TITLE: Impossibilium, too. AUTHOR: coolbyrne < fugitive@ihateclowns.com > CLASSIFICATION: D/S, Scully-angst, character death.. kind of RATING: PG, some obscenities used SUMMARY: Scully discovers how events in "The Gift" have changed Doggett's life. SPOILERS: The aforementioned "The Gift," as well as "Within," "Road Runners," and "Three Words." DISTRIBUTION: Hey, if you think it's that good, then by all means take it. But please take it in its entirety. DISCLAIMER: Are these things really necessary?? FEEDBACK: fugitive@ihateclowns.com Be gentle; my asbestos suit is in the cleaners. Author's note: A short one- thanks to The Tragically Hip for the title. The song has nothing to do with the story, but I loved the title. For those of you who have read "Impossibilium," you're gonna be thinking, "Gee, isn't this the same story?" Well, yes, it is. In fact, it's the exact same story. I've only reversed the positions of Doggett and Scully, while changing some scenes to accommodate the reactions of those characters. Leave it to 1013 to bring up the idea of immortality then never mention it again.. with TWO characters! (More notes at end of story.) Thanks to Meridy, for beta-ing, supporting, inspiring.. and liking! ***************** He knew something was wrong even before his partner made a move to leave the car. He couldn't put it into words; just that intangible "something", the electric energy that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up in silent warning. Agent John Doggett liked to credit it to almost 15 years as a cop, though he suspected his partner might attribute it to something else. (Of course, he would have deflected her journey into left field with something along the lines of, "Can I exchange this 'gift' for x-ray vision instead?") The aforementioned partner, Agent Dana Scully, reached for the door handle. His voice stopped her. "Scully," he said, his baritone a quiet rumble in the confines of the small car. She turned to the sound and looked into his flinty blue eyes. A raised eyebrow invited him to continue, but now he didn't know what to say. He suddenly felt foolish. "You want that drink after all?" she queried, wondering what was going on behind those eyes. He held her gaze, and found it had a soothing effect on him. "Actually, I, ah, I gotta use the little boy's room, so why don't I get this one?" Scully smiled. Only Doggett could make going to the bathroom sound so endearing. "Ok," she said out loud. He nodded and reached for the door handle. Taking in his troubled face she asked, "You ok? Maybe you should get some Tums, too." He grinned at this and said, "Yeah, maybe. Thanks." With this, he swung his leg out and stepped out of the car. Resting one hand on the roof and the other on the door, he leaned in and said, "I'll be right back." She opened her mouth to reply, to ask him if he suddenly felt that change in the air as she just did, but it was too late. He was already gone. ***** She was fiddling with the radio dial when she heard the first shot. The unmistakable noise of a 12-gauge shotgun. She was out of the car and across the street when she heard, "Federal - ", the second identical shot, and the replying sound of a Smith and Wesson, standard FBI issue. Damnitdamnitdamnit. She drew her gun and crouched against the short brick wall that joined the large window halfway up. Her heart was a jackhammer in her chest and the adrenaline coursed through her bloodstream. She tamped it down, forced it aside. Now was not the time to lose her grip. Ok Dana, here we go, she thought to himself. Slowly, she raised her head, her eyes just barely visible over the window ledge. Her gaze swept the store in a back-and-forth motion, recording a mental inventory of everything in her line of sight. Counter on the left-hand side. No clerk. One assumed gunman, on the floor, back against the chocolate bar shelf under the front of the counter, gun by his side. The 12-gauge. Coke cooler making up the wall on the right-hand side. Four low aisles running perpendicular to the counter. No sign of Doggett. No sign of anyone else for that matter, gunman or otherwise. OK. Taking a deep breath, she yelled towards the entrance, "Federal agent!! I'm armed!!" She crouched her way into the store, the door propped open with a couple of milk crates to let the air in. No entrance bell. She stayed in this crouched position as she checked each aisle while still trying to keep an eye on the guy on the floor. It didn't look good for the gunman, but Scully knew it was better to err on the side of overcautiousness. All was quiet as she cleared each aisle, one by one. It was the last aisle where she found Doggett, gazing up at the ceiling as a stain of red spread across his chest. With every ounce of strength, she fought the impulse to run to him. She turned to the gunman and kicked the weapon away. Checking the pulse wasn't necessary, but Scully did it anyway. Nothing. She slid around the corner of the counter, gun extended in a firm two-handed grip, ready for anything. What she found was the clerk, his face a mess from receiving a blast from the shotgun at short range. Again, pressing fingers to neck was just a cursory gesture, but she did it. Nothing. What had happened here? Scully tried to play it out in her mind, but the information was coming too quickly. The entrance bell. The clerk. Doggett. The gunman. But none of that mattered right now. Judging the place to be clear, Scully raced towards Doggett. She took out her cell phone and punched in the 911 number. After the fourth ring, an operator came on. "911. What is your emergency?" "My name's Dana Scully. I'm an FBI agent. My badge number is 2317616 and I'm at the scene of a hold-up on the corner of Corcoran St. and 13th St. NW. Two are