The Danville Series
by Cadillac Red



nwich, Connecticut
Friday afternoon

Walter Skinner walked slowly toward his car in the garage below the 
building that housed the offices of the FBI. He was expecting to be 
contacted, that's what the cryptic e-mail had said. But no one had 
done so all day. He pulled out his keys and pressed the button to open 
his car door.

"Good evening," a voice said from behind him.

Skinner turned and looked into the face of CGB Spender. "You have 
something for me?" he asked immediately.

"Not so fast," the other man said. "I believe you have something for 
me."

Skinner eyed him for a moment, trying to demonstrate he was not 
desperate for what the black-lunged bastard had to offer. Even though 
he was. Then he deliberately opened his briefcase and took out a plain 
gray envelope. He snapped the case shut and held it in his hand, 
slightly out of the other man's reach.

"Ah, gamesmanship," Spender said with feigned amusement. He pulled a 
large packet out of the pocket of his jacket. It looked like it would 
hold about three or four of the vials Skinner had gotten from him and 
Krycek before.

"I want to see it," Skinner growled, "before I give you this."

Spender appeared to weigh that request, then he relented. He handed 
over the packet and Skinner opened it up. There were four vials. 

"This isn't enough," the AD snapped. "He's already needed three 
doses--"

"That's because he was growing so much physically," Spender replied 
calmly. "He's done most of his actual growing already. He'll only need 
two more doses to get him through the next few years, until he reaches 
full adult size. The other two will suffice for the adult years, until 
he's back to his true age."

Skinner considered the explanation. That seemed reasonable, given what 
they'd seen. The serum did slow down his physical growth. And the boy 
had shot up in recent weeks. He was now almost 5 foot 4 inches tall. 
As an adult, Mulder was just about 6 feet tall. Most of his full 
height had already been reached.

"These are numbered," he said to the other man.

"Yes. I was about to tell you they have to be used in order. I don't 
know the details, but the doctors were very specific about that."

Skinner nodded thoughtfully, then he exhaled. "Here," he said, 
thrusting the envelope toward Spender. "This is a summary of all the 
tests and developmental assessments he's had. I'll provide you with 
data. I want your assurance no one will try to take the boy again."

"That was . . . not my doing," Spender said. "There is not complete 
agreement about this but I believe you can rest assured that no one 
will interfere with your custody." He smiled and Skinner was 
immediately certain the man was lying. And glad he'd made arrangements 
for a safe house once they returned from Nantucket.

"Good," the Assistant Director said, opening his car door. "As long as 
you hold up your end of the bargain, I'll hold up mine." He got in the 
car and started the engine, then went to close the door but Spender 
caught it with his hand.

"Our . . . 'common interest' here is Mulder," he said ominously. "And 
if we can't get the information we need about how this experiment is 
going, we will act to remove him."

Skinner looked back at the Spender with venom in his eyes. "But of 
course, I "can rest assured no one will interfere with my custody," 
right?"

Spender's mouth twisted into a sardonic smile. "Of course. As long as 
you continue to cooperate." He removed his hand from the car door and 
Skinner slammed it closed. Then the AD backed the car out, tires 
screeching, without giving the man another glance. 

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

Teena Mulder's Home
Greenwich, Connecticut
Thursday afternoon

"Why do we have to stop here?" Fox groused from the back seat. "I 
thought we were going back to Nantucket!"

"We're stopping because you haven't seen your mother in a while, Fox," 
Skinner answered him once again. He was growing impatient with the 
boy's continual resistance to spending a day in Greenwich before 
heading back to Massachusetts. Skinner himself had thought to have 
Teena meet them there, but she was still refusing to come to Nantucket 
because of its proximity to Martha's Vineyard. 

"Too many bad memories," she told him when he asked her again. Skinner 
wanted Fox to have regular contact with his mother but so far, the 
only times that had happened had been when he brought the boy to 
Greenwich. So he was doing so again. Only Fox, at nearly 12 years old, 
seemed to have his own ideas about how he wanted to spend time. 

Skinner understood his being anxious to get back to Nantucket. Several 
of the A.D.'s nieces and nephews were there, and Fox had too few 
chances to socialize with other kids. On top of that, he'd spent a 
full day the day before at Johns Hopkins Medical Center, being 
examined by the team of medical specialists studying his situation, 
interviewed by the developmental experts, poked, prodded and generally 
bothered by more different adults than most kids his age have to deal 
with in a month.

"Do we have to stay over?" the boy whined for about the tenth time. 
"Can't we just have lunch and then go?"

Skinner pulled the car into the driveway of the Mulder house and 
turned the engine off. Then he turned to look at the passenger in the 
back seat. The boy was slumped in the seat, his knees propped up 
against the back of the seat in front of him, and his arms were 
crossed militantly. The AD laid a hand on one of his legs.

"I told you we're staying over and that's that," he said calmly. "Now, 
I expect you to act respectfully and stop this, do you understand me?"

Fox glared at him for a full second, then obviously thought better of 
his show of rebellion. He blinked and lowered his eyes. 

"Do you understand me, Fox?"

The boy glanced up for a second then down again. "Yes."

Skinner raised his eyebrows inquiringly. "Yes, what?" 

"Yes . . . sir," he said, lifting his eyes to Skinner's face. 

The Assistant Director gave him a smile and a wink. "That's better," 
he said quietly. "Now let's go. I'm sure your mother's anxious to see 
you.

And Teena was anxious. She was standing on the porch when the two of 
them exited the car.

"Oh, my God," she said, approaching Fox and taking his face in her 
hands. "Look at you! Look how much you've grown!" She kissed him on 
the cheek, then wrapped him in a big hug.

The boy looked a little uncomfortable but he returned her hug and 
surreptitiously wiped his shirt sleeve over the side of his face when 
she turned to greet Skinner. The AD knew he was at the age where 
outward displays of affection caused that reaction but he gave the boy 
a warning look just the same.

They all went inside and Teena made them a pitcher of lemonade and 
took it out on the back patio. They spent a half hour making small 
talk, then Teena served a late lunch and they ate that in the 
backyard, too. But by the time lunch was finished almost an hour 
later, Fox was growing a little antsy.

"Can I get my rollerblades out of the car, Dad?" he asked finally. The 
AD had been watching Fox's leg jitter up and down for the past 45 
minutes, an indication the child was bored and bursting with nervous 
energy. Perhaps letting him expend a little of it was a good idea.

"All right, Fox," he agreed. "There's a park down the street. Don't go 
any further than that, okay?"

"Okay, Dad," the boy said, jumping to his feet.

"Fox, before you go, let's agree when you're going to be home," 
Skinner continued, grabbing his arm and pointing at the watch the boy 
wore. "We have to leave for dinner at . . . " he stopped, glancing 
over at Mrs. Mulder.

"5:30," Teena said with a knowing smile.

"So you need to be back here no later than 4:30, okay? 

The boy nodded impatiently. "Okay," he said quickly. Skinner released 
his arm and he began to dash off.

"Fox! Is there anything you want to say to your mother? About lunch?"

The child turned around suddenly, his brow wrinkled in frustration. 
Then it came to him. "Oh! Good sandwiches, Mom," he said, then turned 
and fled.

Skinner grimaced wryly. "Thank you was what I had in mind," he said. 
"I'm afraid he's a little distracted today."

She laughed easily. "He was always 'distracted,' Walter. Always into 
something. He was never a quiet child. Or an easy one, I'm afraid."

Skinner nodded. In fact, he hadn't found Fox to be especially 
difficult, up to now. Still his instincts told him the toughest times 
were yet to come. "But he turned out to be a remarkable young man," he 
said sincerely. "I just hope that proves true this time around."

Teena sighed and thought for a moment. "He hasn't . . . remembered 
anything from before, has he?"

"No, except for a short while in the hospital. But the doctors think 
that was because he was in desperate need of the medication. They 
believe that something in the vaccine that slows his growth to a 
manageable level also keeps him from accessing specific personal 
memories. He regains knowledge. He's never been to school but he has 
the level of knowledge one would expect from a kid his age, or even a 
little older. But no memories of his prior childhood."

She nodded thoughtfully, then stood and began collecting the dishes 
and placing them on a tray. "Well, perhaps that's for the best," she 
said cryptically. "Perhaps that's all for the best."

Skinner used the afternoon to make some phone calls to the office. 
He'd expected Fox to be spending the time alone with his mother and 
had planned to be out of the way attending to business. But Fox and 
Teena seemed to have a different understanding of why the AD and the 
boy were there. She headed off to a garden club meeting while he was 
at the park. Leaving Skinner to his phone calls. 

The Assistant Director finished one lengthy call, then decided to take 
Yoda for a walk down the street, and use the opportunity to check on 
Fox. He strolled at a leisurely pace, letting the dog mark territory 
along the street, until he reached the park and spotted Fox with a 
large group of boys around his age. They were rollerblading through an 
obstacle course in the parking lot and Skinner stopped far enough away 
to be certain Fox wouldn't see him. The boy was grace in motion on the 
skates, weaving in and out of the orange cones set up on the path, 
never missing a single turn.

Skinner looked a little closer and saw he was wearing his knee and 
wristguards as well as his helmet. He seemed carefree and completely 
at ease and had taken all the precautions the AD insisted upon. The 
man watched him from a distance for a few minutes, then turned and 
walked back to the Mulder house. Fox had so little time to spend with 
kids his own age, he was glad to see him acting just like a normal 
child his age.

Teena, Fox and Skinner had plans to eat dinner one of Mrs. Mulder's 
favorite seafood restaurants that evening. The AD heard Teena come in 
from her meeting about an hour after he returned to the house. He 
finished up his calls and headed into the shower. Coming downstairs at 
4:40, he found Teena sitting in the sun room, reading. She was dressed 
to go out and it was clear she was anticipating the dinner with 
pleasure. 

"Did Fox come in?" he asked her. He thought the boy must have returned 
while he was in the shower.

"No, dear," she shook her head. "I thought he was with you upstairs."

Skinner looked at his watch, then decided to give the boy another few 
minutes. He'd been enjoying himself when the AD last saw him. It's 
certainly possible he lost track of the time temporarily.

