Take 2 - Part 38
by 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: Sixth Season. Many details and characters come from previous stories I've written.
Rating: PG. Discipline, no slash.
Author's note: This series was inspired by Xanthe's story "Red" and is loosely related to an unfinished work by Mangst and Xanthe called "Reset". I appreciate their generous approval to go ahead with my version of the same scenario.
Summary: Thanksgiving in Danville brings Fox and his mother together at the Skinner family celebration.
The Skinner Home
Danville Pennsylvania
Thanksgiving Day
Skinner cousins of all ages and their uncle Andy were playing touch football on the side of the house and Mr. Skinner and his son-in-law Oliver were acting as official referees. Joe and Walter had played for a while but age and common sense had caught up with them both and they'd stepped inside for a drink a few minutes earlier. Now they both stood at the picture window in the family room watching the game's final moments. Walter took the opportunity to fill Joe in on something that had happened the previous week. He'd spoken to Joe on the phone several times since but held off sharing this story, wanting to see the expression on his brother's face when he heard it.
"Andy did?" Joe asked, his mouth going slack at the thought that Andy Skinner might have stepped in and disciplined Fox for breaking his curfew. "Andy paddled him? I always figured he'd call Dad when his own kids reached the age where tough stands had to be taken! Or me or you!"
"Well, it surprised the hell out of me, too. Not to mention Fox! But he pulled the kid back into line without any help. And then he stepped up and took responsibility for letting him get so far out to begin with. I'd say little brother's finally grown up, Joe," Walter said with a grin. "But don't tell him I said that!"
"So, did you . . . let him have it?"
"Well, I gave him a piece of my mind about extending Fox's curfew without talking to me. But I couldn't really be mad. He'd already beaten himself up about that. And he may have a point about me keeping Fox on too short a leash. Which is the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. How do you work this out with Mike?"
"Well, every kid's different, Walt," Joe answered, taking a seat on the lounge chair by the window. The game had just broken up and now everyone on the field, winners and losers, were exchanging high-fives. Which made it hard to tell which side had actually won. "Michael's not as responsible as Doug, for example. Which is why I was kind of relieved when Mike decided to attend college locally. And the fact he picked a college where I work makes it even more convenient to keep an eye on him! I don't think he's ready to be on his own. But I do let him stay out till one o'clock on weekends."
Skinner nodded, taking the information in and sifting it through his knowledge of Fox. The first time around, Fox had gone off to college in England at the age of 17. It was hard to imagine the kid who lived with him now doing that. This Fox made short forays into adulthood but then he always came back, seeking the comfort and security of home. The AD wondered if he'd somehow failed to give Fox enough independence for him to make the same kind of choices as before. And whether that would affect the adult he eventually became.
He looked pensive as he stood next to the chair where Joe was sitting. "Fox has occasionally mentioned going to college again. He doesn't need to, because all the knowledge from before comes back to him as he goes along. At whatever point he learned it the first time. But the experience might be a good one for him. If I can find a way to handle the security issues."
Now Joe's eyes darkened with worry. "And can you? I'd hate to see him in any danger, Walt. And he is . . . very trusting. You can see it's in his nature."
Skinner swallowed down the fear and second thoughts that Joe's words engendered. It would be difficult to keep Fox safe from their enemies as he went further into the world alone. And Joe was right. The boy was sweet and trusting. Prior to the accident that killed three of his friends, he'd managed to get through this second childhood untouched by any of the worst things in life. In that regard, he was very different from Mulder. There was not a paranoid bone in this kid's body. And a little healthy fear and paranoia would serve him well in his current circumstance.
He was distracted from his dark thoughts as the house filled with the sounds of laughter and people talking. The rest of the family entered through the kitchen door. "When's dinner, Gram? We're starving!" Mike called into the kitchen as they passed.
"Everything smells great, Gram," Fox added.
"Well, one of you boys is gonna turn out to be a charmer," Rachel Skinner laughed. She was wearing an apron and standing amidst the soon to be served bounty of their traditional Thanksgiving dinner. "I won't say which one but . . . Fox, tell everyone dinner is ready!"
Looking chagrined, Michael went over to his grandmother and offered to help serve. She gave him a kiss on the cheek and a smile to let him know all was forgiven, then handed him a bowl of cranberry sauce to deliver to the table
The other adults in the kitchen all waited for something to carry in. Jean and Eileen and Nora had helped Rachel cook. Fiona had been invited and brought a couple of apple pies for later. And Teena Mulder had finally accepted an invitation to the Skinner home. She'd been invited several times since Fox had become a de facto member of the family as an adult, and more often since he'd begun his second adventure in childhood. But this was the first time she'd accepted.
