Perpetual Light

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: Lots for Sein Und Zeit and Closure, many for the mythology episodes.

Setting: Seventh Season. Immediately follows the events of Sein Und Zeit and parallels and follows Closure.

Rating: PG. Discipline, no slash.

Summary: Fox's sense of his place in the world is rocked in the wake of Teena Mulder's death and the end of his quest for Samantha.

Walter Skinner strode down Polk Street at his usual fast clip, pulling the little boy along beside him. He hitched the shopping bags he held in his other arm as he spoke to the child.

"Come on, Fox," he said as gently as he could manage given his natural impatience and the sheer number of things he had on his to-do list. "We still have lots of things to do today."

The boy nodded and picked up his pace until his sturdy little legs were near running to keep up with the man. Skinner noticed it finally and slowed his progress down measurably.

"I'm sorry, honey," he said to the four-year-old. "I'll try to go a little slower if you'll try to go a little faster, okay?"

Fox looked up at him with a grateful smile and nodded. "Can we go to the park?" he asked in his most winning manner.

The AD shook his head. The kid had gotten that charm thing down cold. "No, Fox," he said firmly. "We've still got lots of errands to do."

It was Saturday morning, on an early summer day that promised to be sweltering. The only saving grace thus far was a thick cloud cover, and the weather report predicted that would pass soon, bringing hundred degree temperatures again. They were only a block from the apartment building now and Skinner wanted to drop these things off, eat a quick lunch with Fox, and start the afternoon round of tasks that couldn't be postponed.

Skinner had had a stressful week at work and tomorrow he had a day-long planning meeting with the Director and the Deputy Director. Saturday would be his only day off all week and he had lots of errands to do, some because of the small child he'd inherited recently, some just the normal weekend chores of the overburdened professional. He and Fox had already been to McDonald's for breakfast, then to the drug store, the dry cleaner and the supermarket. In between they'd bought Fox a new pair of sneakers he was proudly wearing. Lately it seemed he outgrew a pair a week.

"Pleeease!" the boy whined beside him, pulling on the AD's arm. "You promised we could have a picnic. . . ."

Skinner pulled him back on course easily but the boy began dragging his feet and looking longingly at the lush green expanse of park they were passing.

"When did I say that?" he asked the boy absent-mindedly as they passed the park entrance.

"The other day," Fox answered, using a newly discovered phrase he'd picked up from Casey. For Fox it meant anything between this morning and the beginning of time. "You said we could have a picnic someday."

Skinner couldn't help smiling. He seemed to recall a passing comment he'd made to Fox when the child asked him about a picnic. "I said Someday," he chuckled. "Today's Saturday."

Fox's eyes filled with tears. He didn't get the joke and he had been missing his Dad all week. First Skinner had to go to Boston on business, then he'd been stuck in the office till long after Fox's bedtime last night and the night before.

"You said," the boy accused. "You promised we could have a picnic! I might never get to have a picnic in my whole life!"

Skinner bit his tongue to keep from betraying his growing impatience. He squatted down beside the boy. "Fox, we don't have time--" he began, then the cold reality hit him. This child was going through his second childhood at lightning speed as it was. Who was he to rush him any more than nature, and the damned Consortium, already were? He weighed the need to accomplish a bunch of things today against the tears pooled in two wide, trusting hazel eyes and made up his mind.

"We have rolls and baloney," he told the boy, reciting what was in the grocery bag that would suffice. "And apple juice. And Oreo cookies. How's that sound for a picnic?"

Fox's eyes lit up and a grin that lit the AD's heart spread across his face. He threw his arms around Skinner's neck. "I love Oreo cookies!" he exulted.

"Well you have to eat a sandwich first," Skinner laughed, lifting him into his arms and heading into the park.

They found a grassy spot at the top of a hill overlooking the baseball fields and sat down under protective covering of the willow tree there. Skinner used the newspaper he'd bought himself as a placemat, then covered it with paper towels off the new roll he unwrapped. Then he prepared two baloney sandwiches, carefully peeling the outer edge off of the meat he put on Fox's sandwich. The AD really would have preferred some mustard but as far as the boy was concerned, this was haute cuisine.

Skinner popped open two bottles of apple juice and they sat back and enjoyed their spur of the moment picnic. After sandwiches were done, the AD opened the box of Oreo cookies for Fox and laid back on the grass, sighing as he took in the peace and tranquillity of the moment. Fox watched him quizzically for a while, then he lay down too, perpendicular to the AD, his head resting on Skinner's stomach. They stayed like that, basking in the quiet of an early summer day together.

"Look!" Fox exclaimed a few moments later. He was pointing toward the sky and Skinner lifted his eyes in the direction to which he motioned. There was a break in the cloud cover and the golden sunshine behind the clouds was streaming through. "I can see heaven through there!"

Skinner smiled at his conclusion. Teena Mulder had recently told Fox that his real father was in heaven and Fox had listened and nodded as though he understood completely. Later, on the way home to Virginia with Skinner, he'd asked his new Dad where exactly heaven was. And could they go visit some time. Skinner found himself trying to explain the concept of a hereafter in terms a four-year-old could understand. He'd been less than successful since now Fox apparently believed it could be seen, if not visited.

