Title: Anniversary
Author: Moose
E-mail:  the1moose@mediaone.net  I live for feedback.  Flames will be used
to make s'mores.
Ratings: er, PG-13 for scattered bad words.
Category:  angst-o-plenty, DSF
Warnings/Spoilers: spoilers, yes, through S8.  Warnings, none really, except
that if you don't like Doggett and Scully getting along, then you won't like
this one.  You've been warned.
Archive:  sure, just tell me so I can come visit.
Summary: A shared moment
Disclaimer: :::sigh:::  Is this really necessary?  Not mine, never will be.
No money exchanged hands, nor were any animals harmed, in the making of this
fic.
Notes:  Author's notes at end.  As always, dedicated to my SHODDSisters, who
provide me with motivation to get off my duff and write.


Cemeteries, while being one of the saddest places, could also be very
peaceful.  It was for the second reason that Scully chose to park her car a
little further away from the gravesite than necessary.  The stillness of the
afternoon air gave her the chance to gather her thoughts on the way and some
time to compose herself on the way back.

The headstones were as different as the people buried beneath them.  Nearly
all were granite, save the much older slate slabs, on some of which the
dates were no longer visible.  There were a few marble ones, too, but what
had once been a gleaming white had been turned to a dull, unidentifiable
color, pitted by time and unkind elements.  But granite withstood time and
elements.

Unlike people, she thought, passing by a freshly dug grave.  Tomorrow, the
deceased's family and friends would be gathered around that gaping hole in
the earth, over which a gleaming casket would be waiting to be lowered.
There would be tears, and prayers.  And then not an hour later, the hole
would be back filled and covered with flower arrangements.  In six months
time, it would be barely indistinguishable from others around it, and in a
years time, when family made their pilgrimage to the site, it would be a
place of peace, only occasionally shattered by those come to mourn.

Like herself.  Her heels made a steady click-click on the pavement as she
walked, flowers in hand, to her own mourning site.  Her mother had called
her to be sure she hadn't forgotten, and Scully had assured her that she had
not.  She'd left the office half an hour early - not that her partner had
noticed.  He'd seemed distracted, which suited her fine.  She didn't feel up
to explaining where she was going early on a Wednesday night.

Her hand gripped the flowers as she left the cement and stepped onto the
grass.  Her pace slowed, her eyes scanning the names.  Then she came to the
one with the gray granite, the one with the flat, polished face.  The one
with the name 'Scully'.

Her father could've been buried at Arlington, she knew.  With full military
honors.  But Scully was glad her mother had chosen not to.  Their grief
would've been too public, on display for all the tourists there to see the
Tombs of the Unknowns, or JFK.  Here they could grieve in private, in peace.

Scully knelt down and brushed imaginary dirt from the base of the stone.
Her mother had already been there; fresh flowers lay carefully against the
grass, spread out just so.  Her mother came every two weeks, keeping her
husband's final resting-place well maintained.  There were never any
decaying flowers, the small American flag was never faded, and no dirt ever
caked on the base of the stone from splashing rain.

Scully laid her own offering with her mother's before taking her fingers ad
lovingly tracing her father's name.  There was no 'Beloved Father' or other
such sentiment etched into the cold stone.  Just the names 'William' and
'Margaret' beneath the family name, with her mother's dates left incomplete.
As she traced the date next to her father, Scully felt the tears well up and
spill onto her cheeks.  The anniversary was the most difficult time...

She wept quietly for a minute before looking up to the cloudless sky, trying
to gather her thoughts.  "Oh, Dad... there's so much I want to tell you, but
you're not here..."  She wiped at the tears that continued to fall as she
thought of what she would say if he were here.  She'd tell him about
Mulder's disappearance, about her new partner Doggett - whom she was sure
her father would like because of Doggett's Marine background - and how
confused she'd been lately.  Confused about her direction in life, about how
the man she found herself wanting to turn to was not the one she expected.
And, of course, about her baby...

Scully squeezed her eyes shut until the tears stopped.  This pity party was
getting her nowhere, she berated herself, and she knew her father wouldn't
have wanted her to be like this.  She took a single daisy from the bouquet
she had brought before rising to her feet.  Inhaling a deep, if shaky,
breath, she kissed her fingertips before placing them reverently on the top
of the headstone.  "Bye, Dad.  I love you."

