Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and Walter Skinner et al do not 
belong to me; they belong to Chris Carter and Fox. I mean no harm and 
will make no money from their use. 

Spoilers: None

Setting: Seventh Season. 

Rating: PG. Discipline, no slash. 

Title: Legacy - Pt. 1

Author: Cadillac Red

Summary: Mulder is feeling insecure as the AD becomes more caught up 
in work and family pressures.




Legacy - Part 1



Danville, Pennsylvania
January 5, 2000
2:15 a.m.

St. Basil's Russian Orthodox Church was festively adorned with red and 
white poinsettias. The air was heavy with the scent of incense used 
throughout the long Midnight Mass and the worshippers were jammed into 
the main part of the chapel, responding to the priest's chants in 
clear, strong voices. Tomorrow was Eastern Orthodox Christmas and 
tonight's service would begin the Skinner family's second Christmas. 
The first was the one on which they exchanged gifts and participated 
in the rest of the Christian world's Christmas celebration. The second 
was their religious observance and would be capped by a traditional 
Russian dinner tomorrow afternoon.

Tonight's service was exotic and beautiful and Mulder found himself 
responding with the rest of the congregants, at least in the simple 
Russian phrases he'd heard before and understood. Over the course of 
his childhood with the Skinners he'd attended a number of Russian 
Orthodox services and his eidetic memory served him well in this 
regard.

The worshippers stood in the main hall in the traditional Eastern 
Orthodox manner. There were benches for the old and infirm, and anyone 
else who needed to avail themselves of their comfort temporarily. They 
were built-in at the side of the chapel but none of the Skinners ever 
made use of them. At least until this evening. 

Walter Sr. leaned down and spoke to his wife softly, then moved as 
unobtrusively as possible to the side and took a seat on the wood 
bench there. Several elderly people were there, along with a young 
woman who looked as though she would give birth at any moment. The 
eyes of everyone else in the family tracked his progress until he 
turned to sit down. Then everyone's heads snapped to the front and 
remained there except for the concerned glances that Joe and Andy and 
Jean and Walter exchanged with each other for the remainder of the 
service.

Finally, Skinner couldn't wait. He leaned his head down and whispered 
to his mother. "Is Dad all right?"

Rachel nodded as she continued to watch the priest. "Yes, dear," she 
said softly. "He tires a little more easily now. Don't make a big deal 
of it."

Skinner nodded too, then gave a reassuring glance to his sister and 
brothers. But none of them were really reassured. Something had 
changed, a small change perhaps, but one that shook the very 
foundation of the family's security. And that was something none of 
them missed, nor fully appreciated.

The homey, familiar smells of dinner were beginning to make Skinner's 
and Mulder's mouths water and they decided to join Joe and Andy 
outside until everything was ready. The two other men were watching 
Andy's kids play on the tire swing by the tree. Walter and Fox joined 
them and it was immediately clear what they were talking about.

"Walt, is Dad's heart worse than we thought?" Andy asked him as they 
approached.

"No, not as far as I know, Andy--" Skinner replied but he was 
interrupted by Joe.

"Don't be the 'great protector,' Walter," Joe said argumentatively. 
"We deserve to know the truth."

Skinner blinked and took a deep breath, trying not to respond in kind. 
"I'd never keep the truth from you guys," he said. "He's having a 
double bypass. The doctor says they do thousands of them a year. It's 
not risk-free but it's not a big deal--"

"Since you're the only one who knows the truth, I guess we just have 
to take your word for it," Joe responded. Mulder was taken aback 
listening to the interaction between the two men. He'd never known the 
Skinner brothers to have a cross word before and he was momentarily 
caught off guard. Andy jumped in to act as a buffer.

"It's not that we think you're holding back on us, Walter," he said 
quickly. "It's just . . . you tend to be a little overprotective. And 
so does Dad--"

"Well, thanks for the insight, Andy," Joe said. To Mulder's ear he 
sounded almost angry. "But Walter and Dad only do what's 'best' for 
all the rest of us. Even though we're all adults and can make our own 
decisions. Maybe we could even be helpful, if we had the chance."

He shook his head and looked a little embarrassed by his outburst if 
not at all likely to back down from it. "I'm . . . going inside. I 
could use a beer."

Mulder and Andy's mouths both hung open as they watched him head into 
the house. The Assistant Director merely grimaced and muttered 
something under his breath. Then he stalked off in the other 
direction, down toward the river. "I'm gonna take a walk," he called 
back over his shoulder, not bothering to ask if anyone wanted to 
accompany him.

"What the hell was that about?" Mulder whispered to Andy as soon as 
Skinner and Joe were out of earshot.

"Oh, you know, everybody's worked up about Dad," Andy sighed in 
frustration. "Joe's ticked because Dad will only let Walter go to the 
doctor with him. And Walter's stressed out 'cause has to take time off 
from work, when he can hardly afford it after being out so much 
lately. But Walter always does what's expected of him. And it's stupid 
because Joe's actually off with winter break and has the time to do it 
but Dad's funny about this stuff. He . . . relies more on Walt than on 
me and Joe. He always has. But of course, Joe can't let my father know 
he's upset, so he's taking it out on Walter. Who's too tense to let it 
roll off his back like he usually does." He finished his monologue and 
forcefully blew out the breath he'd been unconsciously holding. "And 
I'm just glad you decided to come for another Christmas dinner, Fox. 
'Cause I hate to be the only one in the middle of these things!"