But by a few minutes before 5 o'clock, the man was growing a little 
impatient. He decided to walk down the street to get him. Only when he 
got to the park, the kids he'd seen with Fox were not there, they'd 
been replaced by an older crowd. High schoolers, he thought on seeing 
them. The AD stopped one young man just finishing the obstacle course 
and asked about the younger group that had been there earlier.

"Oh, the little guys? They vamoose when we get here," the lanky youth 
said. "Every day, they vanish when we arrive. I think they head over 
to the video arcade down on Main Street."

Skinner frowned at this news. Main Street was a good mile away and 
well beyond the perimeter of the park. And that's how far he'd told 
Fox he could go. He returned to the Mulder house and got his car.

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

The Outer Limits Video Arcade
Greenwich, Connecticut
5:25 p.m.

Skinner entered the crowded, noisy arcade and looked around for his 
wandering young charge. In the crowds of kids, all around Fox's age, 
he found it hard to locate the boy at first. But in a moment he found 
a clutch of kids on roller blades and there in the midst of them was 
Fox. Eating a slice of pizza.

Although Skinner was annoyed, he didn't want to embarrass the boy, so 
he wandered over in that direction and waited until he'd caught Fox' 
eye. Then he cocked his head toward the door and stalked over to the 
exit to wait.

Fox froze for a second, then glanced at his watch. "Oh, no," he said 
quietly.

"Is that your Dad?" one of the boys asked him, having noticed the 
exchange. "Dude looks mad. And tough!"

"No, he's not so tough," Fox answered immediately, aware he was lying 
through his teeth. "I better go, though. We're supposed to be having 
dinner with my Mother."

Two of the other boys high-fived him and he skated off in the 
direction of the door, wondering what excuse he could possibly give 
for being this late. But the AD didn't ask for an excuse, he just led 
the way to the car in the parking lot. Fox got into the back and began 
unlacing his skates.

"Well?" Skinner said, glancing in the rear view mirror once he'd 
started the car and pointed it toward Mrs. Mulder's part of town.

"Well, thanks for the ride home," Fox said instantly. "I'm kind of 
wiped."

Skinner pressed his lips together, completely aware the boy was 
tap-dancing, trying to change the subject on him. It was an "older 
Mulder" trick with which the AD was quite familiar. "You were supposed 
to be home at 4:30, Fox. And I'm certain I told you not to go any 
farther than the park."

"But everyone was going to the video arcade! And--"

"And if everyone jumped off a bridge, would you follow them?" Skinner 
winced a little as the words came out. They were exactly the same ones 
his own father had used often when he was a kid and he'd sworn he'd 
never have cause to repeat them. "I know you understood me when I told 
you the park and no where else. And I'm certain I was clear you were 
expected home at 4:30 because we're going out to dinner with your 
mother. So what could possibly make you blatantly disobey me?"

The child exploded. "I don't want to go out to dinner! I didn't even 
want to come here!" he yelled from the back seat. "I told you that."

Skinner was stunned by the volume of his retort, and the complete lack 
of respect he was displaying. He pulled the car quickly into Mrs. 
Mulder's driveway and shut the car off. He turned around in the 
driver's seat and looked at the child in the back, his eyes blazing.

"Now just one minute, young man-"

"No, you wait a minute! I don't want to go out for some boring old 
dinner! I--" He stopped, getting a good look at the expression on 
Skinner's face and feeling his heart race at the predicament he'd 
gotten himself into. He opened the car door and fled toward the house, 
the AD striding purposefully behind him.

"Fox! Where have you--" Mrs. Mulder exclaimed as the boy ran past her 
and up the stairway to the second floor. 

"I don't want to talk to you!" he shouted as he continued up the 
stairs. "I DON'T WANT TO TALK TO ANYBODY!"

She watched him disappear, then turned to Skinner as he came through 
the front door, a sour look on his face. "I guess I should cancel the 
dinner reservation," she sighed.

"No! I- No, please don't cancel," the man answered firmly. "Perhaps 
you could see if we could postpone it. Until perhaps 7 o'clock?"

Teena Mulder shook her head. "I've seen Fox in this kind of mood 
before," she responded. "We're better off canceling--"

"No, Teena. You were looking forward to this dinner, and so was I. 
Give me a few minutes to . . . resolve this problem and we'll be ready 
to go." Skinner headed up the stairs, then turned back to Mrs. Mulder. 
"And I'll also ask for your forbearance about 'how' I resolve it," he 
said with a reassuring smile. "Trust me, he'll be none the worse for 
the wear. But he may yell bloody murder. . . "

The older woman eyed him appraisingly for about ten seconds. That was 
all it took for her to know she trusted him completely with her son's 
welfare. "There's an antique hairbrush on the dresser in the spare 
bedroom," she told him. "You may find it useful."

Skinner checked out the implement in question and knew he'd be able to 
put it to very good use. Palming the old-fashioned oval wood brush, he 
headed into Fox's bedroom. The boy was lying on his bed, face down, 
his face buried in his pillow.

The AD closed the door behind him, then went to the bed and sat down. 
"Look at me, Fox," he said firmly. "I want to talk to you."

"I don't want to talk to you," the child said sullenly.

Skinner's eyebrows rose precipitously and he cracked his neck in a 
vain attempt to ease the tension there. "Okay, that's all," he said. 
With that, he lifted the boy off the bed and placed him on his feet in 
front of him. "You've been asking for this all day, Fox. Take down 
your pants."

The child shook his head, then noticed the hairbrush in the A.D.'s 
right hand. "Oh, no," he said, taking a step back. "I don't want--"

Skinner caught him with one large hand and held him firmly in place. 
"What you want is not the point here," he said. "What you need, and 
deserve, is. And that would be a good spanking. Take down your pants, 
Fox."

He waited while the boy hesitated for a few seconds, as though he were 
weighing his options. Finally conceding he had none, Fox unbuttoned 
his jeans and lowered them as instructed. Then he stopped, his eyes 
darkening with dread as they came to rest on the wooden hairbrush in 
the A.D.'s hand. Skinner waited for him to continue and the boy 
scrunched his face up as his eyes flooded with tears. Then he lowered 
his briefs to his thighs. 

"I don't want to get spanked," he said, biting his lip, trying to 
stave off the tears that were threatening to come at any moment.

"I think you should have thought of that earlier, Fox," Skinner told 
him as he pulled the boy over his lap. "Now, what's this spanking 
for?" He applied the hairbrush to the boy's upturned buttocks, issuing 
four stinging smacks. 

"Owww! Oucchh! OWWWWW! No! PLEASE!"

"I asked you a question, young man," Skinner said. "I think it would 
be smart for you to answer me. What is this spanking for?"

"I—I—" he sobbed, reaching back to try to protect his stinging butt "I 
disobeyed you! And left OWWW! Left the park! AHHHH!"

Skinner used his free hand to grab the boy's wrist and pin it against 
the small of his back. "And what else, Fox?"

"And I OUCHHH! I didn't come home when you told me to!" he yelled at 
the very top of his lungs. "Please! I'm SORRY!"

"I'm sure you're sorry now, kid," the AD said as he smacked the 
hairbrush against the boy's rapidly reddening bottom. "Keep going. 
What else? How about the disrespectful way you spoke to me in the car? 
And your mother when you came in?"

"That's not a rule!" the boy answered indignantly. "Ouchh! OWWW! 
AHHHH! OH, PLEEEEASE!"

"Well, it's a rule now, mister," the man said as he swatted the boy's 
steaming buttocks a few more time. He finished with a final smack, 
then dropped the brush on the bed beside him.

Fox was hanging over his knees, sobbing pitifully. "That's—that's not 
f-fair!" he protested between hitching breaths. "I didn't know about 
that rule!"

Skinner had been rubbing his back gently, trying to help him calm 
down. But now he stopped and pulled the boy to his feet.

"You're telling me you didn't know I expect you to speak to adults 
with proper respect?" Skinner asked him incredulously. "That's what 
you're saying?"

Fox nodded angrily. "You never said that was a rule—" The rest of the 
sentence was cut off as the AD swung him easily back over his knees 
and picked up the hairbrush once again. 

"What rule did you just break, Fox?" he asked as he smacked the boy's 
cheeks three more times. "Which rule?"

"I don't—I don't know! OHHHH! OUCHHHH! OWWWWW!"

"I've got all night, Fox," the man said reasonably, issuing another 
couple of swats. "Do you want to give it a little more thought?"

"OKAY! I lied! I l-lied to you! OUCHHH! I'm sorry!" he cried. "I 
knew!"

Skinner gave him one final smack, then threw the hairbrush back onto 
the bed. He reached up and caressed the back of the child's head. 
"It's okay now," he murmured soothingly. "It's all over." Skinner gave 
him another few seconds, then pulled him to his feet again. The boy 
turned and buried himself in the A.D.'s shoulder, crying as though his 
heart was breaking. 

"I'm sorry," he said between sobs. "I'm sorry, Daddy. . . "

"I know you are," Skinner told him quietly as he pulled the boy's 
briefs and jeans back up. "I know. And I'm sorry I had to spank you, 
Fox. But you know the rules. . . and you know what to expect when you 
break them. So why did you? Do you know why?"

Fox shook his head into the A.D.'s shoulder. "I don't know. I just—I 
just wanted to feel n-normal! I don't want to be a 'lab rat,'" he 
cried.

"A lab rat?" Skinner exclaimed. "Whatever gave you an idea like that?" 

"I—I h-heard them say it! At the hospital! They want to keep me there 
all the t-time, like a lab rat, they said." He gulped air and clung 
tightly to Skinner's neck. "Please don't let them keep me! I want to 
stay with you!" 

Skinner was stunned by this information and he quickly thought back to 
the day before. Fox had spent an especially long day at Johns Hopkins. 
The AD himself had been tied up in meetings all day, and Scully was 
out of town on assignment. So Ed Carney and Sean Delaney had taken him 
there. They and Skinner had been stunned by the amount of time the 
team kept him, and the number of tests they put him through. It 
appeared the research team and its graduate students were having a 
field day with this opportunity.

