Shades of Similarity Pt. 1 by Cheryl De Luca Disclaimer: These characters are not mine, and I thank Chris Carter for allowing me to take them out and play with them for a while. Category: Doggett / Scully Fic. Doggy POV Feedback: Please. Emiliod@sympatico.ca Spoilers: Through TINH, with some minor forshadowing for Dead Alive. Summary: Scully is thrown into a situation where she is forced to come to Doggett for help. It has been a week or so since she requested desk duty, though I had suggested it to her many times prior to that. It's not that I felt any less safe in her hands, to the contrary I trusted her as a partner should, wholly and completely. It is just that my experience with children - my own child in particular - has taught me the preciousness of life and the last thing I would want would be to have something happen to the baby she is carrying. It is getting close to her due date, and the buzz here at the bureau is rife with commentary and speculation. She carries it well for someone her size, yet around about the sixth month she bloomed like a beautiful rose, and the fact that she was indeed pregnant became very much an issue. It is also 4 months post Mulder. Though the sadness and grief she wears about her makes it seem like only yesterday. My wife Brigette was ecstatic when she found out about her pregnancy, she experienced the greatest pleasure in shopping for baby clothes and indulging in all of those wonderful things that every expectant mother enjoys. I wish it were the same for her. I was hoping that at some point she would move past her hurt and embrace the gift she has been given. But it seems she hasn't been able to. And that is my biggest fear. I know what it is like to hurt and feel alone. After my son was murdered I watched the light slowly fade from my wife's eyes until one day she could no longer take it and decided to join him in his fate. This is something that has haunted me every night for the last 4 years. I still see her body as they wheeled across the morgue floor for identification. If only I had anticipated it... But at the time, I too was in a very dark place, alone, afraid, and hurting. "Agent Scully?" She looks up at me, no response, but there is a question in her eyes. "I bought somethin' the other day...." Truthfully I bought it a month ago and it has taken me this long to get up enough nerve to give it to her. She stares at me, her curiosity peaked, but still no words. I am totally at a loss but I need to hear her talk to me. I also need to share. I reach into my desk and into the bag I had snuck in this morning. It's not much, but I know that with this I have stepped way over my bounds. Yet, I couldn't help myself. I rise from my chair and bring the nondescript bag over to her. It gives no hint of what is inside and for this I am grateful. I know she hasn't shopped for her baby, because despite orders to do the opposite, she has spent every waking minute in this office, including weekends. I hope that this will help. Perhaps jump start something in her that will make her want to live again, perhaps help her gain some pleasure from what is supposed to be a happy time in a woman's life.. She takes it from me tentatively and stares at me for a moment before peeking inside. A tuft of tissue paper comes out along with the mobile that I picked up. "Uh..." I'm at a loss for words so I say to her the only thing that can explain my actions. "My son.. Luke.. He had one when he was a baby, saved my wife's sanity a few times." I back away trying to ignore the tears as they begin to fall. I know she doesn't want me to acknowledge them, she never has. She seems to be very good at denial. Once again something I recognize from my own past experience. Things are silent again and I am back at my desk before she turns to me. "You have a son?" Her tears are gone wiped away hastily in an effort to forget. "Had" It is my turn to look away. This is something we have never talked about and I'm not sure that this is a conversation that I want to have. I rarely discuss Luke, though I hold my memories of him close to my heart and I ache for him everyday. Her brow furrows, and she is silent a moment before the next words fall from her mouth. "What happened?" I stand up grabbing a few files from my desk and head over to the file cabinet. I feel my own tears well up. It was my fault. To this day I can accept no other explanation. My hands begin to shake as though it were merely a recent memory rather than something from another lifetime. Almost unconsciously the words roll of my mouth. "Work followed me home.." I turn around but avert my eyes from her own questioning gaze. I'm afraid to look at her. I know that right now look in my eyes is the same haunted one that she has been wearing for the past five months. Silence reigns for a moment. I know she is waiting for more of an explanation and not for the first time since I started this conversation, do I wish that I hadn't. It was meant to be her opening up, not me. My wounds lie fresh on the surface the scabs still tacky, as do hers. Yet, she has something to live for, the important part of my life is gone. I'm just killing time here, probably because I am too much of a coward to do what my wife did. Or perhaps for the same reason that I have been telling myself all these years. I want to make a difference. Something inside of me resigns itself to the retelling of this tale, so I drop the files on top of the cabinet and grab a my chair moving it only a few short feet from her. My first instinct is to touch her. I want to take her hand, as much for my own comfort as for my need to make contact with her to share with