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Title: Control Issues Part Two � Open wounds Skinner waited outside Mulder�s apartment, two thoughts filling his mind. One, should he even be doing this? Two, what exactly was he going to do? He was not, he freely admitted, the touchy-feely type. In fact, never touching or feeling any of his subordinates was fine with him. But this was different. Although his career prospects were not great, if anything really bad happened to Mulder, they would be non-existent. Too many people had a vested interest in Mulder�s physical and mental health. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door. Mulder opened the door and stared at Skinner for a moment before standing aside in what Skinner guessed was an invitation into the apartment. Dropping the paper bag he carried onto the couch, Skinner walked into the kitchen and washed his hands carefully, his nose wrinkling at the smell emanating from the accumulated dishes lying unwashed in the sink. Skinner was conscious of Mulder�s eyes on the brown bags on the counter top as he dried his hands on a couple of sheets of paper towel having failed to hunt out a cloth in the chaotic mess of the room. �Take off your t-shirt, Mulder. I want to clean those cuts and put something on them. Then I�ll make us something to eat.� �Sir�� Mulder protested, knowing as he spoke he was wasting his breath. �Now Mulder.� Mulder pulled off his already-bloodstained t-shirt and threw it onto the arm of the couch. Skinner picked it up and looked around. �You have somewhere for worn clothes?� Mulder just stopped himself in time before replying that the �somewhere� was the floor. �No sir.� Skinner shook his head slowly, folded the white cotton top into four and left it on the arm of the couch. �Lay face down.� Mulder�s breathing became ragged and his eyes fixed on the paper bag Skinner brought over to the coffee table. �Antiseptic, gauze and sticking plaster Mulder.� Skinner pulled the items out of the bag one at a time, hoping Mulder would calm when he realised the bag�s innocuous contents. Warily, Mulder rolled onto his stomach, his arms pillowing his head. �This is gonna sting Mulder, but at least the cuts�ll be clean, okay?� Mulder�s response was muffled, but sufficient for Skinner to tear open the first of a pile of antiseptic wipes and gently clean the deepest of the cuts across the width of Mulder�s shoulders. �OWWWWWW!!� Mulder�s cry of pain and twist as he rolled onto his side were almost simultaneous. Skinner made an irritated sound. �Mulder, hold still. The sooner I get this over with, the better. Now lay back down.� �You hurt me!� Mulder scowled as his lip quivered. �Mulder, I didn�t do this to you. I�m just trying to help, okay?� Mulder heard an uncharacteristic gentleness in Skinner�s tone and sulkily turned over. Skinner put a hand on Mulder�s bare shoulder. �They need to be clean Mulder.� �I�m sorry.� Skinner sighed inwardly at Mulder�s contrite tone. �Okay. Just keep still a little while longer, then I�ll fix us some dinner.� Mulder settled again, arms folded under his head, his muted whimpers making Skinner�s hands shake as he wiped the deep wounds clean and covered the worst, leaving the others to get some air. �You just lay still for a while, okay?� �Are you leaving?� Skinner frowned at the edge of panic in Mulder�s tired voice. �No Mulder. I brought you some painkillers. I�m just gonna get you some water to take them with.� Skinner returned with a glass and shook out two of the pills from the bottle. �Here. Take them and try and get some rest.� Skinner moved a couple of couch cushions under Mulder�s head and pulled the throw off the back of the couch, draping it over him. �I�m not sleepy.� Mulder protested, swallowing the pills. Skinner smiled. �Close your eyes and see what happens.� When he was sure Mulder�s eyes were closed, Skinner got up, reached into his coat pocket, pulled out the copy of Sports Illustrated, sat back and watched Mulder�s breathing even out as he drifted into sleep. After a little while, Skinner got up and walked around the apartment. He pushed open what he guessed was Mulder�s room and realised that the bed, with the mattress leaning against the headboard, hadn�t been slept in for a while. He looked down at the floor, almost completely covered in crumpled clothes, sighed heavily and walked out. Skinner rifled Mulder�s kitchen cupboards and found a roll of black plastic bags. He packed Mulder�s clothes into them, carrying the four huge bags to the front door, leaning them against the wall. Mulder opened his eyes slowly, the sound of dishes being washed up coming from the kitchen. And something else. The smell of food. Mulder�s stomach rumbled hopefully and he lifted himself up, propping himself up on his elbows. �Sir?� Skinner walked in from the kitchen. �Good sleep?� �I guess. What time is it?� �Almost nine.� �I�ve been asleep for three hours?� �Yeah. You ready for some food?� Mulder nodded. �I�m starving.� Skinner smiled. �Come on through when you�re ready.� Mulder lifted himself up onto one elbow, his eyes taking in the row of black bags. �What�s that?� Skinner said carefully: �I�tidied up a little.� Mulder�s cheeks flushed and he dropped his head. �I don�t get to the laundry room too often.� Skinner�s eyes widened. �There�s a laundry room in this building?� Mulder nodded. �Yeah. In the basement.