The Danville Series
by Cadillac Red



Several weeks later
Walter Skinner's Apartment
Crystal City, Virginia

"Stop fussing, Mulder," Skinner growled as the younger man tried to 
give him yet another pillow on which to rest his still immobilized 
arm. "I came back to my place to get away from my parents doing 
exactly this!"

Mulder had driven the AD back from Danville the day before and he'd 
moved enough of his stuff in to the other man's apartment earlier to 
insure he'd be able to stay as long as needed. He had only to return 
to his own apartment to feed the fish every other day or so. He had 
missed the other man a great deal, while he was in Pennsylvania 
recuperating and now he felt compelled to show him, and to make up for 
the fact he'd been injured looking out for the younger agent's 
interest. 

Skinner had somehow convinced his doctor that he could go back to work 
part-time and today had been the first day of that reduced schedule. 
And, of course, the man had stayed until just past 5 o'clock. Now he 
was obviously exhausted and uncomfortable . . . . and irritable, to 
boot.

"I'm just trying to help, sir," Mulder answered patiently. "Do you 
want me to help you to bed?"

"No! I can figure out when to go to bed myself, Mulder! Just sit down 
and relax, okay? Jeez, you'd think you'd be the last one to be bugging 
me under the circumstances. You hate it when it happens to you. And it 
happens enough--"

"Yeah, but that doesn't ever stop you, does it, sir?" Mulder asked 
with a sly grin.

"Watch it, kid," Skinner answered, relaxing again and leaning back to 
rest on the pillows. "You may be the one getting sent to bed--"

Mulder snorted. "Yeah, and what Marine platoon are you gonna get to 
pull that off, huh?" he laughed easily. "No offense, but you're not 
exactly in peak physical condition right now. . . ."

Skinner sighed and closed his eyes. "Yeah, but I will be soon. And I 
have a very good memory, Mulder."

The Assistant Director's recuperation was moving along, but his arm 
and shoulder were healing slowly. He was incapable of doing even 
simple things for himself with one arm incapacitated, but he was also 
not a man who asked for, or accepted, help readily. His temper was 
short and everything Mulder did seemed to annoy him. But he was also 
very introspective, focused so internally that he failed to even note 
the little things Mulder did that would normally catch his attention 
and result in some discipline. At first Mulder tested with small 
things, like leaving the milk out of the refrigerator and sitting up 
half the night watching television. Neither brought even a mild rebuke 
from the other man.

Next he tried opening a new case, one that would require him and 
Scully to travel to Honolulu. There was very little in the way of 
evidence that a spirit figure from an ancient Polynesian myth was 
responsible for the death of several tourists but it was remotely 
possible. And mostly he just wanted to see if Skinner would take his 
head off for suggesting a vacation at government expense. But the 
other man had read his request and called him and Scully into the 
office. "Have a good time," he said. "If it doesn't turn out to be an 
X-file, take a couple of days of vacation before coming back. You both 
deserve it."

Scully had gone right out and bought a new bathing suit and begun to 
pack. But Mulder did some further research and determined a very human 
serial killer was to blame. And his profile helped the local Bureau 
office catch the suspect even before their plane was scheduled to 
leave. Scully was not exactly angry at him but. . . . "You couldn't 
have waited until we got there to roll that profile out, Mulder?" 
she'd asked with a loud sigh.

After that, it had been like go-cart ride to hell. He was on a 
downward slide that just kept picking up speed, yet nothing he did 
seemed to capture the attention of the Assistant Director. At some 
logical center of his brain, Mulder knew the other man was struggling, 
with the fact of his own mortality, and the reality that he was not as 
young as he used to be. He was recuperating slower than he ever 
anticipated. And he was wrestling with the need to rely on others, his 
family, Mulder, his assistant, Kim. Skinner was not a man who dealt 
well with constraints and these conditions were constraining him 
beyond his patience. Mulder knew this all intellectually. But however 
the younger agent tried to rationalize the situation, at his emotional 
core he was feeling abandoned and rejected. 

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

FBI Headquarters
Friday morning, May 6
10 a.m.

Mulder picked up the ringing phone in his office. Scully was on her 
way to the lab and he was reviewing yet another potential X-file case. 
"Mulder."

"Hi, Mulder, it's Joe."

"Hi, Joe. Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. Except I just heard you and Walter aren't 
coming up to Danville for Mother's Day weekend," Joe responded. "And I 
just wanted to make sure everything's okay there."

Mulder was stunned to hear this news. He'd assumed they would go to 
Danville. And that he'd be driving, given the A.D.'s condition. "I 
don't know anything about it," Mulder replied slowly. "I haven't 
spoken to him. . . ."

"Walter told my Dad earlier today. He said you might be out of town 
and he couldn't get here. So I called him and offered to drive down 
and get him but he kind of begged off. Said something about lots of 
work to catch up on. And not feeling quite up to it. So I thought I'd 
check with you, to see what's going on with him. He sounded . . . kind 
of preoccupied."

Mulder was surprised, and confused, by this news. And hurt that 
Skinner hadn't even consulted him on the decision to stay in 
Washington for the weekend. His head searched for a logical 
explanation but his heart was heavy with worry about what this all 
meant. He'd been unable to get even a minimal rise out of the other 
man in the weeks since he'd been out of the hospital. No matter what 
he did, Skinner just seemed to look the other way. He was physically 
unable to punish the younger agent, Mulder knew that. But the fact is, 
he hadn't even mentioned any of the things Mulder had done wrong in 
the past weeks, hadn't even noticed them. For the first time in a long 
time, Mulder felt adrift and alone and without a grounding force.

"Mulder? Are you still there?"

"What? Oh, Joe! Yeah, I was just thinking. I might . . . be out of 
town this weekend after all. I guess that's why he said he couldn't 
make it up there. But if you or Doug or someone drove down to get him, 
I'm sure he'd want to be there for your Mom."