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

FBI Headquarters
Wednesday, January 12, 2000

Fox Mulder sat in his usual chair across from Skinner's desk. He'd 
received a call from the AD's assistant that morning, asking him to 
stop by at 1:45. Kim had said there was a fifteen minute block open in 
the Assistant Director's schedule and he wanted to see Mulder. Not 
Mulder and Scully, just Mulder. And only fifteen minutes. <Hardly long 
enough to rip me a new one for the New Year's Eve fiasco!>

The younger agent took all this to mean the visit would be of a 
personal rather than professional nature and he was relieved and 
pleased. The days since they'd returned from Danville had been hectic 
for Skinner and as a result the two men had barely spoken. The AD was 
working eighteen hour days, six or seven days a week to catch up on 
the backlog created by his 'special assignment' in the latter part of 
the past year. Looking out for Mulder when he was forced to repeat his 
childhood on fast-forward had absorbed a good part of the AD's time 
and, as he was wont to say, no one did his work when he wasn't there.

In addition, Walter Skinner, Sr. had been scheduled for bypass surgery 
the following week. In the aftermath of his heart attack, it had been 
discovered that two of the older man's coronary arteries were nearly 
blocked. His doctor had given him a month to get his strength back, 
then scheduled surgery for the following week. Unfortunately, Mr. 
Skinner was not accustomed to being ill and he'd decided the only one 
he'd allow to accompany him on doctor visits was his oldest son. Yet 
another responsibility that fell on the Assistant Director's wide 
shoulders.

So Mulder was pleased when he got the call to come up to Skinner's 
office, even if it was just for fifteen minutes. He'd nearly 
recuperated from his injuries and, even though he expected there'd be 
hell to pay for the actions that put him in harm's way, it would be 
nice to just be with the AD. Even if he was getting yelled at. 
<Christ, Mulder! What has come over you?!!>

Skinner was on the phone, talking to someone but it didn't appear to 
be anything urgent. Just annoying, at least from what Mulder was 
discerning from the man's body language. It appeared there was a 
dispute about the way someone had handled something and Skinner was 
defending his agent's actions to another Assistant Director. Mulder 
listened, thinking it was good to know he wasn't the only one for whom 
Skinner had to do that. And from the sound of it, the AD's patience 
level was rapidly waning.

"I understand," he said shortly, crooking his head slightly in a 
gesture that always told Mulder he was stressed and trying to ease the 
tension in his neck. "You do what you think you have to do, Vince. My 
agent made the only sensible choice he could make under the 
circumstances. I'll be happy to defend Clarke's actions at an OPR 
hearing. And I have no doubt he'll be cleared of any wrongdoing but if 
you want to waste all of our time, be my guest." With that he hung the 
phone up and exhaled forcefully.

Mulder's eyebrows had risen as he listened to this conversation. 
Having been the recipient of Skinner's support and protection often, 
he knew the AD's style and it was generally measured and diplomatic 
rather than confrontational. He wondered what had gotten under the 
other man's skin to the point he felt the need to push back on a 
colleague like that. 

Skinner didn't bother to explain the overheard conversation. "How are 
you, Fox?" he asked wearily. "Arm's okay?"

Mulder demonstrated the full range of movement he had gotten back with 
a smile. "Yeah. Doctor says I can go back to unrestricted duty next 
week."

"Good," Skinner replied. "I'm sorry I've been so out of touch. Between 
the backlog here and the Management conference in Chicago last week. 
And . . . my Dad. Well, it's been hard to find enough hours in the day 
. . . . but I managed to score two tickets for the Knicks and Wizards 
tonight--"

"You did?" Mulder exclaimed, nearly jumping out of the chair. "How 
much did that cost you?"

Skinner shook his head. "Doesn't matter. I thought you'd be 
interested--"

"You didn't have to think long about that, did you, sir?" The smile on 
the younger agent's face told Skinner the tickets were well worth what 
they had cost him.

"No, I didn't," the AD chuckled. 

"I'll spring for dinner--" Mulder began but Skinner interrupted him.

"I'm sorry, that's what I was just going to tell you," he said casting 
an eye on the mound of paperwork still on his desk. "I have to prepare 
for a briefing with the Director and the Attorney General tomorrow. 
Y2K wrap up and some other pending things that can't wait. We're still 
on bravo level alert in domestic terrorism as you know. I wanted to 
give you time to ask somebody to go with you--"

Mulder felt a wave of disappointment but he worked hard not to let it 
show. His face took on a mask of polite indifference. "Oh. Sure. I'll 
. . . ask somebody. No problem," he said, nodding his head actively. 

Skinner sensed Mulder was upended and he opened his mouth to say 
something but the intercom on his desk interrupted him. With an 
impatient sigh he reached for it. "Yes, Kim," he said curtly. "What's 
so important?"

"I'm sorry, Assistant Director," she said quickly, her voice 
apologetic. "But it's the Deputy Director and he asked me to interrupt 
you."

Skinner winced a little as he leaned back in his chair, at least 
that's how it looked to Mulder. "I'm. . . sorry, Kim," he said. "Put 
him through." He glanced at Mulder and gave him an apologetic shrug. 
"Agent Delaney's around today if you can't come up with anyone else."

"Well, I have a couple of friends I'll try first," Mulder said as he 
rose and headed for the door. "But if no one else can make it, I'll 
try Delaney." He stopped at the door and looked back. "I-- Thanks for 
the tickets, sir," he said but Skinner was already in conversation 
with his caller and merely nodded his reply as the younger man closed 
the door.

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

FBI Headquarters
Thursday, January 12 2000
12:20 p.m.

It was bone chillingly damp outside, spitting rain mixed with snow, so 
the cafeteria was mobbed. No one in their right mind wanted to be 
outside the building today. Scully and Mulder were in line awaiting 
their turn and just about everyone else on the FBI payroll was either 
ahead of them or behind them it seemed. 

Mulder noticed Agent Delaney seated at a table already and the younger 
man smiled and waved. Mulder nodded in response but didn't tell Scully 
who was engaged in conversation with someone ahead of her. The two of 
them rarely ate in the cafeteria and Scully always enjoyed the chance 
to catch up with colleagues she didn't often work with. Mulder was 
hoping they'd take their food and return to the basement office to 
eat.

