Title: When Push Comes to Shove

Author: spookycc

Rating: PG to mild-R for language

Classification: V A  Doggett-friendly.

Summary: Fill-in-the-blanks for Three Words, Doggett POV.

Spoilers: Specifically, for "Three Words". To be safe, for S8 so far.

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

Archive: I'll take care of ephemeral and Gossamer - anyone else feel free -
please drop me a line to let me know where it'll be living. 

Dedication: As ever, to Doggett's Bitch (f/k/a "Fox's Vixen" :). My
soulmate, always. Get those ribs a mending!

And for girlassassin, most loyal fan, and great friend - hope the shoot went
well!

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


****

Another long day. I've spent most of it in the basement office of the
X-Files. Not surprisingly, Agent Scully has been spending a lot of time at
the hospital. So, I've been trying to get caught up on some of our
paperwork.

I think Agent Mulder used to leave most of that for Agent Scully to do, too,
'cuz she sure never complained about doing the bulk of it. At least I can
save her some mundane desk work when she gets back in...

I'm interrupted by a call from Deputy Director Kersh's secretary. He wants
me in his office asap. What the hell *else* is new?

I meet A.D. Skinner in the hallway outside Kersh's office. Kersh seems to
consider us a team of sorts, and we enter the Deputy Director's office
together.

Kersh has the tv on when we open the door - the same story I've been hearing
about all day long. Man shot accidentally on the White House front lawn...

The Deputy Director speaks cryptically. Something about people rarely being
what they seem to be. Well, this guy oughtta know. He "invites" us to sit
down, and we take our places in front of his desk.

He slides a folder in each of our directions, while he informs us that Agent
Scully has applied for Mulder to be reinstated to the X-Files.

Guess I know where *I* stand now, if I didn't already. I'm puzzled that this
has happened so quickly, though. Mulder just went home from the hospital
today.

Kersh tells us he plans to deny the application, and says the info in the
folders he's handed us will tell us why. It's the comparative solve rates of
the X-Files division under Agents Mulder and Scully, then under Scully and
I. I guess ours looks better.

Kersh is complimentary. "Damn impressive, John."

He's so full of shit. "Impressive, sir?" I respond. "The only thing
impressive about my work on the X-Files is that I even know what's goin' on
half the time."

Kersh and Skinner banter the "evidence" back and forth. It's not fair to
compare success rates for a 6-8 month period against those of the last seven
years, I can tell you that. But Kersh thinks the main deterrent to success
with Mulder at the helm was his obsession with aliens. Again, I hear from
Kersh that the FBI is not a place for personal crusades.

He continues. "I'm asking you both to make that understood. On my behalf."

Not very damned likely. "You can't ask me to tell Agent Mulder he's off the
X-Files," I protest. "It's his unit - he created it."

"I'm not *asking* you, John," Kersh states simply.

Well, he did *say* "ask", but he obviously means this as an order.

I can't believe he'd even ask me. I can't do this.

I *won't* do this. To Mulder. Or to Scully.

I stand over Kersh's desk. "You sent me to find Mulder. I found him. Don't
charge me with driving a stake through his heart." I throw the folder back
on his desk.

"Maybe you'd rather I close the X-Files," Kersh suggests. The bastard. "Then
we'd both be getting what we want."

Kersh's glare doesn't fade, not even for a moment. We lock eyes and remain
like that until I hear Skinner's voice. "Let's go, Agent Doggett. *Now*."

Skinner is right. I don't know what I might do if I stay in here with this
son-of-a-bitch another minute. I follow Skinner out of Kersh's office, and
it's all Skinner can do to talk me into leaving for the day. He's probably
right. I'm not gonna get anything done in my current mood...

I pull up to my house and sit in the truck for a few moments. I always leave
a light or two on - semi-bad neighborhood and all, no sense in askin' for
trouble - but the house still looks lonely. I look at the building as if for
the first time. It hasn't changed much since I became, not by choice, a
bachelor again. A lot of memories in there. I should sell the place, I know,
but some of the memories are good ones...

I pull the mail from the box on the porch before I unlock the door. Stepping
inside, I hang my coat on the hook by the door, lay my gun and holster on
the hall table. It's a ritual, done without thinking. Done on hundreds of
evenings, since I've lived here.

