Title: Gift of Life / Gift of Death

Author: spookycc

Rating: Possibly PG, nothing more than the ep.

Classification: Fill-in-the-blanks and post-ep for "The Gift", Doggett POV.
                                DF -- *Doggett Friendly*

Summary: Doggett's take on "The Gift".

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

Disclaimer: No characters, human or canine, are mine. <g>
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. This one's for you. They *all* are. "Jawn" speaks *through* me, but
*to* you.

And also for girlassassin. You rock my world with all your positive
feedback. Of course, since you don't read anyone else's fanfic, I could
really *suck* and you wouldn't even know it. <veg>

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

****

Gift of Life / Gift of Death


The miles pass beneath my tires. I'm halfway from D.C. to Pennsylvania
already. My mind is even further away. Memories come unbidden, causing
doubt. Causing guilt. I promised Agent Scully that I'd find Mulder. I'm no
closer now than I was when I told her that, some seven or eight months ago.

Leads have come and just ended up at one dead end or another. That's
probably what I'm pursuing now. I have to try, though. For my partner. For
me.

I meet with the local law enforcement at his office. The sheriff is less
than hospitable, but I've worked with worse. He saw Mulder last spring.
That's as close as we've come in a long time.

And now I find out the case was bogus. The woman Mulder was looking for
wasn't even missing at all. But his cell phone records place him here the
week before he disappeared. The sheriff wonders why I even care, and I
explain to him that it's my job to find him. He couldn't know it's so much
more than that. I owe this to Scully.

I spoke to her last night. She was vague, closed off. I asked if she was OK,
even though I was pretty sure she'd say she was fine and just go back into
that world of her own making. I *know* something's wrong, but maybe if I can
get closer to finding Mulder on this trip, it will help her. I hope so.

I spend a fruitless half-hour with the man and wife that Mulder went to see
last spring. They are no help at all. Damn. *Something* is going on.

****

I feel like an intruder, but just the same I'm gonna ransack Mulder's
apartment. I catch movement out of the corner of my eye and pause to feed
his fish. Amazing they're still alive. I turn out drawers, look under the
bed, dig through the kitchen wastebasket, and I'm just about to give it up
when I find it. A weapon. Taped under the kitchen sink, fer chrissakes.

Skinner meets me at the firearms unit. He knows about the weapon, alright,
but not why it was hidden. Tests show it was fired at close range three
times. I saw three gunshot-sized holes plastered over at the couple's house,
in Pennsylvania. Time to find out just how much more Skinner knows.

The case reports I found that Mulder submitted said he was in Washington on
two dates when his cell records confirm he was in Pennsylvania. Something
doesn't add up, and I'm not sure where Skinner stands in all this.

Skinner throws the files back on the desk. "Are you calling Mulder a liar?"

You'd think I'd accused Jesus or something. I show him the evidence I found
on the weapon. Skinner still remains unconvinced, even angry, and turns to
leave the room.

"Where're you goin'?" My question brings him back to face me.

"It's where *you're* going, Agent Doggett," he retorts. He is insistent that
Mulder didn't just disappear, that he *saw* Mulder abducted.

Sometimes it's hard to get through to the A.D. "Agent Mulder signed
falsified case reports-"

"C'mon, John, this isn't about Mulder - it's about *you*! Your career. You
give the FBI a narrative for Mulder's disappearance, you're off the X-Files
and back on the fast track to the Directorship."

There it is, then. He thinks I'm pursuing this for my own gain. He couldn't
be more wrong. "I'm just tryin' to find the truth."

"You want the truth?" he shoots back. "Then ask Agent Scully."

"I can't do that."

"Why not?!"

By now my voice is raised as well. "Because she-" I pause, try to pull my
frustration back within me, and lower my voice once more. "Because *she*
signed those case reports, too." I drop my gaze to the floor. I don't want
Skinner to see how this affects *me*. I thought Scully trusted me. I thought
I could trust *her*.

Disbelief plays across Skinner's face, and he picks up the top file and
looks for himself. The ramifications of what I've found become more evident
to him. I can see it in his eyes. "You take that story to OPR, the
accusation alone could cost Scully her job."

He still doesn't understand. This isn't about placing blame. It's about
finding Mulder. I meet his gaze directly. "I'm not takin' it to OPR," I
assure him. "I'm takin' it to you."

There, I've asked for his help. Now all I have to do is hope I get it.

