Where the Heart Is
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: Sein Und Zeit and Closure.
Setting: Seventh Season.
Rating: PG. Discipline, no slash.
Summary: Mulder disappears in the wake of his mother's funeral and Skinner searches for him desperately, terrified of what he might do.
McLean, Virginia
Saturday afternoon
3:30 PM
Fox Mulder stood up straight and groaned as he tried to stretch the kinks out of his back. He and Walter and Joe Skinner had spent the entire day at Andy Skinner's new home in McLean, Virginia. Andy had a new job in Washington, D.C. and he and his wife Eileen had found a place they loved not more than a mile from the safe house that Skinner and Mulder had occupied for part of last year. Skinner himself was now planning to buy that property from the government so they'd all be neighbors, closer in fact than where Joe, Jean and the elder Skinners lived in and around Danville.
The movers had come and gone, having unloaded and moved in an entire household of furniture and boxes over the course of the morning. The Skinner brothers and Mulder had spent almost as much time trying to put the wooden play gym together in the expansive backyard. It was unbelievable how complicated the swing and slide set was.
"You need a #!$# degree in engineering to put this thing together," Joe exclaimed in exasperation as he tried once again to screw bolt A into slot D while Mulder held the other piece of wood in place. "These kids will be in college before we get this thing done!"
Mulder snorted. But his own patience had worn thin a while earlier. And Skinner and Andy had abandoned them a few minutes ago to call the manufacturer, certain they had to be missing pieces or something.
"There isn't enough wood here to make the thing on that box, Andy," the oldest brother had finally said as he read the instructions for the fifth time and checked the material they had to work with. "Not unless step one is 'buy a lumber mill,' kid."
"Oh, for crissake!" Joe finally said as the bolt slipped out of the slot once again. He threw the screwdriver to the ground. "This is never gonna work!"
"What you need is a beer," Mulder told him, trying to soothe the other man's obvious annoyance. "And so do I. Hang on and I'll get a couple."
Joe called after him. "And find Walter and Andy," he said dryly. "This should be a family project. I don't want to be accused of hogging all the fun!"
Mulder jogged across the yard and opened the sliding glass door that opened from the patio into the family room. He could hear Skinner and Andy in the kitchen and he could see their reflections in a mirror that had been hung on a wall in the hallway. Andy was sitting on a counter, a phone to his ear, and his brother was leaning on the opposite counter.
"I don't mind being kept on hold," Andy was saying, "but I really resent being forced to listen to the Muzak version of Carpenters' tunes!"
"Yeah, that's just plain redundant," the AD chuckled and he and Andy exchanged a quick smile and a high five. "In case I haven't told you, I'm glad you moved to DC, Andy. I've . . . missed you. It's gonna be good to have you around, kid."
"Thanks," Andy replied with a slightly embarrassed grin. "Getting together only on holidays and special occasions has bothered me, too. I realized it last summer, when we spent the month with you guys on Nantucket. Especially as the kids get older, I really want them to see the family more regularly. . ."
Mulder stepped back outside and closed the sliding door silently. Then he stood there a while, trying to decide what to do next. He walked around to the side of the house and called into the kitchen as he opened the back door.
"Hey! Are you guys on strike or something?" Mulder put his head in the door and eyed the beer bottles in the hands of the other two men. "I think Joe could use one of those. And . . . I gotta go. I kinda forgot I had an appointment this afternoon. And I have a feeling you're gonna need someone with better building skills than I have to offer for this project."
Skinner studied him curiously. "You didn't tell me you had plans this afternoon, Fox," he said slowly. "I wouldn't have asked you to--"
"No, I don't mind," he interrupted quickly. "If I could cancel this . . . thing, I would but it's too late. I'm sorry. I'll talk to you later. You, too, Andy." With that, he disappeared out the kitchen door and headed up the driveway at a fast pace.
Skinner put his beer down on the counter and followed him, striding purposefully down the driveway. "Fox!"
Mulder turned and looked at him, then he turned back toward the street and ran a hand over his face quickly. "Yo," he answered, turning back to the other man once again.
"Fox, is . . . everything all right?" Skinner asked him quietly. "I mean, you never said you had an appointment today."
"I forgot, okay? I'm s-sorry," he answered a little too forcefully. "It's-- I'm sorry. It's just that I hate the dentist and I get a little nervous when I have to go. I guess subconsciously I wanted an excuse to forget!"
The AD frowned a little. He'd taken a younger Fox to the dentist not two months earlier and his teeth were fine. And had been cleaned as well. "Don't worry about it," he said. "I just wanted to make sure you're all right."
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," Mulder replied. "I-- I'm thinking I might want to take some time off, though. Like I originally planned. You know, with . . . everything that's happened, I just feel like maybe I need a little solitude. And a chance to recharge. I'm gonna take that leave time I originally requested, if it's okay, sir."
Skinner's ear picked up the 'sir' immediately. It was Agent Mulder speaking to Assistant Director Skinner, polite and very official. He wasn't sure what this was about but he responded in kind. "I'll approve it, Mulder," he said. "You deserve some leave after everything. Do you know what you're going to do? If I can help with anything--"
"No. I don't plan to 'do' much," the younger man interrupted. "I just need to take some time for myself, I think. I'll-- Thanks, sir. I've got to run or I'm gonna miss that appointment."
"Call me tonight, Fox," Skinner called after him. "I'll be home after dinner. Call me. I want to talk to you."
Mulder stopped and shook his head, then he turned back, visibly angry. "I'm not a child," he said forcefully. "I-- I-- I appreciate your concern, I really do! But . . . I'm an adult now and I can make my own decisions about whether or not I'm gonna call somebody. It's . . . my choice . . . ."
Skinner put his hands up in surrender. He could see this was something Fox felt strongly about, that it had touched a nerve, and this didn't seem like the time to push. "Okay, kid," he said anxiously. "I didn't mean . . . I wasn't trying to make you feel like a child. I'm sorry if it came out that way. I know you're an adult--"
"No, I'm sorry," Mulder cut him off. He bit down on his lip. "I gotta go. I'll . . . call."
Skinner watched him jog the rest of the way down the driveway, get into his car and drive off. He continued to watch until the taillights of the car disappeared around the corner, then he walked slowly back up the driveway and into the backyard. Joe and Andy were sitting on redwood lounge chairs on the back patio, their feet were up, and they each held a beer bottle in their hand. There was another one sitting on the table between them.
"Shift over?" Skinner asked curiously as he accepted a fresh, cold brew.
"Andy finally talked to the manufacturer," Joe responded giving his younger brother a sideways glance. "For twenty-five bucks they'll send somebody over to build the darn thing."
Skinner held his bottle out and Joe and Andy each clicked the long neck of their bottles against his. "Good decision, Andy," the Assistant Director told him, giving Joe a knowing look. "Too bad you didn't make it three hours ago!"
Walter Skinner's Apartment
8:15 PM
Walter and Joe had just come in, following a haphazard take-out dinner party at Andy's new house. Fox and he had brought menus from all the surrounding restaurants they knew and loved that delivered and Andy decided to start checking them out immediately. Eileen was in agreement until she saw the fat-laden meal he ordered but the kids had a ball and frankly so did Walter, Joe and Andy.
"I ordered you a side salad, too," Andy tried to appease her, holding up a tin tray with wilted lettuce and a cherry tomato sitting under a plastic top.
"Oh, good," she replied, eyeing it as though it were alive and spitting at her. "I'll make all three of you an appointment with your cardiologist on Monday."
The day had been long and exhausting, though. Physical labor was not generally on either a history professor or an AD's agenda and despite the early hour, both Joe and Walter were ready to hang out in front of the TV and then hit the sack. Skinner noticed his answering machine light blinking and hit the button to play the messages immediately.
The first was from Nora. She was driving down first thing in the morning with Rachel and Walter. The elder Skinners would stay a couple of days at Andy's house to help them get settled in. And Nora and Joe would head home tomorrow evening. She'd called first thing in the morning but she connected with them live at Andy's house so Skinner sped through it to the second message.