"Do you know anyone who's in heaven?" Fox asked him as he watched the clouds continue to part overhead.

Skinner was caught off guard but he finally nodded. "Yes. I know my brother Jeremy," he said quietly.

"And my other father is there, too," Fox said. "Do you think they can see us?"

"I think they can," the AD answered softly, wondering where this was going.

Fox was quiet for a moment. "Do you think he likes me?"

"Your other father? Yes, Fox, I'm certain he likes you. And loves you," Skinner answered, stroking the top of the little boy's head. "I think he probably thinks you're the best little boy in the world. And he'd be right, too."

Fox turned his head and looked up at Skinner for a moment, an open, trusting look on his small face. A shy smile flickered over his countenance. "What about Jeremy?" he asked the AD. Skinner smiled now. This was another phase he was going through. Fox asked this question regularly, about everyone from the doorman in their apartment building to the kid who delivered their pizza.

"I think he likes you, too," he reassured the little boy with a chuckle. "A whole lot."

Fox grinned at him, then he turned his head back to stare at the sky and promptly fell asleep. He'd stopped taking afternoon naps most of the time now but this day he seemed to need one. And despite being pressed for time, the Assistant Director decided to let him sleep. In a few moments, both of them were slumbering peacefully in the cool shade of the large willow tree.

The FBI Building
Washington, D.C.

"Sir!" a voice called, accompanied by loud banging. "Sir! We have a possible break!"

The Assistant Director awoke with a start, and the images from his dream dissipated into the depressing reality of the moment. Amber Lynne Lapierre was still missing. They'd been investigating nearly two days and so far no one had identified a real lead. He rose quickly and shook off the powerful hangover of desperately needed sleep. He'd sacked out on the couch in his inner office only ninety minutes before, after working for thirty-six straight hours on the kidnapping case.

"What've you got?" he asked as he opened the door, fully alert again. He strode purposefully back into the conference room.

"Agent Scully called in from Sacramento," the other agent said. "She said Agent Mulder believes the Lapierres lied about where they found the note. . . ."

But Mulder's input turned out to be confusing. He did believe the parents lied about finding the note. But he also believed they were innocent. And he believed it strongly enough to make unapproved statements to the press to that effect. Skinner was furious with the young man he'd come to think of as a son. But this was work, not their personal lives. The AD lost no time calling the agent on the carpet on this one. Skinner had struggled somewhat with the need to keep his paternal instincts in check in the office. Today, he was all business and about to ream Special Agent Mulder but good.

This time the knock on his door surprised and angered him.

"It can wait," he'd barked at Agent Scully, only to be told it couldn't. Teena Mulder was dead, apparently by her own hand. In a split second of time the Assistant Director disappeared and the concerned father resurfaced. He'd spent the next half hour with a shocked, nearly catatonic Fox Mulder, trying to comfort him as best he could and handle the details that needed to be covered. Skinner placed a call to the Greenwich policeman who'd called Mulder's office number. The detective filled him in on the details. Skinner's secretary booked Mulder and Scully on the next flight to New York while the AD arranged a car from the local Bureau office to pick them up at the airport and drive them to Greenwich.

"Go with him, Scully," Skinner told her. "I-- I can't leave the task force right now. You stay with him. And call me if you need me. Call me when you get there either way."

They'd returned later that day, having found no note, no evidence to give Mulder an explanation or any kind of comfort. He asked Scully to perform an autopsy and she'd agreed over strong protests. It was a good instinct on Mulder's part. Teena Mulder was terminally ill and had chosen not to battle it any longer. She hadn't told her son, or Skinner.

But the AD knew before Mulder or even Scully. Once Mulder left, he called his folks and his brothers with the news of Teena's death.

"Oh, my God," Rachel had responded, breaking into tears. "She . . . she told me she was sick. At Thanksgiving, Walter. She said she was waiting until Fox was grown again to tell him! I-- I thought she'd tell him soon. And it was her place to do it . . . Oh, God, was I wrong to keep her secret?"

Skinner had comforted her as well as he could over the phone, then spoke to his Dad and asked him to reassure her. It was Teena's place to tell her son the news. She hadn't but that was no one's fault but hers. The Assistant Director fought down a surge of anger at the woman for having left Fox in this way. And having done nothing to expiate the guilt he would naturally feel in the wake of her suicide.

Scully's autopsy confirmed Mrs. Mulder's illness and gave it a name. 'Paget's Carcinoma.' That was more than Teena had told Rachel.

Tonight, in the car on the way over to Mulder's place, Skinner was unable to call up much sympathy for the woman no matter how hard he tried. He knew he should cut her some slack, under the circumstances. But he couldn't get there. Fox was his only concern now and while the young man was still in shock at the moment, anger and a sense of betrayal and abandonment would follow soon enough.

And now the AD was going to have to ask him to put his feelings on hold and help out with the Lapierre case. The girl's mother had something to say. And she would only say it to Agent Mulder.

