Title: Strangers in the Night Author: Agent X Summary: A long time ago in a galaxy far, far awayÉ Doggett meets someone in New York Category: AU, A, pre-XF Keywords: Doggett's life before The X Files, Luke Doggett's kidnapping Spoilers: minor season 8 Timeline: ermÉ about a year after Sleepless (2x04) Disclaimer: The characters in this story are the property of the genius Chris Carter, 1013 and Fox and Jack Daniel's belongs to the alcoholics of the world Archive: anywhere you like, just let me know please Feedback: Good or bad, to aussie_xphile25@yahoo.com.au . Flames will be read and laughed at by the SHODDS mailing list Dedication: For Mischa - my fellow Aussie SHODDSister - hope you're feeling better soon! And also, as always, to the wonderful Robert Patrick, who has inspired me to write this by bringing the character of John Doggett to life! _ Author's Note: at the end * No beta reader used. Please excuse the typos * * * * Strangers in the Night Detective John Doggett guided his car into the driveway and killed the engine. He sat there for a moment, dreading going into the house; dreading what had awaited him at home every day for the last two months. Those last two months had been the worst of his life, and he couldn't see the near future getting any better. Two months ago he had the closest thing to a perfect life anyone could wish for. He had a beautiful wife and a young son, both of whom he loved with all his heart. He was dedicated to his job with the NYPD, but always found time to spend with his wonderful family. One fateful day, two months ago, it had all changed. He closed his eyes as he recalled his wife's frantic voice over the phone. His son Luke had walked to school alone, but had never arrived. He remembered trying to stay calm as he assured her everything would be okay. He remembered hanging up the phone and staring at the files that lay open on his desk. Four boys missing in the past weekÉ no leadsÉ no suspectsÉ was his son the fifth? Now, even after months of relentless searching, he and the other police were no closer to finding the boys than they were when the case was opened. John Doggett was beginning to doubt whether they would ever find the boys at all. Shaking his head to rid himself of the thought, he got slowly out of the car and headed into the house. For once his wife didn't meet him at the door, and for that he was thankful. He could hardly bear seeing the desperation in her eyes when he came home at nights; the unasked question to which he still had no answer. Closing the front door behind him, he hung his coat in the hall and called out to his wife. "Julia? Honey, are you home?" "In here," came the answer from the lounge. He walked into the room to discover her in a thick winter coat, with two large suitcases on the floor next to her. She looked at him but said nothing. "Julia? Is everything alright?" he asked, wondering about the suitcases. She sat down on the edge of an armchair and shook her head. "No, John, everything isn't alright. It hasn't been alright for a long time." John's brow furrowed in confusion as he sat on the couch across from her. "I don't understand." She sighed. "I have to get out of here, John," she began, close to tears. "I can't be in this house anymore, I can't live surrounded by all these memories. I can't stand being reminded of Luke every time I turn around." He was stunned. In the months since Luke's disappearance, the only thing that had kept him sane was the memories of the happy times he and his son had together in the house. He had lost count of the nights he had crept quietly into Luke's bedroom and gone to sleep on his son's bed. Leaving all the memories behind, packing up Luke's belongings, was almost unthinkable, but if it meant helping his wife come to terms with their loss, he would do it. He walked over to where she was sitting and put his arms around her. "Honey, you should have told me you didn't want to stay here. We can move somewhere else, if it will make things a little easier for you." She pulled away from his embrace and shook her head. "No, John, you don't understand. I don't want any reminders ofÉof what we *had*. I can't deal with the fact that we're never going to see our son again. IÉ" "You what?" John cut her off, suddenly angry. "You want to pack up all his things in boxes, throw his toys in the trash. Do you want to pretend that he never existed in the first place?" She was startled at his outburst. "NoÉ I can't forget himÉ I'll never forget him, John. I just can't be reminded of him every second of every day. You have no idea what it's like, John, sitting around here all day. Everywhere I turn I'm reminded of him. Always reminding me of what *might* have been, what we could have had if this hadn't happened." John didn't say anything. He couldn't believe she had given up so easily on finding Luke alive. Even after months of searching, he still had hope that they would find all the boys alive. No matter how false that hope seemed at times, it was what got him out of bed in the mornings. He sighed. "Okay," he said slowly. "What do you want us to do? Do you want us to move somewhere else?" Julia shook her head, her bottom lip quivering ever so slightly. "John, you still don't understand. I said I can't deal with reminders of Luke," she paused. "AndÉ and *you* remind me, John. Every time I look at