The Danville Series by Cadillac Red June 24, 1999 7:30 p.m. "Can I get a brother?" Walter Skinner's mouth dropped open at the question the four-year-old asked. It came out of the blue, as the AD was tucking him into bed. They had developed a routine in recent weeks, a nightly 'chat' about whatever had happened to Fox, or what he'd done during the day. Or anything particular that was on his mind. It was akin to the nightly check-in call from the adult Mulder, but the conversations were decidedly different now. "Well. . . ." Skinner replied, dragging the sound out, playing for time, while he decided how to answer. He sat down on the edge of the bed and brushed the boy's hair back from his forehead. "What makes you think you want a brother?" "You have Uncle Andy. He said he's your brother." Skinner began to sense the impetus for this conversation now. Andy was in town on business and they had dinner with him earlier. But Skinner was delayed at the office and Casey had dropped the child off at the restaurant with Andy. It had been another half hour before Skinner arrived and he knew his youngest brother must have entertained the child with 'brother stories.' "And Uncle Joe's also my brother," Skinner said, still stalling. "Well, I want one, too," the boy declared before a giant yawn overtook him. He'd already had a story read, and their nightly conversations generally lasted only a couple of minutes. "Well, the thing about getting a brother is, sometimes you get a sister. I got Aunt Jean first," Skinner said with a smile. "I don't want a sister," the boy responded, "just a brother. To play with . . . " He yawned again. "Or a dog." The AD grinned, seeing that sleep was rapidly outdistancing the child. "Well, pal, you may have to settle for fish--" "They're no fun to play with. They just lay there. . . " He yawned again and his eyes fluttered before closing for good. Skinner leaned down and kissed him on the forehead and the child murmured a little, then sighed quietly and was immediately in a deep sleep. Skinner put the light out, checking to see the nightlight was working, then padded out of the room. He'd just reached the kitchen and begun to pour himself a cup of coffee, another nightly ritual that now routinely waited until Fox was settled for the night, when the import of the conversation finally hit him. He walked into the living room and stared into the fish tank for a few seconds, then picked up his portable phone and dialed. Reaching the Mayflower Hotel, he asked for Andrew Skinner's room and waited, his eyes still on the tank. Two of four goldfish swam leisurely from side to side. Two floated on top. The two little Fox must have tried to play with before dumping them back in when they wouldn't cooperate. "I need a favor, Andy," Skinner said as soon as his brother answered. "Thanks to you and your brother stories, I need two live goldfish. . . tonight." ********************************************************************** Later that night 1:12 a.m. Skinner awoke with a start, feeling cold and clammy. In the dark, his mind quickly catalogued what had woken him and his first thought was that he might be having a heart attack. But then he heard the sound of soft, even breathing beside him, and his brain quickly countered that he had no chest pain or-- "Fox!" he yelled, leaping out of the wet bed. The boy woke suddenly and began to cry immediately. "Fox, I thought you were going to stay in your own bed from now on," Skinner said. He could hear his own voice, and it was a little louder and more upset than he intended but the boy wailed as though he'd been smacked. "I sorry! I got scared!" he cried, still sitting in the middle of Skinner's now soaked bed. The AD reached over and picked him up, pulling him into a hug. "Shhh. It's okay! I was just . . . surprised," he said, kissing the boy on his head as he carried him into the bathroom off the master bedroom. Fox was still crying hysterically, and saying he was sorry over and over. It had been almost two weeks since he'd wet the bed, and Skinner thought he was more embarrassed than afraid. He'd been dry through the night ever since the A.D.'s sister-in-law, Eileen, gave him that hint about limiting liquids in the hours before bed. "That's okay, honey," he soothed him as he pulled the wet pj's off him. "It was my fault anyway. We had a late dinner and I shouldn't have let you drink so much soda." He reached into the shower, turning it on and checking to see if was a warm spray. Then he quickly stripped off his own wet clothes and stepped into the stall shower, turning to pick up Fox. In record time, he got them both cleaned up and back out of the shower, where he wrapped a towel around his own waist and enveloped the boy's entire body in a matching one. Then he picked him up again and carried him into Skinner's bedroom. The child was not crying any longer but, after the warm shower and wrapped in the warm towel, he was about to go back to sleep on his feet, the AD could see. Skinner pulled a pair of clean pajama bottoms out of a drawer and stepped into them quickly. Then he lifted the boy again and went into the spare bedroom where he went through the same routine, dressing the child in a fresh pair of underwear and pajamas. He got the boy back in bed, still reassuring him that everything was okay. "Are you mad?" the child asked him tremulously as he was tucked back into his own dry bed. "No, Fox," Skinner told him, giving him a smile. "But you have to try to sleep in your own bed, right? Unless you're sick, or scared. Then you can come in my room." "I WAS scared," he said as he yawned and began to drift off again. "Of the monsters. . . ." Skinner yawned in concert. His mind knew he should go scrub the mattress on his own bed. Then make up the couch and try to get some more sleep after those chores were done. He tried to remember the last time he had gotten an uninterrupted night's sleep but the exact date was escaping him. Exhaustion can do that to you. "Scoot over, Fox," he said as he nudged the boy toward the wall and slid into the twin bed with him. Right now sleep was the only thing, he reasoned. Everything else could wait for morning. The child turned and cuddled against him and the AD settled down under Batman sheets and a Superman comforter and went back to sleep. ********************************************************************* Saturday evening 5:45 p.m. Washington, D.C. Dana and Maggie Scully looked up as the tall man and small boy approached from the dock side of the restaurant. They were hand in hand, and the AD carried a couple of helium balloons and a stuffed animal in his free hand. Skinner had arranged the dinner, partly to get an update on the research into Mulder's situation. And partly to determine why Scully had been keeping her distance from them. When Dana suggested her mother come along, he'd agreed readily but recognized it was probably another distancing maneuver. They sat down after greeting the two women and Fox immediately began telling them about where they'd been. "We went to see 'Tarzan,' it's a movie," he said. "He swings through the trees on a rope." He hadn't yet developed the ability to differentiate reality from what he saw on TV and in the movies. "Yes, I know," Maggie immediately answered. She smiled warmly at him. "Did you like the movie?" "Yes," the boy answered, "and I went on a roller coaster, too." Now the Scully's were perplexed. "We ran into a street fair on the way over," Skinner explained. He finished tying the balloons to the back of Fox's chair and placed the stuffed animal they'd won on the floor next to the boy's chair. "It's why we're a little late." "Well, there's no problem," Maggie answered. "Dana and I were just catching up over a glass of wine." They ordered a soda for Fox and a beer for the AD and took menus from the waiter. Fox was already a little antsy, and Skinner quickly buttered a piece of bread and handed it to him as he attempted to keep a conversation going with Scully and her mother. To no avail. "Dad!" the boy interrupted him suddenly. Skinner was listening to something Dana was saying, and he shushed the child. "In a minute, Fox." "Somethings's wrong with this bread," the boy responded, holding up the piece the AD had given him. "Shhh, I'm talking to Dana. Just a minute," Skinner responded quietly, then turned his attention back to the redhead across from him. "Somebody did something to this bread," Fox insisted, tapping him on the arm. "You taste it--" Skinner murmured an apology to Scully for the interruption, then turned to the boy. "I'm sure there's nothing wrong with the bread, Fox," he said. The child held the buttered piece out to him, challenging him to try it. "Yes there is," he said. "You'll see." Skinner sighed and took the bread. "This is what it's like living with a four-year-old conspiracy theorist," he said, taking a bite. "There's nothing wrong, Fox. It's sourdough bread--" "I told you!" the child answered, crossing his arms triumphantly. "It's bad!" "Not, it's a kind of bread--" "Sour mean's bad," Fox said with complete certainty. "You told me!" "When did I say that?" the AD asked, stumped by this information. "When you put the bad milk in your coffee. And spit it out all over--" "Okay, I remember," Skinner said hurriedly. "And it went all on your shirt. And then you said--" "OKAY, Fox, I remember," the AD tried to cut him off again. ". . . a bad word," the child finished, lowering his voice and giving the Scully women a solemn, knowing look. They both raised their napkins to try to hide the smiles that immediately sprang to their faces. Skinner colored slightly, then pressed his lips together, trying to refrain from smiling himself. "Okay, let's review the meaning of the word 'secret," he said, pulling the child off his chair and onto his lap. He ran a finger up Fox's rib cage and