The Danville Series
by Cadillac Red


an, Virginia
6:55 p.m. on Friday night

Fox stood in front of the mirror, checking himself out one more time. 
He had finally been released from his punishment tour as of the 
previous night. Today at school, he'd asked Cat if she wanted to go 
out tonight and she agreed enthusiastically. Now he was checking his 
reflection for the third time, making sure every hair was in place. 

He'd shaved again, even though his beard was not yet thick enough to 
warrant a second shave in one day. In fact, it didn't warrant a shave 
even once a day but that didn't stop him from doing it anyway. 

He ran down the stairs to the first floor and stopped to take his 
leather jacket out of the hall closet. It had belonged to Mulder when 
he was grown and while the young man didn't yet fill it out 
completely, he'd convinced his Dad to let him bring it to the McLean 
house from the apartment the last time they visited. Fox put it on and 
stopped at a mirror hanging in the foyer to make sure it looked the 
way he'd hoped.

Then he made his way into the family room. Skinner was sitting on the 
sofa, trying to look calm and unconcerned. This would be the first 
night that Fox was allowed to take the jeep out alone. The boy's 
driving skills had come back quickly in the past week. From an awkward 
first couple of lessons, he'd quickly regained his previously learned 
knowledge of driving with little additional practice. Which Skinner 
knew indicated he was nearing the age of 18, when he'd learned the 
first time.

"Can I have the keys, Dad?" Fox asked nonchalantly. It was nothing but 
a facade yet it was important to him to maintain the appearance of 
ease with this milestone. He didn't want Cat to know how excited he 
was and he found he didn't want Skinner to know either.

The Assistant Director pulled a set of keys of the pocket of his pants 
and held them out. But he refused to relinquish them when Fox reached 
over and the two men were suddenly linked by the key chain on which 
they both had a claim. "What time are you going to be home?" Skinner 
asked him very deliberately.

Fox sighed and made a face. "Twelve o'clock," he repeated dutifully. 
"Same as the last three times you asked."

"Very good. And what else are you supposed to remember?"

"Call you if my plans change," the young man said as though repeating 
a mantra.

"And?"

"And no drinking," Fox finished, betraying only the slightest amount 
of impatience. 

"That's important, kid," Skinner said firmly. "If I catch you drinking 
and driving, you won't sit down again until you're 45!"

"Forty-five!?" the boy repeated. "I'll only be 39 when I'm completely 
grown again . . . !"

"Exactly," the AD responded before releasing the keys into Fox's 
hands. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

Fox grimaced as the message sank in but he refrained from saying 
anything that might get him in trouble. This night was too important.

"And remember, Fox," Skinner added with a smile. "We leave for Atlanta 
at 8:30 in the morning. You don't want to be so tired you won't enjoy 
your first World Series game."

This brought a real smile to the boy's face, one that lit his eyes 
from within and erased all trace of consternation from his expression. 
"No, sir," he answered as he pocketed the keys and reached down to 
give Yoda a pat on the head before leaving. "I'll be home by 
midnight."

Skinner watched him go with mixed feelings. It had been a long 
punishment tour, almost three weeks before the AD relented and 
released the boy from restriction. And Fox was approaching adulthood 
now. It was time to give him more freedom. 

But the fear of what could happen, if he gave too much rope, too much 
leeway too soon sat on his chest and made him work for each new 
breath. The man surreptitiously watched the boy back the jeep down the 
driveway from a front window and wondered if this is how it was for 
all parents. Or did the special facts of Fox's second childhood made 
this harder somehow. He'd spoken to his brother Joe earlier in the 
week and heard it was this way with all kids and parents. But he 
couldn't help but wonder all the same.

The doorbell rang a little while later and he went to answer it with a 
smile. Fiona was coming over and they planned to light a fire, have 
dinner and spend a quiet evening together. It had been weeks since 
they'd tried to pull off a real date. Now that Fox was close to grown 
up, maybe they'd have an easier time of it.

"Hi," he said as he opened the door. She was carrying a sack of 
groceries and she lifted onto her toes and gave him a quick kiss. He 
took the bag out of her arms and closed the door.

"Hi to you, too," she said with a warm laugh. "I brought everything we 
need for my special angel hair pasta and a salad. And if you're real 
good, I can pull off an apple tart with the goodies in that bag, too!"

A smile spread across his broad face and set his eyes to twinkling. 
"Oh, I can be very, very good," he answered softly.

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

The Cineplex Odeon Theater
Alexandria Mall
9:45 p.m.

The main hall of the mall was crowded with people shopping and two 
long lines of people waiting to get into the movie theater made the 
scene even more chaotic. Cat Halsey and Fox were standing in the line 
along with Dylan Kane and Delia Westley. They'd originally planned to 
see the 8 o'clock showing but Cat hadn't been ready to go when Fox 
arrived at her place to pick her up. 

Then Dylan and Delia arrived with a six-pack of beer and that had 
delayed them even longer. And although Fox demurred, the others 
finished off the beers, then had him stop at the 7-11 for more on the 
way over to the mall.

So now they were slated to see the 10 o'clock show. Which didn't get 
out until ten minutes after Fox was supposed to be home. His stomach 
clenched at the certain doom he faced when he did finally get there. 
But he was not willing to tell Cat, or the others, he had a midnight 
curfew. It was clear none of the others were due home at any special 
time. Cat had given him a hard time for the past several weeks about 
how little chance they had to be together because he'd been punished 
for the New York City incident.

"Grounded?" she'd said with a derisive last. "You must be kidding! 
Nobody does that any more!"

"Well, I guess my Dad didn't get a copy of the new manual," Fox had 
answered, trying to make light of it. But she'd raised the point 
several times again, each time in a more caustic and biting fashion. 
He was loathe to raise any topic remotely like it again.

The earlier show was just getting out and Fox heard someone calling 
his name. He turned and was surprised to see Marie-Claire Montreaux 
exiting the theater with her parents. 

"Hi, Fox," the French girl said shyly. She and Fox had had a couple of 
dates back when he was around 14 or 15. With the way he was growing, 
that was only a few weeks earlier. Marie-Claire's parents appeared 
surprised to see him, and taken aback by his size, but growth spurts 
among boys this age were not uncommon and they recovered quickly and 
greeted Fox warmly.

"Bonjour, Madame Montreaux," Fox said flawlessly and Marie-Claire gave 
him a stunning smile. "Et Monsieur Montreaux. Comment allez-vouz?"

"Tres bien, merci, Fox," Madame Montreaux said. "How ees your papa?"

"Fine, ma'am," he answered as Cat's hand suddenly slipped around his 
arm. He could feel her head come to rest on his shoulder. Mr. and Mrs. 
Montreaux didn't miss the hint and they nodded and told Marie-Claire 
it was time they were getting home.

"Au revoir, Fox," the girl said wistfully. She gave him a sad smile as 
her father put an arm around her and led her away. 

Fox watched her go with mixed feelings. She'd been the first girl to 
capture his attention this time around, the first with whom he'd 
tentatively held hands. And they'd shared a chaste kiss outside the 
watchful eye of Skinner and Fiona at a school dance. But now she was a 
sweet little girl too young to give a second thought. He found himself 
feeling lonely and a little adrift as he watched her leave.

"Well, that was rude, Fox," Cat said angrily, dropping her hand from 
his arm. "What am I? Chopped liver? You didn't even introduce me to 
your little friend's parents."

"I'm sorry, Cat," he answered automatically. "I- I didn't think you'd 
be interested in meeting them." <And I knew they wouldn't be 
interested in meeting you.> 

It bothered him that he knew that and he looked at the girl beside 
him. She was very pretty but heavily made up. Bleached blonde hair in 
a short, spiky cut. A bandanna top that was nothing more than string 
in the back and a short black skirt. Long black hose that ended three 
inches below the bottom of her skirt. 

He was suddenly glad he'd gone to pick her up at her mother's place 
instead of Cat coming to get him. He suspected his Dad might have 
extended his punishment tour if he'd gotten a look at Cat Halsey 
tonight. He reached over and laid a lanky arm over her shoulders, 
pulling her close to him and nuzzling her neck. "I didn't mean to 
leave you out. I was just a little tongue-tied is all. Don't be mad at 
me."

The girl relented immediately and she kissed him. Slowly and deeply 
and tasting of beer, her hands roaming over his back and down to his 
butt. She slipped her hands into the back pockets of his jeans 
possessively and pressed the full length of her body up against his 
until the boy could barely remain still. The line began to move around 
them and Dylan slapped Fox on the back to get his attention.

"You two gonna get tickets?" he asked with a snort. "Or a room?"

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

McLean, Virginia
12:20 a.m.

Fiona and Skinner were sitting on the couch in the family room, two 
glasses of brandy on the coffee table in front of them. They'd had a 
wonderful dinner and then Skinner had watched her slice apples and put 
them in a pre-made crust that she tied up to look like a little 
package before putting it into the oven. They'd had coffee while the 
house filled with the homey smell of baking apples and cinnamon. 

They'd talked all night, trading stories of their successful careers 
and failed marriages. Fiona's husband had returned to Oklahoma 
afterward and, even though she'd gone back to her maiden name, the 
kids at the school still continued to call her "Mrs." "I don't even 
correct them anymore!" she laughed. 

Skinner told her about Sharon, their separation, her death and his 
remorse that his job had been the reason she was targeted. Fiona 
reached out a hand to comfort him and, by the light of the fire they 
explored each other's bodies and spirits. 

By 12:30, Fiona couldn't miss the fact that Skinner's mind seemed 
preoccupied all of a sudden. She sat back and looked at him closely. 
"What time was Fox supposed to be home?"

He was a little surprised at the sudden conversational shift but he 
chuckled. "Am I that transparent?"

"Well it's after midnight so I know neither one of us is turning into 
a pumpkin tonight," she returned with a knowing smile. "So I figure 
the paternal instinct kicked in. Is he late?"

Skinner told her about the midnight curfew and she nodded 
thoughtfully. "That's probably earlier than the other kids. After 
speaking to all their parents about the incident in New York, I doubt 
Cat Halsey has any curfew at all. Or Dylan Kane."

"Well, I thought, considering this was the first night he was driving 
and--"

"No, don't misunderstand me, Walter!" she interrupted him. "I'm not 
saying I think you're wrong. Just that it would be a disconnect with 
the other kids."

"I thought about extending it next week, if he hit the mark tonight," 
the AD said ruefully. "Now, I'm afraid we'll be back to square one. He 
may be back to his adult age by the time he's off restriction. . . !" 
<Or not. Even as an adult, Mulder was in trouble most of the time.>

"I don't mean to imply anything about Cat Halsey," Fiona said quietly, 
"but . . . have you had the 'safe sex' discussion with Fox?"

"More times than I can count," Skinner told her. "I'm pretty sure I 
recite it in my sleep now."

Fiona looked directly into his eyes, a ghost of a smile crossing her 
lips. "I'd like to hear that some time," she said, and the AD felt 
himself flush even as a smile creased his face and lit a fire in his 
eyes.

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

Alexandria, Virginia
12:35

Fox stood at the door to the townhouse that Cat Halsey and her mother 
lived in. It was just off the beaten path in Old Town Alexandria. 
They'd left the movies and said good-bye to Dylan and Delia then Fox 
had driven them here. 

"You're coming in, aren't you?" she purred after a long, deep kiss 
that nearly took the young man's knees out from underneath him. "My 
mom's not home tonight. She won't be back until tomorrow afternoon."

Fox's head was swimming with a rush of emotions and hormones. His 
brain told him it was already 12:30 but his body was countering with a 
sense of want and need that he was hard pressed to override. He wanted 
Cat, that was a certainty. He wanted to minimize what was now certain 
punishment. And he wanted to see a World Series game.

"I-- I c-can't stay tonight," he found himself stammering. It was 
almost as if the words were coming from someone else. "We have an 
early flight to Atlanta. For the game."

"Baseball's more important than me?" Cat asked him with a half-smile 
that indicated she knew the answer to that one. The hand she brushed 
over the part of his jeans that covered a bulging erection conveyed 
her certainty of his response.

He took a deep breath, to give him a moment to think and to get a 
little oxygen to his brain. The boy was afraid he might actually pass 
out on the doorstep. 

"I have to go," he said, forcing the words out as he backed down the 
steps. "My Dad will be . . . disappointed if we don't go to the game. 
I'll-- I'll call you when we get back on Sunday, Cat."

He ran down the steps to the car, as much to avoid seeing the angry 
look on her face as to begin the drive home. He glanced at the clock 
on the dashboard as soon as he'd started the jeep. "12:36," it read, 
sending his heart racing for yet another reason.

"Oh, shit," he muttered as he pulled the car back onto the main 
highway that ran between Alexandria and McLean. He could make it in 
about ten minutes, if there was no traffic. Of course there was some, 
but it didn't delay him more than a few more minutes. He pulled into 
the garage as the digital display turned to "12:53."

Fox turned the car off and ran to the door that led to the kitchen. 
Then he stopped, took a fast breath in an attempt to slow his racing 
heart and opened the door. The kitchen lights were on low and he could 
see a light on in the family room. Taking another calming breath that 
failed to achieve its goal, he walked to the entry to the other room.

Fiona smiled at him but Fox's eyes immediately went to the Assistant 
Director's face. The man's eyes simply flicked to the clock on the 
wall and turned back to him, betraying no emotion.

"I didn't drink anything," the boy blurted out immediately. "I mean, 
no alcohol. . . "

Skinner blinked for a second, then realized it was Fox's way of 
admitting he'd broken the first two rules of the evening-- his curfew 
and the request to call if his plans changed. But not the third.

"Good," the man answered evenly. "Did you have a nice time?"

Fox nodded, a curious look crossing his face. "Yeah, I had a real nice 
time. But we missed the early movie and . . . " His voice trailed off. 
He could reach for an excuse for being late, but he couldn't even 
begin to come up with one for not calling.

"I see," his father answered. "Well, I think you'd better turn in, 
don't you?"

