Interregnum VIII

Horatio

Summary: In the Nevada desert, Doggett and Scully deal with hard truths and difficult choices.

Rating: PG-13 (for language)

Category: S/D friendship with a little UST

Spoilers: Season 8 through the beginning of Deadalive

Timeline: Takes place a couple of weeks after Mulder's funeral, in mid- September. Scully is around 17 weeks (almost 4 1/2 months) pregnant.

Archive: Fine with me! Just let me know so I can visit.

Disclaimer: Characters from the X-Files are the property of Ten- Thirteen Productions and the Fox Television Network. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this endeavor.

Notes: See Interregnum I: "Secrets," for information about the series. Reference is made in "Confrontations" to an incident that occurred in Interregnum III: "Intersections." Additional notes at the end.

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If it weren't for the hair, he might have missed her.

John Doggett stood up from the stone bench as soon as the first worshippers began to exit the church. As the number of people spilling out the doors grew, he scanned the crowd for his quarry.

No, he decided when he finally spotted her, if it hadn't been for the flame of her hair he didn't think he would have recognized Dana Scully. Dressed in a loose-fitting, flowered dress over a lemon-colored T- shirt, the person who was advancing toward him bore less resemblance to an FBI agent than to simply a beautiful woman in the first bloom of pregnancy.

Scully had noticed her partner almost immediately, and approached him with raised eyebrows. "Agent Doggett?"

"Agent Scully." Doggett's heart dropped a little as he looked into her eyes. The sadness he saw there belied the image of simple beauty that had first arrested him. There was nothing simple about this woman or the trials she'd endured. "Sorry to bother you on a Sunday morning. I tried to reach you, and when I couldn't I figured I might find you here."

"How did you know I come to St. Catherine's?" Her voice betrayed the slightest edge of a challenge, and he mentally translated her words: *Are you checking up on me?*

"Just a deduction," he said. "It's the closest Catholic church to your apartment, and I figured you'd enjoy the walk when you're at home."

Scully's testiness evaporated in the common sense of his reply, and she felt a little ashamed of her reaction. In her head she heard a familiar sing-song voice intone, *That's why they put the 'Eye' in F.B.I.* Suddenly she felt that lancing pain in her soul that struck at the most inconvenient moments.

Taking a breath to steady herself, she said, "Well, your deduction was correct. What can I do for you, Agent Doggett?"

"Is there somewhere where we can sit? Be more comfortable?"

Scully nodded, and led her partner down the street through the throngs of Sunday strollers and the coffee-and-pastry crowd. As they passed a produce market, Scully stopped to examine the sidewalk display of fruit. "Mmm, the mangoes look good," she said, picking one up and smelling it.

The flatness of her voice, however, was in stark contrast to her words, and Doggett's heart took another drop.

She put down the fruit and turned into a café. A few minutes later they were seated at a corner table with their drinks. While Doggett sipped his coffee - "large, black, and NO room for cream"- Scully dipped a bag of chamomile tea in her cup of hot water and waited for him to explain his presence. He seemed unusually quiet and pensive, and she began to dread whatever new X-file lay in wait for them. But when he finally spoke, it wasn't what she expected at all.

"Some people lose their faith after a tragedy," said Doggett quietly.

Scully stared at him, and the teabag stilled.

He looked down at his coffee. He took a drink, then set the mug back down on the table, his hands cupped around it as if for warmth, although the day promised to be in the high 70s. "It's good that you haven't."

Still she looked at him, groping for a footing. This was not conversational territory she ever expected to be treading with John Doggett. Or with anyone besides her mother and her priest.

Doggett raised his eyes to hers, and she thought he looked apologetic for bringing up such a subject.

"I've had my moments," she said softly.

He nodded his understanding, and she was fascinated by this new side of him, one that had never occurred to her before. Questions crowded her mind. Did he believe? Did he really understand about faith? Did he understand how painful it was to be assailed by doubt?

"Did you?" she asked. "Lose faith?"

