Title: Implausible

Author: spookycc

Classification: V, A, DRF, DSF

Rating: Prolly PG-13, 'cept for the "f" word. Blink and you might 
miss it. ;-)

Spoilers: Improbable

Summary: Post-ep, Improbable. First person Doggett POV 

Dedication: To Doggett's Bitch: best friend, mentor, beta, soulmate; 
To Girlassassin, survivor and dear friend; To Robert Patrick, the man 
whose portrayal of John Doggett inspired me to love the character.  

Archival: I'll take care of Gossamer and Ephemeral. Anyone else who 
wants it is welcome to it - just let me know where it's going. XFMU, 
DTA & OBSDS member sites, it's yours if you want it, no notification 
needed.

Disclaimer: None of these characters is mine. Neither is the ep. If 
I'd written it, you'd have seen a lot less Burt and a lot more 
Doggett. And mine wouldn't have had stoooooopid music, either. ;-P

Feedback: Love it. spookycc@earthlink.net

> ****

Implausible 1/1


I sprint down the stairs toward the lowest level of the building - 
the parking garage. Only hitting every third step, a sense of dread 
clawing at my gut. 

I turn the handle on the basement door and push through it, barely 
slowing down. The door meets resistance, and as my eyes adjust to the 
sudden darkness, I see two figures sprawled on the concrete. I hear 
the sound of a gun skittering across cement. Then I see a dark-clad 
male scramble on all fours, reach the gun, and turn to fire at the 
other figure. Shit! It's Monica! I hear the cocking of that weapon 
even as I fire my own - three times into his chest. 

Squinting into restored light, the horror of what almost happened 
here spins through my mind like the reel of an old film. Scully 
brushes past me, to check the condition of the perp. I hurry to the 
spot where Monica is already trying to get up.

Scully says the man is fading fast, and I sense Monica's urgency, as 
I help her to her feet. The man dies without saying anything 
understandable, and the women turn their attention to me, wondering 
how the hell I knew to be here. I take in Monica's face for the first 
time - smudged and dirty. She looks like hell. 

I explain about my own "numbers" theory - not cosmic in proportion, 
just the suspected patterns of a killer, realized by the simple 
deductions of a cop. 

Dana and Monica exchange a glance between themselves, and then rush 
past me, back into the parking area. I find them standing stock-
still, puzzled looks on their faces. In an empty parking space, among 
a whole lotta other empty parking spaces.

"What is it?" I ask.

They shake their heads in unison. "There was a man here," Monica 
begins.

"And his car," Scully adds.

Now there are three of us standing here wearing confused expressions.

We head back to the stairwell, and make our way to ground level. 
Scully pulls out her cell to call the coroners' office. As we walk 
toward the street and my car, I sense, rather than see, Monica fall a 
step back. I turn to her as she takes a misstep, almost falls.

"Whoa," I catch her. "You sure you're ok?"

She nods tiredly. "Yeah. Just a little dizzy."

"You hit the concrete pretty hard down there," I offer.

She manages a half smile. "You slammed that door open pretty 
forcefully."

I return her smile, supporting her just a little, until she gets her 
bearings back and nods that she's ok.

We reach my car, parked a block and a half away, as Scully finishes 
her call and puts her cell phone away. 

Monica is quiet - too quiet - as we head through the city on the way 
to the highway, and home. Dana and I speak briefly about the case, 
but that's not where my head is. I chance looks in Monica's direction 
as traffic allows, puzzled and worried, but she just smiles tiredly. 

"So... Who was the guy who lost you in the parking garage?" I aim the 
question specifically at Monica, trying to bring her out, get her 
talking.

She murmurs a reply I can't understand. Maybe she's just sleepy - but 
when I look over at her, she's still wide-awake.

Scully leans forward between the front seats, alarmed.

"Monica?" she asks. "Are you alright?"

Monica mumbles something about a headache.

Scully's tone of voice changes and I know she's slipped into 
physician mode. "John, I want to get her checked out."

I nod, that thought already in my mind. Scully pulls a penlight from 
her pocket and shines it in Monica's eyes, one after the 
other. "Monica? Are you having any vision problems?"

Monica nods wearily, again. "Everything's a little fuzzy."

I'm relieved to hear Monica say something intelligible, but I know 
the blurry vision is a bad sign. I flash a quick look in the rear 
view mirror. Scully's expression tells me she's thinking the same 
thing. She pulls out her cell phone, calls 411 and gets directions to 
the nearest hospital.

