Friday Morning.
The Basement.
8.34 a.m.

"Mornin', Agent Scully." John Doggett slipped his shoulders out of his coat and strode across the room.

"Good morning to you, Agent Doggett," came the pleasant reply.

Doggett glanced across. She was in a good mood today, by the sound of it. He tossed his coat on the hook and straightened his tie. Pregnant woman mood swings aside, Scully seemed to finally, finally thawing towards him. Not a moment too soon, by his reckoning. "You're cheerful, this a.m.," he told her, perching on the edge of her desk. "This a 'Thank God it's Friday' thing?"

Scully looked up from her file, a ghost of a smile playing across her mouth. "Not entirely," she told him, enigmatically.

Resting his hand on his thigh, Doggett leaned towards her, his lop sided grin playing over his face. "Do tell, Agent Scully."

Mulder wandered through the basement door, flipping a sunflower seed breakfast into his mouth. He nodded hello at Doggett. "Let me guess. You got the prize in your cereal box?"

Her eyebrow slid up. " I always get the prize, Agent Mulder."

He laughed. "I bet you do, Agent Scully."

"Mornin', Agent Muldah." Doggett nodded to Mulder, moving across the room, giving the contents of the other man's hand a funny look. He made no comment. Mulder's eating habits fell into the same category as the pencil flipping penchant the other agent had. A don't ask, you don't want to know, sort of thing.

"So what gives, Scully?" Mulder wandered around the little office. "Kersh finally disappeared up his own ass?"

Doggett snorted. "I'd pay money to see that."

Scully covered a smile with her hand. "Agent Doggett," she said in mock disapproval.

His hands came up. "Hey. Just expressin' an opinion."

She smiled at him, a proper, teeth baring one this time, surprising him, but pleasing him, none the less.

"Dangerous thing, that, Agent Doggett. Expressing an opinion." Mulder leaned against the filing cabinet. He spoke whilst flipping, never missing a seed. He peered over Scully's shoulder at the open file on her desk.

"I'll take my chances," Doggett replied.

A bark of laughter bit into the air. A wet kernel fell out of Mulder's open mouth onto the desk. Ignoring his damp gift, Mulder reached over and pointed at something on the page, nudging Scully, chuckling.

Scully flicked the seed away with a grimace. "Mulder..." she complained, moving the file away.

"What's so funny?" Doggett stuck both hands in his pants pockets and leaned against his desk. He was trying to squash that nasty little feeling that came up every now and then, that whispered he was being held out of the loop in his own office. He was trying. Scully was trying. And lord knows, he thought, Mulder was trying.

Mulder grinned at him. "Not my place to tell, Agent Doggett."

Doggett frowned at him, biting down hard on that unpleasant feeling.

Scully tapped the file in front of her. "It seems we have a new assignment, partner."

Doggett looked at her, grateful out of all proportion for that one little word. Two syllables that dragged him back into the room and out of no mans' land. Thank you, Agent Scully, he told her silently. Nodding, he reached for the folder on her desk. "Okay. I'll bite. This makes you happy?"

"Well, it came down without a summons to the inner sanctum for a briefing." She tilted her head, pulling the folder away from him. "And that has to be a good thing."

Frowning slightly as the folder slipped out of reach, Doggett wondered what was going on. "I hear ya. So it's celebration all round, then."

"You might not think so," Mulder grinned at him.

Doggett raised his own eyebrow. "I might not?"

"Uh uh."

Scully made a clicking noise in her throat. "I'm afraid not, Agent Doggett."

He stared at his partner. If he didn't know better, he'd have sworn Scully's eyes were twinkling. Scully was teasing him? Surely not?

"What gives, Agent Scully?"

That smile appeared on Scully's face again. I could get used to seeing that, Doggett thought.

"Bottom line." She laughed softly, as if at some private joke. "An undercover case."

Mulder gave that irritating bark of laughter that earned him a stare from both of them. Doggett held the glare a little longer. "Bottom line, Agent Doggett."

Pointedly ignoring him, Doggett tilted his head. "Yeah?"

"Downtown. Possible emergence of a serial killer."

"Possible? You mean they're not sure?" Doggett snorted.

"Three makes a pattern, but not a serial, apparently." Scully brushed a stray hair behind her ear.

"Anyway. Bottom line..." Another smile. Despite his pleasure at seeing her smile in his presence, this enigmatic shit was starting to piss Doggett off.

"Agents instructed to go undercover to gather information and set up possible sting scenario with perp."

Doggett scratched his nose, levering himself off the desk edge. "Excuse me... But I thought this was the X Files. Not Violent Crimes."

Scully nodded. "Perp apparently displays unusual characteristics in the execution of the crime."

Doggett just stared. "Go on."

"He," Scully cleared her throat. "Or she..."

"Statistically, we're talking white male, 25 to 40. Single, socially inept, but reasonably successful in his chosen career." Mulder told her, interrupting her flow without apology.

"Thank you, Agent Muldah," Doggett told him with a glare. "Your input is appreciated, but I'd appreciate you lettin' Agent Scully finish speaking, first." Screw equality and all that shit, he hated rude behaviour from anyone. Mulder grinned and held up his hands in apology.

"Thank you, Agent Doggett," Scully said, flashing Mulder a look. Something inside Doggett leaped up and punched the air. One nothing to the Big Dawg. "As I was saying. Unusual characteristics." She cleared her throat again. "In the act of sex, the killer strips the victims, strangles them and then..." She paused to swallow. "Then consumes part of the body."

Mulder flipped more seeds, looking down at the file photographs. "Nasty."

"Consumes?" Doggett frowned.

"He bites off the genitals," Mulder told him cheerfully.

Scully looked wan. Doggett flicked her a glance. He was sure details like that wouldn't sit well with her pregnant stomach.

"Bites?" Doggett winced.

"Scarfs down the whole meat and two veg," Mulder flicked another seed off Scully's desk, oblivious to her rigid shoulders.

"Male victims," Doggett said, feeling a step behind.

"And male perp," Mulder nodded, his grin inappropriate to the severity of the crime. Doggett felt his hackles rise. "You think that's amusin', Agent Mulder?"

Mulder shook his head. "Not really. I just have a misplaced sense of irony."

Doggett snorted. "I'll say."

Scully shifted in her seat, a little colour coming back to her cheeks. "I think Agent Mulder is reacting to the implications in Deputy Director Kersh's orders." She glanced up, glaring. "With a misplaced sense of humour, I might say."

Doggett shook his head. He could feel himself wandering off track again. Did they do it on purpose? Or did all the years of working together align mental wavelengths? He worked his fingers over the furrows on his forehead. Perhaps if he had a tantrum on the office floor, they'd stop it. "Help me out, here, Agent Scully," he said, wearily, opting against hysterics for the time being. "Reactin' to what?"

"You're going undercover, Agent Doggett," Mulder butted in, stuffing the rest of the seeds in his jacket pocket. "Hope you like disco." Doggett was treated to a face splitting grin.

Scully sighed. "Mulder... Do you mind?"

Doggett looked from one to the other. "What's he talkin' about, Agent Scully?"

"Kersh's orders." Scully's lips twitched. "Apparently you fit the victim profile. You're ordered to go undercover at the club where the last two victims were taken."

"I fit the profile?"

Mulder leaned over Scully, pathologically incapable of keeping his mouth shut. "You know, Agent Doggett. Tall, blue eyed, skinny..." A wicked glint in the other man's eye irritated Doggett. On the mature side."

He arranged his face in a neutral mask. He refused to give Mulder the satisfaction of reacting to his words. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Mulder laughed, moving round from the cabinet, prowling closer to Doggett, who watched him approach, keeping his face calm. "You fit the profile, alright, Agent Doggett." Doggett stared straight ahead, as Mulder walked in back of him. Clenching his jaw, he thanked his drill sergeant for hours of motionless parade ground training. He was not going to turn round and look. He refused to. "You fit the profile just fine." The voice very close now. Way too close. Doggett tightened his jaw.

"Mulder..." Scully said. She was shaking her head in weary amusement. As Doggett watched, she rolled her eyes at him. She thought this clown was funny?

"Only thing is..." Doggett's eyes snapped wide as fingers ruffled through the hairs on the back of his neck. "You really need to get a hair cut, John."

Whipping round to face the other agent, Doggett felt his fists clench involuntarily. "Whadd'ya think you're doin'?" He growled.

"Just checking you out for the job, Agent Doggett." Mulder backed away, laughing. He flicked his gaze towards Scully. "Tell him."

The fists stayed tight. If he took a step forward, he calculated that he could probably break that ridiculous nose in one blow. Was it instant dismissal for striking a fellow agent? Doggett couldn't think past the cloud of indignation of having Mulder touch him.

"Agent Doggett..." Scully voice cut through the atmosphere between the two men. "Agent Doggett?"

Doggett tore his glare away from Mulder's grin with sheer self control. He parted his lips to drag a breath in. Sometimes, just sometimes, his temper howled to be let out. And he had a feeling this particular Agent was going see that beast fly, one of these days. Brought to you by the letter M, for Mulder. "What?" He turned his back on Mulder, trying not to snap. He swore, if that man touched him again... He could feel a headache coming on.

"Assistant Director Kersh wants you to go undercover at the Eros Club. Tonight. Full wire tap, video surveillance and outside back up." She was all business like and brusque.

He rubbed his forehead again. Okay, undercover. No problem. No big deal.

"The Eros Club." Mulder whispered, too close to his ear to be comfortable.

"So?" Doggett took a deep breath and locked eyes with Scully to calm himself down. She was looking at him with one of those smiles all over her face. Did she practise them in front of a mirror?

That voice behind again. "Ever been there, Agent Doggett?"

Any second now, he was going to bury his fist in Mulder's face and fuck the consequences. "No."

"Interesting place."

"Really?" Yep. Any second now.

Across the room, Scully sighed. "Mulder. Stop annoying Agent Doggett." She picked up the file and held it out. "Here. You might as well get up to speed on this thing."

