Past Imperfect
by Cadillac Red
Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and Walter Skinner et al do not belong to me; they belong to Chris Carter and Fox. I mean no harm and will make no money from their use.
Spoilers: None
Setting: Seventh Season.
Rating: PG. Discipline, no slash.
Summary: Issues from Mulder's past arise and get in the way and health concerns from Skinner's past complicate things further.
Crystal City, Virginia
Thursday, January 20, 2000
6:00 p.m.
Assistant Director Walter Skinner sighed as he hauled his large frame out of his jeep with effort and slammed the door behind him. It had been another long day of trying to keep up with his current workload and catch up from his absence during the latter part of the previous year. He'd barely been able to keep up half a schedule during a good part of Special Agent Fox Mulder's second, Consortium-instigated childhood, and the quest to get back up to speed was exhausting the AD. And the cold and damp of a Capital winter wasn't helping.
It had been raining on and off for days and the temperatures in Washington when it wasn't raining hovered in the mid-teens. The combination of cold and damp was causing the Assistant Director physical discomfort. Old injuries that he normally paid no attention were rearing up and the stress of his job wasn't helping. And tonight, when he'd really like to luxuriate in a long, hot shower and hitting the sack early, he'd have to deliver some well-deserved punishment to his most troublesome subordinate and well-loved surrogate son. Fox was on yet another punishment tour now that his New Year's Eve injuries were healed.
It was strange, the Assistant Director mused as he greeted his doorman and picked up his mail. Mulder was more than a surrogate now. At one point in the past, Skinner had resisted any assertion that he played a parental role in the younger agent's life. Eventually he'd come to accept being a paternal role model but even then he'd tended to think of Mulder as another younger brother. But the recent experiences they'd shared as Mulder went through a second childhood on fast-forward had changed all of that. Some lever inside the AD's head had been pushed and now the younger man was as much a son to him as if he carried Skinner's genes and his name.
He exited the elevator on the 17th floor, pulling his keys out of his suit pants as he walked. Skinner was home a little earlier than he'd expected, albeit bearing a briefcase full of reading to get to tonight, once Fox had been sent to bed. His current punishment tour had been going smoothly and Skinner was toying with the idea of releasing him after tonight.
He found Fox in the living room watching ESPN. The younger man had changed into sweats and a tee-shirt and was sprawled on the couch with Yoda snoozing peacefully at his side.
"You're home early," he said, appearing a little flustered. A marble notebook lay open on the coffee table, a sign Fox was aware of what he was supposed to be doing. Skinner's eyebrows rose slightly as he dropped his briefcase and proceeded to hang up his overcoat.
"Thanks for the bulletin," the AD said easily. Then he sauntered over to the coffee table and picked up the marble notebook. Fox knew immediately what he was looking for.
"I just got home!" he said hurriedly.
"You left Quantico three hours ago," the AD said as he flipped to the last page on which there was writing. He'd called to try to catch Mulder before he left for home.
"I-- I went out for a drink with Scully and some of the recruits," Fox answered quickly, then he remembered drinking was a no-no when he was on a punishment tour. "I had a coke, I swear!"
Skinner nodded and dropped the book back on the table. He knew immediately the younger agent had made no progress in the notebook since the night before and he looked at Fox expectantly. The younger man lost no time responding to the unspoken question.
"I-- I couldn't-- I mean, they asked me to go and what was I supposed to do? Say, 'sorry, I can't see you. I have to write the FBI Manual out long-hand as punishment?' I mean, really! Who would believe that?"
Skinner's left eyebrow rose further with each word. "I think almost anyone you've ever met would find it believable," he said crisply. "Fox, it's fine that you went out a socialized a little, really. In some ways, that's part of your assignment at Quantico. But I do expect you to finish this punishment assignment and you've got a ways to go. I'm gonna go shower. Order some dinner from somewhere, okay? And turn the TV off and make a dent in it before we eat." He dropped a $50 bill he'd just removed from his wallet on the table and headed up the stairs.
Fox watched him go, silently appreciating the fact that Skinner had given him a pass on this little transgression. He'd been expected to go home and do his writing assignment, without the TV on. But the Super Bowl was coming up this weekend and the NBA was in the middle of a competitive season and all he'd wanted to do was catch up on things. He rose and went to the phone to order in a good, healthy! meal as he'd been told. He knew the other man expected him to eat well and frankly, Mulder thought as he picked the phone up, Skinner looked like he could use a nutritious meal.
"Comfort food," Fox said to himself as he punched in the numbers for "Mama's Down-Home Southern Kitchen."
They ate heartily from the menu Fox had ordered, chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, and gravy and the best biscuits in Northern Virginia and then the younger man headed into his bedroom to continue his work. He appeared in the living room, dressed in pajamas at 7:30 on the dot and Skinner had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Fox was generally not anxious to head to bed this early but he suspected the punishment assignment in Quantico and the punishment assignment at night were working together to make sleep look appealing to the younger agent.
"I'll be right in," Skinner told him and Fox turned around and headed back into the bedroom. Yoda followed him as he always did. When the AD arrived though, the dog got off the bed and wandered outside into the hallway. Skinner always put him out there when he spanked Fox because the dog was a natural-born protector and it was just easier to put him out of the room. He laughed at the dog's action as he shut the door.
"He learns fast," Fox said evenly. Then he grimaced. "Guess we can't say that about me, huh?"
"Well, most things you learn pretty fast," Skinner replied as he took a seat on the bed. Fox sank to his knees beside him and the AD reached out and pushed a lock of hair off the young man's forehead. "How much more of the manual have you got to go?"
"About ten pages," Fox replied. "I'll finish tomorrow night."
"Good," Skinner said. "I hear you're doing a great job with the "Investigative Procedures" class. I spoke to AD Kendall today."
Fox nodded. "It's not . . . as bad as I thought it would be. And there are some pretty bright recruits in this class."
Skinner nodded and together he and Fox got the younger man positioned over the AD's thighs. The bedtime spanking was a daily routine during a punishment tour and Fox had been on one now for more than a week. Skinner pulled on the elastic waistband of the plaid pajama bottoms and they slipped over Fox's bottom and down to his ankles.
"What's this spanking for?" he asked as his hand landed firmly in the middle of the 'sit spot.'
"For New Year's Eve!" Fox said automatically. "For not following the rules! And--"
"One at a time, kid," Skinner said, issuing another hard slap to the rapidly reddening buttocks. "Which rules did you break?"
"Oh, not calling in my location! And not having back-up when I entered a suspect's home! Oww! And-- and not getting a search warrant before entering-- OUCH OWWW! OHHH!" That was a message he was certain Skinner wanted to reinforce.
"And what else?"
Fox listed the rest of his sins as Skinner reached an even dozen slaps, then the AD stopped and began rubbing his back gently, letting him calm down. In a moment, the young man slipped off his knees and sank onto the floor but he immediately rose and fell into the waiting hug. Skinner hugged him back and caressed the back of his head.
"I heard you created a version of 'Who Wants to Be A Millionaire?' for your class," Skinner told him. "AD Kendall said it's
called "Who Wants To Be An FBI Agent?" and he's planning to add it to the curriculum."
"Well, I don't see any reason why learning can't be fun," Fox replied, sniffling one last time. He sank back on his haunches, putting one hand back to rub his stinging backside. "I guess you don't necessarily agree."
Skinner laughed and stood, helping Fox to his feet. Then he lifted the covers and let the younger agent slide in. "That's not true," he said, amusement lighting his tone. "It's just that different people learn best in different ways . . . ."
He sat down on the edge of the bed and took a close look at Fox's face. He was bright eyed and wide awake. Usually during a punishment tour Fox went right to sleep after his bedtime spanking but the Quantico assignment was probably not physically taxing and after a week and a half the younger man was surely caught up on his normal sleep deficit. He'd noticed Fox was still awake the night before when he checked on him before turning in himself.
Skinner came to a decision quickly, having weighed all the evidence. "I think this punishment tour's over," he said evenly. "If you want, why don't you come inside and watch a little TV with me."
"Really?" Fox answered delightedly. "I mean, great! I'm-- I'm not really sleepy--"
"I know," Skinner said as he rose and went to open the door. Yoda bounded in and jumped on the bed only to find his two favorite people leaving. Surprised, the dog's head went from one to the other as the two men left, then he jumped off the bed and followed them into the living room.
Settled down over a cup of coffee for Skinner and an iced tea for Fox, the two of them watched TV in easy companionship. Mulder continued to write out his punishment assignment and Skinner reviewed reports he needed to sign off on the next day, or send back for further investigation. Most of these required further investigation, he sighed internally. Not many agents were as thorough in their approach as Mulder and Scully. And he knew a lot of that came from Mulder's inability to leave a single thread of a theory unprobed. It was his nature, for good or bad. To find not just an answer but . . . the truth.
Skinner's gaze rose slowly and he found himself staring at the younger man splayed out on the couch. He looked extremely young when he was well-rested and eating healthy, as he'd been for some time now. The wear and tear of the rapid aging had fallen away over recent weeks and it did the AD's heart good to see it. He decided this was a good time to talk to Fox about something he'd been thinking about a good deal of late and he put the file he was reviewing down on the table.
