The Danville Series
by Cadillac Red


andria, Virginia
Wednesday afternoon

Fox rode the skateboard up over the edge of the concrete ravine, 
jumping it up over the edge gracefully and landing on the top where he 
spun the board to a full stop and broke out in a wide grin. The other 
boys whistled and clapped appreciatively and he took an elaborate bow. 
He and three others from the swim team had come over to the skateboard 
park right after school and, although he'd never done anything like it 
before, the 14 year old had picked up the knack quickly. 

He was athletically gifted and experiencing the high of accomplishment 
and admiration at the same time. It had been a spur of the minute idea 
of Jarrod Kelly's to go to the skateboard park and Fox was secretly 
pleased to have been included in his new friend's invitation. As dusk 
fell, and the lights of the skateboard park came up, one of the other 
boys spoke.

"I gotta go, guys," Dylan Kane said. "It's almost dinner time."

Fox was struck dumb as the import of that statement sunk in. He 
glanced at the watch on his wrist frantically. <Oh, God! It's after 
6:30!> 

"Yeah, I better go, too," he said as nonchalantly as he could manage. 
He started to hand the skateboard back to Jarrod but the other boy 
protested. "I've got another one at home," he said. "Why don't you 
hold onto it? Till your Dad buys you one."

Fox nodded, still trying to maintain a calm front. <Like he's gonna 
buy me anything after today!> "Thanks," he said quickly, then dropped 
the board to the ground and pushed off. "I'll see you guys tomorrow!"

He skateboarded as fast as he could out of the park and back to the 
school. He'd been expected to be there to be picked up at 5 o'clock, 
after swimming team practice. But their coach had to leave early and 
had ended practice at 4 o'clock. The other boys decided to go to the 
skateboard park and Fox had gone along, expecting to spend some time 
watching the others. But Jarrod had convinced him to give it a try and 
. . . time had flown without his knowing it. He mentally berated 
himself as he headed up the driveway to the school.

When his father dropped him off that morning, he was told Ed Carney 
would pick him up at 5 o'clock. Now Fox had held him up for more than 
an hour and a half and . . . "Oh, no," he breathed as he came around 
the bend and saw Walter Skinner leaning against his car, on his cell 
phone. "You are in so much trouble."

Skinner caught sight of him and spoke into the phone for another few 
seconds, then flipped it closed He shoved the phone into coat pocket 
and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for the boy to close the 
distance between them .

"Where have you been?" he asked shortly.

"I-- I got out of swimming practice early . . . " the boy began.

"Yes, I know. Agent Carney was here at five o'clock. He called and 
told me you'd gotten out early but he couldn't find you."

"I'm sorry he had to wait—"

"It wasn't just the wait, Fox. He called me when he couldn't find you. 
We've had everyone on alert, searching the surrounding area for you. 
The school thought something had happened to you, too. They've been 
calling other kids' homes. You didn't tell anyone where you were 
going. You didn't call me and ask permission to go anywhere—"

"I know. Everyone else was going to the skateboard park. I didn't 
think—"

"I guess not," Skinner said evenly. "Get in the car."

Fox opened his mouth to protest but immediately thought better of it. 
He picked up the skateboard and began to walk around the front of the 
jeep. But that path would take him, and his butt, right by the 
obviously angry man. He stopped on a dime and turned around, choosing 
to go the long way around the car to get to the passenger door. 
Skinner watched him go, not making a move to get in himself until the 
boy was safely inside.

"Oh, Fox!" a voice called from the area by the school's entrance. 
"Thank God! We've been looking all over for you." Fiona Barefoot, the 
school's administrator was walking toward them.

"Hi, Mrs. Barefoot," he answered glumly.

"Well, thank goodness you're all right," she said warmly. "I guess you 
were at the skateboard park. I didn't even think of that. It's a bit 
of a distance from the school." She turned to Skinner with a smile. 
"Next time we'll know where to look!"

"There won't be a next time, will there, Fox," Skinner said firmly. 
The boy nodded and got in the car while his father and Fiona exchanged 
a few more words. The teacher's ears pricked up at the interchange 
between them, and the edge in Skinner's voice and she watched them 
drive off until the car had disappeared completely.

The ride home was silent and thankfully short. Skinner made one more 
phone call to Ed Carney to tell him he'd found Fox and put the other 
agent's mind at ease. But except for that, he didn't speak until they 
were home and in the kitchen.

"Go to your room, Fox," Skinner told him, still clamping down on the 
anger that followed his relief at seeing the boy was all right. In the 
almost 90 minutes that elapsed between Carney's phone call and Fox 
showing up, he'd been convinced someone had kidnapped the child. His 
fear had been palpable and now he had to get control of his emotions 
before dealing with Fox. 

"But, Dad—"

Skinner gave him a look that quelled the rest of whatever he was 
planning to say. Fox blinked and nodded convulsively. Then he took off 
out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the second floor like hell's 
fury was biting at his heels.

Skinner gave himself fifteen minutes to be sure he'd calmed down. And 
put aside the abject terror he'd felt when he thought the 
cigarette-smoking bastard had somehow gotten his hands on Fox again.

By then, his blood pressure had dropped to something close to normal 
and he'd had a chance to mentally review the instructions the boy had 
been given. That Ed Carney or Sean Delaney would pick him up at the 
end of practice, around 5 o'clock. That he was to stay on the school 
grounds unless he had permission to leave. And that, if plans ever 
changed, he should call Skinner's office any time of the day. The 
child had disobeyed several clear directives. Broken numerous rules. 
And worried everyone sick.

He knocked on the boy's door and went in. Fox was lying on his bed, 
but he sat up when

Skinner entered. He looked nervous and teary. 

Skinner walked over to the bed, and looked directly into his eyes. 
Almost involuntarily, a hint of a smile came to his face and he sat 
down next to the boy and pulled the child him into a hug. "I'm glad 
you're okay," he said gruffly, finding he was tearing up himself. "You 
don't know how worried. . . what I was thinking."

"I'm sorry, Dad," the boy sobbed. "I didn't think I'd be late! I just 
. . . wasn't watching the time. . . ."

"Okay. Let's talk about that," the AD said, giving him a final squeeze 
before pushing him back and making direct eye contact with the child. 
"What have I told you about leaving the school campus without 
permission? Or supervision?"

"Not to," the boy responded, looking down.

"That's right. That's for your protection, son. I expect to know where 
you are at all times. And what about asking for permission to go 
somewhere? You know I've always said you can call me any time if 
something comes up. But I expect you to call."

"I know. I just . . . forgot I guess."

Skinner nodded. "And last. Not being there when Agent Carney came to 
pick you up. What do you have to say about that, Fox?"

The boy bit down on his lip to hold back a sob. "I know. That was . . 
. ." His voice trailed off.

"Disrespectful. As well as disobedient," Skinner finished for him. He 
could see the boy felt bad. But he also suspected that was as much a 
response to the pending punishment as a sense of remorse. He'd been 
fourteen once himself.

"Am I in . . . trouble?" Fox asked, convincing the Assistant Director 
his analysis had been right on target.

"Oh, yeah," he said, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder. Then he 
stood up and began unbuckling his belt. The boy's eyes widened and 
Skinner took advantage of the shock to tell him to take down his 
pants. "Right now, Fox."

The boy swallowed hard and stood up. "I'm s—sorry, Dad," he said, in a 
final attempt to dissuade the man from his planned course of action. 
But he knew immediately that had failed, when the AD took a seat in 
the bed, his belt doubled in his right hand.

"I know you are, Fox," he said. "And you'll be a lot sorrier in a 
couple of minutes. But you knew the rules and you broke them. And you 
knew the consequence of that. So let's go." He waited for the boy to 
take down his jeans and briefs, then he pulled him over his lap and 
pushed up the tail of his shirt. "What's this punishment for?"

He brought the belt down on the boy's upturned backside soundly.

"Yow!" he wailed. "I shouldn't have left the school without. . . 
Ouchh! Without permission!"

Skinner delivered several more licks to a rapidly reddening bottom. 
"Keep going," he said.

"Owww! I shouldn't have kept Agent Carney waiting like that! Oucchhh! 
And I should have called you! Ohhh! Unhhh! For permission. I'm sorry!"

"And what about not letting me know where you are and who you're 
with?" Skinner applied the belt to his burning cheeks several more 
times to make sure Fox understood how important that was. His safety 
was paramount and Skinner would spank him every day if that's what it 
took to make sure he didn't take unnecessary risks. 

"I should have told you where I was OUCCHH! going! I'll never do it 
again!"

Skinner delivered one more lick to the sit spot, then he dropped the 
belt on the bed and pulled the boy up into a hug. Pulling his shorts 
and jeans back up for him, the AD felt the boy throw his arms around 
his neck and sob into his neck.

"I'm s-sorry!" he said again. 

"I know," Skinner said soothingly, rubbing his back. "I just want to 
make sure you remember this lesson because it's an important one. This 
was serious, Fox. Anything could have happened to you. . . ."

The child's crying diminished some and he began to hiccup. "I won't do 
it again, I promise."

Skinner smiled over his shoulder and tousled the back of his hair. "I 
hope not," he smiled. "But if you ever do, you'll know what to expect, 
right?"

A little while later, the AD was grilling chicken on the barbecue, 
keeping an eye on the boy standing in the corner of the kitchen 
through the back window. He'd been in and out of the kitchen and used 
the past twenty minutes or so to make sure Fox fully understood the 
seriousness of what he'd done. The FBI and Skinner had made strenuous 
efforts to protect his safety but, if he didn't cooperate, they would 
all be for naught. So the Assistant Director planned to do everything 
in his power to make sure the boy complied.

"Hello?" a voice called, coming in the door from the garage. Fiona 
Barefoot appeared, carrying a bottle of wine. "Is anyone home?" She 
spotted Fox in the corner at the same moment he looked over his 
shoulder and saw her. He immediately turned pink and murmured, "Hi, 
Mrs. Barefoot."

Skinner spotted her through the window and realized with a start that 
he'd left the garage door open when they'd come in. He quickly stepped 
through the sliding glass door. "Fiona! Hi," he said, stepping over to 
the boy in the corner and wrapping an arm around his shoulder as he 
turned him around. "What a nice surprise to see you."

"I was in the neighborhood," she replied, "and I thought I'd stop by. 
With a . . . housewarming gift." She lifted the bottle of wine and 
held it out to Skinner.

"Well, thank you. We appreciate that, don't we, Fox?" Skinner 
answered. "Please have a seat and let me pour you a glass. If you can 
stay. . . ?"

She nodded and proceeded toward the table and chairs Skinner had 
motioned toward. He took advantage of the moment to quietly tell Fox 
to run upstairs and wash his face. "Then come right down, okay? I need 
your help setting the table."

Skinner poured her a glass of wine, then headed back out to check on 
the grilled chicken. It occurred to him that Fiona had come by to 
check up on Fox and he was uncertain what to say to her, if anything, 
about what she'd seen. Fiona was an old friend of Joe and Nora's and 
Joe clearly trusted her. But . . . He closed the barbecue lid to let 
the chicken continue cooking and went back inside.

"Can you stay for dinner, Fiona?" he asked the woman who'd been 
watching him out of the corner of her eye. "There's plenty of food. 
Fox is at that age where I can't begin to predict whether he's going 
to be too excited to swallow anything, or eat the legs off the chair!"

