The Danville Series
by Cadillac Red


Safe House
McClean, Virginia

Skinner and Fox walked into the kitchen at just past 8 p.m. It had 
been a long and difficult day for both of them and Fox was unusually 
subdued. He'd slept in the car on the drive from Greenwich to New York 
City, then again on the short plane ride to National Airport. Skinner 
had gotten him to eat a good dinner while they waited for their plane 
at Laguardia Airport. And now the AD was faced with a decision about 
what to do, or not to do, before settling him down for the night.

In one part of his heart, he longed to do nothing more than let the 
boy have a shower and go to bed. But he knew that Fox was expecting 
punishment, and that the child like the man he had been, hated waiting 
more than anything else. He pulled the boy into his arms and gave him 
a reassuring hug. "You know I love you, don't you, pal?"

Fox sighed and hugged him back. "Uh-huh," he confirmed. "And that's 
how come you're gonna spank me, right?"

Skinner smiled despite himself. The child had obviously been wrestling 
with the same thing in his own head and come to his own 
interpretation. And it was not very far off his own. "Why don't you go 
upstairs and wait for me?"

The boy nodded and headed out of the kitchen.

Skinner followed him a couple of minutes later, not wanting to delay 
any longer. He entered the boy's room and found him sitting at his 
desk, reading. 

"I . . . had some homework I didn't do yet," he said. "I'll finish it 
in the morning. That is, if I'm going to school tomorrow."

Skinner was confused at the question. "Why wouldn't you be going to 
school?"

"Well, I . . . I don't know if . . . I mean, if you punish me. . . ."

Enlightenment came and the AD did everything he could to keep from 
laughing. Biting the inside of his mouth, he sat on the boy's bed and 
called him over. When Fox had settled in beside him, he put an arm 
around him and began to speak.

"Fox, I think you'll be able to sit down tomorrow, if that's what 
you're worried about," he began. The boy's shoulders relaxed 
immediately and he sighed in relief. Skinner continued to speak to him 
in a quiet, reassuring voice. "I would never hurt you in a way that 
would cause lasting damage, Fox. That's not punishment then, that's 
abuse. Do you understand the difference?"

Fox nodded slowly. "But you said. . . you told me sometimes your Dad 
used that strap and you couldn't sit down," he said, his eyes dark 
with worry. 

"Well, let me see if I can be a little more accurate. Right after a 
session with 'the persuader' you can't sit down too comfortably. And 
occasionally I went to school with a sore butt, I'd be lying if I said 
anything different. But that's part of the discipline, son. You know 
you've gotta sit still, despite the discomfort, or everybody else is 
gonna know you've been spanked. And frankly, I didn't usually want 
everyone to know that."

"I don't want anyone to know either," the boy said emphatically. 

"And that's why we're gonna talk about a punishment tour," Skinner 
said. "Because you did a lot of things recently that you should be 
punished for, Fox. But I can't punish you for all of it at once."

The boy nodded sorrowfully. He'd heard about punishment tours before. 
"What are you gonna do?"

"Well, to start with, you're grounded for the next two weeks," the AD 
said firmly. "You'll go to school and swimming practice or meets, but 
that's all. The rest of the time you're gonna be here. No TV, no 
phone, no computer games. No friends over. Just homework and I'll put 
together a list of chores I want you to do if you have free time." He 
waited for Fox to absorb all of that.

"Any time you're not doing one of those two things, you'll be standing 
in the corner in the kitchen, thinking about why you're being 
punished. That's where you'll be every evening before dinner. And 
bedtime is right after supper--" Fox glanced up in shock. "And let me 
tell you about something called a 'bedtime spanking,' young man. . . "

He quickly filled Fox in on the rest of the details of a punishment 
tour and watched the boy's eyes widen with trepidation. 

"I know it sounds pretty bad, kiddo," the Assistant Director finished. 
"But believe me, you don't forget the lessons you learn this way. You 
can ask anyone. Uncle Joe, Uncle Andy. Doug or Mike." He wanted the 
boy to clearly understand he was not alone in suffering this fate. And 
that all the others who'd been through it before had survived intact 
and been better off for having had the experience.

Then he stood and unbuckled the leather belt he was wearing with his 
jeans. It was a soft brown leather that he knew would sting a lot and 
leave very little in the way of marks. He was angry at Fox's 
misbehavior but the fact was, his heart was pulling him toward 
leniency. The boy, and he, had both had a wrenching couple of days.

Skinner sat down on the bed again and doubled the belt in his right 
hand. Fox had already changed for bed and so the man pulled him 
quickly over his lap. He slipped his hand under the elastic waistband 
of the boy's pajama bottoms and pulled them down, letting them slide 
the rest of the way down to pool at his ankles. 

"What's this punishment for, Fox?" he asked, using the question to get 
the boy to focus on the actions that put him in this position. He laid 
the first burning stroke across the fleshiest part of his backside.

"For lying to you! Oww! I'm s-sorry! Ouchhh!" he responded, squirming 
as he lay across the A.D.'s thighs. Skinner got a tighter grip on his 
waist and settled him so he could not move the target one way or the 
other. "Ahhhh! Unhhhh!"

"What else, Fox?" the man asked, laying another couple of stripes 
across his rapidly reddening bottom.

"For going to that party! OWWW! When I knew you wouldn't want me to 
go," he sobbed as tears began to flow freely. "Ohhh! Ouccchh! 
Pleeeease!"

Skinner stopped for a second and spoke quietly to the boy. "It's not 
that I don't want you have time with your friends, Fox," he said 
gently but firmly. "But I would not have agreed to letting you go to 
an unsupervised party, with older kids, where there'd be drinking." He 
lifted the belt and brought it down across the 'sit spot' two times. 
"And you knew that, didn't you?"

"Yes, I knew!" the boy agreed readily. "Oooohhhh! I knew and so I made 
up the story about staying over at Jarrod's house! Ouchhh!"

"And what about running off last night, son? What have you got to say 
about that?" He delivered a half dozen more licks to the boy's butt 
and his thighs, making sure he understood that would not be tolerated.

"I'm sorry!" he responded. "I'm s-sorry, Dad! Ouchhh! Owww! I'll never 
do it again! I promise! Ohhhh! Ouchhh!"

The Assistant Director felt himself losing the will for continuing the 
punishment, hearing the boy's distress. He dropped the belt on the bed 
next to him, and reached up to rub the back of his head. "It's all 
right," he said soothingly. "That's enough for now."

He turned the boy upright and helped him pull up his pajamas. Then the 
kid buried his face in Skinner's right shoulder, sobbing out his shame 
and fear, and the AD enveloped him in a hug that was meant to reassure 
him that this too would pass. They stayed like that for a few minutes, 
until Fox's tears diminished and Skinner knew he could speak to him 
and be sure he was getting through.

"Are you all right?" he asked gently.

"Y-yeah," the boy hiccuped, his words fueled by hitching breaths as he 
regained equilibrium. 

"Now, we have more things to discuss, Fox, but that's enough for now. 
You need a good night's rest. And so do I. But I will expect you to 
write me a thousand lines of "I'll never run off without telling 
someone where I'm going--"

"A thousand times?" the boy blurted, his tears drying immediately. "My 
hand will fall off!"

Skinner stared at him, unblinking, and the young man immediately 
reconsidered his statement. "Well, I guess I could write some each day 
until it's done," he offered, hoping it would appease his father.

"That's exactly how I want you to do it, Fox," the man told him. 
"Neatly and legibly, so you can review it any time you feel the urge 
to do something like that again." <You might want to keep it in your 
desk at the Hoover building once you're back at work!>

Skinner gave him one more fast hug, then he stood and lifted the 
covers on the bed so Fox could slide in. It was almost eight thirty 
and he could see exhaustion rapidly overtaking the boy. He'd missed a 
night's sleep and that was not something this child tolerated well.

The AD took a seat on the side of the bed and ran a hand through Fox's 
sweat-soaked hair, pushing it back off his forehead.

"I'm . . . glad to have you back, kiddo," Skinner said. His voice was 
tight with emotion and physical exhaustion. "And believe me, the next 
two weeks won't be as bad as you think. We'll have plenty of time 
together and . . . and we've got lots of things to talk about, Fox. 
You're growing up so fast . . . ."

The boy nodded. "Can we talk about sex?" he asked before a giant yawn 
overtook him. "'Cuz I've got some questions . . . "

Skinner couldn't hold back the grin the boy's statement elicited. "We 
can talk about anything you want," he said, leaning down to kiss the 
boy's forehead. Fox nodded and turned on his side, drifting instantly 
into a peaceful slumber. "I love you, kid."

He stayed there another minute, just watching Fox sleep. The house was 
quiet and a soft rain had begun to fall outside. Skinner rose and 
crossed to the window. He closed it tightly and made sure it was 
locked, then he lowered the shade. Finally, he turned out the light 
and left the room, going immediately to the master bedroom. He picked 
up the phone and dialed a number from memory.

"Dad?" he said when his father answered the phone. "I . . . was just 
calling to say . . . to say I'm sorry. About that time I said you were 
the meanest father in Danville. I don't think I ever told you--"

His father snorted with laughter. "My God, Walter," he said. "I can't 
even remember the incident. Or all the times you, or your brothers or 
Jean said that to me. It's just something kids say. . . ."

"Well, I'm sorry I said it, Dad," the AD answered sincerely. 

"Fox thinks you're the meanest father in town, huh?" his father asked 
lightly. 

"Nah, I think I've pretty much got the entire Eastern seaboard 
covered," his son responded truthfully. "But I just keep reminding 
myself what you always said."

"About how I could live with being the meanest father as long as the 
end of the sentence is 'with the best-behaved kids?' Well, I think 
that worked out all right," the older man concluded. "And it'll work 
out okay with Fox, too. I know it."

"I think so, too," his son agreed. He assured himself all was well in 
Danville then he hung up and headed for the shower and bed. 

The week passed fairly uneventfully. Fox had swimming practice Monday 
and Tuesday and a meet on Wednesday. He came home each afternoon and 
did his homework and any chores he could cross off the list in the 
time that remained. The grounds were maintained by a landscaper but 
Skinner had called the company and told them his son would be handling 
the weeding and some other minor tasks for the next couple of weeks. 
The man who owned the business congratulated him on his old-fashioned 
parenting technique.

The Assistant Director cooked each evening and Fox took his place in 
the corner of the kitchen without much protest except for Wednesday 
night. After emerging victorious in all of his heats at the swim meet, 
he'd grown a little cocky and chose to begin an argument about this 
'stupid nightly ritual.' Skinner delivered three stinging smacks to 
his bottom and placed him there unceremoniously. They ate dinner, then 
the AD told him he had something he wanted the boy to do before going 
to bed.

Fox had been sent to bed right after supper each of the previous 
nights so this news brought a satisfied smile. Until the AD walked him 
out to the garage, to the workbench at the back of the two car 
facility. It was well stocked with power tools and other equipment he 
doubted any of the previous owners had actually used. 

Skinner picked up a piece of wood he'd purchased earlier in the week. 
It was about an inch thick and he'd sketched something on it. 
Something that looked-- Fox's eyes snapped to the man's face, a look 
of shock registering in his hazel eyes.

"Did I ever tell you about the paddle my Dad had me when I was about 
your age?" the man asked him amiably. "Well, I'll tell you all about 
it tonight. And I'm going to show you how to use a jig-saw, too. . . "

An hour later, Fox was sanding the edges down on the newly-made 
paddle, muttering softly under his breath until Skinner appeared at 
the door from the kitchen. The AD ignored what he'd heard, and walked 
over to the workbench. He lifted the raw wood paddle out of Fox's 
hands and took an admiring look at it.

"This is very good, Fox," he said lightly. "I think you've got a real 
knack for woodworking. Tomorrow, you can stain and varnish it. I want 
it to look good because I'm going to have you hang it on the wall in 
the kitchen."

"What?" the boy gasped. "Somebody might see it!"

"Oh, I think lots of people will see it," the AD responded with a nod. 
"It might be a small cutting board, don't you think? Only you and I 
will know what it's really there for Unless you really get out of line 
and I decided to have you paint the words 'Fox's paddle' on it." He 
gave the kid a sympathetic smile. "Now let's see how well it works."

He instructed the boy to bend over the workbench. Fox swallowed hard, 
then did as he was told, folding his arms and burying his face in 
them. The AD smacked the paddle smartly across his jeans clad bottom.

"Owww!" he yelped indignantly.

"Oh, this is very good, Fox," his father said, taking a few second to 
admire his handiwork. Then he smacked the paddle against the boy's 
bottom again.

"Ouchh! Th-that hurts!" the boy wailed.

"That's the point," the AD answered. "I think we'll keep this. It'll 
be perfect for any time you mouth off to me like tonight." He issued 
another whack.

"Ohhhhh!" Fox gasped. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry I was dis-disrespectful!" 

"I'm glad to hear that, Fox. I can see this paddle is going to come in 
handy. What are we going to use it for again?" He smacked the boy's 
butt once more.

"Owww! For . . . for whenever I mouth off. Like tonight!"

"Okay," Skinner said finally. "Tomorrow morning before school you can 
stain it. There are several nice shades to choose from. And then 
tomorrow night, if we don't need to make use of it again, you can put 
on a coat of polyurethane. I'm sure you want this paddle to last a 
good long time."

Fox thought nothing of the sort but he kept that news to himself. 
Skinner sent him to bed with a briefer than usual bedtime spanking and 
on Thursday and Friday the boy was positively angelic all day. The new 
paddle hung in a place of honor in the kitchen where the AD thought 
most people would probably never notice it. But he couldn't help but 
see Fox's eyes stray to it regularly, every time he was in the 
kitchen. 

Once the boy was in bed and sound asleep on Friday night, Skinner took 
a cup of coffee into the family room and dialed Fiona Barefoot's phone 
number. He'd called her once, earlier in the week to thank her for her 
help the weekend before and ask if she'd like to go out over the 
weekend. But they hadn't firmed up any plans which was why he was 
calling.

"Oh, hi," she said warmly, clearly happy to hear from him. "I should 
be angry with you, I think. Thanks to you, I had Marie-Claire 
Montreaux crying in my office all afternoon."

"Thanks to me?" he answered, honestly confused. "What did I do?"

"Well, you grounded Fox," she answered with a chuckle. "And he finally 
got around to telling her today. And that he couldn't take her to the 
dance tomorrow. It was going to be her first dance with a boy, she 
bought a new dress . . . You know how girls are."

Skinner felt a pang of guilt. He'd forgotten all about the dance Fox 
had asked Marie-Claire to attend with him. 

"I-- Fiona, I never meant for Fox to disappoint the girl," he said, 
upended by the news. "It completely slipped my mind, with everything . 
. . . " His mind raced, trying to decide how to resolve the problem. 
"Do you think she'd still like to go with him? I mean, is she going 
with anyone else?"

"I tried to convince her she could go alone today but it didn't work," 
Fiona told him. "I don't believe she's got another date--"

"Well, then I better call the Consul and let him know Fox will take 
her after all," he said quickly. "I never meant for him to fail to 
honor a commitment. And . . . he's not going to have that many of 
these kinds of social occasions the way he's growing. I think it's 
important for him to go."

"I'm so glad to hear you say that, Walter," she said. "I wondered what 
you could have been thinking!"

"Well, the next time you see me do something that seems . . . 
inexplicable, you have my permission to call me on it, Fiona," he told 
her before hanging up to call Monsieur Montreaux.

He woke Fox with the news early Saturday morning. Then they had a 
quick breakfast and headed for the A.D.'s favorite men's store. The 
tailor there was an old friend and Skinner knew he needed a major 
favor if Fox was going to have a suit that fit for that evening. 
Luckily, the Assistant Director was a good customer and they were able 
to find something and arrange to have the alterations ready by 4 
o'clock. 

Then they went to the shoe store. Fox owned only sneakers and that 
wouldn't do. They managed to get an appointment for a haircut at 3 
p.m. and grabbed a fast lunch at the food court in the mall between 
stops. As they inhaled their sandwiches, a potential oversight came to 
the A.D.'s mind. 

"Fox, I think you're supposed to have a corsage for Marie-Claire," he 
said.

"A what?"

"Flowers. I wonder if they still do that," Skinner mused out loud. He 
pulled out his cell phone and called Fiona. She confirmed that a 
corsage would be a lovely gesture and Skinner handed the phone to Fox 
and told him to call Marie-Claire. "Just ask her what color her dress 
is."

