Take 2 - Part 40
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 is the last chapter in this series, which 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.
I also owe a huge debt to Phoebe, Samantha and Dswdiane for all the beta-reading and for the support and ideas they contributed as this series grew from a few chapters to forty! It's turned out far different from originally envisioned but . . . that applies to just about everything in my life!
Summary: Mr. Skinner suffers a heart attack and Fox's second childhood ends abruptly at the same time.
McLean, Virginia
Sunday morning, December 5
Walter and Joe Skinner sat in companionable silence in the kitchen, sipping coffee and reading the Sunday papers. It was after 10 o'clock and they'd both been up for hours. Fox had developed the habit of sleeping in a bit of late when he could but this was highly unusual for their father. Walter, Sr. was a 'crack of dawn' type for as long as either of them could remember. When the man himself appeared a few minutes later, they couldn't help but kid him about it.
"Well, it lives!" Joe said as his father shuffled into the kitchen, smiling sheepishly.
"Can't remember the last time I slept past the rooster," the older man answered with a wry smile. "I guess yesterday took more out of me than I thought."
"Well, we walked quite a bit," the AD responded as he rose and poured his Dad a cup of coffee. "Not to mention two hours of driving in either direction. Although you and Fox slept the entire way back, too. He's young but . . . what's your excuse?"
Skinner laid the coffee down on the kitchen table and stepped from the table to the back door. Yoda's scratching was the dog's signal he wanted to come in. He slept with Fox but when the boy didn't get up this morning, Yoda found a way to answer nature's call by finding Skinner and pawing him into compliance. The dog pranced in and immediately went to greet the new arrival.
Walter, Sr. patted him on the head and wagged a finger at his sons with his other hand. "A little respect for your elders would be appreciated!"
"Have a seat, Dad," Skinner chuckled. "Since you were being lazy this morning, Joe and I took a shot at producing your famous blueberry syrup on our own."
"And if I do say so myself, it's almost as good as yours, too," Joe added as he rose and took the pancake batter he'd prepared out of the refrigerator. He fired up the grill while Walter poured a glass of orange juice for their father.
"How many times did you have to call your mother?" Walter, Sr. asked them affectionately. He knew his sons well enough to know they'd gotten some help from Rachel in Chicago.
"I'm wounded, Dad," Joe replied. "I mean, after all these years of watching you make blueberry syrup, having it just about every Sunday while we were home, don't you think your two graduate-school educated sons could manage to figure out how to make it ourselves--"
"Mom says hello, by the way," Skinner interrupted good-naturedly as he started out of the kitchen to get Fox up. "And so do Andy, and Eileen. And the kids." He ducked out of the way of the potholder Joe threw at him as he exited.
"Joseph Dmitri," Skinner heard his father chuckle as he headed up the stairs. "Do we need to have a little talk about the importance of honesty?"
Skinner knocked on Fox's door but no answer returned. He knocked again, then opened the door into the still-dark room. Fox had collapsed into bed the night before after being propelled up the stairs by the AD. Skinner had all but undressed him before covering him up, pulling the shades down and turning out the light. No bedtime spanking had been given and now Fox had been asleep for more than ten hours.
"Good morning, kid," Skinner said quietly and finally the boy stirred. "Time to get up. Daylight's burning and breakfast will be on the table in a couple of minutes."
Fox opened his eyes but Skinner thought they seemed a little glazed. He sat down on the edge of the bed and put a hand on the boy's forehead. He was a little warm but that might just be the after-effect of a deep sleep. "Do you feel all right?"
"Yeah. I dunno," Fox answered. "I think I feel a little sick actually. And I'm really thirsty."
"Well, it's a little warm in this room," Skinner said as he rose and went into the bathroom to get a glass of cold water. He brought it back and Fox drank it down greedily. "Why don't you get up and come downstairs. Maybe a little breakfast will help."
He headed back down himself, beginning to worry if the young man was coming down with something. Or if this was the first sign another shot was needed. Fox had grown noticeably in the past week, a symptom that indicated the aging was speeding up again.
Joe and his Dad were arguing about whether the blueberry syrup was thick enough but Skinner ignored it as he went about fixing Fox a mug of hot cocoa. That was one of the boy's comfort foods. He'd just popped a marshmallow into the hot brew when Fox came into the kitchen and plopped himself down on a chair.
"Good morning," Walter, Sr. said as he appraised the young man before him. "You look like 'who did it and ran?'"
Fox laughed. "What the heck does that mean?" he asked as he sipped the cocoa that Skinner had just handed him.
"An old expression," Mr. Skinner said with a wink. "Means, you look about as bad as I feel. And I'm 75 years old!"
"Well, a plate of pancakes with blueberry syrup will cure whatever ails you," Joe said definitively as he placed a plate of fresh pancakes in the center of the table. They all sat down to breakfast and both Joe and Walter had a hearty helping, along with the sausages they'd grilled up. But neither Fox nor Mr. Skinner ate much.
"I guess we're not giving Julia Child a run for her money," Joe said as he eyed the plates of half-eaten pancakes in front of the other two.
"I'm just a little off my feed, I guess, Joe," Mr. Skinner cut in quickly. "But you boys did a wonderful job with breakfast. Couldn't have done better myself."
"And what's your excuse, Fox?" Joe asked the boy gently. No one had missed the fact he'd mostly pushed his food around the plate, barely eating anything. He'd finished the cocoa, that was about it.
"I'm not feeling so good," the younger man answered truthfully. "I think I might go back to bed."
Skinner rose and felt his head again. This time he was definitely hot. "Why don't you go on up?" he said. "I'll get the thermometer and bring you some water."
When he went back upstairs, Fox was almost asleep again. He took the boy's temperature quickly and found it was over a hundred degrees. "It might be time for another shot, kid."
"No! I don't want-- Not unless I really need it," Fox protested. "I hate shots!"
"I know. But you always feel better after this one, don't you?" Skinner countered.
"But, I don't want it if I don't need it yet. Maybe I just have a bug or something!"
"Okay, we'll see how it goes," Skinner replied as he adjusted the covers on top of him. "You get some rest."