She laughed warmly. "Well, I don't want to put you out in any way. . . 
"

"Then it's settled. It's not an imposition at all. We'd love the 
company." Just then Fox appeared at the kitchen door looking a little 
sheepish and Skinner motioned for him to come over. Then he tousled 
the back of his hair as he spoke. "Set the table for three, Fox. Mrs. 
Barefoot is going to stay and have dinner."

The boy smiled tentatively. Skinner felt him lean a little into his 
side and gave him a brief, one-armed hug and brushed a light kiss 
across the top of his head before pushing him off to begin his chore. 

"Fox has been telling me all about the trip to the Civil War 
battlefield at Manassas . . . " the Assistant Director said, trying to 
get a comfortable conversation going.

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry I didn't get to go with the group this year," 
Fiona replied with a smile. "It's always fascinating. Did you spend 
time at the exhibit on how the battle was waged?"

Fox nodded eagerly and launched into what he'd learned about the two 
sides' strategies and his own opinion of them as he set the table for 
three. Skinner had begun a salad earlier and he continued chopping 
vegetables until Fiona stood and came to the butcherblock island. "Let 
me do that," she said quietly, not wanting to disturb Fox's soliloquy. 

Skinner nodded and took out another wine glass, pouring one for 
himself. He took a sip then went outside and got the rest of dinner 
off the grill. Fiona seemed to have gotten over whatever concern she'd 
had when she arrived. Perhaps.

Their dinner was pleasant and conversation never lagged. Fox was 
himself again, and he enthusiastically recounted to Fiona what he 
liked about school, which was just about everything. Almost all of his 
teachers. Every other kid he'd met. The swimming team. His coach. The 
cafeteria. . . .

"You like the food in the cafeteria? Well, that's a first," she 
laughed. "We work so hard to offer good, nutritional meals and most of 
the kids eat pizza and burgers every day."

Fox wrinkled his brow. "Well. . . I haven't actually tried anything 
else yet--"

"And I predict he never will," Skinner laughed as he pushed his chair 
back from the table. They cleared up from dinner quickly, with Fox 
showing both Skinner and Fiona how Yoda ate all the leftovers.

"He even eats broccoli," the boy said enthusiastically. 

"I didn't know dogs ate vegetables," Fiona laughed. 

"Neither did I. I found out by accident," Fox told her seriously. "One 
thing I learned from Yoda. Never trust a dog to watch your food. . . . 
Although, I was pretty happy when he ate the broccoli."

Skinner and Fiona exchanged an amused smile then Skinner suggested 
they go into the family room for coffee. 

Fox had already wandered in and put the television on. He was 
engrossed in something, a movie he'd never seen before but had heard 
all about from the other boys. It was something they loved and Fox was 
anxious to see it, to get up to speed with the others. 

But at 9:00, Skinner called to him where he was lying on the floor, 
head propped up on a cushion from the chair behind him. "Time for bed, 
pal."

"Oh, come on, Dad!" he argued, turning on his side. "I want to watch 
this movie! Everyone else--"

"I don't know how much sleep 'everyone else' needs, Fox," the AD said 
firmly. "But I DO know how much you need. You have to be up before 7 
o'clock."

"Nobody else has to go to bed this early," the boy whined. "I won't 
know how the movie ends and everyone else will know I have to go to 
bed early, like a--" He stopped, finally realizing what he was risking 
and that Fiona was there to witness it.

But the AD remained calm and even-toned. "Well, let's see if there's a 
compromise we can come to. You could set the VCR to record the rest of 
the movie. And watch it over breakfast. What do you think?"

Fox seemed to give that some thought. "Well. . . ," he answered 
slowly, his eyes drifting to Fiona momentarily. "I . . . have to 
finish my homework then, too."

Skinner fought back a smile. "Well, then I think you're gonna have to 
learn to multi-task real fast, don't you think?"

The boy sighed dramatically and went over to the VCR. He quickly set 
it and stomped out of the room and up the stairs to the second floor. 

Skinner watched him go, then turned to Fiona and smiled 
apologetically. "Sorry about that but I assure you, your teachers will 
be grateful he gets enough sleep. It's hell to live with him when he 
doesn't."

She nodded and returned the smile. "I know all about sleep-deprived 
kids, Walter," she answered truthfully. "The fact is, most teenagers 
don't get enough and all sorts of inappropriate school behaviors and 
underachievement can be tied to that."

"Well, I don't know much about the majority of kids. Only that one. 
And he needs a good nine hours of sleep a night to be fit for human 
contact." He looked down into his coffee mug. "But I do get the 
impression you're wondering . . . if I'm a little too tough on him."

She was taken off guard by the question. She had been wondering but 
his directness was unexpected.

"Well, I wouldn't . . " she began, then laughed. "Well, I guess it's a 
good thing I didn't choose your line of work, huh? Undercover 
investigation is not my bailiwick!"

He shook his head. "No, but it was really never mine either. And I 
have to be honest, part of me appreciates that you took the time to 
come here and check up on him. I have occasionally dealt with cases 
where child abuse was a factor and I was always appalled at how people 
who knew something was wrong just looked the other way."

"We see abuse at the school now and then. Even though our kids come 
from very well-to-do families, it happens. I always check up on kids 
who show signs. . . . Not that Fox does, but I was worried when I saw 
how angry you were today."

Skinner sighed and nodded. "I was angry. Fox knows how much effort 
we've put into providing adequate security, how much the school's 
cooperated with that requirement. I've given him clear instructions 
that I need to know where he is and who he's with at all times. And 
that he's not to go wandering off without permission. Given the 
circumstances, I was very worried when we couldn't find him. And then 
relieved. And that turned to anger."

He turned to face Fiona, looking into her eyes. "But I don't generally 
have trouble controlling my anger, Fiona. And even when I'm furious, 
I'm always in control of my actions. I would never hurt Fox, no matter 
how angry I was. It's important that you know that."

"I do know it," she answered sincerely. "I get the impression you . . 
. spanked him. But watching you with him tonight, and all the other 
times I've seen you together, I know he's not an abused kid. What I 
saw was not fear of you. It was fear of being punished."

"Well, I kind of wish he was more fearful of that." the AD said, then 
he grew silent as he heard the boy making his way down the stairs. Fox 
appeared in the doorway to the den a moment later, looking freshly 
scrubbed and dressed for bed. He walked into the room.

"Good night, Mrs. Barefoot," he said. "I'm . . . glad you came for 
dinner."

"I'm glad you two invited me to stay," she replied. "Good night, Fox."

He gave her a smile, then he walked over to the side chair where 
Skinner was sitting. The boy leaned over the back of the chair and 
received a quick kiss good night from the AD

"I'll check in on you later," Skinner said as he gave the boy a brief 
hug. "And tomorrow, let's talk about that 'homework before TV' rule 
again, okay?"

Fox smiled ruefully. He'd wondered if that piece of information had 
gone unnoticed. "Yes, sir. Good night." The boy headed back out of the 
room and into the hallway. His bare feet could be heard going up the 
wooden steps, then the house quieted once again.

"I want to be honest about something. I'm not really in favor of 
hitting children, Walter," Fiona said. "Generally I think it damages 
self-esteem. And doesn't teach anything but to use violence to solve 
your problems."

Skinner listened impassively. His own experience was completely the 
opposite.

"But I don't see any evidence of that here. And frankly, I always 
suspected Joe had had a more . . . 'old-fashioned' upbringing than 
most people! And he's one of the most wonderful men I've ever known. 
And he's a excellent father, too."

The Assistant Director smiled at her. He was very proud of his 
brothers, both of them. "Yes. Joe is one of the best people I know, 
too," he said. "And he does raise his kids the way we were raised. The 
way I'm trying to raise Fox. I think a lot of that comes from my Dad's 
'old-fashioned' values. Which were pretty much tattooed on all of our 
butts as kids!"

Now she laughed again. "Your Dad's pretty formidable. And I'll tell 
you a secret. Joe thinks pretty highly of you, too, Walter. And I 
think what you're doing for Fox is downright amazing."

Skinner colored a little at the compliment. "He's family. That's how 
it was before this happened to him. I couldn't turn my back on Fox any 
more than I could on Joe or Andy."

"I see that. But that doesn't change the fact that what you're doing 
is terrific," she said. "Putting your own life on hold to help him 
through a second childhood. It's a huge commitment to have a child. 
And being a single parent is an even bigger challenge."

Skinner reddened a little more. "Well, before you start fitting me for 
that halo, remember two things. One, I spank him. Whenever he deserves 
it. And lately that's fairly often," he laughed a little 
self-consciously. "And two. . . at the rate he's growing, it's a one 
year commitment at best."

Fiona laughed once again, this time from the heart. Skinner thought 
once again how much he liked the sound of her laugh. "Well, I won't go 
so far as to say I think more people should hit their kids. I heard 
you talking to him earlier when I came in. It's clear with you the 
discipline is wrapped in lot of love and good values." She looked at 
him thoughtfully. "And somehow I think your commitment to him is a lot 
more long term than a year or so."

She rose, saying she needed to go home and Skinner offered to walk her 
out to her car. It had grown dark and the characteristic evening chill 
that signifies Autumn's arrival had already set in.

"I'm glad you came by tonight, Fiona," he said as they reached the 
vehicle. "I'd . . . like to see you again some time. Perhaps we could 
have dinner."

"That would be wonderful," she answered. Then she stretched up and 
kissed him, taking him a little off-guard. She gave him a glorious 
smile and opened her car door to get in. "Call me."

He promised to do so then stepped back and watched her back the car 
out of the driveway. Returning to the house, he put the two coffee 
cups in the dishwasher and made sure the place was locked up tight and 
the security system was set. Then he headed upstairs. 

The safehouse was large and there was a small office upstairs that 
he'd begun using in the evening to read and prepare for his next day's 
work. With Fox in school, he'd gone back to a full-time schedule but 
was unable to stay as late as he did before because the boy needed to 
have some regular routines in his life. So Skinner and he had dinner 
together whenever possible, which meant the Assistant Director now 
left the office an hour or two earlier than he had in the past. And 
made up for the lost time in the office once the child was asleep.

The door to Fox's room was half-closed and Skinner stopped and opened 
it. The bedroom window was open and the room was chilly. And Fox was 
sprawled on the bed, the covers half kicked off. Yoda was sleeping on 
the foot of the bed and the dog picked up its head momentarily, then 
put it back down and closed his eyes again. The AD walked into the 
room, nearly tripping on a pair of sneakers left in the middle of the 
floor. He bent and picked them up, then placed them in the closet. 
Then he gathered up the clothes lying on the desk chair and put them 
in the hamper.

Next he went to the window and closed and locked it, pulling the shade 
all the way down. Having completed policing the room, he approached 
the bed and began adjusting the blankets so that the boy was 
completely covered. In his sleep, Fox murmured softly, then snuggled 
down under the comforter the Assistant Director had tucked under his 
chin.

Skinner stood at his bedside, just watching him sleep. Fox was now 
about fourteen and he suspected the next weeks and months might be 
trying. And challenging, wasn't that the word Fiona used? But looking 
at the boy tonight, his face was practically angelic and he was 
sleeping peacefully and soundly. Without a care in the world. At this 
age, in Mulder's previous childhood, he'd already suffered great loss, 
been overwhelmed by a sense of guilt and responsibility for that loss. 
And set adrift by the withdrawal of both his parents following the 
disappearance of their daughter. 

