TITLE: Man Alive
AUTHOR: Anne Hedonia
RATING: PG-13 (Few bad words)
SPOILERS: Great biggun's for "DeadAlive"
ARCHIVE: Not to Gossamer - I'll do that. Anywhere else, please! Just lemme
know.
CLASSIFICATION: Post-ep for "DeadAlive", Doggett POV
KEYWORDS: S/D, DSR, UST
DISCLAIMERS: Me no own.
AUTHORS NOTE: That moment at the end, that look on Doggett's face as he
stepped into (and quickly out of) the hospital room - man oh man, I just had
to make it all better. So here's nothin' but wish fulfillment.

FAIR WARNING FOR 'SHIPPERS: Scully/Doggett mush ahead. Much Doggett pining,
and not necessarily in vain. If you're not a 'Dipper, this probably ain't
for you.

This is also one of those famous stories written to try and clear a block on
another story, which may or may not ever get finished, owing to the
ever-changing timeline and world of TXF. Send anything constructive to
ahedonia@yahoo.com.

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John Doggett is sitting alone, in the farthest corner of a dark, windowless
bar. His suit jacket has been ditched and his sleeves are rolled up, tie
removed and forgotten. A man so dressed should look relaxed, but Doggett
knows he doesn't.

When he entered an hour and a half ago, there were plenty of empty stools
and seats up front, but he didn't choose one. He chose a roomy booth in the
back for, paradoxically, both its isolation and its expansiveness - he
deserved all the luxuries he could get tonight, he thought sourly.

By now, the place is hopping, full of loud, hairy customers and their
cheaply-dressed women, spilling over with testosterone, piss and vinegar.
"Born to be Bad" blares unapologetically on the jukebox, while videos of
sports events play on ignored video screens overhead. Through the
eye-stinging miasma of cigarette smoke, several of the patrons watch the
booth Doggett occupies with irritated longing - one man taking up a booth
that size seems more than a little rude. Doggett is not aware of this,
ignoring everything but the bottom of his glass.

He's giving himself this one time to get drunk and forget about her, that's
what he's doing. One chance to get all this grief and loss out of his
system, before he has to suck it up and accept it. He was stupid to let
himself get to this point and now it's his own fault that it's so hard. He
runs over a certain, very recent scene in his mind, with masochistic
precision: Scully draped over a nearly-cadaverous Mulder in his hospital
bed, her eyes brimming with utter joy at his awakening. Mulder's ruined hand
caressing her hair and muttering little jokes that make her laugh and
sniffle. That excruciating moment when Scully looks up and sees him,
Doggett, intruding. Her watery eyes locking with his crestfallen ones, and
him unable to hide his dismay, disappointment...hurt. He couldn't back away
fast enough from that scene - that universe - that no longer had any need
for him at all.

Doggett takes another determined slug of scotch. Before he saw the two of
them in that room, it had never been real, you know? Of course he always
*knew* the feelings building up in him were doomed, but before he walked in
on that scene there was at least a far-fetched chance, a chance that this
thing between them wasn't everything it seemed to be. Mulder himself wasn't
even real until now. He was just an abstraction, a far-off goal, the way -
he thinks, with no little shame - to get her attention.

Doggett's forehead falls gently forward, to be propped up by the tips of his
fingers - he's not proud of his recent feelings and behavior, like his
opposition to exhuming Mulder, or to everyone's optimism while they kept him
on life support. He tries to exonerate himself, at least in his own mind: he
*was* genuinely interested in protecting Scully from being hurt, he thinks.
He was genuinely interested in protecting the dignity of a man after his
death. But in his heart of hearts he sees the deeper truth: that the closer
her partner got to consciousness, the more silent panic Doggett felt. He
could no longer pretend that a flesh-and-blood man named Mulder didn't
exist, and that that man didn't hold claim to the most heartbreakingly
special woman John had ever met.

But he's seen it now, and there's no denying it. He shakes his head in a
vain attempt to banish that thought and, failing, tilts back his head and
his glass to let a bit more scotch slide hotly down his throat. He realizes
now that as Mulder got closer to living, his own hopes got closer to dying.
And now, he thinks grimly, they're R.I.P.

Doggett glances to one side and catches his own reflection in a Budweiser
mirror. Jesus, what a sad sack. Every feature of his face is drooping so
badly he looks like a bloodhound. Suddenly he feels a flash of anger and hot
impatience. God dammit, ya big pussy...why is this drinking session even
happening? How the hell did you *think* things were going to turn out? That
at the end of all this, she'd throw her arms around your neck and declare
her undying devotion? That you'd sit atop your trusty horse and tip your
white cowboy hat at Mulder before you rode off into the sunset with her -
because, after all, even though it was Mulder she couldn't live without, you
were her Man of Action, right? Her tireless superhero, her savior in
gleaming armor, her big dumb Dudley Do-Right...