****

Skinner accompanies me back to Pennsylvania. The sheriff is hiding more than
he's disclosing. We bring him a death certificate - for a "transient" -
that we found. The body was found the morning after Mulder's last visit. Of
course, when we find the grave where the "transient" was buried, it's empty.

More than that, there's a tunnel under the grave. Nobody with three bullets
in him is gonna dig his way out of a grave, through the bottom of a casket.

We head back to the couple's house - something's up, I'm not sure what. But
this man knows what happened. His wife is sick - I saw a dialysis machine in
their dining room. I stand outside their house, leaning against our car. I'm
picturing what happened the last time Mulder was here. Picturing it in my
head, letting it play out to see if it provides me with any more infor-
mation. Skinner jolts me back to reality, just as I've realized why Mulder
might have shot the "transient". He may have thought he was protecting
Marie. We see the same cross within a circle on the door as we saw laid in
stones atop the "transient's" grave.

Flipping open my laptop, I pull out a number Scully gave me. She said if I
needed help to call it. On the screen appear three bedraggled men, whom I've
obviously awakened.

"You wearin' pants, Langly?"

The long-haired Lone Gunman smiles sheepishly, and heads off-camera. Byers
and Frohike begin explaining the significance of the symbol we've found.
They make it clear that although they're willing to help, it's not exactly
up their alley. And, I'm not catching them at their best. I ask them why
we'd find it painted on a door, or laid out on a gravesite.

"Well, that's the part that takes some conjecture, there, Agent Dogbert,"
Langly quips, pulling on some jeans. I don't bother correcting him - it
would satisfy him too much.

They explain the mystery of the "soul-eater", a creature with a healing
gift. The pieces start to come together. That wasn't a transient buried in
that grave...

I visit the woman who originally found the body that was supposed to be in
the grave. I need her assistance, but she is not forthcoming. She says it's
an old mystery and I've got the story backwards, but beyond that, she's no
help.

I hear a bang on the floor. No, *under* the floor. Stepping across the room,
I move a rug, flip open a trap door, and shine my flashlight into the
cellar. A maze of tunnels opens up underneath me, and I follow them, not
knowing what I expect to find. Marie. Unconscious, covered in a slimy fluid.
She awakens instantly at my touch, as I wipe the substance away from her
nose and mouth. I wrap her in my trenchcoat, carry her to my car and drive
her to the hospital. Her kidneys are fine, and the doctors are at a loss to
explain her recovery. Skinner can't explain it, but I think maybe I can.

It seems clear that the creature took Marie to heal her, not to harm her,
and Mulder didn't shoot the creature to protect Marie. As I leave Skinner, I
realize that something did happen here, just not what we thought.

I glance at my suit coat, see that it's a little the worse for the wear. Not
wanting to take time to change, I go back to see the woman who found the -
"creature" - last spring. She's got the answers. I have to get her to open
up to me so I can understand what the hell is going on here.

She explains the creature's "gift" to me now, patiently revealing all the
information she hid before. She cares for him, and she tells me that the
creature doesn't cure illness, it consumes it.

The pieces start to fall into place. Mulder came here to save himself. But
when he saw in the creature's eyes how it suffered, he knew what needed to
be done. He couldn't bear to add to its pain, so he killed it.

Except it didn't die. Wounds inflicted directly on the creature couldn't
kill it, even though the creature wanted to die. *Still* wants to die. Now
that the town knows it's back, they'll use it for themselves.

I stand slowly, a little dumbstruck, as the creature walks into the room.
Even in the semi-darkness, he is hideous. He is sobbing. I wrap a blanket
around him and sit him in the back seat of my car. I hafta get him away from
here.

As I walk around the back of the car, headlights approach on the drive.
More than one pair. One vehicle is the sheriff's. Damn. I stand my ground
and wait for them to get out of their trucks.

They do, and most of them have rifles in their hands. Shit. Why didn't I
tell Skinner where the hell I was going?

I "ask" the sheriff and his posse to get out of my way, but I don't really
expect them to. They don't budge.

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

God, they think they *own* him! "This is a man. He doesn't belong to
anybody."

The sheriff is far from convinced. "We have sick people. Sick people who
need what it has," he speaks softly, with conviction. "We're takin' it.
You're free to go."

No. I can't let them do that. "No sir. I'm drivin' this man outta here."

I've been here so many times, in situations like this. Local law enforcement
versus the feds. But this is more than that. They *want* this - this man -
to keep in a cage and cure them of all their sickness. Not if I have
anything to say about it.