held him tight as the boy pulled his two arms up to cover his midsection and giggled. "Oh, yeah," he said, looking at the Scully women, "don't tell anybody. It's a secret." "As far as Fox is concerned, 'secret' means you only tell anyone you've ever met," Skinner laughed. He pointed to the children's menu, and Fox began to read it aloud. Maggie smiled and complimented him on how well he read, but Skinner couldn't help noticing that Dana's smile suddenly looked hollow, and the light had all but disappeared from her eyes. After they placed their orders, he suggested that Fox take Mrs. Scully to the dock "to show her the boats." and Maggie readily agreed, knowing it was ploy to get the other two a chance to speak alone. Fox jumped down from the chair he'd been kneeling on and took her hand as they left. "What's wrong, Scully?" Skinner asked as soon as they were out of earshot. "I have nothing good to tell you, sir," she answered. "Our research is completely stalled." "The serum--" "We can identify about 90% of the material," she answered quickly. "The rest defies all known science. We can't ID it, can't duplicate it. . . ." Skinner lowered his head and closed his eyes momentarily in frustration. But the news was not unexpected. If Scully had found anything, any lead, he knew she'd have been in touch with him immediately. Something else was wrong, too. He waited for her to reveal it on her own time. "We don't know when he'll need the next dose. He's aging more rapidly again. . . .and we don't have the serum," she said, more quietly yet, putting a fear that had been growing in both their minds into words. "We'll just have to rely on Krycek, then. That's all there is to it," Skinner answered, reaching for any ray of hope he could find. Scully listened but her eyes betrayed the terror that had been building inside her for all these weeks. "And what reason does Krycek have to want Mulder alive? Putting our trust in him is--" Skinner leaned forward, taking one of her hands in his own, and she looked up at him, startled by the physical contact. Her eyes shone with the tears she had been hiding. "What choice do we have, Scully?" "None," she replied, shaking off her momentary loss of control. "But I don't have to like it, do I?" "No. Neither one of us has to like this," he answered, bringing the beer glass to his lips. Her eyes drifted to the dock area, outside the restaurant's windows. The afternoon sun was glistening on the Potomac, and she could see Fox pointing toward a sailboat making its way into port. "But you seem to be adapting, sir. Better than anyone could have expected. Better than I . . . ." Finally, the AD thought to himself. The thing that stood between them had a definition. And he wished he had a reasonable answer, one that would satisfy her. "I'm sorry," she said quickly, turning back to him. "I didn't mean it that way. He's lucky you have adapted, I know that--" "Scully, I--" he began, then stopped, not certain he could explain the complex interweaving of knowledge and emotions that defined his current understanding of the world. Or lack of understanding might be more accurate. He had been working on gut instinct for some time now. "I miss Mulder, too, Scully," he said, his own eyes turning toward the window and the two people on the dock. "I wish like hell he was here. I'd like to hear his analysis of all of this. . . . But if he was here, I think I'd be missing the hell out of that little boy. I know it doesn't make sense--" This time it was her turn to offer a comforting touch. She laid a hand on his forearm, understanding for the first time that he had found a way to separate the two, the adult Mulder and the child named Fox. And wishing she could do the same. "It makes about as much sense as anything else right now, sir," she said gently. He and Dana spoke another few minutes, about her concerns that Fox's development would be altered too significantly by all the differences in his life. But she admitted there was no way to duplicate his original experiences and that led to a discussion of her other fear. That Mulder would turn out to be someone other than the man they both knew, because of those dissimilarities. Skinner's eyes grew dark with worry. He'd suffered a few restless nights over this issue as well. But he had no idea how to fix it. He was afraid of the possibility that Mulder would be different. Hell it was almost a certainty, given the different experiences he would have this time around, something they all knew was inevitable. Skinner's eventual response to it, though, was not to think about it. To give this child the best possible experiences, the most love and security he could provide. And hope for the best outcome. Just like any other parent did, he imagined. Maggie Scully and Fox could be seen approaching now and Skinner wanted to reassure Dana as best he could. "Well, actually the issue of what career he'll choose is already resolved," he said, receiving a shocked look from Scully in return. "Fox, did you tell Dana and Mrs. Scully what you want to be when you grow up?" he asked the boy as he climbed back up on his own chair and picked up his soda. He took a sip, then placed it carefully back on the table. "You already decided?" Mrs. Scully said, with a smile. The little boy nodded soberly. "Batman," he said. There was a split second of silence, before Scully responded. "I'm not riding around in any funny little cars," she said with a straight face. Skinner and Maggie laughed instantly, then Dana joined them. Fox laughed, too, though he obviously had no idea what was so funny. Then the AD called the waiter for another round. It was good to have the old Scully back again. One down, one to go, he thought. Johns Hopkins University Baltimore, Maryland June 30 Dana Scully had just finished her advance briefing with the research team when AD Skinner arrived. She'd known all their findings, been over the details again and again, but she wanted to assure herself one more time that she'd asked every possible question, explored every possible avenue they might pursue with regard to Mulder's second childhood. Skinner nodded to Dr. Heitz Werber and Dr. Allison Barton. Werber was a psychologist who'd worked extensively with the adult Mulder, had even regressed him to childhood through hypnosis several times. Dr. Barton was a renowned expert in childhood development and she'd signed on to head the team that would make recommendations about how to best get Mulder through this experience intact. She was also Casey Barton's mother, a connection that Skinner thought was fortunate. He could see the daughter sincerely cared about Fox and he hoped her mother would share her feelings. This child needed as many people on his side as possible. "Well, sir, we have had some time to study the situation and . . . . frankly, we've got very little consensus, even among the core team," Scully said by way of introduction. Skinner exhaled forcefully. He'd been hoping these very smart people would have come up with a definitive solution. He was a man who always preferred something solid and sure when it came to problems. It was frustrating to just keep coming up with more questions. Like an X-file, he thought to himself, then immediately regretted it as it started him down the same old path he'd been treading for weeks. Wishing Mulder was here to help him figure out what to do about Fox. "The boy has a very high IQ," Dr. Barton said, jumping into the silence. "He appears to be about four now, perhaps a little more. He's articulate for his age, has excellent physical and cognitive development. He absorbs information at an extremely rapid rate." "Which indicates to me that he's 'relearning,' not learning," Dr. Werber completed her thought. Except it appeared from her reaction that Dr. Barton was not necessarily in agreement. "Or that he's just a highly intelligent child. I interviewed his mother," Barton countered, "and she said he was extremely gifted--" "And I knew the man, spent time regressing him to childhood," Werber argued. "He was very intelligent, but he went through school at a normal pace. A child who could learn as fast as this child is learning, would have stuck out in a public school like a sore thumb--" "Well, what's your hypothesis, then," Skinner asked, wanting to get them two of them back on track. Back to recommending how to proceed with Fox's education. "If he's 'relearning' as you say, wouldn't he start remembering things about his childhood? So far, he's never mentioned anything. About his family, his parents, where he used to live. I've taken him to see his mother, his old apartment. No recognition whatsoever." Barton nodded her agreement, and Werber shook his head slowly. He didn't have an answer to that question. "Well, we haven't got enough data about this to be certain, but . . . . Different parts of the brain perform different functions, we know that. There's an area of the brain that houses information and data. There's the part that knows how to read. A part that handles language. And there's a place in the brain that contains all of our experiences and memories." "Sir, Dr. Werber postulates that Fox is 'remembering' the information and data when it becomes important or necessary. But that, so far, he hasn't tapped the part of the brain that holds his personal experiences and memories." Werber nodded vigorously. "I think that's because Fox hasn't needed those data and memories. Or something's blocking him from tapping into them. And yet, letting him access other knowledge and learned behavior when the need arises." "But he remembers his experiences and memories from this time. He can recall the Mickey Mouse shirt someone was wearing at a rest stop on the New England Thruway--" Skinner replied, shaking his head. "Yes. He has an excellent memory. We've tested him--" Dr. Barton agreed. "Perhaps