Title:  Fifth No More
Author:  Moose
E-mail: the1moose@mediaone.net  Feedback is highly welcomed.  Flames will be
used to roast weenies.
Ratings: PG-13 for what could be considered bad language
Category:  Angsty-ish DSF
Warnings/Spoilers: spoilers through S8.  I truly don't think I need to put
any warnings.
Archive:  SHODDS, XFMU as always.  Anywhere else just drop me a line so I
can visit.
Summary:  Doggett discloses a piece of his past to Scully.
Disclaimer:  Not mine.  Is that enough?
Notes:  As always, dedicated to my SHODDSisters.  And thanks to Tom, whose
knowledge helped me with the title.


"You know, Doggett, you don't have to not drink on my account."

Doggett raised his eyebrows slightly.  "You think I'm not drinking on
account of you and little J. Edgar?"

Scully smiled at the pet name Doggett had come up with for her unborn child.
He'd started it about a month ago, and she supposed that because she hadn't
taken his head off, he'd kept on doing it.  Secretly, she suspected he did
it because it made her smile.

She was smiling a lot more these days, truth be told.  She and Doggett had
reached an understanding a couple of months ago, and now a true friendship
was forming.  Scully would admit it only to herself, and only late at night,
but Doggett was easier to get along with than Mulder.  Doggett was so
straightforward, so open and honest.  Mulder was always so paranoid about
everyone else, herself included sometimes, that she felt like she was
walking on eggshells all the time around him.  But with Doggett, she felt
like she was walking barefoot in the surf, to finish the analogy.  Scully
smiled at the image.

"What're you smilin' at?"

Scully brought herself back to the present.  Doggett sat across the table
from her, menu in hand, waiting patiently.  Oh, right her earlier
observation.  Scully picked up her own menu before answering.  "Nothing.
It's just that I've never seen you drink while we're out, and I don't want
you to feel like you can't because I can't."

Doggett studied her across the table as she looked at her menu.  He tried to
recall the number of times they'd been out where she could observe his
habits.  To his surprise, that number was larger than he would have thought.
They'd been putting in a lot of hours, he knew, and he'd been pretty
insistent about Scully getting a decent meal after working late.  When he'd
suggested "grabbing a bite", he remembered being surprised the first few
times she'd said yes.  But now it was a habit.  A habit he didn't want to
break.

"You think I'm bein' gallant?"

"I wouldn't say gallant.  Just polite."

"Oh, I see."  He took a sip of water.  "Scully, after you first met me, how
much checkin' up on me did you do?"

Scully opened her mouth to protest, but quickly snapped it shut at the look
Doggett was giving her.  "Just the basics," she admitted sheepishly.
"Marine Corps, NYPD, FBI...  That's really about all I know about you, John
Doggett.

Doggett nodded his understanding before tilting up on one hip and pulling
his wallet from his back pocket.  From that he removed what was obviously a
photograph.  The play of emotions across his craggy face was so quick Scully
didn't have time to categorize them all before he silently handed her the
picture.

It was a little boy, maybe eight years old.  He had sandy brown hair, big
brown eyes and a gaped tooth smile.  Scully smiled fondly.  "He's quite a
looker.  Who is he?"

Doggett cleared his throat once, then again, before speaking.  "His name is
Luke.  He's my son."  He couldn't help but smile faintly at the look of
astonishment on Scully's face.  "He always did take after his mother in the
looks department."

"I, uhm." Scully took a moment to gather her thoughts.  "I had no idea you
had a family, a son."

"Yeah, well, the key word here is had," he replied, his voice sounding like
gravel.  "Luke was abducted and murdered in 1995."

"Oh my God," she breathed.  Without conscious thought, Scully reached across
the table to lay her free hand across Doggett's clenched ones.  "I'm so
sorry, John."

Doggett grabbed hold of her hand, as if it were a lifeline to the present.
"He, ah, just vanished on his way home from school.  We found him four days
later, out in some field.  He'd been..."

Scully squeezed his hand, giving him support and letting him know that the
details were not necessary.  Doggett cleared his throat, his eyes moist.  He
tried to smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.  "I was still with the NYPD
then.  We - they - never found the bastard who killed my son.

"I didn't deal with it very well, started drinkin'.  I lived in a scotch
bottle for a long time.  One mornin' I woke up on the bathroom floor,
covered in my own, well, you get the idea.  When I pulled myself outta that
bottle, ya know what I found?  My son was still dead, and my life, which I
hadn't thought coulda been worse, was shit.  Absolute fuckin' shit.  My wife
had left me months ago, my career was holding on by a thread, and that was
only because before all this shit, I had been a good cop.  A damn good cop.
And Luke was still never coming back."

Scully's own eyes had filled with tears during his story, and she felt a few
slip down her cheeks.  She knew the pain of losing a child - her stomach
tightened at the thought of Emily - but she hadn't really known her little
girl.  She wasn't there when she'd been born, hadn't seen her take her first
steps, ride a bike, tie a shoe.  But John had done those things, and more,
with his son.  He'd been to hell, stayed awhile, and had then fought his way
back to be sitting in front of her today, keeping her strong.  Scully
realized she'd completely underestimated her partner.

Doggett continued.  "I realized that I didn't want to spend the rest of my
life being trapped in that moment.  That's not the type of man I was, not
the type of father I was.  I couldn't spend my life hiding from the pain.
So I got my act together, and it took a long time.  And there are times
when," he reached across and took Luke's picture back, looking at it
tenderly, "when I feel like I'm still not there."

"I think that your son would be proud of who you are today, John."

Doggett looked up at her for the first time since he'd begun and noticed her
tears.  He'd known he had been crying, but hadn't expected such a reaction
from Scully.  He laughed a little, trying to lift the somber mood.  "Jesus,
look at the two of us, would ya?"  He put Luke's picture down before
reaching across to wipe tears from Scully's face.  "If we're not careful,
people will start to talk."

She let out a little snort, allowing herself, for a moment, to enjoy the
feeling of his rough fingers against her smooth cheeks.  "They've been
talking about me for years.  A little more won't hurt."

"Atta girl."  Doggett looked down, surprised to see their hands still
joined, and allowed himself, for a moment, the pleasure of feeling her small
hand in his large one.  He gave her hand a small squeeze, saying, "I wanna
thank you, Dana, for listenin' to me without judgin' me tonight."

Scully smiled, and knew that she would not be passing judgment against this
man anytime soon.  She struggled for the words to express that feeling, but
after a moment gave up and tried to let her eyes say what she couldn't.
Instead, she said simply, "You're welcome."

Doggett got the message.  They released their hold on each other
simultaneously, comfortably, and picked up their menu's.  "So, " Doggett
spoke in a light tone, "what does little J. Edgar feel like havin'?"