"Why do I want to know that?" the boy asked, his faced clouded with 
confusion.

"Because you don't want the corsage to clash with her dress," he told 
the boy. They called an order into the flower shop, then headed to the 
haircut appointment. Then they circled back to the store for Fox's 
suit and a shirt and tie, then swung by the florist on the way home. 
The day had passed in a whirlwind but by 7:30, they'd picked up 
Marie-Claire at her family's residence on Embassy Row and were just 
pulling up to the front of the school. 

The look on Marie-Claire's face when she saw Fox was enough to 
convince Skinner he'd made the right choice about tonight. During the 
course of their hectic day, he'd told the boy that he'd been granted a 
'one-day parole' and that he should never renege on a promise if there 
was another choice. But he couldn't really find fault with the kid. 

Fox had needed to draw on a reserve of honesty and humility to admit 
to the girl he couldn't go to the dance because he was being punished. 
The boy had been faced with a dilemma beyond his ability to reason and 
the only thing Skinner wanted him to learn from it was that he should 
come to him any time such a situation occurred. That together they'd 
always find a solution. 

Skinner watched the two of them exit and felt a lump form in his 
throat as Fox held the door and helped the girl out of the car. He 
closed the door behind them and Skinner glanced in the side-view 
mirror, waiting for another car to pass so he could pull into the 
parking lot. He'd promised Fiona he'd stay and help her chaperone the 
evening. It was probably the closest thing they'd get to a real date 
for a while, he mused, with Fox on a punishment tour.

Just then the passenger door of the car opened and Fox looked in 
anxiously. "Dad?" he said hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"Um. Do you think I'm actually gonna have to . . . dance?"

McClean, Virginia
The Safe House
7:10 p.m.

Walter Skinner sat back and ran a napkin over his mouth as he 
continued to listen. Fox had talked a blue streak through dinner, 
which was just fine with him. The boy had reached the age of 15 or 
perhaps a little more and everyone had warned him that there'd be 
moodiness and personality swings. Not to mention typical adolescent 
rebelliousness and a need to assert his independence and 
individuality. 

And Fox had begun to display all of the above on occasion. But so far, 
they'd been mostly fleeting moments. Tonight, the kid reported that 
he'd done well on his chemistry and French tests, been moved up a 
level on the swimming team and was eagerly contemplating a school trip 
to New York City. And telling the AD about every small detail of his 
day.

Skinner surreptitiously glanced at the clock and then interrupted him. 
"Whoa," he said with a smile. "Quick question. Do you have any 
homework you need to do before bed?"

Fox was in the second week of his punishment tour and, theoretically, 
supposed to be in bed right after dinner. Most nights, that had worked 
but on a couple of evenings Skinner had relaxed the after dinner rule 
to let him get some more homework done. With swimming practice and 
meets most afternoons, the boy needed the additional leeway.

"No," Fox said truthfully. "I did it all in study hall today."

Skinner rose, taking his plate and coffee cup to the dishwasher. He 
recognized that homework for this kid was a fairly unnecessary detail 
anyway. Fox regained knowledge so quickly, and had such a phenomenal 
memory, he could easily get by without doing any. But the Assistant 
Director insisted, feeling it was another discipline the boy required. 
A commitment he should honor for the privilege of being able to attend 
the Wheatley Academy. And Fox was getting a lot from that experience.

Fox picked up his own plate and drained milk glass and followed 
Skinner to the dishwasher. He placed them in just as the phone rang. 
The adolescent rushed to answer it and Skinner smiled to himself, 
thinking it would be another call from Marie-Claire Montreaux. This 
had been a nightly ritual for the past several weeks.

So he was surprised when Fox answered and then said, "Hi, Cat." He had 
a Cheshire cat grin on his face when he said it, the AD noticed. The 
young man took the portable phone into the family room and Skinner let 
him have his privacy. The way the boy talked, he was confident he'd 
hear all about it soon enough. Skinner policed the kitchen and scanned 
the newspaper for a few minutes.

But a few minutes stretched into twenty and finally he took a walk to 
the entry to the family room and looked in. Fox noticed him and 
immediately spoke into the phone. "Well, I gotta go, Cat. I . . . have 
to do some stuff tonight."

He paused for a few seconds, then nodded his head, a shy smile 
returning to his face. "Okay. See you tomorrow." He hit the "off" 
button on the phone and put it down as he rose. "I know. Bedtime."

"I'll be up in a few minutes, kid," Skinner told him as he passed by. 
Fox had grown some in the past week or so but he was still as lanky as 
ever. More new clothes, the AD thought as he sat down and turned on 
the television to see what might be on while he killed a couple of 
minutes. He headed up to Fox's bedroom ten minutes later.

The boy was sitting on the bed in his pajamas, reading, when Skinner 
entered through the open door and he was startled by the man's 
arrival.

"What's got you so engrossed?" the AD asked, curiously. 

"It's called 'Holes.' Mrs. Barefoot gave it to me," Fox told him, 
putting the book down. "It's about kids in a juvenile offender camp. 
And every day the warden makes them each dig a hole five feet deep and 
six feet wide as part of their punishment. Every day, all day long. 
And then they have to fill it in and dig one somewhere else the next 
day."

Skinner frowned. "Doesn't sound like anyone would learn anything from 
that."

"Exactly. It's just a useless waste of their time and they know it. I 
would never be able to stay in a place like that."

Skinner bit back a smile. It was telling that Fox cast himself in one 
of the juvenile offenders' roles. He opened his mouth to speak but the 
boy continued talking.

"At least, when I get punished, I always know what it is I'm supposed 
to be learning from it," he finished as he stood and prepared for his 
bedtime spanking. It was a nightly ritual that was part of a 
punishment tour in the Skinner family. They'd skipped only one night, 
last Saturday, when Fox had taken Marie-Claire to a school dance and 
they'd gotten home after midnight. 

The man let the smile come now. He couldn't have helped it if he 
tried. "I'm glad you understand that, son," he said as he took a seat 
on the bottom of Fox's bed. The boy undid the snap on his pajama 
bottoms. He let them fall, and bent down, letting himself be pulled 
over Skinner's thighs. Turning serious, the AD pushed up his tee shirt 
so his bottom could receive a few good swats and asked him the 
relevant question. "Now, Fox, what is this spanking for?"

"To remind me I'm still being punished," he answered immediately. "Ow! 
And I'm being punished for running away. Ouchh! And lying to you. 
Owww! And um, for being disrespectful."

Skinner nodded and delivered another stinging smack to the boy's 
reddening cheeks. "And what about the hitchhiking?"

"Oh, yeah! Ahhh!" the young man gasped. "For not thinking about my 
safety! OHHHH! And doing something stupid and dangerous! OUCCHH!"

"What else, Fox?"

"F-for not telling you about that man! Ahhh! OUCHH! The one who said 
he knew me before!"

Skinner finished with several good smacks to right on the 'sit spot' 
to drive that point home. He and CGB Spender had argued violently 
about his making contact with the boy and the AD threatened to cut off 
all information about Fox's progress if it happened again. But he 
wanted to make certain Fox knew better than to keep a secret like that 
as well. 

He let the boy slide off his lap and onto his own legs. Fox pulled his 
pajama bottoms up, sobbing quietly, then leaned into the man's chest 
for his hug. The Assistant Director embraced him and rubbed the back 
of his head soothingly, musing that the boy had this routine down to a 
science. It was another sign of his growing maturity. 

He held Fox like that until the sniffling subsided and the kid seemed 
to be fading, then he rose and helped him into bed. Sitting back down 
on the edge of the mattress, Skinner ran his hand through the boy's 
damp hair and smiled at him again. "You okay?" he asked gently.

"Yeah," Fox nodded as a yawn spread across his face. 

"Good. I think this punishment tour's over," the AD told him with a 
wink, receiving a look of surprised delight in return. "Let's consider 
it time off for good behavior."

"Thanks, Dad," the boy answered. "I was . . . wondering how it would 
be this weekend. With Uncle Joe and Mike coming to visit."

"Well, it's not exactly like they haven't heard of a punishment tour," 
Skinner laughed as he pulled the comforter up and tucked it in around 
the young man. "But it would put a damper on our weekend plans. And . 
. . you deserve a reprieve, Fox. You've earned it."

Fox's mouth twitched into a small smile. But Skinner could see there 
was something else on his mind. So he waited, knowing the boy would 
continue at his own pace. 

"Dad?" he finally said, after chewing on his lower lip for a few 
seconds. "Would it be okay . . . if I took Cat to the movies on 
Friday? Jarrod's going out with her friend Delia and . . . well, he 
asked me if I would take Cat. 'Cause she . . . likes me, kinda. But I 
told him I might not be able to go. Only now . . . ."

Skinner listened to the convoluted narrative, understanding there were 
several layers of anxiety at work here. But first, he was curious 
about this girl named 'Cat.'

"Do I know her?" he asked Fox.

"I don't think you met her. But you've probably seen her at my 
swimming meets. She's got short blonde hair and she has a pierced 
belly button. She's really pretty. And she's almost 17."

Skinner's own eyebrows rose but he didn't immediately respond. <Cat 
and Fox! The old Mulder would never have considered it. And a navel 
ring?! Give me strength!>

"Well, let's talk tomorrow about your curfew, okay? And I'd like to 
meet . . . Cat before you go out with her," he said firmly. 

Fox sighed and yawned once again, and his eyes began to close 
involuntarily. "You'll like her, Dad," he said softly, yawning through 
the statement. "She's got a cool tattoo of a raccoon on her thigh, 
too."

Skinner's mouth popped open but he refrained from saying anything 
further. Then he turned the light out on the nightstand. 

The room was dimly lit from the hallway. He picked up the boy's jacket 
from where it had slipped off the desk chair and onto the carpet. It 
was a Wheatley Academy swimming team jacket and Fox was inordinately 
proud of it. Skinner went to the open closet and took out a hangar to 
put it away. On the top shelf of the closet he noticed that silly, 
long-eared rabbit Fox had loved when he was a toddler. It was sitting 
there, leaning over onto a shoe box and the AD found himself smiling 
at the thing as he hung the jacket. 

When they'd packed up the apartment to move into the safe house, 
Skinner had put it in one of the boxes slated to go to charity. The 
contained a lot of clothes Fox had outgrown, a stroller they no longer 
needed, and toys that some other children could make use of. Somehow 
the rabbit had made its way from the charity boxes to the ones that 
were coming here with him and Fox. Skinner reached up and sat the 
stuffed toy upright before closing the closet door.

Fox was growing up so quickly, he wasn't certain what would come next. 
In some ways, he'd barely gotten used to little Marie-Claire. A girl 
named 'Cat,' with a navel ring and a tattoo, scared the hell out of 
him. But he knew he wouldn't have missed the opportunity to be here 
with the younger agent, through all of these changes, for anything in 
the world. He closed the bedroom door behind him as he left, taking 
one more moment to listen to the soft, rhythmic breathing that told 
him the boy was sound asleep.

The phone rang an hour later and Skinner grabbed it quickly, wondering 
if it would turn out to be someone named 'Cat.' He was surprised and 
happy to find it was Fiona.

"Hi yourself," he said, settling back in the easy chair in the room he 
used as an office. 

"I wanted to see if you decided to let Fox go on the field trip to New 
York," she said. The school's older kids, age 16 and up, were all 
going for a three-day visit to the Big Apple over Columbus Day 
weekend. Museums, theater and sightseeing were on the agenda. Skinner 
hadn't been certain about allowing Fox to go along but his behavior 
over the past week and a half had changed the A.D.'s mind. And in 
another week and a half he'd be around sixteen, the way he was 
growing.

"I just signed the permission slip tonight," he laughed. "You've got 
that crystal ball fired up again, don't you?"

She laughed warmly in return. "Well, it's more that I was hoping you'd 
see it my way! This would be a chance for us to spend some time 
together . . . "

Skinner wondered whether he looked like Fox had earlier, when the call 
from 'Cat' came through. "Yes. I was thinking the same thing, Fiona," 
he said softly. 

It was starting to seem like she really did read his mind. A quiet 
weekend, alone with Fiona was just the thing he needed right now. 
Perhaps they could take a ride into the mountains in Virginia. There 
was a bed and breakfast he knew where the scenery this time of year 
was breathtaking.

"I'm so glad to hear you say that," Fiona answered. "I'm looking 
forward to it, Walt. I think it'll be good for the boys to have you 
there, too. We usually only get class mothers to go along on these 
trips. . . "

Skinner blinked a moment before answering. It took that long to get 
his mind around to where Fiona had led him. A bus trip and a three-day 
weekend with 50 teenagers. <God help me!> Then he chuckled at himself 
and the bait and switch she'd pulled so effortlessly. "I never saw 
this sneaky side of you before, Fiona," he said, shaking his head.

She laughed too, appreciating his quick acceptance and the good humor 
with which he took the news. "There are lots of sides of me you 
haven't seen yet, Walter," and her words held the promise of 
opportunity to discover them all.

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

Friday night
1:55 a.m.

Fox opened the door to Skinner's bedroom and called softly from the 
hallway. "Dad?"

The AD jerked awake and half-sat up, leaning on his elbow and trying 
to determine what had woken him. Then he heard it again.

"Dad?" Fox said tentatively and he took a couple of steps into the 
dark room. "I . . . don't feel too good."

"C'mere," Skinner said as he swung his long legs out of bed and onto 
the floor. Fox approached him as he turned the light on the night 
table to its dimmest setting. The brightness blinded both of them for 
a few seconds but Skinner reached up and felt the boy's forehead. It 
was hot. 

"Have you been sick?" the AD asked.

"No. But I feel like I'm gonna be," he answered. "I'm sweating but I 
f-feel c-cold, Dad."

The man rose, recognizing he needed to check the boy's temperature. 
"Get under the covers," he instructed Fox, ushering him into his big 
bed and covering him up. "Stay warm. I'll be right back.

He was back in a few minutes with a thermometer, a glass of warm 
ginger ale and a plastic bucket he put down next to the bed. The AD 
sat on the edge of the mattress and shook the thermometer down, then 
placed it in the boy's mouth. Fox's eyes were glassy and he was 
shivering despite the warm comforter he was buried beneath.

"Did you eat anything unusual tonight?" Skinner asked him. Fox had 
gone out to dinner with Jarrod and the two girls they took to the 
movies. Skinner heard from Fox that they had pizza but now he wondered 
if there was anything strange or potentially bad in the meal.

The boy shook his head. "Just pizza," he said, trying to get the words 
out around the glass object under his tongue. "With pepperoni and 
pineapple on it. And 7-up." He closed his eyes for a second. "And 
popcorn and Reese's Pieces at the movies. And a Coke. . . . And I had 
an ice cream cone on the way home. Rocky Road."

Skinner stared at him, trying to keep from laughing. The litany of 
things the kid had ingested tonight would make anyone sick. Which made 
it hard to determine whether he was sick from the menu, or whether 
this was the beginning of his next medical crisis. He removed the 
thermometer from Fox's mouth and took a look. "A hundred and one," he 
said. "Maybe some aspirin--"

Skinner stopped as Fox's eyes popped open and he turned an off-shade 
of green. "I'm gonna be s-sick. . . "

"Can you make it to the bathroom?" the man asked as he quickly 
stripped the covers off the boy. Fox nodded and the two of them ran 
for the bathroom off the master bedroom, just making it in time. Fox 
dropped to his knees and emptied the contents of his stomach as 
Skinner wet a washcloth with cool water. When the boy quit retching, 
the AD wiped his face for him and helped him back into the bedroom.

"Do you want to stay with me for a little while?" Skinner asked him as 
they walked. The kid nodded that he did and so he tucked him back into 
the king-size bed and had him take a sip of the ginger ale. He was 
reluctant to give him any aspirin while he was still ill so the man 
just made him comfortable, then turned the light out, circling the bed 
and getting in on the other side. 

Fox was sick one more time during the night and slept fitfully the 
rest of the time. When Skinner rose at 7 a.m., he found the boy 
sleeping beside him was still warm but resting so he slipped out of 
the bed and started getting ready for Joe and Mike's arrival later in 
the morning. But first he checked the gun safe in the closet of the 
master bedroom. That's where the vials of medicine for Fox were 
stored. 

