“Déjà Vu”
by Andra Marie Mueller

Part 4



PARIS, FRANCE,

Anticipation rippled through him like a fish through water. It was a year to the day that Doggett’s mysterious benefactor had rescued him from the fire at the D.C. clinic and arranged for his delivery to the clinic in France. Following had been a blurry monotony of surgeries and rehabilitation all accompanied by constant pain, and the knowledge in his heart that in Virginia, his family mistakenly mourned his death. Now it was almost time for the dénouement. In a few moments, Laurent would arrive to remove the bandages from the final graft and allow Doggett to view his face for the first time.

I only hope he was tellin’ the truth about me not lookin’ like Frankenstein’s monster, he thought wryly.

The door opened then to admit Laurent, and he crossed the room to stand beside his patient. “Bon jour, Monsieur Doggett,” he greeted. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Anxious to see what I look like now that you and your associates are done fixin’ my face.”

Laurent smiled. “I am sure you will be pleased with the results,” he replied. “But I must remind you that the scars are still fresh, and will be quite pronounced. They should settle down in another two to three weeks.”

“I can live with the scars, Doc; just let me see my face.”

“Of course. I will remove the bandages, and then you can study yourself in the mirror by the door.”

Taking out a small pair of scissors, Laurent made a couple of preliminary cuts to the bandages, and then replaced them in his pocket as he slowly unwound the gauze from Doggett’s face. The air in the room was cool against Doggett’s skin, and he could feel the scars itch ever so slightly. Ignoring the sensation, he rose to his feet and crossed the room to look at himself in the mirror. Two large, reddish scars adorned each side of his face directly in front of his ears, and a third ran the ridge of his hairline on top of his forehead. But the skin on his face was free of any signs of the previous trauma, and his ice blue eyes still dominated his features. All in all the doctors had done a remarkable job, even replacing the dimple in his chin, and Doggett noted idly that he now looked a decade or so younger than his actual age.

Hell of a way to get a face lift, he mused.

“You are very quiet, Monsieur,” Laurent replied. “Does something in your reflection displease you?”

Doggett cast him a sideways glance. “Not at all,” he assured him. “You guys did an amazin’ job, and as you promised I certainly don’t look like a creature out of some horror movie.”

Laurent reached into his pocket, and withdrew a Polaroid, which he handed to Doggett. “I took this picture the day of your arrival, but did not feel that you should see it until this moment.”

Doggett accepted the picture as he asked, “What is it?”

“It is you, Monsieur, before we began our work. “

Doggett glanced down at the picture, and felt his stomach turn. His time in the military and law enforcement had exposed him to death and destruction countless times, and he had seen things that other men could not imagine. But nothing could have prepared him for the sight of himself in such a devastating condition. What was left of his face was a mass of shattered bone and charred muscle, with the exterior skin having obviously been burned away. Most of the hair on his head was gone as well, and what he could see of his hands was nothing but indistinguishable masses of burnt flesh.

“Sweet Jesus…” he muttered aloud.

‘I imagine He played a part in your survival, Monsieur, because as you can see there is really no reason why you should be standing here today,” Laurent responded.

Doggett studied the picture for a moment longer before lifting his gaze to meet Laurent’s. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For savin’ me from this and givin’ me the face I see in the mirror.”

“You can thank me by ensuring that those responsible will never be able to do this to another person,” Laurent returned. “Too many people have already suffered because of the people responsible for this clinic’s existence. I cannot tell you who is responsible for bringing you here, as I honestly do not know, but once you have safely returned home I will provide you with the list of the people who know of this place.”

“And what happens then?” Doggett asked. “Are they gonna take you out for savin’ me or exposin’ them?”

“I am trusting you to ensure that they never know the source of the disclosure,” Laurent told him. “You are a federal agent, and a former military operative. I am certain you can find a way to take them out of commission without jeopardizing my safety.”

The younger man nodded. “You got my word on that,” Doggett vowed.

“You will need to stay here for another two weeks or so to ensure the scars heal as they should, but then you will be free to reclaim your life.”

