Title: A Formal Affair.
Author: Forbes.
Rating: PG fluff. DSR
Summary: Scully really doesn't want to go to the ball.
Disclaimer: Strangely, these characters do not belong in my head. 
Fancy that. 
(Not beta'ed)
Dedication: A get well pressie for Little Les.
Archive: Yep, help yourself.



"Oh, damn it!"

Doggett stuck his finger on the line he was reading and looked up 
from his desk in surprise. He'd already found that if he took his 
eyes off the densely-worded text he was hopelessly lost.

"Are you all right, Agent Scully?" 

"No. I mean, yes..." Scully shook her head and sighed. "Damn," she 
said again, quietly. "No." She was most definitely not all right.

"Something I can help you with?" 

Scully snorted. "Not unless you're a whizz with a sewing machine, 
Agent Doggett."

She pushed her papers aside, rested her elbows on the desk and 
propped her chin on her hands. She really hoped he was going to say 
no, because to admit otherwise would make him just too perfect.

Doggett smiled. "I thought all you girlies knew stuff like that."
He seemed to realize that was the wrong thing to say the moment it 
came out of his mouth. His hands went up in surrender, instantly 
losing his place in the text. 

"Hey... I apologise. Before you start... That was a really dumb thing 
to say."

Scully regarded him, head not moving from its perch on her hands. So 
he was just human, after all. She was annoyed at her tickle of 
disappointment.

"You really like living dangerously, don't you, Agent Doggett?"

"I said I was sorry."

In no mood to let him off the hook just yet, she merely raised an 
eyebrow. 

"You made a pretty broad assumption, there, Agent. I'm disappointed 
in you."

"Hey, I'm just an old-fashioned chauvinistic pig." He shrugged, 
smiling. "What can you do?"

Her eyebrow arched higher. "Shoot you?"

He inclined his head. "It's an option. But how `bout you just tell me 
what's got your..." He paused, wary. "I mean, what's bothering you."

Scully sighed and stared at her computer screen. "I've just spent 
the last two hours wading through countless on-line sites without a 
single glimmer of success."

"On-line sites for what?"

"Agencies."

Doggett's eyebrows rose, his face advertising the sort of the mental 
picture that obviously rose in his head. "Agencies?" 

Part of Scully wondered how broad his imagination actually was.

She sighed, instead. "Hire agencies, Agent Doggett. Dress hire." 

Poking the delete button she groaned and bowed her head. "I knew I 
should have quit when that damned invitation arrived."

"This about tonight's ball?"

Scully nodded, staring at her blotter. Hideous, hated, dreaded bi-
annual FBI torture. Why the powers that be felt the need to make its 
employees dress up and entertain Senators and Congress people was 
beyond her.

"You could skip it."

She shook her head. "I skipped the last one. People noticed."

"Ah." 

Exactly the same hopeless situation with formal gowns had pre-empted 
that cowardly course of action. She didn't think for a second she'd 
get away with it twice in a row. Not that she'd gotten away with it 
the first time; Skinner made that quite clear. 

She groaned quietly.

"You'd think in the whole of Washington I could find one lousy dress-
hire store that stocked my size."

Scully stared across the room as Doggett opened his mouth to ask the 
obvious, but what must have been a keen sense of self-preservation, 
honed from years of marriage stilled his tongue. He opened and shut 
it again for good measure, before choosing different words. 

"You always look so good, surely you have something in your closet?"

The glance she shot across the office let him know he'd scored a 
couple of brownie points.

"Nothing that I haven't worn at least twice," she grumbled, inclining 
her head slightly at the compliment. "I need something new. Or at 
least something that looks new." She peered at him 
pathetically. "You sure you don't sew?"

Laughing, Doggett shook his head. "Just field-repairs and the odd 
button. Neither of which is any good in this situation." 

Scully grunted. "Typical."

"Typical?"

"Typical man."

"It's MY fault you can't find a dress?" Doggett asked, incredulous.

Scully narrowed her eyes at him. "Maybe not. But you aren't making 
it any better."

Mouth dropping in surprise, he shook his head. 

"And just how do you figure that?"

Sitting back and folding her arms over her chest she stared 
accusingly across her desk.

"Just how much effort are YOU going to be putting into this occasion, 
Agent Doggett?" 

