TITLE: Shades of Grey
AUTHOR: Andie Stabler
FEEDBACK: Definitely! I love feedback! Please! Please! Please!
CATEGORY: DoggettFic, Post-ep to Roadrunners.
RATING: PG. (Language)
SPOILERS: Roadrunners.
ARCHIVE: Sure. Just let me know beforehand.
SUMMARY: A chance to get inside our man's head.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Here's proof that John Doggett is the first X-Files character I've ever been able to really connect to: my first X-files story. And it's from his POV.

The X-Files: Shades of Grey
by Andie Stabler

J. Edgar Hoover Building.
10:30 pm

Okay, so it's late. But, it's not like I haven't done this before.

As much as I take each of these X-files with a grain of salt -- Hell, a block of salt. -- I have to admit, they are one roller coaster ride of a read. And to be honest, I haven't spent just one weekend here going through these cases, I've spent several.

I have to admit that when Director Kersh assigned me to the X-files, I was sure he had signed a death warrant on my career. To be associated with a caseload that was once headed by a guy nicknamed "Spooky" and whose office is in the basement has to say something.

But I'll be honest, it really doesn't matter all that much. Because this is what I do. This is what I'm here for.

Do I care about my job? Yes. Do I want to find Mulder? Of course. Do I want this thing solved? Absolutely. Do I care what people here think about it all?

Hell, no.

Career or not, I am here to do a job. And I will do it. Whether it be finding Mulder or solving whatever case is thrown into my path, I will do my job.

And I will do it right.

However, on this particular night, I wasn't reading, I was writing. Writing up the most recent incident that has occurred since I started this whole strange journey.

"Incident." Goddamn, is that ever an understatement. I've seen some "incidents" both as a Marine and as a cop. But this goes far beyond "incident." How about "acid trip?" How about "bizarre?" How about "fucking nightmare?"

I shuddered suddenly, remembering those perilous moments on that bus. The sound of Agent Scully's voice.

_Cut it out! Cut it out of me NOW!_

How the hell do you write up something like that? "I listened to my partner's screams as I cut open her back with my pocket knife and gouged out a foot-long slug that had taken up residence along her spine and was trying to get into her brain."

Yeah, right.

Agent Scully had warned me that I was going to get used to the noise from upstairs about the reports I'd be turning in. It looked like the volume had just been turned up.

I sighed as the words on the laptop screen blurred and mushed together into one big bright, incomprehensible blob. For a brief moment, a vision of that slug, slick with Agent Scully's blood, my hands wrapped around it as I ripped it from her body, flashed through my mind. Shit. No wonder I'd had to carry her off that bus in my arms. It was a miracle she was still breathing after the hack job I did on her neck.

The words on the screen refocused, then blurred again. How long had I been sitting here? A couple of hours at least. I should go home. But this report needed to be finished. It was almost done anyway, so I should just stay and finish it.

The words blurred once more. Ah, screw it. A cup of coffee and a walk were probably the only things that would help me get this damn thing finished.

***********************************

Jefferson Monument
11:05 pm

_I need a new pair of gloves._

That was the thought that occurred to me as I walked along, digging my hands into the pockets of my coat. Winter was coming and I was feeling it.

So how was I going to write this up? Probably the same way I wrote the last few reports up, with all the facts I had to my knowledge, as outlandish as they may seem.

And then there was Agent Scully's lack of trust in me. She had refused my help on this last case and it had nearly gotten her killed. She had screwed up and she knew it. I certainly hadn't kept it from her. It had been that lack of trust that had caused her to screw up.

I knew it took time for partners to learn to trust each other. I knew that well enough from my days in New York. And with the way Agent Scully had lost her partner, with him simply vanishing, I knew it would take more time for her to come around and trust me. Especially after almost eight years together. I was the new kid on the block. I was getting some inklings of it though; the way she thanked me for watching her back, the way she apologized for excluding me from this last case and admitting she'd screwed up.

I was pretty certain she didn't like me. But it didn't matter if she liked me or not. That didn't concern me. What did concern me was the lack of trust. You could have partners that hated each other's guts, but trusted each other to the ends of the Earth. They always knew each one would have to be there for the other. That trust was needed when your life was on the line and the only thing between you and getting your head blown off was your partner's line of sight.

I settled myself down on a bench and stared up into the clear night sky. Even through the city lights, I could pick out a few bright stars. Aliens, eh? Did Agent Scully really believe that stuff? She seemed to be the sensible type; a doctor, a scientist. Not the type who would believe in such trash.

And what about Mulder? I mean, here I was, giving my all for some guy I'd never met and only heard about through rumors and innuendo. The class bully trying to save the class nerd.

Someone explain that one to me.

I guess in some strange way I admired Mulder. He didn't seem to give a damn what anyone thought. Granted, I don't care what anyone thinks either. But there was something completely cavalier about the way Mulder handled it. He'd stake everything on one hunch.

I guess that's what got us here in the first place.

So what the hell was I up against? Agent Scully and A.D. Skinner seemed bound and determined to find him and would do anything to do so. Like Mulder, they'd stake everything on one hunch.

And the thing was, I was getting the sense that that might not be such a bad idea.

I've always known the world is black and white. My dad taught me that as a kid, I learned it in the Marines, I knew it as a cop. I thought I knew it as an FBI agent.

So someone please tell me where these shades of grey were coming from. And better yet, what the hell I was supposed to do with them.

Was I going to go through this every time I had to write up a report? The search for the right words? The questions of trust? The shades of grey?

What the hell had I gotten myself into?

I sighed, stood up, and began to wander back towards the Hoover building. I had a feeling I was going to be pondering those questions for quite a while.