this is similar to a stroke victim," Werber argued. "When a part of the brain that performs a particular function stops working, another part of the brain can learn to perform that function. We know the human brain is only utilized at perhaps 10 to 15% of capacity. The child may be tapping into new parts of his brain for some things. . . " "And what do you think might be responsible for that? Allowing some of the brain to function normally and blocking other parts. There's no precedent for such a thing," Dr. Barton said, shaking her head. "The brain just doesn't work that way. Children don't develop that way. It's impossible . . . ." Her voice drifted into silence and they all stared at each other, stumped about how to proceed. "Well, it's impossible to think he's been 'reversed' to childhood, Doctor," Scully said quietly, "and yet, the evidence overwhelmingly supports that conclusion. Perhaps whatever made that happen is also controlling his development." They spent some additional time presenting their 'education plan' to the AD It consisted mostly of a kind of home schooling, letting the child continue to absorb information as fast as he could. Casey Barton would handle that for now and they'd identify appropriate tutors for when he got older and needed more advanced education. In addition, they all agreed the boy should have as many 'normal childhood experiences' as possible. That would be Skinner's responsibility to provide, it seemed. The AD thanked them and left, noting with a sigh that he would be late getting home again this evening. Fourth of July weekend couldn't come fast enough, he thought as he drove home in the worst of the D.C. area's evening rush hour. It looked like the Skinner clan would be put to work helping him arrange those normal childhood experiences. ********************************************************************** The Skinner Home Danville, Pennsylvania Saturday, July 3 It was just past 8 o'clock in the evening and the adults in the Skinner family were having iced tea on the back porch, after the younger children had been put to bed and the older ones had gone into town to see a movie. Suddenly, Fox appeared at the screen door from the kitchen. He was dressed in Batman pajamas and was barefoot, and he just stood there, rubbing at his eyes with small, balled up fists. "Fox, honey, what's wrong?" Rachel Skinner said. She'd noticed him first and rushed to open the door and pick him up. "Are you feeling all right?" "I'm scared," he said. "There's a monster in my room--" "A monster?" the older woman said sympathetically, depositing him down on Skinner's lap. The AD took him, grimacing slightly. Somehow he'd failed miserably to get the boy to grasp the concept of staying in bed once he'd been tucked in for the night. This nightly wandering ritual was becoming a problem. "The monster followed you from Virginia?" he asked the little boy, trying not to betray his growing impatience as he settled him on his lap. "No," he replied, screwing his face up as though he were about to cry. "It's a different monster. Under the bed. . . . Or maybe in the closet." "There's no mon--" Skinner began, only to be cut off by his brother, Joe. "Which monster is it, Fox?" "Which monster?" the boy asked, puzzled. "Which monster?" the AD responded, barely a second later. He gave his brother a look that signaled his mild annoyance at the question. "Those monsters haven't changed since we were kids, Walt," Joe answered smoothly, then turned his attention back to the child. "Was it the one that breathes fire? And has big yellow teeth?" Fox shook his head. "The green one with seven heads?" "No," Fox replied tentatively. "How 'bout the one with three eyes and a long, spindly tail?" Fox nodded vigorously. "That one," he said firmly. "Oh, Melvin," Joe said, sitting back in his chair with a satisfied grin. "Melvin?" the boy asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Mel-vin?" Skinner responded, giving his brother another look. This one bespoke a fervent wish his brother wouldn't encourage this nonsense. "Is there an echo out here?" Joe asked the crowd. "His name is Melvin. And he's nothing to be scared of, Fox. In fact, he's probably more scared of you than you are of him." "He is?" Fox leaned forward, listening actively. "Sure. In fact, if you called him out, he'd be so scared, he'd just disappear. Why don't you try it?" Now Skinner sat back in his chair, recognizing where Joe was going with this. A smile crept to his lips as he felt the child snuggle back into his chest. The idea of calling out a monster was a little too scary, apparently. He must have given Joe a look that betrayed his fear, because the younger Skinner got up from his chair and squatted next to the boy. "Come on, I'll be here with you. And your Dad will, too," Joe said. "Just call him. See if he comes. Or if he just disappears, now that he knows you know who he is." Fox opened his mouth, then closed it again. He was still too fearful to try it, apparently. "Go ahead, Fox," Skinner said from behind, tightening his hold on the boy. "I'm right here with you." The child gave him a tentative look, biting his lower lip. Then he turned to the screen door and called, softly at first. "Melvin," he said, then paused, his body tense with worry. When nothing happened, he got a little more courage. "Hey, Melvin! Melvin! Come on out!" Silence was the only answer and finally, Joe spoke, patting the boy on the knee. "You did it! You scared him off, Fox. Want to go see if he's completely gone?" Fox hesitated, but Walter and Joe could see the finish line. They offered to escort the little boy upstairs, and search the bedroom with him. He left amid a chorus of good night's from the rest of the family, one hand in each of the men's as they headed up the back stairs. "Do you have your gun, Dad?" he suddenly asked Skinner as they approached the second floor landing. "No, but I think we'll be okay without it," the AD chuckled as they began looking under the bed, behind the door and in the closet. No sign of Melvin. In another minute, they had the boy tucked back in bed but he was still talking. "What's the name of the one with seven heads?" he asked. "That's Bernie," Joe responded. "And the one who breathes fire?" Fox asked, trying to stifle a yawn and losing the battle. "What are you writing a book or something?" Joe laughed. "That's Poindexter. And if you go to sleep right now, I promise I'll tell you the names of all the other monsters tomorrow, okay, munchkin?" Fox nodded and closed his eyes immediately and Joe headed out of the room. Skinner kissed him on the forehead and tucked him into bed once again, admonishing him to stay there this time. Then he followed his brother down the back stairs, and found him in the kitchen, holding two cold beers. He handed one to his older brother. "Admit it, Walt. You always thought this was easy, didn't you? All those years, you thought Andy and Jean and I were just whining. . . " He grinned from ear to ear. The entire family had come to love Mulder, and now little Fox, and they were happy the AD had decided to keep the boy with him. But on another level, Joe and Andy were really enjoying the chance to watch their big brother struggle with the little kid things he always told them were "mole hills writ large." Things like setting and enforcing a bedtime for a four year old. "Uh huh," Skinner agreed affably, clinking the neck of his bottle against his brother's. "But I don't envy you the discussion you're gonna have with him tomorrow. There's an entire catalogue of monsters buried in that kid's brain. You better start coming up with those silly names now!" ******************************************************************** Founder's Park Danville, Pennsylvania Fourth of July Four-year-old Fox swung the bat, and looked immensely startled when it connected soundly with the ball. He stood, motionless, at the plate as every kid on the field began to run in one direction or another. "Run, Fox!" various members of the Skinner family yelled at him from the sidelines, pointing the way toward first base. Even the man in the umpire's uniform abandoned neutrality, pointing at first base and all but pushing him toward it. Walter Skinner was coaching third base this inning. "Run to Uncle Andy," he yelled to the boy, who finally remembered what he'd been told to do if he hit the ball and took off like a shot toward the youngest Skinner brother, who was coaching first base. The ball had torn through the infield and landed in mid-center. Luckily, the 4 to 6 year olds on the team were all about as unskilled and one boy ran the ball down, then threw it halfway to first base where it was immediately booted back into the outfield by another kid. Meanwhile Fox ran the 90 feet to first and jumped into the arms of the first-base coach. "I did it!" he yelled. "Yes, you did," Andy Skinner responded, laughing. He gave him a quick hug, then deposited him on the base. Once he saw the ball heading back into the outfield, he sent the boy on to second base with instructions to stand on the bag once he got there. Fox ran at full tilt, then stopped as instructed. The ball was thrown once again toward first base, even though the runner had advanced to second and the tiny first baseman missed the catch. When the ball bounced out of bounds and into the dugout, both Walter and Andy yelled to Fox to run to third base. It took them a second or two to get his attention but once they did, he was off and running for third, skidding to a halt and jumping into the A.D.'s arms gleefully. "I did it! I hit it! Did you see?" Skinner gave him a big hug, then dropped him on the bag. "You have to stay on your base," he instructed the child. "Otherwise you could get thrown out." It was only the fourth inning, and already the score was resembling that of a football game. But the