He opened his mouth to reply, and was stalled by a shiny fingernail 
held high.

"No, wait... Let me guess. You're going to pull a dark suit out of 
your closet, grab a clean shirt and throw the two together with a 
nice tie." She rolled her eyes. 

Much as she appreciated the way her partner looked in a sharp suit, 
she couldn't help herself. "How taxing!"

Pursing his lips Doggett frowned. "That's a little harsh, don't you 
think?"

"The truth hurts."

"Just so happens I was gonna make more of an effort than that, Agent 
Scully."

"Oh yes? And what would that be? Matching socks and suspenders?"

Doggett's frown deepened. He scratched his neck, embarrassed. "I 
was actually plannin' on buying some fresh underwear."

Fanning her face, Scully groaned. "Oh spare me the gory details! I 
can't cope with the pressure!" She glared at him until she was 
certain she'd made her point. 


"S'not my fault," he muttered to the thick text papers on his desk.
Scully ignored him. "Once, just once, I'd like to see a male agent 
make a bit of effort with his appearance at one of these damned 
things."

"Such as?"

She threw her hands up. "Oh, I don't know! I'm not asking for a full 
drag outfit..."

The horrified look he gave her made her grin, despite her annoyance.

"...just something with a bit of style. A touch of panache."

She stared off into the middle distance. After a minute, she 
sighed. "Just something that requires a modicum of thought." 

Something to prove that the women were worth taking a bit of time and 
effort, she thought. Something that made a man look really, really 
good. Just for one night.

She gradually focused. "It doesn't matter." As if triggered by the 
words, she shook her head. "I'm just frustrated about this dress-
thing. Don't listen to me."

Doggett smiled, making her wonder what was going through his head. 
Was he laughing at her? Her hand reached for the stapler. He'd better 
not be...

"Tell you what. Why don't you skip out early and go hunting in the 
dress-stores," he suggested.

She looked at him, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. "Really?" 

"There's nothin' goin' on here I can't deal with myself. I'll clear 
away this stuff. You go on."

"If you're sure?"

He shrugged, smiling. "Not as if I'm gonna need very long to get 
ready," he said, raising an eyebrow. "As you so rightly pointed out."

She had the grace to look embarrassed. "Hmmmm. About that..."

He waved his hand. "Go. Shop."

With a grateful grin, she grabbed her purse and hit the off button on 
her monitor.

He would never know how close he'd come to having those ridiculously 
cute ears stapled to his head.

"You sure?" she asked again, moving towards the door, terrified he'd 
change his mind.

He pointed. "Go."

She took him at his word and practically ran for the door. If she 
hurried she could make...

"Agent Scully?"

She hovered, almost gone. "Yes?"

"Don't be so sure you know what I'm gonna wear to my first FBI 
ball." He grinned at her. "I might surprise you."

She knew the expression on her face must have made him laugh out loud 
because she could hear him all the way to the elevator. 



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


"You look very nice tonight, Agent Scully." 

Skinner's tone left it unsaid that he was glad for her sake she had 
actually bothered to turn up.

"Thank you, Assistant Director." Her tone left it unsaid that she was 
here under great sufferance. 

It had taken her up until a bare hour before the actual start of the 
ball to get herself into a dress that didn't either make her look 
like a bridesmaid or something off the Comedy Channel. It wasn't 
bad, but she still wasn't entirely sure about the spaghetti straps to 
the bodice. She had to stop herself from checking they still held the 
whole thing up, every five minutes. She could all too clearly imagine 
it slipping down and her breasts flopping out in the middle of the 
room.

"Would you care to dance?" 

Scully jumped a little and shot him a look. Was he patronizing her? 
Or was this a thing he had to do with all the women at a function 
like this? She didn't know; she usually stood skulking in a corner.

"Um..." She blushed and touched the straps. "Thank you. But maybe 
later. I'm um..." She cast her eyes about. "I'm thirsty. I thought 
I'd get something to drink. It is rather hot," she finished, lamely.

Skinner inclined his head. "It is. Allow me. A glass of wine?"

Scully nodded. "White, please."