dead, one's seriously wounded. He's my partner. I need an ambulance right away." "The corner of Corcoran St. and 13th St. NW," the operator repeated. "Ok, ma'am, we'll get someone out there as soon as we can." "How soon is that?" Scully asked. "Could be up to 45 minutes," came the reply. "Forty-five minutes? I've got an agent down who might not make it in 45 minutes! There's a hospital 10 minutes from here!" "Welcome to America's highest crime rate, ma'am." With that, the phone when dead. Damnitdamnitdamnit. She put the offending phone on the floor and took a deep breath. Ok, Dana. You're a doctor. What's the next step? She looked around the store and found what she needed. Grabbing an armful, she returned to her partner, and proceeded to rip open the packages of paper towel. She unraveled sheets and sheets of it and pressed it upon Doggett's chest. "Hey, it's me," she spoke to him for the first time. Giving a small smile, she said, "Next time I'm making sure you use the bathroom at the office before we leave." His mouth moved but he gave no reply. He moved his gaze from the ceiling to her face. "Don't try to talk," she told him. His blood seeped through the paper towel. She rolled off another two arms' length of the stuff and pressed it to him. "The ambulance is on its way. I'm a doctor. You're gonna be fine." She took off her jacket and covered him with it as much as she could. "I'm trying to keep you warm and the paper towel's to help stop the bleeding," she explained in an attempt to clinically detach herself from the scenario before her. He gave a small shake of his head. She felt him reach for her hand and bring it to his heart, the blood warm under her palm. The horrible sucking sound that had become his breathing now came in jerky uneven beats. Scully bent down so she could get a good look at his blue eyes. "Listen to me. I never had a partner who didn't shoot me or get abducted by aliens until you. What are the chances they'll send another normal guy like you down to Spookyville ever again? Don't make me break in a new partner, ok?" His eyes, so warm and true, burned her image into the collection of stills in his mind. Then he closed his eyes and let the movie of his life play out, her frame being the last. Then it was quiet. In an instant, her free hand flew to his neck, checking for a reassuring throbbing. Checking for anything. Her bloody fingers leaving a print. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing. "No," she whispered, feeling his large hand resting in her smaller one. Hearing no response, she repeated louder, "No. You will not do this to me." She peeled back her jacket from his bloody chest and opened the CPR book in her mind. Two fingers below the breastbone. Heel of one hand placed here. Heel of other hand on top. Short thrusts, 14 times. Tilt head. Pinch nose. Seal his mouth with your own. Two breaths. Ear to mouth, eyes to chest, check for breathing. Repeat. She didn't know how long she had continued this, repeating over and over. Her arms ached from the controlled thrusts, her lungs burned from the attempts of her traitorous body overcome her control. She could feel his red fluid seep its way into her interlocked fingers as she pushed them against his breastbone. She was stained up to her wrists. Repeat. Repeat. She remembered the first time she saw him. Repeat. So smug, so self-possessed. Even that glass of cold water couldn't diminish his inner fire. She couldn't believe a single person could push her buttons as easily as he did. Repeat. And damn if she didn't make things hard for him. But he simply waited for her to come around. Repeat. How she felt in his arms as he carried her off that bus. The second time in their brief partnership that he had held her in his arms. Acted as if it was his personal duty instead of his job. How she had told Mulder that Doggett was a good man, beyond reproach. Repeat. How she had never said it to John. Repeat. How she'd never get to hear the punchline of that stupid joke he started in the car tonight. Repeat. How she wondered now if she ever would hear him again. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Come on, come on, come on. Repeat. Well, God, there's got to be some irony here," she quietly thought. She wiped her forehead with the back of her blood- stained hand, leaving a ghastly trail of red across her brow and along her cheek where her hand had trailed down. Repeat. All those years as a cop, as a Fed, facing down the most horrific and brutal examples mankind could create. Coming out of it all with nary a scratch. He must have thought getting "promoted" to the X-Files would be a walk in the park in comparison. Or a ride to the convenience store. Would he appreciate it more, knowing the thing that killed him was tangible, explainable, believable? No, she thought. He may be an ordinary man, but he deserved more than the ordinary. He deserved more than this. Repeat. She rested back on her heels. The doctor in her told her not to give up, but the scientist in her was already writing the conclusion. You perform the sme steps five, 10, 20 times, getting the same outcome, and you're gonna get the same outcome no matter how many times you go through the steps. She reached down to brush his hair back and saw how gentle and peaceful his face seemed to be, so different from the serious and hard features he bears when he's... Scully's breath caught in her throat, as if suddenly realizing the ramifications of the moment. Scully could never fully explain to anyone how the last 18 months had taken their toll on her. The disappearance of the one person who counted on her the most. The unbelievable discovery that there would now be another person, a little life form inside her. This man, her new