Take 2 - Part 14, Abite's Version
Disclaimer: The characters of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner,
et al belong to 1013 Productions and we 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 Cadillac Red has written. Agent Petrosa and Dr. Morrison are
Abite's creations.
Rating: PG. No discipline, no slash.
Title: Take 2 - Part 14, Abite's Version
Author: Abite. A few small parts were taken from Cadillac Red's
original version of Part 14. Thanks, Cadillac Red!
Cadillac Red'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: Someone gets the boy . . .
Crystal City, Virginia
Wednesday afternoon
"Why can't we go to the playground, Casey?" Fox whined for the umpteenth
time as he and Casey walked Yoda on the street across from the park.
Skinner had forbidden the child to play in the park today, to teach him
a lesson about wandering without telling anyone where he was going. He'd
done it at the park the week before and at the grocery store last
weekend. Then two days ago, he'd nearly given them both heart failure
when he took the Metro into the District on his own. But it was now 8
hours into that sentence and Casey swore she'd heard this question in
every variation all day long.
"We don't have to tell my Dad," Fox added. "Please?"
Casey stopped dead on the street and gave him a solemn look. She was
holding his hand and he was holding the dog's leash. The puppy pulled
for a moment, then wandered back to see why they'd stopped. Yoda sat
down and looked from one of them to the other.
"Fox, what would it be if we did that?" Casey asked him quietly.
"Smart?" He gave her his most hopeful look.
The young woman fought to keep a smile from crossing her face. He was a
fascinating child, not just because of his situation, but because of how
his mind worked. "No, Fox," she answered in a firm tone. "That would be
dishonest. And disobedient."
The boy lowered his eyes and began to chew on his lower lip. He sensed
from her words, and her cadence, that she was disappointed in his
answer. And she'd been very upset when he got lost. "I'm sorry, Casey,"
he said, his head still hanging. "I didn't mean to make you mad again."
Casey squatted down next to him and pulled him into a hug. He let
himself be enfolded in her arms, and hugged her back with the one arm
that wasn't attached to Yoda's leash.
There was an innate sweetness about the child. The AD had helped him
write Casey a letter of apology for scaring her the other day when he
wandered off. It had been meticulously copied in Fox's less than sure
hand and accompanied by a bunch of daisies they'd bought from the flower
shop down the street. But the big, wet kiss the boy delivered them with
was all she'd really needed to melt her heart.
"I'm not mad, Fox. And I wasn't mad the other day when you got lost. I
know you didn't do it on purpose. But you have to learn to listen
better. Or something could happen to you. And then I'd be very sad. And
a little mad, too!" She chuckled and gave him a squeeze. "Your Dad feels
the same way. That's why he said no park for you, until he's sure you
understand about staying by us. And that's why you have to show you get
it, right?" Beside, she thought ruefully, she would not be able to take
another day of being "the enforcer" and she planned to tell that to the
AD when he returned tonight.
The little boy nodded and they began to walk back to the apartment
building. "But I just want to play on the swings," he said. "That's not
really IN the park. It's a little on the side. . . "
"Fox! We are not having this discussion again!" Casey said, her face
betraying a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "And the swings ARE
in the park. They're just outside the gate of the playground area. You
really know how to split a hair, don't you?"
They passed through the lobby of the Crystal City high-rise a moment
later, waving to the doorman as they headed toward the open elevator.
Fox was dragging his heels as though the world had collapsed around him.
"Your grandparents should be here soon," Casey said, trying to focus him
on other things. "I bet they'll be surprised to see how well you're
reading."
Fox's age was now estimated to be somewhere between six and seven, but
he was reading at a fourth grade level, and he absorbed information like
a sponge. The team overseeing his development was hard pressed to
provide educational materials at a fast enough pace, and Casey was
finding she had to work to keep up with the child's ravenous mind. He
had also grown almost two inches in the past two weeks.
They exited on the 17th floor and Casey began digging in her bag for the
key to the apartment while Fox and Yoda wrestled on the floor beside
her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw two UPS delivery men coming
from the hall in the direction of the service elevator and she idly
wondered why a pair of them would be there.
Suddenly one of the men grabbed Fox, lifting him off his feet. The other
pulled a gun from behind his back and aimed it right at Casey's face.
"What are you--" she blurted and the man smacked her across the face.
Fox gasped audibly and began struggling against the other man, his feet
waving frantically in mid-air. The man grasped him securely around the
waist with one hand, then slammed his other hand over the boy's mouth.
"Shut up," the man with the gun ground out. "Any more noise and I'll
have to kill you. And that's not in the plan, pretty lady. Open the
door."
Casey's eyes were wide with horror and her hands were shaking. She
dropped the keys and reached down to get them. Yoda lunged for them
first, thinking it was a game and she patted him on the head as she
picked them up. "G-good boy," she said nervously.
"Hurry up!" the one holding Fox whispered angrily. He glanced toward the
elevator.
"It's the middle of the day," the first one told him. "No one other than
these two ever comes and goes around here during the work day."
Casey finally got the door open and the gunman pushed her inside and
followed her in. The other man carried the struggling child inside, his
hand clamped hard over Fox's mouth. They pushed the dog back into the
hallway and he laid down and began to whine.
"Let's hurry it up," the second guy said. "Get her tied up. And you hold
still!" he said to the boy, giving him a hard shake.
The first one pulled some rope and duct tape out of his pocket, along
with a hypodermic needle. "She needs to be sedated," he told the second
man. "Might as well do that now."
He dragged Casey through the living room towards the bedrooms. Fox began
to whimper behind the hand over his mouth, and Casey tried to reassure
him.
"Shh, Fox. It's okay. Your Gran will be here soon. Don't worr. . ." Her
words were cut off by another sharp slap across her face. Fox began to
cry in earnest. The man holding him shook him roughly.
"Shut up, brat!"
He turned towards the door.
"I'll put him in the car. Hurry up with the bitch." He carried the
quietly sobbing child from the room, closing the door behind him.
An hour later
As soon as Walter, Sr. opened the apartment door, he sensed that
something was very wrong. "Raya," he called to his wife, who was a few
steps behind him. She entered the apartment and gasped. The living room
was a mess, and there was no sign of Fox or Casey, who should have been
waiting for them.
"Fox? Casey?" Walter, Sr. called as he carefully walked through the
living room.
Rachel wandered off towards the bedrooms, thinking that maybe her
grandson and his babysitter were taking an afternoon nap. She suddenly
called out to her husband.
"Walter! Come here!"
Alarmed by his wife's distressed tone, Walter, Sr. ran into the nearest
bedroom. He found his wife staring at an unconscious Casey, tied up and
lying on the bed.
"Call 911!" Rachel told her husband, as she began trying to loosen the
knotted rope around Casey's wrists.
Three hours later
Crystal City, Virginia
7:14 p.m.
The police had finally left Skinner's apartment, after collecting as
much evidence as they thought would be useful in their search for Fox.
Several teams of FBI agents had also been briefed, having been told that
AD Skinner's nephew had been kidnapped. A task force had been assembled,
led by Special Agent Dana Scully. The agents were currently searching
the neighbourhood for any clues as to who had taken the little boy, and
where they had taken him.
Skinner now sat on the couch in the living room between his parents. His
eyes were still red-rimmed and puffy from uncharacteristic tears.
Despite all the assurances that his parents and Scully had given him,
that there was no way he could have known that Fox was in such danger,
he still blamed himself. His heart and soul felt as if they were
irreparably broken.
"I failed him," he said softly yet again, fresh tears threatening to
fall. Walter, Sr. enveloped his son in a hug and tried to comfort him.
"Volodya, the FBI and the police are doing all they can. We'll find Fox.
I just know it."
Skinner nodded automatically, barely appeased by his father's certainty.
"Honey," his mother said on the other side of him, patting his thigh,
"please go and lie down. Your father and I will wake you as soon as we
hear anything."
"I wouldn't be able to sleep. I won't sleep until Fox is back safe and
sound." His throat became too tight to allow further speech.
His father held him for another moment, but spoke firmly.
"Walter Sergei, go to bed. That's an order, and you know how I feel
about disobedience."
Skinner smiled gently despite himself, and rose from the comfort of his
father's arms. He bent towards his mother and received a gentle kiss on
his cheek.
"Your father's right, honey. We will find Fox. Try and sleep, son."