kids were having a great time and this was about as much fun as he'd had in years, Skinner thought idly. And Fox was having a ball. The huge grin on his face attested to that. The next two batters walked and that loaded the bases for Brian, Skinner's five-year-old nephew. Joe was managing their team and Walter watched him give the boy a last minute batting lesson, then send him out to the plate. Brian had struck out in his first at-bat, but this time, he punched a line drive through the infield. "Run to home plate, Fox," Skinner yelled and was gratified when the boy immediately took off at a full tilt. Someone in the infield had had the presence of mind to send the ball back toward home, but Fox got there first. His run put their team ahead by one and when they finally struck out the next batter, that final run was the winning edge for their team. "Only four innings?" Skinner teased Joe as they cleared the field to let the next two teams of older boys take over. "A couple of more, and we could have been looking at scores to rival a basketball game!" "Exactly. None of these kids can count that high. Besides, it's hot and I'm thirsty." They retired to the picnic tables and chairs the Skinner brothers had moved into the park earlier. The Fourth of July picnic in Danville was a time-honored tradition because it marked Independence Day and the founding of Danville more than a hundred years earlier. The day always started with a parade on Main Street in the morning. Then the annual picnic in Founder's Park followed in the afternoon. The townspeople brought picnic and barbecue gear and spent the day. Games and contests filled the afternoon hours. Then a band or two played in the evening and the day's festivities always ended with a huge fireworks display once it was dark. Skinner made it a point of coming for the holiday each year, but this year, he was seeing it all through new eyes. "Are you having a good time?" he asked Fox as he helped him get a hot dog and an ear of corn. "Yeah," the boy replied enthusiastically. "This is the best day in my whole life!" Skinner smiled, but the comment tore a little at his heart. This child's 'whole life,' at least this time around, was less than two months old at this point. And he was beginning to age faster now, faster than ever before, the AD thought to himself. Next would come the pain and they had no new dose of the serum waiting . . . . He shook off that train of thought and tousled the boy's hair. "Good. Wait till you see the fireworks. That's really something." And the fireworks display this year was a sight to behold. Each year it seemed to grow more spectacular. Skinner looked around for Fox as it was about to begin and saw him sitting with Brian and Michael and Joe. The elder Skinners were there, too, along with Jean and her husband and kids. The entire family had made it for the celebration this year. But as soon as the fireworks began, though, he saw Fox put his hands over his ears and look around in a panic. Skinner covered the distance to him in two strides, picking him up and hugging him. "There's nothing to be afraid of," he said soothingly, realizing the boy had never seen, or heard, fireworks before. "See? It's just pretty lights in the sky." "It's too loud," the boy answered, still holding his hands over his ears. "Yes, it's loud," Skinner agreed. "But that's part of the fun. It's like rockets exploding. See? The big red one? And this sparkly yellow one? Oh! Look at that one, it looks like a falling star!" Soon the boy had pulled his hands away from his ears, and settled into the A.D.'s arms, one small hand resting on Skinner's shoulder. In another minute, he was joining in with the 'oohs and aahs' from the gathered crowd as each new effect lit the sky above him. Skinner spent as much time watching the wondrous looks on the boy's face as watching the fireworks themselves. He caught sight of his mother with her camera, taking photos of the same thing. "It's his first time, you know," Walter shouted in his mother's ear, trying to be heard above the din. "Yes, I know, dear," she shouted back in his ear. "It shows!" "Where do the fireworks go?" the boy asked him suddenly. He was watching the shells explode overhead, then following the debris as it fell to the ground from the smoke-filled sky above. Skinner didn't understand the question at first, and the boy repeated it. "Oh, the spent casings? After they explode? Whatever part's left over probably falls into the river," he replied, marveling at the attention to detail the child betrayed almost all the time. It was a character trait of the adult Mulder. And the young version shared it, to his relief. Along with an abiding curiosity, it seemed. He made a mental note to share that information with Scully. Perhaps it would ease some of her concern. When the fireworks finally ended, the family began packing up. The Skinner men loaded the tables and chairs, and the barbecue into their SUV's, while the rest of the group packed up what remained of the food. Walter was loading benches in the back of the jeep with his nephew, Mike, when he noticed a solitary, dark figure behind a tree, signaling him. Skinner took a closer look, then told Mike to go back and make sure Fox was where he'd left him, with the rest of the family. He'd given the boy instructions to stay there with the others but now he wanted to make sure Fox was following them to the letter. Skinner headed for the stand of trees. "I wondered when you'd show up," he said to the man dressed in black. Krycek smiled. "I hate to interrupt this pleasant, All-American celebration," he said smoothly. "But I have something you might be needing. And I thought you'd rather not wait for it." "You thought right, Krycek. Where is it?" "Not just yet. I've been watching the boy. He's growing quickly, no? Seems to have adjusted very well. They'll be interested to know that." "They?" Skinner jumped on the word. "Who are THEY?" Krycek sighed. "They. . . . are the ones who invented it. The technique for reverting someone to infancy. They know Mulder's their only success with it, so far. The only one who's . . . coped with it. This serum is 'new and improved,' you know. That may be why it's worked this time. Or it may be something about Mulder." Skinner tensed at the implications of that statement. "Are you saying . . . they might want him back? Is that what you're trying to say, Krycek?" Krycek shook his head. "I'm not saying anything, old man. Except that I would never have taken you for the doting parent type. I watched you all day today. It was a lovely thing to see, really lovely. Mulder never had it so good, huh? I'm sure he'll be thanking me, when it's all over--" "Krycek, I don't have time for this. Do you have something for me?" "Yes, I have something for you," he answered, pulling a silver vial out of his pocket. "The boy doesn't appear to need it yet, though." Skinner took it from his hand immediately. "I'd rather have it before he needs it," he said firmly. "Next time, see if you can get here sooner." "I risk my life every time I bring you one of these, Skinner," Krycek retorted angrily. "If they knew . . . " Skinner thought 'they' probably knew exactly what Krycek was doing. It was the only explanation for his ability to get the child, and the serum, out the way he had. But the AD wondered whether Krycek was acting when he pretended he didn't know that. Or whether he actually thought he was getting away with something. Either way, Skinner wanted to play it carefully, not antagonize the other man too much. At this point, he was their only lifeline for Mulder. "If I give it to him before he needs it," he said slowly, "before he's in pain,. . . .what happens? Any side effects?" "How touching," Krycek said. "Your concern for the child is wonderful--" "Just answer the question, Krycek," Skinner growled. "I don't know for sure. I think it would just slow the aging process down a little more, make the entire process take a little longer. But I'm not a doctor, or a scientist. I don't know any more than that." "Thank you," Skinner said as he turned to go. "See if you can get back a little quicker next time, Krycek. It's always a pleasure to see you." He returned to the area where the tables had been set up and found the family saying their good-byes to neighbors and friends. Skinner scanned the crowd of relatives, looking for Fox but he was nowhere to be seen. His heart began racing as he circled the crowd and called for the boy. "Dammit," he muttered, realizing Krycek must have been a diversion, to separate him from the child. "Has anyone seen Fox?" he yelled to his brothers. No one had and Skinner was trying to track down Doug and Sheriff Cole in the milling crowd when Andy noticed Brian was missing, too. Skinner stopped short at that information, knowing there was no little chance the Consortium, or whomever Krycek was working for, would want the other child, too. Andy immediately questioned his 3-year-old daughter, who'd been with Fox and Brian a few minutes before. "Where's Brian," he asked her. "Do you know where Fox went, Haley? And Brian?" The little girl nodded. "Where did they go, honey?" Andy asked her, trying not to betray his impatience. "To see fireworks," she said simply. "The fireworks are all over, sweetie," Andy said gently. "Where did--" Suddenly Skinner understood the meaning of his niece's answer. "The river," he shouted, taking off in that direction and calling back over his shoulder. "They went to where the spent casings fell in the river!" Joe, Andy and Doug raced after him. They sped past milling people and ran for the edge of the park that ended at the river. The lights strung around the field faded behind them and at first, they weren't able to see much in the inky darkness. Finally, though, their eyes adjusted and the light from the star-filled sky and bright