That one had come in at five o'clock. It was from Mulder.
"Hi, it's me," it said. "I'm just . . . calling to check in. Sorry I missed you. I'm gonna go away for a few days and get my head together. I'm not sure where yet but I'll stay in touch. Um, that's it, I guess. Bye."
Skinner stared at the machine, frowning, then he felt Joe come up behind him. He'd heard the message, too.
"What the heck was that about?" he asked.
"I-- I don't know. When Fox left to go to the . . . 'dentist' this afternoon, he said he'd decided to take some vacation time. I told him he was entitled and I'd approve it, of course. But to call me tonight, after dinner."
"That came in at five o'clock," Joe responded unnecessarily. "Does he think you're patronizing the "Early Bird Specials" nowadays?"
"Exactly. And I was very explicit about wanting to talk to him. But he reacted badly so I backed off," Skinner said as he picked up the portable phone and hit the speed dial for Mulder's number. It rang several times, then the machine answered. "Fox, it's me. Call me as soon as you get this message. I need to talk to you, son."
Then he disconnected and dialed the number for the younger man's cell phone. No answer. Skinner punched the disconnect button and put the phone down in consternation. "Where the heck is he?"
"Calm down, Walt," Joe said. "He's a young, single guy and it's Saturday night. If he was home, that'd be odd, not the other way around."
Skinner looked at Joe and nodded. "I guess. It's just I got a gut feeling about this."
"Well, ignore it," Joe said as he sank down onto the couch. "If I followed up on every 'gut feeling' I have about my kids, I'd never sleep. I'd just drive around town looking for them night and day. He's a big boy now. I'm sure he'll call tomorrow."
Skinner nodded thoughtfully. "I know you're right. It's just . . . Nothing, I guess. It's been hard remembering he's an adult again sometimes. And he's entitled to make his own decisions about things." He sighed and headed up the stairs. "Want an Alka-Seltzer, Joe?" he called back.
"Yes! I'm gettin' old, Walt," Joe replied gratefully. "My stomach is not my friend any more!"
Sunday passed with the entire family gathered at the home of Andy and Eileen Skinner. Except for Fox. And everyone commented on it at one point or another, asking Skinner where he was, calling him and not finding him home. Skinner guessed the younger man had half a dozen phone message piled up from his family alone. Even little Haley and Brian called him. They left a message asking him to go roller-blading with them while he was on vacation.
When Skinner arrived back at his place at nine o'clock, there was another phone message from Fox. This one had come in at three in the afternoon and the AD knew immediately it was Mulder's intention to leave a message only. He would not have tried there at that hour if he hoped to reach the other man live. He sighed as he listened to it.
"Sir? It's me. I wanted to call while I had a chance. I decided to just take a drive and see what turns up. I'm . . . I just need time to think is all. Don't worry. I'll -- I'll call later in the week."
Skinner stared at the machine. He'll call later in the week? And what's with that 'sir,' thing again? We're on private time here! The entire thing gave him a sick feeling in his stomach, not to mention a headache. Another Alka-Seltzer moment. Fox being an adult again hasn't cut down on those yet!
By Wednesday morning, without another call from Fox, Skinner was nearly jumping out of his own skin. He got to work early even for him because he wasn't sleeping too well. And found a voice message on his office number from the elusive Fox Mulder. This one worried him.
"Hi," he said and his voice made him sound tired and slightly depressed. "I just want to tell you I'm okay. And . . . that you shouldn't worry about me. You did enough of that in the last year, sir. And I'm sorry that you had to. I mean, it's not exactly part of the job description, right? Maybe you should think about taking a vacation, too. Call Chuck and the guys and . . . do something fun, like you used to do before I barged into your life and drained away all your free time. Anyway, I'm fine. Take care."
Skinner listened to it twice but could discern no clue as to where he was when he called. He placed a call to the FBI phone techs and asked them to get him the number from which it had been dialed. Then he decided to get away from his desk for a while. A short walk found him in the basement office that belonged to the X-Files.
"Sir?" Agent Scully exclaimed, standing as he entered. He waved for her to remain seated and closed the door behind him.
"How are you, Scully?" he asked.
"Fine, sir," she replied with a smile and a wave toward a stack of files. "As you can see, I'm catching up on paperwork."
"Good. Less distractions without Mulder, I guess," he replied. "Have you heard from him?"
"Yes, he called yesterday. I wasn't home yet so it was just a message on the machine. He sounded . . . tired. I guess he really needed this time off."
"All I've gotten are messages, too," Skinner answered. "Did he mention to you where he was going."
She frowned and shook her head. "No, he didn't. I . . . thought that was strange, too. And the sudden decision over the weekend-- I was going to stop in and ask you if you knew what had prompted it. We had a case he was planning to try to get you to approve. A psychic who claims there's a vortex in the mountains of New Hampshire where several dimensions meet. He claims he can speak to souls 'on the other side' and has passed along information to survivors about whether the keys are, and the combination for the safe, things like that. Well, I was shocked that Mulder would pass up an opportunity like that . . . ."
Skinner smiled to himself. And so Scully was catching up on paperwork instead of investigating the lead herself. It spoke volumes about her and he appreciated that, as their supervisor. Someone had to keep Mulder tethered to the ground or he'd float out into space. Then it occurred to him that the other agent might have gone off to investigate it on his own.
"Would you mind making a few phone calls, Scully? To see if Mulder just happens to be in New Hampshire?"
"Of course, sir," she replied, rising to search out the folder on Mulder's desk. "I don't know why I didn't think of it earlier."
She came by the AD's office about a half hour later. "He's not there, sir," she told him immediately. "He was. Monday and Tuesday. But nothing came of it and he left. Maybe he was headed home?"
"Not . . . from the message he left me this morning, Scully. It came in at 4:02 a.m. on my office number. I asked the techs to tell me where it came from but that department seems to be working on 'slow' today." He picked up the phone and buzzed his secretary.
"Kim, get Jim Baylson on the line. His people were supposed to trace a phone call for me--"
"I put the slip with the information in your messages, Assistant Director," she responded immediately.
He shook his head, berating himself for his impatience. "Thank you," he answered quickly as he began sorting through the pile of slips. "Here it is. It came from a pay phone in Devon, Massachusetts. At a roadside rest area."
"That could be on the way home," Scully responded hopefully.
Skinner nodded. But his gut was kicking up a storm inside him. It just didn't 'feel' like the younger man was heading home. Not from the sound of the message he'd gotten.
But there was little they could do at this point so the two of them went back to work. By evening, though, the AD was becoming seriously concerned. And a phone call from his father just after he got home didn't help.
"Walter, it's me," Mr. Skinner said as soon as he picked up. "Have you spoken to Fox today?"
"No, I haven't. Why?"
"Well, he sent us a letter. Thanking us for everything the family did for him during the funeral. It's . . . a strange letter, son. It sounds almost like something a stranger would write, not family. And it seems . . . I don't know, final somehow."
Skinner's gut twisted as he heard what the letter said. But he didn't see want to worry the older man unnecessarily. "I can see how you might interpret it that way, Dad," he said, trying to convince himself too. "But it could also be Fox trying to express his feelings in a way he's most comfortable with. You know he's not good at face to face emotional stuff."
"I know, Walter," his father said. "But this doesn't seem to be that kind of distancing. It's worrying me. Where is he?"
"I don't know," Skinner replied. "I wish I did. He said he was just gonna drive, to try to get his head together--"
"Walter, did you think it was a good idea to agree to something like that? I mean, right now, just after losing his mother? And finally learning about what happened to his sister?"
"I didn't see as I had much choice, Dad," his son replied defensively. "He is an adult. With the right to make his own choices--"
"Stop! I know you believe that in your head, son. But what does your heart say?"
Skinner sighed loudly and put a hand to his forehead. He began rubbing his temples, trying to ease the pounding there. "I know, Dad," he said quietly. "I-- I don't like it either. But I don't know what to do except to wait for him to come home. And hopefully, he's on his way now." He filled the older man in on the news about where Mulder had called from earlier in the day and Scully's guess that he was driving back to DC.
