Indian Series by Cadillac Red Disclaimer: The characters of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and Walter Skinner, et al belong to 1013 Productions and I and will make no money from their use. Spoilers: Some references to X-files mythology episodes. Setting: Immediately follows the events of "Paper Hearts" and takes up where that episode left off.. This is the third in my Indian trilogy, following "One Little Indian," and "Trail of Tears." Rating: PG. Discipline, no slash. Title: Talking Leaves Author: Cadillac Red Author’s note: Thanks to Phoebe for the title to this story. Talking Leaves is a Native American traditional expression for writing paper (for those of us who didn’t know that!) And thanks to Diane and Phoebe for beta-reading. Summary: In the aftermath of John Lee Roche’s death and the events that led to it, Mulder and Skinner hit a crisis that may end Mulder’s career. Chapter 3 Talking Leaves Office of the X-Files Washington, D.C. Special Agent Dana Scully looked worriedly back over her shoulder before closing the door behind her. Her partner was sitting at his desk, an exhausted, hollow smile on his face, trying desperately to hold back tears. She suspected he was waiting for her to leave to let himself go. The brief hug he’d accepted had been heartfelt but she couldn’t miss the fact his body was stiff with tension and fear, and his face was lined with anguish. She sighed and pulled the door to a silent close. She wasn’t certain where to go next, exactly. Home. But first . . . . A part of her was angry at AD Skinner letting Mulder hang this way. Their boss had been angry. Furious. Enraged at her partner following the incident with John Lee Roche and the little girl named Caitlin. He’d left no doubt, with her or Mulder, about how seriously he took the other agent’s irresponsibility. And lack of attention to any FBI procedures. Or even common sense. Mulder had merely taken the reprimand, head bowed, nodding every now and then. He’d flinched a little, she was sure, when the AD said he was ‘a sorry excuse for an FBI agent.’ She’d expected Skinner to back down, or soften his rebuke in the face of Mulder’s obvious remorse, but he hadn’t. Scully couldn’t really blame him but it was a day later now. Skinner hadn’t spoken with Mulder since they landed in DC the day before. And Mulder would face an FBI inquiry tomorrow. She’d seen her partner through a lot of trouble over the years but this was different. This time he sensed he might be facing the wrath of the FBI without the support of the AD. Scully had watched him sit at his desk all day, staring at the phone. Waiting for the call that didn’t come. Scully knew Skinner was meeting with OPR this afternoon, preparing for Mulder’s hearing but how long could it take? The AD could at least call and let Mulder know he’d be there, standing behind him at the hearing. Maybe give him advice about what to expect, and how to play it. Just like he had done so many times before. Scully’s stomach formed itself into a tight little knot as the possibility that their boss wouldn’t be there for Mulder this time became more real. He’d been so furious, perhaps he really was going to throw the younger agent to the wolves. In a small corner of her heart, she’d always wondered if and when Skinner would get fed up with Mulder and ‘his barely aware of the book’ approach to the FBI. Perhaps this was the moment she’d been dreading. She got in the elevator when the door opened but she passed her own floor and didn’t get off until the fourth floor. She headed down the hallway to AD Skinner’s office. His door was closed and Kim gave her a sympathetic half-smile. "They’re still in there," she whispered. "Still? How long—" "Four hours and counting," the AD’s assistant replied, shaking her head. "Deputy Director Kincaid went in a little while ago." That bit of information made Scully feel sick. Jefferson Kincaid was the Bureau’s enforcer, the only Director level individual with a tougher reputation than Skinner. Another former Marine, he was the individual to whom the Office for Professional Responsibility reported, and he expected nothing less than the strictest conformity from his subordinates. But unlike Skinner, Kincaid evidenced no sense of humor. Or tolerance for human error. He gave an annual speech to the agents in the DC headquarters that amounted to "If you think you’ll embarrass the Bureau at any point in the future, quit now." She could only imagine how he would see Mulder’s actions. And what he’d want the FBI’s response to be. Scully exchanged a look of concern with Kimberly then she turned and left. There was no point hanging around to see Skinner. Her heart weighted down with fear and resignation, she went home. ***************************************************************** Inside AD Skinner’s Office The three AD’s, and the Deputy Director were listening to a Section Chief from OPR recount the details of Special Agent Mulder’s personnel file. Skinner had argued that it was unnecessary but he’d been overridden by the others. "We’re all familiar with the number of times Agent Mulder has stepped out of line," he said, cutting off the recitation finally.. "It’s fodder for the Bureau grapevine every time he chases off after an alien spacecraft. What never gets out are the number of times he turns out to be onto something we can’t explain away with facts and—" "We’ve heard you say this before, Walt," AD Wyatt broke in. "And you’re right, these things can’t be explained. They’re mysteries. But I’ll say again, I don’t believe they’re the kinds of things the FBI should be putting its resources and money into. It’s the realm of TV shows. Let’s send Mulder over to "Unsolved Mysteries." They’ll probably love him." "You underestimate the importance and gravity of the things Mulder investigates, Clint," Skinner retorted. "Or the solve rate he has on these things. I admit, some of the cases are hard to defend when you look at them individually. But the larger pattern of activities, the possibility of a conspiracy within our government or. . . or some other, worse explanation, makes me want someone like Mulder on that job. Someone open to unlikely possibilities. If it does turn out to be something bigger and more sinister than we know now, Mulder’s the one who’ll find it." "I have to admit, your passionate support of this agent, especially under these circumstances, surprises me," another AD broke in. Whilemina Carson was the head of Personnel and she and Skinner had spoken about this agent many times before. She was the recipient of the reprimands that piled up in Mulder’s file and it was her job to determine what OPR would officially review. She was more than familiar with AD Skinner’s normal ‘by the book’ philosophy. "There are just so many rules that were broken this time, though. I . . . can’t see how we can overlook it." A silence fell on the group. They were tired, tired of this conversation and tired of not being able to convince AD Skinner that it was time for Agent Mulder to go. But he shook his head, still not yet convinced. "Walter, you alone won’t be able to save him," AD Carson said softly. "Even if you can convince OPR, the FBI Assembly will not support you. . . ." Skinner blinked at the cold reality of the situation. His eyes swept the room involuntarily, then came to rest on Deputy Director Kincaid. Kincaid had been watching the debate, not participating but weighing the input of the others individually and as a group. He fixed his eyes directly on Skinner. "You don’t have the support of your peers on this, Walter," he said evenly. "The violations here were so egregious—" "You weren’t here when we began, Jeff," Skinner interrupted him. "The situation pushed every one of Mulder’s personal buttons. Roche dangled the possibility of an answer to what happened to his sister, he played him. It was a bad mistake to let it happen . . . but I hold responsibility for not shutting down Mulder’s access to Roche. He’s a human being and his emotions, very understandable emotions, momentarily overrode his judgment." "Do you believe Agent Mulder would have obeyed, had you forbidden him to see Roche again?" Kincaid asked him suddenly. Coal black eyes bore into Skinner as he waited for an answer. "It would have been difficult but . . . if I had properly judged the situation, I would have found a way to avoid the disastrous outcome. And yes, I believe I could have secured Agent Mulder’s obedience." "The Ross family may sue the Bureau, Walter," Kincaid said, switching gears suddenly. "If they do, there will be nothing we can do." Skinner’s eyes darkened with a new worry. "I know, Jeff. I . . . don’t know how that will come out, but I’m in touch with the family." Kincaid nodded and sighed. He looked at his watch, then spoke to the group. "I think we’ve done all we can today," he said, rising from his chair. The others all followed suit. "The OPR review will be the deciding factor. If you and Agent Mulder can convince the panel that he should not be terminated, well, that will qualify as a miracle in my judgment. . . . Or an unsolved mystery." The others chuckled as they left the office but Kincaid remained. He waited until the rest of them were gone, then he silently closed the door to Skinner’s office and turned to look at the AD. Skinner had sunk back into his seat when he thought everyone was leaving. His hands covered his eyes and he was bent over slightly, looking exhausted and defeated. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his elbows and his tie was askew. This was not a look the normally crisp AD ever sported. In fact, some in the Bureau claimed they’d never even seen him sweat. "Walt," Kincaid said softly. The other man snapped to attention, sitting up, then rising when he realized the Deputy Director had remained. "Sit, Walter. I want to have a word with you." Skinner waited for Kincaid to sit down, then he reseated himself. "Here it comes, right?" he said wearily. "Do the right thing for the Bureau? Cut Mulder loose before he does any more damage?" Kincaid listened impassively. "I know how strongly you feel about this agent. But you can’t possibly excuse his actions here." "I don’t excuse them," Skinner replied forcefully. "I believe he deserves to be severely disciplined. I just disagree with the assessment that he’s more trouble than he’s worth. In fact, I think his value is so great, there might be some special . . . considerations needed, to allow him to reach his full potential. And do the greatest good." "Special considerations?" Kincaid replied incredulously. "You’re not saying the rules don’t apply to Mulder? That he shouldn’t be subject to the same disciplinary consequences as other agents?" "NO!" Skinner answered quickly, rising and beginning to pace. "I’m not saying that at all. In fact, I think. . . . Jeff, Agent Mulder and I have clashed often. He’s a square peg in a round hole here, but we need some of those people. People who see the things the rest of us don’t. That’s why I supervise the X-Files directly. I try to keep a firm hand on Mulder. I blew it this time—" "But you can’t take responsibility for his bad judgment, Walter." "No, but I know how much rope to give him generally. And I called this one wrong. I . . . intend to make it very clear to Mulder that I hold him responsible for his actions, and their consequences. But I don’t think we should throw the baby out with the bathwater, that’s all I’m saying." "You’re putting your own professional reputation on the line, Walt," Kincaid said. "I don’t know if I’d do that, for any agent." "I wouldn’t do it for any other," Skinner answered him sincerely. "I believe this particular agent has an important contribution to make and I want to make damn sure he’s here to do it." "He has some bridges to mend if that’s gonna happen." "Yes. I’ll personally make certain he does," Skinner said, feeling the tide beginning to turn in his direction. "I give you my word he’ll be dealt with appropriately. And he’ll do everything humanly possible to repay the girl and her family for their suffering." Kincaid nodded and looked at Skinner thoughtfully. "This may turn out to be a mistake but . . . I’ll leave this in your hands, Walter. And I’ll cancel the review board tomorrow. At the end of the day, I don’t know if anyone can understand this situation as you do. I’m not certain Agent Mulder is worth it, but . . . I trust your judgment. We’ve worked together a long time. I know you, and your commitment to this institution. I pray you haven’t bet the ranch on the wrong horse." Skinner felt a wave of relief rush over him, immediately followed by a bolt of fear. He shook hands with Kincaid and watched the older man leave his office, then he went to the window and stared out into the gray dusk. "So do I," he whispered, feeling yet another enormous weight settle onto his shoulders. "So do I." He wasn’t sure how long he stood there but some time later, he realized he had things to accomplish before the day was officially over. He went back to his desk and buzzed Kim, then realized it was long past six o’clock when she didn’t answer. He picked up the file on his desk that concerned Mulder’s latest debacle and began to read. Tomorrow, when he was calmer and not so exhausted, more in control of his responses, he’d have to deal with the younger agent. He lifted his eyes and stared into space as he considered his options but his eyes strayed to the closed door to the outer office. Something caught his attention. A white envelope had been slipped underneath the door. It was half inside the office but he didn’t know when it had appeared. Skinner rose and went over to the door. He bent down and picked it up, then opened the door and looked out. The outer office was empty and he could hear no one in the hallway. The envelope in his hands was addressed to Assistant Director Walter Skinner and he tore it open quickly. "Dear AD Skinner," it read. "Please accept my resignation from the Federal Bureau of Investigation effective immediately. I’m sorry for all the things I’ve done that may have cast this agency in a poor light. The faults and misjudgments were entirely my own and I take full responsibility for them. Sincerely, Fox W. Mulder." Skinner strode through the outer office and looked up and down the deserted hallway outside his office. Then he walked quickly down to the elevator and pushed it angrily. Taking it to the basement, he went to the X-Files office and tried the door. It was locked and he banged on the door. But no one answered. He considered calling Security and getting them to let him in but he knew that was futile. He sincerely doubted Mulder was locked inside, ignoring him. Shaking his head, he returned to his office and placed the first of many calls to Mulder’s home. And to his cell phone. The answering machine responded at the apartment and the cell phone was apparently turned off. Skinner tried many times during the next hour to no avail and so he called Scully next. She had no idea where Mulder had gone, she said. He was waiting to hear from Skinner when she left. "He waited all day for your call, sir," she said. Skinner heard the rebuke behind the simple words. He didn’t respond. "How did it go?" she asked, finally. "Not well. But I think I can save his ass one more time. If I could find said ass," he answered tersely. Scully pursed her lips together, recognizing the AD was still immensely angry with her partner. "I’ll try to find him, sir--" "No, Scully," Skinner sighed. "I will find him. He . . . left me a resignation letter." "He did?" she responded, surprised. And hurt and worried. She tried to cover but failed to fool Skinner. "He never . . . I didn’t know he was thinking about resigning." "I’m not willing to accept this resignation," the AD assured her. "Not yet. But I do want to speak to him. If he calls you, find out where he is and call my cell phone. Please." She agreed and hung up. After trying a couple of other things over the next several hours, Skinner too headed for home. But he veered off course before he got there and went to Mulder’s apartment, hoping to find the younger man at home. He wasn’t and the AD pushed his search further, checking a couple of bars up and down the street near Mulder’s apartment. But the search proved fruitless and he headed home eventually. The next morning, after a fitful night’s sleep, he got up and put on running clothes, hoping to work off some of the tension that had kept him awake a good part of the night. He went downstairs and headed out of the lobby at just past six. He picked up speed as he came around the building and then proceeded