I walk through to the dining room, sorting bills as I go, and flip on my
desk lamp. My senses must be dulled - I'm dead tired as well as still upset
- because I don't even *sense* anyone else in the room. Until I hear the
hammer of a weapon being cocked, right behind me.

Turning around slowly, I face the intruder. It's Absalom, the "prophet".
Last time I saw him was when I visited him in prison. And I hadn't heard
he'd been released, so...

He's skittish as a cat - he forces me onto my couch, my hands behind my
back. I do as he says - no sense in pissing him off until I find out why
he's here.

He orders me to put my head down, between my knees, and I do. He inspects
the back of my neck. I'm still not sure this is really happening.

"Absalom, right? What're you lookin' for?" I need to get him talking. *To*
me, rather than *at* me. That's step one.

Turns out he was makin' sure that I'm "still me". I assure him that I am.

He takes out a clipping of the man shot at the White House. He tells me that
man was shot for what he knows, and that "they" will kill him, too.

"Not if you put the weapon down," I try to reason with him.

"They'll kill me anyway," he insists. "I got one chance here. With you."

I try to rush him blindly, but he anticipates the move. It was dumb, I
realize it instantly. I never had a chance. He orders me to sit down again,
and I do as he says, my hands in the air.

"I'm not goin' anywhere," I try to reassure him.

"You're going with me," he interrupts. "And I'm going to show you. And
you're going to spread the word." He almost smiles. "Doubting Thomas is
going to spread the word."

I'm puzzled even moreso now. "What word?"

"The invasion has begun."

"What invasion?"

"They're already here."

"Who's already here?" Really, I don't wanna piss him off. I just wanna
understand what the hell is goin' on.

He tries to explain his belief, but I can't follow any of what he says. It
*is* like he's speaking in parables.

I tell him I don't understand, as my phone starts ringing in the front hall.
I hope perhaps it'll distract him, give me another chance to overpower him,
but he doesn't even turn his head as it continues to ring.

He points the gun in my direction again. "On your knees, John Doggett."

Shit. *This* can't be a good development.

I kneel slowly in front of him, hands upraised, as whoever was trying to
call me gives up. 

The silence is even more tense after the incessant ringing of the phone is
gone.

"Take off your shirt," Absalom orders.

I look up at him, puzzled. What the hell is goin' on? I don't move for a
moment.

"Now! Do it!" I'm not eager to find out just *how* unbalanced this loonie
is, so I unbutton my dress shirt and pull it off. He nods at me. "The other
one, too."

I slip my undershirt over my head, briefly toying with the idea of using it
as a diversion. The feel of a gun barrel against my head kills *that* idea
pretty quickly. I toss the undershirt on the floor.

I shiver inside, not because of the temperature in my house. This guy needs
help, and not any type that *I* can provide. He needs freakin' psychiatric
help.

The phone starts ringing again. It doesn't distract him any more than it did
the first time. It rings quite a few times. *Someone* is lookin' for me.
Something inside me hopes it's Agent Scully - ar A.D. Skinner. But they
would have no clue what the hell is going on here...

Still training the weapon on me, Absalom steps back behind my desk to the
kitchen area, and opens drawers until he finds something. When he walks back
to where I wait, I see what he found - duct tape.

If he wants to secure me, surely my cuffs would work better than *tape*. And
he hasn't seemed too worried that I'd be makin' a lot of noise so far...

"On your stomach," he directs me. I throw a questioning look his way, but I
don't have much choice in the matter, not really. I lay down, and he walks
behind me.

I feel the cold metal of a gun on my back. What the hell? Absalom pulls
piece after piece of duct tape from the roll and I can feel right where he's
securing the gun - pointed straight up. Toward my head.

"So what do you have in mind, if you don't mind my askin'?" He says nothing.
:It's my head that's gonna get blown off if there's a screw-up."

"We're going to get what that man at the White House died for," he explains,
not in a patient voice.

"To get it? To get it where?" I still don't know what he hopes to
accomplish.

"You just concentrate on not screwing up, Agent Doggett." He pulls the
trigger on the empty chamber, and I flinch, despite myself. "Either way, you
and I are going to become overnight sensations."

This doesn't sound good at all. He's ready to sacrifice both of us to get
what he wants. I *thought* he wanted me to "spread the word". He's not
thinking that far ahead anymore, and that worries me. He has me put my
shirts back on, and throws me my jacket to help cover the bulge the gun
makes between my shoulder blades.