Mulder hung up after exchanging a little more family news he couldn't 
now remember. Then he sat back, trying to decide what to do next. It 
had been so long since he'd had a holiday weekend to himself, he could 
hardly remember what he'd done. Visiting his own mother crossed his 
mind but he remembered from a conversation last week that she was 
spending a theater weekend in New York City with friends. Scully had 
plans to be with her mother, too. The Gunmen were probably free but 
somehow that option didn't hold much appeal. Perhaps he'd just spend 
an entire weekend at his place. God knows, there were plenty of things 
that needed doing there.

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

Fox Mulder's Apartment
Saturday, May 7
2:30 p.m.

Mulder returned from a long run feeling no less anxious and stressed 
out than when he'd gone out over an hour ago. His apartment was 
cleaner than it had been in years, he thought to himself. And it was 
still afternoon. "Now what?" he murmured out loud. He sniffed his 
sweaty tee shirt and decided a shower might be in order and headed 
into the bathroom. Turning the water on, he stepped into a hot shower 
and let the water pound the tension out of the muscles on his neck and 
back. He didn't know how long he stayed there, but he spent a good 
long while just trying to get out of his own head. And away from his 
feelings of rejection and loneliness. They'd been familiar companions 
for many years but not in a long time and he let them wash over him 
with the needle pulse of the shower.

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

Walter Skinner's Apartment
Saturday, May 7
3:40 p.m.

Skinner woke on his couch with a start. His head was still pounding, 
despite the four aspirin he swallowed before dozing off a couple of 
hours earlier. He rolled over onto his good side and pushed himself up 
from the sofa with his left arm. He was wearing sweats and was 
barechested. Without Mulder around to help him get dressed, he was 
unable to handle much more than that. And that alone was enough to set 
his teeth on edge. The fact that he needed to rely on someone else for 
help getting dressed, did not sit well with the fiercely independent 
AD

And the fact that his wayward young charge was nowhere in sight was 
weighing on him in other ways. Mulder hadn't even called to say he 
wasn't coming home last night. Or this morning. Skinner was angry. But 
he also knew he'd been hell to live with lately, and the younger man 
just might need some freedom and space this weekend. So he hadn't 
picked up the phone to call, afraid the anger might be the first thing 
to emerge in any conversation with Mulder. 

Buzzzzz! Buzzzz! His doorman was signaling. He knew immediately that 
must have been what woke him up. He went to the house phone and 
answered it. "Yes, Skinner."

"Mr. Skinner? Your father is here."

Skinner's eyebrow rose. He wasn't expecting anyone, except maybe the 
absent Fox Mulder. "Send him right up, Carlos," he answered quickly, 
wondering what in the world would have brought his father to 
Washington unexpectedly. He went right to the front door and opened 
it, waiting for the bell on the elevator to sound. When he heard it, 
he stepped out into the hallway.

"Hi," he said immediately. "Is anything wrong?"

Walter, Sr. gave his son a look that the younger man recognized from a 
lifetime of experience. "Yes. Something's definitely wrong," he said, 
walking past the AD and into the apartment. Skinner closed the door 
and followed him in.

"What's wrong, Dad? Is everyone okay?"

The older man looked around the apartment, then took a seat in one of 
the chairs. "No, everyone's not okay. In fact, I'm beginning to wonder 
if the entire family's going crazy."

A surprised look flitted over Skinner's face and he sat down heavily 
on the sofa. "What do you mean, Dad?"

"Well, where should I start? You suddenly decide you're not coming 
home for Mother's Day. No explanation to your mother, at least not one 
that makes any sense. And Fox is gonna be out of town, although he 
never indicated that when we spoke to him earlier this week. Then Joe 
offers to come down and get you, but you say no. And he talks to Fox, 
who is first surprised to hear he's going to be out of town, but then 
suddenly remembers it. Only when your mother called him earlier today, 
he hadn't left town yet. You're here, alone, with an injury that, at 
the very least, makes it difficult for you to do just about anything. 
I'm beginning to think neither one of you has the sense to come in out 
of the rain. And my wife is trying very hard not to look like she's 
upset about neither of you coming home for Mother's Day. Despite the 
fact we're all incredibly grateful you're still alive to share it. If 
you could make the time in your busy schedule."

Skinner opened his mouth to answer but immediately thought better of 
it. He'd had many discussions like this with his father over the years 
and never managed to win the man over to his side. Especially not when 
his side was so piss-poor it didn't really deserve defending. He 
decided to capitulate, partly because it was his father, and partly 
because he had no excuse for the entire situation. He ran his good 
hand over his face and tried to stretch a kink out of his neck.

"You're absolutely right, Dad. About everything. I . . . don't know 
how I let this get so out of hand."

Walter, Sr. smiled. "Well, you've been through a lot in recent weeks, 
son. I can see how you might be a little off your game. . . . Why 
don't you get ready to go and I'll take a ride by Fox's place in the 
meantime."

Now Skinner laughed out loud. "Dad, he's liable to have heart failure 
if you show up at his door under the circumstances! And we have a deal 
that only one of us can be recuperating at a time. . . . Help me pack 
and I'll go along with you, okay?"

The older man drew in a deep breath and exhaled it quickly. "You think 
I'm more frightening than you?"

Skinner rose and headed for the bedroom, chuckling. "Oh yeah. You 
could ask anybody, Dad!"

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

Walter Skinner Sr.'s car
Alexandria, Virginia
Saturday at 5 p.m.

"So what are we doing for Mother's Day anyway?"

"I was focused on getting you and Fox home. I haven't made any other 
plans," his father said as they pulled up outside Mulder's building. 
Skinner got out alone and went upstairs. Returning in a few minutes 
without the younger agent, he got back in the car and looked at his 
watch. "I don't think he'd be out for the night yet," he mused as he 
picked up the cell phone and hit the speed dial for Mulder's cell 
number. 

