The Danville Series
by Cadillac Red


Sea Shanty Restaurant
Nantucket, Massachusetts

The Skinner family strolled en masse out the back door of the 
restaurant and onto the dock. It was a beautiful evening, a cool 
breeze blowing lazily off the ocean and a giant, blood red sun setting 
into it, looking for all the world like it might sizzle when it hit 
the water. The kids ran back and forth, looking at the boats and the 
adults admired some of them as well with only a little more 
circumspection. 

Andy Skinner whistled appreciation at one large, white yacht that was 
docked at the end of the long pier. "That's what I want, a yacht with 
a satellite dish!" he said appreciatively.

"So you can sit on your boat at sea and watch TV?" his wife, Eileen 
retorted with a laugh. 

"Yeah. Then no matter where I was in the world, I'd never have to miss 
a Bulls game," he answered with a smile. "Or a Bears game. Or a Cubs 
game--"

"I'm sensing a pattern here," Joe Skinner chuckled. "What could it be. 
. . ."

"Uncle Andy loves boats," Fox answered in all seriousness. "And teams 
from Chicago."

The adults smiled at his precocious desire to please, and to answer 
the question before anyone else. Joe caressed the back of his head and 
told him he was "absolutely right!" and they all walked on a little 
further, till they reached the parking lot. 

"You all go ahead, okay?" Skinner told the others. A look passed among 
the four Skinner men that spoke volumes. "Fox and I are gonna walk 
back, along the beach."

"We are?" the little boy asked, surprised. It quickly changed to 
something else, though, something that indicated his delight at the 
prospect of one-on-one time with Skinner.

"Can I go, too?" Andy's son, Brian, pleaded. "I want to walk on the 
beach, too."

"Not tonight, Bri," his father said, picking him up and tossing him 
over his shoulder. "I want to play "Go Fish" with you and Haley 
tonight, remember?"

The little boy began to protest once again, but his father chose that 
moment to tickle his belly and that was the end of the short-lived 
rebellion. The rest of the Skinner family headed for the cars in the 
parking lot, while Fox and Walter waved to them. 

They walked to the end of the dock and down onto the beach that 
stretched toward Chuck Talbot's place. It was a fifteen minute walk 
for the man, at best, but with an 8-year-old child, Skinner estimated 
it would take a half hour or more. And with the long talk he planned 
to have with Fox, it would probably be a lot longer.

The tide was low and they walked on the wet sand near the water for a 
while. At first Fox followed behind Skinner, trying to match the 
footsteps he left in the sand. But at the age of eight, he was several 
feet shorter than the AD and, as hard as he tried, he couldn't quite 
match the man's stride. Skinner laughed at his attempt though, until 
it raced through his mind that Mulder as an adult was almost exactly 
his height. The grown-up version would have had no trouble doing what 
the child attempted without success. It was a sobering realization.

In a little while the boy grew bored with that exercise and he began 
chasing the waves, running out after the water as the sea pulled back, 
then high-tailing it back in when the water rushed back. They walked 
like that until they were about halfway home and the sun had 
disappeared. A bright moon had risen and Skinner noticed a rock 
formation on a sandbar that had been left behind by the outgoing tide. 
At high tide it was completely submerged, but now it was dry and 
moonlight illuminated the flat surface of the largest rock. They 
walked out onto the sandbar and Skinner took a seat, letting his legs 
hang off the edge. The little boy flopped down beside him.

"How many stars are there?" Fox asked immediately. He was looking up 
wonderingly into the black sky, awed by the sheer number of twinkling 
lights there.

"How many? I don't know, pal," Skinner answered him. "A whole lot."

Skinner showed him some constellations and Fox asked questions about 
how they got their names and who named them, the kind of details his 
mind just naturally sought. He also added his own opinion, that at 
least one of them looked more like something else. "How do we get the 
name changed?" he asked in all seriousness. "So people don't get 
confused." 

Skinner bit back a laugh and told him something just had to be 
accepted as they were, even if it didn't make sense. "You have to pick 
your battles, kid," he said quietly. "Put your energy into things that 
you can do something about. And I don't think that's one of them!" 

Then the two lapsed into silence for a few minutes of appreciating 
nature's beauty. 

Finally, Skinner spoke quietly. "I want to talk to you about 
something, Fox," he said. "Something serious. I want to have a serious 
"man to man" talk with you, okay?"

The little boy turned to him, his faced etched with trust and Skinner 
had to swallow a lump in his throat before continuing. "You know how 
much I love you, don't you? And how much Gran and Gram love you? And 
everyone in the family loves you, right?"

Fox nodded thoughtfully. "Uh-huh."

"Because you're part of our family."

The child nodded again.

"But families have rules, you know, Fox," Skinner said. "Especially 
this family! And I haven't been very good about making sure you know 
all the rules up till now."

Fox blinked, and his forehead wrinkled as he concentrated on the 
meaning of the words. "Uncle Joe told me the rules," he said 
matter-of-factly.

"He did?"

"Yeah."

Skinner was surprised at the turn the conversation had taken and 
honestly stumped by what the boy was talking about. Had Joe already 
beaten him to this conversation?

"What rules did he tell you about?" he asked, finally.

Fox glanced up into the dark sky as he began to recite them. "Never 
slide into first base," he said. "Don't go out without sunscreen in 
the summer--"

Skinner let out an involuntary laugh, then tried to cover it with a 
cough. Once he'd regained his composure, he spoke again. "Well, those 
are good rules," he said, smothering a smile. "But I'm talking about 
some more important ones."

"Oh, those rules," Fox answered a little worriedly. "Like, don't ride 
your bike into traffic?"

Skinner sighed and took a moment to collect his thoughts. This was 
proving a little more difficult than he'd anticipated. "Well," he 
answered, stretching the sound out to buy a little more time. "That's 
a very good rule, too. Let me ask you something, Fox. When you did 
that, Uncle Joe or Uncle Andy had already told you to stay in line 
behind the rest of the family, right?"

Fox looked at him directly for another second, then he lowered his 
eyes. "Right," he said simply. 

"Okay, well that gets me to one of the very important rules, Fox," 
Skinner said quietly. "When I tell you something, or any grown-up in 
the family tells you something, we expect you to obey us. Not to go 
off and do whatever you want to do. Do you understand me?"

The little boy didn't answer. He was having no trouble understanding 
that he'd done something wrong the day before. . . . and he hadn't 
gotten away with it after all.

"I'm talking to you, Fox," his father said. "I expect you to answer 
me. Do you understand?"

He nodded. "Yes," he breathed.

"And that gets me to the second, very important rule. You will never 
get in trouble for making a mistake, Fox. Not the first time you make 
it. But you're a smart boy. And if you do it a second time, you'll be 
sorry. . . . And you're old enough to know not to do things that might 
get you seriously hurt. You have to think about what you're going to 
do before you do it. If you don't remember to think about your safety, 
even the first time you do something unsafe, you're going to be in 
trouble. Because nothing's more important than keeping you safe. Do 
you understand me?"

Fox's head bounced up and down and he blinked back tears. 

Skinner saw his reaction and reached out to pull him into a hug. The 
boy wrapped his arms around the A.D.'s neck and Skinner picked him up 
and settled him onto his lap. They weren't finished, but he didn't 
want the child to feel anything less than loved and cared for while he 
absorbed all this information. "Why are you crying, son?" he asked him 
gently, hoping to get to the bottom of whatever was going on.

The boy sobbed once, then pressed his eyes together, trying to push 
back the tears. "Are you . . . are you mad at me?"

Skinner wrapped his two arms around the slender child and shook his 
head. "No, honey," he answered warmly. "You didn't know all the rules 
yesterday so I won't be angry at you for breaking them before. This is 
about how I expect you to behave from now on, okay? Tell me you 
understand, Fox."

"I understand," he said quietly.

"I'm not telling you this because I'm mad at you. I'm telling you 
because I love you more than anything. Because if anything ever 
happened to you, we'd all be very, very sad. I don't know what I'd do 
if I lost you, Fox."

Skinner took a deep breath and pulled the boy tighter into the circle 
of his arms. "And there's one more, very important rule," he said, 
resting his head on the top of the boy's head. "Remember the other 
day, when I had to come get you in the ocean? When you were way out 
and couldn't get back to shore?"

He felt Fox's head nod. "Well, you told me you only went in to wash 
the sand off you. But you took a boogie board with you. And you 
wouldn't have done that if you were only washing off the sand, would 
you?"

The child didn't move now. He didn't even seem to be breathing. So the 
AD continued. "So you lied to me, didn't you, Fox?" He waited for a 
response, willing to give the boy as long as he needed to grasp this 
point. In about thirty seconds, Fox nodded almost imperceptibly. 
Skinner reached down and took his chin in his hands, lifting his face 
so that their eyes met.

"And that's the last, very important rule," he said. "Never, never 
lie. To me. To anyone in the family. Or to anyone else. But especially 
not to someone in your family, Fox. Do you understand?"

"I understand," he said, nodding his head as a single tear escaped 
from one eye and ran down his face. "I'm sorry, Dad." 

Skinner pulled him into another hug and stroked the back of his head. 
"I know you are, Fox," he said gently. "But I want to make sure you 
understand the rules. And remember them. Because now that you know 
them, I'm gonna expect you to follow them."