A few hours later, the three Skinner men were in the family room, watching television on the wide-screen TV there. The Pittsburgh Steelers were playing and, since it was the first game of the day, Joe had decided to stay and watch it with his father and brother. He'd drive home to Pennsylvania as soon as it ended.
It was an exciting game and he and Walter watched it with enthusiasm. The only thing that marred the day was that Fox was still not feeling well and so they hadn't decorated the Christmas tree as planned. He had slept fitfully since this morning, his temperature rising a little more but not enough to force Skinner to give him the shot. The Assistant Director had taken the supply of hypodermics out of the gun safe where he kept them, certain the next one would be needed. But Fox was still resisting, his indisposition would be a passing thing.
And Mr. Skinner, Sr. had dozed off during the first half of the game, a highly unusual event in his sons' recollection. He was a die-hard Steelers fan from way back.
"You don't think yesterday was too much for him, do you, Joe?" Skinner whispered. The second half was beginning and the older man continued to snore lightly in the recliner.
"Well, he's not as young as he used to be," his brother noted. "But he's still pretty formidable!"
"Yeah," the AD agreed with a chuckle. "Slowed down a step or two but . . . I wouldn't cross him if I could help it."
"Then this might be a good time to mention I don't like to be talked about like I'm dead," they heard their father growl from across the room.
of his sons started at the sudden contact from someone who appeared to be sound asleep.
"Jeez, Dad," Joe said quickly. "How do you do that? Snore like a buzzsaw and keep listening at the same time?"
"Years of practice listening for you boys to come home," the older man answered as he sat up and stretched. "I'm feeling a little stiff. I think I need to move around a little. I'm going to make myself a cup of tea. Can I get anyone anything?"
Walter Jr. rose with him. "Nothing for me, Dad," he answered lightly, but it was clear he was preoccupied with worry. "I'm going to check on Fox again."
He found the kid burrowed deep under the covers but he was in a great deal of discomfort. Skinner had caught a low moan from the hallway and now he walked into the room and felt his head again.
"You're burning up, Fox," he said. "It's time for a shot--"
"No! I hate shots!" he exclaimed grumpily, pulling the covers over his head. "I'm sure I just have a virus or something."
"Fox, this is exactly what it looked like when you needed a shot each time before," the AD said patiently. He took a seat on the bed beside the blanket-covered lump from which the voice emanated. "You'll feel better once you get it, I promise."
"What if it's not time yet?" the voice argued. "I could be getting it too soon! Then I'll need the next one even sooner! And I HATE SHOTS!"
Skinner shook his head, trying to maintain his forbearance. But it wasn't easy. "Well, I'm overriding you here, pal," he said. "You need it."
A head popped out of the blankets. Fox's face was flushed and his eyes were glazed but they flashed pure fire at the moment. "NO! It's my body and I don't want a shot," he yelled. "Why do you get to decide?"
"Because," Skinner replied as he rose and headed for the door to go retrieve the next hypodermic. Fox was always cranky and irritable when he was sick so he was cutting the kid a great deal of slack.
"Because why?"
"Because . . . I said so," the AD replied succinctly. He was almost to the door when Joe appeared in the hallway, looking a little frantic.
"Walt! Dad's not feeling well," he said hurriedly. "I-- I think it might be his heart! He's having chest pain . . . and pain in his left arm--"
"What?" Skinner exploded. "When did this start? And why didn't he say anything before. . . ?" He and Joe disappeared down the stairs, taking them three at a time. They ran full bore into the family room where Walter, Sr. was lying on the couch, his head propped up on a throw pillow.
"How ya doin', Dad?" Skinner asked evenly. He knelt by the couch and brushed a hand over the older man's bald head. His skin was clammy and cold.
"Not so good, son," the elder man said, trying to keep his voice calm. "I think I need to go to the hospital." A look of real pain, and fear, crossed his face before he got to the end of the sentence.
His son nodded as calmly as he could and turned to speak to Joe. "Call 911," Skinner told him quickly. "Tell them it might be his heart."
Fox had appeared in the doorframe behind them. The boy was panic-stricken as he watched Joe call the ambulance and Skinner trying to keep Mr. Skinner calm and alert. They both appeared to be working on auto-pilot, with Joe repeating the address to the operator and then asking Skinner for the name of the cross-street with which he was unfamiliar. The AD listened as he handed his father an aspirin and a glass of water to swallow it down with. Skinner's emergency medical training was limited but he knew aspirin was recommended for heart attacks. And this certainly appeared to be one.
"Tell them it's Dupont," he whispered to Joe. "And tell them to hurry."
Skinner turned back to the man on the couch. His father looked even worse than he had a moment ago. "Come on, Dad," he said with all the false bravado he could muster. "The blueberry syrup wasn't that bad, was it?"
Fox stood in the doorframe, paralyzed with fear, clad only in his pajamas. He was barefoot and he held his stomach, feeling as though he would throw up any moment from the fear that roiled in his stomach. He was shivering from the cold and the effects of his own fever. Skinner noticed him and dragged himself away from his father to put an arm around Fox and guide him back to the stairs. The sound of a siren could be heard in the distance approaching their location.
"It's okay, kid," Skinner said. "Get back in bed. It's gonna be okay--"
"Is Gran having a heart attack?" the boy asked, his voice edged with anxiety.
"I-- I don't know for sure," Skinner told him with as much equanimity as he could manage. "It looks like it. But the ambulance is on its way and he'll be fine then. I'll come up and let you know as soon as we know what's happening." He gave Fox a quick hug, then a gentle push up the stairs. From the brief contact he could tell that the boy's fever had risen again but he'd have to deal with that emergency in a little while. "I promise, I'll come up as soon as I know anything. You need to be in bed now."
Fox nodded but he could hear an undercurrent of concern, even panic, in Skinner's voice and that frightened him even more than anything else. The ambulance pulled up outside and he watched as the AD opened the door and motioned for the paramedics to hurry. Then he listened from the top step as they rushed in and began to work on his grandfather.
"It's his heart," one man said. "Get a history. I'll get an EKG started."
