Old Friend
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 to speak of.
Setting: Seventh Season.
Rating: PG. Discipline, no slash.
Author's note: Special thanks to Phoebe and Diane for beta-reading - and to Diane for a couple of suggestions that I think really made this story work. Thank you both!
Summary: Mulder decides he has to act when a friend needs him, despite orders to the contrary from the AD.
McLean, Virginia
Wednesday evening
7:40 p.m.
Fox Mulder came around the corner at a fast jog, his eyes trained on the honey colored dog beside him. At this point in their run, Yoda would notice where he was and pick up speed. Mulder smiled as his prediction turned out to be spot on. He suspected Yoda could probably smell his dinner from here.
Mulder picked up his own pace, feeling the sweat from his three-mile run trickling down his chest and back as he attempted to race the dog to the house that belonged to Walter Skinner. It was a losing proposition for him, but he knew Yoda expected it.
The dog was now full grown. Mulder could well remember when he and Skinner adopted Yoda the year before. A six year old Fox had seen the puppy at the local newsstand, offered up to any taker. But the AD had said no when the child made his first plea for them to adopt the dog. And many times thereafter when Fox continued to pester him about it. But once it became apparent the dog was a goner if no one took him, the man had relented. Despite his protests, Walter Skinner couldn't turn his back on a stray in desperate need of a home, Mulder thought to himself. Man, boy, or dog.
Now Yoda was family as far as the FBI agent and the Assistant Director were concerned. They could no more give him up, or send him to one of the other Skinner households, than Mulder could move himself completely out of Walter Skinner's home in McLean. Despite the fact he still had his own place in Alexandria, Mulder spent three or four nights a week with the Assistant Director. Sometimes more.
The young agent came to a stop on the long driveway and walked in a circle for a minute, letting his body cool down. He stopped at a tree alongside the drive and leaned into it, stretching his pleasantly fatigued muscles before going inside. A light breeze lifted his sweat-soaked hair as it whispered through the tall trees that surrounded the house. It had been unbearably hot today, but he thought it might be a nice enough evening to eat outside on the patio tonight.
At that moment his nose picked up the smell of beef on the grill, and Mulder smiled to himself. He knew immediately where Yoda had gotten to when he disappeared around the side of the house. He followed the same track the dog had walked.
"Fox!" Walter Skinner called when he saw the other man come around the house. "I thought you'd be right behind Yoda. I just put the steaks on. Do you want to shower before eating?"
"Yes, sir," Mulder said enthusiastically as he lifted the front of his T-shirt and ran it over his sweat-soaked face. "I'll just run through a shower and be right back."
"Take your time. The barbecue's just gotten hot, and I've got corn on the cob ready to go into the water. And the baked potatoes won't be done for about ten more minutes."
The younger man grinned. "You didn't think I'd remember, did you?" he kidded Skinner as he headed into the house. "Ah, ye of little faith . . ."
Skinner chuckled. He'd left Fox a message on his cell phone voice-mail. And on the answering machine in the McLean house. And left two large Idaho potatoes on the counter in the kitchen with a note that read: "Fox, don't forget to put the potatoes in the oven. I'll be home around 7:30. If you don't want to wait another hour to eat, put them on before you go out for your run."
"Yeah, for a man with a photographic memory, you sure need a heck of a lot of reminding to get the simplest household chores done. . . " Skinner called into the house.
"Nag, nag, nag . . . ." a voice called from somewhere inside.
By the time Fox returned, his hair still glistening from the shower, Skinner had the steak cooked just right and the rest of the meal on the table. "Grab a couple of beers before you come out," he called when he heard Mulder in the kitchen.
"Already got 'em," Fox answered, coming through the sliding glass door that opened onto the patio. Their lives had settled into a nice, homey routine. It gave Mulder a sense of security he'd rarely found in his life. In fact, he'd never found it until the AD and then his family 'adopted' a stray named Fox Mulder a few years earlier.
The two of them tucked into the food, washing it down with beer and trading casual conversation about work and family and friends. Yoda sat on the floor beside the table, tail wagging. Out of the corner of his eye Skinner noticed Fox surreptitiously slipping the dog some meat every now and then when he thought the AD wasn't looking. He grinned. He'd already given the dog a bit of the steak when he took it off the grill.
Yoda had a good life with the two of them, the Assistant Director thought to himself. *Actually, Walter, we all have a good life here.* He nodded unconsciously to himself as he refocused his attention on the potential new case that had landed on Mulder's desk today.
"Zombies?" the AD questioned, as soon as he'd caught up. "You're kidding. . ."
"No, these reports have been filed by several different witnesses, with several police departments, in multiple states-"
"All in college towns, am I right?" Skinner interrupted. "Sounds like some kind of a fraternity thing to me."
"Well. . . there are a lot of colleges in the country," Mulder frowned, irked by how quickly the other man came up with his theory. And the fact that all the sightings were near major college campuses. But that could be a coincidence.
"How old were these witnesses?" Skinner chuckled as he downed the last of his beer. He knew Mulder well enough to know he'd considered this theory and discarded it. Because he really wanted to go investigate possible zombie sightings.
"Well, if you're gonna just dismiss it out of hand, forget it," Mulder responded. "Just ignore the 302 form I sent up to your office this afternoon. . ."
The Assistant Director leaned back in his chair and laughed. There was a look of consternation on the younger man's face, but Skinner was all but certain Mulder had known he didn't have a prayer of getting this approved. Not on the puny evidence he had thus far. "Oh, don't worry, kid," he said amiably. "I will."
Mulder couldn't help it, he laughed despite himself. "Well, at least I did the paperwork this time," he answered finally. "I think that should count for something."
"That does count," Skinner agreed as he stood up and began clearing things off the table. "Just for that, I'll give you a pass on loading the dishwasher," he said. "Help me clear then you can go see if the game's on while I get everything put away."
