Title: Third Eye Blind Author: spookycc Rating: PG-13 to mild-R, descriptions of episode Classification: S/D, Doggett POV Summary: Fill-in-the-blank for "Via Negativa" Spoilers: Yep! For "Via Negativa". 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 Dedication: As ever, to Doggett's Bitch (f/k/a "Vixen" :). My soulmate. No beta-reader was used. All typos are my own. Author's notes at end. **** Andre Boramis is in jail. I see him in the cell as though I look through someone else's eyes. I feel far off, detached, walking the halls back to the main desk of the jail. My eyes, cast downward, suddenly fall on blood-red footprints in the hall before me. Distance forgotten, I follow them mindlessly, until my attention is drawn to a man, floating in a yoga-like position in front of me. Floating. What the hell? It is Tipet, and as I glance down, I see the bloodied footprints end under my own shoes. Before I can even begin to reconcile this discovery, my eyes are pulled to look within my own hands. I see the face of my partner. Bloodied. Her sightless eyes gazing into nothingness. "Agent Doggett", Skinner's voice pulls me back to reality. He hands me a cell phone. "It's Agent Scully." I'm sure I look like crap. I'm sweating bullets. I'm sittin' on the floor, fer crissakes. Skinner only spares me a momentary questioning gaze. "Agent Scully," I stand, a little wobbly, and flip the phone to my ear. Her voice is a welcome sound. It helps me distance myself from whatever the hell just happened here. "Skinner told me about the case," she begins. Her voice sounds weak, tired. "I know that you covered for me. You didn't have to do that." "It's all right," I answer. "I appreciate your discretion." "Yeah, well, it's easy to be discreet when you don't know what's goin' on," I reply. There is something I need to know, though. "Are you ok?" "I'm fine." I hear otherwise in her voice, but I'm not comfortable in pursuing the issue yet. Why do I have this feeling I'll hear a lot of that phrase from this woman who will not admit any weakness to me? "Skinner says you're round the clock on this thing," her voice softens a bit. Concern? It sounds like it. "You need to get your rest." "Yeah, I just grabbed a few winks." They were far from restful, however. "I asked him to contact some friends of Mulder's," she goes on. "I think they'll be able to help." "I appreciate all the help I can get," I reply honestly, heaving a tired sigh despite myself. Her next comment surprises me a bit. "Doggett, you're a good agent. Trust your instincts." I nod wordlessly as the connection is broken, inexplicably pleased by what Agent Scully just said, and I hear Skinner's footsteps behind me. Skinner lets me know about the drug that Boramis was "cooking up". He thinks it was for Tipet. I think Boramis made it for for himself. I need to talk to him, now. Skinner follows along, confusedly. We head into the cell, and all appears peaceful. Despite not wanting to sleep, it seems as if that's exactly what Boramis is doing. Until we enter the cell. He lies beneath his blankets on the cot, his head a bloodied mess. **** As I approach our office, I can hear voices inside. Interrupting a trio of men who are most certainly not FBI agents, I ask if I can help them. I get the hint that I've interrupted some pretty lively conversation. They clam up kinda fast, and I use their moment of awkwardness to assess the three. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that Mulder's friends are weird, after all I've heard about Mulder himself, but these guys take the term "geeks" to the next level. Introductions are made. So these are The Lone Gunmen. They've looked over the file on this case, and Langly speaks for them all. "No offense, man, but you're in *way* over your head." Great. Tell me somethin' I *don't* know. "What help can you give me?" I start the "meeting". A slideshow introduces me to the "third eye", and how Tipet feels closer to "god". Their conversation gets wilder from there, leading into an explanation of "psychic assassins", originally designed by the CIA but brought into reality by Tipet. I don't believe what they suggest Tipet has done, not for a minute. But if *Tipet* himself believes it, he'll need more drugs to continue his killing. As I leave to call Skinner for a run to Boramis' lab, I hear Frohike's voice. "Not bad for a beginner." For a brief moment, I wonder what they think of me. The lab is quiet, except for the scuttling of rats across the floor. Suddenly the sound of the table saw can be heard over their skittering. Tipet means to end his life to end the killing. Before we can stop him, he throws himself on the saw. I am only close enough to feel the rush of his warm blood splattering on my face, as we pull him off the saw. **** The ER nurse slides a clipboard into my hand, as Skinner follows the gurney bearing Tipet down the hall. Something about him needing to be admitted, and she wants me to sign the paperwork. Fine. Whatever. My mind is still a million miles away as I hold a pen to the chart. Then a name catches my eye, and I flip back a page. There. 