His partner radioed the ER and began to take a patient history from Skinner. When she had the pertinent information, she read it into the radio. "Seventy-five year old male, with severe chest pain . . . ."
Fox listened, then a sudden surge of pain run through his own gut. He got up and ran into the bathroom, barely making it in time as what little he'd eaten that day made its way back up. He fell to his knees and began to shake as he retched up any fluid left in his stomach once all the food was gone. His body had broken out in a sweat and he knew for certain now that Skinner had been right, it was time for another shot. But now his Dad was tied up with something much more important.
Fox knew what he had to do. The last thing his Dad needed now was to have to worry about him, too. Chewing on his lower lip, he got to his feet and made his way into Skinner's bedroom, holding on to the walls to keep his balance. He knew the hypodermics were kept locked up in the gun safe, but he spotted the package sitting on the dresser, waiting. The AD had been sure he'd need a shot and he'd been prepared, as always. Now, though, the young man would have to administer it himself. Gritting his teeth against the pain, and his fear of shots, he blindly pulled one of the hypodermics out of the packet and took it out of its container. He took the little cap off the needle and took a deep breath.
Then he pushed down the bottom of his pajamas to expose his hip and plunged the needle into his own skin. As always, the serum began to work immediately. He could feel his pounding heart rate begin to slow and his entire body relax -- until a moment later when the worst pain he'd ever experienced knocked him to his knees. He dropped his head into his hands as what felt like a million brain cells exploded in agony.
"Ahhhh!" he gasped, barely able to form the sound as an agonizing wave of pain appeared simultaneously in every part of his body. As he writhed on the floor he floated in and out of consciousness with each wave of pain. A small part of him thought he should try to crawl toward the door, try to make it downstairs but no part of his physical body responded to that impulse as all of his resources worked to try to quell the unbearable physical pain. He caught sight of Yoda, standing in the doorway and started to speak to the dog when another agonizing wave blacked out the world.
Below, unknowing, Skinner and Joe watched the paramedics as they tried to stabilize Walter, Sr. for the trip to the hospital. They could tell the older man's symptoms were not responding as well as the paramedics thought they should and that drove cold icicles of fear into both of their guts.
Suddenly Skinner noticed Yoda was at his side, nudging his hand. It took a moment but then he remembered Fox was upstairs, waiting for news. He told Joe he'd be right back and flew up the stairs, wanting to offer some reassurance to the kid even though he had none himself at this point. Fox wasn't in his bedroom and Skinner began to look around for him.
An unexpected sound from his own bedroom drew his attention, and Yoda scooted past him toward whatever was making it. Skinner followed and found Fox, lying on the floor, unconscious and whimpering. Skinner dropped to his knees and felt for a pulse frantically. He found one but it was thready and weak. Then he noticed the hypodermic needle on the floor beside the boy. He picked it up and bit out his next words. "Shit. What did you do, Fox?"
The hypodermic needle Fox had used was marked "5." The Smoking Man had told Skinner they had to be used in order, and number "3" was next. But Fox hadn't known that, and he obviously hadn't stopped to consider why they were numbered. He picked the boy up and slung him over his shoulder, pocketing the used hypodermic and the others. When he got downstairs, Joe rushed up to him.
"What's wrong with Fox?" he asked as he held out his arms and helped Walter place the boy on the reclining chair. It wasn't hard to miss the fact the kid was unconscious. His breathing was irregular and worrisome and he moaned in agony. One of the paramedics rushed over and began taking his vitals as Skinner picked up the telephone and punched in a phone number.
"This is AD Skinner," he said almost immediately. "I've got an agent down at 2408 Lafeyette Street, McLean, Virginia. I need a secure ambulance with full life support to go to Johns Hopkins. Contact Special Agent Scully and tell her to get there, too--" He finished his orders and slammed the phone down without waiting for anything more from whoever was on the other end of the line. His eyes drifted back and forth between Fox and Walter, Sr. One paramedic was working frantically on his father, the other was trying to get vital signs from Fox, trying to determine what, if anything he could do to help the boy until the other emergency crew arrived.
"Cal," the woman paramedic broke in from her place next to Mr. Skinner. "He's as stable as he's gonna get. We've gotta move him now!"
Joe's eyes filled with tears at the urgency he heard in her voice. He'd been watching it all but the shock was making thinking too difficult and he almost wept when his brother's hand reached up and squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. Walter had no more reason to be confident than he did but somehow his gesture was comforting anyway. Another ambulance could be heard wending its way toward them, its siren keening in the distance.
Then Skinner leapt into action mode. He was never good at waiting and doing nothing. He walked up to his father who was lying on the gurney, an oxygen mask on his face. "Dad," he said gently as he squatted down beside him. "I-- Fox is sick. He has to go to the hospital. They'll take you to Jefferson Medical Center. It's a good hospital, Dad. They say their cardiac center is the best in the area--"
His father's eyes opened and he reached up to remove the mask. Skinner tried to stop him but the older man shrugged him off and pulled the mask away from his face. "You take care of Fox, son," he said. "He needs you now." The effort exhausted him and he sank back into himself, his breathing labored and shallow.
Skinner replaced the mask onto his father's face and tried to hold back the tears that were pooled in his eyes. The weight of the decision he had to make, the guilt he knew he'd live with whichever route he chose, closed in on his heart and left him weak in the knees. He leaned down and kissed his father on the forehead, then he turned to his brother. "You go with him, Joe. I'll . . . I'll get there as soon as I can."
Joe nodded, still reeling from the situation, and the fact that he'd have to accompany his father alone. But he nodded once again, this time with conviction and gave his brother a quick hug. "Okay. You take care of Fox, you hear?"
A new set of paramedics rushed in the front door and took their instructions from Skinner. The first two wheeled Mr. Skinner out of the house and placed him in the back of the emergency unit parked at the foot of the driveway. Skinner found himself torn once again, between two people he loved, both of whom needed him. He shook off the second thoughts, knowing he'd made the best decision possible in these lousy circumstances and he offered a prayer that he'd see his father again. If the older man didn't make it, he'd second guess himself into eternity, he knew.
