TITLE: Impossibilium AUTHOR: coolbyrne CLASSIFICATION: D/S, Doggett-angst, character death.. kind of RATING: PG, some obscenities used SUMMARY: Doggett discovers how events in "Tithonus" have changed Scully's life. SPOILERS: The aforementioned "Tithonus," as well as "Within," "Patience," "Road Runners," and "Alone" DISTRIBUTION: Hey, if you think it's that good, then by all means take it. But please take it in its entirety. DISCLAIMER: Are these things really necessary?? FEEDBACK: fugitive@ihateclowns.com Be gentle; my asbestos suit is in the cleaners. Author's note: A short one- thanks to The Tragically Hip for the title. The song has nothing to do with the story, but I loved the title. And a thanks to my beta-readers (Yes, I succumbed to the power of a beta-reader!)- Janika and Meridy for making the story better, and Roz, for making my grammar better, eh? He knew something was wrong even before his partner left the car. He couldn't put it into words; just that intangible "something", the electric energy that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up in silent warning. Agent John Doggett liked to credit it to almost 15 years as a cop, though he suspected his partner might attribute it to something else. (Of course, he would have deflected her journey into left field with something along the lines of, "Can I exchange this 'gift' for x- ray vision instead?") The aforementioned partner, Agent Dana Scully, reached for the door handle. His voice stopped her. "Scully," he said, his baritone a quiet rumble in the confines of the small car. She turned to the sound and looked into his flinty blue eyes. A raised eyebrow invited him to continue, but now he didn't know what to say. He suddenly felt foolish. "You want that drink after all?" she queried, wondering what was going on behind those eyes. He held her gaze, and found it had a soothing effect on him. Softly, he replied, "Yeah. I could use a Coke." Doggett slid his hips forward to grab some money out of his pocket. Scully laughed. "I think I got this one covered." She opened the door and swung her legs out. Feet touching the ground, she stood up, turned around and tilted her head back into the car. Taking in his troubled face she asked, "You ok? You need some Tums, too?" He grinned at this and said, "No, I'm ok. But thanks." She nodded and made a move to pull away when he added, "Be careful, Scully, ok?" Her brows furrowed and she tried to give him a reassuring smile. "I'm just going across the street, John. I'll be right back, I promise." He swallowed and nodded his reply. ***** He was fiddling with the radio dial when he heard the first shot. The unmistakable noise of a 12-gauge shotgun. He was out of the car and across the street when he heard, "Federal -", the second identical shot, and the replying sound of a Smith and Wesson, standard FBI issue. Shitshitshitshitshitshit. He drew his gun and crouched against the short brick wall that joined the large window halfway up. His heart was a jackhammer in his chest and the adrenaline coursed through his bloodstream. Instead of tamping it down, Doggett let it travel its course, heightening his senses and putting every nerve on alert. Ok, Dawg, here we go, he thought to himself. In a flash, he jerked his head up to look in the window, and just as quickly, returned to his position. Now, what did you see? He looked at the sidewalk as his memory pieced the picture back together. Counter on the left-hand side. No clerk. One assumed perp, on the floor, back against the chocolate bar shelf under the front of the counter, gun by his side. The 12-gauge. Coke cooler making up the wall on the right-hand side. Three, maybe four, low aisles running perpendicular to the counter. No sign of Scully. No sign of anyone else for that matter, perp or otherwise. OK. Taking a deep breath, he yelled towards the entrance, "Federal agent!! I'm armed!!" He crouched his way into the store, the door propped open with a couple of milk crates to let the air in. That's probably why the perp didn't know Scully came in; no entrance bell. He stayed in this crouched position as he checked each aisle while still trying to keep an eye on the perp on the floor. It didn't look good for the gunman, but Doggett knew it was better to err on the side of over-cautiousness. All was quiet as he cleared each aisle, one by one. It was the last aisle where he found Scully, gazing up at the ceiling as a stain of red spread across her chest. With every ounce of strength, he fought the impulse to run to her. He turned to the perp and kicked the gun away. Checking