He idly scanned the rest of the room and saw Assistant Director 
Skinner in line behind him. He knew the AD could get a sandwich 
delivered to his office if he was eating in but Skinner often used 
opportunities like this to tour the building and catch up with people 
informally. "Management by walking around," he called it. He was only 
about ten people behind Mulder and Mulder thought it was strange he 
hadn't said hello. 

Then he noticed Skinner was with Assistant Director Jana Cassidy and 
they were deep in discussion. Mulder knew immediately it was Skinner's 
idea to come to the cafeteria. AD Cassidy usually lunched in the 
Director's dining room if she was in the building.

He and Scully made their choices then took their trays into the dining 
area to scout a table. Mulder saw Delaney's tablemates were leaving 
and he ushered Scully in that direction.

"Hey, Delaney," he said jovially, if a little loudly, as he settled 
his tray. "What'd you think of that game last night?"

"It was awesome," Delaney gushed. "I mean, the last two minutes, my 
heart was in my mouth! I wish you could have been there, Mulder. My 
girlfriend's not much of a basketball fan so she didn't really 
appreciate it the way you would have."

"Well, I'm sorry, too," he answered checking in his peripheral vision 
to see whether Skinner was close enough to hear their exchange. He 
was, and the AD's attention had definitely been caught. "But you know 
how it is sometimes. You get busy . . . ."

In the line Skinner shook his head imperceptibly then Jana asked him 
something and he knew he'd missed whatever it was she'd said prior to 
the question. "I'm sorry, Jana," he apologized. "What were you 
saying?"

"I was saying, let's take our sandwiches back to my office. This place 
is a complete zoo . . . ."

A little while later they sat in the quiet confines of Cassidy's 
office. It looked remarkably like Skinner's and they chose the sofa 
and chairs over the conference table since this was a friendly lunch 
not a working lunch. The two of them had been partners twenty years 
earlier and since they were both assigned back to headquarters, they 
tried to do this at least once a month. It was a good way to network 
and, in Skinner's case, keep ahead of what the Office for Professional 
Responsibility was going to do at any given time. In his case, it was 
generally what they were going to do about Agent Mulder that concerned 
him.

He leaned back in his chair and winced then he shifted into a more 
comfortable position. 

"Are you all right, Walter?" Jana asked, as she popped open her soda 
can. 

"Yes, I'm fine," he answered hurriedly. "An old ache is all. This 
weather does it to me."

Cassidy knew his 'old ache' dated from Vietnam and he was reluctant to 
talk about it. So she let it pass without further remark.

"So, what are we going to do about Agent Mulder?" she asked as she 
picked up her sandwich and prepared to take a bite.

"Well, you don't stand on ceremony, do you, Jana?" Skinner chuckled. 
"Let's get right down to brass tacks . . . ."

"You can't distract me with your bottomless well of cliches, Walt," 
she laughed in return. "He broke all the rules in that . . . zombie 
investigation--"

"And solved the case! And kept the FBI from getting smeared by the 
fact a rogue group of former agents had been trying to raise the dead! 
And bring an end to the world--

"I know the outcome," she answered reasonably if a little facetiously. 
"He saved humanity once again! But . . . do you think we could get him 
to follow one or two of the rules when he performs these heroic feats? 
Just for heck of it."

Skinner tried not to respond with equal sarcasm. He recognized Jana 
was teasing him but he didn't have much patience for this kind of 
thing right now. "Jana," he sighed. "Believe me, I'd like to get him 
to follow the rules, too. More than you probably--"

"Walter, I know how you feel about rules and procedures. I worked with 
you, remember? And I know all about Mulder being a 'special case.' But 
I have a responsibility here and I just can't stand by and let a 
single agent flout all of our rules and get away with it. We're 
calling him in for a review tomorrow and, barring something 
mitigating, I'm sure he'll get an official reprimand."

Skinner put his sandwich down. His stomach was roiling with acid and 
he couldn't swallow another bite. He picked up his can of ginger ale 
and downed almost all of it before replying. "He's been back on duty 
for less than a month. And his record is . . . less than stellar in 
this respect, as you know. A reprimand will probably result in 
suspension without pay--"

"I know, Walter," Cassidy answered shortly. "I'm paying attention. But 
we can't just look the other way on these things. What does it say to 
the other agents?"

"I don't just look the other way," Skinner replied impatiently. "I 
have never failed to discipline Agent Mulder appropriately. It's just 
that . . . traditional bureau discipline doesn't have much of an 
effect on him. And anyway, who do we really punish when we take 
Mulder's investigative skills out of the mix?"

Cassidy picked at the crust on her sandwich as she considered what 
he'd just said. "Well what do you suggest we do to discipline Agent 
Mulder? If the 'traditional methods' at our disposal don't work, what 
are we supposed to do? Spank him?"

Skinner nearly choked on his ginger ale and it was all he could do to 
keep from showing it. "No! That's not . . . what I had in mind, Jana," 
he said, trying to regain his equilibrium. "I was thinking of sending 
Mulder down to Quantico, to teach the new academy class's section on 
investigative procedure. To teach it, you have to know it backwards 
and forwards--"

"Oh, Christ, Walter," Cassidy exclaimed. "We could end up with an 
entire Academy class who don't know, or care, about the rules!"

Skinner smiled at her. "Well, I was thinking that we should tell Agent 
Mulder that if the class doesn't score in the top say . . . twenty 
percentile range in their final test on that module, he'd spend the 
rest of the year teaching the same subject until one of his classes 
did. Mulder hates routine and--"

Jana Cassidy picked up her can of Sprite and took a long sip from her 
straw while she considered his proposal. As she put it down, a 
satisfied smile sprang to her lips. "Why, Walter, that's positively 
diabolical! I think I can get the OPR board to accept that solution. 
Will you be at the hearing tomorrow?"