Scully was angry at the AD for even broaching the subject but Mulder had merely shrugged his acceptance of the request. When Scully said she was going too, Skinner had agreed immediately. Then she left to pack some things, with the understanding that Skinner and Mulder would meet her at the airport.

Skinner stood in the hall outside Mulder's bedroom as he packed. The younger agent started out fine, grabbing a couple of shirts and sweaters, some jeans and sneakers, and stuffing them into his bag. Then he stopped and looked around the bedroom as if he had no idea what else to pack. His confusion lasted a full minute and finally Skinner stepped in.

"Are you okay, Fox?" Skinner asked gently.

Mulder merely nodded. But he made no attempt to continue with his packing and Skinner saw he needed to take the reins if they were going anywhere.

"Get your shaving kit, Fox," he said quietly as he stepped to the closet to take select a couple of ties. "And you better take some clean underwear . . . "

Between the two of them they managed to get Mulder packed. Skinner walked to the doorway, then turned back to make sure Mulder was coming. The weekend bag was sitting on the bed and Fox zipped the top halfway, then stopped as if he'd lost his train of thought again. Skinner waited a few seconds then called to him once more.

"Fox. . . ?"

"I'm okay," he replied quickly, nodding his head. But the nodding turned to head shaking and his voice cracked over the next words. "No. . . No, I'm not," he whispered as tears streamed down his face. "I'm not . . . okay . . . "

"I know," Skinner said quietly. "I'm here . . . ."

Fox nodded once more, then turned and fell into the arms of the man behind him. His knees buckled and they both sank to the floor, Mulder's tear-streaked face finding a familiar place on Skinner's left shoulder. The AD cradled and rocked him as he cried out the pain and anger and abandonment he'd been bottling up a lifetime.

"W-why? Why did she. . . What would make her do it? . . . " he sobbed, babbling almost incoherently. "She n--never told me she was sick! I would have been more . . . I wouldn't have been so . . . rotten when I saw her last time, D-dad! I would have . . . called her b-back . . . . I would have gone there . . . . Why didn't she tell me?. . . "

Skinner caressed the back of his head and held him as close as he could without having to worry about bruising him. He murmured soft sounds of comfort every now and then, just to feel as though he were there for some purpose.

"I know, kid. I know. . . . I don't understand but it's not your fault. I know she didn't mean for you to think it was your fault, Fox. I'm so sorry this happened . . . . Just let it out, honey. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere . . . ."

Local Bureau Office
Sacramento, California

Walter Skinner sighed wearily as he listened to the latest information on the Amber Lynne Lapierre case. They'd moved the command center for the investigation to Sacramento and he'd spent the past two days staying on top of the task force and trying to track Fox in stolen moments in between meetings and interviews. Scully had left him for a while, hoping to get Mulder to follow her back to DC but her ruse hadn't worked. And Skinner could only move so far away from his responsibilities.

Then out of the blue, Mulder had found the answer he'd been seeking for more than a quarter of a century. Samantha Mulder had been held at April Air Force Base for six years after her abduction, treated like a laboratory guinea pig, continually tested by unknown parties. She'd had her memories stolen from her and eventually she escaped, finding her way to a local hospital where she later disappeared without a trace yet again. Given all of this new knowledge, Mulder had reacted in a completely unnatural fashion, telling Scully and then Skinner he was finally free. Though the AD and Scully wanted to believe, it was out of character for Mulder to go down without a fight. Or to accept so incomplete and unsatisfying an explanation as the gospel truth.

Skinner felt like he would explode as he sat there listening to the profiler from Behavioral drone on about yet another point in her constantly changing profile of the Lapierre suspect. Many on the team felt the parents were responsible but the investigation was being pressed on all fronts anyway. But Skinner found himself buying into Mulder's conclusion that the little girl had vanished and would never be found. Nor would they ever tie a suspect to her disappearance. It made no sense and yet . . . Skinner believed. The stuff about souls being turned into starlight didn't make any sense to him but his real world instincts told him this investigation would never produce a resolution.

He wanted to be back East with Fox now but he couldn't make that happen without tipping his hand to the Bureau. Letting them know he considered the younger agent to be family now. And that was something both he and Mulder had decided was more than their superiors needed to know. So Skinner had done the next best thing. He called Joe and asked him to step in for him.

The AD glanced at his watch while the Special Agent from BSU continued. Joe should be picking Fox up in New York right about now.

Laguardia Airport
New York City

Joe Skinner took Fox's bag over his protests and put it on the floor next to him. Then he pulled the younger man into a giant hug. "I'm sorry, Fox," he said quietly.

"Thanks, Uncle Joe," Mulder responded, letting himself be held for a split second longer than he normally would in public. "And thanks for driving down. You didn't have to --"

"I think I did," Joe responded as he released the younger man and bent to pick up the bag again. "If Walter can't be here, you're stuck with me, kid. I've already been to Greenwich. I made some inquiries with your Mom's attorney. She left instructions--"

"I-- I never even thought about that," Fox berated himself. "I guess I'm just not . . . thinking clearly. . . ."