The younger agent's sixth sense kicked in and he glanced up curiously.
"I want to talk to you, Fox," Skinner said. "About something I've been concerned about."
"I didn't do anything else, I swear!" the younger man replied with a grin. He wasn't feeling guilty about anything at the moment and that was a nice change of pace.
"I know," the AD replied with a smile. "But . . . you also haven't been to visit your mother since . . . Well, since you became an adult again. Don't you think it would be a good idea?"
Fox's grin disappeared immediately and he flushed a little and dropped his eyes to the notebook on his lap. "Well, I-- I've been busy. And she's . . . busy most of the time. I called her on Christmas though!"
"I know," Skinner said gently. "I put the phone in your hand, remember? But she hasn't had a chance to see you again and I'm sure she'd love to--"
"I'm sure she wouldn't," Fox replied with certainty.
"She would. She told me when I spoke to her the other day--"
The young man's head snapped up. "You called my mother? Why?"
"What do you mean, why? You call my folks all the time, Fox."
"That's different! You know it's different." Fox was staring at the AD now, silently demanding a better explanation.
Skinner nodded. "Yes, it's different," he said quietly. "I . . . got to know your Mom pretty well while you were a kid and I call her now and then. To check up on her, make sure she's all right. As you should--"
"Why?" he blurted, his voice rising again. "I mean really, why? The phone works both ways you know. She hasn't called me either! Not once! Not since . . . not since I've been grown again!" Fox's voice had risen and stress underscored his words now.
Skinner listened impassively. It was clear this conversation was striking a chord in Fox. And truth be told, the AD was aware Teena Mulder hadn't contacted Fox either. And Skinner agreed that was a little strange. But he could only deal with one Mulder's emotional issues at a time and this particular Mulder was his responsibility.
"I know that," he answered, letting the words and the gentle tone he was using work together to calm the younger man. "The whole thing was so strange, for everyone . . . . You and I had lots of time to deal with it, while you were little and since December. But she hasn't had that opportunity--"
"And whose fault is that?" Fox cut in angrily. "I mean, you took me to Greenwich! With all my stuff. I remember. And she didn't want to keep me."
Ah, now we get to the crux of the matter. Skinner watched Fox intently and saw a storm of emotions pass over his features, anger, betrayal, hurt. Every paternal instinct he had was twanging, working to send him over to wrap his arms around the younger man and hold him until he knew he was loved and cherished. At least by Skinner. And his family.
"Fox, she's old," Skinner said gently. "And you were a handful. Curious, energetic, full of piss and vinegar most of the time. She could never have handled you, and given you everything you needed. Maybe it was an act of unselfishness, letting you stay with me. I know she loves you. And that sacrifice couldn't have been easy."
Mulder shook his head but there was no anger in the gesture now, only regret. And his continued inability to believe what Skinner was telling him.
"I think you're wrong," he said forlornly, turning his head to the side, trying to wipe away a tear that was wending its way down his right cheek without the other man noticing. "I think . . . I think she was hoping when I finally grew up this time I'd have no memory of my first childhood."
Skinner sucked in a breath. He hadn't considered that possibility but now that Fox put it into words, it was plausible. Hell, it was likely, he thought. Teena Mulder would have been able to finally let her secrets rest if Fox had grown up again with no memory of Samantha, or the things his father and mother had done as a result of their bloody bargain with the Consortium. And now Teena was faced with her own son back, with all his memories, all his questions, all of his burning desire to discover the truth. A truth she didn't want him to know.
Skinner rose and walked over to the couch, coaxing the dog down from his spot next to Fox. Then he sat down and put an arm around the younger man. Fox first appeared as though he was going to get up and run but then he let out a ragged, teary sigh and turned into the other man's shoulder. He buried his head in Skinner's chest and let the tears come.
Skinner let him cry himself out for a few minutes. Then when he seemed to be calming, he began stroking the back of his head and speaking quietly.
"I know, kid. It's strange, how your mother acts sometimes. But she is your mother. And she won't be around forever. And you'll spend the rest of your life punishing yourself if you don't at least make the effort, Fox. Believe me. I know you, pal."
A sharp sound that was half-laugh, half-sob was his only answer and Skinner found himself smiling as he let the younger man pull back from his arms
"'Fraid I'm gonna move in on your action?" Fox said, his mouth forming a rueful half-smile.
"Nah," Skinner replied with a relieved smile of his own. He reached out and ruffled the younger man's hair teasingly. "You know what I always say. Never let a boy do a man's job!"
They agreed Fox would call his mother the next day and arrange to visit her that weekend if she was free. Skinner already knew she was, so he wasn't concerned about the weekend coming off. And he was prepared for Fox's protest that he'd miss Super Bowl Sunday at the Skinner family homestead.
"You can leave for Greenwich on Friday," he told Fox as they turned off the lights and prepared to head to bed. "You have no class on Friday, right? It's a testing day. Spend Friday night and Saturday with your Mom. And then drive to Danville Sunday. The game doesn't start till 6 o'clock." He suspected a full day and half was as long either Mrs. Mulder or her son would be able to spend together on this first attempt so the timing was perfect in his opinion.
"That's good. I don't have to teach until 1 o'clock on Monday so I have plenty of time to come back with you on Monday morning, then drive to Quantico in time for my class," Fox added. He'd recovered from his emotional storm but the remnants of the moment were audible in his voice.
"Good night," Skinner said as they passed the door to the spare bedroom. He gave Fox a brief hug and kissed him on both cheeks in the Russian tradition his family followed. "I love you."
Fox returned the hug full force. "I love you too," he said, biting back the final word that automatically came to his lips. Dad.
"Sleep well, son," Skinner added, having heard the unspoken addendum. He gave the younger man an extra squeeze then released him and headed for his own bedroom.
Greenwich, Connecticut
Saturday, January 30, 2000
12 noon
Fox Mulder stood awkwardly in the living room of his mother's home, his hands jammed in the front pockets of his blue jeans. He'd arrived late the night before, having been delayed in leaving Washington by one thing or another. Mostly his own reluctance to make the journey Skinner had suggested. Strongly suggested. All right, ordered!
His mother and he had spoken for a few minutes when he arrived the night before, then she had turned in and he watched television until almost 3 a.m. Then Fox slept until 10 o'clock. When he woke, he found a note from his mother waiting in the kitchen. "Gone to my garden club meeting. Back by noon!" He'd breathed a small sigh of relief and brewed coffee then spent the next couple of hours reading the local papers and channel surfing.
But now the moment of truth was at hand. His mother was making lunch and they'd be faced with some serious mother-son bonding time. Please, God! I never ask for much! A little 'lost time' is not a lot for you to pull off, is it? About nine hours ought to do it!
He shook off the thought, knowing it was a futile hope, and began studying the new pictures of him on the mantle. The first was his school photo from the Wheatley Academy. Skinner had bought several sets and sent some to all the grandparents. Rachel and Walter Sr. had one displayed at their home too. He saw a swim team photo as well, taken when the Wheatley team had won its division. A sixteen-year-old Fox with Dylan Kane and a dozen other boys on the varsity team. Just seeing it brought back a host of warm memories.
He looked around the room and noticed there were several other new pictures in neat silver frames right alongside the ones of him and Samantha that had always been there. There was one of Fox and Skinner with Teena Mulder, taken at a seafood restaurant they'd visited on one of their visits to Greenwich. The waiter had kindly offered to take it. They looked like a real family. Happy and content.
Something about that set his blood racing though and try as he did, he couldn't shake off the sudden anger and resentment that bubbled up out of the depths of his soul. He could hear Skinner's voice, warning him before the AD left the Crystal City apartment that morning. "Keep things light, Fox. Don't have any heavy discussions, just enjoy being with your Mom. Talk to her about whatever she wants to talk about-"
"Well, Fox, lunch will be ready in a little while. In the meantime, I thought you might some iced tea," Teena Mulder said as she came up behind him and offered him a glass.
He nodded and took a sip, trying to quell the ball of nervous tension that was roiling in his gut.
"You're looking well," Teena continued. "It's good to see you looking so healthy."
"Yeah," Fox answered, realizing she never really did anything to convince him his health meant anything to her one way or the other. Not when he was sick, or hurt. Or hospitalized, for God's sake. That revelation pricked his temper and set him on edge so he took the opportunity to pounce. "I've been getting plenty of rest. And eating well. My Dad makes sure of that. I think he thinks it's his mission in life, making sure I'm okay." His voice was even but his statement held layers of meaning.
Teena had no trouble divining his meaning and her eyes widened, at his tone as much as his choice of words. She knew he was baiting her but she tried to over look it. Sighing quietly, she took a seat on the sofa.
"I'm glad, dear," she replied quietly. "I'm glad someone is looking out for you. Sometimes you don't think enough . . . about yourself and your welfare."