“Reunitin’ with my wife is gonna be my first priority.”

“Would you like me to call her?” Laurent offered.

“No,” Doggett declared firmly. “Given the circumstances, it would be better if I choose someone else to make first contact with.”

“As you wish.”

“My brother-in-law is also a federal agent,” Doggett said, “and he can find a way to get here without attracting unwanted attention.”

“Ah, yes; the infamous Fox Mulder. Do you trust him?”

“Outside of my wife there’s no one I trust more.”

“Very well. I will make the necessary arrangements for the knowledge of your survival to find its way to Agent Mulder.”

“I’m assumin’ its not gonna be as simple as callin’ him up and tellin’ him the news myself?” Doggett prompted.

“Direct contact would not be prudent until he is actually here,” Laurent responded. “But I assure you that the source will be a reliable one.”

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

FBI HEADQUARTERS

After dropping Jessica off at home, Mulder had come to the office to work on his current case files. Engrossed in his work he had lost track of time, until at last he closed the file on the desk in front of him and glanced at his watch.

“They don't pay me enough,” he muttered.

Rising to his feet, Mulder pulled his jacket off the back of his chair and headed out of the office. Turning the lights off behind him, he slid his jacket on as he made his way to the elevator.

In the darkness of the corridor, a figure wearing red tennis shoes slipped into the office as Mulder disappeared from view. He shut the door quietly and pulling out a flashlight, began going through Mulder’s desk.

Meanwhile Mulder had reached the main lobby and was en route to the parking structure when he suddenly realized he had forgotten his cell phone. Turning around, he ran to catch the elevator before the doors closed. Riding it back down to his basement office, Mulder started down the hallway just as the other man exited the office. Mulder immediately pulled out his gun and leveled it at the intruder.

“Hold it right there!” he shouted. “Hands in the air!”

The man wordlessly did as instructed.

“Turn around and step forward,” Mulder said.

The man turned around, but remained in place, the light at the top of the stairs behind him casting his face in the shadows.

“I mean you no harm, Agent Mulder,” the man said, his voice a raspy whisper.

“Since you obviously know who I am maybe you can return the favor by telling me who you are and what you’re doing here,” Mulder responded.

A pause. “My name is Daniel Miller,” he answered at last. “I’m here at the request of a mutual acquaintance that wishes to see you, but is temporarily unable to contact you directly.”

“Really…and who might this mutual acquaintance be?” Mulder prompted.

“Your brother-in-law.”

Mulder snorted. “I hate to be the one to break it to you, Mister Miller, but John’s dead. So unless you had a chat with him during a séance or some such thing, I don’t think you have anything to tell me on his behalf.”

“Please listen to me, Mulder,” Miller pleaded. “I work at a private clinic just outside of Paris, and Agent Doggett has been there for the last thirteen months under the care of a doctor named Frederic Laurent. He was brought to the clinic after the explosion at the clinic in Washington D.C., and was more dead than alive. But through their…unique…medical capabilities, they were able to save his life.”

The mention of the explosion and the clinics peaked Mulder’s interest, and combined with Miller’s deliberate vagueness regarding the medical technology was enough to convince him the other man’s story was at least partially legitimate. “I’m listening,” he said, and cautiously lowered his gun.

“I don’t know the exact details of his treatment, but I do know that he underwent extensive reconstructive surgery. He suffered fourth degree burns to his face, as well as multiple facial fractures, and they were forced to literally rebuild his face. However, it has completely healed and the scarring is minimal.”

“Assuming for the moment that what you’re telling me is true, I’m curious as to why he waited so long to have you contact me. And I’m even more curious as to why the hell he hasn’t bothered to tell his wife he’s alive.”

“Those are answers you will have to get from Agent Doggett himself. It was his choice that no one be informed that he was alive until they were certain he would survive his injuries, and even then he felt it would be safer for everyone involved if you were contacted first.”

“Fine,” Mulder replied. “How do I find this clinic?”