"Fox," Joe interrupted him. "Of course you're not thinking clearly. That's what I'm here for. Let me think for you now, okay? That's what Walter sent me here to do."

The Riverside Hilton
Greenwich, Connecticut

Fox and Joe entered the suite where the elder Skinners and Joe were staying. Walter Sr. and Rachel had driven to Connecticut with Joe, insisting to him and to their oldest son that they could do nothing else. "We would be here for any one of our kids," they said emphatically. "You know that."

Neither Walter nor Joe put up any further argument. They knew the truth when they heard it.

There were two bedrooms and a sitting room in the suite and Joe dropped Fox's bag off in one of them. Several more rooms were reserved for the rest of the Skinner family who would arrive throughout the day.

Mulder was trying to maintain a stoic facade and had even told Joe that he would be all right to stay at his mother's home. But Joe had overridden his decision, insisting on Fox returning to the Hilton with him. Now, though, he had to face Walter and Rachel and somehow that unnerved him.

The feeling passed quickly though as the two older people enveloped him in a cocoon of love and concern from the minute he arrived. Hugs and tears and more hugs followed and once Fox's guard was finally down he realized that he was exhausted. Mulder hadn't slept at all on the plane ride and now the Skinners saw that he was fed with comfort foods and then tucked in for a few hours of sleep.

"How is he really, Joe?" Walter Sr. asked as soon as they were certain Fox was unconscious. "Walter says he's . . . certain his sister is dead now, too."

Joe nodded. "He said he's free, for the first time in twenty-five years. He knows she's dead. And he knows she's 'in a better place,' he said. I'm not sure what he means but . . . it seems to give him comfort."

"And God knows that boy deserves comfort anywhere he can find it," Rachel agreed quietly. "He doesn't deserve . . . all the things that have happened to him. I know Teena was suffering but . . . . I just don't see how she could have overlooked how this would hurt Fox."

"And the story Walter told me, about what the diary they found said," Joe added. "It's just . . . chilling. Fox is going to need a lot of love and a whole lot of security from us. Whether he wants it or not. I don't think most people could cope with the stuff that's happened. And Fox is so . . . quick to think he's responsible for things. We can't let that happen . . . ."

Andy Skinner arrived an hour later and he and Joe accompanied Fox to the local funeral home to make the final arrangements. Teena Mulder had left very specific instructions it seemed, about her funeral and burial, right down to determining the kind of flowers she wanted. But Fox had a special request of his own and that required some additional arrangements.

When Skinner arrived late that night, Fox was still awake. Joe had relocated to share a room with Nora so the AD moved into the room with Fox. He'd flown in from the West Coast in the evening, and stopped over in DC for 90 minutes. It was just enough time to get to Fox's apartment, pick up some things and make it to National Airport for the shuttle to New York.

"I brought your charcoal suit," Skinner told him as he hung things up in the closet. "And a gray tie and a white shirt. I wasn't sure what you had with you . . . "

Fox nodded. He was lying on the bed, his arms folded under his head, staring at the TV but not watching. The sound was lowered to almost nothing so he had been watching nothing more than flickering images, Skinner surmised.

"And the office sent over this envelope," Skinner continued. "They had an agent meet me at the airport." He pulled a manila envelope out of his bag and handed it over to Fox.

Mulder sat up on the side of the bed and opened the envelope immediately. He pulled out a photo and stared at it, a small, sad smile working its way onto his tired face. Skinner walked over to stand next to him and saw it was a picture of a pretty, dark-haired girl of about 13 or 14. He knew immediately it was Samantha Mulder. The Bureau had sophisticated software that could project what someone might look like at a later date using a photo taken at another time.

"That's her," Mulder said, nodding. He looked up at Skinner. "That's exactly what she looked like."

Skinner laid a hand on Mulder's shoulder. "She was very pretty," he said softly.

Mulder nodded, dropping his head and continuing to gaze at the picture through the mist that had formed in his eyes.

The Church of the Ascension
Greenwich, Connecticut

Fox Mulder stood in the front row of the Church as the service droned on. He looked ill at ease and Skinner to his left and Scully to his right both wondered if he'd make it through. Or have to leave at some point. He looked dazed and possibly sick.

But something got him through the service in memory of Teena Mulder and her daughter, Samantha Ann Mulder. The casket was draped with a shawl that Teena had crocheted for Samantha to wear for her First Communion the year before she disappeared. It had been lovingly packed in tissue paper and held for all these years. Now it covered Teena's coffin and a photo of Teena and another of Samantha sat atop it.

Scully had eyed the photo curiously, cocking an eyebrow in Skinner's direction when she first saw it. But he shook his head almost imperceptibly, warning her not to say anything to Mulder about the picture of the smiling young woman. If that was all he had to hang on to, Skinner thought angrily, let him have it. It was a lovely way to remember someone he'd loved and lost.

