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: No serious spoilers. Reference to The Oubliette and Samantha's disappearance. Setting: Fifth Season Rating: PG. Discipline, no slash. Title: Life Goes On Author: Cadillac Red Summary: Skinner takes Mulder home for Thanksgiving and the holiday stirs up difficult memories for both of them before they each reach a new perspective on life's ups and downs. Life Goes On Office of the X-Files Wednesday, November 24 3:00 p.m. Thanksgiving. The beginning of the holiday season, it always depressed Special Agent Fox Mulder. The entire month of November held lousy memories for him and the fact that everyone else was in a jolly humor only made it worse. And the worst part was Scully, trying to get him to join her family for a holiday meal. He couldn't, wouldn't, but she tried every year nonetheless. And this year, she was especially insistent. Having overcome her cancer, Dana Scully seemed to treasure each moment a little more than before, wanting each day to mean something. And she wanted that for him, too. Only he had the opposite goal, to have the entire month of November mean nothing. This year he was even more resolute in declining Scully and her mother's invitation. Now that he'd met and crossed swords with Bill, her older brother, he knew a Thanksgiving holiday with the Scully clan would be a nightmare for both men, if Mulder was in attendance. He couldn't tell that to Scully, but he knew he had to stick to his guns on this one. "So, what are you going to do, Mulder?" she asked him at least half a dozen times. "If you have no other plans, why don't you just stop by for dinner?" Finally, he'd told her the lie, that he was spending Thanksgiving with his mother. In fact, Teena Mulder always spent this particular holiday in Florida, with friends. But Scully didn't know that and he didn't think she'd ever find out. So he fibbed to her. And reminded himself not to answer his phone over the long weekend. Scully had taken today off to help her mother prepare for the big dinner. So Mulder relaxed and made himself busy with some research into a pending new case and tying up loose ends on another file they'd closed out earlier in the week. He was surprised when Assistant Director Skinner knocked and entered the basement office. "Mulder, I thought you'd be heading to Connecticut by now," he said. "I just came down to drop off these signed reports." "Connecticut, sir?" Mulder asked, guiltily. "You must have been talking to Scully." "Yes, she told me you were spending the holiday with your mother. . . . You lied to her, didn't you, Agent Mulder?" "Well, she just kept bugging me about going to her family's for dinner. I'm not good at family things in general and frankly, her brother Bill hates me. Me spending a holiday dinner with them would be miserable for everyone, sir," he said firmly. "A little white lie seemed like the lesser of two evils." "So, why aren't you going to your mother's then?" "Oh, she always goes to Florida with 'the girls' for Thanksgiving," he replied quickly. "I do fine anyway. They have a special turkey dinner at the diner down the street from me," he smiled. "All the trimmings and I don't have to listen to anyone's boring old stories!" Skinner watched him give this report and thought it was a case of 'protesting too much.' The Assistant Director made an instant decision. "Well, this year, you're coming to my family's Thanksgiving dinner, Mulder," he said, putting his hand up to quell the younger man's protests. "I can promise you a turkey with all the trimmings; I can't promise there won't be some boring stories but you can excuse yourself to watch the football games any time. That's what my brothers and I always do." He refused to discuss it any further, telling Mulder in no uncertain terms that they were leaving at 9 a.m. the following morning and he expected him at his place no later than that. When he left, Mulder sat back in his chair and let his head roll back until he was staring at the ceiling. Thanksgiving Day November 25 Pennsylvania Turnpike 10:30 a.m. They'd been on the road for an hour and a half. Despite his continued protests, Mulder had showed up at Skinner's apartment at 8:45 a.m., bearing a bottle of wine and a weekend bag. Skinner decided to ignore the verbal disinformation and focus on the non-verbal signals. He thought Mulder might even be secretly pleased to have somewhere to go for the holiday. "You remember my sister Jean and her husband, don't you, Mulder?" he asked the younger man as they drove north. "They'll be there, along with their son, Doug. You remember him from