Oh, and let's not even *talk* about the baby thing.  *Jesus*. The hell you
been smoking, anyway?

He signals the waitress for another, ignoring a pointed glare from some
big-bellied bubba who clearly wants to sit down. He's vaguely annoyed until
he thinks of the look Dana Scully would give that guy, and a slow, crooked
smile warms his features. 300 pounds of beer-fueled blubber wouldn't stand a
chance against that one *eyebrow*...

The light behind his smile doesn't last long, however. He has no future with
the owner of that eyebrow - the tiny and steely, delicate and luminous woman
behind that look. Instead, she's given herself to a man who - he can tell -
infuriates her and runs her ragged and tests her faith at every juncture.
Makes her prove her devotion, then rewards her with more trials. Someone
who, though good and honorable, is too self-centered to realize what he's
got until it's kidnapped and lost under an ice floe in Antarctica somewhere
and he's got to bust his ass like some truant fuck-up to get it back.
Doggett's jaw sets grimly, and through his growing fog he knows one thing is
true: it would go against every instinct in his body to ever treat her that
way.

His next drink comes and he's got it in his hand before the waitress has
even let it touch the table. She casts him a longing look before she leaves,
but John has no knowledge of it. He's too busy thinking about what to do
now. He leans back in the booth and sighs: as far as he's concerned, there's
little question - he has to leave the X-Files. No matter how important this
fight of hers may have become to him, he knows he couldn't keep his feelings
under wraps if he were forced to stay and watch the heartwarming reunion.
Unfortunately, Kersh's transfer offer is long gone, but even if it were
still available, he certainly wouldn't do anything to please that crooked
bastard anymore. It's okay, he's got enough friends and former colleagues in
good places to find somewhere to go. Leaving is the wise thing to do, he
thinks. It's the only thing to do...isn't it?

His eyes fall shut, as his conviction wavers. The thought of not seeing her
any more makes his heart rip. He can't stand the idea of not knowing every
day whether or not she's all right, or if there's anything he can do to help
her. He couldn't stand being unable to *act* in the service of keeping her
safe. Of course, she's not unprotected - she's got Mulder now, but...shit.
That feels even worse. His eyes open and stare dejectedly.

And it's not just protecting her - though that's much of it - he thinks
about other things he'd miss. Like feeling the change in the office when she
sweeps into it in the morning, crisp and businesslike yet undeniably
feminine. It's like a woman's presence has no business being there, until
she gets there...and then she's exactly what the place needed. Or being able
to smell her shampoo while reading a file over her shoulder. 'Hell, while
reading it over her *head*,' he thinks with a tiny smirk. That perfumey
stuff she uses...it's familiar, but he still hasn't placed it yet. He thinks
dimly that it's not fair to have to leave before he knows what it reminds
him of. His thoughts slow to a crawl as he lingers over a specific moment of
file-sharing in his mind, visualizing the temptation of her neck, of her
smooth white skin lit by the faint glow from the basement window and his
mouth so near as he pretends to read...it would take nothing to lean over,
close the distance and...

Suddenly an appreciative roar of laughter from a group over in the corner
startles Doggett, his recoiling muscles yanking him out of his preferred
other world. He glares angrily at the rowdy bunch, pissed at being intruded
upon just because some yahoo managed to make a funny.

Another glance around the room confirms for Doggett that it's time for him
to leave. This is no longer the bar he entered way back when - hasn't been
for some time - and besides, that Neanderthal who was formerly concerned
with seating arrangements is getting that 'why don't we step outside' look
in his eye. Doggett's not interested in wasting his Marine combat training
on some big dumb slab of meat just now. He gets up to go, making sure to
drain the rest of his scotch when...

...when *she* walks in.

Doggett usually prides himself on not letting anyone know when they've
gotten the drop on him, but in this case he's an open book. It takes him a
second to realize his eyes are like dinner plates and his jaw is hanging
open like he's a trout or something. He modifies his expression quickly,
then can't help but squint in disbelief. How in *hell* did she find him
here?

She looks so clean and pretty compared to the trappings of this shithole,
standing there in the doorway in her simple, dark green maternity suit,
removing her overcoat as she waits for her eyes to adjust. Once they do, she
eyes the room with a kind of suspicion that makes Doggett want to laugh out
loud and cheer. Even pregnant, she's the toughest thing in here. He marvels
at her, despite the despair tugging at his feelings - how can he be so down
and fucked up and still feel like this when she walks in?