He drew a breath. "For a time, yeah." He blinked, and looked into the middle distance over her shoulder, his eyes bottomless blue lakes. Scully waited, watching those eyes, wondering what visions, or hells, they saw.

Doggett returned his gaze to her face. "After a while, I decided that if I only believed in God in the good times and not the bad, I was a pretty sorry excuse for a man."

Scully wanted to tell him that he was far from a sorry excuse for anything, but instead she squeezed her teabag against her spoon and laid it on a napkin. Taking a sip of tea, she ventured, "It's hard sometimes. . .to believe." She looked up again, and Doggett's gaze was interested. Suddenly, in the crowded solitude of the café, in his quiet and steadying presence, words tumbled out of her mouth, evading her usual self-censorship. "Sometimes I think that God has worked out some cruel exchange. That this new life. . ." she glanced at her stomach, "could only come at the price of an old one." She swallowed her tea with difficulty. Now why the hell did I tell him that? she wondered. She lowered her eyes and examined the veins on the back of his hand.

Doggett searched her face anxiously. He didn't want her to believe that this baby was anything but a gift, pure and simple, with no strings and no price and no deals. And he wanted to do everything in his power to make sure that it, too, wouldn't be harmed. "But you don't believe that," he said.

Scully put down her cup and raised her eyes to discover his gaze probing her. She heard behind his statement the question, the worry. "No," she reassured him, shaking her head slightly. "I don't believe God is like that."

His shoulders seemed to relax a little.

Suddenly Scully felt very tired. "But you didn't come all the way to Georgetown to talk about religion, did you, Agent Doggett?"

He looked chagrined and sat up straighter. "No. I got a call from A.D. Skinner this morning, some case out in Nevada."

"He called *you*?"

Damn, but she was prickly! Doggett hesitated, considering how best to answer her. He decided that the truth was always the best course with this woman. "Actually, yes. Skinner thought it might be too soon after. . .the funeral for you to resume field duty."

Scully's mouth pursed, and she pierced him with that Look. "I'm not an invalid, Agent Doggett."

"No," he agreed. "Skinner's just concerned about you, and about your pregnancy." And he's not the only one, Doggett added silently.

"That's a matter between my doctor and myself." She glanced away from him, feeling a twinge of guilt. Just last week her obstetrician had "strongly" suggested that it was time for her to cut back on her duties. And she would. . .soon. But *she* would decide when, not Skinner, and not Doggett.

She went on, "At present I'm fully capable of doing my work, and I don't appreciate--"

"That's what I told him," Doggett broke in.

Scully closed her mouth in mid-sentence.

"I told him you would be the best judge of this. That you wouldn't want someone else makin' the decision for you."

"Oh." Scully sat back in her chair, surprised. "Well."

Doggett looked down at the table. He wouldn't tell her the rest of what he'd said to his boss: "Sir, I'd sooner face the wrath of God than Agent Scully when she finds out I was assigned a case without her."

He looked at her again. "So I came out here to see what you thought of this case, and if you feel up to goin'."

Scully rested her eyes on the man before her with renewed respect. Why did she continue to be surprised at his character? She should have more faith in him, she chided herself.

She put down her cup in its saucer with a clink. "Okay. What has Skinner got for us?"

* * *

Northeastern Nevada

Doggett pulled the car off the road onto the shoulder, a cloud of dust in its wake. As he killed the engine, Scully got out and squinted up at the hills rising in the near distance, dotted with desert shrubs and pinyon pines. "How far up is the first cave?" she asked.

Doggett stepped out of the air-conditioned car and into an oven. He immediately stripped off his jacket and tie and tossed them into the back seat. "Sheriff said about three-quarters of a mile up that trail." They could see a faint track winding through the sagebrush and up into a small canyon.

"Well, let's go," said Scully, grabbing the water bottle from the car and leading the way. As she walked she inhaled deeply, filling her nostrils with the scent of sage. Cicadas buzzed all around, and a lizard scurried for cover under a rock. As she fell into a comfortable stride, she reflected that it was good to get away from home, away from the routine, away from the reminders of what was no more. She needed this. She almost felt glad to be alive again.

