************DISCLAIMER************************ ***Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner, Dana Scully, etc., etc., do not belong to me, they belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions, blah, blah, blah. But I *really* like this one. . . As always, e-mails encouraged. . .************* *********************************************************************************
"Agent Mulder. Good. Come in. I've been expecting you."
I stepped into Skinner's office carefully, glancing back once at his fresh-faced secretary before closing the door behind me. *Abandon all hope. . .* I thought, with an inner wince. This was going to be bad.
"Sir. . .?" I ventured.
"Sit down," Skinner said with no preamble, his eyes not on me but on a pile of photocopied sheets that lay before him on his desk. I crossed the room in several quick steps, saying nothing, and sat in one of the two chairs that faced him. *Okay, Mulder,* I told myself, taking a deep breath. *You can handle this. No sweat. Got it covered. Been in worse situations.* Having told myself that rather successfully, it still seemed to have no effect on my sour stomach and trembling hands.
*_s_h_i_t_.*
Finally, as if hearing my thoughts, my boss raised his head and regarded me coolly over the lenses of his glasses. I tried to keep a poker face and stare him down, but after a few seconds I sighed and turned my head away.
"What do you have to say for yourself, Agent Mulder?" Skinner leaned back and folded his arms, never taking his eyes off my face. "Anything good, or more bull_s_h_i_t_?"
"Sir," I began, "I know how things turned out, but-"
"'How things turned out'?" He looked incredulous - and furious. "How things turned out. Mulder, you're at the center of one of the biggest _f_u_c_k_-ups in the esteemed history of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. If the press had gotten wind of this, we'd all be packing our bags on the way to the unemployment line right about now. You don't have a *clue* how lucky you are."
I said nothing.
Skinner glanced down at the papers on his desk. "This assignment report shows - quite clearly - that you and your partner were supposed to be working a serial murder case in Pensacola. Is this your signature, here, or am I hallucinating, Mulder?"
He flashed the paper at me.
"Yes, sir," I muttered.
"So - please explain this to me - how in the hell did *you* manage to be arrested for breaking and entering into private property in Sedona, Arizona? Maybe I'm slow, but I don't see the connection."
I cleared my throat. "Sir, the Arizona incident was part of an ongoing investig-"
"Don't give me that," Skinner snapped. "You had orders, Agent Mulder, and you chose to deliberately disobey them. Where was your partner during all this?"
"With me, sir, but she-"
"I see."
My face grew hot; I could feel sweat beading in my palms but stubbornly did my best to ignore it. "Leave Scully out of this, sir. It was my-"
"Of course it was." Skinner looked down at the reports again, one of his fists clenched with what looked to me like barely restrained fury. I glanced at the door nervously, wondering if it would be possible to slide my chair back a little further without being noticed. . .
"According to the police report, Agent Mulder, you told the arresting officer that you were 'pursuing an assailant into a restricted area'. The woman that was with you - a Ms. Deindhart - backed up your story, only the details she added were that the so-called 'assailant' was an apparition of some kind-"
"A psychogeist, sir," I muttered without thinking.
"-and that the two of you had been corresponding since she first faxed you a report of a UFO encounter in 1996."
"Sir, the apparition she described fit the pattern of a series of unexplained deaths that were given to the Bureau in-"
"Shut up, Mulder," Skinner growled, and I shut my mouth with a snap. "You deliberately ignored an assignement, took off to God knows where without even requesting permission, broke local laws, got yourself arrested, brawled with the arresting officers, ran up a two thousand dollar charge on the FBI's dime - including, I might add, your bail bond - and generally made an ass of yourself. Now. Is there anything you can say to that?"
I pulled at my tie and shifted in my chair. What could I say? 'I'm sorry, I'll never do it again'? 'I'll pay you back, no sweat'? Yeah. Right. I'd be living in a cardboard box for the next fifty years - and they'd probably charge the remainder of the bill to any next of kin.
But that wasn't what was scaring me.
I shook my head.
Skinner pulled off his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and then looked at me with a mixture of anger, disgust, and weariness. "The Director's office is raising holy hell over this, Mulder, and the Office of Professional Responsibility wants your ass. And as your direct superior, I'm in the line of fire if I don't follow their recommendations. It'll be *my* ass, and frankly, I'm not thrilled by the idea."
"Recommendations." I realized I was croaking, barely audible, and tried again. "What recommendations?"
"Pull you out of the Bureau," Skinner said softly. "Cut you off from your partner, the X-Files, any chance at rehabilitation. Kick your ass out of here for good. No chance of reinstatement. They don't believe that there's anything that I can do - considering your record - that would be considered an effective disciplinary measure."
