The Danville Series by Cadillac Red Disclaimer: The characters of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and Walter Skinner 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: Chinga. Setting: Fifth season, picks up immediately after Chinga. Rating: PG. Some discipline, no slash. Title: The List Author: Cadillac Red Summary: Trouble gets penciled into Mulder's schedule when the Assistant Director discovers how he spent his time when Scully was away in Maine. The List Office of the X-Files FBI Headquarters "There's got to be an explanation for this," Special Agent Fox Mulder said to his partner as yet another pencil fell from the ceiling and clunked him on the head. He hadn't expected her back today and now she'd found him in the middle of something he really didn't want to explain. A knock on the door startled them both. Without waiting for a response, Assistant Director Walter Skinner opened it and came in. "Agent Scully!" he said, surprised to see her. "I thought you had taken a long weekend. I didn't expect you back until tomorrow." His arrival took them both by surprise. Special Agent Dana Scully regained her equilibrium first. Struggling hard to keep her eyes from drifting up, she replied, "I was driving back today, sir, and there was a question I wanted to ask Agent Mulder." Then she began searching for a file, any file. Grabbing the first one she laid her eyes on, she continued, "And I wanted to pick up this file. . . . To review before tomorrow." With that she headed quickly for the door, fighting the smile that threatened to turn into a fit of giggles that would be unseemly in front of the AD Skinner watched her go thinking her sudden departure was curious. Putting that aside, he turned to Mulder and lifted the file he was holding. "I wanted to talk to you about a few points in this report, Agent Mulder," he said, coming around the other side of Mulder's desk and placing it open in front of him. Mulder had not yet spoken, nor moved a muscle. "What points were those, sir?" he asked, barely breathing. "I marked the sections I want explained further with Post-its, Agent Mulder," he answered. "And this expense voucher for a second rental car--" "I didn't ditch Scully!" Mulder interjected quickly. "The medical examiner's office was in the next town and the suspect lived in yet another town in the complete, opposite direction. And there was no mass transit or--" "Okay, Mulder, calm down," the AD said. "I get it. Just give me a pen and I'll sign off on the expenses." Mulder looked around his desk for a pen and couldn't find one. His heart was racing as he started lifting files and piles of paper. Skinner watched his panicky search for a second or two. "Check the middle drawer, Agent Mulder," he said finally. "That's where all my pens go, right there in the front, in the well designed for them." Mulder stopped his vain search and steeled himself for the inevitable. He slowly opened the drawer. Dozens of freshly sharpened pencils lay there in disarray, as though they'd been thoughtlessly shoved in. Skinner opened his mouth to say something--and was hit on the shoulder by a falling pencil! He slowly glanced up, to see dozens more pencils in the ceiling tiles above Mulder's head, hanging from their needle sharp points. A second pencil fell, this time glancing off Mulder's head. Without a word, the Assistant Director stepped around to the front of the younger agent's desk, out of the line of fire. Skinner folded his arms and waited. Mulder cleared his throat, knowing the AD was waiting for an explanation. "I was experimenting with . . . . um . . . Actually, I was thinking about what goes on in the mind of a criminal when he has too much time on his hands . . . . and, uh. . . . there was this interesting . . . study! . . . about how mindless activity gives the brain's creative center a chance to kick in, sir--" Skinner finally cut him off. He'd used the break to figure out what had gone on here over the past few days with Scully gone and quickly decided on an appropriate response. "I've heard enough, Agent Mulder," he said glancing at his watch and recalling he had a 4:30 appointment. "We'll 'discuss' this at my place tonight, say around 7 o'clock?" Skinner headed for the door, then turned back to his most troublesome subordinate. Mulder was staring at him, his mouth slightly open. "And gather up all of those pencils," he added, glancing meaningfully at the ceiling, "I mean ALL of them, Agent Mulder. I want you to bring them with you." He opened the door and stepped out, silently closing the door behind him. The young agent's forehead dropped to his desk top and, in yet another act of impeccable timing on the part of the universe, a pencil conked him on the back of the head. At 7:02 p.m., Mulder stepped out of the elevator of Skinner's building at the 16th floor and dragged himself down the hall to the AD's door. He knocked and heard Skinner respond, "It's open!" Steeling himself for whatever was coming next, he entered. "Come into the kitchen, Mulder," Skinner said. "Bring the pencils--" The younger man had bundled them into two fat bunches and fastened each with a large rubber band. Then he'd placed them in an accordion folder, not wanting to answer any questions about what he was doing with an entire kindergarten class's supply of yellow No. 2 pencils. He removed his jacket first, then pulled the pencils from the folder and headed for the kitchen. The AD had his hands in a bowl of ground beef to which he had just added chopped onions and seasoning. He