"Okay," the child answered immediately. 

"This is important, son," Skinner continued, "because if you break the 
rules from now on, you will be punished. You're old enough to 
understand and remember. So if you break them, I'm going to have to 
spank you, Fox. I won't want to. But I will. Because I love you and 
want you to grow up to be someone I'll be proud of. Someone the whole 
family will be proud of, too. Just like we're proud of you now."

The little boy looked up at him, seeming shocked at what he'd just 
heard. "You are?" 

Skinner laughed. "Proud of you? Yes, I am. You're a very smart, very 
special boy. And that's why I don't want anything to happen to you. I 
love you, Fox."

"I love you too, Daddy," the boy said, slipping into an old, 
comfortable pattern. He put his arms around Skinner's neck and hugged 
him tightly. "I'll be good."

"That's my boy," the AD said, feeling his eyes mist a little once 
more. "Let's head back to the house now, huh? If you're very good, I 
might even buy you an ice cream cone on the way."

They walked along, hand-in-hand for a little while longer. Then they 
took a short side-trip up to the road for ice cream, finishing their 
walk back to the Talbot house while licking Double Dutch Chocolate 
cones with rainbow sprinkles. 

The younger kids were already in their pajamas when they got back so 
they all sat on the back deck and played "Go Fish" for an hour, until 
Eileen announced it was past time for Brian to go to bed. Haley had 
conked out a little while earlier and been carried upstairs by her 
father Skinner accompanied Fox upstairs and got him in the bathtub, 
then helped the freshly scrubbed 8-year-old get into pajamas and jump 
in bed. 

He sat down on the edge of the bed in the bedroom Fox shared with 
Brian. The Talbot house was large and had six bedrooms but with the 
entire Skinner family coming and going, almost everyone was doubled or 
tripled up. Brian had had his bath earlier and fallen asleep as soon 
as he hit the bed, it appeared. Now he murmured quietly in his sleep 
and his breathing returned to a low, steady rhythm. Skinner brushed 
damp hair off Fox's forehead and waited for him to settle back.

"Do you remember what we talked about earlier?" he asked softly. "On 
the beach?"

Fox nodded. "About the rules?"

"Yes, about the rules," Skinner smiled. "Tomorrow, I want you to write 
them down, okay? Because Gram says it's always easier to remember 
things you've written down. And I remember from when I was a kid that 
she's right about that!"

"Okay," the boy said, a yawn overtaking him. But he fought it off, 
clearly worried about something. "Just the 'very important ones' you 
told me tonight?"

"Yes, just the 'very important rules.'"

Fox shot a look at Brian, who was sleeping soundly by then. "Are you 
gonna . . . sp--spank me? For going in the ocean by myself? And almost 
getting hit by a car?"

"No," he answered quietly. "If you're in trouble, I promise you'll 
know it right away. I'll never make you wait for punishment." He knew 
that, even as an adult, Mulder was unable to handle waiting for the ax 
to fall. "But that doesn't mean you can try to keep me from finding 
out to escape punishment, Fox. I want to be clear about that. If you 
lie, or do something to keep me from finding out about misbehavior, 
you'll end up in double trouble, got that, mister?"

The boy blinked, absorbing this latest information. "If I did that, 
then you'd spank me?"

Skinner nodded solemnly, reaching out to brush the boy's cheek. "Only 
because I love you, Fox. And I want you to grow up right. That's why 
it's so important to remember them, right? And why I want you to write 
them down tomorrow, to make sure you remember."

Fox nodded and yawned again. "I'll make you a copy of the rules, too, 
Dad," he said as he turned on his side and his eyes fluttered shut. 
"In case you forget what they are."

Skinner's eyebrows rose and he suppressed a laugh. <Forget them? I've 
been a Skinner for 47 years, kid! I can recite them in my sleep!>

"That would be great, Fox," he answered though as he leaned down and 
kissed the boy's forehead. "And writing them twice might be a good 
idea for you!"

Saturday morning
The Talbot House
Nantucket, Massachusetts

Joe and Nora Skinner and their family were packing up the car with the 
last few things and making certain their kids were almost ready to 
leave. They'd spent two weeks in Nantucket but school would start 
soon, and Joe's college football team would begin pre-season workouts 
on the following Monday afternoon.

"I'm glad you came," Walter Skinner told his brother as they loaded a 
large suitcase into the back of their min-van. "Fox has really enjoyed 
it, too."

"Thanks for having us, Walt," Joe said. "And we'll be back up for 
Labor Day weekend, I promise."

Andy and Walter were staying behind, with Andy's wife and three 
children, and Fox. The elder Skinners had returned to Pennsylvania the 
week before and would be back mid-week with Jean and her family, to 
spend the last 10 days of August. Andy was between projects at work 
and had taken the months of July and August off, a tradition he'd 
tried to maintain since his free-wheeling bachelor days. The offer of 
a month in Nantucket had come at a great time for them.

After the attack on Fox and Casey, Skinner had taken a few weeks of 
vacation, to get Fox settled in Nantucket for the rest of the summer. 
Now he would return to work on a part-time basis, flying back to D.C. 
on Tuesday morning and staying through Thursday afternoon, then 
returning. He'd likely work three 18 hour days while his family and 
the security team looked out for the child in his absence.

It would be a grueling schedule, and not easy to keep up with his 
workload even with the hours, but it seemed necessary given the 
security issues they faced with Fox. He wasn't certain what they would 
do in September, but he planned to face that bridge when it appeared, 
and not a moment before.

"How about a little water-skiing?" Andy asked after Joe and his family 
had driven off. They decided to pack up some sandwiches and take 
everyone out on the speedboat for a few hours. 

"I want to water-ski, too!" Fox yelled when he heard the plan. "I'm 
big enough, aren't I? I want to learn!"

Skinner eyed him thoughtfully. He'd grown several inches in recent 
weeks. At the fourth of July picnic, Fox had been two inches shorter 
than 6-year-old Brian. Now he was half a head taller, and looked at 
least a couple of years older. It was an amazing thing to see, if it 
wasn't so damn worrisome.

"We'll see," he told the boy, patting him on the back of the head. 
"We'll take the fishing poles, too, okay?"

They spent a few hours and Skinner let Fox try to water-ski in the 
calm water of the inlet. They were all surprised to see him get up the 
first time, and manage to hang on for quite a while. As an adult 
Mulder was a gracefully accomplished water-skier. But no one had 
expected him to catch on so well in his current state.

They spent the better part of the afternoon, then returned to the 
Talbot place for dinner. Everyone was tired, so the Skinner brothers 
offered to go to town and pick up take-out from the Sea Shanty. They 
came back and spread their haul on the picnic table out back. Fried 
shrimp, steamed lobsters, soft shell crabs, ears of corn, cole slaw 
and baskets of French fries were eagerly grabbed up by the family. 
Except for Fox, who didn't seem to be interested in anything but the 
ear of corn and a couple of glasses of Coca-Cola. By the time darkness 
fell, everything had been cleaned up and the three adults were 
relaxing on the deck. They watched the kids chase around the backyard, 
trying to catch fireflies.

"Fox!" Skinner yelled as the boy headed out onto the dock, following a 
small glowing fly. "Stay off the dock! I don't want you falling in!"

"I won't fall in!" the boy shouted back, his hands going to his hips 
in a posture that was startlingly familiar to the AD It was one 
Skinner tended to assume regularly, when dealing with Fox. And with 
Mulder.

"I don't care. Stay off the dock," the AD told him, conscious not to 
mirror the boy's stance. "I want you where I can see you. I mean it."

"Jeez, it's like looking at a miniature version of you, Walt," Andy 
whistled next to him, having noticed the uncanny resemblance of the 
boy's response to his brother's characteristic hands on hips glower. 
"That's positively spooky!"

Skinner ignored his brother's remark, except for something muttered 
under his breath. Andy wisely chose not to ask him to repeat it.

Meanwhile, Fox stomped back onto dry land, casting one fleeting 
glimpse in the direction the firefly had gone. He returned to the 
other two children and they proceeded to put their quarry in a 
mayonnaise jar they'd gotten from Eileen. 

Andy had punched air holes in the lid and the exercise of catching the 
fireflies and watching them glow amused the kids for a while longer. 
Then Fox and Brian got into an argument about something that their two 
fathers had to step in to settle and Eileen took that as a signal to 
put her two to bed.

Skinner stepped back out onto the deck with two beers and noticed Fox 
had ventured back in the direction of the dock again. "Fox! What did I 
tell you?" he shouted, handing one beer to Andy and placing his on a 
table next to the lounge chair.

"I'm not on the dock!" the boy called back, doing a pretty fair 
imitation of someone who'd stepped out that far to get a better look 
at the stars. As though they weren't visible from 30 feet closer to 
the house.

"Okay, it's time for you to go to bed, too," Skinner said firmly. 
"Let's go!"

"I don't want to go to bed! It's too early!"

"Tough. You're going to bed. You're just too darn cranky." Skinner 
stood up to make sure his point was heard, and crossed his arms over 
his chest to make doubly certain.

Fox stood his ground for another few seconds under the unrelenting 
gaze, then he stamped his foot, pounded his way up the steps to the 
back deck and threw himself in a chair. Andy watched the entire act in 
amused silence from his front-row seat.