At last, thought Doggett, stepping forward to take the folder. I get in the loop. He nodded his thanks and opened it up. "So what's this Eros place then? Some sort of disco?"

Behind him, Mulder chuckled. Doggett flicked his blue eyes to Scully. Talk to me, they said. Talk to me before I lay one on him. To his surprise, he watched a pink blush crawl over her cheeks.

"It's a um..." Scully busied herself, tidying her pens, not looking at him.

"It's a...?" he prompted.

Mulder made a snickering noise behind him. "It's a gay club, Agent Doggett."

The anger inside Doggett drained away, leaving him with a very dry throat and what felt very much like a creeping blush of his own.

Doggett swallowed, hoping his voice wouldn't squeak when he spoke. "A gay club?" Okay. Reasonable steady.

"Um... Yes." Scully still had trouble looking at him. Part of his mind wondered why that was.

"I see." The professional agent inside him was currently arguing in a corner with his masculinity. There was absolutely no reason why this should be any different to any other sort of undercover work. He'd done enough of them when he was a cop. Drug dealers, thieves. Assorted maniacs. Shit, he'd even posed as a paedophile, once. The memory of that case brought a twitch to his face. He pushed the images away. This one should be a walk in the park.

"Lucky you, Agent Doggett." Mulder moved round to lean on Scully's desk. "You get to dress up and go boogie with all the big boys." Doggett kept his eyes on the folder in front of him, pretending to read. He didn't want to look at Mulder just now. He wasn't sure he'd got his 'calm' face on.

"Yeah, lucky me," he said, neutrally. The trickle of apprehension had evolved into full flow. Shit. This whole situation was just giggle fodder to Mulder's sick sense of humour. Well he'd be damned if he'd let his discomfort show. "What's the plan then, Agent Scully?" Business like again, Scully tapped the phone on the desk.

"Well, we'll wire you up. The lab has some micro feed mics they want to try out in the field."

Doggett nodded, pulling himself back together. Get a grip, man.

"And the club has agreed to let us set up an eye over the exits. That gives a good view of the alleyway."

"Back up?"

"Out front. Usual van." He nodded again. Straight forward set up. Should be smooth.

"Bodies?"

Scully shook her head. "Just you." She pulled a face. "Kersh didn't approve another agent on the floor." She raised her chin. "You're on your own, I'm afraid."

Doggett shrugged. No surprise there. Kersh was a skinflint and an asshole.

"No problem."

"But..." Scully glanced at the door. Doggett frowned. "I see no reason to put your life in danger simply because of budgetary constraints."

"So?"

Scully smiled. "I've arranged for 'undercover' undercover back up." The sound of sunflower seed cracking sliced through Doggett's brain. An exquisitely uncomfortable image of being smirked at while he did the job, as painful as a paper cut. No. No way. He'd rather go into the damned club stark naked than have Fox Mulder eyeballing him. That headache was starting to really bite down.

He scowled. "You don't mean..."

Mulder wandered towards Scully. He was chomping those damned seeds again. Doggett really wanted to slap them out of his hands.

"Scully thought you should have someone in place. To watch your back." His eyebrow wiggled up and down suggestively, as his eyes roved up and down Doggett's body. Doggett clenched his teeth and forced the blush down. If he said what he thought he was going to say, that tantrum he'd considered was imminent.

"Unofficially, of course," Mulder grinned.

"It has to be off the record, Agent Doggett. Kersh would..." She paused. "Well, let's say it wouldn't be in the best interests of the Bureau to have personnel acting as unofficial back up on a case."

"I bet not."

"So." Mulder rubbed his hands together. "Don't worry about being left hanging, Agent Doggett. Someone will be in place. Incognito."

He didn't want to do this to himself. He didn't want to give Mulder the satisfaction. He really didn't want to ask. Shit. He couldn't help himself. "Who?"

Scully coughed. Mulder grinned. Doggett looked from one to the other. Neither spoke.

"Let's just say it's all under control, Agent." Scully said.

That didn't sound very reassuring. "Who, Agent Scully?" he repeated.

"Wait and see, Agent Doggett." Mulder said, that shit eating grin plastered all over his face.

"I'd rather know beforehand, if it's all the same to you."

"Spoilsport." Mulder shook his head.

"Please, Agent Doggett. Trust me." Scully pinned him with her eyes. "It's taken care of. I'm not at liberty to say any more, at the moment."

Swallowing the dozen or so snappy remarks, Doggett glared and nodded, reluctantly. He would trust her. He didn't like it, but he would hold his council, for her. But if he caught sight of this seed eating joker sitting at the bar, he guaranteed shit was going to fly. He moved behind his desk, slapping the folder down, wincing as the photographs spilled out. They were not nice. Doggett felt his nuts shrivelling a little at the close ups. He sat, unconsciously pulling at his trouser legs. "What time's kick off?" he asked Scully, holding up the case notes.

"Your place. At eight."

The papers in Doggett's fist folded gently and hung limply as he stared, motionless.

Scully glanced at him. "To prepare. Your place."

There were all sorts of comments he could make to that. Not many of them suitable for family viewing. One or two of them might even make Agent Scully drop the kid. He settled for clearing his throat. "Not here?"

"No."

Why the hell not? A petulant voice inside his head whined. "May I ask why?"

"Cover."

Well, this was a fun conversation, Doggett thought, returning the notes to the folder. The woman was enigmatic to the extreme. The two of them had a thing for oblique answers. Well, fuck it. He was sick of oblique.

"Agent Scully. I hate to presume to question your authority over this..." Like hell. "But since when do undercover ops. include the agent's private residences?"

At least she had the grace to look uncomfortable. Doggett took grim pleasure in that.

"I want to make sure everything is secure." She fiddled with the desk tidy again.

"Secure?" He was gonna push this all the way. "No chance of any mistakes." A flash of something flickered over her face. "I've seen the bodies in those photographs. I don't want..." She dragged in a breath. "I don't want to expose you to any unnecessary risk."

Oh. Surprise must be written all over his face. Scully gave a straightforward smile.

"I care about your safety, Agent Doggett." How about that? That was one of the nicest thing she'd said to him. He nodded, opening his mouth to speak. Shit. What the hell was he gonna say?

Mulder cut into his thoughts, knocking aside anything he had been about to say. "So, Agent Doggett. What're you going to wear?"

Blue eyes screwed up in a wince. "What?"

"Your outfit." Mulder held his hands out and indicated up and down. "What look are you going for?"

There was way too much mirth in Mulder's voice for his liking. He shook his head. "Whadd'you mean, Agent Muldah?"

"You gonna go butch? Preppy?" He unleashed another grin. "How about drag? I could see you in a nice little black number with matching handbag and shoes."

Underneath the desk, Doggett gripped his thigh tightly. His jaw spasmed. He was gonna crack a tooth at this rate. And if he did, he wasn't the only agent that'd be going to the dentist.

"Mulder." Scully flicked a pencil at the smirking man. "Enough. Agent Doggett. Ignore him. He's trying to press your buttons." She scowled at Mulder. "Casual dress is fine."

Mulder couldn't resist. "Dress? See, I told you, Doggett..."

Another pencil flew. "Mulder!"

Breathing through his mouth, Doggett jerked his head at Scully. "Jeans, okay, Agent Scully?" He didn't trust himself to look at Mulder. And he really didn't trust himself to speak to the other man. The temptation to jump over the desk and pound on him was overwhelming.

"Jeans will be fine." She smiled. "And a tee shirt, perhaps."

"Wasn't planning on goin' bare chested," Doggett muttered, looking down, hoping he wasn't blushing. He didn't need the thought of Agent Scully picturing his naked torso.

Mulder couldn't resist. "How disappointing..."

"Go and research something, Mulder." Scully selected a file from the in box. "Take this with you." She tossed it to him.

"You're no fun, Scully," he complained, but wandered to the door, anyway. He waved over to Doggett. "See you tonight, Johnny."

Oblivious to the nasty look he was getting, Mulder winked. "And don't forget that haircut, will you? Our perp. Likes the military look." Without waiting for a reply, he grinned at Doggett and left, whistling an Abba tune.

Behind her desk, Scully sighed. "Sorry," she said, shrugging and indicating the empty doorway. Doggett grunted, not trusting himself to speak. He looked down at the file, sorting through the scenes of crime work.

Bad enough he should get the short straw with this case, but to have Mulder ragging on him made it just peachy. Maybe if he was really lucky, someone would catch this maniac before tomorrow night, and he wouldn't have to go to some queer bar and act like one of the girls. And just how the hell was he supposed to do that? How did guys behave in those places? Was everyone expecting him to... Images from past vice squad videotapes bounced around in his mind.

Shit.

He rooted in his side drawer for an aspirin.

Damn Mulder.

Damn Kersh.

And damn this headache.

Friday evening.
Doggett Residence, Falls Church.
7.45 p.m.

John Doggett stood in front of his bathroom mirror, staring without seeing. Leaning one hand on the edge of the sink, he dragged his razor over his chin instinctively. He was not looking forward to this. Not one little bit. The whole thing just wasn't his scene.

Mulder might be right at home in the Eros Club--probably wouldn't turn a hair, but the whole idea didn't lift John Doggett's dress one little bit. He grimaced at the analogy. Then sighed.

Okay, okay, maybe he'd been lucky, or unlucky enough to have run into a few offers in his time, but he'd never taken them up. Never wanted to... Sudden memory of another man's warm hand on his chest in the Marine showers... He paused. Foam dripped down on his chest. Had he ever wanted to? Even just a little? For curiosity's sake?

His macho mind skidded away from answering that. It was a stupid question. He'd been married. Had a son. He was straight. And he was about to go into a gay bar and pretend to be right at home.

Shit.

What would Rudy have made of this? He'd have laughed his ass off and offered to show him the ropes, that's what Rudy would have made of it. Doggett smiled through the foam. Good old Rudy. One of the best Marines he ever served with, best drinkers he'd ever gotten slammed with, and the only man who'd ever put his hand on him, without getting punched out.