"'Lo?" a voice answered, with just a barely discernible slur. Skinner 
knew immediately the younger man was drinking. At just past 5 p.m. on 
a Saturday afternoon. He recognized guiltily he was probably the cause 
of this aberrant behavior on Mulder's part.

"Where are you, Mulder?" he asked patiently.

"I—I," he stammered for a second until he got his bearings. "I don't 
have to tell you that, sir."

"Mulder, we're gonna pick you up to go to Danville," Skinner said 
quietly. "Now tell me where you are—"

"You were the one who said we weren't going—"

"And I changed my mind—"

"Well, where's it written I have to be subject to your whims, on my 
own time, huh?" Mulder asked huffily. "I'm sure that's not in any 
Bureau policy manual—"

Skinner took a deep breath before speaking, making certain he wouldn't 
come off sounding angry. "Okay, Mulder," he said finally. "I know I've 
been . . . hard to deal with. You have every right to be a little 
ticked off, kid. I'm sorry I've been such a bear—"

"Well, that's fine. I accept your apology. See you Monday," the 
younger agent answered, then promptly disconnected the line.

Skinner found himself staring at the phone, blinking. "Son of a b—" he 
began, then stopped, remembering who was sitting next to him. He gave 
his father a tight smile, then redialed. "We must have been cut off," 
he explained.

The elder Skinner harumphed, knowing exactly what had just happened. 
"Where should I go at the light, son?" he asked. "Or should I just 
drive in circles for a while?"

"Just give me a minute, Dad," his son replied, knowing the older man 
had figured it out. "Mulder, don't hang up," he said into the phone, 
still trying to sound conciliatory. He found himself hoping that the 
younger agent had gotten this out of his system, so they could move 
on. "Just tell me where you are so we can—"

"I don't have to tell you where I am," Mulder replied heatedly. "It's 
Saturday evening. I'm off. I am not required to tell my boss where I 
go on my own time—"

"Mulder, I am rapidly losing patience with this. Now where are you?"

"I don't have to tell you that," the young man replied, throwing 
common sense and caution out the proverbial window. 

Skinner took another deep, calming breath, fearing that if he lost his 
temper now, the other agent would simply hang up and turn off his 
phone. He could hear enough noise in the background to guess Mulder 
was at a sports bar. That narrowed the possibilities down a little. 
There were probably dozens of them in the area, but only a few he and 
Mulder frequented. "Mulder, don't make me tell you again. We're going 
to Danville. Tell me where you are and we'll pick you up—"

"I said no. Sir," he replied emphatically and disconnected again. 

This time Skinner didn't even attempt to hide the truth from his 
father. "Okay, if that's the way you want to play it," he said, 
hitting the 'redial' button and praying Mulder hadn't turned off the 
phone. He breathed a sigh of relief when the young man answered on the 
first ring.

"Stop calling me," he answered cheekily.

"Mulder, let's talk about this," Skinner interrupted him, trying to 
keep him talking. The AD hoped he would hear something in the 
background that would give him a clue as to where his rebellious young 
charge was. There was a jukebox playing and he struggled to hear the 
song, trying to discern something that would provide a lead.

"I don't want to talk about it," Mulder replied, sounding even testier 
than before. "And I don't have to. I don't have to do anything you 
tell me when I'm off the clock."

Skinner let the words hang in the air as he listened for the music on 
the jukebox. <'The Rising of the Moon!' He's at O'Neill's!> He covered 
the phone with his hand and gave his father instructions for reaching 
the Irish that pub where they'd find Mulder. Then he resumed 
listening, while the younger man continued his tirade about how he 
didn't have to do anything the AD said, unless it was work-related. He 
had built himself up a real head of steam, Skinner thought as he 
listened.

"Mulder, that's enough," he finally interrupted as the car pulled up 
right outside the front door of O'Neill's. "I think you've had too 
much to drink. And you've already said more than you should—"

"No! I don't have to shut up," he cut the AD off. "And I don't have to 
quit drinking because you say so either. And another thing, I'm not 
gonna let you sp-. . ." he paused, lowering his voice to just above a 
whisper, "you know, sp-- punish me either. That's all over, as of 
now."

"What did you say, Mulder?" Skinner asked as he exited the car. "I had 
a little trouble hearing that. . . ." The AD had picked up every word 
but he was anxious to keep the younger man talking. And curious to see 
if Mulder would continue this conversation in such a public venue. He 
listened as the young agent cupped his hand over his cell phone and 
repeated what he'd just said one more time.

"You're sure about that?" Skinner said as he scanned the room and 
located Mulder at the bar. He had a shot of something in front of him, 
and a beer to wash it down with. And his head was lowered over his 
cell phone.

"Yes, I'm very certain," Mulder answered him confidently. "I'll see 
you in the office. And we'll just go back to our old boss-employee 
relationship. That'll be fine with me." He knew with Skinner's arm and 
shoulder out of commission, there'd be nothing the AD could do about 
his ultimatum right now. And by the time the other man was fully 
recovered, his tequila-fueled courage told him they'd have fallen back 
into their former pattern of Skinner issuing official reprimands and 
Mulder generally ignoring them. In his current inebriated state, this 
looked like a plausible plan.

Mulder was listening for a response as Skinner took a seat on the 
barstool next to his agent, whose head was still lowered over his 
phone. "Two coffees, please," the Assistant Director said. "One for 
me. And one for my friend here."

Mulder blinked and stared at the phone. <Is he talking to me? And why 
am I hearing this in stereo?> His foggy brain took a split second 
longer to process all the information before his head jerked up and to 
his right. His mouth opened involuntarily and felt his skin go cold 
and clammy.