He planned to wait for the boy to awaken, then see what his remaining 
symptoms might be. If need be, he'd call the pediatrician and ask for 
advice. And if it turned out to be another incident as a result of his 
rapid growth, he'd give him the next injection today. He'd grown 
another inch and a half in the past week or so. Even more rapid growth 
was always one sign of an impending medical crisis. Skinner brewed 
coffee and gave the situation some thought.

Fox had come home the night before excited about his 'date' with Cat. 
She turned out to be Cathleen Halsey, a rather sophisticated and 
worldly 17-year-old from Los Angeles. According to Fiona, she was 
smart, perhaps a little too smart, but didn't represent any danger. 
But she was clearly a lot more experienced than Fox was at this point. 

Fiona had pointed out that, in fact, Fox was one of the more sheltered 
kids in the school, because Skinner kept him on such a short rein. The 
Assistant Director wasn't particularly bothered by that assessment. 

Fiona knew Cat's mother was on the staff of one of the Senators from 
California. "Rumor has it her main function is being the illustrious 
Senator's mistress," Fiona had sighed when she told him the story. 
"And from meeting with her several times, I think the rumor's probably 
true."

Skinner wasn't exactly thrilled by this information but when he met 
the girl, he didn't see any danger either. She was sophisticated for a 
17-year-old, with a little more make-up and a little less clothing 
than he thought appropriate but Fox was smitten and Skinner knew any 
protest on his part would only drive him further in her direction. 

He'd given Fox permission to take her out as long as he was home by 
11:00. The boy had raced in at 11:01 so the AD considered his first 
date a total success. And the kid's chatter while he washed up and got 
ready for bed told the AD the opinion was mutual. "Cat asked me to go 
to the mall with her tomorrow," he said, "but I told her Mike and 
Uncle Joe were coming over so I'll be busy all weekend. So she said 
maybe we could go out again one night next week. . . " He added the 
last bit hopefully.

But Skinner wanted to disabuse him of that notion immediately. "Not on 
a school night," he said firmly. "Not unless it's here or her house, 
to study. And you know your curfew on school nights is 9 o'clock."

Fox had grimaced at that but nodded his understanding nevertheless. 
Then he'd gone to bed only to awaken a little while later feeling 
sick. So the AD was stumped. The signs of approaching complications 
were generally irritability and crankiness. But this time there'd been 
none of that. Was it because he was just sick? Or because as he got 
older the symptoms and his reaction to them might alter? 

By 10 o'clock, Fox was still asleep and feverish and he'd begun to 
moan softly in his sleep. That was all it took to convince Skinner 
what this was about. He took out the next vial of medicine and prepped 
it. Fox woke when he came into the room and stared at him for a few 
seconds until the meaning of his presence sank in.

"Do you think it's time?" he asked anxiously. The look on his face 
told Skinner he didn't want to believe it was.

Skinner smiled at him. This was the first time the boy truly 
understood the situation and, as the need for the serum grew stronger, 
his memories of his previous life returned, too. It was tempting to 
wait a little longer and let Mulder emerge, even temporarily. But the 
pain and suffering the kid went through was not something he could 
willingly allow. "It's time, Fox. I've seen this before, you know. 
Roll over."

The boy swallowed fearfully and rolled onto his side. "I hate shots," 
he murmured as Skinner lowered his pajama bottoms just enough to 
expose the hip. He wiped the area with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball, 
then plunged the needle into the boy's skin. Fox's head was buried in 
the bedcovers, under a pillow, but he jumped when the cold alcohol 
touched his skin. 

Skinner kept his amusement to himself. <Oh, brother!> The AD plunged 
the needle into Fox's hip cleanly and quickly , then rested a hand on 
his shoulder as soon as he was through to let him know it was over.

"It'll be okay now," the man said soothingly. He left the room to 
discard the hypodermic and when he returned, Fox was sleeping again. 
Skinner felt his forehead and it was already cool. He sighed in 
relief, then leaned down and kissed the boy on the forehead. He'd let 
him rest until Joe and Mike arrived around noon.

Once they were there, Mike lost no time getting Fox up and then the 
four of them had a hearty sandwich lunch of cold cuts and salads. Mike 
was a freshman at Joe's college now and he was playing on the football 
team as well. They'd played their second game of the season the night 
before.

"I'm not a starter," Mike added quickly. "No freshmen are starting 
this year. But I got some playing time in both of our first two 
games."

"He played well," Joe echoed, giving his son a proud smile. "But it's 
a good team this year. You'll have to stay in peak form to get any 
significant playing experience this year. I think we're going all the 
way!"

"We're going to New York next weekend," Fox interrupted excitedly. "On 
a school trip. But maybe the weekend after that we can go to Danville 
and see the team play. Is that okay, Dad?"

They made arrangements to do so, then Joe told them he wanted to do 
some research at the national archives. "For the book that won't go 
away," he smiled. He'd been working on something about World War II 
for several years now but it never seemed to get done.

"Well, I'd like to go to the office for a few hours," the AD responded 
immediately. "And we've got tickets for the Caps game at 7:30. So can 
you guys amuse yourselves for a few hours? Or would you rather come to 
the District with us?" He was reluctant to bring Fox to the FBI 
building now. No one who saw him could miss the fact this was a 
younger version of the absent Special Agent. But they could go with 
Joe. . . 

"I'd rather not," Mike said grinning. "Been there. Done that. We could 
just hang around here, if that's okay. . . "

The two men left and the boys tossed a football around the backyard 
for a while, talking about the hockey game they'd see that night and, 
more importantly, the Redskins football game they'd see the next day. 
The phone rang a little while later and Fox ran to get it.

"Hi, Cat," he answered with a smile, then paused. "I'm just hanging 
out with my cousin . . . The mall? Well, I dunno. . . " He glanced at 
Mike and the older boy shrugged. 

Mike checked his watch and saw their fathers would not return for at 
least three hours. "If you want to, I've got my Dad's car. They only 
took one into town."

"Okay, we could go for a little while," Fox answered, pleased as all 
get out. Not bothering to leave a note or call either of their 
fathers' cell phones, they got the car and headed to the mall where 
met up with Cat and the rest of the crowd in the food court. Fox 
proudly introduced her to Mike. 

Cat had very short, bleached blonde hair, kohl-rimmed eyes and was 
wearing hip-hugger jeans and a short sweater that showed off her 
pierced belly button. She gave Mike a brilliant smile but then trained 
her attention back on Fox. "I'm so glad you could come," she breathed. 
"I would hate a whole weekend we didn't get to see each other."

Mike did everything he could to keep from rolling his eyes but Fox 
drank in every word. They all had a Coca-Cola then started to stroll 
through the mall. Jarrod Kelly and Dylan Kane were with the group, 
along with several girls who were friends of Cat's. They spent some 
time in the music store, then Mike saw a Foot Locker and remembered he 
needed a new pair of running shoes. He excused himself, promising to 
meet up with Fox at 4 o'clock in the food court where they'd first met 
his friends. They wanted to get home in plenty of time to go to the 
game that night.

But at 4:15 p.m., Mike was there, tapping his foot agitatedly. Fox was 
nowhere to be seen and neither were his friends. He got himself a 
bottle of cold water and sat down again, knowing it would be better to 
wait than to wander around looking for his younger cousin. He was a 
little anxious because they had not gotten permission from either of 
their fathers for this trip and now it was becoming likely the two men 
would be home before they were.

Finally, at 4:35, he spotted Fox coming down an escalator and went to 
meet him. Cat's arm was draped across his shoulders and he had an arm 
around her waist. "Oh, brother," Mike whispered to himself as he 
approached them. "You don't have the experience to handle her, kid!"

And he knew he was right the minute he saw Fox. The boy had a pained 
expression on his face that was hard to miss . . . and a brand new, 
gold earring in his right ear lobe.

"You got your ear pierced?" Mike exclaimed automatically, his eyebrows 
rising involuntarily.

"Yeah. Do you think . . . it looks okay?" Fox asked him, not wanting 
to give voice to the real question.

"I think it looks totally cool," Cat gushed beside him. "It was 
awesome how you just made up your mind and did it, right then and 
there!"

Mike suspected Fox hadn't 'made up his own mind' about that pierced 
ear but he let that one go. He knew the kid's real question was about 
what his Dad would say. And Mike suspected that would be a lot. And he 
realized with a sinking feeling that he was also probably in trouble 
at this point. 

"We gotta go, Fox," he said quickly. "We have tickets for the hockey 
game tonight, remember?"

Fox nodded absent-mindedly but Cat grabbed his arm. "Don't go now," 
she whined plaintively. "We're all going to the arcade--"

"No, we gotta go, Fox," Mike interrupted, unwilling to let this get 
further out of hand. "Now!"

Fox nodded and started to walk after him. Cat grabbed his arm and gave 
him a kiss, surprising him with a great deal of tongue, Mike thought. 
He waited a few seconds, then spoke again as he started to jog for the 
exit. "Let's go, Fox."

On the drive home, Fox was silent and lost in his own thoughts. Mike 
knew what they had to be. "Did you ever ask your Dad about getting an 
earring?" he finally questioned the boy in the passenger seat.

"No. I never thought about it before," Fox answered truthfully. "It 
was just a . . . spur of the moment decision. . . ."

They pulled into the driveway of the house at 5:15 and saw Skinner's 
jeep already in the garage. The two boys made their way into the house 
and found the Skinner brothers sitting in the family room. They each 
had a beer and were watching a baseball game on television.

"You guys think you could have left a note?" Joe asked immediately. 
"Or called to say where you were going?" His voice was calm but Mike 
knew immediately he'd broken one rule about keeping people informed 
about his plans. And he knew Fox and Uncle Walter had to have a 
similar rule.

"Sorry, Dad," Mike answered immediately. "I remembered I needed new 
running shoes and we took a quick trip to the mall. We didn't think it 
would take this long . . . "

Skinner knew right away that Fox must have run into Cat at the mall. 
"Did you meet some of Fox's friends there?" he asked casually. Mike 
had come into the room and stood between the two men but Fox was 
hanging back in the doorway between the family room and the kitchen. 
In the shadows.

"Yeah. Jarrod and Dylan. Cat and Delia. . . ," Mike responded. "We 
just hung a while and . . . shopped. Had something to drink. . . ." 
His voice trailed off and he noticed Skinner was watching Fox 
carefully. <Oh, this is gonna be ugly!>

"Fox, come in here," the AD finally said, curious about what was going 
on with the boy. Fox started at the sound of his name but he walked 
into the family room, carefully keeping his right side to the wall 
away from the others. "What's the matter with you anyway? Got a crick 
in your neck or something?"

Fox gave Mike a look that begged for help but the older boy shrugged 
imperceptibly that he had no help to offer. Hanging his head, Fox took 
another step closer to his father.

Both Joe and Walter had seen the look that passed between the two boys 
and now both their 'father antennas' were up and twitching. Joe saw it 
first and his mouth opened wordlessly. Skinner saw his reaction and 
took a closer look at the boy in front of him. It took another couple 
of seconds but then he saw it, a sparkling gold ring hanging from the 
boy's newly pierced ear.

Skinner stared, stone-faced for a few more seconds, then he swallowed 
back his first response and spoke to the boy calmly. "Do you have 
anything you want to tell me, Fox?"

Fox's eyes filled with tears but he blinked them back. "Y-yeah. I 
guess. I, um, I got my . . . ear pierced today," he said very quietly. 

"Yes, you did," Skinner affirmed. He sighed loudly. "Did we ever talk 
about this idea?"

"N-no."

"So you didn't think you needed permission, is that it?" Skinner's 
voice was low and calm but that worried the boy more than if he was 
yelling.

"I didn't th-think. . . " He stopped, then his rebellious streak 
asserted itself. "I wanted my ear pierced for a long time! But I knew 
you'd never let me do it!" he yelled, breaking the quiet tension in 
the room. "You never let me do anything!"

Mike's eyebrows rose at that lie. He knew Fox had never considered it 
before today. And he suspected it was all Cat's idea to begin with.

"Watch your mouth, young man," Skinner spoke to him sternly, letting 
his voice rise for effect. "You're already in enough trouble here--"

"For what? Putting a hole in my own ear? It's my body--"

"And until you're 21, I decide what you can and can't do with it," 
Skinner told him, rising from the sofa. Fox took two steps backward 
and held the rest of his remarks. "I suggest you get yourself upstairs 
right now, mister. Before I decide to show you who's boss, right here, 
in front of everyone!"

Fox's eyes filled with surprised alarm and he backed out of the room 
and fled up the stairs. Joe immediately turned to Mike, who'd been 
watching it all with growing trepidation.

"And where were you when he took a walk off the deep end, Michael?" 
Joe asked his son pointedly. "You're older and should know better . . 
. "

Skinner began to protest but Joe held up his hand. "I asked you a 
question, young man."

"Dad, I-- I went to the Foot Locker! I only left him alone for an hour 
or so. I didn't think he'd do something like . . . I would never have 
let him . . . Damn! I know! We would never have been at the stupid 
mall if I hadn't driven us over! Without permission! I'm s-sorry. . . 
."

"I think you oughta go upstairs and wait for me, Michael Alexei," his 
father said firmly. Mike looked at Skinner and then back to his 
father. Then he quick-stepped out of the room and they could hear his 
feet on the wood staircase. Then the door to the guest room opened and 
closed behind him.

Joe and Walter looked at each other, expressionless, for about three 
seconds. Then they both dissolved into laughter that brought tears to 
their eyes. 

"Oh, man, Walt," Joe said between gasps. "You should have seen the 
look on your face when you saw that earring!"

Skinner bit down on his lower lip, trying to keep from chuckling as he 
spoke. "And did you ever see anyone look less like they wanted their 
ear pierced? You should have seen him when I gave him the shot this 
morning. How the hell he got up the nerve to let someone punch a hole 
in his ear, I can't begin to guess!"

The two of them laughed themselves out for another minute or two, then 
the reality of the situation hit them. "I don't think Mike did 
anything that wrong, Joe," Skinner said firmly. "Taking the car to the 
mall without permission. You can't hold him responsible for what Fox 
did when he wasn't with him."

"I know," Joe agreed. "But he is the older one of the two. He bears 
some responsibility. And I don't like the idea of him taking himself 
and Fox off without even leaving a note, let alone asking if it was 
okay."

"I hear you. Just don't lay into him too hard. No one could have 
predicted Fox would do something like that," Skinner sighed. "And what 
am I gonna do about that earring?" He looked at his brother, hoping 
for some evidence of his greater experience being a parent.

"Well . . . I have a rule that Mike can't do anything 'permanent,' 
piercing, tattoos, whatever, until he's 21," Joe told him. "I hope by 
then common sense will prevail."

"I never even thought to raise it as an issue . . . " Skinner said 
quietly. "It never occurred to me he might do anything of the sort."

"Well, brother, you better think about it now. Head shaving, tattoos, 
body piercing, hair bleaching & dyeing. Any one or a combination of 
the above might occur," Joe told him as he rose. 

"By the way, Joe," Skinner said rising to follow him upstairs. "You 
know the age of majority in this country is 18. After that, you have 
no jurisdiction as a parent."

"I know," his brother nodded with a smile. "But so far none of my kids 
has called me on that point of law. And I heard you fall back on '21' 
with Fox, if I'm not mistaken."

"Yeah," his brother chuckled. "I guess Dad's rules never go away, do 
they? And anyway, even to this day, I think I'd check with him if I 
suddenly wanted to get a tattoo. Or an earring, for God's sake!"

Joe entered the guest room and closed the door. Skinner went to Fox's 
room farther down the hall, opened the door and went in. The boy was 
sitting on the bed, back up against the headboard. The AD came to a 
stop halfway into the room. He jammed his hands into the pockets of 
his jeans and looked at Fox.

"So," he said. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Fox crossed his arms across his chest and shook his head. 

Skinner reached over and pulled the desk chair away from the desk, 
turning it around and placing it in the center of the room. He sat 
down, continuing to stare at the boy. In less than a minute, Fox grew 
anxious and started to sweat.

"What?" he blurted out. "I know you didn't want me to get this 
earring. I-- I should have asked first. But you would have said no, 
wouldn't you?"

"I don't know what I would have said. I would certainly have talked 
about it with you. What made you want to get your ear pierced, Fox?"

The kid shook his head. He didn't want to explain because he didn't 
have a good reason for wanting it. 

