Take 2 - Part 32
by Cadillac Red
Disclaimer: The characters of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner, et al belong to 1013 Productions and I and will make no money from their use.
Spoilers: Some references to X-files mythology episodes.
Setting: Sixth Season. Many details and characters come from previous stories I've written.
Rating: PG. Discipline, no slash.
Author's note: This series was inspired by Xanthe's story "Red" and is loosely related to an unfinished work by Mangst and Xanthe called "Reset". I appreciate their generous approval to go ahead with my version of the same scenario.
Summary: Fox's punishment tour isn't having the expected effect and Skinner is torn about whether to continue down this road with the boy.
McClean, Virginia
Tuesday, October 12
8:53 p.m.
Walter Skinner was startled when his front doorbell rang as he was watching a baseball playoff game. (Which one of Fox's friends would show up at the door at this hour on a school night?) He shook his head as he went to answer it. He was beginning to question the sanity of all of their parents.
So he was take pleased and curious to find Fiona Barefoot standing on the front porch. He opened the wide wood door quickly. "Hi," he said, his voice registering the question at the tip of his tongue.
"I hope you don't mind," she replied quickly. "I was in the neighborhood and . . . I just need someone to vent to. Or a shoulder to cry on. . . ."
His face darkened with concern. "What's wrong?"
She shook her head, frustration etched in an uncharacteristic frown. "I just finished visiting the families of the other kids who went 'AWOL' yesterday. And being told, in three different ways, 'Well, they're teenagers. What did you expect?' Honestly, I just feel like hauling off and slugging someone!"
Skinner's eyes lit with a touch of amusement. "So you came to visit me?" he asked, stepping back into a mock defensive stance.
"Well, not to slug you, of course," Fiona replied with a short laugh. She exhaled forcefully and shook her head. "Where's Fox?" she asked suddenly, realizing the boy might be within earshot. As angry as she was with the other parents, she did not want to share that information with him.
Now Skinner laughed. "He's being punished, Fiona. He's been asleep for over an hour."
Fiona's face registered surprise, and growing approval of his parenting techniques. Each emotion passed over her face like shadows cast by a flock of birds flying gracefully overhead. Then she smiled appreciatively. "Well, I knew I came to the right place."
A while later they were sitting in the family room. Fiona had a cup of tea and Skinner a second cup of coffee. He'd listened to her rant about the complete lack of concern or responsibility displayed by the parents of Cat, Dylan and Delia regarding their kids' New York City escapade.
"It's as if . . . they feel no sense of connection to the actions of their children," she finally concluded. "As if they were entities all on their own and the parents had no responsibility for who they are or what they do. It's so . . . sad. As angry as I was with the kids, I came away feeling . . . sorry for them, Walter. What kind of chance do they have?"
Skinner had watched her move through her anger as she told him the story and on into empathy for the kids, and despair over the sad reality of their lives. A single tear spilled out of one of her blue eyes and the A.D. reached up and gently brushed it away with his thumb. He could see she was depressed and he wanted badly to make it better.
"It's not your fault, Fiona," he said quietly. "And you can't make them better parents. All you can do is what you already do. Try to give the kids guidance and a sense of values in the hours you have them." He caressed her cheek as he spoke and she leaned into the strong hand, taking solace from his words and his touch. "You set an example of caring, responsible adulthood. Hopefully they'll learn something from that, even if their home lives are lacking."
Fiona closed her eyes and offered a silent prayer that his words would become reality. "Well, at least Fox has someone putting the brakes on his adolescent indulgences," she said quietly. "I can't believe I'm saying it, but I think you have a better sense of how to raise a son than Dylan's two parents combined. And they've had seventeen years of practice."
"Well, I can't take much credit for that, Fi," he said, shortening her name unconsciously. "I've had a lifetime of watching my Dad in action. Something I suspect Fox has come to
regret!"
Wednesday, October 13
7:35 p.m.
Fox was finishing his homework at the counter in the kitchen, the dog curled in a ball at his feet, as Skinner cleaned up the remains of their dinner. It was Fox's birthday and the A.D. had let him choose the menu. Ribs from his favorite take-out place, corn on the cob, french fries. It had been a cholesterol nightmare but the boy had eaten heartily. And shared the ribs with Yoda as well.
They'd gotten in less than an hour earlier after a swim meet at which Fox had won all but one of his events. The boy's head was lowered over his work and the A.D. mused that, even at this tender age, Mulder had a knack for concentrated activity that blocked out all other stimuli. "Almost done with that homework?"
Fox looked up. "Yes, sir," he answered, closing the notebook. "I . . . I'm finished actually. I was just rereading--"
"Good," the A.D. said amiably. "Because I'm dying for some double-chocolate ice cream. Or maybe rum raisin. With hot fudge sauce and whipped cream. And maybe some sprinkles . . . " As he spoke, he took the items in question out of the freezer and the refrigerator and reached into the overhead cabinet for more.