motioned for Mulder to take a seat on a stool on the other side of the counter as he quickly turned the mixture over and began to form hamburger patties. Mulder was a little off-base now. "I'm making dinner, Mulder," the AD said and Mulder was certain now that the man read his mind at times. "How do you take your burger?" "Uh, uh, medium's fine, sir," he stuttered. "Good." Skinner washed his hands now and quickly dried them on a kitchen towel. "It appears you didn't have much work to do the last couple of days, Agent Mulder. Am I reading that right?" he asked, placing his hands on his hips and turning to face the younger man. "Well, we've been between cases," Mulder began, "and things have been a little slow. . . " "And you couldn't find anything productive to do with your time?" the AD pushed back at him. Skinner picked up one of the thick bundles of pencils from the kitchen counter in front of Mulder. Not waiting for a response, he looked directly at the worried young agent. "How many?" Mulder's mind screamed. "How many pencils, Agent Mulder? Did you count them?" "N-no, I didn't count them," he replied, frantically trying to guess where Skinner was heading with this line of questioning. "Count them now, then," Skinner said calmly, turning back to the meal preparation that was underway. "I want to know how many there are." Mulder first reached up and loosened his tie; his mouth had grown dry and now it felt like his throat was starting to close. Then he removed the rubber band from the first bundle and started counting the pencils. "Out loud, Agent Mulder!" Skinner said over his shoulder. The younger agent shot a murderous look at the AD’s back but he wisely held his tongue. "One, two, three, four. . . . ." No other sound could be heard in the kitchen as Skinner continued preparing dinner and Mulder counted. "Fifty-three, fifty-four, fifty-five, fifty-six, fifty-seven!" he spat out, dropping the last pencil on the countertop. "Fifty-seven," Skinner repeated, placing the last hamburger patty on the sizzling grilltop. "That's more than I thought. . . ." He opened a drawer on his side of the countertop and started digging around. Mulder immediately surmised it was the 'junk drawer' found in everyone's kitchen. The AD pulled out a lined pad and handed it to the surprised younger man. "I'd like a list 57 things you can do with your 'down time' at work, Agent Mulder," he said evenly. "You can start now and finish up after supper." "Oh, come on!" Mulder exploded, then he immediately thought better of that approach. He lowered his voice to a more respectful tone. "I get it, I do. The pencil thing was not an appropriate use of my time, I admit it. Okay? Are you happy now?" "No, I'm not happy," Skinner said, turning to flip the burgers over. "I'll be happy when I get a list of 57 things you can do to utilize your time in the office when you're between cases. . . . And after I've 'dealt with' the one way you already thought of to waste your time, and the Bureau's resources." He looked down at the young man across the counter. "Now, I suggest you get started, Agent Mulder." Mulder was mortified at this turn of events. He forced himself to calm down, having learned on several occasions that Skinner was most dangerous when met with rebellion. He reluctantly picked up a pencil and began. Next to the number "1" he wrote 'Review budget.' He had fifteen things listed by the time the table was actually set. He'd been a little unnerved by the number of times Skinner wandered over to check the list over Mulder's shoulder. The AD never commented, he just read, and that made the younger man nervous. He was finding it hard to concentrate on the list and gauge Skinner's reaction at the same time. He wrote the number '16' and added 'Technical reading' then immediately scratched it out, opting to list each of his subscriptions separately. 'Read Journal of Parapsychology,' 'Read MUFON newsletter,' 'Read New Age magazine,' etc. became numbers 16 through 25. He heard Skinner grunt when he read the latest entries on the list. "I might consider that cheating, Agent," he said, "but you still have a long way to go so I'm gonna overlook it. . . . Supper's ready." He handed Mulder a plate with the burgers and sliced tomatoes, lettuce and onions on it and indicated he should take it in to the dining room table just off the living room. Skinner followed with containers of cole slaw, potato salad and pasta salad and a carton of milk. Skinner had laid out a couple of placemats, plates and some utensils earlier Both men sat and the Assistant Director immediately began to construct a burger that would choke the proverbial horse, Mulder thought. He watched Skinner finish building it, then pour himself and Mulder a large glass of milk. "Eat, Mulder," he said in his most 'no-nonsense' tone of voice. Mulder reached for the ketchup; noticing the label, he looked up to see Skinner watching him. "Heinz 57, Mulder!" the AD chuckled. "What a coincidence, huh?" Not finding that especially funny, Mulder decided to eat his burger without ketchup, just for spite. He managed to swallow all of the burger and some salads and watched Skinner polish off the rest of the food. The AD didn't seem to be in a bad mood and the younger man was hopeful that would continue. He vowed to try not to do anything to upset his superior. until he got out of here unscathed. When they were finished, Mulder jumped to help clear the table. In the kitchen, Skinner told him to leave the dishes for him to handle. "You have work to