Author's Notes: This is a Western AU with a teenaged Fox who will 
eventually have some sort of parental relationship with Skinner. If 
this isn't your cup of tea, do not read on.

Category: PG-13, Discipline (a little)

Disclaimer: They're mine! All MINE!!! CC and consorts - eat your 
hearts out!!! Just kidding. No rights, no infringement, no money - but 
lotsa fun!

My addy is: gaby@gaby.slashcity.tv

My home is at: http://gaby.slashcity.tv

Summary: Fox gets acquainted with his new home and duties...



INDEPENDENCE
by Gaby


Chapter 3: A New Beginning



Fox stood on the cot in his cell and stared out of the small window. 
It was night already, and the boy yawned. But he didn't want to go to 
sleep, not locked inside this jail. He needed to be outside, under the 
stars, in order to sleep peacefully. He sighed forlornly.

The sheriff had brought him some supper which he stubbornly refused to 
touch. Skinner had tried to persuade him to eat, told him he was way 
too skinny to start with, argued that this was a fine, square, warm, 
and free meal for god's sake! But Fox had just shaken his head and 
clamped his mouth shut mutinously. The big man had taken the food away 
when it had turned too cold to be edible, leaving a chunk of bread 
behind. Fox turned around and looked at the bread, his stomach 
growling. He *was* hungry, but he wasn't going to eat anything this 
man was giving him. No way!

The boy looked back out of the window, pressing his face against the 
bars, trying to see the stars above. He was staring out into a side 
alley but when he turned his face to the left he could see Main Street 
and the livery stable. Fox sighed again, remembering that there was a 
treasure waiting for him in the loft. Well, he did have food and a 
blanket now as well, but he didn't want those things from the sheriff. 
He wanted *his* stuff. Okay, so it wasn't really *his* stuff, strictly 
speaking, but Fox ignored the legal subtleties of ownership. He just 
wanted to get out of this jail, grab his possessions, go steal that 
knife from Evil Bill just to spite him, get his gun back from that 
mean sheriff, and be on his way to find his sister.

Fox was just about to climb back down when he saw the door to the 
livery stable open, and two figures leaving. A man and a boy, it 
looked like. They were too far away for Fox to see anything more 
clearly but the boy seemed to be his age. Whatever age that was. He 
watched the man wrapping his arm around the boy's shoulders, leaning 
down and whispering something. The youth started laughing and hugged 
the man. They walked down Main Street and soon left Fox's line of 
sight.

Watching these two interact depressed Fox even more. He suddenly 
realized that he had nobody in this world anymore. And who knew 
whether he would ever find his sister again! And now he didn't even 
have his gun anymore! The boy let out a sob, and dropped down onto the 
cot. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally, and he didn't want 
to deal with any of his problems anymore. Curling up into a tight 
ball, he cried himself into a fitful sleep.

XXXXX

Sheriff Skinner stood outside the cell and looked at the boy sleeping 
on the cot inside. He looked so young and innocent, and the 
vulnerability that the almost angelic face projected tore at the big 
man's heart. He remembered taking care of the rancher's sons where he 
had worked a while ago. He had loved the boys, and they had adored 
him, no matter how strict he had been at times, and he was sure that 
he would be able to straighten this young rascal out just fine. He had 
seen the wildcat in Fox, but now he saw the forlorn and lost little 
boy in him for the first time. He sighed.

Making extra noise while unlocking the cell door to wake the boy up, 
Skinner grabbed the plate with bacon and eggs that he had picked up in 
the hotel restaurant. He noticed the chunk of bread from last supper 
that lay still untouched on the stool. He sighed again. Stupid kid, 
not eating out of pride! He rattled with the keys, and Fox opened 
sleepy eyes.

As soon as the boy realized what was happening, he jumped up and 
glared at the man. "Can I have my gun back now?" he demanded snottily. 
The sheriff grinned inwardly. The wildcat was back.

"Good morning to you, too," he answered lightly, and entered the cell. 
He sat down on the cot with the plate on his knees and patted the 
place next to him. Fox remained standing, glaring at the man angrily.

"I don't see anything good about this morning. And I'm not hungry, 
either," he added when he saw the plate. A low grumbling noise belied 
his statement. The sheriff looked him in the eyes with a gleam of 
amusement. Fox resolutely turned around and stared at the cell door 
for a second. It was closed but Skinner hadn't locked it. The boy 
hesitated a split second, weighing his options, when he felt a large 
hand closing around his wrist.