Skinner gave him a sunny smile as soon as they made direct eye 
contact. "Drink that coffee, kid," he said evenly. "I don't want you 
drunk as a skunk on the ride up to Danville. And you are leaving with 
me, under your own power or otherwise. So that's two things you were 
wrong about tonight. I can tell you when to stop drinking. And I can 
tell you where to go and when. . . . Oh, and that other thing you said 
I can't do any more. . . . ?" Skinner kept his voice purposefully at 
normal volume. "You know, that thing about spank—"

"Shhh!" Mulder jumped in, nervously looking around to see who might be 
listening. "Please, sir!"

Skinner relented slightly, dropping his voice just a little. "Anyway, 
that other thing. You're right about me not being able to do anything 
about that right now. . ." He took a sip of his coffee and watched 
Mulder relax just a little. 

"But of course, I'm always available to substitute, Fox," a voice 
drifted over his shoulder, coming from the barstool behind him. Mulder 
didn't really have to turn to recognize the voice but some perverse 
instinct forced him to anyway. In a second he was staring into the 
warm brown eyes of the Assistant Director's father. "I can probably 
manage in a pinch."

Mulder swallowed hard and turned back to the bar, his head hung low. 
He sensed in his peripheral vision that the proprietor and bartender, 
Desmond O'Neill had moved back in front of him. Raising his head just 
slightly, he said, "Another shot. Make it a double—"

"No," the bartender said, in perfect unison with the men on both sides 
of him. 

"You don't need any more alcohol, kid," Skinner said, pulling out his 
wallet and settling Mulder's bill. "Drink your coffee and let's get 
going."

"I have to disagree there, sir," Mulder muttered under his breath. "I 
think a drunken stupor might be the only way to go." He lifted the 
coffee, then reconsidered and put it back down. He rose leadenly and 
followed the other men out of the bar.

They arrived in Danville at just before 9 o'clock. Rachel Skinner had 
kept dinner waiting and she served up a plate of meat loaf and all the 
usual side dishes for all three men. Mulder had slept in the back seat 
a good part of the way up and he took a few minutes to come fully 
awake. But dinner and a cup of coffee had him feeling better, at least 
physically, in no time. He still felt immensely guilty about how he'd 
behaved, and how he'd spoken to the AD though. And that guilt sat in 
the pit of his stomach and was not filled by the world's best meat 
loaf. 

When Mrs. Skinner brought a piece of peach cobbler and ice cream to 
each of them for dessert, he glanced nervously at the Assistant 
Director to see whether he was going to stop him from getting any of 
the delectable dish. But Skinner was relaxed and laughing at something 
with his parents and Mulder decided to just attack the cobbler while 
he wasn't looking. He was surprised and a little discomforted by the 
fact that, even when the other man looked at him, he didn't seem angry 
or disappointed in Mulder and certainly didn't make any attempt to 
separate the younger agent from his dessert.

When dinner was finished, the elder Skinners retired to the family 
room to watch television and Mulder found himself unsure whether to 
follow them. He hung back in the kitchen, waiting for Skinner to give 
him some kind of signal. The Assistant Director was helping himself to 
a glass of ice water and, noticing Mulder's reticence, he glanced 
exaggeratedly at the kitchen clock. Mulder had no trouble picking up 
the clue.

"Guess I'll go to bed, sir," he said, biting his lower lip as he rose.

"I think that's a good idea, kid," Skinner replied as he leaned back 
on the kitchen counter. He watched Mulder turn and head up the back 
stairs, then went into the family room. He gave Mulder ten minutes, 
then headed up the stairs himself and knocked on the bedroom door. 
Mulder was sitting on the edge of the bed when he went in, staring at 
him with wide eyes and a curious expression on his face. The AD closed 
the door and headed for the rocking chair by the window. "So," he said 
as he sank down into it.

"So," Mulder replied, wondering what the hell was going to happen 
next. Skinner was obviously not in any condition to punish him.

"So, it seems to me we have a dilemma, Mulder," Skinner said evenly. 
"You have racked up quite a list of transgressions in the last week or 
so. I was overlooking a lot of stuff but now I think that was a 
mistake."

Mulder listened, staring at his bare feet. He nodded his head ever so 
slightly.

"What made you . . . keep pushing me, son?"

The younger man's head popped up. He knew he had been pushing, but he 
didn't think the AD had noticed.

"Well. . . .?"

"I-- I don't know," he answered, shaking his head. "At first, I guess 
I just wanted to see what I could get away with. And then, when I was 
getting away with so much. . . "

"You started to think I wasn't there for you any more," Skinner 
completed the thought. "You started to wonder if I had . . . backed 
away."

Mulder felt tears sting the back of his eyes and he blinked them back, 
not wanting to let on how close the other man had gotten to his true 
feelings. Hell, he wasn't close, he thought, he was right on point!

"Mulder, after all this time, you can't be surprised that I know a 
little bit about your motivations, can you?" Skinner asked with a 
smile. "But I do want to apologize for taking so long to see it. I was 
. . . too focused on me, I guess--"

"No! Don't say that, sir! I . . . I should have realized it would be 
hard for you to deal with . . . being incapacitated. It's hard for me 
when I'm injured, and I'm not nearly as surly as you to begin with. . 
. " His voice trailed off at the look of surprised annoyance that 
flickered over Skinner's face. Mulder's heart nearly stopped..

"D-did I say 'surly'?" he asked tremulously. "I meant . . . 'fiercely 
independent,' sir."

Skinner couldn't stop the chuckle that bubbled up from his belly. 
"Mulder! Do you think I was born yesterday?" he asked between gasps of 
laughter.

The younger agent breathed a sigh of relief and a smile spread slowly 
over his own face. "So. . . we're okay?"

"Mulder, we're always okay," Skinner answered him affectionately and 
watched his shoulders drop into a more relaxed posture. "Of course, 
that doesn't mean you're not going to be punished--"

"You really know how to lure a guy into a false sense of security, 
don't you?"

Skinner took a deep breath and released it, using the moment to 
collect his thoughts. "I guess we've got two choices, kid. We can get 
my Dad to step in for me tonight. I'm sure he'd understand and be 
willing to do it."