And Skinner suspected it was a grad student who made the 'lab rat' 
comment that Fox overheard. And that helped him understand the boy's 
mostly unacceptable behavior since he returned last night. The 
Assistant Director had thought it was because he had been cooped up 
all day but now he understood there was a great deal of anxiety 
driving that behavior as well.

"Fox, listen to me," he said gently. "I don't know what you heard, but 
I'm certain someone thought they were being funny. No one intends to 
keep you at the hospital full time. And I wouldn't let them, if they 
wanted to!"

"And you won-- won't leave me here, either, right?" Fox continued to 
cling to Skinner's neck as though he expected someone to try to tear 
him away. The AD pulled him closer, wrapping him in the security of 
his strong arms, trying to give him all the physical reassurance he 
could.

"No, of course not," he answered immediately. 'I've told you that 
before--"

"But Ed and Sean said you have a lot of work because of me! Because 
you haven't been able to work as much since I came to live with you. . 
. ."

Now Skinner was perplexed. "They told you that?"

"No, but I heard them talking," the boy answered swiftly. "And even 
you said you wish I could spend more time with my mother. You told 
Uncle J-Joe."

Skinner had to think a moment to recall a passing comment he'd made to 
Joe on the phone the other night, when he'd informed his brother that 
he and Fox would be stopping in Greenwich for a day before returning 
to Nantucket. It was a phone call Skinner had placed after putting Fox 
to bed-- or so he thought.

He gave the boy another squeeze and caressed the back of his head. "I 
don't plan to leave you here, or at the hospital, or anywhere else, 
Fox," he said quietly. "You live with me, for as long as you want to, 
okay?" He waited a moment until he could feel the boy's head nod into 
his shoulder and his sobbing abate. "Now, I want you to get in the 
shower and get dressed for dinner, lickety-split, kid. And tomorrow, 
when you and I are driving to Nantucket, we're gonna have a long talk 
about eavesdropping, okay?"

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

The Old Mariner Restaurant
Westport, Connecticut
7:10 p.m.

They'd arrived at the restaurant at exactly seven and been seated 
immediately. Now the waiter, an older man with a thick New England 
accent, had returned with their drinks. A beer for Skinner, a glass of 
wine for Mrs. Mulder and a coke for Fox.

"I can't wait to see your photos from Nantucket," Teena said as the 
waiter placed her wine on the table in front of her.

"Oh, we left them in the jeep," Skinner answered quickly, a little 
annoyed at himself for forgetting to bring them with him.

"I'll get them, Dad," Fox said quickly. "I want to show her the ones 
of me water-skiing. Can I go get them, Dad? Please?"

Skinner smiled at the eagerness on the boy's fresh-scrubbed face. He 
was wearing dress slacks and a golf shirt, just like Skinner. And his 
hair was neatly combed and still damp from the shower he'd run through 
a little bit earlier. "Be careful in the parking lot," he answered, 
reaching into his pocket for the keys. 

"Don't forget to look both ways, Fox," Teena added, not realizing she 
would embarrass the child with an reminder of that nature. Fox colored 
slightly, then glanced at Skinner. Unspoken communication passed 
between them and he looked immediately back at his mother.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered with a tentative smile. "I'll be right 
back." He turned and headed toward the restaurant's entrance.

"What a polite, well-behaved child," the waiter said as he laid the 
last drink on the table. "You must be very proud of him."

Teena and Skinner exchanged a look of amusement. "Yes, we are," they 
said in unison.

Chuck Talbot's House
Nantucket, Massachusetts
Saturday afternoon

Walter Skinner pulled the jeep to a stop in front of the sprawling, 
gray shingled home. They'd been gone almost ten days, he and Fox. It 
felt good to return.

He could see Brian and Haley sitting on the back of the sofa in the 
front window, waiting for them. Then the two children disappeared and 
the front door opened a moment later. The boy and girl ran out to the 
car, their faces lit with welcoming smiles.

The AD opened his door and Fox did the same in the passenger seat 
beside him. The boy had been a little subdued in the latter part of 
the trip. They caught the ferry at Wood's Hole an hour and a half 
earlier and he'd barely spoken a word since. And he appeared a little 
apprehensive now.

"Wow," Brian said as he came to a halt in front of Fox. "You're big!"

Fox ducked his head and turned a light pink. "Hi, Brian. Hi, Haley," 
he said quietly.

Haley put her arms around his waist and gave him a big hug, then she 
ran to Skinner and did the same. The change in Fox didn't seem to faze 
the three-year-old in the least, not the way it had obviously stumped 
Brian. After giving his niece a big hug and kiss, Skinner put her down 
and did the same with Brian as Andy and Eileen came out of the house 
next. Eileen seemed a little taken aback by the change in Fox, too, 
but she quickly covered it. And Andy had seen him at the hospital in 
Baltimore the week before. For him, this was not a shock but he was 
still amazed. 

Fox received hugs from both the other adults with little protest, then 
they all went inside. Joe and Nora and the elder Skinners were due 
down in a couple of days. And Jean and her family would follow almost 
immediately. But for now, Fox seemed to be a little uneasy dealing 
with just Andy and his brood. Skinner was suddenly glad he didn't have 
to see the whole family at once.

Eileen had sandwiches ready for lunch and they all sat on the back 
deck and ate. Skinner watched Fox closely, trying to determine whether 
there was something he could do to help the boy over this hurdle. He 
had grown quickly before, but this was the first time he had full 
awareness of it, it seemed. And he appeared to be having trouble 
finding his 'place' in the family grouping. Brian had recovered from 
the momentary shock and wanted to play with him, but at approximately 
12 or even 13, Fox didn't really want to do any of the things that the 
two boys had done together just a few weeks earlier.

Finally, Andy suggested they take out the boat. That seemed to get 
everyone's agreement and they all went to change. Eileen packed snacks 
and drinks in a cooler while Skinner took Fox down to the dock to get 
the boat ready. In less than thirty minutes, they were through the 
inlet and hooking up the equipment for water-skiing. And in a few 
minutes after that, Fox was up and criss-crossing the waves like a 
pro. He seemed at home on the water, for the first time since they'd 
arrived back at Nantucket Skinner thought extraneously. 

They returned to shore after a couple of hours and Skinner and Andy 
both had to smile at the way little Brian was suddenly following Fox 
around, dogging his heels. Somehow, in a matter of hours their 
relationship shifted. Six weeks earlier, Fox had been the younger of 
the two, and in awe of Brian. Today Brian was eyeing the 12-year-old 
with a kind of hero worship Skinner remembered receiving from his 
younger brothers. 

"God, they adapt fast, don't they, Walt?" Andy said quietly. His 
brother just nodded in response. He found himself worrying about 
whether Fox would adjust as fast as Brian obviously had.

On Monday afternoon Skinner's parents arrived with Joe and Nora and 
their family. By then, Fox was completely at home with the part of the 
family that had remained in Nantucket. Now he had to go through the 
same routine with Mike, Kathy and Amanda. At 18, 17 and 15, they were 
now closer in age to Fox than either of Andy's kids. Fox proved to be 
a little shy around the older cousins for the first part of the day. 

Instead, he stuck close to Skinner, something the AD noticed he'd done 
both times he'd had to spank the boy. As an adult, Mulder required 
close contact and a lot of affection after being punished. The child 
followed the same pattern and Skinner found himself giving him lots of 
hugs and having him tag along on errands and as he did chores around 
the house. He hoped he'd warm up to Joe's kids quickly, though. Fox 
had little time to be around other young people and he wanted him to 
be able to take advantage of every such opportunity.

Finally, Joe suggested the older kids go into town for a movie on 
Tuesday night. At first Fox was a little reluctant to go but Mike and 
Kathy cajoled him into it. They headed off in Skinner's jeep, with 
Mike on notice to 'drive carefully. And come home right after the 
movie.' The teenager laughed good-naturedly at his mother's 
admonition., crooking an arm around Fox's shoulders. 

"Aw, come on, Mom," he pleaded with grand drama. "You have to stop for 
ice cream after the movies on a summer night, right, Fox? You tell 
her!"

The boy appeared a little startled by the way in which he'd been 
included but he quickly caught on. "Please, Aunt Nora! Just one ice 
cream cone! At that place by the movies. Pleeeease!"

She relented, pleased to see the two of them bond so quickly over the 
issue. "Okay. But then, right home!"

Later the adults in the family settled down on the rear deck to catch 
up with each other. Dinner had been a chaotic affair but lively and 
fun. Now, with the younger children in bed and the others in town, the 
older Skinners could relax and unwind. And get up to speed on all the 
family new.

Walter and Joe were sitting in lawn chairs down by the dock, watching 
the stars. A third empty chair belonged to Andy, who'd been sent back 
to the house for three cold beers.

"I've been thinking," Joe said suddenly.

"Oh, guess that explains the smoke," Walter said nonchalantly.

Joe laughed shortly. "Very funny," he replied. "I'm serious."

"So am I," his brother answered with a hint of a grin.

"Do you remember Nora's friend Fiona?"

"No, Joe, I don't think I do," Skinner answered suspiciously. Nora had 
tried to set him up with several different women since Sharon died. 
Could it be possible she'd enlisted Joe's help now? "Why?"

"Yeah, you remember her," Joe said. "She was Nora's maid of honor at 
our wedding. Fiona Barefoot."

Walter shook his head. "Don't remember her, Joe."

"How could you not remember?" Joe asked curiously. "You were my best 
man. She was the maid of honor. You escorted her down the aisle--"

"Oh yeah, I remember her now," Skinner replied quickly. He didn't but 
he wanted to avoid Joe's trip down memory lane. He knew at the end of 
it, he still wouldn't remember this Fiona person. 

It was one of the things about Joe and Andy that Skinner most admired. 
They had wide social circles that included people like the kid Joe 
shared a cubby hole with in kindergarten, and someone Andy met once on 
a beach in New Zealand. They'd both developed a wide circle of 
acquaintances from this stay on Nantucket, more people than the AD had 
ever met in all the times he'd been there with Chuck. And somehow, 
despite busy lives, they managed to stay in contact with all of these 
people. Walter on the other hand had a few good, close friends he'd 
kept forever. And that was it.