Her eyes light on him, and the jig's up. She's walking over to where he
stands. A sinking feeling takes over Doggett, and the reason for his being
here leaps up even more clearly in his head. She knows, he thinks
irrationally. She saw that look on my face and she knows and she's here and
I don't want a pity talk. Jesus, don't let it be about that. He wants so
badly to recapture his momentum, to just brush by her politely, make some
excuse, and leave.

But then she's there, right in front of him, looking up with those big,
solemn blue jewels...and he'll do whatever she wants.

"Agent Doggett."

"Agent Scully."

A long, stiff moment passes. His body feels ridiculously tense, and a
thought occurs to him out of nowhere: Jergen's, he thinks suddenly,
irrationally. Her shampoo smells like Jergen's lotion, that stuff his gramma
used to use. He snorts softly, a quiet laugh that only makes sense to him.
Great, I've figured it out. Now I can leave forever.

The silence becomes too much. Doggett rubs the back of his neck. "What on
earth brings you here, Agent Scully? Don't tell me you're a regular."

Doggett can scarcely believe it when Scully smiles - actually *smiles* - at
the little joke he's made. Boy, he thinks grimly, having Mulder around must
just make everything better.

"Hardly," she says. "But this place does have a reputation for being a cop
bar. I thought that perhaps, if you needed somewhere to lay low for a while,
it might call your name."

For his part, Doggett is just astonished. "I had no idea this was a cop
bar." He stares in mild horror at the assembled patrons. "*This* is D.C.'s
finest? Jesus, we are so screwed."

This time Scully laughs - laughs! - a heartfelt chuckle that is as close to
out-and-out hilarity as Doggett's ever heard from her. His feelings are
caught between a wave of satisfaction at hearing her respond to him, and the
unpleasant knowledge that her good mood probably isn't his doing. But then
again, she's genuinely smiling at him now...maybe he's being too hard on
himself.

She gestures to his former seat and he finds himself sitting. The waitress
appears, takes Scully's order for a Coke. "So...what's on your mind, Agent?"
asks Doggett, hoping that poker face of his has decided to return.

She folds her hands demurely on the table in front of her. "I just thought
we ought to talk a bit...about Agent Mulder."

Doggett feels a lump of something like anger in his throat. What, not only
does he get to have you, I gotta talk about him over tea, too? "What about
him?" He inspects the surface of the table for flaws. He finds many.

Scully accepts her Coke from the waitress. "I'm concerned that, now that
Mulder is back, your assumption is going to be that there's no place for you
here."

Doggett meets Scully's eyes. "That's not an assumption, Agent Scully, that's
just pure observation."

She reddens slightly. "Agent Doggett, let me assure you that the way you saw
us back in that hospital room is not the way we conduct ourselves while on a
ca-"

"It doesn't matter." interrupts Doggett, instantly regretting how harsh he
sounds. Make it about work, he tells himself, it's just about work. "It
doesn't matter," he says more gently. "The point is you two are a team -
*more* than a team - and I'm always gonna be playing catch up or tryin' to
decode the language you two already speak. You brought me on to find Mulder.
He's found. You don't need me any more." Doggett hopes he doesn't sound like
the big baby he feels like.

"Is that so?" Scully stirs the ice in her glass with her straw. "Don't *I*
get any say about it?" Doggett's not sure if it's his imagination, but she
actually seems to be pouting. "You said it yourself: soon I won't be there
to back Mulder up, and the X-Files itself is under fire."

"And you told me very recently to get out while I still could. Looks like
we've switched places."

Scully leans absently to one side to let a biker type make a pool shot, then
rights herself, never once seeming the least bit awkward. "Do you know how
many times Mulder and I have tried to get each other to quit the X-Files?"
she asks, reminiscing. "It occurred to me right after you and I had that
talk. It's almost like an expression of affection for us. We don't expect it
to have any effect - we just always wish we could relieve each other of the
awful burden of this job."

She places her glass back on the table. "It was after I said that to you
that I realized that you had really made yourself a part of the team. Nobody
who has to be *asked* to leave the X-Files is ever going anywhere."

Doggett blinks. How did she do that? How did she take her insistence that he
leave and turn it into proof of him belonging? And that "expression of
affection" remark...

He rubs the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, trying to
fight his urge to do anything to please her. He can't agree to this. This
match-up is absurd. Planned torture. And besides, there's something else
nagging at the back of his mind. He can't explain it, but something about
her entreaty feels like she's not telling the whole story. Something
feels...off.