you I remember Luke." Realisation suddenly dawned on John's face. He felt like someone had punched him. "What are you saying?" he asked quietly. "What does this mean for us." She opened her mouth to answer and was interrupted by the doorbell. John looked out the window to see a taxi waiting in the street. He looked back to his wife. Her eyes were full of tears, but she still said the words he never wanted to hear. "There is no us anymore." She stared at him for a moment before reaching for one of her suitcases. He grabbed her arm, pulled her near and knelt in front of her. "Please, honey," he begged. "Don't do this. Don't leave. I love you. I *need* you. We can work this out. Please don't go." She stared down at him, tears spilling down her cheeks and dripping into his hair. She gently touched his face. "I will always love you, John," she said. "I'm sorry." With those words she picked up her suitcases and left. * * * An hour later, still in his suit and tie, he parked outside the local bar. He loosened his tie and sat there for a moment. He hadn't been to the bar over the last two months, although he'd been tempted many times. He had vowed to stay sober, to stay strong, for Julia's sake. Fat lot of good that did, he thought wryly to himself. It was time to catch up on those missed drinks. "Hey Johnny! Long time no see," called the fat bartender as John entered the bar and settled himself on one of the stools. "Yeah," replied John. "It has been a while." "What'll it be? The usual?" asked the bartender. John smiled and nodded. Less than a minute later he found a large beer and a couple of vodka shots in front of him. He downed the shots in seconds and motioned for some more. "Keep 'em coming, Roger," he called to the bartender. "One of those days, eh?" remarked Roger. "Yep," sighed John. "It's been one of those days." Over the next hour, John Doggett proceeded to drown his sorrows in an endless stream of beer and vodka. His vision was getting slightly blurry when someone spoke to him. "Excuse me? Is this seat taken?" He turned around to see a beautiful young woman standing by his side. She was fairly short, and had hair the colour of burnished copper and brilliant blue eyes. She was gorgeous. He motioned to the stool next to him. "Go ahead," he said, slurring his words slightly. She sat down next to him with a sigh. "Rough day?" he asked. She looked over at him and smiled. 'You could say that. I seem to be having a lot of them lately." "Tell me about it," he muttered. "Can I get you a drink?" She looked at his with a mixture of suspicion and amusement. "I'm just waiting for someone, actually," she replied, thinking he was making a move on her. She wasn't wrong, but he didn't let her know that. He raised his hands in mock surrender. "I'm not trying to pull a line on you, honest. You just look like you could use a drink." She regarded him with her brilliant blue eyes, before smiling and nodding. "Okay. I drink would be lovelyÉ MrÉ?" "John," he said, holding out his hand. "John Doggett." She shook his hand with a firm grip. "John, I'm Dana," she said. "Dana Scully." "Nice to meet you Dana. What can I get you to drink?" She eyes the empty shot glasses lined up on the bar in front of him. "I'd say I'll have what you're having, but I think you've already drunk enough for both of us. Just a Coke, thanks." John ordered the drink and they sat there in silence for a while. "So, Dana," he spoke up, making polite conversation. "What do you do for a living?" She took a sip from her glass and turned to face him a little. "I work for the FBI," she paused. "Does that scare you?" He snorted in laughter. "Nope, not at all," he said, reaching into his jacket and slapping his badge on the counter. "Detective John Doggett, NYPD, at your service ma'am." She laughed. "So Dana, what sort of work do you do at the FBI?" She hesitated for a moment, before continuing with a wry smile. "I work on something called the X-Files. Cases dealing with unexplained phenomena. Have you heard of them?" John thought for a moment. "Actually," he said slowly. "I think I have. About a year ago someone from the Bureau was investigating murders related to sleep disorders. One of the guys I worked with back then, Detective Horton, was helping an Agent Mulder with the case. Do you know him?" Dana's eyes lit up. "Agent Mulder's my partner on the X-Files!" she exclaimed. "Isn't it a small world?" "Sure is," he replied, having another shot of vodka. Dana regarded him with a thoughtful look. "You better not have to many more of those or you won't be able to find your way home, let alone get up for work in the morning." "Yes mother," he said with a cheeky smile. She returned his smile. "So, Detective, what do *you* do at work?" That question sobered him up. "IÉ uhÉ I've been working on a child abduction task force for the last few months." Dana was perceptive. She noticed the change in his demeanour and placed her hand on his arm. "It must be hard, working that kind of case." "Sure is," he sighed. "How many kids have gone missing?" she asked, genuinely interested in the case. "Eight that we know of," he said. "Maybe more that we don't." "God," she said. "Do you have any leads." He drained another shot glass and slammed it down on the bar before answering. "Not a damn thing," he said with a sigh. "I can only imagine how it would feel