"Well, I called her last week," he said. "She's vacationing in Cape 
Cod right now, by coincidence. I thought maybe we could invite her 
over for dinner one night."

Walter shifted in his chair and looked over his shoulder for Andy and 
the beers. <Uh oh! This is a set-up! I can smell it a mile away!> "And 
why did you think this?"

"She's a teacher, that's what I wanted to tell you. Teaches secondary 
school. She's the headmistress of a small, private school in 
Alexandria, Virginia," Joe said as though that had some significance 
to Skinner.

"Okay. And?"

"And I talked to her about Fox. I trust her, Walt, and I told her the 
situation and she was intrigued. And she agreed with me that he needs 
to be around other kids his age. He needs to have the social 
experiences that school provides."

"Joe, how can he go to school? He grows a year or more every couple of 
weeks. That would certainly cause people to talk, don't you think?"

"Yeah, but now he's not gonna grow as fast. He's already 5"5" or so, 
right?" Joe responded quickly. "The growth rate's gotta slow a bit. 
And he's as tall as most 7th or 8th graders. And smart. And the 
Wheatley Academy is an alternative style school. They don't have 
standard classes so it wouldn't matter what year he's in or anything 
like that. They'd just place him by his level of knowledge in each 
subject."

He leaned forward, eager to get it all out to older brother. "And they 
cater to the children of diplomats and high level government 
officials. So it's a fairly transient population. Kids come and go as 
their parents get moved around. Fiona said Fox could start the 
semester right after Labor Day. And leave, whenever you thought it was 
appropriate."

Skinner stared at Joe. He made it sound so simple. Skinner had never 
considered the possibility of putting Fox in school, given the 
circumstances. And he'd been struggling with the problem of how to get 
the boy the appropriate kind of contact with other kids his own age. 
This seemed like a miracle, if it was true.

"Are you sure she agreed?" Skinner was reluctant to get too excited at 
the prospect. "I mean, she can't possibly understand the entire 
situation--"

"Well, I told her as much as I know. And she believed it, because it 
was me telling her. And she'll keep the secret. We should at least 
have her over to dinner and explore it, don't you think? Of course, 
she did say he'd have to pass the entrance exam."

Skinner nodded as Andy returned with their beers. "Yeah, let's look 
into it," he said as he leaned back and took a swallow of cold beer. 
"And Joe, twenty bucks says he aces that exam!"

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

Thursday evening
7:33 p.m.

Walter held out two platters while Joe filled them with barbecued 
chicken and hot dogs and hamburgers. His mother and father, and Jean, 
Oliver and their kids, Doug and Kelly, had arrived earlier that day 
for the Labor Day weekend. The entire family was there now and the 
house was filled to bursting. People were tripled up in bedrooms, and 
the boys, Doug, Mike, Fox and Brian, would be sleeping on the 
screened-in porch on the side of the house. In their sleeping bags. 
The two younger boys were extremely excited.

Doug had brought his girlfriend, Emma, to the family gathering. That 
was a first and the entire family was anxious to see what she was 
like. So far they thought she was great.

And to top it off, Joe had invited his and Nora's friend, Fiona to 
dinner tonight. The backyard was filled with Skinners and guests and 
the noise level was nearly deafening. Skinner watched Andy playing 
badminton with the kids, using the net and equipment he'd purchased 
some time over the summer. His youngest brother was a kid at heart, 
always had been, always would be. Skinner's Dad was the official 
referee for the impromptu game and he and Andy had been arguing good 
naturedly about just about every call. 

His mother, sister and sisters-in-law were ferrying the rest of the 
food out from the house. Big bowls of home-made potato salad and pasta 
salad. A couple of dozen ears of steamed corn on the cob. A big, green 
salad for Kelly who'd announced a while back that she was now a 
vegetarian. Skinner eyed the grilled tofu Joe had prepared for her on 
the barbecue with disdain.

"What's it marinated with?" Skinner queried his brother. 

Joe gave him a wide-eyed shrug. "I haven't got a clue," he said 
evenly. 

Skinner took the food and made his way to the two big picnic tables. 
He placed one on the kids' table, then brought the other to the one 
where the adults would sit. Fiona Barefoot sat there with a glass of 
wine, watching the kids and Andy play badminton. 

When he met her this evening, Skinner had been struck by the fact that 
he didn't remember her. She seemed rather unforgettable, he thought 
idly. Moderately tall and slender, she had long, black hair, flawless 
skin and the high cheekbones that left no doubt as to her Native 
American ancestry. Only she had the most striking blue eyes. "A legacy 
from my Irish grandfather!" she'd laughingly told him when he 
commented on them. There was an air of serenity around her that was 
immediately affecting. It was hard for him to understand how he'd 
failed to remember such a striking woman.

"Can I get you another glass of wine, Fiona?" he asked her as he 
reached into the cooler next to the deck and pulled out a beer.

"No, thanks, Walter," she smiled. "I may take you up on that when 
dinner's served, though."

"Well, we don't stand on ceremony around here," he laughed. "Dinner is 
served." He looked over at the crowd by the badminton net and yelled, 
"Come and get it. Before it gets cold!"

The mass of Skinners descended on the two tables and in a moment, 
everyone was eating and somehow talking at the same time. The 
conversations at each table looped around and between various family 
members, often making the jump from table to table without regard to 
who had begun a subject.

Fiona Barefoot sat next to Skinner and he leaned over to her at one 
point and apologized. "Sorry about all the noise and confusion. We 
probably should have waited until the entire family had a meal 
together, and got this out of their systems, before subjecting anyone 
else to it!"

She laughed and shook her head. "I spend my workdays with 400 kids," 
she said lightly. "This is a great segue-way into my first week of 
school! I'm rather enjoying it, actually."

The Assistant Director was touched by her reaction. His wife, Sharon, 
had always been a little upended by the boisterous, noisy Skinner 
clan. She was an only child and had no experience with the kind of 
family dynamic that a large family group required. She'd been open and 
curious about it early in their relationship, and less enamored as 
time went on. But Skinner couldn't really remember a time when Sharon 
had seemed to enjoy being with his entire family at once. Fiona, on 
the other hand, just jumped right in, giving as good as she got.

And she watched Fox, Skinner saw. She seemed to be sizing him up and 
the Assistant Director was pleased at his comportment. Carrying on 
multiple conversations with all of the Skinner kids and adults, 
helping Haley cut up her hot dog, even sneaking a bit of his hamburger 
to Yoda under the table, he seemed like a carefree, especially bright 
but very normal 12-year-old. And Skinner could see Fiona was impressed 
with him. For a reason he couldn't fully explain, that mattered.

Later, as the evening chill descended, the family moved inside, to the 
great room that served as the focal point of the household. Andy and 
Walter lit a fire and someone put up a couple of pots of coffee. The 
kids settled down in the den to watch videos, stopping only for bowls 
of Rachel Skinner's home-made blueberry ice cream about an hour after 
they'd all gone inside.

"What are you kids watching, Fox?" Fiona asked him as he waited 
patiently for his share of the treat. 

"The Empire Strikes Back," he answered. "We watched "Star Wars" last 
night. And tomorrow--"

"Return of the Jedi?" she asked.

"Yeah. How'd you know that?" he asked her, obviously impressed.

"They're three of my favorite movies of all time," Fiona told him. "I 
just love how you named your dog 'Yoda,' too!"

"Yeah, he's a good dog," Fox replied, squatting down to give the puppy 
a hug. He'd wandered over as soon as he'd heard his name, hoping for a 
treat. Fox grabbed one from a box on the counter. "And smart, too!"

She engaged him in a little more conversation, then let him take his 
ice cream into the den with the others to watch the rest of the movie. 
When she returned to the living room, Skinner waited for her to sit 
down with her mug of coffee, then he quietly asked the question that 
had been on his mind all evening.

"Do you really think there might be a way for him to go to school for 
a while?"

She took a sip of coffee and nodded thoughtfully. "Well, I admit, the 
story was so preposterous, I thought Joe had gone over the edge. But 
he's here and you all have seen this phenomenal growth so I have to 
take it at face value. He's extremely smart and articulate, I can see 
that right away. Seems to have the subject knowledge of a kid his age, 
or probably a little older. He's quite observant and appears 
especially sensitive to the needs and feelings of others. He's also 
quite athletic, if you haven't already figured that out. Great 
eye-hand coordination!"

She put down her mug and looked Skinner directly in the eye. "But I do 
think he needs some further socialization with peers. He seems at home 
with all the kids here but still hangs back a bit, as though he's a 
little afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing. I think going to 
school is just the thing. And the Wheatley Academy is just the place."

The AD had listened to her assessment of the boy without a word. But 
he was impressed with her ability to gain all that insight from an 
evening of watching him and a couple of short conversations. And he 
was immensely proud of the young man, too. "Well, that would be great. 
Of course, I know he'll have to take an entrance exam--"

"Don't worry, Walter," she laughed. "I can assure you he'll pass with 
flying colors! It's not hard to see he's very bright."

Skinner chuckled and picked up his own mug of coffee. "Well, I hope 
so. 'Cause then Joe's gonna owe me twenty dollars."

Joe Skinner's ears pricked up across the room. "I never said I'd take 
that action, Walter," he responded. "Do I look stupid?"

Fiona had to catch the last ferry back to Cape Cod and Skinner offered 
to drive her down to the dock. Joe protested that he'd planned to take 
her but his older brother insisted and he and Fiona set off after she 
bid the entire family farewell and told Fox she'd see him the 
following Thursday. The boy looked up from the final moments of the 
movie with a surprised look on his face. "Okay," he said, casting a 
questioning glance at Skinner. "I’ll see you on Thursday. It was nice 
meeting you, ma'am."

"How do you think I should break the news to him?" Skinner asked her 
as soon as they were on the way. "About going to school. And taking 
that exam."

"Well, I suspect he'll want to go to school," she told him 
reassuringly. "It's an experience other kids have that he's been 
denied. He'll be curious. And as for the exam, just don't let him 
worry about it. Tell him it's just our way of knowing which classes to 
put him in."