the Hopewell Sheriff's department." The entire town of Hopewell, Pennsylvania was a sore memory for the younger agent but he nodded his head to keep Skinner from dwelling on the 'Hopewell Incident,' as he had come to think of it. Skinner had sent him and Scully there to investigate a possible ghost sighting. It hadn't ended in anything definitive except for Mulder pissing off the entire town and Skinner having to come back from his vacation to resolve the crisis. Mulder thought frantically, trying to come up with a way to deflect the AD from focusing on the matter. He needn't have bothered. Skinner was long past that now, listing the other members of the Skinner family who'd be at dinner. "Jean's daughter, Kelly, she's a high school senior now. And my two brothers, Joe and Andy. Joe and his wife Nora live a couple of towns over, close to Harrisburg. They'll have their three kids, Mike, Kathy and Amanda with them. And Andy is coming from Chicago. He's staying with Jean and her family for the weekend. He's in the same business as Jean's husband, Oliver, and they're doing some deal together or something. He's bringing his wife, Eileen and their two kids. . . ."" Mulder found his stomach getting tight with anxiety. He hadn't anticipated all these people and he was relatively sure he wouldn't fit in with them. He'd met Skinner's sister Jean and her family when he'd been in Hopewell. They were nice enough but he'd given them no reason to like him. He began to worry Skinner had overestimated Mulder's charm and his family's tolerance. He closed his eyes and pretended to sleep, afraid he'd allowed himself to be talked into Thanksgiving with the Walton's; he always hated that show and he was relatively certain the Walton clan would have hated him right back. The Skinner home Danville, Pennsylvania Thanksgiving Day 12:30 p.m. Skinner steered the jeep into the gravel driveway of a large, white farmhouse. It had a wrap-around porch and a swing hanging from a giant tree in the front yard. There were several kids tossing a football around on the side of the house and numerous people poured out the front door when someone yelled "Uncle Walter's here!" Mulder realized his hands had grown clammy and he was literally afraid to meet these people. The AD began passing out hugs to everyone and anyone who approached him, saving a big one for an older, white-haired woman who had to be his mother. "Mom, everybody, I want you to meet Mulder, a good friend and one of my best agents. And it's just Mulder, by the way," he said, winking at the younger man. Several men who resembled Skinner held their hands out and shook his, and Oliver Dawson clapped him on the back and said it was good to see him again. Dawson's son, Doug, gave him a smile and a wave of recognition. Mrs. Skinner began to shoo everyone back to their previous locations. "I want to get a chance to speak to Walter and . . . Mulder," she said to the others. Then she took Skinner's arm and whispered conspiratorially to him and Mulder. "I saved some sandwiches from lunch. Dinner won't be ready for hours and I thought you might be hungry." They retired to the kitchen and Mrs. Skinner ("call me Rachel") put the plate of sandwiches out along with a pitcher of buttermilk and two glasses. She immediately began catching her son up on all the family and hometown news. A few moments later, an older man entered through the back door. "Walter!" he said, laying the wood carrier on the floor, "I wondered when you'd get here." His son rose and gave him what seemed to Mulder like a heartfelt hug and kissed him on his cheek. There was no mistaking him, he was an older version of the AD, right down to his bald head. Walter Skinner, Sr. turned to Mulder and stuck his hand out. "And you must be Mulder," he said simply. "It's good to finally meet you. Walter tells me you do some very . . . interesting work." Mulder's finely honed sensor for ridicule detected not the slightest hint of sarcasm and he relaxed completely for the first time since they'd arrived. He smiled and shrugged, stuffing the rest of his ham sandwich in his mouth as Skinner advised his father not to ask for details "you're likely to regret hearing just before a big dinner, Dad!" Dinner passed in a whirl of people, food and laughter and Mulder retired to the family room with the men to watch some football. He watched one Skinner male after another nod off and thought that it had been a very long time since he'd spent a pleasant holiday meal with a bunch of people, very long, since the year Samantha disappeared, he realized. No, even earlier than that. That Thanksgiving had