The track was narrow, but the spaces between the sagebrush were wide, and Doggett soon was walking beside her. "Did you develop any theories from examining the bodies?" he asked her.

Scully shook her head in frustration. She had spent the past two hours in the morgue, only to wind up with more questions than answers. "There are so many anomalies, it's difficult to speculate."

"No kiddin'. It's not often you see a person's organs rearranged."

She nodded. "And then there's the local legend."

"Yeah, there's that." His voice dripped with skepticism. "Some *thing* they think lives in these caves up here."

"Some 'creature,' is how they describe it. Sightings of said creature have spiked lately, coincident with the deaths."

Doggett looked at her with raised eyebrows. "C'mon, Agent Scully. You're not askin' me to believe in some kind of homicidal Bigfoot now, are you?"

Scully was struck again by the irony of the reversed roles in this new partnership. Here she was, talking casually about "creatures" while her partner was perfecting the Exaggerated Eye Roll. "No, Agent Doggett. I'm not asking you to believe it. I'm just asking you to work with me."

"Oh, I'll work with you, all right. As long as I can stick to what I know and leave the legends to you." He gave her his crooked grin, and her own lips turned up despite her best intentions.

"Agent Doggett, after you've spent some time on the X-Files, you'll be able to write your own legends."

His grin faded as memories from the past few months rose up in his mind. She was right. He could probably write his own legends already.

Scully gave him a sidelong glance. They were an odd pairing, but no odder than she and Mulder had been. She even found a certain exhilaration in the freedom of being able to roam through the realm of the fantastic. They were missing the intuitive element that could lead them from A to Z while skipping over the rest of the alphabet--and Scully couldn't think about that loss without pain. But reality was a harsh taskmaster, and she forced herself daily to meet its demands.

She might wish that Doggett had more imagination and open-mindedness; but his honesty and integrity, and his respect and decency toward her, went a long way in making up for his shortcomings. With his wits and professionalism, and her science and new openness to extreme possibilities, she believed they might be able to do the work.

As the trail ascended the canyon, Scully's breathing became more labored, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Doggett. "You doin' okay, Agent Scully?"

"I'm doing fine, Agent Doggett. It's a dry heat, you know."

"Yeah, well, tell that to my sweat glands," he said as he rolled up his sleeves.

She looked at him, at the large circles of dampness under his arms, and almost smiled. But his question lingered in her mind, reminding her of their meeting with the local sheriff a few hours ago. A heavy, florid- faced man on the far side of middle age, Sheriff Weston Barr had initially appeared relieved to welcome the federal agents to Toiyabe County's jurisdiction. That relief had turned to dismay when his eyes dropped to Scully's middle. At four and a half months, her pregnancy could no longer be disguised.

Barr's pointed reminder to the two agents that the perpetrator of the attacks was "one vicious sonofabitch" had roused Scully to annoyance. But before she could open her mouth, Doggett had stepped in and laid a friendly hand on the other man's shoulder, reassuring him that they wanted to get to work as quickly as possible.

Now she said to her partner, "The sheriff doesn't think I should be here."

Doggett almost stumbled in surprise at the change in subject. "It's an understandable reaction," he said, resuming his pace. "He's a small- town, good-ol'-boy who isn't used to seein' pregnant FBI agents. Hell, he's not used to seein' the FBI, period."

"You talked to him about me, didn't you?"

Her voice carried an accusing tone, and Doggett felt the need to defend himself. "Barr brought it up to *me* after you left. I told him he had nothin' to worry about."

The door had hardly closed on Scully as she left for the medical examiner's office when the sheriff challenged Doggett. "Your partner's expectin', isn't she?" Barr peered at Doggett through narrowed eyes as if he thought the Special Agent might be personally responsible for the blessed event.

"Yeah," Doggett answered him. "She's expectin' to be treated like the professional she is."

The other man's nostrils flared. "You know what I mean."

Doggett took a deep breath. It didn't do to annoy the locals. "I know what you mean. You got a problem with that?"

