Title: Finding Another Way

Author: spookycc

Rating: PG 13

Summary: I'm sure there are many stories to be told of the
implications of the super soldiers, the contaminated water, and the
new crises within the FBI. This ain't one of `em. ;-p It's a FitB
for "NIHTII", first person Scully POV

Classification: V A DSF/DSR. Very DF ;-)

Spoilers: NIHTI, NIHTII, general US Season 8

Disclaimer: No characters, human or canine, are mine. And I haven't
seen a paycheck for my writings yet, 1013. ;-D

Archive: I'll take care of Ephemeral and Gossamer. Anywhere else is
fine – drop me a line to let me know where you're puttin' it. SHODDS
and OBSDS sites: if you want it, it's yours.

Author's notes at end.

Feedback welcomed at spookycc@earthlink.net

Dedication: As ever, to Doggett's Bitch (f/k/a "Fox's Vixen" :), my
beta and so much more. My soulmate, always. And for girlassassin,
faithful friend and rising star.

Thanks to my sisters at SHODDS and those who have formed the basis
for my new group, OBSDS. A great bunch of slobbering Doggett fans. :)

Special thanks to Robert Patrick, the man who brings our beloved John
Doggett to life.

**

Shipyard
Baltimore, MD

I can't believe I'm running away from what may be the only clue to
the truth about my son. With only John's word that there is a bomb on
board this ship. But I haven't doubted John Doggett, not for a long
time, and I won't start again now.

The first explosion is deafening, the concussion only pushing us
faster toward our car. A few more steps and we'll be there. Secondary
explosions rip through the hull of the old ship, as we reach the
relative safety of the car. We crouch beside it, using what little
shelter it offers as a shield from the hot metal falling around us.

My nostrils are assaulted by the smell of explosives, of fire, as we
huddle behind the car. Then relative quiet descends on us, and the
only noises are the crackling, burning sounds of anything on the ship
that wasn't metal, anything that can burn. Probably including any
proof I may have had that my son's life was tampered with, even as it
miraculously began.

I feel John's arm around me, his body draped protectively over my
own. I pull myself from within his grasp, looking beyond him,
straining to see if there might be some way to get back on that ship.
I have to find out if my name is on that test subject list. How else
can I explain William's strange behavior?

As the crackle of flames dies down, I hear a sound - a quiet sound,
like a sigh. I turn back towards John, and his glazed eyes lock with
mine, pulling me from my own thoughts. He starts to fall, and I slip
my hands around him, as he goes limp within my grasp.

Monica is beside us in a second, and together we lower him gently to
the concrete. I glance up at her and she nods. She disappears with
her cell, around the back of the car, to afford us some privacy,
while she calls 911.

John had said he was "fine" when we found him looking over the pier,
where only ripples of water told the story of what had happened
there. Of course, I'd believed him – I was so intent on getting to
the lab on board that I hadn't questioned him for a moment. Now I see
that the "I'm fine" line isn't mine to misuse, exclusively.

He is just barely conscious. I sit beside him on the cold cement, and
run a hand gingerly over his face, stroking a few strands of wet hair
from his forehead. He winces when my hand crosses his cheek. I pull
out my flashlight, and see his face – really see his face – for the
first time since we boarded the ship.

My God. How could I not have seen the extent of his injuries before
now? His taut, sculpted features are marred by scrapes, and welts
that will most certainly bruise. Dried blood traces telltale paths
beneath his nostrils. Who the hell did this to him? The man he called
Knowle? The same man who went over the edge of the pier?

I shake my head. The conspiracy is more confusing to me now that it
ever was - more personal, more urgent. And this man is getting caught
in the middle of it, because of his concern for me.

My selfless side, if I truly have one, would urge John to walk away
from the X-Files, for his own sake. In fact, I told him he should
have taken the transfer that Kersh offered him. But I know the truth -
not Mulder's truth, Doggett's truth. If I were in any way involved,
he would not willingly step away. And, to be honest, I'm not sure I
would able to ask him that, at this point. I need his help to find
out what's wrong with William.

The wind-fanned flames hiss above us, as a breeze comes up off the
water, and John starts to shiver. A combination of shock and the
nighttime air, my clinical side tells me. I pull my coat off, and lay
it gently over him. He seems suddenly vulnerable, now, lying here
beside me.
He's having some trouble breathing – his breath hitches every few
moments, and he tries to cough, his face contorting with pain. I run
my hand under his sweatshirt, and I feel a tender spot on the right
side of his chest. I don't know how he got Knowle Rohrer over the
side of that pier, but he certainly took a beating first. I feel
tears stinging in my eyes. Monica reappears with a flashlight and a
blanket from the trunk of the car. We tuck it in around John, and his
shivering eases a bit.