Fox was unnerved by Skinner's calm reaction but he was also grateful. 
He'd been worried sick about what the man would say, or do, with Fiona 
present. "Yes, sir," he answered quickly. "Good night, Mrs. Barefoot."

They watched him go and saw Yoda get up from where he'd been sleeping 
near the fireplace and follow the boy upstairs. Two sets of footsteps 
went up the stairs quickly and a door closed on the second floor. Then 
they turned to each other and began to laugh. 

"Well, I'd better get going," Fiona said as she rose and stretched. "I 
think you and Fox have a lot to talk about." 

A few minutes later Skinner opened the door to Fox's bedroom. The boy 
was in bed already but the light was still on in his room. The AD saw 
him look to the doorway and couldn't miss the fact the boy's eyes were 
brimming with tears. The man walked to the bed and sat down, placing a 
hand on the kid's trembling chest.

"I'm sorry, Dad," Fox said, choking back tears. "I-I know you're m-mad 
at me. I didn't mean for it to happen, honest!" In a few sentences, he 
told the AD the entire evening's story, Fiona being late and taking 
forever to get ready. Dylan bringing a six-pack of beer. Missing the 
planned movie and going to the next one. Marie-Claire and her parents. 
Cat's expectation that he'd stay all night.

"I'm sorry," the boy repeated finally. "I- I really w-wanted to go to 
the World Series. And n-now, I ruined it. . . . "

"Shhh," Skinner soothed him, reaching out to pull him up into a hug. 
"I know you're sorry. And I am a little angry, Fox. You made a couple 
of bad choices tonight. But you also made some good ones. And you're 
home safe." He gave the boy a squeeze and felt Fox's head come to rest 
on his shoulder, a sob escaping as he calmed down.

Skinner pushed him back to arm's length. "I am disappointed that you 
didn't make it home on time. And about a few other things. But the 
World Series is your birthday present, Fox. Nothing's going to keep us 
from going."

A tired, relieved smile appeared on the young man's face. "Really? 
We're still going?"

Skinner shook his head. "Of course we're still going," he said letting 
the boy lie back down and pulling the covers up over him. He could see 
Fox was surprised and probably counting his lucky stars that he'd 
pulled through this one without serious consequences. "Tomorrow we're 
going to the World Series. We'll deal with tonight's little walk on 
the wild side when we get home on Sunday." 

He leaned down and gave the boy a kiss on his forehead. "Good night, 
son," he said firmly. "Get some sleep." Then he turned out the light 
and left the room, closing the door behind him.

"Uh-oh," the boy said to Yoda as the dog curled up beside him and 
settled down to sleep. In a moment, Fox slipped into unconsciousness 
too.

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

Atlanta, Georgia
6:30 p.m. on Saturday

The AD had never been in a Planet Hollywood before but it was Fox's 
first choice for where to have dinner so he'd relented, knowing it 
would provide too much noise and a theme restaurant food selection. 
Which turned out to be true. But Fox was enjoying it immensely so the 
man simply let it happen. They'd gone to Atlanta's science museum 
earlier in the day and both he and Fox had found it better and more 
interesting than either of them expected.

At this stage, Fox was a fascinating mixture of child and man, 
intellect and raw emotions. Skinner could see a great deal of the 
adult Mulder emerging, his curiosity and ability to integrate great 
amounts of information and distill it down to the critical questions. 
His ability to hone in on the piece that didn't fit, and his 
persistence in seeking the answers to those inconsistencies. He'd 
nearly driven one of the museum's curators crazy this afternoon 
raising questions the poor young woman could not answer. So he'd left 
her his e-mail address and said she could get back to him when she got 
them.

But he'd done it with such charm and sweetness the young woman hadn't 
been offended or upended, only impressed by his startling intelligence 
and immense curiosity. "I wish he was ten years older," she'd 
whispered to the AD at one point.

"Wait a couple of weeks," the man had answered her with a mysterious 
smile.

The game that night was exciting, especially for Fox who, for reasons 
Skinner never understood, had a strange affinity for teams from New 
York. As an adult and as a kid. The weather was a little brisk but 
they'd dressed appropriately and at one point the AD caught his breath 
when he saw the look of complete joy on the boy's face as he surveyed 
the ballpark and the field about halfway through the game. That look 
was worth everything it had cost to score two tickets to the Series 
opener and pay for the rest of the trip as well.

They slept late on Sunday morning, then took a tour of CNN's Atlanta 
headquarters before making their way to the airport for the flight 
home. When they pulled into the driveway of the McLean house, Fox 
turned to the man in the driver's seat.

"That was the best birthday present I ever got," he said simply.

Skinner laughed. "It's the only birthday you can remember," he smiled.

"I know I can't remember any other birthdays," the boy said seriously. 
"But . . . I know it's the best present anyway. Thanks, Dad."

Skinner found himself choking up and he simply reached out and pulled 
the boy into a hug, giving him a quick kiss on the top of his head. 
"It was my pleasure, kid," he said huskily. "Now, let's get this show 
on the road, huh?"

They had a quick dinner of leftovers from the freezer, then Fox went 
off to do some homework. He was growing quicker again and his 
knowledge base was growing exponentially it seemed. It no longer took 
him any effort to complete the homework he received but Skinner still 
insisted he honor that commitment. In a half hour, he was back 
downstairs.

Skinner looked up at him. "So? Are you finished with all your 
homework?"

"Yeah," the boy answered, picking up the TV Guide. "What time is the 
game on tonight?"

"Eight o'clock. And you'll be in bed before that," Skinner told him 
definitively. "Let's talk about Friday night."

Fox's eyes widened with surprise. He'd let himself begin to think that 
fiasco had been forgotten. "I-- I know it was wrong," he said quickly. 
"And I'm sorry, Dad. It won't happen again--"

"I think it will, Fox, unless you learn this lesson. Curfews mean 
something. Rules mean something, too. And disobeying them brings 
consequences."

"But I already know that!" the boy blurted out. "I won't do it again, 
I promise! I get it!"

Skinner grimaced, sensing there would be more fight over this than he 
expected. He was continually amazed at the mood swings of the typical 
teenager. Today, Fox was a bright and engaging companion who'd been 
charmingly appreciative of the experience he'd been given. Tonight, 
the rebellious adolescent had returned. "How late were you on Friday 
night?" 

Fox narrowed his eyes and glared back at the man. "I don't know," he 
said sarcastically. "What difference does it make? An hour?"

Skinner pressed his lips together, trying to keep a lid on his temper. 
"There's something to be said for precision, son," he said quietly. 
"There are sixty minutes in an hour. And since you're getting a whack 
with the paddle for every minute you were late--"

"What? Come on! That would be. . . ." his voice trailed off as the 
reality of what the AD had said sank in.

"So, sixty it is, unless you want to revise your estimate?"

Fox felt a rising panic at the thought of the punishment before him 
and he frantically thought back to Friday night, bringing up a mental 
picture of the dashboard clock as he pulled into the garage. 
"Fifty-three! Fifty-three minutes!"

"That seems right to me. Now, go into the garage and get the paddle I 
left on the workbench," Skinner told him calmly. 

Walter, Sr. had suggested he bring it home from Danville the last time 
they were there, knowing that Fox was reaching the age where curfews 
were constantly negotiated boundaries. The Skinner boys had 
'discussed' all of their curfew violations with their Dad and the 
business end of that paddle over the years, and the older man thought 
Fox would benefit from having the tradition carried on.

The boy continued to stare hard at his father until the AD rose and 
made like he was going to go get it himself. Knowing that would only 
exacerbate his position, Fox jumped into action. "I'm going," he said 
with an angry toss of his head. 

He went to the garage and found the item in question. It was a little 
larger and heavier than the one he'd made himself and that was now 
hanging on the wall in the kitchen. He shuddered as he lifted it and 
walked back into the house.

"Okay," Skinner said lightly as Fox handed him the dreaded paddle. He 
nodded his head toward a long table by the window. The AD had lowered 
the shade and turned on the lamp there while Fox went to the garage. 
"Take down your pants and bend over."

The boy was still shooting him angry looks and he stalled for a 
moment, as though looking for an avenue of escape. But nothing came to 
him and he finally conceded defeat and walked over to the table. 

He unbuttoned his jeans, and lowered them and his underwear to his 
knees. He felt Skinner's hand come to rest on the middle of his back, 
pushing him forward into position over the table. Then he felt his 
tee-shirt being lifted up onto his back, exposing his buttocks to the 
imminent punishment. Tears were already forming in his eyes as the AD 
quietly asked him the relevant question.

"What are you being punished for?"

"For -- for breaking my curfew," the boy responded, still a hint of 
rebellion in his voice. "Which was too early anyway!"

"Too early or not, you have to prove you can be trusted to keep a 
curfew before I'm going to feel inclined to reconsider it," Skinner 
told him firmly. "Now you were fifty-three minutes late so let's go. 
Start counting." He pulled his arm back and brought the paddle down on 
the boy's unmarked bottom.

"Oww!" Fox wailed. "Th-that hurt!"

"Start counting or you're gonna end up with more than you deserve," 
the AD warned him as he smacked the boy's butt again.

"Oucchh! One, two!"

Skinner smiled to himself and decided to let that one go this time. He 
continued, issuing ten solid whacks before pausing to let the boy and 
himself take a breath. Fox was already wailing but more from 
indignation than pain, the man knew. Yoda had taken up residence at 
one end of the family room and he was wailing in concert with Fox.

"That's ten," he said firmly. "Now tell me again. Why are you being 
punished tonight?"

"For breaking my curfew on Friday," the boy responded immediately. He 
had a shred of hope it was all over, that his father had only meant to 
scare him with the idea he'd get a whack for every minute he'd been 
late. That wisp of hope disappeared as the next set of ten began.

"Ohhh! Eleven! Ahhhh! Twelve! Ouchhh! Thirteen!" he continued, feeling 
real tears begin to stream down his face. His bottom was beginning to 
seriously sting.

At twenty, Skinner stopped once again. "And again. What's this 
paddling for?" He waited, while the boy collected himself and took a 
gulping breath of air. 

"For b-breaking my curfew!" Fox responded. He felt Skinner's hand 
return to his back, making sure his green tee shirt stayed up and knew 
the next set was about to begin. 

"Twenty-one! Ohhh, God! Twenty-t-two! OUCHH! Twenty-three!" He was 
crying hard now, not even attempting to maintain a shred of dignity. 
The house sat on a large piece of property but if the neighbors could 
hear him, so be it, he thought wildly. 

The paddling continued, the dog howled in protest from his perch by 
the fireplace, and the boy's buttocks grew red under the onslaught. 
Skinner found himself with mixed feelings as he watched Fox's cheeks 
turn a dark cherry color. It brought back memories of his own run-ins 
with the paddle in question at roughly the same age. <And you 
survived, Walt. Stay the course!>

After fifty whacks, he paused once more. Fox was sobbing hard and 
Skinner had had to hold him down with all his strength for the last 
few whacks in the fifth set of ten. He put the paddle down and reached 
up and caressed the back of the boy's head. "It's almost over," he 
said quietly, in his most soothing voice.

"Why c-can't it be over now?" Fox asked between sobs. "I learned my 
lesson! And . . . and maybe the clock was fast!"

Skinner bit his lip to keep from laughing. One thing about Fox, he was 
always looking for an angle. Or a loophole. "Actually, I thought it 
was fifty-four minutes, but I'm going to go with your fifty-three, 
Fox," he answered. "Three more and we'll get them over fast." He 
picked up the paddle and place his hand in the middle of Fox's back.

"What does a curfew mean, Fox?" he asked as he delivered the 
fifty-first whack.

"OUCHH! IT MEANS I'M SUPPOSED TO BE HOME NO LATER THAN THEN!"

"Very good. And what are you supposed to do if your plans change when 
you're out?"

"UNHHH! CALL! I'M SUPPOSED TO CALL YOU AND LET YOU KNOW," he sobbed.

"And here's fifty-three. What happens when you disobey the rules, 
Fox?" he asked, bringing the paddle down on the center of the boy's 
red, sore buttocks. 

"OWWWW! I g-get sp-spanked!" he responded, collapsing into a bout of 
tears. Skinner 

laid the paddle down on the table and gathered the boy into his arms.

"It's all right now," he said quietly, rubbing Fox's back and rocking 
him gently. "I know that was tough. But it's supposed to be, to drive 
the lesson home. Nothing's more important than your safety, Fox. And 
the rules are just ways for me to know I'm doing everything I can to 
keep you safe."

Fox nodded into his shoulder and sobbed another moment or two. Then he 
reached down and began to adjust his clothes.

"No, not yet," Skinner told him firmly, going back into 'parent' mode. 
"We're not through yet. You're spending the next 53 minutes standing 
in that corner, just like that." He had placed a strong arm around the 
boy's shoulders as he spoke and now he was propelling his shocked 
young charge into the corner in question.

"Here?" he asked incredulously. "In the family room?"

Skinner nodded. "Yes, right here. I want to be able to see that you're 
obeying me on this, Fox. And I want to have easy access to your bottom 
if you don't and I need to issue any further correction!"

"But- but. . . . but that's not fair!" the boy responded, turning away 
from the corner he'd been placed in.

"Not fair? What was fair about you coming in almost an hour after your 
curfew? Worrying me half to death about what might have happened to 
you?"

"But I've already been punished for that. You paddled me for that! 
This is like . . . double jeopardy," he retorted.

Skinner shook his head as he turned the boy forcibly back to face the 
corner and smacked his sore bottom hard. "And wait till you see what's 
in store in the Final Jeopardy round," he said tightly. "Now I suggest 
you stay there, quietly. Or you'll find yourself standing in the 
corner with a mouth full of soap." He placed Fox's hands so that he 
was holding up his tee shirt, keeping it from falling over his bottom.

The boy stood ramrod straight, his body language communicating his 
anger and frustration. But he remained in place as Skinner moved about 
the kitchen and family room. He got a kitchen timer and brought it 
into the family room, setting it for 53 minutes and placing it on the 
table near Fox. The boy's head turned and watched him for a moment, 
then he swiveled it back to face the corner when he thought Skinner 
might see him.

