Take 2 - Part 33
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 first real date with Cat, and a trip to the World Series.
McLean, Virginia
6:55 p.m. on Friday night
Fox stood in front of the mirror, checking himself out one more time. He had finally been released from his punishment tour as of the previous night. Today at school, he'd asked Cat if she wanted to go out tonight and she agreed enthusiastically. Now he was checking his reflection for the third time, making sure every hair was in place.
He'd shaved again, even though his beard was not yet thick enough to warrant a second shave in one day. In fact, it didn't warrant a shave even once a day but that didn't stop him from doing it anyway.
He ran down the stairs to the first floor and stopped to take his leather jacket out of the hall closet. It had belonged to Mulder when he was grown and while the young man didn't yet fill it out completely, he'd convinced his Dad to let him bring it to the McLean house from the apartment the last time they visited. Fox put it on and stopped at a mirror hanging in the foyer to make sure it looked the way he'd hoped.
Then he made his way into the family room. Skinner was sitting on the sofa, trying to look calm and unconcerned. This would be the first night that Fox was allowed to take the jeep out alone. The boy's driving skills had come back quickly in the past week. From an awkward first couple of lessons, he'd quickly regained his previously learned knowledge of driving with little additional practice. Which Skinner knew indicated he was nearing the age of 18, when he'd learned the first time.
"Can I have the keys, Dad?" Fox asked nonchalantly. It was nothing but a facade yet it was important to him to maintain the appearance of ease with this milestone. He didn't want Cat to know how excited he was and he found he didn't want Skinner to know either.
The Assistant Director pulled a set of keys of the pocket of his pants and held them out. But he refused to relinquish them when Fox reached over and the two men were suddenly linked by the keychain on which they both had a claim. "What time are you going to be home?" Skinner asked him very deliberately.
Fox sighed and made a face. "Twelve o'clock," he repeated dutifully. "Same as the last three times you asked."
"Very good. And what else are you supposed to remember?"
"Call you if my plans change," the young man said as though repeating a mantra.
"And?"
"And no drinking," Fox finished, betraying only the slightest amount of impatience.
"That's important, kid," Skinner said firmly. "If I catch you drinking and driving, you won't sit down again until you're 45!"
"Forty-five!?" the boy repeated. "I'll only be 39 when I'm completely grown again . . . !"
"Exactly," the A.D. responded before releasing the keys into Fox's hands. "Don't say I didn't warn you."
Fox grimaced as the message sank in but he refrained from saying anything that might get him in trouble. This night was too important.
"And remember, Fox," Skinner added with a smile. "We leave for Atlanta at 8:30 in the morning. You don't want to be so tired you won't enjoy your first World Series game."
This brought a real smile to the boy's face, one that lit his eyes from within and erased all trace of consternation from his expression. "No, sir," he answered as he pocketed the keys and reached down to give Yoda a pat on the head before leaving. "I'll be home by midnight."
Skinner watched him go with mixed feelings. It had been a long punishment tour, almost three weeks before the A.D. relented and released the boy from restriction. And Fox was approaching adulthood now. It was time to give him more freedom.
But the fear of what could happen, if he gave too much rope, too much leeway too soon sat on his chest and made him work for each new breath. The man surreptitiously watched the boy back the jeep down the driveway from a front window and wondered if this is how it was for all parents. Or did the special facts of Fox's second childhood made this harder somehow. He'd spoken to his brother Joe earlier in the week and heard it was this way with all kids and parents. But he couldn't help but wonder all the same.
The doorbell rang a little while later and he went to answer it with a smile. Fiona was coming over and they planned to light a fire, have dinner and spend a quiet evening together. It had been weeks since they'd tried to pull off a real date. Now that Fox was close to grown up, maybe they'd have an easier time of it.
"Hi," he said as he opened the door. She was carrying a sack of groceries and she lifted onto her toes and gave him a quick kiss. He took the bag out of her arms and closed the door.
"Hi to you, too," she said with a warm laugh. "I brought everything we need for my special angel hair pasta and a salad. And if you're real good, I can pull off an apple tart with the goodies in that bag, too!"
A smile spread across his broad face and set his eyes to twinkling. "Oh, I can be very, very good," he answered softly.
The Cineplex Odeon Theater
Alexandria Mall
9:45 p.m.