No If he'd ever wanted to wander along the road less travelled, he'd have wandered down it hand in hand with Lieutenant Rudy Wallis. He grinned at the memory of Rudy drunkenly telling him he'd consider it a great privilege to be the one to fuck John every which way to Sunday, should he ever get the urge.

He shook his head, rinsing his razor. Good friend. Regularly told him he was very disappointed John'd never felt the need to take him up on the offer. The memory sharpened to Rudy lying in the street, still relentlessly offering to give John a blow job while his life bled away. He had been royally pissed that the one and only time he got to lie in John Doggett's arms, was as he died. He was glad he finally gave his friend the kiss he'd asked for every day for five years. The look on his face had made it worth the embarrassment.. He pushed the memory away. See ya, Rudy, man.

He stared in the mirror. Shit! What was he doing? He'd shaved without thinking it was what he'd do automatically, if he was going out on a date. Damn! What if men all went stubbled to these places? He glared at himself. Half done. Oh great. He was neither one thing or the other. He shook his head in disgust at his lack of thought, and finished the job. He'd just have to be one of the clean shaven queers.

The sound of the doorbell rang out as he was finishing up, making him jump, cutting his chin. Shit! Dabbing angrily at the welling spot, he charged out of the bathroom and down the stairs. The bell rang again. "Okay, okay," he yelled. "Keep your panties on!" He flung the door open and glared at Mulder, standing with his finger on the bellpush. He had known... Just known it would be him. "I'm not deaf, Agent Muldah," he growled.

Mulder's eyebrows jumped. He raked his gaze up and down the body in front of him. Doggett remembered his state of undress. He felt himself colouring up and fought the urge to cover himself with his hands.

"Nice look, Agent Doggett," Mulder said, nodding. "The whole 'wet' thing suits you, I think."

Eyes narrowed, Doggett opened his mouth to tell Mulder to take a flying fuck.

"I still think a tee shirt would be an idea, though." Scully stepped from behind Mulder's back, a smile of amusement playing on her lips, as she did the up and down thing with her eyes. "I have no idea where we'd put the wire, otherwise."

Great. Now he knew he was blushing. Shit. Why hadn't he stopped to pull a shirt on? "You'd better come in," he muttered, moving to one side. Chuckling, the two of them walked inside. Closing the door without slamming it was an exercise in self control. Out of sight of the other agents, Doggett shut his eyes briefly, leaning his forehead on the back of the door. Damn.

"Okay if we set up here?" Scully called through from the kitchen.

"Sure." He called. He really couldn't give a shit where she set up. Alaska would be fine with him. Or even outer Goddamned space.

"Let's rock and roll, Agent Doggett," Mulder was cheerful to the point of obnoxious. Doggett dragged himself from the hall and into the lounge. "Come on. Time's a wastin'. And the man of your nightmares might be looking for you, as we speak." He pointed at Doggett's head. "Love what you've done with your hair, baby."

"Yeah, well." He could feel another wave of colour threatening to change the shade of his ears. "I read the files, too. Gotta match the profile." The barber in his usual shop had raised an eyebrow at the request for a very short back and sides, this evening. Asked if he had a hot date. He hadn't bothered explaining. "Mind if I get dressed, first?" He said, conscious of his state of undress, and waving a hand at his chest, moved towards the stairs.

Scully shook her head. "Let me fix the mic, first." She pulled reams of wires out of the briefcase on the counter. "I need bare skin to tape to."

Shit. He'd forgotten about that particular joy. "Um..."

"Come on, now. Don't be a baby." Mulder took his elbow and pulled. "It's not gonna hurt. Not until she rips it off, anyway."

Doggett looked pointedly at the hand, then back up to Mulder. He made no attempt to move. Getting the point, Mulder let go. "Okay, okay. Have it your way." He turned, yelling. "Scully, tell him!"

"Shut up, Mulder." Doggett walked into the kitchen, annoyance overcoming nerves. What was there to be embarrassed about? She was a Doctor, for heaven's sake. She'd seen bodies before. Okay, so hers were usually dead, he told himself, approaching her. Suck it up, Marine. Be a man. He stood in front of her, squashing his embarrassment. "How d'you want me?"

Scully glanced up from the electrical spaghetti. "Dry, might be a good start." She nodded to the towel rack. "The tape won't take, otherwise."

"Oh. Yeah." He snatched a dish towel and rubbed at the damp spots on his chest. He gave his face a once over too and tossed the towel in the washer. He put a finger to his chin, inspecting. It'd stopped bleeding.

"Nice house." Mulder wandered in, looking at everything.

"Thank you." Automatic response. Product of good manners. He really wanted to tell Mulder to sit the fuck down and stop being so goddamned nosy, but he held his tongue and walked back to Scully.

"Okay. Dried."

She glanced at his chest again. Didn't seem to faze her, but damn! It made him nervous. Being the only half naked person in the room will do that to you. Her head cocked one way then the other. She held up the thin wire. "I can't decide where to put it."

Mulder sniggered. Doggett turned his head to give him a look, but Scully didn't seem to be paying him any mind.

Doggett's eyes widened. "What?"

"You know. He might feel it if you end up dancing or something." Shit! What the fuck? His mind went into overdrive. 'Dancing' was bad enough. He was having a hard enough time with 'dancing'. But the idea of 'something' was really doing a number on his imagination. "Agent Scully..." he began. How was he going to put this? That there was no fuckin' way on God's green earth he was going to dance with another man, let alone allow 'something'.

"Maybe there." She leaned forward and held the wire to his chest, just below his sternum. His belly jerked. Scully looked up and grinned. A real life, honest to goodness grin. "Ticklish?"

Despite his discomfort, Doggett grinned back down at her. Oh, yes, he thought to himself. Very. But he decided many years ago, that it wasn't very butch, and downright foolish, to admit it. Especially to a woman. So he lied. "Not so's you'd notice."

"Okay," she said, looking back at what she was doing. Her fingers were a little chilly, as she moved the wire around, trying out different positions. Doggett bit down on the inside of his lip to keep from laughing. Torture. It was sheer torture. Perhaps he should have told the truth. Maybe she'd ease up with the touching, if she knew what this was doing to him. One cool hand steadied itself on his side, as the wire travelled from belly to shoulder, with his partner making little grunts of disapproval. He tipped his head back a little, swallowing howls of laughter. If she kept this up much longer, he'd either wet his pants or scream himself into a heap.

"Make your mind up, Scully. The poor guy's dying with you groping him all over."

A relieved breath hissed out between Doggett's lips as Scully straightened up. She glanced at the man draped over a kitchen stool. "I am not groping him, Mulder." She frowned. "This new wire is tricky." A lip disappeared between her teeth. "I can't decide the most discreet place to put it."

"I..."

Scully held up her hand, without even glancing at Mulder. "No. No suggestions, thank you. That's not helping."

Mulder shrugged. "Only offering."

You could offer to fuck off out of my house and not sit there, staring at me like a leper at a moisturizing convention, Doggett thought, nastily. The other man hadn't taken his eyes off the tickle fest for a second. What was with that? Whatever Mulder's reasons for staring, fact was, it was making him very uncomfortable.

"That's it!" Scully snapped her fingers, making them both jump.

"What's it?" Doggett asked, pathetically grateful she was keeping her hands to herself, and not torturing him any more.

"His help." She smiled happily and waved her hand. "Get over here, Mulder. I want to borrow you."

"Ooh! Talk dirty to me, Scul!" Mulder unfolded himself and hurried over to her.

"Hold him." She indicated Doggett.

"What?" Mulder frowned.

"Agent Scully, I don't need to be held down." He shook his head. "I'm not that ticklish. Honest." The last thing in the world he wanted to do, was give Fox Mulder the perverse satisfaction of holding him immobile while Scully poked and prodded at his body.

"I don't mean hold you down." She made encircling motions with her arms. "I mean hold'. Like you're dancing." Doggett stared at her. She couldn't be serious, he thought. No way. "I beg your pardon?" he said, erring on the side of good manners.

"Dancing." Scully moved her hips and sashayed.

Mulder nodded, understanding far more than Doggett wanted him to. "Oh, yeah, I see where you're going with this. See if I can feel the wire."

"Bingo."

"No." Doggett backed up. "No way." Abso fucking lutely no way. His ass hit the work surface. His hands came up as Mulder approached.

"Hey, Doggett. What's the problem?" Mulder asked, another of those grins all over his face.

"You're the problem, Agent." He tried glaring at the other man. It didn't seem to be having any effect.

"Come on, Agent Doggett. How else will we know if the wire is detectable?" Scully had her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. It was one of her I'm going to get my own way scowls.

Not this time, sister, Doggett thought. "It'll be fine," he snapped.

"No it won't."

"Come here, Doggett," Mulder grinned, holding his hands out. "Give us a cuddle."

"Fuck you." The words popped out without Doggett's permission.

Scully's eyebrows went up.

Mulder laughed. "Maybe later, big boy."

Glancing at Scully, Doggett rubbed his fingers over his wrinkled forehead and bobbed his head. "I apologise for my language, Agent Scully," he said. He was mortified he'd let his temper get the better of him. His father would have whipped his ass for using that word in front of a woman. Southern manners were a pain in the ass sometimes.

"Not a problem, Agent Doggett." Scully shrugged. "I'm a sailor's daughter. I've heard worse."

Mulder chuckled. "She's said worse, too, man." He tilted his head on one side. "But I wouldn't push your luck, if I were you. Now come on." He held out his arms.

All the other words he could use that would have gotten him a thrashing from his Pa ran through Doggett's mind, all the way to a little trapdoor marked 'common sense'. He knew this was one he was not going to get out of with any dignity. If at all. He sighed.

"There's a good boy." Mulder was really going to get it, one of these days.