to run full out for a couple of miles, finally coming to a halt near the Jefferson Memorial. Skinner bought a bottle of water from a street vendor who plied his trade with the morning runners, then he jogged back over the Potomac to his apartment. His head felt no clearer, but he thought he’d run off the worst of his anger and worry. He came back into his apartment and headed right into the shower. Dressed and ready to go to the office, Skinner stopped in the kitchen to down a glass of orange juice. That’s when he saw the blinking light on his answering machine. He poured the juice, then pressed the ‘Play’ button. The time stamp on the machine said it had come in at 6:28 a.m. "Sir?" a familiar voice sounded. Mulder. He sounded as emotionally wrung out as Skinner felt. A twinge of guilt ran through the AD as he realized he should have found the time, and the wherewithal, to speak to the younger agent yesterday. He’d tried last night and the young man had been nowhere to be found. But the waiting would have been hard on Mulder he realized now, too late. "Sir, I. . . I just want to tell you—I just want you to know how s-s-sorry I am. About everything. But mostly . . . for disappointing you. I know you t-tried hard with me and I—I’m just a fuck-up, I guess. I always was . . . ." Skinner’s gut twisted and he feared that was all Mulder had left. But the voice continued after a long pause. "I know you already know that. I—I read your letters. The ones you wrote me. . . . I can’t figure out why my Dad kept them when he never intended to give them to me. I could tell you really. . . c-cared . . . back then. And I know you really tried to help me since I’ve been working for you. I appreciate it. I guess you wish your time and your . . . you know, your attention . . . had been spent on someone more deserving. I’m r-really sorry . . . about everything. I’m . . . sorry. . . ." The message ended and Skinner found himself staring at the machine. "Where are you, Mulder?" he said out loud as he hit the button to play the message again. Nothing in the background betrayed the younger man’s location and Skinner played it again, knowing there was something there. There had to be. On the third playback it hit him. "You’re just too damn tired, Walter," he chided himself. If Mulder had read the letters, overnight, he must be wherever his father’s things were stored. Skinner knew the older Mulder had died some time before. He raced into the living room and pulled his briefcase onto the couch. He’d thrown Mulder’s file into it last night, thinking he might peruse it one more time, trying to decide how to handle this situation. There was some old information about next of kin, and it gave an address for Mulder’s father. Skinner didn’t know for sure if that house had been sold though. The older man had died a while back. He picked up his phone quickly and called in to the Special Agent in Charge of the Bureau’s resource center. When the phone was answered, he quickly told the agent what he needed. "I’ve got an address in West Tisbury, Massachusetts. I need to know who owns the property." The woman who answered was efficient and nonplussed despite the early, unexpected call from the Assistant Director to whom her department reported. "I’ve got it sir," she said in a moment. "William F. Mulder. It also says he’s deceased." "That’s what I needed. Thanks, Agent Rodriguez." He snapped the phone off, then dialed again. This time he left a message for his assistant. "Kim, I’m going out of town for the day. Please cancel everything on today’s schedule. I don’t know if I’ll be back tomorrow but I’ll call you." Skinner picked up an overnight bag he kept packed and ready in the hall closet and headed for the airport. He made the next flight to Boston. Then a commuter flight to Martha’s Vineyard. He found a cab driver and gave him the address, then sat back and worried about what he would find. The younger man had sounded strained and overwrought in his message. He got out at the house the cab driver indicated and walked up the front steps with trepidation. He knocked and rang the bell but no one answered. Getting more worried all the time, Skinner walked around the back of the house and found the back door was unlocked. He opened it and called in. "Agent Mulder?" No response came back and the knot in the AD’s stomach tightened a little more as he walked into the house and began to search. "MULDER? Are you here?" he called, more loudly than the first time. He passed through the kitchen and a dining room and into the living room. Where he found Mulder sprawled on the sofa. His heart lurched and he strode quickly over to the younger man. He was immediately relieved to feel his skin was warm, and he was breathing normally. Skinner let out a sigh of relief, then scanned the room. There was an empty whisky bottle on the coffee table, which was also strewn with newspapers and other materials. There was an open, half-spilled box of Rice Krispies on the table as well a milk container, and a bowl with cereal and milk in it. "Well, these have certainly lost their snap, crackle and pop, Mulder," he said softly as he picked up the bowl and the empty whisky bottle and headed back into the kitchen. He dumped them, then put on a pot of strong coffee and helped himself to a cup. He went back into the living room and settled back down to wait for the younger man to return to consciousness. In a few minutes, Skinner was bored and something on the coffee table caught his eye. It was handwritten and it looked familiar. He reached over and picked it up, and immediately knew he had written it. A long time before. He picked up a stack of other open letters and saw they were all from him. Envelopes addressed to "Fox Mulder" lay scattered on the table and in between the pages he held in his hand. The Assistant Director leafed through them and found himself lost in another time. "Dear Fox," one letter read. It was the first one the young camp counselor had written to the boy who’d left Camp Passamaquoddy so abruptly. "I’m sorry you had to leave so soon. I really am. I felt like we needed to talk about everything. Finding that body. And you running away to begin with. I really apologize for what you overheard, Fox. I didn’t mean it. I like you and I was glad you started to open up a little. I was just trying to be funny and well, I oughta not try. At least that’s what Jess tells me anyway. Write back and let me know you’re OK-- OK? I’ll be here for the rest of the summer, then this is my address at school . . . ." Skinner remembered the day he’d written it. Fox had been taken away from Camp Passamaquoddy by his father and that friend of his the day before. He’d felt lousy about what Fox overheard and wanted to call and check up on the boy, but the Camp Director had forbidden it. So he pulled the kid’s address out of a file when Quince wasn’t looking and then drove into town that night to mail the letter. But no answer ever came back. He tried again after he got back to school that year. "Hi, Fox," that letter read. "I’m back at school. I guess you’re probably in school again, too. What grade are you in anyway? Must be about eighth, I guess. Or ninth, maybe. You’re pretty smart for a kid, you know. I don’t know if I told you that before. Games Day wasn’t nearly as good as it would have been if you’d stayed at camp. The swimming competition was won by Thomas" because Bobby came down with bad poison ivy right before the competition. You would have smoked both of them though. I hope you’re okay, kid. Write and let me know, okay? I’ll worry about you otherwise. . . ." Skinner flipped through to the next one. "I know you’re probably pissed off at me," the college student had written. "I really am sorry about what I said, Fox. Haven’t you ever said anything you didn’t really mean? I’m sorry you overheard it, though. I would never want to hurt your feelings, kid. I mean that. On another subject, I went for an interview with the FBI! That agent we met, Special Agent Holloway, he set it up. It seems like a pretty cool job and I’m hoping they offer me a position. Can you see me as an FBI Agent? No? Well, next time I see you, maybe you’ll see it different. One thing for sure, I’ll have to get a haircut. And a couple of ties, I guess! I don’t own a single one." Skinner smiled sadly