Title: "No One's Fault"

Author: spookycc

Spoilers: General knowledge of S8 and S9 thus far. Mentions facts assumed
from "Empedocles".

Classification: Stand-alone, pre-XF. DRF.

Summary: The search for Luke Doggett ends. Told in first person Reyes POV.

Rating: R for death references (nothing graphic), and some "colorful"
language.

Dedication: To Doggett's Bitch. Best friend, mentor, Captain, beta,
soulmate. And to girlassassin, survivor and dear friend.

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 & OBSDS member
sites, it's yours if you want it, no notification needed.

Feedback: Love it. spookycc@earthlink.net


***

I prayed that our search would not end like this. I pleaded to every variety
of god I've ever worshipped, that we would find John Doggett's son alive. I
know how unhappy his life already is, whether he has spoken about it or not.

His marriage is a piece of paper, nothing more. His wife is cold, closed,
and Luke's disappearance has only aggravated what I perceive was a horrible
situation to begin with.

The August wind is dry and speaks of autumn's early arrival. I stand in a
ring of police officers and FBI agents. A circle of sadness.

I hear a car pull off the road, and roll to a stop in the field where we
stand. It's John. I turn toward him, and the police detectives and federal
agents drift away. Their work is done, and they will not intrude on a fellow
officer's moment of sorrow.

John walks toward me, his steps slow but determined, as though each foot
were firmly imbedded in concrete. His eyes are not on me. They are on the
small, lifeless body in front of me. That's all he sees. That's all he *can*
see.

He stands beside me, his head bowed. He is completely quiet, totally
motionless, for what seems like an eternity. I do not move to comfort him,
not yet. I allow him his space; I'm here if he needs me.

I hear a sound - a sigh? John falls to his knees, and lies over his son, as
if trying to protect him. But it's too late. Sobs wrack John's body, and my
own eyes fill with tears as I watch this normally stoic man surrender to his
despair.

I kneel behind him, and lay an arm around his shoulders, trying to comfort
him, if he will allow it. He tenses for a moment, and then lets me remain
there. He makes no sound, but I feel the quivering of his sobs beneath me.
Finally, he is still, and I sit back a bit, and pull him gently toward me.

He pulls his emotions inside a bit. "I hafta tell Rachel."

"I know. I'll drive you home." I help John to his feet, and we turn toward
my car. He walks as though he's in a trance, numbly allowing me to steer him
along with an arm under his elbow.

Halfway to my car, he stops, and turns back toward the clearing where his
son lies. I sense that he wants to go back, to make sure there is no
mistake. But then he shakes his head at his own impossible wishes, and we
walk the rest of the way to my car, passed by the coroner's unit heading in
the direction we came.

We drive in near silence. I've spent enough time with John to know that he'
ll talk only when he's ready to, so I don't attempt to push him into
conversation. We arrive in Falls Church, and I pull to the curb in front of
John's house. A tidy, well-kept house, so in contrast to the married couple
that lives within it.

We ascend the steps to his porch. He fumbles, unfocused, with his key chain.
I hold out my hand, and he drops the keys into it. I find his house key by
trial and error, and the door swings smoothly open. I bet John's a
handy-man, too. Everything in perfect working order, except for his
marriage - except for his life.

Rachel's SUV is parked out front, and John nods at the couch as he walks
past it. I take that as a signal to wait, and I sit on the edge of the
cushions, as he checks in the kitchen and the family room, then heads
upstairs.

Moments later, I hear a gasp, and a hollow thud upstairs. Taking the steps
two at a time, I arrive at the top landing. John is leaning flatly against
the hallway wall, and for a moment I wonder if he's injured - he is so
motionless.

I rush to his side, and turn my head in the direction in which he stares. In
the master bedroom, I see Rachel, John's wife, entangled in the bed sheets
with another man.

John wrestles away from me, and bolts back down the stairs. Sparing only a
moment for a scathing look at his wife, I descend the steps myself.

John is not in the foyer or the living room. I hear a crash from the back of
the house, and I follow the noise through the kitchen, and out into the back
yard. I stop in my tracks when I see John pulling his hand from the family
room window. Both the window and his hand are covered with blood.

"My God - John!" By the time I reach him, he's standing perfectly still,
looking at his hand quizzically, as if he doesn't understand what happened.
At the sound of his name, he looks at me, and suddenly realizes where he is
and what has happened.  "John, let me see your hand."

He shakes his head like a petulant child.

"John - we need to get that hand looked at."

"*Fuck* my hand, Monica! That's not the problem! My goddamned '*life* is the
problem!"

"John, I understand, but-"

"You understand? You *understand*???" His anger, his fury, is misplaced.
"And just how in fuckin' hell would you understand!?"