been a tense and emotional one, although he couldn't recall why. Except for the fact that his parents had a knock-down, drag-out screaming match before they left for the traditional turkey dinner with relatives. Samantha disappeared a day later, on November 27th. And after that, they never celebrated the holiday again in the Mulder house, at least not as long as his parents remained together. Mulder felt Skinner tap him on the shoulder; he'd been lost in his memories and hadn't noticed the AD wake up and rise. "Everything okay, Mulder?" Skinner asked him quietly. "Yeah, yeah," he nodded quickly. "Everything's . . . fine, really." "I'm getting coffee. Can I bring you a cup?" "No, thanks, I'm . . . I think I'll go for a walk," he said, trying to shake off the depression that always accompanied his memories. He gave Skinner a tight smile and headed out of the house. It was unseasonably warm and the sky was lit with stars, stars you never saw from big cities like Washington. Mulder walked down by the river and spent some time watching the water rush under a wooden bridge. He fought down the urge to flee, to find a way to get back to D.C. without Skinner. He knew that would anger the AD, and it felt too much like giving up. So he tried to ignore it and headed back to the Skinner house, where he found the Assistant Director and his Dad in conversation on the porch. They saw him coming and invited him to join them. The three men talked about nothing much for another hour or so then everyone went to bed. Skinner made sure Mulder was settled in his room. The house was crowded tonight, with his brother Joe and his wife and kids staying over and Mulder had been assigned to what they called the 'study' on the second floor. It was mostly used by Rachel Skinner for writing letters and occasionally as a place to sew or knit. The walls and every available surface were covered with photos of her kids and their kids. There was a day-bed that served as a couch but turned into a bed when you removed all the pillows. "I thought you'd be most comfortable here, Mulder," Skinner joked with him. "It's the closest we can come to letting you sleep on the couch -- my Mom would never go for that!" Knowing Mulder's sleeping habits, he also made sure the small, portable television worked before leaving the young man to his own devices. "Good night, Mulder," he yawned as he closed the door. "Sir?" Mulder said suddenly, before the door was completely closed. Skinner pushed the door back open to the halfway point and looked at him. "Just wanted to say thanks for inviting me." The AD smiled at him fondly. "No problem, Mulder," he said, starting to pull the door closed again. "Sleep well." The Skinner Home Friday, November 26 8:00 a.m. Mulder awoke, at first wondering where he was. Then he remembered and realized he heard what seemed like a mob of people in the hallway outside his door. Skinner's brother Joe and his family must be getting ready to leave. They had stayed over but had to head home early Friday, they said, because their son Mike was playing in his homecoming football game that night. Skinner, his folks and Mulder were planning to go see him play, along with Jean Dawson and her family and Andy Skinner's family as well. Mulder got up and got dressed, remembering to make the bed before he went downstairs. As he opened the door, he ran into Rachel Skinner in the hallway. "Good morning, Mulder!" she said cheerily. "You just missed Joe and Nora and the kids. They left for home a few minutes ago." Not waiting for a reply, she continued. "Did you sleep all right? I thought I heard you up during the night." "Yes, ma'am," he replied, "this is the quietest place I've ever been. It took a little getting used to at first but then I slept like a baby-" "I'm glad," she said, giving him a warm smile. "You can move into one of the other bedrooms tonight, if you'd like. I wanted to give you one of them yesterday, but Walter said you would probably prefer the day-bed and the smaller room with the television." "No, this is fine, ma'am. I feel like I got a chance to know your whole family, actually. I don't know if I've ever seen so many pictures. . ."" "Well, guilty as charged, I guess. I never throw anything away, I just keep adding." She gave him a warm smile and went over to the desk to pick up a photo of Walter in the service. "My kids keep asking me to get rid of some of them, but every one holds a memory I don't want to lose. . . " Mulder picked up another one, a candid snapshot of the four Skinner kids at the beach. They were building a sand castle and Mulder could easily recognize