REPARATIONS 1
By Amokeh (Amokeh@aol.com) Date: May 23rd, 1999.
Rating: PG (no, not NC17 yet - there definitely will be gratuitous 
sex, but later)
Category: Skinner/Mulder/Scully Friendship (right now - be 
patient)
Spoilers: Biogenesis, SR-819
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. They are all 
the property of Chris Carter, frustrating ass that he is, and 1013 
Productions. If they were mine, Skinner would spend a lot more 
time naked. Iīm not making any money off of this whatsoever, 
so Chris, if you want to sue me, youīll just be wasting your time 
as I am poor as dirt! 
Author's Note: Huge thanks to Jvantheterrible for her constant 
support, and, well, nagging me to get a story written. Sheīs just 
been a huge pain in the ass and the only reason Iīm writing this 
is to get her the hell off my back! Kidding! Iīm only kidding, 
babe! Love yaī bunches, really I do! Actually, Iīve had lots of 
story ideas, but all of you incredibly creative people out there 
have either used them already or come close to them, and I 
hate being a copycat. I could never hold a candle to any of you 
anyway - you are goddesses of erotica and I worship at your 
feet. 
Special thanks: to Red Valerian for her phenomenal web site. 
You are truly THE goddess of Skinnerotica - thanks for allowing 
us mere mortals to lay our meager offerings at your shrine.
Feedback: Desperately needed at amokeh@aol.com. If you 
donīt like it, I donīt want to know. Really. 
 
Reparations 
by Amokeh 
 
Georgetown Medical Center 
Assistant Director Walter Skinner stood outside the observation 
room filled with television monitors. He had no idea what he was 
going to do, what he could do, but this had gone too far. What 
had started out as simply turning over information to Krycek in 
exchange for a few more days of living had degenerated to 
this....intolerable....situation. My god, he thought to himself, 
intolerable - thatīs the understatement of the century. But no 
word could possibly begin to describe his unease, his self-
loathing, and yes, his fear for his agents, his friends. 
He stood there, unsure of what to do next. He had two hells 
from which to choose: he could go inside and watch a person 
he admired and trusted pace and scream in psychotic fury. Or 
he could stand outside in the hallway where just moments 
before he had watched the woman he loved realize his betrayal. 
Or...there had to be a third option. He just needed the courage 
to find it. 
Skinner turned on his heel, a plan forming in his mind. A plan 
that would probably cost him his life. 
 
