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Interregnum
IX Summary: Scully and Doggett settle in for a long night of surveillance. Rating: PG-13 (for language) Category: S/D friendship with a little UST, V Spoilers: General season 8 through Mulder's funeral in DeadAlive. Timeline: This story is set during the 3 months when Mulder was "dead," specifically about a month after Mulder's funeral. Scully is 5 months pregnant. Archive: XFMU; anything else, 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. Baltimore 10:12 p.m. ------------ John Doggett switched off the engine and extinguished the headlights. Eight hours of surveillance lay ahead. Eight hours in close quarters with Agent Scully. He wasn't going to complain. Scully looked at him inquiringly. "You could get a little closer to Tarpin's apartment." "We can see his place okay from here. Third floor, last two windows on the right." Scully glanced from the lighted rectangles in the brick apartment building to the 24-hour convenience store a half block behind them. "Did you want to stay close to a supply of bad coffee?" she asked with amusement. Doggett began to loosen his tie, getting comfortable for what would be a long night. "No. I wanted to be near some facilities. If memory serves, pregnant women need to use a restroom fairly often." "Oh," said Scully. She looked away from him, afraid her face would reveal just how touched she was by his gesture. "Thank you, Agent Doggett." "My pleasure, Agent Scully." ------------ 11:23 p.m. ------------ Scully's fingers moved softly over the laptop keyboard. Outside it had begun to drizzle. Tarpin's windows had gone dark twenty minutes ago, and traffic had dwindled to only the occasional car. Scully had retrieved her laptop from the back seat and gone to work on another case with perplexing features. She was peripherally aware of her partner's legs shifting next to her, the wool of trousers rustling softly, a sigh of boredom escaping his lips. But her concentration was focused on her screen, where results from a spectrometry analysis were displayed. Suddenly her eyes widened. There was an unusual concentration of D-isomer glutamine in the protein samples, suggesting a possible explanation . . . She said excitedly, "You won't believe this, Mulder!" Doggett stilled his rustling. Scully's breath caught in her throat. She lifted her head and met her companion's surprised blue eyes, which immediately softened with compassion. She quickly turned away, mortified. "Sorry," she whispered. "Don't worry about it." Scully turned her face back to her screen, her cheeks warm and her eyes filling. Damn! Not now. Not here. As she grappled for control, Doggett was torn between his desire to offer her comfort – which he knew she would reject – and his frustration at not being the one to whom she instinctively turned to share her discoveries and triumphs. His fingers moved restlessly on his thigh, itching for the right to touch her. The data on the screen began to blur, and Scully closed the laptop. "I'll be right back." His shoulders sagging, Doggett watched in the rearview mirror as she skirted the puddles and entered the convenience store. Inside the grimy restroom, Scully wet a paper towel and pressed it against her face, against her eyes, against the great tide of grief.
------------ 12:47 a.m. ------------ "I tried readin' your thesis." Scully looked up from the computer, startled. "You did?" Doggett chuckled softly. "Surprised, huh?" "No. I mean, that is . . ." Her voice trailed off in embarrassment. It was one thing for Fox Mulder to read her senior thesis. Doggett, on the other hand, didn't have the same kind of mind. Or at least she hadn't considered him in that way. "What did you think?" she asked. "Let's just say that physics wasn't my long suit. But it seemed damn impressive." "I think it was more youthful hubris than anything else." Doggett picked up the binoculars from the seat and scanned the neighborhood. "Yeah, it's not everybody that takes on Einstein. But I think you're bein' too modest. It got an A, didn't it?" "Yeah." Scully watched him a moment, still trying to wrap her brain around the fact that he'd read her thesis. Then she bent again to her research. A few minutes later he broke the silence again. "So how'd you get from physics into forensic pathology?" Scully raised her head to find his gaze intent upon her. She considered his question. "Once I got into medical school, I found out it was one of the less crowded specialties; I thought there might be more opportunity for helping people. And since childhood I had been both terrified and fascinated by death." Thirty-year-old memories of a maggot-infested rabbit flashed painfully across her mind. She went on, "I wanted to understand death scientifically. I guess I thought I could conquer the horror if I analyzed it enough." She fell silent, watching the raindrops make trails down the window. "I was wrong." Her voice quavered. "I hate it more than ever." Doggett's fingers moved restlessly again on his lap. Scully turned back to him. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to--" "That's all right. I understand." Of course he did, she realized. He understood better than anyone. She held his gaze for several seconds. Then she returned to her science, and Doggett resumed his surveillance.