Walter nodded mutely and headed off towards the master bedroom as if
walking on wooden legs.
Johns Hopkins Medical Center
Baltimore, Maryland
Thursday morning
8:47 a.m.
They were all gathered in the waiting room, Skinner and his parents, and
Joe and Andy, who had arrived earlier that morning. Casey Barton's
mother, Dr. Claire Barton, and Dana Scully were also present. Dr. Barton
had stayed with her daughter all night. She had called Skinner two hours
earlier informing him that Casey had regained consciousness and was
anxious to help in the search for Fox. They were now all waiting for two
agents to finish questioning her so that they could go in to see her.
A few minutes later, a raven-haired agent Skinner vaguely recognised
came into the waiting room to speak to the gathered family and friends.
He sat in the seat next to Scully.
"I'm Special Agent Matt Petrosa. You met my superior, ASAC Roberts,
yesterday."
His audience nodded in agreement. Joe and Andy, having just arrived that
morning after hearing the news about Fox, nodded because their brother
and parents were nodding.
"Casey's been very helpful with descriptions of the two kidnappers,"
Petrosa continued in his New York-tinged accent. "I think her
descriptions, along with the sketch artist's drawings, will lead to
arrests sooner rather than later."
He sounded hopeful, but Skinner couldn't share his optimism. He knew the
kind of men who had kidnapped Fox. If they didn't want to be found, they
wouldn't be. He looked at Scully sitting in the seat across from him.
Her face telegraphed the same pessimism. He rose slowly and began to
walk in the direction from which Petrosa had just come. His parents,
and Joe and Andy, Scully and Dr. Barton, thanked Agent Petrosa then
followed Skinner towards Casey's room.
Crystal City, Virginia
Three days later
Sunday morning
4:07 a.m.
Skinner woke suddenly from a nightmare and thought he could still hear
Fox's screams. He was bathed in sweat despite the coolness of the room.
He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes, and climbed out of bed.
The loud knock at his apartment door startled him. He grabbed his gun
from its place on his bedside table. He'd been sleeping with it close
at hand since the kidnapping. If whoever had taken Fox decided to come
back, he'd be ready.
A second knock propelled him into action. He walked slowly and silently
towards the front door, gun drawn. He waited. When no further sound was
forthcoming, he peeped through the spyhole.
Nothing.
Frustrated, he opened the door hastily, ready to shoot anything in front
of him. Seeing no-one, he stepped forward to look down the hallway to
his left. His foot touched a soft bundle. He looked down and his heart
stopped.
Wrapped in a white blanket was the unmistakable body of Fox.
Skinner quickly holstered his gun and fell to his knees, heart pounding.
He put two fingers to the child's neck and released a harsh breath when
he felt a strong pulse. He gathered up the bundle and stepped back into
the apartment, pushing the door closed with his foot.
He lay Fox gently on the couch, and unwrapped the blanket. The
unconscious child was naked underneath but his body seemed to be
unmarked. Skinner breathed a silent prayer, before wrapping Fox in the
blanket again, and pulling him into his arms. He cried softly, tears
falling silently, as his emotions threatened to overwhelm him.
A few minutes later, he reached for the cordless phone recharging on the
coffee table, and dialed a number from memory.
"Dad, he's back."
Crystal City, Virginia
Two hours later
8:22 a.m.
Fox was awake but clung to his father as he sat in his lap, overwhelmed
by everything that had happened to him in the last three days.
Everything that he couldn't talk about. He hadn't spoken a word since
his return four hours ago, and the AD had finally asked the child's
pediatricians, the police, and the FBI agents to leave, fearing that the
little boy was in shock. One pediatrician had already examined Fox, and
even x-rayed him with a portable radiographic device. No implants had
been detected, for which the AD would eternally be grateful.
Earlier, when Fox had first awoken, Skinner had also checked his body
for the tiniest of marks. He'd thought about trying to get fingerprints,
but was dissuaded by the fact that the procedure would probably be
traumatic for the boy, and that any fingerprints would probably have
been smudged by the blanket anyway.
So the AD had bathed Fox and dressed him in his Superman pajamas. This
outfit would usually have precipitated a comparison of the relative
strengths and weaknesses of Superman and Batman, but Fox had remained
eerily quiet this time. Skinner's attempts to draw information from him
had been met with tear-filled eyes and looks of fear. In the end, the AD
had just sat on the couch holding the little boy, rubbing his back, and
telling him over and over how much he loved him, and how happy he was
that he was home.
Now Skinner could hear his father, his brothers and Scully talking
quietly in the kitchen. He assumed Scully was informing them of the 24
hour guard that had been set up around the apartment building, and at
all the entrances and exits for the 17th floor. After the kidnapping,
no-one was willing to take any chances with Fox's safety.
The AD himself had already begun to make arrangements to move into a
safehouse as soon as a suitable one could be found. In the meantime, he
was on an extended vacation. The most he would do would be to work from
home. He didn't want to shirk his responsibilities as an Assistant
Director of the FBI, but Fox was his number one priority right now.
He watched his mother walk towards him from the direction of the
bedrooms.
She crouched in front of him and addressed Fox.
"Sweetheart, I've made your bed. Will you let Grandma tuck you in?
Fox shook his head against his father's chest, and snuggled closer.
"Thanks, Mom," Skinner said, holding Fox close, and rubbing his chin
across the top of the boy's head. "But he'll be sleeping with me from
now on."
Rachel nodded in understanding. Her son was ferociously protective of
those he loved. And he didn't love anyone more than the little boy he
now held in his arms again. She rose from the floor and kissed Fox's
cheek, then kissed her son's forehead.
"Honey, I'm going to tell the others we should get going. I think you
and Fox need some time alone together. See if he'll tell you what
happened to him now that he knows he's back home and safe with his
Daddy."
Skinner nodded, and kissed Fox's forehead. Not for the first time since
the child's return, he wondered whether he would ever be able to keep
the boy safe enough.
Crystal City, Virginia
Sunday afternoon
4:39 p.m.
Both Skinner and Fox had slept in late once the family and Scully had
left. The Assistant Director had finally got out of bed around 3:00,
fearing that he wouldn't be able to sleep that night if he stayed in bed
much longer. He would have preferred to let Fox sleep some more, even if
it would mean checking on him every ten minutes. But the child had
started crying less than five minutes after Skinner had left the bed, so
he had brought him, and his rabbit, into the living room.
Skinner had spent the last hour and a half preparing a delicious late
lunch, while the still pajama-clad, barefooted child sat at the kitchen
table watching him curiously. The AD had kept up a one-sided
conversation, hoping that Fox would join in, but to no avail. So he had
busily prepared some of Fox's favourites, including homemade hamburgers
and steak fries, corn on the cob, and cherry pie and whipped cream for
dessert.
But after Fox had downed his glass of milk, and eaten a few fries, he
refused to eat any more. He still wouldn't speak, despite Skinner's
gentle encouragement, and now the AD was getting very worried.
"Honey," he tried yet again, "you need to eat some more. Daddy doesn't
know when you last ate, and you won't tell me, so I'm really worried."
Fox looked at his father from across the table. His hazel eyes filled
with tears, and he shook his head. Not wishing to distress the boy any
further, Skinner relented once again.
"Okay, okay. We'll put this lot in the refrigerator for when you get
more hungry, okay?"
Fox nodded, and slid down from his chair. He walked into the living room
and sat on the couch, picking up the TV remote control. He clicked until
he found The Cartoon Network. Yoda sat on the floor by his feet. The dog
had been subdued all afternoon, as if he sensed that something was wrong
with his best friend.
In the kitchen, Skinner was packing the barely touched meal into plastic
containers. He was wracking his brain for a way to get Fox to open up,
but no ideas were forthcoming. He supposed that he could have the child
admitted to a hospital, but his paternal instincts told him that that
was not what Fox needed right now. If there was one thing the child
needed at the moment, it was the stability of life at home with his
father with the rest of his family close by.
An idea suddenly came to him from nowhere. Or maybe the undergraduate
course he had taken in Child Psychology countless years ago was going to
prove useful for something. He finished policing the kitchen then walked
into the living room.
Fox was quietly watching cartoons, sitting Indian-style on the couch.