at his own words. It seemed so long ago. Hell, it was long ago. A couple of lifetimes, by his reckoning. He stared at the young man passed out on the couch and wondered what he’d say to Mulder when he finally awoke. Skinner stood up and walked out of the room, heading out the back door onto the deck that overlooked the ocean. Several hours and three cups of coffee later, Skinner was back in the chair by the window when he finally saw the younger man’s eyes flutter open. He stood up and walked into the middle of the living room and stared down at Mulder. The younger man looked right at him, but didn’t react at first. Then his eyes closed and he groaned. "Oh, God," he whispered to himself. "Not again." Skinner’s eyebrows rose and he cleared his throat. This time the younger man’s eyes flew open in shock. "Oh, God! It’s really you!" Mulder moved suddenly, coming to a sitting position but it was clear that was a mistake. He groaned and put a hand to his head. "Oh, shit. I mean—I’m s-sorry, s-sir! I. . . . Oh, God. I’m g-gonna be—" Skinner didn’t need any more information. He grabbed the younger man by the arm and pulled him to his feet. He pushed his shoulder under Mulder’s left arm and put his other arm around the younger man’s waist, then he half-ran with him to the bath off the front hall. Mulder dropped to his knees and began to vomit as soon as they were there. It took a couple of minutes for him to empty his stomach and stop retching. Skinner used the time to find a small towel that he wet with cool water from the sink. When it looked like Mulder was done, he reached over and flushed, then handed the cool cloth to the man on his knees. "Here," he said quietly. "Why don’t you clean up? I’ll be outside." Skinner closed the door behind him as he left, sensing Mulder needed privacy. Besides, he still wasn’t certain what he’d say or do at this point. The AD picked up his coffee cup as he went through the living room, took it into the kitchen and emptied the dregs into the sink. Then he put up another pot for Mulder, and stepped out onto the deck off the kitchen. There was a strong, cool breeze blowing off the ocean and Skinner took a moment to center himself, letting the smell of the sea and the sound of the gulls overhead take him out of himself and away from his concern for his agent. It took about ten minutes but Mulder finally stepped out beside him. He was pale and looked shaky and he placed www.angelfire.com/tv/spookyfox99/index.htmlone hand on the railing as though he was afraid the strong wind might knock him over. He didn’t say anything at first and his silence told a story as he stared out at the churning sea, studiously avoiding eye contact with the AD beside him. Finally he sighed heavily. "I left a letter . . . ," he said quietly. "I got it," Skinner answered, nodding. Mulder blinked. "So . . . they sent you to collect my badge?" Skinner’s head turned instantly. "No," he said firmly, his voice tinged with annoyance. Mulder bit down on his lower lip. "I’m s-sorry. That was— I—" He put his other hand onto the railing as though he needed the additional support to steady himself. Skinner put a hand on his arm and began to propel him back into the house. "Let’s go," he said a little more evenly. The younger agent didn’t protest or try to resist. In a moment they were in the house and Skinner was placing a cup of coffee in front of Mulder. He stepped out of the room for a moment then returned. He opened a couple of cabinet doors until he found glasses, took a tall one down and filled it with water. Then he handed the glass to Mulder along with two aspirin. The young man had been sitting there staring at the coffee cup in front of him. Now he simply took the aspirin without comment, downing them and the water quickly. Skinner took a seat in a chair on the opposite side of the small table and looked at him. He looked like hell. He hadn’t shaved in two days and his eyes were sunken and rimmed with black circles. And bloodshot. Skinner guessed crying was as much to blame for that as the drinking he’d done the night before. He suddenly realized Mulder probably needed some food. The cereal bowl he’d cleared hours earlier had barely been touched. The Assistant Director rose again and started to root around in the refrigerator. Nothing. Of course the house was not lived in at the moment so that wasn’t surprising. He opened the freezer and saw a loaf of bread. He couldn’t begin to guess how old it was but it seemed okay when he opened the bag so he popped two slices in the toaster on the counter and sat back down. Mulder hadn’t lifted his head the entire time he had been moving around and Skinner’s heart began to soften a little as he stared at the shaken young man, trying to decide what to say. But Mulder beat him to it. "I really fucked up," he whispered, his voice edged with tears. "Yes, you did." Mulder closed his eyes momentarily and he tried to swallow down the lump in his throat. Another long minute of silence descended on them before he spoke again. "I’m s-sorry--" His voice broke and he stopped, unable to continue. "I know. It doesn’t change much though." Mulder nodded. Now the walls were beginning to break as the swelling tide of his emotions beat against them. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and pressed the heels of his hands against them as though he were trying to physically push back the tears. The toaster popped up, startling them both. Skinner rose and went to the counter. He popped the toast back down for a moment while he found a plate and a knife. He’d seen a jar of jelly in the refrigerator and he took it out opened it. It looked fine so he popped the toast up and put the two pieces on the plate. He smeared them with jelly, sliced the toast and put the plate in front of Mulder. "Eat." "I can’t." "You have to. You’ll feel better with something in your stomach." "I—I doubt that will make me feel ‘better’ about anything," Mulder answered. The air of resignation that clung to his words made Skinner angry again. At him. And for him. "I said eat," the AD said firmly. "We’ll take this one thing at a time, Fox. Right now, I want you to eat. Then I want you to shower and shave. Then we’ll talk. No, scratch that. I’ll talk. And you’ll listen." "Why are you here?" Mulder asked him suddenly. His natural streak of belligerence rose up of its own volition. "I—I fucked up bad this time, sir! There’s nothing you can do—nothing anyone can do—that can change that! And if you think differently, well you’re just not paying attention!" Skinner stared him down for a good ten seconds. "I said, ‘eat,’ and I meant it, Fox," he said. His voice was low and insistent, a tone that allowed for no discussion. "No one knows better than I do that you fucked up. But we’ll take this one step at a time. Stop thinking and start listening. And obeying. And start right now." Mulder’s mouth went slack as he listened. Part of his brain was fighting still, not sure what the hell Skinner was doing. But the rest of him obeyed instinctively. He picked up a slice of toast and took a bite. He was surprised to find he could hold it down, but in a few minutes the toast and the coffee were gone. He needed only one prompt to head for the shower. In some ways he was like an automaton and his mind was watching, observing him as he acted on orders from Skinner. He wasn’t sure why the other man could still compel him in this way. After all, he was no longer working for the FBI. Or the AD. While Mulder showered, Skinner cleaned up the dishes then wandered into the living room. The letters were still sitting on the coffee table and he reached over and picked up another one. "Dear Fox," it read. "I just finished up at the FBI Academy. Second in the class. I was shooting for the top spot, of course, but things don’t always work out the way you want. Still, I’m excited about my first posting. I’ve been assigned to the Denver office. I know this is what I want to do. It feels right to me. I don’t know if I ever told you that my father’s a cop in Iowa City. He’s kind of quiet but I think he’s proud. I am too. After I got back from Vietnam I think he thought I was a lost cause. I couldn’t figure out what to do next. I didn’t think I knew how to make a good decision. I went to school because it was there. Couldn’t figure out what