"I think you should sit down now, rascal," Skinner said evenly. He 
tugged at the arm slightly, and Fox got the message. He sighed 
dramatically before sitting down on the cot, as far away from the 
sheriff as possible. They stared at each other for a minute or two.

"What?" Fox asked unnerved when he couldn't take the silence and the 
scrutinizing look anymore.

"Are you ready to give me some answers now, boy? While you're having 
some breakfast," Skinner added, shoving the plate towards the boy. Fox 
stared at the food on the cot but didn't move to retrieve it.

"Don't call me boy. I'm not a-"

"A boy. I know. You've mentioned that a time or two before. Okay, 
William. Better?" Fox glared at the man.

"No. My name is Fox. When will you get that through your thick skull?" 
Skinner took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. This will be harder 
than I imagined, he thought.

"Would you like to tell me why you insist on the name 'Fox'? Maybe 
then I'd be more inclined to use it." Skinner thought that sounded 
reasonable enough. Besides, he had made this request in a friendly, 
neutral tone. Nothing to set the boy off. But he was wrong, of course.

"It is my name and it is only fair that you use it!" the boy yelled 
angrily, jumping up once again.

"You mean it would be a show of respect?" Skinner asked, slightly 
amused. He remembered the heated discussion he had had the previous 
night with the boy about respect. Turn about is only fair, he thought.

Fox stared at him again, realizing what the man was driving at. But he 
didn't take the bait. Instead, he shrugged as non-chalantly as 
possible and sat back down, pouting.

Skinner grinned. Victory. This will be more fun than he thought, even 
though he saw them butting heads constantly in the near future. "How 
about a compromise? I will call you 'Rascal' until I get a reasonable 
explanation for this 'Fox' name of yours. After all, it's only fair. 
You are a rascal if I ever saw one!" He had to fight hard to keep a 
straight face when he saw the boy shooting daggers at him with a 
deadly glare. Oh yes. Butting heads we will. But you have no idea just 
how thick that skull of mine is, my boy.

"Guess I will be calling you 'Old Meanie' then," the boy muttered 
sullenly, and Skinner had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from 
laughing. Right this moment, Fox looked all of five years old, 
struggling to act grown up and ending up displaying even more childish 
behavior. He cleared his throat and gave the boy a warning look.

"You can do whatever you feel like doing, Rascal," he informed the 
boy, seeing him flinch when he heard the new nickname, and feeling 
slightly proud of himself when he realized that Fox wasn't protesting. 
At least not out loud. "As long as you realize that every action on 
your part will result in a reaction on my part." Fox's eyes widened 
for a moment but he regained his composure quickly. Still, Skinner was 
sure the boy understood the meaning of his statement. Better make 
certain of it, though. "You do realize that, don't you, Rascal?"

Fox stared Skinner squarely in the eyes as he spit out his response. 
"Perfectly, Old Meanie."

The sheriff nodded. "Good. Then that's settled." He sighed. "Are you 
ready to give me some answers now?"

"Depends on the questions," the boy replied sullenly.

"Well, for one thing I'd like to know who you are. Your name. The last 
name. Where you're from. How can I contact your parents? I'm sure 
they're worried sick right about now..." Skinner was surprised to see 
a silent tear trailing down the boy's cheek, but he decided not to 
reach out to him. So he merely waited.

It took Fox only a few moments to compose himself, and he sat up, 
staring at the sheriff angrily. "No, they won't be worried sick. They 
are dead. Okay? You happy now? They've been dead for quite a while 
now, and I'm alone. I don't have anybody else, except my sister, and I 
want to go find her now but you keep me locked up here so I can't. And 
I don't know my last name. I know my name is Fox, not 'William' and 
certainly not 'Rascal'!"

Skinner stared at the boy, stunned. His parents dead? Not knowing his 
last name? Why would he be looking for his sister? This just didn't 
make any sense. At all. "How long have you been running around, 
looking for your sister, Rascal?" the sheriff asked gently.

The boy shrugged sullenly but answered anyway. "Couple of moons now."

"Couple of *moons*?"

Fox looked up, as if realizing that he had made a mistake. He thought 
hard before his face brightened momentarily, as if happy that he had 
found the correct phrase. "Months. Not moons. Months."

Skinner nodded, frowning. This was just too weird. He decided to let 
things be for the moment, trying to find out more about any missing 
girls, or parents missing a son. Sending out a couple of telegrams 
wasn't that hard, and until someone responded he would take care of 
the boy. Maybe he would start talking when he felt more relaxed. It 
was obvious that something had happened to the boy, and he wanted to 
make him feel a bit more at ease. Maybe that was the reason why he 
wasn't eating, either.