"Behave, Mulder." Scully stepped towards them, the wire dangling. "Try this." She slapped the thin mic to his left side, in a none too gentle fashion. Doggett got the message. Behave or be hurt. He reluctantly stepped forward. One wise crack. Just one smart assed remark...

"Okay," Mulder said, relentlessly invading Doggett's personal space.

Big hands went to the top of denim clad hips. Shit. What the fuck? Confusion raced through Doggett's mind. What was he supposed to do with his hands? Where was he even supposed to look, for cryin' out loud?

"Come on, Agent Doggett. Make an effort." Mulder pulled on the hips under his hands and yanked Doggett forward. Their groins bumped. This was way.... way too close. The growl he was nurturing, threatened to crawl out of his throat.

"Mulder..." he warned.

"Look," Mulder stared at him, so near that Doggett could smell those damned sunflower seeds on his breath.. "How're you gonna get this done tonight, if you can't even bear to touch me?"

Scully sucked a breath through her teeth. "He's got a point, Agent Doggett. It won't look good on our report if you mess up through latent homophobia."

Doggett glared at her. "I'm not a homophobe, Agent Scully."

"Really?" Mulder grinned and bumped their hips together again.

"Really." Doggett snapped back. "I'm a Muldahphobe."

There was a long pause, the ticking of the kitchen clock the only thing bold enough to make a sound, and then, peals of laughter bubbled out of Mulder. Doggett lean back in surprise. This wasn't the reaction he'd been expecting. A punch in the mouth maybe, or a major sulk, but not this. Giggling helplessly, Mulder pulled Doggett into a hug. Shocked, Doggett allowed it. He wondered which one of them was unhinged.

"Oh, John Doggett!" Mulder broke away, wiping his face. "That's the most honest thing I think you've said to me!"

Doggett looked doubtfully at the man in front of him. "I'm glad you're impressed."

"Oh, yeah." Mulder shook his head. "Thank you."

"You're one twisted guy, Fox Muldah," Doggett said, his face creased in confusion.

"Better believe it," Mulder replied. "Now where were we?" The long arms snaked back around Doggett's waist.

"Can you feel it?" Scully asked, peering between the two of them.

I hope to God she's talking about the wire, Doggett thought, trying not to squirm. He could smell Mulder's shampoo, feel every button on his shirt. It was making him even more nervous. And he didn't know why. He was sure his ears were turning bright red.

Mulder chuckled. "You do mean the wire, don't you, Scully?" There was the sound of a small hand slapping someone's back.

"Yes, Mulder. The wire."

"I dunno." To Doggett's chagrin, Mulder wriggled closer. "Maybe if I..." Mulder pulled closer, slipping his chin up onto a bare shoulder. The hands slid up Doggett's sides, brushing across skin, raising goosebumps. They wandered across a very tense back. Instinctively, Doggett raised his own hands and rested them on the biceps. Damn. This felt weird. If it was a woman in his arms he could... No. Doggett squashed that thought dead.

"I don't think I can feel it. What d'you think, Agent Doggett?" Mulder's breath was warm in his ear. Doggett frowned, disturbed by the feeling. It wasn't as unpleasant as he would have imagined. And that was as distracting as shit.

"I... er, no." He floundered, embarrassed, wondering what he was supposed to be saying. What he was supposed to be feeling. Confusion and consternation did battle in his head, both finally giving way to anger. "How the hell would I know?" he snapped verging on the edge of his temper. "I'm wearing the damn thing."

"Oh, yeah."

Mulder was milking this, Doggett realised. He gripped the arms under his hands and pushed roughly away. "Satisfied?" he asked Scully, keeping his eyes steadfastly away from the man in front of him.

"I don't know..." Scully frowned. She moved to pull the wire from his skin. The tape ripped with a bite.

"Ow!" he complained, letting go of Mulder and clamping a hand to his side.

"Told you it'd hurt," Mulder grinned.

"Don't be a baby," Scully admonished, advancing again.

"It stings," Doggett told her. He'd like to see her have sticky tape ripped from her skin without complaint.

"Take it like a man, Agent Doggett." Mulder leaned against the counter, arms folded. He was enjoying himself way too much, Doggett thought. Sick sack of shit.

"Try here." Scully jabbed her hand forward and slapped the wire in the first place she'd tried. Doggett rolled his eyes. Just like a woman.

"Okay. Fine." He looked down at the intrusion. Good job he didn't have a hairy chest, he thought. That'd be a bitch to pull off.

"Good job you're a smoothie," Mulder remarked. "Skinner nearly went through the roof when he did a tap last year."

Doggett gave Mulder a sideways glance. He wondered if Mulder had spent a lot of time staring at their boss while he'd had a tap fitted, or if he was just the lucky one.

"Well?" Scully waved her hand at Doggett's body.

"Why don't you try?" Mulder offered.

"It wouldn't work, Mulder." Scully looked a little uncomfortable.

"And why's that, might I ask?"

She gave him a look. "I'm not tall enough, Agent Mulder. That's why. I don't reach the same bits as another man would."

"Ah. I see." A grin.

Doggett had the sneakiest of feelings that Mulder had known Scully's answer before he asked the question. Then suddenly he got it. A flash of insight. Mulder was just friggin' around. Messin' with his mind. Well fuck that. Two could play dirty. He reached for Mulder.

"Come here," he ordered. Pulling the other man none too gently towards him, he wrapped himself around a gaping agent, in a full, tight body hug.

"What...?" Mulder gasped, all his breath squeezed out of his body. Smirking with the sweet sound of victory in his ears, Doggett ground himself against Mulder.

"Can you feel that, Agent Muldah?" He growled in the other man's ear. He'd give the smart mouthed SOB something to profile. Have him in therapy before you could say Agent Asswipe.

"Um..." It made a pleasant change not to get some smart assed remark.

"Well?" He turned his head away from Scully and whispered in an ear. "Can you feel this?" he murmured.

"Um... No, Agent Doggett." Mulder struggled against the embrace. "I can't feel the wire." It was like holding a panicking cat. Mulder wriggled and squirmed.

"Okay...okay. Lemme go!"

Finally laughing for the first time that day, Doggett released the other agent. Mulder sprang away as if singed. "What did you do that for?" he whined.

"Do what?" Doggett grinned his lop sided grin.

"Oh, stop fussing, Mulder." Scully had missed the sub text to the situation. But he knew damn well Mulder hadn't. He raised an eyebrow, challenging him to make something of it. Mulder looked away, saying nothing. Two nothin' to the Big Dawg. Perhaps this wasn't going to be such a crappy case, after all.

"Was that okay?" Scully looked from one to the other.

"Fine by me," Doggett told her, shrugging.

Mulder made some sort of grunting noise and folded his arms, defensively.

"Is that a 'yes', Mulder?" He grunted again and Scully sighed.

"Fine." She reached for the roll of tape. "Lets secure that there, then." Stripping off a generous length of tape, Scully's firm fingertips pressed the wire flush to Doggett's chest, the radio transmitting tail disappearing down towards his jeans. He watched her work, her tongue sticking out from between her lips as she concentrated. "There you go." She patted the tape. "That shouldn't be too uncomfortable." Waving vaguely she indicated his jeans. "You can tuck the tail in yourself."

Doggett grinned, the thought of asking her to do it for him, tickling his lips. It'd almost be worth it to watch her blush. The trapdoor of common sense slammed in his mind. Maybe not, he re considered, shoving the wire down his jeans with his left hand. She'd probably shoot him.

"What are you going to put on?" she was asking, as she packed away the kit.

Doggett looked up, blankly. "Huh?" Oops. Wasn't paying attention.

She flapped her free hand up and down. "Clothes. On top. What?"

"Dunno." He shrugged, and slipped the latch on the trapdoor in his mind. Grinning, he turned to the sulky man by the sink. "Whadd'you think, Agent Muldah?"

"What d'you mean?"

"Whadd'you think I should go for?" This was actually quite fun. He could suddenly see what Mulder saw in baiting people. "Button down or tee shirt? Which d'ya think'll look good?"

"Why're you asking me?"

Oh, boy, did that man have a pout, when he put his mind to it. "Well, you seemed to have a pretty good idea about what I'd look good in, this morning."

Mulder pulled a face.

"Well, Mulder?" Scully folded her arms. A faint smile was playing on her lips.

"Oh, I don't know." Mulder pushed himself off the counter. "Suit yourself." He stalked off into the lounge.

Scully chuckled. She looked over at Doggett and winked. "Touche, I think," she said.

"Oh, yeah." Doggett smiled back at her. "Payback's a bitch, ain't it?" he whispered.

Eros Bar.
Friday night.
9.30 p.m.

The bar was crowded. He'd expected that. It was smoky, he'd expected that, too. Even the decibel level wasn't totally unexpected. But he hadn't anticipated the physical contact. That was taking a bit of getting used to. In his ordinary run of the mill, heterosexual existence, a hand on the ass was a sure way of getting a punch in the mouth. Here it seemed to be a routine gesture. Sort of like shaking hands. Doggett shook his head in self-depreciation. His leaning-curve was steep to vertical.

They never did courses on this in the F.B.I. training, Ma. He pushed his way through the throng, towards the bar. Been here ten minutes, and already he'd had more hands on his body than in the prior ten months. Actually, he thought, sliding away from another tight squeeze on the ass, make that the past coupla years. The journey across town in the cab, his head had been buzzing, full of Scully's de-briefing and Mulder's smart remarks. The other agent had recovered his health and temper enough to try and make Doggett feel uncomfortable about what he was going to have to do here. Immerse yourself, he'd said. Lose yourself in the role, he'd said. There'd been a glint in Mulder's eye as he told him to drink, dance, make contact. Make out, he'd said, waiting for Doggett to explode. But he was wise to Mulder's tricks. He'd just nodded as if taking it all in. The lack of rise out of him had driven Mulder nuts, he could tell.

"Dance?"