to major in. Couldn’t decide what to do in the summer – that’s how I ended up at Camp Passamaquoddy, you know. No better offers! But I met Sharon there. We’re getting married next month, by the way. And I met you and indirectly you led me to the FBI so I wanted to tell you that. Things happen the way they’re supposed to, I guess. The people you need in your life find their way to you. I guess you’re still mad and that’s why you never write back but I wanted you to know, if you ever need me, I’ll be there for you. I owe you, kid. I hope you’re okay. Walter." Skinner lowered his hand, still holding the paper. The handwriting was familiar. It was his heavy scrawl but without the sureness it had now. But the words surprised him. He remembered writing to Fox a number of times. But the content of the letters hadn’t stayed with him. Or . . . perhaps they had. Somewhere in his sub-conscious he suspected the promise of this last letter remained and drove him to support this agent against the odds. Against the establishment in the Bureau. And even against his own inclinations. "I won’t hold you to anything you said in those letters," Mulder said quietly, startling him out of his reverie. The younger man was standing at the foot of the stairs, his hair still wet from the shower. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a navy sweatshirt. Skinner was embarrassed to have been caught reading the letters, although why he couldn’t quite fathom. After all, he’d written them. But somehow they spoke of a connection, an intimacy that didn’t exist between him and Mulder now. Perhaps it never had. He put the letter down on top of the pile and tried to think of what to say next. But Mulder beat him to the mark. "I’m sorry you . . . had to come all this way, sir," he said somewhat formally. But his bitterness was evident. "I thought my letter—I thought I covered it all. I’m not going back for the hearing. I guess people are disappointed about being denied the spectacle of seeing me drawn and quartered. And run out of town on a rail but—" "Stop, Mulder," Skinner said suddenly. His anger at Mulder bubbled up again. "Don’t try to make it sound like you’re a victim here. The only ‘victim’ is a little girl named Caitlin." Mulder blinked at the harshness of his words but they brought him up short just the same. "I didn’t—I didn’t mean to. . . ," he stammered. "You’re right. I just . . . ." He grew pale again and then he turned and walked into the kitchen without another word. "Damn," Skinner muttered to himself, shaking his head. He hadn’t meant to make Mulder feel worse but . . . he didn’t intend to let him escape the reality of what he’d done. Of his responsibility for the situation in which he now found himself. Still, his words had been brutally direct. He exhaled slowly, trying to get a rein on his own anger. Then he rose and followed Mulder. The younger agent wasn’t in the kitchen and he wasn’t on the wood deck. Skinner looked around to see where he might have gotten to but came up empty. Then he noticed a solitary figure on the beach in back of the house, just sitting on the sand, his head lowered over his bent knees. He sighed heavily and opened the door, heading out to the beach himself. There was a cool wind blowing and he could see it lifting Mulder’s hair but the younger man didn’t seem to notice. Between the wind and the sound of the ocean, he didn’t hear the AD approach either. Skinner stood behind him for a few moments then he made the final step toward Mulder, leaning down to touch him on the shoulder. Mulder’s body jerked at the contact and he hastily scrubbed the sleeve of his sweatshirt over the front of his face before looking up. "Let’s go for a walk," Skinner said. "I don’t feel like walking—" "Consider it an order." Mulder’s face contorted. "I don’t work for the FBI any more, remember?" he said. It was supposed to sound cocky but to the AD’s ear it seemed sad and a little wistful. "I haven’t accepted your resignation. Yet," he said, leaning down and pulling Mulder to his feet. "We walk. Now." Mulder thought about fighting, but it wasn’t in him. He let himself be guided to his feet and the two men set off at a slow pace. Sea gulls circled overhead and called to each other but they saw no other people as they made their way along the shore in silence. The fresh air helped clear Mulder’s head but nothing worked on the heaviness in his heart. Finally, the younger man couldn’t stand it any longer. Skinner was always better able to tolerate silence than he was. "Why did you come? Sir," he added as an afterthought. "I told you, I haven’t accepted your resignation yet. I expected to see you last night—" "I knew what was coming," Mulder responded. "Everyone knew. They only thing I denied anyone was the public whipping before the execution—" "And given your actions in this case, you think a ‘public whipping’ is undeserved," Skinner responded dryly. Mulder’s head turned to him in surprise but the AD was staring straight ahead, not at him. "No," Mulder answered finally. "But all the same, I thought resigning was the right thing to do. Even I can’t . . . defend what I did. No matter how hard I try, I . . . I just can’t." Skinner exhaled forcefully. The last statement had taken a weight off him and made it possible for him to see a way for this agent to remain. If Mulder didn’t comprehend the seriousness of his misjudgments in this case, Skinner knew he could not allow him to continue with the Bureau. It would mean the possibility of something like this happening again, with potentially deadly consequences the next time. But now he knew Mulder himself wouldn’t let that happen. "I agree," Skinner said, stopping in his tracks and turning to look at the young man beside him. Mulder looked back at him for a second, then he dropped his eyes and began to stare at the tops of his own sneakers. "I can’t defend your actions on this case, Mulder. I won’t. But I always believe the punishment should fit the crime. And as you put it, ‘execution’ isn’t an appropriate response." Mulder heard the words but he wasn’t sure what they meant. "I doubt OPR or the FBI Assembly would agree," he said. "It’s not their call. I spoke with the Deputy Director yesterday. He agreed it’s my call. Whether you stay or go." Mulder’s head popped up, a look of shock on his face. "I—No review board?" "No," Skinner replied. "That doesn’t mean you get a pass though. This was serious, Mulder. Whether you stay is up to me. I’ll determine what disciplinary action is warranted. And believe me, I’m tougher than any review board." Mulder stared at him for a full thirty seconds as he frantically tried to interpret the Assistant Director’s words. Just last night he’d realized he’d known this man for almost twenty-five years. And worked for him for four years. He’d been subject to Bureau-sanctioned discipline several times in his career and had not enjoyed it one bit. But with Skinner, with their history, the word itself had layers of meaning. What exactly did the man mean this time? Mulder unconsciously chewed on his lower lip as he tried to decipher the significance in this particular instance. "Mulder," Skinner interrupted him. "Let’s go back to the house." He began walking and got about fifty feet before he realized the younger man was still rooted in the spot where he’d left him. The AD turned and whistled. "Let’s go!" Mulder instinctively jumped into motion but he mentally kicked himself for it. "What am I, your dog?" he muttered. "What’s that?" "Nothing, sir." They reached the house a few minutes later. Skinner marched straight through the kitchen and into the living room and Mulder followed him, though at a slower pace. Skinner removed his suit jacket and began rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. It was a mindless habit that surfaced whenever he was focused on the task at hand. He sat down on the couch. Mulder stood at the entrance to the room. His mind was still reeling, trying to decide whether to be happy at the news he might actually be able to keep his job. Or worried about the consequences he’d have to face first. He looked around the house and counted himself lucky his father didn’t have a Ping-Pong table. And no one had painted here in years. Perhaps that would mean— "Agent Mulder," Skinner barked, calling his attention to