"I don't want to go to bed yet," the boy said, crossing his arms in a 
gesture that looked exactly like Skinner's.

"Well, thanks for sharing. Now go to bed," Skinner said firmly. "When 
people get cranky, it generally means they need some sleep."

"I am not cranky--" the boy protested, only to be lifted out of his 
chair by two strong arms. The AD placed him on his feet and delivered 
a stinging swat to the seat of his jeans. 

"Remember what we talked about? About obedience? And what happens when 
you disobey?" Skinner told asked him very deliberately. He followed 
the first whack with a second before the boy could act to protect his 
butt. "Go to bed. Right now."

"I'm going!" he answered immediately, sidling past the AD and through 
the sliding glass door. "But I'm not tired. And I'm not cranky!" he 
pouted as he went by.

"Listen, I know what cranky looks like--" the man said evenly.

"Well, it doesn't look like me!" the boy shouted back as he headed up 
the stairs to the second floor.

Skinner sighed exaggeratedly, and Andy chuckled. "And now I know what 
"mean" looks like, Walt," he laughed.

Skinner gave him a deadpan glare. "Well, it doesn't look like me," he 
retorted, swallowing a gulp of beer to hide his smile.

The next morning, Fox appeared a little later than normal, and looking 
a little glassy-eyed, though. Skinner felt his forehead and knew he 
was running a slight fever. He got the thermometer and checked it, 
finding it was just slightly above normal. He turned to his 
sister-in-law for guidance.

"He might have gotten a chill yesterday," she answered thoughtfully. 
"He was in the water a long time, and the water's cold here. Let's try 
a couple of children's aspirin and see what happens."

Fox ate very little for breakfast, though and barely swallowed half of 
his glass of juice before heading into the den to watch TV. He dozed 
off a little while later and his fever returned within a couple of 
hours. Skinner was certain it had to be a chill from yesterday. It 
couldn't be the next medical crisis, could it? They still had no new 
vaccine. . . and it was too early, wasn't it?

He found himself feeling anxious about it, though. Fox had shot up a 
couple of inches in the past week or so alone. And the growth rate 
always sped up when his need for the medicine approached. He decided 
to check in with Scully, to see what she thought.

"I don't know, sir," she told him after he'd filled her in. "We've 
been continuing our research but we have nothing useful yet. And the 
Gunmen have been trying to help, too, but we've hit a wall. When are 
you due back in town?"

He told her he'd be back Tuesday morning, and they both decided to 
play it by ear. But in the next hour Skinner called in every favor he 
had owing, with every contact in the bureau the CIA, and government 
agencies that had no recognizable name to try to locate Krycek. He 
wanted to believe Fox had a cold. But his gut was telling him 
something else.

The rest of Sunday passed and the child's condition remained much the 
same. He was sedentary and quiet, and clearly out of sorts. He 
continued to run a low-grade temperature but the children's aspirin 
brought it down for a while each time they gave him a dose. By dinner 
time, he seemed exhausted and he listlessly picked at his meal. Then 
he announced he was going to bed.

Skinner's eyebrows rose at the statement. "Are you still feeling sick, 
Fox?" he asked, putting a hand on his forehead. The child's eyes were 
glassy and he was hot, hotter than earlier. <This is it! I knew it!> 

"I feel rotten, Dad," the boy answered, coughing once. Skinner helped 
him to bed and stayed with him until he fell asleep. Then he went to 
the master bedroom and started making more phone calls. He tried the 
Lone Gunmen first. 

"Any luck, guys?" he asked them when both Byers and Frohike picked up 
at the same time.

"Nada," Frohike answered immediately. "That guy's like smoke. He 
disappears better than anybody I've ever run up against."

"Dammit! There's gotta be some trail," Skinner responded, shaking his 
head. "Keep looking."

"How's the little guy, uh, Mulder, doing?" Byers broke in.

"I think he's close to needing that stuff. And I want it before it's 
urgent," Skinner replied grimly. "Keep trying, gentlemen."

He made a few more calls, striking out everywhere, until the 
frustration was nearly overpowering. He slammed the phone down on the 
night table, then got up and started pacing. Suddenly, there was a 
sound from Fox's room, the door opened and the boy was running down 
the hall, toward the bathroom. Skinner went to the door and saw him 
make a headlong rush to get to the toilet where he threw up what 
little dinner he'd eaten. 

The AD walked into the bathroom and dampened a hand towel with cool 
water. "It's okay, Fox," he said, seeing the child was crying. He used 
the wet cloth to mop the boy's face and then rinsed it and wet it 
again. 

"I'm sorry, Da-Dad," the child sobbed, before retching again. "I-- I 
didn't mean to make a mess--"

"No, no, it's okay," Skinner told him soothingly. "You can't help it 
if you're sick. I'll clean that up later. Just calm down and try to 
relax, okay?"

He stayed with the child for about five more minutes, till the bout of 
nausea passed and then he helped him get undressed and cleaned up. The 
boy was shivering and Skinner wrapped him in a dry towel and carried 
him into the bedroom. He got him in a pair of clean pajamas and 
settled him back in bed. 

"I-- I don't want to be sick," Fox said between hiccuping sobs. "I'm 
sorry."

"I know you don't want to be sick," Skinner told him quietly. "I'd do 
anything to keep you from being sick. But you'll be all right, now. 
Just lie back and close your eyes."

"Will you stay with me?"

Skinner smiled and brushed back the damp hair on Fox's forehead. "Of 
course. Scoot over and I'll stay until you go to sleep." He stayed 
until the child fell into a restless sleep, then went downstairs.

"I'm going to take him back to D.C. with me tomorrow morning," he told 
Eileen and Andy when they were alone. "I think he needs to be closer 
to the doctors. This looks just like the last two times."

Skinner's brother and his wife nodded solemnly, their eyes dark with 
worry. 

"When he gets the medicine, though, he'll be fine again, right?" 
Eileen asked.

Skinner nodded. He didn't trust his voice. <If he gets it> his brain 
screamed at him and he angrily shoved the thought aside.

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

Johns Hopkins Medical Center
Maryland
Tuesday afternoon

Fox's condition had worsened throughout Monday. Skinner had taken him 
home to the Crystal City apartment but within a few hours, it was 
clear he needed to be hospitalized. Scully met him and accompanied 
them to the hospital, where the boy was immediately checked into a 
private room in the pediatric wing. Monday night passed in a blur, the 
AD keeping a silent vigil at the boy's bedside while he had a 
restless, pain-filled night. At dawn, Skinner left to go to his 
office, to see what kind of resources he could mobilize from there.

After putting a large task force together and charging them with 
tracking down Krycek fast, he left the operation in Ed Carney's hands 
and returned to the hospital. 

He was shocked to see the boy had an IV in his arm and was hooked up 
to some monitors that hadn't been there when he left earlier. "What 
happened?" Skinner asked Scully anxiously. 

"His condition got worse," she said, "and fast. His temp's too high, 
so they've got him on this refrigerated bed. And they're giving him 
low-level painkillers in the IV, to try to keep the pain manageable. 
But it's barely holding back the symptoms. Any luck finding that 
bastard?

Skinner could see she was worried, more worried than she wanted to let 
on. Hence the show of bravado. "No, nothing. Carney's got 100 men 
working on it. The Gunmen have come up empty. None of my contacts--"

"You used to know how to find Cancerman," Scully cut him off. "Can't 
you try to get to Krycek through him?"

Skinner blinked at her assertion, then stopped himself. Of course she 
knew he had been able to reach C.G.B. Spender in the past. "I-- I've 
tried that route," he answered her honestly. "It's not a channel I 
left open in recent years. And I've got nothing so far. But I'm not 
letting up on it."

Scully sighed and shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I'm 
just so . . . so afraid. He's in so much pain and the painkillers 
aren't strong enough. But the doctors are afraid to give him more. . . 
."

They both stayed at the hospital through the night, the second in a 
row for Skinner. By early morning, the pediatrician who'd been heading 
the medical team asked to see both of them privately.

"I'm concerned," Dr. Cahill said succinctly. "I don't want to alarm 
you unnecessarily, but we're finding it difficult to keep his vital 
signs below the danger level. The painkillers are at the highest 
strength we dare go now and he's suffering. His body's just not up to 
the stress it's under--"

"What do you suggest, Doctor?" Skinner cut him off, afraid to hear 
more. He wanted a solution of some sort, short term if that's all he 
could get.

"Well, the next step would be to induce a coma," Dr. Cahill said 
quietly. "But with his erratic vitals, that has inherent risks."

Scully shook her head. "The potential benefit would be?" she inquired 
urgently.

Cahill shook his head again. "Perhaps we could help him hang on a 
little longer--"

"Hang on!" Skinner nearly exploded from the chair he had been sitting 
in, coming to a standing position and towering over the physician's 
desk. "What are you saying?"

Dr. Cahill sighed and looked down at his hands for a moment. Then he 
raised them, meeting the A.D.'s gaze directly. "I'm saying we have 
nothing to offer other than to try to mitigate the pain. And if his 
condition worsens at the rate it's been going. . . . his body will 
give out. Tomorrow. The day after. Not much longer than that."

Skinner felt his knees all but go out from under him and he sank back 
into the chair. "That's . . . that's all? That's all you have to 
offer?" He turned to the side and sought out Scully, hoping she'd have 
a miracle to pull out of her hat.