His left arm was wrapped around his beloved yellow rabbit, a sign that
he was feeling scared or insecure. Skinner also noticed that Fox was
sucking his right thumb. He was surprised. Fox hadn't been a
thumb-sucker before his recent ordeal. He crouched in front of the
little boy, blocking his view of the TV.
"Can I suck my thumb, too, when I get scared?" he asked with a gentle
smile.
The child nodded, smiling softly around his thumb. Skinner ruffled Fox's
hair, then stayed in the path of the TV, hoping Fox would ask him to
move. But the little boy merely shifted his position on the couch so he
could see around his father. The AD sighed and got up, determined to
put his plan into action.
He suddenly grabbed the rabbit from Fox, then went to sit down on a
chair facing the couch and waited for Fox's reaction. The child stared
at him in surprise, wondering what had just happened.
"Do you want Rabbit?" Skinner asked gently, holding up the rabbit by its
ears.
Fox nodded.
"Then you have to ask me for him."
Fox continued to suck his thumb, watching his father, cartoons
temporarily forgotten. He climbed down from the couch, and walked
towards his dad. He tried to pull the rabbit from the AD's grasp, but
Skinner lifted it higher.
"No, honey. You have to ask me."
He lowered the rabbit, and Fox tried to pull it again, and again Skinner
lifted it beyond his reach.
"No."
Skinner knew the child would eventually become angry. Like the adult
Mulder, little Fox had very low frustration tolerance for things just
out of his reach. Skinner hoped the child's frustration would trigger a
temper tantrum. Fox's (and Mulder's) tantrums tended to be rather loud
and verbose, and Skinner hoped that the same would be true now. He
lowered the rabbit again.
"Fox, you want Rabbit?"
The child nodded furiously, and tugged one of the toy's fluffy feet.
Skinner held the rabbit tightly.
"No, Fox. If you want Rabbit, you have to talk. Tell me you want Rabbit,
then you can have him."
Fox shook his head angrily, and tried to pull the rabbit by both its
feet. Skinner could tell the little boy was reaching his frustration
threshold. It broke his heart to have to do this, but gentle coaxing had
failed, and he didn't know what else to do. He clung to the toy more
tightly.
"You want Rabbit?"
The child exploded in anger.
"GIVE ME RABBIT! GIVE HIM BACK! HE'S MINE!"
When Fox realized he had spoken, he threw himself on the floor in fury.
He pounded the carpet with his fists and bare feet and screamed blue
murder.
"YOU MADE ME TALK! I DON'T WANT TO TALK! YOU MADE ME TALK!"
Yoda was watching the scene and began whimpering in fear. Skinner knelt
by the screaming child and tried to pick him up, but Fox struggled
mightily.
"Leave me alone! You made me talk! They said, 'don't talk'!"
Skinner's heart broke anew, wondering what the child had just been
through. He managed to pick up the writhing little boy and hold him
tightly. Exhaustion was rapidly overtaking him, and Skinner held him
close and rocked him.
"That's it, baby. Let it out. It's okay to be angry," he soothed.
Fox's screams eventually subsided, and he began to sob brokenly.
"Th-they hurt me, Daddy. Th-they said, 'don't talk.' You made me talk,
D-daddy."
Skinner's eyes welled with tears. It took a moment for him to be able to
answer the little boy he thought of as his son.
"It's always okay to talk, honey. Especially to me. Those men were
wrong.
You can talk. You can always talk."
"Th-they said they would k-kill me if I talked. Why didn't you come get
me, Daddy?"
Skinner couldn't reply. His throat was too tight. He held Fox closer and
continued to rock him, wishing he could erase the little boy's pain.
Once more a sense of failure overwhelmed him and the tears he had
managed to hold back began to fall freely.
Crystal City, Virginia
Two hours later
Fox had finally cried himself to sleep in his father's arms. He now lay
on the living room couch, clutching his rabbit in the crook of his left
arm, his right thumb hanging loosely from his slightly open mouth.
Skinner had covered his little body with a blanket from his own bed. The
white blanket in which Fox had been returned had been sent to the FBI
labs at Quantico for examination for trace evidence. But Skinner knew
the kidnappers would never be brought to justice, and that angered him
beyond words.
He had spent the past two hours calling his parents, brothers, and
Scully informing them that the little boy had started speaking again. He
had had to talk quietly, so as not to disturb the sleeping child. He
hadn't wanted to move Fox to his bedroom, or move himself to the
kitchen. Even though he knew he was being paranoid, he wasn't yet ready
to have Fox out of his sight for more than a few minutes at a time.
He was now deep in conversation with his sister-in-law, Nora, who hadn't
had a chance to see Fox since his return. She was suggesting that the
little boy might benefit from seeing a child psychologist.
"I don't know, Nora. I told you what it took to get him to talk to me. I
don't know what I'd have to do to get him to speak to a complete
stranger," Skinner said worriedly.
"I know, Walter. But it sounds as if he's suffering from PTSD. If he
doesn't get treatment now, it could have devastating effects when he's
an adult again."
Skinner knew his sister-in-law was right. He had been trying to prevent
Fox from experiencing any form of trauma during his second childhood. He
knew he had failed miserably in that regard, and realized that the best
he could do now was to minimize the damage.
"Maybe he should go stay with his mother."
He blurted out the words suddenly, and wasn't sure where they'd come
from.
"Walter," Nora said firmly, "I know you probably feel like the worst
parent in the world right now, but sending Fox away isn't the answer.
What would that tell him? It would make him think his disappearance was
his fault, and you're punishing him for it."
Skinner nodded, even though he knew Nora couldn't see him. She continued
anyway.
"Please think about what I said. You know I can recommend some really
good child psychologists. And don't send him away. He needs you more now
than ever. And you need him, too."
Skinner was about to reply when he heard Fox begin to whimper from the
couch.
"Thanks, Nora. I gotta go. He's waking up."
"Give him a hug from me. I'll call you tomorrow with a few names and
numbers, and I'll be down to see you both at the weekend."
They bid each other good-bye, and Skinner turned his attention to the
child waking up on the couch.
"Hey, buddy," Skinner said reaching for Fox and picking him up. "Did you
have a good nap?"
The little boy snuggled his face into his father's neck.
"I had a bad dream."
"You want to talk about it?" Skinner asked gently, rubbing the back of
the boy's head soothingly.
"I can't remember it. But I was scared," Fox said.
"Well, it's over now. You're safe. And Daddy's here, okay?"
The child sighed and nodded against the AD's neck. Skinner carried him
into the kitchen and placed him in a chair. He was starving and he hoped
the child would have more of an appetite now, too. He opened the
refrigerator and pulled out the cherry pie and whipped cream.
"I feel like something sweet. How about you, pal?"
"Can I just try a little bit?" the child asked.
Skinner was so pleased to have his son back, and talking again, he
laughed heartily.
"I know you too well, son. Once you try this, there'll be no stopping
you!"
Crystal City, Virginia
Monday morning
10:17 a.m.
Skinner was trying hard not to let his amusement show on his face. He
had spent a good twenty minutes trying to persuade Fox to take off his
Superman pajamas and get in the bath this morning, since he'd missed his
bath last night, and now the child didn't want to get out.
Skinner had jokingly tried increasingly menacing threats to various
toys, but Fox had simply giggled and explained how the other toys would
launch a counter attack. The AD's heart leapt to see the little boy
becoming more like his usual self, but now he just wanted to get him out
of the bath and dressed for the day. He decided to try his most deadly
weapon: the park.
"Well, maybe only Yoda wants to go to the park, then."
That got the boy's attention. He stood up quickly, immediately
abandoning his water toys.
"I'm done!"
"Thought you might be," the AD grinned, enveloping the child in a huge
warm towel.
Crystal City, Virginia
Monday afternoon
1:14 p.m.
Skinner watched from a nearby wooden bench as Fox swung effortlessly
onto the last monkey bar, and grinned with pride. The little boy turned
to face him with a matching grin, and the AD gave him a thumbs-up.
On the surface, Fox appeared to be recovering well. And Skinner knew how
resilient children could be. But certain behaviours gave the AD insight
into the child's inner turmoil. The little boy had begun carrying his
rabbit around with him everywhere, something he hadn't done since he was
a toddler. And his thumb-sucking worried Skinner, since he hadn't had
that habit before his kidnapping. And Fox still refused to talk about
his ordeal.
