TITLE:  The Phone Call
AUTHOR:  coolbyrne
RATING: DSRish, probably a PG, some allusion to phone sex.  *snort*
DISTRIBUTION:  Take it if you like it.
SUMMARY:  Scully gets a phone call in the wee hours of the morning.
DISCLAIMER:  They're mine, all mine!!  Then I wake up.
FEEDBACK:  fugitive@ihateclowns.com

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  This is sorta odd, in that I wrote a very specific 
page of story and had intended to write the rest of the story all 
around it.  Then, I got to the end of the story and realized I had 
completely forgotten to put this particular page in!  I couldn't 
decide whether or not it still fit, but considering Doggett's state 
of inebriation, I think it could still work.  If it's not obvious 
which bit was the original idea, then a) I guess it DID work, and  b) 
I'll tell ya at the end. 

*********

   She wasn't sure how long the phone rang before she rolled over and 
stretched out a hand, knocking over her alarm clock in the process.

"Mmm.  Hello?"  There was silence on the other end except for the 
rumbling din of what seemed to be a busy bar.  The boom of the music, 
the indiscernible words of 100 conversations, the clink of glasses 
and bottles.  Scully could almost smell the smoke.

"Hello?" she repeated.

"Hey," a familiar voice rolled down the line.

"John?"

"Yeah."  As if the thought had just occurred to him, he asked, "Were 
you sleeping, Scully?"

She flopped back onto her pillow and draped her arm over her 
eyes.  "At 1:30 in the morning?  Why would I be sleeping?"

Guiltily, he apologized, "I'm sorry I woke ya.  Go back to sleep.  
I'll see ya tomorrow."

"Wait," she interjected, halting his end from hanging up.  Why he was 
calling her at this hour was a mystery, but she knew John- it must be 
a good reason.  "You still there?"

"Yeah."

"So.  What's going on?"

"Oh.  Ah, I'm just down at O'Reilly's with some guys from the fifth 
floor.  Just, you know, havin' a few drinks with friends.  Thought of 
you.  Just wonderin' what you were doin', that's all."

She smiled.  "Well, I'm flattered that you were thinking of me," she 
said honestly, "but in the future, do you think maybe you could think 
of me during the day or in the early evening instead?"

Doggett gave a low chuckle, softened by the whiskey.  "I do.  I 
mean," he laughed at himself this time, "I will."

She laughed along with him, amused at his current state, so different 
from work.  "Just to give you an idea of how this works, I thought of 
you today at lunch."

Scully could almost see his eyes widen.  "Really?" he asked.

"Yes.  I bought you a birthday present, but when I came back from 
lunch to give it to you, you were already gone."  A thought came to 
her and she groaned, "You haven't been drinking since lunch, have 
you?"

He answered with an indignant, "No, of course not."  Pause.  "Not 
steadily."  Silence.  "You bought me a birthday gift?" he asked 
quietly.

She decided to let his absence at lunch go by unreprimanded.  "Yes, I 
did," she answered

"What is it?"

"You'll have to wait until tomorrow."

"C'mon.  What is it?" he asked again, straying dangerously close to 
sounding like a 6-year old.

"You'll have to wait," Scully repeated firmly.

"I didn't think you knew it was my birthday," he admitted.

She bit her bottom lip at this his moment of vulnerability.  Of 
course he wouldn't think she knew.  It wasn't as if she made their 
first year together a glowing endorsement of partnership, never mind 
friendship.  

Changing course, she inquired, "How are you getting home, John?"

The sudden bumping sound must've been his head coming to rest on top 
of the payphone, she thought.  "You still there?" she asked.

"Mmm?  Yeah, I'm still here."

"How are you getting home?" she asked again.

"I was gonna catch a lift with one of the guys, but I think I'm just 
gonna head out now, take a cab."

"Do you want me to come and pick you up?"

"Yeah, I do," he answered truthfully, "I want you to come pick me 
up.  But there's no reason for you to get outta bed.  I'll take a 
cab.. and a raincheck."

She knew his response wasn't a ploy to make her feel guilty with some 
reverse psychology bullshit.  Under any other circumstance, he would 
have let her pick him up as he so sincerely admitted to wanting.  But 
it was almost 2 in the morning and he wouldn't have her get out of 
bed just because he had thrown the day into the wind and gotten drunk.

"Ok," she said, "but I want you to call me when you get home."

"Ok," he repeated.

"Promise me you'll call me."

"I promise."

*

With the exception of the slight tumble up the front steps from the 
cab and the 6 attempts it took to get the key in the lock, Doggett 
figured he had done quite well.  Deciding against turning on the main 
light -for the sake of his eyes- he used his fingertips as a crutch 
along the end table to flick on the small lamp.  Even that small 
wattage caused him to squeeze his eyes shut and emit a low moan.