The heavy-set, vested man in front of Doggett barred his path. Doggett shook his head, no. The man looked him up and down, then wandered away. Doggett watched him go. Was it just that easy? One word, one shake of the head, and the interaction was over. Amazing. None of the verbal BS involved in a straight bar. He snorted to himself. Whole lot simpler.

He looked around, getting his bearings. The bar should be over there. He could really use a drink. The heat in the club had brought him out in a light sweat almost as soon as he set foot inside. Good job he'd had that haircut. He could feel what hair that was left clinging to his head. He eased his lean body through a mixture of men that took his imagination and rattled it about. There were young men in tight clothes, older men in even tighter stuff, and pretty boys in expensive outfits. Quite an challenging mixture.

He was glad he'd opted for tight, white tee with his jeans. He didn't think he could have stood anything more. The way it had clung to him had made Agent Scully smile, and had made Mulder look away. There were some serious issues, there, Doggett thought. Not that he was going to help Mulder resolve them. No way, Jose.

Reaching the bar, he wedged himself between a couple of lumberjack look-a-likes. They turned to look him up and down. He nodded, pleasantly. They looked away. Obviously not their type. A grin slid on to his face. Oh well, can't win em all. He held up a hand to the barman.

"Whadd'll it be?" the man yelled over the soundtrack from hell.

"Club Soda," Doggett yelled back. That got him a funny look, but he couldn't afford to get hammered tonight. Never mind he might end up as the main course in some freak's buffet, he might very well get himself gang-banged. And standing knee deep in queers, getting his ass groped to hell and back, he was hard pressed to think which one was worse.

Another hand made itself known. Fuck! Doggett scowled. He'd be black and blue tomorrow. He turned sideways, to present less of a target and scanned the place, perfectly secure in the fact that everyone would think he was just looking for someone. He almost laughed at the irony. His drink arrived at his elbow, and tossing several bills down, he turned to pick it up, his eyes travelling down the bar. What does the perp look like? He wondered. Big butch guy, like the beast man in leather over there? Or was he some puny wimp that liked to kill to prove himself? Was he standing next to him? Doggett narrowed his eyes. That was a thought to cool a man down. The images of the crime-scene pictures flickered in his head.

Concentrate, John. He sipped his drink, carefully scanning the crowd. His eyes flicked on a pair of dark eyes looking slap-bang into his own. Sipping soda and taking a sudden shocked breath sent liquid down the wrong pipe. He sputtered, gasped and spilled drink down his front. Fuck! He wiped his shirt and looked up again.

About halfway down the bar, sat Walter Skinner. Fuck me, thought Doggett. He wiped the back of his hand over his open mouth and gaped. The A.D. was sitting staring at him, clad in a black tee-shirt, sans glasses, a chunky watch he'd never seen before on his wrist. A glass came up in a slow salute. Shit! This was the unofficial' back-up? Doggett coughed up the last of his errant soda. No wonder Scully hadn't wanted to say who it would be. The Bureau gossip-mill would've had a field day. He raised his own glass. Nice to see you, sir, he thought to himself. Come here often?

An unexpected hand snaked around his waist, and for the second time, in as many minutes, Doggett spilled his drink. "Sorry, man. Didn't mean to make you jump." A voice behind him sent shivers down his back. He guy was standing so close, Doggett could feel the man's hard-on wedged in his ass. JesusMaryandJoseph!

He turned his head to look. "Okay," he said, resisting the overwhelming urge to tell the man to back the fuck out of his personal space. Taller than him, longer hair. Although that wasn't difficult, after todays massacre. Probably a bit younger than the perp profile. He couldn't tell. He dredged up a weak smile. He was supposed to be in character, after all.

The guy grinned and ran his hand up to Doggett's nipple, giving it a squeeze.

Shit! The drink nearly went again. Gotta get used to this, John, he told himself, taking a deep breath. This might be you-know-who. He wondered if the guy had felt the wire, pressed to his chest.

"Wanna dance, gorgeous?"

Doggett's eyebrows climbed. Okaaaay. So he wasn't going to get used to this that quickly. "Now?" he asked, instantly realising he sounded like a complete doofus.

The tit-pincher laughed. "No. Next year. Of course now." The hand squeezed again, and Doggett gripped the glass hard. There were playful pinches and there were downright painful ones, and this was way too far into the latter for his taste. He placed the glass on the bar and turned to face the man behind him, taking the offending hand in his own.

"That hurt," he said, holding the hand in a tight grip.

The guy just grinned some more. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Either very drunk, very stupid, or very twisted. Doggett wondered which it was.

The guy pulled him towards the packed floor. "C'mon."

Doggett was dragged through the crowd, attached to the tit-man by a grip of steel. He glanced back to see Skinner's eyes following him across the heads of the crowd. Keep me in sight, Boss man, he said, silently. The crush was even tighter out here. Men in front, to the side and behind. You'd be fucked if you were claustrophobic, Doggett muttered, finding himself forced to move, whether he liked it or not.

"What?" the guy screamed, over the pounding of the music.

Doggett shook his head. He wasn't about to try and have a conversation in this noise. He valued his vocal chords. The thump of the music was hypnotic, if not tuneful. Doggett wondered what it was, and if the agents in the surveillance van appreciated it. The thought of Mulder having to listen to this shit made him smile.

Taking the grin as some kind of sign, the groper moved in on Doggett, grabbing the loops of his jeans and pulling him forward. He lifted Doggett's hands and put them around his neck. "Nice," he yelled, sliding closer.

Doggett bit down on a comment. The back of the guy's neck was all sweaty and felt most unpleasant under his hands. The other man gripped his waist tight, and ground himself into Doggett's groin. Shit. He wasn't being paid enough for this. Thank God this wasn't an F.B.I. pay-for-view. He'd never live down the humiliation of dancing with this shmuck. The music dictated the man's thrusts, bumping hard enough to hurt. Doggett winced, trying to avoid getting his dick pounded to a pulp.

The man smelled hot and sour. God! Even Mulder had smelled better than this loser. What had he got against deodorant? He could feel his own sweat trickling down the side of his face, and he hoped to God he didn't smell as bad as this guy.

"Harder," he shouted into Doggett's hot ear.

Not a chance, Doggett thought. And then a wet tongue shot into said ear, making him yell out in shock, and fling the man in his arms away. "Fuck!" He wiped furiously at the moisture.

"What?" Mr. Licky looked confused. Shit. The guy didn't think he'd done anything wrong.

Maybe this was a standard operating procedure in gay bars. Doggett still glared. He didn't care if it was standard or not, it made his flesh crawl. "Back off!" He yelled at the tongue-man. Shit - he knew how High School virgins felt.

The guy reached for him again. "Okay," he shouted back. "Okay. Slow." He took Doggett's hands and pulled him close again. This time, the guy turned Doggett around.

Allowing himself to be maneouvered, Doggett consoled himself with the thought that at least he didn't have to look at the man. Or smell him. Fuck. Regardless as to whether this was the perp or not, he'd book himself a long, hot steaming shower, later. He tried to relax into the dance, trying even harder to get the pissy look off his face. He'd hardly begun to relax and move, before the hands began to wander.

Doggett rolled his eyes. How much more of this shit? At his age, he hadn't expected to feel like a 16 year-old girl, but he imagined that trying to control a pair of wandering hands was straight out of the prom-date drawer. Up to his tits, then down, just as quickly to his groin. Doggett wasn't sure which he hated most.

The sudden sharp pain in his nipples, or the tight squeeze on his package. His temper was rising, in direct proportion to the way his balls were retreating into his body. Clenching and grinding his teeth, he pulled the hands first up then down, trying to find a neutral spot for them to rest. Feeling the wet kisses being planted up and down the back of his neck made his guts twist. His belly tightened with anger. He was hot. He was bothered, he wanted to sit down, but he really wanted to do, was turn around and punch this guy into the middle of next week. His face screwed up in disgust as that damned tongue licked behind an ear. That was it.

Gripping the hands tightly, Doggett pulled them away from his body. One plucked a nipple painfully, the other scratched his crotch. Fuck. Enough was enough. Blow the case, screw Kersh and fuck this octopus! "Back off!" he yelled, turning around.

The guy just stared, fuck-stupid. His hard-on had obviously drained his brain. "What?" he said.

Doggett threw the man's hands down. "I said, back the fuck off!" Without waiting to see if the guy got the message, he turned and pushed his way off the floor.

No more. Enough. Furious, Doggett ploughed forward, trying to get space between him and the human spaniel. He was all for things oral, but shit, he preferred it with his Goddamned consent.

"Hey, blue-eyes." The man in front of him looked like he was twice the width and half as tall again. Not a small man, Doggett felt instantly dwarfed.

"Get lost," he snapped. Had he got a fucking sign around his neck that read 'Fresh Meat'?

A huge hand shot out and planted itself on Doggett's shoulder, effectively stopping his forward motion with a bone-jarring jerk. "I said, Hey."

Weighing up his chances against a two-legged pick-up truck, Doggett sighed and did the sensible thing. "Hey."

"I like you."

Terrific. A grizzly bear was in love with him. Why did he have all the luck? "Tha's nice... Look, man. I just wanna get a drink, okay?"

"I'll buy you a drink, pretty eyes."

Oh, for fuck's sake. "That's okay. I have one at the bar." He made a move forward. The paw stayed where it was, and so did Doggett. Shit.

"You got nice eyes."

Doggett tried squinting them, to put him off. "No, I don't," he said. This guy seemed to smell even worse than the last one. Did no-one in this place have any idea about personal hygiene?

"Yeah, sexy blue eyes." Gentle Ben's big brother moved closer. Towering overhead, the man leaned into Doggett. "Gimme a kiss."

Oh, shit... This was above and beyond the call of duty. He could just picture Mulder in that nice, safe van, pissing his pants with laughter. Doggett cringed down, his face a picture of misery. What had he done to deserve this case? He must have done more than piss in Kersh's cornflakes to warrant this level of sexual abuse. The hand on his shoulder was grinding into bone. He wished he'd brought his gun. He'd have no problem at all putting a round between this big ape's eyes. Or in his crotch. Huge, wet lips loomed into focus. Shit. Doggett clamped his own lips between his teeth and screwed his eyes up. No way... no fuckin' way.