"It's going to be a problem when you're swimming. You can't remove an 
earring for the first couple of weeks, right? But your coach won't 
want you to have anything that creates drag . . . "

Fox's eyes lit with that new information. He hadn't considered it. And 
the lady at the store told him he couldn't remove the earring for 
three weeks or the hole would close up. 

Now what?

"Um, I guess I-- I guess I didn't think about that."

"And are you gonna sit there and tell me you didn't think you and I 
should discuss something like this? Before you did it?"

Fox's eyes snapped to the door as the sound of a strapping worked its 
way down the hall. Mike was getting a reminder about his 
responsibilities, and the rules he was expected to follow. Skinner 
felt bad but he could see from the look on Fox's face, the boy felt a 
thousand times worse.

"Uncle Joe's . . . punishing Mike? Because of me?" he asked anxiously.

"Uncle Joe's punishing Mike for breaking a rule. And for his part in 
today's fiasco."

Tears sprang to the young man's eyes and Skinner could see all the 
rebellion go out of him. "I didn't mean . . . I never wanted Mike to 
get in trouble, Dad! Or me! I-- I never wanted this earring anyway! I 
just didn't want Cat to think I was too chicken to get it!"

Skinner nodded. It helped to hear this was not a driving ambition of 
the boy's, to have a pierced ear. He had been concerned that he'd 
missed a signal somewhere. "Okay. So what are we going to do about 
it?" he asked Fox.

"I don't know! I-- I don't think I can take it out. I'm . . . afraid 
it might hurt!"

Skinner bit the inside of his lip to keep from laughing. "Come here," 
he told the boy. Fox reluctantly got up from the bed and came to his 
side. "Let me take a look at it." He inspected the earring and saw it 
was a simple clasp. Fox tensed as he undid the clasp and slid the 
earring out. "There. That wasn't so bad. It'll take no more than a 
couple of days for the hole to close."

Fox bit down on his lower lip and nodded. He appeared relieved to have 
the thing out of his ear. 

"Actually, I think the sore butt you're gonna get will take longer to 
go away than that hole," Skinner told him with a smile. He pointed to 
his lap and instructed Fox to give him his belt.

The boy sighed dramatically, then did as he was told. He unbuttoned 
his jeans and slid them and his briefs down to his knees. Then he let 
Skinner guide him over his lap, already sniffling in anticipation.

"What's this strapping for, Fox?" the AD asked him quietly.

"For getting my ear pierced! Without permission," he answered, trying 
not to speak too loudly or cry out. He hoped to keep Mike and Joe from 
knowing he was being punished.

Skinner recognized the boy's intent and knew it was a lost cause. He 
laid three more burning licks across the boy's upturned cheeks. "What 
else?"

"For um, for going to the mall! Ouchh! Without permission! And -- and 
for OWW! OUCH!! AHHH! For lying about wanting to get my ear pierced! I 
never-- OUCHH!! I NEVER WANTED A PIERCED EAR! OWWW! I'M SORRY, DAD! 
I'M SORRY!"

The AD knew he'd made his point, powerfully. So he laid one more 
stroke across the boy's red bottom and stopped, turning him upright 
and embracing him tightly. "Okay," he said, "it's okay now, son."

He let Fox cry out his remorse and regret until the boy was calm again 
Then he gave him one more reassuring squeeze and helped him readjust 
his clothing before sending him off to wash his face. Skinner headed 
back downstairs. He could hear someone in the hall bathroom and 
suspected it was Mike. As he thought, Joe was waiting for him in the 
kitchen.

"So, we're still all going to the Caps game tonight, aren't we?" his 
brother asked as soon as he entered.

"Yeah. It's a little late to get dinner first but we can eat at the 
game, if it's okay with you," the AD replied. "That is, if you think 
Mike is up for it."

"I think he'll do whatever he's told for the near future!" Joe 
chuckled. "And I would hate to disappoint either of them about the 
game tonight. Or tomorrow. They've both been punished enough."

Skinner nodded and gave his brother an evil grin. "Of course, those 
hard, plastic seats at the Cap Center will serve as a continuous 
reminder, if they haven't!"

The Wheatley Academy
Alexandria, Virginia
Saturday at 6:54 a.m.

Fox opened the door and sprinted from the car as soon as Skinner had 
pulled into a parking space. The older kids in the school were due to 
leave for New York City at 7 o'clock and the boy had been wired with 
anticipation since he was awakened.

"Fox!" Skinner called after him. "Your bag!"

"Oh, right," the boy said, giving him a sheepish grin. He opened the 
back door of the jeep and took out the weekend bag they'd packed for 
him. Skinner's was sitting on the seat next to it. The AD had been 
roped into accompanying the 50 kids and several teachers and other 
parents on the annual Columbus Day weekend trip. Fiona had finessed it 
so beautifully he couldn't be mad, or disappointed. And the truth was, 
he would not have felt secure having Fox go off on his own anyway.

Skinner took the Krispy Kreme Donuts bag from the console next to him. 
Then he got his own bag out of the back seat and slung it over his 
shoulder. Locking the car, he strolled up to where the two buses were 
parked and waiting. He dropped his own bag on the sidewalk with all 
the others lined up there, then walked up to Fiona Barefoot. She was 
checking something off on a clipboard and Skinner pulled a large cup 
of coffee out of the bag and handed it to her. Then he took the second 
one out, lifted off the lid and took a long sip.

Fiona's face had lit up when he gave her the coffee. "Oh you are an 
amazing man," she said warmly. "How did you know I didn't have time 
for coffee this morning?"

"I have ways of finding out things," he said with a mysterious smile. 
"Actually, I figured you'd be too busy and frankly so were Fox and I. 
We had donuts for breakfast. Not exactly a health-conscious choice."

"But good! At least once in a while!" she agreed. He offered his 
assistance and she gave him a job, being 'bus leader' for the first 
coach. "That way we can ride together."

He was pleased by that, although the term 'bus leader' didn't thrill 
him in the least. <This doesn't mean I'm the one in charge of roll 
call, does it?> But in short order, all the kids were accounted for 
and the two buses pulled out of the parking lot, barely ten minutes 
behind schedule.

The kids in the back of the bus cranked a boom box up right away and 
Skinner groaned softly. He got to hear plenty of hip-hop music lately, 
thanks to Fox's growing interest in the kind of music his current 
peers appreciated. But at 7:15 a.m., there was something ungodly about 
it. He could see the two women sitting in the seat across the aisle 
felt the same way. 

Fiona took it all in stride, though. She walked to the back of the bus 
and chatted with the kids a bit. Then the music was turned down a 
notch and she came back to the front and took her place next to 
Skinner.

"How much longer till we get there?" he asked her in the best 
imitation of a whine the man could pull off. It was decidedly against 
his nature.

"Well, if we're lucky and don't hit any traffic, it should be about 
five hours," she said with a half-smile. The man couldn't whine if his 
life depended on it.

They made excellent time and were pulling up to the Sheraton New York 
at just past 12:30. The room assignments had been made on the bus and 
each kid had a tag to put on his or her luggage with their room number 
on it. The boys would be on the 18th floor and the girls on the 20th.

"And the 19th floor is our Demilitarized Zone, is that how it goes?" 
Skinner whispered to Fiona when he heard about the arrangements.

"No, the 19th floor is our best hope to making this a relatively 
chaste weekend," she laughed. "Other than putting them in separate 
hotels! And I've put you in the room by the elevator, so you can see 
comings and goings. I have the same room on the 20th floor. And there 
are parents or teachers in rooms by all the fire stairs, too."

Skinner was impressed by the logistical decisions she'd made. If he 
had to secure a hotel, he'd have done much of the same things. Only 
his experience had never required securing guests from getting into 
each other's rooms before. Until now.

They dropped the luggage at the hotel and headed to the Upper East 
Side by bus. That's where the Metropolitan Museum of Art was located 
and they had plans to eat lunch in the museum cafeteria. It was a 
noisy and chaotic experience but Skinner enjoyed seeing what a good 
time Fox was having. Then the group met their tour guides and headed 
into the museum proper. Three hours later, they'd seen the Egyptian 
wing, the American Wing and the European Gallery as well as several 
special exhibits. The kids were exhausted and they got back on the 
buses and went back to the hotel. 

Their rooms were ready now and so they spent the next hour settling 
in. Skinner made a point of gathering the boys together in the hallway 
where all their rooms were located and letting them know the rules. 

"Nobody leave the floor without telling Mr. Williams or me," he said 
nodding at the young Drama teacher who'd accompanied them also. They 
were the only men, so there was also a class mother stationed on the 
floor and Skinner included her although she was settling into her room 
at that moment. "Or Mrs. Ferguson. No one goes up or down the fire 
stairs unless there's a fire or some other emergency. They're alarmed, 
so don't think we won't know. And last . . . " he scanned the cluster 
of boys crowded around, looking them all in the eye. "Everybody have a 
good time!"

The boys dispersed, laughing. Fox was assigned to a room with Jarrod 
Kelly, Dylan Kane and another boy named Tyler Ashton. Tyler was the 
bespectacled, studious type Skinner saw immediately. And he was glad 
to see Fox and Tyler seemed to have a good rapport. Perhaps there'd be 
a voice of reason in that room. The other three were good-looking jock 
types and he could see the girls on the bus had their eyes on all of 
them.

He sighed as he went into the room to unpack a few things. Leaving his 
door propped open, he contemplated the dynamic he'd watched on the bus 
trip. Cat had hung on Fox the entire route, whispering in his hear, 
brushing the hair off his face, leaning on his shoulder for a nap. He 
thought her friend Delia was dating Jarrod, but she appeared to have 
eyes for Dylan, at least to Skinner's reckoning. 

And Dylan Kane was a kid with very few boundaries in his life. His 
parents had let the 16-year-old have an unsupervised party several 
weeks earlier, one in which alcohol and marijuana were present. Fox 
had told Skinner those details during his punishment tour after being 
picked up by the police at that party. The AD had thought long and 
hard about forbidding him to hang out with Dylan but his instincts 
told him that would only make the boy more appealing in Fox's eyes 
currently.

<Who are you kidding, Walter? Even as an adult, Mulder couldn't wait 
to get to anything he was forbidden to go near!> 

His phone rang at that moment. It was Fiona, telling him to bring the 
boys down to the lobby in ten minutes. They had dinner plans, then 
tickets to see "Saturday Night Fever" at a Broadway theater at 8 p.m. 
"So now I know what this 'bus leader' deal is all about," he told her 
with amusement. "I'm the wrangler for 24 teenage boys for the entire 
weekend, right?"

"And I can't think of anyone I'd rather see in a pair of chaps and 
spurs," she purred before hanging up. Skinner found himself smiling as 
he went to gather up his charges. Talking to her did that to him 
often, he'd noticed.

Dinner was actually quite good. They went to an Italian place in heart 
of the Theater District, just a block from the show. It served good, 
southern Italian cuisine family style and their group had a fine meal 
and just made it to the theater in time. Then the show itself was an 
experience. Not a classic Broadway show, it was based on the 70's 
movie with which all of the kids seemed to be familiar.

Skinner had seen the original movie once and not thought about it 
again in twenty years. "Whoever thought of making this a Broadway 
show?" he whispered to Fiona halfway through the first act.

"I don't know," she whispered back. "Same guy who thought Bee Gees 
songs would make great show tunes, I guess!"

Her musical assessment was on target but the show turned out to be 
entertaining nevertheless, the dancing was outstanding and the kids 
got into it all. They danced in their seats during the performance and 
then got up and danced in the aisles when the show ended and the cast 
came out to take its bows to the tune of "Night Fever." Skinner 
couldn't help smiling at Fox and the rest of them trying to disco 
dance. <When the 70's died, I thought it took Disco with it for good.>

Fiona leaned in close to him and spoke quietly into his ear. "I seem 
to recall you doing the hustle at Joe and Nora's wedding. Still 
remember how to do it, Walt?"

Skinner found himself grinning from ear to ear. "Well, it's been a 
while but . . . I think we could show these kids a thing or two." And 
they did, finding space in the aisle to dance along with about half 
the rest of the audience while the curtain calls continued. 

After about 15 minutes of this, the cast and orchestra called it quits 
and they all walked back to the hotel. It was a cool, clear evening 
and the streets were crowded with theater-goers scurrying for their 
cars and hotels. The walk took about 10 minutes and by 11:30 they were 
back in their rooms.

After such a long day, Skinner hoped the entire crowd would be as 
weary as he but it took until long after midnight to get the boys into 
their own rooms and assure himself that they'd stay there. The last 
room he checked was Fox's and the boys were sprawled on the beds and 
chairs, watching TV. He raised an eyebrow but quickly recognized Fox 
was worried that he might tell them all to go to bed. So he refrained, 
simply reminding them that they had to be up and ready to go by 9 a.m. 

"We're not gonna go to breakfast with everyone," Dylan told him. 
"We're just gonna order room service here, okay Mr. Skinner?"

Skinner had already begun to doubt the wisdom of letting Fox room with 
Dylan and now he was certain it was a bad idea. He shook his head.

"No, Dylan," he answered firmly. "You guys can call for room service 
earlier if you want to, but we're all going down to the breakfast 
buffet at 9 o'clock."

The boy tensed a little but then shrugged acceptance. Skinner reminded 
them they should try to get some sleep, then left the room, thinking 
that he was sure no one said 'no' to Dylan very often. If ever.

As Skinner shut the door, Dylan tossed a bed pillow at Fox who was 
sprawled on the chair in the corner. "So, Fox," Dylan teased. "Is your 
Dad doing it with Mrs. Barefoot, or what?"

Fox turned pink and tried to ignore the question but Dylan was 
persistent. "I mean, she's hot, don't you think? I bet they're doin' 
it!"

"I d-don't know," Fox stammered. "And I don't think you should be 
talking about Mrs. Barefoot like that. It's not . . . too nice." He 
didn't know if they were 'doing it.' In fact, he didn't even want to 
think about the possibility. 

Dylan leaned back against the headboard and gave Jarrod a meaningful 
look. "Oh yeah," he said. "They're doin' it."

Across the hall, Skinner was attempting to relax but not let down his 
guard, a feat he'd never accomplished in any guard duty assignment 
he'd ever had. He knew from the noise level that most of the boys 
stayed up well into the early hours but by 2 a.m. the floor had gone 
silent. He drifted off to sleep shortly thereafter and woke at his 
normal 6 a.m. 

Sunday was a whirlwind of activity, too. The Statue of Liberty first 
thing in the morning, then Ellis Island. Lunch at the South Street 
Seaport. Then they all headed uptown on the subway to visit the Museum 
of Natural History. Skinner thought privately that the idea of 
corralling and tracking 50 teenagers on the subway was terrifying but 
Fiona told him they'd done it before. They boarded the express train 
at the South Ferry station and all went well until they reached Grand 
Central Station. There the group had to transfer to a local train so 
that they could get off at the station near the museum. 

The Wheatley crowd milled together on the platform, waiting for a #1 
or #9 train to come through. One arrived a few minutes later and the 
adults herded the kids into the train. Skinner was mentally counting 
the 12 he'd taken primary responsibility for and saw that Dennis 
Williams was doing the same as they pushed the group forward through 
the open doors.

He realized quickly that Fox was missing, along with one other boy and 
began to look around the train frantically. Had they taken seats 
already?

"Mr. Skinner?" Tyler broke into his concentration. "They're still back 
on the platform. Cat wanted to buy some gum."

Skinner looked back onto the platform through the open doors and saw 
Fox, Dylan, Cat and Delia running for the train. The girls were 
laughing hysterically as was Dylan but Fox looked seriously worried. 
The doors closed as the kids were still fifteen feet away and Skinner 
felt the train begin to move. He saw the expression on Fox's face and 
thought for a split second that the kid might pass out.

Skinner went up to the door and looked at them through the glass pane. 
"Stay 

here," he said exaggeratedly, pointing his finger at them. "Right 
here. Stay here until I get back!" The train pulled out and Skinner 
found himself praying his message got through.

"Well, now what?" Cat said, a note of delight in her voice. "We'll 
just have to figure out what to do on our own, I guess."

"Yeah," Dylan agreed with an evil grin. "What a horror, huh?"

They laughed loudly and Cat offered them each a stick of gum. "I 
didn't want to go to some boring museum anyway. What should we do 
instead?"

