Take 2 - An Alternate Part 19

by Poly





Disclaimer: Not mine. Whatever isn't CC's, it's Cadillac Red's.

Spoilers: Some references to X-files mythology episodes.

Rating: PG. Discipline, no slash.

E-mail: poly.gianniba@tesco.net

Summary: The story fits somewhere after chapter 19. A ten years old Fox is recovering from his most serious medical crisis yet and he is doing remarkably well. The same can't be said for Skinner. It picks up immediately after Skinner's deal with Cancer Man and Fox's miraculous recovery.

Author's note: Once more I am playing in other people's playground and I don't mean CC. A heartfelt thanks to Cadillac Red for creating this wonderful universe and for letting me play in her backyard, not to mention swift beta-reading and her moving, encouraging words. They mean a lot to me.

Warning: I don't want to come across as a tease, because that wasn't my intention, so I have to warn you, there is very little discipline in this story, or more accurately whatever discipline there is, it's behind the scenes. Hopefully, the story has other redeeming values.

Timeline: I promise, after this note I will shut up. But there are some discrepancies in my timeline. In Cadillac Red's story, Fox is released from the hospital on a Friday, in mine on a Tuesday. You can live with that, can' t you?

Archive: Wherever the Take 2 series are archived.



Walter Skinner's apartment
Crystal City, Virginia
Thursday evening

Walter Skinner opened the bedroom door as noiselessly as possible. But instead of entering he stopped and listened. He could clearly hear the sleeping boy's breath, even and regular. In another time, he would have approached the bed, see, touch and smell the sleeping child. But, that was before. Everything had changed now.

They were back at home for a couple of days and they were trying to get back in their usual rhythms. The boy was still weak and lacked his usual energy. His body had undergone a terrible ordeal and it would take a while to recuperate. He was sleeping a lot, which was just as well. Skinner felt that he couldn't deal with the usual energetic and bright child.

The whole experience was hard on them both. But while the child was bouncing back with his usual resilience, so much like the adult Mulder, Skinner felt tired and, if he wanted to be honest with himself, defeated. He had failed. He didn't regret any of it, he would do the same in a second, but the fact remained that he was dirty. He saved the boy's life, but in a way he had lost him. He didn't deserve him anymore. He was as dirty as any of them.

The boy sighed in his sleep and turned towards Skinner. Skinner ached to get close, to touch the sleepwarm face, to reassure himself and the boy that nothing had changed. But it wasn't true. Nothing would ever be the same. It was going to be another long night.



Fox got up early the next day. He still felt somewhat tired, but he hardly paid any attention to it. They were driving to Danville today and he was looking forward to it. Not only had he missed his grandparents, but there he felt safe. It was a long way from the hospital and everything that had happened recently. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Dad promised that he wouldn't have to go to the hospital again and his Dad's promises were always good.

He went around the kitchen and started making breakfast. They weren't leaving for another six hours because Dad had to go to the office first, but if he had breakfast ready, they would save time. He got down to work with renewed enthusiasm.



The Skinner Home
Danville, Pennsylvania
Friday evening

They arrived in Danville in the early evening, Fox having slept most of the way. His energy intact, he bounced around the house, unable to contain himself or his excitement. Uncle Joe was spending the weekend in his parents' house and the whole family was planning to go picnic the following day. The boy followed his grandfather around, asking all sort of questions about the place, and coming up with a new question even before he had heard the answer to the last one.

His grandparents hadn't seen Fox since the hospital and they were happy and relieved to see he was doing so much better. The days in the hospital were a traumatic experience for all and Fox's renewed energy went a long way to healing open wounds. Fox sensed that he could get away with being spoiled and tried to elicit promises and favors, but he was faced with his grandfather's uproarious laughter. One thing was certain though: they were going to cross the river the following day and that was all the boy could think about.

Skinner, for his part, appeared tired and was rather short-tempered. Immediately after arriving, he pleaded a splitting headache and excused himself to his room. He reappeared for dinner, not looking any more rested, and went on to be silent and distant all evening. He heard his son's incessant chatter without commenting, but in the end, he promised to show him all the places by the river where he played as a kid if Fox went to bed right after dinner. The boy was as good as an angel after that.

Shortly after Fox, Walter and Rachel Skinner said goodnight and retired as well. Trying to keep up with a ten year old boy required a lot of energy and they weren't prepared to be left behind and miss out on being with their grandchild.