"What's wrong with him?" one of the new emergency workers asked him, recapturing his attention to the present situation. "He's barely breathing, heartbeat's irregular and weak-- Has he taken some kind of drug?"
Skinner filled them in as best he could as they prepared Fox for transport. There was little they could do for him here. A niggling voice in his head told him there might be little anyone could do but the boy's best hope was at Johns Hopkins. They were in the ambulance and careening through the streets of McLean toward the interstate in a matter of minutes.
"Something's happening!" the paramedic in back with Fox and Skinner yelled suddenly, after they were on the road for some twenty minutes. Fox had reared up in agony, not quite conscious but physically reacting to something. His face was contorted with pain and he screamed.
"Samantha! Saman--" he bellowed, then he fell back into the gurney and put his hands to his head, as though the pain were so great he might try to crush his own skull to end it. He pulled out the IV they'd started and the paramedic rushed to restart it. The young man's heart rate rose precipitously and the monitors in the emergency unit were all screeching.
"Sweet Jesus," the paramedic said as he watched Fox's face change before his eyes. The boy's face morphed into that of a grown man, and he writhed on the gurney as though his insides were exploding. "Drive, Gus! We gotta get him there now!"
Skinner reached out and took Fox's hand in his own, trying to calm him but the younger agent didn't respond. It seemed the pain was too great for any outside stimulus to break through. But Skinner held on to him anyway, helping the paramedic hold him down on the gurney as another wave of agony nearly had him pulling free of the restraints. He babbled incoherently throughout the rest of the ride, calling for his mother, and his father. For Scully. Cursing Krycek and Spender and numerous suspects he'd helped identify and jail. Everyone but Skinner it seemed to the AD.
They arrived at Johns Hopkins with little time to spare. Fox's condition had deteriorated throughout the ride. The gurney was hauled out of the ambulance at lightning speed, orders and questions crossing each other in the cold afternoon air.
"I thought you called in a 20-year-old kid--"
"I know!" the paramedic from the ambulance blurted out. "I don't know what the fuck's going on. He was a kid! Now he's--"
"Thirty-nine," Skinner answered automatically as he ran along beside the stretcher, still holding Fox's hand. They flew into the ER where a team of doctors was waiting for them. Dr. Cahill, the specialist who'd been following Fox's case since the beginning was among them and he bent to the task of finding out what had happened.
"Sir?" Scully called. She was running down the hall from the other direction. She was out of breath and dressed in jeans and a sweater, casual clothes for what should have been a relaxing Sunday afternoon. "What happened?"
He briefed her and then they went looking for the doctor, to try to get him to speak to them about Fox's condition as soon as he was able.
"He took the wrong one, Scully," Skinner said, beating himself up about it yet again. "I never told him what Spender told me about the numbers! I never thought he'd--"
"How could that happen?" she broke in suddenly, her fear turning her voice shrill. "Weren't you with him when--" She stopped as they heard a monitor in the treatment area squeal.
"He's coding!" someone yelled from inside and the drill took on new urgency as the ER staff worked in unison to restart the FBI agent's heart.
"Oh, God," Scully breathed beside Skinner. "Please don't let him die . . . "
Skinner stood motionless beside her, issuing the same prayer silently. (Please, God! Don't do this! Not after all he's been through. He doesn't deserve to die. . . )
An hour later the doctor approached Scully in the waiting room. The physician looked exhausted and drained by the hour spent battling whatever was happening to Fox and he took a seat across from her. Skinner watched him approach from the bank of phone booths at the other end of the room. He'd spoken to Joe and found his father was stable at Jefferson Medical Center. Then he'd called Chicago and told Andy first, making sure his youngest brother could accompany their mother to Washington. He called Jean next and told her, and determined Oliver would be able to bring his sister Jean and Joe's wife Nora to the hospital. Now he was on the phone with Joe again, getting a progress report.
"Fox's doctor is here, Joe," he said. "I'll get back to you as soon as I can."
"Do what you have to do, Walt," his brother replied. "And my prayers are with Fox. The whole family's are."
"We don't have much good news, I'm afraid," Dr. Cahill said concisely once Skinner had taken his place next to Scully. "He's in great pain. We've used the strongest painkillers and barely made an impact. His heart and his organs are close to giving out with the stress they're under--"
"But he was close to full grown," Skinner interjected. "Shouldn't that make a difference?"
"He took the wrong hypo," Scully added. "There was obviously something different about that dosage. It . . . should have been given to him when he was closer to his real age . . ." The accusation behind her words hit Skinner like a brick and it took all his resources to keep his hands from shaking.
The doctor missed her meaning though and returned to Skinner's question. "He was perhaps nineteen or twenty at best, before this crisis. That means there's close to twenty years worth of aging taking place right now, internal organs changing and wearing as per normal but in the blink of an eye. Thank God the physical growth is minimal or he'd be dead now--"
"What about his memory?" Skinner broke in. "It was returning in the ambulance. He asked for Scully. And his mother and sister--"
"Yes," the physician sighed. "It appears his memory of before has returned. That may be part of what we're seeing, the sheer impact of a lifetime of memories hitting at once would be overwhelming to anyone. I'm sorry I don't have anything more to tell you right now. He's as deeply sedated as we dare. We'll be monitoring him closely." He rose and headed back into the ER just as Fiona Barefoot stepped into the waiting room. She spotted Skinner and Scully and hurried over, stepping into the AD's arms.
"Walter, Joe called me," she said. "How's Fox?"
"He's-- Well, they don't really know," Skinner answered her, giving her a quick hug. He began to introduce her to Scully and Fiona reminded him the two women had met before, at the McLean house.
"Of course. The last time I almost let him die," Skinner said wearily. In return he received a look of shock from Fiona and a blush of anger from Scully. He was unnerved by the fact his anger at himself, and the situation, was bleeding through his normal reserve and he excused himself hurriedly. "I . . . I'll be right back," he said as he headed toward the men's room just off the waiting area.
When he returned a few minutes later, Fiona was waiting for him alone. His eyes did a quick search of the waiting room and Fiona answered his unspoken question.