'Dana Scully'. Admitted with acute abdominal pain. Damn. My words of earlier today float back to haunt me. "I've got 22 dead bodies and she's takin' *personal* time?" What a selfish bastard I am. I should know that Scully wouldn't abandon an important case without a good reason. *This* is a damned good reason, I'd say. Before I even know I have moved, I am at her door. It is open, just about a foot. I stand outside, hesitant. Never feeling more like an outsider than I do right now. An interloper with no clue what was going on. Unentitled to know the deepest secrets of this woman. On one level I feel that I *should* be here with her, my partner. I feel a need to be here, that's for sure. But she didn't take me into her confidence, and I don't want to step beyond the boundaries she has established for me. In slumber, Dana Scully looks peaceful. Her auburn hair lays across the pillow, her skin pale against the hospital sheets. She's not in any pain now, at least. A part of me sighs wearily as I realize how much of her is still closed off to me, even after the horrendous ordeals we've already been through together. I feel empty, isolated from this woman I already care so deeply for. When will she let me in? What do I have to do to prove that I'm not the "bad guy"? How high are the walls she has erected to protect herself, to protect the memory of her missing partner? I see her alone yet not alone, never and always touching and touched by his presence, even though months have now elapsed since his disappearance. I made a promise to her, to find him. Though leads have been few, I am constantly in the information loop, even as we pursue other cases. I cannot do any less for this woman. I wander dejectedly back toward the admitting desk, my thoughts remaining within the room I leave behind. **** Another meeting with Kersh. They're are always so damned productive, sarcasm intended. Instead of ridiculing my explanation of "Via Negativa", as I had expected, he dismisses Skinner and I with a well-done and an order to have our reports on his desk by oh-nine-hundred. What the hell is he thinking? "The case isn't over yet, sir," I object, though Skinner looks like he'd be just as happy to leave the office right now. I try to make him understand that it's *not* over, but his mind is closed. I'm confused, unsure of what to think, as he dismisses me once again. On top of that, I'm so damn tired I could sleep for a week. I need to talk to someone who will understand that this isn't over, and since I can't contact the Lone Gunmen without Scully's help, I decide to leave a message on her machine. I don't even know if she's out of the hospital yet, but I hope she'll hear it soon. I'm sure she'll have to replay the message several times, since I'm not thinking clearly and therefore not speaking coherently. Should I have let Tipet die? I'm not making a lot of sense, I know, and I need some sleep. I end the message asking that if she feels up to it, to call me... I hang the phone up and raise my eyes to ascertain if I look as crappy and worn-out as I feel. Instead, Tipet's face appears behind mine in the mirror. I wheel around, and there is no one there. I'm not surprised, not really. Damn, I need some sleep. This case has really freaked me out. As I walk up the stairs to my bedroom, I swear I can hear footsteps behind me... By the next morning, I feel as though I haven't slept at all. Wearily, I go through the motions of showering and dressing for work. Standing at the mirror to put on my tie, I suddenly see a third eye, in the middle of my forehead, just like the ones we saw in the slideshow. Just like the one I saw on Tipet in that hallway at the jail. What the hell is going on?! A blink and the image is gone, leaving only worrisome thoughts behind. I drive to the Hoover building and walk dumbly to A.D. Skinner's office. By the look on his face, he's interpreted the look on *my* face to mean something's not right, and he brings me in without comment, until the outer door is closed. "Is something wrong?" His voice is tinged with concern. I turn to face him, and we stand toe to toe for long moments before I speak. Slowly, and, I hope, clearly. "I'm not sure I'm awake." His looks is a bit incredulous. Certainly understandable. He's as new to this "believing" thing as Agent Scully is. "You think this is a dream? You standing here talking to me?" He gestures back towards the door. "All those people out there?" How can I make him understand my fears? My eyes slip back and forth, as I try to figure out how to explain what I feel to this man. We've both been through hell and back on the battlefied many times. But this is different. Dammit, this is inside me! My breaths ring hollow and hard. "Last night, I dreamt Tipet was inside my house, holding an axe." My voice lowers almost to a whisper. It must be laced with the edge of fear I feel in the pit of my stomach. "I thought I woke up this morning. I thought I was awake, but- but then-" Skinner's reply would be comical in any other context. "What do you want me to do, pinch you? You're already awake." "Steadman and Leads must have experienced the same thing," I continue, beseeching