Author: spookycc

Rating: Possibly PG, nothing more than the ep.

Classification: Fill-in-the-blanks for "The Gift", from the POV of the
creature's caretaker. DF -- *Doggett Friendly*

Summary: What does Mr. Pukey's caretaker think of these two Special Agents she's met?

Spoilers: Um, yes. :) For "The Gift". To be safe, for S8 so far.

Disclaimer: No characters, human or canine, are mine. And no dogs were
harmed in the making of this fanfic. :)

Feedback welcomed at spookycc@earthlink.net

Dedication: As ever, to Doggett's Bitch (f/k/a "Vixen" :). My soulmate,
always. Thanks for the much-needed input on this!

No beta-reader was used. All typos are my own.

***
 
 

When I first met him, I knew he was not like the other agent - the man who came here seeking the soul-eater almost a year ago. Agent Mulder came here to be healed, eyes open and spirit hopeful. But this man I met only yesterday, his eyes are closed. He did not see the creature's powers. He genuinely didn't believe that such a creature even existed, I am sure. That's why I didn't try to help him any more than I did. It would have done no good. I only told him that he had the story backward, in his mind, and let it go at that.

He came back here tonight, after he took Marie to the hospital - as if she needed that help anymore. He now knows why Mulder *really* came here - to be cured. He also has realized, with my help, that Mulder never *was* healed. Mulder couldn't bear to put the creature through any more suffering, after he saw the pain in its eyes. If only his well-intentioned shooting had worked. The creature can't be killed that way, but until Mulder tried, we didn't know that.

While we speak, the creature enters the room quietly. Agent Doggett sees me looking toward it, and turns his attention there as well. I hear his sharp intake of breath. It doesn't surprise me, not really. The creature's appearance can be quite disarming the first time you see it. The alarm passes quickly, I notice, looking into this man's face. And as the creature sobs before us, the look of alarm is replaced by one of compassion.

Agent Doggett wastes no time in asking me for a blanket (he already used his coat for Marie). I stand on the porch and watch as he helps the creature into his car. He knows we can't kill it, at least not in any way we know of, but he also knows he must get it away from here or it will be cruelly subjected to more suffering, curing the illnesses of everyone in town.

He closes the passenger door after settling the creature inside, and heads around the back of his car. Before he can get in, I see headlights coming up the road, and my heart pounds with fear. I can see the sheriff's truck, and he has brought other men with him. Men who feel, as he does, that the creature must stay here to help the townspeople.

Agent Doggett asks the sheriff and his posse to get out of his way. His tone is dead serious, but they don't budge. I can't see much of the exchange, but the FBI agent does not yield a step to the sheriff.

"You can't take it, Agent Doggett," the sheriff argues. "It belongs to us."

Doggett is steadfast. "This is a man. He doesn't belong to anybody."

The sheriff is insistent. "We have sick people. Sick people who need what it has," he speaks softly, but not without threat. "We're takin' it. You're free to go."

That would sound like an easy out to someone less committed. Agent Doggett does not move. "No sir. I'm drivin' this man outta here."

He turns to get into his car. I don't see any movement behind him, yet I am afraid. I wonder why the sheriff would give up this easily. I expected them to simply overpower the agent and take the creature.

Suddenly a shot rings out in the night. I see a flare of light behind Agent Doggett, and then he is thrown toward me. The only sound I hear is my own scream, as he falls soundlessly onto the drive.

The sheriff stands stock-still, smoke wisping from the end of his rifle. I am still in shock. I can't believe what I have seen. In the light from the truck headlamps, I look down to where Agent Doggett lies. I see his pale, blue-grey eyes. They are wide open. Yet I know they do not see.

The sheriff rolls him onto his side - leaves and dirt stick to the front of his shirt, held there by blood.

I hear a shout from the other side of the car - the creature has used the distraction to escape. I send up a prayer that it makes it safely away before they can find it. They don't even look. They know it will respond by instinct when it is needed. For insurance, they will mark the door of the next person they need healed. It will come back; they know it will.

I feel cowardice and shame, as I watch the sheriff and his men dig a shallow grave and bury the agent, not a hundred yards from my own house. Not that there was anything I could have done, but I didn't even try. This man deserves - *deserved* - better. He stood up to the townspeople led by Sheriff Fry, and lost his life in his stand. All this to protect a poor, sick creature who wants more than anything to die. I am not a woman of deep thoughts, but even so, the irony is not lost on me.

Agent Doggett did a brave, selfless thing simply because it was the right thing - the *only* thing - to do, and the men who killed him can't even be bothered to bury him decently.

After the men leave, I visit the unmarked grave. I *want* to cry even though I didn't know him that well. Someone *should* cry for a man like Doggett, but I'm just too shell-shocked, and the tears won't come. Instead, I say another prayer, that he finds his way to a better place than this.

I am awakened later in the night by sounds in the basement. Deeper than the basement, actually. Afraid that the creature has returned, afraid that it has not, I move the tattered old rug and swing open the trapdoor. I know my way - I need only the candlelight that is always here - and I step through the tunnels until I reach the cavern where the creature does its life's work.

I am shocked by what I find, by *who* I find. Within a shallow mold, covered in the fluid left by the creature's healing, I find the agent, Doggett. He is so still, I'm not sure if he is now alive. But he looks whole. The gaping exit wound that must have been in his chest is gone, replaced by smooth, pale flesh. I lean over him, and place my head close to his face. Yes, he is breathing.

I am astonished, and relieved, and once again in awe of the creature I have cared for all these years. As I regain my footing, my attention is caught by another figure, deeper in the cavernous room. It is the creature, lying flat on the ground, very still. I make my way to it quickly. It is dead.

For just a moment, I feel grief. But the creature's expression is so relaxed - almost happy. I realize this is what it wanted for so long. I linger at its side, unwilling to leave it, even though it can't know I'm here.

I hear a sound beside me, and look up. The agent stands above us, a puzzled look on his face. He kneels beside me, unmindful of his lack of clothing, and looks in wonder at the creature that saved him. If he has even thought that far, I don't know.

The agent kneels here, deep in thought. Again I am struck by the irony of life. I wonder at the nobility of the two men I was fortunate enough to meet, in my world here surrounded by selfishness and greed. A year ago, Agent Mulder threw away his chance to be healed, and tried to put this creature out of its misery, only to fail.

And tonight, this man, as noble as the first, stood unbowed by the men and their weapons, and tried to help the creature flee. He died trying to save it. The creature gave Agent Doggett back his life, and was rewarded with blessed death.

I try to explain all this to the puzzled, naked man before me. I look up at him, and tell him that even *I* did not know of this power the creature possessed. "He took your death... You freed him."

Agent Doggett looks at me thoughtfully. In death, his eyes have seen much more than they did in life. And now his eyes are truly open - he can see.
 

~fini~