"Well," the sheriff drawled out slowly, "don't you think it should concern us a little?"

Doggett waited a beat while he gave Barr one of his patented "Now, get this straight" looks. Then he said in measured tones, "Agent Scully is more than able to perform her duties, Sheriff. And she can still do it a damn sight better than most people."

The sheriff eyed him intently for several seconds, then muttered, "I sure as hell hope so," and once again turned to the crime scene photographs spread out on the table.

But as Doggett bent to the grisly photos of the bodies, his stomach knotted. He was uncomfortably aware that the rock-solid facade he'd projected was riddled with fissures. Yeah, Sheriff, he thought. It concerns me. More than a little.

Nevertheless, he kept his doubts to himself as he paced alongside his partner. Scully having made no reply to his statement, Doggett went on. "Y'know, Agent Scully, you're quite a package for him to swallow at once. Special Agent, scientist, doctor, *and* mother-to-be." Hell, he thought, it's hard for *me* to grasp it all sometimes.

Scully huffed lightly.

Rounding a rock outcropping, they could see yellow crime tape in the distance. A few minutes later they were stooping under the tape and peering into a hole in a bluff, close to the ground and partly hidden by a juniper bush.

"This must be the cave," said Scully.

"That's damn small," observed Doggett. The opening was about the size of the door of his washing machine. He stepped carefully around the entrance, scanning the ground. "This is where the victim was dragged out."

They examined the drag marks, odd-shaped footprints, broken twigs, and other evidence, but finally their attention was drawn back to the hole in the side of the hill. Scully lowered herself to her knees and pushed the branches aside. Doggett joined her, and putting his head next to hers, shined his flashlight into the darkness. "I'll take a look."

Scully sat back and eyed the breadth of his shoulders. "Do you think that's a good idea, Agent Doggett? Maybe I--"

"The victim who was dragged outta there was a grown man. And anyway, I'm just gonna stick my head in and look around."

"Wait a minute." Breaking a dead branch off the juniper, Scully stuck it in the opening and poked it around. At Doggett's questioning look, she explained, "Checking for rattlers."

"Oh." He licked his lips nervously.

"All clear," she said, sitting up.

He looked at her. "Right." Then, stretching out on his stomach, he pushed himself forward on his elbows, muttering, "I just hope they got a good dry cleaner in this town."

Scully snorted softly as he inched his way into the opening. His head, then his shoulders disappeared. Back, hips, and gun slithered in next. Abruptly he stopped.

"Agent Doggett?" Scully called. "Do you see anything?"

He didn't answer, but his shoes dug into the sandy soil for purchase as he pushed himself farther in.

"Agent Doggett?" Scully felt a tingling of fear begin to crawl up her spine. She put a hand on the back of his leg as though the sensation of warm muscle and bone would reassure her. She waited what seemed like a very long time while his legs fidgeted in the dirt under her hand.

Then they stilled.

She called his name once more, and again received no response. Her mouth suddenly went dry. *C'mon, Doggett, c'mon, John,* she found herself chanting soundlessly. Her hand on the wool of his pants was slick with sweat. Suddenly she reached for his belt. Dammit, she would drag him out of there!

Just then his hips swayed slightly against the ground, and his body began to creep backwards out of the opening. Scully released her hold on him, and let out a shuddering sigh.

A few moments later Doggett was sitting up on his haunches, panting heavily. His shirtfront and pants were brown with dust, his face smudged with sweat and dirt. A bloody scrape grazed his forearm.

"God almighty!" he exclaimed.

"You okay?" Scully asked.

He stopped to take in a deep breath. "I thought I was gonna get stuck. That place is tighter than a--"

He looked at her, and Scully was amazed to see his cheeks redden under the dirt.

"Well, damn tight," he continued. "I don't see how a man could've got through there." He turned his head to the side and spat.

"Did you see anything?"

He shook his head. "No. I think we're gonna have to come in from the other end of this cave system."

Scully pulled a tissue out of her pocket. "Close your eyes, Agent Doggett."