Fox's face reflected his surprise and delight. "I thought-- I mean, it's after 7:30 and . . . I just thought--"
"That you're supposed to go to bed?" Skinner laughed. "Well, as tonight is your birthday, I'm making an exception. The Yankee game's on. We've got lots of ice cream and assorted toppings. And there are a whole bunch of packages addressed to you in the family room--"
"There are?" Fox answered, jumping down from the stool on which he was sitting. "Why didn't you tell me?" He raced into the other room and yelped when he spotted the packages in question. The boy wasn't with the Skinner family on his birthday and so the Skinners had all sent his presents. They'd arrived at the A.D's office and he'd been transferring them to his car trunk all week. Today, he'd moved them into the house while Fox was washing up for dinner.
Skinner loaded up two bowls of ice cream and took them into the other room. Fox had already unwrapped a bunch of CD's, music and computer games, from Skinner's brother Andy. That came with a Chicago Bulls warm-up jacket.
Next he went to the packages from Joe's family, then Jean's. Everything was on his 'list' of wants and desires. And finally, he opened the one from Skinner's parents. They'd sent a couple of books the boy had asked for and cash for him to buy something else 'you really want.' Fox's eyes were full of appreciation and excitement. He'd gotten everything he asked for and more.
"And . . . I can stay up and watch the Yankee game, too?" he asked, picking up one of the bowls and leaning back against the couch in satisfaction. "This is a great birthday!" The boy was only two days into a punishment tour. He hadn't expected a reprieve anywhere near this soon, no matter what day of the year it was.
"It's your birthday, kid," Skinner told him with a smile. "Today's an exception. Tomorrow we'll go back to reality." He reached behind the boy's head and took an envelope off the table in back of the couch. "And here's your present from me."
Fox took the envelope curiously. He opened it and began to read. The front cover of the card read "Happy Birthday Son" and the boy immediately noticed there was a personal note inside, scrawled in Skinner's heavy hand.
"Dear Fox,
I know you may not always believe this, but I am very proud of you. And very happy that you are here with me. And even though you might occasionally do something I don't like, I always like and love you. And respect you for the young man you are, and will be. No matter what happens, that will never change.
You told me once that you'd never been to the World Series so that's your birthday present, Fox. Whoever ends up playing, we're going. Because the best kid in the world deserves to see the best sports event in the world. And because there's no one in the world I'd rather see a game with. Happy birthday, son.
I love you.
Dad
The boy's eyes were shining with tears as he put the card down and looked into Skinner's eyes.
"Happy birthday, kid," the A.D. said huskily. He could see Fox was thrilled and touched and that moved him as well.
Some time later, the two of them sat watching the progress of the game, empty ice cream bowls on the coffee table in front of them. Two sets of sock-clad feet were crossed and resting on the table, long legs stretched out behind them. Fox had settled in next to the A.D., and his head was resting lightly against the man's muscled upper arm. Yoda was asleep on the other side of Fox, his head pillowed on the boy's left thigh. Fox was quiet though, and Skinner wondered if he had fallen asleep too.
He lifted his arm carefully and Fox turned his head. So Skinner wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him closer, letting the boy adjust himself so his head was leaning against his father's chest. The Skinner closed the arm around his chest and tousled his hair from behind. "Think you can make it to the end of the game?"
"Yeah! I can stay awake," Fox answered, smothering a yawn. "I was just . . . thinking is all. . . . "
"About what?"
"About how . . . . About how Mike and I are both . . . adopted. And Brian and Griffin aren't." Skinner's head swiveled toward the boy unconsciously at the sudden turn in the conversation. Fox had learned recently that the A.D's nephew Michael was adopted. Brian and Griffin were the sons of Skinner's younger brother, Andy. They were Andy's natural children. He waited to hear where Fox was going with this train of thought.
"I was trying to figure out . . . if there's a difference," he finished slowly. "You know, between me and Mike and Brian and Griffin. . . . "
Skinnner was silent a long moment before replying. "Well," he said finally, "there's only one difference. But it's a big one."
He swore he could feel Fox flinch slightly. The boy tensed up as though he were wondering what would come next. Skinner sighed dramatically.
"Two of you . . . have a relatively good chance of having a decent head of hair after the age of thirty-five," he said solemnly.
Fox was silent a split second, then he snorted in surprise. "And which two would that be? Griffin still doesn't have any hair!"
"He's five months old," Skinner answered, giving the boy a hug from behind. "That's how it goes with the Skinner men. Bald in the beginning, bald in the end. We had to find you and Mike just to assure there'd be future generations of Skinners who aren't follicly challenged!"
Thursday, October 14
6:50 p.m.
Fox was running late this morning. The game had ended after midnight and so he'd gotten far less sleep than he needed. Skinner had to go into his room to wake him three times, finally resorting to pulling the covers off the bed to get him moving. Fox had groaned but finally headed, still half asleep, into the shower.
In a break with tradition, the A.D. had give him a one day parole from his punishment tour, letting him stay up late and even skipping the bedtime spanking last night. In return, this morning, Skinner was greeted with an overtired, cranky 17 year old. There was no such thing as a good deed going unpunished, the older man mused as he went about his morning routine. He let Yoda out into the yard, something Fox normally did but this morning he'd apparently forgotten all about the dog's needs.
The man and boy had a hurried breakfast of cold cereal and fruit and then the A.D. noted the time. "We have to leave soon, Fox," he told the boy crisply. "Get the paddle and let's talk about how many whacks you get this morning."