That promise was enough to heal the wound Mulder had been pretending to have. The two of them took the dishes into the kitchen, then the younger agent headed into the family room and put the TV on. The Yankees were playing the Red Sox, and this promised to be a good one.
Skinner was just finished policing the kitchen when the doorbell rang. "I'll get it," he called into the family room. Mulder didn't seem to have heard the doorbell anyway. He was gazing intently at the screen, observing the action like he himself was on the field and the game was at stake.
"Coming," Skinner called toward the front door when the bell rang again. He looked through the glass panel beside the door and saw it was Fiona Barefoot. Skinner opened the door immediately.
"Hi," he said, a surprised note underscoring his greeting. He hadn't expected her to visit tonight. "Is everything all right?"
Fiona's limpid blue eyes swam with tears as soon as he spoke but she when she tried to speak, she appeared close to breaking down.
"Fi, come inside," he said, putting an arm around her back and trying to guide her. But she startled him when she turned into his shoulder and buried her face in his chest.
"Oh, Walter," she breathed. "I-I'm sorry. I just had to talk to someone and you seemed . . . . I mean, I-"
"Don't apologize, Fiona," he reassured her. His arms closed around her automatically and he began to stroke her long, black hair gently. "You're welcome any time. For any reason. Just tell me what's wrong."
"It's Marie-Claire Montreaux," Fiona said, her words tripping over each other as she tried to get it out. "I just came from the hospital. She-she tried to. . . . She took some sleeping pills and-- I knew she was depressed. Ever since Jean-Philippe died. And everything else that happened-with the other kids dying. I was in touch with her parents, and we got her some counseling. I thought she was getting better by the end of the year. But I hadn't seen her since school ended in June. T-today she took some pills. She's in the hospital. Her parents said the depression just over-overwhelmed her . . . ."
"Oh, God, Fi," Skinner breathed, pulling her tighter into the circle of his arms, to try to comfort her. "I'm so sorry. She's such a sweet kid. But she's getting help-"
"Yes, but I keep thinking there was more I could have done-"
"You can't blame yourself, Fiona," he responded immediately. "You are a wonderful, caring and involved teacher and administrator. Marie-Claire knows how you feel about her-"
"What happened to Marie-Claire?" a voice broke in from behind them. Mulder had suddenly appeared in the archway that led to the kitchen. His voice left no doubt he was anxious and impatient for an answer. It elevated in volume and tenor as he spoke again. "What happened to her?"
"Fox, calm down," Skinner responded.
"She's . . . all right, Fox," Fiona jumped in. "She's been a little depressed. And she's in the hospital-"
"A little depressed? They don't hospitalize fourteen year olds for being 'a little depressed," Mulder cut her off. "Tell me the truth."
"Fox, stop," Skinner said firmly, giving Fox a non-verbal order written on a pointed stare. "Let's all go into the kitchen. I'll make a pot of coffee and we'll talk, calmly. And Fiona can tell us the whole story."
He waited for Mulder to stand down a little. It took a few moments but eventually he relented, nodding and giving Fiona a slightly apologetic smile. They all went into the kitchen, and Skinner set Fox the task of making coffee for the two of them while he prepared a cup of tea for Fiona. When their beverages were done, they seated themselves at the kitchen table and Fox asked for the story again, this time a little more politely. Fiona filled them both in on the details.
They knew already that Jean-Philippe Montreaux, Marie-Claire's older brother, had died in the car crash that had taken the lives of Cat Halsey, Dylan Kane, and Delia Westley. The car Fox had exited only a short time before. The other three kids ran into Jean-Philippe, a freshman at the University of Virginia, directly after they let Fox out of the car. They all knew each other because Jean-Philippe had graduated from the Wheatley Academy only the year before. The French boy made the unfortunate decision to accompany the others to Richmond. The kids were all drinking, none more than Dylan who was also driving. The resulting fatal crash rocked the school and devastated Fox, Skinner recalled.
Skinner and Fox attended all the funerals and Fox returned to school a while later. Marie-Claire and her family had returned to France to bury their son following the funeral. But before she returned to school, Fox administered the wrong shot to himself and reverted to his true age in a matter of a few minutes last December. As an adult again, it had made no sense for him to try to approach Marie-Claire when she returned so he'd never been able to talk to her since it all happened.
"So much tragedy for her to handle," Fiona was saying. "Jean-Philippe and Marie-Claire were close, very close. Having moved all over the world because of their father's job, they were closer than most brothers and sisters. The other kids dying. . ." she glanced at Fox, but he was staring into his coffee cup. "The entire school was devastated by it all. When Marie-Claire returned, I told her the story we'd decided on, that Fox had gone back to Connecticut to live with his mother. She seemed to accept it at the time but then, her responses to everything were muted by sadness. For the rest of the year, I tried to stay close to her, to make sure she was all right but she was very reserved and didn't share too much. I told the Montreaux's I thought she should speak with a counselor, to help her deal with it all. Then she seemed to be getting back into a routine, spending time with her friends again. But school ended and the kids scattered for the summer. I hadn't spoken with her since the last day of class. . . ."
Fiona stopped, filling up with tears again. Skinner reached over and laid a hand on her smaller one and she turned it over and squeezed his hand in gratitude. They kept holding hands across the corner of the table as she continued.
"Her father called me this afternoon. He said they'd left Marie-Claire at home while they went to dinner and the opera with some visitors from Paris. He said the only reason she's alive is that her mother forgot her glasses, and they returned to the consulate after picking up the friends so she could get them. She noticed Marie-Claire was in bed, it was early and she thought she must be ill. But then she couldn't rouse her and . . . ."
Fox was staring at Fiona now, his eyes filled with tears, the anguish of helpless remorse all over his face. Skinner saw it and he instinctively reached across the table and laid a hand on Fox's arm too.