He moved off towards the drinks table, leaving her to wince and try 
not to slap her palm against her forehead. Why the hell hadn't she 
just danced with the man? It wouldn't kill her. Now he thought she 
was utterly without grace.
She sighed, glancing around the room. Couples and groups danced, 
laughed and picked at canapés. Everyone seemed to be having a pretty 
good time. None of the other women seemed the least bit paranoid 
about their dresses.

It must just be her. Her fingers crept up to her chest.

"White." Skinner held the glass out, his approach silent, making her 
jump again. She really must try to relax.

"Thank you." She took a sip.

Skinner didn't move. That both reassured and made her nervous.

"I haven't seen Agent Doggett yet," Skinner remarked. He looked at 
her over the rim of his glass.

"Neither have I," she replied. She was damned if she was going to 
cover his ass if he had decided to ditch the evening. In fact, if he 
had, she'd make sure she kicked said ass, no matter how appealing it 
was.

The thought crept up on her, making her blush slightly. Where the 
hell had that come from?

Oh yeah. She knew damned well where that had come from. It was born 
the day she'd seen her partner bend over to pick up a pencil in the 
office and had pretty much stayed with her ever since. Stayed and 
made itself at home in her sub-conscious.

"He is intending to attend, tonight?"

Scully looked at her boss. "I beg your pardon?"

"Agent Doggett. He is coming?"

"I believe so." That was as good as he was going to get from 
her. "We talked about it this afternoon."

Skinner made a noise in his throat that could have been an 
acknowledgment or a threat.

She sipped at her wine, pondering exactly what it was they'd 
discussed. `Don't be so sure', he'd said. What had he meant by that, 
exactly?

She gazed at the other people in the room, not really seeing them. 
She'd thrown the whole a suit and tie thing at him, but then he'd 
teased that she didn't know what he was going to wear to the ball.
She smiled. Just like Cinderella.

Maybe he was going to take her at her word and turn up in drag.
The grin widened. Yeah... right. One way to a fast-track retirement, 
J. Edgar or no J. Edgar.

No, he wouldn't turn up in drag. Mulder, maybe; but not Doggett.

She unconsciously checked her straps again. 

So what did he mean? Was he going to actually do something different 
to every other man in the room? 

Maybe... A mental picture of Doggett in his dress uniform flittered 
across her mind. God! Was that what he meant? He was going to show 
up in uniform?

An almost arrhythmic flutter in her chest betrayed just how she felt 
about that. She'd always been a sucker for a man in uniform. 

Probably said something tedious about her relationship with her 
father, but she really didn't care. 

She glanced over to the door, hoping to see Doggett in full Marine 
dress uniform.

Two women from the typing pool floated in the room wearing way too 
much make-up. 

She took another sip, scolding herself silently for being so bitchy 
and eighth-grade. She made herself watch the couples on the dance 
floor instead.

"Good God..." 

Scully looked up at her boss, shocked at both his tone and words. 
He was staring at the entrance to the ballroom, his glass halfway to 
his mouth, which hung open.

Tracking his gaze, Scully craned around him to see what caused the 
outburst.

Doggett was striding across the room towards them, their fellow 
agents parting before him, staring. He had a small grin on his face 
and the air of a man who knew damned well he was causing a stir and 
was enjoying every minute. 

Staring, Scully knew her mouth was as unhinged as Skinner's .

"Agent Scully. Assistant Director." Doggett nodded at them 
both. "Sorry I'm late. Traffic was appalling."

Scully gaped, her eyes tracking up and down her partner's body, 
incapable of speech.

"Agent Doggett..." Skinner muttered, also looking at the other man 
from head to toe. "What's with.... I mean..." he stumbled over his 
words, finally resorting to gesturing at Doggett's lower 
body. "...um... Why?"

Shrugging, Doggett grinned. "I'm entitled to wear one, so I thought I 
would." He leaned towards Skinner, mischief shining in his eyes. "And 
it's called a kilt, sir."

"I know what it's called, Agent Doggett." Skinner frowned. "I just 
didn't think `Doggett' was a very Scottish name."

Doggett shrugged. "It's not. But my mother's a Lamont." He waved his 
hand at his lower half. "That means I get to wear the Clan Tartan."

Scully stood with her glass tipping precariously, trying to reconcile 
the man before her with the man she worked with every day.

