The Danville Series by Cadillac Red Disclaimer: The characters of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner and Jana Cassidy belong to 1013 Productions and I and will make no money from their use. Spoilers: None. Setting: Sixth Season. Immediately follows previous story in this series, "Persistence of Memory". Rating: PG. Discipline, no slash. Title: Silent Suffering Author: Cadillac Red Summary: Mulder's week on restriction turns sour quickly as he and Skinner misread each other's signals. The crisis that follows brings up unresolved issues from Mulder's childhood that the AD must help him deal with. Silent Suffering Crystal City, Virginia Sunday evening 5:12 p.m. Walter Skinner pulled his jeep into the reserved parking space outside his building. The drive down from Danville had been peaceful but, frankly, boring. Usually he had Mulder's company on these trips lately. But this time, the younger man had driven himself up there, and so they'd come back separately. Skinner exited the car and locked the door, then opened the back hatch and removed a couple of bags of groceries. He'd stopped at the 24-hour market down the block, knowing Mulder would be staying with him for the next week or so. In recent years, he'd grown to know and be able to stock up on the younger man's favorite foods without having to think about it. Hoisting the bags, he closed the hatch and headed for the entrance. The weekend doorman jumped up when he saw Skinner and raced to swing one of the glass doors open to let him through. "Evening, Mr. Skinner," Tom said as he passed. "Mr. Mulder's already upstairs." A look of surprise passed over Skinner's face briefly. Mulder had only left his parents' place about 15 or 20 minutes ahead of him. He'd had to drive to his own apartment in Alexandria and pick up a week's worth of clothes and he still arrived ahead of the Assistant Director. The A.D.'s gut told him that the younger agent would have had to exceed the speed limit by quite a bit to pull that off. "Mulder?" he called as soon as he was through the apartment's front door. The object of his inquiry stuck his head out of the spare bedroom, pulling a tee shirt on over his head as he did. "Hi," he answered, then came fully into the living room when he saw Skinner was carrying packages. Mulder took one and followed the AD into the kitchen. They began to unpack the bags in silence. Mulder stocked the things that went into the refrigerator, while Skinner put some dry goods into the pantry closet. "You got here fast, Mulder," Skinner said evenly. "Well, it didn't take me long to pack," he replied quickly, then stopped himself, knowing exactly what the other man was getting at. "I . . might have driven a little bit over the speed limit." Skinner nodded as he slid a package onto a shelf, then closed the pantry door. Mulder was leaning his long frame against the counter and now he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and stared at the floor. "I guess I might have been going a lot over the speed limit some of the time. Is that what you mean?" "That's exactly what I mean," Skinner responded, reaching over Mulder's head to put a couple of bags of the younger man's favorite chocolate chip cookies into the cabinet. The AD patted his head quickly as he went by. "Good boy. I'll consider that your first 'check-in' in a while, kiddo." Mulder couldn't help the small smile that came to his lips as he helped unbag the rest of the groceries. It surprised him every time, the feeling of satisfaction that came over him whenever Skinner expressed pride or satisfaction over something he'd done. Even something as small and insignificant as owning up to a misdeed. Skinner turned and opened the refrigerator. "Something to drink, Mulder?" "Yeah, a beer would be great--" He stopped at the brief frown the other man threw over his shoulder. "Or an iced tea would be even better," he grinned, accepting the one being held out to him. They spent a couple of hours watching television, with Skinner splitting his attention between a basketball game and the paperwork he'd brought home from the office. He was preparing for the quarterly management meeting that would take place at FBI headquarters throughout the coming week. Skinner was responsible for the Spring meeting in D.C. each year. All the SACs from around the country would be in Washington for briefings and management meetings and, since most of them reported up to him, Skinner was looking at a hell of a week. They paused for a snack over "60 Minutes" and Mulder proceeded to expound on the merits of a piece about whether TV crews accompanying police constituted an invasion of privacy. Skinner had the coming week's meetings on his mind as Mulder babbled, with no encouragement from the AD Despite his distracted attention, though, Skinner couldn't help but be impressed with how cogently the younger man thought, and how easily he extracted critical information from a mass of extraneous, conflicting facts. Unfortunately, tonight Skinner just didn't have the time to focus on Mulder. Not with a national meeting, one for which he was ultimately responsible, slated to begin in 12 hours. At 8 o'clock, the Assistant Director reached over and jostled the younger man, who looked as if he was about to drift off on the couch anyway. "Time to hit the sack, Mulder." "Wha-?" he started, then shook off his surprise. "It's only 8 o'clock! I'm not--" "You're not . . . what?" Skinner asked in his sternest voice. Mulder blinked, then nodded his head jerkily. "Nothing. I, um-- Good night." He rose and headed right into his bedroom without another word. Skinner gave him 10 minutes, then knocked quietly on the door. Mulder was already in bed, which surprised him a little. Perhaps he hadn't understood what this week would entail. The younger agent watched him warily though, and the AD relaxed and guessed he understood fine. Advancing, he took a seat on the edge of the bed as Mulder scooted over a little to make room for him. "Forget something, kid?" Skinner asked. His voice was low and filled with affection for the young man in front of him. He watched Mulder shake his head but waited for a verbal response. "No, sir," he finally replied. "I didn't forget--" His inflection confirmed the Assistant Director's suspicion that he had been hoping the other man forgot. "But you weren't going to remind me, if I did, were you, Fox?" Mulder lowered his eyes. "N-no. I don't think I would have," he answered quietly. The use of his first name generally meant trouble. And he'd found out only yesterday, "Fox William" meant lots of trouble. He was slightly relieved to have heard only the former just now. "Well, you get points for honesty on that one, kid," Skinner said as he pulled the bedcovers back and sat back, giving Mulder room to slide out of the bed. He was wearing a tee-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama bottoms. Mulder sighed as he got himself in position across the other man's legs, and buried his face in the turned back comforter. He had never gotten over the feeling of helpless embarrassment that came with being in this position. No matter how much he deserved it. Or how well he understood why Skinner chose this 'over the knee' position. "Now, this one's more than a bedtime spanking," Skinner said as he pulled the flannel pajama bottom down below the young agent's butt. "What did you do today to earn it?" He smacked the younger man's upturned backside as he asked the question, then followed with another. "Ow! I-- I was speeding!" Mulder gasped as a third smack landed on his recently punished rear end. He'd had a particularly long and painful session with 'the Persuader' the day before and he was still a little sore from that strapping. "Oucchh! Oooohhh!" "How fast were you driving, Mulder?" the AD queried, as he added another couple of smacks. "How fast?" "Ouccchhhh! Um, 80! I think 80 was the fastest!," he answered, wondering where this was going. And how much longer it would go on. "Okay," Skinner said, giving him another hard whack. "I think the highest speed limit on that route is 65, so that means you were going at least 15 miles over the speed limit. This is your eighth swat," he said, issuing another stinging smack to the 'sit spot. "You've got seven more to go." The AD continued his assault on the young man's already flaming behind. "Ohhhh! Owwww! Pleeease! Oucchhh!" Mulder gasped as his exclamations began to turn to sobs. "Ohhhh! I'm sor-sorry! Oucchhhh! Aahhhhh! Owwwww!" "And one more for not telling me the truth when I first asked you," he said, adding one more hard smack right where his butt cheeks met his thighs. "Unnnhhhhh!" Mulder sobbed once more. Having finished the spanking, Skinner reached up and rubbed Mulder's back for a minute while he waited for the younger man to scramble off his lap. But he didn't move at first, continuing to lie there and cry softly. The AD saw he needed to take control of the situation. He pulled up the pajama bottoms and pushed Mulder gently off his legs and onto his own knees. Then he pulled the weeping young man up into a hug and was relieved when Mulder laid his head on the other man's shoulder and put his arms around his back, returning the hug forcefully. "It's okay, kid," Skinner reassured him quietly. "You have a way to go to get back in a good routine again. But you'll get there. We'll get you there, I promise." Mulder mumbled something affirmative into the other man's shoulder and began to calm down. Once he'd stopped crying, Skinner stood and pulled him to his feet, then lifted the comforter so he could slide into the bed. The AD was anxious to get back to his work. He had several hours more of preparation to do this evening. But he sensed something was weighing on the young man's mind and decided the reading could wait another minute or two. He adjusted the covers, then sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching up to push back the sweat-soaked hair that was sticking to Mulder's forehead. He took a shot in the dark about what might be troubling the younger agent. "Does this bother you, Mulder? I know you don't want to be treated like a child. . . " "Does what bother me?" His brow was wrinkled in honest confusion. "Me. . . tucking you in like this. It's just that it's something my Dad did after a bedtime spanking and I always found it reassuring--" "Oh, no! It doesn't bother me, sir," he replied, cutting the other man's words off. "I don't--- I mean, it's something my parents just never did so I don't make that association. And . . . it is kind of reassuring. . . . to know you're not still mad at me. . . " His voice trailed off and he tried in vain to fight off a yawn. "That you're still talking to me." Skinner was perplexed by the comment but his instincts told him that Mulder was emotionally and physically exhausted so he didn't push it. "All right," he said, "as long as you're okay with it. Now I want you to get a good night's sleep. We've both have to get an early start tomorrow. You've got to deliver your report on future law enforcement trends to the Bureau Chiefs tomorrow. " He rose and went to the door, pausing to turn out the light. The younger man's eyes were already closed and his breathing had gentled. "Good night, Mulder." Skinner spent several more hours prepping for his meetings the next day, before deciding to turn in himself. He opened the door to the second bedroom before heading off to his own and was satisfied to hear the steady, rhythmic breathing that signaled that Mulder was sleeping soundly. He pulled the door closed again and headed to the master bedroom, mulling over the strange mood swings that he'd seen in the complicated young man in the past few days. And weeks. Mulder had always been unpredictable. But lately the behavioral swings just seemed wider and more unfathomable than ever. It had been a long time since the younger agent had looked Skinner in the eye and blatantly lied as he had with the amnesia thing. Not since they'd established their unconventional relationship. And he'd never acted up on Skinner's parents before, certainly not the way they'd said he had this weekend. Skinner knew Mulder's sense of security about his relationship with the AD had been seriously undermined by that idiot, Tony Adler. And yet, by driving up to Danville, he'd acted on some inner faith that the AD would be there for him. He knew the act of reaching out was hard for Mulder. To do it in front of witnesses, even the elder Skinner's, was a new benchmark. That was about as hopeful a sign as the Assistant Director had ever gotten from him. Mulder had come willingly (and quickly) to spend a week with the other man, despite the knowledge that he'd be on restriction and subject to punishment. But tonight, he'd seemed subdued and unusually introspective. Skinner shook his head, unable to fathom the emotional currents that ran so deep in the young man asleep in the next room. Perhaps this week would make a difference. ********************************************************************** Fox Mulder's Apartment Alexandria, Virginia Monday night Mulder threw himself down on his couch angrily. He and Scully had checked out a lead in Bethesda, Maryland in the afternoon, and he had dropped her off in Georgetown at just past 5 o'clock. Then he'd planned to drive straight to Crystal City and wait for the AD to get home. Skinner had said he'd try to get there by 7 o'clock and they would go to the gym together. But a call from the Lone Gunmen just after he left Scully distracted him. He passed the Crystal City exit and headed to their warehouse office/home, planning to get a look at what they had and still make it back to Skinner's place before 7. "This is what you brought me here to see?" he asked plaintively when they showed him their find. He checked his watch quickly and saw he had enough time to make it to Crystal City with a few minutes to spare. "Why don't you guys finish the analysis. Then, if you still think it's alien DNA, I'll come back tomorrow and let you try to convince me, okay?" "Mulder, we ordered cheese-steak subs. Got one for you, too. Don't you want to stay?" Frohike asked, surprised by Mulder's desire to make a quick exit. He was almost always ready to hang out and trade "can you believe this" stories, and he never passed up a cheese-steak sub. "Got a hot date or something?" "You let me know if that alien DNA starts making little alien babies, okay?" Mulder laughed as he hauled ass out of their office. Once outside, he got in his car and headed back onto I-95 but the right front tire picked that moment to blow and he found himself swerving onto the shoulder and hitting the brakes to effect a fast stop. "Dammit! Why now? Why the hell did this have to happen now, God?" When the car had come to a full stop, his head hit the steering wheel and he continued his self-directed tirade. "Why the FUCK did I listen to them anyway? Like they come into possession of alien DNA every day!" He attempted to get a grip on his emotions, then raised his head to look at the clock on the dashboard. It was 6:54. In this kind of traffic, he was a good 15 minutes away from Skinner's place. And to top it off, he remembered the battery on his cell phone had died earlier in the day. Getting out of the car, he went to the trunk, wondering how long it would take him to change the damn tire. But when he opened the trunk, he remembered he'd removed the spare tire to make room for luggage a while back. And never remembered to put it back. Kicking the rear tire angrily, he began cursing himself again. "You're a fucking idiot, Mulder! You're just too goddam stupid to live! Which is fine, because Skinner's gonna fucking kill you anyway!" He ranted for another minute before concluding it wasn't helping in any way. So he began to walk back toward the entrance ramp he'd just come from, sure there were at least a couple of places he could find a pay phone to call AAA. That took 15 minutes and, once he'd called for service, he dialed Skinner's phone number, too. "Sir? It's me. I've got a flat tire," he said flatly, as soon the AD answered the phone. "Where are you, Mulder?" Skinner had just walked in the door himself and was a little short of breath from rushing to get back, to try to keep his promise to go to the gym with the younger agent. He'd chosen to skip a planned dinner for the entire group because it would be the only evening he could spend with Mulder the entire week. It was a little annoying to find said younger agent not even in the vicinity. "I'm . . . on Route 95," he said carefully. "I don't have my spare in the trunk, so I'm waiting for triple A to get here. It's gonna be a while, so . . . I wanted to let you know to go to the gym without me." "Is Scully with you? Do you want me to come there? I could drive her home while you wait for service." "No, I dropped her off before it happened. I was on my way there and . . . bang! The tire must've gotten cut at some point and I just didn't know it." Skinner listened to Mulder's explanation while eyeing the caller I.D. display that indicated the call was coming from somewhere in Virginia. From the telephone number, he knew it was not a location between his place and Scully's Georgetown apartment. It was somewhere south of Crystal City. "Do you want me to go to your place and get your spare, Mulder? That might be quicker than waiting for triple-A." "No, sir! I-I don't want to interfere with your plans. And . . . they'll probably be here before you could get to my place and get here anyway." "All right," Skinner said. "I'll see you later." He put the phone down and continued to stare at the number on the display. Picking it back up, he dialed the FBI's main number and asked for the SAC on duty. He got the location of the pay phone and found he was right on target. The pay phone was in the vicinity of the offices of the "Lone Gunmen." Decidedly not on the route between Scully's place and Skinner's place. Skinner decided to forego the gym and wait for his errant young agent to come home. But Mulder was so angry at himself, and so confused by his own actions, he drove straight to his own place when the tire was repaired. He felt as if his nerves were jumping out of his skin and just couldn't face the AD in that state. Or with another lie. He'd even shocked himself with that little deception, with the fact that he'd told Skinner another lie. And for what purpose, he wondered, shaking his head. The AD had never said he couldn't see the Gunmen, or even intimated that he didn't like them in a long time. In fact, he'd told Mulder they were good friends to have, that he appreciated how they were there for the younger agent in the worst of times. Mulder glanced at the clock and saw it was almost 9 o'clock. He guessed Skinner was not back from the gym yet and decided to take the coward's way out and leave a message on his answering machine. ********************************************************************* Walter Skinner's Apartment Crystal City, Virginia 9:15 p.m. Skinner returned from his short run, expecting to see his most troublesome problem sitting in the living room. When that wasn't the case, he called out for Mulder and received no response. Frowning, he tried to come up with an excuse for the younger man. "How long could triple-A possibly take?" he wondered out loud, when his eyes lit on the answering machine. He pressed it and listened to the message. "Beeeeep. Monday, 8:55 p.m.," the machine said. Sir? It's me. I-- I finally got the tire changed and now I'm home. I . . . decided to stay here tonight, since it's so late. I'm just gonna turn in. Um, I hope you're not mad. I'll . . . see you tomorrow." Skinner stared at the machine in shock. He was stunned that the younger man would just 