Skinner reached down and softly brushed a strand of hair that fell 
over the boy's eye. He offered up a silent prayer that this time Fox 
would get the chance to be just a normal kid for as long as possible. 
It might not mean much in the grand scheme of things, but it was the 
least he could do.


The Wheatley Academy
Monday afternoon

Walter Skinner watched Fox dive gracefully into the pool, sliding into 
the water a split second ahead of most of the field. The boy was a 
strong, rhythmic swimmer and he glided effortlessly through the clear 
water, reaching the other side a head sooner than anyone else. The 
other parents around him were cheering and shouting for their kids, 
but the AD watched silently, mentally taking every stroke with the 
boy. At the end of the second lap, Fox had a clear lead on the rest of 
the field.

He finished the third lap a full body length ahead of the runner-up 
and the crowd from Wheatley Academy went wild. They'd placed first and 
third in this event in Fox's age group. The boy bounded out of the 
pool and began scanning the bleachers. Catching Skinner's eye in the 
crowd, he broke into a wide grin that telegraphed his pride, and his 
pleasure that the AD had made it to the meet.

It hadn't been easy for the Skinner to manage it. After working a 
minimal schedule for several months, he was up to his armpits trying 
to dig out from under the backlog he'd found waiting. But this was 
Fox's first competitive meet and it was important to the boy that he 
be there. Skinner was leaving town the next day for the quarterly 
management conference and would be gone for the rest of the week, 
leaving Fox in the care of the elder Skinners. The AD had vowed 
nothing would keep him from being here today.

The rest of the meet went off without a hitch and Fox's team won 
handily. The other team had a couple of good swimmers and they took 
their events but the overall team lacked the depth and strength of the 
Wheatley Academy team. Jarrod Kelly was a powerhouse and Fox, it 
turned out, wasn't far behind.

"Who's this Skinner kid?" a man sitting behind the AD asked someone 
else. "I never heard of him. Is he new at Wheatley?"

"New this year, apparently," a woman's voice answered. "Another 
diplomat's kid. Or some government mucky-muck, probably. That's why 
their teams vary so much from year to year. Almost no one stays in the 
school two years in a row. Their families move on and so do the kids . 
. . "

Skinner smiled to himself. <You have no idea how fast this one will 
move on!> But on another level he found himself glad Fox had made a 
unilateral decision to use the Skinner name at Wheatley. It had shown 
unintended foresight. Skinner was a fairly common name and no one was 
likely to connect a kid named Skinner with the Assistant Director 
unless they were seen together. But Mulder was about as uncommon a 
name as you can get. And 'Fox Mulder' would be hard to miss.

His curiosity had finally gotten the better of him and he asked the 
boy why he'd signed 'Fox Skinner' on all of his paperwork at school. 
They were alone in the car on the way to school that morning.

"I just thought it would be . . . confusing for people. You know, if I 
had a different name than you. They might think I'm not really your 
son," he'd replied, leading the AD to conclude the decision was meant 
to give Fox that assurance as much or more than anyone else. "You're 
not . . . mad, are you, Dad?"

Skinner had reached over and laid a hand on the boy's head. "No, Fox. 
I'm not mad at all. In fact, I think it's a very good idea you had. 
And some day, when you go back to using your own name, I won't be mad 
about that either, son."

"What if . . . what if I never want to go back to my other name?" the 
boy had asked him.

"That wouldn't make me mad either," Skinner told him, recognizing that 
would be an unlikely occurrence. 

He'd gotten a brilliant smile in answer. At times this child could be 
as obstinate and difficult as any one on the face of the earth. And 
other times. . . he was as sweet and charming as could be. This 
morning, with a solid night's sleep and a good breakfast in him, he 
was every bit the latter.

Now, he was waiting for the final event to be over, sitting with the 
rest of the team. He had grown very friendly with several boys, 
including Jarrod Kelly. The Kelly boys' father, Don, was a producer 
for CNN and he'd taken Fox to a football game a week earlier. And Fox 
had also been invited to spend the night with the Kelly family this 
coming weekend. 

Don Kelly and his younger son, Jeremy, were sitting alongside Skinner. 
Fiona Barefoot sat on the other side of the AD, whistling and shouting 
encouragement to the team. 

"You really take this seriously, don't you?" Skinner had asked her 
after nearly losing an eardrum a few minutes earlier.

"I'm sorry," she lamented. "I can't help it. It's like demonic 
possession, I know!"

Skinner snorted with laughter. The more time he spent with her, the 
more he liked her. Despite the unseemly conduct for which he had a 
front row seat, something about her unbridled enthusiasm added to her 
charm. 

"They're gonna win, aren't they Dad?" fifteen-year-old Jeremy Kelly 
suddenly asked for the fifth or sixth time. The Kelly's younger boy 
had Down's Syndrome and Fiona had explained to Skinner that he'd been 
mainstreamed at Wheatley Academy since first grade. She'd said Jeremy 
was highly functional for a Down's kid, and the school was small 
enough to be able to give him individual attention as well as a 
relatively normal school experience. Skinner appreciated that about 
Fiona and the school because Fox was benefiting from the same 
attributes.

"Yes, they're going to win, Jeremy," his father assured him patiently. 
"Look how big their lead is."

"You're just like me, Jeremy," Skinner told the boy, leaning in and 
whispering to him. "I can't relax till the final buzzer sounds."

"It's not over till the fat lady sings," the boy responded, garnering 
a laugh from the adults.

"Exactly," the AD said, holding up the palm of his hand and exchanging 
a high five with the boy. Jeremy beamed at the action and the fact 
Skinner had pointed out they had something in common.

The final buzzer went off a moment later and the Wheatley Academy half 
of the bleacher crowd all stood and cheered. There was a requisite 
line-up for handshakes a minute later, then the boys disappeared into 
the locker room to change.

It was late when the meet ended and Skinner opted for having a pizza 
delivered for dinner for him and Fox. Normally, he preferred to serve 
something more nutritious but lately there were more and more 
exceptions to that rule.

He ordered an antipasto salad with it but Fox steered clear of 
anything green these days, settling for three slices of pizza and two 
bottles of cranapple juice. The combination alone nearly cost Skinner 
his appetite.

At 9:30 the AD climbed the stairs to the second floor and stuck his 
head in the door of Fox's bedroom. "Time for bed, pal," he said.

Fox nearly jumped off the bed in surprise. He was holding the phone to 
his ear, but he pulled it down and covered it with his hand. "Could I 
get a little privacy?" he asked in irritation.

Skinner was taken aback but he quickly surmised the boy was on the 
phone with a girl. He pointed to his watch and held up five fingers to 
signal how long he had to finish the call, then the AD backed out of 
the room and went to the study. "Oh, brother," he muttered. "Something 
tells me this is not going to be the fun part."

He went back ten minutes later and found Fox still talking. He walked 
into the room and stood there, hands on his hips, waiting to get the 
boy's attention. It took only a second and then he silently ran a 
finger across his throat and mouthed the word 'Now!' 

"I gotta go, Marie Claire," the boy said quickly. "I . . . hafta 
finish my home work. See you tomorrow." He waited while she said 
something, then spoke again. "Okay. I'd like that. See you tomorrow."

Fox hesitated another second, listening to something else she said. 
Then he spoke once more. "Au . . . au revoir, Marie Claire."

Skinner pressed his lips together to keep from laughing.

"God! That was so embarrassing!" Fox complained as soon as he'd 
disconnected. "She probably thinks--"

"She probably thinks you have more homework to do," the AD answered 
amiably. "Which, for your butt's sake, better not be the case."

Fox hopped off the bed, sighing theatrically, and started toward the 
bathroom off his bedroom. "No. I did all of my homework right after 
dinner. And during study hall today. I just didn't want Marie Claire 
to think I have to go to bed this early. No one else-- OWWW!" He 
turned sideways, too late to avoid a swat on the bottom.

"It's already 45 minutes later than I think you should be in bed," 
Skinner told him firmly. "And how many times have I told you I don't 
care about 'everyone else?' I only have to do what I think is best for 
you, not the rest of the world's 14-year-olds."

"Yeah, but they all manage to keep breathing with a little less 
sleep," the boy argued back, a trace of snideness evident in his tone. 
"I'd think that evidence would count for something."

"Oh, you're right, I want to take all the evidence into 
consideration," Skinner said evenly. "And the evidence tells me you 
must be overtired. That's the only explanation I can imagine for this 
little display of disrespect. So for the next week, I want you in bed 
every night by 8:30. Your grandparents will be here for the next few 
days and they're too old to have to put up with this nonsense."

"Oh, come on!" the boy protested angrily. "Eight thirty! That's what 
time I went to bed when I was-- OUCCHHH!" He hopped forward as another 
sound smack was delivered to his backside but Skinner had a grip on 
his left arm and wouldn't let go. 

"I suggest you get into the bathroom and wash up right now, young 
man," the AD told him. "Or you'll be going to bed early, and with a 
sore butt, every night for the next week."

"Okay!" Fox replied anxiously. "I'm going!" 

Skinner released him and he took off like a shot. The AD spent the 
next few minutes straightening up the boy's room. Clothes and shoes 
and books and CD's were scattered everywhere. And it appeared the fish 
had not been fed, so the AD shook some food into the tank on top of 
the bureau. 

<Well, Mulder's definitely in there somewhere! This is all the 
'evidence' I need to know that!> He heard the boy approach and turned 
to see a sullen faced teenager mope into the room and head for the 
bed. Skinner waited for him to get in, then he sat down on the side of 
the bed and sat there until Fox looked up at him.

"Listen to me, Fox," he said quietly. "Gran and Gram will be here for 
the next few days and I don't want you to misbehave while they're 
here. Is that understood?"

"Why do you have to go to this stupid meeting?" the boy answered. 

"It's the quarterly management conference," Skinner replied patiently. 
"This time it's in L.A. and I have to be there. For a lot of reasons. 
I missed the last one when we were in Nantucket."

Fox did not appear to be appeased but he changed subjects to something 
even closer to his heart. "You're not really gonna tell them I have to 
go to bed at 8:30, are you?"

"Yes, I am. I want you to be on your best behavior, Fox. And getting 
enough sleep always helps ensure that. But I'll tell you what," 
Skinner answered. "If you behave for your grandparents, I'll lift the 
restriction when I come home on Friday night, okay? And you can sleep 
over Jarrod's house on Saturday."

Fox frowned and opened his mouth to protest. But Skinner quieted him 
with a look.

"Or I could add a bedtime spanking every night. It's your choice," he 
said evenly. 

Fox was silent for a moment, appearing to weigh the options. As though 
there were any. "Okay," he sighed finally. "I'll go to bed at 8:30. 
But can you ask them not to tell anyone if they call?"

Skinner held back a laugh. He'd been in the same predicament himself 
as a kid now and then. And his parents had enough sensitivity to 
understand that request, after raising four teenagers with the same 
concern. "I think we can agree on that. If you're asleep, I'm sure 
they'll feel perfectly fine telling people you're 'out,' Fox. That's 
what they told people who called me, and Uncle Joe and Uncle Andy and 
Aunt Jean."

"You had to go to bed earlier than your friends, too?" the boy asked, 
a yawn overtaking him despite his earlier protest that he wasn't 
tired.

Skinner laughed as he stood and headed for the door. "Welcome to the 
Skinner family, kid!" he replied as he turned out the light. "All I 
can say is, get used to it."