"What-what did she take?" Fox whispered. Skinner knew immediately he was remembering the recent suicide of his mother who had also taken pills to end her life. He squeezed Fox's arm in support because it was all he could do at this point. The younger man glanced at him briefly, a look of gratitude flitting over his face.
"Some sleeping pills her mother had, apparently. She left a note that said . . . . that said she was sorry. But it just hurt too much to go on. Without . . .. so many people she loved."
Skinner took her meaning immediately. She must have mentioned Fox, as well as Jean-Phillippe, in her letter. He looked at Fox and knew he had read between the lines, too.
"I-I have to go to her," Mulder said, rising from the table.
"No, Fox," Skinner said authoritatively. "Sit down. You cannot go see her."
Fox looked at him pleadingly. "You know I have to-"
"I know you think you do. But you can't. Sit down," Skinner repeated, more gently this time.
Mulder blinked back tears of frustration as well as sadness. "Dad, please . . . ." he whispered but Skinner shook his head.
"No, Fox," he said quietly. "I can't let you take the chance. She won't know you, she'd be expecting a 15 or 16 year old boy. You couldn't adequately explain how you came to be a grown man in a matter of months-"
"I could explain it in a way that wouldn't-"
"No, you couldn't, son," the AD said gently, working to talk him back into the chair, letting his voice guide him away from a knee-jerk reaction that would end badly. Fiona watched the scene wordlessly, not certain how it would come out.
"Then I'll just stop by, in my role as an FBI agent," Mulder began again. "I'll say I'm checking on . . . something, I don't know. I'll figure something out-"
"We have no right to speak with minors without the permission of their parents, Fox. Or anyone without a good reason. You know that," Skinner replied patiently. "And as soon as you told the Mr. and Mrs. Montreaux your name-"
"But they knew me by 'Skinner,' when I was a kid," the younger agent protested.
"I think it's your first name that would raise questions," Skinner smiled sadly. "You can't chance it, Fox."
Mulder sat down heavily, shaking his head. Then another way occurred to him. "I could . . . tell them the truth," he offered. "I could explain what happened to Mr. Montreaux-"
"No you can't," Skinner responded vehemently. "We've held the knowledge of what happened to you very closely. My family. A few people at the Bureau. Some doctors. Fiona. Telling anyone else would risk the story getting out. And the entire file's been classified by the government, you know that. For good reason, Fox. If the public knew the story, about alien technology and a successful regression to infancy, it could cause a panic. Telling them would put your job at risk. Or you could go to jail."
Mulder slammed his hand down on the table. "Damn," he whispered. Then he looked up at Skinner. "I-I have to do something! She's hurting and . . . and maybe I could help in some way."
Skinner shook his head. "There's nothing you can do, son," he said firmly. "I wish there were another way but . . . she's getting the help she needs. And Fiona can keep us informed about how she's doing. That's all we can do. I'm sorry."
Mulder bit down on his lower lip and looked to the side, trying to get hold of his emotions. He knew the Assistant Director was right but . . . it made him feel worse than useless. The silence among the three of them stretched into a half minute, then Fiona spoke.
"Perhaps I should go," she said, rising from her chair. "Thanks for the tea, Walter-"
"No!" Skinner responded instantly.
"No, don't go," Mulder said at the same time. "I-I brought work home. I really need to get to it. I'll head upstairs then I'm gonna crash. Don't leave because of me."
Skinner prevailed upon her to have another cup of tea as Fox retreated to his bedroom. They took their second cups into the family room, and soon she was pouring out more of the story to Skinner. She had edited the earlier version in Fox's presence it seems.
"She constantly asked me if Fox was coming back. For the holidays. For Easter. For the summer. I-I knew she was missing him but . . . I thought she was looking for someone to play Jean-Philippe's role in her life. As I said they were close. She worshiped him and he adored her. And looked out for her. It was . . . wonderful to see, really," she said, beginning to choke up again.
They talked for another hour, and Skinner realized how much she was hurting, too. Despite her intellectual acceptance that she had done as much as any teacher could do, the fact another student had nearly died devastated her. Fiona was a medium tall, athletic woman with a powerful presence usually. But tonight she seemed like a little girl to the AD, vulnerable and needy. His heart told him she shouldn't be alone right now.
"Why don't you stay, Fi?" he said finally.
"Here?" she exclaimed, her eyes involuntarily rising toward the ceiling. He knew immediately she was considering Fox.
"He's an adult now, Fiona," Skinner said with a smile. "I did have reservations about . . . having someone stay over when he was a kid. But he's 39 now. He knows all about the birds and the bees."
Fiona laughed despite the situation. It was the first sign of her normal self Skinner had seen this evening. It told him he was right about her staying, and he pulled her into his arms.
"Don't think about anything tonight," he said quietly. "Let me do the thinking, okay? Tomorrow, you can be your usual, take-charge self."
She pressed her lips together and her eyes shone with tears of gratitude. "Yes, sir," she said, mimicking the way she saw his agents speak to him on occasion.
"That's what I like to hear," he said, letting his mouth roam over the smooth, golden skin of her cheek until it found her lips.
Upstairs, Mulder was trying to concentrate on the file he'd brought home. It required a final report and an accounting of the expenses he and Scully had run up pursuing what turned out to be a dead end. Well, to be truthful, only Mulder's expenses needed to be accounted for. Scully had already done hers. And anyway, all the weird stuff was Mulder's to explain. He sighed, picked another sunflower seed out of the bag on the night stand and popped it into his mouth and sighed.
As an FBI agent, Mulder had come to trust Skinner's judgment on things he should and shouldn't do. He knew the AD was unerringly by the book when it came to the safety of his agents, and matters of national security. Both concerns drove his orders tonight.
As a de facto member of the Skinner family, Fox was well acquainted with their strong expectations when it came to obedience. *Or at least, my butt's well acquainted!* And there was no doubt in Fox's mind that he'd been given a directive downstairs. To do anything but comply would be blatant disobedience and would invite the worst kind of punishment.
