A/N Now for something completely different. X Files were current a LONG time ago, but I'm probably more keen on them now than I was in the 90s and this idea just sprang into my head while I was watching some of the DVDs and refused to leave until I started writing it down. Something that intended to me a very short foray into the world of Walter Skinner ended up turning into a proper story so I decided to post it after all. If one or two of you get some enjoyment from it, then I'll be delighted :)

Without further do, this is Assistant Director Walter Skinner's story, starting approximately 9 months after the episode "Tunguska" in which Mulder and Alex Krycek took a trip to Russia, resulting in rebels forcibly amputating Krycek's arm. In the story, no one has seen Krycek since then until Skinner is reminded of an earlier even where Mulder brought Krycek to Skinner's apartment for 'safe keeping' and handcuffed him to the balcony.

LIBERATION

Part 1 - Deja Vu

I removed my glasses and rubbed a hand over my face, squinting against the headache that had been threatening for the past hour. I had been closeted in my office for most of the day plowing through a seemingly endless pile of paperwork, repeatedly glancing at my wristwatch and looking forward to finishing up. One more hour and I would be on leave for the next two weeks – a much needed and overdue leave.

I took a sip from the glass of water to my right and replaced my glasses, then got stuck into the last file before I wrapped it up for the day. My PA, Kimberly, checked in to see if I needed anything else and then said goodnight before setting off home. I pushed the finished paperwork into my drawer at last, tidied up and got to my feet. I collected my suit jacket from the rack beside the door, found my keys and left my office with a sigh of relief. Ten days to do exactly what I wanted. I planned to head out to the old cabin my parents had left to me, relax and do some fishing and generally enjoy the peace and quiet away from the city.

It took thirty minutes to drive to the underground parking garage beneath the condos where I lived and by the time I locked the car, it was dark and sleet had been coming down for some time. Relieved not to have to venture outside in just my suit, I stepped into the elevator and travelled up to the eighth floor, pulling out my key as the car came to a halt. Another minute and I shrugged off my jacket again and loosened my tie, toeing off my shoes and leaving them beside the couch. I removed my gun holster, unbuttoned my shirt and pulled it free of my pants, eager to get in the shower and wash away the stress of the last week at the Bureau.

I switched on a lamp and immediately noticed something was wrong. The small table at the end of the couch was lying on its side, the glass that I kept there shattered on the wood floor. The pile of magazines I kept on the foot stool was strewn across the rug and something else lay in the middle of the floor – something I didn't want to contemplate for a second. I grabbed my gun from its holster where I had placed it on the arm of the couch, although I suspected the perpetrator was long gone.

I checked my answer machine, noting the blinking red light indicating a message. I pressed the button to listen to it and took another brief look at the arm lying on my floor. What the hell?

"Mr Skinner..."

"Fuck," I muttered. It was the Cigarette Smoking Man's voice – unmistakable and unwelcome. I should have known going on vacation wouldn't mean I could leave him behind.

"...you will need to take care of a small problem on your return home. An inconvenience to be disposed of before you enjoy your vacation."

The call ended and I cursed again. A small problem? I paused and took stock, looking over the room carefully and spotting dirty smears on the floor leading away from the balcony door to the rug - the remains of wet footprints. The arm, on closer inspection, was a prosthetic, much to my relief, but this was only more baffling. I knew that the Smoking Man's instruction hadn't been for me to get rid of a plastic arm – much more likely the object was out there on the balcony.

I stepped into my bedroom and quickly retrieved the scanning device from beneath the loose board in the closet, then set about checking for bugs. I wouldn't put it past the Smoking Man's cohorts to have planted some during their invasion of my apartment and I knew without a doubt that whatever was here for me to find, he had arranged. Damn that man.

I found two bugs – unimaginatively hidden in the answer machine and the spare extension in the bedroom. He knew I'd listened to his message. I disposed of the devices quickly and finally went to the balcony door, gun gripped firmly in my hand and held against my leg. Sleet battered against the glass in the strong wind and I reluctantly opened the door and peered out, my glasses immediately spattered with water and fogged up. I removed them and squinted into the darkness, shivering as ice cold wind and wetness attacked my face and chest. There was only just enough light to see him and I couldn't tell if he was still alive.