Scully leans forward, elbows on the table. Doggett tries not to react to the
deeper view of her pregnancy-enhanced cleavage he's afforded. He briefly
remembers how much he had enjoyed that particular change when it had
happened to his wife, way back when.

"I know that you haven't been recognized enough for your help...and a lot of
that's been my fault. Let me assure you that, really, it's been invaluable."
He sees her eyes soften, barely perceptibly, but enough to cause that
familiar melting sensation through his chest, and regions south. "You're an
excellent agent, and for anyone to devote himself so selflessly to another
person's quest...it's just more than I could have asked for." She's looking
straight into his face, and John finds himself drowning in the attention. "I
know I've occasionally been a royal pain in the ass..." she says, causing
them both to grin. "But I have to admit...you've proven yourself, Agent
Doggett." She pauses, weighing her next words. "I trust you," she says
finally. "And I don't say that lightly."

Doggett believes her. HIs eyes travel over her incandescent face, and see
honesty there, and the afore-mentioned trust. Suddenly he feels ashamed.
Selfless my ass, he thinks. You've never met anyone more self-interested.
You, the strongest woman I've ever known, crumpled on the floor of that
hospital lab and started crying and my heart broke and you let me hold you
and since that minute I haven't wanted to do anything else.

He smiles faintly at her. She smiles warmly back. She seems totally
unprepared for his response.

"I'm sorry, Agent Scully."

"For what?"

Doggett's face is sadness itself. The finality of his answer is evident in
his tone: "For listening to you say something so kind to me, and then still
havin' to say no."

Scully is momentarily adrift. She searches the tabletop restlessly for her
response, to no avail. "That's it? No discussion, no possible compromise,
just...that's your answer?"

Doggett leans in, wishing he could put a hand atop hers. "Agent Scully, your
life, and everyone in it, is back where it's supposed to be. Maybe I got a
lack of vision or somethin', but I can't see myself as anything but an
impediment to that."

He leans back slightly, preparing himself for the businesslike goodbye. It's
his turn to be surprised.

She won't lift her head to look at him. He feels a fury simmering off her
that he hadn't expected, but when she speaks, her voice is anything but
strong. "Well then. I should stop wasting your time," she manages.

Doggett can feel the crease in his brow deepening. "I just think it's
best...for everybody," he says, baffled by Scully's refusal to look at him,
after all the eye contact of their conversation. He could have expected
disappointment, or disapproval, or even acceptance, but this...She's digging
in her purse now, and throwing dollar bills onto the table for her drink.

"I disagree. I came here to let you know that the X-Files still needs you,
Agent Doggett, but if this isn't where you want to be, I guess I can't
change that." She spits the words, as though glad her mouth is rid of them.

She's grabbing her coat from beside her and scooting gracelessly out of the
booth. He can't fathom the idea that he's upset her this much. He can't
really fathom that he's upset her at all.

She's on her feet, jostling through the crowd to get to the door. Doggett
shakes off his surprise and exits the booth himself, managing to grab her
elbow before she's gotten too far. "Agent Scully?"

She turns and glares at him before she can stop herself, before she realizes
what she'll show. Her eyes flash from behind swinging strands of hair, and
he sees her problem: tears. Her eyes have become flooded, threatening to
spill. Doggett can only squint at her in confusion as she wordlessly yanks
her small arm free and continues on toward the door.

And suddenly, Doggett knows what it is.

He can see it clearly now. He's as sure as if he just read it all in a memo
from God. It occurs to him suddenly that he's made a leap, a real X-Files
Mulder-type leap. Hell, he thinks in amazement, maybe he's getting the hang
of this after all.

He can congratulate himself later. Right now she's made it out the door.

Scully's wading through the chill of the parking lot as quickly as she's
able, pulling on her coat. Doggett trots after in his shirt sleeves. "Agent
Scully!" he calls. He slows and considers how to catch her attention. "Agent
Scully, I'm lookin' for the truth!"

She stops but doesn't turn. She calls back darkly: "I thought you'd decided
to leave that to us."

Doggett reaches her, his breath congealing in frozen puffs. "I need a very
specific truth, that only you can give me."

He waits as she wipes ruthlessly at her eyes with her sleeve, then turns to
halfway to facing him, barely cooperating.

"I need you to tell me why you really came here tonight," he says softly,
his quiet voice belying the pounding in his chest. His heart is racing, and
not from jogging.

He watches her all-business façade go back into place again, watches it
comfort her. "I came here to try and keep things going smoothly between team
members. And to assure myself that my partner of seven years would have some
back up."

"I don't doubt that's part of it," he says, soothing. "But I don't think
it's the whole answer."

"Are you seeing conspiracies now too, Agent Doggett?"