Skinner shook his head. "Not if we're agreed about the resolution. I'm 
just so damn backed up . . . "

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

FBI Headquarters
Friday, January 14, 2000
10:29 a.m.

Mulder was wearing his best suit and a crisp new white shirt. He'd put 
on one of the ties Skinner had bought him last year, too. It was 
conservative and understated. Now he sat nervously awaiting the start 
of his hearing. 

Overnight he'd had a change of heart, berating himself for the 
childish actions of yesterday. He'd felt neglected and wanted the AD 
to know it but going over it all alone in his apartment last night, 
he'd felt ashamed. The man was obviously overworked and he, Mulder, 
was the root cause. Skinner had stuck by him through the entire return 
to childhood, something no one else would have done, just as he'd 
always stuck by Mulder before. Chastened, the younger agent had 
resolved to apologize to Skinner. And maybe ask him to lunch today if 
Skinner could fit it into his schedule. 

Mulder opened and closed his hands, rubbing them on the legs of his 
pants every now and then to keep them dry. Having to face Skinner was 
daunting. Having his actions 'reviewed' by AD Cassidy was positively 
terrifying. He'd learned a long time ago to come early to these 
things, as long as AD Cassidy was in charge. But today, Skinner was 
late and he hoped Cassidy wouldn't hold that against him. <I can't be 
held responsible for Skinner's punctuality, right?>

Jana Cassidy came in, along with the two Supervisory Agents who would 
complete today's panel. This was not a formal review, just the normal 
every day kind that occurred when an agent failed to comply with rules 
and procedures. He tried to comfort himself with the fact he'd been 
through a couple dozen of these over the years but somehow that fact 
wasn't very comforting.

"Uh, ma'am, should I call AD Skinner? He must be running a little 
late," he said as he rose from his seat. 

"No, that's not necessary, Agent Mulder," she said motioning for him 
to sit down again. "He's not coming. Let's proceed . . . ."

The news that Skinner would not be there hit Mulder hard. He sat back 
down automatically, not even feeling his legs bend. Skinner had never 
failed to accompany him to a review board in all the time he'd worked 
for the man, except once when the Bureau forbade him to attend. The 
two of them had not spoken the night before because Mulder was in his 
snit earlier in the evening and feeling ashamed and embarrassed later. 
And besides, Mulder reasoned, the AD had not called him either so, 
what the heck? The phone worked both ways.

But today he regretted his rash decision. Skinner must have been 
ticked off that he failed to get a check-in call. And, with everything 
else Mulder had done recently, the AD must have given up on him. 
Professionally. And probably personally as well.

He barely participated in the hearing as his mind raced with all the 
possible implications of Skinner's absence and he responded in 
monosyllables when Cassidy or one of the others asked him a question 
or requested an explanation for something. He didn't even try to 
defend his actions New Year's Eve and Cassidy found herself wondering 
whether Skinner had gotten to Mulder before he came in. His normal 
feisty nature had clearly been checked at the door today.

She closed the hearing as quickly as possible, telling Mulder that 
he'd receive their decision about disciplinary action that afternoon. 
"I'll notify AD Skinner."

Mulder rose blindly and waited for her and the others to leave the 
conference room, then he sank back onto the chair. 

"That's assuming he gives a shit what happens to me," he whispered as 
a solid lump of tears rose in his throat. Their lack of contact in 
recent weeks meant exactly what Mulder feared, that the AD was 
distancing himself from the agent. After all they'd been through in 
recent years, part of him didn't want to believe it. But the other 
part, long buried but firmly entrenched in his psyche told him it had 
to happen eventually. And in fact, that little voice had been pushing 
him to test the bond, to prove to himself it would not hold 
indefinitely.

Mulder had failed to check in most nights, waiting to see what Skinner 
would do. But one night, in an act of faith, he had gone to the 
Crystal City apartment and waited for the AD to return. At 1 a.m., 
he'd finally gone to bed and missed Skinner arriving some time later. 
The next morning, he awoke to find the man knocking on his bedroom 
door at 6 a.m. The other man was fully dressed and ready to leave. 

"I have a breakfast meeting with the Attorney General at 7 o'clock," 
Skinner had said by way of explanation. "I left you cereal and fruit 
on the kitchen table, and coffee's brewed. Sorry we didn't get a 
chance to talk, Fox." He'd nodded and left the apartment.

That morning he hadn't mentioned a word about Mulder's recent 
behavioral lapses, nor even looked like he'd given them a second 
thought and Mulder had been briefly comforted by how normal everything 
between them seemed. But then Skinner had fallen out of contact again 
until yesterday, when he'd offered Mulder basketball tickets. The ones 
the younger man blatantly passed up and passed along to Delaney, then 
made sure Skinner knew about it.

Now Mulder shook his head miserably as he sat in that conference room 
alone, trying to get control of his emotions. Finally, he recovered 
enough equilibrium to make his way back to the basement office and to 
face Scully.

But by the end of the day, he'd moved through despair to what he 
thought was righteous anger. Scully had tried to calm him down, taking 
him out of the building for lunch and letting him vent to his heart's 
content out of earshot of anyone from the Bureau. But that had only 
served to stoke the fire, it seemed. She'd sent him off to his meeting 
with Skinner with a final admonishment.

"Mulder, don't do anything stupid."

Her words served an opposite purpose to her intent, though. He slammed 
the door behind him and headed up the stairs to the fourth floor, his 
anger growing with each step. By the time he got to Skinner's outer 
office, he was like a bull just waiting for a red flag. And it 
appeared, in the form of Special Agent Wesley Clarke. Clarke was 
stepping out of the AD's office and he was practically blubbering his 
thanks to Skinner as he went, Mulder thought cruelly.

