfully disobey me like this. But I am still well capable of handling bratty behavior, believe me." Mulder's mouth fell open and the color drained from his face as Mr. Skinner took a seat on the bed. "Take off your jeans and get over here, son. Right now." "I- I. . . No! I don't want-- I mean, you don't have to--" he stammered, backing up a step. "If I have to tell you again, you will regret it, Fox. You heard me." Mulder stood, paralyzed, for about ten seconds, until the older man barked at him one more time. Snapping into action, he automatically unbuckled his belt and pushed down his jeans. "I said take them off," Mr. Skinner ground out. Mulder toed off his sneakers quickly and stepped out of his Levi's. The other man pulled him toward him and quickly down over his knees. Next, he pulled his shorts down to his thighs. "Tell me what this spanking is for, Fox," he said as he delivered a stinging smack to the fleshiest part of the younger man's backside. The older man's hand was as large and tough as his son's. "For disobeying you, sir!" he answered as one smack after another landed on his butt. "For -- for trying to leave when you told me not to! And for acting like a brat!" Walter, Sr. continued, smacking his backside hard a dozen times. "And for showing up at your door in the middle of the night!" That brought the older man to an immediate halt. He held the next smack and spoke gently to the crying young man over his lap. "Fox, we've told you this is your home. You're welcome here any time, night or day. Don't ever think you would be punished for coming here." Mulder was crying hard now, as much from the elder man's words as from the stinging in his butt. Mr. Skinner let him sob for another few seconds, then pulled his shorts up and pulled Mulder upright and into a hug. "Okay, time for you to get some sleep, Fox," he said soothingly, guiding the younger man under the covers. The older man pulled off his socks and tee shirt, then covered him and watched him drift instantly into a sound sleep. Shaking his head, he stepped softly out of the room and pulled the door closed behind him. Chuckling to himself, he found he had a new respect for his son, having taken this complicated young man under his wing. And he knew Walter had known what he was getting himself into before he took this on. Not for the first time, he was struck by the fact that his eldest son never seemed to take the easy way out of anything. ********************************************************************** The Skinner Residence A few hours later Mulder awoke with a shaft of sun in his face, coming from a crack in the blinds on the window of the study. He stretched and groaned. The clock on the dresser told him he'd slept for nearly four hours, but somehow he didn't feel especially rested. A diffuse cloak of anxiety hung over him, and a little rest only served to heighten his awareness of it. He'd come here last night looking for the AD Who wasn't there. Mulder cringed inwardly as he recalled the fool he'd made of himself with Skinner's parents. The elder Skinners were two of the most loving and forgiving people in the world. But even their own kids didn't show up pounding on their front door at half past five in the morning! Then when they'd tried to get him to sleep, he'd fought the suggestion and tried to leave, despite Walter, Sr. turning the suggestion into a direct order. He remembered with shame how he'd argued with the older man and how, eventually, Mr. Skinner had hauled him to the study and delivered a bare-bottom, over the knee spanking. Mulder realized suddenly that he didn't want to be there when the AD heard what he put his folks through. He was burning bridges at a fast clip, but he just couldn't force himself to stay and watch them turn into smoking embers. He got up and went to the bathroom, then returned to the study, closing the door behind him. He knew what he was contemplating was wrong but he just couldn't face Mr. and Mrs. Skinner, not after his atrocious behavior earlier. He pulled on his clothes quickly and took a look out the window. No one was in the front yard, but the Assistant Director's jeep was parked next to his car! His heart pounding, Mulder opened the door to the study slightly, just to be certain no one was in the hallway. Then he tiptoed out and down the front stairs. He knew the family generally could be found in the kitchen and family room and the back stairs led right into that part of the house. But the front stairs went straight to the front door and if he could just get down them and out, he'd be home free. He crept slowly down the stairs, one step at a time, trying to avoid letting the old wood creak. Finally, he made it to the foyer and walked carefully to the front door. He opened it and stepped out onto the porch, pulling it gently closed behind him. Breathing a deep sigh of relief, he turned and headed for the porch stairs. "Hi, Mulder," Skinner said pleasantly from the rattan chair that sat on the end of the porch. "Did you sleep well?" "Oh, jeez!" Mulder gasped, his hand covering his chest, where it felt like his heart was about to explode. "How-- how. . . " he sputtered before shutting his mouth and taking a deep, calming breath. Skinner waited while he struggled to regain his composure. He watched the young