Title: "Promises"
Author: Feretopia@aol.com (or, Gina)
Date finished: March 22, 2002
Feedback: ::dances around the house holding a large protest sign and
yelling at the top of her lungs:: Equal feedback for all! And
especially for me!
Rating: PG
Category: Doggett POV, post-ep, maybe a bit of UST ::grins::
Spoilers: "The Gift," Season 8
Summary: Doggett's unofficial report.
Archive: Anywhere, just please tell me first and give me some credit.
Disclaimer: Doggett, Scully, Mulder, Skinner, Beast-dude, and anyone
else I may mention belong not to me but to Chris Carter and 10-13 and
Fox and all that lovely stuff. And of course I'm not making any money
off it (if I was, I'd be an official writer, duh), so don't sue!
Author's Note: What can I say? I love Doggett!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I died.
That's not something many people can say, but it's true. One moment I
was living, breathing, thinking. The next moment there was a crack as
loud as thunder and a red-hot slug ripped through me like I was a paper
doll. I didn't even have time to say anything before I was thrown to
the ground, and everything just . . . stopped.
After the shot, there was an emptiness, a nothingness so complete
that I can barely even comprehend it. And then the gaping blackness
wasn't there, and I *was* -- naked and slimy and in the dirt. I was
alive again, somehow. An X-File had walked out of Mulder's gray
filing cabinet, flashed me a grin, and slapped me across the face. I
never believed that there could be any truth to Mulder's crazy
theories and ideas, but there it was. I was raised from the dead.
*****
I told Scully about it. The next day, in fact. She came in, said good
morning, sat down at Mulder's desk very quietly. For an instant I
wondered if I should tell her, and thought about backing out. But when
I saw her slide open the desk drawer to see if his nameplate was still
in there, like she did every morning, I decided she had a right to
know.
"Agent Scully?" I leaned against the desk she got for me, my arms
crossed, wondering for a moment why she doesn't have a desk of her own
even after eight years.
"Yes, Agent Doggett?" she asked, closing the drawer quickly and peering
up at me, some of her hair falling into her eyes. God, but she looked
good that way. . . . I looked away, not wanting to be distracted.
"Skinner didn't want me to tell you this, but. . . ." I paused, then
started talking, my voice going a little faster than normal. My gut
was fluttery; I wasn't sure how to go about this. And I didn't know
what she would make of it. "Over the past few days . . . I decided to
follow up on a case Muldah investigated jus' before he disappeared."
"You were looking for him?" Bright and then dying hope in her voice.
She realized that if I'd had good news, I'd have told her about it
straight off. She watched me cautiously.
"Yes." This part was difficult. "The day before he disappeared, he
was in a small township in Virginia, investigatin' a . . . creature. A
‘soul-eater'." I'd already decided not to report Scully, but she
didn't know that. She went stiff; I looked at her as kindly as I
could, so that she could see I wasn't accusing her. She relaxed, just
a little.
"This creature -- a man, really -- had a healin' ability -- it could
absorb others' illnesses and make them well, but it suffered in the
process. Muldah found it before he disappeared an' was goin' to use
its abilities to help himself, but he realized it was in pain, an'
refused to let it help him. He even returned that night an' tried to
kill it, put it outta its misery. It didn't work."
Scully looked up at me, her eyes watery, her face resolved. "So he was
doing the *noble* thing again," she whispered. "*Dammit,* Mulder!"
I could tell what she was thinking. If Mulder had let himself be
healed, he might not have vanished, things would've stayed the same,
and *I* would never have walked into her life. . . . I shook the
discouraging thought away.
Scully turned, swallowing. She looked at her hands, avoiding my
eyes. I waited until she had resumed her stony expression to continue.
"When I tried to take this 'soul-eater' away from the townspeople,
because of the fact that it was sufferin', the sheriff shot me.
I . . . Agent Scully, I *died*," I breathed.
I forced myself not to dwell on it; maybe if I did that, it would
cease to have happened. I closed my eyes for a moment, though, struck
with the sheer *weirdness* of my statement. I took a deep breath and
looked at Scully, hoping she'd bring me back to myself. She complied
easily, giving me a look of utter disbelief that somehow looked
gorgeous on her.
I resolved briefly to quit thinking of how honestly attractive she was.
"You died, Agent Doggett," she said flatly, startling me a little.
"If that's so, then wouldn't you be a ghost?" There was a half-smile
that wasn't really a smile on her perfect, inviting lips.
There went *that* resolution. . . .
"Agent Scully. . . . I ain't a ghost." I stepped forward and touched
her hand for just an instant. Her skin was warmer and softer than I
thought it would be, and for a split second I wanted to not just touch
her hand, but to hold it, keep it safe. I drew back before she could
say anything, though, and repeated, "I ain't a ghost."
She rubbed her hand, hard, maybe erasing my touch. I winced. She
looked up at me. "All right. Then how do you explain the fact that
you aren't?"
I pulled a quarter out of my pocket, began rubbing it, looking at it
instead of her. "This healer, it saved me -- brought me back to life,
somehow. An' since it ate my . . . my death, it died, too. Its
sufferin' ended." I looked up at her. "I managed to do what Muldah
wanted." I stuffed the quarter back into my pocket.
I let out a deep breath -- my mouth didn't want to go anymore. I
stared at the ground for a few minutes, then I walked over to her and
put my hands on the desk, leaning forward and peering into her face.
She didn't move.
"I didn't get any closer to findin' Muldah. But I promise you this,
Agent Scully. I *will* find him." I hesitated. I wanted to put my
hand on her shoulder, comfort her some -- but I knew she would just
turn away and say she was all right. My hands stayed flat on the desk,
though it took some effort. Actually, a lot of effort.
"An' I promise you that I will try to be the best partner to you that
I can be -- until we find him. An' if that means havin' an open mind
. . . so be it."
"Thank you, Agent Doggett," Scully said coolly. The tears were back
again, though; she dabbed at her eyes gently as if she was fixing a
bit of makeup, but I knew the truth.
"Excuse me, I have to . . . have to go get something," she said
abruptly. She stood and hurried out of the office, her head down, her
face shielded. I watched her go, knowing I could say nothing to her.
God I wanted to say something to her. . . .
*****
I know that she needed to know about this case, that she should know
what Mulder tried to do for the beast-man. I still feel bad about it,
though. Obviously she was the closest person to him -- hell, any idiot
with two eyes in his head could tell they were in love. Hearing
anything about him while he's missing wounds her, wounds her deep.
I raise my head a little bit, look around the office. My eyes land on
the shadowed corner, where Mulder is standing again, solemn and silent
and somehow approving.
I know it's only a figment of my imagination, not a ghost, not an
apparition -- not an X-File. Yet the Fox Mulder standing in that
darkened corner seems as real as the breath coming out my mouth.
He's wearing some sort of pleading look. I know what he's saying -- I
know he wants me to watch her back. I nod slowly to the empty room,
then sit down, heavily, and think.
What did I accomplish on this crazy case? I didn't find Mulder, didn't
even get any closer to finding him. I can't even put away the sheriff
for killing me because hell, I ain't dead anymore.
But I did what Mulder wanted to. I did what he would have done. And
maybe, for now, that's good enough.
I'm not giving up, though. I told Dana Scully I'd find him.
And I don't ever want to break my word to her.
~FIN
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