Title: The Challenge

Author: Cadillac Red

Disclaimer: The characters of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, 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: Fifth season after Kitsunegari. This is not set in the 
'Danville Universe' in which my other stories exist.

Rating: PG. Discipline, no slash.

Author's note: This was written in response to a challenge from Mangst 
to write a discipline story that stuck closely to canon. This is
my best shot at that somewhat difficult premise!

Summary: Mulder's behavior during the events of Kitsunegari seriously 
damages his relationship with Skinner and the AD finds a
non-traditional way to put things right.






Fox Mulder's Apartment
Alexandria, Virginia

"Go fetch her some water!" 

Mulder heard the words he'd said to Skinner echo in his head, over and 
over, sarcasm and derision dripping from every syllable. Part
of him was stunned the moment the words came out. <What are you crazy, 
Mulder? Talking to the AD like that? Have you lost your
fucking mind?>

He'd seen the look on Scully's face when he said it. Shock and 
disbelief. And the two FBI agents down the hall, the security team.
One of them looked like he'd drop his teeth and the other, the younger 
one, just wanted the floor to open up and swallow him.
Mulder had registered all their reactions in a split second of time 
that seemed to stretch into eternity.

But the reaction that hit him like an earthquake was that of the man 
himself. Skinner's face had hardened into granite and his eyes lit
with cold fury. But he'd contained his anger for the moment, whether 
because of the shock he himself felt or more likely, because that
was his way. He would not rise to Mulder's emotional bait, not in 
front of the others, not ever. 

And anyway, the silent communication that passed between them, in a 
single moment that lasted a lifetime, told Mulder all he needed
to know. He'd stepped over the line and now there was no way back. 

Assistant Director Walter Skinner was his boss and in the depths of 
his heart, he knew he'd been damn lucky to work for the man for
the past three years. His 'friend at the FBI,' Skinner had been a 
tough but fair superior who stood on the line between Mulder and
certain disaster, letting him venture far into unexplored territory 
but never so far as to lose his way back. Holding off the forces that
would sooner see Mulder dead, or tossed out of the Bureau in shame. 
Not letting him get away with anything. . . but not allowing his
enemies get the upper hand either. A balance, without whom the younger 
agent's professional existence would surely crash and burn.

And now that's where he found himself. Sitting alone in his dark 
apartment, surrounded by the shards of his shattered career. Skinner
had been a gentleman, he always was. He'd even thanked Mulder for 
helping resolve the case, credited him with figuring out "what no
one else could have," told him he'd "won our game." It had all been 
polite and civilized but the tension between them was so thick it
tainted the air in the A.D.'s office. 

And now, right on the heels of the incident, there would be a 
restructuring within the Bureau, and Skinner was leading the project
team. It took none of Mulder's highly-touted deductive reasoning to 
know where he and the X-files would end up. Anywhere but
Skinner's division. 

Scully knew it, too. She'd asked him this afternoon if he was worried 
and he'd lied to her. She knew he was lying, and he knew she
knew. She'd called several times tonight but he'd just let the phone 
ring, listening to her messages record into the answering machine,
unanswered. Her desperation grew and his did, too.

A knock on the door startled him out of his overwhelming depression. 
<Oh, Scully. You don't know when to back off, do you?> He
rose, sighing and went to the door. Opened it without checking to see 
who it was.

"Sir!"

AD Skinner stood at his door, looking a little uncertain but 
frightening nevertheless. Somehow the man seemed to tower over Mulder
at these times, the younger agent thought irrationally. <How does he 
do that?>

Skinner pressed his lips together and looked past Mulder into the 
apartment, looking to see whether anyone else was there. Guessing
there was not, he spoke. "May I come in, Agent Mulder?"

Mulder's mouth opened but words didn't come at first. Finally he 
blurted out, "Yes. Yes, come in, sir." Skinner walked past him and
into the living room. Then he turned and waited. <What's he waiting 
for? Oh, the door!> Mulder closed it and walked into the living
room, too.

"Is there something I can do for you, s--"

"Can it, Agent Mulder," Skinner cut him off. He eyed the couch and 
then glanced back at Mulder. "Sit."

Mulder was confused and scared now. None of this made any sense. But 
he wisely chose to follow the order and sank down onto
the couch. And held his tongue.

"I'm a patient man," Skinner began, then stopped when Mulder's 
eyebrows rose.

"Well, I've been patient with you, Agent Mulder," he continued, in a 
tone that allowed for no argument. "I've given you a great deal of
latitude in choosing your cases, and how you pursue them. I've covered 
your back more times than I can count, often with no more
information than my faith in you and your judgment." 

Mulder's eyes clouded and he looked down at his bare feet, trying to 
get a grip on his surging emotions. A sense of shame he'd been
trying to repress for days boiled up and over inside him.