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

AD Skinner's Office
Tuesday afternoon
3:05 p.m.

Bzzzzzz

Assistant Director Skinner apologized to his guests for the 
interruption, then picked up the phone. "Yes, Kim?"

"Sir, I'm sorry to disturb you. But the principal of Fox's school is 
on the phone."

He told her to put the call through, then listened impassively as 
Fiona Barefoot explained the situation. Skinner glanced at his watch. 
He was due to leave for the airport in about an hour and a half. Not 
enough time to deal with this problem. His folks were already at the 
house and he momentarily considered letting his father deal with this. 
Then he put that thought aside and told the others he needed to end 
the meeting immediately.

He stopped at Kim's desk on the way out and told her to rebook him on 
the last flight to Los Angeles that night. "I'll call you from the 
car," he called back over his shoulder as he disappeared.

Now he was sitting in the principal's office, across the desk from 
Fiona. Fuming. A subdued Fox sat beside him staring at the floor as 
she explained what prompted her call.

"And then, from what I understand, Fox told Mr. Whitmore he was 'an 
ass.' Is that right, Fox?" she asked calmly.

"I said 'a pompous ass," he said angrily. "If he doesn't report it 
accurately, I don't think he should be allowed to use it!"

"That's enough, Fox," Skinner said sternly. The boy's eyes snapped up 
to meet the man's, then he pressed his lips together as though trying 
to keep any further words from escaping. "That's better. You're 
already in more than enough trouble, young man."

"I'm afraid I have no choice but to suspend Fox," Fiona was saying now 
as she shook her head slowly. "For three days. I'm sorry but--"

"That's quite all right," Skinner replied, seething quietly. "I think 
he's getting off lightly, under the circumstances." His tone left no 
doubt the young man would not get off so lightly at home.

"He can come back to school on Monday," Fiona said then she gave Fox a 
stern look. "But I'll expect an apology to be delivered to Mr. 
Whitmore, in class, Fox."

"I'm not apologizing to him!" the boy exclaimed. "He IS a pompous 
ass!"

Skinner's glare nearly burned a hole in the side of his head and the 
boy quieted again immediately. "He'll apologize," he told Fiona as he 
rose from the chair. "And in the meantime, please accept my apology 
for his behavior. Fox, go wait in the hall."

The child left the room and Fiona began to speak as soon as the door 
closed behind him. 

"Walter, before you get too angry, the fact is, Mr. Whitmore IS a 
pompous ass!" she said with a hint of a smile. "Our regular speech 
teacher is pregnant and she's not due until Spring. But she had 
complications and her doctor ordered full-time bed rest. We needed 
someone right away and he was available. But believe me, Fox is not 
wrong about what he said. It's just it's--"

"Disrespectful. Rude. Unacceptable," Skinner cut her off. "I hear you, 
but I can't excuse that behavior. Or that language. He'll be back on 
Monday. And he WILL apologize!"

They drove home without a word between them and Fox ran out of the car 
and into the house as soon as Skinner pulled the jeep into the 
driveway. He headed right up the stairs, not bothering to say hello to 
Rachel Skinner, who was sitting in the living room.

"Fox?" Rachel called as the boy took the stairs two at a time. "How 
did you get home?

"I brought him," her son said, coming through the door. He threw his 
keys on the table in the large foyer, then gave his mother a quick hug 
and a peck on the cheek.

"We weren't expecting you back at all," she replied, giving him a warm 
smile. "I thought your Dad and I were supposed to pick Fox up at 
school at five o'clock."

"That's what I thought, too, son," his Walter, Sr. said as he walked 
in from the kitchen. "What the heck's going on here?"

Skinner suggested they all go into the kitchen and have a glass of 
iced tea. He was relatively certain his mother would have made some 
and he was right. Seated at the table, the AD took a moment to tamp 
down his anger, then he gave his parents a short synopsis of Fox's 
suspension.

"Well, I'll be damned," Mr. Skinner said, sitting back in surprise. 
"I've always found him to be a polite, respectful kid. What would 
possess him to speak to a teacher like that?"

"I don't know, Dad," Skinner answered honestly. "But I can't overlook 
it. I'll handle this afternoon. And I'm going to ground him so you're 
gonna have to keep him on a short leash while I'm away." He stood up 
and prepared to go upstairs to dole out the punishment the boy had 
earned himself. "I'm sorry about leaving you with this--"

"Don't give it a second thought," his father said with a smile. "I've 
handled my share of punishment tours. And son? You might consider 
breaking open a new bar of soap for that mouth of his."

The AD shook his head and smiled back. "What is it they say, Dad? 
Great minds think alike." He strode toward the stairs but was stopped 
in mid-stride by the ringing doorbell. "Now what?" he muttered as he 
went to the double doors at the house's main entrance. Looking through 
the side window pane, he saw Fiona Barefoot at his front door.

Skinner opened the door quickly. "Hi," he said curiously. "Is 
something else wrong?"

"Yes! Something's wrong," she said breathlessly, stepping into the 
house. "You haven't . . . punished Fox yet, have you?" She was 
surprised to see Rachel and Walter, Sr. step out of the kitchen. "Oh, 
I didn't know you had company!"

"My folks are staying with Fox while I go out of town for a meeting," 
the AD replied. "I'm leaving later tonight. Come into the kitchen and 
catch your breath."

Once they were all seated, Fiona launched into her story. "Right after 
you left, I got a visit. From all the other students in Fox's speech 
class. They had a story to tell me. . . ."

It seemed Jeremy Kelly was in Fox's speech class. The boy with Down's 
Syndrome had some trouble keeping up, but the teachers at Wheatley 
were patient and understanding, and he was not generally held to the 
same standards as the other students. And speech was an elective so he 
and Fox happened to be in the same class despite the difference in 
their abilities.

"It seems the new speech teacher, Mr. Whitmore, isn't as 'open-minded' 
as we are at Wheatley," Fiona said, her eyes flashing with unbridled 
fury. "He had asked me about Jeremy several times, suggested he might 
not be right for that class. But I explained our policy and thought he 
understood. I was wrong."

"He apparently was not happy to have 'a retard' in his class. And he 
took every opportunity to let Jeremy know that! According to the other 
kids, he ridiculed Jeremy constantly. Made fun of his work, and the 
way he speaks." Tears of sympathy, and anger, filled her eyes. 

Rachel, a former teacher herself, swore softly. "No one like that 
should be allowed near a classroom," she said angrily.

"The other kids were appalled but they didn't speak up. I don't know 
why. . . " Fiona continued, shaking her head slowly. "I guess the fact 
he was an authority figure confused them. I would have hoped we've 
taught them enough values that they'd speak up when they saw someone 
being victimized but . . . ."

"There, there, dear," Rachel said, patting her hand. "I'm sure they 
would have eventually. Kids are generally able to tell right from 
wrong. But they have a hard time when it's an adult who does something 
wrong. It makes them question their perception."

Skinner was honestly enraged by this story. But he also wanted to get 
to the part about Fox. "So you're saying Fox told the guy off?"

"Yes, that's exactly what happened!" Fiona replied. "When Whitmore 
went after Jeremy again today, Fox stood up to him."

"And that's when he called him 'a pompous ass,' is that it?" Walter, 
Sr. said, nodding his head. In the space of a few minutes, his opinion 
had changed completely and he now appeared convinced the boy had done 
exactly what should be done.

"A pompous ass with delusions of adequacy,'" Fiona finished and 
eyebrows on all three Skinners rose in unison. "He has an . . . 
interesting vocabulary for a fourteen year old!" Then she smiled at 
them triumphantly. "I fired that SOB outright this afternoon! Oh, and 
Fox is unsuspended, of course!"

"Well, I'll be damned," Mr. Skinner said for the second time that 
afternoon. "That's my grandson, all right!"

"Well, I better get going. I have to visit the Kelly family. Make sure 
Jeremy's all right," she said as she rose. "And I know the Kelly's 
will want to thank Fox. Mr. Kelly already told me how touched they 
were by the way he defended Jeremy."

Skinner found himself choking up a little bit, too. He'd tried to 
instill a sense of fairness and empathy in the child but he suspected 
this result was due more to the kind of person Mulder was than any 
lessons he had taught Fox in recent months. He showed Fiona to the 
door and promised to call her when he returned from Los Angeles the 
following weekend. Then he climbed the stairs to the second floor and 
knocked on Fox's bedroom door.

"Come in," the boy said tremulously.

"Hi," Skinner said, opening the door. He approached the bed and sat 
down on the edge. Fox looked at him anxiously and it was all the AD 
could do to keep from pulling the boy into a big hug. "How come you 
didn't tell me Mr. Whitmore was bullying Jeremy?"

Fox looked surprised at the question. His mouth opened, but no sound 
came out.

"Fox, I want you to know you can talk to me about anything," Skinner 
continued. "If something happens that you don't understand. Or that 
doesn't seem right to you, I want you to tell me. I'm sure I could 
have helped, before this got out of hand."

"Well, he said he was the teacher, Dad," the boy answered quickly. 
"And what he says goes. I didn't want you to think I was being . . . 
disobedient. Or disrespectful."

"Fox, this is a tough lesson to learn, and I'm not sure you're gonna 
get it right away. You may be too young but . . . People deserve 
respect until they prove they don't."

The boy looked at him questioningly and Skinner decided to try again. 
"Respect has to be earned, son, and if someone does something you know 
is wrong, and that hurts people, then you don't owe them your respect. 
It's still not okay to speak to someone like you spoke to Mr. 
Whitmore," he said, wanting to drive that point home. "There are 
better ways to handle problems like that. But I want you to know, I'm 
proud of you for standing up to a bully, Fox. For defending Jeremy."

The boy's eyes filled with tears and he breathed a shaky sigh. "You're 
not . . . mad at me? Or disappointed in me?"

Skinner smiled at him. "No, Fox. I'm not disappointed in you. In fact, 
I want to tell you something." He placed his hand over the boy's 
heart. "I know what you're about in here, Fox, in your heart. You are 
a good, kind and generous person. You care about people. And you want 
to protect people who can't protect themselves. Those are things I 
like, and respect, about you."

Fat tears slid down the boy's face, and he watched his father keenly. 
Skinner raised his other hand to Fox's cheek and brushed a tear away. 
"And as long as you follow your heart. . . as long as you listen to 
what your heart tells you, nothing you ever do would disappoint me, 
son. Nothing. Do you understand me?"

The boy screwed up his face as his emotions overwhelmed him and the 
man pulled him into a huge embrace. The stress and tension of the 
afternoon, of not knowing if he'd overstepped his bounds and bought 
himself punishment, was broken and Fox threw his arms around the 
A.D.'s neck and sobbed.

"It's okay, pal," Skinner told him soothingly. "I wish you'd handled 
it a little differently. But I'm very proud of the fact you didn't 
stand by and let someone hurt Jeremy."

Once Fox has calmed down, the AD spoke again. "I postponed my flight 
to L.A. so I thought I'd take you and Gran and Gram to dinner, okay? 
Then you guys can drive me to the airport for my flight. How's that 
sound?"

"Good," the boy answered, sniffling. "Can we go to the Pizza-rama?"

"Fox, we had pizza last night. How about a little variety?" the man 
answered, laughing.

"Oh, they have variety," Fox answered as he hopped off the bed and 
headed out of the room. "Deep-dish, thin-crust, Sicilian. Pepperoni, 
sausage, pineapple. . . "

Skinner rose and followed him out of the room. "Oh, right," he said 
amiably. "Lost my head for a minute, kid!"