the pulse wasn't necessary, but Doggett did it anyway. Nothing. He slid around the corner of the counter, gun extended in a firm two-handed grip, ready for anything. What he found was the clerk, his face a mess from receiving a blast from the shotgun at short range. Again, pressing fingers to neck was just a cursory gesture, but he did it. Nothing. In a second he realized how it must've played out. Scully had entered the store, unaware of the perp who probably didn't have the gun drawn yet. She made her way to the cooler, unknown to the perp, because the entrance bell didn't go off to alert him. He drew the gun on the clerk who must've spooked the gunman by reaching for the alarm or something. The perp shot. Scully turned, saw what happened, drew her gun and announced herself as a federal agent, but he had already spun around in surprise and fired. Somehow, she returned fire. Clerk. Scully. Perp. But none of that mattered right now. Judging the place to be clear, Doggett raced towards Scully. He took out his cell phone and punched in the 911 number. After the fourth ring, an operator came on. "911. What is your emergency?" "My name's John Doggett. I'm an FBI agent," he proceeded to rattle off his badge number for verification. "I'm at the scene of a hold up on the corner of Corcoran St. and 13th St. NW. Two are dead, one's seriously wounded. She's FBI, too. I need an ambulance right away." "The corner of Corcoran St. and 13th St. NW," the operator repeated. "Ok, sir, we'll get someone out there as soon as we can." "How soon is that?" Doggett asked. "Could be up to 45 minutes, sir," came the reply. "Forty five minutes? I've got an agent down who might not make it in 45 minutes! You gotta hospital 10 minutes from here!" "Welcome to America's highest crime rate, sir." With that, the phone went dead. Shitshitshitshitshitshit. He put the offending phone on the floor and ran a hand through his spiky hair. Ok. What's the next step, John? Stop the blood. Keep her warm to prevent shock. He looked around the store and found what he needed. Grabbing an armful, he returned to Scully, and proceeded to rip open the packages of paper towel. He unraveled sheets and sheets of it and pressed it upon Scully's chest. "Hey, it's me," he spoke to her, for the first time. "If I had known it was gonna be so much trouble to get a Coke.." He looked down and smiled at her. Her mouth moved but she gave no reply.She moved her gaze from the ceiling to his face. His smile slipped. "Don't try to talk," he told her. Her blood seeped through the paper towel. He rolled off another two arms' length of the stuff and pressed it to her. "The ambulance is on its way. You're gonna be fine." He took off his jacket and covered her with it. "I wonder if I should sit you up. What do you think?" She gave a small shake of her head. "Ok," he said. He felt her reach for his hand and thought she meant to show him that he should continue pressing the wound in her chest, but instead she simply held it to her heart, the blood warm under his palm. The horrible sucking sound that had become her breathing now came in jerky uneven beats. Doggett's own breathing increased exponentially. He looked down at her, his eyes blue and pleading. "Tell me what I should do. What should I do??" She simply gave another small shake of her head. He saw her eyes flutter as she watched her life play out in fast-forward on the inside of her eyelids. Then it was quiet. Doggett's brows furrowed as his mind tried to determine what had just happened. "No," his voice full of disbelief. "No. No!" His free hand flew to her neck, checking for a reassuring throbbing. Checking for anything. His bloody fingers leaving a print. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing. "No!" he repeated, as if saying it enough times would convince himself every thing was all right. Her small hand was lifeless in his own large, warm hand. Nothing was all right. He peeled back his jacket and scoured his mind for his CPR knowledge. Two fingers below the breastbone. Heel of one hand placed here. Heel of other hand on top. Short thrusts, 14 times. Tilt head. Pinch nose. Seal her mouth with your own. Two breaths. Ear to mouth, eyes to chest, check for breathing. Repeat. He didn't know how long he had continued this, repeating over and over. His arms ached from the controlled thrusts, his lungs burned from the attempts of his traitorous body to make him hyperventilate from the despair. He could feel her red fluid seep its way into his interlocked fingers as he pushed them against her breastbone. He was stained