"Is there a problem?" The deep voice cut through the bass line of the racket being churned out over the speakers. Doggett almost whimpered in relief.

"Fuck off," the bear told him, almost touching Doggett's mouth.

Opening wild, panicky eyes on Skinner, Doggett silently begged his Boss. Anything. Take my pick-up. Take my house. Anything. Just. Get. Him. Off. Me.

"He's with me." A hand reached over the giant shoulder and pulled back. The look of surprise on the other man's face was almost laughable, if Doggett had been in the mood for levity.

"What?" The giant turned to face Skinner.

"I said..." Skinner leaned in to the man and bellowed in an ear. "The. Man. Is. with. Me."

A pissing contest. This was an alpha-male pissing contest. He was being fought over like some fainting damsel. Doggett stared in absolute amazement. Skinner glared, puffing himself up into not inconsiderable bulk. The two men stared at each other.

After a moment, the meaty hand came off his shoulder, and Doggett sagged in relief, rubbing the sore bit. "All yours, man. Didn't know." The bigger man grinned and stepped back, relinquishing his trophy to Skinner.

That was it? No bare-knuckle fisticuffs? No handbags at dawn? Great. The two Fibbies watched the leather-covered apartment block move away. They looked at each other. Doggett opened his mouth to speak and Skinner took a step forward and shook his head. A large finger touched the middle of his chest. The mic. The van. They had an audience. Doggett nodded his understanding.

If by some quirk of fate, the walking refrigerator happened to be the perp, then Skinner had just fucked up big time by rescuing him. But by now, Doggett didn't care. All he felt was a pathetic gratitude for being saved from a serious tonguing. He mouthed the words, 'Thank you'.

Skinner grinned at him, and lifted an eyebrow. He seemed to find the whole thing amusing. Doggett wasn't laughing. His shoulder ached, his ass was sore, and he was all sweaty.

With a vague smirk, Skinner pointed at him, then at his own chest. His mouth formed words. 'You're mine'. Then he laughed for real.

In your dreams, Doggett thought, suddenly fed up to the back teeth with being seen as a piece of flesh. He brought his fist up and unfolded a middle finger. 'Fuck you', he mouthed back.

That raised Skinner's other eyebrow and put a look of surprise on his face.

Yeah, well, Doggett thought as he pushed his way to the bar again. What's he gonna do? Report me? I don't think so. He pushed forcefully through and grabbed his soda, downing it in a couple of long swallows. That felt good. He waved at the barman. Another.

He ran his hand through wet hair. He supposed it was standing up in funny little spikes by now. Always did when it was wet. Couldn't do a thing with it.

God. He shook his head. Now he was even sounding queer. He turned his head to wipe his brow on the top of his sleeve. This was torture. Too hot. Too noisy, too... fuck. Too everything.

Propping one foot up on the footrest, he snagged his fresh drink and took a gulp. His tee-shirt was sticking to him. He ran a hand over his neck. Damn, he was hot. And heavy work boots might be the thing to wear to gay clubs, but they were making his feet ache.

"Hi."

Standing leaning on the bar with his ass thrust out like that was a huge mistake. Another hand homed in on his rear. Doggett sighed. This was getting real tedious. He spoke without turning. "Not interested." The hand disappeared. That worked well. Maybe if he kept doing it, then he'd get through the rest of this Goddamned nightmare without being molested. The music changed tempo, sliding into a more romantic beat. Thank God, thought Doggett, rolling his eyes heavenward. My poor head and ears thank you.

"May I buy you a drink, sir?" The hand that rested on the bar was long and elegant. There were rings on each of the fingers. He could feel another hand, running lightly down his spine.

Oh, my God, thought Doggett. Priscilla, Queen of the desert. Not in a million years.

"No, thank you," he said, not looking round.

"Are you quite sure?" The hand was stroking quite gently. Well, at least it made a pleasant change, Doggett thought. A change from being pinched, squeezed and groped.

But his answer was still no.

"I'm sure, thank you." Manners cost nothing.

"That's a real shame." The low voice sounded disappointed. He was managing to piss off quite a number of people tonight. Everyone he ran into, actually. Doggett gave a grim smile. His ex-wife would be proud of him.

"Yeah, well. Life's full of disappointments," he told the voice. "Get over it."

"I'd rather get over you." The stroking was not entirely unpleasant. Hypnotic.

Doggett shook his head. "I'd rather you didn't."

"You're very handsome." At least this guy was polite.

"And you're very kind. But I'm not interested."

"Then why are you here?"

Shit. Busted. He opened his mouth to think of a snappy answer.

"He's waiting for me."

Oh, for the love of God. Skinner again. Doggett turned his head to glare over his shoulder. The man was becoming ridiculous.

"No, I'm not," Doggett snarled at both of them, letting his temper show in his voice. He was a grown man, for God's sake, he could decide for himself what he was doing at any given time. He didn't need a nursemaid, a warden or a pimp.

"Oh? Is that so?" The man with the gentle fingers fluttered them over Doggett's ribcage.

"Yeah," Doggett answered belligerently. Fuck Skinner. What was he playing at? Mr. White Knight to the rescue? He straightened up. Those fingers were tickling. "I'm not waiting for anyone."

Skinner stared, his face blank. Doggett couldn't read what was going on inside his head.

"So."

Doggett looked as the man spoke to him.

"Perhaps a dance?"

No, thank you, Doggett thought, I don't dance with men. But instead, what he said was: "Yeah."

Skinner blinked and the man took Doggett's hand with a smile. Oh, shit. Doggett looked down at their joined hand, what he'd just agreed to dawning on him.

Now what the hell was he going to do? He frowned at his stupidity. Pig-headedness and a big mouth gets him into the shit once again. He was being pulled towards the dance floor. Oh, crap.

"I don't think so." Skinner's hand shot out to grab Doggett's trailing hand.

Hang on a Goddamned minute. What was he - some kind of bitch-trophy? "What d'you think you're doing?" he snarled at his superior. Skinner said nothing. Just stared at him. Doggett tugged experimentally on his hand. It wasn't going anywhere. "Oh, for fuck's sake, let me go." The other guy was still pulling him. This was ridiculous. Tug-of-whore. The three of them were moving into the crush. Doggett stared at Skinner. The man was acting crazy. Was he nuts? This is what Scully and Mulder had told him he was supposed to be doing. Dancing, making contact.

Sweat gleamed on Skinner's head. Maybe he was dehydrated. Could he be sick?

'What's wrong?' he mouthed at Skinner, conscious of the mic. Skinner shook his head, tilting it to the other man. As if on cue, the man on the other end of him halted. He looked at Doggett.

"Coming?" he asked.

Doggett looked past his fit of pig-headedness to what Skinner saw. The stroker was about thirty or so. Dressed nice. Spoke well. Could he be? He felt Skinner's grip tighten. Oh, shit.

"I...er." Oh, crap, crap, crap. He swallowed. No need to panic. No good reason to think...

"Well? Are you coming with me, or are you indeed with him?"

Doggett looked from one to the other. How did he get into this shit? "I'm..." He swallowed, hoping the God of Government agents and the guys in the surveillance van weren't listening too closely. "I'm with him." He wondered if the disco lights hid the warmth he felt creeping over his face.

"Very well." The man released Doggett's hand. "Perhaps you'll allow me to watch you dance, then."

Not so long as there's little blue fishes in the sea, Doggett told himself. "Why?" he asked, very aware that Skinner still held his hand in a tight grip. His hand was very hot.

"For my gratification. And for the humiliation of being spurned." This guy was seriously creepy.

Doggett swallowed. "And if I say no?"

The stroker smiled. "Who knows," he said. "Perhaps we shall meet again. When you are without your guardian."

Not really a threat. Nah. Not in the true sense of the word. Besides, he had a gun... Usually.

Despite the comforting thought of firearms, he could feel a trickle of sweat running down his spine. This whole thing was seriously fucked-up. Time to cut loose. "I don't think..."

Skinner's spare hand came up and planted itself in the centre of his chest. Doggett looked down stupidly at it. The big fingers were pressing the mic deep into his skin. They'd never be able to hear if he... The penny dropped.

"Of course," Skinner spoke, squeezing Doggett's hand. "That's not a problem. You can watch." He pulled Doggett towards him.

"I don't think..." Doggett said again, the tops of his ears radiating warmth.

"Shhh, John. It's okay."

Doggett gaped. What the hell was this... 'John' business? The A.D. moved his hand from the microphone, and slid it up to the back of Doggett's neck, where it proceeded to squeeze gently.

Eyes wide as hub-caps, Doggett floundered, trying to argue as he was guided inexorably against the black tee-shirt. Shit! There must be something in the F.B.I. rulebook about this. 'Thou shalt not dance with thy superiors,' or something. Perhaps if he punched him out? He was almost as tall as the A.D., but nowhere near so packed in the muscle department. He might be able to take him on a good day... Maybe. The hand on his neck squeezed ever so slightly. Maybe not.

Skinner let go of Doggett's hand, moving to place the hot palm on heaving ribs. Eyes still locked on full-beam, Doggett stared, outrageously aware of being pressed firmly up against a wide chest, held still by arms much larger than his own. A pair of calm, dark eyes stared back. Doggett tried to breathe normally. No. Too smoky, too hot. He opened his mouth to drag a steadying lung full in. He had a feeling his panic was being broadcast by his glowing ears and wild eyes.

Skinner turned his head and moved towards Doggett, putting his lips close to an ear. The huff of his breath made Doggett flinch.

"Okay?" the deep voice said.