partner. The recovery of Mulder and all that it entailed, up to the birth of her son. And now this. Her subconscious decided this would be a good time to break. Reaching down to grab the collar of his no-longer-white dress shirt, she yanked him up roughly. "Get up, soldier! Get up! I gave you an order, Dawg!" Mulder called him that, and she knew he hated it. And then it happened. "Scully." She nearly dropped him to the floor in surprise. Catching herself, Scully instead lowered him to the floor. "John?" His eyes traveled across her face and between attempts to breathe he asked, "You ok? You're bleeding." She didn't know what he meant until she caught a blurry reflection of herself in the cooler door. The blood she had inadvertently wiped over her forehead and down her cheek. Just like him to ask her how SHE'S doing. Her gaze returned to his and she squeezed his hand. "I'm ok." She looked around as if seeing the place for the first time. "Where the hell's that ambulance?" As if on cue, the wail of the tardy siren reached their ears. "I'm going to try and sit you up, ok?" she asked him. He closed his eyes and nodded. Sliding her right hand under his body, she did her best to bring him up to a sitting position. "You don't look this big standing up," she remarked. He coughed out a laugh. She moved behind him, her back against the cooler door, so he could lean back into her. She pulled the jacket up around him again and wrapped her arms around him as much as she could. Her mouth was in his hair and she inhaled the scent of his shampoo, his aftershave, his smell. Doggett's laboured voice spoke again. "You.. called me.. 'Dawg'." She laughed into his hair. "Yes. I won't do it again, I promise." Scully could almost hear the smile in his voice. "You better... not... Starbuck." She returned his unseen smile and held him like that until the attendants found them. EPILOGUE 3am, same day. Doggett was just opening his eyes when Scully came into the room. "Hey," she smiled. "Hey," he said right back. "You thirsty?" "Yeah, but I don't think I'm up for a coffee just yet." She frowned in confusion until she saw the cup in her hand. Putting it on the nearby nightstand, she quipped, "Oh, well it's a good thing it's for me. How 'bout some water instead?" He nodded and she went to his bedside to help him. He tried to sit up, but she lightly touched his shoulder to keep him down. "I AM a doctor, you know," she reminded him. "I think I can do the little things." Doggett smiled and took some sips from the offered straw. When he had satisfied his thirst, he leaned back and Scully returned the glass to his nightstand. "From what I hear," he said, "you can do the big things, too." She raised her eyebrow in question. "You saved my life, Dana." "Actually, I'm not sure what happened." "What do you mean?" he asked. "What I mean is," she started, "I performed CPR on you for over 20 minutes. Your heart stopped beating for 20 minutes." She paused. "Then it started again. I mean, it practically jolted back to life. I've never seen that happen before without some kind of electrical stimulation. In fact, I've never seen anything like it. It's as if..." she floundered for the right words to answer his questioning blue gaze. "It's as if you simply decided that death wasn't for you." She gave a small smile. "Nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there," he joked weakly. He reaced out for her hand, which she gladly took, and he held her gaze with his own. He savoured the moment, revelling in the chance to just look at her, knowing this time it wouldn't be the last time. Or what should have been the last time, he thought to himself. Just what DID happen? he wondered. He remembered the shot, the momentary flash of searing pain, his return of fire that was more reflex than instinct, then.. nothing. Suddenly, reminders of a dark cave, of another shot, of another inexplicable chain of events came to mind. The pieces were there but he couldn't put them together; didn't want to put them together. Scully'll wonder just how much medication they've been givin' me if I start talkin' about some `soul eater' who consumed me then spit me back up again, he thought wryly and gave a light snort. Scully's brows came down in playful confusion, "Now what was that laugh all about?" "Oh nothing," he said teasingly, "I was just rememberin' that joke I was tellin' you in the car. I never got to finish it." "You kept forgetting the set-up." He nodded, "Uh huh." "Do you remember it now?" she asked. He looked at her and said, "I do." Pausing to memorize her features in the dim hue of the room, he finally gave her a patented Doggett smirk and added, "But I think I'll keep the punchline to myself. That way, I know you'll stick around." Scully shook her head in protest and laughed. "Bribed with a joke. Is that what my company is worth these days?" Before his inner voice could tell him otherwise, he took her hand, still in his, and brought it up to his lips. "No, you're worth much more than that." Pause. "Although, it IS a pretty damn good joke." She gave a warm laugh in return and brushed back his hair with her free hand. Soothed by her action, despite his efforts to stay awake, he drifted off. Scully quietly pulled the nearby chair up to the bedside and, with his hand still in hers, leaned back and watched him sleep. More Notes: I didn't want to say this at the beginning and colour the reader's view of the story before even reading it, but now I shall say it- I like the first story better. Perhaps it's because it was new and fresh and an interesting concept; or perhaps it's because I can be better convinced that it is Scully who is immortal moreso than I can be with Doggett. Regardless, I hope you (the reader) likes it in its own way.