They discussed the situation a little more on the way to the ferry and 
Fiona began writing down all the things Fox would need for school as 
soon as she realized Skinner was clueless about this process. She also 
filled him in on the standard uniform for Wheatley students. Khakis in 
beige or navy blue, sneakers and a Wheatley Academy collared golf 
shirt. "Things have gotten a lot more casual since you and I were in 
school, Walter," she laughingly told him. "Don't worry. I'll put a few 
shirts aside for him. And listen, don't you worry either. It's gonna 
be fine."

The AD was a little taken aback. <Do I look worried? I'm not worried!> 
He waited with her until the ferry loaded up, then stayed until it 
pulled out before driving home. It had been an eventful day for Fox, 
even though the boy didn't know it yet. Getting Fox into school was a 
feat that he'd thought impossible only a few days earlier. And now, 
here he was worried about what to buy and how to get him ready for 
just that. <Well. . . not exactly 'worried!'> 

Driving home, he found himself thinking that he'd like to speak to 
Fiona again, about Fox . . . and just about anything else. Perhaps, 
when they were back in Washington, he'd give her a call and invite her 
out for a drink some time.

The movie was just over when Skinner arrived back at the house. Brian 
had fallen asleep and been carried to the enclosed side porch and put 
to bed in his sleeping bag. Doug and his girlfriend, and his sister 
Kelly, had headed into town earlier and now Joe's kids, Mike, Kathy 
and Amanda, were getting ready to watch another movie. Skinner thought 
this one was a little bit over Fox's head for several reasons, plus 
they'd had a long, busy day so the AD quietly informed him it was 
bedtime. 

"Why?" he asked immediately. "Everyone else--"

"Everyone else is not important," Skinner cut him off before he could 
fully launch into protest mode. "Mike's 18 and Kathy's 17. Amanda's 
15, going on 16 and you're 12. It's almost midnight and you had a busy 
day. So for you, it's bedtime. Go wash up."

The boy gave him a withering look but acceded to the demand. Skinner 
watched him stomp off and then waited until he'd gone to the porch. 
The AD found him already in his sleeping bag on one of the couches. 
Brian was breathing softly in his sleeping bag on the floor, deep in 
slumber.

Another sleeping bag lay on the opposite couch, and someone else's was 
on the carpet not far from Brian's sleeping form.

"I bet whoever comes in last is gonna move you," Skinner told him with 
a smile. 

"That's not fair," the boy grumbled. "If I have to go to sleep first, 
I should get to pick where I do it."

Skinner took a seat on the couch next to him. "I don't want to hear 
another word about this, Fox," he said sternly. "I let you stay up 
until almost midnight tonight. That's a good two hours later than 
normal. And if you don't wipe that look off your face, you'll be going 
to bed two hours earlier than normal tomorrow night."

Fox's expression changed immediately. "I'm sorry, Dad," he said 
quietly. 

"That's better," Skinner told him, leaning down to kiss him on the 
forehead. "I was very proud of you tonight, Fox. You behaved very 
well, except for the last few minutes. Ms. Barefoot told me she 
thought you were a fine young man." 

"I like her, too, Dad," the boy said as a big yawn overtook him. He 
turned on his side and closed his eyes. "Do you think you might marry 
her?"

Skinner's mouth opened in shock but the boy had already drifted into 
sleep so he didn't respond. Not that he knew how he would have replied 
anyway. He was so upended, he didn't notice Andy come to the door of 
the porch. Until he got up to leave and ran into his youngest brother, 
arms crossed, smothering a laugh.

"Yeah, I was wondering the same thing, Walter," he smirked. "Do you 
think you might--"

"Don't say it, Andy, not if you value your life," Skinner told him 
ominously. "I might call and ask her out for a drink. That's as far as 
my plans go."

"What plans?" Joe asked from the hall behind them. He'd just appeared 
out of nowhere, to Skinner's great annoyance.

"Nothing--" the AD began only to be interrupted by Andy.

"Fox thinks Walter should marry Fiona," he said matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, Nora's been saying that for years," Joe replied with a grin. 

Skinner stopped and gave them both a warning look that would terrify 
most men. "If either one of you breathes a word about any of this to 
the rest of the family, I'll have both your butts in a sling, do you 
understand me?"

"Loud and clear," Joe replied, clapping a hand over Andy's mouth 
before he could say anything else. "It'll be our little secret."

Skinner eyed them both for another long moment. He loved his younger 
brothers dearly but knew they were both a whole lot more loquacious 
than he. "I mean it, guys," he said warningly.

This time they both nodded, Joe's hand still clamped tightly over 
Andy's mouth. Skinner nodded and left, heading back into the house 
with a sigh. Joe released Andy and the youngest brother turned to him 
immediately. 

"The entire family was talking about the two of them all night," he 
told Joe anxiously, although he knew his brother was already aware of 
the fact. 

Joe smiled and put an arm around Andy's shoulder. "Walter is very 
smart about most things," he said as he began to steer them both back 
into the main part of the house. "But I guarantee, if you don't tell 
him and I don't tell him, he'll never figure that out!"

The Skinner Home
Danville, Pennsylvania
Tuesday afternoon

Walter Skinner carried a half dozen shopping bags into the house with 
Fox trailing behind him, lugging a couple more. They'd traveled from 
Nantucket this morning, left Chuck Talbot's house before dawn to make 
the first ferry off the island. Then they'd driven nearly seven hours 
back to Pennsylvania, had a late lunch and headed off to the mall to 
do some school shopping. 

Fox was excited about the prospect of attending the Wheatley Academy 
and, while he hadn't yet taken the entrance exam, the school's 
headmistress had assured Skinner he'd do well. Fiona Barefoot was a 
good friend of Skinner's brother and a talented and experienced 
educator. She was certain the boy would pass and on her assurance, 
he'd told Fox about the plan and begun shopping.

Now though, Fox was irritable and cranky and, actually, so was the AD 
They had originally planned to head right back to Virginia after 
dropping off the elder Skinners. But the safe house Skinner had chosen 
for them in a Virginia suburb had not been ready. The Assistant 
Director had carefully chosen the property, wanting to be certain Fox 
would have the benefits of a reasonably normal household and a good 
but typical American neighborhood. This required a highly 
sophisticated security system, one that would be unobtrusive but also 
impregnable. That installation had been delayed and so they were not 
going to be able to move in until Wednesday night.

"Fox, don't drop the bags there," Skinner told him as the boy plopped 
down on a couch in the living room looking totally exhausted. Yoda had 
greeted them at the door and now he sat down on the floor next to 
Fox's sneakered feet. "Take them upstairs to your room."

"Why?" he whined, flopping backward on the couch. "I'm too tired. And 
we'll only have to carry them back to the car tomorrow."

Skinner gave him a tight smile. The man was working double-time to 
maintain his temper at this point. At just about 12 or 13, Fox had 
begun to pick up a lot of typical teenage habits, like arguing every 
single point made to him.

"Because we're gonna ask Gram to hem the pants while we're here," 
Skinner said entering the living room, "so you have to try them on for 
her. And also because," he leaned over and tapped the boy's head 
lightly, "I . . said so."

Fox sighed theatrically and stood up slowly. "Okay. Fine. Don't worry 
that I'm so exhausted I might fall down the stairs and break my neck. 
. . . "

Skinner handed him the bags he was holding. "Here. If that happens, 
these will help break your fall."

He shook his head as he watched the boy climb the stairs, safely, then 
headed off to the kitchen where he could smell something good in the 
works. The dog scampered back into the kitchen, opting for the hope of 
'people food' over the chance to follow the boy upstairs. He settled 
on the kitchen floor, next to Rachel Skinner, tailing wagging 
expectantly.

Skinner gave his mother a peck on the cheek, then opened the 
refrigerator knowing there'd be a pitcher of iced tea waiting. And 
there was. "It's so good to be home," he said as he took a glass out 
of the cabinet.

"I could hear Fox from here," his mother said, smiling at him. "Lord 
but that boy can complain!" She'd had the chance to listen to him for 
the entire drive back to Danville and both she and Walter, Sr. had 
been amused and a little surprised at the patience their son displayed 
under the circumstance.

"I think he's nervous about going to school. Taking that exam. Moving 
into a new place," Skinner answered, taking a seat at the kitchen 
table. "It's a lot of change at one time."

"Yes, it is," she agreed, continuing to stir the pot of sauce on her 
stove. "Which is why he needs to know some things don't change. Like 
expectations. About acceptable and unacceptable behavior."

Skinner eyed her curiously. His mother had never been the 
disciplinarian in the Skinner household but she, like his father, had 
strong opinions about rearing children. She'd enforced the family 
rules with different means than he, expressions of disappointment and 
assignments in 'the lesson book' generally. So this was a little 
unexpected.

"Has Fox done something I should know about?"

"No, I think you know about most of it, honey," his mother answered, 
turning to face him. "But you may be displaying a little too much 
patience. . . And, yes, I'm certain hell is freezing over at this very 
moment!"

Her son laughed out loud at the expression he'd never thought to hear 
from his own mother, and the fact that someone, anyone, was accusing 
him of being too patient! "I may ask you to have a statement to that 
effect notarized, Mom. So I can display it in my office."

"Well, as unlikely as it seems, that's what I think. Fox's behavior 
today was a little over the line several times. And just now. And to 
top it off," she said, going to the desk in the kitchen and picking up 
a message. "I think Fox may have . . . accidentally on purpose 
forgotten to give you this message." She handed a piece of paper to 
her son. It was a call from the Danville barber saying he and Fox 
could come in that evening.

Skinner looked at her curiously. 

"When Leo called, he said he'd left a message 'with one of the boys' 
earlier," Rachel said. "But when you didn't call, he gave the time to 
someone else. He called again to say that, if you want, he'll stay 
open a little late tonight for you and Fox, as a favor to an old 
friend."