There were tears pooled in her limpid eyes and she just stared at him. 

"What about the analysis of what he's been getting, Scully? Surely 
you've got some idea what it is--"

"We can identify 95% of it," she said quietly. "But unfortunately, 
it's the other 5%, what we can't even begin to identify, that seems to 
have made the difference before. Nothing we're trying is helping, 
sir."

He nodded his head and got up, heading for the door. "I-- I'll be 
back, Scully," he said grimly. "You stay with him."

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

Later that evening
Johns Hopkins Medical Center

Walter Skinner exited the elevator onto the pediatric floor, his 
shoulders stooped with worry and the burden of failure. Nothing he'd 
done, nothing he'd tried, had produced even a germ of a lead. He 
walked slowly down the nearly deserted hallway to the nurse's station. 
The children here were the sickest in the pediatric wing and it was 
quiet, ungodly quiet. There was no one at the nursing station so he 
turned left, heading down another long hallways toward Fox's room at 
the end of the corridor. 

But there was some kind of commotion in the hall ahead of him. He 
could see an orderly, and two of the guards he'd posted. And Scully's 
head. In a second, he also recognized the charge nurse and Maggie 
Scully. And Claire Barton, the psychologist who'd been working with 
Fox since this situation had been discovered. They were all in a loose 
circle, hovering over something in its center. In a moment, Skinner 
knew what that was.

"No!" he heard Fox shout as he rotated, looking anxiously at the 
people surrounding him. The boy was barefoot and in his pajamas. "Get 
away from me! No more needles! No more shots! I want to go home!"

The adults were surrounding him, trying to keep him from bolting, it 
appeared. He must have removed the IV and monitor hook-ups himself. 

"Let me out!" the boy cried, nearing hysteria. "I want to go--"

"Fox William!" Skinner said, raising his voice above the child's and 
investing his words with unquestionable authority. 

The child's head snapped to the side and then he turned in Skinner's 
direction. He looked around at the other adults as though searching 
for an opening to flee through. But then he sobbed once and walked 
straight toward the AD, into the man's waiting arms. He sobbed once 
again and collapsed into quiet tears as Skinner lifted him into a 
comforting embrace.

The Assistant Director rocked him soothingly for a moment, then gave 
Scully and the others a silent head signal. They cleared the way and 
he carried the crying child back into his room.

"I don't want any more shots," Fox sobbed heartbreakingly. "I just 
want to go home. . . "

"I know you do," Skinner answered him gently. "I want you home, too. 
But we have to get you better first." He felt a shudder of pain go 
through the child in his arms, just before he laid the boy back in 
bed. 

"You have to let the doctors and nurses help you get better, Fox." 
Skinner immediately regretted what might be a lie, but he had no other 
recourse, the man realized with shock and dismay. He was not ready to 
tell the child there appeared to be no hope. He doubted he'd ever be 
ready for that.

Skinner let one of the nurses come in and reestablish the IV hook-up 
and the various machines that monitored Fox's vital signs. The boy 
resisted for only a moment, then he appeared to surrender to the 
inevitable. Skinner found himself choking up at the sight. The child 
exhibited such hopeless resignation, he wondered if he'd begun to 
realize what Skinner couldn't bring himself to say.

Once Fox drifted into a less than peaceful sleep, the AD left the room 
momentarily, seeking out Scully and her mother. He found them in the 
waiting area.

"Is he all right?" Scully asked him quickly. "I mean, for now?"

Skinner nodded, removing his glasses. He pressed the tips of his 
fingers into his eye sockets, trying to quell the pounding behind 
them. "He's sleeping. I won't leave him for long, but I wanted to let 
you know." He took the hand Maggie Skinner offered in comfort and 
tried to return the feeling. 

"He's so young to be in such pain," Maggie said quietly. "It's no 
wonder he's upset and angry. He can't possibly understand what's 
happening to him."

Skinner let go of her hand and waited for her and Scully to seat 
themselves. Then he sank wearily into a chair opposite them. 

"The research team is here, sir," Scully said, trying to turn the 
conversation to something positive. "They're doing everything they 
can. Going over everything again. I'm going to go join them now. We'll 
. . . come up with something."

Skinner knew Scully's voice betrayed her lack of conviction, but he 
didn't want her to know he knew that. Perhaps she didn't know herself. 
"I'll stay with him. He's restless. And frightened."

"Have either of you eaten?" Maggie Scully interrupted them both. "I 
could go to the cafeteria. At least I'd feel a little useful. . . " 
But neither of them could even think of food and Skinner thanked them 
both and headed down the hallway to Fox's room. He took the armchair 
by the window and pulled it over to the side of the bed, where he laid 
his hand on top of the boy's small one and closed his eyes.

"Sam? Where are you? Samantha?"

Skinner started awake despite his exhaustion. Fox was having a 
nightmare and was moaning and talking in his sleep. 

"I'm sorry, Dad," he said tremulously. "I'm so sorry. . . " His words 
trailed off into pitiful tears and he thrashed his legs and body in 
the bed. 

Skinner rose and placed a hand on his head and another on his chest, 
trying to calm him, and quiet the movements that threatened to pull 
out the IV once again. "It's okay, Fox," he said urgently, trying to 
catch the boy's attention and bring him out of his dream. "I'm here. 
You're just dreaming."

But the child kept twisting and turning and begging his father for 
forgiveness. Skinner's heart raced at the sound and nearly broke at 
the realization that he was not the "Dad" the child was calling for. 
Finally Skinner lowered the side on the hospital bed and carefully 
climbed in next to him, hugging him tightly and continuing to soothe 
him verbally, trying to keep him from undoing the IV and monitor 
connections.

"Calm down, son," he said quietly, wrapping his arms around the thin 
body. "I don't blame you, Fox. You did the best you could . . . " He 
continued in this fashion, playing a role in which he was 
uncomfortable, becoming someone else to try to calm the boy's frenzy. 
He brushed the child's sweaty hair back off his forehead and stroked 
the side of his face.

Fox stopped thrashing, finally, overcome by a wave of pain that 
wracked his body and sent a shudder through the man beside him. As it 
passed, his eyes blinked open once again, heavy with tears and sighs 
of exhaustion. "Thirsty," he rasped out.

Skinner instantly reached over and poured a cup of water from a 
pitcher next to the bed. He brought the cup to the boy's lips and gave 
him a sip. "That's enough," he told him. "I don't know how much you 
can handle right now."

The child dropped his head back onto the pillow and closed his eyes. 
"Yes, sir," he answered in a familiar tone if not voice. "Thank you, 
sir."

Skinner's heart nearly stopped. His memory had returned. He'd spoke of 
Samantha and his father. And referred to Skinner as "sir," in a 
fashion that was decidedly that of Special Agent Fox Mulder. He rose 
and pulled his cell phone from the pocket of his coat on the back of 
the chair, needing to alert Scully to this change.

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

A little while later
Pediatric Waiting Room

"What do you think it means, Scully?" Skinner asked her as soon as she 
arrived. "He just got more pain meds so he's gone back to sleep now. 
But you'll see when he wakes again. He remembers things."

They took two seats together and he filled her in on what had 
happened, on the disjointed dream debris and the moment of near 
coherence in which he'd thanked Skinner for the water. 

"Did he ask for me?" Scully asked quietly, immediately wishing she'd 
kept that to herself. It opened the door to her heart wide, for the AD 
to see everything there.

He laid his hand on hers and put his other arm around her back. 
"Scully, it was only a moment before he lost consciousness again. But 
when he wakes up, you should be there. It may help."

They got two cups of coffee from the vending machine and took them 
back to Fox's private room. Skinner brought a second chair in from an 
empty room down the hall and they sat together quietly for another 
hour before the boy's restlessness returned. He began to moan softly 
as the pain medication wore off, too soon according to the doctors.

"Samantha?" he said, unmistakably. "Where is she? I didn't lose her, 
she was right here!" His voice rose with concern, bordering on 
desperation.

"Fox," Skinner answered, going right to his side. "It's okay." He 
could feel Scully right behind him. 

The child groaned as another bout of pain overcame him. When it began 
to pass, he opened his eyes and looked at Skinner. "Sir? Where--" he 
stopped, coughing and clearly recognizing he was in a hospital. "Where 
am I?" His eyes caught Scully's behind Skinner. "Hey, Scully. You're 
not packing any videotape, are you?"

"Mulder," she replied, choking back tears. "I-- darn, I had "Super 
Plays of the Super Bowl" for you, but I left it home."

He coughed again, as another wave of pain engulfed him. "I think 
you're gonna have to get it here fast, Scully," he said quietly. His 
words, his cadence were unmistakably Mulder but the voice was that of 
a child. He looked at Skinner now and the AD realized he was breathing 
shallowly and with great effort. "I've been having the most . . . most 
vivid dreams, sir. About being a child . . . again. And you--" He 
stopped, as the effort of talking seemed too difficult to bear. And 
another agonizing wave of pain overcame him.

"Don't try to speak, Mulder," Skinner rushed to tell him. "Just stay 
quiet and listen. Let Scully and I tell you what's been going on . . . 
."

