The Danville Series
by Cadillac Red

Disclaimer: The characters of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner 
and Jana Cassidy 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: "Fight the Future"

Setting: Somewhere in the fourth season.

Rating: PG. Some discipline, no slash.

Title: Hell Week 

Author: Cadillac Red

Summary: Mulder steps far out of line one day and Skinner decides to 
spend the rest of the week reeling him back in.





Hell Week

Russo’s Ristorante 
Washington, D.C.

Special Agent Fox Mulder sat back in his chair as the waiter placed 
the salad course before him and then laid a similar plate in front of 
Assistant Director Walter Skinner across the table. It was just past 
12:30 on a Friday and Russo's was crowded with people who were mostly 
government workers like themselves, out for a moderately priced 
expense account lunch. He wasn't sure what had prompted the AD to ask 
him to lunch today but he wasn't concerned. <I've been "golden" for 
weeks now, ever since the "Hopeful Incident." There could be no hidden 
agenda here that I need to worry about!>

Skinner's mind was mining a similar vein. He knew Mulder's partner, 
Special Agent Dana Scully, was away for the week in Colorado. She was 
a medical doctor and in order to keep her license, she was required to 
take a certain number of continuing professional education hours 
annually. Skinner was always concerned when Scully wasn't around to 
temper Mulder's "enthusiasm," keep him from making the questionable 
leaps of faith that took him almost unfailingly into the arms of 
danger. In the past six months, (since Skinner had taken a more 
'personal interest' in this agent's behavior!) Mulder had had only a 
couple of lapses in judgment. That's why Skinner had resolved to keep 
close tabs on his most troublesome agent while Scully was away this 
year. The first four days of the week had gone well. Skinner had an 
especially light schedule today and lunch out of the office seemed 
like a good idea. <A 'pat on the back' for continued good behavior!>

They chatted amiably about sports and what Mulder had heard from 
Scully when she called in that morning. Even Mulder seemed relieved 
that she'd be back in the office on Monday. <Whether he admits it or 
not, he knows he's completely lost without her, Skinner thought to 
himself.> Suddenly, Skinner looked up, his attention caught by 
something. Mulder glanced over his shoulder to see an attractive 
blonde woman, dressed in an impeccable blue suit, smiling and heading 
for their table. Skinner stood to greet her; Mulder followed suit.

"Walter!," she said warmly. "I wondered when I would run into you!"

"I planned to stop by and see you this afternoon," Skinner responded. 
They shook hands, and Mulder thought the grasp held a split second 
longer than a business handshake normally would. "Welcome back to 
Washington!"

"Thank you, Walter," she replied. "I'm so pleased to be back. Running 
a field division was great experience but now I'm ready for a new 
challenge."

"Well, you certainly got something challenging, Jana," he replied. 
"OPR may be the biggest headache of all. . . . " He looked over at 
Mulder, suddenly realizing he hadn't introduced the younger agent.

"Let me introduce you to one of my people, Jana," he said. "Assistant 
Director Jana Cassidy, this is Special Agent Fox Mulder. I don't 
believe you know each other . . ."

Mulder shook his head. Cassidy looked a little surprised; one eyebrow 
rose as she extended her hand to Mulder.

"I only know Agent Mulder by reputation," she said, "and the rather 
extensive file in my new office."

Mulder swallowed hard and nodded a hello, returning the quick 
handshake. A file in the Office for Professional Review was not a good 
thing; an 'extensive file' was definitely not something he wanted to 
have dwelled on. 

Skinner noted Mulder's slightly embarrassed reaction and stepped in 
before he could say something inappropriate. "Jana, we're halfway 
through lunch but . . . if you'd like to join us . . ."

She shook her head. "No, I see my party in the next room, Walter. I 
just wanted to say hello. Perhaps we'll have a chance to talk more 
later. I could use your help sorting out some of the files I've 
inherited--real 'headaches' as you said." She glanced again at Mulder. 
"But then we all have our share of headaches, don't we Walter?" 

"Be glad to help any way I can, Jana," he replied.

"It was nice meeting you, Agent Mulder," she said, nodding at the 
younger man. He returned the nod. As she walked off, AD Skinner 
reseated himself, followed by Mulder.

"Well, do you think it was clear we're drinking nothing but iced tea, 
sir?" Mulder immediately asked, lifting his glass and draining it in 
one fell swoop. Just being near her made him nervous.

Skinner laughed and assured him there was nothing to worry about. "I 
don't know how many people remember this, but Jana and I were partners 
years ago, in the early '80's," he told Mulder. "She knows me well 
enough to know I wouldn't be drinking at lunch."

This time it was Mulder's turn to raise an eyebrow. "My condolences, 
sir," he said sincerely. "That woman could freeze your nuts off!"

Skinner nearly choked on the plum tomato he'd just put in his mouth 
and tried to keep a chuckle from escaping. "She's not that bad, 
Mulder, really," he said. "Although they did call her the "Ice Queen" 
in the old days! . . . . And I'll trust you to keep that to yourself, 
Mulder," he warned the younger agent as the waiter came to deliver 
their main courses.

Mulder grinned back at him. "Don't worry, sir. Your secret's safe with 
me!"

Skinner called on Jana Cassidy just past 4 p.m. He'd timed his visit 
to give them some "office time" so she could ask him about some of the 
'headaches' she'd inherited. He and his agents had been involved in a 
few things that came under OPR's microscope over the last few years. 
This was not unusual in the Bureau, which took its professional 
reputation very seriously. None of those incidents rose to the 
"official review" level, partly because Skinner ran a very tight ship. 
And partly because the AD formerly in charge of OPR, Andy Kowalski, 
had always deferred to Skinner's judgment on his people. Or more 
accurately, on Mulder. Mulder and the X-files were the only exceptions 
to the general rule about Skinner and his 'tight ship.' 

"This kid's out of control, Walt," Andy had said on more than one 
occasion. "He's an 'incident' waiting to happen. Why not just cut him 
loose?"

But Skinner had taken advantage of Andy Kowalski's respect for him 
several times; finally they'd reached an agreement. Skinner knew him 
best, he would decide when to "pull the pin" on Mulder. And so it had 
gone for the past three and a half years.

Now, though, Andy Kowalski had decided to retire. And Skinner would 
have to find a way to forge a similar understanding with Jana Cassidy. 
He knew her, liked her, respected her greatly for her professional 
competence and sober judgment. And, he knew down to his shoes, she'd 
have very little tolerance for Fox Mulder and his "leap now, ask 
permission later" approach to the agency to which she'd devoted her 
life. Cassidy ate, drank and slept Bureau procedures, had to, to 
succeed the way she had in the overwhelmingly male upper echelons of 
the FBI. No, Ms. Cassidy and Agent Mulder had probably hit the high 
point of their relationship that very afternoon at Russo's, he 
suspected.

So Skinner made himself available to her for "background" until just 
past 5:30 p.m., then he suggested a "welcome back" drink at the 
Ambassador Grill. Jana smiled her acceptance and now, here they were, 
chatting over a second beer for Skinner and a second glass of wine for 
Cassidy. They'd caught up on personal news and were just relaxing and 
enjoying the companionship of old colleagues. 