man sit down hard on the top step of the porch stairs, still taking in deep, calming breaths. "Didn't mean to scare you, Mulder," he said quietly. "I heard you on the front stairs and I just thought we should talk before you left." Mulder didn't answer. He just sat on the step, pulling his jacket tight around him and staring out into the front yard. It was chillier than he expected and, still warm from sleep, he was feeling the cold more than normal. "Why are you . . . sneaking out anyway? Without even speaking to my folks?" Skinner was honestly stumped by this one. Mulder had always been so respectful of his parents, even when he and the younger man were at odds. Mulder dropped his eyes from the yard to the tips of his sneakers now, but he still didn't answer, except for a small shrug and an even smaller shake of his head. Skinner rose and walked over to stand above him, waiting for a response of some kind. But the younger agent merely shook his head again, keeping his eyes locked on his running shoes. As though he expected them to answer the A.D.'s question for him. Skinner sighed and sat down, choosing the far opposite end of the step from Mulder. "I'm not letting you leave here until I have an explanation," he said. "That's not a lot to ask." Mulder shook his head once again. It was not a lot to ask. But it was more than he thought he could give right now. "Mulder, look at me," Skinner said firmly. The younger man shook his head again. "I said look at me, Mulder," he demanded again, this time more forcefully. "I . . . can't," the younger man finally responded, the word mutating into what sounded like a sob to the A.D.'s ears. "Why?" Skinner asked him, reaching over to grasp his shoulders. Mulder turned his head, trying to pull out of his hold. But Skinner was having none of that. He held his ground and spoke again, this time with all the authority he could muster. "Why can't you look at me? Why can't you talk to my parents?" Mulder pressed his lips together tightly, to keep from blurting out the truth, and he struggled to stand, to try to run. Skinner let him rise, and mirrored his action, but he held tightly to the younger man's shoulders, holding him firmly at arm's length and demanding his attention. "Why?" "Because! Because . . . I'm too ashamed, that's why!" he finally shouted. The release seemed to unstop the dam that had been holding back tears. "Because I l-lied to you! And disobeyed you! And I faked amnesia! And I . . . lied again, and acted like a jerk and. . . and--" Skinner pulled him into his massive arms and laughed out loud. "I know all of that, Mulder!" "And I woke your parents up in the middle of the night!," the younger man continued, his words muffled as he sobbed into the A.D.'s shoulder. "And I wouldn't go to sleep when they told me to and your Dad had to spank me! And then I tried to sneak out without saying anything. . . ." "All right! You've definitely racked up a record-setter, Mulder, I'll give you that," the AD chuckled, still holding him tightly. "But running away is not the answer. And I know you know that. So what's different this time?" Mulder swallowed down the tears that accompanied his recollection about what had started him down the path of self-destruction that led to this moment. He shook his head and whispered, "I'd rather not discuss it, sir." Skinner pushed him back out to arm's length. "Well, that's unacceptable, kid. But I think we should go inside and get something hot to drink. You need to warm up. So take a few minutes to think about what I asked you. I expect an answer." He turned the younger man around and pushed him toward the front door. "Fox, sweetheart! What were you doing outside? I've been keeping waffles in the warming oven. Come on in and have breakfast. Even if it is almost noon! I have coffee, too!" She busied herself getting him food but Skinner thought Mulder would prefer something other than coffee. He took a gallon of milk out of the refrigerator and began to make hot cocoa. It was one of the younger man's comfort foods and the AD thought he was severely in need of some comfort and security right now. After he'd eaten would be another story. A subdued Mulder ate the plate of waffles Rachel put before him and some fresh fruit. He finished it off with two mugs of hot cocoa, and his stomach was grateful for that substitution. He was too tense to have handled a caffeine hit at that point but he was surprised the AD had recognized that. It occurred to him that his eccentricities were not even noticed, or remarked on by Skinner and his family. It was a safe and comforting feeling. Rachel and Walter, Sr. had plans to have lunch with neighbors and they left as soon as the dishes were stacked in the dishwasher. Which left Mulder alone with the AD Skinner poured himself another cup of coffee, then took a seat at the breakfast bar. "So, you've had some time to think about it, Mulder. What sent you over the edge this time? Why did you . . . feel the need to make up the amnesia story? And why didn't you just admit it when I asked you? And, before you answer me, I do not want to hear another question, am I understood?" He blinked at the last bit of information, then nodded. "Understood sir." "Good. Go on, then." Skinner was struck by how tentative and unsure Mulder looked