Fox was thrilled to see her and to have her there. He and Skinner had made a special trip to the airport in Pittsburgh to pick her up this morning. And luckily for all, she and Rachel had formed an immediate bond. Mrs. Mulder seemed a little overwhelmed by the size and noise of the Skinner family gathering but she was clearly touched and relieved to see how easily Fox fit into the chaos. The two of them had taken a walk down to the river earlier in the day and spent several hours catching up with each other. Skinner had been pleased to see them spend more than a few minutes together. Fox was immensely curious about his 'other life' now and, while the AD could fill him in on his career and recent years, he was unable to shed much light on anything earlier than 1990 or so.
The family and their guests sat down to a meal that had the dinner table groaning. Two generations of family favorites covered tables that extended out of the dining room and into the massive living room of the family home. Every chair, bench and stool in the house was employed for someone to sit on and Mr. Skinner began the meal with his traditional Thanksgiving grace.
"Lord, we thank you for the bounty of this table. And the bounty of this country and the freedom and opportunity we found here. I thank you, too, for the blessings you've bestowed on our family. For Rachel. And Walter, Jean, Joe and Andy. And Jeremy, whom we know is safe with you today. And Oliver, Nora and Eileen. And Fiona, who's joining us for the first time."
"Da-da-da-da-da. . . " little Griffin cut in from the high chair at the end of the table. He accompanied himself by banging his spoon on the tray.
Andy reached over and grabbed the spoon out of the baby's hands and shushed him quietly.
"You leave him be," Mr. Skinner said with a smile. "Healthy set of lungs on that boy, but I'm certain I can compete!"
The family settled back down with smiles all around and Mr. Skinner continued the blessing. "And we thank you for Doug and Kelly. And Michael and Kathy and Amanda. For Fox and Brian and Haley and even baby Griffin, loud-mouth that he is! And Emily, the most recent addition to our family. And for bringing Teena to us today. We thank you, Lord, for giving us another good year in which our family grew and prospered, and for keeping our loved ones safe and healthy. And we place our faith in you for the coming year and always. Not our will but thine, Lord. Amen."
"Amen," the rest of the family chorused.
"We better not let any more people in the family, or we'll never have any hot food," six-year-old Brian said, setting off another round of laughter.
Fox sat beside Skinner and he filled his plate to overflowing, taking a scoop of everything that went by. Skinner's eyebrows rose at the pearl onions in cream sauce. "Do you like that?" he asked the boy, leaning over and whispering so no one else would hear him.
"It looks good," Fox answered. Then he tasted an onion and realized his father was right. He swallowed what was in his mouth and stared balefully at the large scoop he'd ladled onto his plate.
"Here, put it on mine," Skinner told him, trying not to laugh. Fox did as instructed, then he looked at the mound of mashed turnips he'd taken when it passed by. He'd never tried them before either. Skinner read his mind and continued to hold his plate to the side, waiting.
"You can have these, too," Fox added, pushing the turnips onto Skinner's plate without even tasting them.
"Okay," the AD chuckled as he moved his plate back in front of him. "You're on your own now, kid."
Fiona and Teena had watched the action between them with amusement and Skinner was a little embarrassed when he turned back and saw he had an audience. "I-- Well, vegetables are not a big favorite of Fox's," he told them quietly by way of explanation. "He generally avoids them like the plague but my mother dresses them up so much, it's hard to recognize them for what they are!"
Early Friday morning
2:17 a.m.
"No! I-- Don't! PLEASE DON'T!" Fox screamed in his sleep. The young man was thrashing around in his bed, living out the details of a recurring nightmare. "PLEASE GET OUT!"
Walter Skinner jumped out of his own bed and ran to the room across the hall that Fox was using this weekend. The young man normally slept in the small study at the end of the hall when he was there but this time he'd been put in Andy and Joe's old bedroom. The study was better outfitted for a guest and Teena Mulder had that one. Fiona had been given Jean's old room.
"It's okay, Fox," he said soothingly as he pushed the door open and quickly jogged to the bed. Then he tried to bring the boy out of it gently. "It's okay. I'm here. You're all right . . . "
"Dad?" Fox sobbed as he reoriented himself to reality. "I keep-- I keep having the same dream! I keep trying to. . . But no one listens! No one . . . "
"I know," the man told him as he rubbed his back. "I know you tried to get them to listen--"
"But maybe I didn't try hard enough! Maybe it really was my fault!" Fox's voice rose as his self-recrimination fueled his pain and his body went rigid with fear. "I might be responsible for--"
"No," Skinner told him firmly, shushing him. "I'm not gonna let you go on thinking you might be responsible for the fact they died, Fox. You did everything you could have done. You tried as hard as you could to keep the accident from happening. But you couldn't. I can't tell you why that had to happen because I don't know why. But I know you. And you never do less than your best, kid. If anyone could have changed the outcome, it would have been you."