� �When we�re done eating, you can show me the way.� He put a hand under Mulder�s elbow and helped him to his feet. Spooning a large helping of the chicken stew into a bowl, Skinner handed it to Mulder who eyed it warily. �I�m, um, really, um, not very hungry sir.� �Eat as much as you want Mulder.� Skinner was aware of Mulder�s confusion. He had surprised himself by how easily he had changed roles, from boss to�he frowned as he struggled to think of an appropriate word to describe his actions�rescuer. �Sir?� Mulder asked, his own face reflecting his concern at Skinner�s expression. �It�s all right Mulder. I was just wondering how much you�re gonna have to pay someone to clean this place up.� �It�s not that bad!� Mulder protested defensively. �It�s a mess, Mulder.� �I�m sorry.� Skinner stifled his sigh at Mulder�s instinctive response to being chastised. �We�ll get it done Mulder.� �Okay.� Mulder calmed and continued to eat the stew. Immediately he had finished, Skinner watched as Mulder silently got up, returning a few minutes later with a large wooden paddle. Skinner took the paddle from Mulder�s trembling hand. �Mulder?� �It�s to punish me.� Mulder said listlessly. �Punish you for what, Mulder?� Skinner asked sharply. Mulder�s fingers began to undo the buttons on his jeans. �I talked back earlier. And I fell asleep while you were in the apartment. And I didn�t appreciate your stew. And�� Skinner got up quickly, his hand catching Mulder�s, stopping him. He waited until Mulder looked up, his eyes wide with confusion and fear. �Mulder, stop it! I�m not going to punish you. You�ve been through Hell these past few weeks. Talking back is how you are. And you probably haven�t slept properly in a long while. And you finished the stew. You haven�t done anything wrong. And even if you had, I wouldn�t hit you with this!� Mulder�s eyes were dull, his shoulders sagging as he resigned himself to a worse punishment. �There�s a whole box full of stuff in the closet. You can chose something else.� �Show me.� Skinner instructed. Mulder walked out into the hallway, opened the closet door and pointed at the large cardboard box. Skinner reached in, glancing at the contents. He lifted the box out and carried it to the couch. Tipping the crops, canes and other items onto the couch, he turned back to Mulder. White-faced, trembling, Mulder turned his head, staring at the carpet beside his feet, avoiding looking at the items covering the couch. Silently, Skinner repacked the box and Mulder relaxed a fraction when he realised Skinner had changed his mind and decided to use the paddle after all. He watched Skinner, wondering why he needed to go into the kitchen. Skinner rifled through the various bottles and cans under Mulder�s sink, finally finding what he was looking for. Paint thinner. Matches. And a bucket. He straightened up and as he looked up, he realised Mulder was watching him intently. �Take something warm out of one of the black bags and put it on.� While Mulder pulled on a grey sweatshirt, Skinner filled the bucket at the sink. Tucking the matches into his back pocket, Skinner lifted the box off the couch, balancing the bottle of paint thinner on the top. �Come with me. Bring the bucket.� ************* Mulder watched, a dazed look on his face, as Skinner set the box down on the patch of bare earth which surrounded the apartment building. He poured a little of the paint thinner onto the folded flaps of the box and took the matches from his pocket. �Here.� He handed them to Mulder, taking the bucket from him. �Stand a little further back and throw the match onto the top.� Mulder shook his head. �No�what if you have to punish�� Skinner took the matchbox from Fox�s shaking hands. �I�ll never ever hit you Mulder. And certainly not with anything from that box.� He lit one of the matches and handed it to Fox. �Throw it or it�ll burn your fingers.� He urged. When it became obvious Fox wasn�t going to move, Skinner grasped Mulder�s hand and threw the match onto the box. The fire caught quickly, aided by the flammable liquid which had soaked through the box and its contents. Skinner moved to stand behind Mulder who stared, transfixed, as the box burned. After a couple of minutes, there was nothing much left of the box or its contents, and Skinner poured the bucket onto the small flames which remained. The fire hissed and smoked, but was out in seconds. Skinner waited a couple more minutes, poking the fire with a length of metal pipe he found a few feet away. Satisfied it was extinguished, he turned back to Mulder who hadn�t moved. Softly, he said: �Let�s go back inside.� Settling Mulder onto the couch, Skinner walked into the bedroom and made up the bed with bedclothes he found, new and unopened, in a carrier bag in the bedroom. �Mulder, come in here.� Skinner smiled reassuringly as Mulder walked slowly into the bedroom, his wide eyes taking in the transformation Skinner had achieved in the room. �Get into bed. I�ll come back and make you breakfast in the morning before I leave for work.� Unselfconsciously, Mulder began to strip off his clothes. Embarrassed, Skinner walked out of the bedroom, turning as Mulder whispered: �Night sir.� He smiled at the sight of Mulder, tucked in the still-creased bedclothes. �Sleep well Mulder.� Closing the door behind him, Skinner let himself out of the apartment.
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