"So tell me, Walter," she finally asked THE question. "Whatever made 
you agree to take on Mulder and those, pardon me, ridiculous X-files? 
Even on the West Coast, we couldn't help hearing the stories. Hardly 
the kind of thing I'd think old 'By The Book Skinner' would find 
himself involved in!"

"We all take our orders from someone, Jana," he smiled. "I didn't take 
it on willingly, believe me. But I've come to respect Mulder, a lot. . 
. . I've had the opportunity to work with some talented people in my 
20 years with the Bureau, you're at the top of that list, I might add. 
But Mulder . . . he's the most naturally talented agent I've ever 
worked with. He . . . SEES everything a little different than the rest 
of us and a lot of the time, that makes all the difference. That's why 
his solve rate is just about untouchable."

He continued, trying to find some way to make her understand. "I think 
of him a little like nuclear energy. A giant force for good if you can 
harness it properly; if not, "BOOM!"

She was taken off guard by his analogy and laughed in appreciation. 
"Well, I just hope for your sake you've got him properly harnessed," 
she smiled. "And perhaps I just haven't seen him at his best. . . . . 
Actually, I don't think he even said a word to me today."

Now it was Skinner's turn to laugh. "He was terrified!" 

Cassidy looked at him in mock surprise. "Have I reached the point in 
my career where young agents are terrified of me?" she asked 
rhetorically. But then she shook her head and turned serious. 

"I don't know Walter," she said, laying one hand lightly on his 
forearm. "You should be on the 'short list' for Section Chief by now. 
No matter how much latitude Andy Kowalski gave you on Mulder, you have 
to know the people upstairs know enough to hold you somewhat 
responsible for the things he's gotten into. . . . I just hope he's 
really worth whatever negative impact he's had on your career. When 
push comes to shove, you may regret not showing a little more 
self-interest."

Skinner frowned momentarily at her interpretation of things. "I think 
you're wrong, Jana." Then he grinned again, trying to lighten up the 
conversation. "And besides, I don't know that "Section Chief" is 
really what I want. I'm already more of a bureaucrat than I ever 
wanted to be!" But inside, he knew he would give some thought to her 
analysis; she always did have an uncanny ability to cut through the 
fluff and get right to the truth of a situation.





Fox Mulder was camped out on his couch, having just returned from a 
long run. He hung up the phone after placing an order for a pizza and 
popped open a cold beer he'd brought from the kitchen, along with his 
portable phone. He thought about showering but then brushed the idea 
aside. <Unless the pizza guy refuses to deliver because I smell bad, 
what for?>

He had just laid back and put the TV on when the phone rang. "Mulder," 
he answered it.

"Mulder, it's Langly," he heard in return. "Have we got something 
awesome for you!"

"Langly, I just ran six miles and ordered dinner. Nothing you say will 
get me off this couch, I guarantee you," he said languidly.

But the Lone Gunmen prevailed; what they had was truly "awesome," if 
it was true. What appeared to be proof that, not only did a UFO crash 
in the Atlantic in the late '40's, but the remains of an EBE had been 
removed recently and were being held in "cold storage." A recent 
advance in cryo-technology made it a remote possibility that the 
captive alien corpse could be revived. And all of this was taking 
place in a government research facility near the Naval Academy in 
Annapolis.

"Where did you get this?" Mulder probed. His heart was racing, but his 
brain told him this was a highly unlikely story. And one thing he'd 
gotten from Skinner recently was the knowledge that the AD could 
accept almost anything if he thought Mulder had at least applied a 
modicum of judgment before jumping in with both feet. 

Byers was also on the line, apparently and he cut right in. "Someone 
we know hacked into a highly-classified DoD database, "Ongoing R&D" 
it's called, but when you get inside, it's easy to see why it's "Eyes 
Only." This is a whole lot more than weapons research, Mulder," he 
said.

"Okay, I'm coming over there," Mulder said, hitting his feet and 
heading for the shower. He was out the door before the pizza guy got 
there.

Ten hours later, Mulder sat dejectedly on the bottom bunk in a cell he 
shared with Melvin Frohike. Across the narrow hallway, Byers and 
Langly shared an identical gray metal box with bars on it. The 
previous night's adventure looked like a fool's errand in retrospect. 
<Hindsight really is 20/20 Mulder!>

The information turned out to be pure fantasy <Big surprise!> but they 
had almost pulled off a clean escape. Mulder had flashed his badge and 
nearly convinced a Marine guard that their unauthorized foray into the 
research facility was a "security check" when the guard's C.O. made an 
unexpected site visit. The Marine Captain didn't buy Mulder's story 
for a second and now here they were, waiting to be turned over to the 
civilian authorities he supposed. His mind refused to even contemplate 
what came next and he hung his head to keep from throwing up.

"All right, you guys," a Marine sergeant barked at them, indicating 
Langly, Byers and Frohike. "You three have been bailed out. Having a 
bail bondsman on retainer is always such a GOOD idea. . . "

Mulder didn't even lift his head to watch them go. He knew as soon as 
he was I.D.'d that the first call they'd make was to the Bureau . . . 
or more specifically, to his immediate supervisor at the Bureau. The 
Lone Gunmen shuffled off, mumbling their good-byes amid their ongoing 
protests about "government conspiracies." 

The guard waited as they exited, then turned to the young man left in 
the cell. "Oh, and you're being bailed out, too. A guy named Skinner 
is with the C.O. now."

Mulder looked up at him in alarm. <He came in person! Fuck! Fuck! 
Fuck! Mulder you are well and truly fucked!>

Mulder groaned, and dropped his head once again.





"Frank, I know this looks bad," Walter Skinner was saying to Marine 
Captain Frank Palmeri at that moment. "And frankly, I'm not even gonna 
try to tell you there's a good explanation because . . . I know there 
probably isn't. At least not one you and I will think is 'good.'"

"But no harm's been done. And this kid can't afford to have this get 
to official FBI channels, not right now. . . . So I'm asking you for a 
favor, here, a big one," Skinner finished. 

Frank Palmeri looked at Skinner over steepled fingers and shook his 
head. "Walt, I don't know why you want to go to the bother of saving 
this guy's ass. If one of my guys was this reckless, I'd be booting 
his tail out of the Corps! But hell, you saved my kiester in 'Nam more 
than once. I guess this is the least I can do." He shook his head 
again. "I'll have to drop the charges against the other three loonies, 
too, you know."

"I know, Frank, and I appreciate it," Skinner said rising and 
extending his hand. "I'd let them sweat it out a couple of days first, 
though."

Palmeri laughed, "Yeah, it's the least I can do for them, right?"





The Sergeant came back in and unlocked the door to Mulder's cell. It 
seemed as though he had left mere seconds ago but, glancing at his 
watch, Mulder was surprised to see it had been almost 30 minutes. 
Mulder was suddenly struck with the thought that he was probably 
paralyzed; he knew the Sergeant was waiting for him to move but his 
body refused to respond.

"Time to go, buddy," the Sergeant said, but Mulder didn't even twitch 
in response; he just kept staring at the Marine as though he'd lost 
the ability to understand English. Finally, the Sergeant walked over 
and grabbed his left arm, pulling him to his feet. "Yeah, I 
understand, pal," he said, pulling Mulder out the cell door. "I got a 
look at that guy Skinner's face!"