"Huh?" he grunted, but did as she asked.

Leaning forward on her knees, Scully brushed his hair lightly, scattering particles of soil and flakes of sandstone. Then she wiped his eyelashes with the tissue. "You're full of dirt," she murmured.

Doggett sat very still, sightlessly enjoying the feel of her fingers on his face. "At least you're not tellin' me I'm full of shit." He was surprised to hear a throaty chuckle in response, and opened his eyes to see Scully smiling at him. He grinned back.

"Don't get your hopes up, Agent Doggett," she said to him, her eyes twinkling.

Doggett froze for a second, entranced by the light in her eyes. If he could only keep that light shining forever. . . He shook himself out of his reverie. "I hear ya, Agent Scully," he growled good-naturedly, and pushed himself up from the ground.

Scully stood, too, her hands bracing her back, and looked up at her partner. Rivulets of perspiration ran down from his hair. She picked up the water bottle from the ground. "Want to wash a little?"

Doggett nodded, and took the bottle from her.

He was a sight. His shirttail hung partly out of his pants, and his hair was spiky from sweat and dirt and her ministrations. His clothes were filthy. He presented an endearing combination of disheveled and handsome, and Scully felt affection for him warm the wounded places in her heart. Impressions came unbidden to her mind. She thought of his bravery - she'd have been dead in Utah if it weren't for him - his comforting presence through the nightmare of Mulder's death, even his quiet reflections on faith. And much, much more.

She watched him, rapt, as he poured water over his face, rubbing away the dirt with his hand. Then he squirted water into his mouth, gulping thirstily, and onto the cut on his arm. Scully found herself riveted by the taut cords of his neck, the Adam's apple bobbing with each swallow. The water glistening on the hard planes of his face and streaming into the white collar below. The sinews of his forearms, the strong hands.

Suddenly, the remembrance of the one kiss they had shared rose hotly in her mind. Most of the time she banished it far from the reach of her memory, but now her barricades gave way and she let stream into her consciousness the recollections of lips, arms, touches and tastes, the swirl of emotions. . .

The guilt. She remembered how after first giving in to Doggett's embrace, she had pushed him away, frantic. Once again that confusion roiled inside her. How could she love Mulder so much and yet have such feelings for this man? Was she so inconstant and capricious? Was this the kind of person she was now? Her heart began to throb in an irregular rhythm, and she turned her face away from the man before her, troubled and ashamed.

Doggett was holding the water bottle out to her. "Want some?" Scully shook her head, looking at the ground, at the weeds, anywhere but at him. Doggett peered at her averted face, surprised to see that she had colored slightly. What the hell?

To cover her confusion, Scully said, "Where's the other cave entrance?"

"Supposedly up there." He gestured to the ridge above them, and they both looked at the spine of darker rock. . .and the thundercloud that had appeared above it while they were absorbed in other matters. Over the canyon a dull rumble echoed.

"Hell," said Doggett. "September isn't supposed to be the wet season."

"I guess the weather didn't read the almanac," remarked Scully. "We better not take a chance. We should head back to the car."

As if on cue, a flash of light cut through the darkening sky, and they quickly began to retrace their steps. Scully seemed preoccupied, her earlier lightness gone, and Doggett wondered at the cause. Was she not feeling well? The furrows on his brow deepened as his concerns bubbled up again. He began to think about how they should proceed next.

"First thing tomorrow morning," he said to her, "the sheriff and I'll check out that other cave entrance."

Scully slowed her steps and looked at him sharply. "The sheriff? Why him?"

Oh, shit. Now he was doing it, too.

When he didn't answer her, she pulled up and turned on him. "You don't want me going in there, do you?"

Doggett stopped too, and his eyes darted to the side and back to her. "I didn't mean it to sound like that."

"Then what the hell did you mean it to sound like?" Vexation was heaped upon confusion, and she exploded. "Dammit! Not you, too! You're just like all the rest, Agent Doggett--you and Skinner and the good ol' boys!" She breathed raggedly for a few seconds. "And I thought you were different!"