her, what I am feeling. Instead I rub my trembling hands on my pants and look her straight in the eye. I don't care if she sees the tears now. This is a time for honesty. "I was workin' the periphery on a pedophile case. Not quite as Dalmeresque or sensational as a lot of the cases we get. But it was grim." My voice waivers, and I fight like hell to gain control again. "If you ask me any case dealin' with kids is bad." She nods at this, a gentle smile forming. She's been there, I know. I've read the files. "He was a sick little fuck who liked young boys." I look away for a moment. The memory of the asshole's face is something I will carry with me forever. I need to fight to regain control over the anger seeping into my voice. I look back at her, her face is unreadable now, her crystal blue eyes betraying nothing. "At first he was just an abuser." I feel the bile rising in my throat. "He had been molestin' children for years, nothin' more, just gettin' his ya yas off. But he'd escalated. At first we simply thought the boy had gone missin', maybe a result of an abduction - broken marriage maybe the father. Then another kid goes missing the another." The story pours out of me now, no emotion, it is mechanical. These are details. They do not hit close to home. That part comes later. "He was classed as a serial, the FBI was brought in too. The MO was exact and ritualistic, a little sick, a little twisted but by sensation standards pretty run of the mill. If anyone can ever call that kind of thing run of the mill, yah know?" She nods at me. Her hand going protectively to her burgeoning abdomen. "So I was one of a team of 7 set up to track him down. At the time I was still working with the NYPD. We had some leads, one suspect looked promisin', Bob Harvey a professor at Pace University, but there wasn't enough evidence to charge him with anythin'. We ragged his ass for days and then another kid disappears, so there is no way that this is the guy. But we were sure it was him, certain key evidence pointed to him yet he was under surveillance when the boy goes missin'. I always thought he was involved in some way but there was nothin' to really connect him, other than the loosely circumstantial evidence." I stop, the anger in me fresh once again from the betrayal of our instincts. How wrong could we have been? We had wasted so much time at the expense of another child. I rise to my feet and begin to pace a little. "Anyway, we started back trackin'. Linin' up some other possibilities. Then we find the fourth boy. This one was bad. He was the youngest, only five. But the killer had gone a step further this time and had tried his hand at a little experimentin'." I stop and look at her, my stomach knotting with the unforgettable scene as we pulled the boys small mutilated body from a ditch. I shouldn't be telling her this. I'm sure it will give her nightmares or something. I move back to the chair thinking that I have to stop this conversation, as much for her sake as for mine. I change the subject. This time my hand reaches out without my thinking. It finds comfort on the warm smooth mound in front of her. I look her in the eye again. "Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?" The heat from her body is magical. I am in awe, as I feel the life inside her move slightly. This is what miracles are made of. Her eyes stray from mine, and she looks away awkwardly, surprisingly not because of my touch. "I..." She clears her throat slightly and looks down at her belly. "I didn't ask." I nod slightly and begin to pull my hand away. Yet before I can, I feel her fingers close over mine. "Tell me the rest." She urges. There is something about her tone that tells me she needs to hear this. So I drop my eyes and stare at the ancient thick linoleum under her chair. For a moment I wonder if perhaps this precious child was conceived here. Did they ever make love here on the floor? On the desk? I shake away the thought. Yet, I know the exquisite torture and relief of being somewhere where you have built memories with someone you've loved and lost. She squeezes my hand prompting me to continue. "We knew the guy was smart. He clearly stalked his victims, studied them and then waited for his opportunity. We also knew that he probably already had another victim chosen. What we didn't know....." There is a lump in my throat the size of a tennis ball, and I can feel myself beginning to tear up. Another squeeze. I clear my throat and keep my eyes trained on the thin material separating my hand from her soft rounded flesh. "What we didn't know was that he had fixated on me. And that Luke was his next victim." My tears have begun to flow freely and it is I who am now holding her hand as if it were a life line. "Bridgette used to take him to the public pool all the time. He loved the water." I smile at the memory. His gleeful canon balls into the deep-end As he yelled "Hey, dad watch this!" . The smile on his sweet face as he splashed and chased the other kids. "She was talkin' to one of the other moms. She swore she'd only turned away for a moment...." My words are coming heavily, my free hand going to my face, swiping shamelessly the my emotional evidence. "She thought he'd just gone into the change room.." "I got the call as we were going over the preliminary coroner's report on the last victim. I didn't know what to do. I had no idea... We.." The utter terror of the moment is still fresh in my mind. I lose my breath suddenly almost as though I have been hit full force with the heavy end of someone's work boot. Doubling over I pull my hand free, only to feel the warmth of her hand on my shoulder. My head