and he was concerned about whatever was going on with the younger man. They'd been through a lot in the last two years or so, and the AD was always surprised to find out that Mulder still questioned the strength of their bond, and the support and love of the entire Skinner family. Mulder had dropped his eyes and was staring at his empty mug again. He was struggling and Mulder was a man of quick wits and many words. An inability to put thoughts into words was a strong indicator that he was actually dealing with his emotions. His footing was much less sure in that arena. "Okay, let's go, Mulder," Skinner said airily as he headed for the back door. "Go? Where?" the younger man blurted out instantly. He'd expected a stroll down to the Skinner family woodshed at some point over the weekend but he hadn't really thought it would come so soon. Skinner pulled on his own parka off one of the hooks by the back door, then tossed one to Mulder. "For a walk. I need some fresh air." "Where are we walking to?" Mulder pressed him, frantically wondering whether he should be preparing for the strapping he knew he'd earned. "I don't know, down to the river. Then we'll see." Mulder followed along behind him, pulling his jacket on as they stepped off the back porch. "You're not planning to drown me, are you, sir?" Skinner eyed him sideways and shook his head. But Mulder immediately realized what he'd said, and that the A.D.'s younger brother actually did drown in that river. "Oh, sorry, sir! I didn't mean-- I wasn't thinking. . . !" "Calm down, Mulder. I'm not that fragile about Jeremy. And I know sometimes your mouth temporarily disconnects from your brain." Skinner grinned and took a deep breath, and began to relax in a way he never really could indoors. He was not a man who dealt with physical constraints well. And he generally thought more clearly out of doors. Mulder, on the other hand, was still trying to get the zipper up on the jacket he'd been given. When he finally managed that, he'd lost a few strides and had to hustle to catch up with the AD They walked in silence for a while, making their way down to the river. It was running fast and freely, as it always did this time of year. The snow in the mountains was melting as spring approached, forcing the run-off to rush downstream to the Delaware Water Gap. They stood at the river for a few minutes, then Skinner took a seat on an old log that must have fallen generations ago. It was moss-covered and had names and initials carved all over its trunk. Mulder stood awkwardly for a few seconds, than sat next to the other man and waited. Skinner always had something on his mind at times like this and Mulder found he generally got into trouble when he tried to outguess the other man. "We used to hang out here when I was a teenager. At night. This is where I drank my first beer," he said quietly. "Did you get drunk, sir?" Skinner smiled. "This isn't gonna be another look into past punishments I received, Mulder," he said lightly. The look of disappointment on the other man's face made him chuckle out loud. "We're here to talk about you, kid." Mulder bit his lower lip and nodded. "It's good to hear you say that again, sir," he said quietly. "What? That I want to talk about you?" "No, it's good to hear you call me that. Instead of 'Agent Mulder.' That's what you kept saying in St. Louis. 'Agent Mulder,' this and 'Agent Mulder' that. And the other night in my apartment, same thing." Skinner thought back to the situations he was recounting and was perplexed at first. Then he remembered that, in St. Louis, Mulder was pretending to have amnesia and Skinner had thought to bring him up short with a little 'Assistant Directorese.' And at his apartment, he was trying to get Mulder to confess and fell back on the authority of his position to remind him of all the potential consequences. He turned it over in his head but just couldn't believe a little thing like that could drive Mulder to this point. "Well, Mulder, I try to be careful around other people. Not to call you 'kid,' or 'son.' And you don't want to be called 'Fox.' You've always made that abundantly clear." "You call me that sometimes, though." "Well, yeah. But only for effect, Mulder!" Skinner chuckled to himself. He knew he did use the other man's first name occasionally, the same way his mother used "Walter Sergei," or "Joseph Dmitri." Kind of as shorthand, to gain his full attention. Mulder lapsed into silence now and Skinner was still convinced that there was something else going on, something else motivating this funk. "So what else, Mulder? You know you'll have to tell me eventually." Mulder stood up quickly and jammed his hands in the pockets of his jacket. Then he walked over to the riverside, his back facing the AD He said something, but there was a chill breeze blowing and it blew the sound in the opposite direction. "Mulder, turn around and talk to me. I can't hear anything you're saying," the AD finally said, exasperated. Mulder dragged the back of his hand across his face before turning back, and Skinner knew whatever he had said was touching a nerve. He waited for the younger man to look at him, then gestured for him to come back to the log. "What did you say, Mulder?" "I said. . . . I know I embarrassed you, in front of your friend. I'm