Just as he was about to call the couch his home for the night, he 
spotted the cordless phone on the coffee table.

"Dana," he said aloud.  "I'm supposta call Dana."  He wrestled with 
this for a moment, torn between not wanting to wake her up again, and 
letting her know he was ok.  His closing argument- "I promised her"- 
finally made the decision for him.

He grabbed the phone and flopped on the couch, successfully kicking 
off his shoes and dialing her number at the same time.  He 
congratulated himself with a self-assured, "Heh."

The other end rang once before he heard her familiar voice.  "Hello?"

"Hello," he echoed, then added, "you're still up."

"Well, you said you would call back.  I took it to mean you'd call 
back."

"Ok.  So I'm callin' back."

"How are you feeling?"

As if in response to her question, he squeezed his temples 
together.  "I'm doin' ok."  Which was true; the alcohol was still 
working its way through his bloodstream, leaving him feeling slightly 
giddy.  On the other hand, "I wish someone would stop the room from 
spinnin', though."

Scully gave a small laugh and said, "Well, I can't fix your immediate 
problem, but I can suggest some preventative medicine for tomorrow 
morning."

Doggett gave a smirk and drawled, "You gonna come over here and rub 
my temples personally?"

"No," she answered, trying her best to sound firm.  "What I will do 
is forget we've had this conversation tomorrow."

"That's probably a good idea," Doggett chuckled.

"Next," she continued, "I suggest you go into your kitchen, grab a 
couple of aspirins and drink as much water as you can before you keel 
over."

"Ok."

There was a moment of silence.

"That means you have to get up from your couch and stagger into the 
kitchen, John."

"I know, I know."  With that, Scully could hear his groan as he 
lifted his lean frame from the warmth of the couch and stood 
upright.  

The clink of the bottles in the door of his fridge let her know he 
was following her instructions.  She could almost see him there, 
holding the phone in the crook of his shoulder and ear, grabbing the 
bottle of water with his left hand, holding the fridge door open and 
for support with his other hand.

"Aw, shit," he groaned.

"What?  Are you ok?" 

"Yeah," he reassured her, "I just remembered all the aspirin is in my 
bathroom."

"Well.."

"Yeah, yeah, `Go upstairs and get `em, then.'  I'm goin'."

She heard him close the fridge door and make his way from his kitchen 
to the stairs.  Scully had been in his house a couple of times; 
enough to know he should watch out for..

"Ow!  Fuckin' fern."

She couldn't help but laugh now.

"You're really enjoyin' this moment, aren't ya?" he chastised her.

What could she do but admit the truth?  "Yeah, a little bit."

"You really need to work on your bedside manner, Nurse Nightingale."

"Well, technically, I'm not by your bed, so I have a legal 
loophole."  She heard him grunt his disapproval, then she 
asked, "Have you made it up the stairs yet?"

"You know, this would be so much easier if the freakin' handrail 
didn't keep movin'," he remarked.

"Actually, it's because your brain can't multi-task right now.  If 
you'd stop talking and just concentrate on walking, you'd get to the 
top much sooner."

"Thank you, Einstein," he retorted, but she noticed he maintained a 
moment of silence on his end as he made his way up the stairs.  The 
rustles and noises that followed sounded as if he had finally made it 
into the bathroom and located the aspirin.  "Just line up the arrows, 
Dawg," she heard him mutter to himself.  The sound of running water 
apparently signaled his success with the child-proof bottle.

"Are you drinking out of the tap?" Scully asked in response to the 
slurping noises on the other end.

He paused long enough to answer, "Yeah.  I forgot the bottle of water 
downstairs, and I'll be damned if I'm gonna try those stairs again."  
The slurping sound returned.  Moments of this passed until his voice 
returned to her.  "How much of this stuff am I supposed to be 
drinkin'?"

"Drink as much as you think you possibly can."

"Ok, I did that."

"Now drink a bit more."

"But you just said...," he protested.

"John...," she warned.

"All right, all right," he grumbled.  Another minute passed and he 
said, "Ok, that's it.  My back teeth are floatin'."

She laughed and tried to decipher the noises now present in the 
background.  "What are you doing?"

The air in his lungs exhaled as he dropped down to sit on his 
bed.  "I'm takin' my clothes off.  They reek."  He waited for her 
witty reply, but heard nothing. "What?  It's not like you can see me 
or anything.  Besides," he added with a smirk she could hear, "it IS 
my birthday after all.  Might as well dress the part."

"You know," she said, "this is veering dangerously close to becoming 
a 900 number phone call."

"Well, you said you'd forget this conversation tomorrow," he teased.

"Well, you certainly have the voice for it," she bantered back.

"Oh, really?" he asked slyly.  Lowering his gravelly voice even more, 
he continued, "What are you wearing?"