The main hall of the mall was crowded with people shopping and two long lines of people waiting to get into the movie theater made the scene even more chaotic. Cat Halsey and Fox were standing in the line along with Dylan Kane and Delia Westerley. They'd originally planned to see the 8 o'clock showing but Cat hadn't been ready to go when Fox arrived at her place to pick her up.
Then Dylan and Delia arrived with a six-pack of beer and that had delayed them even longer. And although Fox demurred, the others finished off the beers, then had him stop at the 7-11 for more on the way over to the mall.
So now they were slated to see the 10 o'clock show. Which didn't get out until ten minutes after Fox was supposed to be home. His stomach clenched at the certain doom he faced when he did finally get there. But he was not willing to tell Cat, or the others, he had a midnight curfew. It was clear none of the others were due home at any special time. Cat had given him a hard time for the past several weeks about how little chance they had to be together because he'd been punished for the New York City incident.
"Grounded?" she'd said with a derisive last. "You must be kidding! Nobody does that any more!"
"Well, I guess my Dad didn't get a copy of the new manual," Fox had answered, trying to make light of it. But she'd raised the point several times again, each time in a more caustic and biting fashion. He was loathe to raise any topic remotely like it again.
The earlier show was just getting out and Fox heard someone calling his name. He turned and was surprised to see Marie-Claire Montreaux exiting the theater with her parents.
"Hi, Fox," the French girl said shyly. She and Fox had had a couple of dates back when he was around 14 or 15. With the way he was growing, that was only a few weeks earlier. Marie-Claire's parents appeared surprised to see him, and taken aback by his size, but growth spurts among boys this age were not uncommon and they recovered quickly and greeted Fox warmly.
"Bonjour, Madame Montreaux," Fox said flawlessly and Marie-Claire gave him a stunning smile. "Et Monsieur Montreaux. Comment allez-vouz?"
"Tres bien, merci, Fox," Madame Montreaux said. "How ees your papa?"
"Fine, ma'am," he answered as Cat's hand suddenly slipped around his arm. He could feel her head come to rest on his shoulder. Mr. and Mrs. Montreaux didn't miss the hint and they nodded and told Marie-Claire it was time they were getting home.
"Au revoir, Fox," the girl said wistfully. She gave him a sad smile as her father put an arm around her and led her away.
Fox watched her go with mixed feelings. She'd been the first girl to capture his attention this time around, the first with whom he'd tentatively held hands. And they'd shared a chaste kiss outside the watchful eye of Skinner and Fiona at a school dance. But now she was a sweet little girl too young to give a second thought. He found himself feeling lonely and a little adrift as he watched her leave.
"Well, that was rude, Fox," Cat said angrily, dropping her hand from his arm. "What am I? Chopped liver? You didn't even introduce me to your little friend's parents."
"I'm sorry, Cat," he answered automatically. "I- I didn't think you'd be interested in meeting them." (And I knew they wouldn't be interested in meeting you.)
It bothered him that he knew that and he looked at the girl beside him. She was very pretty but heavily made up. Bleached blonde hair in a short, spiky cut. A bandanna top that was nothing more than string in the back and a short black skirt. Long black hose that ended three inches below the bottom of her skirt.
He was suddenly glad he'd gone to pick her up at her mother's place instead of Cat coming to get him. He suspected his Dad might have extended his punishment tour if he'd gotten a look at Cat Halsey tonight. He reached over and laid a lanky arm over her shoulders, pulling her close to him and nuzzling her neck. "I didn't mean to leave you out. I was just a little tongue-tied is all. Don't be mad at me."
The girl relented immediately and she kissed him. Slowly and deeply and tasting of beer, her hands roaming over his back and down to his butt. She slipped her hands into the back pockets of his jeans possessively and pressed the full length of her body up against his until the boy could barely remain still. The line began to move around them and Dylan slapped Fox on the back to get his attention.
"You two gonna get tickets?" he asked with a snort. "Or a room?"
McLean, Virginia
12:20 a.m.
Fiona and Skinner were sitting on the couch in the family room, two glasses of brandy on the coffee table in front of them. They'd had a wonderful dinner and then Skinner had watched her slice apples and put them in a pre-made crust that she tied up to look like a little package before putting it into the oven. They'd had coffee while the house filled with the homey smell of baking apples and cinnamon.
They'd talked all night, trading stories of their successful careers and failed marriages. Fiona's husband had returned to Oklahoma afterward and, even though she'd gone back to her maiden name, the kids at the school still continued to call her "Mrs." "I don't even correct them anymore!" she laughed.