“I left a note on your desk with the details,” Miller said. ‘And I’m certain that I don’t need to tell you that secrecy is of the utmost importance. Until Agent Doggett has been returned to the United States, his life is still in jeopardy.”

“I’ll be very discreet,” Mulder assured him. “I’m curious, though, Mister Miller. Why were you sent to tell me? And why won’t you step out of the shadows so I can see your face?”

“I’m here because the same men responsible for the attempted murder of Agent Doggett once tried to kill me,” Miller told him. “When I survived, they chose to use me for their experiments, much the same way they tried to use your sister Jessica Doggett while she was Dieter Stuckhold’s prisoner in Mexico.”

“What did they do to you?”

“They injected me with something that burned me literally from the inside out,” Miller explained. “Unfortunately I didn’t have the…benefits…of Captain Doggett’s previous genetic enhancements and the experiments failed. As result my appearance is somewhat…disturbing, which is why I was at the clinic. But now that I’ve left the clinic they’ll come after me to ensure I can’t tell anyone about what was done to me.”

“You have a lot of information, Mister Miller. It gives an impression either that you are telling the truth or you just want me to believe that you are.”

“If I thought you wouldn’t believe me, I wouldn't be here.”

“Fair enough, but that doesn’t prove that what you’ve told me about John being alive is the truth. You’re asking me to trust you, and yet you refuse to return that trust.”

Miller sighed. “The men who did this are part of a government conspiracy that they call the Syndicate.”

“What conspiracy?” Mulder asked innocently.

“The conspiracy to keep the truth about aliens from the American public all but destroyed a few years ago has given rise to a new conspiracy in the government now by men who are alien themselves.”

“And what does this have to do with you?”

Knowing there was only one way to convince Mulder of the truth, Miller released a heavy sigh and at last stepped into the light. Mulder forced himself not to grimace at the other man’s hideous appearance, his features distorted in the mass of burned flesh covering his face.

Mother of God what did they do to him? he wondered in silent horror.

“What you can see they did to me was a failed attempt to turn me into one of these alien men,” Miller continued. ”I was a guinea pig -- a test subject. And now I want to expose their evil plans.”

“What plans are those?” Mulder prompted.

“To do this to you ... to everyone,” Miller answered. “Jessica Doggett was spared because she survived the genetic enhancements done while she was still in your mother’s womb. You were spared because they mistakenly believed you’re Carl Spender’s son. But I am his son and they chose me anyway because I refused to go along with their plans.”

It took a moment for the confession to sink in, but when it did Mulder’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’re Jeffrey Spender…”

“What’s left of him,” came the sad reply. “This is why I came here to tell you about Agent Doggett. It is imperative that the two of you protect your families and stop the Syndicate.”

“What about you?”

“I intend to disappear,” Spender said. “I have nothing left to fight with, or fight for. But I’ll be watching and waiting for the day that you and Agent Doggett expose the truth and eliminate the Syndicate once and for all.”

Without giving Mulder a chance to respond, Spender turned and disappeared into the shadows. Mulder watched him go, not wanting him to leave but not knowing how to make him stay. Walking into his office, he crossed to his desk and discovered a piece of paper lying atop the files. Sure enough, it contained detailed directions on how to find the clinic in Paris. Tucking it into his coat pocket, Mulder retrieved his cell phone from the drawer and dialed Scully’s cell phone number as he rummaged through his desk in search of his passport. She answered on the third ring, and from the sound of her voice she was not pleased at the disturbance.

“Dana Scully.”

“Scully, it’s me.”

“Mulder, I’m in the middle of a class…”

“I’ll make this quick. I’ve gotten a lead regarding John’s case and I have to go to France tonight to verify it.”

“France?” Scully echoed. “What’s in France?”

“That’s what I need to find out,” Mulder responded. “I’ll call you when I get to Paris.”

“Mulder…” Scully began, then decided against saying whatever she had intended to tell him. “Be careful, Mulder.”

“I promise. Give Will a kiss for me. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Scully responded, and in the background Mulder heard her class collectively say, “Awwww.”