They spent the next 20 minutes filling him in on all of it. His 
memories fell into place as he listened and he asked one or two 
questions. Several episodes of pain came and went but he remained 
focused on the story he was hearing, eliciting details that seemed 
irrelevant, and out of scope. But that was always Mulder's 
investigatory methodology. Diverse, unrelated threads that came 
together into whole cloth.

"Scully, what about . . . " he swallowed, having more trouble speaking 
now. "The stuff that came from the clone?"

"What clone?" she asked anxiously. "Which one?"

"The Samantha clone," he ground out as the pain intensified once 
again. "The one on Martha's Vineyard. You got samples of the green . . 
. stuff she dissolved into. Anything there?"

"Mulder, that stuff was toxic," she answered. "I don't think--"

"Maybe it's . . . about dosage," he breathed quietly. "Or dilution." 

The doctor came in and checked the vitals on the monitors. He shook 
his head and signaled that he wanted to see Skinner outside. 

"You can't pressure him like this," Dr. Cahill said firmly. "His vital 
signs are well into the danger zone now. He could stroke out, his 
heart could stop--"

Skinner found himself unable to speak after hearing the Doctor's 
words. Of course, he realized Mulder's. . . Fox's condition was 
worsening. But he hadn't focused on how quickly. "What . . . what do 
you suggest now?" he asked as soon as he could trust his voice.

Cahill shook his head again. "I'm sorry," he said simply. "I suggest 
we do everything we can to make him comfortable. His body can't hold 
out much longer."

Scully made her way out of the room and passed Skinner and Cahill. 
"I'm going back to the lab," she said quickly. "I have to see if 
there's anything to what he said."

"Scully!" Skinner called after her. "There isn't much time--"

"I know," she shouted back. "I have to try, though." She picked her 
pace up to a jog and disappeared around the corner toward the 
elevators.

Skinner asked the doctor about any other options and Cahill told him 
there were none, really. "Even inducing a coma isn't a viable 
alternative, given everything," he said sadly. "We can't even get the 
pain meds at the correct dosage because of the rapid internal and 
external growth. We'd more than likely kill him."

The doctor placed a hand on Skinner's shoulder briefly, then turned 
and headed up the hall in the direction Scully had gone. Skinner 
waited a moment, to get control of his emotions, then reentered the 
room. Fox's eyes were closed and Skinner realized with a start he 
appeared several years older than he had just a few days ago. He took 
a seat in the chair by the bed, and put his hand on the boy's arm.

"I'm having . . . trouble . . . organizing all the memories, from 
before and from now," he said, biting out the words between gasps for 
breath. His breathing was labored and that was worrisome.

"Don't try," Skinner told him. "Just relax and try to . . . rest."

"Sir, I--" he stopped, taking a deep breath, seeking enough oxygen to 
fuel his words. "I can't remember it all but . . . I know . . . I was 
happy. I was . . . really happy."

Skinner's eyes flooded with tears and he stood quickly, letting the 
side of the bed down carefully and sitting on the edge. He lifted the 
boy slightly and slid into the bed behind him, letting the child's 
head rest on his chest. Skinner caressed Fox's head, and stroked the 
side of his face. "Shhh, don't talk," he said gently. 

"I just wanted--" Fox stopped again, another coughing fit interfering 
with his intent. "I just . . wanted you to know. . . For once . . . in 
my life, I was really . . . happy."

Skinner shushed him once again, putting a finger on the boy's lips and 
feeling him collapse heavily against the AD from the effort of getting 
the words out. "I know, honey," Skinner told him quietly. "I was too. 
I was . . . too."


Johns Hopkins Medical Center
Room 1211
Thursday morning 

Fox lay in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines and an IV drip, an 
oxygen mask on his face. His skin was pallid and his eyes were rimmed 
with dark circles. He was sleeping fitfully, moaning and occasionally 
speaking out in his sleep. He hadn't been awake for more than a few 
minutes at a time in 12 hours.

Rachel and Walter Skinner sat with him, one on either side. Rachel had 
a book open and she was reading to him. It was one of the Harry Potter 
stories that the child had begun to like so much. 

Walter, Jr. stood at the window, staring out into nothing. He marveled 
at his parents, at their ability to face adversity and go on. They 
loved this child like any one of their own children, or grandchildren. 
Yet here they were, acting as if he heard and understood every word, 
not letting the situation deter them from doing what little they 
could.

The door opened and Andy Skinner popped his head in. His parents 
didn't seem surprised to see their youngest son, but Walter was. Andy 
and his wife and kids had stayed behind in Nantucket. Skinner had been 
keeping the family informed about Fox's condition but hadn't let 
anyone other than his parents come yet. He suspected in his heart he 
didn't want to admit what the real situation was.

But Walter, Sr. was clear-eyed and prone to action, despite his nearly 
overpowering personal grief. He'd called his other sons immediately, 
knowing they wouldn't want to miss the chance to say good-bye, if a 
miracle didn't occur. 

Andy smiled at them all and pulled a large travel bag off his shoulder 
after the door swung closed. "I'm sure this isn't hospital protocol 
but . . . " He opened the satchel and Yoda's head popped up. "Good 
boy, Yoda. You were very quiet, just like I said."

He lifted the puppy out of the bag as the other three adults reacted 
with various levels of amusement and concern. "You can't bring a dog 
to a hospital, Andy," his mother admonished him, but the smile on her 
face telegraphed her real feelings. Andy dropped Yoda on Fox's bed and 
the dog immediately laid down next to the boy, licking his face 
happily.

It took only a moment for the familiar sensation to wake the boy from 
his restless sleep. He opened his eyes and a smile lit them as he 
reached out with his one, untethered arm to give the dog a hug. 
"Yoda," he said from under the oxygen mask. "How . .. are you boy?"

Skinner watched him hug the dog, not certain whether it was the child, 
or the man, whose reaction he was seeing. Fox had slipped from one to 
the other several times since yesterday. At times, when the pain was 
controlled by the medications, he was little Fox again. When the pain 
was strongest, the adult Mulder emerged, only in the body of a 
10-year-old.

Joe Skinner arrived a little while later and spent some time with the 
child, telling him all about how the college football team he coached 
looked for this season. Joe was not one to dwell on anything but the 
most optimistic possibilities. "You're gonna sit on the bench with us 
at the season opener," he told the boy. "We're going all the way this 
year." 

Dr. Cahill came in and eyed the puppy balefully, but he said nothing. 
In his work, he treated lots of kids with serious, even terminal 
illnesses. Whatever made them happy in the final days was okay with 
him. The hospital might not agree but what they didn't know they'd 
never hear from him. He told Skinner he'd changed the pain meds again, 
to something even stronger. "There's no point in him suffering one 
minute more than he has to," Cahill said. Skinner heard the verdict 
behind his words.

Fox went back to sleep immediately after receiving the dosage and 
Skinner decided to use the time to check in with Ed Carney, and with 
Scully. His parents and brothers went back to the hotel down the 
street where they were all staying, to drop off Yoda and get a bite to 
eat. They'd be back in an hour, they said.

Carney's people were working round the clock. They'd followed a host 
of clues, but nothing led to Krycek. Scully had a little news to 
report about the substance they'd found when the Samantha clone 
disintegrated several years before. They'd taken samples of what was 
left over but nothing ever came of it. This time, though, she had 
Mulder's hunch and she was following it for all she was worth.

"There appears to be some link between the substance we can't identify 
in the detritus of the clone and the stuff in the vaccine," she said. 
"It's not a 100% match, but it's damn close. We're trying to figure 
out what the difference is, and whether it matters."

Skinner listened to her report without response. "That's good, 
Scully," he said when she'd finished. "But . . . you better hurry."

She was silent for a moment, taken aback by his meaning. "Yes, sir," 
she answered firmly. Then she hung up. Skinner knew she'd work as fast 
as humanly possible. He just hoped it would help. He considered 
getting another cup of coffee but he knew his nerves would all but 
shatter with the introduction of any more caffeine. He wandered back 
to the boy's room and sat by his bed. In a moment, he'd dozed off from 
sheer exhaustion.

"Dad?" 

Skinner woke suddenly, coming to full alert. "Yes, Fox," he said. 
"What is it?"

The child had removed his oxygen mask and Skinner reached over to 
reposition it on his face. But the boy shook him off.

"Am I gonna die, Dad?" he asked, his hazel eyes glazed from the 
medication and the days of on again, off again pain.

Skinner blinked at the question, as unsure as he'd ever been in his 
life about how to answer it. 

"Am I, Dad?" the child asked once again. It was almost as if he was 
seeking a definitive answer, so he'd know how to proceed.

"Not if I can help it," Skinner said with conviction. He smiled at the 
boy, trying to muster every ounce of optimism in his soul. "That would 
be . . . unacceptable, young man."

The child winced as the first wave of pain returned but he managed a 
small smile before Skinner replaced the oxygen mask. In a short while, 
he'd fallen back into sleep and the AD was overcome with the guilt of 
wondering if he'd made the proper choice. Was his answer the truth? 
Had he lied to make it easier on himself? Or Fox? 

There was a knock on the door and Skinner called to whoever it was to 
come in. A priest appeared and introduced himself as Father D'Antonio. 
He was a middle-aged man with a haircut and posture that made Skinner 
certain he was ex-Marine.

"I came to see how the little fella's doing," he said after shaking 
Skinner's hand. "And how you're holding up."

