Title: The Quiet Warrior

Author: spookycc

Rating: PG-13, same as episodes

Classification: S/D, ScullyAngst, Doggett POV

Summary: Post-ep for "Badlaa".

Spoilers: Yep! For "Badlaa". *Please* tell me Doggett didn't just *stand*
there while Scully was crying... DB and I know Jawn better than that. 

BTW, Shibes, this one was almost as bad as the killer kitty episode. :)

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

Dedication: As ever, to Doggett's Bitch (f/k/a "Vixen" :). My soulmate, and
the SHODDS that opened my eyes to The Big Dawg.

No beta-reader was used. All typos are my own. Author's notes at end.


****

I'm not sure what I expect to find when I arrive at the school. The whole
drive, I've been turning the story over and over in my head, and I still
can't wrap my mind around it. The janitor *wasn't* there, in the
interrogation room. I *saw* him, but he wasn't there.

Whatever I expected, it certainly didn't include the sound of two gunshots
as soon as I open the car door. Casting my disbelief aside, I pull my gun
and run into the school.

As I rush into the room the Principal's assistant points out to me, I can
hear a woman. "Oh.. my God." It is not Agent Scully's voice.

"What is it? What happened?" I glance downward for a moment, then my eyes
lock on my partner. Her back is to me, and her gaze is toward the floor.

"Agent Scully!" No response. "Scully." Still nothing. Now I'm worried. She
hasn't moved since I entered the room - she looks like she's in shock.

As my attention flickers between Scully and *whatever* she shot, she turns
slowly in my direction. She lays her gun in my hand and I accept it. Then
she walks out as though unaware of the rest of her surroundings.

Part of me leaves with her, but I stand and stare dumbstruck at the - at
*whatever* it is that she shot. I can hardly believe what I'm seeing, but
there it is. Or not. I mean, I saw the janitor at the police station, too,
and *he* wasn't really *there*, if I'm to believe "Dr." Burks.

I *want* so much to be elsewhere, but I spend precious moments talking to
the Principal and the boys, getting the gist of what happened in here. My
God. No wonder she looked like she was in shock!

Walking through the sea of squad cars and ambulances, I search her out. I
can almost ignore all the flashing lights, we see them so often. And my
attention is focused beyond them, to where my partner stands. Beyond the
invasive lights, beyond the throng of activity around the school, away from
prying eyes.

I see her tense up a bit as I approach, and wonder if I'm intruding. If she
feels that way, I guess I deserve it. I've been anything but supportive on
this damned case. What makes me think I can help her now?

Still, I need to try.

My voice sounds gravelly to my own ears. "You gonna be ok, Agent Scully?"
She nods, just barely, and I wish she would tell me the truth. "I got
a drift of what happened in there. To you. I mean, sorta."

Gawd, do I have a way with words, or what? This woman is so obviously
distraught, and I try to console her with monosyllabic cop-talk.

To my surprise, she nods again, and her voice breaks as she speaks for
probably the first time since the incident. "I shot a young boy."

Her back is still to me, but I can hear the tears behind her words.

"The good news is, you're wrong." I try to reassure her, feeling my attempt
fall dismally short.

"But it's what I *saw* - with my eyes, anyway," she insists. She wants to
take the blame - for what? She killed a - a *monster*, not a little boy.
"Do you know what it's like not to be able to trust your own eyes?"

I sure as hell do, ever since starting work on the X-Files. My mind blinks
from my waking nightmares with Anthony Tipet, to the janitor I saw - or not
- at the police station just tonight.

"Then why'd you shoot him?" Oh, Jeeeezus, Doggett, that'll help a lot. I
kick myself as soon as the words leave my mouth. I'm supposed to be trying
to make her feel better, but the cop in me never gives up. Damned instincts,
anyway.

A long pause. *Too* long.

"Because it's what the boy saw. And in an instant, I realized that *it's*
what Mulder would have seen, or understood." Her voice breaks again, and
something inside of me does,too. "Because that's just how he came at things.
Without judgment and without prejudice. And with an open mind that I am just
not capable of." 

There it is. I shoulda known. She's been trying to *be* Mulder since I
joined her on the X-Files. This time it looks like she's not going to be
able to reconcile herself to that. The tears flow more freely now. I'm
surprised that she sheds them in front of me, but I don't attempt to mask my
concern.

Words fail me now, when I need them, when I *want* them so badly. "It's been
a long night. Give yourself a break." I lower my eyes, so she can't see how
much more I want to say, but she doesn't look at me anyway. "This whole
thing didn't make any sense."

I can see her composing herself while I'm still speaking. She takes several
deep, cleansing breaths, and seems to be more in control. "No, it did," she
decides quietly. "In some way, it did."

I see the walls going back up, right in front of me. Her head is still
turned away. I know she's embarrassed to have cried in front of me, again.
Why can't I tell her how inadequate that makes me feel?

Just before the veil that normally covers her emotions slips over her face,
I move on impulse, on instinct, and reach to touch her shoulder, turning her
towards me slightly. Her eyes do not meet mine, but she does not close
herself off. Without conscious thought, I wipe a stray tear from her cheek
with a finger. I can see emotions still rolling just below the surface,
barely in check. Her eyes raise toward mine, and she stifles a sniffle. We
stand, unmoving, for what feels like an eternity.

Finally she lets out a long breath I hadn't noticed she was holding, and
allows me to draw her into my arms. She rests her head against my chest, and
I feel the gentle sobs of this quiet warrior once again.

She tries so hard to *be* Mulder. To do what *he'd* do. To think like he
thought. 



She's lost herself in this man, and he isn't even *here*.

Not for the first time, I am struck by the capacity of this woman to love.
She is oblivious to everything else, in her pursuit of Mulder, in her
attempts to be her *ideal* of Mulder, of what he stood for.

My feelings for her grow stronger with each passing month, with each failed
attempt to find Mulder, either literally or figuratively. Yet I know they
are easily eclipsed by the feelings she still has for him.

That's not important to me right now. I hold her tightly until the last sob
has been wrenched from her weary body, and she backs up, just a little. She
seems to be deep in thought, and I hesitate to interrupt, but in the end I
do.

"You alright?"

This time her nod seems more assured. She even graces me with the tiniest of
smiles, as she visibly pulls herself together once more. Maybe even more
together than she was before. Maybe she's realized, here, tonight, that she
can't *be* Mulder.

Maybe, just maybe, that's ok.

"Yeah. Thanks."

I throw a smile her way. I seem to be doing that a lot more, lately.

We walk back toward my car, to head to the police station for the inevitable
inquisition that follows any shooting. This one should be a doozie.

She pauses for a moment, and I break stride, glancing back. She is watching
them load the *whatever* into the ambulance. Her gaze is troubled once more.

Coming to stand beside her, I wait until she looks up toward me, before I
ask the question. "What's wrong?"

"It's not there."

"What??" I can *see* the little lump under the blanket on the gurney.

"It's not dead. It's not here. It's gone."


 ~fini~





"Badlaa" is written by Shibes. Egads! Maybe it's about killer sheep, and
that's the sound they make when they're killing you! "Bad-laaaaaaah"