Title: Roadkill

Author: spookycc

Classification: V, A, DRF. Very much not "H", despite the title

Rating: Prolly PG-13, same as the eps

Spoilers: Provenance, Providence

Summary: missing scenes, post-ep, Provenance, Providence. POV shifts 
between first person Reyes and third-person Skinner. 

Dedication: To Doggett's Bitch: best friend, mentor, beta, soulmate. 
And to Girlassassin, survivor and dear friend - gettin' a better tan 
than me right now. ;-P

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. Especially not Sweet 
Willie the Mobile Turner. ;-/

Feedback: Love it. spookycc@earthlink.net


> ****

Scully gives me cryptic directions, telling me only a half-block or 
so ahead of time when I need to turn. I might have worried about that 
once, before I grew to know her better. In this instance, I think she 
herself is closely looking at street signs, in an area we don't often 
visit in our jobs.

My eyes are drawn time and time again to the rear view mirror. No 
sign of John. He *said* he'd be right behind us. He doesn't even know 
where we're going. 

We pull into an alley, and I glance warily in both directions, then 
behind us. No easy means of escape, if someone tries to trap us here. 
I hope Scully knows what she's doing. I hope John can find us if we 
need him.

We park the car in front of a beat-up old VW minivan. The Lone 
Gunmen. I should have known. This seems just like the type of place 
they'd choose for a rendezvous. I force a nervous smile, as Dana 
places her child in their hands for safekeeping. She kisses William 
gently, trying to say farewell, at least for now. 

The sad scene pulls at my heart. I like kids. I'd like to have kids - 
but the man I would choose to be their father is selflessly devoted 
to Dana Scully. A woman who will probably never look at him twice. 
Not the way he looks at her.

I've heard a few of the more derisive agents in the bullpen, calling 
John a "sap", or "Mr. Spooky". John has always pretended that it 
doesn't bother him. He takes it in stride. He does it for her, 
without question. I wonder if she even realizes that he'll always be 
there to catch her if she falls. No wonder that my thoughts dwell on 
John. Worry still preys on my mind. Where is he? 

Byers holds William gently - oddly enough, it looks like he might 
have been a father, as comfortable as he seems with the child in his 
arms - safety seat and all. I can't quite picture Langly or Frohike 
seeming as much at ease with the boy. 

They hand us six cell phones, essentially disposable, since we'll 
only be able to use each one once. These "geeks" never cease to amaze 
me with their technical prowess. But I hope they haven't bitten off 
more than they can handle in this case.

Still I keep looking behind us, expecting John to walk up and give us 
hell for making it so hard to follow us. Or expecting a member of 
that UFO cult to try to kidnap William. 

Dana kisses William one last time, and turns to me with tears shining 
brightly in her eyes. I nod a reassurance - she's doing the right 
thing. We get back in the car, to retrace our path back to her 
apartment...


> ****

"Shit!" Skinner cursed and pulled the steering wheel hard, just 
missing an SUV speeding in the opposite direction. He'd spoken to 
Doggett on his cell, minutes before, and knew that John was headed to 
Agent Scully's apartment. Skinner was trying to beat him there; he 
had intelligence from Comer's last communiqué. Information he wasn't 
yet comfortable giving Doggett - but news he felt that Scully needed 
to know. 

He'd just straightened out his vehicle's path when he noticed 
something in the street ahead. No, not something - some*one*. He 
floored the brakes, threw his car sideways across the street to block 
traffic, flipped on his flashers, and leapt out. This couldn't be a 
coincidental traffic mishap. His X-Files agents were just not that 
damned lucky.

Skinner's thoughts were dead on. He ran to the body, already taking 
in the fact that the man was wearing a trench coat. 

"Damn!" Skinner pulled out his cell and hit "911". It was Agent 
Doggett. He'd undoubtedly just had a run-in with the SUV that had 
narrowly missed Skinner's own car. 

Skinner knelt beside his fallen agent. He laid a hand on Doggett's 
neck, and sighed relief. His pulse was strong. But blood covered the 
left side of his forehead - probable concussion, Skinner knew from 
bitter experience - and he was unconscious. 

God only knew what kind of internal injuries he had. Skinner 
remembered how fast the SUV had been going. And there were no tire 
marks on the pavement near Doggett's body to indicate that the driver 
had even attempted to slow down. Skinner sighed again, pulling 
Doggett's coat open gently, reassured by the agent's fairly even 
breathing. Of all Skinner's head-strong agents, it was this one, the 
non-believer, who almost always got caught in the crossfire. Fiercely 
protective of Agent Scully, this wasn't the first time Doggett had 
placed himself in the line of fire for she and William, and it almost 
certainly wouldn't be the last. 