"Thank you, sir," Clarke said for the fourth or fifth time since the 
door opened. "I really . . . appreciate your support, sir. I-- I never 
had a single reprimand since I joined the bureau! Or any trouble with 
anyone! I don't know if I could have handled this if you weren't there 
for me, sir. I-- I don't know what to say--"

"That's quite all right, Agent," Skinner was saying, trying to move 
him along. "It's my job. And you did exactly what I would have done 
under the circumstances."

"Thank you for saying that, sir," Clarke continued. "I guess I should 
call my wife. We've both been losing sleep over this--"

"No, I think you should go home and tell her, Agent Clarke," Skinner 
said, fairly pushing the man out of the office. "It's almost five 
o'clock anyway. Go home and have a drink. And forget this ever 
happened."

Clarke nodded spastically, then gave Mulder and Kim a sheepish smile 
and hurried out of the office. Skinner continued over to Kim's desk. 
"Any calls I need to know about?"

"No, sir," she replied. "Your brother Joe called. Said to call when 
you free up. And Deputy Director Casey said we can reschedule your 
Tuesday appointment with him for later in the week. He said to tell 
you he sends good wishes for your Dad's surgery."

Skinner nodded and turned to Mulder, gesturing toward the door. "Agent 
Mulder?"

The younger agent rose and stalked into the office. Skinner's eyebrows 
both rose as he correctly interpreted the body language and he sighed 
and walked in behind Mulder, closing the door silently. He paused a 
moment, taking a deep breath and cracking his neck, trying to ease 
some of the pain and tension that had been building up in recent days.

"This sucks!" Mulder fumed. He'd reached the desk and turned right 
around. "I solved that case! I kept the Bureau from getting another 
public black-eye! And this is the thanks I get--"

"Stop it right now, Agent!" Skinner yelled. "And sit down!"

Mulder blinked and fell hard into the chair behind him. He wanted to 
respond but he found himself tongue-tied in the face of the AD's 
wrath.

"First of all, YOU didn't do anything alone, Agent! You had help. From 
Agent Scully. From Frank Black. From me, and the rest of the Bureau. A 
team solved this thing. What YOU did was break every procedural rule 
we have! You left here without a back-up. You told no one where you 
were going. You worked off a location list no one else had seen! You 
didn't check in when you found out your cell phone was out of range. 
You entered the premises without a search warrant--"

"And I forgot to eat lunch, too! Isn't that a rule? There are so many, 
it's hard to keep up--"

"That's it!" Skinner bellowed. "I don't want to hear another word from 
you, Agent Mulder. I do the talking here--"

"Oh, another rule! The only people with more fucking rules than the 
fucking FBI is the Skinner family, right? I just can't catch a break, 
can I . . . ?" The words were out of his mouth before he knew it and 
then it was too late. All the regret in the world couldn't get them 
back and allow him to shove them back own throat. 

Skinner stopped cold and his arms dropped to his side. In his 
peripheral vision, Mulder saw the man's fists clench as his ironclad 
emotional control slammed down like a gate between the two of them. 
Skinner's body untensed, but his neck and jawline looked like solid 
granite as he walked around the desk, coming to stand on the side 
opposite Mulder.

"Okay, that's enough," he said tightly. He'd lowered his volume to the 
point Mulder almost had to lean in to hear him. The AD picked up a 
file, Mulder's OPR file the other agent noted irrelevantly. "You 
managed to avoid another official reprimand. But you are being 
reassigned--"

"Reassigned?" Mulder leapt to his feet and slammed his hand down on 
the desk. "How could-- Just for ignoring a few rules?" He knew 
immediately Skinner must have asked for him to be reassigned.

Skinner glared at him, silently commanding him to sit back down. When 
he did so, the Assistant Director began to speak again. "Temporarily, 
Agent," he said meaningfully. "There's a new class starting at the 
Academy next week and you're going to be their instructor for the 
'Investigative Procedures' module. I--"

"What? I'm not a teacher--" Mulder began to protest but Skinner stared 
him down again.

"To teach well you have to know your subject, Agent Mulder. And most 
of the instructors at the Academy are simply agents with special 
expertise. Which you will have by the time the class begins. Here's 
the manual, in case you can't . . . find your own. And the teaching 
notes."

Mulder stared at them as though they were something obscene and 
refused to move to take the materials Skinner had slid across his 
desk.

"If your class scores in the top fifth of class averages in their 
final test, you'll come back," the AD said ominously. "If not, you'll 
stay on this assignment indefinitely until one of your classes does--"

Mulder's head snapped up to stare at him when he heard the last part. 
"What about . . . the X-files?" he whispered.

Skinner flexed his head to the side a little, trying again to crack 
the tension and pain lodged there. "This assignment is not a full-time 
one," he said impatiently. "The class meets four days a week for a 
couple of hours a day. You'll still have time to do a lot of your own 
work--

"But I won't be . . . here." Mulder's words struck a dual tone. One 
was resignation. But the other had the faint echo of hope.

"No. And perhaps that's for the best, Mulder." Skinner reconsidered 
his statement the moment the words were out but he was exhausted by 
the confrontation and the constant need to corral and tame the young 
agent in front of him. In fact, he was exhausted by his entire life in 
recent weeks. 

Skinner had harbored great hopes that, after Mulder's recent 
experience growing up among the extended family of Skinners, he would 
be changed some. Perhaps a little more willing to conform. And with 
less of a need to take on the world at any temptation. But it appeared 
the old Agent Mulder had returned with a vengeance he thought 
dispiritedly.

A searing burst of pain made him realize that the headache he'd 
developed a few moments earlier was becoming blinding. He needed 
aspirin desperately, for the headache and the pain in his neck and 
back, but he would not admit that weakness to the other man. So he 
stayed the course, knowing it was always better to come down hard on 
Mulder at the outset, then soften your stance later.

Mulder's shoulders had slumped for a moment but now he sat back up and 
raised his head. He stared at the AD for a long moment, then he picked 
up the books on the desk and turned to go. "What about Scully?" he 
asked, stopping in mid-step.