"I did all right, all those years when-" he stopped, biting his tongue to keep the rest of the words from spilling out.
"I know, Fox," his mother said quietly. "I'm just glad you're okay. You were so happy as a little boy again. It was . . . such a pleasure to see . . ." Her voice trailed off to nothing as she struggled to find a way to express what she was feeling.
Fox watched her but he couldn't feel her struggle, only his own pain. "I guess it was good to see someone else step in and take the burden off of you. I mean, if you could have found some other schmuck to raise me the first time around, things would have been . . . hunky-dory, huh?" He spat the last few words out bitterly.
"Fox! That's . . . uncalled for," Teena responded curtly, fighting to hide the open wound his comment had left behind.
"Uncalled for?" he answered angrily. "You know, I never thought about this before. I guess I never wanted to but . . . there are no pictures of me here from after Samantha was taken! They're not here because there aren't any, right, Mom? I mean, once she was gone, I might just as well have disappeared too!"
"That's not true!" Teena retorted, rising and approaching him. Her voice was tinged with anger and hurt and it quavered as she spoke. "You . . . you don't know what-you're saying. . . ."
"I know exactly what I'm saying. I was there!" He picked up the silver frame with his Wheatley Academy photo in it and waved it at her. "This is the only photo you have of me after the age of twelve, the only school picture! Even when you sent me to boarding school-and never let me come home! They took school pictures you know, Mom. And I was the only kid there whose parents didn't order any!"
Teena Mulder's eyes clouded with tears and her hands shook as she fought to regain her voice. "You don't know what it was like, Fox," she said again. "The divorce. . . everything was just a mess. We wanted you away from it-"
"I know," he said, his voice dripping with bitterness and sarcasm. "Only this time, you didn't even have to pay for boarding school, right, Mom? Skinner took care of everything for you. Too bad he wasn't here the first time." Biting out the words, he took a brief look at the photo in his hand, then he hurled the frame across the room into the wall. The glass shattered and he ran out of the living room and up the stairs to the bedroom he was using.
He couldn't call it 'his room,' not like the spare bedroom at Skinner's place. Or the study in Danville. This room had no sense of his sporadic occupancy whatsoever and he angrily threw the few things he'd unpacked into his weekend bag and stormed back down the stairs. His mother was nowhere to be seen and he waited only a moment before exiting the house and getting into his car. The tires screeched as he backed out of the driveway and headed for the interstate.
Unchecked tears ran down his face as he drove the first fifty miles or so and he finally pulled over at a service center on Route 95. He fought to regain his composure before going inside to get a bottle of water and something to eat. But his stomach rebelled against food and he settled for the water bottle and a chance to take a few gulps of fresh air standing outside the restaurant. And then the remorse and guilt and fear hit him.
He hadn't gone there with the intent to pick a fight with his mother but he sure enough did so anyway. A guilty wave rolled over him but the thought of turning back, or calling her, didn't sit right either. She hadn't been there for him the first time around. And she didn't even try to be there this time. No matter how Skinner tried to justify her decision, the real truth was she didn't want him. If she had, well, she could have worked things out.
Next he realized that Skinner would be disappointed with him for doing everything he'd been told not to do. And he'd be angry. Fox felt a cold pit of fear in the bottom of his stomach as he contemplated how he could explain this turn of events to the Assistant Director.
Well I wouldn't have anything to explain if you hadn't forced me to go see her! He railed at the absent older man but in his heart he knew that argument would hold no weight with Skinner. Mulder ran a hand over his face as he contemplated what to do. If he went back to Danville today, he'd be in trouble. They weren't expecting him till Sunday afternoon. Going home to Virginia was a possibility but it would be a long drive south, followed by a long drive north the next day. Didn't make much sense.
He dragged his feet as he headed back to the car, looking up at the gray skies and dense cloud cover. It felt like snow. And if it snowed, that might keep him from getting to Danville. Mr. Skinner was out of the hospital for over a week but Fox hadn't had a chance to see him. And Andy was going to be in town for the Super Bowl and all the other Skinner men would be gathered there for the game. He didn't want to chance missing it.
He made a fast decision. He'd drive as far as Carlsburg, Pennsylvania. It was a small town about ten or twelve miles from Danville but given its historical significance, it had a lot of small hotels and motels. He'd get a room for the night, then hang around long enough tomorrow to approximate the drive from Greenwich. And there'd be no reason to ever tell Skinner about the explosion with his mother today. In a few weeks, mother and son would both have gotten enough distance to ignore the incident, as they always did.
"Yeah," he said as he unlocked the car and got in. "That'll work."
The Skinner Home
Danville, Pennsylvania
6 p.m. on Saturday
Walter Skinner excused himself from the family room and headed into the kitchen. He hadn't heard from Fox, which wasn't exactly a bad sign but his paternal instincts told him the younger man might need a little positive reinforcement long about now. He dialed Teena Mulder's number from memory and waited for her to answer.
"Hi, Teena," he said as soon as she did. "How are things?"
Teena drew in a teary breath and Skinner's antenna rose immediately. "What's wrong?" he asked instantly.
"Well, things haven't gone . . . as I'd hoped," she answered slowly. "In fact, it's been a complete disaster." She proceeded to explain and Skinner listened with growing trepidation. According to Teena's account, Fox had done everything the AD had warned him not to do. It was hard to miss the hurt and pain in Mrs. Mulder's voice.
"I'm sorry, Teena," he said when she finished. "I-I guess he wasn't ready to deal with everything. I knew he had some . . . doubts about why he ended up staying with me this time but I thought I'd resolved them with him. I would never have sent him up there if I knew he was so angry-"
"No, Walter," she broke in. "You've done so much for us. I can't expect you to be the buffer between Fox and me for the rest of my life." Her voice broke and Skinner was growing more concerned.
"I didn't mean it that way! It's just that, well, I should have come along this time I guess. I-let me talk to him, okay?"
"He's not here," Teena said sadly. "He left hours ago. Just after noon."
Skinner glanced at his watch instantly. Six hours was more than enough time to make it from Greenwich to Danville. He had done it in five when Fox was little and that trip had included multiple stops to use the restroom facilities in New York, New Jersey and Pennsylvania. Which must mean the younger man was not coming here at all.
"I'll track him down then," he assured Mrs. Mulder. "He's probably gone home. Don't worry, okay? I'll call you tomorrow."
Skinner hung up after assuring her he'd call as soon as he knew Fox was all right, then he immediately dialed Mulder's cell phone. It wasn't on and he slammed the phone down and redialed, this time to Mulder's home phone number. He left a message on the machine, then dialed his own number. No answer there either but he left another message, just in case.
"What's wrong?" Joe asked as he stood staring at the wall phone, trying to decide what to do next. Walter started at the question but he didn't really want to discuss this with his brother, or anyone else just yet.
"Nothing," he said. "Just a work thing. What are we doing for dinner tonight anyway?"
He went along with the family to a local restaurant where they often ate over the years but he was preoccupied throughout the meal. He stepped out a couple of times and used his cell phone to dial Mulder's cell phone, and Mulder's apartment and his own. No answer anywhere. By midnight he was very worried but unwilling to concern his family until he knew the extent of the problem. Skinner went to bed with a headache and a mountain of worry on his shoulders. And Yoda curled up on the end of his bed, obviously missing Fox. The AD slept badly, when he slept at all.
The Blue and the Gray Motor Inn
Carlsburg, Pennsylvania
1:30 a.m.
Fox Mulder lay in bed watching an XXX-rated movie he'd paid for but not watched more than a few minutes of so far. There was a pretty redheaded cheerleader in it. That caught his attention for a few minutes but even she, busty and lusty as she was billed on the cardboard marquee on top of the TV set, couldn't distract him from his problems.
He'd put about a dozen quarters in the "Magic Fingers" vibrating bed as well but that only served to annoy him after a while. So he got up and paced, then laid down again. His half-eaten chicken sandwich and now cold fries lay on the Formica table in the room and the smell of the congealed grease was turning his stomach. He got up and grabbed the food, then stalked out of the room and into the parking lot where he summarily dumped them in an already overflowing trashcan.
It was cold and he was barefoot so he ran back to the room, stubbing his toe on a tree root as he went. He got to the door and realized he'd left his room key . . . in the room!
"Great! Just great, Mulder!" he ranted at himself, banging his head on the door a couple of times in frustration. His room was a long way from the front desk of the motel but there was no other choice. He ran through the parking lot as fast as he could and tracked down the night manager who was snoozing in a room off the less than swanky lobby.
"Do you have any ID?" the man asked him suspiciously.
Mulder glanced down at himself. Sweats and a tee shirt. Where the hell did this guy think he was carrying ID? "No," he answered curtly. "If you want to walk around with me to my room, I'll show you my ID. It's locked in my room. Along with my room key."
The man had no trouble identifying the annoyance factor in his guest's response. But he also had no intention of walking around to this guy's room. It was late and very cold and a flew snow flurries were already falling. He got an extra key and handed it to Mulder.
"Great security system," the FBI agent muttered as he turned on his heel and headed back into the night.