Joe and Walter took two beers out of the fridge and went out to the porch. It was a clear, pleasant night and the moon's illumination was a sight to behold. After a few moments silence, Skinner spoke.

"I can't come."

"What are you talking about?"

"Tomorrow, I can't come. I have to stay here and work."

Joe was angry and he couldn't hide it.

"You should have told the boy. You shouldn't have left him believing that you'd come."

"He can go with you. Besides, this way is best for him."

"Deliberately lying is best for him? I can't believe you said that."

Walter stood on the porch, nursing his beer and saying nothing. Joe looked at his brother and shook his head.

"You shouldn't have told me tonight, you should have waited till morning, pretended that something came up." He paused for a second and then added. "I am going to bed."

He went into the house, before Skinner had time to say anything, not that he could think anything to say.



Skinner spent most of the next day in the den, making phone calls and working on some files. His demeanor bespoke of urgency and the closed door was a clear sign that he didn't want to be disturbed. The truth of the matter was that he had no real urgent business, but somehow he had convinced himself otherwise.

Fox, for his part, had grown restless and unhappy as the day progressed. He had woken up excited about the prospect of the picnic by the river, but his excitement turned to anxiety when he found out that his father couldn't come. Soon after he declared his own disinterest and sat down to read a book. The fact that he was practically camping outside Skinner's door wasn't lost on anyone. Joe tried to entice him anyway.

"Well, I don't see why we should stay here the whole day. If Walter can't come, that's his loss."

Fox looked up from his book.

"I don't feel like it anymore. I'd rather stay here."

"This must be a very interesting book."

"It is."

"You are breaking your promise, you know."

Fox looked up in disbelief.

"You promised me a picnic and you are backing out on it."

There was a definite twinkle in Joe's eyes and Fox smiled a little.

"I am a kid. It's not the same."

"Sure it is. Come on, at least let's go out and play some baseball."

Fox looked briefly at his father's door. Baseball was very far from his mind.

"Dad broke his promise too," he whispered.

Joe reached out and caressed the dark head.

"I know, pal, I know. But he might not have had a choice."

Fox nodded. He didn't understand, but nodded anyway.

"Oh, come on" Joe pleaded. "I don't have any interesting books to read."

Joe's exaggerated pout had the desired effect, bringing some of the mischief back in Fox's eyes.

"I agree. All your books are pretty boring."

"Watch it, pal. I can still kick your ass in baseball."

"Are you supposed to use that kind of language in front of me?"

"No, but if you tell on me, you are not borrowing any of my books ever."

The boy laughed and Joe's heart warmed. A small step at a time and they were going to get there.

Fox's good humor didn't last long. He couldn't concentrate on his game, and kept looking back in the house anytime he heard a sound. He lost interest quickly and started getting cranky, so Joe soon gave up and they both went into the house again.

Fox spent the rest of the day in the living room where he could monitor the activity in the den, not there was much activity to monitor. Rachel Skinner opened the door and brought her son some lunch at one point and that was it. Fox strained to see his father through the partially open door, but Skinner had his back on the door and he hardly acknowledged his mother's presence, much less the boy outside the room.

The dinner turned into a very unpleasant affair. Skinner joined the rest of the family, but that didn't improve the situation one bit. By that time, Fox was physically and emotionally exhausted and he had lost any appetite. He picked on his food, but this didn't go down well with his father.

"Fox, stop that and eat."

The tone was a little too harsh, made all the harsher by the fact that those were the first words Skinner had said to the boy all day. Rachel Skinner looked genuinely worried and her husband's jaw stiffened, much the same way his older son's did when he was angry. Joe was looking from one to the other, concerned and uncomfortable.

For a moment, Fox looked like he wanted to protest, but something changed his mind and he took a bite. His limited enthusiasm though faded quickly and he started picking on his food again.

"Fox, I don't like repeating myself."

Skinner hadn't looked at the boy the entire time and he didn't see what everyone on the table saw. Fox was barely holding his tears back, his jaw trembling.

"I don't feel so well. I feel like I'm getting sick."

Skinner didn't move and gave no indication that he heard the boy.

"Dad..."

Fox never finished whatever he intended to say.

He ran out of the room and, merely seconds later, retching sounds were heard from the bathroom. Rachel Skinner was right behind him and an uneasy silence fell in the kitchen.