They spoke a few more minutes and hung up. Then Skinner got restless. He changed clothes and headed out to his car. In a few minutes he was in Mulder's apartment. There was an automatic feeder unit set up on the fish tank, a new development that told him the younger agent planned to be away more than a few days. But nothing else looked out of place as far as he could tell. And Mulder wasn't anywhere to be found. So much for hoping he was headed home. He could practically have jogged from Massachusetts to DC in the sixteen hours since his call.
Next he took out Mulder's phone and address book. First he dialed Teena Mulder's number, thinking Fox might have stopped in Greenwich for the night. The number had been disconnected, a detail the AD had taken care of but forgotten about until he got the recorded message. Then he called Scully at home. She had not heard from him again either.
Skinner paced the apartment for a few minutes, still looking for some clue as to what the other man was thinking when he left. But nothing occurred to him and he picked up the phone and dialed again.
"Langly, turn off the tape," he said as soon as the call was answered.
"It's off," the other man responded in a moment. "What's up, Assistant Director?"
Skinner knew his words were meant to clue the other two Lone Gunmen in to who was on the phone. He smiled to himself. "I need a favor," he said. "And I don't want to use Bureau resources for this. Mulder's on vacation but I don't know where. I . . . need to reach him. Can you check his charge card activity and see what you can find?"
"Uh, no can do, man," Langly replied warily. "Feds don't much approve of that kind of thing. They'd call it 'hacking,' if you get my drift. Got a whole fibbie task force zeroing in on people who do that kind of thing."
Skinner sighed. They obviously knew about Andy's new job with the government. "I know. Can you do it without . . . leaving a trail? It's important or I wouldn't ask."
"Is Mulder all right?" Frohike cut in. He was obviously listening on another line.
"I hope so. But I'm a little worried about him. Or I wouldn't ask--"
"Consider it done," Byers answered immediately, from yet another extension. "Where can we get back to you?"
Skinner gave them his cell phone number but when they called a while later, they had found no activity on any of Mulder's charge cards. "Not even his phone credit card," Frohike said. "Weird, man. Mulder lives on plastic."
Skinner nodded. He'd had a heckuva time getting the younger man's credit cards paid down when he was regressed to childhood last year so he knew that fact. "Well, thanks anyway."
Skinner was awakened in the middle of the night by the phone ringing. "Skinner," he answered immediately.
"John Byers, sir," the caller said. "We did a little further checking. Because it seems odd that Mulder would be traveling and not using plastic. He withdrew five thousand dollars from his savings account Monday morning."
Skinner's eyebrows shot up. That was the bulk of what was in the younger man's account. He knew that for sure. And Monday morning? His messages on Saturday and Sunday indicated he'd already left town but now he realized the younger man said that so he wouldn't go looking for him. "Thank you. I . . . appreciate the time and trouble you went to--"
"Don't mention it. And listen, if there's anything else we can do . . . "
Skinner found it hard to get back to sleep and by five fifteen., he gave up and rose. He was working on his third cup of coffee when the phone rang again at just past six.
"Hi, Walt, it's Eileen," a cheery voice on the other end of the phone said. "Sorry to call so early but I know you're an early riser. Like your nephew. Griffin doesn't even wait for the crack of dawn!"
"It's a Skinner trait," the AD laughed, pleased to hear his sister-in-law's voice. "How's everyone?"
She told him they were all fine and that she'd gotten Brian registered at the Wheatley Academy. He was starting there today.
"I know. Fiona's happy to be getting him."
"I think he's gonna love it there. Haley's a little miffed she has to go to another school for a year but she's preregistered for kindergarten in September, Fiona told me. I've been trying to reach Fox since yesterday. Is he there with you?"
"No, he's away for a few days. Is anything wrong?"
"Oh, no," she chuckled. "I wanted to thank him for a gift he dropped off on Monday morning. Griffin was having some trouble getting used to the new bedroom but that yellow rabbit did the trick! He loves it--"
"Fox gave him the yellow rabbit? The one with the long ears?"
"Yes, it's adorable. Fox said it was an early Easter gift but the baby's taken to it like it was a security blanket. Sleeps with it. Drags it around with him. . . ."
Skinner recalled little Fox doing exactly the same thing. He'd been pleased and touched when, newly grown up, Fox had discreetly taken the rabbit out of the boxes for Goodwill and taken it home with him. Skinner had seen it sitting on a shelf in the bedroom closet at the Alexandria apartment and thought that was fitting. But for some reason, Fox giving it to Griffin didn't seem like a good sign. He finished his conversation with Eileen, then he hung up and got dressed. It was time to get serious about finding the younger man.
Unfortunately, no new information became available to point him in any direction. And a call from his sister-in-law Nora in the afternoon only succeeded in getting him more worried.
"Walter, I was talking to Eileen," she began without preamble. "After the way Fox just took off over the weekend, I was a little worried. But Eileen told me he gave Griffin that rabbit, the one he had when he was a baby. The one he wouldn't sleep without when he was little. And he spent some time with Brian and Haley but when they asked him if he could go roller-blading with them, he begged off, Eileen said. Wouldn't even commit to doing it 'later.'"
Skinner hadn't heard that part but it didn't make him feel any better. In fact, it worried the hell out of him. Fox would generally do anything for Brian and Haley. But he didn't want to let on to Nora that he was concerned.
"Walter, I think Fox is going through a personal crisis," Nora continued. "With all that's happened to him in recent months, it's understandable. First he's a child, then he's an adult. His mother commits suicide. His life-long search for his sister ends and it turns out she's been dead for twenty years. And the years before she died were hell--"
"I know all that, Nora," Walter said, a little more defensively than he intended. "What exactly are you trying to say?"
Nora paused a moment, then she spoke gently but with urgency. "I'm trying to say that a child whose parent commits suicide . . . can be at risk for suicide too. And Fox has exhibited some behavior that--"
"Nora, I appreciate your call but . . . you haven't been a practicing psychologist for almost twenty years!" he argued. Nora retired from her practice when she and Joe adopted Michael eighteen years earlier. "I know you're trying to help but you may be overreacting--"
"Walt, I'm not being an alarmist here," Nora cut him off forcefully. "And I keep up my license and my hours at a local clinic. Working with kids in crisis! I know the signs. Withdrawal. Giving away things that mean something to him--"
Skinner blinked back tears and angrily shook his head.
"I just don't want you to . . . to ignore something that might be important, Walter," she said quietly. "I love Fox, too. And I love you. And . . . I think he's all alone at a time when he desperately needs to feel loved and connected to us. I'm afraid for Fox right now."
"Nora," Skinner sighed. "I'm . . . sorry. I didn't mean to be. . . ." He sighed and the sound caught in his throat. "The truth is, I'm afraid, too."
Martha's Vineyard, Massachusetts
Wednesday afternoon
Fox Mulder zipped his leather jacket up to his neck as he walked listlessly along the beach. The wind was sharp and biting and the sky gray and overcast. Even the air felt wet. He folded his arms over his chest as though that would stave off the cold and damp. Despite the weather, he hadn't thought to bring gloves or wear a hat. He stopped and looked out at the sea.
It was almost an inky black at this time of year and in this kind of light. He tried to recall what it looked like when he was a kid, when he and Samantha rode their bikes down to the beach and feasted on baloney sandwiches and Kool-Aid under a golden sun.
"Samantha," he murmured without thinking. "I'm sorry. I'm . . . so sorry. . . ."
He'd spent the night before rereading the words of her diary, the last thing on this earth that connected him to his sister. The last thing she touched before . . . . He'd made a copy before putting the original diary into his mother's casket so she could be buried with it. It seemed fitting. Mulder always knew his mother loved Samantha more. In his heart, he knew even as a child that she'd never have chosen Samantha to be the one to go. It was a secret that had irrevocably divided he and his mother, and yet bound them together in a conspiracy of hope and silence over the years. Until now.
Now he was alone. With nothing, no words from his mother to explain her decision. And thousands of words from his sister. Anguished words that tore at his heart each and every time he read them. Words that spilled out her fear and her hatred of the men who used had her for their experiments. Words that evoked her confusion, and her never quite forgotten connection to a brother she'd never see again.