The AD got his briefcase and sat down with some work for the next day, 
keeping a careful eye on the recalcitrant young man. The second World 
Series game would begin later and he wanted to be through with his 
next day prep work before then. Inside of thirty minutes, Fox's tense 
stance had relaxed and he was leaning into the corner now, his 
forehead touching the wall.

"Stand up straight, Fox," Skinner barked at him. "That's part of the 
discipline."

The boy perked up and he sobbed once. The sound nearly broke the man's 
heart but he steeled himself once again. After all, this was not 
anything he himself had never been through.

"How come you're so . . . strict?" Fox whispered from the corner when 
he had just a few minutes left of his sentence. 

Skinner looked up, surprised. "Why do you think?" he responded after a 
short pause.

"I don't know," Fox said, beginning to tear up again. "'Cause you hate 
me? And you never really wanted me? But nobody else did either and so 
you got stuck with me. Because you never walk away from your 
responsibilities. . . ."

Skinner was struck dumb by the boy's speech. A ball of emotion formed 
in his throat and he pushed the paperwork he was reviewing aside and 
stood up. He went to the table and saw there were less than two 
minutes left in the boy's corner time and he pushed the indicator 
almost to the zero and walked over to the corner.

"Fox, do you think . . . Do you think your grandfather hates me?" he 
asked the young man gently.

"No! He's your f-father. And you're his oldest son. He loves you!" he 
sobbed, only to be interrupted by the timer ringing on the table 
behind them. Skinner helped him get dressed, then put an arm around 
him and led him over to the couch. He knew sitting would be a painful 
experience for Fox. So Skinner sat down himself and pulled the boy 
down, letting him rest his head on Skinner's chest, effectively taking 
the weight off his backside. Then he began to stroke Fox's hair and 
his back gently.

"I think you're right, Fox," he said softly. "Gran loves me a lot. But 
let me tell you about the year I was sixteen going on seventeen. My 
Dad gave me a curfew and it was earlier than all my friends. Earlier 
than my girlfriend even! And I thought I knew better so I just kept 
coming home at the time I thought was right."

"You did that?" Fox looked up at him. His eyes were red and swollen 
from crying but wide with curiosity. 

"Yeah. Just about every Saturday night. And every week, my Dad paddled 
my butt for it. One whack for every minute I was late. For breaking my 
curfew. And then the next morning, he'd give me another paddling and 
make me stand in the corner. One minute for every minute I was late. 
And that part of the punishment was for being defiant."

Fox's face reflected his shock and his confusion. "Gran did that? He 
m-made you stand in the corner, too?"

"And he loved me a lot, like you said," Skinner continued, bringing 
the story to a close. "So when I look back on it, I can't be mad. I 
know it was for my own good. Just like, when I punish you, son, it's 
for your own good. And it's because I love you more than I could ever 
say."

Fox's eyes closed as a fresh set of tears threatened to spill over and 
he buried his face in Skinner's shoulder once again.

"And Fox?" Skinner added, going for the final point. "Remember. Unlike 
you, I wasn't an only child."

The boy raised his head as the full import of that information hit 
him. "Oh, God," he breathed. "Gran's even meaner than you!"

Skinner let him calm down until his tears reduced naturally to 
tear-soaked hitches. Fox had snuggled under his arm and into his 
shoulder in a way that reminded the man of the boy when he was much 
younger. A few weeks ago, he thought ruefully. Time was passing so 
quickly and Fox was growing so fast. It was good to know that, at the 
advanced age of eighteen, he still felt okay with the kind of physical 
affection that had become the foundation of their relationship.

Skinner began to think the boy might have fallen asleep and he nudged 
him gently. Fox looked up, a mixture of curiosity and wonder on his 
face. "What're you thinking about?" the AD asked him quietly.

"I was just thinking about a whole year of . . ," he said, awed as the 
reality of that story truly sank in. "Jeez, you're a whole lot more 
stubborn than me!"

Skinner found himself laughing inwardly but he didn't want to spoil 
the moment. "From your mouth to God's ear, kid," he said quietly, 
kissing the top of the boy's head and squeezing him affectionately. 

McLean, Virginia
Wednesday at 7 p.m.

The Assistant Director entered the kitchen through the door from the 
garage. Fox was there, talking animatedly into the telephone. Clad in 
tee shirt and jeans, he sat atop the kitchen counter, his bare feet 
perched on one of the stools and he held out a treat to Yoda as he 
talked. The dog sat down and stared up at him, tail wagging rapidly, 
eager anticipation written all over him. The boy finally relented and 
gave him his biscuit and Yoda laid down and attacked it with dispatch. 

"And I'm getting an 'A' in French, too," he said. "I had to go see a 
French play a couple of weeks ago, and I understood every word. I 
might go to France some time, I think."

Skinner walked by him, carrying a brown paper bag in one arm and his 
briefcase in another. He noted the disjointed conversation, and gave 
the boy a curious look. "Who are you talking to?" he mouthed at him.

"My Mom," Fox answered immediately.

Skinner was surprised and pleased by the answer. As an adult, Mulder 
had had a generally difficult relationship with his mother. Perhaps 
this time things would be different. 

"Say hi for me," he said as he opened his briefcase and pulled out a 
blue baseball cap. It had the letters "FBI" emblazoned in white on the 
front and he placed it on Fox's head as he went by. 

The boy pulled it off immediately as he spoke into the phone again. 
"Dad says 'hi,' he repeated automatically. "Hey, cool!" he continued, 
his face lighting up as he got a look at the hat.

Skinner smiled as he exited the kitchen and headed upstairs to change 
out of his work clothes. The old Mulder would never have thought any 
such thing about an FBI cap. But at eighteen or so, it was a different 
story. 

The AD returned a few minutes later wearing sweats and a faded USMC 
sweatshirt to hear the young man still talking to his mother. It did 
his heart good to hear it, and he imagined Teena Mulder must be 
pleased, too. Rounding the corner, he saw Fox was still wearing the 
cap, only now it was turned backwards on his head as he rattled on 
about some other topic.

Skinner took the steaks he'd bought out of the bag on the counter and 
began preparing them for the grill. He'd also brought home fresh corn 
on the cob, Fox's favorite vegetable. Fox was now giving his mother a 
play-by-play recap of the World Series game they'd seen the previous 
weekend in Atlanta. He had an amazing memory and Skinner found himself 
hoping Teena actually cared about the game, considering the level of 
detail she was receiving. 

Fox was serving yet another punishment tour after his curfew violation 
of the Saturday before. This week the swimming team had no practices 
or meets scheduled so the boy was coming home at 3:30 each afternoon. 
Skinner had instructed him to call his office as soon as he arrived at 
the house and so far Fox had made the call right on schedule each day. 
His phone privileges were also suspended, which might help explain the 
long conversation with his mother, the AD mused. She was on the list 
of approved calls.

The conversation he and Fox had Sunday night had made Skinner anxious 
about what this week might bring. He'd given Fox a severe paddling for 
breaking his curfew and the boy had been remorseful and subdued 
afterward. As he was getting ready for bed, the Assistant Director 
informed him about the rest of his sentence and Fox had taken that 
news of another punishment tour without much protest. But the final 
piece of information had stirred his rebellious streak.

"What do you mean I can't see Cat and Dylan? They're my friends!"

"I don't think people who try to get you to do things you know are 
wrong can be referred to as 'friends,' Fox," Skinner had told him 
firmly. "And I'm putting my foot down now. You are not to see either 
of them except in passing while you're at school. Period."

"But . . but Cat is my . . . she's my girlfriend!" the boy had yelled, 
tripping over his own words. "And I l-love her! You can't make me stop 
seeing her!"

"As long as you're a minor, and living under my roof, I have veto 
authority over your social life. I let it go too long already. I hoped 
you'd see for yourself what a bad influence these so-called 'friends' 
are. But you haven't, so now I'm making the decision for you."

They'd argued another couple of minutes but then emotional and 
physical exhaustion had double-teamed the young man into submission. 
It occurred to Skinner that, on one level, the boy seemed almost 
relieved to have the decision taken out of his hands. In a few 
minutes, he'd been asleep and Monday morning had brought not a peep of 
further protest. And each day Fox had come home on schedule and met 
every requirement of his restriction.

Skinner returned from the back deck after lighting the grill and 
tapped the boy on his shoulder. "Weren't you supposed to make a salad 
to go with dinner?" he asked him as soon as Fox lifted his head. 
Skinner had assigned him that task when they'd spoken earlier in the 
afternoon.

"It's in the refrigerator," the young man whispered. 

The AD was a little surprised that the chore was completed with plenty 
of time to spare. <Now I know the secret, kid. Boredom is apparently a 
great incentive for you!> 

He opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a large glass salad 
bowl. It was covered in plastic wrap and he noticed it was arranged 
rather strangely. Placing it on the counter, he turned the bowl, 
trying to ascertain what it was supposed to be. Then it hit him. On a 
bed of lettuce, the boy had arranged chopped eggs and black olives in 
the shape of a smiley face.

Skinner looked up at Fox. "Have a nice day," the boy said, grinning 
ear to ear. "Oh, not you, Mom! I mean, I hope you have a nice day, 
too, of course. I was talking to Dad--"

He listened for a few seconds, then spoke again. "Oh, okay. I'll talk 
to you soon. Bye."

Fox handed the phone to Skinner. "She wants to talk to you," he said 
before ducking away from the playful smack the AD aimed at his butt as 
he headed into the family room.

"Hi, Teena," Skinner said, holding the portable phone between his ear 
and shoulder as he carried the steaks out to the grill. 

"Hello, Walt. I just wanted to tell you . . . how wonderful it is to 
hear Fox so happy. And content. He was very moody at this age before 
and this is a remarkable change. I just wanted you to know I'm 
grateful for everything you've done."

"Well, don't give me too much credit," Skinner answered warmly. "He 
can still be unbelievably moody. I don't know if he told you but he's 
grounded right now--"

"Yes," she chuckled. "He told me. Sounds like you've got it under 
control though. I hope he'll behave long enough for you to bring him 
back to Greenwich for a weekend soon."

"I think that can be arranged," Skinner answered. "We've got my nephew 
Doug's wedding next weekend. But the weekend after that is wide open. 
. . ."

He hung the phone up a minute later when he stepped back into the 
kitchen. Then he stopped for a moment and stared into the family room. 
Fox was sprawled lazily on the sofa, his feet hanging over the arm. 
Yoda was splayed out beside him, his head in Fox's lap as the boy 
unconsciously stroked the dog's head. Fox was reading something, 
probably homework, the AD mused. His face was unlined and innocent, 
yet he was unmistakably Mulder now. But with an air of contentment and 
security, as if he were certain of his place in the universe in a way 
Special Agent Fox Mulder never had been. Skinner surprised himself as 
a silent prayer crossed his mind unbidden. <Let him be, God. If I 
could have one wish, it would be for him to keep the peace and 
security he's found here.> 

He sighed and headed back out to the grill to turn the steaks. It 
occurred to him that his prayer was for both of them. Living in this 
house and in Nantucket, all these months with Fox, had given him a 
sense of being home again. It was something he hadn't felt much in a 
long time, not since the early years with Sharon. And while he knew it 
wouldn't last for long with the way the boy was growing, he felt 
immensely grateful for however long they were given. 

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

FBI Headquarters
Thursday afternoon
3:28 p.m.

"Assistant Director?" Kim said as she opened the door to his office. 
"You have a call on your private line."

It was their shorthand for calls from Fox. Skinner excused himself 
from the conference room and stepped back into his office. "Hi, kid," 
he said as he picked up the receiver.

"Hi, Dad. Just wanted you to know I'm home. Three minutes early!"

"How'd you manage that?" Skinner laughed. 

"Mrs. Barefoot gave me a ride and we made all the lights," Fox 
answered. "She was coming in this direction. And she said to tell you 
she'll call you tonight."

Skinner asked him about his chemistry test and heard the grin on the 
kid's face when he reported he'd 'aced it.' Then the AD told Fox about 
a few chores he wanted the boy to complete that afternoon, along with 
whatever homework and studying he had to do. "I'll be home late," he 
finished. "I have a meeting with the Budget Committee that will last 
until nine or so. Go ahead and order something for dinner. The menus 
are in the left-hand drawer in the kitchen and there's money in the 
top drawer of my desk."

They agreed on Chinese or pizza and finished the call. "I'm trusting 
you to stay home alone, Fox. And to go to bed when you’re supposed to. 
You're still being punished, you know," Skinner told him before 
hanging up. "I love you, pal."

"Yeah," the boy laughed good-naturedly. He'd once asked Skinner about 
the way his family ended phone calls in that manner. The AD had told 
him very seriously that 'you never know when you talk to someone you 
love if it's the last time you'll get the chance.' Fox thought that 
was a little pessimistic but he knew his father felt strongly about 
it. "I love you too, Dad."

Fox hung up and had barely put the phone down when it rang again. 
"Forget something?" he asked after picking it up again.

"No, but I'm beginning to think you've forgotten me," Cat Halsey 
purred into the phone. "You've barely talked to me all week!"

"Oh, hi, Cat," Fox said slowly. He wasn't supposed to be talking to 
her. But he hadn't told her that and he didn't want to tell her now. 

"That doesn't sound like you're gonna be glad to see me," she pouted. 
"And I'm at your front door right now." As she said that, the doorbell 
rang.

Fox hung the phone up. "Oh, shit," he breathed as he went to answer 
the door. Cat flung herself at him as soon as he opened it. Dylan Kane 
and Delia Westley were standing behind her. After giving him a soulful 
kiss that took his breath away, she grabbed his hand and began pulling 
him out of the house.

"Come with us," she said giddily. "We're off from school tomorrow 
because of that teacher's conference so you can't use that 'homework' 
excuse you've been giving me! Let's just hang, okay?"

Fox was torn between making up an excuse and telling her the truth, 
that he was grounded. And not allowed to see them anyway. But the girl 
and the other couple made him feel self-conscious about it. He 
hesitated too long and before he knew it, Cat had taken his jacket 
from where it had been hanging on the railing by the stairs and they 
were on their way out of the house. 