Fox was kneeling before the toilet, hugging his midsection and crying softly. He didn't feel sick anymore, but he didn't feel like getting up either. He wanted his dad to come and get him, make everything all right. He heard light footsteps and he knew they weren't his. Rachel Skinner crouched behind him and felt his forehead. It was cool to the touch.

"Are you all right, sweetheart?"

Fox drew a shuddering breath and tried to compose himself.

"Yes. I'm sorry!" He tried to continue, but tears overwhelmed him again.

Rachel gathered him in her arms and kissed his hair.

"Ssh, sweet boy, it's all right."

She continued cradling him and speaking softly, until the boy calmed down somewhat and tried to pull away, making a face in the process.

"What?" Rachel eyed him curiously.

"My mouth feels like--" Fox made another face.

"I bet." Rachel laughed.

They both stood up, and Rachel helped Fox wash his mouth out, fussing over him the whole time.

"How are you feeling now?"

"All right I guess."

"Do you feel like eating?"

Fox shrugged. "Not really."

"Do you feel like eating desert?"

The boy's eyes brightened, but he didn't know if it was wise to admit it.

Rachel laughed.

"Go upstairs and I will be right over with a big piece of chocolate cake and a glass of milk."

When Rachel entered the kitchen, very few things had changed. Joe was at the sink rinsing some plates, but both Walter Sr. and Jr. were seated. The tension was heavy in the air. Rachel busied herself pouring milk and cutting a piece of cake.

"Is he all right?"

Skinner's voice was calm, but Rachel could see right through her oldest child. There was nothing calm about Walter Skinner right now. She took a moment before answering, she didn't want her anger seeping through in her voice.

"He's going to be fine."

Rachel was almost out the kitchen door when Skinner spoke again.

"Should I..." he took a deep breath, "should I come upstairs?"

Rachel stopped and answered without looking back.

"If you need to ask, you shouldn't."

She started to leave, but stopped again. She turned, looked at her older son.

"Walter, it's not him I am worried about."

Skinner nodded absentmindedly.



Rachel found Fox sitting on the bed going through one of his books, but she could tell that he wasn't really reading.

She put the tray on the nightstand and sat next to him.

"Gram?"

"Yeah?"

"Am I going to the hospital again?"

She could tell he was trying to be brave, but she felt him trembling beside her.

"No, you aren't getting sick again."

"I don't want to go to the hospital." Fox continued like he never heard her, his voice getting panicked.

She took hold of both his shoulders, looked into his eyes. They were full of tears.

"Listen to me, Fox. You aren't getting sick and you aren't going to the hospital. Your dad made sure of that."

Fox looked at her, tried to believe what he 'd been told. He wanted to believe her, he wanted to leave the fear and the pain behind. He buried himself in her arms, crying the anxiety and the fear of the last few days.

After a while he quieted down, but he never let go of her. He started feeling sleepy, drained, lulled by her soothing caress and the sound of her voice. But something was in the back of his mind.

His voice was so soft the first time that Rachel didn't hear him.

"What, sweetheart?"

"My dad loved me more when I was sick."

Rachel Skinner was angry. She wanted to scream and yell at the injustice of it all, two of her boys hurting and she could do so little about it. She looked at the boy, trying to say something to alleviate his fears, but she stopped. The boy was asleep, the anxiety of the last few minutes temporarily forgotten. She put him in bed, tucked the covers around him. It was the only warmth she could offer him right now and this knowledge hurt her deeply.



Walter Skinner was in the living room, holding a glass of whiskey. For all his admonitions to Fox, he had barely touched his food himself and now he was on his second glass of whiskey on an empty stomach. Not the wisest of choices. But what did he know of wise choices lately? He could still choose unwisely while being drunk, couldn't he?

"You are doing a great job, you know."

The disapproving tone of his father's voice contradicted directly the meaning of the words and Skinner stiffened in anticipation of what was coming next.

"Recreating his first childhood, I mean. A distant father getting drunk..."

Skinner stiffened even more, if that was possible. There was a flash of anger in his eyes, but it disappeared quickly and left bitter resignation in its place.

"Dad, please."

Skinner Sr. was startled. This wasn't what he expected. He expected anger, indignation. But there was something deeply broken in his son's voice and his heart constricted. He moved closer to his son, but Skinner pulled away. Instead, he drained his glass and put it on the counter.