He felt the boy relax into his arms and his crying continued but was less agonized. Now it seemed he was merely letting go of his grief and that was good for him. Skinner had come to be able to differentiate between the two as Fox's nightmares continued over the past two weeks. The counselor had said they might go on for some time.
"I know you pretty well, son," he continued as he rocked the boy gently. "You always feel compelled to convince people you're right when you know you are. Despite what they say. Or how much they might laugh at you. You would never have walked away without trying everything you could do to convince them they were heading for a problem. But ultimately, you can't save everyone, Fox. And people don't always listen--"
"But--" Fox interrupted. "What if there was something else I could have done? And I didn't do it. Wouldn't that make me partly responsible. . . ?"
Skinner pushed Fox's sweaty hair off his forehead and pulled the boy further into the protective circle of his arms. "What else, Fox? You did everything you knew how to do at that point in time. Because that's your nature. You never give up until long after everyone else has thrown in the towel and gone home, kid! Until it's a lost cause. You can talk to me for as long as you want, pal, but you'll never convince me you bear any responsibility for that accident. Because you don't."
He continued to hold the boy as Fox calmed down a little further. Skinner let him relax and spoke to him quietly, trying to bring him back to reality. "Anyway, I wouldn't be surprised if this nightmare is the result of everything you ate today, kid! I was beginning to wonder if you thought you'd never see food again."
Fox let out a short laugh that sounded too close to a sob to Skinner's ear. But he picked up the thread. "Yeah, it might have been that pearl onion! It felt like I was chewin' on an eyeball--"
"Oh, God, Fox!" Skinner exclaimed. "Well, thanks to you that's another food I'll have to scratch off my list of edible things."
But he smiled when he said it, glad to see the boy bouncing back.
Fox recognized the good nature of the response and decided to continue his line of thought. "Want to know what those turnips look like?" he asked only to be cut off immediately.
"No! Whatever it is, I'll thank you to keep it to yourself! And I think you oughta be getting back to bed now, pal." Skinner let Fox lie back down and pulled the covers back up to his chin. "I'll stay here till you're asleep."
The boy nodded gratefully and closed his eyes. With a heavy sigh, he began to drift off again and the AD leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. Skinner didn't notice Teena Mulder standing in the hallway just out of his line of sight. But she had listened to their conversation and, in those moments, years of guilt and shame rushed into her heart. She began to shake and tears flooded her eyes as she turned and tried to find her way blindly back to the study.
Rachel Skinner took her arm out of the blue. "Are you all right, Teena?" she whispered. "Walter told me Fox has been having nightmares. But he'll be all right. It's just part of the grieving process."
"No, that's not it," Teena told her brusquely. "I-- It's just I need to be alone right now. I'm sorry Fox disturbed you. I'm sorry I--" Her voice broke and she walked quickly toward the study and entered, closing the door silently behind her. Teena knew she turned on the light in the room immediately as a shaft of light sprang from beneath the door. Rachel sighed and headed down to the kitchen.
Mrs. Skinner returned a few minutes later with a tray that held a teapot and two cups. Fox's bedroom door was closed again but Walter's was still open. She looked inside and saw the room was empty so she surmised Walter had decided to bunk in with Fox for the rest of the night. Next she went to the door of the study and knocked lightly. The light was still on in the room so she was certain she wouldn't be waking Teena Mulder.
"Yes?" a voice responded immediately.
Rachel balanced the tray on one hand and opened the door. She gave Teena a half-smile. "Chamomile tea," she said as she placed the tray on the desk top. "It always helps me get back to sleep . . . ."
Teena nodded her head and surreptitiously dabbed a tissue to her eyes as Rachel poured. She was holding a photo frame and carefully placed it back on the nightstand beside her.
But the situation was not lost on Mrs. Skinner and as she held out a cup to the other woman a moment later, she noted her red-rimmed eyes and haggard look. And that Teena had been holding a photo of a Fox as a two-year-old, asleep in the old hammock in back of the house. He lay on Walter's chest and both of them were sleeping peacefully, Walter's arm draped protectively over the boy's back.
"He looks positively angelic in this one," Rachel said as she poured and then held the cup out to Teena. "But I remember the tantrum that preceded it! The terrible two's haven't changed since my kids were little."