I don't reply. I don't need to. His adrenaline is quickly wearing off, and
he falls speechless. His hands drop to his sides, and his equilibrium
deserts him. I catch his weight as best I can, and ease him to a sitting
position on the grass.

He heaves huge, mournful breaths, and I run my hand over his back in what I
hope is a soothing pattern of circles. He bows his head, and the muscles in
his neck stand out tautly beneath his sun-tanned skin.

"Shit. I'm sorry, Monica. I-" He shakes his head.

"It's ok, John. It's ok." I know that for John Doggett, *nothing* is ok. But
it seems to soothe him a bit in the here and now.

I look up to see Rachel, sans naked lover, approaching us. "John, can we
talk?"

He looks up at her, bitterness and sadness vying for control of his
expression. "Yeah. But not about you and me."

He stands, now almost the picture of the solid man I am accustomed to. He
nods toward the house, and Rachel follows him inside. After waiting a short
while, I walk around the side of the house, to wait in my car for John. I
find him already there, in the passenger seat. I get in the driver's seat
and buckle John's belt and then my own. Silence descends on us, until I
break it. "Do you want to talk, John?"

He shrugs his shoulders.

"Where do you want to go?"

His sorrow-filled eyes meet mine. "Away from here." I see a duffel bag in
the back seat. John's time as a husband has ended, the same day his life as
a father died. I suppress a sniffle, lay my hand gently on John's for a
moment, and turn the engine on.


***

Later that evening
Room 1013, Sleep Cheep Motel


After we have John's hand stitched up at Washington General Hospital ER,
where everyone seems to know him by name, I seek out a nondescript,
quiet-looking motel. John needs rest, even though I know he may likely not
sleep.

I park the car, and walk around to the passenger side, opening John's door.
He is oblivious to nearly everything around him, until my hand touches his
once more. He looks up slowly. "C'mon, John. You need to get some rest." He
nods, non-committal. I pull his duffel bag from the back seat, and unlock
his room door for him.

We stand awkwardly, at the end of what has been a day of hell for John.

"Do you want me to come in with you?"

"No. Yes."

I follow him inside, and lay his bag on the tiny desk by the window. He sits
on the bed, and heaves a huge sigh. After a moment, I sit beside him.

"It's 'funny'." He begins.

"What, John?" I push him gently.

"All Rachel ever wanted was a family. But as soon as Luke was born."

I let his pause run its course.

"Even before Luke was in school, I could *feel* Rachel growing away from me.
She wanted more than I could be."

I don't know where she'd find a man like that, but I let him continue.

"I let her down. I let *him* down." From what little I've seen of them as a
couple, Rachel has sent John on so many guilt trips that he can't find his
way back.

"John, it was no one's fault. Except the guy who did this." I know he won't
see reason, but I have to try.

"I always promised Luke that I wouldn't let anything bad happen to him.
Every night before I-" His voice breaks, and a stray tear finds its way down
his cheek. I trace its path with my finger, and he turns to face me. His
steel eyes are dulled by grief, by undeserved guilt.

"Let it out, John." I run a hand gently through his disheveled hair, and let
it rest on the back of his neck. "You'll feel better if you let it out."

He shakes his head. We haven't known each other that long, and I feel the
barriers he has imposed on himself.

"I know *Luke* doesn't blame you." He looks to me again, and I see a bit of
the wall around him crumbling. He leans into me just a little, and I put an
arm around him.

"God, I miss him," John lays his head on my shoulder, and finally he allows
the tears to flow. I hold his head against me, and whisper that it'll all be
ok.

I wonder at this man I hold within my arms. So strong, yet so frail. Tough
as nails, gentle as a lamb.  He releases the first real tears of anguish,
and places himself in my care. I sense how difficult it was for him to let
go, even as I feel him becoming stronger for having done so.

I place a hand on each side of his face, and turn his head towards me. Once
more I wipe the tears from his cheeks, and I run a finger slowly over the
scar on the bridge of his nose, wondering how he got it. There is so much I
don't know about John Doggett, so much I would like to learn.

I let my face move closer, and my lips graze his forehead. He attempts a
feeble smile, and I pull his head to my shoulder once more. He rests against
me, and after a short while, I hear his breathing even out, as he slips into
light sleep.

I move just a bit, careful not to awaken him, and lean against the
headboard, resting John's head in my lap as he rumbles a muffled snore.

As I gently brush his spiky hair from his forehead, I marvel again at the
strength inside this guilt-ridden, misused man. I can't explain the feelings
I have for him, but I pray once again, this time asking to have a place in
the new life he will make.

~ fini ~


Shameless plugs:

You can find all my Doggettfic (most of it is DSF/DSR) here:

http://www.geocities.com/spookycc/

My egroup Order of the Blessed Saint Doggett the Selfless is at:

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/OBSDS/