His head told him Skinner was right. There was no way he could explain the situation to Marie-Claire or her parents that wouldn't violate the secrecy order surrounding what happened to him. And there was no plausible reason for an FBI agent to speak with Marie-Claire, not one that wouldn't amount to dishonesty.
And the name "Fox Mulder" would set off alarms, Skinner was right about that. He'd never run into another person with the same first name in his entire life. While he was growing up again the previous year, Skinner had helped him identify a couple of historical figures who shared his unfortunate first name, to try to help him deal with the oddness of it. Even if he could manufacture a reason for the FBI to need to interview the girl, the Montreaux family would have to give permission, and they'd be suspicious if an agent named "Fox Anything" showed up, he knew that for sure.
Mulder was confused, his instincts warring with his head. His trust in Skinner's judgment was working in direct conflict with his own intuition. He laid the file aside and slid down into the bed, then turned out the light. He'd try to get some sleep. Perhaps in the morning another possibility would occur to him.
A while later, Skinner and Fiona came upstairs, moving wordlessly together into the master bedroom at the far end of the hall. Skinner stepped back out of the bedroom for a moment to check on Fox, surprised and pleased to see he was fast asleep. He shut the door to the younger man's bedroom silently and returned to Fiona.
Mulder slept for a couple of hours but his dreams were troubled and he woke up some time after midnight, unable to get back to sleep. And convinced that, despite Skinner's orders, he had to see Marie-Claire.
He dressed quickly and stealthily slipped out, stopping at the top of the stairs to look at the closed door to the master bedroom. So far so good. He crept downstairs then he waited for a few more minutes, to see if Skinner had heard him but no sound came from upstairs so he left Yoda in the kitchen with a chew toy and stepped into the garage.
Several hours later, Walter Skinner stepped out of the master bedroom and closed the door behind him. He needed to use the bathroom but didn't want to risk disturbing Fiona by using the one off the master bedroom. There was another down the hall and he made a brief stop then decided to check on Fox before returning to the warm bed where Fiona now slept peacefully. They'd made love, and it had been a sweet and mutually comforting experience. Not like the passionate nights they'd shared before but just right for the occasion, the AD thought. He knew he was falling in love with her and every step their relationship took made him feel it was about the best thing that ever happened to him.
He decided to check in on Mulder, knowing the younger man would probably be having trouble sleeping, given his deep upset over Marie-Claire. Skinner himself had been conflicted, knowing how much the younger man's compassion would engage as soon as he knew the girl was in trouble. As a boy and an adult, Mulder had a huge heart and a soft spot for people in despair.
Skinner opened the door to Fox's room and was surprised to see that the bed was empty. His eyes found the alarm clock on the night stand. It was almost 1 a.m. "Where are you?" Skinner whispered. The fact the dog was not in the room either gave him some comfort. Perhaps Mulder had taken Yoda downstairs to let him out.
He padded down the stairs, dressed only in a pair of soft, faded sweat pants, his bare feet slapping quietly against the wood steps as he descended. The night light was on in the kitchen and he looked around quickly. Yoda was nowhere to be seen and neither was Mulder.
Next he opened the garage door and found the dog. Yoda had been sleeping on the dog bed by the workbench at the back of the garage. They left him in the garage during the day because it had a dog door. But the dog always slept with Mulder when he was there. Or Skinner if the younger agent was absent. The dog stretched and got up from his bed, ready to return to the house.
But Skinner wasn't paying attention to Yoda. He was looking at the empty space where Mulder's car normally would be. Right next to his own jeep. Now he realized what had woken him, the sound of the car garage door closing.
"Dammit, Mulder," he swore softly. "Where did you go?" He returned to the kitchen and picked up the telephone, banging out the number for Mulder's apartment. The machine answered and he left a terse message to call and hung up. He knew the younger agent wasn't there.
Next he tried the cell phone and got a message saying the "cellular customer you are trying to reach. . . " message. He disconnected angrily and started pacing in the kitchen. He could try Scully's number but it was nearly one in the morning and Skinner was certain Mulder wasn't there either. He slammed the phone down and headed upstairs muttering to himself. "When I get my hands on you, you're dead meat . . . ."
He silently took his clothes out of the room where Fiona slept and got dressed in Mulder's bedroom. Then he took Yoda downstairs and left him there before heading out to try to find the missing Fox Mulder.
Georgetown Medical Center
Pediatric Psychiatry Wing
1:25 a.m.
Fox Mulder walked down the hall toward the nurse's station. The lights in the psychiatric unit were lowered to simulate night and the sound of his footsteps echoed in the empty hallway. A lone nurse looked up from something she was reading that turned out to be "People" magazine.
Mulder gave the woman his most sincere smile and introduced himself. "I'm Special Agent George Hale of the FBI," he said quietly, showing her his badge.
The woman's eyebrows rose. "FBI? Who are you looking for?"
"Nothing to worry about, ma'am," he answered quickly. "I'm here to check up on a patient. Just a routine matter."
The nurse's expression told him they did not have routine visits from FBI agents for their patients often. And certainly not in the middle of the night. But he pressed his point anyway. He wanted to get in, and out, before anyone else saw him.
"I'm looking for Marie-Claire Montreaux," he said. "I promise it will only take a few minutes."
"She's probably asleep," the nurse said.
Mulder realized she was right but it was too late to turn back. "If she is, I promise I won't disturb her." He smiled again.
The woman considered the situation. He was an FBI agent. And very polite and rather charming, too. She smiled finally. "I guess it'll be all right. If she's awake. Poor little thing. It's room 1202. Right over there." She pointed at the room at the end of the hallway.