Doggett wasn't sure to whom he was speaking, the 'maybe' perp, or him. The thought hit him cold, in the belly. Perp. Murderer. Maniac. The photographs from the case flooded into Doggett's mind. Shit. He could live without recalling those, right now. Actually, he could live without becoming the next set of those pictures. So maybe Skinner was right. He tentatively put his hands on the A.D.'s waist.

God! The things he did for his country. Maybe if he just shut his eyes, it'd all go away.

Gradually, the pressure on the back of his head eased a little, as if testing to see if Doggett would bolt. It was like a scene from a pervy version of the Horse Whisperer. He smiled. Funny.

Then another funny thought occurred to him. The A.D. was dancing with him, and it wasn't as awful as he'd imagined. Not that he'd ever imagined this... Christ!

But the man had a sense of rhythm, at least. And his hands were staying in one place. That had to be something. One was in the small of his back, the other resting on his neck. Just resting, now, not holding him down tightly.

Doggett sighed. He should really make a move to get away. Surely the perp had had enough of an eyeful. He stayed where he was. Funny how his chin seemed to fit nicely into the crook of Skinner's neck. The warmth from the other man's face against his was calming. He sighed again. And thank God, Skinner smelled good, too. Better than those other guys. In fact, he realised with a jolt, this was really quite... He frowned, thinking. Well, nice was as good a word as any.

On his back, a thumb was moving lazily in time with the music. Up and down his spine. Up and down. The hand on his head stroked the bristles at his nape. Gently. Almost a caress. He snorted softly. A caress... Yeah, right. But he made no move to stop it, all the same.

"You okay?"

The question was his, he knew it, this time. The whisper was right up against his left ear, hot on his skin. Doggett felt himself give an involuntary shiver. He nodded into the tee-shirt. Not so bad, he thought. Been better, been worse. Better than being served up for dinner on a dirty sidewalk. He moved his hands up to the A.D.'s back, spreading his fingers, pulling the other man closer. He could do this. No problem. He could always pretend it was a woman. He thought about that for a while, then dismissed it.

No. That wasn't right. It felt different, bigger. More solid. Maybe it was just that he didn't feel like he had to be the protective one, the tough guy. He ran his hands over hard muscle. No way he had imagination enough to pretend this was a woman. Besides, he'd never done a woman the disservice of imagining she was someone else, so he wouldn't insult Skinner like that. And another thing, it smelled different. Doggett inhaled, experimentally.

Yeah. Locker rooms and... ghosts of a barrack-room. Rudy Wallis entered his mind again, for the second time that evening. Doggett bit back a chuckle. What the hell would Rudy have made of this? Would he be pleased that Doggett was finally wrapped in a man's arms, moving sensuously to sappy music? Or would he be pissed that it was some other man's arms, and not his own? Doggett remembered the touch of Rudy's hand on his chest that day in the shower, remembered the look in his eyes. Pissed. Oh, God, he would be royally pissed.

Sorry, Rudy, my man.

He felt the scratch of beard, as Skinner breathed into his neck. Sorry I never dared dance with you, Rudy. He hugged Skinner tight, remembering years before.

God... You'd have loved this.

Turning his head slightly, eyes still closed against stinging eyes from the bomb blast, Doggett kissed the side of Skinner's neck without conscious thought. I should have swallowed my stupid pride and kissed you before, he thought. Instead of waiting for two minutes too late. I'm sorry, Rudy.

A large hand moved down to hold his rear. Doggett didn't flinch. It held him tight against the man in his arms, pressing their hips together. They swayed to the music. This was real nice. Hot enough for Beirut, but... He frowned against a damp neck. Beirut? He'd never danced in Beirut.

Where the hell was he?

Doggett's mind did a helpful rewind of the last couple of minutes, wrenching his shocked eyes open when he got to the bit... Shit. He. Just. Kissed...

Oh, fuck. He was dead. No question. Might as well lie down and put ketchup on his dick - Skinner would be handing him over to the killer on a platter. Doggett braced himself for impact.

The hand on his neck just carried on stroking. The hand on his ass never twitched.

Why wasn't he freaking out? Doggett wondered. This was seriously weird. Never mind Skinner, he thought, he was the one who just kissed another man. How fucked up was that?

The trapdoor in his head, right next door to 'Common Sense' and labelled 'Self-Awareness,' flapped open, spilling out an uncomfortable thought. Not nearly as fucked up as the idea that you're dancing with this man, and getting into it in a big way.

Doggett frowned. A big way? Get outta town. Nah. Not him.

Skinner moved his hips slightly, and Doggett's homed back in, with a will of their own. They circled around cat-like, then stilled, tight against what felt most definitely like a...

Oh.

My.

God.

Skinner had a boner.

The concept dried Doggett's throat, making it hard to swallow his shock.

Oh, shit. Oh, shit.

The trapdoor flapped, unleashing another uncomfortable home-truth. Take a look downstairs, Big Dog, it said. So have you.

A small noise wiggled out of Doggett's parched throat. Skinner pulled his head away from Doggett's neck, and bracing the other man with his hand, looked carefully. "You okay?" he asked very softly.

Doggett hoped it was too soft for the mic to pick up. Please God, let it be too soft for the mic. Doggett wet his lips. Was he okay? The whole question seemed too big to know how to start answering it.

Skinner spoke again. "John?"

"Huh?" All the mental trapdoors were bolted. Nailed shut and barred. Skinner brought his thumb round the side of Doggett's neck and rubbed the side of his jaw. It slid over the damp, freshly shaven skin. Doggett's world was narrowing and tilting crazily, with all roads, less travelled or not, leading towards a very hard reason to not be okay, in his pants.

"I'm..." He cleared his dry throat and tried to keep his voice low and steady. "I'm kinda strugglin' here, sir," he whispered.

Understatement of the century. There was a smile on Skinner's mouth, just a little one, quirking up one corner. "Yeah." He nodded. "I know."

Doggett swallowed again. He had to explain. He had to excuse what was going on without his permission, in his pants. "I'm not..." he told himself and Skinner.

The thumb rubbed up and down. "I know."

"I don't..."

Skinner smiled properly. "I know."

Doggett frowned. Couldn't the man say anything else? And why did he have to keep doing that thing with his thumb. It was driving him nuts.

"It doesn't matter."

Either his brain was fried, or Skinner's was. Must be the heat. "What doesn't matter?"

"What you are." He leaned closer. "Or not."

Okay. This was just nuts. Certifiable. Off the wall. He wasn't making any sense to himself, and Skinner made even less. This oblique' shit must be catching. Doggett blinked several times. Fuckin' great. Now his eyesight was going.

Either that, or Skinner was getting closer.

Nah.

Oh, shit.

The bigger man was homing in. Pulling his head towards him. Doggett opened his mouth to speak. Someone had to put the brakes on this crazy shit. This was as far into role-play as he wanted to venture. "I don..." Was all he managed before Skinner's mouth covered his. Fuck. Two hands jerked in surprise on Skinner's back, and his belly rolled over then tightened. Holy shit!

The hands on his face and ass held him in place while he was firmly thoroughly kissed. Out of control with curiosity, his brain fired questions at him in an insane spray of demands, while his body tried desperately to sort out the torrent of physical input. Was this how it felt to be kissed like a woman? Was this the way he did it to women? Was it any different? Skinner's mouth is hot, it told him, stupidly. And wet. And hard. Those were just the basics, Doggett told himself. There's a damn sight more going on here, than just that. Hello? This is a guy kissing you, his logical mind pointed out. Like I could miss that one, Doggett thought, feeling the scratch of stubble and the ridge of another man's erection pressed up against his.

And that in itself was another thing on his mind. Far from shrivelling up in shock, his dick was raging in his jeans, indignant at its constraint. Tonight's entertainment is brought to you by the letter F, for Fuckin' hell... How about that? Did someone forget to tell my dick I'm straight? That's as maybe, his body asked, but doesn't it feel damn good? Yeah.

Yeah, he had to reluctantly admit that it did. Doggett's eyes slid shut as he gave a thin groan. This man sure knew how to kiss. A silky tongue was sliding in and out of his mouth, sending waves of lust down to his groin and clouding his brain. His dick throbbed. Fuck it. Doggett angled his head to allow Skinner to go deeper. You bastard Rudy, you never told me it would feel like this. Had it been minutes? Hours?

Doggett hadn't the faintest idea. The kiss had stretched out in languid and erotic elastic and around the two of them, shutting out the noise, smoke and heat. Completely focussed on giving and receiving the best kiss he could recall in a coon's age, Doggett leaned in and gave as good as he got. Which was pretty much everything, and very nearly too much. With a gasp, he pulled away. Air. His chest heaved in protest. His cock ached in protest. His logical mind had given up protesting in the face of such naked, furious lust.

"Shit..." he gasped out. He ran his tongue over wet lips and stared at the face in front of him, studying it as if for the first time.

Dark eyes regarded him. "Okay?" That same damned question again.

"Maybe," he answered, hoarsely giving nothing away.

"Why'd you stop?" Skinner asked, running his hand up the side of Doggett's face and into his savagely short hair.

Doggett arched his head into the caress. Why had he stopped? That was the $64,000 question wasn't it? He hadn't stopped because everyone could see. He hadn't stopped because it was wrong. Or even because this was his superior. He smoothed the tee-shirt over Skinner's back, thinking. He had to say something. The eyes with ridiculously long lashes gazed back patiently. After sharing a kiss like that, the truth was the only honourable thing he could offer. He leaned in. "Because if you'd kept doin' that," he whispered close to Skinner's ear. "I'd have disgraced myself in my jeans... Sir."

Laughter rumbled up out of Skinner's chest. He hugged Doggett tight while he rocked, helplessly giving in to his mirth. Grinning at the absurdity, Doggett clung on, squashing the mic between them. He idly wondered what Mulder and the team made of the noise that was emerging from the A.D. More comfortable minutes passed. Eventually, Skinner calmed and pushed himself away. He gripped Doggett's biceps and looked him up and down, eyes lingering on his crotch long enough to make Doggett squirm slightly.