'decide' to stay at his place tonight, after being told he was spending the week with the AD A week that would be about correction and reestablishing the discipline they'd spent the last two years developing. Skinner showered and changed, using the time to calm himself. He drove to Alexandria and parked in front of Mulder's building. He took the stairs up, another way to expend a little of the excess energy that arrived with his fury. Mulder opened the door to his knock at just past 10 o'clock. "Sir? I-- What brings you here?" Skinner walked past him into the apartment and Mulder closed the door hurriedly. He wasn't certain what the AD would say. Or do. He just knew he didn't want any of his neighbors to witness it. Skinner's eyes quickly took in the fact that Mulder was still wearing his suit pants and shirt and an interesting, adult video was playing on the TV screen. Not to mention the open beer on the coffee table. "Let's go, Mulder," he said, picking up the remote and clicking off the television. "I don't know where you got the idea staying with me was a choice you could make on a day-to-day basis, but I'm here to tell you, it's not. This is non-negotiable." Mulder began to protest, but the look on the other man's face convinced him it would be a futile attempt, and only serve to get him in more trouble. He picked up his suit jacket and threw it on, then followed the grimly silent Skinner out of his apartment. The AD had parked right in front of Mulder's apartment building, his FBI identification propped on the dashboard. He stood by his car without further comment and waited for Mulder to pull out of the parking lot. Then he got in his own car and motioned for the younger agent to take the lead, pulling his jeep directly behind Mulder's vehicle. Skinner stayed on Mulder's tail the entire way to Crystal City and Mulder found himself choking back tears as he nervously glanced in the rear-view mirror over and over again. He was spending so much time looking back, he nearly cut off someone entering the parkway and had to slam his brakes on hard. Which brought Skinner to a skidding stop behind him. Checking the rear view mirror yet again, he saw the AD was decidedly not amused. Struggling with self-loathing over the sheer number of mistakes he'd made today, and the certainty that he was facing serious punishment, he tried in vain to stop the tears that welled in his eyes and blurred his vision. As they approached the Crystal City apartment building, he opened a window for some cool air and hastily wiped his face on his suit jacket. He'd have to walk through the lobby and wanted to maintain some shred of dignity for the night doorman, if not himself. For his part, Skinner spent the drive watching the taillights of Mulder's car and trying yet again to solve the continuing mystery of Special Agent Fox Mulder. How could someone so intelligent, brilliant actually, be so dense when it came to with the unanswered questions that defined his errant young agent. As they crossed the lobby, he saw Mulder's eyes were red and slightly swollen, as though he'd been crying and wondered again, what drove the younger man to punish himself the way he did. They reached the 17th floor apartment at 10 o'clock, and Skinner cocked his head in the direction of the spare bedroom. That was all the instruction Mulder needed. He high-tailed it into the bedroom and got ready for bed, cursing himself for his stupidity every step of the way. He'd taken a semi-bad move and turned it into a fiasco. He aimed a stream of muttered invective at himself as he washed up and stepped into flannel pajama bottoms. Then he pulled on a tee shirt and sat on the bed, staring at the door, waiting. It didn't take long. The door opened a moment later and Skinner stepped in, closing it behind him. He stopped in the middle of the room and crossed his arms across his chest. "Well. I'm waiting," was all he said. Mulder knew down to his toes what the AD wanted, an explanation for his rash decision not to come here this evening. But some streak of rebelliousness grabbed control of the situation and leapt out ahead of the rest of his warring emotions. "Well, I'm waiting, too," he replied. Skinner's eyebrows rose precipitously and he scanned the room in the direction of the dresser. Finding what he wanted, he grabbed the hairbrush and walked over to the bed. "Well, far be it from me to hold you up, Mulder," he said ominously. Pulling the younger man to his feet, Skinner took his place on the bed and told him to get ready. He tried frantically to maintain his outward nonchalance, but inside, his guts were screaming in anger and frustration. He dropped to his knees and let Skinner pull him over his long legs, dreading what was to come next. The fucking hairbrush! He hated that thing worst of all. A small voice in his head reminded him he hated whatever he was about to get smacked with worst of all every time, but that didn't quell his nervousness, or make him feel any better about the hairbrush. He felt the pajama bottoms being pulled down and braced himself. "What's this spanking for, Mulder?" Skinner asked him as he whacked his backside once. No answer came, and he proceeded to smack the upturned butt a half dozen more times. "I can definitely hold out longer than you can, son. Just keep that in mind." He issued two more whacks and got a yelp in response finally. "It's for d-deciding to go to my apartment, sir!" he ground out. "And for not asking if that was okay! Owww!" "Very good, Mulder," Skinner responded, continuing his assault on the young man's bottom. It was already a light shade of pink, evidence of a couple of days of punishments already delivered. "What else?" He gasped again as the hairbrush smacked his backside over and over. "For-- for, I don't know. For getting into it with SAC Adler today!" Now it was Skinner's turn to be perplexed. The AD didn't even know about this one, whatever it was. But he didn't want to get off-track dealing with the rest of tonight's fiasco, either. He made a split-second decision to ignore Mulder's personality conflict with Adler, noting that the young man over his knee still thought Skinner was clueless about his side-trip to see the Lone Gunmen. "How about the fact that you were on your way back from the Gunmen when you got that flat tire, Mulder?" he asked, continuing to smack him, furious that the younger man didn't just admit it freely. "How about that little wiggle around the truth, huh? And you were supposed to come right home after work, weren't you?" "Oh, yeah! For lying about-- Ouccchhh! For lying about where the car broke down! And for not coming right here, when I was supposed to!" He was sobbing hard now and just hanging over Skinner's legs. The AD continued to whack his backside, and Mulder found himself just praying for the punishment to be over soon. Skinner sensed his surrender and gave him two more smart whacks, then dropped the hairbrush onto the nightstand over Mulder's head. He took a deep breath and began to rub Mulder's back, letting him calm down for a minute before moving him along. The heat coming off the reddened skin on his bottom made Skinner sure he'd have an uncomfortable time sitting anywhere tomorrow. He shook his head silently. Feeling uncertain about exactly what was going on with his rebellious young charge, he decided to follow their pattern and get him into bed as soon as possible. This week was supposed to have been a pleasant chance to reestablish their routines and reintroduce the behavioral barriers they'd built in the past two years. Skinner had expected companionship and intelligent conversation with someone he'd grown to value like one of his younger brothers. What the hell had gone wrong? He pulled the sobbing young man into a hug and felt him collapse against his shoulder. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly. "Something's definitely wrong, Mulder, and I-- I just don't know what it is." Mulder shook his head and took a deep, hitching breath. "I don't know, sir," he answered, stricken by the other man's words and what they might mean. "I don't know either . . . ." All the fight had gone out of him and Skinner felt him begin to shiver a bit. He pulled Mulder to his feet and helped him into the bed, where he immediately flipped onto his stomach and closed his eyes. The AD thought it was as much from a desire to retreat as from the exhaustion that seemed to come over him. He pulled the cover up over Mulder's shoulders and saw him snuggle further down under it. "Good night, kid," he said quietly, then he turned and left the room. Weary from treading the waves of emotional turmoil that came off of Mulder, he desperately wished he could go to bed, too. But, unfortunately, he still had hours of work to prepare for the next day's meetings. Every instinct in him said the younger man was struggling with something and the AD had no idea what it was, or how to help him. Swallowing four extra-strength aspirin, he opened his briefcase and turned his attention back to his work. ********************************************************************** Office of the X-files FBI Headquarters Tuesday 1:30 p.m. Special Agent Dana Scully was surprised when the Assistant Director knocked and stepped into the office. She knew the quarterly management meeting was taking place this week, and that generally consumed all of the A.D.'s attention when it was happening. Three per year took place in other locations. The Spring meeting was always in Washington, D.C. and this one had the entire building buzzing with political speculation and rumors about reorganization and restructuring. Scully knew Mulder had delivered a paper on future law enforcement issues that had followed the Director's Keynote address. She was immensely proud of the fact he'd been chosen to be the first presenter. She knew Skinner's strong support, and his ability