Mulder nodded his thanks and headed in the direction she had indicated. His gut was churning as he approached the door. Part of him hoped she'd be asleep, to give him an excuse to turn around and leave, forget he'd ever considered this idea. Skinner was right, it was fraught with the potential for disaster. He nearly turned back at the door but something made him push the door in. He had to see her, to make certain she really was all right.
Marie-Claire lay in the bed in the middle of the room, bathed in moonlight streaming through the window. She looked tiny, Mulder thought. Her dark hair had grown much longer since the last time he saw her. He felt tears sting the backs of his eyes and he was about to back away when she spoke.
"Who ees it?" she asked anxiously.
Mulder was taken aback. He'd thought about what he would say but suddenly none of it came to mind. And Marie-Claire became more worried when he failed to answer.
"Please," she whispered, her voice small and tight. "Who are you? What do you want?"
"It's okay," he rushed to reassure her, taking a step into the room. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That's all."
"Do I know you?" she asked. She sounded slightly less anxious and more curious now. More like the girl he remembered.
He walked up to her bedside and turned on the reading lamp over her bed. "It's me. Fox," he whispered.
"Fox? My Fox? How could that be? He was a boy and you're . . . ." She stopped suddenly as she looked into his eyes. A mixture of relief, shock and happiness rushed over her face as recognition set in. She could not mistake the caring hazel eyes that looked back at her and her own eyes flooded with tears. "Oh, Fox. It ees you, isn't it?" she whispered. "What happened--? How-how can it be. . . ."
Mulder pulled a chair over to the side of the bed and sat down. He took her hand in his own and began to explain.
"Something happened to me last year, Marie-Claire. Something that made me a child again, temporarily. I had to grow up all over again. But it happened much faster the second time. I know you won't understand this but . . . That's the truth. And I wanted you to know. I didn't just leave without saying good-bye. I wanted to speak to you so badly, especially after-after everything that happened. But I was afraid . . . you wouldn't understand. Or believe it was me."
She stared at him, studying every plane and angle of his adult face, listening to the tone of his mature voice, trying to hear the boy she'd known inside the man. Mulder was struck by how quickly she'd accepted something that he thought he might never be able to explain.
"You've been very sad, Marie-Claire. . . ." he prompted her. Her eyes filled with a different kind of tears and she looked down at her hand, held softly in Mulder's.
"I-I try to be h-happy," she said, her voice filling up with fresh tears. "But all I want ees for things to be as they were. And that can n-never be. Never again."
Mulder squeezed her hand and instinctively reached up to brush away the tears that began sliding down her face. He caressed her face and hair in a way that Skinner had done for him when he was a child. It comforted him and he hoped it was the same for the girl.
"Shhh," he whispered. "It's okay to feel sad, Marie-Claire. It's okay to cry. I-I had a sister once. Samantha. I lost her when I was a little younger than you are now. I know the hurt . . . takes a long time to go away. But it does get better. A little at a time."
The girl sobbed and leaned forward, toward Mulder. He stood up and lowered the metal side bar, then he sat down on the high hospital bed and let her into his arms. She shook as she sobbed and he continued to caress the back of her head, waiting it out. And he continued to talk to her.
"I remember, I used to stand outside Samantha's room and close my eyes real tight," he said. "And pray that when I opened them, she'd be there again. Just like always."
Marie-Claire nodded her head into his chest. "I do that," she said, a note of wonder in her response at the similarity between them. "I wake up every morning and, for a leetle while, I think it was all a bad dream. And he'll be home again."
"It's okay to feel that way," Mulder assured her. "It's part of the process of accepting. It will stop in time. Eventually you'll go through a whole day and won't think about Jean-Philippe. And when you do think of him, you'll remember the happy times, the good memories."
At the station outside, the night nurse was speaking to her supervisor when a tall man in a dark suit exited the elevator and strode quickly over to them. He held up a badge.
"I'm Assistant Director Skinner of the FBI," he said calmly. "I believe you have a patient-
"Yes!" the night nurse interrupted him. "Your Agent Hale is with her now."
*Agent Hale! Oh, just what I want to hear. Mulder has a fake FBI badge, too. Why didn't that come up with I confiscated all his fake documentation before?*
"Agent Hale is with her now?" he asked, trying to keep a lid on his anger.
"Why is the FBI interested in my daughter?" a taut voice called from behind him.
Skinner's heart dropped when he heard it. He recognized the voice immediately as that of the French Consul, Alain Montreaux. They'd met several times when Fox was a boy last year. A boy who'd dated this man's daughter for a brief time last Fall. He turned toward the Frenchman and the other man gasped.
"You? You . . . are with the FBI? I thought you were Fox's father. . . .?" Monsieur Montreaux stammered. He was clearly confused by the sudden turn of events. And the phone call from the hospital telling him the FBI was there to see his daughter.
"Well, sir, I am . . . Fox's father," Skinner said quietly. "And I'm an Assistant Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, too. It's . . . complicated. Perhaps we could step into somewhere private and I could try to explain."
Montreaux didn't move at first but then he nodded. He appeared to be exhausted and sick with worry over his one surviving child. Skinner's heart went out to him as he escorted the other man into the waiting room the nursing supervisor pointed out. The AD turned it all over in his head, trying to decide what and how to explain now that he had the opportunity.
In Marie-Claire's room, Mulder was pleased that the girl had begun to calm down again. He let her sit back against the pillows and compose herself a little more. Something told him there was more that was bothering her but he was running out of time. He'd already pressed his luck too far, he knew.
"You're a very wonderful, special girl, Marie-Claire," he began, trying to end their discussion so he could make his escape. But what happened next shocked him.
"No!" she said vehemently. "I am a terrible girl. A bad person-"
"That's not true," Mulder responded sincerely. "Why would you think that?"