"She's done nothing wrong," Skinner said wearily. "She'll remain here 
and you'll work from Quantico. If she'd prefer to work from there, 
that's fine too. Mulder, you haven't been removed from the X-Files. 
You've gotten a . . . 'punishment assignment.' Don't blow things out 
of proportion--"

<Like you always do!> Mulder heard the unspoken addendum to the AD's 
sentence and knew what it meant. Skinner had lost patience with him 
finally. After all this time, and all they'd been through, he'd 
finally hit the limit of his tolerance. The 'son' in him fought the 
notion but the 'agent' and 'profiler' won the debate handily.

Mulder nodded resignedly and opened the door slightly. Then he paused, 
not able to continue and out of the office, needing to take one more 
shot at fixing what was wrong between them. "Sir, I'm s-sorry-- for 
all the trouble. . . ."

Skinner's face reflected his confusion but the intercom buzzed before 
he could ask what had brought the comment on. He picked up the phone 
impatiently. "Yes, yes I'll take that," he told Kim then took 
advantage of the moment it would take her to connect the call.

Mulder was still standing in the doorway. Skinner knew needed to move 
Mulder along before taking this call from AD Kendall. The AD in charge 
of Quantico was incensed to hear who they were sending him to teach 
the 'Investigative Procedures' course. And Mulder, whose ego was 
equally outsized and fragile, did not need to know he wasn't wanted. 
"Don't mention it," he said briskly, an incongruous smile on his face. 
"It's . . . my job. Good-bye, Agent."

Mulder reacted as though he'd been slapped and he moved jerkily into 
the outer office and closed the door, not wanting Skinner to see. He 
looked up to see the AD's assistant Kim watching him warily and he 
gave her what he hoped looked like a jaunty smile and hurried out into 
the hallway. 

"Agent Mulder?" she called after him. "I . . wanted to talk to you. 
About the Assistant Director--"

"No time, Kim," he called over his shoulder, afraid to let her see his 
emotional state.

<Well, thank you, Agent Mulder!> She stared after him angrily and sat 
back in her chair. The AD had been acting strangely, as if he was in 
pain. And she thought Mulder would be the right one to discuss her 
fears with. He and Skinner were close, like family. And he was 
normally very observant and, despite his attempt to seem detached from 
things at the FBI, the fact was he cared a great deal about the place 
and the people. Especially the Assistant Director. But his behavior 
today certainly didn't demonstrate it.

Kim cared about Skinner too. And she was worried about him. He'd been 
working too hard, and too many hours. And he'd been short-tempered and 
abrupt of late, much more than usual. He had a lot of family things 
giving him added stress. And something seemed to be wrong with him 
physically, too. 

The day before Kim couldn't raise him on the intercom and she'd gone 
in and found him stretched out on his couch, with a heating pad on his 
neck. He'd been embarrassed and jumped up immediately, telling her 
something about an old 'football injury.' But she'd also noticed their 
office supply of aspirin was disappearing far faster than normal.

She pushed those thoughts out of her mind as the man himself stalked 
out of the other room. The call with AD Kendall must not have gone 
well because he appeared angry. He strode over to the cabinet in which 
they kept the aspirin and palmed four, swallowing them dry until Kim 
poured a glass of water from the pitcher on her desk. 

"Can we fit Agent Scully in this afternoon?" he asked her as he took a 
sip of the water. It turned out there was a free ten minutes right 
after his next appointment. And his scheduled phone call with one of 
his west coast subordinates was coming in at that moment. "Good! Ask 
her to come by in half an hour."

He went back into his office, closing the door behind him and sighed 
painfully as he took a seat in his desk chair. It had turned out the 
price of getting Jack Kendall to accept Mulder as his 'Investigative 
Procedures' instructor had been giving him Scully too. To teach the 
Forensics module. But perhaps that wasn't so bad after all. Skinner 
knew he wasn't able to pay as much attention to the younger agent 
lately with everything piling up. And Scully and Mulder managed to 
amuse themselves alone better than any pair of agents he'd ever seen. 

In reality, they barely needed a supervisor Skinner mused, something 
to which the Bureau had given tacit recognition by assigning the 
X-files to report directly to Skinner, an AD with vast 
responsibilities. No, perhaps this was the best way to get through all 
of this after all. He picked up the phone, feeling his heart lift a 
little for the first time in weeks. Skinner's commitment to Mulder was 
intact but now that he was an adult again, he expected the sense of 
day to day responsibility would just naturally fade. As it was 
beginning to already.

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

Harrisburg Regional Medical Center
Monday, January 18
6:25 a.m.

Skinner pulled into the parking lot exactly on time. His father was 
scheduled for pre-operative blood work at 6:30 with the surgery taking 
place at 9 o'clock. It was just the two of them in the car this 
morning. Andy was home from Chicago, despite his Dad's protests that 
people 'shouldn't make a big deal of this' but he and Joe would bring 
Rachel and Jean in a couple of hours. Walter Sr. had loudly insisted 
that the entire family didn't have to get up in the middle of the 
night and relocate to Harrisburg 'just to sit and wait.'

They parked in an almost empty lot and began walking toward the 
entrance to the surgical wing. As they approached, a familiar figure 
rose from where he was sitting on the steps there.

"Fox!" Mr. Skinner exclaimed. "It's twenty degrees out here! What do 
you think you're doing?"

"I'm waiting for you," Mulder said with a tentative smile. His face 
was flushed from the cold and his eyes were bright but wary as he 
checked out Skinner's reaction from the corner of his eye. He let 
himself be embraced by the older man and nodded at Skinner. The AD 
smiled tightly and nodded in return. 

"Fox," he said, giving no hint as to whether he was angry or not. 
Skinner handed Mulder the weekend bag he was carrying for his father. 
Then he and Mulder fell in step behind the older man who was heading 
into the hospital. "Aren't you supposed to be in Quantico?"