Fox's eyes widened in horror. "I-I--- that's not fair! Yesterday was my birthday!" he said quickly.
"Yes, and I gave you a day off your punishment tour," Skinner answered. "Today's another day. How much time did you spend with your so-called friends and let's decide what that earned you in terms of punishment. Get a move on, Fox.."
The boy didn't move and Skinner shook his head. He rose and went to the wall behind the table, lifting the wood paddle Fox had crafted off the hook on which it hung.
At this, the boy stood and began to protest more vehemently. "I don't see why I can't see them! They're my friends! They l-like me. . . . "
"And I like you," the A.D. told him calmly. "But I also love you. And want the best for you. And friends who will try to get you to do things you know are wrong are not real friends. There's a price for thinking people like that are your friends. You might as well learn that now, son.. We're running late. How much time, and how many whacks?"
Fox blinked back tears of frustration, setting his jaw and refusing to answer. Skinner merely stared at him and the boy began to fidget nervously. Finally, his better judgment won out.
"Oh, I don't know," he spat out. "An hour at lunch. Study hall with Cat. . . . And I hung out with Dylan after swimming practice until you came to get me."
"And how many whacks do you think you need to convince you that was too long?"
The boy rolled his eyes, testing fate. "I don't know," he said angrily. "None?"
Skinner grimaced. "Okay. I can see you're not being very cooperative this morning. I would have said five, but now I think eight at a minimum. Bend over, Fox," he said, waving toward the kitchen counter with the paddle in his right hand.
Fox looked at him incredulously. A split second of time felt like an eternity before he backed down and stomped over to the counter top. He leaned forward and buried his face in his folded arms.
"Very good," Skinner said. "I think you should count the whacks." He swung the paddle and felt it make firm contact with the boy's jeans clad bottom.
"Ow!" Fox protested loudly.
"How many is that?" the man asked succinctly.
"One!" he said, then a second whack was delivered. "Oucchh! Two!"
Skinner issued a third.
"Ohhhh! Three! Ahhhh! Four! Owww! F-five!" The boy was gulping back tears, trying not to let on how much his butt throbbed from the paddling.
"Okay, that's what I would have given you if you'd behaved this morning, Fox," Skinner told him darkly. "Now here's the extras you earned with that attitude." He brought the paddle down on the boy's bottom smartly.
"Unhhh! S-s-six," he stammered, beginning to lose the battle as another whack met his throbbing but. "Ohhh! Pleeease! No more!" Fox cried out unintentionally.
"How many was that?" Skinner asked him patiently.
"S-six! No! Seven! That was seven!" His voice rose to the edge of panic.
"Seven is right. And here's the last one," the A.D. told him as he issued a final whack to the center of the boy's buttocks.
"OWWWW! Eight!" Fox cried, relieved that it was over even as the burning in his bottom was reaching a peak.
Skinner reached over and grabbed the boy by the shoulder, pulling him into a hug. "That was your choice you know, Fox. You are in charge of who you spend time with during the day. And how much punishment it earns you when you don't choose wisely."
He felt the boy nod into his shoulder. Skinner could see he was recovering quickly but the man knew from experience his bottom would be a little sore throughout the day. A good reminder of what he could expect if he wanted to hang out with Cat and Dylan.
"Go wash your face now," the man told him as he went to hang the paddle back up. "We need to get going."
The boy shuffled off to the bathroom off the kitchen, sniffling loudly. His body language told a story, not one the boy would be willing to put into words at this juncture.
"And Fox?" the A.D. called after him.
The young man stopped and cast a dark look over his shoulder. "Yeah?"
"Tomorrow, lose the attitude. It'll go a whole lot easier, believe me."
Saturday night
7:30 p.m.
Skinner entered Fox's room and found him sitting at the desk in his bedroom, head down as he wrote furiously. The A.D. strolled over to stand behind him and saw he was writing the punishment lines he'd been assigned earlier in the week.
"I will never drink alcohol again until I am 21.
I will never drink alcohol again until I am 21."
Finally Fox noticed Yoda had picked up his head from his perch on the bed. The boy glanced up in annoyance, throwing the pen down on the top of the desk as he spoke. "You know," he said to his father irritatedly, "with everything happening to me, how am I even supposed to know when I'm 21?"
Skinner reacted immediately to the to the tone of voice and the rebellious posture the boy displayed. "You'll be 21 when I tell you you're 21," he replied succinctly. "Bedtime."
Fox signed theatrically but refrained from rolling his eyes. He wanted the man to know he was annoyed but at the same time, he didn't have a death wish.
Skinner was growing impatient with the attitude the boy had given him in the past few days. Each day he came home from school and blithely announced he'd spent time with his 'real friends' and each morning the A.D. delivered another paddling for exactly that reason. It appeared the routine was making no impact on him.
Each evening the boy spent a while standing in the corner of the kitchen, then he collected a bedtime spanking and was sent to bed at 7:30. Some nights, tonight for example, he had a few minutes to write more of his punishment lines. Yet none of these things was having the desired effect.
Skinner found himself wavering on whether this was an effective form of punishment for Fox any longer. The evidence certainly didn't support it. But, having no other plan, it was a course of action to which he was committed.