Skinner had not said a single word to him since the Marine Sergeant 
pushed him out the door from the cellblock. He'd signed the paperwork 
releasing Mulder to his recognizance in silence, left the building in 
silence and had driven the 30 some miles from Annapolis, past the 
District and into Northern Virginia in complete silence. Mulder had 
also not spoken, knowing anything he said was likely to set the AD 
off. The sun had just come up on what looked to be a perfect late 
Spring Saturday. <A perfect day to die, Mulder.> He thought about 
opening the door and throwing himself out. <At 65 miles an hour, that 
oughta kill me, right?> But when he fingered the door handle, it was 
immediately clear Skinner had the child locks on! Mulder glanced 
surreptitiously at the Assistant Director. <Was that an accident? Or a 
message?>

They sped past the Crystal City exit, finally getting off Route 95 at 
the Alexandria exit. Skinner pulled up outside Mulder's building, then 
pulled his car into a visitor spot. Mulder's heart sank. <I really 
doubt he's coming up for coffee, Mulder!>

They exited the car and made their way up the elevator to Apartment 
42. Skinner followed Mulder inside, then locked the door behind them. 
He leaned his back up against it and crossed his arms, fixing Mulder 
with a stare that would scare a hardened felon. Mulder thought he was 
probably going to pass out <Thank God!> But he didn't lose 
consciousness <Come on, now, this would be the time to faint!> He 
didn't fall over as he hoped <Okay, body, don't fail me now! A 
short-term coma would be nice! A week or two of unconsciousness would 
be just the thing!> But nothing happened. And Skinner just kept 
glaring at him.

Finally, the Assistant Director pushed himself off the door and came 
fully into the living room, looking around. <What the hell's he 
looking for? Oh, shit, I know what he's looking for!>

He spotted what he wanted, an ottoman that belonged to an armchair in 
the corner. He kicked the ottoman into the middle of the living room 
and turned to Mulder. Unbuckling his belt, he finally spoke. "You've 
outdone yourself, Agent Mulder. We'll just have to see if I can find a 
punishment sufficient to the truly overwhelming heights of 
recklessness and irresponsibility you've managed to achieve tonight."

Mulder wet his lips and tried to speak. "Sir, I--"

"Don't talk!" Skinner growled at him. "Anything you say will make this 
worse, I guarantee it! Take down your jeans and shorts and get 
yourself over here!"

Mulder glanced at the ottoman, then at the belt Skinner had now 
doubled in his hand.

"NOW, MULDER!" Skinner yelled.

Mulder sprang into action, pushing his clothes down to his knees and 
positioning himself over the ottoman. He was scared now; Skinner had 
punished him before, but he'd never seemed truly angry the other 
times, not like this morning. He hung his head off the front of the 
ottoman and waited for the AD to begin.

Skinner took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down. He 
immediately decided to give Mulder no more than 20 licks; it was a 
promise he needed to make to himself, one he knew he had to keep. His 
aim was not to do physical harm but to teach a lesson. And he knew he 
had to put a limit on himself, so great was his anger. But he was 
beginning to wonder whether Mulder would ever learn.

Skinner took another breath, then he spoke. "What is this punishment 
for, Agent Mulder?" He brought the belt down hard.

"AAAAHHHH!" Mulder was stunned by the force with which Skinner had 
stuck him. The breath was knocked out of him and he felt tears spring 
immediately to his eyes.

"Ouuuuuch!" Another one, and he still had not begun his list. 
"Uuuunnnnnnhhhh!"

"I'm waiting, Agent Mulder," Skinner said angrily, waiting for the 
young agent to speak. He could see Mulder was already in tears but 
that would bring no sympathy this morning. Two more licks burned 
across Mulder's already reddened backside.

Mulder fought for breath and choked out, "For breaking into a 
government facility! Aaaahhhhhhh!"

Skinner raised the strap and struck again. "What else, Agent Mulder?"

"For failing to use good judgment! Oooowwwwww! AAAAhhhhh! Uuunnnhhhh!"

Skinner continued to blister his backside, not letting up until the 
20th stroke was delivered, just as hard as the first. Mulder wasn't 
even fighting it any longer, he hung limp over the ottoman, sobbing 
almost hysterically, just holding on until it was over.

With full force, Skinner threw the belt onto the leather couch, then 
stalked into the kitchen. He had to take a break, to make sure he 
wouldn't begin again. He got a glass out of Mulder's cabinet and 
filled it with ice and cold water. He drank it slowly, willing his 
blood pressure down. Jana Cassidy's voice spoke inside his head and he 
shook it off violently. Were his instincts about Mulder wrong? Had he 
let something interfere with his judgment when it came to this 
particular agent? Was he merely postponing the inevitable? And 
sacrificing his own career at the same time?

Finally, he walked back into the living room. Mulder had not moved, he 
was still weeping inconsolably. Skinner tapped the back of the young 
agent's head, just to get his attention.

"It's over for now, Mulder," he said. "You can get up."

Slowly, Mulder pushed himself up from the ottoman and rose to full 
height. Suddenly, the A.D.'s words hit home. "For now?" he asked 
fearfully.

Skinner exhaled slowly before answering. "Yes, Agent Mulder, for now," 
he said. "I don't think you can take any more, and I don't trust 
myself to continue right now. But this was big, Mulder. And I haven't 
decided to what extent you'll be punished just yet."

He shook his head, as though weighing competing arguments, then looked 
back at the teary young man before him.

"I suggest you spend the rest of the weekend thinking about this 
situation, as will I. Then I want to see you in my office at 7:30 
sharp on Monday morning."

He left. No consoling words, no . . . . hug. Mulder had come to expect 
Skinner to follow any punishment he received with a little bit of 
comfort. But 'this one was big,' as Skinner had said. Could it be this 
time he'd pushed him too far? Mulder sobbed once more, then threw 
himself down on his couch and cried bitterly.





Monday morning dawned gray and rainy. Mulder left for the office by 6 
a.m., afraid the weather would snarl morning traffic and he'd be late. 
He'd thought about things all weekend; his sore backside made it 
impossible to forget the situation but even without that discomfort, 
he knew he'd have obsessed about this. He ran over every possible 
explanation he could give, every apology he could think of offering, 
every scenario he thought Skinner might choose. He'd picked up the 
phone and dialed the AD at home a half dozen times, hanging up each 
time before the phone rang. He spoke to Scully the night before, when 
she'd returned from Denver but, of course, he didn't fill her in on 
this debacle. Better to wait and see what Skinner would do before 
worrying her. Byers had called once on Sunday, concerned about what 
was going to happen next with their "legal problem." Mulder couldn't 
even focus on that aspect of the situation, so concerned was he about 
the Skinner element.

He arrived at Skinner's office just past 7:10. Skinner's assistant 
would not be in for another couple of hours but his light was on and 
his office door was partly open. Mulder swallowed down an almost 
overpowering bout of fear and stuck his head in the door.

"Sir?" he said, hesitantly. "I know I'm early but . . . ."

"Come in, Agent Mulder," Skinner replied, looking up from a tall pile 
of folders on his desk. An identical pile sat next to it. "Have a 
seat, Mulder."

Mulder entered and moved to one of the guest chairs, wincing slightly 
as he sat down. He bit his lower lip to keep from making any sound.