Skinner told her about Sharon, their separation, her death and his remorse that his job had been the reason she was targeted. Fiona reached out a hand to comfort him and, by the light of the fire they explored each other's bodies and spirits.
By 12:30, Fiona couldn't miss the fact that Skinner's mind seemed preoccupied all of a sudden. She sat back and looked at him closely. "What time was Fox supposed to be home?"
He was a little surprised at the sudden conversational shift but he chuckled. "Am I that transparent?"
"Well it's after midnight so I know neither one of us is turning into a pumpkin tonight," she returned with a knowing smile. "So I figure the paternal instinct kicked in. Is he late?"
Skinner told her about the midnight curfew and she nodded thoughtfully. "That's probably earlier than the other kids. After speaking to all their parents about the incident in New York, I doubt Cat Halsey has any curfew at all. Or Dylan Kane."
"Well, I thought, considering this was the first night he was driving and--"
"No, don't misunderstand me, Walter!" she interrupted him. "I'm not saying I think you're wrong. Just that it would be a disconnect with the other kids."
"I thought about extending it next week, if he hit the mark tonight," the A.D. said ruefully. "Now, I'm afraid we'll be back to square one. He may be back to his adult age by the time he's off restriction. . . !" (Or not. Even as an adult, Mulder was in trouble most of the time.)
"I don't mean to imply anything about Cat Halsey," Fiona said quietly, "but . . . have you had the 'safe sex' discussion with Fox?"
"More times than I can count," Skinner told her. "I'm pretty sure I recite it in my sleep now."
Fiona looked directly into his eyes, a ghost of a smile crossing her lips. "I'd like to hear that some time," she said, and the A.D. felt himself flush even as a smile creased his face and lit a fire in his eyes.
Alexandria, Virginia
12:35
Fox stood at the door to the townhouse that Cat Halsey and her mother lived in. It was just off the beaten path in Old Town Alexandria. They'd left the movies and said goodbye to Dylan and Delia then Fox had driven them here.
"You're coming in, aren't you?" she purred after a long, deep kiss that nearly took the young man's knees out from underneath him. "My mom's not home tonight. She won't be back until tomorrow afternoon."
Fox's head was swimming with a rush of emotions and hormones. His brain told him it was already 12:30 but his body was countering with a sense of want and need that he was hard pressed to override. He wanted Cat, that was a certainty. He wanted to minimize what was now certain punishment. And he wanted to see a World Series game.
"I-- I c-can't stay tonight," he found himself stammering. It was almost as if the words were coming from someone else. "We have an early flight to Atlanta. For the game."
"Baseball's more important than me?" Cat asked him with a half-smile that indicated she knew the answer to that one. The hand she brushed over the part of his jeans that covered a bulging erection conveyed her certainty of his response.
He took a deep breath, to give him a moment to think and to get a little oxygen to his brain. The boy was afraid he might actually pass out on the doorstep.
"I have to go," he said, forcing the words out as he backed down the steps. "My Dad will be . . . disappointed if we don't go to the game. I'll-- I'll call you when we get back on Sunday, Cat."
He ran down the steps to the car, as much to avoid seeing the angry look on her face as to begin the drive home. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard as soon as he'd started the jeep. "12:36," it read, sending his heart racing for yet another reason.
"Oh, shit," he muttered as he pulled the car back onto the main highway that ran between Alexandria and McLean. He could make it in about ten minutes, if there was no traffic. Of course there was some, but it didn't delay him more than a few more minutes. He pulled into the garage as the digital display turned to "12:53."
Fox turned the car off and ran to the door that led to the kitchen. Then he stopped, took a fast breath in an attempt to slow his racing heart and opened the door. The kitchen lights were on low and he could see a light on in the family room. Taking another calming breath that failed to achieve its goal, he walked to the entry to the other room.
Fiona smiled at him but Fox's eyes immediately went to the Assistant Director's face. The man's eyes simply flicked to the clock on the wall and turned back to him, betraying no emotion.
"I didn't drink anything," the boy blurted out immediately. "I mean, no alcohol. . . "
Skinner blinked for a second, then realized it was Fox's way of admitting he'd broken the first two rules of the evening-- his curfew and the request to call if his plans changed. But not the third.
"Good," the man answered evenly. "Did you have a nice time?"