Scully laughed out loud.  This was certainly turning out to be an 
interesting phone call.

Not hearing a response from her besides her warm laughter, he carried 
on, "I got rid of my jacket and shoes downstairs.  Now I'm undoin' my 
shirt.  I'm tuggin' it outta my pants."

Despite a small puritan voice in her head protesting these events 
between two working partners, Scully lay back on her bed and closed 
her eyes.  "Go on."

Now it was Doggett's turn to laugh. "I'm not promisin' I'll forget 
this conversation tomorrow, partner."  Again, there was no response 
but her laughter, so he went on.  "I'm undoin' the cuffs and takin' 
off my shirt."  She could hear his voice closer in the receiver as he 
must have cradled it between his shoulder and ear again to free up 
his hands.  "Now I'm undoin' my belt."  The metal of the buckle 
jingling together gave proof to his words.

"Take off your t-shirt first," she directed.

"Ooh, Agent Dana Scully, I'll be sending you a bill," he teased.

"Then you'd better make it worth my while," she smirked.

"Yes, ma'am.  Hold on."  Sounds in the background indicated he was 
taking off his shirt as requested.  "Now I'm pullin' my belt free.  
If that's ok with you."  There was silence on her end and he 
said, "Don't stick out your tongue unless you're gonna use it, 
ma'am."  He heard the intake of breath indicating her shock and his 
intuitiveness and he laughed out loud.  "Now I'm unzippin' my pants.  
Now I'm shiftin' my hips in a seductive manner so's the pants slip 
past my ass and my, uh, `generous package'."

Now it was Scully's turn to laugh out loud.  "If I didn't know you, 
John, I'd think you'd done this before."

Keeping his voice low he said, "Hey, gotta supplement that government 
paycheck somehow."  He flopped back onto the bed.

The length of silence stretched on so long, Scully finally broke 
it.  "You still there?"

"Yeah," he said quietly, his playful banter now gone.

"You ok?" she asked, concerned.

"I wanna tell you something."

"Uh-oh."

"What, `uh-oh'?"

"Nothing, go on."

"No," he said, "what were you gonna say?"

"Sorry, I'm just worried you're one of those `I looove you, you know 
that, don't you?" types."

He laughed at this image and reassured her, "No, I'm not that kind of 
drunk."

"What kind are you then, John?"

He ran a hand through his hair before answering truthfully, "I'm the 
kind of drunk who starts takin' exception to boorish behaviour and 
bad manners.  I start answerin' back with my fists.  That's why I 
left when I did."

"What happened?"

He waited a while before continuing, "When I made the decision to 
stay with the X-Files, it wasn't something I did on a whim... I gave it 
a lot of thought.  I had been above ground at one time; I knew the 
way the rest of the bureau looked down at the basement.  And I caught 
a glimpse of what it had done to you and Muldah.  Families lost.  
Lives lost.  Reputations lost.  But I vowed it wouldn't happen to me."

The stretch of silence was so long that Scully wondered if he hadn't 
dropped the phone.

"John?"

"But today there I was, in a bar I used to go to on a regular basis, 
with guys I used to hang out with.. and I didn't know `em.  They're 
talkin' about families and vacations and promotions..." he trailed off. 
Scully could almost see him rubbing his forehead with his fingers and 
thumbs.  "And it's my birthday and I'm wonderin' what the hell 
happened.  Then fuckin' Bradshaw makes some wiseass comment about 
aliens and it was all I could do to not put his fuckin' lights out.  
And I realized the one person I wanted there the most wasn't there.  
So I decided to call her."  She could almost feel the cloud lift from 
his momentary lapse into self-commiseration.  "And when she didn't 
answer, I called you."

His chuckle was sincere, so she decided to not pursue his current 
train of thought.  Not tonight, anyway.

It was as if they had come to this silent agreement simultaneously, 
because he looked down at his body and quipped, "Now that you got me 
in such a state of undress, what are you gonna do with me?"

She shifted in her own bed, getting comfortable.  Slipping back into 
the easy banter of their earlier conversation, she ribbed, "First you 
have to tell me- boxers or briefs?"  She heard a quiet snort, but no 
response.  "So which is it?"  Again, silence.  She propped herself up 
on one elbow.  "John?"

Nothing from his end but the quiet sound of a slight snore.

And nothing from her end but the short sound of a 
disbelieving, "GAAAAH!"

Click.

**********

AUTHOR'S NOTE (again):  It's the bit between him taking off his pants 
and Scully asking him whether it was boxers or briefs.  I really 
truly wanted to explore the idea of Doggett now being looked on 
as "Spooky Jr." despite his apparent glowing background, and 
Doggett's reaction to it... but somehow I got sidetracked with 
Doggett taking his clothes off.  Surprise surprise.  *grin*