------------ 1:56 a.m. ------------ Doggett peeled the wrapper off a Snickers bar. It was the only sound in the car besides the steady pattering of rain on the roof. He looked over at his partner. Scully’s seat was reclined back as far as it would go, and she was dozing. Doggett rarely had the chance to see her asleep, and he took full advantage of the opportunity now presented to him. Her breasts under a blue button-up shirt rose and fell in a lazy rhythm, the gold cross on her chest rising and falling with them. Her left hand was thrust into her coat pocket, the other rested on her thigh. Her head was turned toward him, and her face was peaceful, no longer pinched with sadness as it had been a short time ago. Her coat, which no longer buttoned around her growing girth, lay open, revealing the round swell of her abdomen. Doggett thought of the child within. Remembered another belly, large with his own child. His trepidation at impending fatherhood. Holding the squalling infant in his hands, his heart suddenly bursting with unexpected love. The first steps, the first words, the first bike ride . . . A band tightened around his chest, and he looked away, at the dark, wet street. The streaked windows blurred his view. He ground the candy bar angrily between his teeth. Fuck! When does it go away, the pain? He finished the candy and took a sip of cold coffee. Gradually the steel squeezing his heart relaxed, and he took a deep breath. Never, he decided. You have to live with it for the rest of your fucking life. A low moan brought his attention back to his partner. Scully was now frowning in her sleep. Damn dreams, he thought. He reached over and gently pulled a strand of red hair away from her mouth. A woman who’d lost her lover. A man who’d lost his wife. A child without a father. A father without a child. Jigsaw pieces. He stayed leaning close to her a long time, watching her lips, and the cross rising and falling.
------------ 3:02 a.m. ------------ "You were in the Marines." Scully had listened with interest as Doggett recounted childhood mischief, high school football, and the agony of a doctoral thesis. But she wondered why he'd skipped his military years. Doggett shook his head slowly. "I was some hotshot when I was eighteen. Wanted to be a tough-guy hero in the worst way. What the hell did I know then?" "Do you regret it? Joining the Marines?" "No. It taught me a lot. Mainly the cost of wanting to be a tough-guy hero." Scully waited a moment, then said, "I read your file. You were in Lebanon." "Yeah." "During the bombing of the barracks?" Doggett swallowed. "Yeah," he said grimly. Remembering. The deafening blast, the stench of burning skin, pieces of his friends everywhere. And the terrible screaming. As he turned his face away from her, Scully understood his unspoken plea: *I don't want to talk about it.* But she wanted to know what had happened. Where he was and what he'd experienced. What he thought and what he felt. How he'd escaped death. And she was surprised that she wanted to know all that about him. Doggett returned his gaze to her, and his sandpaper voice vibrated through her bones. "I'll tell you about it someday." "You don't have to," she said. "I understand not wanting to revisit tragedies." "I want to, though." And he did. He wanted to tell her everything. He wanted Dana Scully to know him, and he wanted to know her. And something in her eyes gave him hope that she wanted it, too.
------------ 3:43 a.m. ------------ The windows had begun to fog with condensation, effectively enclosing them in their own private microcosm. With the darkness providing a measure of protection, Scully for the first time in Doggett's memory spoke about her childhood, her parents, her siblings. He listened raptly. "Bill's a Navy man," she was saying between spoonfuls of strawberry yogurt. "Like our dad. He's very protective of me, especially with Dad gone, and since my sister was killed." "I can understand that. I've got sisters." "I don't think Bill understands this." She touched her abdomen. Doggett nodded. "He's probably a very traditional guy. It's harder for guys like that. But when he sees how much this baby means to you, when he sees how great your loss was--" "He didn't like Mulder," Scully said in a low voice. "No, he probably wouldn't. Mulder was too different." Scully wondered if he was talking about Bill, or about himself. Doggett went on, "But your brother will change his tune when he sees the loss in your eyes, like I do." Those eyes looked at him intently, and he glanced away, feeling suddenly exposed. The silence lengthened. Finally Scully said, "Maybe you're right. Bill's a good man under all the bluster." "He's just lookin' out for you. No matter how he felt about Mulder, I'm sure he cares about you. Just wait till he holds that baby of yours. He'll come around." Her eyes grew soft and she said, "Bill would like you." Doggett wondered if she was talking about Bill, or about herself. The cramped space, damp with their exhalations, seemed all at once fecund with intimacy. If there was a world outside, he couldn't remember it. There were only those intelligent eyes, the soft words, those lips. The curve of her nose, the fall of hair, the swelling of her fertility . . . Doggett felt a tightening in his groin. Another second of this and he'd do something stupid. "Excuse me," he said abruptly. "Pit stop." Scully watched in surprise as he bolted from the car and leapfrogged around the puddles, holding his overcoat closed before him. In the convenience store bathroom, he splashed cold water on his hot face. "You're too old for this," he said angrily to his reflection in the cracked mirror. He stood at the urinal for a long minute before he was finally able to relieve himself.
