by Emma Brightman
emmabrightman1013@yahoo.com

Disclaimer:  Not mine
Classification:  VA, DeadAlive post-ep, E-muse Secret Santa fic
Spoilers:  DeadAlive.  It helps if you remember the episode
fairly well. <g>
Rating:   PG

Thank you, Lilydale.  Your beta was greatly appreciated, as
always. :)

For Elizabeth Rowandale, with many thanks for her own lovely
swap story.  Happy Holidays!

- - -

Luke saw meaning everywhere, in that wide-eyed way kids have.
Cowboys and Indians fighting in the clouds, spaceships and
angels floating in the stars.  The clown faces he imagined in
his bedroom ceiling's stuccoed plaster gave him nightmares for
months.  He was a sensitive kid, artistic and high-strung like
his mother.  Gone before his father's bullheaded pragmatism
could weigh him down.

Doggett sits with his head in his hands, shoulders hunched and
bony elbows poking into his thighs.  He stares at the floor
between his feet and strains to picture what Luke would've in
the worn linoleum, but all he sees are ugly brown specks on a
dull tan background.

If there's some meaning in what he's seen these past few days,
he damn well doesn't know what it is.

Until recently, seeing things as they really are has served him
well; lately it only leaves him feeling impotent and useless.
He presses his fingers hard into his closed eyes, but the specks
are still there, spots of light dancing before him like a
negative of the real thing.

"Agent Doggett?  You're still here?  I thought you'd gone home."

Scully's voice cuts through the bubble of silence surrounding
him, the hush of death and near-death that seems to permeate
this part of the hospital.  He tilts his head up and she's
looming above him, her brows drawn together in a look of
consternation he's come to know too well.

When he springs to his feet every muscle in his body throbs,
every joint aches with the sudden motion.  He can't help wincing
in pain, but she doesn't seem to notice it, or his face,
battered and bruised from his run-in with Krycek.  Not that he
can blame her; she has something else -- someone else -- on her
mind.

"Agent Scully.  How's Mulder doing?"  He stands before her
feeling old and creaky, pins and needles racing up and down his
thighs.  If he's this uncomfortable after a couple of hours in a
plastic chair, she must feel miserable.  One hand rests on her
round belly while the other rubs circles into the small of her
back, but she smiles that tiny half-smile of hers and the lines
in her forehead disappear, her face growing soft with a look he
knows he's never seen on her before.

"He's sleeping.  He can't keep his eyes open for more than a few
minutes at a time, but he seems okay.  I think he's going to be
okay."  She sighs softly, and her eyes flutter shut for a
second.  "I just can't believe it's true.  That he's really in
there.  That I can talk to him again..."

Her voice fades as she turns toward Mulder's door, gazing at the
blur of his sleeping body through the beveled window.  When she
turns back around long seconds later she seems almost surprised
to see Doggett there, and her face changes again, becomes more
businesslike and recognizable.

"I'm sorry Agent Doggett, did you need to speak to me about
something?"

"I had a meeting with Deputy Director Kersh this morning.  Looks
like you're gonna be stuck with me down in the basement a while
longer after all.  Just stopped by after I left the office to
tell you.  See how Mulder was."

She nods, distracted, and he feels foolish for waiting there to
tell her news that could've held until morning.  The truth is he
was embarrassed, interrupting the two of them before, and
thought he'd sit for a minute until he could talk to Scully,
apologize for barging in on an intimate moment.  But as the
minutes passed into hours he forgot that altogether, lost in
thoughts of life and death and a little boy who'd never
miraculously rise from the grave.

"Anyway, that's it.  I better get going."  Doggett grabs his
jacket from the back of the chair and gingerly slips it on, one
stiff arm at a time.  "Are you going home?  I'll give you a
ride.  You're probably too tired to drive."

As soon as the words are out he's sure they were a mistake, that
he'll somehow get her back up again with his protectiveness. He
knows from personal experience how hard pregnancy can be on a
woman, and if she thinks he's a sexist pig for his behavior,
well, so be it.

His comments seem to slip past her ball-busting radar this time,
though, and he has to admit he's relieved, despite his bravado.
He's not up to being told off right now, not after the shitty
day he's had.

Scully tucks a strand of tousled hair behind her ear, and
Doggett imagines Mulder's fingers weakly stroking her head,
tangling in her hair as her hot tears fall on his chest.
"Thanks, but I just came out here to make a few phone calls.
I'm going to spend the night."

Doggett narrows his eyes at her and opens his mouth to protest.
He never did know when to shut the hell up.  Scully cocks her
head and purses her mouth as if appraising him, searching out
his motives.  She seems satisfied with what she finds in his
face and favors him with a tight-lipped smile.

"One of the nurses said she'll bring me a cot.  I'll get some
sleep."  As if on cue, she yawns, hiding her mouth with the back
of her hand.

"You need to eat, too, Agent Scully.  I bet you've barely eaten
all day, have you?  And don't forget, you're eating for-"

"For two, yes, so you've mentioned before.  I'll be fine, don't
worry about me.  Go home."  She chuckles.  "Kersh will be
waiting to kick your ass when that report on our Bigfoot-hunting
success isn't on his desk at oh-eight-hundred, so you need your
rest."

God, she must be exhausted, punchy, something.  Scully doesn't
joke about the work.  Doesn't joke around, period.  Her iciness
has thawed over the last six months, but he has yet to hear her
laugh, or even see her show her teeth when smiling.  And now
she's standing here in front of him, her lips twitching with
barely-suppressed mirth.  He can't help smiling in return, even
if her behavior's a little unsettling.

"Report's done.  After Kersh sent me back to the basement this
morning I figured I might as well make myself useful.  I _can_
do paperwork, if nothing else," he says.  Their earlier
conversation still rankles, mostly because he's afraid that what
he told her is right.  That he's not up to this job.

Scully sobers, the smile fading from her face.  He didn't mean
to sound quite so bitter, really, and he smiles again, trying to
recapture their earlier lightheartedness.

Her hand leaves its spot on her stomach, hovering just above his
arm but not quite touching him before falling to her side.
Whether it's an overture of forgiveness or apology he's not
sure, but either way, he'll take it.

"I appreciate it," she says, her tongue darting out to wet her
lips in a nervous gesture he's come to recognize.  "It's one
less thing for me to worry about right now.  Thank you, John."

His name is barely more than a whisper, and she seems to have
noticed the same spots on the floor that he'd found so
fascinating, toeing them with her clunky black shoe before
looking at him again.

"Go home, Agent Doggett," Scully says gently.  "Get some rest."

Doggett simply nods, then turns and walks away, his footsteps
echoing in the silent hall.  In the parking lot, he leans
against his truck, looks up at the clear, starry sky, and sighs.
Some things are beyond understanding, he thinks.  Sometimes
understanding is beside the point.

Inside, a man who'd been dead for months is alive and gaining
strength.  Inside, a mourning woman can finally smile again, and
an unborn child will have a father.

Outside, the air is cool, refreshing.  Doggett gazes up into the
darkness, his breath catching when he sees angels and spaceships
floating in the stars.
 

end