Tears ran down his face as he stared out into the ocean. The waves roared, crashing down onto the sand at his feet in a never-ending drive to overtake the beach. Mulder found himself inching closer and closer toward the water, subconsciously wishing for the ocean to reach out and swallow him along with the beachhead. As cold and terrifying as a winter ocean can be, at this moment it seduced him with the promise of an end to his pain. He stepped a little closer--
"Hey there!" a voice called out from behind him. "What are you doing out here, buddy?"
Mulder ran a hand over his face quickly, then turned to greet whoever it was that had come up behind him. "Is there a problem, Sergeant?" he asked, noting the insignia on the policeman's uniform.
"It's just unusual to see someone hanging around on the beach this time of year," the man said as he approached. He was an older man, with a belly that spoke of a few too many donut stops. But he had a kind face and eyes that reflected concern for the young man he'd watched stare at the sea for nigh on to a half hour.
"It's okay," Mulder responded, pulling his badge out of his back pocket and opening it for the officer. "I'm . . . from around here. I was just . . . getting reacquainted with the area."
The sergeant read his badge aloud. "Fox Mulder? I-- I remember you. You went to school with my son, Danny."
Mulder looked a little embarrassed to be remembered.
"I'm Ken Williams," the sergeant said, putting his hand out to shake the younger man's. "I remember your family." He didn't bother to recount why but Mulder understood why his family would be memorable. The search for Samantha had lasted several months and worked its way back to the Vineyard from where she disappeared in Rhode Island. There was a small, insular year-round population on the island and he'd hardly been able to go anywhere for years after without being pointed out or stared at. He shook the other man's hand half-heartedly, trying to find a quick means of escape.
"How are your folks?" Sergeant Williams asked.
"They're . . . both dead now," Mulder replied evenly.
"I'm sorry to hear that, son," the other man said. "What brings you back here? At this time of year? You know we're not at our best in February."
"I didn't want the crowds. Or any of the tourist stuff. I just wanted to . . . walk on the beach. And get a chance to think."
"Where are you staying?"
"At the Surf and Sand motel," Mulder replied. "And I guess I better be getting back. Now that you mention it, I'm starting to feel the cold."
"Well, I'll drive you back," the sergeant said. "Danny will be pleased to hear I saw you. He's a marine biologist now, over at the Woods Hole research center. Got a wife and two daughters." The older man pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and passed it to Mulder so he could see the photos in it. "And this is Megan. You might remember her, she was . . . . she was a few years younger than you. She's a lawyer now, in Boston. Getting married in a few months."
Mulder listened and nodded and felt the waves of pride coming off the older man. His children were happy and successful. And he'd nicely covered up the reference to the fact that Megan was in Samantha's class. He didn't say much on the drive back and wished the sergeant well when he was dropped off at the motel a few minutes later. "Tell Danny I said hi," Mulder called back as he opened the door to his room.
It occurred to him that neither of his parents ever had a moment of the kind of pride and satisfaction Ken Williams took in his kids. And something about that thought made him feel sick and weak. He ran for the bathroom and dropped to his knees, throwing up the coffee he'd had for breakfast and some stomach fluid. When he felt strong enough, he rose and flushed, then he went to the sink to rinse out his mouth.
Staring into the mirror, he saw himself. Unshaved. Gray skin burnished only by a windburn he'd picked up on his beach walk. Eyes bloodshot and rimmed with dark circles. "What a sorry excuse for a son you were," he told the reflection. Feeling weak again, he shuffled over to the bed and laid down. Without another thought, he sank into sleep.
Fox knew something was wrong. The fear in his gut told him so, but he couldn't quite figure out what it was. But he felt the frightening tension in the room even as he watched his father, shaking with rage and disappointment in him. On one level he knew something was odd about that. He was watching his father through adult eyes and yet . . . he could look down and see himself and he was a kid. No more than thirteen. . . .
"I'm sorry, Dad," Fox said, tears pooled in his eyes. Mulder knew he was sorry, felt his shame and remorse, but the adult Mulder watching the scene play out couldn't remember why. "I'm . . . sorry--"
"Yes you are," Bill Mulder laughed bitterly. It was a harsh, pitiless sound and he immediately turned and walked out of the room. "A sorry excuse for a son, all right . . ."
On the bed, Fox covered his eyes with his arm, as tears poured down his face. He couldn't bear to have the man think he was weak, or . . . or 'a sorry excuse for a son,' not for a moment longer. He'd tried! He always tried but--
He felt his Dad enter the room and sit down on the side of his bed.
"I'm proud of you for standing up to a bully, Fox. For defending Jeremy," he said.
The boy breathed a shaky sigh as he pulled his arm away from his face. "You're not . . . mad at me? Or disappointed in me?"
Skinner smiled at him. "No, Fox. I'm not angry . . . or disappointed in you. In fact, I want to tell you something." He placed his hand over the boy's heart. "I know what you're about in here, Fox, in your heart. You are a good, kind and generous person. You care about people. And you want to protect people who can't protect themselves. Those are things I like, and respect, about you."
Fat tears slid down the boy's face, and he watched his father keenly. Skinner raised his other hand to Fox's cheek and brushed a tear away. "And as long as you follow your heart. . . as long as you listen to what your heart tells you, nothing you ever do would disappoint me, son. Nothing. Do you understand me?"
The boy screwed up his face as his emotions overwhelmed him and the man pulled him into a huge embrace. The stress and tension of the afternoon, of not knowing if he'd overstepped his bounds and bought himself punishment, was broken and Fox threw his arms around the A.D.'s neck and sobbed.
"It's okay, pal," Skinner told him soothingly. "I wish you'd handled it a little differently. But I'm very proud of you Fox . . . ."
Thursday evening
7:37 pm
Walter Skinner paced his apartment, waiting for the phone to ring. He was close to panic now. He hadn't heard from Fox in several days and there was no credit card activity or other trace of him anywhere. Scully hadn't heard from him either. And today, the resignation letter had arrived in his office mail.
"Dear Sir," it read. "Please accept my resignation from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I'm grateful for the opportunities the Bureau afforded me to pursue investigations that often fell outside the normal scope and I know that your patience and guidance were the only things that made it possible for me to stay as long as I did. I wish you the best in the future and hope your career brings you the continued success you deserve. Thank you for all you did for me over the years. Sincerely, Fox W. Mulder."
Skinner picked up the phone and hit the speed dial for his brother Joe's number. When his niece, Amanda, answered, he spoke to her for a short moment, then asked for her mother.
"Nora," he said as soon as she picked up. "I'm . . . I'm afraid you might be right. And I don't have the first clue where to begin looking for him."
She calmed him down as best she could and they began to brainstorm. "People often go to places that are important to them. Or places where they lived."
"That's not too long a list. But it's spread out. He lived in Martha's Vineyard, then Connecticut. There was a summer house in Rhode Island. He went to boarding school in Rhode Island also. And then he lived in London while he was in school. Then Washington."
"Well, that's a lot of area to cover," Nora said. "I don't know how to begin --"
"I do," the AD said firmly. "This is what I do, Nora. Thank you. I love you." He hung up and began to make plans. There were photos of Fox in an album his mother had sent him. Most were of him as a child but there were a few pages of the adult Mulder. He took a half dozen shots and headed for his office.
Within the hour, they'd been digitized and sent to the appropriate law enforcement authorities in all the places he could think of. He thought it was unlikely Mulder had left the country but contacted the security officials at Oxford anyway. Now all he could do was wait.
At nine o'clock, his phone rang.
"This is Sergeant Ken Williams of the Martha's Vineyard police department," the man on the other end of the phone said. "I understand you're trying to find Fox Mulder."
The sergeant had contacted the Surf and Sand motel before placing the call. "The good news is I saw him yesterday," Williams said. "The bad news is he checked out of the motel this morning. I checked with the ferry operator. They remember him. We don't have much traffic this time of year who aren't locals so they remembered those Virginia plates."