the moment. "Wha-what?" "Sit down. We have a lot to discuss. And I want your complete and undivided attention." Mulder nodded and swallowed hard as he moved to comply. He unconsciously began to chew on his bottom lip, not at all certain where this was leading. He carefully took a seat in the armchair by the window and watched as Skinner settled back on the couch. "I don’t want to mislead you, Mulder," Skinner said. "I may be able to see my way to saving your job. But if Caitlin Ross’ family sues, my hands will be tied. The Bureau will have to take action." A cloud of worry descended on the younger man’s face. "Do—do you think they will? Sue, I mean?" Skinner didn’t want to give false hope but he also wanted the younger man to know he was on his side. "I’ve been in touch with them. Her father is . . . especially angry. But I think, with a sincere apology and an admission that you made an error in judgment. . . . And an offer to do whatever it takes to make amends, well, I think we can convince them a lawsuit won’t be necessary." Mulder’s hazel eyes were dark with anxiety but he was hanging on Skinner’s every word. He nodded his appreciation for all the AD had already done for him. "But first, you’ll have to convince me, Mulder," Skinner said. "That you are sincerely sorry. And know you made some grave errors in judgment. And that nothing like it will ever happen again." Mulder blinked as tears welled up in his eyes. "I assure you—" "That’s not going to do it, Mulder," Skinner cut him off. "I know you’re sorry. I need to be certain you’ve learned this time. That you’ll never disregard Bureau rules and my orders like that again. Ever. Otherwise, I’ll accept your resignation and that’s it." The younger agent felt a lump form in his throat at the finality of the last statement. The fact was he’d resigned already. But now, knowing that he’d be ending a relationship that had begun a quarter century earlier, with the only person in his life who had truly always been there for him, Mulder suddenly knew it was the last thing in the world he wanted. "What—what do I have to do, sir? To convince you?" "Mulder you deserve to be punished. Severely," Skinner answered quietly. "In fact, I don’t believe there’s a Bureau-sanctioned discipline I think will suffice. And I think you’d agree." Mulder’s face was stoic but a solid block of ice sat in the pit of his stomach. He nodded. Skinner nodded, too. He stood up, then he reached for his belt and began unbuckling it. It took only a split second for the young agent to react. His eyes widened with alarm and he bolted to his feet. Then he took a step backwards, forgetting the chair was directly behind him. "No!" he choked out as he tumbled back to a sitting position. "You can’t—I mean, that’s not. . . ." Skinner continued, pulling his belt out of the loops of his trousers as Mulder leapt to his feet again. "I—No, please! I know you’re mad but—" "This isn’t about me being mad, Mulder," Skinner said quietly. "This is about you. And the punishment you earned." "But—but, there must be something. . . something else—" Mulder sputtered as he continued to sidle away from the AD. Skinner doubled the belt in his right hand, then he dropped his hand to his side. "No, Mulder," he said softly. "There isn’t anything else. You earned this and more. Let’s get it over with." Mulder’s eyes were brimming with tears at the quiet yet firm directive. It wasn’t said in anger or without due consideration. He suspected Skinner had weighed all the options and made his decision with the gravity he applied to all such matters. And that realization somehow made it possible for the younger man to accept what was about to happen. At least the part of him that nodded and took a tentative step forward seemed to accept. "That’s it," Skinner praised him. "Come here. And take down your jeans—" Mulder’s head snapped up and his mouth opened in shock. "You heard me," the AD said firmly. Mulder’s mouth closed and opened, then closed again but he didn’t make a sound. Skinner had spanked him before. When he was a fourteen year old. And a few months earlier. But on the seat of his pants each time before. That had been humiliating enough. This change made him momentarily wish the floor would swallow him whole. He was standing there paralyzed, still staring wordlessly, when Skinner said his name again. This time the AD’s tone was impatient and brooked no protest. Mulder unfastened the button on his jeans and unzipped them as he took the final step toward Skinner. The Assistant Director nodded his approval. Then he sat down on the couch and waited for Mulder to follow the rest of his order. The younger man pressed his lips together to keep from sobbing. It was far too soon for that, he knew. Then he pushed his jeans down to his knees and forced himself to make eye contact with the other man once again. "Good. Over my knees now." Mulder exhaled a ragged breath that told the AD how scared he really was. "The sooner you cooperate, the sooner it’ll be over," Skinner said gently. "I promise, Fox." The young agent closed his eyes for a brief moment and steeled himself internally somehow. Then he opened his eyes and nodded reflexively, his head bobbing up and down almost comically. Skinner reached up and guided Mulder over his knees, suddenly knowing the younger man didn’t know quite how to get himself there. He could feel Mulder trembling and a part of his heart begged him to exercise leniency. But his head told him that would have to come afterward. He laid a hand on Mulder’s back for a moment and felt the shaking stop. "This is about disobeying orders, Fox," he said firmly. "About disregarding Bureau regulations. And lying to a judge about why a convicted felon should be released into your custody." He hooked a finger under the waistband of Mulder’s white cotton boxers and pulled them down to the middle of his thighs. "But mostly it’s about Caitlin Ross. About the danger she was exposed to because you didn’t consider your actions." Mulder sobbed before the first stroke of the belt landed on his butt. When it did though, he yelped in shock. "Yowww! I—That hurts! Ouchh! Owww! Unhhh!" "I know it hurts," Skinner replied archly as he continued to apply the belt to the rapidly reddening backside. "That’s the point." Mulder was crying in earnest now, bucking over the AD’s knees and unconsciously trying to pull away. But the other man tightened his grip on his waist and continued to assault his backside, keeping up a steady rhythm despite the struggle Mulder was putting up. "No more!" he sobbed. "Please!" "Stop it, Fox!" Skinner said. "You deserve this. And I decide when you’ve had enough, not you." He laid another half dozen licks right across the fleshiest part of the younger man’s butt. "I—I. Please! I’m sorry! I’ve l-learned! Oucchh! Ohhhh! Unhhhh! I promise! I’ll n-never do it again!" "You’ll never do anything like it again," Skinner replied, continuing the strapping, not letting up for a second. "That’s what I need to know—" "Never!" Fox sobbed. "I—I never will! I promise! I promise! I’ve . . . learned! I promise! I’ll never d-do anything like it again!" Skinner felt all his anger and disappointment at Mulder dissipate at that moment. He delivered ten more hard licks, then he dropped the belt on the couch beside him and pulled Mulder’s shorts back up. The agent was still crying hard but Skinner saw him wince when the material pulled over his burning cheeks. The AD could well recall the sensory overload following a strapping and the way a thin layer of cotton could make freshly spanked buttocks feel worse as the heat coming off the skin was kept from dissipating. Mulder sank back onto his haunches and the AD expected him to get up and seek some distance. But he was shocked when the younger agent laid his head on Skinner’s thigh and sobbed. "I’m s-sorry!" he said, gulping air and beginning to hiccup. "I’m s-sorry, sir! About being such a f-fuck-up." Skinner laid a hand on his head and began to stroke his hair. "You said that before, kid," he answered. "If I ever led you to believe that’s what I think, let me correct that. You sometimes do things without giving them enough thought. But you are not a fuck-up. You never could be." His reassurances didn’t have the effect he’d expected though. Instead of calming the younger man, Mulder