moon offered enough illumination for them to scan the riverside. At the top of the embankment a little ways down they saw Brian, standing there, looking a little worried. "Brian!" Andy called and the boy immediately turned toward them. Skinner reached him first and was about to ask where Fox was, when he spotted the small figure standing hip deep in the strong current of the river, still heading out. "Fox!" he yelled. Skinner's shout startled the child and he fell onto his butt in the rocky, fast-moving water and the current began pulling him downstream. Fox grabbed for a large rock and Skinner raced down the embankment, half running, half sliding, and into the water. He pulled him up by his shirt, finally getting a firmer grip on him and moving him into his two arms. The man waded back onto shore, hugging the child and silently thanking God he was all right. But once his panic receded, another emotion immediately took its place. He put the boy down on the bank and gave him a solid swat on his wet, shorts-clad bottom. Fox reacted with indignation and began wailing and rubbing his backside. "Owww!" The AD knelt down and gripped him by his two arms. "What did I tell you, Fox?" he asked him angrily. "Didn't I tell you to stay by Gran and Gram?" "I wanted to see where the fireworks went," the child wailed, his hands back covering his bottom in an attempt to forestall further punishment. "I don't care. You have to listen to me when I tell you something," he said. "Never, never, NEVER go wandering off like that. Do you understand me?" "But I wanted to see--" "Are you listening to me? You don't go wandering off by yourself. Ever. Do you understand me?" Skinner took a deep breath and willed his heart to stop racing. He picked the boy up, hugging him tightly, and kissing the top of his head quickly. Then he climbed back up the riverbank, giving Joe and Mike a look that signaled relief and gratitude in one brief glance. Skinner could hear Andy carrying a crying Brian about a hundred yards ahead of him and suspected his youngest brother had delivered a similar message, in a similar fashion, to his son's backside, too. They made their way back to the crowd without further incident. Fox stopped crying almost immediately upon their arrival back at the green, eager to tell Walter, Sr. about his adventurous trek to the river. The way the four-year-old told it, it was only slightly less of a feat than, say, climbing Mount Everest. He was immensely disappointed his trip had ended as it had, in failure to acquire any spent fireworks. And he was positively indignant over the final outcome. "Then Daddy spanked me," he ended his story, apparently shocked at the audacity of the man who was packing up the rest of their picnic gear behind him. Skinner raised his eyebrows at the exaggeration. "He did?" the elder Skinner replied with mock surprise, before his son could interject his version of the event. "He's an old meanie, isn't he?" "Yeah," the boy nodded, glad to find one adult who shared his viewpoint. He gave Skinner a sideways glance, as if to say, see? I'm not the only one who thinks so. The AD shook his head and gathered the rest of the things he needed to load in the back of the jeep. "Who are you?" he asked his father, as he prepared to return to the jeep one more time. "And what did you do with the guy who raised me?" Walter, Sr. laughed, then turned back to Fox. "He's either an old meanie. . . or he just loves you and doesn't want anything to happen to you. Right?" "Yeah," the boy agreed again. Then he broke out in a fit of giggles when the older man reached over and tickled his belly. "So, which one do you think it is, Foksik?" he asked, using a Russian pet name the child had picked up in the Skinner family. He picked the boy up and began walking toward the car park. "Is he a meanie? Or does he just love you a lot?" Fox considered the question, wrinkling his forehead to signal he was giving it deep thought. "He loves me," he said, with great seriousness. "And he's mean, too!" The Breakfast Nook Saturday, July 10 8: 35 a.m. Walter Skinner sighed and handed his menu to the waitress. "Fox, you have to eat something," he told the child who was shaking his head across the table from him. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day--" "I'm not hungry," the child responded, pushing his lower lip out in a way that made Skinner's heart leap. It was a gesture the adult Mulder used to good effect and it was eerie to see it on the almost five-year-old who so closely resembled him. He pushed the thought aside and concentrated on the problem at hand. "You have to eat something anyway, Fox," he said firmly. "Just have some juice and cereal, okay? Or toast. Which one do you want?" "Toast," the boy answered immediately. Skinner fought off a smile. Someone had given him a hint about giving kids choices and he was finding it worked like a charm with Fox. Just like now. "We'll take an apple juice and toast, too," he told the waitress. She smiled and took the menu from him and the one in front of Fox. "Aren't you just the cutest thing?" she said to the boy. "No," he replied succinctly. "Fox! That's not nice," Skinner admonished him. The child crossed his arms defiantly. "What have I told you about being disrespectful?" Fox lowered his eyes and looked a little uncertain about how far he could push this behavior. "Fox?" Skinner said, drawing the sound out into a question. "No, ma'am," the boy said, with every bit as much defiance as before, only wrapped in a cloak of respect. Skinner sighed and began to correct him again, but the waitress laughed and headed away, calling back over her shoulder. "Not to worry, hon," she said to the man. "That's a whole lot more respect than I get from my own kids!" Skinner didn't argue the point, but he gave the little boy sitting beside him a hard look. "Are you just cranky today, Fox? Or are you trying to get yourself in trouble?" "I'm not," the child responded quickly. "Not what?" "I don't want to be in trouble," he answered, his eyes filling with tears. "Then maybe you're just cranky," Skinner said, pulling him into a hug and kissing him on the top of his head. "But if you keep this up, you will find yourself in trouble, young man. So knock it off!" Their meal arrived and Skinner tucked into his "Farmer's Breakfast" of eggs, pancakes and bacon. He didn't eat like this often, but he was especially hungry this morning. Last night he'd worked late and never gotten to dinner. Thankfully, Casey had fed Fox and put him to bed long before the AD arrived home. Now today, Saturday, he would have to spend a couple of hours at the office again. He planned to take Fox along with him and had loaded the child's back-pack with books, toys and a Gameboy, enough to keep him occupied in the Assistant Director's office for a few hours. At least under normal circumstances it would be enough. But the boy was just not cooperating today. He pushed his toast around the plate, and emptied a sugar packet onto the table when Skinner wasn't looking. Then he spilled a glass of water over himself and his and Skinner's breakfasts. "I'll get you fresh food," the kindly waitress told him as she helped him clean up the mess. "Don't bother," he said, trying not to betray his impatience. "I think this was a mistake. I'll just take a check." Fox was near tears, but he couldn't seem to identify exactly what it was he wanted. "I'll eat brefast," he said as Skinner dabbed at the child's wet shirt with a pile of napkins the waiter had given him. "I'll drink my juice . . . " he whined, reaching out to get the glass. But his hand accidentally toppled the glass, sending the a wave of apple juice crashing onto the table, then onto the floor where the glass shattered. This time the liquid headed toward the AD and, before he could react, Skinner's shirt and jeans were covered with it. "Fox!" he said, irritation underscoring his words. He didn't complete the thought, fearing he might regret what would come out if he continued. He exhaled forcefully, then picked up some dry napkins and began to work on his sticky, wet tee-shirt and jeans. "I'm sorry!" the child wailed. Skinner looked around quickly, and saw the other patrons were watching them. "Quiet, Fox," he said, trying to calm the boy as he handed the waitress a $10 bill and told her to keep the change. "It's okay. We're going home now." "I don't want to go home! I'll be good!" Now Skinner was becoming irritated and worried about what the other customers must think. The kid sounded like he was scared to death. "No, we're going home," he said quietly. "I think you need a nap--" "I don't want a nap! I want to go to your office!" Fox had increased the volume of his argument to the point that Skinner merely picked him up and headed out of the restaurant as quickly as he could. Any minute now he expected the manager to request that he not return, ever. "I don't want to go home! Why are we going home?" Fox yelled as he was being carried through the dining area. "We're going home for a little attitude adjustment, young man," the AD said firmly as they headed through the glass doors and into the parking lot. "I don't want--" the boy wailed, then stopped abruptly. His hazel eyes widened and he sniffled once. "What's that?" he asked calmly. Skinner shook his head. "Exactly," he said, opening the door of the jeep and depositing the boy on the back seat, instructing him to buckle up. Skinner grimaced as his stomach growled with hunger and he climbed in to the jeep and headed home. ********************************************************************** That evening Crystal City, Virginia 7:03 p.m. It was just past supper time, and Skinner was trying to get Fox to bed. The boy hadn't napped today despite the A.D.'s best efforts. Somehow the kid, who seemed desperately tired, never fell asleep. He'd been antsy