him with my eyes to listen, to *really* listen. "All Tipet's victims. Everything seemed real. But it was a dream. A dream that ended in their deaths." Skinner is not convinced. "Anthony Tipet is in a coma, never to regain consciousness." I shake my head. He doesn't understand. "He *knows* me now," I am almost pleading. I need someone to wake me up from this dream, if that's what it is. "He can enter into my dreams." Skinner tries to be the voice of reason. But reason has little to do with what I'm feeling right now. "Listen to me. You've had a tough couple days. You're tired. Go home and get some rest." No! I can't sleep! I'm sleeping already! Why can't he understand what's happening to me? I take the elevator to the second floor, and exit into - an empty hall. No agents, no secretaries. This hall should be bustling. Then the hall seems to extend itself, endlessly in both directions, before I view Anthony Tipet walking stiffly in my direction. He speaks before opening his eyes. "She's going to die." "I'm not going to let you do that," my voice, even to my own ears, is slowed, slurred. "I'm sorry. I'm not going to kill her." His eyes snap open - all three of them. "*You* are." Nooooooo! I cover my eyes with my hands, and turn to the side. I am in Agent Scully's apartment building. Blood on her door, blood on my hands. My eyes can't adjust to the lighting - or lack of it - as I walk slowly through her apartment. I stand before her bed, where she lies sleeping. So soft, so quiet, yet none of the eloquence of her features is lost or distorted by sleep. So peaceful.... Suddenly I find an axe in my hands, and I wield it above her. Part of me, the *real* part of me, wants to scream at her, to wake her up, to warn her of what is to happen. What *must* happen. Tears form unbidden in my tired eyes. No. It doesn't have to end like this. I struggle to maintain the slimmest part of my free will that is not owned by Tipet, and turn the axe instead towards myself. I swing the axe toward my head, already bracing for the pain. "Agent Doggett? Agent Doggett!" Her voice brings me back to reality abruptly. I sit up, too fast, sweat covering my face. She stands beside my bed. I am awake. *Really* awake. Suddenly everything is normal. Well, almost normal. Agent Scully stands beside my bed, a look of puzzled concern on her face. Her hand reaches for me - but she does not make contact, just assuring herself that I'm ok. "How'd you get here?" I manage to ask. "Your door was unlocked." "You just saved my life, Agent Scully." Her look is priceless, at once amused and maybe a little indulgent. "I just woke you up, Agent Doggett." My breath is still coming in deep gasps. "Tipet's in my dreams. If you hadn't woken me up just now..." "Anthony Tipet is dead," she states simply. "I got the call from Skinner on my way over here." She crosses her arms and regards me thoughtfully. "He never regained consciousness." I shut my eyes for a moment and force myself to take a couple deep breaths, trying to slow my heart rate down. Then I focus on the real life, since the dream state has seemingly passed. Agent Scully looks even more pale than usual. Lines crease her face under her eyes, and she looks as tired as I feel. Hell, I'm sure I look a lot worse than *she* does right now. But I'm concerned for her. "Are you ok?" How many times have I asked her that, just on this case? I wonder if I'll get a straight answer this time. I need to know if she's not ok. I need her to be comfortable enough to *tell* me if she's not ok. "I seem to be, yeah" she replies. For the briefest moment, I think about pushing a little, maybe she'll tell me what's going on. But the moment passes and I offer only my understanding. "If you need some more time off..." "I'm back at work now," she assures me. "That must have been some nightmare you just had." I sigh, thoughtful. "Tipet thought he'd find 'god' by lookin' in the darkness inside himself." "You don't think he succeeded?" her voice is, I believe, skeptical. I shake my head. I don't know what to believe. "In my dreams, I saw terrible, violent images..." I can hardly meet her gaze, after the fate I almost condemned her to, only moments ago. "They scared the livin' daylights outta me." It amazes me that I open myself to her already. I would never have admitted my fears to anyone else, except perhaps Skinner, had he listened. But that was a dream, I remind myself... Scully looks on, concern furrowing her features even more. "These things are a part of me, I can't deny that. But maybe... maybe they didn't *come* from me." "Then where'd they come from?" she is openly curious, but patient. I have no reply. "It was a bad dream, Agent Doggett," she assures me. "But that's all it was." I want her to be right. I do. But she wasn't *there*, not in a real sense. Not experiencing what *I* experienced. I know she wants to reassure me. She still wears a look of concern, of compassion, of empathy. But she still thinks it was just a dream. I know better.... ~fini~ Author's Notes: "Never and always touching and touched" should be recognizable to any Classic Trek fan, from "Amok Time". :)