Skinner sighed. "I guess he was headed back across the Cape. Toward the thruway?" That would mean he could be going anywhere.
"No, that's what stuck out in their minds," the sergeant said. "He didn't go the way they expected. He headed north. Toward Hyannis. Maybe he was planning to drive up the coast a ways . . . ."
But Skinner knew suddenly exactly where he was headed. He and Fox had taken the Hyannis ferry to Nantucket a number of times over the last summer. He thanked the sergeant and hung up. Then he placed a call to Chuck Talbot. It had been Chuck's home on the island of Nantucket at which they'd taken refuge over the summer, when the need to find Fox a safe and healthy place to grow up again was critical.
"Walter," Talbot exclaimed when he heard who it was. "How's everything?"
"I don't have much time to talk," Skinner answered. "It's a long story but I'm trying to find Fox--"
"How's he doing?" Talbot asked. "He looked like he was in shock at the funeral." The other man, and some other friends of Skinner's had all traveled to Greenwich for the funeral a few weeks earlier.
"I'm not sure. I don't know where he is and, well, I'm a little worried. I have reason to think he might have gone to Nantucket. Do you have any year-round neighbors you could call to see if there's anyone staying at your house right now?"
Talbot understood the situation immediately but none of the surrounding houses would be occupied at this moment. "How about the local PD?" he asked Skinner. They had helped out last summer by providing extra patrols of the area.
"Chuck, that's a good idea," Skinner answered, shaking his head at the oversight on his part. He bade Chuck goodbye and placed the next call. The local sheriff promised to discreetly check the house and get back to him. Skinner gave him his cell phone number. By the time the man called back, he'd be on his way to catch the last shuttle to Boston.
The phone rang just after he alighted from a cab at National Airport. He answered it immediately.
"AD Skinner? This is Sheriff Lehman. "There are lights on at the Talbot place. And a car in the driveway. Virginia plates--"
"That's what I wanted to hear," Skinner answered, sighing with relief. "Do me a favor. Keep an eye on the place and stop him if he decides to leave. Otherwise, I'll be there by 1o'clock."
The Assistant Director made the shuttle, then ran through Logan International to make the last puddle-jumper of the evening going to Nantucket Island. The car rental place was closed when he landed, so he hailed a taxi and it dropped him off outside the Talbot place. Skinner waved to the Sheriff, then went to the front door. There was a key in a lock box under the porch he knew, but the door opened to his touch and he just let himself in. Lights were blazing downstairs and he called for Fox. There was no answer.
He dropped his bag by the door and proceeded to scout the lower half of the house. In the kitchen, he saw a bottle of tequila sitting on the counter. It was nearly empty and he picked it up curiously. But his heart nearly stopped when he saw what was behind it. There was an open prescription bottle and it was empty. Heart racing, Skinner picked it up and saw it was for Fox W. Mulder, dated the previous April. And the prescription was for Diazapan, a strong sleeping pill. The same drug Teena Mulder had used to kill herself.
He gripped the bottle as he ran for the stairs to the second floor. Turning on the hall light, he went immediately to the room Fox had used last summer, when he was a kid here in Nantucket. The AD turned the bedroom light on and saw Fox, face down on the bed. He ran over to the sleeping form and saw he was still breathing. And his breathing was strong and rhythmic. He turned him over and Fox stirred a bit.
"Fox," the AD called to him urgently.
"Wha-what?" the younger man murmured. His eyes opened and he looked at the other man. Then he closed his eyes again. "Why do I keep having this same dream?" he sighed, beginning to turn over.
"Fox! Wake up," Skinner said firmly, raising his voice further.
Mulder's eyes opened in shock. "Da-Dad?" he asked, a goofy, lopsided half-smile coming to his face.
"Yes, I'm here," Skinner answered. "How many did you take, Fox?"
"What?"
"How many pills did you take? Answer me," the AD repeated. "With the tequila, Fox. How many pills?"
"Pills?" Mulder repeated, screwing up his face as he tried to think. "I took . . . um, sleeping pill. Couldn't sleep. Tried tequila first--"
"Fox, how many did you take?" Skinner asked him again, exasperated and worried to distraction. "How many, Fox?"
"How . . . many?" the younger man repeated slowly as if he were trying to sound out their meaning.
Skinner shook his head. He could see the younger man wasn't on the verge of losing consciousness and his voice, while slurred a little from sleep and alcohol, was strong as was his breathing. He decided to try once more. He slapped Fox gently on the cheek.
"Fox, answer me," he said firmly. "How many pills did you take?"
Mulder's eyes flew open in shock. "Ow! You hit me--"
"I'll hit you somewhere else if I don't get an answer, young man," Skinner said with authority. "How . . . many . . . pills. . . did you take?"
"I-- I, um, two. That's all there was . . . "
"And you drank a whole bottle of tequila with them?"
"Yeah, um, no! I-- remember when I got the worm out of there?" he asked.
"When you what?" Skinner answered quickly, confused and worried now. Then it registered in his brain. "Oh, last summer. Yes, I remember."
He'd discovered Fox one afternoon with the worm out of the bottle of Chuck Talbot's bottle of Mexican tequila. The boy had poured the liquor out, gotten the worm, then poured most of it back in. But not without taking a taste or two. Skinner had lectured him about drinking before he was eighteen (at least!), then spanked the twelve-year-old soundly and sent him to spend an hour in the corner of the kitchen.
"Well, I spilled most of it," Fox continued sadly. He looked uncannily like that twelve-year-old at this moment. "It wouldn't go back in! So I filled it up with water, just before you got there. But I forgot. Until I drank it tonight. I wanted to get drunk but . . . I couldn't even get that right . . . . "
Skinner couldn't help smiling. He was immensely relieved the younger man had failed in his attempt to mix sleeping pills and alcohol. But given that he'd only had two pills, the AD was fairly certain he had only been trying to effect a temporary escape, not a permanent one.
"Go to sleep, Fox," Skinner told him, pulling the covers up over him. "We'll talk in the morning."
Mulder sighed and closed his eyes immediately. He was asleep in a matter of seconds. Skinner got himself a book out of Chuck's library, then he took the bed on the other side of the room. He laid on the bed, his head propped up on a couple of pillows and attempted to read. But he kept an ear open for any signs of distress in his roommate, and got up and checked Fox's breathing about once an hour throughout the night.
Friday morning
Nantucket, Massachusetts
Skinner slept late for him, until almost nine o'clock. Then he got up and made coffee and pancakes. He waited a half hour longer, then went to wake up the younger man. Fox groaned and opened one eye first.
"Sir?" he said. "When did you get here?"
"Last night," the AD answered succinctly. "Get up and come down for breakfast. I want to talk to you, Fox William."
Mulder watched him leave, filled with a mixture of confusion and trepidation. Sparked partly by the sudden arrival of the Assistant Director. But mostly by the words 'Fox William' used in that tone of voice. "Oh, God," he muttered as he crawled out of bed. "Just take me now."
He washed up and made his way downstairs, his empty stomach growling as he smelled the fresh coffee, not to mention bacon and pancakes. He thought about just heading out the back door and trying to outrun the other man, but in his weakened, hungry state, he was certain Skinner could overtake him. So he shuffled into the kitchen looking sheepish and sat down at one of the place settings.
"I-- I'm sorry, sir--" he began but Skinner cut him off.
"Later, Fox," he said. "First we eat. Then we talk." He placed a couple of hot pancakes on the plate in front of the younger agent, then followed with a few strips of bacon. Then he did the same with his own plate. He poured them both a cup of coffee and directed Mulder to drink his orange juice first. "You look like you could use a few vitamins."
Mulder pressed his lips together and nodded silently. Then he lifted the glass of juice and downed half of it. Ironically, it tasted delicious, like his body was craving something with more nutritional value than coffee, diazepan and tequila. Then he tucked into the pancakes, covering them with butter and warmed maple syrup. It was like manna from heaven and in a few minutes, the other man got up and took four more pancakes off the griddle, dividing them between the two of them.