When he finally reached his room and let himself in, he collapsed on the bed and felt tears of self-recrimination burn the back of his eyes. I should be in Danville! Sleeping peacefully! But no, HE had to make me go to Greenwich. When I didn't want to go to begin with. I knew I shouldn't go! And now I'm stuck in this lousy motel room!
He recognized his silent tirade was filled with self-pity and fueled by an unwillingness to own any responsibility for what had happened with his mother. But he didn't care. It felt good to blame someone else. He fell asleep some time later and slept fitfully until dawn.
Danville, Pennsylvania
Sunday afternoon
1 p.m.
Fox Mulder pulled his car into the Skinner driveway. As he turned off the engine, he saw the AD himself appear on the back porch. Mulder let out a deep breath and tried to calm his frayed nerves. He'd been cursing the other man for most of this trip but now he needed to get himself under control and present the best face he could. There was no reason for Skinner to know what had happened with his mother so he had to look as though he was coming from a pleasant, albeit boring, weekend with Mom.
He opened the door and waved, then reached back in to take his duffel bag out as Yoda came bounding off the porch and ran up to the younger man. The dog circled him and hopped up and down on his hind legs, looking to be petted.
"Hi, boy," he said, squatting and giving the dog a hug. Then he stood and began walking toward the AD. "Hi," he said again, trying to affect a normal timbre. "I'm starving. What's your mother cooking?"
Skinner took it all in silently. His artificial smile, studied nonchalance, the way he failed to call the AD's mother 'Gran,' as he always did. Guilt was written all over Fox, if you knew what to look for.
"Oh, the usual. Chili. Hot dogs. Nachos with that neon cheese melted on 'em." Skinner recited the list and watched Fox's eyebrows rise. This was not Rachel's usual Sunday fare but she gave up and gave her husband and sons exactly what they wanted on Super Bowl Sunday.
"Wow! I wish I'd gotten here earlier," Mulder said, a note of sincere awe coloring his words.
Skinner couldn't help laughing a little. But he wasn't about to let Fox wiggle past the truth. Either the kid came clean, or he out and out lied. Either way, Skinner was forcing the issue.
"How was your weekend with your mother?"
Skinner noticed the younger man turned a little green around the gills and he looked like he might try to side-step around the AD and make a run for the back door. But he swallowed hard and answered. "Oh, you know. Like any weekend with my mother," he replied. There! That wasn't even a lie!
"So you and she had a good time?" the AD pressed again.
"Well, you know my mother. It's hard to tell when she's having a good time."
The back door opened and Rachel Skinner looked out. "What's wrong with the two of you, standing out here in the cold? Fox, honey, get inside. And you too, Walter. Neither one of you is wearing a jacket."
Mulder breathed a sigh of relief and stepped quickly into the kitchen where he was greeted by Walter, Sr. "You look great!" he told the older man giving him a giant hug. "How are you feeling?"
"Oh, about twenty years younger," his grandfather replied as he returned the heartfelt embrace. "But now that you're here, I'm gonna revise my estimate to twenty-five! There's nothing better than having the whole family here to make a man feel good!
Mulder swallowed a lump of tears that formed in his throat as Mr. Skinner kissed him on both cheeks. Rachel did the same a moment later.
"It's so good to have you here, darling," she told him quietly. "The family's not complete without you, you know!"
Mulder nodded spastically and bit down on his bottom lip, trying to keep from choking up. Skinner had taken his bag upstairs to the study for him but now the AD returned and the young man found himself hoping he'd ask no more questions about the weekend. But that was not to be.
"What time did you start out this morning?" the AD asked idly as he grabbed a beer out of the refrigerator. Rachel Skinner was already setting a bowl of chili in front of Fox and he took another beer and placed it on the table near Mulder. Fox opened it immediately and took a huge gulp. "You got here a lot earlier than I expected."
Mulder nodded. "Well, you know there wasn't a lot of traffic today." That wasn't even remotely close to a lie. There wasn't!
"So what time did you leave?" This time it was hard to miss the tension in Skinner's jaw or the way he bit the words out.
"I wasn't really paying that much attention," Mulder answered, frowning. He was struggling to avoid a direct lie but it was getting tougher all the time. "I think the drive took me about four hours."
Skinner listened impassively but he could feel the stress of his anger and disappointment building up in his neck and shoulders. Fox was skirting the outer edges of the truth, and responding with answers that were only slightly off topic. If you didn't know what to listen for, you'd miss his misdirections entirely. He decided to let it go and see how long it would take the younger man to 'fess up.
Andy appeared in the kitchen doorway, wearing a parka and carrying hockey sticks. "Hey, Fox!" he said, delighted to have another playmate. "The pond down the road is frozen solid. We're gonna play ice hockey. You're on my team. Come on, Walt. Joe's already got your skates out. And I'm sure we have enough gear to get Fox outfitted, too."
They spent the next several hours on the frozen pond in a game of pick-up hockey with Skinner's nephews Doug and Mike and several other young men from around the area. Having been raised in Massachusetts, Mulder was a fair match for the Skinner boys who'd grown up in the cold climes of Western Pennsylvania.
By the time they arrived back at the house, they were all tired but pleasantly wind-burned and rosy-cheeked from the exertion. All except the AD. He'd enjoyed the exercise and the competition for the first couple of hours but by four o'clock, the cold and damp doubled up on him and he was in a lot of discomfort. But he wouldn't admit that to anyone else, so he pressed himself to continue until they were all ready to quit.
"You held up pretty well for an old guy," Fox told him as they headed back to the car.
"Not too old to kick your butt," Skinner snapped at him. The combination of his discomfort, and his anger at the younger agent left him short-tempered. He shook his head and kept walking.
Mulder's mouth hung open for a second and he lost a couple of steps. "What'd I do?" he muttered to himself as he watched Skinner get in the car with his nephews Mike and Doug.
Andy and Joe were right behind him, bringing up the rear and the rest of the hockey equipment.
"What're you talking about?" Andy asked him curiously.
"Him. Your brother. He's mad at me. All of a sudden he's acting like I burned his village or something."
"What do you mean?" Andy responded curiously.
"Well, you know how it goes. He starts that neck thing," he mimicked Skinner's characteristic mannerism when he was under stress, cracking the tension out of his own neck muscles. "And he tells me he can kick my butt--"
Andy whistled at the uncanny imitation but Joe frowned at him. "You know Fox, that's pretty lame. I mean, that shrapnel left in Walter's neck's a bitch but he never complains about it. Even now, when he needs more surgery--"
"He needs surgery?" Fox blurted. "How do you know?" He'd never considered that the mannerism that told him the AD was angry came from anything other than tension. And being royally pissed. He'd known the man had wounds from Vietnam but . . . . Damn! You are a moron, Mulder!
"I know because he told me," Joe added hurriedly. "But if he hasn't told you yet, don't tell him I did. He'll have my head!"
They returned home to a roast pork dinner and a game that turned out to be as exciting as any Super Bowl any of them could remember. Mulder had been watching Skinner out of the corner of his eye all afternoon, trying to read his mood, and guess what he'd done to anger the other man. So he couldn't help seeing a change come over him about halfway through the game.
A player on the Titans was injured when his head took the brunt of a collision. The man dropped to the ground and was soon surrounded by a multitude of medical people, all intent on determining whether he'd suffered a spinal injury. It was a tense moment on the field and Mulder couldn't help noticing that Skinner rose and quietly left the room. He'd had a close call with spinal injury, and possible paralysis, after Vietnam and the scene had to hit close to home. A now, facing possible new surgery with all its inherent risks. Mulder felt his blood turn cold with fear for the other man.
Joe caught his eye and signalled him not to let on that he knew anything and Mulder nodded slightly to let him know he'd keep the secret. When the news came over the TV that the player was all right, it was like the entire family breathed a sigh of relief at once.
When the game ended, Joe left to go home with his son and nephew Doug, then everyone else turned in. Walter took over his Dad's responsibility for checking to see the place was tightly locked up but the older man made sure he knew this was a 'temporary arrangement.' Skinner nodded and knew with certainty it wouldn't be long before the older man was fully recovered and back in fighting form. He wasn't kidding about feeling twenty years younger. To the AD's amazement, he even looked younger.
Skinner headed up the stairs a few minutes later, heading for his own room, but he saw the light on in the study from under the doorframe. He knocked, then entered when Fox answered.
"Hey," he said walking in and standing over the bed.
"Hey yourself," Mulder replied with a small smile. This was a hopeful sign. At least he hoped it was. "You're not mad at me any more?"
"Mad? What did you think I had to be mad about?" Skinner had decided to give him all the room he needed, to make the right or wrong choice.
Fox bit down on his lower lip thoughtfully. It occurred to him he should probably confess the truth about his disastrous visit with his mother but something held him back. "I don't know. Maybe for pushing the power play and scoring on you a time too many?"
"I never get mad about losing in a fair game," Skinner replied tightly. "You know the kinds of things that make me angry."