"I-- well, you know they don't actually have any classes on the first 
day," Mulder said, speaking quietly but rushing to get it out, hoping 
to minimize the AD's anger. "Just check-in and security stuff. AD 
Kendall said I could report tomorrow after I told him . . . about my . 
. . family medical thing. I just couldn't .. . not be here." He 
wondered if Skinner would call him on the little lie about it being a 
'family' matter but the AD merely nodded, a tired half-smile on his 
face. 

"Okay," he said. Mulder was uncertain what the tone he used meant but 
he was committed to the course of action he'd undertaken. The elder 
Skinner had been so good to him, it would be sign of immense 
selfishness not to be here, in the young man's mind. He was hurt and 
still confused by the AD's decision to put distance between them but . 
. . he'd overridden his bruised feelings and made the trip anyway 
because it seemed like the right thing to do.

Skinner and Mulder dropped Mr. Skinner off at the surgical floor so he 
could be prepped for surgery, then the Assistant Director suggested 
they get some breakfast. Mulder wasn't certain if he was asking out of 
a sense of responsibility or because he felt sorry for the younger 
agent but he agreed just because it had been so long since the two of 
them had spent time alone. Part of him was scared but a larger part of 
him hoped . . . . <Hell! What is it you hope for, Fox?>

"The cafeteria's not open yet," Skinner told Mulder. "But there's a 
coffee shop down the street. And we've got a couple of hours to kill." 


They went down the street to the "Country Maid" coffee shop. Mulder's 
stomach was in knots and he needed to collect himself before the two 
men spoke. He was afraid he was wearing his heart on his sleeve and 
that would surely put the AD in an awkward position. He excused 
himself to go to the men's room the minute they got inside so Skinner 
requested a table from a pleasant middle-aged waitress and sat down to 
look at the menu.

"Can I getcha anything to start, hon?" she said.

He ordered drinks for the two of them. Mulder returned a moment later 
to find the AD perusing the menu, a cup of coffee and a large glass of 
milk on the table. He sat down, staring at the glass, and Skinner 
looked up over the menu.

"I ordered you--" he began then stopped, noting the strange expression 
on the younger man's face. His eyes descended to the table. "Oh, jeez! 
I . . . Don't ask me what I was thinking." He looked around for the 
waitress quickly. "Miss? Could we get another cup of coffee instead of 
the milk?"

"No, that's all right," Mulder responded as he picked up the glass. "I 
. . . I could use the nutrients, I guess. But I would like a cup of 
coffee too."

Skinner protested that he didn't have to drink the milk but Mulder had 
already downed half the glass. The waitress came over with another cup 
of coffee, chuckling good-naturedly. "Ya got a kid, huh?" she said to 
Skinner. "I know the feeling. It's automatic. You forget they're not 
with you sometimes."

Skinner simply nodded, not wanting to get into any details. He ordered 
buttermilk pancakes and ham and Mulder asked for the same, then they 
lapsed into silence. The sun was just peeking out under gray clouds 
that looked like threatening rain and Skinner stared out the window 
for a minute, lost in thought.

"Where's everyone else?" Mulder asked as he took a seat on the other 
side of the table.

"Dad . . . doesn't like a lot of people around for these things," 
Skinner said as he prepared his coffee. "He doesn't deal well with 
being sick, as you know. They're all coming later, right before the 
surgery."

"I hope he doesn't mind . . . that I came," Fox said, suddenly 
self-conscious about the decision. 

"No, it's okay. I'm glad . . . you're here. I could use the company." 
Skinner took a gulp of the hot coffee, then sighed with satisfaction. 

Mulder stared into his milk glass, trying not to read too much into 
the other man's statement. He was struggling to find a way to start 
the conversation he wanted to have. "I'm . . sorry--"

"I'm sorry--" Skinner said at the same moment, then they both laughed. 
It eased the tension of the moment a little.

"Things have been . . . hectic, Fox," Skinner said when there was 
silence again. "I know I've been out of touch. . . ."

"And that's all my fault,"

"No, it isn't," Skinner said firmly. "Don't start taking 
responsibility for things you didn't do, or control."

"I know how much you did for me, sir," the young agent responded. "I 
know you'll say it's 'your job' but nothing in your job description 
requires you to do what you did . . . ."

Skinner sensed there was a tidal wave of meaning behind that 
statement. He'd gotten to know this young man as a son, down to the 
vulnerable core that fed his anxieties no matter how much he was 
reassured about being loved and wanted. It was a legacy from his first 
childhood, Skinner knew. And his paternal instinct told him that Fox 
was struggling yet again with truly believing he was part of the 
Skinner family, no matter what.

"Son, it is my job," Skinner said with conviction. "Being here for 
you, good times, bad times and everything in between. It's not a 
choice, it just . . . is."

Mulder's eyes glistened with tears and he looked down at his hands, 
clasping them to keep them from shaking. Inside him the pendulum of 
hope swung in the other direction and he tried to face the truth. He'd 
let himself believe he was more than 'a job' to Skinner but things had 
changed. His own family was now draining away so much of the AD's time 
and attention, he had none left over to extend his official 
responsibilities to Mulder and his personal problems. Mulder knew he 
should be grateful for everything Skinner had done for him over the 
years, so much of it above and beyond the call of his job as Mulder's 
supervisor.

He nodded, trying not to let the new reality rock him. This man had 
enough on his mind now without Mulder adding to it. "But it's a fact 
you wouldn't be so behind at work if it wasn't for me--"

"No, it's a fact the Consortium did something to you and whatever came 
after was not your fault," Skinner replied crisply.