When breakfast was finished, Mulder got up and started clearing the dishes. It was a habit he'd developed as a child with Skinner and today he did it without thinking. The AD always cooked and then loaded the dishwasher while Fox cleared the table and handed over whatever needed to be washed. They fell into the familiar routine and the kitchen was cleaned up in no time.
"Let's talk," Skinner said then. He headed into the living room and Mulder followed him, head hanging with worry and remorse. When they'd both taken seats, the AD spoke again. "Anything you want to tell me, son?"
Mulder couldn't bring himself to make eye contact. He bit down on his lower lip and shook his head slightly.
"Not acceptable," the other man said. "I want an explanation for . . . for all of this, Fox. I know you're going through a hard time. But I don't-- I don't get why you would run off without telling me where you were going. Turn away from your family now, when . . . when you need to be with us. And take a chance on possibly killing yourself! Mixing pills and alcohol. . . . Fox, I was worried sick about you."
"I'm s-sorry," Mulder whispered. "I know I'm . . . a total fuck-up! I just can't seem to--"
"Stop that!" Skinner barked at him. "You are no such thing. And that's not what I said, young man!" He exhaled forcefully, then took a long slow breath. "I love you, son. I think you're . . . one of the smartest, most talented and caring people I've ever known. I know you're feeling down. And this thing with your mother. And Samantha, that's got to be hell to deal with. What I don't get. . . what I don't understand is why you haven't let me help you through it. It's . . . it's my job, kid. It's what I'm here for."
Mulder stared at his hands. "I-- I know you mean that but . . . ."
"But what? After all we've been through, after . . . everything, Fox, how could you have any doubt about that?"
"It's just that my . . . my parents-- It was their j-job, too and . . . ." He stopped and sobbed, involuntarily. Then he fought it back, shaking his head angrily.
Skinner watched him struggle to keep from crying. He was rapidly losing the battle. The AD got up from his chair and walked over to the couch. Taking a seat beside the younger man, he put his arm around Fox's back. He was touched when Fox immediately turned into his shoulder and let himself be held. He sobbed once then the walls were down.
"It's okay, kid," Skinner told him, beginning to rock him gently without even thinking about it. "I know. I don't understand your parents. I don't know why your mother didn't tell you-- Or me. I've been talking with her and she never let on she was sick. She told my mother--"
Fox's head snapped up in shock and Skinner rushed to finish. "She said she was sick and that she was planning to tell you about it, once you were an adult again. My Mom thought it would be wrong to interfere. She never even told me, kid. She thought it was your mother's right to tell you in her own way . . . ."
"But my mother didn't tell me," Fox sobbed again. "I-- why? Why didn't anyone . . . talk to me about anything? Why didn't they think about me? . . . Why didn't they ever think about m--me?"
"I know, son," Skinner soothed him, rubbing his back gently as he cried again. "I wish I knew the answer. I think it had something to do with what was going on in their own lives. There were things . . . things they couldn't figure out, or fix. And they were scared, Fox. I know that from things your mother told me. They were terrified for your sister. And of losing you, too."
Fox shook his head mournfully. "She n-never told me . . . ," he hiccupped. "She should have t-told me. . . " His whole body was shaking and Skinner pulled him tighter into the circle of his arms. Fox responded by laying his head on the other man's shoulder and taking a deep, agony-filled breath.
"I think she couldn't face you with it, kid. Because you're so . . . unable to make those kinds of compromises. You'd never cut the kind of deal your father did. Whatever it was. And I think they knew you were . . . stronger and better than them, in that way. I-- No one's parents are perfect, Fox. But yours made mistakes and they couldn't live with them. And they couldn't bear the thought of you knowing that about them. So they pulled away before that could happen. That's what I think, Fox. I can't give you a good reason but . . . that's what my gut tells me."
Fox listened to the words and suddenly the pieces began to fall into place. At least for the moment, the puzzle seemed to morph into something recognizable and his relief nearly overwhelmed him. Emotional and physical exhaustion settled over him as the tears subsided and Skinner didn't have any trouble recognizing the signs.
"I think you need to lie down," he said, moving aside and pulling a throw pillow from a chair for Fox to lay his head on. The young man didn't resist and in a moment he was unconscious. The AD took a cotton blanket out of the hall closet and put it over him. Fox snuggled down under the blanket, curling an arm under his head the way he often did when he was a child. Skinner felt a surge of emotion as he realized he was missing the child he'd recently lost even as he thanked God he'd found the young man safe and relatively sound.
He looked around. This house was filled with memories of Fox's second childhood, long, lazy summer days that now felt like brief moments and which tugged at the AD's soul as he walked through the house. The boy had been around eight when they came last July and about twelve when they returned to Virginia. He'd learned to play baseball here, and swim and ride a skateboard. He'd become an expert roller-blader on the boardwalks that circled the island and paralleled the beach.
One afternoon when he was about ten, he'd wandered off on his bike to 'explore.' He'd come home half a day later with a fish he'd caught and a bunch of wildflowers he'd picked for Rachel. The adults in the family and the local sheriff's department were cruising the island and the beaches looking for him by then but Fox didn't know that and he somehow slipped into the house, left the fish in the fridge and the flowers on the table, then laid down on a couch on the enclosed porch and fell asleep, exhausted by his adventure. When the family returned, not having located him, there was a frightening pall on the house until Rachel went to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. She saw the fish, and then realized the flowers were new and returned to the living room holding both.
A quick search of the house located the sleeping child, on the porch. Skinner had scooped him up and held him tight, overcome with tears of relief.
"Are you crying, Dad?" Fox had asked him as he was suddenly wakened. He could see the rest of the family over Skinner's shoulder and they were all in roughly the same state.
"Oh, yeah," the AD had replied, rocking him and nearly squeezing him senseless. "You were gone all day and we couldn't find you. We were worried, Fox. But you're okay. Thank God, you're . . . okay."
Fox looked at the rest of the Skinner adults and another thought suddenly struck him. "Are you gonna . . . spank me?" he asked.
Skinner chuckled and held him out in his arms, so he could make eye contact. "Oh yeah," he answerd. "But first I'm gonna hug you again." He'd done exactly that as the rest of the family dispersed to get ready for dinner. He'd pulled the now remorseful child back into an embrace. "Fox, I was scared when I couldn't find you and didn't know where you'd gone. Or what you were doing. Don't ever scare me like that again."
Six hours later
Mulder finally stirred, stretching and yawning. The Assistant Director was sitting on the enclosed porch where he'd been reading for several hours, keeping the younger man in his line of sight. Now he rose and went into the other room, taking a seat on the coffee table across from Fox.
"What-- what time is it?" Mulder asked, chagrined to think he'd slept all day. From the dusky sky outside, he'd concluded it was late afternoon at least.
"After four. You needed the sleep," the AD replied, answering his unspoken question as well. "Why don't you take a shower? I called Mulligan's and they're open. I could go for a good half-pound burger, how about you?"
"I'm not very hungry," Mulder replied, still not completely awake.
"Well, see how you feel after you've showered."
The AD was right. The younger man's appetite returned once he'd been up a while and they made their way into the center of town, to a restaurant at which they'd eaten often over the previous summer. Over a couple of beers and burgers and fries, they talked a little but mostly sat in companionable silence, watching the off-season crowd of year-rounders they'd grown to know over the months they stayed at Chuck's house.
"Well, hello there," a woman said as she passed the booth in which they sat. She was speaking to Skinner, not realizing that the other man was the same boy she'd known only a few months before. "I thought we wouldn't see you until next summer!"
"Hi," Skinner replied hastily, trying to recall the woman's name. "Violet. I'm just here for the day, actually. Checking up on the house."
"Well, my Jenny never stops talking about your little boy. Quite a crush she's got on Fox. Did you bring him with you? I know she'd love to see him--"
"No, no, I didn't 'bring' him this time. As I said, I'm just here for the day."
"Well, we'll look for you over the summer, then, Walt. By then they'll both be around thirteen. First date age, nowadays! And it would make me feel a lot better if she had her first date with someone like Fox. He's such a nice, polite boy. You should be very proud of him."