"Let's go, Fox," he said, ushering Yoda out of the room temporarily. He'd discovered early that the dog considered himself Fox's protector and took issue with Skinner's disciplinary choices. The A.D. took a seat on the bed as the young man rose from the desk chair, sighing again.
"Fine," he said as he walked over to the man. "Whatever."
Skinner stared at him, shocked by the rebellious stance he was taking. "You know how this goes," he said pointing to the floor beside him. Fox glared at him for a split second, then dropped to his knees and let himself be guided forward over the A.D.'s long legs.
The man pulled down his flannel pajama bottoms and smacked the boy's upturned butt sharply. "Do you think any of this nonsense is gonna make things go easier for you, son?" he asked.
"I don't know. Oww!" Fox answered as a second whack hit the fleshiest part of his cheeks.
"Well, give it some thought," Skinner said, issuing two additional hard slaps. "I've got plenty of time to wait."
"Oucchh! Ohhh! I don-t-- Ohhhh!" the boy yelled as his bottom received a third whack. "No! NO! I don't think OWWW! I don't think it's gonna make it easier!"
Skinner continued to smack his backside. "Do you think I'm going to be likely to shorten your punishment because of the attitude you've been showing the last few days?"
"Ouccch! Unhhhh! No!, no, sir!"
The A.D. heard his tone of voice change markedly and he gave the boy one additional smack across the 'sit spot' before pulling his pajama bottoms back up and turning the boy upright. Fox sank to his knees but allowed himself to be embraced as he sobbed into the man's shoulder. Skinner held him tightly, rubbing soothing circles on his back for a few minutes. When the kid's tears had subsided though, he smoothly moved him into the bed and sat down.
"Son," he sighed. "I wish you'd tell me what's wrong. You haven't been yourself almost all week. What's going on?"
Fox closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "It's just-- No one else got punished! Nobody! Only me!"
Skinner nodded thoughtfully. He had known that but Fox hadn't mentioned it so neither had he. "I see. And what do you think that means?"
The boy's eyes opened in surprise, a look of confusion passing over his face. "I don't know," he said softly. "I got stuck with the strictest father in the world?"
Skinner smiled slightly. He couldn't help it. "Okay. That's one interpretation," he replied. "Probably a good one. But what do you think it means that the other kids' parents didn't punish them? After they snuck out of the hotel and went to a nightclub? And got drunk?"
Fox averted his eyes and stared at the wall. He knew what Skinner was getting at but he just didn't want to even appear to be in agreement.
"If I ignored that incident, Fox, how would it make you feel?"
"Like you think I'm old enough to make my own decisions," the boy said firmly, meeting the man's eyes directly. "And I am."
Skinner sighed, raising his hand to brush back the hair that had fallen over the boy's eyes. "I disagree," he said quietly. "And as long as you go on making bad decisions like that one, and giving me this attitude, I'm gonna keep on disagreeing. I know you don't like it. But I'm the adult here, I'm ultimately responsible for you."
He waited a few seconds but the boy just crossed his arms over his chest and went back to staring at the wall. "Okay," Skinner said finally, leaning down to kiss Fox's forehead. The boy turned his head further to the side to avoid it so Skinner stood and turned the light off on the night table. "Sleep well, Fox. I'll see you in the morning."
The boy didn't respond and the man simply left the room. He let Yoda in and watched the dog jump on the bed and curl up in his usual place at the foot of Fox's bed.
Skinner closed the door behind him tiredly. It was getting harder and harder to ignore the mood swings and rebelliousness Fox had been displaying lately. The A.D. went straight to the bar in the family room and fixed himself a whiskey neat. Then he sat down and stared at the television, failing to even notice what was on. He was pulled out of his funk by the ringing telephone a while later.
Skinner grabbed it quickly, not wanting Fox to be disturbed if he was already asleep. "Hello."
"Walter? It's Dad," his father answered jovially. "How are you and Fox?"
"Oh, Dad. I'm . . . fine. Fox is fine, too."
"You don't sound so fine," his father answered, his ears pricking up at the tone of defeat in his son's voice. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing, Dad--"
"Don't give me that, son. Is this about Fox's punishment tour?"
Skinner found himself blinking at the quick diagnosis his father had made. "Well. . . he's not exactly responding as expected. . . . I feel like I'm punishing him all the time. And it doesn't seem to make any difference--"
"How old is he now? Sixteen? Seventeen? What do you expect? You boys didn't accept punishment tours so meekly in those years either. Or rules or curfews. You fought me for a solid year over a curfew, for pity's sake!"
Skinner found himself laughing despite his depression. He had given his father a hard time in those years. Been certain he knew better than the older man about just about everything. "Well, I guess you may be right about that," he answered. "From my perspective it looked and felt a little different!"
"Exactly my point, Walter," his father concluded. "You just have a different perspective now is all. You have to stay the course when they're this age. They'll go kicking and screaming because they know everything, and you know nothing. But it passes. And the lessons sink in eventually."
"I hope you're right, Dad," Skinner replied, exhaling forcefully. "Because right now, it feels like I'm a total failure in this parenthood thing. I'm afraid that's about the only thing Fox and I agree on right now."
"Well, every parent and child go through that stage, son," Walter, Sr. said gently. "And if his behavior now is less than desirable, just think how bad it might be if he didn't have the threat of punishment hanging over his head constantly!"