"As well as can be expected, I guess," Skinner answered truthfully. 
"He just asked me if I thought he was going to die."

"And?"

Skinner grimaced. "And I told him that would be unacceptable. I guess 
I'm not too good at this."

"It is unacceptable, isn't it?" the priest asked, motioning for 
Skinner to sit down. He sat in the other chair and continued. "It's 
unfathomable sometimes, this life. That's why faith is so important. 
It can be an anchor when nothing makes sense."

"I'm afraid I'm not a very religious man, Father," Skinner answered, 
looking at the child in the bed. "I believe, and I was raised in the 
Russian Orthodox faith. But I don't practice much. And I'm afraid I 
haven't been very good about . . . giving him any grounding in faith. 
I didn't even think of it, until . . . ."

"Well, it's not too late, son," the priest said quietly. "Pray with 
me. God doesn't care whose prayers, or what accoutrements of faith we 
use. He only cares that we come to Him in need and have faith in Him."

They prayed for a few minutes, repeating the Lord's Prayer and a dozen 
Hail Mary's, two prayers Skinner remembered from his childhood. The 
boy stirred for a while and watched them curiously, then he closed his 
eyes and sighed, returning to a sleep that appeared slightly less 
disturbed, Skinner thought. Finally, Father D'Antonio pronounced a 
blessing over the child and laid his hand on his forehead, then did 
the same to the AD "May God be with you both," he said before 
departing.

Skinner found himself praying silently that the priest's words were 
heard by the Almighty. This child didn't deserve to die. Mulder didn't 
deserve this. Tears sprang to his eyes and he knew he had to get out 
of the room for a few minutes. It would do no good for the boy to see 
him lose it. He walked hurriedly out of the room and headed to the 
firestairs. There was a solarium on the next floor and he suspected it 
would be empty, since visiting hours had not yet begun.

Skinner found his way there, and sat down heavily on a chair at the 
far end of the sunny room. He leaned forward, his head coming to rest 
in his hands and let the emotions he'd suppressed so long spill over. 
Tears of grief, and helplessness, and even anger bubbled up and pushed 
one another aside until he was literally wrung out. He sat back and 
closed his eyes, running his hands over his face.

"Things are not going well, are they, Mr. Skinner?" a chillingly 
familiar voice cut through his deep remorse. 

Skinner's eyes popped open and, in less than a second, he was on his 
feet and in the Cigarette Smoking Man's face. "You fucking son of a 
bitch," he spat out. "You're behind this, aren't you?"

"Now, now, Mr. Skinner," the other man said calmly. "Is this any way 
to treat the one person who can help you? Why, I've got half a mind to 
just leave and let events proceed as they will--"

"You can help? How?"

"I have what you've been waiting for," CGB Spender said evenly. "What 
you've been waiting for Krycek to deliver. Unfortunately, Alex wasn't 
able to put his hands on it this time. You see, I already had it."

"And you waited this long to bring it? Why?" Skinner asked, not 
wanting to appear as anxious and desperate as he was. He released his 
hold on the other man and stood down, ever so slightly.

"Because I thought you needed to know what could happen. Alex was a 
little too quick to deliver the last time, I'm afraid."

"He kept a child from suffering. I guess that's a benefit you can't 
understand, can you?" Skinner wanted to bite his tongue as the words 
came out. Offending this asshole would only keep the medicine out of 
his hands, and away from Fox, longer. He had to get control of his 
anger and play this right.

"I won't respond to that parry, Mr. Skinner. I have larger concerns 
than what you think of me. But that is why I'm here. Because of those 
. . . 'larger concerns.' And what you can do to facilitate them."

"Me? I told you long ago I was out of your game," Skinner answered 
immediately. 

"But now, I believe, you're in again. At least, if you want what you 
need for Mul. . . for the boy," Spender responded. "It's confusing, 
isn't it?"

Skinner drew in a deep breath, trying to keep from attacking the man. 
He had no certainty that Spender had the vaccine on him. And one dose 
would not suffice anyway. They'd need more, or this entire horror 
story would be replayed some time in the future. "Yes, it's confusing. 
Especially the part about what you want from me."

"We want your cooperation again, Mr. Skinner. You . . . negotiated a 
reprieve some years ago and we've abided by that agreement. But now, 
your assistance is needed again. And I believe we have a chip worth 
even more than anything we had before. At least, it appears that way 
from what I just saw."

Skinner’s eyes narrowed. He'd all but exorcised his memories of the 
days of cooperation with this bastard and his compatriots. The days 
when Mulder had first worked for him, before he knew it was Mulder, 
not these men, who held the future in his hands. Before he recognized 
the imperative of Mulder's work. Before he'd bargained with his soul 
to gain a cure for Scully's cancer. Before . . . God, so much had 
happened, and he'd become certain he'd escaped their clutches. 

Then Krycek reappeared with whatever they'd used to poison Skinner. 
But Krycek, and Spender, must have been shocked to find that a threat 
against Skinner's own life hadn't been enough to elicit the 
cooperation they sought. So apparently, they'd chosen another route . 
. . .

"What do you want?" Skinner growled.

"We need access to the boy, to his medical progress under this 
regimen. He's the only . . . success story we've had so far with this 
experiment. No one else has survived it--"

"He may not survive much longer if he doesn't get the serum," Skinner 
cut him off. "So let's cut to the chase. I will not turn him over to 
you--"

"Not necessary," the CSM said, lighting a cigarette. The fact that 
this was a hospital, a no-smoking facility, didn't seem to bother him 
in the least. "But we will want regular reports on his medical and 
mental progress. And later, when he's back at work, well, we'll need 
you to keep us informed about . . . certain areas of his 
investigations."

Skinner's jaw tightened with rage, but he pushed it back down 
immediately. "Where's the vaccine?"

"I have it right here," the other man said, pulling a vial out of the 
inside pocket of his suit jacket. Skinner reached right out and 
grabbed it, then he started toward the door.

"Do I have your agreement, then?" Spender called after him.

Skinner stopped and turned back to him. "I'll consider this an act of 
. . . faith," he said evenly. "If this works, if it's not too late, 
I'll want all the rest of the medicine he'll need to get him through 
this. No more parceling it out when and if you feel like it. If I get 
that. . . . you'll get your 'cooperation,' Spender. And not a moment 
before."

He took the stairs back to the 12th floor two at a time and ran down 
the hallway at a full out run. He slammed into the boy's room and 
startled his parents and Joe and Andy. They all began to ask what was 
wrong, but Skinner didn't stop for a second. He pulled the cap off the 
vial and pulled the hypodermic needle out. He held it up to the light 
and pulled the plastic tip off, then pushed the liquid inside to the 
right level. He pulled the cover off the child and turned him over, 
pulling the back of his pajamas down far enough to bare his hip. The 
AD plunged the hypodermic into his skin but the child didn't even 
stir.

"You got some of the stuff?" Joe asked him as soon as he'd adjusted 
the boy's clothes and turned him back over.

"Yes. I just hope it's not too late." 

They all stared at the child helplessly. Rachel moved to the side of 
the bed and stroked his forehead soothingly, trying to wake him. But 
nothing happened.

"Look!" Andy said suddenly. He was staring at the monitor beside the 
child's bed. "His temperature just dropped a whole degree. And his 
heart rate's down, too. BP's dropping. It's working!"

"Thank God," Walter, Sr. said, clapping his oldest son on the back. 
"Talk about a close one."

Skinner took a full minute to process the situation, to get his 
emotions under some semblance of control. Then he picked up the phone 
and called Scully in the laboratory in a building on the Johns Hopkins 
campus. She began to cry and hung up, saying she'd be there in a few 
minutes. Skinner had no doubt she'd have regained her composure by the 
time she got there. 

The doctor came in next and pronounced that it was a true miracle. 
He'd known of the possibility of a medicine but had believed the child 
too far gone to respond, even if they got their hands on it. He 
insisted on keeping the boy overnight and Skinner relented, knowing it 
would be a sensible thing to do. Fox was exhausted and the past four 
days had taken a physical toll on the child, who now appeared to be 10 
or 11 years old, he guessed. The past four days had taken its toll on 
the AD, as well.

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

That evening
Room 1211

The rest of the Skinner family had just left for the evening. They 
planned to spend the night at the hotel across the street, then return 
to see Fox again in the morning before heading off from whence they 
came. Skinner and Fox would meet some of the family in Nantucket at 
the beginning of next week, once they were certain the boy had no ill 
effects of this medical crisis. Joe would go home to see to his 
football team, then meet them all at the Talbot house for Labor Day 
weekend.

Fox was playing with a Gameboy Andy had bought for him, and watching 
something on television at the same time. He had a couple of new books 
piled on the table next to his bed along with a portable CD player and 
a stack of CD's. A family grateful to see him alive had lost no time 
demonstrating their appreciation, and spoiling him just a little. 
Under the circumstances, Skinner could not fault them.

"Time to go to sleep now, Fox," he said, lifting the toy out of his 
hands. "Actually, it's past time."

"I'm not tired," the boy protested, until his answer was cut off by a 
big, involuntary yawn. 

"Yeah, I can see that," the AD laughed at him. "And I don't care. It's 
bedtime."