finds a place resting in my palms. I can taste the salt of my tears still wet on my lips. This was a very bad idea. I take a moment to compose myself, thinking that I could still leave now with some element of my manhood intact, but her touch tells me otherwise. It is insistent. I can't look at her now. "We had no idea it was him. I was still combin' the pool and the park surrounding it when the case broke wide open. The professor we had suspected, had been havin' an affair with one of his students. All along I thought it might have been more than one perp. All along I though Harvey was in on it, but as it turns out the student could not be accounted for and had ample time and opportunity to plant the evidence since they'd been meetin' at the professor's apartment regularly...." Hindsight is 20 / 20 and there are a million what ifs, and should haves that swirl around in my head constantly. "If only we'd figured it out sooner... By the time they found him hidin' out at his mother's house it was too late. We found Luke about 10 miles away layin' face down in the middle of a field. There was very little evidence to tie him to the guy, but we were sure it was him. Never the less the case still remains unsolved." I can feel my hands begin to tremble at the memory of my son's lifeless body lying in the tall grass, discarded like yesterday's garbage.. My voice cracks this time my tenuous composure is completely shot. "If only we'd been earlier, or put it together before then....." Her hand slides down my arm, and there is a quiver in her voice. "Did you kill him?" I look up at her, her blue eyes heavy with tears of her own. I shake my head. "One of my colleagues did. The official report said that he was shot trying to escape. Though we were never really certain that it was him. I would have just liked to hear him say that he had done it, alone." Her eyes shift away from me. "At least you got some satisfaction." There is something akin to envy in her voice. "No.." My hands come up to gently grip either side of her head. I force her to look at me. I want her to see the empty shell of a man that I am. I want her to know that whatever revenge I managed to gain that day means nothing. I have lost something that can never be replaced. "I've been where you are. Nothin' will change what has happened, Agent Scully and no vengeance will help, despite what you think. But you have a second chance, somethin' I never did." I rise, my hand dropping to gently graze the swell of her abdomen. I walk over to the door and grab my jacket off the hook. I can't look back at her. I need to go home and get shit faced. * * * * * * * * * I'm only part way towards oblivion when there is a knock at my front door. In my somewhat inebriated state I am more complacent with the idea of pretending I am asleep and perhaps hiding out until whomever it is goes away. I take another gulp of Jack Daniel's ignoring the burn of it as it hits the back of my throat and seers it's way into my empty belly. The pain of it hitting my newly acquired ulcer is nothing compared to the pain I have been carrying for years and I am sure that I will have to kill more than the entire bottle to numb that. So much for my half-assed attempt at psychotherapy. All I managed to do is fuck with my own head. I drop the glass back onto the table as the door bell sounds this time, it's loud throng accompanied by some more knocking. It is insistent. My TV is not on and the house is dark. Why doesn't whoever it is just go away? The knocking turns to banging, so I rise from the chair and make my way towards the door, trying not to trip over anything in the process. Between the lack of light and my lack of sobriety, the fact that I actually make it to the door without a major injury to myself is a miracle in and of itself. If this is the friggin' paper boy he's in for a big shock. I throw the door open and to my surprise there is a emaciated Indian man standing there, a look of fear spreads across his face as he fumbles for words and points to the taxi parked in my driveway. "She tell me bring her here." His English is broken and his words barely intelligible, but his frantic gestures cause me enough concern that barefooted and shirtless I make my way out the door past him. He follows behind me, pointing and mumbling. "She sick, no mess car..." A flash of brilliant red hair through the back window causes a rush of sobriety and I run to the car. Throwing the door open I peer in at the woman I left just a few short hours ago. Her eyes are half closed and her face contorted with pain. Shit. Instinctively I pull back her light jacket looking for any sign of blood or injury. "Agent Scully..." She moans slightly and her eyes flutter open and focus on me. "Help me..." Her words come as thick utterances. "Come.." I motion to the driver, but he shakes his head, no. Damn.. Reaching in I slide my arms under her back and legs. I am in no condition to be carrying anyone let alone her. Despite the baby she is carrying she weighs no more than 130 lbs, but in my state that's a lot. Terrified, I make my way towards the door her arms encircling my neck. She lets out another huff of pain, followed by something akin to a whimper. Jesus... The cement is cold and the small pebbles sharp against the soles of my feet, but this has a surprisingly sobering effect. Slowly, I make my way up the steps praying to god that we don't fall. Kicking at the door, I curse quietly as my naked toe comes into contact with the heavy metal kick plate, thankfully though the door opens slightly allowing me to wedge my knee into it and force it open fully. "Oooohhh....." Dana utters another groan of