Fox started for a split second then he gathered his wits about him. There was no hidden meaning there, he was certain of it. How could Skinner know what happened?
"Y-yeah," he said quietly. "I've had lots of chances to get acquainted with those things. Well, I'm kind of tired. I think I better get some sleep."
Skinner watched him for a split second, giving him one last chance to take the opening. But Mulder sighed and pulled the covers up over his shoulders and turned to the wall. "Good night," he said, yawning.
"Sleep well," Skinner replied as he turned the light out and closed the door.
Mulder waited until the door was tightly closed before flopping back onto his back and sighing quietly. "Not too damn likely."
Danville, Pennsylvania
Monday morning
5 a.m.
Skinner and Mulder tiptoed down the stairs with their bags, determined not to wake anyone in the house. Skinner had to be at his office for a nine o'clock meeting and they weren't sure how much traffic they'd hit. Andy had flown into DC the previous Friday on a business trip, and rented a car that he and Walter had driven up to Danville on Friday night. Which meant the AD and Mulder could ride together in Fox's car on the way home.
They tried to stay quiet on the normally creaky back staircase but about halfway down Skinner stopped abruptly and sniffed. It smelled like fresh-baked corn muffins. He walked the rest of the way down with Fox on his heels.
"Mom," he whispered exasperatedly when he reached the kitchen. "I told you not to get up! You need your rest."
"Oh, nonsense, Walter," she replied with a laugh. "I have all day to sleep. I wanted to make you coffee and some muffins. So, shoot me." She poured a pot of hot coffee into a thermos and closed it tightly. Then she began packing up the muffins, wrapping them individually in wax paper, and putting them in a brown paper bag.
"Well, I guess this explains why you keep coming back, sir," Fox said with a smile. Rachel handed him a fresh muffin and kissed him on the cheek.
"And at least you will be invited back, Fox. Unlike some of your friends if they're not careful!" Rachel gave her son a slap on the rump and Skinner chuckled before giving her a quick kiss and a hug to make up for his comment.
"I'm not saying I don't appreciate it, Mom," he said affectionately. "Just that I feel guilty getting you up at this hour."
"All right, dear," she replied, returning the hug. "You're forgiven."
Mulder and Skinner left a few minutes later, carrying their bags and the coffee and muffins. They packed the luggage in the trunk and Skinner announced he was driving. Mulder thought it was strange but he handed over his keys, knowing this would make eating breakfast a heck of a lot easier for him. And those muffins were heavenly!
Once in the car, Skinner fell into a funk and Mulder decided to wait it out. But soon the silence was oppressing him and he reached over and turned on the radio, settling on a station that was playing a rap song he remembered from his recent childhood. It was on barely twenty seconds before Skinner reached over and tuned the radio to a local all-news station.
"What'd you do that for?" Mulder asked him.
"It's barely five-thirty, Fox," Skinner said tightly. "Give me a break."
Give you a break! I'm the one sitting here in silent, frozen hell! He thought about replying openly but thought better of it. It appeared Skinner had not slept well and he was always a bear when that happened. And the fact was, Mulder hadn't slept all that well himself so he was a little on edge already. The two of them, in those kinds of moods, cooped up in a car for several hours was a prescription for disaster and Mulder wanted to avoid that at all costs.
He poured himself another cup of coffee and proceeded to stare out the window, hoping the ride would pass quickly. They were making good time when Skinner suddenly spoke.
"Well?"
Mulder's head turned immediately. "Well, what?"
"Well I've given you plenty of time to tell me and you haven't. So now I'm through waiting."
The younger man's trouble radar was pinging madly. He could feel his heart begin to race, not knowing what it was Skinner was expecting him to 'tell' but knowing it was trouble nonetheless. "W-what are you talking about?"
Skinner took his eyes off the road and glared at the occupant of the passenger seat for a few seconds. Then he exhaled forcefully. "I spoke to your mother. Yesterday."
Mulder's heart began to beat wildly, as he tried to get a handle on his shock, and fear, that Skinner knew of his deception. Dammit! Why the hell did he call there? Doesn't he trust me alone anywhere? Another part of his brain weighed in with a counter-argument immediately but he shook it off.
"You were checking up on me?" Mulder bit out, trying to start with a strong offense.
Skinner came right back at him. "No, but I guess I should have been! Your mother said you were rude and provoked a fight with her. Then you stormed out of the house. At noon on Saturday."
Fox bit his lower lip as he tried to hold back the angry tears that threatened to spill over any minute. He didn't want to feel as bad as he did, didn't think he deserved to feel bad. But Skinner was angry with him, and disappointed in him. And those two things held sway. "I-- I-- I didn't want to go there to begin with!" he protested. "I t-told you! But you made me go!"
Skinner heard his words and knew there was a kernel of truth in them. He had pushed the young man to make the trip. Before he was ready. He decided not to press the point for now. There were other more important issues here.
"And when you showed up in Danville yesterday, you lied, right? You said you spent the weekend with your mother--"
"I never said it! I didn't! I just . . . didn't say that I didn't spend the weekend with her, that's all." Fox's voice cracked over the words and he put a hand to his forehead and muttered to himself about keeping control.
"Okay, so you misrepresented the truth, is that better, Fox?" Skinner answered angrily. "It's all the same to me. And now to the real question. Where did you spend last night?"
Mulder swallowed hard. He'd been afraid Skinner would ask. And now he had only two choices. To lie again. Or tell the truth. And the truth might be worse than a lie now.
He drew in a ragged, tear-soaked breath and opted for the truth, no matter how much trouble it would bring. "I-- I stayed at a motel. In . . . Carlsburg."
Skinner didn't react at first and Mulder wasn't sure if he'd heard and understood. But all hope for that possibility was shattered a moment later.
"I see," Skinner said deliberately, his voice ominously soft. "You . . . were upset. You were angry and probably scared. So you drove to within ten miles of home. And stayed in a motel. . . to keep up a lie."
The words were spoken quietly but each one hit Mulder like a hammer. He didn't answer, unable to form a coherent response.
"I asked you a question, Fox," Skinner said. This time he vested the words with every ounce of his authority.
"Y-yes."
Skinner nodded. There was a silent minute between them, then the AD checked the rear-view mirror and put on his right turn signal. He pulled the car across the right lane and into the wide shoulder of the Pennsylvania Turnpike where he brought the car to a stop. Then he turned the car off.
Mulder was watching him warily, not sure exactly what was happening. Was the other man going to put him out of the car? Get out and start walking himself? What? Yoda was lying on the back seat but now he picked his head up, silently sensing the sudden tension in the car.
Skinner reached past Mulder and opened the glove box, taking out a flashlight. He turned it on, testing to be sure the battery was good. Then he reached into the pocket of his own trousers and withdrew something. It was his Swiss Army knife and he flipped the blade open. Then he handed the blade and the flashlight to Mulder.
The younger man took them although he looked confused and uncertain what he was supposed to do with them. "What?" he asked anxiously.
Skinner gestured toward a stand of trees about 50 feet away. "Take the knife. Go cut a switch. About as thick around as your thumb. Between two and three feet long."
Mulder's mouth opened but no sound came out. He felt his lips open and close but still no sound emerged from between his lips.
"Now, Fox," Skinner said firmly.
The younger man opened the door rapidly and stumbled out into the cold, still-dark morning, heading toward the tree line. "Is he fucking kidding? Go cut a switch? What does he think this is, fucking 'Little House on the Prairie' or something?" He wandered around in the wooded area trying to decide what to do. He could make a run for it but where would he go? And Skinner could catch up with him in the car in no time.
"Today, Fox!" Skinner yelled from behind him, startling the younger agent out of his reverie. The AD had gotten out of the car and now he was standing beside it impatiently.
"Damn!" Mulder whispered to himself as he found a likely bush and measured branch against his thumb. "Is he out of his fucking mind? I mean, nobody does this!" And nobody does all the rest of it either. Punishment tours. Spankings. What makes this any different?
"If I have to come get you, you will regret it deeply, young man," Skinner called over.
Mulder quickly put the knife to the branch he was holding, sawing desperately, trying to get it to cut. It finally did and he quickly removed a few dead leaves and began walking back to the car. When he got there, he thrust the branch at the AD angrily, as if it was hot to the touch.
Skinner took it and watched as Fox opened the car door and began to get in. "Not just yet," he said and Fox's head snapped back in his direction. He came to a halting stop.
"What now?" the younger man asked anxiously.
"I want to make sure this one is good," Skinner said, taking him by the arm and leading him to the front hood of the car. It had been warm in the car, so Mulder was wearing his suit pants and a white dress shirt with no jacket on and he tensed when he realized where this was going.
"N-not here! Somebody could see!"
"Well, it's early. You'll have to hope that doesn't happen," Skinner said muscling him down over the hood. He held the younger man in place with his left arm and raised the switch. Without a pause, he brought it crashing down across the seat of Mulder's trousers.
"OWW!" the young man protested. He tried to rise but the AD had muscle and position on his side. Skinner laid five more strokes right across his buttocks before letting him stand up. Mulder was choking back sobs and Skinner knew he'd accomplished his aim for the moment.