to lose a child like that," Dana mused, sipping her Coke. "It must be horrible." John swallowed and closed his eyes. He didn't know whether it was the alcohol, the lack of sleep or the sudden departure of his wife earlier that night that was having such an effect on him. Whatever the reason, his emotions were dangerously close to the surface and after two months of bottling up everything inside, he was having trouble keeping it in. He felt a small, warm hand on his arm and opened his eyes. Dana saw the brightness in his eyes and rubbed his arm a little. "You'll find them," she said quietly. "You'll find them." John stared into her eyes. She wasn't only beautiful, she was kind and compassionate too. He was a complete stranger, yet she listened and offered comfort like an old friend. "You know," she continued, still gently rubbing his arm. "Talking about it sometimes helps." John had only known Dana for an hour, if that, but he felt he could tell her anything. He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a photo. "This is my son, Luke," he said, handing the photo to her. The boy in the photo smiled, as always, and she smiled back. "He was the fifth to go missing." The smile vanished from her face and her mouth opened as she turned to him with a look of shock. "Oh my GodÉ" was all she could say. Because it was the easiest thing to do, he continued talking. "That was two months ago. Just like the other boys, he disappeared without a trace. No witnesses, no suspects, not even a ransom demand. My wife left tonight. She doesn't believe we're going to find Luke. She doesn't want to be reminded of him all the timeÉ so she leftÉ" Dana looked as though she was still trying to absorb what he had said. "I'm so sorry, John," she whispered, her own eyes bright with unshed tears. She was still holding the photo. John reached over and took it from her, putting it back in the breast-pocket of his shirt. "Feels like I'm close to him that way," he said with a sad smile. She started to say something but her cell phone starting ringing in her pocket. Giving John an apologetic glance, she turned away and answered the phone. "Scully? YeahÉ no, I'm still in New YorkÉ okay, where?" She pulled a notebook out of her pocket and scribbled something down. "Okay, I'll be there soon." She put the phone away and turned back to John, who was just starting on a fresh beer. "John, I'm really sorry but I have to go," she said, the reluctance to leave sounding clear in her voice. "Go ahead, Dana," he said, trying not to show his disappointment. "It was really nice meeting you and talking to youÉ and thanks." She put one hand on his shoulder and handed him a little piece of paper. "Glad I could help a little," she said. "AndÉ good luck." He knew what she meant and lowered his head. When he looked up again she was gone. Opening the piece of paper he saw it she had scribbled her name and cell phone number, along with a little message reading 'Ten years or ten minutes - I'll be here'. He smiled, his eyes filling with tears at her kind words. He never called on anyone for help, let alone someone who was almost a stranger; he dealt with his own demons. But just to know she was ready to listen was a comfort for him. "Ah hell, John," he said to himself. "Get over it, you're never gonna see her again." With that thought, he shifted from the uncomfortable bar stool to one of the booths, ordered a bottle of Jack Daniel's and proceeded to make good on his plan to forget everything but the bottle in front of him. * Two hours later the bar was almost empty. The only people left were a couple dancing in front of the jukebox in the corner, and one man slumped in a booth in the corner, a bottle of Jack's empty in his hands. Dana had left to meet her partner Fox Mulder, and to follow up a lead on their case, but it had turned out to be nothing. Heading back to the motel, she couldn't get John Doggett out of her mind. She could still hear him talking in a low rumble, and see the sadness in his eyes when he told her about his son. She had only just met him, but there was something about him, about his demeanour back in the bar that made her want to check up on him, just to be sure he was okay. She had no idea where he lived, but she had a sneaking suspicious she'd find him still at the bar. As the door opened, the bartender turned towards the sound, opening his mouth to tell whoever it was they were closed. He stopped when he saw Dana Scully standing by the door. He had seen her talking to John earlier. "Is he still here?" she asked the bartender, her cheeks flushed from the biting wind outside. He pointed to the booth in the corner. In any other circumstances she would have laughed at the sight of someone blink drunk and passed out in a bar, but she wasn't laughing this time. She sat down next to him and started prising the empty bottle from his iron grip. He didn't respond. She set the bottle down on the table and shook him gently by the shoulders. "John," she called softly. "John, wake up." He groaned a little. She shook him again, a bit harder. "John!" He started awake and stared at her with glassy eyes. "Wha-?" he slurred, blinking in a feeble attempt to focus, swaying slightly back and forth where he was sitting. She put both her hands on his arms to steady him. "John, it's Dana, Dana Scully. Do you remember me?" He blinked