“The maturity level of your students continues to astound me,” Mulder remarked dryly. “Happy teaching.”

“Thanks.”

Turning off his phone, Mulder tucked it into his coat along with his passport before exiting his office.

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

PARIS, FRANCE

Approaching the doors of the hospice, Mulder brushed the rain water off his coat before pressing the small entry button on the right wall adjacent to the doors.There was nothing but silence for close to thirty seconds, and then the door opened just enough to reveal a man of about sixty standing just inside."

May I help you?" he asked.

"Are you Doctor Frederic Laurent?" Mulder asked.

"I am.”

Mulder flashed his FBI badge. “My name’s Fox Mulder. I understand there’s someone here I need to see.”

Laurent nodded. “I am pleased that Monsieur Spender’s mission was a success,” he said, and opened the door and stepped aside to allow Mulder entry. "Please come inside."

The younger man entered the hospice and a cursory scan of the foyer failed to reveal anything unusual. The walls were painted white and bore simple artwork.A small staircase spiraled its way to the second floor, and the short hallway lead to a closed set of double doors. This place looks like the facility in D.C., he mused. Aloud he said, "I'm curious as to why you allowed Jeffrey Spender to contact me if you're so concerned about keeping this facility a secret."

Laurent afforded him a sideways glance as they started up the stairs."Monsieur Doggett insisted that you could be trusted," he replied." And he was very insistent that we not contact his wife."

"Why?"

Laurent shrugged. "He would not say, but as his family and friends have believed him dead for the last year, I am certain that he worried she will not believe he is who he is."

"I haven't said that I believe he is who he is," Mulder pointed out.

The doctor gave him an indulgent smile. "If you did not, you would not be here."

Reaching the end of the upstairs hallway, Laurent knocked on the last door and a muffled voice responded, "Come in."

Laurent opened the door and stepped inside, shadowed by Mulder. A man with his back to the door stood beside the bed, and although he was the same height and roughly the same weight as him, nothing in his appearance indicated he was in actuality John Doggett.

“I understand there’s some confusion as to your identity,” Mulder said.

The man turned to face him, and other than a pair of faint surgical scars along his jaw and another adjacent to his hairline, his features bore an exact resemblance to his brother-in-law’s. The shock of seeing him temporarily robbed Mulder of his ability to speak, earning him a faint smile from the man in front of him.

"I think this may be the first time I've seen you speechless, Mulder," Doggett chided.

"Well you sound like John Doggett," Mulder allowed, "and you look like him, but aside from that there's nothing about you that would prove it. And it’s been my experience that just because something looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s not really a duck but a genetic clone made to resemble one."

“You think I’m a clone?” Doggett prompted. “I’ve always known you were paranoid, Mulder, but this is extreme even for you.”

“Well you have to admit you look pretty darn good for a man who was supposed to have been blown into a billion pieces this time last year. Frankly I need something a bit more substantial than your word to prove you really are John Doggett.”

"You're the one with the genius IQ. Why don't you figure out a way to prove it?"

"Okay; let's start with the wedding gift I gave you and Jessica when you got remarried. As I recall, you weren't particularly enamored of the kittens."

Doggett snorted. "I wish they had been kittens," he said. "Would have made 'em a hell of a lot easier to take care of. But they were a pair of Saint Bernard puppies that Jess named Spooky and Semper Fi, and last I saw 'em they both weighed in at 200 pounds."

"What does your middle initial 'T' stand for?"