Thank God it's not far. 

"Monica," Scully is trying to keep her awake, and test her 
perception, I know. I've experienced too many concussions 
firsthand. "Do you know where you are?"

Monica looks puzzled. That's a damned bad sign. Scully checks 
Monica's respiration and pulse, nodding that those are both 
satisfactory. Still worried, I speed up. I was already exceeding the 
speed limit. 



> ****

Atlantic City Medical Center


I drive into the emergency lot, and pull the car into an open space. 
Monica is completely non-responsive now, and it looks like she's 
losing consciousness. I rush to the passenger side, and unsnap her 
safety belt. I pick her up gently, afraid of doing more harm, and 
Scully and I rush to the E.R. entrance.

The doors whoosh open as we approach them, and Scully collars the 
first white coat she sees and lets her know what's going on. I hold 
Monica - she looks like a sleeping child - until two E.R. techs bring 
a gurney out. 

"Any spinal injury?" one asks.

"I don't think so. She'd been walking before she started having 
vision problems and dizziness." 

He nods, and they place her gently but quickly on the gurney. A few 
seconds later, she is gone, into the labyrinth of rooms and cubicles. 
Suddenly I have nothing to do but wait. And it's something I'm not 
very good at.

I join Scully at an admissions cubicle - I supply some information 
she can't about Monica. Then we wander back to the waiting room, and 
collapse into hard plastic chairs. Hospitals must buy these damn 
chairs in mass quantities, and get a huge discount on them. 

Scully's gaze lingers on me - I can feel it - and I turn to meet her 
eyes. She nods in encouragement. "I think she'll be ok."

I cast my eyes back down at the floor, thinking about what Monica 
said. I know she didn't mean it seriously, but *I* knocked her over 
when I rushed through the door. Without thinking. I seem to do a lot 
of things without thinking. 

My mind wanders back to the last time Scully and I sat in a waiting 
room. Monica was in a coma - almost didn't make it back. What if she 
goes into a coma now? Does that past incident make it more likely to 
happen now? My subconscious throws questions out faster than my 
conscious mind can answer them.

Scully rests a hand on my arm, and I turn to look at her again. "Her 
vitals are good, John."

I lower my head. "She still had her freakin' *gun* until I knocked 
them both down."

"You saved her life." Scully is adamant. 

"Only after I put her in more danger than she was already in."

"John," Scully continues. "You don't know that she would have been 
able to keep her gun away from that killer."

"At least she had a chance."

"She had almost *no* chance against a man that size, with his history 
of violence." I shake my head, wishing Scully would let it drop. She 
doesn't, of course. "Why are you doing this to yourself?"

I turn to meet her gaze once more. "I don't like lettin' people down."

She lets go of a huge sigh, and her other hand finds one of 
mine. "You know - you *think* you let people down a lot more often 
than you actually do."

I nod, unconvinced, remembering Monica's comment to me in the truck 
that night. "I don't see you ever disappointing anyone, John..." Why 
can't others see this horrible side of me? I don't *mean* to let 
people down - my intentions are good - but I always seem to fuck up. 
It happened with my wife. It happened with my son...

"John?" Scully is looking at me - almost staring. I realize that I 
must have been unresponsive for a while. 

"What?" I mumble half-heartedly.

"John, I know you and I don't talk - *really* talk - very much. But I 
never would have found Mulder last year if it hadn't been for your 
help. *You* found him."

"I found him dead." My head drops again.

"He's not dead *now*," she insists.

"Through no actions of mine. I was opposed to diggin' him up. Are you 
forgettin' that? If it'd been left to me, Mulder'd still be dead."

Scully sighs. "I know I snapped at you about that, at the time. But 
you'd only been working on the X-Files for a matter of months, then. 
I was expecting you to be as open to extreme possibilities as I am. 
That wasn't realistic then, and it's not realistic now. It took me 
*years* to overcome my fear - to let myself believe.

"I can't keep you from beating yourself up, John." Scully's voice is 
soft and concerned. "But I wish you wouldn't."

Those words... I spoke them to her, last spring, when she wanted to 
see Mulder after we'd exhumed him. I couldn't stop her then, anymore 
than she can stop me now.

"Dr. Scully? Agent Doggett? "A doctor interrupts my thoughts, and we 
stand quickly.

"How is she?" I ask impatiently.

