Author: spookycc

Rating: PG 13

Summary: Scully sees a side of Doggett she's never seen before…

Classification: V A DSF/DSR

Spoilers: For S8 so far. Vague reference to Via Negativa and
Roadrunners. Takes place sometime before "Alone".

Disclaimer: No characters, human or canine, are mine.

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
sites and Doggship Li-berry help yerselves. ;-p

Feedback welcomed at spookycc@earthlink.net
Flames will be used to bbq peeps.

Dedication: As ever, to the world's best beta, Doggett's Bitch
(f/k/a "Fox's Vixen" :). My soulmate, always. Also for girlassassin,
faithful fan and rising star. And to all my sisters at SHODDS. You're
the best!

Trout-slap me for never having thanked, in `*any* of my previous
works, the man without whom we wouldn't even `*know* John Doggett.
Special thanks, not that he'll ever see this, to Robert Patrick. His
energy and positive attitude were so refreshingly new to this Phile,
and I think there's a lot of Mr. Patrick in Agent Doggett. (I mean
that in the best way.)
 
 

> ****

"No More A Stranger"
 

The case we've labored on for weeks has come to this. One single man,
the last of an elite group of government assassins. The man we pursue
has worked in Black Ops – a shadow government within the government –
eliminating "enemies of the State" that were too clever to be
prosecuted. Our taxes paid for him to kill. Now that money pays for
our search for him. He's eluded us for weeks. He's cunning, with
connections God only knows how high in the government. Doggett and I
have already called for backup, as we search the Carolina warehouse
he just fled into.

Guns drawn, we creep from room to room, knowing he is also armed,
hoping against hope that backup will hurry the hell up. Our eyes
adjust slowly to the darkness as we systematically move from one room
to the next, in touch with each other only by glances and nods.

A shot hits me – the sound almost as exquisitely stunning as the
pain – and I tumble helplessly to the floor. I scramble as best I can
to get behind some crates, out of the line of fire.

Doggett is there in an instant. Concern is written all over his face.
I nod once, letting him know I'm ok. I got hit in the left arm,
nothing vital.

And then I see it. As soon as he knows as I'm all right, the concern
is replaced by.... *something*. It seems to come from deep within
him. It's a look I've never before been privy to, and one I truly
hope I never see again.

His steely blue eyes are almost black with hatred, the furrows above
his eyes knotted tightly. He turns to face down the man who shot me.
I can only lie helplessly, regaining my wits, as he brings his gun to
bear on the man.

I hear five shots, in quick succession. I don't even know if the man
ever fired back.

Then this - this stranger - is gone, and my partner is beside me once
more. But was I seeing a stranger, or merely seeing Agent Doggett
more clearly than I ever did before? A man who would do anything for
me.

Now he is the calm, compassionate man I know. His face relaxes in an
instant of retransformation. Once again, his eyes are steel blue,
softened in color only by his concern for me. I hear his cell call to
911 as though from a distance. Then he kneels at my side, as I try to
sit up. He brings a knee up and rests my back against it, supporting
my back and neck, his arms protectively wrapped around me. For the
briefest moment I experience a vivid flashback. He held me like this
once before. In the hospital, after I killed the bounty hunter I
thought I recognized as Skinner.

I covered my face then, I remember. I'm sorry now that I did. I
wanted to hide myself from him, this interloper who would presume to
help me find Mulder. Now this man knows me as well as Mulder ever
did – he has seen me through joys and sorrows that no one should have
to face alone. And thanks to Doggett, I didn't have to.

He was always there. He is always here. He belongs with me, as much
as Mulder did. No more do I report to the basement office to find it
empty, with no idea where my partner has gone. My partner is *here*.

I did the only ditching in this partnership, months ago, when I
traveled to Juab County, Utah, on a medical consultation. I still
tell myself that's why I didn't tell Doggett where I was going.
Purely a medical matter, I assure myself. No need to disturb Doggett
on a weekend.

The truth is, I didn't want him along, not then. If I couldn't work
with Mulder, I would just as soon work alone. So I ditched Doggett.
It almost cost me my life.

Instead, Doggett found me. Knowing only the county I disappeared in.
He was uninvited – hell, at that stage of my life, un*wanted*.
Skinner has since told me of Doggett's immediate concern for me, when
he realized I hadn't checked in at the sheriff's office. The
subsequent search, Skinner said, consumed Doggett, who was unable to
eat, unable to sleep, until he was by my side once more.

How could I ask for more from a partner?

"Hey-" His tone is worried, and I rejoin him in the here and
now. "You zoned out on me there."  I look up to meet his concerned
gaze. "Help's comin'. You ok?"

I offer him a weak nod. "Yeah, I'll be fine."