Skinner at about 12 or 13 years of age, with Jean, Joe and Andy and another child who looked related, probably a cousin. "How old was everyone in this picture?" he asked Mrs. Skinner. She smiled again, this time with a hint of something else. "Walter was 12 here," she said her eyes going soft and warm. "We took a place at the shore for a couple of weeks that year. Jean would have been 10, Joe was eight, Andy was 6 . . . and Jeremy was 4 years old." Mulder noticed now that he was in all the other photos taken during that period, the five kids on horses, five kids sitting on a picnic table, five of them dressed for what looked like the first day of school. Then it hit him. He looked up at Mrs. Skinner and wished with all his heart he hadn't started this trip down memory lane for her. "Jeremy was our youngest," she said, putting the beach photo back down with a smile. "He died when he was 9 years old. . . . He was always the family daredevil, no regard for his own safety. . . . For some reason, he and Walter were very close, our oldest and our youngest. I sometimes think there's a big hole in Walter's life where Jeremy's supposed to be. . . . Come, let me fix you some breakfast." Mulder watched Rachel Skinner closely as she made him breakfast, looking for the tell-tale signs of oncoming depression. He knew from experience with his own mother that any time the conversation turned to Samantha, a shroud of sadness would descend over her, blocking out all other things for what could be a few hours or a few days. He could never predict its duration or its intensity. But Mrs. Skinner continued to smile and trade good-humored wisecracks with her son and daughter. Jean had come by to take her mother out for their annual 'guerrilla holiday shopping offensive,' and Skinner was teasing them both about their 'take no prisoners' approach to Christmas shopping. "Go right ahead, Walter," his mother countered, "make fun. And just see what you get under the tree this year!" They finally left and Skinner told Mulder he generally spent the Friday after Thanksgiving helping his Dad 'winterize' the house, cleaning gutters, chopping wood. "We're not planning to put you to work, though, Mulder," he said. "Just relax and take it easy." But Mulder was unable to do so and tagged along with them, figuring it would make the day go faster and allow him to give something back for the weekend's hospitality. At mid-day they stopped for lunch and then resumed with chopping what looked to Mulder like the entire town's supply of wood for the winter. It was warm and Skinner had taken his shirt off; he did most of the chopping while Mulder and Walter Sr. stacked it in their woodshed. On one of his trips with the older man, Mulder spied a leather strap hanging next to the door. He stopped in his tracks for a moment and felt Mr. Skinner bump into him from behind. "Oh, I see you've spotted 'the persuader!'" he laughed. "Came in for a lot of use when I needed to persuade my boys that my opinion was the right one!" Mulder swallowed hard and tried to laugh in return. "I guess I can see why your sons all seem so tough. . . ." "Actually, I always thought that old razor strop softened them up to my point of view," he chuckled. "I remember once, when Walter took my old car out without permission, that strap helped me convince him that laws existed for good reason—-and then he ended up making a career in law enforcement. I'd say that was a better than expected result." "What's up, guys?" Skinner appeared in the doorway. "I'm working my butt off out here chopping and you can't even keep the delivery system on track!" "I was just acquainting Mulder with 'the persuader,' Walter," his Dad responded. "Being a city boy, I guess he wasn't really up on everything we use this woodshed for." "Oh, great, Dad. There's really no need to fill Mulder in on any of that . . . I'd like to keep some measure of dignity in this boss-employee relationship." Mulder looked askance at him. "What, there's something undignified about the way you were raised?" his father looked at him warily. "That's not what I meant, Dad, really," Skinner said, trying to usher both men out of the woodshed and onto another subject. "Let's talk about something else – how 'bout them Steelers, huh?" The three of them finished the winter chores in pleasant camaraderie, then prepared to leave for Skinner's nephew's football game, where they were due to meet up with the rest of the family. Mike's team lost but it was a good game anyway and the day ended over steaming mugs of hot cider and fresh-baked cookies in Skinner's mom's kitchen just before