up to his wrists. Repeat. Repeat. He remembered the first time he saw her. Repeat. The splash of cold water on his face that almost made the corner of his mouth curl up, if he hadn't thought it would have garnered him yet another Scully lashing. Repeat. The first time they had been on a stake-out together. How her scent filled the car and lingered in the memory banks of his senses. Repeat. How she felt in his arms as he carried her off that bus. The second time in their brief partnership that he had held her in his arms. Soft and vulnerable, yet still the strongest woman he had ever met. Repeat. How he felt when she walked out of their office, exiting on a maternity leave. Repeat. How he wondered if he'd ever see her again. Repeat. How he'd never get to tell her the punchline of that stupid joke he started in the car tonight. Repeat. How he wondered now if he ever would see her again. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Resting back on his heels, he could make out her soft composed face through the hot tears that were finally beginning to form. Large fingerprints marked her chin and nose where his hands had been. Well, God, you're a real fuckin' funny guy, you know that? Doggett thought bitterly, as he ran his hands over his sweaty face and through his hair, oblivious to the ghastly trail of her blood his fingers were leaving wherever they went. Not knowing. Not caring. In the end, it wasn't aliens or bat-men or sewer monsters or cannibals or werewolves or whatever other weird shit was in the X-Files that ended up killing her. It was some punk in a convenience store hold-up. Something so every day. Mundane. Normal. Yeah, real fuckin' funny. He looked down at her. "You're meant for so much more than this, Dana. You can't leave us now, darlin'." He smiled at her. "And I didn't mean anythin' by that 'darlin'' bit, so don't kick my ass over it." There was no reply, and Doggett knew he would give up everything he had to have her kick his ass once more. He clenched his fists to his head and gave himself a stern order, "Get a grip, soldier!" His bottom lip trembled and triggered the tears that had been dammed behind his eyes. "Fuckin' pull yourself together. She needs you to pull.. yourself... together." But he was breaking, and breaking hard. Through the prismatic distortion of his tears, his world was crumbling around him and landing in meaningless puddles on the floor. He took her hands in his and clutched them to his chest as he leaned over and rested his forehead against hers. The hot tears cleaned streaks along his cheeks before dropping onto her own. What if he hadn't asked her to get him that Coke? What if he hadn't talked to her so much in the car? What if he had talked to her more? What if HE'D gone into the store instead of her? What if..? What if..? "You said you'd be right back. You promised." His sobs were muffled into her shoulder. With a mixture of grief and anger he repeated, "You PROMISED." Letting it all go now, his shoulders racked uncontrollably. There was no sound except for the hitch in his voice every time he tried to catch his breath. The treacherous sound of someone alive. Him. And then it happened. With his mouth at her neck, his ear was alongside her mouth. Close enough to hear her gasp. Jerking his head back with a start, he brought his eyes up to hers and watched them flutter open. Despite everything he had been through in his life, the things he saw, experienced as a Marine, a cop, an agent, a man, he had never gone through this. Human instinct overriding discipline, he scrambled back wildly, his hands and legs propelling him as far away, and as quickly, as possible until his sweaty back met the cool door of the milk fridge. His eyes darted wildly about, like a cornered animal. They finally fell on Scully. "John..." she whispered. Gathering together as many scraps of sanity as he could, Doggett crawled over to her. He looked down at her, not believing his own eyes. She was looking at him, breathing, reaching for his hand. What the fuck is goin' on here? he wondered to himself. Her eyes traveled across his face and between attempts to breathe she asked, "Are you ok? You're bleeding." He didn't know what she meant until he caught a blurry reflection of himself in the cooler door. The blood he had inadvertently wiped over his face and through his hair. His gaze returned to hers and he squeezed her hand. "I'm ok. It's not my blood." No, it's not my blood. It's YOUR blood. The blood of a woman who had stopped breathing 20 minutes ago; whose heart had stopped beating 20 minutes ago; who