I stepped outside, barefooted and shivering and crouched beside the huddled man on the balcony. His legs were curled under him, upper body slumped and head hanging, his right arm held upright by a handcuff attached to the balcony rail.

"Christ," I muttered, rising quickly. I was hit by a strong sense of deja vu and I was taken back to the previous winter, to the day when Mulder turned up at my door, asking for a safe house. The person he wanted keeping safe had been Agent Alex Krycek, a man whom both of us hated. I'd offered my own place as a safe house before Mulder had jerked Krycek into view and I'd immediately regretted my decision.

I had slammed my fist into the man's stomach, taking his breath away, then dragged him outside to my balcony and handcuffed him there, leaving him at the mercy of the elements. I could remember him looking up at me as if it were yesterday, half angry, half panicked.

"You can't leave me out here! I'll freeze to death!"

"Think warm thoughts," I had hissed at him and then proceeded to leave him there for the rest of the night. I hadn't slept a wink, worrying that I'd find a dead body out there in the morning and I'd been furious with myself for worrying. He didn't freeze of course - I had been called out to an emergency situation in the early hours and in my absence, he managed to throw one of the Smoking Man's minions, who had arrived to retrieve him, off the balcony to his death. Following this Mulder had sprung Krycek free and that was the last I'd seen of him. I hadn't wasted too much time questioning Mulder about it - I'd had other things going on to concern me.

This man handcuffed in the exact same place seemed familiar, but not. Frowning, I strode back inside and returned with a lock pick. In seconds the handcuff was released and the arm fell limply into the man's lap. I nudged him with my foot and he didn't respond so I crouched again, grimacing as my shirt grew wetter and stuck to my back. I pushed at his shoulder and slowly his head lifted. One eye met mine with a resigned expression and a hiss of breath escaped his half open mouth. The other eye was swollen shut and I suspected there would be other injuries, only I couldn't see in the dim light. What I did realise was that it was him – Krycek.

He was alive, but probably wouldn't be for much longer left in these conditions. I tucked the gun into the back of my pants and gripped the fronts of the leather jacket he wore, hoisting him to his feet as I stood. I was unable to hide my gasp of shock as the left sleeve of the jacket swung free, telling me that the prosthetic belonged to him. What the hell had happened to his arm?

I quickly realised that his legs were unable to support him, his knees buckling and head hanging again. He didn't even try to get away from me or fight and I gripped his arm by the wrist and slung it around my neck, wrapping my other arm around his waist as I hauled him into the apartment and shoved the door closed with my hip.

Relieved that my couch was upholstered in leather and therefore impervious to water, I dumped the sodden agent onto it and then switched on the overhead lights and the heating. He lifted his head again to look at me and I stared back, taking in more detail. His slim but muscular build was thinner than I remembered, his dark hair cropped short. His right eye was puffy and purple, his lower lip split and smears of blood around his nostrils indicated a nosebleed, most of the evidence washed away by the sleet. He was shivering violently and seemed to be incapable of speech. My eyes slid from his face to the leather jacket with its left sleeve hanging loose and empty and I glanced at the artificial limb on the floor. A fabric cuff was attached to it along with a couple of severed straps. I looked at him again, casting my mind back about eighteen months to the young agent who had been assigned to work with Special Agent Fox Mulder.

Alex Krycek had turned rogue and become one of the Smoking Man's pawns. The last I had heard of him, he and Mulder had gone to Tunguska where they were captured and imprisoned. They escaped, but Mulder returned to report that Krycek had apparently been in league with the prison camp guards and had escaped from the back of a truck Mulder had used to get them away from the camp. What had happened to him since then?

"Agent Krycek?" I queried, although there was no question it was him. His face was unmistakable.

"Uh..." He gave a slight nod and a grimace, teeth chattering audibly. He wasn't going to be able to answer questions just yet and it occurred to me that if I hadn't returned when I did, he would probably have died from hypothermia. In fact that was still quite likely. I hesitated, considering my position. The Smoking Man wanted me to 'dispose of the inconvenience', but he no doubt imagined I would come home to find a corpse on my balcony.