Fox looked at her incredulously. "We should stay right here. That's 
what my Dad said--"

"Oh, come on, Fox!" she answered in a teasing voice. "He doesn't 
really think we're gonna hang around here. . . " She looked around the 
station pointedly. "I mean, it's full of bums and homeless people and 
it's smelly and dirty. . . ."

Fox didn't think this station was any different than anyplace else 
they'd been in the city. There was one lone homeless person at the end 
of the station, bothering no one. "My Dad said--"

"Come on, Fox," Dylan broke in. "What are you worried about? We'll 
catch up with them at the hotel later. . . "

Fox shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea," the boy said, 
not exactly sure he wanted anyone to know he was not willing to 
disobey Skinner. He was torn between what he knew was right and what 
everyone else wanted to do.

"You're not afraid, are you?" Cat asked him. "I've been in New York a 
lot with my mother. It's not that scary, really."

"I'm not afraid," Fox answered automatically. "It's just that . . . my 
D-- they'll be worried about us if we're not here when someone comes 
back. And . . . and I wanted to see the Planetarium next to the 
museum."

"Oh, God, Fox!" the girl said with dramatic gestures and a heavenward 
gaze. "I can't believe you want to do something so . . . lame! Well, 
I'm going shopping. What about you two?" She looked at Delia and Dylan 
pointedly and they both laughed and nodded. 

"I-- I don't think that's a good idea," Fox said again. "I'm staying 
here--"

"What are you worried about, Fox?" Dylan asked him, slapping him on 
the back. "I mean, jeez. You act like Daddy's gonna spank you or 
something."

Fox fought to maintain an outward look of nonchalance. It unnerved him 
how close Dylan had gotten to his real fear. "Yeah, right," he said, 
shaking his head. "I just don't want to . . . worry people, that's 
all." 

The other kids tried for another couple of minutes to convince him but 
by now Fox had dug his heels in. He sat down on a bench and crossed 
his arms. The other three finally gave up and headed down the platform 
slowly, thinking he'd probably change his mind and follow. When he 
didn't, Cat came back and made one more attempt to lure him. "I know 
some great hang-out places, Fox," she said, taking something out of 
her handbag "And I got us all fake ID's, so we can drink. What do you 
say?"

She held them out to him. They were photo ID's that looked like 
District of Columbia driver's licenses. The one on top had his picture 
on it.

"I have a friend who can make these with a computer program," she 
smirked. "I cut out your picture from a photo someone took for the 
swimming team. There's one for Dylan, one for Delia, one for me . . . 
and one for you. An early birthday present, Fox, from me to you. So we 
can really party!"

Fox was growing tempted, and he was flattered that she'd remembered 
his birthday was coming up the following week. He could see she wanted 
him to come badly and the longer he waited, the dumber it seemed to do 
so. He got up just as downtown train pulled into the station. The 
doors opened and Skinner sprinted out. He had gotten off at the next 
station and caught the first downtown train back.

"Thank God you're all still here," he said as he took in the sight of 
the four of them. "You kids have to stay with the group. We could have 
lost you for hours."

Cat quickly put the fraudulent ID's back in her bag. "We're so glad 
you came back," she gushed at Skinner. "We were all getting worried 
that we didn't understand your message right."

They got on the next uptown train and toured the Museum of Natural 
History and the Planetarium with the rest of the group. Fox was 
secretly relieved it had worked out this way and he and Skinner spoke 
quietly for a few minutes out of earshot of the rest.

"Fox, I'm proud of you for doing what I told you," the AD told him. "I 
know the others might not have wanted to do that." He'd seen the other 
two at the end of the platform, obviously heading for an exit when he 
arrived. And Cat was too sugary sweet in her gratitude. It had the 
ring of insincerity to it, he knew.

"I-- Thanks," the boy mumbled. "But if we did get separated, we'd be 
able to find our way back to the hotel, Dad. Honestly."

"I know you would," Skinner told him, cuffing him lightly on the back 
of the head. "Nevertheless. Stay with the group."

By now it was clear that a changing of the guard had taken place with 
respect to Delia Westley. Jarrod Kelly seemed to be spending his time 
with some other girl in the class, and Dylan Kane had moved in on 
Delia. Skinner was struck by how fast these things happened with kids 
this age. 

Dylan and Jarrod seemed to be avoiding each other, which couldn't be 
easy when you were sharing a room. And Fox looked like he was having 
trouble deciding how to play the estrangement between the two. He was 
friends with both of them.

They had dinner at a Brazilian restaurant with live music and a dance 
floor. It was a festive place that reminded Skinner of Rio. Or New 
Orleans during Mardi Gras. They had a raucous meal, and after dinner a 
cake was brought to the part of the restaurant they'd been given. It 
was covered with lit sparklers and read "Happy Birthday Fox." The live 
band struck up the traditional birthday tune and the waiters and the 
rest of the kids all joined in. Skinner could see Fox was truly 
shocked and immensely pleased that someone had thought to arrange it.

In fact, so was the AD He threw Fiona a look of gratitude for 
remembering Fox's birthday was coming up on Wednesday. After cake, and 
coffee for those who wanted it, they returned to the hotel. 

There was one more stop planned for the next day, the Museum of Radio 
and Television. Then they'd start the journey home at 1 p.m. Fiona 
issued instructions to everyone to be ready to go at 9 o'clock in the 
morning, bags packed and outside their rooms. Then they all retired 
for the night.

Skinner was exhausted himself and he suspected most of the kids were 
too. He gave them all time to settle down and by 11:30 it appeared 
everyone was down for the night. So he took himself off to bed, too, 
hoping for a longer night's rest than the night before.

Across the hall, in room 1836, the phone rang at 11:45. It was Cat, 
calling Fox. But Dylan answered first and she told him what she was 
calling about. "Hey, that's an awesome idea, Cat," Dylan whispered, 
shaking Fox awake in the bed beside him.

"Wha-what?" the boy answered. He'd been asleep all of twenty minutes 
but he'd fallen into a deep slumber.

"Cat's on the phone. She knows a club that's open all night. And she 
has those ID's so we can get in. What do you say?"

Fox's eyes widened. "Are you kidding? We'll get in so much trouble--"

Dylan listened to something from the phone, then he answered. "Okay, 
hold on." He handed the phone to Fox. "You better explain to Cat why 
you're afraid to do anything. . . "

Fox colored deeply and took the phone. "Hi," he said quietly. Then he 
listened for a little while.

"It's not that," he said. "I-- I just don't know where this place is. 
Or how we're gonna get there--" He stopped and listened again for a 
while. Dylan was up and getting dressed, shaking his head.

"Who else are you gonna ask?" Fox said suddenly. Cat had hit on 
something that seemed to elicit a reaction like she intended. He hated 
the idea that she'd ask someone else to go in his place. "No. I guess 
. . . I guess we could go for a little while. . . "

The two boys dressed quickly, stopping only once when Jarrod woke and 
asked them what they were doing. He didn't say anything to Dylan but 
he whispered to Fox quickly when Dylan was in the bathroom. 

"Are you out of your mind?" he said. "I've heard of the Tunnel. It's 
got a bad reputation, Fox. Your Dad's gonna go ballistic when he finds 
out."

"He's not gonna find out," Fox said, with more bravado than he 
actually felt. "We'll be back in a little while."

The boys opened the door and quietly snuck into the hall, silently 
closing the door behind them. Then they went to the elevator, pressed 
the call button and waited with baited breath for it to come. They met 
the girls in the lobby and left the hotel through the main entrance. 

They found a cab and Cat told the driver where they wanted to go. It 
turned out she had VIP passes for the club, another gift from her 
'friend,' and no one took a second look at the fake driver's licenses 
the kids flashed. Once inside, Fox was amazed at the sight and sound 
of the place.

Music blared in the dark club and people were jammed up against one 
another. The entire place was bathed in a red light that made everyone 
appear unreal. Dylan went to the bar and got four beers, handing them 
each one.

"Well, we finally got away from the 'field trip from hell'," Cat 
shouted clinking her bottle of Corona against Fox's. "I thought we'd 
be stuck for the entire weekend!"

"I was beginning to think so, too," Dylan shouted back, trying to be 
heard over the pounding music. They spent the next couple of hours 
dancing and drinking. Fox had three beers but what remained of his 
common sense kicked in around two o'clock anyway and he tried to talk 
the others into leaving and going back to the hotel.

"No!" Cat told him defiantly. "If you're gonna keep acting like such a 
little boy, I'm gonna find a real man." With that she stalked off to 
the dance floor to look for another partner. Fox followed her, trying 
to grab her hand.

"Come on, Cat," he yelled. "Come back. I'll stay as long as you want." 

Which turned out to be longer than the boy could have imagined. He was 
exhausted and worried sick, and feeling ill from the effect of the 
alcohol but he fought off the symptoms and tried to keep up with 
Dylan, Cat and Delia. 

Skinner awoke suddenly at 3:50 a.m. He saw the digital readout on the 
clock on the nightstand and wondered what had disturbed his sleep. 
Then a knock on his door told him what it was. He threw on a robe and 
went to the door.

Jarrod and Tyler were standing there, both in sweat pants and 
tee-shirts. "Is something wrong?" Skinner asked them immediately.

The two boys looked at each other guiltily. "Well, we don't know if 
anything's wrong but . . . " They explained in halted half-sentences 
what had happened earlier. And that Fox and Dylan had not yet 
returned. Skinner got the name of the place from them and sent them 
back to bed. Then he telephoned Fiona and told her the news.

"I'll come with you," she said quickly. 

"No. I can handle it," he told her. "I just wanted you to know, in 
case there's a problem. I'll call you if I run into anything."

"They've probably been drinking," she said quietly. 

"I know. I'll get them back here and drop the girls off with you. I 
don't know how you handle this stuff with other parents."

"Well, some of the other parents in question probably won't be 
surprised," she said evenly. "Good luck. And call me if you need me."

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

The Tunnel Night Club
New York City
4:25 a.m.

Skinner had flashed his FBI badge at the door and been let in and 
guided around by the manager. They'd already checked several private 
rooms and now they were back in the main part of the club. Sweaty 
bodies bounced up and down to the beat of a dance tune that Skinner 
thought had already lasted for fifteen minutes, ever since he entered 
the place. The manager had asked a female security officer to check 
the ladies rooms and she came up to them now and reported that there 
were two 'possibly underage girls' in the ladies room. They were sick 
and half asleep.

"And there are two boys outside the ladies room," she added. "Also 
'possibly underage.'" 

Skinner knew she knew for sure but was protecting the establishment 
from possible legal or civil action. All he wanted, however, was to 
get the kids back to the hotel. He instructed the manager to get a 
couple of cabs to the front door. Then he told the female security 
officer to get the girls out of the ladies room. "I'll handle the 
boys," he said with authority.

Despite his half-stupor, Fox's face took on a look of abject terror 
when he saw who was making his way across the dance floor. The AD gave 
him a brief hug, then squatted down and looked into his eyes. Even in 
the dim light, he could see they were bloodshot. And you couldn't miss 
the smell of beer on the boy's breath. Dylan was nearly passed out and 
Skinner hoisted him up from the chair and threw an arm around his 
waist. "Let's go, Fox," he said evenly. 

Once outside, Skinner asked the female officer to get in the cab with 
the girls and accompany them back to the hotel. He prepaid the driver 
and showed the man his badge, just to make certain there was no 
problem. Then he got into the taxi with Fox and Dylan.

There was an angry silence in the back seat of the cab as they made 
their way back toward the hotel. Finally, Fox couldn't stand it any 
longer.

"I'm sorry, Dad," he whispered, trying to hold back tears.

"I'm sure you are," his father said. "And you'll be even sorrier when 
we get home. We'll talk later." 

Skinner could see how worried the kid was though, and he reached over 
and caressed the back of his head. "Anything could have happened to 
you, Fox," he said softly. "We'll talk more about it tomorrow. After 
we get home."

The next morning, Skinner stayed behind at the hotel with the boys and 
another parent stayed with the two girls until check-out time. The 
four kids slept until it was time to go. The ride home was subdued 
compared to the ride up on Saturday, with all of the kids realizing 
something had happened. They arrived in Alexandria at 6 p.m. and 
Skinner and Fox made it back to their house by 6:30.

"Are you hungry?" the AD asked him once they were in the house. They 
had not spoken about the night before since the cab ride.

"No," Fox answered truthfully. His stomach was in knots, waiting for 
the ax to fall.

"Well, I want you to have a glass of milk then," Skinner told him 
firmly. "You've barely eaten anything all day. And that's not good . . 
. when you're hung over."

Fox flinched at the term. He knew without a doubt that drinking was an 
offense that brought severe punishment. And sneaking out. He took the 
glass of milk Skinner offered and drank it as quickly as he could.

"Wait for me upstairs."

Fox nodded tentatively, then began to walk slowly toward the stairs. 
He picked up speed as he approached them, then he took them steps two 
at a time and raced for his bedroom. Flinging himself down on the bed, 
he found himself in tears, dreading what would come next.

Skinner let him stew for about 15 minutes. He'd given this a great 
deal of thought and knew he could not allow the boy to get away with 
any of the behavior of yesterday. This felt like a crossroads and he 
knew he was the only thing that was keeping the boy from heading down 
the wrong road right now. With Cat. And Dylan. He'd thought about it 
long and hard and knew it was time to put his foot down about Fox's 
continued friendship with them.

He walked through the open door of Fox's bedroom and the boy sensed 
his presence. He sat up and looked at Skinner, his face tear-streaked 
already. Skinner's heart began to soften but he knew that would prove 
disastrous for this headstrong, impressionable adolescent. So he 
steeled himself to do what he knew had to be done. 

"Well?" Skinner said, hoping the boy would take the opportunity to 
confess.

"I-- I don't know what to say," Fox said miserably. "I know . . . I 
shouldn't have snuck out. . . ."

"Then why did you?" Skinner asked him immediately.

"Because! Because everyone else was doing it . . . "

Skinner's hands went to his hips. "Stop. Everyone else was not doing 
it. Not even everyone in your room was doing it, son."

Fox hung his head at the correction. "I know. I guess . . . I guess I 
just didn't want Cat to think I was afraid to go. Or Dylan. . . ."

Skinner watched him for a solid thirty seconds. "You'll find, Fox, 
that that's usually the worst reason to do something," he said 
quietly. Then he began unbuckling his belt, slipping it through the 
loops in his jeans and doubling it over in his hand He took a seat on 
the bed.

"Take down your pants," he told the boy and waited for Fox to comply. 

"Please!" the boy pleaded with him. "I'm . . . I'm too old to be 
spanked! I don't want--"

Skinner's eyebrows rose and he pressed his lips together and stared at 
the boy. "Fox, don't make me tell you again. Or you will regret it."

The boy blinked and looked like he might protest again but instead he 
unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down. 

"Take them off," Skinner instructed him. 

Fox wasn't certain why but the man's voice brooked no protest. So he 
did as he was told and found himself laying across his father's strong 
thighs a moment later. Skinner hooked a finger in his shorts and 
hauled them down to the boy's knees.

"What's this punishment for?" the AD asked him succinctly, delivering 
the first three licks to the fleshiest part of the kid's bottom.

"Oww! For sneaking-- Ahhh! For sneaking out!" he replied, already 
crying. "Ouchhh! 

"Don't ever, ever, EVER, do anything like that again, Fox," Skinner 
told him, laying one burning stroke after another on the boy's 
backside. 

"I won't I WON'T! OUCHH! OHHH!" the boy responded, sobbing.

"And what about drinking, Fox?" Skinner asked. 

"I'm sorry! Ohhh! OWWW! I'll never do it again. I promise!" 

"And how did you get into that club, Fox?"

"Ahhhh! Unnhhhh I used a fake ID! I'm s-sorry! Oucchhh!"

"Don't ever do that again either, Fox," his father said as he 
continued to lay one lick after another across the boy's backside and 
upper thighs. "That's illegal. And dishonest."

He gave the boy another half dozen strokes. By then Fox's cheeks were 
glowing a bright red and there was real heat coming off the skin. The 
AD knew from personal experience his backside had to be stinging 
mightily. He finished with another three licks, all laid right on the 
part of his butt the kid sat on. He'd be returning to school tomorrow 
with a still sore bottom that would make sitting through his classes a 
discipline in its own right. And that was exactly as Skinner intended.

