TITLE: She Goes, pt 1/1
AUTHOR: FredaX
RATING: PG
CATEGORY: Doggett Angst, MSR
ARCHIVES: Yes, please. Just drop me a note to
tell me so, and keep those headers in tact.
Thanks much.
FEEDBACK: Please, oh, please. I'll even read
the mean ones.  But. . .you know. . .I wish you
wouldn't. . . .   Send all feedback to
fredaxfanfic@yahoo.com
SPOILERS:  Through "Existence."
SUMMARY:  "*She* never blamed him. I envy him a
love like that." Doggett's POV.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I seem to be on a roll here... 
and I seriously hope that it has no effect on
the quality of my work. *g* This one...has
been on my mind for some time, and I wasn't sure
how I wanted to execute it.  I...am a die-hard
shipper, all the way...but I also happen to
like the character of John Doggett. I think if
he were introduced to Philes at another time,
for another reason, he wouldn't have had to
fight so hard for our respect. But he wasn't.
I really hate to hold that against him. Anyway.
. .we've all watched him watch Mulder and Scully
since they were reunited, and I can't be the
only one who's noticed the sadness with which he
does so. I want to know why. . .and I explore
it, here. Shippers, be not afraid, for I am one
of you. Just give it a chance, all right?
Let's see things through Doggett's eyes...see
that wonderful dynamic we all know exists. Take
this one ride with me and--if you hate me for it
afterwards, feel free to tell me so. Then this
little shipper heart will guiltily admit her
wrongdoing, and repent. Okay?
DISCLAIMER: Oh, please. If they were mine, I
wouldn't feel a need to apologize to the fans.
*g*  kay, okay, that was a little harsh...they're 
not all bad...I hope...They *did* bring them to 
us, after all.

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

	I slowly attempt to flex my sore fingers,
wincing at the pain. I must have made a noise,
too, because she's noticed. I hear her chair
creak as she gets up to walk over to me.

	"How are you doing?" she asks, looking at
my enlarged hand. I glance up at her briefly,
then cover the ailing appendage subconsciously,
protectively with my right hand. It's stiff, I
respond silently, and there's a sharp pain that
drives from my fingertips right back to the
point of my elbow....

	"Just tryin' to get the blood flowin,'
Agent Scully."

	"Has the pain medication worn off?"

	"Nah," I lie, straight-faced. "I'm fine,
really.  Just stretchin' the--"

	"I saw you wince, Agent Doggett."  She
reaches down and brushes my hand with her thumb.
I chuckle self-consciously, not looking up, 
still focusing on the bandage wrapped around my
hand. I can hear her grinning as she says, "I
have some extra-strength aspirin in my desk."
She moves to the other side of the room, and I
hear her pull open a drawer as I continue to
study my hand. "Agent Doggett?" I turn in my
chair to face her; she's preparing to loft the
rattling bottle at me. I nod, and she releases
it. I catch it easily with my good hand, popping 
the top off and turning to tap the rim on my 
desk. A few pills come tumbling out; I replace 
all but two--even though I'm pretty damn sure I 
need more. I replace the cap, then regard the 
small, white tablets. For a moment, I consider 
popping them into my mouth immediately, then I 
think better of it. I get up from my desk to 
exit the room, pausing for a moment in front of 
hers. She looks up at me from the files that 
lie on top of it.

	I can't help being struck at the richness
of the color of her eyes. I'd discovered early in 
our forced partnership that they were 
extraordinarily expressive, the colors changing
dramatically with her moods. She'd been
concentrating very hard on her work just now. I
could tell from that intensity of color.

	Perhaps I'd looked a little too long; she
cocks her head to one side, and the intensity
diminishes. "What is it, Agent Doggett?"

	I blink, and my mind refocuses. "Water.
I'm going to get a bottle. Do you need
anything?" She's already looking away from me,
back at the papers in front of her. She waves
her hand absent-mindedly.

	"No, thanks."