seemed to curl into a tighter ball and he sobbed convulsively, still leaning against the AD’s pants leg. Skinner grew alarmed at the intensity of his reaction, especially now that the spanking was over. "What’s wrong, Fox?" he asked. Then a thought occurred to him. An unlikely thought but he just had to know. "You’re not gonna tell me that was your first strapping? I mean, you getting through your teens without having a belt applied to your butt, that would be an X-File." Mulder shook his head and turned away. He came to his knees awkwardly because his jeans were now twisted around his knees. He pulled them up as quickly as he could and lifted his arm, using his sleeve to wipe his face even as more tears were falling. "Well, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I just for—forgot about all the times . . . I—I just . . . I need to be alone." His sudden change of subject surprised the AD yet again. Without waiting for Skinner to respond, Mulder fled up the stairs. Skinner heard a door close quietly a moment later. His heart told him he should go after Mulder and try to comfort him. But his request was to be alone and the AD felt he should respect that, it was in the young agent’s nature to deal with things on his own. In his way, he was as independent and solitary as the Assistant Director. Skinner sighed and laid his head back on the couch. He stared at the ceiling not certain what to make of it all. Had Mulder calmed down and then sought to be alone, it would have been as Skinner expected. But he grew more emotional and overwrought, then fled as though he was overwhelmed by it all. That was decidedly not how it should have gone. The AD sat there for a half hour, watching the shadows grow longer as dusk fell outside the house. Finally he got up and went out on deck. He used his cell phone to call his assistant and let her know to cancel his appointments for the next day. Whatever was going on, he was not about to leave Mulder alone to deal with it. Then he went upstairs. There were several doors and all but one were open. Skinner knocked on it lightly but there was no answer. He tried it and it wasn’t locked so he opened it slightly and stuck his head in. Mulder appeared to be sleeping but his ragged, heavy breathing indicated he must have been crying a long time before he slipped into unconsciousness. Skinner’s heart lurched and he took a couple of steps into the room. There was a cotton throw on the end of the bed and he unfolded it and laid it over Mulder. The younger man didn’t stir and Skinner backed out of the room, certain he’d made the right call when he let Kim know he wouldn’t be back in the office tomorrow. Skinner called Scully next to reassure her that Mulder was all right. "We’ll be back some time tomorrow, Scully," he told her. "Is he . . . all right?" she asked, betraying her own concerns. "I think so," he replied, speaking from hope rather than certainty. "He’ll be back at work in a week or so." She sighed audibly. "Thank you, sir." Skinner felt like a fraud as he disconnected. She credited him with saving Mulder’s career on this one. But that seemed to pale next to whatever was going on with the younger agent now. He decided they would spend the night at Mulder’s father’s house, given the unexpected turn the situation had taken. His stomach growled at him and the AD realized he hadn’t eaten all day. He spied the keys to Mulder’s car on the table in the hallway. Guessing Mulder would sleep for a while, he took them and the car and headed into Chilmark to get something for dinner. It was off-season and not much was open. But in the local market he found lobsters ready for steaming and a large, marbled porterhouse steak. A couple of baked potatoes and two ears of corn completed the feast and took the AD to the limit of his culinary skills. He bought milk, butter, beer and some fresh-baked brownies from the elderly woman behind the counter. "Where ya stayin’?" she had asked him conversationally as she rung the items up. "At the Mulder house," he replied. "Just for the night." "Oh, I didn’t know anyone from the family was in town." "I . . . work with the son. Fox. He’s here just for the night too." "Gettin’ ready to sell, I suppose," she replied sadly. "We wondered when he would. That old place can’t hold many good memories for him." Skinner eyed her curiously. "You know Fox?" "Yah, sure. He used to come back and visit his father now and then when he was a teenager. I think the visits were part of his parents’ divorce agreement. But Bill Mulder was a son of a bitch. He insisted Fox come but hardly gave him the time of day when the boy was here. Except for long, loud arguments the neighbors could overhear. Telling him he was a sorry excuse for a son. Then Fox would just take off." She sighed and looked out the glass window to the porch in front of the store. "Many’s a cold, rainy night he spent here ‘cause he had nowhere else to go. He’d stand in the phone booth outside and call his mother. Tell her he wanted to come home. I couldn’t hear her side of it but for sure she never let him come home. I guess they were court ordered visitations. He’d hang up and look so lost, so alone. Like there wasn’t a soul in the world cared a damn about him. He’d just stand out there in the cold, pulling up the collar of his jacket or his shirt against the damp. Poor baby." Skinner was frozen in place, listening to her chilling recollection of the teenaged Fox Mulder. He’d known Fox only a couple of years before the time she recounted and he’d been alone then, too. At least that’s how it looked to a young Walter Skinner. It was why he’d been unable to turn his back on the boy. And why he couldn’t do it now either. "Here, you take these brownies on the house," the woman was saying. "They’re fresh-baked. Fox always loved my brownies." He agreed but insisted on paying for the brownies. Then he picked up a carton of Ben & Jerry’s Vanilla Bean ice cream. "For the brownies," he told her and she smiled approvingly. Back at the house, Skinner unpacked the food and set the table. He’d check to see if Mulder was still asleep when he returned and he was. And probably needed the rest. But in an hour the AD was growing hungry and he wanted to be sure Mulder was all right. So he went upstairs and knocked on the door. "Yeah?" a sleepy voice called back. "I’m making dinner. Come on downstairs." "I—I’m not hungry," Mulder answered, sounding surprised. "Well, I bought too much for just me then. So come on down and eat something, okay?" He went down the stairs hoping that Mulder would comply. It took about ten minutes but finally he appeared at the entrance to the kitchen, sleep-tousled and looking emotionally spent. He appeared surprised by the homey smells that greeted him. "Have a beer," Skinner said as he unscrewed the cap of a Heineken and handed it to the younger man. "Steak and lobster on the way. Baked potatoes and corn. And the lady at the general store sent you some brownies for dessert." Mulder looked surprised. "Mrs. Claussen? I’m glad she’s still around." "Yeah. She remembers you rather fondly." "I don’t know why. I was nuthin’ but trouble to her. Hung around till she was ready to shoot me, I think." "Nah. At least that’s not how she tells it," Skinner replied amiably. He didn’t choose to share the rest of Mrs. Claussen’s recollections. He served up dinner and was pleased when Mulder ate almost as well as he did. He suspected the younger man had not eaten in a couple of days. Once dinner was over they moved into the living room. There was a television but Skinner pointedly didn’t turn it on. "Mulder," he said as soon as they were seated. "Are you okay?" Mulder’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected the AD to bring it up directly. "Y-yeah. Sure. Why?" "You don’t seem all right, that’s all," Skinner replied. "I don’t regret the punishment I gave you. You deserved it. But I do regret . . . whatever I did that’s bothering you. And don’t tell me it’s nothing. I’m not blind." Mulder’s eyes drifted around the room, trying to find some distraction from the conversation Skinner was forcing on him. Nothing caught his attention until his gaze fell on the stack of letters on the coffee table. And that image pushed him over the edge. Skinner watched the emotions rise within the younger man