The sheriff stood up, and held his hand out towards the boy. Fox 
looked up at him, surprised. "We're leaving. Or do you want to stay in 
here?" The boy was up and out of the cell before Skinner had finished 
the sentence. He laughed, and was positively surprised to find Fox 
waiting for him in his office, not running away. "Come on, let's go," 
he said to the boy, planting his big right hand on Fox's shoulder and 
neck, leading him out onto Main Street.

XXXXX

They were walking down Main Street, with Skinner acknowledging the 
waves and greetings thrown his way, and Fox busy keeping up with the 
long strides of the big man, clutching his pants with his left hand. 
He always liked to have his right hand free. That way he was able to 
draw his gun if need be. Not that he really knew how to fire a gun. 
Or, more precisely, hit anything. But he could fight with a knife - if 
he had one - and he sure knew how to throw a punch. He was glad that 
the sheriff walked on his left side. If only he didn't have that heavy 
hand clamped down on his right shoulder!

Skinner watched the boy out of the corner of his eyes, smiling 
slightly. He was more than willing to walk a bit slower but he waited 
until Fox said something. Which he didn't. So he continued his crisp 
walk, with the boy struggling along. Maybe this wouldn't be such a big 
catastrophe, after all, the sheriff thought while they crossed a 
street. At least the boy didn't try to run away. Yet.

Fox stared at the sidewalk while he almost ran next to the big man. He 
hated that hand on his shoulder. It was so obvious that the sheriff 
didn't trust him enough to let him walk by himself. What was the man 
thinking, anyway? That he would run? Without his gun? Not damn likely! 
The boy tried to shake the hand off but it didn't budge at all. He 
sighed. Welcome to hell!

The boy was still pondering where they were heading (but he wouldn't 
for the life of him ask the big man!) when he realized that the Scully 
corner shop was right ahead. He missed a step and swallowed nervously. 
Oh damn.

Skinner looked down at his young charge and frowned. Then he realized 
what the boy thought, and smiled to himself. He knew it would be 
cruel, but let him sweat for a minute. Grinning, he crossed the street 
that lead to the store.

Bill Scully was just about to carry some bags with flour to the front 
door, knowing that Mr. Peterson would be collecting them soon. That 
was when he saw that damned sheriff with the little impish scamp 
strolling up. He straightened up, hands on his hips, and glared 
menacingly at the two.

Fox saw Bill and whimpered. After that run in yesterday he was just 
scared of that man. He was also scared of Skinner but at least the 
sheriff was predictable. Sort of. He wasn't going to just grab him and 
throw him against a wall. Or so he hoped. The boy dropped his head and 
began to slow down, trying to make the sheriff change his mind. 
Please, don't hand me over to Evil Bill. Please, don't! Please!

Skinner felt the boy stiffen and realized that he was genuinely 
scared. He was about to open his mouth to tell him everything was 
okay, so he could stop worrying, when he felt the boy actually inching 
closer. The sheriff blinked in surprise. How about that? He stroked 
the back of the boy's neck reassuringly with his thumb, and whispered, 
"It's okay, Rascal. Nothing's gonna happen to you." He squeezed the 
shoulder gently, and shoved the boy forward. When he passed the shop 
he tipped his hat and smiled at Bill. "Good morning, Bill. Had a good 
night's rest, I hope?" Bill glared at him angrily, and pointed at the 
boy.

"What's he doing out of jail? I told you he broke into my store and 
stole my property!" Skinner stopped and turned towards the other man. 
He could feel Fox backing up until he was standing right in front of 
the sheriff, feeling the solid chest reassuringly, shielding him from 
any potential harm that mean man might be inclined to dish out.

"I am taking care of this, Bill. It's none of your business. The boy 
will be punished for what he did. Don't worry, you'll see. Just be 
patient. I'm sure you're busy enough right now, taking care of that 
store of yours all alone. Right?" Skinner smiled sweetly while Bill 
was turning an unhealthy shade of red. He was ready to pounce. Fox dug 
himself further into Skinner's chest. After a few tense moments, Bill 
backed down, turned on his heels and walked into the shop, slamming 
the door in the process. Fox sighed in relief and made a quick step 
forward. The sheriff realized that the boy was embarrassed to have 
been scared so he opted to ignore the little display of trust. He just 
resumed walking, hand still firmly on the boy's shoulder.