Skinner removed his glasses and looked at Mulder. He was still 
wrestling with his decision, had been all weekend. Even as he prepared 
for this meeting this morning, he'd fought off moments of uncertainty. 
But this was the point of "no return," so to speak. And watching the 
tentative young agent in front of him, he was suddenly sure he was 
"worth the trouble." Skinner was not a man for looking back; he'd made 
a commitment to this young man and that was that. Jana Cassidy and his 
career be damned, if it came to it!

He stood and walked around the desk. "I don't want to minimize the . . 
. . reckless bad judgment you showed this weekend, Agent Mulder. It 
was so totally unacceptable, so completely irresponsible, I can't even 
find appropriate words to express my dissatisfaction . . . my 
disappointment in you."

Mulder was struck to his core by the words the Assistant Director was 
saying. His eyes threatened tears again and he blinked several times, 
never taking his eyes off Skinner. The weight of Skinner's 
disappointment tore at his heart and he found himself actually hoping 
there was more punishment coming, anything to relieve the guilt and 
remorse that came crashing in on him. He waited, not even breathing, 
for the next sentence.

"I was so angry on Saturday, I couldn't trust myself to punish you any 
further, Mulder," he said. "I don't know if I've ever been that angry 
before."

Mulder was nodding at him. He'd sensed the anger, God knows he'd seen 
it in his father many times. But with Skinner, it was different. He 
was more disappointed than angry, even on Saturday. And he'd stopped 
himself before inflicting real harm. Mulder knew the difference, from 
personal experience. And his respect for this man grew in response. 
Now all he wanted to do was make things right again, whatever that 
took.

"But I'm calmer now. And I've come to a decision." Skinner got up from 
the desk and moved back behind it, standing in front of his chair. He 
gestured to the two tall piles of folders. "These are background 
checks that need to be done, for government security clearances. I 
think you probably remember doing these when you were first on the 
job."

Mulder nodded, uncomprehendingly. This was the first task rookie 
agents were given, of course he remembered. 

"The new agents are in a three-day training seminar this week, Agent 
Mulder. But these background checks still have to be completed."

Now Mulder was beginning to understand. His stomach lurched and he 
pressed his lips together to keep from blurting out his feelings.

"This is your assignment for the week, Agent Mulder. These are all in 
the region, Pennsylvania and New Jersey down through Virginia. I'd say 
there's about 80 contacts to be made, in person, of course, so you'll 
be doing a lot of driving. And since a lot of these people are out 
working during the day, and we've only got their home addresses, 
you'll have to start early and finish late each night to find them 
all." Skinner looked at him, wanting to see if there was even a flash 
of rebellion. Mulder's face was mute.

"I'll expect a report each night. And since you'll be finishing late, 
you can stop by my apartment on your way home. Anytime up to 11 or so 
will be fine," Skinner continued. "If I'm pleased with your progress 
for the day, you'll get 10 licks with the belt."

"Wh-what?" Mulder's head snapped up from the pile of file folders he'd 
been eyeing.

"If I'm NOT pleased, it'll be 20," Skinner said warningly. "And if I'm 
VERY displeased . . . "

"I get the picture," Mulder said sullenly.

"So then I guess you should get started, don't you think, Agent 
Mulder?" Skinner asked pleasantly. "Or is there anything else you'd 
like to say?

Mulder stood, shaking his head, not trusting himself to say another 
word. He grabbed the files, just barely able to get his arms around 
the lot of them, and headed for the basement.





When he got there, thankfully, the door was already open. Not 
thankfully, Special Agent Dana Scully was there, cheerfully awaiting 
his arrival. 

"Good morning, Mulder!" she said, then noticed his burden. She rushed 
to help him but he had already lost a couple of folders that slipped 
out from the bottom. Papers flew out of them as they dropped to the 
floor.

"What is all this?" Scully asked him, bending to retrieved the fallen 
materials. "These aren't case files, Mulder. They look like background 
checks. . . . I haven't seen any of these since--"

She looked up at him but he continued past her and dropped the rest of 
the files on his desk. Then he threw himself in his desk chair, 
immediately regretting the action when his still sore backside hit the 
seat.

"What did you do, Mulder?" Scully asked, placing the folders she'd 
picked up on the desk. Background checks were routinely done by new 
agents, pulled from the "bullpen" during their first months with the 
Bureau, before they were assigned to specific departments. For a 
senior agent to be given this kind of work was akin to being made to 
scrub the toilets with a toothbrush. <Skinner must be really pissed 
off at Mulder!>

"I don't want to talk about it," he snapped at her. 

She decided to ignore his misplaced anger. "How long are you on this 
detail?" she asked next.

"A week," was his terse reply.

"You have to finish this in a week?" she asked, startled. This looked 
like well more than 5 days work to her.

He leaned forward in his chair, folding his hands on the desk and 
looking straight at her. "Two of us could finish it in a week . . . ."

"Oh, no, Mulder," she said, shaking her head. "I don't know what you 
did to get yourself into this mess, but I sure know I wasn't part of 
it. And I don't think Skinner meant me to be part of this," she said, 
gesturing toward the piles on the desk.

"But you're my partner, Scully," he protested, starting to drift into 
a familiar whine. "We're supposed to work together."

"I have an e-mail from Skinner that says I'm supposed to see him at 
8:30 a.m., Mulder," she replied, getting up to go meet the Assistant 
Director in his office. "Something about a 'temporary assignment' in 
Quantico. Sorry, Mulder," she said sympathetically before grabbing her 
bag and going. "See you next week!"

Scully hadn't been gone more than a minute before someone else knocked 
on the basement door. "Come in," he answered, annoyed at whatever 
intrusion this signaled.

Another agent, Ed Carney, stuck his head in tentatively.

"Agent Mulder?" Carney said.

Mulder knew Carney only slightly. He was the agent charged with 
overseeing the "bullpen," getting newer agents fully oriented to the 
Bureau, training them in proper procedures, making sure they knew 
which forms to use for what, which color copies to send where. Mulder 
always thought of him as the quintessential bureaucrat. No real talent 
to speak of, but he came to work every day and did whatever was asked, 
in whatever manner was required. Not the kind of person whose company 
Mulder generally sought; nor, in fairness, would Carney have sought 
out Mulder without a damn good reason.

"Assistant Director Skinner asked me to give you these two files," he 
said hesitantly. "I understand you're handling the background checks 
while the rookies are in training this week." His statement held an 
unspoken question that Mulder had no trouble perceiving.

He stared at Carney for a second, then finally answered it. "I'm being 
punished," he said, indicating the workload on his desk, Carney's 
regular workload. The other agent was not the most perceptive man in 
the world but he had no trouble discerning Mulder's meaning. <My 
regular job is 'punishment' to you.>

"Well, here's two additional files that just came in," Carney said 
quickly, backing out of the basement office. "I wanted to give you a 
head start on them." The door closed silently behind him.

"Gee, thanks," Mulder said to the closed door. He would have put his 
head on the desk and cried, except there was no place on the desk to 
rest his head. Instead he got out a map of the region and started 
plotting out a route for today's calls.