"I think this will do," he said succinctly. "Get back in the car."
When they were both inside Skinner handed the switch to Fox. He could see him biting down hard on his lower lip, trying to hold back tears. "Take this home. We'll put it to further use tonight."
Mulder put his hand out automatically, as if on auto-pilot, and took the hated thing. He was fighting hard not to let on that his butt was stinging mightily and he was embarrassed and mortified by this latest turn of events, and the fact Skinner had used that . . . that thing on him on the side of the road. Determined not to let on how much he was hurting, he turned his head to the side and closed his eyes as Skinner pulled the car back out onto the road and resumed their journey.
They traveled the rest of the way in silence. Once in the District of Columbia, Skinner finally pulled the car over to the side of Pennsylvania Avenue about four blocks from the FBI building. He put the car in 'neutral' and turned to Mulder.
"I'll get out here. I need to . . . walk a little. You go home and change. Make sure you bring that switch upstairs. I'll ... be home at the regular time." Skinner opened his door and got out. Then he opened the back door and quickly slipped on his suit jacket and overcoat. Finally, he took his briefcase out of the back seat and slammed that door as well.
Mulder sat in the passenger seat, barely breathing. He was overwhelmed with guilt and shame. And scared of the other man's anger. His head jerked up anxiously when the passenger door suddenly opened. Skinner was standing there, staring at him.
"Wh-what?" Mulder blurted out anxiously.
The AD stared at him for a moment, then he reached inside and ruffled the back of Mulder's hair for a split second. "I love you, kid," he said quickly, then he pulled back his arm and closed the door quietly. Stunned, Mulder watched him head up the sidewalk, his coat billowing behind him. It took the young man a good few minutes to get his emotions under control enough to get out of the car and walk around to the driver's side and resume his ride back to Crystal City.
Mulder reached the apartment some twenty minutes later. He let the dog out of the car, then took his and Skinner's bags out of the trunk. He was about to head toward the lobby when he remembered the damn switch.
"How the hell am I gonna get that thing upstairs without anyone seeing it?" he muttered to himself. Finally he came up with a solution. He got his own overcoat out of the back seat, where he'd been planning to leave it for later. He slipped it on, then threw both weekend bags over his shoulder, keeping one hand free to hold the switch under his coat. It was a balancing act that almost failed when the doorman tried to give him Skinner's mail. "He'll pick it up later, Carlos," the young man said, feigning hurry.
When he finally made it to the apartment, he threw the switch down on the coffee table in disgust and hurled himself down on the couch. The dog jumped up beside him and curled up in a circle.
"Oh, God, Yoda," Mulder said, burying his face in the dog's neck. "What the hell am I gonna do now?"
FBI Academy
Quantico, Virginia
12:20 p.m.
Fox Mulder removed his tray from the counter after pocketing the change the cashier had given him. He located Dana Scully sitting at a table on the other side of the cafeteria and walked over, finding her in conversation with two students in the class. Mulder nodded to them all and sat down, wincing slightly as his sore butt hit hard plastic. He suspected after tonight, that little act would be a lot more painful.
"Hi, Mulder," Scully smiled at him. "I was afraid you weren't gonna make your class."
"I drove back from Pennsylvania this morning. Got . . . delayed a little," he answered as he dipped his spoon into the black bean soup he'd selected from the menu. His stomach was doing regular somersaults and the soup and some crackers were all he thought he could manage.
"We were just telling Agent Scully about this afternoon's field trip," Josh Watanabe said enthusiastically. Mulder had forgotten he'd planned to take the entire class into the District of Columbia this afternoon. He groaned inwardly but didn't let on.
Josh's companion, Becca Ballantine, nodded excitedly. "We've all been studying up," she broke in. "To play "Name That Crime." First one to find spot twenty-one actual criminal offenses wins."
Scully laughed. "In DC, that won't take long. What are you gonna do the rest of the afternoon, Mulder?"
The other agent smiled wanly. "I thought we'd take a tour of headquarters," he said. He'd been so tied up in his own personal problems all weekend, he hadn't prepared much. He'd just have to make it up as he went along.
Scully immediately offered to accompany them, partly because she was through with her teaching day and partly because she was curious to see how this went. She knew Mulder's brain probably catalogued that many separate violations of the criminal code on his drive into work each day, so complete were his powers of observation, but she was secretly happy and proud to see how well Mulder was taking to this assignment. And she also had a gut feeling something wasn't quite right today.
But by the time they left, her partner had recovered a little, enough to be trading barbs and witty repartee with the group. They took the Academy bus and were in the District in no time. Scully sat back and watched Mulder work the crowd, delivering the afternoon's lecture (which she remembered as dry and unfailingly dully) with humor and panache. By the time they headed out into the streets of Washington in pairs, Mulder had mentally handicapped the competition and informed Scully who would likely win and in how much time.
"Watanabe and Ballantine in under ninety minutes," he said. "And Jefferson and Goldstein will be right behind them."
The two agents were in the X-Files office an hour and twenty-five minutes later when Josh Watanabe opened the door. Becca Ballantine was on his heels, breathless from trying to keep up with her long-legged counterpart. They had barely finished running through their list when Marcus Jefferson and Jeff Goldstein arrived.
"Jeff and Jeff," Mulder greeted them. "A day late and a dollar short but let's hear what ya got."
As more pairs began arriving, Scully nudged Mulder to move to the auditorium they had reserved on the main floor. "Forty people can't fit in this space," she whispered to him frantically. "It violates the fire code."
They removed to the auditorium, Scully instructing the guards at the employee entrance to send any more recruits who showed up directly there. The room was abuzz with young people, enthusiastically comparing notes when she got there. Mulder called the group to order and suggested they begin listing the crimes they'd discovered on the board at the front. Most of the list was good but now and then someone listed something that didn't rise to the level of an actual criminal offense.
"Is that your final answer?" Mulder asked him, maintaining a straight face with difficulty. The young man hesitated, then nodded.
"Nyaaaaaah!" Mulder imitated the sound of a buzzer when one young man called out something wrong. "You lose! The answer is that guy was dumb but . . . stupidity's not an actual crime in most states or the District of Columbia."
The recruits laughed but the ensuing debate was hard-fought and educational. When Mulder had convinced them all "there was no crime," he let the next team add its contibution until they were all done with their lists. Then he challenged them to identify the specific sections of the penal code the crimes they'd observed violated. That took a while but Scully was amazed as he guided the class through the decision process.
"Now the tough part," he said walking to the front of the room. He'd taken off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He was ready to work now, Scully smiled to herself in the back of the room. She glanced around and noticed Assistant Director Walter Skinner standing at a door in the rear. Having been spotted, he nodded at her and walked in, quietly taking a seat in the last row.
"We've established there are some crimes being committed in Washington, D.C," Mulder was saying. "And not one of you even got near the White House," he said dryly, letting a spontaneous chuckle move through the room. "So. . . who ya gonna call?" He stopped pacing the front of the auditorium and looked directly at a young man in the front row.
The kid swallowed hard. "Ghostbusters?" he asked tremulously.
This brought a round of guffaws from the crowd but Mulder raised his hand in the universal 'gimme a high-five' signal. The kid complied, slapping his palm against Mulder's and laughing a little self-consciously. "I knew there was hope for this crowd. So now, TJ, who has jurisdiction on crime number one?"
Scully watched Skinner lean back in his chair. The man had a killer schedule usually but he settled in as though he were going to stay. And Scully didn't find it hard to understand. It was a pleasure to watch Mulder when he was so engrossed and yet so at ease. It happened rarely in her experience. But more often since Skinner had taken her partner under his wing.
When the list was winnowed down to a few in which the FBI had primary jurisdiction, Mulder paused as though he was thinking hard. "So, we've observed what looks like a crime and established probable cause. And we know we have jurisdiction. What else do we need?" He rubbed his head thoughtfully and waited.
The room was quiet, each of the recruits lost in the spell Mulder had created, silently reviewing everything they'd learned about investigative procedures in their heads. No one answered until a lone voice spoke up from the back. "How about a search warrant?"
"We have a winner!" Mulder responded, turning to point in the direction of the respondent. "Sir!" he blurted when he saw who it was.
"Agent Mulder," Skinner replied as he rose. "I heard you were all in the building and I thought I'd stop in and say hello."
"H-hello," the younger agent replied, then he grabbed the reins of the conversation. "I'd like you all to meet Assistant Director Walter Skinner, head of investigative operations. Sir, would you like to say a few words? If you can spare a few minutes."
Skinner nodded and walked down the aisle to the front of the auditorium. "I'd be glad to," he said. "First off, I have say you all lucked out in getting Special Agent Mulder as your instructor for this section. No one in this building is more familiar with the rules of investigative procedure. . . "
Mulder held his breath, hoping the AD wouldn't add anything about him being so familiar because he'd been reprimanded for violating so many of them so often.