"And Dad?" the boy continued as he headed for the stairs. "Can I ask 
Marie-Claire if she wants to come, too?"

Skinner nearly lost a step in his surprise. He hadn't realized the boy 
was ready to 'go public' on his apparent infatuation with the daughter 
of the French consul. Time was beginning to pass just a little too 
fast, even for this child. "Ah, sure," he said, "as long as it's okay 
with her parents."

"I'll call her right now," Fox said making a quck u-turn and heading 
back upstairs.

"Call who?" Walter, Sr. asked. He'd been standing at the bottom of the 
steps, waiting to hear the outcome of his son's talk with Fox.

"We're having dinner at a restaurant called "Pizza-rama," Skinner 
said. "And Fox is calling a girl in his class to see if she can come 
along." He dropped an arm around his father's shoulder and lowered his 
voice. "Listen, while I'm away, do you think you could have that 
'little talk' with Fox? You know the one where--"

"I know exactly what talk you're referring to," his father answered 
with mock sternness as he removed the arm from his shoulder. "And I 
want you to know I'm here for all the guidance and advice you need. 
But . . . I've done that job three times already. You're on your own 
with this one, son!"

Alexandria, Virginia
Thursday afternoon
12:30 p.m.

Fox rode his new skateboard down to the end of the school parking lot 
and did a perfect 360 degree turn before coming to a stop. The other 
boys were lined up ahead of him, preparing to work their way through 
the orange cones set up as an obstacle course. He'd just completed the 
course and was waiting patiently to go again.

"You're very good, young man," a voice from behind him called. There 
was an older man, standing outside the wrought iron gates. He had an 
Irish Setter on a leash, and the dog was pulling on it, trying to get 
to the boy through the fence.

"Good dog," Fox said, walking over and putting his hand through the 
fence to pet the animal. "What's his name?"

"Skywalker," the man replied. "From 'Star Wars.'"

Fox flashed him a big smile. "My dog's named 'Yoda,' from the new one. 
"The Phantom Menace." Hi, Skywalker. How ya doin' boy?"

"Well, that's one thing we have in common," the man said, smiling down 
at him. He raised a cigarette to his lips and took a long drag, 
studying the boy. "And there's something else, too. You look very 
familiar. Do we know each other?"

"I don't think so," the boy responded, letting the dog lick his face. 
"I'm . . . not from around here."

"Oh, neither am I," the man replied. "I just keep thinking you look 
like the son of one of my oldest, dearest friends. But his son would 
be much older now. Not your age." He looked off into the distance as 
though running it all through his head. Then he seemed to shake off 
the memory.

"But, no," he sighed. "Bill Mulder's son would be in his thirties now. 
Not your age. Your father wouldn't happen to be 'Fox Mulder,' would 
he?" He smiled again, and put the cigarette to his lips. 

Fox looked up in surprise. "You know my . . . I mean you knew my 
father?" he asked, then turned his head as Jarrod Kelly called him 
loudly.

"Didn't you hear the bell?" the 16-year-old yelled. "You're gonna be 
late."

"I gotta go," Fox said hurriedly, giving the dog another pat on the 
head.

"Well, maybe I'll see you some other day," the Cigarette Smoking Man 
said as he waved good-bye to the boy. "I'll be around."

Fox nodded quizzically but the man smiled at him and reached down to 
pet the dog with his other hand. So the boy smiled and waved back, 
wondering if his father, his real father, had actually known that man. 

His mother in Greenwich and his Dad, had told him lots of things about 
his previous life but he didn't remember any of them. And for the 
first time, the boy experienced that with a sense of loss, and 
frustration. He realized there were things he should know but couldn't 
seem to reach wherever they were buried inside him.

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

The Hyatt Regency Hotel
Los Angeles, California
Thursday evening 

The Directors' dinner would begin soon and Skinner and several other 
A.D.'s had chosen to meet at the bar for an aperitif. Jana Cassidy 
cornered Skinner as he nursed a whiskey and asked the question that 
had been on her mind since the management conference began.

"How's Agent Mulder doing?" she said, leaning in and speaking quietly. 
"You were away a good part of the summer with him. How . . . 'old' is 
he now?"

"Well, he's around 14, near as we can tell. Based on physical and 
intellectual indicators. It's been a real trial in a lot of ways, 
Jana. I don't know too many people who could cope with everything he's 
had to deal with . . . . It's so damn unbelievable."

"I can only imagine," she smiled, raising her wine glass to her lips. 
"Mulder as a rebellious, hormone-fueled adolescent! God help you!"

Skinner laughed shortly. "You have no idea. One day last week, we were 
in the car. I was pulling into the driveway of his school and he 
suddenly said to me, 'Dad, what's a condom?' I nearly drove into a 
tree."

Jana smiled. She had known Skinner for more than 20 years but had 
never really seen this side of him. As the Assistant Director in 
charge of OPR, she was copied on all the confidential reports about 
the boy's progress, but they didn't really give texture to the 
relationship that had obviously developed between the child and the AD 
Fox referred to him as 'Dad,' and Skinner seemed more than comfortable 
with that. 

"I would think Agent Mulder would know what that is," she probed. 

"Agent Scully and the research team have a theory," he told her. "They 
think that he regains knowledge at the age he learned it the first 
time. So, he knows as much history as he knew at the age of 14, for 
example. And he learns new things as they're presented to him. Like 
computer games and music that didn't exist when he was younger. But if 
he didn't know about condoms at fourteen before, and he hasn't been 
exposed to the information yet this time, he doesn't know it."

"What fourteen year old doesn't know about condoms, Walter?"

"Well, a fourteen year old in 1975, living a rather sheltered life on 
Martha's Vineyard, apparently," Skinner answered honestly. "And we've 
had no . . . reason to explore that subject in the last few weeks. 
He's growing so fast, it's hard to keep up!"

"But he doesn't remember the experiences of his first childhood at 
all?" Jana asked.

"No. That's the hard part to fathom. But the doctors and Scully think 
it's something in the vaccine that keeps the aging process at a 
manageable pace. When he didn't get it in time, he began to remember 
things. All we can hope is that he regains his personal memories at 
some point."

"What about the Consortium?" Jana asked now. "Are they still trying to 
get to him? I know you've got him set up in a safe house."

Now the Assistant Director nodded solemnly. He had begun to think of 
the place as home for him and Fox. It surprised him to hear it termed 
a 'safe house,' although that's what it was. "So far we've got no 
indication anyone knows where he is. But I'm not kidding myself. All 
anyone would have to do is follow me home to figure it out."

"I hope you're taking all the necessary precautions then," she said, 
knowing he would be, and more. Skinner was not known for missing a 
detail, ever.

"And the place is secured with the best security system. There's a 
detail posted at each end of the street 24 hours a day," he sighed. 
"We're doing everything we can. As long as Fox cooperates, I think 
we've got it covered."

"How 'cooperative' is any kid about things like that?" she smiled 
sympathetically, wondering if this was wishful thinking on Skinner's 
part. "You've got your work cut out for you."

Skinner smiled back. "Speaking of which, it's almost nine o'clock in 
D.C. Excuse me, will you, Jana?"

He walked out to the lobby, removing his cell phone as he went. Then 
he hit the speed dial for his home, the one he and Fox were living in 
currently. His father answered on the second ring.

"How's it going, Dad?" Skinner asked.

"Oh, fine, son," the older man replied. "Your mother and I are holding 
up. Fox is doing homework with Marie-Claire right now."

"She's there again?" Skinner laughed. "He's not exactly playing hard 
to get, is he?"

"Well, no one does at that age," his father returned. "She came for 
dinner. She's a sweet girl, and he's got a major crush. I'll get him 
for you."

The elder Skinner called Fox over. 

"Hi, Dad," the boy said. "I'm being good."

"I know you are. I already talked to Gran," the AD told him. "How'd 
you do on that chemistry test today?"

"Okay, I think. I have a French test tomorrow."

"Oh, that's why Marie-Claire is there, huh? Helping you study?"

"Yeah. And . . . I think I might ask her if she wants to go to that 
dance with me next week," Fox said, his voice dropping to an almost 
whisper. "Do you think she'll say yes? I mean, what if I ask her and 
she says no."

Skinner smiled on the other end of the phone. Based on everything he'd 
seen, he was certain the girl would accept. "Well, I think she'll say 
yes," he assured the kid. "Why don't you start by asking her if she's 
planning to go? Then if she says yes, ask her who she's going with? 
And if she says no one, just ask her if she'd like to go with you."

"Okay. I'll try that," he said. "Maybe I'll wait until tomorrow."

"Well, there's no time like the present, Fox," Skinner said. "But you 
do it when it feels right to you, okay? I have to get going. Tell Gram 
I said hi. I love you."

"I love you, too, Dad," the boy responded. He hung the phone up and 
began to walk back into the family room. Then he glanced at the clock, 
and saw it was 9:01 p.m. He walked back to Walter, Sr. anxiously. 
"Gran?"

"Yes, Fox," the elder Skinner answered from a stool at the breakfast 
bar where he was reading the evening paper.

"I know it's nine o'clock already," he said whispered. "But 
Marie-Claire's father didn't get here to pick her up yet. . . ."

Mr. Skinner understood immediately the boy was worried about being 
sent to bed while she was still here. His son had left instructions 
that Fox was to be in bed by nine o'clock, a concession from the 8:30 
deadline he'd threatened to impose when Fox misbehaved earlier in the 
week. The older man leaned close to Fox and whispered back. "Do I look 
like I just fell off the turnip truck yesterday?"

Fox blinked and wrinkled his brow, not certain exactly what that 
meant. "Um, n-no," he answered tentatively.

"You can stay up until Mr. Montreaux picks her up," the older man 
said, receiving a big grin in response. 

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

The Wheatley Academy
Alexandria, Virginia
Friday afternoon at 4:40 p.m.

Swimming practice ended a little earlier than normal, and Fox called 
the house to let his grandparents know. There was no answer, so he 
assumed they were on their way and took up a place on the brick wall 
by the parking lot to wait. 

Jarrod Kelly stopped next to him. "My Mom's here," he said. "Want a 
ride home?"

"No, thanks," Fox told him. "My grandparents must be on their way."

"Okay. See you tomorrow, Fox," Jarrod said as Mrs. Kelly called to say 
hello from her car. Fox waved at her, then settled down to read from 
the chapter his English teacher had assigned as homework. In the next 
few minutes, several other students and teachers went by, each 
stopping to say hello.

He was alone a minute later when he heard someone calling his name. 
"Fox," the voice called from somewhere in back of him. He turned and 
saw it was the older man he'd met earlier in the week. He had his dog 
with him and Fox walked over to the fence to pet him.

"Hi, Skywalker," he said, letting the dog sniff his hand. Once he was 
comfortable, the dog jumped up and started licking his face. "I think 
he smells my dog!"

"Yoda, right?" the man said with an artificial smile. "One of the 
things we have in common. Why are you here all alone?"

"I'm just waiting for my grandparents to pick me up," the boy 
explained. "Swimming practice ended early." He continued petting the 
dog but he looked up a little uncertainly. "The other day. You said 
you . . . knew my real father. Didn't you?"

The man gave him another smile, this one underscored with 
self-satisfaction. "Yes, I knew Bill Mulder well. He was one of my 
dearest friends. A good man. A very good man, he was."