Mulder's face registered a look of panic, rapidly covered by a red 
flush of embarrassment. The idea of asking the A.D.'s father to punish 
him in Skinner's place was not something he could consider easily.

"Or we can wait until I'm better, Mulder. That's probably another 3 or 
4 weeks. Maybe five, the way things are going," Skinner finished 
identifying the options. "I know you hate to wait for punishment--"

"Oh, but, under the circumstances, it'd be okay," Mulder interrupted 
him immediately.

Skinner looked at him and knew exactly what he was thinking. "Okay, 
kid," he replied, rising and beginning to look for something in a 
drawer in the desk next to him. He found what he was looking for, a 
marble notebook that appeared not to have been used before. He took a 
pen off the top of the desk and handed them both to Mulder. "Let's 
start your list, then. Write down everything you've done in the past 
week that you deserve to be punished for. Then you can add anything 
that happens in the coming weeks. And when I'm better, we'll address 
them all."

Mulder swallowed hard, embarrassed and a little annoyed at the idea 
that Skinner expected him to make a list of his punishable offenses. 
But he knew better than to voice that thought and so he uncapped the 
pen and began his list.

"Well, um. I stayed up till 3 in the morning the other night, watching 
television," he said slowly as he wrote in the book.

"I know," Skinner replied. "Although you weren't watching television, 
were you?" 

Mulder looked at him and feigned ignorance at what he was talking 
about.

"I found the videotape in the VCR. Luckily, I was the only one present 
when I accidentally started it." The AD was a stickler for accuracy, 
particularly under the present circumstances.

The younger man looked back down at the page and scratched something 
out. "--watching porn tape," he said. Then he moved to the next line. 
"Lied about watching porn tape . . . " he wrote. A part of him 
wondered why he'd felt the need to fudge on that point anyway. He'd 
turned one minor misstep into two punishable offenses, for no reason. 

Skinner smiled at him. "Don't forget that other night last week, 
Tuesday, I think it was. You stayed up until almost four," he added.

Mulder didn't even bother to look up this time. "Stayed up until four 
in the morning after being told to go to bed," he sighed in 
frustration. He'd thought Skinner was out cold that night, due to the 
number of painkillers he'd been taking. "Made up case in Hawaii just 
to see what would happen."

"That turned out to actually be a serial killer, Mulder," Skinner 
said, curious as to why the younger agent would say he made it up.

"That was a fluke, sir," he replied grimly. "When I opened that case, 
and postulated it was a Polynesian sea monster, I made that up to fit 
the bare facts about a couple of unrelated murders. It was a complete 
shock to me when I realized they had a serial killer on their hands."

Skinner grimaced. He'd actually thought Mulder was on the up and up 
with that one. "Write that down," he growled, as the younger man 
dropped his head and finished recording that item for posterity. "What 
else?"

Mulder continued his list, including a speeding ticket he'd gotten the 
day before on the way home from work. He'd been so angry with Skinner, 
he hadn't noticed he was exceeding the speed limit by a wide margin. 
He'd also been further annoyed to find out an FBI badge didn't carry 
much weight with Virginia state troopers.

"And what about today, Mulder," Skinner prompted him.

"Oh, yeah. 'Hung up on AD,'" he wrote.

"Twice," Skinner cut in.

"Twice," Mulder echoed, as he recorded yet another transgression. 
"Acted like a brat. Refused to say where I was." He bit his lower lip 
hard as he scanned the list. It was a heck of a lot longer than he'd 
originally anticipated. And the likelihood that it would grow in the 
next three or four weeks <or five!> was as close to a cosmic certainty 
as anything ever got. His stomach turned over with fear and dread at 
the punishment he'd postponed to some future date. He mind began to 
compute the odds on a healthy, 38-year-old man in a relatively 
dangerous profession dying in the next five weeks. That slim chance 
might be his only hope.

He was startled by a knock on the door. Then Mr. Skinner popped his 
head in and looked first at Mulder, then at his son. "Anything you 
need me for, gentlemen?"

"No, Dad. Everything's fine," his son responded. He looked over at 
Mulder who was again staring at his list. "Unless you want to 
reconsider your earlier decision, kid."

Mulder found himself torn between the two choices, waiting and facing 
a magnitude of punishment he'd rarely gotten before. Or submitting to 
the discipline the A.D.'s father would hand out tonight. As 
humiliating as that seemed, it was now the more appealing option. He 
nodded his head. "Yeah. I mean, yes, sir," he whispered. "I think I 
want to reconsider."

Skinner rose and reached him in two strides. He laid a hand on the 
young man's head and stroked it fondly. "I think that's a wise 
choice," he said quietly. "Dad, we will need your help after all. 
Mulder's been acting up a bit this week. And he thinks. . . . No, we 
both think it would be a good idea to deal with it tonight and get it 
over with." He pulled the younger man to a standing position, then 
hugged him briefly. He was surprised to find Mulder was shaking a 
little. "It'll be all over in a few minutes," he reassured him. "Just 
have a little faith in me, kid," he whispered, giving him a firm 
squeeze. In a quick moment, he had instructed the young man to take 
down his pajama bottoms and had him lying face down on the bed, a 
pillow under his hips. 

Mr. Skinner watched his son and knew intuitively that he'd decided Fox 
needed a strapping. Since he was the only one wearing a belt, he 
unbuckled it and slipped it out of his belt loops, then doubled it 
over in his right hand. 

Mulder noticed this action on the edge of his peripheral vision and he 
found himself shivering, dreading what was about to happen. He turned 
his head to the wall and felt Skinner's hand caress the back of his 
head briefly. Then it withdrew and the A.D.'s voice turned to granite. 
"What's this strapping for?" he asked firmly as the first lick burned 
a red mark across the younger man's bottom.

"For--" he began, then realized his memory had failed him. "For 
getting a speeding ticket!"

