Title: Taking the Plunge Author: spookycc Rating: PG 13 +/-. Classification: V A Doggett-friendly. Summary: Post ep for "Vienen" - First-person Doggett POV Spoilers: Specifically, for "Vienen". Well, maybe for S8 so far. Except for "Salvage" and "Surekill". Those sucked. Not that it matters to this fic, but in *my* world, that *thing* at the end of "Existence" never happened. Disclaimer: No characters, human or canine, are mine. And no dogs were harmed in the making of this fanfic. :)~ Feedback welcomed at spookycc@earthlink.net Archive: I'll take care of Ephemeral and Gossamer. SHODDSsters and Doggship li-berry , please help yourself, ok? Anyone else please drop me a line to let me know where it'll be living. Dedication: As ever, to Doggett's Bitch (f/k/a "Fox's Vixen" :). My soulmate, always. Hope this helps us forget that "abomination". And for girlassassin, loyal fan of my work, if not of DSR , and great friend. No beta-reader was used. All typos are my own. Author's Notes at end. **** "Taking the Plunge" Orange flames lick behind us. Black waves crash below. Mulder and I choose the lesser evil of the two, and throw ourselves from the oil rig. A bizarre sense of weightlessness, for the briefest moment. The dizzying sensation of freefall, and then we hit the water. It's like hitting concrete, from the height we jumped from. Floundering, I break the surface. I know it's the Gulf of Mexico, but it's cold. Jesus, it's cold. Shaking my head and sputtering - I can't see in front of my face. The water is ripped into tight waves by the rotors of the helicopter arriving above us. Sea spray assaults my senses, and the chopper's searchlight spins crazy patterns in the dark water. "Mulder!" He was beside me when we jumped, but I can't spot him now. I swim in a tight circle, expanding it when I don't find him right away. "Mulder!!" The rescue chopper blades beat the wind overhead. A ladder is thrown into the water. I can barely hear the voice of the man who threw it to me, but I can see him gesturing. It's clear he wants me to grab the ladder, so he can haul me in. I shake my head and point at the water. Trying to communicate over the noise of the chopper, over the roaring of the blazing oil rig behind me. I have to find Mulder. I swim in ever expanding circles, yelling. Finally I realize Mulder's not on the surface. Becoming more desperate, I realize I have no time to waste - I have to look beneath the choppy waves. I try to fill my lungs for the first dive, and I almost pass out in the water. Pain rips through my chest. Broken ribs. I've had them before. I opt for shorter dives that won't tax them so much. I pull in as much breath as I dare. Searing heat brands my ribs. And then the endorphins hit and it just feels so damn good it'd knock me off my feet if I weren't floating in the Gulf of Mexico. I've known this feeling before. I ride with it, using the incredible high to flip more deeply into the water, before the moment passes. By the time I make it back to the surface, I feel like I'm gonna lose everything I've eaten in the past two days. I'm trying to be methodic, searching another small area each time I submerge. In reality, I could be floundering around the same damn ten square yards of water and I wouldn't really know it. My hands and feet are getting numb. I come up from yet another unsuccessful dive, dog-paddling while I catch my breath. I throw a look upward as I hear another sound above me. Two rescue divers slip from the chopper, and land twenty feet from me. They flip on two high- powered flash/search lights, and swim in my direction. I follow the glare from their searchlights. Behind me, between me and the platform, a shadow on the waterline catches my eye. Mulder. I leave the chopper and its divers behind and swim as fast as I can in the direction of the still-burning rig. I'm way closer than they are. I have to get to him, at least keep him above water until they can rescue us. I feel like lead weights slow my progress. My arms and legs are so heavy. I shake my head and throw stinging salt water from my face. Trying to pinpoint Mulder in my field of vision again. I'm trying to force the pain to the back of my mind. I need to focus on getting to Mulder. There - a few dozen more agonizing strokes and I've reached him. Damn. He's face down, motionless. I pull his head above water, and tip my ear to his face. I can feel weak breathing. I tuck an arm around his chest, to begin the swim back to meet the divers. Above all the sounds engulfing me, I hear a noise that I know instinctively is not the chopper. Throwing a look over my shoulder, I see the last huge pylons and scaffolds of the drilling platform falling in on themselves. Shit - undertow! Even as I swim toward the divers, I know we're too damned close to the rig. As soon as I feel the pull, I take as deep a breath as I dare. I regret it almost instantly, as the pain flares again. I relax my muscles, against all instinct, and the suction of the sinking platform pulls us toward it. I try to hold onto Mulder. It's gonna pull him under anyway. I have to keep him close, or there's no telling how far apart we could end up. For a few moments - they stretch on forever - we are pulled down and toward the blackness below. As the surge releases us back toward the surface, Mulder is wrenched from my grasp. I struggle upward, with fleeting hopes that I can reach him again. Then I'm afloat, with a diver on each side of me. The chopper drifts nearer, and they paddle me toward the ladder. I try to pull my arms free. My ribs shout their heated protest. "There's another man in the water!" They only shake their heads, as they slide a red "rescue can" under my arm. "He's here! He jumped the same time I did! I *just* had him!" The men look at each other and back at me. I can see the hopelessness behind their masks. I don't let that deter me. "He's gotta be here somewhere!" I'm trying desperately to be heard over the rotors above. Finally, they nod to each other as much as to me. I point in the direction he was pulled, and try my best to keep up with them. The "rescue can" helps me stay afloat with less strain on my lungs - and my ribs. They submerge at regular intervals - there is no