"But, let me make this perfectly clear, Agent," Skinner continued. "I 
. . . will . . . not . . . tolerate. . . disrespect."

Mulder nodded, still avoiding eye contact. Tears burned the back of 
his eyes and he fought them off in vain.

"I need to know you understand that, Agent Mulder. Once and for all."

Mulder nodded again and looked up into the A.D's eyes. "I understand 
sir," he said quietly. "It will never happen again."

"Not good enough," Skinner replied, eliciting another shocked look 
from his agent. "You've got a lousy track record for promises like
that. How many times have you said you'll follow procedures? How many 
times have you sworn not to lose another cell phone?"

Mulder blinked. <What more can I do? Do you want it written in blood?> 
"I don't know what else to say," he answered slowly,
stalling for time. 

"I don't want you to SAY anything," the Assistant Director said, 
exhaling forcefully. "I have to make a decision about whether the
X-files stay in my division. And the way things stand now, that's 
impossible. So either I leave here tonight, knowing you GET THIS
and it will NEVER happen again. Or I transfer you and Scully to some 
other A.D's responsibility."

"No!" Mulder reacted immediately. "Please! I'll . . . I’ll do 
anything. I don't want to . . . I don't want to be transferred."

Skinner watched him for a long moment, trying to decide which way this 
would go. The truth was, his own career would be better
served if he severed all contact with the X-files. He knew that and 
yet. . . . Something about this agent and his quest touched him
deeply. Made his paper-pushing, bureaucracy-entangled position seem 
meaningful in a way it never had before. He reached a
decision.

"Okay," he said. "I know you've never been in the military, Mulder. 
And God knows the chain of command at the FBI has had little
or no influence on you. Did you ever talk back to your father?"

Mulder's face registered his confusion. <What the hell is this about?> 
"Uh, yeah. I guess so. Only once, though."

"Tell me what happened when you did," Skinner ordered. "Why didn't you 
do it again?"

"Why?" Mulder snorted. "My old man wasn't very progressive about that 
kind of thing! He-- Well, let's just say he didn't take it
well."

"And what did he do, Agent Mulder?" Skinner pressed him. "I believe 
that's what I asked you."

Mulder's face reddened as the memories came crashing back. "Well, he 
p-punished me," he mumbled. "Why do you want to know?"

Skinner stared at him, frustration chiseled on his face. And the 
younger agent sensed there was impatience directly behind it, about to
boil over and propel the man right out of his apartment. A force that 
would carry the X-files into some other A.D.'s grasp.

The next words exploded out of him, almost without volition. "He 
sp-spanked me, sir! Is that what you want to hear? He tanned my
hide good and it never happened again! It left a. . . a lasting 
impression on me," he finished, letting his voice dwindle down to a
whisper.

"Okay, then that tells me what I need to know," Skinner said firmly. 
He shrugged off his suit jacket and began to roll up his shirt
sleeves. Mulder watched him curiously, clueless as to where this was 
going until-- 

Mulder jumped to his feet as he realized the man was unbuckling his 
belt. "What-- what the hell are you doing?" he blurted out. His
voice rose to the edge of panic.

"I'm resorting to a proven method of altering your behavior, Agent 
Mulder," Skinner replied. "You just told me it works. And we
have no room for error here."

Mulder backed up into the couch, and fell heavily onto it. Then he 
bounced right back up. "No! I'm not letting you-- You can't be
serious! I don't have to let-- And the Bureau would never approve of 
this. . . " he sputtered, unable to complete a single thought.

"I have never known you to be concerned about what the Bureau approves 
or doesn't approve, Agent Mulder," Skinner said as he
glanced around for something. There was an armchair in a corner and he 
pulled it away from the wall and into the middle of the room.

"I won't agree to this," Mulder said forcefully. "Have you lost your 
mind?" He'd finally regained the ability to put thoughts together into
coherent sentences. "This is insane."

"No more insane than some of your cases," Skinner replied casually. 
"Or the theories you advance about them. I don't intend to
discuss this any further. Get over here."

"I won't," Mulder repeated, his voice taut with anxiety. "You can't 
make me do this."

"No, I can't, Agent Mulder," Skinner replied agreeably. "I CAN 
transfer the X-files to another division. And I will, unless I am
convinced the behavior we spoke about will not happen again. And this 
is the ONLY assurance I'm willing to take."

Mulder stared at him defiantly, and shook his head again. "No."

"All right," Skinner said after another moment. He began to thread the 
leather belt through the loops on his suit pants. "I'll make the
arrangements for the transfer tomor--"

"No! Please!" Mulder interrupted. "There must be something else I can 
do. . . . Some other way you can think of. Besides this . . . "

Skinner shook his head. "No," he said evenly. "This is the only way." 
He buckled his belt and reached for his suit jacket.