Georgetown Medical Center - 36 hours later 
Skinner stood outside Mulderīs room in Psychiatrics, arguing 
with the agentīs doctor. 
"You canīt remove him! Heīs too violent!" The doctor gestured 
emphatically towards his patientīs door. "Weīve drugged him to 
the gills, but there hasnīt been any decrease in his abnormal 
brain activity." The doctor sighed in frustration, rubbing his hand 
across his face, and said wearily, "Weīve tried everything, but 
nothing works. I donīt see how the staff at Bethesda is going to 
have any more luck." 
Skinner nodded, sympathetic but resolute. "The choice is out of 
your hands. The papers I have here," he once again tried to 
hand the documents to the doctor, "release him from your care 
and remand him to mine. Iīll transport him to Bethesda myself." 
Not for the first time, Skinner hoped the doctor wouldnīt 
question him further. Or try to contact the members of Mulderīs 
family listed on the document as giving consent. Or try to follow 
up on his patient by contacting the Bethesda facility. Mulderīs 
mother had no idea of what was happening to her son, and to 
get her involved at this stage would only complicate matters. A 
call to Bethesda would be a catastrophe as well, as no one there 
had been informed of any patient transfer. Although he trusted 
the Lone Gunmenīs ability to forge official documents, he 
wanted to get Mulder out of there as quickly as he could, with 
as few questions asked as possible. 
He wanted to help Mulder, true; but he also needed Mulder to 
help him. Mulderīs partner, Dana Scully, had gone missing after 
leaving the Hoover building almost two nights ago. Skinner was 
frantic; Scully had stormed out of the hospital after accusing 
him of lying to her and was probably running scared, feeling 
alone with no one to trust. Skinner had admitted to himself long 
ago that his protectiveness towards the beautiful redhead 
stemmed less from his position as her superior than his feelings 
of admiration, respect and even love for her. More than 
anything else, he wanted to regain her trust and friendship, but 
first he had to find her, to save her from the truth she was 
seeking. And Mulder was the key to her whereabouts. 
The doctor hesitantly took the documents held in the Assistant 
Directorīs outstretched hand. He scanned over them, checking 
for the necessary signatures, and reluctantly nodded. 
"Everything looks in order here. You can take him as soon as 
we fill out the release form." The doctor then looked up at 
Skinner, shaking his head worriedly. "But I still donīt know how 
in hell youīre going to transport him by yourself. We canīt get 
near him." 
Skinner didnīt know himself, but he couldnīt share his doubts 
with this man. Trying to look as confident as possible, he 
assured the doctor. "Heīs been my agent for six years. Weīve 
been through a lot together. He trusts me." Skinner almost 
flinched as he said the word, "trust," feeling the weight of his 
betrayal more than ever. Mulder had trusted him; so had Scully, 
finally. It had taken him a lot to earn that trust, and now, with 
one threat from that rat bastard, Krycek, that trust could be 
irrevocably shattered. None of these guilt-filled thoughts showed 
on his face for the doctor to see. He was still a master of his 
own control, if nothing else. He looked the doctor straight in the 
eye and repeated: "He trusts me." 
The doctor looked at him evenly, and finally nodded. "Well then, 
you might have the best chance of reaching him. God knows 
weīve failed at every attempt." The doctor pivoted towards 
Mulderīs door and unlocked it. Turning back to Skinner, his 
face was filled with consternation, still uncertain that this was 
the best course of action for his patient. "Just be very careful 
with him. Heīs in an extremely fragile state. Anything, 
everything and nothing sets him off." 
Skinner nodded his understanding, and the doctor, only partially 
satisfied that this man truly comprehended the task in front of 
him, turned back to the unlocked door, twisted the knob and 
pushed the heavy steel slab open. He waved Skinner in, his 
eyes advising caution. Skinner took a deep breath and entered 
the room. 
Special Agent Fox Mulder, one of the FBIīs best and brightest, 
sat huddled in the corner of the room. His head was resting on 
his crossed arms which were in turn resting on his knees as he 
rocked, mindlessly, back and forth on the floor. He hadnīt yet 
acknowledged the ADīs presence, nor did he seem to even 
notice that he was no longer alone in the small, padded room. 
As the heavy door thudded softly shut behind him, Skinner once 
again wondered how the hell he was going to do this. He 
needed Mulder to leave with him, willingly, peacefully; but how 
could he get through to someone in this state? Suddenly 
remembering Mulderīs scream of "Scully!" while his partner 
watched the monitor in despair inspired Skinner as to how to 
proceed. 
"Mulder, I need you to listen to me carefully. Scully needs you 
to listen to me carefully." The AD spoke softly from the door, 