sign of life on the surface. I hear a shout - and then another, just ahead. The two divers submerge at once, and I see them holding a body - Mulder's body - between them, when they come back up. My spirits crash. He was under. Again. I feel useless - worse than useless - as we head away from the platform, back toward the helicopter, and safety. By now, all that's left behind us is a faint glimmer of orange, as the last reservoirs of oil on water from the shut-down rig burn themselves out. The divers paddle with strong strokes toward the ladder, Mulder between them. I lag behind them, strength nearly spent. Morale right behind it. Finally, we reach the chopper. One of the divers takes Mulder in a fireman's carry, up the ladder. The second diver helps me struggle rung to rung, to safety. I flop onto the floor of the helicopter, regretting it as soon as the fire hits my ribcage again. I roll over to check on Mulder. The rescuers have already cleared his airway. After just a few moments, they sit back on their heels, and I lean forward. Almost afraid to look, yet knowing they'd never give up that fast. A faint hope wells within me - that my work here has not been in vain - Mulder *has* to live. His chest rises and falls gently. He's alive. I heave a huge sigh of relief. And realize that suddenly my energy, even the minimal level needed to hold my head up, is gone. Everything goes black. **** U.S. Naval Hospital Corpus Christi, Texas His face is peaceful in sleep. Even in drugged sleep. It eases the furrows from his brow - he looks much younger than his forty-one years. I can see bruising on his right temple. In lieu of a hospital gown, he sports white bandages on his chest, protecting his injured ribs. The stiff hospital sheet is pulled up near his neck, his arms resting atop it. I've spent too much time in hard plastic hospital chairs like this one, in my years on the X-Files. Waiting for Mulder to awaken. Last month, waiting for him to awaken, quite literally, from the dead. And now I have two hospital rooms to occupy my time - and my heart. Mulder regained consciousness a few hours ago. He told me of the black oil infecting the men on the rig, but his story by necessity ended when he and Doggett hit the water. The Navy air rescue team I cornered earlier today filled in the rest. When they arrived at the platform, there was only one man there, at least that they could see. One man who refused to be rescued. Until he had pulled someone else from the water, only to be dragged back down by the undertow created when the platform collapsed into the Gulf. The divers got them both out, thank God. I can't imagine losing one of these men, let alone both of them. I shudder a little, unconsciously, closing my eyes against the thought. "Hey - you ok?" I open my eyes to meet Doggett's gaze, and smile. I almost laugh. He's in the hospital bed, asking *me* if I'm ok. "I'm fine." I pat my belly without thinking. "How are *you* feeling?" "I've been better." He tries to stretch a little, and winces as he decides that's not a good idea. "How's Mulder?" "He's doing ok. He woke up a few hours ago. Mild hypothermia, same as you. And he'd taken in more water. That's about the extent of his problems right now. *You*, on the other hand..." He gives me a puzzled look, so I continue. "... have a dandy knot on your head" - I reach over the rail and touch his right temple softly, and he tries not to cringe too visibly. "And three broken ribs." Which he's already remembered. He sighs, and closes his eyes. "Wanna tell me what happened out there?" I only know Mulder's version, which is most certainly not going to be Agent Doggett's version. He surprises me a bit. "Damned if I know," he replies honestly, shaking his head "It was like those men were possessed, or somethin'..." "Yes. 'Or something' being the operative phrase." He is silent for a moment, and then his steely gaze meets my curious stare. "Agent Scully, I saw what Mulder described as the "black oil". Not only saw it - if it wasn't for Mulder, I'd have been infected with it. Whatever *it* is." I don't push him. I don't think the word "extraterrestrial" is in his working vocabulary yet. It took me seven years to learn to believe. Agent Doggett has to be allowed to learn at his own pace. If he and Agent Mulder *live* long enough. As if he has read my thoughts, Doggett speaks again. "I dunno about this - what you call "paranormal". But I'd hafta say that whatever I saw out there is at *least* unexplainable. By any means *I* know." He tries to take a deep breath, and winces again. His eyes begin to slip closed. Before I let him drift into sleep once more, I lay a hand gently on his shoulder. His skin is warm. Alive. His eyes open, and he looks into mine. "I want to thank you, Agent Doggett. For saving Mulder's life. Again." He smiles sleepily. "Hey, he saved mine first, out there." Ever the chilvalrous knight. I can't help smiling a bit in return. I slide my hand from his shoulder, and lock my fingers within his. He lays his other hand atop mine, and his eyes drift shut again. I thought I was blessed to have found Mulder. Mulder, who used to regard each new thing with such boyish exhuberance and wonder. A brilliant mind within the ego of an impetuous child. But Mulder's Quest comes first and foremost for him, always. When I look into Mulder's eyes, I see love, yes, the same love I feel for him. But it's intertwined with his quest, as I am, until sometimes I yearn to break free. To be seen as something - as some*one* - rather than as a part of Mulder's journey. When I look within Agent Doggett's eyes, I see more. No ulterior motives. I see someone whose deepest feelings are of concern, of caring, for a person. For *people*. Not for the truth with a capital T. Mulder once told me that I made him a whole person. Now I have found the man who could perhaps - if I am lucky - do the same for me. **** Author's Notes: Special thanks as always to DB - for your help and insight. Kudos and thanks to SHODDS WIB Agent X (Bel) for her fic "Mystery Man", which inspired me to try my own hand at post-Vienen fic. I concurred (sp?) with Bel's ideas on what injuries Doggett might have sustained in the jump from the rig, as well.