Fox nodded, a curious look crossing his face. "Yeah, I had a real nice time. But we missed the early movie and . . . " His voice trailed off. He could reach for an excuse for being late, but he couldn't even begin to come up with one for not calling.
"I see," his father answered. "Well, I think you'd better turn in, don't you?"
Fox was unnerved by Skinner's calm reaction but he was also grateful. He'd been worried sick about what the man would say, or do, with Fiona present. "Yes, sir," he answered quickly. "Good night, Mrs. Barefoot."
They watched him go and saw Yoda get up from where he'd been sleeping near the fireplace and follow the boy upstairs. Two sets of footsteps went up the stairs quickly and a door closed on the second floor. Then they turned to each other and began to laugh.
"Well, I'd better get going," Fiona said as she rose and stretched. "I think you and Fox have a lot to talk about."
A few minutes later Skinner opened the door to Fox's bedroom. The boy was in bed already but the light was still on in his room. The A.D. saw him look to the doorway and couldn't miss the fact the boy's eyes were brimming with tears. The man walked to the bed and sat down, placing a hand on the kid's trembling chest.
"I'm sorry, Dad," Fox said, choking back tears. "I-I know you're m-mad at me. I didn't mean for it to happen, honest!" In a few sentences, he told the A.D. the entire evening's story, Fiona being late and taking forever to get ready. Dylan bringing a six-pack of beer. Missing the planned movie and going to the next one. Marie-Claire and her parents. Cat's expectation that he'd stay all night.
"I'm sorry," the boy repeated finally. "I- I really w-wanted to go to the World Series. And n-now, I ruined it. . . . "
"Shhh," Skinner soothed him, reaching out to pull him up into a hug. "I know you're sorry. And I am a little angry, Fox. You made a couple of bad choices tonight. But you also made some good ones. And you're home safe." He gave the boy a squeeze and felt Fox's head come to rest on his shoulder, a sob escaping as he calmed down.
Skinner pushed him back to arm's length. "I am disappointed that you didn't make it home on time. And about a few other things. But the World Series is your birthday present, Fox. Nothing's going to keep us from going."
A tired, relieved smile appeared on the young man's face. "Really? We're still going?"
Skinner shook his head. "Of course we're still going," he said letting the boy lie back down and pulling the covers up over him. He could see Fox was surprised and probably counting his lucky stars that he'd pulled through this one without serious consequences. "Tomorrow we're going to the World Series. We'll deal with tonight's little walk on the wild side when we get home on Sunday."
He leaned down and gave the boy a kiss on his forehead. "Good night, son," he said firmly. "Get some sleep." Then he turned out the light and left the room, closing the door behind him.
"Uh-oh," the boy said to Yoda as the dog curled up beside him and settled down to sleep. In a moment, Fox slipped into unconsciousness too.
Atlanta, Georgia
6:30 p.m. on Saturday
The A.D. had never been in a Planet Hollywood before but it was Fox's first choice for where to have dinner so he'd relented, knowing it would provide too much noise and a theme restaurant food selection. Which turned out to be true. But Fox was enjoying it immensely so the man simply let it happen. They'd gone to Atlanta's science museum earlier in the day and both he and Fox had found it better and more interesting than either of them expected.
At this stage, Fox was a fascinating mixture of child and man, intellect and raw emotions. Skinner could see a great deal of the adult Mulder emerging, his curiosity and ability to integrate great amounts of information and distill it down to the critical questions. His ability to hone in on the piece that didn't fit, and his persistence in seeking the answers to those inconsistencies. He'd nearly driven one of the museum's curators crazy this afternoon raising questions the poor young woman could not answer. So he'd left her his e-mail address and said she could get back to him when she got them.
But he'd done it with such charm and sweetness the young woman hadn't been offended or upended, only impressed by his startling intelligence and immense curiosity. "I wish he was ten years older," she'd whispered to the A.D. at one point.
"Wait a couple of weeks," the man had answered her with a mysterious smile.
The game that night was exciting, especially for Fox who, for reasons Skinner never understood, had a strange affinity for teams from New York. As an adult and as a kid. The weather was a little brisk but they'd dressed appropriately and at one point the A.D. caught his breath when he saw the look of complete joy on the boy's face as he surveyed the ballpark and the field about halfway through the game. That look was worth everything it had cost to score two tickets to the Series opener and pay for the rest of the trip as well.
They slept late on Sunday morning, then took a tour of CNN's Atlanta headquarters before making their way to the airport for the flight home. When they pulled into the driveway of the McLean house, Fox turned to the man in the driver's seat.