Fox's stomach was in knots as they got into the car and he wondered 
whether the security team at the end of the block would call his Dad 
and tell him about the trip. But he knew with almost complete 
certainty that Skinner had not shared the fact the boy was grounded 
with them. He trusted Fox to honor his word. That thought brought a 
wave of guilt that chilled him until his focus changed to Cat's mouth 
coming down on his own, her hand lightly brushing his groin. 

Raging hormones pushed all conscious thought out of his mind. <Thank 
God my Dad won't be home till late! I can go hang out for an hour or 
two and then come home. And he'll never know. Please God, don't let 
him find out!>

They drove to a pizza place near the school. It had a juke box and 
video games and many of Fox's classmates hung out there in the 
afternoons. The young man had only been there a couple of times before 
but he knew almost everyone there and was greeted as a long-lost 
friend. They met up with Jarrod Kelley and his new girlfriend, and 
other members of the swimming team and Fox found himself having a good 
time, swiftly losing track of the hour. At five o'clock, he suddenly 
realized how much time had passed and mentioned that he needed to get 
home.

"No, don't go," Cat pleaded, grabbing his hand. "We're off tomorrow. 
And we could do something fun."

"I don't know," Fox told her, mentally searching for a good excuse for 
wanting to leave. But nothing occurred to him.

"I know!" she suddenly exclaimed. "Let's go to Richmond! To Edgar 
Allen Poe's house. It's an awesome place to go for Halloween!"

Dylan agreed immediately and he and Delia left to get the car without 
a second thought. Now Fox was beginning to sweat and he turned to 
Jarrod, hoping he'd say something that would dissuade Cat from this 
plan. He didn't appear to be interested in the trip to Richmond, but 
he also didn't say anything that Fox could grab onto as an excuse. 
They spoke for a while longer, then they all headed out to the car as 
Dylan pulled it up in front. 

The other boy had put the top down on the convertible, and Delia sat 
beside him. There was a cooler on the front seat of the car and Fox 
saw beer and a bottle of vodka on ice. Both Dylan and Delia were 
drinking and Cat reached in and grabbed the vodka bottle.

She took a swig then handed the bottle to Fox. The boy was too stunned 
to refuse it and he put it to his lips as he frantically tried to work 
out a good excuse for going home. Out of the corner of his eye he saw 
Jarrod Kelley grimace and shake his head.

"You got a problem, Kelley?" Dylan Kane asked from the driver's seat. 
"Or are you just constipated or something?"

Dylan and Jarrod had not repaired their relationship after Delia 
hooked up with Dylan in New York City a few weeks before. She'd been 
dating Jarrod before that. Perhaps more telling, Cat Halsey had told 
Fox several times that she thought Jarrod was 'a bore.' He felt waves 
of tension crash around him and began to worry Jarrod and Dylan might 
come to blows. But the Kelley boy simply took his new girlfriend's 
hand and walked off. 

"Have a good time in Richmond," Jarrod called back sarcastically.

Fox watched him go, and wished he had the courage to just walk away 
too. But Cat had slipped an arm around his waist and passed him the 
vodka bottle again.

"What a major-league asshole," she said, eliciting a laugh of 
agreement from Delia. Then she reached into the cooler and took a 
bottle of beer out for herself and one for Fox. "Let's go," she told 
him as she handed him a beer. "I've heard that Edgar Allen Poe's house 
is haunted! Maybe we'll get to see an actual ghost. . . "

Fox's eyes lit at the thought but his fear of going any further afield 
from his punishment tour overrode it, albeit weakly. "I- I c-can't," 
Fox said with minimal conviction. "I have to get home. My Dad and I--"

"What's this thing with you and 'Daddy,' huh?" Dylan asked derisively. 
"I mean really, man. Don't you think you should spend some time with 
friends your own age once in a while?

Fox blushed a dark pink immediately. "I'm n-not. . . . I mean, I don't 
think I should--"

"Oh, come on!" Cat said, stamping her foot. "You're becoming a real 
geek, Fox. If you don't let us save you from yourself, it's gonna be 
too late!"

"She's right, Fox. I thought you were kinda cool but lately you're 
just totally lame," Dylan interjected. "Daddy giving you a hard time 
or something? Are you afraid he's gonna spank you if you take a drive 
with your friends?"

Fox reddened further at their comments. "N-no," he stammered, staring 
at his own feet. "I just don't want--"

"You don't want to come?" Cat asked, pressing her body up against his 
and running her hands down his back and over his butt. She whispered 
in his ear. "I know a hotel in Richmond. We're off tomorrow . . . so 
we can stay overnight. And I'll be very--" She kissed him on the neck. 
"Very--" Next she kissed his jaw line. "Very disappointed if I end up 
there alone while Delia and Dylan are getting it on in the room next 
door!"

Before he knew what happened, Fox found himself in the convertible, a 
can of beer in his hand. Dylan made a fast U-turn, burning rubber as 
he passed a crowd of kids on the sidewalk. He gave Jarrod Kelley the 
finger as he drove by and Fox swiftly swallowed his beer, praying the 
liquid would help put out the fire in his churning gut.

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

McLean, Virginia
7:15 p.m.

Skinner cut the engine of the jeep and stepped out onto the driveway. 
He left the car out in the hope that Fox had not yet eaten dinner. The 
Budget meeting had been canceled at the last minute because the 
Director was called to the Hill. So the AD came home, intending to 
take the boy out to dinner if it wasn't too late. He'd called from the 
car and Fox had not answered so he didn't know whether he'd eaten or 
not.

Skinner wasn't too worried about the fact Fox didn't answer. He'd 
assigned him outdoor chores to do today because the weather was good. 
In fact, he'd given Fox a list to last through the weekend and he knew 
the boy's nature well enough to know he'd try to get as much of it 
done as possible today so he'd have more time off later.

Skinner walked in the front door, stopping to look at the mail Fox had 
left on the table in the foyer. "Fox!" he called out. "I'm home. Want 
to go get some dinner? Your pick." The dog bounded in from the family 
room so Skinner knew Fox was there. Yoda stayed in the garage when 
neither of them was home.

No answer returned and the AD started toward the back of the house, 
knowing the young man was probably in the yard. But the doorbell 
behind him rang and he made a quick turn and returned to answer the 
door. He was startled to find two Virginia State troopers at the door.

"Mr. Skinner?" the older one asked.

"Yes. What can I do for you, officers?"

"May we come in, sir?" the Sargent asked.

Skinner was puzzled now. And worried. "Is something wrong?" He pulled 
his FBI badge out of the pocket of his jacket and saw the officers 
check it out, then exchange a look that signaled their surprise and 
mutual concern. 

"Perhaps we should go inside--" the officer began again but Skinner 
interrupted him.

"Officers, please. I'd like to know what brings you here," he asked 
politely but firmly. The undertone of authority served its purpose.

"Sir, there's been an accident. Your son and some friends were 
involved in a collision on Route 95--"

"What?" Skinner interjected immediately. "That's impossible! Fox is 
home. I spoke to him earlier. . . ." His voice trailed off as he went 
to the back of the house and opened the rear door. Then he yelled out 
into the yard. "Fox!" No answer was forthcoming and he tried once 
again. Fighting panic, he went to the bottom of the stairs and 
hollered up. "Fox! Get down here! Right now!"

Silence mocked him in answer to his calls and so AD ran up the stairs 
two at a time and went immediately to the boy's room. It was empty and 
he jogged from door to door, checking every room. No one was there. 
All the nerve endings in his body were jumping as he attempted to move 
one leg in front of the other and descend the stairs. Reaching the 
bottom, he suddenly feared his legs might collapse beneath him. 

The younger officer saw his distress and reached out a hand to help 
him but Skinner shook him off. "I'm all right," he said angrily. "And 
Fox wasn't out in a car today. He was grounded. I spoke to him 
earlier. . . ."

"Well, we have several eyewitnesses, including someone who said he was 
a close friend," the Sargent said quietly, opening his notebook and 
checking the details. "A boy named Jarrod Kelley. He said Fox was with 
Dylan Kane, Cathleen Halsey and Delia Westley. Drinking vodka and 
beer. And they decided to drive to Richmond."

Skinner's legs turned to jelly and he sat down heavily on one of the 
steps. "Where is he?" he asked suddenly. "Is he all right?"

The officer hesitated a moment and the A.D.'s heart shattered into the 
silence. No one in law enforcement would misinterpret the reality 
behind that pause.

Clearing his throat, the Sargent continued. "The convertible they were 
last seen in tried to outrun a police cruiser. It hit a concrete wall 
at over a hundred miles an hour and burst into flame. . . . There were 
no survivors."

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

McLean, Virginia
8:15 p.m.

Special Agent Dana Scully jumped out of the back of the police car 
that had been sent to get her. She had no idea why she'd been asked 
here by Skinner but her instincts told her it wasn't an invitation to 
dinner. She jogged up the driveway and onto the front porch of the 
safe house. There were two police cruisers parked on the street in 
addition to the one she'd arrived in. And another car and Skinner's 
jeep were parked in the driveway.

Her heart racing, Scully flashed her ID at the officer at the front 
door and hurried inside. The Assistant Director was sitting on a couch 
in the living room and a pretty, dark-haired woman was sitting beside 
him, her arm draped protectively across his back. His face was in his 
hands but he looked up as she entered, as if sensing her approach, and 
rose immediately.

"Agent Scully," he began, his voice husky with emotion. "Dana--"

"What's wrong?" she asked him immediately, glancing around the place. 
"Where's Mulder? I mean, Fox? Is he all right?"

Skinner approached her and took both of her hands into his own. In 
halting, emotion-laden language he told her the facts and then he held 
her as her body weight crashed into his chest, nearly knocking what 
little breath he had left out of him. 

"No!" she cried, shaking her head violently. "No! That can't be true! 
That can't . . . . Please! Oh, God, please don't let him be dead!"

The AD held her, tears burning his own eyes as she cried out her 
anguish and pain. "I know," he said softly, trying to find a core of 
strength to offer her and knowing he was failing abjectly. Just as 
he'd failed to protect Mulder. "I'm sorry, Dana. I'm so . . . very 
sorry."

McLean, Virginia
9:12 p.m.

Yoda poked Skinner's arm insistently with his snout, trying to get the 
man's attention. The dog had grown anxious and agitated as more people 
streamed into the house in the wake of the news. Whenever there was 
noise outside the house he ran to the front door to look for Fox, his 
tail wagging expectantly. When someone else appeared, he'd wander back 
to Skinner. 

First the agent in charge of the security team had come in, right 
after the police cars showed up. Fiona had arrived next. She'd been 
notified of the accident by the police. The license plate the state 
trooper had gotten off the car led them to Dylan's family. They hadn't 
known who he was with but suggested Jarrod Kelley as a possibility, 
believing he and Dylan were still friends. Once the police knew the 
four kids in the car were students at the Wheatley Academy they called 
Fiona as they began the process of informing the other families. 

Shocked and grief-stricken, she'd driven straight over to the McLean 
house, to offer whatever comfort was possible in the face of such 
senseless tragedy. Then Scully arrived, summoned by Skinner. And 
another police car, this one carrying a Captain from the local 
station. Once he'd heard an Assistant Director from the FBI had lost a 
son in the accident, a personal appearance seemed in order.

Skinner was sitting on the couch now, staring into space. The chaos in 
the house escaped his notice because the thunderous sound of his own 
elevated blood pressure and rapidly beating heart drowned it all out. 
He stroked the dog's head absent-mindedly, then his gaze fell to 
Yoda's face. Two brown eyes stared at him questioningly and he swore 
there was great sadness there, too. As if the dog knew the awful 
truth. "I know, boy," he said softly. "I know."

Scully had stepped into the hall bathroom to splash some water on her 
face. She returned a moment later and sat down on the chair near 
Skinner. She looked like she wanted to say something but nothing 
adequate came to mind and she sank back into the soft cushions 
despondently. 

Fiona entered just behind her, carrying two glasses of ice water. She 
handed one to Skinner and offered the other to Scully before sitting 
down next to the Assistant Director. She placed a hand on his arm and 
waited for him to look at her. When he did, she spoke softly.

"Walter, let me help. Can I call anyone?"

He stared at her blankly for a moment, then shook his head. "I . . . . 
No. I have to do this myself. I need to tell Teena Mulder. And my 
family . . . ." His voice broke as he spoke and he jerked his head to 
the side, and closed his eyes.

"Sir," Scully cut in. "Would you like me to speak to Mrs. Mulder?"

Skinner shook his head again, still fighting to get a handle on his 
emotions. "No, Dana," he answered emphatically after another long 
moment. "I have to do it. She left him with me, expecting me to keep 
him from harm. I . . . have to tell her. And I have to do it in 
person." He rose, as though he were about to leave to do exactly that 
at the moment. "I have to let my folks know. I can't tell them on the 
phone . . . ."

Fiona rose also and slipped her hand into his. "Walter, you can't be 
two places at once," she said quietly. "I'll call Joe. He can tell 
your parents while you go to Greenwich."

Skinner nodded briefly. "You're right, of course. I can't do both. But 
I'll call Joe," he said as Fiona put her arms around his waist and 
pulled him into a comforting hug. "I . . . it's my responsibility--" 
His voice broke and he closed his eyes and squeezed Fiona, trying to 
hold back the deluge of tears that was barely contained behind his 
weakening defenses.

Just down the block, a sedan slowed down and pulled over. There were 
two passengers in the car, a white-haired older woman and a teenage 
boy. "This is fine, ma'am," the boy said hurriedly. "And thanks for 
the ride. I really appreciate it."

The woman smiled at him. She reminded him of his grandmother, he 
thought. The elderly woman had picked him up on the side of the road, 
saying that despite all the warnings about hitchhikers, she could spot 
a nice young man in need of help. Which he was. Now part of him wished 
he'd held out for a ride from someone who drove a little faster, 
though.

"You take care of yourself, young man," she said as he opened the car 
door and got out. The youth leaned back down and looked through the 
open door. He was long and lanky but he moved with an athletic grace 
that banished the awkward clumsiness typical of boys his age.

