Title:  A Father's Confession

Author: spookycc 

Rating: PG-13 

Classification: S/D, Doggett angst, mentiones Pre-XF, Doggett POV

Summary: Postep for "Invocation"

Spoilers: Wild guess:  Yes, for "Invocation"  

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

No beta-reader was used. All typos are my own.

****

The flight back to D.C. leaves tomorrow. Another night in the beautiful
state of Oklahoma. Swell. At least there are no ponies within sight.

I loosen my tie some more, and lay back on the still-made bed with a
sigh. Why did that damned psychic have to drag *me* into this case? Like it
wasn't hard enough already...

A knock at the door. I know that knock already, I know who it is.

"It's open." I drag my weary body off the bed to meet her.

Scully opens the door quietly, and smiles hesitantly. "Can we talk?"

She has to look up a good half a foot to meet my eyes. She does so without
yielding an inch.

"Agent Scully, it's kinda late. Frankly, I'm beat." Why the hell did I say
that? I *need* to talk. I would say she'll never understand, but I know
better. I read every X-File in that cabinet, and I know she lost a daughter,
I know she can connect with what I'm feeling. Certainly the circumstances
were very different, since she had only just found the child to be her own
before the kid died, but there's still an unspoken bond between parents who
have lost children.

Scully knows me already. She nods, nibbling her lip, lowers her head, and
closes the door. She's still inside it, of course. How she knows what I need
is only one of her mysteries that I find so alluring.

I motion her to the rickety chair beside the bed, and she sits down.
Hesitantly, it seems. Unsure of how to proceed, even though we both know why
she's here.

I sit back on the bed, facing her, and studiously look at my own feet as I
gather my thoughts.

"I had a son," I start. I'm speaking very softly, not something I do very
often, but this is dangerous terrority. I know she can hear me, though.

She nods again. I remember her puzzled look in my direction when that damned
psychic said she felt that "force", whatever, coming through *me*.  I felt
like I was under a microscope in Dr. Scully's forensics lab. Hell, I feel
like I'm there again *now*.

I know she's waiting for me to continue, though she says nothing. I can feel
the willingness to listen, though I do not meet her eyes.

"Before I joined the Bureau, I worked for the NYPD," I start again,
tentatively. 

"I know what's on your FBI resumé, Agent Doggett," she says gently. I'm not
surprised that she looked me up, though I'm surprised she admitted it.
"There's more than that going on here."

I exhale a deep sigh, a slow nod, and search once more for the words...

"I was working double-shifts. Nothing new for me, but I was spending an
awful lot of time away from my wife, from my son. It wasn't easy, and I know
my wife had issues with it, but I only know how to work one way."

A pause, almost uncomfortable, fills the room, and I hesitantly look into
her blue-green eyes.

"Go on," Scully gently pushes. Her hands lay in her lap, and she leans
almost imperceptably toward me.

"One night, I get this frantic call - it's my wife. We'd been supposed to go
to dinner, all three of us, but I had some - *important* work I needed to
get done, so I bailed on our plans.

"So. Anyway... They went ahead without me, and then I get this call...."

My shoes suddenly demand my attention again, and my eyes fall there.

I know she waits for me to continue, but she won't push anymore. I have to
get there myself.  Another deep breath...

"Captain said it started as a simple carjack. Two hoods jumped my wife's
car at an intersection, pulled her out, took off with the car. And my son."

Another pause, a bit longer this time...

"My wife wasn't hurt, not physically. The police found the car, about ten
miles from the intersection. My son wasn't in it...

"We looked everywhere. Waited for a ransom call. Nothing. Finally, two days
later, we got a break. Someone had spotted a guy matching our perp's
description at a shitty motel, up on the interstate. I picked up my wife and
we drove there together. This guy - he was crazy - he had my son. He'd seen
on the news that the kid's dad was a cop, and he had some issues with the
police. So he said he'd talk.

"The hostage negotiation team was already there. They were doin' their job,
you know? But it wasn't happening fast enough. We camped outside that damned
motel for over a day, even bringing in food for the perp - and my son. They
talked and they talked, but nothin' happened. My wife was hysterical.

"Toward the end, it really seemed like they were makin' progess. Then the
guy just plain freaked out on us. I don't even know what set him off. He
started shooting out the window, and everybody ducked for cover.

"I was tryin' like hell to talk the SWAT team commander into rushing the
guy, but he kept insisting they could still talk the guy out. He didn't
understand. I almost pulled my own gun on him - I was that desperate - but
he wouldn't budge.

"Then we heard two shots *inside* the room, and the decision was made for
him. He couldn't delay any longer. We went in from both entrances...

"We were too late. *I* was too late - for my son. The damned perp had killed
him before we got in. All that talk.  *All* that talk...

"If we'd gone in sooner, even an hour sooner, my son might still be alive."

"I'm sorry." her voice, softer than usual, conveys much deeper emotion than
she might admit to, I think. She usually tries to keep her emotions pretty
much in check. So do I.

"The captain sent me out to get my wife. He'd let her know what happened,
and she came back in with me. We walked into the bedroom, and our son was on
the bed. They'd already covered him up with a blanket, but I pulled it back.
I needed to see him - to let him know who'd let him down.

"I hardly recognized him. It was our son, but he was so - he was covered
with blood.  I think my wife went outside and got sick, I'm not sure. I
picked him up - I wanted to hold him one last time. But he was so... he was
so cold. I laid him back down and covered him up again."

Somehow Scully is beside me. I didn't even hear her get up from the chair.

"My wife was devastated." I don't bother telling Scully that *I* was just as
affected. I imagine she knows, though. I don't know how, I can't explain it,
but she has this ability.

"We tried to move on. I think she wanted more kids, to try again, to make it
"ok". I just couldn't. I didn't want to risk feeling that way ever again.
Ever. I got transferred uptown and we... we drifted apart, I guess. She
filed for divorce about a year later. I didn't contest it."

Scully's eyes are tear-filled, sad, but she doesn't cry. She takes one of my
hands within hers, and I start a bit at the contact. It should feel wrong.
But it feels *right*.

I let my eyes meet hers, seeking comfort there, finding it.

"I'm so sorry, John," she states simply. I would dismiss this, coming from
most anyone else. I don't do that here.

"And I'm sorry I wasn't more understanding during the case," she continues.

"Hey, I *was* outta line a couple times."

"It's not like I never faced that with Mulder." A smile graces her normally
somber face, so small it almost could go unnoticed, then it is gone. A
serious look returns to her, one that looks like it fits all too well. "Are
you gonna be ok?"

I meet her eyes again. They are caring, warm, concerned. I could lose myself
in those eyes. "Yeah.  Yeah, I'll be fine." I hope my voice sounds more
certain than I feel.

"Get some rest, then," she closes her hands around mine gently, and releases
them too soon from her own, standing to leave. "I'll see you in the
morning."

"Yeah, ok." I feel immediately colder, as she leaves my presence. She opens
the door, letting in a waft of dusty air.

"Dana?"

She turns back toward me, looks oddly surprised at my use of her first name
for the first time.

"Thank you."

That smile again, ever so slight, then she is gone.


-fini-


Author's Notes:

"Continuity? We don't need no stinkin' continuity."

This work does not fall correctly in the Doggett career timeline I
established for myself in "Ripped Apart". But 1013 doesn't worry about
continuity, so I'm not gonna let that bother me. :)