She turned and stalked away from him, her thoughts a noisy clamor. *I thought he respected me as a professional. I thought this could work. I admired his honesty and integrity. I liked him, I more than liked him. . .Oh, damn!*

Doggett stood for a moment, immobilized by her outburst. God almighty! He hurried after her. "Hey! I just thought--"

"I don't need people making decisions for me," she shot back at him. "Or did you conveniently forget that you said that?"

"I just thought you might prefer to stay topside," he countered as he caught up to her. "Like in Boston."

Scully felt a flush rise to her cheeks; she would never think about that day in the Boston subways without stinging remorse. Nevertheless, her defenses automatically kicked in. "The Boston incident was regrettable, but there was a possible contagion that could have had unforeseen effects on my baby."

"Regrettable" was not how Doggett regarded the Boston situation, since he believed Scully had saved lives by being where she could access the science. But his mind was already veering off in another direction. "Oh, so the effects this thing here could have--" he flung his arm back in the direction of the cave, "namely, chewin' you up and spittin' you out for a snack, are okay?"

"I can protect myself against an assailant," she shot back at him. She stopped and faced him. "I don't need you to coddle me, Agent Doggett. *I* take the risk, it's *my* choice, something I agreed to when I took this job."

He felt a throbbing in his temple. "Yeah, but it's not *his* or *her* job!" He pointed at her stomach. "Anything happens to you happens to that cargo you're carryin', too. Isn't it time you started thinking of that?"

Scully flinched as though she'd been slapped. "How dare you! I *do* think of 'that'! I'm trying to think of *everything*. Like what if something happens to you when I'm not there to watch your back? What then?"

"The sheriff can watch my back."

"Do you really trust that man--that heart attack waiting to happen--to watch your back?" Scully's shout echoed in the canyon, and she tried to calm her rapid breathing. "Look, Agent Doggett, not too long ago you accused me of *not* doing my job, of *not* being there to watch your back."

He remembered it well: 3 a.m. outside a diner in downtown D.C. "Yeah, I did. But that was before I knew--"

She didn't let him finish. "Well, do you think I can't do that anymore?"

They had resumed their walking and had reached the road as thunder continued to rumble. Doggett stopped and appraised her, his eyes traveling down her length and back up. Her green knit shirt was tight around her middle where her waistline used to be, but she was carrying very little extra weight yet. She still looked strong and, to all appearances, healthy. And she was a hell of a lot smarter than he would ever be.

"No," he said, "I'm not questioning your ability. I know you can still watch my back." He paused, and looked intently at her. "It's a matter of *should* you?"

Scully fixed her eyes angrily on him. "I'll be the judge of that, Agent Doggett. Until then, I'm going to do my job." And she turned away, closing the distance to their car. She held out her hand as he caught up with her. "Give me the keys."

He blew out a breath, put the keys in her palm, and walked around to the passenger side.

Scully got in but didn't start the car. She sat staring in silence at the sagebrush-studded landscape, her heart pounding heavily. Damn! Damn! Damn! Everything was falling apart.

Doggett risked a glance at her. Her face was flushed, and perspiration had beaded on her forehead. Her knuckles were white on the steering wheel. Jesus! How the hell did they get into these things?

Raindrops began to patter the windshield. The silence inside the car grew uncomfortably long. Finally Doggett said, "Look, maybe I overstepped my bounds, but. . ." His face worked to contain emotion - fuck! why did he care so damn much? "It's just that I'm havin' a hard time wrappin' my brain around the idea of you *and* your baby bein' put at risk."

Scully gripped the wheel even harder, as though to keep from falling. "You'll have to get used to it, Agent Doggett." Her voice felt raw.

He said nothing, but he was breathing hard.

She turned to him. "And it's not your place to make decisions on my behalf." Only one person had ever laid claim to that place, and he was deep under North Carolina soil now. At the thought, her breath hitched in her throat, and she turned away from him.

"You're right, Agent Scully," he rasped. "It's not my place." He stared stonily ahead, his mouth set in a tight line.