Skinner nodded. "I am, Violet. Thank you. I'm . . . very proud of him."
Mulder had dropped his eyes to his plate. He was afraid the woman might recognize him but it was such a preposterous thing, it never occurred to her. And if she'd noticed a resemblance, her mind would have assumed she was looking at an older relative of the little boy who'd captured her daughter's heart. She spoke with Skinner for a moment longer, and asked him to promise to call as soon as they returned the following summer. The AD hedged on the promise, telling her his job might keep them from doing that but finally agreeing he'd call if they came to Nantucket, just to get her to leave.
"Well, I think 'Violet' is the one with the crush," Mulder murmured self-consciously once she was out of earshot.
"Oh, Jenny's definitely got a thing for you, too," Skinner replied, smiling. "Or for . . . the old you, I guess."
They finished their meal with coffee and a piece of apple pie a la mode. Skinner paid the check and they headed out into the night. It had grown cool and they parked down by the Marina, choosing to take a walk through the old town before dinner. Now, though, there was a chill wind blowing off the ocean so they both zipped their jackets up all the way and began to walk briskly. At the main intersection, they stopped for evening traffic and when the light turned, Skinner unconsciously reached out to take Fox's hand as they stepped out into the street.
He turned back when his companion came to a halt, a quizzical expression on his face. "What's the mat-- Oh! Oh, God, Fox. I-- I just--"
"I can cross myself," Mulder said, grinning from ear to ear.
"I know you can," Skinner chuckled. "Sorry. Flashback, I guess!"
They made their way back to Chuck's house without another incident and when they got inside, Skinner built a fire immediately, to help take the chill off the house. Fox changed into sweats and returned but he'd grown a little pensive since they returned to the house. Skinner noticed and decided to let it play itself out.
"Are you-- Are you mad at me?" Fox finally asked after they'd both settled in and turned on the TV.
"No, I'm not mad," Skinner answered immediately.
"Are you angry?" Fox knew the older man's dislike of the word 'mad.' It made no sense to him but he'd grown to recognize it.
Skinner smiled, aware that Fox had internalized the distinction, even if he didn't necessary agree with it. "No, I'm not angry either. But-- but I do think you did some things we need to address. I just want to . . . understand them, before we figure out what to do about them."
Fox's hazel eyes darkened with worry. He'd lulled himself into thinking they could just forget about it but he should have known Skinner would never go for that. "What . . . do you want to know?"
"Why did you leave so suddenly the other day? What made you just decide on the spur of the moment you had go leave Andy's house? And then take off completely?"
"I- I don't know," Fox said, knowing it was a lie the moment it came out. But he couldn't tell the other man. It was as simple as that.
"Okay, let's start with something easier," the AD said, reaching out for the TV remote control and clicking it off. "What made you come here?"
Fox looked down at his hands and, without thinking, he rubbed the sweaty palms on the cotton legs of his sweatpants. "I went to the Vineyard first," he said slowly.
"I know. What . . . were you looking for?"
Tears burned Fox's eyes suddenly. "I don't know," he said. "I just . . . had to go there. To see if there was . . . anything left for me there."
"And was there?" the AD asked him gently.
Mulder stared into space for a moment, then he shook his head. "No. I never . . . felt more alone or . . . abandoned than I did while I was there. I-- I walked on the beach for hours, where we used to go swimming. My family sometimes. Sam and me alone later. I . . . couldn't . . . ."
"Couldn't what, son?"
"I couldn't 'feel' her. I couldn't 'feel' one happy memory about . . . anything. I just felt like I couldn't . . go any further. I couldn't go on . . . alone. I just wanted the pain to go away . . . . "
Skinner had stopped breathing momentarily. The sheriff from Martha's Vineyard had described Mulder on the beach, staring into the sea. Inching closer to the water. And now he knew Fox had been in the kind of despair the man had suspected.
"Wh-what did you do then?"
"A local cop saw me and made me leave the beach," the younger man told him. "I went back to the motel. I fell asleep and . . . when I woke up, I just had to come to Nantucket. One more time before . . . . anything else." He was skirting over the crucial information out of respect for Skinner. Or out of shame. He couldn't quite pin it down.
"And once you got here," Skinner prodded him carefully. "Why didn't you call me?"
"I guess I thought . . . I needed to deal with . . . this . . . alone," Mulder whispered. "I wasn't sure how it would go . . . and I didn't want you to feel . . . responsible--"
Skinner bit back the words that threatened to explode from inside him. I am responsible for you! When will you ever get that? He shook with fear that the younger man would never really understand that he was family, he was the son Skinner had stopped hoping he'd ever have. Had stopped realizing he wanted, until Mulder worked his way past the walls, and a little boy named Fox grew up and into the AD's heart and soul.
"But when I got here," Mulder was continuing, not waiting and even listening for any encouragement, "I . . . could 'feel' it. I can't explain, really. I still felt sad and lonely. I was still upset and I couldn't sleep-- So I took a couple of pills and tried to drown my sorrows with tequila. But I didn't feel like I couldn't go on. I felt stronger somehow. . . and connected. Like this was a bad time but I just had to get through it. But I knew I could do that because . . . I wasn't alone in the world. And I can't feel abandoned when you-- and your family and everyone else who came to the funeral. . . when you're all here for me." He looked up finally and saw the Assistant Director watching him intensely.
"I guess--" he started to say, then his face registered shock and bewilderment. "Are-- are you crying, Dad?"
Skinner closed his eyes for a second. As Fox spoke, they'd filled with tears of relief and affection for this complicated, confused but ultimately strong young man. He opened his eyes again, a grateful smile playing around the edges of his mouth. "Oh, yeah," he said softly. "I didn't know where you were and . . . I was so scared I'd lost you, kid."
He got up and moved to sit next to Fox, then he enveloped the startled young man in his arms and hugged him for all he was worth. And Fox returned the gesture, hugging him back and letting the warmth of the older man's love wrap him in the sense of security he was looking for when he came to Massachusetts. It hasn't been on Martha's Vineyard. And he'd been at the point of desperation when he made the crossing from Cape Cod to Nantucket, knowing if it wasn't there he'd have neither the strength or the desire to keep looking. He knew that now as he faded into the warmth of belonging again. Then another thought occurred to him. His eyes opened and a worried look crossed his face.
"Are you--" he began, then stopped, biting his lip. "Are you gonna spank me?"
Skinner snorted and pushed him back to arm's length. One hand firmly remained on each of Mulder's shoulders. "Oh, yeah," he said, repeating the exact phrase he'd used the summer before. He wasn't sure if Mulder remembered it but the look on his face as soon as Skinner uttered the words was priceless. "But first, I'm gonna hug you again, kid."
Mulder pushed his lip out in an exaggerated pout as the AD pulled him back into a hug. It was the answer the younger man had been expecting. What he didn't expect was what came next.
"Fox, I guess with everything you've been through-- I don't know. Punishment can be deserved sometimes and still not be appropriate." Skinner let the young agent go and watched as he sat back on the couch. "I guess what I'm saying is, what do you think? Consequences are always good for you, you learn best when they're solid and non-negotiable. But right now . . . . This time, I want to know what you think, kid."
Mulder blinked in surprise. He was being given a choice? A sense of relief and unexpected victory coursed through him for a moment. He mentally pumped his arm and in his head he shouted, 'Yes!' But he remained relatively impassive on the surface.
"Well, I guess the last couple of weeks have taken a toll," he answered the AD slowly. "And I did ultimately make the right choices and decisions, right?"
Skinner nodded.
"So, I guess maybe I don't need to be punished. I. . . I think I've already learned my lesson."
Skinner nodded again. Inside, he was warring with himself, wanting to make certain Fox didn't feel the least bit insecure in the face of a different response than he would normally expect. But he also thought the decisions and choices the young man eventually made in this instance were more adult and more mature than those he usually made. And he deserved to be rewarded for them.
The AD was struggling with letting Fox be a grown-up again after watching him careen through childhood at break-neck speed. And then metamorphosis from a nineteen year old boy to a 39-year-old man. This was confusing for all of them, and Skinner was trying to pick his way through an unknown hazard area and still take care of Fox.