Teena nodded a little self-consciously. "I'm sorry . . . that Fox woke you," Teena began to apologize again.
"No! Please! There's no need to apologize," Rachel stopped her. She'd poured herself a cup of tea also and now she took a seat in the rocking chair. "Nothing related to Fox would ever be a disturbance to me or my family. He is one of us. And he's had a . . . lot to deal with lately. It's a small miracle he copes as well as he does."
"Yes. I suppose that's true," Teena said, stopping to take a sip of her tea. "I suppose it's always been true."
Rachel thought her remark was odd but she let it pass without comment. The woman was a mystery to Rachel Skinner and she suspected pressing her would bring no further enlightenment.
"Still, he must have woken the entire household. It was like that when he was a boy. Nightmares that roused Bill and I almost every night. And Bill . . . didn't have much patience with Fox. He thought he was . . . he felt the nightmares were a sign of weakness. Or . . . guilt."
She teared up as she spoke and shook it off immediately. "Your son is very good with Fox, though. I've watched them together. When Fox was small as well as now. It's been wonderful to see. I'm afraid Fox deserved . . . much better than Bill and I were able to give him."
Rachel picked up her own tea and took a sip. "Yes, Walter has turned out to be . . . much better at it than he expected. He had a lot of doubts about whether he should keep Fox, under the circumstances. He wasn't certain he'd be a good father-- or substitute father." She wanted to be careful not to step on Mrs. Mulder's toes when it came to this subject.
But the other woman was way ahead of her. "No, he's been a father to Fox, I've seen it with my own eyes. More of a father than Fox has ever had before. I guess the third time's a charm," Teena answered cryptically.
"Well, I'm sure you and Fox's father did your best. We all make mistakes with our kids. Parenting is not an exact science--"
"No, your kids might know there were mistakes. But Fox . . . even as an adult, he didn't have a full appreciation for the things we did . . . and how they affected him. How could he? It's so unbelievable."
"I'm afraid I'm not . . . following you completely," Rachel finally responded. "His father and you made mistakes, but Fox didn't really know about them?" Her face was a mask of confusion but she knew whatever Teena was saying was important.
"Fox's father," Teena snorted derisively. "He didn't make 'mistakes.' He made plans. Plans that cost me a daughter. And ultimately . . . a son. Fox's father. . . ." Her words drifted into nothing and she shook her head. "And Bill didn't know what to do with Fox. He saw Fox as a . . . . a potential weapon, I think. Someone who might be needed later. And he set about making sure Fox was tough enough, smart enough, to fulfill that destiny. And my son turned out to be everything they'd hoped. And more."
Rachel was struggling to make sense of Teena Mulder's monologue. "Fox is quite a remarkable young man. Now and before."
"Yes, he is," Teena agreed but her face reflected something more than maternal pride. "My son . . . There are things I should have told him before. When he still remembered his childhood and his own family. But I didn't. I failed him in that. Now, though, there's no reason to tell him. He's . . . finally escaped from the awful legacy he received. Into the loving embrace of your family. He is where he belongs, Rachel. And if I must give up another child, at least this time I know he'll be better off for my sacrifice. And that his . . . 'father' put the events in motion, albeit unintentionally, only makes it more satisfying."
Rachel put down her teacup and watched Teena Mulder with alarm. "Give him up? That's not . . . . Fox is part of our family, Teena. But that doesn't mean he leaves his own family behind. We would never want that. That's why we asked you here--"
"I know it's not what you would ask," Teena answered immediately. Once she'd put it all in place in her mind, she was back in control. "But it's the best thing for Fox. He deserves this second chance. And I am so grateful that your son was here for him when this happened. Few friends would stand by someone under these circumstances, take on this responsibility. And Fox was not . . . is not an easy child, I know that from experience. I shall always be in his debt, as will Fox."
"Well, I'm sure Walter will appreciate that. But I don't think he thinks of it that way. Fox . . . had a special place in his life even before this strange situation occurred." Teena gathered up the dishes and placed them back on the tray. "And I think this will all look different in the morning after a good night's rest, Teena. Sleep well."
Rachel exited the room, shaking her head at the convoluted way Mrs. Mulder perceived things. (It's like she has to turn everything into a giant puzzle. Life's just not that complicated! No wonder Fox had such a confused view of family life, poor child!) She left the dishes unwashed in the sink and returned to bed.
Early Saturday morning
1:05 a.m.
Fox swore to himself as he took the steps to the back door two at a time. The lights in the kitchen were on. Someone's awake . . . and he didn't have to think too hard to guess who one of the occupants might be.