The boy slid down into the bed and let Skinner adjust the covers over 
him. Then the AD leaned down and kissed him softly on the forehead. "I 
love you, kid," he said. "And I'm taking you home tomorrow. I 
promise."

"Good," Fox said sleepily. "I don't like hospitals."

Skinner chuckled to himself. <Well, Mulder's definitely in there 
somewhere!> "I'll stay with you until you fall asleep, okay?"

The child yawned once again, then turned on his side. He looked at 
Skinner as he sat down in the armchair beside the bed. "Okay. Did I 
tell you I had funny dreams when I was sick?"

"Funny 'ha-ha?' Or funny 'strange,' Skinner asked him, using an 
expression he'd heard Andy use once or twice.

"Strange," the boy responded, his eyes fluttering as sleep began to 
overtake him. "I dreamed I was all grown up. And you were there. You 
were my boss. And there was this other man, who kept smoking 
cigarettes . . . . I didn't like him. . . ."

Skinner watched him drift off to sleep from his spot in the armchair. 
"Well, that makes two of us," he said tightly, not wanting to think 
about any part of the bargain he'd made, except the child sleeping 
peacefully in the bed next to him. That child's life was worth a 
hundred deals with the devil.

Fox Mulder's Apartment
Crystal City, Virginia
Sunday afternoon

"Dad! Look at these pictures I found," Fox called excitedly as he 
rushed in from the bedroom. "They look like real flying saucers!"

Skinner was sitting on Mulder's couch, his jeaned legs propped up on 
the coffee table. He bit the inside of his mouth to keep from laughing 
at the boy. "I doubt they're real flying saucers," he said evenly.

"How do you know?" Fox flopped down on the couch beside him. "They 
sure look real. I mean pictures don't lie, right?"

Skinner had watched him lope in a little awkwardly. He'd shot up 
almost four inches in the past week and his legs were long and lean 
but somehow his feet seemed larger than he could manage. He was a 
little too skinny for the A.D.'s liking and luckily, since he 
recovered, he'd been eating like the proverbial horse. It had only 
been two days but his appetite had returned with a vengeance. It was 
likely he'd begin to fill out a little. Now he leaned his head against 
Skinner's arm and flipped through the photos for his father.

"Pictures can be manipulated, or doctored, Fox," Skinner told him 
patiently. "And I think all of these are frauds. At least, that's what 
. . . you believed, when you were older."

The boy sighed and nodded. "Oh, well," he said, getting up and heading 
back to the bedroom. "It would be neat to meet real aliens, though. 
Wouldn't it?"

Skinner watched him go, shaking his head and smiling to himself. He 
had become far less child-like in the past week and was showing signs 
of approaching adolescence. <God help me!> The Assistant Director 
turned his attention back to Mulder's checkbook and his bank 
statement. 

Since he'd been "gone," Skinner had been handling his financial 
affairs. He'd shut off Mulder's phone service and taken his car off 
the road, so no telephone or car insurance payments had to be made. He 
knew the younger agent would not give up this apartment, so he kept 
paying the rent. And coming to check up on the place every couple of 
weeks. Mulder was officially considered "on long-term assignment" by 
the FBI, so his paychecks came regularly, too.

Skinner had paid off Mulder's obscenely overdue Triple-X bill and paid 
down almost all of his charge accounts. And now there a small sum in 
his savings account as well. He finished his work and called for Fox, 
who was now watching television and lying on the bed in the other 
room. Skinner stuck his head in the doorway and was brought up short 
for a moment by the resemblance the child was beginning to show to his 
adult counterpart. 

They made a quick tour of the apartment, making certain windows were 
closed and everything was turned off before heading back to Crystal 
City. Skinner had several days of meetings set up before he took Fox 
back to Nantucket and he needed to finalize security arrangements for 
the next few days. And locate a safe house they could return to, once 
their sojourn in Nantucket was over at the end of the summer.

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

Tuesday afternoon
Office of AD Skinner
FBI Headquarters

"Sir?" Kim called quietly from the door to the Assistant Director's 
office. "I'm sorry to disturb you but I have an urgent call for you." 

Skinner rose quickly, apologizing to the group gathered around his 
conference table, and stepped into the anteroom where Kim sat. "What's 
wrong?" he asked her as soon as the door behind him was shut.

"It's Fox, sir," she said quietly. "He sounds upset."

Skinner picked up the phone on her desk and punched the blinking light 
to access his own line. "Fox? What's the matter?"

"Dad?" the boy's voice responded, shaking and tremulous. "Sean-- Sean 
yelled at me!"

Skinner sighed shortly and gave Kim a quick smile that told her it was 
nothing serious. "He did? What did you do to make him yell at you?"

"Nothing! Not one thing! . . . Well, maybe one thing, but he still 
shouldn't have yelled at me!"

Skinner had pulled together a security detail from the people he 
trusted the most. Ed Carney, Sean Delaney. He didn't want too many 
people knowing about Mulder's situation and he trusted the two other 
agents completely. And so did Mulder. But Delaney was there with him 
alone this afternoon and apparently Fox had driven the young agent to 
the point he'd raised his voice. It was hard for the AD to even 
imagine Delaney pressed that hard. The young Californian gave new 
meaning to the word "mellow."

"Fox! Didn't I tell you to go to your room? Who are you talking to?" 
Skinner could make out Agent Delaney's voice in the background, and it 
grew stronger as he spoke. He was obviously gaining on the boy. 

"I'm going!" Fox yelled back at Delaney, dropping the phone. "I-- I 
called my Dad. I'm allowed to call him, aren't I?" Skinner could hear 
the emotion rising in the boy's voice again and then footfalls as he 
obviously ran off to his bedroom. What the hell was going on there?

"Sir?" Agent Delaney said once he'd retrieved the telephone. "I'm 
sorry to bother you at work, sir. I was going to let this wait until 
you came home--"

"That's okay, Delaney," Skinner said, cutting his apology off. "What 
happened?"

"Well, I'm sorry I yelled at him. I just got so scared. . . . He got 
into your gun safe--"

"What? How could he do that?"

"I found a lock pick next to the safe, sir."

Skinner found himself shaking at the thought that the boy had managed 
to break into the safe. They'd been at Mulder's apartment on Sunday. 
He must have lifted the lock pick from Mulder's desk when Skinner 
wasn't looking. He certainly was regaining many of the adult Mulder's 
questionable talents and interests, a little too fast for Skinner's 
liking.

"There's no ammunition in those guns," the AD said, trying to calm 
himself.

"He found your ammo on the top shelf of the closet, sir," Delaney 
said. "I was only in the next room. And I thought he was watching TV 
in your room, sir. He was only out of my sight for a few minutes--"

"That's okay, Agent Delaney. I sent you there to provide security, not 
watch him every second of the day. I-- Did he manage to load one of 
the guns?"

"Yes, sir. And he fired a shot--"

"What? Was he hurt? Was . . . anybody hurt?"

"No, thank God. There's a slug in your wall, though, sir. I'm really 
sorry. . . about everything. I shouldn't have yelled but I was scared 
at first--"

"Don't apologize. And as for yelling at him, I'm amazed at your 
self-control, Agent Delaney. Tell Fox to stay in his room until I get 
home."

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

Walter Skinner's Apartment
Crystal City, Virginia
6:35 p.m.

Skinner had arrived a few minutes earlier and gotten a quick review of 
the crime scene from Delaney. There was a slug in the wall, just as 
the younger agent had said. It was clearly lodged there, so there was 
no need to check on Skinner's next door neighbor. But if it had gone 
through, someone could have been killed.

The AD assured Delaney he'd handled things exactly right. Then he sent 
the young man home with instructions to have a beer on him when he got 
there. Delaney nodded but he was obviously still shaken by the 
disaster that had almost happened this afternoon.

Skinner grabbed an iced tea out of the refrigerator, then went to his 
own room and changed into sweats and a tee-shirt. He wanted to give 
himself a little more time to consider things before seeing Fox. But 
the time came to deal with the situation and the AD was still not 
certain how to approach it.

He knocked on Fox's bedroom door, then opened it and went in. The boy 
was lying on his bed, one arm thrown over his eyes, a gesture he'd 
seen from Mulder as an adult on a few similar occasions. Yoda was 
lying quietly beside him and the puppy lifted his head and eyed 
Skinner, tail wagging happily. 

The AD called him over, then pushed him gently outside the room and 
closed the door. then he walked over to the bed. He sat down on the 
side and pulled the boy into an embrace. "Thank God you're all right. 
You could have killed yourself, Fox. Or someone else."

The child sobbed softly but didn't answer, and the man simply held him 
for a few more seconds. Finally, though, his curiosity got the better 
of him. "Are you-- Are you gonna sp-spank me?"

Skinner fought back a smile. He'd wondered the very same thing. "Why? 
Do you think you deserve to be spanked?"

Fox hiccuped and shook his head. "I don't know," he answered 
anxiously. "Sean said his father . . . would have spanked him if he 
did what I did." Tears overtook the boy's words once again and he 
sobbed into Skinner's chest.

"Well, my father would have, too," Skinner answered. "But before I 
decide, I want to know why you wanted to get to the guns, Fox. You 
know you're not allowed near them. I've told you that over and over 
again."