"You, too, ma'am," he answered with a shy smile. "Bye." He slammed the 
door and jogged down the street toward his house. Checking his watch 
once again, his heart nearly seized and he began to pray the budget 
meeting had gone later than expected. He might still be able to get 
home and in the house before -- "Oh, shit!"

The sprawling modern house was surrounded by police cars and the 
A.D.'s jeep sat in the long driveway, with another car beside it. He 
knew immediately that one belonged to Fiona Barefoot. <Oh, God! I'm in 
so much trouble!> 

Fox stopped halfway down the block and leaned against a large oak 
tree, trying to decide what to do next. His legs trembled at the 
thought of what his father would do to him, under the circumstances. 
He'd left no note, the man must have thought he'd been kidnapped. Or 
run away again. Skinner must have called the authorities and now he'd 
be embarrassed and angry. <Fox, you are in deep, deep shit!>

The young man stayed there a few minutes before finding the fortitude 
to take the additional steps that would take him home. The thought of 
running in the other direction was foremost in his mind but some 
streak of common sense and self-discipline overrode that instinct and 
he walked slowly up the driveway and in through the open front door. A 
policeman was standing on the front steps but the young officer simply 
stepped aside and let him enter, thinking he was a visitor.

Fox stepped into the foyer and glanced around anxiously, taking note 
of the number of people but searching first for Skinner. He saw him in 
the living room, his arms around Fiona and they both looked . . . 
upset. And Dana sat in a chair nearby, staring at the floor.

"Dad?" he called tentatively. All sound in the room, even breathing, 
stopped immediately. Only Yoda moved. In his usual pattern, he raced 
up to the boy and stood on his hind legs, looking to be petted.

"Fox?" Skinner whispered, lifting his head from where it was resting 
atop Fiona's. He caught sight of the boy standing pensively at the 
entry to the living room but he had a split second of hesitation, 
fearing his grief was causing him to hallucinate. Then the man strode 
rapidly in his direction and the boy's eyes widened with fear that he 
was going to be punished here, in front of all of these people. He was 
immensely startled when he was pulled into a hug that almost cut off 
his breathing.

"Thank God! You're all right," the A.D. said, his voice husky with 
tears. He caressed the back of the boy's head with one hand and kept a 
death grip on him with the other.

"Are you Fox Skinner?" the police captain asked the boy and Fox nodded 
over the man's shoulder. "Were you with--"

He was stopped when Skinner turned and held up his hand in a halt 
gesture. The A.D. shook his head, knowing they needed to get some 
information from Fox but that they had to do it before the young man 
knew all the details of what had happened. And before he had enough 
information to figure it out on his own. He turned back to the 
confused young man.

"Fox, where have you been?" he asked softly. "I know you left the 
house. Tell me where you went and what you did."

The boy looked puzzled by the question. He expected anger. And 
punishment. And instead he was being gently interrogated. And all of 
these people in the house seemed to be hanging on his every word. The 
situation confused and frightened him but he looked at Skinner and let 
his trust in the man guide him.

"I went out. I know I wasn't supposed to but . . . . " His voice 
caught and he stopped speaking.

"That's okay, son," the A.D. told him. "Just tell me what happened."

Fox glanced anxiously around the room and Skinner put a hand on either 
of his shoulders to regain his attention. "Just talk to me, Fox."

"Well, Cat came over. With Dylan and Delia. And we went to Papa Joe's 
by the school. I thought I'd only be gone an hour or two," he added, 
trying to make it sound better in some small way.

"And then?" Skinner prodded him gently.

"And then we-- Cat thought it would be cool to go to Richmond. To 
Edgar Allen Poe's house. And . . . and stay overnight. Because we have 
no school tomorrow," he added, looking to Fiona. Tears were pooled in 
her eyes and he bit his lip, not sure what he'd said to cause such a 
reaction. "And it's almost Halloween . . . ." His voice trailed off as 
though he'd lost his train of thought.

"Go on, Fox," Skinner said, recapturing the boy's focus. "What 
happened then?"

Fox paused, trying to decide how much to tell. There were police here 
as well as his father and he didn't want to get his friends in 
trouble. "We started to go. And . . . and then I thought I better not. 
Because I'm grounded and you'd be mad. And . . . ," he hesitated once 
more.

"Was Dylan drinking?" Skinner probed again. "Tell me the truth, Fox."

The boy's eyes toured the room once more and then he dropped his voice 
to barely more than a whisper. "Yes, sir," he said, choking up. "I 
told him he shouldn't be driving. That he was too drunk to drive. And 
we had a bad fight! He said I was a . . . a jerk. And a wuss. And Cat 
took his side and . . . . Everybody was mad at me. I told them to drop 
me off and they did, on the side of the road. I tried to get Cat and 
Delia to come with me, but they wouldn't. They said I was . . . . " 
His voice cracked. "I had to walk back to a main road. And then I 
hitched a ride home and it took a long time. . . . Something's wrong, 
isn't it? Did Dylan get arrested, Dad?"

He'd added up all the evidence and come to the conclusion that Dylan 
and the others must have been stopped by the police after he'd left 
them. "Is he in trouble?"

Skinner pulled him back into an embrace that nearly squeezed all the 
air out of him. Over the boy's shoulder, he caught the attention of 
the police captain. "I think that's all he can tell you," he said 
quietly. 

The police filed out, accompanied by the FBI agent in charge of the 
security detail. But the sergeant who'd originally contacted Skinner 
remained. "We'll probably have a few more questions for him tomorrow," 
he said slowly after garnering the A.D.'s attention.

"Not until tomorrow, Sergeant," Skinner said. "And thank you. . . . 
for everything."

Fox's head turned to the police officer as the two men spoke. 
Something was not right about this situation but he couldn't quite put 
his finger on what it was. 

After the sergeant departed, Fiona walked over to where the man and 
boy were standing and kissed Fox on the cheek. She cupped his face in 
her hands and told him how glad she was that he was all right. 

"I'd better be going," she said to Skinner cryptically. "I'll have to 
coordinate the plan to notify our students. And we'll need counselors 
available for the other kids." She glanced at Fox briefly, then turned 
her gaze back to Skinner. "I'll speak to you in the morning."

They exchanged a brief kiss and she left. Only Scully remained and she 
appeared too stunned and emotionally wrung out to move. She watched 
Skinner and Fox and wondered how the hell the man would tell this boy 
what had happened to his friends.

"Fox," he began, pushing the boy back to arm's length so he could make 
eye contact. "I have some bad news."

"Dylan did get arrested! Is he in jail? And Cat and Delia? They were 
drinking, but they weren't driving, Dad--"

"No, Fox," he interjected softly. "There was an accident. The car was 
going very fast. And it hit a wall and caught fire. . . . No one 
survived who was in the car--"

The boy failed to react at first but then his face registered shock 
and horror in a fleeting second and his knees went out from under him. 
Skinner's arms locked and slowed his fall, then the man sank to his 
knees and pulled him into the circle of his arms as Fox collapsed into 
wracking sobs against his chest. The Assistant Director held him for 
what seemed like hours, gently rocking him and making soothing noises. 
Yoda came over to them and at first tried to elicit someone's 
attention. Then he whimpered softly and laid down beside them, his 
eyes alert for some danger he could intercept.

Skinner rubbed the boy's back and continued to speak to him softly. 
"Shhh," he said over and over. "I know. I know it hurts. Just let it 
out. It's all right to cry, Fox. Just let it go. . . ."

Finally, the young man's grief was spent for the moment and he seemed 
drained of all emotion. Skinner stood and pulled him to his feet. Fox 
was like an automaton, allowing himself to be led, trusting the A.D. 
to make decisions for him. They went up the stairs and Skinner helped 
him to bed and waited until he'd fallen asleep. Then he spent a long 
minute sitting on the side of the boy's bed, just listening to him 
breathe, offering silent thanks that he'd made it home unharmed. It 
was a miracle for which he'd be eternally grateful, an answered prayer 
in a world where there was little evidence anyone was even listening. 

He found Scully in the kitchen when he came downstairs. She had filled 
the kettle and it was heating on the stovetop. 

"I needed a little something to calm my nerves," she said quietly. "I 
hope you don't mind."

Skinner shook his head and opened the door to the freezer. He took out 
a bottle and two shot glasses that were sitting on the shelf in the 
freezer door. He put the iced glasses on the table and opened the 
bottle. "Honey vodka," he said by way of explanation. "My Dad makes 
it. . . . I'm afraid I need something a little stronger than tea." He 
poured two glasses and placed one in front of Scully. Then he threw 
his head back and downed the shot he'd poured for himself.

Scully took a sip, then smiled gratefully. "This is delicious."

"Yeah. An old family recipe that my Dad hasn't passed on to any of us 
yet. Not that I think I'll have time to be making flavored vodka any 
time soon."

Scully thought that he probably didn't believe he had time to raise a 
child six months ago but somehow that time had been found, when it was 
needed. She took another sip as Skinner poured himself another shot. 
"He looks . . . . almost like Mulder now," she said quietly. "I 
haven't seen him in a while and . . . it's amazing how fast he's 
grown."

"We've missed you, Dana," Skinner answered quietly, staring at his 
glass. "I'm sorry-"

"No! I'm the one who's sorry," she interjected. "I didn't handle all 
of this very well. It's so bizarre and . . . . I didn't know how to 
react. But thank God you were here for him. I see that now. I watched 
you with him tonight and . . . he's lucky you were there--"

"I don't know about that," Skinner replied still staring into the 
clear liquid. "I promised to keep him safe and I almost lost him 
tonight. But for a fluke, a quirk of fate, he'd be dead . . . ." His 
voice cracked and he pressed his lips together in a gesture Scully 
recognized from countless stressful moments with the Assistant 
Director over the years.

"No, you're wrong," she assured him, laying a hand on top of his. "I 
think you saved his life. He left the others because he was worried 
you'd be mad. He said it himself. And I'm certain there was probably a 
little healthy fear of punishment--"

Skinner shook his head violently, but she continued, forcefully. "I'm 
right," she said. "This is Mulder we're talking about, sir. When do 
you think he would ever have passed up a chance to spend Halloween 
weekend at Edgar Allen Poe's house?"

Skinner's mouth turned up a little at the corners but his smile was a 
sad one. "Yeah. You have a point, I guess. 

But still, he shouldn't have been with them. I let that go too long . 
. . "

They each had another shot of vodka, then Skinner convinced Scully to 
stay for the night. "We have an extra bedroom and you don't have a car 
here," he told her. "I'd drive you home but I don't want to leave Fox 
alone."

She agreed that would be a mistake and Skinner showed her to the large 
guest room that faced the back of the house. He gave her a clean, 
faded FBI tee-shirt to wear to bed and thanked her again for coming 
when he called. "I'm sorry to have put you through this, Dana," he 
told her quietly.

"No, don't apologize," she answered. "If something had happened to him 
. . . . I'm glad you thought to call me."

Several hours later, Scully awoke with a start, the sound of anguished 
screams ringing in her ears. She rose quickly and grabbed her gun, 
then headed out of the guest room. As she crept down the hallway, she 
realized it was Mulder she'd heard, having a nightmare. She was 
acquainted with his penchant for nightmares from traveling with him 
but this time his terrified pleas seemed even more heartbreaking. 
Scully opened the door to the boy's bedroom slowly.

Skinner was sitting on the edge of his bed, holding him and speaking 
to him in reassuring tones. There was a blanket tossed over the chair 
in Fox's bedroom and she realized immediately that the A.D. must have 
been sleeping there, expecting something of this nature to happen.

"It was my fault," Fox babbled almost incoherently. "I should have 
tried h-harder to stop them! I knew something bad would happen and I 
just left!"

"No, you didn't, son," Skinner told him in his calmest tone. "You 
tried to tell them but they wouldn't listen. They made their own 
choice and--"

"No! You don't understand! I got m-mad when Dylan called me a wimp. I 
said if they wanted to do something stupid, fine. And I was leaving! I 
could have tried harder b-but I didn't. . . ."

Skinner held him as he continued to sob and when the boy's crying 
began to lessen, he spoke again. "Fox, listen to me. You told Dylan he 
shouldn't be drinking and driving. You asked Cat and Delia if they 
wanted to come back with you. And then you made a good decision. That 
what they were doing was wrong and you weren't going along. No one 
could have done more, kid. You tried your best. And I'm proud of you," 
he stopped, his voice breaking from emotional overload. "And I'm so 
grateful that you're okay. I love you, son. And if anything happened 
to you, I don't know what I'd do . . . ."

Fox sobbed again and Scully saw him tighten his hold on Skinner's 
back. Tears filled her own eyes and she backed out of the room, 
knowing neither of them had seen her there. She closed the door 
silently behind her and went back to bed. 

Tomorrow there would be things to do, people to speak to and lots of 
issues to deal with. Tonight, Fox was in the place he needed to be, 
with the one person he needed to be with. Scully knew suddenly and 
without a doubt that this second childhood of Mulder's had happened 
for a reason, and she was filled with a sense of awe that it had 
worked out in the best way possible. The man who returned to her, to 
the X-files, would be better for this experience and she fell asleep 
thinking that, whenever that finally happened, she'd owe the Assistant 
Director a big debt of gratitude.


McLean, Virginia
12:33 a.m. on Friday

Walter Skinner woke suddenly, disturbed by unexpected movement 
somewhere nearby. He picked his head up and realized his bedroom door 
had opened, throwing a shaft of light into the room from the dim 
fixture at the end of the hallway. Even without glasses he could see 
Fox silhouetted in the doorway. It was the first time tonight the boy 
had looked in but he'd done it several times each of the previous 
nights as well. 

"Fox," he called just as the door was closing again.

"I-- I'm sorry! I didn't mean to wake you," a taut voice answered. "I 
just wanted to make sure . . . I mean I was just checking-- . I 
couldn't sleep is all."