****

I drive to the Federal Statistics Center, the gun digging into my back the
whole way. The guard asks for my ID, and I slide my badge up to the glass
with the "FBI" upside down. Hopefully this guy knows that means I'm in deep
shit here.

He buzzes us through after he checks my ID out, and we walk further into the
building. I don't know where I'm goin', but apparently Absalom does. I let
him know that the x-ray equipment at the front entrance has probably alerted
the guard to the concealed weapon.

"You'd better hope we make it," Absalom replies. "I'd hate to see you die in
vain."

Well, we're sure as hell in agreement *there*...

I ask him what the hell this information is, that's worth my dying for, but
he only insists that it's census data. We arrive at the glass-walled
computer room that looks to be the main data bank storage area, and Absalom
shoves me against the glass as he tries the door. Does he really think
they'd leave it unlocked?

While he shakes the door, I see movement in my peripheral vision, and a
federal intervention team arrives in the hallway, weapons drawn.

Absolom instantly uses me as a shield, his hand on the gun taped to my back.
"I got a loaded gun pointed at this man's head! He's an FBI agent!"

Well, they already *know* that. But they're not slowin' down. We're quickly
surrounded. This is gettin' *way* out of hand way too fast.

"Listen to him, just back off!" I yell.

They're still coming at us. Absalom clutches me more tightly, and I can
almost feel his trigger finger digging into my back, though I know he
doesn't really wanna hurt me. That'll be hollow consolation if I end up with
a hole in my head.

"Listen to the man! Back off" I'm drowned out by the soldiers' communication
between each other. This is goin' down bad.

I can hardly hear my own voice. "Lower your weapons! Listen to him!"

I see the flare of gunfire - a single shot - almost at the same moment as a
pain like fire flares in my right cheek. I go down, my hand covering the
right side of my face. Absalom is somewhere behind me.

I glance absently at the blood on my hand, then turn to see their target.
They got Absalom right in the middle of the forehead. I'm lucky I'm even
alive. That was *not* by-the-book, I'm damned sure of that.

****

Sitting in Skinner's office later that day, debriefing, his voice is almost
amused. "It may not be the best way, but it's certainly one way to catch an
escaped convict, I'll give you that, Agent Doggett."

This wasn't a *plan*. Not on *my* part anyway. "I'd just as soon stick to
the old-fashioned way, Sir," I reply. "That shot was a little too close for
comfort." At least they got the bleeding stopped - now I can only feel it
whenever I move any muscle on that side of my face.

Skinner presses for more information. "You say this man claimed the US
Census Bureau had data - information he was after that connects to this man
who was shot on the White House lawn?"

I nod in agreement. "Proof, he said, they were here among us." I pause
uncertainly. "Whoever *they* are..."

Skinner turns as his inner office door opens without a knock. It's Agent
Mulder. "Sir," he pauses by Skinner.

"Agent Mulder." Skinner acknowledges.

"Is that John Doggett?" Mulder motions toward me, and walks in my direction.
"Agent Doggett?"

I stand and extend my hand. It's good to see Mulder looking healthy already,
after all he's been through. I'll be glad to meet him officially.

Instead of taking my offered hand, Mulder shoves me back into the chair I
just got out of. What the hell? He comes at me - I don't even move from the
chair - and Skinner steps between Mulder and I and pushes him back.

Mulder is ranting about hoping Skinner's not commending me as a hero in what
just went down.

"Back off!" Skinner orders, keeping himself between us. "I'm not about to
referee a boxing match."

Skinner wouldn't need to do that. I'm not gonna fight Mulder, especially not
*now*, no matter *what* he thinks went down out there. He's not even himself
yet, physically or mentally, but this assault was totally out of the blue.

I'm puzzled, and I speak through a surprised smile. "Just what's the problem
here?"

"Problem?" Mulder's voice is laced with scorn. "You occupy an office that
used to be devoted to finding the truth. And now you're busy burying it.
*That's* the problem."

Where did he get *that* idea? "Whoa, you musta got your wires crossed
somewhere, Agent Mulder," I try to explain. I purposely affect a non-
threatening posture, so I don't piss him off any more than he obviously is.