"She's in with Fox now," she said quietly. "You can go in too, the doctor said."
He shook his head and stood there, arms hanging at his side, staring at the floor between them. Self-blame and worry were a nearly visible cloak that he'd wrapped around himself.
Fiona watched him for a few seconds, then she moved toward him and wrapped her arms around his large frame. "I'm worried--" she began only to be interrupted.
"I am too," he said as he allowed his arms to fold around her lithe body.
"The doctor said Fox is stabilized for now. He's still in a lot of pain, but not in immediate danger," Fiona said quickly, wanting to reassure him. Then her voice grew more firm and sure and her next words were pointed. "I'm worried about you."
"I'm fine," he answered automatically, beginning to pull back from her. But she refused to allow it.
"No you're not," she said. "You're blaming yourself for something that couldn't have been predicted. Or prevented. And you're letting Dana Scully take her worry and anger out on you. Because you think you deserve it. But you're setting her up to feel even worse when she finds out about your Dad."
Skinner started at her analysis of his behavior but in a space of a second he knew she was right. "God, Fiona," he said after allowing it to sink in. "If this is you being comforting, I'm bringing boxing gear to our first argument."
She reached up and kissed him tenderly on the lips. "Too late," she responded. "That was our first argument."
A while later, Skinner entered the room where Fox was hooked up to every monitor available. There was the constant beeping sound of something in the background and the lights were dim, to approximate night. It was only evening but here in the ICU, the medical staff tried to keep all the worries and sounds of the world at bay. Scully had come out a little while earlier and gone directly to the ladies room down the hall. When she didn't return, Skinner decided to visit Fox himself.
The younger man appeared to be in minimal discomfort and the AD issued a silent prayer of thanks for that small gift. The painkillers were working. Fox was sleeping and Skinner decided to just sit in the armchair at the side of the bed. From that vantage point he could watch the monitors and see the younger man's face. It was so familiar and yet so strange to be seeing an adult where a child named Fox had been just a short time ago.
Images of a three-year old, and a six-year-old swam before Skinner's eyes and memories of Fox the last time he was in this hospital as well. He'd come in as a nine-year-old and emerged a week later as an 11-year-old boy. It had seemed impossible and yet they'd all come to accept it on faith. Soon he was staring into the distance, not seeing much of anything at all.
"Dad?" a familiar adult voice called weakly, startling him out of his own thoughts. "Wh-where am I? I want to go . . . h-home." A grown man he remembered well stared at Skinner but Mulder's eyes betrayed him. Even the sound of his own voice was unexpected and frightening and he was fighting to regain some handle on this new reality.
Skinner came to his feet and reached inside the rails of the bed to run a hand through Fox's hair. "It's okay," he said soothingly. "You're in the hospital-"
Fox winced suddenly, as though a searing pain had attacked from somewhere and he bit back a moan. "I-- I remember now. Scully . . . was here. She told me." He put a hand up over his eyes and rubbed them, as if he thought he could ease the pain that way. "I'm s-sorry, sir," he added with effort. "I'm just . . . so confused. It's hard to know what's . . . real. It's all mixed up in my head--"
"Don't think," the AD said gently. "Just . . . try to rest. It will all look better in the morning, I guarantee it. Just try to get some sleep, Fox."
"Mulder," Fox whispered as his eyes slipped closed. "I-- It's Mulder, sir." His voice trailed off into thin air as he slipped back into a fitful slumber.
Even in sleep his face was tense with pain and it looked like the effort of waking, and speaking, had drained him. Skinner watched him for a moment, taking the time to keep his own emotions from spiraling out of control. It had been a frightening, exhausting emotional roller-coaster of a day and he knew he needed to lock down his own feelings securely to get through the rest of it.
"Good night, Mulder," he said as soon as he was certain of his voice. Then he picked up his coat and left the room.
Dr. Cahill was in the hallway and Skinner asked about Agent Mulder's condition. He was told that Mulder was in no imminent danger and would probably sleep through the night with the medication he'd been given.
"I need to go to Jefferson Medical Center," Skinner said, writing his cell phone number on his business card. "My father is in the ICU there. Will you call me if there's any change in his condition? Or call my office number and tell them it's an emergency if you can't get me directly. They can always find me. And in the meantime Agent Scully will be here."
Next he walked into the waiting room where Scully and Fiona were in quiet conversation. Scully leapt to her feet when he appeared.
"Sir! I--" she began, then she caught herself and started again. "I-- I didn't know about your father. I . . . hope everything will be all right."
Skinner's eyes flickered to Fiona momentarily, then returned to the agent. "Thank you, Agent Scully," he said. "I'm going to see him now. I'm counting on you to make sure . . . to stay with Mulder. Call me if anything changes."
"I'm sorry," Scully added. "About what I said before. I'm sorry."
He nodded evenly, not wanting to make her feel any worse. "Just take care of Mulder, Scully. He needs you here with him." He put an arm out and Fiona responded to the signal, taking her own coat and letting him guide her out.
Jefferson Medical Center
Falls Church, Virginia
The entire Skinner family was at the hospital when the AD arrived, Fiona at his side. Rachel was in the CCU with her husband, along with Andy. Jean and Oliver and Nora had arrived from Pennsylvania a little while earlier, and Andy and their mother from Chicago a few minutes after that.
"How is he?" Skinner asked immediately.
"He's doing all right, Walt," Joe answered for everyone. "They gave him a blood thinner as soon as we got here. He responded well and now he's resting. The doctor says they won't be able to tell how much damage there's been to the heart muscle until they do some tests tomorrow but he thinks it was caught early."
"Thank God," Skinner replied, feeling relief spread over him.
Andy stuck his head into the waiting room and grinned at them. "Don't ask me how but . . . he knew you were here, Walter. He wants to see you."
Skinner nodded and gave Fiona a quick glance to make sure she'd be all right.
"Say hi for me," she answered his unspoken question.
He entered the CCU and went to the bed where his mother was sitting. Walter, Sr. lay on the bed, a heart monitor beeping quietly next to him. It was a scene eerily like the one he'd just left at Johns Hopkins but Skinner pushed the thought right out of his mind and smiled at the older man.