I strode into the bathroom, turned on the bath to run at medium heat and returned to the living room, advancing quickly on the young agent on the couch. He immediately shrank from me, raising a trembling hand as if to ward me off. He struggled to speak, but all that came out of his mouth was a series of whimpers and grunts interspersed with the clattering of his teeth. I ignored him, batting his hand away and pulling him forward so that I could slide the soaked jacket off his shoulders. He flinched and groaned as if in pain from other unseen injuries. Underneath the jacket, the sweater he wore was wringing wet and I grasped the hem, yanking it upwards and off over his head. I struggled to suppress a grimace at the sight of the stump of his left arm, cut off roughly between the elbow and shoulder, hideously scarred as if it had been removed with a saw. He immediately tried to turn away, lifting his hand to grip the stump and hanging his head again. There were several dark bruises around his ribs.

"P-p-please..." he stammered and then moaned in obvious pain.

"You'll die if you don't get warm," I stated and he looked up again quickly, surprise etched on his features.

"I th-th-think that's the...the...the i-i-dea."

I ran my eyes over his upper body again, wondering if anything was broken. I should probably check before I dragged him around any more in case a broken rib punctured a lung.

"I'm gonna check for...uh...broken bones," I advised, stretching both hands out toward him. He stiffened, but stayed still as I touched the bruised areas and discovered nothing was broken. I backed up quickly and got to my feet.

"Get up." I gripped his wrist to support him, but his legs still weren't able to take his weight as he struggled to stand. He stumbled and fell to his knees at my feet, crying out and clutching his stomach, his entire body shaking. Sighing, I pulled him up again, a little more carefully than before, and half dragged, half carried him into the bathroom, lowering him onto the toilet lid. I removed his sodden boots and socks and then with some reluctance reached out to unfasten his jeans. He jerked sideways and fell to the floor with a yell of pain, a horrified look on his face, his good eye wide with what seemed to be panic.

"Don't!"

"Krycek..."

"Just...m-m-make it quick. Please. A bullet..."

"You think I'm going to kill you?" I dropped to my haunches in front of him and he shuffled backward as far as the wall would allow.

"You're supposed to...get...r-r-rid of me. He...wanted you to f-finish me off if..."

"Krycek, unlike yourself I've never killed anyone in cold blood and I don't plan to start now," I said firmly.

He looked at me with disbelief.

"You need to get in that bath and warm up," I added, dipping my fingers into the water to check the temperature. It was warm, but not hot – too much heat would cause intense pain to frozen limbs. I reached out to him again and he lashed out weakly, his fist catching me in the shoulder although I barely felt it.

"D-d-don't touch me," he whimpered. This wasn't the Krycek everyone loved to hate and I wondered what could possibly have happened to him to make him cower from me the way he was doing. Unless it was just the knowledge that he was nearing the end of his life and he still expected me to finish it.

"You need help," I said, but I quickly realised he hadn't heard me. The unswollen eye was closed and when I pushed his shoulder lightly, he slumped sideways, unconscious.

"Fuck," I muttered. This was the last thing I needed when I wanted to pack for my vacation and relax for the evening, but I was aware that the Smoking Man was obviously awaiting some development with one of his men positioned outside watching the apartment. I pulled Krycek toward me, propped him against the side of the tub and unfastened his jeans, struggling to wriggle the cold wet fabric out from under his butt and down his legs. He wasn't wearing underwear and I tried not to look, until something caught my attention and then I did look. There was blood on the insides of his thighs and when I reluctantly turned him over I noticed more smeared along the crack of his ass.

"Shit," I whispered. "Shit, shit, who the fuck did this?" Shuddering, I slid my arms under him and scooped him up with difficulty, carefully lowering him into the bath and keeping my hand under the back of his neck to stop him slipping down and drowning.

After a minute or so his eye opened and met mine. He jerked upright and let out another cry of pain as he tried to back away from me and discovered there was nowhere to go. He pulled his knees up to his chest, grimacing, and wrapped his arm around them. I moved away and sat myself on the toilet lid.

"Why does he want you dead?" I asked him. Neither of us needed to name or describe who we were talking about.

"I outlived my...usefulness. I guess I'm..." He shrugged slightly. "Expendable."

"Who did this to you?"

"Two of his...operatives."

"You need to see a doctor," I said, unable to hide a grimace.