"We're on our way to my cabin. After all, you have to know where 
you're going to live. At least for the moment. Right?" He squeezed the 
shoulder again, but the boy stiffened.

"I don't wanna live with you. I just want my gun back and then I wanna 
go look for my sister," Fox replied sullenly.

"Sorry, Rascal, but that isn't an option right now. None of it is, 
actually. You will *not* get your gun back-" Fox turned around so fast 
that Skinner's hand fell off his shoulder.

"What?" the boy yelled. "It is *my* gun! You don't have any right to-"

Skinner merely placed his hand back on Fox's shoulder, turning him 
forward in the process, and resumed walking. "And you will not go off 
and chase after your sister all by yourself," Skinner added, as if he 
had never been interrupted. "You will live with me, or in jail. It's 
up to you. But I *will* have you someplace where I can keep my eyes on 
you, boy, and you will do as I say." The sheriff squeezed Fox's 
shoulder again, only this time more forcefully, driving his point 
home. "Is that understood?"

Fox hung his head. He wasn't going back to jail. No way, no how. But 
living with that big man? He shuddered. On the other hand, he wasn't 
going to leave without his gun, and it had to be close to Skinner, so 
he shrugged. "Whatever," he mumbled.

"And while you're my responsibility I will make sure that you learn 
some decent manners, Rascal." He felt Fox turn around to yell at him 
so he quickly added, "And don't start with your perfect upbringing, 
boy! If you had a good upbringing you would've answered with a 'yes, 
sir' - loud and clear. And don't give me any of that 'respect has to 
be earned' crap, either. Do you understand me?" Skinner scowled at the 
boy, who looked at him wide-eyed, and a little scared. Seeing Fox like 
this, the sheriff immediately regretted sounding so harsh. After all, 
the boy must've been through some kind of ordeal, and he was hungry, 
and probably tired as well. On the other hand, he had to learn. So he 
stared at Fox, silently demanding an answer. Fox swallowed again 
before dropping his head to his chest.

"Yes, I do understand," he answered. Not very loudly or clearly, but 
definitely not mumbled. And Skinner was sure that he would get the boy 
to call him 'sir' as well. In time.

XXXXX

Skinner opened the door to his cabin and pushed Fox inside. The boy 
took a tentative step inside and looked around the cabin. He was in a 
huge room that was dominated by a giant fireplace on one wall, with a 
table and two chairs in one corner, and an old and worn sofa in front 
of the fireplace. There was a leather chair in another corner, right 
next to a window, obviously the 'reading place' of the house. The 
kitchen was off to the left side, behind the table, and a door on the 
opposite side led to another room. The sheriff's bedroom, Fox 
concluded correctly. There was a curtain next to the fireplace, 
separating an alcove from the rest of the main room, and Skinner led 
the boy to this alcove, drawing back the curtain. Fox stared at a bed, 
a small nightstand, and a trunk.

"This is your room," Skinner explained. When the boy just kept staring 
at him, he continued. "I went to an old friend of mine last night and 
borrowed the furniture. She doesn't need it at the moment, and was 
only too happy to help me out when I told her about you." Fox narrowed 
his eyes and gave Skinner an angry glare. "I already told you that 
your stay will be a prolonged one, Rascal. First of all, you will have 
to be punished for breaking the law, and you will pay for the things 
you've stolen. Secondly, I will not let a young child run around all 
by himself, so you will stay right here until somebody comes to 
collect you."

The sheriff hadn't even finished his last sentence when he found a 
furious ball of energy pounding angry fists into his chest. "I'm not a 
young child! And I won't stay here! You can't make me! Let me go! Give 
me my gun and let me go, you Old Meanie!" Fox was yelling at the top 
of his lungs, angry tears running down his face while he hit the big 
man. Skinner let him go on for a full minute but then his patience ran 
out. He grabbed the boy's wrists and held them tight.

"Stop it, Rascal. It's quite enough now." Fox stopped for a split 
second, staring at the sheriff through his tears, before he lunged 
forward and bit Skinner's left hand forcefully while at the same time 
kicking his right shin. Skinner yelped in surprise and let go of the 
boy. Fox started running towards the door but the sheriff grabbed his 
left arm with his throbbing left hand, holding him in place long 
enough to deliver a stinging swat to the boy's clad butt.

Fox yelled bloody murder.