"--or can provide you such a colorful and entertaining way to learn them. Something tells me you didn't start this class at chapter one and work your way through the manual. . . ." Laughter followed and he knew he was right. "That's how they did it when I went through the Academy . . . back in colonial days."
Skinner stayed long enough to talk about the diverse careers available to FBI agents today, then shook hands with everyone in the class individually, exchanging a few words with each of them. Becca Ballantine was last and she told the AD her mother sent regards.
"You're Tess' daughter?" he said, giving her a warm smile. "Your Mom and I were good friends back in high school. Tell her hello for me. How are you finding your stint at the Academy?"
"I love it," she gushed. "It's totally awesome. Agent Mulder is just the best instructor ever. Totally challenging! And he's so interesting, too. I could just listen to him all day--"
Skinner nodded, recognizing a crush when he saw one. And the cadence and vocabulary of a Gen Y-er. It wasn't too long ago he had one living in his home. "Well, you keep up the hard work and I'm sure you'll find the actual job even more challenging."
He left a moment later ruminating about the fact Mulder seemed to have left an impression on Becca and just about every other female recruit in the class. He wondered how many of them would ask for assignment to the X-Files at the end of their training.
Crystal City, Virginia
7:12 p.m.
The Assistant Director was shocked then when he arrived home to find the confident, easy-going Special Agent replaced by a moody, scared young man. He had just hung his coat in the hall closet and stepped into the living room when the surprise hit him. There was Mulder, slouched on the sofa, his legs propped up on the coffee table, his arms wrapped tightly around his mid-section. It was clear he was upset as he sat there, staring at the switch he'd tossed on the table that morning.
"Hi," Skinner said slowly, trying to the get the lay of the land. He squatted down to pet Yoda, who'd bounded over to greet him. "What time did you get home?"
"A while ago," Mulder mumbled, not looking at him.
Skinner stood up, still watching the younger man closely. "Uh-huh. Everything okay?"
Mulder shrugged listlessly.
"That's not an answer--"
"Well, what do you want me to say?" he answered immediately, his voice rising as tension shot through it. He dropped his feet to the floor and leaned forward into his knees. "You made me cut that--that, you know! And now you're gonna-- you're gonna-- you know! And I'm just supposed to be okay with that, right?"
Skinner let him vent, watching him for a clue as to what had caused this outburst. His usually articulate young charge was very nearly incoherent. But nothing came forth that indicated what this was about. The AD shrugged off his suit jacket, laid it on a chair and began rolling up his sleeves. He decided to use the momentary pause to consider what was going on.
But Mulder interpreted his actions as Skinner getting ready to proceed with his punishment. He stood and assumed an angry posture. "Well, fuck you!" he spat out vehemently.
Skinner's head snapped up and he trained a laser glare on the younger man. "What did you just say?"
"I said. . . what I said! You should have listened the first time!"
Skinner's eyes hardened as they continued to stare at Mulder. He turned his head to the side quickly, trying to crack a little of the tension that formed a tight knot in his neck. "Okay," he said abruptly as he strode over into the middle of the room. "I was gonna wait till after dinner but I've heard enough. Get your butt over here."
He picked up the switch that was lying on the coffee table and jerked his head toward the overstuffed leather chair by the window. "You know the drill. Get over here and get 'em down."
Mulder's mouth had dropped open in the time it took Skinner to get the switch in his hand. His angry face mutated into one that betrayed pure, unadulterated fear. "N-no! Please, no! I can't-- I mean, please don't! PLEASE!" He was backing away as he spoke and looking as though he would run like a scared rabbit any second.
"Fox! I'm not playing games! Get over here. NOW!"
"I-- Please! Not that! Just don't--" Mulder choked on the tears he couldn't hold back and Skinner could see his cheeks were wet from the ones trailing down his face.
What the hell is going on here? The AD dropped the hand holding the switch to his side and looked at Mulder questioningly.
"Please, sir! I-- Please don't hit me with . . . that. I know I deserve to be p-punished. I just ca-can't . . . " He stared at Skinner, pleading with him silently.
Skinner was confused but his instincts told him this was not about the younger man trying to avoid punishment. He laid the switch down on the table again and reached for his belt, beginning to unbuckle it. As he did so, he watched Mulder closely and saw him close his eyes as though he were relieved to be getting a strapping. None of this made any sense but Skinner made a quick decision to deal with one thing at a time. Getting this punishment over and done with was his first priority, then he'd see how long it took him to figure out what else was at play here tonight.
In a moment Mulder had positioned himself behind the chair and pushed down his sweats and boxers. With Skinner's hand on his back, guiding him, he leaned forward, already sniffling from the tears he'd shed a moment earlier.
"What's this strapping for, Fox?" Skinner asked him as he brought the belt down across the young man's upturned butt.
"F-for lying to you! And to the family!" Mulder said quickly. "Oww! Oucchh!"
"And what else?" The Assistant Director reinforced that one with several sharp licks right on the 'sit spot.'
"Ahh! For picking a fight with my mother! I-- Ohhh! OWWW! And running out on her!"
"I don't EVER want to hear that you treated her like that again, Fox. She's your mother. And she's old. Whether you agree with everything she does or not, you owe her your respect!" He punctuated his words with licks of the belt applied to the younger man's thighs and the fleshiest part of his bottom."
"I know! Unhhh! Oucchhh! I'm sorry!" Mulder's tears had turned to choking sobs now.
"And tell me what else you're being punished for," Skinner asked him.
"For not . . . for not coming home! For staying in a motel! Owww! Ouchhh! Ahhhh! Just to keep up the lie!" he sobbed as though his heart were broken.
Skinner heard his remorse and gave him one final stroke, then he dropped the belt on the couch behind him. He rubbed his hand up and down Mulder's back slowly for another minute, then he pulled the young man to his feet and helped him pull up his sweatpants. Mulder automatically buried his head in the AD's shoulder and Skinner's arms rose to embrace him immediately.
"It's okay, kid," he said gently. "It's all over now. Just let it out." He could hear Mulder was having trouble getting his emotions in check and he decided to let him take as long as he needed. "Shhh. It's okay now. It's okay."
When Mulder's sobs reduced themselves to hitching, tear-soaked breathing Skinner knew he had to get him to lie down. He could feel Mulder leaning on him for balance and didn't want to end up having to carry him. So he pushed the young man back gently and gave him firm instructions.
"Go get ready for bed," he said evenly. "I'll be right in. Do you understand me?"
Mulder nodded but made no attempt to move so Skinner turned him around bodily and gently pushed him off. He watched the younger agent walk slowly toward the stairs and disappear up them before he headed into the kitchen.
The door to Fox's bedroom was ajar when Skinner got there a little while later and he used his foot to push it open further. He was carrying a plate with a sandwich on it and a steaming mug and he was surprised to see Fox sitting on the bed waiting for him. His face was freshly scrubbed and he was wearing pajamas. Mulder looked up at him, surprised.
"I brought you a chicken sandwich," Skinner said matter-of-factly.
"And hot chocolate?" Mulder asked, having smelled it the moment the other man walked in.
"Yes. But eat your sandwich first." Skinner smiled as he handed him the plate and placed the mug on the night table.
"I'm not really hungry. . . ."
"Well, eat anyway. You need your strength, son. And it's just a plain chicken sandwich. I didn't put even one leaf of lettuce on it."
The young man grimaced ruefully and continued to stare at the sandwich as though it were waving at him. Then he sighed and picked it up. He took a bite and was surprised to discover he was hungry after all. In another two bites he'd finished the first half and started on the second.
Skinner watched him warily as he took a seat in the chair by the window. Fox hadn't picked up his head or even begun to recover from the punishment he'd gotten. Usually he bounced back quickly. Something was definitely up and the AD was not going away without finding out what it was.
Mulder finished the rest of his sandwich quickly, then he looked up at the AD.
"So," Skinner said as their eyes met. "You gonna tell me what that was all about?"
Mulder blinked and looked down, then raised his eyes to meet the other man's once again. "You gonna hold my cocoa hostage until I do?"
Skinner smiled, and his heart lightened a little. The reemergence of Mulder's sense of humor was a good sign. He picked up the mug and passed it over. "Nah. I trust you. And what kind of person would hold a fella's hot cocoa hostage?"
Mulder's eyes lit up when he got a good look at what he'd been handed. "Marshmallow AND whipped cream?"
"Only the best for you, kid," Skinner said breezily. But his comment had the opposite effect from what he'd intended as Mulder's eyes filled with tears once more. "What? What is it, Fox?"
Mulder shook his head as though he wanted to shake whatever it was right out of it. But Skinner wasn't having any of it.
"I'm not going away until you tell me, Fox. Take as long as you need. But this is important."
Mulder squeezed his eyes together tightly, trying to physically bar the tears that were spilling out of them. But a few escaped and rolled down his cheeks and into the corner of his mouth. He raised a hand and swiped at his face.
"Dammit! This is . . . stupid," he said angrily. Then he exhaled forcefully and took a deep breath. He glanced up at Skinner and saw the other man looking at him kindly, patiently. But he also knew the AD was like a force of nature when he was determined, as he was now. He really wasn't leaving until he had an explanation.