and his own eyes tracked what Mulder was staring at. It was just the pile of letters. He was stumped. "Mulder?" he said, hoping to wrest his attention back. "I just wish . . . . I wish I’d known before . . . it was too late," the younger man whispered, still staring. "Known what? Too late for what?" "Known that you really . . . c-cared. About me, I mean. Then. And . . . now. I wish I’d known before I screwed it up so completely. It would have been nice . . . for a little while . . . knowing someone was there for . . . ." His words trailed off into nothing. Skinner was stunned by his confession. And speechless for a moment. Then he knew he had to speak. And act. This was the moment of truth for him and Mulder. Everything up to now, from the time he was a counselor and Fox was a wayward fourteen year old camper, had led them here. He wasn’t sure what to do but he knew he had to do something. He rose from the chair and walked over to the couch. Then he sat down beside Mulder and the younger man immediately sat back and morphed into someone else. "Sorry, sir," he said breezily, seeking to rebuild the personal shields he’d let drop in a weak moment. "Didn’t mean to get morose on you. How about some of those brownies, huh?" "Sure, Mulder," Skinner said. "But not until we get this resolved. I do care. I cared about you when you were my most troublesome little Indian. I cared about you when you were assigned to my division, before I ever heard of John Lee Roche. I care about you now. And I’m here for you. Before. Now. Always. It’s not a choice, it just is." Mulder’s face was an open window to his heart and soul at the moments. Emotions passed over it rapidly as he tried not to let the words from Skinner touch him. Fear. Hope. Skepticism. Anxiety. Disbelief. But it was a futile effort. Skinner continued, speaking softly but urgently. "I told you in one of those letters that I believe the people you need in your life find their way to you. And I think I needed you, kid. And you needed me. I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry you didn’t know it all along," he said, cursing Bill Mulder for keeping the letters from Fox all those years. "But we know now. I guess I knew it down deep, even if I didn’t consciously remember the promise I’d made to you." Mulder’s eyes were swimming with fresh tears and he stared at the AD as if he were transfixed. "But I always keep my promises," Skinner added. He laid a hand on Mulder’s shoulder. The younger man was trembling. "I care, Fox. I won’t let you get away with not hearing that. Not understanding it. It’s too important--" He was startled when Mulder broke down once again and instinctively pulled him into a hug. "It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m just sorry it took so long to . . . I wish we could go back and change it all but we can’t. But that doesn’t mean we can’t change it from this point forward, does it?" Mulder shook his head into the AD’s shoulder and sobbed again. Skinner smiled over his shoulder for the first time all day and pulled him tighter in to the circle of his embrace. "Just let it go, Fox. Starting today, we have a fresh slate. And I promise, whatever happens, you can always count on my support. And my help. It may be applied to your butt occasionally but it’ll be there," he said with a laugh and was pleased when the other man snorted, half laughing, half sobbing. "If I tell you something, will you promise not to laugh?" Mulder asked him suddenly. "Of course." "I never got-- I mean, no one ever sp-spanked me when I was a kid. You’re the only one who’s ever—" He stopped, seemingly too embarrassed to continue. Skinner was surprised. No stunned. It was hard to believe anyone could know this young man and never be moved to upend him and smack his butt now and then. But the parents he’d heard described were probably more negligent than Skinner had even imagined. Their odd combination of emotional abandonment, psychological abuse, and non-existent discipline had produced this confused, complicated and yet ultimately endearing young man. "--ever cared enough about me to do it," Mulder finished, his head still buried in the AD’s shoulder. Skinner was touched that the young man understood it so clearly. And could admit that he understood. "Believe me, Fox," he said, tightening his embrace, "you’ll always know I care." ********************************************************************** * Fox Mulder’s Apartment Alexandria, Virginia A week later Mulder turned out the light in his bedroom and padded into the living room after ordering a pizza for dinner. There was a game on he wanted to see. And tonight was the first night his mind was completely free from worry about whether Caitlin Ross’ family would sue. Skinner had insisted he write a letter of apology to Caitlin and her family. And deliver it in person. The FBI’s attorneys had thought that was a bad idea but the AD insisted. They’d taken the trip up there today. It appeared Skinner had been in touch with the family already so their visit was not a surprise. Caitlin and her mother were gracious and Mr. Ross, once he saw Mulder’s sincere remorse, turned out to be a good guy. "Agent Mulder will pay for any counseling Caitlin needs," Skinner had offered and Mulder nodded vigorously. "The best people are at Mass General," Mulder added. "I could try to find a name—" "That won’t be necessary but thank you for the offer," Mr. Ross had responded. "Mr. Skinner already found us someone who’s doing a great job. Says Caitlin won’t need a lot of sessions. She’s a strong kid." "She is that," Mulder said. "But sometimes things come back to bother you years later. Not that I think that will happen but if it does, I’ll make good on my promise." "Mr. Skinner told us the same thing," Mr. Ross smiled. So the threat of a lawsuit evaporated and now Mulder was finishing the rest of his unpaid suspension. He’d return to work the next day and be on probation for several months. Which meant he’d have to report to the AD on a daily basis, and have everything he did reviewed. It was the kind of short leash that would normally have driven Mulder up the wall. But this time he was just grateful to be able to keep his job. Whatever additional penance the AD imposed, he’d gladly accept. An envelope slid under his door as he was making his way to the living room. He walked over to the door and picked it up. He recognized the heavy, even writing immediately and quickly slid a finger under the flap to open the envelope. "Dear Fox," it read. "I realized I never told you something important. The day we rescued Caitlin Ross, I was angry. More angry than I’ve ever been I think. But when I said you were a sorry excuse for an FBI agent, Fox, that was wrong. I let my anger make me say something I didn’t mean. And I regret that. I wanted you to know that. Despite your loose association with the rulebook, you’re one of the best agents I’ve ever known. One more thing I want to tell you. I thought you might need to hear this before you come back to work tomorrow. It’s a fine line we’re going to have to walk. I’ll still be your boss. And I’ll be on your back a whole lot more than ever while you get your career back on track. But don’t forget that I’m also your friend. I care about you as more than an agent under my command, kid. And if you ever need me, I’m here for you. Fondly, Walter." Mulder felt a lump spring up in his throat and he opened the door to his apartment and flew out. The elevator at the end of the hallway was stopped on the second floor so he headed for the fire stairs and ran down to the lobby level. No one was there so he jogged over to the front door and out onto the street. A lone figure was making its way down the block, a black trench coat billowing out behind him. "Sir?" Mulder called after him. Skinner turned around. "I—I wanted to say thank you. For—for everything." "You’re welcome, Mulder," Skinner replied. He smiled, then turned to go. "Sir? I just ordered a pizza," Mulder said, turning pink with self-consciousness. "And there’s a Wizards game on. If you’d like to come in, I mean. . . ." Skinner turned back again. This time the AD actually grinned. "I’d like that," he said. "A basketball game and a pizza with an old friend. Best offer I’ve had all day." "Yeah," Mulder replied. "Me too." THE END