to get the paper in front of the Director, was the reason for it. That, and the fact that Mulder's report was brilliant. "Good afternoon, sir," she said. "Were you looking for Mulder? He went for a run over lunch. . . " "No, Scully, I was looking for you," he replied, standing awkwardly in front of the door he'd just closed. "I saw Mulder leaving a few minutes ago." "Oh," she replied, not knowing what else to say. "I just wondered if you've noticed anything strange about Mulder," he said. He leaned back on the door, his arms crossed behind him. She smiled, a lopsided half-grin she couldn't quite smother. "You mean stranger than normal?" Skinner grimaced and chuckled just a bit. "Point taken," he nodded. "But he does seem a little . . . I don't know, introspective. Or preoccupied, maybe." Scully leaned back in her chair and considered the situation. Actually, she had thought Mulder unusually quiet for the past few days. "Yes, I've noticed. I'm not sure what it is, though. He hasn't shared anything with me, sir. And all I've noticed is that he was a little antsy today. Couldn't seem to sit still. . . " She looked at him slyly. Skinner colored just a little. "Well. I know what that's from," he replied, a little reluctantly, Scully thought. "I just can't figure out what's bothering him. And he hasn't talked about it to me either. Not that I've had much time for talking this week. . . . I just thought I'd see if you had any idea." He told Scully he needed to get back to the conference and left. At the afternoon break, Jana Cassidy caught up with him. "Walter! I've been trying to get a moment with you since yesterday. I wanted to tell you how brilliantly Mulder did, delivering his report. It was the talk of the AD dinner on Monday. The one you skipped again this year. . . " "Jana, I had too much other stuff going on in my office. I make it to all the other dinners during the year. Besides, this one's a chance for people who don't see the Director often to get a little time with him. I'm sure I wasn't missed." "I didn't meant to criticize, Walter. I simply wanted you to know that your boy was well received by the Directors. After the incident at lunch on Monday, I thought you'd want to know--" "What incident?" She looked at him incredulously. "I would have expected Mulder to tell you. He and Tony Adler had words on Monday, over lunch. I know he's someone you've supported, but that Adler's turned out to be a regular schoolyard bully, if you ask me. But Mulder held his own, despite Tony's heavy-handed attempt to ridicule him, and everything he does." Skinner was torn between wanting to reassure the younger agent, and wanting to wring his neck for still not getting it. But in his heart, he knew if Mulder didn't get something, it wasn't for lack of trying. And certainly not lack of intellect. He shook his head, not able to completely understand the lifetime of insecurity that left Mulder so unable to fully trust that Skinner was really there for him. The pieces just didn't seem to fit, he thought, no matter how hard he tried to bang them into place. And tonight, he would be out late, having dinner with the Bureau Chiefs who reported directly to him. The way things were looking, it would be the end of the week before he got to spend any quality time with Fox Mulder. ********************************************************************** Walter Skinner's Apartment Crystal City, Virginia 10:45 p.m. Skinner trudged wearily down the hall, dangling the keys to his front door. It had been a long day, and an even longer evening. He and the Bureau Chiefs in his division had had dinner in a private dining room at the Ambassador Grill. Somehow, despite his request to Kimberly that he not be seated with Tony Adler, who was sitting at his right side when they went in to dinner but the St. Louis SAC himself. Skinner trusted Kim to follow his instructions to the letter so he guessed that Adler had switched place cards during the cocktail reception. Skinner shook his head at the audacity of the man. Skinner immediately decided that such an event would have to be over his dead body if it happened at all. He let himself in and was glad to see that Mulder was there. The young agent's briefcase sat on the floor in the foyer and his coat was on a chair in the foyer. Skinner shirked off his own coat and hung it up. He hung Mulder's coat as well, then went directly to the spare bedroom to check on him. Opening the door, he was greeted by the sight of Mulder, chewing on sunflower seeds and concentrating deeply on a case file he was reading The younger man looked up, surprised, and fearfully glanced at the clock on the desk. "I didn't realize how l-late it was, sir," he stammered, putting the papers to the side and watching Skinner anxiously. "Don't worry about it, Mulder," Skinner told him wearily. "I just wanted to make sure you're all right. We never got a chance to speak today. . . . Why don't you come into the kitchen? I need something to drink." He headed back out of the room, hoping Mulder would follow. Which he did. The young man pulled a box of chocolate chip cookies out of the cabinet, then seated himself carefully on a chair at the breakfast counter. Opening the box, he extracted a cookie and began chewing on it while he watched the AD make hot cocoa with real milk. "Your report on trends in law enforcement was a big hit, Mulder," Skinner told him as he poured the cocoa into two mugs. "In case you didn't know. And you were apparently the talk of the Directors dinner last night." Mulder's eyes darkened and he hung his head. He knew why he was the talk of the town, and it wasn't because of the report he'd given. It was the altercation with Adler, he was certain of it. "Spooky Mulder's temper strikes again, huh?" Skinner glanced at him, trying not to betray his surprise at the conclusion Mulder had apparently leapt to, that his argument with Adler was the reason for his sudden celebrity. "I heard about that. Do you want to tell me your side of it, Mulder?" Mulder sighed and chewed on his lip for a few seconds before answering. He'd been afraid Adler would get the chance to tell his side of it first. Now Mulder suspected he was starting with the deck already stacked against him. "I should have told you last night," he said quietly. " I know that. I . . . got into a little 'thing' with Adler at lunch yesterday. The seating chart had us right next to each other. I switched name cards and got on the other side of the table, but . . . that wasn't enough distance, I guess. He doesn't exactly think a lot of me. Not that I blame him. I screwed up that case in St. Louis--" "Stop it, Mulder!" Skinner was a little shorter than he'd intended, but he couldn't help it. This self-recrimination was way off-base. No one but Mulder would have even recognized there was a case. And the subsequent murders, and arrests, proved it. When the shit hit the fan, the locals had a head start on it because of his ground work. The younger man had to know that. "The fact you didn't solve that case is not a failure. There wasn't enough evidence when you were there. Period. Later on, the evidence was discovered and Adler and his people wrapped it up." Mulder was startled by Skinner's vehemence. He tried to hide it, but the AD losing patience with him, again, and so quickly, was a painfully clear indicator that the other man was growing weary of all the problems that came with Mulder. He nodded his head to indicate he understood, trying to defuse the other man's anger. Meanwhile, Skinner was kicking himself for exploding the way he had. It had been an exhausting, stressful day in the middle of an even more challenging week, and now he was taking it out on Mulder. His wife Sharon always told him it was better if he didn't speak to anyone when he was in this kind of mood. Too bad Mulder didn't get notes from her about living with him. He handed the young man a cup of cocoa and sat down in a chair next to him. "I'm sorry, Mulder," he sighed quietly Trying to keep Mulder on a punishment tour, and giving him the kind of support and attention he needed to get back on track, was just not going to be possible this week. "I shouldn't have bit your head off. You didn't deserve that. This isn't working. How 'bout I release you on your own recognizance, huh?" Mulder felt tears sting the back of his eyes and he blinked furiously to hold them back. His face remained expressionless, and he prayed there was no evidence of the terror that ran through him at the A.D.'s words. He fought to hide his emotions, and Skinner continued. "You can head home to your place tomorrow, if you like and—" "Okay," Mulder said, jumping up and nodding his head anxiously. "I'll get going in the morning. I think I need to turn in now, though," he said over his shoulder. "Good night, sir." Skinner stared after him. "I won't wake you tomorrow. I have to be in at the crack of dawn," he called after the retreating figure. "Okay. Good night." Mulder felt himself choking up as he entered the spare bedroom and closed the door quietly behind him. He immediately turned off the light and got in bed, afraid the other man might follow him. Silent tears ran down his face and he didn't want the other man to see him this way so he turned onto his side facing the wall and tried to regain control. He'd known this day would come, he'd known it all along. But advance knowledge did nothing to reduce the pain of knowing Skinner had cut him loose. In the kitchen, Skinner swallowed down the dregs of his hot chocolate and picked up Mulder's mug. It was virtually untouched and he'd left half a cookie behind as well. He sighed wearily, guessing this had been Mulder's dinner, and remembered he'd also failed to deliver the younger man's bedtime spanking. It seemed neither of them could keep even the most basic routine going this week. Passing the spare bedroom, Skinner opened