There was no eulogy save for that given by Mrs. Mulder's minister. The man had obviously gotten to know her well in her final years. He spoke in moving platitudes about how she'd faced adversity in her life, had loved and lost a husband and daughter, and raised a son of whom she was exceedingly proud. Skinner glanced at Mulder but no reaction was forthcoming from the man of whom the words were spoken. Teena had confided her illness to her minister and the man spoke about it in words that generously glossed over the circumstances of her death.

"She was aware her time was growing short," he said quietly, "and her body was growing weak and tired. And I believe at that point she turned to God and asked to come home."

The Assistant Director could hear his mother crying softly in the background. He glanced over his shoulder and saw his father put an arm around her to comfort her. In the aisle behind that Maggie Scully sniffled and took a tissue from Fiona, who'd made the trip to be there for him and for Fox. Beside him, he saw a single tear slide down Fox's cheek. Skinner lifted his hand to rub Fox's back, to let him know he was there but the younger man merely gave him a poignant half-smile and took a slow, deep breath. The AD sensed he was steeling himself for what would come next.

There was an organist who'd played throughout the service and a soloist with a crystal, bell-like voice. She sang the final hymn as the photos were removed and presented to Fox, and the casket was prepared to leave the Church. It was a hymn that Teena Mulder had chosen. Fox had looked at the sheet music at the funeral home, then nodded his approval according to Joe. "That's . . . the one," he said. "She knew exactly what she wanted and . . . and why."

"And I will raise you up on eagle's wings," the woman sang. "Bear you on the breath of dawn. I shall make you to shine like starlight. And hold you in the palm of my hand."

Skinner watched Mulder as he listened to the words, clinging tightly to the photos he'd been handed. The words seemed to comfort him and the AD was glad for that small favor. He put an arm around the younger man's shoulder and for a brief moment, Fox laid his head on the other man's shoulder in a way he hadn't done since he was a boy. Then he straightened up again and trailed Scully out of the pew and down the aisle, following the casket out of the church.

The group of mourners who accompanied Mulder to the cemetery included all of the Skinners, Dana and Maggie Scully, the Lone Gunmen and a cast of neighbors and friends of Teena's from the surrounding area. Teena had left instructions that she be buried next to her ex-husband, Bill, and while that stunned Fox, he followed her direction. And he had arranged to have Samantha's name added to the headstone also. There were no remains to be buried but Skinner saw him place Samantha's diary, the one they found at April Air Force base, in Teena's casket before it was closed that morning at the funeral home. The AD took it as a sign Fox was truly burying Samantha, and his lifelong obsession with finding her.

They had arranged for a luncheon for those who accompanied them to the burial. It was to be held at a restaurant that Skinner knew had been one of Teena's favorites. She'd taken them there several times when he brought little Fox to visit. The Assistant Director fell into the role of host as Mulder still seemed unable to shake his melancholy. It looked to Skinner as though he were all alone among the crowd of sympathetic mourners. He moved about, stopping here and there for brief moments but not really settling down anywhere, with anyone

Various members of the family and the Scullys tried to get him to sit down, or relax. Joe and Andy, Skinner's nephews Doug and Mike, and Byers and Langly coaxed him into the bar where there was a television showing college basketball but he ordered a soda he didn't touch and simply sat there, not participating. Even when Andy announced that he'd accepted a new job and Eileen and he were moving to D.C., Fox merely smiled as though Andy had complimented him on his tie. The others pumped Andy for information about his new position and Fox used the distraction to wander away a few minutes later.

Skinner's sister Jean and Mrs. Skinner were sitting with Dana and Maggie Scully and Melvin Frohike and they called Fox over to have some lunch with them. He sat down but was like a cat on the proverbial hot tin roof. He passed on the food they tried to get him to eat. In a few minutes, he was up and pacing again.

Skinner had been tracking his circult but now he found himself trapped in conversation with Teena Mulder's neighbor, Marie Brown, and two other women from the garden club. He watched Fox wander around out of the corner of his eye but couldn't pull himself away from the women.

"It's a shame Teena couldn't have seen her son more often," Mrs. Brown was saying. "I know she wished he visited more. I know he's busy though . . . " She let the rest of the thought trail away but her tone gave notice that she didn't think Fox was THAT busy.

"But still, she was ill. And he was her only family," the one named Mildred added. "It's a shame she was alone so much . . . ." Her words and body language seemed to indicate she thought Fox was in some way responsible for Teena's final act.

Skinner felt the muscles in his jaw clench and sparks of fire literally flew from his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak and felt Walter Sr.'s hand come out of nowhere, laying gently but firmly on his forearm. Skinner's head swiveled and he caught the warning look his father was sending. Something about not speaking ill of the dead, the AD surmised from the non-verbal communication.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Skinner spotted Fox moving away from the buffet table behind the ladies. He had a cup of coffee in his hand but it was clear he'd overheard the conversation -- and the accusations. Skinner's anger returned but was interrupted by his father.

"I think Teena knew Fox was . . . out of commission most of the last eight months," Mr. Skinner told them sympathetically. "He got here as often as anyone humanly could. I guess it was just too bad her health kept her from visiting him. Or calling much."