"I am! I-It was all my fault! What happened to Jean-Philippe. . . and the others-"
"It was a car accident, Marie-Claire. You could not have been responsible-"
"I wished for it to happen! When she . . . when she took you from me. I hated her! I w-wished something bad would happen to her, so you would c-come back to me. I wished for it and it happened. And then Jean-Philippe and the others-"
Mulder reached out and took her head in his hands, forcing her to look up at him. "Listen to me, Marie-Claire. Wishing doesn't make things happen. It doesn't. If it did, you would have Jean-Philippe back. And I'd have Samantha back. . . . And I'd be fourteen years old again and taking you out to a movie this weekend. Do you understand me? We all . . . think things occasionally that aren't nice. When people make us mad. Or hurt people we care about. But the only thing we have to be responsible for are our actions. Because wishing doesn't make anything come true."
"B-but, but I wanted her to go away-" the girl said again. But this time her voice held less conviction.
"I've wanted lots of people to go away in my time," Mulder smiled. "None of them ever did, Marie-Claire. But I know how it can worry you. Sometimes my sister used to annoy me and I wished she'd go away. And when she did, I felt guilty for ever having thought I wanted her gone. I bet Jean-Philippe annoyed you once in a while, too, am I right?"
Marie-Claire's eyes brimmed with new tears but she nodded almost imperceptibly.
Mulder smiled at her. "That's what big brothers do, you know," he said. He was pleased when she rewarded him with a tentative smile.
"I know I can't take his place- I would never try. But I could be a friend, maybe. For when you want to talk to someone besides your parents or your girlfriends. Would that be okay?"
She nodded again, this time with conviction. Her smile widened. "I'd . . . like that, Fox," she said.
"I'd like it too," he told her, squeezing her hand. A silence descended on them and he waited for whatever she would say next.
"Do you really . . . do you really wish you were fourteen again?" she asked shyly.
He grinned at her. "Yeah. If I could have anything in the world, I'd wish I didn't have to grow up so fast the last time around, Marie-Claire. I'd like to take you to the movies. And out for pizza again. I'd even like to go to another dance . . . only, if wishes really did come true, this time I'd actually know how to dance!"
She laughed a little. "Oh, you were not so bad, Fox," she said.
"I wasn't so good either," he returned. This time she giggled. But her eyes flew to the door behind him and Mulder's ears picked up the sound of footsteps. He turned and looked over his shoulder and his heart skipped a beat.
Mr. Montreaux was standing in the doorway, gaping at him. And behind him and a little to the side was the very angry face of AD Skinner. There was an awkward silence, then Skinner spoke.
"Hello, Marie-Claire," he said, giving her a fond smile. She nodded in answer, a wide grin on her face. Then Skinner looked at Mulder. "Agent Mulder, will you finish up and step outside please?"
Mulder nodded, then Skinner let the door close on him and Mr. Montreaux. Mulder turned back to Marie-Claire.
"I think I'm in big trouble," he smiled.
She giggled, not really believing him. "I hope you don't get grounded," she said as though that were a preposterous idea.
"I hope I only get grounded," he answered, knowing she thought he was kidding. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Bon soir, Marie-Claire."
Outside the door a grim-faced Skinner waited with the girl's father. He's decided he had no choice but to tell Mr. Montreaux about what happened to Mulder, explaining it was top-secret and why. The French Consul had been angry that he'd not been briefed earlier, and furious that his government knew nothing of all of this. But now he looked more preoccupied than anything else. Skinner began to apologize again but the other man stopped him.
"I just saw my daughter smile, Mr. Skinner," he said, "for the first time in many months. I heard her laugh. Whatever your agent-whatever Fox has done, it's given me back my only child. I don't know if you can understand what it's like to see your child suffer . . . and not be able to do anything to help-" His choked back a sob and struggled for composure.
Skinner's own eyes brimmed with tears. "I do know," he answered quietly, thinking back to the time when Fox needed the medicine that kept his growth manageable but Spender had held it back. "You'd do anything to stop them from suffering."
"Yes," the Consul agreed. "I will keep your secret. It's the least I can do."
The Skinner residence
McLean, Virginia
3:45 a.m.
Skinner followed Mulder's car back to the house and now he pulled his own car into the garage next to the other one. The dog greeted them and both men spoke to Yoda but no words were exchanged between the two of them. They headed into the house and Skinner turned the light on in the kitchen. He took out a carton of orange juice and poured himself a glass. Then he looked to Fox questioningly. The younger man shook his head. He was too nervous about what was coming to chance putting anything in his stomach.
Skinner cocked his head toward the family room and the younger man nodded and headed into the other room. He was completely aware that Fiona was upstairs and worried what the AD might have in mind, under the circumstances. His hands fidgeted, and he nervously wiped them on his jeans-clad thighs. Then he sat down on the couch. He crossed his arms over his chest but that didn't feel comfortable so he dropped them to his sides. They didn't seem to rest naturally anywhere so he grabbed a throw pillow and pulled it against his chest, squeezing it unconsciously. Yoda eyed him curiously then he walked over to the throw rug near the fireplace, circled and laid down.
"Thanks for the protection," Mulder murmured, then he realized Skinner was entering the room and stopped talking immediately. The AD hadn't heard the words but he didn't have any trouble reading the body language. But before he could say anything, Mulder jumped into the breach.
"I know you're mad!" he said. His words tumbled out, one after the other. "I disobeyed you and I know how you feel about that-"
"Fox, stop!" Skinner told him firmly. "Stop. Let me speak before you go putting words in my mouth."
Mulder's eyes locked onto the other man's face. "I mean, I know you're angry, not mad-"
"Fox, I said stop! Right now!"
Mulder stopped in mid-sentence. He closed his mouth purposefully, but his eyes reflected his concern and certainty that he was in for it. But good.
"Thank you," the AD said. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Fox, I want you to know that . . . I think you were right tonight. Going to see Marie-Claire was a good decision. You have excellent judgment when it comes to some things, particularly things like this. I should have trusted your judgment. I'm not mad-"
"You mean 'angry,' sir," Mulder interjected, recalling the many times Skinner had driven the distinction home to him. But his face reflected his surprise that the words came from him.