Skinner needed none of his FBI training to put the pieces of this 
puzzle together. When he'd told Fox in the car that morning that he 
needed a haircut, the child had protested vehemently. Shook his head 
and crossed his arms over his chest. And generally made himself a 
nuisance until Skinner dropped the subject out of sympathy for his 
parents. The AD had placed the call to Leo when they arrived at 
lunchtime. Sometime later, the barber must have returned the call and 
gotten Fox. He was the only child at home in the Skinner house 
currently.

"I know he's a little nervous about going to school, and everything 
else going on, dear," Rachel said quietly. "But those are the times 
when children need the adults in their lives to be rock solid about 
things. Your Dad and I thought maybe you were going to . . . talk to 
Fox while the two of you were gone. But that scene I just overheard 
makes me think that didn't happen."

Skinner shook his head. Fox had been impatient and irritable 
throughout their trip to the mall but the AD had pretty much ignored 
it, writing it off to a case of nerves. But with the enlightenment 
he'd received from his mother, he had another interpretation. Now he 
knew the boy had been seriously worried about what would happen if 
<make that when> Skinner found out he'd failed to deliver the message. 
Coupled with his apprehension at starting school and every other 
change going on, that was what drove him to act out the way he had the 
last few hours.

But Skinner also recognized that his mother was right. Allowing Fox to 
wallow in this was not helping. And some lines had to be maintained, 
especially when it came to this child, and the adult he would be. Long 
experience had taught Skinner as much.

He drained his glass of iced tea and stood up. "I think I need to have 
a talk with my little friend," he said. "We'll be down for dinner."

But their 'talk' didn't go as planned. Fox at first refused to admit 
he'd gotten the message from the barber in the first place, shaking 
his head and protesting vociferously. 

A part of Skinner was amused by his act. It was as over the top as any 
two-bit 'B' actor's performance had ever been. <Me thinks you protest 
too much, young man> 

"You wouldn't be lying to me, now would you, Fox?" the AD finally 
interrupted him. "I know you know the rules. And you know that would 
be a big mistake . . . "

The boy's lower lip quivered at this point, and he bit down on it to 
quell the reaction. "N-no," he answered. "I wouldn't l-lie."

Skinner nodded thoughtfully and took a deep breath. He recognized all 
of Mulder's 'tell' gestures. The stuttering, the way he was chewing on 
his lower lip. Not to mention the failure to maintain eye contact. As 
a child, and as an adult, it was not hard to spot an untruth from 
Mulder, if you knew what to look for.

"Well, then, I'm stumped. Who do you think took that message then, 
Fox?" He wondered if the boy would try to blame someone else. Although 
who that might be was a mystery.

The child blinked and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I don't know," 
he said. "Maybe he dialed the wrong number. And another kid named 
'F-Fox' answered. And he thought the message was for somebody else 
named "Walter." And then . . . " his voice trailed off. Even the boy 
knew how preposterous and unnecessarily detailed his scenario was. 

"I don't want to get a haircut!" he shouted suddenly. "I told you!" 
Skinner was shocked when the boy suddenly high-tailed it out of the 
room and headed down the stairs. 

"Fox! Get back here! Right now!" the man yelled after him. He strode 
out to the landing and looked down the stairs.

"No! I don't have to listen to you," the boy yelled back from the 
bottom step of the staircase. "I don't! You're not my real father 
anyway! I don't have to listen to . . . " He stopped, looking shocked 
at his own words, then turned and bolted for the front door.

The Assistant Director lost a step due to his surprise at the boy's 
statement and at his sudden flight. He followed downstairs and out the 
door where he caught a glimpse of the child disappearing around the 
side of the house. Skinner jogged after him.

The boy ran headlong into Walter, Sr., stepping out of his vegetable 
garden. The Autumn vegetables were just beginning to ripen and he'd 
gone right to work in the garden as soon as they arrived home today. 
The season's final tomatoes were ready to be picked and the squash was 
just beginning to grow large enough to pick.

"Whoa!" he grunted, catching Fox on the run. "What's going on here?"

"I don't-- I don't have to listen to h-him," the boy sobbed 
uncontrollably. "He's not my father! I'm n-not his . . . And I don't 
want a haircut . . . " He was out of breath and overwrought and making 
just about no sense. Mr. Skinner looked up into the eyes of his son, 
standing about 30 feet away, looking stricken while Fox continued to 
cry as though his heart were broken. "He's not my real f-father. He's 
n-not. . . ."

The older man's heart went out to both of them, the boy in his arms 
and the man who looked like he needed every bit as much comfort as the 
child at that moment. Prioritizing their needs instinctively, he gave 
his son a knowing wink and cocked his head toward the house. He 
silently mouthed the words "Give me a little time," and watched as 
Walter, Jr. hesitated to take his lead for a few seconds. Then the son 
nodded, obviously shaken, and turned around and headed toward the 
front of the house.

"Now, what's this all about, Fox?" Mr. Skinner asked him gently. "Your 
Dad giving you a hard time?"

"He's not my . . . " the boy sobbed. "That's what I was t-telling you. 
I had a real father but he's dead! My mother told me all about him. 
And-- and nobody else would t-take me 'cause of everything that's 
happening to me! And my Dad, I mean-- I mean--, you know. He only took 
me be-because . . . ."

"Because why, Fox?"

"Because . . . well, I don't know why! But now he's gonna send me 
away! To school!"

Mr. Skinner shook his head as he pulled the boy into a tight embrace. 
"I don't know where you got that idea, but that's just plain wrong, 
son," he said leading the boy over to the picnic table under the big 
oak tree. 

"N-no!" the boy protested. "I'm not wrong! My mother told me!"

Walter, Sr. was perplexed at this news but he was one hundred percent 
certain his son would not have failed to mention plans to send the 
child away to school. He'd heard enough about the Wheatley Academy 
from Walter and Joe, and Fiona Barefoot, to know it was not a boarding 
school. So all of this was coming right out of left field. He gestured 
for the boy to take a seat on the table.

"Now, take a deep breath and start at the beginning, Foksik," he said 
gently. "Tell me what you're upset about. . . ."

In fits and starts, punctuated by deep, tear-soaked breaths, the boy 
related a series of misinterpretations, misassessments and half-truths 
that he'd somehow woven together into whole cloth. 

His visit to his mother earlier in the week had included a couple of 
hours for Fox and Teena to spend alone together. During that time, she 
apparently showed him a lifetime of family pictures and talked to him 
about his sister and his real father. It sounded to Mr. Skinner like 
Teena was an historical revisionist and the man she'd described to the 
boy bore no resemblance to the one Fox had spoken of as an adult. He 
now had an idealized version of his deceased father and a very real, 
if slightly flawed, reality. No wonder he was choosing the former.

She'd apparently also spoken quite highly of his son and told Fox how 
lucky he was that Walter had taken him in. She was too old to take 
care of him this time and no one else would have done it. At least 
that's what the boy heard. He suspected that Fox misinterpreted that 
also but couldn't tell how much.

"And what's this about being sent to school?" he asked, trying to get 
the complete picture.

"H-he wants me to go to school. And my m-mother showed me pictures of 
where I went to school before. In Rhode Island! They only came to 
visit m-me there on parents weekend! The rest of the time I just 
stayed there and-- and never went home! I d-don't want to. . . I don't 
w-" He began crying miserably again and the last little piece of 
information fell into place in the elder Skinner's mind.

He pulled the boy into a big hug and stroked the back of his head. 
Walter had once mentioned that Fox had been sent to boarding school, 
when his mother and father separated. It wasn't surprising to hear 
they'd parked him there and then failed to visit, or have him home 
very often. It fit the pattern he'd always suspected. Two parents with 
all their attention directed elsewhere and a child who suffered from 
fairly benign neglect.

"Okay, let me see if I can straighten this out for you," he said 
rubbing the boy's back and speaking soothingly. "I heard about this 
school you're going to. It's not a boarding school. And your Dad. . . 
he has no plans to send you anywhere else. I know that for a fact. And 
second, I know you had another father, Fox. But that doesn't mean the 
one you have now is any less of a father to you, now does it? Do you 
see that?"

The boy shook his head and sobbed. "No! He's just my-- my-- my 'foster 
father.' That's not the same! 'Cause I d-don't really belong to him. . 
. " He collapsed into tears that choked off all further communication 
and Mr. Skinner tightened his embrace in response. He didn't want to 
contradict whatever Teena might have said to him, and he suspected it 
was all jumbled up and misinterpreted in the boy's mind anyway. But he 
had to disabuse him of this notion, fast.

"Listen to me, Fox," he said firmly, pushing the boy out to arm's 
length and forcing him to make eye contact. "I hear what you think 
your mother said. But you are part of this family, as much as anyone 
else--"

"No, that's not t-true," the child said, shaking his head miserably. 
"You're all related and I'm just someone who no one else wanted--"

"Stop that!" Mr. Skinner said sharply, giving the boy a gentle shake 
to get his full attention. "Families aren't just about who's related 
by blood, Fox!" He pulled the boy back into his arms and began 
stroking his hair, trying to calm him enough so that Fox would 
actually hear what he was about to say. The older man took a seat on 
the tabletop and pulled the boy close to his side.

"I don't know if you know this but . . . Mike is adopted too," he 
said. "He--

"Mike?" the boy responded quickly.

"Yes, Michael, your cousin. Uncle Joe's son. A long time ago Joe's 
best friend and his wife . . . died. And they had a little boy. He was 
about a year old and he had no family. So he came to live with Joe and 
Nora and they adopted him."

"But-- but his name is Skinner, isn't it?" Fox asked. 

"Well, it is now," Walter, Sr. said with a smile. "But it used to be 
something else. And anyway, a family isn't about people all having the 
same last name. It's about how we love each other, and care about each 
other and keep each other safe. Do you understand that?"

Fox didn't respond and Mr. Skinner threw in the final piece of his 
argument. "Doug and Kelly are part of this family, don't you think?" 
he added, mentioning his grandchildren by his daughter Jean. "And 
their last name is Dawson."

Fox didn't answer at first, but then the old man felt a tentative nod 
as he held the child. "So all this stuff about your Dad not being . . 
. your Dad. That's just a lot of hooey, right?"