Tuesday evening
9:15 p.m.
Skinner had walked into the house a moment earlier. He'd worked late, taking the opportunity to put in the kind of work day he normally had prior to having a child to worry about. Fox had a swim meet in Richmond earlier in the afternoon. Because it was such a long distance, the team was planning to stop for dinner on the trip home so they weren't expected back at the school until around 9 o'clock. And Jarrod's parents had offered to pick Fox up along with their son and drive him home.
The light on the answering machine was blinking and the A.D. hit the 'play' button as he passed on his way to the refrigerator for a bottle of iced tea. He shrugged off his suit jacket and hung it on the back of a chair, pulling his tie off and dropping it on top of the jacket as the machine beeped. Then he went to the cabinet and took out food for Yoda's dinner.
"First things first, eh boy?" he said to the animal as he placed the bowl on the kitchen floor. The dog stayed in the garage during the day. It had a doggie door and the animal could come and go around the property all day long. But he was always hungry for company and food by the time Skinner and Fox arrived home. Tonight, they were especially late.
The first message the machine played was from his sister Jean asking him to call her about more plans for Doug's wedding. The A.D.'s nephew was getting married in a few weeks and Jean was driving the entire family crazy with details and decisions about the upcoming event. Still, Skinner could hear how pleased and excited she was and he couldn't begrudge her one bit of it, now that he'd had a brief taste of parenthood himself.
The second message was from his friend, Chuck Talbot, just calling to say hello. Chuck would be in D.C. the following week and wanted to meet Skinner and Fox for dinner.
But the third message got the man's full attention immediately.
Beeep!
"Fox, it's Coach Anderson. And the rest of the team." He was interrupted as about a dozen boy's voices called out "Hi, Fox!"
"I guess you must be asleep, or at the doctor," the coach continued. "We're just pulling up to the Richmond campus but we wanted you to know we're hoping you're gonna feel better soon. This meet would look a lot easier to win if you were with us."
Again, a chorus of boys' voices cheered from the background. "Get better quick, man!" "We're gonna win anyway but it'd be easier if you were here!"
The next message was from the team again. Jarrod Kelly called to say they'd won but not by much of a margin. "Hope you're better for the Jefferson meet on Thursday! We're gonna need you for that one, man."
Skinner stared at the machine, certain that Fox had skipped out on the meet but not at all sure why or where he'd gone. At that moment the front door opened and Fox walked in. The A.D. could hear him drop his backpack and gym bag on the front steps, then the boy continued through the house to the back. He said hello, went to the refrigerator and took out an iced tea.
"How was your meet?" Skinner asked him nonchalantly.
"Oh, good," he said quietly, displaying none of his usual enthusiasm for competition. "We won."
"You did? Great! How did you do in your events?"
"Okay. Won a couple," the boy responded with no emotion. He was avoiding eye contact as he spoke, staring at the pattern in the kitchen floor tile. Then he changed the subject quickly. "I got an 'A' on my history paper. And . . . um, I have to go see a play in French next week."
"Oh, that sounds like fun. So how'd you finish in the medley?"
Fox colored slightly and began to stare at the label on the iced tea bottle. "'Bout the same as last time. I'm kind of tired. I think I should go to bed. . . ."
He stopped as the A.D. hit the 'Play' button on the answering machine. Skinner skipped the first and second messages, going right to the third. All color drained out of the boy's face as he listened to the message from Coach Anderson, then the one from Jarrod. There was a tense silence in the kitchen.
"Well? Is there anything you want to tell me, Fox?" the man asked evenly.
"N-no," Fox answered. "I. . . . I don't . . . ." He turned on his heel and ran out of the kitchen, heading up the stairs and into the bedroom.
Skinner took a deep, calming breath then walked up the stairs as well. When he reached Fox's bedroom door, he went to open it but found it locked. He pounded on the door twice. "Fox! Open this door. Right now!"
The kid didn't respond and Skinner waited another twenty seconds. Now he spoke firmly but without raising his voice a notch. "Young man, if you don't open this door, I'll break it down. And then I'm gonna give you a licking you'll still be telling your grandkids about fifty years from now!"
There was a stunned silence from the other room but in a moment he heard the lock being thrown from the inside. Skinner opened the door and went in. He came to a halt about halfway through the room, and locked eyes with Fox standing next to the bed. Skinner's hands went to his hips.
"Well, you don't look sick. Do you want to tell me about it?" he asked and his tone of voice left no room for equivocation.
In a few minutes the boy had confessed the entire story. Cat had asked him to come to her place after school since they'd had so little time to spend together while Fox was grounded. Her mother was out of town with "the Senator" and she'd have the place to herself.
Fox had told his coach he was feeling ill and begged off the meet. He and Cat had dinner at her mother's condo and Skinner shuddered to think what else they might have done. And wondered what kind of mother left her 17 year old daughter alone like that.
Then when the team came back, Dylan picked up Fox from Cat's place, and dropped him off so Skinner would think the Kelly's had driven him home. The plan would have worked, except for the messages on the answering machine. Fox's popularity with his teachers and the other kids had worked against him.