The sharp suit was gone and in its place hung a beautiful green and 
dark blue kilt, with a faint white checkered line running through it. 
It hung to the middle of Doggett's knees, leaving a four inch gap of 
bare skin before the tops of thick, cream-colored socks. She wanted 
to give in to the temptation to bend down to take a closer look at 
his very nicely shaped knees but dragged her gaze up to concentrate 
on the shiny silver buttons of the short jacket instead.

"It's..." Skinner struggled for words. "It's very nice," he said 
lamely. Scully glanced at his face, a peculiar mixture of amusement 
and embarrassment.

"I don't get to wear it very often," Doggett said, looking down at 
himself. "Ma's always naggin' me to put it on more." He shrugged, 
fiddling with one of the square buttons on the pocket. "I thought 
I'd take the opportunity tonight."

Taking a better grip on her wine glass and clearing her throat, 
Scully indicated with her free hand.

"Well I think it's magnificent," she said, a smile creeping over 
her face. She really wanted to tell him he looked absolutely fucking 
gorgeous. And she was under no illusions that mother's entreaty or 
not, she was the reason he had chosen to wear it tonight. She was 
touched that he had gone to the trouble for her benefit. 

"Your mother would be proud," she said, softly, meaning it completely.

Doggett looked up at her. "You think?"

"Definitely."

She was pleased to watch a grin appear. 

"So... You like it, then?" 

Deciding there was nothing to lose by being honest, Scully nodded. "I 
most definitely like it." She held his gaze a moment longer then 
glanced at Skinner. "I think it's wonderful to see someone taking 
pride in their heritage, don't you, sir?"

Skinner pushed his glasses up his nose. "Indeed." He still seemed 
somewhat bemused. "I've never actually seen a man in a kilt before," 
he admitted. "Not up close."

"Neither have I." Scully said. She was itching to touch the material 
to see what it felt like.

Doggett grinned. "Not many people have. Whenever I do get to wear it, 
I get folks askin' to touch it, try it on..." He laughed. "All sorts 
of weird stuff."

Scully felt herself flush. Damn. 

"I'll bet," Skinner said. 

"I'm sure Agent Doggett won't mind if you want to have a quick feel," 
Scully said, unable to stop herself from teasing.

Two pairs of eyes stared at her. She bit her lips together hard. They 
both looked shocked at the suggestion.

"I don't think so," Skinner said, holding his hands out. "I think I 
can live without touching Agent Doggett's attire, thank you." He 
narrowed his eyes. "But you feel free to, if you wish, Agent Scully."

Willing a blush down, Scully refrained from scowling. Damn him.
"I...erm...." She stammered. 

"Go ahead, Agent Scully. I don't mind." Doggett stepped closer. 
Scully felt a flutter of panic, then glared up at him, letting him 
know she knew he was yanking her chain in front of their boss. She 
pursed her lips making a quick decision. 

"Thank you, Agent Doggett. I will."

Before he had chance to back off, or to think better of it, she 
stooped to take the hem in her hand. It was heavier than she 
expected, thicker and slightly scratchy. 

"It must be warm under there," she said, without thinking.

Silence.

The words re-ran in her head, and she winced. Oh God... She stood up, 
Embarrassed and her hand brushed Doggett's bare knee as she straightened.
Anything she might have been going to say withered in her throat.

"Well..." Doggett replied slowly as her wide eyes met his. "It is 
kinda warm. But I guess that's the whole idea."

Scully nodded, words out of the question. She could still feel his 
skin on the back of her knuckles.

"Mind you, it does allow a lot of freedom of movement." He turned in 
a quick circle and the kilt swung out at the back in a concertina of 
pleats. "See? I get plenty of fresh air," he laughed.

"That could be embarrassing," Scully smiled, noting how far the 
material spread.

"Hope you got round to buying that new underwear."

Doggett just grinned at her and waggled his eyebrows.

"I always thought a true Scotsman..." Skinner stared to say, then 
coughed and cleared his throat. "Well you know."

Doggett's eyes sparkled. "What's that, then, sir?"

Skinner squirmed. "You know... A Scot doesn't wear any..." He did 
another throat-clear.

Doggett looked at him, the picture of innocence. "What?" 

Glancing at Scully, Skinner started to color up. He glared back at 
Doggett. "You know what I mean, Agent Doggett. But it doesn't matter. 
You weren't born in Scotland."