midnight. Mulder fell asleep the minute his head hit the pillow and he slept straight through the night, the result of a sense of contentment, or a day of manual labor, he wasn't sure which. The Skinner Property Danville, Pennsylvania November 27 10:00 a.m. Saturday morning was crisp and clear, still warmer than normal for late November. Skinner and his Dad were planning to go into town but Mulder had made plans to go fishing with Doug Dawson so he declined their offer to accompany him. He and Doug set off right after breakfast, with Doug steering him to the old wood bridge Mulder had seen on his Thursday night stroll. "This is where we always get the best fish," Doug told him, preparing the rods and even baiting the hook for Mulder. The FBI agent smiled and thought he must look like a real city kid; he'd been fishing his whole life and he would not pass out if he had to skewer those worms himself. But he let Doug do it and cast the line off the bridge when the young sheriff's deputy gave it to him. They stood there in mostly amiable silence, with Doug getting a tug on his line but no fish and having to recast his line a couple of times. Mulder climbed up on the wood railing of the bridge, putting both his feet over the side. Doug got a little nervous at that point and suggested Mulder get back on the other side of the rail. Mulder just laughed at his overcautiousness. "I have a well-developed sense of balance!" he laughed at the kid. "I promise you I won't fall off!" He was momentarily startled though and nearly did lose his balance when he heard a car horn blare from behind him. Looking up, he saw Skinner's jeep, with the AD and Walter, Sr. in it. Mulder waved at them and was surprised to see Skinner pull up and get out of the vehicle looking angry. "Get off the railing, Mulder!" he yelled. "The water there's not very deep and it's rocky. If you fell off—" "I'm not gonna fall off!" "What language am I speaking? GET DOWN!" the AD insisted. Mulder swung one leg back over, straddling the wood railing and looking to see if that satisfied Skinner. Skinner glared at him, both hands going to his hips in a posture Mulder recognized as 'do it or else!' He pulled his other leg over the railing and leaned against it from the inside. "Thank you," Skinner said, finally backing down. He took a deep breath then continued speaking. "We're going into town, we'll be back in a couple of hours. Any requests? Neither Doug nor Mulder could think of anything they wanted and Skinner got back in the jeep and drove off with his father. "Don't say I didn't warn you . . . ," Doug told him an annoying sing-songy way. Mulder just grunted and went back to his fishing in silence. Two hours later though, they'd gotten back to the easy companionship of the morning. Doug unpacked the sandwiches his grandmother had sent along, sliced turkey on fresh-baked rolls. There were a few ripe green apples and more chocolate chip cookies, as well as a thermos of cold milk. Mulder thought he'd died and gone to heaven; to top it off, they'd caught a half dozen good-size bass that would make for a great dinner for the whole tribe if they could get a couple more. They resumed fishing after polishing off the food and Mulder absent-mindedly climbed back on the railing. Doug almost reminded him again but decided not to do anything that would piss him off like the short while this morning. He reasoned that Mulder knew what he was doing. But he didn't count on his grandfather and Uncle Walter coming back from town by the same route they'd taken earlier; it was the long way around and he didn't think they'd take it both ways. Mulder and Doug were both lost in thought and the sound of the water running over the rocks below them so the jeep pulled up behind them before they ever heard it. Skinner jumped out and stalked over to the bridge; his work boots on the wood planks were the first indication that the two young men had company. Before either Doug or Mulder could react, he'd reached up and hauled Mulder off the railing violently. "How many times do I have to tell you to stay off the railing, Mulder?" he shouted right in the younger man's face. "Huh? How many times?" Mulder reacted angrily, shoving the A.D.'s hands off his arms and dropping the fishing pole onto the floor of the bridge. "What the hell is your problem?" he yelled back. "My problem? I think you're the one with the problem, Mulder," Skinner continued at the top of his lungs. "Is it that you didn't hear me, you didn't COMPREHEND, or you just decided to blatantly disobey me?" "I just decided to do what the hell I pleased, okay? You got a problem with that?" Mulder responded, escalating the confrontation yet again. "That's it," Skinner shouted back at him, grabbing the younger man by his shirt and hauling him toward the jeep. "I've had enough. Get in!" "Where are we going?" Mulder asked as he was muscled into the back seat. He could see Doug watching, wide-eyed, from the bridge and Walter Sr. was sitting tightlipped in the front passenger seat. Without answering him, Skinner hit the gas and sped off toward the house. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Mulder demanded from the back seat. "Watch your language, Mulder!" Skinner retorted angrily, giving him a warning glance over his shoulder as they careened into the driveway and pulled to a hard stop. "You're already in trouble, Mulder—" "What the hell for? Sitting on the goddammed railing? Have you lost your mind—" The young agent felt himself being manhandled out of the jeep, then Skinner shoved him away from the house. "Where the fuck are we going?" Mulder shouted, trying to keep his balance. "Come here!" Skinner said as he passed Mulder by angrily. The young man followed him, angry and completely confused by this turn of events. He saw Skinner bang the door of the woodshed open and he followed him inside, still demanding an explanation for what he thought was the A.D.'s uncalled for explosion. He didn't notice the door swing closed behind him. He was still mouthing off when he saw Skinner reach for the razor strop hanging on the other side of the door. Mulder backed up into the wood door violently. "Ow!" he cried involuntarily as he banged his head and shoulder trying to escape. "Get over here!" Skinner shouted at him once again. Mulder turned frantically toward the door and started to open it but the AD slammed his hand on the door just next to his head, shutting it definitively. "I said GET OVER HERE! Don't make me tell you again!" Mulder was beyond thinking clearly now; he'd vaulted from anger straight into terror and he just stood there, staring at Skinner. Skinner came back and grabbed him by his shirt collar, pushing him further into the shed, the razor strop dangling from his right hand. "You just never learn, do you, Mulder?" the Assistant Director asked him as he pulled a wood bench away from the wall into the middle of the floor. "Even with direct orders, you can't seem to keep your personal safety in mind, can you?" Despite his anger and fear, Mulder recognized that these questions were rhetorical and wisely held his responses. Skinner got the bench where he wanted it and turned back to the young man. "Get your jeans down, Mulder, shorts, too." Mulder thought Skinner seemed a little bit calmer now. He decided this might be the time for a dialogue. "Listen," Mulder said in what he thought was a reasonable tone. "If this is really about my 'personal safety,' then this won't exactly help, will it? I mean, it's kind of counterintuitive, don't you think?" The immensity of his miscalculation hit him immediately; the A.D.'s rage flared anew and he hauled the younger man over to the bench and roared, "Get your pants down, NOW! If I have to tell you again—" Mulder raced to comply, unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them and the cotton boxers down to his knees. He felt Skinner grab his arm and push him down onto the bench; instinctively the muscles in his rump flinched even before Skinner struck the first blow. Without stopping to ask him what he was being punished for, Skinner laid the first stripe across his butt, following it up with six more in succession. Mulder was already fighting back racking sobs by the time Skinner spoke to him. "Will you ever blatantly disobey me again, Mulder?" he asked, bringing the strap down once more. "Owwwwww! No! No, I'll never do it again!" "And will I ever have to tell you something twice when it involves your safety?" He issued two more stinging licks. "Unnnnnh! No, NO, I PROMISE YOU WON'T!" the young man cried out, tears choking off the rest of his words. He continued to sob convulsively. Two more strokes blazed down on his burning backside. "And will you ever speak to me like that again?" "NO, SIR! NO, I NEVER WILL!" he bawled, thinking he couldn't take another lick. Skinner raised the strap again and was surprised when his arm was caught from behind. He turned his head and looked into his father's eyes and was brought up short by the older man's expression. His father held his arm firmly and nodded at him. "That's enough," he said quietly, putting his other hand on Skinner's shoulder. "I think you've made your point." Skinner nodded silently, then looked down at the young