"I called A.D. Skinner, too. He's on his way."

I nod, barely hearing her words.

Damn my own personal crusade to find the truth about my pregnancy, my
son. It blinds me to everything, just as Mulder's quest for the truth
always did to him. Tears slip from my eyes, and for once, I don't try
to hide them. I feel a hand on my arm, and look into Monica's face.
She smiles a reassuring smile, and her eyes speak words she doesn't
need to say. She knows, then, how I feel about John.

The ambulance arrives, followed closely by A.D. Skinner. He joins us
beside our windowless rental car, and watches in silence as the EMT's
prep John for transport. Skinner spent a lot of time fruitlessly
looking for Doggett, after he lost him at the water reclamation
plant. I know he thought John got out ok. And I guess he did, though
not without Shannon's help. I still don't understand her real role in
all this, either.

Too many questions. Too many doubts. Too many subversives with too
many agendas. And here we are, in the middle of it all. Even with
Mulder gone, it revolves around us. Around me.

I watch them load John in the back of the EMS unit. John Doggett has
only one agenda, and he's never tried to hide that fact from anyone.
Why did it take so long for me to see it?

Skinner takes my arm, and I follow him and Monica to his car, my mind
numb. We follow the ambulance to the hospital. After a stop in ER,
Doggett is released, with a bagful of prescription pain meds I'll
probably have to force him to take. Skinner and Monica help me settle
John into Skinner's rental, for the drive back to D.C. As Monica and
Skinner talk quietly up front, I watch over John, beside me in the
back seat. Carefully strapped in, his head lolls gently against the
headrest, as he loses his battle against sleep.

I sit quietly, watching the shallow breaths my partner takes. He has
finally allowed his body to yield to the injuries he must have been
covering with strength borne of adrenaline and determination. Back on
the dock, while I still scanned the burning vessel for some means to
find the lab again, his eyes had remained open only long enough to
assure himself that I was ok, before he'd passed out in my arms.


**

Falls Church, Virginia
Early the next morning

I awaken with a start, not knowing immediately why. Then I hear a
yell, and I kick off my blanket and rush from Doggett's guest bedroom
to his own. John thrashes wildly, tangled in the sheet and blankets.
Harsh coughs are trapped in his throat, but it doesn't slow him down.

I grab one of his arms, trying foolishly to hold him down – he simply
throws me to the floor and continues fighting his nightmare. I find
my footing, flip on a light, and grab his head, holding it tightly
within my hands. "Agent Doggett!" No response. "John!"

His struggling stops at once, and his head falls limply into my
hands - they are the only things holding him up. I lay a hand behind
his neck, and ease him back down onto the pillow. His eyes open a
bit. He stifles a few more raspy coughs, and his forehead wrinkles
with pain as he puts a hand on his side. He has bruised ribs, and was
lucky to get away without any of them broken.

I sit beside Doggett, wiping the sweat-spiked hair from his forehead.
He still bears other wounds as well, from the one-sided fight he had
with his old friend Knowle Rohrer, when he stalled Rohrer long enough
for Monica and me to get away. His left cheek is swollen, the last
vestige of an attack that almost cracked his jaw, and could have cost
John his life if another "old friend" – Shannon McMahon – hadn't
interfered. Before she and Rohrer were lost in the waters off the
pier.

I think back again to our narrow escape on those same docks. And I
remember John kneeling protectively over me, while the ship and its
lab exploded. He would not have been anywhere else, I know. Quite
literally, watching my back, as he has always done.

He's fighting the pain meds - his eyes strain to focus. Finally, they
come to rest on me, and he lets a breath out, slowly.

"You were dreaming about drowning again." It's not a question, but he
nods weakly, anyway. We remain silent for a short time, as his ragged
breathing evens out. He looks pensive, preoccupied.

"Dana, I'm sorry," he states simply.

"Sorry for what?" I look at him, puzzled.

"That you didn't find the truth on that ship." He shakes his
head. "Not enough time."

That is so much the John Doggett I know. "It's ok." I try to reassure
him.

I run fingers softly through his hair, and watch as his face relaxes.
I hear his soft words before sleep claims him once more. "We'll find
another way."

I smile, and sigh in wonder, as I watch John drift off to sleep. This
man has been to hell and back, all for me. I'm only now learning he
has demons of his own. I hope I can help him face them, as he has
helped me.

My life has possibly never been as confusing, as full of questions,
as it is now. But I have the rock-solid knowledge that John will be
right here. And I have no doubt that we will find the answers. He
told me we would. And he's never let me down yet.


**

Shameless plugs:

The Order of Blessed Saint Doggett the Selfless (OBSDS) website:

http://www.oocities.org/spookycc/OBSDS.html

And the OBSDS egroup page:

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/OBSDS