not yet moving towards the disturbed man. He didnīt want to 
startle him. "Scully needs our help, desperately, but in order for 
us to help her, you have to help me first." Skinner held his 
breath, waiting for a response - any response. 
Mulderīs rocking stopped, suddenly. Without raising his head, 
Mulder muttered in a hoarse voice, "You betrayed us, didnīt 
you?" 
Skinnerīs heart skipped a beat. Several beats. He had to be 
completely honest with Mulder in order to regain his trust, but he 
was worried about saying the wrong thing, worried that he would 
provoke him and Mulder would start ranting again. Remaining 
where he was, Skinner explained softly, "Krycek controls the 
nanocytes in my bloodstream. If I didnīt cooperate with him he 
was going to activate them again." Mulder hadnīt resumed his 
rocking, but he still hadnīt looked up at the AD. Skinner took this 
as a good sign - Mulder was listening, but he wasnīt losing it. 
Yet. 
Skinner continued, "I thought all Iīd be doing was hindering your 
investigation, at the most keeping you from discovering the truth 
about the case, a truth the Consortium didnīt want you to find." 
Still no response from Mulder. Skinner took a small, hesitant 
step towards the younger man. "I didnīt know the effect the 
artifact would have on you, that you would deteriorate to 
this...condition. That either you or Scully would be placed in 
danger." His voice was still low, but emphatic. "But I canīt live 
with myself if either of you are hurt. My life doesnīt mean 
anything if I keep it at the expense of yours or Scullyīs." 
Skinner took another step, his voice rough with emotion. "You 
are the only people I trust totally. Youīre my friends. And that 
means more to me than any Consortium threat." Skinner 
stopped his approach and waited for Mulder to react. 
Thirty seconds passed. Then one minute. Then two. Skinner 
wasnīt sure whether his declaration of undying friendship had 
registered or not. He was just about to start talking again when 
Mulder looked up him with bloodshot eyes. 
Mulder had heard every word Skinner had said and more; the 
sounds in his head - the voices - had shown him Skinnerīs 
sincerity and concern, his love for both him and his partner, 
Scully. Scully. What had Skinner said about her needing him...? 
Mulderīs disjointed thoughts kept ricocheting back and forth in 
his head, not allowing him to grab hold of them, to focus on just 
one. His face screwed up like a little boyīs about to cry and he 
lowered his head to his hands, resuming his rocking motion. 
Even though Mulder hadnīt said anything, Skinner had seen the 
comprehension and acceptance in his eyes briefly, before he 
once again dissolved into the confusion that threatened his 
sanity. Encouraged, the large man knelt in front of the younger 
agent and put his hands on his shoulders, rubbing in circular 
motions. "Mulder, I need you to help me help Scully. I need you 
to leave with me, Mulder. But I need you to do it calmly, without 
losing it. Can you do that?" Skinner moved his big hands to 
Mulderīs tousled hair, cradling his skull and slowly forcing 
Mulderīs head up again. 
Mulderīs rocking motion ceased and green eyes met brown. 
The tears streamed down Mulderīs face, from emotion or from 
pain Skinner wasnīt sure. Mulder then raised his hands to 
Skinnerīs face, his slender fingers hesitantly brushing against 
the surprised manīs cheeks. Mulder looked at Skinner as if it 
was the first time he had ever really seen him. Skinner felt a 
lump form in his throat as the troubled man reached out to him, 
physically and emotionally. He placed his right hand on top of 
Mulderīs head and stroked his hair tenderly. "Can you help me 
Mulder? Can you help Scully? She needs you." 
Mulder nodded slowly. "I can help." His hands had settled 
against Skinnerīs broad chest, clutching softly at the lapels of 
his dark overcoat. Mulder flinched, as a flicker of pain lanced 
through his head. "But it hurts. Bad." Mulderīs speech was 
clipped, forced through clenched teeth. His grip on Skinnerīs 
coat tightened with the pain. 
"I know it hurts. But maybe by helping Scully, we can help you." 
Skinnerīs voice was soothing, reassuring. "I donīt know how. 
But when we find her, maybe weīll find answers to why this is 
happening to you and how we can stop it." Skinner continued 
his gentle stroking of Mulderīs hair with his right hand, Mulderīs 
shoulder with his left. "Can you bear the pain for a little while 
longer? Long enough to help Scully?" 
Mulder looked up at the older man again, still in pain but more in 
control of it. "I can help." He attempted a small smile and 
Skinnerīs heart leapt. They might be able to pull this off after all. 
Skinner slowly got up, gently pulling Mulder up with him. Mulder 
clung to the larger manīs overcoat, a little wobbly and surprised 
to find his legs able to support him. Skinnerīs arm went around 
Mulderīs shoulders as Mulderīs snaked around the ADīs waist. 
Supporting one another in that way, they left the small cell 
together. 
 