Fox stared at him, waiting for more. And he was not disappointed.

"We used to take you water-skiing, off Rhode Island. Bill was an 
excellent water-skier. And you were, too. You and your Dad were very 
close. Like buddies. It was wonderful to see you together." Now the 
man stopped, waiting for some response from the boy.

"He was nice?"

"Oh, yes, he was very nice," the Cigarette Smoking Man said. "And you 
were a very good kid. He gave you a lot of freedom because you were so 
smart. And you knew what you wanted. That's one of the things I 
respected about Bill. How much he trusted his son."

Fox was so wrapped up in the story, and the picture being painted for 
him, he didn't question the fact that the man obviously 'knew' he was 
Fox Mulder. That he had been reversed in age and was growing again at 
a fast rate. It was not a conclusion anyone would jump to unless they 
had full knowledge of the situation but that fact escaped the boy 
right now.

"My mother told me, too. That he was nice. And he loved me a lot," he 
replied softly. "My Dad-- I mean the one I have now, he didn't know my 
real father."

"Well, I'm sure he's trying very hard," the man said, even though his 
voice betrayed his lack of conviction for what he'd just said. "But it 
would be hard for anyone to hold a candle to Bill Mulder. He was a 
real hero. They don't make them like that any more."

Beeep Beeep!

Fox's head swiveled and he rose quickly. "That's my grandparents. I 
mean, my . . . adopted grandparents," he said quickly. "I gotta go."

"I'll see you around, young man," the man called after him.

"See ya!" Fox returned. He opened the door to the car and got in. 

"Hi, honey," Rachel Skinner said. "We're not late, are we?"

Fox told them he'd gotten out a little early as Walter, Sr. steered 
the car out of the school campus and onto the main road. 

"Who was that you were talking to?" he asked Fox as he made the turn 
onto the highway.

"Oh, that's just a man who lives near the school," Fox said. "He walks 
his dog there. The dog's named "Skywalker," from Star Wars. Like 
Yoda." He wasn't certain why he didn't share the fact the man knew his 
real father but somehow he wanted to keep that to himself for now.

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

The safe house
McClean, Virginia
Sunday at 1:15 a.m.

Skinner placed another log on the fire and poked the rest until the 
new wood started to burn. Then he closed the firescreen and turned to 
see Fiona coming in from the kitchen. She'd refreshed their glasses of 
wine. The two had had a very pleasant dinner together, and Fiona 
accompanied him home for a nightcap.

Fox had gone to Jarrod Kelly's house to spend the night, so Skinner 
knew it was the perfect time to ask Fiona out. No kid to rush home to, 
no one upstairs to worry about waking up.

"Dinner was lovely, Walter," she said as she handed him his glass and 
sat down on the couch. She curled her feet up underneath her. "I've 
never been there before."

"Canastelli's has the best Italian food in Washington," he told her as 
he rose and took a seat beside her. "But the company was even better 
than the food." He laid his glass down on the coffee table and took 
her hand. "I don't know why I put Nora off all those years she wanted 
me to give you a call!"

Fiona gave him an inviting smile. "I don't know either. Must have been 
a minor lapse in judgment on your part. . . " The rest of her words 
were cut off as his mouth covered hers. She could feel his hand cupped 
gently behind hers and his other arm slipped effortlessly around her 
waist. She felt her body melt into his larger one, all the bits and 
pieces fitting as though they'd been made for each other.

Rriinnnnngg!

"What the--?" Skinner said, pulling back and reaching for the phone on 
the end table behind Fiona. Now his voice was all business. "Skinner."

He listened for a moment, then furrowed his brow in confusion. He'd 
been expecting it to be the SAC on duty at the Hoover building. 
Instead, it was the local police.

"Yes, I know Fox Mulder. But. . . " He listened closely. "He was 
where? At this hour?"

Fiona eyed him worriedly. This was clearly about Fox, and she wanted 
to know if he was all right.

But Skinner was shaking his head impatiently. "Hold on to him," he 
said. "I'll be right there." He hung the phone up and got to his feet.

"What's wrong?" Fiona asked him hurriedly.

"Fox. The local police picked him up along with a bunch of other kids. 
They were hanging out at someone's house in Falls Church. There was a 
party that got a little out of hand, and the police were called. They 
found beer but don't know who was drinking." 

"Dylan Kane was having a party tonight," Fiona told him. "I heard 
about it. Dylan's 16 but he's on the swimming team with Fox. And they 
have history and English together."

"Fox told me he was sleeping over Jarrod Kelly's tonight. He didn't 
say anything about a party," Skinner said as he got Fiona's wrap off 
the chair where she'd placed it. "I'm sorry, Fiona," he said 
sincerely. "I have to go get him from the police station. I'm . . . 
sorry to run off so abruptly."

"No, I understand," she answered. "I . . . do you want me to come 
along?"

He told her he didn't, then escorted her out to her own car. He gave 
her a quick kiss and promised to call in the morning. Then he got in 
his own car and started for the local police station. 

Skinner was still trying to figure this all out. But one thing was 
clear. Fox had not given the cops Skinner's name or phone number. He'd 
told them his name was "Fox Mulder." And that his mother lived in 
Connecticut. They'd run a check and found an FBI agent by the same 
name. Guessing it was unlikely there was no relation between two such 
oddly named people, they called FBI headquarters and asked for the 
agent.

The switchboard had standing orders to connect anyone who called for 
Mulder with Skinner. And that's how the call had made its way to the 
AD The fact Fox, who'd been using the name Skinner for weeks now, had 
failed to give it, or their home phone number to the local cops, did 
not make the Assistant Director happy. 

Entering the stationhouse, he introduced himself to the desk sergeant 
and was instructed how to find the room where the remaining kids were 
waiting. When he got there, Don Kelly was just leaving with Jarrod.

"Hi, Walt," Don said. "Sorry about all this. The boys had told me they 
were going to a party. And that's why Fox was sleeping over at our 
place but . . . it seems to have gotten out of hand. And alcohol being 
present doesn't exactly make me happy," he said, giving his son a 
sidelong look. "But . . . everyone's all right, that's the important 
thing, right?"

Skinner was not certain he agreed but he kept that to himself. How 
other people raised their kids was not a concern of his. Fox was his 
priority. And it was clear the kid had concocted the sleep-over to get 
around his curfew. 

Skinner wished Don and Jarrod a good night and continued into the 
room. Only Fox and two others, a boy and a girl were left. Both of the 
others appeared to have been drinking but Fox looked sober. . . and 
scared to death.

"Dad?" he said as soon as Skinner entered the room.

The AD walked over to him and gave him a quick hug. "Are you all 
right?" he asked him, laying his hands on both of the boy's shoulders. 
Fox had grown another couple of inches and now stood almost five foot 
seven.

The boy nodded and Skinner sighed. Then he took Fox by the arm and 
escorted him out into the hall, out of range of the other kids' 
hearing. "What happened, Fox?" he asked peremptorily.

"I . . I didn't do anything!"

"You didn't? You told me you were staying over at Jarrod's house, Fox. 
You never mentioned anything about going to a party. A party where 
there'd be drinking. And you also conveniently forgot to tell me about 
being out half the night!"

"I didn't know about the party before!"

"You didn't know about this party before tonight?" Skinner asked him 
evenly. "Do you want to reconsider that statement?"

Fox had that 'deer in the headlights' look, then he dropped his eyes 
and stared at his feet. "Maybe I knew about it," he said slowly. Then 
a sense of rebellion rose in him. "I did know. And I knew you wouldn't 
let me go! No one else has to go home as early as me! Everyone else 
has more freedom--"

"That's enough," Skinner told him as another policeman approached. 
This one was the precinct lieutenant, he could see. The kids had been 
picked up for loitering and disturbing the peace, two charges that 
were never going to be officially lodged. After a brief explanation 
and the confirmation of Skinner's status at the FBI, the cop let him 
sign for Fox's release, and the two were on their way.

Once they were in the car and headed home, Skinner spoke to the boy 
sternly. "I'm very disappointed in you, Fox," he said. "You broke just 
about every rule we have. Lying. Sneaking around. Breaking curfew. 
Talking back--"

"You have more rules than anyone!" the boy exclaimed suddenly. 
"Everything's a rule with you. I can hardly breathe, without breaking 
some bullshit rule!"

Skinner took a deep breath and counted to ten. He wanted to pull the 
car over to the side of the road and whale the tar out of the kid 
beside him but he knew it was late, and Fox was never cooperative when 
he was overtired and cranky. 

"Rule four thousand two hundred and twelve," the kid said 
sarcastically. "No TV until your homework's done--"

"That's quite enough," Skinner snapped at him. "You're rapidly buying 
yourself a strapping and punishment tour you'll never forget, Fox. I 
suggest you watch that mouth right now!"

"I can talk any time I fucking want to--" 

He was startled when Skinner reached out with his right hand and 
grabbed his chin. "Okay. I'm gonna introduce your mouth to a bar of 
soap when we get home, Fox," he said ominously. "Don't push it!"

The boy blinked and quieted down. They rode the rest of the way in 
silence and, when Skinner pulled the car into the garage, Fox opened 
the door and started to run into the house. But the Assistant Director 
caught him as he tried to pass on his way into the door. He held to 
his arm firmly and walked him into the powder room off the kitchen and 
right over to the sink. There was a bar of Ivory soap there and the 
man picked it up.

"I've had enough of that mouth, son," he said evenly. "Open up."

Fox shook his head, clamping his teeth shut tightly. 

"Don't make me force you, Fox," Skinner told him quietly. He looked 
directly into the boy's eyes.

"No, I--" Fox began but the man took the opportunity to shove the bar 
of soap into his mouth. He began scraping it along the boy's teeth, 
making certain there was enough soap transferred to his mouth to make 
a lasting impression. 

Fox tried to pull away but the man had a vise-like grip on him. In a 
few seconds, tears came to the boy's eyes and began rolling down his 
cheeks.

The AD removed the Ivory and took the boy's chin in his hand again. 
"Had enough?" he asked gently. 

Fox nodded his head vigorously. 

"Good. Now, I think you ought to get to bed, Fox. Right now. I'll deal 
with you in the morning."

The boy's heart raced at the prospect of what lay in store. "Please. . 
. " he began. "I don't want to get punished--"

"Well, you should have thought of that a whole lot sooner, son," 
Skinner said evenly. "Before you ever started down the road that got 
you here. Now go to bed. We'll talk more in the morning." He turned 
the boy around and gave him a solid swat on the behind. "March!"

Fox turned his head and glared defiantly over his shoulder. Then he 
realized immediately that Skinner had seen it and scurried out of the 
room and up the stairs. The man sighed deeply and turned and leaned 
heavily on the counter top. 

It had been a draining night and he wasn't looking forward to 
tomorrow. Or the rest of the kid's teens. He placed the soap back in 
the dish on the counter and stared at his own reflection, wondering 
yet again if he was the right person to be raising this child. Or any 
child. Doubting whether his instincts on how to do it were grounded in 
anything other than his own upbringing, in another time, another 
place.

He busied himself for a few minutes cleaning up the kitchen, then 
dragged himself up the stairs to go to bed. He knew he wouldn't sleep 
well, too many things were pricking at the back of his mind. 