"But I-- what if those men came again?" he blurted out suddenly. 
Skinner realized he was talking about the ones who'd broken into the 
apartment, and shot Casey a while back. "Casey got hurt because they 
wanted to take me! I-- maybe she wouldn't have gotten hurt, if I had a 
gun. . . ." He broke down into hitching sobs and was barely able to 
continue speaking. "I could have . . . protec-- protected her. . . if 
I had a g-gun. . . "

Skinner's heart was racing at the implications of the boy's statement. 
Somehow he'd found a way to blame himself for the fact Casey Barton 
had been injured. Skinner knew the graduate student was making a full 
recovery, but Fox hadn't seen her since they left for Nantucket. He 
resolved to see if they could arrange it, before they returned to 
Massachusetts, to put the child's mind at ease.

"Shhh," he said soothingly. "Casey's just fine now. And I want you to 
listen carefully, Fox. You are a child. It's not your job to protect 
people. It's your job to do what you're told, and be careful about 
what you do, so you stay safe. But you're not responsible for 
protecting other people. That's a grown-up's job--"

"But--"

"No buts about it, young man. You are not responsible for taking care 
of people. You're a kid, and adults are supposed to take care of kids, 
not the other way around. It's my job to keep you safe, and it was my 
job to make sure Casey was safe too, when she was with you. Something 
happened that we didn't expect and now we're taking more precautions. 
But that's not your responsibility. You are not to blame. Do you 
understand me?"

The child's crying had reduced during the A.D.'s speech and now he 
sniffed once more, then nodded his head. "I . . . guess."

"Don't guess, Fox," Skinner said firmly. "I want to know you 
understand it for sure."

"I understand," he said quietly, sniffling once more. He sat back 
against the headboard and looked at the AD hopefully. "So you're not 
gonna spank me then?"

Skinner eyed him carefully, then reached out and caressed the back of 
his head. "I didn't say that, son. You broke every rule we have, 
didn't you?"

The child's eyes darkened with worry, but he continued to stare at 
Skinner, wide-eyed and questioning. 

"So, let's talk about that," Skinner said, putting an arm around his 
shoulders and drawing him closer to his side. "I've told you that you 
should never, never touch my guns. Haven't I? What rule did you break 
when you broke into the gun safe?"

"The one about listening. And being o-obedient," the child whispered.

"That's right. And what about telling me on the phone that you didn't 
do anything to make Sean yell at you?"

"That was a lie," Fox said quietly. 

"Yes, and there are two kinds of lies, Fox," Skinner responded. "One 
is when you tell someone something that's not true. And the other is 
when you don't tell something because if you did, you'd get in 
trouble. Like taking the lock pick the other day and keeping it a 
secret. You knew I'd be angry about that, didn't you?"

The boy nodded solemnly and lowered his eyes "Yes."

"So that's two lies. And what about the most important rule of all?"

Fox screwed his face up and bit down on his lower lip, trying to keep 
from crying again. "About thinking about my safety," he choked out. "I 
didn't think about that. I thought I'd know how to shoot the gun! But 
it went off! I didn't want it to. . . "

"I know, son. That's why children aren't allowed near guns. Because 
they're not toys. You could have killed yourself. Or you could have 
killed someone else." He pulled Fox tighter into the circle of his 
arms and let him cry out his guilt and remorse. When the boy had 
calmed down again, Skinner knew what had to come next. He turned the 
child toward him and placed a hand on either shoulder.

"So, you understand that I'm not angry about what you felt? About 
wanting to protect Casey? I just wish you had told me about it. We 
could have talked it over, and this would never have happened, right?"

Fox nodded but failed to make eye contact with him. "Look at me, Fox. 
I'm talking to you."

The boy's head snapped up and Skinner could see his eyes were still 
tear-filled. But he also knew this lesson had not been driven home 
yet. He pulled Fox to his feet and placed him squarely in front of 
him. "Take down your pants, Fox," he said quietly. The child looked 
for a moment like he might make a run for it, but then he unbuttoned 
his jeans and unzipped them. He hesitated for a second, then he pushed 
them down to about mid-thigh and stood there, waiting.

Skinner was finding it almost impossible to continue but he also knew 
this child, and the man he had been and would be again. He needed 
boundaries, clear consistent ones, and sure consequences when he 
violated those limits. He quickly pulled Fox over his knees, and 
pulled his cotton briefs down.

"What are you being punished for, Fox?" he asked, following the 
traditional ritual he'd learned over his own father's knee, and had 
always employed with Mulder as well.

"Don't YOU know?" the boy cried, his voice rising to the edge of 
panic.

Skinner stopped short and had to work hard not to laugh. He realized 
instantly that Fox didn't actually remember any of this routine. This 
was a new experience for this child and he had failed to provide 
enough explanation. He pulled Fox to his feet and looked straight into 
his eyes.

"Fox, listen to me. I always want to know that you understand what you 
did wrong, and what you're being punished for. So I will always ask 
you that question. And I expect you to answer. To tell me everything. 
That way we get it all accounted for and over with, okay?"

The boy listened raptly, nodding his head actively. 

<Well, this is one way to get your full attention, kid!> Skinner 
patted him on the head and gave him a small smile. "Good boy," he 
said. "This will all be over in a few minutes." He flipped the child 
effortlessly back over his knees and began again. This time his 
question brought the expected response.

"For-- for, um, for lying to you, Dad! Oww! Oucchhh!" he cried, as 
though someone were killing him. Skinner nearly laughed out loud, 
knowing he'd not put anything like full strength into the first two 
smacks. Outside the bedroom door the puppy began to bark and scratch 
at the door.

"How many times did you lie, Fox?" Skinner asked, landing a half dozen 
more whacks on the boy's upturned butt. 

"Two times! Ohhhh! Owwww! Two times," he gasped out, yelling so loud 
Skinner wondered if the neighbors would call the police. Now the dog 
was howling too, either in protest, or in a futile attempt to 
harmonize with the wailing boy. <Oh, well, the neighbors didn't call 
about the gunshot. I'll just have to take my chances!> 

"And what else are you being punished for, young man?"

"For disobeying you. Oucchhh! Ooohhhhh! About staying away from the 
guns! I'm sorry, Dad! I'll never do it again!"

"You better not ever do it again, or you'll be eating standing up for 
a month, Fox," Skinner told him, using a phrase he'd heard from his 
own father many times. It had popped out unconsciously as he continued 
to smack to the boy's bare bottom with his hand.

"And what about the last rule? What else did you do to deserve a 
spanking?"

"I didn't think-- Ouchhh! Please! No more! I didn't think about my 
safety. I'm sorry! I'm sorry! OWWW! OUCHHH! I won't do it again! 
PLEEEASE!"

Skinner gave him one more, hard smack on his now red, flaming 
buttocks. He wasn't seriously hurt, but the AD knew from personal 
experience his backside was stinging mightily right about now. It had 
been many years since the man had found himself in a similar position, 
but some memories never fade. He righted the boy onto his feet, then 
pulled his underwear and jeans back up.

Fox was sobbing openly and his hands went immediately to his bottom, 
to try to rub some of the soreness away. 

"No, Fox," Skinner told him, pulling his hands away from his butt and 
pulling him into the traditional post-punishment hug. "That's part of 
the punishment, the stinging afterward. Now, I want you to come with 
me to the kitchen. I'm going to make us some dinner. And you're gonna 
stand in the corner where I can keep an eye on you."

"No!" the boy said indignantly. "I don't want-- Owww!" He blinked in 
shock as his recently punished posterior received another whack from 
the man standing behind him. 

"What did you say?" Skinner asked him, a note of menace underscoring 
his words.

"Nothing," the boy said, turning his body so his backside was 
protected from further abuse. 

"That's better. Let's go."

A little while later, the AD was dishing up grilled hamburgers and 
baked beans, keeping a careful eye on the 11-year-old standing in the 
corner of his kitchen. Yoda laid peacefully at the boy's feet, his 
head cushioned on one of Fox's sneakers.

Every now and then a sniffle could be heard but the boy had not spoken 
in the 20 minutes he'd been there. At first, his posture was stiff and 
angry, his arms crossed in defiance. Now, however, with a few minutes 
of staring at the wallpaper, he'd relaxed and his arms hung limply at 
his side. Skinner knew, again from personal experience, how much he 
probably wanted to rub his stinging butt.

He placed the food on the table, then went back for a cup of coffee 
for himself and a large glass of milk for Fox. Having poured both, he 
called his prisoner over for dinner.

Fox came to the table and sat down. He winced slightly and started to 
get up again. 

"Sit," Skinner told him firmly. 

He sat back down and bit his lower lip. 

"Believe me, Fox," Skinner said lightly as he placed a hamburger on a 
bun for the child, "you can sit fine."

The boy gave him a sideways glance that telegraphed his lack of faith 
in that statement and Skinner tried hard to keep a straight face.

"Some day I'll tell you all about your grandfather's razor strop, "the 
Persuader." He still has it, and your Uncle Andy, and Uncle Joe and I 
know that strap well. And Doug and Mike do too. After getting it with 
"the Persuader," you can't sit down too comfortably, if you can sit at 
all! But all you got was a simple, little spanking. Well deserved, but 
nothing you'll be telling your own kids about years from now, pal. 
Trust me on that one!"

Fox's eyes had widened as the AD concluded his speech. He blinked and 
looked up at Skinner in horror. "The strap has a name?"