************** 
 
From the observation room, ex-FBI agent Alex Krycek watched 
the tender scene with a contemptuous sneer. The bastard had 
actually done it! He was going against the Consortium, daring 
them to kill him! Krycekīs green eyes gleamed with evil delight. 
When the order came through to terminate Skinner, it was 
Krycek who would get the privilege of pushing the button. 
Literally. Krycek pulled the remote control from the inside 
pocket of his overcoat, stroking the closed cover thoughtfully. 
He had been waiting for this moment - the go-ahead to get rid of 
his former boss. He would enjoy watching Walter Sergei 
Skinner die in pain. 
Tucking the remote safely back in his coat, Krycek turned from 
the television monitor and left the observation room, heading for 
the nearest payphone. It was time to let the old man know of 
Skinnerīs move against them, and to receive his next set of 
orders. 
 
Dulles International Airport - 2 hours later 
Alex Krycek watched the pair of Federal agents make their way 
towards the gate. Although Mulder was walking on his own, 
Skinner kept his hand protectively on the younger manīs 
shoulder, steering him in the right direction. Krycek just watched 
them for a moment, then pulled the remote control from inside 
his dark overcoat. As Skinner handed his and Mulderīs tickets 
to the gate agent, Krycek flipped open the cover of the device. 
"Only activate the device to itīs lowest setting," the old bastard 
had instructed, pausing to take a drag of his ever-present 
Morley, "we want to give Mr. Skinner a chance to reconsider his 
decision. We may still have use for him." Another pause and the 
sound of a rough exhale. "It would be a shame to destroy a 
potentially useful tool." 
Krycek ground his teeth in frustration on the other end of the 
telephone line. "I donīt get it. Itīs obvious heīs chosen which 
side heīs on and itīs not ours!" Krycek tried once again, his 
voice calmer, rational, lethal. "Heīs betrayed you, fully knowing 
the consequences. If you donīt follow through, youīll never be 
able to control him." Krycekīs voice turned almost pleading, 
feeling his chance to kill the AD slipping out his reach. "Please. 
Let me take care of it, once and for all." 
But the older man hadnīt budged. "The lowest setting, Alex. No 
higher." Then he had chuckled, the sound of it sending chills 
down Krycekīs spine and raising the hairs on the back of his 
neck. "Donīt worry. You may still get your chance at revenge. 
Just not quite yet." Then he had hung up. 
So Krycek stood there, lurking behind a corner of the terminal 
while watching his target at the gate. He turned his attention 
once more to the opened device in his hand and, sighing in 
frustration, placed his finger on the touch sensitive pad, raising it 
to the first power level. Flipping the cover closed again, he 
returned it to his jacket and headed to the baggage carrier 
entrance. Wherever Skinner and Mulder were headed, he had 
to tag along. 
 