He opened the door to Fox's room and saw the boy was fast asleep, 
covered up to his neck and facing the wall. That surprised him. He 
thought the boy would be too wound up to sleep right away, and they 
might have a few minutes of quiet conversation. To try to repair the 
rift between them. Skinner shook his head and closed the door quietly. 
No point in disturbing Fox, he reasoned. It was almost 3 a.m., and the 
kid needed a good night's sleep to think straight, let alone engage in 
meaningful dialogue.

Skinner washed up and got into bed wearily, his heart heavy with the 
thought of the punishment he'd have to deliver in the morning. And 
Fox's likely defiance and anger. He drifted off to a restless sleep 
and dreamed about the charming boy, and happy toddler Fox had been 
just a few weeks and months ago. When life was simpler.

In his room, Fox waited until the house quieted down, then forced 
himself to stay there a few minutes longer to make sure Skinner was 
asleep. Then he got out of bed. He was fully dressed except for his 
shoes, and he tiptoed out of his room, picking up his sneakers as he 
went. He crept down the wide stairs to the first floor, temporarily 
disabled the security system, and stepped out into the cool, damp air 
of the night. 

Once in the yard, he stepped into his sneakers, tying them tightly and 
then ran toward the back of the property, toward the street behind the 
house. He carefully avoided the electric eye security fence and stayed 
out of view of the security vans stationed on both ends of the street. 
He ran through the backyards of houses on the street behind the one he 
and Skinner lived on until he reached a main thoroughfare. Then he 
stuck his thumb out and waited for someone, anyone, to pick him up. 

McClean Virginia
12:35 p.m. on Sunday

Walter Skinner hung the phone up slowly. He'd just tried the last of 
Fox's friends and been told the boy was not there. He'd called Fiona 
and asked if she could remember anyone he was close to, anyone to whom 
he might turn when in trouble. She'd given him a few names and numbers 
and made some calls herself. Nothing had come of it.

Skinner had awakened at dawn with a raging headache. He'd had only a 
couple of hours of sleep and he'd come downstairs to read the Sunday 
paper and wait for Fox to wake up. It was almost three in the morning 
when they'd both turned in so he decided to let the boy sleep as long 
as he needed to. But at 11 o'clock, with pancakes on the griddle, he'd 
gone into the boy's room to wake him. And found him gone. 

A quick search of the house and grounds told Skinner what he already 
knew. The kid left during the night. He didn't know exactly when. And 
he had no idea where. And that lack of information was killing the 
Assistant Director.

The security teams from the night before had not seen or heard 
anything unusual. But a check of the security system showed it had 
been momentarily disabled at 3:23 a.m. Skinner's blood ran cold as he 
realized the boy had been gone more than eight hours already. And no 
one had seen him in that time.

The possibility existed that Fox had been taken but, given everything 
that had happened the night before, the A.D.'s gut told him the child 
had run away. But nothing in his gut told him where the kid would go. 
He called the local police and given them a recent photo to circulate 
to their patrols. It was too early to consider him a missing person 
but, if anyone saw him, they'd notify Skinner immediately. 

Now he sat by the phone, staring at it, willing it to ring. The 
pancakes were cold on the grill he'd turned off more than an hour 
earlier, a pile of brittle room temperature bacon sitting beside them. 
A cold pot of coffee sat on the countertop untouched as well.

Fiona Barefoot opened the front door and walked into the quiet house, 
looking around anxiously. She continued her tour until she found 
Skinner in the family room where she'd left him the night before. Only 
now he was wearing sweats and a USMC tee shirt and his face was 
unshaved and drawn.

"Walter?" she called softly, startling him.

"Oh, Fiona," he answered, startled to find her there. "I . . . didn't 
hear you come in."

"I noticed. I just had to see if you've heard anything." She was 
wearing jeans and a rust-colored sweater set, her long hair pulled 
into a French braid. Her eyes betrayed how worried she was though, and 
seeing Skinner this way only heightened that concern.

"No. No one has seen him. I've talked to all of their parents. The 
local police have a photo and are looking for him. I don't know what 
else . . . " his voice trailed off, husky with emotion and exhaustion.

"Did you and he argue?" Fiona asked gently.

"No," Skinner answered immediately, shaking his head. "Not really. I 
picked him up from the police station and brought him home. He was . . 
. defiant. I sent him to bed and told him I'd deal with his behavior 
today. He was angry but . . . . I-- I never expected this, Fiona. I 
never wanted . . . ."

Fiona's heart went out to him and she walked straight over to the 
overwrought man. She put her arms around his back and pulled him into 
the circle of her arms. He seemed embarrassed at first and pulled away 
but she refused to let him withdraw. In the space of a few seconds, he 
relented and wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on 
top of her head. 

"It's just that . . . anything could happen to him," he whispered. 

"I know," she said soothingly. "But he's probably in a video arcade 
somewhere. Or at the movies. Or the mall. That's the kind of things 
kids do in these circumstances. And they almost always come home 
before dark. I know Fox and he's not the kind of kid who'd just run 
away."

Skinner prayed she was right.

An hour later, a showered and shaved Walter Skinner paced the large 
kitchen of the safe house. He'd had a cup of coffee and Fiona made 
sandwiches. But he'd eaten only a few bites before the tension and 
worry made it impossible for him to ingest any more. He'd checked in 
with the police again. And now the FBI agent in charge of security for 
the safe house was standing in the kitchen nearly at attention, Fiona 
thought.

"Nothing. How could a kid just . . . disappear from a safe house with 
state of the art security?" Skinner ranted as he paced. The security 
chief shook his head but knew better than to answer. There was no 
acceptable answer.

"He eluded the cameras," Skinner continued. "And the electric eyes. 
Turned off the security system and nobody noticed."

"We noticed, sir," the security leader interrupted, wanting to 
reassure the AD that his people hadn't been asleep at the switch. "It 
was just a few seconds so it looked like a power fluctuation. But an 
agent was dispatched to do an external search and nothing was found."

Skinner nodded. As much as he wanted someone to blame, he knew this 
agent and his men were not at fault. He dismissed the security chief 
and went back to pacing. 

"Can you think of anywhere else he'd go, Walter?" Fiona probed. 
"Perhaps there are some friends in the neighborhood that you don't 
know."

"We haven't gotten to know any of the neighbors," Skinner responded. 
"Given the circumstances, it didn't seem smart. And there hasn't been 
time . . . "

"Anyone else he'd go to? Your parents? Or Joe?"

Skinner thought about her question. "I don't believe he'd go to my 
folks or anyone else in the family. If he was looking to avoid 
punishment, they'd be likely to let him have it themselves once they 
realized what he'd done. I can't think of anyone else--" He stopped as 
a thought came to him. Fox had given his name as "Mulder" to the 
police the night before. And told them his mother lived in Greenwich.

He picked up the phone as he simultaneously opened a drawer in the 
kitchen and pulled out an address book. He looked up Teena Mulder's 
phone number and dialed it quickly.

"Hello?" she answered.

"Teena? It's Walter Skinner," the AD said quickly only to be cut off 
by Mrs. Mulder.

"Oh! I'm glad you called," she said brightly. He frowned in confusion. 
It was like she was pretending he was someone else. "Hold on a 
moment." Then she cupped her hand over the phone and said something to 
someone. A moment later she uncovered the phone and spoke more softly. 
"Fox is here."

Skinner felt a cold stone of fear in his gut melt immediately. "Thank 
God," he breathed. Then he gave Fiona relieved smile that told her the 
boy had been located. "Is he all right?"

"Well, he seems to have hitchhiked all the way here," she answered. 
"And he was hungry and exhausted when he arrived. But he seems all 
right otherwise. He says . . . he says he wants to live with me."

The Assistant Director felt as if someone had gut-punched him but he 
reminded himself to keep breathing. "I see. . . . I'd like to come up 
there, if it's all right, Teena."

She agreed, a little reluctantly he thought, then Skinner hung up and 
told Fiona he had to be on the next air shuttle from National Airport 
to New York City. He grabbed his wallet and his and Fox's jackets and 
headed out to the car. On the way he told Fiona he'd call her in the 
evening, once everything was settled. Then he drove like a bat out of 
hell to the airport, just making the next flight.

He was in New York an hour later, picking up a rental car at Laguardia 
Airport. The ride to Greenwich took less than 45 minutes with the AD 
pushing the speed limit every mile. At just past four in the 
afternoon, he pulled the car up in front of the center hall colonial 
home that belonged to Teena Mulder.

He rang the doorbell and waited for someone to answer. Teena Mulder 
pulled the door open a moment later. Her face was etched with worry 
and confusion, he thought. Behind her he could see Fox sitting in the 
living room, staring at the floor in front of him.

"How is he?" Skinner asked her quietly and she shrugged in answer. 

"I'm not sure," she said finally. "He insists he wants to live with 
me."

The AD shook his head at that news. "That's not a good idea," he said. 
"We've discussed it before and decided what was best for him." He 
squeezed her shoulder lightly then strode into the living room. Fox 
looked up at him worriedly but the man stopped in the middle of the 
room.

"I'm . . . glad you're all right, Fox," he said. "You don't know how 
worried I was. Don't ever do anything like that again."

"You don't have to worry about that," the boy answered.

"Good. I want to talk to your mother then we'll head home--"

"I'm not going home with you!" the boy shouted, coming to a standing 
position. "I don't have to do what you tell me! You're not my real 
father!"

Skinner felt as if he'd been physically assaulted and he had to 
exercise every shred of restraint he had not to yell back at the kid. 
"Well," he said evenly, "I'm the closest thing you've got right now, 
son. And you're coming home with me."

"NO! It's not home! This is home! You're not my father! I had a father 
and he--" his voice began breaking up. "He loved me. And trusted me! 
He let me do whatever I wanted. . . " his words broke off suddenly and 
he sat down and buried his face in his hands. 

Skinner's heart felt like it would pound out of his chest and he 
covered the distance to the boy in two quick strides. He put his arms 
around Fox, to try to comfort him but the kid shook him off. 

"No, don't touch me," he sobbed. "You're not my father. You're the 
meanest father of anybody. It's a good thing you don't have any kids 
of your own 'cause they'd run away, too!" The boy finished his tirade, 
then ran out of the room and up the stairs. A door slammed loudly a 
moment later.

Skinner found himself shaking and he consciously willed his muscles to 
still. He sat down stiffly and took a deep breath, trying to figure 
out what to say to Teena Mulder. What she must be thinking about the 
scene she'd just witnessed.

"I'm sorry, Teena," he said finally. "I don't know what's gotten into 
him. . . ."

"Fox always had a terrible temper," she answered with a long sigh. 
"It's a trait he inherited from Bill. And I guess me, too. . . . 
Perhaps it would be better if he stayed with me for a while."

Skinner blinked back the burning that suddenly stung the back of his 
eyes and shook his head. "I understand why you might think that but--"

"Please hear me out, Walter," she said firmly. "I don't think you've 
abused or hurt him in any way, despite what he wants me to believe. He 
says that you were going to punish him and I suspect that's true. But 
I know you, and I don't think for one moment you would do anything to 
harm him."

Skinner glanced at her, hoping she did know that for certain.

Teena sat back in her chair and continued. "When Fox was sixteen, Bill 
and I split up. And we sent him to boarding school. It was Bill's 
idea. He knew Fox wouldn't want to stay with him. And he thought I 
wasn't up to being both mother and father to a boy that age. 
Especially Fox. The truth was, I hadn't even been much of a mother 
since . . . . since Samantha was taken."