He opened the door and looked around, biting his lip pensively. His eyes drifted to the clock on the wall and it read six minutes past the hour of his curfew. He sighed loudly and his eyes sought out those of his father. Skinner was there with his parents, Fiona and Teena Mulder.
"It took l-longer to get home than I expected," he stammered.
"Okay," Skinner told him in a calming voice. "We'll invoke the 'five minute rule.' It was an invention of Andy's. Basically, it's just a five-minute grace period but Joe and I were a little upset we didn't think of it first!."
"Andy was the only one who needed it on a regular basis," Mr. Skinner chimed in, laughing. "When your Dad broke his curfew, it was always way more than five minutes!"
"No need to go there, Dad," Skinner told him with a good-humored warning glance. His father merely laughed again. Fox was already well acquainted with the story to which he was referring. And Walter, Sr. suspected his son might not wish to share the details with the rest of the crowd in the kitchen.
Fox nodded nervously and Skinner's early-warning system went into high-gear. The boy should have been relieved to hear he'd been given a pass on being five minutes past his ETA. What was going on here?
"Well, I guess I should go to bed," Fox said quietly. He didn't move, though. He appeared to be waiting for confirmation of his plan from Skinner. The AD's paternal instincts were standing on their hind legs and waving at him now.
"Yeah, good idea," he said lightly. Fox stepped over and gave him a hug. It was a routine they'd established when the boy was just a child and it amused Skinner that Fox didn't seem to give it a second thought now that he was older and particularly here, with an audience that included his real mother.
Fox wished everyone a good night and headed up the stairs. His heart was heavy with guilt but another part of him was wondering if he would get away with not telling Skinner about the speeding. He hadn't gotten a ticket, only a warning. The officer had been a local boy who knew the Skinner family well and he'd chosen to give the boy a talking to and an official warning. If they got out of town by Sunday morning, how likely was it they'd run into anyone in the Sheriff's department who'd tell Skinner?
He shook his head, annoyed with himself for even going down this road. (Who are you kidding? Everybody here knows everybody. Everybody talks to everybody! Someone's gonna tell Gran or Gram and then there'll be hell to pay. For speeding and lying!)
He was startled when his bedroom door opened behind him.
"Fox?" Skinner said and the boy jumped a foot in the air. "Is there anything you want to tell me?"
"No! Nothing!" the boy answered instinctively. Then the enormity of that lie weighed in and he dropped his eyes to the floor. "Well, maybe one thing . . . "
Skinner crossed his arms over his chest. His gut had been right on target. But at 1:15 in the morning, the last thing he wanted to do was play twenty questions with Fox.
"And that one thing would be . . . "
"I got a warning for speeding. Not a ticket, just a warning!"
Skinner sighed and closed the door. Then he leaned back against it, his arms still crossed. "I see. How'd you get away without a ticket?"
"Well, the officer saw my name was 'Skinner,' and he asked me which Skinner was my father. I told him it was you and he just smiled and filled out the warning paper. He said I should show it to you and 'that will more than take care of this little traffic violation.' I'm not sure what he meant by that," the boy added as he pulled the pink slip of paper out of his back pocket. He handed it to the Assistant Director, still failing to make direct eye contact.
Skinner unfolded the paper and saw it was a simple warning, not even one that was officially put in the state's computer system. And it was signed "Sgt. Thomas Clayton."
"Tom Clayton and I went to high school together," he told Fox quietly. And Tom was well-acquainted with the way Mr. Skinner handled misbehavior on the part of his sons. Tom had been there that time Walter, Sr. marched a 16-year old Walter, Jr. out of the local bar he'd used a fake ID to get into. And Tom was there when he'd returned to school Monday morning with a sore butt and a one-month punishment tour hanging over his head. He suspected Tom had decided to let the Skinner family juvenile justice system take care of its own.
"Well. How fast were you going?" he asked Fox. He was beginning to be grateful for the reputation his family enjoyed in these parts.
"Um, fifty-five."
Skinner let the rest of the question hang in the air, waiting. Finally Fox told him the rest of what he wanted to know.
"In a thirty mile an hour zone," the boy finished, his head hanging.
"You were going fifty-five miles an hour through town?" Skinner asked him, incredulous. Someone could easily step into the street and be killed in the small village center.
"How did you know where--"
"I'm from around here, Fox. I know where the thirty mile zones are. And they're only in town, near the school and the village square." He was angry at the poor judgment the boy had shown and he didn't care if Fox knew it.