"You got that man killed." He is determined.

"*I* got him killed?" He had a fuckin' gun taped to my back, fer crissakes.

"Because of what he knew, what he was going to expose."

This is crazy. I point to the wound on my cheekbone. "You see this, Agent
Mulder?"

He isn't dissuaded. "I see you sitting there, Agent Doggett. That's good
enough for me." He stalks from the room, through Skinner's secretary's
office.

Skinner makes excuses for him, which doesn't surprise me. I *know* he's been
through hell - I *found* him, *dead* - but he's attacking the wrong person.
I nod, dismissing Skinner's explanations and leave his office through the
other door.

I've only gone two steps into the hall, deep in thought, when Mulder makes
his next move. He's on top of me before I can even think of reacting, and
his fists are flying. I hit the floor, hard, as agents start to mill around.
I can feel hands reaching for Mulder, but he shrugs them off. Mulder lands a
couple body shots and reopens the bullet graze on my face before I throw his
weight over and pin him to the floor.

Mulder's eyes are wild, accusing. I hold his arms to his sides and try to
calm him down enough to release him. "Agent Mulder, take it easy! It didn't
go down like you think! Let me explain."

He'll hear none of it - he thrashes around, and I straddle his legs, still
holding his arms - it's all I can do to avoid being attacked from below this
time.

"That's enough!" I know the voice, and I hear the crowd of agents parting
behind me. Before I can explain, Scully grabs me by the shoulders, and I
turn to look into her angry face. "What the hell is going on here?" The
other agents start to back away, gradually dispersing.

She pushes me off Mulder, and I offer no resistance, as I hit the floor and
she helps him to his feet. "Maybe I was a little premature in my
re-evaluation of your character, Agent Doggett."

Wait - it's not like she thinks! My jaw drops about a foot as she checks
Mulder over solicitously. She throws me a scathing look and helps her
"injured" partner away from the scene. Shit. The only thing I might have
injured is his pride.

I shake my head, still not believing this latest in a series of X-Files-
worthy encounters with Agent Mulder. Everything this guy *does* is an X-File
to me. I get slowly to my feet, ignoring the curious looks of agents passing
by who missed the "fight".

****

I need to talk to Knowle again. I set up a meeting in a local park where I
know he runs. It's raining, misty, but I know he'll be here anyway. He stops
to grab a drink from the water fountain.

I walk, carrying an umbrella, in his direction, trying to see if we're being
watched.

"Your name came up today, John," he begins. "Folks are all worked up. They
say you dodged a bullet."

That's the least of my problems right now. "You can't dodge what you don't
see comin', Knowle, that's fersure." I take a drink as well.

"That should tell you something about who you're dealing with."

"Who *am* I dealin' with? NSA? Secret Service? Military? Who?"

"You know better than that, John."

"They shot the man in cold blood. They didn't even stop to ask him his
name." The awful truth of the incident is starting to sink in.

Knowle says Absalom made it too easy, since he took a federal agent hostage
in a government facility.

That's just more bullshit. "They'd have shot him anyway," I respond.

"Without a doubt." He's not shittin' about *that*. Those men didn't act like
a military squad. They behaved like paid assassins. Maybe that's what they
were.

"Why?"

"You and I been friends a long time, John. I tell you things. But this is a
whole other level."

"Don't give me that double-speak crap, Knowle. I'm bein' accused."

"Accused? Of what?"

"Of being used to get that man killed."

"Well, that's insane." He doesn't sound all that convincing.

"Oh, is it? Maybe I *am* bein' used, and I just don't know it." I pause to
glance out over the park again. It all seems so peaceful. I wonder how many
pairs of eyes are watchin' us right now. "That's what I wanna know from
you."

"Can't tell you that, John," he replies. I'm not surprised, not really. "But
I can tell you something."

This feels like a bait and switch tactic to me, but I go along with it. Any
information he can provide may bring me closer to whoever is maneuvering me
on this case. I walk around to face him directly for the first time.

"One thing you already know," he begins. "These men are very good shots."

"What *don't* I know?"

"Three words," he replies cryptically...

****

I sit in my truck across the street from Agent Mulder's apartment, my
thoughts as cold and bleak as the night that surrounds me. I know she's in
there. I see a taxi pull up and honk, and Agent Scully leaves the building
and walks towards it.