"He was a . . . difficult child at that age, Walter. Moody, withdrawn, 
angry. Given to outbursts like you just saw. Bill was right. I wasn't 
up to it. Fox ran away from the boarding school, twice. Both times I 
took him right back, as Bill told me to do. The second time, Fox 
didn't speak to me the entire way. And he didn't call home for the 
rest of the semester, he was so angry." She clasped her hands tightly 
in her lap and Skinner thought it was to stop them from shaking.

"So do you see why I can't do it again? I can't just . . . turn my 
back on him if he wants to be here," she finished, looking him 
directly in the eye.

"Teena," the AD said as gently as he could. "I hear what you're 
saying. And I . . . do understand. But do you think you're up to 
dealing with him, now? At your age? This is a critical time in his 
development and . . . frankly, I'm not even sure I'm up to it. But I 
believe boys, particularly strong-willed ones like Fox, need a firm 
hand to get through these years. He's going through them at lightning 
speed but he has the same needs as any kid that age. For guidance. And 
boundaries. I don't want to see him get to be an adult and not have 
the . . . self-discipline and self-control he needs to survive."

"Like last time?" she laughed dryly. 

"No!" he cut her off. "I didn't mean it that way. Fox was . . . is 
someone I respect greatly for his integrity, and the strength of his 
beliefs, and so many other things. There was nothing wrong with him . 
. . but he might have had an easier time of it if he had a little more 
self-discipline. That's all I'm trying to say."

"And you think you can help him develop that?" Teena asked him 
curiously. 

"I think. . . boys develop self-discipline from being compelled to 
obey the people they care about and who care about them. From being 
disciplined when they step out of line. Until eventually the lessons 
sink in and become a part of their character. It's how I was raised, 
Teena. And it's served me well." He sighed and leaned forward, looking 
directly into her eyes. "But the reality is, I have no legal standing 
here. So I guess it's up to you."

She stared at him and he could tell she was confused and conflicted. 
He was too, but he was letting gut instinct take over and that's what 
was driving his actions at this point. That, and the deep love and 
affection he felt for the young man upstairs. His son, in all but 
genetic signature.

"I don't know. I-- Why don't we leave it up to Fox?" Mrs. Mulder said 
suddenly. "Let him decide where he wants to be."

Skinner's heart sank. He didn't think that was a good idea at all. Nor 
did he think putting the burden of this decision on the shoulders of a 
fourteen or fifteen year old was at all fair to the boy. But he could 
see she'd made her decision. Her face relaxed and she gave him a 
relieved smile. 

"All right," he said quietly. "I-I'll go speak to him." He rose and 
headed up the stairs, quickly finding the room he knew Fox would be 
using. He knocked but there was no answer. So he tried the door and 
found it wasn't locked.

"Can I come in?" he asked. Fox was lying on the bed, on his back, one 
arm covering his eyes and a good part of his face. His only answer was 
a careless shrug.

Skinner closed the door behind him and advanced into the room. He sat 
down on the edge of the bed and reached out to pull the boy's arm away 
from his face. "I need to speak with you, Fox," he said gently. "And I 
need to see you."

Fox carefully turned his gaze to the wall, avoiding any eye contact 
with the AD Skinner felt a bolt of tension drive down through his jaw 
and into his neck and he counted to five before beginning. "Fox, I 
want you to come home with me--"

"No," the boy cut him off. "I'm not going with you! Not unless . . . 
."

Skinner's eyes snapped to the boy's face. Something important was at 
the end of that unfinished sentence, he was certain. "Unless what?" he 
asked immediately.

The boy chewed on his lower lip for a few seconds then he turned his 
face to his father. "Are you going to . . . p-punish me?" he asked 
suddenly. "If I come home?"

Skinner considered his answer carefully. "Do you think you deserve to 
be punished, Fox?"

"That's not what I-- " he stopped, looking like he was holding back a 
floor of tears. "I'm not gonna come home if you're gonna punish me!" 
He bit down on his lower lip, hard, and shook his head again.

The Assistant Director longed to grab the boy up in a hug, to reassure 
him and tell him all was forgiven. But, in the deepest part of his 
heart, he knew that way lay disaster for this child. "Listen to me, 
Fox," he said slowly. "Because this is important. I want you to come 
home with me because I love you and because that's where I think you 
belong--"

"But am I still gonna be in trouble?" the boy blurted out before he 
knew it. He wasn't certain whether this was going his way or not and 
his nerves were frayed with worry.

"I want you to come home with me more than I want almost anything in 
the world, Fox," Skinner continued. "About the only thing I want more 
is for you to grow up to be a man of character and integrity. Who has 
the self-discipline to make good choices and the ability to admit, and 
learn from, his mistakes. And take whatever penalties come as a result 
of those mistakes."

He laid a hand on the boy's chest, over his heart. "Someone who knows 
in his heart what's right. And will stand up for that, no matter how 
hard it is. That's what I want more than anything. But if I don't set 
a good example of that, where are you going to learn it, son? So the 
long answer to your question is, yes. You're still going to be 
punished. Because you behaved badly, and lied, and broke a bunch of 
our rules. And you deserve to be punished for that, kid. But I'm still 
gonna love you. Now. And when the punishment's over. Like always, 
Fox."

Fox blinked back the tears that had pooled in his eyes. He took a deep 
breath. "I'm staying here," he said, bringing his arms up and crossing 
them over his chest. 

Skinner sat on the edge of the bed, stunned by boy's words. He'd 
always been able to get through to Fox before, to reach the part of 
the child that understood he was loved unconditionally and that sought 
out the security of that knowledge. But not this time. Skinner knew he 
should say something, but words failed him. Finally, he leaned down 
and kissed the boy on his forehead. "Okay," he breathed, regaining his 
ability to speak. "I'll-- I'll have your things shipped when I get 
home. Be good for your mother, okay?"

Skinner rose woodenly and headed for the door. He opened it, moving on 
automatic pilot it seemed and stepped out into the hall. Then he 
turned to the boy and gave him a small smile, or at least the closest 
thing he could manage. "You know where to find me if you ever change 
your mind, Fox," he said simply.

Fox blinked. "I won't. I hate you," he spat out.

Skinner let the words blow right past him. "And I love you, son," he 
said softly. Then he closed the door behind him and headed down the 
stairs, hoping his legs would hold out till he made it to the bottom. 
Every nerve ending in his body was jumping and he fought the urge to 
run, to seek the private haven of his car immediately. He took a 
minute to tell Teena what he thought she needed to know right away and 
to tell her he'd send Fox's clothes. "And the medicine," he added. "I 
don't know when he'll need another dose but you should have it handy."

She looked startled at the mention of that. It had slipped her mind, 
her son's unusual medical condition and the complication of the rapid 
aging. She saw him so rarely, it didn't seem to register with her 
until the AD mentioned it. He saw her anxiety and rushed to ease it.

"It's okay, really. It's a simple shot and, when the time comes, I'm 
sure we can get the doctor in Baltimore to speak with your physician. 
And I'll make sure you have all the information you need, to recognize 
the symptoms."

He forced himself to stay with her until the immediate details were 
settled, then he said good-bye and headed to the sanctuary of the 
rental car. He started it and drove away quickly, unintentionally 
burning rubber as he pulled away from the curb. "Get a grip, Skinner," 
he muttered out loud as he made the turn onto the highway that led to 
the New England Thruway. 

His hands were shaking and, despite his best efforts, hot tears burned 
his eyes and clouded his vision. "Damn it!" he cursed out loud, 
slamming his hand on the steering wheel. He was nearly blind and 
common sense told him he not fit to drive safely, so he pulled the car 
onto the shoulder and turned it off. Then he put his head back and let 
the tears come.

His mind reeled with the irony of it all. He'd driven this route once 
before, coming to Greenwich with a two-year-old, intent on convincing 
his mother this was the best place for him. And reluctantly leaving 
with the child when she'd begged off. Now she and Fox had made a 
different choice, and the man felt like his heart had been ripped out 
of his chest, as though he'd left it behind in the center hall 
colonial along with everything else that mattered to him. Fresh tears 
sprang to his eyes and he laid his head down on the steering wheel to 
wait out the storm.

The phone trilled and Skinner's head popped up suddenly. "What now?" 
he said out loud in the quiet of the car. He flipped it open and 
stabbed at the "Send" button. "Skinner," he said gruffly.

There was no reply at first and he opened his mouth to speak again but 
the person on the other end beat him to it. "Dad?" it said tearfully. 
"I ch-changed my mind. I want to come h-h-home. . . "

Skinner felt a wave of relief rush over him that was so strong, it 
almost knocked him unconscious. "I'll be right there," he said. He 
started the car and took advantage of a break in traffic to make a 
U-turn. "Everything's gonna be okay, son." He spoke soothingly to the 
boy as he drove back to the neighborhood he'd just left. He pulled the 
car up to the house and left it running while he got out and headed up 
the path. 

Fox must have been waiting at the window because the door opened and 
he ran out and into the A.D.'s waiting arms. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, 
Dad," he sobbed as Skinner grabbed him up into a fierce hug, lifting 
him off his feet momentarily. "I didn't mean what I said before . . . 
"

"I know," the man soothed him, caressing the back of his head and 
putting him back on his feet. "I'm just glad that you know." He led 
the boy back into the house and into the living room, where he let him 
cry himself out. Then he sent Fox upstairs to wash his face and sought 
Teena Mulder out in her kitchen.

"Change of plans?" she asked when he appeared at the doorway. "I think 
it's for the best."

He sensed she was relieved but still harbored some regrets. She stared 
into the near distance and spoke.

"Fox showed me a picture in one of our old photo albums earlier today. 
Of a man he met recently who said he was an old friend of my husband. 
This man . . . worked with Bill on the Project, Walter. He was a 
frequent visitor when Fox was young."

"He told Fox some wonderful things about his father. About what a good 
man he was and how close Fox and his real father were. Lies. All meant 
to make him question his relationship with you. I'm afraid I . . . 
stretched the truth a little myself when I told Fox about Bill. I 
thought it was harmless, that he could have a better picture of us 
this time. But Spender told him outright lies and I couldn't let him 
continue to think that nonsense was true."

Skinner froze at the mention of CGB Spender's name. He'd done a great 
deal to ensure that bastard had no access to Fox and somehow the son 
of a bitch had managed it anyway. A flash of anger ran through him but 
he pushed it aside.

Watching Teena Mulder, he sensed how hard it had been for her to tell 
Fox the truth. And painful. For whatever reason, despite their 
break-up and all the things they'd been through, this woman still felt 
a need to protect her husband's memory, to keep his son from thinking 
only the worst about him. 

He heard Fox coming down the stairs and turned to put an arm around 
him. "We better be going," the AD said quietly. "Say good-bye to your 
mother, Fox."

The boy dutifully went to her and gave her a kiss. "I'm sorry about 
everything," he said.

"No, darling, I'm the one who's sorry," she answered. "I want you to 
promise me you'll both come back and visit soon. A real visit this 
time."

Fox smiled and nodded, then he returned to Skinner's side. The man 
tousled his hair and received a look of mock annoyance in return. The 
boy headed toward the front door and Skinner turned to follow him. 
Then he turned back and walked over to Teena. Bending down, he kissed 
her on the cheek.

"Thank you," he said simply.

"No, Walter," she said through a haze of tears. "I'm the one who 
should be thanking you."