"Well, that was fun," the AD said. "What do you want to do tomorrow?"
"I thought I might run the marathon tomorrow," his father replied in kind. "How's Fox?"
Skinner's eyes clouded over and he blinked back tears that he didn't fully understand himself. He swallowed them down and answered as lightly as he could. "He's doing okay, Dad. He . . . the medicine he took returned him to his true age. He's an adult again."
Rachel and Walter, Sr. both gasped at the news and Skinner rushed to reassure them. "He's doing fine. I don't know how long he has to be in the hospital but . . . he's not in any danger." It was a little exaggeration but the doctor at Johns Hopkins had said he thought Fox (no, Mulder!) would pull through. And there was no need to add any extra worry to his parents' minds at this point.
"He's the old Mulder," Skinner continued with a tight smile. "You'll see. It'll be a relief."
Walter Sr. and Rachel exchanged a look that spoke volumes but neither of them raised the subject again.
Over the next few days, the news on both fronts was good. Mr. Skinner had suffered minimal damage to his heart and he was due to be released and sent home on Friday. And Mulder had come through the effects of taking the wrong the serum, each day getting a little better and a little stronger. He was due to be released on Thursday.
Mulder's memories had come crashing back at once and the first twenty-four hours had been difficult and frightening. They were able to stabilize him physically but his mental state was worrisome as he careened through a lifetime of trauma and fear in no particular order. Scully stayed by his side through the first night, anchoring him as best she could to the hospital room he was in and the reality of the present. And by day two, he seemed to have come to some kind of peace with it, at least to the extent he could.
But his memories were still jumbled, which put him on extremely unfamiliar and uncomfortable footing. Mulder relied heavily on his phenomenal memory and not being able to count on it was unnerving to the young agent. So he did what he always did, he pushed it aside and simply stopped talking about it, instead drilling Scully on whatever had happened outside his presence during the past five months. And she was happy to supply those details.
On Wednesday evening, the AD returned to Johns Hopkins. He'd been back and forth between the office and his father's bedside all week, speaking to Mulder and Scully by phone each day. He'd spoken with Mulder's physician daily as well. And Andy and Joe had visited the younger man the day before. But now, knowing the younger agent was to be released the next day, the AD had come in person. It was after visiting hours but he flashed his badge and was sent in. Mulder was lying in bed watching television but he clicked the TV off in surprise when he saw his visitor.
"Sir!" he exclaimed. "I-- I wasn't expecting you."
"I thought I'd come by and see how you were doing, that's all," Skinner reassured him too quickly. Mulder's reaction bothered him but he wasn't quite sure why.
"Th-thank you," Mulder answered just as quickly. "I'm fine. I could go home but the docs want to do a couple more tests. I think I'm the guinea pig of the week here."
"Understandable, I guess. You . . . survived something no other human being has," Skinner said quietly.
"As far as we know," Mulder added. "How's Gr-- I mean, how is your father, sir?"
Skinner noted the sudden change in verbiage but he chose to ignore it. "He's doing all right, thank God. The doctor said only three to five percent of his heart was damaged. He'll need some cardiac rehab, and medication for a while at least. But he was very lucky."
"Good," Mulder replied, blinking back tears he couldn't explain. He swallowed down the lump in his throat. "That's . . . good, sir."
There was an awkward silence and Mulder wished he'd left the TV on so he had something to look at, anything to avoid eye contact with the other man. For some reason, the intimacy of the moment felt . . . uncomfortable. His memories of his previous life had returned in full but the memory of his time with Skinner had not been displaced. And some of that was . . . awkward at best and completely embarrassing at the worst.
Skinner cleared his throat, sensing the younger man's discomfort even if he didn't completely understand it. "I wanted to let you know your apartment's been kept up. You can return there whenever they let you out. I had Andy and Joe go over and air things out today, and stock the refrigerator. And they made sure your car's running and gassed up. There's money in your checking account. All your paychecks were deposited. I moved some funds to a money market account but all the paperwork's on your desk. You'll be able to figure it out."
Mulder felt his eyes stinging with tears again. "Th-thank you," he said, barely whispering. "I-- thanks. . . for everything. And for coming tonight. I-- I know you probably want to get back to your Dad--"
Skinner interrupted him. "I saw him earlier. And it's past visiting hours, Mulder. But--"
"No! I-- I know you've taken care of all the details for me, sir. And I appreciate it. But . . . your family should come first. I don't want to k-keep you. . . ."
Skinner stared at him for a second, the he nodded deliberately. "Right. Well that's about all I had to say anyway. I'm . . . glad you're okay. Let me know . . . when the doctor clears you for work. There are a lot of X-files piled up, you know. Scully did her best but . . . . Your talents were missed, Agent Mulder. She'll be glad to have you back."
He picked up his coat and started for the door. Then he turned and gave Mulder a small smile, the first since he'd come in. "We all will, Mulder." He nodded again and left, the door swinging silently to a close behind him.
Mulder stared at the closed door, tears pooling in his eyes that wouldn't respond to his urgent request to cease and desist. He balled his right hand into a fist and slammed it down on his thigh. "Damn!" he whispered before throwing his head back on the pillow and letting the tears flow unchecked.
Thursday evening
7:47 p.m.
"Mulder."
The agent's head never moved from where it was poised over an X-file on his desk. He chewed unconsciously on a sunflower seed as he speed-read his way through another file. Without raising his head, he reached into a pile on the side of the desk and pulled back one he'd read earlier, opening it up to a specific page and beginning to compare information from one to the other.
"Mulder!" Scully called again, this time at near a near bellow.
"What?" he started, his head popping up in surprise.
"I said it's time to go. It's your first day back and you shouldn't overdo it." Scully had known it was a mistake to come right to the office from the hospital when he was released this afternoon. But he'd been so insistent . . . and she'd been so anxious to have him back, to let things get back to normal.