all day, and the AD never made it to the office. Lunch and dinner had been nightmares with Fox acting out so badly that Skinner never managed to swallow down anything resembling a real meal. Now he was stuck having to work on Sunday. If he could get someone to watch Fox. He was not about to spend another day like today. Casey had told him she was going to the beach for the weekend, Ocean City, he remembered. So she was not available. His parents were in Danville, but they were attending a neighbor's kid's wedding this weekend. He thought about asking Scully and decided to call her once he'd gotten the boy to bed. "Come on, Fox," he said impatiently. "You've been bouncing around like a jumping bean all day!" He immediately felt bad about his abruptness when the boy's eyes filled with tears once again. He'd been emotional all day long, one minute clinging to the AD, the next wailing about something trivial or some perceived slight on Skinner's part. The fact was that the Assistant Director was inclined to give him wide leeway. This second childhood and rapid aging had to be difficult for the kid. But today, his patience had been sorely tested. "I want you in bed, now," Skinner said firmly. "I don't feel so good," the boy said suddenly. "I feel like I'm gonna barf. . . " Skinner's eyes snapped to the child's face and, sure enough, he did look a little green around the gills. He picked the boy up and ran with him into the bathroom, making it just barely in time. The boy vomited up what little he'd eaten for dinner, covering himself and the floor with vomit before he reaching the toilet bowl. He'd waited too long to say he was sick, but Skinner realized he'd had little experience with the situation and probably hadn't recognized it until it was too late. The AD waited for him to empty his stomach, then undressed him, popped him back in the bath and redressed him in fresh pajamas. The child cried quietly the entire time, and Skinner did his best to soothe him, to no avail. Finally, he picked the little boy up and carried him to the bedroom. "I want to sleep in your bed," the boy whined, fresh tears springing to his eyes. "I don't want to sleep by myself." Skinner had fought this battle and finally won, or so he thought. The boy was now sleeping in his own bed nightly, and had even begun to stay in bed once he'd been put down for the night. But the AD had told him he could always come into his room when he was scared or sick. And tonight, he seemed to be ill. The soft spot in his heart won this battle, and he carried Fox into the master bedroom and settled him into the middle of the big bed. "Okay, you're not feeling well, Fox," he said by way of explanation, "so you can sleep with me, okay? But I want you to go right to sleep now--" He pulled the covers up over the child and bent down to kiss his forehead. He immediately realized the boy was hot. Despite the bath he'd just had, he was overheated and sweaty. Skinner got the thermometer and checked his temperature. It was over 101 degrees and he went next for a dose of children's aspirin and gave it to him, hoping that would resolve whatever was wrong with him. The boy settled down and fell asleep right away. But Skinner returned to check on him a little while later and felt his head. His fever seemed higher and he was sleeping fitfully, moaning as he slumbered. The AD was afraid this was the beginning of the next crisis, it was just about time. And Krycek had given him another dose of the medicine Fox needed, if that was the case. He hesitated for two reasons. First, there was a possibility something else was wrong with the child. And second, he didn't know whether he was supposed to wait until the boy was further along in the sequence of symptoms. Giving it to him too soon might be a problem, too. He decided to wait a little while longer, see if any other symptoms arose. And the only one that did was a little more vomiting, dry heaves, since nothing remained in the little boy's stomach. Skinner settled him back in bed and called Scully to come over. Luckily, she was home at 10 o'clock on Saturday night. "I don't know, sir," she said as soon as she'd checked the sleeping child. His temperature was about the same as when Skinner checked it earlier. "From what I can tell, there's nothing wrong. No symptoms of anything other than this . . . aging, this rapid aging." They'd both noticed that the pace of the aging had picked up again in recent days. "I'm going to give it to him, then, Scully," Skinner replied, going to the gun safe in his closet, where he'd put the vial. He kept it with him most of the time, storing it along with his guns in the safe he'd bought for the apartment, once he decided to keep the child with him. "But Krycek didn't know for sure what giving it early would do," she protested. "He's not yet in the same condition he was last time--" "I know," Skinner said, unlocking the safe and taking out the vial. "But he said the worst that would happen is the aging process would slow down a little more--" "As far as he knows, sir! And he said himself he's no expert." The boy moaned softly in his sleep, and both pairs of adult eyes turned to him at once. He shifted in the bed and turned on his side, as though trying to find a comfortable position. "I can't let him suffer like that again, Scully," Skinner said. "You can't want that, either--" "No, I don't want him to suffer," she said quietly. "But I'm beginning to think I'm the one who most wants Mulder back. Grown-up Mulder, that is." She stared at him, liquid blue eyes locked with his brown ones, unwavering and unblinking. Skinner's hands dropped to his sides as he watched her. He was stunned by the meaning behind her words, but she didn't back away from it. He shook his head, and tried to think of what he could say to convince her otherwise. But she just glanced at the sleeping child, then turned to leave. "Scully," he called and she stopped, without turning back. "He's your . . . responsibility," she said evenly. "I guess it's your decision." Then she walked out of the bedroom. He could hear her pick up her handbag in the living room, then she let herself out the front door. Skinner stood there another moment, staring at the door to the hallway, until another soft moan escaped from the child, recapturing his attention. He walked into the bathroom and returned a minute later with a container of rubbing alcohol and sterilized cotton. He pulled the covers off the boy, then gently turned him over and pulled back his pajama bottoms a little. He swabbed a small area on his hip with the alcohol-soaked cotton, then uncapped the vial and slid the hypodermic needle out of it. Next, he uncapped the needle and held it up to the light next to the bed, checking to make sure the medicine was there and in position. Then he hesitated for a moment, trying to ascertain the exact nature of his motivation. He trusted Scully, trusted her instincts. What if she was right about this . . . ? Fox cried out in his sleep now, and Skinner grimaced and plunged the needle into his hip quickly, releasing all of the medicine, then removing it and swabbing the area with the alcohol once more. He capped the needle and put it back in the vial. He would give it to Scully on Monday, for analysis of whatever residue remained. He waited a few minutes with the boy, then heard his breathing slow to the regular, deep breaths that signaled he was sleeping soundly. The child murmured something in his sleep, then something that looked like a smile passed over his face and he turned over and burrowed under the covers. The AD locked the vial in his briefcase and went into the living room, where he poured himself a shot of whiskey and sat in the dark, looking out at the lights of Washington, D.C. Wishing, yet again, that he could speak with Mulder, elicit the younger agent's take on little Fox's predicament. When it came to situations like this, no one's instincts, not his, not Scully's, were more likely to be right than Mulder's. Unfortunately, Fox Mulder was now a five-year-old, asleep in the Assistant Director's bed. And Dana Scully was questioning his motives for keeping the child, and his desire to get the adult Mulder back as soon as possible. The A.D.'s stomach growled loudly and he reached up and rubbed the area over his eyes where the pounding headache he'd had all day had finally settled. And blossomed. Another shot of whiskey was calling his name. A couple of months ago, the Johnny Walker would have been dinner after a day like this. But now . . . . Now there was a child in the bedroom who'd be up at dawn. And Skinner had to be awake, and alert, when he woke. He rose and headed into the kitchen, fighting off exhaustion and a sense of depression. He fixed a grilled cheese sandwich and a cup of instant soup, downing them both as he sat at the breakfast bar, staring out the window. A slight movement in the kitchen doorway caught his attention. Fox stood there, barefoot and in pajamas, holding his stuffed rabbit by one long ear. Skinner smiled inwardly. That rabbit sat on a shelf most of the time now, but it reappeared magically whenever the boy was feeling insecure or overwhelmed. "What's the matter, honey?" he asked the boy gently. "Do you feel sick?" Fox looked at him, large hazel eyes fixed on Skinner, questioningly. He shook his head tentatively. "Come here," Skinner said, opening his arms and the child ran right into them. The man picked him up and settled him in his lap. He was relieved to feel he was cool again, his temperature must have dropped back to normal, now that he'd had the serum. "I'm sorry I was bad," the child said, "I didn't mean it--" "You weren't bad, son," Skinner told him, hugging him tightly. "You weren't on your best behavior today, but you were sick. I'll never be angry at you for being sick. I know you always try your best to be