"My middle initial is 'J' and it stands for Jeremiah, which was my father's name. My mother's name was Rose, my sister's name is Emily, and my wife's birth name was Christina Mulder. After her brother Scott was killed by Billy Miles in a car accident six years ago, we found out she was kidnapped as an infant and illegally adopted by the Caldwells. Your wife's name is Dana Scully, and your son's name is Will after both his grandfathers. My kids' names are Matthew and Grace, and last year for my birthday they got me a bulldog puppy we named Georgia. You and I work for the FBI, specifically a division called the X files that is dedicated to the investigation of paranormal phenomena. You founded the division after your other sister Samantha was allegedly abducted by aliens when she was eight years old. Our boss is Walter Skinner, and his boss is Deputy Director Kersh. Before I joined the Bureau I was with the NYPD and before that I spent six years in the Marine Corps. I was born in a pisswater town in Georgia called Democrat Hot Springs, which is where Monica took Scully to give birth to Will when Billy Miles and Krycek were tryin' to kill them. Don't smoke, I drink my coffee black and to my wife's great amusement, my favorite ice cream is Rocky Road."

Doggett finished his recital and fell silent, waiting for Mulder's response.

After a moment the other man gave him a faint smile."Well that was an interesting dissertation on your life history," he said dryly."Welcome back to the land of the living."

Relief was evident in Doggett's expression. "Thank you," he said simply."

What happened to you a year ago?" Mulder asked."After the explosion everyone assumed that you had been killed along with Monica."

"I almost was," Doggett allowed. Last thing I remember about that day was Monica screamin' at me that it was a trap, then all hell broke loose.I woke up two weeks later and the doctors told me that it was a miracle I was still alive. Aside from third and fourth degree burns to my face and hands from the fire, I'd broken all the bones in my face, broken or cracked half a dozen ribs, ruptured a kidney and every inch of me was bruised or battered."

"It must have been incredibly painful," Mulder remarked."

Actually they had me on so much medication that I didn't really feel much of anything. Laurent is the head honcho here, and was the one who explained what would be involved in my recovery. He told me flat out that they'd have to literally reconstruct my face, which could only be done once the other injuries had healed to avoid sendin' my body into shock. After that they had to do a bunch of skin grafts to replace the skin that had burned off in the fire. Eventually they were able to repair all the damage and aside from the scars, I’m as good as new.”"

What about Jessica? You have to know what it did to her when we all believed you were dead."

A flicker of reserved anguish briefly passed across Doggett's face before vanishing. "There was nothin' I wanted more than to pick up the phone and tell Jess that I was alive," he replied. "But given the condition I was in Laurent couldn't guarantee me that despite the medical magic they'd worked on me, I wouldn't die anyway. I wasn't willin' to put Jess through my death a second time if it came to that."

"Having been there, done that, I can't dispute your reasoning," Mulder allowed. "But I'll give you fair warning now: Jessica isn't going to be as overjoyed at your resurrection as you want her to be. The last year has been incredibly difficult for her. She blames God for your death, and in her anger she lost her faith. She's not going to welcome you back with open arms."

Doggett sighed. "I don't expect to walk back into her life and pretend like nothin's happened. But the only reason I fought to stay alive is because I was determined to return to my family. If that means facin’ Jess' wrath and havin' to jump through hoops to prove myself, so be it, and no one is gonna keep me from my wife."

Mulder smiled."Well then, let's go home."

The two men started for the door, then a sudden thought occurred to Mulder and he turned back around to face Doggett. “Just for the record,” he began. “If this really is some kind of elaborate hoax and you turn out not to be John Doggett after I’ve returned you to my sister, I’ll kill you myself.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

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

Some time later, Mulder and Doggett were seated in companionable silence in the business section of the plane carrying them back to the States. It had taken substantial string pulling for Mulder to get Doggett a temporary passport without proper documentation, but once the French authorities had verified Mulder’s status as an FBI agent, they had made the necessary arrangements. The men had not spoken much during the flight, each lost in their own thoughts about what Doggett’s resurrection would mean once they got home. Yet the silence began to wear on Mulder’s nerves, and he decided to engage Doggett in casual conversation.

“Any idea what you’re going to say to Jessica when you see her?” Mulder asked.

“Assuming she doesn’t deck me on the spot, I haven’t the slightest idea,” Doggett answered. “The obvious choice would be an apology, but somethin’ tells me she won’t be in the mood to hear it.”

“She’ll be substantially pissed when she finds out you’re still alive,” Mulder allowed, “but I doubt she’s going to hit you. She may sic the dogs on you, though.”