"Hold up!" I yell.

Scully pauses. "Agent Doggett?" She looks puzzled. Probably surprised that
I'd have the balls to stop her on the street after what she *thinks*
happened at the Hoover building today.

"Yeah. Agent Scully, I'm sorry to surprise you. I don't mean to." She asks
the cab driver to wait.

She looks me over. "What are you doing here at this hour? You're freezing
cold."

Well, at least she *noticed*. "I got somethin' for Agent Mulder, only I
can't go up there. I don't know him, and I know he doesn't trust me, so I'm
gonna ask you to get it to him."

She fixes me with a look that says that's the least of it. Damn. "What do
you have to give him?"

"Information." I explain to her what Knowle told me this afternoon. About
the guy on the White House lawn. The diskette he had, that he was trying to
get to the President.

"Who gave you this information?"

It gets a little dicey here. "I can't tell you that." I go on to give her
the password to the diskette. Fight the future. It means nothing to me, but
from her expression, she's heard the phrase before.

She nods, just a little, and tells the cabbie he can go. She heads back into
the building, and I head back to my truck.

****

Later that night, I'm lying in bed, thinking about all that's gone on the
past few days. Wondering how I got involved in all this. Knowing *why*.

A knock on my front door interrupts my thoughts. I slip my gun from its
holster on my nightstand, and venture downstairs, ready for anything.

It's Skinner. He says Scully's beside herself. Mulder's taken the password
and gone off half-cocked to use that information himself. I can't hide the
look on my face that tells Skinner his news doesn't surprise me.

His eyes narrow. "You know about this?"

"I gave Scully the password," I nod.

"Where'd you get it?"

"I can't tell you that." Shit, I know this looks bad.

"You know, I'm starting to wonder about you too, John. Just whose side you
*are* working on here."

He's all wrong, but he's more right than he knows. "I'm startin' to wonder
about that, myself." I grab my coat. I hafta stop Mulder, before he gets
hurt. Again.

Skinner asks where I'm going.

"I can't tell you that, either. If I open my mouth, I put you at risk." I
pause. He looks undecided. "You're gonna hafta trust me on this." I leave
him standing confusedly in my living room as I head out into the night.

****

I see her car in front of the Federal Statistics Center. It's idling. Maybe
he's done inside - maybe they're leaving. Part of me knows it won't be that
damned easy.

I knock on the window and Scully jumps a foot. I raise my hands and send her
an apologetic look through the window, as she moves to power it down.

"What're you doing here?" She asks.

No time for explanations. "Where's Agent Mulder?"

She sighs. "He wouldn't listen to me."

That's what I was afraid of. "Get out of here. Get goin'."

She turns the ignition off. "I can't do that to him."

"Then do it for yourself." I reach in and restart her car. "Look. I think I
may have set you up."

"What?!"

"Just get outta here now, and I'll explain it to you later."

"No, you explain it to me now. Set us up how? And with whom?" She's as
determined as always - that's one of the things that draws me to her, but
there's no time for reflection right now.

"The same men that shoot first and ask questions later," I implore her to
leave. Of course, she doesn't.

I turn and run toward the building. "Agent Doggett!" I hear her behind me,
but there's no more time for talk. I hafta get Mulder's ass outta that
facility before he gets killed.

The security desk is unmanned, and I make my way to the room where Absalom
took me before. Mulder is inside. The doors are locked. I bang on the door
windows. "Agent Mulder, get outta there!"

He keeps typing. I keep pounding. We're not getting anywhere here. "Agent
Mulder! Your life's in danger if you don't get out now!"

To hell with the yelling. I pull out my weapon and fire through one of the
doors, shattering the glass. A little "low-profile security avoidance."*

I step through the door frame and run to the main desk, where he still sits
typing. "Agent Mulder, get up. You're comin' with me. I'm here to save you,
whatever you may think."

He is smug, self-assured. "I think you're trying to keep this information
from ever seeing the light of day. Just like you did with this before, Agent
Doggett. That's what *I* think."

Dammit! "Agent Mulder, I don't even know what that information *is*," I
insist.

"Well, you're about to, along with a lot of other people. You're going to
learn that they've been targeted, because of their genetic profiles, for
abduction, and replacement by alien facsimiles." He continues typing. "What
do you say we start off with the Washington Post, huh?"