He glanced at his watch and frowned. "I-- had no idea what time it was," he said slowly. "Let me just put some things together to take home and . . . "
"No," she interrupted him firmly. "It will all be here for you when you return tomorrow. You haven't even been back to your apartment yet. You need to let yourself . . . settle in, Mulder."
He stared at her, then he dropped his eyes and nodded. "I guess you're right, Scully. It's just . . . it feels like I've lost so much time and . . . But you're right. Tomorrow."
They got their coats and left the building, going to Scully's car in the basement. Mulder offered to get his bag out of her trunk and take the Metro home but Scully didn't even bother to respond to that suggestion. She had just left the parkway by the Alexandria exit when Mulder spoke for the first time on the ride.
"Would you mind . . . making a short stop, Scully?"
"Don't tell me you want to go to the video store, Mulder--"
"No!" he answered quickly. "It's . . . Mr. Skinner's going to be released from the hospital tomorrow morning. I'd like to stop by and see him for a few minutes."
"It's after visiting hours," she began, then she stopped herself. Mulder had no trouble breaking into high-security government installations. He'd be able to talk himself past the nurses at Jefferson Medical Center. And she understood why he might want to.
"I'll wait here," she said as she pulled the car up to the entrance to the front lobby. Through the glass windows she could see Mulder flash his FBI badge and then head to the elevators. She turned the car into a nearby space and turned up the radio to wait.
Mulder walked past an empty nurse's station and found the room he'd been told was Mr. Skinner's. It was after visiting hours and things were quiet on this floor. But when he looked in, the bed was empty in Room 534. The television was on, though and he quickly spotted Walter, Sr. in his bathrobe and pajamas, sitting in an armchair.
"Fox," the older man said, a smile lighting his face as soon as he saw his visitor. "I heard you got sprung today! Come in, son."
"I just wanted . . . to stop in for a minute," Mulder replied haltingly.
"Nonsense. I want to see you," Mr. Skinner said. "Come here."
The young agent walked into the room and stood awkwardly next to the armchair until Mr. Skinner motioned for him to take a seat in the other chair.
"How are you feeling?" they said simultaneously then both men smiled.
"You first," Mr. Skinner said.
"I'm fine," Mulder responded with a small smile. "Took them too long to release me but I think they knew I was never going back willingly so . . . " He grimaced. "How about you, sir?"
"I'm all right. My heart just decided to throw everyone a little scare. Doctor says I'll be good as new," the elder man answered firmly. "You look good, Foksik. And I'm glad you came by. I . . . was worried about you."
Mulder felt hot tears stinging the back of his eyes and he blinked them back quickly, hoping the other man didn't see the gesture. It was a fruitless hope but he swallowed the emotions down and tried to speak lightly. "Don't worry about me! I'm fine. Went to the office already. I'd still be there if Scully didn't drag my butt out tonight!"
Mr. Skinner nodded, recognizing the futile effort the younger man was making to make this all seem unimportant. His son had told him Fox seemed to want to distance himself from what he'd been through in the last five months. Walter had definitely hit that nail right on the head.
"I understand. I can't wait to get home, too. Don't like hospitals much," the older man said quietly. "Will you be going back to the house?"
Mulder colored slightly and dropped his eyes. "N-no, sir," he said. "I think I'm gonna head back to my place. It's been a while and . . . . I kind of want to get home, too."
Mr. Skinner nodded. "I can understand that. We'll see you for the holidays, though, right?"
Mulder looked up and started to lie to the other man but something inside him made that impossible. "I-I'll try," he stammered. "B-but I don't know how much backed up work there is. And I hope you don't mind me saying, your son's not the easiest boss in the world, sir. I-- I don't know how long it's gonna take me to get through the stack of files on my desk."
Walter, Sr. nodded again. He didn't have any trouble keying in on the important words. "Your son" and "boss" were indicators that what the AD had told him was true. Fox was struggling with all of this and coming down on the side of separating himself from the Skinner family as a way of rediscovering who he was before all this happened.
"Dad, you have to give him some time," Skinner had told his father earlier in the day. "He's . . . he's confused. And uncomfortable. It's like coming back from another planet, in a way. He seems to need some time and space to deal with it--"
"I don't know if I agree, son," the older man had said. "You were exactly like that when you returned from Vietnam. Shell-shocked. Trying to reorient yourself to your life and failing. And we left you alone to deal with it, because it looked like that was what you wanted. Until eventually it turned out what you needed was to get reacquainted with who you were before and you couldn't do that alone. Because you weren't alone before you went there."
Skinner grimaced as he recalled how his father had eventually come down on him to get him back on track after his stint in Vietnam. But he shook his head. "This is different though, Dad," he responded. "Mulder . . . is different. And remember he didn't have the benefit of a Skinner childhood. . . ." He stopped immediately when his father grinned at him.
"Well, that's not exactly true any more is it, son?"
Now though Walter, Sr. could see for himself how confused the young agent really was. And how much he seemed to be hurting. So he decided to let his son's advice ride. For now.
"Fox, take as long as you need to get reacclimated. But . . . . there'll be an empty place if you're not at the table for Christmas dinner."
Mulder swallowed down a lump in his throat and tried to make light of the comment. "Well, one thing for sure," he answered as he got up and started to leave. "My being there has no effect on the vegetable consumption!"
Mr. Skinner smiled, recognizing his intent. But there was only so far he was willing to go in accommodating this behavior. He motioned for Mulder to lean down and he grasped the younger man's face with both of his hand. "We love you and you are part of our family, son," he said plainly. "Wherever you are, any day of the year." With that he placed a kiss on either of Mulder's cheeks and then released him. "You'll always have a home with us, Foksik."
Mulder felt a heaviness in his chest and he nodded spastically, not trusting his voice. Then he headed for the door, turning and giving the old man a quick wave goodbye before exiting for good.
Mr. Skinner watched the door hiss to a silent close, then he picked up the phone and dialed a number from memory. When the AD answered, he smiled into the phone. "Walter? You owe me twenty dollars," he said triumphantly. "Guess who just left my room. . . !"