Skinner gave him a sideways look that communicated more than words could but he couldn't hide the small smile that fought its way through. "Thank you again, Fox," he said lightly. "I'm not . . . 'angry' with you. You exercised good judgment and son, I'll always back you when you do that. I guess I was being a little overprotective but you knew better in this case."
Mulder stared at him, open-mouthed. "You're not m-angry? Really?"
Skinner nodded. "Somehow your visit helped Marie-Claire, Fox. Her father said he hadn't heard her laugh since her brother died. You made a good decision in going there. Your instincts were better than mine on this one, kid."
Mulder's eyes were shining with tears of relief. He'd been so worried. And even though Skinner had always said he admired and respected Mulder's heart, and his instincts, the words he'd just heard meant more to him than praise from anyone else in the world ever could. "I-I don't know what to say," he said slowly. "I was so sure-so sure I was in trouble! I can't believe it's okay. And you're not gonna punish me. . . ."
Skinner smiled. "Exercising your own judgment, when it turns out to be right, will never get you punished, Fox," he said. "I want you to know I respect your instincts and your intuition. They generally serve you very well, son."
Mulder stood up. For a number of reasons, he wanted to get to bed. One part of him wished he could stay and savor this moment when the man Fox respected most in the world told him he respected him too. As an adult and as a man, capable of making the right decisions. Even when those decisions ran counter to his own. Mulder was touched and overwhelmed by it all.
"Th-thanks," he managed to get out. "I-That means a lot to me. I never expected-"
"You never expected to hear me admit I might be wrong?" Skinner chuckled as he rose from the chair on which he'd been seated. "Well, mark this day on your calendar then. It may not happen often. But when you're right and I'm wrong, I'll say it." He stepped forward and opened his arms, letting Mulder step into his embrace. "I love you, kid. And I'm very proud of you. . . ."
"Thank you," Mulder responded huskily, returning the hug with all his strength. "I love you too, Dad."
Skinner kissed him in the Russian way, once on each cheek then again on the first one.
Mulder knew he need to end this now, needed to go to bed. "I guess I'll turn in," he said, stepping back, flashing what he hoped would seem like a tired smile. He headed for the doorway trying not to look self-conscious, or like he was trying to get out fast, before . . . . "Good night, sir."
"Good night, Fox," Skinner replied as he took a seat again and picked up his glass of orange juice. "We'll deal with the little matter of the fake ID tomorrow."
There was no response from the hallway for a full half minute. Nor was there any sound to indicate Mulder had continued upstairs. But after a while, the younger man's head and shoulders came slowly around the corner of the entry from the hall.
"I wondered if that one slipped by you," he said, grimacing.
"No, it didn't," Skinner told him succinctly. "When I confiscated all your fake ID's, I'm sure you told me that was everything. Did you still have something you didn't tell me about? Or did you have the Gunmen make you up a new one?" His tone left no doubt either answer would leave him in trouble.
Mulder swallowed hard. "I-I still had this one," he admitted weakly. "You asked for driver's licenses. And passports-"
"I never even dreamed you'd actually have a false FBI credential," Skinner responded. "But I'm certain you knew I wanted it all."
Mulder nodded.
"We'll deal with that little falsehood tomorrow, Fox," Skinner said. "In the big picture tonight, it's not the most important thing. But it was a lie, son. I'm not going to overlook it. Good night."
Mulder stared at him for several seconds, trying not to look like he was panicking inside. The he nodded and headed back into the hallway. Skinner sighed and sat back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling for a few seconds. Then he glanced down at his watch. * Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twen-- *
"Do we have to wait till tomorrow?" Mulder whined as he stepped back into the room. "I hate it when you make me wait."
Skinner smiled. "Fiona's upstairs," he said by way of explanation.
"I know but-Shit!" Mulder responded. "I hate this-"
Skinner pondered the situation for a few seconds, then his heart made him relent. "Okay. Out in the garage, Fox," he said, rising and heading into the kitchen. He stopped long enough to remove the paddle that was hanging on the wall in the kitchen, the one Fox had made last summer when he was a teenager. Then he opened the door to the garage and turned on the light out there. He turned and waited for Mulder to follow him.
The younger man seemed surprised to have gotten his way for a short moment but then he pressed his lips together and trailed the AD into the garage. Skinner closed the door and moved quickly from that point on. He wanted to get this over with almost as much as Fox did.
"Take down your jeans," he instructed Mulder. "And bend over the work table."
Fox nodded, blinking furiously. He'd asked for a quick sentence. He'd gotten it. Why was his stomach turning flip-flops? He unbuttoned his jeans and unzipped the fly. Then he walked over to the work bench, pushed his jeans and shorts down to his knees and leaned forward. All he wanted now was to get this over fast.
"What's this paddling for?" Skinner asked him immediately as he brought the wooden paddle down onto the young man's backside with a resounding whack.
"F-for lying to you OWWW! OUCHHH! I'm sorry! I wasn't YEOWWW! I wasn't thinking!" he gasped as the AD let him have it with the paddle in a fast, heavy rhythm meant to make it clear he would never tolerate lying. And Fox had no trouble interpreting the message. "I'm s-sorry, Dad! I'll never lie to you again! I pr-promise!"
Skinner nodded and slowed the pace at which he had been whacking the bottom presented to him. It was now a bright pink, especially the sit-spot. Exactly as he'd intended. He lifted the paddle again. "What else are you being punished for, Fox?"
"Oww! For using a fake FBI badge!" Mulder responded instinctively as another whack landed. He was trying not to cry but despite his best efforts, hot tears were running down his cheeks. "Ouchh!"