do, Agent Mulder," he said, pointing at the stool and the pad Mulder had left on the counter. The younger agent sighed and sat down, bending his head over the list. He'd added only five more to his list by the time Skinner finished the clean-up. The Assistant Director took another look at the list and was startled by number 30: 'Perform fax machine maintenance.' "Don't we have people who do that, Agent Mulder?" he asked pointedly. "Well, sometimes they don't come as often as they should . . . . and I like nice, clear faxes, sir," he responded, only slightly argumentatively. "Okay, we'll let that one stand," Skinner agreed easily, seriously doubting Mulder actually knew how to maintain the fax machine. He opened his refrigerator and took out a light beer. "By the way, Mulder, the Bulls and the Celtics are on tonight, you know. I'll be inside watching the game . . . . Come in whenever you're finished." Then he left, leaving Mulder alone at the kitchen counter, with 27 more things to go. Thirty minutes later, the AD returned. He stopped behind the young agent and read the next 13 entries, noting that Mulder had taken to listing all of Agent Scully's magazine subscriptions as well. 'Read Journal of the American Medical Association', 'Read New England Journal of Medicine', 'Read Pathology Monthly.' He particularly liked number 43. 'Ask AD Skinner for more work.' "What if I'm not there, Mulder?" he prompted. "What do you do then?" The Assistant Director was a little shocked that he had come up with 43 things to do and had still not included asking his colleagues if they needed help. He knew Mulder never refused to help someone when asked; it was instructive to see how he failed to even think of reaching out without being approached first. "Where would you be, sir?" Mulder asked, worried. "Say I'm on vacation, Mulder," he replied impatiently, "and you had time on your hands. Who would you ask if they needed help?" Finally, realization took hold and Mulder started listing other department heads and Special Agents he knew: Number 46: 'Ask Ed Carney if he needs help,' Number 47, 'Ask Jack Kendall if he needs help.' Skinner hadn't really intended each of those to be a separate item but he was just glad the kid had finally made the connection. And anyway, all of the people Mulder knew well enough to ask still only got him to 50. Skinner pulled a bag of pretzels out of one of his cabinets. He could see Mulder was stumped again, with seven more to go. "Why don't you try that 'mindless activity' thing you told me about today, Mulder?" he said, with just the slightest bite of sarcasm. "See if you can tap into your brain's 'creative center.'" "Very funny, Skinner," the young man replied in significantly more sarcastic a tone, then immediately looked up in terror. "Sounds like you've got your brain on 'public address' again, Agent Mulder," the AD said sourly. "You know that always gets you in trouble . . . And you're already in enough trouble here tonight. You don't want to go piling on additional offenses now, do you?" "No, sir. Sorry, sir," he replied, immediately picking up the pencil and returning to his list. He saw Skinner leave the kitchen out of the corner of his eye and started to breathe again only after he was gone. He was starting to feel like he was being held hostage in the Assistant Director's kitchen. But all he could manage to think of right off was that he'd read something about a way to commit suicide with a well-sharpened pencil. Ten minutes later, he walked into the living room, holding the pad of paper. The Assistant Director pulled his attention from the basketball game in surprise. "Finished already, Mulder?" he asked. Mulder thought his comment was a jab about how long it had actually taken him to complete this task but he decided to ignore it. When Skinner held out his hand, he quickly gave him the pad and stood there, waiting for him to review the list. Skinner skimmed the first 50 items; he'd already seen them all. He decided not to comment on number 52 'Call LG' even though he immediately knew the abbreviation stood for those three crazies Mulder considered informants. And he had to keep from smiling at numbers 55 and 56. 'Get Scully's name on the door' and 'Get Scully a desk.' But number 57 gave him pause: 'Review list of 57 things to do when bored,' it read. "I think that's what they call a 'circular reference,'" he said to the young man anxiously waiting for his reaction. He saw Mulder's face drop slightly and relented, tearing off the top page of the pad. "But I'm gonna let it go. I want you to keep this someplace handy in the office, Mulder. Someplace you can find it when you need it, okay?" With that he handed the paper back to him. Mulder sighed quietly. "Okay, let's move on," Skinner said, picking up the TV's remote control and muting the sound. "I left that hairbrush we bought last time on the dresser in the spare bedroom, Mulder. Go get it for me." He didn't move and the shocked expression on his face aptly communicated his thoughts to the older man. "Mulder, this is not about the pencils," he said. "Wasting two days of your time is not only juvenile and unprofessional, it makes me wonder how many other days have been spent in similar, immature pursuits." Mulder started. He decided to try another approach. "Please," he said quietly. "Not the hairbrush . . . just not . . . that." "Why, Mulder?" the AD asked him curiously. The younger man shook his head and shrugged, not sure he could explain it adequately. "It just makes me feel . . . . like