McLean, Virginia
Monday evening
The cleaning crew had been by to sweep the safe house earlier, preparing it to accept another set of occupants whenever it was needed. Mulder had packed up the few things he wanted, his fish and the tank, some books and personal items he and the AD had brought from his apartment in Alexandria over time. There were a couple of items of clothing that would still fit him and fit his grown-up tastes, like the New York Yankees cap on his head. The AD had bought it for him on his birthday trip to Atlanta to watch the Yanks play the Braves in the World Series and the hat was not something he was willing to leave behind. He'd packed everything but the hat into his car and returned for a final look around, just to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything.
There were about a dozen boxes in the foyer that would go to the Salvation Army. They contained sporting equipment and clothes for a teenage boy, as well as things he'd outgrown in the last several months since they'd returned from Nantucket. Mulder looked the boxes over one more time, then decided to just leave before anything else worked its way into his car. He moved quickly, exiting the house and heading to the driveway just as the AD pulled his jeep into it. Embarrassed, he pulled the baseball cap off his head and threw it into the back seat of his car.
"Hi," Mulder said tentatively when Skinner approached him. He'd thought the AD had already been to the house and taken his things so his arrival was unexpected. "I . . . was just getting a few things. Not much--"
"Take all you want, Mulder," Skinner told him with a small smile. "Everything we leave behind is going to charity."
"I know," Mulder said quietly. He took another look at the house. "We-- we did a pretty good job with the Christmas lights." He'd turned them on before leaving, wanting to make the house appear as normal as possible to the neighbors. And he was right, they'd outdone themselves with the decorations. "Ours is the best house on the block . . . ." His voice trailed off to nothing as what he'd just said sank in.
"Yeah," Skinner answered, pretending not to notice his discomfort. "It's been a long time since I used all that stuff. It's been in storage since Sharon and I . . . . Well, I guess I'll leave it here anyway. For whoever's using the house next. I don't need outdoor decorations at the apartment."
"I guess I better be going," Mulder said suddenly. "Or else I'm gonna end up with frozen fish for my tank!"
Skinner watched him back his car of the driveway, then he went into the house. He'd taken all of his personal items already but something had drawn him back, a sense that something might have been left behind. Tomorrow morning, everything would be carted away and then it would be too late. He walked through the house, searching. His first stop was at the big picture window in the family room. It looked out onto the patio and the spacious yard.
They'd moved into the safe house when Fox was about twelve. Staring out into the dark, the man would almost swear he could see Fox running around the backyard, trying to teach Yoda to catch a frisbee. It had been a fruitless attempt but the boy had not flagged in his certainty that the dog would learn eventually and he'd spent many happy hours on the task.
In the family room, there was another ghost, this one a sixteen-year-old sprawled on the couch, a telephone glued to his ear, a shy grin plastered on his face.
Skinner walked back into the kitchen, where yet another memory lived. This time it was a thirteen-year-old boy, who didn't care much for the healthy meal he'd been given and was surreptitiously feeding everything green on his plate to the dog when he thought the AD wasn't looking.
And in the foyer, there was yet another reminder of an even younger child in the pink and white, long-eared rabbit that sat atop one of the boxes slated to go to charity. Skinner could see the two-year-old Fox, clinging to that stuffed animal as though his life depended on it. Sleeping with it, dragging it from room to room in the Crystal City apartment. Even as he grew out of it, the rabbit had reappeared whenever the boy was feeling afraid or insecure.
Skinner smiled, remembering how he'd first tried to send it off to the Salvation Army when they were moving out of the apartment and how it had mysteriously made its way out of the charity box and into one marked to come to this house. And then somehow it had found its way into the closet in Fox's bedroom.
The AD sighed and swallowed back the lump that suddenly appeared in his throat. He walked up the stairs to the second floor to search those rooms for whatever it was he might have forgotten. He wandered through the bedrooms and the study but didn't find it. A noise downstairs startled him out of his reverie.
"Mulder?" he called down, thinking it might have been the younger agent returning. But no one answered and he decided he must have been mistaken. He finished his tour in Fox's bedroom, recalling all the conversations he'd had with a young Fox there in recent months. For some reason that was the child's most vulnerable time of day, and Skinner had developed a habit of chatting with him at bedtime during this second childhood. Those were the times when the AD got the surest glimpses into his heart and soul, his hopes and his fears. Skinner realized with a start that he would miss that nightly ritual, probably more than anything else.
He shook his head firmly and decided it was time to get home. Whatever he might have left behind had already been packed up and boxed anyway. And Yoda was at the apartment, waiting to be walked and fed. He hadn't yet figured out who in his family to gift with the dog and so the AD was keeping him for the moment.
He and Mulder had spoken about it twice in recent days and the younger man was uncharacteristically indecisive about which Skinner household would be best for the dog. But the AD wanted his participation so he'd deferred it for a little while longer until Mulder could make up his mind. Characteristically, all of the other Skinners, including Jean and his parents, had offered to take Yoda in.
Skinner headed down the stairs, pulling his car keys out of his pocket as he walked. He turned off the lights in the kitchen, stopping to take something off the wall there. It was a wood paddle Fox had made, although it looked like a small cutting board hanging on the wall. The cleaning crew had left it behind because it looked like a kitchen decoration but Skinner made a last minute decision to take it home. He could always use another cutting board.
He turned off the rest of the lights in the house as he prepared to depart but left the lights in the foyer burning. The boxes for the Salvation Army were there and he looked them over one more time. Something was different from before, though. . . something was missing. It hit him suddenly. The long-eared rabbit that had been perched atop one of the boxes was gone. The noise he'd heard earlier must have been Mulder, returning for it.
The AD stood there for a moment, surprisingly pleased and touched by the fact the rabbit would find itself a home in another closet in an apartment in Alexandria. That seemed fitting, he thought, like the little rabbit was going home. He remembered his conversation with his father a few days earlier and a sense of peace descended over him for the first time in days. At some point in the future, he knew with certainty, Fox would find his way home, too. All the kids in the Skinner family eventually did.
Skinner sighed as he opened the big front door. He stopped under the twinkling Christmas decorations, taking a moment for one last look back into the house. Then he closed the door gently and headed for his jeep and home.
THE END