Another nod indicated Fox's agreement and now Mr. Skinner knew it was 
time to get him moving again. "So, do you think you should talk to 
him? Tell him all that?"

Fox sat back on the tabletop and nodded once more. "Yeah," he said, 
sighing deeply. He edged off the table and started for the back door. 
Then he turned around, his hands jammed in the front pockets of his 
jeans. "Gran?"

"Yes, son?"

"How come . . . no one ever told me that Mike was adopted, too?"

"How come?" the man chuckled, getting up to accompany the boy back 
into the house. "Well, I guess we just forget, is all. Just like with 
you, Foksik."

Upstairs at that moment, Walter Skinner, Jr. sat motionless in the 
rocking chair in the small study that was Fox's room whenever he was 
in Danville. There were family photos all over the Skinner house but 
this room was the place where his mother exercised no restraint. 

Photos covered the walls, and littered the table tops and bookshelves. 
Photo albums were stacked in chronological order. And somehow, over 
the past few years, photos of Mulder, alone and with various members 
of the family, had crept into the collection. Since the young man had 
been forced to repeat his childhood in this bizarre way, Rachel had 
captured photographs of him at almost every age.

Skinner reached out and picked up one that was a special favorite of 
his. It was Fox and him, at the Danville Fourth of July picnic. He was 
holding the boy and there was a brilliant array of fireworks over 
their heads. Fox's face reflected a look of wonder that made the man 
immensely grateful that he'd had the chance to see the child through 
this experience, however difficult some parts had been. There was 
another beside it, a smiling toddler peeking out from behind a chair 
during a game of hide-and-seek. Still another more recent photo of Fox 
and Yoda. The dog was licking the boy's laughing face as they lay on 
the floor of Skinner's apartment together.

Suddenly the child himself appeared in the doorway. Skinner hadn't 
heard him come up the stairs and he quickly put the frame down on the 
desk top and turned to the door. Fox looked so forlorn and miserable, 
he instinctively opened his arms and, without hesitation, the child 
flung himself into them. The AD lifted him onto his lap and began to 
rock slowly.

"You're getting a little big for this, I think," he said as he shifted 
the boy's weight onto one muscled thigh. His only response was a 
muffled sob into his right shoulder. "It's okay. It's . . . okay."

"I'm s-sorry," the boy stammered, before tears choked off the rest of 
his words.

"I know you are," Skinner told him, sighing. "I just wish I knew what 
was bothering you. So maybe I could help. . . ."

In a few minutes, the boy sobbed out the story he'd told Mr. Skinner, 
his fears of being sent away, his confusion about being just a 'foster 
child.' The Assistant Director shook his head at that. Mrs. Mulder had 
never uttered any such phrase to him, nor had she betrayed any 
sentiments of the kind. "Where did you hear that word?" he asked Fox 
suspiciously. 

"On television," the boy said simply. "I saw a TV show. It's when 
you're not really adopted but you just live with someone for a little 
while. And they can move you to some other foster home anytime--"

"I know what it means," Skinner said with a smile. "But you're not a 
foster child. You're just . . . one of us. You were before you became 
a kid again. And you always will be."

The boy's face screwed up suddenly and he began to cry again. "But I 
have a mother. And she told me my r-real father would take care of me 
if he wasn't dead! And you're substituting for him . . . That's not 
like a real one, a substitute, right? That's why she h-has to sign 
those papers. . . ."

Skinner shook his head, amazed at the corkscrew logic that Mulder 
could manage to employ, now and . . . always. Sometimes to good 
result. But not all the time. He'd called Teena yesterday and told her 
he was having papers sent to her home for her to sign, so that Fox 
could attend the Wheatley Academy. Her permission was needed because 
she was the only parent the law would recognize. He pulled the boy 
into a hug and caressed the back of his head softly. 

"Listen to me, Fox," he said, recognizing that Fox had overheard and 
misinterpreted that conversation. And that Teena Mulder must have been 
trying to drum up a sense of filial loyalty to Fox's real father in 
the little time they'd spent alone together. "I'm not sure what you 
heard. And if your real father was alive, maybe you would be living 
with him. But he's not. And your mother's not well enough to care for 
you. But, even before you were a kid again, you spent more time with 
me than with her. Or with your real father when he was alive. You 
belong with me. And that's that."

He felt Fox relax completely into his arms and let out a teary sigh. 
Running his hand through the boy's thick hair, he gave him an 
affectionate smile. "You're looking a little like a shaggy dog, 
though, Fox," he said lightly, trying to ease the boy back from the 
tension of the moment. "And I don't want any argument about getting a 
haircut, do you hear me? We're both going right after dinner. Leo gave 
me my 'back to school haircut' every year and he wants to extend the 
tradition to you."

Fox nodded thoughtfully, then he gave the AD a sly smile. "Know what 
Gran told me to tell you?"

Skinner was pleased to see him bouncing back so quickly. "No, what?"

"He said to tell you not to pay full price to get your hair cut!" the 
boy answered, barely able to get the words out before he collapsed 
into a fit of giggles.

"Oh, he did, did he? Well, I'll certainly keep that in mind," the man 
chuckled, immediately recognizing his father's corny sense of humor. 
"And anyway, I don't think he should talk!"

Fox sighed and nodded. Then he glanced up suddenly, wide-eyed and 
beginning to look a little anxious again. "Are you. . . Are you gonna 
spank me? 'Cause I lied to you about the message?"

"Well, what do you think, kid?" Skinner continued to keep his hold on 
the boy, both as a comfort and in case he decided to try to run again.

Tears flooded back into his eyes. "But I don't want to get spanked," 
he protested. "I--"

Skinner laughed at him. "Oh, do you think my brothers and I ever 
wanted to get spanked?" he asked. "The fact that you don't want it to 
happen is what eventually teaches you not to do things that would earn 
you a spanking, Fox. That's how this works!"

"But--"

"You know the rules," he said firmly but affectionately, pushing the 
boy to his feet. The man rose and went to the desk. He opened the 
middle drawer and took out a wooden ruler, then pushed the bedroom 
door closed.

Fox stood watching him for a moment, biting his lower lip and 
unconsciously shifting his weight from foot to foot. Skinner walked 
back over to him and took a seat on the day bed. "Come on," he said. 
"You know what to do."

The boy nodded reluctantly, then began unbuttoning and unzipping his 
jeans. He pushed them and his underwear down and let himself be guided 
over Skinner's long legs.

"What's this spanking for, Fox?" the man asked, bringing the ruler 
down sharply on Fox's bare bottom.

"For lying to you!" the boy answered. "Ouch! Owww!"

"You know I will never (SMACK!), never (SMACK!) NEVER (SMACK! SMACK!) 
tolerate lying, young man," the AD told him, making sure the point was 
driven home.

"I know! Ouchhh! Ohhhh! I'm sorry, Dad!" the child wailed. Skinner bit 
the inside of his mouth to keep from laughing at his dramatically 
disproportionate reaction. He knew from personal experience the ruler 
stung like the dickens but it did little lasting damage.

"And what about mouthing off all day?" the Assistant Director asked 
him.

"That too! Ahhhhh! I'm sorry I was OUCHHH! disrespectful, too! And I'm 
sor-sorry I ran away, too!" the boy continued, obviously aware that 
had been wrong.

But Skinner was not willing to spank him for that, not the first time 
it had happened. And not under the circumstances. He dropped the ruler 
on the bed beside him, then flipped the boy up, pulling up his pants 
and enveloping him in a hug.

"I want to talk to you about that," he said soothingly. "I know you 
were upset, and very worried. But that's not the way to handle it, 
Fox. And I don't ever want you to run away from me again. I want you 
to tell me when things are bothering you, or worrying you. Do you 
understand me?"

The boy sobbed into his chest and a muffled "yes" worked its way to 
the A.D.'s ears. "Good," he said, ruffling the back of the boy's hair. 
"Because now that you know, if you do it again, you will get spanked. 
Consider it a new rule!"

He held Fox until the child had calmed down completely, then he 
reached for something off the shelf behind him. 

"While we're waiting for Gram to finish dinner, let me introduce you 
to 'the Lesson Book,' Fox," he said. "A lot of the important things I 
learned in life are written down in this book. And now I think it's 
time for you to start a new chapter."

Alexandria, Virginia
Monday, September 13
7:55 a.m.

Walter Skinner pulled his jeep into the circular driveway in front of 
the main building of The Wheatley Academy. His was one of a dozen 
vehicles jockeying for position, spilling kids of all ages onto the 
sidewalk to greet friends they'd been away from all summer. There was 
friendly chaos outside the windows of the jeep but inside, he could 
feel nervous tension coming off the occupant of the passenger seat 
beside him.

He'd brought Fox to the school on the Thursday before, to take the 
entrance exam. The child passed with flying colors and had gone off 
with a student teacher to get a tour of the campus and receive a 
one-on-one orientation.

Fiona Barefoot, the school administrator, set to work immediately to 
grade the test with two assistants. She'd assured Skinner that Fox 
would pass but they were all surprised at the results which would 
place him in the highest level classes in almost every subject.

"That's not what I would recommend," she told the AD as they sat down 
to plot out the boy's school schedule. "For social reasons, he should 
have some classes with kids who are closer to his current age."

Skinner nodded thoughtfully. Somehow Fox was regaining knowledge as he 
went along anyway, even without attending formal school. So the point 
of this exercise was to allow him to have normal childhood experiences 
in a group setting, and develop better social skills. 

"The problem will be if he's bored, Fiona," Skinner replied. "He's . . 
. not especially good or cooperative when that happens."

"Don't worry, Walter," she laughed. He liked her laugh, it had a 
crystal, bell-like quality that made him smile. "I think we can keep 
him challenged with project work and team activities. And I will put 
him in the advanced level literature and history classes. He won't be 
bored, believe me!"

She gave him a half dozen white and beige golf shirts with the school 
emblem on the breast, and two school ties. The only time boys in the 
school dressed in shirt and tie was "Assembly Days" which occurred 
once or occasionally twice a week. Skinner wondered aloud if the more 
relaxed atmosphere helped, or hindered, the education process.