again and stared at her a bit longer. "Yeeeah, I 'member," he slurred. "Talked t'you 'before. Thought you leftÉ" "I came back to see you, John," Dana said, "I was worried about you." He laughed a little. "Worried? Nuttin' to worry 'bout, I'm fine," he said, then noticed the empty bottle on the table. "Hey, s'all gone. Better get some more." He started to get up but Dana stopped him. "No, no more to drink tonight," she said, reaching into his jacket pocket to find his car keys. "I'm going to drive you home, okay?" "I can drive," he said, attempting to snatch the keys from her and failing. "Drive?" she snorted. "I doubt you can stand without help, John." "Can so," he muttered, rising unsteadily to his feet. Dana stood up too and watched as he took about three steps towards the bar and tripped over a stool, landing flat on his back on the ground. "Are you okay?" she said, bending over him. He nodded. "Guess I shouldn't drive then, eh?" he said with a sheepish grin. "Come on," she said, hauling him to his feet. "Where's your car?" * Half an hour later Dana pulled into the driveway of the address on John's driver's license. She was hoping he still lived in the same place, since he had passed out in the passenger seat soon after finding the car and therefore had given her no directions. Going to the front door, she discovered the key next to the one for the car unlocked the door. She flicked a light on in the house and headed back to the car. She unbuckled the seatbelt and shook him awake. "Come on, John," she said. "You're home." Raised his head for a moment, looked around him and then slumped back into the seat. Dana sighed. She doubted she was strong enough to haul him into the house by herself, but maybe if she got him out of the car he would wake up enough for her to get him inside. Wrapping her arms around his chest, she pulled him out of the car as gently as she could. The shock of the cold air was enough the wake John up a little, and he wrapped an arm around Dana's shoulder and they managed to struggle inside. She helped him to the couch in the living room and went back out to lock the car. When she returned he had slumped sideways into the soft pillows, one arm hanging over the edge of the couch, almost touching the floor. Dana stood above him, really looking at him for the first time. In sleep, the lines and creases across his forehead all but vanished, making him seem younger than she had first thought. Asleep, he didn't look like a man whose only son had been kidnapped by a madman. He didn't look like a man who had been beating the pavement for two months in the hope of finding the tiniest clue. In the dim light even the dark circles under his eyes appeared to be tricks of the light. He looked peaceful, he looked happy. Dana knew there was nothing more she could do for him. Sleeping was the best medicine right now, to rid his body of the excessive amount of alcohol, anyway. As for his other ailments, Dana knew for a fact that the only medicine for grief was time. Carefully, so as not to wake him, she lifted his feet up so they were resting on the end of the couch. She removed his heavy shoes and draped a nearby blanket over his legs and torso. Picking up his crumpled jacket from the ground, she reached into the pocket and found the piece of paper she had given him earlier. Re-reading what she had written, she smiled to herself, and then at the man lying in front of her. Just from knowing him for one night, she knew John Doggett wasn't the sort of man to be calling on anyone for help. In fact, he reminded her a bit of herself. She was such a closed book for so much of the time, especially after the loss of her sister. Back then, she'd been in such a dark place even her mother hadn't been able to reach her. Thanks to the patience and persistence of her family and friends though, she'd made it out of that dark place and was able to look towards the future with a smile again. She knew that one day, whether he believed it or not, John would find his way out of his own dark place, too. Leaving John's keys and her note on the coffee table, she quietly let herself out, letting the door lock behind her. Walking down the street in the chilly night air, she turned for one last glance at his house. She wasn't sure why, but something about John Doggett had a profound effect on her. She always helped people when she could, even if they were strangers, but never to the extent of driving them home! She didn't know whether it was his eyes, his voice or the mutual feeling of loss they shared, but something about that man had her wishing he would call on her. For help, for a laugh, for a chat, it didn't matter. She just hoped that one day they would be more than just strangers in the night. ~ the end ~ Author's Notes: Okay firstly, continuity - what's that? Secondly, don't ask me why Scully would be a) in a bar, b) talking to someone she's never met and, c) showing all the compassion and understanding she does in this ficÉ I don't give a toss *why* she listens to and helps DoggettÉ she just does, okay?? And thirdlyÉ to the DoggettHaters who are apparently going to "review" DoggettFic - this amuses me because, if you didn't already know, to *review* something you have to *read* it first. Do you think that you can handle that? If you can, I don't think you hate Doggett as much as you say you doÉ