I lock my gaze with the sheriff's, then glance towards his men, and back at
him. I turn slowly around and walk toward the driver's side door.

White-hot pain flares in my chest. I feel like I'm flying - although it
actually only takes a second to realize that I've been hit by gunfire. I see
the ground approaching, taste a mouthful of dirt. I hear the woman's scream.
And then blackness engulfs me.

****

I hear soft moans, shallow breaths. It takes me a moment to realize they are
my own. Slowly, cautiously, I open my eyes. It's hard - it feels like
something is gluing them shut. Flexing my hands, I realize I'm still intact,
and vaguely I wonder how that can be. My last recollection is of a gunshot
hit directly in the back, and the Pennsylvania clay rushing up to meet me.

Propping myself on an elbow, I look across the cavernous room. The creature
lies motionless on the ground, with the woman who cared for him kneeling
alongside.

Not concerned for the moment with my own state of undress, and the same
sticky fluid I found on Marie covering me, I get gingerly to my feet. Making
my way slowly over to them, I kneel alongside the creature's caretaker.

She looks sad, but relieved. Glancing up at me, her next words are a shock,
though perhaps they shouldn't be. "He took your death. You freed him."

I stare dumbfounded at the creature below us. I hear a sound. A distant
crash. I think it's my belief system starting to crumble...


****

Sitting in front of my computer, my fingers hover over the keyboard. All
that's entered is the file number and my name.

Now what?

The basement office is silent. Cold, even. Curious - I'd never really
noticed that before. Maybe it's because I'm not usually alone here.

Skinner enters the room. He's surprised that I'm still here at this hour,
and I wonder why he's still hanging around. I hafta get this report done
before Scully comes in tomorrow.

Skinner is not surprised that I'm not making any progress with my report.
And I'm upset that, after all this, I'm not any closer to finding Mulder
than I was when I started this case.

Skinner is smiling. Smiling? I'm sure my incredulous look wipes a bit of it
off his face, but he voices what he's thinking. "You got inside of his head,
Agent Doggett." He says it almost - I dunno - proudly? Enviously? Inside
Mulder's head would not generally be a good place to be, I don't think.

He continues. "You understood why Mulder did something I wouldn't have
thought him capable of doing."

I let my gaze fall to the screen in front of me.

"You want some free advice? Don't write that report."

I look up at Skinner, surprised. This isn't *right*.

"You turn that in," he explains, "You open up a world of trouble for Agent
Scully. And yourself."

I couldn't care less about my own troubles, but Scully... "She didn't know
anything about this, sir. Of that I'm certain."

"How many months will be lost proving *that*? How much damage done to her
good name? And Mulder's? And yours." He shakes his head. "For what?"

I look at him, puzzled. "The *truth*." Isn't that what Mulder's quest was
all about? it certainly is what my quest *for* Mulder has been about.

Skinner picks up the drawing of the symbol we found on Maria's door, and
glances at it. "You and I both know what happened out there, Agent Doggett.
No one else needs to." He hands me the drawing and I accept it as he heads
from the room, leaving me alone once again.

I sit and stare at the drawing for a few moments, then lower it. Something
catches the corner of my vision, and I look across the room.

It's Mulder. He looks relaxed. Relieved. Alive.

I look back at the desk and then up again. Still he stands in the shadows,
regarding me silently.

One more glance at the drawing I hold in my hand. When I look up a last
time, he's gone.

****

-Next Evening-

I know I shouldn't be here. Not at this time of night, probably not at all.
But Skinner told me this morning, when Scully wasn't at work, that she was
still not feeling well. I need to see her, to see for myself that she's ok.
I need to talk to her, to explain what happened. All she knows is that there
was a shooting. She doesn't know it was fatal. She has no idea what actually
happened out there. She was only given a bare-bones story, half of it
probably bogus, just to explain away my absence while I was in the field.

*In the field*. Yeah, I was *in the field*, alright. Under about a foot of
dirt, so they tell me.

I can't tell her everything. She'd want the truth uncovered more fully, and
that wouldn't be a good thing. But I need to tell her of my - experience.

I knock lightly. Part of me (a very small part) actually hopes that she
won't hear me. That I won't disturb her rest. Since she's been using so much
personal time, I've been going over *her* X-Files cases in my head. One in
particular. Four years ago. Cancer. I'm so afraid that she is no longer in
remission. That she might die before I can fulfill my promise to find
Mulder.