pain. Her face drenched in sweat, my heart drops into my belly as I make my way across my living room, my shoulder hitting the light switch as I pass by. She can't be in labor. I tell myself and place her carefully on the couch. But she has the decidedly uncomfortable look of someone laboring. Jesus.... I look back at the door in time to see the taxi pulling out of my driveway. Making my way over to the door I note that the driver has been kind enough to leave her two small travel bags lying in the middle of my lawn. This day has suddenly gone from nightmare bad to worse. Another moan ushers forth from the woman on my couch. "My bag..." The words are heavy with pain. I look at her for a moment like she is crazy but heed her request and run out and grab the two bags from their undignified place on the front lawn. By the time I return she is whimpering again, so I make my way across to her and drop her cargo unceremoniously on the carpet beside the couch. Bending over her I place my hand on her forehead. It is slick from sweat, but she doesn't have a fever. Fear rushes through me I have no idea what to do here. This seems to be a common thing with me as of late. Inexplicably, she grabs my hand and places it on her belly. She lets out a small moan as I feel the muscle under my touch become rock hard. No words are needed.. Shit shit shit.... She is definitely in labor. And this is bad, very bad. I am drunk and a mess and even if I wasn't drunk I would still be a fucking mess. "Okay. Let me call an ambulance, Agent Scully." Her hand grips mine with a physical strength I wouldn't have expected from someone so small. "No..." She huffs slightly. "No doctors..." Is she fucking crazy? "Please my bag... Inside the black one." I reach down and throw open her black bag, a loose assortment of clothes comes tumbling out. Revealing a cardboard box. "The box.." she mumbles. So I remove it carefully from it's nesting place and open it. Inside there is tubing, a lot of it, along with assorted IV bags. This cinches it. She is crazy. What the hell am I supposed to do with this? "Magnesium sulfate." The words are foreign to me. I look down at the bags and note that a couple of the other smaller ones say Magnesium, too. "I need you to set up the IV...." Her words trail off as another contraction hits. Intuitively, my hand goes to her belly and I begin to massage until I feel the muscle underneath begin to relax. Her hand closes over mine again. "The IV..." "I... I can't.." And I won't. I'm no doctor, but I know if I do this wrong I could kill her. "Let me call an ambulance.." She shakes her head animatedly. "I can't trust them.... Please." There is a panic in her eyes that I have only ever seen one time before, and that was when she realized that the man she called Jeremiah Smith was gone. I can't do this and I won't. I have downed more than half a bottle of JD and my hands are shaking. "Hold on." I rise from the coffee table and grab the phone from it's cradle on the end table. She clutches at my hand again half rising from her place on my couch. "NO..." She looks like she is trying to leave, and I have no doubt that despite her difficulties she will if I don't listen. "Relax..." I move to her again and push her back onto the couch. For a moment she looks as if she is going to fight me, so I drop the phone and place my hands on either side of her face forcing her to look at me and listen to me. "I can't do this Dana. I have been drinkin' and I don't trust myself to do it. I'm goin' to call my sister in law. She is a nurse, and she lives only five minutes away. She'll come." The fear in her eyes is still there. "You can trust her, remember that day in the hospital? I promised you that I would take care of you and I will." The hand clutching mine suddenly slackens as another contraction hits. I massage her belly again waiting for the pain to subside. A round of bittersweet de ja vu hits me as I reach for the phone and dial Kathy's number. The phone rings four or five times and dread fills me. She has to be home. She's been working days for the past week. I know this because I was supposed to have dinner at her place tonight, but seeing my nephews would have hurt way to much. "Hello?" A young voice on the other end of the line causes a rush of relief to course through me. "Hey Jimmy Joe..." My pet name for my nephew tells him exactly who is calling. Dana's eyes are closed now. It looks almost like she is sleeping. My free hand brushes the hair from her forehead. "Is mama there?" "Hold on Uncle John... Ma ma????" His voice trails off for a moment before I hear my sister in-laws voice come on the line. "Hey there, did you change your mind? There's still plenty left." "No Kath.. Thanks, but listen is Tim home?" My brother owns his own garage and sometimes works late. I'm hoping that tonight isn't one of those nights. "Yeah want me to get him for you?" "No.. I need you to come here right now, it's an emergency. I need you to hurry." "Ah.. sure..." Her voice is more than a little hesitant. "I'll be there in a couple a minutes." Dana suddenly lets out another soft moan and I feel the pressure mounting in her belly again.. "Thanks, and Kath?" "Yeah?" "Make it quick." The last thing I need is the first hand experience of delivering a baby. If I had wanted to be a Doctor I would have gone to med school. My ministrations seem to soothe my partner somewhat so I am more than willing to accommodate. Once again I marvel at the miracle of life within her as I feel movement against my hand. I don't know if it was an fist or a foot, but to know that the child is okay is more than comforting. * * * * *Continue to Part 2