sure you would have preferred if SAC Adler hadn't been the one I lied to. He already thought the whole case was a big joke. He said he couldn't believe you hadn't booted my ass out of the Bureau years ago, that the old you would never put up with the fairy tales I investigate." "Tony said that?" Skinner asked him, surprised by this information. It was exactly the kind of thing that would tap into Mulder's deep-seated feelings of insecurity. "I know he's a good friend of yours. And he's your . . . ," he stopped, unable to say the word. "I heard you hand-picked him to run the St. Louis bureau, 'cause you think so much of him. And then I go out there, and everyone knows you have a . . . . special interest in my career. And I just royally fuck up the whole case. What little case there was. Land myself in the hospital. Wreck a car. . . . " His voice faded, and Skinner could see he was fighting tears. But he shook them off and continued, his voice regaining strength. "I saw you in the stands at the Blues game, you and him. On television. I can see why you're friends. He's a lot . . . like you, sir." Skinner had worked closely with Adler some years ago, and had taken him under his professional wing. The Assistant Director had lobbied strongly for his appointment to head the St. Louis field office. Tony had all the skills to succeed in a bureaucracy, and he'd been especially adept with budgets and manpower reports, two vital prerequisites to that kind of appointment. But the two men had grown apart in recent years and when Skinner spent time with him recently, he'd found him small-minded and overtly political. More than once, the AD had thought to himself that Adler had turned out to be a real 'tinpot god,' as his father would have put it. To think that insecurity about Skinner's relationship with Adler would put Mulder into such a tailspin was laughable. . . if it hadn't come close to killing the kid! "Mulder, sometimes I just want to smack you, you know that?" Skinner stood and began pacing, shaking his head. "You think I have a 'special interest in your career?' Is that what you think?" Mulder paled, hearing words he'd prayed never to hear from the other man. But a part of him had always known he'd push Skinner too far one day, and he'd step away, one way or the other. Mulder's face was frozen with fear and his gut felt cold and hollow. Skinner stopped pacing directly in front of Mulder. "What's it take for you to finally get this through your thick skull, huh? I don't have a 'special interest' in your career, son. I have a 'special interest' in you! You're family to me. I'm interested in you advancing your career because it's what YOU want, at least it's what you've told me you want. Tony Adler is someone whose career I took an interest in, but he was never more than a colleague, and he used that relationship to jump the career ladder. And he apparently still drops my name whenever he thinks it will help him. But believe me, Mulder, after spending an interminable dinner and hockey game with him, and having him 'suck up' to me the entire night, he is NOT someone I would spend time with except when my job requires it." "And another thing," he continued, before Mulder could begin to reply. "This guy talked to you like that, and you think he's 'a lot like me?' What the hell does that mean? Have I ever treated you, or anyone else, with that kind of disrespect, young man?" Mulder was hanging on his every word, waiting for the opening to speak. When it came, though, it startled him. "Uh, no! I didn't mean it that way--" "Good! Because if you did mean it that way, I'd be doubling the licking you're about to get. Let's go, kid." He began to walk in the direction of the Skinner home, looking over his shoulder to see if the younger man had begun to follow him. "Fox William! Now!" Mulder stood and began to jog after him. They arrived at the Skinner property and, as Mulder had feared, went directly to the woodshed. Skinner took off his jacket and put it on the workbench, motioning for Mulder to do the same. The AD took the razor strop off a hook on the wall and pulled an old wood bench out of the corner and into the middle of the floor. Without waiting for further instructions, Mulder began unbuckling his belt, pushed his jeans and boxers to his knees, then lowered his long body down over the wood bench. He turned his head to the side and squeezed his eyes shut. He'd had encounters with "the Persuader" before and they'd never been easy. Skinner paused for a brief moment before beginning, laying a hand on the back of Mulder's head. It was the first time he could recall the younger man getting this far without having to be prompted. "Good boy," he said quietly, wanting to acknowledge that he knew, and appreciated, how difficult that must have been for him. Then the AD was all business again. "All right, let's take this in chronological order, okay? I don't want you to miss anything," Skinner said, laying the first stroke across his buttocks and leaving a wide, red stripe. "Ow! For disobeying you and going back to St. Louis! Oucchh! For lying to SAC Adler about you reopening the case! Ahh! And for not coming right back when you told me to on the phone! Owwww! Owwww! Ouccchhh! Disobeying a direct order was something they'd worked on before, many