Fox was sobbing with each stroke as well and when the AD finished up, 
he dropped the belt on the bed beside him and pulled the boy up into a 
hug. Do you know how worried I was when I knew you were gone?" he said 
softly into Fox's sweaty hair. "Do you know the kinds of things that 
could happen to you, when I don't know where you are?"

Fox sobbed uncontrollably into the man's shoulder. Skinner held him 
for several minutes, the boy kneeling at the side of the bed, the man 
embracing him and rubbing his hand up and down Fox's back soothingly.

"I'm s-sorry, Dad," he said finally, his sobs slowing down to 
intermittent hitches.

"I know you are," Skinner told him gently. "And you're gonna be sorry 
for a while, I'm afraid, son." He took the boy by his arm and brought 
him to his feet, then he marched him over to the corner of the 
bedroom. "I want you to stand there and think about this situation you 
got yourself into, Fox. And what the rest of your punishment should 
be."

Fox started to turn around but the AD lifted the back of his tee shirt 
and issued a stinging slap to his bare bottom as a warning. Fox 
immediately turned back into the corner and sobbed.

"Now I'm going to require you to hold your shirt up in the back, Fox," 
he said. "So I have a clear shot at your bottom if I need to give you 
any further correction."

"You won't!" the boy cried. "I promise!"

"I don't know if I can trust you right now, Fox," the AD said, 
positioning the boy's hands so he was holding the tail of his shirt 
up. "And I'm not willing to take any chances."

Fox laid his head against the wall and sobbed miserably. Skinner 
stepped back and surveyed the boy, his underwear around his ankles and 
his stinging, red backside uncovered in this way. He found himself 
remembering a similar situation he'd found himself in many years 
before. 

His own father had only put him in a corner and made him display his 
punished backside twice. One time had been for drinking under age and 
Skinner had never done that again. The other had been for driving 
while intoxicated. And that was another thing he'd never done again in 
his life. So the AD knew this was an effective deterrent.

"I'll be back in a little while," he told the boy quietly. "And if I 
come back in here and find you doing anything other than what you're 
doing right now, you'll be back over my knee again before you know 
what hit you. I'll expect you to have good suggestions for the rest of 
your punishment so . . . start thinking!"

The AD came by the room several times over the next half hour and each 
time he saw the boy perk up and stand a little straighter. The next 
time he came by, though, Fox had slackened a little in holding up his 
shirt tail and Skinner strode over, raised it again and issued three 
stinging slaps to the boy's bottom. 

"I want this shirt up, Fox," he said after the third smack. 

"Okay!" the boy sobbed hurriedly. "I'll keep it up! I understand!"

In another ten minutes the AD returned and took a seat in the desk 
chair. "Now let's talk, Fox," he said. The boy began to turn around. 
"No. You stay right there. Facing the corner. I think it will help 
your concentration."

Fox turned back, lifting his shirt a little higher to make sure it was 
not slipping again. 

"Now, let's talk about the kind of punishment you think you deserve 
for that stunt last night."

The boy hesitated for about thirty seconds and, in a flash, the AD was 
on his feet and delivering another swat to his sore buttocks. "I 
thought of something! " Fox said quickly. "I think, um, a punishment 
tour!"

"Okay," Skinner said, settling back into the chair. "That's better. 
And I agree. How long?"

"Um, two weeks?" the boy asked tentatively. No answer was forthcoming 
and he held his breath.

"Two weeks is not a long time, Fox, given everything you did. Try 
again." 

"Three weeks?"

"That's better," Skinner said. "I think three weeks is good. What 
else?"

"A bedtime spanking?" the boy added, his voice almost a whisper.

"Well, that's part of a punishment tour, Fox," Skinner said. "I'm not 
counting that separately. What other punishment do you deserve?"

Fox felt tears coming to his eyes again. "I could write some lines, I 
guess."

"You guess?" the AD asked incredulously.

"I mean I should write lines. Five hundred lines of "I will never 
drink again."

Skinner smiled to himself. Mulder was always an extremist. "How about 
'I will never drink alcohol again until I'm twenty-one.' That seems 
more accurate." <And will take longer to write.>

The boy nodded, hoping that would do it.

"Anything else, Fox?"

"Um, I don't think so," he answered slowly, trying to gauge what more 
the man might want. 

"I see. Well, I think there's one other thing. You're not going to be 
hanging around with anyone much outside of school for the next three 
weeks because of your punishment tour. But I think you let Dylan and 
Cat lead you into making a really bad decision last night. Do you 
agree?"

Fox nodded but it was almost imperceptible.

"So I think we need to come up with a way to make sure that doesn't 
happen again. I'm not going to tell you you can't see Cat or Dylan any 
more. But there will be a cost to those friendships. From now on, when 
you spend time with Cat or Dylan during the day, I'm going to ask you 
to tell me about it that night. And depending on how much time you 
spend with them, we'll decide together how many whacks you'll get with 
the paddle."

"What?" the boy exclaimed. He'd made a paddle in the workshop in the 
garage, at Skinner's behest, a few weeks earlier. It stung a lot and 
he hoped that, with the thing hanging on the wall in the kitchen, the 
AD would forget it was a paddle and start to think of it as a kitchen 
decoration.

"That's right. We'll decide together. And I know I can trust you to 
tell me the truth, Fox. That's something I know about you, you're not 
a liar."

He let the words sink in, knowing that expectation would be a 
commitment the boy wouldn't easily break. It wasn't his nature.

The AD continued. "The whacks with the paddle will be delivered in the 
morning, before you go to school. So your stinging butt will remind 
you about the price you pay for choosing friends who try to lead you 
astray."

The boy was leaning his head against the wall now and fresh tears 
began to slide down his face. He was angry at himself for having 
gotten into so much trouble, and the punishment tour and additional 
punishments felt overwhelming to him at that moment. Skinner seemed to 
sense it.

He opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of Fox's pajama bottoms. Then 
he pulled the boy away from the wall and handed him the pajamas, 
pulling him into a tight embrace. 

"It'll be okay, Fox," he murmured as he hugged the boy fiercely. 
"Believe me. I've been through this myself. It's a tough lesson to 
learn but . . . it's a good lesson to learn early. Choose your friends 
wisely."

McClean, Virginia
Tuesday, October 12
8:53 p.m.

Walter Skinner was startled when his front doorbell rang as he was 
watching a baseball playoff game. <Which one of Fox's friends would 
show up at the door at this hour on a school night?> He shook his head 
as he went to answer it. He was beginning to question the sanity of 
all of their parents.

So he was take pleased and curious to find Fiona Barefoot standing on 
the front porch. He opened the wide wood door quickly. "Hi," he said, 
his voice registering the question at the tip of his tongue.

"I hope you don't mind," she replied quickly. "I was in the 
neighborhood and . . . I just need someone to vent to. Or a shoulder 
to cry on. . . ."

His face darkened with concern. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head, frustration etched in an uncharacteristic frown. 
"I just finished visiting the families of the other kids who went 
'AWOL' yesterday. And being told, in three different ways, 'Well, 
they're teenagers. What did you expect?' Honestly, I just feel like 
hauling off and slugging someone!"

Skinner's eyes lit with a touch of amusement. "So you came to visit 
me?" he asked, stepping back into a mock defensive stance.

"Well, not to slug you, of course," Fiona replied with a short laugh. 
She exhaled forcefully and shook her head. "Where's Fox?" she asked 
suddenly, realizing the boy might be within earshot. As angry as she 
was with the other parents, she did not want to share that information 
with him.

Now Skinner laughed. "He's being punished, Fiona. He's been asleep for 
over an hour."

Fiona's face registered surprise, and growing approval of his 
parenting techniques. Each emotion passed over her face like shadows 
cast by a flock of birds flying gracefully overhead. Then she smiled 
appreciatively. "Well, I knew I came to the right place."

A while later they were sitting in the family room. Fiona had a cup of 
tea and Skinner a second cup of coffee. He'd listened to her rant 
about the complete lack of concern or responsibility displayed by the 
parents of Cat, Dylan and Delia regarding their kids' New York City 
escapade.

"It's as if . . . they feel no sense of connection to the actions of 
their children," she finally concluded. "As if they were entities all 
on their own and the parents had no responsibility for who they are or 
what they do. It's so . . . sad. As angry as I was with the kids, I 
came away feeling . . . sorry for them, Walter. What kind of chance do 
they have?"

Skinner had watched her move through her anger as she told him the 
story and on into empathy for the kids, and despair over the sad 
reality of their lives. A single tear spilled out of one of her blue 
eyes and the AD reached up and gently brushed it away with his thumb. 
He could see she was depressed and he wanted badly to make it better.

"It's not your fault, Fiona," he said quietly. "And you can't make 
them better parents. All you can do is what you already do. Try to 
give the kids guidance and a sense of values in the hours you have 
them." He caressed her cheek as he spoke and she leaned into the 
strong hand, taking solace from his words and his touch. "You set an 
example of caring, responsible adulthood. Hopefully they'll learn 
something from that, even if their home lives are lacking."

Fiona closed her eyes and offered a silent prayer that his words would 
become reality. "Well, at least Fox has someone putting the brakes on 
his adolescent indulgences," she said quietly. "I can't believe I'm 
saying it, but I think you have a better sense of how to raise a son 
than Dylan's two parents combined. And they've had seventeen years of 
practice."

"Well, I can't take much credit for that, Fi," he said, shortening her 
name unconsciously. "I've had a lifetime of watching my Dad in action. 
Something I suspect Fox has come to regret!"

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

Wednesday, October 13
7:35 p.m.

Fox was finishing his homework at the counter in the kitchen, the dog 
curled in a ball at his feet, as Skinner cleaned up the remains of 
their dinner. It was Fox's birthday and the AD had let him choose the 
menu. Ribs from his favorite take-out place, corn on the cob, French 
fries. It had been a cholesterol nightmare but the boy had eaten 
heartily. And shared the ribs with Yoda as well.

They'd gotten in less than an hour earlier after a swim meet at which 
Fox had won all but one of his events. The boy's head was lowered over 
his work and the AD mused that, even at this tender age, Mulder had a 
knack for concentrated activity that blocked out all other stimuli. 
"Almost done with that homework?"

Fox looked up. "Yes, sir," he answered, closing the notebook. "I . . . 
I'm finished actually. I was just rereading--"

"Good," the AD said amiably. "Because I'm dying for some 
double-chocolate ice cream. Or maybe rum raisin. With hot fudge sauce 
and whipped cream. And maybe some sprinkles . . . " As he spoke, he 
took the items in question out of the freezer and the refrigerator and 
reached into the overhead cabinet for more. 

Fox's face reflected his surprise and delight. "I thought-- I mean, 
it's after 7:30 and . . . I just thought--"

"That you're supposed to go to bed?" Skinner laughed. "Well, as 
tonight is your birthday, I'm making an exception. The Yankee game's 
on. We've got lots of ice cream and assorted toppings. And there are a 
whole bunch of packages addressed to you in the family room--"

"There are?" Fox answered, jumping down from the stool on which he was 
sitting. "Why didn't you tell me?" He raced into the other room and 
yelped when he spotted the packages in question. The boy wasn't with 
the Skinner family on his birthday and so the Skinners had all sent 
his presents. They'd arrived at the ad’s office and he'd been 
transferring them to his car trunk all week. Today, he'd moved them 
into the house while Fox was washing up for dinner.

Skinner loaded up two bowls of ice cream and took them into the other 
room. Fox had already unwrapped a bunch of CD's, music and computer 
games, from Skinner's brother Andy. That came with a Chicago Bulls 
warm-up jacket. 

Next he went to the packages from Joe's family, then Jean's. 
Everything was on his 'list' of wants and desires. And finally, he 
opened the one from Skinner's parents. They'd sent a couple of books 
the boy had asked for and cash for him to buy something else 'you 
really want.' Fox's eyes were full of appreciation and excitement. 
He'd gotten everything he asked for and more.

"And . . . I can stay up and watch the Yankee game, too?" he asked, 
picking up one of the bowls and leaning back against the couch in 
satisfaction. "This is a great birthday!" The boy was only two days 
into a punishment tour. He hadn't expected a reprieve anywhere near 
this soon, no matter what day of the year it was.

"It's your birthday, kid," Skinner told him with a smile. "Today's an 
exception. Tomorrow we'll go back to reality." He reached behind the 
boy's head and took an envelope off the table in back of the couch. 
"And here's your present from me."

Fox took the envelope curiously. He opened it and began to read. The 
front cover of the card read "Happy Birthday Son" and the boy 
immediately noticed there was a personal note inside, scrawled in 
Skinner's heavy hand. 

"Dear Fox,

I know you may not always believe this, but I am very proud of you. 
And very happy that you are here with me. And even though you might 
occasionally do something I don't like, I always like and love you. 
And respect you for the young man you are, and will be. No matter what 
happens, that will never change. 

You told me once that you'd never been to the World Series so that's 
your birthday present, Fox. Whoever ends up playing, we're going. 
Because the best kid in the world deserves to see the best sports 
event in the world. And because there's no one in the world I'd rather 
see a game with. Happy birthday, son.

I love you. 

Dad

The boy's eyes were shining with tears as he put the card down and 
looked into Skinner's eyes. 

"Happy birthday, kid," the AD said huskily. He could see Fox was 
thrilled and touched and that moved him as well.

Some time later, the two of them sat watching the progress of the 
game, empty ice cream bowls on the coffee table in front of them. Two 
sets of sock-clad feet were crossed and resting on the table, long 
legs stretched out behind them. Fox had settled in next to the AD, and 
his head was resting lightly against the man's muscled upper arm. Yoda 
was asleep on the other side of Fox, his head pillowed on the boy's 
left thigh. Fox was quiet though, and Skinner wondered if he had 
fallen asleep too. 

He lifted his arm carefully and Fox turned his head. So Skinner 
wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him closer, letting the boy 
adjust himself so his head was leaning against his father's chest. The 
Skinner closed the arm around his chest and tousled his hair from 
behind. "Think you can make it to the end of the game?"

"Yeah! I can stay awake," Fox answered, smothering a yawn. "I was just 
. . . thinking is all. . . . "

"About what?"

"About how . . . . About how Mike and I are both . . . adopted. And 
Brian and Griffin aren't." Skinner's head swiveled toward the boy 
unconsciously at the sudden turn in the conversation. Fox had learned 
recently that the ad’s nephew Michael was adopted. Brian and Griffin 
were the sons of Skinner's younger brother, Andy. They were Andy's 
natural children. He waited to hear where Fox was going with this 
train of thought.

"I was trying to figure out . . . if there's a difference," he 
finished slowly. "You know, between me and Mike and Brian and Griffin. 
. . . "

Skinner was silent a long moment before replying. "Well," he said 
finally, "there's only one difference. But it's a big one."

He swore he could feel Fox flinch slightly. The boy tensed up as 
though he were wondering what would come next. Skinner sighed 
dramatically.

"Two of you . . . have a relatively good chance of having a decent 
head of hair after the age of thirty-five," he said solemnly.

Fox was silent a split second, then he snorted in surprise. "And which 
two would that be? Griffin still doesn't have any hair!"

"He's five months old," Skinner answered, giving the boy a hug from 
behind. "That's how it goes with the Skinner men. Bald in the 
beginning, bald in the end. We had to find you and Mike just to assure 
there'd be future generations of Skinners who aren't follicly 
challenged!"

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

Thursday, October 14
6:50 p.m.

Fox was running late this morning. The game had ended after midnight 
and so he'd gotten far less sleep than he needed. Skinner had to go 
into his room to wake him three times, finally resorting to pulling 
the covers off the bed to get him moving. Fox had groaned but finally 
headed, still half asleep, into the shower.

In a break with tradition, the AD had give him a one day parole from 
his punishment tour, letting him stay up late and even skipping the 
bedtime spanking last night. In return, this morning, Skinner was 
greeted with an overtired, cranky 17 year old. There was no such thing 
as a good deed going unpunished, the older man mused as he went about 
his morning routine. He let Yoda out into the yard, something Fox 
normally did but this morning he'd apparently forgotten all about the 
dog's needs.

The man and boy had a hurried breakfast of cold cereal and fruit and 
then the AD noted the time. "We have to leave soon, Fox," he told the 
boy crisply. "Get the paddle and let's talk about how many whacks you 
get this morning."