"Well, my jury's out on that," she replied with a warm smile. "I think 
it's better for the most part for kids to feel comfortable and at home 
here. But I have to admit, we seem to hand out less discipline 
assignments on Assembly Days!"

Skinner asked her about the kind of discipline assignments they used. 
"So I'll know it when I see it," he chuckled. "I would be surprised if 
Fox manages to spend any amount of time here without stepping over the 
line, just to see what happens. I'm afraid it's in his nature to test 
the boundaries."

"They all go through that phase!" she answered. "We always try to tie 
the assignment to the misbehavior, to help the child understand what 
they've done wrong and why it's wrong. So for example, if a kid's 
caught smoking, we'll have him or her research and write a paper on 
the health effects of smoking, and how many people die each year from 
lung cancer. I always find that writing things down helps kids 
remember the lesson longer."

"Oh, you've been speaking to my mother, I imagine," Skinner responded. 
She gave him a quizzical look then smiled when he explained.

"In all the years I've known Joe he never mentioned "the lesson book' 
to me," she smiled. "But I'm with your mother on that one. I knew 
there was a reason I liked her!"

"Well, I would ask that, if Fox gets in any significant trouble, I be 
notified," he said, seeing the boy approach through the window. "I've 
had a lot of experience with him, as an adult and now as a child and . 
. . he's a tough case when it comes to learning certain kinds of 
lessons. I'd want to be able to . . . reinforce the point, if I felt 
it was necessary."

Fiona's eyes widened a little but she promised to keep him fully 
informed. "Given the strange circumstances, it might be a good idea if 
we talked frequently anyway, Walter," she added.

"I'd like that," he answered, gathering all the materials she'd given 
him and heading for the door. "I'd like that a lot."

Now, however, it was the moment of truth and all of Fox's excitement 
at attending school seemed to have evaporated in the glare of reality. 
There were 400 other kids here and he knew none of them. They knew 
each other, having attended this school before. But he was a stranger, 
with no experience with this kind of thing.

"Do I look okay?" he asked tightly, not making a move to open the 
door.

Skinner held back a smile. "You look great," he assured the boy. All 
his gut instincts made him want to reach out and give the kid a big 
hug but he suspected that would be embarrassing to the 13-year-old so 
he refrained. "Do you want me to come in with you?"

"No," Fox replied, his voice sounding tight and thin. "Well, maybe 
just for a minute."

Skinner nodded and pulled the jeep into the parking lot, into an empty 
visitor's space. It was far enough out of the way for him to feel he 
could put an arm around the boy's shoulders and give him a brief hug. 
"You're gonna do fine," he said, wishing he could get the child 
through this day quickly. Just to get him over the hump.

"What if-- what if nobody likes me?" the boy blurted out, unable to 
hold his fears in any longer. "What if nobody talks to me?"

Skinner smiled and pulled him back into a hug. "First of all, what's 
not to like?" he said gently. "And second, I bet if you talk to them, 
they'll talk to you." He waited another moment, then knew he had to 
get this show on the road or Fox would be late for his first day of 
school.

They entered the main building and began looking for the classroom 
that he'd been told was Fox's homeroom. It turned out the boy knew 
were it was, from the tour he'd gotten the previous week and it was 
just down the hall from the main office. Fiona Barefoot was standing 
outside the office in the hallway, greeting kids and listening to 
multiple stories about what they'd done over the summer. Her eyes lit 
when she saw Fox and Walter approach.

"Good morning, Fox" she said brightly, noting the fact that he had not 
come in alone. "I'm glad you made it! I was waiting for you." She 
called to another boy, standing in a crowd of kids a little down the 
hall. He lifted his head and then excused himself, loping down the 
hall casually and as though he owned the place. Or at least had a 
long-term lease. He was a bit taller than Fox, and slightly older, but 
had the same lanky build.

"Jarrod, this is Fox," she said. "Like you, he's very interested and 
knowledgeable when it comes to history and politics. And he's also an 
excellent swimmer. I wanted to ask you to make sure he meets people 
today and gets settled in. Would you mind doing that for me?"

Jarrod nodded. "Sure, Mrs. Barefoot," he answered with a shy smile and 
Skinner saw immediately he had what used to be called a major crush on 
Fiona. She gave him a warm smile and patted him on the shoulder. She 
knew it too, Skinner noted and seemed to handle it with aplomb.

Then she turned to Fox and spoke. "Jarrod is the captain of our swim 
team this year. And he's been with us since first grade, so he knows 
just about everybody here. And so will you by the end of today, I 
imagine!"

Fox hitched his backpack up onto his left shoulder and extended his 
right hand to Jarrod. They shook hands and then wandered off to the 
crowd that Jarrod had just left and Skinner was relieved to see Fox's 
face break into what appeared to be his first natural looking smile of 
the day. He turned to Fiona. "In case no one ever told you before," he 
said, "you're really good at this."

"Jarrod's almost sixteen but also very bright," she said. "And since 
Fox is growing so fast, I wanted him to have a friend he could stay 
with the whole time he's here. Jarrod's got a younger brother here, 
too, so he's used to looking out for someone else. He's a good kid."

Skinner glanced at his watch and realized he had to head for the 
office if he had any hope of being on time for his first appointment. 
"Thanks Fiona," he said. "He was worried sick about this. You really 
helped him get over the hurdle."

"That's why they pay me the big bucks," she winked at him before 
turning back to the crowd of little ones vying for her attention.

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

That evening
McClean, Virginia
6:40 p.m.

Walter Skinner pulled a huge steak off the barbecue and placed it on a 
platter. It was too cool to eat outside but one of the things he'd 
always missed after giving up his house was the ability to barbecue. 
So he'd made sure the safehouse they would live in for the next months 
had a good gas grill. As well as a state-of-the art security system. 
He took the food back into the large kitchen, where Fox was busily 
setting the table for two.

"And then my history teacher, his name is Mr. Cannon, he told us we're 
going to go see the civil war battlefields next week. Manassas and. . 
. "

Skinner listened with half an ear, pleased to hear enthusiasm and 
excitement in the boy's voice. He'd recited an endless number of names 
of people he'd met today and now was filling his father in with such 
detail the A.D.'s head was beginning to spin. He'd always appreciated 
Mulder's amazing memory but this . . . Still, he didn't want to do one 
thing to discourage the boy, or take the wind out of his sails. He 
listened to him chatter on and made encouraging noises now and then.

"And I'm going to try out for the swim team on Wednesday, okay, Dad?" 
he continued, not waiting for a response. "I have to remember to bring 
my suit with me. And if I make the team, we'll have meets in Virginia, 
Maryland, and the District. Practice every day until 5 o'clock but 
when there's a meet sometimes we won't be back at the school until 
after six. That's okay, right?"

Fiona had suggested an individual sport like swimming for Fox, given 
how fast he was growing and the fact he wouldn't be in school all 
year. The team ranged in age from 13 to 18 and this way they'd move 
him up in level as he grew. But he could still stay with the team, as 
long as he stayed in school.

"And there's a girl in my English class named Marie-Claire. She's from 
Paris. Her father is the French consul and she's gonna help me with my 
French," he went on, switching subjects without warning. Mulder had 
never been especially good with languages so his knowledge in that 
area was less advanced. "She's really nice and . . . kinda cute." he 
said shyly, kind of slipping it in to see if it brought a reaction. 
But before Skinner could respond, he'd thought of something else.

"Oh yeah, Jarrod asked me to go to the Redskins game this weekend," he 
said. "His Dad is a producer at CNN and he has season tickets. Can I 
go? Can I?"

Skinner reached out and grabbed the boy by the chin, holding it 
gently. "Please. Stop talking. I have just one question. Did you have 
a good day?"

Fox looked momentarily surprised, then a wide grin spread across his 
face. "Yes, sir," he said happily. "I had a great day."

"Good. Now eat something before you speak again," he told the boy with 
a smile. There was a brief silence while they both chewed on steak, 
French fries and Skinner ate the creamed spinach Fox was avoiding like 
the plague.

"So, can I go to the game Sunday?" the boy asked again, his mouth full 
of meat. He held a fork onto which he'd speared a French fry halfway 
between his plate and his mouth. 

"I'd like to talk to Jarrod's father first, before I say yes," Skinner 
answered as he reached out and guided Fox's hand toward his mouth. The 
boy took the hint and delivered the dangling fry to his mouth, taking 
Skinner’s response as an affirmative. His eyes lit up and he launched 
into yet another piece of news from his day. 

Skinner listened to him veer from wide-eyed preadolescent to 
all-knowing teenager and back again, depending on the subject. He was 
immensely grateful to his brother Joe for figuring out how to get the 
boy into school. There would be tough parts about this experiment, he 
knew, but he could tell already the positives would far outweigh them.

They finished dinner and Skinner sent him upstairs to do his homework 
while he policed the kitchen, savoring the few minutes of peace and 
quiet. They were the first since he'd picked the boy up from school 
two hours earlier. And despite the non-stop talking, he realized Fox 
had failed to mention one rather significant piece of news that Fiona 
had called to tell him around mid-day. That the child had signed all 
of his paperwork "Fox Skinner." 

The Assistant Director had been struck speechless by that information. 
He'd finally regained his voice and asked her if it was a problem for 
the school.. 

"No," she'd assured him. "It's no problem for us if he wants to call 
himself something else. Plenty of our kids are part of step-families 
and such so we let them go with what feels right. But I thought you'd 
want to know." Skinner found himself wondering whether he should raise 
the issue with Fox tonight, or wait for him to bring it up.

The phone rang and he picked it up with a wet hand. "Skinner."

"And Skinner here," his brother Joe laughed. "Just wanted to see how 
Fox's first day at school went."

Walter picked up a towel to dry his hand, switching the phone to the 
other ear, and then reached for his coffee cup. Pouring a second 
serving for himself, he took it and the portable phone into the den 
just off the kitchen. "Did I ever tell you you're a very smart guy, 
Joe?" he asked lightly. "And Fox is lucky to have you in the family?"

He could hear Joe smiling on the other end of the line. "Right back at 
you, big brother," he replied.