times. Skinner was not about to let that one pass without Mulder feeling it. "What else, Mulder?" "For driving recklessly! Ooooohhhhh! Owwwww! And speeding! Unhhhhhh!" That was another one Skinner was furious about. "You nearly got yourself killed-- again!" "I was wearing my seatbelt!" Mulder yelled, trying to find one thing that would count in his favor. Skinner smiled and held the next stroke. "All right," he smiled, "I'll give you credit for that. I just took one lick off your punishment!" "That's all the seatbelt's worth?" Mulder sobbed, knowing he still had a lot of punishment left to go. "Owww! That's okay! I'll take it! Unhhhh!" "Okay, let's get to the really big thing, Mulder. What else (SMACK!) are you being punished for?" (SMACK!) "Unhhhh! For breaking the TV set! Owwww! F-for lying! For lying about the amnesia! Oucchhhhh! Aahhhhh!" "And who did you lie to, Mulder?" "To you! Owwwwwww! And Scully! Ooooohhhhh! And your Mom! Ouccchhh! And your Dad! Unhhhhhh! And then you again! Ouccchhh!" The AD was starting to wish this punishment was over himself, but there was one more thing they hadn't covered. "And what about your nightly check-in calls, Mulder?" he asked. "The ones I HAVEN'T gotten lately. Don't forget that!" "Owwwwwww! Oh, yeah! And for not calling you every night like I'm supposed to!" he wailed. "Unhhhhh! I'll never do that again, I promise! OWWWWWW!" Skinner stopped. He'd counted 25 licks in his head and sensed from Mulder's heartfelt sobs that his message had hit home. He walked over to the wall and hung the strop back on its hook, then returned to the middle of the floor where Mulder was still crying miserably. He squatted down next to the bench and ran his hand up and down the younger man's back, to let him know he was still there. "It's okay, son. It's all over now," soothed him, letting him recover for a few minutes before forcing him to get moving. He was helping him up and giving him a moment to adjust his clothes when a car entering the driveway caught both their attention. Thinking it was his folks, the AD took a quick look out the door but it was not the elder Skinners at all. "It's Doug," he said quietly. His 24-year-old nephew Doug Dawson was a local Deputy Sheriff. "Oh, no!" Mulder gasped, knowing that no one in Skinner's family could possibly see him in this condition and not know exactly what had just happened. "I'll head him off and take him into the kitchen, Mulder," Skinner said calmly, sensing the younger man's embarrassment. "You give us a minute and head in through the front door, okay? He'll never know anything, I promise." Skinner stepped out of the woodshed and greeted Doug. "Hi, Uncle Walter! I saw Gran and Gram in town and they told me you and Mulder were here. Where is he?" "Oh, he's feeling a little under the weather, Doug," Skinner said as strolled over and exchanged a hug with his nephew. "Why don't you come in the kitchen and have something cold to drink? I'm a little parched myself." Doug nodded and followed the older man around the back of the house. He glanced quickly over his shoulder as he left, though, knowing it was unlikely his uncle had been hanging out in that woodshed by himself! Several hours later, Mulder found himself waking in the study once again. He'd managed to sneak in while Skinner distracted Doug and he'd tried hard to stay awake until the AD saw Doug out and came upstairs. But tears and the need to sleep had overwhelmed him and he'd drifted off, and slept for two solid hours. He rose carefully, acutely aware that he'd been on the receiving end of a strapping earlier in the day, and went to use the bathroom. When he came out, he found Rachel Skinner in the hallway, waiting for him. "I'm glad you're awake, Fox," she said simply, then headed into the study. He was a little surprised, but he followed her and was even more surprised when she sat down in the rocking chair. "Fox, I would be remiss if I didn't tell you how very angry I am with you." She spoke calmly, even gently, but her words hit him hard. Tears sprang to the young man's eyes and he looked at the floor, wishing it would open up and swallow him whole. This woman was as loving and nurturing as anyone he'd ever met. And he had driven her to this point! Probably for the first time in her life! "I expect you to look at me when I speak to you, Fox," she said firmly. His eyes snapped up and tear-filled hazel eyes met hers. "Thank you. Now, I am very disappointed in you. Very disappointed that you could blatantly lie to all of us. And I want an explanation, young man." Mulder's heart was nearly beating out of his chest with fear and an overpowering sense of shame. "I. . . " he began, but no acceptable explanation came to mind. "I asked you a question, Fox," she pressed. "I was . . . afraid I was going to get punished," he answered quickly, his voice cracking a little around the edges. Her steel blue eyes held his relentlessly. "And that was enough to make you lie to your family? To people who love you? You let us all down, Fox. . . . But more importantly, you let yourself down. You expect more from yourself, I know you do. We all do." He blinked several times, trying to hold back tears that were threatening to spill over. This was worse than anything the AD, or his father, had ever done to him! And