Doggett snorted. “Georgia may be willin’ to try her luck, but Spooky and Semper Fi wouldn’t dare.”

“What is it with Jessica and these big dogs anyway?”

“Jess has always been crazy about animals, but she’s got a soft spot for big dogs. The first time I met her she was bein’ shadowed by an Irish wolfhound that weighed as much as I did.”

“There’s something else you should know before we reach D.C.,” Mulder said. “Based upon the information we got from Burlinksi shortly after you were presumed killed, the clinics he told us about are being run by the Syndicate, and apparently Frans Stuckhold is in charge.”

“Stuckhold?” Doggett echoed. “That’s impossible. Just before I killed him in Mexico, Dieter said his father had died of a heart attack several months before.”

“According to Burlinski, Frans faked his death to give his son the chance to take over the reigns of their operation, but was forced to resurface after you killed Dieter.”

“Have you been able to verify his story?”

“In part, yes. I had the Gunmen do a search to try and locate a Death Certificate for Frans anywhere in Europe during the approximate time frame when Dieter told you his father had died. It took them a couple months to access all of the records, but eventually they discovered that there was no Death Certificate filed.”

“Which means Frans is alive and continuin’ to screw up other people’s lives,” Doggett muttered.

“It looks that way.”

“Does Jess know?”

“She was there when Burlinski gave me the information, but otherwise she hasn’t been involved in the investigation. She initially held me responsible for your death and we barely spoke for almost six months. But even after we made amends, I decided to keep her out of it. I felt that if Stuckhold decided to strike again, I’d be the more appealing target because I was the one with all the information.”

“And Dana went along with that?”

“Scully’s long accustomed to having me paint targets on my back,” Mulder evaded. “She doesn’t like it, but she’s learned not to waste her time trying to change my mind.”

“Stubborn is as stubborn does. That’s somethin’ you and your sister have in common.”

“Speaking of my lovely little sister, have you considered that there is a remote possibility she won’t forgive you for staying away for so long?”

“That won’t happen,” Doggett declared. “She’s gonna be madder than a wet hen when she finds out I’m alive, but she won’t stay mad indefinitely. Hell she even declared a truce with Elizabeth.”

“Ah, yes; your notorious mother-in-law. Jessica invited her to your memorial service, by the way.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t grow up as a Senator’s kid without gettin’ protocol drilled into your brain, but dollars to doughnuts she didn’t sit with Jess and the twins at the service.”

Mulder smiled. “Actually she sat with Sarah and her family,” he said. “How did you know?”

“I know Jess,” was the simple reply.

“Obviously. At any rate, Elizabeth hasn’t tried to contact Jessica, and nobody’s gone after her either. So either they’re finally leaving her alone, or they’re just biding their time until they’re ready to make another move.”

“If they do I’m gonna make damn sure it’s the last mistake they ever make,” the other man vowed.

“You and me both.”

Doggett shifted his gaze to stare out the window. “Do you ever wonder what your life would’ve been like if you hadn’t met Scully?” he asked softly. “What kind of person you’d be now if you two hadn’t found each other?”

“To be perfectly honest I try not to,” Mulder answered. “The idea of never loving Scully or being given Will is scarier than anything I’ve faced on the X files.”

“Unfortunately I’ve done nothin’ but think about my life without Jess for the past thirteen months, and if it had come to a choice between dyin’ in that explosion or spendin’ the rest of my life alone, I’d have taken death hands down.”

“I’ll second that emotion.”

Doggett afforded him a sideways glance. “You’re a good guy, Mulder,” he replied. “Granted you annoy the hell out me most of the time, but you’re a good friend, and you’ve been a good brother to Jess. Thanks for watchin’ over her.”

“Just repaying old debts, Agent Doggett. Once upon a time I was MIA and you took my family under your protection. I figured it was past time I returned the favor.”

“I still owe you a kick in the ass for that ‘Property of John Doggett’ T-shirt, though.”

“I’ll make a note of it.”


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




On to part 5