good." "You're not mad at me?" the boy sniffled, leaning into the A.D.'s chest, making himself comfortable. "No, I'm not mad! And I'm not angry either," Skinner said, standing up and heading out of the kitchen toward the bedroom. He rubbed the child's back as he walked, trying to lull him back into sleep. He laid Fox, and the rabbit, down in the small bed in the second bedroom, then adjusted the covers around them both. "I love you, Fox," he said, leaning down to kiss the boy on his forehead. "Even when you're cranky!" Fox yawned and turned on his side, pulling the rabbit into the circle of his small arms. "I love you, too, Daddy," he said. "Even when you're cwanky, too!" Crystal City, Virginia Wednesday evening 6:00 p.m. Walter Skinner steeled himself for the confrontation he expected as soon as he entered his apartment. Casey, the grad student who babysat for Fox, had called and warned him what to expect. He put the key in the lock and turned it, opening the door. "Dad! Dad!" the boy yelled from the study. He and Casey must have been watching TV or playing a computer game but the 5-year-old's hearing was outstanding and he heard the slight noise and came running. "Dad, Mr. A. has a puppy! A really cute puppy! And he has no home! No one wants him. Can we go get him? Please?" The boy's words toppled over each other in his excitement as he ran through the living room to where Skinner was standing. He jumped immediately into the A.D.'s arms, still talking. "Mr. A. can't take care of him 'cause he's old! And it's not his dog, he just got him from someone. And he likes me! He really likes me. Can we go get him, Dad? Can we go now?" Skinner and Casey exchanged that look that passes between adults in a split second and communicates everything about the need to say no and the desire to do it without disappointing a child. And the fact it just can't be done sometimes. Casey had called Skinner at the office earlier and alerted him to the situation. Mr. Athanasiou, the old man who ran the newsstand on the corner, had a puppy, a mixed breed that was part Lab and part Golden retriever as far as they could tell. It had belonged to a neighbor of Mr. Athanasiou's who just died. And, while the man would love to take him, his wife was old and not well and he just couldn't handle the additional responsibility of a dog. So he posted a "Good Home Wanted" sign in his newsstand and waited for someone to volunteer to take the pup. And today, Casey and Fox went to buy a candy bar and walked into the trap laid for some unsuspecting kind soul. The little boy spent the rest of the afternoon playing with his new friend, and telling "Mr. A." that he was sure he'd take the little dog home. "Fox, let me get in the door and relax for a minute, okay, pal?" Skinner said lightly as he dropped the boy onto his own feet. He and Casey exchanged a few words about the day, while Fox anxiously awaited an answer from Skinner. He stood there expectantly, bouncing on the balls of his sneakered feet, eager to go get the new family member he expected to bring home tonight. After Casey left, Skinner went into the bedroom to change into casual clothes, little Fox hard on his heels. "Wait till you see him, Dad! He's a good dog. He won't be any trouble--" Skinner sighed, sensing he would not get a moment to change, or plan how to answer the child. He picked Fox up and sat down on the bed, placing the boy on his knee. "Fox, I know you would like to have this dog--" "He's a very good dog! He doesn't chew much, Mr. A. said so--" "He doesn't chew much, huh?" Skinner said quietly, trying to buy time while he searched for a way to tell the boy they couldn't have a dog. A puppy was a lot of trouble, and required a lot of attention. His job was too demanding, and too time-consuming to ever consider having a dog. And in a few months, God willing, this child would be a grown man, whose own job precluded having any pets other than fish. Fish that died regularly from neglect. "Pleeeease, Daddy," the boy said, his eyes filling with tears. "I really love him. And he loves me, too. Why can't we get him?" Skinner had been wrestling with having to tell the child about his situation, about when that would be necessary. He'd spoken to the pediatrician, and the psychologists and developmental specialists on the team studying the boy's condition. They'd all said the time would come, and Skinner would recognize it. He wondered if this was it for another few seconds, then decided it was. The experts had said to be as honest with him as possible, within the context of what a 5-year-old could understand. "Fox, I want to talk to you about something," he said, pulling him closer. "You know how you're growing very fast? We've talked about that--" "Yes," the boy said immediately. "I am a big boy. And I am strong." The AD couldn't help smiling. Lately the child had been defining and describing himself in this fashion. "I am strong," he would say. Or "I am smart" or "I am brave." As if saying it would make it true. "Yes, son, you are very strong. And you have to be strong and quiet right now. And listen to what I'm going to tell you." Two hazel eyes stared up at him, shining with trust and curiosity. Skinner swallowed down a ball of emotion and began to tell the child that he was growing much faster than other children. That he would be a grown man before the end of the year. And that he would be an adult before this puppy was a full-grown dog. "But I'll want him when I'm a man, too," the boy said simply, ignoring the major point and focusing on the dog. "I love him." "And I love you, Fox," Skinner said. "I'm sure you do love this puppy. But soon you'll be grown and you won't have time to take care of him. And neither will I. You'll move back to your apartment--" "Why can't I live here, with you?" The boy grew agitated and apprehensive at this point. "Well, you can, for as long as you want to," Skinner replied quickly, wanting to put his mind to rest. "But when you were grown up, you didn't always want to be here. And I think when you're grown up again, you'll want to have your own apartment. And you'll be busy working and no one will be there for the dog. That wouldn't be fair to him, now would it?" "I don't want to live somewhere else," the boy said, beginning to tear up. "I want to live here with you--" Skinner pulled him into a hug. It was clear the child was not able to process all of this information. And understand its stunning implications. "And you can, Fox, for as long as you want to," he assured the child. The AD planted a kiss on the top of his head. "I want to live here forever," Fox sobbed quietly. "You and me." "Okay, honey, it's okay. You and me. Just like you said," Skinner told him, rocking him soothingly. In another minute, his crying subsided. "You and me," the boy echoed, calming down. "And a dog." Skinner couldn't help it, he burst out laughing. "No, Fox," he answered, putting the boy down now he was calm enough to begin lobbying again. "We cannot have a dog. The apartment's too small for a dog, besides everything else. But you can pick where we eat tonight. Any place you want." Skinner had found he could generally distract the child by giving him some choice to make. But this night, he was not so easily bought off. He continued to plead his case until they were out of the building and had to make a decision which way to walk. Finally, the child relented and chose his current favorite place, Friendly's, however reluctantly. Skinner agreed readily and even told the boy he could have his favorite dessert, a "Monster Mash" sundae. But Fox was listless and protested he was not really hungry. He left most of his meal on the plate and the AD overrode his 'no dinner, no dessert' rule and allowed him his favorite ice cream sundae anyway. But even that didn't whet his appetite and Skinner ended up eating most of it. The two of them began the walk home, with Fox choosing the route that went by the park. Too late, the Assistant Director realized it also went past the newsstand owned by Mr. Athanasiou. The old man was just about to close up for the night when Fox skipped ahead and ran into the store. "Well, my little friend," Mr. A. said cheerily. "You did return! Just as you promised!" Fox looked back over his shoulder to see Skinner standing in the store's front door. "We can't take him," the boy said sadly, tears springing to his eyes as he squatted down and pulled the puppy into a hug. The dog licked his face happily. "My Dad says we can't have a dog." Skinner looked at the man helplessly. "I-- It's not that I don't want to help, Nick," he told the owner. "I would love to take him. But the situation with Fox is . . . complicated." The old man nodded his head and looked at the little boy who was stroking the puppy's head and talking to him softly. "I see he is . . . growing too fast, yes?" he said quietly. "He has something that make him grow up too soon. Like I read about in People magazine, is that it?" Skinner blinked at the question, at first surprised by the fact that Nick Athanasiou had clearly noticed the rapid aging. Skinner was not a man who took much notice of other people's kids, at least not ones he wasn't related to. Then he realized the old man thought it was that disease that caused children to age rapidly. He wondered how many others who noted the boy's quick growth thought the same thing. "Well, it's not exactly the same," he said quietly, "but you see why it's complicated. And why we just can't take the dog." "Yes, I see," Mr. A. said, nodding. "I will hope that someone else comes to take him, soon. He is a good dog, but I cannot continue to take care of him. My wife, she is very sick." They spent another minute, then Skinner literally had to pull the child away from the dog to get him to leave. The puppy stood and watched them leave, barking at their retreating