"Just connections."

"Agent Dogg--" She's interrupted by Doggett's large hands on her upper arms,
gently turning her around to face him. She looks up at him with wide eyes.
They stand close, their frozen breath commingling. Doggett's pulse races
faster as he thinks he sees her start to tremble. Maybe it's the cold, he
thinks. Maybe it's not.

"I've never known you to shy away from the facts when they were important,"
he admonishes gently. "I don't think you oughta start now."

She's tearing up again as his hands remain on her arms. She turns her head,
side to side, in a miserable attempt to hide. "What do you want from me?"
she nearly whimpers.

Doggett knows that he has to be careful, but he also knows what she's
revealed to him. The fear coursing through him is practically freezing his
limbs and mouth in place, but he forces himself on. "I wanna see you be
honest with yourself," he begins. "I wanna know why you came here tonight. I
want you to tell me the real reason you left the bedside of a man you've
spent six months searching heaven and earth for, just to come talk to me
about office politics." She looks up at him in surprise and mild irritation.
He gives her a look of sheerest acceptance, and affection.

"You said nobody could leave the X-Files once their heart was in it. Well, I
guess I'm the exception. I was feelin' like I needed to leave..." He runs one
trembling hand gently along her arm, clasps her small hand by its pinky
side. "...*because* my heart is in it."

She looks down in confusion at his hand and hers, then meets his eyes,
surprise registering across her features. Doggett nods slowly, cautiously.
Here goes.

"You also said once that the truth may hurt, but it's the only thing that
matters." He's acutely aware that his face is within inches of hers. "I'm
sorry, but I can't stick around here hopin' the truth is what I think it is.
I need to know. I need you to tell me what's goin' on inside you."

Her mouth tugs downward as her tears intensify. She exhales on a beseeching
look. She's shaking and tears are spilling over onto her cheeks. And Doggett
can see she's as brave as ever.

"I know this is no small thing..." he whispers. "...but for me to stay, I need
to know."

Scully inhales and exhales, slowly and deeply.

"When I saw how you looked in Mulder's room, I realized you might be
leaving," she breathes. "And suddenly I was scared, because I realized..."
she starts to choke up. She presses her lips together to regain her control.
"I realized I didn't want you to. That I *don't* want you to..."

She ventures a look up into his eyes - when she speaks again, her voice is
barely above a whisper. "...for reasons that I am not supposed to be feeling."

She breathes out hard, letting a small sob escape. She looks up and sees
that, though encouraged, a faint question still lingers in Doggett's eyes,
and a smile sneaks onto her face unbidden. "My heart is in it, too," she
whispers. Doggett feels his face practically light from within. She smiles
wider, then shakes her head disbelievingly as her lids fall shut, tears
sparkling in her lashes and slipping down her face. "God help me," she
murmurs.

He never would have believed that watching Scully cry could ever have his
stomach flipping with excitement, but it is. He can't help but feel bad for
causing it, in a weird sort of way.  He lifts one hand to her cheek, and
ventures to wipe away a tear with his thumb. Though she startles slightly,
she doesn't move away. "Well, I gotta say, He's sure been on your side so
far..." he murmurs.

"So what about you?" Scully looks suddenly uncertain.

Doggett grins crookedly, his voice a honeyed rumble. "Sweetheart, I ain't
goin' nowhere."

Scully gives him a rueful smile, relaxes slightly, shakes her head. "Well
then, God help you, too."

Doggett snorts a quiet laugh, one that belies his reeling mind. She's right,
he thinks - what the hell are they doing? And yet he's so relieved to be
doing it, whatever it is...

His hand gains confidence on her face, the move to wipe her tears becoming a
bolder caress. She leans into it. Doggett feels a stab of unbearable arousal
as her eyes drop to focus on his lips, and then slide slowly back up his
face. The heat of the moment melts his knees and his heart, and threatens to
have the opposite effect on another part of him.

Her expression turns serious. She regains a tiny bit of her usual composure.
"I have no idea what will happen," she says softly. "I can't promise
anything."

Doggett's look darkens imperceptibly, though he nods in understanding. "Don'
t promise anything to me," he says. "Promise yourself."

Appreciative amazement fills her face. Their eyes meet, a gentle battle of
blue against blue.

An moment later she's gone.

Doggett has no idea how long it's been since her taillights faded from view,
or how long he's been standing here like a fool staring into the place where
he last saw them. If the cold biting into his bones is any indication, it's
been quite a while. He doesn't much care. He wonders vaguely if the big,
sloppy, shit-eating grin on his face might, if left in place long enough,
turn into something permanent.

Evidently, it might.

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