I hear her approach the door. I guess she's checking the peephole. Then the
lock snicks and the chain slides off. She stands before me.

"Agent Doggett..." She doesn't seem as surprised as I might have thought, to
find me here. She looks worried. Tired... sick.

"Agent Scully, I'm sorry to bother you so late." I feel awkward, as though
I'm intruding, even though I *need* to be here.

"No - it's... It's ok," she swings the door wide and motions me in. "How are
you feeling? Are you alright?"

It seems odd for her to be asking *me* that, since that's my main concern
about her, as well.

"Yeah, I'm ok." Now *there's* an understatement.

She offers me something to drink, but I just need to talk. She sits down on
the couch, and I take up a position a few feet to one side. Her gaze levels
me and I know she's seeing right through me, just like she always does.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just - I wanted to make sure you were ok."

"I'm - I'm fine," she nods. I wonder if she's being truthful with me. For
that matter, I wonder if I'm being truthful with myself. I'm not just here
to see how she's doing. I need her to help me understand what happened to
me.

"Good, good." I wonder if she senses the awkwardness I've felt since I
arrived unheralded at her door.

"What else?"

I raise my eyes to meet hers. I guess it's now or never. I hafta tell her
what happened, why I'm still no closer to locating Mulder than I was last
week. 

"Agent Doggett..." she persuades me to open up.

Taking a deep breath, I do so. "Agent Scully, you don't know the whole story
of what went on in Pennsylvania," I begin.

"Are you sure you're ok?"

"Yeah. But I *shouldn't* be ok." This is really hard.

"What do you mean?"

God, why can't she read my mind right *now* like it seems she does when I
don't *want* her to? How do I even begin to explain what happened?

"I was taking a - a *man* - into protective custody, and the local sheriff
and a bunch of the townspeople decided they didn't want to release this man
to me."

So far so good. Sounds like a routine case. Yeah.

"Um... While I was getting into my car, the sheriff pulled off a shot with
his rifle. I got hit in the back."

I see her wince a little, as though she feels it herself.

OK, that was the easy part...

She is wide awake now. "What happened, Agent Doggett?"

"It was almost a point-blank shot..."

"And?" she encourages.

Damn, this is tougher than I thought it would be to explain. I guess I'd
better just come clean.

"I was dead." There. I can't be much clearer than that, can I?

"You were *what*?!"

"OK, lemme just try to explain." I'll just pretend like I'm describing a
John Doe getting shot. "The shot hit me in the back, exited through my
chest. I don't think I was alive for long after I hit the ground."

Scully's eyes are wide. She tries to assess my injury in her mind. There is
nothing to show her on my body.

"There was this - *man* -  (it sounds better than "creature") - who had some
type of - healing powers. He restored me." (If he was alive, Scully, I'd be
way too tempted to find him and make him cure whatever is wrong with you.)

Scully has that worried look - brows furrowed, eyes intense. "He *restored*
you." For just a moment, *she* sounds like the skeptic here.

"Yeah," I answer. "I, uh... I need to talk to you about that, and about
something - someone - I saw in the office last night."

"Who?"

"Agent Mulder."

I hear Scully's breath catch.

"Or his spirit. Or something. He was standin' there lookin' at me. Almost
like he was *smiling* at me. I can't explain how I was revived after the
gunshot, and I can't explain what I saw last night. I guess I need your
insight."

Scully's eyes look a bit teary now, and she moves to sit closer to me on the
couch. "This case," she asks. "Did it have something to *do* with Agent
Mulder?"

Now what? Do I lie?

I can't. "Yeah, but we didn't find any evidence that he's been there since
May of last year. It was a dead-end." Gawd, another pun. "Agent Scully, I
know I call you the expert on these cases, and I know it hasn't always been
that way. So I hope you can tell me what the hell happened to me."

"Tell *me* what happened," Scully urges. "Tell me everything."

I'm sure Skinner doesn't want me telling Scully "everything". But I do,
almost. The only things I leave out are the falsified reports that she
signed off on. I believe she didn't know what Mulder was doin'. I think he
was on his own on this case. And I need her help to resolve this in my head.
Maybe I also need her to know just how hard I'm still tryin' to find Mulder.

So, piece by piece, I tell her exactly what happened. Why I originally
*thought* Mulder went to Pennsylvania. Why he actually did go there. And the
chance to be cured that he threw away, to help the creature. When I get to
the the necessarily sketchy details about my being shot, I hear a soft sound
to my right. Scully's head is in her hands.