And this morning, when Skinner had mentioned that they would be visiting
Casey, Fox's former babysitter, after they had been to the park, the
child had started crying, begging his father not to take him. Having
known Fox as an adult, Skinner suspected that the little boy blamed
himself for what had happened to Casey. But when he had tried to tell
him that none of what had happened was his fault, the child would not be
pacified. In the end, the AD had said he would phone Casey instead, and
if Fox wanted to talk to her then, he could.
But none of Fox's behaviours prepared Skinner for what happened next. He
was suddenly interrupted from his musings by children's voices shouting.
He looked in the direction of the commotion, and saw Fox pummelling a
bigger child on the ground. He got up from the bench and ran over to the
crowd.
Skinner dragged Fox off the other child. Thankfully, the older boy's
pride was more injured than his body, so Skinner helped him up, then
frogmarched his son back to the bench.
"Fox! What has gotten into you?"
The little boy didn't reply, and Skinner could feel his temper rising.
"I asked you a question, young man. I expect an answer," the AD said
sternly.
"He wanted to look at Rabbit," Fox replied sullenly, clutching his toy
tightly.
Skinner was shocked. Fox abhorred violence, and the AD was surprised
that the normally friendly child would fight over something so trivial.
He shook his head.
"Fox, you know better than to fight. You could have gotten seriously
hurt."
"What do you care?! You don't care if I get hurt!" The boy yelled
suddenly, surprising both himself and Skinner. He got up and ran towards
the exit of the park, but Skinner caught up with him quickly. He grabbed
the child by the arm.
Fox started screaming.
Skinner immediately recognized that the child might be having a
flashback. He picked him up and held him close, as much to muffle his
screams as to comfort him. He was afraid someone might call the police.
"Fox, shh. You're okay. It's Daddy. Shh, Fox," he whispered close to the
child's ear to get his attention. He rubbed Fox's head and back knowing
that the soothing motion was usually able to calm the little boy.
Within a few moments, Fox quieted, and was sniffling into his father's
neck. Skinner carried him from the park, and decided to call Nora for
the numbers of those child psychologists as soon as they got home.
Crystal City, Virginia
Monday evening
6:43 p.m.
Skinner sat on the coffee table watching Fox sleep on the couch. The
child had been subdued since their return from the park. He'd eaten a
small bowl of Cheerios for lunch, then changed back into his Superman
pajamas, laid on the couch with his rabbit, and promptly fallen asleep.
When he had been deeply asleep, Skinner had gently removed the child's
thumb from his mouth. But upon returning from clearing up after lunch,
he had seen that Fox had replaced the digit, so he had decided to leave
it there.
Skinner had spent the afternoon making phone calls from the list of
child psychologists his sister-in-law, Nora, had given him. He had
settled on Dr. Linda Morrison, PhD, after the Lone Gunmen's background
check on her had come up clean. For some reason, Skinner was reluctant
to use any of the psychologists who had already seen Fox during his
second childhood. And having spoken to Morrison a few minutes ago, and
explained what little he knew about Fox's ordeal, and his current
symptoms, he was convinced that he had made the right choice. Their
appointment was set for 10:00 a.m. tomorrow morning.
Skinner had also spoken to Casey earlier in the afternoon. The young
woman was about to begin therapy herself, but reported that she was
doing much better, although she had moved back in with her parents for
the time being. She wanted to see Fox as soon as possible and Skinner
had promised he would bring the child to visit her when he was a bit
more stable.
Now Skinner faced two dilemmas: whether to wake Fox, or let the child
sleep, and run the risk of his not being able to sleep at night. And
secondly, how to tell him they were going to see Dr. Morrison tomorrow.
He decided to postpone both decisions for another few minutes while he
watched the beautiful little boy he thought of as his son sleep
peacefully.
He jumped when he heard the knock at the front door. He wasn't expecting
anyone. He quietly walked towards the door and peeped through the
spyhole. He smiled at his paranoia when he was greeted with the
half-bodies of his parents. He hurriedly opened the door.
"Mom, Dad, come in."
His mother and father hugged him, and kissed him on each cheek in the
Russian tradition, before entering the apartment.
"Where's my little Foksik?" his father asked, confused, expecting the
little boy to come bounding towards him for a hug as he usually did.
"He's asleep, Dad. He's had a rough day."
"We'll soon change that," the AD's mother replied, smiling. "We have a
few gifts for him. We just need your help bringing them up."
Crystal City, Virginia
One hour later
A few gifts had turned out to be a Hot Wheels bicycle, a Go-Cart, and a
ride-along police car, complete with flashing siren, from Fox's uncles
and his Aunt Jean. And Skinner's parents had bought the child the
complete Lego Space Exploration set. Even Scully had bought Fox a set of
children's encyclopedias.
"We're all just so relieved to have him home," Walter, Sr. had explained
unnecessarily, as the last of the gifts had been brought into the living
room.
Skinner had given his parents a huge hug in reply.
The recipient of the presents had slept through it all. Skinner and his
parents were now sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee and talking
quietly. The AD was updating them on Fox's behaviour, including his
unpredictable mood swings and the incident at the park, and Skinner's
decision to take him to a psychologist in the morning.
"Hey, sweetie," Rachel said suddenly, as the subject of their
conversation entered the kitchen rubbing his eyes. He smiled at his
grandmother briefly, then walked around to his father's chair. Skinner
picked him up and hugged him.
"Hey, honey. Aren't you going to say hello to Gran and Gram?"
Fox sat up from his snuggled position against his father's chest.
"Hi, Gran. Hi, Grandma."
"Don't we get hugs, too?" Walter, Sr. asked, in a mock-indignant tone.
Fox shook his head and settled back against his father. He was already
clutching his rabbit, and now his thumb went into his mouth as well.
Skinner shrugged at his parents, then looked down to speak to his son.
"Fox, didn't you see all your presents?"
The boy sat up on his father's lap, and removed his thumb from his
mouth.
"Those are for me?" He sounded only slightly enthusiastic.
"Of course, Foksik," his grandfather said warmly, his heart aching for
the little boy in front of him. "From me and Gram, and from Uncle Joe,
and Uncle Andy, and Aunt Jean. Oh, and the encyclopedias are from Dana,"
he continued.
Fox looked surprised, then turned to look up at his father, as if for
confirmation.
"It's true, Fox," Skinner said softly, "Just to let you know how much we
love you. And how happy we are to have you home."
The child didn't speak for a few seconds. Then he slowly climbed down
from his father's lap. He firstly went to hug his grandmother.
"Thank you, Gram," he said quietly.
"You're welcome, sweetie."
Fox then walked over to his grandfather. The older man hugged the little
boy tightly, his eyes shining with tears.
"We're so glad you're home, Foksik," he said before the child had a
chance to thank him.
"Thank you for the presents, Gran."
"You just enjoy them, okay?"
The little boy nodded, then returned to snuggle in his father's lap.
Crystal City, Virginia
10:38 p.m.
Skinner was rapidly losing his patience with Fox, and was now regretting
allowing him to sleep so long in the afternoon. And he still hadn't told
him about their appointment the next day with Dr. Morrison. His parents
had left over an hour ago and Skinner had made little progress since
then in getting Fox ready for bed.
"Fox William, get in this bathroom right now!" He called yet again,
replacing his own toothbrush in its holder.
Skinner had given up trying to persuade Fox to take a bath, since the
boy had protested that he had had one that morning, and he hadn't gotten
THAT dirty at the park. But Skinner definitely wanted the child to wash
his face and brush his teeth tonight.
He silently counted to ten, then marched into the living room to call
the child for the hundredth time.
"Fox, it's almost 11:00 o'clock. We have a busy day tomorrow. Now, come
on and wash up for bed," the AD said firmly.
"But I'm not tired," the child whined, still engrossed in the Lego space
station he was building on the living room floor. Pretty impressive,
Skinner thought.
The man sighed, and crouched down to be eye level with the little boy.
"Honey, you can finish that tomorrow, I promise," he said as gently as
his tired nerves would allow. "I know you slept a lot today, but I
didn't. Even if you're not tired, you can just lie down with me and
rest, okay?"
"But Dad," the child began again.
"I have something to tell you," Skinner interrupted.
The little boy looked up from his construction, eyes curious.
"What?"
"Wash your face and brush your teeth, then come to bed, and I'll tell
you."
