Category: Mulder/Skinner/Doggett hurt/comfort/slash fic (!)

Rating: NC-17 for content

Characters: Walter, Fox, Doggett mainly

Series: Yes Part One of three

Spoilers: None intended.

Summary: Walter's captors made him dependent on them for more than food.

Archive: Just tell me where it’s going

Additional ‘stuff’: Warning Scenes of non-con drug use, withdrawal and recovery. Contains descriptions of implied slash.


Title: M

Quick fix Part One (1/3)

Skinner dozed fitfully. Part of his brain craved sleep. The other part craved the familiar stab of the needle and the oblivion that quickly followed. He struggled to keep awake, forcing himself to concentrate on the sensations around him. The smell of the damp mattress he lay on. The roughness of the blanket which covered him. The small sounds of people moving around close by but not in the room.

He had long since lost all sense of time and place. All that mattered was how long they would make him wait.

The trapdoor opened and he heard several voices, the sound of an argument. Then: ‘That’s not Mulder. Can’t you people get anything right?’

As the smell of cigarette smoke filtered down to Skinner, the trapdoor slammed shut.

Hurting, Skinner pulled himself into a tight ball and tried to think why the word ‘Mulder’ was important. But his mind was too fogged, and he gave up, closing his eyes as he realised they were going to make him wait even longer. Briefly, his brain registered his hunger before he drifted into unconsciousness.

//’Kimberley, would you find Agent Doggett please.’

Skinner’s assistant smiled. ‘Yes sir.’

As she got up, Doggett arrived, breathless. ‘Sir, I’m sorry…’

‘Is there a problem Agent Doggett?’

‘It’s…um, never mind sir.’

The meeting closed. Skinner had occasionally glanced up and seen Doggett’s distracted expression. He had been tempted to ask a complicated question about an aspect of the case John had presented, but he had changed his mind at the last second. ‘Agent Doggett.’

Doggett turned. He had hoped to get away. No such luck. ‘Sir?’

‘Agent Doggett, you seem a little…preoccupied.’

Doggett couldn’t think of a convincing lie, so settled for the truth. ‘I’m being thrown out of my apartment. The landlord’s sold up to some property developer. This time tomorrow, I’m gonna be sleeping under my desk.’

Skinner frowned. ‘Have you asked around? There must be someone in this building looking for a roommate.’

Grimly, Doggett muttered: ‘Apparently not today sir.’

Skinner was silent for a moment. ‘If you haven’t found anything by the end of the day, come and see me, okay?’

‘Yes sir.’ Doggett was almost certain he would be back in the AD’s office in a few hours.

It was after six when Doggett decided he’d exhausted every avenue. Expecting him, Kim waved him into Skinner’s office with a smile.

‘Sir?’

Skinner looked up. ‘Agent Doggett. Any luck?’

Doggett shook his head. ‘No sir.’

Skinner looked at the bag Doggett carried. ‘I have a spare room. You can stay with me until you find somewhere.’

‘Are you sure sir?’

Skinner nodded. ‘Yes. I don’t like the idea of the cleaning staff having to vacuum round you. Is that all you have?’

Still a little surprised by the AD’s unexpected offer, Doggett managed: ‘No sir. There are a couple of other bags at my desk.’

‘Okay. I’ll be a few more minutes. Why don’t you load up and wait for me in the parking garage.’ Skinner got up, rummaged in his coat and handed Doggett his car keys.

‘Thank you sir.’

Skinner went back to his desk. He lifted his cellphone out of the drawer and dialled a number. As always, as he dialled, he sighed inwardly that it was not a number he could safely store in his speed-dial.

’Fox. Make up the guest bedroom please.’

‘Who’s coming over sir?’

‘John Doggett. He’s being kicked out of his apartment tomorrow and he hasn’t found somewhere else.’

‘Okay. Want me to make dinner or reservations?’

‘Dinner. I’m tired and I don’t want to eat out.’

‘Yes sir. Um…does he know...about…me?’

‘I’m just about to tell him Fox. I’ll see you later okay?’

‘Yes sir.’

Skinner looked across at Doggett as they pulled out of the car park. ‘There is something I didn’t want to discuss in the office.’

Doggett swallowed hard. Here it comes. He’s into black magic or…

‘I live with someone.’

Doggett somehow controlled his face. The AD has a girlfriend. The possibilities flitted through his mind. Kim. Scully. He nodded. ‘Okay sir.’

‘I trust I can count on your absolute discretion Agent Doggett.’