By 10 p.m., he was frustrated, angry and depressed. This was 
back-breaking work, half of the addresses were not current and the 
other half of the people weren't where they were supposed to be today. 
Former employers at business meetings out of the office, neighbors on 
vacation or just out for the day. As he drove down Jefferson Davis 
Parkway toward Skinner's high-rise, his emotions were starting to turn 
toward fear. There was no way Skinner would be 'pleased' with today's 
work.

A few minutes later, he faced the AD with the files he'd made progress 
on today; there were only a few and none of them could be considered 
"closed." He waited with baited breath for the A.D.'s response. 
Skinner was sitting in the brown leather chair <THE chair!> and he was 
reviewing Mulder's notes meticulously. Finally, he stood and placed 
the files on the end table before turning to Mulder. 

"Give me your belt, Mulder," he instructed the younger man. "I think 
you know the rest . . . " He waited while Mulder took off his pants 
and walked behind the chair. "I'm not very pleased with your progress, 
but it was only the first day, so . . . . I'm going to give you 10 
licks tonight." He pushed Mulder into position, then pulled his boxers 
down below his knees. "No need to thank me, Mulder," he continued.

Mulder felt a stab of anger but bit his bottom lip hard to stave off 
the smart remark that was on the tip of his tongue. <I'm glad you're 
having a good time, Skinner!>

Skinner could still see signs of the strapping he'd delivered Saturday 
morning; the younger agent's bottom was still pink and slightly marked 
with welts. He was glad he'd decided on ten licks now. Without another 
word, he began, neither of them counting out loud, both of them 
marking every stroke in their heads. Mulder was squirming by the fifth 
and crying out loud by number seven. At the tenth, he let out a sob of 
relief. Skinner felt the same relief but kept it to himself.

He waited for Mulder to calm himself, and get dressed. Then Skinner 
handed him the still open files. "I hope you'll have more to show 
after tomorrow, Agent Mulder," was all he said. Mulder nodded mutely 
and left.





Tuesday was a near repeat of Monday for Special Agent Mulder. He 
skipped breakfast to get an early start. He cooled his heels for two 
hours waiting for the President of one company to come out of a 
meeting only to hear the President didn't really remember the guy he 
was checking up on. He skipped lunch to drive 80 miles to try to catch 
someone's neighbor before he left for his night shift to be told the 
man in question was a "nice guy. Not much more I can say about him." 
By evening his head was pounding and he grabbed a cup of coffee and a 
stale bran muffin from 7-11 and began the long ride to Skinner's 
place. Scully called his cell phone while he was en route to Crystal 
City and just talking to her had a calming effect. But by the time he 
was in the elevator on the way up to the 16th floor, he was agitated 
and fearful again.

"Well, Agent Mulder," Skinner said. "You know how this goes. How many 
licks tonight?"

Mulder pressed his lips together, wanting more than anything to refuse 
to respond. But he knew better than to defy the AD Finally, weighing 
the failures of the day, he spat out, "Twenty, sir!"

Skinner raised on eyebrow at his response, then took the folders out 
of his hand to review. Mulder meanwhile went on preparing himself; he 
slid his belt out of his pants, then unbuttoned and unzipped his 
trousers, stepping out of them and leaving them on the floor. Then he 
waited for Skinner to finish with the files.

"Well, this was not a good day, was it, Agent Mulder?" the AD said 
dryly. "Still, your notes, what little there are, are complete and 
insightful. And your penmanship is quite good," he gave Mulder a half 
smile. "I'm going to say 15, Mulder."

Now it was Mulder's turn to be surprised, and he showed it.

"My rules, Agent Mulder," the AD said. "I get to change them whenever 
I want." He motioned toward the chair back. "Over you go!"

Skinner sighed inwardly when he saw the young man's bottom; this had 
seemed like a good idea on Sunday, but today he was beginning to 
wonder whether he'd have the heart to make it through the week. 
Mulder's buttocks were a dark pink tonight and he imagined the young 
man was having some trouble sitting down. Skinner wished he'd decided 
on ten licks but it was too late to turn back.

He raised the belt and smacked it soundly across the meatiest part of 
the younger man's bottom. He was only putting about half his strength 
into it tonight, going for the sting rather than any kind of 
longer-term pain. Mulder's backside was a burning red by the time he 
finished the fifteenth stroke and he was squirming despite the 
Assistant Director's strong left arm pressed down on his back. He had 
long ago lost all pretense at keeping a stiff upper lip; tonight he'd 
been sobbing by the second lick. When it was over, Mulder dressed 
silently and Skinner made himself busy looking at the files again. 
Before Mulder left, Skinner made a few suggestions that he thought 
would help the younger man make better progress. He'd checked in with 
Ed Carney Tuesday morning and got his best practices, the ones he 
passed on to the new agents. It turned out, there was an art to 
background checks, he told the chastened young man. Watching Mulder 
go, Skinner found himself praying Wednesday would be a much better day 
for Special Agent Fox Mulder. 

And Wednesday was a little better. He followed Skinner's directions to 
the letter, <or maybe they're actually Carney's directions, go 
figure!> and that made a big difference. He was able to time his calls 
to the parts of the day Carney said worked best for each kind of 
reference, employer, neighbor, friend, teacher. By Wednesday night, 
Mulder had finished almost twice what he'd managed to accomplish 
Monday or Tuesday. Still, he was far less than 50% done. What would 
happen if he didn't finish by Friday? Skinner hadn't mentioned the 
consequence of failure and Mulder had been afraid to ask.

As he arrived at Skinner's building, he was feeling only slightly 
better than the day before. He'd made some progress but not enough. 
The best thing to come out of today was a call from Byers telling him 
that all the charges against the four of them had been dropped, and 
the records of their trespassing had been destroyed. He was 
incredulous until Byers told him that the C.O. had turned out to be an 
old Marine friend of Skinner's!

"Thank God for that guy," Byers had said. "And thank God he's got 
friends," Frohike had chimed in.

Mulder knocked on Skinner's door at just past 10 o'clock and was 
admitted immediately. "How did we do today, Agent Mulder?" Skinner 
asked him. <No 'how do you do', cut right to the chase right, 
Skinner?> Mulder fought back a wave of resentment that came out of 
nowhere and tried to refocus himself on the goal, getting through this 
week. Still, he felt a pang of sadness; would they ever get back to 
the easy companionship of last Friday's lunch? It seemed like another 
lifetime to the young agent now; no, actually, more like somebody 
else's lifetime.

Skinner reviewed his progress while Mulder readied himself. When 
Skinner was finished reading, he asked Mulder once again what he 
thought he deserved for the day's work. "Ten," the young agent said 
immediately. All embarrassment had fallen away by now, he was just 
happy to know that was all he would get tonight. He'd had trouble 
sitting down today and, except for in the car (when he'd had no 
choice!), he'd actually remained standing the rest of the day. 
Secretaries and receptionists kept offering him seats but he politely 
refused, preferring to stay on his aching feet than sit on his much 
more aching butt. If he could just make it through the next two days. 
He was growing exhausted from the stress, lack of sleep and too little 
food. When Skinner agreed on ten strokes, a grateful Mulder 
immediately positioned himself over the back of the leather chair; 
tonight he'd even pushed down his shorts. 