Skinner could see his Dad's words, though kindly spoken, found their mark. He let it go and began looking around to see where Mulder had gone. A quick check showed he was not in the restaurant and the AD expanded the scope of his search, finally locating him in the parking lot, staring into space. Skinner pressed his lips together in concern as he slowly walked over to Fox.

"Hey," he said quietly, trying to draw Mulder's attention as gently as possible.

"Hey," Mulder replied. It was almost a sigh.

"How are you doing?"

Fox paused as though he were considering the question. Or was uncertain how to answer. "Okay."

Skinner watched him, waiting for more. But Mulder merely resumed staring, this time at his feet. The AD considered the situation, and decided there was nothing more the young man owed the guests at lunch. He told Fox to wait there and went inside to get both of their coats. While he was inside, he told Jean he was taking Mulder back to the hotel. His sister gave him a sympathetic smile.

"Good," she said. "The poor boy looks like he's about to jump out of his skin. Get him somewhere he can just . . . be." She gave her brother a peck on the cheek and promised to let everyone else know they'd gone once they were actually on the way.

Skinner brought Fox his overcoat, then they headed for the rental car. Skinner steered them back toward the hotel but suddenly Fox spoke.

"Turn here," he said.

Skinner knew immediately where he wanted to go. This was the avenue that led to his mother's neighborhood. "No, Fox," he said quietly. "Don't do this to yourself--"

"I just -- I need to see something. Please?" the younger man pleaded.

"Fox, it's not a good idea--"

"I have to see something," Mulder cut him off. "I . . I have to."

There was no doubt in Skinner's mind that if he refused, Mulder would find a way back himself. And intuitively the AD knew whatever it was he wanted to do, he shouldn't do alone. He sighed and hit his blinker, then made the turn onto Greenwich Avenue.

They entered the house using Mulder's key and Skinner found himself following Fox around, waiting for whatever it was the young man needed to do. Fox wandered around the house, then out into the backyard. It was warmer than it had been for several weeks and Skinner watched him come to a stop in the middle of the lawn. The AD couldn't help remembering the last time he saw Fox in that spot. He was a two-year-old, chasing bubbles on a clear summer day, while Skinner and Teena looked on.

According to the medical records they'd seen, Teena learned about her cancer just before the weekend he'd brought little Fox there for the first time. Skinner had been surprised and disappointed that she wasn't willing to take Fox in and let him live with her as he repeated his childhood. Now her inexplicable decision made all the sense in the world. As he watched, Fox walked back inside and headed into the living room. When Skinner arrived a few steps behind him, he was squatting down next to the wastepaper basket where Teena had burned all the family photos.

"Why?" Mulder asked him quietly. "Why would she . . . burn them? It was an act of anger. She was angry at me. . . ."

"No," Skinner cut him off firmly. "Don't do that, Fox. Don't analyze it. Don't be a profiler now. . . . Just be a son. . . and a brother. That's enough to take on right now."

"But--"

"Stop. You can't possibly know what was going through her mind. She was sick, Fox. And in pain. And undergoing grueling treatments apparently. People get depressed under circumstances like that. But believe me, I watched your mother watching you when you were a kid again. She loved you. She wasn't angry with you. For all you know, in her mental state at that moment, she might have thought burning the photos was a way to take them with her."

Mulder was still kneeling next to the wastebasket, staring at the charred remains of photos. There were tears pooled in his eyes and a couple ran in rivulets down his cheeks. He shook his head, not with conviction but almost as though he were waging an internal argument with himself.

Skinner took a deep breath, then released it forcefully. "Listen to me, Fox," he said gently. "I know it hurts but the fact is, your mother made a choice that she believed was right for her at that moment. We can't know what she was going through. And she might have made a different choice at another moment in time but . . . at that point, she chose to end the pain she was in. It had nothing to do with you, son. She loved you but for some reason, she just couldn't go on . . . ."

Now it was Mulder's turn. He let out a teary, ragged breath and nodded his head once, tentatively. Tears were streaming down his face now.

"I . . . know you're right," he said tearfully. "I just wish . . . I just wish I had known what she was going through. I just wish I had a chance to say . . . goodbye. To Sam. To my father. And now my mother. I never told any of them how--" He stopped when his voice cracked and Skinner squatted down beside him, putting an arm around the younger man's shoulders.

Fox shook his head, trying to clear it so he could finish. "I never told them that I loved them. Not any of them, s-sir. . . ." His voice caught again and he turned his head into Skinner's shoulder and sobbed.

The AD sank forward onto his knees and enveloped Fox in his arms. He felt the younger man lay his head on his shoulder, then he heard the muffled sound of Fox crying as though his heart was broken. Skinner held him close and let him cry, knowing there was healing in it once it was over.

Ten minutes passed without another word between them, then Fox's sobbing lessened and his breathing settled into tear-soaked hitches. Skinner knew he could speak now and the younger man would hear his words.