"It's okay, son," Skinner said calmly. He knew the boy hadn't been 
sleeping. The dark circles under his eyes and the drawn, haunted look 
on his face every day made that abundantly clear, even if the AD 
wasn't actually listening to him walk the floors several times a 
night. It had been that way since last weekend, when Fox's friends 
were killed in an auto accident. In a car he had exited only twenty 
minutes before. The young man had had nightmares the first two nights 
after the accident and since then he'd barely slept at all, as far as 
the AD could tell. 

Skinner was growing worried and had spoken to Scully and the 
pediatrician who'd been seeing Fox since his second childhood had 
begun. Even though he was now a young man of eighteen or so, the two 
physicians had a comprehensive knowledge of his situation and 
understood his current emotional turmoil. They'd both concurred that 
medication was a last resort. "Kids this age bounce back fast," Dr. 
Bentley had said. "Unless this doesn't appear to be getting better, I 
don't like to prescribe sleeping pills to a boy this age."

Skinner looked at the drawn face in the dim light now and decided he'd 
call the doctor again tomorrow. This didn't appear to be getting any 
better at all.

Fox shivered in the doorway and started to step back into the hall and 
close the door. But before he could complete the action, Skinner 
raised the comforter on the bed, a silent invitation to the boy to 
come in and get under the covers. Fox hesitated a second, then 
quick-stepped over and slipped under the covers. 

"I didn't mean to wake you, Dad," he said again as he settled in and 
laid his head on the two pillows on that side of the bed. 

"It's okay, pal," the man said quietly. "I would have been up checking 
on you if you hadn't come in. Why don't you try to get some sleep?"

"I can't sleep," the kid responded quickly, a note of defensiveness 
rising in his voice. "I-- I try and I try. But I can't." He seemed 
agitated and looked like he might just try to escape the additional 
scrutiny at any moment.

"Well, maybe you're trying too hard, kid. Let's just talk a while 
then," the Assistant Director said, plumping his own pillows up. He 
crooked an arm under his head and laid his head down on top, facing in 
Fox's direction. 

"Okay. . . . What do you want to talk about?" Fox asked him curiously. 
A yawn rose and nearly drowned out the last two words of his sentence.

"Whatever's on your mind."

There was an extended silence as Fox appeared to be thinking about 
what might be on his mind, then a sound in the open doorway captured 
both of the their attention. The dog stopped before entering and 
checked out the situation, his ears perked up as if on alert. 

"Hi, boy," Fox called, patting the bed between him and Skinner. Yoda 
bounded across the room and jumped up onto the king-size mattress. "He 
doesn't like to sleep alone," Fox offered as another yawn nearly 
overwhelmed him.

Skinner nodded silently as Yoda made himself comfortable, pawing the 
comforter until he'd created a nice little nest in the space between 
Skinner and the boy. <And I, on the other hand, love a crowd.> The AD 
shifted his position over a little more, to give the boy and dog 
adequate room, and silently thanked whoever it was who invented the 
king-size mattress.

On the other side of the bed Fox snuggled a little further under the 
covers and his eyes fluttered to a close. Skinner sighed with relief. 
Despite his earlier protest about not being able to sleep, the young 
man's breathing slowed to a steady rhythm and he quickly fell into a 
deep slumber. 

It had only taken a couple of minutes and suddenly the Assistant 
Director's bed was crowded. But it was also a haven for the boy at a 
time when his peace of mind was at issue. The truth of that was 
evidenced by how quickly he had fallen asleep just now in the 
protected confines of his father's bed, and for that Skinner was 
immensely grateful. In another minute, all three of them were sleeping 
soundly for the first time in several nights.

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

The Pennsylvania Turnpike
3:40 p.m. on Friday

Skinner glanced in the rear view mirror and saw Fox was still dozing 
in the back seat. Fiona Barefoot sat beside him and she watched his 
eyes flicker to the mirror, a worried look on his face. She glanced 
over her shoulder and smiled with relief when she saw he'd finally 
nodded off. She'd seen the young man grow more exhausted-looking all 
week but when she arrived at the house earlier today, he seemed 
slightly better, but listless and lacking his usual energy.

"How is he?" she softly asked the man next to her.

"He finally got a good night's rest last night. But it didn't make up 
for all the sleepless nights before. I let him sleep until almost noon 
and if we hadn't had to leave for Danville, I'd have let him sleep the 
weekend away. He needs it."

Fiona nodded. "I was surprised to see you both at all the funerals 
this week. It had to be a strain on him."

"He was insistent," Skinner sighed. "He knew Cat and Dylan pretty 
well. He didn't know Delia very long but he felt it was important, 
under the circumstances. And Jean-Philippe’s funeral, well, that was a 
gesture of respect for the Montreaux family, particularly 
Marie-Claire. I couldn't argue with him on that one."

The police had been confounded at first by the fact there were four 
burned bodies in the wrecked car. When Fox had come strolling into the 
McLean house a few hours after the accident, they'd left hurriedly to 
see if they could identify the fourth passenger and notify 
next-of-kin. In a few hours, they'd pieced it all together. It seemed 
the other three kids had met up with Jean-Philippe at a rest stop just 
after they dropped off Fox. The French boy was a freshman at the 
University of Virginia, having graduated from the Wheatley Academy the 
year before. He decided to take the drive with them and died in the 
accident not long after getting in the car.

His younger sister Marie-Claire was a schoolmate of Fox's, and was his 
first real crush in this second childhood. At least, she had been, a 
few short weeks ago when he was passing 14 or 15. As he grew, he'd 
moved on to Cat Halsey but when Fox heard Jean-Philippe had died in 
the car, he'd insisted on attending the funeral. It had been a 
beautiful service in the National Cathedral, then the Montreaux family 
had taken the boy's body home to Paris for burial. 

Skinner was unsure even now that allowing Fox to go to all of the 
funerals had been a good idea. But forbidding it seemed pointless and 
would have denied him some degree of closure. So instead, the AD taken 
the week off and accompanied Fox to every single service. And stayed 
with him each night as he walked the floors of their home, trying to 
dispel his sense of depression and helplessness at the tragic fate of 
his friends.

"I hope the wedding this weekend will get his mind off everything," 
Skinner concluded. The AD's nephew, Doug, was being married this 
weekend. To Emily, a kindergarten teacher from a town just down the 
road. They had asked Fox and Joe's son Mike to serve as "co-best men" 
and the Skinner girls were all in the wedding party, too. Brian and 
Haley were serving as ring bearer and flower girl. It would be an all 
Skinner family wedding party, since Emily was an only child. Only 
Griffin was being left home with a baby-sitter and that was because he 
was still only six months old.

"It sounds like it's going to be a lovely wedding," Fiona agreed. "And 
it will give Fox something to focus on, after the horrible events of 
the past week." She reached over and laid a hand on Skinner's forearm 
and he looked at her curiously. "And I'm so glad you invited me, 
Walter. I don't think I told you that but . . . I'm really happy to be 
here."

"I'm kind of glad myself," he said, turning his gaze back to the 
highway, then glancing back at her with a small smile. "I . . . I have 
to admit, it was Fox's idea. . . . And my mother's. And Nora's. And 
Eileen's. And Joe's . . . . "

Fiona's laugh glittered like gold in the morning sunshine and Skinner 
felt his heart lighten for the first time in more than week.

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

The Skinner Home
Danville, Pennsylvania
Friday evening

The house was filled with Skinners of all ages, and the chaos that 
always came with them. Andy and Eileen and their three kids were 
staying at the family home, along with Skinner and Fox, and Fiona. 
Joe's son, Mike was also staying there too, having been ousted from 
his bedroom by relatives from Oliver's side of the family who were 
staying at his parents' home because Jean and Oliver's house was 
already packed. He and Fox had been given Andy and Joe's old room and 
Fiona was staying in the study that generally doubled as Fox's room 
when he was there.

Rachel was watching Brian and Haley in the bath as their parents and 
Walter and Fiona got ready to go out for the evening. The four Skinner 
siblings liked to get together a couple of times a year for dinner. 
This time, Jean and Oliver were unable to make it because of their son 
Doug's wedding the next day and having all of Oliver's family 
together. Unlike the Skinners, the Dawsons were a far-flung bunch and 
didn't see each other more than once every few years.

So Andy, and Joe and their wives, and Skinner and Fiona had made plans 
to have a quiet dinner in a restaurant in a nearby inn, and Rachel and 
Walter, Sr. would hold down the fort at home. The older man thought 
the term 'holding down the fort' seemed particularly apropos tonight. 
It was beginning to sound like the house was under siege.

"Dad?" Skinner called into the family room. "You sure you and Mom will 
be all right alone? Fiona and I could cancel dinner and stay with 
you." He wandered into the room as he buttoned the top button on his 
crisp white shirt, a worried look on his face. An understated blue 
silk tie hung loose around his neck waiting to be knotted.

"Don't be silly," his father laughed, trying to be heard over the 
sound of gunfire on the video Fox and Mike were watching. "We raised 
five kids. There are five here tonight. We'll be fine."

"Yeah, but it's been a lot of years since you had five under the roof 
at once, Dad," Skinner replied. "And two teenagers, two little ones 
and a baby. That's a handful."

"The little ones will all be asleep soon. And these two," he said, 
gesturing toward the boys, "are fine. They keep each other company. No 
work for me or your mother. You and your brothers don't get enough 
opportunities to spend time together, you shouldn't pass one up." The 
two boys were engrossed in the movie and didn't notice they were the 
subject of the conversation.

Skinner nodded, then walked back into the hallway and began tying his 
tie. His gut told him his father was correct but . . . . "I know 
you're right, Dad. I just worry too much, I guess."

At that moment Fiona came down the stairs behind him dressed in a 
dazzling silver blue sheath with a matching sweater in her hands. She 
wrapped an arm around Walter's waist, and gave him a sunny smile. 
"You're right about that," she said, and she winked at Mr. Skinner. 
"But admitting you have a problem is the first step, they say."

Skinner laughed immediately. "Okay, I give up. We'll just go and let 
you and Mom get things under control," the AD told his father. He took 
his suit jacket off the back of a chair just as Andy and Eileen came 
down the stairs dressed for the evening. "We're meeting Nora and Joe 
at the restaurant. It's the "Candlelight Inn." The number's right 
here, in case you need us. And we'll be home by midnight."

Fiona's eyes lit up and she worked hard to keep from grinning. "It may 
not be too late," she told him with mock seriousness. "Maybe there's a 
12-step program we can get you in. . . ."

They were gone less than an hour when Mike and Fox went looking for 
their grandfather. "There's nothing on TV," Mike said when they 
located him working on something in the basement. "Is it okay if we go 
into town and get another video?"

"What happened to the one you were watching?" he asked them curiously. 

"All the good stuff's over," Fox explained. "Nothing but mushy stuff 
left."

Mr. Skinner smiled and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He had noticed 
them fast-forwarding a good bit but hadn't thought about why. No 
wonder the movie was over so fast. 

"We'll just go to the video place," Mike added, guessing what his 
grandfather was thinking. "And maybe get some ice cream. Then we'll 
come right back. 

"Well, what would your Dads say about going into town at this hour?" 
the older man asked them.

"My Dad would be okay with it," Mike answered immediately. But Fox's 
eyes shifted to the floor and he bit his lower lip.

"Well. . . . " he replied slowly. "My Dad would probably say no. . . 
."

Mr. Skinner nodded, guessing that might be the truth. But he thought 
his son was a little too much of a worrier sometimes and . . . such 
honesty deserved reward. "Well, he's not here and he left me in 
charge," he said emphatically. "And I think it's all right. Provided 
you come right back after the ice cream."

"Really?" Fox exclaimed, his eyes lighting with appreciation. "Wow! I 
promise we will." He and Mike headed for the basement stairs.

"And one more thing before you go, boys," their grandfather said 
firmly. "I want you to drive carefully. Do you hear me, Michael 
Alexei?"

"Yes, sir," Mike replied, nodding. "I will."

An hour and a half later, Rachel had decided to turn in for the night. 
The little ones were sound asleep and had not stirred since they'd 
been put to bed. Walter, Sr. glanced at the clock and started 
calculating how long it might take to drive to the video store, stop 
at the ice cream place, and return. He was on the cusp of worry but 
decided it would be unproductive and unnecessary. He chose to take 
Yoda for a walk instead, knowing the exercise would be good for both 
of them and give him a half hour reprieve before he would need to 
start being concerned.

At the same moment Fox and Mike pulled the car over on the side of the 
road not far away. Mike had spotted a car that belonged to a friend of 
his parked on the roadside as they drove back and, when the car proved 
to be unoccupied, Mike realized his friends had to be at 'the 
clearing.' "It's just a big open area inside a stand of trees," he 
said as he and Fox headed in that direction. "There's a big log there. 
And the kids from this area hang out there. They have since my Dad was 
a kid."

They trudged over and found a group of Mike's friends and some others 
doing exactly that. There was a cooler with some beer in it and in a 
moment both boys found themselves with a cold brew. Fox took a slug of 
his but Mike merely held onto the bottle. He was driving and his 
father would have his head if he drove under the influence of alcohol. 
He'd learned that lesson the hard way a while back.

A girl named Pam sat down next to him and Fox and began talking to 
them both. They spent a pleasant few minutes and Mike handed her his 
untouched beer, telling her he wasn't thirsty. She took it, then 
pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her handbag and offered Fox and 
Michael one each. Fox's eyes widened, but he reached out and took one. 
Mike watched him curiously, then did the same. When Pam turned in the 
other direction to 'get a light,' he used the moment to question Fox. 
"Do you smoke?"

"N-no," Fox whispered back immediately. "But I saw pictures of myself 
at my Mom's house. Pictures of me when I was grown up and I was 
smoking. So I know I used to." 

Mike didn't remember ever seeing Mulder smoke but he shrugged it off. 
Pam held out a lighter and they both lit up, then Fox nearly choked as 
he drew in the smoke for the first time. The boy did his best to cover 
his surprise at the sensation and Mike nearly fell over trying to 
cover the laugh that rose from inside of him at the sight of Fox's 
distress.

Fox was just regaining his ability to breathe when Yoda came bounding 
up and jumped up and all over him. 'Hi, boy," he said, shocked. "How 
did you get here?"