"Okay!" The child said, jumping up and running out of the living room.
The AD smiled ruefully. Your curiosity is gonna get you into a whole
lotta trouble one of these days, kid, he thought, as he followed Fox
into the bathroom.
Office of Dr. Linda Morrison
Washington, DC
Tuesday morning
10:13 a.m.
Fox had taken the news that he would be seeing a 'child kologiss' better
than Skinner would have expected. Dr. Morrison turned out to be a
friendly-looking dark-chocolate-brown African American woman in her late
forties who had greeted father and son warmly in the waiting room,
setting Skinner a little more at ease.
Now though, in her office, it appeared that Fox hadn't fully understood
what was going to happen. He refused to get down from his father's lap,
and had stopped answering the doctor's questions five minutes ago. She
decided to try a different tactic.
"Fox, why don't you get those crayons over there and draw a picture for
your daddy?" Morrison asked in her velvet-smooth voice, pointing to a
large tub of Crayola crayons on a nearby table.
"And there's construction paper on that shelf, too."
Fox looked up at his father for approval. He'd been doing that a lot
lately, and Skinner didn't know whether it was a normal case of a son
wanting to please his father, or something much deeper.
"Go on, honey. I'm right here," he told the child gently.
Fox reluctantly slid down from his father's lap to the floor, and went
to retrieve the crayons and paper.
"Sometimes, children can draw what they can't express verbally. And
whatever he draws, it's a great way to get a child talking," Morrison
explained to Skinner. He nodded in understanding.
Morrison walked over to where Fox had settled on the floor with the
paper and crayons. She crouched by him, and watched him work. He didn't
even acknowledge her presence, he was so engrossed in what he was doing.
"What are you drawing, Fox?"
"Me and Daddy," Fox replied without looking up.
"He gets very focused on what he's doing," Skinner said with a soft
smile. Just like Mulder, he thought sadly. He had decided not to tell
Morrison about Fox's speeded-up aging process yet. He just hoped the boy
didn't have a sudden growth spurt while he was still in therapy.
Morrison picked up the fluffy yellow rabbit lying next to Fox. He
immediately dropped the blue crayon he was holding, and snatched back
his toy.
"That's mine. Don't touch," Fox said sternly.
Morrison frowned, then returned to her chair facing Skinner.
"Has he always been so possessive of his belongings?" she asked
curiously.
Skinner sighed.
"No. That's another thing that's changed since he came back. He used to
be very sharing. He beat up a kid in the park yesterday for trying to
look at his rabbit."
Morrison had been taking notes as Skinner spoke. Now she looked up.
"It's actually pretty unusual for an only child to be possessive. They
don't have other siblings who might take their stuff." She turned in her
chair to address Fox.
"Fox, can I take a look at your rabbit?"
"No. He's mine."
"I know he's yours, sweetie, but can I just take a look?"
"No," the child repeated petulantly, still engrossed in his drawing.
"What if I took him anyway?" Morrison asked.
Fox looked up and gave her as cold a stare as a six-year-old can give.
"I beat you up and tell my dad."
"Fox!" Skinner had been listening to the dialogue between Morrison and
the boy, but felt that he had to step in now and correct his child. But
Morrison interrupted him.
"No, Mr. Skinner. What Fox is saying tells us a lot. It suggests that
wherever he was, he was exposed to violence, and it was seen as
acceptable. And secondly, he was probably not allowed to have any
personal possessions, which is why he's so possessive of what he has
now."
"Oh," Skinner said, still uncomfortable with Fox's rudeness.
"Fox, can I see your drawing?" Morrison asked gently.
"I'm not done yet." He sounded irritated.
"Can I see it when you're done?" she persisted.
"Maybe. I'll ask my dad."
"Is that normal, doctor? His seeking my approval for everything,"
Skinner asked.
"I think it just reassures him that he's doing the right thing. He
probably thinks he did something wrong that led to his kidnapping. So he
checks out everything with you, to make sure nothing bad happens to him
again."
Seeing the worried look on Skinner's face, Morrison continued quickly.
"Mr. Skinner, I'm sure it's just a phase. Once I convince him that he
didn't do anything wrong, that there's nothing he could have done
differently to prevent it from happening, he won't think he was somehow
responsible. So he won't need to confirm everything with you so much."
The doctor paused, letting Skinner absorb the information.
"And another thing," she continued, "Don't tell him off if he seems to
be acting like a younger child. If he wants to be babied, let him."
As if to emphasize her point, Fox walked over to his father and raised
his arms, wanting to be held.
The AD nodded, picking him up. "Yeah, I'd kind of noticed that, but I
wasn't sure how to handle it."
"Well, it's a typical phase that traumatized children go through. He
might be extra clingy, or needy. Or he might start wetting the bed or
throwing temper tantrums. But don't worry, he'll get over all those
behaviours. As long as you don't make a big deal out of them."
Skinner nodded again, wondering whether Fox would ever get over his
ordeal.
The Breakfast Nook
Washington, DC
11:30 a.m.
The rest of the session had gone fairly well. Fox had eventually shown
Morrison his picture, and had smiled shyly when she had praised him for
it. He'd opened up a little bit more but he still wouldn't let her hold
his rabbit. Skinner and Morrison had discussed Fox's behaviours, and the
doctor had given the AD a guideline of what was acceptable and what
should be corrected. The child's aggression and possessiveness were on
the 'to be corrected' list. But the doctor had deemed his thumb-sucking
acceptable for now.
Morrison had also encouraged Skinner to allow Fox to sleep in his own
bed, even if the bed was in the AD's bedroom. Skinner had flat out
refused, saying that he and Fox slept in the same bed as much to
reassure himself as the boy. He secretly thought that the doctor had no
idea how cunning They could be, and that the best way he could protect
Fox at night was to have him within physical reach.
Their next appointment had been set for the same day and time the
following week. Morrison had asked Skinner to remind the child before
then that they would be talking a little bit about what had happened to
him, so that her questions wouldn't be a shock for him.
Because of Fox's generally good behaviour, he and Skinner were currently
having, or trying to have, a late breakfast at one of the Assistant
Director's favourite diners. However, he was now questioning the wisdom
of bringing Fox here, remembering what had happened in the same place a
few weeks ago.
"Fox William, if you spill one more glass of milk you're not getting any
more!" Skinner said, annoyed, as he used napkins to mop up the second
glass Fox had "accidentally" tipped. The blonde waitress, whose nametag
read Cheri, was off getting his third.
The little boy pouted, his bottom lip protruding in a way that
immediately reminded the AD of Mulder.
"I'm not hungry. I wanna go home."
"You have to eat something. How about a peanut butter and jelly
sandwich? Or some Cheerios?" Skinner asked as patiently as he could,
swallowing some more of his "Farmer's Breakfast." Fox's appetite still
wasn't what it had been before the kidnapping.
"I want Cheerios."
"You sure?"
Fox misinterpreted his father's question, thinking that he'd made a
mistake in asking for the cereal. He bit his bottom lip.
"Are Cheerios bad, Daddy?" He asked anxiously.
His father rushed to reassure him.
"No, honey, Cheerios are good. You want some?"
"No." Fox said the word as if nothing would change his mind.
Skinner sighed. "Suit yourself, kid." Fox would probably eat Cheerios
once they got home.
Cheri, the waitress, arrived with the boy's third glass of milk, and set
it carefully on the table.
"There you go, sweetheart."
Fox nodded, and Cheri turned to leave.
"What do you say, Fox?" Skinner asked, wondering whether the boy's
manners had been kidnapped, too.
"Thank you," the child mumbled around the straw in his mouth.
"You're welcome, honey." Cheri smiled at Fox and left.
"How about we go shopping after breakfast?" Skinner asked, finishing the
last of his meal.
The boy looked up from studying his rapidly draining glass.
"Can we buy toys?" He asked eagerly.
The AD laughed. "You just got some! You can't be bored with those
already."
The child smiled sheepishly. "Oh yeah." He paused. "But those are all
big toys, Dad. I need some little ones."
Skinner smiled at the child's reasoning. "Point taken. OK, if you're
very good, we can get a few little toys."
Fox grinned at his victory and returned to drinking his milk.
International Food Emporium
Washington, DC
Tuesday afternoon
2:12 p.m.