in his heart, he suspect Rachel never had to say anything like this to her kids. None of them would ever have done anything to push her to such a length. "I was a teacher, you know, Fox," she said, rising and moving to a shelf above the desk. "And I believe strongly that things that are written down are remembered longer." She pulled a thick spiral notebook off a shelf and took a seat on the bed, next to him. "Over the years, I had my kids write down lessons they learned from misbehavior and mistakes. Actually, the kids used to call this 'the lesson book!'" She opened it up and went to a blank page toward the end of the book. "I want you to write about the lesson you're going to take from all of this, Fox. There's plenty of pages left in this book. Use as many as you need. But make sure you include what you did and what you learned from this experience. Do you understand me?" He was floored by this turn of events. The book had what seemed like hundreds of pages written already and now she wanted him to add the humiliating experience he'd just been through to this record? But the idea of disappointing her again was just too distasteful, so he quickly decided to accede to her wish. "How . . . long does it have to be?" he asked quietly. "That's up to you, Fox. Long enough to cover your misbehavior and its consequences. And the lesson you've learned. Do you understand what I want, dear?" "Yes, ma'am," he whispered, dropping his eyes to the book. She rose and picked up a pen from the desk, then handed it to him. "Then get to work. Dad and Walter have gone to town to pick up steaks for tonight. Jean and Oliver and the kids are coming over at 7 for dinner. So you have a few hours to work." He was nearly finished with the assignment when Skinner popped his head in a few hours later. "Hey, Mulder, You're finally awake," he said before noticing what he was doing. "Ooohh, the lesson book! You and Mom must have had a talk, huh?" Mulder nodded, blushing. "I guess you could say that. Actually, she did most of the talking." "Yeah, that's how it generally goes," Skinner laughed, dropping into the rocking chair. "Andy used to hate 'the lesson book' even more than what my Dad dished out!" "I'm not surprised," Mulder chuckled. "His spelling is atrocious!" "You're not supposed to read anyone else's stuff, Mulder," Skinner admonished him. "Oh, come on! You mean you never did?" "Well, not after I was old enough to know better." Mulder pulled a pillow from in back of his head and tossed it on the end of the bed. Then he stretched out on his stomach, the pillow balled up under his head. "You have a few interesting entries, sir," he prompted the other man. "Even as a kid you were amazingly concise!" "Well, I wasn't a big fan of 'the lesson book' either, Mulder! It was painful to have to rehash whatever you'd done wrong, and been punished for already. But what really hurt was having Mom upset with you. She was never the disciplinarian in our house but . . . the truth is, I guess the threat of being out of her good graces was more of a deterrent than anything my Dad might do!" "Yeah, I know what you mean. I don't think I ever felt worse in my life than when she told me she was 'disappointed in me.' Oh! No offense, sir. I feel pretty bad when you're mad at me, too!" Skinner smiled. "That's okay, Mulder. I know what you meant." He stared at the floor for a few seconds, then sighed. "You know you really stepped out of line this time, kid," he said, bringing his eyes up to look directly at the younger man. "That strapping was meant to make that very clear. But there's gonna have to be some reinforcement for a while, you know. To get you back on track, and checking in with me nightly like you're supposed to. You should plan to spend the next week at my place, okay?" The younger man had been nodding throughout his speech. Fresh tears sprang to his eyes now and he just let them come. They were more from relief than fear or trepidation. Ever since the strapping ended, he'd been debating if there was more punishment coming. This slide had been pretty extreme and Mulder knew he deserved everything the AD was promising. And more. As he'd been composing his entry in 'the lesson book,' he'd found himself wondering about the fact that Skinner had let him off so easy, after such deplorable behavior. Wondering . . . and worrying. Skinner stood. "We'll talk about the details tomorrow, son. I just came up because we got interrupted when Doug dropped by earlier--" Mulder paled visibly. Skinner crossed over and pulled him up to a standing position. "You've had a rough day, Mulder. First my Dad got on you, then me, then my Mom. The least you deserve is your hug. There's gotta be some positive side to being part of this family!" He pulled the younger man into an embrace and felt him relax and fully return it. "There's a lot of good stuff about it, sir," Mulder whispered, as tears rolled gently down his face. Whatever the next week brought, he was sure he could take, as long as long as it came with the unconditional love and support of this man and his family. "And if you're ever again tempted to doubt you belong here, don't," the Assistant Director told him, rubbing his back soothingly. "You're official now, kid. You've even got your own entry in 'the lesson book!" THE END