the door quietly and looked in. But the light was off and Mulder appeared to be asleep, so he reconsidered. There would be time enough to get the kid back on a routine after this week. Wednesday and Thursday passed in a blur for the Assistant Director. The mornings were filled with all-hands sessions in the auditorium and the afternoons and evenings were fully scheduled with break-out sessions, task force meetings and the annual budget planning meetings. Not to mention individual status meeting with each of his direct reports among the Bureau Chiefs. He went home each night with a splitting headache and collapsed into bed, rising at dawn the next day to begin the cycle again. And during the week, he had no contact with Mulder, who'd found himself a case outside of D.C. He hadn't bothered to get a 302 approved, nor had he checked in with Skinner nightly as he was supposed to. Skinner noted the two oversights but didn't have time to call Mulder on either. ********************************************************************** Walter Skinner's Apartment Crystal City, Virginia Friday evening 7:03 p.m. Skinner dragged himself into the apartment and opened a new bottle of vodka first thing. It had been a week of eating stress for breakfast, lunch and dinner, but the meeting had gone perfectly and the next quarterly would be someone else's responsibility. Thank God. He swallowed a second shot and decided to give his mother a call first. She had phoned once earlier in the week and again this morning. He'd returned the call one night and missed her. So he left a message that he'd be tied up until tonight. "Hi, Mom," he said when she answered. "It's Walter. Sorry I've been out of touch all week." "Hi, honey," she replied quickly. "I understand. I originally called to talk to you about what Fox had written in the Lesson Book. But after we got his letter today, well, Dad and I are a little confused . . . " "Walter? What's going with Fox now?" his father broke in. He had picked up the other extension when he realized who was on the line. "I'm not sure what you mean," Skinner replied, confused. "What did he write in the book? And what letter are you talking about?" "Well, what he wrote in the Lesson Book was a little worrisome, dear," his mother said. "He talked a great deal about how he lied to us, and how ashamed he was. He said he always says he values the truth above everything, but he's not really good at telling the truth. Because he's spent a lifetime lying, to his parents, his teachers, even himself. Telling everyone he was fine, when he wasn't. Pretending he was holding up okay for everyone else, when he was close to breaking. And letting them all think he was coping with the loss of his sister, when inside he was nothing but a raw wound—" "It's the letter that's got us really upset, though, Raya," her husband interrupted, using a Russian pet name he always fell back on, when stressed. "Read him the letter." Skinner could hear her fumbling for her glasses and unfolding something. "Where is it? Oh, here. He says he 'appreciates everything you've done for me, you and your whole family. I never really felt like I belonged anywhere, not in a long time. But your family opened their hearts to me and made me feel like I mattered and that's something I will always carry with me. I have never known finer, more decent people than you and your family, and especially your son, and wherever I go, you will be the standard by which I judge others. I could never say this before, but I want you to know your time and energy wasn't wasted. I will keep in touch occasionally, if that's all right, but I promise not to turn into a stalker or anything. An occasional note or phone call will be enough to keep me from going into withdrawal. I love you both and I'll always be grateful for the things you've helped me learn. Love always, Fox." Skinner had walked himself and the portable phone into the spare bedroom as his mother was reading. Now, he stood in front of the open, empty closet. A few days ago, it held some of Mulder's suits and shirts, enough to keep him going for about a week, in a pinch. He opened a drawer in the dresser and saw it too was empty. No socks or underwear, no tee-shirts or running clothes. The sneakers that were generally in the middle of the floor were absent. A framed photo had been sitting on top of the dresser, a picture of Mulder and the Skinner brothers at some family event or another. That, too, was missing. "I—I'm not sure what to make of all that," he told his parents honestly. "But I promise to get to the bottom of it and get back to you as soon as I can okay? I love you. I'll call soon." He disconnected and sat down, heavily, on the meticulously made up bed. The spare room now looked exactly as it had more than two years ago, before one Fox Mulder moved himself out of the basement of the Hoover building and partially into the A.D.'s home. . . and completely into his heart. Skinner knew without a doubt he'd somehow led Mulder to believe he was sending him home for good. As he sat there, rerunning every sentence he'd uttered and berating himself for being insensitive, he noticed an envelope, propped up on the nightstand. His name was scrawled on the front and the AD quickly tore it open. "Dear Sir, It seems kind of strange to write that, like I'm sending a letter of complaint for a bag of stale potato chips. I just wanted to tell you that I know about the restructuring, and that the X-files are going to be assigned to someone else. And I know you can't tell me about it officially, but I got the message you were sending the other night. Both of them. I just want to say that I have learned a lot, despite what you may think. I know I didn't get as far as you wanted, but I'm a different person, better than I was before. And I have you to thank for that. I won't forget all the things you taught me. I think I'll even do a better job for my next Assistant Director, thanks to you. The past six years, working for you, were the best of my career. And the last two years, well, let's just say I'll always remember them as the best years of my life. Thank you for letting me be part of your family for a while. Love, Fox Skinner felt a rush of emotion run through him, and tears sprang to his eyes. He shook his head as he reread the words before him. He knew intuitively that whatever he'd said the other night had caused the younger man to jump to an erroneous conclusion. And whatever rumors were flying about regarding the restructuring, that had been the icing on the cake. He stood and headed out of the bedroom, racing for his front door. He thought about calling Mulder, to keep him from having another minute of uncertainty, but Skinner knew in his heart this conversation had to be held in person. He needed to see Mulder to be certain he was getting through. He needed to be able to hold him if he needed it, or shake him, if that's what it took. The Assistant Director made it to Alexandria in less time than he'd ever driven the route. He pulled up in front of Mulder's building and jumped out of the car. He got to Mulder's apartment door and knocked loudly. When no one answered, he knocked again, then took out his key to Mulder's apartment and let himself in. A quick search convinced him Mulder was not there and Skinner thought about waiting for him. But the current state of their relationship, or at least Mulder's current understanding of it, made it feel wrong to just hang out in the other man's home. So the AD locked the door behind him and went downstairs. He decided to wait on the front porch and took a seat on the steps. It was after nine o'clock. How late could Mulder be out? By 12:30, he was seriously reconsidering that decision. It had grown chilly and Skinner was feeling it. In addition, the local police had come by to see what he was doing. Some neighbor of Mulder's apparently thought he looked 'suspicious,' and called them. It was on such occasions an FBI credential, particularly an Assistant Director's, came in handy. But Skinner also considered that it was Friday night, and Mulder might even have gone away for the weekend. He began to think about leaving a note, and trying again tomorrow. As he sat there, a solitary figure came shuffling along the street from the parking lot beside the building, his eyes on his own feet, lost in thought. He started at the sight that greeted him when he reached the front steps. "Sir!" Mulder exclaimed when he saw who was sitting on his porch. "What-- what are you doing here?" "Freezing my butt off, Mulder," the AD responded. "Where have you been?" Mulder was visibly surprised by the question. "Out. With the Gunmen. Did you need me for something? I had my cell phone." Skinner stood and stepped aside to let the younger agent get to his front door. His glazed eyes showed that Mulder had been drinking, but the AD noted he was steady on his feet. "I didn't want to call you, Mulder. I wanted to see you. May I come in?" Mulder looked at him in surprise, but he nodded quickly. They headed to the fourth floor apartment and Mulder offered to make coffee. "No. I don't want coffee. I want to speak to you. Right now." Mulder nodded, but his eyes betrayed his fear. He didn't want to hear what the other man had to say, he wanted to avoid it as long as possible. But it was like Skinner to come here to tell him he was transferred to another AD in person. So he steeled himself and nodded again. "Sit down," Skinner directed, motioning to the couch. Mulder did as he was told. The Assistant Director took off his coat and seated himself on the coffee table, directly in front of him. He appeared to be unsure how to begin and Mulder was suddenly anxious to get it over with. So he could be alone. If this went on too long, he might break down and-- "This is about the restructuring, isn't it?" he blurted. "You didn't have to come here to tell me