was DEAD 20 minutes ago. But that was then, this is now. Now, you're alive. He shook his head. "This is just crazy." "What's crazy?" Doggett pulled up his jacket to her chin once more. "It's crazy how long this ambulance is takin', that's all," he quickly covered up. As if on cue, the wail of the tardy siren reached their ears. "Can you... can you..." Scully stammered. He leaned closer to her mouth. "Can I what, darlin'?" "Sit me up?" she finished. "Sure, sure," he said. Sliding his right hand under her body, he brought her up to a sitting position. Then he moved behind her, his back against the cooler door, so she could lean back into him. He pulled the jacket up around her again and wrapped his arms around her tightly. His mouth was in her hair and he inhaled the scent of her shampoo, her smell. He didn't know what had just happened here. Had he misjudged her condition due to his own shock? Or maybe the CPR worked. Or maybe... It doesn't matter, John. It doesn't matter. Scully's laboured voice spoke again. "You called me 'darlin''." He laughed into her hair. "Yep. You're not gonna kick my ass over it, are ya?" Doggett could almost hear the smile in her voice. "No, I won't kick your ass." He returned her unseen smile and held her like that until the attendants found them. EPILOGUE 3am, same day. "Hey," she whispered quietly, trying to get his attention, but not wanting to startle him as he was slouched back contentedly in the chair by the bed. She repeated the word, a bit more firmly, "Hey." He opened his eyes and waited for them to adjust to the darkness as well as his surroundings. He had almost forgotten where he was, how his tired body had finally superceded his heart- he had done nothing but stare at her for hours, fearing that if he looked away for a second, she'd be gone. Now turning his head, his gaze found hers. The beepbeepbeep of the heart monitor played the comforting song of life, HER life, and he smiled. "Hey." "You know," she began, "I think I've found our next X- File." Doggett's eyebrows raised and he murmured, "Oh, is that so?" When she nodded, he added, "And what would that be?" Scully gave a lopsided smile, the painkillers still working their magic. "I wanna know how you seem to be able to fall asleep like a baby in those damn hospital chairs." He couldn't help but laugh. "Well," he offered, "I've had a lot of practice." She looked away and apologized, "Yeah, I'm sorry about that." Realizing how that sounded, he pulled up the chair closer to the bed and amended, "That's not what I meant. I'm just glad you're here. You know that." Doggett's hand reached out from the semi-darkness and squeezed her arm. "I almost lost..." he faltered, "you got no idea how..." He tore himself away from her questioning gaze, her blue eyes seeking to understand the turmoil in his own. Blinking back the film of moisture that had suddenly formed over his eyes, he took a breath and tried again. "I read the files, Scully. I read the Fellig case. But I never thought.. I still don't know how.." She slid her arm up and took his hand in hers. "I owe you an explanation. There's so much you should know." He shook his head vehemently, "You owe me nothin'. Nothin' at all. I'm just glad you're here, and that's all that matters." Scully sought the comfort in his eyes, the fierce blue fires that blazed from the darkness. Warmed by his compassion and sincerity, she thought, "Careful, Dana, a girl could get used to those eyes. Well, those eyes and these drugs!" Her thoughts elicted a small laugh out of her. His brows came down in playful confusion. "Now what was that laugh all about?" "Oh, nothing," she said teasingly, "I was just remembering that joke you were telling me in the car. You never did get to finish it." "I kept forgetting the set-up." She nodded, "Uh huh. Do you remember it now?" He looked at her and said, "I do." Pausing to memorize her features in the dim hue of the room, he finally gave her a patented Doggett smirk and added, "But I think I'll keep the punchline to myself. That way, I know you'll stick around." Scully shook his head in protest and laughed. "Bribed with a joke. Is that what I'm worth these days?" Before his inner voice could tell him otherwise, he bent forward and kissed her on the cheek. "No, you're worth much more than that." Pause. "Although, it IS a pretty damn good joke." She gave a sleepy laugh in return and despite her efforts to stay awake, she drifted off. This time, he had no fear, no doubts, no trepidation. With his hand still in hers, he leaned back into the chair and joined her in her sleep.