The sirens pulled Skinner from his thoughts. Two police cars and an 
ambulance squealed to a stop on either side of him. He stood back, 
out of the way, but close enough to answer questions from the EMTs. 
He watched as they did a vitals check, and slid an oxygen mask over 
Doggett's face. They put a block behind his neck and put him on a 
board to stabilize his spine, before sliding the board onto a gurney.

Skinner gave the EMTs the information they needed, and assured them 
that he would contact Doggett's next of kin. That was something that 
Doggett *had* changed - from Dana Scully to Monica Reyes. He'd 
changed it when Scully went on maternity leave. Skinner wondered if 
Doggett would change it back - or if he would ever see how much more 
concerned Agent Reyes had *always* been about him. Scully was a new 
mother, and her heart had fled the city with Mulder. Reyes was 
intensely affected by Doggett - perhaps maybe even in an un-partnerly 
way, Skinner mused. He turned to speak to one of the detectives who'd 
arrived shortly after the squad cars...


> ****

As we round the corner near Dana's apartment, the worrisome feeling 
in my stomach tightens like a clenched fist. Red and blue lights 
flicker over the surrounding buildings and bathe the street in a 
surreal glow. 

I jump out of the car as soon as I stop it - Dana is right behind me. 
I catch sight of A.D. Skinner.

"What happened?" I ask him, although a part of me already knows 
damned well what's wrong, or at least who is involved. Skinner says 
nothing.

"Is it John?" Oh god, it's John. I can tell just by Skinner's 
expression, and the way he looks over his shoulder, toward the EMS. 
He offers me no other answers. I run to the ambulance, where they are 
just preparing to load the gurney inside. I push my way to his side. 
I don't want to delay them but I have to *be* there, I have to be 
with John... 

"Ma'am?" I look up at the concerned EMT beside me. "Ma'am, we need to 
get him to the hospital, as soon as we can."

"I'm his next of kin," I tell them, as though that offers me carte 
blanche. I stand aside while they load the gurney, and then follow 
them into the back of the ambulance. I don't wait for any argument 
from them, and they don't offer one. 

I try to stay out of the way, while the EMTs start an IV and hook 
John up to the oxygen unit in the vehicle. It all happens so fast, 
and I don't have time to focus, and I *need* to focus. I need to 
focus... my hand struggles blindly and finally finds his and I'm 
shocked to find that it's cold... so cold... I rub it gently, and 
then more insistently, *willing* him to wake up...

"How is he?" I ask one of the medical technicians, while the other 
rechecks John's vital signs.

"Too early to tell," he replies. "He hasn't regained consciousness 
yet, so we can't tell how serious the concussion is. He may have 
internal injuries, too. We'll need the diagnostic equipment at the 
hospital to let us know."

I nod, bereft, scared sick, disheartened and frightened beyond words.

"He's pretty much holding his own," the EMT tries to encourage 
me. "That's a good sign."

I sit with John's hand in mine, watching over his too-still form. I 
could almost believe he is sleeping, except for the blood and the 
bruises on his face. There is no pain to be read in his expression, 
but that only means he can't feel anything. I'm scared out of my mind 
that he's *not* feeling anything. I need something - at least some 
sign of pain might show me that he can come back to me. I can't bear 
not knowing. 

Why him? Why always him? Traditional or not, I find myself bargaining 
with God. Take someone else. Not John. Take *me*. 

The EMT gives me another hopeful glance. All he can see is a sad, 
grieving partner. Inside, I'm begging and bargaining - and losing 
hope.


> ****

St. Mary Medical Center


The doctors' words echo in my mind, unbidden. "He may never wake up."

I know that they have to prepare people for the worst; it's their 
job. But I can't accept that. I *won't* accept it. No more quiet, 
easy chats in his truck outside my apartment? No more relaxing Friday 
dinners in DC? John knows the best places. They're not in the 'Triple 
A' guide book but they always have good food. Truck stops sometimes. 
I will *never* lose that.

I can't imagine not seeing his skeptical looks when I suggest a 
paranormal explanation for a case. I've become so used to them now. 
Perhaps I took them for granted, and now they are being taken away.

No - I can't let myself think like that now. I have to think 
positively.