Mulder watched him get dressed, tasting the bile of humiliation and 
shame that rose in his throat. But the terror invoked by Skinner's
threat overrode it. He covered his face with his hands. 

"Okay!" he spat out suddenly. Then he dropped his hands to his sides. 
"Okay! Whatever it takes. Let's just get it over with." His
shoulders slumped in acceptance of the inevitable and all the 
rebellion left him. He walked slowly to the back of the chair.

Skinner watched him go, then began removing his jacket and belt once 
again. "Take down your jeans," he said.

"What?" Shock rose anew in the younger man's face.

"Did your father let you keep your pants up?" Skinner asked him as he 
doubled the leather belt in his hand. "This is meant to be a
reprise of that punishment. You tell me."

Mulder thought about lying. But somehow he knew the AD would know it 
was a lie. And then what? "No, sir," he answered, his
voice hardly more than a whisper. He hesitated for another moment, 
indecision restraining all movement, then he began unbuttoning
the top button and unzipping the fly. He pushed the faded jeans down 
to his knees, hesitated again, then lowered them all the way to
his ankles. Just like dear old Dad always required.

Mulder's heart was beating in triple time as he felt Skinner take his 
place behind him. This entire thing had the feel of deja vu, he
thought distractedly. A feeling he'd hoped never to experience again 
his life. 

"What about your shorts, Agent Mulder?" 

Mulder bit his bottom lip to try to hold back the tears that were 
ready to surface. <And Skinner hasn't even begun! What a fucking
wimp you are, Mulder!> He took a deep breath, trying to slow his heart 
rate and pushed his boxers down to his ankles, too. His
black cotton tee shirt was all that covered him now and he knew that 
wouldn't last for long.

Skinner laid a hand on his back and gently pushed him forward over the 
chair. In a moment, he felt the AD push his shirt up onto his
back. He could feel the man's hand remain there at the small of his 
back, another all-too-familiar sensation. And for a moment, time
stood still, the excruciating split second of waiting for it to begin 
becoming forever in the young man's mind.

And then it started. One stroke following another in a fast, insistent 
rhythm. His body lurched at the first burning lick and Skinner's
hand became a vise, holding him in position as he continued to punish 
Mulder's butt. Relentless. Silent. Determined. Mulder began to
cry, against his will, and the crying turned to sobs and then to 
pleading. 

"No more! I understand! I'll never do it again! I promise, I promise! 
I'll never do it again!"

Finally, Skinner reached some pre-determined number of strokes in his 
mind, or Mulder's pleas took on a note of sincerity that
convinced him the message had been thoroughly received. He stopped 
suddenly and stepped away, leaving Mulder to compose
himself in private. 

When the haze of his shame and agony began to lift, Mulder could make 
out the Assistant Director donning his jacket at the other
end of the room. The younger agent stood and turned to the wall, 
wincing as he dragged his underwear, then his jeans, up over his
punished backside. He dragged the sleeve of his tee shirt over his 
face to mop the tears and found himself feeling grateful the AD
didn't read minds. That the other man couldn't see his recollection of 
being remanded to the corner of his father's study, his pants and
underwear still pooled at his ankles. The hour of standing in total 
humiliation as the man read the newspaper in the same room.

Skinner spoke first. "I'm sorry I had to do that, Agent Mulder," he 
said and Mulder knew it was said in all sincerity. "But if it serves
the purpose, I don't believe either one of us will regret it." He 
appraised the young man in front of him.

"Take tomorrow off," he ordered. "I'll approve it. And I'll see you on 
Monday." 

Mulder nodded. His face was still tear-streaked but had settled into 
its usual impassive mask. "We're . . . everything's okay now?" he
asked, needing to hear it confirmed.

"Yes, Agent Mulder," Skinner answered. "We never need to mention it 
again. I will trust you to keep a respectful tone when you
speak to me. And I'll do everything I can for you and the X-files. 
Like always."

The Assistant Director looked Mulder over one more time. "You're all 
right?" There was a note of concern in his voice, a gentleness
that wafted over the younger agent and comforted him in a way he 
didn't quite understand.

Mulder felt a lump rise in his throat but he swallowed it down. "Yes, 
sir."

Skinner went to the door and turned, his hand on the doorknob. "You 
did good work on this case, Mulder. I don't think you lost at
all," he said, hearkening back to his and Mulder's stilted 
conversation in the A.D.'s office earlier in the day. "Why do I feel 
like I lost?"
Mulder had asked him that afternoon and gotten no reply. Skinner 
opened the apartment door and closed it quickly behind him.

Mulder felt a deep, cleansing sigh work its way up from the hidden 
depths of his soul. "No, I guess not, sir," he said to himself,
surprised to find his feelings on the subject had changed measurably 
in the past few, unbelievable minutes. "I guess I didn't lose at all."

THE END