************* 
 
Skinner helped Mulder settle in his window seat and buckled 
him in. Mulder was still in a great deal of pain and confusion, but 
he was holding himself together for Scullyīs sake. As the AD 
settled his large body into the small middle seat, he breathed a 
sigh of relief. They hadnīt met any further resistance at the 
hospital and Mulder had only experienced a brief loss of control 
when Skinner tried to get him in the cab. All in all, it went 
smoother than he had any right to expect. Mulder had 
confirmed his suspicion that Scully had fled to the Ivory Coast 
in search of more pieces of the artifact that had started this 
whole mess. Skinner had been fortunate in getting a flight with 
only one connection in Lisbon. Ten hours from now they would 
be in Abidjan and closer to finding Scully. 
Scully. Dana. An exhausted sigh escaped Skinnerīs lips. How 
was he going to repair the damage he had done to their 
relationship, to her trust. Walter closed his eyes, remembering 
the look on her face when he had taken her arm, trying to stop 
her, trying to make her see reason. She had looked at him with 
loathing, full comprehension of his betrayal seething in her 
azure eyes. Then she yanked her arm from his grasp, calling 
him a liar, and it had pierced his heart like an icy dagger. All he 
could do was stand there and watch her turn away, away from 
him, from their friendship. 
Walter tiredly removed his glasses, rubbing at his eyes with one 
hand while he wondered how he could convince her he was on 
her and Mulderīs side. He sat there for a long while, deep in 
thought when a sudden hitch in his side caught his attention. 
God, he was tired. Not only was his vision starting to blur, but 
now he was getting muscle spasms in his back and side. Iīve 
been too tensed up, he thought, expecting an attack by Krycek 
or that smoking bastard he works for to come from any and 
every side. No wonder my muscles are complaining now. 
Walter looked up at the panel above him. They were in the air at 
cruising altitude - he must have been lost in thought for at least 
an hour. The captain had turned off the seatbelt sign, so he 
decided to head to the lavatory and wash up. Maybe a good 
stretch would do his tight muscles some good. 
Walter got up slowly, careful not to disturb the man beside him. 
Mulder still winced as if in pain, but he seemed to have finally 
fallen asleep. Good, Walter thought to himself, he needs it. 
Maybe all the drugs the doctors gave him have finally kicked in. 
It would certainly make the rest of the flight easier if that were 
the case. Walter exited the row, heading towards the lavatory 
and ignoring the throb in his side. 
As soon as the lavatory lock was slid into place, Walter began to 
strip off his "official" FBI uniform: boring tie, starched white shirt. 
He bent in front of the sink, preparing to sponge off the anxiety 
and tension of the previous four hours, when the reflection of a 
small purpling bruise on his side caught his eye. Skinner 
stiffened, his hands gripping the edge of the sink with brutal 
strength. He slowly straightened, his eyes never leaving the tell-
tale bruise on his flank. Finally, unevenly, he let out the breath 
he was unaware that he had been holding. His blurred 
vision....the bruise...cramping in his muscles....no! Not now! 
Skinnerīs eyes closed and he bent his head in frustration and 
despair. If they had activated the nanocytes, heīd be no good to 
Mulder or Scully. He was already a dead man. He raised his 
head again and once more glared at the hateful bruise. 
Suddenly, he shook himself from his reverie, realizing that 
Krycek must have activated the damn things before they got on 
the plane. That meant it had taken at least an hour and a half for 
this small bruise to form. Skinnerīs mind whirled at that - it was 
acting much slower than the last time! For some reason, Krycek 
hadnīt turned the control device up to full power. Why? Walter 
knew how much Krycek hated him, how much he wanted him 
dead. The feeling was mutual. Boy, was it mutual. So why give 
him more time.... 
Unless he had been ordered to do so. That smoking bastard 
does everything for a reason, Skinner sneered to himself. What 
would be his reason for letting me live, other than torturing me 
with the knowledge of my impending death? Skinnerīs mind 
once again did an about-face. What if he thinks Iīm still useful, 
that I can help them once weīre in Abidjan? Maybe he had 
Krycek set the control at a lower setting, giving me time to 
change my mind. This seemed like the most logical explanation. 
Skinner would have to find out what more they wanted from 
him, but would he be able to make them believe he regretted his 
decision to help Mulder and Scully and had chosen to switch 
sides again? Would he be able to do that and still help Mulder 
and Scully? He didnīt know, but he had to try. 
Resolved to follow through on his plan, Skinner again faced 
himself in the mirror and quickly washed his naked torso and 
face. He dried off, re-dressed and left the lavatory, his outward 
expression showing no evidence of the doubt and anxiety 
raging inside him. He would do it, he had to do it - not for 
himself, his fate had already been determined by a flick of a 
switch. But he had to do it for Mulder. For Scully. 
He resumed his seat quietly, barely jostling Mulder in the 
process, but nonetheless waking the exhausted agent. Mulderīs 
eyes flew open, his panic and confusion immediate upon 
regaining consciousness. He began to thrash against Walterīs 
calming hands, his breathing turning harsh and his eyes wild. 
Walter gripped his arms more tightly, but still more reassuring 
than restraining. "Sshhhh, ssshhh. Itīs alright, Mulder." Mulderīs 
eyes flew to his superior at the sound of his name. "Weīre on a 
plane to Scully, remember? Weīre going to find Scully." 
Mulder slowly registered Skinnerīs words, and began to settle 
down. Still tense and wary, but more cognizant of his 
surroundings. "Weīre going to Scully." A statement, not a 
question. 
"Thatīs right. To Scully." Walter removed one of his hands from 
the scared agentīs arms, and slid the other one up to gently 
squeeze his shoulder. "Weīre going to find Scully and 
everything will be alright." Walter prayed his words would turn 
out to be true. 
Mulder winced, his right hand flying up to his temple, but 
nodded in acceptance of Skinnerīs reassurance. He settled 
back against his seat, still flinching in pain but once again calm. 
"To Scully. To Scully." He continued to whisper this mantra as 
he slowly fell back to sleep. 
Skinner watched him closely, noting his lips still forming those 
two words, even while unconscious. "I swear to you, Mulder," 
Skinner promised him, his voice low but emphatic, "we will find 
Scully. And weīll find a cure for whatever has happened to you. 
Even if it kills me, I promise you weīll find the truth." Mulderīs 
face had turned even more child-like in sleep, and Skinner 
couldnīt resist brushing the stray lock of hair out of his agentīs 
face. I love them both, he realized. In different ways, yes, but I 
do love them both. 
Skinner sighed and sat back, leaving Mulder to his fitful rest. 
Somehow, he vowed himself, I will find a way to help him, to 
regain her trust, and maybe, just maybe, save us all. He finally 
allowed himself to relax, and as his broad shoulders slowly lost 
their rigidity, he joined Mulder in slumber. 
 
END OF PART I 
That's it for now. Thanks!