I sit beside John's hospital bed, his cold hand wrapped in the warmth 
of my own. His hands are too cold - it's like death is already 
staking a claim on a small part of him. 

I keep remembering the parallel universe - another Doggett in another 
hospital bed, injured even more seriously than he is now. But that 
wasn't *real*. And at least I could communicate with him, then...

The hazy images are replaced by the reality before me. I run my 
fingers down the side of his face, taking care to avoid the cuts and 
bruises. "John..." My voice breaks. I try to stop the first few tears 
from coming, but they won't be held back...


> ****

I look through the stained glass window before me. My breathing has 
finally slowed. When I went to John's room and found it empty, I was 
so sure... so sure he was gone. 

They'd sent him down for a CAT scan. I hope it tells us more than we 
know now. No swelling, but no signs of consciousness, either. Why 
won't he wake up?

Once again I try to broker deals with a God I don't speak too often 
enough. I know He hears me - but I can't help thinking that He'd be 
justified in ignoring me, as I've so often done with Him. 

Dammit, it's not for me. If anyone deserves His help, it's John. So 
damned selfless. Why didn't he tell us about the woman in the SUV? 

No... that wouldn't be John. He sent us along ahead, said it 
was "probably nothing". 

Nothing...

I hear the door open behind me, and lift my head hopefully. Maybe 
they have *good* news about John.

It's Brad Follmer. A vulture from my past, come to take advantage of 
the situation. Sadly, I let him pull me into a hug. But my thoughts 
are far away, with John...


> ****


Scully and I race from Agent Comer's room - minus the relic he 
wrestled from us. We find ourselves in the chapel once more. It's not 
really a refuge this time - I try to convince Dana to tell the FBI 
the truth, but she thinks everyone is against us. 

The God that I believe in would never order the death of a child. I 
think Agent Comer was lying. But I *do* believe, as Dana does, in the 
power of the relic that healed him. I need to find that relic. We 
need it, to help William. I need it to help John. 

Skinner taps on the chapel door before opening it. And he tells us 
that Agent Comer is dead.

I run with Skinner to Comer's room. He's dead, but he was very much 
alive when we left him. I accuse the man who interrupted Scully and I 
in the room, but no one will believe me. They think we killed him. I 
need Dana. I turn, but she is gone.

I jog, yelling her name, down the hospital corridor. Skinner and the 
others wait for her to corroborate my story. I know where to find 
her...

The hallway near John's room is quiet, in stark contrast to the one I 
just left. I push his door open, and see Scully sitting beside his 
bed. I wish he was awake - I know what it would mean to him to know 
she's here. A closer look, and I pull in a quick breath. John *is* 
awake.

Scully looks almost guilty, that John awoke in her presence, rather 
than in mine. What does it matter? He's awake. She lingers with a 
hand on his shoulder, then moves from the bed as she pulls her cell 
phone from her pocket. I didn't even hear it ring. 

I rush to his bedside, willing it to be true, praying it's not my 
imagination playing cruel tricks yet again. 

It isn't. John focuses his attention on me for a moment, and in that 
time I see him realize what I've been through. Like it's anything in 
comparison to what he's just endured. He smiles up at me, a sheepish 
smile, a silent apology for worrying me. It's so "John" to apologize 
for my angst, even though he is the one wounded. 

Dana pulls me from my thoughts. The call was about her son - she 
needs my help. I look back down to John, and he nods his approval. Of 
course he will let me go, without question, since he can't go with 
her himself. I bring his hand to my face, brush my lips across his 
fingers in a gentle kiss. Then we leave him alone...



> ****

The chapel is quiet as I enter it once again. Not begging this time, 
not bargaining. But praying, still - giving thanks. 

The subject of my prayers is already seated, and I sit beside him. I 
let him know I'm ready to take him home. He flashes a little smile. 

John says a voice in his head told him to get up, to warn Scully. 
Confusion plays across his face, shrouds his eyes. He asks if it was 
me who talked to him. 

It wasn't me. I believe... I believe it was one much more powerful 
than either of us. 



~fini~


Author's Note:

The title was taken from a "Rejected Dialogue" line from "Providence":

Scully (at Doggett's bedside): I didn't mean for this to happen. I 
also didn't mean to run away in front of my apartment the other 
night, leaving you on my street like roadkill.
--spookycc



Shameless plugs:

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

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

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Co Executive Producer, Virtual Season Ten
Season Premiere July 7, 2002

http://www.snarkyroxy.com/vs10/