It dawned on Mike faster than Fox. "Uh-oh," he said, looking up just 
as his grandfather strolled into the clearing.

"Oh, God," Fox breathed beside him. Both boys were too paralyzed to 
even think of ditching the lit cigarettes in their hands, or the 
bottle of beer Fox held.

"Good evening, everyone," Mr. Skinner boomed. "Didn't realize this 
clearing was still used for hanging out. And drinking." He gave his 
grandsons a pointed look. "Well, I guess I better be getting home. 
It's getting late. I'll see you boys there." He motioned for the dog 
to follow him and Yoda gave Fox one puzzled look then bounded after 
the older man as he headed off. Mr. Skinner had appeared completely 
nonchalant but neither young man was deceived.

They fully understood the meaning behind his words. But for a couple 
of minutes neither of them moved. The lit cigarettes burned down 
without ever reaching their lips and Fox put his beer bottle down on 
the ground without taking another sip. His stomach was doing 
flip-flops and he wasn't certain he could actually stand if he tried.

"Well, my cousin's getting married tomorrow," Mike announced to the 
crowd suddenly. "Fox and I are in the wedding party. So we better be 
getting home, too." He stood and waited for Fox to do the same. But 
the other boy merely stared at him, as though he had failed to 
understand what his cousin was saying. As though it were a foreign 
language or something.

"Fox?" Mike said, beginning to worry. "Let's go."

Fox stared at him blankly and Mike finally reached over and pulled him 
up by the sleeve of his jacket. "Let's go," he whispered insistently. 
"Before this gets any worse."

Fox rose and began to follow him numbly. "How could it get any worse?"

They returned to the car, then drove the half mile or so to the 
Skinner place in tense silence. When they got there, they exited the 
car and Fox began to woodenly ascend the steps to the house. 

"Fox," Mike called after him. 

"What?" the other boy asked, hoping against hope Mike was about to say 
they could head for the hills instead. But Mike was decidedly not 
running away. He was facing in the direction of the woodshed and Fox 
could see the light was on inside the structure. His heart sank to the 
tops of his shoes.

He found himself following Mike down the path to judgment a moment 
later, although it was nothing more than reflex that got him there. 
They stepped into the shed and found Mr. Skinner there, leaning 
against the workbench, his arms crossed over his chest in a posture 
both Mike and Fox knew too well. Both their fathers often assumed it.

"Well, gentlemen," the older man said, gesturing with his head to 
indicate Fox should close the door. "What do you have to say for 
yourselves?"

"I didn't drink any beer, Gran!" Mike blurted out immediately. "You 
have to believe me! I . . . I wouldn't do that again. Not after . . . 
the last time. . . ." His voice faded, worry and panic etched on his 
face. 

Walter, Sr. eyed him carefully. Mike was not a liar, it wasn't in his 
nature. And his son had told him about the incident to which Michael 
was referring, and he'd been aware of the long punishment tour that 
had followed it. He nodded his head to indicate he believed Mike.

"And what about you, Fox?" he said, turning to the other boy.

"I-- I--," the young man stammered. "I . . . took a couple of sips of 
beer. I didn't think-- I didn't want them to think I was, um. . . I 
didn't mean to! It just . . . happened. But I didn't even drink half!" 
He glanced around the shed nervously, his eyes lighting on the razor 
strop hanging in the corner. "And I wasn't driving!" he added 
frantically, hoping to mitigate the situation with anything he that 
might help his case.

"I see. Well, your honesty is to be commended, Fox. If not your 
judgment. Now, tell me about the cigarettes. When did you boys start 
to smoke?"

Mike and Fox looked at each other guiltily, neither one of them 
wanting to answer that question. "I don't smoke, Gran," Mike finally 
answered. "I tried it once and I didn't like it. I don't know what 
made me take one tonight when Pam offered it. And Fox definitely 
doesn't smoke. He almost choked to death tonight from his first puff!"

Fox looked a little embarrassed at the recollection but he held his 
silence. 

Mr. Skinner nodded once again. "And what about your promise to come 
right home after getting ice cream and picking up a video? I don't 
think I heard anything about hanging out at the clearing?" He was 
familiar with what the kids called the area by the river. It was the 
same as when his kids had been teenagers. And still used for all the 
same purposes, apparently.

Both boys were staring at the floor now and neither answered.

"I asked you boys a question," the elderly man barked. His voice, and 
his presence, were still formidable and Fox and Mike jumped in unison. 

"Y-yes, sir!" Fox said. "I'm sorry--"

"I know, sir," Mike answered at the same moment. "I'm sorry we 
disobeyed you!"

"Well. Sorry doesn't cut it, I'm afraid," Walter, Sr. said quietly, 
using a phrase he'd said countless times to his own boys. He began 
rolling up the cuffs on his plaid, flannel shirt, walking toward the 
hook where 'the Persuader' hung. "I think some punishment is in order. 
You know what to do."

He waited while both boys dropped their jeans and underwear to their 
knees, then leaned over the work bench. Now the older man was staring 
at two bare butts and he was suddenly struck by the fact he didn't 
know for sure which one of them was older at this point, which one 
deserved more punishment. Fox had been drinking and smoking but he 
wasn't driving. Mike was driving and he'd been the one to stop there 
at the clearing. Finally, the older man decided they were exactly the 
same age, and had each owned an even share of tonight's debacle.

"What's this strapping for gentlemen?" he asked as he laid the first 
lick on Mike's unblemished backside.

"For disobeying you! Ouchh!" the boy yelled.

Mr. Skinner added a matching stripe to Fox's bottom. "And?"

"And not coming right home! Owww!" Fox wailed.

"What else?" he asked as Mike got another two strokes. 

"For smoking! Ohhh! I'm sorry, Gran!"

Two additional licks connected with Fox's posterior. "F-for smoking, 
too!" he cried, not even thinking about trying to maintain his 
dignity. "Ahhhh! Unhhh!"

"What else, Michael?" Two more burning licks were delivered and 
Michael was now sobbing, too. "What else did you do, Michael Alexei?"

"I stopped at the clearing! AHHHH! Fox didn't even know about it! I 
knew it would hold us up OUCCHH! but I did it anyway. It was my 
fault!"

And what about you, Fox William? What else did you do tonight to 
deserve this strapping?"

"I-- Drinking! OWWWW! For drinking! I'm sorry! OHHHHH!" He was sobbing 
now, too and Mr. Skinner knew the message had gotten through. He 
doubted either of them had taken more than a puff of their cigarettes. 
And he believed Fox had had only a couple of sips of his beer. And 
they both had to be in a wedding party tomorrow. He walked over and 
hung the strop back on its hook.

"That's it, boys," he said and bit the inside of his mouth to keep 
from laughing when both of his grandsons looked over their shoulders 
in shock. "Up you go. I don't want you both squirming in the pew at 
church tomorrow. Your grandmother would have my head!" He watched them 
both put their clothes back in place, then he pulled them into a hug 
at the same time.

"I hope this lesson isn't forgotten just because it was a short one," 
Mr. Skinner said firmly. "I can always be convinced to continue this 
at a later time."

"You won't have to, Gran," Mike said. "We get it."

"And what about you, Fox? Do you get it, too?" the older man asked. 
Then he felt a head nodding into his shoulder in response.

"Y-yes, sir," the boy answered. "I won't forget."

"Good. Now I want to see both of you in bed and asleep by the time I 
come upstairs. Skedaddle!" With either hand, he managed to give each 
boy's butt a sound smack as they headed for the door. Then he watched 
them run for the house, shaking his head as he turned out the light 
and began to walk back up the path. He'd made this journey more times 
than he could count with his own boys and now another generation was 
learning some of the important lessons of life in the same way. A 
sense of the rightness of the world descended over the older man as he 
climbed the steps of the porch and headed inside.

But when he headed for his own bed some twenty minutes later, he found 
himself repeating a routine he'd followed throughout his kid's lives. 
First he opened the door of the room Andy and Eileen were using, 
although they were not home yet. In the portable crib, little Griffin 
was sleeping soundly, his breathing soft and light.

Next he went to the room he and Mrs. Skinner had put Brian and Haley 
to sleep in a few hours earlier. Two sleep tousled heads peeked out 
from under the comforter in the bed in Jean's old room. Haley murmured 
in her sleep and he smiled as Brian responded, in his sleep. He closed 
the door behind him softly.

Then he went to the room Joe and Andy had shared until Walter moved 
out for good and Joe inherited a room of his own. The family continued 
to refer to it as Walter's room though and that had not changed to 
this day. There were two twin beds inside and he opened the door and 
saw Mike and Fox in them, just as he'd directed. The room was lit with 
the dim glow of the hall lamp but he could clearly make out two heads 
on pillows and the rhythmic sound of breathing. He sighed in 
satisfaction, finding all of his young charges were safely asleep. He 
had almost closed the door completely when the sound of a sniffle 
caught his attention. It had come from the side of the room where Fox 
was sleeping. Or not sleeping, it seemed.

Mr. Skinner opened the door again and advanced into the room, stopping 
next to the bed closest to the window. He could tell from the 
breathing behind him that Mike was already sound asleep. But another 
teary breath from Fox made him sit down on the side of the mattress. 
He saw Fox squeeze his eyes more tightly shut and he laid a hand on 
the boy's shoulder.

"What's wrong, son?"

Fox shook his head, clamping down on his lower lip so hard the older 
man thought he might draw blood. He gently turned the boy's face 
toward him. "Something's wrong, Fox," he whispered. "I'm not leaving 
until you talk to me about it."

"I--" the boy started, then he swallowed hard, trying to choke back 
the tears that were close to coming. "Please! Please don't tell my 
Dad! About tonight, I mean. Please!"

Mr. Skinner was taken aback. He shushed the boy gently, trying to get 
him to listen. "I'm not going to tell him anything, Fox," he said. 
"You're going to tell him. Because it's the right thing to do--"

"No!" he whispered back frantically. "Please don't make me tell him! I 
c-can't!"

Mr. Skinner was seriously worried now by the near-hysteria Fox was 
reaching. "Why? He won't punish you again, Fox. You've already been 
punished. I'll make sure he understands--"

"No! It's not that! I don't care if he p-punishes me! I mean, I do 
care! I don't want to be--" he nearly choked on the tears that were 
close to overwhelming him. "I just . . . . I know you don't know this 
about me but . . . I'm a lot of trouble. I'm . . . almost always in 
trouble. And my Dad, he c-can't even go to work half the time because 
of me. First I was a baby and nobody else would take me! Then we had 
to go to Nantucket! And he couldn't work much the whole summer! And 
th-then we had to move and. . . . Then I'm always in trouble! I'm 
always on a punishment tour!"

He hiccuped and let out a ragged, teary breath. The older man smiled 
and jumped into the breach, wanting to clear up the boy's 
misconceptions and exaggerations. 

"Fox," he said gently. "That's called being a teenager."

"No! This is different. Last week he couldn't go to work at all 
because he had to go to a bunch of funerals with me. And I heard him 
on the phone, explaining to his boss why he couldn't go to work. And I 
think they were mad! I think he's in trouble and it's all my fault!" 
He sobbed as though his heart were breaking but he plowed on, not 
letting his grandfather get a word in edgewise. 

"And now that I'm eighteen, he doesn't have to keep me any more! And 
I'm so much trouble, why would he want to? I don't want to go live 
alone in that apartment. I d-don't. . . . "

Walter, Sr. pulled the boy up into a fierce hug, the only way he knew 
to stop the stream of consciousness that was pouring from the young 
man. "It's okay, Foksik," he whispered soothingly. "It's okay. None of 
those things is going to happen, I promise you. Nobody's sending you 
away, certainly not your Dad. And if he tried to, he'd have me to 
answer to! And believe me, I'm a whole lot scarier than his boss!"

Fox exhaled raggedly, a half-sobbing, half laughing sound that made 
Mr. Skinner smile internally. He gently rubbed the back of the boy's 
head, continuing to calm him as he held him tightly. 

"I don't know where you got the idea your Dad might send you away. I 
don't think anything could be further from the truth, son. I'll tell 
you something about parents. When our kids are in the most trouble, 
that's when we want them closest to us. That's the time you don't want 
them to go anywhere. And that's how the idea of a punishment tour was 
born! Your Dad doesn't want you to go live alone, believe me." There 
were many things of which the older man was certain and that was at 
the top of the list currently.

"B-but if I did go away, he could go back to work and not have to keep 
coming home early. Or go to my swim meets. Or rush home because I'm on 
a punishment tour and he wants to make sure I'm doing what I'm 
supposed to do. He wouldn't have so many problems! He told his boss 
I'm his top priority assignment right now." 

Mr. Skinner was shocked to hear his son had referred to Fox as an 
'assignment.' It was decidedly out of character for him. He pulled Fox 
tighter into his embrace as the boy's voice became teary again. 

"And I think they told him I'm old enough to not need so much 
attention. And maybe live somewhere else, like my own apartment now!"

"And your Dad agreed with that?" his grandfather asked him, holding 
his breath for the answer.

"No," Fox responded slowly. "But if I'm so much trouble all the time, 
he will! That's why I can't t-tell him! Please!"

Walter, Sr. began to worry Fox would wake up Mike and he rose and 
pulled the covers up from the bed. "Come downstairs, Fox," he said 
with quiet authority. "We need to talk."

A few minutes later, they were sitting in the kitchen, two steaming 
mugs of hot cocoa with marshmallows before them. Fox's head hung and 
his face, what little of it could be seen, looked haggard and drawn. 
He was overtired and very worried.

"Drink, Fox. It will help you sleep. And listen to me." Mr. Skinner 
watched him take a sip, then look up. His face was tear-stained and 
his eyes were heavy. 

"I don't know what you overheard but I know your Dad pretty well, 
don't I?" He waited until the boy had nodded in agreement. "Well, let 
me tell you something about him. He was a pretty good kid, your Dad. 
Very responsible. But not perfect. Not by a long-shot! And for a part 
of his teenage years, from the time he was almost sixteen until just 
past his seventeenth birthday, he was a holy terror!"