Doggett threw back his head and laughed delightedly. "You wanna know 
if I'm going commando under here?" 

Scully put her hand to her mouth to smother the giggle that 
threatened.

Skinner grunted and completed his blush. "No... I do not."

"That's not a problem..." Doggett bent slightly to grab the hem of 
his kilt in both hands. He started to stand, bringing the kilt with 
him.

"NO!" Skinner's hand shot out, stopping Doggett from getting any 
further. 

Unable to contain herself, Scully burst out laughing, nearly spilling 
her wine. 

Skinner's face was a picture. 

"Agent Doggett..." Skinner managed to look both mortified and furious 
at the same time. "I think that's quite enough."

Doggett shrugged. "Okay." He released the hem. 

Scully was unreasonably disappointed. She was still curious, even if 
Skinner wasn't.

"So..." she began, tilting her head to one side. 

"So, what?" Doggett smiled. 

"Are you?"

"Am I what?" 

Scully frowned. "It's bad manners to answer a question with a 
question."

"You're right. I apologise. What were you going to ask?"

Scully opened her mouth but Skinner held up his hand. "I don't think 
the FBI ballroom is the proper place to conduct this conversation, 
Agents."

Scully and Doggett's eyes met. The word `ball-room' ran between them, 
screaming with innuendo. All of three seconds passed before both sets 
of shoulders began to shake silently. Scully had to look away or she 
was going to pee herself. She clutched at her strap with her free 
hand.

"I'm sure Agent Scully is far too mature to want to know anything so 
personal, Agent Doggett," he carried on regardless of the barely 
controlled mirth either side off him.

"Yeah?" Doggett choked out, getting himself back under control. "You 
think?" His eyes met Scully's, challenging her.

Skinner turned to her. "What exactly was it you were going to ask, 
Agent Scully?" 

His tone left no doubt as to his thoughts on the matter of her 
questioning Doggett on his under garments.

"Um..." She steadied her herself. "I was going to ask..." She 
refused to meet Doggett's eyes. She couldn't. He knew the truth and 
she wouldn't be able to stop herself from blurting it out.

"I was going to ask if Agent Doggett..." She braved a look at him. 

His blue eyes were filled with amusement and affection. 
She took a breath.

"If he would do me the honor of the next dance."

The look of surprised delight on Doggett's face made it all worth 
while and squashed outright any doubts she may have had. He looked 
stunned.

"I'd be delighted," he said after a second or two of gaping. "My 
pleasure." Extending his elbow, he invited Scully to take his arm.
Handing her glass to Skinner, Scully accepted and walked on to the 
dance floor with her partner.

As if by some pre-determined cue, the band began a slow number just 
as they reached the middle of the dance floor. People had moved aside 
as they approached and Scully didn't fool herself for a second that 
they wanted to get a better look at her strappy outfit. They only had 
eyes for John Doggett.

And she didn't blame them, not one little bit. He looked wonderful in 
formal jacket and bow-tie.

He slowed, released her arm and held his hands up in the classic 
dance-pose. "May I?" he asked gallantly.

Scully smiled and took his hand, sliding her other around his arm. 

"You may." 

He grinned as they came together and began to move with the music.

"Thank you."

They danced in silence for a while and Scully used the time to sort 
out her feelings on what they were doing. She couldn't recall ever 
being with him like this; they'd been physically close before, but 
certainly not holding hands. It was rather nice.

Two more turns and she was sold. She wondered if she dared rest her 
head on his shoulder. Probably not, she admitted, ruefully.
But he was a good dancer. 

"You're very good at this," she told him, looking up.

"Ma forced all us kids to go to dance classes. Told us we'd be 
grateful one day." He smiled down at her. "Turns out she was right. 
As always."

Scully swallowed. His face was awfully close. She could see every 
laugh-line around those stunning eyes; she was amazed at how brightly 
blue they shone. There was a strange brown fleck in one of them that 
she hadn't noticed before.

"Mothers usually are," she said quietly. "I must remember to thank 
her if we ever get to meet."

Doggett grinned down at her. "What makes you think I'm ever gonna let 
you and my mother within shoutin' distance of one another?"

"Scared, Agent Doggett?" 

"You bet."

"Coward."