"I'm s-sorry," Fox mumbled, almost to himself. Tears of shame sprang to his eyes but Skinner was not moved by them. This was serious, more serious than Tom Clayton's lenient response would lead the boy to believe. On the other hand, Tom was probably counting on the fact Skinner's response would not be the least bit lenient.
"Please don't punish me now!" Fox's head continued to hang but he was definitely tearing up. "I-- please, Dad! Can't it wait till we get home?"
"You want to wait until Sunday night?" Skinner was still angry, but this request stunned him. Mulder as an adult, and now Fox, hated to wait for punishment. What was driving this change in modus operandi?
"Yeah. I mean, no, I don't want to but . . . I-- I just don't want my Mom to know," he blurted out, his words running into each other. "She thinks I'm good this time! I don't want her to know . . . I don't want her to think I'm just like I was before . . . "
"Hold on," Skinner said, taking three giant steps toward Fox and taking him by the shoulders. "What are you talking about? You weren't 'bad' before--"
"Yes I was! And my real father didn't like me, or talk to me because I was bad! And even my Mom didn't really talk to me much. I know! I asked her and she told me!" He was crying now and Skinner shushed him, not wanting anyone else to hear this convoluted, and grossly inaccurate, interpretation of past events. He knew it would hurt Teena and leave his parents and Fiona feeling less than sympathetic toward her. And experience told him Fox had probably misinterpreted something to get to this conclusion.
"Okay, now listen to me. We need to talk. And you are going to be punished, Fox," he said quietly, holding the boy close to his side. "But your mother doesn't have to know about it. And you don't have to wait either. I don't think that's a good idea at all. I'll go downstairs and in a few minutes everyone else is going to go to bed because it's late. You go down the front stairs and out the front door. I'll meet you in the woodshed in a little bit, okay?"
Fox nodded miserably. He didn't look convinced but he knew better than to argue with Skinner when his tone was so low and insistent. And when he was so righteously angry.
Skinner appeared in the kitchen a minute later and saw that, indeed, everyone had finished their tea and was getting ready to head for bed.
"The dinner theater was lovely," Teena was saying. "I'm so glad you talked me into staying another day."
"Yes, I didn't expect to see such an outstanding cast," Fiona added. "And 'The Philadelphia Story' is one of my favorite movies of all time. It was a real treat."
Skinner watched both of his parent's heads pick up as they heard the sound of someone on the front steps. This old house kept no secrets, if you knew what to look for. Each of them gave him a quick glance and he shook his head almost imperceptibly. Walter, Sr. smiled and shook his head, too. He'd known something was up with Fox from his behavior earlier. Now he knew whatever it was warranted an encounter with 'the Persuader.'
"I think I'll take a little walk before I turn in," Skinner said as everyone headed up the back stairs. "I'll see you all in the morning."
He waited until things settled down a bit, then went out the back way and straight down to the woodshed. It was a short walk and he suspected Fox was probably working himself up into a state as he waited. He was not wrong.
The boy was still wearing his jacket and pacing back and forth across the wood floor. He stopped when Skinner came in and the AD could see his eyes were already red and puffy. The man had been debating whether to try to talk to Fox first, then punish him. Now he knew the punishment had to come first. He was too distraught to really think clearly, or be able to communicate what was going on with him right now.
"All right," Skinner announced as he closed the door behind him. "You know what to do." He took his own jacket off and began rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. Then he went to the hook where the razor strop hung. It often struck him as odd, how this thing that he dreaded so as a kid still kicked up the same reaction from him as an adult. (And you're not even on the receiving end anymore, Walt!)
In the meantime, Fox had removed his jacket and pulled the wood bench into the middle of the floor. Now he was unbuttoning his jeans, then he carefully slid them and his underwear down to his knees before looking to Skinner for further instruction. The AD nodded his head and Fox lowered himself down onto the bench, biting his lip as he did so. He bit back a sob.
"I'm not going to kid you, son," Skinner told him as he took up his position. "You really bought yourself a strapping this time, Fox. You were going twenty-five miles over the speed limit. That's dangerous for you, and for others and I'm going to make sure you remember this lesson. One lick for every mile over the speed limit--"
"What? I won't--" He nearly got up from the bench before Skinner's strong left arm pushed him back into place. "I won't be able to sit down for--"
"You'll be able to sit, kid," Skinner reassured him. He'd had lots of experience with the Persuader was completely certain of that. "Not very comfortably but that's the price you pay for getting into trouble like this. Now tell me what you're being punished for." He laid the first three strokes across the boy's bare backside and saw the skin pink right up.