Skinner was surprised by his compliance; Mulder was nothing if not 
rebellious. And this punishment, while aimed at quelling some of that 
rebellion along with his uncontrolled ego, was not meant to break his 
spirit. Skinner was growing a little concerned at his easy 
acquiescence. Still, he was committed to a course of action and AD 
Skinner was nothing if not a man who honored his commitments. He 
winced a little at the still reddened buttocks, then brought the belt 
down on the least colored part of his rear; Skinner laid each of the 
ten strokes on another part of his bottom, including two to the top of 
his thighs. This seemed to surprise Mulder, who didn't recognize it as 
an attempt to minimize the damage the belt would inflict this 
Wednesday night. Mulder knew he didn't cry so hard tonight. He thought 
it was self-control on his part; Skinner knew it was a combination of 
his pulling back on the strokes and varying the points of contact. 
They parted a few moments later with Skinner again hoping Mulder could 
put together another two days like today. It still wouldn't get him 
finished by Friday, he knew, but it would be a respectable showing, 
one that would allow the AD to let the young man off the hook for last 
weekend's fiasco.

Thursday it rained again and traffic throughout the Capital area was a 
disaster. A multi-car accident tied up the Thruway and the 
Pennsylvania Pike was backed up because of flooding. The Beltway was 
its usual rain-soaked parking lot the entire day. Mulder was on edge 
all day, because of the weather and the traffic and the fading 
likelihood he'd finish this assignment by Friday. And also because he 
could barely sit still in his car now. Despite having received only 10 
licks last night, his butt was still red and sore this morning. When 
he got in his car at 6:15, he'd immediately bounded back up, knowing 
he wouldn't be able to drive like this. He'd trudged back upstairs for 
a pillow from his seldom used bed but even with the extra padding, 
he'd been severely uncomfortable all day. Even talking to Scully 
hadn't helped; she was excited about some forensic work she was doing 
with the VCU guys, going on about an unusual case they'd been working 
on. <She's doing that and I'm back at square one, doing the rookie 
work they didn't even give me when I started, he fumed. 'Cause then 
you were the Bureau's 'Golden Boy,' Fox! Now, you're just Skinner's 
'whipping boy!' Literally!> He was growing angrier and he decided to 
terminate the call, first telling Scully that one thing she'd said 
hadn't made sense to him. <Who cares if I piss the VCU guys off, too! 
Their take on this is stupid, whether Scully sees it or not!>

By late Thursday afternoon, he'd had it. He had a three or four hour 
ride home in lousy weather ahead of him and he'd fucking had it. <The 
hell with this! The hell with the Bureau -- and Skinner -- and my 
career!> He sped past the Crystal City exit and went home. <I don't 
give a fuck! I'm not showing up at his door with my tail between my 
legs one more time! I'm not crawling to Skinner's doorstep to collect 
another strapping! I've had it with this sick game and his stupid 
stories about growing up in 'Skinnerville!'>

On entering his apartment, he immediately went to his phone and dialed 
Skinner's number to tell him he wasn't coming and what he really 
thought of the AD After less than a single ring, he thought better of 
that notion and disconnected. He threw himself on his couch, and 
grabbed the remote control. He pressed "VCR" and tried to recall what 
video he'd been watching the last time he'd actually just relaxed at 
home. Whatever it was, it came on and played through, but he didn't 
actually watch a frame. He kept glancing at his watch: 9:00, 9:30, 
9:52, 10:07, 10:13, 10:20, 10:24. Like a man awaiting his execution, 
he couldn't think of anything but the time. What had Skinner said 
Monday? "Anytime before 11 or so." He picked up the phone to call 
again, that oughta mitigate the circumstances just a little right? 
<Yeah, right, Mulder!> He jumped up off the couch and grabbed his 
keys, heading for the door. <What am I, fucking crazy? he castigated 
himself. It's fucking Thursday! Just tonight and tomorrow to get 
through. . . >

He made it to Skinner's door by 11:15 and knocked quickly, balancing 
an armload of files on his hip. Maybe he wouldn't notice the time, 
Mulder prayed silently. The door opened on its own; it was unlocked. 
Skinner was sitting in the brown armchair, staring at the door. Mulder 
entered and closed the door behind him. He was having some trouble 
gauging the A.D.'s mood tonight. So he decided to gut it out. He 
walked up and handed Skinner the stack of files. The Assistant 
Director glared at him and asked, "Do you have an explanation, Agent 
Mulder?" His eyes drifted to the caller I.D. display on his phone. It 
showed Mulder's home number and the time of the call: 8:59 p.m. 
Mulder's mouth went dry and he shook his head no. His eyes were wide 
with fear now.

Skinner turned his attention to the files in his lap. There was 
virtually nothing to show for today. He'd been prepared to give Mulder 
a great deal of slack because of the weather but this was truly beyond 
excuse. The younger agent had accomplished virtually nothing today. 
And capped it off with a show of rebellion.

"Okay, let's get this over with, Mulder," the Assistant Director said. 
"How many do you think you deserve today?"

Mulder swallowed hard, torn between telling the AD what he thought his 
butt could take and what he knew he deserved. He was battling a 
whirlwind of conflicting emotions, fueled by exhaustion, hunger and a 
larger dose of humiliation than he'd ever imagined he could stomach. 
He glared at Skinner and said one word, "Whatever."

Now Skinner was angry. He glared back at the insolent young agent. 
"You know what to do," he said.

Mulder took off his belt and handed it to the Assistant Director 
wordlessly. Then he stood there, daring the AD to make the next move.

"Take off your pants, Mulder," Skinner said from between clenched 
teeth. If Mulder wanted it this way, fine. He'd be more than happy to 
comply.

When Mulder stepped out of his trousers, Skinner took him by the arm 
and muscled him into position across the back of the chair. Holding 
him down with his left hand pressing on the young man's back, Skinner 
used one finger of his right hand to pull down his shorts, brushing 
the belt across his bottom as he pulled. Mulder shivered, but made no 
sound.

"I think today was a "20 lick" day, don't you, Agent Mulder?" Skinner 
asked him.

No answer came from the younger agent.

"I'm speaking to you, Agent Mulder," Skinner said, a clear warning in 
his voice. "Don't make me say '30.'"

"No! I mean, yes. . . " he blurted out fearfully. He paused a moment, 
then Mulder's streak of rebellion fought back. "Twenty seems right to 
me," he spat out.

Skinner raised the belt and began. "AAAAHHH! AAAAAHHHHH! UUUNNNHHH!" 
The belt whistled through the air with each stroke, Skinner was 
maintaining a hard, steady rhythm and Mulder's bottom was a bright, 
blistered red by the time he reached twenty. The young man was crying 
miserably, forming no words but communicating none the less. Skinner 
was struck with the sense that Mulder was beyond consoling now and he 
stood up, dropped the belt on the floor and went into the bathroom. He 
ran cold water and splashed his face with it, trying to shake off the 
strong, conflicting emotions that threatened to capsize his commitment 
to this course of action. He could hear Mulder in the other room, 
still sobbing. Before he knew it, he heard the front door open and 
close, the hiccuping sobs disappearing behind his apartment door. 
Skinner was shaken by the experience; when he returned to his living 
room, Mulder's belt was still on the floor. 

An acute sense of claustrophobia pressed in on him now and Skinner 
went out to his terrace for a breath of fresh air.