Skinner's blood pressure rose precipitously during the young man's narrative. There was a bolt of tension in his neck and he flexed his jaw reflexively to try to ease it, hoping some inspiration about the right way to handle this would strike him. It did not and he cleared his throat.
"Well. I am beginning to wonder if you've forgotten everything we ever talked about, Fox. About honesty. And responsibility. You let your team down. You let me down. . . . But more importantly, you let yourself down. I . . . I expect better from you." As he spoke his unbuckled his belt and withdrew it from his trousers.
Fox's eyes widened in alarm. "I'm-- I'm s-sorry! Please. . . "
Skinner sat on the edge of the bed. "Pants down, Fox," he said. He watched silently as the boy reluctantly complied, lowering his jeans and briefs then letting himself be pulled over the A.D.'s legs.
"I-- Please! I'm too old to be spanked! I-- Oww!"
"I don't think anyone who behaves the way you did today could say they're too old to be spanked, Fox. On the contrary, I think you've proven you can't be trusted to make responsible, adult decisions."
As he spoke, Skinner laid one burning stroke after another on the boy's bare bottom. Fox struggled and tried to pull away but Skinner got a firmer grip on his waist and proceed to whale away at his upturned butt as the boy squirmed and yelled for him to stop.
"OWWW! OUCCHHH! I'M SORRY! I'M SORRY!"
"I'm sure you are," Skinner answered. "Now, you know the drill. What is this strapping for?"
"For-- for lying to Coach Anderson! And pretending I was sick! Ohhh!"
"And?"
"And OWWW! for going to Cat's house! When I wasn't supposed to! Ahhhh! Unhhhh! And f-for lying to you about it! OUCHHHH!"
Skinner continued strapping his bottom until he was certain this lesson had hit home. Then he dropped the belt on the bed and pulled the sobbing boy into his arms. "Fox, I-- I love you. I don't know what's going on with you right now, but . . . I love you." He found himself tearing up as he held the miserable young man in his arms. His father's words about 'staying the course' rang in his ears but the reality was he didn't seem to be making one iota of progress with Fox. If anything, the kid's behavior was deteriorating.
"N-no, you don't love me," the boy said. "You h-hit me! You treat me like a ba-baby. Nobody else gets p-punished like me. N-nobody else. . . "
Skinner held him even as he fought to pull away. "Nobody else here, maybe," he said quietly. "But you know your cousin Mike does, when he deserves it. And Uncle Joe and Uncle Andy and I--"
"They're not my real uncles! And Mike's not-- he's not my real cousin! And you're not my real . . . ." His voice tailed off into a sob before he finished the thought. "Cat. . . told me. She's had lots of stepfathers and she knows it's not the same in the end . . . "
(Here we go again! The world according to Cat Halsey.) Skinner pulled him tighter into a hug and let him sob until he was spent. He was surprised and dismayed that Fox had apparently shared some of his story with this girl who seemed to be able to twist everything around in Fox's mind.
He caressed the back of the boy's head for a few moments, letting him calm down before finally rising and trying to get him moving. It was growing late and Fox looked to be falling asleep without the benefit of lying down.
The Assistant Director sent him to the bathroom to wash up and then went to the dresser to get him some pajamas. When Fox returned, he took them silently, changed, and slid into bed. Skinner sat down on the edge of the mattress and spoke to the mute young man.
"Fox," he sighed, not certain what it was he wanted to say but knowing he needed to provide some comfort and reassurance. "Are you . . . okay?"
The boy nodded slightly.
"Good. I think we need to have a long talk tomorrow night," he said quietly. "About what you did today. And why. Right now, you need sleep. But . . . I want you to think about how much I love you. And how much the whole family loves you. You are 'real family' to us, Fox. No matter what you sometimes think. Or Cat thinks."
The boy's eyes filled with tears again and he screwed his face up to keep them from coming. "I'm s-sorry for what I said, Dad," he whispered. Skinner pulled him into a hug and Fox buried his tear-stained face in the A.D.'s musculed chest. "I didn't mean it! I don't even know why I s-said that . . . "
"Shhhh. I know that," Skinner soothed him, rocking him slightly. He waited for the young man to begin to drift off to sleep before letting him settle back down. Tonight he leaned down and brushed a light kiss over the boy's hair and Fox didn't protest or even look embarassed. "I love you, Fox."
"I love you, too, Dad," he said as a yawn overtook him and his eyes closed for good.
The Skinner Home
Danville, Pennsylvania
Friday evening
The rest of the week had gone quietly. Fox and Skinner had had several talks about the incident and yet another one on the drive to Danville tonight. This time Skinner had focused on what was going on with Cat and Fox.
"I th-think I love her, Dad," the boy had told him. "She loves me. And she needs me. Her mother isn't around much because of her job. And her real father's been gone since she was a baby! And the Senator! He . . . . Well, she hates him, that's all."
Skinner's gut had twisted as he listened to the boy's words. Fox was a sweet, caring and somewhat naive kid for his current age. The boy believed Cat 'needed' him and he was responding to that need. Some of the details of her home life were worrisome but Skinner also suspected some of it might be exaggerated or even made up. Fiona had checked up on Cat more than once and found what amounted to benign neglect but nothing more.