"Ohhh! For-just for speeding!" Fox yelled. He was angry at the punishment he was facing and didn't care who knew it.
"I'd watch that attitude if I were you, son," Skinner told him ominously. "Considering the position you're in, I think it would show good judgment." He delivered five more licks that brought loud wails of protest but Fox's tone began to change quickly.
"Owww! OUCCHH! I'm s-sorry! I didn't mean AHHHH!"
"What else is this strapping for?" Skinner continued the assault on the young man's upturned butt. Five more licks elicited gasps and yelps from Fox.
"I-- OWWW! I endangered my-- OHHH! AHHH! myself! And others! I could have killed someone going through town like that!"
"That's right, son, and that kind of behavior always buys you the worst punishment." Five more licks were delivered in rapid sequence and he could see from the boy's squirming his backside was feeling them.
"Now tell me, besides the speeding, what else do you deserve to be punished for?" He added another two licks, bringing the total to twenty. Only five more to go and he wanted to make sure they delivered a message.
"What?" the boy sobbed convulsively. "I don't know! I didn't do-- I didn't do anything else!"
Skinner reached up and rubbed the back of Fox's head, trying to calm him enough to get him to focus on the question. "Think, Fox," he said quietly. "What else did you do tonight that you know you shouldn't have?"
"Breaking my curfew?" the boy answered tearfully. "But you said--"
"I said I'd give you a pass on that because it was only five minutes. And I won't break my word, Fox. But what did you do when I asked you if you had anything to tell me?"
Realization dawned and Fox whimpered. "Oh," he said, taking a huge swallow of air. "I l-lied. But only for a second!"
"And even a second's too long for a lie, son," Skinner told him. He laid the last five licks down on the 'sit spot' and knew that simple activity would be an uncomfortable, but not impossible, one for Fox for the next day or so.
Then it was over and Skinner walked over to the hook and hung 'the Persuader' back on its hook. He shuddered to think how many times he'd been in Fox's place over the years. But he also knew in his heart the discipline he'd learned there had served him well in his life. And he prayed it would do the same for this young man in the trials he'd face in the future.
Skinner walked back over to Fox, who hadn't yet moved from the bench. He rubbed the boy's back soothingly for another minute, then he knew it was time to get Fox to move along. He helped the boy up and watched him dress, seeing the tell-tale wince when his underwear and jeans were dragged over his burning backside. Then he pulled the boy into a hug, enveloping him in the warmth and security Skinner knew was as much a part of the discipline as the strapping he'd just received.
"Please don't tell my Mom," Fox sobbed, his voice low and insistent.
"I won't tell her," Skinner promised. "But I need to know what you meant before. When you said you 'were bad the first time.' Because that's not true, kid."
"It is true," Fox insisted. "She told me how my Dad didn't even talk to me for a long time. And that I didn't go there for holidays or anything, even after my f-father died. I don't know what I did but . . . But it must have been really bad! 'Cause I'd have to do something horrible for you to stop talking to me. Or to not get invited here for holidays, right? So I must have been really b-bad."
Skinner found himself smiling as he tightened his hold on Fox and caressed the back of the kid's head. He could never predict how Fox would mix up his two experiences but somehow the juxtaposition of the two sets of information always seemed to lead him down a path that made no sense . . . and which always had him holding full responsibility for everyone else's actions.
"Now, listen to me, kid," Skinner told him as he continued to soothe him. "I know your real father and you didn't speak for a long time. I don't know why that was, but it had more to do with him than you, I'm sure of that. And as for not spending the holidays with your mother, well, not all families do that. It doesn't mean anyone's wrong or bad. They just have different ways of being families." He wasn't quite certain he actually believed what he'd just said but he was sure that Teena Mulder's strange aloofness had nothing to do with her son's behavior.
"The mistake you made in this . . . analysis is that you took someone else's actions and filtered them through your experience with me. And the rest of this family. You would have to do something really terrible for me and you to not speak to each other. That's true. The truth is, I can't even think of anything you might do that would be that terrible! Because I love you no matter what you do, kid. And that's not going to change. I may get angry at things you do, and you'll always be punished when you do something wrong. But then it's over. Nothing would make me turn away from you. Nothing."
"And as for not getting invited here for the holidays, well, that's not even a possibility, kid! My family, your family now, celebrates every single holiday including Columbus Day! They'd celebrate Election Day if the rest of us could get here from wherever we're working. And you will always be a part of that because you're a part of this family, Fox. That doesn't mean every family does it exactly the same way, or that one way's better than another. Sometimes this can get a little . . . overwhelming. You know, I've had to listen to my Dad's very long version of grace for forty-seven years!"