I hear something like a sigh escape his lips. I've heard it once
before, and my heart races with worry. His grip on me loosens, and he
lets me down lightly. He rests my back against a stack of pallets.
And then I see it.

Blood soaks through his shirt at the shoulder. My attacker did shoot
him. Before I can reach up to help him, he collapses beside me, like
a puppet with its strings cut.

My own injured arm forgotten until it throbs in protest, I roll him
gently over onto his side. Pulling his shirt open with one good arm
isn't easy, but I need to assess his condition. That's what my
clinical side is telling me. I can't even begin to decipher what my
emotional side is telling me.

The entry wound is in his upper right chest. The exit wound – not as
large as I feared – shows the shot went through cleanly. My most
immediate concern is slowing the blood loss. It's going to be
painful, but it would be best for Doggett to sit up, if he can. I
kneel at his side and lift him gently, and he is rewarded for the
effort by what must be pain redoubled. His eyes squeeze tightly shut,
and his forehead is a creased maze. I sit behind him, making a "V"
out of my legs and resting him between them, leaning him back a bit.
This way, I can keep the pressure on the exit wound using the
mechanical advantage of my own body. I fold my trench coat into a
manageable square, and press it against his back.

It's more than a little awkward, due to my 8-month's pregnant
stomach, but I hold him tightly. I wrap my suit jacket around his
still form, to keep him warm, to ward away shock.

I hear a soft moan, and Doggett's eyes flutter open, his head resting
against my shoulder. He starts to speak, but I press a finger to his
lips. "Shhhh. Relax. Lean on me." I try to
discourage him from talking. Any activity that requires upper-body
movement right now, talking included, isn't going to help the
bleeding.

I think back to the conversation we had in the car on the way here. I
had been pondering Doggett, truth be told. This man whose world seems
now to revolve around me. I remember the concern in his voice. I
always remember that. 'Hey - Scully. Everything OK?"

I had smiled up at him, then. "I was just thinking about something…"

"You wanna share?"

I remember shaking my head. "No… It's not important."

It `*was* important. It is important. More important than anything
else on my mind. But I couldn't bring myself to share it with him.
Part of me still bottles these feelings protectively inside. I've let
Doggett in as much as I can, right now.

I watch helplessly as pain is reflected in the jagged features of his
face beside mine. My hand pushes harder on the compress I'm using on
the exit wound, willing him to hold on. The part of me that almost
told this man what he means to me, here, tonight, is fraught with
worry that now I might not have that chance again.

Sirens in the distance – I've never welcomed the sound quite so much
as I do here, now. The ambulances arrive the same time as our backup.
Feast or famine. I shrug off their ministrations, and let them know
in no uncertain terms that I can wait. Doggett can't. He has not
awakened since they arrived. That worries me, though at least he is
spared the pain while he is asleep – or unconscious. But he is so
still. So unlike the dogged agent I'm accustomed to.

I don't need to use my status as an MD to hitch a ride in the EMS
unit with Doggett, not this time. I sit on one side bench, and they
tend to my arm as we make our way to the nearest hospital. My
attention is pulled away, time and again, as they ask me for
pertinent medical information, both on Doggett and on myself. When I
am not thus occupied, my gaze never wanders from where he lies. Still
out of it. An oxygen mask covers his face.

I miss the piercing gaze he usually levels me with. Or the softly
concerned blue eyes he locks with mine when he's worried about me.
Which he pretty much has been, since he joined the X-Files. I can see
neither of them now. All I have is the beeping of the monitors to
reassure me that he's ok.

I realize now, at this moment, how much I will miss this man, when I
take my pregnancy leave. I guess I'd never thought about it too much
before. He's done far more than watch my back. He's saved my ass,
more than once. But it's more than that. How could I have looked into
those soulful blue eyes so many times, and not see what I saw in them
tonight?

I've felt Doggett's protectiveness toward me since the day he was
assigned to the X-Files. The day his fast train to the directorship
derailed and he was saddled with "Mrs. Spooky."

I've been so focused - hell, *obsessed* - with finding Mulder. I
never opened my eyes, let alone anything more, to the man who was
standing before me. The man who now lies on the stretcher next to me.
With the stunning clarity of a single bell tolling at midnight,
finally I see. Finally I understand.

The stranger I thought I saw tonight wasn't a stranger at all. He
was - he *is* - the man who loves me. Loved me probably almost - I
nearly laugh, choke on it, and let the tears fall - almost from the
cup of water...

And when he wakes up, I'll find a way to tell him. I don't know when
it began for me, but I know that at some point it did.

I'll wait for him to wake up. When he does, I hope I can muster the
courage to tell him that I love him, too.
 

--fini--