man sobbing below him. He felt himself start to shake. He threw the razor strop across the shed with all his strength then, without a word, he pulled the door open and strode out without a backward glance. Mr. Skinner waited a couple of minutes for Mulder's tears to subside, then he helped the young man get up and get dressed. The FBI agent shuddered when he pulled his clothes up over his abused backside and Walter Sr. knew he needed to get him to the house before the shock wore off and he was truly in discomfort. He gently guided him up the path to the house. Nodding to his wife and Doug peering out from the kitchen, he assisted a still sobbing Mulder up the stairs to the study where he helped him undress and get into bed. Turning immediately onto his stomach, Mulder buried his head in his arms and sobbed until he fell asleep. He slept for hours, until well after dark, then awoke to find his butt still stinging. He was too embarrassed to go downstairs so he just laid there, trying to figure out what to do next. No revelations came to him and he settled for just staying there and feeling sorry for himself. Finally, there was a quiet knock on the door. "Yes?" Mrs. Skinner opened the door and stepped in, carrying a tray with a plate of food and a glass of iced tea. "I thought you might be hungry," she said, placing the tray on the desk. "The bass was delicious; too bad we didn't all get to enjoy it. . . ." Mulder felt guilty at being the cause of the disruption and started to tell her he wasn't hungry. "Nonsense," she said firmly, "you're nothing but skin and bones. You shouldn't be skipping meals." With that, she placed the plate of food on the night stand next to the bed and handed him a fork. Then she placed the glass of iced tea next to the plate and took a seat in the rocking chair across from the bed. He hadn't expected her to stay to watch him eat. Lying on his side, he took a large gulp of the tea and started to push the fish, rice and vegetables around the plate, so it would look like he was eating. "I'm the mother of five," she said to him knowingly. "You can't fool me with redecorating. Eat before it gets cold." "Yes, ma'am," he said putting a forkful of the bass in his mouth. It was delicious! He realized he was hungry and began to eat with some intent. Mrs. Skinner watched him clear the plate with a satisfied sigh. Then she turned serious, wanting to try to heal the rift that had developed between her son and this young man today. "Did I tell you how Jeremy died?" she asked him out of the blue. He was startled by her question. "N- no, you didn't, ma'am," he answered. "You don't need to talk about it—" "I don't mind," she said. "It was a long time ago. I'm over the grief now, that fades in time. But the good memories, those last forever." Mulder was struck by how powerfully she seemed to believe that; it hadn't been his own experience. He watched her pick up another photo, one in which all five Skinner kids were older. Walter was in the driver's seat of a car and the others were piled in next to and behind him. "Walter was 17, Jean was just about to turn 16. She had her junior prom in the gymnasium at the school and my husband and I were chaperoning. So Walter stayed home with the other boys to watch them," she told him, beginning to fade into her recollections again. "He decided to take them fishing, down to the old bridge, where you were today. They weren't there long when Jeremy decided to try to walk the railing. He was a real daredevil, the only one of my kids who never seemed to even think about his own safety." She smiled to herself. "Even as a toddler, after he realized the stove was hot, he'd just keep touching it, like he wanted to know if it was still hot! It was like he had to test everything, question every truth." "Walter apparently pulled him down and told him to stay off the railing. Then Jeremy decided to sit on the railing, with his feet dangling off. Joe and Andy told us later that Walter pulled him off again and told him to stay on the inside or they'd all have to go home. Then he turned his back to bait a hook or something and Jeremy just jumped up on the railing again. He was standing there, waiting for Walter to react, balancing himself on the narrow wood railing. I guess Walter finally had had enough and he just looked at him and said he could stay there all night for all he cared. I guess Jeremy dug his heels in, he was stubborn like that. He decided to try walking across the entire bridge. And somehow, he slipped and fell into the water." Her eyes grew sad but her voice remained strong. "The water's shallow and rocky