Assistant Director Walter Sergei Skinner learned an important lesson
that afternoon: an adult and a child have diametrically opposed
definitions of what constitutes "a few little toys." He had learned the
lesson the hard way, but by Fox's second tantrum in "Toys R Us" he had
learned the lesson well. Unfortunately, this had happened before they
had finished shopping for essentials, and now the child was sullen and
uncooperative. Skinner just wanted to finish their grocery shopping
without making a scene.
"Fox, we have those at home," he said, gently lifting the large packet
of cookies from the child's hands and replacing it on the shelf.
"But I want the blue box!" Fox whined, kicking his feet against the cart
he was sitting in, gearing up for his third tantrum of the day.
"Calm down. We can have cookies when we get home."
"But I want the blue box!" Fox protested, louder this time. An elderly
woman in the same aisle pushed her cart past them and gave Skinner a
sympathetic smile.
The AD was using all of his will not to lose his temper with Fox. He
knew that the therapy session had probably been hard on the boy, and
that he probably needed an afternoon nap to help him regroup. So Skinner
was willing to overlook his son's currently bratty behaviour. To a
point.
"If you don't calm down, you won't get anything."
"I don't care!" the child yelled. "I want the blue box!"
Skinner suddenly remembered his mother's tip that distracting a child
can work wonders for a parent's sanity. He dug into his jacket's inner
left breast pocket, hoping that he hadn't removed his old personal
organizer.
"Fox, look. Did I ever show you this before?" Skinner said, retrieving
the sanity-saving item.
"Huh?" the child said, mid-yell. He reached for what his father was
holding.
"You have to promise to be quiet first," Skinner said firmly.
"I promise," Fox said innocently, as if the last five minutes had never
happened.
Skinner silently thanked God and his mother, and gave Fox the organizer.
Fox managed to keep his promise until they were a few miles from Crystal
City.
"Dad, can we go to McDonald's?" the child asked suddenly, finally losing
interest in the pocket organizer.
Skinner answered the child in the back seat without taking his eyes off
the road. "Honey, we're almost home. I can make you burgers. Or we could
order a pizza. How about that?"
The child was not appeased. "But I want McDonald's," he whined.
"Fox, please," Skinner sighed. "We can have McDonald's tomorrow."
"But I might be gone by tomorrow." The child sounded worried.
It took a moment for the AD to understand what Fox meant. When he did,
he was horrified.
"You mean, you think you might be kidnapped again by tomorrow?"
"Yeah," the little boy replied quietly.
"No, honey. Nobody is ever going to kidnap you again, I promise,"
Skinner reassured his son.
At that moment, he hated Them so intensely it hurt his chest. And he
hated the fact that he couldn't guarantee that no-one would try to take
Fox again. He determined to move the boy into the safehouse as soon as
was humanly possible.
Crystal City, Virginia
Tuesday evening
8:44 p.m.
The rest of the day had passed peacefully. Fox's appetite seemed to be
returning gradually, and he'd eaten more than half his share of the
pizza they had ordered. He'd then fallen asleep while watching cartoons.
The child had woken up in a much better mood, and they had taken his
Go-Cart to the park. Fox had had a great time riding along the paths
while the AD jogged along a few feet behind him in his running gear.
Every now and then, Fox would stop and look back to ensure that his
father was still there. Skinner would pretend to run to catch up with
him, and Fox would speed off again, giggling.
Skinner had given the little boy a bath around 7:30 and now the two of
them were sitting in Skinner's bed, the man resting against the
headboard, the child between his father's legs, his back against the
AD's muscular chest. Skinner was planning on going into the office early
the next morning with Fox, to bring home some files and reports, so he
wanted both of them to get an early night.
He was in the middle of reading the second chapter of a Harry Potter
book when he realized that Fox hadn't spoken for the last few minutes.
Very unusual where Harry Potter was concerned. He angled his neck down
to see the child's face, and saw that he'd fallen asleep. Skinner smiled
to himself, and closed the hardcover book quietly, placing it and his
glasses on the bedside table. He turned off the lamp, then lay down,
pulling the sleeping boy with him, until they were both settled
comfortably.
2:17 a.m.
"NOOO! STOP! DADDEEEE!"
At first, Skinner thought the screams were part of his own dream. He
slowly opened his eyes, and at the same time became aware of the little
body squirming and screaming beside him. He immediately sat up and
turned on the bedside lamp.
"Fox? Honey, wake up," the AD said, shaking the little boy's shoulder
gently.
The child stilled but his screaming intensified. Not knowing what else
to do, Skinner picked him up, and pulled him into an embrace. He noticed
that the child had wet himself, something he hadn't done for many weeks.
Skinner sighed, but held Fox closer, rocking him gently.
Gradually, the boy quieted, and his eyes fluttered open.
"D-Daddy? They w-were h-hurting me, D-Daddy." His voice came out in
broken sobs.
Skinner desperately wanted the child to talk about his ordeal, so
despite Fox's distress, he grabbed the opening the boy had given him.
"Who, honey? Who was hurting you?" he asked gently, still rocking the
child in his lap.
"Th-there were lots of men. I-I was l-lying on a table. It was cold,
Daddy."
The AD tried to keep his emotions in check. He could barely bring
himself to ask his next question.
"What were the men doing to you?" He asked, his throat getting tighter.
Fox was still sleepy, so he wasn't as guarded about what had happened to
him as he usually was.
"I was t-tied to the table. They put drops in my eyes. And they took
bits of my skin. And white stuff. And they cut my mouth inside. It
really, really hurt. But then they made all the owwies go away like
magic." The child sniffed miserably. "Why didn't you come get me?"
Skinner remembered when Fox had asked him that same question two days
earlier, when he'd just started speaking again. He still didn't have a
good enough answer for him.
"I didn't know where you were, Fox. We looked and looked, but we
couldn't find you anywhere," the AD said sadly.
"I was in the white room," the child explained, as if that told the AD
everything.
"We didn't know where it was. I'm so sorry."
Skinner held Fox tighter, hoping to communicate just how sorry he was
through his embrace. The boy looked up at his father, the lashes of his
hazel eyes still wet with tears, but his gaze full of trust.
"I know you tried, Daddy."
Skinner could barely speak, but he had something very important to say.
"You know how much I love you, don't you?"
The little boy nodded against his father's chest.
"You know I'd never lie to you?"
Fox nodded again, a yawn overtaking him.
"So when I say that what happened to you wasn't your fault, you'll
believe me, right?"
Fox opened his drooping eyes a little wider, and looked up at his dad.
"I think I did something bad. That's why those men hurt me and Casey."
The little boy remembered that he'd wanted to trick his dad about going
to the park. He didn't think that was so bad, but maybe that was why
he'd been kidnapped. But he didn't want to admit his attempted deception
to his father. So he kept quiet.
"No, Fox. It's those men who are bad. Very, very bad," Skinner tried to
reassure him.
The child continued to stare at his father.
"It wasn't your fault, Fox. Okay?"
"I'm wet, Dad. I want to take a shower."
Skinner realized the child had deliberately changed the subject. Without
agreeing that the kidnapping wasn't his fault. The AD sighed but decided
to leave the therapy to Dr. Morrison. He also noticed that Fox didn't
seem embarrassed that he'd wet the bed. He chose not to say anything,
remembering what Morrison had said about Fox exhibiting the behaviours
of a younger child. He kissed his son's forehead.
"Okay, pal. Let's take a quick shower, then we both need to go back to
sleep, okay?"
The child nodded, and stuck his thumb in his mouth, as Skinner picked
him up and headed towards the bathroom.
The Talbot House
Nantucket, Massachusetts
Monday evening
7:37 p.m.
The rest of the week had been fairly quiet. Fox seemed to realize that
he wasn't in any immediate danger, and his behaviour was gradually
improving. He would still throw the odd tantrum when he didn't get his
own way, but Skinner tried to be patient with him. He was also still
very clingy, but again the AD allowed this, remembering what the child
psychologist had told him.
The safehouse was taking longer to prepare than Skinner had anticipated.
The security measures needed to be practically impenetrable and the AD
accepted the delay. In the meantime, he and Fox had moved into his
friend, Chuck Talbot's, house while Chuck was staying at Skinner's house
in Breckenridge. He and Fox had moved in over the weekend and his
parents had arrived earlier that morning.