And Skinner also suspected that Cathleen Halsey had a whole lot more sexual experience than Fox did. And she was playing him in that regard as well. Fox had told him they didn't have sex the other night but he could tell from the way the boy reacted that they'd come as close to the physical act as possible without crossing the line. And he knew Cat was the aggressor with Fox. At the age of 17, most boys would cut off an arm in exchange for sex with a girl they were attracted to the way Fox was drawn to Cat. It worried the A.D. more than he wanted to admit.
"I understand that, Fox," Skinner told him. "But . . . do you think Cat always has your best interests at heart? She seems to talk you into doing a lot of things you know you shouldn't do."
"She's just . . . lonely, Dad. Her mother stays away with the Senator a lot! And sometimes he sleeps over their house and then Cat has to stay out of the way. In her own house! 'Cause the Senator thinks she's sexier than her mother--"
"What?" Skinner's head swiveled at that remark. "Did Cat tell you he said that?"
"Well, I don't know if he said it. But she knows . . . ," he answered with the certainty only a 17 year old can have about such things. The A.D. grew silent, wondering about the fact the girl had shared this information with Fox.
They pulled into the Skinner driveway at just past 7 o'clock. Dinner was waiting, and Jean and her family were there, too. And her son Doug and his fiancee, Emma. They were getting married at the end of the month. Doug had asked both Mike and Fox to share best man duties at the wedding and Fox had to be fitted for his tuxedo this weekend. He was excited and happily anticipating the weekend and his part in the wedding. Skinner had noticed he'd grown calmer and more like his old self the more distance they drove from Washington. And Cat.
The next morning, Skinner woke Fox at 8 o'clock and the two of them had a hearty breakfast with the elder Skinners. Then the A.D. announced they were driving down to the parking lot at the lake.
"There'll be nobody there at this time of year, Dad," the boy answered quickly.
"I know. That's why the parking lot is a great place for a first driving lesson," Skinner replied, giving his father a quick wink. "That's where all of the Skinners have learned to drive."
"You're gonna let me drive?" Fox cried, jumping up. "Cool! I told you I was ready! I'll get my jacket."
He ran up the back stairs to get his Wheatley Academy warm-up jacket and Skinner explained to his parents that Fox would likely remember how to drive. "This is what makes it possible to estimate his age. His mother told m he learned the first time at driver's education in high school. The summer before he turned 18. And that knowledge should come back to him when he's the same age now. But in the meantime. . . he's anxious to drive like his friends."
"And that parking lot's a safe place to get the feel of a car, that's for sure," Walter, Sr. agreed. "Worked fine for all of you."
The lesson went well even though it was clearly a 'first time' experience for the young man. He had not regained his driving skill yet and his handling of the jeep was a humbling experience. But he was excited by it nonetheless.
"When can we do it again?" he asked Skinner as they drove back to the house. "I bet I could have driven from the lake home."
"I bet you couldn't," the A.D. told him with a smile. "There's not much traffic on these roads but the main highway's more than you're ready for right now."
"But the back road--"
"The back road's quiet but windy and there's been a lot of rain lately so it's slippery. Not to mention having a few hairpin turns that require a little more experience than you have right now. Tomorrow we'll try the parking lot and the roads by the lake again."
The rest of the day passed quickly. Fox found himself standing in the corner of the Skinner living room at dusk. He was still on a punishment tour and the family was well acquainted with the details of one of those. No one questioned it when the boy was sent there before dinner.
The A.D. had been invited to dinner at Joe and Nora's place that night. They were entertaining some old friends he hadn't seen in years. So Fox and the elder Skinners had dinner alone and the boy was sent off to bed at 7:30.
At 11:30 p.m., Skinner drove into the driveway of the house, cutting the lights as he approached the house so as not to wake his parents. He got out of the jeep and started for the house but something caught his attention. His mother's car was in the driveway but the Blazer his Dad drove was not. (Where is he at this hour? Did something happen with Fox?)
Picking up speed, he jogged up the front steps and into the house. All was quiet, which worried him even more. He bounded up the stairs to his parent's bedroom and found the door closed. He knocked quietly, then opened the door when his father answered.
The bedside light blinked on and both his parents sat up. "What's wrong, Walter?" his mother asked fearfully.
"Nothing. I just thought-- Damn!" It hit him immediately who was out with the other vehicle. He ran down the hall and opened the door to the study. As he suspected, it was empty. Walter, Sr. came down the hall in his pajamas, pulling a robe over them.
"Is Fox missing?" he asked.
"Yeah," his son replied tersely. "And so's your car."
Both men were in the jeep and searching the surrounding area within five minutes. They drove to the lake and found the parking lots empty. Finally, Skinner remembered the conversation about the back road. He knew Fox had disagreed with his instruction on that. He thought the road was so untraveled, it would be a great place to practice. They took that way back from the lake and in a few minutes, found what they were looking for.
The Blazer had slid off the side of the road and into a tree. It didn't appear to have a great deal of damage, although the front fender would need replacing. They found Fox sitting on a tree stump a short distance away. He was chilled and shaking but unhurt and had been sitting there for a couple of hours as he tried to decide what to do next.
Skinner ran up to him and pulled him into a hug. "Thank God you're all right," he said. Then anger overwhelmed his relief. "What the hell did you think you were doing?" He shook the boy by the shoulders and waited for an answer.