Scully turned the key in the ignition and pulled onto the highway. Her throat was constricting painfully.

Lightning split the air above them, and rain gushed forth in a torrent.

? * *

Pinyon Pines Motor Inn

The storm had passed over quickly, leaving a night sky blooming with pinpricks of light. From Scully's vantage point, floating on her back in the motel pool, it seemed like the stars were all there was. Gone was the motel, the town, the desert; gone was her partner, and arguments, and hurt. There was only water and starlight.

At another time she would have been doing her laps, but her doctor had ordered her to cease such strenuous exercise. Now she was content with a lazy backstroke--it was the medicine she needed right now. And she gazed up at the stars as if they held answers to the questions that plagued her.

For months she had felt at the mercy of forces beyond her control. Her lover and best friend had been brutally murdered by foes unimaginable. She was pregnant by means she couldn't be sure of. Her emotions were a wild see-saw ride, and seemed to belong to someone else. She was grappling desperately to hang onto some measure of control over her life, and poor Doggett's solicitousness had been the proverbial straw on the camel's back.

Her eyes filled again as they had earlier, in the shower, when she had let the running water drown her weeping. She didn't want to hurt him-- any more, she was sure, than he wanted to hurt her. But their clashes had a tortured inevitability to them that only added another push to the sense of events spinning centrifugally out of her control.

Scully took one more look at the stars and sent a prayer up to Mulder. Then she swam to the side and climbed out of the pool. Shivering in the night air, she quickly toweled off and drew on the sweat pants and sweater she had brought outside with her. Then she lowered herself onto one of the chaises longues. She would spend a few more minutes with the starlight.

Headlights arced across the pool area, and Scully recognized their rental car as it pulled into the slot in front of Doggett's room. She wondered where he had been the past few hours. She suspected he had been as anxious to be alone as she was.

She watched Doggett approach her door and knock softly. Receiving no response, he stood for a moment, head down. Scully knew she should call to him, but words froze in her throat. As he turned toward his room, she raised a hand. His observant eyes caught the motion and he directed his steps to the pool, stopping at the gate. "Got a minute?"

Her stomach tightened ever so slightly, but she said, "Sure."

He let himself in and crossed over to her. He was dressed in faded jeans and a white T-shirt and was carrying a plastic shopping bag. As he took a seat on the deck chair next to hers, his expression was wary, unsure. The grooves on his forehead seemed to have doubled in the last few hours. Probably worried she might take his head off again.

"Hi," he said tentatively.

"Hi."

Doggett noticed Scully looking curiously at the bag. He held it out to her. "I thought you might like these."

Scully took it and looked inside. "Oh, Agent Doggett." Inside the bag were two perfectly ripe mangoes, their skin orange-yellow with just a hint of red.

"Can you believe," he said, "that this town has a natural foods store? Right next to the dry cleaners."

At the image of Doggett braving the aisles of a natural foods store to find a gift for her, Scully's throat tightened. She raised her eyes to him. "Thank you."

Doggett felt some of his tenseness subside at the softness in her voice. He hadn't been sure how she would receive him. When they had parted on returning to the motel, they still hadn't spoken a word. But in the interval since then he'd had plenty of time to think. Driving and thinking made for a generally reliable prescription, and the wide desert spaces had been particularly conducive to reflection.

He looked at Scully reclining on the chair. Her hair was wet and slicked back on her head, and she had no makeup on. She seemed very young and very small, almost frail. But he knew that frailty was no description for her. He had to walk a fine line with this woman. He wanted more than anything else to help her, to keep her and her baby safe. But his agenda, germinating from his own personal tragedy, was not hers. Scully's independence was inviolable, and it quite simply was none of his damn business. He had known that, and yet he'd stepped over the line.

He ran his hand through his hair and cleared his throat. "I want to apologize for actin' like a damn caveman."

"Oh, Agent Doggett," Scully murmured again. She sighed, shook her head. "Don't."

They were silent. Doggett clasped his hands between his knees.