there and he hit his head and died instantly, at least that's what the police told us later. Walter didn't know that and he jumped into the water after him. It was a miracle he wasn't killed too. . . . But he wasn't able to catch up with Jeremy in the strong current. He finally swam to shore a couple of miles down. . . . They didn't find Jeremy until the next morning." Walter, Sr. came to the door just then and she looked up and gave him a smile. "I was just trying to explain Walter's . . . reaction today," she said to her husband. He gave her a comforting glance, then entered and put an arm around her. "It was a very difficult thing for Walter," he said, adding his own thoughts. "It made him . . . overprotective about the people he cares about." Mulder felt a lump in his throat. "You all seem to deal with it very well, though. Losing a child can be . . . . devastating to a family." "Well, we had four other children who were grieving, too," Rachel Skinner said resolutely, reaching up to put her hand in her husband's. "We needed to show them that life goes on. . . . We worked hard to try to keep Walter from feeling guilty. Accidents happen, you can't always prevent bad things from happening to people you love." "But I think he still carries a certain amount of guilt, no matter what we tell him," her husband finished for her. "I think that's one of the reasons why he up and joined the Marines the next year. And that's why he reacted so hard this afternoon, Mulder." Mulder nodded. "Where is he now?" the young agent asked Mr. Skinner. "He hasn't come back yet," the older man said, beginning to gather up the dishes. "I expect he'll be home some time later." Some time later turned out to be almost 3 a.m. Mulder was still awake, though, and he heard the car pull up to the bottom of the driveway. He didn't recognize the pick-up truck but that was definitely Skinner getting out before the truck drove off. He watched him come up the drive and thought he'd been drinking. Then he waited for the AD to come up the stairs, trying to decide whether to approach him tonight or wait for the morning. But Skinner made the decision for him, knocking on the door as soon as he got to the landing. "Are you awake, Mulder?" he asked softly, opening the door. "Yes, sir," he replied quickly. Skinner entered and closed the door behind him. He leaned his back against it and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I just wanted to. . . I owe you an apology, Mulder--" he began. "No, no, sir! You don't owe me anything! I'm sorry I pushed you like that. . . . I didn't realize—" "Realize what?" "You know, about your younger brother." Skinner closed his eyes briefly. His head was swimming from lack of sleep and food and a little too much whiskey. "Don't assume everything I do is related to that, Mulder," he said quietly. Mulder tried not to look incredulous. "Well, anyway, I'm sorry I was so . . . stupid." "Defiant, Mulder," Skinner said with a small smile. "Let's call a spade a spade. . . . And I'm sorry, too. That strapping was partly deserved, and partly me losing my temper. And that you didn't deserve." "Well, let's just put it in the bank for next time," the younger man said, stepping toward the Assistant Director. "Maybe it'll buy me a reprieve sometime in the future." Skinner snorted, indicating the unlikeliness of that occurring. "Maybe we can apply it to some of the offenses we've 'banked' without punishment in the past," he said. "Or consider it payment for all the things I probably NEVER know about--" "Okay, I get it--" Mulder cut in quickly. Skinner finally remembered he'd left in the afternoon without providing closure on the punishment the young man had received and reached out for him. "Still, I can always hope," Mulder said, stepping up to collect his hug. Mulder could see Skinner was fading fast now, the alcohol and a sense of relief mixing to double-team him into unconsciousness. "Let me help you to bed, sir," he said, letting the AD wrap an arm around his shoulder. Skinner leaned heavily on him and Mulder put an arm around his waist and struggled to get him across the hall without waking anyone else. Suddenly, the younger man stopped, standing straight up. "What's today's date?" he asked Skinner quickly. "What is this a pop quiz, Mulder?" the AD asked him, looking at the date display on his watch. "It's November 28th, why?" Mulder realized for the first time since Sam was taken, he hadn't thought about the November 27th anniversary, not once the entire day. "No reason, sir," he said quietly. "I was just thinking about how life goes on, doesn't it?" THE END