about it, sir--" "Mulder, the restructuring you heard about doesn't affect any headquarters group-" A stunned look passed over the younger agent's face, briefly. "It doesn't? But I thought. . . . SAC Adler said you were gonna--" Skinner frowned. "What did Adler say?" "Oh, nothing, really," Mulder replied quickly. "I . . . probably just jumped to a wrong conclusion, sir." He was certain Adler had meant him to reach exactly that conclusion but didn't want to involve the AD in his battle with the St. Louis SAC. "I'm just glad . . . I'm just glad we'll still be working together. I wasn't looking forward to breaking in another Assistant Director." "Mulder, I don't want you to take this the wrong way but. . . other A.D.'s aren't exactly standing in line trying to get the X-files," Skinner responded with a half smile. "You, they might be willing to take, now that they see what you have to offer. And Scully, too. But your files . . . that's another story!" Mulder couldn't stop the smile that came to his lips at the other man's comment. It felt good to speak to him, even if it was only about work. He would miss the easy camaraderie they'd developed in their personal relationship. Some time over the past two years, Skinner had become his closest friend and there was no one standing in line to take that place either. The thought hit him hard and he found himself choking up, and fighting hard to keep it from being apparent. Skinner was lost in his own thoughts. He was not good at this kind of stuff. What had Sharon called it? The 'Skinner fear of intimacy back step.' He'd let it happen with her and paid dearly. He was not about to let it happen with this young man, not if he could help it. "Mulder, I don't know what I said the other night. . . . that made you think. . . ." He stopped, wanting to start again. "This was a stressful week for me, Mulder. Probably the most difficult week of the entire year. And the way I deal with stress, well, I don't blow up. Or drink too much. I just . . . shut down. I concentrate all my energy on whatever I have to get done, to the exclusion of just about everything else. I'm not saying it's a good way to be, but I'd be lying if I didn't own up to it. I've been like that my whole life." Mulder was staring at him intensely, as if every word were visible as it left the A.D.'s mouth. "And I did that to you this week, kid. I told you you were gonna stay with me so we could get you back on track. So we could get back into the routines and . . . standards we've established. And then I didn't do what I promised. I wasn't giving you the kind of attention you needed. And the other day, I realized it. That's all I was trying to say, when I told you you could go home. I thought you were expecting something I didn't think I could deliver last week. Hell, I knew I wasn't delivering on that commitment. And I thought. . . you were feeling alone and neglected--" "That's not what I thought," Mulder exclaimed suddenly. "I thought you were . . . tired of having me around. Tired of all the crap that comes with me, of the fact that I just don't learn." He began to break down, the relief of finally communicating his fear knocking down the last wall of resolve. "I thought that, after what I wrote in 'the lesson book,' you thought I wasn't salvageable and you wanted to end our 'deal'--I know how you and your family feel about dishonesty--" Skinner slid over onto the couch next to Mulder. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around the other man and felt him shaking as the dam collapsed and a wave of emotions poured forth from him. He buried his head in the A.D.'s shoulder and whispered. "I was afraid you st-stopped. . . loving me." Skinner pulled him tighter into the circle of his muscled arms, wanting to physically reassure him, looking for the right words. "Mulder," he said gently, "why couldn't you just say that the other night? You're a much more verbal person than I am. Why couldn't you just ask me what I meant?" Mulder shook his head into the A.D.'s shoulder and Skinner felt, rather than heard, his silent response. "Why, Mulder?" he pressed again. "Because. Because . . . . I was just too scared," he replied softly, collapsing into sobs that seemed to come from some wellspring Skinner had never seen before. The older man decided not to probe any further tonight. He just held him, waiting for his sobbing to diminish, then shook him gently. "Come on, Mulder," he said quietly. "I'll help you pack a bag. I want you to come home. We can bring the rest of your things back later." It was nearly two in the morning when he finally got the younger man back to the Crystal City apartment and into bed. Skinner himself collapsed from exhaustion the minute his head hit the pillow and both of them slept well into the morning. When Mulder entered the kitchen at mid-morning, the AD had pancakes and sausages on the grill, and a glass of fresh orange juice waiting at Mulder's place. They ate a companionable breakfast over the morning paper, but there was still a pall hanging over the two men. One Skinner was not willing to let linger. He suggested they visit the gym and the physical activity did a lot to relax the AD He'd been stressed and sedentary all week, two things that worked together to make him like a caged animal. A couple of hours of heavy lifting and running on the treadmill left him feeling like a new man. Mulder went along and swam in the pool for an hour, then half-heartedly lifted some weights, just waiting for the other man to finish his workout. His hangovers, the one from too much tequila, and the one that followed his outpouring of emotion, had abated only partially. They returned to the apartment and Skinner decided it was time to finish the discussion they'd begun the night before. He entered the living room after checking for messages on his machine, taking the TV remote out of Mulder's hand and clicking the set off. "You still haven't answered my question, kid," he said, seating himself in a leather armchair by the window. Mulder stared at him, his eyes wide with surprise. "What question was that, sir?" "Don't give me that," Skinner said quickly. "You know what I'm talking about. And you've already got 'driving under the influence of alcohol' on your scorecard. Don't add 'giving me attitude.' That would be a mistake--" "I didn't mean it to come out as attitude," Mulder replied just as swiftly. "And I wasn't drunk--" "I didn't say you were. I said you were under the influence. I've been in law enforcement long enough to recognize it when I see it. Especially when it's you, Mulder. And we've talked about it--" "I didn't expect to see you last night, sir," Mulder said morosely. Skinner picked his head up and stared directly at the young agent. "-- not that that's an excuse," Mulder quickly added. Skinner relaxed back into the armchair. He wasn't certain how to get the younger man to tell him what he needed to know. What Mulder needed to share with him, but just couldn't seem to get out. The AD had called his father first thing in the morning and asked him to read Mulder's entry in 'the lesson book.' It was not terribly surprising to Skinner that Mulder wrote that lying was second nature to him. He'd spent a lifetime putting on a face that covered all the things below the surface. The Assistant Director had asked Mulder to profile himself once and he'd gotten a good glimpse into the fear and guilt and shame that bubbled beneath the sardonic exterior he presented to the world. And in the more than two years since he'd grown personally close to him, Mulder had occasionally revealed a little more of the wounded heart and soul he hid from virtually everyone. But Skinner was still perplexed, by the fact that someone who was such a skilled and articulate communicator could fail to communicate about something that was obviously so important to him. To someone he must know he could trust. "Mulder," he said quietly. "We need to talk about this. I'm . . . confused. And, to be honest, I'm a little frustrated that you still don't entirely accept that I'm here for you. I'm not going away. You knew that when you drove up to my parents' place last weekend. That was a show of trust on your part. And I appreciated it. What changed?" Mulder dropped his head and focused his attention on the floor. He shook his head to indicate he didn't know the answer. "Not good enough," Skinner said tersely. "You know. And I have to know, too. Otherwise, this is just gonna keep happening. If I'm pushing buttons I don't know about, how will I know what to stop doing?" Mulder blinked back tears and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and began to speak, his voice so low and monotone that Skinner had to lean forward to catch it all. "You're right about how you get silent when you're under stress, sir," he began. "You were real quiet on Sunday. Then it just got worse. And . . . I don't deal well with silence." Skinner was surprised at this information. He'd grown to think Mulder was adept with silence, wielded it as a weapon with a mastery few could match. The AD had been the target of that weapon more than once in his dealings with the younger man. "My parents fought a lot when I was a kid," he continued. "Their arguments were always loud and emotional. They were . . . volatile people when they were first angry. But their anger always cooled into something else. Long, angry silences. Sometimes it went on for weeks, the silence. My mother would say, "Fox, go tell your father this." And then my father would listen and tell me, "Go tell your mother that." I was always the messenger, never Sam. I'm glad they spared her that." Skinner watched him carefully, waiting for a sign that this remembrance might be too painful for him. But he continued speaking in a detached, unemotional tone. "After Samantha . . . was gone, something changed. They didn't seem to fight