"That was the best birthday present I ever got," he said simply.
Skinner laughed. "It's the only birthday you can remember," he smiled.
"I know I can't remember any other birthdays," the boy said seriously. "But . . . I know it's the best present anyway. Thanks, Dad."
Skinner found himself choking up and he simply reached out and pulled the boy into a hug, giving him a quick kiss on the top of his head. "It was my pleasure, kid," he said huskily. "Now, let's get this show on the road, huh?"
They had a quick dinner of leftovers from the freezer, then Fox went off to do some homework. He was growing quicker again and his knowledge base was growing exponentially it seemed. It no longer took him any effort to complete the homework he received but Skinner still insisted he honor that commitment. In a half hour, he was back downstairs.
Skinner looked up at him. "So? Are you finished with all your homework?"
"Yeah," the boy answered, picking up the TV Guide. "What time is the game on tonight?"
"Eight o'clock. And you'll be in bed before that," Skinner told him definitively. "Let's talk about Friday night."
Fox's eyes widened with surprise. He'd let himself begin to think that fiasco had been forgotten. "I-- I know it was wrong," he said quickly. "And I'm sorry, Dad. It won't happen again--"
"I think it will, Fox, unless you learn this lesson. Curfews mean something. Rules mean something, too. And disobeying them brings consequences."
"But I already know that!" the boy blurted out. "I won't do it again, I promise! I get it!"
Skinner grimaced, sensing there would be more fight over this than he expected. He was continually amazed at the mood swings of the typical teenager. Today, Fox was a bright and engaging companion who'd been charmingly appreciative of the experience he'd been given. Tonight, the rebellious adolescent had returned. "How late were you on Friday night?"
Fox narrowed his eyes and glared back at the man. "I don't know," he said sarcastically. "What difference does it make? An hour?"
Skinner pressed his lips together, trying to keep a lid on his temper. "There's something to be said for precision, son," he said quietly. "There are sixty minutes in an hour. And since you're getting a whack with the paddle for every minute you were late--"
"What? Come on! That would be. . . ." his voice trailed off as the reality of what the A.D. had said sank in.
"So, sixty it is, unless you want to revise your estimate?"
Fox felt a rising panic at the thought of the punishment before him and he frantically thought back to Friday night, bringing up a mental picture of the dashboard clock as he pulled into the garage. "Fifty-three! Fifty-three minutes!"
"That seems right to me. Now, go into the garage and get the paddle I left on the workbench," Skinner told him calmly.
Walter, Sr. had suggested he bring it home from Danville the last time they were there, knowing that Fox was reaching the age where curfews were constantly negotiated boundaries. The Skinner boys had 'discussed' all of their curfew violations with their Dad and the business end of that paddle over the years, and the older man thought Fox would benefit from having the tradition carried on.
The boy continued to stare hard at his father until the A.D. rose and made like he was going to go get it himself. Knowing that would only exacerbate his position, Fox jumped into action. "I'm going," he said with an angry toss of his head.
He went to the garage and found the item in question. It was a little larger and heavier than the one he'd made himself and that was now hanging on the wall in the kitchen. He shuddered as he lifted it and walked back into the house.
"Okay," Skinner said lightly as Fox handed him the dreaded paddle. He nodded his head toward a long table by the window. The A.D. had lowered the shade and turned on the lamp there while Fox went to the garage. "Take down your pants and bend over."
The boy was still shooting him angry looks and he stalled for a moment, as though looking for an avenue of escape. But nothing came to him and he finally conceded defeat and walked over to the table.
He unbuttoned his jeans, and lowered them and his underwear to his knees. He felt Skinner's hand come to rest on the middle of his back, pushing him forward into position over the table. Then he felt his tee-shirt being lifted up onto his back, exposing his buttocks to the imminent punishment. Tears were already forming in his eyes as the A.D. quietly asked him the relevant question.
"What are you being punished for?"
"For -- for breaking my curfew," the boy responded, still a hint of rebellion in his voice. "Which was too early anyway!"
"Too early or not, you have to prove you can be trusted to keep a curfew before I'm going to feel inclined to reconsider it," Skinner told him firmly. "Now you were fifty-three minutes late so let's go. Start counting." He pulled his arm back and brought the paddle down on the boy's unmarked bottom.
"Oww!" Fox wailed. "Th-that hurt!"