"Son..."

Skinner cut him off.

"I'd rather be alone right now."

"I'd rather you aren't."

Skinner reached for the bottle, but his father reached it first.

"This isn't the answer."

"I'm not looking for an answer."

"What are you looking for? Getting drunk to forget? Well, it seems to me that you are doing a great job forgetting without the whiskey. You are forgetting that you have a child who loves you and depends on you. You are forgetting that you have a child who trusts you, you are forgetting that you have a child you love."

Skinner felt drained, his head hurting, the alcohol buzz intensifying the dizzying notion he felt all day.

"I can't help him," he whispered.

"You don't have a choice. Not because he loves you so much, but because of how much you love him."

"I am not..." Skinner trailed off. "It's not that simple."

"It's very simple..."

Skinner's temper flared.

"You can't get it through your head, can you? Not everything is solved with love and principles and family values. This is the real world we are talking about. When they can take your child and there's nothing you can do. I almost lost him, dad. And what I did... He isn't dead, but I lost him. You can't possibly know how that is."

"I know that there is nothing I wouldn't do to get Jeremy back."

All color drained from Skinner's face. His hands started shaking and he put the glass on the counter. He didn't know which way to turn, which way to go. He was drowning, there wasn't enough air to breath. He heard his name, but he wasn't sure who was calling. He rushed out of the house, desperate for something that he knew he had lost forever.



Walter Sr. approached the woodshed. His steps were slow, his heart was heavy. For the first time in a long, long time, he wasn't sure what to do. He wondered whether Walter was right. Maybe he didn't know what he was talking about. Maybe he didn't know how to help. He pushed that thought away. He helped his son through worse and they were going to be all right again. That was his job after all.

He opened the door of the woodshed and stepped inside. Walter hadn't turned on the lights, but he could clearly see him standing in the middle of the room, his back on the door. It was a full moon tonight, the illumination from outside enough.

Skinner spoke without turning.

"I would ask you to forgive me, but I don't deserve it."

His voice was cold and detached, he had tried and found himself guilty and no one could change his mind.

"I forgave you anyway."

Skinner turned abruptly, his face a mask of fury.

"Don't."

"Don't what, son? Don't love me, don't forgive me, don't be here for me? I am sorry, this isn't your call. As a matter of fact, it isn't my call either. I couldn't be anywhere else."

Skinner trembled with suppressed emotion, his mind ready to shatter in a million pieces. Undeserved love hurt more than pain and suddenly he knew what he needed. His body relaxed, a deceptive calm coming over him.

"Let's get it over with."

Walter Sr. watched as his older son walked to the bench and started unbuttoning his jeans. Suddenly everything became crystal clear.

"This isn't what it is about, son."

"What?"

Skinner turned abruptly, all the tension back in his body.

"You can't buy absolution with pain, this is not the way it works."

"You son of a bitch!!! You can't change the rules like that, you can't."

Skinner felt a sob rising in his throat, he tried hopelessly to stop it. He didn't know when he started crying, he didn't know when he got down to his knees, all the world a twister sucking him in, and then two arms were holding him in place, shielding him, keeping him safe. And it was like 40 years never happened and he was a little boy again, his father all-powerful, the Ruler and Guardian and Savior of the world. And all of a sudden he could see, he could see the world through Fox's eyes, his Guardian turning his back on him, leaving him alone to face all the horrors.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I'm so sorry."

He thought that he should say more, but he was crying so hard and he could hardly say that much, and even if he could speak, he couldn't think. He held onto his father's arms and he heard him saying comforting words and for the first time in a long time he knew what he should do and where he should go. He knew how to fix things.

Walter Skinner Sr. held his son and he was glad. He thought that he shouldn't be happy seeing his son in so much pain, but he knew that appearances are deceptive, Walter was better and stronger than he was in days and he would be all right. A father knows these things.

Eventually, Skinner's crying subsided, his face a mess, his glasses skewed on his face. He pulled back a little.

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

"You didn't really change the rules, did you? I mean, you still are going to--"

"Yes."

Walter Skinner, Jr. could live with that. He could live with that just fine.



"Dad?"

Skinner stopped, startled. He had just opened the door to the boy's room and he thought that he was asleep, like all the other times he checked on him.