Scully walked away, searching her pockets for the packet of tissues she
carried.  She wiped at her cheeks and softly blew her nose before
continuing.  She hadn't gone twenty yards when she came to a sudden stop.
She knew the truck that sat on the shoulder.  A quick glance at the permits
in the back window confirmed her rising suspicions.  The truck belonged to
Agent Doggett.  White hot anger burst inside her, pushing away her sadness.
What the hell was he doing here?  What else could he be doing but spying on
her?  How dare he intrude on her like this!  Scully searched for and quickly
found him, five rows back, kneeling down.

She started forward with purpose, certain in her outrage.  Her step faltered
two rows in, however, when she saw the stuffed bear clutched in his hand.
Another row in and she saw his hand wipe at his cheek.  Wiping away tears?
Total uncertainty pushed aside anger, while curiosity took control of her
vocal cords.

"Agent Doggett?" her voice soft, unsure.

Doggett jumped at her voice, nearly losing his balance in his crouching
position.  Rising as he turned, he saw his partner, eyeing him warily, the
sun behind her.  He frowned in confusion, as if he wasn't sure what he was
seeing.  "Scully?  That you?"

Scully quickly took in his red eyes and wet cheeks, although his body
blocked her view of the headstone.  If this was some kind of decoy...
"Yeah.
What are you doing here?"

Doggett immediately became defensive.  "What're you talkin' about?  What are
you doin' here?  You follow me?"

"I was going to ask you the same thing."

Doggett took a few steps forward, unable to see her clearly with the
position of the sun.  As he got closer, he could see his own pain echoed in
her tear-stained face.  The lines in his face deepened.  "You've been
crying."  His voice was somehow soft and rough at the same time.

Scully held off on pointing out the obvious - that so had he - for the
moment.  His nearness confused her; she didn't know whether to confide in
him or hold him up to her earlier suspicions.  The pain she saw mirrored in
his eyes made the decision for her.  "My father is buried over there," she
gestured to the direction from which she had just come.  "The anniversary is
today."

Doggett held out a fresh handkerchief to her as fresh tears overflowed their
banks.  She shook her head, instead pulling her tissues from her pocket to
wipe her eyes.  Doggett was silent as she composed herself.  "I don't
understand, Agent Doggett.  Why are you here?  When I saw your truck, I
thought..."

"That I was spying?"  She nodded, and he gave her a tight smile.  If only it
was as painless as that.  "Agent Scully, I had no idea you were coming here.
I didn't know about your father."

"Then why?"

Doggett sighed heavily and took her hand.  Scully allowed herself to be led
to where Doggett had been crouched before she came.  He cleared his throat,
but was able to only get out a strangled sort of sound.  The granite stone
was a soft pink-orange, smaller than its neighbors were.  Scully's eyes grew
wide and she gasped softly, her grip on Doggett's hand tightening.  'Lucas
John Doggett'.  Holy Mary, it was his son.

Doggett knelt down again, letting go of Scully's hand.  He seemed to realize
he hadn't let go of the bear he held, and now placed it gently at the foot
of the marker.  From her position above him, Scully could see tears running
down his cheeks.  She knelt next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder,
trying to comfort him somehow.  "John..." she breathed, trying to find the
right words.

Doggett smiled at her touch and reached up with his hand to grasp hers.
"You see, it's his anniversary, too."

Scully brought the daisy to her lips and then laid it next to the bear.
Resting her head on Doggett's shoulder, she told him about her loss, and he,
his.  Neither would have guessed at the start of the day that a shared
anniversary of sorrow would bring them to a better understanding of each
other.

Cemeteries were a place of sorrow, but also a place of peace...


Author's notes:  This piece interrupted the fic I was attempting to work on
last night, so I flipped to the back of my notebook (yes, I write longhand)
and let it out.  I would've posted it last night, but quite honestly, was
too tired to type.  The fic comes from dealing with the loss of my own
father, whose sixth anniversary of his passing is this coming Saturday.  I
didn't research anything, and for all I know I'm totally off on my facts and
Scully's father is indeed at Arlington, and Luke Doggett will end up buried
in NY.  But it's fiction, and my fic at that, and if CC can throw facts out
the window, so can I.