"No!"

"Krycek, you've been..." I struggled for the right word. "Abused."

"God." The unbruised parts of his face reddened and he lowered his head, resting his forehead on his knees in an effort to hide from me, presumably either realising that I wasn't going to do anything further to him or that it wasn't worth trying to fight.

"Why would they...?"

"Fuck, I don't know," he mumbled. "One of them stayed behind after they finished beating me. I guess he thought he might as well get something out of it." He shuddered. "It doesn't matter, does it?"

"You don't care?"

"There isn't anything I can do to change it. I just...I can't...take any more."

"Did this all happen here?" I asked in horror.

"No. I was brought here after."

I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees, uncomfortable with both the conversation and the fact that he seemed to have almost given up. He lifted his head slightly again and glanced sideways at me. He was still shaking with cold, but not so much that he couldn't talk without stammering. He looked impossibly young, the one green eye mirroring his pain, his body shaking and huddled in on itself. I had no idea what to do, but I needed to change the subject.

"How old are you, Krycek?" I asked. I'd seen his file when he was first assigned to work with Mulder, but I couldn't remember the details and I wasn't even sure they were the truth.

"Twenty-six."

"What happened to your arm?"

"You haven't heard then."

"If I knew, I wouldn't ask."

He folded his hand over the stump again, clearly self-conscious and I averted my eyes, staring at the faucet on the hand basin instead.

"They cut it off in Russia."

"Who did?"

"A group of one-armed rebels. They all had their left arms amputated to avoid being used as test subjects. Something to do with the black oil. They sawed my arm off with a red hot blade straight out of a fire. I almost died from the blood loss and then an infection."

"Fuck," I muttered under my breath. I found myself feeling sorry for him. I knew very little about him, but I did know that he had been a promising young agent, very quickly recruited by the Smoking Man to carry out his every wish. Most of those wishes included spying and killing and he had rapidly turned into a cold and unfeeling man whom everyone else at the Bureau hated or feared – or both. It seemed like a terrible waste of a young life, to come to this, having outlived his usefulness and expected to be gotten rid of like a piece of trash – beaten and raped and left to die in freezing conditions.

"What are you going to do with me?" He looked up again through long, damp lashes, his expression showing faint hope.

"I have to be seen to be...getting rid of you. Quickly."

"I know. They'll be watching." He cleared his throat and took his hand away from his shoulder, pulling himself up and turning awkwardly to sit cross-legged in the bath, facing me. "Will you help me, Assistant Director Skinner?"

"Why should I help you?" I'd already decided I was going to – I couldn't imagine the pain he must be in right now and I hated to see it, no matter what he might have done in the past.

"Well, you're clearly not going to kill me. Look...Assistant Director..."

"Walter," I interrupted and his eyebrows rose. "I'm on vacation," I added. "This is my home. My name's Walter."

"Okay. Walter. I know I can't go back. I fucked up. My career's over. It wasn't what I thought it would be when I signed up. I made a deal with Cancerman because he made it impossible for me to refuse, but I didn't know what I was letting myself in for. Even if I had, there wasn't a damn thing I could have done about it." He shook his head, his expression bitter. "All I can do is start again, somewhere else. As someone else. Please, Walter. If you're not going to do what he wants, help me get away."

I stared back at him, trying to make a decision. I already knew I wasn't going to kill him, which meant my only option was to make it look like he was dead and get him out of my apartment and as far away from me as possible, but he was in no condition to be dumped somewhere.

"Have you some place you can go?" I asked.

He shook his head and bit into the undamaged part of his lower lip, looking strangely vulnerable. He seemed so different from the man I vaguely knew and had heard a lot about from Mulder. Then again, anyone hurt this badly was sure to appear different. I sighed heavily and ran a hand over my bald head, then straightened up.

"Stay there and get warmed up and clean," I told him. "I'll find you some clothes. I should have something that'll roughly fit you." I left him alone in the bathroom and went into my bedroom, pulling open the closet door. He was almost my height, around six-one, but slimmer, not least because he looked as if he hadn't had a decent meal in weeks. I would estimate about a hundred and sixty pounds as he was. I pulled out sweatpants with a drawstring waist, a t-shirt, hoodie and another leather jacket. Going to a drawer I removed a pair of socks and some boxer briefs, cringing slightly at the thought of him wearing my underwear. Still, I wouldn't be getting them back. I returned to the bathroom to find him awkwardly washing his upper body with a soapy sponge, grimacing as he turned this way and that.