A second lick registered its presence on his backside, then Skinner's 
voice broke in. He laid a hand on Mulder's back and spoke quietly. 
"Let's work in chronological order, kid," he said gently. "That way we 
won't miss anything."

Mulder choked back a laugh. "Yeah, it'd be a shame if that happened," 
he said sarcastically. "Ow! Ouch! Sorry!" he added, as three hard 
licks fell on the place where his butt cheeks met the top of his 
thighs. This was obviously a favorite location for the A.D.'s father, 
too. "Sorry!" he gasped again.

"You're in a very tenuous position to be mouthing off, Mulder," 
Skinner's voice floated toward him. "Now do you want to get serious? 
Or do you want to keep playing games for a while?"

"No, sir! I don't want to play games! Um, let's see. This strapping's 
for staying up half the night watching OWWW! UNHHHHH! Watching, you 
know," he cried as his voice began to break.

"Yes, I know," Skinner answered, allowing him to keep that piece of 
trivia between them. Unfortunately, the elder Skinner was not 
especially open-minded about things like that. "And how many nights 
did you stay up instead of going to bed?"

"Two! Oucchhh! Two times, sir! Aahhhh!"

"What else?" Skinner prompted.

"I lied about . . . watching television! Unhhhh!" He began to sob then 
caught himself, trying to tough it out. But the fact that the AD had 
not made him confess the subject matter of his late night viewing to 
the older man was not lost on him and his gratitude for that small 
kindness choked him up faster than the burning sensation in his hind 
quarters. "And I got a speeding ticket, too!" he blurted out quickly, 
eager to change the subject.

Skinner's voice broke in. "We already dealt with that," he offered. 
"What's the next thing?"

This act of mercy brought the younger man to open sobbing, though. 
"For- for making up the case in Hawaii! Owwww! Oucchhh! Unhhhh!"

"Don't ever try to put something by me like that again, kid," Skinner 
told him as his father laid another two strokes across the fleshy part 
of Mulder's cheeks. "I expect you to be completely honest with me. At 
all times."

"Yes, sir" Mulder sobbed, burying his head in his arms. "I 
understand."

"Okay, what else?"

"Aaahhhh! Today! Today, when I acted like a brat! Oucchh! Ohhhh! And 
refused to tell you where I was! Unhhhh! Owwwww! And-- and--" he was 
sobbing so hard now, it was becoming difficult to speak. He wasn't 
certain whether the A.D.'s father hit harder than his son, or whether 
the added humiliation of being punished this way was taking a toll. 
Either way, he was feeling this punishment worse than almost anything 
he'd ever experienced before.

"Hang on, Mulder," Skinner said to him quietly. He and his father 
exchanged glances that bespoke their mutual concern for the young man 
on the bed. The AD could see his father was surprised at the number of 
offenses he'd let pile up. One thing Walter, Jr. knew about his Dad 
was that he never let the sun go down without dealing with his kids' 
misbehavior. It was a hard and fast rule in the Skinner family, so 
punishment for multiple misdeeds just never happened. He suspected 
he'd have some explaining to do when this was over. But he brushed 
that thought aside, and turned his attention back to Mulder.

"We're almost finished. What else did you do today?" he asked him 
gently, brushing the back of his head to make sure he had his full 
attention.

"I-- I--Owwww! I hung up on you, sir! Twice!" he cried as a final 
stroke was applied to his burning bottom. "I'm sorry! I'm s-sorry. . . 
I'll never do it again."

Without exchanging a word, both Skinners knew the punishment had 
ended. Mr. Skinner watched as his son pulled the younger man's pajama 
bottoms back up over his burning cheeks, then the elder Skinner helped 
him up to a standing position and delivered a forceful hug, rubbing 
his back soothingly. 

"You had quite a list of offenses, there, young man," he said, giving 
his son a meaningful glance. "But it's all over now. And you have a 
clean slate. Promise me you'll do your best to keep it that way, Fox."

Mulder nodded his head and took a hitching breath as he tried to calm 
himself. "I'll try," he responded, returning Mr. Skinner's hug. 

"That's all I can ask, Foksik," Mr. Skinner told him. Taking Mulder's 
face in his two hands, the older man kissed him once on each cheek. 
"Sleep well, son."

Skinner watched his father leave, and knew without a doubt he'd have a 
bit of explaining to do before the night was through. But first, he 
needed to get Mulder calmed down and into bed. He opened his one, good 
arm and gathered the younger man into a half a hug. He was gratified 
to feel Mulder return it, with two good arms.

"Are you okay?" Skinner asked him. He felt Mulder nod into his left 
shoulder. "Good! Then I want you in bed. Now."

He smiled as Mulder nodded again and immediately pulled back the 
covers on the day-bed. Then he slipped under them and turned onto his 
side, pulling a pillow under his head. He'd scooted over so his back 
was against the wall, leaving enough room for the Assistant Director 
to sit on the edge of the bed. Skinner recognized the gesture was a 
sign Mulder needed to talk so he obliged and sat down.

He reached over and brushed the sweat-soaked hair back from the 
younger man's forehead. "What's on your mind, kid?"

Mulder's sobs had disappeared but his breathing was still tearful and 
coming in quiet hitches. "I-- I just want to make sure. . . " he 
began, then found an involuntary sob escaping.

"What's the matter, son?" Skinner asked, concerned about what was 
going on. Usually Mulder calmed and became sleepy after punishment. 
This was something he'd never seen before.

"I just want to say I'm sorry, sir. For . . . embarrassing you in 
front of your father. 'Cause I was so bad! And there were so many 
things I had to be punished for--"

"No, Mulder," Skinner interrupted him forcefully. "I'm embarrassed 
that I was so negligent! That I let that many things go without 
dealing with them. That was my fault, kid, not yours."

Mulder looked directly into his eyes and saw they were filled with 
sincere regret. That Skinner felt he was responsible for the severity 
of his punishment and didn't blame him at all. Tears of relief stung 
his eyes and he closed them, trying to hold them back.