"How about New Year's Eve?" Mulder asked, a glint of hope in his eye. 
He was trying to turn the conversation light and push away the sense 
of personal loss that was descending on him. And perhaps, given 
everything, the AD would reconsider the decision to send him away to 
Quantico. Skinner was not a heartless boss, the younger agent knew 
from long experience.

"That was all your fault," Skinner replied, a hint of a smile touching 
his lips before he turned serious again. "And there will be 
punishment, Fox. Now that you're arm's almost completely healed.

Mulder's eyes flicked up in shock and pressed his lips together. 
"There w-will?" he stammered, a new interpretation of their 
conversation beginning to take hold. He decided to test it. "The 
doctor says it could be months before it's completely back to 
normal--"

"Nice try, kid," the AD said, grinning broadly. He was relieved to 
hear Mulder respond so normally.

Mulder found himself smiling despite the reality of what had just been 
promised him. He was still confused and uncertain but he let himself 
hang on to the small hope that some part of their personal 
relationship remained in place and would continue as before. Both men 
lapsed into silence, and Mulder automatically finished the glass of 
milk as he stared out the window. 

"How are you doing with . . . all the memories?" Skinner asked out of 
the blue. One of the problems the younger man had been having in 
recent weeks was an occasional inability to sort the memory of two 
childhoods correctly. He'd remember something happened then have 
trouble deciding whether it was in his first or second go-around.

"Better. I think it was too much of a shock for my brain to . . . 
organize things right away. But I have fewer lapses now. Almost none, 
actually."

Skinner smiled. "I wish I could say the same," he said his eyes 
flicking to the now empty milk glass. "And I wasn’t drugged!"

"But you are exhausted," Mulder replied.

"I'll survive," Skinner said, closing off that discussion as well. He 
was never comfortable letting anyone see him in less than complete 
control or discussing his own physical well-being. In that way, he and 
his father were virtual clones.

Mulder sensed his discomfort and turned the conversation in another 
direction. "But there are times when I still can't believe . . . it 
happened at all. The other day I heard that Barony song in a 
department store. That annoying little jingle And less than six months 
ago, I wouldn't go to sleep without hearing it! It's kind of . . . 
embarrassing."

Skinner watched him passively. "No, Fox," he said after a moment. 
"Embarrassing is standing at a crowded telephone bank in the Atlanta 
airport SINGING the Barney song."

A sheepish smile broke out on the younger man's face just as their 
meals arrived. He vividly recalled the night Casey was baby-sitting 
him and the AD's flight home was delayed in Atlanta by summer storms. 
Fox had had a temper tantrum, telling Casey his Dad SAID he would be 
home by bedtime and only he could sing the song right. The poor girl 
was nearly driven to distraction before Skinner finally called and 
resolved the stand-off. 

"You win, sir," he said. He'd never pictured any of it from the other 
man's point of view before. And the image of Skinner actually singing 
that song in a public place, well, that was one he'd have trouble 
forgetting ever now that he knew. He was struck again by a sense that 
things had changed between him and Skinner. And yet, curiously, they 
remained the same.

They ate in easy silence but something was niggling at Mulder. 
Finally, over a final bite of hotcakes dripping with warm maple syrup, 
he got up the nerve to raise the subject.

"Sir, I--" he began, then he thought better of the approach. This 
wasn't an AD question, this one was for his . . . 'Dad.' His 
expression turned to one of slight consternation as he struggled to 
decide whether to continue. And to find a way to start.

The waitress came over and refilled their coffee cups. As she 
departed, Skinner spoke softly. "Just spit it out, son. I know 
something's bothering you. . . ."

Mulder's eyes burned with tears he was fighting hard not to show. 
"It's just that-- I hate it that you and Uncle Joe-- I mean, you and 
Joe! That you're mad at each other! You never . . . fought before I 
was around. Or didn't talk to each other-- I'd hate myself if it 
turned out my stopover in the family . . . ruined things for you and 
Joe--"

"Fox," Skinner interrupted but the younger man didn't hear him. He 
struggled to continue but Skinner reached out and put a hand under his 
chin, raising his face so they were in direct eye contact. "Fox! 
Stop."

Mulder blinked and closed his mouth immediately. He looked at the 
other man worriedly, afraid he'd introduced a touchy subject. 

"Thank you," Skinner said succinctly, lowering his hand and his voice. 
"First of all, Joe and I were okay before he left Christmas Day. Our . 
. . arguments never last more than a few hours. And believe me, they 
predate your arrival by oh, how old is Joe now? Around 42 years. Ever 
since Joe crawled into my bedroom and drooled all over my Howdy Doody 
picture!"

Mulder laughed. "You had a picture of Howdy Doody? You?!"

Skinner raised his coffee cup and took a sip. "May I remind you, you 
had a Pokemon poster not too long ago," he said dryly, with just the 
smallest hint of amusement.

Mulder silently conceded defeat on that point as Skinner set the cup 
down and continued. "Joe's . . . sensitivity about this is an old 
story. You see, my Dad and I spent a lot of time together at hospitals 
and with doctors--"

"You did? When? I didn't know Gran had ever been sick before!" Mulder 
unconsciously used the term he'd used for Mr. Skinner all during his 
second childhood and Skinner noted it and let it pass without comment. 
It pleased him actually.

"Well, he wasn't," the AD replied quietly. "But I was in the hospital 
for months after I came back from Vietnam, Fox. As soon as I was 
stabilized, they shipped me back home, to the VA hospital in 
Wilkes-Barre. I . . . was in pretty bad shape. And so shell-shocked, I 
didn't really want to see anyone, not even my family. I tried to get 
them to send me somewhere else, not in the state. So I wouldn't have 
to deal with my family but-- You know the government."

"My parents came right away," he continued, beginning to become lost 
in the memory. "It was just before Easter. It's a big holiday in the 
Orthodox calendar and the family missed it that year. The kids were 
staying with neighbors and my folks were in Wilkes-Barre with me. . . 
."

CONTINUED IN PART 2