‘Of course sir.’

‘Neither myself or the person in question would appreciate becoming water-cooler gossip.’

‘I would never do that sir.’

Skinner smiled. ‘Good.’

The rest of the journey passed in easy silence. Skinner had to concentrate on the heavy but slow-moving traffic and John was trying to practice looking completely unsurprised when he was introduced to Skinner’s girlfriend. Without actually moving his face and making Skinner wonder what he was doing it was proving harder than he had imagined.

In the elevator, Skinner’s cell phone rang and he turned slightly away as he answered it. ‘Skinner. We’re in the elevator…Yeah.’

Doggett was surprised at the slight smile that crossed Skinner’s face as he folded the phone closed.

Realising he was being watched, Skinner looked away.

‘Hi John.’

Doggett knew his reaction to the person who opened the door had to show on his face. He was just too shocked to hide it. ‘M…Mulder.’

The smell of food cooking drifted in from the kitchen. ‘I’d give you a hand with your stuff, but the dinner’s at a critical stage and I don’t want anything to burn.’

Sensing it was probably too late anyway, Skinner threatened: ‘You ruin one more non-stick pan Fox and you’ll find out what vegetarianism is like.’

Defending himself, Mulder whined: ‘The last one was an accident. Ringo called…’

Nodding back at the kitchen, Skinner warned: ‘Fox…’

Doggett watched Fox rush back to the kitchen as Skinner shrugged off his coat. ‘You manage the rest of your stuff John?’

Doggett nodded. ‘Sure. It’s only a couple of cases.’

Skinner handed him the car keys again. ‘We’re on the eighth floor. 806.’

Doggett appreciated the help. His mind was still trying to process the fact that Fox Mulder - a man who had taken flirting to new heights - was living with Skinner. AD Walter Skinner. Who could have Alpha Male tattooed on his forehead. But didn’t need to. He just exuded testosterone. The ideal of ‘maleness’. It was too much, and Doggett was glad of a few minutes escape from the weird parallel universe domestic scene.

As he turned to leave, Doggett heard Skinner ask: ‘Fox, is the spare room ready?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Good.’ Skinner dropped onto the couch, tugged his tie loose, picked up the TV remote and flicked through the channels until he found a news bulletin.

Doggett closed the door behind him and walked slowly to the elevator.

From the kitchen, Mulder called: ‘Think he’ll come back sir?’

Skinner sighed. ‘If not, get used to having me around. I’ll be out of a job tomorrow.’ What had seemed like a good idea - helping a subordinate in a difficult situation - could easily turn into a nightmare if Doggett decided to unload his bags straight into a passing cab and head straight back to the Director’s office.

Mulder was dishing up the dinner when the doorbell rang. Putting down the potatoes, he opened the door. ‘Come on in. Dinner’s ready.’

Hoping there was alcohol with the food, Doggett dropped his two suitcases and holdall onto the living room floor.

‘Come and eat first John. You can unpack later.’

‘Yes sir.’

Doggett relaxed a fraction as he realised there was nothing camp or threatening about Skinner and Mulder’s easy togetherness. Maybe, he considered, they were just roommates. Nothing more. Perhaps he had misjudged the situation. After all, Skinner had said he lived with someone. That was all.

‘You want some more John?’ Mulder lifted Doggett’s plate.

‘Yeah. Thanks. It’s great. It’s…’ He tried to think of a polite way of saying that it tasted different from any spaghetti and meatballs he’d ever eaten.

‘Turkey.’ Mulder supplied. ‘I use it instead of beef in the meatballs. Less fat.’

‘Turkey balls.’ Skinner realised what he’d said as Mulder giggled. Doggett’s plate tilted dangerously and Skinner said sharply: ‘Fox!’

Mulder controlled his mirth and loaded Doggett’s plate with another heap of pasta and meat.

Finishing his food, Doggett leaned back and smiled. ‘That was great. Listen, thanks for putting me up sir. I appreciate it.’

Skinner shrugged. ‘No problem.’

Fox got up and began to clear the plates. ‘You want dessert John?’

‘Sure. You want a hand with these?’

Skinner shook his head. ‘You’re a guest. Stay right there.’

The dinner over with, Skinner walked back into the living room picked up the TV listings magazine. ‘There’s a game on.’

Doggett smiled, walking towards the couch. ‘Great.’

‘Unpack and then come and watch it. Fox, is the dishwasher loaded?’