My chest suddenly felt as if it were caving in. Pull me. . .? "No," I whispered, "I can't. . . they can't, not now."
"They can, Mulder. They want to. They're waiting for my signature."
"Sir, I. . ." I looked up at him with wide eyes. I'd been so close this time, within a whisper, not the answer to the prayers but at least the language in which to speak them. The city wherein lay the street and the shop where I might find the key.
"Please," I said softly.
Skinner let out his breath in a disgusted sigh. "Why do you always insist on acting like a child, Mulder? Doing everything just as you please, acting out and then refusing to take the consequences?"
I said nothing. My eyes were fixed on a spot on the carpet not far from my feet, and I didn't really notice Skinner's pensive silence. *Ashes, ashes. . .*
"Mulder," Skinner said again, and this time his tone was so questioning that I looked up to see him watching my face intently.
"Sir?"
"Do you want to keep your job?"
I shook my head, not understanding. "Of course I do. . . you know-"
"Do you accept the fact that your actions last week *were* unacceptable, by any standards?"
"I know, sir, but-"
"And you would agree that you *do* warrant disciplinary action."
I opened my mouth, closed it again, and nodded.
"All right." Skinner pushed back his chair, unbuttoned the cuffs of his immaculate white dress shirt, and began rolling them up. "I'm going to offer you a chance. I'm going to try some 'creative discipline' with you, Mulder, and then I'm going to send a note to OPR saying that you've been sufficiently punished and that your expulsion from the Bureau is no longer necessary. I assume that would please you."
"Cr-creative discipline, sir?" I shook my head. "I don't get you."
"Don't worry, you will. Since you insist on behaving like a spoiled child, Agent Mulder, I'm going to try disciplining you as if you were one. You need it driven home to you that some actions are simply unacceptable in the Bureau - unacceptable and stupid. You need to think long and hard before you make the same mistake again."
I couldn't quite comprehend his line of logic. . . but there was a nervous flutter in my stomach, and the beads of sweat across my palms had become a slick sheen. My face was hot. "Sir. . .?"
"I think you need something more traditional, Mulder," Skinner said, folding his arms. "Like an old-fashioned hiding."
A *what*. . .?! "You want to. . . spank. . . me, sir?" I almost laughed.
"I want to tan your hide, Agent Mulder, but unfortunately this isn't about what I want. This is about a last-ditch effort to control your behavior and keep you from the wolves at OPR. Don't worry," he added as he caught my almost-terrified glimpse around the office, "you know this place is soundproofed, and it's been swept for bugs. This will stay between us - call it a mutual laying aside of protocol. It's your choice."
I looked at the floor. I could feel my face burning, and - there went another clean shirt - could feel cold sweat around my collar and in my armpits. This man wanted to. . .! But somewhere deep down I was turning the idea over and over, thinking, *keep my job. . . stay inside a little longer. . .* And I respected Skinner. . . on some level. . .
*Shut up, asshole*, I told myself, and shivered. What a bitch of a day this was turning out to be, and when I'd gotten up this morning I'd thought that the wet newspaper inhibiting the sports page had been a problem.
Goes to show you, there's nothing like perspective.
No way out, really. I'd really put my foot in it this time.
Without a word, I stood up, trembling, from my chair and slipped out of my gray jacket, folding it almost absently and dropping it over the back of the chair. I looked over at Skinner, almost afraid to meet his eyes.
"The tie, too, Mulder, and loosen your top button."
I obeyed with a sigh, leaving my tie on top of my discarded jacket.
"Take off your shoes, and come over to this side."
My shoes? I stepped out of them carefully, making my way around the desk to where Skinner sat. He reached out with one big hand - God, why hadn't I noticed how huge they were? - and pulled me toward his knees by my belt. Before I could even think to argue, he'd slipped the gold buckle and unsnapped my slacks, and they began sliding toward my ankles.
"Hey. . .!" I half-shouted, trying to pull away. "You didn't say anything about. . ."
"Be quiet, Mulder," Skinner said, and unceremoniously hauled me off my feet and over his lap, my boxer-clad ass raised. Suddenly I found myself with my nose to the carpet, being held by an incredibly strong and very pissed-off Assistant Director.
Believe me - it was right about then when I started to question my decisions.
"You need to learn limits," Skinner was saying, "And you need to be disciplined for breaking the rules and disobeying orders. And I need to be sure that you won't repeat this behavior before I let you remain with the Bureau. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," I managed.
"Good." And then. . .! The son of a bitch wound his fingers in the back of my shorts and yanked them down, leaving my ass bare and exposed. I immediately lunged up and tried to fight off his grip, my face burning, but he was stronger and more solid. At the end of it I was still sprawled over his lap, only now I had my right arm twisted up behind my back for good measure.