"You can believe whatever you want, but that information's never gonna make
it outta here." This is like reasoning with a wall.

"What're you gonna do, shoot me?" He throws me a smart-ass look. Is that
what he thinks of me?

Mulder is listening to someone through a headset. I hear him say, "Why?" and
then he looks up at me again. "You son-of-a-bitch. You set me up."

"No." Not on purpose. God, not on purpose.

"C'mon, Agent Mulder," I grab his arm and maneuver him to his feet before he
shrugs me off.

"Get *off* of me!" He goes back to his typing.

"If I'd set you up, I wouldn't be here trying to convince you to go," I try
to reason with him. "They're comin' to kill you. They're gonna kill me, too.
That's the set-up."

His attention is within, for a moment, listening to whoever is on his
headset. Then realization washes over his face and he looks at me again. I
can't hear the other end of the conversation. All I hear are his replies.

"Yeah, I'm here..."

"Except *what*?" We're both glancing worriedly around, waiting dumbly for
the assault team's arrival.

Then Mulder looks up. And back at me.

"We're not gonna-" I start.

"You got any better ideas?" He asks.

Good point. We flip the ceiling tiles aside and climb into the suspended
ceiling supports. And slide the last tile back in place as we hear footsteps
below us. That was just too fuckin' close.

****
Two Days Later...

I'm still working on my report for our last case - trying to remember what I
can and can't include. Wondering why the hell I'd even bother covering for
Knowle anymore, after he ditched Skinner and I in the park yesterday.

I look up as Agent Scully comes in. She closes the door behind her. Uh-oh.
What the hell did I do now?

She pulls the chair from Mulder's desk over beside mine, and sits down. She
hasn't even said anything yet, and my heart's pounding faster already...

"Agent Doggett," she begins.

"Agent Scully, I'll say it again, I'm sorry. I really thought I was working
off reliable information. I would never set you or Agent Mulder up."

"I know that."

"Then what-"

"I want to apologize to you."

"Fer what?"

She sighs, and looks at her hands in her lap. "Mulder told me what really
happened in the hallway the other day."

Great. I wonder *what* he told her happened? I look at her skeptically, and
she returns my gaze.

"I know you didn't hurt him. I know you weren't even *trying* to hurt him."

I let the silence lay between us for a few moments.

"I wouldn't hurt Agent Mulder,"

She nods. "I should have realized that. I'm sorry."

"You were thinkin' with your heart, not your head, Agent Scully. No hard
feelin's."

Her eyes fall again and she shakes her head slowly.

"What?" I ask, hoping I'm not intruding.

She looks up at me again. Her eyes are teary. "I know how you tried to get
the vaccine for Mulder from Krycek, too. I never even thanked you."

"You didn't know it at the time. S'ok."

She shakes her head. "I'm thanking you now. For everything you've done to
help me. And Mulder."

My heart drops. This feels like another big "fuck-off" to me.

"Mulder told me..." she pauses for a moment. "Mulder told me he couldn't
have found anyone better to take care of me while he was - gone."

The silence is heavy once more.

The unspoken words: But now that he's *back*...

"Agent Mulder is my-"

My heart stops.

"-touchstone."

I release a breath I didn't know I was holding.

"We share - a special bond. I can't explain it."

"You don't hafta explain it, Agent Scully. I could see it when I saw you in
his hospital room that night."

Her eyes meet mine again, and she smiles, just a bit.

I continue. "It was like you'd recovered a piece of yourself."

She nods. "Yeah."

An uncomfortable quiet settles over us again, until her voice breaks it.

"That doesn't mean I want *you* to disappear, Agent Doggett. I know you care
for me. I care for you, too. I hope this will all work out, somehow..."

I nod. "Yeah. Somehow."

Agent Scully throws me a shadow of a smile, as she opens the office door and
heads out into the hallway.

I take a deep breath, and move the chair back where it belongs.

It belongs here more than I do.

I sit back down, and let my head fall into my hands...


~fini~


****

Author's notes: 

I just *know* CC and Spotsy had Mulder and Doggett exit through different
doors from Skinner's office so they could "meet" in the hallway. I helped
them out a little. :)

* "Low-profile security avoidance" was borrowed from The
Cult of the JebuSlug. No infringement intended.