Pouting, Mulder got up, grumbling about missing the start of the game. Warningly, Skinner said: ‘Fox, be quiet! Get out there and finish tidying up.’

Sighing, Mulder said: ‘Yes sir.’

Suddenly Doggett worked it out. Skinner and Mulder weren’t just roommates. They were in a real relationship. A relationship in which Skinner was dominant. Out of politeness, he had addressed Skinner as ‘sir’. But so had Mulder. Who had been sitting quite happily at Skinner’s feet, flicking through a magazine. Until he’d been sent out to finish cleaning up.

Skinner had given him an instruction. Unpack. Miss the beginning of the game. Weirdly, it didn’t seem at all strange to Doggett that he immediately picked up his cases and walked towards the stairs. Military training, Quantico training, Skinner’s quiet authority. Whatever the reason, he obeyed. Questioning Skinner’s direction simply didn’t occur to him. Then he realised he didn’t know where he was going. Wondering what to say, he waited. Skinner looked up as Doggett paused at the foot of the staircase. ‘It’s at the top of the stairs on the right. Bathroom’s opposite the stairs.’

***********

Skinner hardly noticed his hunger. He was given water, a little and only at random intervals when his captors remembered him. Once or twice, they’d brought him a sandwich, once even a still-warm cheeseburger, but the greasiness had been too much for his stomach and he’d only just managed to crawl to the far corner of the room before vomiting it up. He was permanently cold, the shivering a combination of the unheated basement, his fear and the short periods between his next shot when the effects wore off and he became afraid again. Not afraid of dying. He had long ago resigned himself to an unpleasant death. Living. He was afraid of living like he was - a drug-reliant captive - until his captors either didn’t get what they wanted or simply grew tired of him. And as he hadn’t managed to speak to any of them, he had no idea how long that might be. Twice he had tried to ask who they were and where he was. Twice he’d come round with blood clouding his vision and pain in his head and chest. After that, he had given up any attempt at communication.

*************

At first, his body used to three meals a day, he had felt the effects of the lack of nourishment. His body began to compensate for the loss of nourishment by drawing on its fat and muscle reserves. This further weakened Skinner, leaving him increasingly reliant on the drugs he was being given for a temporary reprieve from the slow shutdown of his mind and body.

Following their simple but very clear instructions, the three men took turns ‘taking care of the G-man’. When it became clear he was too weak even to unscrew the lids of the water bottles they left him, they reluctantly opened the bottles and held him up while he drank. Despite their efforts, much of the warm water spilled onto his chest, soaking him and the concrete floor.

More concerned over their paymasters’ anger than Skinner’s deterioration, they made sure the evidence of their efforts to keep him alive was obvious to the man who visited every few days. But, after almost two weeks, Skinner’s increasing frailty was obvious even to him. He made sure the men were paid, then left quickly.

*************

The door crashed in and John Doggett shouted: ‘Federal agents! Nobody moves!’ His shout froze the three men playing cards around a table in the centre of the room. Slowly, three pairs of hands went up.

‘Skinner!’ Mulder’s shouts became more desperate as he searched the house. Doggett pointed to the floor at his feet. ‘Mulder, there’s a trapdoor.’

‘Sir?’

Skinner looked up. Strangers. Instantly, he backed away, scrabbling into the furthest corner of the room. Handing Mulder a blanket, Doggett said quietly: ‘I’ll be upstairs.’

Mulder took in the dark, musty room and Skinner’s hunched form in the corner. ‘Sir, you’re safe now. We’re gonna get you out of here.’ Mulder flicked on the light switch, the instant glow from the single bare bulb flooding the room with a harsh yellow light. Mulder’s gasp made Skinner flinch. At least Mulder guessed it was Skinner. Wearing only a torn and dirty undershirt and filthy underpants, the man in front of him was shaking, shoulders heaving with each breath. His cheeks were hollow, his eyes bloodshot, and his arms bruised and smeared with blood. A thin sheen of sweat covered his face

Wishing Scully were with him, Mulder swallowed hard then walked slowly towards Skinner, talking quietly as he closed the distance between them. ‘It’s okay now sir. We’re gonna get you out of here. Okay. Let’s get you up.’ Mulder hooked a hand under Skinner’s arm, heard the hiss of pain as he gripped the bony limb. His brain processed how easy it had been to pull the AD to his feet. And how wrong that somehow was. Wrapping the blanket around Skinner’s trembling shoulders, Mulder hoped the men who had done this to Walter were dead. If not, they were gonna wish they were.

Continued in Part Two

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