With his one good arm, Skinner gathered him up into a bear hug and let 
him cry it out. The Assistant Director made soothing noises, 
punctuated occasionally by further reassurance. "I promise I won't let 
that happen again, Mulder," he said several times. "We'll get you back 
into a routine of checking in with me daily. And we'll deal with 
anything that comes up, when it comes up. You have my word on that, 
kid." In a little while, sleep began to overpower the now calm young 
man and he yawned mightily. The AD let him settle back down into the 
bed and pulled the covers up over him. "Good night," he said, rising. 

"Sir?" Mulder asked sleepily. "Can I ask you one more thing?" 

Skinner doubted Mulder could remain awake for much longer but he 
smiled and nodded. "Sure. What's the question?"

Mulder yawned despite himself, but he wrestled it down. "What was that 
your father called me before?" he asked, clearly puzzled.

Skinner chuckled. "I wondered whether that would get by you," he said. 
"And I doubted it would. He called you 'Foksik.' It doesn't really 
mean anything. It's what we call a 'pet name.' Occasionally you'll 
hear my mother call Andy 'Kolya.' It's a pet name for his middle name, 
Nikolai. Or my folks sometimes call me "Volodya.' From Vladimir, which 
is the Russian name they got Walter from. There's no literal 
translation, kid. It's just a sign of affection. If it bothers you--"

"No! It doesn't bother me, sir. Don't say anything to him," Mulder 
pleaded.

"All right. I won't say a word if you go to sleep! Good night." 
Skinner turned off the light from the switch beside him and gently 
closed the door.

Mulder lay there in the dark for a few seconds, then spoke quietly, 
hoping whatever higher power there was in the Universe could hear him. 
"It doesn't bother me at all," he said, closing his eyes and drifting 
into a deep, restful sleep. 

Skinner walked slowly down the back stairs into the kitchen and found 
his mother at the bottom of them. She was heading to bed herself but 
she'd waited to say good night to her son.

"I'm so glad you're here, sweetheart," she said softly, giving him a 
careful hug. "After everything that's happened recently, I have so 
much to be grateful for. And having you and Fox here to share it. . . 
" Her voice broke and Skinner used his good arm to pull her a little 
closer. 

"It's okay, Mom. I'm sorry I was going to skip this weekend. I guess I 
just wasn't thinking," he said quietly.

"Well, your Dad wasn't having any of that," she said with a laugh, 
heading up the stairs. "He's in the family room. I think he's waiting 
for you. See you in the morning, dear."

Skinner nodded and stretched his neck, trying to release a little of 
the tension that was sitting in his jaw. He knew his father was 
waiting for him. And why. Knowing he was in for an earful, he also 
knew from experience the best plan was always to just get it over 
with. Something Mulder seemed to be learning, albeit at a snail's 
pace. Sighing, he headed into the family room and took a seat on the 
couch.

Mr. Skinner looked at him expectantly. When he didn't speak, his 
father opened the conversation for him. "Well, that was quite a list 
of offenses that boy racked up," he offered.

"Yeah," his son replied, nodding. "And that was . . . my fault. 
Letting things go too long, Dad."

His father nodded as well. "I'm glad you know that, Walter. I know you 
haven't been yourself lately. God knows, the weeks you spent 
recuperating here were an exercise in patience for all of us. . . "

Skinner smiled, despite the circumstance. "Sorry about that. And here 
I thought I'd hidden my frustration pretty well--"

Now it was his father's turn to chuckle. "Well, let me disabuse you of 
that notion right now, son. Even your mother was beginning to hope 
you'd decide to go back to your own place soon! We thought Fox 
recuperating from the chicken pox was a trial to live with. You 
actually beat him out by a wide margin!"

Skinner grimaced and shook his head. He'd really thought he had 
managed to keep a lid on his irritability, at least most of the time.

"So, I can appreciate how you probably drove Fox over the edge in the 
past week," his father continued. "I'm not excusing his behavior, mind 
you. I'm just saying I can understand what got him there. But what I 
can't understand, is why you just let him go on, piling up one offense 
after another. You know what that's like, starting down the 'slippery 
slope,' son. Once you're headed down, it's almost impossible to stop 
yourself without help. Why didn't you . . . help him?"

Skinner felt a flush of embarrassment as he listened to his father's 
words. Yet, on another level, he appreciated the strange irony of the 
language his family spoke. Only a Skinner would refer to the 
punishment Mulder had received tonight as 'help.' He fought back a 
smile and failed.

"You find this funny, Walter?" his father asked evenly.

"No! No, sir, I don't find it funny. It was just . . . something else 
that crossed my mind. And I don't have any excuse for not . . . 
'helping' Mulder, Dad--"

"Good. And I'm glad you finally managed to stop feeling sorry for 
yourself long enough to start thinking about Fox," the elder Skinner 
said.

"I have not been feeling sorry for myself," his son responded 
indignantly. Then reality set in and he immediately amended the 
response. "All right, I've been feeling a little sorry for myself. I'm 
having a hard time dealing with this injury. And I'm not bouncing back 
as fast as I thought I would. . . " He stopped, exhaling forcefully, 
because even to his own ears, this sounded a lot like whining. 

The older man glanced at him momentarily. "Well, you're not twenty any 
more, Walter—"

"Yeah, that does seem to be the consensus of opinion," the AD 
exclaimed impatiently before breaking into a sheepish grin. "Sorry, 
Dad. It's just very similar to something a doctor told me recently. . 
. 

"And you didn't want to believe it then, either, did you?"