The feeling of security that came with being away from the city and
having his parents nearby allowed Skinner to relax enough to let Fox out
of his sight for more than a few minutes at a time. The little boy was
now out with his grandfather driving along the bay in his Go-Cart, and
Skinner had used the time to get the rest of their belongings unpacked.
He'd finished a few minutes earlier and was relaxing in the evening
breeze with his mother.
"This was a great idea, Walter," Rachel Skinner told him as they sat on
the deck behind Chuck Talbot's house, enjoying a glass of iced tea. From
where they were, they had a wonderful view of the bay and the sun was
just beginning to set over a calm, blue ocean.
"Chuck's staying at my place in Breckenridge," her son replied, idly
scratching Yoda's head as the dog slept by his feet. "There's too much
activity here over the summer months for him to get any writing done.
And he promised his publisher he'd deliver the final draft of his book
by September. So he offered to trade places. I planned to come up for a
couple of weeks at the end of August. We'll just make it a longer stay
now, that's all."
Skinner's parents had offered to stay for as long as they were needed.
And he'd already contacted Joe and Andy and Jean, and asked them up for
as long as they could get away for. It was a big house and the Skinner
family would provide a lot of protection for Fox just by their presence.
He'd also arranged for guards to be discreetly posted at both ends of
the property, 24 hours a day. And he'd briefed the local police on the
fact that someone had recently kidnapped the child. They offered a
special patrol stop on an hourly basis, to check in with the guards and
look for any unusual activity.
"Are Joe and Nora still planning to get here by Wednesday?" Rachel
asked, taking another sip of her cold drink.
"Actually, Joe'll be here by Wednesday evening, but Nora will be
arriving with the kids at the weekend. Amanda has a cheer-leading
contest on Thursday, so she has to stay for that."
Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of wheels being pedalled
furiously, and Walter, Sr.'s deep, throaty laugh.
"Slow down, Foksik!" the elderly man called, "I'm an old man!"
Skinner and his mother heard Fox's giggles as the child approached. The
sound did the AD's heart a world of good.
"Whoa, Fox!" Skinner said, as the child drove towards them on the deck.
"You're gonna knock us over!"
"Hi, Daddy! Hi, Gram!" Fox shouted, bringing the Go-Cart to a stop, and
jumping out. He quickly patted Yoda's head, then jumped into his
father's lap.
"Did you have a good time with Gran?" Skinner asked, already knowing the
answer.
"Uh-huh," the child said happily, "I won the race!"
"And almost gave me a heart attack in the process," Walter, Sr. said,
coming onto the deck, slightly out of breath.
"I guess you need more exercise then, Dad," Skinner teased, playfully.
"Oh, I think he's VERY fit," Rachel said, smiling, giving her husband a
wink.
"Mom!" Skinner said in mock-horror, putting his hands over Fox's ears,
"There's a child present!"
Fox made that fact known by announcing that he was starving, which was
the cue for the family to go inside for supper.
The Talbot House
Nantucket, Massachusetts
Monday evening
10:12 p.m.
Dinner was delicious and filling, as usual, and Fox ate most of his
share. Of course, he still avoided anything that might be a vegetable.
He'd fallen asleep in his father's lap watching television after his
bath, and had been put to bed around 9:00. Fox had his own room in the
large house, next to Skinner's room. With his parents already there, and
the rest of the family arriving soon, Skinner felt Fox would be safe
enough sleeping by himself.
He'd been telling the boy since they'd arrived in Nantucket on Saturday
that they'd be flying back to DC on Tuesday morning to see Dr. Morrison
again. The AD had explained that Fox would have to try to tell the
doctor what had happened to him, and the child had seemed to take the
news well each time. But tonight when Skinner had reminded him again
during his bath, the boy had seemed afraid, as if he realized that
Tuesday was now only a day away.
The AD was explaining this to his parents in the family room, while they
drank homemade lemonade and enjoyed the quiet evening.
"I just hope I'm doing the right thing. I mean, Nora says if Fox doesn't
deal with the kidnapping now, it could haunt him for the rest of his
life," Skinner said, trying not to think of the trauma the man Mulder
still endured after the loss of Samantha.
"I know it's hard, son, but I think Nora's right. Children are so
adaptable. It makes sense that Fox deals with what happened to him now
rather than later," his father said with understanding.
Skinner sighed and nodded at his father's words.
"Has he told you anything?" Rachel asked her son.
"Yeah, a little. He had a nightmare after our first visit to Dr.
Morrison. I think he only told me because he was still half-asleep. He
usually won't tell me anything."
"Do you think he's trying to protect whoever did this?" Walter, Sr.
asked, trying to clamp down on his anger at the faceless men who had
kidnapped his grandson.
"I don't think so. I think it's more a case of it being too painful to
talk about."
"Poor little thing," Mrs. Skinner said sadly. "But Walter, I agree with
your dad and Nora. The sooner Fox deals with this and puts it behind
him, the better off he'll be in the long run."
"I hope so," Skinner said, rising. "I'd better get to bed. We have an
early flight tomorrow. Night, Mom. Night, Dad."
"Night, son," Skinner's parents said almost in unison.
3:22 a.m.
Skinner felt small hands tugging insistently on his bare arm, and opened
his eyes a crack in the almost darkness.
"Daddy? Daddy, wake up. I'm scared, Daddy."
The AD reached for the overhead lamp switch and squinted when the room
was suddenly illuminated. Fox was standing by the side of the bed, hair
tousled and face flushed. And a telltale wet patch down his front.
"Fox, what is it?" Skinner asked gently, sitting up, and pulling his son
onto the bed with him.
"I'm scared, Daddy. I don't want to see the child kologiss tomorrow."
Skinner noticed that the boy was trembling, and his heart ached for him.
"It'll be okay, honey. I'll be there," he reassured the boy, holding him
close and stroking his back.
Fox put his thumb in his mouth, and his eyes brimmed with tears.
"But I'm scared, Dad," he mumbled.
"I know, sweetie, but I know you're brave, too," Skinner said, gently
brushing the tears from Fox's cheeks. "You don't have to tell Dr.
Morrison everything. Just a little bit, to help her understand."
"I want to sleep with you," Fox said miserably, still with his thumb in
his mouth.
Skinner sighed. This was supposed to have been his first night of having
a bed to himself again.
"Okay," he said, undoing the child's pajama buttons with his free hand,
"but let's get you washed up first."
Flight AA31
Nantucket to Washington, DC
7:04 a.m.
Skinner yawned for the fifth time in as many minutes, and tried to
stretch his long legs in the cramped space in front of his seat. He
looked down at the little boy sleeping peacefully in his lap, thumb
firmly in his mouth, the other hand clutching Skinner's shirt. The AD
smiled and kissed the child's forehead. Fox hadn't been able to go back
to sleep after his impromptu visit to Skinner's bedroom the previous
night, and the AD had spent the rest of the night reading him stories.
Now though, Fox was catching up on his missed slumber, while Skinner
could only look forward to a long, tiring day. Ah, the joys of
parenthood, he thought, and once again tried to get comfortable without
waking the sleeping child.
Office of Dr. Linda Morrison
Washington, DC
Tuesday morning
10:03 a.m.
Dr. Morisson waited patiently as Skinner and Fox got settled in her
tastefully decorated office. She noticed that the boy still chose to sit
in his father's lap.
"Fox, why don't you sit in the other chair? Give your dad's legs a
break, huh?"
"I don't mind," Skinner replied, smiling.
"But maybe your legs do." Morrison gave Skinner a surreptitious wink,
and the AD remained quiet.
"Fox, how about it?" Morrison persisted.
"I want to sit with my dad," Fox said quietly, but with an edge of
irritation.
"Your dad's legs might need a rest. Remember you went on an airplane? I
bet your dad let you sit on his lap. How about you give his legs a rest
and come sit with me?"
"No," Fox said petulantly. He stuck his thumb in his mouth and snuggled
against his father's chest.
"What's the matter?" Morrison asked, picking up on the child's tone.
"I don't want to talk to you." Fox mumbled around his thumb. His
annoyance and anxiety were becoming increasingly evident.
Morrison continued anyway.
"Do you remember what we're going to talk about today?" She asked
kindly.
Instead of answering her, the child removed the thumb from his mouth and
looked up at his father, his huge hazel eyes pleading.
"Dad, can we go home? I don't want to talk to the child kologiss."