"I don't know! I thought I could . . . I thought it would come back to me, driving. If I just spent a little more time! I thought I could show you . . . " He hung his head fearfully. "I guess . . . I'm in big trouble, right?"
Skinner's immediate anger had spent itself and now grim determination took its place. "Yeah. You could say that," he replied firmly. "Let's get Gran's car out of that ditch."
The three of them managed to back the vehicle onto the road after some effort. Then Mr. Skinner drove the jeep and his son and Fox took a short, silent ride back to the house in the damaged Blazer.
Fox just sat in the passenger seat once they'd arrived, too scared to move. Skinner sat there with him for a few seconds, then he opened the door and got out. "Let's go, son."
The boy swallowed hard and exited the car slowly. Mrs. Skinner appeared at the kitchen door. "Thank God you're all right, Fox," she said anxiously.
"I'm sorry, Gram," the boy said, tears beginning to threaten. "I didn't mean to worry you. And I didn't mean to wreck the car, Gran. . . "
"The car's not important, Foksik," the older man told him. "It's you we were concerned about. Cars can be replaced."
"Yes, they can," the A.D. agreed with a loud sigh. "But nevertheless, this is not something I'm going to overlook. Or excuse. I think it's time Fox got acquainted with the Persuader."
The boy's head jerked up in shock and his mouth opened. He opened and closed it as if he thought he was speaking but no sound came out. He'd heard stories about the razor strop, and seen it when he visited Danville. But he'd never actually thought he'd find himself subject to its use. Skinner took him by the shoulders and turned him toward the woodshed. "Go."
"I don't w-want--"
"What you want is irrelevant right now," Skinner told him crisply.
"Pleeease, Dad," the boy whispered, tears overcoming his sense as he turned back to make his appeal.
Skinner's heart went out to him but he knew he had to override his own impulses. He reached out and caressed the boy's head. Fox had grown another couple of inches. He was only a couple of inches short of his adult height now. "It'll be all right," Skinner told him quietly. Then he physically turned him around and sent him on his way with a smack on the butt.
Fox walked toward the family woodshed on wooden legs. He cursed himself inwardly for his impulsive action of earlier in the evening. It had seemed so simple. Just slip away with the car, get a couple of hours more practice. Prove to Skinner he was an adult, and capable of driving again, on his own. After all, he even had a valid driver's license. Now, that plan looked foolhardy and ill-conceived.
He opened the door to the shed and pulled the chain that turned on the electric lamp in the center of the small structure. The Persuader hung on a hook by the doorway. It was illuminated by the light and seemed to mock him and his plan to never become personally acquainted with its use. The door behind him opened and Skinner stepped into the shed.
"Take off your jacket," he told the boy as he did the same. Then the man rolled up both of his shirt sleeves and walked over to the hook on which the strop hung. He took it down, then pulled a wood bench away from the wall, positioning it in the middle of the shed.
"Take down your pants, Fox," Skinner continued his instructions. He was trying to keep the boy moving along, seeing how frightened he appeared. This was always the worst part for Mulder, whatever his age. The waiting was nearly as bad as actual punishment for him.
Fox did as he was told, pushing his jeans and briefs down to his knees. Then he let Skinner guide him down over the bench.
"This time you really outdid yourself, Fox," his father told him as he brought the leather strop down onto the boy's buttocks. Fox nearly jumped out of his skin with the pain. It was worse than he'd expected, worse than anything his father had ever used to punish him before.
"I-- I know!" he cried, beginning to weep immediately.
"What are you being punished for?" the A.D. asked him firmly, wanting to keep him focused on the actions that had put him in this position.
"F-for sneaking out! OWWW! And for taking the car without permission! Unhhhh!"
Skinner gave him another two licks, then saw he was not continuing with the list of transgressions. "And what else?"
"I don't know! What else?" the boy asked, panic-stricken. He couldn't think of anything else he'd done wrong. "Oh, for hitting the tree!"
"No, hitting the tree was an accident," Skinner told him as he delivered another stinging lick. "But it happened because you disobeyed me, didn't it? After I told you that you weren't ready for the back road? Or to drive on your own?"
"Oucchh! I--- Yes! I disobeyed you! I'm sorry, Dad! Unhhhh! Owwwww!" Fox's butt was a bright red from the strapping and Skinner knew he'd made his point. He hadn't given Fox anything like some of the punishments he himself had received with that strop, or like Mulder had gotten as an adult. But for a first time, this was more than sufficient.
The man exhaled in relief and spoke quietly. "Okay. That's enough," he said as he went to the wall and hung the Persuader in its place. Then he returned to the boy. Fox hadn't moved, he was so stunned by the burning discomfort in his bottom. So Skinner went over and pulled him to his feet, adjusting his clothing and then taking him into the warm circle of his arms. Fox laid his head on the A.D.'s shoulder and continued to sob.
"That-- That was w-worse than anything!" the boy stammered. "I c-can't believe nobody ever threw that thing away wh-when Gran wasn't looking!"
Skinner smiled. "Well, don't think no one ever thought of it," he said gently as he led the boy out of the shed and toward the house. "But nobody ever wanted to find out what would replace it!"
End of Chapter 32