so much, they just stopped speaking to each other. And then I became the lightning rod for the anger. Especially for my father. . . . He'd get angry and let me have it. Sometimes I wasn't entirely sure why-- But the worst part was when I did something and they just stopped talking to me. Sometime it would be a few days. Sometimes it would be longer. I'd do all these things to try to get some response. I'd bring home good grades. Or clean up the yard or mow the lawn. But it never made a difference. If they were still angry, it was like I didn't exist. So occasionally I'd just get into trouble. Once my Dad had to come to the school when I got suspended. He didn't say a word to me, he only talked to the Principal. Then he didn't say anything to me on the way home, or when we got there. Not even "Go to your room." Nothing." Skinner's heart went out to Mulder as he listened to him recite this story as though it were someone else's. As though it were some suspect's life. It occurred to him that, if this was a suspect Mulder was talking about, he'd probably show a little more sympathy for the man. "So I get a little . . . scared and maybe I don't think as clearly as I should when someone goes silent on me, sir," he said, clearing his throat and looking up to make eye contact with the Assistant Director. "I'm sorry about that." "Mulder, you don't have to apologize. I owe you an apology, I think. I know I get uncommunicative. I just never thought it would affect you so much. Now that I know, I'll try not to let it happen, okay?" Mulder stared at him for a few seconds, then nodded slightly. A single tear worked its way down his cheek and he reached up and brushed it away with the back of his hand. "But you have to promise me, if I forget, you'll ask me what's going on," Skinner continued. "Can we agree on that, kid?" Mulder dropped his eyes once again and he began to rub his hands on the legs of his jeans nervously. "What is it, Fox?" Skinner asked him gently, sensing there was something more but knowing the young man was not going to go there voluntarily. "Why can't you just ask me, if something happens that doesn't make sense to you? Do you trust me when I tell you I love you? That I'll always be here for you?" Mulder jumped a little at the use of his first name. It was generally a sign that Skinner was very serious, or angry. His eyes darted around the floor, as though he looking for an escape hatch. If the floor opened up and swallowed him right now, he'd be okay with it. "This is important," the AD continued. "I want us to resolve this, once and for all, son. I don't want you, or me, to go through another week like this." Mulder felt tears spring to his eyes, tears he'd been fighting back until this moment. He continued to stare at his hands but in his peripheral vision, he saw Skinner rise and take two strides over to the couch. He sat down and laid a hand on Mulder's shoulder. "I'll keep asking until you tell me, Mulder," he said again. "Why can't you just talk to me when things like this happen?" Mulder swallowed convulsively and became visibly agitated. But Skinner was clearly not backing down and finally, the young man relented, wanting to get it out. To tell the AD and be done with it. Like an infected boil that just needed to be lanced. He swallowed hard and began. "When I was about 16, I got in some trouble on the Vineyard. Nothing criminal, just mischief. I was just so . . . tired of everything. My Mom was a wreck after Samantha was taken. I reminded her of what she lost so she . . . pulled away from me, to protect herself from the pain." Skinner listened to him rationalize Teena Mulder's actions and, as hard as he tried, he just couldn't excuse a woman cutting off her child for that reason. Or any reason. "And my Dad just seemed to be mad at me most of the time. I thought he blamed me for not protecting Sam. Now I know he felt guilty about his involvement but then . . . I thought it was because he hated me for letting them take her. So neither of them really talked to me much to begin with. And when they were mad, they didn't speak to me at all. After the police brought me home that time, no one spoke to me for 17 days." The Assistant Director was barely breathing, not wanting to do anything to stop this stream of consciousness recollection. But 17 days! And he knew it exactly. Not two weeks, not three but 17 days. "I couldn't stand it any longer and I came home from a baseball game one Friday night. We'd just beaten our biggest rival and I played really well. Four hits, including a home run. I was feeling good. And really . . . up. When I got home, my parents were talking in the living room and I went in and interrupted them. I told them how sorry I was about the incident with the police, and how it wouldn't happen again. They just stared at me. I got a little . . . nervous when they didn't say anything and I think I started to babble a little. And at some point I said, "Well, I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry. And, you know, make sure you still love me. . . "" Fat, silent tears were streaming down both of his cheeks now and he was staring at the floor in front of him, as if he was seeing the entire thing. "Neither one of them said anything. They just looked uncomfortable . . . . The room was deathly silent. So I just went upstairs to my room. The next day my Mom told me about the divorce. If I think about it objectively, I guess they were both so focused on what was going on with them, they couldn't deal with me at that point. And I never . . . . asked. . . . again--" His voice broke and he shook his head angrily, fighting off the emotions that were overwhelming him. And losing the battle Acting without conscious thought, Skinner reached out and pulled Mulder into his arms. He felt the younger man collapse against his chest and bury his head in the A.D.'s shoulder. "It's okay, kid," he said, feeling tears run down his own face as he hugged the younger man as hard as he could without squeezing the breath right out of him. "I can only imagine how much that hurt. And I don't know how long it will take you to really believe this, but that will never happen with me. And you can take as long as you like, and test me as many ways as you need to. That will never happen." He let Mulder cry out a lifetime of pain as he held him in his arms. The younger man didn't speak any more and Skinner's words were limited to the kind of soothing noises that would reassure him and begin to calm him. But it took longer than the AD would have thought and he watched the afternoon sun turn to shadows outside his building as they sat there. After what seemed like forever, Mulder's well of tears ran dry and he began to look like he would sink into unconsciousness right there. Skinner thought about trying to get him into the bedroom, but he honestly didn't think the younger man would make it. And, despite an extra 25 pounds on his frame, the Assistant Director wasn't certain he could easily carry someone as tall as he was. So he grabbed a throw pillow, propped it up against the arm of the couch and pushed Mulder gently into a prone position. Then he got up and pulled a blanket out of the closet and threw it over the now sleeping younger agent. The AD reached down and pushed a stray lock of hair off his forehead. Not for the first time, Skinner mused that it was a miracle Mulder functioned at all, given the circumstances of his life and the traumas he'd experienced. In his way, he was a testament to the kind of strength and resilience that set some men apart from their peers. Men who saved nations. Or worlds. Skinner prayed this one would hold together long enough to accomplish his destiny. And he prayed even harder that once he had, he'd find the wherewithal to allow himself some happiness and peace of mind. The AD resolved once again to do everything in his power to assure that outcome. Mulder slept for nearly five hours on the couch. Skinner checked on him frequently, then finally took a seat in the armchair and began to catch up on some technical reading. He heard the younger man stir at just past 7 o'clock and he put down the law journal and smiled at him. "What time--?" Mulder asked, startled that it was growing dark outside. "How long did I sleep?" "As long as you needed to, Mulder," Skinner told him. "How do you feel?" Mulder dropped his eyes, remembering the scene just before he'd conked out. "I'm . . . okay," he said slowly. "I'm sorry about that--" "Nothing to be sorry about," Skinner said meaningfully. "I'm glad you told me what you told me. It will help me know what not to do in the future." He rose and went to stand over the younger man, laying a hand on his head. "I'll start dinner while you wash up. Come into the kitchen when you're ready and give me some help, all right?" He left Mulder sitting there, thinking he might need a little time alone. Hoping it wouldn't be too long. In about 5 minutes he heard the shower go on and relaxed. He'd been afraid Mulder might run. That was often his first response to awkward situations. Skinner continued adding ingredients to the chop meat he would make into hamburger patties. The AD was not an accomplished cook but he could make a few things about as well as anybody. And hamburgers were at the top of that list. He heated the grill on the stove and pulled tomatoes, onions and various condiments out of the refrigerator while he waited for Mulder to join him in the kitchen. He was unsure how to handle Mulder right now and he decided he'd just have to play it by ear, letting the other man set the tone and content of their conversation over dinner. Which he did, although it wasn't much conversation. Mulder was subdued and seemed wrung out, to Skinner's mind. Release of strong emotions always left him like that, the AD knew, and this afternoon he offloaded a burden he'd been carrying for more than twenty