Sixteen floors below Fox Mulder sat in his car in the visitors parking 
lot outside Skinner's building. He had run out of the apartment and 
past the startled doorman, seeking the sanctuary of his car and 
eventually his own apartment. But now he realized he was too overcome 
with emotion to drive. So he sat in the car, engine running, lights 
on, with his head on the steering wheel, sobbing out all the 
frustration, pain and anxiety this week had brought. He fought for 
some control and found it a losing battle, so he gave in to the storm 
of emotions that passed over him in an endless swirl, the anger, the 
pain, the sadness, the loss, the humiliation, the rage. On and on it 
went until he so exhausted he was on the verge of losing 
consciousness. Suddenly his door opened and a large hand reached in, 
grabbing him by the elbow.

"Come on, Mulder," AD Skinner said quietly. "Let's get you back 
inside." 

"No!" he protested with the last bit of strength he could muster. "No 
. . . I don't want to go."

But Skinner had already pulled him bodily out of the car and was 
reaching in to shut off the engine and take the keys. He closed the 
door and locked it while Mulder stood there, still shaking his head 
no.

"Come on, Mulder, we're going back inside," Skinner said evenly, 
ignoring him. 

"No, I don't want you to hit me again!" Mulder said, incongruously.

Skinner was afraid he was becoming delirious. "Nobody's gonna hit you 
again tonight, Mulder," he reassured the distraught young man. "I just 
want to get you inside. You're in no condition to drive."

Mulder allowed himself to be propelled through the lobby and into the 
elevator, then out of the elevator and back into Skinner's apartment. 
Leaning Mulder against the wall, Skinner closed the door behind them 
then turned to find the young man staring at him, tears streaming down 
his face. "I'm sorry, sir," he said, starting to sob again. "I'm so 
sorry. . . I know you hate me now.--" He hiccuped and tried to 
continue. "I know I fucked things up-- I know you can never forgive 
me--"

Skinner was overwhelmed by the sudden change in him; where had this 
come from? Had he led Mulder to believe he was so angry, he could 
never forgive him? That Skinner hated him?

He searched for some words to reassure Mulder, who was now slipping 
into what seemed like incoherent babbling about "always fucking up, 
always losing the people who care about me." Skinner couldn't think of 
the right thing to say, so he just grabbed the younger man and pulled 
him into a tight embrace. Skinner wrapped both arms around him and 
hung on while the young man cried out what seemed like a lifetime of 
tears. It only took a few minutes but in the end, it may have been the 
most important few minutes of the week, for the both of them, Skinner 
thought. Then he felt Mulder's knees start to go and he threw one of 
Mulder's arms over his shoulders and half-carried the spent young man, 
finally settling him down on the bed in the guest room. Mulder still 
seemed a little out of it, Skinner thought. "Did you eat anything 
today, Agent Mulder?" he inquired. 

No answer came back so he tried again, this time with a jolt of 
authority. "When was the last time you ate, Agent Mulder?"

"Uh, I had a bran muffin, sir," he replied. "Last night, I think."

<Well, that explains some things.> "I'm going to give you some sweats 
and a tee shirt, Mulder," he said, grabbing some old clothes out of a 
drawer in the dresser. He'd hung on to some things that would fit his 
younger brothers when they came to stay. They'd do fine for Mulder, as 
well. He tossed them on the bed and told Mulder to change while he 
went to the kitchen.

He was back in five minutes, carrying a chicken sandwich and a mug of 
hot chocolate. Mulder had managed to get himself into the sweat pants 
but he was just sitting on the bed, holding the tee shirt, in a 
seeming stupor. Skinner took the shirt and helped him put it over his 
head; then Mulder instinctively put his arms through the sleeves. The 
AD placed a couple of pillows up next to the headboard, directing 
Mulder's attention to the sandwich on the nightstand.

"I'm not hungry," Mulder said automatically. 

"I don't care, Agent Mulder," he replied, falling back on the 
"command" tone he'd used earlier. "I want you to eat it anyway." 
Skinner sat down in the armchair by the window to make sure his order 
was followed.

Mulder picked up the sandwich and took a bite. He was surprised to 
find he was famished and he greedily shoved down the first half in two 
bites. Then he grabbed the mug and took a large gulp. He smiled at the 
AD in surprise. "Real milk!" he exclaimed.

"Very insightful, Mulder," Skinner grinned back at him. He watched 
Mulder swallow the other half of his sandwich in as little time as the 
first. Then he watched him down the rest of the drink. He saw the 
younger man's eyes start to flutter; exhaustion was laying claim to 
his body, if not his soul. Skinner was weary himself and he started to 
get up, then Mulder surprised him with his next statement.

"I know you got that Marine captain to drop the charges," he said.

"Frank was a good friend when we were in-country, Mulder," he said. "I 
don't see him much any more, but it's an enduring kind of relationship 
you develop when you put your life on the line with someone. . . . I 
just asked him for a favor, that's all."

Mulder swallowed hard and watched the AD head for the door. He had 
guessed as much. "And I also know you called in a bunch of favors to 
keep Assistant Director Kowalski off my case the past few years," he 
added.

This time Skinner was more than surprised. "How did you know that?" he 
asked.

"I wasn't sure 'til now," Mulder replied, trying mightily to stifle a 
yawn and failing. "You must be worried about Assistant Director 
Cassidy, though. She doesn't look like a pushover to me."

<Well, Mulder, nobody ever said you weren't perceptive!> "Kowalski 
wasn't a pushover, Mulder, believe me. He was just willing to put a 
little more faith in my judgment than his own suspicions. A by-product 
of our years of working together, I guess. . . . Jana's another story. 
I don't know how she'll come out on this subject, so I don't think we 
better push it, agreed?"

He watched the younger agent fighting to keep his eyes open. "I think 
it's time we both got some rest, Agent Mulder," the AD said quietly. 
"Let's just hope I don't run out of friends before you run out of ways 
to get yourself in trouble!" He glanced back and saw Mulder turn onto 
his stomach; he guessed the younger man was asleep before his head hit 
the pillow. Skinner watched him a second or two, then shut out the 
lights and closed the bedroom door.

When his alarm went off at 6 a.m., Skinner rose wearily. It had been a 
short night's rest and he needed coffee desperately. He put up a large 
pot, guessing Mulder would be in need of a major caffeine hit as well, 
then went to wake his errant young agent. He knocked on the door and 
got no response. He knocked again, then opened the door. The bedroom 
was empty and the bed was made. Mulder must have been up at dawn, 
Skinner thought wearily. <How the hell does he get by on so little 
sleep?> Skinner attempted to stretch the kinks out of his back, 
shaking off the thought that old age was catching up with him. He 
preferred to think that riding herd on Fox Mulder was the sole cause 
of the bone-wearying feeling that enveloped him.

At lunch that day, he was still feeling the effects of too little 
sleep, too much pent-up tension in his neck and shoulders and a 
Mulder-size headache. He hadn't seen nor heard from Mulder and could 
only guess the younger agent was out plugging away at the security 
clearances, though there was no possibility he'd complete the files by 
day's end. In the back of his head he was toying with the possibility 
of extending the deadline, although he had no desire whatsoever to 
extend the rest of their arrangement! This week had taken a bigger 
toll on him, possibly, than it had on Mulder. <I'm not certain he'd 
agree with that assessment, Walter!>

Skinner tried to refocus his attention on what Jana Cassidy was 
saying. It appeared she was waiting for a response.