"Fox, they knew you loved them. You're not very guarded when it comes to your feelings, kid. You wear them on your sleeve, whatever you might think or intend. I know your mother knew for sure. And Samantha. You spent twenty-seven years of your life searching for her. That was an act of love that didn't come out of nowhere, Fox. And as for your father, I don't know but your mother thought he was a man who loved deeply but didn't know how to show it. She knew him best so I'll have to take her word for it. You might not have . . . said the words. I know your family wasn't like that. But you demonstrate your love in ways words can't. They knew, Fox. Believe me. And if they didn't get it then, they know now. I believe that with all my heart."

Skinner felt Fox's head nod slightly and he hoped his words were getting through.

"But," Fox said, then a hiccuping sob escaped and he took a deep breath. "But . . . I should have at least told my mother. I . . . know better now, about how important it is to-- to say the words! But I didn't do it. And she ch-chose not to tell me she was sick. Or even talk to me before-- before she did it! What's that say about the kind of son I was to her. . . "

The AD shook his head, then brought his chin to rest on the top of Fox's head. He pulled the younger man closer into the circle of his arms. "Stop, Fox," he said firmly. "Your mother was sick. And not thinking clearly because of it. You can't take that one moment in her life and write the entire story of your relationship with her from it. We can't know what she was thinking at that time but one act in someone's life doesn't define them. Even if it was their final act, kid. . . ."

He listened but didn't hear or feel any sign that Fox had heard and accepted what he was saying. "Listen," Skinner continued. "I was watching Andy and Eileen this morning, in the suite before we left for the funeral. They were playing with Griffin. That little godson of yours wants to walk in the worst way, you know!"

Andy and Eileen had left their two older kids behind with Eileen's relatives but they brought nine-month-old Griffin with them to Connecticut.

"He's not quite there yet, so Eileen was walking with him, holding him by the top of his fingers, just so he'd know she was there. It's not enough to hold him up but he doesn't know that yet. And she'd get him to within a couple of feet of Andy before she let go. Close enough so Andy could reach out and catch him if he fell."

Fox was listening closely but the story seemed to have no relevance at the moment. He looked up at Skinner and saw the other man was looking down at him. Skinner gave him a small smile and continued.

"I think that's what your mother did for you, Fox," he said quietly. "She hung in as long as she could, until you were close enough to me, and to my family, that she knew we'd catch you if you fell. Then she let go. Because she couldn't go on any longer. But she loved you enough to make sure there were arms waiting to reach out for you, to keep you from falling. And she didn't do that for someone she thought didn't love her back, kid. I promise you, she never doubted for a moment that you loved her."

Fox's eyes had filled with tears again and one spilled over and ran down his cheek. He slipped a hand out from behind Skinner's back and dragged the back of it over his face, nodding. Then he took a deep, calming breath and exhaled it, before closing his eyes and resting his head for a moment against Skinner's shoulder. It looked to the AD like he was trying the words on for size, to see if they fit.

Skinner watched him, waiting to see whether he could accept the scenario the AD had painted for him. He breathed a sigh of relief when Fox nodded his head again and opened his eyes. He smiled tentatively.

"Can we go home now, Dad?" he asked in a tone that subtly reminded Skinner of the four-year-old he'd been not that long ago.

The AD stood and pulled him to his feet, then draped an arm over his shoulder as they walked out of the house. "Yeah, kid," he said trying not to choke up himself. "Let's go home."

Skinner's Apartment
Crystal City, Virginia
9:39 p.m.

The Skinner family and friends had dispersed in the early afternoon to return to their homes. Mulder and Skinner took the five o'clock shuttle back to DC with Dana and Maggie Scully and the Lone Gunmen so they had all parted finally at just past six at the baggage pick-up area at National Airport. Crystal City was within spitting distance of the airport and Skinner and Mulder had been home and unpacked by six thirty.

Skinner had been fearful Fox would insist on going home to his place in Alexandria but he hadn't even raised the point, just followed along to the AD's apartment as though it were the only option. The two of them called out for Chinese food then settled in to watch TV.

Fox sat up from where he'd been sprawled on the couch. He'd been dreaming as he dozed, about the moment when he'd 'seen' Samantha again. It was a warm and pleasant dream and he longed to see if he could resume it. "I--I guess I should go to bed," he said, yawning. "I'm wiped."

Skinner smiled at him fondly. "Good idea. I was getting worried I might have to carry you upstairs tonight."

The younger man smiled at the unlikely image and stood up, stretching. "Good night," he said as he headed out of the room.

"Good night, son," Skinner called after him. "Sleep well."

Mulder stopped at the staircase and looked back into the living room. "Thank you," he said. "I mean, for everything you did. You know, to get me through these last couple of days . . . and everything. I just wanted to say thanks."

Skinner took off his glasses, shaking his head as if to say the words were unnecessary. "Nothing to thank me for," he said sincerely. "It's just about being family, that's all."

Mulder bit down on his lower lip and nodded again. "I know but . . . I wanted you to know I appreciate it. And . . ," he stopped, looking a little embarrassed. "And I love you, Dad," he added quickly, not wanting to take the chance he wouldn't get it out.