	The halls are always eerily quiet at this
time on a Friday. The x-files are in no way,
shape, or form by-the-book, even forcing us to
work odd hours. We almost always end up staying
late at the office, wrapping up the day's events. 
Usually, however, we're delayed by our own 
misunderstanding of the cases. We don't put
certain clues together quickly enough, because
the possibilities still come slowly to us.
Mulder had been far more adept at seeing the
unseen, picking out the smallest details for
consideration....Mulder.

	She's better at this than I am, but it's
the blind leading the blind. I know that she
discusses the cases with him. And I know that
she shouldn't, that it's against policy. But
sometimes...I genuinely believe that we'd never 
get it without him. And I hate that. I hate having 
to rely on hi-- I stop myself mid-thought. On 
anyone. I've always been able to do things on my 
own, to draw from my own training, from my own 
experience. I'd long since learned, however, the 
necessity--or, rather, the *inevitability*--of 
teamwork on the force, as well as in the bureau. 
And with Scul--Agent Scully, I correct myself--I 
felt more like a guardian than a partner. It was a 
good feeling. Hell, it was a great feeling...I'd
missed that feeling. After Kelly had left me...
and after losing Luke....

	I stop in the hall mid-step, clenching my
jaw and fixing my eyes on the ductwork above me...
I *will* tears away.

	Resuming the walk to the elevator, I make
the subconscious decision to think of something
else.

	The bell rings and I step in, turning to
watch the door slide shut behind me.

	Usually...our work was delayed by our
own misunderstanding. Today, though, it was the
three hours we'd spent at the hospital. I
stretch out my hand again, and my brows furrow
as I bite my lip. Damn. It's funny...getting it 
smashed in that door hadn't been the most painful 
part. Pulling it out after she'd managed to 
dislodge the door with that last slam of her 
shoulder hadn't been, either. Getting the bones 
reset by the doctor (amazingly enough, the perp 
had only broken two of my fingers with that 
little stunt of his) wasn't as well. No, the most 
*painful* part had been getting the feeling back 
in my digits after that morphine wore off.

	Damn.

	The door opens, allowing my entrance into
yet *another* hallway. I walk briskly past a few 
doorways, finally turning into one on the left. I 
flip on the light, immediately setting my sights 
on the juice machine at the center of the far 
wall.

	The other agents had run past her in
pursuit of the suspect, but she'd stayed with
me. I'd tried to shrug it off, as I did only
moments ago, but my hand had already swollen to
twice its normal size. She'd taken it carefully
in hers and, try though I might, I couldn't stop
my face from contorting. Then I'd heard a man
cry out--one of our agents--and I nearly'd
knocked her over as I leapt up to run in the
direction of the sound as she called my name
from behind me. I'd run head on into the fugitive 
as I'd swept through the third doorway; thinking 
quickly, I'd grabbed him and slammed him into the 
floor. I was screaming expletives at the top of 
my lungs, my hand *throbbing* from the careless 
force I'd used to push him to the ground. I 
couldn't move; I could only lie there, pinning 
him down as I cried out to the others. I didn't 
dare look at my hand.

	She'd found me first, screaming at me to
get off him and out of the way and to hold my
hand still until I could get medical attention.
She cuffed him when I rolled away, pulling
myself up to a sitting position. I could hear
her read him his rights as I hunched over my
hand, stinging tears rimming my eyes. I was in
too much pain to try to stop it now.

	The bottle rolls out of the machine, and I
pick it up and flick the light switch as I begin
my trek back to the office.

	She'd come over to me, taking my swollen
hand in hers again, resuming her examination,
looking for breaks and fractures. I'd blinked
away the tears to watch her. If it hurt...I
didn't notice.

	After losing Luke, I'd been afraid to
allow myself the luxury of caring enough about
someone to watch over them. I couldn't trust
myself with their trust, with the dependence of
another living being. I chose to shut myself
off emotionally, throwing myself into the work,
never giving another thought to what I'd left
behind. She...might not have needed me to
protect her. Despite all she must have been
going through, she, too, became a master of
exteriors. She fought to keep herself together,
to keep her life under her sole control as long
as she could. She might not have needed it...
but I sure as hell did. I needed to be needed
again. I hadn't realized how much.