------------ 4:23 a.m. ------------ Scully watched him as he snored softly, his head tipped back against the headrest. Lips were parted slightly, eyelids twitching over dream-darting eyes. His cheeks were darkening with stubble. His right hand lay curled on his lap, and the middle finger moved spasmodically. As Scully watched the rise and fall of his chest, the memory of another chest, rising and falling and pillowing her head, filled her mind. She felt Mulder's arm around her back. Drank as though parched the remembrance of the peace and contentment, the feeling of safety and comfort. All for such a brief moment of time. She blinked away the memory and saw this different man. This chest, she knew, would gladly be a pillow to her head if she ever wanted it. Those arms would in a second enclose her protectively if she ever signaled the need for them. Those lips would offer promises for a lifetime, those eyes would always alight for her. All she had to do was nod her acquiescence, and she would be alone no more. She turned away sharply. *My life's not so lonely.* She had spoken those words to Phillip Padgett inside his bare apartment. *Loneliness is a choice.* She had let herself love -- truly love -- once; she didn't think she could do it again. Scully picked up the binoculars and peered at the darkened third-floor windows, scanned the street, the alleys. All quiet. She lowered the binoculars and let her eyes drift back to her partner, to his world-weary, honest face. She inhaled a faint whiff of after shave. She knew his goodness and honesty and dependability. Knew he cared for her. With all that he had to offer, what had she to give in return? A gaping hole in her heart. An absence of desire. Another man's child. John Doggett couldn't possibly want all that. And she couldn't burden him with it. She turned eyes suddenly stinging to the window, but she was conscious all the while of the soft susurrations of his breathing.
------------ 5:17 a.m. ------------ "Not a peep out of him all night," observed Doggett, who was peering through binoculars at Tarpin's apartment building. "But at least he isn't killin' anyone." "Unless he really can be in two places at once, as witnesses have claimed," said Scully. Doggett lowered the glasses. "Or unless he's got a lookalike accomplice, which is a hell of a lot more likely." "The lookalike would have to be an identical twin, and Tarpin's birth records show no such twin." "So they hid it. Or he's very clever. Lots of possibilities besides him leavin' his body and goin' on a joyride while he's asleep." "The phenomenon of astral projection has quite an extensive literature--" "In what? Amazing Stories?" She ignored the interruption. ". . . throughout recorded history and across cultures. Although there is no documented evidence that it has ever been used to commit crimes. But I suppose there's always a first time." "Aw, c'mon, Agent Scully. You don't really believe in that out-of-body crap, do you?" Scully had to suppress a smile. It was argument time again. And what the hell was she doing, arguing in favor of astral projection, of all things? Was she channeling Mulder? Or did she just take diabolical delight in goading Doggett? She had to admit that was part of the fun. "I'm just trying to look at all possible explana-- Oh!" Scully's hand flew to her stomach. Doggett's heart gave a thump. "What is it?" he asked, worried. "The baby kicked." His features softened, and his eyes lit up. "First time?" "No, but the hardest." "Sounds like little J. Edgar, Junior is tryin' to astral project right outta there." Scully's eyebrows climbed into her hair. "J. . . . Edgar . . . Junior?" A grin spread across his face. "Gotta call him -- or her -- somethin'." Scully tried hard to make her expression severe, but a smile was tugging so hard at her lips that she finally gave up.
------------ 6:43 a.m. ------------ The rain had stopped, and the gray sky was smudged with pink when Tarpin exited the apartment building and walked to the end of the block. "Our friend is off to work," Doggett observed, stretching his long limbs. A few moments later their suspect boarded a cross-town bus, on his way to Whitney & Bros. Plumbing. Scully glanced at her watch. "Right on schedule." She twisted her neck this way and that. Around her lay the detritus of the past eight hours: the laptop, binoculars, a discarded yogurt container, a candy wrapper, a paper cup holding the dregs of coffee. She sighed wearily. "It looks like we just wasted an entire night." Doggett didn't respond but sat watching the empty street, tapping the steering wheel thoughtfully. Finally he turned to her, and his gaze was as warm as the sunlight that spilled through their windshield. "Oh, I wouldn't say that." Their eyes held each other for a long moment. Scully nodded slowly. He was right. Then she pulled her seatbelt around her and fastened it. "Let's go home, Agent Doggett," she said, smiling at him. "You need a shave." He laughed, and put the car in gear.
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