figures. "See, Dad?" Fox said, beginning to sniffle again. "He wants to come with us." The A.D.'s heart ached as he picked the little boy up and left the store, comforting him to the best of his ability as they walked home. Fox went to bed that night without their nightly chat, saying he was too tired to talk, or have a story read. Skinner kissed him and turned the light out, then went straight to the phone to call his folks. He spent a half hour talking to them about how to help Fox get over his disappointment. They seemed a little amused by their son's strong reaction, but had advice and a lot of sympathy. When he hung up, he felt slightly better but physically and emotionally spent. At just past 9 o'clock, the AD collapsed into bed, and fell into an exhausted sleep. ********************************************************************** Teena Mulder's Home Greenwich, Connecticut Saturday afternoon "Who's that again?" little Fox asked his mother as she sat next to him on the sofa, flipping through Mulder family photo albums. Skinner sat on his other side, sipping an iced tea. He was there to provide the child with a sense of security, and to help Teena through the painful process of acquainting Fox with his real family. The psychologists on the research team felt he'd taken the initial conversation with Skinner as well as could be expected and it was time to start introducing him to his real history, in small doses. "That's your father," she said. The boy looked anxiously at Skinner but said nothing. "Darling, your real father loved you very much. But he died and went to heaven. And so you got another Daddy. Who loves you just as much as your other one did." Skinner gave the child a reassuring smile and nodded his head. "That's right. A lot of people love you, don't they, Fox?" The boy looked uncertain, then he leaned over to Skinner and whispered. "But I'm gonna live with you, right, Dad?" "Yes, of course, Fox," Skinner told him, laughing. "You live with me. But your mother loves you a lot. And so did your real father. And he would be here with you, if he could. Since he can't, you came to live with me." "And you bedopted me," the boy said, nodding his head. He'd obviously heard the word 'adopted' somewhere, but not often enough to get it exactly right. "Well. . . yes, something like that," Skinner answered, giving him a hug. "It's good for you to see all these other people too, though. That's why we want to show you these pictures." They went through a few other photos, shots that included Mulder as a child. But the boy didn't seem to recognize himself in the pictures. The AD wondered if, because he had no memory of the events, he didn't identify with the boy he saw in these photographs. "And this is your sister, Samantha," his mother continued, showing him a photo of a smiling two-year-old girl. "Where is she?" Fox asked her suddenly. Mrs. Mulder looked unsure about how to answer the question and her eyes drifted to Skinner's. But he was uncertain about how to play this one too. "Is she in heaven, too?" the child asked simply. "With my other Daddy?" "Well, I don't-- I don't know, dear," Mrs. Mulder stammered, looking a little flustered. Skinner knew immediately that he should step in. He wasn't certain what to say but the psychologists, Drs. Barton and Werber, had both agreed it was important to answer the child's questions simply and honestly. "Fox, we don't know for sure where your sister is," he said, pulling the boy onto his lap. "She may be in heaven. Or she may be somewhere else." The child nodded as if he understood that completely, then he reached over and pulled the photo album onto his lap and began flipping the pages. "Are there any pictures of dogs in here?" he asked. "Dogs?" Teena asked, perplexed. "No, darling. We never had a dog. Your father didn't like them at all. But we had some goldfish. . . ." ********************************************************************** Walter Skinner's Apartment Crystal City, Virginia Monday evening Skinner had gotten home a little later than he expected. The quarterly budget meetings were taking place and they were as heated as ever. The Bureau had undergone some cutbacks earlier in the year and now the Justice Department was asking for more. The afternoon meeting ran several hours longer than planned and Casey fed and bathed Fox and was putting him in bed when the AD finally arrived. "He's all yours, Mr. Skinner," she said hurriedly as she grabbed her backpack to go. She had told him she had dinner plans and he apologized again for delaying her. "No problem," she laughed. "Dave is always late anyway. This will just put me at the restaurant at the time he usually arrives. Fox is in bed, but hasn't had a story yet. See you tomorrow!" With that, she was gone. He laid his suit jacket on a chair in the foyer, and pulled off his tie as he walked to the bedroom. The little boy was in bed. And he was holding the stuffed rabbit, always a sign he was feeling a little lost or overwhelmed. Skinner wondered what this was about. They'd arrived back from Greenwich yesterday afternoon and Fox had seemed okay with everything Teena had told him, and showed him. In fact, he'd seemed surprisingly unaffected by what had been communicated. The AD wondered if this was a delayed reaction. He sat down on the side of the bed. "How're you doing, buddy?" he asked, running a hand through the boy's hair. "Did you and Casey do anything fun today?" Fox shook his head and Skinner was surprised again. Casey had spoken to him earlier and told him they'd spent the afternoon at the park. That was generally something the little boy loved. "Didn't you go to the park with Casey?" "Oh, yeah. We went to the park. And I played on the swings. And the monkey bars." The boy was usually quite verbal but he didn't seem to want to continue the conversation, so Skinner decided to follow his lead. "Do you want me to read you a story, Fox?" he asked, sorting through the books stacked on the nightstand next to his bed. "No," the boy answered. "Okay, then. Do you want to chat?" Skinner put the books back down and settled back for their nightly talk. "What do you want to talk about?" The topics generally ranged from what Fox had done that day, to questions about where Batman really lived, and whether Hercules was stronger than Skinner. He waited to see what was on the child's mind tonight. "When no one wants you and you go to sleep, and you don't wake up again, do you go to heaven?" Skinner was taken aback by the question. Where was this coming from? What could possibly have put something like this in the boy's head, just before bedtime. "When you go to sleep, you just wake up in the morning, honey," he said. "You know that. You wake up, and then you come wake me. Every day, first thing in the morning." "Not me, Daddy," he said quietly. "Someone else. Do they go to heaven when they don't wake up again?" Skinner was honestly stumped now. He frowned, trying to ascertain what the kid was talking about. "I don't know what you mean, Fox," he said, hoping to get more information. Fox pulled the stuffed rabbit into a tight hug and seemed to be holding back tears. "I heard Mr. A. say tomorrow they're gonna make the dog go to sleep, 'cause no one wants him. And he won't wake up anymore--" A half hour later, Nick Athanasiou answered his front door to find Assistant Director Walter Skinner there, holding Fox. The child was dressed in his pajamas, with a small Knicks warm-up jacket thrown over them. "What's wrong?" the old man asked anxiously. "I'm sorry to disturb you so late, Nick," Skinner said. "But Fox told me about the dog and. . . . . Well, I guess we can take him, after all. If you're still looking for a home for him." Nick was still too confused by the two of them appearing at his door to answer the question. "How-- how you find me?" he asked. "Oh, I have ways of locating people, Nick," Skinner said with a hint of a smile. "When it's important. Do you still have the dog--" At that moment, the canine in question came bounding through a doorway behind the elderly man and Skinner put Fox down on the front steps. The dog rushed up to him and the child opened his arms, accepting the slobbering that passed for dog kisses. "Hi, boy," Fox said. "You're gonna come live with us. I told you! Didn't I, boy?" An hour later, they were back in the Crystal City apartment, with Fox settled back in bed and the dog sleeping on the floor next to him. "He stays off the bed, Fox," Skinner had told the child several times. "Or else he has to sleep in the kitchen. Okay?" The boy agreed and finally settled down, with the dog on a blanket next to his bed. Skinner tucked him in, then kissed him good-night. "Tomorrow, we'll have to think of a good name for him, right, Fox?" "He already has a name," Fox answered, yawning mightily. "I named him after that guy in "Star Wars." Skinner was stopped cold at this information. They'd been to see the new movie, "The Phantom Menace" the week before. Actually, they'd seen it twice, at the little boy's behest. "What guy?" "You know, Yoda. 'Cause he was small and smart. And kinda cute. And so are you, right, boy?" he said to the puppy. The animal responded by jumping up on the bed and curling up right next to the boy. "He likes his name. See Dad?" Skinner smiled and gently pulled the dog off the bed. "You stay here, right Yoda?" he said to the dog. The pup curled up on the blanket on the floor. "I think that's a very good name, Fox," he said to the boy, whose eyes were closing now, against his will. "See you in the morning." Skinner closed the door behind him, suspecting the dog would very likely end up on the bed as soon as he thought the coast was clear. He'd worry about training it tomorrow. For tonight, Yoda and Fox both needed a good night's sleep. "Yoda," he said out loud, chuckling. "Mulder is gonna hate that!"