"I said Dana Scully seems like a bright light, Walter," she repeated 
herself. "Jack Kendall down at Quantico seems very impressed with 
her."

Skinner nodded in agreement. "Yes, Kendall would like to get Agent 
Scully full-time, actually. Although she'd never willingly leave M- . 
. . the X-files," he said. <Good one, Walter! Let's just give her 
something else to chew on!> He was too tired to be playing 
cat-and-mouse games with Cassidy today. He should have canceled this 
lunch.

"Hmm, yes, I've heard that," Jana replied, taking a sip of her coffee. 
"And how is your 'problem-child," since you brought him up – almost!" 
she laughed.

Before he had a chance to answer, Jack Kendall himself appeared from 
behind Skinner. "Walter!" he called, coming over to their table. "I'd 
hoped I'd find you!"

Kendall nodded hello to Cassidy then spit out his news. "We solved 
that serial killer case in Louisiana," he exulted. "Broke it last 
night. Agent Scully's forensic work was right on target."

Without skipping a beat, or waiting for a response, he went on. "But 
it was that partner of hers who actually did it," he continued. 
"Scully was talking to him on the phone yesterday morning, telling him 
about the case. And somehow he picked up a detail none of us had 
seen." Kendall shook his head. "The damnedest thing, cracked the case 
wide open. We made an arrest early this morning."

Kendall still wasn't stopping. "Anyway, just had to let you know. On 
my way up to see the Director right now. We've got a press conference 
this afternoon." He hurried off without waiting for any kind of 
acknowledgment.

Skinner looked at Jana Cassidy, who looked him right straight in the 
eye. "Believe me, Jana, I couldn't have planned that if I tried," he 
grinned at her.

"I give up, Walter," she conceded. "You're right, I've got bigger fish 
to fry than Fox Mulder. . . . I'll concentrate on the numerous OTHER 
files in my office for now. . . . Let's just hope it doesn't blow up 
in both our faces someday!"

Walter Skinner arrived home just past 8 p.m. to find Fox Mulder pacing 
in his hallway. Mulder hoisted two large accordion files into his arms 
as the Assistant Director took out his keys and opened the apartment 
door. Mulder appeared to be in a surprisingly good mood, Skinner 
thought suspiciously. <What now, Walter?>

Skinner had him wait while he changed into a tee-shirt and sweat 
pants, then settled into the brown leather chair Mulder had come to 
know so well in recent months. He looked at the younger agent and 
thought that Mulder was like a nervous ball of energy today. His 
'nuclear power' analogy came crashing back to him and he wondered idly 
if it would ever actually explode on him. Mulder opened the first 
accordion folder and handed him the stack of files. He opened the 
second folder, taking out a second pile of folders and holding them at 
the ready. Then he waited, while Skinner meticulously reviewed one 
file after another. "Completed & Closed." "Completed and Closed." 
"Completed and Closed." One after another, the paperwork was in order, 
the summary reports neatly printed in Mulder's handwriting. Skinner 
was more than impressed, he was incredulous. 

He started to leaf through the documentation backing up each of the 
clearances. Mulder leaned forward onto the balls of his feet and 
started shifting his weight back and forth nervously. Skinner saw this 
reaction in his peripheral vision and knew he was onto something. He 
placed the first pile on the floor next to the chair and motioned for 
the second set of files. Mulder was looking apprehensive now.

"You probably don't want to spend time on the details, sir," he said 
as persuasively as he could. "I don't want to waste your time on this 
kind of mundane—"

"It's not a waste of my time at all, Agent Mulder," the Assistant 
Director cut him off. "You spent valuable time on this and I don't 
want you to think I don't appreciate it."

Mulder's mouth had gone dry and his stomach was spinning out of 
control. The slice of pizza he'd had several hours earlier was 
crawling back up from his stomach and he attempted to swallow it back 
down, to keep from throwing up all over Skinner's rug. <Busted, 
Mulder! He knows. . . . Shit! This is a 30 lick night if there ever 
was one!>

Skinner could see the handwriting on the detail reports was all in 
blue ink, but the handwriting and tick marks were clearly made by 
multiple people. From the format they followed, he knew the rookie 
agents in the bullpen had been pressed into service. To get them, 
Mulder would have had to swallow his pride and ask Ed Carney for help. 
Skinner guessed that must have cost Mulder a giant dose of humility.

And once he got past Carney, he would have had to elicit the 
enthusiastic cooperation of the new agents to complete this much work 
in one day. Skinner imagined Mulder must have had to tap into skills 
he didn't use often to pull that off. <Good boy, Mulder, he secretly 
cheered. Maybe you've finally learned to ask for help when you need 
it. God knows, it's about time. And maybe it is possible for you to 
build some bridges to your colleagues, if you're actually forced into 
it!>

Mulder was thinking, too, about how to make sure no one else was 
blamed for his transgression. He had gotten Ed Carney's help, but it 
wasn't like Ed volunteered; Mulder had pressured him, practically 
begged for assistance. The guy couldn't have turned him down. And the 
kids in the bullpen couldn't be held accountable, certainly. They'd 
followed instructions from their boss, then got caught up in Mulder's 
plan and an endless supply of pizza and soft drinks he'd supplied 
throughout the day. They'd formed a kind of tag team assembly line, 
one agent in each pair on the street, one taking notes by phone in the 
office. Then they handed their notes off to Mulder to copy onto the 
summary form. It had actually been fun, Mulder thought bleakly, at 
least when he still thought he could get away with it.

Skinner closed the last file and threw it onto the top of the two 
stacks of files on the floor. He looked at Mulder, then rose without a 
word and left the room. Mulder closed his eyes, and took a deep, 
breath, trying to calm himself, knowing what was coming next. He 
reached down for his belt and remembered he'd left without it that 
morning. And Skinner was wearing sweats. <I can guess where he's gone. 
. . . well, it's not like you don't deserve it, Mulder! And anyway, 
you can tough out one more night.> He continued to talk to himself, 
trying to settle his already frayed nerves, waiting for it to begin.

"Mulder," the AD said quietly from about a foot away, nearly sending 
him through the ceiling. Hazel eyes flew open and he looked straight 
into Skinner's dark brown ones. Mulder struggled to keep his voice 
steady.

"Wh- . ." He swallowed and began again. "Where do you want me?"

"Anywhere you want, Mulder," Skinner said amiably, pushing a cold 
bottle of beer into his hand. "Just sit down and relax, okay?" He 
threw his large frame into the overstuffed leather chair and gestured 
for Mulder to take a seat, too. "It's been a hell of a week, Mulder."

Skinner stretched out his legs and took a long drink from the beer 
bottle in his hand. Swallowing, he settled comfortably back in his 
chair and fixed a smiling gaze on a surprised Fox Mulder. "Never put 
me through another week like this, Mulder," the Assistant Director 
said meaningfully. "This was hell!"

"Never put YOU---" Mulder sputtered before whatever remained of his 
common sense kicked in. "No, sir," he replied, "not if my life 
depended on it!"

THE END