you're treating me like a child," he finally said, his voice small and tentative. "That's exactly the point, Agent Mulder," Skinner said. "Childish actions bring childish consequences." He watched him closely, looking for the rebellion he expected to come next. But instead Mulder blinked, then nodded his head almost imperceptibly. Then he turned and walked toward the extra bedroom He returned moments later with the hairbrush. Keeping his eyes locked on his feet, he silently handed it to the Assistant Director. Skinner found himself starting to waver in his resolve and he knew he had to move quickly or risk backing off. "All right, Mulder," he said, "pants down and over my knee." The younger man complied quickly, also seeming to want to get this over as soon as possible. He unbuckled his belt and dropped his trousers to the floor. Then he knelt and Skinner guided him over his stretched out legs, pulling him over a little more so that his butt was in the best striking position. Then the AD pulled down his beige cotton boxers and picked up the hairbrush he had laid on the couch beside him. "How many, Mulder?" he asked. "I don't know," Mulder snapped back. Skinner felt vindicated in a way. "Come on now, Agent Mulder, don't disappoint me," he replied calmly. "Fifth-seven pencils. Fifty-seven items on the list. . . . Are you sensing a pattern here?" Mulder shook his head angrily. "I can wait all night, Agent Mulder," the AD said, reaching for the remote control and turning the sound up. He squinted at the television and then proceeded to give Mulder an update on the status of the game. "Looks like the Bulls are down by ten, Mulder. Guess Jordan hasn't found the groove yet. . . " Mulder clamped his teeth shut and fought down an urge to say something that would definitely bring Skinner's wrath. He heaved a long, heavy sigh and finally answered the AD’s question. "Fifth-seven," he said dully. "What was that, Mulder?" Skinner asked him, pretending not to have heard. "I said 57!" Mulder said more forcefully. "Oh, good choice!" the older man said, bringing the hairbrush down on the waiting bottom. He proceeded to give the young agent one stinging slap after another, covering every part of his buttocks several times over. He knew Mulder was silently counting too and he stopped briefly at fifty smacks. "How many is that, Agent Mulder?" he asked, as though he'd lost count. "Fifty!" Mulder answered quickly. "Are you sure," he asked the young man. "I'm sure! It's fifty," he replied anxiously. The AD wanted to end it now; he aimed the last seven smacks at the meatiest part of his backside, just where his butt met the top of his thighs. By now the younger man was sobbing openly and he made no attempt to move after the fifty-seventh smack. "It's okay, Mulder," he said gently, rubbing his back in wide, smooth circles. "It's all over now." Skinner pulled his shorts back up and slid him off the AD’s knees onto the floor. He continued to speak to him soothingly as Mulder laid his head on Skinner's knee and sobbed once more. Skinner waited for him to calm himself a little more, then spoke. "I'll make you a deal, Mulder," he said, trying to gain his attention. "I promise not to use that hairbrush on you again if you promise never to do anything childish and irresponsible again. Agreed?" As he said it, he pulled the young man up into a huge embrace and felt him relax fully for the first time all evening. Mulder hiccuped once and nodded into Skinner's shoulder. "I'll . . . try," he said with something less than certainty. Skinner had to smile at his response. "Whoa!" Both men said in unison as their heads snapped toward the television. "Did you see that shot?" Mulder asked excitedly. "That was fucking unbelievable!" "I'd say Jordan found the groove, Mulder," the AD responded just as enthusiastically. He picked up the empty beer bottle from his coffee table and handed it to the younger agent. "Go get yourself a beer, Mulder," he said reseating himself on his couch and watching the replay intently. "And while you're at it, get me another one, too!" At 8:45 Tuesday morning, Dana Scully let herself into the X-files office carrying her morning bagel and coffee. Mulder was already there, deep in concentration, reading something. He grunted a response to her cheery "Good morning!" and Scully shrugged and took a seat, removing the lid from her coffee and opening the aluminum foil her bagel was wrapped in. Before she had swallowed her first sip, the phone rang. Mulder was lost in his reading and made no move to answer it. She gave him an annoyed look that he never noticed and answered it herself. "Scully," she said into the receiver. "He wants what?" she said next. "Are you sure you called the right place?" After hearing whatever it was repeated, she told the caller she'd deliver the message and hung up. "Mulder," she said. No response. "Mulder!" she repeated more insistently. He finally looked up. "That was Kim. She said to tell you Assistant Director Skinner wants you to come up and run a maintenance check on their fax machine--" He jumped up from his chair. "Yes!" he said, "I knew it. And I'm ready!" He tossed the book that had been absorbing his full attention on the desk in front of her and headed out of their office. "Operating and Maintaining the Xerox 1120 Fax and Copier," it was called. "Okay," she said to his empty chair, picking up her coffee and taking a bite of her bagel. "It's good to keep upgrading your skill set, Mulder. You never know when you might have to change careers!" THE END