Skinner looked at Morrison for guidance, but she addressed Fox.
"No, sweetie. You can't go home just yet. Remember what we're going to
talk about?"
Fox laid his head back against his father's chest.
"I don't want to talk about it," he said with finality.
"When you talk about it, you can go home," Morrison coaxed, trying to
persuade the child.
She paused, an idea forming.
"Mr. Skinner, would you mind leaving Fox and I alone together for the
rest of the session? I don't think he'll talk while you're here."
"No! Stay with me, Dad! You said!" Fox shouted in panic, sitting up in
his father's lap.
Skinner looked at the doctor. "He's right. I said I'd stay with him."
"But if you stay, he won't talk."
"I will talk! I promise!" Fox pleaded, finally looking at the doctor.
Morrison's plan had worked, but she still felt horribly guilty. But she
knew Fox needed to talk if he wanted to put his ordeal behind him.
"Okay, sweetheart," she soothed. "Good boy. Sit down next to your dad,
and let's start."
The child reluctantly obeyed, then looked at the doctor expectantly.
Route 169
En Route to the FBI Hoover Building
Washington, DC
Tuesday afternoon
12:26 p.m.
Skinner pondered the previous two hours as he drove towards his office,
glancing at the sleeping child in the back seat through his rearview
mirror. Fox was emotionally overloaded and exhausted and, like the adult
Mulder, right now sleep was the best thing for him.
The child's therapy session had been very traumatic for all present.
Through careful questions and gentle probing, Dr. Morrison had gradually
elicited a harrowing account of the tests and procedures the little boy
had endured. Abandoning her professional distance, the psychologist had
joined in Skinner's tears while listening to Fox speak.
Skinner had noticed that once the little boy started talking, and
realized that his captors' threats to kill him did not materialize, his
account had become increasingly detailed and elaborate. It seemed that
Mulder's eidetic recall ability had survived intact, as little Fox
described what each doctor looked like, how he'd witnessed fights as
adult abductees tried to escape, and how he and other children had
usually stayed in one huge white-walled room between testing.
The only thing Fox couldn't remember was the most important information
of all: where the facility was.
The AD suddenly realized that his cheeks were wet, and he angrily wiped
away his fresh tears. He continued the drive into work, determined now
more than ever to be the best father any child, or adult, could ever
want.
Office of Walter S. Skinner, Assistant Director
Hoover Building
Washington, DC
Tuesday afternoon
2:39 p.m.
Skinner finished packing his briefcase with the reports he wanted to
take back to Nantucket with him. He mentally reviewed that he had given
Kimberly, his secretary, all the reports he had brought with him, to
submit to the appropriate agents and departments. Just then, he heard a
knock on his door, and Kimberly herself entered his inner sanctum.
"Is the little guy awake yet?"
"No, and we're leaving in a few minutes. Sorry you didn't get to take
him to lunch," the AD said, setting the safe locks on his briefcase.
"That's a shame. I don't think he'll find Chuck E. Cheez's appealing the
next time I see him, the rate he's growing."
Skinner smiled his first real smile that day. "Don't worry, Kim. Even
adult Mulder likes McDonald's. You can always take him there for lunch."
"Yeah, if I want to face the wrath of Agent Scully!"
The AD laughed quietly, bending to pick up the little boy sleeping on
the leather couch.
"Come on, big guy. Time to go."
Fox stirred but didn't awaken. Kim handed Skinner his briefcase.
"Well, have a safe trip, sir," she said, turning to leave. "Give him a
hug and a kiss from me when he wakes up."
"Thanks, Kimberly. See you next week."
The Talbot House
Nantucket, Massachusetts
Tuesday evening
7:22 p.m.
Skinner and his parents sat on lawn chairs on the damp sand of the bay,
each holding a glass of iced tea, watching Fox and Yoda play catch with
a soft yellow ball. He looked happy and energetic, and bore little
resemblance to the traumatized little boy of earlier that same day.
Skinner had told his parents about Fox's therapy session, and they were
both amazed that the child had recovered so quickly.
"Wow," Walter, Sr. said, taking a long sip of his cool drink. "Based on
what I've just heard, that psychologist must be a miracle worker."
"Well, she did say Fox would feel better once he'd talked through his
ordeal," Skinner said.
He stopped, and looked down at his lap.
"What is it, Volodya?" His mother asked, concerned.
"Can you believe Fox thought he was kidnapped because he wanted to trick
me?"
"Trick you? What do you mean?" Walter, Sr. was genuinely puzzled.
Skinner related what Fox had said about his plan to go to the park with
Casey without telling his dad because he was forbidden and knew he would
get in trouble.
Walter, Sr. shook his head. "And he thought that's why he was
kidnapped?"
Skinner nodded sadly. "I'm worried that I scare him. He's so scared of
me that he thinks a little misdemeanour would result in such harsh
punishment."
Now both his parents laughed.
"What's so funny?" Skinner was surprised, and slightly annoyed, at his
parents' lack of sympathy.
"You? Scare Fox?" His father chuckled.
"Volodya," his mother said, still smiling, "that child is definitely not
scared of you. Look at how relaxed he is with you. And how much he gets
away with!"
She continued more seriously. "Have you forgotten Mulder's penchant for
blaming himself when things go wrong? For finding a way to make bad
things his fault?"
"I guess so, but..." Skinner reasoned, still unconvinced.
"There's no 'guess so' about it," his mother continued. "If it hadn't
been him tricking you, it would have been something else. What did Dr.
Morrison say?"
Now even Skinner had to smile.
"She said Fox has a strong tendency to blame himself, and she wondered
where he gets it from since it doesn't seem to come from me. But she
made him understand how the kidnapping wasn't his fault, though."
"Good. Does he have another session next week?" Mrs. Skinner asked.
"No, two weeks from today. Like a follow-up. Dr. Morrison said I should
monitor his behaviour. His bedwetting, tantrums, how aggressive he gets,
even his thumb-sucking. She reckons he'll improve in all these areas,
but she wants to see him in two weeks to see how he's doing."
"Sounds like a plan," Walter, Sr. agreed, nodding in understanding. He
paused to think.
"But what if he has a growth spurt before his next session?"
"I thought of that," Skinner said, smiling. "I told Dr. Morrison that if
for some reason we can't make our appointment, I'd call her at that
time, and give her an update report over the phone."
"Smart thinking, son. Let's go eat," Rachel Skinner said, rising to go
serve dinner.
"Well, I'm not an Assistant Director of the world's most elite law
enforcement agency for nothing," Skinner said, grinning and getting up,
too. He turned to call the little boy he thought of as his own son.
"Come on, Fox, we're going back to the house for dinner."
"Aw, Daaad. Five more minutes, pleeeease?"
"What were you saying about Fox being scared of you?" Walter, Sr. asked,
walking past his son towards the house.
Two weeks later
Highway 19
Nantucket, Massachusetts
Tuesday evening
5:29 p.m.
Skinner drove along the fairly busy highway, enjoying the warm breeze
through the open window. He and Fox had spent a busy but enjoyable day
shopping for summer clothes in DC after the child's therapy session, and
the AD had been relieved that the little boy hadn't thrown a single
temper tantrum all day.
The two weeks since Fox's previous session with Dr. Morrison had been
filled with family picnics and outings, children's laughter and
bickering, parents' joy and exasperation, and all the other pleasures of
life in a loving, extended family.
Fox's behaviour had steadily improved, and though he still needed to
have his father within visible distance much of the time, his
bedwetting, temper tantrums, aggression and possessiveness had all
returned to within normal limits for an almost seven year old child,
according to Dr. Morrison.
And Fox now only sucked his thumb when he was deeply asleep. Even Rabbit
had been relegated to the middle shelf of his bedroom closet.
Skinner glanced at the little boy buckled up in the back seat of the
car, sleeping peacefully, head tilted slightly to the right, right thumb
hanging loosely from his mouth, the summer breeze gently stirring his
silky, brown hair. Skinner smiled softly, glad that Fox had probably
had his last session with Dr. Morrison. The child psychologist had been
very pleased with the boy's progress, and had asked Skinner to continue
to monitor him, but only set up another appointment if any unexpected or
unusual problems arose.
As Skinner took the exit leading to Chuck Talbot's house, he didn't
think that any would. His job now was to get little Fox back on the road
to adulthood.
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