	I realized how much I *wanted* to be
needed when he came back. Mulder. When he came
back and she didn't need me anymore.

	I didn't hate him.

	I envied him.

	I envied how much she needed *him*, I
envied.... He was lucky. Even after all that had 
gone wrong on "his watch"...she never blamed him. 
In fact, surviving everything they had together 
made *them* stronger. That bond had been stretched, 
twisted, worn...but never broken. It held fast.

	I rub my forehead with the back of my
hand, the condensation on the water bottle
dripping onto my skin.

	Kelly blamed me for our failed marriage.
Said it was my work. I never had time for her.
She always had to worry. And...of course, she
blamed me for Luke. Conception and disappearance. 
If you asked her, *I* was the root of all evil, 
the source of all unhappiness.

	*She* never blamed him.

	I envied him a love like that.

	She looks up and smiles at me as I enter
the office, holding the phone to her ear. When
she speaks, her voice is bright and warm,
affectionate, the smile lingering on her face
and in her eyes.

	Lucky bastard.

	I wave the bottle at her and grin. When I
speak, my accent is thick. "Tell Mouldah hi for
me."

	She pauses, giving me a surprised look.
Then she says into the receiver, "Agent Doggett
says hello."

	"Actually," I mutter, "If I recall
correctly, the word I used was 'hi.'"

	She rolls her eyes at me and laughs
lightly.

	Perching myself on the corner of my desk,
I pick up the pills and continue watching her
talk to him.

	"Yes.  Mmm hmm.  Soon."  She swivels in
her chair, turning away from me. For privacy, I
assume.  I pop the second pill into my mouth and
take another swig of water. I can still hear
her, faintly. I shouldn't listen, but I think
I'm trying.

	"Mulder?"  She pauses.  "Mulder?  Mulder!"
There is another pause, then I hear it...and
my heart swells in happiness for her.  I know
how much she means it, how much it means to her
to say it. "I love you."  She's silent again.
Her head droops, and she rests her cheek on her
shoulder. Her shoulders shake as she laughs
softly. "Mmm hmm. Give Mommy's big boy a kiss
for me." Her laughter brightens the room as she
swivels again to face her desk. "Well, that's
not what I meant, but I suppose I've got one for
you, too. I'll see you soon." Her smile is
swept away by a sudden seriousness. "Oh, Mulder?
I was looking for a file...umm...the Thompson 
murders? You remember, the ritualistic beatings 
in North-- Yes. You wouldn't happen to remember 
the file num--" She grabs a pen quickly, making 
swift strokes on the note pad. "I knew you 
would." Without a goodbye, she hangs up the 
phone.

	I would think that were odd, if it weren't
them.

	She tears off the page and pulls her coat
off the back of her chair. Handing the scrap of
paper to me, she puts on her coat.

	"I'll be late on Monday. Mulder and I--"

	I find myself wondering how long they'll
be married before she dares call him "Fox." The
thought makes me grin.

	"--are taking Will to the hospital for a
check-up. When Agent Reyes comes in, could you
see that she gets that? We'd been looking for
that file..." My face drops as I study the
paper. "Agent Doggett?"

	I look up at her.

	"John." I give her a somewhat incredulous
look. She rarely did that...which made it even 
more pleasing to hear. "You're still coming over 
for dinner tomorrow night, aren't you?" I shrug. 
"Mulder thought you might want to discuss the 
uh--well, the--" She falters, then points to the 
file I'd left at the far corner of my desk. "The 
'spider-man.'"

	"Do I--"

	"He enjoys it. Really. It makes it easier 
for him to be...." A sadness shines in her eyes, 
and I reach out to lightly press her arm.

	"I'll be there."

	She smiles and walks to the door, picking
up her keys as she passes her desk. "Good." She 
waves in my direction. "You take care of that 
hand."

	"I will."

	I hear her footsteps echo down the hall.
They always get faster the further away she 
gets. She's running to him, I think to myself.
She'll always be running to him. I know that
with certainty. She spends her days with me...
for that, for her companionship alone, I am
grateful. But, at night....

	She goes home to him.

	Lucky bastard.

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

END