Scully clutched the peace offering. "I said things," she began. She glanced up and saw him swallow and look down at his hands. She went on, ". . .that I wish I hadn't. I didn't mean it to sound like. . .like I don't appreciate your concern for me."

He lifted his head and turned those eyes on her.

"Because I do," she whispered.

His mouth worked silently for a moment. "Yeah, but you don't need me tellin' you how to live your life or do your job."

She swung her bare feet to the ground and faced him. "Did you call the sheriff about tomorrow?"

His face got that pinched look it assumed when he was trying to read the meaning behind her words. "No," he said cautiously.

"I'll call him tonight. We'll need the help."

He just looked at her, saying nothing.

Scully rested her elbows on her knees and rubbed her forehead. "I lost my grip this afternoon. I know I need to restrict my duties. I *know* that. I don't want to endanger my baby." She remembered how frightened she'd been a couple of months ago when she'd had the abdominal pains, when she'd had to go to the hospital. "It's just. . .it's hard to reconcile everything."

She paused, looked away, up at the sky. Doggett kept silent, waiting, his heart aching.

"My work," she continued, her gaze on the stars, "is all that's left of what I once knew. . .and it was Mulder's life." Her voice caught and almost broke. In the dimness Doggett could see her eyes shining with a bright film. "I can't bear to abandon it."

"No," he said with feeling. "No one's askin' you to do that."

"I despaired tonight of. . .of you and me. Being able to make it work. Because. . ." She couldn't seem to finish a thought without the threat of being overcome. She swallowed, and turned her face to him. "If anything happened to you because I couldn't be there. . ." She didn't finish.

Those sapphire eyes, haunted by pain and loss, seemed to reach deep inside him and touch places he had never been touched before. Scully's knees were almost enclosed by his, and he could smell the chlorine on her hair. Jesus, she was close. The manacles of self-restraint that kept him in line around her fell away, and he lifted his hand to cup her cheek. Her eyes grew wider, but she didn't pull away.

"We'll figure out other ways for you to watch my back," he said.

Scully didn't move. She wondered how a voice could at the same time sound like gravel and feel like silk. Her lips parted a little; she couldn't seem to get any air. His hand was so warm, it took all her will not to lean into it, to give way, to yield to its strength. She was so tired.

After a few seconds he withdrew it, and she dropped her gaze to the ground.

"You can focus on the investigations," said Doggett. "The science, the analysis. Your brains and my brawn--"

She looked up at him. "Don't disparage your brains, Agent Doggett."

He blinked. Apparently he had just been paid a compliment.

Scully gave her head a little shake. "You make it sound easy."

"No, I know it won't be that. These are hard times for you, Agent Scully." His voice was impossibly soft. "You gotta have faith that we can deal with this."

She searched his face. Did he really have that kind of faith? And could she? Even through the bad times? Could she believe in anything anymore? And was believing enough?

"I want to believe," she whispered. Oh, Lord, she prayed, help thou my unbelief.

Doggett felt the penetration of her gaze, and he twined his fingers tightly together to keep himself from enfolding her in his arms.

Scully seemed to come to a decision, because she suddenly gathered up the plastic bag and rose. Resting her hand lightly on his shoulder, she said, "Would you like some mango, Agent Doggett?"

Her touch traveled over his skin like an electric current. "That sounds good," he managed to get out. Then he, too, stood. "I got a knife if you need one."

Scully smiled up at him, her eyes warm with affection and gratitude. "I know."

End

-------------

Author's notes: I must confess that this story germinated from my desire to see Doggett crawling, dirty, sweaty, and pouring water over himself. If I've succeeded in creating a tale that goes beyond that, I owe it all to my muse. St. Catherine's Church in Georgetown and Toiyabe County in Nevada are my own inventions and do not exist as far as I know. Scully was paraphrasing Mark 9:24, "Lord, I believe. Help thou my unbelief."

I'm deeply appreciative to Amanda and Peggy for enlightening me about Scully's high-risk pregnancy. They kept me, and Scully, on the right path.

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