years. Carrying alone until today. As subdued as he seemed, the older man thought he also seemed more at home here than he ever had. They finished their meal and Skinner suggested a walk to the video store. It was a pleasant evening, warm for the time of year, and they walked the six blocks at a leisurely pace. The streets were filled with other people on their way to or from dinner, or the movies, or the coffee bars in the area. Washington, D.C. is at its best in the spring, even when you're nowhere near the cherry trees, Skinner found himself thinking idly. He let Mulder pick the movie and was even willing to overlook it if he picked something X-rated tonight. But he chose "Bull Durham," a favorite of the A.D.'s, and Skinner found himself thinking it was the perfect choice. At it's best and most basic level, baseball truly did hold the meaning of life. They stopped at an ice cream store and bought a couple of pints of ice cream and all the nuts, sprinkles and gooey stuff they had to offer before heading home. Skinner dished up the ice cream while Mulder got the movie started. Then they spent a couple of hours absorbed in the movie. When it ended, it was almost 11 o'clock and Mulder pushed the 'rewind' button on the remote and stood up. "I guess it's past time for me to turn in, huh?" he asked. "I think it's just the right time, Mulder. Good choice on the movie, kid." Mulder gave him a grateful smile and headed for the bedroom. Skinner switched the television on, looking for the local news. They were up to the sports report when Mulder called out from the bedroom. "Sir?" "What is it, Mulder?" "Are you . . . um. . . " Skinner stood and went to the door of the bedroom. He looked in, puzzled. Mulder was standing next to the bed, wearing a pair of yellow cotton pajama bottoms and a tee shirt. "I just wondered when you were coming in," he said quietly. Skinner realized he'd done it again, failed to communicate adequately. And now Mulder was confused, expecting punishment. "I'm sorry, Mulder. I . . . was expecting you to read my mind again," he said lightly. "Not that you don't manage to pull it off fairly frequently, but . . . I shouldn't count on it! You had a tough day, kid. I'm not going to--" "Oh, but you have to!" Mulder exclaimed quickly. He blushed furiously and began to stare at his bare feet. "I-- it's just that, you said I need to get back in a routine. And--" Skinner took a step further into the room. "We can get back to that tomorrow," he said softly. "I don't want to add to the emotional overload you've already experienced today. I wouldn't feel--" He stopped, seeing how stricken the younger man appeared. "What's wrong, son?" Mulder's eyes had clouded over and he had begun to worry his bottom lip as the AD spoke. "I shouldn't have told you! What I told you this afternoon, I knew I shouldn't have told you--" Skinner closed the distance between them in a single stride and placed his hands on the younger man's shoulders, demanding his attention with the sheer power of his physical presence. "Yes, you should have, Mulder. It was important for me to know. And it was important for you to get it out--" "But not if it's gonna change things!" the younger man said, stepping back from Skinner. "Not if it's gonna make you feel so sorry for me, you'll start treating me different! Like there's something wrong with me! I knew I shouldn't have told you--" Skinner processed this new information quickly and recognized that he'd miscalculated yet again in dealing with the complicated young man in front of him. He stepped closer to Mulder and pulled him into a hug, one the younger agent started to fight off. But Skinner was having none of that. "I'm sorry, kid," he said softly. "I didn't think it through. You're absolutely right. If I start treating you differently, it will negate all the things I've said to you before. I wasn't planning to change things permanently, I just thought I'd give you a reprieve for tonight. But you were right to call me on that," he said, smiling as he felt Mulder cease struggling and let himself be embraced. He held him for another 30 seconds, then pushed him back to arm's length and looked directly into his eyes. "This one's gonna be more than a bedtime spanking, too. We have something big to deal with, right?" Mulder blinked once, then nodded his head. "Okay," the AD said, stepping back and reaching to unbuckle his belt. "You know how this goes." Skinner pulled his belt out of the loops in his jeans, then sat on the bed as Mulder came around and knelt at his right side. Working together, they got the younger man into position across the Assistant Director's knees and Skinner reached up and caressed the back of his head once before he spoke again. "What's this strapping for?" he asked in his sternest tone. "For drinking and driving!" Mulder replied instantly, as the belt found its target, the fleshy center of his backside. "Oww! Oucchhh! Ahhhhh! I should know better! Unhhhh! Owwww!" He had begun to cry almost immediately, but Skinner could tell from the sound it was more from relief at getting back into their routine as from the pain of a few licks from the leather belt. "You could have hurt yourself," the AD said firmly as he continued to apply the strap to the younger man's rapidly reddening bottom. "Or someone else! Or you could have been arrested! And you've already got a couple of moving violations, Mulder. One more and you could have your license suspended!" "I know! I'm sorry!" he sobbed as the belt continued to strike his backside. "I'll never do it again!" "That's what you said the last time," Skinner responded, aiming a couple of licks at the spot where his butt met the top of his thighs. This lesson was one he wanted learned, tonight, once and for all. This incident had not been as severe as the last time Mulder had done something like this. Then, he'd been too drunk even to walk steadily. But this was serious, nonetheless. "If we ever have to deal with this issue again, Mulder, I promise you won't sit down for a month. Do you understand me?" "Yes! I understand! Owwww! Oucchhh! I-- I understand! Unnhhhh!" "Anything else you're being punished for, Mulder?" "Ohhhh! For-- for not calling in every night! Oucchhh! And-- Ahhhhh! And for opening the new case without getting the paperwork approved! Unhhhhh!" Skinner brought the belt down hard for that one. He was pleased to hear Mulder clearly knew that was something he wasn't supposed to do any more. Something he'd obviously done this week knowing it would rile the AD "What else is this strapping for, Mulder?" "For-- for packing up my things and leaving the other day! I'm sorry, sir!" he sobbed, with even more feeling. Skinner stopped in mid-swing and immediately dropped the belt on the bed. "No, I'm not punishing you for that, kid," he said. "That was an error on both our parts." He pulled up Mulder's pajamas and gently slid him onto his own knees. Gathering the sobbing young man into his arms, he pulled him into a hug and continued to speak. "The only thing you did wrong was not talking to me. Not asking me what I meant. But now that I know. . . what I know. I'll try not to let it happen again. And I'll expect you to talk to me, when something happens you don't understand. But that's not a punishable offense, son." He felt Mulder's sobbing begin to diminish, and he nodded his head into the A.D.'s shoulder. "Well, not unless you do it again," Skinner continued, a smile coming to his face. "Now that we have our understanding, if it ever happens again, you better believe there'll be punishment." He reached over and pulled the covers down on the bed with his left arm and Mulder instinctively followed his lead. He slipped into bed and turned onto his side, facing the AD, with his arm curled under his head. Skinner pulled the covers up over him and sat down on the edge of the bed. "I want to make sure you understand that. I expect you to talk to me when you're feeling confused, or overwhelmed. I promise you, no matter how busy I am, I'll make time for you." Mulder dropped his head and lowered his eyes as if he was still unconvinced. Skinner watched him for few seconds, to see if he'd respond as he hoped but he seemed lost in his own thoughts. Not willing to let this message to go unheard, he reached over and cupped his hand under the younger man's chin, forcing him to make eye contact. "Listen to me, Fox William. I want to make certain you understand this," he said meaningfully. "If you need me, you tell me. I'll always make time for talking. . . . Or I can make time for spanking. At the end of the day, it's always your choice, kid." Mulder blinked, then a sheepish half-smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "I promise to aim for talking, sir," he said. "Good," the Assistant Director told him, betraying a hint of amusement. "Let's hope your aim's better than your last results from the Bureau firing range would indicate!" "That's not fair, sir," he said. "I was using an unfamiliar weapon--" Skinner's eyes narrowed. He actually knew this story but Mulder didn't know he knew. "And why weren't you using your own weapon?" "Uh, no reason, sir," he replied hastily. "I think I'll go to sleep now, if that's okay with you." "That's fine, Mulder," the AD said fondly, brushing the hair back off of the young man's forehead. "Tomorrow you can spend some time putting together a list of things you haven't told me yet, like the gun thing. We've got all week to deal with any open items. And if we need more time, you're welcome to stay as long as it takes." Sleep was rapidly overtaking the younger agent. "That sounds good, sir," he replied, yawning. "It won't be a very long list . . . . " Skinner stood and couldn't help the grin that spread across his face as he made his way to the door. Closing the light, he stood and watched the figure in the bed fall instantly to sleep. THE END