I remember the first time I heard her cry. I'd only been working with her -
or *against* her, if her opinion at that time be known - for a very short
time. It surprised me to hear this strong woman cry. It still surprises me
now, even though I've heard it since.

"Agent Scully, what?" I'm not really good in situations like this. I wonder
if she's thinking about Mulder right now. Or maybe whatever her physical
problems are. The ones she won't let me in on.

She only shakes her head slowly. Her elbows rest on her legs, her head still
in her hands. Sobs come more freely now. I slip down to kneel in front of
her, and put my hands on her arms to slow her shaking. "Agent Scully...
Scully, *please*."

She sniffs once, her hands in her lap. One over the other, clutching,
twisting a bit... "If... if I lost..."

"What?" I cover her hands with my own, stopping the movement. "If you lost
what?"

She struggles to compose herself, shakes her head back and forth as if
denying what could have happened, what might happened, and then she sighs
raggedly, getting back a bit of control and then losing it again. "I can't
lose another partner. I can't... I can't lose..." She trails off.

"I'm here. I'm ok." She nods again, just a bit. She heaves a huge sigh, and
brings her head up once more. Her eyes meet mine. They are sad, but no
longer hopeless. "I can't help you understand what happened, Doggett," she
finally admits. "I can't explain it myself, not anymore."

So, this worry was about *me*? I confess I'm a little baffled. I hope it
doesn't show too much in my expression. "That's ok. It happened. I'll deal
with it."

Her efforts to be Mulder were too much for her on our last case, I know. I
suspect some of this is a spillover from that incident. And something else I
never thought of until now, since she's always been so adamant that Mulder
is still alive. Survivor guilt. Between that and whatever troubles her
physically right now, it's just too damned much.

As if she has read my thoughts, the tears come once more. I feel my heart
grow heavy, saddened by her suffering. Such a strong woman, not just on the
outside, yet she has all the faults and instabilities we *all* do. She just
normally hides them so well.

I reach up to hold her, my arms around her shoulders. I'm relieved when she
leans into me and accepts what little comfort I can offer. Her head lays on
my shoulder as she hesitantly wraps slender arms around my back. I feel her
relax.

"I'm sorry..." I'm sorry I came here to force you into Mulder's role once
more, to answer my questions. I'm sorry I haven't found him yet. I'm sorry
that you're sick, even though you won't tell me what's wrong.

"No, it's ok," I feel her head shake as she replies, her voice muffled by my
coat. "I *want* to help you. I just wish I *could*."

"Hey, I'll live," I force a smile, as her arms tighten around me. Then she
releases me from her grasp, and I feel empty once again.

She sits back a bit, and regards me almost curiously. She wipes a couple
tears from beneath her eyes, almost angrily, it seems.

I need to push once more. "You - wanna tell me what's wrong? With you?"

I almost think she might. Then the mask slides back into place, ever so
slowly. Damn. "I'm, uh - I'm ok, Agent Doggett. I'll be back to work in the
morning."

I look at the floor and shake my head. Why won't she confide in me? Have I
done something to make her mistrust me? Well, recently, I mean?

Now it's Scully's turn to offer comfort. She must sense my confusion, my
frustration. She lays her hands on my shoulders and I look up to meet her
gaze. "It'll be ok, Agent Doggett. *I'll* be ok. Believe me on that."

I wanna believe her, I do. It doesn't *look* like she's hiding anything. I
guess if she wanted me to know what's going on, she'd tell me. That feeling
of interloper, of outsider looking in, hits me again. I can't tell you how
often that's happened since I discovered how deeply I care for this woman.

We both stand, hesitantly, awkwardly. I have this weird feeling that when
Mulder was here, their connection was perfect, like two pieces of a puzzle.
I don't know if it'll ever be that way with Scully and me. Maybe not. I hold
her hands in mine for just a brief moment, and then head for the door. I can
wait, now, to see what happens.

I stop just before opening her door, and turn to face her again. She looks
at me expectantly. 

"I promised you some time ago that I'd *find* Agent Mulder," I begin. "That
hasn't changed."

Thanks to that creature, I have all the time in the world again.



~fini~


Author's Notes:

Yeah, I know the closed-captioning of Langly's comment said "Dogbird". 
I prefer to think that was a mistake, and that someone from 1013 was
lurking at atxf, and stole "Dogbert" from us. 

A special thanks to Vixen, for all her help in sorting out the
conflicting emotions of John Doggett.