"I want to impress (WHACK!) this (WHACK!) on your mind (WHACK!) and your ass (WHACK!), son. There is no reason (WHACK!) for an FBI agent (WHACK!) to use false papers. (WHACK!)" He'd gotten to the big finish and his heart pushed him toward leniency. He was about to drop the paddle on the bench when Fox's mouth went into overdrive.
"What about when I'm working undercover?" Mulder choked out, looking back over his shoulder. Despite his current precarious position and his aching butt, he believed he'd found a loophole and wanted Skinner to know it.
The AD's eyebrows rose in sync. He tightened his grip on the paddle and let it underscore the meaning of his answer. "Were you working (WHACK!) undercover (WHACK!) tonight?" (WHACK! WHACK!) A part of him was amazed at the audacity the young man could display, even at moments like this.
Mulder knew in a flash his question had only prolonged, and worsened, his punishment. *What the hell were you THINKING?!!!* "NO! NO, SIR! SORRY, SIR!" he sobbed, laying his head in his arms. All the fight had run out of him and he simply steeled himself for the whatever was still to come.
"Okay, that's it," Skinner said, laying the paddle down on the workbench. He helped Mulder up, then waited while he pulled up his shorts and jeans, gasping a little as they pulled over his well-paddled buttocks Then Skinner gathered the younger man into a big hug and felt Mulder sob into his right shoulder.
"I'm s-sorry," the young man said again. This time his remorse had a note of sincerity and the AD tightened his embrace and began to rub his back soothingly.
"Shhh. It's all over now. I'm still proud of what you did tonight, kid. Except for the fake ID. And lying to me about it. But that's minor in comparison to the rest. You did a good thing for Marie-Claire, Fox." Skiner felt the tension run out of Mulder's body and suspected the younger agent would be asleep on his feet soon. "Come on. Let's get you to bed."
Upstairs a few minutes later, Mulder climbed into bed as Skinner lifted the covers for him. He'd only managed to take off his T-shirt and jeans and pull on a pair of pajama bottoms the AD had taken out of a drawer in the dresser. He was having a hard time keeping his eyes open, after the emotionally wrenching experiences of the last few hours. Still, he felt a sense of peace he hadn't expected after seeing Marie-Claire. When he'd seen her before, at the school, he'd been left upended and with an amorphous dissatisfaction he couldn't quite understand at the time. Now he knew it was the lack of closure that had been bothering him.
"Did you and Marie-Claire have a good talk?" Skinner asked him as he slid down under the covers.
"Yeah, we did," Mulder replied, a yawn nearly smothering the end of the sentence. "I told her . . . I'd really like to still be her friend. An 'older friend.' For when she needs one."
Skinner nodded. He'd expected as much.
"She was surprised when I told her I was wished I was still fourteen. . . ."
Skinner raised one eybrow. He was a little surprised too. "Do you?"
Mulder pressed his lips together, as if he was afraid to speak until he was certain his voice wouldn't crack. "Yeah," he said softly. Then he tried to wave it off. "I do wish it sometimes. I-I know you're probably glad to be relieved of the responsibility-"
"What responsibility do you imagine I've been relieved of?" Skinner asked him, smiling as he took a seat on the side of the mattress.
"Well, I mean-" Mulder responded immediately, then he grinned. "Oh yeah. I guess that's an exaggeration, from your point of view."
The AD brushed back the hair that was plastered to his forehead. "Well, maybe it's a little easier," he conceded. "But sometimes I wish you were fourteen still. Or ten. Or maybe five. You were a lot less mouthy at five . . ."
The younger man snorted. "I don't recall ever being anything but mouthy," he offered, not certain whether he wanted the other man to agree or not.
"Yes," Skinner agreed. "But then again, it's one of your best qualities."
Mulder smiled but exhaustion was rapidly overtaking him. Still, he had one more thing to say. "I'm sorry I didn't talk to you about going to the hospital," he yawned.
"I am too," Skinner replied as he tucked the covers in around the younger man. Then he sat on the edge of the mattress. "But I'm not sure if you could have convinced me. Like I said, your judgment was better than mine on this one. . . . I was too intent on protecting you. From being hurt. From revealing something that could get you in trouble . . . ."
Mulder's eyes blinked open. "Oh, God," he breathed. "What if Mr. Montreaux tells someone? He might think it's his duty, to tell his own government-"
Skinner smiled. "That's what I was afraid of but. . . I think he's too grateful for what you did for Marie-Claire. You put her welfare over your own, Fox. Not that I haven't seen you do that before but. . . . it makes me very proud. Of who you are and how do what you believe is right, no matter what the consequences might be."
Fox's eyes clouded over and he lowered his eyes, not wanting the other man to see the tears his words had elicited. But Skinner knew this young man far better than Mulder realized. He cupped his hand under Fox's chin and gently pulled his head up so that he couldn't avoid direct eye contact.
"Fox, I've told you before that I know what's in your heart. I know you're honorable and loving and good. So I could never be angry-or disappointed in you-if you follow your heart. That's what you did tonight. And I'm glad you did."
Mulder nodded, pressing his lips together to keep back a small sob that bubbled up inside him. He shook it off and tried to make a joke. "But you still paddled me," he threw out as if he were holding a grudge.
"For lying to me. And for having the fake ID," Skinner responded archly. "Tell me, does your heart tell you it's okay to use a fake FBI badge?"
Mulder stared at him, knowing what he wanted to say but also certain what he would say. "No, sir," he replied quietly. "My head told me that."
Skinner laughed and leaned down, placing a soft kiss on the younger man's forehead. Then he rose and turned out the light. "Well, here's a piece of advice, kid," he said as he started for the door. "When your heart and your head don't agree, let your butt be the deciding vote, okay?"
Mulder winced at the bad joke at the same moment his sore bottom sent him an urgent message. He turned on his side and closed his eyes. "Actually, that might not be the worst idea you ever had," he whispered to himself. Then he promptly fell asleep with a smile on his face.
THE END