He laughed. "Absolutely. I wouldn't trust her not to tell you all my 
secrets."

"You have secrets?" she said, feigning shock. She liked this gentle 
teasing.

He grinned. "Tons of `em, Agent Scully."

"I would never have believed it. You seem ..."

"You say `a nice man' and I'm ditching you right now."

Scully laughed. "I was going to say `to have hidden depths'," she 
improvised.

Doggett grunted, clearly not believing a word.

Another minute of quiet between them stretched easily, not strained 
at all. Comfortable, in fact. Scully enjoyed the feel of his large 
hand in hers, liked the way his fingers curled into the folds of her 
palm. His hand at her back, in the same place as it had been 
countless times, now had a new depth, the heat seemed to radiate 
through the dress, her skin and into her guts, where it settled 
agreeably.

Eventually, Doggett sighed. "She carries these dreadful photographs 
around in her purse. I swear she only does it to annoy me."

"Not the `naked baby' pictures?"

He shook his head. "Oh, yeah. Man, she's got dozens of `em."

Scully smiled. "Those I'd like to see."

He peered down, holding her slightly away. "You would?"

"Why not? I bet you were a cute baby."

Laughing, he pulled her back close to his chest. "Uh-uh. Nope. Skinny 
as rat with sticky-out hair and as for the ears..." He sighed and 
shook his head. "Well, let's not even go there."

Scully chuckled. "I'd still like to see them."

"They're right here," he quipped, leaning down, tilting his head so 
his ears were right under her nose.

She laughed, and batted him away, delighted that he felt comfortable 
enough to make fun of himself.

"The pictures!" she smiled. "I can see these anytime," she told him, 
daring to gently flick one.

"Hey!" He pulled an injured face. "That hurt."

Scully looked dubiously at him. "Ahh. Poor thing... I'm sooo sorry."

"Yeah, well..."

"I apologized, what more do you want me to do?”

"Dunno... I guess you could always kiss it better..." he said, 
hesitating when he realized what he had just asked her to do.

They looked at one another, unsure. 

Scully took a breath, inhaling the scent of his aftershave, the warm 
smell of his skin and without a doubt, knew what she was going to say.

"Maybe later."

That stunned look covered his face again. Twice in a day, she 
thought. Can't be bad.

"Oh..." he said slowly. "Okaaay." 

An endearingly shy smile erased the shocked look, confirming what 
Scully already felt about him. This might be one huge, gargantuan 
mistake, contemplating getting involved with a co-worker, but in 
Doggett's case, she didn't think so. Regardless, she was willing to 
take the risk.

"You know that I'm gonna hafta take you up on that," he said very 
quietly, his mouth brushing the hair at her forehead.

She stared at him, aware of the sway of his kilt tickling against her 
legs, the warm hand in hers and the strong body pressed close and 
felt strangely content. 

"I'm glad," she said and smiled.

She relaxed and let her head come to rest on his broad shoulder. Yes, 
she was brave enough now.

He gave her hand a little squeeze.

Smiling, Scully allowed the music to wash over her, happy to let him 
lead her around the dance room. No doubt she would dance with Skinner 
and other men before the night ended, but she knew with certainty 
with whom she would be leaving.

That thought led to another and before she knew it, she was grinning 
into the black material.

"You know, Agent Doggett," she said, not moving her head.

"What's that?" he replied, bending his lower.

"I'm still curious."

"Oh yeah? `Bout what?"

"Scotsmen.... And their kilts." she allowed him a moment to follow 
the train of thought.

A chuckled rattled past her ear. 

"You are, are you?"

"I am," she said. 

"I'm glad," he replied and gave her hand another little squeeze as 
they slowly turned in time to the music.



fin.


Author's note: 
In the history of Scottish clans, `Patrick' family claims sept to 
both the Clans MacLaren and Lamont. This means they would have 
pledged allegiance to these more powerful families and fought 
alongside them in battle.
I chose to make Doggett's mother a Lamont because the Ancient Muted 
weave of that tartan is incredibly close to that of the Clan Forbes.
(If you want to see the Ancient Lamont tartan, go to www. 
electricscotland.com and look up the Quick Clan and tartan finder.
Alternatively, if you'd rather see Robert Patrick wearing the Forbes 
tartan, then rush along to the Photos section!)