Title: Ripped Apart

Author: spookycc

Rating: PG-13, same as on the tube

Classification: S/D, Scully angst, Doggett POV

Summary: Fill-in-the-blanks for the Jebus slug ep - "Roadrunners". No
offense, Vince, but this wasn't no "Pusher". :)

Spoilers: Well, yeah. For "Roadrunners"

Disclaimer: No characters, human or canine, are mine.  And no dogs were
harmed in the making of this fanfic. :)

SCOG Disclaimer: I am still a M/S shipper. Somehow I "channelled" Doggett,
and he wrote this. As a M/S Friendshipper, it doesn't seem outside the realm
of extreme possibilities that Scully and Doggett have a special relationship
as well. *I* feel it. (*DB* feels it. :)

Mulder and Scully are soulmates. That has not changed. But now I feel a
Scully and Doggett dynamic that is very interesting in its uniqueness.

I am gonna be so totally f'd up when Mulder comes back. :)

Feedback welcomed at spookycc@earthlink.net

Dedicated to: My soulmate. You know who you are. {{W}}
And to Vickie Moseley. Sadly, she's not watching TXF anymore, I don't think,
and she wrote *the best* fill-in-the-blank and post-ep fanfic (imho). I miss
her writings, and I hope this will be even half as good. I'm not focusing on
the same two characters, though...

No beta-reader was used. All typos are my own.


****
RIPPED APART

The pounding on the sides of the bus is deafening, punctured by breaking
glass as the cultists attempt to board the bus we are stranded in.

I hear three shots as though from a distance, as if I had not just fired
them from my own service weapon. The creature - parasite, whatever - finally
stops its writhing on the floor of the bus. Without time to realize what I
have done, my attention is quickly drawn to the leader of the group - Mr.
Milsap - he's gotten the front door open, and I swing my weapon around to
bear on him.

As quickly as it started, it is over. Milsap wilts, defeated, my partner's
weapon dangling limply from his hand. Likewise, the cult mmebers who had
gained access through the back door stand as if in a trance. Taking this in,
I holster my own gun, trying not to notice the bloodied mess covering my
hand.

The cacaphony of shattering glass and hammers against steel had not prepared
me for the silence that befalls us now. Suddenly I realize that I can no
longer hear my partner's labored breathing.

Her arms still rest upright against her shoulders, her hands reaching to
stop the unseen -to her- menace that wracked her body with pain only moments
before. Gratefully, I feel the flutter of a warm, shallow breath against my
face, as I wrap my coat around her pale, still form.

The cult members fade away into oblivion, and I pick her up as gently as my
adrenalin-infused muscles can manage. Thankfully, she has finally passed out
- I've seen burly marines felled by less pain than this woman has endured in
the last ten minutes. Dana Scully is a fighter.

I fold this slight woman within my arms, and allow myself just a moment -
the briefest of seconds - to gaze into her face.

I've never seen Dana Scully at peace before. Like a child, simply sleeping,
rather than a woman literally ripped apart beneath my own bloodied hands
only minutes before.

As I step off the bus, past the now-passive cultists, I am amazed at the
depth of the feelings I already have for this woman - this woman who may
well mark the end of my fast-track to the top of the FBI.

I realize *that* track doesn't really matter anymore. This slight, seemingly
frail woman, so emboldened by the truth, so courageous in her defense of her
missing partner, has awakened in me a sense of caring I haven't felt in many
years. Not since my ex-wife ran off with a local accountant, while I was
overseas. I loved her. God, I loved her.

Outside in the street, the distant wail of sirens awakens me from my walking
dream. I don't even remember getting *out* here, but the lights flash off my
partner's limp body, and I look up to meet their glare. Red, blue, red blue.

The police vehicles break all around me, spraying me with gravel. Damned
ironic if I perform primitive surgery on my partner only to have us run down
by the cavalry. They think they're prepared for what they'll find here. They
think they can handle it. The locals, even the Salt Lake City field agents.
They truly have no idea.

"Agent Doggett!" the sheriff is the first one from his SUV. "Are you all-"

"She needs medical help! I need an ambulance or a damned fast ride to the
nearest hospital!" 

The sheriff, to his credit, seems to take this well in stride. He motions to
one of the vehicles beside us, and the driver leaps back in behind the
wheel. 

Gingerly, as if that could *possibly* matter now, I lay Scully across the
back seat, and strap myself in beside her. Her head lies limply on my leg. I
press my coat more firmly against her upper back, hoping to staunch the
bleeding. The driver appears to need motivation. "Go!"

These locals are nothing if not responsive. I'm pressed back against the
seat as he spins around toward the main road and accelerates quickly.

Damn - she's coming around again. What the hell does it take to keep this
woman down? She'd be so much more comfortable if she could sleep through the
trip. I have no idea how far away the nearest hospital is, but I have a
feeling we're *not* talking "right around the corner".

Soft moaning replaces the blood-curdling screams I heard from her in the
bus. Her eyes open, the barest of slits, and she looks confused. Not
surprising, I guess. I must look that way to her all the time.

She tries to speak. Not clearly, she's not "with it" or coherent, but I hear
exactly what she *means*.

"Mul---er?"

Her eyes ask silent questions of me.

"It's ok," I mutter softly, uncomfortably, actually. "It's me. Agent
Doggett. We're on our way to the hospital. You're gonna be fine."

Her eyes close softly, then open once more. It's clear that she understands
now. That she remembers where she is. Who she's with.

I hope to God she's not too disappointed.

"H-hurts," she manages between harsh breaths.

"I know. I'm sorry. Lay still - we'll be there soon, ok?"

She tries to nod, winces when it causes tension in the back of her neck.

"Easy. Don't try to move around."

Her eyes meet mine again. I have this feeling that she understands, though
she says nothing.

Then her eyes slip shut again, and I feel her body relax as unconsciousness
thankfully spirits her away once more.

A deep sigh rumbles from my throat - I glance in the front mirror to see the
deputy's eyes meet mine. He averts his gaze quickly.

It's that obvious already, then. What I feel for this woman. It's obvious to
even a virtual stranger.

When we find you, Agent Mulder, I better damn well find out that you truly
deserve this woman you've been given. This woman who has given her very soul
to you.

Until we find you, I will cherish that soul myself.


-fini-