Fox's eyes widened in horror. "I—I--- that's not fair! Yesterday was 
my birthday!" he said quickly. 

"Yes, and I gave you a day off your punishment tour," Skinner 
answered. "Today's another day. How much time did you spend with your 
so-called friends and let's decide what that earned you in terms of 
punishment. Get a move on, Fox.."

The boy didn't move and Skinner shook his head. He rose and went to 
the wall behind the table, lifting the wood paddle Fox had crafted off 
the hook on which it hung. 

At this, the boy stood and began to protest more vehemently. "I don't 
see why I can't see them! They're my friends! They l-like me. . . . "

"And I like you," the AD told him calmly. "But I also love you. And 
want the best for you. And friends who will try to get you to do 
things you know are wrong are not real friends. There's a price for 
thinking people like that are your friends. You might as well learn 
that now, son.. We're running late. How much time, and how many 
whacks?"

Fox blinked back tears of frustration, setting his jaw and refusing to 
answer. Skinner merely stared at him and the boy began to fidget 
nervously. Finally, his better judgment won out.

"Oh, I don't know," he spat out. "An hour at lunch. Study hall with 
Cat. . . . And I hung out with Dylan after swimming practice until you 
came to get me."

"And how many whacks do you think you need to convince you that was 
too long?"

The boy rolled his eyes, testing fate. "I don't know," he said 
angrily. "None?"

Skinner grimaced. "Okay. I can see you're not being very cooperative 
this morning. I would have said five, but now I think eight at a 
minimum. Bend over, Fox," he said, waving toward the kitchen counter 
with the paddle in his right hand.

Fox looked at him incredulously. A split second of time felt like an 
eternity before he backed down and stomped over to the counter top. He 
leaned forward and buried his face in his folded arms.

"Very good," Skinner said. "I think you should count the whacks." He 
swung the paddle and felt it make firm contact with the boy's jeans 
clad bottom.

"Ow!" Fox protested loudly.

"How many is that?" the man asked succinctly.

"One!" he said, then a second whack was delivered. "Oucchh! Two!"

Skinner issued a third.

"Ohhhh! Three! Ahhhh! Four! Owww! F-five!" The boy was gulping back 
tears, trying not to let on how much his butt throbbed from the 
paddling. 

"Okay, that's what I would have given you if you'd behaved this 
morning, Fox," Skinner told him darkly. "Now here's the extras you 
earned with that attitude." He brought the paddle down on the boy's 
bottom smartly.

"Unhhh! S-s-six," he stammered, beginning to lose the battle as 
another whack met his throbbing but. "Ohhh! Pleeease! No more!" Fox 
cried out unintentionally.

"How many was that?" Skinner asked him patiently.

"S-six! No! Seven! That was seven!" His voice rose to the edge of 
panic.

"Seven is right. And here's the last one," the AD told him as he 
issued a final whack to the center of the boy's buttocks.

"OWWWW! Eight!" Fox cried, relieved that it was over even as the 
burning in his bottom was reaching a peak. 

Skinner reached over and grabbed the boy by the shoulder, pulling him 
into a hug. "That was your choice you know, Fox. You are in charge of 
who you spend time with during the day. And how much punishment it 
earns you when you don't choose wisely."

He felt the boy nod into his shoulder. Skinner could see he was 
recovering quickly but the man knew from experience his bottom would 
be a little sore throughout the day. A good reminder of what he could 
expect if he wanted to hang out with Cat and Dylan. 

"Go wash your face now," the man told him as he went to hang the 
paddle back up. "We need to get going."

The boy shuffled off to the bathroom off the kitchen, sniffling 
loudly. His body language told a story, not one the boy would be 
willing to put into words at this juncture.

"And Fox?" the AD called after him. 

The young man stopped and cast a dark look over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Tomorrow, lose the attitude. It'll go a whole lot easier, believe 
me."

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

Saturday night
7:30 p.m.

Skinner entered Fox's room and found him sitting at the desk in his 
bedroom, head down as he wrote furiously. The AD strolled over to 
stand behind him and saw he was writing the punishment lines he'd been 
assigned earlier in the week.

"I will never drink alcohol again until I am 21.

I will never drink alcohol again until I am 21." 

Finally Fox noticed Yoda had picked up his head from his perch on the 
bed. The boy glanced up in annoyance, throwing the pen down on the top 
of the desk as he spoke. "You know," he said to his father 
irritatedly, "with everything happening to me, how am I even supposed 
to know when I'm 21?"

Skinner reacted immediately to the to the tone of voice and the 
rebellious posture the boy displayed. "You'll be 21 when I tell you 
you're 21," he replied succinctly. "Bedtime."

Fox signed theatrically but refrained from rolling his eyes. He wanted 
the man to know he was annoyed but at the same time, he didn't have a 
death wish. 

Skinner was growing impatient with the attitude the boy had given him 
in the past few days. Each day he came home from school and blithely 
announced he'd spent time with his 'real friends' and each morning the 
AD delivered another paddling for exactly that reason. It appeared the 
routine was making no impact on him.

Each evening the boy spent a while standing in the corner of the 
kitchen, then he collected a bedtime spanking and was sent to bed at 
7:30. Some nights, tonight for example, he had a few minutes to write 
more of his punishment lines. Yet none of these things was having the 
desired effect. 

Skinner found himself wavering on whether this was an effective form 
of punishment for Fox any longer. The evidence certainly didn't 
support it. But, having no other plan, it was a course of action to 
which he was committed.

"Let's go, Fox," he said, ushering Yoda out of the room temporarily. 
He'd discovered early that the dog considered himself Fox's protector 
and took issue with Skinner's disciplinary choices. The AD took a seat 
on the bed as the young man rose from the desk chair, sighing again.

"Fine," he said as he walked over to the man. "Whatever."

Skinner stared at him, shocked by the rebellious stance he was taking. 
"You know how this goes," he said pointing to the floor beside him. 
Fox glared at him for a split second, then dropped to his knees and 
let himself be guided forward over the A.D.'s long legs.

The man pulled down his flannel pajama bottoms and smacked the boy's 
upturned butt sharply. "Do you think any of this nonsense is gonna 
make things go easier for you, son?" he asked.

"I don't know. Oww!" Fox answered as a second whack hit the fleshiest 
part of his cheeks. 

"Well, give it some thought," Skinner said, issuing two additional 
hard slaps. "I've got plenty of time to wait."

"Oucchh! Ohhh! I don-t-- Ohhhh!" the boy yelled as his bottom received 
a third whack. "No! NO! I don't think OWWW! I don't think it's gonna 
make it easier!"

Skinner continued to smack his backside. "Do you think I'm going to be 
likely to shorten your punishment because of the attitude you've been 
showing the last few days?"

"Ouccch! Unhhhh! No!, no, sir!"

The AD heard his tone of voice change markedly and he gave the boy one 
additional smack across the 'sit spot' before pulling his pajama 
bottoms back up and turning the boy upright. Fox sank to his knees but 
allowed himself to be embraced as he sobbed into the man's shoulder. 
Skinner held him tightly, rubbing soothing circles on his back for a 
few minutes. When the kid's tears had subsided though, he smoothly 
moved him into the bed and sat down.

"Son," he sighed. "I wish you'd tell me what's wrong. You haven't been 
yourself almost all week. What's going on?"

Fox closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "It's just-- No one else got 
punished! Nobody! Only me!"

Skinner nodded thoughtfully. He had known that but Fox hadn't 
mentioned it so neither had he. "I see. And what do you think that 
means?"

The boy's eyes opened in surprise, a look of confusion passing over 
his face. "I don't know," he said softly. "I got stuck with the 
strictest father in the world?"

Skinner smiled slightly. He couldn't help it. "Okay. That's one 
interpretation," he replied. "Probably a good one. But what do you 
think it means that the other kids' parents didn't punish them? After 
they snuck out of the hotel and went to a nightclub? And got drunk?"

Fox averted his eyes and stared at the wall. He knew what Skinner was 
getting at but he just didn't want to even appear to be in agreement.

"If I ignored that incident, Fox, how would it make you feel?"

"Like you think I'm old enough to make my own decisions," the boy said 
firmly, meeting the man's eyes directly. "And I am."

Skinner sighed, raising his hand to brush back the hair that had 
fallen over the boy's eyes. "I disagree," he said quietly. "And as 
long as you go on making bad decisions like that one, and giving me 
this attitude, I'm gonna keep on disagreeing. I know you don't like 
it. But I'm the adult here, I'm ultimately responsible for you."

He waited a few seconds but the boy just crossed his arms over his 
chest and went back to staring at the wall. "Okay," Skinner said 
finally, leaning down to kiss Fox's forehead. The boy turned his head 
further to the side to avoid it so Skinner stood and turned the light 
off on the night table. "Sleep well, Fox. I'll see you in the 
morning."

The boy didn't respond and the man simply left the room. He let Yoda 
in and watched the dog jump on the bed and curl up in his usual place 
at the foot of Fox's bed. 

Skinner closed the door behind him tiredly. It was getting harder and 
harder to ignore the mood swings and rebelliousness Fox had been 
displaying lately. The AD went straight to the bar in the family room 
and fixed himself a whiskey neat. Then he sat down and stared at the 
television, failing to even notice what was on. He was pulled out of 
his funk by the ringing telephone a while later.

Skinner grabbed it quickly, not wanting Fox to be disturbed if he was 
already asleep. "Hello."

"Walter? It's Dad," his father answered jovially. "How are you and 
Fox?"

"Oh, Dad. I'm . . . fine. Fox is fine, too."

"You don't sound so fine," his father answered, his ears pricking up 
at the tone of defeat in his son's voice. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Dad--"

"Don't give me that, son. Is this about Fox's punishment tour?"

Skinner found himself blinking at the quick diagnosis his father had 
made. "Well. . . he's not exactly responding as expected. . . . I feel 
like I'm punishing him all the time. And it doesn't seem to make any 
difference--"

"How old is he now? Sixteen? Seventeen? What do you expect? You boys 
didn't accept punishment tours so meekly in those years either. Or 
rules or curfews. You fought me for a solid year over a curfew, for 
pity's sake!"

Skinner found himself laughing despite his depression. He had given 
his father a hard time in those years. Been certain he knew better 
than the older man about just about everything. "Well, I guess you may 
be right about that," he answered. "From my perspective it looked and 
felt a little different!"

"Exactly my point, Walter," his father concluded. "You just have a 
different perspective now is all. You have to stay the course when 
they're this age. They'll go kicking and screaming because they know 
everything, and you know nothing. But it passes. And the lessons sink 
in eventually."

"I hope you're right, Dad," Skinner replied, exhaling forcefully. 
"Because right now, it feels like I'm a total failure in this 
parenthood thing. I'm afraid that's about the only thing Fox and I 
agree on right now."

"Well, every parent and child go through that stage, son," Walter, Sr. 
said gently. "And if his behavior now is less than desirable, just 
think how bad it might be if he didn't have the threat of punishment 
hanging over his head constantly!"

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

Tuesday evening
9:15 p.m.

Skinner had walked into the house a moment earlier. He'd worked late, 
taking the opportunity to put in the kind of work day he normally had 
prior to having a child to worry about. Fox had a swim meet in 
Richmond earlier in the afternoon. Because it was such a long 
distance, the team was planning to stop for dinner on the trip home so 
they weren't expected back at the school until around 9 o'clock. And 
Jarrod's parents had offered to pick Fox up along with their son and 
drive him home. 

The light on the answering machine was blinking and the AD hit the 
'play' button as he passed on his way to the refrigerator for a bottle 
of iced tea. He shrugged off his suit jacket and hung it on the back 
of a chair, pulling his tie off and dropping it on top of the jacket 
as the machine beeped. Then he went to the cabinet and took out food 
for Yoda's dinner. 

"First things first, eh boy?" he said to the animal as he placed the 
bowl on the kitchen floor. The dog stayed in the garage during the 
day. It had a doggie door and the animal could come and go around the 
property all day long. But he was always hungry for company and food 
by the time Skinner and Fox arrived home. Tonight, they were 
especially late.

The first message the machine played was from his sister Jean asking 
him to call her about more plans for Doug's wedding. The A.D.'s nephew 
was getting married in a few weeks and Jean was driving the entire 
family crazy with details and decisions about the upcoming event. 
Still, Skinner could hear how pleased and excited she was and he 
couldn't begrudge her one bit of it, now that he'd had a brief taste 
of parenthood himself.

The second message was from his friend, Chuck Talbot, just calling to 
say hello. Chuck would be in D.C. the following week and wanted to 
meet Skinner and Fox for dinner. 

But the third message got the man's full attention immediately.

Beeep!

"Fox, it's Coach Anderson. And the rest of the team." He was 
interrupted as about a dozen boy's voices called out "Hi, Fox!" 

"I guess you must be asleep, or at the doctor," the coach continued. 
"We're just pulling up to the Richmond campus but we wanted you to 
know we're hoping you're gonna feel better soon. This meet would look 
a lot easier to win if you were with us." 

Again, a chorus of boys' voices cheered from the background. "Get 
better quick, man!" "We're gonna win anyway but it'd be easier if you 
were here!"

The next message was from the team again. Jarrod Kelly called to say 
they'd won but not by much of a margin. "Hope you're better for the 
Jefferson meet on Thursday! We're gonna need you for that one, man."

Skinner stared at the machine, certain that Fox had skipped out on the 
meet but not at all sure why or where he'd gone. At that moment the 
front door opened and Fox walked in. The AD could hear him drop his 
backpack and gym bag on the front steps, then the boy continued 
through the house to the back. He said hello, went to the refrigerator 
and took out an iced tea.

"How was your meet?" Skinner asked him nonchalantly.

"Oh, good," he said quietly, displaying none of his usual enthusiasm 
for competition. "We won."

"You did? Great! How did you do in your events?"

"Okay. Won a couple," the boy responded with no emotion. He was 
avoiding eye contact as he spoke, staring at the pattern in the 
kitchen floor tile. Then he changed the subject quickly. "I got an 'A' 
on my history paper. And . . . um, I have to go see a play in French 
next week."

"Oh, that sounds like fun. So how'd you finish in the medley?"

Fox colored slightly and began to stare at the label on the iced tea 
bottle. "'Bout the same as last time. I'm kind of tired. I think I 
should go to bed. . . ."

He stopped as the AD hit the 'Play' button on the answering machine. 
Skinner skipped the first and second messages, going right to the 
third. All color drained out of the boy's face as he listened to the 
message from Coach Anderson, then the one from Jarrod. There was a 
tense silence in the kitchen.

"Well? Is there anything you want to tell me, Fox?" the man asked 
evenly.

"N-no," Fox answered. "I. . . . I don't . . . ." He turned on his heel 
and ran out of the kitchen, heading up the stairs and into the 
bedroom. 

Skinner took a deep, calming breath then walked up the stairs as well. 
When he reached Fox's bedroom door, he went to open it but found it 
locked. He pounded on the door twice. "Fox! Open this door. Right 
now!"

The kid didn't respond and Skinner waited another twenty seconds. Now 
he spoke firmly but without raising his voice a notch. "Young man, if 
you don't open this door, I’ll break it down. And then I'm gonna give 
you a licking you'll still be telling your grandkids about fifty years 
from now!"

There was a stunned silence from the other room but in a moment he 
heard the lock being thrown from the inside. Skinner opened the door 
and went in. He came to a halt about halfway through the room, and 
locked eyes with Fox standing next to the bed. Skinner's hands went to 
his hips.

"Well, you don't look sick. Do you want to tell me about it?" he asked 
and his tone of voice left no room for equivocation.

In a few minutes the boy had confessed the entire story. Cat had asked 
him to come to her place after school since they'd had so little time 
to spend together while Fox was grounded. Her mother was out of town 
with "the Senator" and she'd have the place to herself. 

Fox had told his coach he was feeling ill and begged off the meet. He 
and Cat had dinner at her mother's condo and Skinner shuddered to 
think what else they might have done. And wondered what kind of mother 
left her 17 year old daughter alone like that.

Then when the team came back, Dylan picked up Fox from Cat's place, 
and dropped him off so Skinner would think the Kelly's had driven him 
home. The plan would have worked, except for the messages on the 
answering machine. Fox's popularity with his teachers and the other 
kids had worked against him.