"Don't worry - you don't have anything that I don't have, Mulder." He shifted position. "All of this is simply to insure that you learn your lesson. Any argument?"
I said nothing - cursing, but only in my head.
"All right. I think we can begin, then. Are you ready for your punishment, Agent Mulder?"
Again, I said nothing.
CRACK!
CRACK!
I yelped as Skinner's heavy hand slapped my bare ass, hard. Christ! Two blows and I could feel them burning.
"I asked you a question. I expect you to answer."
"Yeah," I muttered. "I guess."
CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK!
"The correct response, at this point, Agent Mulder, is 'yes sir, I'm ready for my spanking, sir.' You need a lesson in respect. So we'll try it one last time. Or do you want me to use your belt for your punishment?"
I shook my head quickly.
"All right. Are you ready for your punishment, Agent Mulder?"
"Yes sir," I muttered, through gritted teeth, humiliation a hot and nauseating rock in my guts.
"And what else?"
"I'm ready for my spanking, sir," Jesus. Jesus Christ.
"Good." Skinner drew back his hand, and let fly with a volley of slaps.
CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK!
I squirmed on his knee, already trying to escape the blows. Each one felt like a stroke with some heavy implement - like maybe a tree trunk.
CRACK! "I'm tired-" CRACK! CRACK! - "of always having to-" CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! - "cover for you," CRACK! CRACK! "Mulder." CRACK! "You're *way*-" CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! - "out of line!"
I kicked and twisted, but there was no escaping the spanking. Skinner held fast, and his hand came down again and again, without a pause. I could feel tears starting in my eyes.
CRACK! CRACK!
CRACK! CRACK!
CRACK!
"please," I moaned, "please."
"You're nowhere done with your lesson," Skinner said simply.
CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK!
"What I really-"
CRACK!
"-ought to do-"
CRACK!
CRACK!
"-is put you over the back of that chair-"
CRACK! CRACK!
CRACK! CRACK!
"-and take my belt to you-"
CRACK! CRACK!
"-and then maybe you'd learn-"
CRACK! CRACK!
CRACK! CRACK!
"-to think before you act!"
CRACK!
The tears were flowing openly now, clogging my nose and dripping onto the carpet. I couldn't kick free, or squirm away, and every blow that landed across my bare and flaming backside drew a little scream out of me. I didn't think I could take any more. . . but still the slaps kept on coming, seemingly harder all the time. I'd forgotten myself. I was no longer an FBI agent in his mid-thirties, with my own personal ideas and personal dignity, but a little kid kicking and crying over a grownup's knee, swearing to be good and behave.
CRACK!
CRACK!
"please," I sobbed, "please, no more, okay?"
CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK! CRACK!
"Please! Stop! I know I _f_u_c_k_ed up! Please!"
CRACK!
CRACK!
"And you'll be more careful about your actions in the future, Agent Mulder?"
CRACK!
CRACK!
"Yes!!"
"Say it."
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
"I'll b-be more c-careful," I wailed. "I'll be more careful!"
CRACK!
CRACK!
"And we *will not* have a repeat of the irresponsible behavior that brought us to this point, will we?"
CRACK! CRACK!
CRACK! CRACK!
CRACK! CRACK!
"No sir!!" I gasped out. "No, sir, we won't, I swear to God!"
CRACK!
CRACK! CRACK!
CRACK!
CRACK! CRACK!
"Good," Skinner said, and stopped.
I lay across his knee sobbing like a kid, my butt on fire, no longer aware of anything except the pain. Well chastised? Right then I wanted nothing more than to stay out of that office for the rest of my life. I think if Skinner had suggested I'd join a monastery right at that point, I would have shucked my Armani suit for a cassock in three seconds flat.
Skinner raised me to my feet, and stood there while I hauled up my shorts and slacks over my blistered bottom. I limped back to where I'd left my jacket, decided against it, and dared raise my eyes to Skinner's in a question.
"No, Mulder, don't bother." He sighed heavily, readjusted himself in his chair, and gathered up the papers from his desk. "You're dismissed for the rest of the day. I think you've been punished enough without having to limp around the Hoover building until 5 p. m."
"Thank you, sir."
Skinner froze in the act of putting on his eyeglasses to look squarely at me. "*Have* you learned your lesson, Agent Mulder?"
"Oh, yes sir," I snapped back. No question about that one.
"All right." He looked away dismissively. "Then I will forward these reports back to OPR and let them know that I've found an effective disciplinary measure." I swear, the man looked like he could almost smirk at that one. "I hope, for your sake, that I don't have to use it again. Not that I am unable to do so, you understand."
My face flushed.
"You're dismissed, Agent Mulder," Skinner said, and began writing.
I turned and limped from the room.