"My family is Dutch, you know," Mulder began, then he stopped, thinking that was a stupid way to start. The silence expanded into a full minute.
Skinner chuckled softly. "And that would be relevant because . . . ?"
Mulder smiled sadly. "Right. Well, actually it's important to this story. My Mother was born in the Netherlands, came here as a child. My father was born here but of Dutch parents. You'd never know really. Except for the family heirloom china. Delft. And one other tradition we kept up. . . . The Dutch celebrate the feast of St. Nicholas on December 6--"
"I'm familiar with it, Mulder. It's a pretty important feast day in the Eastern Orthodox rite, too."
"Well with us it wasn't a religious thing," the young man answered swiftly. "It's the day Father Christmas comes. Sinterklaas. Children leave their shoes -- wooden shoes, of course!-- out on the front steps or the porch at night. And overnight Sinterklaas fills the ones belonging to all the good boys and girls with candy and fruit and nuts."
Skinner smiled and leaned back in his chair. He had never heard Fox mention family holidays before. Or any religious or ethnic upbringing whatsoever. He was pleased the young man was sharing something of this nature. But Mulder had gone silent again and Skinner felt the need to prod him a little.
"It's a nice custom," he said gently.
Mulder smiled sadly. "Yeah. Well, when I was about eleven, I . . . I guess I developed a bit of an attitude. A 'fresh mouth,' my mother used to call it . . . I know you probably find that hard to believe."
Skinner grinned at his self-deprecating comment. "Oh yeah. You must be talking about some other Fox Mulder!"
The young man gave him another ghost of a smile and nodded slightly. Then he sighed again as though he was considering how best to proceed. "My father was away a lot in those days. When he was home, he was so stressed out and preoccupied, it made the whole family edgy. And my mother was . . . under a lot of strain. She started taking tranqulizers around then. And I didn't help things, I guess. . . . I always had an opinion about things. I made them both mad a lot."
"I suspect you were a pretty typical eleven-year-old," Skinner said quietly. "Adolescents start to push the boundaries. They test their wings and try on new ideas. You're a psychologist, Fox. You know that's a normal part of separating from the parent."
Mulder shook his head. "No, I was a lot . . . worse than that. My parents were fighting all the time in those days and I just seemed to keep adding to the problems. I don't even know what all the things they fought about were, but I know some of the time it was me."
He picked his head up and stared into the distance and Skinner could tell he was watching it all play out in his head. "That year, Samantha and I put our shoes out. I didn't believe any more, of course. I was too old to believe in Santa Claus! But I kept it up for Sam. She still believed . . . . And anyway, I liked getting the candy! And sunflower seeds, too."
"So when she woke up in the morning, Samantha came and got me and we ran down to the front porch," he continued. "Samantha's shoe was filled with candy wrapped in green and gold and red foil wrappers as always. But mine. . . ." His voice trailed off and he looked up at Skinner, tears pooled in his hazel eyes. "I forgot to tell you that Sinterklaas only left candy for the good boys and girls. For the bad children, he left a switch -- for their parents to. . . ."
Skinner's mouth opened in horror. Oh, Christ, Walter! Talk about opening an old wound! There was no way he could have known but now he berated himself nevertheless for having led the young man he loved so much to this recollection.
Mulder tried to shrug it off but it came off as a feeble, artifiicial gesture. "So my Dad made me take the switch upstairs and wait for him. And I spent the rest of the day in my room after . . . . My parents and Samantha went out to dinner, like we always did every year. We'd drive in to Oak Bluff and have dinner at the big hotel there. But I didn't get to go that year . . . ."
He was fighting to hold back sobs now, and rapidly losing the battle. "And it was the last-- It was the last Christmas Samantha was with us. . . ."
Skinner rose and went to the bed. Sitting down beside Mulder, he opened his arms and drew the now sobbing young man into the security of his embrace. "Shhhh. It's okay, Fox," he said over and over again, like a mantra to try to calm him. He caressed the back of his head tenderly and felt hot tears soak his shirt. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry that happened. Just let it out, son."
"I'm sorry," Mulder choked out a moment later. "I know I deserved to be punished. I know I was pretty bad but-- If I'd known it would be the last time with Sam--"
"Stop it, Fox!" Skinner interrupted him. He gently pushed Mulder back so he could see his face. "I won't let you go there. You were not a bad kid. I've known you as a kid, remember? You didn't have it in you to be bad. I think you were a pretty normal 11-year-old whose family was going through the hammers of hell. I'm not making excuses for your parents because, well, I'm not sure if they deserve any. But I won't let you blame yourself, do you hear me?"
"But I was pretty mouthy--"
"And I told you, that's a normal thing for a kid that age! I'm not saying parents should ignore misbehavior or disrespect. I didn't, did I? But you deal with it, dole out whatever punishment might be required right then and there, and reinforce it with a whole lot of love. You don't save it all up and steal Christmas! Or Sinterklaas. Or whatever you called it!"
Mulder looked up at him, blinking as he processed what the other man was saying. But he didn't seem convinced.
"You know, we had that legend about Santa Claus keeping a list and delivering coal to bad little boys and girls," Skinner said. "And in Pennsylvania, coal was pretty easy to come by."
Mulder snorted and grinned, despite himself.
"But listen to me. My Dad's pretty damn strict, don't you think? And nobody in my family ever got a lump of coal, Fox. Not even Andy! I guess we all had to go cut a switch once or twice. Mostly when my Dad wanted us to have a chance to think about what we did before we were punished. It's like making a paddle. The act is as much a part of the discipline as the spanking. But I want you to hear me. I know you didn't deserve to get a switch for Christmas. Good discipline is about correcting specific misbehavior. It isn't about telling a kid he's 'bad.' Not ever."
Fox nodded and felt a rush of relief that was almost thirty years in coming. Skinner could see the tension melt out of him.
"And I promise I'll never use a switch again, Fox," Skinner said to him firmly. "There's plenty of other choices available when you step out of line, kid!"
Mulder snorted and rolled his eyes. He was recovering quickly now.
Skinner brushed a kiss over the to of his hair and continued to hug him. "We could have . . . avoided all this if you'd just told me this morning," he said. "This is important, kid. We agreed a long time ago you're going to tell me when something's got you feeling scared or depressed, right?"
Mulder nodded thoughtfully and took a deep breath and jumped in with the question that had been bothering him since the day before. "Shouldn't that work both ways?"
Skinner was confused by the question. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, if you're sick or hurt or something, shouldn't you tell me? We're family, right? But you didn't tell me about needing surgery--"
"Oh, I'm gonna have to hurt Joe," Skinner said, knowing immediately where this information had come from.
"No! It was an accident, him telling me. But . . . how come you didn't tell me? If I knew you weren't feeling well, I'd be extra careful about . . . you know. At least I'd try not to get on your nerves!"
Skinner laughed out loud. "Well, that's a good point I hadn't considered. But you're right. I . . . keep things to myself too much, too. And if you knew why I was so damn . . . short-tempered lately, well I'm not sure what it would change but at least you wouldn't think it was about you, right?" He squeezed the younger man one more time, then released him. "I wouldn't have wanted to worry you when you were a kid but-- You are an adult now. I'll try to remember not to be so . . . uncommunicative, okay?"
Mulder nodded sleepily. He had relaxed greatly in the last few minutes and the AD recognized that sleep was rapidly overtaking him so he helped him get under the covers.
"You get some rest now, son," he said as he pulled the comforter over Mulder.
Mulder yawned and nodded again. The AD decided to wait until he was asleep to leave so he busied himself picking up discarded clothes from the floor. He nearly tripped over the pair of sneakers in the middle of the room and he lifted them and put them in the closet, then dropped the sweats in the hamper.
"Dad?" a sleepy voice from behind him said.
"Hmm?" he responded automatically. Then he realized what Mulder had said and knew he was in that twilight place between sleep and waking.
"I was thinking, we should just keep Yoda. I mean, we're not usually both out of town at the same time. And when we are, the Gunmen said they'd keep him. And so would Gran and Gram . . . ."
Skinner smiled and looked at the dog now snoozing peacefully at the foot of Fox's bed. He'd given up the idea of sending the pup to one of his brothers a while back but somehow he and Fox hadn't gotten around to talking about it. But Fox had obviously been thinking, and making arrangements.
"And I remember what you said about him needing a yard," Fox continued, "but I promise, I'll come over and take him out for a run every day, even when I'm not staying here--" The rest of what he meant to say was swallowed in a giant yawn.
Skinner nodded even though Fox was barely keeping his eyes open. "Well, I think that can be arranged," he said quietly. "And as for a yard, well, I've been thinking about maybe buying the safe house. I got kind of attached to that place and I looked into it--"
"You did?" Fox said, before a deep yawn cut him off again. Sleep was rapidly overwhelming him. "Can I have my old room back?" he asked as he slipped into unconsciousness.
Skinner chuckled. "I think that can be arranged," he answered as he shut off the light and gently closed the door.
THE END