Skinner's blood pressure rose precipitously during the young man's 
narrative. There was a bolt of tension in his neck and he flexed his 
jaw reflexively to try to ease it, hoping some inspiration about the 
right way to handle this would strike him. It did not and he cleared 
his throat.

"Well. I am beginning to wonder if you've forgotten everything we ever 
talked about, Fox. About honesty. And responsibility. You let your 
team down. You let me down. . . . But more importantly, you let 
yourself down. I . . . I expect better from you." As he spoke his 
unbuckled his belt and withdrew it from his trousers. 

Fox's eyes widened in alarm. "I'm-- I'm s-sorry! Please. . . "

Skinner sat on the edge of the bed. "Pants down, Fox," he said. He 
watched silently as the boy reluctantly complied, lowering his jeans 
and briefs then letting himself be pulled over the A.D.'s legs. 

"I-- Please! I'm too old to be spanked! I-- Oww!"

"I don't think anyone who behaves the way you did today could say 
they're too old to be spanked, Fox. On the contrary, I think you've 
proven you can't be trusted to make responsible, adult decisions." 

As he spoke, Skinner laid one burning stroke after another on the 
boy's bare bottom. Fox struggled and tried to pull away but Skinner 
got a firmer grip on his waist and proceed to whale away at his 
upturned butt as the boy squirmed and yelled for him to stop.

"OWWW! OUCCHHH! I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY!"

"I'm sure you are," Skinner answered. "Now, you know the drill. What 
is this strapping for?"

"For-- for lying to Coach Anderson! And pretending I was sick! Ohhh!"

"And?"

"And OWWW! for going to Cat's house! When I wasn't supposed to! Ahhhh! 
Unhhhh! And f-for lying to you about it! OUCHHHH!"

Skinner continued strapping his bottom until he was certain this 
lesson had hit home. Then he dropped the belt on the bed and pulled 
the sobbing boy into his arms. "Fox, I-- I love you. I don't know 
what's going on with you right now, but . . . I love you." He found 
himself tearing up as he held the miserable young man in his arms. His 
father's words about 'staying the course' rang in his ears but the 
reality was he didn't seem to be making one iota of progress with Fox. 
If anything, the kid's behavior was deteriorating.

"N-no, you don't love me," the boy said. "You h-hit me! You treat me 
like a ba-baby. Nobody else gets p-punished like me. N-nobody else. . 
. "

Skinner held him even as he fought to pull away. "Nobody else here, 
maybe," he said quietly. "But you know your cousin Mike does, when he 
deserves it. And Uncle Joe and Uncle Andy and I--"

"They're not my real uncles! And Mike's not-- he's not my real cousin! 
And you're not my real . . . ." His voice tailed off into a sob before 
he finished the thought. "Cat. . . told me. She's had lots of 
stepfathers and she knows it's not the same in the end . . . "

<Here we go again! The world according to Cat Halsey.> Skinner pulled 
him tighter into a hug and let him sob until he was spent. He was 
surprised and dismayed that Fox had apparently shared some of his 
story with this girl who seemed to be able to twist everything around 
in Fox's mind. 

He caressed the back of the boy's head for a few moments, letting him 
calm down before finally rising and trying to get him moving. It was 
growing late and Fox looked to be falling asleep without the benefit 
of lying down. 

The Assistant Director sent him to the bathroom to wash up and then 
went to the dresser to get him some pajamas. When Fox returned, he 
took them silently, changed, and slid into bed. Skinner sat down on 
the edge of the mattress and spoke to the mute young man.

"Fox," he sighed, not certain what it was he wanted to say but knowing 
he needed to provide some comfort and reassurance. "Are you . . . 
okay?"

The boy nodded slightly. 

"Good. I think we need to have a long talk tomorrow night," he said 
quietly. "About what you did today. And why. Right now, you need 
sleep. But . . . I want you to think about how much I love you. And 
how much the whole family loves you. You are 'real family' to us, Fox. 
No matter what you sometimes think. Or Cat thinks."

The boy's eyes filled with tears again and he screwed his face up to 
keep them from coming. "I'm s-sorry for what I said, Dad," he 
whispered. Skinner pulled him into a hug and Fox buried his 
tear-stained face in the A.D.'s muscled chest. "I didn't mean it! I 
don't even know why I s-said that . . . " 

"Shhhh. I know that," Skinner soothed him, rocking him slightly. He 
waited for the young man to begin to drift off to sleep before letting 
him settle back down. Tonight he leaned down and brushed a light kiss 
over the boy's hair and Fox didn't protest or even look embarrassed. 
"I love you, Fox."

"I love you, too, Dad," he said as a yawn overtook him and his eyes 
closed for good.

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

The Skinner Home
Danville, Pennsylvania
Friday evening

The rest of the week had gone quietly. Fox and Skinner had had several 
talks about the incident and yet another one on the drive to Danville 
tonight. This time Skinner had focused on what was going on with Cat 
and Fox.

"I th-think I love her, Dad," the boy had told him. "She loves me. And 
she needs me. Her mother isn't around much because of her job. And her 
real father's been gone since she was a baby! And the Senator! He . . 
. . Well, she hates him, that's all." 

Skinner's gut had twisted as he listened to the boy's words. Fox was a 
sweet, caring and somewhat naive kid for his current age. The boy 
believed Cat 'needed' him and he was responding to that need. Some of 
the details of her home life were worrisome but Skinner also suspected 
some of it might be exaggerated or even made up. Fiona had checked up 
on Cat more than once and found what amounted to benign neglect but 
nothing more. 

And Skinner also suspected that Cathleen Halsey had a whole lot more 
sexual experience than Fox did. And she was playing him in that regard 
as well. Fox had told him they didn't have sex the other night but he 
could tell from the way the boy reacted that they'd come as close to 
the physical act as possible without crossing the line. And he knew 
Cat was the aggressor with Fox. At the age of 17, most boys would cut 
off an arm in exchange for sex with a girl they were attracted to the 
way Fox was drawn to Cat. It worried the AD more than he wanted to 
admit.

"I understand that, Fox," Skinner told him. "But . . . do you think 
Cat always has your best interests at heart? She seems to talk you 
into doing a lot of things you know you shouldn't do."

"She's just . . . lonely, Dad. Her mother stays away with the Senator 
a lot! And sometimes he sleeps over their house and then Cat has to 
stay out of the way. In her own house! 'Cause the Senator thinks she's 
sexier than her mother--"

"What?" Skinner's head swiveled at that remark. "Did Cat tell you he 
said that?"

"Well, I don't know if he said it. But she knows . . . ," he answered 
with the certainty only a 17 year old can have about such things. The 
AD grew silent, wondering about the fact the girl had shared this 
information with Fox.

They pulled into the Skinner driveway at just past 7 o'clock. Dinner 
was waiting, and Jean and her family were there, too. And her son Doug 
and his fiancée, Emma. They were getting married at the end of the 
month. Doug had asked both Mike and Fox to share best man duties at 
the wedding and Fox had to be fitted for his tuxedo this weekend. He 
was excited and happily anticipating the weekend and his part in the 
wedding. Skinner had noticed he'd grown calmer and more like his old 
self the more distance they drove from Washington. And Cat.

The next morning, Skinner woke Fox at 8 o'clock and the two of them 
had a hearty breakfast with the elder Skinners. Then the AD announced 
they were driving down to the parking lot at the lake.

"There'll be nobody there at this time of year, Dad," the boy answered 
quickly. 

"I know. That's why the parking lot is a great place for a first 
driving lesson," Skinner replied, giving his father a quick wink. 
"That's where all of the Skinners have learned to drive."

"You're gonna let me drive?" Fox cried, jumping up. "Cool! I told you 
I was ready! I'll get my jacket."

He ran up the back stairs to get his Wheatley Academy warm-up jacket 
and Skinner explained to his parents that Fox would likely remember 
how to drive. "This is what makes it possible to estimate his age. His 
mother told m he learned the first time at driver's education in high 
school. The summer before he turned 18. And that knowledge should come 
back to him when he's the same age now. But in the meantime. . . he's 
anxious to drive like his friends."

"And that parking lot's a safe place to get the feel of a car, that's 
for sure," Walter, Sr. agreed. "Worked fine for all of you."

The lesson went well even though it was clearly a 'first time' 
experience for the young man. He had not regained his driving skill 
yet and his handling of the jeep was a humbling experience. But he was 
excited by it nonetheless.

"When can we do it again?" he asked Skinner as they drove back to the 
house. "I bet I could have driven from the lake home."

"I bet you couldn't," the AD told him with a smile. "There's not much 
traffic on these roads but the main highway's more than you're ready 
for right now."

"But the back road--"

"The back road's quiet but windy and there's been a lot of rain lately 
so it's slippery. Not to mention having a few hairpin turns that 
require a little more experience than you have right now. Tomorrow 
we'll try the parking lot and the roads by the lake again."

The rest of the day passed quickly. Fox found himself standing in the 
corner of the Skinner living room at dusk. He was still on a 
punishment tour and the family was well acquainted with the details of 
one of those. No one questioned it when the boy was sent there before 
dinner. 

The AD had been invited to dinner at Joe and Nora's place that night. 
They were entertaining some old friends he hadn't seen in years. So 
Fox and the elder Skinners had dinner alone and the boy was sent off 
to bed at 7:30. 

At 11:30 p.m., Skinner drove into the driveway of the house, cutting 
the lights as he approached the house so as not to wake his parents. 
He got out of the jeep and started for the house but something caught 
his attention. His mother's car was in the driveway but the Blazer his 
Dad drove was not. <Where is he at this hour? Did something happen 
with Fox?> 

Picking up speed, he jogged up the front steps and into the house. All 
was quiet, which worried him even more. He bounded up the stairs to 
his parent's bedroom and found the door closed. He knocked quietly, 
then opened the door when his father answered.

The bedside light blinked on and both his parents sat up. "What's 
wrong, Walter?" his mother asked fearfully.

"Nothing. I just thought-- Damn!" It hit him immediately who was out 
with the other vehicle. He ran down the hall and opened the door to 
the study. As he suspected, it was empty. Walter, Sr. came down the 
hall in his pajamas, pulling a robe over them.

"Is Fox missing?" he asked.

"Yeah," his son replied tersely. "And so's your car."

Both men were in the jeep and searching the surrounding area within 
five minutes. They drove to the lake and found the parking lots empty. 
Finally, Skinner remembered the conversation about the back road. He 
knew Fox had disagreed with his instruction on that. He thought the 
road was so untraveled, it would be a great place to practice. They 
took that way back from the lake and in a few minutes, found what they 
were looking for.

The Blazer had slid off the side of the road and into a tree. It 
didn't appear to have a great deal of damage, although the front 
fender would need replacing. They found Fox sitting on a tree stump a 
short distance away. He was chilled and shaking but unhurt and had 
been sitting there for a couple of hours as he tried to decide what to 
do next.

Skinner ran up to him and pulled him into a hug. "Thank God you're all 
right," he said. Then anger overwhelmed his relief. "What the hell did 
you think you were doing?" He shook the boy by the shoulders and 
waited for an answer.

"I don't know! I thought I could . . . I thought it would come back to 
me, driving. If I just spent a little more time! I thought I could 
show you . . . " He hung his head fearfully. "I guess . . . I'm in big 
trouble, right?"

Skinner's immediate anger had spent itself and now grim determination 
took its place. "Yeah. You could say that," he replied firmly. "Let's 
get Gran's car out of that ditch."

The three of them managed to back the vehicle onto the road after some 
effort. Then Mr. Skinner drove the jeep and his son and Fox took a 
short, silent ride back to the house in the damaged Blazer. 

Fox just sat in the passenger seat once they'd arrived, too scared to 
move. Skinner sat there with him for a few seconds, then he opened the 
door and got out . "Let's go, son."

The boy swallowed hard and exited the car slowly. Mrs. Skinner 
appeared at the kitchen door. "Thank God you're all right, Fox," she 
said anxiously. 

"I'm sorry, Gram," the boy said, tears beginning to threaten. "I 
didn't mean to worry you. And I didn't mean to wreck the car, Gran. . 
. "

"The car's not important, Foksik," the older man told him. "It's you 
we were concerned about. Cars can be replaced."

"Yes, they can," the AD agreed with a loud sigh. "But nevertheless, 
this is not something I'm going to overlook. Or excuse. I think it's 
time Fox got acquainted with the Persuader."

The boy's head jerked up in shock and his mouth opened. He opened and 
closed it as if he thought he was speaking but no sound came out. He'd 
heard stories about the razor strop, and seen it when he visited 
Danville. But he'd never actually thought he'd find himself subject to 
its use. Skinner took him by the shoulders and turned him toward the 
woodshed. "Go."

"I don't w-want--"

"What you want is irrelevant right now," Skinner told him crisply. 

"Pleeease, Dad," the boy whispered, tears overcoming his sense as he 
turned back to make his appeal. 

Skinner's heart went out to him but he knew he had to override his own 
impulses. He reached out and caressed the boy's head. Fox had grown 
another couple of inches. He was only a couple of inches short of his 
adult height now. "It'll be all right," Skinner told him quietly. Then 
he physically turned him around and sent him on his way with a smack 
on the butt.

Fox walked toward the family woodshed on wooden legs. He cursed 
himself inwardly for his impulsive action of earlier in the evening. 
It had seemed so simple. Just slip away with the car, get a couple of 
hours more practice. Prove to Skinner he was an adult, and capable of 
driving again, on his own. After all, he even had a valid driver's 
license. Now, that plan looked foolhardy and ill-conceived.

He opened the door to the shed and pulled the chain that turned on the 
electric lamp in the center of the small structure. The Persuader hung 
on a hook by the doorway. It was illuminated by the light and seemed 
to mock him and his plan to never become personally acquainted with 
its use. The door behind him opened and Skinner stepped into the shed.

"Take off your jacket," he told the boy as he did the same. Then the 
man rolled up both of his shirt sleeves and walked over to the hook on 
which the strop hung. He took it down, then pulled a wood bench away 
from the wall, positioning it in the middle of the shed. 

"Take down your pants, Fox," Skinner continued his instructions. He 
was trying to keep the boy moving along, seeing how frightened he 
appeared. This was always the worst part for Mulder, whatever his age. 
The waiting was nearly as bad as actual punishment for him.

Fox did as he was told, pushing his jeans and briefs down to his 
knees. Then he let Skinner guide him down over the bench. 

"This time you really outdid yourself, Fox," his father told him as he 
brought the leather strop down onto the boy's buttocks. Fox nearly 
jumped out of his skin with the pain. It was worse than he'd expected, 
worse than anything his father had ever used to punish him before.

"I-- I know!" he cried, beginning to weep immediately.

"What are you being punished for?" the AD asked him firmly, wanting to 
keep him focused on the actions that had put him in this position.

"F-for sneaking out! OWWW! And for taking the car without permission! 
Unhhhh!"

Skinner gave him another two licks, then saw he was not continuing 
with the list of transgressions. "And what else?"

"I don't know! What else?" the boy asked, panic-stricken. He couldn't 
think of anything else he'd done wrong. "Oh, for hitting the tree!"

"No, hitting the tree was an accident," Skinner told him as he 
delivered another stinging lick. "But it happened because you 
disobeyed me, didn't it? After I told you that you weren't ready for 
the back road? Or to drive on your own?"

"Oucchh! I--- Yes! I disobeyed you! I'm sorry, Dad! Unhhhh! Owwwww!" 
Fox's butt was a bright red from the strapping and Skinner knew he'd 
made his point. He hadn't given Fox anything like some of the 
punishments he himself had received with that strop, or like Mulder 
had gotten as an adult. But for a first time, this was more than 
sufficient.

The man exhaled in relief and spoke quietly. "Okay. That's enough," he 
said as he went to the wall and hung the Persuader in its place. Then 
he returned to the boy. Fox hadn't moved, he was so stunned by the 
burning discomfort in his bottom. So Skinner went over and pulled him 
to his feet, adjusting his clothing and then taking him into the warm 
circle of his arms. Fox laid his head on the A.D.'s shoulder and 
continued to sob.

"That-- That was w-worse than anything!" the boy stammered. "I c-can't 
believe nobody ever threw that thing away wh-when Gran wasn't 
looking!"

Skinner smiled. "Well, don't think no one ever thought of it," he said 
gently as he led the boy out of the shed and toward the house. "But 
nobody ever wanted to find out what would replace it!"