"Agent Reyes has regained consciousness," he begins, and I release a 
held breath. "We didn't find any fracture, and there's no swelling. I 
don't see any further complications, but we'd like to keep her until 
tomorrow for observation."

"Can we see her?" 

The doctor nods. They're moving her to a room now. Stop off at the 
nurses' station on 4 west. 

"Thank, you, Doctor," I hear Scully say, as I look for the sign 
pointing us to 4-west...

> ****

Room 412. Scully and I tap lightly on the door, and an intern opens 
it, apparently on his way out. He holds the door open for us, 
flashing a smile back toward the lone resident of the semi-private 
room.

Monica is still smiling herself, as Scully and I approach her bed. 

"Jeez, Monica, flirtin' with the hired help already?" I feel a grin 
ease onto my own face. She looks so much better already.

"How are you feeling, Monica?" Scully sits down in the lone chair, 
and I lean against the windowsill.

"Good, good... just a little headache." Monica has never been a 
complainer. 

"How about the vision?" I ask.

"20-20," she smiles up at me. 

Scully excuses herself, ostensibly to get some coffee - leaving us 
alone.

I move closer to the bed, gently taking one of Monica's hands in 
mine. I somehow expected her hand to be cold - I was so afraid of 
losing her - and I'm happily surprised that it's warm, as she 
squeezes my hand in return. 
 
"Monica, I'm sorry."

She raises an eyebrow - an expression that seems to fit her less than 
it fits Dana. "For what?"

"For almost gettin' you killed today."

Her expression is quizzical. "You shot the man, John. He had my gun..."

"He *didn't* have your gun until I stormed into the garage like some 
freakin' half-assed superhero." 

"How long do you think I would have been able to keep my gun away 
from him? If you hadn't barged in, I mean?"

"That's not the point," I argue.

"John...What *is* the point?"

"It's about..." I shake my head. "Monica, I'm afraid."

She furrows her brow. "Afraid of what?" 

"I'm afraid... I'm afraid I'm gonna let you down."

She nods knowingly. A little *too* knowingly. "Ah... the cat thing."

Now it's my turn to be puzzled. "The cat thing?"

"You want a cat, because they're not easily disappointed." I nod in 
remembrance. "Do I need to repeat what I told you that night?"

I look into her eyes. "This isn't about me, Monica. It's about you."

She shakes her head. "Nothing's *ever* about you, John. It's always 
about someone else." She pats the bed beside her, and I accept her 
wordless invitation to sit down. "Talk to me."

I guess I need to, afterall. "Back in New York, you helped me - you 
helped me through the worst time in my life. I wouldn't have made it 
through that, without you..."

She lowers her head and lets the pause carry, waits for me to 
continue. 

"But having you here, working with me... I worry about you."

"You shouldn't."

I shake my head. "I'm afraid I'm gonna let you down - when it really 
counts."

She sighs. "John, it's natural to worry, when you have a job like 
ours. But I'm a big girl. I'll be fine."

"You take leaps, Monica. Just like Agent Mulder useta do." 

"X-Files cases aren't like regular cases - you *know* that."

I nod. "That's why I think you should transfer out of the X-Files."

"What?!" She grasps my arm, hard. "John, this is the job I've always 
dreamed of."

"Then *I'll*transfer out."

"John-"

"Listen, Monica - you need another believer to watch your back. It's 
hard to keep up with you, ya know? I'm just a cop."

"John." She lays her hand more gently on my arm. "You are *so* much 
more than 'just a cop'. You're one of the brightest, most intuitive 
men I've ever known."

She's trying to deflect my worry with flattery. I shake my head.

"You are not in over your head on the X-Files. I know you feel that 
way, but I wouldn't want anyone else working these cases with me. And 
it's not just because I care so much for you. But that's a part of 
it."

"I care for you, too." I raise my head, and our eyes meet. She runs 
her hand down the side of my face slowly, almost reverently...

"Monica, I-"

A tap on the door - Scully is back with coffee. I stand, awkwardly, 
but keep one of Monica's hands in mine. Monica smiles up at Scully. 
And our feelings go unexplained once more. 


~fini~



Author's Notes: I have Monica doing so much of the comfort thing with 
John; I thought it was only fair to turn the tables. 

Shameless Plug:

Virtual Season 10 (the Doggett one :)
Season Premiere July 7, 2002
http://www.snarkyroxy.com/vs10/