"What?" he whispered.

"Just looking," Skinner replied softly.

"Yeah, well..."

"I want..." It was Skinner's turn to hesitate. Doggett tilted his head up to look into his face.

"What?"

Letting go of one arm, the A.D. put his hand between them, and laid it over Doggett's crotch. Unable to help himself, Doggett jumped a little. Skinner grinned at the reaction and spoke firmly. "I want..."

Doggett pulled a face and tapped his chest. Too loud. He jerked the other man towards him again, trapping his hand. He put his lips to Skinner's cheek. "Quietly," he told him, pausing to inhale the scent of the skin under his lips. Shit, he was getting used to this in record time.

"I want to do something about this," Skinner said, gently squeezing Doggett's package.

Doggett groaned and thrust forward. Fuck, the pressure was killing him. His pushed his hips again. Screw the Bureau, screw the case, and screw that he was straight. He wanted to do something about that dammed handful, too. "Oh..." he said, dropping his head to Skinner's shoulder again. He'd better quit that real soon.

The hand began a rhythmic motion. No... oh, shit, no. The friction was exquisite. "Not now..." he gasped into Skinner's neck. "God, not now." He could feel, rather than hear that laughter again. Bastard, he was teasing. Doggett pulled away and glared.

Nodding, Skinner pulled his hand away, leaned forward and kissed him lightly, in apology. Doggett accepted it, wondering if he falling down the pink equivalent of a rabbit hole. Nothing to 100 miles an hour in the space of a kiss. "Okay. Not now," Skinner whispered. "But soon."

Better be soon, Doggett thought, swallowing the tension. Or his balls were going to explode. He rested his forehead to Skinner's, closing his eyes. "Yeah."

"Promise," Skinner told him, rubbing his arms.

"I'm gonna shoot you if you're lyin' to me," Doggett replied, surprising himself by meaning every damned word.

"Deal."

Doggett looked up. This was... Well, weird didn't even begin to come close, any more. Here he was standing in a gay club, held tight in his superior's arms, who happened to be another guy. And he wasn't screaming to get away. He wasn't punching the guy out for having kissed him, shit... He was even letting him do it again. Guess what? He was standing slap-bang in the middle of a his own personal fucking X-File. Letter A, for Amazing.

"Deal," he agreed. Then he angled his head and kissed Skinner. Not as hard as he had been kissed, but not bad for a beginner, all the same.

"Federal Agent! Everyone stay where you are!" The voice cut between Doggett and Skinner, slicing them apart like a couple of scalded cats.

"Fuck!" Doggett spun around, looking for the voice. The music died, the lights came on, and Doggett could see the crowd parting over the other side of the club as a swathe of black and gold FBI jackets moved in.

"Nobody move!" That was Mulder's voice. Doggett threw a glance over his shoulder, but Skinner had melted into the crowd. He frowned. Was that a sliver of disappointment? He shook his head. Get real, Marine, he told himself, you really wanna get caught lockin' lips with the A.D.?

He grinned at himself, pleased to feel his familiar one-sided grin back. At least that felt something like normal. He glanced down at his jeans. No evidence there. The fright of hearing the words Federal Agent' had scared his boner away quicker'n a cold shower. Mulder and the others were cutting through the crowd, making their way over to where Doggett stood.

Shit. What was going on? Had they overheard on the mic? Cold panic threatened to roll Doggett's stomach.

"Agent Doggett!" Someone was calling his name. "Agent Doggett!"

"Over here," he replied, holding up a hand. His other hand quickly wiped his mouth. He was being stupid. No-one could tell he'd been making out. Not as if Skinner was wearing lipstick... Jesus.

"Agent Doggett." It was one of the new guys, on probation from Vice. "It's all over. Case is closed." The young agent waved his hand behind him. "We got him."

"Agent Bryant," Doggett scowled. "Keep details to a minimum in the public domain."

The young man blushed. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

Real Life was flooding back to him now. Her cleared his throat. No problem. He looked around. "Where's the agent in charge?"

Bryant indicated behind. "Agent Scully's outside. She said to defer to Agent Mulder."

"Okay." Wiping his hands down his jeans and fighting the urge to look for Skinner, Doggett walked forward. "Let's go." The walk across the dance floor was surreal. The men parted like extras from the Red Sea. They all stared. Mr. Licky was staring at him with a very ill expression on his face. Doggett took vicious pleasure in staring back and watching the colour drain from his face. Try pinching my tits now, perv, he thought. The huge guy in the leather was open-mouthed. Doggett nodded at him, as he walked past, almost smiling when the giant stepped away. Not such a tough guy.

Mulder was standing by the Emergency Exit, in conversation with a skinny Drag-Queen. "You'd be willing to testify to that?" Mulder was saying.

"Uh-huh." The queen was staring up at Mulder in awe. Not quite drooling, but near enough.

Doggett nodded at Mulder. "Agent." Mulder nodded back. "Take your information to the guy over there, and he'll arrange for someone to take your statement."

The guy's huge sparkly eyelashes fluttered. "Can't you do that?" he simpered.

"No." Mulder smiled. "I'm far too important." He turned to Doggett as the Drag Queen minced away. "Hey. Have any fun?"

Doggett stamped down on the rising annoyance. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Mulder exactly what kind of fun he'd had, but he just shook his head. "You never give up, do you, Agent Muldah?"

Mulder grinned. "Better believe it, Agent Doggett." Bizarrely, a sunflower seed flew into the air and into Mulder's mouth. "We got him."

"The killer?"

"No. Ronald McDonald." He rolled his eyes. "Of course the killer. Out there."

Doggett didn't think Kersh would put up much of a fuss if he took out Mulder's issue and just shot the joker in the head. It'd be doing everyone a favour. "Show me." Moving past Mulder, Doggett pushed the bar to the Exit and hit the night air with relief. It was cold enough to raise goose bumps on his body, but glorious after the heat in the club. Pulling the tails of his tee-shirt up with one hand, Doggett roughly ripped the wire from his chest. He welcomed the sharp pain, glad to get the instrusive thing off his body. Wordlessly, he handed it over to Mulder.

"Uh. Gee, thanks, Doggett," he said, taking the mic between two fingers. There were a circle of officers and agents standing around in typical post-case donut-and-coffee stance, talking, shooting the shit. "There," Mulder said from behind, pointing.

Sitting against the alley wall was a man clutching a pair of black jeans and the remains of a white tee-shirt. Even from twenty feet away, Doggett could see he was trembling fit to bust. He was holding a Styrofoam cup in one hand, spilling most of it over the wreckage of his clothes. Agent Scully was crouching in front of him. Doggett moved over for a closer look. Scully looked up as he approached and nodded. Biting back a comment, Doggett stared. The guy was him. Well, no. That was just crazy. But it was a near thing. Real short hair, tee and jeans. Like Mulder had said, skinny and mature'. Shit. A shiver ran through him.

"Are you alright, Agent Doggett?" Scully asked, standing with her hands on her back.

He nodded, thinking: No. You must be joking. "Good job, Agent Scully." He pointed at the intended victim. "Saved number four."

Scully nodded. "Yes. Just."

"You shoot the perp?" He needed to know. He hoped they had. Would have been fine by him to blow the sick shit away, whoever it was. She shrugged, moving side to let the paramedics see to the near victim on the floor. As he stood up, Doggett could see the poor bastard had wet himself. He looked away.

"Shoulder wound." She sounded as disappointed as he felt.

Mulder stood behind her. "Take a look, Agent Doggett. See if you saw him in there."

He didn't want to. Shit, he really didn't want to look. He didn't want to put a face to the activities he'd seen in those photographs. "Sure," he said. Because he was a good F.B.I. agent and that was what was expected of him. He moved to the back of the meat-wagons, Mulder and Scully following. The red flashing lights of the ambulances were bathing everything with their bloody touch. It seemed apt, somehow. Fit the mood.

"Wait up, guys," Mulder called, halting the loading of the gurney.

The medics paused and reluctantly, Doggett moved to stand by the stretcher. He had a sick feeling in his gut. There was no need for him to look. He knew what he was going to see. Knowing his luck, knowing the jokes that God sometimes liked to play. It was so obvious he felt a bubble of laughter in his belly. The club soda murmured in his stomach.

Well, this was no great surprise. On the sheet, lay a hand with rings on every finger. The lights bled scarlet on the gold. The hand looked dipped in blood. Doggett could suddenly taste his evening meal.

"Yeah. I saw him." He didn't want to get any closer. He could still feel the tickle of those fingers on his back, his ribs. Shivering, he turned. "He was in there." Electricity surged up his arm as he was grabbed. Jumping in fright out of all proportion to the threat from a man with a bullet in him, Doggett tried to snatch his hand back. It stayed trapped in the long fingers.

"Hello, handsome." The voice was still soft, still cultured. It made Doggett's skin crawl.

"Don't," he said, pulling his hand.

"You have nice eyes."

Club soda and lasagna threatened to make an appearance on the floor at his feet. He pulled a face, swallowing hard. "Shuddup, you freak." The lights hid the blush on his face. He was grateful for that.

"I only took him because you wouldn't come, you know."

He could practically feel Mulder and Scully exchanging a look, behind him. The rings were digging into his flesh. The perp was stronger than he looked. Doggett didn't want to touch the hand, but he didn't want to be held, more. He pulled at the fingers. "Let go." Panic and pasta, rising. Not professional to blow chunks all over a prisoner.

"I would have been better for you. Better than that other one." Shit! Oh, shit... not caring what it looked like to the other agents, Doggett tore at the fingers, desperate to get away before anything else came out of that putrid mouth.

"Agent Doggett?" Miles away, Scully was speaking to him. He clawed at his hand, hurting himself but not caring. His ears were burning with mortification.

"Did he make you hard?" The soft voice sounded as loud as a scream in the blood-red night.

Doggett wanted to scream.

"You should have chosen me."

Enough. He would break every fucking one of these fingers if that was what it took.

the rest