"I know," the AD answered quietly. "I know. And I love you too, son."

Fox swallowed hard and nodded once more. Then he turned and headed up the stairs, planning to just fall straight into bed. But something hit him suddenly, an image that had been rolling around in his brain for a couple of days. And the realization propelled him into Skinner's bedroom. There were a bunch of photos on the dresser and he reached past one of him and the AD at the World Series the previous October and picked up another one.

Skinner appeared at the door behind him and Mulder started when he heard the floorboard creak. He looked up at the other man and opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out at first.

"What's wrong, Fox?" Skinner asked him, worried now.

Mulder looked at him, his face reflecting his shock and confusion. Skinner crossed the room in two strides and was by his side in a second. "What is it, Fox?" he asked again, concern underscoring his words.

"I-- When I saw Samantha. . . " he said slowly, testing the words as they were spoken. "In the field. There was a boy who took me to the clearing where she playing with all the other kids. It was the same boy who took me to the place where her diary was hidden . . . ."

Skinner nodded at him, not at all sure where he was going with this. The AD had heard this story and had a lot of trouble accepting it. But it gave Mulder comfort so he went along, thinking it was as good a story as anything else they had to offer. But now something was troubling the younger man. Mulder continued as if in a trance, as if he could see the boy standing in front of him.

"I thought it was Piller's son. Or Kathy Lee Tencate's. I-- I didn't focus on it until now. . . ." He looked directly at Skinner and handed him the framed photo he was holding. "It was Jeremy, Dad. I'm sure of it. He looked exactly like he does in this picture."

Skinner's eyes instantly filled with tears as he reached out for the photo, his mind swirling with the news. It was a school photo that had been taken only a month or two before Jeremy died.

"I know it doesn't make any sense," Mulder was continuing, "but . . . I'm sure. He was standing with Sam again when I left her. She grabbed his hand and they ran off to play."

Skinner swallowed down a lump that had formed in his throat. He wasn't sure what to say but he knew he had to say something.

"Why doesn't it make sense?" he finally answered slowly. "You said-- you said the walk-ins take kids before something terrible is going to happen to them. If Jeremy had survived that fall, he would have been gravely injured. Maybe-- I don't know but I find it comforting to think he was . . . gone before he hit the rocks."

Mulder had choked up as Skinner spoke, and now tears were pooled in his eyes, too.

"And why wouldn't Jeremy . . . try to help you if he could?" the AD added with a sad smile. "He's family. You're family. It makes a lot of sense to me. That's . . . how it is with my family. You're one of us and-- and we all know it. Even Jeremy."

Skinner took one last look at the photo of his youngest brother, then he placed it back on the dresser and pulled Fox into a bear hug. "It's nice to think they're okay, playing happily together somewhere. It's a . . . a wonderful image and I'm glad you told me."

Fox nodded, and returned the hug. Then he pulled away and headed out of the bedroom, casting one final glance at the photo of Jeremy. "Yeah," he said, clearing his throat. "But I bet she creams him at Stratego. . . "

Skinner laughed. "Don't be so sure! He was a pretty wily little kid, our Jeremy was . . . ."

Skinner looked in on Fox a few minutes later and saw he was already sound asleep. It did the AD's heart good to see it. He knew a good sleep had a healing effect on Fox. And he was grateful the young man had reached a sense of peace with everything that had happened in the past few days. God knows, he deserved it. The Assistant Director wandered downstairs then something propelled him out onto the balcony. It was chilly but not especially cold and the sky was clear and filled with stars.

Skinner was still somewhat unsettled by the story Mulder told him. It was a comforting vision and, while the older man wondered briefly if it was just another coping mechanism concocted by Mulder's fertile imagination, he decided it didn't matter. Fox believed. And in some ways, he himself wanted to believe. . . . He'd never had a chance to say goodbye to Jeremy. To know Jeremy didn't blame him for not saving him before he toppled off that bridge so many years before. Jeremy's spirit reaching out to Fox, whom Skinner now loved as much as he had loved his little brother, would be a sign that all was right with the Universe after all. It was beyond his ability to fully understand, falling far over the line into what he considered 'Mulder territory,' but perhaps it had all happened as it was meant to happen.

As he stared out over the Washington skyline, he thought about the last few days. Teena Mulder's death. Fox finding a resolution to his obsessive quest for Samantha. Amber Lynne Lapierre. And all the other children who'd been lost, in mundane and mysterious ways, accidentally or maliciously, but torn from the arms of their loved ones here nonetheless. And Jeremy. Long gone but still a presence in his life. And perhaps, in a small way, in Fox's life now too.

A prayer remembered from childhood popped into his brain suddenly. He hesitated for a moment, then he whispered it into the quiet of the night. "Eternal peace grant unto them, oh Lord. And may perpetual light shine upon them."

A falling star caught his attention in the distance. It burned for a moment and then disappeared beneath the horizon. Skinner smiled to himself and headed back into the apartment. It had been a long, strange few days and like Fox, he needed the kind of sleep that heals and renews.

THE END