"Where's...my arm?" he said, not looking at me.

"In my living room. Do you need it?"

"It's no use to me as it is – the...um...it was ripped off of me."

"Maybe we can fix it later. I'd better get you something to eat."

"Uh...no." He shuddered. "Just some water, please."

"You must be starving."

"I can't...eat right now. I feel nauseous."

I strode out of the room again and went to the kitchen to boil the kettle. He could at least have a hot drink. I made chocolate and poured a glass of water, then placed both on the dining table and returned to the bathroom. Krycek was still in the bath although he had finished washing and I realised he was probably going to need some help getting out and dressing. I felt uncomfortable about helping and hesitated for a moment, trying to talk myself into it. It wasn't as if a naked male embarrassed me – I'd had a number of male lovers both before I met Sharon and after we divorced, but I would certainly rather not be putting my hands on Krycek if I could avoid it. Maybe because of who he was – or what he had been.

"Need some help?" I grunted.

"Uh...no...I..." He shrugged and braced his hand on the edge of the bath, rolling awkwardly onto his knees with several gasps and groans of discomfort. He began to push himself up, his arm trembling with the effort, and then sank bank on his heels. "Fuck...just...uh...get me out of here."

I ground my teeth and stepped closer to the tub, leaning down towards him. "Put your...uh...arm around my neck."

He did so and I wrapped mine around him, gingerly placing the other beneath his stump to hoist him up. I was ridiculously leery of the remains of the severed limb and couldn't understand my reaction to it. Slowly Krycek lifted one leg up and swung it over the side of the tub, then the other. I lowered him back onto the toilet lid with relief and backed up, passing him a towel.

"Can you...uh...you know?"

"Walter, I've been living like this for months," he said with a slight sneer, rubbing the towel over his face and chest, groaning in discomfort as he did so.

"I guess it's easier with the...uh...prosthetic on."

"That piece of shit is about as basic as they come. It's for appearances only. I'm not entitled to one of those new inventions that you can actually do something with. They're kept for - people who are of some use, I guess." He twisted this way and that, awkwardly drying his sides and back. He was still shivering and his teeth began to clatter again now he was out of the warmth of the bath.

"Here...put this on." I grabbed up the t-shirt and unfolded it and to my surprise he merely stuck his arm up in the air and waited for me to put it on him. I'd never dressed anyone else before – not even Sharon. I fumbled with the garment until I got it over his head and the one arm, then messed around with the other sleeve to get it over the stump.

"It won't fucking bite," Krycek said through his teeth.

"I'm sorry." I felt myself flush and pulled the hem of the shirt down to his waist, then grabbed the hoodie as well. This was easier – it had a zipper down the front and I helped him get his arm into it, then gripped his stump carefully and determinedly and poked it into the other sleeve. I was an idiot, I decided. It was part of him – his flesh and bone – just with part of it missing. What the hell was I cringing about? Perhaps it was more to do with the way it had been removed that made me shudder.

"Thanks." He resumed drying his legs and feet and I averted my eyes while he attended to his crotch. I'd already noticed his cock a couple of times, limp and shrivelled from the cold, although it looked as if it would be a decent size when hard. I couldn't quite believe I'd even thought that and I moved away to empty the tub and rinse it while Krycek continued struggling alone. The next time I looked at him, I was relieved to see he was wearing my sweats and in the process of pulling on one sock. The boxers remained on the shelf where I'd put them.

"You don't wear underwear?" I queried, wondering why it mattered.

"Not if I can help it." He gave me a sudden grin and raised his eyebrows. I turned away quickly to leave the room and then realised he would probably need my help to walk so I stayed, only then beginning to realise that I was shivering with cold too. I looked down at my bare chest and the soaked shirt clinging to the rest of me and quickly shrugged out of it, tossing it onto the floor. I returned to my bedroom briefly, removed my work pants and dragged on jeans and a sweater, then returned to help my unwelcome guest into the kitchen-diner.