Skinner shook him a little, trying to make him stop, but Fox wouldn't 
react. He worked himself up into a frenzy, desperately struggling to 
free himself. Skinner sighed and delivered another swat. "Stop it!" 
Fox stared at the sheriff, shocked into stillness. The sheriff waited 
another second, making sure that this wasn't just a ploy, then 
released the boy's arm carefully. Fox kept standing in front of 
Skinner, staring at him wide-eyed. After a couple of moments, he let 
out a heart-felt, ragged sigh, as if coming back to life, and another 
tear rolled down his cheek. Skinner realized that this was the first 
real tear the boy was shedding, and he slowly reached out to wipe it 
away. He stopped when he saw the boy drawing back, waited a second, 
then advanced again. Encouraged by Fox keeping still, he gently wiped 
the tear away, then took the boy's arm and drew him closer. Fox 
struggled against the big man, and tried to twist out of the sheriff's 
embrace, but Skinner held him close. "It's okay, little rascal," he 
whispered soothingly. "It's okay. I didn't want to hurt you. Don't 
cry, Rascal, don't cry."

The boy was still struggling so Skinner released him, sighing. Fox 
stared at him angrily. "Well, you did hurt me, and I'm not crying!" He 
wiped at his tear-streaked face, daring Skinner to argue with him. 
"How dare you hit me," the boy accused. Skinner shrugged.

"I didn't hit you, I merely gave you a swat. And I hope you now 
remember me telling you that every action on your part results in a 
reaction on my part. Well, this was the reaction." Fox stared at 
Skinner wide-eyed and open-mouthed, not believing what he had just 
heard. Skinner realized that the boy was alright, and decided to go on 
as if nothing had happened. He pointed towards the alcove. "Now, as I 
was saying, this is your room for the duration of your stay. I will 
respect your privacy, but you will have to keep this place clean and 
tidy. Remember that, Rascal. This is one of the important rules of 
this house." The sheriff gave Fox a stern look to drive the point 
home, then turned around and left the cabin without looking back.

After a second, the boy followed the big man. Skinner pointed to his 
left. "My wood shed. You are not to go inside unless specifically told 
to." He led the boy inside. "I enjoy carving, and those are dangerous 
tools." He pointed to the knives, and the other carving implements. 
"That is why this shed is off limits to you." Skinner stared at the 
boy again, and Fox nodded slowly. Satisfied, the sheriff opened a door 
in the back wall. "The shed is connected to the stable. See?" He 
gently shoved Fox through the door, and they stood inside a small 
stable, with two empty stalls. There was a larger door leading outside 
to the pasture. Fox went outside and looked around.

"Where's your horse?" he asked the sheriff. Skinner smiled to himself. 
Fox seemed to have completely forgotten what had happened only two 
minutes ago. Apparently horses were of interest to him. Then he 
remembered the boy telling him that he had a natural respect for 
animals. Well, so did Skinner. He smiled.

"He is back in town. At the livery stable. He needed new shoes, and I 
will pick him up this afternoon." Skinner looked at the boy 
thoughtfully. "You can accompany me if you want to," he added. Fox 
shrugged and tried to act blasé about the whole thing although Skinner 
could see that there was a gleam in the boy's eyes.

"You wouldn't leave me alone, anyway," Fox murmured, and shrugged 
again. Skinner grinned. The boy was right, of course, but he had found 
a way of agreeing without losing precious battle ground. A smart 
little rascal!

"True," he conceded. "But I could leave you in jail for half an hour." 
Fox swiveled around, staring at Skinner aghast.

"You told me I wouldn't have to go back!" he pleaded. Skinner smiled 
reassuringly.

"I did. And I keep my promises. I always do. You can count on that." 
When he saw the boy frown, he added, "I never intended to lock you up 
again. But I can leave you with a friend of mine while I go get my 
horse. You're right - I won't leave you alone. But you don't have to 
be by my side constantly." Skinner saw the wheels in Fox's head 
turning. The boy obviously wanted to see the horse, but he didn't want 
to admit that he preferred to go with the sheriff. He was curious 
about the boy's decision, or, more precisely, his reasons for deciding 
to join him, because of that Skinner was sure. But he was caught 
totally off-guard by Fox's next words. "Well, I have some unfinished 
business to attend to at the livery stable, anyway, so I guess I could 
just as well tag along." Without waiting for a response from Skinner, 
Fox ran up the hill behind the cabin, eager to explore the 
surroundings. The sheriff kept standing in the middle of the pasture, 
staring at the boy's retreating back dumb-founded.



THE END OF CHAPTER 3.


Feedback always welcomed! Send it to Gaby!