Title: Hurting Her Feelings
Author: Scifinerdgrl
Rating: PG
Category: Doggett angst
Summary: Doggett regrets some of the things he's said to his partner.

I pull my truck into the driveway, shift to "park," then let the day's tension rush out through my nostrils. As long as I sat there, the night wouldn't come, and with it the loneliness I deserved. If I tried hard enough I could will myself to be numb, but I couldn't keep it up. Something would rush into the void, and my last day with my partner would replay itself all over again. The slam of our office door... the tap-tap-tap of her footsteps as she walked to the elevator... her last words to me as I watched her get into the elevator...

"Crap, is it? Did it ever occur to you that the way you treat me is crap?"

No, it hadn't occurred to me. Why hadn't it? Why was my partnership starting to feel like my marriage? I had no answers. I watched the lighted B above the elevator turn dark, then went back to my desk and put my head in my hands.

Well, it *was* crap. I'd said so before when she volunteered her silly theories, and this theory was even more bizarre. Why now? Why take all this so personally. She should know by now I didn't mean anything by it...

The sun was setting behind the trees and the first lightening bug of the night hovered just outside the driver's door. Yes, I see you, damn bug. Time to get out... I went to the back door and looked back at the truck. No peace there anyway.

Crap, I thought as I turned the key in the lock. I think her theory is crap. I tell it like I see it. Crap. I throw my jacket on the kitchen chair. Crap. I toss my TV dinner in the microwave and slam the door. Crap. I sit on the sofa, grab the remote, and start shoveling the tasteless goo. So I treat her like crap?

The day runs through my mind, then last week, then finally this past year. Okay, she doesn't like it when I dismiss her theories out of hand. I should stop that. But I'm right... Well, not all the time, I guess. She's often right. Usually, in fact. It's just a habit, a knee-jerk reaction, to call anything unusual "crap." I had to admit to myself that after seeing the evidence I usually come around to believing her, but not before. My initial reaction, even after a few words, is "Aw, c'mon.. you don't expect me to believe that crap?!?!"

Crap... She's using that word against me now. Turnabout is fairplay, I suppose. So I treat her like crap, huh? Barbara said the same thing, but Barbara was never the same after Luke died. She said it was me that changed; I said she had changed. Now that word is back. Crap. Same smell, same Doggett? I've treated someone else like crap now, and I realize I'm as afraid of losing her as I was of losing Barbara. Maybe the divorce was my fault after all...

Crap! I start pacing around the living room. Crap! Crap! Crap! Crap! I throw a fist into the wall, setting up a series of rhythmic taps as the knick-knacks and pictures bang against the wall. CRAP!!! I grab my fist. DAMN THAT HURTS!!!! As I run my hand under cold water, I stare at my reflection in the window above the sink. You, I accuse myself. You are the common denominator. It isn't them... it's you. You treat women like crap. Just like your father and his father... I turn off the water and study my face. I see my father's face now, angry, sullen, withdrawn. But in my mind I hear my own voice, a high soprano, as I stand next to Mother stroking her hair. It's okay, Mother, I say, with maturity I shouldn't have had. She half-smiles and takes my hand. Why does he treat me like crap? she asks. Why?

I didn't have an answer then. And I don't now.