Fox laughed despite himself now. He'd calmed down throughout Skinner's speech and now the AD could hear he was torn between the discomfort in his rear quarters and wanting to hear the rest of this story. Skinner reached for Fox's jacket and his own and helped Fox on with his. Then he pulled on his own and began ushering the boy out of the shed and up the path to the house.
"My point is, all families are different. None of them is perfect. We all have our little idiosyncrasies and some things you just learn to live with because you love your family. But whether or not a family is happy, I think that comes from the top, Fox. My Dad sets the standards for our family just like I set them for you. And that's his job. If something was wrong, it'd be his job to fix it. Or mine, if it was something between you and me. You would not be the one responsible. And you weren't responsible for whatever was wrong between you and your other father or mother. You weren't in charge, you were the kid. Does that make sense?"
Fox's face was screwed up with emotion he was obviously holding back and he didn't answer immediately.
Skinner stopped their progress and turned the boy to face him. He placed a hand on either side of Fox's face and made him look into his eyes. There was a full moon and enough stars to provide sufficient illumination for them to see each other clearly.
"I'm not trying to make your parents out to be wrong, Fox," he said quietly. "I think they probably did the best they knew how to do. But so did you. Always. And you can't be held to a higher standard than everyone else. You were never bad, not in all the time I've known you. You've done some things that were wrong, and learned some tough lessons along the way. As we all have. But you were not responsible for whatever was wrong in your other family. And I won't let you go on believing that you were."
Fox nodded finally, and two large tears rolled down either cheek. "Can we not tell my Mom anyway?" he whispered. "I still think she's kind of . . . proud of me now and I don't want to ruin it."
Skinner chuckled quietly and pulled Fox back into a hug. He was almost his full adult height now but he was still filling out. He was like a sleek colt who'd gotten his legs under him but was not yet ready for the races. "We don't have to tell her anything, son," he agreed. "And she has good reason to be proud of you. As we all do."
They began to cover the rest of the distance to the house, then Fox stopped again. "Or Mrs. Barefoot! I don't want her to know either," he said emphatically.
"Okay. No need to tell her about it."
"Or Gram! She--"
"Okay! We won't tell her either," Skinner replied, trying not to laugh. His mother already had a good idea of what had gone on, of that he was certain. But Fox didn't need to know that.
"Or Gran either. Can we not tell him? I don't want him to be mad at me, or not talk to me or anything--"
Now Skinner couldn't help the smile that spread over his face. He stopped and turned to the boy. "Stop! Do you honestly believe your grandfather would stop talking to you because you earned yourself a session with 'the Persuader?' I mean really, Fox, if that was true, he'd never speak to me, Uncle Joe or Uncle Andy for the rest of our lives! And believe me, he did a whole lot of talking in that woodshed over the years."
Fox blinked at the thought, then a wide grin spread over his face as he realized he was not alone in his predicament. "I guess I forgot I'm not the first one who ever got punished like this."
"No, you'd have to fight your way through a long line of Skinners for that honor, kid," the AD said as he planted a quick kiss on the top of Fox's head. "And someday, maybe I'll tell you all about the first time 'the Persuader' was put to use."
Fox looked up at him, wide-eyed. "Was it you? Were you the first one who ever got it with that strap?"
They walked onto the back porch and were surprised to see Mr. Skinner in his bathrobe and pajamas, sitting on a wide rattan chair. Waiting for them.
"Oh, now that's a story, Foksik," he said as he rose from the chair, having heard the latter part of the conversation as his son and grandson approached. He put a protective arm around the boy's back.
Skinner's own eyes grew wide and he interrupted immediately. "That's a story that will have to wait for another time," he said firmly. Getting his father started on this, at this hour of the night, held no appeal for the Assistant Director. And he wasn't ready to share that story with Fox at any rate.
He opened the kitchen door and ushered the boy, and then his father inside. Fox headed up the back stairs and Walter, Sr. started to do the same. Then he turned and gave his son an amused, quizzical look.
"That will have to wait for another time when you and I have had a chance to get our stories straight," the AD said quietly.
"What, you don't think my memory's reliable?" the older man said, feigning indignation.
"I think your memory's too reliable," his son replied huffily. "There are some things Fox doesn't need to know!" He headed up the stairs, then turned his head in shock when his father delivered a stinging swat to his passing butt.
"Just a little reminder, son," the older man said. His face was all seriousness but there was a twinkle in his eye.
"Not necessary, Dad," Skinner replied with a rueful smile. "My memory's pretty reliable, too!"
End of Chapter 38