"Start counting or you're gonna end up with more than you deserve," the A.D. warned him as he smacked the boy's butt again.
"Oucchh! One, two!"
Skinner smiled to himself and decided to let that one go this time. He continued, issuing ten solid whacks before pausing to let the boy and himself take a breath. Fox was already wailing but more from indignation than pain, the man knew. Yoda had taken up residence at one end of the family room and he was wailing in concert with Fox.
"That's ten," he said firmly. "Now tell me again. Why are you being punished tonight?"
"For breaking my curfew on Friday," the boy responded immediately. He had a shred of hope it was all over, that his father had only meant to scare him with the idea he'd get a whack for every minute he'd been late. That wisp of hope disappeared as the next set of ten began.
"Ohhh! Eleven! Ahhhh! Twelve! Ouchhh! Thirteen!" he continued, feeling real tears begin to stream down his face. His bottom wasbeginning to seriously sting.
At twenty, Skinner stopped once again. "And again. What's this paddling for?" He waited, while the boy collected himself and took a gulping breath of air.
"For b-breaking my curfew!" Fox responded. He felt Skinner's hand return to his back, making sure his green tee shirt stayed up and knew the next set was about to begin.
"Twenty-one! Ohhh, God! Twenty-t-two! OUCHH! Twenty-three!" He was crying hard now, not even attempting to maintain a shred of dignity. The house sat on a large piece of property but if the neighbors could hear him, so be it, he thought wildly.
The paddling continued, the dog howled in protest from his perch by the fireplace, and the boy's buttocks grew red under the onslaught. Skinner found himself with mixed feelings as he watched Fox's cheeks turn a dark cherry color. It brought back memories of his own run-ins with the paddle in question at roughly the same age. (And you survived, Walt. Stay the course!)
After fifty whacks, he paused once more. Fox was sobbing hard and Skinner had had to hold him down with all his strength for the last few whacks in the fifth set of ten. He put the paddle down and reached up and caressed the back of the boy's head. "It's almost over," he said quietly, in his most soothing voice.
"Why c-can't it be over now?" Fox asked between sobs. "I learned my lesson! And . . . and maybe the clock was fast!"
Skinner bit his lip to keep from laughing. One thing about Fox, he was always looking for an angle. Or a loophole. "Actually, I thought it was fifty-four minutes, but I'm going to go with your fifty-three, Fox," he answered. "Three more and we'll get them over fast." He picked up the paddle and place his hand in the middle of Fox's back.
"What does a curfew mean, Fox?" he asked as he delivered the fifty-first whack.
"OUCHH! IT MEANS I'M SUPPOSED TO BE HOME NO LATER THAN THEN!"
"Very good. And what are you supposed to do if your plans change when you're out?"
"UNHHH! CALL! I'M SUPPOSED TO CALL YOU AND LET YOU KNOW," he sobbed.
"And here's fifty-three. What happens when you disobey the rules, Fox?" he asked, bringing the paddle down on the center of the boy's red, sore buttocks.
"OWWWW! I g-get sp-spanked!" he responded, collapsing into a bout of tears. Skinner
laid the paddle down on the table and gathered the boy into his arms.
"It's all right now," he said quietly, rubbing Fox's back and rocking him gently. "I know that was tough. But it's supposed to be, to drive the lesson home. Nothing's more important than your safety, Fox. And the rules are just ways for me to know I'm doing everything I can to keep you safe."
Fox nodded into his shoulder and sobbed another moment or two. Then he reached down and began to adjust his clothes.
"No, not yet," Skinner told him firmly, going back into 'parent' mode. "We're not through yet. You're spending the next 53 minutes standing in that corner, just like that." He had placed a strong arm around the boy's shoulders as he spoke and now he was propelling his shocked young charge into the corner in question.
"Here?" he asked incredulously. "In the family room?"
Skinner nodded. "Yes, right here. I want to be able to see that you're obeying me on this, Fox. And I want to have easy access to your bottom if you don't and I need to issue any further correction!"
"But- but. . . . but that's not fair!" the boy responded, turning away from the corner he'd been placed in.
"Not fair? What was fair about you coming in almost an hour after your curfew? Worrying me half to death about what might have happened to you?"
"But I've already been punished for that. You paddled me for that! This is like . . . double jeopardy," he retorted.