His son closed his eyes and tried to find a comfortable position, only 
to find that, at this hour of the day, the only comfort he could count 
on would come from another painkiller. And he was due for one right 
about now. "It's not that I don't want to admit I'm getting older," he 
said slowly. "I guess it's just that . . . I thought I'd have 
accomplished more by now. That my life would have more . . . 
meaning--"

"You've accomplished a great deal, son. By any measure, you've been 
very successful--"

"No, by one measure, Dad. Career. I've had a successful career with 
the FBI. Although sometimes lately, I'm not even sure that counts for 
much. But in other areas. . . ," he shook his head. "When you were my 
age, I was back from Vietnam and heading off to college. And Jean was, 
too. And Joe and Andy were teenagers. A couple of years later, you had 
your first grandchild. There's two entire generations of people who 
bear your blood, and live by your rules and your philosophy. And what 
do I have to show for myself, huh? A nice office in the Hoover 
building?"

"Stop it, Walter! I won't let you do this!" his father interrupted him 
forcefully. "You have accomplished so much you're overlooking 
completely. You are a driving force in this family. Your brothers and 
Jean look to you now as much as they look to me, for help and support. 
You have nieces and nephews who look up to you. And you have that 
young man sleeping upstairs, son. He is as much a product of your love 
and guidance now as he's a result of whatever his own parents did for 
him. Or to him. We've talked about this before. And I won't let you 
ignore it."

Skinner sat silently, head bowed, unable to respond. His father's 
words touched a chord deep within him but he couldn't seem to 
surrender his position yet. He wanted to believe what he was hearing 
but . . . . 

"Walter, Fox told me that you insist he communicate with you. And that 
you've told him you'll punish him if he doesn't tell you when he's 
confused and insecure. Is that true?"

Skinner's eyes snapped up quickly and his face registered his 
surprise. "He told you that?"

Mr. Skinner smiled, pleased he'd been able to surprise his son with 
this information. "Yes. He tells me a lot, actually. About how much 
you've helped him. By setting tough standards. And firm boundaries. 
And holding him to them. I think that whole scene today on the phone 
was nothing but a test to see if, even in your current depression, 
you'd honor that commitment."

The AD wanted to protest that he wasn't 'depressed,' but he knew in 
his heart that his father had nailed that one. He'd been struggling 
with it for a couple of months, he recognized suddenly, ever since 
Krycek showed up with the 'Palm Pilot of Death.' And this recent 
injury had deepened his depression yet again. Just naming it, though, 
and admitting it, took a weight off his shoulders immediately. 

"You're right, Dad," he said slowly. "He tests me every now and then. 
Just to see if I'll really be there for him. If I'll still love him 
even when he acts up. In some ways, I think it's a leap of faith for 
him to believe anyone loves him. He's been hurt so much. . . .

"No one goes through life without being hurt in many ways, son. Pain 
is as much a part of life as joy, and love and belonging. But the 
important thing is not to let it close you down. You've helped Fox 
learn to open up again. He's told me that. And his acting out 
occasionally, I think it is a test of his faith in you. He needs to 
prove to himself that it's not misplaced or foolish. But, Walter, I 
think you test him occasionally, too."

A look of incredulity illuminated the younger Skinner's features and 
he shook his head.

"Don't dismiss the notion, Walter. You let him swim out a distance and 
don't call him back, waiting to see if he'll return on his own. And 
that gets him wondering if he's setting himself up for a fall. So he 
swims out further and looks back to see if you're waving him in. And 
my guess is, you usually are. But this time, you let him keep going. 
And by the time you went after him, he was fighting the undertow and 
being pulled under. And that's something you could have averted, if 
you'd just intervened a little sooner. I'm not sugar-coating this for 
you, son. You let him get too far from shore this time."

Skinner was blinking back tears now as his father's words hit him like 
a punch to his mid-section. He was breathing shallowly and staring off 
into the middle distance. He felt his father rise and walk over to 
him, then sit on the couch beside him. An arm went around his 
shoulders and the younger man felt the first salty tear break away and 
run down his cheek as his father gathered him into a gentle hug.

"No matter how much you love someone, you don't always do the absolute 
right thing for them all the time," the older man said quietly. 
"Because no one is infallible, son. Not physically. Not emotionally. 
All we can do is keep plugging away. And keep telling the people we 
love how much we love them. And how sorry we are when we've hurt 
them."

The Assistant Director thought back on his conversation with Mulder 
earlier, when he'd told the younger man he blamed himself for letting 
things get to this point. He ran over it in his head several times and 
realized with a start that he'd never said he was sorry. He'd admitted 
it was his fault but hadn't said the two simplest words. He sat back, 
removing his glasses and ran the back of his one unbound hand over his 
eyes. He seemed to be weighing the situation, but, characteristically, 
he made a quick decision and moved on it. "I have to talk to Mulder, 
Dad," he said as he rose from the couch. "And Dad? Thank you."

He went to the back stairs and took them two at a time, then he walked 
down the hall to the study that was Mulder's bedroom whenever he was 
in Danville. Knowing the younger agent was likely to be out cold, he 
didn't bother to knock. He opened the door and left it half open so 
the hall light would provide a little illumination. Skinner sat on the 
edge of Mulder's bed and shook him awake.

"Wha--? What? I wasn't doing anything--" he mumbled, confused and 
disoriented.

"I know you weren't doing anything, kid," Skinner said with a smile. 
"I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry. About letting you get so far off 
course lately. I'm sorry."

Mulder blinked a few times, not comprehending. Then he panicked at the 
fact that Skinner had paused and must be waiting for a response. "Oh! 
Oh, I- I'm sorry, sir," he said, clearly missing the gist of the 
conversation.

"No, Mulder," Skinner laughed, beginning to wonder if the young man 
was still asleep. "I said I was sorry, kid!"

Mulder swallowed down his complete confusion and furrowed his 
forehead, as though he were thinking hard. "Oh. You're welcome, sir," 
he said gravely.

Skinner pushed his head back down onto his pillow and watched his eyes 
immediately close. "Go back to sleep, son," he said, gently pulling 
the covers back up over the sleeping young man. "We'll try this again 
in the morning."

THE END