"Really?" Fox's head had snapped up immediately on hearing that and 
his eyes had widened with shock.

"Oh, yes. He argued with me about everything. Curfews. Rules. 
Everything."

"He told me about the curfew thing. And how he broke it every week," 
Fox broke in.

"He did? Well, that's true. I paddled him just about every Saturday 
night for a whole year I think! And that's when I told him to make 
that paddle you have at your place now. He made it, then he broke that 
curfew every week. And one weekend, he decided there were just too 
many rules here and he wasn't following them any more. So he took my 
car for a ride one night when Gram and I were out for the evening. He 
didn't have a driver's license, mind you. He would have gotten away 
with that, except we came home a little earlier than expected. When he 
came up the driveway, I was sittin' on the porch, waiting."

Fox's eyes were nearly popping out of his head by now. "Oh, God. I 
think I would just have a heart attack and die if that happened to 
me."

Mr. Skinner smiled, knowing he'd pulled the boy's focus off his own 
troubles and onto something else finally. So he decided to continue 
the narrative. "Well, 'the Persuader' and your Dad got reacquainted 
that night, believe me. Not too long after his punishment tour ended, 
though, he got his license. And the second weekend, he came home 
drunk. Driving the car."

"No, he didn't. He's a maniac about drinking and driving," Fox 
declared, shaking his head.

"He is now. And I believe the licking he got the next day, when he 
sobered up some, is why he's so adamant about it," Mr. Skinner said 
emphatically. "And the hour he spent standing in the corner with his 
pants down and his butt on display probably helped drive that message 
home a little more. I thought it was important for the other kids to 
know he'd been properly punished for showing such lousy judgment. Kind 
of a deterrent for the rest of them."

Fox nodded anxiously. "That would deter me," he breathed solemnly. 

"Well, during those months, I'm sure I was letting him have it pretty 
regularly. Unlike Andy, or even Joe, your Dad was basically a good kid 
all his life. Except for that period of about 18 months. Not that Joe 
and Andy weren't good kids, mind you. Or Jeremy. But they all didn't 
have the sense of responsibility Walter had. But I guess every kid's 
gotta break out at one point or another. And for him, it was in his 
late teens. I was punishing him constantly, Foksik."

"I can't believe it. He doesn't seem like . . . . like he'd ever do 
anything wrong. Not even accidentally."

Mr. Skinner held back the grin that threatened to spread over his 
face. No kid ever thought of their father in these terms. At least not 
without help. And the older man was glad to help, now that he 
understood how important it was for Fox to know.

"And he also developed this attitude for a while," he continued. "Like 
he knew everything. No one else was ever right. And everything I tried 
to tell him was just useless noise. One day he came in from playing 
baseball. I remember he was still wearing his uniform when we sat down 
to have dinner. He made some smart remark to your grandmother and I 
told him to apologize immediately. Well, he rolled his eyes and said 
"I'm sorry" but in this smart-mouth way that made me crazy. I just 
grabbed him and put him over my knee and spanked him, right there in 
the kitchen. Then I sent him down to the woodshed to wait for me and 
he had a long visit with the razor strop that night. And a nice long 
punishment tour, too."

Fox was staring at his grandfather now with a look of such surprise 
and wonder the older man nearly laughed out loud. He'd finished the 
hot cocoa without even realizing it and his tears had dried up some 
time ago. "Wow," he said. "That's a lot of trouble to get into."

"Yes, it is," Mr. Skinner agreed. "But I never once thought about 
sending him away. I love your Dad and his brothers and his sister more 
than life, Fox. And that's how your Dad feels about you. When you're 
in trouble, that's when he wants you as close as possible. To make 
sure you come through it okay. And learn the lessons that will help 
you get through troubles later, when you're on your own. Much later." 
The older man reached over and tousled the boy's hair. "But you'll 
never really be alone, you know, Fox. You'll always be a part of this 
family, wherever your life takes you when you're older."

Fox nodded and tried to stifle a yawn but failed miserably. 

"Time for you to be asleep, young man," the older man said as he 
stood. They walked up the stairs together and Mr. Skinner gave him 
another hug, then helped him into bed, drawing the covers up over him 
as he settled down. He turned to leave but Fox called him suddenly.

"Gran?" he whispered, not wanting to wake Mike. "How long . . . how 
long did it take for you to not be mad at him? For being so much 
trouble. And for doing all those things?"

"It never took more than a split second, Foksik," he replied quietly. 
"That's how it is with families. The love is so much stronger than 
anything else. We had a rough patch, your Dad and I. But now he's not 
only my son, he's one of the best friends I have, maybe the best. And 
he's a man I respect for who he is and what he's done with his life. 
And that's how your Dad and you will be. Best friends. I guarantee 
it."

A smile settled over the young man's face even as sleep overtook him. 
Mr. Skinner sighed. He was exhausted. But he was also exhilarated. It 
had been a tough fight, bringing this boy back to his senses. He 
didn't envy his son at all. And yet he did. Because Fox was a 
challenge and a half but worth every ounce of the effort. <Well, he's 
my grandson, after all! Of course he's worth it!> 

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

Our Lady of Perpetual Hope Church
Hopewell Junction, Pennsylvania
Saturday afternoon

The organ played in the background as the church quietly filled with 
people invited to see Doug Dawson marry Emily Cantwell. Skinner stood 
in the back of the main chapel with Fiona and his parents and watched 
Fox and Mike usher various guests to their places. The boy looked well 
rested today. He'd gotten ten hours of sleep despite the late-night 
chat with the Assistant Director's father. Skinner smiled to himself 
as he thought about the two versions of that event he'd heard. He 
suspected his father's was more accurate. But Fox's had been 
revealing.

"I got in trouble last night, Dad," he'd said when the AD finally went 
in to wake him to have some lunch and get ready for the wedding. "Mike 
and I didn't come right home when we were supposed to. And I drank 
some beer and smoked a cigarette. But don't worry, Gran punished me! 
And he told me all about how much trouble you were when you were 
around my age. I guess I'm a lot like you, huh, Dad?"

Skinner had been very glad his father was up at the crack of dawn 
filling him in on the entire incident. Otherwise he suspected he'd 
have been too tongue-tied to respond appropriately. With prior 
warning, he'd been prepared. "Yeah," he said easily, giving the boy a 
quick hug. "I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, kid!"

Skinner had also found himself explaining to his father why he'd 
referred to Fox as 'an assignment' when talking to the Deputy Director 
last week. The older man had keyed on that point in Fox's story and 
called his son on it.

"Dad, it's complicated," he'd replied truthfully. "I have to maintain 
the appearance of objectivity for the Bureau. Hard as that is, it's 
the only way I can continue to be of help to him, personally and 
professionally. It's a fine line that keeps moving and I feel like I'm 
constantly jumping around just to try to stay on it."

His father nodded thoughtfully but Skinner knew no one outside of him 
and Mulder could possibly understand or appreciate the complexity of 
the situation or the vast and unfathomable conspiracy that tossed the 
boy around like a piece of cork in a roiling sea. The AD wasn't even 
certain he fully understood it and often relied on nothing more than 
his faith in Mulder's instincts. Now, without the adult Mulder to 
confer with, and an unpredictable teenager named Fox to protect, 
Skinner was sometimes scared sick that he'd make a wrong guess and the 
balance would tip irrevocably in the direction of their enemies. It 
was a constant fear that sat in the back of his mind and poked gaping 
holes in his peace of mind in quiet moments.

At this moment, though, the AD watched Fox out of the corner of one 
eye as he and Fiona chatted quietly with a few other guests. Fox 
looked nervous, and a little uncomfortable in the tuxedo. But he was 
fresh scrubbed and his hair was firmly held in place with some gel 
Fiona had brought. The boy smiled tentatively at Doug's boss, Sheriff 
Sam Cole and his wife and held out his arm to Mrs. Cole as he 
proceeded to escort them to their seats. He and Mike had gotten a 
quick rehearsal from Joe when they arrived at the church earlier. And 
Fox was remembering everything he'd been told. The AD felt a surge of 
paternal pride and a lump rose in his throat as he watched the boy 
perform his duties flawlessly if a little self-consciously.

The music changed, signaling the beginning of the ceremony was 
imminent. Fox and Mike came down the aisle again. They escorted the 
Skinner family to their seats in the first and second row, Fox 
offering his arm to Rachel and Mike doing the same with Jean. The 
Assistant Director found he was having a hard time restraining the 
smile that scene engendered so he didn't bother to try. Instead, he 
offered his own arm to Fiona and they followed the others to the front 
of the church, taking their places behind Rachel and Walter, Sr. Then 
Fox and Michael went back to the doors and escorted Emily's folks to 
their seats. 

Next they went to the sacristy and in a moment, Doug appeared with the 
both of them, standing a little nervously at the front of the church 
as he watched for the procession to begin. The organist was signaled 
and began to play something melodic. In a moment, Joe's youngest 
daughter, Amanda appeared. She was dressed in a long chocolate brown 
velvet dress and her hair was swept up in a style that highlighted her 
large brown eyes and full lips. Unlike her sister, Kathy, she was a 
tomboy through and through and Skinner was not certain he'd ever seen 
her in a dress before. Or noticed the sixteen year old was not a 
little girl any more. He looked at Joe and saw tears glistening in his 
brother's eyes.

She was followed by Brian and Haley. Five-year-old Brian was the ring 
bearer and he carried a little pillow with the two gold pieces 
securely sewn onto the top. He was walking a little too fast. Beside 
him, Haley was wearing a beautiful peach-colored velvet dress and 
carrying a basket of rose petals she was supposed to scatter as she 
walked. Instead she was placing them, one petal at a time, bending 
down and putting a petal here and another one there, a beatific smile 
on her face as she worked. A ripple of laughter went through the crowd 
as Brian tried to pull her along by the hand. "You're going too slow," 
he whispered loud enough for everyone on the aisle to hear it.

Andy motioned for the kids to pick up the pace and Eileen whispered to 
Haley that she could just throw the petals but the four-year-old gave 
her a dubious look and continued placing them, albeit at a slightly 
faster rate. Behind her came Kathy, Joe's oldest daughter. She was a 
beauty like her mother, with the Black Irish look that all of Nora's 
family had. And Kelly, Doug's sister followed her, another tall, 
lovely girl looking elegant and happy in a velvet dress of deep rust. 
She was the maid of honor and everyone stood as she reached the altar. 

The music changed once more and now the bride came down the aisle, 
escorted by her father to the strains of the Wedding March. Emily was 
as fair as the Skinner girls were dark, her fine porcelain skin and 
wheat blonde hair a stark contrast to the other girls. She smiled 
radiantly as she passed and the look on Doug's face when he saw her 
was a sight to behold. The couple had chosen a traditional ceremony 
and in a little while the vows were due to be exchanged.

"May I have the rings?" the priest asked as he looked expectantly at 
Mike and Fox. They both stared at him blankly for a split second then 
remembered they were supposed to have taken them off the pillow when 
Brian joined them at the altar. Fox hastily grabbed the pillow from 
Brian and began pulling on the rings but they were secured so well, he 
wasn't able to get them off. Panic crossed his face and Mike started 
pulling on the other ring. 

Neither gave and by now the bride and groom were barely holding back 
their laughter. The congregation tittered a little then laughed when 
the priest finally gave in and chuckled on the altar. Mr. Skinner, Sr. 
pulled a Swiss Army knife out of his pocket and passed it up to the 
front where Fox and Mike cut the strings that held the rings and 
passed them solemnly to the celebrant.

"Now I see why there are two best men," Father Quinn said. "This was 
definitely not a one-man job!" Fox and Mike blushed but they couldn't 
help laughing at the situation either. And after that, the rest of the 
ceremony went smoothly and was one of the most relaxed and natural 
weddings the AD had ever seen. 

The reception was held at the local country club and by the time it 
got going, it turned into a fun and very informal party. The band was 
wonderful and managed to pull off music from the 1930's to the 1980's 
without missing a beat. There were a number of toasts to the bride and 
groom, including one from Walter, Sr. that brought tears to the eyes 
of almost everyone in the room.

"I have been blessed by the chance to be married to a wonderful woman 
for almost 50 years," he said as he raised his champagne glass. 
"Together we've shared the miracles that life brings every day. Raised 
our children and seen them grow into wonderful adults, been lucky 
enough to share the lives of nine grandchildren we love more than 
life. I hope to see some great-grandkids soon," he glanced at Doug and 
Emily and winked. "Whenever you're ready! I've spent nearly half a 
century in love and seen the fruits of that love grow and extend out 
into the world, watched them build their own families but always 
remain firmly a part of this one. And that is what I wish for you two, 
Emily and Douglas. That 50 years from now, when you look back on your 
lives together, you'll feel the loving shadows of those who came 
before you at your backs, and know you are part of something bigger 
and stronger than anything life can throw at you. And you'll see the 
smiling faces of the next generations gathered before you filled with 
hope and optimism. And then you'll know the true meaning of life and 
love. Congratulations!"

The crowd toasted the young couple and the band resumed with a lush 
version of Rachel and Walter, Sr.'s favorite song, "I'll Be Loving You 
Always." Emily and Doug invited the family to join them and in a 
moment the dance floor was flooded with all the Skinners present. Mike 
swung little Haley around and Kathy twirled Brian. Fox and Amanda 
attempted to pull off a waltz, then gave up and made something up that 
was waltz-like and had them both giggling constantly. The various 
Skinner couples danced and Walter and Fiona found themselves swaying 
amidst the crowd, too.

"You have a wonderful family, Walter," she said to him and he smiled 
his agreement at her. His eyes searched the dance floor and found Fox, 
still dancing with Amanda, grinning from ear to ear. Skinner watched 
him for a few seconds, hoping he'd weathered the crisis of the past 
week and come through it as unscathed as it appeared tonight. 

"Stop worrying," Fiona whispered into his ear and he was startled at 
how easily and completely she seemed to read his mind. Then he smiled 
and pulled her closer into the circle of his arms as the music 
swelled.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied with a grin.