"I don't think a spanking would be . . . appropriate. Or necessary," Fox concluded, looking up to see if Skinner was angry at his statement.
"All right, then," the AD answered. "I'll go with your call on this, Fox." He smiled and reached out to tousle the younger man's hair.
Fox's face immediately reflected satisfaction in the outcome of the discussion. But something else appeared in his eyes right on the heels of it, something that made Skinner wonder if he'd chosen correctly. He got up and headed for the kitchen, trying to decide whether to test the strength of the Mulder's resolve on this. Or just go with his decision.
"Want a beer?" he called back to Mulder.
"Sure."
Skinner took two out of the refrigerator and popped open the caps. He decided to test the young man, to see if he was as committed to what he'd decided as he was trying to appear. Or whether second thoughts were already welling up inside him. "What was it that made you take off last Saturday, kid?" he asked as he reentered the room. "You never told me."
He put one beer in front of Mulder and kept the other, taking a swallow before placing it on the table.
Fox's eyes darkened a little. "I don't know--"
"No, you do know, I think. Just think about it. You were fine, helping us construct the Devil's own swingset--"
Mulder laughed involuntarily.
"And then suddenly you 'remembered' a non-existent dental appointment."
Mulder glanced at him warily.
"You didn't really have a dentist appointment, did you?"
Mulder sighed and picked up his beer. "No. I-- I just made that up." He drank a bit of the beer, then he put the bottle down and ran the back of his hand over his lips. "I guess I can tell you the truth," he said. "I got a little . . . insecure. Now that you've got Andy, you don't really need me any more."
Skinner's brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you talking about? I always had Andy. Long before I ever knew you--"
Mulder didn't know who or what pushed him from behind but he found himself hurtling into the dark waters with both feet all of a sudden. "Yeah, but now that he's nearby, right in DC, you won't need me around as much. You'll have Andy to do things with. . . ."
Skinner was on his feet in a flash and in less than a second, he was looming over Fox. "You think Andy is going to . . . displace you? Is that what you think? After all I've told you about your place in my family, that's the conclusion you came to?"
Fox's face contorted with fear and anger, at himself and at Skinner. "Well, you told him you were glad he was there! And how great it was going to be! I heard you--"
"You eavesdropped on a conversation with Andy! And you heard only a piece of it, Fox. You didn't hear me say how glad I was that you and he could be closer friends, because I think it will be good for both of you. You didn't hear him say that was one of the reasons he decided to take this job, that proximity to the family, but especially to you, was an important part of his decision. Because he feels like everyone else gets to see you more than he does and he doesn't want the two of you to be less close than the rest of us. Fox--"
He stopped and began pacing, running a hand over his head as he did. The fact the young man had given up this information was telling. He had to know it would set Skinner off. Suddenly he knew why Fox had done it.
"Okay," he said, turning back to Mulder, his hands on his hips. "This I don't overlook. We've been through this too many times before. And you will learn there's no half-way about being part of the family, Fox. It doesn't turn on and off when you want it to. Or for any other reason!"
He took a seat on the couch and motioned for the younger agent to kneel beside him. Somehow Skinner knew an over the knee spanking was the best choice tonight. Fox needed the strict reassurance of his place in the family, but he also needed the closeness and security of being held.
Mulder rose and did as instructed, a shocked look on his face but no words or actions that would convey protest on his part. He knelt next to Skinner and was immediately pulled over the other man's lap. He felt his sweats and shorts pulled down and his bottom clenched involuntarily, waiting for the first smack of the AD's hand.
"What's this spanking for, Fox?" Skinner asked as his hand came down over the fleshiest part of the young man's backside.
"For thinking that Andy moving to DC changes things!" Fox answered automatically, as several more whacks landed on his butt. "Oww! Oucchh!"
"And why is that a spankable offense, son?"
"Ohh! OWWW! AHHH! Because I sh-should know better! Because you've told me-- OUCCHH! And your family told me! AHHH! UNHHH!
Over and over again, and I j-just-- OWW! I just don't get it and-- OUCHHH! I'm sorry, Dad! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
Skinner heard his cries turn to sobs and sensed the vulnerable center Fox had reached in the last few minutes. The inner core of his insecurity that someone, Andy or someone else, would eventually push him out of the secure womb of the Skinner family. That he didn't belong there as legitimately as the other family members. The AD smacked his bottom once more, then he let Fox slide off his knees and onto his own. Then he pulled him up into a hug, letting him cry it out.
"I don't want you to be sorry, son," he said gently. "I don't want you to ever feel insecure about your place in my life. Or my family's. Fox, Andy couldn't replace you because you were never a replacement for him. You are here because it's where you were meant to be. I believe that with all my heart. It just took a longer time to find that out because you didn't get born into the family. For whatever reason, we had to search for each other. And I just thank God, you found me."
Mulder half-laughed, half-sobbed as he was enveloped in the other man's embrace. "Or you found me. I'm not sure which way it went."
Skinner smiled and rubbed his back gently. "I'm sure. You're the searcher on this team, kid. You always will be. It's your nature, through and through. I just need you to promise me you'll always come home from wherever your wanderlust leads you. And actually, one more thing I need you to promise. You'll never go wandering without telling me first, okay? I promise not to stop you, unless you're really going off the deep end, pal! And you promise to let me know where your heart is leading you, okay?"
Mulder felt fresh tears spring to his eyes and he squeezed them shut to try to stop the flow. "O-Okay," he stammered. "I-- I guess that's why I came here, sir. Because it felt like 'h--home.' And I needed to 'feel' that."
"Okay, kid," Skinner answered, still rubbing his back. "I'm glad you told me that. And I just want to remind you, you're 'home' whenever you're with me. Or anyone in my family. Got that?"
"Y-yeah," Mulder sighed, feeling the emotions he'd been hiding underscore his words. "I got it, Dad."
They watched TV for a few hours, then Skinner suggested they both get some sleep. He changed into sweats and got ready for bed, then he decided to check on Fox before turning in. But when he reached the room the younger man had been using, the one he'd used the summer before, Fox was nowhere to be found. Curious, the AD headed down the stairs. He wasn't worried Fox had run but he wondered what he was doing. He checked the kitchen first and found the light on but no Mulder. Then he spotted someone on the back deck, standing at the railing that looked out over the dock and toward the ocean.
It was Mulder. Skinner opened the back door and stepped out onto the deck, curious as to what he was looking at. There was nothing there, except for a clear, ink black sky overhead, rich with thousands of twinkling stars. And the steady sound of the ocean, endlessly advancing toward the shore and then retreating again.
"Fox?" he asked and Mulder turned to him, a smile on his lips that was both tired and blissfully peaceful.
"I-I'm sorry," he answered quickly. "I wasn't going anywhere. I just had a feeling--"
"A feeling about what?"
Mulder turned back to the expanse of yard that led down to the ocean. "I know you can't see them. But they're here."
"Who's here?"
"Samantha. The other children. They're kind of running around and playing--"
"Here? But Samantha was never here--" Skinner answered, confused.
"I know. But I'm here," Mulder answered. "And I think . . . she just wanted to make sure I was okay."
Skinner looked out into the empty darkness and saw nothing. But when he looked at Fox, he saw something reflected in his face, something that made him know the younger man was not hallucinating. Or making anything up. His eyes were locked on something. And Skinner believed.
"Is she convinced?" he asked Fox quietly.
"Yeah. She can go now. She knows I'm all right, finally."
Out of the corner of his eye, the AD saw Mulder's hand rise and wave at someone, briefly. Then he turned and Skinner's arm fell around his shoulder. He didn't look back as he let himself be led inside.
But the AD paused at the door. He looked back, and for a moment he could swear the moonlight dancing on the dark ocean looked like two children, hand in hand, heading away. They looked back and waved, then the image disappeared. Skinner shook his head, thinking to himself he'd been hanging out with Mulder too long as he slid the glass door closed.
"Oh, and Jeremy says hi," Mulder added as he headed up the stairs. "He's glad you're okay, too."
THE END