Skinner shook his head as he turned the boy forcibly back to face the corner and smacked his sore bottom hard. "And wait till you see what's in store in the Final Jeopardy round," he said tightly. "Now I suggest you stay there, quietly. Or you'll find yourself standing in the corner with a mouth full of soap." He placed Fox's hands so that he was holding up his tee shirt, keeping it from falling over his bottom.
The boy stood ramrod straight, his body language communicating his anger and frustration. But he remained in place as Skinner moved about the kitchen and family room. He got a kitchen timer and brought it into the family room, setting it for 53 minutes and placing it on the table near Fox. The boy's head turned and watched him for a moment, then he swiveled it back to face the corner when he thought Skinner might see him.
The A.D. got his briefcase and sat down with some work for the next day, keeping a careful eye on the recalcitrant young man. The second World Series game would begin later and he wanted to be through with his next day prep work before then. Inside of thirty minutes, Fox's tense stance had relaxed and he was leaning into the corner now, his forehead touching the wall.
"Stand up straight, Fox," Skinner barked at him. "That's part of the discipline."
The boy perked up and he sobbed once. The sound nearly broke the man's heart but he steeled himself once again. After all, this was not anything he himself had never been through.
"How come you're so . . . strict?" Fox whispered from the corner when he had just a few minutes left of his sentence.
Skinner looked up, surprised. "Why do you think?" he responded after a short pause.
"I don't know," Fox said, beginning to tear up again. "'Cause you hate me? And you never really wanted me? But nobody else did either and so you got stuck with me. Because you never walk away from your responsibilities. . . ."
Skinner was struck dumb by the boy's speech. A ball of emotion formed in his throat and he pushed the paperwork he was reviewing aside and stood up. He went to the table and saw there were less than two minutes left in the boy's corner time and he pushed the indicator almost to the zero and walked over to the corner.
"Fox, do you think . . . Do you think your grandfather hates me?" he asked the young man gently.
"No! He's your f-father. And you're his oldest son. He loves you!" he sobbed, only to be interrupted by the timer ringing on the table behind them. Skinner helped him get dressed, then put an arm around him and led him over to the couch. He knew sitting would be a painful experience for Fox. So Skinner sat down himself and pulled the boy down, letting him rest his head on Skinner's chest, effectively taking the weight off his backside. Then he began to stroke Fox's hair and his back gently.
"I think you're right, Fox," he said softly. "Gran loves me a lot. But let me tell you about the year I was sixteen going on seventeen. My Dad gave me a curfew and it was earlier than all my friends. Earlier than my girlfriend even! And I thought I knew better so I just kept coming home at the time I thought was right."
"You did that?" Fox looked up at him. His eyes were red and swollen from crying but wide with curiosity.
"Yeah. Just about every Saturday night. And every week, my Dad paddled my butt for it. One whack for every minute I was late. For breaking my curfew. And then the next morning, he'd give me another paddling and make me stand in the corner. One minute for every minute I was late. And that part of the punishment was for being defiant."
Fox's face reflected his shock and his confusion. "Gran did that? He m-made you stand in the corner, too?"
"And he loved me a lot, like you said," Skinner continued, bringing the story to a close. "So when I look back on it, I can't be mad. I know it was for my own good. Just like, when I punish you, son, it's for your own good. And it's because I love you more than I could ever say."
Fox's eyes closed as a fresh set of tears threatened to spill over and he buried his face in Skinner's shoulder once again.
"And Fox?" Skinner added, going for the final point. "Remember. Unlike you, I wasn't an only child."
The boy raised his head as the full import of that information hit him. "Oh, God," he breathed. "Gran's even meaner than you!"
Skinner let him calm down until his tears reduced naturally to tear-soaked hitches. Fox had snuggled under his arm and into his shoulder in a way that reminded the man of the boy when he was much younger. A few weeks ago, he thought ruefully. Time was passing so quickly and Fox was growing so fast. It was good to know that, at the advanced age of eighteen, he still felt okay with the kind of physical affection that had become the foundation of their relationship.
Skinner began to think the boy might have fallen asleep and he nudged him gently. Fox looked up, a mixture of curiosity and wonder on his face. "What're you thinking about?" the A.D. asked him quietly.
"I was just thinking about a whole year of . . ," he said, awed as the reality of that story truly sank in. "Jeez, you're a whole lot more stubborn than me!"
Skinner found himself laughing inwardly but he didn't want to spoil the moment. "From your mouth to God's ear, kid," he said quietly, kissing the top of the boy's head and squeezing him affectionately.
End of Chapter 33