He made his way to the boy's bed.

"I thought you were sleeping."

The boy looked embarrassed and somewhat uncertain.

"I was waiting for you."

"You were?"

"Yeah, I knew you would come. You always come."

Skinner felt his throat tighten. He didn't deserve that kind of trust. Not after today, not after the last few days. He resolutely shook his head. The boy deserved better than his self-pity. He sat on the bed, wincing a little, and caressed the dark head.

"Fox?"

"Yeah?"

"You know I love you, don't you?"

The boy looked at him with huge, solemn eyes, but didn't answer right away. His expression was serious, something ancient and wise in his eyes, and Skinner felt a shiver down his spine. This was the Mulder he knew, the Mulder who could see right through him.

"I know," he replied simply.

The spell was broken, Fox's expression was child-like again. Skinner remembered what he came here for.

"But I am not always perfect and sometimes I am downright wrong. And I have no excuse for the way I behaved the last couple of days and I have no excuse for breaking my promise to you today. Do you think you can forgive me?"

"I thought you were mad at me." For the first time, Fox let his uncertainty show in his voice and Skinner's heart bled a little more. Fox hugged him tightly. "I don't like it when you're mad at me."

"Oh Fox. I'm so sorry. I wasn't mad at you. I was mad at myself. And a little confused."

"Confused? Why?" Now Fox was sitting straight up, a look of genuine curiosity on his young face.

"I wasn't sure I was a good father. I wasn't sure I could be a good father to you."

Fox didn't hasten to answer. He appeared to give the matter a lot of thought and then he answered carefully.

"Remember you told me that I can ask you anything? That whenever I'm confused I can ask you and we will try to work out the solution together?"

Skinner nodded, not quite sure where this was going. And pleased and proud of the boy's articulate expression and his vocabulary. He nodded again, to encourage Fox to continue.

"Well, I think that when you're not sure about something you should ask your dad. It can save you from a lot of trouble."

Fox was all seriousness and Skinner felt hard pressed not to laugh, out of sheer relief and joy. The boy's simple and clear logic had led him to the right solution and Skinner wondered idly how many other things the boy could instinctively understand while he himself remained blind.

"You know what? I think that you are absolutely right, kid. You're getting very smart, definitely smarter than your old man."

"Does that mean that I don't have to do what you tell me any more?"

There was a wicked gleam in Fox's eyes and Skinner felt immensely pleased.

"You're a very smart kid. What do you think?" Skinner replied.

The message was loud and clear and Fox smiled, comforted by the predictable answer.

"Maybe not."

"I thought so."

Fox stayed silent for a while, enjoying the comfort of his father's arms, enjoying what he missed so much the last few days.

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

"I think you're the best father in the world."

Skinner's emotions were getting the best of him again, since when had he gotten so sentimental? He tried to be nonchalant about it, tried to tease the boy.

"Well, you can't really know, can you? I mean, you don't know all that many fathers, definitely not all the fathers in the world."

Fox was taken aback, and he pulled back to look at his father.

"I haven't thought of it that way."

Skinner watched as the little boy started rolling the problem in his mind, trying to find a satisfying solution. So much like the adult Mulder, trying to solve an X-file, trying to put all the pieces together. Skinner watched, fascinated.

Finally, Fox seemed to reach a conclusion.

"I guess I don't really know if you're the best father in the world. But even if there is a better one, I still want to stay with you. Will that do?"

Fox's face was almost anxious, like what he said could actually change his fate.

Skinner felt his breath catch, his emotions overwhelming him once more. He hadn't realized how much he needed Fox's reassurance, how this moment was a safe place for both of them. He hugged the boy fiercely and whispered to his ear.

"It will more than do, Fox, more than do. Thank you."



Fox woke in the middle of the night, hot and sweaty in the stifling, summer air. His father was sleeping next to him and the bed was too small for both of them, but the boy didn't care. Sometimes, when he was scared or sick, he had slept in his father's bed and his dad was a little scared tonight. He tried to go back to sleep, but he knew he was forgetting something important and he couldn't rest until he remembered. Finally, it dawned on him. He looked as his father slept, resting for the first time in days, then leaned and whispered in his ear:

"I really don't think that you loved me more when I was in the hospital."

He knew that his father couldn't hear him, but that was OK. It was enough to know for both of them.

THE END